The Punisher

This job had a lot of interesting moments, but so far this one was slowly climbing to the top of his list. Guy comes along and tells  Danny that someone is going to die in the next twenty-four hours  and he just expects Danny to stand down and let him walk away?  His height and ability to stare down the detective leaving him engulfed in his shadow aside?        “ Woah, woah, hey. You come to me with         this whole speech that someone is going         to die and you expect me to just let you         walk away and do whatever it is you’re         talking about doing? I don’t think you fully         understand how that does not work. “  He wasn’t going to grin, smile, chuckle, laugh ; just purse his lips together staring up at the taller man.           “ Either you’re confident or stupid, I’m not sure which.” 

It was par for the course for Frank; he had a job to do, he was going to do it and he wasn’t going to let anyone get in his way. It was detrimental to everything he was trying to accomplish. What this cop needed to understand was that he’d be glad that Frank had cleaned up a portion of Paradise.

If there was one thing that Frank had perfected it was the stare that seemed as if it could melt steel. 

    “Yes. I do. I expect you to relay to whomever your     commander is that I expect to be left alone to       perform my job.”

There was a sharp nod as Frank turned to go.

     “Then you can get back to doing yours.”

I HAVE ONE EYE FRANK. ONE. There is a snarl of irritation, a snort, and then she’s crawling under a side table to sulk. She’s only a little miffed, but it’s enough she doesn't feel bad anymore, so that’s a bonus in itself. Maybe she’d make herself feel even better, later, by vomiting in his shoes.

“And that is not my fault. One eye can see.”

If she was going to play the miffed card, she was going to have to find another audience. Frank didn’t care if she had three legs and a shaved ass. He didn’t need to deal with being assaulted when he came home. Working on patching himself up from the criminals he dealt with was enough. He didn’t need it from her too.

“The key to the gate of eternity is made of metal, stained in blood and reeks of burning ash.” - Unknown

         ‘ Yes. ‘ Maya replied, watching him carefully. She could tell he didn’t believe her, but that was his choice. ‘ I guarantee that if you look into it, you’ll find what you need to. ‘

                “And what exactly is it that you think I need?” Frank asked as his gaze narrowed further. “Who the fuck are you anyway?”

THIS WASN’T something he learned overseas. as steve pillages through his first aid kit, he’s taken back to shaky tenement housing, smog filled streets, && bloodied knuckles. he recalls all the times he carried himself home with a limp in his leg && a crick in his neck. blood would sully the washbasin as he washed away the remnants from a fight well fought. he had lost most of the fights he picked back then but he learned how to hold his head up high && how to stand back up when he was knocked down. 

he learned how to pick himself up. 

as frank groans on his couch, steve readies the needle && thread to fix his wound. as he tears his hold away from his side, just below where steve had wrapped frank’s ribs, is a torn GASH in his skin. steve grimaces as he looks at it – the tear is clean, no jagged edges or skin falling off in the corners – but it is DEEP.  

carefully steve touches the skin around it. he doesn’t want to agitate the wound anymore than it already is. this is something he knows how to do well. he’s spent enough evenings stitching up busted lips or gashes in his skin back in brooklyn before he ever went overseas. there knife wounds were replaced by BULLET holes – but it was the same process. 

a smirk curls on his lips as he prepares his needle.  ❝  don’t look,  ❞ he tells him  though he’s sure frank could handle seeing his own blood. he’s a SOLDIER – but more than that, he’s the PUNISHER. if he can’t handle seeing a little bit of blood, then no one can. 

❝  take a deep BREATH.  ❞

steve tells him again before he plunges the needle into his skin. he makes quick work of stitching up his fellow soldier. they don’t have the benefit of time on their side. this apartment is just another location waiting to be ransacked by the other side.  && steve has been lying in wait for that to happen. so he doesn’t waste any TIME getting frank stitched up && when he’s finished with the wound, he takes a swig of whiskey before passing it off to frank. 

❝  here, ❞  he says as he hands the bottle to him,  ❝  you probably NEED this more than me.  ❞

                         ❝  —— you gonna tell me what the HELL happened now? ❞

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.

Not the cars. I just didn’t see them. A black tongue flicks out to clean her nose and jaw, but she doesn’t approach any closer- really, she’s more afraid she’ll run into something like a moron. So she stays where she is, her hind leg touching the table she’d been hiding in, like some eel in it’s den. Did I tear your shirt?

The question was more than a bit stupid, but Frank elected to ignore it as he dropped the shirt to the floor and went to find his first aid kit. It seemed that thing saw more action than anything else in his arsenal at the moment. A grunt followed as a mediocre reply. Snapping the box open Fran rummaged around for gauze. He’d shower later. 

“You goin’ blind in your old age or something?”

Punisher by Goran Parlov

Elle King “Ain’t Gonna Drown”

                  Her eyes hardened, not moving as he came to stand before her. She wasn’t going to back down. It was pathetic to watch him — not that she had lost her sympathy, but to her this all was just a waste of time. Time she didn’t have.                    “I don’t know. What are you doing?”

                  That was the problem with most people; they were always in a rush. There was time for that, but when it came to meaningful revenge and justice, like this woman wanted, then it wasn’t time for fast and rash action. She just didn’t seem to see that. Though, Castle might be a little heavy-handed on his drinking right now.                                        “Drinkin’.”

     It was unfair that his pain drew her closer, physically      and psychically. Something in her was broken to be      drawn to people like him. Zed just wanted to help him      somehow. Her lips twitched, eyes flicking down to his      chest before back up.

     “I haven’t gotten handsy yet, hermoso. I’ve just been      in your head a bit… I know sitting around definitely      isn’t your style.”

Everything about Frank was broken, except his nerves. Those still seemed to be working just fine -- in the fact that everyone was constantly getting on them. This girl on the other hand seemed to be able to see things that Frank didn’t want anyone to see. And it didn’t seem to faze her past realizing he wasn’t as normal as he might appear to someone compared to Constantine.

“Well stay out of my head,” he replied, though the previous bite in his tone had mellowed some. “The only time I sit around is when I need a drink. ..Like I do now.”

“No. I’m just doing the right thing. You should try it sometime.” He grunted and took a deep breathe trying to keep his mind clear so he could hear everything.

           “What the fuck do you think I’ve been doin’ all these years?” Frank snapped back toward Matt. Sure, some might think what Frank wasn’t exactly good but they couldn’t argue against him helping to remove violent offenders from the streets.