Chapter Text
Amy woke up with no idea of what happened or where she was, other than that she was in a hospital.
The room swayed and swung around her for a minute before her vision stabilized and the details became recognizable. First clue: blank, pale walls. The white, fluorescent lights on the ceiling were too harsh to look at directly, immediately blinding her and sending a spike of throbbing pain through her temple. The sheets felt weird against her skin, crisp and uncomfortable over her bare legs, and the blue blanket thrown on top was scratchy under her arms. There was also a particular stench in the air, an angry mix of disinfectant, rubbing alcohol, and stale air invading her nostrils as her senses slowly came alive. Unmistakable when it came to places like this.
And the beeping.
Moving her head hurt — pain burst at the back of her skull like a flower blossoming in a sped-up video — but she was able to catch a glimpse of the aged white color of medical equipment surrounding her. The sound was coming from somewhere to her right, rhythmic and constant, with each beep accounting for the beat of her heart. But when she turned to see the monitor, her body screamed in protest. On instinct, she moved her hand to probe at her temple, only to realize that her mobility was restricted; tubes and wires linked her body to the beeping things around her, some to collect and send information out, others to pump something in.
Panic slammed down onto her. She tried to pull herself up, wanted to rip the tubes out and get out of there, but two things happened at once. Her chest suddenly felt like it was set on fire, her breath abruptly stolen by a surge of pain that coursed like a lightning bolt through her entire body. And there were hands on her — big, warm, and steady — pushing her back down onto the bed.
A name appeared in her mind. It sat at the tip of her tongue, a desperate cry or a sigh of relief; she wasn’t sure. She opened her mouth to let it out.
“Take it easy, Amy.”
But the hands belonged to someone else.
Beginning in her right arm and spreading all around, a chilly sensation swept over her, taking the pain with it. Amy collapsed against the pillow, allowing her head to roll to the side. After several attempts, she slowly opened her eyes.
“Hey, there she is,” said Josh, her diving instructor and an unofficial mentor and caretaker of her and a few other kids like her starting a new life down here in Florida. With a sigh of relief, the ex-marine-turned-social-worker sat down in the cushioned chair next to her bed, ran his hand through his already messy black hair, and smiled at her comfortingly. “How are you feeling, kiddo?”
She wasn’t sure how to answer that question. “Where are we?”
“At Clearwater General. You had a car accident, remember?”
Details struggled to resurface, but slowly, one by one, memories started to take shape in her mind.
It was dark and rainy as hell. A huge storm was rolling in but Dylan said they were going to make it before it fully gets here. Amy remembered catching his gaze in the rearview mirror, his steady grip on the steering wheel calming her worries a bit.
The car was full of people; everybody was laughing while the music boomed from the speakers, sending shockwaves through Amy’s skull. Izzy was leaning heavily against her and pushing her into the door. Her words were slurring; she had a little too much to drink. Amy had a few drinks too — intended on just one, trying to be responsible, but it was a birthday party and her friends convinced her it wouldn’t hurt. But it did. Her throat still burned and she was battling a growing headache.
At some point, Izzy and the guy sitting in the shotgun seat, Tommy, got into an argument over music. It was stupid. Claire, who was flanking Izzy from the other side, only added to the fire. Amy stayed out of it, too tired to care, but Dylan, the only one fully sober in the group, kept shouting at them that if they don’t shut up, he will kick them out where they are and make them walk the rest of the way.
Amy remembered looking out the window, trying to tune their voices out. She just wanted to get home, to her bed. She remembered a flash of two bright lights appearing in the dark, and that loud, screeching sound…
Her eyes widened. The steady pattern on the heart monitor jolted irregularly.
“Izzy— the others—”
“They’re okay,” Josh quickly assured her with a hand on her shoulder. “More or less as banged up as you, but they’ll live. You and Dylan took the worst of it because the truck hit you from your side. I think it’s a miracle you guys survived this, but what’s most important is that you did.”
Amy sighed, relieved. They were okay. Nobody died. They didn't…
Images of a bloody motel room in Chicago appeared under her closed eyelids but she quickly pushed them away.
“How…” She swallowed thickly; her mouth felt bone dry. “How long was I out?”
Josh looked at his watch. “Would be… almost sixteen hours.”
“How bad is it?”
The man's shoulders rose and then slumped as he took a long, steadying breath. “There was a big chunk of glass jammed into your abdomen. You lost a lot of blood, they had to stitch you up.” Amy searched with her hands until her fingers found the edges of the dressing by her left hip, hiding the stitches underneath; she didn’t feel them until now. “You have four broken ribs, a bruised lung, and you hit your head pretty hard.” His eyes darted to the end of the bed. “You also won’t be able to walk — or swim, for that matter — for a while.”
Fearfully, Amy followed his gaze — her left leg was trapped in a big, dark blue cast, hovering over the bed on a sling.
She groaned. “Great.”
The broken leg throbbed, tender and sore, but at least she was alive. Now that everything was coming back to her, she realized it could have been way worse. The only reason she wasn’t in excruciating pain right now was probably because of whatever drugs they were giving her through those tubes hooked to her arms. The bandage around her chest was uncomfortable and the stitches pulled with every breath. Her entire body hurt. Breathing hurt.
But at least neither she nor her friends came here in body bags.
She attempted to adjust, suddenly aware of the stiffness and discomfort of the position she was in, but the moment she tried to move, the eruption of pain made the world go white.
It was like flipping one domino and seeing the whole structure topple with it. Amy inhaled sharply, but her lungs responded with fire. Her body instinctively curled into itself only to be stopped by a piercing sensation coming from her ribs. She wanted to scream, but there was not enough air to let the sound out. And her head — it felt as if something was digging into her skull, slowly and painstakingly stabbing her and searing every nerve.
Everything lasted maybe less than two seconds. For her, it was eternity.
“Hey, hey, hey. Easy.” Josh stood over her when she opened her eyes, gently easing her down onto the bed. “I know you’re uncomfortable, but you shouldn’t be moving.”
Amy closed her eyes and sank into the pillow, stifling a cry. She wanted to ask more about her friends and about the truck driver. She was scared and confused and so incredibly tired. Her limbs felt as if they were filled with concrete; even without looking, she could tell every inch of her skin must have been covered in bruises. She wanted to sleep. Maybe sleep would help her heal. Maybe it would take that stupid headache away.
Josh cleared his throat. “Listen, Amy...”
She looked at him. The smile he was wearing before turned into a frown of worry. The look he gave her seemed apprehensive. Like he was preparing to deliver bad news.
“I had to call Frank.”
Somehow, in all of this, it didn’t even occur to her. It never even crossed her mind that Frank would find out.
About the accident. The extent of her injuries. He’d be notified about everything. Of course he would be; Josh wouldn’t keep this from him. He probably knew about the party, too.
Her pulse jumped. Breath wheezed out of her lungs in a painful gasp.
“Josh—”
“He had to know, okay? I know you don’t want to worry him, but I promised I would call him if anything ever happened.”
Only, she made Frank a promise, too. She promised she wouldn’t get into any trouble, that she would live a normal life away from any danger. She was supposed to be careful. And what did she do? She got drunk at some stranger’s party, even though she knew she shouldn’t. She got in a car with other drunk people in the middle of the night in a storm. She almost died because of it.
Pain flared up in her body again, as if trying to drive the point home. Tears welled in the corners of her eyes, but they had more to do with the guilt that pressed heavily on her chest and the rising panic that churned within her fractured ribcage.
“He’s… he’s probably freaking out,” she rasped, struggling to get the words out. Every breath was like pouring melted iron into her lungs. She was awake for only a few minutes, but it was already getting harder to stay conscious. “I need to… I need to call him.”
Josh rested his hand on hers. “He’s already on his way.”
The beeping grew more erratic. Eyes open wide, Amy gripped Josh’s hand as hard as she could, summoning all her strength to raise her head and meet his gaze. “Josh, please. He… he can’t...”
But Josh only shook his head, his expression serious. “He’ll be here soon. You should get some rest until then.” He picked up his brown leather jacket, which was hanging over the back of the chair. He threw it on, then placed his hand on Amy's knee. “I’m glad you’re okay, kiddo. We were worried for a moment there, but you pulled through. That’s all that matters. I’m gonna let the doctors know you woke up, alright?”
All she could do was nod, defeated.
“See you tomorrow, Ames.”
Giving her one last little squeeze, he sent her another comforting smile, then quietly left the room.
Nurses rushed in a minute or two later. Amy did her best to cooperate, but her mind was already elsewhere. The IVs were swapped, and a new wave of pain relief washed over her body. As her eyes closed and her consciousness slipped away, she thought about one thing.
Frank is going to be so angry.
She was so nervous the nurses wanted to give her something to calm her down, but Amy refused. She needed to be awake and lucid for this. Her bed was adjusted so she could rest more comfortably at a higher angle, and she spent the morning hours in quiet anticipation, staring out the window at the setting sun or fidgeting with the paper band on her wrist.
A thousand different versions of the upcoming conversation played in her mind on a never-ending loop. She had already gone through countless variables, rehearsed things she wanted to say and things she didn't, and prepared answers for the questions that would inevitably come.
What was she thinking?
How could she be so stupid?
She was supposed to be safe.
Did she really want to die that much?
She hasn’t seen Frank in months. Sure, they’d occasionally talk on the phone. He was checking in on her once in a while. Kept sending her money even after she told him he didn’t need to. She had invited him over a few times, wanting to show him around and really let him see how she was doing, but he always declined, saying he didn’t want anything bad to follow him here and ruin what she had. And Amy understood; everything this man did was meant to protect her. Including staying away. It did not change the fact she simply missed him. A lot.
She wanted to see him again. Just… not like this.
The skin under the plaster where the IVs were stuck in her hands was itchy and sore, but fiddling with the thing only made it more painful. Still, Amy couldn’t help but scratch it raw, her broken nails turning the rare patch of clear skin red.
The longer she thought about it, the more her eyes stung with unshed tears. She could almost see that furious scowl transforming his face, his eyes becoming cold and sharp as a knife. She could hear the snide in his voice; each word, like the bullets he could fire with such precision, hitting where it hurts the most. Will her recklessness be a deal-breaker for him? Will he storm into the room just to tell her this was the last time she had disappointed him like this and then turn away and disappear from her life forever? She wouldn’t be surprised. Maybe it’s what she deserves.
She was never good at staying out of trouble anyway.
The commotion out in the hallway made her breath catch in her throat. Heavy footsteps reverberated through the walls, boots striking the floor with force. She heard multiple voices, muffled and frantic, with one booming growl rising above them all.
“Which one?”
“Here.”
“Mr. Castiglione, you can't just—”
The door to her room flew wide open.
For a few moments, they both simply stared at one another, silent and struck, like they didn’t even know what they were really looking at. Frank stood frozen, one hand gripping the doorknob tightly, and after Josh pulled away whoever was previously trying to stop Frank from barging in, the only sound that lingered in the air was the steady beeping of the heart monitor — a strange contrast to the frantic hammering Amy felt inside her chest.
She released a quiet gasp, absorbing every single detail. She almost didn’t recognize him.
Dressed head to toe in black, from combat boots to the tight-fitting shirt with rolled-up sleeves and an unzipped collar, he looked as if he didn’t even bother to make himself look presentable according to the situation. It was like he took off from where he stood, leaving whatever battle he was fighting behind. That, Amy expected. What was new was the thick beard that framed his face, curly and unkempt, like he forgot it was even there and just let it grow wild. His hair was longer too, with the sides growing out over his ears, the ends curling against the nape of his neck, and a few loose strands hanging over his forehead. He appeared to have hurried through the hospital, a thin veil of sweat clinging to his face and quick breaths expanding his wide chest, as if he had literally rammed through the walls to reach her as quickly as possible. But the worst of it was his eyes; they looked downright haunted.
And Amy knew why. She must have been quite a sight, too. The hospital gown making her feel and probably also look smaller than she was. Left leg in a cast, purple bruises peeking out where bandages weren’t covering her skin. Sunken cheeks, dark shadows around the eyes, forehead stitched. Not to mention the multi-colored IV bags hanging next to her bed and all the wires and tubes, including the one under her nose, helping her breathe.
She wasn’t sure what to say. Her hands were beginning to shake so she grabbed fistfuls of the scratchy, blue blanket.
“Okay, before you say anything—”
She didn't get to finish, though. As soon as she spoke, Frank surged forward, closing the gap between them in just two swift strides, and nearly fell to his knees in front of her, his body bracing against the frame of her bed so hard the whole thing trembled beneath him. In a matter of a single breath, one of his hands found its way into her hair, cupping the back of her head, and he was pulling her in, pressing his lips to her forehead in a kiss so fervent it stole all air from the room.
A choked-up sob clawed its way out of Amy's chest. She found his other hand and gripped it tight.
“Frank...”
“Goddamnit, kid, if you ever scare me like this again—” he struggled to finish, too overcome with emotion. Shaking his head, he pressed his forehead against hers, eyes squeezed shut, as if seeking escape from the dreaded thought.
Tears she was trying so hard to keep at bay fell freely down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”
“Shh, no, no, no, it wasn’t… kid, I know everything. It wasn’t your fault.”
The sincerity in his voice made her almost break down completely.
“You’re not mad?” She asked, bewildered.
His eyes fluttered open, and, for the first time, he really looked into her eyes. His thumb swiped over her cheek, catching tears. He smiled. “No, why— why would I— I'm just glad you're okay.”
It was hard with all the wires attached to her, and it took effort physically, but Amy summoned every ounce of strength she still had to lift her arms and wrap them around his neck. Frank sat on the edge of the bed and leaned in the rest of the way, his big hands gliding over her back as he held her with the utmost gentleness. She longed to lean into his embrace so much more, to melt into him and bury herself in his chest, yearning to make up for all the time they’d been apart. To say she missed him didn't really cover it, she realized. There was a tear in the fabric of her life without him, a gaping void in the tapestry that she couldn't mend by herself. She wanted nothing more than to close it, use the thread she was given and put it back together, but her body was too broken. Pulling herself up, holding onto his neck, it hurt. It drew forth more tears from her eyes and stole the breath from her lungs. It made her body shudder in pain.
Amy tried, but she couldn't stop the strained, whimpering sound from coming out, drowning into the collar of his shirt. Frank must have heard it because he pulled away quickly, his gaze alarmed and scared.
“Hey, hey, hey, hey, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Does it hurt? Does it— Lay down, sweetheart. Shh, lay down, it's okay.”
Yeah, holding onto him hurt. She was too tired. But most of all, she was relieved.
He was here.
He wasn't angry.
She didn't lose him.
As carefully as possible, he lowered her back onto the bed, cradling the back of her head as if he were holding a baby. He fixed her pillow and made sure her hair was out of her face. He handed her a glass of fresh water from the bedside table and held it steady for her to drink through the straw, then pulled the blanket over her and tucked away the wires. He was fidgeting with everything he could to hide how much his hands were shaking. When he caught her following him with her gaze, he smiled, but his eyes were wet. It was like he was trying to keep himself from falling apart by making himself useful.
It brought back a memory from that night everything ended. John Pilgrim had left, the trailer was a mess, and Frank’s face was all bruised and bloody. Amy brushed aside his concerns and worried glances and made him sit in the small, plastic chair by the table, refusing to hear a word of objection as she pulled out the first-aid kit from under the sink. She had to fight against the urge to sob as she rinsed the washcloth in the bathroom and watched his blood swirl away down the drain. Her hands shook as she dabbed at the cuts on his face. She was doing so good at holding it all back, until she wasn’t. And when Frank pulled her close, she broke.
Watching him now, she wondered if he was going to break, too. He sank into the chair beside her bed and blinked quickly, wiping his hand over his face as he sniffled. Then he reached for her hand, cradling it between his own, and brought it to his lips, laying a series of featherlight kisses along her knuckles. She gave him this moment, let him just hold onto her as if her hand in his was the only thing that kept him tethered to reality. It was clearly what he needed. Peering up from over their joined hands, he looked at her like he did back then, sitting at that table with his arms around her. Like he once must have looked at a different girl who skinned her knee in their backyard and needed him to kiss it better.
“How’re you feelin'?” He asked.
Amy took a moment to compose herself, then focused on what her body was telling her.
“My head hurts, but it's a little better than when I first woke up. It's hard to breathe, too; it hurts, like, here, when I try to take a full breath.” She pressed her free hand lightly to her left side, feeling the texture of the bandages under her hospital gown. “I think my leg is the worst, though. It's uncomfortable to have it up like that, and the pain wouldn't let me sleep so they had to up the doses.” She gave him a half-hearted shrug paired with a faint smile. “And overall, I'm just really, really tired.”
As if her body took it as permission, she suddenly felt a wave of fatigue flood her; her eyelids grew heavy again, and her head fell against her shoulder. But she couldn't bear the thought of closing her eyes, not when Frank was here, so she fought hard to keep them open, driven by a surge of panic. Part of it was fear, she figured; fear that if she closes her eyes for even a second, Frank will disappear. That she will wake up to find herself alone again, without the one person in the world who made her feel safe. She didn't think she would survive that.
Frank nodded slowly at every piece of information he was given. “Yeah, broken ribs are usually a pain in the ass, and the overall bruising doesn't help, but they patched you up good. You'll be fine in no time.” His head jerked toward her broken leg. “You're gonna need some help with that, though.”
“Yeah,” she chuckled weakly. “No swimming for a few months. Which honestly sucks, because I was supposed to start going deep in a few weeks.”
“A deep dive, huh? Look at you, little Miss Treasure Hunter. You're almost there.”
“Watch out or you're gonna sound proud.”
“I am.”
If she wasn't bound to the bed, she would have leaped out and hugged him. He said it with such ease, as if him being proud of her was nothing, as if she was the only one doing all the work and he had nothing to do but sit here and admire it. When in reality, none of this would have been possible without him. School, diving, parties, her friends — she wouldn't have had this life if it wasn't for him.
There weren't enough words in the dictionary to express her gratitude, not that any would get past the lump in her throat right now. She'll tell him later, she decided. When she feels stronger, when her emotional state isn't all over the place, she'll thank him properly. For now, squeezing his hand back had to be enough.
Frank smiled gently, placing her hand back down on the mattress, yet he held onto it, unwilling to let go. Amy watched his face as he absentmindedly caressed her knuckles with his thumb; his gaze was distant and clouded, and dark shadows circled his eyes. With every single beep that carried through the room, her brows creased more and more into a frown.
“You look tired,” she said.
His shoulders dropped in response. With a heavy, exhausted sigh, Frank leaned back and dragged both of his hands over his face.
“Yeah…” he drew the word out. “I, uh, I was in the middle of something in Queens when Josh called. Been drivin’ ever since.”
Guilt cracked open Amy's heart right down in the middle. That’s eighteen hours of driving. And who knows for how long he was awake before that.
“You didn't stop?”
He looked her hard in the eye. “I couldn't stop.”
And she knew that was true. She knew this man's determination, had seen it in action more than once. She remembered how desperate he could get, driven by fear or rage or worry. From that one look, Amy gathered everything she needed to know — the second he found out what happened, he jumped into his car and there was nothing that could stop him from getting to her as fast as he possibly could.
Even exhaustion.
“I'm sorry,” she whispered.
Immediately, he started shaking his head. “No, kid. I don't want to hear any of that. It wasn't your fault, okay?”
But she didn't want to listen. Her gaze lifted to meet his and something inside her broke.
“You told me to be safe and I wasn’t,” Amy said, her voice shaking. “I was supposed to be careful, and I tried, I really tried, so you wouldn’t have to worry about me. And yet here I am.” She had to pause to take a breath, acutely aware of the heavy price her body was paying for such exertion. “And you had to come all the way down here even though you said, repeatedly, that it would be too risky. Because— because I was stupid enough to get drunk.”
The last few words came out in a weak whisper, and Amy let her head fall back against the pillow, eyes full of tears aimed at the ceiling.
Frank sat in silence for a bit.
“Please don't talk that way, alright?” He said softly. “You weren’t even the one driving—”
“But I’m the reason we were in that car in the first place,” she croaked out. Turning her head to look at him, one of her tears fell down the side of her face. “I got drunk and I didn’t handle it well. I had a headache and started feeling sick so I asked Dylan if we could go home. We all came together so we got the rest of the group and left. And we knew the storm was coming; we shouldn’t have been driving that night at all. I could have just found a quiet corner somewhere and slept it off. But I wanted to go, so we did. We were loud, we were careless, and we didn’t notice the truck.” She swallowed hard. “We almost died because I had a stupid headache.”
Tears streamed down the bridge of her nose, soaking into the pillow beneath her. She cried for her friends and the hurt she had inflicted upon them, for the stresses she placed on their families and the terror that must have gripped the truck driver. She cried for the way exhaustion and worry seemed to be weighing Frank down, pushing him more and more into the ground. His expression was unreadable, and with it, her anxiety began to resurface. She braced herself for the blow to come, waited for him to get up and leave — but he scooted closer, leaned in, and picked up her hand again.
“Amy, listen to me,” he started. “You are not solely responsible for what happened. Yes, getting drunk was stupid and irresponsible, and I do not like that, but it’s also normal shit kids your age do. I’d be lyin’ if I said I wasn't expecting it to happen at some point.” He paused, letting her absorb the words. His face softened as he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “You got sick and you asked to be taken home — in my book, you did everything right. Dylan was sober, but he got distracted; it happens. You— you guys are so damn lucky to be alive—”
He stumbled over the word, choked up. Propping his other arm up on the hospital bed, he clasped his free hand over his mouth and looked away.
It was a rare thing to see Frank Castle cry, but Amy watched as tears welled up in his eyes for the second time today.
She let out a nervous breath.
“I was so sure you were gonna be mad.”
Dropping his hand from his mouth, he hung his head, so low the tips of his hair brushed against the mattress. Amy waited, but he refused to look at her.
Her heart sank.
“So you were mad.”
“Not at you,” he immediately objected. “Never at you. I was… I was scared. When Josh called me… kid, I was losing my goddamn mind. I wanted to kill everyone responsible. But you, no. I was never mad at you. All I cared about was for you to be okay. And thank fucking God you are.”
One tiny teardrop slowly made its way down his faintly bruised cheek before disappearing in his beard. It was unbearable; Amy thought she’d seen him scared before, but never like this. Even when she was kneeling in front of him in the gravel, the barrel of a gun pressed to the back of her head, he didn’t look like this.
She squeezed his hand, offering back the little bit of comfort she had the strength to give, and watched his mouth quiver as he forced out a smile and kissed her fingers again.
Being loved like this used to be something she never imagined for herself. It was a thing of the movies and fiction, unattainable, and fake. Real life had no place for it, not in her case. And yet, somehow, in all that darkness and pain, she found her way to it. Surprisingly — or maybe unsurprisingly — in the last place she’d ever think to look.
“I'm glad you're here,” she said.
Frank’s smile turned into a grin. "Good, ‘cause I'll be crashing on your couch for a while.”
“What?”
“What, y’think I'm just gonna leave you like this and go back to New York?” He scoffed. “No, kid. I'm not going anywhere until you're fully recovered.”
Slowly, as the words registered in her brain, a bright, beaming smile started blooming on her face. In her chest, a joyful laugh erupted, bringing a wave of pain that abruptly stopped her, but she couldn’t care less about that right now. When Frank got to his feet, alarmed by the way she suddenly stiffened and groaned, she raised a hand to calm him down.
“It’s okay, I’m okay,” she rasped. “I’m just… Gosh, if I could get out of this bed right now—”
Frank chuckled. “Yeah, I know.” Looking at her lovingly, he leaned over her, his hand stroking the top of her head. “You should get some rest now, kid,” he whispered. “I can see you’re exhausted, and it’s getting late. You can sleep.”
He was right; she wasn’t sure what time it was, but the sky outside the windows was pitch black. And she did feel tired.
“Will you stay?”
He kissed her forehead. “I’ll be right here, baby girl. Sleep.”
When she woke up in the morning, for a moment she was sure all of it was just a dream. But the lights were still a little too bright. The smell of disinfectant lingered in the air, IVs were stuck uncomfortably in her hands, and the steady beep, beep, beep of the heart monitor rang in her ears. Her body was sore.
And Frank was passed out in the chair.