"come through the dark,
into your heart."
- Through the Dark, Vanbur

╳

My eyes adjust to the daylight filling the trailer as I sit up. Mouth and throat dry as a bone, I reach for the water Frank left me- Frank!

I drop the glass, spilling the water onto the floor as I leap from the bed and stumble out into the kitchenette. My chest heaves while my eyes and ears search the empty space for him.

"I'm gonna be here when you wake up." he told me..

But here I am, awake, and alone.

He isn't here..

I look down at my arm, and gone are the stitches from the bullet wound on my bicep. I hastily unwrap the bandage from my thigh and the bullet that was in my leg hits the floor.

Finally.

I pull the adhesive bandage from my ribs. The surgical staples chime as they sprinkle onto the floor, and I smile, breathing a laugh. Lastly, I pull the bandaging from my knuckles to reveal the same results, the staples fall to the floor and my skin, perfectly healed.

I rush back into the bedroom to grab my jacket.

I told him. I asked him. I begged him not go.. But did he listen? No. The asshole just fucking sedated me so I couldn't help.

It's smart, I must admit. Taking advantage of my weakened state like that. I know he just wanted to keep me out of it, keep me safe, but the asshole didn't have to kiss me to do it!

I let out an angry huff, pissed that he knew exactly how to distract me. And as I shove my arms into the sleeves of my jacket, I notice something on the pillow that I didn't notice when I woke.

Slowly stepping over, I pick it up and stare at the little paper crane now sitting on the palm of my hand. My heart swells at Frank's little token, until Curtis's tyres hitting the gravel of the junkyard gains my full attention.

Dropping the origami bird back onto the pillow, I rush out of the room and fly out the door as Curtis hops out of the drivers seat.

He looks despondent and shell-shocked, as he shuffles his way to the trailer. It's impossible to miss his blood soaked hands. And even more impossible to miss that he's alone.

"Where's Frank?" I ask. Curtis remains silent, and doesn't bother to meet my eyes before or after he shuffles past me. "..Curtis." I turn and follow him into the trailer, my ears and nose searching for what I cannot see.

Curtis's slow and steady heartbeat indicates he has no life threatening injury. And one sniff tells me that it's not his blood on his hands. Or Frank's. He sinks into the chair at the little kitchen table, and I squat down in front of him, trying to catch his eye.

"Curtis, what happened? Are you okay?" I try to ask him soothingly, but my patience is quick to wear thin at his silence. "Curtis!"

His dark eyes finally find mine, but they look empty.

My breath is stuck in my throat and my voice falls to a whisper. "..Where is he?"

The slightest furrow of his eyebrows is all his tired body allows.

"..Is he.." my voice catches, unable to bring myself to even ask, but there's no need. Curtis reads the question in my desperate eyes.

Dead?

"No." he finally mutters.

I close my eyes for a moment and take a breath, my whole body overcome with relief. "Okay.. well, why- why isn't he-"

"I don't know what happened.." Curtis says flatly. "Frank went in there.. and then shit hit the fan."

"Is he still there?" I ask softly.

"The police got him. They put him in an ambulance."

My eyes widen and I exhale shakily.

"How bad? Was he walking? Was he-" I fumble, before grabbing onto Curtis's knees and leaning up closer to his face, desperate for answers. "Curtis, what happened to him?"

"I don't know." he shakes his head.

"Was it Billy?"

"I don't know." he repeats.

"Well, you must know something?!"

"I know I killed a man. And shot others. That's what I know." he replies. "..I've held men as they were dying, many men.. But never one that I put there myself, not one, with my bullet still in him." he says, dropping his head in shame. "I never realised how different it would feel."

"..I'm sorry, Curtis." I soothingly rub his thighs, wishing I could absorb his inner turmoil from him. "I'm glad you made it back." I tell him. Then I stand, kissing the top of his head on my way up.

I grab the radio, placing it on the table as I sit in the other chair. I turn it on and search the fm's, halting my search as soon as I hear the name.

"..known as The Punisher was arrested today in what appears to be a massive shoot-out, at a warehouse in Queens."

Shit.

"Reports are coming in of several fatalities. Castle was taken into police custody, and is being treated for injuries at Sacred Saints Hospital."

Shit!

"No further details about the incident or his condition are available at this t-"

I switch the radio off and push it away, having heard all I need.

"We have to get him out. Now." I declare.

"Jenavieve.. don't." Curtis replies, not wanting to hear my anticipated protests.

"Look, if he's at the hospital, that means he's hurt." I say. "Forget the cops, Curtis, every hitman in town is gonna go after that five million. We have to help him."

"Jena, helping him is what put us here!" Curtis counters, raising his voice. "And what are we gonna do, huh? Run down to the hospital with guns blazin' and bust him out? It's done. I'm done."

"Helping him might have put you here, but I'm nowhere. He won't let me help him. If you're done, you're done. I won't ask you to do anything more."

"I'm gonna take a shower." he announces dismissively. "That's what I'm gonna do."

He gets up and slowly makes his way to the shower, leaving me in silence, until the water starts running.

Curtis has done more than enough, it's time for him to step back. And it's time for me to step forward.

Time for me to go save this asshole.

╳

I'm not sure whether to be concerned or grateful that I was easily able to slip past all the nursing staff and into the employee area of the hospital. But I waste no time swiping scrubs and a white coat.

Once I'm dressed the part, I then slip through reception, pinching a staff ID lanyard, clipboard and Frank's file, before heading off for Frank's room.

After some flirtatious flattery and incessant medical jargon, the police guard on Frank's room is letting me in. The ruse that I've been assigned to be Frank Castle's personal nurse and must observe and monitor everything, isn't hard for the guard to believe, given Frank's "beat to shit" state, as they had so eloquently put it.

No matter what I had been expecting, finally seeing Frank has my breath stolen from me.

The room is filled with the sound of his heartbeat on the monitor, and I'm thankful to hear it's steady. I gingerly approach his bed, tears prickling my eyes at the sight of him.

He looks far worse than I felt the past two days..

On the left wall of the room, Frank lays in bed, dressed in a hospital gown. His hands are cuffed to the siderails of the bed and he's strapped to the mattress across his chest. Multiple cuts climb his arms, all stitched closed, and his face is bruised and cut up.

He looks like he's been hit by a truck.

He looks.. beat to shit.

Yet despite all this, he looks somewhat peaceful in his slumber.

My hands fiddle mindlessly with my clipboard, while I stare at Frank, wishing for nothing more than to take his pain from him.

I pull an arm chair over to his bedside and sit, finding comfort in the slow rise and fall of his chest, and the sweet sound of the steady breath coming in and out of his nose.

He's here. He's beat to shit, but he's alive.

Hours pass while I sink deeper into the chair, but a slight elevation in Frank's heart rate has me sitting up straight.

He's waking.

Minutes tick by and soon, Frank's eyes begin to flutter open. I give him a moment to get his bearings.

"..Frank?" I finally whisper, and his eyes find mine. He looks me up and down, a slight crease forming between his eyebrows. "Hey." I smile gently. "How are you feeling?"

"Could ask you the same thing.." he mumbles. His eyes travel over me, searching for injuries, and they linger on my clean, healed knuckles.

"Oh, you know me, I tend to bounce back." I say lightly.

His face and eyes become sombre and he turns away from me, looking out the window, leaving me without answer.

"Did Billy see you coming?" I ask, speaking softly, like if I were to talk any louder it would break him. But again he leaves me unanswered. If anything, he turns his head even further away from me. "..Frank?"

His fingers start to get fidgety.

"..You should walk away." he quietly rasps, keeping his head turned.

"You know I'm not gonna do that." I lightly reply, still smiling softly. "..And I don't really think you want me to either."

I crane my neck a little to look at his face, and I notice a wet shine forming in his eyes, my smile fading instantly.

"Jen, I killed three women." he states lowly, his tone heavy with guilt and shame.

"..Doesn't matter." I reply. "It doesn't matter what you did-"

"It should." he says, refusing to meet my eye.

"It doesn't." I state firmly, then pull my chair closer to his bedside. "I'm not going anywhere."

And neither is he.
Not in this state.

A/ N

references: adapted dialogue from "The Abyss," episode 11 of The Punisher, Season 2.