Chapter Text
The day starts the same as always.
He gets up first. His joints are stiff and his back hurts as he makes his way through the trailer, rubbing sleep off his eyes. The bead curtain clatters softly when he separates it with his hands, the wood creaks under his weight when he leans against the doorframe.
He counts her breaths. Watches the morning sunlight dance in her hair, eyes tracing the patterns her curls make on the pillow. She's curled up in a tight ball, clutching the corner of her comforter to her chest like a teddy bear, lips slightly parted. Even has her toes sticking out on the other side. She doesn't look more than twelve this way, or maybe it's his mind playing cruel tricks on him again, he doesn't know.
He makes her coffee. Treats her to a full plate of pancakes because why the hell not. He's almost done making them when she walks out of her tiny bedroom yawning, hands raking through the bird's nest on her head as she drops into her chair. She makes a comment about the pancakes, he jokes back. Ruffles her hair as he puts the plate in front of her and tells her to eat her food. Their banter flows as usual.
But Amy is quiet. Her light is dim, barely flickering in her downcast gaze when she thinks he isn't looking. Smile dropping, laugh fading, like it takes effort to keep it going.
She thinks she's playing a good game, messing around and giving him shit like it's just another day, but Frank knows better. He can see right through the act.
Her bag is already packed. She did it last night, in complete silence, while he sat outside and pretended he didn't hear her hitching breath and stifled sobs through the open window. He figured it's the least he can give her, the space to grieve, to make peace with what's about to happen. He was doing it too — alone in the junkyard, staring at the night sky as if none of it was tearing him apart.
But it's the right thing to do.
She'll be safe this way.
In the long run, everything will work out.
They don't linger much after breakfast. Amy's bus is leaving in two hours; if they want to get through the morning traffic and be there on time, they need to leave now.
She's standing by the car while he's locking up. Her backpack is hanging off her shoulder, both hands wrapped tight around the strap. She doesn't have much. Always on the run, she has learned to travel light. He can feel her eyes on his back, the weight of her silence on his shoulders. The key jingles in his hand as he pulls it out of the lock, the metal digging into his palm when he closes his fist around it.
Maybe he'll drop it off at Curtis' on the way. He's not planning on coming back here today anyway. If at all.
He doesn't look at her when he heads to the car, not directly, but in the corner of his eye he catches her face — solemn and sad, mourning the life they've had here, putting it to rest with one last look. But there's also a hint of fondness; despite all her whining about how shitty this place is, she loved it.
For a short while, it was home.
“Kid,” he calls when he starts getting into the driver's seat and she doesn't move. It's like he bursts a bubble; she puts the mask back on and faces him with a fake smile that makes him want to punch something. She gets into her seat, puts the seatbelt on and turns up the radio like she’s done it countless times before. Like she's not gonna be a thousand miles away from here by the end of the day.
The station is busy and crowded, but they manage to find a quiet, empty space to sit by Amy's designated gate. No one pays attention to them, people passing by not sparing them even a single, split-second glance, but Frank has eyes on all of them, cataloging every face, noticing every single detail. It's a habit, an instinctive thing drilled into him all the way back in the marines and cemented by trauma, to always know your surroundings and your exits, all your ins and outs, your allies and your threats. And even though Amy is now safe and he's made sure there is no threat — just some guy announcing over PA that all airport shuttles are available on the main level of the terminal, and a sea of people with more important things on their minds than a teenager with nothing but a half-empty backpack and a brute guy hiding his face under a hood — his knee is still bouncing anxiously as his eyes jump from place to place, hands sweaty as he rubs them together like he's waiting to strike.
Never too careful when the cargo you're protecting is worth more than the whole world.
Amy doesn't speak. She takes her seat next to him, folds one leg under the other, and stares into the gate with empty eyes. Frank doesn't break the silence because he doesn't know what to say either. Been thinking about it ever since the hospital, but always came up empty. He doesn't know how to put into words the magnitude of everything he's feeling, how to articulate how much these few short weeks with her have meant to him. How much he's gonna miss it, her. Because he will. He already does. She's still sitting next to him and he's already missing her like crazy, and he hates how much it affects him, but it does.
He doesn't know how much time has passed when he feels a light tap on his arm.
“Last chance,” Amy says when he turns. “We're good together.”
There's that teasing smirk on her face, Ms. Smartass in all her glory, but her voice wavers a little, a hint of uncertainty hidden behind the humor. And in an instant Frank knows that all this silence and dissociation was to gather up the courage to put on the mask one more time and say these words.
He puts on a mask of his own and scoffs. “You're a kid,” he tells her. “Go act like one. I can't have you on my conscience.”
He can't look at the barely hidden disappointment that floods her gaze so he turns away, using the excuse of checking the exits again and trying to act like what he said isn't complete bullshit. Like she's not already an imprint on his mind, permanently impacting every decision he makes from now on. He gives her time to process it, to swallow it down and get over it, and just like he expects, when she speaks again, all that comes out is snark and her famous sarcastic bite.
“I'm sorry, are… are you saying that you care?”
He chuckles and decides to play her game. “Yeah… I think you're a boil on my ass. A big one. One that just won't go away.”
“Yeah, I once put a stitch or two in your butt.”
“Yes, you did,” he nods.
The memory, as insane as it is, brings a genuine smile to both of their faces. What happened only a few weeks ago feels a whole lifetime away, and the people they were then are long gone. He's changed and she's changed, too. They soaked in so much of each other that now Frank isn't even sure where he ends and she begins. And he can't help but worry at times about the parts of him she took — the dark parts, the scary parts, the shitty parts he can't get rid of. But when he looks at her now, he knows she's only taking the good ones. The ones he can't always afford showing. The ones she brought out in him when she barreled into his life. She's going away stronger, wiser, better equipped to survive. And she's leaving him lighter, softer, with the kind of warmth in his chest he wasn't sure he was capable of feeling anymore. She's leaving him with sunshine, fresh air in his lungs and a newfound will to live.
Funny how digging a bullet out of a stranger's ass in a shitty motel bathroom can bond people.
“Well, I… I care about you, too,” after a minute, Amy says softly. “I mean, I owe you… pretty much everything.”
He doesn't look at her as she says it, can't because he knows if he does, he's going to break. He's gonna do the selfish thing and ask her to stay because he owes her everything too. Her eyes are on him, burning holes through his hood, and Frank can't make himself meet them because if he does, he's gonna jeopardize the only chance for real happiness she has. And he can't do that to her. Because fathers should give their kids more than they take.
But before he has the chance to explain that to her, Amy speaks again. “You know, all this time, though, I did wonder why… why did you come after me in the bar that night?”
He can't contain the smile that slowly emerges on his face.
“Rough Road.”
Amy frowns, clearly confused, so he explains further. “Uh, it's… it's what you called me, remember? Rough Road. I don't know, I… I thought it was funny.”
It made an impression, made her stand out in the sea of empty faces like a single beam of light in the darkness. Something she must have done countless times before and forgotten it right away was the very thing that to this day gets him smiling like a fool at random, laughing to himself, and bringing some light in when shit gets too dark inside his head.
But there was more to it than a simple nickname.
“Yeah, it was like the tougher you acted, the more scared you looked,” he adds after a bit, leaning in to catch her gaze. Amy looks back at him silent, and for a moment her mask comes off and he can see the fear and uncertainty underneath. What she did back then, she's doing it right now too, playing it tough so he doesn't see how scared she is to be on her own again. But he sees it. It's scary for him, too. But unlike that night at the bar in Michigan, it isn't an act anymore. It's coming from within, from the real strength and fire that's going to help her out there. His girl is tough through and through; he knows she's gonna make it.
There are things she's still gonna have to overcome, though. Unknowingly, her hand comes to press against her stomach, to the wound that's no longer there, just suture marks and closed-up skin, still red and tender but already fading into a scar.
Frank reaches for her hand and pulls it away, bringing it to rest on his knee instead.
“You know, all this shit that's gone down, you gotta get past it,” he tells her, squeezing tight. “You move on, live your life right. No more of this con artist blackmail bullshit. You gotta give me your word on that.”
Amy keeps her head down even when he leans in even further into her line of sight, but eventually she gives him a nearly unnoticeable nod and he feels her grip tighten around his hand.
“Attagirl,” he breathes out, barely a whisper. One corner of her mouth twitches in response.
Once he's once again sure there's no one watching them and the exits are safe, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a thick roll of cash. “I want you to take that,” he says, pushing it into Amy's hand. “Go on, take it. Put it away. That should take care of you for a bit.”
Amy quickly tucks the money into her jacket pocket, looking around to make sure no one noticed. Smart girl.
Frank dives into his pocket again, and this time pulls out a crumpled piece of paper. “When you get down to Florida… I want you to call this number. Yeah? Buddy of Curtis and mine. He runs a dive school. He's a good guy. He'll take care of you.”
Like I can't, he wants to say but doesn't. Josh has agreed to everything, said he already has a place for her waiting, that she's welcome anytime. After retiring from the military, he committed to serving his community, taking care of kids with tough lives like his once was. She'll be provided with everything she needs and she won't ever have to worry about surviving again. Her fresh start is hers for the taking, the ocean open and waiting.
Amy reads the name and the number written in Frank's scratchy handwriting, then folds the paper back. Like a reflection of light into the water, a small smile starts dancing across her face. “He told you.”
“Yeah. Hidden treasure, huh?” Frank laughs. “Christ.”
He wants to keep teasing her, wants to ask more questions and hear her yap about it. He yearns to hold onto that smile, to keep it on her face just a little bit longer, just so he can commit it to memory, but his chance is stolen away when a bus arrives at Gate 5.
And just like that, their time runs out.
“That's your bus,” Frank says around a lump stuck in his throat. Amy's face falls, tears spring into her eyes as the mask slips away, revealing the deep, haunting ache of a lonely girl without a home. And Frank has to look away, has to grind his teeth and hold his breath because it's happening, the fractures are beginning to spread, his heart is starting to fall apart. And he's out of words, out of breath, out of time and he doesn't know what to do, doesn't know how.
But it's happening. In a minute or so, she'll be gone, and his life will never go back to the way it was.
He's never been good with words. Never been the one for profound speeches and heartfelt declarations. That was more of Maria’s thing.
But he needs her to know. He needs her to understand how much she means to him.
“You know, kid… sometimes… you find things and, uh… they change your life.”
All he sees is her nodding, and in an instant, she’s wrapping him in her arms, and he surrenders to her embrace, collapsing like a puppet cut from strings, unable to hold himself up anymore. A choked cry slips from her mouth, a painful, haunting sound that she stifles against his shoulder, and Frank knows letting go will leave them both bleeding and broken, no longer whole. He holds onto her just as tight as she holds onto him, pillows his head on her shoulder, and as she sniffles into his neck, no longer forcing herself to hide her own shattered heart, he gently kisses her arm — once, twice, three times — hoping to convey all that his voice has failed to do so.
I'm so proud of you.
I love you like my own.
You're gonna be okay.
He hopes everything turns out alright. That the weather is good and the drive doesn't drag, that she’ll get there safe. He hopes that she'll like the school, find new friends, make her life what she wants it to be and doesn't get into any trouble. He hopes she won't forget him, that she'll remember the old grumpy asshole who couldn't stay out of trouble sometimes, and it will make her smile, knowing he's out there, guns blazing, making the world a little more safe for her. He sends out a prayer to Maria too, asking her to keep the kid company, just in case. And when Amy pulls away, he lets his arms fall, drags himself upright and wipes his face before the kid can see.
And then she's standing up — fast, harsh, like she's ripping off a bandaid. She throws her backpack onto her shoulder and starts marching towards the bus without sparing him another glance, face down like it'll keep him from seeing those tears streaming down her cheeks. And he's not prepared for how much it hurts, how it steals his breath away, how it sends his body into panic. He was so sure that nothing could ever hurt him as much as losing his family did but every step that takes Amy closer to the bus and farther away from him makes it pretty fucking clear it was nothing but a lie.
Their time together flashes before his eyes like some fucked-up montage. Rough Road. The motel, when she helped him unlace his boots. Three card monte at Madani’s apartment, Lombardi's and her hair in a messy bun. The trailer, teaching her how to take the gun off someone, her big, beautiful smile when she did it right. The fear in her eyes when she shot a man, the trust, take five seconds, yeah? Flustercluck, her body in a ball under the covers while he watched her sleep that night. The hospital, her hair in a braid, his heart nearly breaking out of his chest when she was attacked. Coming home to find her gone, the call that nearly brought him to his knees in relief, be careful. Her terrified face when John pulled her into the elevator, her tears when she ran back to him hours later. The way it felt, holding her for the first time, how it felt watching her run away just to end up bleeding out in his arms.
Frank, don't do this.
Don't do this.
She's walking away thinking he's doing this to save her but she doesn't even realize that she saved him just as much. She brought him back to life, gave him proof that he still has a soul. She showed him how to live instead of just exist, made him realize there is light at the end of this tunnel — he just has to fight to get to it.
She is that light. She's the way through the tunnel, the key to the after he convinced himself he could never have. She's his second chance, his first step towards something better.
It's scary. It's selfish. It could ruin everything.
Sometimes, kid, you gotta fight.
He springs to his feet.
“Kid, wait.”
She stops with one foot already on the first step of the bus. Her face is wet, mascara smudged slightly under her eyes. When she sees him standing, hands in his pockets to hide their shaking, she holds her breath and steps back, hikes her backpack up her shoulder and looks at him — longingly, expectantly, a little fearfully, like she doesn't know what to prepare for.
His throat goes dry. He opens his mouth and feels his breath shudder in his lungs.
“Do you want to go?”
Amy inhales sharply and grips the strap of her backpack tighter. The bus station zeroes in to just them and the five agonizing seconds of silence broken only by their heartbeats.
He expects her to get angry. Or laugh at him. Or say nothing at all. But when she speaks, her voice sounds small. Tender and raw. And completely, utterly honest.
“No.”
The mask is gone. Her heartbreak is on full display for him to see. She never wanted to go. All this time, she wanted to stay. With him.
The bus is almost full. Amy looks back at it for a moment, bites her lower lip to keep it from trembling. Most people have already taken their seats and the driver jerks his head when he sees her looking, telling her to hurry.
She drops her gaze to her feet before returning it to Frank.
“Do you… want me to go?” She asks.
He should say yes. She'd be safe this way. After all, every decision he's made ever since that night at Lola’s Roadhouse has been about protecting her. He told her that once it's over, she's gonna go and do whatever it is she wants to do.
But she doesn't want to go.
And he's a selfish man.
“No.”
Her chin wobbles. For a second, she fights the wave of tears that threatens to come, and when the smile finally blooms on her lips, it’s slow, warm like the first glimpses of sunlight in the morning. It comes out and lightens up her entire face, washing away the sadness and replacing it with nothing but overwhelming, encompassing relief. And before Frank can utter a word, she’s running, her backpack dropped onto the floor and forgotten, and she's launching herself into his arms with the force of a speeding bullet. She barrels into his chest with a sobbing laugh, wrapping her arms tightly around his middle as she burrows deeper into him, and Frank laughs through his own tears — tears he hides from everyone by burying his face in her hair, crushing her to him and lifting her off the ground as he staggers back.
Her laugh rings loud in his ears, it echoes inside his heart, and it's the only thing he needs to know he's doing the right thing. After all, this is what he's been fighting for all along, isn't it? To make sure the kid is happy. And that laugh? It damn sure sounds happier than he's ever heard it.
Maybe this is the after Karen keeps talking about, he thinks as he sets her down.
Maybe it starts like this. With someone to care for. With a purpose.
Maybe he could have it after all.
He sure as hell is gonna try.
“So now what?” Amy asks once she pulls away, wiping her face with the sleeve of her jacket. New tears roll down almost immediately but it doesn't matter because she's smiling up at him as if he just gave her all the stars in the sky.
And who knows, maybe he did.
Maybe she opened up the sky for him too.
He cups her face in his palm. Swipes his thumb under her eye to dry the rest of her tears.
“Now we go home.”
- THREE MONTHS LATER -
Two cars pull up to the warehouse when his phone vibrates. Blocked number. Frank declines the call and throws the phone back onto the empty passenger seat, then goes back to watching his target. Three guys just entered the building, all armed but nothing too heavy.
His phone vibrates again. Twice. A text.
Answer the phone, Frank. It's Madani.
He sighs. Has no idea what this could be about but whatever it is, he's not interested. Madani isn't even in the country right now for all he knows.
Another buzz. Jesus Christ, this woman. Guess she finally remembered she hasn't collected yet on the now multiple favors he owes her.
He picks up the phone. “How'd you find me, Madani?”
“I’m with the CIA now, Frank. I can find anything.”
There's a faint sound of a chopper in the background. He can almost picture the place she's in — tactical tent, heavy tech, a whole team ready for her orders.
“What do you want?”
“I’ve got a very bad man with a target on his back. Needs a good man to take the shot.”
He can't help but snort. “So what happened? Got sick of reading people their rights?”
Madani lets out a soft chuckle. “I guess I spent too much time with you, huh? We need good people here to get things done. And let's face it… when it comes to this stuff… you're the best.”
Another two cars come to a screeching halt by the front of the warehouse. More men roll out, all with guns under their belts. They don't even bother hiding.
“I'm offering you a job, Castle.”
“I already got a job, Madani,” he says, watching the men disappear behind the heavy metal door. His hand reaches out to pull out the key from the ignition. “Besides, you know why I can't,” he adds, softer, running his thumb over the golden seashell attached to the keychain.
A sigh. Sympathetic one. He can almost see her smiling. “Yeah, I know. It was worth the try, though. The offer still stands if you ever change your mind.”
“I won't,” is all he says. “You take care.”
He deals with it quickly. Throws on the vest and the coat, grabs two biggest guns he owns from the truck bed and storms into the warehouse just as the two rivaling gangs draw guns on each other. One deals heavy drugs, the other sex trafficking. It's all same shit to him. Both are bad, both are dangerous. There's no difference and therefore, there's no mercy.
It takes him three hours to get back to New York. He's falling on his face but manages to drag himself and his weapons to his place and only stops fighting the fatigue once he steps over the threshold. His forehead lands against the cold surface of the front door with a soft thud as he locks up. He closes his eyes with a deep sigh; it's good to be home.
He hangs his coat on the rack and shoves the vest into the closet. Leaves the bag on the floor to deal with later, next to a pair of red Converse and the half-empty backpack. He walks into the dark living room, rubbing his face, tired as fuck, and it takes him a moment too long to notice that the only sound reaching his ears is the faint hum of the TV.
Already knowing what sight is gonna greet him, he peers over the couch.
There she is. Curled up in a ball under her favorite blanket, with a remote sitting in one hand and an empty bag of chips on the floor. There's an unfinished can of Dr. Pepper on the coffee table and an open biology textbook, surrounded by a mess of colored markers, pencils and notes.
The view never fails to make him smile.
Amy doesn't stir when he kneels on the floor in front of her and drags his knuckles gently across her cheek. Only when he leans in to press a kiss to her forehead does a grin break onto her face and she peels her eyes open.
“Hey, you're back,” she mumbles sleepily.
Frank lets out a soft chuckle. “And you're not in bed yet.”
She sits up and stretches like a cat, yawning so hard he's honestly surprised her jaw hasn't come off its hinges yet. “Right, I was going to after finishing homework but… but this documentary was so interesting—”
Frank glances at the TV. A lion is hiding in the bushes, watching an antelope drink water from the well, while an overdramatic voice with a British accent describes the scene to an equally overdramatic score.
“So interesting you fell asleep, huh?”
She looks between him and the screen and makes a face. “Busted.”
There's an unattended pizza box on the kitchen counter; Frank makes his way to it, hops onto the barstool and looks inside. Lombardi's sausage and mushroom. Nice. He's starving.
Amy goes to flick the cabinet lights on, then takes a seat next to him and grabs a slice for herself. She's munching on it slowly, clearly not hungry at all, and Frank can't help but notice how she's fighting off sleep, seconds away from dozing off where she sits.
“I told you, you don't have to wait for me,” he tells her, his concern clear in his voice.
She puts her slice back in the box. “I know, but… I wanted to. I always do.” Her eyes scan him head to toe and back, lips curling inward as she bites back her worries. “Everything went okay?”
“Not a scratch,” he assures her. “As always.”
Because he makes an effort to not get hurt now. Because he has someone to come home to. Someone who will rip into him and make sure he won't hear the end of it if he ever comes in spilling blood all over the floor of their brand new apartment. Again.
He's doing it right this time around. Still dons the Punisher vest, still goes out into the night with his guns drawn, but this time with a newfound purpose. Not to try and undo something that can't be undone, not to feed his own darkness — but to clear the path for the light. To make sure the world is as safe as it can be for the people he loves the most. One of whom may soon pass out with her face in a pizza box if he doesn't do anything about it.
“I'm serious, baby. It's late, go to bed.”
It's an old and overrehearsed dance at this point, and Amy knows she won't win this fight. So she slides down from the stool with an exaggerated pout that makes him bark out a shoulder-shaking chuckle, and drags herself over to the fridge, sighing, “Alright, alright. I'm going.”
As she pours herself a glass of water from the dispenser, Frank shakes his head. “You're lucky it's Friday,” he says.
“Um, technically it's Saturday already, Frank.”
He shoots a glance at the clock on the wall; indeed, it's almost 2 AM.
He won't be awake for much longer either. Could probably use a shower but it's more tempting to throw himself onto his bed right away and leave everything else for the morning.
Amy leaves her glass on the counter and makes a beeline for the coffee table. Frank watches curiously as she pulls out something from under her biology textbook.
“By the way, Karen stopped by earlier,” she says as she returns to his side.
“She did?”
“Yeah. We had lunch. Talked shit about you, like girls do. It was fun!”
His raised eyebrows are met with her shit-eating grin and an innocent flutter of her eyelashes. She's cursing now; a new development he's still getting used to. Probably his own damn fault.
“Oh, and, she dropped this off.”
She hands him a thin folder of documents. Plasters herself to his back and peers over his shoulder as he opens it.
What greets him is her new ID picture taken last month, a series of stamps and signatures from the state of New York and a bunch of text he doesn't bother to read, too focused on the name under the picture.
Amy Castiglione.
Daughter of Pete Castiglione.
They both would rather have it be Castle, but Castiglione, as his legal name, makes it easier to work things out at school and with healthcare, and this way they won't have to rely on the fake stuff provided by Lieberman anymore, as efficient as it was for the time being. Plus it's an extra layer of protection; never too many of those in Frank's book. Not when it comes to her.
For a few moments, they both just take it in in silence.
“Guess now it's official,” Amy beams from ear to ear.
“Guess it is, huh?” He smirks. “Now I officially can't get rid of you.”
“Nope.” She loops her arms around his neck and gives him a firm squeeze. “You're stuck with me, Rough Road.”
It's undeniable. It's foolproof. It's real.
And he wouldn't have it any other way.
Another long yawn escapes from Amy's mouth. The kid’s about to pass out right against his back.
Frank taps the back of her hand. “Go to sleep, Ames.”
He thinks she's gonna keep fighting but all he hears is just a heavy sigh of defeat. “Okay.” She snuggles up to him for a second and kisses his scruffy cheek. “Glad you're home.”
His heart trips over itself. He grabs her wrist and holds on tight.
“Me too,” he sighs, leaning his head back against her shoulder, smiling back at her.
They could be anywhere right now — Curtis's trailer, Madani's apartment, some bar in the middle of nowhere — and it would still feel like home as long as she's by his side. For the longest time Frank didn't believe this could be possible, was certain that after his wife and kids were taken away from him, his home was gone.
And yet here she is.
His home.
Still looking at him like he just gave her all the stars in the sky, unaware that she's the one who opened the sky for him and made him look up first.
She grabs her glass, snatches her unfinished slice of pizza from the box before he closes it, and finally starts heading for her bedroom.
“Love you!” She says over her shoulder like it's nothing. Like he deserves it. Like it doesn't make him the luckiest man in the whole damn world.
Frank strokes his thumb over her name on the document page. Castiglione.
He smiles.
“Yeah, love you too, kid.”
After all, he got his after. It took an empty seat at the bar next to him, ordered a sprite and called him Rough Road. It was funny. And it was stupid. It turned him into someone new.
He won't stand still and watch it be taken away from him again.
He'll fight with everything he has to keep it.