Chapter Text
The first time Duke meets Frankie, he is sixteen. Dirty and unkempt, hiding bruises and scratches and so much more under tattered clothes and an attitude to rival Duke’s own in his worst moment.
He is instantly taken by that wild kid walking along one of the most dangerous roads of Texas without proper clothing or supervision, thumb raised in the universal sign of hitchhiking.
He hasn't got much to offer the kid because he hasn't got much for himself to begin with. Just his Harley, a leather seat turned burning hot under the sun and a beat up travel bag.
There isn't only one type of people running away from their problems on that road.
Still, he stops by the kid's side, the engine rumbling like a satisfied cat, and he can't miss the look of fascination that crosses the boy’s face for a second. Right before suspicion and defiance come slamming right back to the forefront as he tests Duke, barking questions after questions before he finally caves in and slides behind him on the motorcycle.
He tells him to just call him Frank when Duke asks for his name and the man nearly can't stop his snort in time. That is someone who hasn't learnt how to protect himself thoroughly yet. The name is too familiar on the kid's tongue not to be his true name, and it makes him worry about what else he could offer strangers without meaning to.
(Duke is no stranger to lying to himself, he isn't friends with Robby for nothing, and yet he had known, right in that moment, that he would not be able to just leave this kid on the side. That he would do what he could to arm him against what the world was going to throw at him).
It would be a tight fit, if the kid was anywhere near a healthy weight. But he is so skinny that the biker could wrap his palm around both wrists and still have space to squeeze.
They ride all day, stopping only for the bare necessities and he recognizes the look on the kid's face when he hands him a mars and a coke. Fury, mingled with fear. When all you have left is your pride and even that can be taken away at the drop of a hat. When the kindness of strangers can just as well be turned into a weapon.
“Just take the damn bar, kid.” He bullies him a bit gruffly, not leaving it until he has seen the boy wolf the whole thing down. Once the first offering has been ingested without any hitch, the coke is snatched out of his hands without so much as a thank you, disappearing just as quickly into a parched throat as the sweet treat just has.
Duke leans against the wall of the station, studying the little wildling he has just saddled himself with.
“So, where are you going like that? Where do I drop you off?”
Frank only shrugs, doing his best to appear nonchalant. “Wherever it suits you, man. I’ll find my way for the rest of the trip.”
This time Duke does snort, earning himself a glare and barely hidden bared teeth. “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, kid. I'm not leaving you in the middle of nowhere if I don't know you've got something lined up at least. Now, I’m pushing to the next motel before stopping for the day. You're welcome to tag along, but I want to know where I can drop you safely before letting you loose on your own.”
The switch is nearly instantaneous, giving him whiplash. One moment the kid is all raised defenses and suspicion, the next he agrees to his term, way too quickly for him not to sniff some trap brewing. Still, Frank is not his responsibility, and he is doing what he can. He knows this kind of kid. He was this kind of kid. You can only do so much when they don't trust you.
So they take the road again, driving for hours under the unforgiving Texan sun. Around his belly, the thin, tanned arms tell a story of their own. Of a pale, white kid who has spent too much time at the mercy of the elements.
Dawn is already upon them when they reach the motel, and Duke pays for a double bed room without fanfare. Not calling any attention to it when they enter, but simply waving a hand at the boy, telling him to take whichever he prefers and use the showers.
He says nothing when Frank chooses the bed closest to the door. Or when he takes his bag with him into the restroom. Opting to get out of the place altogether for a smoke, trying to show he trusts him with the place.
Dinner is another complication. The kid refusing charity like he isn't broke as fuck and they bicker for nearly a fucking hour before he manages to have the last word. He knows, right then, that he has gone too far. Pushed too much for a first time.
Too many good things in a day will do that to a child who has lost his ability to trust. They eat in a sulky silence, then Duke gives him the keys to the room, making a mean joke about bedtimes and Frank shoots off, leaving him to spend the time away on his own as he waits for him to sleep and hopes he has not locked the door behind him.
Sue him. He is not getting any younger and he would very much like to sleep in a bed tonight!
The kid hasn't locked the door, and Duke does his best to move around without making noises but in the silence of the place, he feels like he can even hear the creaking of his joints. Despite the near stranger lying just a few feet away from him, he doesn't have any problems falling asleep.
By the time he wakes, Frank is gone.
Xxxx
He finds him again, barely a day later, still hitchhiking, still looking worse for wear. Because of course he does!
Of course that kid had to take the same road he was taking, even after ditching him!
The world wouldn't be half as funny if not for these kinds of stupid ass coincidences!
“So” he drawls, now that he has arrived at Frank's height. “Still getting the fuck out of Texas, kid?”
Frank, bless him, doesn't deny it. It looks like he might still be a tad too naive when it comes to giving his name to strangers, but at least he knows when he is beaten. And Duke has figured out this part of his itinerary.
“Think you can climb onto that bad girl once again?” He pats the seat behind him, very maturely ignoring the eyeroll he gets in return.
“Dunno. Think you can stop pretending your bike is a woman, Old Man?”
Duke chokes on his spit. Oh the disrespect! The utter cheek! To dare imply his wonderful Harley is just a pile of scraps assembled together! Like she doesn't have her own temper and her moods. He is tempted to change his mind, teach that insolent little punk that no one insults his pride and joy like that!
But it is only a passing thought. He might have done it, if he knew the boy better. If he was sure there was no way for him to take that kind of joke at face value. Unfortunately, it is not the case. Instead, he raises a judgemental eyebrow, gaze severe, until Frank shuffles down behind him, slim arms rounding his midsection once more.
Another motel, another disappearing act into the night. To his credit, Frank never steals anything from him. Whether because he is afraid of the consequences if they were to meet each other again or because he still has that much pride stopping him from taking from someone who helped him, Duke doesn’t know. But the fact is, Frank doesn’t rob him.
The biker truly believes this time to be the last. They are close to Texan borders and what are the odds for the two of them to cross paths once again? For them both to choose the same direction. The kid is clearly fleeing something, and Duke is going wherever his mood of the day takes him, doing his best to forget about life and responsibilities and loss on the open roads of the continent, burning his money in cheap places, cheap food and cheap alcohol.
But then he stops in yet another motel, late at night because he could still feel his own demon nipping at his heels despite the hours and could not handle the idea of standing still, less alone sleeping.
So he arrives late, and that is probably what saves the kid. Because he has only just gotten off his Harley when he hears the shouts. At first he throws a dispassionate look in their direction, evaluating quickly if the situation deserves attention or not. A big, burly man is holding a slim figure by their wrist, screaming in their face and dragging them toward the back of a truck, uncaring of his victim’s struggles or the insults thrown his way.
Duke recognizes Frank as they pass under the light of a lamppost, right as the trucker screams “You thought you could just get a free ride?! Think again! You lots are all the same!! Nothing’s free in this world so you’re gonna come with me and make sure I get something out of this too!!”
Duke sees red.
Before his brain has caught up to the rest of his body he is already on them, forcing himself between Frank and the man until he has no other choice but to let go of the teenager.
The altercation is short. The trucker is big, sure, but he is also mostly wind. The moment his stature is not enough for him to have the upper hand he falters. And Duke can be a mean asshole. Has been a mean asshole, when the situation called for it. He’ll fight, if he has to, and he will fight dirty! It must be visible in his face because the man quickly turns tails, abandoning Frank to him with a sneer and a disgusting implication that maybe he would get some enjoyment out of him.
Duke spits on the ground at the idea.
Not that this reassures Frank in the slightest. The kid is still watching him like he might jump his bones the moment he lets his guard down. And fuck! Duke can’t blame him for that! Not after what nearly happened!
“You’re gonna stake your claim Old Man? Think I’ll roll over and let you have a go because you saved me? That if you’re nicer I’ll be good?”
“Jesus Christ! Kid! What the fuck?!” For a moment he feels so offended he nearly misses how much the teenager is shaking. Nearly mistakes bravado for judgement, fear for aggression. Then he marches onto Frank’s space, hitching to grab him and only stopping himself at the last moment.
“You listen to me you little shit, because I sure as fuck never gave you a reason to think that’s what I’d like! And I get it, okay! You don’t know me, and others have clearly tried, at the fucking least! But I’ll be fucking damned if I let you tell me that’s what I am after. Now, you’ve got two choices for tonight. You can find yourself a place to sleep and hope that asshole is not going to be lurking around the corner, or you can come with me, sleep in a bed, separated from mine, and stay there until morning. And when I’ll wake up tomorrow, you’ll be right here and we can talk about what you’re trying to do here. So? What will it be?”
The kid stares at him for the longest of times, looking for all the world like he cannot comprehend what has just happened. Like Duke’s kindness, even wrapped in the trappings of orders and temper, is still too much to be true.
Like the prospect of having to reveal himself is more terrifying than what nearly happened to him tonight.
Duke doesn’t know what does it. If it is the fact that, even in his anger, he was careful enough not to grab him, if it is their two previous encounters, or if Frank is just that good at reading people but, at long last, the kid nods. Slowly. Hesitantly. As if showing any kind of eagerness might make him lose the chance he has just been offered, he nods.
So he books them a two beds room, for the third time.
And like the charm, when he wake up the next morning, Frank is still there.
Xxxx
The kid is going to squeeze him dry of any money!
Robby, that utter fuckwit, laughs at him when he recounts his last misadventure to him and he kinda wish he could pass one arm through the phone and strangle him.
He had never realized how fucking much an entire human being could cost! And he is only doing the bare minimum, mind you.
But he could hardly let the kid walk around with beat up shoes opening at the seams and only a Tshirt and a jean to his name. They might not have much space on the bike, but they can still stuff some clothes on a new backpack (because Frank's old bag was not going to last much longer either) and basic toiletries. A few snacks. A trustable water bottle. A jacket he can cinch around his wait when it is too hot and a cap. (Dear God, how has that kid not burnt away under the sun yet?!)
And food.
So much food!
He'd known the kid wasn't eating enough the moment he had first let him climb onto the bike with him. It would have been hard to miss. And yet, he had not expected the bottomless pitt of hunger that was a teenage boy. Nor how much would be needed to start fattening him up a little bit. Add to that the ever-present skittishness and suspicion with which Frank treats every offered meal and Duke finds himself exhausted beyond beliefs at having to walk the fine line between feeding him enough and not pushing too much onto him too quickly.
He can't say he always succeeds. But at least, the kid hasn't run off again. Yet …
It is one of the reasons he is calling Robby actually. The man had demanded a follow up after that first time, when he had woken him up in the middle of the night to ask how he was supposed to re-introduce food into a starving boy. And what he was supposed to look out for in term of health risk? What should he do with wounds and bruises? If the kid actually needed immediate medical attention? And how was he supposed to coach him into accepting it? Accepting help? And-
Yeah ok, he'd freaked out.
The moment taking Frank under his wing had become more than a hypothetical thing, he had freaked out.
Sue him. What does he know about kids anyway?
Yeah… Well, turns out Robby knows jack shit about kids either.
So he'd listened to more than 40 minutes of medical nonsense, trying to remember what seemed to be important and promising his useless friend he would keep him updated and called Briscoe. Because Briscoe might be a drunkass idiot, but Briscoe had raised seven siblings and way too many nephews and nieces and if there was one person who should be able to tell him what to do it was him.
And he sure as fuck had never raised a hand to any of them.
When Briscoe’s main advice had been to let the kid come to him, that things would happen in their own time, on the teen's term, Duke had nearly thrown his phone against the wall in frustration. Right up until Briscoe's oldest sister had taken the phone from him to grill Duke with unending and pointed questions until the man had felt like he had just gone two rounds with a CIA interrogation specialist. He'd gotten out of that conversation wrung dry but also having passed his Kids survival 101 surprise exam with acceptable colors.
So he buys stuff for Frank, and checks his head for lices because God knows where the kid has skulked around and he is not getting lices at his ripe old age of 40. He gives the kid the haircut he desperately needs, fighting with the feral little shit all the way along to a point that has him believing he has actually adopted a undomesticated cat, rather than a human child.
It doesn't take him long to realize Frank is bright.
Incredibly bright.
The kind of brilliance you only meet once or twice in your life. He soaks up knowledge and practical information in a way he has rarely seen and the teen is tinkering on his bad girl alongside him before he can say "mechanics". His mind draws connections between subjects in a way Duke hasn't often witnessed, comparing fluid mechanics and motorcycle builds to human “plumbing” and trees network and, to be honest, Duke's interest taps out of that specific rambling midway. Still, he recognizes the smarts hidden behind deceptive blue eyes.
This is the first time he thinks the kid could go far. Should go far. And it is with a heavy heart that he mourns what he can't give him. Because there is no way he would ever be able to afford any type of tuition fees.
He never voices it to Frank. Instead he changes his original trip course to bring him to the sea, taking comfort in the childlike wonder that sparkles out of his eyes, letting him run to the cold water then back and forth towards him as he hesitates, pulled between his fascination and the fear that Duke will leave him there. The biker enjoys a drink and some of the beignets he bought on their way here to share with Frank when he strays back close to him, gesturing for him to go enjoy himself and explore, that he will look over their stuff while he searches for shells and little crabs scuttling into the wet sand.
Once Frank’s fascination has been sated for the day, and his stomach in full once again, they set up for Cameron, where a friend of Duke is lending him his garage and an old camp bed.
Duke’s plan is to give Frank a week here. For him to roam the coast and have his fill of the sea, maybe even get the opportunity to toss him into the water once or twice, before they have to head up to Tennessee, where a job is waiting for him. It will stretch his finances a bit, but it should work out.
They never get around to doing all that. Jill greets him, and his surprise child, with a disturbed look. He doesn’t give much attention to it, too tired from their day and too busy introducing Frank to the little family to register his friend’s odd reaction.
Then Jill comes back from work in a panic the day after, storming into the garage where Duke and Frank had been resting after a day walking around, brandishing a piece of paper. On it, an old, blurry photo of an even younger Frank and a Missing Person Notice.
Frank pales.
“People saw the two of you today! They've been talking. Someone might already have called the cops. I don’t know what you’re running from, kid. And I don’t need to. But if you don’t want to get caught, you need to get away from here. And from him.” He adds at the last minute and Duke has the strongest of urges to kick him in the face!
Frank stares at him, vulnerable and terrified, looking terribly young in that moment. And Duke is ready to tell him to ignore Jill, that he’ll run with him, that he will always be here. Anything, to wipe the heartwrenching grief making its way onto the kid’s face! But Jill beats him to the punch.
“I can get you to Bâton-Rouge, I know people there who can cover for you for a little while. But you need to hide your traces and lay low for a while. And you can’t do that with Duke, not if you’ve been traveling with him for a while now. People are bound to have seen the two of you together along the way.”
Frank never stops looking at Duke, not even when he makes his choice, nodding at Jill. “Frankie-” he starts, but the kid cuts him off, trying to look brave despite the misery rolling off of him in waves as he says goodbye to him, rushed and short.
They waste no time after that. Jill runs into the house to prepare a bag, intending to make sure Frank is settled in Bâton-Rouge before coming back, while Duke and the kid stuff what little he possesses in his backpack. Duke hands him as much money as he can get a hold off, ignoring Frank’s protests, as well as a piece of paper with his number and email address. As they finish their feverish preparation, he brings both hands onto Frank’s shoulder, looking him straight in the eyes, doing all he can to make sure he that kid he has come to love more than anything understands how serious he is.
“You ever need me to come and get you, kid, you call that number. You hear me? You call me. Whenever, wherever. You call. Promise me?”
And Frank promises, voice trembling, tears at the corner of his eyes. Duke brings him into his chest for a hug then, kissing his forehead with a little bit too much strength.
Then Jill takes him away. Leaving Duke to his own grief.
The last memory Duke has of sixteen year old Frank, his that of a broken child, running away from him to protect him.