Sister To Sleep: Chapter One
Sister To Sleep: Part One
Chapter One
Previous Chapter: None,yet.
Title: Sister To Sleep
Pairing: Frank/Gerard and others as they appear.
Characters: Frank, Gerard, Brendon, Ryan, Patrick, Ray, Bob, Spencer, and Mikey. There will be more as I go, probably.
Rating: R for language, content, and themes.
Warnings: Very mild anorexia themes, flaming homosexuality, mild and not-so-mild schizophrenia references, major character death (sort of?), insomnia, violence, crude language, gay sex at some point, self-hate, a mention of rape in passing, and probably a lot more less important warnings.
Disclaimer: Age differences are not such as in real life. I can, and probably do, it's likely, have my historical dates, facts, and figures wrong. I haven't had a social studies class in six months, and I never paid any attention, anyway. Just pretend everything makes sense.
--> ***This is all an original, elaborate lie. This work and idea is mine and only mine, including the typos, grammatical errors, and stupid plot lines.*** <--
Author's Notes: Thank you to my pumpkinstumpkinpie (aye chika im talkeen 2 ju) for reading all of my shit, listening to all of my fangirling, giving great suggestions, and being the cream cake she is.
*"Gerard," a voice cooed at him. "Gerard, it's time to get up."
Gerard opened his eyes slowly, only to smash them shut again when the blinding white lights hit him.
"Gerard," the voice reached out to him again.
Gerard replayed the last six hours and thirty-three minutes of his unconsciousnesses.
The waves were crashing around them, his troop was determined. Maybe stupidly so. It was World War Two after all; anything could happen,
They were in Germany. Gerard had gone around the world with the men in his troop. He loved him. He trusted them, but there was one soldier he was closer to than the rest.
Gerard didn't allow himself to think the name. He preferred to suppress that memory, fuck you very much.
"Gerard."
They stormed the beach. Everybody scattered, it was like watching ants run around a picnic basket. All Gerard could hear was machine guns and orders being shouted by his commander. Then Gerard saw him. He was hiding behind a piece of broken iron ship siding. He was shaking. Then he ran. Gerard tried to open his mouth to scream at him, but no sound would come out. Gerard tried again, his voice failed him. Gerard started running. He could feel the tendons in his legs expand and contract. The boy he was so desperately running towards fell to the sand.
"Gerard, it's okay, wake up."
Hands were grabbing Gerard. He fought against them with all his might. A medic ran over to the boy, pressing a cloth to his gushing wound. It wasn't working. That should be me! Let me go! Gerard still couldn't speak. The medic was cursing, Gerard could tell, even from the distance he was at. The hands were pulling at him, pulling him away from the boy laying in the rust stained sand. Let me go!
"He won't wake up. Gerard?"
The medic drug the boy off of the field. He was done. He would never open his eyes. He would never come home. Gerard opened his mouth in a silent scream. He mutely shouted the boy's name over and over, willing him to get up and keep fighting.The hands pulled him to the ground. The body attached was saying something. Stay clear? Stay here? Gerard didn't know. Gerard didn't care. The boy was dead.
"Gerard..? Mr. Way?"
Gerard floated back to the real world to find his body wracking with sobs. He couldn't control them. He was crying his soul out. Why was he the one still living? He didn't deserve it. Take me, not him.
He felt soft hands push his hair back. Gerard felt like he was going to puke, so he did. Turning his head to the side, Gerard emptied the contents of his stomach onto his sheets. The soft hands were pulling him out of bed and shoving him toward the bathroom. The door shut and Gerard was left alone.
The mirror was mocking him, he was sure. He couldn't remember the last time he washed or brushed his hair. He had dark circles under his eyes. Gerard's mouth tasted like straight up shit. His lips were chapped and bleeding from where he had bit at them. His grey uniform Our Lady Of Sorrows Institution sweat suit was too big and bunching up in odd places. Gerard had been losing weight. He started to poke at what was left of the excess fat on his hips. He shivered. He was repulsive. Why was he even alive?
Gerard stuck his head under the faucet and contemplated drowning himself while drinking. That would be too slow. He spat in the sink and cut the water off. A soft knock came from the door.
"Mr. Way?" That was the voice of his nurse, Nurse Urie, Nurse Brendon Urie. His nurse was a male, and Gerard would have found the young man's high pitched voice amusing under normal circumstances.
This wasn't a normal circumstance. Well, I suppose it is normal for me to have mental breakdowns like this.
"Mr. Way. I'm gonna have to ask you to come out now."
Gerard huffed in response.
"Good. Now, come on. Breakfast has started, and we have new patients! Isn't that exciting?"
Gerard drowned out Brendon. It's not that he didn't like Brendon, because he did, he just wasn't up for functioning like a human today.
Gerard allowed himself to be dragged by Brendon into the cafeteria. Gerard sat at his usual table next to Ray. Gerard and Ray didn't talk much, but he could call him his friend.
It's not that Gerard didn't talk to Ray much, Gerard just didn't talk much period. Everything he had to say could be voiced in one simple sentence. Everybody seemed to understand and accept that. Everybody but Doctor Smith.
Gerard's doctor was a good one, granted. Spencer Smith had graduated second in his class from Duke University, majoring in Psychiatric Mental Health. He was no fool, he was just a pushy fucker, as Gerard liked to think. Dr. Smith cared about Gerard, about how, sometimes, Gerard couldn't get out of bed because the greif he had was so suffocating.
Dr. Smith had informed Gerard that he had very acute depression and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
It didn't help that Gerard was also a flaming homosexual.
"It's 1942," Dr. Smith had explained. "We have modern medicine that can help you with everything, even the, um, you know." Dr. Smith had gestured awkwardly at Gerard. He smirked at the memory of that particular session.
Gerard wasn't a nut case, he just liked penis, Godammit. Nobody seemed to get that view of things, though. When people hear about his 'condition,' they look at him like he sacrifices babies and virgins for the glory of Satan, or some shit. All he did was fuck men.
Ray understood, and that's why Gerard was sitting with him. Ray handed Gerard a slice of toast, and Gerard nodded his thanks to the wiry-haired man. Ray knew something was wrong with Gerard, but he didn't ask. That was another reason Gerard appreciated Ray's company.
Ray was in Our Lady Of Sorrows because he saw ghosts. He felt them and could talk to them. Gerard believed him, but nobody else seemed to. He told his family and they had thrown him in this place. Ray was only 19, he didn't deserve to be here. The doctors diagnosed him as chronically schizophrenic. Ray is supposed to take three different kinds of pills with each meal, but he holds them under his tongue them slides them in his pockets when Ryan, his nurse, isn't looking. Ray didn't need the pills, anyway. He had a gift, not a handicap.
Bob came to sit down at the table with them, giving them each a respective nod. Bob was a stocky man who didn't take shit. He was a good friend to have in a place like Our Lady, people gave him a wide berth, if for no reason other than how he landed himself there.
Bob had anger issues, it was no secret, he wasn't ashamed, it was just how he was. One night, while walking home from the grocery store, Bob saw a thug threatening a woman in an alley next to his apartment. The man was going to rape her, Bob could hear the woman screaming it. Bob's bag had hit the concrete with a low thud. The thug turned on Bob, and, well, Bob killed the fucker. He had done it pretty torturously, too. That's the reason he was in Our Lady today, sitting next to Ray.
Ray and Bob struck up a conversation about politics which Gerard had trouble following. He personally thought war was a lost cause. It always ended in death. Maybe the peace freaks are onto something. Or just on something.
"No! Don't make me fucking sleep! I'll die! I'll die! You're murderers!"
Gerard turned his head towards the disruption. It appeared to be coming from a small man being talked to quietly by Dr. Stump. The boy looked about 17 years old. His body was riddled with tattoos, beautiful pieces of art. Before the war, Gerard had planned to be an artist, and this boy was covered in colors and patterns. It had been a long time since Gerard had seen something like that. He felt a little nostalgic.
The boy also had deep, black rings under his eyes from what Gerard assumed was extreme sleep deprivation, based on the way his conversation with Dr. Stump was going.
"Is he okay?" Ray whispered.
Bob scoffed. "Ray, anybody who gets accepted into this place is not 'okay.'"
Gerard was rapt on this boy. He was beautiful not only in his tattoos, but in his body. He looked like he had dropped out of heaven. Gerard shook his head and went back to his toast. He didn't think that he deserved to be interested in this guy, he should be dead.
"Please!" The boy was sobbing and scratching at his face. "Please, please, don't make me sleep! I can't sleep! I'll die!" His body was shaking with the force of his tears.
"Frank," Stump said calmly. "Frank, can you look at me? I promise you nothing will happen if you sleep. Don't you trust me?"
So, the boy's name is Frank.
"He told me not to trust anybody! He said I couldn't sleep! He told me I would die! I don't want to die!"
"Who told you, Frank?"
Dr. Stump looked so fragile. His skinny form was crouching in front of Frank, who had curled into the fetal position. Stump's blonde hair was falling in his face. He sounded every bit as tired as Frank looked.
"Please, don't make me sleep, don't make me sleep. He told me, he told me. Oh, God! Don't make me sleep!"
Dr. Stump frowned. He looked pained. "Brendon, I'm afraid that we're going to have to sedate him." The doctor sighed and ran his hands through his hair before standing up.
"Yes, sir," Brendon replied as he went for the syringe.
Gerard gulped. Syringes had needles.
Frank was too busy pleading not to sleep to notice that Brendon had injected him with a sedative, and, within a matter of minutes, Frank was out cold. Brendon and Ryan picked him up carefully and headed in the direction of the health ward.
Dr. Stump addressed the cafeteria and said, "I'm sorry, guys. Frank is a little...apprehensive about coming here; he'll calm down in time. Continue with your breakfast," before walking to his office on the B-Hall.
*
That night, Gerard visited the health ward. Frank was the only one there, occupying the third bed to the left of the window. He had the covers thrown about his small form. Gerard walked closer and noticed that the boy was drenched in sweat. He could see Frank's eyes darting around restlessly under his closed lids. Gerard felt a pang of empathy, he knew horrible night's sleep all too well.
"Sad, isn't it?"
Dr. Stump startled the fuck out of Gerard. Creepy appearances aside, Patrick Stump was probably the only doctor who took Gerard seriously and talked to him like a normal person.
Gerard nodded in reply. "He's sleeping, but he's not getting any rest, is he, doctor?"
Dr. Stump sighed. "Sadly, no, not much at all."
Gerard nodded again.
Stump clapped Gerard on the shoulder. "Why don't you get some rest, man. Frank's in capable hands." The doctor smiled at him.
Once again, Gerard nodded. "Good night, doctor."
In his bed, Gerard didn't sleep any better than Frank. He kept tossing and turning. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get the sobbing boy out of his mind.
Gerard wanted to help him.
Gerard was going to help him.
*