Cave and Shatter
Title: Cave and Shatter
Author: __oddly
Rating: PG13
Pairing: implied Frank/Gerard
Summary : He can't stop, can't stop the shaking and heartbreak and falling apart. He knows.
Warnings/Author's Note: Character death, suicide. Overflowing amount of angst.
They had argued. All week, all day, all evening, they had argued until Frank had spit out words he couldn't take back and stormed out of the room they had been planning on sharing. He had left, turning around and out the door just fast enough to miss the dying look finalizing itself in Gerard's eyes. Stomp, crush, out.
He had been fuming at the television behind the locked door of his hotel room. Not watching, just staring in hope of a distraction from inner turmoil and pretend conversations he was having in his head he didn't really want to be having or even thinking about having. He had been bitter and angry, downright furious despite his own attempts at denying it.
But then it had been urgent knocking, distressed cries, hurried looks and half-explanations and eyes wide with fears. It had been medics and gurneys and lights and sirens.
On the hassled cab ride to the hospital, the only thing on his mind had been trying to remember what he had been so angry about, why he had been so furious. He knew, but he had so desperately been looking for an alternative reason, for something that wouldn't crush him with guilt and step upon his conscience in the self-destroying way it had already started to. He didn't want it to be anything even close to equivalent to the 'your fault, your fault, your fault' that echoed around his head. Couldn't be. Couldn't.
----
He should have seen it, he should have seen it, it's all Frank can think about as he paces the length of the sterilized waiting room, willing the too-white walls to stop closing in on him, the too-bright ceiling to stop sinking down. Clenched teeth, tightened fists, shallows breaths, pace pace pace because he should have seen it.
He's only mildly aware of familiar faces and figures zooming in and out around him. Mikey's tear-streaked face, Ray's bouncing, unnerved knee and chewed finger nails, Bob's quietly shaking hands. Brian is circling, pacing in and out and around him, and Frank has to close his eyes because he knows he's losing it, things don't really move like that, but he can't focus on this, on himself.
So he keeps pacing blindly, stumbling over himself and muttering silent begs and pleas and pointless prayers leftover in his brain from his catholic school days, because they shouldn't be here, they shouldn't be here.
He does his best to ignore the calls of "Frank, come on..." and "sit down, Frankie..." and "please, Frank, it's okay..." because it isn't okay, it's not, it's all wrong and upside down and cruelly twisted. They shouldn't be here.
He's aware of the attention shifting suddenly, aware of the entrance and the darkness that comes in with it. And he's falling, falling falling because he knows, before any of them do, he knows.
He feels himself slumping down against the wall, feels the floor hit him and the wall smack against his head. He feels his shoulders, his back, his lungs, his entire being shaking, feels his face and stomach and heart burning with tears and anger and emotions he doesn't understand but can't stand to have boiling up inside him.
He can't stop, can't stop the shaking and heartbreak and falling apart. He knows.
He barely listens, barely hears the 'system failure' and 'too much' and 'body couldn't handle it', he doesn't want to hear the 'very sorry' and 'we did everything we could'.
He doesn't want to hear the dead silence that follows being shattered by Mikey's sobbing cry of denial, doesn't want to hear Ray's quiet shaking whispers of 'please, no, please.' He doesn't want to see Bob settling back into his chair, arms crossed tightly across his chest, head bowed with tears sliding slowly down his face and dripping into his lap. He doesn't want to feel Brian sinking down against the wall next to him, head in his hands, fingers digging into his scalp, hands and shoulders shaking with the unstoppable impact of pain and grief.
They fall apart. Suddenly, completely, they cave in around the missing piece and shatter. Because their strings have been cut. Because there's nothing else they can do. Surrounded by white and clean and emptiness, they break. And Frank still can't get the echo out of his head.
Author: __oddly
Rating: PG13
Pairing: implied Frank/Gerard
Summary : He can't stop, can't stop the shaking and heartbreak and falling apart. He knows.
Warnings/Author's Note: Character death, suicide. Overflowing amount of angst.
They had argued. All week, all day, all evening, they had argued until Frank had spit out words he couldn't take back and stormed out of the room they had been planning on sharing. He had left, turning around and out the door just fast enough to miss the dying look finalizing itself in Gerard's eyes. Stomp, crush, out.
He had been fuming at the television behind the locked door of his hotel room. Not watching, just staring in hope of a distraction from inner turmoil and pretend conversations he was having in his head he didn't really want to be having or even thinking about having. He had been bitter and angry, downright furious despite his own attempts at denying it.
But then it had been urgent knocking, distressed cries, hurried looks and half-explanations and eyes wide with fears. It had been medics and gurneys and lights and sirens.
On the hassled cab ride to the hospital, the only thing on his mind had been trying to remember what he had been so angry about, why he had been so furious. He knew, but he had so desperately been looking for an alternative reason, for something that wouldn't crush him with guilt and step upon his conscience in the self-destroying way it had already started to. He didn't want it to be anything even close to equivalent to the 'your fault, your fault, your fault' that echoed around his head. Couldn't be. Couldn't.
----
He should have seen it, he should have seen it, it's all Frank can think about as he paces the length of the sterilized waiting room, willing the too-white walls to stop closing in on him, the too-bright ceiling to stop sinking down. Clenched teeth, tightened fists, shallows breaths, pace pace pace because he should have seen it.
He's only mildly aware of familiar faces and figures zooming in and out around him. Mikey's tear-streaked face, Ray's bouncing, unnerved knee and chewed finger nails, Bob's quietly shaking hands. Brian is circling, pacing in and out and around him, and Frank has to close his eyes because he knows he's losing it, things don't really move like that, but he can't focus on this, on himself.
So he keeps pacing blindly, stumbling over himself and muttering silent begs and pleas and pointless prayers leftover in his brain from his catholic school days, because they shouldn't be here, they shouldn't be here.
He does his best to ignore the calls of "Frank, come on..." and "sit down, Frankie..." and "please, Frank, it's okay..." because it isn't okay, it's not, it's all wrong and upside down and cruelly twisted. They shouldn't be here.
He's aware of the attention shifting suddenly, aware of the entrance and the darkness that comes in with it. And he's falling, falling falling because he knows, before any of them do, he knows.
He feels himself slumping down against the wall, feels the floor hit him and the wall smack against his head. He feels his shoulders, his back, his lungs, his entire being shaking, feels his face and stomach and heart burning with tears and anger and emotions he doesn't understand but can't stand to have boiling up inside him.
He can't stop, can't stop the shaking and heartbreak and falling apart. He knows.
He barely listens, barely hears the 'system failure' and 'too much' and 'body couldn't handle it', he doesn't want to hear the 'very sorry' and 'we did everything we could'.
He doesn't want to hear the dead silence that follows being shattered by Mikey's sobbing cry of denial, doesn't want to hear Ray's quiet shaking whispers of 'please, no, please.' He doesn't want to see Bob settling back into his chair, arms crossed tightly across his chest, head bowed with tears sliding slowly down his face and dripping into his lap. He doesn't want to feel Brian sinking down against the wall next to him, head in his hands, fingers digging into his scalp, hands and shoulders shaking with the unstoppable impact of pain and grief.
They fall apart. Suddenly, completely, they cave in around the missing piece and shatter. Because their strings have been cut. Because there's nothing else they can do. Surrounded by white and clean and emptiness, they break. And Frank still can't get the echo out of his head.