Archive of Our Own

Hell’s Kitchen was on fire.

The streets felt like battlegrounds in those war movies Matt used to watch with his dad when he was a kid. Brutal and disorganized, a symphony of rage and devastation, but without the awe-inspiring melody that had made him leap in terror at the thought of the heroes' plight. There were no violins, just the crunch of crumbling metal; demolished cars gave voice to their horns, broken glass raining on the pavement haunted the air like strings of a harp, and the thunder of boots hitting the ground provided a terrific drum, accompanied by a choir of a thousand screams.

The moment Fisk let his dogs loose, the city became a war zone.

Matt ducked from a flaming bottle flying at his head and twisted the arm of an AVTF agent who tried to grab him by the neck. Bones snapped like twigs under pressure, blood sprouted from the wound and sprinkled his face with a rain of warm droplets. The man screamed in agony, but even that didn't do anything to stop the sound of firing weapons and bodies falling to the ground from reaching his ears. Daredevil didn't kill, but people were still dropping like flies around him, on both sides equally, and no amount of broken bones and perfectly aimed punches could erase the rageful lump that grew bigger in his throat with every coming death. 

An explosion shook the buildings in the distance, sending vibrations through the asphalt. People screamed, shots were fired, and the heat of the flames came with the wind to prick at his exposed cheeks. Two more task force shitheads came at him with their guns drawn, but he ground his teeth and yanked their weapons from their hands, missing their bullets by a hair before he knocked them both unconscious.

A roar of a familiar engine came from an alley. Matt turned around, his mouth stretching in a grin as the SUV came to a halt in the middle of the road with a screech of tires.

“Took you long enough,” he said as Frank stepped out of the car and slammed the door behind him. “Had to stop for gas?”

The Punisher grabbed his guns from the backseat. The ground shook under his boots as he marched past Matt and into the battle. “You needed backup, here's backup,” he barked. “Now quit your yappin’.”

“Gee, did I interrupt something?”

As expected, all he got back was obstinate silence. Frank was already too busy firing rounds at incoming squads of AVTF.

A knife flew Matt’s way as he ran back into the chaos, but he caught it and threw it back. Someone charged at him from behind, only to end up being slammed into the ground. Rage burning inside of him, Daredevil flipped and round-kicked the third attacker in the jaw with a furious shout, then sent him down as well with a well-measured hit to the back of his head. 

Breathing heavily, he focused on the carnage around him. So much destruction, so much death. New York was falling apart; Hell's Kitchen was getting swallowed by flames. People were suffering, those who wanted to fight did the best they could but ultimately, their forces were stretched too thin. Streets were turning into ruins while an egocentric maniac sat in the safety of his office and watched it all on his TV, laughing at people's misery. The image made Matt clench his fists in fury, the leather of his gloves creaking from pressure.

“Hey! You comin’ or what?!”

Frank’s voice carried over the battle. He was getting swarmed by Fisk’s forces, roaring like a beast set free from its leash, sending bodies to the ground in fountains of blood. The smell of copper followed the Punisher like a loyal hound, intensifying even now, when Matt was already convinced the gutters had long turned into raging red rivers.

He got rid of two more men shooting at him and ran to help him out. He pulled Frank from the ground, put his weapon back in his hand, and without wasting time, the two vigilantes threw themselves back into the whirlwind of the fight.

They needed to end it. Fast. 

The war was far from over, but the battle was won.

Fisk's people — what was left of them — retreated and fled. People slowly got together and started helping one another, cleaning the mess left in the wake of the fight. There were tears and there was sorrow, somewhere a mother wept over her son's dead body, but New Yorkers did what New Yorkers do best — they held each other up.

Matt and Frank both struggled to catch their breaths as they walked back to the car. 

“They'll be back,” Frank groaned, rubbing his sore arm. 

“Not tonight. They need to lick their wounds first.” Matt pressed a hand to his left side and hissed; there's going to be a nice-looking gigantic bruise there in the morning. “Task Force took a big hit. Many of their men died tonight.”

He couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice; despite the dire circumstances, he still didn't want to kill their enemies. It wasn't the way. It wasn't justice.

Frank's teeth shuffled against one another angrily; in the silence that had befallen the streets now that the fight was over, the sound came like an explosion, sending shockwaves through Matt's head. Huffing out a sigh, he braced for the tirade; he knew what was coming before the man next to him even opened his mouth.

“We've been over this, Red. You want them off the streets and I get it done. Simple as that.”

“It shouldn't be.”

“Yeah? Give ‘em a trip to the ER, they're back on their bullshit a week later. You wanna play a knight in shining armor? Be my guest but if you ask me, this shit is as pointless as—”

Matt’s arm shot out to stop him.

“Wait—” he whispered. Turning his head, he zeroed in on a suspicious fluttering sound coming from the car, then jutted his chin in the direction it came from. “Check the trunk.”

Frank didn't wait for more explanation. Quickly pulling a gun from his holster, he carefully approached the back of the SUV, Matt stealthily following behind him. The sound got louder and clearer here. A heartbeat? It was definitely a heartbeat. Anxious. Anticipatory. Excited?

At the count of three, Frank yanked the trunk open.

“Don't shoot!” 

Matt tilted his head like a confused cat. The voice belonged to a young girl, early twenties at most, clearly frightened but also… kind of amused. Her heartbeat buzzed in her ribcage like a swarm of bees, but it wasn't the kind of fear Matt was accustomed to hearing. He couldn't pinpoint it exactly, but she wasn't scared for her life.

What confused him more was the disgruntled grunt that escaped Frank's mouth as he lowered his gun.

“Jesus Christ.”

“What, who is that?”

Frank put his weapon back in the holster. 

“Someone who should be on a fucking plane right now.”

Without warning, he grabbed the girl by the arm and hauled her out of the trunk, oblivious to her surprised shriek. He stood silently, waiting for her to gather herself, but Matt felt his blood pressure rise, his hands clench, and, most of all, his roaring heartbeat a hurricane in his chest.

It didn't feel like anger, though. It surely must have looked like it on the outside but… no, it was panic.

Matt had never seen Frank Castle panic.

“What the hell are you doin’ here?!”

The girl shuffled on her feet. She did smell like the airport, a combination of vending machine coffee, junk food, and jet fuel residue that remained trapped in the walls of JFK. Now that Matt thought of it, Frank wore the remnants of this scent too.

"Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, her tone defensive. "Am I just supposed to sit on the beach and do nothing while the mayor is literally hunting you? You expect me not to care when you get a call and race into a freaking war zone?” 

Words shot out of her like bullets from an automatic gun, her voice rising in pitch and volume with every passing second. She surely had a temper and clearly wasn't intimidated — too accustomed to and definitely too comfortable with raising Frank's blood pressure. Her heart took on an irate cadence, almost matching with the man’s barely restrained fury.

He huffed out like an angry bull.

"Which is the last place you should be in right now! What the hell were you thinking? Huh? What if they found you here? What if they shot at the car? Goddamnit, kid—”

“It’s okay, I found one of your bulletproof vests!”

“That does nothing against a headshot!”

Matt stood there, perplexed and curious, listening to the whole thing as his mind jumped from one to the other like people’s eyes following the ball during a tennis match. So they knew each other. Clearly, there was some history there; otherwise, the girl wouldn't be bold enough to speak to Frank like an equal. Was she some extended relative? Matt strained his memory to find any trace of her, sorting through everything he knew about the Castle family, but he struggled to place her. As far as he knew, she popped out of thin air, an enigma no one but Frank could apparently decipher. 

Fabric shuffled — a jean jacket. The girl crossed her arms and gave out a frustrated sigh in a manner that strangely reminded Matt of Karen. “I know you don't want me here, but I'm not going to wait in Florida for a call from Curtis telling me you're dead in a ditch somewhere. Not anymore.”

“So you decided to sneak into my trunk and end up in that ditch first. Jesus Christ, kid. I didn't know you had that big of a death wish!”

“Clearly not as big as yours!”

“Alright, that's enough!” 

Matt’s tone brooked no objection. This was getting ridiculous. The streets may have cleared out, but it was still too dangerous to have this conversation out in the open like this, which both Frank and the girl seemed to have forgotten about. Pushing them apart, Matt kept them at arms length like two feral dogs, knowing even without his sight that they were staring each other down, neither able nor willing to back away. They seemed to surprisingly mirror each other in that regard, two halves of the same whole, equally hotheaded and stubborn, down to their heartbeats harmonizing in their anger. Matt's brows furrowed under his cowl at the discovery, but he shelved that thought for later.

He let them both go and moved in front of Frank. "We can talk about how stupid that was later, alright?” He said quietly. “Now we need to get her out of here.”

Frank didn't say anything but his body became slightly less rigid. Panic didn’t leave, but he was more willing to listen to reason. He stepped away from Matt and ran a hand over his face, releasing a deep exhale.

Matt turned to the girl and smiled. “Sorry, I didn't catch your name.”

There was a beat of hesitation in which her heart stuttered. Frank's footsteps halted too, and all of a sudden it felt like the three of them were stuck in a freeze frame, a silent conversation Matt wasn't privy to. 

“Amy.” She shook his extended hand. “And you're the lawyer. Matt, was it?”

She must have read the dumbfounded look on his face because she chuckled.

“Don't worry, no one told me. I just put the context clues together. You really should do something about that, you know? It's way too easy to figure out.”

Stubborn, bold, and smart-mouthed. Matt was starting to like her.

Whatever quippy remark he was about to say was silenced by Frank, who opened the back door of the SUV.

“Get in the car, Amy.”

His voice was quiet, but Matt knew that tone. It was calm before the storm. Words were clipped, their edges jagged but sharp as the knives Frank had hidden in his pockets. Metal creaked when he gripped the door tighter.

“But we were just getting to know—”

“Get. In the fucking. Car!”

Amy jumped away from Matt like she just got electrocuted. Her heart spiked, breath hitched in her throat and Matt understood this was the first time she truly got scared of Frank's anger. Obediently, she climbed into the backseat, curling herself in a ball as Frank slammed the door shut with more force than necessary.

He walked past Matt and headed for the driver's seat.

“Frank—”

“Not a word, Red.”

He got inside and closed the door. Last one out on the street, Matt sighed, frustrated. 

This was going to be one hell of an awkward ride home.

Ding.

“I just can't believe you were this goddamn stupid!”

“Since when caring whether you get killed or not is stupid?!”

“Don’t you dare gettin' cocky with me now. You could have died! How— how did you even get in there? How did you find me?”

“Why, so you can make sure I won't do it again? Yeah, fuck you, Frank. I'm not that stupid.”

“HEY!”

Matt lingered back in the elevator, his back slumped against the cold wall. He pinched the bridge of his nose, letting the familiar hum of the building override his senses and drown out their screams. They were quiet in the car — or at least Frank was, while Amy poked and prodded, trying to get a reaction out of him, as if her life's mission was to make Frank's life a living hell. Frank kept his anger at bay, not taking the bait, but the steering wheel nearly broke from the force of his grip, same as the gas pedal under his foot. His heart did not stop its frantic gallop for a single second, seemingly in a race with the car that's already been pushed past its limits. Matt felt his anger like a buzz of electricity, setting every nerve on fire, and every time the girl opened her mouth, the spark got closer and closer to detonation.

He wasn't sure what did it, but the second the three of them stepped into his old apartment complex, the pair erupted into another shouting match.

Elektra is going to get so many noise complaints.

She owned the building now, which made it secure enough to turn his old apartment into a sort of a base. He hadn't seen her in years and wasn't planning on ever seeing her again, so it came as a surprise when one day he found a note on his kitchen counter that pretty much said, “Here's the key, some extra rooms, and private elevator access. Rent free (for now). Good luck.” He and Karen kept it as a last resort, not willing to risk it at first, but since their last couple of hideouts were compromised and the team grew in parallel with the escalation of the situation in the city, they decided to give it a shot and move back in.

Everything started here, so it was only logical that it would end here too.

Footsteps came rushing from the kitchen area. A linen cloth landed near the sink moments before Karen came from around the corner. “Hey, what’s with the shouting— Amy?”

Neither Amy nor Frank acknowledged her, too blinded by their dispute. The girl marched further into the apartment, her boots hitting the floor angrily, as Frank continued his tirade.

“What you did was reckless and fucking thoughtless and put all of us at unnecessary risk.”

“Well, looks like I learned from the best, then.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“What’s going on?” Karen whispered as she joined Matt by the elevator door. “I thought Amy was going back today.”

Matt raised his brows in surprise. “Wait, you know her?”

“Yeah, from a while back. Frank helped her out a few years ago.” Her voice sounded distracted and faraway; she was more focused on the argument happening in front of them. “What is she doing here?”

“She ditched her flight and climbed into Frank's trunk while we were busy fighting.”

“Ooof.” She ran a hand through her hair, sending a wave of lavender scent his way. “No wonder he's so pissed.”

He was — so much that Matt was sure the entire building would soon collapse from the force of his anger. His body trembled from it, causing the hairs on his arms to stand on end, while tiny goosebumps spread across the back of his neck. His veins pulsed with an intense rhythm, blood surging through as it approached a feverish peak. And while Frank's anger burned fiercely, Amy's rage swept over Matt like the tumultuous sea, dark and unpredictable, with towering waves that surged ever higher, ready to unleash their fury and engulf everything in their path.  

Fire and water don't tend to mix. One will overcome the other sooner or later. 

“It means you're a hypocrite, Frank!” the girl shouted. “And I'm sick of it!”

Frank's jacket rustled, calloused fingers closing around the smooth surface of his phone.

“That's it,” he seethed. “I'm calling Curt. You get on a plane first thing in the morning.”

“Like hell I am!”

Frank's heart switched to overdrive.

“You just can't help yourself, can you? No matter what I do to keep you away from it, you go right back in. You can claim it was about me all you want, kid, but the truth is you've always been nothing but a goddamn adrenaline junkie who just can't keep her ass out of trouble!”

It was like a backhanded slap in the face, and everyone in the room felt it. Amy stumbled back, the rubber soles of her boots producing a tiny squeak against the floorboards, but Matt was more focused on the catch in her breath, the way her lungs contracted as if all air was abruptly sucked out of them, and the sudden drop of her heart. A faint smell of salt invaded the air, which meant her eyes welled up with tears.

“Well,” she said, quiet and restrained, barely controlling the quiver in her voice, “then maybe you should have — how did you put it? — grabbed a beer and watched the show when the Schultzes’ people came for me. Both of us would have one less problem right now.”

In an instant, Amy turned sharply and walked away. Found the bathroom at first try and shut the door with a forceful slam, quickly turning on the tap to drown out the anguished sob that erupted from her throat just moments later. Matt heard it, though — it shot through him like an arrow.

Frank stood there for a few more seconds, seemingly motionless but too close to breaking. He dragged a rough hand over his mouth and released a long breath, then, mirroring the girl's move, turned back toward the elevator.

“Where are you going?” Karen asked when he walked past them.

“Out.”

He pressed a button and the metal door closed with a hiss.

Matt was pretty sure he heard the man's fist collide with the wall halfway down to the bottom.

“We gotta move. Now.”

Jessica’s firm, no-bullshit voice pierced the silence of the apartment as she marched out of the elevator with urgency. Her erratic heartbeat came like a warning from downstairs minutes earlier, so Matt was already in his suit, his cowl tucked under his arm.

“Riots?” He asked, stepping out to meet her.

"By Lincoln Square,” Frank provided as he crossed the open space to the armory corner of their base. “Fisk dispatched fifteen armed trucks. The streets are crawling with these assholes.”

“Fuck.”

Weapons clattered against the metal countertop, loaded clips snapping into place. Frank's hands didn't tremble for a moment, his movements confident and honed through years of practice. However, Matt could feel a thin layer of sweat covering his palms, making the machine gun a bit unsteady in his grip. The man's breathing was labored but forced to appear steady, and the tension in his muscles made him move more like a robot than a human, though he tried hard to conceal it.

Matt felt Karen's gaze on him all the way from the kitchen, where she sat with her laptop, working on something for BB. Her hair waved as she discreetly turned her head toward the hallway, where the door to one of the spare bedrooms stood closed, unanimously ignored by everyone since yesterday. She didn't say a word, but he knew what she wanted to convey.

He cautiously approached Frank.

“Maybe you should stay behind tonight.”

Frank's pulse jumped menacingly, but he didn't show it. He put two pistols into the holsters on his hips and began taking knives from the shelf.

“You got hit a little too hard in the head last night, Red?”

Matt leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “Don't you think you have a more urgent problem to deal with right now?”

Of course, he was met only with silence. A thick and impenetrable wall of silence, which he drove into at full speed. Frank didn't even spare him a grunt of acknowledgment; instead, he busied himself with shoving knives and spare clips into his pockets.

“Look, Frank. I don't know what's the story between you and this girl—”

“No. You don't.”

The snap of a loaded weapon was a warning. And the end to their conversation. Frank threw the rifle over his shoulder and wordlessly headed for the exit, pointedly leaving Matt alone.

He donned his cowl and let out a heavy sigh, filled with frustration. Karen approached to deliver him his weapons and give him a brief hug for good luck. Matt went to follow his teammates, a stream of follow-up questions at the tip of his tongue, but was stopped by a quiet click of a doorknob.

Amy appeared in the hallway entrance. Her throat was constricted, palms damp and concealed by arms folded tightly around her chest, her guts twisted into an untieable knot. Her sudden presence stole oxygen from the room, causing everyone to hold their breaths as if the clock started a countdown to an inevitable detonation. Matt sensed her breath, forced and measured but rattling with unease in her lungs, as she undoubtedly bored her eyes into the back of the only person in the room who could strike the match.

Frank froze in the elevator. His heartbeat hammered against his ribcage, wild and erratic and angry, but it was the undercurrent of longing that struck Matt the most. He wasn't sure how he could tell what it was, but he was certain he felt it before, a long time ago. 

The air shifted when Frank turned. Not fully, just a calculated half-step back to look at the girl over his shoulder.

Both their hearts stuttered in unison when their eyes met for the first time since last night. As if they had reached for one another, but their stubbornly unmoving bodies held them back, gluing their feet to the ground. Only the length of the apartment separated them, but Matt felt as if a chasm had opened between the two, a dark furrow reaching deep into the earth, seemingly narrow but impossible to cross. And neither of them had any intention of building a bridge, though they both wanted it to exist.

Amy drew in a shaky breath at the same time Frank released his. So much was left unsaid between them, and Matt couldn't help but wrack his brain about the why of it all. What happened to create this strange, unexpected bond? Why did it feel like stepping on broken glass? They cared for one another, that was obvious. Matt didn't need eyes — or any of his enhanced senses, to be honest — to know that all that anger stemmed from a deeply rooted fear of loss, on both sides. The girl's story was a mystery, but it was easy to figure out it wasn't a pretty one. The question was, how did Frank Castle fit in it?

Watching the entire situation from behind Frank, Jessica quietly cleared her throat; it snapped Matt out of his thoughts, letting him know he should hurry. He quickly crossed the apartment, the weight of breaking something fragile on his shoulders as he slipped inside and took his spot next to the man, who refused to move.

He didn't know Amy's face but could easily imagine her eyes still holding onto Frank’s as the elevator doors slid closed, separating them even more.

Like scissor blades snipping a thread in half.

The smell of blood was nauseating.

It overrode Matt's senses, shoving the stench of copper into his nostrils and forcing his throat to collapse into itself. It soaked into his suit, uncomfortably warm against his skin, while the body it came from had started to grow alarmingly cold.

“Don't you dare faint on me now, Frank,” he groaned when his companion stumbled and nearly brought Matt down to the ground with him.

“What, you ain't gonna catch me?” The other man wheezed out, forcing a humorous tone despite barely being able to stand.

Matt all but dragged him into the building and slammed the button on the elevator.

“Trust me, you don't wanna test that.”

Seconds dragged as the elevator rode up, even though Matt counted them all. Frank's wound was bleeding profusely despite him pressing his hand to it, leaking through his fingers and leaving heavy drops splashing on the floor at their feet.

He was losing too much. They didn't have much time.

“So, how many times have you been stabbed so far?” Matt asked, half-teasingly, half-serious, just so he didn't have to think about what's about to happen.

Frank chuckled, then groaned as his body jolted with pain. “Dunno. Lost count,” he panted.

They were getting closer. Just a few more seconds and they’ll reach the base.

Frank's grip at the back of Matt's neck became tighter.

“Listen, Red,” he rasped. “Don't… don't let her—”

Doors pulled open with a ding. Matt didn't waste a second.

“Injury!” He shouted, following the protocol the team set up in place to work smoother. Two sets of footsteps rushed from the back of the apartment as he dragged Frank in, one fast and confident, the other more hesitant.

“Frank? Oh my god, Frank!”

Amy hurried toward them but abruptly halted just a few feet away, her heart sinking at the horrifying sight. Frank instantly forced himself to straighten up, raising his head in a desperate attempt to mask his pain and appear less injured than he was, but his body betrayed him and he doubled over, sending more blood gushing onto the floor.

The girl shrieked, petrified. “Frank!”

Karen pushed past the screaming girl, not once faltering in her step. Her heartbeat raged with worry, but she pushed it down and steadied her breath, putting her fear away to deal with later. In a matter of seconds she was with them, holding Frank up from the other side when his knees buckled under him.

“What happened?” She asked them both.

“Knife, point blank," Matt explained. 

“Where’s Jess?”

“Stayed with Luke. They’re fine. Get him on the table.”

It was a hustle, but together they managed to haul Frank up onto the large wooden dining table. The man let out a pained groan as he turned onto his back, his hand clutching the wound. His breath became increasingly shallow as his heart struggled to pump the blood. 

In a few quick, practiced moves, Karen removed Frank's skull vest.

“Internal organs?”

Matt focused his senses.

“No damage,” he assured her. “But he's lost a lot of blood.”

Amy lingered somewhere behind his back. “Is he going to be okay? What’s going on?” Her heartbeat fluttered within her chest, quick and erratic, like hummingbird wings. Trembling hands grabbed at Matt's arm in a desperate attempt to push him away, but he didn't even think of budging, too busy ripping Frank's shirt open to get better access to the wound.

“How did it happen?” She demanded.

Matt tightened his jaw. He couldn't tell her that it happened because Frank's mind was elsewhere. That one of the task force men caught him off guard and used an opening Frank unknowingly gave him because he wasn't focused on the fight at hand. He couldn’t put that kind of weight on her, knowing all too well that she would just blame herself. Frank surely wouldn’t want that. She was starting to hyperventilate, fresh tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. Her chin was trembling so hard her teeth clattered. The girl was freaking out, but Matt could only focus on one problem at a time.

Frank’s arm slid from his stomach and fell over the edge of the table, reaching for her.

“Come here,” he whispered.

She latched onto his hand with a strangled sob. His blood left behind pathways where his fingers trailed over her skin, the metallic stench mixing with the sweet scent of the strawberry soap from their bathroom.

“Frank…”

“Shh, it's okay, kid. I'll be okay.”

Something in Matt's chest stirred. Despite his iron grip, Frank's touch was gentle. The slow caress of his thumb over Amy's knuckles was filled with surprising tenderness, like touching butterfly wings. There was no sign of the rageful resentment that had loomed over this apartment just the night before in either of them.

There was just… fear. Overwhelming, suffocating, mad fear.

“What’s her heart rate like?” Frank asked Matt. “‘Cause I think she’s about to faint.” 

“High. Very high," Matt replied instantly. “She’s worried about you.”

Karen appeared back at his side. “I got the medkit. We need to stitch him up.”

“No. I need to stitch him up. You need to get her out of here.”

Amy's head snapped at him. “What? No! I'm not leaving!”

“Matt, are you sure you'll be able to do this?”

“I don't need eyes, if that's what you're asking,” he told Karen. “But I need you to keep Amy out of the way because she's about to pass out and I can already tell Frank won't sit still if it happens here.”

Frank shifted towards Karen as well.

“The roof,” he grunted. “She’ll need… fresh air.”

Karen pursed her lips, uncertain. She wasn't too happy about the prospect of leaving either of them — Matt sensed the familiar tension in her body, the way her spine became stiff whenever she was about to argue with him. The hand she had resting on Frank’s knee tightened its grip, but she nodded at his plea.

“You don't need to see this, Amy,” she said softly as she approached the girl. Her hand landed on her shoulder. “C'mon."

“No. No way.” Her grip on Frank's hand became so strong his bones crunched. “Frank, I promise I will get on that stupid plane tomorrow, and I will stay away as long as you tell me to. Okay? Just don't make me leave you now. Please.”

Her voice trembled until it broke on the final word. Tears began to roll down her face, and Matt heard them splash against Frank's hand.

He also heard his entire body screaming in agony. Nerve endings on fire, muscles spasming, working overtime to keep him afloat. A thin sheen of sweat covered his forehead and chest, the scent of it filling the air, while his breathing kept growing more and more difficult. Frank was starting to lose this fight and he knew it.

Still, he refused to surrender. 

The table groaned when he propped himself on his elbow. His free hand detached from the wound, and, summoning every ounce of strength he still had, he turned his body toward Amy, reaching for her face. In a gesture Matt found shockingly affectionate, his split knuckles brushed against her cheek, careful not to leave any blood behind as he wiped away her tears.

“Go with Karen, baby,” he said, more tender than Matt has ever heard him. “I'll be alright.”

It all clicked then.

Matt felt stupid for not realizing it sooner.

Amy swallowed another sob, the curtain of her thick hair swishing over her back as she nodded. Her hand slipped from Frank's bloody grip, the sound of it slicker and smoother than it should be with the calluses on his fingers brushing against her smooth skin, and she let herself be pulled away by Karen, who whispered something about stopping by the bathroom first. They soon disappeared around the corner but Matt could tell Amy kept looking back, ‘cause Frank didn’t lie back down until they were gone.

He dropped heavily on the table with a loud groan.

“Let's get this over with.”

Matt ditched his cowl, took off his gloves, and washed his hands in the sink, then quickly picked what he needed from the medkit: a curved needle, the strongest sutures they had, disinfectant, and gauze. Bless Karen for arranging their supplies and making him memorize the order so he wouldn't have to lose time searching labels. He had one ear on Frank's wound, the blood gurgling inside the gash. It radiated heat like a furnace, the rhythmic pulsing of damaged flesh like the cracking of flames against the wood.

Leaning over it, he hesitated. 

Frank raised his head. "What?”

“This is going to hurt.”

“Don't care. Just fucking do it already.”

With a single fortifying breath, Matt got to work. His fingers mapped out the size of the wound as carefully as possible, but Frank's body still stiffened at the contact. Matt had to give it to him, though; the man barely made a peep. It probably had more to do with the girl now locked inside the bathroom, desperately trying to wash his blood off her hands under painfully hot water, than with his, undoubtedly high, pain tolerance.

Needle and thread in one hand, he pinched the damaged skin with the other. Blood poured over his fingers, warm and sticky, but he pushed the needle through without waiting. 

Frank jolted violently, a string of curses flying from his mouth.

“Fucking hell, your bedside manner sucks,” he growled.

“You asked for it.”

Water in the bathroom abruptly cut off.

“What was that?” Amy’s voice sounded spooked.

Karen's followed, tense but forced to sound comforting. “It's nothing, don't worry.”

But the girl's breath already quickened, matching the speed of her raging heart. The ceramic sink groaned under the press of her weight when she gripped the edge with her wet hands and leaned against it.

“Should we really be letting a blind guy go at him with a needle?”

“Trust me, Matt has steady hands. He’ll be fine.”

“He's bleeding out! You call that fine?!”

Frank grabbed his wrist. "What? What?!"

Matt jolted, only now realizing he stilled for long enough to raise suspicion.

"Nothing." He quickly resumed his work. Needle pierced the skin, thread went through smoothly. All he needed was to keep it that way.

But Frank wasn't having it.

"Goddamnit, Red. Spill it."

"She's having a panic attack."

Adrenaline spiked. Frank shot upright, pushing Matt's hands away and effectively ruining the stitches. 

“What do you mean she's having a panic attack?!”

“Look, she heard you, okay? It freaked her out a bit.” He raised his hands in a calming gesture. Something about it felt like dealing with an angry bull. 

Frank swung his legs off the table.

“I have to go there.”

"You want to make it worse for both of you?” Matt’s hand pushed back against his chest. “Lay back down. Karen's with her, she'll be fine."

"No, she won't. That kid can spiral to oblivion and I'm the only one who can—”

"Right now all you can is lie fucking still so you don't bleed out.”

It was an argument Frank couldn't fight against. 

“Then be fucking careful,” he huffed as he repositioned himself. “We don't need to scare her any more than she already is.”

“You want me to gag you?” 

“Jesus Christ, just stop sticking your fingers into my body like you lost your bible in there.”

The sudden movement caused the wound to reopen. Blood flow increased, irritated flesh giving off more heat while the rest of Frank's body continued to grow cold. His breathing became more forceful, each inhale and exhale quick and shallow, yet the stubborn man fought to hide it all. His skin felt damp beneath Matt's fingers, a thin layer of cold sweat clung to his torso in tiny beads, while his heart seemed to falter with each passing moment.

The two spent the next few minutes in silence while Matt worked meticulously on the stitches and Frank lay with his eyes closed, focused on his breathing. Somewhere in the back of the apartment, a bathroom door opened, and two sets of footsteps quickly headed for the exit at the end of the hallway.

“They went to the rooftop,” Matt murmured, adjusting a loop to make sure the torn skin was pulled together tightly.

Frank breathed out, relieved.

“Good.”

That single word stirred something deep inside Matt, causing a lump to form in his throat. It strangely reminded him of his father. He swallowed hard, plastered on a smile, and reached for a new thread.

“So. Wanna tell me about her?”

"I'm bleeding out, Murdock. You really wanna chit-chat?”

He chuckled. “Fair.”

“Focus. I don’t want those to look messy.”

Matt couldn't help himself. He grinned. "How would I know?”

A hard nudge of Frank's knee got a laugh out of him. It lacked enough force to do any real damage, but he received the message loud and clear.

Karen was rolling her eyes at their antics somewhere.

The back of Frank’s head thumped gently against the table.

“I met her seven years ago,” he said. “She was a street kid, deep in trouble. I stepped in, got her out of it, and sent her on her merry way.”

Matt tightened another loop; he was getting close to the end.

“Didn't seem to stick.”

“No.” A wide grin stretched across Frank's face. “It did not.”

His heart thrummed fondly and Matt couldn't resist smiling at the sound. How many memories were hidden behind it? How many laughs, how many fights? Seven years is a long time, after all.

“When we first met, you told me we don't get to choose what gives us purpose,“ he said, the moment vivid in his mind. "Guess your purpose has finally found you."

Frank's eyes opened sluggishly. “What’s taking yours so long?”

"Know a kid I could adopt?"

Frank scoffed. "There's that spider punk jumping around Queens. You could take him off my ass."

Matt shook his head, laughing. Sure, what the hell. He'll get papers ready.

“You could just get a dog?” Frank suggested.

Matt considered it for a moment. “Foggy always thought I should.”

Foggy would have so many thoughts about what's happening here right now. Matt could almost hear his bewildered tone in the back of his head. Frank Castle? The Big Bad Punisher, the main resident of Crazy Town, took in a kid? Yeah, and I'm the princess of Sokovia. But there was no doubt he would have grown fond of Amy in record time. The kid was sharp and witty, and if she was able to worm her way into Frank's heart, she would have had Foggy wrapped around her finger in no time.

Her panic attack appeared to have gone away, Matt noted. He sensed her heartbeat from the rooftop, a rhythm still laced with worry yet softened by a newfound calm. Karen sat with her, recounting the story of Frank's infamous trial.

“Do you think Karen likes dogs?” The question slipped out before he could stop it.

Frank let out a groan. “Fuck off, Red. I’ve lost too much blood to have that conversation.”

Good point. Matt wasn't eager for it either, but the temptation to get on Frank's nerves about it was just too great.

He was digging in the medkit for more antiseptic wipes when Frank spoke again.

“The thing is, Red. Once you got that purpose, everything else stops to matter." His tone was completely serious and full of something Matt recognized as experience. “You become very afraid of losing it. And that— that can get you into some deep shit.”

“Like sneaking into a trunk of a car in the middle of a violent riot?”

“That's right.”

He came back to Frank's side and started swiping a piece of cotton over the stitches.

“Listen, I know it's none of my business—”

“It's not.”

“But don't be too harsh on her. She was scared to death. I could tell by her heartbeat.”

“And you think I wasn't?” Frank asked, and Matt heard it. The tremble. The choking terror.

“I know you were,” he said. “You still are.”

Frank's hand suddenly closed around Matt's wrist, making him pause. He held on tight.

“She is the most important thing in my life. So if I don't make it—”

"Shut up, Frank. I'm almost done, you're gonna be fine—"

"If I don't make it,” he pressed, “you better make sure she gets out of this hell, Murdock."

His fingers painfully dug into Matt's skin as he pulled at his hand.

“You hear me? I'm trusting you.”

It wasn't just about tonight, Matt realized then. It wasn't about this wound. It was about this fight, this war with Fisk they were sacrificing their souls for every day and night. None of them knew what tomorrow would bring. No one could tell for sure how this was going to end. But Jessica and Luke were out there right now, making the city safer for their daughter. Matt and Karen fought for Foggy, for his memory, his legacy, and their future. Frank, as it turned out, fought for Amy.

“Yeah, I hear you.” Matt nodded. “I'll make sure she's safe, I promise.”

“Good.”

Letting go, Frank fell back against the table, exhaling deeply. His heartbeat grew more steady, breathing became easier too. He was still exhausted, but they were out of the woods now.

Matt finished cleaning up around the wound and dived back into the medkit for a plaster.

“We’ve come a long way from you tying me to a roof, huh?” 

Frank chuckled. "Don't think I wouldn't do it again."

There was absolutely no doubt about that. Their partnership wasn't simple or straightforward. They both did things the other didn't approve of. Their moral codes were different.

But somehow — by some twisted miracle or God's unique sense of humor — when it came down to it, they had each other's back.

"Does Amy like dogs?" Matt asked, swinging back to their previous conversation as he measured out a piece of plaster. 

"She'd have a whole goddamn shelter at her place if she could,” Frank grumbled, but Matt detected that barely hidden note of fondness in his tone. His words came through a smile, for sure. “Let her out on the streets and she'll pet everything that moves.”

There was a story behind that, a happy one no doubt, but Matt had to hold the reins on his curiosity; it was a dirty play to try to get the details out of Frank in his current condition. The man didn’t share these things lightly, especially if they could jeopardize someone's safety. Maybe he'll get the chance to talk to Amy later, Matt thought. However, he couldn't stop a dopey smile from forming on his face as a hearty laugh erupted from his chest.

“You really love this kid,” he said, shaking his head in both awe and amusement.

There was a moment of pause in which he was sure Frank's heart did a somersault inside his chest. Matt wasn't expecting a reply, but the other man surprised them both when he breathed out a sigh and said,

“Yeah. I do.”

There was no denying that.

“And we're done.”

Frank's body stirred on the table, heavy and exhausted as he struggled to pull himself into a sitting position. His hand brushed over the dressing, inspecting Matt's work.

“Thank you.”

Matt started cleaning blood off his hands. “Don't mention it. Just rest now. We’re gonna need you in top form as soon as possible.”

He should have known Frank wouldn’t listen to him; without warning, the man's boots hit the floor and the wood groaned beneath him as he pushed himself off of the table — only to immediately come tumbling down.

Matt caught him just in time. “Where do you think you're going?”

“I need to… I need to talk to her.”

The desperate quiver in his voice tore through Matt like a knife. That familiar sense of longing invaded Frank’s heartbeat again, and this time Matt was finally able to place it — a memory from almost a decade ago, a graveyard at night, and a story about a little girl in a yoga class who got a surprise reunion with her marine dad.

“I'll go get her,” Matt promised softly. “Okay? You need to rest.”

Part of him expected Frank to argue, but the man nodded slowly and held onto Matt tighter.

“Just get me on the couch at least. I'm not gonna sleep on a table,” he said. “And pass me that damn blanket or something. I don’t want her to see how bad it was.” 

A little too late for that, Matt thought grimly but said nothing — just patted his friend on the back and helped him move across the room.

Amy was anxiously pacing back and forth when Matt made it to the rooftop. The air around her had a salty tint, proof of the tears that had traced paths down her cheeks, while fresh droplets lingered at the edge of her waterline. As soon as she spotted him, questions fired from her mouth like speeding bullets.

"How did it go? Is he okay? Can I see him?"

Her grip on his arm was almost painful. Matt was certain that without the barrier of the suit, her nails would have embedded deep into his skin. Behind her, he sensed Karen standing up, her heartbeat echoing with a despair that mirrored the girl’s.

Matt gave Amy's shoulder a comforting squeeze.

“He'll be okay. He's resting now. Waiting for you.”

Her breath trembled in her lungs. She released it, fast and unsteady, in a relieved gasp as her lips curved into a smile.

Nodding quickly, she pushed past him but Matt grabbed her by the elbow. 

“Just... cut him some slack, okay?” He said. “He's just scared of losing you."

Something in her changed. Her relief solidified into an unyielding barrier. She stood resolutely, her body taut beneath his touch as she straightened her back. Her heart drummed with a fervor that reminded him of Frank — an immovable force, tall and proud and unwavering.

She snatched her arm back. "And I'm scared of losing him."

Spinning around, she dived for the exit and shut the door behind her.

The rooftop fell back into a gentle symphony of the city below. Matt blew out a long breath, running his hand through his hair. "If I didn't know, I'd be sure she's actually his,” he said to Karen.

She let out a soft chuckle. “I thought the same thing when I first met her.”

“You never told me about that.”

“She wasn’t my secret to tell.”

Her back hit the nearest wall, and she slid down until she was sitting on the floor. She patted the patch of dusty concrete next to her, inviting him to join her.

Matt sat and leaned against the bricks, the back of his head hitting the wall with a quiet thump. He concentrated his ears on the inside of the apartment and the sound of two terrified heartbeats, broken by an earthshattering, heartwrenching, violent sob.

Karen nudged his shoulder. “What is it?” She asked worriedly.

He felt his eyes starting to water. “I think I’m listening to her heart break. She loves him so much, Karen.”

He listened more, noting the sound the couch made when Frank sat up and the soft cadence of his voice as he consoled the girl. Footsteps followed, quick and unsteady, and Matt had no doubt Amy just fell into his arms.

It was hard to imagine, because the Frank Castle that he knew was a closed-off man who wasn’t comfortable with people’s touch. He kept everyone at arm’s length, was hard around the edges, and sharp as the blade that almost took his life tonight. But there was a time when he was also a devoted husband and a loving father, a man who sat his son on his shoulders in a crowd and read his daughter to sleep every night. There was a side of him Matt only knew as a ghost, a folk tale that was told so many times over the years it lost its original form — yet it came back now, rose from the dead when Frank wrapped his arms tightly around the sobbing girl, skin brushing against skin as she laid her head on his bare chest.

“I thought I was gonna lose you.”

Lips pressed against skin.

“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart. Nothing’s gonna take me away from you, I swear.”

“I’m sorry I was so stupid.”

A chuckle.

“I was stupid, too.”

“Remember that one time Frank got ambushed by Billy Russo’s men and ended up in a hospital?”

Karen’s voice brought Matt back to the rooftop. 

He thought about it for a moment, then smiled. “I remember how fast you ran out of the office to get there.”

She let out a laugh and lowered her head. Her hair brushed his shoulder as it fell, but he still detected a rush of faint heat in her cheeks.

“Amy snuck in there, pretending to be a nurse,” she told him. “Frank was so mad. I didn't know what was happening or who she was but both of them had bounties on their heads and Frank was hell-bent on kicking her out of there, saying she wasn't safe.”

Matt nodded along.

“And let me guess, she didn't listen.”

“Nope.”

He chuckled.

“So, what happened last night was a more extreme version of that.”

“You could say that,” Karen agreed. She was quiet for a moment as she picked at a loose thread in the cuff of her sweater. “Frank was right; she wasn't safe. Someone came after him, some cop hungry for the money, and Amy tried to stop him. Almost got choked to death because of that.”

“Jesus.”

Karen took a deep breath. “I've never seen Frank like this before. He went nuts. He was cuffed to the bed, but I was sure he was going to break it with how desperately he was trying to get to her. He was like a wild animal going rampant. Lost it completely.”

Matt tilted his head toward her. “So you're saying…”

“She's his kryptonite, Matt.”

The last piece of the puzzle fell into place.

“And he's hers.”

Karen nodded slowly.

“I think they found each other when they needed each other the most. Amy was just sixteen and she was on her own. She had no one to lean on. And Frank…” she sighed. “I guess he was longing for someone to care for.”

Matt's face lit up with a soft smile. “You think she reminds him of Lisa?”

“Definitely. Especially back then.”

“Yeah.”

Who would have thought Frank Castle would get a second chance at fatherhood? Matt felt truly happy for the man; Amy brought out the best in him. She was a beaming light in his dark existence, a beacon of hope that kept him going. She gave him purpose and a reason to live, and in return, he gave her something she probably never had — a home. They were both hotheaded and stubborn and fought like two stray cats, but Matt completely agreed that they were the best thing that could ever have happened to either of them.

Curious, he listened in again: they slept peacefully, curled up together on the couch. Amy held onto Frank’s hand tightly while he had his face nestled deeply in her hair. Their breathing flowed steadily, yet it was the sound of their heartbeats that truly captivated him — synced up, pulsing in unison, echoing the soothing rhythm of their mutual assurance that they were okay.

When he turned toward his city next, he found it just as quiet and peaceful; the fighting stopped, people survived to see another day. Somewhere out there, Jessica whispered something in her daughter’s ear. Luke ran a hand over the girl’s hair. They breathed out in relief when she finally fell asleep.

Exhausted, Matt leaned his head against Karen’s shoulder.

“I guess there is still hope in Hell’s Kitchen,” he whispered.

She rested her cheek on his hair.

“I guess so.”