Alpha and Omega [2/2]
Title: Omega [2/2]
Author: revengeandpiety
Pairing: Ray/Frank
Rating: R
POV: Third; Frank centered
Summary: Frank and Ray deal with tragedy.
Disclaimer: I make love to don’t own the MCR boys.
Author Note : Completely for Sika - mrshcaulfield because she can always make me smile, no matter what. You rock, kmao. Thanks to my beta icantfixyou.
Alpha
7:39 A.M.
Ambulances are parked outside the school, the blazing white paint grates against everyone’s eyes. Frank shakes his head in disbelief because they’re already planning to take away someone, anyone. The uneasiness returns and sits low in Frank’s gut and he nearly chokes on it. Please don’t let them be necessary. We’re not ready for this.
Ray pulls into his normal spot in the back of the school. There are never many people in this lot, and because half the school stopped coming because of the pandemic, there are all but three other cars in the lot. Ray shifts the car into park and turns off the engine. Neither boy gets out of the car.
Frank doesn’t want to do it. So he doesn’t.
He buries his face in Ray’s hair and gathers the hood of his sweatshirt in his fists - Don’t leave. Arms and hands, trembling, wrap around Frankie and rock him - I won’t.
8:20 A.M. - Chemistry
“Good morning, students. This is principal Way; I apologize for the delay of the morning’s announcements.” He has their undivided attention. They know what is coming - news with a shocking face value. Please, continue.
“I’m sure you all saw the ambulances parked outside. As of right now, they are only a precaution because, as most of you are aware, Jersey is infected. Just like the clean rooms located on the upper floors and the basement, we hope the ambulances are not needed. Please, students, try not to lose your heads and keep them off the current world crisis. Stay healthy, keep fighting.” Typical principal Gerard A. Way, always is trying to boost moral without a hope.
-
The huge gap between I and T was enough to make Frank miserable when he had math with Ray in ninth grade. That seemed like a really long fucking time ago because now they’re seniors and seating has never matter less. Oh, and Frank isn’t practically giving himself a hernia trying to get Ray to notice him.
Class now consists of group discussions - ring around the rosy, pockets full of posies, ashes, ashes, we all fall down. It makes Frank sick because can’t they at least act like nothings wrong for two seconds? He doesn’t want to constantly talk about how long it’s going to take before he finds himself facing the gates to (Heaven? Hell?).
8:47 - European History
Casey Mason is explaining how ‘they’re’ never going to find a cure because it’s God’s Will to have the world meets its end this way.
Omega.
Frankie thinks Casey is full of shit. Just last weekend he and Ray were walking to the Wawa for coffee and she was hot-boxing and getting laid in the backseat of his neighbor’s car. God’s probably pissed his name is coming out of her mouth. Ray taps his foot against the nonbeliever (Frank) and flashes a subtle smile.
“Next thing you know, this water here,” Frank shakes his water bottle for emphasis. “Is gonna turn into blood.”
Ray’s laughter is stifled in his knuckles and his foot taps Frankie’s again. People talk.
“She honestly thinks defending God is gonna win herself a golden chariot ride to heaven,” Ray says, lowering his voice and glancing at Casey in all her Christian teen whore glory.
“Unfortunately for her, she is going to Hell through all walks of evil with us fags.” So maybe Frank sounds kind of bitter - he is bitter for fuck’s sake. Ray gives him a sympathetic look and curls his fingers around Frank’s. It doesn’t really matter if they’re overheard, but Ray tilts his head and lowers his voice anyway.
“This is worth it.”
Frank can practically feel his heart swell.
-
Heather Sanchez, a small girl with too much makeup and a tiny waist is eyeing the couple now that the conversation has taken a historical route towards the Black Plague. They’re whispering and holding hands and leaning so close. It’s obvious they’re dating - it has always been obvious, just in a very understated way. But now, now it’s all out in the open. They never held hands, kissed in the hallways, or tried to sit next to each other at all opportunities. They just…were. They were these two nerdy guys that were so reclusive. The only thing anyone really knew about them was that they both played guitar and hung out with Bob Bryar - this quiet gentleman type with clear blue eyes. Sometimes, at lunch, Ray would bring his guitar and play it, all three of them sitting on this cement fixture. Heather isn’t so sure why she is so fascinated with Ray and Frank’s lives.
She just is.
They cease talking as she scoots into the desk next to Ray. She notices that their hands don’t come apart. Tiny Frank Iero glares at her - he’s got this grudge against her because she called him and fag and said Black Flag sucked. Even though they intrigue her, she hates them.
“What do you want?” Frank asks in a harsh voice.
“So, everyone was right, you two are an item.” Heather mumbles when she talks and Ray has always ad problems understanding her, so he just gives her a noncommittal shrug.
“Heather, no one gives a fuck about what me and Ray are.” Frank shoots. Dead.
She gapes at him and shifts around, clearly trying to organize her thoughts. “well, it’s gross, okay?”
The desk slides back an inch or two when Frank moves suddenly, like he’s going to beat the shit out of this girl. Ray gives him a look and pulls at his hand. He’s too much of a fucking gentleman, Frank thinks.
“I think you’re the most stupid bitch on this planet.”
Maybe not such a gentleman.
“At least I won’t be going to -” The Earth must have plunged out of its orbit or something because everything slows down and all their stomachs drop. No one moves, and no one talks, not that Frank can hear anyway. Maybe that’s what happened to Heather. The sudden stop of the planet gave her a nosebleed, that’s all.
The reality hits Frank in the face and suddenly the world starts moving again - warp speed. He stumbles out of his desk, pulling Ray with him because, holy fuck, Heather’s infected.
Blood is dripping from her nose and running down her lips. Her eyes are terrified because she must know by now that she is dead. Frank wants to pull her hair back and see if there is an X on the back of her neck that she never saw. Her hands are red and it is pooling in the creases around her fingernails and the lines in her neck. The whole room crushes together away from Heather Sanchez, her face swirls of blood, foundation, and mascara.
9:03 A.M.
Ray and Frank stand, sides pressed together, and watch the men dressed in pure white sterile suits - doctors? EMTs? - drag Heather away.
Sound the sirens.
9:10 A.M.
“Attention all teachers and students! Please vacate your classrooms and head towards the designated clean rooms in the basement and upper floors. Thank you.”
Complete disorder pretty much summed up what went on in the school after that announcement. Each student was chaotic and worried, trying to get out of the school or get to the clean rooms. Their teacher, Mr. Vertruce, tries to lead all the hysterical students to the basement, but they are fleeing to the doors in attempts to get the hell out - while they still could. Teachers are locking the doors and causing a panic.
Ray and Frank are still standing in the empty classroom with the bloodstained desk. Ray leans down, cupping Frankie’s face in his hands and kisses him desperately. Slowly, their tongues curl around the other and it’s soft but powerful. When Ray pulls away, Frank’s eyes are shining and his breath is shallow - That better not have been a good-bye kiss.
11:16 A.M.
There are 15 other people in the clean room with Frankie. It’s more like a padded cell, though. The walls and floors are white and cushioned and Frank wonders if they shouldn’t have installed this a long time ago. It would be a good idea to lock people up here, those unruly students that scream about doing homework and shit. Yeah, they’d look really nice down here. But this room, it’s bigger then a normal padded cell, not that Frank’s ever been in one, but he can just tell.
Another announcement went over the speakers about an hour ago informing everyone that they were doing a clean up of the school. Sanitation, sterilization, disinfection, whatever. Frank thinks it is a big waste of time because no one even knows how this disease is transmitted and Heather could have already passed it along to everyone she got near.
“I wonder how she’s doing,” says a skinny boy with thick glasses and brown hair. He’s chewing at his nails like a fucking beaver.
She is fucking dying.
The basic idea that Frank gathered about this sickness is that it starts with a nosebleed, then very quickly, you begin to lose function because the brain is turning into a big mushy mass. It leaks through the afflicted’s nose and ears. They normally live about 2 days, three at the most with their brains draining out of their heads. By the last day, those who are sick just go completely insane and start clawing at their skin and screaming in terror - if they can actually move their arms and mouths.
So yeah, he’d say she’s doing pretty bad.
That boy, Mikey, shuts his mouth when Casey gives him a withering glare.
12:54 P.M.
Frank is restless and Ray’s resting. His head is warm weight on Frank’s shoulder. The breath hitting his neck could be full of microscopic creepy crawlers that flow into his blood and storm his brain when they initiate gnawing at his lobes and behind his eyes. If they popped them right out of their sockets, would they find the answer staring right at them? Frank tortures himself with images of blood and brain mush pouring from his ears onto Ray’s head, matting down his poofy curls. Stop.
Not once can Frank see Ray as one of the infected. It is his own face, own brains, own bloodshot eyes. He gives an involuntary shudder and draws his knees up to his chest, squeezing Ray’s hand.
“You okay?” Ray mumbles, rubbing his cheek against the red shirt Frank is wearing.
“No.”
And Ray understands.
1:41 P.M.
Frank’s head is foggy from the disjointed sleep but even before his head clears, he knows that something is wrong, disrupted. There is warm moisture seeping through the stitching of his t-shirt and Ray’s head jerks up. Frank’s blood runs ice cold and freezes his heart.
Panic.
He can barely bring himself to look - he can’t see it. But, fuck, its happening. Ray’s grip on his hand tightens and he whimpers. This can’t be real.
Blood. Blood is oozing from Ray’s left nostril. It is staining and clogging every pore on his face. His eyes - what is wrong with the? Frank could swear that there is a blur around the pupil.
“No,” Frank whispered. Ray’s crying and Frank reels forward, clutching his shoulders, neck, and face. Infected blood sinks into his life-line and melts his palms to Ray’s terrified face.
Students are screaming against the padded walls and it sounds so muffled…so distant. Everything is moving rapidly but to Frank, it takes and eternity to wipe the tear from Ray’s face before it drips into the steady flow of blood from his nose.
The men in white suits are banging through the door and before Frank can rasp out an ‘I love you’ they’re ripping Ray from his arms. There is flailing and fighting as Ray tried to pull himself from their latex grips.
Frank screams and cries and throws himself at the men and Ray, Ray who is horrifying with blood covering his neck and chin and the tips of his hair. Tearstains and thrashing limbs.
“Please,” Frank gasps between sobs, reaching out towards the men. Heads pull and push him, holding him - restraining him. “Don’t leave me.”
Ray shakes his head, his eyes burning into Frank’s. Little drops of blood land on the padded floor, each one etched onto the white skin of Frank’s forearm.
1:43 P.M.
The door closes Frank off from Ray and every pair of eyes is on him. He doesn't stop his tears and he doesn’t wipe Ray’s blood from his hands.
Just like Ray, his time of death is 1:43 P.M.
Author: revengeandpiety
Pairing: Ray/Frank
Rating: R
POV: Third; Frank centered
Summary: Frank and Ray deal with tragedy.
Disclaimer: I make love to don’t own the MCR boys.
Author Note : Completely for Sika - mrshcaulfield because she can always make me smile, no matter what. You rock, kmao. Thanks to my beta icantfixyou.
Alpha
7:39 A.M.
Ambulances are parked outside the school, the blazing white paint grates against everyone’s eyes. Frank shakes his head in disbelief because they’re already planning to take away someone, anyone. The uneasiness returns and sits low in Frank’s gut and he nearly chokes on it. Please don’t let them be necessary. We’re not ready for this.
Ray pulls into his normal spot in the back of the school. There are never many people in this lot, and because half the school stopped coming because of the pandemic, there are all but three other cars in the lot. Ray shifts the car into park and turns off the engine. Neither boy gets out of the car.
Frank doesn’t want to do it. So he doesn’t.
He buries his face in Ray’s hair and gathers the hood of his sweatshirt in his fists - Don’t leave. Arms and hands, trembling, wrap around Frankie and rock him - I won’t.
8:20 A.M. - Chemistry
“Good morning, students. This is principal Way; I apologize for the delay of the morning’s announcements.” He has their undivided attention. They know what is coming - news with a shocking face value. Please, continue.
“I’m sure you all saw the ambulances parked outside. As of right now, they are only a precaution because, as most of you are aware, Jersey is infected. Just like the clean rooms located on the upper floors and the basement, we hope the ambulances are not needed. Please, students, try not to lose your heads and keep them off the current world crisis. Stay healthy, keep fighting.” Typical principal Gerard A. Way, always is trying to boost moral without a hope.
-
The huge gap between I and T was enough to make Frank miserable when he had math with Ray in ninth grade. That seemed like a really long fucking time ago because now they’re seniors and seating has never matter less. Oh, and Frank isn’t practically giving himself a hernia trying to get Ray to notice him.
Class now consists of group discussions - ring around the rosy, pockets full of posies, ashes, ashes, we all fall down. It makes Frank sick because can’t they at least act like nothings wrong for two seconds? He doesn’t want to constantly talk about how long it’s going to take before he finds himself facing the gates to (Heaven? Hell?).
8:47 - European History
Casey Mason is explaining how ‘they’re’ never going to find a cure because it’s God’s Will to have the world meets its end this way.
Omega.
Frankie thinks Casey is full of shit. Just last weekend he and Ray were walking to the Wawa for coffee and she was hot-boxing and getting laid in the backseat of his neighbor’s car. God’s probably pissed his name is coming out of her mouth. Ray taps his foot against the nonbeliever (Frank) and flashes a subtle smile.
“Next thing you know, this water here,” Frank shakes his water bottle for emphasis. “Is gonna turn into blood.”
Ray’s laughter is stifled in his knuckles and his foot taps Frankie’s again. People talk.
“She honestly thinks defending God is gonna win herself a golden chariot ride to heaven,” Ray says, lowering his voice and glancing at Casey in all her Christian teen whore glory.
“Unfortunately for her, she is going to Hell through all walks of evil with us fags.” So maybe Frank sounds kind of bitter - he is bitter for fuck’s sake. Ray gives him a sympathetic look and curls his fingers around Frank’s. It doesn’t really matter if they’re overheard, but Ray tilts his head and lowers his voice anyway.
“This is worth it.”
Frank can practically feel his heart swell.
-
Heather Sanchez, a small girl with too much makeup and a tiny waist is eyeing the couple now that the conversation has taken a historical route towards the Black Plague. They’re whispering and holding hands and leaning so close. It’s obvious they’re dating - it has always been obvious, just in a very understated way. But now, now it’s all out in the open. They never held hands, kissed in the hallways, or tried to sit next to each other at all opportunities. They just…were. They were these two nerdy guys that were so reclusive. The only thing anyone really knew about them was that they both played guitar and hung out with Bob Bryar - this quiet gentleman type with clear blue eyes. Sometimes, at lunch, Ray would bring his guitar and play it, all three of them sitting on this cement fixture. Heather isn’t so sure why she is so fascinated with Ray and Frank’s lives.
She just is.
They cease talking as she scoots into the desk next to Ray. She notices that their hands don’t come apart. Tiny Frank Iero glares at her - he’s got this grudge against her because she called him and fag and said Black Flag sucked. Even though they intrigue her, she hates them.
“What do you want?” Frank asks in a harsh voice.
“So, everyone was right, you two are an item.” Heather mumbles when she talks and Ray has always ad problems understanding her, so he just gives her a noncommittal shrug.
“Heather, no one gives a fuck about what me and Ray are.” Frank shoots. Dead.
She gapes at him and shifts around, clearly trying to organize her thoughts. “well, it’s gross, okay?”
The desk slides back an inch or two when Frank moves suddenly, like he’s going to beat the shit out of this girl. Ray gives him a look and pulls at his hand. He’s too much of a fucking gentleman, Frank thinks.
“I think you’re the most stupid bitch on this planet.”
Maybe not such a gentleman.
“At least I won’t be going to -” The Earth must have plunged out of its orbit or something because everything slows down and all their stomachs drop. No one moves, and no one talks, not that Frank can hear anyway. Maybe that’s what happened to Heather. The sudden stop of the planet gave her a nosebleed, that’s all.
The reality hits Frank in the face and suddenly the world starts moving again - warp speed. He stumbles out of his desk, pulling Ray with him because, holy fuck, Heather’s infected.
Blood is dripping from her nose and running down her lips. Her eyes are terrified because she must know by now that she is dead. Frank wants to pull her hair back and see if there is an X on the back of her neck that she never saw. Her hands are red and it is pooling in the creases around her fingernails and the lines in her neck. The whole room crushes together away from Heather Sanchez, her face swirls of blood, foundation, and mascara.
9:03 A.M.
Ray and Frank stand, sides pressed together, and watch the men dressed in pure white sterile suits - doctors? EMTs? - drag Heather away.
Sound the sirens.
9:10 A.M.
“Attention all teachers and students! Please vacate your classrooms and head towards the designated clean rooms in the basement and upper floors. Thank you.”
Complete disorder pretty much summed up what went on in the school after that announcement. Each student was chaotic and worried, trying to get out of the school or get to the clean rooms. Their teacher, Mr. Vertruce, tries to lead all the hysterical students to the basement, but they are fleeing to the doors in attempts to get the hell out - while they still could. Teachers are locking the doors and causing a panic.
Ray and Frank are still standing in the empty classroom with the bloodstained desk. Ray leans down, cupping Frankie’s face in his hands and kisses him desperately. Slowly, their tongues curl around the other and it’s soft but powerful. When Ray pulls away, Frank’s eyes are shining and his breath is shallow - That better not have been a good-bye kiss.
11:16 A.M.
There are 15 other people in the clean room with Frankie. It’s more like a padded cell, though. The walls and floors are white and cushioned and Frank wonders if they shouldn’t have installed this a long time ago. It would be a good idea to lock people up here, those unruly students that scream about doing homework and shit. Yeah, they’d look really nice down here. But this room, it’s bigger then a normal padded cell, not that Frank’s ever been in one, but he can just tell.
Another announcement went over the speakers about an hour ago informing everyone that they were doing a clean up of the school. Sanitation, sterilization, disinfection, whatever. Frank thinks it is a big waste of time because no one even knows how this disease is transmitted and Heather could have already passed it along to everyone she got near.
“I wonder how she’s doing,” says a skinny boy with thick glasses and brown hair. He’s chewing at his nails like a fucking beaver.
She is fucking dying.
The basic idea that Frank gathered about this sickness is that it starts with a nosebleed, then very quickly, you begin to lose function because the brain is turning into a big mushy mass. It leaks through the afflicted’s nose and ears. They normally live about 2 days, three at the most with their brains draining out of their heads. By the last day, those who are sick just go completely insane and start clawing at their skin and screaming in terror - if they can actually move their arms and mouths.
So yeah, he’d say she’s doing pretty bad.
That boy, Mikey, shuts his mouth when Casey gives him a withering glare.
12:54 P.M.
Frank is restless and Ray’s resting. His head is warm weight on Frank’s shoulder. The breath hitting his neck could be full of microscopic creepy crawlers that flow into his blood and storm his brain when they initiate gnawing at his lobes and behind his eyes. If they popped them right out of their sockets, would they find the answer staring right at them? Frank tortures himself with images of blood and brain mush pouring from his ears onto Ray’s head, matting down his poofy curls. Stop.
Not once can Frank see Ray as one of the infected. It is his own face, own brains, own bloodshot eyes. He gives an involuntary shudder and draws his knees up to his chest, squeezing Ray’s hand.
“You okay?” Ray mumbles, rubbing his cheek against the red shirt Frank is wearing.
“No.”
And Ray understands.
1:41 P.M.
Frank’s head is foggy from the disjointed sleep but even before his head clears, he knows that something is wrong, disrupted. There is warm moisture seeping through the stitching of his t-shirt and Ray’s head jerks up. Frank’s blood runs ice cold and freezes his heart.
Panic.
He can barely bring himself to look - he can’t see it. But, fuck, its happening. Ray’s grip on his hand tightens and he whimpers. This can’t be real.
Blood. Blood is oozing from Ray’s left nostril. It is staining and clogging every pore on his face. His eyes - what is wrong with the? Frank could swear that there is a blur around the pupil.
“No,” Frank whispered. Ray’s crying and Frank reels forward, clutching his shoulders, neck, and face. Infected blood sinks into his life-line and melts his palms to Ray’s terrified face.
Students are screaming against the padded walls and it sounds so muffled…so distant. Everything is moving rapidly but to Frank, it takes and eternity to wipe the tear from Ray’s face before it drips into the steady flow of blood from his nose.
The men in white suits are banging through the door and before Frank can rasp out an ‘I love you’ they’re ripping Ray from his arms. There is flailing and fighting as Ray tried to pull himself from their latex grips.
Frank screams and cries and throws himself at the men and Ray, Ray who is horrifying with blood covering his neck and chin and the tips of his hair. Tearstains and thrashing limbs.
“Please,” Frank gasps between sobs, reaching out towards the men. Heads pull and push him, holding him - restraining him. “Don’t leave me.”
Ray shakes his head, his eyes burning into Frank’s. Little drops of blood land on the padded floor, each one etched onto the white skin of Frank’s forearm.
1:43 P.M.
The door closes Frank off from Ray and every pair of eyes is on him. He doesn't stop his tears and he doesn’t wipe Ray’s blood from his hands.
Just like Ray, his time of death is 1:43 P.M.