where your soul should be 2/2
this way to part one...
When Frank rolls out of bed a month and a half later, it’s to the sound of Gerard retching in the bathroom and to the brilliant beams of sunlight streaking through the window. He hisses, loud and pained, and leaps back into his bunk, pulling the blackout curtain there shut behind him. Curled into the back corner, breathing heavy with his fangs fully extended, Frank buries his face in his palms and listens while Toro yells across the bus.
“- the fuck were you thinking, opening all the blinds, man!?”
“That I wanted a little bit of fucking light! I’m tired of living in the dark, dude, and you should be too!” Matt’s voice, tense and halted.
“He could have died or something you idiot!”
The argument tones itself down after that, low voices that Frank could hear clearly if he wanted to, but he focuses on the sounds of somebody yanking the curtains back into place instead. He closes his mouth and tries to ignore it when he feels the fangs pressing against his lower lip. Bob had warned him that might happen if he was surprised and his body felt he was in danger, a sort of defense mechanism. It doesn’t change the fact that he’s stuck barricaded in his bed while his friends move about the bus.
“Frank?” comes Mikey’s voice. “You okay, man?” His voice is hesitant and quiet and Frank recognizes it as the tone Mikey reserves for when he’s really, truly worried.
“Fine,” Frank responds as best as he can. It’s still a little strange to talk around the teeth. He’s been careful to keep them under wraps since that day at Dr. Aaron’s. “Just a little frazzled.”
“Oh, okay.” Mikey’s silent for a minute. “You, uh…are you going to come out? We closed the curtains.”
It breaks Frank’s heart to hear the hopefulness in Mikey’s voice, because he really wants to be able to say that it’s no problem and that he’s going to step out and play some video games and chill, but he isn’t really sure how the guys will react to his appearance. It’s one thing to know that somebody has vampirism, it’s another entirely to see said person with bright, pointed teeth arcing out of their mouth.
“I…it’s,” Frank pauses. “I want to, really, I just…”
“Frank,” Mikey cuts in. “It’s just me and Gee out here. Matt and Toro are in the back and they won’t be out anytime soon. You know we love you, man, and there’s nothing you can do to change that. C’mon. I’m supposed to be your best friend, right?”
No matter how he tries, Frank knows he can’t argue that. He’s terrified that the moment he steps through the curtains, Mikey and Gerard are going to freak out and run screaming the other direction to never speak to him again. But on the other hand, if anyone is going to be comfortable around Frank as a vampire, it’s Mikey and Gerard - they grew up on movies about guys with fangs like his.
“Okay, I’ll come out just. Don’t go anywhere? Or scream? Please?”
Mikey snorts in response, which Frank takes to mean that Mikey thinks he’s being ridiculous.
Steeling himself, Frank pulls the curtain back and steps out, carefully letting his eyes rest everywhere but the brothers Way.
Gerard gasps and Mikey says, “Wicked, dude,” so happily that Frank can hear the smile in his voice. He looks up.
Gerard steps over, reaching a hand out like he wants to brush his fingers across Frank’s teeth. Frank would not mind that at all, but he knows it’d be vastly inappropriate, so he just smiles and turns his head away, hand at the back of his neck.
“Weird, huh?” he jokes, and then Gerard is holding onto his chin, forcing him to face forward.
“Are you kidding?” Gee asks, and his eyes aren’t glassy like they have been so often these days. They’re clear, if exhausted, and glittering with joy. “This is like, the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen, Frank.” The honesty in his tone hits Frank hard between the ribs and he almost hops with happiness.
“You look all fierce,” Mikey pipes up from the seat at the table he’d slipped into. And while Mikey doesn’t smile often, Frank knows that the one on his face now is one of pride - in Frank at being able to finally share what he is with them, and at Gerard for waking up sober, no doubt. “Totally different than usual,” Mikey adds, and Frank rolls his eyes.
“Har har, very funny,” he mutters half-teasing, sticking his tongue out at Mikey as he sidesteps Gerard. He pauses when he remembers that, while he keeps his Sangrus in one of the cabinets at the front of the bus, the burger he’s supposed to eat afterward is in the minifridge in the back lounge, where Toro and Matt are hanging.
“I, uh, I need to take my meds,” Frank explains, wandering over to the cabinets and rifling around until he finds the big orange bottle. “So, could one of you maybe grab one of the things of ground beef from the lounge?” He smiles hopefully and Mikey nods and rises to his feet, disappearing through the door to the lounge wordlessly.
Gerard is watching Frank with an affectionate grin, and Frank blushes, stares at his toes. “What?” he asks.
“Nothing,” Gee splutters, tilting his head downward so that his waves of ebony hair cloud his face. “Just you.”
“Okay,” Frank responds, drawing out the vowel sound and studying Gerard inquisitively. He licks at one of his teeth and Gerard smirks and tugs at a lock of hair, a gesture that Frank recognizes as his ‘I’m-totally-trying-not-to-geek-out’ signifier. His heart beats strangely at the thought and Frank has the sudden urge to snuggle against Gerard and not move for hours, to just lay and listen to his heartbeat.
He jumps when Mikey reappears, a package of ground beef in his hand.
“Here,” he states, holding it out to Frank, who smiles in appreciation and takes it, dipping his fingers into the pill jar and swallowing the reddish-gray capsule with hardly an effort. He’s pulled the package open and is about to dig in before he realizes that Mikey and Gerard are still there.
“Oh, sor -” he starts, but Gerard flaps a hand at him. Mikey’s leaning against the counter and texting, anyway.
“Carry on,” Gerard invites, smiling and turning to fill a mug with coffee, probably lukewarm by now.
“It’s pretty gross,” is all that Frank can think of to protest with but Mikey rolls his eyes and Gee gives Frank a pointed look. “Fine,” he says, “but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
He takes some of the meat between his fingers and drops it into his mouth, sucking a bit harder than is strictly necessary to get all the liquid off. When he’d asked Dr. Aaron precisely why it was so important for him to down the Sangrus pill with raw meat, all she’d said was that it helped trick his system into thinking it was getting actual blood instead of a supplement. It was gross and had taken awhile to get used to, but still. He’d promised himself he’d do anything that was necessary to stay in control.
Once he’s finished, he tosses the packaging into the garbage, resisting the urge to lick the red liquid from the corners of the Styrofoam tray. His fangs have retracted back into his mouth, and he’s feeling much less anxious and irritated than he did five minutes ago.
“So,” Gerard says, bumping his shoulder against Frank’s and sipping at his coffee. “This is for real, then?”
Frank ducks his head and smiles, bumps his shoulder back against Gerard’s. “Yeah. It’s for real.”
*
It would be harder to watch Matt leave than if Frank hadn’t seen it coming weeks ago, before the attack, even. As it is, with all the snide comments and shielded gazes, Frank can’t really say he’s particularly sad to see Matt go. He is on some level, of course, because he and Matt were friends once, though Matt never really treated Frank like he was a part of the band. And he knows that Matt was one of the three who created My Chemical Romance, so it must deeply wound him to suddenly be on the other side of that camaraderie. But there’s some integral part of him that just can’t see past the hatred that suddenly began to seep up out of Matt’s being when things weren’t going his way.
He sits with the rest of the guys in the meeting with Brian after Matt’s officially been kicked out, staying quiet and merely watching what happens. He knows this is his place, but the sudden upset in the hierarchy has him on edge.
He half-listens throughout the conversation, occasionally offering input here and there, until they start talking about possible replacements. It’s a sore subject with al of them, of course, but a necessity nonetheless, and they know it. A few names are tossed around, but nothing serious is mentioned until Brian interrupts them all with a cough.
“You guys know Bob Bryar, right?” he asks quietly. Everyone nods, including Frank. The thought to suggest Bob had crossed his mind, of course, but he wasn’t sure if the other guys would go for it. Obviously Brian doesn’t share that hesitation.
“’course,” Mikey states coolly and taps out a text. He glances over at Gerard. “He’s awesome.” A silent look passes between the two of them and Frank assumes it’s Mikey’s way of nonverbally communicating to Gerard that Bryar’s a decent choice. It’s the most interest he’s shown in the conversation thus far, so Frank assumes that’s a good thing.
It takes an hour and a half for all of them to decide that Bob is by far the best option that they have. He answers on the first ring.
*
The two biggest differences after the Japan tour are Bob on the drums and Gerard’s sobriety, each strangely easy to deal with, although sometimes it seems like a dream that could shatter at any given moment. Gerard smiles at Frank and doesn’t sway anymore unless the tour bus hits a bump he wasn’t expecting, and Frank and Bob have competitions on the first of the month to see who can down their ground beef the fastest. Frank is always licking his fingers by the time that Bob is finished, which Bob can’t help but laugh at.
“You were a vegetarian!” he always protests, while Frank just jabs him in the shoulder and says, “Hey, don’t make excuses for your miserable failure, Bryar.”
And things are all just generally good. They all go out to LA once the tour is over, intent on recording the most amazing third record possible. Gerard has been gathering concepts and ideas and sketches for months, while Toro’s been busy tinkering away at GarageBand, little bits and pieces of songs they’ve thrown out spur of the moment beginning to sound more and more like carefully cultivated music.
Then, for reasons that everyone will look back on and fail to remember, they decide it would be a good idea to go write in the peace and sanctity of the Paramour Mansion.
*
It’s been a week since they’ve moved in to the mansion, for lack of a better term, and Frank hasn’t been able to keep his fangs at bay for more than a few hours at the most. He’d walked through the door, grinning and laughing with the other guys, and suddenly found himself hushed and in awe at how beautiful the place was. Four hours later, he started when he heard something at the end of the hall and felt the tips of his fangs pressing against his mouth. At this point, Bob’s canines are sharper than usual and Mikey seems to be even more aloof than he has been in the past.
Toro barely gives him a passing glance anymore, although the first morning that Frank rolled out of bed and wandered downstairs for coffee, he hadn’t been able to shut up about the damn things. Gerard dyes his hair white and Mikey gets falling down drunk day after day after day after day. Frank can smell it wafting off of him in waves, even when he appears to be fine, if quiet.
He and Bob exchange looks over the drums one afternoon. Mikey leaves the next day.
After that, things start to get really bad. It’s an endless haze of night terrors and Gerard screaming and peculiar happenings and breezes in enclosed rooms, and Frank wonders how scary it must have been for the rest if he couldn’t take it and he’s a motherfucking vampire.
*
It’s a Tuesday afternoon and Frank is sitting on the lawn of Gerard’s mother’s house, sunglasses on, contacts in, thankful that it’s winter so nobody really questions him wearing layers and layers of black clothes. The Ways weren’t exactly heartbroken when they’d found out; they worry, of course, because Frank is like one of their own sons, but they don’t look at him any differently or ask him uncomfortable questions.
He’s leaning against the steps and watching the sun disappear, shining through the gold-orange leaves and bathing the whole world in rich color. Frank reaches into his pocket for a cigarette and takes a drag, exhaling slow. It’s a perfect afternoon, that seems to be melding into a perfect evening.
Frank reaches up and brushes his fingertips across the smooth expanse of his neck, where there should be a pair of small scars, had it been an ordinary wound. He still hates to think about that night, mostly because he doesn’t remember much aside from horrible pain and screaming. For a long while he lays in the grass with his eyes on the sky, slipping his sunglasses up atop his head when the sun has finally disappeared, not bothering to glance up when the front door of the Way house swings open. He can tell by the shuffling steps that it’s Gerard, and not Mikey. Mikey’s steps are more precise, lighter, careful almost.
“Hey, Gee,” Frank states and Gerard chuckles, flopping down next to him.
“Man, it’s so cool when you do that,” he says quietly, shoulder to shoulder with Frank, close enough that Frank can feel him breathe. “Like you’re a superhero or something.”
Frank giggles and shakes his head, tossing the butt of his cigarette onto the pavement. “I’m no hero, Gee,” he assures, conveniently forgetting to mention that the other day he’d leapt at the second story of his parents’ house, just to see if he could get close, and had managed to situate himself firmly atop the roof. It’s a skill he doubts he’ll ever use, and to be quite honest, it scares him a little bit. He hasn’t come into contact with any exposed human blood since the first test Dr. Aaron ran, by some turn of fortune, but that he could leap that distance when the hunger isn’t driving him is terrifying.
Gee turns his head so that he’s looking at Frank, close enough that Frank’s breath is rolling right into his face, and replies, point blank, “You are, though. You helped save me, man.”
Frank smiles and looks at the bald appreciation on Gerard’s face, taking a mental photograph to revisit later. His chest feels light and full all of a sudden, and he’s more content than he has been in a long while. He closes his eyes and rests his head against Gerard’s shoulder, inhaling quietly and reveling in his friend’s scent. Gerard always smell so good now that he doesn’t reek of alcohol. It’s a weird combination that reminds Frank of cinnamon and vanilla and maybe something like mint. He’s lost in the lull of Gerard’s heartbeat, so clear when Frank focuses in on it, and he replies, “Anytime.”
The two of them stay like that, silent and together, for what seems like an eternity, listening to the gentle evening breeze rustle the leaves of the tall, nearly bare trees spaced unevenly up and down the street. Frank lets his thumb run across the hem of Gerard’s hoodie and Gerard shivers. He shifts to look over at Frank, who’s been staring at his pale face for the past ten minutes or so, drinking in the sight of the moonlight reflecting off the arc of Gerard’s cheek, and their eyes lock.
There’s a moment of intensity like Frank has never felt before, and then the screen door clicks shut and Gerard jumps away, smirking bashfully over his shoulder.
“C’mon, assholes,” Mikey says, Bob and Ray grinning along behind him. “We’re going dancing!”
Gerard sits up, grinning, and Frank leans back so that all he can see is the inky canvas of the sky, spattered with stars. He laughs into the darkness and allows himself to be pulled to his feet when he feels Gerard’s palm, smooth and warm, in his. For a brief moment, everything is as it used to be, and while that’s not exactly a lot, even if it’s all Frank can expect, he’s more than happy to have it.
He jogs a little to catch up with Mikey and flicks the younger Way in the ear.
“Ow, dickwad!” Mikey hisses, slapping Frank in the arm with a gloved hand. “The fuck was that for?”
“For being a pretty lady,” Frank responds flippantly, giggling and then turning around to jump onto Bob’s back. Bob just grunts a little and shakes his head in that exasperated way he’s managed to perfect.
“Okay,” Mikey states as they all pile into the SUV that Bob rented when he decided to stay in Jersey for a week or so during the holidays, Mikey claiming the driver’s chair. “We’re meeting Alicia and Pete at Angels and Kings so everybody better be ready.”
It’s precisely three minutes after they hit the road that everyone remembers why they never let Mikey drive.
*
By some stroke of tremendously good luck, they manage to make it to the bar relatively un-mauled and in about half the time it would’ve taken normally. Gerard and Bob are a little bit squished due to some turns taken at higher speeds than are probably safe, but nobody’s vomiting and nobody’s dead, so Frank is counting it a definite win. He shimmies out of the car alongside the rest of the guys, hands buried in the pockets of his hoodie, arm linked with Gerard, and makes his way happily into the club.
Instantly he’s almost overwhelmed with the heartbeats of so many people in one place and he wonders if he should maybe have taken some Sangrus before they left the Way house. It isn’t really a big deal since nobody’s bleeding and Frank isn’t even particularly hungry, but it’s a little bit harder to ignore the steady thumping when he isn’t separated by loud guitar chords and a stage and his duty to the rest of his band members. He must look as surprised as he feels at that revelation because Bob nudges his shoulder and sends an inquisitive look his way. Frank just grins and shakes his head and follows Gerard over to the bar.
“Tonic water?” Gerard asks, “With lime?”
Frank beams at him, because he doubts there’s a day he’ll ever stop being proud of Gerard’s accomplishment, and calls, “Make that two!” as the bartender nods and turns his back.
Five minutes later and they’re both leaning against the bar, sipping their drinks and watching while Bob and Ray make excited hands at the guy DJing tonight - Frank blinks to clear his vision and realizes that it’s actually Patrick up there and not some random stranger - and Pete, Mikey, and Alicia attempt to do a weird sort of three-direction grind all over one another, laughing hysterically while Prince is booming in the background.
It’s shaping up to be an excellent night, and more fun than Frank’s had in a long time. He sips his water and kicks at Gerard’s foot with his own - which makes Gee blush a little for some reason that Frank doesn’t understand - and smiles around his straw.
*
Somehow, and no matter what angle he checks the memory at, Frank will never be certain exactly how it happens, Mikey and Alicia manage to talk Frank and Gerard into dancing together.
It isn’t as if they’ve never done ridiculous little numbers together before; Frank recalls one time in particular when they both got it into their heads that it would be totally awesome to do a tap routine for the fans, and that had ended in a spectacularly hilarious failure. But for some reason, this time is different. Some sloppy techno song comes on and Gerard settles his hand on Frank’s shoulder and steers him onto the dance floor. They both still have their hoodies on, but there are bodies pressed in all around them and so the space between them rapidly disappears.
Aside from the scent of fifty or more other people that Frank doesn’t know and doesn’t care to meet, there’s the smell that is purely Gerard, rising sharp and distinct and Frank’s eyes flutter closed for a second when he catches it. He pushes himself close to Gerard, their chests together, and he feels the way that Gerard’s heart skips a beat when he does it. Smirking to himself, Frank reaches down and tentatively rests his hand on Gerard’s waist. Neither of them is particularly good at dancing, but with so many people - and half of them shitfaced to boot - it isn’t so much dancing as pressing and gyrating against one another.
Gerard flashes him this huge, huge smile, and the intensity from before flickers between them for a brief moment before Gerard blinks in confusion and turns.
There’s some guy behind him. A fairly normal looking dude, some tats here and there, short cropped hair, cool blue eyes. Frank instantly hates him. There’s a prickle of something like protectiveness at the base of his spine but he ignores it because that’s just ridiculous. Gerard is a big boy, if somebody wants to interrupt him dancing he can ignore it if he wants to.
Frank crosses his arms, just a little petulantly and makes a point of focusing on the conversation that the guy obviously wants to keep private, if the way he’s leaning in close to Gerard and talking low are any indication.
“- name’s Luke and I’m a huge fan. I know you’re probably busy but would you mind having a cigarette with me? Just for a minute?” His smile is wide and hopeful but it doesn’t reach his eyes and Frank makes a note of that. Gerard sends Frank an apologetic look over his shoulder and Frank grins as best as he can, his eyes flashing over to the Luke guy, dark and foreboding. Luke just smiles at him, that same lazy, nonchalant grin that gave Frank the creeps not fifteen seconds ago, and then he and Gerard are slipping out the front door.
Frank doesn’t have a very good handle on self-control even at the best of times. Right now he’s sort of dizzy from all the heartbeats around him, he’s off-kilter because of that stupid thing that keeps happening whenever he and Gerard look at one another for longer than a few breaths, and his skin is crawling with mistrust for this Luke character, although Frank couldn’t say what it is about him that Frank finds so dissatisfactory.
He prowls over to the bar, perching on a stool, eyes trained on the doorway. The cigarette takes longer than five minutes and he’s investigating, he’s decided.
Pete makes a note of the way that Frank is looming in the corner of the club and saunters over.
“If it isn’t my favorite pint-sized punk rocker!” Pete intones, leaning in and wrapping Frank in a brief one-armed hug that Frank doesn’t reciprocate. He nods, gives a quick little smile, and says, “Pete,” in response.
For a long moment, Pete is silent, considering the bar silently.
“You okay?” he finally asks.
Frank shrugs. At this point, he’s not really certain. He’s never felt like this before, so uncomfortable in his own skin, positively humming with the urge to get up and do something. He could cross the floor of the bar in under ten seconds and he knows it, is tempted to do it just to see what happens, how people look at him, if Gerard is okay.
Something tugs at the back of his mind and he excuses himself as politely as he can, picking up a brisk stride and stepping out to the front of the club. There’s a long line of people in the queue and most of them recognize Frank and shout his name and wave, but Gerard and Luke are nowhere to be seen.
Instinctively, Frank heads for the corner on the opposite side of the bar as the queue. He hears them before he sees them, which might be a blessing or a curse, Frank can’t decide.
“C’mon, I know you want to -” Luke’s voice starts.
Gerard’s interrupts, “No, really, I don’t. I’m flattered, but - Hey! Watch it, dude!”
“Can’t fucking fool me,” Luke again, and then Gerard makes a little oomph noise like he’s been hit and Frank loses any semblance of control that he might’ve had.
He hisses, deep back in his throat, fangs extending faster than ever before. His face is scrunched up, eyes narrow, and everything is clearer, sharper, in some ways and foggier than ever before in others. He doesn’t so much run around the corner as just appear, yanking Luke away from Gerard - who’s backed against a wall and, though nervous, doesn’t look particularly terrified by the situation - and bodily throwing him down the alleyway. He bangs into the trash cans at the far end and he has to have cut himself on something because all of a sudden, along with the rage flowing, potent and alive in Frank’s veins, there’s that seductively enticing scent of human blood.
It’s like everything that Frank’s ever wanted, like all of his fondest memories combined with all of his greatest desires, pulling him forward step by step. He’s growling, he realizes, as he advances on the figure sluggishly dragging itself to its feet and cursing. When Luke stands, he wipes his hand against his mouth and Frank sees that his lip is bleeding. He can smell the fear pouring off the guy in waves while he scrabbles back against the brick, screaming, “This isn’t funny anymore, man! Call him off!”
There are voices shouting at him from the end of the alleyway that he just came from, but he barely recognizes them over the thundering pulse of Luke’s terrified heartbeat. Frank is less than three feet away now, and it would be so easy to just close that distance, sink his teeth into Luke’s neck and drain the fucker for all he’s worth. He deserves it, a part of Frank insists alluringly. He was preying on Gerard. Gerard is yours and he has no right to touch what’s yours. Frank isn’t sure where the thought comes from, but he knows it’s true. Gerard is his, and nobody else’s, and how dare this motherfucker think he was good enough to even dream of laying a hand on Gee.
Frank grabs a fistful of Luke’s shirt in each hand, lifting him up off the ground despite the fact that Luke is probably six inches taller and thirty pounds heavier, and flat out roaring straight into his face. He thinks Luke might be crying, but he can’t tell over the litany of he deserves it, and just do it chorusing around in his head, rising in a crescendo so loud that it’s almost overwhelming.
“Frank!” Gerard’s voice breaks through and Frank drops Luke onto the ground like a child casting aside a toy, turning to seek Gerard out.
Gerard is watching him with horrified, pleading eyes, and with Frank’s vision as it is now, he looks positively ethereal - like an angel. Frank steps forward and is suddenly almost face-to-face with Gerard.
There’s a small crowd of people gathered at the entrance to the alley, and Frank can hear sirens wailing in the distance, so far off that none of the bystanders is probably aware of them yet. He stares into Gerard’s eyes, such beautiful gold rings, little flecks of green swimming in them. Taking Gerard’s hand in his, Frank leans in and runs his mouth gently over the pale expanse of Gerard’s neck - he smells so good, almost as good as blood itself, and Frank wonders what it would be like to break the skin and taste Gerard’s blood. He’s made of something divine, Frank is sure of it. It’d be heavenly, probably, to sit and drink his fill. Gerard is shaking, but Frank doesn’t really notice, not over the soft, steady beat-beat of Gerard’s heart drawing him in, holding him tighter than his fury at Luke had been able to. He licks at the soft skin and Gerard tenses, squeezing Frank’s hand in the process, and Frank is about to sink his teeth in when -
“Iero!” Bob bellows, and Frank jumps back, blinking rapidly. “Gee, get inside!” Bob shouts, and Gerard nods, casting a worried glance at Frank and reaching up to touch his neck before disappearing.
Frank shakes his head, his vision slowly returning to normal while he reaches his arms out to steady himself, stumbling backward into the alleyway. The only person he recognizes is Bob, who’s watching him in disbelief; every other face is painted with horror and disgust.
Frank looks down at himself and realizes that he’s trembling. He screws his eyes shut tight, shakes his head once, hard, and opens them again, blearily noting that nothing has changed, that he’s still here with a moaning, sobbing man on the concrete behind him, terrified onlookers gathered around. And he remembers he was going to -
He takes a few deep, heavy breaths, pressing his hands to his temples and desperately willing the fangs to go away, pleading with God or the Devil or whoever to help him, he’ll do anything. All that happens is that Bob reaches his hand out, fingertips barely grazing Frank’s forearm, and Frank looses a terrified shrieking sound that he hasn’t heard since the day that Matt left the curtains open on the bus. Before he knows he’s done it, he’s catapulting himself onto the roof of the club, sprinting across and leaping to the next rooftop he sees.
Within fifteen minutes he’s at least six miles away from everyone, curled up in a tiny park under a gargantuan weeping willow that blocks out all the light with its curtain of foliage, arms wrapped around himself while he says over and over that he’s sorry, even though there’s nobody around to hear.
*
When Frank wakes up it’s around two in the afternoon, if his cell phone is to be believed. He has about a million missed calls and texts but he doesn’t bother looking at or listening to anything.
He glances through the thick curtain of willow branches, eternally grateful that he’d decided to wear a hooded jacket two sizes too big even though the cold doesn’t really affect him as much as it used to. He pulls the hood far over his face and tucks his hands into the pockets, stepping into the sunlight and holding his breath.
It’s hot all over him, hotter than it probably is for a normal person, but not unbearable. The little park is fairly empty, one or two old ladies with bags of bird feed in the corners. If Frank uses his preternatural speed to high-tail it out of the park before they notice his presence, he doesn’t see any need to make a note of it.
He mostly sticks to alleys and shadows, or rooftops if he feels like avoiding big crowds, while he heads back toward Jersey. It doesn’t take him long, not with the way he moves, and not with how lost inside his own mind he is.
He left all of his medicine at his parents’ house, except for a few stray pills in a plastic baggie at the Ways’, but those are just as much Bob’s property as they are Frank’s, and he doesn’t feel like thinking about the semantics of it at the moment. He’s far enough down the block when he notices the crowd of people milling about, going in and out of his parents‘ house, that they don’t even see him before he’s ducking into a neighbor’s backyard.
Bob’s SUV is parked out front, along with the Ways’ car and Brian’s shitty clunker. Frank’s stomach drops out and he has to sit in the shade of Mrs. Johnson’s peach tree for awhile, gathering himself in the shadows, before he can get up and move.
Pete and Alicia are sitting on the front steps with Toro, apparently on the lookout for him, though that’s laughable at this point - Frank could be in and out so fast that nobody will even see him. He scales the trellis on the side of the house in the blink of an eye, peering cautiously through his bedroom window to make sure it’s empty before sliding the glass pane open and slipping silently inside. He lands on the floor without so much as a thud and steps into the bathroom, blinking in surprise when he sees a Sangrus pill and a bloody steak sitting on a plate on the counter. He touches the steak and almost jumps when he realizes it’s still cold, so it can’t have been sitting it out long.
Frank’s stomach lurches again when he realizes they must’ve been swapping the meat out over and over and over to make sure it was fresh when he got here.
He downs the pill and tears the steak apart, imagining he’s ripping at himself instead the entire time.
*
When Frank was kid he used to keep a duffel bag under his bathroom sink with a few changes of clothes, a pair of extra shoes, and some cash in case he needed to sneak out to go to a party or a show or told them he was staying at a friend’s house and ended up not sleeping before heading out the next day. He digs it out from behind the cleaning supplies, careful to be quiet, popping the entire bottle of Sangrus into the bag along with the contacts and the lotion and a pair of sunglasses he’d left on the counter the other day.
He’s tempted to stop and wash his hands and face off - his fingers are stained red and his lips are vibrant crimson, a few stray rivulets of blood dark against his skin here and there - but he doesn’t want to risk the sound of the running water alerting anyone to his presence.
His fangs are mostly gone, although his canines are still inhumanly sharp at the points, and he sighs softly to himself, stepping out of the bathroom.
Frank freezes when he finds the stony face of Bob Bryar glaring at him. He swallows nervously and shifts from foot to foot.
“Uh, hi,” he murmurs without smiling. Bob’s gaze could freeze the center of a volcano over, he’s certain of it.
“If you honestly tell me you were planning on just fucking off then you can get the fuck out and never come back.” Bob’s voice is a low rumble.
“I - I was going to -” Frank starts, and then thinks better of it. “Just for a day or so, to clear my head. Give you guys time to calm down.” He shrugs.
“You’re fucking kidding me,” Bob states, rising to his feet, and of course Bob would have heard him. Frank’s an idiot for not realizing that before he decided to play cat burglar in his own bedroom. “We’ve been up all night worried about you, asshole! Gerard’s smoked his way through three packs of cigarettes and he won’t let Mikey go further than three feet without begging him not to leave. Your mother hasn’t stopped crying since we told her what happened and -”
“You told her?” Frank interjects, horror settling across his features. “What did you tell her!?”
Bob rolls his eyes. “The truth, you fucking moron! That you saved Gee’s ass, had a little freak out, and fucking disappeared into the night like a goddamn comic book specter.”
Even though they’re clearly arguing, neither one has raised their voice above a near-silent whisper.
“Bob,” Frank says seriously, taking a step forward, “I don’t think you understand.”
“What, Frank? What could I possibly not fathom?”
Frank grinds his teeth in exasperation, hands clenched so tightly his knuckles go white. “That I was this close,” he holds up his pointer finger and thumb, just barely not touching, “to fucking killing Gerard! I wanted to drain him, Bob! I wanted to take everything! If you hadn’t stepped in I -”
“ - would have realized what you were going to do and stopped, and gotten him a blood transfusion before he could get infected.” Bob states with finality. Frank shakes his head. He wants to believe that’s what would’ve happened, really he does, but he isn’t so sure, even now.
“I don’t know,” he admits quietly.
“That’s what would have happened,” Bob repeats, voice just daring Frank to question him. Frank wisely chooses to stay silent instead. “Clean yourself up,” the drummer continues, “and then come downstairs. If nothing else, you owe Gee an apology before you leave, and you should tell your mom you’re all right.”
Frank swallows and carefully sets the duffel bag down. “Do I have time for a shower?”
Bob considers him for a moment and then smirks. “I’d make it quick.”
Frank nods and Bob waves a hand at him, disappearing through the doorway and pulling the slab of wood shut behind him. Frank pauses, closing his eyes and focusing, and feels guiltier than ever when he hears relieved sobs, gasps of surprise, and Mikey spitting furiously, “About motherfucking time.”
*
When Frank wanders downstairs after his three minute or so shower, barefoot and in just a t-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts, more to discourage him from sprinting out the front door and down the block before anyone there can breathe than anything else, the last thing he expects if for his mother to throw her arms around him, sobbing into his shoulder and whispering that she’s so glad he’s okay.
“I, yeah, ma, I’m fine,” he says quietly, hugging her to him tightly for a moment. She draws back for a minute, taking his face in her hands and smiling at him, kissing him on the cheek and then stepping back.
Frank turns and barely even registers Gerard’s fist inches from his face before it lands solidly on his cheek. He hisses a little and prepares to disappear back up the stairs, but then Gerard’s arms are strong around him, and Gerard’s breathing into his hair, “Don’t you ever fucking do that again, you fucking idiot! I was so fucking worried about you.”
They stand that way for a long time, until somebody clears their throat and Gerard sheepishly steps back, although his mouth is still turned down in a furious frown.
Frank glances around a the circle of people gathered in the tiny kitchen. “So, uh…sorry?” he offers, unable to think of anything else.
Pete snorts and mutters, “And everyone says I’m a drama queen,” which seems to incite the rest of the people present to action. There are about a hundred pairs of hands ushering Frank into a seat at the kitchen table while everyone remains standing around him, and Frank grimaces, wishing this didn’t feel so much like an interrogation.
“You want to explain to us what happened last night?” Alicia demands, face blissfully blank of judgment; he assumes she’s acting on Mikey’s behalf, since the younger Way is leaning against the wall, eyes dark, and shaking his head at Frank like Frank left his brother at the altar or something.
“I, uh, there was this guy?” he starts, and it comes out a question even though he doesn’t want it to. “And, I don’t know, I just…got a little overprotective, I guess? I lost control and got scared and so, I just sort of.” He makes a vague motion with his hands. “Ran,” he offers hopelessly. To his complete and utter surprise, Mikey nods, and Frank lets out an internal sigh of relief. If anyone could possibly understand, it’s Mikey, he thinks, mind flitting back to the Paramour.
“We thought you went feral, Frank,” Brian states, and Frank recognizes that face. That’s the same face that Brian gave The Used guys when they accidentally set that taco stand in Southern California on fire, and it means serious business. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t fire you for scaring the shit out of us like that.”
“You love me?” Frank says, but it comes out hesitant. There’s a moment of silence and then Brian smirks and shakes his head, wandering out of the room and muttering about stupid guitarists and how ridiculous his life is. After that, the crowd sort of dissipates, Mikey stopping to pat Frank’s shoulder on the way out, which brings Frank a kind of innate relief that he hadn’t expected.
His mother kisses his cheeks three times apiece and then follows the crowd into the living room, leaving him alone with Gerard, who’s standing there, staring, gaze shielded.
“I’m sorry,” Frank whispers, and Gerard shakes his head.
“What really happened?” he demands, voice shaky. His eyes bore into Frank and Frank squirms in his seat. There’s nothing he can say that will save him here, he knows. Gerard saw everything, from Frank nearly devouring Luke, to the way he’d been toying with the idea of killing Gerard just because he fucking smelled good. When he thinks of it like that, it’s so horrifying that Frank almost wants to laugh hysterically.
“I don’t know,” Frank murmurs. “You were in trouble and I just, I had to do something. I knew he was trouble when he walked up. I knew it and I let you go with him anyway,” he stops to mumble something that sounds suspiciously like ‘too nice for your own good,’ and then presses his lips into a thin, tight line. “And you smell so good, Gee, all the damn time, and when I wasn’t in control I just.” He can’t bring himself to look up at Gerard, but he can hear Gee’s expectant breathing. “I wanted all of you, your life, everything.”
There’s the shuffle of Gerard’s footsteps and then he’s grabbing Frank’s chin, rough, and wrenching his face up.
“You don’t have to kill anyone to get it, you gigantic fucking idiot!” Gerard whispers, and then closes his mouth over Frank’s.
Frank is shocked for all of about two seconds before what’s actually happening catches up with him. He whines a little and opens his mouth further under Gerard’s, their tongues sliding together while Frank closes his palms over Gerard’s hips. Gerard still has one hand on Frank’s chin, the other fisted tightly in Frank’s hair, and he’s practically in Frank’s lap, which Frank does not mind in the least. Frank can hear Gee’s heartbeat, can feel it, melding with his own, and he hangs on tighter, careful not to grip too hard for fear Gerard’ll bruise. After a few long minutes of deeply thorough kissing, Gerard collapses into the chair across from Frank.
“I swear, if you ever pull that disappearing Houdini bullshit again, I’ll stake you through the heart myself, whether it’s a common misconception or not.”
Frank laughs. “Okay.”
“And,” Gerard continues, “we’re calling Dr. Aaron in the morning and asking her what the fuck was up, if you need a higher Sangrus dosage or whatever the fuck to keep you in control.”
Frank nods, grinning so hugely he’s certain his face is going to split in two at the corners of his smile.
“Anything you want,” Frank agrees, reaching out to lace his fingers with Gerard’s. They sit, smiling goofily at each other, until Frank’s mom calls from the living room to announce that they’re watching Enchanted and asks if they’d like to join the party. “Thanks,” Frank says softly against Gerard’s neck as they sidle up to the door, “for saving me.”
Gerard grins and bumps his shoulder against Frank’s. “Anytime.”
When Frank rolls out of bed a month and a half later, it’s to the sound of Gerard retching in the bathroom and to the brilliant beams of sunlight streaking through the window. He hisses, loud and pained, and leaps back into his bunk, pulling the blackout curtain there shut behind him. Curled into the back corner, breathing heavy with his fangs fully extended, Frank buries his face in his palms and listens while Toro yells across the bus.
“- the fuck were you thinking, opening all the blinds, man!?”
“That I wanted a little bit of fucking light! I’m tired of living in the dark, dude, and you should be too!” Matt’s voice, tense and halted.
“He could have died or something you idiot!”
The argument tones itself down after that, low voices that Frank could hear clearly if he wanted to, but he focuses on the sounds of somebody yanking the curtains back into place instead. He closes his mouth and tries to ignore it when he feels the fangs pressing against his lower lip. Bob had warned him that might happen if he was surprised and his body felt he was in danger, a sort of defense mechanism. It doesn’t change the fact that he’s stuck barricaded in his bed while his friends move about the bus.
“Frank?” comes Mikey’s voice. “You okay, man?” His voice is hesitant and quiet and Frank recognizes it as the tone Mikey reserves for when he’s really, truly worried.
“Fine,” Frank responds as best as he can. It’s still a little strange to talk around the teeth. He’s been careful to keep them under wraps since that day at Dr. Aaron’s. “Just a little frazzled.”
“Oh, okay.” Mikey’s silent for a minute. “You, uh…are you going to come out? We closed the curtains.”
It breaks Frank’s heart to hear the hopefulness in Mikey’s voice, because he really wants to be able to say that it’s no problem and that he’s going to step out and play some video games and chill, but he isn’t really sure how the guys will react to his appearance. It’s one thing to know that somebody has vampirism, it’s another entirely to see said person with bright, pointed teeth arcing out of their mouth.
“I…it’s,” Frank pauses. “I want to, really, I just…”
“Frank,” Mikey cuts in. “It’s just me and Gee out here. Matt and Toro are in the back and they won’t be out anytime soon. You know we love you, man, and there’s nothing you can do to change that. C’mon. I’m supposed to be your best friend, right?”
No matter how he tries, Frank knows he can’t argue that. He’s terrified that the moment he steps through the curtains, Mikey and Gerard are going to freak out and run screaming the other direction to never speak to him again. But on the other hand, if anyone is going to be comfortable around Frank as a vampire, it’s Mikey and Gerard - they grew up on movies about guys with fangs like his.
“Okay, I’ll come out just. Don’t go anywhere? Or scream? Please?”
Mikey snorts in response, which Frank takes to mean that Mikey thinks he’s being ridiculous.
Steeling himself, Frank pulls the curtain back and steps out, carefully letting his eyes rest everywhere but the brothers Way.
Gerard gasps and Mikey says, “Wicked, dude,” so happily that Frank can hear the smile in his voice. He looks up.
Gerard steps over, reaching a hand out like he wants to brush his fingers across Frank’s teeth. Frank would not mind that at all, but he knows it’d be vastly inappropriate, so he just smiles and turns his head away, hand at the back of his neck.
“Weird, huh?” he jokes, and then Gerard is holding onto his chin, forcing him to face forward.
“Are you kidding?” Gee asks, and his eyes aren’t glassy like they have been so often these days. They’re clear, if exhausted, and glittering with joy. “This is like, the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen, Frank.” The honesty in his tone hits Frank hard between the ribs and he almost hops with happiness.
“You look all fierce,” Mikey pipes up from the seat at the table he’d slipped into. And while Mikey doesn’t smile often, Frank knows that the one on his face now is one of pride - in Frank at being able to finally share what he is with them, and at Gerard for waking up sober, no doubt. “Totally different than usual,” Mikey adds, and Frank rolls his eyes.
“Har har, very funny,” he mutters half-teasing, sticking his tongue out at Mikey as he sidesteps Gerard. He pauses when he remembers that, while he keeps his Sangrus in one of the cabinets at the front of the bus, the burger he’s supposed to eat afterward is in the minifridge in the back lounge, where Toro and Matt are hanging.
“I, uh, I need to take my meds,” Frank explains, wandering over to the cabinets and rifling around until he finds the big orange bottle. “So, could one of you maybe grab one of the things of ground beef from the lounge?” He smiles hopefully and Mikey nods and rises to his feet, disappearing through the door to the lounge wordlessly.
Gerard is watching Frank with an affectionate grin, and Frank blushes, stares at his toes. “What?” he asks.
“Nothing,” Gee splutters, tilting his head downward so that his waves of ebony hair cloud his face. “Just you.”
“Okay,” Frank responds, drawing out the vowel sound and studying Gerard inquisitively. He licks at one of his teeth and Gerard smirks and tugs at a lock of hair, a gesture that Frank recognizes as his ‘I’m-totally-trying-not-to-geek-out’ signifier. His heart beats strangely at the thought and Frank has the sudden urge to snuggle against Gerard and not move for hours, to just lay and listen to his heartbeat.
He jumps when Mikey reappears, a package of ground beef in his hand.
“Here,” he states, holding it out to Frank, who smiles in appreciation and takes it, dipping his fingers into the pill jar and swallowing the reddish-gray capsule with hardly an effort. He’s pulled the package open and is about to dig in before he realizes that Mikey and Gerard are still there.
“Oh, sor -” he starts, but Gerard flaps a hand at him. Mikey’s leaning against the counter and texting, anyway.
“Carry on,” Gerard invites, smiling and turning to fill a mug with coffee, probably lukewarm by now.
“It’s pretty gross,” is all that Frank can think of to protest with but Mikey rolls his eyes and Gee gives Frank a pointed look. “Fine,” he says, “but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
He takes some of the meat between his fingers and drops it into his mouth, sucking a bit harder than is strictly necessary to get all the liquid off. When he’d asked Dr. Aaron precisely why it was so important for him to down the Sangrus pill with raw meat, all she’d said was that it helped trick his system into thinking it was getting actual blood instead of a supplement. It was gross and had taken awhile to get used to, but still. He’d promised himself he’d do anything that was necessary to stay in control.
Once he’s finished, he tosses the packaging into the garbage, resisting the urge to lick the red liquid from the corners of the Styrofoam tray. His fangs have retracted back into his mouth, and he’s feeling much less anxious and irritated than he did five minutes ago.
“So,” Gerard says, bumping his shoulder against Frank’s and sipping at his coffee. “This is for real, then?”
Frank ducks his head and smiles, bumps his shoulder back against Gerard’s. “Yeah. It’s for real.”
*
It would be harder to watch Matt leave than if Frank hadn’t seen it coming weeks ago, before the attack, even. As it is, with all the snide comments and shielded gazes, Frank can’t really say he’s particularly sad to see Matt go. He is on some level, of course, because he and Matt were friends once, though Matt never really treated Frank like he was a part of the band. And he knows that Matt was one of the three who created My Chemical Romance, so it must deeply wound him to suddenly be on the other side of that camaraderie. But there’s some integral part of him that just can’t see past the hatred that suddenly began to seep up out of Matt’s being when things weren’t going his way.
He sits with the rest of the guys in the meeting with Brian after Matt’s officially been kicked out, staying quiet and merely watching what happens. He knows this is his place, but the sudden upset in the hierarchy has him on edge.
He half-listens throughout the conversation, occasionally offering input here and there, until they start talking about possible replacements. It’s a sore subject with al of them, of course, but a necessity nonetheless, and they know it. A few names are tossed around, but nothing serious is mentioned until Brian interrupts them all with a cough.
“You guys know Bob Bryar, right?” he asks quietly. Everyone nods, including Frank. The thought to suggest Bob had crossed his mind, of course, but he wasn’t sure if the other guys would go for it. Obviously Brian doesn’t share that hesitation.
“’course,” Mikey states coolly and taps out a text. He glances over at Gerard. “He’s awesome.” A silent look passes between the two of them and Frank assumes it’s Mikey’s way of nonverbally communicating to Gerard that Bryar’s a decent choice. It’s the most interest he’s shown in the conversation thus far, so Frank assumes that’s a good thing.
It takes an hour and a half for all of them to decide that Bob is by far the best option that they have. He answers on the first ring.
*
The two biggest differences after the Japan tour are Bob on the drums and Gerard’s sobriety, each strangely easy to deal with, although sometimes it seems like a dream that could shatter at any given moment. Gerard smiles at Frank and doesn’t sway anymore unless the tour bus hits a bump he wasn’t expecting, and Frank and Bob have competitions on the first of the month to see who can down their ground beef the fastest. Frank is always licking his fingers by the time that Bob is finished, which Bob can’t help but laugh at.
“You were a vegetarian!” he always protests, while Frank just jabs him in the shoulder and says, “Hey, don’t make excuses for your miserable failure, Bryar.”
And things are all just generally good. They all go out to LA once the tour is over, intent on recording the most amazing third record possible. Gerard has been gathering concepts and ideas and sketches for months, while Toro’s been busy tinkering away at GarageBand, little bits and pieces of songs they’ve thrown out spur of the moment beginning to sound more and more like carefully cultivated music.
Then, for reasons that everyone will look back on and fail to remember, they decide it would be a good idea to go write in the peace and sanctity of the Paramour Mansion.
*
It’s been a week since they’ve moved in to the mansion, for lack of a better term, and Frank hasn’t been able to keep his fangs at bay for more than a few hours at the most. He’d walked through the door, grinning and laughing with the other guys, and suddenly found himself hushed and in awe at how beautiful the place was. Four hours later, he started when he heard something at the end of the hall and felt the tips of his fangs pressing against his mouth. At this point, Bob’s canines are sharper than usual and Mikey seems to be even more aloof than he has been in the past.
Toro barely gives him a passing glance anymore, although the first morning that Frank rolled out of bed and wandered downstairs for coffee, he hadn’t been able to shut up about the damn things. Gerard dyes his hair white and Mikey gets falling down drunk day after day after day after day. Frank can smell it wafting off of him in waves, even when he appears to be fine, if quiet.
He and Bob exchange looks over the drums one afternoon. Mikey leaves the next day.
After that, things start to get really bad. It’s an endless haze of night terrors and Gerard screaming and peculiar happenings and breezes in enclosed rooms, and Frank wonders how scary it must have been for the rest if he couldn’t take it and he’s a motherfucking vampire.
*
It’s a Tuesday afternoon and Frank is sitting on the lawn of Gerard’s mother’s house, sunglasses on, contacts in, thankful that it’s winter so nobody really questions him wearing layers and layers of black clothes. The Ways weren’t exactly heartbroken when they’d found out; they worry, of course, because Frank is like one of their own sons, but they don’t look at him any differently or ask him uncomfortable questions.
He’s leaning against the steps and watching the sun disappear, shining through the gold-orange leaves and bathing the whole world in rich color. Frank reaches into his pocket for a cigarette and takes a drag, exhaling slow. It’s a perfect afternoon, that seems to be melding into a perfect evening.
Frank reaches up and brushes his fingertips across the smooth expanse of his neck, where there should be a pair of small scars, had it been an ordinary wound. He still hates to think about that night, mostly because he doesn’t remember much aside from horrible pain and screaming. For a long while he lays in the grass with his eyes on the sky, slipping his sunglasses up atop his head when the sun has finally disappeared, not bothering to glance up when the front door of the Way house swings open. He can tell by the shuffling steps that it’s Gerard, and not Mikey. Mikey’s steps are more precise, lighter, careful almost.
“Hey, Gee,” Frank states and Gerard chuckles, flopping down next to him.
“Man, it’s so cool when you do that,” he says quietly, shoulder to shoulder with Frank, close enough that Frank can feel him breathe. “Like you’re a superhero or something.”
Frank giggles and shakes his head, tossing the butt of his cigarette onto the pavement. “I’m no hero, Gee,” he assures, conveniently forgetting to mention that the other day he’d leapt at the second story of his parents’ house, just to see if he could get close, and had managed to situate himself firmly atop the roof. It’s a skill he doubts he’ll ever use, and to be quite honest, it scares him a little bit. He hasn’t come into contact with any exposed human blood since the first test Dr. Aaron ran, by some turn of fortune, but that he could leap that distance when the hunger isn’t driving him is terrifying.
Gee turns his head so that he’s looking at Frank, close enough that Frank’s breath is rolling right into his face, and replies, point blank, “You are, though. You helped save me, man.”
Frank smiles and looks at the bald appreciation on Gerard’s face, taking a mental photograph to revisit later. His chest feels light and full all of a sudden, and he’s more content than he has been in a long while. He closes his eyes and rests his head against Gerard’s shoulder, inhaling quietly and reveling in his friend’s scent. Gerard always smell so good now that he doesn’t reek of alcohol. It’s a weird combination that reminds Frank of cinnamon and vanilla and maybe something like mint. He’s lost in the lull of Gerard’s heartbeat, so clear when Frank focuses in on it, and he replies, “Anytime.”
The two of them stay like that, silent and together, for what seems like an eternity, listening to the gentle evening breeze rustle the leaves of the tall, nearly bare trees spaced unevenly up and down the street. Frank lets his thumb run across the hem of Gerard’s hoodie and Gerard shivers. He shifts to look over at Frank, who’s been staring at his pale face for the past ten minutes or so, drinking in the sight of the moonlight reflecting off the arc of Gerard’s cheek, and their eyes lock.
There’s a moment of intensity like Frank has never felt before, and then the screen door clicks shut and Gerard jumps away, smirking bashfully over his shoulder.
“C’mon, assholes,” Mikey says, Bob and Ray grinning along behind him. “We’re going dancing!”
Gerard sits up, grinning, and Frank leans back so that all he can see is the inky canvas of the sky, spattered with stars. He laughs into the darkness and allows himself to be pulled to his feet when he feels Gerard’s palm, smooth and warm, in his. For a brief moment, everything is as it used to be, and while that’s not exactly a lot, even if it’s all Frank can expect, he’s more than happy to have it.
He jogs a little to catch up with Mikey and flicks the younger Way in the ear.
“Ow, dickwad!” Mikey hisses, slapping Frank in the arm with a gloved hand. “The fuck was that for?”
“For being a pretty lady,” Frank responds flippantly, giggling and then turning around to jump onto Bob’s back. Bob just grunts a little and shakes his head in that exasperated way he’s managed to perfect.
“Okay,” Mikey states as they all pile into the SUV that Bob rented when he decided to stay in Jersey for a week or so during the holidays, Mikey claiming the driver’s chair. “We’re meeting Alicia and Pete at Angels and Kings so everybody better be ready.”
It’s precisely three minutes after they hit the road that everyone remembers why they never let Mikey drive.
*
By some stroke of tremendously good luck, they manage to make it to the bar relatively un-mauled and in about half the time it would’ve taken normally. Gerard and Bob are a little bit squished due to some turns taken at higher speeds than are probably safe, but nobody’s vomiting and nobody’s dead, so Frank is counting it a definite win. He shimmies out of the car alongside the rest of the guys, hands buried in the pockets of his hoodie, arm linked with Gerard, and makes his way happily into the club.
Instantly he’s almost overwhelmed with the heartbeats of so many people in one place and he wonders if he should maybe have taken some Sangrus before they left the Way house. It isn’t really a big deal since nobody’s bleeding and Frank isn’t even particularly hungry, but it’s a little bit harder to ignore the steady thumping when he isn’t separated by loud guitar chords and a stage and his duty to the rest of his band members. He must look as surprised as he feels at that revelation because Bob nudges his shoulder and sends an inquisitive look his way. Frank just grins and shakes his head and follows Gerard over to the bar.
“Tonic water?” Gerard asks, “With lime?”
Frank beams at him, because he doubts there’s a day he’ll ever stop being proud of Gerard’s accomplishment, and calls, “Make that two!” as the bartender nods and turns his back.
Five minutes later and they’re both leaning against the bar, sipping their drinks and watching while Bob and Ray make excited hands at the guy DJing tonight - Frank blinks to clear his vision and realizes that it’s actually Patrick up there and not some random stranger - and Pete, Mikey, and Alicia attempt to do a weird sort of three-direction grind all over one another, laughing hysterically while Prince is booming in the background.
It’s shaping up to be an excellent night, and more fun than Frank’s had in a long time. He sips his water and kicks at Gerard’s foot with his own - which makes Gee blush a little for some reason that Frank doesn’t understand - and smiles around his straw.
*
Somehow, and no matter what angle he checks the memory at, Frank will never be certain exactly how it happens, Mikey and Alicia manage to talk Frank and Gerard into dancing together.
It isn’t as if they’ve never done ridiculous little numbers together before; Frank recalls one time in particular when they both got it into their heads that it would be totally awesome to do a tap routine for the fans, and that had ended in a spectacularly hilarious failure. But for some reason, this time is different. Some sloppy techno song comes on and Gerard settles his hand on Frank’s shoulder and steers him onto the dance floor. They both still have their hoodies on, but there are bodies pressed in all around them and so the space between them rapidly disappears.
Aside from the scent of fifty or more other people that Frank doesn’t know and doesn’t care to meet, there’s the smell that is purely Gerard, rising sharp and distinct and Frank’s eyes flutter closed for a second when he catches it. He pushes himself close to Gerard, their chests together, and he feels the way that Gerard’s heart skips a beat when he does it. Smirking to himself, Frank reaches down and tentatively rests his hand on Gerard’s waist. Neither of them is particularly good at dancing, but with so many people - and half of them shitfaced to boot - it isn’t so much dancing as pressing and gyrating against one another.
Gerard flashes him this huge, huge smile, and the intensity from before flickers between them for a brief moment before Gerard blinks in confusion and turns.
There’s some guy behind him. A fairly normal looking dude, some tats here and there, short cropped hair, cool blue eyes. Frank instantly hates him. There’s a prickle of something like protectiveness at the base of his spine but he ignores it because that’s just ridiculous. Gerard is a big boy, if somebody wants to interrupt him dancing he can ignore it if he wants to.
Frank crosses his arms, just a little petulantly and makes a point of focusing on the conversation that the guy obviously wants to keep private, if the way he’s leaning in close to Gerard and talking low are any indication.
“- name’s Luke and I’m a huge fan. I know you’re probably busy but would you mind having a cigarette with me? Just for a minute?” His smile is wide and hopeful but it doesn’t reach his eyes and Frank makes a note of that. Gerard sends Frank an apologetic look over his shoulder and Frank grins as best as he can, his eyes flashing over to the Luke guy, dark and foreboding. Luke just smiles at him, that same lazy, nonchalant grin that gave Frank the creeps not fifteen seconds ago, and then he and Gerard are slipping out the front door.
Frank doesn’t have a very good handle on self-control even at the best of times. Right now he’s sort of dizzy from all the heartbeats around him, he’s off-kilter because of that stupid thing that keeps happening whenever he and Gerard look at one another for longer than a few breaths, and his skin is crawling with mistrust for this Luke character, although Frank couldn’t say what it is about him that Frank finds so dissatisfactory.
He prowls over to the bar, perching on a stool, eyes trained on the doorway. The cigarette takes longer than five minutes and he’s investigating, he’s decided.
Pete makes a note of the way that Frank is looming in the corner of the club and saunters over.
“If it isn’t my favorite pint-sized punk rocker!” Pete intones, leaning in and wrapping Frank in a brief one-armed hug that Frank doesn’t reciprocate. He nods, gives a quick little smile, and says, “Pete,” in response.
For a long moment, Pete is silent, considering the bar silently.
“You okay?” he finally asks.
Frank shrugs. At this point, he’s not really certain. He’s never felt like this before, so uncomfortable in his own skin, positively humming with the urge to get up and do something. He could cross the floor of the bar in under ten seconds and he knows it, is tempted to do it just to see what happens, how people look at him, if Gerard is okay.
Something tugs at the back of his mind and he excuses himself as politely as he can, picking up a brisk stride and stepping out to the front of the club. There’s a long line of people in the queue and most of them recognize Frank and shout his name and wave, but Gerard and Luke are nowhere to be seen.
Instinctively, Frank heads for the corner on the opposite side of the bar as the queue. He hears them before he sees them, which might be a blessing or a curse, Frank can’t decide.
“C’mon, I know you want to -” Luke’s voice starts.
Gerard’s interrupts, “No, really, I don’t. I’m flattered, but - Hey! Watch it, dude!”
“Can’t fucking fool me,” Luke again, and then Gerard makes a little oomph noise like he’s been hit and Frank loses any semblance of control that he might’ve had.
He hisses, deep back in his throat, fangs extending faster than ever before. His face is scrunched up, eyes narrow, and everything is clearer, sharper, in some ways and foggier than ever before in others. He doesn’t so much run around the corner as just appear, yanking Luke away from Gerard - who’s backed against a wall and, though nervous, doesn’t look particularly terrified by the situation - and bodily throwing him down the alleyway. He bangs into the trash cans at the far end and he has to have cut himself on something because all of a sudden, along with the rage flowing, potent and alive in Frank’s veins, there’s that seductively enticing scent of human blood.
It’s like everything that Frank’s ever wanted, like all of his fondest memories combined with all of his greatest desires, pulling him forward step by step. He’s growling, he realizes, as he advances on the figure sluggishly dragging itself to its feet and cursing. When Luke stands, he wipes his hand against his mouth and Frank sees that his lip is bleeding. He can smell the fear pouring off the guy in waves while he scrabbles back against the brick, screaming, “This isn’t funny anymore, man! Call him off!”
There are voices shouting at him from the end of the alleyway that he just came from, but he barely recognizes them over the thundering pulse of Luke’s terrified heartbeat. Frank is less than three feet away now, and it would be so easy to just close that distance, sink his teeth into Luke’s neck and drain the fucker for all he’s worth. He deserves it, a part of Frank insists alluringly. He was preying on Gerard. Gerard is yours and he has no right to touch what’s yours. Frank isn’t sure where the thought comes from, but he knows it’s true. Gerard is his, and nobody else’s, and how dare this motherfucker think he was good enough to even dream of laying a hand on Gee.
Frank grabs a fistful of Luke’s shirt in each hand, lifting him up off the ground despite the fact that Luke is probably six inches taller and thirty pounds heavier, and flat out roaring straight into his face. He thinks Luke might be crying, but he can’t tell over the litany of he deserves it, and just do it chorusing around in his head, rising in a crescendo so loud that it’s almost overwhelming.
“Frank!” Gerard’s voice breaks through and Frank drops Luke onto the ground like a child casting aside a toy, turning to seek Gerard out.
Gerard is watching him with horrified, pleading eyes, and with Frank’s vision as it is now, he looks positively ethereal - like an angel. Frank steps forward and is suddenly almost face-to-face with Gerard.
There’s a small crowd of people gathered at the entrance to the alley, and Frank can hear sirens wailing in the distance, so far off that none of the bystanders is probably aware of them yet. He stares into Gerard’s eyes, such beautiful gold rings, little flecks of green swimming in them. Taking Gerard’s hand in his, Frank leans in and runs his mouth gently over the pale expanse of Gerard’s neck - he smells so good, almost as good as blood itself, and Frank wonders what it would be like to break the skin and taste Gerard’s blood. He’s made of something divine, Frank is sure of it. It’d be heavenly, probably, to sit and drink his fill. Gerard is shaking, but Frank doesn’t really notice, not over the soft, steady beat-beat of Gerard’s heart drawing him in, holding him tighter than his fury at Luke had been able to. He licks at the soft skin and Gerard tenses, squeezing Frank’s hand in the process, and Frank is about to sink his teeth in when -
“Iero!” Bob bellows, and Frank jumps back, blinking rapidly. “Gee, get inside!” Bob shouts, and Gerard nods, casting a worried glance at Frank and reaching up to touch his neck before disappearing.
Frank shakes his head, his vision slowly returning to normal while he reaches his arms out to steady himself, stumbling backward into the alleyway. The only person he recognizes is Bob, who’s watching him in disbelief; every other face is painted with horror and disgust.
Frank looks down at himself and realizes that he’s trembling. He screws his eyes shut tight, shakes his head once, hard, and opens them again, blearily noting that nothing has changed, that he’s still here with a moaning, sobbing man on the concrete behind him, terrified onlookers gathered around. And he remembers he was going to -
He takes a few deep, heavy breaths, pressing his hands to his temples and desperately willing the fangs to go away, pleading with God or the Devil or whoever to help him, he’ll do anything. All that happens is that Bob reaches his hand out, fingertips barely grazing Frank’s forearm, and Frank looses a terrified shrieking sound that he hasn’t heard since the day that Matt left the curtains open on the bus. Before he knows he’s done it, he’s catapulting himself onto the roof of the club, sprinting across and leaping to the next rooftop he sees.
Within fifteen minutes he’s at least six miles away from everyone, curled up in a tiny park under a gargantuan weeping willow that blocks out all the light with its curtain of foliage, arms wrapped around himself while he says over and over that he’s sorry, even though there’s nobody around to hear.
*
When Frank wakes up it’s around two in the afternoon, if his cell phone is to be believed. He has about a million missed calls and texts but he doesn’t bother looking at or listening to anything.
He glances through the thick curtain of willow branches, eternally grateful that he’d decided to wear a hooded jacket two sizes too big even though the cold doesn’t really affect him as much as it used to. He pulls the hood far over his face and tucks his hands into the pockets, stepping into the sunlight and holding his breath.
It’s hot all over him, hotter than it probably is for a normal person, but not unbearable. The little park is fairly empty, one or two old ladies with bags of bird feed in the corners. If Frank uses his preternatural speed to high-tail it out of the park before they notice his presence, he doesn’t see any need to make a note of it.
He mostly sticks to alleys and shadows, or rooftops if he feels like avoiding big crowds, while he heads back toward Jersey. It doesn’t take him long, not with the way he moves, and not with how lost inside his own mind he is.
He left all of his medicine at his parents’ house, except for a few stray pills in a plastic baggie at the Ways’, but those are just as much Bob’s property as they are Frank’s, and he doesn’t feel like thinking about the semantics of it at the moment. He’s far enough down the block when he notices the crowd of people milling about, going in and out of his parents‘ house, that they don’t even see him before he’s ducking into a neighbor’s backyard.
Bob’s SUV is parked out front, along with the Ways’ car and Brian’s shitty clunker. Frank’s stomach drops out and he has to sit in the shade of Mrs. Johnson’s peach tree for awhile, gathering himself in the shadows, before he can get up and move.
Pete and Alicia are sitting on the front steps with Toro, apparently on the lookout for him, though that’s laughable at this point - Frank could be in and out so fast that nobody will even see him. He scales the trellis on the side of the house in the blink of an eye, peering cautiously through his bedroom window to make sure it’s empty before sliding the glass pane open and slipping silently inside. He lands on the floor without so much as a thud and steps into the bathroom, blinking in surprise when he sees a Sangrus pill and a bloody steak sitting on a plate on the counter. He touches the steak and almost jumps when he realizes it’s still cold, so it can’t have been sitting it out long.
Frank’s stomach lurches again when he realizes they must’ve been swapping the meat out over and over and over to make sure it was fresh when he got here.
He downs the pill and tears the steak apart, imagining he’s ripping at himself instead the entire time.
*
When Frank was kid he used to keep a duffel bag under his bathroom sink with a few changes of clothes, a pair of extra shoes, and some cash in case he needed to sneak out to go to a party or a show or told them he was staying at a friend’s house and ended up not sleeping before heading out the next day. He digs it out from behind the cleaning supplies, careful to be quiet, popping the entire bottle of Sangrus into the bag along with the contacts and the lotion and a pair of sunglasses he’d left on the counter the other day.
He’s tempted to stop and wash his hands and face off - his fingers are stained red and his lips are vibrant crimson, a few stray rivulets of blood dark against his skin here and there - but he doesn’t want to risk the sound of the running water alerting anyone to his presence.
His fangs are mostly gone, although his canines are still inhumanly sharp at the points, and he sighs softly to himself, stepping out of the bathroom.
Frank freezes when he finds the stony face of Bob Bryar glaring at him. He swallows nervously and shifts from foot to foot.
“Uh, hi,” he murmurs without smiling. Bob’s gaze could freeze the center of a volcano over, he’s certain of it.
“If you honestly tell me you were planning on just fucking off then you can get the fuck out and never come back.” Bob’s voice is a low rumble.
“I - I was going to -” Frank starts, and then thinks better of it. “Just for a day or so, to clear my head. Give you guys time to calm down.” He shrugs.
“You’re fucking kidding me,” Bob states, rising to his feet, and of course Bob would have heard him. Frank’s an idiot for not realizing that before he decided to play cat burglar in his own bedroom. “We’ve been up all night worried about you, asshole! Gerard’s smoked his way through three packs of cigarettes and he won’t let Mikey go further than three feet without begging him not to leave. Your mother hasn’t stopped crying since we told her what happened and -”
“You told her?” Frank interjects, horror settling across his features. “What did you tell her!?”
Bob rolls his eyes. “The truth, you fucking moron! That you saved Gee’s ass, had a little freak out, and fucking disappeared into the night like a goddamn comic book specter.”
Even though they’re clearly arguing, neither one has raised their voice above a near-silent whisper.
“Bob,” Frank says seriously, taking a step forward, “I don’t think you understand.”
“What, Frank? What could I possibly not fathom?”
Frank grinds his teeth in exasperation, hands clenched so tightly his knuckles go white. “That I was this close,” he holds up his pointer finger and thumb, just barely not touching, “to fucking killing Gerard! I wanted to drain him, Bob! I wanted to take everything! If you hadn’t stepped in I -”
“ - would have realized what you were going to do and stopped, and gotten him a blood transfusion before he could get infected.” Bob states with finality. Frank shakes his head. He wants to believe that’s what would’ve happened, really he does, but he isn’t so sure, even now.
“I don’t know,” he admits quietly.
“That’s what would have happened,” Bob repeats, voice just daring Frank to question him. Frank wisely chooses to stay silent instead. “Clean yourself up,” the drummer continues, “and then come downstairs. If nothing else, you owe Gee an apology before you leave, and you should tell your mom you’re all right.”
Frank swallows and carefully sets the duffel bag down. “Do I have time for a shower?”
Bob considers him for a moment and then smirks. “I’d make it quick.”
Frank nods and Bob waves a hand at him, disappearing through the doorway and pulling the slab of wood shut behind him. Frank pauses, closing his eyes and focusing, and feels guiltier than ever when he hears relieved sobs, gasps of surprise, and Mikey spitting furiously, “About motherfucking time.”
*
When Frank wanders downstairs after his three minute or so shower, barefoot and in just a t-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts, more to discourage him from sprinting out the front door and down the block before anyone there can breathe than anything else, the last thing he expects if for his mother to throw her arms around him, sobbing into his shoulder and whispering that she’s so glad he’s okay.
“I, yeah, ma, I’m fine,” he says quietly, hugging her to him tightly for a moment. She draws back for a minute, taking his face in her hands and smiling at him, kissing him on the cheek and then stepping back.
Frank turns and barely even registers Gerard’s fist inches from his face before it lands solidly on his cheek. He hisses a little and prepares to disappear back up the stairs, but then Gerard’s arms are strong around him, and Gerard’s breathing into his hair, “Don’t you ever fucking do that again, you fucking idiot! I was so fucking worried about you.”
They stand that way for a long time, until somebody clears their throat and Gerard sheepishly steps back, although his mouth is still turned down in a furious frown.
Frank glances around a the circle of people gathered in the tiny kitchen. “So, uh…sorry?” he offers, unable to think of anything else.
Pete snorts and mutters, “And everyone says I’m a drama queen,” which seems to incite the rest of the people present to action. There are about a hundred pairs of hands ushering Frank into a seat at the kitchen table while everyone remains standing around him, and Frank grimaces, wishing this didn’t feel so much like an interrogation.
“You want to explain to us what happened last night?” Alicia demands, face blissfully blank of judgment; he assumes she’s acting on Mikey’s behalf, since the younger Way is leaning against the wall, eyes dark, and shaking his head at Frank like Frank left his brother at the altar or something.
“I, uh, there was this guy?” he starts, and it comes out a question even though he doesn’t want it to. “And, I don’t know, I just…got a little overprotective, I guess? I lost control and got scared and so, I just sort of.” He makes a vague motion with his hands. “Ran,” he offers hopelessly. To his complete and utter surprise, Mikey nods, and Frank lets out an internal sigh of relief. If anyone could possibly understand, it’s Mikey, he thinks, mind flitting back to the Paramour.
“We thought you went feral, Frank,” Brian states, and Frank recognizes that face. That’s the same face that Brian gave The Used guys when they accidentally set that taco stand in Southern California on fire, and it means serious business. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t fire you for scaring the shit out of us like that.”
“You love me?” Frank says, but it comes out hesitant. There’s a moment of silence and then Brian smirks and shakes his head, wandering out of the room and muttering about stupid guitarists and how ridiculous his life is. After that, the crowd sort of dissipates, Mikey stopping to pat Frank’s shoulder on the way out, which brings Frank a kind of innate relief that he hadn’t expected.
His mother kisses his cheeks three times apiece and then follows the crowd into the living room, leaving him alone with Gerard, who’s standing there, staring, gaze shielded.
“I’m sorry,” Frank whispers, and Gerard shakes his head.
“What really happened?” he demands, voice shaky. His eyes bore into Frank and Frank squirms in his seat. There’s nothing he can say that will save him here, he knows. Gerard saw everything, from Frank nearly devouring Luke, to the way he’d been toying with the idea of killing Gerard just because he fucking smelled good. When he thinks of it like that, it’s so horrifying that Frank almost wants to laugh hysterically.
“I don’t know,” Frank murmurs. “You were in trouble and I just, I had to do something. I knew he was trouble when he walked up. I knew it and I let you go with him anyway,” he stops to mumble something that sounds suspiciously like ‘too nice for your own good,’ and then presses his lips into a thin, tight line. “And you smell so good, Gee, all the damn time, and when I wasn’t in control I just.” He can’t bring himself to look up at Gerard, but he can hear Gee’s expectant breathing. “I wanted all of you, your life, everything.”
There’s the shuffle of Gerard’s footsteps and then he’s grabbing Frank’s chin, rough, and wrenching his face up.
“You don’t have to kill anyone to get it, you gigantic fucking idiot!” Gerard whispers, and then closes his mouth over Frank’s.
Frank is shocked for all of about two seconds before what’s actually happening catches up with him. He whines a little and opens his mouth further under Gerard’s, their tongues sliding together while Frank closes his palms over Gerard’s hips. Gerard still has one hand on Frank’s chin, the other fisted tightly in Frank’s hair, and he’s practically in Frank’s lap, which Frank does not mind in the least. Frank can hear Gee’s heartbeat, can feel it, melding with his own, and he hangs on tighter, careful not to grip too hard for fear Gerard’ll bruise. After a few long minutes of deeply thorough kissing, Gerard collapses into the chair across from Frank.
“I swear, if you ever pull that disappearing Houdini bullshit again, I’ll stake you through the heart myself, whether it’s a common misconception or not.”
Frank laughs. “Okay.”
“And,” Gerard continues, “we’re calling Dr. Aaron in the morning and asking her what the fuck was up, if you need a higher Sangrus dosage or whatever the fuck to keep you in control.”
Frank nods, grinning so hugely he’s certain his face is going to split in two at the corners of his smile.
“Anything you want,” Frank agrees, reaching out to lace his fingers with Gerard’s. They sit, smiling goofily at each other, until Frank’s mom calls from the living room to announce that they’re watching Enchanted and asks if they’d like to join the party. “Thanks,” Frank says softly against Gerard’s neck as they sidle up to the door, “for saving me.”
Gerard grins and bumps his shoulder against Frank’s. “Anytime.”