mcr // hows and whys
Title: Hows and Whys
Pairing: Frank/Bob
Rating: PG
Summary:Sometimes, Frank wonders. About people, about meaning, about importance. A series of instances in which Bob was there.
Author's notes: This was originally written as a half-assed reference to Superman for the Comic Book challenge at mychemicaltest, but I missed the deadline >.< Mildly inspired by this icon found at _hellsbelles.
Sometimes, Frank wonders. About people, about meaning, about importance. He watches and analyses and thinks about the whys and the hows. It's just moments, instances, barely noticeable breaks in his vortex of hyperactivity, but sometimes, he realizes things, and he understands. Wonders and knows and just gets it.
In his friends, in his bandmates, he sees, the little things they don't want people to notice, the tiny fluctuations that mark them and point themselves out.
He looks at Bob, his friend, his bandmate, and he sees the little things, and he thinks, thinks and notices and realizes.
Sometimes, Frank really does understand. About people, and power, and hows and whys.
---
1.
It's not that Frank can't entertain himself, it's that he'd rather have the comfort of having company to be entertained with. He gets annoying, gets brushed off a lot, but even that at least gives him a moment's worth of distraction, so he sticks with it.
He goes to Bob last, Bob who is sprawled out in his bunk with his iPod in, and when he jumps in and starts poking at his shoulder, Bob doesn't push him off, or out, or ignore him. He sits up and tags along, obliges to Frank's crazy demands for board games and 20 Questions and hopscotch with imaginary lines on a shaky moving bus.
2.
Frank's been sick on stage before, he's puked and almost passed out and played whole sets on the floor, but never like this, never this bad. He's not even sure where his fingers are any more because he can't see, can't feel, can't think, he can only hope that he's at least playing in the right key, but he can tell that sometimes he isn't by the awful ringing he gets in his head.
Somehow, somehow he plays to the end, rarely coherent and barely conscious, but he makes it, strikes the last chord with triumphant defiance and a great big fuck you, then he's falling, falling falling back. Right at the moment where his body tells him he should be crashing into the ground, he does, and he catches a glimpse of blonde before blacking out.
3.
It's apparently become a sort of game to store things in the highest corners of the bus, at the backs of shelves and on top of cabinets, ever since Frank stole everyone's socks and stashed them between the wall and his mattress as a random spur of playfulness.
He has too much pride and not enough of a sense of making things easy, so he's taken to climbing, chairs and couches and bunks and mostly shoulders, because they're more portable. Everyone took their turn throwing him off, except for Bob, who didn't complain and just let Frank climb and cling and reach, standing stable and supporting his light weight as he stretched to grab his favorite pair of jeans from the top of the kitchen cupboard.
4.
"I'm fine," Frank says, repeats, mumbles, even as he leans over the toilet and tries to ignore the fact that his guts are trying to force their way out of his body through his throat. He tastes bile and some distorted form of blueberry PopTarts.
He doesn't get an argument, just a soothing hand rubbing circles on his back and a glass of water once his body gives up on him, a helping hand getting back to his bunk.
He barely remembers saying thank you as he falls asleep with a comfortingly warm weight beside him, watching.
5.
They were on the verge of destruction. Fallen apart, crashed, missing limbs and bleeding and leaking fluids all over the dirty parking lot behind the buses where no one could see them, yet everyone knew. They didn't just need a medic, they needed a goddamn miracle, the Big One everyone waits for at some point in their lives, and once Matt left for good, Frank was ready to pack up his bags and go home, because miracles didn't come across kids like them anymore.
But this one did, Bob did, and Frank still wonders whether it wasn't so much a miracle as it was some sort of crazy worldly intervention. He spent the majority of his last drunken-to-the-point-of-insanity evening looking for a cape.
---
Sometimes, Frank really does wonder. How and why Bob came, how and why they got him. How he deals, why he deals, whether he’s just that good or whether it’s just some sort of power, superhuman and almighty.
Sometimes, Frank wonders. And he realizes. And this time, when he's curled up and comfortable against something solid and real, he knows. Knows that Bob is not just patience and care and goodness. He knows that really, Bob is just a damn genuine Superman.
Pairing: Frank/Bob
Rating: PG
Summary:Sometimes, Frank wonders. About people, about meaning, about importance. A series of instances in which Bob was there.
Author's notes: This was originally written as a half-assed reference to Superman for the Comic Book challenge at mychemicaltest, but I missed the deadline >.< Mildly inspired by this icon found at _hellsbelles.
Sometimes, Frank wonders. About people, about meaning, about importance. He watches and analyses and thinks about the whys and the hows. It's just moments, instances, barely noticeable breaks in his vortex of hyperactivity, but sometimes, he realizes things, and he understands. Wonders and knows and just gets it.
In his friends, in his bandmates, he sees, the little things they don't want people to notice, the tiny fluctuations that mark them and point themselves out.
He looks at Bob, his friend, his bandmate, and he sees the little things, and he thinks, thinks and notices and realizes.
Sometimes, Frank really does understand. About people, and power, and hows and whys.
---
1.
It's not that Frank can't entertain himself, it's that he'd rather have the comfort of having company to be entertained with. He gets annoying, gets brushed off a lot, but even that at least gives him a moment's worth of distraction, so he sticks with it.
He goes to Bob last, Bob who is sprawled out in his bunk with his iPod in, and when he jumps in and starts poking at his shoulder, Bob doesn't push him off, or out, or ignore him. He sits up and tags along, obliges to Frank's crazy demands for board games and 20 Questions and hopscotch with imaginary lines on a shaky moving bus.
2.
Frank's been sick on stage before, he's puked and almost passed out and played whole sets on the floor, but never like this, never this bad. He's not even sure where his fingers are any more because he can't see, can't feel, can't think, he can only hope that he's at least playing in the right key, but he can tell that sometimes he isn't by the awful ringing he gets in his head.
Somehow, somehow he plays to the end, rarely coherent and barely conscious, but he makes it, strikes the last chord with triumphant defiance and a great big fuck you, then he's falling, falling falling back. Right at the moment where his body tells him he should be crashing into the ground, he does, and he catches a glimpse of blonde before blacking out.
3.
It's apparently become a sort of game to store things in the highest corners of the bus, at the backs of shelves and on top of cabinets, ever since Frank stole everyone's socks and stashed them between the wall and his mattress as a random spur of playfulness.
He has too much pride and not enough of a sense of making things easy, so he's taken to climbing, chairs and couches and bunks and mostly shoulders, because they're more portable. Everyone took their turn throwing him off, except for Bob, who didn't complain and just let Frank climb and cling and reach, standing stable and supporting his light weight as he stretched to grab his favorite pair of jeans from the top of the kitchen cupboard.
4.
"I'm fine," Frank says, repeats, mumbles, even as he leans over the toilet and tries to ignore the fact that his guts are trying to force their way out of his body through his throat. He tastes bile and some distorted form of blueberry PopTarts.
He doesn't get an argument, just a soothing hand rubbing circles on his back and a glass of water once his body gives up on him, a helping hand getting back to his bunk.
He barely remembers saying thank you as he falls asleep with a comfortingly warm weight beside him, watching.
5.
They were on the verge of destruction. Fallen apart, crashed, missing limbs and bleeding and leaking fluids all over the dirty parking lot behind the buses where no one could see them, yet everyone knew. They didn't just need a medic, they needed a goddamn miracle, the Big One everyone waits for at some point in their lives, and once Matt left for good, Frank was ready to pack up his bags and go home, because miracles didn't come across kids like them anymore.
But this one did, Bob did, and Frank still wonders whether it wasn't so much a miracle as it was some sort of crazy worldly intervention. He spent the majority of his last drunken-to-the-point-of-insanity evening looking for a cape.
---
Sometimes, Frank really does wonder. How and why Bob came, how and why they got him. How he deals, why he deals, whether he’s just that good or whether it’s just some sort of power, superhuman and almighty.
Sometimes, Frank wonders. And he realizes. And this time, when he's curled up and comfortable against something solid and real, he knows. Knows that Bob is not just patience and care and goodness. He knows that really, Bob is just a damn genuine Superman.