One Wish Willow — Frank Castle
Summary: It’s the one year anniversary of your death. Since you were caught in the crossfire of Frank’s war on Hell’s Kitchen’s gangs. He couldn’t help but visit your favorite store: a crystal shop in a better part of the neighborhood. What happens when he makes the wish that has been haunting him since your passing…NOT PROOFREAD
Warning: nonconsensual resurrection, angst, angst, like this tore me apart, 18+ MDNI, smut (piv, oral f!receiving), horror themes(?), flashes of death scene, two uses of Y/N (it couldn’t be avoided)
a/n: rewatched Obsession over the weekend…this is what came of it…(sorry in advanced) Also, divider by @mieluno
Spark the middle and break in half...
Frank knew what day it was the moment he awoke. He knew what day it was last night, when he fought sleep until exhaustion finally dragged his conscious into slumber. As if prolonging sleep would extend the hours in the day. Like time wouldn’t keep passing and the one year anniversary of your death—your murder wouldn’t circle around.
He begrudgingly sat his body upright and dragged a hand across his face, using his other hand to grab the framed photo of you on the nightstand.
It was the only picture he had of you. Frank because of his loss and the trauma that grew from it, never allowed you to take any pictures of him or of you two together and vice versa. But you looked so beautiful that day. He remembered everything about that moment, you wore a pink floral sundress you knew he had grown a favoritism towards.
You had convinced him to leave the city for a bit and drive to the closest beach town, making a day trip out of it. He remembered you asking for weeks before he finally relented and agreed. Frank even recalled mumbling under his breath about the ordeal. Now, though, he wished he could go back in time and say yes the first time you asked.
The tips of his fingers were white from the hard grip he had on the frame. You weren’t looking into the lens of the camera, but at him. Or past him that snapped the picture. The fondness and love in your gaze permanently captured in the photo was one that he now realized he took for granted.
It was as though that reminder burned him as he slammed the frame down. The grief felt heavier today, it was a given. But he knew you wouldnt want him wasting away, chasing and hunting down the gangs not only responsible for the loss of his family, but for the loss of you. Maybe deep down, Frank believed that if he could continue to chase after these men, he could outrun the ghost of you that haunted him every morning when he woke and every night when he slept.
So Frank got up and did his usual routine. Put on a shirt and jeans, brushed his teeth and ate breakfast that tasted like ash in his mouth. But he took care of himself, the way you used to. After all, he was the reason you were no longer here to do it.
His body moved before his mind caught up. Before he knew it, Frank walked into the crystal shop—your favorite store in Hell’s Kitchen and the last place you two went on a date. The bell hung above the door chimed, signaling to the employee behind the cashier that someone had entered the store.
She looked up briefly from her phone, glanced at Frank, before returning her gaze to her screen, muttering a half-hearted welcome. “Welcome to The Green Man Store. Let me know if you need anything.” It didn’t take a smart man to know she didn’t really mean the last sentence.
Flashes of the date entered Frank’s mind. The way you passionately explained each crystal’s properties and meanings to him. How your eyes seemingly lit up more when they landed on your favorite one.
He remembered sneakily grabbing the best looking one when you walked away after looking at the price and making an excuse he couldn’t remember for you to wait at the front of the store so he could purchase the crystal.
The pure look of surprise and adoration that was evident by the toothy smile on your face when he gifted it to you later that night. How soft and gentle your lips were while you peppered kisses all over his face in gratitude.
Frank had a sense of deja vu as he walked through the store in the exact same path the two of you did.
He was a man of reason. Of facts. Frank respected your love of crystals and your belief in them. That didn’t mean he did too. But if there was even the tiniest inkling the crystals were as powerful as you made them to be, he would’ve done everything in his power to bring you back.
His gaze landed on a shelf towards the back of the store. Various collectibles were assorted neatly on it. But one in particular caught his eye. It hadn’t been there the last time he was in here with you. Frank walked over to it before grabbing one of the red and white retro-styled boxes. One Wish Willow, Frank read under his breath.
Amaze your friends! You only get one wish.
Maybe it was because this day in particular had a heavier effect on him than others. Maybe he thought it was a way to be closer to you. Frank found himself walking to the register, the cashier looking up as he set the item down firmly onto the counter.
“What is this?” His voice was gruff, hoarse. The sound you’d expect for a man who hasn’t spoken much.
The cashier, a blonde woman in her early twenties, grabbed the item before looking back at Frank with an unamused look on her face. “It’s a collectible.” A statement whose words were dragged out so much it sounded like a question to Frank. “No returns.”
Frank simply pulled out his wallet, throwing the exact amount for the item before heading out the door in three long strides.
Here lies Y/N. Daughter. Friend. Fiancée.
“Until we meet again.” The quote so fitting for you, Frank thought. He hadn’t been the one to choose it. In fact, it was Matthew and Karen who had arranged everything from the headstone to the casket. Frank was drowned in grief, in disbelief at the thought of having to bury the woman he thought he would be spending the rest of his life with.
He had barely made it to the funeral.
But he had gone to your grave every night after. This night was no different. Except it was.
Frank didn’t know how many hours had passed since he arrived at the cemetery, only that he’d gone to a floral shop and purchased your favorite flowers right before.
“Hey, sweetheart.” It is—was—your favorite pet name he called you. You even preferred to be called that than your own name. And he happily obliged. Reality soon punched him with realization that you were no longer here to hear him say it. “Got ya flowers. Your favorite ones.”
God, he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. To dig himself so deep that he may be able to reach you, hold you, tell you he loves you. Frank’s hands formed into fists as they hung at his side, a physical restraint to remind him that you weren’t there. Your body was but you weren’t.
He continued talking as if you were, though. “Stopped by that crystal place y’like so much. Even bought a toy you’d laugh at me for spending money on.” A slight breeze blew across his face and for a brief moment, he swore, your laughter echoed in the wind.
He reached into his jacket’s pocket, fishing out the vintage toy. “Thought we could open it together, baby.” He stared at the print once more before turning the box to its side, opening it haphazardly.
“Was never the gentle one. Y’know that sweetheart.” Frank reached inside the box for its content, his fingers grabbed onto the object inside and pulled it out. An eerie sound played when Frank tugged at what looked to be a plastic twig, the haunting music cutting into the quiet night.
You only get one wish. Frank knew he looked pathetic. A grieving man standing before his lover’s grave, begging the universe for more time. So consumed by the loss, he bought a toy for its supposed magical properties. Frank knew he looked desperate. He was. But he was also a man who knew the dead stayed dead.
Still, he held the twig by both ends, sparing a brief glance at your headstone and closed his eyes. He envisioned you.
You in the middle of the night, eating ice cream straight from the tub, wearing only his shirt. Your face right before you came, always wanting to look at him as you did. You wiping the blood off him every night. You, the night that tipped the scale. Your face streaked with tears as your voiced cracked, exhausted from yelling but refusing to let him allow his anger to drive him into an early grave.
The flashback to that night threw him back into the past, despite all efforts to stop it.
“You walk out that door every night. Every fucking night, Frank,” your voice rising along with your frustration. “You leave me here in our home where I don’t know if you’ll come back. And if you do, I don’t know what state you’ll be in. How many injuries, wounds, or bruises that threaten to take you from me.”
Frank stood by the door, dragging a hand down his face, trying to keep his anger from reaching you. “I’m not going nowhere. ‘M right here.”
You retorted, “But you’re not. Your head is always in the battlefield. Every day, a little more of you is left there. I won’t let you do this to yourself.”
“You know what they did to Maria. To my son. My babygirl.”
Your voice softened, face scrunched in sharing his pain and understanding. “I know, baby. But is this what they would’ve wanted? When does it end?” That seemed to set the moment aflame. His voice had gone cold, deeper and darker than he’d ever spoken to you before. “I don’t know what the hell they want. ‘Cause they’re dead. Murdered. So don’t go using that shit against me, you hear me?”
Frank watched as you stepped closer to him, trying to close the distance not only physically, but emotionally. “I can’t begin to understand that kind of loss. But I love you, Frank. They loved you. And it hurts to see you like this. Letting grief morph into an armor of anger that controls your life. You don’t have to wear your grief like a badge of honor. Like it’s proof they were real.” Your hand pressed gently against his chest, right above where his heart is. “They’re here. You’re proof that they’re real.
“I want there to be an after for you. With me.”
He didn’t deserve you. Didn’t deserve your care. Your understanding. Your love. How vulnerable your presence made him. It terrified him. So, he did what he knew. He pushed you away.
Frank took a step back, your hand falling from where it rested on him. He turned his body towards the door as his hand reached for the knob. “Don’t wait up.”
Your pleas were cut off by the slam of the door.
Frank returned sometime around 3 AM. But something was wrong. Off.
He immediately reached for his gun, fear sinking into every fiber of his being when he noticed the front door of your apartment was slightly ajar. Frank kicked the door open, eyes methodically scanning the room.
Frank Castle was a man whose name alone instilled prey-like fear into his enemies. Hell’s Kitchen had even nicknamed him The Punisher for his brutality against criminals. But the second his eyes landed on your body in the middle of the living room, he was just a man.
His gun was immediately forgotten as he cradled your lifeless, unmoving body. Your name was a prayer on his lips that he repeated over and over. “Baby, c’mon, open your eyes f’me.” More and more please left his lips to no avail. The single gunshot to your chest answered for them. His pants were drenched in your blood that pooled all around you.
He begged, voice heavy with sobs that tore from his lips. “You’re okay. You’re okay, sweetheart, just open up those pretty eyes.” But they remained closed.
The yell that tore from his lips was one of pure, unadulterated agony.
Frank didn’t move for the gun when he felt another presence enter the room. He hadn’t looked up, only hoped that it was the intruder coming back to finish the job.
No response. Frank continued to caress your hair, rocking the both of you as he pleaded again for you to wake up.
Matt said his name again. And again.
Finally, Frank answered, his voice fragile, so painfully fractured, that Matt almost didn’t recognize it was his. “Y’gotta help me, Red. Help me save her.” Each word threatened to be the string that pulled Frank apart completely.
Frank Castle, the name alone would send chills down men’s spines. The brutal, merciless, Punisher was a shattered, heart-broken man. Nothing like the stoic, unrelenting man that executed justice.
No. Frank Castle was like a little boy hoping for Santa to come. Wishing on a shooting star as he begged Matt to save you. The man Hell’s Kitchen’s criminals feared was now met with something he couldn’t fight. No gun or brute force could beat the grief that consumed his entire being.
“Don’t wait up.” Were his last three words he said to you. Three last words said in anger, in panic over being vulnerable. They weren’t the three words he had said to you every night before. And you would never hear the three last words from him ever again.
A tear trickled down his left cheek, splattering onto the plastic twig. Frank Castle was a man of reason.
But he had never been reasonable when it came to you. So, he wished. “I wish Y/N L/N was alive again.” The sharp snap of the twig cut through the silence around him.
Frank waited. And waited. For what, he wasn’t sure. Humorlessly, he shook his head as he left out a huff. “Losin’ it without y’here, sweetheart.” Frank pressed two fingers to his lips before moving them to your headstone. “I love you.”
Frank returned sometime around 3 AM. But something was wrong. Off.
He immediately reached for the gun he kept on him at all times. Slowly, he unlocked the front door, before holding his gun up, scanning the room. Frank Castle was a man whose name alone instilled prey-like fear into his enemies. Hell’s Kitchen had even nicknamed him The Punisher for his brutality against gangs. But the second his eyes landed on you standing in the middle of the living room, he was just a man.
His entire body froze, like time stood still. You were wearing exactly what you’d been wearing that night. Every inch of your body completely unharmed. Untouched.
You said his name. So gently, like his name was precious. Sacred. “Frank?” It had undone him completely. In two long strides, he stood before you, hands holding your face between them delicately. Like if he held on any tighter, you’d disappear.
“Are you-Are you real?”. The question sounded incredulous to your ears, the crease between your brows evident of that. But you smiled anyway. “What’re you talking about, Frankie? Of course I’m real.” He didn’t question it as he wrapped his arms around you, burying his face into your neck. Though you were still confused, comforting Frank took precedence in your mind. You gently caressed his hair, which you noticed had impossibly gotten longer in the few hours you’d seen him.
His tears soaked your shirt and his embrace almost left you unable to breathe but you continued to whisper words of comfort in an attempt to soothe him. “Wanna tell me what’s got you so upset, baby?” Frank didn’t respond. Didn’t trust his voice to not give out.
And he didn’t want to pull away even a centimeter. He knew he wouldn’t survive if he opened his eyes and you were no longer there. So he simply shook his head.
You nodded, voice still soft in a tone you only ever used with him. “Okay, okay, we don’t have to tonight. But let’s get you changed and ready for bed, yeah?” His grip on you tightened the second you tried to unravel yourself from him a bit. His head shot up from its place in the crook of your neck. His eyes filled with fear. Panic.
Now it was you who cupped his face. “I’m here, Frankie. I’m here. See?” You gently grabbed his hand and placed it above your heart. It was supposed to be a soothing gesture and it was. But Frank couldn’t feel the soft thumps of your heartbeat. Not thinking much of it though, Frank blamed it on how hard his own heart was pounding and the adrenaline coursing through his veins. “C’mon, let’s go to bed.”
He let you drag him into your shared bedroom.
Everything remained unchanged. Frank hadn’t moved a single item from its place since your death.
He let you help him take off his shirt and pants before helping him slip into a pair of grey sweatpants. “Better?” You asked him. He nodded before closing the small distance between you. One of his hands slipped around your waist while the other gently caressed your cheek. Instinctually, you wrapped your arms around his neck.
You couldn’t make out every emotion etched onto his face. So many fleeting after the other. But you didn’t have time to begin to decipher them as Frank smashed his lips against yours, pouring every emotion he couldn’t say. You responded with just as much rigor.
His hand that held your cheek joined his other one in wrapping you into a tight embrace, pulling you impossibly closer. His grip on your waist slowly moved to behind your thighs, you wrapping your legs around his waist in response. Frank slowly lowered you onto the bed, trapping your body in between his legs. Your hand found its way to Frank’s curls at the nape of his neck, tugging at them gently. He groaned into your mouth, the sound pulling a moan out of your lips in response. “Frank.” Your voice breathless.
“Say my name again.” His lips traveling down to your jawline. To your neck where he began to gently suck at the sensitive skin. “C’mon, sweetheart. Say it.”
“Frank.” You moaned, your nails lightly scratched his back in pleasure. He moved his lips to your sweetheart he had memorized. Your hips bucked into his when he gently nibbled at the spot. “Frank!”
He had missed the sound. Missed you. He had let you die without letting you know how much he loved you.
Frank would not make that mistake again. He helped you out of the shirt you were wearing—his shirt. And he so gently helped you out of your lacy underwear, and attached his lips to yours once more. You felt his tongue trace your bottom lip. The feeling of his tongue dancing with yours elicited another pitchy moan from you, Frank grinned his hips into yours in response, his mouth swallow the sound. Slowly, his lips made their way down to your neck before moving to your breasts, nipples hardened in anticipation and pleasure. He took one into his mouth, switching from swirling his tongue to gently sucking on it, as his other hand kneaded your other breast before switching.
You were light-headed in pleasure, hands pulling at his hair as you moaned his name over and over. Frank moved down further til his head was in between your thighs. Not waiting another moment, he pressed his tongue flat onto your clit, before licking a long, slow strip up. Your hands gripped the sheets, trying to ground yourself in the moment. He continued to lick and suck as one of his hands began rubbing in a circular motion.
“Missed you, sweetheart.” His tongue continued to lap at the space between your sensitive folds. “‘M so sorry.” His breath was hot against your flesh. “Oh, Frankie,” you panted, your fingers tugging even harder at his hair. “Don’t stop, I’m close.” And he didn’t. He continued to work your clit with his mouth before he suddenly added a long, thick finger. You clenched, adjusting to the stretch. Your hips moved against his face, the feeling of his large nose bumping your clit was almost enough to make you come.
The pleasure built further as he added another finger, curling them inside you, hitting the spot he knew would make you reach your climax. Your thigh clenched, legs slightly shaking as you orgasmed. Sounds of pleas left your lips as he lapped up all your juices. “So sensitive, Frankie, please.” Only then did he move his body so that he was directly on top of you once more. The bottom half of his face glistened with your cum, making you blush as you pulled him down for another wet, messy kiss. Your hands made their way to the waistband of his boxers, one of them moving to palm his hardened length. He gently bit down on your lower lip, pulling it slightly before releasing.
You watched as he pulled the boxers off quickly, the head of his cock leaking with precum. He’d been inside you before, but you could never get used to the sheer size of him. Had this been another night, Frank might’ve smirked and teased you about gawking. But tonight, he needed to feel you, be inside you as fast as possible. He moved back onto the bed, placing his arms on either side of your head, moving his hips so that the head of his cock was lined up with your entrance, pressing slightly.
He bottomed out in a singular thrust, your nails digging into the skin on his back as you moaned. You felt so full.
Frank looked down at you, searching for any signs of discomfort. When your eyes finally met his, he began moving. Each thrust was slow as he pulled himself almost all the way out before thrusting back in fully. You felt euphoric. Each thrust hit a spot so deep inside you. The spot he knew made you roll your eyes back in pure bliss. “Oh god, Frankie, right there-“ You begun to say incoherent sentences. He moved a hand to throw a leg over his waist, gripping your thigh so it felt even deeper. “Feel so good around me, baby.” He groaned, voice raspy and deep. “Only one f’me ever.”
Tears fell from the outer corner of your eyes as you reached your second climax. Frank came not long after, releasing after you’d clenched hard around his length. He peppered gentle kisses on your face, bringing you down from the high.
When your breath finally evened out, he carefully pulled out. You whined at the loss of contact. Frank entered the bathroom and came back with a damp towel, it felt warm and soothing against your sensitive skin as he wiped you clean. When he finished, he placed a delicate kiss on your inner thigh before throwing the towel into the laundry basket. “Did so good, sweetheart.”
Frank remained awake long after you’d fallen asleep. His mind wouldn’t allow him to succumb to slumber. He feared that if he closed his eyes for longer than a second, he open them to find you gone. So he tightened his arm that was wrapped around your sleeping body and watched as your chest rose and fell rhythmically.
A week had gone by. Every morning, you woke up in his arms. Every night, you fell asleep in his embrace. Seven days of normalcy.
Seven days of Frank being able to wrap his arms around you while you cooked. Placing kisses onto your shoulder.
Seven days of Frank kissing you at any given moment just because he could.
Frank had begun to allow himself to let his guard down. To allow himself to melt into your arms. Your kisses. Your love.
But one should know, all magic comes with a price.
Frank woke up to a blood curdling scream. Your scream. He reached for the gun that rested atop of his nightstand, sitting upright, scanning the bedroom. Though he found no intruder, his body remained tensed as you screamed again.
He said your name as he shook you slightly. “Baby, wake up.”
Your body jolted upright. Chest heaving. When it seemed as though you finally came to your senses. You turned to look at Frank, who adorned a worried expression on his face. “Frankie?”
He gently grabbed your face in between his large, rough hands. Eyes searching for answers on your face. “You were screaming in your sleep, sweetheart. Wanna tell me what happened?”
Your eyes now had a daze look to them as you tried to recall the events of your nightmare. “I…it was so scary, Frank. I was so scared.” His arms immediately came to wrap around you in a protective embrace the second your voice broke.
“‘M right here. Not gonna let anythin’ hurt you, ya hear me?” Not again, he meant.
You swallowed, throat suddenly becoming dry as you moved back a bit so you could look up at him. “It was night. I was by myself in our apartment.” Frank patiently waited and you collected your thoughts together, rubbing his hands up and down your arms in a soothing manner.
“I remember feeling like my heart was so heavy…like there was something sitting on my chest. I think I was waiting for you to come home but I got sleepy.” You played with the hem of his shirt you’d worn to sleep. “The lights were barely turned off when I heard the front door open. I’m sorry, Frankie, don’t be mad but I don’t think I remembered to lock the door in my dream-“
“Ain’t got nothing to be sorry for. Y’hear me?” He gripped your chin, making sure you looked at him as he said it. You nodded before continuing, “I thought it was you so I went to the living room. A man was standing there.” You were gripping his hand now, Frank not minding the tightness of it one bit. “I was frozen, didn’t know what to do, and then…he shot me point blank.”
Tears welled up in your eyes. “I know it was just a dream, Frankie. But it felt so real. The pain from the bullet was agonizing and I don’t remember where he went after. But all I could do was just lay on the floor, staring up at the ceiling as I began to lose feeling in my limbs. But that wasn’t the worst part.” It was now Frank’s turn for his grip to become vine-like.
“It was after. After…was just nothing. It wasn’t darkness. Darkness is a color. It was just…nothing. I tried screaming in my dream but I couldn’t. Didn’t realize I was actually screaming out loud.” For a moment, Frank said nothing.
All the blood seemingly drained from his face. It couldn’t be. You had just recited the exact events leading up to your death. Except, you thought it was just a dream. You didn’t know it had been Frank’s reality just a week ago. Your voice broke him from his thoughts.
Your eyes peered up at him, oozing with vulnerability. He pressed a soft kiss on your lips before coaxing you to lie back down. “It was just a dream, sweetheart. You know I’d never let anyone or anything hurt you, yeah?”. Frank pressed another gentle kiss on your lips once you nodded in agreement.
You managed to fall back asleep after some encouragement and words of assurance from the man. Frank was not a lucky. His mind raced and searched for any possible explanation. He hadn’t slept an ounce by the time you woke up.
Two nights after the incident, Frank sleepily reached for your body, immediately sitting upright when his arm failed to find you. “Baby?” He called out, trying to silence the fear that began to bloom in his chest. Seeing the bedroom door slightly open, he followed his instincts into the living room. It was completely pitch dark, save for the moonlight that streamed in from the window. When his eyes finally adjusted, he saw you standing abnormally still in the living room. In the exact same spot where he’d found you. Swallow harshly, he called out to you cautiously. “Sweetheart? What’re you doin’ awake?”
No response. You didn’t move an inch, your gaze remained fixated onto the floor. He called your name again. “C’mon, sweetheart, gotta answer me. ‘M worried.” Silence.
Then, when he was just inches from you, you finally spoke. But your voice didn’t sound like yours. It sounded foreign and far away. “This is where I died, isn’t it?” Frank swore his heart almost stopped. “Say that again, sweetheart?” He had heard you clearly.
You tore your gaze from the floor, meeting his. Gone was the love your eyes always seemed to hold whenever you looked at him. In its place was a haunted look that had settled in your eyes. “I died.”
Frank mouth had gone dry. It opened and closed as he tried to find the correct words. “It was just a dream, remember, sweetheart?” He had chose to lie for he could not face the truth yet. He could not explain how he had simply snapped a plastic twig and you appeared in the room where you died, untouched.
You repeated your words. “I died. It felt real because it happened. In this exact spot. Where’s my heart, Frank? Where did my heart go?” Frank didn’t answer. Because he didn’t have one.
One of your hands move to your chest, right where your heart was supposed to be beating. “I don’t feel it, Frank. I don’t feel anything. Just this…agonizing pain. All the time.” You noticed the tears that threatened to leave Frank’s eyes as he stood there, helpless. “Frank…
Your voice was so delicate, like a quiet breath. Your eyes were still hollow. A ghost of who you used to be.
Frank couldn’t admit it to himself, let alone you. How could he tell you that he noticed from the very beginning that something wasn’t right. That he didn’t feel your heartbeat that first night. Or any other when he rested his head on your chest, pressing his ear against it searching for even the lightest thump. He refused to acknowledge the lack of warmth your skin held. How drastically cold it was in comparison to before your death. But the longer he stared at you, the more he realized just how different you looked.
Your hair, once shiny and health and become dull and lifeless. Your skin, once so warm, so soft and felt smooth whenever his hands roamed every crevice of your body was now cold, corpse-like. Your eyes, the ones that used to look at him like he was the center of your universe, had lost its flame.
As if all the strength left his body, Frank fell to his knees before you, wrapping his arms around your legs, muttering apologies. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. It was so selfish of me. But I just missed you. So damn much.” Your hands hung limp at your body. “I didn’t think it was real. Didn’t think much at all.
Frank looked up at you when he felt your hand caress his cheek. He leaned into it, despite the situation of it all, he just wanted you. Whatever was left. And so slowly he explained all of it, the vintage collectible item, the twig inside the box, how he’d snapped it at your grave. “I made the wish because I was drowning in misery. In pain. And for a moment, I let it believe it was all real. No cost.
“I was selfish when I left that night and I was selfish the night I snapped that fucking toy. I dragged you into the hole with me.” The tears fell. God, Frank knew he didn’t deserve you the first time around. He should’ve known he didn’t deserve a second chance with you. Not after how the first time ended.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” You kneeled so that you were now almost eye to eye with the way he hung his head. “Frank. Look at me.” He didn’t. He wasn’t sure if he could handle what he’d see.
You called his name again. “Frank. Please.”
Slowly, he lifted his head and met your eyes. You grabbed his face gently between your hands, resting your forehead on top of his. “I understand.”
He pulled back in shock, though you didn’t let him get far. “I understand. I’d have done the same, Frankie.”
“Life has been so hard on you. I’m not angry at you for reaching out for help. I’m sad because my absence has added to your grief. But you have to let me go.” The silence thickened at those last three words.
“What’re you talking about, sweetheart?”. Frank couldn’t let you go. He’d just gotten you back.
“This is my body. This is my voice.” You paused. “But it’s not me. I’m not the woman who died that night.” Frank shook his head. “I can’t…I can’t lose you again, sweetheart. Can’t.”
“You’re not losing me. I’m here.” You pressed your hand against his chest, feeling how fast his heart was pumping. It felt like all the air had been sucked out of his lungs. “I’m always with you.”
“Sweetheart, please—“ No one would believe it if you had told them that the almighty Frank Castle had fallen to his knees and was begging. You kissed him, as hard as he had that first night, pouring in everything words would fail to encompass.
“Frankie, you have to let me go.” He knew you were right, but he had to pick a fight, because if he gave in, you’d slip through his fingers. Again.
“I loved you then. I loved you in death. I love you now.” Your gaze filled with so much love yet was so hollow had completely shattered his heart. His chest physically aching as a result. “I know my words alone will do little to soothe the ache. And I know nothing I leave will ever be enough. But—“ Your voice cracked, as if him finally loosening his grip on his wish was beginning to set you free.
“If you ever miss the sound of my voice. My laughter. Or you begin to forget the color of my eyes, check your phone when I am gone.” You had left voice notes, for various scenarios and you had left pictures. You had been able to prepare this time.
“But if you begin to miss my presence, step outside and feel the breeze by my grave.” Your voice began to sound quieter, as if you were farther than you really were. But your cheeks were beginning to flush. Your eyes were gleaming even in the dark room. Frank swears your temperature has risen. He pressed a feather-light kiss on your palm. “The pain will fade eventually, my love.
“I’m just glad we were given a chance to say goodbye this time.” He pulled you into him in a tight embrace, one that you couldn’t escape from even if you wanted to. You didn’t. And pressed right against his chest, he could feel your heart beating for the first time since you’d been resurrected.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, toying with the ends of his curls one final time. “Keep your hair like this. I like it.” He held you tighter.
“I’ll do whatever you want, sweetheart. I love you.”
One moment, you were in his arms.
The next, you were gone. Vanished into thin air. Like the three words he’d spoken to you had finally set you free.
Frank Castle was a man whose name alone instilled prey-like fear into his enemies. Hell’s Kitchen had even nicknamed him The Punisher for his brutality against gangs. But as he knelt in the exact spot your body was when you died, he was just a man who loved you so much, he let you go.
