This wasn’t the first time that Frank had found himself in less than top prime condition. He should be used to it by now, but something about physical pain didn’t ebb away like metal pain did. Metal became a dull ache that kept you up at night and made you wish to never open your eyes again. Physical pain was sharp and biting, like an animal attempting to escape captivity. It was the physical pain that kept one fighting for survival and less inclined to fall sway to the mental pain telling you to give up that tooth and nail fight. Frank had almost given into that whispered security more times than he cared to admit. It was only through his own physical pain and the pain of others that kept him putting one foot in front of the other. Or collapsing on Steve Rogers’ couch - however you wanted to look at that.
His eyes felt heavy as he sat there. Leaning back against the couch more than he cared to admit. It was just so damn comfortable and far more appeasing than standing up and having to fight gravity again.
The faint lines of an old blue grass song rang through Frank’s mind as he waited for Steve to work. ‘I am weary ... let me rest.’
His eyes cracked open at Steve’s words. Yeah, Frank was more than aware of the gash on his side than he wanted to be. It left a tremor in his hands as he kept his breathing level. The blood loss had been nearly terrifying; if he’d been anyone else that alone might have left him in a pool of his own blood back on the street.
Blood wasn’t a new phenomenon for the Punisher. Didn’t mean he liked it though. Unless it belonged to whomever he was currently hunting. Then the blood was like a trophy - a reminder of just why he did this. Spill the blood of the guilty and spare the blood of the innocent.
At least that’s how he’d looked at when he started years ago. That noble cause and all.
What the fuck was he doing now? Still a soldier at heart, but he hadn’t taken orders since he’d left the service. Until Cap came along that was.
The advice was followed as soon as Steve’s hand touched the injury, the reaction leaving his head swimming and stars flickering in his gaze. The breath inward was almost as painful as the feeling of the needle sliding in and out of his lacerated skin. Fighting against natural reaction to hold his breath as Steve worked to fix him, Frank breathed shallowly in an attempt to help the pain lessen. His hand clamped around the whiskey bottle the instant Steve offered it up. Taking a long drag, Frank swallowed the burning liquid greedily.
His tongue flicked along his lips as he shrugged his lips toward Steve. That hurt too.
“Some people just don’t like my helping you. Or existing. But mostly thinking why should I support you when I could support the other side. I suppose their thinking is if I don’t wear a mask why should I advocate for those that do?”
His eyes drifted toward his new adornment. A grimace settled over his features at the sight of the clean, but fiery looking injury. That was going to slow him down some.
“Can’t you and Stark just kiss and makeup?”
It was a mirthless joke, but it was either that or admit he was out of his league here.
