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“Listen to me. You gotta walk away.”
When Frank tells her to leave, Amy feels her blood harden into concrete.
“You walk away. You go get in that car, and you drive to the end of the road. You hit the horn when you get there. You hear me?”
Everything inside of her refuses. Her sneakers sink into the ground beneath her, rooting her in; she wants nothing more than to turn herself into a marble statue and tell Frank she is not going anywhere. But he's dead serious, more serious than she thinks she has ever seen him, if that's even possible. And he's scared. She hasn't known him for long, but she's able to read that fear from his eyes, like words printed in dark ink on a bone white page; she can hear the ring of it in his voice, betraying just how terrified he is.
Of her getting taken again. Of her getting hurt, caught in the crossfire, or worse.
He’s afraid of losing her.
His lips pressed against her forehead all but confirm it. Amy closes her eyes and lets herself feel it, allows herself to relish in this crumb of comfort since they can't afford anything more. She'll think about what it means later; right now she just wants the seconds to stretch into infinity, to stay in this moment forever, in this bubble where she is safe, protected, and cared for. In the arms of a man who is a walking killing machine yet somehow found enough space in his heart for her little, pathetic self to crawl into.
And she didn't plan it. Neither of them did. She's an orphan with more names to her than she can count and he's a vigilante who is used to walking the dark path of justice alone. But the kiss he leaves on her forehead is a promise, an oath she knows he doesn't intend to break, even if it kills him.
So when he whispers “go” and his hand slides down from the side of her neck, his thumb brushing the line of her jaw in a last small attempt of comfort, Amy turns with a nod and runs.
His eyes never leave her, not until she's outside of the gate and out of sight. Briefly, she wonders if he can see how badly her hands are shaking against the steering wheel, if he knows she can barely see the road through her tears. But she does what he asked her to do, stops the car, and slams the heel of her palm against the horn; the sound sends shivers through her entire body and leaves a stinging sensation in her ears.
Next thing she knows, she's out of the car, standing in an empty field, sobbing. Has half the mind to cover her mouth, make sure no one hears her. It's all too much, too overwhelming; she doesn't know what to do with the weight of everything she’s feeling, of it crumbling around her. She wants to run back there; she wants to know that Frank is okay, but he told her to stay away and every time she didn't listen to him in the past, it ended badly. They're in this situation now because she didn't listen to him and acted on her own. So she's going to stay away. For her own good.
She ends up sitting sideways in the driver's seat, the door flung open as she left it while she digs her shoes into the dirt. She can't hear any gunshots and can't tell if this is a good or a bad thing. All she knows is that the silence that surrounds her is way more terrifying. She picks at a loose thread in her jeans and bites on her lower lip ‘til she draws blood — anything to stop more sobs from coming out. Instead, tears are silently rolling down her cheeks; Amy doesn't bother wiping them away.
Frank's face appears at the forefront of her mind: at first bloody, her imagination's suggestion of how he must look right now. The face of a monster, some would say, but she finds a strange sense of comfort in it. It's the face of a fighter, a protector.
Then it morphs into something else; a figment of her imagination turns into a memory from just minutes ago. Frank standing just a few feet away from her, watching her, the kind of desperate and vulnerable look in his eyes that she had never seen before.
That kid right there... The one whose head you got that gun on. You see, I'd do anything for her. Anything.
Deep in her gut, she knows he was telling the truth and that— she doesn't know what to do with that. Because she's never had this. She's never had someone who would do anything for her, let alone tell her that to her face with that much conviction. She doesn't want to believe it; so many people have let her down in her life, people who were supposed to take care of her. Friends, foster families, social workers… all these people were all talk, but never any action. Just feeding her lies like it's poison disguised as candy, smiling at the look of hope in her eyes, then turning away as she chokes on it.
She assumed Frank would be the same. Because why wouldn't he be? And for a bit, she thought she was being proven right. Absent-mindedly, Amy brushes her thumb over her wrist, remembering the red angry lines imprinted on her skin after he zip-tied her to the bed. To leave her as bait.
What a crazy juxtaposition to what is happening now.
It's weird, remembering that when she can still feel his lips against her forehead, the kiss he laid there as easily as if he's done it a thousand times before. She can still feel his big hands ghost over her back protectively and how firm and solid his chest felt when she collided with it. She's never had this either, this… affection. And if she had, she must have been so little she can't remember it. Because she's pretty damn sure she would have remembered this overwhelming, encompassing feeling of… of…
“Amy!”
The sudden roar of her name makes her jump. She's so on edge that at first her instinct tells her to run, but a second later the familiar gruff voice registers in her brain and she looks around, straining her eyes in the direction she came from, until she sees him.
He's covered in blood but not drained in it. Red stains cover his face and neck, smudged and faded as if he hastily cleaned himself up before coming here. He looks a little stiff but is marching her way with confidence in his step, wide and worried eyes fixed on her and only her.
“Amy!”
“Frank…” Amy sobs his name for the second time tonight and breaks into a sprint. And then he's running too, his arms wide open and reaching for her, and that's the last thing she sees before her tears blur her vision completely and she all but crashes into him with the force of a speeding bullet. And it feels like running into a tree or a wall, the impact stealing air from her lungs and making her dizzy, but there's no other place she'd rather be when his strong arms curl around her and gather her closer, so much closer.
“Shh, I’m here, kid. I got you,” Frank whispers into her ear as one of his hands comes up to cradle the back of her head. “Shh, I got you. It’s okay, I got you.”
Amy burrows her face in his neck and cries, wails when the dam inside her finally breaks and everything crashes down on her in a heap of rubble. She digs her fingers into his back to keep herself afloat and begs him, begs the world, anyone who would listen, to not let her fall. Because if she falls, she's gone. The relief is like a tsunami, a monstrous wave that she doesn't think she can survive. She cries because there's nothing else for her to do, nothing else she has the strength for; she lets it out because she doesn't have it in her to hold it back anymore.
And Frank takes it all in stride. He's like a lighthouse bearing a storm, his light unwavering as it guides her home. His arms tighten around her even more, crushing her to him, refusing to let go. His embrace is a fortress around her and Amy is sure she's never felt anything like this before and she will never feel anything like this again, not with anyone else. Because only Frank Castle, the freaking Punisher, can hold you like you're the only thing in this world worth giving his life for.
She feels him press his scruffy cheek against her hair and release a shaky breath, trembling fingers running through her hair and slowly untangling the knots.
“My girl…” he exhales so softly she barely hears it, and then there's something wet that lands against the skin of her temple, and it takes Amy a second too long to realize he's crying too.
His hands travel over her back, fingers mapping out her spine and she figures he's looking for injuries.
“I’m okay,” Amy chokes out once she finds her voice again, and it makes him lean back, but not enough to release her from his hold.
“You sure?” He asks as he grabs her face and gently turns it this way and that.
“Yeah.”
“Hundred percent?”
She grips his wrists to make him stop. “I’m not hurt, Frank.”
Frank pauses and looks into her eyes, and in his gaze, Amy sees that same vulnerability she noticed earlier. He's still holding her face, and she feels his thumbs swipe under her eyes, almost absent-mindedly catching stray tears. And then she sees relief wash over him, gently and slowly, like the sky clearing after the storm.
“Okay,” he breathes out, nodding once. “Okay,” he repeats, steadier this time as one of his hands comes to rest at the back of her neck. “Okay,” he says for the third time, blinking away fresh tears as he pulls her in and presses his lips to her forehead.
And it feels more desperate this time, like it's more for his benefit than hers. Like he's looking for a confirmation that she's here, that she's really okay. He kisses the tip of her nose next, a tiny peck that tickles, and then her cheeks, no doubt salty from all the drying tears. With each little kiss, her smile grows bigger, and when he rests his forehead against hers, their noses brushing, Amy lets out a bewildered giggle, because there is no freaking way that this is real.
“I am never losing you again, you hear me?” He tells her in that gruff voice of his. “Never again.”
“Yeah,” she says, beaming now. “Right back at ya.”
One corner of his lips twitches, his eyes crinkle, and she knows he’s a second away from smiling too.
Then she hears footsteps.
“Frank,” she gasps, alert, latching onto his forearms when she looks over his shoulder and spots her kidnapper coming their way. How he is not dead, she doesn't know, but he looks like he got pretty close, with the amount of blood covering his face and the slow pace of his wobbly walk. When he locks eyes on her, panic immediately seizes her and she wants to run, but Frank grabs her arms and brings her back against his chest, holding her in place.
“Hey. Hey, it's okay, kid. It's okay, he's not gonna hurt you anymore.”
Amy finds it hard to believe. But Frank never lied to her. He always tells her the truth.
When the man — John, she remembers — passes by them, she doesn't take her eyes off him. Expects him to say something, or attack her, but he stays silent, maintaining eye contact with her as she turns around in Frank's arms and watches the man simply walk over to his car.
“Why?” is all she manages to ask.
Frank's fingers curl around her shoulders. She can feel his chest against her back.
“We struck a deal. He lets you go, I get his kids back.”
John fishes out his top hat from the backseat. He puts it on and, with one last look, tips it their way in farewell. Amy feels a chill run down her spine when he enters the car and slams the door shut, as if nothing ever happened.
“So it's over?”
The engine comes to life; headlights break the darkness around them. Frank rubs her shoulders.
“Yeah, kid. It's over.”
Watching John drive away, she feels empty. Cold. All of this, everything she's been through, over, just like that. With a screech of tires. She starts shivering but doesn't register it until Frank brings her closer against himself and leaves another kiss in her hair, this time on the back of her head.
“Come on, kiddo, let's go home,” he whispers, turning her back to himself. He tucks her hair behind her ear, dips his head to catch her eye, and waits as she wipes her face with the back of her sleeve.
And Amy knows they should go. It's dark, and it's cold, and she's so, so tired. Frank is probably more injured than he's letting on; his left cheek is slightly swollen and those cuts definitely need stitches. But she can't bring herself to move. Not yet. Not before she asks.
“Did you mean it?”
Something flickers in Frank’s eyes, and Amy thinks he understands. She wants to believe he does. Her heart hammers in her chest all of a sudden, because, even after everything, this is it. This is the moment she truly learns whether she has swallowed poison again or not.
His hands travel again, smoothing up her back until they frame her face, the touch of his rough palms featherlight against her skin.
He makes sure to look her in the eye and holds her gaze for a long moment.
“Every word,” he tells her.
And she believes him. Fully, completely, wholeheartedly. Because Frank has never lied to her. I’d have done anything, he said earlier when asked what he would have done if he had the chance to save his kids.
Here we are, John said back then, like he understood something Amy didn’t at the time.
Here we are, Frank confirmed it, looking right at her.
He’d do anything to save his kids. And he did. He went above and beyond to keep her safe.
It's everything she ever wanted and nothing she had ever expected from him.
But there it is.
Here they are.
She falls against his chest with a tired sigh and tucks herself under his chin. Frank's arm is warm and heavy around her shoulders as he steers her back towards the trailer, his boots shuffling against the gravel as he guides her back home. His lips find their way to her temple again, and Amy can't help but smile.
She's already home.