Chapter Text
The last thing Doctor Stephen Strange expected was Frank Castle on his doorstep.
Again.
Although, after their brief stint as partners pre-Blip, he should’ve expected it. Those big, cosmic, supernatural events the likes of which he, Wong, Thor, and Carol Danvers dealt with, were bleeding into the streets. Heroes with more… supernatural skill sets were in high demand these days, and not just to deal with those fabled “Avengers-level threats.” Moon Knight (or, his more forward-facing alter, Mr. Knight) had his Midnight Mission congregation here in New York City. When he wasn’t in New York, Blade was in London investigating the growing vampire community abroad. Hell, even he came into the mystic arts at a time when the supernatural and the eldritch were beginning to make themselves known to the regular people of Earth.
The mystic arts were becoming more necessary than ever to fight off threats, so Strange tried to reign in his surprise on principle nowadays.
“What is it now, Castle?”
Frank scratched at the back of his head. He frowned, unsure of what he wanted to say and how to say it, and Strange thought it best to let the man in and give him some space to explain.
“Hard to say, Doc.” Strange stepped out of Frank’s way and closed the door behind them, directing him to an antechamber where they could sit. “It’s that stupid… Magic Bullets bullshit again.”
Ah, yes. Magic Bullets. The quippy name Frank gave to their magical misadventures from 2017. Strange held back his grimace when he noticed that Frank dropped his grungy gym bag (read: gun and bullets bag) on a rug from the thirteenth century instead of the hardwood floor.
“I see.” Strange tried not to let Frank see how disappointed he was that their efforts weren’t enough. “I mean, it is Halloween after all. That supernatural shit always goes toe-up around this time of year, anyways. And you clearly made it out alive.”
Strange was immediately made the recipient of a capital-L Look from Frank that said man, you don’t even know the half of it. So maybe Frank’s apparent victory was one that nearly became a loss.
“I don’t know. Feels different this time,” Frank explained as he got comfortable in the oversized loveseat. “I’m not… magic like you, or whatever, ‘m just plain ol’ me, but I know when things don’t feel right. And this doesn’t feel right to me one bit.”
Strange eyed Frank inquisitively as he took in his rather concerned-looking expression. If something had the big, bad Punisher this spooked, then something particularly mystically nefarious had to be up. He knew from their past partnership that Frank wasn’t fazed or mystified by the mystic arts, but that lack of experience didn’t mean the smallest spell or most tameable creature sent him into panic mode.
In fact, it was quite the opposite; Frank mostly tended to roll his eyes and mutter an exasperated “God-fucking-dammit” under his breath when face-to-face with any opponent remotely magical. So Frank’s worry on this relatively quiet Halloween night was especially concerning to Strange.
In lieu of a response, because, quite honestly, Strange didn’t know how to respond at all, he summoned up the coffee pot and two mugs from the kitchen.
“Coffee?” Strange asked. He figured the detour of engaging in pleasantries would give him a minute longer to think.
“Sure. Still doesn’t address my concerns, though.”
Strange frowned. So much for using pleasantries to buy himself some time to craft a response. He decided not to float the coffee mug over to Frank, figuring he’d appreciate as little magical intervention as possible right now, and stood up to walk it over. He hoped his shaking hands didn’t spill the coffee all over the rug or either of their clothes. Frank took it gingerly, but the mindfulness of his hands was contrasted by the barely-concealed concern on his face. Strange wished he had more to say in the way of advice, factoids, anything that could put Frank’s worry to rest.
But Frank Castle being worried, and being worried about something magical, might mean this ordeal was more serious than Strange wanted to admit.
It was in his best interests, then, to hear Frank out. It could be life or death if he didn’t, and he really didn’t want Frank showing up on his doorstep again, covered in the blood and guts of a demon, with anger in his eyes, grumbling “I told you so.” He was more terrified of that than any of Frank’s guns or bullets–magical or otherwise.
Strange took his own mug of coffee and gestured to Frank, inviting him to speak.
“Well. Why don’t you get into the details, Castle?”
Frank hummed in assent as he took a long pull from the coffee mug.
“Well I went out on patrol tonight, same as always…”
~~~~~
Frank Castle liked to think he didn’t scare easy.
He’d seen dark shit, done even darker shit with his own two hands, both during and after the Marines. He could hold his own in a fight and never backed down, would always finish the mission no matter what. He was a soldier. And a good soldier didn’t let the dark and scary shit bother him in order to get that mission done.
That’s how he’d met Strange, after all. He’d sought the sorcerer out as a means to an end and nothing more. It’s not that those freaky beasts with their innumerable eyes and twisting tentacles sent chills down his spine or had him running the other way or made him feel inadequate. No. Frank was too resourceful for that, and he knew when a situation necessitated a partner with a different skill set. Those creatures were just too much for his guns to handle, and Strange was the first person he thought of who might have a solution.
But this night felt different. Very different, Halloween notwithstanding.
Even before stepping out of his shithole apartment in Brooklyn, he had an uneasy feeling lurking in his chest, right down to his bones. The short walk from his building to the subway station felt more ominous than usual, even though it wasn’t yet twilight. Frank swore his senses were turned up to ten because he was noticing things he never even thought twice about before: the way the tree branches looked like skeletal fingers piercing the pinking sky; the sound of a creaking, rusty, long-forgotten bike with only one wheel chained to a fence when the wind blew too hard; the uncanny sensation of each sidewalk crack pressing up into the sole of his boots. The latter of which was enough to make Frank quicken his steps to avoid even touching the cracks.
(In his haste, the heel of Frank’s boot accidentally caught a ridge. The stupid little superstitious phrase rattled in his skull and sent a chill down his spine.)
Even more anxiety-inducing was the uneasy feeling that there were beings hiding in the shadows of every building and car, just waiting to attack when he let his guard down. He wanted to look over his shoulder and catch a pair of eyes, a set of fangs or talons in the shadows. But that wasn’t gonna solve anything. It was better to just keep his focus right ahead of him and leave the supernatural shit to the so-called heroes who made it their mission fighting that shit. Though, if you asked Frank, he’d tell you that meddling with that shit in the first place only made the bad people with the supernatural, magical, mystical, whatever powers more bold.
Frank adjusted the strap of the gym bag over his shoulder, shoved his free hand into the pocket of his jacket, and hustled towards the station, ignoring the nagging, uneasy voice telling him to keep a hand on his gun. He was getting ahead of himself and into his own head. That wasn’t going to get him anywhere. It was Halloween. He had to patrol tonight, and letting his imagination run a little too wild with threats that weren’t actually there was a distraction.
Just as he hopped the turnstile, Frank swore he heard a shrill, shadowy voice scraping the inside of his skull. Sanguisss… it hissed like a serpent, sanguisss . The sound nearly made him trip on the landing in surprise. As he righted himself, he whirled around, hand defensively gripping the gun at his hip and expecting to find some being peeling itself from the tiles of the wall to lunge at him.
But there was nothing. Just a gentle wind, and the distant sound of train cars rattling down the tunnel. He scanned the perimeter, staying alert for anything unusual. He hated how paranoid he was being, but the sweat beading on the back of his neck and the aching in his gut were practically screaming at him something is wrong, dumbass, why are you just standing there?
Frank sensed someone else standing on the platform with him. When he whipped his head over his shoulder to see who (or what) was there, he didn’t see a demonic being or a creature melting out of the shadowy corners of the station. In fact, there was nothing that even warranted a threat at all. It was two young women in their twenties dressed up as a vampire and a werewolf, respectively, for Halloween. But they were looking at him with a vaguely concerned look written across their faces, like they were afraid he’d lash out and attack them.
Like they knew Frank had a gun on him.
He averted his eyes from their direction and smoothed his hand down his thigh from his pistol to put them off from that exact fact. Frank let out a long, steady exhale through his nose as he looked ahead of him at the train tracks and waited for the train to come. He wanted to tell himself there was no such thing as monsters hiding under the bed or things that go bump in the night, because humans were both of those things all on their own—no supernatural or occult intervention required.
But if their Magic Bullets mission, and the recent uptick in mystical threats from two ancient Egyptian gods battling in the sky to a tentacled eldritch beast falling out of a multiversal portal and into Manhattan, was any indication… he did know those things were real. There were monsters hiding under the bed. There were things that went bump in the night. And they were covered in dozens of eyes, had bat’s wings, or sported rows of spikes down their backs.
Or sometimes all three at once. The thought sent a chill like lightning down Frank’s spine and made him involuntarily shake.
The train arrived at the platform with its characteristic bing-bong (the one Amy always mimicked, preceded by an overexaggerated fuck ya life! and accompanied by a cartoonish middle finger) and snapped Frank out of his intrusive thoughts. He shook his head, as if doing so would get the worry out, and stepped onto the train. He tried not to wince when he stepped directly over a crack in the concrete of the platform again.
The train, at least, was empty, save him and the two other women from the platform seated on the opposite end of the car. Best to sit facing away from them, even if being seated in the opposite direction of the train’s movement was going to make him lightheaded. He wasn’t too keen on those women assuming he was recreating the events of that “You’re Beautiful” song Maria used to have on a mix a thousand years ago.
Frank watched his reflection in the window as they left the station and headed for Manhattan. He tuned out the sound of his fellow passengers talking and laughing to themselves, no doubt finalizing their Halloween night plans. He hoped they had a good time tonight, got home safe after a night of drinking and dancing the night away. He wondered if they recognized his face from the papers and TV all those years ago, with the case, and that’s why they looked at him so concerned before. But they were clearly either born-and-bred New Yorkers, unfazed by even the most bizarre of sights, or hadn’t recognized him at all.
More passengers got onto the train, some got off after only a couple stops. It was a completely normal Halloween night on all counts, with people in costumes and in large groups headed downtown for a night out. Out of the corner of his eye was a passenger wearing a skull t-shirt and fitted out in fatigues and a trench coat. Frank rolled his eyes.
Can’t believe some sick fuck would make me into a costume, Frank thought to himself as he shook his head in disbelief. He stuck in his headphones, turned up the Springsteen, and shot Karen a “stay safe out there with Nelson tonight” text. Other than the wildly insensitive passenger with the Punisher costume, the train was fine. Normal, even. His imagination was clearly getting the better of him earlier, and there was nothing to worry about.
All of a sudden, the train stopped in the middle of the tunnel. But that was normal too, nothing to worry about. The train stopped to let other trains pull onto the track at forks all the time. He was clearly still paranoid, and needed to just breathe for once. The power hadn’t shut off, there was no announcement being made over the PA. Frank took deep, calming breaths, refusing to let himself get worked up over something as mundane as a train stopping momentarily.
The lights began to flicker off and on. And his headphones, even though they were wired, stopped playing music. He turned on his phone and saw No Service mocking him from the top left corner. There was a defeated murmur and groans of disappointment throughout the train car–their data must have suddenly turned off, too. But they were underground, and the service down here had a tendency to be shitty and unreliable when they passed through a dead zone. This must have been one of those. He glanced over his shoulder, trying to get a better read on his fellow passengers. They were annoyed, but there was clearly no threat.
Nothing ominous. Nothing ominous at all. Safe to just hope this was only a temporary stalling and wait it out.
Even if it’s fuckin’ demons doin’ this? the naggy voice in the back of Frank’s head mocked.
But then the kicker: the lights went completely dark as the tell-tale noise of the power shutting off echoed against the concrete tunnel walls. This time, the other passengers were far more vocal in their protestations. He heard complaints about being late to the club, heels getting uncomfortable because of the standing, ETA messages to friends not going through.
Of course this would happen on Halloween to Frank specifically, just to fuck with him and make him think there was something sinister going on when there definitely (hopefully) wasn’t anything of the sort.
But after a few minutes, there was still no announcement over the PA from the conductor about what happened. Not even a “standby” or a “we’ve encountered technical difficulties.” That was out of the ordinary.
It was becoming increasingly difficult to recognize that there wasn’t something spooky going on here.
In the relative dark, it was difficult to see individual faces. The other passengers had abandoned trying their phones, so only a few illuminations of blue light lit up the train car. The loud complaints had softened as the realization that they were going to need to have some patience and wait out, making the car less of a cacophony of various high-pitched noises and more of a dull roar.
The PA crackled to life. Frank ripped out his headphones and directed his attention towards the box in the corner of the car, waiting for word on their present, totally not-creepy situation. But instead of a conductor’s calming, explanatory tone and words coming through the PA was a blood-curdling wail that fritzed the speaker and cut in and out. Frank shot to his feet, hand on the strap of his bag just in case he needed to pull his shotgun out. The scream stopped after a few seconds, leaving the train car in anxious silence, but then an inhuman, infernal sound came piercing through the speaker and rattled the whole vehicle. Frank winced at the sharp, tinny noise and tried to cover his ears to no avail.
This is seriously not my fucking night.
Frank’s eyes darted around the car for any sign that something was wrong. But the other passengers were just worried, glancing at each other in confusion and terror at the sounds they just heard. Frank felt his heart start to beat a little faster as he anticipated another one of those eardrum-shattering noises to come ringing through the PA. He started mentally preparing an escape plan to get everyone out of the train (and subsequently the tunnel) if things went haywire—and judging by the objectively fucking terrifying noises that were coming out of the PA moments ago, this entire situation was about to fly off the rails soon, literally or metaphorically.
Whichever happens first, Frank mused.
As nonchalantly as possible, Frank put his hand to his hip. He didn’t need the whole train thinking this was a set-up and that he was going to hold all of them hostage or execute them. With all the calm he could muster—difficult, considering that his heart was beating so fast it was making his hands shake a little—he withdrew his gun, ready to tell everyone in the train to remain calm while he investigated what was going on in the tunnel outside.
“What the fuck is that?”
The woman’s voice was disgusted and shocked, and Frank assumed it was in response to him pulling out his gun. But he noticed that her eyes weren’t focused on his hip, but rather out the window towards the dark expanse of the tunnel. Without a second thought, he pivoted and raised his gun out the back window, ready to fire on whatever or whoever was hiding out there in the dark. That was, at least, until his eyes finally gazed upon the terror awaiting his eyes, standing dead-center in the middle of the darkened tracks and threatening to shake even Frank’s constitution.
In the never-ending cavern of the subway tunnel, about fifty yards away, was a thing that chilled Frank’s blood. At first, all he saw were its blood-red eyes glowing in the darkness of the tunnel. Two almond-sized bright red shapes piercing through the dark, slowly advancing upon the train car. As if against his will, Frank lowered his gun and let his arms hang limply at his side, useless to make any move that would protect even his own self. His heart filled with dread and his mind clouded over, utterly hypnotized by its evil, ravenous gaze. He swallowed nervously, regretting ever stepping foot outside of his apartment earlier this evening.
The lights in the tunnel began to flicker weakly, casting an aura of gloom over the entire train car as everyone remained silent. Frank knew, in the back of his mind, that he and everyone in the train was fucked because nobody screamed or reacted to the creature’s now-illuminated body.
Its appearance, to say the very least, was unsettling. Those blood-red eyes were attached to a dragon-like head and a terrifyingly humanesque torso covered all over in gray and brown scales. Its skeletal arms ended in long, sharp claws that matched its equally long and terrifying teeth. The creature leered at its prey in the train car, the teeth were bared back to show the long, dripping canines and serpentine tongue. When it moved, it did so on at least a dozen tentacles of the same dingy gray and brown color, and the dry, heavy sound of the tentacles sliding and catching on the tracks was a reminder to Frank that no matter how much he tried to break his gaze, he was utterly defenseless to do so.
And all the while, it screeched so loud Frank’s nape hairs stood on end. It repeated that word, sanguisss, sanguisssssss as it advanced, and it would have sounded disembodied had Frank not been able to see the fucking horrid-as-all-hell creature with his own two eyes. He wished he had his Ka-Bar on him and not in his bag, stupidly zipped up with everything he’d need to at least attempt an attack on the beast about to kill him and a train full of people. What kind of sick Halloween joke had magic, cultist bitches pulled this year? What kind of malevolent forces were at play, in his fucking city and on his fucking turf? Frank wasn’t one to go down without a fight when he couldn’t help it, but he had a sinking feeling that the gear in his bag wasn’t going to be enough to fight off this creature.
Where was Doctor Strange or fuckin’ Ghost Rider when you fuckin’ needed them? An Avenger? This was their bag, not his.
But this was a creature the likes of which Frank had never seen before, not even during Magic Bullets. Before, those creatures had just been gross, spooky, weird. Gazing upon this one filled each corner of his mind, body, and soul with dread. Even as the tentacles reached out and snatched flickering light fixtures and call boxes off the wall, Frank didn’t feel the usual urge to reach for his gun or shout at the passengers to keep calm. He felt not terror, but pure helplessness looking at the demon.
It appeared to focus its infernal gaze on him, singling him out from the crowd like it knew he was a protector. All the energy left his limbs and the will to even take another breath drained from his mind. Those blood-red eyes sucked out any will to live. Frank wasn’t sure how looking at the demonic beast felt for his fellow passengers, but for him, it was like standing behind an unlocked glass door. It wasn’t that he couldn’t break it down or simply open it, he just felt there was no point in doing so.
Frank had never encountered a creature so powerful it could… suck the life out of you just by gazing into its eyes.
The worst of it was that Frank had the right weapon for the job sitting only a foot away in his bag. In a special inside pouch sat a magazine of enchanted, rune-carved bullets—a gift from Strange after their mission that he never touched but kept around “just in case” at the sorcerer’s urging. But the demon still kept its hypnotic hold on Frank. All he could do was blink dumbly at the rapidly-approaching creature, which no doubt would descend upon the train car in under a minute. The only strength he had was to blink, and then it hit him: I just need to close my eyes. I don’t need to look away completely.
And even though it terrified him to shut off one of his senses in a situation that demanded his full attention, Frank slowly exhaled and closed his eyes. It took all his remaining strength, but severing the demon’s eye contact was like stepping into his body again. He figured the longer he kept his eyes shut, or at least averted his gaze, his strength and will to live, to take another breath, would return to him. With all the awareness he could muster, Frank transferred his pistol to his non-dominant hand and padded around the top of his bag for the zipper. When he finally found it, his heart lodged in his throat from the fear and the lack of sight, he pulled it open slowly. He had no idea if the creature was in the car with him, about to strike, or fogging up the glass with its (likely) rank breath and making patterns with its snake-tongue.
Frank rifled through the bag, trying as hard as he could to not make too-sudden movements or be too loud in case this was a Jurassic Park situation. His fingers caught and dropped the tiny zipper twice before he gave up and opened his eyes, directing his gaze firmly on the contents of the bag and not the tunnel ahead of him. The flickering lights made it difficult to see anything clearly, but he’d done more complicated tasks in the pitch black in Afghanistan. He’d manage. He wanted to steal a glance, see how much time he had left before shit well and truly hit the fan, but he fought the urge to look up, knowing that it would mean being hypnotized again.
And he couldn’t have that, not when he might have a solution, and especially not when a train full of peoples’ lives were on the line–that kid dressed up as the Punisher included, he assumed.
Like second nature, Frank removed the magazine of regular bullets from his handgun and reloaded it with the magic bullet magazine. As he made sure he was locked and loaded, Frank swore he heard Strange’s voice nagging I told you these’d come in handy one day in the back of his head. He strapped the Ka-Bar to his waist for good measure, too.
It was time to confront the creature again. Frank took a deep breath, trying to prepare himself for the threat of being hypnotized once more. It wasn’t going to do anyone any good if he was flustered and up in arms with a gun in his hands. With his hands tight on the gun and the safety off, Frank looked up at the back door of the car and nearly jumped out of his boots: the creature was right there, struggling to open the door with its long claws. Its serpentine tentacles smacked against the glass and metal, closing over the back door and threatening to crunch it, rip it clean off. This close, Frank smelled the brimstone and stale blood emanating off its skin. It hissed at Frank, causing him to stumble back and bump into someone standing behind him.
To waste valuable bullets trying to break the glass, or let the creature in for a direct shot to its beastly head and risk it attacking the passengers? Frank felt his limbs growing heavier and his ability to discern was escaping him by the second, so against all better judgment…
“Everyone do as I say! Shut your eyes and get in a seat, it’s about to get messy in here!”
Frank opened the fucking train door. If the passengers listened to him, he wouldn’t know; all he heard was the creature’s ravenous, nightmarish cries of sanguisss, sanguissss! as it tore into the train car the moment it felt no resistance against its tentacles. Its spindly arms with the razor-sharp claws lashed out at Frank and the passengers, forcing them to scramble away lest they be sliced open. Frank tried to look anywhere but its eyes, but he needed to aim for that fucking dragon-head and deliver the kill shot.
So with all the strength he could muster, Frank kept his gun raised high and aimed right for the demon’s chest. He’d never used this magazine before and had no idea what the bullets were capable of doing, if they were even all the same.
When he pulled the trigger, the silver bullet created a net of interlocking, crackling orange energy squares—much like Strange’s magic—as it traveled through the air. A pre-cast spell, charged and activated by the firing of a gun instead of the will of the magical user. Frank had to admit it was kind of genius, but of course, he’d never tell Strange that. Thankfully, the bullet struck the demon square in its bony sternum. A clean shot. The spell-net trapped the creature and bound its arms and the top half of its tentacles, now whipping around and fighting its present state of bondage. It groaned in agony at being incapacitated, its sharp claws not even enough to slice through the magical binds.
One tentacle hit Frank in the leg, causing him to fall flat on his ass with a swear. He scrabbled back on the floor of the train car, trying to avoid a heavy tentacle thwack! to the face. With the demon similarly incapacitated, its hypnotic powers were ineffective. The other passengers had begun to open their eyes and jump out of Frank’s way, tucking their legs out of the way and doing a piss-poor job of not screaming at the demon’s monstrous presence in the train car. He righted himself before the demon could get a move on him and aimed for its head again, praying that this bullet would knock it out cold.
If only the spell could contain the rest of those ten—
And right when he was least expecting it, a wayward tentacle gripped Frank’s ankle and yanked him to the ground, making him hit his back and head on the cold tile of the train car hard. Like “I’m gonna have a migraine for days and Karen fucking Page is gonna make me get this looked at in case I have a concussion” hard. He grunted, tried to escape its hold by kicking at the demon with his free foot. He managed to sit up somewhat, ignoring the burn in his lower back and the tile digging harshly into his ass, and unsheathed the Ka-Bar with as much finesse as possible. The demon was similarly trying to sit up, snapping its fangs and curling its tongue in the air. The rank smell of blood and sulfur was all-consuming now that the demon was crowded tight into the packed train. It was impossible to look anywhere but the demon’s face, and therefore its hypnotizing blood-red eyes, now that he was detained by its tentacle.
But he wasn’t about to let that demonic fuck control his mind anymore. He had to be the Punisher, and if being the Punisher tonight meant taking down a dragon-headed demon with tentacles and the ability to suck your soul out with its eyes… then so fucking be it.
With nothing left to lose, Frank lunged forward as hard as he could and slashed off the tentacle wrapped tight around his ankle. The demon screeched, making Frank’s ears ring and skin crawl. Now that the demon was distracted by its pain and (gushing, awful, tar-smelling black) blood loss, Frank took the opportunity to kick it square in its skeletal chest. The bones crunched at the impact and it moaned as it collided with the tile in the same way Frank had.
Frank aimed his gun for the kill shot and pulled the trigger without a second thought. This time, the bullet spewed green hell-fire, one he’d seen Strange conjure up on the TV before during attacks, and pierced the dragon-head with deadly precision between its eyes. As the demon burned, it screamed in blood-curdling agony, the noise so loud and intense it made the train car shake and shattered the glass windows. Its tentacles stopped twitching and turned to ash before his eyes, leaving a grimey black coating of dust all over the floor and closest passengers. They were all screaming and panting so loud in fear that Frank could barely hear himself think.
The worst was over now, that much Frank was thankful for. He panted and dropped his hands to his knees, desperate for a moment of reprieve. The lights began to turn back on and people’s phones began pinging with several minutes’ worth of missed notifications. The conductor came on the PA and said that an evacuation team would be on its way, that everyone just had to hang tight for a little while longer.
This was officially the worst fucking Halloween ever, though Amy’s first New York Halloween, celebrated when she was twenty-one, gave tonight a run for its fucking money. He shook his head and wiped his knife off on his jeans, wanting nothing more than to get off this train and get some damn answers about what made a fucking demon pop up in the middle of the New York subway system, all jokes about it being a labyrinth aside.
A demon. Another fucking demon in New York City again. One that sucked out your will to live and hypnotized you, to boot. This was nothing like Magic Bullets. It was worse, so much worse, and even though he’d dispatched the demon to whatever dimension or state of nonexistence it belonged to without much obstacle, what if he hadn’t had that special magazine? What if that demon was able to keep its hold on him for longer than it already had? This entire train could’ve been another grease stain or puddle of blood in the subway tunnel.
He could’ve been killed. As much as he fucking hated working with a partner, supernatural threats were almost always too much to deal with on your own. Working with a partner of some kind was easier, Strange told him once, since one person could hold the creature’s focus and the other could unleash an attack. Tonight’s unexpected demonic visitor only reminded Frank that he was in over his fucking head, and that he needed someone who knew magic to help him out.
And Strange was the only man Frank tolerated, and trusted, enough to help him get to the bottom of this occultish mess.
Frank shouldered his bag of guns and bullets over his shoulder and began to hustle off the train. He didn’t want to be around for police questioning, or the news cameras that would inevitably show up. His pants and boots were covered in the demon’s foul black blood, which he tried not to mentally bitch about. He could’ve lost his whole leg, or been killed.
“Could I get an au—”
Frank shot a death glare at the voice, not shocked to find it belonged to the twentysomething white boy dressed up as the Punisher.
“Save it, kid. And get a new fuckin’ costume.”
The kid shut up pretty damn quick after that. Frank glanced at the ground, doing a cursory glance for anything the demon may have left behind in its fiery death that could give a clue to its origins. But all that lay on the bloody, ashy tile were the two silver bullets—perfectly intact—and its tentacle that Frank hacked off.
Frank knelt to the ground, picked up the bullets, and shoved the tentacle into the gym bag for good measure before exiting the train car as if nothing supernatural had even happened that night.
He needed to pay a visit to the Sanctum Sanctorum.
~~~~~~
As if Frank needed to prove that his story was real, he stood up and opened up his gym bag to show Strange the grey-and-brown scaled tentacle tarring up the internal pocket with its rank black blood. From where he sat, Strange could smell it emanating from the bag and see it curling pathetically on itself in rigor mortis. Strange grimaced and fought to keep the coffee and bile in his stomach rather than on the carpet at his feet.
“Now do you believe me, Doc?” Frank asked as he zipped up the bag. It wasn’t that Strange hadn’t believed Frank—and truly, there was nothing more classically Frank Castle than going up against a demon with nothing but a Ka-Bar and a pistol, magic bullets aside—it was just that Strange hadn’t realized how severe the situation was if Frank had barely scraped out alive.
“Yeah I believe you, alright.”
“So what’re we gonna do?” Frank asked as he meandered back to his couch, stopping to drop the two bullets he’d used to kill the demon on the table next to Strange. Strange carefully picked up the bullets, considered them as they rolled in his palm. He could feel their faint magical aura like a sixth sense. These two slim silver bullets, and Frank’s quick thinking, were all that stood between a demon and a train full of dead New Yorkers.
He leaned forward to the edge of his seat, resting his forearms on his knees as he let the details of Frank’s story settle into his mind. He was truly at a loss for words. Part of him wanted to write tonight off as kids high on their own fumes trying out magic and not knowing the consequences. He wanted to tell Frank that even though this was scary, the threat was gone now. It was a one-off. But when he glanced up at Frank and met the other man’s eyes, they were full of fear. Fear . Maybe it was the media’s reporting on the Punisher’s exploits coloring Strange’s perception of Frank, but the man sitting before him had trembling hands and worry lines etched deep into his forehead. Fear and worry don’t belong on a man like Frank Castle, who took down the worst of the worst with satisfaction.
Strange tried not to dwell on what it must have felt like for a man like Frank to lose control of his mind and body.
But hearing the story was enough to fill Strange with the same dread Frank felt in that train. He hadn’t looked into those blood-red eyes and his stomach turned. And it wasn’t like Strange hadn’t seen a lot of shit in his life, either. He died hundreds of times when sacrificing himself to Dormammu. He saw every possible ending to the battle with Thanos, in the most gruesome and bloody forms. He dream-walked in his double’s zombie corpse and felt the wrath of the souls of the damned. He dipped his fingers into the fucking Darkhold, for Christ’s sake. But hearing Frank’s voice waver and his noticing his jaw clenched when he recounted the appearance of that demon and its inhuman power? That in and of itself was enough to make Strange fearful, too.
So yeah. Maybe this wasn’t a one-off. Besides, Strange had a feeling that if he told Frank not to worry again—especially after seeing the demon’s fucking tentacle in his gun and bullets bag—he would get a well-deserved punch to the face.
“I’m not sure yet. This demon is like nothing I’ve ever heard or seen before,” Strange replied. “It might be worth asking other heroes around the city if they’ve seen anything like this tonight or in the last week. If you can believe it, I’m actually out of my depth here, too.”
Frank raised his eyebrows in shock. “You, Doctor Strange, Master of the mystic arts and former Sorcerer Supreme, don’t know about a supernatural demon with these kinds of powers?”
“Listen, that’s chaos magic, and that’s not my bag,” Strange said defensively. “The only person who could’ve told you about that has been dead for a year now.”
“Really.” Frank rubbed his temples in annoyance. “I really thought you’d have some answers for me, man. Tonight was scary as shit.”
“Castle, I don’t know what to tell you. This shit terrifies me, too.” He leaned back into his seat and bounced his leg to occupy himself. “I won’t say that this wasn’t scary as all hell, but I need time to think.”
Frank rolled his eyes and groaned. “It’s just like last fuckin’ time. We don’t have time. We need to act on this now, figure out what’s happening before more people get hurt and the whole city is under the spell of those demonic freaks!” Frank balled his fist, clearly fighting some urge to punch something. “I just barely got out of that alive, it’s a damn miracle I had those bullets you gave me.”
Strange couldn’t help but let out an amused huff. “Well, not to make light, but I told you they’d come in handy one day.”
“Wish I didn’t have to use them at all, Doc,” Frank shot back, his voice cold.
“Well that’s just not rational, Castle, and you know it. Magic has always been part of this world. Folks are just… more aware of it now.”
“There was a demon—a demon—on the subway tonight. What’s next? You don’t think more people knowin’ about magic and the supernatural has its fuckin’ risks?”
“It does, but what I’m trying to say is that’s why we have to move with care when dealing with this kind of thing. There’s still so much we don’t know. We can’t just act first, think later,” Strange said as he reached for his coffee. He took a swig, not caring that it was long-cold. “One wrong step with magic or the occult and you’re a goner at best, trapped in an endless cycle of pain and suffering forever at worst.”
Strange paused, letting Frank take in his words. “You came to me for a reason. I’m being straight with you, Castle, because I know you can take it. I’m not gonna pretend like I have all the answers for you.”
Frank still looked bothered, and not just because he was shaken up from his demonic encounter on the train. “All I want to know is if you’re in this or not, Doc. I’m here because I figured you had the balls to go head-first into this, answers or not.”
“Well, I’m in. I want to help. I want to get to the bottom of this just as much as you do,” Strange said with as much sincerity as he could muster. Frank was adept to smelling bullshit, and the last thing he wanted was for Frank to think he was humoring him. As an afterthought, he added, “And I’m dead serious about those bullets, Castle. Imagine what could’ve happened without them.”
“I know what could’ve happened without them,” Frank said, his voice just this side of fearful again. “You don’t need to rub it in my face or say I told you so.”
Strange frowned. That certainly hasn’t been his intention.
“The supernatural and the mystic arts are terrifying as shit even to those of us who study it,” Strange confessed. “Which is why we need to pool our knowledge and resources before acting too rashly and finding ourselves in a fuck-up of cosmic proportions. I’m just glad you made it out safe tonight. And that you were able to protect all those people.”
“It’s just… this supernatural magic bullshit is affecting more than just magic users. It’s hurting real folks now. Folks who can’t or don’t know how to defend themselves from it,” Frank said solemnly. “And there’s only so much those of us out on the streets can do. People are bad enough. Bad people with magic are even worse.”
The multiverse had barely come out of the whole Scarlet Witch ordeal in one piece, his ward-that-wasn’t-really-his-ward America Chavez in particular. He didn’t even want to think about the third eye that sprouted on his forehead (at the most inopportune of times, he might add) and the souls of the damned that haunted him in his sleep for the crime of dream-walking in a corpse.
Magic, in the hands of those with ulterior motives for not just Earth but the multiverse, too, was becoming more of a threat. He didn’t agree with Mordo’s approach to rip the mystic arts from sorcerers the world over—because really, what problem does that solve?—but he was worried about threats that necessitated a team to solve them.
The Avengers didn’t have many magic-users, or even folks that were knowledgeable of the supernatural, among their ranks. So what happens when a magic-user, hopped up on their own fumes, tries to pull a Thanos? How do the Avengers, with all their shiny guns and tech, defeat someone whose abilities can withstand such malleable instruments? It would be a slaughter.
The Age of Khonshu was not so long ago, Strange reminded himself. That was the power of a god from elsewhere and elsewhen manipulating his Fist to take over this dimension by knocking out one Avenger at a time.
In an age of magic and the occult, the Avengers were obsolete. A new kind of hero, a new kind of team, even, would need to take the Avengers’ place in the wake of these threats.
And Strange knew of just the man to ask first, one who’d have encountered a demon like Frank did tonight. One who’d fought demons across multiple dimensions and had a deity resting on his shoulder.
A man with a more… divine skill set, so to speak.
“I think I have a solution to our problem, Castle,” Strange said as he stood up and walked to the Sanctum’s foyer.
Frank followed Strange in interest. “What do you propose?”
Strange slid on his sling ring and began to open up a portal.
“We need to speak with Mr. Knight.”