Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Bodysnatcher
Okay so this AN is kind of important so I'm hoping it wont just be ignored. I can tell a lot of you guys are still reading because you're rating up these chapters to green but I'm only getting like two reviews per chapter (thank you guys by the way)and I just want to say that I'm not updating chapters until they have three reviews, rating is very nice and all but I actually enjoy seeing what you guys think and who is actually reading still, you know?
Despite it being in the minus degrees outside, by the time Frank gets back to the house, He’s sweating. His fever is back, pounding through his blood and sticking to his skin along with his sweat thick clothes. He feels terrible, dizzy and nauseous and he’s so tired.
He used to get sick a lot as a kid too, but it was never like this. Sure, belts of pneumonia often left him aching and boiling and on the brink of insanity and some of the worst colds did a number on his breathing techniques but it was never like this. He always got better when he was a kid, now he’s lucky if he gets a days rest.
He curses god habitually as he enters the house and peels off his jumper. He’s pretty sure he’s going to throw up. He hasn’t eaten much today but the few mouthfuls of pancake he had with Ray and Bob earlier are starting to gnaw and rattle in his stomach threateningly, and swallowing is getting harder. His tongue feels too big for his mouth, lolling uselessly around his teeth and gums like a detached piece of flesh. Now he really is going to throw up.
He makes it to the bathroom before the lurch in his stomach hits his throat but he’s not quite at the toilet when the first of his sick escapes. He coughs and gags for a little while then before retching one more time, sending another wave of wasted nutrition into the toilet. Nice he thinks and tries to wipe his mouth.
His arms are useless; not even really holding him up anymore, he slumps against the toilet bowl and rests his head on the ceramic. He can smell his own puke, it’s almost enough to set him off again. It hasn’t been this bad in a while but, whatever this thing is, it’s back now with some kind of vengeance.
Frank spits lazily into the bowl and watches in horror as a string of red hangs in spitty beads from his lips. His blood drips into the water. Frank stares; nearly all of what he chucked up was blood, it swirls malevolently in the water as Frank chokes on a hysterical laugh. He’s puking blood, legitimately puking up blood.
But then he’s not laughing because he’s holding back a scream as another headache rips through his skull. He curses and bights on his lip, drawing more blood and the fever catches through his mind. It’s similar to the one he had yesterday, only stronger, too strong. He falls to the floor and tries to focus on breathing, it calms him but doesn’t stop the pain.
Maybe I’m dying, he thinks, when the pain stars to ricochet down from his head and into his spine and his fingers and fuck is mouth. He spits out more blood and then collapses into it. His breathing is ragged and thick but at least he is breathing, for now. He collapses, his face pressed against the cool tiles, it’s a small relief but still not enough to cool the fires.
And this is it, he thinks, this is where I leave you. He’s strangely okay with it, he never made much of his life anyway, he’s not dying a virgin and the chances are Gerard will find him; covered in his own blood and finally, finally cold.
He lets himself drift into the black. There are no white lights of flash backs or Marley ghosts but one, solitary feeling. He isn’t alone anymore.
-
The first thing Gerard notices, when he finally gets back to the house, is that it’s hot. The central heating is piping through every room in the small house, making the air muggy and warm. It could just be the contrast to the October chill outside but Gerard swears it isn’t. The air inside the house is different; it’s a little too sweet, sickly.
The whole house feels wrong.
“Frankie?” He calls, loosening his collar, his cheeks already pink and flushed.
Only a few moments later and Frank’s thumping down the stairs with a shit-eating grin on his face. He’s changed since Gerard last saw him that morning and he’s even combed his hair. Gerard thinks he might have shaved his chin and neck, too. He looks clean for a change, he looks really good. The silent prayer in Gerard’s head is the same as ever, rehearsed and begging.
“Yes?” Frank asks, his voice not as throaty and spiteful as usual. He even makes eye contact.
“I’m home” Gerard says and touches his rosary, “Why’s it so hot in here?”
Frank is leaning against the hall mirror, casual and a little lazy. “I was cold.” he says simply.
Gerard frowns and moves attentively towards Frank. He presses a hand against his head and winces; a sudden rush of adrenalin and burning pain shooting down through his fingers. Warily he pulls away his hands and blinks; confused. He stares at Frank and the rest of the room and gasps.
“What’s the verdict, doc?” Frank asks.
“You have a temperature.” Gerard says, his voice far off. He’s suddenly very thankful for the cold, metal of his rosary lying on his chest.
The smile Frank gives him is strange, unexpected, his eyes twinkling as he crowds Gerard’s personal bubble. “Really?” he asks.
Gerard manages to nod, praying harder now. Frank is too close; up in his space like no one’s business and breathing heavily. His eyelids drop to a slant and his mouth opens slightly, he looks obscene. Obscene and pretty and practically pressed up against Gerard. He can feel all that heat radiating off of him, swarming into the air in rays like the sun. Gerard chokes on his own heart, his mantra failing him.
“You’re sick.” He says, his voice catching and small.
Frank presses his lips back together in a small smile at the revelation and wraps one hand around Gerard’s shoulder. “Is that so?” His smile is sly, his hand running lengths up and down Gerard’s arm, up onto his chest. “Actually, I feel fine.” he says.
And of course he’s fine, he’s Frank and he’s fine and Gerard’s just being a worrywart. He should kiss Frank now. “Y-yeah.” he stutters.
“You have nothing to worry about, Gee.” Frank promises, his hand straying further down Gerard’s chest.
Gerard’s not even sure why he was so worried.
Frank’s fingers follow the chain down Gerard’s front until he reaches the crucifix. His eyes go wide and he hisses; cursing in something Gerard doesn’t understand.
Gerard pulls away with speed and gasps as Frank tries to grab his arm. His hand looks hurt and he swears again in Latin? What the hell? as he misses Gerard’s arm. Gerard backs up more, away from Frank and out of the door. The cold of the outside is bitter but Gerard’s glad for it as he races to his car. Frank doesn’t follow him, but he doesn’t have to, he’s already taken Gerard’s home.
He drives, mostly blind, to Our Lady and clambers out of his small car, an hour later, ungraceful and stupid with grief.
Father Howl is an old man, a picture book priest right down to the crackly white beard and twinkling blue eyes. Gerard has never spoken to him before, or at least not about such a delicate matter, but he’s the man on duty and they’re all family in the house of God. Besides, Gerard doesn’t have much time to waste.
Bit by bit he gets the story out. He confesses to God every night but somehow, when there’s actual flesh and blood linking him to his lord, the story feels wrong and unforgivable. He is supposed to be helping others out of treacherous paths, not following the trails himself.
“I don’t know what to do.” He confesses, once his story’s straight out and in the open.
Father Howl thinks for a second, studying Gerard’s face with an elderly look.
“Gerard,” He says eventually, “There is no sin in the feelings alone, but I do believe our Lord is testing you, testing your faith.” his tone is dark but not damming, Gerard feels himself relax just a little, for the first time since he entered the church. “As long as you do not act upon your instincts it will soon pass.” He finishes.
It hardly seems fair, Gerard thinks, it’s not as if he’s been un-loyal in the past, he’s never given his lord any reason to doubt him. He feels himself pouting and rearranges his face into a neutral expression. He nods and tries not to feel too angry.
Howl sighs, “Our Lord works in strange ways, it is not always best to question them.”
Gerard moves his head in an approximation of a nod. His heart feels heavy, his limbs limp. He barely breathes on the drive home, his hands are shaking and his hair is itching the back of his head. He’s shocked, he thinks, but it’s not like he hadn’t considered Frank as a holy test, just one of his whits rather than his sexuality. Now though, now Gerard has the whole hypothesis down in words and the information makes him weak and ill and feel so, so wrong.
But angry too, so angry at his church for net being able to help him, offer him better advice. Angry at his God for feeling the need to test his loyalty. Had Gerard not proved his love on the day of his Ordination? The day he gave everything up for his faith, the day he promised himself to God?
He almost misses the house when he gets there, wrapped up in his own cotton wool thoughts, and he has to slam down on the breaks before he drives past it. He watches the house, sitting parallel to the bay windows. Frank’s looking out, smiling at him in the car with his hands supporting his chin. He looks sweet, childlike. He bights his lip and rakes his eyes down what is showing of Gerard’s body through the window.
Gerard feels something lurch inside of him and wishes he had of missed the house all together. He pumps the gas and drives off, resisting the urge to squeeze his eyes shut.
He breaks again a few blocks later and hits the dashboard hard. This is ridiculous, he can’t keep hiding from Frank. It’s just Frank, it’s just Frank, it’s just Frank. It’s a test and he can pass it. He just has to resist temptation.
Even if temptation is 5,4 cute punk guy tenant.
He crosses himself mentally and heads back to the house.
Short chapter I know but I literally don't have the time to be writing 3000 word chapters with this one, of course it means i can update it quickly but you just wont get as much as on my other stories
Despite it being in the minus degrees outside, by the time Frank gets back to the house, He’s sweating. His fever is back, pounding through his blood and sticking to his skin along with his sweat thick clothes. He feels terrible, dizzy and nauseous and he’s so tired.
He used to get sick a lot as a kid too, but it was never like this. Sure, belts of pneumonia often left him aching and boiling and on the brink of insanity and some of the worst colds did a number on his breathing techniques but it was never like this. He always got better when he was a kid, now he’s lucky if he gets a days rest.
He curses god habitually as he enters the house and peels off his jumper. He’s pretty sure he’s going to throw up. He hasn’t eaten much today but the few mouthfuls of pancake he had with Ray and Bob earlier are starting to gnaw and rattle in his stomach threateningly, and swallowing is getting harder. His tongue feels too big for his mouth, lolling uselessly around his teeth and gums like a detached piece of flesh. Now he really is going to throw up.
He makes it to the bathroom before the lurch in his stomach hits his throat but he’s not quite at the toilet when the first of his sick escapes. He coughs and gags for a little while then before retching one more time, sending another wave of wasted nutrition into the toilet. Nice he thinks and tries to wipe his mouth.
His arms are useless; not even really holding him up anymore, he slumps against the toilet bowl and rests his head on the ceramic. He can smell his own puke, it’s almost enough to set him off again. It hasn’t been this bad in a while but, whatever this thing is, it’s back now with some kind of vengeance.
Frank spits lazily into the bowl and watches in horror as a string of red hangs in spitty beads from his lips. His blood drips into the water. Frank stares; nearly all of what he chucked up was blood, it swirls malevolently in the water as Frank chokes on a hysterical laugh. He’s puking blood, legitimately puking up blood.
But then he’s not laughing because he’s holding back a scream as another headache rips through his skull. He curses and bights on his lip, drawing more blood and the fever catches through his mind. It’s similar to the one he had yesterday, only stronger, too strong. He falls to the floor and tries to focus on breathing, it calms him but doesn’t stop the pain.
Maybe I’m dying, he thinks, when the pain stars to ricochet down from his head and into his spine and his fingers and fuck is mouth. He spits out more blood and then collapses into it. His breathing is ragged and thick but at least he is breathing, for now. He collapses, his face pressed against the cool tiles, it’s a small relief but still not enough to cool the fires.
And this is it, he thinks, this is where I leave you. He’s strangely okay with it, he never made much of his life anyway, he’s not dying a virgin and the chances are Gerard will find him; covered in his own blood and finally, finally cold.
He lets himself drift into the black. There are no white lights of flash backs or Marley ghosts but one, solitary feeling. He isn’t alone anymore.
-
The first thing Gerard notices, when he finally gets back to the house, is that it’s hot. The central heating is piping through every room in the small house, making the air muggy and warm. It could just be the contrast to the October chill outside but Gerard swears it isn’t. The air inside the house is different; it’s a little too sweet, sickly.
The whole house feels wrong.
“Frankie?” He calls, loosening his collar, his cheeks already pink and flushed.
Only a few moments later and Frank’s thumping down the stairs with a shit-eating grin on his face. He’s changed since Gerard last saw him that morning and he’s even combed his hair. Gerard thinks he might have shaved his chin and neck, too. He looks clean for a change, he looks really good. The silent prayer in Gerard’s head is the same as ever, rehearsed and begging.
“Yes?” Frank asks, his voice not as throaty and spiteful as usual. He even makes eye contact.
“I’m home” Gerard says and touches his rosary, “Why’s it so hot in here?”
Frank is leaning against the hall mirror, casual and a little lazy. “I was cold.” he says simply.
Gerard frowns and moves attentively towards Frank. He presses a hand against his head and winces; a sudden rush of adrenalin and burning pain shooting down through his fingers. Warily he pulls away his hands and blinks; confused. He stares at Frank and the rest of the room and gasps.
“What’s the verdict, doc?” Frank asks.
“You have a temperature.” Gerard says, his voice far off. He’s suddenly very thankful for the cold, metal of his rosary lying on his chest.
The smile Frank gives him is strange, unexpected, his eyes twinkling as he crowds Gerard’s personal bubble. “Really?” he asks.
Gerard manages to nod, praying harder now. Frank is too close; up in his space like no one’s business and breathing heavily. His eyelids drop to a slant and his mouth opens slightly, he looks obscene. Obscene and pretty and practically pressed up against Gerard. He can feel all that heat radiating off of him, swarming into the air in rays like the sun. Gerard chokes on his own heart, his mantra failing him.
“You’re sick.” He says, his voice catching and small.
Frank presses his lips back together in a small smile at the revelation and wraps one hand around Gerard’s shoulder. “Is that so?” His smile is sly, his hand running lengths up and down Gerard’s arm, up onto his chest. “Actually, I feel fine.” he says.
And of course he’s fine, he’s Frank and he’s fine and Gerard’s just being a worrywart. He should kiss Frank now. “Y-yeah.” he stutters.
“You have nothing to worry about, Gee.” Frank promises, his hand straying further down Gerard’s chest.
Gerard’s not even sure why he was so worried.
Frank’s fingers follow the chain down Gerard’s front until he reaches the crucifix. His eyes go wide and he hisses; cursing in something Gerard doesn’t understand.
Gerard pulls away with speed and gasps as Frank tries to grab his arm. His hand looks hurt and he swears again in Latin? What the hell? as he misses Gerard’s arm. Gerard backs up more, away from Frank and out of the door. The cold of the outside is bitter but Gerard’s glad for it as he races to his car. Frank doesn’t follow him, but he doesn’t have to, he’s already taken Gerard’s home.
He drives, mostly blind, to Our Lady and clambers out of his small car, an hour later, ungraceful and stupid with grief.
Father Howl is an old man, a picture book priest right down to the crackly white beard and twinkling blue eyes. Gerard has never spoken to him before, or at least not about such a delicate matter, but he’s the man on duty and they’re all family in the house of God. Besides, Gerard doesn’t have much time to waste.
Bit by bit he gets the story out. He confesses to God every night but somehow, when there’s actual flesh and blood linking him to his lord, the story feels wrong and unforgivable. He is supposed to be helping others out of treacherous paths, not following the trails himself.
“I don’t know what to do.” He confesses, once his story’s straight out and in the open.
Father Howl thinks for a second, studying Gerard’s face with an elderly look.
“Gerard,” He says eventually, “There is no sin in the feelings alone, but I do believe our Lord is testing you, testing your faith.” his tone is dark but not damming, Gerard feels himself relax just a little, for the first time since he entered the church. “As long as you do not act upon your instincts it will soon pass.” He finishes.
It hardly seems fair, Gerard thinks, it’s not as if he’s been un-loyal in the past, he’s never given his lord any reason to doubt him. He feels himself pouting and rearranges his face into a neutral expression. He nods and tries not to feel too angry.
Howl sighs, “Our Lord works in strange ways, it is not always best to question them.”
Gerard moves his head in an approximation of a nod. His heart feels heavy, his limbs limp. He barely breathes on the drive home, his hands are shaking and his hair is itching the back of his head. He’s shocked, he thinks, but it’s not like he hadn’t considered Frank as a holy test, just one of his whits rather than his sexuality. Now though, now Gerard has the whole hypothesis down in words and the information makes him weak and ill and feel so, so wrong.
But angry too, so angry at his church for net being able to help him, offer him better advice. Angry at his God for feeling the need to test his loyalty. Had Gerard not proved his love on the day of his Ordination? The day he gave everything up for his faith, the day he promised himself to God?
He almost misses the house when he gets there, wrapped up in his own cotton wool thoughts, and he has to slam down on the breaks before he drives past it. He watches the house, sitting parallel to the bay windows. Frank’s looking out, smiling at him in the car with his hands supporting his chin. He looks sweet, childlike. He bights his lip and rakes his eyes down what is showing of Gerard’s body through the window.
Gerard feels something lurch inside of him and wishes he had of missed the house all together. He pumps the gas and drives off, resisting the urge to squeeze his eyes shut.
He breaks again a few blocks later and hits the dashboard hard. This is ridiculous, he can’t keep hiding from Frank. It’s just Frank, it’s just Frank, it’s just Frank. It’s a test and he can pass it. He just has to resist temptation.
Even if temptation is 5,4 cute punk guy tenant.
He crosses himself mentally and heads back to the house.
Short chapter I know but I literally don't have the time to be writing 3000 word chapters with this one, of course it means i can update it quickly but you just wont get as much as on my other stories
Sign up to rate and review this story