More Than You Could Ever Know 3/8
*
As crazy as the pace was, as unpredictable as most days were, Frank found that he and his band fell into a fairly regular routine before the first week was out. There was usually at least a day between shows, most of them lost at least in part to travel. Those days they mostly cuddled in their front lounge playing video games and watching bad reality television.
At the venue Frank had lunch with whatever members of his band, TAI, and Cobra Starship were awake, and sometimes he and Brendon could sweet talk a venue worker out of their car for an hour or two so they could hunt down some real food.
He spent the afternoon meeting fans and watching some of the other acts, or in one notable instance sneaking onto the buses of the performing bands with Gabe, and swapping out toiletries and dirty laundry. Gabe rationalised it was a great way for the different bands to get to know one another as they ventured from bus to bus in search of their missing shit. Frank figured Gabe was full of shit, but it was fun anyway, and though no one seemed to have noticed yet, he was looking forward to the fall out.
After Downpour performed, they'd catch TAI's show, and then Cobra's. Frank went without fail to the MCR show as well, even if it meant he was hopeless. Sometimes it was a little awkward hanging out because of Gabe's thing with Mikey, and the two of them and Ryan usually managed to find each other in the early afternoons and hang out on either Downpour or Cobra's bus. That was when Frank would make himself scarce.
Frank was sure Mikey was a decent sort of dude, but Mikey had this way of looking at Frank like he knew exactly what was going on in his head, and it was creepy. Frank would not put it past the Ways to have some psychic abilities, and there was no way he was going to let Mikey read about all the x-rated Gerard flavoured thoughts running around in his brain.
In Phoenix the heat was nearly unbearable, and Frank hid out in Cobra's bus to avoid being dragged off to the merch stand. He and Gabe watched re-runs of Gossip Girl while Gabe put his hair in tiny braids and Nate painted his toenails. Ryland felt it his duty to take photos and post them on Downpour's fan lj, so Frank made sure to make plenty of ridiculous sex faces. Their most devoted fans deserved the best.
Within an hour of them being posted, the comments were off the fucking hook, fans capslocking about FRANK FROM NORTHERN DOWNPOUR HANGING OUT WITH GABE SAPORTA OMG, and Frank couldn't stop giggling.
When they left the stage that night it was starting to grow dark, but the heat was still oppressive, flattening Frank's 'hawk to his skull. Brendon had already lost his shirt five minutes after leaving the stage, so Frank didn't see the harm in losing his own.
He liked showing off his tattoos when he got the chance. They were hard won, scrounging together enough money along with Pete in a town where there wasn't so much of a functioning economy, then sneaking down to Canada together, getting them completed in fits and starts. Each one was another fuck you to the cheery North Pole populace, where it was taken for granted that everyone was happy and everyone fit in. His particular favourite was his knuckle tattoo, because he felt that if he'd been born anywhere, it should have been Halloween Town.
Backstage, these tattoos were like a badge of honour. There were a lot of guys with ink, sure, but Frank was, by far, one of the most tattooed, and he and Pete had been picky in choosing their artists, so they were all fucking quality. He'd won over more than a couple fellow bands who'd been dubious of Northern Downpour without even listening to them, just by showing off his arms around the backstage area.
Now he was getting some rather appreciative looks from the merch girls, and not a few techs of both genders. It made him put a little bit of a swagger in his walk, drawing attention to his hips, where the swallows dipped among the cursive of his search and destroy.
Cobra's set had already started by the time TAI was coming off stage, so they all rushed to the main stage, crowding in the wings. Frank was soaked in sweat. It ran in rivulets down the line of his stomach and wetting the waistband of his boxers. Carden leaned in to him, screaming in his ear over the roar of the music and the crowd. "Gerard Way is totally checking you out."
Frank almost did a double-take, but managed to remain still except for his eyes, scanning across to the other side of the stage, where Gerard was standing with Mikey. Frank wondered what he and Carden looked like, Frank leaning back against the wall, hips thrust out, Carden pressed against his side, lips to his ear. He didn't know what inspired him to throw his head back and laugh, eyes locked with Gerard's, like Carden had just told him the most delicious secret. It was a total asshole move, he knew. Gerard's shoulders went up and his gaze shuttered, shifting to the crowd.
After that, Frank didn't really feel comfortable sticking around for the MCR show. "I'm gonna try to find a shower," he told Brendon, even as more people flooded the backstage in anticipation of the next act.
Showers were a precious commodity on the tour. Nate and Gabe had their patented slip n slide left over from Warped Tour, but they usually came out looking dirtier than before, and Frank got itchy in the grass, anyway. Someone had rigged up a seriously ghetto solution way in the back, with a hose and a bucket, but Frank couldn't really complain.
By the time he'd rinsed off in the freezing water and changed into some cargo shorts and a hoodie--seriously, it had gone from sizzling hot just after sundown to fucking freezing in the course of under two hours--Motion City was already done, and MCR was halfway through their set.
Over the first week, the backstage parties had begun earlier and earlier. For the smaller bands, the appeal of lots of booze, free food, and sex with groupies had overwhelmed the rush of being able to watch their favourite bands from the sidelines.
Someone had started a trashcan fire by the line of buses, and several bands had set up kegs and tables of chips and shit. Various beats and melodies mixed, music leaking out of different of the buses, overlaid by the distant sound of Helena.
Jon and Spencer were hanging out with some of the venue workers who they apparently knew from Vegas, and Brendon and Ryan were being swarmed by some lucky contest winners. Frank should really go get Brendon a shirt--the kid was starting to glow faintly from the attention, and Frank hoped Ryan would get on that shit before someone noticed.
It would require a lot more effort on Frank's part than he was really feeling up to, though. Frank was no fan of the cold, but the heat of the day had really gotten to him, and he felt well and truly drained, not at all up to joining in on the festivities.
The Butcher and Sisky were sitting with some fold-up lawn chairs and it was a pretty chill scene, so Frank just joined them, plopping down on the gravel alongside them. The Butcher jerked a thumb towards the trailer attached to the bus. "There's more chairs inside."
Frank considered it and shook his head. "I don't feel like getting up."
Sisky laughed and the Butcher leaned over to their keg and passed Frank a solo cup. One second he was listening to The Butcher very earnestly describing the contribution of Milli Vanilli, and the next thing he was blinking awake, half his beer spilled in his lap, Sisky and the Butcher were gone, and Bob Bryar was sitting in the lawn chair closest to him, staring very intently.
"Uh," Frank said, straightening up. "Hey."
"So, I'm not exactly sure what he did to make you hate him, but Gerard isn't actually a giant asshole. So maybe if you could stop being one to him, that would be awesome, because he's going around writing all this tragic poetry and throwing himself around the bus dramatically, and it's getting kind of old."
"Um," Frank said succinctly.
Bob just patted him on the shoulder and pushed off. It was a subtle threat, letting Frank feel the full strength of the weight behind it. Before he could even fully process what Bob had said, Ray was there, curls bouncing in his excitement. "Hey," Frank said. "Bob already beat you to it."
Ray gave Frank a pleasantly confused look and plopped down on the ground next to him. "I keep meaning to tell you, you're pretty rad out there."
Frank blinked, wondering if he was still asleep. "You've watched me play?"
Ray nodded enthusiastically. "Gerard made us all go, that first night. I've been going with him since. You guys got a weird sound, but I like it, and you can shred the shit out of a guitar."
"Thanks," Frank said. He felt a little numb and a lot stupid. "That means a lot coming from you. You're a legend up there, man. I've played different instruments all my life, but you guys made me get off my ass and get more serious about it. I'd play your shit all the time to practice."
"Yeah?" Ray asked, tilting his head to the side. "Gee seemed to think you weren't into our stuff."
"Um," Frank said again. Ray probably thought he was slow, or drunk. "He caught me a little off-guard, that first time we met."
Ray nodded his head like he understood entirely. "He can do that to people. It's those eyes, you know? He's so fucking earnest."
Frank had always thought so, too. Of course there was a difference between what you saw in interviews and music videos, and how a person really was, but Ray knew Gerard and could say that about him. Frank buried his head in his knees and took a deep breath that smelled like sweat and beer. He wrinkled his nose and made himself focus on Ray before he started to think Frank was an asshole, too. And sometime soon he needed to figure out how to even begin apologising to Gerard.
*
It was early morning in Denver and Frank woke up in the back lounge, half-buried under Spencer and Brendon. He stumbled off the bus still wearing yesterday's clothes, pulling a hoodie over his sweat-stained t-shirt. It was an off day, thank god, which meant Spencer and Jon would be sleeping in most of the day. Brendon had mentioned going to see the sights, and Jack wanted to use the time to do an episode of TAI TV, so they were tentatively planning on heading out all together after noon.
The craft tent was mostly empty, just a few techies who looked like they hadn't been to sleep yet, and the majority of Relient K laughing obnoxiously in the middle. Off to the side, Gerard was sitting by himself over a cup of coffee, like some divine message written specifically for Frank. He pushed back on the wave of anxiety, grabbed his own cup of hot water and a tea bag, and made himself go over, dropping down on a seat across the table.
Gerard blinked up at him like he didn't quite believe what he was seeing, and gave Frank a slow, hesitant smile. "Good morning."
Frank dipped tea bag in the cup and blew at the steam on the surface. "I guess if you're not hung over, maybe."
"Yeah, I saw you and Gabe doing shots," Gerard said, and gave him a sympathetic look. "I have so been there. I don't think the man has a liver anymore."
Frank snorted and took a cautious sip of his tea. There was an awkward silence that threatened to stretch on forever. Gerard spread his hands out, opened his mouth, closed it again, and sighed. "I sent you a few emails. I guess I had the address wrong."
"No, uh..." Frank blew at the tea again and glanced up at Gerard over the rim of the cup. "No I got 'em."
"Oh," Gerard said. It was like watching a balloon deflate, the way his shoulders slumped and his brows drew together. Frank seriously failed at life.
"I, uh, would have replied, but I was worried you'd think I was a crazy stalker or something."
Gerard looked bewildered, brows knitting even tighter. "Why would I think that?"
Frank sighed. It was time to go all in. "Because I was that dude at all those concerts."
There were warring expressions on Gerard's face--a little bit of triumph and a lot of confusion, and something else Frank couldn't read. "But why didn't you just say so?"
"Dude, you must get so sick of people fawning all over you," Frank muttered into the mouth of his cup.
"Are you screwing with me?" Gerard asked. When Frank glanced up, there was a shrewd expression on Gerard's face.
"No," Frank said, widening his eyes for sincerity. "I shit you not. You can ask Brendon, we've been best friends forever. My bedroom wall back home was covered in your guys' posters and stickers. I totally hocked all Brendon's electronics to afford the tickets to those shows." Now that he'd started confessing, it was like he couldn't stop.
"I have all your songs, even though I had to bribe Pete to get a hold of the really rare ones for me, I've watched Life on the Murder Scene about twelve-hundred times, I--I..." He fumbled with his hoodie, shoving the sleeve back to show off Our Lady of Sorrows.
Gerard reached out and stopped short of touching. "That's my drawing," he said faintly.
Frank shrugged his right shoulder out of the hoodie and said, "And I got this one after I saw the video for Ghost of You." This time Gerard did touch the skin, finger tracing lightly over the sea of blood.
"It was so intense, you guys on the boat, and when Mikey got shot..." Frank trailed off at the grim line of Gerard's lips. He was worried he'd said something wrong or offended Gerard somehow, or, like exposed himself as an actualfax stalker and Gerard was going to call Worm and Frank was going to get his ass kicked.
Then Gerard broke into a huge, sunny smile. "You have a Frankenstein? These are awesome!" His hand brushed down Frank's arm to his wrist, turning it this way and that to see all the tattoos from every angle. "It's like a map."
Frank hadn't ever thought of it exactly like that, but when Gerard said it, it made sense. "That's from when we finished the cd," Frank explained, thumbing Ryan's lyrics. "And those are my grandmas. They both passed away a couple years ago."
Gerard nodded solemnly. "If I ever got a tattoo, it'd be for Elena."
Frank didn't know what to say to that, worried he'd come off as even more of a creeper if he showed how well he knew what Elena had meant to Gerard and Mikey. He was saved from having to say anything when some of the guys from Motion City Soundtrack and Brand New came in, laughing loudly enough to make the pain in Frank's head spike up insistently.
He got up, shifting his tea from hand to hand and said, "Look, I just wanted to say sorry for being such a jackass. I just. I thought you'd think I was lame, and I don't know. I thought I was being cool. It was stupid."
"You wanna come back to the bus?" Gerard asked, and Frank's heart legitimately stopped. "Mikey's over on the Cobra bus, Matt's on the tech bus, and Ray and Bob are still sleeping. It's pretty quiet."
There was being lame, and then there was being an absolute headcase. Frank had to stop himself from gushing at the offer. Instead he cocked a hip and took a slow sip of his tea. "That sounds cool," he said.
*
The My Chemical Romance bus was an absolute wreck. Frank actually had trouble believing that Spencer had spent any amount of time on it without having a stroke or something. Frank himself was seriously tempted to start scrubbing down the counters, layered as they were in crumbs, spilled soda, and what looked like tomato sauce, print from whatever papers had been left behind stained into the surface.
Gerard noticed him looking and gave a sheepish smile when he shoved the pile of clothes and papers off the sofa. "Sorry," he said.
Frank shrugged. "No big deal. I just didn't realise there was anyone who could give Patrick Stump a run for his money when it came to clutter." Clutter was putting it politely.
Gerard arched a brow as Frank sat next to him on the sofa. "A friend from back at the Nor--back home." He waved a dismissive hand, bending to rescue a stack of comics from under a pile of dirty clothes. "Aw, man, you have The Killing Joke? I've been wanting to read this forever. Can I?"
"Yeah, sure," Gerard said. "It's fucking genius. Moore's Joker is an absolute psychopath. I like his interpretation a lot better than most."
"No lie. I'm so sick of seeing people write him as some half-ass slacker," Frank said.
"It's just seriously fucking disappointing that he used Barbara as, like, a tool to get to her father, like that's all she's good for," Gerard said, in that tone Frank had heard before from dozens of interviews, when Gerard got all passionate about misogyny and sexism. It made Frank a little dizzy with affection for him, to be hearing it firsthand.
"Yeah, but Oracle is badass," Frank said, and Gerard nodded his eager agreement. God, he was such a dork, and so was Frank for being so gone over him.
"Hey, you mind if I put something in while you read?" Gerard asked, chewing on his lip.
"It's your bus, man," Frank said, because he just couldn't deal with this level of adorableness.
Gerard went to mess around with the dvds stacked precariously under the television screen and Frank made himself focus on the book and not the curve skin bared between jeans and shirt when Gerard bent over. "Texas Chainsaw okay with you?"
"Are you fucking me?" Frank asked, and refused to blush at his own word choice. "The original, right?"
Gerard gave him an arch look, hand on cocked hip. "Like I'd have any other version?"
Frank was torn between watching along and reading until Gerard said, "You can borrow it, if you want," thrusting his chin in the direction of the comic. And that settled it.
They watched all of Massacre and were started on some horrible Lugosi film from the 30s when Frank's phone buzzed with a text from Brendon. "I gotta run. Me and B are doing something with The Academy Is...," he said in apology.
Gerard was watching him from the corner of his eye, and Frank wanted to invite him along, but he was already tagging along with TAI, and it probably wasn't Gerard's sort of scene anyway. "It's cool," Gerard said.
"Um. We were gonna go to the zoo tomorrow. If you wanted to come, or whatever."
"Yeah?" Gerard asked, perking up. "Man, I haven't been to a zoo in forever. Mikey would love that."
"So you guys'll come?" Frank asked, and immediately wanted to smack himself in the forehead for sounding so desperate.
"We have some interviews in the morning, but maybe after we can meet you up," Gerard said. "I can call you?"
"Oh," Frank said and fumbled his phone back open as Gerard began to recite his own number. He sent of a quick text that read this is frank :D and almost tripped over three piles of clothing on his way out. "See ya later."
"Don't forget this," Gerard said. He held out the copy of The Killing Joke with one of his hesitant little smiles, and Frank couldn't help beaming in response.
Brendon found him still leaning against the side of the bus five minutes later, clutching the comic to his chest. "They're gonna leave without us," he said. He took another look at Frank and the bus behind him and said, "Hey, isn't this My Chemical Romance's bus?"
Frank was pretty sure his blush was answer enough. Brendon let out a burst of surprised, happy laughter. "Come on," he said, and looped his arm through Frank's, dragging him off towards the gates. "And start talking, asshole."
*
Brendon woke everyone up at the asscrack of dawn so they could get to the zoo as soon as it opened. "I want to see the penguins, Spencer Smith, stop grumbling at me," he whined. "We have to go now if we wanna see anything before we have to leave to get back in time for our set."
Jon, who'd fallen asleep in Spencer's bunk with him the night before, whispered something low in Spencer's ear that made him flush bright red and scramble out of the bed. Brendon showed his appreciation by pinning Spencer up against the wall and surging up against him with a rough kiss.
"Wow," Spencer said, breathless, when Brendon drew back. "I'd have thought you'd seen your share of penguins back home." Which was as close as Spencer ever came to acknowledging Brendon and Frank's origins.
"That's the South Pole," Brendon and Frank said crossly, at the same time.
"But even if I had," Brendon continued, "I'd miss them. And I do miss the polar bears."
Ryan looked vaguely alarmed. "You're not going to try to pet them," he said.
"That was one time," Brendon exclaimed. "And those weren't polar bears, and if they didn't want people touching them, then there should have been some barrier between the stage and the audience."
They were stepping down from the bus when they were approached by one of the tour coordinators. "Oh, good, you're up," she said. "Are you going out?"
"That's okay, right?" Ryan asked, striking a defiant pose.
The woman didn't seem to notice, or didn't care. "It's fine, just make sure you're back in time. We're moving you to side-stage one, same time."
"Is something wrong?" Spencer asked.
"Nothing's wrong," she said. "Line-up changes happen all the time. Have a good time today."
Frank caught Brendon's puzzled expression and shrugged. Ryan looked ready to protest as she walked away, but Jon put an arm around his waist and drew him close, nose pressed to his cheek. "It's a good thing, baby. It means more people want to see us."
Ryan subsided, and Frank knew him well enough that he could tell Ryan was overwhelmed by the thought. Jon gave him a soft kiss and Spencer and Brendon crowded them on either side making Frank feel like he was intruding on something private, until Spencer jerked his head at him and said, "Get over here, you dumbass," and pulled him into a hug.
"If anyone licks me, I am quitting the band," Frank told them. It didn't have quite the effect that he'd hoped; immediately following his announcement, his face was assaulted by four different tongues.
Behind them, someone cleared their throat. Frank jerked away, wiping his face with his sleeve and making a blech sound to indicate his disgust. Gerard was watching them with a bemused expression. "Am I interrupting something?"
Ryan laughed and swatted at Gerard's arm halfheartedly as he broke the news.
"That's seriously awesome, congrats." Gerard said. His smile made Frank a little weak in the knees. "It's not even been two weeks. That's so fast." He darted a look at Frank. "So, uh, interviews finished earlier than I thought. You guys still going to the zoo?"
Frank nodded. "Gabe's securing our method of transportation, though, so I can't guarantee your safe arrival."
Gabe had actually managed to get a van from some gullible soul at the venue, and Frank ended up squashed in the smallest row alongside Gerard. Jon gave him a thumbs up and brow wiggle, and Ryan kept shooting them these pointed, knowing looks, and Frank wanted to die. Surely Gerard was just pretending to be oblivious to it all, to save Frank the embarrassment.
"I read The Killing Joke last night," Frank said, desperate for something to break the silence hanging between them.
Gerard lit up. "Oh yeah? What did you think?"
"Not as good as The Dark Knight Returns, but I liked it."
"Aw, come on, Miller's good, but Moore really gets to the sick, twisted heart of the Joker."
"Yeah, but Nolan executed Moore's idea better, in The Dark Knight," Frank argued. Gerard gave him a bewildered, incredulous look.
"Except his origin story for Two-Face was just fucking ridiculous."
"Not any more ridiculous than what the Joker was trying to do with Gordon," Frank said. He took a moment to reflect upon the pure geekiness of this conversation, and the fact that he was having it with Gerard Way. He'd had a lot of dreams that started this way. How was this his life?
*
He knew he probably looked like an idiot, the way he was gaping at all the animals, but Frank couldn't help it. The zoo fucking rocked. He'd seen most of the animals in pictures, or sometimes in movies, but it was entirely different seeing them in person.
They went through to the flamingo pen first, because they were Spencer's favourite and they were close to the entrance. There were peacocks running around out of cages, spreading their tails like they were showing off for the crowds, and the flamingos were even more vibrant pink than Frank had realised.
Jon got yelled at by an employee for leaning over the fence to snag an abandoned feather, but Spencer had just given one of his dazzling smiles when Jon had presented it to him, so the scolding didn't seem to have much of an effect.
In their rush to leave that morning, Frank had forgotten his camera on the bus, a fact he bemoaned for the first half-hour as they wandered through the aviary. Jon offered to take whatever pictures Frank wanted for him, but it just wasn't the same, and then Ryan disappeared while they were in watching the elephants (and holy shit, but they were huge) and came back with a disposable camera and a sheepish smile. Frank loved his band the best.
As they wandered through the monkey island, Gabe and Mikey disappeared ahead, hands just brushing every few steps (Frank was distantly glad Mikey wasn't the jealous sort). Jon, Spencer, Brendon, and Ryan, on the other hand, were lagging behind, sharing none of Gabe and Mikey's decorum, hanging all over one another and openly exchanging kisses.
Frank wondered if that would get different the more famous they got, except all the fans of Ryan's poetry already knew that Ryan was sleeping with both Jon and Spencer (it was his poor publicist's nightmare), and it wouldn't be too much of a stretch for the fans to watch the three of them with Brendon and figure the rest out for themselves.
"Sorry," Frank said, as a fresh round of giggling broke out behind them. People were staring.
"Why?" Gerard asked, glancing behind them. Brendon and Jon were doing a weird two step around Ryan and Spencer as they made their way down the path at a snail's pace. "I think it's awesome. When I first met Ryan he was so closed-off. Spencer was the only person he really trusted, you know? And now look at him." Jon had grabbed Spencer, and Brendon dipped Ryan down low, pecking him on the mouth, and Ryan was fighting, and failing, not to laugh.
"And ya know, we try real fucking hard to fight homophobia, showing these kids that look up to us that it's all right to be gay, or just be different, and letting the assholes know we don't want them around, and we've changed a lot of minds and helped a lot of kids, but there's still a lot of them out there thinking it's easy for them to go up there in make-up or kiss someone on stage, and then go home and sleep with their girlfriends. But with them," Gerard jerked a thumb back at the rest of Downpour, "they're not faking anything, and you guy still got bumped up, and that means something. That's huge."
"Yeah," Frank agreed. It was halfhearted at best. He was still stuck on the whole Gerard going home to sleep with his girlfriend thing. He hadn't even known that Gerard had a girlfriend.
Gerard, apparently, didn't notice. "Oh, hey, bonobos! Let's go see if they're fucking."
They followed the trail from the bonobos to the chimps, and then towards Bear Mountain, Gerard keeping a running monologue about comics, growing up in Jersey, and the awesomeness of Mikey Way, occasionally interspersed with tidbits he'd learned from animal planet, relevant to whatever enclosure they'd happened upon. It might have been the best day of Frank's life, especially because maybe Frank missed the polar bears back home, too.
"That polar bear is seriously into you, man," Gerard commented. When they'd arrived in the polar bear habitat, the female had come up to the glass divide, sat down, and began licking the spot nearest Frank's face.
Frank laughed uneasily and started to turn away, and the polar bear put a plaintive paw to the glass. Frank sighed and pressed his hand to the same spot. The glass went cold and frosted under his hand. He held still, hoping it would melt before Gerard could see, and leaned in to whisper, "Sorry, I gotta run, but my friend is just a few minutes behind us, and I think you'll like him even better." As he walked away, the bear let out a displeased wail.
"Seriously though," Gerard said. He glanced behind them to where the bear was now standing on it's hind legs, paws stretched out. "Do you have some secret super power where you can talk to animals? You can tell me. Are you a bear whisperer?" He sounded so sincere, Frank couldn't stop himself from laughing, bent over.
"I don't know how you ever fooled anyone into thinking you're cool," Frank gasped between helpless giggles. He clung to the handrail for support, weak from the laughter and the heat.
Gerard pursed his lips, but couldn't hold the expression for very long before cracking a smile. "You know, for all your talk, you don't act like my biggest fan."
"I have your art. On my skin," Frank said, folding his arm to bare the tattoo.
Gerard's cheeks flushed and he looked away. "You're getting kinda burnt," he said. Frank frowned, looking down at his arm, which had turned a dull pink. "We could go check out the amphibian house."
"Fuck yes, please," Frank said. He was getting used to the heat, for the most part, but he'd also been dealing with it in small doses, going back to his bus whenever he needed a break. Here in the sun for over four hours, he felt like he was going to melt.
The moment the stepped into the dark, air-conditioned building, Frank was rejuvenated. Gerard was a patient listener as Frank began to babble about any and everything that came to mind, from the origin of his cobra tattoo, to his thoughts on Gabe's ridiculous obsession with cobras, to how if he ever joined a circus, he'd totally want to be a serpent charmer or something, and how could these snakes and shit survive under all the direct heat, all while bouncing from cage to cage.
"You don't really deal well with the heat, do you?" Gerard asked.
Frank shrugged. "It can tend to make me a cranky bitch, I've been told. By Ryan. And Spencer. And Brendon. Who really has no room to talk. We grew up all that way up at the North Pole and it was cold as fucking balls, man. I always thought, you know, I'd love to live somewhere it was hot all the time, but shit, son. This heat is just not on."
A moment after he said it, Frank realised his slip-up, but Gerard didn't seem to think it was a big deal. Frank seized on the closest distraction before Gerard could even think to question it, stopping short at the case of the Chinese great salamander.
"Man, nature is fucked up," Frank said. It was pretty horrific, and awe-inspiring at the same time. "It looks like something from Silent Hill."
Gerard nodded his agreement. "It's fucking sweet, is what it is. Like nature aborted it."
"That's pretty sick, dude," Frank said, and Gerard shrugged, unconcerned. His eyes were somewhere else entirely, and Frank, with all he'd read about the man, would not be surprised to learn that Gerard was plotting some story around this thing.
Brendon texted Frank to meet them at the front gates, and on the way they were stopped by some fans. Frank gladly snapped their pictures with Gerard for them, and then snagged the last by the arm and held out his own disposable camera. Gerard laughed and threw his arm around Frank and jerked him close, startling him into making a truly stupid face as the camera snapped. But Gerard Way. Had his arm. Around Frank's shoulders. And now Frank had photographic evidence of it.
Frank didn't let go of the camera the rest of the way back the venue, clutching it as Ryan messed with his hair before declaring it a lost cause when Frank kept floating out of reach. He was banished to the sofa with an admonition to "sit still and don't sweat away all my hard work." Jon gave him a look, then one aimed at the camera and said, "I'll get Tony to get them developed for you next stop. Jesus, how are you so damn cute? Are you sure you don't want to join our foursome?"
"Sorry," Frank told him very sincerely, curling up in Jon's lap and wrapping his arms around his neck. He rested his head on Jon's shoulder with a heart-felt sigh, because Jon really was the best for cuddles. "My heart belongs to Gerard Way."
*
They were in one of those northern states that bordered Canada. Frank kept saying he needed to brush up on his geography before someone noticed, and Spencer kept telling him that it really wasn't a problem since most Americans couldn't name all fifty states, let alone tell you where they were on a map. So Frank didn't know what state they were in, but he liked the sound of Wyoming, so that's what he was going with, in his own head, anyway.
It was late June, but the day was breezy and clouds drifted over the sun more often than not, casting the swaying sea of grass behind the venue a pale blue. The wind made a soft whistling sound whenever it picked up in speed, and whenever the sun broke free, the light dazzled over the plains.
Frank hadn't had a lot of opportunity to appreciate nature outside of the winter wasteland of the North Pole and the desert wasteland of Las Vegas, but when he'd imagined what it would be like in the outside world, this was what he'd thought of. He let out a sigh, small, perfectly-shaped snow flakes drifting down towards his face.
"I'm going to build a house right here," Frank declared.
Brendon snorted, flapping a hand over his head and getting Frank in the ear. "You'd be bored out of your fucking mind."
"I could have a farm," Frank said.
"A farm," Brendon said, disbelief evident in his voice.
"A puppy farm," Frank decided. "Dozens of them, frolicking in the sun. I could rescue all the puppy mill puppies and bring them here."
Brendon rolled onto his stomach, his face looming over Frank's framed by the blue of the sky. There were snowflakes in his hair and on his cheek, and that was how Frank knew Brendon was as content as he was, that he was so cold they hadn't melted against his skin. "I had no idea you had such a romantic streak," Brendon said with a teasing smile.
Frank threw a handful of grass at him, but it all just fell back into his own face. He sputtered and rolled over onto his own stomach, dirt digging into his elbows. "Seriously, though, B."
The grass was so tall that from their position on the ground they couldn't see anything in any direction but green. "We're out. We have a fucking band. We always said what we'd do and where we'd go if we ever had the chance, and now we do. And I wanna live in fucking Wyoming."
Brendon threw his own handful of grass into Frank's face. "We're in Montana, you tool. Wyoming doesn't even border Canada."
"Oh, like you're so fucking knowledgeable," Frank said. His hand darted out, grabbing at the spot on Brendon's waist where he was most ticklish. "I bet Ryan told you."
Brendon wriggled under the touch and struck out, fumbling before getting a handful of Frank's hair and tugging hard. It turned into a full out wrestling match in a matter of seconds. Years of practice on both their parts made it difficult for either of them to get the upper hand. Frank had more bulk, but Brendon was stronger. Frank was squirmy as fuck, but Brendon was way more agile. They were both vicious little shits, never fighting fair.
Back when they were kids their mothers had despaired over it, wondering how they could possibly be friends when they came home scratched and bitten with bloody noses and black eyes, and why couldn't they play nice like Patrick and Peter? Frank hadn't had the heart to tell his mom that just because you couldn't see the bruises Pete left on Patrick didn't mean they weren't there...
"Just say uncle," Brendon said in that annoyingly smug voice of his. He had Frank in a headlock, but he was off-centre and most of his body was under Frank's.
"You fucking wish," Frank muttered. He twisted hard, felt the sting on the skin of his neck of what he knew would be an Indian burn, and threw all his weight back and to the side. Brendon's breath left him in an oof and Frank elbowed him for good measure, scrambling around to straddle him. Brendon arched and made to sit up, but then flopped back, rubbing his sternum.
They were silent, panting to catch their breath, and for the first time Frank noticed approaching footsteps cutting through the grass. He sat up straighter, resting his weight on Brendon's thighs and ignoring his grunt of pain. Gerard, Mikey, and Ray were only a few yards off. Thankfully it had stopped snowing a few minutes before, though Frank could seriously do with the cold now, his clothes clinging to his sweaty skin.
"Hey guys!" Frank waved a hand and got to his feet, offering Brendon a hand up. Brendon gave him a scowl and ignored it, being a huge showoff and arching his back off the ground and leaping to his feet with that stupid bendy body of his. Gerard gave them an odd look.
"What are you guys doing out here?" Brendon asked.
"Exploring," Mikey said. If Frank wasn't used to Ryan Ross and the subtle nuances of his monotone, Frank would have thought Mikey was bored to death by the mere idea.
"Mind if we tag along?" Frank asked.
Ray shook his head excitedly. "This guy Rob at the venue said there's supposed to be some old barn out that way that's haunted," he pointed. "Nothing else around for miles, no house or anything, no one knows why it was built there."
"Wicked," Frank said. "Sounds like something from Abarat."
Gerard glanced at him quickly and then away. "You've read Abarat?"
"Duh," Frank said. He fell into step beside Gerard. "Though the second one was bullshit. Carrion is way more sympathetic than Finnegan Hob. The ugly guys never get the girl."
It was a good thirty minute walk to the barn and they spent the rest of it debating whether Christopher Carrion was truly evil or just misguided, and which island they'd most want to visit. No one was surprised that Brendon would want to go the endless carnival that was Babilonium or that Ray wanted to hear the music of Tazmagor. Mikey didn't give any reason for picking the island of Scoriae, where day met night, but Frank found it fitting.
Frank himself said Nonce, though he couldn't give a proper explanation that it was because when he'd read it there'd been over twelve feet of snow blocking his windows and it had been dark for two months straight, and the idea of napping on a tropical island where it was perpetually three in the afternoon sounded like his idea of paradise. Gerard picked the haunted isle of four p.m., where the whispers of ghosts echoed ceaselessly. Frank imagined it might sound something like the wind through the grass, and when he mentioned that, Gerard gave him a private little smile that made Frank's stomach flip.
The barn was rewardingly creepy, if not a lighthouse. Only three of the walls remained, the forth rising in a jagged edge, revealing the interior. There was a sickly-sweet smell of rot around it, stronger as they crossed the threshold and the rain-swollen boards creaked and swayed in the wind. "If the roof gives out and I break my arm, ghosts will be the least of our concerns when Ryan finds out," Brendon said, giving the place a dubious once-over.
"You can stay out here," Frank tossed over his shoulder and grinned at the scowl Brendon shot him.
In the large, open area closest to the doors, hooks were suspended from the ceiling below which were stains that were unmistakably from blood. "It's just from animals," Mikey told him, and Frank figured he was trying to be reassuring, but that only bummed him out more.
"That's pretty shitty," he said. Brendon grabbed his hand and gave it a quick squeeze. "At least humans do shit to deserve getting hung by hooks."
"You think it's haunted by the animals that died in here?" Gerard asked.
It was a depressing thought. "I'd rather it be human ghosts," Frank said.
Gerard nodded his agreement, a glum look on his face. "Unless," he said, "they were, like, zombie ghosts. Getting revenge on the people that ate them."
Frank got it a second later, that Gerard was trying to cheer him up, and that, more than the actual attempt, did wonders to brighten his mood.
That night, after almost getting into a fist-fight with the bassist from The Cab over the single functional shower at the venue, Frank returned to his bus, yanked back the curtain on his bunk, and just barely caught himself before collapsing on the papers laid on his pillow.
Curious, he climbed inside, flipped on the light, and somehow managed to swallow the captive bead on his lip ring in his excitement when he realised it was a comic left for him by Gerard. The fourteen panels featured zombie sheep, buffalo, and chickens murdering and eating, in great detail, the occupants of a farmhouse.
Spencer drove him into town to get a new lip ring, shooting him pointed looks all the while, but Frank held his head high. "I am not the least bit ashamed," he told Spencer, stroking his hand fondly along his favourite frame wherein one of the hens pecked out the eyes of the still living farmer, flecks of gore staining it's grey and mouldering feathers.
*
Hanging out with Gerard was both a lot like Frank had imagined, and very different. Of course Frank had read or watched every interview Gerard had ever done, so he knew most of Gerard's hobbies and interests.
It was no big surprise to find that Gerard was a huge geek who spent most of his afternoons tucked inside the MCR bus sketching or watching horror movies, or having existential arguments with his brother and Ray. Frank was ready for random non sequiturs and rambling feminist speeches and a dark sense of humour.
What Frank hadn't been prepared for, though upon reflection should have been obvious, was that Gerard was sort of painfully self-conscious and shy as fuck when he wasn't on stage. It didn't mesh with the confident swagger Gerard had on stage, the way he demanded the attention of his audience with every movement and every word spoken.
All the same, Gerard had this weird way of going from an enthusiastic debate one second, to closed-off and defensive the next. It made it difficult to get to know him very well, their friendship progressing in fits and starts.
Frank really didn't mind. It made all the stories Frank got from Gerard that much more satisfying. There were the little things, the personal ticks that you got just from spending time around them--like the fact that the rest of the band wasn't joking about Gerard's hygiene issues, or how he chewed on his hair sometimes, or how he was always cracking his knuckles no matter how often Ray or Matt or Frank told him he'd be sorry for it later.
There were the bigger things, too. So much of Gerard's life was just common knowledge among fans that Frank took it all for granted. Assumed he really knew Gerard and Mikey from the stories they told over and over on film. But the things Gerard mentioned casually to Frank felt a lot more intimate and profound, no matter how mundane.
Gerard teaching Mikey how to tee-pee a house and not get caught; how he'd read novels much too mature for his age and acted them out for Mikey with G.I. Joe and My Little Pony figurines; the way they would lay their heads in their mother's lap in church, bodies stretched out along the length of the pew as she traced their features with her finger; the time he got stuck in a crawl space while playing hide-and-go-seek at Elena's house and he was sure he was going to suffocate there and never be found.
Everyone had a million stories along the same lines. They weren't anything special except that they were stories that Gerard didn't often have the occasion or desire to tell anyone else. They were stories that maybe no one other than his brother and his band had ever heard--not because they were particularly private, but because Gerard didn't think anyone else would care. It made Frank's heart clench to think about it when he was alone in his bunk, that Gerard knew Frank cared, or trusted that he did, and that meant a lot.
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