#kastle ff

Karen and Frank in San Francisco. Hiding from Fisk. Pretending to be married.

This new life is about to get complicated…Welcome to Chapter 5 of Karen Goes West!

Read it on AO3 ☕️💀💛

There are flowers outside his door. A simple assortment, all of them white, because on top of everything else she’s still got a fuckin’ sense of humor. Frank dips inside long enough to ditch the vest. Won’t need it where he’s going.

The spot looks the same. Bench might be more dinged up, and there’s some new graffiti, block letters bursting in neon: RESIST! A bit on the nose, but hey, it’s a piece of the city they haven't scrubbed clean, and that's something.

“Took you long enough,” she says from somewhere behind him.

Relief floods through him. Stay safe. He did her a favor, asked for one right back, and she delivered. 

He turns, tilts a glance at her. “Breakin’ curfew, Miss Page?”

Her mouth presses into a line like she's trying not to smile. He's been beat to shit, but this is a different kind of ache, bone-deep and familiar.

"Yeah, never been much of a rule-follower," she says, and the twinkle in her eye could be seen from outer space. She falters a little as she catalogues his fresh mosaic of cuts and bruises. "God, Frank. You look like shit."

"Nahh, this?" He laughs, or tries to. His ribs scream in protest. "Just a paper cut. I've had worse."

"I know," she says, and they're both somewhere else for a second, time stretching taut like a rubber band.

"I got your, uh. Your calling card," he says, pulling as much of an apologetic face as he can. "Didn't get you anything."

"Well, I'm a modern woman. I can buy my own flowers."

He holds his hands up in surrender. "Yes ma'am."

She ducks her head, teeth flashing. "Honestly? I wasn't sure you'd show. Thought I'd, I don't know. Used up all my favors."

He has to physically swallow down another laugh. "Come on, Karen. Can't shake me loose that easy."

It's a joke, and it lands, but the aftertaste lingers. Everything in between, all the words that never see the light of day, lined up right there on his tongue. She stares resolutely at the ground, graciously allowing him this moment of cowardice without an audience.

"Hey," he says, and the look on her face when she meets his eyes gets his heart kicking. "You need me, I'll be here. That's it. End of story. I will always come for you, you got that?"

She blows out a tiny breath. "Okay."

"Yeah?" he presses, needing her to understand. Knowing he won't be able to live with himself one millisecond longer if she doesn't.

She's smiling with her eyes now. "Yeah."

"Okay, then."

There's more to say. Intel to swap, plans to strategize. And beyond that, apologies. Explanations. Honest things, pulled out into the sunlight. But for now, she holds out her hand and asks:

Signal (read on Ao3)

While Matt Murdock tries to rebuild a semblance of a life without Foggy, Karen Page does not. Instead she spends a lonely year in San Francisco, trying not to attract attention or get anyone killed. But when the grief is too much, the burner phone from Frank Castle is a lifeline in those moments.

Or

A story of six phone calls between Karen and Frank that take place during the course of Daredevil Born Again.

Excerpt:

“So, where’d you end up?”

She paused. She hadn’t even shared an address with Matt yet. She was going to, eventually, just kept putting it off, like those voicemails he’d left her. But Frank wouldn’t have asked unless he wanted to know.

“San Francisco.”

“You’re far,” Frank said. She wondered if he was calculating how long it would take him to get there. It wasn’t like he could just jump on a plane without risking getting whatever fake identity he used busted by the TSA.

“Traded one big city for another. Felt easy enough to do,” she explained.

“How’s that working out for you?”

“It sucks, but I’m just trying not to make waves. Keeping my head down.”

“Atta girl.” He understood what she was doing. She had come here to hide, not start over or forge new connections.

She sat in silence for a few moments.

frank doesn’t hear about it the way most people do.  there’s no phone call,  no obituary someone leaves clipped to his door.  instead,  it finds him in the quiet way grief always does,  slipping through the cracks when you’re not looking. 

it’s a name said too softly in a bar,  the bartender lowering his voice out of respect.  it’s the way the paper sits untouched on the counter,  the headline too cruel to be real.  it’s the silence on the other end of a burner number he never calls but always keeps,  just in case. 

foggy nelson is dead. 

frank reads the words twice,  then a third time,  as if they might rearrange themselves into something different.  but they don’t. 

he doesn’t ask how,  doesn’t ask why.  the details don’t change a damn thing.  foggy’s gone,   &  karen—

karen. 

Post-01x09, Daredevil: Born Again

Frank knocks once, just once, then steps back and glances down the dim, too-quiet hallway. The place is clean and seems safe enough, but it’s not the kind of hotel that has heightened security or anyone who’d notice if something went sideways. Good thing he’s there.

He braces one hand on the doorframe and ducks his head, his other hand curling around his ribs. Something’s cracked in there, for sure, courtesy of those sorry fucking excuses for cops. Bunch of dumbass fanboys. And he’ll deal with them. Soon. But first Frank needs to see Karen. He has things to get off his chest. 

“Karen, it’s me,” he says, his voice rough but quiet. “Open up. Please?”

The lock clicks almost immediately, and the door opens. She’s standing there barefoot, in jeans and a worn Columbia crewneck sweatshirt, her blonde hair still damp from the shower and twisted into a loose bun at the top of her head. 

Her eyes sweep over him, cataloging every cut and bruise that hadn’t been there the day before. They linger on his face, on his left eye that’s purple and swollen.

“You look like shit,” she says, pushing the door wide and stepping back to let him in. There’s no heat behind the words, just a thread of worry and exhaustion. “Been busy?”

Frank huffs a breath, almost laughing because, that’s the understatement of the fucking century. “Yeah, somethin’ like that.” 

Karen turns on her heel and pads back into the room, leaving him to follow. It’s as close to an invitation as he’s going to get. He steps inside, locking the door behind him, and follows her to where she’s sitting on the edge of the bed, sinking down beside her. His body aches from the inside out, but the mattress dips under their weight, and he relaxes — just a little — for the first time since he answered the phone to find her on the other end.

so flawed, so free

for @superrpowerlesshuman. ~3.5k. e. kastle christmas ⋆ sat dec 28 ⋆ favorite things ⋆ domestic fluff

He still sleeps with a gun in the nightstand, and goes for long runs on those mornings when the nightmares won’t loosen their grip on him. He fights with Karen, sometimes. They’re more alike than most people would probably realize. Both stubborn, both strong-willed. Both entirely reckless when it comes to their own personal safety.

But he also goes to vet group, and gets drinks with Curtis afterward. Sometimes Karen joins them, when she isn’t on a deadline. Other times, he comes home to her on the couch, sipping on her own beer as she types, and he kisses her forehead and can’t quite believe that this is his life now.

And then there are the days when Frank comes this close to losing it again. That control.

.

Or, Frank comes home bleeding, and Karen takes matters into her own hands.

ao3.

no-pressure tagging some of my kastle fam under the cut--