BBB Fic - Stay Right Here, part 3

[lightisbreaking]

Part Three


It's one of those days, where Frank doesn’t know what day it is, what time it is or whatever the date is. None of it matters anyway. His days consist of barely eating and sleeping, where Linda practically has to beg for Frank to eat something just for his medications, for himself, for any reason he has out there. Turning his head to the window, Frank sees light starting to crawl inside through the half opened curtain, the sun going down. He tries to push himself to sit up to try and get a better look at the sunset and it takes him so much effort that he gets so frustrated and almost gives up until he sees himself only halfway through sitting.

It's almost painful to watch himself like this; he tries to think of the chances of him being able to get on the wheelchair by himself without falling. There's a 50/50 percent chance of him falling in the process, he either does or doesn’t. Even though, when he compromises with himself, there's always falling down and then pulling himself up again. He smiles bitterly at the irony of the whole thing. He knows that he could stop this circle of self-pity he's putting himself through and give it a shot, or at least be thankful he's alive, or just think optimistically for once. Whatever, just. Something to get him out of this mentality that's tearing him down.

Letting out a long breath, Frank grabs a pillow next to him and props himself up, turning around and watching whatever he can of the sunset. Layers of palest of blues, pink and tinges of orange start to come down and it's the most peaceful thing a person could experience. For a minute there, Frank almost forgets that he's paraplegic, that he's in a wheelchair, everything that clouds his mind. For a second there, he forgets about the band and playing and just enjoys the way colors blend in with each other so naturally, and he lets himself breathe.

Frank hears a knock on the door, and he knows who it is, knows that it's his mum, probably with food or just coming to hang around -

"Iero, you shithead. Why the hell do you have your phone switched off?"

Frank shakes his head. "Fuck you, Bob."

Then Frank sees in the corner of his eyes someone punching Bob's arm, then an afro hanging behind and he doesn’t even have to guess to know that the trio of Mikey, Bob and Ray are over. The first thing Frank thinks of is how he's so fucking glad that Gerard's not with them. It's not like he doesn’t want to see Gerard, because fuck, he misses him, so much. But it's still hard, still hurts and he doesn’t want to go through a whole emotional rollercoaster right now.

"Ignore Bob, it's that time of the month," Ray says as he rolls his eyes and comes in the room, followed by Mikey.

"Yeah, the time of the month where Ray is winning at Halo and Bob is being a pissy bitch about it," he says, shaking his head.

Ray sits himself on the edge of the bed; Mikey jumps on the bed sitting next to Frank while Bob sits on Frank's desk chair and wheels himself closer to the bed, on the other side of Frank.

"What's up?" Bob says as he looks at Frank.

"What do you think is up, Bob? Seriously. I'm either chained to this bed or that wheelchair. There's only so much I can do," Frank says, looking tiredly at Bob.

"There's only so much you allow yourself to do, Frank," Bob says, looking pointedly at Frank.

Frank ignores him, setting his head back on the pillow and sighs.

"Honestly, dude. Ignore Bob," Ray says with a smile. "How have you been doing?"

Frank considers thinking about how to answer; there's no reason to be a complete asshole and answer bitterly to his friends. They didn’t have anything to do with the accident and they sure didn’t have anything to do with Frank being so closed up to himself.

"I'm okay. Tired the whole time, sleep a lot and shit-"

"Yeah, right." They all turn around to see Linda looking pointedly at Frank with a smile on her face, holding a tray of coffee mugs.

Frank can't help but let a small smile crawl on his face as his mother hands the last coffee mug to him after everyone collected around her to grab one. Frank can see Mikey next to him inhaling the coffee before drinking it and can't help but instantly think about Gerard, who does the exact same before drinking his coffee. Gerard always used to say he does it to see if it has the right amount of sugar or not. Frank used to tell him that he doesn’t give a fuck, as long as it's coffee. Only then does Frank realize that he's zoned out while everyone's talking, his mother laughing as she heads out of the room. Frank only catches the last sentence she says, something about letting them hang out by themselves while she goes to get things done and whatnot.

"So, Frank. We kinda came here to tell you something, or actually just ask you something," Ray starts and Bob cuts him off.

"No, dude. We're telling him, not asking him. We're not even compromising this shit," Bob says as he turns to Frank with the hugest shit-eating grin on his face.

"Bob, honestly shut up," Mikey says from next to Frank while he fidgets with his phone, turning it upside down, flipping it open and closing it.

Bob throws his hands back in defense. "Jesus."

"What the fuck are you guys talking about?" Frank says, confused as hell with what's going on around him, looking between Mikey, Ray and Bob.

They all exchange glances. Mikey's still fidgeting with his phone and it's starting to make Frank nervous because what the hell? Ray then clears his throat and they all look at him, or at least Frank gives him his full attention, maybe he'll care to explain what they're all trying not to say.

"Frank, we need you to come up to LA with us, to record the new album and-"

"What the fuck?" Frank says furiously. He can't fucking believe this. "Do you guys think this is some kind of joke? No, Ray. I can't, I don’t even. How the fuck-"

"Frank, shut up," Bob says and cuts him off. Mikey looks at Bob alarmingly, eyes wide and Ray is just on the edge of his seat, but they all look at Bob.

"Just." Bob runs his hand through his hair. "You don’t need your legs to play guitar, Frank. And Jesus fuck, no one else out there can ever replace you. Cortez is good, but he's not amazing and you're a part of the band, we need you for this one, asshole. Don’t back out now," Bob says, looking at Frank hopelessly.

"How the hell do you expect us to make a new album without Frank fucking Iero?" Ray says, and Frank turns his head to the other side of the bed, where Ray is sitting. "Seriously, dude you know that no one else writes riffs better than you and our playing goes so perfectly well together, it actually almost hurts to have anyone else play your bits," Ray says genuinely.

And Frank? Frank doesn’t even need the compliments, or cheering up or soul lifting whatever to get him to play with their band, but it's hard to even think about that. But Frank feels too fucking guilty to say no and he's too fucking scared to say yes. It would be so easy to say no, but then there's Mikey and Ray and fucking Bob practically pleading with their eyes (only in Bob's case, he'll probably punch Frank if he doesn’t say yes) and it's like one huge ass tug of war inside Frank.

"Guys, it's just that. I don’t even know if I can. It hurts too much, it's not the same," Frank says, and he doesn’t even have the heart to look and meet their eyes.

"Fuck you, Iero. You're coming with us and recording this album, even if it means carrying your ass all the way to LA," Bob says and punches Frank in the arm.

"Screw you, Bob," Frank says as he swats Bob's arm away.

"Come on though, seriously. Nothing's going to be different; it's just you, us, jamming like usual. So whatever, you're in a wheelchair, you can still rock the shit out of that guitar, Frank," Mikey says as he nudges him with his shoulder. "Don’t do this for us if you don’t want to. For the band, at least. For the fucking fans out there, dude."

Frank sighs and then Ray looks at him. "We miss you, man. It's so fucking boring with Mikey on his phone twenty-four seven, Bob talking to himself, or actually just shouting at the screen while playing Halo and Gerard living in his room and never coming out. It's getting creepy, seriously," Ray says defensively, like he honest to god is worried about the mental stability of everyone in the band. Frank can't help but huff a small laugh.

"You in? Come on, Brian will practically piss glitter and shit butterflies if he hears about this," Mikey says.

And they all look at Frank with hope-filled eyes and Frank doesn’t know if he can say no. He knows one thing for sure - that he needs to get his act together and straighten his shit up. He's mourning himself when it could've ended up worse, his band is surrounding him practically begging him to come and record the new album with them and he's being a downright resisting asshole, for what? He doesn’t even know. He doesn’t have a reason to say no. Yeah it hurts, but sometimes you just have to press on the wound to make the bleeding stop.

"Dude, seriously, we already have a ticket to LA with Frank motherfucking Iero stamped on it, come on, say yes. I'll even make Mikey do his happy chicken dance or something." Bob nudges him with his fist.

"Okay, just. Don’t expect-"

"Fucking finally," Bob says, "and now? We ignore anything you say after that 'okay,' alright?" Bob grins at him, and stands up to wrap his arm around Frank.

"Glad to have you on board, shit-head," Bob says to Frank and Frank can't help but smile because this is Bob, and Frank doesn’t want to be an asshole when he says this, but Bob really just doesn’t hug around whenever he's happy like Frank does, it's almost heartwarming. Almost. That is when Bob punches Frank's arm again.

Mikey is smiling so hard he looks like he might actually break his face. He starts dialing someone's number on his phone while high-fiving Frank as Ray comes up to him and hugs him. Frank hasn’t felt this good since he left the hospital, and it feels almost out of place, not feeling like shit or thinking that his life is over. And he can't help but to thank his fucking band, seriously. It doesn’t make him less nervous or unsure about the whole thing, but he trusts his friends, trusts Mikey, Ray and Bob and they all understand Frank. Maybe he should just go for this, not think twice and leave the consequences to come whenever they do. Maybe he just needs to swallow down the fear and hurt for a while and hope that it'll help him move on.

Bob and Ray start talking to Frank excitedly about LA, almost relieved that Frank decided to join them. Frank just smiles as he watches Bob and Ray already arguing about something. Mikey gets on the phone two seconds later and gets off the bed. Somewhere in the corner of Frank's room he starts talking and Frank can't hear what he's saying over Ray and Bob. All that Frank can see is Mikey's smile fading a bit, but he's trying to force it back up, then Mikey looks back at Frank hesitantly and Frank's stomach churns. Frank knows that Mikey's talking to Gerard over the phone, their eyes lock for a second, and Frank can read Mikey. He knows that Gerard wants to talk to Frank - he can see it in Mikey's face, the way Mikey's stuck between the two. Frank shakes his head, telling Mikey no, just in case. Mikey gets it from Frank and the turns around, finishing off the conversation with Gerard before hanging up.

Frank feels relieved that he doesn’t have to deal with Gerard now; he's trying to postpone the whole thing until he gets there, and it only hits Frank right then that this isn’t going to be the same at all. But he can't take it back now, he can't say no. Not when Bob's calling first dibs on the seat next to the window and Ray's swearing he's not sitting next to Gerard who flops his head around like a dead mop when he falls asleep. Frank's not going to lie, he missed his friends so fucking much, he misses having them argue about the most random shit, about the tiniest of things, complaining about each other to each other, all of the tiny little things that he never really thought he'd care about, not until he realizes how much he needed it.

Two seconds later, Mikey flops himself next to Frank, on the phone with someone, laughing about something.

"You guys," Mikey flaps with his hand towards their collective general direction, and they all turn around to look at Mikey. "Yeah, Brian, Frank's coming with us to LA. No, I'm not fucking around- dude! I swear! I have witnesses, Bob and Ray, and Frank himself. Oh okay, so you don’t trust me now? Fine, I'll put you on speaker." Mikey clicks a button or two on his phone and Brian's voice is for all of them to hear.

Bob starts howling and Ray says hi to Brian over the phone. Brian ignores all of that. "Iero, speak up, you in with this shit? You better be," Brian says, and everyone knows that he's on the edge of his seat, begging for this to be true.

"Yeah, they got me in, Brian," Frank says with a smile on his face.

"Oh god, fuck yes," Brian says over the phone.

"That's what she said," Bob says and everyone bursts out laughing, even Frank. He's so fucking glad for these people in his life it's almost ridiculous.

Then Mikey brings the phone close with Brian still on the line. "Brian, did you just piss glitter and shit butterflies? Please tell me did, dude." Mikey's almost giggling, Ray already far off laughing at the whole thing while Bob's shaking his head.

"What? Dude, I'll do whatever I need to do as long as Frank's with us, I'll get the glitter and butterflies and whatever shit you're going on about," Brian says, and the guy almost sounds serious, which sets them all laughing again.

They finish off Brian's call after a couple more jokes and Brian tells them that he'll set up all the tickets and hotel and everything they need by like, tomorrow or something. They sit around and talk, joke and argue as usual, just spending time with each other, like there's a weight lifted off their chests and they're all, or at least most, relieved that Frank is coming with them. Mikey eyes Frank from time to time, just checking on the way he looks, and Frank knows that Mikey can feel him nervous and unsure about the whole thing. Mikey leans up close and puts his hand on Frank's shoulder.

"It's going to be okay," Mikey whispers to him with a smile.

Frank is unsure, but he doesn’t have the heart to say that to Mikey, so he just smiles and thanks him. Maybe, Frank thinks, maybe they can actually manage to pull this off somehow. Perhaps with a bit of luck and faith, they'll get there.

For once in the last couple of months, Frank throws the consequences to the back of his mind and sits back to listen to Bob talk about Dixie and his epic love of endless proportions for his dogs. For once now, Frank just sits back, laughs from time to time and just concentrates on breathing and not thinking.

Just for now at least, just for now.

-

Frank's sitting in the passenger seat, Bob driving next to him, Mikey talking about something in the back, over the phone with someone. Frank's in this hazy, weird nervous mood and he can't even concentrate on a single thought. Things keep jumping to him, making him fidget with his hands, bite his nails, itch at his neck and look outside the window only to look back at Bob again the next second. He knows he shouldn’t be nervous, but he can't help it. They're on their way to the studio and it doesn’t feel right, none of this feels right. Like Frank shouldn’t be there, shouldn’t be with Bob and Mikey, it feels so wrong, and it feels even worse knowing that he's going to go in there and everyone's going to keep staring at him. Wondering why the fuck is Frank Iero in a wheelchair, what the hell is he doing in a studio?

Shaking his head to himself, Frank wishes that he could stop feeling like that, or thinking about a million little different things all at once. Everything's becoming a heavy buzz inside his head, too much for him to handle. His stomach twists and turns and knowing that they're getting there, so close to the studio, Frank just wants to open the car door and push himself out of the car. But he can't do that, he can't back out now, there's no turning back. And everyone around him, so hopeful, so fucking happy that he's there, he's doing something other than moping in his own self-pity, that he's making some form of fucking progress, all that shit his mum told him before leaving the hotel, just fifteen minutes ago. This should be fine, everything's going to be okay. He'll just play his bits, make a new record, he can just pretend that he's jamming with his friends like always.

But it's not fucking like that anymore. It's not the same.

Not when everyone's standing up and have microphones and headphones and all the right gear, all at the right height, all that shit. It's going to take them a whole lot more than just a slight adjustment and Frank hates the idea of being such a heavyweight and slowing the band down with the recording and the making of the whole album. He feels like he's taking away from the band more than adding to it, Frank doesn’t even know how but it all works in his head in a fucked up kind of way. He thinks that they're getting closer, but he knows they're there. When Bob turns to the parking lot near the front door of the building and there's this quiet and nervous air around them starting to build up and Frank hates the fact that it's because of him. He knows that they don’t mean to feel nervous, and they're trying to make it easier on him, but it's got to happen, it's just there.

As the car stops and Bob pulls the gear out, they all start shuffling out of the car one by one. Frank hears the trunk of the car open up and Ray pulling his wheelchair out, and he knows that this shouldn’t be as embarrassing as it is, because they're all his friends, his brothers and it's okay. But that doesn’t take away the twisting in his stomach or the bitterness in his throat, just makes it worse. Then there is Bob helping Frank down, carrying him up while Ray opens up the wheelchair and then placing him down. Frank's pretty fucking sure that this won’t ever stop being so humiliating. He forces a smile on his lips and mumbles a whispered thank you to Bob and Ray, getting a nod from Bob in return and a smile from Ray.

Frank doesn’t let any of them touch the wheelchair, grabbing the wheels himself and strolling inside as they all follow next to and behind him. There's this clenching feeling inside Frank's chest as he gets inside the building, a heavy and nervous weight, like his body is suddenly double its weight. Frank feels a hand on his shoulder, a reassurance and he knows that he'd push it away or not want it anywhere near him, but he'd be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that he needed it. Just the firm pressure of the hand reminds Frank to take a deep breath and let out, it'll be okay somehow, it'll be fine. He silently thanks Mikey for understanding, even if Frank may obviously look nervous as hell, but it’s not like he can help it.

Bob takes the lead and walks to one of the main recording rooms, turning the door open, they're greeted by familiar faces. Jeff sits on one of the couches and Brian is sitting on one of the chairs near the operating system, and then there's Gerard. Standing nervously next to Brian biting his nails and hiding behind his sunglasses, Frank can barely look up at him for two seconds before turning around to face Brian. They're all standing up to greet them all, hugs and pats on the shoulders, a joke or two, but Frank knows they're all looking at him, still not sure how to handle the whole situations. And Gerard, he's just standing there, unable to move, hiding behind his huge sunglasses with his hands under his arm pits and his eyebrows furrowed. Frank can see him chewing at the corner of his lip and he knows that Gerard is just as nervous as he is. A part of Frank wants to turn around and go back home and the other part of him wants to swallow down this fear and insanity running wild inside him and just do this.

"Hey, Frank. Good to have you back," Brian says before bending down and enveloping Frank in a tight hug. Frank knows that a part of him wants to push Brian away, but he doesn’t, he just welcomes the embrace and even wraps an arm around Brian.

"Thanks, Brian," Frank says, and then he sees Jeff do the same right after Brian lets go of him. Frank smiles to himself and hug Jeff back.

Someone says something behind Frank, a joke, and they all laugh, Frank even manages a small laugh. Frank knows that he's trying to distract himself from looking at Gerard, he hasn’t even said a word to him since he got into the room but Frank knows that a part of him is glad.

They spend around twenty minutes chatting up with each other and catching up with one another, Frank knows that they're all nervous for what's about to come and that they're trying to make this go as smoothly as possible, he can tell. From the way Gerard only spoke two whispered words to Mikey, Brian's almost subtle glances back and forth between them all and the constant cracking of his knuckles. The next thing he hears is a single clap from Jeff, making them all turn to look at him.

"Are we going to get started with this or what?" he says with a smile on his face, looking excited but with a hint of nervousness on his face.

Frank looks away from Jeff, feeling his stomach churn, and he looks at Gerard. He lets his eyes linger for about three seconds and he knows that behind the sunglasses, Gerard's looking right back. Frank knows that he's been looking at him the second he got in, and Frank knows that he just can't deal with all of that right now, he just needs to concentrate on recording this album. He's just doing this for the band, for their band, not for Gerard or for anyone else. He needs to do this to know that he hasn’t completely lost it, that he didn’t completely lose himself.

They all stand up and head to the recording room, Bob heading first and sitting behind his drum kit, followed by Ray and Mikey all adjusting to their positions. Jeff goes in the room and sits behind the controls along with two other guys, Frank and Gerard can see them from the tiny room they were sitting in. Brian flips his phone open, probably in an excuse to leave the room, leaving Frank and Gerard by themselves.

There's this awkward silence that hangs between them and Frank doesn’t know what to do, he doesn’t want to deal with this, not right now. He feels Gerard hesitating before taking a couple of steps closer to Frank, his fingers twitching and chewing his lips.

"Frank. I. I'm really glad you're here," Gerard says and it's like he can't help it when he wraps his arms around Frank and holds him tight. Frank clutches the arms of his wheelchair tight, unable to let go, like a part of him doesn’t want Gerard to be this close and the other part of him just needs to hold down so that he doesn’t explode.

Gerard lets go after he notices that Frank doesn’t react to him, Frank takes the chance to wheel himself out and goes into the recording room, pushing the door in with Gerard right behind him. Everyone's getting plugged, with their guitars, drum sets, microphones and headsets. On Frank's usual side, right behind Gerard and off-center to his right, Frank's gear is ready to be used.

Today they're recording a song that Ray had written the riffs for with only Frank looking over it a couple of days before, after Ray came over to check him, telling him he could add or remove or just write his own bits if he wanted. Do their own thing that they have going, like they used to in the previous albums. They'd complete each other, their styles matching and fitting with one another. But this time it's different, way too different. Everything feels so out of place, like he's not a part of this anymore. Yes, he didn’t want any of it and rejected it until Bob, Mikey and Ray had asked him to do it, just for the band, but still. None of it feels right, not with the way his guitar is resting on his lap, not where the headset feels like it's pressing too hard against his ears, not when he strums the strings of his guitar, his hands start to shake. No, this isn’t supposed to be like that. This is supposed to come in and out, flowing and smooth right between his fingers without having to think twice about it, without having his fingers fucking shaking.

Closing his eyes tightly and trying to breathe in deep, it's for the band, I need to do this for the band for myself, for the fans, for whatever fucking reason out there that's making me do this. Frank feels a hand on his shoulder, he looks up to find Bob standing in front of him.

"You okay?" Bob asks him, with his eyebrows furrowed in worry and looking hesitant. Frank shakes and nods his head simultaneously.

"Yeah, I'm fine, I can do this," Frank says and Bob nods once before heading back to his position. Frank doesn’t know if he's lying to himself or the whole band altogether, but he needs to do this, not because he wants to because he has to. Closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath, Frank grabs the headset and covers his ears. He looks around the room and there are half glances of everyone bouncing back and forth between each other, all nervous. But then Bob hits his drumsticks and Gerard taps along and the music kicks in.

Everyone starts with their own bits, going into the usual rhythm and flow of it all, each in their own zone and concentrating on getting this right. Frank's hands start shaking and he starts cursing to himself, this can't be fucking happening.

He triest to his the notes and play his part but his hands are shaking and he can't bring his fingers to work against the string and his grip on the neck of the guitar is too tight and it's throwing everyone off balance. He sees someone gesturing to cut the music off, so they can start from the beginning. Ray walks up to Frank and squeezes his shoulder.

"You can do this, Frank. Come on, we've practiced this a couple of days ago," Ray says with a warm smile.

"It's not working, I just. I can't. My fingers are too fucking shaky and my hands are starting to sweat and, I don’t know. I don’t know if I can do this, Ray," Frank says, starting to get frustrated at himself for slowing the band down. He can't just do this to them now, there's no time for messing up, there is no time to delay anything.

"You can do it, I know you can. Just relax and play normally," Ray says and Frank nods hesitantly in return.

They start from the beginning again, Bob's drums hit first followed by Ray's guitar strumming and Frank knows it's his turn after three more notes, and when he strums his fingers against the guitar the notes come out broken and out of rhythm.

Fuck.

"I can't, I just. Fuck, I can't do this," Frank says between gritted teeth before throwing the guitar on the floor, pulling the headset off and throwing it next to the guitar and starts wheeling out of the room.

His hands and arms ache, something inside his chest burns and he doesn’t want any of this, none at all. Why did he even agree to come to LA in the first place? It doesn’t make shit for sense, he knows that he's not good enough anymore. Rushing out of the building, Frank ignores the calls of his name coming from inside, he doesn’t want anyone following him out and trying to treat him like he's a fucking kid, coaxing him into believing what they want, because they don’t get shit. They don’t know what it feels like, not just on the outside, but the way it eats at your insides too.

Pushing out through the doors of the studio, Frank inhales one deep breath filling his lung with the outside air, he doesn’t want to go back in at all. He feels like he's can't breathe, like he's choking on his own breaths, like normal inhaling doesn’t cut it anymore, not when you're throat feels too tight and your fingers are still shaking.

Wheeling towards the parking lot, Frank finds a small spot and just presses the palms of his hands deep into his eyes, he wishes for nothing more than for all of this to end, at least to cut the torture short, not have it hurt over and over again. Over the tiny little things and the massive things. The way Gerard's eyes always flicker back to Frank every two seconds, the way everyone is so fucking nervous around him and trying to hide it, he just wants it all to stop.

Closing his eyes as tight as he can against his palms, Frank lets himself drown in the darkness behind his eyelids, at least for the next two seconds.

He can't stand anything, he just wants his old self back.

Pulling his headset off and throwing it hard against the wall, Gerard feels like punching the microphone in front of him, feels like tearing at his own skin and smashing into whatever is right before his eyes. Fisting his hands, turning his knuckles white, Gerard walks out of the room and paces in the next room, not know what the hell he's supposed to do now. Sitting on one of couches, he puts his head in both his hands and shuts his eyes tightly, hoping everything would be fixed when he next opens them, or none of this would be happening, just anything but this. He feels someone sitting next to him, and he doesn’t have to turn around, move or even open his eyes to know that it's Mikey.

"Why is everything falling apart, Mikey? I can’t. I don’t even know what to do," Gerard whispers to Mikey.

Mikey lets out a sigh and then looks at Gerard.

"It gets worse before it gets better, you know that. You told me that," Mikey says, nudging Gerard's side.

"I just don’t know what the fuck to do, Mikey. It feels like I'm at loss at every single point. He won’t even talk to me, barely look at me. I don’t know what I didn’t, I don’t even know what I'm supposed to do," Gerard says in frustration.

"Put yourself in his position, Gerard. This is seriously hard for him and yeah it might take a while still, but we'll get there eventually. We can’t expect things to work out right away. Just, give him some time," Mikey says with a sympathetic shrug.

"I don’t want to pressure him. I don’t care how long it takes this album to be done, just as long as Frank's doing it with us, just as long as we're together then just. Fuck all, I just need him to be okay," Gerard runs a hand through his head.

"Go talk to him, you guys need to sort your own shit out as well. He's been too quiet lately, I can’t even imagine what's going through his head. Just, listen to him, hear him out, it might help." Mikey says it like it’s the simplest of things, but Gerard knows it’s far from simple.

"What if he doesn’t want to talk? He's being ignoring me since god knows when and I can’t stand it, it fucking hurts, Mikey," Gerard says with his lips pressed tightly against each other.

"Fuck, Gerard. You love Frank like crazy, that's a good enough reason to keep trying with him," Mikey says with a solemn look on his face.

Mikey has a point (Mikey always does, really), and Gerard knows that he can’t just get rid of that nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach, he knows that Frank wont suddenly just open up to him and just talk, but he can’t try. He knows he has more than one reason to and there's nothing to stop him. He loves Frank and he needs him, they all need him, and Gerard knows that it's a strong enough reason to get up from the couch and head outside. Gerard needs to fix things, and it doesn’t matter how long it might take, just as long as something is working, things are changing for the good of one another and for each other, they can’t fall apart now.

Pushing the front doors of the building, Gerard skims the area outside, looking for Frank. He doesn’t see anyone and starts to slightly panic, wondering where Frank could've possibly went, because right now he just cannot handle anything going worse than it already is. Gerard starts looking around the corners, but he doesn’t find anything. No sign of movement other than workers moving back and forth, some on their cell phones and a few cars heading to the parking lot. Gerard takes the left turn from the building and head to the side of the parking lot, he almost misses the small figure in the corner when he realizes that it's Frank. He doesn’t seem to notice Gerard approaching him, with his cigarettes held between his fingers, shoulders slumped down in defeat and eyes lost in a gaze that floats somewhere between half his eyelids and the horizon. Just as Gerard is about to say something, Frank beats him to it.

"Don’t. I know what you 're here to say, so just don’t." Frank says with a monotone voice and with his eyes still locked at his gaze in front of him.

"Frank, please just stop doing this to yourself," Gerard takes a step closer to Frank, "you don’t have to worry about the album it's fine, we'll take our time with it. Just, whatever, okay? You're more important, I need you to know that," Gerard says pleadingly.

"Gerard. Just stop, please. I'm not going to pull down the band, not since I agreed to fucking come here and do this shit. And I'm doing this for you or anyone else, I'm just doing it for the band. What else is the point of me being here anyways?" Frank says. And that hurt more than Gerard expected it to. It shouldn’t though, because at least this way Frank has a reason because it's their band and it's how Frank should be thinking, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. Gerard just doesn’t understand why Frank is being so closed on himself, why doesn’t he want to talk to Gerard, out of everyone?

"Frank, don’t be like that. You can’t just-"

"No, Gerard. You stop treating me like I'm a fragile little thing, constantly on the verge of breaking and you just want to fix me. Like it would happen in a second, because you know what? It doesn’t. Stop trying to push me through my own limits, this pressure is not helping. And just. For fuck’s sake, this shit isn’t easy. I have to fucking live like this for the rest of my life," Frank says gesturing to his body, the ashes of his cigarette flickering with the harsh movement of his hands. There's this hint of something in his voice that Gerard can’t put a finger on, but he knows that right there, that's his Frank, somewhere under the hurt, bitterness and anger of it all, lying right under his skin.

Gerard doesn’t know what to say, he doesn’t know what he's supposed to say. Everything that's going through his mind is racing wildly, his fingers fidgeting and he starts scarping off the skin around his nails, biting his inner lip. He can’t take this, he can’t handle Frank being cold, and they way he won’t even let Gerard in to tell him what's going through his mind. Gerard can’t help it either, he's reaching a point where the whole situation is just too overwhelming to handle. Everything inside him is raging and his eyes are burning because Frank isn’t even looking back, too caught up in lighting another cigarette and staring away from Gerard.

"Frank. I just want us to be happy again, I just need you." And it may sound like a hopeless and desperate attempt, but at this point it's all that Gerard's got, it's all that's left inside him. Everything else is pretty much far gone and when it comes down to it? It's pretty much all that Gerard wants and needs at this point.

"You don’t always get what you want, Gerard," Frank says, without even looking up at Gerard's direction, just inhaling the cigarette that's between his fingers.

"Fuck, Frank. If this is about us then all I want is for you to love me again, because I can’t fucking stand anything else, I can’t handle not having you around, not talking to you not being with you," Gerard's voice starts to lower with each word, knowing how much he misses it all, how much he wants it back, how much he needs Frank again.

"Gerard, for fucks sake, don’t expect everything to fall back into place the second I said I'd give recording a shot. Things are different now. I’m not," Frank takes in a deep breath, "I'm not who I used to be and I never will be. You can’t see or feel what's going through inside me, how it drives me fucking insane every single day. No one can see that," Frank's eyes hover downwards and he looks at the dangling cigarette between his fingers. Gerard can’t help but feel the pang of guilt that hits him.

"How are we supposed to know what's going inside if you don’t tell us, Frank? We need to know, we want to know," Gerard says, on the verge of simply just begging Frank to let him inside his head, just anything other than this murderous torture.

Frank shakes his head, with a bitter smile on his face.

"You don’t get it, Gerard. you just don’t," Frank says as he throws his cigarette to the side, turns around and wheels past Gerard.

"Frank! Frank, where are you going?" Gerard tries to go up to him.

"I'm leaving," Frank says and he doesn't even turn back to look at Gerard, making it clear that he doesn’t want him to follow him.

Gerard just stands still in his place, feeling defeated and on the verge of collapsing. He feels something inside him break, like it fucking hurts physically to see Frank just turn away from him.

Gerard just hopes this isn’t the last chance he has to get things back together, to fix whatever is possible. Because if it is? Well, there goes nothing.

-

When Brian tells them all that they’re going to have to do an interview about Frank’s absence, Frank wants nothing more than to just disappear. The last thing he needs is to hold an interview where he’ll be stared at the entire time, and people will pity him, and fucking Gerard will probably talk for them like he usually does and Frank really doesn’t want to hear what Gerard has to say about his condition. Nonetheless, despite his best intentions, he ends up on some show - MTV, maybe, he doesn’t care enough to ask - with Gerard to his left and Ray to his right and Bob and Mikey on the other couch.

The interviewer - he thinks she introduced herself as Becky - is a girl who looks about early twenties with platinum hair and a bright smile, and Frank can barely look at her. The first question out of her mouth is an easy one, asking Gerard about the new album as an ice-breaker, something to relax them. Gerard falls into his element and Frank tunes out. He’s thinking about how Worm had picked him up out of his chair to set him on the couch, of how even now, nobody watching will know what’s wrong until he tells them.

Finally, Becky manages to find a break in Gerard’s rambling and asks the question. “So Frank, you’ve been absent from tour fo quite a while now. Can you tell us why?”

Frank sees Gerard’s face fall and he realises that Gerard had been rambling for his sake - to delay the question they all knew was coming.

“Yeah,” Frank says, and he contemplates lying, telling her he’s just had the flu or something, but he knows that then it would just come up again on the next tour, and really, he can’t keep hiding. “I was uh. Actually, I was in an accident a few months ago.” He feels Gerard squeeze his hand, and he’s caught between wanting to squeeze back and wanting to pull his hand away. He swallows, feels that lump in his throat again. “I was hospitalized, and now I...” He stops. He can’t help it, he looks at Gerard. He sees Gerard’s eyes deep and serious and all the comfort in the world and he says, “I’m paralyzed below the waist,” all the while with his eyes trained on Gerard’s. It’s the first time he’s said it aloud, and it feels strange on his tongue, almost too clinical, not real.

There’s silence, and the girl stares at him with shock and pity. This isn’t what she had expected. She stammers out an apology, sincere, and that’s what almost breaks him, but he squeezes Gerard’s hand and holds himself together. The producer is gesturing crazily from off-camera, and Becky nods and looks back at Frank.

“So I guess what everyone wants to know is... Is this the end of My Chemical Romance?”

Frank’s can’t answer. He can’t. He looks at his band, sees them solemn and supportive and he can’t answer. It’s Gerard who finally says, “No,” firm and steady. “Frank Iero is still an integral part of this band. This is a setback, not an end. We’re still here.”

“What about touring? Will you continue?” she asks.

When Frank closes his eyes, he can hear the crowd, feel the lights beating down on him, t-shirt clinging to sweat-soaked skin and the rush in his veins. He loves the music, and touring is everything. Watching them do it without him will be killer but he can’t stop them from doing what they were meant to do. In the end he looks at Gerard, wordlessly tells him that it’s up to them. Gerard takes a deep breath, looks panicked for a moment, and then says, “Yes,” so quiet Frank almost misses it.

They finish then, and Frank sits on the couch while the band get up and shake hands and say thank you and everything else. Worm comes over from the wings to carry Frank backstage, and deposits him in his chair.

“I’m so proud of you,” Brian tells him, and Frank forces a laugh.

“Don’t get all teary on me now, Brian,” he jokes, but his heart isn’t in it and Brian just looks at him. “I think I need some air,” Frank says, and wheels himself towards the exit before Worm can offer to push him.

As soon as he gets outside, he lights up a cigarette and inhales, tries to regulate his breathing and not freak the fuck out. They’re going to tour without him, they’re going to do this. He knows that it’s right, but it doesn’t stop his chest from tightening.

He hears the door open and he can’t help but hunch down into himself, not wanting to be engaged in any sort of conversation right now. Regardless, he feels a hand land on his shoulder, and when he looks up, Gerard offers him a smile.

“You did what was best for the band,” Frank says softly. “That’s all that I could ask.”

Gerard takes a deep breath, gets down on his knees in front of Frank and reaches for his hands. Frank wants to tell him to fuck off, tell him not to get down on his level like he’s a child, but he doesn’t have the heart to do it. Gerard’s eyes are wide and earnest, and Frank knows he’s not doing it to belittle him.

“Please stop making this about the band.” He looks at Frank hard. “It’s about us. You know it, and I know it, you’re just too scared to say it. And I’m scared too, Frank, but we can do this. We have to do this.”

Frank looks down at his fingers, intertwined with Gerard’s. "What do you want me to say?"

“Stop bottling everything up and just talk to me Frank. Tell me what you want me to do because I’ve tried guessing, and I always seem to guess wrong."

“Just do what you can Gerard. I’ll be here watching you guys, and that's all I can do, and you know I’ll be so proud of you no matter what." Frank looks away, can’t stand to look at Gerard while he signs away his future in music.

Gerard shakes his head firmly and grips Frank’s hands tighter. "No. You’ve got to come on tour with us! I don’t care if you can’t play, you have to be there. You can't just sit in Jersey, I need you to be there, I can't do this without you."

"Gerard-" Frank starts, ready to tell Gerard he needs time to think, needs time away from Gerard’s earnest eyes and furrowed brow so that he can get himself together, but Gerard cuts him off.

“No, stop right there. Don’t. Don’t, just please don’t try and say that you don’t want to talk about this, or that there’s nothing going on between us anymore or any of that bullshit."

Frank looks down, still avoiding Gerard’s eyes and feeling that lump in his throat all over again, his stomach turning with guilt because Gerard’s always known him better than anyone.

“Look at me, Frank. Seriously. Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me and I’ll be more than happy to just be your best friend, I don’t care, I just don’t want to fucking lose you. Look at me, and say it."

Finally, Frank looks back at him, and he can’t help but pull his hand away. "Please don't ask me to do that, Gerard. Anything but that, not right now."

Gerard’s eyes narrow and his hands fall to the thighs that Frank can’t feel. Frank wonders whether he does it on purpose, bu Gerard looks so intense and determined that he doubts he notices anything right now. “No, Frank. If you want to end this, you end this right now, but you don't avoid it, and you don't hang me out to dry because you know damn well I’ll wait my whole life for you."

Frank looks at him. He knows that he’s fucking Gerard around, that this is getting a little bit ridiculous and that Gerard is going to keep on holding his hand no matter how many accidents he’s in. He thinks of the way Gerard was right there by his bedside when he woke up, the way Gerard made sure he was the one to tell Frank the results rather than making some doctor that Frank’s never met do it. He remembers the first show he had the guts to go and watch after the accident, of the way Gerard had looked at him from the stage with such ache and Frank had felt his heart break with want. He knows that nothing’s changed, but at the same time, everything has changed. In the end, there’s only one answer left to give.

“I still love you," he says and Gerard smiles this little smile of relief and happiness that breaks Frank’s heart all over again. He can tell that this is it, to Gerard. That as long as Frank still loves him it’s all okay, that everything else will just fall into place. He doesn’t know how to tell him it doesn’t work that way.

Slowly, Gerard moves one hand to Frank’s hip, the other sliding up to cup his neck, and he leans in and kisses Frank, so soft and sweet that Frank can’t think. Instead, he kisses back, because it’s been so long since he felt Gerard’s lips, so long since he even think about this without feeling like his whole world was coming crashing down. Gerard’s fingers dig into his throat, desperate, and Frank runs his hands up Gerard’s arms, into his hair and never wants to let go again. This is where he’s supposed to be. Gerard makes a small, needy sound in the back of his throat and presses closer until Frank forgets how to breathe.

Finally, Gerard pulls away and breathless, asks, "So then what's the matter? Talk to me babe, seriously you have to tell me."

Frank sighs, sees the tears gathering in Gerard’s eyes as he starts to realise that kisses and words don’t solve everything. He swipes his thumb across Gerard’s cheek as the first tear falls, and tries to keep his voice steady. "I just don't know if I can. Everything will be different. What if it doesn't work and what if you don't love me the same? Everything's so different."

Gerard laughs, a choked sound forced out of his lips. “How could you be so fucking stupid? I love you no matter what happens to you, or what you can and can't do, because you're Frank and how could I not love you?”

And Frank can feel his heart beating out of his fucking chest. He's just so fucking scared that Gerard can't love him, that sooner or later Gerard will realise how hard it is to be in love with someone who can't look after themselves entirely, and why doesn't Gerard see that, why can't Gerard just promise him it'll all be okay?

Eyes pleading, Gerard kisses him again, hard and desperate, all want. "What do you need for me to prove it to you, Frank?” he mumbles against his lips. “You name it, I’ll do it. I’ll do anything for fuck’s sake, don’t you get it Frank?” He pauses and takes a breath before continuing, lips moving faster and voice racing, tinged with desperation and fierceness, and Frank can’t look away. "You want me to quit the band, I will. If it's too hard watching me sing and you not being able to play, I get that, and I’ll stop. I’ll give up everything and just be with you Frank, if I have to, because you mean more than any of that ever will."

And jesus Frank can't ask Gerard to quit the band because that's just ridiculous and that's what Gerard loves more than anything in the world, that's what saved Gerard’s life, that's what saved all their lives. He can’t ask anything of him, because he doesn’t need it.

“I just need you,” he says, and he doesn’t give a fuck if it’s cheesy or stupid. He feels so ridiculously full of something and he can’t tell anymore whether his heart is breaking or bursting. Everything feels so overwhelming and he barely remembers where they are, or that the rest of the band are still inside. All that’s left is Gerard, kneeling in front of him, with those fucking eyes.

Quietly, calmly for the first time in the conversation, Gerard says, "I’m not quitting on you if you’re not quitting on me, Frank.
I can't promise that things will always be okay, but I can promise you that I’m going to do the best I can, and I’m going to love you when the sun comes up and when it sets at night. And things are going to get hard and we're going to yell, and we're going to hate each other, but it won't matter Frank because in the end I have you and that's all I ever really wanted."

For the first time, Frank starts to feel like this is going to be okay. Like just maybe, they can make this work. "I’m not quitting on you, Gerard, I promise.”

-

When My Chemical Romance takes the stage again for the first time since Frank’s Tell All interview, the crowd is like nothing Frank’s ever seen before. This time, watching them get up there doesn’t hurt. He feels nothing but pride for the band that overcame the biggest obstacle they’ve ever seen in their career. Cortez is alive, a permanent member of the touring band, and Frank admits that even if he can’t be up there, he’s glad that Cortez is the one filling his place.

Gerard takes his place in the center of the stage, and Frank sits in the sound booth to watch them, so that he can watch properly, instead of hiding in the wings. To his surprise, there’s silence. Gerard just stands there, searching him out, and when their eyes meet, Gerard smiles, and the music starts up. It’s nothing, at first. It’s quiet, and soft and slow, and Gerard just keeps staring at him with his little half-smile, as though he knows something Frank doesn’t.

It seems like forever, but finally, the band kicks into gear properly, and Frank’s eyes widen because oh. He knows this song, he knows this music. He remembers this, remembers practising this with the guys again and again, remembers the way Gerard would watch him from across the room as he sang.

When Gerard hits the chorus, Frank can’t help but grin at him. “Someone out there loves you after all,” Gerard sings, and Frank watches Gerard sing his heart out, and he knows it's all for him and that's all he needs, really. He doesn't need to be playing next to Gerard because here, he can watch him from a different perspective, and he can see every raw emotion and every word Gerard spills out for him, and that's more than Frank could ever ask for.

end.