Hospital stress can effect anybody.
Muffled footsteps are heard from outside,coming closer and closer to the darkened room until-
"What are you doing?"
The chair suddenly spins around, revealing the outline of a scrawny boy with his fingers clasped together.
"Plotting, dear Nathan. Plotting."
A sigh. "Dammit, Ben. I wonder about you."
"You should. Wait- what are you doing?! Don't touch that lightswi-!"
Light floods the room, illuminating the scene. The boy in the chair screams in agony and dives for the floor. The other boy, Nathan, rolls his eyes.
"Get up, Benjamin. You said you'd write today."
Ben pouts at his boyfriend, his dark brown hair sticking up from constantly running his fingers through it. "But it's so hard," he whines.
Nate lets out another sigh and nudges Ben with his foot. "You promised. Get to it, or I swear to God I won't go to that concert with you in May."
Ben gasps and wraps his arms around Nathan's leg. "But it's Marianas Trench! How could you say that?!"
Nathan grins, knowing he'd won. "Do it, Benny. No chapter: no concert."
Ben releases Nate's leg and slumps back to the floor. "You're evil," he sniffs.
"And you love me for it. Get a move on, Ben."
So Ben did.
Frank decided that hospitals were run by the Devil. Only instead of flames and the misery of dead sinners, Satan had decked the place out in eye-watering white and overly-friendly staff so as not to arise suspicion.
Clever. Very clever.
The man scowled at his surroundings, taking in the quiet room with obvious disgust. He didn't need to be here. He wasn't hurt that badly. A couple scrapes and bruises, but that was it. Hardly worthy of a trip to the hospital.
But the doctors had been firm in their diagnosis. These 'scrapes and bruises' were, apparently, actually a dislocated shoulder and multiple lacerations from broken glass. Bottles + homophobes = very serious injuries.
At least they'd let him keep his clothes. Frank had seen the hospital gowns, and it had taken all of his super bitch power to get the nurses to send Bob after some t-shirts and loose pants.
Frank had caught the whole story from Mikey and Bob, the only two band members who had escaped a trip to the emergency room after the concert. Mikey had been hollow-eyed and shaking during these visits, no doubt haunted by the wreckage that had supposed to have been their concert. Bob had told Frank about the attack, pausing a few times to let Frank gasp or digest this information. Apparently, a group of roughly six guys had had way too many beers and decided to put the empty bottles to use.
Frank was nauseated, remembering the screams and sickening pain that echoed in his mind. His side throbbed, and for a minute Frank had considered calling a nurse for a pill that would knock him out forever. But he'd clamped his teeth down on his lip and let Bob continue.
Gerard's shoulder hadn't been badly damaged, but it was enough to keep him screaming whenever anyone touched it. His kneecap had been shattered, requiring immediate surgery to prevent any slivers of bone from finding their way into his bloodstream. He would walk again someday, and for that, Frank was grateful.
Ray had received a blow to the head from one of the bottles, giving him a minor concussion and temporary amnesia. He had trouble remembering what day it was and what his middle name was, but he could remember almost everything before the first bottle had struck.
Luck, it would seem, smiled on piss-drenched bands who played songs about love gone wrong.
Frank whimpered as his hip gave another painful twinge, immediately looking around to make sure no one had heard it. He was in a room with two other people: a woman whose dog had bitten her thigh and a teenaged boy who'd slipped on ice and cut his chin. Both were extremely hostile toward eachother and bickered whenever a noise was made, even when Frank was to blame.
A glare was exchanged between the less-than-happy room-mates, but Frank was spared from another shouting match.
Hours trickled by, leaving the guitarist lonely and bored. The clock mounted on the wall by the television showed that it was a little after three in the afternoon, but for all that mattered, Frank might as well have been in a coma.
The idea was sorely tempting.
Just as Frank was debating on whether or not he could hit himself hard enough with the vase next to his bed, the door opened and a dark-haired boy poked his head in.
"Ben? You in here?"
AN: SHAMELESS SELF-CAMEOS FTW!
The boy with the cut chin beamed, sitting straight up and whipping his head toward the door. "Nate! Thank God!"
Frank cast a worried glance at Mrs. Dog-Bite, fearing her reaction to Ben's sudden happiness. The woman gave Ben the middle finger, which he kindly returned.
Nate hurried in, grinning like an idiot and nearly tripping over his feet. Frank noticed the curve of his eyes and decided that the boy must be part Asian. Just before Nate could reach his friend, he skidded to a stop in front of Frank's bed.
"You Frank?" he asked, ignoring Ben's cry of "Hey!"
Frank nodded, confused. Nate's grin returned.
"There's a guy in room 206," the boy said, jerking his head at the door. "He asked to see you earlier, but I had to wait for the nurses to leave before I could tell you. Can you walk?"
"Then I suggest you move it. The nurses are all hanging by the desk, so you should be able to- I'm coming, Ben! Jesus! You should be able to sneak over there if you're quick."
Hope flooded Frank's chest, sending his heart pounding. With a quick 'Thanks!' to the boy, Frank untangled himself from his blankets and dashed out the door before Nate could reach Ben's side.
The hallway was nearly as plain as the ward, almost blinding Frank as he flew along the corridor. Numbers flashed by, climbing higher and higher as he ran. He almost missed 206 completely, actually sliding a few meters down the hall before he could stop. Jogging back, Frank twisted the door handle and slipped inside.
This room was nearly identical to the one Frank had just left, the only difference being that only one bed was occupied. Instantly recognizing the dark hair and pale skin of the man in the bed, Frank shut the door behind him and crept forward.
Gerard's eyes flew open at the sound of the lock clicking, his dream instantly forgotten as he jerked awake. His heart jumped as light footsteps made their way across the room, coming closer by the second.
Fear made his breath catch. What if it was a nurse? What if they had finally decided to kill him? Oh God, he was too young to die! He wasn't ready! A thought crossed his mind, more horrifying than any of Gerard's my-nurse-is-out-to-murder-me theories.
What if they had needles?!
The footsteps stopped by his bed, followed by the creak of the chair that was left for visitors. Gerard prepared to fight. Fuck his knee and shoulder! If this bitch wanted some, she was welcome to it!
Baby? Hold up.
A warm hand touched his own, calloused and tough from years of guitar playing. Gerard sighed a breath of relief and turned his head to meet the eyes of his boyfriend.
Frank was breathing heavily, his hair blown back and his face red. Had he run here? Jesus. Gerard decided that he must be loved.
Green met hazel, each gaze curious and thoughtful. It had been two days since the concert, and Gerard hadn't seen so much as one of Frank's hairs since he'd passed out in the club. There were dark circles under Frank's eyes, a sign of the stress that he'd been through. Gerard rand his thumb over one of the purple smudges, grinning as Frank leaned into the touch.
"You know, " Gee murmured, moving his hand from Frank's eye to cup his cheek. "I don't think I've ever been in the hospital this much since I met you."
Frank stuck out his tongue, laughing nervously. "Shut up. It's only been twice. How's your shoulder?"
Gerard thought about it. "It's about as painful as having your arm torn off by a moose, but I'm coping. The knee's worse. Are you alright?"
Frank shrugged. "I've been better. Just a few cuts and bruises."
Now, Gee wasn't an idiot. He could see the way Frank was leaning to one side, keeping some of his weight off his right hip. "Frank," he said. "Tell the truth."
"I am!" said Frank stubbornly. "I'm okay, trust me!"
AN: If you don't get that reference, I'm sending Voldemort after your ass with a pair of fuzzy handcuffs and the latest Justin Beiber CD.
"Take off your shirt," Gee growled.
"You heard me."
"Frank. Shirt. Now."
With his teeth biting into his lip ring, Frank did as he was told and removed his shirt.
Horror. Absolute horror. Gerard could not comprehend the dark splotch that stretched from his boyfriend's hip to his ribs, nor could he believe the several bandages that surrounded it. The edges of the bruise had turned a sickening yellow colour, as well as red and purple.
Gerard saw red, his mood going from optimistic to murderous in a split second.
"I'm going to kill them!" he roared, sitting up and earning a slash of pain in his shoulder. Fuck it. Gerard didn't care anymore. He'd rest after those bastards were dead.
Frank was panicking, yanking his shirt back on and trying to get Gerard to lay down. "Gee! Come on! They're in jail, okay? Ray's family is pressing charges. You don't need to kill anyone!"
"But they hurt you!" Gerard protested, ignoring Frank's weak attempts to push him back. "Look at what they did! Just because-" he broke off, his mind suddenly coming to a conclusion. "Oh my God..." he whispered.
His head hit something soft. Frank had finally succeeded in getting him back into a laying position.
"Just because I kissed you," Gerard finished, his voice barely a whisper.
Frank looked alarmed. "Look, if you're trying to say this is your fault-"
"It is!" Gerard insisted. "It's all my fault! I'm the one who grabbed you in front of that crowd-"
"And I'm the one who let you," Frank finished, his eyes blazing. "I kissed you back, but it's not our fault! It was their fault. They threw the bottles, not us."
Gerard spluttered, trying to argue. "But I started it! If I hadn't kissed you, they wouldn't have thrown them in the first place!"
Frank frowned at him. "Don't be stupid. You didn't know they would react like that."
"But they did, Frankie." Gerard was on the verge of tears. If the band broke up, he would be to blame. What if Ray had sustained brain damage? Mikey was traumatized, Bob was in shock, and Frank was badly hurt. All his fault.
A slap brought him back to reality, causing his cheek to sting and heat. Frantic apologies followed it.
"Oh shit, Gee! I didn't... What the hell is wrong with me?! Are you okay? Of course, you're not. Sorrysorrysorrysorry-"
"Frank," Gerard breathed. "Shut up for a second."
Frank stopped, his cheeks red with shame.
Gerard swallowed, his head throbbing with stress to add to his pre-existing pain. Great. "Frank," he said slowly. "I think we need to get out of here. I want you to find a nurse and demand that we be released. Got it?"
Frank nodded. Seeing the increasing worry in his lover's eyes, Gerard sighed.
"You didn't hurt me, babe. I was freaking out, and you did the first thing that came to mind."
Frank nodded again, obviously still shocked by what he'd done.
Gerard's head gave another throb, making him wince. Being stuck in a hospital had crushed both of their sanities, and it was only a matter of time before they lost their minds completely.
When Frank stood to leave, Gerard grabbed the hem of his shirt. "Wait a second." With a small tug, the older man brought his boyfriend's face to his own. Their lips brushed, instantly calming them both as their breath mingled.
Life went on.
AN: Alright, I know that was craptastic, but bear with me? I'm freaking out at the amount of views this story has, and I just finished a book that seems to be written by a seventh-grader in a woman's body. Has anyone read Nightshade by Andrea Cremer? Jesus, that woman gave me fits.
Anyway, I've been stressing over this story for a while. And Nate really did threaten to not go with me to the MT concert in May, which was incredibly awful of him. I wrote this like Annie Wilkes was hanging over me with an axe.
And if you're into smut, I actually have a decent one-shot for you: http://ficwad.com/story/185291