Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Give 'Em Hell Kid
Title from "Losing Grip" - Avril Lavigne
Frank woke up when the fire department started spraying down the flaming rubble minutes later. He sobered up fast, the bloods in his body churning too fast to retain the properties of the alcohol for too long. He didn’t have a hangover unless he was incredibly drunk.
“What happened?”
“Building blew up,” Gerard replied, standing to help Frank to his feet.
Frank rubbed his eyes. “We should go over there… They’ll be over here anyways to ask us stuff and arrest whoever they feel like arresting… Mikey’s had enough trouble for now.”
Gerard nodded, stepping up onto the railing and jumping down to the backyard, Frank following. They hopped the side fence and were soon approaching the group of police and rescue crews.
Gerard talked to them while Frank looked around, the sudden humanity of the situation hitting him. People weren’t like him. They died, they died and didn’t come back. He’d lost everyone he’d cared about, so he’d forgotten that for a while. It had been more than twenty years since he’d been human.
“Gerard…,” he murmured, feeling his body quake as the stretchers passed, bloody, crushed, and suffocated bodies lying in them.
Gerard touched his arm, leading him from the group of patrol cars and ambulances. “What is it?”
He looked Frank in the eye. Frank couldn’t trust himself to speak. “Frankie, are you alright? You can go back to Mikey’s, I’ll take care of this.”
“No, I’m fine… There’s just so much… death and… Gerard, we’ve…”
“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before- Sorry, I didn’t mean that. I…,” he stopped, rubbing his temples. He started again, whispering: “I can’t say anything, Frank. I can’t say anything that’ll bring back the people we’ve killed. I can’t say that it’s okay, because its not. And I can’t tell you that it will be okay… Because… ‘Cause it won’t.”
Frank nodded, understanding, and slipped his arms around Gerard’s neck, pressing his lips to Gerard’s neck gently. He could smell the number of cigarettes Gerard had smoked that day. Exactly 4 so far, but it was just morning.
He moved his lips to Gerard’s, wishing Gerard could comfort him. It wasn’t that Gerard didn’t try, but comfort was just too unbelievable to be taken seriously. It didn’t work.
Gerard’s grip tightened around Frank’s back, his fingers fisted in the back of Frank’s shirt as Frank leaned into him for support, his mind whirring with stress built up for decades.
“Frank?” a female voice called out moments later.
They pulled away quicker than Gerard thought possible, heads snapping toward the sound of the interruption. A woman clad in cargo pants and a grey sleeveless top stood to their left. A police badge was tucked in her pocket, one half of the folding wallet hanging out. She was slightly shorter than Frank, brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. She looked to be in her thirties, but the age hardly showed. Her bare arms were slightly tanned and dusty from the dust still rising from the building.
Confused eyeliner-lined hazel eyes stared back at Frank. “Frank, is that you?”
Frank woke up when the fire department started spraying down the flaming rubble minutes later. He sobered up fast, the bloods in his body churning too fast to retain the properties of the alcohol for too long. He didn’t have a hangover unless he was incredibly drunk.
“What happened?”
“Building blew up,” Gerard replied, standing to help Frank to his feet.
Frank rubbed his eyes. “We should go over there… They’ll be over here anyways to ask us stuff and arrest whoever they feel like arresting… Mikey’s had enough trouble for now.”
Gerard nodded, stepping up onto the railing and jumping down to the backyard, Frank following. They hopped the side fence and were soon approaching the group of police and rescue crews.
Gerard talked to them while Frank looked around, the sudden humanity of the situation hitting him. People weren’t like him. They died, they died and didn’t come back. He’d lost everyone he’d cared about, so he’d forgotten that for a while. It had been more than twenty years since he’d been human.
“Gerard…,” he murmured, feeling his body quake as the stretchers passed, bloody, crushed, and suffocated bodies lying in them.
Gerard touched his arm, leading him from the group of patrol cars and ambulances. “What is it?”
He looked Frank in the eye. Frank couldn’t trust himself to speak. “Frankie, are you alright? You can go back to Mikey’s, I’ll take care of this.”
“No, I’m fine… There’s just so much… death and… Gerard, we’ve…”
“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before- Sorry, I didn’t mean that. I…,” he stopped, rubbing his temples. He started again, whispering: “I can’t say anything, Frank. I can’t say anything that’ll bring back the people we’ve killed. I can’t say that it’s okay, because its not. And I can’t tell you that it will be okay… Because… ‘Cause it won’t.”
Frank nodded, understanding, and slipped his arms around Gerard’s neck, pressing his lips to Gerard’s neck gently. He could smell the number of cigarettes Gerard had smoked that day. Exactly 4 so far, but it was just morning.
He moved his lips to Gerard’s, wishing Gerard could comfort him. It wasn’t that Gerard didn’t try, but comfort was just too unbelievable to be taken seriously. It didn’t work.
Gerard’s grip tightened around Frank’s back, his fingers fisted in the back of Frank’s shirt as Frank leaned into him for support, his mind whirring with stress built up for decades.
“Frank?” a female voice called out moments later.
They pulled away quicker than Gerard thought possible, heads snapping toward the sound of the interruption. A woman clad in cargo pants and a grey sleeveless top stood to their left. A police badge was tucked in her pocket, one half of the folding wallet hanging out. She was slightly shorter than Frank, brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. She looked to be in her thirties, but the age hardly showed. Her bare arms were slightly tanned and dusty from the dust still rising from the building.
Confused eyeliner-lined hazel eyes stared back at Frank. “Frank, is that you?”
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