Fic!
Listen to Yourself Churn
Frank/Gerard
PG-13, 900 words.
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Frank never thought he'd be around for the end of the world. He also didn't think it would pack such a wallop.
He'd pictured the media-fed images of ominous skies and fleeing minivans and lunatics waiting around building tops for their spaceship rides to wherever. And if he were around, he figured he'd have some beers in his backyard with his girlfriend and his dogs and his band and wait it out.
Instead he's as far away from home as he can get, brutally sober, and he's watching Gerard puke himself inside out in a trashcan right off the biggest stage they've ever been on. Matt's already stormed out of the room and Mikey's trying not to cry and Ray looks over at Frank like he too is wondering if the countdown has already started.
When Brian walks in and takes over, Frank shrilly wonders why Brian's never bothered saying, I told you so.
::
The thing with rock bottom is that it looks a hell of a lot like every other day, only it's terrible and horrific and things by right should look entirely different. Polarized, upside down, fractured. You shouldn't be expected to go on with business as usual, not when one of you is falling apart and the rest of you is spiraling down with him like he's quicksand.
It's apocalyptic, the way Matt's bullshit is threatening to fuck everything up just as Gerard's killing himself in front of them, and Ray is too busy being angry and Mikey is too busy being helpless and Frank, well, he's got this band under his skin, has since before he was even part of it, and now all that's left is looming fucking heartbreak, wherever he looks.
::
Armageddon comes and goes, as it does.
They're back where he speaks the language and Matt is gone and Gerard hasn't had a drink since Osaka and Ray's off somewhere making sure Mikey's still in one piece. Frank's been sleeping twelve-hour nights for three days, then spends the remaining hours being a good boyfriend to Jamia and a good life support to Gerard, who's grown needier than ever in the absence of sublimation. Frank takes over when Mikey goes home, sits with Gerard and keeps him occupied like a three year old, only it's booze and pills he's distracting him from with video games and movies and long, silent walks in cold weather, hands deep in their pockets.
Gerard hasn't really drawn anything in months, not since the days Frank would spend actively not punching Bert McCracken in the face, so when Gerard greets him at the door one afternoon with a sketchbook tucked under his arm and a tired smile on his tired face, Frank has to excuse himself and go back to his car so he can sit for a minute and cry a little, in relief.
::
The thing is that Bob Bryar is completely, utterly, staggeringly awesome.
Brian reasons quietly that maybe it seems that way because Matt was a jackass, but Frank will argue (and he will argue long and hard and you don't want to start an argument with him if you have plans in the near future that don't involve agreeing with him) that this is not the case, as Bob was already awesome even before they even knew he could drum. Back in Japan, even though he barely knew Frank at all, he'd given him all his edamame and Frank didn't even have to ask more than ten or fifteen times. Bob can do no wrong. Bob is Frank's guy, okay?
However, Gerard is even more protective of his stupid band than Frank is, which is saying a lot, so Frank actually has to spend some time campaigning for Bob four days before their first real video shoot. Gerard really does love Bob, but he hates change, and he's already had to change himself pretty drastically, so Frank is cutting him all sorts of slack. He gets that sharing this bond with this cool guy Gerard knows but doesn't know isn't really appealing for someone who's still counting on his bandmates to keep him alive. Frank gets this. Frank sympathizes. But Frank is on a fucking mission, and it involves changing Gerard Way's mind. People have been wishing him luck all day, with the sort of derisive snort that clearly implies he's not man enough for the job.
He'll show them manly.
"It's what's missing," he enthuses, half with his hands, the range of which Gerard ducks out to light a new cigarette. It's his eighth since lunch. "You're clean, Otter's out; Bob's the last part of the puzzle, Gee."
Frank is sitting sideways on Gerard's mom's couch, legs crossed. He's psyching himself up for round twelve when Gerard just heaves a sigh and smiles his sad-eyed Kewpie smile at him and says:
"Okay."
Frank stifles the urge to do a victory lap around the living room, but only just. Instead he climbs across Gerard's lap to press his face to Gerard's neck.
Gerard's going to be so psyched the day Frank decides to tell him about that one time Gerard singlehandedly saved the world, for real.