#frankhenry

April 8, 2017

FRANK MYRON HENRY, 1934–2013

by Karl Addison

And now a break from your regularly scheduled prompt fiction! This is a gift for billyrusso, who had a fairly shitty day yesterday.

Henry smoothes disinfectant onto Frank's lower lip and says, "You know, for a fairly smart guy you can be a huge dumbass. Have you considered trying things that don't get you kicked in the face?"

"I'm an old dog, Henry. Can't change now." Frank flinches at the touch of more disinfectant, this time on his scraped cheek.

"You're not that old." A bandage across his nose, another on his temple.

"Says the kid who can't drink yet."

Splints on two fingers. "At this rate you'll get yourself killed before summer." Gauze around the ribs.

Frank shrugs massively, then winces when Henry swats him to keep him from moving around. "Death's not so bad. Could be worse."

"Don't be a fatalist asshole, I'm not patching you up just so you can go all Ayn Rand on me and ignore the fact that you dying would affect other people."

"Nobody would miss me, Henry. I'm just a necessity. Nobody loves necessity."

Henry snorts. "People would miss you, don't be dumb."

"Who? Not the supers, they hate me. Not the crooks. And I scare straights."

"Me, dumbass." More gauze, this time around an ankle. "I'd miss you." Frank starts to stand up, and Henry scowls and snaps, "Sit, dammit."

Frank sits with a thump. "Kid, I'm a hazard. I put you in danger. You'd be better off without me."

"I'd be dead without you, don't give me that." Henry finishes securing the gauze, surveys his handiwork, nods in satisfaction, and then crawls onto Frank's lap. He tucks his head under the older man's chin, curling up against him. "Don't be an asshole," he yawns.

Frank blinks and wraps an arm around him. "I'm an old dog," he repeats. "I don't learn new tricks too well."