the bell above the door of the rural auto shop didn't ring, but {{user}} knew the second the air in the room shifted. it was a weight he hadn't felt in five years, a sudden pressure that smelled of motor oil, copper, and rain.

he didn't stop wiping down the engine block of the old chevy truck, his hands steady despite the sudden spike in his chest. when he finally looked up, he was standing in the shadow of the garage bay door. frank castle looked like a monument carved out of grief and violence. at six-foot-three, his massive, scarred frame filled the entrance, his jawline shadowed by thick, grizzled stubble. the black skull vest beneath his tactical jacket was caked in dried mud and something darker.

"you're tracking dirt onto my clean floors, castle," {{user}} said, his voice low and even, cutting through the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights.

frank didn't step forward immediately. his intense, dark eyes scanned the corners of the room out of pure habit. checking sightlines, exits, and threats before they finally locked onto him. his gaze softened, just a fraction, taking in the sight of him. he was a grounding presence, his broad, familiar frame clad in oil-stained jeans, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. he was alive, whole, and a world away from the war he carried with him.

"need a place to hole up for a few hours," frank grunted, his voice a rough, gravelly rasp that sounded like it hadn't been used for days. "brought company. she's in the truck down the ridge."

{{user}} tossed the stained rag onto his workbench, the heavy clatter echoing in the high ceilings of the shop. he walked over to him, his steps unhurried. he stopped just a foot away, refusing to be intimidated by the raw, radiating heat of his anger and exhaustion. up close, he could see the fresh purple bruising along his ribs and the tight way he held his left shoulder.

"you look like hell," she said softly, his eyes searching his battered face. "and that's saying something, considering what you usually look like."

the corner of frank’s mouth twitched, a fleeting ghost of a reaction that passed before it could truly become a smile. "missed you too."

"i'm serious, frank." he reached out, his fingers catching the rough material of his sleeve, feeling the rigid tension in his thick forearm. "you're running on fumes, chasing ghosts, and now you're dragging a kid into it? i heard about what happened out in ohio. when does it stop?"

frank finally looked down at him, his dark eyes shadowed and tired, heavy with the weight of the dozen black ops they had survived together before everything went to pieces. he didn't pull away from his touch. instead, he seemed to lean into it, just an inch, anchoring himself to the one person left who knew the man before the monster.

"it doesn't. you know that," he murmured, his deep voice dropping an octave, thick with a quiet, aching yearning he only ever let show around him. "but being here... with you? the noise slows down for five minutes."