You Don't Know A Thing About My Sins Part One
You Don't Know A Thing About My Sins
Band(s): MCR
Pairing(s): Frank/Gerard
Word Count:~23K
Rating/Warnings:R; Exsessive blood/gore, swearing, homosexual relationships, minor character death
Summary:Gerard, converted demon, lives a life of anger, depair, and regret in a world where everything is falling apart. Including the people in it. Cities are crumbling, whole towns disappearing into the wilderness, monsters running rampant anywhere where people aren't. When people go missing, no one looks for them, because it's almost assured that they're dead. And Gerard's watched this happen, world turning aroung him, changing, while he stays the same, only growing more distant, more angry with himself, leaving him to let the demon take control and go on murderous rampages frequently.
Frank, in a family (if you could call it that) with only his mother and abusive step-father. The man had never touched Frank, no, he saved that for his mom, along with all the yelling and screaming and fighting. And Frank just can't take it anymore, but there's nothing he can do. People have got better things to worry about, and he can't run away, because he's positive if he tries, he won't make it more than a week, if even that long. But he's running out of options fast, and that's the only thing left for him. So he does, eventually being taken in by the ever awesome, ever caring Brian Schecter, where things get tense and uncomfortable for everyone.
Slightly garbled, almost hysterical laughter bubbled out of his mouth as the punch landed straight to his gut, causing him to fold over the fist involuntarily. The taste of blood was thick on his tongue (and he could taste that it was all his own) and he only laughed harder. He dropped to his knees, unable to stand with the spastically twitching muscles in his stomach - still giggling. His laughter only elevated the rage of his assailant, a very, very drunk man, who was easily twice his size. The wino swung an impressive, if slightly off balance, kick at the boy’s ribs. The blow sent the boy flying into the air, and he landed heavily. Scuffing across the pavement, even more abrasions appeared across his arms as he skidded into some trash cans; filth and refuse showered him. The man’s drunken stupor caused him to pause in contemplation when the boy didn’t move for several long moments. Then the young man lifted himself, shakily, onto his hands and knees, still smirking through the blood that dripped from his split lips, and trickled down his face from his glistening blood-matted hair.
This is what he did. He saw how much abuse he could endure before his body forced the change upon him, if even only slightly. Apparently tonight, this was his breaking point. The boy’s head snapped up. The man jolted, albeit belatedly, but his reflexes were excellent for someone whose blood was more alcohol than haemoglobin. The boy’s grin split his face like a jack o’ lantern, and looked every bit as maniacal. Only something about him was different. His eyes where a shining, glistening, crimson red, the same vivid colour smeared across his pale, pale skin. They were slitted, like cat’s eyes. Demonic, bloody cat’s eyes. A twin set of long fangs marred his bright white grin, making it all the more menacing. The sight would’ve been terrifying by itself, but the blood everywhere, and the fact that the man knew, knew, he’d beaten the shit out of that... that thing, which now was clearly seeking its revenge, made it worse.
The boy (or whatever it was) dragged himself to his feet, straightening, and popping what had to be every single joint in his body, still with that smile. That creepy fucking smile.
“N-no. I-I-I’m sorry. Please.” The man stammered, stumbling back, holding his hands out in front of him, startling when he hit the solid brick wall behind him.
“Should’a thought of that before picking a fight with a kid, eh?”
There was no chance for the man to reply before the boy - no, demon- was upon him. He gripped the man’s face tightly in one clawed hand, the other gripping his shoulder, yanking the man’s head back, before sinking his fanged teeth into his throat. With a single powerful tug, the boy had effectively torn out the man’s throat. He let the wheezing body fall from his mouth, still after all this time, after all he’d done, smiling.
-x-
The screaming. The fucking screaming. It never stopped. Frank covered his ears with his palms, pressing hard until all he could hear was the pulse of the blood through his veins. His fingers scratched against the growing out, bleached white hair on the sides of his head. Even through his efforts, he could still hear them. He knew what they were fighting about, it was always the same exact fight. It never changed.
He looked up, eyes locking on his bag on the floor only a few feet away from where he was sitting on his bed. He was all prepared to run away. Seriously ready to do it. He didn’t want to, but he almost felt like he needed to. He loved his parents - well, one was technically a step-parent - he really did. But he just couldn’t stand them together. They were decent, affable people when separate- but combined they became hellcats. He just couldn’t take it anymore. He eyes clenched shut, trying to just block out the noise and pretend everything would be okay.
Then, breaking though the flesh of his hands was a particularly loud shout, then what sounded a lot like a slap.
Frank pulled his knees to his chest, gluing his eyes closed even tighter, if possible. He just wanted it to stop. He wished that, like, his house would start on fire, so his parents would stop arguing for ten fucking seconds.
Suddenly a flickering light bled through his eyelids, and a muffled roaring sound reached his ears. Frank’s eyes snapped open, taking in the raging fire that now consumed the far corner of his room, consuming everything nearby faster than he thought possible. He spared no second thought about it, leaping up and grabbing his aforementioned bag. With one swift movement, the window was wrenched open. He dropped into his lawn, two stories down.
He looked back once, to see the flames reaching out his open window. So, he thought, his parents would have to save each other or save themselves. He didn’t care, he wasn’t coming back anyway.
So, Frank ran. After he had rounded the first corner from his house, he pushed himself as hard as he could without falling to get away from that hellhole, (Frank allowed himself a small chuckle between gasps for the pun). He’d fallen a few times, palms and knees stinging worse than they would’ve if he’d just let himself fall, but he kept trying not to land on the bag strapped on his back. It was getting pretty dark by the time he finally stopped running, leaning heavily against the side of a dirty building. Wait, check, this was a cleaner building. The whole city had fallen into virtual disrepair; he didn’t know when, but he knew it hadn’t always been this way. There was no way a city could start out like the shithole this was. Frank continued walking simply to ease the rasping of his breath and the sting of he cramps. Eventually he meandered his way to a familiar, over-grown park. He used to come here a lot when the household war had just begun and he needed a quiet place.
Pulling the boy out of his thoughts was the feel of something wet sliding down his hand. He looked down, and saw the crimson droplets falling from his fingertips. He did the one thing he could, wiping the blood across his dark jeans, leaving rusty stains across both the folds in the skin of his hands and across the fibres in his pants. Oh, right. He’d fallen all the way there. He’d have to go find bandages soon. The last thing he needed was an infection, and with his seemingly ineffective immune system, it was bound to happen.
The sound of deranged, twisted laughter reached his ears, garbled in a throat in a way that made Frank uneasy. He whipped around, heart trying to beat its way out of his chest. That sound hadn’t come from far away, he could tell. Sure, he could easily take any kid in his school; but the things that stalked the streets at this hour of night were like nothing he could fathom in nightmares. Part of him, the more sensible part, sometimes referred to as “common sense” or “instinct”, was telling him to get the hell out of there. The other part of him, his “curious cat” side, wanted to know what human creature could possibly loose such demented, delirious noise; it wanted to find where that laughter was coming from.
Frank turned back toward the dense foliage, taking a few steps into its embrace, going through the motions of finding a suitable spot for the night. However, he decided only to hide his things in the thick vegetation, before picking his way out again. He felt this maddening desire to seek out the sounds. He moved cautiously, almost hesitantly, towards the nearest alleyway entrance, moving along the side of the water-grime-and-who-knew-what-else-stained brick of the building. Frank edged around the corner oh-so slowly, with the only thought processing in his mind being the thunderous beating of his heart in his ears. Peering blindly into to the thick inky black of the corridor, his eyes picked up nothing. Goosebumps tingled all over his skin. As he was squinting into nothingness, something hot and wet spattered across his forehead and onto the ground around him. The liquid looked black on the pavement at his feet, but against his skin it was vibrantly red.
Blood.
Frank looked up to the sky (stupid move, he thought afterward), trying to find where it had come from. The stars betrayed nothing, though, leaving him totally confused and more scared then before. Behind him sounded the sharp clack of boots on cracked sidewalk. He spun around. Before him was a boy, maybe a half a foot taller than himself, drenched in fresh blood. It oozed from gashes across his cheeks and on his arms, and matted his black hair together in sticky clumps (Frank wasn’t sure if it was actually black, or if it was the blood). It leaked from the corners of his wide smirk. The boy’s canines was longer than they should have been, forming what looked like fangs, which Frank might’ve thought was cool under different circumstances. His eyes were like burgundy wine, and Frank could’ve sworn that the pupils were slitted.
“I was never here, you never saw me, right?” His voice was, deeper, rougher than expected, like it was spliced from a B-movie villain. Frank nodded feverishly, eyes wide.
“S’what I thought.” The boy turned on the heel of his heavy black boot, and moved away quickly in a slightly animalistic lope.
After that, sleeping outside in the ex-park was the last thing Frank wanted to do, but he had nowhere else to go, nowhere else to stay, because he sure as hell wasn’t going back to his almost as certainly burned down shell of a house. He had Nowhere, absolutely fucking no Place to call home.
He couldn’t shake the lonely feeling, so he went back, grabbed his bag, and just kept walking, anywhere away from here. He’d find somewhere eventually, he hoped.
-x-
By the time the blood-soaked boy had managed to calm himself completely, it was totally pitch black outside. He could still see of course, his superhuman senses never left, which was annoying sometimes, but he could deal. He had somehow managed to wipe most of the blood off his face, and the cuts on his arms had already healed. The only thing that was really bothering him was the sticky feel of dried blood and the bothersome twinges of pain coming from the left side of his rib cage where the guy had kicked him. He could guess several of them were broken, but they’d be fine in an hour or two.
The boy stopped in front of a door on the bottom floor of a dilapidated apartment building, and raised a hand. The blood dried in the crevasses of his hand looked almost black in the randomly flickering light on the single bulb above his head. He watched the rusty red flake to the floor in places, leaving it looking almost like there were two layers of skin, one dirty and old, the other new, and baby smooth.
Brian opened the door and just like always, looked somewhere between angry and worried, his mouth pinched into a flat line.
“Gerard! God, are you alright? You look like you were forced through a meat grinder, kid.”
“I’m sorry that drunk guys like to beat on me,” Gerard replied, with a sigh, brushing past him, into the dimly lit and surprisingly clean apartment, “I’m gonna take a shower.”
“I’ve gotta go to work in like, ten minutes. Throw your clothes into to the sink, fill it with some water- make sure it’s cold- and put some peroxide in it. I’ll take care if it when I get home. Make sure you rinse out the tub when you’re done in there okay?”
“Yes, mother.” Gerard sighed, in a mocking tone.
“Ignoring that. I’ll see you later, then. Actually try to get some sleep, Gerard.” With that, Brian exited the building.
Gerard didn’t particularly like lying to Brian as to why he came home bloody and beaten at least four or five times every week, but what else was he supposed to say? “Oh, hey, Brian? Yeah, I’m some sort of freakish devil-spawn, piss me off and I could kill you. Just thought you’d want to know.”
Yeah. Or not.
Gerard walked out of the bathroom, wet hair dripping down his back, towel in hand. He’d had to rinse out the tub three times to get all the rusty pink water to go down the drain. He looked around the dim apartment, and moved toward the kitchen. The change always left him hungry, and tired sometimes. It depended on a lot of things.
All he could find in the fridge way some old mac’n’cheese, and two leftover burgers, which he would have to settle with for now, until Brian got home. He usually brought stuff home from the bar where he worked. After eating, he draped himself over the arm of the worn leather easy chair, the leather sticking to his back and his arms, but otherwise being comfortable.
There was nothing on TV, nothing. There really wasn’t ever anything on at this time of night; game shows, sitcoms, tabloid gossip, infomercials. It was totally mind numbing. Gerard could feel himself drifting off to sleep, so he let himself go, slipping easily into the dark well of unconsciousness.
-x-
Four huge dragon-like blackened faces, the skin resembling the outside of a charred marshmallow, cracked and black and flaky, loomed in front of him. Each had narrow glowing soulless crimson eyes and huge horns in a variety of shapes.
The largest was crouched in front of Gerard like it was ready to pounce on him, even though it was easily a hundred times bigger than he was.
“What do you want, boy?” it’s voice was deep and rumbling, it’s breath smelled like death and decay, it was hot and dry, and just made Gerard's skin crawl.
“I need help.” Gerard was immensely pleased with himself that his voice neither shook nor sounded as desperate as he felt.
The beast - a demon - laughed at him, the sound so deep, it shook the ground beneath his feet.
“And what is it that you want, human?”
“I want to use your powers until I can save the one I love.”
Gerard knew that the only people there would be him, Shannon, and all those monsters, so everyone would be safe.
“And if you fail?”
“You can have whoever else is there.”
“I will accept your request, boy.” The beast looked like it had a smirk across its lips, and he immediately knew something would be wrong. Something was going to happen that he wasn’t expecting.
It raised a huge clawed foot, and suddenly pain exploded through him, his head felt like it was going to rupture, it felt like someone was ripping his teeth from his mouth, like his hands were being slowly pulled from his arms, knives being shoved under his fingernails.
Then he could hear the roaring of the monsters, and he opened his eyes, and everything was sharper, he could see each individual scale on the lizard things, even from where he was laying, five hundred feet away. He could feel the extra room that - holy shit - the fangs in his mouth took up, the razor claws on his fingers. Blood covered his hands, and he could taste it in his mouth. He got up hurriedly, wiping his hands on his pants, grabbing the black slightly curved blade at his side and ran toward them, faster than he ever could’ve before.
A shout reached his ears, a voice he recognized, and it made him sick. Mikey. No, no, NO! The thing had fucking knew Mikey had been on his way, had heard about the attack, and was coming. Fuck. There was nothing Gerard could do.
“Shannon! Gerard! Where are you?” he could see Mikey yelling, looking around for them, long white sword with its intricately carved cross handle in hand. Gerard couldn’t let Mikey see him like this, so he just shouted to him.
“Mikey! Get. The fuck. Out of here!”
“No. I am not leaving you! Are you crazy?!”
He reached the monsters just then, throwing himself at the nearest one, into its hard scaly side, avoiding the spikes on its lashing tail and back. Out of somewhere, a strange animalistic instinct took over his mind, as the beast fell, turning and snarling viciously at him. Gerard lunged, slicing through its throat with his claws, the blade in his hand totally forgotten. He couldn’t see Shannon anywhere.
Then, he spotted a slick trail of blood in the grass leading into the trees. Then he heard Mikey coming up behind him.
“Shannon’s in the woods, go find her, I’ll take care of these things.” Gerard hissed, through his teeth, unconsciously hefting the blade over his shoulder, moving towards them, uncharacteristic snarl in place.
He’d killed three of them before he heard the scream. He bolted towards the sound, finding Mikey covered in blood, a tight grimace on his face, sword bloodied, and he was breathing heavily. He turned to see what the noise was, eyes widening as he took in Gerard’s appearance.
“W-what happened to you?” Mikey’s voice was almost inaudible.
“Nothing,” Was all Gerard would say.
A moment later, he coughed. “They... they got her.” Mikey swallowed, a slight shake in his voice, “I- I tried, Gee, I did, but I couldn’t fight them all off...”
Gerard’s stomach dropped out. He moved toward his brother, all traces of the demonic traits from moments before drained away. He wrapped his arms around Mikey, patting his back in what he hoped was a comforting manner.
“It’s okay. You tried. That’s all I could ask for.” His words were hollow.
There was a loud roar, and Gerard jumped, Mikey looked confused. He let go of Mikey and saw it. The demon he’d made a deal with.
“You failed, boy. His life is ours now.”
“NO!” Gerard snarled, feeling a wave come over him, a rippling wave of shuddering muscle, and he had fangs and claws again. He threw himself at the beast, only to get thrown off, into a tree, knocking the breath out of him.
Mikey’s look of despair turned to one of sheer terror.
Picking himself up, he snagged Mikey’s sword up off the ground where he’d dropped it, and it burned in his grasp, the black and silver metal glowing, but he didn’t care, he had to try and save his brother. Even if that meant dying in the process.
The thing’s back was facing him now, and he lunged at it, plunging the glowing white metal deep into its back and it screeched. Gerard couldn’t imagine what it felt like being a creature of evil and getting stabbed through with holy metal. He didn’t want to know, just holding it burned enough. The demon’s tail swung up, and knocked Gerard off again, leaving the sword there, lodged into its back. Gerard needed that sword. Mikey had run off, and it was following him. Gerard ran after them, flinging himself up onto its back again, ripping out the sword and hacking at the beast as much as he could before getting whipped off again. There was no blood, hell, no nothing, on it. There was no way Gerard could kill this thing alone. No way. But he was going to fucking try.
He jumped and caught the thing in the side, hanging there, before dropping off, the sword in his hand. The only blood in the sword now was his own; the metal was burning though his hand like acid. The monster lunged then, catching Mikey with a massive foot, knocking him easily to the ground. He cried out, and Gerard tried, fuck, he tried, but he couldn’t get there in time.
There was more blood than Gerard ever thought could come from a single person. The demon had vanished, leaving a bloody, lifeless corpse behind. One that had been Gerard's best friend.
Gerard jerked upright in the chair, panting heavily, body slick with sweat. He swiped a hand over his face, releasing a shaky breath. Even after almost two hundred and fifty years, he was still having nightmares about it. He couldn’t help thinking about how different everything would’ve been if he had succeeded in saving Shannon. He’d be long dead; he knew that, not stuck here on this vile decaying planet with no one and nothing.
Gerard pulled himself off the leather, and into his own tiny dark bedroom, getting down on his knees, and pulling a large black case from beneath the bed. Unlocking it with a key from around his neck, and flipping the latches reviled soft red satin, nestled around two swords. Mikey’s still glowed white when he was around it, and he still couldn’t touch it without burning himself, but he did it anyway, just to feel that he actually could feel the pain, real pain, not just annoying aches. Gerard’s own blade rested next to it, the runes etched into it still looked brand new in the shining black metal. The leather wound around the handle was starting to fall apart, but that was easily fixed. He’d have to go buy some sometime soon.
Gerard could hear the lock scrape in the door, so he quickly locked them back up, and shoved the case back where it had been before.
“Gerard?” He heard Brian’s voice call, quietly, so he’d only hear it if he was awake.
Brian usually didn’t say anything when he got home, just put the food in the fridge, and went to bed. Gerard poked his head out of the door, and was about to ask what was up, and then stopped, mouth slightly open.
That boy was with him, the boy he’d seen wandering the streets. Why was he here? Why the hell would Brian bring him here?
Gerard gave Brian a silent stare. Brian shot back a look that said ‘What? I couldn’t just leave him there.’ The boy looked nervous, looking between the two of them, trying to figure out what was being said.
Brian had this unquenchable need to take in homeless kids. Which, of course, Gerard was grateful for - but still WHY THIS ONE?
“Gerard, this is Frank, Frank, Gerard. He’ll be staying with us from now on, okay?” that was accompanied by a look that said, ‘Mess with him, mess with me.’
Gerard shrugged, and turned away, before being called back out.
“What?”
“He’s sharing your room.” There was a certain finality in Brian’s words that even Gerard found it hard to want to disobey.
Gerard just stared between Brian and Frank.
“Where’s he sleeping?”
“Extra mattress in my room - put it on your floor. Come get it.”
Gerard didn’t need help carrying the thing, it wasn’t that heavy, but then again, Gerard didn’t really think anything was all that heavy, so he carried it into his room, and dropped it on the floor against the wall furthest away from his bed. Brian followed him in with some clean sheets and a thick blanket.
“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask one of us, okay?” Another stern look from Brian to Gerard.
“O-okay.” Frank said slowly. He looked exhausted, and Gerard wasn’t about to bother him, Brian would kick his ass.
“I suppose you want to sleep, then,” Gerard said awkwardly, looking at the pile of fabric on the bear mattress.
The smaller nodded, looking at his feet.
“Want some help with the sheets?” Gerard asked. He didn’t want to associate him, his human self, with the demon residing inside him. It had just gotten harder to do that in the last two hundred years.
-x-
When Gerard woke up the next morning, he could hear that Frank was still sleeping. He was making quiet snuffling sounds, and he’d rolled over a few times in the last few minutes, indicating he was either having a bad dream, or was waking up. One or the other.
He cracked open his eyes lazily, turning his head, to see Frank, brows knitted, curled in on himself. Bad dream. With a sigh, Gerard hauled himself up, bare feet planting in the carpet. He didn’t feel like letting the kid suffer. He hadn’t done anything. Yet.
He crouched in front of him, wearing only basketball shorts and his boxers, and poked Frank once or twice in the side.
“Kid, wake up, you’re having a bad dream.” Gerard put his whole hand on the smaller’s shoulder and shook lightly.
Moments later, the boy sputtered awake, looking panicked and not quite sure where he was, his gaze locking on Gerard's, eye’s wide. He seemed to figure it out pretty quickly after that.
“It’s alright, you’re awake now.” Gerard couldn’t help but let a slight reminiscent smile settle on his lips. He used to do this for Mikey a lot.
“Thanks.” Frank's voice was quiet, he sounded like he hadn’t gotten much sleep.
“No problem,” Gerard shrugged, standing back up, and crawling back in bed because it was still dark out and he just felt like sleeping because he hadn’t been pestered by any annoying dreams yet.
He drifted a bit, listening to the even sounds of Frank's breathing. He thought vaguely about how this might not be so bad. It was still kind of a sudden invasion of privacy though.
No offence to Frank, but he could live without him.
Maybe an hour later, Gerard woke again, noticing that Frank wasn’t in the room anymore, and he could hear the low tones of a conversation, and though he heard his name once or twice. Screw them.
He pulled himself up out of bed, pushing his hair back out of his face, and opened the door to his - their - room rather loudly, still half naked and not caring even the tiniest bit about it. He wasn’t going to change the way he’d lived for the past two years just because there was another kid here. No way in hell was that shit happening. He ignored Brian and Frank on his way to the coffee maker, pouring himself a cup and pulled himself on to the counter. Only then did he even acknowledge the other two where there.
“G’morning, Gerard.” Brian said, turning toward him and away from Frank. It was close to noon by then.
Gerard’s only response was to quirk an eyebrow to show he had at least heard him. He wasn’t acting like this because Frank was around; he was always like this until he’d had his two cups of coffee. Gerard had never been a morning person. Brian knew this and just turned back around, and kept talking to him anyway.
“What’ve you got planned today, Gee?” Brian was never this talkative in the morning. And he never, ever cared what Gerard did, unless it was illegal or something like that. Was he trying to, like, impress Frank or something? Gerard had no clue.
“Nothing.” Which was true. He could stay home today if he wanted because he knew he wouldn’t be plotting every single stranger’s death in the back of his head. He’d just killed a guy last night. He’d be okay until tomorrow, the day after if necessary.
“Why don’t you do something with Frank if you don’t have anything else to do?” Brian turned back to face him, and Gerard gave him a blank, annoyed stare. It wasn’t totally obvious he was annoyed, but enough showed that Brian would be able to tell. The oldest of the three of them looked almost disappointed in him.
Frank sighed then, breaking the silent, tense staring competition that had been going on, mumbling something about the shower, and got up and left.
“See? Gerard, God, why, why, are you acting like an ass?” Brain sighed agitatedly, as soon as the shower had started, resting his elbow on the back of the chair, shaking his head into his palm, eye that wasn’t getting palm-mashed locked on Gerard.
“What? You can’t just expect me to just all of a sudden drop everything and change for him! I don’t even know him!”
“I dropped a hell of a lot for you, Gerard. You think I was expecting to be taking you in an easy thing? No, but I did it anyway. Get over yourself.”
Gerard just stared at him, eyes wide, feeling the thing stir deep in the pit of his stomach. While Brian had been yelling (he hadn’t been, but he might as well have been,) he’d pushed himself out of his chair, a deep scowl on his face. This was only the second time Gerard had ever seen him angry, and he looked pissed now. His hands were clenched into fists as he moved stiffly toward his own room, slamming the door behind him.
Gerard could feel the tremors building up his spine. He sucked in several deep breaths, trying to calm himself before anything go more out of control than it already was. He could hear the shower shut off, and wasn’t quite sure what to do. He could stay, and put up with Frank, or leave like he said he wasn’t going to do, and wander around town for a while.
He pulled himself off the counter, and into his room, finding clothes. He wasn’t staying here. Brian was pissed at him, which was worse than anyone else Gerard had ever met because he was never out right just angry, he always made it seem like everything was okay, or he totally ignored you. Gerard didn’t like either, because he knew he was mad.
Leaving his room with a black t-shirt and some dark jeans, he pulled on his black leather jacket on his way out the door. It was still a little chilly outside with the morning air still lingering around the city. He didn’t know what he was going to do, but he wasn’t going back for quite some time, he knew that
-x-
Frank didn’t know what Gerard wanted of him. He was nice enough to wake him up when he was having that dream (Frank couldn’t remember for the life of him what it had been about), but he’d heard them yelling. It was obvious that Gerard didn’t really want him around. And sure, Brian seemed like a nice guy, he’d taken him in and stuff, but he made it sound like he - no, not just him, Gerard too - were hassles to keep around. He just didn’t know what to do anymore. There was nothing stopping him from leaving again, he could easily just grab his bag and go. But if he did that there was basically no chance of him finding anywhere to stay that he wouldn’t have to pay for, one way or another.
Frank pulled his t-shirt over his head and opened the bathroom door. The place looked totally deserted, although he could hear quiet shuffling from Brian’s room. He moved to Gerard's room - he didn’t dare call it his own - and flopped down on to the mattress on the floor. He was dead tired from not having slept at all the night before, on top of just hardly ever sleeping when he’d lived with his parents either.
He pressed the crook of his elbow over his eyes blocking out the dim light that streamed in from around the thick curtains, regretting he’d told Brian what had happened (minus the spontaneous combustion thing, though. He’d just sound crazy then, even though it had happened right in front of his face). God, he just didn’t know what to do anymore. It just felt like everything was just spiralling out of control.
Frank could feel himself drift off within a matter of minutes, into a reasonably okay dream. He was sitting in the middle of a wide expanse of open grass underneath an old tree in the warm air. The stillness and just the utter serenity of the place was incredible, enough so that, Frank wasn’t too sure he ever wanted to wake up. Minutes later, a low rumble filled his ears and a huge...monster, was the only word he could really come up with to describe it; a huge dragon-like thing with crumbling black skin, and long pointed horns, and glowing red eyes rose from the ground in a rush of dry, hot, grit filled air that threatened to choke him. It was suffocating. And only a few hundred feet away. Just when the thing spotted Frank and lunged for him, a ferocious snarl ripped through the hot gritty air, a body suddenly there, blocking the beasts blow with a single-edged slightly curved black blade.
Then Frank was on auto-pilot. He no longer had control of his body, which was kind of expected, it was a dream (he hoped), but still fucking terrifying. He was up, running toward the beast himself, sword in his own hand. That had startled Frank, but at the same time, he felt this overwhelming determination to kill that thing. Suddenly, a heavy body collided with his own, sending them flying back. The other boy landed heavily on top of Frank, knocking the wind out of him. The other boy rolled off of Frank with a low growl, then turning his head, looking him over, as if checking to make sure he was alright. Frank was utterly stunned then. Minus the blood coloured eyes and fangs, it was Gerard. There was no mistaking it. Gerard was now focusing on the monster that was coming toward them way faster than something that big should be able to go. He had a long gash across his cheek, and Frank was about to say something, when, right before his eyes, he would started to close its self up. Gerard pulled himself up fluidly, and hurled himself at the thing, before Frank could blink. Then Frank found himself on his feet, moving toward it. He saw something fly past on the edge of his field of vision, and turned to see what his was. Gerard was crouched quite a ways away, looking like nothing had really happened; spare the blood running from his mouth and the utterly pissed look on his face. Looking had been a serious mistake. Pain exploded through him. Blood was dripping from the long jagged claws that stuck out of his torso almost instantly, and -
Frank bolted upright, the phantom pain still lingering in his stomach. He wrapped his arms about his middle. Something about that had just been too real, there was something not right about it and Frank couldn’t quite pick up on what it was.
Minutes after, when he’d rubbed the ghost pain away, the only images he could pull from the dream where that of jagged claws though his middle. And Gerard's pale face, with its bruised looking crimson eyes.
After calling to mind the last image, another one popped into his mind. That boy he’d seen the night Brian had found him. Fangs, slittled, ruddy eyes, the same midnight black hair. His eyes widened as his brain made the connection.
No, no. The logical part of his brain pushed back; it had only been a dream. There was no way that Gerard was actually whatever he had been in his dream. No way. It just wasn’t possible... Was it?
-x-
Gerard decided that maybe he’s been gone long enough and Brian wouldn’t kill him now. It was almost dark, and it might’ve been getting cold, but Gerard couldn’t feel it. He didn’t feel much anymore, he couldn’t. He was numb all the time, the only thing he could feel was the dull aches that he had after getting the shit beaten out of him, and even then, he wasn’t really ever feeling it; it was like feeling through someone else’s body. That was pretty much the single thing that Gerard missed. Being able to feel the wind in his face or the warmth of his bed on a cold night, or hell, even the cold would be nice to feel.
He sighed, dragging his feet all the way back home, heavy combat boots scuffing their way down various sidewalks and streets until he arrived back the apartment. The door was locked, which really wasn’t all that extraordinary, but he knew he didn’t lock it when he left. He sighed again, and dug around in his pocket to find his spare key, exceedingly glad he’d remembered to grab it before he left.
He opened the door quickly, and moved across the room quickly to his own, seeing Brian’s door still shut. Maybe he shouldn’t have come back at all tonight. He stopped in the doorway of his room, meeting Frank's eyes. There was something there, something that shouldn’t have been. He knew something, Gerard knew, but Frank didn’t want to believe what he knew, he could just tell. After two hundred years, it got easy to read people. Frank also looked even more exhausted than when Gerard left, even though by his rumpled hair, Gerard can tell he’d been sleeping.
He shrugged stiffly to himself, and dropped himself on his bed, searching between the mattress and the wood of the bed, and clamping his fingers around a thick, squat book. It was bound in dark leather with a chord wrapped about the outside to keep it closed, a vibrant red feather stuck out the top, accompanied by a black one maybe halfway through the book. He opened the book at the feathers, not daring to look at anything previous. He had never done that, and never would. It was something he did to drain himself of the excess of emotion and stress that come from having essentially, two souls in the same body.
He fished a pencil from the same place he got the book from, and started drawing lines on the paper; not thinking about what he was doing, not thinking about anything; just drawing the lines.
Hours passed before he rose from the confines of his own mind and actually took notice of what he had drawn. Mikey’s face stared up at him from the page, a bright smile adorning his face, just like it used to. Gerard couldn’t help but let a small smile settle on his lips at the memory. He looked away from the book, snapping it shut and sticking it back from where it came from.
He glanced around after pulling the book back, seeing that Frank was no longer in the room. Through the crack between the door and the hinges, he could make out a sliver of a body in the chair and the faint sounds of the TV mixed with the barely indistinguishable sounds of cooking.
Gerard could safely assume Brian had finally come out of his room and was making them something to eat, which smelled amazing. He pulled himself up off the bed, and into the larger room. Confusion settled upon him as soon as he entered the room. Brian was the one sitting in the chair, not Frank. Frank was off in the miniscule kitchen, poking something around in a pan with a wooden spoon.
“Wha-“ Gerard started, perplexed look plastered across his features.
“He wanted to.” Brian cut him off, not even looking at him. His tone indicated two things, the first being that that was the end of the topic; second, that he was still pissed at him.
He took a few steps toward the chair, out into the middle of the room so he could see around Frank and into the pan. All he could make out was various vegetables and what had to be chicken. Frank reached down, switching off the stove, and Gerard leaned back immediately.
“Brian, it’s do-“ Frank stopped as soon as he say Gerard, mouth hanging open, eyeing him almost uncertainly.
Gerard looked from the food to Frank, and mumbled an almost inaudible I’m not hungry, before retreating back into his room.
He flopped face down onto the bed, laying there for a moment, before pulling out his book again, looking for a pencil.
Several long moments later, Gerard took notice of what was fleshing out onto the page. Among the vague scribbled lines, was a boy sleeping, a semi-peaceful face, looking slightly uncomfortable. The face of the boy in the next room.
He let out an aggravated sigh, “Oh, fuck this.”
Gerard snapped the book closed, dropping in into the middle of the bed, before standing, and moving out of the room.
-x-
Brian had left a good twenty minutes ago with a small goodbye to Frank, telling him not to worry about Gerard; he was just like that sometimes. Frank had no idea where Brian was going, but he didn’t feel like he should ask, either, even though he was well aware that he wasn’t the one Brian was mad at.
Frank looked away from the TV he wasn’t really watching. He was perched on the kitchen counter, leaning against the cupboard, where he’d pulled himself up after doing the dishes. He’d looked away because he’d heard the door open and saw Gerard slink out; looking generally annoyed (Frank was starting to wonder if he had any other emotions). Gerard never looked at him, only moved the short distance into Brian’s room and come back out a moment later, shoving something down into his pocket. As he left, opening the front door, the sharp distinct flick of a Zippo.
Frank kind of missed cigarettes. He hadn’t smoked enough to be addicted to them, but he liked the feel that the occasional cig had on him - stripping his nerves when he was totally stressing, which was pretty much all the time. Sure, he really wanted a cigarette, but not bad enough to steal them from Brian. They were kind of expensive, and he knew he would be ticked (even more) when he noticed Gerard stole them. Plus, he’d much rather stay on Brian’s good side. He didn’t need another place where he was hated.
He sat, lost in his own thoughts for a long while, before he decided he might as well not just sit on the counter, it wasn’t like he was actually watching TV anyway. Frank slip off the counter, shutting off the television as he went, and slipped into the bedroom, eyes drifting to a small leather book laying kind of rumpled like someone had just thrown it there. Curious, Frank made his was over and picked it up, his fingers sliding over the soft worn leather. Before Frank could turn the cover back, something told he that that was probably the worst decision he could make, that he really wouldn’t’ want Gerard going through his things.
He set the book back down, and retreated back to his side of the room, stopping in front of his bag, rummaging around in it, until he found his old, cheap, mp3 player that still used batteries. He’d have to go and buy some more next chance he got, the thing had been half dead for quite some time now. He pushed in the ear buds, and flopped back onto the mattress, just staring at the ceiling, letting the coarse, grating sounds of the music numb out all thought.
What felt several hours later, the batteries finally died and Frank got up, and moved into the bathroom.
As he came back out, he was immediately shoved up against the wall.
“Who said you could go through my things!?” Gerard snarled, hands fisted in the front of Frank’s shirt, eyes narrowed and cold, face only six inches from Frank's.
Frank was plenty startled at first, and then anger over took him. He hadn’t done anything. The most he had done was move a fucking book. Whoop-de-fucking-do.
“I didn’t touch any of your shit. Get the hell off me.” Frank growled, voice low, glaring at Gerard.
“Like hell you didn’t.” Gerard slammed him back against the wall again. Frank decided not to take this shit anymore.
With his arm bent at an awkward angle against the wall, he swung his fist as best he could, connecting with the right side of Gerard’s face.
He caught Gerard off guard, making him take a step back, his grip on Franks’ shirt loosening. Frank tried to duck away, but Gerard's grip tightened again before he could do anything but lean forward. Gerard swung him forward, making Frank roll oven himself, landing flat on his back in the middle of the floor, Gerard standing over him. Frank noticed, which was odd given the situation, red smears across Gerard’s boots and the bottoms of his jeans.
Then Gerard’s knee was in his stomach, his hands around his throat. Frank struggled, feet kicking at nothing, hands clawing at the fingers that wouldn’t allow him to breathe. Within a minute his vision started to go black.
A far off curse, several angry curses, reached his ears, and he could breathe. He heaved in a huge breath through a throat that felt torn and ragged, turning onto his side. The smell of fire reached him not moments later. He looked past his feet at the pile of black mess a few feet away. The unburned parts looked like cloth, and with a glance further up, he saw a glimpse of Gerard’s bare back crossed with long angry red streaks-burns.
Frank was totally perplexed, what had happened? He pushed himself up slowly, breathing hoarse, and slid across the floor to the shirt. He could feel the slight heat rising from it, the ash crumbling slowly in on its self.
Fire again...
Frank had no clue what was going on, and it was really starting to freak him out. But the fact that Gerard had just tried to kill him freaked him out more.
He got up as fast as his ragged breathing would let him, and immediately retreated into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. Frank slid down the door, dropping down to the floor, resting his forehead on his knees.
He seriously needed to figure out what the hell was happening with him.
His mind raced though what had happened over the past few days, and the only conclusion he could come up with after a good twenty minutes was that he was somehow starting the fires, and Frank wasn’t too sure he actually wanted to believe that, but it was the only conclusion he could come up with. And the only way that he would know for sure was to actually try to start something ablaze.
Digging around in the cupboard under the sink, he found a roll of toilet paper, and set it on the ledge of the tub. Now to try to start it on fire. Frank stared at the thing long and hard, just trying to get some result, half hoping he could light things on fire with his mind, because, well, he thought it would be pretty cool, if he was honest. After two minutes of nothing, he started to get frustrated, and was about to give up, when woof, the soft sound of flames reached his ears.
Frank stared at it incredulously for a moment before pushing himself up quickly, and dousing the flames.
Okay, so he lied. Starting things on fire with your mind was not cool. It was pretty terrifying actually.
Frank eyed himself in the mirror. He didn’t look any different, except the deep purple bruise that was forming around his neck. There were darker little circles that could only have been fingers, marring the scorpion there. Frank heard the front door open, and the muffled crinkle of plastic bags, indicating Brian was back. He arranged his hoodie as best he could around his neck to cover the bruise, but that didn’t work so well, all he could do was hope that Brian just didn’t notice or look to close at him. Then, almost as an afterthought, he pulled up the hood, making the bruise less noticeable, but a bit more obvious there was something hidden.
Brian looked up when Frank opened the bathroom door.
“Hey, Frank,” There was a small amount of cheeriness in his voice, quite the opposite of what Frank was feeling.
“Hi,” It hurt to talk, and his voice sounded scratchy. Frank cast a quick glance over his shoulder, at the door next to him, seeing it shut tight both relieved him, and freaked him out. Then he remembered the charred black mess on the floor that as far as he knew, would still be there. But when he looked, there was nothing there, maybe a bit of black dust at most.
“You feeling alright?” Brain looked concerned, eyeing him up and down, looking for something to be wrong, Frank guessed.
“Mmm, yeah.” Frank answered quickly, too quickly, “What could possibly be wrong?”
“I dunno, you just... You know what? Never mind.” Brian let out a soft chuckle, and turned back to whatever he’d been doing, which looked like a systematic process of putting groceries away.
Frank shrugged, and moved over to the small couch, and dropped down onto it. He supposed he’d be sleeping out there tonight, because there was no way in hell that he was sleeping in the same room as someone that could very well smother him in his sleep.
Quite awhile later, Brian came onto Frank's field of vision, looking him over again, “You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah,” Frank assured him, with a small smile.
Brian didn’t look too convinced. “Well, if you’re sure. I’ll be in my room in you need anything, m’kay?”
“Okay.”
Frank really hoped Brian had kids of his own someday. He’d be an awesome dad. He wished his step-dad would’ve been that cool, then maybe he wouldn’t have run away in the first place. But then he’d never had met Brian either. Frank let out a frustrated sigh, curling on his side. He didn’t want to think right now, didn’t really want to do anything. He just wanted to sleep and forget and... and... he didn’t know. He just wanted to not think for a while.
He must have drifted off, because a sudden, loud noise (accompanied by a steady mantra of ‘shit, shit fuck’) woke him. Looking around wildly, Frank's eyes landed on a sheepish looking Brian, standing in front of the TV, finger still on the volume down button.
“Sorry.”
“S’alright, I was awake anyway.” Frank’s voice was rough with sleep and his throat was just plain sore. Frank didn’t want to lie to Brian, but he didn’t want to make him feel bad either.
The bathroom door opened, and Gerard came out, hair wet, staining his shirt. His eyes met Frank's looking aggravated, then drifted lower, locking on something.
Then Frank remembered the bruise.
Before he could cover it, Brian followed Gerard’s gaze, seeing the deep purple, almost poisonous looking bruise.
“What happened?”
Frank didn’t say anything. He looked past Brian, at Gerard who was still standing in the middle of the hall, face perfectly devoid of emotion, eye’s meeting Frank's, almost like he was waiting for Frank to tell Brian what he’d done. Frank thought about it for a moment, then remembered the burns on Gerard’s back. He couldn’t say anything; Gerard would almost assuredly show the burns he’d created. Frank just could bring himself to say anything.
Brian looked over his shoulder, following Frank's look, and seeing Gerard standing there still, he made the connection on his own.
“How dare you!? You tried to kill him? Gerard, why in God’s name would you do that!?” Brian’s voice was rising, his hands curled into loose fists at his sides, like he was trying not to ball them, but almost couldn’t help it.
Gerard only met his angry stare, and remained silent.
“Get out. Just... get out.”
Gerard looked taken aback, “...What?”
“Get out.”
No one moved.
“Now. I want you out of here, right now.”
Gerard still didn’t move, his face starting to harden into that angry mask.
“Gerard! Get the fuck out of my house!” Brian was actually shouting now, which startled Frank more than a little.
Gerard’s face was set into a full scowl, “Fine! Fine, I’ll leave. I’ll come back for my shit later.” There was a sharp venom on his voice that rose goose bumps on the back of Frank's neck.
He grabbed his jacket off the floor underneath the hook, shoving his arms in the sleeves.
“Have a nice fucking life.” He growled over his shoulder, glaring daggers at Brian, and left, slamming the door behind him.
Brian sighed heavily, pushing his hands roughly back though his hair.
“My god...”
“I’m sorry...” Frank said almost involuntarily. He was just used to things being his fault.
“No, it’s not your fault. It’s just... I don’t know.” Brian’s arms fell to his sides, limply, staring off into space.
But Frank couldn’t help but feel it was his fault. Everywhere he went he caused chaos; at home, at school, now here, and he was fed up with it. Fed up with bringing sorrow to good people, like Brain. There was only one way Frank could really think of to end that.
“Damnit, I - I didn’t really mean to throw him out, just...” Brian sighed, an agonized look on his face.
“I... I can go look for him...?”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“No, I want to.” Another lie, straight to his face. Frank didn’t plan on finding Gerard, hell; he didn’t plan on going anywhere when he was finished with himself.
“If you really want to. Just... be careful, okay?”
“Okay.”
Brian gave him a small smile, and reached out to ruffle his hair before walking away, Frank wasn’t paying attention where, he was too busy staring at his knees, not really believing he was going to do this.
He pushed himself up off the small couch, making his way into the room he shared with Gerard, and dug through his bag, pulling out his dad’s old worn Swiss army knife. He dropped the knife into the pocket of his sweatshirt, and moved toward the door.
-x -
Part Two
Band(s): MCR
Pairing(s): Frank/Gerard
Word Count:~23K
Rating/Warnings:R; Exsessive blood/gore, swearing, homosexual relationships, minor character death
Summary:Gerard, converted demon, lives a life of anger, depair, and regret in a world where everything is falling apart. Including the people in it. Cities are crumbling, whole towns disappearing into the wilderness, monsters running rampant anywhere where people aren't. When people go missing, no one looks for them, because it's almost assured that they're dead. And Gerard's watched this happen, world turning aroung him, changing, while he stays the same, only growing more distant, more angry with himself, leaving him to let the demon take control and go on murderous rampages frequently.
Frank, in a family (if you could call it that) with only his mother and abusive step-father. The man had never touched Frank, no, he saved that for his mom, along with all the yelling and screaming and fighting. And Frank just can't take it anymore, but there's nothing he can do. People have got better things to worry about, and he can't run away, because he's positive if he tries, he won't make it more than a week, if even that long. But he's running out of options fast, and that's the only thing left for him. So he does, eventually being taken in by the ever awesome, ever caring Brian Schecter, where things get tense and uncomfortable for everyone.
Slightly garbled, almost hysterical laughter bubbled out of his mouth as the punch landed straight to his gut, causing him to fold over the fist involuntarily. The taste of blood was thick on his tongue (and he could taste that it was all his own) and he only laughed harder. He dropped to his knees, unable to stand with the spastically twitching muscles in his stomach - still giggling. His laughter only elevated the rage of his assailant, a very, very drunk man, who was easily twice his size. The wino swung an impressive, if slightly off balance, kick at the boy’s ribs. The blow sent the boy flying into the air, and he landed heavily. Scuffing across the pavement, even more abrasions appeared across his arms as he skidded into some trash cans; filth and refuse showered him. The man’s drunken stupor caused him to pause in contemplation when the boy didn’t move for several long moments. Then the young man lifted himself, shakily, onto his hands and knees, still smirking through the blood that dripped from his split lips, and trickled down his face from his glistening blood-matted hair.
This is what he did. He saw how much abuse he could endure before his body forced the change upon him, if even only slightly. Apparently tonight, this was his breaking point. The boy’s head snapped up. The man jolted, albeit belatedly, but his reflexes were excellent for someone whose blood was more alcohol than haemoglobin. The boy’s grin split his face like a jack o’ lantern, and looked every bit as maniacal. Only something about him was different. His eyes where a shining, glistening, crimson red, the same vivid colour smeared across his pale, pale skin. They were slitted, like cat’s eyes. Demonic, bloody cat’s eyes. A twin set of long fangs marred his bright white grin, making it all the more menacing. The sight would’ve been terrifying by itself, but the blood everywhere, and the fact that the man knew, knew, he’d beaten the shit out of that... that thing, which now was clearly seeking its revenge, made it worse.
The boy (or whatever it was) dragged himself to his feet, straightening, and popping what had to be every single joint in his body, still with that smile. That creepy fucking smile.
“N-no. I-I-I’m sorry. Please.” The man stammered, stumbling back, holding his hands out in front of him, startling when he hit the solid brick wall behind him.
“Should’a thought of that before picking a fight with a kid, eh?”
There was no chance for the man to reply before the boy - no, demon- was upon him. He gripped the man’s face tightly in one clawed hand, the other gripping his shoulder, yanking the man’s head back, before sinking his fanged teeth into his throat. With a single powerful tug, the boy had effectively torn out the man’s throat. He let the wheezing body fall from his mouth, still after all this time, after all he’d done, smiling.
-x-
The screaming. The fucking screaming. It never stopped. Frank covered his ears with his palms, pressing hard until all he could hear was the pulse of the blood through his veins. His fingers scratched against the growing out, bleached white hair on the sides of his head. Even through his efforts, he could still hear them. He knew what they were fighting about, it was always the same exact fight. It never changed.
He looked up, eyes locking on his bag on the floor only a few feet away from where he was sitting on his bed. He was all prepared to run away. Seriously ready to do it. He didn’t want to, but he almost felt like he needed to. He loved his parents - well, one was technically a step-parent - he really did. But he just couldn’t stand them together. They were decent, affable people when separate- but combined they became hellcats. He just couldn’t take it anymore. He eyes clenched shut, trying to just block out the noise and pretend everything would be okay.
Then, breaking though the flesh of his hands was a particularly loud shout, then what sounded a lot like a slap.
Frank pulled his knees to his chest, gluing his eyes closed even tighter, if possible. He just wanted it to stop. He wished that, like, his house would start on fire, so his parents would stop arguing for ten fucking seconds.
Suddenly a flickering light bled through his eyelids, and a muffled roaring sound reached his ears. Frank’s eyes snapped open, taking in the raging fire that now consumed the far corner of his room, consuming everything nearby faster than he thought possible. He spared no second thought about it, leaping up and grabbing his aforementioned bag. With one swift movement, the window was wrenched open. He dropped into his lawn, two stories down.
He looked back once, to see the flames reaching out his open window. So, he thought, his parents would have to save each other or save themselves. He didn’t care, he wasn’t coming back anyway.
So, Frank ran. After he had rounded the first corner from his house, he pushed himself as hard as he could without falling to get away from that hellhole, (Frank allowed himself a small chuckle between gasps for the pun). He’d fallen a few times, palms and knees stinging worse than they would’ve if he’d just let himself fall, but he kept trying not to land on the bag strapped on his back. It was getting pretty dark by the time he finally stopped running, leaning heavily against the side of a dirty building. Wait, check, this was a cleaner building. The whole city had fallen into virtual disrepair; he didn’t know when, but he knew it hadn’t always been this way. There was no way a city could start out like the shithole this was. Frank continued walking simply to ease the rasping of his breath and the sting of he cramps. Eventually he meandered his way to a familiar, over-grown park. He used to come here a lot when the household war had just begun and he needed a quiet place.
Pulling the boy out of his thoughts was the feel of something wet sliding down his hand. He looked down, and saw the crimson droplets falling from his fingertips. He did the one thing he could, wiping the blood across his dark jeans, leaving rusty stains across both the folds in the skin of his hands and across the fibres in his pants. Oh, right. He’d fallen all the way there. He’d have to go find bandages soon. The last thing he needed was an infection, and with his seemingly ineffective immune system, it was bound to happen.
The sound of deranged, twisted laughter reached his ears, garbled in a throat in a way that made Frank uneasy. He whipped around, heart trying to beat its way out of his chest. That sound hadn’t come from far away, he could tell. Sure, he could easily take any kid in his school; but the things that stalked the streets at this hour of night were like nothing he could fathom in nightmares. Part of him, the more sensible part, sometimes referred to as “common sense” or “instinct”, was telling him to get the hell out of there. The other part of him, his “curious cat” side, wanted to know what human creature could possibly loose such demented, delirious noise; it wanted to find where that laughter was coming from.
Frank turned back toward the dense foliage, taking a few steps into its embrace, going through the motions of finding a suitable spot for the night. However, he decided only to hide his things in the thick vegetation, before picking his way out again. He felt this maddening desire to seek out the sounds. He moved cautiously, almost hesitantly, towards the nearest alleyway entrance, moving along the side of the water-grime-and-who-knew-what-else-stained brick of the building. Frank edged around the corner oh-so slowly, with the only thought processing in his mind being the thunderous beating of his heart in his ears. Peering blindly into to the thick inky black of the corridor, his eyes picked up nothing. Goosebumps tingled all over his skin. As he was squinting into nothingness, something hot and wet spattered across his forehead and onto the ground around him. The liquid looked black on the pavement at his feet, but against his skin it was vibrantly red.
Blood.
Frank looked up to the sky (stupid move, he thought afterward), trying to find where it had come from. The stars betrayed nothing, though, leaving him totally confused and more scared then before. Behind him sounded the sharp clack of boots on cracked sidewalk. He spun around. Before him was a boy, maybe a half a foot taller than himself, drenched in fresh blood. It oozed from gashes across his cheeks and on his arms, and matted his black hair together in sticky clumps (Frank wasn’t sure if it was actually black, or if it was the blood). It leaked from the corners of his wide smirk. The boy’s canines was longer than they should have been, forming what looked like fangs, which Frank might’ve thought was cool under different circumstances. His eyes were like burgundy wine, and Frank could’ve sworn that the pupils were slitted.
“I was never here, you never saw me, right?” His voice was, deeper, rougher than expected, like it was spliced from a B-movie villain. Frank nodded feverishly, eyes wide.
“S’what I thought.” The boy turned on the heel of his heavy black boot, and moved away quickly in a slightly animalistic lope.
After that, sleeping outside in the ex-park was the last thing Frank wanted to do, but he had nowhere else to go, nowhere else to stay, because he sure as hell wasn’t going back to his almost as certainly burned down shell of a house. He had Nowhere, absolutely fucking no Place to call home.
He couldn’t shake the lonely feeling, so he went back, grabbed his bag, and just kept walking, anywhere away from here. He’d find somewhere eventually, he hoped.
-x-
By the time the blood-soaked boy had managed to calm himself completely, it was totally pitch black outside. He could still see of course, his superhuman senses never left, which was annoying sometimes, but he could deal. He had somehow managed to wipe most of the blood off his face, and the cuts on his arms had already healed. The only thing that was really bothering him was the sticky feel of dried blood and the bothersome twinges of pain coming from the left side of his rib cage where the guy had kicked him. He could guess several of them were broken, but they’d be fine in an hour or two.
The boy stopped in front of a door on the bottom floor of a dilapidated apartment building, and raised a hand. The blood dried in the crevasses of his hand looked almost black in the randomly flickering light on the single bulb above his head. He watched the rusty red flake to the floor in places, leaving it looking almost like there were two layers of skin, one dirty and old, the other new, and baby smooth.
Brian opened the door and just like always, looked somewhere between angry and worried, his mouth pinched into a flat line.
“Gerard! God, are you alright? You look like you were forced through a meat grinder, kid.”
“I’m sorry that drunk guys like to beat on me,” Gerard replied, with a sigh, brushing past him, into the dimly lit and surprisingly clean apartment, “I’m gonna take a shower.”
“I’ve gotta go to work in like, ten minutes. Throw your clothes into to the sink, fill it with some water- make sure it’s cold- and put some peroxide in it. I’ll take care if it when I get home. Make sure you rinse out the tub when you’re done in there okay?”
“Yes, mother.” Gerard sighed, in a mocking tone.
“Ignoring that. I’ll see you later, then. Actually try to get some sleep, Gerard.” With that, Brian exited the building.
Gerard didn’t particularly like lying to Brian as to why he came home bloody and beaten at least four or five times every week, but what else was he supposed to say? “Oh, hey, Brian? Yeah, I’m some sort of freakish devil-spawn, piss me off and I could kill you. Just thought you’d want to know.”
Yeah. Or not.
Gerard walked out of the bathroom, wet hair dripping down his back, towel in hand. He’d had to rinse out the tub three times to get all the rusty pink water to go down the drain. He looked around the dim apartment, and moved toward the kitchen. The change always left him hungry, and tired sometimes. It depended on a lot of things.
All he could find in the fridge way some old mac’n’cheese, and two leftover burgers, which he would have to settle with for now, until Brian got home. He usually brought stuff home from the bar where he worked. After eating, he draped himself over the arm of the worn leather easy chair, the leather sticking to his back and his arms, but otherwise being comfortable.
There was nothing on TV, nothing. There really wasn’t ever anything on at this time of night; game shows, sitcoms, tabloid gossip, infomercials. It was totally mind numbing. Gerard could feel himself drifting off to sleep, so he let himself go, slipping easily into the dark well of unconsciousness.
-x-
Four huge dragon-like blackened faces, the skin resembling the outside of a charred marshmallow, cracked and black and flaky, loomed in front of him. Each had narrow glowing soulless crimson eyes and huge horns in a variety of shapes.
The largest was crouched in front of Gerard like it was ready to pounce on him, even though it was easily a hundred times bigger than he was.
“What do you want, boy?” it’s voice was deep and rumbling, it’s breath smelled like death and decay, it was hot and dry, and just made Gerard's skin crawl.
“I need help.” Gerard was immensely pleased with himself that his voice neither shook nor sounded as desperate as he felt.
The beast - a demon - laughed at him, the sound so deep, it shook the ground beneath his feet.
“And what is it that you want, human?”
“I want to use your powers until I can save the one I love.”
Gerard knew that the only people there would be him, Shannon, and all those monsters, so everyone would be safe.
“And if you fail?”
“You can have whoever else is there.”
“I will accept your request, boy.” The beast looked like it had a smirk across its lips, and he immediately knew something would be wrong. Something was going to happen that he wasn’t expecting.
It raised a huge clawed foot, and suddenly pain exploded through him, his head felt like it was going to rupture, it felt like someone was ripping his teeth from his mouth, like his hands were being slowly pulled from his arms, knives being shoved under his fingernails.
Then he could hear the roaring of the monsters, and he opened his eyes, and everything was sharper, he could see each individual scale on the lizard things, even from where he was laying, five hundred feet away. He could feel the extra room that - holy shit - the fangs in his mouth took up, the razor claws on his fingers. Blood covered his hands, and he could taste it in his mouth. He got up hurriedly, wiping his hands on his pants, grabbing the black slightly curved blade at his side and ran toward them, faster than he ever could’ve before.
A shout reached his ears, a voice he recognized, and it made him sick. Mikey. No, no, NO! The thing had fucking knew Mikey had been on his way, had heard about the attack, and was coming. Fuck. There was nothing Gerard could do.
“Shannon! Gerard! Where are you?” he could see Mikey yelling, looking around for them, long white sword with its intricately carved cross handle in hand. Gerard couldn’t let Mikey see him like this, so he just shouted to him.
“Mikey! Get. The fuck. Out of here!”
“No. I am not leaving you! Are you crazy?!”
He reached the monsters just then, throwing himself at the nearest one, into its hard scaly side, avoiding the spikes on its lashing tail and back. Out of somewhere, a strange animalistic instinct took over his mind, as the beast fell, turning and snarling viciously at him. Gerard lunged, slicing through its throat with his claws, the blade in his hand totally forgotten. He couldn’t see Shannon anywhere.
Then, he spotted a slick trail of blood in the grass leading into the trees. Then he heard Mikey coming up behind him.
“Shannon’s in the woods, go find her, I’ll take care of these things.” Gerard hissed, through his teeth, unconsciously hefting the blade over his shoulder, moving towards them, uncharacteristic snarl in place.
He’d killed three of them before he heard the scream. He bolted towards the sound, finding Mikey covered in blood, a tight grimace on his face, sword bloodied, and he was breathing heavily. He turned to see what the noise was, eyes widening as he took in Gerard’s appearance.
“W-what happened to you?” Mikey’s voice was almost inaudible.
“Nothing,” Was all Gerard would say.
A moment later, he coughed. “They... they got her.” Mikey swallowed, a slight shake in his voice, “I- I tried, Gee, I did, but I couldn’t fight them all off...”
Gerard’s stomach dropped out. He moved toward his brother, all traces of the demonic traits from moments before drained away. He wrapped his arms around Mikey, patting his back in what he hoped was a comforting manner.
“It’s okay. You tried. That’s all I could ask for.” His words were hollow.
There was a loud roar, and Gerard jumped, Mikey looked confused. He let go of Mikey and saw it. The demon he’d made a deal with.
“You failed, boy. His life is ours now.”
“NO!” Gerard snarled, feeling a wave come over him, a rippling wave of shuddering muscle, and he had fangs and claws again. He threw himself at the beast, only to get thrown off, into a tree, knocking the breath out of him.
Mikey’s look of despair turned to one of sheer terror.
Picking himself up, he snagged Mikey’s sword up off the ground where he’d dropped it, and it burned in his grasp, the black and silver metal glowing, but he didn’t care, he had to try and save his brother. Even if that meant dying in the process.
The thing’s back was facing him now, and he lunged at it, plunging the glowing white metal deep into its back and it screeched. Gerard couldn’t imagine what it felt like being a creature of evil and getting stabbed through with holy metal. He didn’t want to know, just holding it burned enough. The demon’s tail swung up, and knocked Gerard off again, leaving the sword there, lodged into its back. Gerard needed that sword. Mikey had run off, and it was following him. Gerard ran after them, flinging himself up onto its back again, ripping out the sword and hacking at the beast as much as he could before getting whipped off again. There was no blood, hell, no nothing, on it. There was no way Gerard could kill this thing alone. No way. But he was going to fucking try.
He jumped and caught the thing in the side, hanging there, before dropping off, the sword in his hand. The only blood in the sword now was his own; the metal was burning though his hand like acid. The monster lunged then, catching Mikey with a massive foot, knocking him easily to the ground. He cried out, and Gerard tried, fuck, he tried, but he couldn’t get there in time.
There was more blood than Gerard ever thought could come from a single person. The demon had vanished, leaving a bloody, lifeless corpse behind. One that had been Gerard's best friend.
Gerard jerked upright in the chair, panting heavily, body slick with sweat. He swiped a hand over his face, releasing a shaky breath. Even after almost two hundred and fifty years, he was still having nightmares about it. He couldn’t help thinking about how different everything would’ve been if he had succeeded in saving Shannon. He’d be long dead; he knew that, not stuck here on this vile decaying planet with no one and nothing.
Gerard pulled himself off the leather, and into his own tiny dark bedroom, getting down on his knees, and pulling a large black case from beneath the bed. Unlocking it with a key from around his neck, and flipping the latches reviled soft red satin, nestled around two swords. Mikey’s still glowed white when he was around it, and he still couldn’t touch it without burning himself, but he did it anyway, just to feel that he actually could feel the pain, real pain, not just annoying aches. Gerard’s own blade rested next to it, the runes etched into it still looked brand new in the shining black metal. The leather wound around the handle was starting to fall apart, but that was easily fixed. He’d have to go buy some sometime soon.
Gerard could hear the lock scrape in the door, so he quickly locked them back up, and shoved the case back where it had been before.
“Gerard?” He heard Brian’s voice call, quietly, so he’d only hear it if he was awake.
Brian usually didn’t say anything when he got home, just put the food in the fridge, and went to bed. Gerard poked his head out of the door, and was about to ask what was up, and then stopped, mouth slightly open.
That boy was with him, the boy he’d seen wandering the streets. Why was he here? Why the hell would Brian bring him here?
Gerard gave Brian a silent stare. Brian shot back a look that said ‘What? I couldn’t just leave him there.’ The boy looked nervous, looking between the two of them, trying to figure out what was being said.
Brian had this unquenchable need to take in homeless kids. Which, of course, Gerard was grateful for - but still WHY THIS ONE?
“Gerard, this is Frank, Frank, Gerard. He’ll be staying with us from now on, okay?” that was accompanied by a look that said, ‘Mess with him, mess with me.’
Gerard shrugged, and turned away, before being called back out.
“What?”
“He’s sharing your room.” There was a certain finality in Brian’s words that even Gerard found it hard to want to disobey.
Gerard just stared between Brian and Frank.
“Where’s he sleeping?”
“Extra mattress in my room - put it on your floor. Come get it.”
Gerard didn’t need help carrying the thing, it wasn’t that heavy, but then again, Gerard didn’t really think anything was all that heavy, so he carried it into his room, and dropped it on the floor against the wall furthest away from his bed. Brian followed him in with some clean sheets and a thick blanket.
“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask one of us, okay?” Another stern look from Brian to Gerard.
“O-okay.” Frank said slowly. He looked exhausted, and Gerard wasn’t about to bother him, Brian would kick his ass.
“I suppose you want to sleep, then,” Gerard said awkwardly, looking at the pile of fabric on the bear mattress.
The smaller nodded, looking at his feet.
“Want some help with the sheets?” Gerard asked. He didn’t want to associate him, his human self, with the demon residing inside him. It had just gotten harder to do that in the last two hundred years.
-x-
When Gerard woke up the next morning, he could hear that Frank was still sleeping. He was making quiet snuffling sounds, and he’d rolled over a few times in the last few minutes, indicating he was either having a bad dream, or was waking up. One or the other.
He cracked open his eyes lazily, turning his head, to see Frank, brows knitted, curled in on himself. Bad dream. With a sigh, Gerard hauled himself up, bare feet planting in the carpet. He didn’t feel like letting the kid suffer. He hadn’t done anything. Yet.
He crouched in front of him, wearing only basketball shorts and his boxers, and poked Frank once or twice in the side.
“Kid, wake up, you’re having a bad dream.” Gerard put his whole hand on the smaller’s shoulder and shook lightly.
Moments later, the boy sputtered awake, looking panicked and not quite sure where he was, his gaze locking on Gerard's, eye’s wide. He seemed to figure it out pretty quickly after that.
“It’s alright, you’re awake now.” Gerard couldn’t help but let a slight reminiscent smile settle on his lips. He used to do this for Mikey a lot.
“Thanks.” Frank's voice was quiet, he sounded like he hadn’t gotten much sleep.
“No problem,” Gerard shrugged, standing back up, and crawling back in bed because it was still dark out and he just felt like sleeping because he hadn’t been pestered by any annoying dreams yet.
He drifted a bit, listening to the even sounds of Frank's breathing. He thought vaguely about how this might not be so bad. It was still kind of a sudden invasion of privacy though.
No offence to Frank, but he could live without him.
Maybe an hour later, Gerard woke again, noticing that Frank wasn’t in the room anymore, and he could hear the low tones of a conversation, and though he heard his name once or twice. Screw them.
He pulled himself up out of bed, pushing his hair back out of his face, and opened the door to his - their - room rather loudly, still half naked and not caring even the tiniest bit about it. He wasn’t going to change the way he’d lived for the past two years just because there was another kid here. No way in hell was that shit happening. He ignored Brian and Frank on his way to the coffee maker, pouring himself a cup and pulled himself on to the counter. Only then did he even acknowledge the other two where there.
“G’morning, Gerard.” Brian said, turning toward him and away from Frank. It was close to noon by then.
Gerard’s only response was to quirk an eyebrow to show he had at least heard him. He wasn’t acting like this because Frank was around; he was always like this until he’d had his two cups of coffee. Gerard had never been a morning person. Brian knew this and just turned back around, and kept talking to him anyway.
“What’ve you got planned today, Gee?” Brian was never this talkative in the morning. And he never, ever cared what Gerard did, unless it was illegal or something like that. Was he trying to, like, impress Frank or something? Gerard had no clue.
“Nothing.” Which was true. He could stay home today if he wanted because he knew he wouldn’t be plotting every single stranger’s death in the back of his head. He’d just killed a guy last night. He’d be okay until tomorrow, the day after if necessary.
“Why don’t you do something with Frank if you don’t have anything else to do?” Brian turned back to face him, and Gerard gave him a blank, annoyed stare. It wasn’t totally obvious he was annoyed, but enough showed that Brian would be able to tell. The oldest of the three of them looked almost disappointed in him.
Frank sighed then, breaking the silent, tense staring competition that had been going on, mumbling something about the shower, and got up and left.
“See? Gerard, God, why, why, are you acting like an ass?” Brain sighed agitatedly, as soon as the shower had started, resting his elbow on the back of the chair, shaking his head into his palm, eye that wasn’t getting palm-mashed locked on Gerard.
“What? You can’t just expect me to just all of a sudden drop everything and change for him! I don’t even know him!”
“I dropped a hell of a lot for you, Gerard. You think I was expecting to be taking you in an easy thing? No, but I did it anyway. Get over yourself.”
Gerard just stared at him, eyes wide, feeling the thing stir deep in the pit of his stomach. While Brian had been yelling (he hadn’t been, but he might as well have been,) he’d pushed himself out of his chair, a deep scowl on his face. This was only the second time Gerard had ever seen him angry, and he looked pissed now. His hands were clenched into fists as he moved stiffly toward his own room, slamming the door behind him.
Gerard could feel the tremors building up his spine. He sucked in several deep breaths, trying to calm himself before anything go more out of control than it already was. He could hear the shower shut off, and wasn’t quite sure what to do. He could stay, and put up with Frank, or leave like he said he wasn’t going to do, and wander around town for a while.
He pulled himself off the counter, and into his room, finding clothes. He wasn’t staying here. Brian was pissed at him, which was worse than anyone else Gerard had ever met because he was never out right just angry, he always made it seem like everything was okay, or he totally ignored you. Gerard didn’t like either, because he knew he was mad.
Leaving his room with a black t-shirt and some dark jeans, he pulled on his black leather jacket on his way out the door. It was still a little chilly outside with the morning air still lingering around the city. He didn’t know what he was going to do, but he wasn’t going back for quite some time, he knew that
-x-
Frank didn’t know what Gerard wanted of him. He was nice enough to wake him up when he was having that dream (Frank couldn’t remember for the life of him what it had been about), but he’d heard them yelling. It was obvious that Gerard didn’t really want him around. And sure, Brian seemed like a nice guy, he’d taken him in and stuff, but he made it sound like he - no, not just him, Gerard too - were hassles to keep around. He just didn’t know what to do anymore. There was nothing stopping him from leaving again, he could easily just grab his bag and go. But if he did that there was basically no chance of him finding anywhere to stay that he wouldn’t have to pay for, one way or another.
Frank pulled his t-shirt over his head and opened the bathroom door. The place looked totally deserted, although he could hear quiet shuffling from Brian’s room. He moved to Gerard's room - he didn’t dare call it his own - and flopped down on to the mattress on the floor. He was dead tired from not having slept at all the night before, on top of just hardly ever sleeping when he’d lived with his parents either.
He pressed the crook of his elbow over his eyes blocking out the dim light that streamed in from around the thick curtains, regretting he’d told Brian what had happened (minus the spontaneous combustion thing, though. He’d just sound crazy then, even though it had happened right in front of his face). God, he just didn’t know what to do anymore. It just felt like everything was just spiralling out of control.
Frank could feel himself drift off within a matter of minutes, into a reasonably okay dream. He was sitting in the middle of a wide expanse of open grass underneath an old tree in the warm air. The stillness and just the utter serenity of the place was incredible, enough so that, Frank wasn’t too sure he ever wanted to wake up. Minutes later, a low rumble filled his ears and a huge...monster, was the only word he could really come up with to describe it; a huge dragon-like thing with crumbling black skin, and long pointed horns, and glowing red eyes rose from the ground in a rush of dry, hot, grit filled air that threatened to choke him. It was suffocating. And only a few hundred feet away. Just when the thing spotted Frank and lunged for him, a ferocious snarl ripped through the hot gritty air, a body suddenly there, blocking the beasts blow with a single-edged slightly curved black blade.
Then Frank was on auto-pilot. He no longer had control of his body, which was kind of expected, it was a dream (he hoped), but still fucking terrifying. He was up, running toward the beast himself, sword in his own hand. That had startled Frank, but at the same time, he felt this overwhelming determination to kill that thing. Suddenly, a heavy body collided with his own, sending them flying back. The other boy landed heavily on top of Frank, knocking the wind out of him. The other boy rolled off of Frank with a low growl, then turning his head, looking him over, as if checking to make sure he was alright. Frank was utterly stunned then. Minus the blood coloured eyes and fangs, it was Gerard. There was no mistaking it. Gerard was now focusing on the monster that was coming toward them way faster than something that big should be able to go. He had a long gash across his cheek, and Frank was about to say something, when, right before his eyes, he would started to close its self up. Gerard pulled himself up fluidly, and hurled himself at the thing, before Frank could blink. Then Frank found himself on his feet, moving toward it. He saw something fly past on the edge of his field of vision, and turned to see what his was. Gerard was crouched quite a ways away, looking like nothing had really happened; spare the blood running from his mouth and the utterly pissed look on his face. Looking had been a serious mistake. Pain exploded through him. Blood was dripping from the long jagged claws that stuck out of his torso almost instantly, and -
Frank bolted upright, the phantom pain still lingering in his stomach. He wrapped his arms about his middle. Something about that had just been too real, there was something not right about it and Frank couldn’t quite pick up on what it was.
Minutes after, when he’d rubbed the ghost pain away, the only images he could pull from the dream where that of jagged claws though his middle. And Gerard's pale face, with its bruised looking crimson eyes.
After calling to mind the last image, another one popped into his mind. That boy he’d seen the night Brian had found him. Fangs, slittled, ruddy eyes, the same midnight black hair. His eyes widened as his brain made the connection.
No, no. The logical part of his brain pushed back; it had only been a dream. There was no way that Gerard was actually whatever he had been in his dream. No way. It just wasn’t possible... Was it?
-x-
Gerard decided that maybe he’s been gone long enough and Brian wouldn’t kill him now. It was almost dark, and it might’ve been getting cold, but Gerard couldn’t feel it. He didn’t feel much anymore, he couldn’t. He was numb all the time, the only thing he could feel was the dull aches that he had after getting the shit beaten out of him, and even then, he wasn’t really ever feeling it; it was like feeling through someone else’s body. That was pretty much the single thing that Gerard missed. Being able to feel the wind in his face or the warmth of his bed on a cold night, or hell, even the cold would be nice to feel.
He sighed, dragging his feet all the way back home, heavy combat boots scuffing their way down various sidewalks and streets until he arrived back the apartment. The door was locked, which really wasn’t all that extraordinary, but he knew he didn’t lock it when he left. He sighed again, and dug around in his pocket to find his spare key, exceedingly glad he’d remembered to grab it before he left.
He opened the door quickly, and moved across the room quickly to his own, seeing Brian’s door still shut. Maybe he shouldn’t have come back at all tonight. He stopped in the doorway of his room, meeting Frank's eyes. There was something there, something that shouldn’t have been. He knew something, Gerard knew, but Frank didn’t want to believe what he knew, he could just tell. After two hundred years, it got easy to read people. Frank also looked even more exhausted than when Gerard left, even though by his rumpled hair, Gerard can tell he’d been sleeping.
He shrugged stiffly to himself, and dropped himself on his bed, searching between the mattress and the wood of the bed, and clamping his fingers around a thick, squat book. It was bound in dark leather with a chord wrapped about the outside to keep it closed, a vibrant red feather stuck out the top, accompanied by a black one maybe halfway through the book. He opened the book at the feathers, not daring to look at anything previous. He had never done that, and never would. It was something he did to drain himself of the excess of emotion and stress that come from having essentially, two souls in the same body.
He fished a pencil from the same place he got the book from, and started drawing lines on the paper; not thinking about what he was doing, not thinking about anything; just drawing the lines.
Hours passed before he rose from the confines of his own mind and actually took notice of what he had drawn. Mikey’s face stared up at him from the page, a bright smile adorning his face, just like it used to. Gerard couldn’t help but let a small smile settle on his lips at the memory. He looked away from the book, snapping it shut and sticking it back from where it came from.
He glanced around after pulling the book back, seeing that Frank was no longer in the room. Through the crack between the door and the hinges, he could make out a sliver of a body in the chair and the faint sounds of the TV mixed with the barely indistinguishable sounds of cooking.
Gerard could safely assume Brian had finally come out of his room and was making them something to eat, which smelled amazing. He pulled himself up off the bed, and into the larger room. Confusion settled upon him as soon as he entered the room. Brian was the one sitting in the chair, not Frank. Frank was off in the miniscule kitchen, poking something around in a pan with a wooden spoon.
“Wha-“ Gerard started, perplexed look plastered across his features.
“He wanted to.” Brian cut him off, not even looking at him. His tone indicated two things, the first being that that was the end of the topic; second, that he was still pissed at him.
He took a few steps toward the chair, out into the middle of the room so he could see around Frank and into the pan. All he could make out was various vegetables and what had to be chicken. Frank reached down, switching off the stove, and Gerard leaned back immediately.
“Brian, it’s do-“ Frank stopped as soon as he say Gerard, mouth hanging open, eyeing him almost uncertainly.
Gerard looked from the food to Frank, and mumbled an almost inaudible I’m not hungry, before retreating back into his room.
He flopped face down onto the bed, laying there for a moment, before pulling out his book again, looking for a pencil.
Several long moments later, Gerard took notice of what was fleshing out onto the page. Among the vague scribbled lines, was a boy sleeping, a semi-peaceful face, looking slightly uncomfortable. The face of the boy in the next room.
He let out an aggravated sigh, “Oh, fuck this.”
Gerard snapped the book closed, dropping in into the middle of the bed, before standing, and moving out of the room.
-x-
Brian had left a good twenty minutes ago with a small goodbye to Frank, telling him not to worry about Gerard; he was just like that sometimes. Frank had no idea where Brian was going, but he didn’t feel like he should ask, either, even though he was well aware that he wasn’t the one Brian was mad at.
Frank looked away from the TV he wasn’t really watching. He was perched on the kitchen counter, leaning against the cupboard, where he’d pulled himself up after doing the dishes. He’d looked away because he’d heard the door open and saw Gerard slink out; looking generally annoyed (Frank was starting to wonder if he had any other emotions). Gerard never looked at him, only moved the short distance into Brian’s room and come back out a moment later, shoving something down into his pocket. As he left, opening the front door, the sharp distinct flick of a Zippo.
Frank kind of missed cigarettes. He hadn’t smoked enough to be addicted to them, but he liked the feel that the occasional cig had on him - stripping his nerves when he was totally stressing, which was pretty much all the time. Sure, he really wanted a cigarette, but not bad enough to steal them from Brian. They were kind of expensive, and he knew he would be ticked (even more) when he noticed Gerard stole them. Plus, he’d much rather stay on Brian’s good side. He didn’t need another place where he was hated.
He sat, lost in his own thoughts for a long while, before he decided he might as well not just sit on the counter, it wasn’t like he was actually watching TV anyway. Frank slip off the counter, shutting off the television as he went, and slipped into the bedroom, eyes drifting to a small leather book laying kind of rumpled like someone had just thrown it there. Curious, Frank made his was over and picked it up, his fingers sliding over the soft worn leather. Before Frank could turn the cover back, something told he that that was probably the worst decision he could make, that he really wouldn’t’ want Gerard going through his things.
He set the book back down, and retreated back to his side of the room, stopping in front of his bag, rummaging around in it, until he found his old, cheap, mp3 player that still used batteries. He’d have to go and buy some more next chance he got, the thing had been half dead for quite some time now. He pushed in the ear buds, and flopped back onto the mattress, just staring at the ceiling, letting the coarse, grating sounds of the music numb out all thought.
What felt several hours later, the batteries finally died and Frank got up, and moved into the bathroom.
As he came back out, he was immediately shoved up against the wall.
“Who said you could go through my things!?” Gerard snarled, hands fisted in the front of Frank’s shirt, eyes narrowed and cold, face only six inches from Frank's.
Frank was plenty startled at first, and then anger over took him. He hadn’t done anything. The most he had done was move a fucking book. Whoop-de-fucking-do.
“I didn’t touch any of your shit. Get the hell off me.” Frank growled, voice low, glaring at Gerard.
“Like hell you didn’t.” Gerard slammed him back against the wall again. Frank decided not to take this shit anymore.
With his arm bent at an awkward angle against the wall, he swung his fist as best he could, connecting with the right side of Gerard’s face.
He caught Gerard off guard, making him take a step back, his grip on Franks’ shirt loosening. Frank tried to duck away, but Gerard's grip tightened again before he could do anything but lean forward. Gerard swung him forward, making Frank roll oven himself, landing flat on his back in the middle of the floor, Gerard standing over him. Frank noticed, which was odd given the situation, red smears across Gerard’s boots and the bottoms of his jeans.
Then Gerard’s knee was in his stomach, his hands around his throat. Frank struggled, feet kicking at nothing, hands clawing at the fingers that wouldn’t allow him to breathe. Within a minute his vision started to go black.
A far off curse, several angry curses, reached his ears, and he could breathe. He heaved in a huge breath through a throat that felt torn and ragged, turning onto his side. The smell of fire reached him not moments later. He looked past his feet at the pile of black mess a few feet away. The unburned parts looked like cloth, and with a glance further up, he saw a glimpse of Gerard’s bare back crossed with long angry red streaks-burns.
Frank was totally perplexed, what had happened? He pushed himself up slowly, breathing hoarse, and slid across the floor to the shirt. He could feel the slight heat rising from it, the ash crumbling slowly in on its self.
Fire again...
Frank had no clue what was going on, and it was really starting to freak him out. But the fact that Gerard had just tried to kill him freaked him out more.
He got up as fast as his ragged breathing would let him, and immediately retreated into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. Frank slid down the door, dropping down to the floor, resting his forehead on his knees.
He seriously needed to figure out what the hell was happening with him.
His mind raced though what had happened over the past few days, and the only conclusion he could come up with after a good twenty minutes was that he was somehow starting the fires, and Frank wasn’t too sure he actually wanted to believe that, but it was the only conclusion he could come up with. And the only way that he would know for sure was to actually try to start something ablaze.
Digging around in the cupboard under the sink, he found a roll of toilet paper, and set it on the ledge of the tub. Now to try to start it on fire. Frank stared at the thing long and hard, just trying to get some result, half hoping he could light things on fire with his mind, because, well, he thought it would be pretty cool, if he was honest. After two minutes of nothing, he started to get frustrated, and was about to give up, when woof, the soft sound of flames reached his ears.
Frank stared at it incredulously for a moment before pushing himself up quickly, and dousing the flames.
Okay, so he lied. Starting things on fire with your mind was not cool. It was pretty terrifying actually.
Frank eyed himself in the mirror. He didn’t look any different, except the deep purple bruise that was forming around his neck. There were darker little circles that could only have been fingers, marring the scorpion there. Frank heard the front door open, and the muffled crinkle of plastic bags, indicating Brian was back. He arranged his hoodie as best he could around his neck to cover the bruise, but that didn’t work so well, all he could do was hope that Brian just didn’t notice or look to close at him. Then, almost as an afterthought, he pulled up the hood, making the bruise less noticeable, but a bit more obvious there was something hidden.
Brian looked up when Frank opened the bathroom door.
“Hey, Frank,” There was a small amount of cheeriness in his voice, quite the opposite of what Frank was feeling.
“Hi,” It hurt to talk, and his voice sounded scratchy. Frank cast a quick glance over his shoulder, at the door next to him, seeing it shut tight both relieved him, and freaked him out. Then he remembered the charred black mess on the floor that as far as he knew, would still be there. But when he looked, there was nothing there, maybe a bit of black dust at most.
“You feeling alright?” Brain looked concerned, eyeing him up and down, looking for something to be wrong, Frank guessed.
“Mmm, yeah.” Frank answered quickly, too quickly, “What could possibly be wrong?”
“I dunno, you just... You know what? Never mind.” Brian let out a soft chuckle, and turned back to whatever he’d been doing, which looked like a systematic process of putting groceries away.
Frank shrugged, and moved over to the small couch, and dropped down onto it. He supposed he’d be sleeping out there tonight, because there was no way in hell that he was sleeping in the same room as someone that could very well smother him in his sleep.
Quite awhile later, Brian came onto Frank's field of vision, looking him over again, “You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah,” Frank assured him, with a small smile.
Brian didn’t look too convinced. “Well, if you’re sure. I’ll be in my room in you need anything, m’kay?”
“Okay.”
Frank really hoped Brian had kids of his own someday. He’d be an awesome dad. He wished his step-dad would’ve been that cool, then maybe he wouldn’t have run away in the first place. But then he’d never had met Brian either. Frank let out a frustrated sigh, curling on his side. He didn’t want to think right now, didn’t really want to do anything. He just wanted to sleep and forget and... and... he didn’t know. He just wanted to not think for a while.
He must have drifted off, because a sudden, loud noise (accompanied by a steady mantra of ‘shit, shit fuck’) woke him. Looking around wildly, Frank's eyes landed on a sheepish looking Brian, standing in front of the TV, finger still on the volume down button.
“Sorry.”
“S’alright, I was awake anyway.” Frank’s voice was rough with sleep and his throat was just plain sore. Frank didn’t want to lie to Brian, but he didn’t want to make him feel bad either.
The bathroom door opened, and Gerard came out, hair wet, staining his shirt. His eyes met Frank's looking aggravated, then drifted lower, locking on something.
Then Frank remembered the bruise.
Before he could cover it, Brian followed Gerard’s gaze, seeing the deep purple, almost poisonous looking bruise.
“What happened?”
Frank didn’t say anything. He looked past Brian, at Gerard who was still standing in the middle of the hall, face perfectly devoid of emotion, eye’s meeting Frank's, almost like he was waiting for Frank to tell Brian what he’d done. Frank thought about it for a moment, then remembered the burns on Gerard’s back. He couldn’t say anything; Gerard would almost assuredly show the burns he’d created. Frank just could bring himself to say anything.
Brian looked over his shoulder, following Frank's look, and seeing Gerard standing there still, he made the connection on his own.
“How dare you!? You tried to kill him? Gerard, why in God’s name would you do that!?” Brian’s voice was rising, his hands curled into loose fists at his sides, like he was trying not to ball them, but almost couldn’t help it.
Gerard only met his angry stare, and remained silent.
“Get out. Just... get out.”
Gerard looked taken aback, “...What?”
“Get out.”
No one moved.
“Now. I want you out of here, right now.”
Gerard still didn’t move, his face starting to harden into that angry mask.
“Gerard! Get the fuck out of my house!” Brian was actually shouting now, which startled Frank more than a little.
Gerard’s face was set into a full scowl, “Fine! Fine, I’ll leave. I’ll come back for my shit later.” There was a sharp venom on his voice that rose goose bumps on the back of Frank's neck.
He grabbed his jacket off the floor underneath the hook, shoving his arms in the sleeves.
“Have a nice fucking life.” He growled over his shoulder, glaring daggers at Brian, and left, slamming the door behind him.
Brian sighed heavily, pushing his hands roughly back though his hair.
“My god...”
“I’m sorry...” Frank said almost involuntarily. He was just used to things being his fault.
“No, it’s not your fault. It’s just... I don’t know.” Brian’s arms fell to his sides, limply, staring off into space.
But Frank couldn’t help but feel it was his fault. Everywhere he went he caused chaos; at home, at school, now here, and he was fed up with it. Fed up with bringing sorrow to good people, like Brain. There was only one way Frank could really think of to end that.
“Damnit, I - I didn’t really mean to throw him out, just...” Brian sighed, an agonized look on his face.
“I... I can go look for him...?”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“No, I want to.” Another lie, straight to his face. Frank didn’t plan on finding Gerard, hell; he didn’t plan on going anywhere when he was finished with himself.
“If you really want to. Just... be careful, okay?”
“Okay.”
Brian gave him a small smile, and reached out to ruffle his hair before walking away, Frank wasn’t paying attention where, he was too busy staring at his knees, not really believing he was going to do this.
He pushed himself up off the small couch, making his way into the room he shared with Gerard, and dug through his bag, pulling out his dad’s old worn Swiss army knife. He dropped the knife into the pocket of his sweatshirt, and moved toward the door.
-x -
Part Two