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Frank hadn't been back to the playground for a year or two now but, when he noticed the date, he figured that stopping by wouldn't be such a bad idea. The rain had been chucking it down for most of the morning; the wind battering against Frank's broken window. Even if he was a bit damp sitting on a bench that overlooked the park, he was glad to get away from the constant rattling.
If he tried hard enough, Frank could pretend that one of the few kids running around was his, or that his children were just hiding behind a tree waiting for their game to end. They'd laugh when someone found them, and hurry back over and beg for ice-cream even though it was drizzling. Frank forced himself to smile a little. And he would've given them their treat. Or, maybe he wouldn't have then, but he would now. He leaned back against the bench; his hands were shoved deep inside his pockets. Someone walked past a little too close for comfort and glanced over: Frank was the only one there without a young kid tugging at his legs. But maybe they'd recognised him, he thought and tugged down his beanie a little further.
The carousel wasn't running that day: it only opened at the weekend after some new manager took over the park (who was also behind the rapidly degrading play equipment). And Frank could pretend to be frustrated, but just looking at the stagnant mechanisms was enough to see the whole nightmare happen again. He shifted on the bench and started to stand up when a teenager, someone who was definitely meant to be in school, shuffled over to lean against the arm rest. Frank glanced over and watched a young girl as she sluggishly trailed after him.
"Go and play," the teenager instructed, but the girl wasn't interested. And, as she got closer, Frank realised that her cheeks were bright pink, and there was a raw patch of skin underneath her nose. "You'll feel better, I promise," the kid added weakly, but his attempts to convince her failed as she scrunched up her hands into little fists. He sighed and looked over at Frank who averted his eyes in the last second. "Um, excuse me? Sir?" He glanced up. "Can I sit here?" the teenager asked hesitantly, gesturing towards the bench.
"It's not my bench, kid," Frank replied and shifted up a little. There was a brief moment where he thought the boy was going to leave but he soon sat down beside him. Keeping his gaze firmly ahead, Frank tried not to listen to the tired argument playing out beside him, but once the boy had fallen quiet, he chimed in and said, "She should be in bed or something." The teenager glanced over in surprise before sighing and his tired face crumpled a little.
"I know," he admitted quietly, watching as the girl finally wandered off towards a rusted roundabout. "Dad…" he paused, "Dad said she had to get some fresh air." Frank raised his eyebrows slightly and leaned forwards, resting his elbows on his knees.
"She's got a fever, and a cold."
"Do you have kids?" the teenager asked a moment after he'd fallen quiet, and Frank traced his young face before looking away. "I'm…sorry. I just-"
"It's alright, kid. I…" Frank could just say that he did, it would save a long explanation, but the thought about lying about his children made his stomach churn. "I had kids." The teenager opened and closed his mouth before resting against the bench.
"Sorry."
"Look, get your sister somewhere warm. You need some money? She needs water, soup, sleep. Yeah?" The kid was nodding and pressed his lips together into a thin line. "And something for the fever. If it gets above a temperature, 38 degrees, she needs to go to the hospital, same if you can't get her to drink enough. You got that?"
"Yes, sir," he replied with a stern nod. "Thank you."
"You got health insurance?" The kid shrugged, looking as tired as ever, and Frank chewed at his bottom lip as he thought. "Hey, where are your parents?" Frank asked; he regretted it instantly by the twisted look on the kid's face. "You shouldn't be the one looking after her. How old is she?"
"Four," the kid mumbled.
"And how old are you? You look like you should still be in school or something." Forcing out a weak smile, the teenager replied,
"I was. I dropped out a few weeks after the summer holidays. Got a job instead. But I'm sixteen, I'm not a child."
"OK, alright. And you needed the money?"
"What is this? An interrogation?" he asked with a slight laugh but the kid's question lacked any heat behind it. It sounded more like an admission, like he'd never said any of this to anyone else. "It's complicated," he finally added and Frank agreed quietly. He said,
"I'm sure it is. How long's she been sick?" The kid shrugged.
"A few days? I don't know, I've been working double-shifts for the last week or something and my…dad didn't mention it," he mumbled. "I would've done something if-"
"I'm not blaming you, kid," Frank told him, reaching out his hand without thinking. The kid's jacket was wet as he squeezed his shoulder gently, and grimaced at the feel of the sodden fabric. "You're doing more than your dad is." He laughed softly.
"That's not hard to do."
They sat in silence for a few minutes, both of them watching as his younger sister prodded at the dirt with a stick she'd found before the rain started to pick up again. Frank yanked up his hood and started to stand up but the kid didn't follow him.
"You're not going home?" Frank watched as the teenager stared at the floor awkwardly. Then, he cleared his throat and said,
"Dad said that we couldn't come home until 6 p.m. so…" Frank sighed and cursed under his breath, pretending to ignore the kid stiffen slightly. "Morgan'll be alright until then, right?" the teen asked, looking up at Frank with his tired eyes. "I don't…I can't…"
"Look, kid, there's a library up the road that'll be open. And here-"
"No, no I can't-"
"Just take it. Get her something to eat, alright? And that's-"
"I can't take that, please-"
"For you. I'd come with you but I've got to get to work. What's your name, kid?"
"Peter, but-"
"Peter?" The teenager fell quiet, staring at Frank in complete silence with his mouth hanging open.
"Yeah?"
"She'll be alright," Frank told him. Peter was still clutching the money he'd been given as he called Morgan over and leaned over to fix her too-small jacket. It was then that Frank noticed the holes in the cuffs and had to stop himself from saying anything else. He smiled when Morgan chorused Peter's thanks and gave her a small wave as the teenager picked her up and manoeuvred her onto his shoulders. "If you need anything, I'll be here." Peter nodded once before Morgan started tugging at his over-grown hair and he started down the path.
Frank stood there, wondering why he'd said that, but the teenager needed help more than he wanted to stay away from this park. Glancing down at the park bench, he sighed heavily and set off in the opposite direction. But the kid had some money, and Morgan would get warm in that library so there was nothing to worry about. No matter how hard he reassured himself, Frank couldn't stop the spiralling thoughts. If it was a few years ago, maybe he would've followed Peter home and talked to the father face-to-face, maybe with his fist.
He wasn't going to do that, he told himself. For all he knew, the dad was overworked and stressed and it was a lapse in judgment.
But he knew it wasn't true.
Frank didn't go back to the park for a few weeks: Matt was keeping him busy now that he'd reluctantly offered up his services to the lawyer.
It was late autumn and he'd ran out of his favourite brand of cheap coffee. Grumbling quietly, he dug out a few dollars in a battered tin and shoved on his coat and his boots. It was finally a day without a blustering wind and slashing rain, so Frank couldn't complain too much as he marched along the sidewalk. But he let himself feel irritated when his usual corner shop was closed; it was another half an hour added to his walk if he still wanted to get the coffee and the thought of buying something ready-made from a café made his neck twitch. Frank read over the sign taped to the door and sighed.
The only other shop he liked, he'd not been to since the summer and, when he finally reached the block, hadn't changed much.
He shoved open the familiar door and gave a curling smile to the cashier as he walked past. The coffee was three rows back but as Frank manoeuvred through the cluttered shop floor, he recognised someone. Peter was hunched over a crate, restocking the shelves methodically. He faltered in his step once he realised that it was the kid from the park, but Frank kept moving towards his coffee. As he pulled a few boxes from the shelf, he looked through and sighed as he saw how pale the teen was.
"Hey, kid," Frank said from the end of the aisle. Peter jolted from his task and his mouth fell open. "How you been? It's been a while."
"I…um…I didn't know you came here," he spluttered out as he stood up quickly, glancing over to the cashier. Frank eyed him before shrugging.
"The other one was shut," he told him. "Needed my coffee." Peter forced out a laugh, scraping back his hair. "How's Morgan?"
"She…she was fine, yeah. Dad got her some meds, or something."
"That's good. And, sorry I haven't been the park or anything, I was-"
"No, it's fine, I've been working anyway." Frank glanced over Peter's form and nodded. The kid's clothes hung off him and his eye bags seemed to have deepened even further.
"How much, Pete? You look like shit," Frank tried to joke, but the laugh that Peter responded with sounded hollow. "They treat you alright here?"
"Yeah, yes. They're nice," Peter replied. "They were the only ones to hire me, so…"
"Hm. Look, I'll see you around, yeah? You here every day? I'll stop by," Frank said, stepping into the aisle. Peter glanced behind the man, looking at the cashier before he shook his head.
"Please don't," he whispered. "I…uh-"
"Kid? You alright?"
"Yeah, just…um…I know who you are," Peter mumbled so quietly that Frank barely heard what he said. And, when he realised, he pulled a grim look and nodded. "So…"
"I get it, kid."
"Sorry."
"It's not like I told you a false name, is it?" Frank replied. "It wasn't a secret." Peter shrugged, keeping his eyes down. "I'll stay out of your way, yeah?"
"Thanks."
"No problem, kid."
"It's not you," Peter blurted out just as Frank was turning away. The man paused, looking over. "My dad found out."
"Yeah?"
"Morgan recognised you from the TV that she's not meant to be watching. I don't know how she knew it was you," Peter said as he returned to restocking the shelves.
"She's a good kid."
"Yeah."
"What did your dad say?" Frank asked carefully. "He do something?" Peter froze, hand hovering over the half-filled crate, and looked up.
"No," he choked out. Frank didn't say much else before he made his way to the cashier; he paid for the coffee and stepped back out into the mild weather.
He didn't know what to do. Not like it was his responsibility, he told himself, but Frank couldn't help letting Peter's pale face settle within him. That kid was working himself to death and even he could see that, but somehow the kid's dad couldn't. That man couldn't see his four-year-old getting sick, and his teenager working himself twenty hours a day. Frank scrunched up his face as someone nearly barged into him. But he would keep his word and stay out of the kid's way even if it made his stomach churn.
So, he busied himself with more jobs that Matt wanted him to help with, and he even called by Karen's place. But Peter stayed in the back of his mind.
It was two months later when Frank saw the kid again.
Winter had ground half of the city to a halt, and Frank had forced himself to live off of canned food most of the time just so he didn't need to go out into the blizzard that had blown in from the ocean. Half of the Hudson was frozen in thick clumps of ice; snow was piling up against the buildings but the heaters worked well enough, and Frank had enough jumpers to keep him warm without it. It had been a long week of trash shows and random movies that he'd haphazardly stashed over the years, and terrible food he'd been mixing together just so he didn't have to go outside. But, once the tinned tuna had run out, he reminded himself of the horrific conditions he'd lived through, the stuff that he'd done, and questioned the point in his life that he'd gotten 'soft'. With a short laugh, he shoved on some thicker clothes and found a pair of gloves.
Frank realised that there was even snow inside the front entrance of the building he lived in that was slowly melting into the carpet tiles. He tried to scrape the mush back onto the top step, but the longer he kept the door open, the worse it got. Sighing, Frank yanked the door shut behind him and scrunched up his face as the wind blew snow into his eyes.
He had one thing to do that day: restock his cupboards and nothing else. Frank shoved his hands into his pockets and kept his head down as he strode through the snow. Most people had been doing what Frank had tried to do judging by the barren wasteland that New York had become; he only passed a few others braving the weather.
His shop was open, surprisingly, and Frank made the most of his money with tinned food, bread, meat; he even got a bag of apples that were discounted. With his bag now bulging with food, he thanked the woman who was hunched over on her stool, huddled up close to a heater, and stepped back outside.
He was marching against the blustering wind when he nearly tripped over a squealing, young girl as she slipped on a thick patch of ice that covered half of the pavement.
"Whoa," Frank muttered, catching her arm before she hit the ground. "You alright?" he asked, hauling her back onto her feet. She looked up at him and Frank cursed silently as he glanced over Morgan's wide eyes. "Your brother around?"
"He was-"
"Morgan!" Frank glanced down the short alley way and watched with a slight smile as Peter, bundled up in a thick coat that was falling apart at the seams and a large scarf, hurried towards them. "I told you not to wander!" Peter scolded, squatting down and pulling the girl towards him.
"Hey, hey, it's alright. She's fine," Frank told him, raising his hands in a mock surrender. Peter hesitated before nodding, and straightened to look the man in his eyes. Most of Peter's face was covered by the scarf and a beanie that was shoved down against his eyebrows. "I wouldn't hurt her."
"I know," the boy mumbled and grimaced as the wind picked up.
"Are you…can you go home?" Frank asked once they'd backed into a doorway, Morgan huddled behind them. Peter chewed at his frozen lip he was trying to warm up under his scarf and shook his head. The man clenched his jaw, glancing around as the snow continued to smack against the building and sighed. "Come back to mine. It's not far from here."
"No. No, we can't. That's-"
"Kid, your sister's going to freeze. You want that to happen?" The teen paused, his mouth slightly ajar. "You can make something up for your dad, but - hold on, Peter - Morgan shouldn't be out in this weather. And neither should you, OK?" Frank waited for the boy to agree with him, which he did hesitantly, before nodding. "Alright then. Here, take this, it's not that heavy." Peter took the bag of food from Frank and hoisted it over his shoulder. "And Morgan, you're going to get on my back, can you do that?" She nodded enthusiastically, looking between Peter and Frank with wide eyes, and clambered onto Frank's back once he'd knelt down low enough.
Holding onto Morgan, Frank blinked away a flurry of memories and began to lead the way back to his apartment.
Peter trailed behind the two of them, keeping a close eye on Morgan as she clung onto Frank. He couldn't disagree with Frank, he wasn't stupid, but there was a strange feeling that began to settle in his stomach the further they walked.
Frank unlocked his door, careful to not let Morgan slip down, and deposited her in the armchair he'd pulled up beside the heater in the living space. Silently, he dragged over a chair from the dining room and took the food from Peter. The teen stood in the doorway, watching as his sister settled down comfortably and dragged a woollen blanket over her knees.
"You alright?" Frank asked; Peter jumped and glanced over. "Cold?"
"No, I'm fine."
"You can take your coat of…and all that stuff," Frank added, gesturing to Peter's hat and scarf, before turning away to the kitchen to get something for them all to drink. Breathing in slowly, Peter eased off his beanie and unwrapped the scarf from around his neck and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. Frank was still standing by the kettle with his back turned, but if Peter could've just grabbed Morgan and ran away, he wouldn't have hesitated.
There was a cup of decaf tea, one of coffee, and one of warmed milk with some syrup in it (Frank would've made hot chocolate for Morgan and Peter if he'd remembered to get any, but it wasn't like he was even expecting the kids to be in his apartment, let alone see them again) on the counter. He'd dug around in the food bag for some biscuits and chucked a couple into a bowl before walking across the room to the couch. Peter was sitting awkwardly on the chair with his head turned sharply towards the murky window. Frank frowned.
"Here," he said, passing the small mug over to Morgan who accepted it with a large smile. "Don't spill that, yeah?" Nodding, she began to drink greedily. "Pete, here. I don't know if you drink tea, but I'm not giving a kid caffeine." Peter's jaw tightened a little before he looked over at the mug and took it hurriedly. Then Frank's eyebrows furrowed as he saw a large purple-blue, slightly swollen patch covering Peter's cheek. It stretched down to his jaw and almost reached his eye. "What the hell's that?" Frank asked, voice stern and he gritted his teeth, cursing silently, as Peter flinched away. Tea sloshed down the sides of the mug.
"Sorry."
"Don't apologise. Was that your dad?" Peter's gaze lowered. "How many times?"
"Daddy gets angry," Morgan whispered and Frank nodded gently. With his mug in hand, he sat down on the coffee table and looked between the kids in front of him. Peter's eyes were rapidly turning red and glistening with tears; Frank didn't know what to do. He gulped down his drink, burning his tongue on the scolding liquid.
Finally, he said, "You kids aren't going back, yeah?" Peter looked up quickly and stared straight at him. Somehow, the bruise looked worse from this angle: Frank could see a smear of blood. "You want that to happen to her?" Peter's lips quivered slightly, jaw clenched, and he shook his head. "I know someone who can help."
"Who?" Peter asked abruptly, his eyes were narrowed. Frank watched as the teen sank into himself before adding, "Dad's not someone who can go to jail or something. He's-" Peter hesitated and then fell quiet. Frank waited for a few moments before he leaned forwards, glancing between Morgan and Peter.
"He's a lawyer; took down some big guys over the years. Fisk? That was him. I'll give him a call, but this is for the police." Peter shifted in his seat, keeping his focus on Morgan. Then he nodded. "Sit tight."
Frank let himself out of the apartment and stood outside the front door as he found Matt's contact in his burner phone. He hesitated for a moment before pressing the green icon. Once the chiming filled his ear, images of Peter's battered face filled his mind and he rubbed at his forehead. He knew the kids' dad was, at least, absent but this was worse than he'd expected.
"Hello?" Frank breathed out at the sound of Matt's voice. "Frank?"
"Matt, hey."
"What's happened?" Another breath crackled through the microphone. "Frank."
"Nothing, Red. Nothing like that. I just…there are these kids-"
"What?"
"Look. Their dad's been…hitting them. Or maybe just the boy. I don't know. I just…I need you to call the police." There was silence on the other end; Frank imagined Matt was staring blankly as he thought. "I can't."
"Well, I know that much," Matt huffed out and sighed heavily. "Who are they?"
"Peter and Morgan. I don't know anything else. Red, I-"
"Bring them round." Then his phone beeped as the man hung up a moment later. Frank glanced over the screen before shoving the phone into his pocket. Shoving the door open, he glanced over the two kids who were still huddled up in his living room and nodded once.
He announced, "We're heading out. Got to get to Hell's Kitchen."
"What?" Peter blurted out, looking over at Morgan. "It's too far," he pointed out a moment later. But Frank wasn't listening. There were too many things on his mind to even consider what Peter was saying before he was checking Morgan's coat closely and zipping it even closer to her neck. Then, as the boy continued to protest, Frank rummaged in a half-forgotten drawer under his bed for a woollen hat of some kind; he didn't find much.
"Peter," he finally muttered, "She won't freeze; neither will you, and we're going once you finish your drinks." Frank's words were final: Peter fell quiet. "Drink."
Obliging, the teenager gulped down the rest of his tea.
A few minutes later, Frank was crouching down to let Morgan clamber back onto his shoulders and Peter draped a blanket over her, tucking in the edges. Then, the boy took the offered gloves and a second, oversized coat and the headed back out into the snow.
For some reason, Matt had been dragging himself to the office in the days leading up to the sudden shift in weather, and had proceeded to get himself snowed in. Frank knocked on the door, Morgan no longer wrapped around his neck, and glanced down at Peter who was a dark blob behind him. All hunched over and covered in the man's spare winter coat. Then the door swung open.
"Frank." Matt was standing with his head slightly tilted as he made sense of the two children in front of him.
"Hey, Red. Uh, this is Morgan and Peter." Morgan was happy to peer around Frank's leg and grinned behind the scarf but the boy hung back and eyed the lawyer closely. "I'll…leave them here, yeah?"
"We'll have to see who can get out in weather like this."
"They can't stay with me," Frank pointed out. The girl peered up at him, eyes wide and she whispered,
"Why?" Her voice was meek and her simple question was sluggish coming out. Frank eyed Matt before sighing.
"I'm not a lawyer," he breathed out and Peter huffed quietly. Glancing over his shoulder, the teenager held his gaze stubbornly. "Matt's gonna look after you."
"What about Dad?" Morgan asked. "Where is he?" Peter moved over to take her hand and squeezed tightly.
"He's…"
"Because he hurt you?"
"Yeah," Peter choked out. Both men gave each other a long look before Matt ushered them inside. "Are you…going?" Frank glanced over at the battered face and gritted his teeth.
"Yeah, Pete."
"Okay. I…thank you." The teen was standing awkwardly in the doorway, glancing between the two men. "I don't think…this will work," he admitted softly. Frank took a step closer and reached out, squeezing the boy's shoulder tightly before finally tugging him into his arms.
"It'll be okay," Frank whispered. "All okay. Matt's gonna sort you guys out. But if you need anything…I'll be there. Yeah?"
"Yeah." Peter's mumbled response was barely audible against Frank's coat.
But as soon as the moment started, it ended. Peter pulled away and strode over to take Morgan's hand again. Once Matt had the kids settled down at his desk in front of the heater, Frank cleared out.
He'd done his job. Or had he? Frank sighed heavily and stepped back out into the barren streets.
Frank woke to a knock. He'd been out of town on a mission of sorts that Matt had created for two months and had finally had at least a few hours of sleep. He'd woken so suddenly, that he didn't even believe there had been someone at the door until they hammered at the door again. Hauling himself from the mattress, Frank hobbled towards the entrance and peered through the peephole.
He yanked open the door a second later and grinned at the teenager in front of him.
"Peter," he breathed out. "How you been? You look good." Peter had a vague smirk on his face, his pale skin had browned slightly; he filled out the thin jumper he was dressed in.
"I'm good. I just came round to say 'thank you'. Again," Peter replied with a laugh. "Genuinely."
"It's all good, Pete. What…happened then?" The boy's shoulders sank a little before he sucked in a little air and nodded once.
"You didn't see?"
"Been out of town."
"Right. Well, Tony…got arrested. He tried to fight it; he's got these stupid wealthy lawyers, but Matt was crazy. And there was too much evidence anyway." Frank frowned at the comment but stayed silent. "Morgan and I…we're living with her mum."
"Not related?"
"Nope. But she's been great."
"How long has it been anyway? Five months?"
"Six," Peter corrected quietly with a slight smile. "I just wanted to call around and let you know. I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't been in that park." Frank grunted. "Whatever. I've got some stuff to get done."
"Yeah, go on Pete. I'll be here if you want to come round again. You seen Matt?"
"I…intern with him." Frank grinned and nodded.
"That's good. School?"
"Re-enrolled for the spring term." Peter blushed as Frank reached over to ruffle his hair, smiling. "A different school, but yeah."
"Friends?"
"A few."
"That's good, kid," Frank breathed out. "You know, I'm proud." Peter's cheeks reddened even further. "Go on then."
Peter nodded once and walked off with a slight hesitance and a glance over his shoulder.
Frank had done his job.