Sleep Hard Dream Fast part one (multiband)
Title: Sleep Hard Dream Fast
Rating/Warnings: R, character deaths.
Pairing: Frank/Gerard, Pete/Mikey, others implied.
Summary Sequel to Between the end and where we lie (should probably read that first). Monster apocalypse.
Words: ~13,000
Notes: I finally got this posted! I’m sorry it took such a long time, but I hope it was worth the wait. Happy Holidays everyone!
Many, many thanks to turnyourankle for the beta and for listening to my whines.
~*~
Sex in wartime is sweeter than peace
Rhett Miller, My Valentine
What's kept Gerard alive for so long is his immense fear of not knowing what will happen to Mikey and Frank if he dies. Especially to Frank because Gerard thinks Pete is maybe a little fierce about Patrick and Mikey's wellbeing. Not the same way Gerard is fierce about Frank's though. No one could be that fierce. But still, it's good to know someone is looking out for his brother.
Gerard pushes his hair out of his face and looks at Frank.
They're alone again, found a nice little crook on the far side of the warehouse, cardboard boxes all around hiding them from the others. It's dark, but not jet-black, windows letting a smear of weak light in. Stars and the full moon are their friends tonight.
Frank is leaning his back on the metallic wall: legs heavy on Gerard's lap, eyes staring intently at him like he’s thinking about something important. Sharp cheeks, greasy unkept hair, lipring moshing on his mouth when he plays with it with his tongue.
It’s like this: Gerard would gladly die for him. There’s not a doubt about it in his mind. But if he died, he wouldn't be able to keep an eye on Frank anymore. So he figures, he figures if him being alive is the best way to make sure Frank stays alive, he will be damned if he lets himself get killed. The thing is he knows Frank feels the same way about him and that knowledge is partly what keeps him going, gives him strength to go on. It makes him feel safe. Like somebody’s got his back. They make a good team, him and Frank.
"I told you we'd make it, told you we would-" Gerard says quietly, but Frank sighs and it's heavy and a little heartbreaking.
"We haven’t- haven't made it yet, Gerard. And I don’t think-"
"Shh, please just," Gerard whispers wrapping his arm around Frank's legs and pulls him down. He settles clumsily atop, nose pressing into the protruding bone of Frank's cheek.
He bites gently at the grimy skin behind Frank's ear where his hairline juts out, peppering some kisses here and there.
It's dark and kinda quiet, would be too quiet if Frank wasn't breathing so close to his ear. It's raspy and uneven, loud if anything in their small, poky hideout.
Gerard licks Frank's dirty skin wanting to hear more of him; needs him ringing in his fucking ears.
"Don't think about it, any of it, not now. Just. Just..." Be at peace for now, Gerard wants to say but groans instead because Frank is smoothing his palms over thighs in dirty jeans, the warm skin of his abdomen where his shirt is tugging up, the thick pressure in his groin.
"Okay," Frank agrees, mouthing, breath hot on Gerard's temple. "Okay, yeah. Okay just- fuck," he inhales sharply and moans, and that, that's exactly what Gerard was going for.
Frank’s fingers grip Gerard's upper arms when Gerard moves above him, grinding and kissing, trying to make Frank feel so good, so good that for a while it'll be like the world isn't ending for them. Like the awful desperation they’re all feeling would ease some.
He pushes his hand down to the small of Frank's back, finding grime and tiny rocks there, sticking into Frank's skin where his t-shirt is rucked up,poorly covering him. Gerard rolls around, moves them so that Frank is straddling him. Better, much better, he thinks as the hard cement floor scratches his scalp.
Frank's wearing a dark, focused look and too many clothes. His hips twitch shallowly on Gerard's lap, hands rubbing down Gerard's chest.
Gerard tugs at Frank's jeans, pushes his thumb through the uppermost buttonhole resting there for a while.
"Gerard," Frank whines a little, covers Gerard's hand with his own.
And Gerard can't help but think how lucky he has been in everything bad that's happened to them. He's alive still. They're all alive. He still gets to feel Frank in every possible way; gets to hold him, touch him, talk to him, be close with him.
"I love you," Gerard says surprised at how easy it is to find his voice, strong and controlled. So he repeats it, and again until Frank scowls down at him and tells him to shut up because this is not a fucking death scene.
"Remember when I said I'd miss being close with you?" Frank asks, hand loosening its grip on Gerard, pushing it under Gerard's shirt instead. "When we knew had to leave soon?"
"Remember, yeah," Gerard agrees, breath hitching when Frank grinds down on him. He tries to push Frank's jeans off of his hips to get this thing going because the pressure in his own jeans is getting hard to ignore. He just needs, needs to...
"I take it back,” Frank says sitting up properly, poking a finger at Gerard’s stomach. “The closeness hasn’t gone anywhere. You’ve done nothing but harassed me since we left." He laughs breathily rising to his knees allowing Gerard to finally pull his pants down to his thighs.
Fingers pushing into the waistband of Frank's boxers, Gerard laughs too, because fuck it's true. Something about Frank and the end of the world just makes him so, incredibly horny.
"You know-" Gerard starts but then something grabs Frank by the neck and lifts him up from Gerard's lap with a growl.
"Gerrr-" Frank yelps, twitching legs tangled up in pulled-down jeans. He kicks something rottenly grey and ugly in the shins anyway, and it whines a little bit.
"Fuck." Gerard quickly scrambles up, going for his switchblade that's lying on the ground near him. "Don't let it bite you, it's a zombie!" he yells ignoring how ridiculous it sounds out loud.
Frank aims a kick at its kneecap, struggling to breathe around a thick arm that's squeezing him against a broad chest. "Fuck, Gerard!"
Gerard goes for it, grabs it by the hair yanking its head up when it turns towards Frank's neck, teeth bared and yellow. He hurts its back with his blade, forcing it to let go of Frank and lunge at him instead.
The zombie is slow though, slow in its moves and Gerard is fucking good at this, so he gets its stomach sliced open, cuts its neck to make sure.
The blade drops to the ground making loud, clattering sounds. Gerard’s hands jitter terribly when he turns to Frank.
"Frank. Frank are you-"
"I'm fine," Frank coughs and rubs his throat. He pulls his jeans back up from where they’re pooling around his ankles and strikes the toe of his sneaker against the zombie’s ear, kicking it hard on the head. Gone. "It didn't - I'm fine," he says, quickly buttoning up the jeans.
Gerard doesn't fully comprehend, can't stop seeing stained teeth and Frank's neck in his mind. Frank is not fine. Frank has just been attacked.
"Fuck, fuck, come here. Come here for a sec," he says reaching for Frank’s arm, only to have him pull away.
"Gerard, really, I said I was-"
"Just let me see. Please?" Gerard says quietly but Frank pushes him away. He grabs Frank’s arm again, giving him a look. “Quit being an ass,” he says tugging at the mouth of Frank's t-shirt, stretching it over his shoulder. Frank sighs but relents letting Gerard do this, lets him make sure. He places a warm palm on Gerard's hip and cocks his head so that it's easier to see.
Frank's skin is unbroken, no blood, no bitemarks. Gerard checks the back of his neck too and then pushes his face into the crook trying to fix his own fucked up breathing.
“Told you I was fine.”
Gerard hums. "That was too fucking close though," he mumbles into Frank's collarbone, heart in his throat. "Too fucking close."
Frank hugs him awkwardly, arm wrapping around Gerard's hunched back. "Okay, it’s okay. I’m okay, man. Didn’t hurt me,” he says, and then “Come on, we should probably check up on the others, make sure that was the only one."
Gerard nods as best as he can, face still pressing into Frank. He drops a quick kiss on Frank's shoulder, and another, and another, but eventually pulls away.
~*~
The sun shines thinly in the morning turning air bright and pale. Even though Pete's never actually been in Vegas before, he is pretty sure it isn't supposed to be quite so cold especially this close to the summer. Pete isn't sure of the date, but he thinks they’re probably in the early stages of September.
He's patrolling the maze of industrial buildings, warehouses and such with Joe and Mikeyway while the others are hunting for food. Chocolate bars and Diet Cokes or something. Salted peanuts for Patrick.
Mikey is walking determinedly one step ahead, crossbow in hand swinging on a level with his thigh.
They had a scare last night, Frank and Gerard, but Mikey must have felt it strongly as well. Pete figures Frank must be to Mikey kind of like what Patrick is to him. Minus the part where Pete would most likely jump Patrick if the guy gave him a fair chance.
Things changed when they got to Vegas. What they once faced in the east coast is nothing compared to the west. The monsters that were here and there, sporadic and fairly easy to destroy, are now greater in amount, angrier and hungrier, more aggressive. No one's saying how bad a decision they made coming here, but Pete is pretty sure everybody's thinking it.
Brendon seems to be the only one of them still hopeful -- hoping to find the ''groups'' Steve and Brian had so keenly talked about on the radio.
To Pete, Vegas seems like a city of lost hope, failed battles both mental and physical, and bad decisions. Everything he expects to find is deserted buildings, monsters and the occasional rotting bodies that haven't disappeared like the others. He doesn’t know why they disappear in the first place, but it’s what he has learned to expect them to do, and when they don’t, well…
Maybe the disappearing process just takes some time. No one’s wanted to stick around a body long enough to find out. No one’s wanted to play a game of wait and see. Maybe the monsters eat the dead in due time, but it’s all a bunch of guesses and speculation. Nobody knows anything.
Joe looks bored, left hand in jeans pocket, the other one holding a plank with rusty nails sticking out from it. It’s not the best weapon in the world but he’s made due.
It’s been a peaceful morning, nothing’s gotten in their way.
“Hey you all wanna play a game?” Pete asks over the irritating noise the pipe he’s dragging behind makes when it bumps on the ground.
Mikey glances at him out of the corner of his eye and shrugs. He’s been pretty quiet the whole morning.
Joe makes a sound that Pete thinks could be either interpreted as an unenthusiastic sure, why the fuck not or a regular just hit me with a stick in the head why don’t you.
This doesn’t discourage Pete in the least. He grins and says, ”Okay well, uh. Okay.”
Looking around for something he could use, he notices a white, chubby blob moving around in the near distance. A dog is sniffing up a lamp post!
“Okay. Okay. I spy with my little eye,” he starts in an irritating voice and Mikey snorts exasperatedly, shaking his head.
“Come on dude, this’ll be good, I promise.” He’s still eyeing the dog. It’s small but it would probably make a good guard. “I spy with my little eye something that looks like it will pee in about- oh, now,” he says and watches the dog raise its leg as a salutation to the lamp post.
“What?” Joe croaks following Pete’s gaze. “Oh shit, dude. That’s awesome!” It really is. It’s the first animal they’ve seen in ages, save for the occasional street birds.
“Yeah dude, awesome,” Mikey agrees and grins at Pete for the first time that day. It makes Pete grin as well, so hard that his cheeks hurt.
“Told you so.”
~*~
Frank thinks the dog should be named Chainsaw. Or if that's too suggestive then maybe Cujo or, "Oh, Ceasar! After my uncle’s dog. He was such a fucking psycho. Remember, Gerard?"
He and Gerard argue about it for a good ten minutes, Gerard occasionally throwing in names like Calcutta and Gin, which make Frank laugh.
"What the fuck are those? Comic book dogs? You're a real geek, Gerard Way." Gerard pokes his tongue out at Frank and Frank imitates the gesture then pinches Gerard’s tongue between his fingers.
Pete rolls his eyes at them. He doesn't understand why Frank and Gerard think they get to name the dog. Pete was the one who found it. Even Mikey and Joe would have more to say about the name than these guys, they just don’t seem to be caring that much. Instead, they’re sitting on the floor, legs crossed like Buddha statues, a messy pile of playing cards between them.
"Look guys," Pete says, petting his new friend on the top of its head. It wiggles its tail and sniffs Pete's hand, smooth tongue coming out to lick his palm. "I already told you his name is Hemingway."
"How is that a good name for a guard?" Frank asks. "What's it gonna do, bore the monsters to death with its tedious literary works?" Gerard muffles his chuckles badly with a fist on the mouth and nudges Frank’s shin. Frank smiles sweetly up at Gerard before pushing him to the side of the head. “Don’t laugh, it’s not nice.”
Pete opens his mouth to argue some more but then Ray and Patrick come running from outside yelling at everyone to hurry up and pack their shit because they have to leave now.
“Fuck. What is it?” Pete asks as Patrick yanks him by the collar, gets him up from the makeshift bed that Pete fixed from cardboards and a thin blanket. He goes to grab his backpack from where it’s leaning against the wall.
“Does it matter? Some creepy things, I don’t know! Come on, man, hurry the fuck up!”
There is general scrambling and chaos. A whirlwind of hoodies and backpacks, sleeping bags and blankets.
Jon grabs Brendon’s hand sleepily and nudges him to get the guy moving, both just jerked awake by the noise.
Ray ushers Frank, Gerard and Mikey out of the second exit that’s on the opposite side of the warehouse, a few feet away from a crappy dirty-white space heater. It hasn’t kept them warm in the least, but then again, it isn’t supposed to be Chicago weather in fucking Vegas. Ray looks panicked, like the only thing that matters to him at the moment is to make sure those three get out as fast as possible. Pete’s kind of curious to know what Ray and Patrick saw, but he makes sure not to loiter on the way.
Andy reaches the exit next, but stays put waiting for the others to scurry out. When Jon and Brendon are outside, Joe on their tail, he and Pete push the heavy double doors shut. Patrick seals the doors with a large wooden plank while Hemingway kind of just jumps up Pete’s legs and barks excitedly.
They don’t stay to listen to the sounds booming from inside, but instead run into the old school school bus, their loyal means of transport.
~*~
Lately, things haven't gone so well for Spencer and co.
It's only been a week since the fight that had supposed to be a piece of cake. They had been so ready, so prepared, thinking that they would without a doubt come out of it as winners; victorious and unaffected. Instead, Ryan is gone, and William's leg is as good as. He is lying on the plush double bed in a hotel bedroom, his and Spencer's bandanas carefully wrapped around the deep gash right below his left knee. He is feverish, forehead pale, cheeks flushed, and eyes too clear to be unfocused but somehow still managing. His wavy hair is a shade darker from all the sweating.
Spencer doesn't think the infection in Bill's leg will turn the guy into anything he might have come across with on sci fi Fridays when the TV still worked, but it doesn't mean Bill won't die from it. It's pretty fucking bad, but he tries to keep a positive air around them, especially when he's talking to Bill.
The hotel is medium sized, three polished stars and a nice ambiance. The bedspreads in their room are snow white where Bill's leg isn't smearing crimson streaks on 100% cotton. The magenta shower had made Spencer choke up on the first night, hot tears and hot water a cleansing mixture on his face.
If something good came out of the fight, it's this. They managed to clear the area out of a swarm of monsters, and if they keep guarding the main doors at all times, they might have found themselves a good place to stay. The three of them: Spencer, Greta and Chris, because Spencer doesn't think Bill will last very long.
Greta is usually the one playing the nurse: her first-aid kit spread open on the bed next to Bill. She doesn't know what she's doing but then again, none of them do. Chris is usually outside their room, exploring passageways and entrances, blocking and booby trapping them as best as he can. He doesn't do that well around dying people. Greta says it has to do with Robert and Darren's deaths. That boy isn't processing well.
Spencer tries to make himself useful by standing guard, bringing Greta damp towels, and keeping Bill company. He doesn’t think he’s doing very well in his attempts at entertaining Bill though, and is relieved whenever the guy is sleeping. He doesn’t like being around dying people either. They make him nervous.
Greta and Chris stopped painting their faces soon after Robert died. The only one left with a gang sign is William. But it’s lost its meaning, they’re all the same now. Greta looks good with a naked face, like she’s not going to kill you in your sleep.
“How do I look?” Bill asks Greta one morning when Spencer is done shaving him. His eyebrows are raised, lips pursed like he’s attempting to make a kissy face. He looks like a badly drawn cartoon fish. Spencer snorts and shakes his head placing the razor on the nightstand.
“Like a really skinny chick,” Greta deadpans, barely raising her head from the first-aid kit, studying different labels with care.
“That’s my gimmick,” says Bill monotonously and shrugs his shoulders.
~*~
Andy preaches tirelessly about the death of the human race, and how much good it will do the world eventually. It's been a long time coming, really, and they are the only ones that can be blamed.
Joe keeps scowling at him whenever he says these things, reminding him that this has nothing to do with the global warming or the general exploitation of the Third World. It's happening because it's happening and there's nothing anyone could have done to prevent it.
"It's still getting the job done, though. Mother Nature would be proud."
"Shut up," Joe says, making a face at the motley crew of monsters coming at them, growling and baring teeth like that would make them feel more threatening. Joe has seen it all before, they all have, and he thinks about Mother Nature when he’s aiming a hit at a giant spider, wondering if she would object.
~*~
Gerard and Frank are walking down the city centre, dodging broken glass and paper waste on the messy streets. The kitchen knife attached to Frank's hip with his mother's old rosary is a nice, comforting weight, as is the metal pipe leaning on his shoulder. Gerard looks like a futuristic samurai in his well-loved leather jacket, a badass weapon clutched tightly to his hand. Badass, Frank mouths and then smiles, the tip of his tongue pushing between his teeth.
It's their turn to look for the so-called groups of people, the ones Brian and Steve talked about. Frank wants to believe they're still there, somewhere, but it's been awfully quiet.
"'S'quiet," Frank says swinging the pipe lazily between them, glancing at Gerard out of the corner of his eye. "What're you thinking about?"
"Uh huh. Was thinking about work, actually," Gerard says with a small smile, sharp jaw pressing into the collar of his jacket. If Frank didn't know Gerard, he would maybe be more surprised at the answer. But he knows that Gerard loves what he does, it's just that he's been unemployed for-
"Oh, shit, you were supposed to start at your new job this week?"
"Cartoon Network, yeah. I don't suppose anyone needs stories anymore though, considering how we're all in one now. One motherfucking bigass comic strip." He sounds bitter, which is exactly what he should sound like.
"You miss drawing," says Frank and it isn't a question, so Gerard doesn't answer him.
"I had a bunch of new ideas, too. But I guess those two go hand in hand."
"Oh yeah? You were gonna make a new comic?” Frank gives Gerard a knowing smile. Gerard makes a noise and squints at Frank.
“And let me guess. The main character was gonna be this totally awesome punk kid with metal pipes and stainless steel knives, am I right?" Frank bumps his hip against Gerard's watching him grin crookedly. "He and his sidekick, Samurai-G, would beat up stupid jerks at school during the day and kick major monster ass at nights, yeah?"
"Sidekick?" Gerard says raising an eyebrow. "Sidekick. I'll show you sidekick," he says and swats Frank's ass in retaliation. Frank complains but lets Gerard push him up against a wall. His hand grips at Gerard’s leatherjacket and he pulls him closer.
"I'll show you fucking sidekick," Gerard murmurs, eyes sparkling prettily, and wets his lips.
Frank's ass stings and he is pretty sure they're about to kiss very, very soon but then someone interrupts them, and it's fucking rude how they keep getting interrupted all the time now.
"Would you guys keep it down, you're ruining my mission," someone grunts from behind a trashcan, a few feet away from them. The sheet metal is badly hiding a set of broad shoulders and a pale head with paler blond hair sticking up from it.
"Um," Gerard gives Frank a look and pulls away from him. He wraps his left hand around Frank's wrist, his right one gripping his weapon tightly as they walk around the trash can coming to hover over a man in his mid twenties, dressed in jeans and a black Adidas jacket that’s striped on the arms. His lip is pierced kind of like Frank's and he has a gun in his hand.
The gun isn’t aimed at them though, it’s actually hanging from a loose grip between the guy’s legs, but Gerard makes a whoa sound and tries to tug Frank behind him. Frank rolls his eyes and pushes Gerard out of his way going to extend his hand at the stranger.
“Hi! I’m Frank,” he says and waits for the guy to shake his hand. When he does, after a moment’s hesitation, Frank adds, “Dude over there is Gerard.”
“Bob,” new guy says gruffly and glances his watch like he has somewhere to be.
“Nice to meet you, Bob,” Frank says feeling a little stupid hovering over him like this, so he crouches down next to Bob, setting his pipe down on the ground beside him. Gerard comes to lean sideways against the wall, placing his switchblade carefully next to him, crossing his arms to his chest.
“What’s your mission?” Gerard asks. He lifts his fingers to his mouth and starts biting on the skin around the nail of his thumb.
Bob raises his head to look at Gerard, shading his eyes with his hand from the sun that peeks irritably from behind Gerard’s shoulder. “To kill as many motherfuckers I can before I die.”
Frank looks at Gerard and Gerard looks back at him and they both grin toothily. “Hear hear,” Frank says and highfives Gerard.
They found one.
~*~
Bob can't help but be a little surprised when these two stumble in his way. He hasn't had much luck with finding other people, not that he's been looking, but still. The only ones he's seen since this thing started were Bert and Quinn and Jepha and Dan: a handful of suffering fools with too much bluster and too little brains to survive.
These two don't look too savvy either, but considering they're still alive, they must be doing something right.
"Where's your group?" Gerard asks. He and Frank are walking on either side of Bob, playing Spanish inquisition.
Bob glances at Gerard. "There's no group."
"Wait, you're all alone?"
Bob looks at Frank and shrugs. Frank looks pitying, like it's the most horrible thing he has ever heard. "It's not a big deal."
"But. Seriously man, no one? There must be someone."
Gerard shushes Frank with a look and pats Bob on the back probably going for comforting. He pulls his hand away quickly though when Bob makes a face at him.
"Well, I spent a night with these fuckers last week, but. Uh, let’s just say they weren’t doing so well," Bob says a little defensively, thinking about the bloody mess of the four troublemakers that had tried to capture something big and angry, but had failed terribly. Those guys were all out of luck.
"Shit, that's though man," Frank says sympathetically shaking his head.
"Look, I said it's not a big deal," Bob tries because it's really not, but no one's listening to him.
"He's got us now, Frankie," Gerard says warmly and Frank grins at him and then at Bob, nodding his head.
"That’s right!"
"Look guys, I appreciate your concern and everything but I work best alone."
"Nonsense," says Frank and slaps Bob on the back. "You're coming with us."
~*~
"And he has a gun," Gerard tells Ray and Mikey excitedly for the tenth time since coming back. It just never gets old.
"We know," says Mikey rolling his eyes, but he's smiling.
Bob is talking to Patrick and Pete outside the Starbucks they're entrenched in, gesturing at his gun, then aiming it at the random zombie that's walking on the other side of the street. It goes down easily.
"Whoa, did you see that?" Frank asks taking a seat next to Mikey. "Guy's like a white Pete Washington."
"At least," Ray agrees and grins.
"Who?" Brendon asks from the counter. He's drinking something delicious and foamy that Jon fixed him just like that, without so much as a blink of an eye. Jon is now making regular coffee and there's a good chance Gerard might cry when the smell hits his nose.
"Never mind," Ray says waving Brendon off. He watches amusedly as Bob offers the gun to Patrick only to have Pete pull Patrick away. They start arguing then, making big gestures with their hands, Pete red in the face, Patrick shoving him in the chest. Bob just stares at the two dumbly, mouth hanging open, gunhand still at mid-gesture. Hemingway is licking his leg.
“Should we go rescue new guy?” Joe asks. He’s sprawled out lazily in his chair, legs stretched on the table, arms crossed behind his head.
“Already on it,” says Andy walking to the door.
~*~
It’s the beginning of their second week in Las Vegas, and Frank has dragged Mikey and Pete with him to the Arts & Crafts store situated within a stone's throw from their Starbucks.
It had taken the whole afternoon to convince Gerard not to follow them, and Mikey had had to promise Gerard he would throw Pete at any possible monster and run with Frank if it came to that. Gerard had probably been joking about it, but then again, it's Gerard so maybe he was serious after all. Pete had shrugged and said he'd do it, and Frank had rolled his eyes at everyone hurrying them out the door.
And now they're here, in the store, Mikey and Pete walking behind Frank as the guy studies different pencils and markers with care.
"Why are we here again?" Mikey asks, scratching the back of his dirty head. He really needs to find a shower soon. He has been able to wash himself in water fountains and sinks, but they haven’t ventured in places with real showers in weeks.
"Gerard," Frank mumbles distractedly, picking up a marker pen and drawing a red line on his thumb. "He wants to draw so I'm getting him somethin' to draw with."
"I thought we already had pens," Pete says poking at a random price tag.
Frank bats the air impatiently. "Not the right kind."
Okay, Mikey thinks. This is really nice, but, "Why didn't you come here with Gerard?"
"It's supposed to be a surprise."
Pete smirks. "How long have you two been together?"
Frank glances at Pete before picking up more colorful markers. They're like a small rainbow on his palm. "Three years in November," he says.
Pete makes an impressed sound. "Awesome, man."
Frank smiles a little, stuffing the markers into his back pocket. "Yeah," he agrees. “It is.”
"Okay, let's give the guy some space," Mikey says suddenly wanting to have Pete all to himself. He grabs Pete's hand and pulls him by Frank towards another shelf. When they pass Frank, Mikey pats him on the back and ruffles up his hair.
"Three years, dude," Pete says looking around, still sounding impressed. "I've never even been with someone for more than six months."
Mikey frowns. "I thought maybe you and Patrick-"
"Nah, man. He- we're just friends. Really good friends."
"Oh."
Pete grins toothily. "Uh huh. What about you, then?"
"Um." Mikey's cheeks burn and he's suddenly embarrassed. "I had a girlfriend, but we didn't really get along,” he says and shrugs. “I think she hated me. She most likely hated me."
Pete laughs, really laughs at him and when Mikey scowls, he pulls him into a hug. It’s warm and awkward, heartfelt and confusing in the way that it makes Mikey’s stomach tighten nicely, knotting up his insides.
"Okay, Mikeyway. Okay then," Pete says, voice calm and comfortable next to Mikey’s ear. Mikey could get used to it.
~*~
"Come on, Mikeyway, wake up," Pete hisses nudging Mikey awake. Hemingway is pushing his wet nose into Mikey's ear and Mikey jerks his head up so fast it bumps hard against Pete's. "Th' fuck?"
"Come on. Dude, get up. There's something I wanna show you," Pete whispers pulling at Mikey's hoodie to help him up from the floor. Gerard whines in his sleep and rolls onto the gap Mikey vacated, blanket following with him until Frank pulls it back over himself.
Mikey scratches his head and blinks at Pete. It's so dark he can barely see him. "The fuck?" he asks again but lets Pete take his hand and pull him out of the Starbucks, trying not to trip over anyone as they go. Pete hands him his crossbow and touches fingers against his lips to keep him quiet.
"Pete, um," Mikey whispers. It's a chilly night, the air bites at his cheeks and the tip of his nose. He glances around the dark street trying to see if there's anything he should worry about. Everywhere looks empty, but Mikey feels a tremor traveling along his spine.
"'S'okay, no monsters. Me and Hemmy checked", Pete grins and leans down to pet the dog some.
"Uh," Mikey says shifting uncomfortably. "Why did you wake me up?"
Pete looks a little taken aback. He sits down on the pavement leaning his back against the door of the café. He pats the ground so Mikey slumps down beside him, their shoulders touching. "Want a smoke?" Pete asks pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, offering Mikey one.
Mikey stares at the pack for a while, trying to think if he's ever even seen Pete smoke. He doesn't think he has. "Thanks," he says dully, but sighs contentedly when he finally takes his first drag. It’s… It’s just inexpressible. "Sweet Jesus, thank you, man," he says then, with more feeling, his eyes watering.
Pete smiles toothily and nods. "They're your brother's", he laughs. "Snatched 'em while I was waking you up. Thought I could lure you out with me with those if everything else failed."
Mikey snorts smoke puffing out of his nose. "You better return them if you don't want to deal with grumpy Gerard."
Pete shrugs. "I dunno, man. It might be funny for a while," he says and Mikey has to agree with him.
They share a nice silence, watching Hemingway as he runs around the street stopping to sniff at corners every once in a while, their shoulders pressing tightly against each other. "You never answered my question," Mikey says when he's finished his smoke. He throws the stub away and glances at Pete from the corner of his eye.
Pete shrugs looking somewhat sheepish. "It's stupid," he says slowly. "I couldn't sleep so I went out to get some air, right? And it was fucking creepy, but pretty sweet at the same time. The stars, and the squiggly thing I killed," he rolls his hand motioning at the mess a few feet away from them. Mikey hadn't even noticed it until now. "Just wanted to share it with someone."
"Oh," Mikey says, blinking.
"Yea. For some reason the first person I thought of was you. Sorry I woke you-"
"No, it's. It's fine," Mikey says, ears burning. "I'm glad you did. Dude." He taps his finger against Pete's hand before taking it and squeezing. Pete kind of rolls his head, his nose bumping against Mikey's cheekbone. He rubs his nose into Mikey's cheek slowly, coaxing Mikey into turning his head until their lips touch. It's soft and careful. The opposite of Mikey's grip on Pete's hand.
It’s more than just fine.
~*~
Mikey is eating breakfast with Bob, Pete and Patrick, stuffing his face with beef jerky and dry crackers, when Frank walks sleepily from the customer bathroom. He sits down gingerly, a goofy grin on his face, eyes drooping a little, and hair messily curling towards his cheekbones.
Mikey rolls his eyes at him. He pushes a Thermos bottle at Frank, making it hit his knuckles. There’s something written on Frank’s palm with the rainbow markers, and Mikey notices it when Frank opens his loose fist to grab the bottle.
Gerard comes out of the bathroom some minutes later, a childish stick figure coloring his neck.
~*~
Andy stops talking about his worldviews on the day Joe disappears.
They’re at a supermarket with Jon and Brendon, and Joe says he’s going to get some colorful ball gum from the machine on the side of the store. He says he’ll be right back, and they shouldn’t worry because he can hold his own.
When Andy, Brendon and Jon have stuffed up their bags with canned food and candy bars, and Joe hasn’t come back yet, they go looking for him.
They never find him. He’s gone.
After Joe’s disappearance, they make it a rule to always walk in small groups, making sure no one is left alone.
Not that it makes much difference in the end.
Part two
Rating/Warnings: R, character deaths.
Pairing: Frank/Gerard, Pete/Mikey, others implied.
Summary Sequel to Between the end and where we lie (should probably read that first). Monster apocalypse.
Words: ~13,000
Notes: I finally got this posted! I’m sorry it took such a long time, but I hope it was worth the wait. Happy Holidays everyone!
Many, many thanks to turnyourankle for the beta and for listening to my whines.
~*~
Sex in wartime is sweeter than peace
Rhett Miller, My Valentine
What's kept Gerard alive for so long is his immense fear of not knowing what will happen to Mikey and Frank if he dies. Especially to Frank because Gerard thinks Pete is maybe a little fierce about Patrick and Mikey's wellbeing. Not the same way Gerard is fierce about Frank's though. No one could be that fierce. But still, it's good to know someone is looking out for his brother.
Gerard pushes his hair out of his face and looks at Frank.
They're alone again, found a nice little crook on the far side of the warehouse, cardboard boxes all around hiding them from the others. It's dark, but not jet-black, windows letting a smear of weak light in. Stars and the full moon are their friends tonight.
Frank is leaning his back on the metallic wall: legs heavy on Gerard's lap, eyes staring intently at him like he’s thinking about something important. Sharp cheeks, greasy unkept hair, lipring moshing on his mouth when he plays with it with his tongue.
It’s like this: Gerard would gladly die for him. There’s not a doubt about it in his mind. But if he died, he wouldn't be able to keep an eye on Frank anymore. So he figures, he figures if him being alive is the best way to make sure Frank stays alive, he will be damned if he lets himself get killed. The thing is he knows Frank feels the same way about him and that knowledge is partly what keeps him going, gives him strength to go on. It makes him feel safe. Like somebody’s got his back. They make a good team, him and Frank.
"I told you we'd make it, told you we would-" Gerard says quietly, but Frank sighs and it's heavy and a little heartbreaking.
"We haven’t- haven't made it yet, Gerard. And I don’t think-"
"Shh, please just," Gerard whispers wrapping his arm around Frank's legs and pulls him down. He settles clumsily atop, nose pressing into the protruding bone of Frank's cheek.
He bites gently at the grimy skin behind Frank's ear where his hairline juts out, peppering some kisses here and there.
It's dark and kinda quiet, would be too quiet if Frank wasn't breathing so close to his ear. It's raspy and uneven, loud if anything in their small, poky hideout.
Gerard licks Frank's dirty skin wanting to hear more of him; needs him ringing in his fucking ears.
"Don't think about it, any of it, not now. Just. Just..." Be at peace for now, Gerard wants to say but groans instead because Frank is smoothing his palms over thighs in dirty jeans, the warm skin of his abdomen where his shirt is tugging up, the thick pressure in his groin.
"Okay," Frank agrees, mouthing, breath hot on Gerard's temple. "Okay, yeah. Okay just- fuck," he inhales sharply and moans, and that, that's exactly what Gerard was going for.
Frank’s fingers grip Gerard's upper arms when Gerard moves above him, grinding and kissing, trying to make Frank feel so good, so good that for a while it'll be like the world isn't ending for them. Like the awful desperation they’re all feeling would ease some.
He pushes his hand down to the small of Frank's back, finding grime and tiny rocks there, sticking into Frank's skin where his t-shirt is rucked up,poorly covering him. Gerard rolls around, moves them so that Frank is straddling him. Better, much better, he thinks as the hard cement floor scratches his scalp.
Frank's wearing a dark, focused look and too many clothes. His hips twitch shallowly on Gerard's lap, hands rubbing down Gerard's chest.
Gerard tugs at Frank's jeans, pushes his thumb through the uppermost buttonhole resting there for a while.
"Gerard," Frank whines a little, covers Gerard's hand with his own.
And Gerard can't help but think how lucky he has been in everything bad that's happened to them. He's alive still. They're all alive. He still gets to feel Frank in every possible way; gets to hold him, touch him, talk to him, be close with him.
"I love you," Gerard says surprised at how easy it is to find his voice, strong and controlled. So he repeats it, and again until Frank scowls down at him and tells him to shut up because this is not a fucking death scene.
"Remember when I said I'd miss being close with you?" Frank asks, hand loosening its grip on Gerard, pushing it under Gerard's shirt instead. "When we knew had to leave soon?"
"Remember, yeah," Gerard agrees, breath hitching when Frank grinds down on him. He tries to push Frank's jeans off of his hips to get this thing going because the pressure in his own jeans is getting hard to ignore. He just needs, needs to...
"I take it back,” Frank says sitting up properly, poking a finger at Gerard’s stomach. “The closeness hasn’t gone anywhere. You’ve done nothing but harassed me since we left." He laughs breathily rising to his knees allowing Gerard to finally pull his pants down to his thighs.
Fingers pushing into the waistband of Frank's boxers, Gerard laughs too, because fuck it's true. Something about Frank and the end of the world just makes him so, incredibly horny.
"You know-" Gerard starts but then something grabs Frank by the neck and lifts him up from Gerard's lap with a growl.
"Gerrr-" Frank yelps, twitching legs tangled up in pulled-down jeans. He kicks something rottenly grey and ugly in the shins anyway, and it whines a little bit.
"Fuck." Gerard quickly scrambles up, going for his switchblade that's lying on the ground near him. "Don't let it bite you, it's a zombie!" he yells ignoring how ridiculous it sounds out loud.
Frank aims a kick at its kneecap, struggling to breathe around a thick arm that's squeezing him against a broad chest. "Fuck, Gerard!"
Gerard goes for it, grabs it by the hair yanking its head up when it turns towards Frank's neck, teeth bared and yellow. He hurts its back with his blade, forcing it to let go of Frank and lunge at him instead.
The zombie is slow though, slow in its moves and Gerard is fucking good at this, so he gets its stomach sliced open, cuts its neck to make sure.
The blade drops to the ground making loud, clattering sounds. Gerard’s hands jitter terribly when he turns to Frank.
"Frank. Frank are you-"
"I'm fine," Frank coughs and rubs his throat. He pulls his jeans back up from where they’re pooling around his ankles and strikes the toe of his sneaker against the zombie’s ear, kicking it hard on the head. Gone. "It didn't - I'm fine," he says, quickly buttoning up the jeans.
Gerard doesn't fully comprehend, can't stop seeing stained teeth and Frank's neck in his mind. Frank is not fine. Frank has just been attacked.
"Fuck, fuck, come here. Come here for a sec," he says reaching for Frank’s arm, only to have him pull away.
"Gerard, really, I said I was-"
"Just let me see. Please?" Gerard says quietly but Frank pushes him away. He grabs Frank’s arm again, giving him a look. “Quit being an ass,” he says tugging at the mouth of Frank's t-shirt, stretching it over his shoulder. Frank sighs but relents letting Gerard do this, lets him make sure. He places a warm palm on Gerard's hip and cocks his head so that it's easier to see.
Frank's skin is unbroken, no blood, no bitemarks. Gerard checks the back of his neck too and then pushes his face into the crook trying to fix his own fucked up breathing.
“Told you I was fine.”
Gerard hums. "That was too fucking close though," he mumbles into Frank's collarbone, heart in his throat. "Too fucking close."
Frank hugs him awkwardly, arm wrapping around Gerard's hunched back. "Okay, it’s okay. I’m okay, man. Didn’t hurt me,” he says, and then “Come on, we should probably check up on the others, make sure that was the only one."
Gerard nods as best as he can, face still pressing into Frank. He drops a quick kiss on Frank's shoulder, and another, and another, but eventually pulls away.
~*~
The sun shines thinly in the morning turning air bright and pale. Even though Pete's never actually been in Vegas before, he is pretty sure it isn't supposed to be quite so cold especially this close to the summer. Pete isn't sure of the date, but he thinks they’re probably in the early stages of September.
He's patrolling the maze of industrial buildings, warehouses and such with Joe and Mikeyway while the others are hunting for food. Chocolate bars and Diet Cokes or something. Salted peanuts for Patrick.
Mikey is walking determinedly one step ahead, crossbow in hand swinging on a level with his thigh.
They had a scare last night, Frank and Gerard, but Mikey must have felt it strongly as well. Pete figures Frank must be to Mikey kind of like what Patrick is to him. Minus the part where Pete would most likely jump Patrick if the guy gave him a fair chance.
Things changed when they got to Vegas. What they once faced in the east coast is nothing compared to the west. The monsters that were here and there, sporadic and fairly easy to destroy, are now greater in amount, angrier and hungrier, more aggressive. No one's saying how bad a decision they made coming here, but Pete is pretty sure everybody's thinking it.
Brendon seems to be the only one of them still hopeful -- hoping to find the ''groups'' Steve and Brian had so keenly talked about on the radio.
To Pete, Vegas seems like a city of lost hope, failed battles both mental and physical, and bad decisions. Everything he expects to find is deserted buildings, monsters and the occasional rotting bodies that haven't disappeared like the others. He doesn’t know why they disappear in the first place, but it’s what he has learned to expect them to do, and when they don’t, well…
Maybe the disappearing process just takes some time. No one’s wanted to stick around a body long enough to find out. No one’s wanted to play a game of wait and see. Maybe the monsters eat the dead in due time, but it’s all a bunch of guesses and speculation. Nobody knows anything.
Joe looks bored, left hand in jeans pocket, the other one holding a plank with rusty nails sticking out from it. It’s not the best weapon in the world but he’s made due.
It’s been a peaceful morning, nothing’s gotten in their way.
“Hey you all wanna play a game?” Pete asks over the irritating noise the pipe he’s dragging behind makes when it bumps on the ground.
Mikey glances at him out of the corner of his eye and shrugs. He’s been pretty quiet the whole morning.
Joe makes a sound that Pete thinks could be either interpreted as an unenthusiastic sure, why the fuck not or a regular just hit me with a stick in the head why don’t you.
This doesn’t discourage Pete in the least. He grins and says, ”Okay well, uh. Okay.”
Looking around for something he could use, he notices a white, chubby blob moving around in the near distance. A dog is sniffing up a lamp post!
“Okay. Okay. I spy with my little eye,” he starts in an irritating voice and Mikey snorts exasperatedly, shaking his head.
“Come on dude, this’ll be good, I promise.” He’s still eyeing the dog. It’s small but it would probably make a good guard. “I spy with my little eye something that looks like it will pee in about- oh, now,” he says and watches the dog raise its leg as a salutation to the lamp post.
“What?” Joe croaks following Pete’s gaze. “Oh shit, dude. That’s awesome!” It really is. It’s the first animal they’ve seen in ages, save for the occasional street birds.
“Yeah dude, awesome,” Mikey agrees and grins at Pete for the first time that day. It makes Pete grin as well, so hard that his cheeks hurt.
“Told you so.”
~*~
Frank thinks the dog should be named Chainsaw. Or if that's too suggestive then maybe Cujo or, "Oh, Ceasar! After my uncle’s dog. He was such a fucking psycho. Remember, Gerard?"
He and Gerard argue about it for a good ten minutes, Gerard occasionally throwing in names like Calcutta and Gin, which make Frank laugh.
"What the fuck are those? Comic book dogs? You're a real geek, Gerard Way." Gerard pokes his tongue out at Frank and Frank imitates the gesture then pinches Gerard’s tongue between his fingers.
Pete rolls his eyes at them. He doesn't understand why Frank and Gerard think they get to name the dog. Pete was the one who found it. Even Mikey and Joe would have more to say about the name than these guys, they just don’t seem to be caring that much. Instead, they’re sitting on the floor, legs crossed like Buddha statues, a messy pile of playing cards between them.
"Look guys," Pete says, petting his new friend on the top of its head. It wiggles its tail and sniffs Pete's hand, smooth tongue coming out to lick his palm. "I already told you his name is Hemingway."
"How is that a good name for a guard?" Frank asks. "What's it gonna do, bore the monsters to death with its tedious literary works?" Gerard muffles his chuckles badly with a fist on the mouth and nudges Frank’s shin. Frank smiles sweetly up at Gerard before pushing him to the side of the head. “Don’t laugh, it’s not nice.”
Pete opens his mouth to argue some more but then Ray and Patrick come running from outside yelling at everyone to hurry up and pack their shit because they have to leave now.
“Fuck. What is it?” Pete asks as Patrick yanks him by the collar, gets him up from the makeshift bed that Pete fixed from cardboards and a thin blanket. He goes to grab his backpack from where it’s leaning against the wall.
“Does it matter? Some creepy things, I don’t know! Come on, man, hurry the fuck up!”
There is general scrambling and chaos. A whirlwind of hoodies and backpacks, sleeping bags and blankets.
Jon grabs Brendon’s hand sleepily and nudges him to get the guy moving, both just jerked awake by the noise.
Ray ushers Frank, Gerard and Mikey out of the second exit that’s on the opposite side of the warehouse, a few feet away from a crappy dirty-white space heater. It hasn’t kept them warm in the least, but then again, it isn’t supposed to be Chicago weather in fucking Vegas. Ray looks panicked, like the only thing that matters to him at the moment is to make sure those three get out as fast as possible. Pete’s kind of curious to know what Ray and Patrick saw, but he makes sure not to loiter on the way.
Andy reaches the exit next, but stays put waiting for the others to scurry out. When Jon and Brendon are outside, Joe on their tail, he and Pete push the heavy double doors shut. Patrick seals the doors with a large wooden plank while Hemingway kind of just jumps up Pete’s legs and barks excitedly.
They don’t stay to listen to the sounds booming from inside, but instead run into the old school school bus, their loyal means of transport.
~*~
Lately, things haven't gone so well for Spencer and co.
It's only been a week since the fight that had supposed to be a piece of cake. They had been so ready, so prepared, thinking that they would without a doubt come out of it as winners; victorious and unaffected. Instead, Ryan is gone, and William's leg is as good as. He is lying on the plush double bed in a hotel bedroom, his and Spencer's bandanas carefully wrapped around the deep gash right below his left knee. He is feverish, forehead pale, cheeks flushed, and eyes too clear to be unfocused but somehow still managing. His wavy hair is a shade darker from all the sweating.
Spencer doesn't think the infection in Bill's leg will turn the guy into anything he might have come across with on sci fi Fridays when the TV still worked, but it doesn't mean Bill won't die from it. It's pretty fucking bad, but he tries to keep a positive air around them, especially when he's talking to Bill.
The hotel is medium sized, three polished stars and a nice ambiance. The bedspreads in their room are snow white where Bill's leg isn't smearing crimson streaks on 100% cotton. The magenta shower had made Spencer choke up on the first night, hot tears and hot water a cleansing mixture on his face.
If something good came out of the fight, it's this. They managed to clear the area out of a swarm of monsters, and if they keep guarding the main doors at all times, they might have found themselves a good place to stay. The three of them: Spencer, Greta and Chris, because Spencer doesn't think Bill will last very long.
Greta is usually the one playing the nurse: her first-aid kit spread open on the bed next to Bill. She doesn't know what she's doing but then again, none of them do. Chris is usually outside their room, exploring passageways and entrances, blocking and booby trapping them as best as he can. He doesn't do that well around dying people. Greta says it has to do with Robert and Darren's deaths. That boy isn't processing well.
Spencer tries to make himself useful by standing guard, bringing Greta damp towels, and keeping Bill company. He doesn’t think he’s doing very well in his attempts at entertaining Bill though, and is relieved whenever the guy is sleeping. He doesn’t like being around dying people either. They make him nervous.
Greta and Chris stopped painting their faces soon after Robert died. The only one left with a gang sign is William. But it’s lost its meaning, they’re all the same now. Greta looks good with a naked face, like she’s not going to kill you in your sleep.
“How do I look?” Bill asks Greta one morning when Spencer is done shaving him. His eyebrows are raised, lips pursed like he’s attempting to make a kissy face. He looks like a badly drawn cartoon fish. Spencer snorts and shakes his head placing the razor on the nightstand.
“Like a really skinny chick,” Greta deadpans, barely raising her head from the first-aid kit, studying different labels with care.
“That’s my gimmick,” says Bill monotonously and shrugs his shoulders.
~*~
Andy preaches tirelessly about the death of the human race, and how much good it will do the world eventually. It's been a long time coming, really, and they are the only ones that can be blamed.
Joe keeps scowling at him whenever he says these things, reminding him that this has nothing to do with the global warming or the general exploitation of the Third World. It's happening because it's happening and there's nothing anyone could have done to prevent it.
"It's still getting the job done, though. Mother Nature would be proud."
"Shut up," Joe says, making a face at the motley crew of monsters coming at them, growling and baring teeth like that would make them feel more threatening. Joe has seen it all before, they all have, and he thinks about Mother Nature when he’s aiming a hit at a giant spider, wondering if she would object.
~*~
Gerard and Frank are walking down the city centre, dodging broken glass and paper waste on the messy streets. The kitchen knife attached to Frank's hip with his mother's old rosary is a nice, comforting weight, as is the metal pipe leaning on his shoulder. Gerard looks like a futuristic samurai in his well-loved leather jacket, a badass weapon clutched tightly to his hand. Badass, Frank mouths and then smiles, the tip of his tongue pushing between his teeth.
It's their turn to look for the so-called groups of people, the ones Brian and Steve talked about. Frank wants to believe they're still there, somewhere, but it's been awfully quiet.
"'S'quiet," Frank says swinging the pipe lazily between them, glancing at Gerard out of the corner of his eye. "What're you thinking about?"
"Uh huh. Was thinking about work, actually," Gerard says with a small smile, sharp jaw pressing into the collar of his jacket. If Frank didn't know Gerard, he would maybe be more surprised at the answer. But he knows that Gerard loves what he does, it's just that he's been unemployed for-
"Oh, shit, you were supposed to start at your new job this week?"
"Cartoon Network, yeah. I don't suppose anyone needs stories anymore though, considering how we're all in one now. One motherfucking bigass comic strip." He sounds bitter, which is exactly what he should sound like.
"You miss drawing," says Frank and it isn't a question, so Gerard doesn't answer him.
"I had a bunch of new ideas, too. But I guess those two go hand in hand."
"Oh yeah? You were gonna make a new comic?” Frank gives Gerard a knowing smile. Gerard makes a noise and squints at Frank.
“And let me guess. The main character was gonna be this totally awesome punk kid with metal pipes and stainless steel knives, am I right?" Frank bumps his hip against Gerard's watching him grin crookedly. "He and his sidekick, Samurai-G, would beat up stupid jerks at school during the day and kick major monster ass at nights, yeah?"
"Sidekick?" Gerard says raising an eyebrow. "Sidekick. I'll show you sidekick," he says and swats Frank's ass in retaliation. Frank complains but lets Gerard push him up against a wall. His hand grips at Gerard’s leatherjacket and he pulls him closer.
"I'll show you fucking sidekick," Gerard murmurs, eyes sparkling prettily, and wets his lips.
Frank's ass stings and he is pretty sure they're about to kiss very, very soon but then someone interrupts them, and it's fucking rude how they keep getting interrupted all the time now.
"Would you guys keep it down, you're ruining my mission," someone grunts from behind a trashcan, a few feet away from them. The sheet metal is badly hiding a set of broad shoulders and a pale head with paler blond hair sticking up from it.
"Um," Gerard gives Frank a look and pulls away from him. He wraps his left hand around Frank's wrist, his right one gripping his weapon tightly as they walk around the trash can coming to hover over a man in his mid twenties, dressed in jeans and a black Adidas jacket that’s striped on the arms. His lip is pierced kind of like Frank's and he has a gun in his hand.
The gun isn’t aimed at them though, it’s actually hanging from a loose grip between the guy’s legs, but Gerard makes a whoa sound and tries to tug Frank behind him. Frank rolls his eyes and pushes Gerard out of his way going to extend his hand at the stranger.
“Hi! I’m Frank,” he says and waits for the guy to shake his hand. When he does, after a moment’s hesitation, Frank adds, “Dude over there is Gerard.”
“Bob,” new guy says gruffly and glances his watch like he has somewhere to be.
“Nice to meet you, Bob,” Frank says feeling a little stupid hovering over him like this, so he crouches down next to Bob, setting his pipe down on the ground beside him. Gerard comes to lean sideways against the wall, placing his switchblade carefully next to him, crossing his arms to his chest.
“What’s your mission?” Gerard asks. He lifts his fingers to his mouth and starts biting on the skin around the nail of his thumb.
Bob raises his head to look at Gerard, shading his eyes with his hand from the sun that peeks irritably from behind Gerard’s shoulder. “To kill as many motherfuckers I can before I die.”
Frank looks at Gerard and Gerard looks back at him and they both grin toothily. “Hear hear,” Frank says and highfives Gerard.
They found one.
~*~
Bob can't help but be a little surprised when these two stumble in his way. He hasn't had much luck with finding other people, not that he's been looking, but still. The only ones he's seen since this thing started were Bert and Quinn and Jepha and Dan: a handful of suffering fools with too much bluster and too little brains to survive.
These two don't look too savvy either, but considering they're still alive, they must be doing something right.
"Where's your group?" Gerard asks. He and Frank are walking on either side of Bob, playing Spanish inquisition.
Bob glances at Gerard. "There's no group."
"Wait, you're all alone?"
Bob looks at Frank and shrugs. Frank looks pitying, like it's the most horrible thing he has ever heard. "It's not a big deal."
"But. Seriously man, no one? There must be someone."
Gerard shushes Frank with a look and pats Bob on the back probably going for comforting. He pulls his hand away quickly though when Bob makes a face at him.
"Well, I spent a night with these fuckers last week, but. Uh, let’s just say they weren’t doing so well," Bob says a little defensively, thinking about the bloody mess of the four troublemakers that had tried to capture something big and angry, but had failed terribly. Those guys were all out of luck.
"Shit, that's though man," Frank says sympathetically shaking his head.
"Look, I said it's not a big deal," Bob tries because it's really not, but no one's listening to him.
"He's got us now, Frankie," Gerard says warmly and Frank grins at him and then at Bob, nodding his head.
"That’s right!"
"Look guys, I appreciate your concern and everything but I work best alone."
"Nonsense," says Frank and slaps Bob on the back. "You're coming with us."
~*~
"And he has a gun," Gerard tells Ray and Mikey excitedly for the tenth time since coming back. It just never gets old.
"We know," says Mikey rolling his eyes, but he's smiling.
Bob is talking to Patrick and Pete outside the Starbucks they're entrenched in, gesturing at his gun, then aiming it at the random zombie that's walking on the other side of the street. It goes down easily.
"Whoa, did you see that?" Frank asks taking a seat next to Mikey. "Guy's like a white Pete Washington."
"At least," Ray agrees and grins.
"Who?" Brendon asks from the counter. He's drinking something delicious and foamy that Jon fixed him just like that, without so much as a blink of an eye. Jon is now making regular coffee and there's a good chance Gerard might cry when the smell hits his nose.
"Never mind," Ray says waving Brendon off. He watches amusedly as Bob offers the gun to Patrick only to have Pete pull Patrick away. They start arguing then, making big gestures with their hands, Pete red in the face, Patrick shoving him in the chest. Bob just stares at the two dumbly, mouth hanging open, gunhand still at mid-gesture. Hemingway is licking his leg.
“Should we go rescue new guy?” Joe asks. He’s sprawled out lazily in his chair, legs stretched on the table, arms crossed behind his head.
“Already on it,” says Andy walking to the door.
~*~
It’s the beginning of their second week in Las Vegas, and Frank has dragged Mikey and Pete with him to the Arts & Crafts store situated within a stone's throw from their Starbucks.
It had taken the whole afternoon to convince Gerard not to follow them, and Mikey had had to promise Gerard he would throw Pete at any possible monster and run with Frank if it came to that. Gerard had probably been joking about it, but then again, it's Gerard so maybe he was serious after all. Pete had shrugged and said he'd do it, and Frank had rolled his eyes at everyone hurrying them out the door.
And now they're here, in the store, Mikey and Pete walking behind Frank as the guy studies different pencils and markers with care.
"Why are we here again?" Mikey asks, scratching the back of his dirty head. He really needs to find a shower soon. He has been able to wash himself in water fountains and sinks, but they haven’t ventured in places with real showers in weeks.
"Gerard," Frank mumbles distractedly, picking up a marker pen and drawing a red line on his thumb. "He wants to draw so I'm getting him somethin' to draw with."
"I thought we already had pens," Pete says poking at a random price tag.
Frank bats the air impatiently. "Not the right kind."
Okay, Mikey thinks. This is really nice, but, "Why didn't you come here with Gerard?"
"It's supposed to be a surprise."
Pete smirks. "How long have you two been together?"
Frank glances at Pete before picking up more colorful markers. They're like a small rainbow on his palm. "Three years in November," he says.
Pete makes an impressed sound. "Awesome, man."
Frank smiles a little, stuffing the markers into his back pocket. "Yeah," he agrees. “It is.”
"Okay, let's give the guy some space," Mikey says suddenly wanting to have Pete all to himself. He grabs Pete's hand and pulls him by Frank towards another shelf. When they pass Frank, Mikey pats him on the back and ruffles up his hair.
"Three years, dude," Pete says looking around, still sounding impressed. "I've never even been with someone for more than six months."
Mikey frowns. "I thought maybe you and Patrick-"
"Nah, man. He- we're just friends. Really good friends."
"Oh."
Pete grins toothily. "Uh huh. What about you, then?"
"Um." Mikey's cheeks burn and he's suddenly embarrassed. "I had a girlfriend, but we didn't really get along,” he says and shrugs. “I think she hated me. She most likely hated me."
Pete laughs, really laughs at him and when Mikey scowls, he pulls him into a hug. It’s warm and awkward, heartfelt and confusing in the way that it makes Mikey’s stomach tighten nicely, knotting up his insides.
"Okay, Mikeyway. Okay then," Pete says, voice calm and comfortable next to Mikey’s ear. Mikey could get used to it.
~*~
"Come on, Mikeyway, wake up," Pete hisses nudging Mikey awake. Hemingway is pushing his wet nose into Mikey's ear and Mikey jerks his head up so fast it bumps hard against Pete's. "Th' fuck?"
"Come on. Dude, get up. There's something I wanna show you," Pete whispers pulling at Mikey's hoodie to help him up from the floor. Gerard whines in his sleep and rolls onto the gap Mikey vacated, blanket following with him until Frank pulls it back over himself.
Mikey scratches his head and blinks at Pete. It's so dark he can barely see him. "The fuck?" he asks again but lets Pete take his hand and pull him out of the Starbucks, trying not to trip over anyone as they go. Pete hands him his crossbow and touches fingers against his lips to keep him quiet.
"Pete, um," Mikey whispers. It's a chilly night, the air bites at his cheeks and the tip of his nose. He glances around the dark street trying to see if there's anything he should worry about. Everywhere looks empty, but Mikey feels a tremor traveling along his spine.
"'S'okay, no monsters. Me and Hemmy checked", Pete grins and leans down to pet the dog some.
"Uh," Mikey says shifting uncomfortably. "Why did you wake me up?"
Pete looks a little taken aback. He sits down on the pavement leaning his back against the door of the café. He pats the ground so Mikey slumps down beside him, their shoulders touching. "Want a smoke?" Pete asks pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, offering Mikey one.
Mikey stares at the pack for a while, trying to think if he's ever even seen Pete smoke. He doesn't think he has. "Thanks," he says dully, but sighs contentedly when he finally takes his first drag. It’s… It’s just inexpressible. "Sweet Jesus, thank you, man," he says then, with more feeling, his eyes watering.
Pete smiles toothily and nods. "They're your brother's", he laughs. "Snatched 'em while I was waking you up. Thought I could lure you out with me with those if everything else failed."
Mikey snorts smoke puffing out of his nose. "You better return them if you don't want to deal with grumpy Gerard."
Pete shrugs. "I dunno, man. It might be funny for a while," he says and Mikey has to agree with him.
They share a nice silence, watching Hemingway as he runs around the street stopping to sniff at corners every once in a while, their shoulders pressing tightly against each other. "You never answered my question," Mikey says when he's finished his smoke. He throws the stub away and glances at Pete from the corner of his eye.
Pete shrugs looking somewhat sheepish. "It's stupid," he says slowly. "I couldn't sleep so I went out to get some air, right? And it was fucking creepy, but pretty sweet at the same time. The stars, and the squiggly thing I killed," he rolls his hand motioning at the mess a few feet away from them. Mikey hadn't even noticed it until now. "Just wanted to share it with someone."
"Oh," Mikey says, blinking.
"Yea. For some reason the first person I thought of was you. Sorry I woke you-"
"No, it's. It's fine," Mikey says, ears burning. "I'm glad you did. Dude." He taps his finger against Pete's hand before taking it and squeezing. Pete kind of rolls his head, his nose bumping against Mikey's cheekbone. He rubs his nose into Mikey's cheek slowly, coaxing Mikey into turning his head until their lips touch. It's soft and careful. The opposite of Mikey's grip on Pete's hand.
It’s more than just fine.
~*~
Mikey is eating breakfast with Bob, Pete and Patrick, stuffing his face with beef jerky and dry crackers, when Frank walks sleepily from the customer bathroom. He sits down gingerly, a goofy grin on his face, eyes drooping a little, and hair messily curling towards his cheekbones.
Mikey rolls his eyes at him. He pushes a Thermos bottle at Frank, making it hit his knuckles. There’s something written on Frank’s palm with the rainbow markers, and Mikey notices it when Frank opens his loose fist to grab the bottle.
Gerard comes out of the bathroom some minutes later, a childish stick figure coloring his neck.
~*~
Andy stops talking about his worldviews on the day Joe disappears.
They’re at a supermarket with Jon and Brendon, and Joe says he’s going to get some colorful ball gum from the machine on the side of the store. He says he’ll be right back, and they shouldn’t worry because he can hold his own.
When Andy, Brendon and Jon have stuffed up their bags with canned food and candy bars, and Joe hasn’t come back yet, they go looking for him.
They never find him. He’s gone.
After Joe’s disappearance, they make it a rule to always walk in small groups, making sure no one is left alone.
Not that it makes much difference in the end.
Part two