(The war was won. Johanna went home. Never heard about Katniss or Gale or Peeta unless it was on the news. She got older, old enough to have kids of her own, but she never did. She collected books and made maps, collected all forms of paper. Worshiping the trees.
One morning, she awoke shackled to a bed. She was immediately reminded of being captured in the Captiol, and began to fight. Jo could see she wasn't the only one. A tall hunk of a man was across from her, fighting equally, if not harder, to get out of his shackles. They were both shot with drugs, and that was the last thing Johanna remembered.
Until she woke up on a couch in a well lit room. An orderly dressed in light blue plopped her down in front of the television. She didn't recognize the show. Johanna looked behind her and there were others. They were quietly putting together a puzzle. She looked beside her-- it was the Hunk of Man. Johanna wipes the drool from her mouth and asks him,) Come here often?
He served in Iran, Iraq and Afghanistan. Never married, never widowed, never had any kids. Never gone off the deep end. No record of it. Punisher? Who the fuck is that?
He has recently been allowed use of his hands at least, there's a dent in he back of his skull. He can feel it, buried in his hairline. His hands are rough, calloused and knuckles clearly broken and mended. Scars? Yeah still all those goddamn scars. How is that not real?
Whatever they've given him makes his thoughts slower, the world in soft focus in a way he's never known. This is wrong. It feels wrong. It is wrong.
And he's been looking at this golden retriever in a field of flowers with a kitten puzzle box way, way too long. He slowly turns his attention to movement beside him. Oh. Her. Bunk mats or something. Though really it might just be on account of they were brought in at the same time? Maybe?]
That's what they keep telling me, yeah. How about you?
[He gives her the up and down. She's in the same kind of soft canvas shoes with a rubber sole, soft cotton pants, a shirt that's too big and nothing with buttons, zippers or things that could be a weapon. Totally the vision of sanity too with that same glazed look in her eyes.
It ain't anywhere, apparently. That's what they're telling me.
(Johanna's been high before, in fact that's pretty much all she did some days. Morphling and weed kept her safe on the days when the rain poured down and reminded her of the electric showers they gave her.)
[Which is also a song isn't it? Frank snickers at this thought and rubs both of his hands over his face.]
I'm a lotta things, I'm not crazy. Just fuckin' tired.
[Tired of the bullshit, tired of the crime, tired of this walking nightmare. Why did he survive the bullets, the surgeries, the coma? He blinks and his eyebrows furrow.]
....this all a dream? Are you a dream? I never met you before.
[Square piece of shit Frank Castle has not been high much.]
[Their guardian staff cast a glance her way. So long as she's not thrashing, spitting or actually having contact with another patient, she's cool in their book. Still the noise has watchful eyes cast their way.]
Is Fuckin' a family name?
[Frank sputters a laugh and rubs his face. His skin feels sweaty.]
...I can't stay here. This isn't right. That much is clear.
[No matter who she is, what she says or what they say about what is and isn't real, this is not where he needs to be.]
[Oh yeah. He could be going somewhere. Frank straightens his legs and plants his feet on the ground. Slowly, methodically because he's feeling even more dizzy and his brain swimming in the space of his skull, he stands.]
Outta here.
[Standing isn't going to alarm anyone. He braces his hands on the table, the texture of the puzzle pieces on his palms is weird.]
[She's not heavy, Frank is surprised. Additional weight to his body which feels altogether heavier than usual. He has enough wits about him to place an arm on the table, palm right in the middle of the puzzle in whatever state of construction it was. Not like the lot of the patience had two brain cells, let alone a whole brain to want to put it together this doped up.]
Vending machines? They got vending machines?
[He straightens under her weight. Some of the staff have stood up and are assessing what the two are up to. Frank is the larger, Johanna has the upper hand if she wanted to put her arms around his neck. The more playful, the more they relax.]
[Frank stills until his balance comes back to him. He's with it, more than he thought he would be but the world is fuzzy. His reflexes are slower. Drugs, man.]
D'you have quarters? I don't. I don't even have a wallet.
[The staff took everything at least that's what he assumes. He still trudges to the machine, the light glowing and inviting.]
What kinda place charges the patients for candy? Shit.
[He catches his reflection on the glass with Johanna up on him, the proverbial monkey on his back.]
[Woaaah hey! She is jingling! He eyes one coin after another. Four. Shiny.]
D'you---know what they gave us?
[He doesn't like it. He doesn't like this weird swimmy feeling in his brain. Each coin plunks through the machine and he presses the number for Snickers. The bar looks....different. Weird.
And holy shit. How do they have more money to spend after four coins? Wasn't that just a dollar?]
What the fuck.
[Inflation in the future is, well, shit. A candy bar is a dollar in the 2010s. Here? Now?]
...d'you want anything else?
[Frank's face makes it's own sort of thud as it presses to the glass. He presses for something called a Seven Up Bar.]
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FOR FRANK
One morning, she awoke shackled to a bed. She was immediately reminded of being captured in the Captiol, and began to fight. Jo could see she wasn't the only one. A tall hunk of a man was across from her, fighting equally, if not harder, to get out of his shackles. They were both shot with drugs, and that was the last thing Johanna remembered.
Until she woke up on a couch in a well lit room. An orderly dressed in light blue plopped her down in front of the television. She didn't recognize the show. Johanna looked behind her and there were others. They were quietly putting together a puzzle. She looked beside her-- it was the Hunk of Man. Johanna wipes the drool from her mouth and asks him,) Come here often?
no subject
He served in Iran, Iraq and Afghanistan. Never married, never widowed, never had any kids. Never gone off the deep end. No record of it. Punisher? Who the fuck is that?
He has recently been allowed use of his hands at least, there's a dent in he back of his skull. He can feel it, buried in his hairline. His hands are rough, calloused and knuckles clearly broken and mended. Scars? Yeah still all those goddamn scars. How is that not real?
Whatever they've given him makes his thoughts slower, the world in soft focus in a way he's never known. This is wrong. It feels wrong. It is wrong.
And he's been looking at this golden retriever in a field of flowers with a kitten puzzle box way, way too long. He slowly turns his attention to movement beside him. Oh. Her. Bunk mats or something. Though really it might just be on account of they were brought in at the same time? Maybe?]
This--this is new.
no subject
What District you from?
(This seems like a normal enough question.)
no subject
What what am I from?
[District? What did they fill him with.]
New York last I knew.
[Though his brain sure as shit feels like scrambled eggs right with his sense of up and down.]
D'you know what the fuck's going on around here?
no subject
(New York hasn't been New York in hundreds of years.)
Okay, you're nuts.
no subject
[He gives her the up and down. She's in the same kind of soft canvas shoes with a rubber sole, soft cotton pants, a shirt that's too big and nothing with buttons, zippers or things that could be a weapon. Totally the vision of sanity too with that same glazed look in her eyes.
They're brown, big and pretty.]
no subject
(That's all you're going to get for now.)
I don't know...are you a time traveler?
no subject
[He squints and is trying to buck off the soft focus all the drugs are trying to hang over him. That's weird. This is weird. This is all weird.]
Me? No. Fuck. Hah. That ain't real.
no subject
(Johanna's been high before, in fact that's pretty much all she did some days. Morphling and weed kept her safe on the days when the rain poured down and reminded her of the electric showers they gave her.)
I think we're crazy, buddy.
no subject
[Which is also a song isn't it? Frank snickers at this thought and rubs both of his hands over his face.]
I'm a lotta things, I'm not crazy. Just fuckin' tired.
[Tired of the bullshit, tired of the crime, tired of this walking nightmare. Why did he survive the bullets, the surgeries, the coma? He blinks and his eyebrows furrow.]
....this all a dream? Are you a dream? I never met you before.
[Square piece of shit Frank Castle has not been high much.]
no subject
I'm not a fuckin' dream, I'm Johanna Fuckin' Mason.
no subject
Is Fuckin' a family name?
[Frank sputters a laugh and rubs his face. His skin feels sweaty.]
...I can't stay here. This isn't right. That much is clear.
[No matter who she is, what she says or what they say about what is and isn't real, this is not where he needs to be.]
no subject
(She reaches forward and puts a puzzle piece where it belongs.)
no subject
Outta here.
[Standing isn't going to alarm anyone. He braces his hands on the table, the texture of the puzzle pieces on his palms is weird.]
I--I can't be here. Not like this. Nope.
no subject
To the vending machines, noble steed!
no subject
Vending machines? They got vending machines?
[He straightens under her weight. Some of the staff have stood up and are assessing what the two are up to. Frank is the larger, Johanna has the upper hand if she wanted to put her arms around his neck. The more playful, the more they relax.]
no subject
Yeah, but we need quarters.
no subject
D'you have quarters? I don't. I don't even have a wallet.
[The staff took everything at least that's what he assumes. He still trudges to the machine, the light glowing and inviting.]
What kinda place charges the patients for candy? Shit.
[He catches his reflection on the glass with Johanna up on him, the proverbial monkey on his back.]
no subject
Get me a snickers.
no subject
D'you---know what they gave us?
[He doesn't like it. He doesn't like this weird swimmy feeling in his brain. Each coin plunks through the machine and he presses the number for Snickers. The bar looks....different. Weird.
And holy shit. How do they have more money to spend after four coins? Wasn't that just a dollar?]
What the fuck.
[Inflation in the future is, well, shit. A candy bar is a dollar in the 2010s. Here? Now?]
...d'you want anything else?
[Frank's face makes it's own sort of thud as it presses to the glass. He presses for something called a Seven Up Bar.]
no subject
Newbies get thorazine, I think.
no subject
[His breath puffs over the vending machine glass, his weight and balance off with the way Johanna moves.]
I hate it.
[She takes one candy right? Just one?]
Hey. Got one too. It's mine.
no subject
Get some sugar into you, you'll feel better.
no subject
[He grabs for the bar, his hands feel like paws. Slow, too clumsy to be dexterous.]
I'm not where I'm s'pose to be.
[Which is still inaccurate. Frank leans on the machine. He has his bar but reaches to stabilize himself on Johanna's shoulder.]
I'm not when I'm s'pose to be.
[Which is a weird thing to say.]
We bought two candy bars for a dollar...and got change. That don't seem odd to you?
[Nevermind that she literally was talking like he's a nutjob. The way Frank's brain is operating it'll do better if he talks outloud.]