He's cute, in a broken way
Frank Castle hadn’t planned on getting a dog.
Hell, he barely planned on being alive most days. But plans didn’t seem to mean much when he was driving home and saw the little thing curled up between a pile of trash bags outside a bodega.
At first, he thought it was just another piece of garbage—some old rag left to rot in the cold. But then it moved.
Barely.
Just a slight shift, enough to show ribs pressing against thin skin.
Frank kept driving.
Got two blocks down before his hands tightened on the wheel and a muscle in his jaw twitched.
“Shit.”
He turned the car around.
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The mutt didn’t even flinch when Frank crouched down beside it. Just cracked open one tired, dull eye and stared up at him like it wasn’t sure if he was real. Or maybe it just didn’t care.
Frank had seen that look before.
It was the look of something too tired to fight, too hungry to run.
The dog wasn’t much to look at—just a small, scrappy thing with dirty, matted fur and ears too big for its head. Some kind of mutt, a mix of whatever breeds could survive out here without anyone giving a damn.
Frank didn’t think much before reaching out, letting his fingers brush against its side.
No growl. No flinch.
The mutt barely even reacted, just breathed slow and heavy, like every inhale was a damn chore.
Frank sighed.
“Well, shit,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “Guess that makes two of us.”
Carefully, he scooped the dog up. It weighed next to nothing. Bones wrapped in fur. Its head lolled against his chest, too weak to resist.
Frank stood up, glanced around—half-expecting some owner to come running up, yelling about how that was their dog.
But the street was empty.
Just Frank, a broken streetlight humming above him, and a half-dead mutt that smelled like a landfill.
He adjusted his grip, muttering, “You better not piss on me, buddy.”
The dog made a faint, wheezy sound. Maybe a sigh. Maybe it was just dying a little slower.
Frank carried it to his car.
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Karen Page was not expecting a visitor at 10 PM.
Especially not Frank Castle, standing outside her apartment door with a dog in his arms like some lost kid who had no idea what to do next.
"Hey. Remember that favor you owe me?" He said, with a shy look in his eyes and a protective hand on the dog.
Karen was going to help. That point was made the moment she saw Frank. But she paused, not because of hesitation, but because she liked what she saw. Frank was protecting it, maybe not from her, but from the world. He cared about the broken animal in his arms enough to ask for help. And that was big.
Karen stared.
Then blinked.
Then looked at the dog.
Then back at Frank.
“You’re kidding,” she said flatly.
Frank didn’t blink. “Nope.”
“You just—what? Found a dog?”
Frank shrugged. “Side of the road.”
Karen let out a slow breath, pinching the bridge of her nose like she was trying to ward off a headache. “Of course you did.”
The dog stirred slightly in Frank’s arms, blinking at her with big, glassy eyes.
Karen sighed. Then stepped aside, holding the door open. “Get in here before someone calls animal control.”
Frank didn’t hesitate. And neither did she.
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The apartment was warm, cozy in a way Frank wasn’t used to. Soft lighting, books stacked on the coffee table, a blanket draped over the couch like someone actually lived here.
Frank had been here before—too many times to count. Usually for patching up wounds or late-night conversations that neither of them ever acknowledged in the daylight.
But tonight was different.
The air was similar to the night he came to her, flowers in hand and a pained look on his face.
Tonight, he was tracking mud onto her floor while holding a half-dead mutt that smelled like it had crawled out of a dumpster fire.
Karen shut the door behind them and crossed her arms. “You got a plan here, Castle?”
Frank glanced down at the dog, who blinked up at him like this is your problem now.
“Not really,” he admitted.
Karen exhaled through her nose, rubbing her temple. Then she straightened. “Okay. Bathtub. Now.”
Frank quirked an eyebrow. “You sure we should be doin’ this here?”
Karen gave him a look. “You got a bathtub that isn’t a crime scene?”
Fair point.
Frank nodded and walked with a puppy in hand and Karen followed suit. The puppy whimpered as they walked into the bathroom and he found himself rubbing his hands across the patches of fur he had left.
Huh. Who would've thought, the Punisher had a sweet spot for puppies.
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Karen would've. This didn't surprise her at all in fact. Frank always reminded her of a stray dog. Lost looking for somewhere safe to land, a home, a family. His family.
Trouble—because of course Frank named him that—was not a fan of bath time.
Karen had the water running while Frank stood over the tub, holding the mutt like a bomb about to go off.
“You’re sure about this?” he asked, eyeing the dog warily.
Karen gave him a dry look. “You want him sleeping in your bed like this?”
Frank made a face. “Alright, fair enough.”
Karen reached out, taking the dog from his arms and setting him down in the tub. The second his paws hit the water, he tried to climb out.
Frank caught him before he could make a break for it. “Hey—whoa, relax, buddy. It’s just a bath.”
Trouble squirmed, paws slipping against the porcelain.
Karen rolled up her sleeves. “This is gonna suck for all of us.”
She grabbed the soap and started scrubbing, and Frank had to admit—she was good at this. Gentle but firm, fingers working through matted fur, rinsing away dirt that had probably been there for months.
He knew she would be. Karen was always gentile on the few occasions he asked her to patch him up. Strategic, practiced, and slow.
So slow that sometimes he wished she would speed it up so that he didn't have to have the pained feeling in his gut any longer.
Trouble shivered but stopped fighting.
Karen’s hands moved slow, careful, and her voice dropped to something softer. “See? Not so bad, huh?”
Frank found himself watching her more than the dog.
She didn’t notice. Just kept working, humming under her breath.
When she finally shut off the water, Trouble gave himself a violent shake, spraying both of them.
Karen let out a sharp laugh. Frank just wiped his face with a sigh. “Great. Now we all smell like wet dogs.”
Karen grinned, wrapping the mutt in a towel. “Welcome to parenthood, Castle.”
She paused. Dang it. She hadn't meant to say that. She ran to apologize before Frank spoke first,
"I'm used to it by now", a smirk on his face.
He wasn't mad. He wasn't running. Huh. What a sight. Who would've thought?
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Frank Castle did not like hospitals.
Didn’t like doctors, didn’t like needles, didn’t like anyone poking around where they didn’t belong.
So the fact that he was willingly sitting in a brightly lit veterinarian’s office, filling out paperwork for a dog he’d found in the damn trash, was saying a lot.
Across from him, Karen sat with Trouble in her lap. He was still too thin, but he had more energy now, sniffing at her coat sleeve and flicking his ears when the occasional bark rang out from another room.
“This place is nice,” Karen commented, scanning the clinic. The walls were lined with pet portraits, and the air smelled like antiseptic and peanut butter.
Frank grunted, signing his name at the bottom of the form.
She leaned over, trying to peek. “What’d you put for owner?”
He didn’t look up. “Me.”
A nurse stepped into the waiting area. She was younger, maybe mid-twenties, with dark curls pulled into a high ponytail and a bright smile that looked way too excited for what was about to happen.
“Trouble?” she called.
Karen stood, adjusting the dog in her arms, but Frank was already ahead of her, scooping him up and heading toward the exam room without a word.
The nurse led them inside, motioning to the metal table. “Alright, big guy, let’s get you checked out.”
Frank set Trouble down, keeping a steady hand on his back as he eyed the room like it was some kind of ambush.
Karen leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching.
The nurse glanced between them with a warm smile. “So, how long have you two had him?”
Karen opened her mouth to answer, but Frank cut in first.
“Couple days.”
The nurse nodded, scribbling something on her clipboard. “Well, it’s great that you adopted together—some dogs take a while to warm up to new homes, but with both of you raising him, he should settle in just fine.”
Karen blinked.
Wait.
Both of them?
Before she could correct her, the nurse was already rolling ahead, making notes, reaching for a syringe.
“A lot of couples worry about the adjustment period, but it’s actually great to get a dog before kids, you know? Like a little test run.”
Karen let out a short, startled laugh. “Oh—uh, we’re not—”
But before she could finish, she felt a hand brush lightly against her wrist.
Frank.
He didn’t grab her, didn’t hold her back—just a brief touch, enough to make her pause.
Then, in a voice as calm as if they were discussing the weather, he said:
“Thanks.”
Karen turned her head sharply.
Frank didn’t look at her. He just nodded at the nurse, expression unreadable.
The nurse smiled. “Of course! You two are doing a great thing.”
Karen swallowed, pressing her lips together. She could’ve corrected it, could’ve laughed it off, but for some reason, the words stuck in her throat.
The nurse focused back on Trouble, rubbing his ears as she prepped the shot. “Okay, big guy, little pinch.”
The syringe went in, and the dog gave a sharp yelp, jerking against Frank’s grip.
“Easy,” Frank murmured, one large hand smoothing over his scruff. His voice dropped lower, softer. “You’re alright.”
Trouble whined but stilled.
Karen exhaled slowly, watching.
The whole thing lasted less than ten seconds, but the weird feeling curling in her stomach didn’t fade.
She wasn’t sure what it was.
The shock of Frank not shutting the nurse down immediately?
The way he’d just accepted the assumption, like it wasn’t worth correcting?
Or maybe it was something else entirely—the way he stood there, steady and solid, one hand on Trouble’s back like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Like maybe this wasn’t such a crazy assumption after all.
The nurse finished up, tossing the syringe into a bin. “All done! He was very brave.”
Frank gave Trouble a firm pat. “That’s my boy.”
Karen looked away, suddenly feeling way too warm for an over-air-conditioned vet clinic.
The nurse handed them a pamphlet. “You’re all set! Just keep an eye on him, and call us if you need anything.”
Frank nodded, reaching for the papers. “Appreciate it.”
Karen barely heard her say goodbye. She was still stuck on thanks.
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The drive home was quiet.
Frank kept his eyes on the road, one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gear shift.
Karen sat beside him, Trouble curled up in a blanket between them, breathing slow and steady.
She could’ve let it go.
Could’ve ignored the weird little spark still buzzing in her chest.
But instead, she finally said, “You didn’t correct her.”
Frank didn’t glance over. “Didn’t see the point.”
Karen frowned. “You always correct people.”
Frank exhaled through his nose, something almost like a chuckle. “And that usually works out real well for me, doesn’t it?”
Karen huffed. “So what, you’re just letting people think we’re—”
“Ain’t hurtin’ anybody,” he said simply.
Karen snapped her mouth shut.
That wasn’t an answer. Not really.
But it was enough to leave her wondering.
And Frank?
Frank just kept driving.
But for the first time in a long time, he almost smiled.
The next morning, they took Trouble shopping.
Karen had insisted. Frank thought it was overkill, but apparently, dogs needed things.
“Food, bowls, a leash—”
Frank had already wandered off.
Karen found him in the toy aisle, holding up a rubber bone.
“You think he needs this?” he asked, turning it over in his hands.
Trouble, sitting at his feet, was staring at it like it contained the secrets of the universe.
Karen smirked. “I think he needs more than a dollar-store chew toy.”
She grabbed actual essentials while Frank debated between a regular leash and one with a tactical grip, as if he was taking the dog on a black ops mission.
By the time they checked out, Frank was glaring at the receipt. “This dog costs more than I do.”
Karen snorted. “That’s because you survive on gas station coffee and spite.”
Frank just grumbled. But he didn’t argue.
That evening, they took Trouble to the park.
The moment his paws hit the grass, something changed. His tail wagged. His ears perked up. Then he was off, running like he’d never had space before.
Frank and Karen sat on a bench, watching.
Karen pulled her coat tighter. “He’s happy.”
Frank nodded, watching as Trouble leaped into a pile of leaves. “Yeah.”
Karen glanced at him, her voice softer. “And you?”
Frank’s jaw tightened. His first instinct was to deflect, to crack a joke or brush it off.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he sighed. “Been a long time since I had anything sticking around.”
Karen was quiet for a moment. Then she bumped her shoulder against his, casual, easy.
“Well,” she said, “now you’ve got a dog. That’s something.”
Frank looked at her. And you, he wanted to say.
Then at Trouble, who was now rolling on his back, legs kicking wildly like he’d never known a bad day in his life.
Frank exhaled, slow.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “That’s something.”
And maybe, just maybe, it was a start.