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kasdan · 9 months

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𝐸𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟’𝑠 𝐹𝑢𝑟𝑦 {𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 1}

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a/n: hello! welcome to my first story I am posting on tumblr (i would like to apologize if it is suckish) I have had this story plot in my mind for a while and i’ve been on a frank castle craze recently and figured i’ll just write about it. so please read at your hearts content and i would love your lovely feedback and we will see if this story goes anywhere. i had to split this chapter into another part bc it was getting too long so oops.

Summary: you are experimented on and are trained to be the perfect weapon but you’ve decided that you’ve had enough and rage takes over.

Pairing: eventual frank castle x reader

Warnings: torture, needles, blood, mentions of kidnapping, child abuse, death, murder, trauma, slow burn, language, tasing

Word count: 4.5k

Chapter song: Ember by Katherine McNamara

I hear the muffled clack of footsteps getting louder and clearer as I work to open my eyes. The room is bright, and I have to squint as I go to pick my hand up to block out some of the light.

However, I can’t move my arm. My breathing gets heavier as I work myself awake and try to figure out what's going on. Then I remember. I remember exactly what’s happening, and I relax under the bindings since I know there is nothing else I can do as I stare at the ceiling above me.

The footsteps stop right in front of my door, and I close my eyes again, not wanting to face what I know is going to happen as the door slides open. The person comes through the door and says nothing as they walk up to me. It’s silent until I hear them start typing loudly, the sound of the keys echoing in my ears. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, wanting to drown out all the noise and go back to a noiseless slumber.

Suddenly the typing stops, and I hear rustling on the left side of the table I am strapped to. Then everything stops, and all that is heard is the faint clicking of the clock somewhere in the room, where I can’t bring myself to remember where exactly it is.

I feel the person roughly grip my arm, and my eyes shoot open. Not caring about the brightness of the room anymore, I turn my head towards the perpetrator. I can’t see their face; they’re wearing a mask that covers the bottom half of it, with only their eyes showing as they stare down at the arm they grabbed.

"Please." I open my mouth and manage to get out a plea when I see the needle that they’re holding in their hand. My voice cracked in three different places with just that one word, and it came out as more of a whisper, but I know that the person heard it when they look up at me.

I see their mask move, and the corner of their eyes move up as if they were smiling at me. I get a nauseous feeling in my stomach at the sight, and they say nothing as they look back down at my arm and bring the needle to my skin.

My mind is screaming at me to do something, anything, as I see the needle get closer and closer to my skin. I try to move away, but the bindings are keeping me in place, and my entire body is sore, I'm not even able to move a muscle. I can’t get away even if my life depended on it, which in this moment I am sure it does.

I turn my head to look away, and I feel the needle pierce my skin as a tear rolls down my cheek at the knowledge of what is to come. I can feel the liquid coursing through my veins, and I know it’s just a matter of time before I start feeling the effects.

I brace myself on the table as my skin starts to burn and my veins feel like ice is going through them. I have been through this process hundreds of times already, and it still has a growing effect on me, as if it changes every time.

I soon feel unbearable pain as the icy feeling in my veins turns into a burning sensation that makes my skin feel like it’s boiling. I open my mouth to scream, but nothing comes out. My throat is raw from only screaming and barely any talking for days on end.

Tears streamed down my face as I struggled against the binds holding me down. I know that I’m barely moving them and have no chance of escape, but my body was moving impulsively, trying to get out.

Small whines are the only thing leaving my throat, and my eyes are blurry from the tears. I see the outline of the person in the room with me walking around my body on the table. I don’t have to see them to know that they’re writing their ‘findings’ down.

I close my eyes again, praying for the pain to go away, even the slightest bit. It’s gone on for hours at a time before, and I just hope that I pass out early this time.

I don’t know how long I’ve been on the table in pain for; it can’t have been more than 20 minutes, but it felt like hours. I can vaguely hear the door to the room opening before everything goes black and the pain in my body is left to a dulling heat in the back of my mind.

When I wake up, I’m back in my cell, laying on my bed—a single blanket and a worn-out pillow laid out on the ground of the cold room. It takes me a minute to be able to move my arms and legs. I can still feel the dull throb of pain in my joints as I move myself to sit upright against the wall.

There’s not much in my room, that being a small table in the corner with some paper and writing utensils that I never seem to really use, and a small toilet in the corner. I usually spend the day staring at the white, blank walls, waiting for the pain in my body to go away fully. It never completely leaves; there’s always that dull ache in my body, reminding me of what’s been done to me and mocking me, saying I’ll never be able to function with my body like it’s supposed to. Well, apparently this is what it’s supposed to be: a rag doll getting picked up and pushed around for other people to poke and prod at.

I’ve been in this place since I was born, and I have no idea how long it's been since. I have no concept of time in here besides the glances at the clock in the operating room, as they call it. Not that I can read the time on it anyway; I was never taught. Sometimes I would stare at the clock in the room while I was being worked on, trying to figure out the time, but they were always fast glances, and I couldn’t bring myself to focus that well when I was being injected with stuff.

Reading the time on clocks isn’t what I was made to do anyway. I hear the voices and conversations in the hallway pass by; it’s not like I have anything else to do anyway. I’ve heard several instances where they’re talking about a military weapon that would be very helpful, and I can’t help but notice that the weapon that’s been constantly talked about is me. They’re making me into a weapon.

I guess it would be obvious to any outsider looking in what they are trying to do, but I don’t think of it that way. I’m here trying to understand why this is happening and why it’s happening to me. I didn’t ask for any of this, and I often find myself wondering what a normal life and childhood would entail.

The only vivid memory I have of being in this place is Ellie. She was brought into my cell one day when I was younger, with nothing said from the guards as they threw in an extra blanket and pillow. That’s when I found out that there were other children here too, not just me.

I watched as the guard closed the door and heard the lock click into place. I glanced over at the little girl who came in with me. She didn’t look at me and instead opted to claim the corner diagonally from me.

It was silent in the small cell, as if another person hadn't been put in with me and it was still just me. I kept looking at her from the corner of my eye as time passed and my position sat up on the wall. She never moved from where she was; only the occasional small hiccup was heard after a muffled sob.

The guard came back later with two trays of food that consisted of a couple pieces of bread and a small cup of water—not nearly enough to be able to healthily sustain ourselves on, but I was already used to eating like that for years.

One tray was dropped in front of me, the little water that was in the cup sloshing out over the edges onto the ground. I looked up and gave my best dirty look to the guard, but they didn’t acknowledge me. The other tray was dropped in front of the other little girl in the room. She flinched away and tried to curl into the corner she was in more, even though her body was already fully pressed against the wall.

I start to drag the tray towards me and hear the thud of the boots from the guard leaving the room, the lock clicking into place. I pick up a piece of bread and start picking off the green parts of it. I didn’t know what it was exactly, but it didn’t feel right eating it, so I made it a habit of carefully picking the parts off every time.

I started nibbling on a piece after I'd picked off the green from both pieces. I noticed movement in the corner of my eye and turned to see the girl reaching for the food on her tray after some hesitation. She looked down at the bread and also started to pick off the green parts and place them back onto the tray. I watched as she practically shoved the bread into her mouth and gulped down what she had for water.

I could visibly see that she was still hungry, so I moved my tray closer to hers after I finished the piece of bread and had some water. She jumped when she heard the scraping of the tray against the ground, as if she forgot there was someone else in the room, and finally looked up at me with wide green eyes. I nodded towards the tray and pushed it closer to her, motioning for her to take it. She just shook her head and pushed herself back into the corner she was in, her eyes still locked onto mine.

“Take it.” I insisted with a hoarse voice.

"I- I can’t, it’s yours." She said it in a small voice, shaking her head again. Her voice didn’t sound as bad as mine did, which is what would happen if you'd spent enough time here. I figured she was new and they just brought her in, and with that, I pushed the tray even closer to her, trying again to have her take the bread, but without getting so close as to scare her.

"I don’t need as much; I’m used to it." She just stared at me, as if processing my words for a moment. Then she slowly reached forward to grab the food from the tray. I let out a sigh as I leaned my head back against the wall and stared at the ceiling.

There was movement on my side, and I turned my head to see the girl standing beside me, holding out half of the piece of bread I'd given her. I opened my mouth to turn her down, but then closed it and carefully took the food out of her hand after seeing the look on her face.

I felt the corner of my mouth lift up slightly as she sat down next to me and started up a conversation.

"My name’s Ellie. What’s yours?" She spoke in more of a happier tone than what it was like earlier. I stared blankly at her question, my mind not coming up with an answer. My name? What was my name? The only answer I could come up with was the series of numbers that ‘patients’ are addressed as.

It seemed she noticed my hesitation in answering the question when she spoke up again. "Do you not have a name?" I looked at her and didn’t know what to say, so I instead opted to gently shake my head in denial.

She looked at me in confusion before a smile spread across her face. Well, that’s okay!" she said cheerfully, "we can share a name! You can have my middle name; it’s y/n; it’s not like I’m using it anyway." She finished her thought, a smile still on her face as she looked at me.

I found myself mimicking her smile while nodding my head in agreement. She clapped her hands in excitement while engaging in a different topic completely. We spent a long time talking about random things, with her mostly telling me about different things about the outside world. It was the first time in my life that I was having a full conversation with someone that wasn’t one-sided and had me enjoying the other person's company.

A tear falls down my cheek, and I work my sore arm up to wipe it off. Thinking about Ellie is the only thing in here that makes me feel anything other than pain, and I will make sure that I find out exactly what happened and who was involved.

Suddenly the door to my cell opens, and my trainer walks in with a smile on his face. I don’t match it as I stare at him with a deadpan expression.

"Come now, why the long face? I thought we were buddies." He says it in a cheerful voice, and I stare at him, not moving, with the same expression on my face. His face drops into a scowl, apparently done with playing nice for the time being.

He throws two pieces of clothing at me, and I let them hit me, still not moving. "Get dressed; I don’t have time for your shit."

"No." The first word I speak, he isn’t ready for, as he does a double take at me like he’s shocked at me saying anything. I usually don’t say anything and just move, like while getting dressed and following him to the training area. However, today I’m not feeling compliant, know I’m too sore to try and train, and don’t know how I’m going to fair.

"What did you just say?" He asks with a sneer in my direction when I don’t move right away. I know I shouldn’t push back and just do what he says, but today I don’t have the patience to pretend.

"I think you heard me and my shit." I respond, and I see his eyes visibly darken. I don’t have time to react before he’s roughly grabbing my arm and forcing me up. Pain shoots through my body as I’m forced up, and I hold in a whimper. I don’t need him to get any satisfaction from this.

“Listen here, you little bitch,” he practically spits in my face as his grip on my arm tightens even more. I can already feel the bruise forming where his hand is. He opens his mouth to say something before he’s interrupted by a voice coming from the doorway.

"Is there a problem here?" A guard passing by hears the commotion in the room and stops in the doorway. My trainer's face spreads into a smile as he turns around to face the guard. The guard has their taser out of their belt holder, holding it as if ready to attack at any moment. I go stiff as I’m attracted to the sight, knowing how that tiny stick can feel as the electricity courses through my veins. Unfortunately for me, it seems the trainer felt it.

He releases my arm and starts to walk up to the guard. “Yes, everything is fine, just a little issue with getting the equipment to cooperate." His back is turned toward me, but I can hear the smile in his voice when he talks. He walks forward and reaches his hand out to the guard. In this moment, my mind is screaming, No, no, no, please no. The next events happen in a flash as he takes the taser from the guard and strides back up to me, immediately connecting the taser to my ribcage.

I let out a cry as the electricity shoots through me, and I fall to the ground. I can feel the electricity throughout my entire body as squirm on the ground trying desperately to make it stop.

I see the trainer crouch down beside me and take ahold of my jaw, forcing me to look at him. "See what happens when you don’t cooperate?" I grit my teeth as I force out a response.

“Fuck. You.” He clicks his tongue in disapproval as he stands up and walks towards the door, giving the guard their taser back.

“I expect you to be in training in less than 20 minutes.” He then leaves the room and says something to the guard, causing them to nod and take their place standing against the wall outside the doorway to my cell.

I take my time getting up, with shocks still hitting me every once in a while. He knows I don’t know how long 20 minutes is, but I can’t bring myself to move any faster than I am. I can see the guard in the doorway from here, their hand resting on the taser in their belt, which causes me to try and move a little faster.

I move to change into the clothes that were thrown at me, cursing out the trainer in my head the whole time. The shocks from the taser have practically all disappeared by now, leaving behind fits of rage in their wake. I’m angry at the trainer for treating me like some piece of equipment he can hit and throw around when it’s not working to his standards. I’m angry at the experiments they’ve decided that I’m going to be the center of and the torture that I’ve had to grow accustomed to over the years. I’m angry at the people behind all of this, and I’m angry that I couldn’t have a life outside this lab that Ellie had told me so much about before.

I work to get dressed in my fits of rage, and throw the old clothes carelessly on the ground. There’s nothing really different about the clothes, both pairs include a shirt and pants that are all white, the training clothes maybe being a little more flexible for movement.

After I’m dressed, I walk out of the room and don’t even look at the guard by the door as I start down the hallway towards the training room, but I can hear their footsteps walking closely behind me.

The halls are long; the walls are all white and empty, with doors lining up on both sides. If you weren’t looking hard enough or were just passing by quickly, you probably wouldn’t be able to tell that there are doors here by how they blend right into the walls, with no doorknobs but light fingerprint panels built into the wall in order to open them.

Getting to the training room was a fairly long process, but you do it over and over again, and it doesn’t feel that long; you get numb to the feeling and just keep walking, and before you know it, you’re there. That’s what happens this time when I make it to the training room. I’m in front of the door in what feels like no time, and I push the door open to enter. This is the only place I’m authorized to enter like this, and I make my way towards one of the benches, ignoring my trainer standing on one of the mats in the middle of the room.

I sit down on the bench and lean forward with my elbows on my knees as I scan the room. It’s about three times the size of my cell, with various mats covering the ground. The walls are the same white color that the rest of the building is, but instead of being bare, there are walls with an assortment of different gun types and knives. However, all the weapons that are on the walls are props for show and won’t do any real damage. I learned that the hard way when training. One time I tapped into my rage and threw a throwing knife at the trainer, but instead of piercing his skin, all it did was bounce off his chest as he started to laugh at me.

Ever since that day, I have found myself not holding back my punches in retaliation, even though the trainer didn’t say anything about it. I could see that he was taken aback by some of them, especially when I got him hard in the eye once. I was particularly happy when he stumbled back from it, but I paid for it the next day when he was extra rough with me.

I watch as the trainer nods his head towards the door, and see the guard was waiting in the doorway for a signal to be released. They immediately turn to leave back down the hallway we came from after the signal from the trainer was given.

He looks at me expectingly at my place on the bench. I know I’ve been testing his patience today so I sigh, push myself up, and walk over to him. I stop when I’m in front of him, waiting for instructions.

“Today we’re doing solely hand to hand training.” He smiles at me and I know he’s still trying to push my buttons, he knows I get highly more aggressive when engaging in hand to hand combat. He’s also incredibly cocky, thinking he’s going to get away with a lot, especially since the day I got him in the eye.

He gives me no warning when he’s already taking a swing at me. I easily duck out of the way and brace myself. There’s no time to recover before he’s coming at me again. He throws swing after swing at me, and I work to dodge and block them. I can tell he’s not thinking of his movements and is just trying to get as many punches in as he can.

I take advantage of his carelessness and after he throws a certain punch, I push back. I bring my arm up to block his punch while pulling my other arm back to throw a punch into his unprotected stomach. He gets pushed back, not expecting the blow, and I jump at the opportunity to not give him the upper hand.

It’s my turn to throw punch after punch at him, and he isn’t as good as blocking them. He tries to punch back again but I don’t give him the chance to. I make sure he doesn’t get a chance to do anything but try to weakly block my advances.

He crashes to the ground after a particularly hard hit to the jaw, and he brings his arms up with a look of anger on his face. "Hey, you’re not supposed to—" he starts to say something angrily, but I cut him off as I jump on top of him and deliver a hard blow to his cheek. You could hear something pop when it happened, and his face turns to the side as blood starts to drip from his mouth.

I don’t stop as I tap into my anger and continue punching him over and over. His face quickly becomes deformed, swollen, and bloody as I don’t hold any punches back. He starts choking on his blood as he lays there, taking every single punch I throw his way. There are tears in my eyes as I start to scream my anger while still punching him.

I eventually bring myself to stop, tears still streaming down my face as I pant and look down at the beaten-up trainer below me. He’s not moving at all, as if—oh shit. I quickly bring my fingers down to his neck to check for a pulse. I wait for something, anything, but there’s nothing.

I quickly get up from the body and wipe my face with the back of my hands. Think. Think. Think. My mind is going into overdrive trying to figure out what to do. The guard would surely be back any minute; the training sessions don’t go on for that long. If they find me in here with a dead body, there will surely be drastic consequences. I can’t let them find me.

If I leave the room, I’ll be out in the open. You need restricted access to every room in the building. I’ll be stuck in the hallway, just waiting for someone to find me, unless I can get access to the doors.

I look down at the body by my feet and then up to the walls lined with the prop weapons. I quickly run up to the wall with rows of knives on it and try to find the sharpest one I can manage.

I find a switchblade that can’t be any sharper than the corner of a piece of paper, but it’ll have to do. I go back over to the lifeless body and bend down, spreading out his hand face down on the ground.

"I would say sorry, but I would be apologizing to myself for having to do this." I speak to the open air as I grip one of the fingers, holding it still, and bring the knife I have gripped in my palm up and bring it down as hard as I can. I cringe as I hear the bone in the finger crack. The finger is pushed up as the bone breaks, and I keep bringing the knife down into the skin in quick recession as blood splatters on me.

I feel the finger partly break off, and I stop striking the knife down in order to work to pull it off the rest of the way. I drop the knife and put the hand that was holding it on his arm so I can get more leverage on it. I push his arm back and pull the finger with my other hand, and the finger comes off his body with a pop. I stand up and lift up the finger in my hand, blood dripping down onto my arm from the bottom part of the finger where it was ripped off.

“Thank you for your kind contribution.” I say as I inspect the dissevered finger in my grip. I hurriedly make my way to the door to leave the training room, but the door opens before I get there, and the guard that brought me there is standing in the doorway.

@sleeperthelazy @hathay

buy me a coffee ♡

#frank castle x reader #frank castle #frank castle fic #the punisher #frank castle x you #frank castle x female reader #frank castle x y/n #slow burn #frank castle x f!reader #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle series #frank castle angst #the punisher x reader #embers fury #did i hold back writing the gore scene #only slightly #it's a frank fic gore is a given

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