Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

New York never stayed quiet for long. Frank Castle knew that better than anyone.

The day had been still—just the dull hum of cabs, chatter of street vendors, the smell of hot pretzels in the air until the sky cracked open.

He didn’t know what the hell they were. Didn’t care, either. Aliens. Bug-eyed, armored, screaming things pouring out of a glowing tear in the sky, swarming down into the streets like locusts.

People ran, cars overturned, alarms blared.

Frank tugged at the black vest with the white skull, the familiar weight of the rifles strapped to his back, the pistols tightly gripped in his hands. He didn't hesitate—he never did.

He was ready to fight, whatever it was. Ready to die.

After several long minutes, as he tried to hold them back, alone, without really knowing how to fight this kind of supernatural violence, the kid walked in.

Red and blue, swinging like a failed circus act, entwining three creatures before sending them flying into a wall.

"Uh, hey... you're exaggerating a bit with this whole emptying a small gun shop in the middle of Manhattan thing, sir!" Spider-Man's voice rose above the chaos.

“Shut up, kid,” Frank growled, kicking an alien back into a wall before putting two bullets in its skull. “They don’t take webbing where they’re from.”

“Yeah, but civilians do!” Spidey shot another web, catching a flying car before it pancaked a fleeing crowd. “Maybe tone down the John Wick routine?”

Before Frank could answer, the air shimmered, and the street warped like reality itself had gotten drunk. Out stepped Doctor Strange, cloak fluttering like it had its own opinions.

“Of course,” Strange sighed. “A demonic invasion, unstable rift, and somehow I end up babysitting you two.”

“Good,” Frank said, reloading with a snap. “Then you can do your magic thing and close that damn hole. Less talk, more zap.”

Spider-Man snorted. “Zap? Really? You think that’s how sorcery works?”

“I could banish you both into a pocket dimension where sarcasm is punishable by law,” Strange muttered, slicing through an alien with a whip of golden fire.

The battle raged chaotically. Strange carved sigils into the air, shoving waves of aliens back through the rift.

Spider-Man zipped across the street, pulling civilians to safety, cracking jokes so fast Frank couldn’t keep up.

And Frank? Frank did what he always did—brutal, efficient, unrelenting violence. The street around him became a warzone of shattered bodies and smoking asphalt.

Strange’s eye twitched. “You’re… helping in the least constructive way possible.”

Frank gunned down another alien, not even looking at Strange. “Dead’s dead. That’s constructive enough.”

Spidey landed between them, panting. “Yeah, except some of us don’t solve everything with bullets! You ever try… I dunno, teamwork?”

Frank just gave him a flat look. “Teamwork’s overrated.”

Strange had had enough. His fingers twisted, runes flaring across his hands. “You need perspective, Castle. A lesson only the multiverse can teach.”

“Don’t,” Frank snapped.

Too late. The street folded inward, colors twisting, the sound of battle fading to nothing.

And then—silence.

Frank stood in the same street. No aliens, no screams, no wreckage. Just the hum of traffic, people walking like nothing had happened. The same block. Clean. Whole.

“What the hell…?” Frank muttered, his rifle lowering.

He scanned the sidewalk, scanning faces. Normal. Too normal.

Then he saw him.

A man in jeans, a black jacket, hair cut shorter. Same face. Same eyes. Same scars, even. But no vest. No blood. Just… ordinary.

The man froze, staring back at him with horror, like he’d seen a ghost.

“What the hell is this?” Frank muttered.

The other Frank Castle whispered, voice tight, disbelieving:

“…What the hell are you?”

Mirror of War - New York (Multiverse)

The street hummed with ordinary noise. Cabs honked, someone laughed at a café table, a kid licked ice cream. It felt wrong, too clean, too peaceful. Frank’s pulse hammered.

And then the other Frank moved. Quick, sharp, like muscle memory he didn’t even know he had. He grabbed Castle by the arm, dragging him off the main sidewalk into a narrow alley.

“Hey—hands off,” Frank growled, wrenching his arm free. His rifle came up out of reflex.

The other Frank’s eyes narrowed. Same fire, different world. “Tell me who the hell you are, or this is finished right here.”

Frank snorted, lowering the barrel just slightly. “Relax. It’s the same damn weird for me as it is for you. I didn’t ask to be dropped in whatever-this-is.”

They stared each other down. The silence stretched, thick as smoke.

Finally, Frank exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Strange. Magic guy in a cape. Said I needed… perspective. Next thing I know, I’m here. Same street.

Except it’s not. No blood, no bodies, no war.”

The other Frank’s jaw tightened. “So you’re still that guy. A machine. Guns, blood, and you against the world.” His eyes flicked to the skull painted across the vest. “Always the same damn story.”

Frank’s fists clenched. “And what? Your world’s perfect? No crime, no scum to put down? Damn it…”

His voice cracked with anger. “Don’t tell me you live in some fairytale where it all just works out.”

The other Frank didn’t answer. He just stared. A long, heavy silence.

It dug under Castle’s skin until he snapped: “Say something, goddammit!”.

Finally, the other Frank sighed. His voice dropped low, calm but cutting.

“Okay. You’re coming with me. Things are different here. And if you want to walk around without starting a riot… you can’t wear that.”

He pointed at the vest. The skull. The symbol Frank had bled for, killed for, lived in.

Frank’s lips curled. “That? This isn’t just some piece of clothing.”

The other shook his head. “Here, it is. And it’ll get you killed before you even figure out what’s going on.”

For the first time since Strange threw him into this mess, Frank felt his gut twist. What the hell kind of world didn’t have room for the Punisher?

He muttered under his breath, eyes flicking up to the skyline like maybe Strange was still watching.

“Fucking Strange.”

Chapter Text

Frank stared at the skull painted across his vest. His hands lingered there a moment, like he could squeeze the past back into his chest. Then, with a bitter snarl, he ripped it off and flung it into the gutter.

“Happy now?” he muttered.

The other man didn’t flinch. He just nodded once, then turned, walking down the street like this was the most ordinary thing in the world.

Frank fell into step beside him, eyes constantly scanning like he was waiting for a war to break out.

“So… let me get this straight,” Frank said, voice low and sharp. “You know all about the mess. The fighting. The vest. Which means here… in this world… you had it too.”

A long silence stretched between them, broken only by the hum of traffic and footsteps on pavement.

Finally, the other Frank answered, voice heavy: “Yes. Here too. We lost them.”

Frank froze in place. The words hit like a bullet to the gut. No escape. No miracle. Not even the multiverse could give him back what was gone.

He clenched his fists, his breath rough, uneven. Rage clawed its way out.

“Oh, that’s just perfect. Great perspective, Strange.” He spat the words like venom. “So what’s the big difference, huh? You just quit? Threw in the towel? Let the bastards win?”

The other Frank turned, meeting his eyes. There was no anger there—only something softer, something heavier.

That silence again. It burned worse than words.

“Say it,” Frank snarled. “Say what you did different!”

The man took a breath, steady, trying to calm the storm in front of him. “Okay. Calm down. I know that rage. Believe me, I know it. You and me—we’re the same. But there are… differences.”

Frank barked a bitter laugh. “Yeah? Like what? Apart from you looking like some nine-to-five nobody? That’s not normal for us. That’s not who the hell we are.”

The other Frank’s gaze softened, but it carried the weight of something unsaid.

They walked in silence, Frank still simmering, the other keeping his pace steady. The streets were calm, people smiling, couples walking hand in hand. It was sickening. Wrong.

Finally, they stopped at a modest brick apartment building, ivy crawling up its sides, the glow of warm light from the windows.

“Stay quiet,” the other Frank said firmly. “And stay behind me. You’ll understand soon enough.”

Frank frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Just… shut up. For once... Please.”

The words tasted like rust in Frank’s mouth. But something in the other man’s tone—something he recognized in his own voice on bad days—kept him from arguing.

They went inside. The hall smelled like fresh paint and coffee. No piss in the corners, no broken mailboxes, no echoes of screaming neighbors. Too damn perfect.

The other Frank unlocked a door and pushed it open.

Frank followed him into a clean, warmly lit apartment—pictures on the walls, books on shelves, a rug that looked like it had never been soaked in blood.

Frank snorted. “Well, look at this. Cozy little nest. What’s next? You gonna show me your doll collection? Tea parties with the neighbors?”

The other Frank sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “God, you’re unbearable. Am I unbearable ? ”

Frank smirked at the reaction, pressing. “What’s the big reveal then, huh? You live like a goddamn sitcom character? Little league games on the weekends? PTA meetings?”

The other Frank ignored him, walking further inside.

Then—

“Hey,” a voice called from deeper in the apartment. A woman’s voice. Familiar. It hit Frank like a gunshot. “You’re home early. Everything okay?”

Frank froze. His throat closed. His vision tunneled. He stumbled back a step, pressing himself against the door like it might anchor him.

That voice. That impossible, familiar voice.

His chest heaved. Hands shaking, he reached for his sidearm out of instinct—then stopped, fingers trembling against the grip.

“What the…” he whispered, barely audible. “That’s not… it can’t…”

The other Frank didn’t look back. He just made his way down the hallway toward the voice, slow, calm, like he’d walked this path a thousand times.

Frank couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. His worst fear, his deepest wish, one of his most broken wound—waiting in the next room.

He stayed frozen by the doorway, chest tight, every nerve screaming. His eyes darted between the hallway and the sounds coming from the kitchen. The voice—it was unmistakable.

Karen Page. Here. Laughing. Joyful.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, the other man, another "him", had joined her trying to act as normally as possible : “Hey.. no, everything’s fine, just—”

She cut him off, her smile radiant, warm. She reached up, hands curling around the back of the multiverse Frank’s neck, drawing him close.

Her lips met his in a soft, confident kiss, and her laughter filled the apartment.

Frank’s stomach twisted. He couldn’t breathe. His fists clenched, nails biting into his palms. If he could only hear them, it was easy enough for him to imagine the scene with perfect clarity.

Frank pressed himself harder into the shadows of the doorway. The way her laugh held warmth instead of fear. The softness in the kiss. The playful teasing.

“You missed me already, Castle?” she whispered against his lips. “Got any ideas in mind, maybe…”

The multiverse Frank chuckled, hesitant but soft, knowing that the other version of himself, whose head and heart were probably going to implode any time, was standing a few meters away :

“Uh… Karen, wait… I need to tell you something. I’m not alone…”

Karen tilted her head, eyebrow arched. “What? Who? Curtis? Amy? Everything okay?”

The names echoed brutally in Frank's head —Amy, Curtis—they were here. In this world, still close, still part of a life he had always dreamed of but could never allow himself to build.

The emotions hit him like a tidal wave.

Envy, sharp and bitter, that this version of him had lived the life he’d forsaken for vengeance.

Heartache, raw and unbearable, for the family and friends he’d lost, and for the life he’d never claimed.

Astonishment, staring at a version of himself who could smile, laugh, love, without the skull on his chest weighing him down.

Shame, deep and heavy, for every kill, every moment spent choosing rage over connection.

Frank’s eyes welled, the edges of the world blurring. He swallowed hard, trying to fight the lump in his throat, but the truth was unavoidable: this was everything he’d ever wanted.

A life without the endless war, without ghosts haunting every shadow. A version of him brave enough to lay down the fight, to live, to love.

It was him. Same face. Same scars. Same hands that had killed so many. He had been given the glimpse of what could have been—and it tore through him.

In his head, Frank stepped back into the shadows, trapped between fascination and fury, between longing and disbelief.

This version of himself had found everything he had always sacrificed for : a life among the living. 

He whispered under his breath, almost to himself:

“Damn it… fucking Strange.”

Chapter Text

Frank’s hand hovered over the door handle, knuckles white.

Every step he’d taken inside had been a knife twisting in him—seeing Karen, laughing, the life he had always wanted and never allowed himself to take.

Pain. Rage. Sadness. All at once. The universe, it seemed, had a cruel sense of humor. Mocking him openly in another reality.

He exhaled sharply, teeth grinding. He was done. He would leave. Find Strange. Force that arrogant sorcerer to put him back in his own brutal, dark, real world. 

He didn’t belong here. He didn’t want to belong here.

Just as he swung the door open, a voice stopped him :

“Wait.”

The calm, familiar tone made him jerk back. His multiverse self stood there, eyes steady, holding his breath.

“Just… wait,” he said again, quieter.

Frank shook his head violently. “No. No. This isn’t my place. I’ll find Strange, and that idiot will drop me straight back into my world—or…” His voice cracked with anger, “…or I will…”

Then a voice—soft, unmistakable—cut him off.

“Frank?”

He froze. Karen stood in the doorway, her hand still in the other Frank’s, eyes wide, full of tentative hope. “Frank… do you… do you know me ?”

Frank’s chest constricted. He pressed his forehead to the edge of the door, as if leaning against it could somehow anchor him. He let go of the handle.

“Yeah…” he whispered, voice raw with despair.

He turned slowly. There they were—Karen, radiant, smiling with that gentle warmth he remembered; and the other Frank, steady, calm, sharing that life he could only watch from the shadows.

The silence between the two men was thick, weighted with shared understanding. Pain, loss, regret, and longing hung in the air, unspoken but palpable. Frank felt it all like a punch to the gut.

“I…” he started, voice tight. “…Damn it. I don’t belong here. I have nothing to do here.”

The other Frank stepped closer : “At least, we agree on something. But between you and me, I'm not sure I'm okay with another version of myself walking down the street...

We need to talk. About you... Why and when did you screw up this time? »

Frank exhaled, a long, low sigh that felt like the air had been sucked from his lungs. His body ached, not from wounds, not from bullets—but from the weight of what could have been. 

The other man continued calmly but firmly : « What if we just… took a moment? To think about this. Before you go find Strange—or wait for him to drag you back. He will, eventually…

when you’ve had your ‘perspective. »

Frank didn’t speak. He didn’t argue. Slowly, he nodded. The emotions had drained him of every ounce of courage : « And what the hell it’s supposed to mean? »

He let the other Frank lead him into the apartment, the soft click of the door behind them marking the beginning of something he wasn’t ready to name.

For the first time in a long time, Frank Castle felt utterly powerless not to enemies—but to the life he’d never allowed himself.

They sat opposite each other, the tension still simmering like a live wire.

Frank’s fists rested on his knees, eyes flicking between the other Frank and the apartment around them—so normal, so impossible.

“Tell me,” Frank said, voice low, brittle, “how… how the hell did you do it? How did you… turn the page?”

The multiverse Frank exhaled slowly. “It’s not that easy.”

Frank snapped, losing his control entirely. He slammed a hand against the table, rattling a glass. “Not that easy? Really? I’m stuck in a fucking hell, every damn night, every nightmare—while you…”

He looked around the apartment, voice cracking, “…you live this? What did I miss, huh?” His voice trembled between fury and despair.

The multiverse Frank looked at him, calm, steady, as if holding back the world’s weight in his eyes. “Her.. I guess.”

Frank’s chest tightened. His heart felt like it was being ripped out, clawed slow and merciless from his ribs. Breath came in sharp, shallow gasps.

“No… no, that’s…” he whispered, voice breaking. “This… this is bullshit…”

“Yeah. Of course It is... ” The other Frank’s voice was quiet, steady, almost sad. “That’s what I thought too. That I didn’t want another life.”

The words hit Frank like a punch to the face, leaving him gasping, staggering under the weight of what he’d always denied.

The other Frank continued, his voice soft but sharp with truth:

“Let me remember. yeah.. Here it is. I guess you were there. Same room. Same decisions to make… Same everything. The same losses. But you know what? Unlike you from what I understand…

I never could let her go. Not her. Not Amy. Not Curt. That was always easier to run away than choosing… to feel, to attach, to put the guns down..”

Frank rocked nervously, hand running over his face, jaw clenched so hard it hurt. “No… no. That’s impossible. That’s too easy… that’s betraying Maria, the kids… it’s—”

The other Frank cut him off, voice sharp, filled with the same raw emotion he knew all too well.

“Bullshit! You know it ! You know Maria would never have wanted all that bloodshed. And I never… never forgot them. The pain doesn’t vanish ; it’s there, every night. Every damn day. But this…”

He gestured, voice thick with quiet conviction, “…this is the only life worth living. And I’m telling you, it’s not easy. It never was. But it’s worth it.”

Frank swallowed hard. He felt every word strike him in the chest, a brutal, aching truth he could not argue with, could not fight.

Silence hung over them. The apartment felt impossibly small, yet somehow, intimate. Two versions of a man, split by choices, haunted by the same ghosts— but one had dared to put down the weapons long enough to hold on to something real.

Karen stepped softly into the room, carrying a steaming mug of coffee. Her movements were calm, measured, almost tender.

She walked straight to the multiverse Frank and handed him the cup, her fingers brushing his briefly. Then, delicately, she placed her hand on his shoulder.

Frank watched. Every motion she made seemed impossibly intimate, impossibly real, impossibly wrong for him to witness. It was like watching a dream he had no right to dream.

She turned slightly, her gaze meeting his indirectly for a fraction of a second. She studied his bruised knuckles, the faint shadows under his eyes, the sadness that lingered in his posture.

“Tell me, Frank,” she said softly, voice gentle but curious. “You and I… in your world… did we…?”

Frank couldn’t meet her eyes. He stared at the floor, teeth clenched, swallowing hard to keep the weight of all his guilt and pain from spilling out. He couldn’t answer. Not with words.

Not with her looking at him like that.

Her lips pressed together in understanding, as if she could read the shame in his silence. “Okay… I see,” she said quietly. “You didn’t… you didn’t want that ‘after,’ did you?”

She tried to lift the corners of her mouth in a small, fragile smile, but it faltered under the heaviness in Frank’s posture. He was a man trapped between grief and rage, caught in the shadows of choices he could never undo.

Frank’s throat tightened. He opened his mouth, tried to form words, tried to bridge the impossible gap between them.

“Damn it…” he whispered finally, voice rough and broken. “It’s… it’s not fair.”

Every word tore through him. Every glance at her reminded him of what his life had cost, the consequences of his endless fight, the blood he had spilled for vengeance.

And there she was—in another world—gentle, kind, patient—a life he could never touch.

He swallowed again, bitter, knowing that even speaking the truth wouldn’t lessen the ache. His hand twitched, almost reaching for her, then pulled back.

Karen remained, patient, quiet, letting him carry the weight, letting him confront the silent truth he hadn’t dared to face. And Frank… he stood there, trapped in the shadow of his own choices,

seeing what he could have had, and realizing, painfully, exactly what he had lost.

Suddenly, a sharp knock at the door made Frank start, fists clenching.

“God… what now…” he muttered, panic creeping into his voice.

The multiverse Frank sighed, running a hand through his hair, then stood. “I’ll get it,” he said, leaving Frank with Karen.

Before stepping out, he leaned in and placed a quick, gentle kiss on her cheek.

Frank watched, frozen, as the gesture played out—simple, real, calm. He couldn’t look away. It was serious, affectionate, unassuming, and yet it cut him open.

How dare he have that? Frank thought bitterly, even as part of him recognized he needed to see it, understand it.

Karen turned her attention to him, eyes soft but curious, waiting for him to act, to speak.

Frank cleared his throat, voice rough, uncertain. “So… it seems… it seems like… it works…?”

Karen raised an eyebrow slightly, sensing the hesitation.

He gestured vaguely, as if the space around them—the apartment, the quiet, the light, her presence—was a question. “That… really works with me?”

Her lips trembled, a faint glimmer of tears shining in the corners of her eyes. She whispered, slowly, almost reverently, “Yes…”

Frank blinked, disbelieving, letting the word sink in.

Then she stepped closer, slowly, deliberately, and wrapped her arms around him. He froze for a heartbeat, then—like in his own world, in rare, fragile moments of trust—he let himself go.

Every wall he had built over years of grief, rage, and bloodshed began to crack. He breathed her in like air, filling the empty spaces he hadn’t even realized existed.

His hands hesitated at first, then rested lightly on her back, feeling her warmth.

“Damn it…” he whispered, voice low and broken. “I… I don’t… I don’t understand any of this.”

“Shhhh,” she murmured, tilting her head to rest against his shoulder. “It’s okay. I’m here. In your world… and in this one… I’m here. I’m sure… she… she cares about you too.”

Frank closed his eyes, letting the sound of her voice, the warmth of her body, seep into him. 

Karen pulled back just slightly, brushing her fingers against his jaw, searching his face. “Do you hear me?” she asked softly. “I’m here”

Frank’s lips parted, as if to speak, but no words came. Only the raw, unfiltered ache of longing, loss, and unexpected hope. He leaned into her touch, inhaling, feeling the walls around him

crumble.

They stood together, still, in the quiet apartment. The noises from the hallway faded. The world outside, with its battles and horrors, felt impossibly far away. And for the first time, Frank Castle—hardened, scarred, unrelenting—let himself be human.

Long moments passed. No words were necessary. Only the small, fragile intimacy of two people who knew grief, who knew loss, and who now found a rare and dangerous comfort in each other’s presence.

Frank whispered finally, almost inaudible: “I… I don’t know if I can do this...”

Karen smiled, brushing her lips gently against his temple. “I know. But you can just try here… with me...”.

Chapter Text

Frank had just started to settle into the fragile warmth of Karen’s arms when the door swung open.

“Oh god… no…” he muttered before he could stop himself.

The multiverse Frank walked in, grinning like a man who knew exactly how entertaining this moment would be. “Thought you’d like a little… surprise.”

Before Frank could protest further, a familiar voice rang out.

“Castle !”

David Lieberman practically leapt into him, wrapping him in a bear hug that was simultaneously suffocating and strangely comforting. Frank froze for half a second—then instinctively resisted, but something in David’s wide grin and twinkling eyes made him relent.

“What… what are you doing here, Lieberman?” Frank muttered, half in disbelief, half in irritation.

David patted him on the back. “Hey ! It’s my reality, okay, Castle ? And in this one, this charming person”—he gestured to Karen with a dramatic tilt of his head—“managed to wake you up, get you back on your feet, and reinvite the Liebermans into your life.

You get it ? Friends, big family, long boring dinners, Sarah drinking too much wine, you and me, together…”

Frank blinked, trying to process it. “No… no, that’s… that’s definitely…”

The multiverse Frank chuckled, sharing a conspiratorial glance with Karen. “Well… that was one of the clauses of the contract.”

Frank groaned, half-annoyed, half-smiling despite himself.

David continued to hold him, jabbering on in his usual mix of self-deprecating humor and oddly heartfelt affection.

“You see, Castle, it’s not all bad. You can laugh. You can have people who care about you, not just… bullets and blood. You can even have terrible dinners and wine-fueled debates.”

Frank couldn’t help but let a corner of his mouth twitch. Despite everything, the warmth, the absurdity, the sheer normalcy of it… it was almost unbearable.

Karen leaned closer, resting her hand gently on his shoulder. “See ?” she murmured, smiling softly. “It’s… messy, but it’s real.”

David stepped back finally, arms wide. “Now tell me, Castle… you’re not going to sit there all stiff and broody forever, right ? You can join us. We’re family here.”

Frank finally turned to his multiverse counterpart, exasperated but secretly curious, a mixture of awe and bitterness in his tone :

“Okay, SuperFrank… who else has joined your new, perfect life?”

The other Frank smirked, eyes twinkling with amusement, and gestured toward the apartment’s hallway, hinting at more surprises waiting.

Frank groaned, letting out a long, almost reluctant sigh, feeling both infuriated and… strangely envious. But he stayed, caught in the warmth, humor, and love of a life he had never allowed himself—and couldn’t help but feel a pang of longing for what could have been.

Frank sat stiffly at the table, eyes scanning the group around him. Amy, Curtis, David, Sarah—they all seemed… normal. Warm. Comfortable. Each glance between them carried history, affection, and familiarity he had never known in his own life.

He shifted uncomfortably, jaw tightening, before suddenly leaping from his chair, the motion abrupt and nervous.

“Okay! Okay! Someone please hit me already and end this nightmare!” he shouted ; “So… everyone knows everyone here ? And you all… form a… happy little family? Really? You’re messing with me!”

A tense silence fell over the room.

Curtis leaned forward slowly, expression calm. “Yes, Frank. It’s you. Faithful to yourself.”

Amy crossed her arms, smirking. “Yeah, the same one we met at the beginning. Capable of… you know… kidnapping people and strapping them to beds ‘for their safety.’ Maybe even a bullet in the… well…”

Curtis and David froze mid-drink. “Wait… what??”

The two Franks turned to each other, disbelief mirrored in their eyes.

“Was Not like that…” Frank from the multiverse started, shaking his head.

“Okay, okay…” he continued, finally turning to Frank, the corner of his mouth twitching in a faint grin. “Karen made the right call—choosing our company over Murdock’s… and don’t panic, he’s tolerated. Just not… appreciated. Fucking hypocrite...”

Karen cut in, sharp but amused. “Hey! Don’t start. He’s part of the family too. Part of the… contract, remember?”

Frank groaned, pressing a hand to his forehead. “I’m gonna be sick…”

The multiverse Frank continued, calmly, ignoring his grimace. “Amy never left. She even went on to join a journalism school.”

Amy grinned, tossing him a playful look. “Yeah… thanks, Karen. And no, I still can’t swim.”

Frank from the multiverse chuckled. “And Curtis accepted our apologies… after all the chaos with Billy.”

Karen leaned back, smiling gently. “And over time, all your connections… they met, intertwined. All linked by one thing, Frank : you.”

Frank’s brow furrowed. “Me?”

David chuckled softly, nodding. “Yeah, man. You.”

Sarah’s voice came, calm, warm, filled with emotion. “You saved our family, Frank. You’ve always been a brother to Curtis, despite your differences. You were the only one to give Amy a chance in this world. And Karen… she was simply the missing piece that made the whole thing work.”

Frank stayed stoic, watching them, feeling the impossible weight of their words press against him.

The pain, the longing, the rage at what his own life had cost him—every loss, every shot fired, every friend or family member he could never reclaim—pressed down on him.

And yet… in this world, in front of him, a version of himself had made it work.

Frank stayed standing, hands jammed in his pockets, trying to process the absurd tableau before him. Amy laughed at something David had said, Curtis rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless, Sarah nudged Karen playfully, and Karen herself glanced at the multiverse Frank with warmth and amusement.

Frank muttered under his breath, pacing slightly. “So… this is… really a thing? You all just… live like this? No chaos, no screaming, no… war?”

The multiverse Frank smirked. “Yeah. Crazy, isn’t it?”

Frank snorted bitterly. “Crazy? That’s… insane. It’s… it’s… a trap. It’s gotta be. No one gets this.”

David leaned back in his chair, grinning. “You’re right, Castle. It is weird seeing you like this one. Usually, you’re scowling, carrying six months of vengeance in your pockets, muttering to yourself.”

Amy shook her head, smirking. “Yeah, don’t let him hear you talking, David. He’ll tie you to a bed and lecture you on your life choices.”

Curtis and David groaned in unison, while both Franks shared a look, eyes narrowing, mirroring disbelief and faint amusement.

“Not quite like that…” the multiverse Frank muttered again, shaking his head.

Frank from the doorway muttered under his breath, “I can’t believe this… I’m… I’m actually… observing… my own perfect nightmare.”

He looked around again. The warmth, the laughter, the ridiculous, chaotic—but real—family life. For a moment, the wall around his heart quivered.

“Okay… fine,” Frank said finally, exhaling heavily. “Maybe… maybe it’s… bearable? Somehow… ridiculous, but… I see it.”

The multiverse Frank raised an eyebrow, grin spreading. “You’re warming up. Step one: acknowledge we exist. Step two: maybe stop muttering ‘this is impossible’ every three seconds.”

Frank groaned, rubbing his face. “Step two? Yeah, right. God, this is… I can’t…”

David clapped him on the back. “Step three: try to enjoy it. Even if it makes your head spin.”

Frank muttered again, shaking his head, but he let himself sit. For the first time in a long time, he allowed a fraction of the warmth in the room to seep into him—uncomfortable, overwhelming, but… human.

Karen leaned in, whispering gently, “It’s okay to see it. It’s okay to feel it.”

Frank looked at her, then at the multiverse Frank, and muttered under his breath, a small, grudging admission:

“Yeah… okay… fine. But this is… all of you? No more surprise ? ”

Amy laughed. “Yep. All of us. Welcome to your other life, Castle.”

Frank exhaled slowly, letting himself just… sit. Watch. Learn. Maybe even—just a little—hope.

Chapter Text

AMY 

Frank sat back in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes fixed on Amy. She was bright, alive, and fearless in a way that made him ache. Her humor, her courage, her quick wit… all of it reminded him of everything he’d wanted to protect, everything he had lost.

She was everything Lisa could have been, and more—beautiful, smiling, unbroken.

Amy reached out, taking his hand gently. “I’m really glad you’re here, Frank. To see it… to see that you can live. With me, with all of us…”

Frank let out a dry chuckle: "Yeah quite a show."

The girl continued : “The Amy in your world… she should have asked more questions about that blonde at the hospital. I guess fear of dying… overruled everything else. I get it.”

Frank tilted her head, teasing softly. “You? That’s you who…”

Amy froze : “Oh man, stop...” she said, laughing lightly. “When I opened the door that day, you were breathing the same air as her. When she left… well, it looked like… you were even more broken than before...Of course I asked questions. So many that you almost shot me in the head! ”

Frank lowered his head, a slight smile on his lips, pain in his eyes.The memory of his last encounter with Karen in his world, still painful, deprived him of air for a split second. He looked at the floor, unable to meet Amy's gaze: "Yeah... maybe I was..."

Amy looked at him gently, remembering the man he had been, tortured, wounded, unable to allow himself to love.

She continued, this time with a touch of provocative humor: "But....lucky for you, I was there to fix your mess... as you fix mine..."

She gently encouraged him to raise his head, a smile on her lips, her eyes shining: "When you decided to stick me on a bus to make me a mermaid, I decided to stay in New York... Oh of course you weren't happy to still have me around. Hard to play Punisher with a kid, isn't it?"

Frank sighed, not surprised at all: "You're unmanageable in every universe, you know that?"

Amy rolled her eyes. "Oh, I'll take that as a compliment...! But...back to my story... then... I finally found Karen. Man... she was so furious with you. She wouldn't even share a measly cup of coffee with you. It was completely messed up... but..."

After a moment of hesitation, Frank silently encouraged her to continue curious to know her reality : "She was nice to me. Like she saw in me... all the good, you know? Like I deserved a real second chance?"

Frank nodded softly. "Of course she did... she always does...". Amy gently grabbed Frank's hand, her eyes lowered. "Well... she never gave up. She let me stay at her place for a while. And then... she offered me an internship at the Bulletin.

She said I had the makings of a real reporter, brave, daring... all that stuff you know... And I loved it..." .

Frank squeezed her hand, overcome with a feeling of pride and affection he could barely control : That's... that's great, Kid... So the two of you... what, you teamed up in crime and normalcy?"

Amy threw up her hands. "Oh, there's no normalcy when you're around, Frank!"

Frank protested. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You were always there... watching, unable to let go... well, that was my plan."

Frank looked at her nervously : Damn it Kid..."

Amy blinked, disbelief written across her face : “Hey! Don’t look at me like that!” Amy said, waving a hand. “I really wanted to do an internship at the Bulletin! Expose the truth, live with mystery and danger… I love that!”

He let out a short, genuine laugh, shaking his head. “Okay… fine.... and then what ? ” 

Amy grinned, eyes sparkling. “If you knew… the way you looked at her every time, desperate, trying so miserably to talk to her… She really held a grudge against you, you know. But… when you finally laid down your weapons… for me… for us... and she accepted it.”

In a whisper, Frank allowed himself to ask the question that was tormenting him, the one he already had the answer to : “Accepted what, kid?”

“Accepted your… awkward attempts to… well… you know… charm her. Honestly, you’re terrible at it.”

Frank scowled, half-amused, half-offended. “Terrible? Who are you calling terrible? I… I had style. Subtlety. Danger. Mystery…”

Amy laughed again, squeezing his hand lightly. “Yeah, sure… danger and mystery, Castle. You were a disaster. But she… she eventually saw you. And that’s what counts.”

Frank exhaled, leaning back, letting a rare smile creep across his face. He shook his head, muttering, “I can’t believe I’m actually… talking about this…”

KAREN

Suddenly, Frank pushed himself up from the chair, muscles stiff, needing air, needing space to think. He moved slowly through the apartment, hand brushing along the wall, thoughts spiraling.

Then he stopped.

Across the room, in the kitchen, Karen and the multiverse Frank were alone. The sight froze him. They were laughing softly, close, and then—he blinked—they kissed. A real, unguarded kiss.

A moment of peace, of joy, of connection he had spent his life imagining but never touching.

“You think… he’s gonna hold up?” the multiverse Frank murmured. “I mean, I was pretty stupid…”

Karen’s soft laughter filled the space. She ran her hand through his hair. “You’re still stupid.”

“Yeah, yeah… always an idiot, but at least I try to control myself now….”

“Yes, you did,” she said, voice tender. “Which leaves plenty of time and energy for more fun things.”

“Yeah… by the way, when does everyone leave so I can… enjoy this properly?” He looked at her with desire, a teasing grin on his face.

Karen leaned closer, serious but gentle : "I know you're worried about him. Or yourself... it's a little disturbing, isn't it? But please...". She stopped, a mixture of sadness and determination in her eyes ;

“Don’t do that. Dont think about who could have been.. Don’t even think about it. We’ve been through too much. He made his choices. You made yours."

The other Frank stood there silently. The same nervous attitude, influenced by his inability to manage his own emotions. Except that here, Karen had that same power, the power to soothe him with the slightest touch, with the slightest glance, to anchor him to reality,

to what was essential. He took a deep breath and rested his forehead on hers. Nodding silently. She smiled sadly and continued to give him the strength he needed ;

"You did something that truly mattered… something unbelievably difficult. You survived. The worst nightmare anyone could endure…”

She pressed her other hand to his chest, over the pocket of his jacket where the photo of his family always stayed close. His hand covered hers, fingers trembling slightly.

Their eyes met. The world shrank to the space between them. His hand lingered in her hair. “I love you” he whispered.

Her eyes glistened. “Me too.”

They embraced, and he inhaled her scent like air he had long forgotten.

From across the apartment watched. Every nerve on fire. Damn it… fuck this… I love you… really? Really? His chest felt like it might burst. He could feel his heart pounding, his head spinning, every sense screaming.

He had seen what could have been. He had witnessed love, peace—all the things he’d fought for and lost in endless cycles of vengeance.

Did I really have the right to all of that? he thought, breath catching. His chest ached, his mind reeled, and still he couldn’t look away.

The scene before him, so intimate, so human… it was everything he’d denied himself. And yet… he couldn't deny it anymore, moments of light could exist.

But right now… all he could do was watch. Heart breaking and feeling the impossible pull of what he had been—and what he could never have.

Frank stepped onto the balcony, the city stretching endlessly below him. The sun dipped toward the horizon, casting long shadows across the rooftops, but he barely noticed. His mind was a storm.

Damn it… damn it… fuck…

Every image of the multiverse Frank with Karen, laughing, kissing, burned into his mind. The warmth of their intimacy, the soft touch of her hand, the quiet love he could almost reach but never touch—it all clawed at him, tearing him open.

His hands gripped the railing tightly. He tried to breathe, to focus on the distant streets, the honking, the normalcy. But the normalcy mocked him. You lost that. You threw that away. You chose this.

He leaned forward slightly, feeling the edge of the world beneath him, his heart hammering. He didn’t know how to process it. Rage? Pain? Envy? Guilt? It all blended together into something suffocating.

CURTIS

“Frank?” : Curtis’s voice was soft, steady, careful. He hadn’t noticed the man coming up behind him.

“I thought you might need… someone,” Curtis said gently, closing the distance but keeping respectful space.

Frank didn’t answer. He shook his head slightly, trying to dismiss him.

Curtis stepped closer, leaning lightly on the railing beside him. “I know what you’re thinking. That seeing all this… it’s not fair. That maybe it’s impossible in your world. And maybe… you’re right.”

Frank opened his mouth, then closed it again. Nothing he could say would capture the chaos inside him.

Curtis exhaled slowly. “But here’s the thing. You know you’ve done what you could. And yeah… it’s brutal. Yeah… it’s dark. But you… you still matter. You still can make choices that count. Even in your world.”

Frank finally turned, eyes burning, raw with emotion. “I… I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t… I can’t… I—”

Curtis placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “Then start small. Do the right thing for someone. For yourself. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to try. And you’ve done worse. You know you can.”

Frank exhaled shakily, letting some of the tension ebb from his shoulders. He wanted to argue, to yell, to curse. But the words wouldn’t come. He just stared at the city, then at Curtis, then back at the distant skyline.

“I… I don’t know,” he muttered finally, voice rough. “I… I just…”

Curtis smiled faintly. “I know, Frank. I know.”

For a long moment, they stood together, two men staring at the same city, two versions of courage and chaos reflected in each other. And in that silence, Frank felt, just for a heartbeat, that maybe he could start finding a way forward—even in his own brutal, bloody world.

Chapter Text

The apartment was quiet. Everyone else had left, leaving just Karen, the multiverse Frank, and him.

Frank sat heavily on the edge of the sofa, head throbbing, body aching. He stood, paced, ran a hand through his hair, then sank back into a chair. Thoughts collided relentlessly in his mind.

He looked around at the apartment, at the warmth of the walls, the peace that seemed to hum through the space, then finally turned to the multiverse Frank.

“How… how do you do it?” he asked, voice strained, raw. “How do you live without… without it? The violence, the war… all of it. It’s part of you, too. Even before… even with Maria and the kids… How can you…?”

The other Frank cut him off, calm, steady. “Don’t be stupid. I never stopped. Never. It’s just… different.”

Frank blinked, incredulous. “Different how? Different… in your world?”

The multiverse Frank hesitated, then spoke carefully. “Dinah… the job offer. It’s not perfect. But it lets me bury the bastards… legally. And I can live freely during the day.”

Frank froze, heart racing, eyes widening. “Wait… what? That’s… perfect. Really perfect! So you… you work for the system? I knew there was something wrong here…”

The multiverse Frank’s patience cracked just slightly. “Hey! Shut up! I work with Dinah. The deal is clear: she points, I shoot. And this time… I know everyone named deserves it. That’s it.”

Frank’s chest tightened. Panic surged through him. “Wait… so everything… all the choices I made… were the wrong ones? All of them? Great. Just… super. Really perfect…”

The multiverse Frank gave a small, wry shrug. “Maybe. But at least now you see… it’s not the world that changed. It’s the way we choose to live in it.”

Frank sank into the arm of the sofa, head in his hands. The realization hit him like a blow: in every battle, every fight, every decision he had made… there had always been another way. A way to fight, to survive, to protect without letting the darkness consume him entirely.

And yet… he had never found it. Not until now.

Karen stepped closer, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You’re here, Frank. You’re seeing it. That’s the first step.”

Frank lifted his head, eyes red, voice tight. “First step… yeah. Damn it. And what about the rest of it? What about everything else?”

The multiverse Frank smiled faintly, almost tenderly. “Step by step. Maybe… one day, you’ll see that the choices aren’t as… hopeless as you think.”

Frank exhaled shakily, leaning back. The city outside seemed impossibly distant, yet the weight of his own world pressed down relentlessly. And in the silence, he felt the first flicker of something dangerous, something he hadn’t felt in a long time: possibility.

Then, a sudden shimmer of light split the room. Frank snapped upright, hand going instinctively toward his jacket.

“Okay, Castle. It’s really sweet,” Strange said, appearing in the center of the apartment, hands folded, calm as ever. “But can we go now? This world does not need two Frank Castle.”

Frank’s chest tightened, blood boiling. “You… you son of a—! You brought me here… why? To torture me? What the hell is your problem, man?!”

“Hey! Shut up!” Strange snapped, voice sharp, cutting through the tension. “Perspectives, Castle. Remember? Your ego, your narcissism, your choices—they brought you here. But now…”

Frank’s fists clenched. “But now what?!”

“Now,” Strange continued, voice calm but firm, “every time you decide to go rogue in the streets, to spill more blood, to chase vengeance… you will remember that other paths exist. That there are… different ways to fight.”

Frank shook his head violently, rage and despair mixing. “No. It’s too late for me. I… I’ve let it all slip by. Everything… I’ve already made my choices!”

Strange’s eyes softened, just slightly, though his voice remained firm. “I can see many things, Frank. Thousands of scenarios, countless possibilities. And yet… you can still fix things. In your world. At least… some of them. The rest is up to you.”

Frank’s breath caught. His fists slackened slightly, but the anger, the guilt, the impossibility of it all still burned inside him.

Strange simply raised a finger, signifying the slim possibilities for Frank to put his life back in order: “A chance. Not certainty. Not absolution. But a choice. And you… you’re still capable of it. Even if it hurts. Especially because it hurts.”

Frank’s eyes flicked toward the multiverse Frank, standing silently with Karen, sharing a small, knowing smile. The contrast between the worlds—the violence he knew, and the peace he glimpsed—pressed in like a vice.

“Damn it…” he muttered, leaning heavily against the wall. “You… you really are impossible, Strange.”

Strange allowed himself a faint, amused smirk. “I know, Castle. But maybe, just maybe, that’s what you needed.”

As Frank's eyes bored into the immensity of Karen's, he saw it: the love she could give him, the ability she had to make everything cold, hard, and violent in him disappear. She was perfect. She was everything he refused.

In a split second, he was pulled from his contemplation : a new sphere of light, brutally bringing him back into his world. Cold. Loud. Empty.

He hadn't had the chance to take Amy in his arms again. Hadn't had the chance to feel Karen against him again. To hear another wonderful, stupid joke from David. Stupid. That's how he felt. Stupid, terrified, exhausted.

The city was colder here. Harder. Shadows hung heavier in the alleyways, the streets smelled of smoke and asphalt, and the familiar weight of his own reality pressed down on him like iron chains.

Strange appeared beside him, hand raised briefly in acknowledgment. “You know… you’re impossible. Worse than me, actually. That’s… pretty impressive.”

Frank growled, voice low. “Asshole…”

Strange smirked faintly. “Yes. Very constructive. Thanks for that.”

Frank didn’t reply. He turned, walking away from the alley where they’d arrived, the weight of the multiverse still pressing on his chest.

“Hey, Castle!” Strange called after a moment’s hesitation. Frank stopped, glancing back reluctantly.

“I… I’ve lost too you know... In this world... everything... Darkness, guilt, destruction, grief… all of it. It was my home too. And I’ve made plenty of mistakes. Believe me when I say… you can still pull yourself out. Even you.”

Frank’s chest tightened. He let the words sink in, but refused to let them fully penetrate. “Yeah, well… no magic cape for me, Strange.”

“No,” Strange said softly, voice edged with something almost like regret. “But… she exists in this world. I didn’t get that second chance.”

Frank’s heart slammed in his chest. Karen. Of course. Always her. The missing piece. The light he could never quite reach. But here… five years had passed since he’d pushed her away. Five years of his own making.

She’s probably living comfortably… with Murdock… of what right do I have to destroy all that? he thought, voice tight in his head.

“Hello, Karen,” he muttered silently, almost to himself. “I went to the multiverse… we were happy… sex… family… still want me after I’ve been an invisible asshole?”

Strange tilted his head, watching him. “It doesn’t cost anything to ask.”

Frank exhaled slowly, shoulders slumping. He didn’t even know if he could, if he should, or if he wanted to. 

The city stretched before him, unforgiving and harsh, but now heavy with possibility. The question lingered in the air, fragile and terrifying: Could he reach out? Could he risk everything he’d lost, just to see if a glimmer of light still waited for him?

Frank tightened his fists, head lowering, eyes narrowing. One step at a time. One choice at a time.

Chapter Text

Frank lingered in the shadows across the street, hood pulled low, eyes fixed on the tall glass windows of the Nelson, Murdock & Page offices. He had done his homework. He knew her schedule. He knew the times she came and went. He knew when shewas busy in meetings, when she was free.

And yes—he had seen her at the office, often at Murdock’s side. Laughing, talking, occasionally brushing against him, subtle touches and whispered words he could only imagine. He had watched enough to know she was happy. Safe. Comfortable.

Damn it… I’m definitely crazy.

He had checked. He had verified. Each laugh, each smile she threw in Murdock’s direction confirmed it. She had moved on. She had a life. A future. A happiness that wasn’t his.

And yet… he had never seen her truly intimate with Murdock. No embrace, no kiss, no lingering touch that suggested more than casual partnership. That didn’t make it his business, he knew. But it made his chest ache anyway.

Karen finally stepped out of the office alone, coat draped over her arm, briefcase in hand. The sunlight caught her hair, haloed her in a way that made Frank’s breath catch. She moved with purpose, unaware of the figure across the street, hooded and tense, watching her every step.

Frank froze. Hesitation gripped him like iron. His instincts told him to turn away, to disappear into the shadows, to let her life be. His heart, however, beat a warning: this is it. If you ever want to… talk to her, now’s the only chance you have.

He swallowed hard, hands clenching at his sides. His pulse thundered in his ears.

Do I… step forward? Do I finally speak? Or do I… walk away and live with another lifetime of what-if?

The street felt impossibly wide. The distance between him and Karen felt insurmountable. And yet… one step, one choice, and he could bridge it.

Frank exhaled slowly, every muscle tense. Hesitation battled desire, guilt, and fear of rejection. But the pull of what he had lost—and what he could still possibly reclaim—was stronger than anything else.

He moved. One careful, deliberate step out of the shadows.

And then another.

The moment had arrived.

Frank’s boots clicked softly against the pavement as he stepped closer, each step heavier than the last. Karen had paused at the corner, adjusting her coat, glancing at her watch.

She didn’t see him —he hadn’t expected her to.

This is it, he thought, chest tightening. Say something. Don’t run. Just… talk.

He finally stopped a few feet away, enough to be noticed but not too close. “Karen,” he said, voice low but carrying across the empty street.

Then she saw him — a figure carved out of silence, a shadow that time could not erase. Five years had passed, yet the weight of his absence had never left her chest.

Frank Castle stood there, not as the Punisher, but as the ghost she had carried in every sleepless night, in every half-remembered dream.

His eyes, scarred by violence, softened when they met hers.

No words rose between them — only the silence of recognition, a silence louder than any confession.

Karen’s breath broke, trembling, as if the years dissolved into a single heartbeat. The distance collapsed, not by touch, not by speech, but by the raw ache of presence.

For Frank, it was a return to something he thought he had buried— a fragment of humanity, a fragile mercy he never deserved.

The Punisher had killed countless men, but in front of her, he was simply a man who had missed her every day of those five long years.

And in that silence, between ghost and memory, between grief and grace, he found her again.

For a heartbeat, Karen thought her mind was playing tricks on her—another ghost conjured by too many nights alone. But then he stepped into the dark, and the air left her lungs.

“Karen…” His voice cracked, low and unsteady, as if speaking her name cost him more strength than any battlefield ever had.

Her eyes widened, trembling with disbelief. “Frank?…” The word slipped out before she could stop it.

Her heart hammered against her ribs. Is it really him? He looked older, heavier, his face etched with five years of violence and silence.

“Frank…” Her voice was barely a whisper, fragile and unsteady. “You’re—alive?”

“Yeah.” The word sounded broken, like it hurt to force it out. He searched for more, but his throat closed around every syllable.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice was sharp, broken, almost angry.

Frank’s hands curled into fists at his sides, not from rage, but to stop them from shaking. He wanted to reach for her, but didn’t dare. He had no right.

Not after the years of absence, not after the storm he had left behind.

“I—” He stopped, swallowing hard, searching for words that refused to come. His chest rose and fell like he was carrying the weight of the world. “I needed to see you....”

Karen’s tears burned hot, but she held his gaze, refusing to let them fall. Every part of her screamed with questions.

Why now? After all this time? After all the nights she spent wondering if he was dead, or worse—alive but gone forever?

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. For a moment, she thought she would collapse under the weight of it.

And yet… behind the scars, behind the years, she saw it—the man she had never stopped waiting for, no matter how much she tried to forget.

She stepped closer, cautiously, but not crossing any lines. “Frank… what do you want? ”

He exhaled shakily, fighting back emotions he had carried for years.

“Nothing… I just needed to see you. To know if you would still talk to me you know ? And… maybe… to say… that I’m sorry. For everything. For leaving, for disappearing, for… being me.”

Karen’s lips curved in a sad smile. “Why?". 

Frank’s heart slammed in his chest. He looked at her then—really looked—and the force of it almost dropped him to his knees.

Her eyes were softer once, filled with warmth when they fell on him. Now, there was distance there. Caution. Sadness. He hated it. God, he hated it. The silence between them deepened.

Karen’s heart ached, torn between anger and the flood of grief that seeing him had unleashed. She wanted to run to him, to hold him, to scream at him for leaving her.

Instead, she stood still, her arms wrapped around herself.

“You disappeared, Frank,” she said, voice cracking. 

His chest clenched, guilt eating through him like fire. “I know...".

Frank’s voice was low, shaking, almost unrecognizable even to himself. “I thought I was the strong one, Karen. The one who could survive among the living while staying dead inside.”

He swallowed, his throat burning as the words forced their way out.

His gaze broke for a second, his chest rising and falling as if under unbearable weight.

“I was wrong. God, I was so wrong. It was you. You were the strong one. You were the one who was right all along.”

Karen’s breath caught. Her eyes burned, fixed on him, unable to look away.

“All those times I pushed you back, all the times I made it seem like I didn’t… like I couldn’t…” His jaw tightened, then cracked open again with a voice raw and broken.

“It wasn’t because I didn’t care or didn"t want to. It was because I couldn’t stand the weight of what I felt. The guilt. The fear that if I let you too close, if I held on too tight… I’d forget them.

Forget my wife. Forget my kids.” His words cracked apart on the last syllable.

He stopped, sucking in a jagged breath. His fists shook at his sides.

“But I never forgot. Not them. Not you.” His voice dissolved into silence, then came back softer, almost a whisper. “I’m sorry… I’m so damn sorry, Karen.”

The words sliced through her, deeper than she could have prepared for. Her throat locked, and before she could stop them, tears slid down her cheeks.

She pressed a trembling hand close to her face, as if to hide, but she couldn’t—his eyes were on her, pulling every secret feeling out into the open.

Her voice cracked, unsteady, caught between anger and the ache of love. “After all these years… what pushed you to come back?”

The question hung in the air like a blade. And for the first time, Frank Castle’s armor seemed to truly break.

His eyes glistened, his breath faltered, and he looked at her as though the answer itself might destroy him.

For the first time in years, he faced the reality of what he had lost—and the fragile possibility that he might still lost her forever.

Frank opened his mouth, then closed it again, words choking in his throat.

He looked at her, at the tears streaking her face, at the way her body trembled with both rage and longing, and he hated himself for every second he had stolen from her.

“I don’t… I don’t have a good answer,” he admitted finally, his voice rough, almost hoarse. “Maybe there isn’t one.”

Karen’s eyes narrowed, wet and shining. “You think you can just show up, after everything, and tell me that?”

He winced, like her words were bullets. His jaw worked, struggling, and then—almost clumsily—he tried to soften his tone.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me. Hell, I don’t even expect you to look at me the way you used to. But… maybe we could sit down. Just… a coffee.”

His lips twitched into the faintest, broken smile, as if the attempt at normalcy itself hurt. “Just… you and me. Ten minutes. So I can try to explain without screwin’ it up.”

Karen blinked, stunned. A hollow laugh escaped her throat, sharp and full of pain. “Coffee?” Her hand brushed the tears on her cheek, as if mocking herself for crying at all.

“Frank, you vanish for five years, you leave me wondering every damn day if you were dead or alive—and now you want to go for coffee?”. 

He nodded once, awkward, desperate, his broad shoulders tense as though bracing for a hit.

“Yeah. Coffee. ’Cause it’s all I know how to ask for. It’s all I got.” He ran a hand over his face, fighting to keep his composure.

“I ain’t good at words, Karen. I screw it up every time. But if you sit down with me… I’ll try. I’ll tell you the truth this time. All of it.”

Her heart twisted. Part of her wanted to slam a door on him, to punish him the way he had punished her with silence all those years.

But another part—the part that had never truly stopped waiting—ached at the sight of him, raw and stripped bare, asking not for absolution, but for a chance.

She looked at him, her breath uneven. “You think ten minutes can erase five years?”

“No,” Frank said instantly, shaking his head. His eyes softened, full of something dangerously close to hope. “But maybe it can start somethin’.”

Frank stood there, motionless, his eyes locked on hers. He didn’t breathe, didn’t move, as if the slightest sound might shatter what little remained between them.

He watched her — her trembling hands, the glisten of tears still clinging to her lashes, the sharp rise and fall of her chest. She was beautiful. She had always been beautiful. 

Karen’s lips parted, then pressed together again. Her gaze shifted away, down to the floor, as if the decision weighed more than she could carry.

Five years. Five years of absence, silence, grief. And now, here he was, asking her to share something as ordinary as coffee.

She inhaled shakily. Then, with the same care as someone stepping onto thin ice, she gave the smallest nod. “Okay,” she whispered, almost afraid of the word. “Just… coffee.”

Frank’s chest tightened, relief hitting him like a punch. He hadn’t realized how desperately he’d been holding his breath until it escaped him in a slow, trembling exhale.

“Thank you,” he muttered, voice low and raw. He wanted to say more—to tell her what it meant —but he stopped himself. He couldn’t risk crowding her, not now.

Karen finally met his eyes again, and though the distance was still there—though her look carried a weight of caution, of pain. Frank felt it deep inside, a flicker in the ruins of his soul.

She still saw him.

SMALL Café - NY City

The café was small, quiet, dimly lit—the kind of place where people came to disappear. Frank sat opposite her at a corner table, his hands wrapped around the mug like it was an anchor.

The smell of bitter roast hung in the air, but he barely noticed. All he could see was Karen.

She stirred her cup slowly, eyes down, her shoulders tense. Neither of them had touched the silence between them.

Frank cleared his throat, trying to sound casual but failing miserably. “So… uh… you still see Murdock?”

Karen froze, blinking at him. The question landed like a grenade. She inhaled at the wrong moment, choked, and nearly spat coffee back into her cup.

“Frank—Jesus,” she coughed, grabbing a napkin. “That’s your opening line?”

His ears burned, his face tightening as he looked down at his mug. “Yeah. Guess subtlety was never my strong suit.” He shifted in his chair, awkward, frustrated with himself.

“I just—damn I am a disaster...”

Karen wiped her lips, trying to compose herself, though a nervous laugh slipped through.

The absurdity of it—the Punisher, who had stared down armies of killers, stumbling through small talk like a teenager—was almost unbearable.

“Yes and no,” she said finally, her tone measured. She leaned back, meeting his eyes with a steadiness he hadn’t expected. “Matt and I… we have history. Complicated history."

Frank studied her face, searching for any crack in her words, any hint of something unspoken. He wanted to press, but he caught himself.

The last thing he could afford was to drive her further away with questions she wasn’t ready to answer.

Karen laughed softly, a gentle, musical sound. “Well, sometimes we are together.”

Frank blinked. “Sometimes? Damn… what does that even mean? Sometimes? That’s supposed to… mean…”

“We had a thing, again…” she said carefully, glancing down at her cup.

“It’s fun. But we managed to rebuild everything. The three of us… Nelson, Murdock and Page. It’s… perfect that way. Occasionally… well… things slipped with Matt, but nothing serious.

We have this thing… the ‘friend" code.’”

Frank raised an eyebrow, trying to process. “The… what?”

Karen laughed again, softly shaking her head. “No slips after a few drinks. No attempts at… anything more serious. We’re a family and we need that more than anything.”

Frank stared, swallowing hard. Karen and Red… together—even just for a night or two— or more - it didn’t thrill him. Didn’t sting either, not as much as he feared.

It was a return of reality’s harsh slap, but… manageable.

Karen’s eyes softened. “I’m enjoying my life… and maybe one day. Who knows, I willl find the one ?”

Frank smirked faintly, bitterly amused. “Right… one day, huh?”

Karen gave a small, teasing shrug. “Yeah…”

Frank took a slow sip of his coffee, staring at the cup. He let the words sink in, let the awkwardness and tension settle.

And somewhere under all the guilt, jealousy, and longing, he felt… a flicker of hope. A recognition that life moved forward, imperfect and messy, but still possible.

He glanced up at her, half-smiling, half-miserable. He cleared his throat, and tried again, his voice quieter this time.

“Wasn’t tryin’ to make things awkward. Just… I don’t know how to do this. Never been good at sittin’ down and talkin’ like a normal man.”

Karen chuckled, eyes warm. “Yeah… can see that.”

For a moment, the past didn’t press on them.

The violence, the loss, the regrets—all muted by the simple act of sharing coffee, words, and the fragile thread of connection that still existed between them.

Frank exhaled, letting a small, genuine smile creep across his face. “It’s good to see you Karen… you have no idea...”

Karen reached across the table, brushing her fingers lightly over his. “Now… I want to know… why are you here Frank ? ».

“Frank,” she said softly, “why now? Why show up after all this time? Something’s changed. Something happened.”

Frank shifted in his chair. He’d known she wouldn’t let it go. She never did. Stubborn, he thought, lips quirking despite himself.

Karen smirked faintly at his silence. “Okay… let’s play a game. Yes or no only.”

He raised an eyebrow. “…Seriously?”

“Yeah,” she said, leaning in, playful spark in her eyes. “Did you almost die again, and this time the hit on the head finally made you completely crazy?”

Frank let out a low laugh. “That’s low, Karen. No.”

“Mm-hm.” She tilted her head. “Midlife crisis?”

He chuckled again, shaking his head. “What? No. For the record, that one already passed, thanks.”

Her grin widened. “Oh, right. Old man.”

Frank groaned. “Not nice.”

“Too tired for nighttime fights, then?” she teased.

He rubbed his face, half laughing, half exasperated. “Stop that.”

She raised her hands in mock surrender, eyes still glinting. “Okay, okay… fine. So… what was it? Alien? Monster? What could have possibly dragged you back here?”

The smile fell from his face. Karen noticed immediately, her humor evaporating. “…Wait. Seriously? That’s why you’re here? Some mysterious danger? Another war coming?”

“No.” His voice was sharp. Quick. Too quick. Silence settled between them, thick and heavy.

“Then what, Frank?” she asked, voice quieter now.

Frank stared at the table, the memories clawing at him. Strange’s words. The other him. Karen’s laugh in another kitchen.

The life he could’ve had. He didn’t know if it was real, or just some elaborate torment. He didn’t know if telling her would ruin everything.

If I say it out loud, I’ll sound like a lunatic. A ghost who can’t let go. A man who’s lost in his own head.

Finally, he lifted his gaze, meeting hers. Her blue eyes locked onto his, steady, refusing to let him hide.

“Karen…” His voice was raw, low. “It’s… complicated.”

She gave a half-smile, tender and sad. “It always is, isn’t it?”

He leaned closer, voice dropping to a near whisper. “Okay… you’re really sure you want to know?”

Karen held his gaze, unflinching. “…Yeah. I’m sure.”

Frank exhaled sharply, his heart pounding. The next words would change everything.

Chapter Text

Frank’s throat felt dry. He hadn’t been this nervous since Iraq — and that had at least been clear. Enemy, objective, outcome.

This? This was stepping into the dark with nothing but her eyes holding him steady.

“You’re not gonna believe me,” he muttered.

Karen leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice gentle. “Try me.”

Frank let out a breath : “Strange. The magician with the cape. You know the name?”

Karen blinked, frowning. “…Doctor Strange? That guy’s real?”

“Oh, he’s real,” Frank said grimly. “And a royal pain in the ass.”

She tilted her head, waiting.

Frank’s hands curled around his coffee cup, knuckles pale.

“He… took me somewhere. Another world. Another me. Same face, same past… but he’d found a way out. Found… you.” His voice cracked, almost too low to hear.

“Had you. Whole family built around it. Real people Karen... And I—” He stopped, his breath sharp, as if the words themselves were jagged glass in his throat.

Karen’s lips parted, her face caught between disbelief and something softer. “Frank…”

“I saw it,” he said, louder now, almost angry with himself.

“Saw you laughing. With me. Saw a life and I don’t… I don’t even know how to dream anymore. And it tore me apart, Karen. Because it felt real. Felt like it was mine.

Like I’d finally stopped fighting the whole goddamn world and just—” His voice cracked again. He slammed his jaw shut.

Karen reached across the table, slowly, deliberately, until her hand covered his. Warm. Steady. Real. “Frank. Breathe.”

He looked at her, raw and unguarded, more than he’d ever wanted to be.

“It wasn’t just some dream,” he rasped. “It was a reminder. That maybe… maybe I’ve been wrong. About everything.”

Karen’s eyes shimmered, but she held his gaze. “It's okay.. you came back.”

Frank swallowed hard, words failing him.

"And nothing is okay here."

Karen sat back, her fingers wrapped around her coffee cup. She didn’t look away, but her eyes shimmered with something between disbelief and longing.

“Frank… do you hear yourself ?” she finally whispered.

“You disappear for years. You tear yourself apart, shut me out, shut everyone out—and then you come back talking about… other worlds, about us being happy somewhere else. About me.”

Her voice caught, but she steadied it, firm. “Do you know what that does to me?”

Frank wanted to reach for her but his hands stayed on his knees, fists tight. “I ain’t makin’ this up, Karen. I saw it. Felt it. I saw what it’s like when I don’t screw it all to hell. When I don’t run.”

She shook her head, half a laugh, half a sob. “You can’t just walk back with a ghost story and expect me to…”

She stopped, searched his eyes. “God, Frank. Do you even want this? Or is this just your guilt talking?”

The question was a knife and a lifeline all at once. Frank swallowed hard, words failing him : "I.. I think so... Always did. I was just too goddamn broken to… to let it happen.”

Karen looked down, blinking fast. For a long silence, only the hum of the café filled the air.

When she looked back up, her expression was softer, but guarded. “You don’t get to tell me a fairytale and expect me to fall back in. You have no idea how many nights I… hoped.

And how many times I had to let it go.”

Frank leaned forward, his voice almost breaking. “Then tell me what to do. Tell me how to make it right.”

Her hand trembled around her cup. She didn’t answer immediately.

Finally, she said, almost a whisper: “Show me. Don’t just tell me stories, Frank. If you want me in your life again… prove it."

Frank fell silent, her words like a weight on his chest. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe for a long moment.

Then, with the same stubbornness that had dragged him through every battlefield, he finally spoke.

“...ok,” he muttered. His eyes stayed down, almost ashamed, but his voice carried a rough determination. “Ok. After all, a battle’s still a battle. One at a time.”

Karen tilted her head, wary but curious.

Frank lifted his gaze just enough to meet hers.

“A coffee. Here. Once a week. No bruises, no cuts, no blood on me when I show up. You give me one month. Just… one month. An… I dunno. A trial run.”

Karen blinked, caught off guard. A breathless laugh escaped her. “A month? What is this, a contract?”

“Yeah, well…” Frank scratched at his jaw, awkward, fumbling for words he never thought he’d say.

“Apparently it worked somewhere else. And apparently I was a damn disaster when I tried to… to see you again before. So maybe—maybe this is me trying not to screw it all up this time.”

She laughed again, softer this time, almost tender. “God, I must be in another universe too. Frank Castle, negotiating his war down to coffee dates?”

Frank almost smiled, a shadow of warmth breaking through his usual steel. “Well… coffee can fix a lotta things.”

Karen crossed her arms, trying to hide the way her lips curled into the ghost of a smile.

“One coffee. Once a week. For a month.” She said it slowly, like testing the sound of it, as if the words themselves were ridiculous.

Frank nodded : “Yeah.”

Her eyes softened, but only just. “I don’t believe you’ll manage it. Not you. Not Frank Castle.”

That cut deeper than she intended, but she held her ground. She had learned the hard way that his promises could shatter as fast as they were made.

Frank didn’t argue. He simply breathed, heavy and deliberate. “Maybe you’re right,” he said at last, voice rough, “but I’ll try.”

There was no declaration, no touch, no grand gesture.

Just a man who had carried war on his back for years, staring at the one person who made him want to set it down, if only for an hour with a cup of coffee.

Karen exhaled, almost a laugh, almost a sigh. “Then I guess we’ll see.”

Frank lowered his eyes, uncertain, torn, but inside he set the promise like a nail in stone: whatever else happened, he would be there. Every week. No excuses. No blood. Just coffee.

Chapter Text

Frank walked in like he was undercover in his own life. Jeans, clean black jacket, shaved, no bruises, no cuts. He looked… normal. Too normal.

For once, he could’ve been mistaken for anyone else in the room—except that Karen’s eyes locked on him immediately, amused and almost disarmed.

“Well,” she said with a tilt of her head, “I guess I lost this week.”

Frank slid into the chair across from her, deadpan. “Never challenge an old marine. Mission always comes first.”

Karen raised her brows, hiding a smile. “And what exactly is the mission here, Castle? Perfect coffee order and a fresh haircut?”

His gaze caught hers, steady, unflinching. “Seeing you next week. And maybe… maybe you looking at me the way you used to.”

The words landed heavy. Karen’s fingers tightened around her cup. Silence stretched. He didn’t flinch.

Finally, he leaned back, voice lower, softer. “Like in that elevator years ago... Stupid elevator. I hate ‘em now. Don’t you?”

Karen laughed, startled. “God… Frank… are you serious? You really remember that?”

“Of course. All of it. Always.”

She blinked at him, her mask slipping just a little. “I thought… I thought I was the only one who felt something. Other than, you know, adrenaline and panic.”

“Bullshit. And you know it.”

Her laugh faded into quiet. She looked down at her coffee, stirred it even though it didn’t need stirring.

“Maybe… ok. Everything is completely insane. What makes me believe you’ve actually been sitting at home behaving yourself for a whole week? That’s impossible.

What do you even do with your days, Frank?”

Frank smirked faintly, leaning closer just enough to tease. “Well, Page… you’re not the only one with a job anymore.”

Karen froze mid-sip. “What?”

Frank just let the corner of his mouth twitch upward, enjoying her shock for once.

“What—what do you mean, a job?”

Frank sat back, folding his arms like he was bracing for her reaction. “Dinah. She… still needed help here. Still needed soldiers in this world.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You called her?”

“Yeah,” Frank admitted, voice low. “Didn’t take long before she caved. Guess she knew I was still the best at this kind of work. Only difference now is—it’s legal.

New brothers-in-arms, a unit that feels like home again. Me and Dinah? Well... we make it work. We put people in the ground, the ones who deserve it. And every time… it means something.”

Karen stared at him, utterly lost. He almost sounded… proud.

“You’re telling me…” she said slowly, her words sharp with disbelief, “that you—Frank Castle—are basically a secret agent now? That’s insane. No. That’s multiverse-level insane. It can’t be true.”

Frank gave her the faintest smirk, but his eyes stayed serious. “Sorry, Page. Looks like it’s true. Fresh start.”

She shook her head, biting her lip. “You’re too slow, Castle. Way too slow. Do you have any idea how much time you’ve wasted?”

He held her gaze, unflinching, voice softer now, almost tender. “Yeah. I know. Too long…”

The words hung between them, heavy, raw, and Karen wasn’t sure if he was talking about Dinah’s job, or about her.

Chapter Text

Karen arrived first this time. She was sitting by the window, posture straight, hair falling neatly over her shoulders.

The dress she wore was sharp, striking, the kind of thing that made the whole café turn for a second before pretending they hadn’t.

Frank froze when he saw her. He took a breath, squared his shoulders. Ok. It’s a test. She’s testing me. Keep a cool head, Castle. Stop staring. Stop—

“Hey,” she said, soft, like it cost her nothing.

“Hey,” Frank echoed, trying to sound casual, though nothing about him was ever casual. He sat down across from her, eyes betraying him anyway. “Nice dress…”

Karen arched an eyebrow, smirking. “Well, I had an important meeting before this.”

Frank tilted his head. “A meeting, huh? Nobody wears that to a meeting.”

She laughed under her breath, shaking her head.

“Let me guess,” Frank continued, voice low, teasing. “Opponent was probably a guy, forty years... a real son of a bitch... And with that, you stopped the target, won the case. That’s cheating, Page.”

Her smile grew wider, softer. “Hey! I win by more than cheap tricks, you know that.”

He gave a tiny nod, eyes still locked on hers. “Yeah. But that’d work just fine too.”

Karen’s laugh came out half a scoff, half a blush. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Frank leaned back, conceding. “Good. You should. Luckily, Murdock still blind... is he really? ”

She laughs, amused, embarrassed, flattered: "That's a complicated question...".

For a while, they sipped coffee in comfortable quiet, a rhythm that felt too easy. And then Frank shifted, restless, not wanting the hour to end. He cleared his throat. “You wanna… walk?”

Karen’s lips curved. “Walk? Frank Castle wants to walk?”

“Ok, stop,” he groaned, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I know. I’m a disaster.”

She laughed openly, shaking her head. “Oh yeah, terrible.”

Frank leaned closer, trying again, clumsy but stubborn. “So? Will you walk with a disaster? Because the only reason I’m humiliating myself like this… is sitting right in front of me.”

Karen froze, her smile caught halfway, then softened. “Ok. One condition.”

Frank rolled his eyes. “Oh god. Another clause in the contract?”

“Yep,” she said, chin lifted playfully.

“Try me.”

“Dinner.”

Frank blinked. “What?”

“Next time. I want dinner with secret agent Castle.”

He huffed out something close to a laugh. “You know what… I hate restaurants.”

Karen looked at him, surprised, even a little thrown by his first refusal. “Oh….”

Frank’s voice dropped, quiet, rough. “I’ll cook.”

Her head snapped up, eyes wide, amusement breaking through. “What?”

“Not everything I do involves shooting people,” he muttered, scratching his jaw, almost embarrassed.

Karen let out a warm laugh, shaking her head. “First I’ve heard of it.”

A weak Later

Frank opened the door before Karen could knock. She froze for a second, taking in the modest apartment that somehow felt both lived-in and orderly.

The scent of something simmering on the stove hit her immediately.

“Cooking?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

Frank grunted, gesturing toward the kitchen. “Yeah. Don’t get used to it.”

Karen laughed softly, stepping inside. She watched as he moved—efficient, precise, almost military in his motions—but there was a warmth to it, a care he rarely allowed anyone to see.

“So, secret agent by day, chef by night?” she teased, leaning against the counter.

Frank shot her a crooked smile, a little self-conscious. “Something like that.”

She watched him plate the food, still fascinated by the quiet rhythm of him. It was mundane, normal—almost painfully so.

“So,” Karen said after a moment, tilting her head,

“How does it feel? You… this whole normal life thing. Coffee, cooking, dinners… not screaming at someone across a street or putting bullets in a bad guy?”

Frank shrugged, sitting down with a plate in hand. “Still doing that remember? Killing bad guy? But.. yeah... Hard. But… not bad. Feels like a different kind of mission.

One I might actually stick around for.”

Karen sat across from him, eyes soft. “And me?”

He looked up from his plate, serious now. “You… well, that’s the best part. You make all the other stuff… worth it.”

She felt her chest tighten. “Frank…”

He shook his head slightly, a little embarrassed. “Don’t. Not yet. Let me just… do this. Show up, one coffee, one dinner, one stupid laugh at a time. Don’t expect… miracles.”

Karen smiled, leaning back in her chair. “Miracles aren’t really your thing. But… I can see you trying. And that counts for something.”

Frank smirked, a rare glimmer of warmth reaching his eyes. “Yeah. That’s the plan. One step at a time. And if I screw it up… you can remind me how terrible I am.”

“God, you are terrible,” she said, laughing.

“But trying,” he added quietly.

She let the words hang between them. A dinner, a tiny moment of normalcy, and maybe the start of something else entirely—one Frank Castle could finally begin to fight for.

Chapter Text

A week later, their coffee and dinner routine had started to settle into something fragile but real. The teasing, the flirtation, the humor—they all built a rhythm, a bridge between Frank’s past and this tentative new life.

After hours of joking and subtle provocations, Karen’s expression softened, serious now. She reached for his hand across the table, her eyes searching his.

“Frank… is this… is this what you saw there ? That other life… this… happiness ?”

Frank lowered his gaze, voice heavy.

“No. The other me… maybe he was less stupid. Amy… remember ? She never left. She… she even played a role in it all. She was the first reason he stopped being the Punisher… to protect her. Like he would’ve protected Lisa… same age, same courage …”.

His words faltered. His chest tightened, eyes dropping to the floor, damp with unspilled grief. He swallowed hard, trying to rein in the pain.

Karen squeezed his hand, steady and warm, letting him feel her presence. Her blue eyes held him, unjudging, patient.

Frank exhaled shakily : “I’ve made choices… in this world that I can’t undo. Choices that don’t allow me to be him. I’ll never be him, never a perfect copy of another world… I guess that’s the point, isn’t it?”

He paused, then continued, voice cracking : “I spent five long years walking through blood… and mine didn’t exactly irrigate my brain. All I wanted was to end it… bury the dead, kill the living… I never wanted to ‘fix’ anything. I never tried to fix or hold onto anyone. All I ever looked for… was… this eternal loneliness.”

Karen tightened her grip on his hand. “Frank… look at me.”

He hesitated, wanting to hide his sadness, to retreat into the armor he knew so well. But her gaze anchored him.

“You don’t have to be him,” she said softly, “but you can find meaning in this life… still.”

Frank lifted his head slowly, meeting her eyes. “I want it, Karen… but every time… every time I start to feel something else… I feel like… I feel like I’m betraying them.”

The weight of the truth hung between them, heavy and suffocating.

“Being a father, a husband… seeing them die… How am I supposed to live after that? How can I do this? It’s not fair… It’s like I’d be forgetting them. I’ve buried all the bastards who played a part in their deaths… including myself.”

Karen’s face twisted with pain. “Frank… you didn’t kill your family.”

He cut her off, voice low, raw. “Yes, I did Karen… They died because of what I did... In Iraq... Kandahar. All that shit... And the universe made me pay for it in its own way.”.

She said nothing. A single tear slid down her cheek.

Frank reached up, brushing it away, as if he could also erase her pain. “None of this is fair. All this guilt, all this self-hate… it’ll never leave me. And it’s even less fair to make you carry that weight.”

Karen slowly straightened and sank into her chair. She wanted to carry his burden. She wanted to erase his pain. Bury his guilt. Nothing that had happened to Frank Castle was right. Nothing.

As the night wore on, she silently refused to let him believe such a thing. To let him waste away again. She wanted to share his burden. Their burden. In a shared trajectory. To care for each other.

“I never told you about Kevin,” she began, her voice fragile, almost breaking. Frank’s brow furrowed, but he stayed still, waiting.

“My little brother,” she whispered : “He’s dead.”

Frank’s chest tightened, the words striking him harder than he expected. He had known Karen carried her share of shadows, but this—this was something else.

Tears welled in her eyes as she pressed a shaking hand to her mouth. “It was me, Frank. I was driving that night. I was high, desperate, shattered after my mom died…” Her voice broke completely, a sob tearing through her.

“I killed him. The sweetest, most loving person I’d ever known.”

She buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking violently. “I watched my mother die, powerless. Then my brother. And when I needed my father most, he looked at me like I was poison. Like I deserved nothing but this shame. And I do. I failed them.     

I failed my family. See. You are not my brden Frank. Never was. I already have line to carry.”

Frank leaned forward, stunned, the weight of her confession sinking deep into him. He had thought he understood pain, loss, the hollowed-out silence grief leaves behind. But hearing Karen’s truth was like being dragged under water—helpless, breathless.

“Karen…” His voice was low, raw. He reached out, hesitated, then placed his hand over hers, steady, grounding. She flinched at the contact but didn’t pull away.

Her tears stained her cheeks, her body trembling as if the confession had shattered something inside her. “I loved him more than anyone. And I destroyed him. I destroyed everything.”

He tightened his grip, his own throat thick with words he could barely form. “Karen.. Christ… I know what it’s like to lose the people you love. To blame yourself. To carry it like chains every damn day.”

His jaw clenched, eyes glistening with something he rarely allowed anyone to see.

“But you’re wrong about one thing. You’re not poison. You're the complete opposite. Damn it. I've seen your strength. I've seen the best of you and now know the worst of you. And you're still the only one who keeps me going...

And none of your mistakes will change that. Never. You get that? ».

For the first time, she lifted her gaze to him, her broken blue eyes meeting his. Frank saw not just the grief, not just the guilt, but the fragile woman who had carried too much alone.

And in that moment, he swore to himself—if she had been damned to live with this weight, he would be the one to carry it with her.

“God, Karen…” Frank’s voice broke, ragged, as he finally let the floodgate open. Tears streamed freely, unchecked, as the weight of everything he had carried pressed down on him. For the first time, he truly understood—their connection, cosmic and

undeniable, transcended every reality he had known. They were bound by the same grief, the same burden, the same inability to live after… after losing everything, after their mistakes.

They stayed here, silently in Frank’s apartment, exhausted from sorrow, yet electrified by the bond that now tied them. In the darkness of the room, Frank finally moved behind her, close—too close. His lips brushed her ear as he whispered,

“I don’t want you to be alone tonight. Tell me what to do to help.. please.”

Karen closed her eyes, holding back tears. Frank’s arms wrapped around her, and she leaned into him, seeking any anchor of certainty, of reality. Her voice was a whisper against his chest :

“I just want to feel something real.”

Frank pressed his face into the nape of her neck, breathing her in like she was the only air he could survive on. Without thinkong, slowly, sensually, he kissed her neck, tracing her shoulder, letting a strap of her dress fall, sliding his hands under her hips, pulling her closer.

She exhaled, letting herself feel him, feeling his desire, his care, the connection that was as terrifying as it was intoxicating.

After a long, electric moment, she turned to face him and kissed him. He returned it with fervor, passion and urgency burning through every touch. His hand threaded through her hair, holding her, grounding her, conveying all he couldn’t yet say in words.

And he could feel it. Every second. He was scared. To finally feel her. To let himself be loved. And to perhaps have to lose her tomorrow.

He went from hot to cold. From passion to extreme tenderness. As soon as he pulled away from her to take his breath, he already felt the loss, he already feared her absence.

Nothing was certain, but nothing could stop him from tasting her. Again and again. To feel her skin against his, to feel her breath on the back of his neck, to feel her hands under his clothes. He just wanted the universe to freeze. There, at that moment.

This was the moment, Castle thought, heart pounding. The moment to give meaning to everything—the grief, the guilt, the lost years. This was the moment to start living, together, and make something real out of all the darkness.

Chapter Text

The first light of dawn slipped through Karen’s curtains, painting the room in muted gold. Frank stirred awake, his body heavy but his mind strangely clear. For the first time in years, the silence around him wasn’t suffocating. It was… peaceful.

Karen lay curled against his chest, one hand resting across the scars that marked him. Her breathing was steady, her face softened in sleep.

He let his gaze linger on her, trying to etch every detail into his memory—her hair tangled across the pillow, the faint trace of last night still glowing on her lips.

He shifted slightly, careful not to wake her, but she stirred anyway, opening her eyes slowly. Their gaze met, unguarded, fragile.

“Hey,” she whispered, voice raspy with sleep.

Frank cleared his throat, suddenly awkward, suddenly fifteen again. “Hey.”

Karen studied him for a moment, then gave a small smile. “You’re still here.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, almost defensive, but softer than usual. “Of course I am here. Dont doubt me about that….”

She reached up, fingers brushing his jaw where the stubble had already begun to shadow his face. “Good. Because I don’t think I could handle you disappearing again.”

The weight of her words pressed into him. He took her hand, kissed her knuckles—gentle, reverent. “Not gonna lie, Page. I’m still a mess. Always will be. But…”

He struggled for words, the Marine in him hating the vulnerability, but the man in him needing to speak. “…last night felt like the first time in a long time I wasn’t just surviving. Felt like living.”

Her eyes shimmered, tears threatening. “That’s all I ever wanted for you. To live.”

They stayed like that, tangled in each other, letting the world outside fall away. No war. No guilt. Just two broken souls trying to piece something whole together, one fragile morning at a time.

Karen finally broke the silence with a soft laugh. “So… breakfast ? Or do you only know how to cook revenge ?”.

Frank smirked, the rarest of expressions on his face. “You’ll see, Page. I make a mean omelet.”

She raised an eyebrow, playful. “Secret agent Castle and omelets ? Careful, you might actually be dateable.”.

Over breakfast, Karen watched him, clearly amused. She couldn’t resist teasing him about the night they’d just shared.

“So… last night…” she began, voice playful.

Frank, caught off guard, burned himself slightly with the frying pan. “Uh… yeah…” he muttered, flustered.

“Do you think… you were terrible at it too?” she asked, smirking.

He gave a sheepish laugh, pretending to be offended. “Oh, sorry Miss Page. Did I lose my touch ? Because that’s not the impression I got…”

She raised an eyebrow, teasing. “Hmm… yeah… maybe…”

“Maybe really ?” Frank froze, pointing dramatically at his half-cooked omelet. “Maybe… Damn… Okay, you just ruined my breakfast. And I’ll tell you one thing—my omelets are perfect. Always.”

“Oh, I am so sorry about that…” she laughed softly.

Frank stepped closer, leaning in, his eyes dark with desire : “And I’m really… hungry, you see ?” Before she could react, he scooped her up in surprise, holding her with playful strength. “And no. I am not terrible at that.”

Karen laughed, breathless. “Oh… I never said that. It was just a question…”

“I call that provocation…” he teased back, grinning : « Admit it… You’re just asking for more. »

She hugged her legs around his waist and wishpered sofly : « Guilty… ».

Their seduction continued, laughter filling the apartment. Finally, Frank, still holding her in his arms, her legs around his hips, quickly headed toward the bedroom.

She was wearing only his black shirt and panties, revealing the bareness of her legs. With one hand, Frank gently caressed every bare surface.

She laughed sincerely, happy, light, pushing her hair back to rest her forehead on his.

They both laughed, feeling their desire settle, an intimate joy reborn between them.

Frank lingered in the bedroom, catching his breath. Karen looked up at him, her expression playful but honest.

“You know…” she began, leaning against the bed, “you are… really good at that.”

Frank’s ego immediately puffed up. “Really good, huh?” He trailed off, still trying to process the night and morning they’d shared.

The playful banter transitioned slowly into tenderness. Frank moved closer, lowering his voice, soft but urgent. “I want to see you tonight. Not in a week. Not later. Tonight.”

Karen tilted her head, a faint smirk on her lips. “Tonight?”

He nodded, awkward, trying not to sound desperate. “Can we… maybe… see each other?”

Her expression softened, but reality intervened. “It’s very tempting… but… I’m already taken tonight.”

“Taken?” he repeated, mock horror in his voice. “That’s all I get ?”

Karen began dressing in front of him, calm, composed. “We’re celebrating a case victory at Josie’s tonight. Foggy’s excited to get out, blow off some steam after weeks of work. And I think Matt’s coming too…”

Damn it. Frank’s stomach twisted. He’d almost forgotten—Karen had a life outside of him, one that included a man as determined as he was to keep her close. Fucking Murdock.

Suddenly, Frank felt uncomfortable, tense, unsure of how to handle the idea of Karen going out at Matt’s side, alcohol in the air, the potential risks… No, no… don’t even think about it Castle.

His head was spinning. And what was he in all this ? He’d spent a night—and a wonderful morning—with her. Nothing more. How was he supposed to manage this ?

“And how are you going to apply your ‘friend's code’ tonight?” he asked, voice tense, a spark of dark humor slipping through. “I guess Murdock doesn’t know about… this ?”

He raised his hands toward the bed, pretending to surrender. Then, channeling Murdock in his mind, he mimicked a deep, outraged voice :

“Castle! How dare you?! Sleep with my girlfriend? You’re just a killer, you should be behind bars, keep your hands to yourself… the system should’ve stopped you !”

Karen laughed, the sound light and teasing. Frank felt a mix of frustration and delight—jealousy, yes, but she was adorable to watch.

She shook her head, still smiling, and came closer, brushing his arm. “You’re impossible, you know that ?”

“I know,” he said, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And yet… somehow, still irresistible.”

Karen rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it.

Frank reluctantly walked Karen to the door, his posture tense, eyes betraying the nervous storm inside him. He lingered, unwilling to let her go, a hand brushing against the doorframe for support.

Karen gave him a small, teasing smile. “You know… now that you’re allowed to show your face day and night…” She paused, searching for the right words. “…you could stop by, sometime.”

Frank froze. “Stop by?”

He let out a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “Show up in your world, with your friends… Frank Castle, the good old Punisher, coming for a drink… maybe watching a football game with Murdock ? Yeah, I can already see the whole picture…”

Karen’s eyes softened. “You know, Frank… if… if things were to get… you know… more serious… you’d have to find your place in this life.”

Frank shifted nervously, leaning an arm against the doorframe as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. “Place… in this life…”

“And for the record,” she added, smirking, “I’ll be wearing this dress tonight.”

“Hey ! We said no cheating, Karen.”

She laughed softly. “With you, I always have to.”

“So let me get this straight… you, in that dress, alcohol, music—oh, and Murdock, so charming, so determined to keep you for himself. Still smooth with words, full of his usual charm… There is no « friend code » for him tonight, Karen. He’s may be blind but not that stupid.”

“Do you doubt me?” she asked lightly.

“Never. But… you owe me nothing.”

“I don’t know, Frank… what I’m supposed to do or not anymore.”

She leaned forward and kissed his cheek softly. “See you next week, big guy… take care.”

And then she closed the door gently, leaving him there. One arm still braced against the wall for support. Damn it. Take care ? Those were his words no hers.

Frank exhaled sharply, trying to process the storm of jealousy, desire, and helplessness swirling inside him. He wished Madani had some serious plans for him… blood, violence … that’s all he wanted.

Then his phone rang. The sound snapped him out of his stupor.

“Hey, Curt…”

“Hey, new Castle… how’s it going?”

“Not good, actually man…”

“Oh no, not already, Frank…”

“No, no… it’s not… not about the job or any of this bullshit…”

“So what is it?”

Frank struggled to get the words out.

“Frank… come on.”

“Okay… coffee meeting ? Ten minutes.”

“God, is it the end of the world again Frank ? ”

« Of my world.. maybe… ».

Chapter Text

Frank slid into the corner seat of their usual coffee spot, the smell of espresso and baked goods doing little to calm the storm inside him. Curtis sat across, eyebrows raised.

“So… you look good man,” Curtis started, stirring his coffee, “and yet somehow, still terrifying.”

Frank let out a humorless chuckle. “That’s the idea. Keeps people at a safe distance.”

Curtis smirked. “Yeah, well… you’re not keeping me at a distance. So… spill. What’s going on Frank ?”

Frank rubbed his face, eyes narrowing. “It’s… complicated, okay? Really complicated.”

Curtis leaned back, watching him carefully. “I should be scared, right?”

“Curtis, I… I screwed up,” he muttered, staring at the steam. “Last night—Karen, she… we—” He stopped, ran a hand over his face.

His words tumbled out faster than he could control. “It just happened. I didn’t plan it, I didn’t—hell, I don’t even know what I’m doin’ anymore.”

Curtis blinked, leaning in. “Frank. Slow down. Who’s Karen ?”

Frank looked up sharply, eyes bloodshot and restless. “Karen. Page. The reporter. She’s—she’s been there, y’know? After everything. She—dammit, Curt, I can’t even explain it.”

Frank’s voice was low, bitter, a mix of awe and frustration. “I… I don’t know what the hell is happening. She’s… she’s not mine. At least, not tonight. And I can’t—”

Curtis interrupted, raising a hand. “Whoa, slow down, Frank. You sound like you’re about to implode. And what do you mean mine ? You, Frank Castle, have a girlfriend now ? I am not buying it…”

“I am imploding, Curtis!” Frank barked. “And yes.. maybe. I don’t know…And then she goes out tonight, at some bar with him. Matt Murdock. Her perfect non-boyfriend-best friend. And I… I didn’t even fight for her. Not a

damn thing. I just… stood there.”

Curtis frowned. “Matt who?”

“Matt Murdock. The lawyer. You know, red suit, the—” Frank broke off, shaking his head like he’d already said too much.

Then his words started racing again. “She’s sittin’ across from him tonight and I can’t—I don’t know what that means, what it means for me, or her, or—Jesus, I don’t even know why I care this much but I do and it’s drivin’ me

insane.”

Curtis chuckled softly, but there was concern behind his eyes. “Okay… first of all, calm down. Second… let me get this straight. All this, all this change, it was for her, wasn't it? Yeah, always a woman behind this kind of

thing... Frank, I imagined 1000 possibilities, even the midlife crisis, but this..."

Frank laughed a mixture of bitterness and frustration "oh very funny, midlife crisis, again..."

Suddenly, he slammed a hand on the table, making Curtis flinch. “Not funny Curt ! I can’t just barge into her life. And yet… I want to. I want her. More than anything.”

Curtis leaned forward, tapping the table thoughtfully. “Okay, first of all, congratulations. You finally admitted feelings to someone who isn’t… dead, gone, or making you wish you were.” He paused.

“Second… maybe that’s the problem. You’ve built this whole heroic fantasy around everyone you lost. And now… there’s this ‘Karen thing’… she’s alive, she’s… real, and you don’t know how to handle it.”

Frank scowled. “You’re making it sound easy.”

Curtis laughed. “Yeah… well, it’s not. And frankly, Frank, I’ve been watching you long enough to know you overthink right now.”

He leaned back. “You want her? Then stop being a coward. A Marine would fight for her. Or at least… make a move. Anything. Don’t just stew in guilt and fear. That’s the Castle way, sure, but maybe not this time.”

Frank shook his head, looking down into his coffee. “I… I can’t just… Curtis. There’s a life there already. Murdock. Their friendship. I can’t just… crash that.”

Curtis smirked, raising an eyebrow. “So you’re a grown man, a trained killer, but when it comes to the woman you care about, you suddenly have a moral code that’s basically ‘stay on the sidelines and suffer’? That’s

convenient.”

Frank groaned, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not convenient. It’s… right. I can’t just take what’s not mine. Even if… I want it more than anything in the world.”

Curtis leaned closer, tone serious now. “Listen to me, Frank. You want her? You don’t let her leave without knowing. You don’t wait. And you sure as hell don’t spend the whole night crying into coffee because some lawyer has

a charming smile. You go. You take a step. And if she lets you… fine. If not… well, at least you tried.”

Frank looked at Curtis, eyes haunted but a little lighter. “You really think I… I could do that? Risk it? Her… with him?”

Curtis shrugged. “Risk it? Yeah. But you’re Frank Castle. You’ve risked everything for less. Stop overthinking. Just… act.”

Frank stared at his coffee, the bitter taste suddenly sharp in his mouth. “Yeah… yeah, maybe you’re right.” He paused, exhaling slowly. “But it’s not that simple… God, nothing ever is with me.”

Curtis grinned. “Hey, when has life with you ever been simple ? But here’s a gift, man : this time, it’s a problem you want to have.”

Frank finally allowed a small, humorless laugh. “Yeah… a gift. A ‘Karen’ problem. Right.”

Curtis smirked. “Exactly. Now drink your coffee, Castle. And then… decide if you’re a man or a martyr.”

Frank paced his apartment like a soldier before a mission. The mirror reflected a man caught between a war zone and… a bar. A bar where his heart was on the line.

“Okay Castle, think,” he muttered to himself. “How do you dress for this? How do you… compete?”

He stopped mid-step. Competitor? No, that wasn’t the word. Opponent? Enemy? Yeah… Matt Murdock.

Perfect, charming, untouchable… a man who could make her laugh in one second and fight a city’s scum in the next. Frank had faced monsters, killers, armies of men—but this?

This was a battlefield he couldn’t shoot his way out of.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. God… he’s too good. Too… right for her.

A smirk flickered across his face despite himself. “Yeah, Castle, laugh it up. You’ve survived literal hell… you can survive this.”

He started going through his wardrobe, boots thumping against the floor. No, boots were too… rough. Too “Punisher.” He needed something sleek, subtle, deadly without being obvious.

Something that said me but also… I’m here, pay attention.

A black blazer. Check. Dark jeans. Check. Crisp white shirt. Check. Simple, clean, effective. Castle, upgraded version. Same Frank underneath, but… polished. Refined. Dangerous, but contained.

He held the shirt in front of himself. “Simple… effective… always me. Yeah. Survived a thousand battles. I can survive a bar tonight.”

His hand brushed over the jacket’s lapel, thoughts wandering to the words of his multiverse self: “It’s not that easy.”

Frank muttered under his breath, almost laughing at the absurdity. “You said it, buddy… not easy.”

He took a deep breath, shoulders straightening, eyes hardening. “Okay….”

He grabbed his keys, checking himself one last time in the mirror. Boots swapped for polished shoes.

Shirt tucked just right. A man ready for war, just a different kind.

“Let’s see how you do against that battlefield, Frank,” he whispered.

Chapter Text

Frank entered the bar, his presence immediately pulling attention. Dark jeans, crisp white shirt, black blazer—simple, sleek, dangerous without looking like he was trying. Attractive.

He scanned the room. There she was. Karen. Laughing softly, drink in hand, Murdock beside her.

Karen’s eyes caught his from across the room. That sharp intensity, a mix of desire and recognition, made Frank’s chest tighten. Focus, Castle...

He approached, slow, measured. Each step deliberate, controlled—but inside, chaos churned.

And within seconds, the party began : "Well... You are the last person I was expected to see here.”

Murdock’s voice cut through, smooth but edged with unmistakable challenge.

Frank didn’t flinch : “Hey Murdock. Always a pleasure to ruin your evenings.”

Matt smirked, raising an eyebrow. “I heard you were in the city. Well.. new look? New job? Impressive.”

“Always a deligh to see you too Red, still the same. Insufferable and arrogant.”Frank shot back. “Not here for you, Murdock. Let it go.”

“Yeah… can hear that. Someone’s nervous?”

“Just thinking about cracking your head open,” Frank deadpanned. “But I’ve already done it a few times, fortunately for you, I’m feeling merciful tonight.”

Matt’s grin tightened. “Maybe you should save it for another night. Reserved crowd tonight… lawyers, cops… all the justice types you love to hate.”

Frank tilted his head slightly, amused. “Yeah… but joining the army again… CIA… doesn’t ring a bell, genius? »

Karen silently watched their efforts. She'd forgotten how little he needed her to fight like children. She watched them silently, amused by a spectacle she would never have thought she'd witness outside of a battlefield.

Before the two men came to blows, as usual, she decided to intervene: "Okay, boys. It's great to see you talking. Just, I'm still here."

Frank didn't take his eyes off the demon of Hell'Kitchen but eventually softened: "Yeah. And that's exactly why I'm here." He looked down at her and gently extended his hand: "Still up for a drink?"

Karen’s lips curved into a smile, eyes sparkling. She hesitated just a heartbeat before taking his hand : “Always.”

Matt groaned dramatically, leaning back in his chair. “You’re impossible.”

Frank smirked. “Yeah… but you already knew that.”

Karen squeezed his hand lightly, a silent reassurance. Frank felt it—the quiet anchor amid the tension, the jealousy, the desire. The battlefield tonight wasn’t easy but he was determined to win.

The table went quiet the moment Frank sat down. Karen shifted in her seat, half-nervous, half-amused.

Murdock, of course, leaned back like he owned the room, his arm stretched along the back of Karen’s chair, his smirk perfectly aimed at Frank.

“So…” Matt started, his voice smooth, lazy, like he had all the time in the world. “Frank Castle. CIA badge? Fresh shave? And now a night out with friends. What’s next—charity galas?”

Frank tilted his head, dead calm. “Don’t worry, Red. I’ll let you keep the tights.”

Karen nearly choked on her drink, coughing through a laugh. Matt smirked wider, but Frank didn’t flinch. He leaned forward, locking eyes with the lawyer.

“You enjoying yourself, Murdock ?”

“Always. Especially when a ghost from the past walks into my life, looking like he belongs.” Matt’s hand brushed against Karen’s shoulder, casual—too casual. His blind eyes never left Frank.

“Question is, Castle, how long before you disappear again? Weeks? Days?”

Frank smiled—actually smiled—and Karen’s eyes widened at the sight of it. “Not going anywhere. Not this time.” His voice was low, sure, steady as a loaded gun. “Get used to it.”

Karen froze, caught between them. She opened her mouth, but Matt cut in first. “That supposed to be a promise… to Karen? Or a threat to me? I'm not an idiot. If you're here, it's because you want something. And I know what

it is. I can hear your heart rate speeding up like a sprinter's."

Frank leaned back, finally breaking eye contact, grabbing his glass, slow and deliberate. He took a sip, then set it down. “Call it what you want, Red. I don’t do temporary.”

Karen blinked at him. He wasn’t playing anymore. This wasn’t just jealousy—this was Frank staking ground.

Matt, of course, wouldn’t let it go. He leaned closer to Karen, tilting his head toward her ear, voice low but sharp enough for Frank to catch. “Please Karen… Can we talk about this.. I mean… He’s a lot of things, Karen. But stable? Safe? That’s never gonna be him.”

Frank’s jaw flexed, but instead of exploding, he laughed—a short, rough sound. “Yeah, I’m not safe. Never will be. but much less boring than you. And I don’t hide behind masks, rules, or bullshit speeches.”

He leaned in just enough, his gaze darting from Matt to Karen. “When I say I’ll fight for her, I mean it. Not in court. Not in shadows. Right here.”

Matt swirled his drink like he had all the time in the world. “Fight for her, huh? You make it sound romantic, Castle. Except, if I recall, your last definition of ‘fighting for someone’ left about thirty bodies in your wake.”

Frank didn’t even blink. “Yeah. And every one of those bastards had it coming. You got a problem with that, counselor?”

Matt smirked, turning his head slightly, like he could feel Karen’s pulse between them. “Only that Karen deserves a man who doesn’t drag hell to her doorstep.”

Frank barked a short laugh. “That’s rich. Tell me, Red—how many times you walked her straight into danger with your little crusades?  At least when I fight, I end it.”

Karen pressed her hand flat on the table, tension climbing in her throat. “Guys…”

Neither heard her.

Matt tilted his head toward Frank, his voice low, mocking. “You think you can sit here, in your clean jacket, pretending to be civilized? You’ll always be the Punisher, Frank. Always.”

Frank’s jaw worked, his hands curling into fists on the table. But instead of snapping, he gave a slow, dangerous grin. “Funny. You sound jealous, Red. Not used to someone else showing up for her, are you?”

Karen’s eyes widened. “Frank—”

But Matt chuckled, shaking his head, still leaning against her chair. “Jealous? No. Entertained? Absolutely. Watching you try to fit into this world—it’s like watching a wolf in a tux. Doesn’t matter how you dress it up, everyone

knows what you are.”

Frank leaned in, eyes locked on Matt’s, his voice sharp, steady. “Yeah. A wolf. And here’s the difference—I don’t pretend to be anything else. She knows exactly who I am. And she’s still here.”

Karen froze, her breath caught.

Matt tilted his head, smirk curling wider. “For now.”

That did it. Frank slammed his glass down hard enough to rattle the table. Half the bar turned their heads. Karen immediately grabbed his arm. “Frank ! Stop.”

For a heartbeat, silence hung between them—Matt calm, smug, Frank burning alive, Karen torn in two.

Karen’s voice cracked as she finally broke the standoff. “You two are impossible. Do you even hear yourselves ? This isn’t about winning me like some prize at a damn carnival!”

Frank finally looked at her, chest rising and falling. His face softened, but his eyes stayed locked on Matt, unyielding.

“Sorry,” Frank muttered, low but certain.

Karen’s breath hitched, Matt’s smirk flickered—just slightly—and for once, neither had a comeback ready.

Karen pushed her chair back, grabbing her coat. Her voice was low, tired. “I see this was a mistake. I’m going home.”

Frank’s gut twisted—no, not like this, don’t let her walk away thinking it’s all broken.

He leaned forward quickly, catching her arm gently but firmly, his voice urgent but soft.

“Wait… Karen. I’m sorry. We’re sorry, okay?”

She froze, eyes darting between him and Matt.

Frank glanced at Murdock, who was still stone-faced. “You know me and Red—communication’s never been our strong suit. Maybe we just need to… find another way.”

Matt exhaled slowly, giving a reluctant nod.

Frank smirked, leaning back a little, forcing himself to play it cool. He tipped his chin toward the pool table in the corner.

“Hey, Red. How about a party? You lose, you buy the next round. And in the meantime, we stop wrecking everybody else’s night.”

Matt turned his head toward him, brow arched. “That’s a challenge, Castle.”

Frank grinned, sharp and teasing. “Oh yeah. And even though I’m pretty damn sure you’re not as blind as you claim… I still win.”

Karen pressed her palm to her forehead, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “This has to be a joke. You’re not seriously going to play pool over this.”

Frank chuckled, standing up with deliberate ease, grabbing his beer. “Oh, don’t worry, Page. I’m too old-fashioned to bet you. This is just for the pleasure of pissing him off.”

Karen groaned, but the faintest smile tugged at her lips despite herself.

Matt smirked, pushing back his chair, cane tapping against the floor. “Careful, Castle. You might be walking straight into my game.”

Frank stepped toward the table, tossing a cue stick at him with a cocky flick of the wrist. “We’ll see about that.”

Karen muttered under her breath, sinking back into her chair. “God help me… I’m babysitting children.”

The clack of balls echoed as Frank broke, hard and precise. He didn’t even look at the table—his eyes stayed on Murdock.

“Not bad,” Matt said, tilting his head, cane resting against the wall. He ran his hand along the cue, casual, practiced. “But I hear your aim’s usually better with bullets.”

Frank smirked. “Careful, Red. These balls don’t come back at you.”

Matt circled the table with infuriating calm, listening to the faint roll of the cue ball, the collisions. He sank two stripes in quick succession, lips twitching. “You really dressed up for this, Don’t tell me it’s all for me.”

Frank barked a laugh, lining up his next shot. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not my type.”

Matt smirked, voice low. “But she is.” He angled his chin toward Karen.

Frank’s jaw clenched, but he forced his grin wider, made the shot. “Yeah. She is.”

Matt stepped closer, resting one hand on the rail, voice softer but sharper. “Since when ? Since you crashed back into Hell’s Kitchen? Since you decided blood wasn’t enough anymore? Or is this just you… clinging to whatever

light you can still find?”

Frank leaned on his cue, eyes narrowing. “Since the first time she looked at me and didn’t see a monster. That’s when.”

For once, Matt didn’t shoot back immediately. He tapped his fingers against the wood, thoughtful. “It’s hard to believe. You, wanting… a new start. A life. After everything.”

Frank shrugged, eyes steady. “Hard to believe for me too. But it doesn’t make it less true.”

Matt’s face softened—just barely, a trace of something like regret flickering there. “And why Karen? You could’ve stayed away. Let her live, clean, untouched by all this. God knows she deserves it.”

Frank’s voice dropped, rough, honest. “Because she’s the only thing that ever made me think I could be more than a war. That’s it. End of story.”

Silence. Matt exhaled, set his cue down. “I still don’t think you can give her what she needs. You’re too damaged. I wish it weren’t true, but…” He shook his head. “It’s like asking a storm to turn into sunlight.”

Frank laughed, dry, a little bitter. “Jesus, you really are a Catholic. Always with the doom and guilt. The light and the dark. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I am too busted up. But you know what? That’s not your call. It’s hers.”

For once, Matt didn’t argue. Just nodded slowly. “…Then I guess we tolerate each other.”

Frank raised his glass in his direction. “For her.” Matt sighed. It took him a few seconds to concede this victory. He raised his glass like a weight a little too heavy to bear. "For her."

From her seat, Karen had watched the whole exchange, half in disbelief, half with a tug of something she couldn’t name—affection, frustration, fear.

Two men who drove her crazy, clashing over pool, over her, somehow finding… the smallest crack of respect.

She drained her glass and muttered, “I swear, you two are gonna kill me before anyone else ever gets the chance.”

The bar doors were now closed. Everyone had left. Thank God Karen had left alone. Well, almost. She walked silently beside Frank, who had clumsily offered to walk her home.

They walked under the hum of the streetlights, the city buzzing in the distance, yet the world felt oddly quiet around them. Karen threw him a sideways glance, her lips curved in that mix of exasperation and affection only she

could pull off.

“You’re a disaster…”

Frank gave a low chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well… I know. Look, Karen, I—”

She cut him off with a half-laugh, shaking her head. “I can’t believe it. You came. You came and you managed to… keep it together. I mean, I’m impressed, Castle. All that… for me ?”

Frank shifted uncomfortably, words never sitting easy on his tongue. “What? For you? No, the whole damn show was for Murdock. I love spending my evenings with him…”

Karen burst into laughter, soft but sharp, the sound spilling into the night.

“Of course it was for you,” Frank admitted, his voice softer now, steady. “Only you could make me do this.” He tugged lightly at his jacket, flashing a small, self-deprecating grin.

“But for the love of God, don’t make me do it again tomorrow. If Red starts lecturing me about divine justice over a beer, I’m not gonna make it.”

Karen slowed her steps, looking at him with that blend of pride and amusement. “Okay, okay… I’ll spare you. Though it’s a shame Foggy missed it. Poor guy’s been sick all day—next time…”

Frank lifted his head, narrowing his eyes in mock warning. “Karen…”

She raised her hands in surrender, grinning. “Fine, fine. But you know… this kind of night, these people… it’s part of my life. And if…”

They stopped. The air shifted. Frank’s voice dropped, rough, careful. “If what, Karen ?”

She leaned closer, her tone lower, slower, the edge of sensuality in every syllable. “If you want to take this dress off me again… since you’re clearly not the ‘temporary’ type… you’ll have to get used to it.”

Frank’s gaze locked on hers, sharp and dark. “…Really.”

Karen’s lips curved into a smirk. “Yes, really. And by the way… I like this new style. Elegant. Sexy. Simple. Dark. Like you, I guess.”

He smiled shyly, happy to see that he had finally passed the test: "So I take that as a compliment."

She tilted her head, voice playful but thick with implication. “ But now, you see, I'm cold. Take me home, Frank. I really want to wear something more comfortable... or maybe nothing... as long as something can warm me up.

Or someone...”

Frank chuckled, low in his chest. “Sounds serious. Guess I better walk you home. Immediately.”

Karen only hummed, a sly “mm-hm” as if she’d already won.

And then, in the most natural way, he kissed her.

Not hungry, not desperate—just simple, sure, and devastatingly gentle. A kiss that said more than all his stumbling words ever could.

Karen froze at first, stunned by the softness of it, by the fact that Frank Castle—broken, brutal —was capable of something this impossibly tender.

She melted into it, her hands curling lightly at his jacket. The world spun quieter, as though they’d slipped into another universe entirely—one where second chances were real, where impossible things could happen.

Days blurred into weeks. Frank slipped into a rhythm he hadn’t believed possible—a life split between the blood and fire Madani sent his way, and the quiet warmth that waited for him at Karen’s door.

She was there, every night, every morning. Sometimes laughing at her own stories, sometimes leaning into him with a casual affection that undid him more than he’d admit.

Her head resting on his chest while she typed away at some late article. The absentminded way her hand would find his when the silence stretched too long. Little, ordinary moments. And they felt like luxuries. Things he’d buried with his family, things he thought he’d never touch again.

The nights were still hell. The same dreams, the same faces. The same crushing weight pressing on his chest. But when he woke—sweating, heart pounding—Karen never flinched.

She just moved closer. A hand on his chest, grounding him. Her breath steady against his skin, quiet, patient. She didn’t need to speak. Her presence was the answer he’d been chasing in bullets and blood.

And one night, as he lay there with her hand over his heart, Frank finally understood.

He loved her.

Not as a distraction. Not as a replacement. Not as some fragile maybe.

He loved Maria. He loved her too.

And for the first time in years, that truth didn’t feel like betrayal.

But unfortunately, just as Frank was beginning to regain hope, the universe had another nasty trick in store for him.

Chapter Text

Frank had just dropped his bag on the floor after a long weak off NY when the TV caught his ear. Static, breaking news, the crawl of words he couldn’t process fast enough.

Josie’s Bar—attack—multiple casualties—Foggy Nelson confirmed dead—Matthew Murdock missing—witnesses reported shots fired—suspected Benjamin Poindexter.

His body stopped cold. Like his heart had been ripped from his chest, replaced with nothing but ice. He couldn’t hear the rest. He couldn’t breathe.

Karen.

His knees almost buckled as the thought seared through him. She was there, always with them, always close. His lungs seized, every breath shallow, ragged.

He pressed a hand hard against his sternum, as if he could force the panic back inside.

The screen flashed shaky footage—police tape, shattered glass, the bar’s neon sign flickering in the chaos.

Frank leaned in so close his breath fogged the screen, desperate to catch any glimpse of her face. The crowd of onlookers blurred. None of them were her. None of them were alive enough.

His vision tunneled. Sweat ran cold down his back.

“No… no,.. Not again. Can’t—” His words collapsed into a rasp. He could still hear her laugh, soft but stubborn, cutting through his memories.

And just like that, it twisted into the echo of Maria’s voice, of the kids’—all gone, all ripped away. The walls of the room seemed to tilt, dragging him back into the nightmare he’d never left.

He slammed a fist against the wall, needing pain to ground him, to keep himself from dissolving into nothing. “Wake up,” he hissed to himself. “This ain’t real. It can’t be real.”

But the images kept rolling, the anchor’s voice repeating Foggy’s name, Matt’s name, missing, presumed—and the silence where Karen’s should have been.

His breaths came too fast, too sharp. A growl tore from his throat, caught between grief and rage. If she was gone—if the only person left who still saw something worth saving in him had been taken—then there was nothing left but blood.

Frank’s eyes locked on the television, unblinking, a man drowning in the static. “Karen…” he whispered again, but it was more like a prayer than a name, his body shaking as the world closed in around him.

For a long moment, he just stood there, drowning in silence. Then the panic took over. He grabbed his keys, slammed the door, and ran.

He called her, again and again. Straight to voicemail. Each unanswered ring twisted the knife deeper.

He picked up speed, lungs burning, legs screaming, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. If he stopped, she was dead.

By the time he reached Josie’s, the street was a warzone. Police tape. Sirens. The stink of blood and smoke. Broken glass glittered on the pavement like shards of hell itself.

Frank pushed past uniforms, his chest tight, screaming her name.

“KAREN!”

His voice tore through the chaos.

“KAREN!”

Nothing. No answer. Only the sound of radios crackling and stretcher wheels squealing against asphalt.

Then—“Frank !”

A hand clamped down on his arm. He spun, ready to kill, until he saw Cherry. The detective’s face was pale, his eyes heavy with something Frank didn’t want to read.

“Cherry… Where is she?” Frank’s voice was sharp, desperate.

Cherry didn’t answer.

“Damn it, where is she?!” Frank’s roar echoed down the street, raw and animal.

Cherry’s throat worked. He exhaled slowly. “Foggy’s dead. Died on the spot. Matt… he tried to stop him but…”

Frank’s vision blurred. He wasn’t listening. Not really. He was waiting. Waiting for the only name that mattered.

“Karen…” His voice cracked. “Where’s Karen ?”

Cherry’s gaze broke. That silence was louder than any scream.

Frank shook his head violently. “No. Don’t look at me like that. Don’t—don’t you dare look at me like that.”

Cherry’s grip loosened on his arm. His voice dropped to a whisper. “She’s gone, Frank. I think… I think Poindexter took her. We found her blood on the floor…”

The world collapsed.

Frank staggered back, chest heaving, eyes wide. A laugh broke from his throat—sharp, cracked, wrong.

He ran a trembling hand over his face, choking on it. “This… this is a joke, right? A sick joke? The universe wants me insane? Wants to see me burn all over again??”

His laughter turned into a snarl, then into a sob. He bent forward, fists clenched, fighting to breathe.

His heart pounded so loud it was all he could hear. His whole body shook like it might tear itself apart.

Karen, ripped away in blood and silence.

And in that abyss, the rage returned. The old rage. Black, consuming, endless.

The night swallowed him whole. Boots pounding pavement, hands trembling as they gripped steel, Frank Castle moved like a predator hunting through the city’s veins.

He didn’t care about the noise, didn’t care about who saw him. All he saw was red. All he wanted was blood.

His phone buzzed. Over and over. Finally, he yanked it out and snarled into the receiver.

“What?”

“Frank.” Madani’s voice, tight but steady. “I just heard. I’m sorry about Nelson. And Karen—”

“Don’t. Don’t say her name.” His voice broke, jagged. “I know what happened. I know who took her. Poindexter.” His hand clenched around the phone until it creaked. “ I'll tear him to pieces.”

“Frank, listen to me—”

“No ! You listen. I’m done listening. That son of a bitch touched her. He drew blood. That’s it. That’s the line.” His breath was ragged, his tone not Frank Castle anymore—something older, darker.

The Punisher had crawled back out of his grave.

There was a pause, then Madani’s voice sharpened.

“Frank. Stop it. If you do this, if you put that vest back on, even if you find her—there’s no coming back. Everything you’ve done, everything you’ve built, it’ll mean nothing. Is that what you want? For Karen to wake up next to a ghost with blood on his hands?”

His stride faltered. For the first time since he started running, he hesitated.

“She needs you, Frank,” Madani pressed. Her voice softened, almost pleading. “If she’s alive, she doesn’t need the Punisher. She needs you. And she’s going to need you after too.”

Frank squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted to shut her out. Wanted to keep burning. But the words cut through, heavy and merciless.

“Dinah…” His voice cracked open. “What if she’s dead? What if I lost her?”

“Frank—”

“No, you don’t get it.” His breath hitched, and for once, he sounded broken, not furious. “If she’s gone, there’s nothing left. Nothing. And you—” he swallowed hard—“you need to promise me something.”

Madani’s silence was sharp as glass.

“Promise me, if that’s how it ends… you put me down before I become what I swore I’d never be again. Before I’m just… that thing. That monster she wouldn’t want me to be. You end it. You understand? You don’t hesitate.”

“Frank… I can’t… I can’t promise you that.”

“Yes, you can.” His tone was low, deadly calm, the soldier giving an order. “Because I’m telling you right now—I don’t know what I’ll be without her. And I’m scared of it, Dinah. Scared of the man I’ll turn into. You’ll need to stop me.”

A long silence. The city’s noise pressed in. His own heartbeat thundered in his ears.

Finally, Madani slowly and cautiously nodded: "Okay…But if we do this,” Madani said, voice steady but heavy, “we do it my way. We track him. We take him down clean. And if Karen’s alive, you give her a man she can still recognize. That’s the deal.”

Frank drew a sharp breath, every muscle in his body coiled with rage and grief. At last, he muttered : “Deal. And if… if she is already gone. You bury me with her Dinah.”

Chapter Text

Frank kicked the door shut behind him, the click echoing too loud in the small apartment. The world outside was a blur of sirens and distant screams, but in here, it was just him. Just the emptiness, the quiet.

He sank against the wall, boots scraping the hardwood. His hands shook, not with anger now, but with the kind of grief that no mission, no training, no armor could ever touch.

“Karen…” he whispered, voice rough, ragged. The name hung in the air, fragile and sacred, and he couldn’t take it back. He pressed his face into his hands, one tear slipping down where years of restraint and fury had built thick walls around his pain.

He could see her—not in reality, but everywhere he looked. Her smile, the light in her eyes, the way she’d kept him tethered to the world. And now? Now she was out there, somewhere, wounded or worse, and he couldn’t reach her fast enough.

He shook, laughed a hollow, bitter laugh. This… this wasn’t fair. None of this. Not after everything.

His chest heaved, each breath a struggle, each memory a dagger. Maria. Lisa. F. Junior. And now Karen—his heart felt like it had been ripped, stomped on, and set on fire.

He pressed his forehead to the wall, closed his eyes, trying to steady his breath. Every second counted. Every second he didn’t move was a second Karen could bleed, a second Poindexter could kill her.

And then, somewhere in the quiet, deep inside the raw, wounded man, the old soldier resurfaced—the Punisher, the man who could survive hell itself. The grief was still there, thick and heavy, but it sharpened him instead of breaking him.

He lifted his head. Jaw tight, eyes burning. His hands unclenched, and he rose to his full height. His shadow stretched across the floor like a promise.

“Damn it…” he muttered under his breath. “…let’s go find her…”

And with that, Frank moved. Every step was fueled by rage, grief, and love. Every heartbeat a drumbeat driving him toward one goal : get Karen back, no matter the cost.

Suddenly, the air in the apartment shimmered as Strange appeared, calm but authoritative. His cloak barely moved, but the intensity of his gaze was enough to freeze Frank mid-stride.

"First, I'm here to help you, so don't do anything stupid…" Strange said firmly. "Second, don't look at me like that. Third, for the record: 'Thank you, Stephen, for helping me become someone almost respectable and a little less… you.'"

Frank frowned. "You? Why are you… here?" His voice was hard, desperate, almost accusatory.

Strange's gaze softened. "Because I lost someone I loved. And I won't let you destroy yourself in the same way. You're not beyond redemption, Castle, but you must act, and you must act wisely."

Frank's chest heaved. The weight of everything crashed down again, but he saw it. Behind his usual arrogance, Strange wasn't serene ; he was hiding something.

And in a flash of lucidity, somewhere between grief and anger, Frank understood :

"...You knew this would happen, didn't you?" he whispered, a dangerous edge to his voice as he approached.

"Yes. It was the only winning scenario," Strange admitted simply.

Frank's fists clenched. "My God... A winning scenario? Are you crazy? You hear yourself talking sometimes..."

He got dangerously close to the other man before the other man raised a hand to stop him.

"Stop! We don't have time to fight right now. All you need to know is that another war is coming, Castle. Probably the worst we've ever seen." And you have a role to play… but for that… we have to find her. Save her, save you. Now.”

Frank shook his head, a faint, nervous laugh, uncontrollable. “What are you talking about again? You did this. You put her in my path. And this is the result. She’s paying the price. And for what? A fucking fate I don’t want? An intergalactic war that doesn’t exist? And I’m the most twisted one?”

Strange's expression grew grave. " It has nothing to do with you. With ou without you in her life, Poindexter always find her. Always. In every scenario except this one. I can see her. But there are too many possibilities, too many paths. It's not that simple. Nothing is ever certain."

Something snapped inside Frank. Rage and despair clashed. He raised a fist. A solid punch landed on Strange's face.

Strange didn't flinch, but stepped back, his hands raised. "Stop it! If you want to save her, stop it. Work with me."

Frank was breathing in short bursts. His fists trembled, his whole body tense with emotion. "...Is she alive? Just tell me..."

"Yes," Strange said firmly. "But she needs help. Now."

The sorcerer moved deliberately, opening a glowing portal in the air.

Frank's eyes narrowed. "No trickery this time, Strange. Take me to her. And to the right universe."

Strange nodded slightly. "No trickery. But remember. What happens next will depend on our actions. And you might not like how things turn out."

"Shut up. I know exactly what I have to do."

Strange stood there, a worried expression on his face that Frank didn't want to understand.

Frank took a deep breath and stepped into the portal. The room around him dissolved into light and movement, and all that mattered was the one person he had to reach before it was too late.

Chapter Text

The portal spat them out into darkness—an abandoned industrial site on the edge of the city. The air stank of rust, gunpowder, and blood. Strange landed lightly, cloak flaring.

Frank hit the ground like a soldier, already scanning with gun in hand.

“You don’t go in blind,” Strange warned. “We need a plan—”

“Plan’s simple,” Frank growled. “Put him down. Get her out.”

Strange’s jaw tightened. “If you rush this, she dies.”

The words hit like a bullet, and for one raw second Frank froze. He hated Strange for being right.

But then they saw him.

Benjamin Poindexter, pale, twitching, his body barely held together by that twisted metal spine.

Blood smeared his jaw, but his grin was feral. Behind him, Karen was tied up, sitting on the floor, her back resting against a thick, cold, threatening red brick wall, her blouse soaked through, breath shallow but still there.

Frank’s heart nearly stopped.

Poindexter chuckled, tilting his head like a broken doll. “Well, well. Visitors. Didn’t expect that. Where’s the Devil? Don’t tell me—he’s dead already? He took a few blades, I know that much…”

“Shut. Up,” Frank snapped, voice low and deadly.

Poindexter turned, his gaze fixed on Karen, his smile brightening. “Ah. So who are you? Another boyfriend? Karen Page, always the brightest star in the room. It’s fascinating, how the most broken men gravitate toward her as if she were gravity itself. They all think she can save them. The poor girl… she’ll drown under the weight of your sins.”

Frank’s blood boiled, his finger tightening on the trigger, until Strange grabbed his wrist and hissed, “Stop. Shoot, she’s gone.”

Frank gritted his teeth so hard his jaw ached. His whole body trembled, the urge to shoot him in the skull.

Poindexter’s laugh was high-pitched, staccato. “See? You’re like me. Frank Castle, aren’t you? Yes, I’ve heard of you. The Punisher. Chaos on a leash. And when the leash slips?” Everyone dies. Am I right?"

Strange's voice cut through the madness emanating from the other man. Calm. Measured. "Okay, Castle. No more waiting. We'll do this together."

Frank roared, raising his rifle, firing burst after burst while Strange summoned golden shields, deflecting the ricochets as steel screamed against magic.

It was brutal, messy, no elegance—Poindexter darting like a phantom, Strange weaving shields and traps, Frank pushing forward like a tank, relentless.

Every shot he fired was closer, every swing meant to end it, to put the monster down.

Poindexter lunged low, a knife spinning from his fingers with surgical precision. Strange raised a shield at the last second—steel rang against shimmering gold, sparks scattering across the dark concrete.

Frank didn’t stop. He barreled forward, rifle barking, driving the psycho back step by step. Bullets sparked off the reinforced steel of Poindexter’s spine, tearing flesh but never enough to drop him.

“Goddamn cockroach!” Frank roared, slamming another clip home.

Poindexter laughed, blood spraying from his mouth. He snatched up a piece of rebar from the ground, flinging it like a javelin. Strange twisted reality, the metal warping midair and embedding harmlessly in the wall.

“Focus, Castle!” Strange shouted.

But Frank was already moving, ducking under a blade swipe, cracking his rifle stock against Poindexter’s jaw.

The sickening snap should have ended it, but the man just laughed harder, swinging wildly with a frenzy only madness could fuel.

Karen groaned in the background—weak, fading. That sound tore through Frank’s chest like shrapnel.

He shoved Poindexter back, teeth bared. “You hear that? You don’t get to take that from me, you son of a bitch!”

Poindexter grinned through bloodied teeth. “Oh, Frank… you already lost her. Look at me—I am what happens to men like us. Broken toys. She’ll never survive being tied to you.”

That broke something loose in Frank. He dropped the rifle, going hand to hand, fists like hammers. Each punch cracked ribs, shattered teeth, blood spraying in arcs across the concrete.

Poindexter still laughed, even as bone splintered.

“Frank! Enough!” Strange barked, golden whips of magic lashing out to pin Poindexter’s arm before he could flick another blade at Karen.

Frank snarled, spitting blood from his own split lip. “We are nothing alike !” He yanked a combat knife from his belt, pressing it to Poindexter’s throat—rage and grief trembling in his hand.

Karen’s voice, weak but urgent, cut through the storm: “Frank… please… don’t lose yourself…”

That single plea stopped him cold.

He glanced at her—sweat, blood, but still her. Still fighting.

Frank shoved the knife into Poindexter’s shoulder instead of his throat, pinning the bastard to the wall with brute force. Poindexter screamed, his laughter finally breaking into raw pain.

Strange sealed the bindings with magic, golden chains locking around the killer’s limbs like glowing manacles.

Frank stumbled back, chest heaving, eyes locked on Karen. Every part of him wanted to finish it, end the monster once and for all.

But instead, he staggered toward her, ripping the ropes apart with bloodied hands, pulling her into his arms.

Karen collapsed against him, whispering through cracked lips, “Told you… two disasters can find peace…”

Frank held her tight, forehead pressed to hers : “I got you. Always. I’ll always come back for you.”

Behind them, Poindexter writhed and screamed, his fury echoing through the abandoned building. Strange kept his eyes on the killer, but his voice was low, almost gentle :

“You chose right, Castle.”

Frank didn’t answer. His whole world was the woman in his arms.

The room smelled of antiseptic and iron. Madani and her medical team moved like a machine calibrated to pain and mercy — gentle hands, blunt orders, clean bandages — while Frank stood rooted a few feet away, every line of him centered on the small form on the cot.

Karen’s breaths were shallow, each one stolen back from a place that had almost let her go. A breath. A pulse. That was all Frank could measure right now.

Strange, oddly small beside all that clinical light, watched them both with a grief that didn’t wear any costume. He folded his hands as if to keep himself from reaching, from rearranging the world by force the way he’d done before.

Frank’s eyes never left Karen.

When Strange stepped forward the sorcerer was careful — thin, careful steps, like he was approaching a sleeping thing that could not be woken.

“Okay,” Frank said finally, each word a low thing, a wire tightening. “Now tell me. She’s alive. She’s here. You bring me that and you still look like the apocalypse just arrived. What the hell is wrong with you?”

Strange’s mouth pressed into a line. “You won’t like my answer.”

“Try me.”

The pause that followed was long and cold enough to slice through the haze of adrenaline. Strange spoke slowly, as if measuring every syllable against a ledger of futures.

“I’ve looked through possibilities — thousands,” he said. “I tracked threads forward as best I could. When Poindexter attacked, those threads… they snapped and wove into patterns I couldn’t unsee. In so many of them, this city becomes a battleground for something far worse. A war between this reality and another. It grows, spreads. People die. She die in every permutation... Frank. Sometimes it’s Poindexter. Sometimes Wislon Fisk. Sometimes it's a car crash, a gunshot... Variables change, but the result is cruelly consistent. Karen — in this timeline — is a node. Her presence here attracts an end she never asked for.”

Frank blinked. “That’s bullshit.”

“It’s not conjecture,” Strange said. He sounded tired, not smug. “It’s calculation and sight and—” He stopped himself. “I know that sounds like a cosmic dodge. It isn’t. I tried to find a thread where she survives and the war doesn’t begin. There is none that doesn’t cost the world far more than either of us can justify.”

Frank clenched his jaw. He laughed once, a hard laugh that tasted of gravel. "So your solution is… what? Send her on vacation to a universe where she doesn't matter and call it 'rescue'?"

Strange didn't blink. "She'd be safe. In another universe, where her life wouldn't be reduced to ashes. She could live. But…" He let the word hang like scissors. "You can't leave with her, Frank. Not without further destabilizing the balance. And you have to be there, actively connected to what's coming. And if you don't stay, if you don't join this fight, the things I've seen—the war—risk destroying everything around us and beyond. You have a role to play in this world no matter the scenario."

Frank's face grew fierce with sudden, raw fury. “You’re asking me to exile the only thing I’ve salvaged from the darkness? To abandon it ? You want me to watch her go and pretend it’s some kind of mercy?”

“This isn’t pity you’re showing,” Strange said, his voice calm and unyielding. “This is life. For her, and for millions who would otherwise be consumed once the breach widens if you stayed with her. For this world of the living that needs you in a coming war.”

Frank took a step toward Strange and his whole body was a threat. “You making that call, Strange? You decide who vanishes from my world? Who I get to touch? Who gets to die so the rest get to breathe?”

Strange’s eyes softened with a sorrow that made Frank’s anger tremble. “I didn’t choose this. I was forced into the knowledge of it. I am offering you the means to keep her alive. I won’t pretend it isn’t a theft of a different kind. I know what I ask. I know what it will feel like. But I also know what comes if we do nothing.”

Frank’s laugh was thinner now, edged with something broken. “So what— you send her away, I stand here like some monument to loss, and I get to be noble? That’s your plan?”

“No,” Strange said. “You do not ‘get to be’ anything. You get to decide. I’m offering a way. The only reliable way I’ve found. I can put her where death does not wait at the door for her. You can fight this war when it comes, unblinded by the fear of losing her. Or you can refuse, keep her here, and hope to stave off fate with blood and bullets until you break.”

Frank’s breathing was a staccato thing. He looked at Karen — the slow rise and fall of her chest, the way her hair fell across her forehead, the smear of dried blood at her temple.

He thought of every night he’d spent in the dark holding that photograph he kept in his pocket : Maria smiling, the kids, the life he could never get back. He thought of the other Frank — the odd, impossible image of a version of himself who had learned to inhabit a daylight life — and how near that had felt for a breath. He thought of Madani’s voice : “If she’s alive she needs you now and she’ll need you after.”

Anger thinned into something like raw, open pain. Frank’s hands shook as he sank onto the edge of a medical table. He clutched Karen’s wrist, feeling the faint warmth under the bandage. “You expect me to let her go… to be clean and ready for whatever you saw? You think that’s easier than dragging the bastard who took her in front of me and ripping his head off?”

“No one said easy,” Strange said. “Only necessary.”

For a long time Frank did not speak. The machines hummed. The city outside kept its distant roar. It felt like the world had rearranged itself into two lanes and forced him to sprint down one.

He suddenly staggered until he was chest to chest with Strange, the sorcerer's cloak whispering against his jacket. "Listen to me carefully," Frank said, his voice low and firm as a detonator. "If I agree, if I tell you to send her back, and if I play the role you ask me to play, then this separation is temporary. Do you hear me? Temporary. You bring her back. You find her. If you can't promise that... then don't ask me to hand her over."

Strange swallowed. Silence seemed to settle around them. "I can't promise what I can't see. I can't promise I'll be able to get her back after we've weathered the coming storm. The multiverse isn't a road you can travel at will. I can't promise she'll be safe even if we win this fight."

"Promise me you'll bring her back," Frank repeated, his voice breaking. “If you send her… bring her home. Let me know she's breathing. And when that war breaks out, when the first shadow rises, tell me where and when. And I'll end it. I won't let her go forever. I can't…”

Strange’s face changed, relief and sorrow braided tight. “I can try. I don’t promise it will be simple. I don’t promise there won’t be costs. I can’t tell you that she will be able to come back after this war… But I will give you the chance.”

Frank closed his eyes. “If we survive,” Frank whispered, almost to himself, “you better make damn sure I can find her again.”

Strange nodded. “I will…” he hesitated, then added, quietly, man to man, “But don’t let the darkness win you first.”

Frank tightened his grip on Karen’s wrist — not letting go : « If I have to rip myself apart to get back to her, I will. Every particle of me. I will find her. Understand?”

Strange’s face shifted—an expression in which the stoic sorcerer briefly looked like a man who’d stared too long into a cruel future and had been given a reprieve he wasn’t sure he deserved. He nodded once, slowly.