Don't worry 'bout a thing, 'cause every little thing is gonna be alright.
I GOT TICKETS TO SEE GREEN DAY IN JANUARY IN MY CITY. AND THEY'RE PIT TICKETS, AS IN RIGHT IN FRONT OF THE STAGE.
Alright. Well, nothing much really happens in this chapter. The beginning focuses mostly on Frank's mom.
As always, please enjoy!
And thank you guys so much for all your love on this story! I love you guys so much! Red velvet cupcakes for everyone!
Title from Bob Marley.
OH. And I might be starting another new fic, 'cause yanno, I feel like it. It gonna be a Mafia Frerard set in Jersey in the 1950s where Frank witnesses a Mafia crime and that kind of shit. The whole 9.5 yards and whatnot.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my words and ideas.
. . .
Three Little Birds
. . .
Linda Iero sat at her kitchen table, a cold cup of coffee in one hand while the other raked through her graying hair. Dark bags resided underneath her dull eyes and her lips were pulled into an ever- present frown. It'd been almost two weeks since her son ran away, evidently taking her heart with him.
She'd really been trying. She knew that Frank was upset that she wasn't around much due to her work, but she'd really tried to be the best mother she could during the time she had with her son. She didn't expect him to leave, but now that he had, she wanted nothing else but for him to return.
She glanced through the doorway and into the living room, eyes trained on the stairs. She hadn't been in her son's room since the day she found him gone. Drawers had been thrown everywhere and clothes ripped out across the floor. A crumbled note rested on his dresser reading, "Dear Mom, don't look for me," in a messy scrawl. Upon reading it, she had collapsed to the messy floor in tears, immediately calling Ray and Jamia's parents to see if he had gone there. They'd said no, he wasn't there, resulting in more strangled sobs from Linda.
Now, twelve days later, she found herself slowly climbing the stairs, the wood creaking ominously with each step. She padded down the hallway, stopping outside of Frank's poster covered bedroom door. She lightly pushed it open, the room the same as it had been when she'd found it; she'd been too upset to clean at all.
She entered her son's room, her eyes filling with tears. She picked up one of his shirts, his scent imbedded into it. She clutched it to her chest, more sobs and pleas for him to come home erupting from her. Opening her eyes again, she decided on cleaning a bit. Maybe it would make her feel better.
She picked up several more shirts, a shiny object catching her eye. She lifted it up carefully, eyes wide in horror at the crude item.
She trembled. Frank didn't do drugs. Well, at least as far as she knew. He was a good kid, what with his decent grades and blemish-free record. Why else would he have a syringe in his room?
Thinking back on it, his bedroom door had been dented slightly, and the rugs had been slightly askew downstairs. Her eyes widened in realization. No, she thought. /No, anything but that./ It all began to make sense now. The too-brief note, the door, the syringe, the rugs.
Frank had been kidnapped.
Linda quickly dashed for the phone, punching in the number she'd hoped she'd never have to use.
. . .
Several knocks on the door brought Linda out of the trance she'd been in. She rushed downstairs, opening the door. Two uniformed police officers stood on her front porch.
"Hello, Ms. Iero," greeted one officer, his handsome features soft. "My name is Officer Bryar, and this is Officer Pedicone." He nodded towards his partner. "May we come in?"
Linda cleared her throat and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. "Yes, come in."
The officers followed her into the living room, where Linda sat down and burst into tears. Officer Bryar laid his hand on her shoulder, his expression sympathetic.
"Ms. Iero, we received information that you think your son has been kidnapped?"
She nodded, holding up the syringe which she'd placed in a plastic bag. "I found it on the floor of his room."
Officer Pedicone took the bag, nodding at Bryar. Bryar nodded back, turning to face Linda again.
"Ma'am, what else did you find that led you to believe that your son was abducted?"
She sniffed. "Well, his door was dented, the rugs in here were all crooked, and this was left on his dresser." She handed the police the note, their eyes scanning over it.
"And you think the kidnapper wrote this?" Pedicone spoke up.
Linda shook her head. "I'm not sure. It doesn't look like Frank's handwriting."
Pedicone nodded. "Can we take this in for evidence?" Linda nodded, more tears sliding down her cheeks.
Officer Bryar cleared his throat. "We can't be certain if this is a kidnapping right now, Ms. Iero, but we'll have this syringe and note analyzed and we'll get back to you."
Linda nodded solemnly, leading the officers to the door. They both turned to leave, but Bryar turned back.
"And Ms. Iero? We'll do everything in our power to bring Frank home, and if this is in fact an abduction, we'll make sure this bastard is locked up."
With that said, both cops turned and walked back to their car, their radios crackling and calling in another case as they left.
. . .
Frank awoke to the sound of sobbing the next morning. His eyes cracked open and instantly, a wave of agony washed over him, followed by nausea. He groaned and the sobbing stopped, replaced by a, "Frankie?"
Frank groaned again, the pain he was in excruciating.
Gerard's tear stained face popped into view. "Frankie? Oh, Frankie, thank god! I thought I'd killed you!"
Strangely, those words didn't comfort Frank. He opened his mouth and tried to speak, but his throat hurt terribly and all that came out was, "H-hurts."
More tears leaked from Gerard's eyes and he smiled sadly. "I know, Frankie, I know. I'm gonna get you all fixed up, don't worry."
He lifted Frank's naked body from the bed, earning him a squeak of pain from the boy. He carried him from his room to the bathroom, laying him against the tub as he filled it with hot water. Frank whimpered as his skin met the icy tile, but it soothed the pain, even if it was just a little. He looked up at Gerard, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. "'M sor-r-ry, Ge-rard," he managed to croak.
Gerard looked down at him, frowning slightly. Immediately, Frank flinched. Gerard noticed, frowning deeper, not because he was angry with Frank, but because he was angry with himself. "No, don't be sorry, Frankie. I didn't need to be so hard on you. I should be the one apologizing, not you." He lifted the boy again, placing him into the tub. Frank hissed at the hot water, but instantly began to relax as the pain dulled sightly.
As Gerard washed the blood from Frank, he couldn't help but regret what he did. Sure, the boy had tried to run away after Gerard warned him not to, but that didn't mean Gerard had to go and rape him. He knew he had to make it up to Frank. Sure, he'd never be able to really make it up, but it was worth a shot, and he decided on giving Frank some peace at mind for starters.
"Frank?" He began, running his soapy fingers through Frank's dark hair. "What I did last night was absolutely disgusting, and I'm sorry. I regret it more than anything. I can't even begin to make up for what I did, but I have to start somewhere. So, starting right now, I promise to never raise a hand to you again."
Frank stared at Gerard in shock. Was he serious? He would never hit Frank again? Frank smiled, the grin growing bigger and bigger with every passing second before he was sure it would fall right off his face.
"T-thank you, Ge-Gerard," he choked.
Gerard smiled back at him, laying a sweet kiss on the boy's forehead.
Gerard flipped the drain on the tub, letting the water begin to drain as he picked Frank up again, setting him on the toilet. He grabbed a towel, ruffling the boys hair with it and giggling at the pout Frank made. Wrapping the towel around the boy, he lifted him again, mindful of his broken leg and ankle, and brought him back into his room, setting him on the black sheets.
"I've got to wrap your leg up so it'll heal properly. Stay right here," Gerard said, his voice affectionate but firm.
Frank watched as Gerard left, pondering over his words. Did he still want to leave? He didn't know. Of course he didn't want to be held here as a prisoner, but...Gerard never treated him like a prisoner. Sure he'd beaten and even raped him, but only because Frank had provoked him. Gerard never hurt him unless he'd done something to anger him. He fed Frank home cooked meals and even offered to take him shopping. It was obvious this man cared for Frank.
Frank just never took the time to notice.
Gerard returned, humming cheerfully under his breath. His arms were filled with disinfectant and bandages. He set the items down on the bed, gently pushing Frank to lay on his back.
Frank's eyes widened and suddenly, he wasn't where he was anymore. The room was dark and Gerard was leaning over him, his green eyes hazy yet absolutely burning with lust. His sweat dripped down on Frank, his thrusts hard and fast. Frank's head was being smacked against the headboard and he was screaming, screeching at the top of his lungs for Gerard to stop. But Gerard didn't listen. Frank could feel himself slipping, black ebbing at his vision when-
Frank's eyes snapped open and he realized he'd been screaming. He was slicked with sweat, his entire frame trembling. His wide hazel eyes met Gerard's concerned green ones, and instantly, Frank saw the pure love and adoration swirling in them. He couldn't help but stare.
"Frankie, are you okay?!" Gerard questioned, taking Frank's face in his hands. "You're burning up, sweetie. Are you ill?"
Frank shook his head. "I had a flashback," he whispered, his cheeks blazing.
Gerard instantly brought Frank into a bone-crushing hug, cooing into his ear.
"I'm so sorry, Frankie. Oh, sugar, I'm so, so sorry." Gerard leaned back, squeezing Frank's arms gently. "I'll never do anything like that to you again, I promise."
Frank nodded, his heart still beating erratically.
"Alright," Gerard said, picking up the disinfectant. "Let's get to work, shall we?"
He sprayed over Frank's cuts and bruises, squeezing the younger boy's hand when he would wince. He picked up the bandages, gently wrapping them up Frank's swollen leg.
"Don't worry about a thing, 'Cause every little thing gonna be all right," he sang softly, letting the thick bandage unravel along Frank's bruised skin. /"Singin' don't worry about a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be all right."/
Frank marveled at how perfect Gerard's voice was. It was raspy, yet...delicate. It was peaceful, angelic almost.
"You should sing more often," Frank said softly.
Gerard looked up at him, having been lost in his own thoughts. "Huh?"
"You should really sing more often. Your voice is beautiful."
Gerard blushed, a dainty pink little glow on his cheeks. "Well, I don't know about beautiful...." He pinned the bandage in place, giving Frank's knee a gentle tap. "There, all done."
Frank looked down at the thick bandaging winding up his leg. He moved to stand, wincing and moaning in pain when his weight was pressed on his ankle.
Gerard scratched the back of his neck, looking away slightly embarrassed. "Yeah, I'm gonna have to help you with the whole walking situation." He wrapped one arm around Frank's middle, pulling him back, and snaking his other arm under the boy's legs, hoisting him into the air.
"Let's get you some breakfast, Frankie."
Frank looked into Gerard's eyes, smiling genuinely for the first time in years. "Thank you, Gerard."
Gerard raised his eyebrows, chuckling. Where had that come from? He wasn't complaining, though. He loved getting along with Frank, and maybe, hopefully, one day, Frank would feel the same way towards Gerard as the older man felt towards Frank. "No problem." He bit his lip, looking down slightly. "And please, call me Gee from now on."