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Bullet Wounds and Broken Hearts

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“Well, that was a shitshow. Huh, Frankie?”
You were standing behind him, watching him kneel silently on the cold, hard floor. The sight would’ve hurt your heart if you had any heart left to hurt.
“You shouldn't have come,” he barked at you.
“I wasn't going to let you go on this suicide run by yourself. What kind of friend would that make me?” You said it like a joke, but you meant every word and he knew that.
“A smart one. I didn't want you here. In fact, I didn't need you here,” he said angrily.
“Of course you did, Frankie. You just refuse to admit it.”
“I didn't want you here!”
“And I didn't want a bullet hole where my brain should be, but we don't always get what we want!” You didn't mean to shout such terrible words just like you didn't mean to die. At least, not like this, not in front of him.
“That was your choice, not mine. You should've… I didn't mean for this to happen.” Frank's voice trembled with grief and sorrow. He felt the ghost of your arms embrace him and the phantom warmth of your chest against his head.
“It's not your fault. You can't control other people, Frank. If you did, we would have never met. You told me not to come and I didn't listen. That's all there is to it,” you gave a deep sigh, “Look, the world needs Frank Castle more than it needs me.”
“I need you, alright. I do.” You knew he had tears welling up in his eyes by the cracking in his voice. You'd give anything to ease his suffering, but you had nothing left to give.
“It only took you watching me die to say it.” You spoke sincerely and placed a hand over his heart. “I'll always be here, Frank. Always.”
Frank felt a soft kiss on his head then only the cold. His body ached and his wounds stung, but he couldn't bring himself to move, to leave you behind. His hand reached out of its own accord and closed your eyes one last time.