Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance

Without You I'm Nothing

by unitedsuck007 28 reviews

The final scene of First of the Gang to Die.

Category: My Chemical Romance - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Drama - Characters: Frank Iero,Gerard Way - Warnings: [V] - Published: 2012-02-03 - Updated: 2012-06-24 - 5692 words

This is something I felt I had to write in order after First of the Gang; it's Frank and Gerard's death scene.

You can read this as either a one - shot (having not read FOTGTD; but it is better to actually read the story. I know, I know, eighty four chapters, but hey, you can power through it pretty quickly.) or as the ending to a story I put a LOT of effort into. I have gone over this chapter over and over again to make sure it's perfect; perfect in my fucked up mind, anyway. I made sure there's emotion here, just the tiniest amount of humor, references, romance etc... I tried real hard and hope you guys like it.


This is set in the early twentieth century, more specifically this chapter in 1940. Basically, Gerard Way is the Don of the Italian-American Mafia and is married to Frank. They have been married for six years, and first met when Gerard saved Frankie from his abusive fiance and then pretty much they got married. They lived in Los Angeles for little over a year in 1933 to 1934 but because of Gerard being all PMS-y about wanting to live in Italy and Frankie getting attacked repeatedly by enemies of the Don, they moved to Rome in 1935. They live with Luciana, Gerard's niece, but that's not very important since she's not really featured here... of my biggest traits I tried to nail while writing First of the Gang was the topic of real, authentic-feeling love. Not either end of the fan fiction spectrum; from shitty smut ('Oh Gee/ oh Frankie, ur so hot omgz, letz fuck!!!!!1111one') to unbearable fluff that makes you want to shave your own eyes, I just wanted to get in a nice comfy middle. Maybe I didn't; that's up to ye to decide. In this, Frank is on his deathbed, dying from tuberculosis. I had planned to kill Frank by sickness and have Gerard just keep being Don but be hopelessly depressed. This is my idea of moving; I named this after a Placebo song because I personally felt, like Romeo and Juliet, neither could live while the other was dead.

In this, Frank is twenty nine and Gerard is thirty five. Gerard is known by the term 'Don de la Via'; Don is the formal term for a leader in the Mafia and 'Via' is just the Italian for 'Way'. Frank is known by Mister de la Via, just because he's married to Gerard.

And to those of you who have read First of the Gang...I hope you like it :) I worked hard on it and shit, so yeah. It's a little different in that I feature the song lyrics here. I'm not normally into song fics but I love love love Placebo with an undying passion.

Anyway; happy mafia-ing.

(Just, real quickly, not trying to be a douche, but looking back over this, there are a lot of references you really won't understand unless you have read FOTG. *shrugs* But it ain't my problem, if you just wanna read this off the bat then go right ahead, lads.)

Peace & love & My Chem mafia fiction,

xo lorna

Please listen to the title song (Without You I'm Nothing by Placebo, from the album of the same name) while reading this, it's how the chapter was intended. I don't really mind if you don't listen to that song, but ya know, maybe you could stay within the mood. Don't, for example, listen, I dunno, Only Girl In The World while reading. Might ruin the mood.

Also, major thanks to my friends Katherine (also known as Pizza; best nickname in the history of the entire world) Aislinn (my fellow Radiohead fan girl;we spend our time writing fan fiction and headbanging to Just) and Gearoid (c'mon, guys, had to involve my Scilian boyfriend in writing my Mafia fan fiction because obviously he's in it and everything oh shit he just saw what I wrote and now he's not talking to me fuck fuck fuck I pissed off the Mafia guy oooh ZING)

Sorry sorry. Gearoid, love you, and I love my beautiful FicWad leaids too.

Disclaimer: I promise I haven't kidnapped Gerard Way and Frank Iero, transported them back in time to the nineteen thirties amd made Gerard be a big-ass Don guy and Frank his wittle bunny wabbit. This is pure fiction (pure EPIC fiction-now now Lornaigh don't be a pretentious little prick) and it never happened. Or, if it did, SHUT UP because that shit is confidential. And it's just between you and me. I don't own MCR or anything affliated with them; however I do own the right to having Gerard Don de la Via and everything relateing and/or in correlation to this work. If you copy my story I will personally hunt you down and beat you with a cricket bat. I got that shit and I ain't afraid to use it. Seriously. I am very proud of my Don de la Via-ness....ness.

Jesus Christ Lornaigh *rubs temples*...


Without You I'm Nothing

Gerard Way paused and ran his fingers through his hair as he waited for the kettle to boil. He hadn't slept in four days straight and was currently fighting a battle with his heavy eyelids.

With a weary sigh and a brush of his brow he took the mug in his hands, poured coffee granuels inside and gazed into the cup as he heard the faint click and the release of steam. He watched with a strained eye as brown grains sloshed around and settled in the bottom of the mug like stones at the end of a likely mudslide. The green iris slowly revolved and revolved until he was yanked back into reality as he heard a weak, broken cough from upstairs. Recognizing his husband suffering, he told himself to hurry the hell up and tend to Frank soon. With veined, muscular hands, he poured boiling water into the coffee mug.

Strange infatuation seems to grace the evening tide

I'll take it by your side

The boss covered his yawn as he set down the corridor, steaming mug in hand. It was sometime after ten in the evening, he guessed, and he had been sitting by Frank's side for roughly ninety six hours now. Soprano, the medic who was in charge of Frank now, had informed Gerard of the news just over a week ago; there was nothing more he could do. The Don had broke down and sobbed. He had screeched his husband's name at the top of his lungs, had tried to refute the doctor's prognosis, had clutched Frank close to him and prayed every night since for a goddamn miracle.

Nothing had changed.

Gerard got some strange, overwhelming sense whenever he thought about his baby passing on, no longer being in the same world as the gangster, being...dead. Gerard had known so many people before him who had died, and had bore witness to many of them. He had gotten used to see people die; to see their eyes roll into the back of their head, to hear their last rasp of a breath, to bask in the glory of ending someone's life.

Despite how strange it sounded, he had never really imagined Frank would die. Even after being the victim of vicious, progressive tuberculosis bacillus for nearly six years, Gerard had very naively assumed his bunny rabbit would pull through. Way was the one of the richest men in Italy at the time; he could certainly afford all the medication for his husband. He had ordered for the best private healthcare. He made sure Frank was injected with life - saving mediciene four times daily. Well, he had been told it was life - saving. Due to his husband's present condition, it obviously was not.

He had been the best person to Frank he could have been. Iero's health had started seriously deteriorating in the early summer and he had been forced to give up his job of lecturing at the local university. Way's heart had broken the day he had picked Frank up in his Lamborghini, the lecturer holding all his possessions in a box, sniffling and crying. He had been completely silent the entire drive to Parioli, the suburban area in Rome in which they lived, just rubbing at his eyes, blood trickling inconspiciously down his lip. Gerard couldn't look the distraught boy in the eye; he could only caress Frank's cheek lightly and coo sweet nothings. The rabbit, once they had gotten home, catapulted himself into the Don's arms and sobbed hopelessly.

Gerard hated tuberculosis with such a vengence. It was the one thing that hurt Frank he couldn't kill. Not with gun or knife, with bare hand or devise; he'd sit up in the room with his husband and listen to the weak inhaling and exhaling that barely passed as breathing. Iero was bright white now. Not just pale but colourless, listless. He didn't blush anymore-Gerard could tell he sometimes bit his lip, smiling, wriggling uncomfortably, but the glorious pink little glow that made his stomach twist with adoration no longer existed. The doctor said the average human being has eight pints of blood in their body; Frank had four and a half. On a good day (meaning days when he would scarcely move from the bed) it might rise to five. The rest of his bodily fluids leaked wherever they could; from his mouth, his lungs, in small cuts. Frank would wake up with horrible bruises caused by blood clotting beneath the skin.

As a last resort, the doctor had insisted Frank start eating meat again. Gerard had been promised it would do wonders for the boy, but at this point, the Don was sceptical. What good would shoving a steak down his husband's throat do? Especially when said husband happened to love animals more than life itself. He had walked into Frank's room and asked it he would give up his vegetarinism for his life, a pledge he had made at twelve years of age. The sickened one had looked deep into Gerard's odd eyes and thought deeply. He sucked his lip and let his hands fall into his lap, his usual remedy. Then, quietly and silently, he had shaken his head. Way accepted his decision without question or qualm.

It had been precisely three months since the doctor had delivered the news to the Don and the boy. They had been sitting peacefully in their bedroom, the criminal talking to Frank about something trivial-Gerard thinks back and remembered it was to do with perhaps planting some sunflowers in the garden?- and then the man in white had stepped in with that face every person with grave news wears. The I Don't Know How To Tell You This look. Closely followed by the I Cannot Express My Sympathies one. Before he even said anything, both men saw the prognosis right on his face. He barely had to speak; Gerard had rasped at him, clawed at him, demanded a look over. Frank had just bowed his head, accepted his fate, and continued.

Frank was given precisely six months to live. The last four would be hard, the doctor had said quietly to the gangster and the twenty nine year old; the last two would be incredibly painful. Torturous. Most people, he even said gravely, 'did away with it' before the official end. Gerard's heart had split when the boy asked him what that meant; the mobster didn't have the heart to tell him it was the bitter end, the ultimate crime, the biggest Sin, the final breath. Suicide.

Six months had shortened to five. That in turn had been slashed down to four. Now, three months after that fateful June afternoon, Frank was dying. The boy knew he was. He couldn't eat. He hadn't slept in the last week. He was having hallucinations, and would mumble incoherant cantings throughout the day. He was in a constant sweat, and blood constantly trickled from him. At first his sheets had been changed quite often; two or three times a day. Yesterday he had been hooked up to a machine that let his blood drip into a pan beneath the bed. In addition to sweat and blood, tears would also stream his cheeks. The pain was excrutiating.

Gerard was taking it the worst. No one in the house joked anymore. Laughter had not rang in the Way manor in several weeks. No one had seen the Don smile in what seemed like years. de la Via was paler, like his other half, as he had not stepped out in the warm Italian heat that normally splashed his skin with colour in a strenuous amount of time. He had lost weight and purple half moons circled his eyes. He felt as if someone was punching him in the stomach every time he looked at his baby, every time his skin brushed against Frank's. He'd tear up whenever he talked to his husband; he couldn't help it. He couldn't imagine his darling leaving.

Frank, on the other hand, in his typical friendly fashion, apart from his ill aesthetics and barely-there blood supplies, seemed to be perfectly okay with his depleting condition. He could no longer walk (or really move) so he simply sat in bed all day, talking to his husband. That was what he wanted; he got cranky and defensive when nurses and doctors would invade his little living area. Iero wanted the curtains open and asked Gerard to pick flowers for him. There was never a change in variety; red roses. Frank wanted red roses ever morning, and would inhale deeply into the vase when his husband would present them to him.

Such imagination seems to help the feeling slide

I'll take it by your side

Gerard thought of the room Frank had taken to residing in. The boy constantly apologized for the stale, coppery scent of blood that lingered in the area but the Don of the Famiglia remained impartial. He wouldn't care if a fucking bomb went off when he was in the viscinity; he wanted to be with Frank. No, not wanted; needed. He needed it so deperately. He couldn't imagine not being by Frank's side, clasping the weaker hand, whispering into his ear into the dying moments. He wanted to be the only one in the room when it happened-no one else could see Frank...pass on. This was something just for him. Just for the Don. The criminal realized he sounded selfish, juvenile, childish; but he couldn't help it. He loved the twenty nine year old so goddamn much.

Gerard ascended the stairs slowly, mug in his mangled hand. He watched the liquid slosh fluidly in it's container and thought about the lips that would press themselves to the rim. Just a matter of weeks ago they had been soft, plush and ample; now they were chapped and bloody, cracked and cut. Frank was seriously dehydrated and so did not have the energy or the neccesary fluids to refurbish his lips with liquid. His eyes were bloodshot and strained. His skin was rashed, rubbed raw from lying in bed all day, every day. Way craved one more day with the medic. One more goddamn day.

He was on the landing now. In a white shirt and black trousers, his Family ring glittering on his right ring finger. Gerard, for the last few weeks, had totally neglected the Mafia. He had no interest in killing enemies, organizing raids, adding to his precious gun collection. He had no recollection as to where he had last stormed; he no longer registered whether he was called Don de la Via or the motherfucking Easter Bunny. He winced at that; his own bunny rabbit was cooped up inside a boxed in room that smelled of blood and bandages. Gerard ran his fingers through his hair again, a little gesture the boss often did when he was nervous. He had been doing that quite often recently.

He skimmed quickly to the oak door. Through the wood he could hear laboured gasps of breath and a faint source of rustling. Another knife settled firmly into his heart chambers. Tears pierced his eyes. He blinked them away fiercely; trying to remind himself of the fateful mantra his father had installed in him at fifteen years of age; la Cosa Nostra does not tolerate weakness. Then he shook the thought away angrily, nearly snarling. He was allowed to be fucking upset, for God's sake. He wasn't emotionally challenged like the Don of the Family before him. His love was dying. He had every right to be upset.

He placed his fist on the doorknob and turned it slowly, relishing the click. Frank was bundled up, tucked under black silk sheets, a speckling of blood by the boy's arm. The twenty nine year old himself was deathly pale, blanched and cadaverous. He was as thin as a twig and just as brittle; he could barely move from the debillitation the tuberculosis was delivering him. His eyes, swollen from his vigorous rubbing, seemed large and bloated in his skull. They were wet and ocher as ever; they flickered open when the door opened and brightened considerably when the criminal stepped through.

"Gee," he bleated, stretching out his short arms, grasping weakly for the Don. Gerard smiled wanely for his husband and approached the bed, mug in his hand. Frank's fingers wriggled and the gangster knitted their fingers together. The diseased one mewled happily and relaxed back into the pillows, eyes sliding shut again. "I'm glad you're b-back, Gee." Frank's chest was stuffed up and he couldn't breathe properly; therefore some words would come from his mouth as choked stutterings. "I was w-wondering where you w-ere." He tried to laugh but the sound was hollow and empty, and he ended up coughing blood again. Way winced. "T-thought you'd l-left me."

Instant correlation sucks and breeds a pack of lies

I'll take it by your side

"Of course not, bunny," Gerard said quietly, trying to lighten his voice, but failing in the task. Tears were fogging up his vision. He quirked his brown in an attempt to rid of them but to no avail. "Just for coffee, y'know, routine ten minute intervals." Iero didn't laugh, he was too weak for that. He smiled, tilting his head back, wheezing. The IV in his arm stuck out awkwardly as he twisted. Way had not seen his beloved needle-less in several weeks. His fear had been forced to decrease in its severity. "Are you feeling okay, darling?" He cussed and slapped a hand to his forehead. "Fuck, fuck-I'm sorry, babe-that was a fucking stupid question. I disrepected your illness. Goddamit, Gerard, what the fucking fuck-"

"Gee," he breathed now. The gangster shut up the moment the affectionate nickname was released to the air. His rabbit was licked in sweat, and thick beads of red liquid were making their way down his neck and throat, even seeping down his throax. "It's fine. Don't get all Mafia-ish on me, the respecty thingy." Gerard couldn't help but smile. Tears slicked his cheeks, sliding down his amber tone. "Anyway, TB deserves all the disrespect. It's stupid. Stupid, stupid lungs. Why can't you freaking work properly? Stupid slacker lungs." He was taking the piss; he was smiling faintly, wanely as he joked. "Can't manage to do the o-one thing they're m-meant to do."

Gerard chuckled despite his depression and brushed the boy's fringe from his forehead.

"You're adorable when you have your daily rant against tuberculosis." The click of the Don's jewellery clacked against the boy's blood monitor. "It really is so cute."

"I didn't think I could look c-cute when I'm dying," the other said quietly, not meeting Gerard's look. The Don tried to clear his throat and found it filled with a substantial lump. "Kinda im-impressive-" he inhaled suddenly and racked, blood shooting from his mouth and spraying his hand. Gerard took the limb in his own and dabbed daintily with a handkerchief. "Ugh. Gross." He brushed his fingers to Gerard's warm cheek; the gangster clutched the colder hand. No veins were visible against the ivory skin. Frank sighed happily and regarded the diamond ring gleaming on his finger. "Doctor Soprano says I s-shouldn't wear my r-ring b-because I'll c-cough u-u-u-"

"Baby, shhh," the boss chided ever so gently, placing his finger over the boy's trembling lips. He lifted it away and found scarlet trickling down, creating a stream down his wrist and disappaearing into his sleeve. Frank attempted to speak again, opening his mouth, but all that came out was a small squeaking noise like a rabbit caught in a trap. Gerard's eyes filled with tears again. He put a hand to his mouth, then attempting to finish Frank's sentence for him. "Because you'd...get blood on it, sweetheart?"

Iero nodded. He breathed in brokenly and shuddered. Then he smiled. It was heart breakening, arm wrenchingly beautiful. The fact that his teeth were slicked with blood somehow made him more angelic in Gerard's eyes.

"But I wear it anyway," he rasped, and for a minute he looked just as he had when he and Gerard had met six years ago. "Because I'm badass."

Way nodded, hand entwined in Frank's. The boy was utterly still for a moment, gazing out the window. A sheer red bubble of blood grew by his lip and popped suddenly. Frank jolted in shock and placed his hand to his mouth, coming away with more blood.

"You'd think I'd be as dry as a bone by now," he said, almost wistfully, eyes large again. "I didn't think I'd have any blood left. Look like a...comic book strip or something. So thin if I turn to the side you wouldn't be able to see me."

"But still so beautiful," the criminal said straight away, nearly tripping over his words. "Still so unspeakably stunning."

If Frank had a suficient blood supply he would have blushed. Instead he raised Gerard's knuckles and rolled the bones to his lips, a sign of respect payed to the Don by members of the Cosa. He went on kissing Gerard's hand, licking each finger and even sucking at the joint in his wrist. He let the arm back to the original owner and bowed his head in a submissive, honouring manner. Tufts of his chocolate hair had been ripped out where he had pulled out chunks in agony.

Over saturation curls the skin and tans the hide

I'll take it by your side

"Don de la Via," he whispered. He reached for Gerard's palm and his pale, trembling finger trailed lines along the calloused skin. His bloodshot eyes raised to see the other man. Tears were streaming his cheeks silently. "Don't cry, Gee. Everything's okay. We'll be in Heaven soon." He leaned forward carefully and rested lightly against his husband's shoulder. Gerard brushed his lips to the rabbit's ear. "We'll finally be together, Gerard. No Romano's, no random gangsters in our house...just me and you." He snuggled further into the criminal's skin. "All the other dead guys up there can just play in the corner." A little pause. The boy nibbled at his lip and rested against Gerard's shoulder.

Gerard paused and buried his face into Frank's hair. He was finding it extremly difficult not to break down and sob.

"I...that's not the part I'm afraid of. It's the...I hate seeing my rabbit in so much pain," he mumbled, sniffing, feeling weak and stupid but also not really giving a flying fuck. "I can't-you're so young, baby, and you get so hurt, and I can't fucking stand to see this shit hurting you-"

"Gee," Frank said softly, now being gently rocked by the mobster, who was getting rather red-eyed and emotional, his lower lip quivering. Iero thought he looked remarkably adorable. "I've been married to a Mafia boss for six years now, and I've seen my Gee-bear get so hurt in the past. Handicapped, beaten up, shot about a trillion times, stabbed, electrocuted, half blinded-"

"Quarter blinded."

"Quarter blinded, right-but this is different, Gee." His eyes were sincere in their expance; like plates. "I've seen you go through the worst of the worst, Gerard, I've seen you with more holes in you than a freaking collinder, when I saw your insides and had to sew you up and make you better, when you've nearly died and yet...yet you've still been able to be the best husband to have ever existed." Way rubbed his eyes again. "Seriously. You're so good to me, Gee, you always have been," he breathed sickly. Gerard's shoulders were dipping and rising steadily now as he cried. The boy's fingers rested against his wet cheeks. "From million dollar rings to eating Oreo's with me to never doing anything I wouldn't like. I couldn't ask for someone better than you. You're the best, Gerard." His hand slipped up the boss's chest, along his shirt. "You're my life."

Every time you vent your spleen

I seem to lose the power of speech

"And you'd do anything for me, Gee," he continued, in that weak little lisp. The boss nodded vigorously, even bowing his head so his black hair could be streamed through by little fingers. "I know you would. You've proved that to me since we got together, Gerard. I met you at my worst," he whispered, eyes steady and determined. "And I'm gonna die with you at my best." He looked him dead in the eye. "Which is why you're gonna get the bottle of cyanide you use for killing informers to help me die."

Gerard's mouth dropped. His mind clocked into overdrive. He could only stammer.

"Baby-I could never-I would never dream of-I will not-"

"I want it, Gerard." He smiled authenticly, truely ture for the first time in months. "I want you to wear your red and black tux and gimme the cyanide and then I won't be in pain anymore. It'll be perfect and you and me can be together forever, Gee. No more pain. No more shitty tuberculosis or rape or anything like that." His eyes glazed over with tears for the first time. "Please, Gerard. Do it for me. For your bunny rabbit. Please." He closed his eyes. "Just so the pain will go faster."

You're slipping slowly from my reach

You grow me like an evergreen

You never see the lonely me at all

Gerard considered.

"Of course." His mouth opened and words spilled out of their own accord, pouring like wine. "Of course, my love."

Way got up from the bed, legs shaking and wobbling like gelatin. He felt clearer now; like a weight was being lifted from his shoulders. It seemed so simple and straight forward now; he would be with Frank perfectly in a matter of minutes. They would be together forever, properly, like they should have been. Eternity was the hand being dealt to them.

Gerard walked to the wardrobe, slipping his black jacket over his broad shoulders. He grabbed the red silk tie and knotted it neatly around his neck. Ran his fingers through his hair as he hummed to himself. He made sure he looked as foreboding and 'Mafia-ish' as Frank had intended him to. He smiled as he realised why.

"It's because you met me in the black and red, isn't it?" Gerard asked huskily. "It's why you want it."

"That," the boy said," and because it shows you're Don." He broke into a smile. "I'm so proud of being married to you, Gerard. So proud of my Don de la Via."

Tears sprang to the vibrant green eye again as Gerard smoothed down his shirt and trousers, making sure he was as impeccable as possible. He even plucked a rose from the nearby vase and fastened said flower to his lapel.

"I'll be back in a minute, Frankie," he called softly, forming each word like a puff of smoke. "Soon, my darling."

Gerard Way progressed down the corridor of his and his husband's elite Roman mansion. His dress shoes clicked the wooden floor as he walked, determined and strong. He knew what he was doing. There were no doubts in his mind. He had nothing to fear. He had planned this down to every last detail and informed every member involved in the plan of their participation and relevance. Which is why, upon exiting his bedroom, his niece was not surprised.

"It's time?" She pondered ever so quietly, and he nodded stiffly. She mumured something and bit her lip. She had been informed of her uncle's suicidal intentions previously and so was not confuddled to the point of the idea. "Do you want me to do anything for you?"

"My holster," he whispered, hands clasping in front of him. "My holster please, Luciana. The vials are in there and I shall waste no time in the act, my love. Please fetch them for me."

Luciana de la Via, sniffling and wiping at her eyes, tripped down to the kitchen. She returned shortly afterward, carrying the bukly belt full of weapons, Her uncle accepted it from her and kissed her on both cheeks, murmuring his thanks. She was crying now, but not in vain; she knew, like that of the Shakespearian play she had been made read ages ago, that her uncle could not live without his husband. This had been pre-empted. She knew there was no turning back. She simply handed him the belt and wrapped her arms around him, pressing her cheek to his chest, squeezing him tightly. It was a moment of great emotional intensity between the Italian-Americans.

"Te amo, Luciana," he told her, kissing her hair and cuddling her close. She gasped with emotional agony, clinging to him. He closed his eyes as tears escaped them. "I adore you, my darling. Don't forget to remember me, baby. When you're all grown up and a lady and become Donna of our Family don't forget who gave you this," he said, pressing something cold into her hand and curling her fist around it. She hugged him as tight as she possibly could, squealing with tears. He tipped her chin up. "And remember not to take anyone's shit, princess. You're better than that." He smiled warmly and kissed her cheek like a true gentleman. "Goodbye, inomorato."

Luciana choked up as her uncle walked away, holster in hand. She looked at what he had given her.

The Don's ring.


Frank nodded. He felt calm now. Like this was drifting away, like going to sleep. He looked at the beige, thick pill in Gerard's hand and felt no fear, no anxiety. All he wanted was to die in the arms of the gangster. He reached out and slid his hand down Gerard's chest as they stood in the room; the first time Frank was on his feet in weeks. He was dressed in all black, silk attire. Gerard was, as he promised, in his tuxedo.

"I'm ready," he breathed. He rested against the Don's shoulder as blood streamed down his chin. Iero did not care to remove the fluid from his lips. They looked like the ultimate demolition lovers, destined to die together. The lights were dimmed and seemed oddly romantic. Frank pressed his mouth to Gerard's neck and let his blood brush against the gloriously honey skin beneath him. "Be gentle, Gerard. Please."

"Of course, my love." Gerard also felt subdued, sleepy even; maybe slightly relieved. "Sit down for me, sweetheart." Tears presented themselves. He wanted to be wtih Frank so badly. The boy perched lightly on the edge of the bed, short legs dangling over the edge. He had redone his make up, and his flawless ivory skin looked perfect in the eerie moonlight. They had waited until midnight to do for it. Superstition and all that. Gerard kneeled betwixt his knees, head bowed as he pulled a sharp dagger from the belt.

"Frankie Iero, you make my life worth living," Gerard murmured as he held the pill to the light. "And now you make my death worth dying."

"Te amo, Gerardo," the boy whispered, closing his eyes as their foreheads tipped together. Way pulled himself together.

"Te amo cazzo tanto, il mio Franco," he replied. He then slipped the pill between Frank's teeth. He pulled the boy to him and crashed their lips together in the last kiss the former Don would share with his husband. He felt the poison drizzle into his mouth, just the bare last drops, as he became fully aware his lover's body became limp and lighter. Frank slumped against him, the rabbit breathing one last rasp, his lungs giving up once and for all, his brain sinking slowly into darkness. Frank was dead. Gerard held the body of his husband in his arms, tears slunking his cheeks. He pressed his ear to Frank's chest; nothing. His heart beat was gone. His breathing was also gone. Frank was gone. Everything gone.

"Frankie," Gerard squeaked, feeling so lost without the other one. "Frankie, baby, I love you. I'm coming to you, Frankie." He sniffed as his eye kohl streamed his cheeks. He traced the other's lips to find any leftover cyanide. None remained. "I'm so close to you, inomorato. I love you," he repeated to the empty room. "Oh God, I love you so much."

Gerard streamed his fingers through Frank's hair one last time before picking up the knife. He pulled Frank close to him, the boy's cold hands falling into his lap. Gerard Way slit his throat three times without hesitation.

Without you I'm nothing

Once; he nicked the neck evenly, and his collarbone cracked

Without you I'm nothing

Twice; he dug in deeper, slashing his windpipe and grinding into the back of his spine

Without you I'm nothing

Three times; he could barely choke his final words;

"Without you, I'm nothing at all."
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