Sleep Hard Dream Fast part two
Part one
~*~
Maurice follows Pete to Vegas.
Patrick doesn't understand how it's possible for this little kid to be so persistent in creeping Pete out. He doesn't know how Maurice got from Jersey all the way to Vegas, especially since Pete and Mikey had bound him to a water fountain before they left the mall.
None of it makes any sense to Patrick, and yet the kid is here, looking at him, Pete and Mikey guiltily like he's done something naughty.
"How- how did you," Mikey says blinking at the kid. Pete looks like he's about to pop a vessel in his eye the way he's staring. Hemingway growls in Pete’s arms.
"You're all idiots," the kid says in a tiny, peeping voice. He rolls his eyes at them and shakes his head pityingly.
"Hey!" Patrick says, offended. Who does the kid think he is?
"I've come to get Pete," Maurice says patiently. "I know I've put it off for a long time, but I was kinda curious to see what would happen if I let things roll on their own."
Patrick's confused. "Huh?" he asks.
Maurice shrugs his shoulders, says, "It's been a little boring if you ask me. Nothing's really happened."
Mikey shifts from one foot to the other next to Patrick, seemingly uncomfortable in the situation. Patrick can't really blame him, he's uncomfortable too. Pete opens his mouth as if to say something but quickly shuts it again.
"Get Pete? What do you mean get Pete?" Mikey asks angrily. He frowns and lifts his crossbow, aiming it at the kid. He doesn't give Maurice a chance to answer though, but fires an arrow hitting the kid’s arm. Maurice sways a little unsteadily, pulling at the arrow, whining and sniffling. “That hurt,” he says accusingly, sticking his bottom lip out in a pout.
The kid’s eyes gleam dully for a moment, and he turns the pout into an off-putting smirk. It makes Patrick’s teeth itch, his heart pound fast in his chest. Something is terribly wrong, like the kid has become ten times more threatening since the last time they saw him. Mikey fires another arrow but Maurice dodges it easily.
Patrick grabs Pete's arm, gripping hard enough to stop his circulation, but something knocks him out, and when he opens his eyes again, Pete, Hemingway and the kid are gone.
~*~
It’s been two days now; two days from whatever it is that happened to Pete. Patrick doesn’t want to say death, can’t really make himself say it even if he wanted to. They had spent the days looking everywhere for Pete, Mikey and Patrick snapping at everyone who told them to let go. They couldn’t find him though, didn’t even see a trace of him.
Gone. Just like that. Patrick wants to hit himself in the head with his stupid pipe for not believing Pete when he said that the kid was a real threat. If he had believed then maybe… It’s all a big fucking if now. There’s nothing anyone can do anymore.
Mikey’s sitting with Patrick, legs pulled up, jaw pressing into knees. Gerard and Frank had tried to talk to him about what had happened, same with Ray and even Bob. Everyone seems to want to offer him words of advice that are still so unhelpful and pointless, only succeeding to make Mikey more upset. They also want answers, answers Mikey can't give them. He has gone into a stoical, quiet place, not even blinking when Gerard walks by for the umpteenth time, leaning down to touch Mikey's shoulder and squeezing Patrick's wrist as he passes. Patrick watches Gerard walk to Frank, pull him into a hug and kiss his hair.
There's nothing anyone could have done to save Pete. Patrick knows this. The feeling of helplessness is crushing, and Patrick is lonelier than ever before. He buries his face into his forearms and sighs.
"I think I," Mikey begins quietly. He's mumbling into his knees, and Patrick has to strain to hear. "I mean, me and Pete. We- we could have really... fuck."
"Yeah," Patrick agrees. They could have. He thinks about Vicky for a while, the sun in her face and sparkles in her hair, wonders if she's already... "I know," he says and shuts his eyes.
*
There’s only so much Brendon Patrick can handle at the moment (Brendon is annoying Jon, obviously trying to be quiet about it but failing). So he stands up and offers Mikey his hand. “Come on, let’s get outta here for a while,” he says.
Mikey stares at the hand dumbly, but takes it, and then they’re walking to the front door. Gerard calls after them, quickly pulling away from Frank and running to stop them. “What the hell? Where do you think you’re going?” Gerard says grabbing Mikey’s arm, forcing him to stop.
“We’re going out for a while,” Patrick says grabbing Mikey’s crossbow and a pipe. He doesn’t know where they’re going, but he needs to get out.
“It’s okay, Gerard,” Mikey says calmly placing his hand over Gerard’s on his arm. “We’re just gonna get some fresh air, that’s all.”
“You have to be crazy if you think I’m letting you two out alone after what happened.” Gerard is frowning, the skin between his eyes tucking, eyebrows drawing together.
“Look, it’s not like we’re going to go looking for them. We’re even bringing weapons, see?” Mikey says pulling his crossbow from Patrick’s hands and showing it to Gerard.
“But-“
“I’ll go with them,” Andy says standing up from where he was sitting by the table, drumming his hands on the plastic surface absentmindedly.
“What? No. You’re in the risk zone too! Just hang on a sec, I’ll come with. Where the fuck’s my sword…”
Mikey snorts. “The risk zone? Don’t be stupid, Gerard. And you don’t have to come with me, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much.”
“We’ll be fine,” Andy says patting Gerard’s back as he pushes his way out of the door.
“Don’t even worry about it,” Patrick says and gives Gerard a smile that he hopes is reassuring. He just needs some air. They all just need to breathe for a while.
“Mikey?” Gerard tries touching Mikey’s shoulder, but Mikey shrugs him off and nudges Patrick to make him exit the door. “Don’t worry, we’re not going far. Look, it’s even bright outside, it’ll be fine.”
“But. But light’s got nothing to do with-“ Gerard starts but Mikey’s already closing the door and waving him off.
~*~
Chris and Spencer move William's body from the bed.
They carry him down a set of stairs into the storeroom. Bill’s head bounces gently on Spencer’s chest when they descend the stairs, and his leg oozes on the arm of Chris’s blue hoodie.
Greta says he should have a proper burial but there aren't any places near where they could bury him. They don't want to risk running into anyone while carrying Bill between them.
So they wrap him in sheets and blankets and say their goodbyes, lock the door when they're done.
He's the third one they've lost since becoming a group, and it doesn't get any easier.
Chris feels like if they don’t find other people soon --find someone to help them fight the monsters-- they won’t last very long. Somehow, though, Chris can’t make himself care so strongly anymore. He knows they won’t beat this thing. He knows the situation is hopeless, and that the only thing there is left for them to do is to decide whether they want to give up and die soon, or keep fighting and live a day or two longer. If he’s honest with himself, he isn’t all that sure which alternative he would like to pick for himself if he was asked. He doesn’t know what he wants, so he keeps going with the flow.
*
Right now the flow is telling him to find food at the grocery store right next to their hotel.
Greta’s pulling him by the arm, not letting him stop by the cigarette shelf this time. They're in a hurry to return to their refuge where Spencer is keeping guard.
They walk past spoiled fruits and vegetables, moldy bread and the disgustingly smelly dairy section. Chris wonders how long the canned foods will last, and just for how much longer he will be able to eat spam before it starts pouring out of his ears.
When they get to the wine shelf, they stop and stare.
Three guys are lying on the floor, quietly giggling to themselves, each holding a wine bottle in their hands. They're all really fucking drunk.
"And, an' then he told my mom he was there to pick me up for the prom," one of them slurs and cracks up, leaning his head on a bony shoulder. Someone in thick glasses makes a sympathetic noise and giggles. "He had a crappy little corsage with him and everythn'. I think it was meant for ‘is date but shhhe stood him up," the guy giggles, and then makes a sad sound.
Greta clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth impatiently. "Uh, hello?" she says.
The three guys sit up with difficulty and look at Chris and Greta. "Hi?" The one with messy, shoulder length hair says and manages to wave his hand until he cracks up again.
~*~
"I knew, I fucking knew something like this would happen,” Gerard rambles. “But then I thought, maybe Mikey just needs some space! Maybe I should give it to him! He’ll be fine. He’s a smart kid. So just for once I decide to trust you even if my gut tells me not to, and what do you do? You go and be stupid." Gerard says poking Mikey in the chest. Mikey sways a little, eyes too heavy to manage to look entirely sheepish, but Brendon can tell that he's trying.
Frank is rubbing Gerard's neck soothingly while fixing angry looks at Mikey, Patrick and Andy, all sitting neatly side by side on the hotel bed.
Brendon can't really blame Gerard for being so angry with his brother, but then again, he can also understand why these three had gone and done it.
He would probably want to get drunk too if Jon died.
It was Brendon and Jon who found the three at the grocery store, along with two new kids. Greta and Chris. Together they had dragged Mikey, Patrick and Andy into the hotel because it had sounded like a good place to move in to.
"And what about you?" Gerard snaps turning to Andy. "I thought it was against your morals to be drinking in the first place?" Andy stares at the floor and shrugs. “You said you’d go with them, and that you’d be fine. I mean, you must have realized just how worried I was-“
“It wasn’t Andy’s fault,” Mikey says hotly, glaring at Gerard from the bed.
Gerard rubs the angel's kiss below his eye testily. "Whatever. You're all fucking... I, I can't even-"
"It's okay, Gerard," Frank says nudging at Gerard's shoulder with his nose. "Come on, I think we both need a hot shower." He eyes at Mikey, Patrick and Andy like he wants to yell at them, but he doesn’t say anything when he starts tugging at Gerard’s hand.
Gerard sighs but relents and lets Frank pull him out of the room. He leans down to grab both of their backpacks from the floor as they go. They disappear into the opposite room, and before the door closes, Frank yells at everyone to think twice before coming bothering them.
Mikey looks like he's about to puke, so Bob grabs him by the collar and armpit and takes him to the bathroom. Ray tags along muttering something about burned toast and how it always used to help Gerard's hangovers when the guy still drank. Patrick slumps down on the bed looking miserable, and Andy continues sitting on the edge, hands under his thighs, shoulders touching the tips of his ears.
Jon is watching Greta and Spencer with interest. They stand leaning against the wall, arms crossed and taking in the situation. Chris props up against the arm of the chair where Brendon is sitting.
"So, uh," Spencer says. "You guys are not from around here are you?"
Jon snorts sitting down on the bed next to Patrick's thighs. "What gave it away?"
"Just a lucky guess." Spencer smirks and brings the thumb of his left hand to his mouth, biting the cuticle. "You're welcome to stay though, in the hotel I mean, if you want. I think those two already decided for themselves," he says nodding his head at the door that Frank and Gerard had stormed out from.
"Yeah, it's fine," Greta says and smiles at Brendon. "We could use some help keeping the place secure."
Brendon smiles back at Greta and then looks at Jon thinking how this is exactly what they had been hoping for. "Thanks," he says, and out of the corner of his eye, sees Chris shrugging his shoulders.
~*~
The putrescent green vomit that hits the magenta toilet bowl makes Bob shudder. Mikey is retching, hands gripping thighs, muscles convulsing under a vintage band shirt. Bob thinks maybe he should be rubbing Mikey's back, saying something soothing to get him relaxed, but Ray's already pushing past him, kneeling down next to Mikey.
"It's okay, just get it all out," Ray says with a strong, calm voice. His hand rubs between and under Mikey's shoulder blades, and he turns to look at Bob. "Gerard used to be like this at least four times a week. Can you get him some water?" he says nodding his head at Mikey and then at the faucet. Bob grabs a plastic cup from one of the cup holders beside the sink and fills it. He hands it to Ray. "Thanks. It was usually Frank or Mikey who had to deal with it, but I picked up a few things."
"Gerard's-"
"An alcoholic, yeah. He's been sober for a while though," Ray says pushing the cup in Mikey’s hands when he stops vomiting.
"More than just a while," Mikey gets out in between spitting in the bowl and gulping down water. "Ugh, gross," he whines wiping his mouth to the inside of his wrist.
Ray sighs, "Fine. More than just a while. But how do you think he feels now that his brother's started drinking because life sucks? You could have gotten yourself killed. Not to mention Patrick and Andy!"
Mikey glares at Ray, pushes up unsteadily so Bob stretches out a hand in case Mikey decides to topple over on his face. "I think this is a little bit different than what Gerard went through. Plus hey, monster apocalypse!" Mikey pushes Bob's hand away and staggers towards the bathroom door. "I'm gonna have to hurry the fuck up if I want to end up a drunk fucker before I die," he says walking out.
Ray gets up, takes Mikey's cup from the floor and empties it in the bowl before flushing the toilet. "They're not the most pleasant people when drunk."
"Huh," Bob says. He doesn't really know what to say. The whole situation's making him depressed. Like, before he met these guys, the only thing he cared about was that he could go down fighting, but now. Now he isn't so sure if he even wants to think about going down, fighting or not fighting.
~*~
The room is welcoming. Soft mattresses, clean towels, and a torrent of light shining through double windows. Gerard drops the bags by the bed and goes to look out into the street. The view that greets him is like a colorful, macabre circus, and Gerard is glad he doesn’t have to be out there, not now anyway.
"There's a tub," Frank yells from the bathroom. "And, oh God, pink shower gel!"
Gerard pulls the thin white curtains over the view and turns around. Frank is leaning against the doorjamb, unbuttoning his jeans. He glances up at Gerard and grins, his three-day stubble scratching naked shoulder when he tugs his head back down. "There's green too if you have issues with your masculinity."
Gerard snorts. "Well that's comforting to know."
"Uh huh. So maybe you should hurry up, you might get lucky," Frank says easing out of his jeans and then walking into the bathroom, inked pumpkin on the back of his neck smirking at Gerard like it knows something they don’t.
Gerard pulls out of his dirty clothes and follows. He needs to be with Frank, needs Frank to fill his mind so that he can stop thinking about the different scenarios that could have happened to Mikey if he hadn’t been found soon enough. Gerard doesn’t know what he would do if he lost these two, Mikey and Frank, doesn’t ever want to think about it.
Frank nuzzles his stubble against Gerard's throat until Gerard picks up his razor from the counter close to the sink. They take turns shaving each other in the shower, tasting soap when they kiss. It’s mostly Gerard doing the shaving. He has never been so glad about his inability to grow a serious beard than he is these days.
The water is just hot enough. It makes Gerard lean his head into Frank's hair and mouth kisses there. He lathers Frank's back, scrubbing away some stupid texts and drawings that he left there earlier, and whines when Frank snaps gently at his collarbone.
Hot water awakens Gerard’s sleepy circulation. His sore muscles warm up and relax. The nail scratches on his back sting when he moves.
Frank gets awfully quiet, just leaning into Gerard, letting him tend to him. It's like all of his energy is washing away with the dirt, disappearing into the drain.
"Feel okay?" Gerard asks quietly, nudging Frank's head up with his nose. Frank looks tired, and like he's trying to hold back tears.
"Fine," he says and looks away. Frank's anything but fine and Gerard's about the same. "It's just. Mikey," he says batting the air with his hand, and Gerard makes an understanding noise. "And Joe, and God, Pete."
"I know. I'm just glad Mikey's okay. I don't know what I'd do if-"
Frank nods against Gerard's shoulder, fingers digging into Gerard's hips. "Try no to think about it too much," he says, all warm breath and low, quiet voice.
The moment is too slow and tranquil to fit well into their new lives, but it’s exactly what Gerard’s been craving for.
They let the water caress them -holding onto each other, Gerard’s hands resting on Frank’s shoulder blades-until Frank sighs heavily and Gerard can’t tell how much time has passed.
"Come on," Gerard says picking up a small bottle of shampoo. He pours some on his palm and empties the rest of the bottle on Frank's head. "Let's get cleaned up before the water gets cold."
Frank nods uncertainly, fingers starting to rub white foam into his hair. "You don’t want-"
"The bed," Gerard says dropping a quick kiss behind Frank's ear, the bitter taste of shampoo touching his mouth.
*
Frank moves down Gerard's stomach, licking away random water droplets that the towel didn't catch. He's palming Gerard's inner thigh and balls, mouth easing down on him, making Gerard groan loudly like he just can't keep it inside any longer.
Frank kisses him like this for a while, licking and nosing at sensitive skin, teeth carefully grazing him just the way Gerard likes. It makes Gerard arch his back and tug at Frank's damp hair.
He pulls Frank up after a while, flipping him on his back and kissing him fervently, thumb pressing down on protruding ribcage. His ears are wonderfully full with the noises that Frank makes. There are no sounds of destruction or despair anymore, no one is growling by his ear like it wants to bring him down. It’s just him and Frank, and it feels almost like they’ve finally come home.
Gerard presses his hips into Frank’s, arms shaking when a shock of everything that is good and gorgeous and Frank flashes through him. He scrapes teeth against the insides of his cheeks and snaps his eyes shut when Frank arches up, hiccupping his name.
"Frank, Frankie," Gerard pants against Frank's mouth trying to catch his breath, fingers touching Frank’s flushed face, neck, sliding down his chest. He licks Frank's soft, well-kissed bottom lip pulling it into his mouth, teeth closing briefly around the lipring. There's a familiar feeling in Gerard's chest, like it wants to stretch around some nice pressure, and the muscles in his stomach tighten when Frank thumbs the bumps of his spine.
Frank is breathing heavily, taking in sharp, shaky gasps of air when Gerard rubs the spit-slick pads of his fingers up along the inside of his thigh and further, and he groans when Gerard pushes inside.
They don't last very long.
Gerard would maybe want to take his time, linger in the moments that don't make him feel like the end is near, but it just doesn't happen. He comes inside Frank after a short while, shuddering and breathing harshly against Frank's flushed face. His hand is wrapped around Frank’s cock, jacking him off as he studies the dark of his irises until Frank's eyes snap shut and he groans, Gerard's palm getting satisfyingly wet just a second later.
*
Frank is sweaty and tired in the crook of Gerard’s arm, eyelids heavy like it’s taking all of his effort not to make them thump closed. Gerard has to strain to keep himself from falling asleep. It’s only the afternoon, not even dark outside, but staying alive has never taken so much of their energy as it does these days.
Gerard leans over Frank, digging his jaw into Frank’s upper arm as he reaches for his backpack, zipping it open and rummaging through it. His fingers bump against t-shirts, markers and the folded picture of the clown he painted for Mikey ages ago before he finds what he’s looking for. “Here,” he says pulling out a slightly melted Snickers bar, the last one he has. He pushes it into Frank’s hand. “Should eat that.”
Frank snorts as Gerard settles back on the bed. He leans his head on Gerard’s shoulder and puts the candy firmly on Gerard’s chest. “Fuck you, you eat it. It’s yours.”
“Well I’m giving it to you, so ha.”
“Don’t want it, already ate all of mine.”
Gerard rolls his eyes at Frank. “I know you did. That’s why I’m giving you mine.”
“You’re not making any sense. I had like four of these already today.”
“Yes, and now you’re having a fifth one,” Gerard says pushing the bar back to Frank. “You’re tired and hungry and we’re not gonna get more food until tomorrow unless you want to go out there now before it gets dark. So eat the fucking thing.”
“And what the fuck are you going to be eating?”
“It’s okay, I’m not really that hungry. I can wait.”
“Bullshit. And it’s just a fucking candy bar, you idiot,” Frank says and pushes it back to Gerard. “You eat it.”
“No, you eat it.”
“No. You eat it.”
“No, you eat it.”
“Stop being fucking difficult, Gerard,” Frank says angrily and smacks the bar on Gerard’s chest. The wrapper rustles noisily and Gerard’s skin tingles for a ghost of a second.
“You’re the one who’s being difficult,” Gerard says through gritted teeth shoving the candy into Frank’s palm, forcing him to wrap his fingers around it. “Eat it.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Frank says sitting up. He unwraps the chocolate and poorly splits it in two. “Okay, fine, we share it. Here, you can even have the smaller bite if you promise to fucking shut up about this.”
“Fine,” Gerard says testily and stuffs the candy into his mouth, harshly chewing on it as he watches Frank do the same.
“Okay, now be quiet, I’m gonna sleep,” Frank says thickly, mouth still full as he pulls the covers over them and tugs his head into Gerard’s neck, forehead nudging up at Gerard’s jaw.
Frank’s jaw works against Gerard’s collarbone for a while chewing the taffy chocolate, and Gerard makes a satisfied noise draping his arm around Frank, pulling him closer.
~*~
The light flickers for a short while like it's getting tired of keeping up appearances. The spot between Patrick's eyes tickles and his eyes hurt. He pulls his trucker hat over his face feeling like crap.
Jon is talking with Greta, Chris and Spencer while making coffee. There's a water boiler plugged into the wall, and even though everyone can make coffee from hot water and instant powder, Jon gets the honor because of his earlier job experience.
"Sorry I almost got you killed," Mikey says quietly close by. They're both lying on the bed, the top of their heads touching the end of pillows.
Patrick turns his head to the side, lifting his hat a little so he can look at Mikey. "What?" he asks.
"You know, earlier. Just. I'm sorry."
Mikey looks miserable. His hair is greasy and his glasses are full of finger smudges. It's never easy to say if Mikey is happy or not, his face never really changes expressions, but Patrick can tell Mikey isn't happy now. Patrick doesn't know what exactly would have happened between Pete and Mikey if time hadn’t run out, but he guesses everyone was expecting for something to happen. There just wasn’t enough time, like there never seems to be.
"What, the store? It's not like you forced me to drink."
Mikey shrugs, "But still. I'm sorry." He taps Patrick's knuckles with his finger and sighs unhappily.
"Well then, I'm sorry too," Patrick says taking Mikey's hand and squeezing. They turn their heads towards Andy who's still sitting at the edge of the bed staring at the floor. "Hey Andy," Patrick says and Mikey pokes Andy's back with his toe. "We're sorry."
Andy turns his head and waves a hand at them. "Yeah, yeah," he says.
Patrick squeezes Mikey's hand again, and Mikey squeezes back.
*
Bob offers to help Mikey and Patrick into a quiet room to sleep off the alcohol. Andy stays on his spot on the bed, even if Ray insists he should get some sleep as well.
"I'm fine," Andy says when Bob's leaving with Mikey and Patrick.
They pass Frank and Gerard's room in the hallway. No sounds are coming from behind the door but Bob doesn't think that they're sleeping. The thing he's learned about Frank and Gerard is that they go at it every chance that they have. It's not like Bob can blame them though, he'd probably do the same if he had someone to do it with.
"Which room do you guys want?" Bob asks. He's about to say that they should probably choose one close by but Patrick's already walking into the room next to Frank and Gerard's, Mikey in tow.
"This one looks as good as any," Mikey says. "Just as long as the walls are thick enough. I really don't feel like listening to my brother and Frank in the other room." He shudders and pushes up his glasses smudging them ever more.
Patrick slumps down on the bed next to the window and yawns, rolling over onto his side and closing his eyes. "Go to sleep, Mikeyway," he says reminding Bob of Pete. Mikey looks at Patrick for a moment like he’s thinking the same, before he lies down on the other bed.
"Do you guys like, need anything? I can stand guard or something if you want," Bob offers. He doesn't know what he should be doing. Maybe he should help Chris with securing the place? He feels a little unfocused though, like he just doesn't know what one should do in such a situation.
"Nah, just go unless you want to sleep too. There's plenty of room," Mikey says patting the side of his bed. Mikey is so skinny that he's only taking up a fourth of the bed. Bob would fit there just fine.
Bob ends up taking a shower and napping on the bed for the rest of the day, hand resting on his gun, Mikey's head pressed against his shoulder. Patrick breathes heavily on the other bed, right beside them.
~*~
Frank wakes up to something tickling his shoulder blades. It’s dark outside but the electricity still works, so at least they have that. He blinks sleep away from his eyes, raising his head up a little, hand feeling up the soft covers that are pushed down to his lower back. His fingers bump against Gerard’s thigh and he pokes at the skin for a while. “What’re you doing?”
Gerard pushes Frank’s head down on the bed, leaving his hand on the back of his neck as if trying to keep Frank from moving. “Just drawing a little,” he says and continues tracing lines on Frank’s skin.
“Huh. Drawing what?”
Gerard hesitates. “Wings or something. So you can fly away when it gets really bad,” he says quietly, trying to sound casual but failing. Had he done something so ridiculous six months ago, Frank would have laughed at him, most likely made fun of him for days. Now it’s just breaking his heart, making him curl his palm on Gerard’s knee and squeezing tightly.
“And what? Leave you here? It doesn’t work like that,” he says. Gerard is sitting on his legs, so Frank digs his fingers into the seam of Gerard’s thigh and calf, and lets him finish his drawing.
When he’s done, Gerard picks up the clown watercolor from his bag and starts sketching on the back of the paper with such familiarity and calmness that Frank can’t help but lose himself in it.
“What?” Gerard asks quirking an eyebrow.
Frank says, “Nothing”, smiling toothily. He shakes his head a little closing his eyes. He’s missed the soft sound of markers touching paper, and knows that Gerard has too.
*
A lot of things happen in a short span of time.
Jon pushes Greta against a wall in her room and touches her thighs.
Brendon and Spencer bond over a mutual love for Animorphs and Vegas lights.
“I’m actually from Vegas,” Brendon whispers like it’s a big secret and only Spencer can ever know. “I was just visiting relatives in Jersey with mom and dad when this thing started.”
Chris shows Ray the Guitar Hero game he stole some time ago and managed to hook up into his room. They end up playing it for hours, and Ray doesn’t even notice the commotion that starts building up in the hallway until it’s too late.
Gerard wakes Bob up quietly, whispering to him to get up because he needs to have a word with him. Gerard looks awful, but at the same time so much in control that Bob can only get up and obey. He leaves Mikey and Patrick sleeping in the room, watches as Gerard smooths down Mikey’s hair and kisses his forehead, placing his switchblade on the bed beside Mikey before hurrying out the door.
“What’s up?” Bob asks when Gerard has closed the door behind them and they’re both standing in the bright hallway. Bob has to blink and rub his eyes to adjust them to the light.
“I need you to do something for me,” Gerard says looking more serious than Bob has ever seen him before. His hair is sticking out worse than usually, and his eyes are as clear as painted glass. There are marker smudges on his fingers and arms: red and blue like bruises and blood.
“Anything,” Bob says dumbly and watches Gerard sigh shallowly.
“Mikey,” Gerard says. “I need you to make sure he’ll be alright. I- I need you to promise me you will do your best to look after him.“
“Uh, of course, Gerard,” Bob says uncomfortably.
Gerard nods, sighing. “Good. Good. That’s. Thank you,” he says earnestly and bites his lip. Bob thinks he’s acting a little oddly especially since things seem to be looking up. They finally have a good place to stay and new people to share the madness with. Gerard should be happy. He doesn’t look happy.
“I realize I can’t ask you to make sure he survives this,” Gerard says and rolls his hand before brushing it over his forehead. “I don’t think anyone will, but. I just want you to keep an eye on him when I’m gone. Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid like-“
“Whoa,” Bob says surprised. “What is this- what- what are you-“
“Please just,” Gerard blinks rapidly and touches Bob’s upper arm. “Can you promise me that? Promise me you’ll try.”
“Of course, but why are you saying this? Everything’s okay, right?”
Gerard frowns and pulls his hand from Bob’s arm starting to press it against his own stomach, other hand gripping his bicep. “It’s Frank,” Gerard says looking away. “He got bit. He’s. He’s resting now but,” Gerard shuts his eyes tightly and presses his head down.
“Shit. Shit- what? But. How?” Bob asks, his own stomach knotting up painfully. He feels like he’s going to be sick. He can’t even believe it, and yet one look at Gerard and he knows that it’s true.
Gerard pushes a fat tear from his cheek angrily and starts hugging his arms again. “We heard noises from behind the door. We thought it was Mikey or something. I was stupid. Really fucking stupid. I opened the door and, and-“
Bob reaches out to touch Gerard’s shoulder, but Gerard shrugs him away.
“It attacked me, so Frank. God, he strangled it with the rosary, pulling so hard it broke into pieces, pretty amber spheres scattering everywhere.” Gerard takes a deep, shuddering breath and makes a weird, strangled noise. “He got it off me, got it killed, but before it died, it bit his leg!” Gerard says desperately. “I should have seen it coming, should have stopped it from, from-“
Bob pulls Gerard into a hug, gripping him tightly enough to keep Gerard from pushing him away. “I’m sorry,” he says. It wasn’t supposed to end like this, not for these two. They were supposed to survive.
Gerard makes a small noise and Bob lets him pull away. “Just make sure Mikey won’t come looking for us. That’s all. Make sure he understands.”
Bob frowns. “You’re staying with Frank? When he- when he turns you’re gonna be there?”
“Of course I’ll be there,” Gerard says like Bob is crazy for even asking that.
“Are you sure? I mean-“
“Bob. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be right now than with Frank, you have to understand that.”
“He will try to bite you when he’s turned.”
Gerard sighs, and Bob can see windows in his eyes. “There’s nothing left for any of us to do than to decide how we want to go down. I need to be with Frank when it ends. I need to be holding him.” Gerard glances down at the hallway, eyes lingering on the closed door to his and Frank’s room.
“Then go,” Bob says. He gets it, he understands. One look at Gerard and he knows exactly where Gerard belongs. Gerard gives him a relieved look, like he was waiting for Bob’s consent, and goes to open the door. Bob can see their attacker lying dead on the floor. It has a red flannel shirt, and a wedding ring glitters around its finger. Meet destiny, Bob thinks grimly and glares at it. So much for not going down. So much for surviving the experience.
Gerard turns to look at Bob for the last time. He smiles weakly and thanks him for everything.
“Don’t even- it’s the least I can do.”
“I’ll double lock the door. We shouldn’t be able to get out without someone else breaking down the door.”
“I’ll make sure Mikey doesn’t do anything stupid,” Bob says tightly and Gerard grins at him, nodding.
“Good,” he says. “Thanks. Oh, and you should all leave as soon as possible. If one got past the barriers, others will too. You need to get everyone out of here.”
“Yeah,” Bob agrees, nodding dumbly.
“Tell Mikey I’m sorry about yelling at him, but if he thinks I didn’t mean what I said, then he’s in fucking denial,” Gerard grins again. “And when Ray finally stops playing Guitar Hero, let him know I’m sorry I didn’t come say goodbye. I just really fucking hate goodbyes, y’know?” he says and shuts the door. The locks click in place, and Bob is left alone in the bright hallway.
~*~
The room is still as nice and welcoming as ever. Gerard glances at Frank on the bed. He is lying, eyes closed and breathing heavily, a slight frown creasing his forehead. Pulling at the zombie’s arm, Gerard manages with some difficulty to drag it into the bathroom out of their sight. He leaves it slumped on the magenta floor, washes his face in the sink and wets a small towel that he brings to bed. Settling down on soft covers, Gerard pulls Frank into his lap and starts cleaning his sweaty face. Frank shudders and brings his hand up to pet Gerard’s arm a little.
“What’re you doing, Gerard?” Frank mumbles into Gerard’s chest.
“Just cleaning you up a bit,” Gerard says wiping down a sweaty neck and brushing his lips over Frank’s temple. He rubs an open palm over Frank’s back, pressing against fading marker wings that had felt like such a significant detail at the time.
“No, I mean. Why’d you come back? You need to be getting the fuck away from me,” Frank says, weakly trying to push himself up from Gerard’s chest. Gerard pulls him back down and wraps his arms tightly around Frank’s stomach.
“And leave you here? Doesn’t work like that.”
“No, Gerard, please. You have to leave now.” Frank is shaking his head, trying to push away from Gerard only to have Gerard’s arms tighten around him.
“Frank. Frank! Ow, son of a bitch,” Gerard says when Frank manages to knock his elbow against Gerard’s nose making his head bump against the wall. “Stop fucking struggling, it won’t help. I love you, and I’m not going anywhere so you can drop it.”
“Love you too but I’m gonna hurt you,” Frank says sadly going limp in Gerard’s arms, and Gerard says “Get some rest,” and then that’s that. Frank tries to shake the sleep away but Gerard can see how tired he is, how weak he’s become.
Eventually Frank’s eyes fall shut, and his breathing evens out. He is still frowning a little, the small wound in his leg probably hurting him more than it should be, the infection spreading everywhere.
Gerard guides Frank’s head up a little so that dry lips touch his neck.
He closes his eyes and waits.
Frank is warm and peaceful in his arms.
End