The room was warm. You hated it. Your wrists were itchy because of the restraints and here you were, waiting for some random douche to come in and torture you. Suddenly you heard a thud from the other side of the door, so you try to get closer to have a better listen. You hear nothing but silence. Then, footsteps coming closer. You scoot back towards the mattress laying on the floor. Goosebumps raised on your skin as the door opened, bringing in a rush of cold air. You were trained by the best but if you wanted to keep your cover intact, you had to scurry off into the corner and act more afraid than you actually were.
You were supposed to infiltrate the Irish. Or what was left of it. Get them to feel comfortable around you, let their guard down enough to actually share details with you, the unsuspecting barmaid. That went well, didn’t it? Having the person slinging you drinks, asking questions, wouldn’t be a threat to your operation at all. Now here you were, your cover hanging on by a thread, in one of their safe houses.
You move your head from its hiding spot to size up the man walking towards you. He’s tall. Wearing a black coat and a vest which makes him look bulkier than he actually is. Then you spot it. On his chest, is a white symbol in the shape of a skull. You don’t believe your eyes as you move them over to his face.
The Punisher.
Frank fucking Castle.
“What the fuck are you doing here?! Last I heard you were dead!” you yell at him, pretty sure he’s taken out everyone else in the house. He gives you a smug smile before he hands you his knife so you can cut yourself free from the binds on your wrists.
“Haven’t you heard, (Y/N)? The dead are rising everywhere” another smug ass smile.
“That doesn’t answer my fucking question Frank” you say through gritted teeth. He’s standing by the window, peaking through the shades, scanning the perimeter.
“Heard through the grapevine an undercover cop was found out in the middle of this fucking rats nest.” He shrugs thinking that would suffice, until he saw you glaring at him. “Thought I could lend a hand to an old friend.”
“How did you know it was me?” you say riding yourself of your restraints, you walk over to him and hand over his knife.
“Only you would be stupid enough to go into this thinkin’ these dickheads would be too distracted by your breasts and too drunk off their ass’ not to notice you askin’ questions.” He was half right. That’s why your superiors chose you. You had big boobs and were easy on the eyes. That and Colonel Schoonover and he had trained you.
“You’re an ass,” you state matter of factly, “but I’m glad you’re alive.” He grunts in response and looks you over. Making sure you’re alright.
He grabs your wrist, careful of the abrasions left from the restraints, and leads you toward the door. He’s either being cautious or he knows he didn’t get everyone. He opens the door slowly, before poking his gun and head out. Making sure the hallway is clear. Then signals for you to follow and hands you a gun, as you step over the thud you heard earlier, knowing you can handle it. You spot two more goons in the living room taken out by shots to the head. Guess Frank used a silencer. You two make it out of the house intact and make a beeline for the woods behind it.
You walk in silence for a long while before he stops.
He looks around making sure you two weren’t followed. Only by ghosts.
He turns to you and hands you a spare clip for the gun he gave you back at the house. You look up at him quizzically.
“You’re not coming with me, are you?” you ask, even though you already know the answer.
“No.” He grunts out, “I’ve got a job to finish.” You shake your head. Not because you think he’s stupid for trying to be a hero, because if anyone could get rid of these gangs its Frank, but because you didn’t want him to end up dead. Again.
“You don’t have to do this alone,” you state.
He looks at you and instead of his usual smug smirk he had for you, it was a real smile, the one he used to wear while talking about his wife or kids. The one that only held love and endearment for those he shared it with.
“Can’t risk your life anymore than it already is.” He sighs, “and if your cop buddies spot me, they’ll fuckin’ shoot me and arrest you on sight.” You don’t argue with him. Instead you count the remaining bullets in the gun he’s given you. Satisfied with the number of remaining bullets, you hand him back the spare clip. He tries to give it back to you but you shake your head.
“You need it more than me,” you say “besides I’m on your side here. Know that even if you think we can’t do our jobs as well as you can, you have a friend in me.”
You laugh as he starts to sing under his breath the same lyrics from Toy Story. Lisa’s favorite movie, you remember.
He gives you a small smile and a nod before he turns and walks away, back toward the house. You stare after him, sending a little prayer to keep him safe. To help him find some solace in this strange new world. To help him survive it.