DISCLAIMER
This is a Fanfiction Crossover between the Supernatural and Marvel's The Punisher TV shows. Both in this story belong to the creators of the aforementioned series. The depicted events do not affect past, present or future events in storylines.
AUTHOR'S NOTE AND SETTING
This is a short one-chapter crossover set in both universes of the Supernatural and Marvel's The Punisher TV shows. The plot is set in a way that it would not bring conflicts to past or upcoming events in both series´ canons.
The story is set right after the last episode of Supernatural, Season 13 (when alternate Michael goes back on his deal, fully possesses Dean Winchester and goes on a recruiting rampage) and before the first chapter of the following season. The Punisher storyline is set after the ending of the first season.
Hope you boys and girls like my writing. Enjoy...
WHAT DO YOU REALLY WANT?
"Hey, sleepyhead..."
Maria's sweet voice compels Frank to let the blinding light of the day pass into his retinae. He slowly wakes up and stares at his wife's chocolate brown eyes. She smiles back at him.
"What time is it?" He stretches while asking.
"It's 10:30," she approaches her lips to her husband's mouth. "You needed your sleep. There's plenty of time, now that you're home..."
Frank stares at his wife's eyes as he hears his kids arguing outside, which makes him smile. He kisses her, having her reciprocate his facial gesture right after. They both stare at each other for a few seconds.
"You must wake up, now, Frank," her facial expression turns serious as her voice starts distorting. "Wake up. Wake up..."
Maria Elizabeth Castle's voice gradually turns manlier, reciprocated only by Frank's dazzled look. What's goin' on? He asks himself as her orders sound more and more commanding. Her pupils dilate. Her mouth shows a disturbing smile.
"Wake up, Frank," a manly voice speaks from Mary's lips.
Frank wrinkles as his lover's face abruptly fades, along with the cream-colored walls and shiny furniture present in the room. The features he had been surrounded with are replaced with a simple wooden bed with an old mattress over it, covered with dirty white sheets. Next to it lies an equally crafted end table with a small lamp over it which dim light barely dissipates the reigning darkness, allowing the occupant to realize he's not alone.
"Hi..."
Frank immediately searches under his pillow, moving his hand frantically as he rubs the sheets. He then searches the space between the mattress and the bed frame.
"Looking for this?"
Frank turns his sights towards the stranger and raises his brow as he sees him holding and weaving his bedside 9-mil. He sits on his bed and leans against the wall, staring at the man as he watches his every move. The invader smiles and sits on the only chair present in the room.
"Frank Castle..."
"Who are you?" Frank's voice is hoarser than usual. "What do you want?"
"Who I am... who I was... is not important right now," the man says. "The question here is...what do you want?"
"I want you out right now..."
"Do you, Frank?" The man drops the gun. "Is that what you really want?"
Frank swallows as he sees the stranger's eyes shining in the dark, showing a light blue light coming from his originally green irises. As he looks more carefully, he manages to distinguish a man around his forties, well shaved and dressed in a suit composed of a dark brown fabric set of jacket and pants over a partially exposed white shirt, a skinny black tie and an olive colored ascot cap. Who the hell is that? He asks himself.
"You are Frank Castle, also known by the media as The Punisher," the stranger calmly states. "Known for the killing of a hundred and ten people according to the state count. Although, according to my count, your death tally reaches the two hundred and nine souls, excluding Iraq and Afghanistan..."
"So, is that what you're here for, huh?" Frank faces the stranger as his bare feet reach the floor, still sitting on the bed. "Are you gonna' kill me for my sins?"
"Do you think you're a sinner, Frank?"
"I've killed more scumbags over the last six months than in the last six years," Frank looks down. "All of them had blood on their hands."
"What about Ahmad Zubair?"
Frank stares at the wall for a few seconds before setting his sights at the intruder, who mildly smiles back at him. Both men's brows go up at the same time.
"Let's just say I did my homework, Frank," the stranger says. "Your name is Francis David Castle, born on November 15th, in Hell's Kitchen. You joined the military at age 18, under the command of Ray Schonover, A.K.A. The Blacksmith, who, by the way, you killed. Then there's Irak, Afghanistan, and Cerberus Squad, led by William Rawlins, who you ganked as well. Want me to continue?"
"No, I get the point," Frank sighs. "My question is different now. What are you?"
"Come again?"
"You managed to get the jump on me, avoiding my nighttime traps and grabbing my gun from under my nose, literally. You're obviously not fully human."
"Funny," the stranger smiles. "Never thought you'd believe in supernatural stuff."
"These last few months, I've seen things I'd never thought I'd see," Frank passes both hands over his head. "A strange guy in a ridiculous 1920's era gear with mind reading powers doesn't exactly startle me. Besides, if you wanted me dead, I'd be dead already, so that's obviously not your mission here. Whatever it is, state it quick."
"My mission here is to know what you want, Frank," the stranger throws the 9mm Beretta at Frank, the latter managing to catch it. "I want to know why all the killing, all the carnage, and all the unhappiness."
"My family was killed in front of my eyes by the same scum I put to rest," Castle raises his hoarse voice. "The Irish, the Dogs of Hell, the Mexicans, and even Cerberus and its associates had a hand in it! They were untouched by the law!"
"What about Zubair?" The man smiles. "What about the Anvil agents, the Gnuccis and those assholes from the construction site? Did they have a hand in your family's massacre too?"
"That's different."
"How's that different, Frank?"
"Who do you think you are, huh?" Frank stands from his bed and faces the man. "WHO THE HELL ARE YOU TO JUDGE ME?!"
The man aims his right palm at Frank. The latter feels an immeasurable pressure on his ribs and abdomen as his body moves on its own. He presses his teeth and struggles against it, ultimately being compelled to sit back down. What the...
"Are you..."
"Not quite, but close," the man interrupts Frank's babbling. "Bibles and stamps know me as Michael..."
"Saint Michael?" Frank raises his brows. "The Angel with a sword?"
"Actually, it's a lance," Michael scratches his head. "And I'm an Archangel. Lots of ranks up in the chain of command."
"If what you say is true, what would an angel want with me?"
"Same thing I've been asking from the start," Michael smiles. "I want to know what you really want."
"I got what I wanted," Frank sighs. "Justice for my family."
"Justice is not killing, Frank," Michael leans back on the chair. "Besides, you were barely there when they were alive, doing what you know best: killing."
Frank raises his brows and stares at the floor's wooden planks. He crosses his fingers as his head leans against his hands. His elbows strongly press the upper part of his thighs.
"That's what you really want. You want to kill, and kill, and kill."
"NO!" Frank yells. "YOU'RE WRONG!"
"You were raised by a pair of elders, spent most of your youth yearning for some real attention. You liked to hurt others, trying to see if you could get some of what you wanted through strength and pain. Even after joining the military, you lacked that which you craved, and it got worse after your parents died. In fact, you were never truly happy."
Frank's breathing gets gradually heavy. He stares at Michael. He presses his teeth. His heart beats as if it wanted to burst out.
"You want to make everyone pay for all that unhappiness," Michael summarizes.
Frank stares at the floor again as he breathes heavily. He's right, he sighs. I've never been truly happy, not even when Maria and the kids were around. He starts capitulating through insight, remembering all those times he went to war, as well as the feelings he experienced when he walked away from his porch, carrying his backpack and wearing his army attire. Far from sadness or disdain, he felt excitement and awe. He felt he needed it. He felt he wanted it.
"All right, so now what?"
"Now, I know that even if you couldn't formulate it properly, your wish is pure," Michael stands up from the chair. "You don't want to kill for trinkets, glory or fame. You just want to kill, and you shall continue doing it. This world needs men like you. I need men like you."
Michael touches Frank's forehead with both index and middle fingers of his right hand, after which the latter's sight begins to gradually blur. The strange man who claims to be the almighty Archangel stands before an almost blacked out Punisher, saying his goodbyes before disappearing into thin air.
"See you around, Frank..."
The End…?