frank castle / the punisher (mcu) (outofmyskull) wrote in thedisplaced, @ 2018-06-25 21:06:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log/thread, frank castle /the punisher (mcu), michael |
WHO: Michael & Frank Castle
WHAT: Michael puts Frank into an illusion scenario to see if he'll murder people. (Spoiler: he doesn't.)
WHEN: Backdated to Friday afternoon, 6/22
WHERE: Frank's work, aka a construction site.
WARNINGS: Mentions of gangsters, meth, implied off-screen violence (all actually an illusion), mentions of Frank's past
It was a perfectly nice afternoon, until it wasn’t.
Frank was at work. He had a contract with a construction company, breaking down old buildings and rebuilding them. It was good work, satisfying for any kind of a mood that he was in. When he was in a good mood, he was glad to be doing something useful. When he was tired from a night full of nightmares and his anger was simmering up, swinging a hammer at a wall was a good outlet for it. He didn’t talk too much to his coworkers, any more than he’d done when he’d been working under an alias at home, though he wasn’t actively avoiding them at this point either. He nodded to them when he arrived, answered their hellos and attempts at small talk, then found his assigned spot to work and shut everything else out.
And it was going just fine. He swung the sledgehammer, which made a satisfying noise when it hit the wall. And then he blinked, and he was somewhere else. Still wearing his hard hat, sledgehammer still in his hands, still held in the ending position from the swing. But without the wall there, only his tight grip on the handle kept him from dropping the hammer on his own toes.
“What the--” he grumbled under his breath, looking around.
--
Michael didn’t normally make shows of his power. For one, they were drastically limited in Tumbleweed and it was better to let the humans wonder what he was capable or willing to do. What he could do was find a very dangerous and disreputable biker bar along the crystal highway and bring Frank to it.
“Now, what were we talking about last time we spoke?” Michael said absently, wearing a gray suit and pleasant blue bowtie. He tapped his fingers -- such silly appendages -- along his chin as though he were struggling to remember.
“Right. I think I was telling you I was a fan of your work. Anyway, I’m sure you can find someone to give you a lift back home from Montana if that’s what you choose. Seeing as you no longer punish people for their crimes. I just wouldn’t recommend going inside there, then. It could be very upsetting to you.”
The loud ruckus from inside was cut off by a woman’s scream, before it was answered with laughter. “...Motorcycle gang. Meth dealers, mostly. Anyway, I’m sure it’s best to just leave them be. The cops won’t come anywhere near this place.”
Michael shrugged.
--
“You,” Frank growled, when he saw Michael. He barely paid any attention to whatever nonsense the other man -- or demon, whatever he was -- was spouting. After the second sentence, it became very obvious that none of it was worth hearing.
He’d had his suspicions after Michael had talked to him on the network, but set them aside, hoping that it was all talk. Looked like it wasn’t. Which meant that one way or another, this situation had to be dealt with.
The scream got his attention, though, and his eyes did flick briefly towards the bar before looking back at Michael. “Why don’t you go in there and do something about it?”
--
“I mean, if you’re not going to do anything, why would you expect me to?” Michael said.
--
Frank stepped into Michael’s space, threateningly, pointing an accusing finger at his chest. “You went looking for this goddamn place, or you already knew about it, and you got power enough to get me here, you got plenty of power to protect those people in there. But you ain’t doing shit. You want me to do your dirty work.”
--
Michael stood at a comfortable posture. “No, Frank. It isn’t my dirty work. It was never my dirty work. You’re still not understanding. It is entirely, completely, one hundred percent up to you what you do next. You just haven’t had to make any tough calls about who you are or who you want to be. I’m just clarifying that for you.”
--
“This is all about you,” Frank growled back, without hesitation. “You’re a goddamn puppeteer who likes using their power to mess with people’s heads. I’ve met plenty like you.” He gestured with one hand in the direction of the bar. “If there’s someone in danger in there, you got the power to get them out of it. Just like you got me out here. Use all that power for some goddamn good. That’s what I would do.”
He paused just for a beat, for effect, for a moment to think. “You wanted to know who I am? That’s who I am. Only I don’t get to just snap my fingers and send people to safety, I have to do it the hard way.”
--
“Technically a puppeteer would make you do something. I’m not making you do anything. I think you all take free will for granted. So just to be clear, you’re not going to do anything except argue with me? Is that right?”
Michael frowned.
“That would be highly disturbing,” the demon said. Though not for the fact that Frank was willing to do nothing when someone was clearly in danger. What disturbed Michael is Frank didn’t take the bait to brutally murder a bunch of horrible people with a thinly veiled excuse.
--
“That’s right,” Frank snapped. He knew it was the right choice; he shouldn’t do what this asshole wanted him to do, he shouldn’t do what the Punisher should do.
That didn’t mean he wasn’t conflicted. It wasn’t because there were bad people in the bar. It was because he had heard that scream. It had been guttural and full of fear and pain. Someone was in there and they were probably hurting, and no one else was going to help them. Clearly not Michael.
He shifted his weight, resisting the urge to look back over at the bar.
--
Michael stood and stared at Frank, wondering if he just wanted a few seconds longer, if the man would crack. Sure, he could create the sound of a woman screaming again, but then it might start to look desperate or suspicious.
Instead he sighed. “Fine.”
With a wave of his hand, the illusion disappeared. “Maybe you’ve changed,” he conceded.
--
Frank stared right back. He was about two seconds from bursting in the door to help whoever was screaming, but he wanted Michael to break first, to snap his fingers and get them out of there. And for a moment, he thought it had worked.
But instead, they were back at the construction site, and Frank was standing exactly where he’d been before. He looked around, eyes narrowed. “Was any of that shit real? The bar? The scream?”
--
“No, it was part of a bet. A bet you made me lose, by the way.” Michael looked down at his nails. “I’m really disappointed in you. Not the part where you weren’t willing to save a desperate woman, that makes sense. The whole lack of murdering people just… You people aren’t supposed to grow. Your brains are too small for that.”
Michael sighed.
“Well, no, your brains are much bigger than most animals on planet Earth. Octopuses are much smarter than you humans though. Maybe it’s only the dead that never change.” The demon shrugged. “Have fun at work.”
--
Frank was too angry to respond to any of that. He still had the hammer in his hand; it was unbelievably tempting to swing it at Michael. But he had a feeling that the demon -- that was definitely closer to what he was than thinking of him as a man -- was trying to tempt him into doing just that. A last resort to win his fucking bet.
And if there was one thing Frank absolutely didn’t want in that moment, it was to play into Michael’s hands, in any way, shape or form. Nor did he think that the hammer would actually land. If all of that had been just an illusion, it was entirely possible that Michael was, too.
He held himself still, his eyes fixed on the demon until he was gone.