Chapter 21
Frank lied.
This was his problem.
Because it was Karen’s.
And when you needed someone the way he needed Karen Page — when they weren’t just in your heart but under your skin — their problems didn’t stay theirs for long. They became yours. Instantly. No questions asked.
So now here he was. Trapped. Bleeding. Caged like an animal in some rotting excuse for a holding cell because he’d gone looking to be the goddamn Punisher again — and walked right into a trap set by badge-wearing filth who called themselves heroes.
It made him sick.
They wore his symbol like it meant something. Used the skull as a shield for their corruption, like it gave them license to brutalize and murder.
That wasn’t the code.
That wasn’t the fucking point.
It made him want to tear the vest off his chest and slit their throats for even daring to believe they understood him.
But he hadn’t done that. Not yet.
Because he’d been slow. He’d been stupid. He’d been thinking about her.
Thinking about Karen’s smile. The way she kissed like she meant it. The way her voice cut through the noise in his head and left something soft in its place.
And now, because of that softness, because he let his guard down for a second...
He was caged.
So now, Frank Castle had to disappear.
Now, it was just the Punisher.
Cold. Focused. Unforgiving.
He rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck as his eyes scanned the dim, flickering lights of the basement. One guard. One idiot. Close enough to the bars, trying to look intimidating.
Frank smiled.
“Hey,” he said, voice calm and low, like a man making polite conversation. “How’s it goin’?”
The guard looked up, surprised. Suspicious.
“What do they call you?” Frank asked.
“…Anthony.”
Frank tilted his head, lips twitching. “Anthony. Got a last name?”
“Petruccio.”
“Anthony Petruccio,” Frank repeated, like he was rolling the words around his tongue. “That’s a strong name. Jersey, yeah?”
The guy blinked. “Yeah. You too?”
“Yup. Knew it the second I saw you.”
There was a pause — just long enough.
“You know anything about me, Anthony?” Frank asked, voice steady, casual. “Just curious.”
The guy nodded. “A little.”
Frank grinned.
“Little bit, huh. Well. Appreciate you lettin’ me sit here a minute. Real decent of you. It’s… honestly, it’s an honor, meetin’ you like this.”
He extended a hand through the bars.
The guard hesitated — just for a second.
Then stepped closer.
And reached.
Frank’s fingers closed around his wrist like a trap snapping shut.
“Thank you, Anthony,” he said, voice like gravel.
Then he yanked — hard — slamming the man’s arm against the bar, bone cracking with a sickening pop. The guard screamed as Frank twisted and dragged him through the gap, elbow shattered, momentum carrying him right into the cage.
The door slammed shut behind them.
There was no more talking.
There was no more Frank.
Not right now.
Only him.
Only the Punisher.
Frank slipped through the alley behind Fisk’s hideout, bloodied but breathing.
His ribs ached with every step, his knuckles split wide open, dried blood crusting along the back of his hand.
The only thing on his mind was to slow down and find Karen. He wasn't in the right headspace, but he didn't care about anything but her.
And if this was her war, he would be her soldier.
He didn’t even remember deciding where to go.
His body just moved, like instinct pulled him by the spine. His legs knew how to find her, he would always find her.
—
It looked the same. Run-down, dim, louder than it should’ve been for a secret meeting.
Inside, it smelled like old whiskey and grief.
The kind that never aired out.
Foggy’s absence clung to the walls like smoke, even months later. A hole no one wanted to name out loud.
Karen stood near the back, her arms crossed. Not defensive—just tired. Her hair was loose tonight, her face unreadable until she turned and saw him.
Everything stopped.
Frank Castle walked through the door like a storm that hadn’t hit yet.
Everyone’s head turned. Cherry lowered his drink mid-sip. Kirsten’s expression turned wary in an instant. Matt… Matt just froze.
Karen's breath caught in her throat. Her eyes locked on Frank’s, and the whole world fell away for a second.
He didn’t hesitate.
He didn’t offer excuses.
He just said, voice low and worn from the fight, “You needed me.”
A pause.
“I’m here.”
Karen blinked. Her hand dropped from her arm. She didn’t say anything, but she stepped toward him without even thinking. Like her body remembered him before her brain did.
She stood in front of him and a smile overtook her face. "Thank you."
Cherry glanced between them, whispering something under his breath. Kirsten didn’t look away, her eyes narrowing.
Matt stepped forward.
Frank’s gaze didn’t shift, not until Matt spoke.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
Frank turned, slow and deliberate. “Good to see you too, Red.”
“This isn’t your war,” Matt said. His voice was steady, but tight. Like he was already bracing for a fight.
Matt could tell why he was here. He could feel his own heartbeat coming out of his chest when he saw Karen.
She was everything, the only thing that made him skip a breath. And Matt noticed.
Hell, everyone in this damn building probably noticed
Frank tilted his head, jaw twitching. “You sure about that?”
“You said it yourself. You were done. Out.”
Frank exhaled, eyes scanning the room before returning to Matt. “Yeah. I was.”
“And now?” Matt asked, arms folding over his chest.
“I got a call,” Frank said simply. “Changed my mind.”
Karen tensed between them. Frank didn’t say her name. He didn’t need to.
Matt knew at this point that the only person who had control over Frank Castle's actions was Karen.
Matt's expression shifted—just enough to let the old jealousy bleed through.
“You think this is about her? Frank, we have a mission. I don't have time to handle you.”
Frank's eyes darkened. “It’s because of her. She called. I showed up. That’s the whole story. And don't pretend you don't need every person you can get. Get off the damn high horse, Red.”
Matt’s voice dropped to a private growl. “She doesn’t need you getting her killed.”
That did it.
Frank looked back and Karen and he could see the begging look in her expression.
Don't tell him. I want to. Give me time.
It stung, just a bit, being her secret. But he could handle it.
Frank stepped away from her and closer to him, close enough that Matt had to tilt his head back just slightly to keep eye contact.
“You think I’d ever let that happen?” Frank said, voice like gravel. “You think I’d let anyone lay a hand on her?”
“You already did,” Matt snapped.
Frank felt his trigger finger tapping and felt Karen's body heat behind him. She was getting angry, good.
She took a half-step forward, her voice caught in her throat. She didn’t interrupt. Not yet.
Frank’s jaw flexed. “You wanna talk about who left her alone after Foggy died? Or who pushed her away while she was grieving? I didn’t see you around.”
Matt’s hands clenched into fists at his sides.
Frank could've ended it there.
Pointing out the things that Matt lacked was enough for him. He didn't need to talk about all he did for Karen.
They knew.
The thing is, Frank didn’t want to stop. “You think you get to dictate her life ‘cause you used to love her? ‘Cause you feel guilty? That ain’t love, Murdock. That’s control.”
The words cut through the room like a knife.
And that’s when Karen stepped closer—when her voice finally broke through.
“Frank,” she said quietly.
He turned.
But Matt spoke first. “And you think you’re better?”
Frank didn’t even flinch. “I know I am. 'Cause at least I know I could never own her.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Karen swallowed.
Frank met her gaze again, and his voice softened just enough. “I don’t want to own her.”
Karen exhaled like she’d been holding her breath for years.
Matt stepped back. Kirsten looked down at her drink, suddenly finding the bottom of the glass very interesting. Cherry let out a long sigh and leaned back, arms folded.
Karen looked between the two men — one she used to love, maybe never truly did. And one who never asked her to be anything but exactly who she was.
She didn’t need to say a word.
She walked to Frank’s side, gently wrapping her fingers around his hand.
And for the first time since Foggy died… since New York began to collapse in on itself…
Frank Castle felt like maybe this fight wasn’t just worth showing up for.
Maybe it was worth surviving.