FicWad

Mikey's hand played at Frank's spine as they relaxed on his bed, exchanging quiet commentaries about the price of tattoos and whether or not getting matching ones would be too cliche. Their conversations lately had slowly and methodically been switching from characters in media literature and movies to their own lives, which was starting to really scare the shit out of Mikey. Earlier, they'd had the 'what do you think we'll be like when we're older' conversation, and Mikey had blurted out that he didn't care as long as he was with Frankie, when really he wanted to say something more like 'dead'. This relationship business was seriously starting to change him drastically.

"Maybe if they are really cool, it'll make up for the thought behind them, you know?" Frank lazily traced his finger on Mikey's stomach under his shirt, smiling when he felt his thumb brush over his happy trail. "No hearts, that's for sure. And no words."

Mikey agreed, nodding his head and letting his eyes drift closed. There had been more and more lazy afternoons with Frank, as well, just laying around on each other in his room and getting cooed at when his mom would pop in every now and then to make sure they weren't starving or anything. He'd started thinking of Frank's mom as more of a mother than his own. He was certainly more open with her, and he didn't get the grimy feeling on top of his skin when she would hug him. It must have been some kind of Iero gene, the ability to touch Mikey Way.

Soft black strands slid across his fingers as he let his hand hide in Frank's hair, scratching lightly behind his ears and breathing the happy little hums he got from Frank in return. "How 'bout dragons? Not the traditional Japanese ones, but, like..." He squinted one eye open because he couldn't think with both eyes closed, getting greeted by Frank's butter-colored cottage cheese ceiling and crayola ceiling fan. "Spyro."

On days like these, nothing they said was taken seriously. Well, Frank may have been serious about getting matching tattoos, but they more than likely weren't going to be Spyro ones, not unless they get wasted and somehow get all sentimental and remember this day as one of the best in their lives. Really, it wasn't that much different than any others, they just lounged around all day and wished that weekends were longer, but it all seemed so much more relaxed than it had in weeks. Maybe it was the weather. Maybe it was that the cold depressing December weather had given away like magic into March, seeming to skip past January and February in a blur. Today had been one of the few days that Frank and Mikey could go outside for more than five minutes without getting forced back inside by the bite of mother nature. The whole earth was opening up, animals coming out of their winter hiding places to fill out the dead sticks that had constituted for nature in the last months, breathing life back into the fog that was a New Jersey winter.

"Maybe..." Frank let his head fall down onto Mikey's stomach with a plop and started to murmur against his shirt. "But that's a little odd, even for us." Underneath him, Mikey squirmed with each rise and fall of the syllables that Frank used. "What about...something on our fingers? I like those kinds of tattoos. It puts them where anyone can see, and if anyone asks, I can tell them that we're both pansies who are so pathetic we got matching tattoos." He popped up with a huge grin on his face because Mikey was absolutely dying now, clamping down on his lips to keep from laughing. "Aw..."

Frank crawled up Mikey's wiggling body, resting his elbows on either side of Mikey's face to hold himself up. The muscles in his arms burned from the new pressure suddenly exerted on them, aching under his skin until he let up and collapsed on top of Mikey's chest, snuggling into the cotton t-shirt that was probably his own, since it was red and had cracking pictures of Sonic and Tails. "Mmm, maybe I will get your name on me..." he went on, by this point only talking because he thought it sounded good in the comfortable silence of the room. "Right," he tapped the inside of his wrist over the veins "right here. So I can see it whenever I want and I can think of you." The lazy-drunken words didn't sound at all stupid to Frank.

Mikey smirked to himself once he went over just what Frank was saying, and how impossibly mushy it was. And how it didn't really bother him that they were beginning to sound like a real live couple instead of two dudes who hang out with each other and kiss occasionally. "Mmm, you dweeb," Mikey muttered before yawning and stretching out his stiff arms, wincing at the popping in his elbow. "Oww..." Mikey sat up, the muscles in his abdomen straining and shouting 'what the fuck', and reached his arms up above him.

He caught a glimpse of the grass outside the window and felt a little pull towards it. The fucking winter...he didn't know, but it sucked all the energy out of him. "Hey, wanna go outside? I'm bored."

Frank scoffed--who the hell could get bored when he was here?--but squirmed out of Mikey's lap anyway and joined him in looking out the window, resting his head on Mikey's shoulder. "Yeah, okay. Hey, I have some light sabers in my closet."

*

Mikey smirked at Frank across the yard/battleground and flicked his wrist. The plastic lightsaber doubled in size and he held it up in front of him diagonally, convinced that it was the coolest way to wield one. Frank smiled back and twirled his light saber around. He claimed that it made him appear more ninja-like, and what was more powerful than a jedi ninja?

"Okay, Mikey, attack!" Frank exclaimed, bolting down his yard and swishing his weapon at Mikey carefully. He didn't want to actually hurt him--that was the problem with attacking your boyfriend. Less real rough-housing and more...um, fake-hurting with the intent of kissing better later on. Mikey really loved that Frank was so much shorter than he was, because to be honest, he sucked at everything, but at least he had the advantage of being able to grab the end of Frank's light saber, wrenching it out of his hands, and holding it over his head.

"Hey!" Frank's surprised cry echoed across the few empty lawns around them. "That's not fair! If we were really in Star Wars, your hand would be disintegrated, mister!" He jumped futily for a few more minutes before Mikey threw both of the light sabers to the ground and threw his arms around Frank's waist and hoisted him up. Frank wrapped both of his legs around Mikey's waist and slinked both of his arms around Mikey's neck.

He really liked to be held like this. It was the best part of being short.

"If we were in Star Wars," muttered Mikey, nudging the side of Frank's face with his nose and smiling, "We'd also be in space, have a gigantic space ship, and my brother would be--I don't know, creaming his pants."

Frank tried not to, he really did. But honestly? Mikey just fucking set him up for the best incest joke, and even the wet grass seeping through his jeans weren't enough to make him regret saying it. And, to make amends, he smiled up at Mikey and held his arms open, intending to get a hug. Mikey smiled at him and sunk into the grass beside Frank. He wrapped his arms around Frank's waist.

"Why do I always give in to you?" he asked to no one, knowing Frank's love of answering rhetorical questions.

"Bee-cause, Mikey dear, you adore me," Frank informed him, curling his arms around Mikey's neck slowly and pressing a few kisses to his throat.

"That's true..."

"And you wanna spend the rest of your life adoring me." Another kiss placed to Mikey's throat.

"Mhm..." Mikey liked where this was going. He let his hands slide down Frank's back.

"And you don't really give a crap if I make incest jokes, because you know that if anyone, even your brother, gets too close to you, I'll gut them."

"Right." The grass felt cool and wet on his back when he laid down, and it made him shiver a little with the sensation and drag Frank's smaller body on top of his so he wouldn't get cold, but. It was okay.

*

He wasn't really sure when he started to blend into the human race, but sometime between the winter and the spring, it had happened, and now as he waited for Frank to show up at their meeting place, he shared part of his wall with Ray and Frank's friend Manny who was always stealing glances at his ass when Mikey didn't wear Tripp pants. When Manny would lean up to see past Ray and ask him something--what was Mikey's favorite band, how was he, stupid little meaningless questions that felt good to answer--Mikey didn't grimace at him and answer quickly, hoping that the conversation would end soon.

"Hey," Manny started, leaning up again and fixing his stare on Mikey. "Do you think that bricks have little cities of brick people living inside them?"

"Hm." Mikey chewed on the side of his jaw and didn't feel in any hurry to answer or to censor his words. "That's actually possible, you know. Bricks have complex infrastructures, and--that's actually a good question. I can imagine that." He could hear Manny's pleased little sound and feel the smile through Ray. Yeah, he wasn't blind, he knew that Manny had to be gay just a little bit, and that was nice too, that liking boys wasn't such a foreign idea anymore at the school. It was almost like it spread, starting with Bob and just engulfing anyone who got sucked up into the drama. It was a wonder that Ray was still straight.

"Yeah, but bricks aren't living creatures, they're slabs of dried mud, or whatever they make 'em out of these days," Ray butted in, frowning at Manny's self-satisfied grin and donning his own when Mikey agreed with that as well.

Frank snorted as he walked up to his little cluster of friends, not ever noticing until now how gay they all sounded. And, he noted with a little jealousy, how Ray and Manny seemed to both want Mikey's attention, like some little boys fighting over a girl. Ahem, his girl. His girl that was being checked out by half the school nowadays because Tripp pants were really too hot to wear any time other than winter, Mikey complained. Okay, his boy, whatever.

"Mikey! I am here!" he announced, promptly demanding his boyfriend's attention. He wasn't too proud to admit that he was a jealous little fuck. Mikey was his, and they had an unspoken agreement to get married one day and share Bella as their child. He stepped up to Mikey, planting his feet in between Mikey's and leaning up to kiss him on the chin. "Did you miss me?"

"Over the eleven hours that I didn't get to see you? Hell yeah, Frankie."

They were such saps.

"Good, because I missed you too." And, just because he knew that Ray and Manny and probably Wendy, Bob, his teacher, and all the other people who've fucked with them over the year were watching, he grabbed fistfulls of Mikey's shirt and dragged him down for a kiss that, earlier in the year, would have made Mikey run away. Hips braced against Mikey's, Frank pushed his boyfriend firmly to the wall, pressing into him with his whole body and letting his hands roam. He felt eyes on them, and it only made it better; he didn't mind an audience. They were just as sick for watching.

Mikey was so oblivious to the world, he really wouldn't have noticed an alien invasion unless one of the aliens crawled into his pants, and even then he probably would have assumed it was Frank's hand, because they might as well be having sex up against the school wall. That was pretty high on Mikey's list of distractions. Right under a really good Sci-Fi marathon. Or Michael turning into a real unicorn and tap dancing on his bed.

"Shit," Frank breathed, tilting back a little bit and holding onto Mikey in a death grip. And, as he knew they would, the whole student body had stopped to watch the spectacle because they're all just sick fucks. The silence was something to be laughed at. So he did. He snickered at the slack-jawed expressions hanging off his friends and enemies, off the people who really didn't give a shit but stopped to watch anyway. And no, no one shouted out homophobic slurs against the two boys leaning on the wall, trying to catch their breath, but Frank could still feel one of his tantrums drumming up inside his chest. One of the moments where he was tempted to smash someone's skull into a wall or kick them square in the back because his body itched to do it. He wouldn't, of course, but he wanted to.

"Shit," Mikey agreed.

"Okay you two fuckers, come on, time for class," Ray said, a hint of teasing mixed up with the infinite jealousy he just couldn't hide.

*

The bathroom really wasn't anything other than a bathroom anymore to Mikey. It should have been--everything, because he met Frank here, he got beaten up here, he made out with Frank the first time here. It should be filled with so many memories he can't walk in without being taken on trips through his mind, but--it was just a bathroom. White, dirty tiled floor, stained walls, a cracked mirror, four urinals and five stalls. Even when Mikey leaned into the mirror that for a time had been embedded into his skin to fix his make up, nothing groundbreaking happened. It didn't send shivers up and down his back, there was no foreboding message written on it in blood, nothing. His reflection just blinked up at him.

The door swung open and he ignored it, because there was no one at the school he was afraid of anymore. He had enough friends to protect him if he ever got in a fight again. So, when Bob's face popped up in the back of the mirror, he didn't give a shit. It didn't look like Bob did either, because he just headed over to the stalls and went in one. Mikey shrugged and went back to tracing the bottom of his eye in black.

At first, when he heard the shaky noise coming from the stall, he ignored it, because he didn't make it a habit of listening to what went on in stalls. Then he heard crunching, more shaking, and he knew what it was. Bob stumbled out of the stall moments later, one hand clawing to the side of the wall while the other clutched a bag he was trying to stuff back into his pocket. His eyes blinked focused and unfocused at nothing, light blue irises twitching around wildly. Mikey put his hand out to steady Bob and got pushed away with a little grunt of 'getoffame.'

"Bob," he sighed, wondering why he was even bothering. Bob was in the past as well, wasn't he? And this couldn't turn out well no matter what, but--the guy looked helpless, and what else was Mikey supposed to do? Just leave him here? "Bob," he said a bit more firmly, digging his thumb into Bob's shoulderblade.

"Ow, ow, get off! Get the fucka-way!" Bob batted at his hands with the bag while trying to regain his hold on the wall. He couldn't, and just slid down to land in a heap of legs and blonde hair. "Stop. Stop it, go away," he whimpered, wiping at his face with the back of his sleeve. "Leave me alone."

"No, Bob, give me that." Mikey reached out to grab the bag away from Bob so he could see just what it was Bob had been taking, but Bob grabbed him by the wrist surprisingly tight for someone who couldn't keep their pathetic ass from falling to the ground.

"Stop! You can't have them! Just GO! I hate you, go away!" Bob pushed Mikey's arm away and dragged the bag to his chest, cradling it as he pulled his knees up to his chest as well. "You've already taken everything else, you can't have these."

Mikey stooped down to rest on his knees in front of Bob. "What are they? How many did you take?" Mikey asked, praying against all logic that Bob wasn't dying. He hated Bob, yeah, but he didn't actually wish death on him. Well, no, he did, but not death like this. Not--just not this.

"...enough," Bob spurted, head lolling to one side. His left eye shuttered open and closed rapidly before just closing.

Oh, Mikey thought woefully. He's dying.

He stood up, intent to go get the nurse, but Bob reached out with that strength again and curled his hand around Mikey's ankle. "You're not going anywhere, Mikey. I'm not going to let you fuck this up." He pushed himself up with his legs, leaning against the wall the whole way and finally making it to his feet where he clung to Mikey's shoulders. "You know ya wan' me dead anyway..."

"Bob, shut up. You're dying, alright, and I'm going to get the nurse--"

"No! What the hell did I just tell you! You're not going!" Bob pushed Mikey into the sink and growled. He pounced on the skinnier boy and grabbed his shoulders and slammed him into the mirror. Tiny shards fluttered around them, glinting off the lights in the ceiling. Mikey whimpered against the cuts in his back and the wet he could feel staining his shirt, and--yeah, he knew he shouldn't have tried to stop Bob.

*

Frank twisted around in his seat several times after the bell for fifth period had rung. Mikey wasn't in class. Mikey hadn't walked him to class--Frank was fucking worried. Where the fuck was his boyfriend? Because he knew, knew, that Mikey would never blow him off. Every day they had a routine, around this time of the day before the bell for math rang they would meet up at Frank's locker and share the kisses they got in trouble for during class, Frank would cling onto Mikey stupidly and desperately because seeing what you couldn't have for a whole period was hell. Their teacher was pure evil incarnate for getting pissed at them every time they wanted to sit together. She didn't understand. She was probably fucking single.

Frank had waited at his locker diligently, clutching the Advanced Trig book firmly against his chest like it was Mikey, darting his eyes sharply at every splash of black he could spot in the crowd and heart hammering out of his chest with every false alarm. He decided that too many people wore black.

When Ray came up behind him and clapped him on the shoulder, alerting him that he was about to be late if he didn't get his ass to class--Frank had been so worried he didn't make a joke--Frank turned a few more times on the spot incredulously. It wasn't right that Mikey wasn't here. This was where he was supposed to be, didn't he understand that? How was Frank supposed to walk to class now? It jerked his rational thinking on its side and he had leaned up against Ray, exhausted from the five long minutes he had spent standing in place and craning his neck over the crowd.

"This isn't right," he had said to Ray, knowing that he would get it because Ray watched every day--jealous eyes--as Mikey and Frank macked on each other for as long as they had, fitful, fast like lovers caught up in a moment the world was trying to wrench out of their hands. "...the fuck is he?"

Frank raised his hand, stretching his back up until he was within eyesight of even the oldest and blindest of teachers. But Ms. Jameson had perfect fucking eyesight, and she was just avoiding Frank's outstretched hand because one, Mikey wasn't here (and that meant that Frank wanted to skip) and two, she was afraid of how he was going to phrase his question. Lewd, as always, of course. He could never say 'May I please use the restroom,' like she preferred, it was always, 'I have to go take a piss,' followed by a badly hidden snort/giggle from his boyfriend. Those two were completely...ugh, a handful.

Frank shifted around in his seat, his arm tingling in its socket, tiny whimpering sounds coming from deep in his throat. His free hand gripped the edge of his desk until his fingertips were burning yellow and most of his body was falling out of his seat.

He knew she wasn't going to call on him. She hated him. She was a stupid motherfucking homophobic wench, and there was no way someone could be that earnestly oblivious. He slid out of his seat with a huff, stomping over to the door with fucking intent. His seat jarred the wall and left a chip in the paint.

"Mr. Iero, sit back down!"

Turning to his teacher, Frank pulled the best superior face he could amidst the blinding panic he had that something was--no.

"You were ignoring me!" He flung his hands out to the side and yelled, turning back to the door.

"Mr. Iero, sit back down. I'm not as stupid as you may think I am, mister. I know that your boyfriend is probably waiting for you to meet him somewhere so you can skip, and you can just forget about it, okay? I'm tired of dealing with the two of you." She pointed a stick of chalk between Frank and his desk.

Frank couldn't believe it. His mouth hung slack-jawed and everything because she had it all so fucking wrong...

"Okay, first of all," he clenched and un-clenched his fists, working on breathing and talking at the same time because, hello? his world was on its side here and he was terrified and knew he was about to have a fit. "You are an idiot. You don't say one fucking word when Patrick and Vicky are practically dry humping back there! You have a problem with us, don't act like you're treating us fairly. Not for one second do you pretend that you give us the same rights as everyone else, that it doesn't disgust you or annoy you or whatever."

"That's not--"

"Second!" Frank overrode, popping his hip out to one side. He was pulling out all stops now, because if the tingling in the back of his head wasn't Mikey trying to communicate to him telepathically, he was seriously losing it. "I don't know where Mikey is, and that's not good. That means something is wrong. Let me go look for him." And if it meant walking out of this class leaving all of his classmates and teacher staring at him with comically wide, gaping mouths, so be it. No one seemed to be getting the message that MIKEY WAS GONE. Not attached to Frank. The other half of Frank's heart was missing, and fuck, no one got it.

He ran a hand through his hair, gathering it all in a little bunch in the back to get it out of his face and blew his cheeks out in a pout. His heart was thudding so loudly and unmercifully that he could no longer tell the beats apart. There was about three seconds left before he was bolting to the door and doing a thorough search for Mikey.

"Frank, sit down, okay? Mikey probably just went home, there's no need for you to panic. I know you don't usually function without him, but chill out."

Oh, there was no way that some twenty-something, just-graduated-from-community-college probably-single bitch was telling him to chill out. No way. She was the one who didn't have a grip on reality, she was the one who couldn't hear the telepathy inside her head because no one would ever want to telepathize with her. She would just ignore the pricklings, but Frank couldn't.

That's about when he looked out into the class for the first time that day. He obviously didn't have time to survey the class earlier when he was freaking the fuck out about his missing boyfriend, but now that he did do a quick once-over of the class, there was a blond boy missing.

"Oh fuck."

"Language, Mr. Iero."

Frank locked eyes with Ray. Ray, who was probably the only one who would understand what it meant when he mumbled, "Where's Bob?" with the stark look on his face. He might as well have been told that Mikey was being mutilated.

"Oh, fuck," Ray agreed, pushing himself out of his seat as per the mutual unspoken agreement to go save Mikey when they should have known before but they didn't. It seemed to be the way the world was wired. Neither of them could really get it in time to help Mikey.

Frank chastised himself the whole way there, feet pounding on the tiled hallway floor and echoing back to him loud enough to blast his ears with cracks.

*

Time stood still. He really wished it wouldn't, he wished he could hit erase or rewind or throw the fucking thing up against the wall to get this scene off the screen. Because yeah, you hear about these sorts of things in the newspaper or in Lifetime movies that never really made you cry, just feel guilty about your own cancer-free life, but Frank thought that Lifetime could go fuck itself.

He inched forward, closer to the only good in his life, wishing for a washcloth or something because Mikey didn't like to have stuff on his face, and when he woke up he'd feel sticky from the blood and Frank didn't want him to grimace or anything but smile.

He wasn't moving, but Frank knew that he would. Sometimes Mikey slept while sitting up, if he had something to lean on. He said it helped with his sinuses and snoring, but the snoring never really bothered Frank. It was static. And Mikey looked pretty all fucked up.

"Hey, baby, get up," Frank murmured, reaching out to grab Mikey's shoulder. Behind him, he heard a soft sigh in Ray's tone.

"Frank..."

"Mikey, get uppp," Frank whined. Whining usually worked. He leaned forward, balancing on his knees while the tops of his shoes pinched his toes and laid his head on Mikey's shoulder. His thumb brushed up against Mikey's nose, picking off a little bit of the drying blood.

"Frank."

Frank pressed his face into Mikey's neck. "Hey, enough, okay, I'm getting worried."

"Frank!"

"Mi-"

"Frank, they're dead."

*

The paramedics came after Ray went wandering around the school with blood covering his shirt. Apparently that's not part of the dress code and it was disturbing the masses to the point of projectile vomiting. When they arrived, Frank was clinging onto Mikey's jacket and glaring at anyone who got too close. They all did. Didn't they understand that Mikey didn't like it when there was a lot of people? They really needed to back the fuck off before Mikey started to go off on them like he did with Jared.

Two Valiums, a hydro and three well-built paramedics later, Frankie was leaning hunched over with his forehead pressed against the cold metal rail of Mikey's hospital bed. One of his hands was curled around the bar, one was fisted in Mikey's sheets. The beep of the heart monitor was only reaching one ear.

He started to count down the seconds between the beeps.

One. One. One.

...two. One. One. One.

...three.

*

Frank sat solidly in his hospital chair when his mother came and pleaded with him to go home, gripping onto the brown marshmallow armrests like an anchor though no one approached him. Outside the door, the doctor held a hushed conversation that Frank tuned out, turning back to Mikey's lethargic form laying on the bed. Needles attached to tubes attached to cold, pulsating machines littered his arms and Frank had the itch to pull them out. He knew he shouldn't, but. But they were there, and Mikey didn't like needles very much, he told Frank so one day after watching Frank stick a safety pin through his earlobe.

"So--"

The doctor told him talking to comatose patients helped. No, no, it was the nurse who said that, wearily, after trying once again to get Frank out of the room because the hospital had rules and Frank was breaking them.

So Frank talked to Mikey nonstop, as if he were awake and all this was very normal, him being strapped up to a bed. He struggled sometimes to hear himself over the whir of the fans in the computer that was fixed to the heart monitor.

The talking outside the room got louder, melting into beats the wall absorbed and held. A sharp soprano here, as Mikey's mom squeaked, the low staccato try-to-be-brave farce from an unknown voice, the bass of Mikey's dad thrumming in the background as he soothed his wife. Frank didn't know if they knew what he was to Mikey yet. They so far had kept to themselves, not sparing a glance to the boy clutching their son's hand and only addressing him to reiterate what everyone else seemed to be telling him.

"Denial's not healthy," Frank told Mikey in a whisper, pressing his chest into the rail to get to his boyfriend's ear. The ring on Mikey's finger was cutting into Frank's hand in a crescent; angry red and waxing just over his life line. "I saw it on Dr. Phil. And shuddup, I know Dr. Phil is compensating for his tiny dick, alright? Yeah, yeah, big production values, big stories, big gut, I don't need the rundown again, Mikey." The tap on Mikey's shoulder was feather-light, Frank's fingers pressing into the hollow indent more out of need to touch than anything more.

"He, he said that if you bottle things up, you can start to believe them so much that, that all the thoughts just--aren't separated anymore, and you can make yourself believe anything. Like, any little whim that floats into your head can become the reality that you perceive, and you start to imagine people who aren't there. Then they commit you...but I'm sure they won't commit your parents, baby. That's just dumb."

The dark pooled on Mikey's cheeks and under his eyes glared back up at Frank as he looked down, studying the boy's face again. The deep bruises of fatigue and illness ate at Mikey's pretty skin, nipping at the sharp-cut jaw and the valence of eyelashes. The buzzing white lights flooded out what was left of Mikey's tan.

And, as if he thought Mikey could hear his thoughts, "But you're still so fucking pretty. You'll always be my pretty boy, you know that." The pad of his thumb swiped over the blotches, wiping them away and wiping them away but they stayed, got more irritated then blossomed red and yellow.

"I'm always hurting you..." he choked, stuffing his free arm into his mouth and pressing his teeth down until they found purchase.

The world swam in his wave-filled eyes, red lines from the heart monitor jabbing into his eyes and blinking out, forcing him to wince at the only indication he had that his boyfriend wasn't--

His teeth broke through to the blood laying dormant under his skin, layering his canines with red, the bubbly liquid resting on his bow of his curled tongue. Metal, damp wet copper lapped against the sides of his mouth and he choked it down, sputtering into his hand when it started to come back up.

"Hey," and there was the warm weight of a hand on his shoulder, moving down to his back and patting. "You okay?"

He turned in his seat, not recognizing the voice nor the actions because he was pretty sure that Mikey's mom had a death sentence for him at this point anyway, whether they knew about his connection to Mikey or not. A boy stood next to his chair, squatted to his level, deep brown eyes boring into his own. Frank didn't waste the time really taking in the boy's appearence because at first glance he was pretty, and just--no.

Mikey's pretty. Not this boy, whoever the fuck he was.

"You're Frank," he stated, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Bits of his arms were still visible where the sleeves of his jacket pulled too tight and didn't come all the way down to his hands. Frank took the opportunity to not look at him. Instead, he took his free hand and fisted it into the sheets of Mikey's bed.

"I'm Gerard."

"Mikey's brother..." Frank noted, releasing the sheets to ghost his hand over Mikey's forehead, to push hair out of his eyes though none was there, to tuck it behind his ear. They looked nothing alike.

Mikey was prettier.

*

But it was nice to hold a conversation with someone other than himself, Frank let himself think, as he and Gerard were in the middle of a discussion about the only thing they had in common.

"He's had these glasses Forever, geez," Gerard remarked, twirling said glasses on his pointer finger. The glasses stopped in midair as Frankie watched them, then appeared on Gerard's face. He scrunched up his nose and looked down into the lenses. "Give me headaches..."

"No, really?"

Frank hadn't invested much into the conversation, not as much as he normally would have. Not even as much as he had talking to himself. His heart felt like lead and Mikey's heart rate wasn't getting any better, and if Frank kept this up, he was going to have a permanent moon tattooed into his palm. He let Mikey's hand slip so he was just grasping his fingers loosely, bringing each one up to his mouth to kiss in return.

"He's lucky." Gerard had been watching him.

"He's in a coma," Frank cut back, kissing Mikey's knuckles, nipping at the elastic skin affectionately. Mikey's skin tasted like soap now, the orange kind they kept in the adjoining bathroom that smelled a little like childhood and daycares to Frank. The lithe, unresponsive fingers in his possession fit into his so neatly when he finished with the knuckles that Frank could almost believe Mikey was helping out a little.

"I mean he's lucky because you love him so much. He's never had that before." And Gerard didn't say, and now it's all being taken away from him, but it was there, hiding in the scenery, barking laughs in the silence because the world took joy in beating down anyone who's already so close to defeat. The walls had shrunk in at least an inch from the last time Frank surveyed them, he was sure.

He wondered how long the both of them could manage to not mention the thing on both their minds. Wondered, passively, if the elephant in the room could stomp on his brains and take him away, transport him back in time a week, two days, just long enough to know and stop all of this shit. But for that to happen, it would mean that anyone who wished hard enough could turn back time, and then the whole continuum would be fucked royally and Frank would end up getting lost in time and separated from Mikey anyway.

"Did he tell you his whole funeral scheme?" Gerard asked with a tight smile, and really, it took Frank a hell of a lot of patience not to punch him for bringing this up now.

"Smashing Pumpkins shirt," Frank croaked, looking anywhere but the corner where the very shirt had been discarded so the doctor could get Mikey into a hospital gown. "He--wants to wear it." A streak of black sliced through the back of his hand after wiping at his eye. In the back of his mind he added, but it won't come to that--

Because it won't. Frank promised Mikey that he would turn back time to keep him safe, and if that's what it takes--Frank doesn't break promises. Not to Mikey, at least. Never to Mikey.

He choked just a little bit and turned away so he could take several deep gasping breaths, so he could wipe at his eyes before the wetness there condensed into tears. Because he knew that once he started to cry, he wouldn't stop. It would signify the time of grieving, and that would validate that there was something to grieve over. But there wasn't.

Mikey was just in a coma. It was--it was like sleeping, right? He would wake up in a few days well-rested and Frank would never let him out of his sight again.

He choked again. His breaths were coming in short little spurts. He let Mikey get this fucking way, and that guilt was never ever going to go away. Why didn't he have the sense to check the motherfucking BATHROOM? Where else had everything in their lives went down? When, in the entirety of his relationship with Mikey, had things not ended up in the boys' bathroom? It was just--he totally should have known. Mikey wouldn't blow him off right before class, he knew that.

The dead weight of a hand on his shoulder snapped him to attention. But it was only Gerard, leaning over with his hair falling all over his face, asking Frank if he was okay.

That was all anyone could ask anymore. Fuck it, he wasn't the one in the hospital bed, was he? His boyfriend was. Why would anyone ask the boy sitting upright in his chair if he was okay?

The shrill beep of the heart monitor pulsed again, cutting off any smart ass answer Frank might have had. Instead, he settled for a sob and a pathetic little, "Mikey's hurt." He tightened his hand around Mikey's loose fingers and held on as tight as he dared. If Mikey woke up just to find his fingers were broken, Frank would have a hell of a lot more on his conscience.

"And, and it's all my fault because I didn't go into the bathroom, and I knew I should have, but the stupid motherfucking teacher had to be a cunt, and I hope she dies alone--" Frank just shut himself up after 'dies alone'. He couldn't even--no. Not that word, not those words together.

"Frank?" His name came from a timid Gerard, one that has almost worn down his mask of fake-brave and everything-will-be-okay. His eyes darted constantly from Mikey's face to the wall, back to Mikey's thin form under the blanket like he doesn't want to be caught looking at his sick brother. He chewed on his fingers until the nubs were pooling tiny droplets of blood on his lips.

It's all a little too much, now.

"We were gonna spend the rest of our lives together. We were going to get married," Frank spat angrily at the floor. Were. He was already to that stage, where he refers to Mikey in the past tense.

"He's not going to die, Frank. He's my baby brother, he can't go. He can't leave me. He's the only family I have left..." Frank watched Gerard's head dip into his lap and heard the sniffles. "He told me about--about how you proposed, and all. It sounded sweet."

It really wasn't anything, Frank thought, but it was a memory. It was something he could drag up to remind himself of all he had gotten in life.

It was a weekend, one where they were both at Frank's house, helping his mom put groceries up. She had just gotten back from Krogers with a car full of paper bags, and Mikey was the first to offer to help. He saw how much his mom appreciated it. So, on one of the last trips outside, he jumped onto Mikey's back and clicked his heels on his hips.

"Mikey, my dear..." he had begun, pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck. Mikey giggled and leaned forward so Frank wouldn't slide off of his back.

"Frankie, my dinosaur..."

"Dinosaur?"

Mikey stopped at the car, twisting his head around to glance at Frank with a beautiful little grin stretched on his face. His nose was red from the cold and Frank leaned up to kiss at it before Mikey could get a word in.

"You called me a deer," Mikey explained, licking a line on his cheek. "Dinosaur is a compliment. I like dinosaurs."

And Frank did, too. "Ugh. Mikeyway, seriously, marry me." At first, it was a joke, one of his little hyperboles. Until Mikey beamed and said yeah, then--yeah. Frank could live with that. That was just fucking gorgeous.

"Did he tell you about the ring?" Frank asked Gerard, a proud little lift to the corner of his lips despite the setting and the circumstances. He was remembering the look on Ray's face when Mikey had shown him. And the look on Mikey's face when he gave it to him a few days after the accidental proposal, even going so far as to kneel on one knee because Mikey deserved that.

"Only a thousand and twenty-two times, seriously." Gerard gave a choked giggle hidden behind his hand. "So fucking proud of it, really."

Frank watched as Gerard's hand made the journey to his brother's forehead shakily, resting just atop his eyebrows, his thumb skimming his temple. His throat made a clicking sound when he talked. "Thanks for taking care of him. When, when I couldn't..."

Frank swallowed his jealousy when Gerard leaned over to peck Mikey's cheek. It wasn't anything threatening, he knew that, Gerard wasn't trying to piss him off, but. But Mikey was his, no matter that Gerard was flesh and blood and had known him longer. Gerard glanced up at him with an apologetic smile.

"I love him too, y'know."

Frank knew. "Lots of people do."

"Now."

Frank hesitated before nodding slowly and agreeing, "Now."

*

He was dreaming, sitting up in his chair outside Mikey's room. They wouldn't let him stay the night in Mikey's room anymore so he resigned himself to sleep out in the waiting room for a night. It was only his third night staying over at the hospital, he didn't think he had broken any rules. He was part of Mikey's family, after all.

The hazy, blurred outline of Mikey stood in front of him, talking with him about--about something. Anything. Maybe it was about the Smashing Pumpkins, maybe it wasn't the ocean, but it was definitely something.

"...and he drowned," Mikey was saying, reaching out to pet at Frank's face. His smile dropped a little and he crouched down to be on Frank's level. "Hey, hey, don't cry, Frankie. You didn't even cry when we watched the Titanic, and tons of people died in it."

Frank drew in a sharp breath, snapping his eyes open, barking out into the silence, "Who's dying?" But Mikey wasn't there. His faint scent Frank was so sure he could smell was replaced with the sterile over-cleaned and nauseating smell of hospitals.

"Mr. Iero?"

Frank blinked up at a doctor. When did he get there?

"Wha?"

"Do you know where the family of Michael Way is? We can't seem to find them."

They went home, the fuckers. No. Gerard was at work, but he promised to come back early the next day after Frank made pleading eyes at him.

"Home. But--um, what, is something wrong with Mikey?" His throat tightened up, and all the saliva that had built up while he was sleeping settled on his tongue. He started to stand up but the doctor put a firm hand on his chest, pushing him back into the seat.

"We'd really rather speak with his family first."

"He's my boyfriend! We're fucking engaged, I have as much a right to know as they do," Frank yelled, pushing at the hand still on his chest. "And they went home because they're motherfuckers who don't care about their son," he added.

"Okay, calm down."

"Don't fucking tell me to calm down, tell me what the fuck is going on!" The doctor flinched every time Frank said fuck. So he kept using it. "Hurry the fuck up!"

"He--"

"He?" Frank glared. He glared so hard that the doctor must have known that if he said it, he would be fucking killed, so when a nurse went by, the doctor reached out and grabbed her by the arm. He whispered something in her ear, and just as Frank was about to yell at him some more, he fled.

"Fucker!" Frank called out after him, just to watch him flinch again. Then he turned to the nurse, who he felt a little sympathy for. His mom was a nurse here, after all. "What is it? What did he tell you?" he cried, flicking his hand in the direction the doctor had wandered off to. He licked at his lips, his heart feeling more and more like lead by the minute.

"Um--he, he said Mr. Way. Um." She stopped, seeing the tears well up in Frank's eyes, and reached out to put a hand on his head in a motherly way. She ran her thumb over the crown of his head. "He said he died."

"What? What?" Frank breathed desperately, looking up at the nurse.

"He had. A thoracic aortic aneurysm, and--oh, I'm sorry. C'mere, sweetheart." She bundled Frank into her chest and maneuvered the both of them into one of the hard plastic chairs.

Frank went limp. He--he wanted to thrash, his limbs itched with the need to kill Bob. But Bob went and fucked that up too, so Frank couldn't even do that. And he couldn't stop fucking crying. He laid in the nurse's arms and screamed weakly into her collarbone and hated everything. His life was fucking over.

*

Frank Iero laid out in the shade of a tree in the schoolyard, passively ignoring the odd looks he got. It was the first day of his senior year.

A group of girls passed by him, one bursting into giggles when she thought they were far enough away.

God, it was like they've never seen a goth boy before.

Frank sighed, squinting up into the blindingly blue sky and following a splotchy cloud until it disappeared behind the leaves of the tree. His legs were getting sweaty; Mikey was so right about wearing Tripp pants in the summer. It wasn't worth it, mostly. And his makeup felt like he threw a blanket over his face.

"Mikey," he sighed up at the sky. "How the fuck did you do it?" He shook his head and snapped the rubber band on his wrist. He was talking to Mikey again...

It's not like he was crazy. He wasn't. He knew that Mikey wasn't there anymore. But when his mom had heard him carrying on conversations regularly with 'Mikey', she got understandably worried and started sending him to a shrink, who only told him to put on a rubber band and snap it when he started. He called it a habit, like smoking, or something.

Frank got pretty offended. The boy he was in love with is not a habit.

"Hey," a soft voice called to him from somewhere in the left vicinity.

"Hmmm?" His stomach burned as he lifted the upper half of his body off the ground to look over at the girl who was addressing him. The sun hit his eyes and he was blinded so he let his body hit the ground.

"Hi, Frank. Are you okay?"

"Sure. I lay down in the grass all the time," Frank answered honestly. It was his favorite thing to do nowadays since 'making out with Mikey' was out of the question. He patted the ground next to him and waited for the girl to get comfortable.

"I meant--you didn't come back last year, and..."

"My mom made me. She said I couldn't stay locked up in my room anymore."

She scooted over until their elbows were touching. Frank could feel the warm energy radiating from her and he wanted some of it. He wanted to start feeling alive again.

"...I miss him. He sat behind me in third period last year and sometimes he would talk with me about bands." He could hear the smile in her voice. "He really liked Anthrax, and I just thought they were horrible." She sniffed.

Frank tilted his head to her. She had brown hair and brown eyes and freckles. He thought they were kind of nice. "Yeah. He'd argue with me about that all the time. He made fun of me for liking The Beastie Boys."

"Can't say I blame him," was followed with a timid giggle, like she was afraid to make fun of him. He just smiled and snorted.

"You suck. Hey, what's your name?"

She smiled at him, showing teeth and everything. The complete opposite of a Mikey-smile.

"The name's Jamia."