A/N: Xmas gift for a friend. First time I'm writing Kastle, sooo be kind haha I hope you like it anyway ^^ Thanks for reading :)
The War Inside
Fists bloody and raw, as he kept pounding into tender flesh and bone, but he couldn't stop - not until they died. They all had to die. He wasn't sure why anymore; war was all he knew, death was his resting place, and so he kept killing until finally his mind would return from the destruction it had come to live in. It never quite did, not when he was alone with his thoughts and memories. Not sure when, or how, but he came to notice how quiet the voices of the past were when she was around - he could be more than what he had become, he could be what he once was.
Karen was so exhausted she only got as far as her couch, lying down defeated and trying to get the strength to reach her bed - today had been hard. No article was ever faceless, but some hit harder than others; hope was so often tough to hold onto, every slimmer of it fell into the cracks of a horribly violent and lonely world. The tears were falling before she had a chance to stop them, and she was just too damn tired to try and hold them in - it was ok, it would be ok.
There was a soft knock on the door, and she wondered who it could be at this hour, it didn't matter, she wasn't getting up; Karen wasn't there at the moment, not really, but as soon as his scratched voice said her name, with the same need as she felt deep down, she got up and opened the door.
He looked broken.
She felt fractured.
Somehow they connected.
His hand was cold as he wiped away her tears, and his eyes questioned her wellbeing. She smiled in defeat, what else could she do? The world had become an odd place, where Karen could find comfort - safety - in the hands of a known killer, and where he would find haven with her.
Sighing, she took his hand and pulled him inside, closing the door behind them, and unexpectedly - or maybe not - Frank hugged her, as if to try to fix her cracks, and perhaps his too. She felt relieved in his arms, the stress webbing away, but the tears only falling more at the knowledge that she had someone, and that Frank had reached out before his dam broke again.
"Shh, shh, you're ok. I'm here." Frank whispered, looking at her face and kissing her forehead lovingly.
She closed her eyes at the sweetness of the moment; breathlessly, yearningly, she said, "Stay."
As if Frank could leave her, not like this, - vulnerable - not when she was in pain, not when he had sworn to protect her. She was always so strong and immovable, but here she was in his embrace breaking apart, just as he was coming undone, and maybe it wasn't meant to work, it didn't make sense, but it worked. The past mattered, it always would, and the pain would definitely never cease to be, still, Frank could be more than just the festering wound that hurt him every breath he took.
He was alive.
He was home.
So was she.
Neither needed words, nor wanted them, they just ached for the warmth of someone important, someone they cared about, someone they loved. To drown in the presence of another human being, breathing and soft heartbeats, without any violence or animosity. No hatred. Or harsh, cutting feelings. To fall asleep in each other's arms, enveloped in the kindness of their feelings, and perchance to not forget - never - their pasts but to forgive themselves of what once was, what it could be once more, and where they stood now.
They were ok.
They were going to be ok.
They were together.