Frank spirals out of control. Will Gerard only make matters worse?
The war's gonna end. And you'll be alone.
But do you love him?
He leaned his head against the toilet seat.
It bit. And it burned.
Shards of glass rammed down his throat.
But it was release.
He was shaking.
He fell onto the floor, giggled, feverish.
Billie Poe and guns and Ray Toro and beer bottles and pain.
Pain pain pain.
It burned him. He didn't know why he'd just screamed, the sound filled the void, gave him something to think about.
The sound shook and rattled his skull.
“Frankie…baby…you in here?”
Rid your body of the monster.
Someone crouching down beside him.
"Is everything OK?"
He squirmed as Gerard's hand rubbed against his neck.
Maybe he'd moaned, too.
But he needed to concentrate on other things.
Detach your spirit from your body.
Escape the physical pain.
The burning between your legs.
"Talk to me."
You'd hate me.
You'd hate me so much.
He felt Way's arms scoop him up, so tiny, so frail, broken, destroyed.
Gerard cradled him, delicately.
I can never tell.
His lips against his forehead.
"Nothing. Nothing, I swear."
I'm just tired.
"I'm just tired."
Of course you are, baby.
Gerard hugged him tighter, sighed.
Of course you are.
He leaned his forehead against his.
My God, my God you're so tiny.
You're so frail.
What the fuck just happened.
He kissed him, delicately.
Frank didn't kiss him back.
The sweat. The cold. The emptiness.
The pain between his legs had become a deep, visceral throbbing, something else to remind him just how dirty he actually was.
Just how unholy.
And then he realized he'd been sobbing the whole time.
Like a little kid.
Like a faggot.
But he couldn't stop.
And Gerard's arms around him just made matters worse.
He squirmed and moaned and Way just held him tighter.
"We'll fix you up, baby."
I swear we'll fix you up.
Just let me go.
Gerard looked at his brother, trying to make his brain function properly.
"Oh--yeah. Yeah, I'm cool, Mikey. Just thinking about something that happened earlier today."
He didn't kiss you back.
"Does it have to do with F--"
"No. No, it doesn't."
But he's a man.
The youngest of the Ways shook his head.
It scared him.
Everything scared him, but particularly how distant Gerard had become.
And how much they'd changed.
How much things between them had changed.
How striking Ray had come so natural to him.
How hitting him and watching him in pain had given him a sick, twisted sort of pleasure.
The same sort of pleasure that came from morbid fantasies when he was a little boy, hiding in his bed at night, when the sight of blood made him quiver in all of the wrong places and there were times when he just couldn't resist, when his hands raced down his underwear and--
"You know...you can get help."
"I said, you can get help."
"Help for what?"
"For what you've become."
Gerard's jaw dropped, suddenly.
He laughed, because he didn't really know what else to do.
Because what his brother had just said scared and confused him, because he knew he was right.
You do need help.
But I love him.
I wouldn't be so sure.
"Nobody would have to know."
"What are you talking about?"
"Not even Lyn. There's professionals, trained psychiatrists who are sworn to secrecy."
Gerard's mind started running in circles.
Because he wanted to get better, he really did, but a part of him was so desperately clinging to Frank.
And that was the scary part.
The fact that he needed Frank so much.
His safe place.
His fragile, little friend who knew everything about him.
Every little secret.
An intimacy that many thought had gone way too far.
I don't know.
I don't know.
And then he thought of Frank's smile, his cute, nervous laugh.
His sweaty face.
The fear in his eyes.
His hands tingled and burned.
Could it've been--
"Do you love him?"
"Is this a fucking questioning?"
"No. Just answer. I'm your brother, you can tell me certain things."
"Yeah. I do. And I have for a while now. And I thought Lyn would've cured me. Y'know--"
"But she didn't. She never did. And I don't really know if I love her."
"Do you realize what you just said?"
"You're admitting that you don't love the mother of your child?"
I guess that's the case.
I guess that's the fucking case.
Gerard felt cold.
Guilt was a feeling he wasn't accustomed to.
Frank. On the bathroom floor.
He's usually so controlled.
On the floor.
He didn't kiss you back.
"The war's gonna end, buddy. I'll just leave you with that."
And he walked off, and Gerard had never felt so alone.