Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Strangers From Within
I'm A Little Tied Up
6 reviewsFrank did, in fact, eat all of his vegetables that night. But that was because they were carrots, the least revolting of all vegetables. (Don’t even mention peas in front of him, fucking green ...
2Moving
Frank stared at the knife, and he couldn’t help but think that the knife was staring back. It was still glinting in the moonlight, a promise and a threat, and his dream came back to him in flashes, the sickening snick of the knife on bones and the slick of the blood on his hands, on his tongue, the slip and the slide of the redredred as the boy’s life bled out of him, slowly, surely, inevitably, pumping out as his heart tried desperately to keep him alive.
And his mouth- His mouth tasted like metal. Like blood. That appeared to be the last straw for his body and he stumbled to the bathroom to chuck up the contents of his stomach. And some more after that. Until the ash-and-metal taste of blood was replaced by bitter acid and then the strong mint of mouthwash.
He made it back to his bed and scrambled for his phone, fumbling with the keys, rubbing his sleepy eyes as the ringing tone rang out, Mikey’s name flashing on the screen.
“C’mon, c’mon, pick up-” He sat, waiting, for fucking ages, the boop-boop-boop of the phone counting out the time,
“It’s one o’clock. It’s a school night. This better be fucking good or I’ll lie my non existent tits off and tell Evans that you wank over him.”
“Mikey this is serious-”
“Please, inform me as to why.”
“I- Uh-” But what though? He had a bad dream and there’s a knife on his windowsill? It sounded ridiculous even to him, and it was his bloody dream. “Nothing. Sorry, I was trying to ring my mum. She’s not back yet. You’re Mikey, she’s Mum, both Ms, got the wrong contact..” Mikey sighed, loudly,
“Fuck you Iero. See you at school.”
“Yeah, school-” But the other boy had already hung up, and Frank collapsed back onto his bed, asleep before his head touched the pillow.
*
Frank stirred under his duvet as his mum shouted up the stairs.
“Frank if you don’t get your sorry ass up right now you’re gonna miss the bloody bus!”
He groaned an approximation of “Five more minutes mum’ and rolled back over-
To see the knife.
“Shit. Shitshitshit-” Expletives rolled into expletives until Frank was just muttering a stream of desperation as he stumbled out of bed, pulling his computer over, fumbling over the keyboard, practically hitting the mouse pad in frustration as he called up the local news.
He was expecting ‘Local boy murdered’ or ‘Local boy found dead’ but there didn’t appear to be anything. Nothing on any murders, nothing on any suicides, not even any attacks.
What.
The.
Shit.
*
Frank somehow- god only knows how, and even he’s a little stumped- managed to get through the school day. A combination of sleeping through lessons that weren’t important (all of them except for Music) and avoiding all conversation through his best bitch face and his headphones probably helped.
Gabe looked a little offended that he wasn’t talking, but it passed as soon as he was distracted by a flying can- courtesy of a new sodacanthrowingguy- none of them had seen the original soda can guy since Urie went psycho on him yesterday. Ryan never really said anything about emotions, unless they belonged to fictional characters, so it was hardly surprising that he didn’t pick up on Frank’s stony silence, punctuated by the occasional grunt and/or snore. Mikey kept stealing concerned glances at him, as though Frank was dying or something, like he had to assume a bed side manner for a tired adolescent and it was really fucking annoying. In fact, his demeanour was so out of character that Frank couldn’t help wondering if there was something more to it all than Mikey was letting on. That seemed to happening a lot lately.
Unfortunately, it’s apparently rude to sleep through all your lessons and sit with your headphones in when you’re not comatose, so Frank found himself in the Principal’s office, getting sent down for assholery, or some other more official sounding version of it. Two hours after school for being an anti social dick. Not one of Frank’s smarter plans.
He was realising quite how shite of a plan it was as he walked into the detention room, some indiscriminate punk band blaring in his ears (it was loud and angry and Frank couldn’t give less of a shit if it was good or not) and saw a shock of bright green hair sitting at the desk in front of Frank’s usual spot.
Ah fuck.
*
Frank lasted one hour, forty six minutes and seventeen seconds (but who’s counting) before Mr Lashky (drunk as all hell) decided that they could last the final fourteen minutes alone and walked off, only a little unsteadily, to drink his weight in coffee.
And of course, as soon as the door clicked closed, Caine’s chair was spinning around, screeking against the floor and he was facing Frank, grinning.
“What’s up with you then, FrankIero?” He said the words quickly, running them together, everything he said was overly fast, as though he couldn’t wait to get the words out, like he wanted everyone to hear him right the fuck now.
“We’re not supposed to talk in detention.” Frank tried to go for the rules, hoping that Caine didn’t know enough about him to find that absolutely hilarious.
“Nah man, what are they gonna do? Stick us in detention?” He laughed, but it didn’t seem to reach his eyes. It was a short, sharp laugh like a stab wound, like he was only keeping up appearances. Almost how you’d laugh if you’d trained yourself in what was funny, and how to laugh.
“Ha. Right.” Frank tried to plug back in again, but Caine reached for his headphone and pulled it out of his ear,
“Rude, FrankIero. Very rude.”
“Uh- Sorry?”
“You should be, FrankIero, you totally should be.”
“My name’s Frank.”
“But FrankIero is cooler than just Frank. Or Frankie. I could call you Frankie-”
“No-” (No, you bastard you do not get to call me Frankie, not that I’m saving that for some ridiculously hot dude who may or may not want to kill me-)
“No? That a special name?” Flushing red, Frank realised his mistake,
“No just- Just it’s stupid. It’s a kid’s name.”
“Kid’s name, huh?” Frank nodded, hoping to god his blush faded quickly. “Interesting, FrankIero.”
“Not really.”
“I dunno, I find it fairly interesting.”
“Good for you.” 10 minutes and thirty six seconds to go. Frank could last 10 minutes and thirty- twenty nine seconds.
“So, you meet anyone interesting in this dump of a town lately?” Or not.
“Apart from you, nope.”
“I’m interesting?”
“You’ve got green hair and my standards are low-”
“Oh awesome, I love it when people think I’m interesting.”
Eight minutes and twenty-one seconds to go.
“Good for you.”
“I’m not the most interesting person in this town though, am I?”
“Probably not, no-”
“You know what I mean, FrankIero-”
“Don’t think I do actually.” Frank pushed his chair back and stood up. “I’m going now, nice to talk to you Caine-”
“We’ve still got seven and a half minutes left-”
“Mr Lashky isn’t coming back and the Principal can bite me, I’ve got shit to do.”
“I’ll walk you home.” Caine stood too, grabbing his bag,
“Are you trying to get in my pants or something?”
“I’m not, no, FrankIero.”
“What’s that supposed to mean-” Frank was walking out now, Caine following him, far too close for comfort.
“I think you know exactly what I mean, FrankIero.” And they were in the car park now, and Frank was seriously considering making a run for it.
“I don’t, I really, really don’t-” A familiar, sleek black vehicle was sitting in the road, lounging really, and its owner was lounging against it.
And Frank had never been so glad to see a whatever-the-fuck-Gerard-Way-actually-was before in his life.
“Frankie.”
“Gerard-”
“I’m driving you home.”
“You are?”
“Yeah, I am.”
“Oh- Cool-” Gerard pushed himself off the car, standing to attention, almost bristling as he looked over Frank’s shoulder.
“Way.” Caine said, the first bit of emotion Frank had seen from him in his eyes, cold anger mixed with a little bit of fear. Fucking territorial or something.
“Luce.” Gerard replied, looking at him cooly.
“FrankIero here said that Frankie was a kid’s name.” Caine said, putting a hand on Frank’s shoulder.
“He doesn’t mind when I do it.” Gerard pulled Frank out of Caine’s grip, fingers tight on his wrist.
“How cute.” Suddenly, Frank appeared to be in the car and he wasn’t entirely sure how he’d gotten there, but Gerard was pulling out onto the road, leaning over the window to call over to Caine,
“Better fucking believe it.”
*
Gerard was flushed, just a little, high on his cheeks and his hands were gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his nails were leaving indents that Frank could see from the passenger seat.
“Gera-”
“Shush, Frankie.”
“Bu-”
“I said stop talking Frank-”
“But why-”
“Shut up Iero.”
And that was a very definitive ‘Shut the fuck up’ and Frank, whatever Mikey thought, did have some semblance of a self-defense mechanism, and so he obeyed, and shut the fuck up.
They drove back to Frank’s house in silence, the only sound the music still blaring out of Frank’s headphones, tinny and tiny but raucously loud in the heavy hanging quiet. Gerard pulled up in front of Frank’s house, and just as the younger boy was about to open his mouth to thank him, Gerard was talking, holding out his hand.
“Phone.”
“What?”
“Give me your phone.”
“Why?” Frank was immediately suspicious of anyone wanting his phone, his mum did it constantly (or so it seemed) and it always meant it was getting confiscated.
“Because I want to give you my number, dipshit.”
“Oh.” That was not what he had been expecting. Frank handed the old, battered handset over (like he was gonna be trusted with a touch screen, he has enough trouble no breaking his ancient classic iPod) and Gerard typed his number in.
“Only text me if you need to, okay? Just come over if you only want to hang out.”
“Why would I need to?”
“You just might-”
“Okay-” Gerard popped the locks on the doors but called after him as he got out.
“Just- Uh- Promise me one thing?” Frank span around,
“Sure, what?”
“Don’t go out alone Frankie.”
“...Why not?”
“Just don’t? Till this all blows over?”
“Till what blows over?”
“Uh nothing-”
“Well it’s obviously something, so just tell me!”
“I can’t tell you-“
‘Why not?!-”
“I just can’t, okay?! Just… swear you won’t go out alone, swear you’ll take someone whenever you leave the house. Anyone. Even if it’s just Mikey.”
“Fine, Jesus fucking Christ, okay Gerard. Anything else mum?” Well that was weird. That was really weird. Calling this hot dude his mum.
Note to Frank, don’t do that again.
Gerard did laugh though, a short, sharp laugh, kind of like Caine’s, but sort of… less taught? Yeah, definitely more realistic. Like you wanted to laugh, and remembered how, but you hadn’t in a very long time.
“Eat your fucking vegetables or you’ll never grow up to be a big boy.” Frank flipped him off and Gerard shot him that grin again, the one that made Franks knees melt and birds flitter around his head. Or something. It was hot, okay.
*
Frank did, in fact, eat all of his vegetables that night.
But that was because they were carrots, the least revolting of all vegetables.
(Don’t even mention peas in front of him, fucking green midget spawns of Satan.)
And not because Gerard had told him to.
Nope.
*
Frank, kind of understandably, was apprehensive, to say the least, about going to sleep for the night. He tried to put it off for as long as possible, but his eyelids are drooping, his mum’s standing guard over the coffee downstairs and he is really fucking tired man.
So, despite his best efforts, he drops into sleep easily and entirely
My eyes flutter open. Where am I? Why is it so dark, why is it so cold? Did I leave the window open? Probably, oh well.
I sit up suddenly. Where am I? Why is it so dark, why is it so damp? Am I underground? Probably, oh well.
Snap out of it Frank, this isn’t the time for rhyme.
I look around; I’m in an old room. I can barely make out my surroundings in the shadows. The wallpaper is peeling off the walls, the floorboards are barely and dusty. I am not alone.
“So nice of you to join us Mr,” Look to the right, there’s a child, it’s not a child but it is. It’s grinning and glaring at the same time, rows and rows of jagged teeth disguised by small, plump lips and a wide smile. Bright blue eyes and blond hair; barely even ten years old, but way over a thousand.
“We’ve been waiting for you,” Look to the left, there’s a girl, it’s not a girl but it is. It’s dead and alive at the same time, clusters and clusters of unblinking eyes disguised but soft, wavy hair and a pink ribbon. Bright pink cheeks and long hair; barely even thirteen years old, but way over three thousand.
“What took so long,” Look up. Nothing, there is nothing there but a holed ceiling where the moonless sky shines through.
“Over here honey,” Look back, nothing again, there’s still nothing but old candles, long burned out.
“No, no, over here,” Look all around; I’m alone, there is nothing. No children, no teeth, no eyes, no anything.
I understand completely.
I stand and glide over to the middle of the room. Now there’s a dusty table. I trace my fingers through the dust and lift them up to see, they’re red, how peculiar. When I look back, it’s not dust, it’s dried blood. A coating of dried blood to match the carpet. Wonderful, tasteful, elegant.
I turn back around and head for the window. Looking out I can see nothing but forest, trees and trees of imminent darkness. Chilling.
The glass of the window is frost , cracks run through the glass likes lines on a map, lines leading nowhere.
Lifting my hand up and placing it on the glass. You’d think it would be cold, but no, it’s warm and pulsating like a vein. Alive and hoping.
Hoping uselessly.
BANG!
A hand meets mine, on the other side, white and dead. Attached to nothing in sight, and then it’s sliding down the glass, squealing and complaining all the way, leaving tracks in the frost.
“Ring-a-ring o' roses,
A pocket full of posies,
A-tishoo! A-tishoo!
We all fall down.”
Frank woke, gasping for breath; heart hammering like it had developed a grudge against his ribcage, hands scrambling for purchase in the sheets. His eyes flew open and he flailed a hand out to turn the light, blinking and groaning slightly as the brightness burned a vision into his retinas. He waited for it to pass and flopped down back onto the bed, rubbing his hands over his eyes. There was a chill in the room that he didn’t remember there being when he went to sleep and he rolled over, to check the window wasn’t open.
A handprint.
Not a collection of smudges, not a bird print or the old mark from that time the football hit the glass when Gabe kicked it (with horrific aim we might add).
An actual-
What the fuck?
“What the fuck?” Frank hissed, “Shit- No-” And he was scrabbling for his phone before he even knew what he was doing.
To: Gerard
You need to explain some shit thats happnin & Id rather you did it b4 I get klled by 1 of my nightmares –frnk xoxo
Frank didn’t know why he put hugs and kisses after his name, but he’d hit send as soon as he’d finished typing, and there was no taking it back after he had. If he was being honest, he was slightly more concerned about the fact that TWO of his nightmares had comes true. TWO. He didn’t even used to get night terrors; they were a recent development. Oh God, maybe he was going crazy.
Frank waited hours for a reply, but none came. He’d checked three times to make sure it indeed was Saturday and he at least had the date right. Sitting at the kitchen table and staring into his cup of coffee like it might come to life and eat him any second wasn’t exactly how Frank envisioned most of his Saturdays, but there he was, doing exactly that. The coffee had long since gone cold, he hadn’t taken even one sip of it, in fact he’d only made it because it meant his hands had something to do.
"Frankie Iero. I think we need a chat." Gerard's voice rumbled through the shitty speakers, making him sound a lot older than he actually was.
"I think we do, actually."
"Nightmares, huh?"
And whereas with Mikey, Frank had felt ridiculous even considering the possibility of telling him, had managed to persuade himself that he was going mad (which seemed to be better than actually facing up to the truth of the matter; that everything else was going mad), with Gerard the words practically poured out, tumbling over each other in a desperate race for some fucking answers already. It was at least half an hour before he finished, rambling on and on about his weird ass dreams, about Cain and about Mikey acting weird, half an hour of Gerard making small noises, agreeing or questioning, but mostly letting Frank get it all out, in his haphazard fashion.
Gerard sighed down the phone, “Sounds about right. Trust you to be the one who gets all involved.”
“Yes totally, I uh- what? Wait, I don’t understand.”
“You’re right man, you’re onto something. Cain, Mikey, weirdness.”
“Explain?”
“I can’t right now.”
“You’re going to have to try.”
“No honestly, I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because Gabe Saporta just walked in waving a banana around with the next-door-neighbour holding a knife to his throat.”
"What?!"
"Yeah, I'm confused too. I'll call you back. Don't come over!" And Frank just heard a, "Now, now gentlemen. This is a very rude disturbance of my morning sun salutations-" before Gerard hung up and the long beeeeep rang out into the kitchen.
Frank sat, very still and very definitely not going to Way's house, for exactly thirty seconds. After which, he jumped up and headed for the door, grabbing his keys, coat and scribbling a note for his mum (Gone to Mikey's! Call you before dinner) as he went.
Gerard didn't mean don't come, he'd just meant...be careful. Obviously.
Ten minutes later and Frank was ninja-posing his way across the Way’s yard and around the side of the house, popping up at the kitchen window and sneaking in. Before he’d left the house, he’d found the time to change because he didn’t think anyone would appreciate it if he turned up in his boxers with a baseball bat. No, instead he had sneakers, black skinnies and a black leather jacket and carefully styled hair that might make Gerard notice him the baseball bat, he’d considered leaving it behind, but it had just been there leaning up against the wall all shiny and metal and black. Plus, Frank looked cool carrying it.
Frank had snuck in and out of the Way's house a billion times (or thereabouts), they both got grounded enough to be very skilled at breaking in and out of houses (which was probably not what their mums were aiming for, but it was a side effect.) He knew exactly what he was doing. Or so he thought he did, until a fucking badger tripped him up (what the fuck? Frank didn't even know the Way's had badgers) and he had to muffle a yelp as his shins struck the stone step, hard.
He managed it (though his fist was red and raw from being bitten) and he inched the spare key out from under the obviously false rock that Mikey insisted was ninja proof.
Okay, now he had the key, it was time to sneak through the basement window. That sounded illogical, but in Frank’s head it made sense. Take the key; make sure it was in safe hands so he had it for future reference and sneak through the basement where he was less likely to be caught rather than wondering right through the front door. As he snuck around back and jimmied the broken latch open on the basement window, Frank wondered why the house was so quiet, maybe Gerard had been messing with him…
He’d meant to slide through quickly and gracefully, but instead his jacket got kind of caught so he just ended up tumbling through the window with a shout of ‘BALLS!’ What made it worse was that he landed on the old fort he and Mikey had made when they were fifteen and when he hit the floor and opened his eyes, he was facing a three-year-old burger. Okay, gross.
Spluttering slightly, because ew three year old burger air Frank did not need that in his wrecked lungs, he made his way to the door, inching it open slowly and stepping out into the staircase. Aw shit.
The Way's had the creakiest staircase known to man, alien and giraffe kind. This was going to be tricky.
First step was okay, second was fine, by the third he could hear murmurs of conversation from inside the house, and by the fourth he was getting cocky, taking the fifth one as just a normal stair-
CREAAAAAK
Well shit.
Then he was on the floor; sadly it wasn’t in a sexual way. He didn’t scream, nu uh, not at all.
Frank wasn’t even sure how he’d gotten from the fifth step to the floor, but really all he was concerned about was that there was a dude holding his arms back and pinning him to the floor. When he looked up he could see Gabe and Gerard. Oh wow, Gerard was so good at this, fabulous, he was handling this well… TIED BACK TO BACK WITH GABE ON TWO CHAIRS.
“I thought by ‘don’t come over’ you meant you had a handle on things,” Frank gasped out.
“Yeah well I’m… a little tied up,” Gerard grinned.
“Really guys, making jokes now?” Gabe said, sounding more or less annoyed at the current situation.
“Shut up all of you,” Holy shit. Jim Parsons, the Way’s neighbour and the town gardener, was stood in the doorway. The voice that had come from him wasn’t exactly human, like at all. It was deep and growly and sounded like someone had taken a razor to his lungs.
Frank's arms were roughly tied behind his back and a rope wrapped around his neck to tie him to a table leg. It was not the most dignified position he had ever been in, to be frank (no pun intended, c'mon this is the serious bit.) And he couldn't really breathe, but on the bright side he was being treated to a fantastic view of Jim Parson's fifty-year-old arse as he interrogated Gerard.
"So Mr Way-"
"You've known me since I was six."
"You're not who Jim knew-"
"And I wasn't talking about Gerard. Let's be straight with each other. Let the boys go, they've done nothing wrong."
"They're harbouring a-"
"They don't know."
“You think we care if they know or not?”
“Listen dudes, I’d love to sit here and listen to you ramble about random shit that I don’t understand-“ Gabe started.
“Shut up!” Both Gerard and Jim shouted. Gabe shrugged, “I just thought you might like to know that my best friends are stood in the doorway holding carving knives and croquet mallet.”
Frank turned his head as much as he could, jolting it to the side (leaving one mother of a rope burn) to see Pete twirling a croquet mallet, an interested but nonchalant look spread over his face, Ryan holding a carving knife in a distinctly more warrior like fashion than Frank could ever have imagined he'd see from the boy who freaked out when there was a two for one on sparkly eyeliner, Mikey standing at the back, holding some kind of bucket (Frank wasn't entirely sure what he was hoping to achieve with a bucket, but he was sure Mikey would manage a massacre armed with a chocolate tea pot) and Patrick from band holding a hockey stick that he used to great effect against bullies' shins (his current record was four broken shins in a week.)
"And we'd really recommend that you left." Pete said, smiling in the way that Frank had learnt to associate with broken noses and visits to the Principal. Frank turned around to smirk.
Jim looked like he was wondering what exactly a group of teenagers with assorted blunt murder weapons were going to do.
“What are a group of teenagers with assorted blunt murder weapons going to do?”
“First of all,” Gabe stood up, “We’re smarter than you bitchface.” He held up his bright pink house key (we were there when he got it customised, he hit on the key guy and got it for free. I maintain that the only reason was that Gabe scared the general population).
“Hey!” Frank noticed Gerard was still tied up.
“Dude, no offence but-“
“You’re tacky and I hate you,” Pete elbowed Ryan in the stomach.
“Ryan means, we’re not sure whether you’re on our side or not.”
“Wait… am I missing something?” Frank asked.
“I’m a little confused too, if I’m honest,” Gerard said.
“Do you think they left us out on purpose?”
“Probably, bit of a nobish thing to do. Bunch of nobs.”
“Don’t you hate it when people just leave you out?”
“It’s like they were raised without any manners.”
“No manners?!” Ryan put in, outraged, “YOU HATE A PENTAGRAM PAINTED ON YOUR WALL IN-“
Gabe tackled Ryan to the floor, quickly joined by Pete.
“Well now it’s just a pile on,” Mikey commented.
“Oh I love those, we used to have them all the time in middle school,” Patrick said.
“I know right, but it’s all fun and games until the fat kid joins the pile-“
“Um, HELLO! TIED UP HERE” Frank sassed. Jim just looked rather disbelieving.
"If any of you would care to explain just what the fuck you think you're doing, that'd be great-"
"Not really." Mikey said, before pouring the contents of the bucket over Jim's head.
Jim kind of - evaporated. Honest to god evaporated. One second he was there, then there was a howl of anguish and black smoke poured out of his mouth, ears, nose, eye sockets, like broken souls were attempting to escape him-
And then he was gone.
"Guys get me out-"
"No offence Frank, but we really don't-"
"Gabe for god's sake-" Gerard flinched, jerking the chair backwards and Mikey turned to stare at him,
"You said you were you-"
"I am- I have- It's sporadic!"
"I let you in the house because you said-"
"I'm in control!"
"No, you're clearly not-"
"Mikey please, Mikey it's me-"
"Pete can you gag him or something, I don't wanna-"
"GOD, CHRIST, JESUS, HOLY MARY." Gerard shouted, looking at Mikey with desperation written all over his face, "It's me, it's me, I just lose it sometimes-"
“CAN SOMEONE PLEASE. FUCKING. EXPLAIN?!” Everyone went silent and turned to look at Patrick. Patrick never swore. Patrick was the politest person on the planet when he wasn’t breaking shins. Patrick didn’t swear.
“YOU FUCKING TWATS A DUDE LITERALLY JUST BLOOMFED OUT OF HERE, AND WHAT THE SHIT? NO ONE KNOWS WHAT’S HAPPENING!” Correction: Patrick swore like a professional.
"...I agree with Patrick-"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP FRANK." Okay well clearly Patrick was beyond reasoning now, though that was a little rude considering Frank was trying to- "YOU SHITS BETTER HAVE A FUCKING EXPLANATION AND IT BETTER BE ORGASMICALLY GOOD." Well okay Patrick is angry that's new.
"...I don't know about orgasmically good-" Mikey stuttered as Patrick fixed his glare on him, vibrating with fucked off energy and terrifying despite being tiny, "Gee?" His voice cracked as he looked at his brother in desperation.
Everyone looked at Gerard, he looked stressed and freaked out and like he didn’t know what to.
“Gerard Way I swear to god if you don’t started explaining soon you insufferable blonk,” Ryan started, “I will rip your head off and shove it up your-“
“I’m a hooker!”
Wait. What?
Mikey whipped his head round to stare at Gerard,
"I'm a hooker. Streetwalker. Man of the night-"
"Prostitute." Mikey said, "He's a prostitute. We're very ashamed. Uh."
Silence. And then…
“You sell yourself for sex?” Gabe said with raised eyebrows.
“Yes. I’m a naughty, naughty boy,” Gerard deadpanned.
“That’s… interesting,” Pete said from the top of the pile on.
“Wait, so Gerard sells himself for sex,” Ryan said, “and Jim next door disappears in black stuff.”
“And Mikey’s a magician,” Gerard said too quickly, “That’s the smoke thing, he was testing it on you guys for audience reaction.”
“So… Gerard’s a prostitute and Mikey’s a magician,” Patrick stated.
“Yes.”
“Well you can sell yourself to me any time honey,” Gabe winked at Gerard. Frank was gratefully for his legs being free; it gave him room to kick Gabe really hard in the head.
"Ow! Jesus freaking- Frank!"
"Just because he has a career in the sex industry, doesn't mean you get to take advantage of him." Frank said, as if that was actually why he pissed off and not because if anyone was going to be buying Gerard's penis it was going to be him.
"Thank you Frank..." Mikey was looking at him like he'd grown an extra head and shed his porn collection along the way.
"Well it's true. It's a career and you shouldn't be harassed for it." Frank folded his arms and nodded, glaring at the group, daring them to disagree. Gerard looked like he was on the verge of bursting into laughter but nodded back seriously,
"That, yes."
“Now can someone untie me?”
And his mouth- His mouth tasted like metal. Like blood. That appeared to be the last straw for his body and he stumbled to the bathroom to chuck up the contents of his stomach. And some more after that. Until the ash-and-metal taste of blood was replaced by bitter acid and then the strong mint of mouthwash.
He made it back to his bed and scrambled for his phone, fumbling with the keys, rubbing his sleepy eyes as the ringing tone rang out, Mikey’s name flashing on the screen.
“C’mon, c’mon, pick up-” He sat, waiting, for fucking ages, the boop-boop-boop of the phone counting out the time,
“It’s one o’clock. It’s a school night. This better be fucking good or I’ll lie my non existent tits off and tell Evans that you wank over him.”
“Mikey this is serious-”
“Please, inform me as to why.”
“I- Uh-” But what though? He had a bad dream and there’s a knife on his windowsill? It sounded ridiculous even to him, and it was his bloody dream. “Nothing. Sorry, I was trying to ring my mum. She’s not back yet. You’re Mikey, she’s Mum, both Ms, got the wrong contact..” Mikey sighed, loudly,
“Fuck you Iero. See you at school.”
“Yeah, school-” But the other boy had already hung up, and Frank collapsed back onto his bed, asleep before his head touched the pillow.
*
Frank stirred under his duvet as his mum shouted up the stairs.
“Frank if you don’t get your sorry ass up right now you’re gonna miss the bloody bus!”
He groaned an approximation of “Five more minutes mum’ and rolled back over-
To see the knife.
“Shit. Shitshitshit-” Expletives rolled into expletives until Frank was just muttering a stream of desperation as he stumbled out of bed, pulling his computer over, fumbling over the keyboard, practically hitting the mouse pad in frustration as he called up the local news.
He was expecting ‘Local boy murdered’ or ‘Local boy found dead’ but there didn’t appear to be anything. Nothing on any murders, nothing on any suicides, not even any attacks.
What.
The.
Shit.
*
Frank somehow- god only knows how, and even he’s a little stumped- managed to get through the school day. A combination of sleeping through lessons that weren’t important (all of them except for Music) and avoiding all conversation through his best bitch face and his headphones probably helped.
Gabe looked a little offended that he wasn’t talking, but it passed as soon as he was distracted by a flying can- courtesy of a new sodacanthrowingguy- none of them had seen the original soda can guy since Urie went psycho on him yesterday. Ryan never really said anything about emotions, unless they belonged to fictional characters, so it was hardly surprising that he didn’t pick up on Frank’s stony silence, punctuated by the occasional grunt and/or snore. Mikey kept stealing concerned glances at him, as though Frank was dying or something, like he had to assume a bed side manner for a tired adolescent and it was really fucking annoying. In fact, his demeanour was so out of character that Frank couldn’t help wondering if there was something more to it all than Mikey was letting on. That seemed to happening a lot lately.
Unfortunately, it’s apparently rude to sleep through all your lessons and sit with your headphones in when you’re not comatose, so Frank found himself in the Principal’s office, getting sent down for assholery, or some other more official sounding version of it. Two hours after school for being an anti social dick. Not one of Frank’s smarter plans.
He was realising quite how shite of a plan it was as he walked into the detention room, some indiscriminate punk band blaring in his ears (it was loud and angry and Frank couldn’t give less of a shit if it was good or not) and saw a shock of bright green hair sitting at the desk in front of Frank’s usual spot.
Ah fuck.
*
Frank lasted one hour, forty six minutes and seventeen seconds (but who’s counting) before Mr Lashky (drunk as all hell) decided that they could last the final fourteen minutes alone and walked off, only a little unsteadily, to drink his weight in coffee.
And of course, as soon as the door clicked closed, Caine’s chair was spinning around, screeking against the floor and he was facing Frank, grinning.
“What’s up with you then, FrankIero?” He said the words quickly, running them together, everything he said was overly fast, as though he couldn’t wait to get the words out, like he wanted everyone to hear him right the fuck now.
“We’re not supposed to talk in detention.” Frank tried to go for the rules, hoping that Caine didn’t know enough about him to find that absolutely hilarious.
“Nah man, what are they gonna do? Stick us in detention?” He laughed, but it didn’t seem to reach his eyes. It was a short, sharp laugh like a stab wound, like he was only keeping up appearances. Almost how you’d laugh if you’d trained yourself in what was funny, and how to laugh.
“Ha. Right.” Frank tried to plug back in again, but Caine reached for his headphone and pulled it out of his ear,
“Rude, FrankIero. Very rude.”
“Uh- Sorry?”
“You should be, FrankIero, you totally should be.”
“My name’s Frank.”
“But FrankIero is cooler than just Frank. Or Frankie. I could call you Frankie-”
“No-” (No, you bastard you do not get to call me Frankie, not that I’m saving that for some ridiculously hot dude who may or may not want to kill me-)
“No? That a special name?” Flushing red, Frank realised his mistake,
“No just- Just it’s stupid. It’s a kid’s name.”
“Kid’s name, huh?” Frank nodded, hoping to god his blush faded quickly. “Interesting, FrankIero.”
“Not really.”
“I dunno, I find it fairly interesting.”
“Good for you.” 10 minutes and thirty six seconds to go. Frank could last 10 minutes and thirty- twenty nine seconds.
“So, you meet anyone interesting in this dump of a town lately?” Or not.
“Apart from you, nope.”
“I’m interesting?”
“You’ve got green hair and my standards are low-”
“Oh awesome, I love it when people think I’m interesting.”
Eight minutes and twenty-one seconds to go.
“Good for you.”
“I’m not the most interesting person in this town though, am I?”
“Probably not, no-”
“You know what I mean, FrankIero-”
“Don’t think I do actually.” Frank pushed his chair back and stood up. “I’m going now, nice to talk to you Caine-”
“We’ve still got seven and a half minutes left-”
“Mr Lashky isn’t coming back and the Principal can bite me, I’ve got shit to do.”
“I’ll walk you home.” Caine stood too, grabbing his bag,
“Are you trying to get in my pants or something?”
“I’m not, no, FrankIero.”
“What’s that supposed to mean-” Frank was walking out now, Caine following him, far too close for comfort.
“I think you know exactly what I mean, FrankIero.” And they were in the car park now, and Frank was seriously considering making a run for it.
“I don’t, I really, really don’t-” A familiar, sleek black vehicle was sitting in the road, lounging really, and its owner was lounging against it.
And Frank had never been so glad to see a whatever-the-fuck-Gerard-Way-actually-was before in his life.
“Frankie.”
“Gerard-”
“I’m driving you home.”
“You are?”
“Yeah, I am.”
“Oh- Cool-” Gerard pushed himself off the car, standing to attention, almost bristling as he looked over Frank’s shoulder.
“Way.” Caine said, the first bit of emotion Frank had seen from him in his eyes, cold anger mixed with a little bit of fear. Fucking territorial or something.
“Luce.” Gerard replied, looking at him cooly.
“FrankIero here said that Frankie was a kid’s name.” Caine said, putting a hand on Frank’s shoulder.
“He doesn’t mind when I do it.” Gerard pulled Frank out of Caine’s grip, fingers tight on his wrist.
“How cute.” Suddenly, Frank appeared to be in the car and he wasn’t entirely sure how he’d gotten there, but Gerard was pulling out onto the road, leaning over the window to call over to Caine,
“Better fucking believe it.”
*
Gerard was flushed, just a little, high on his cheeks and his hands were gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his nails were leaving indents that Frank could see from the passenger seat.
“Gera-”
“Shush, Frankie.”
“Bu-”
“I said stop talking Frank-”
“But why-”
“Shut up Iero.”
And that was a very definitive ‘Shut the fuck up’ and Frank, whatever Mikey thought, did have some semblance of a self-defense mechanism, and so he obeyed, and shut the fuck up.
They drove back to Frank’s house in silence, the only sound the music still blaring out of Frank’s headphones, tinny and tiny but raucously loud in the heavy hanging quiet. Gerard pulled up in front of Frank’s house, and just as the younger boy was about to open his mouth to thank him, Gerard was talking, holding out his hand.
“Phone.”
“What?”
“Give me your phone.”
“Why?” Frank was immediately suspicious of anyone wanting his phone, his mum did it constantly (or so it seemed) and it always meant it was getting confiscated.
“Because I want to give you my number, dipshit.”
“Oh.” That was not what he had been expecting. Frank handed the old, battered handset over (like he was gonna be trusted with a touch screen, he has enough trouble no breaking his ancient classic iPod) and Gerard typed his number in.
“Only text me if you need to, okay? Just come over if you only want to hang out.”
“Why would I need to?”
“You just might-”
“Okay-” Gerard popped the locks on the doors but called after him as he got out.
“Just- Uh- Promise me one thing?” Frank span around,
“Sure, what?”
“Don’t go out alone Frankie.”
“...Why not?”
“Just don’t? Till this all blows over?”
“Till what blows over?”
“Uh nothing-”
“Well it’s obviously something, so just tell me!”
“I can’t tell you-“
‘Why not?!-”
“I just can’t, okay?! Just… swear you won’t go out alone, swear you’ll take someone whenever you leave the house. Anyone. Even if it’s just Mikey.”
“Fine, Jesus fucking Christ, okay Gerard. Anything else mum?” Well that was weird. That was really weird. Calling this hot dude his mum.
Note to Frank, don’t do that again.
Gerard did laugh though, a short, sharp laugh, kind of like Caine’s, but sort of… less taught? Yeah, definitely more realistic. Like you wanted to laugh, and remembered how, but you hadn’t in a very long time.
“Eat your fucking vegetables or you’ll never grow up to be a big boy.” Frank flipped him off and Gerard shot him that grin again, the one that made Franks knees melt and birds flitter around his head. Or something. It was hot, okay.
*
Frank did, in fact, eat all of his vegetables that night.
But that was because they were carrots, the least revolting of all vegetables.
(Don’t even mention peas in front of him, fucking green midget spawns of Satan.)
And not because Gerard had told him to.
Nope.
*
Frank, kind of understandably, was apprehensive, to say the least, about going to sleep for the night. He tried to put it off for as long as possible, but his eyelids are drooping, his mum’s standing guard over the coffee downstairs and he is really fucking tired man.
So, despite his best efforts, he drops into sleep easily and entirely
My eyes flutter open. Where am I? Why is it so dark, why is it so cold? Did I leave the window open? Probably, oh well.
I sit up suddenly. Where am I? Why is it so dark, why is it so damp? Am I underground? Probably, oh well.
Snap out of it Frank, this isn’t the time for rhyme.
I look around; I’m in an old room. I can barely make out my surroundings in the shadows. The wallpaper is peeling off the walls, the floorboards are barely and dusty. I am not alone.
“So nice of you to join us Mr,” Look to the right, there’s a child, it’s not a child but it is. It’s grinning and glaring at the same time, rows and rows of jagged teeth disguised by small, plump lips and a wide smile. Bright blue eyes and blond hair; barely even ten years old, but way over a thousand.
“We’ve been waiting for you,” Look to the left, there’s a girl, it’s not a girl but it is. It’s dead and alive at the same time, clusters and clusters of unblinking eyes disguised but soft, wavy hair and a pink ribbon. Bright pink cheeks and long hair; barely even thirteen years old, but way over three thousand.
“What took so long,” Look up. Nothing, there is nothing there but a holed ceiling where the moonless sky shines through.
“Over here honey,” Look back, nothing again, there’s still nothing but old candles, long burned out.
“No, no, over here,” Look all around; I’m alone, there is nothing. No children, no teeth, no eyes, no anything.
I understand completely.
I stand and glide over to the middle of the room. Now there’s a dusty table. I trace my fingers through the dust and lift them up to see, they’re red, how peculiar. When I look back, it’s not dust, it’s dried blood. A coating of dried blood to match the carpet. Wonderful, tasteful, elegant.
I turn back around and head for the window. Looking out I can see nothing but forest, trees and trees of imminent darkness. Chilling.
The glass of the window is frost , cracks run through the glass likes lines on a map, lines leading nowhere.
Lifting my hand up and placing it on the glass. You’d think it would be cold, but no, it’s warm and pulsating like a vein. Alive and hoping.
Hoping uselessly.
BANG!
A hand meets mine, on the other side, white and dead. Attached to nothing in sight, and then it’s sliding down the glass, squealing and complaining all the way, leaving tracks in the frost.
“Ring-a-ring o' roses,
A pocket full of posies,
A-tishoo! A-tishoo!
We all fall down.”
Frank woke, gasping for breath; heart hammering like it had developed a grudge against his ribcage, hands scrambling for purchase in the sheets. His eyes flew open and he flailed a hand out to turn the light, blinking and groaning slightly as the brightness burned a vision into his retinas. He waited for it to pass and flopped down back onto the bed, rubbing his hands over his eyes. There was a chill in the room that he didn’t remember there being when he went to sleep and he rolled over, to check the window wasn’t open.
A handprint.
Not a collection of smudges, not a bird print or the old mark from that time the football hit the glass when Gabe kicked it (with horrific aim we might add).
An actual-
What the fuck?
“What the fuck?” Frank hissed, “Shit- No-” And he was scrabbling for his phone before he even knew what he was doing.
To: Gerard
You need to explain some shit thats happnin & Id rather you did it b4 I get klled by 1 of my nightmares –frnk xoxo
Frank didn’t know why he put hugs and kisses after his name, but he’d hit send as soon as he’d finished typing, and there was no taking it back after he had. If he was being honest, he was slightly more concerned about the fact that TWO of his nightmares had comes true. TWO. He didn’t even used to get night terrors; they were a recent development. Oh God, maybe he was going crazy.
Frank waited hours for a reply, but none came. He’d checked three times to make sure it indeed was Saturday and he at least had the date right. Sitting at the kitchen table and staring into his cup of coffee like it might come to life and eat him any second wasn’t exactly how Frank envisioned most of his Saturdays, but there he was, doing exactly that. The coffee had long since gone cold, he hadn’t taken even one sip of it, in fact he’d only made it because it meant his hands had something to do.
"Frankie Iero. I think we need a chat." Gerard's voice rumbled through the shitty speakers, making him sound a lot older than he actually was.
"I think we do, actually."
"Nightmares, huh?"
And whereas with Mikey, Frank had felt ridiculous even considering the possibility of telling him, had managed to persuade himself that he was going mad (which seemed to be better than actually facing up to the truth of the matter; that everything else was going mad), with Gerard the words practically poured out, tumbling over each other in a desperate race for some fucking answers already. It was at least half an hour before he finished, rambling on and on about his weird ass dreams, about Cain and about Mikey acting weird, half an hour of Gerard making small noises, agreeing or questioning, but mostly letting Frank get it all out, in his haphazard fashion.
Gerard sighed down the phone, “Sounds about right. Trust you to be the one who gets all involved.”
“Yes totally, I uh- what? Wait, I don’t understand.”
“You’re right man, you’re onto something. Cain, Mikey, weirdness.”
“Explain?”
“I can’t right now.”
“You’re going to have to try.”
“No honestly, I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because Gabe Saporta just walked in waving a banana around with the next-door-neighbour holding a knife to his throat.”
"What?!"
"Yeah, I'm confused too. I'll call you back. Don't come over!" And Frank just heard a, "Now, now gentlemen. This is a very rude disturbance of my morning sun salutations-" before Gerard hung up and the long beeeeep rang out into the kitchen.
Frank sat, very still and very definitely not going to Way's house, for exactly thirty seconds. After which, he jumped up and headed for the door, grabbing his keys, coat and scribbling a note for his mum (Gone to Mikey's! Call you before dinner) as he went.
Gerard didn't mean don't come, he'd just meant...be careful. Obviously.
Ten minutes later and Frank was ninja-posing his way across the Way’s yard and around the side of the house, popping up at the kitchen window and sneaking in. Before he’d left the house, he’d found the time to change because he didn’t think anyone would appreciate it if he turned up in his boxers with a baseball bat. No, instead he had sneakers, black skinnies and a black leather jacket and carefully styled hair that might make Gerard notice him the baseball bat, he’d considered leaving it behind, but it had just been there leaning up against the wall all shiny and metal and black. Plus, Frank looked cool carrying it.
Frank had snuck in and out of the Way's house a billion times (or thereabouts), they both got grounded enough to be very skilled at breaking in and out of houses (which was probably not what their mums were aiming for, but it was a side effect.) He knew exactly what he was doing. Or so he thought he did, until a fucking badger tripped him up (what the fuck? Frank didn't even know the Way's had badgers) and he had to muffle a yelp as his shins struck the stone step, hard.
He managed it (though his fist was red and raw from being bitten) and he inched the spare key out from under the obviously false rock that Mikey insisted was ninja proof.
Okay, now he had the key, it was time to sneak through the basement window. That sounded illogical, but in Frank’s head it made sense. Take the key; make sure it was in safe hands so he had it for future reference and sneak through the basement where he was less likely to be caught rather than wondering right through the front door. As he snuck around back and jimmied the broken latch open on the basement window, Frank wondered why the house was so quiet, maybe Gerard had been messing with him…
He’d meant to slide through quickly and gracefully, but instead his jacket got kind of caught so he just ended up tumbling through the window with a shout of ‘BALLS!’ What made it worse was that he landed on the old fort he and Mikey had made when they were fifteen and when he hit the floor and opened his eyes, he was facing a three-year-old burger. Okay, gross.
Spluttering slightly, because ew three year old burger air Frank did not need that in his wrecked lungs, he made his way to the door, inching it open slowly and stepping out into the staircase. Aw shit.
The Way's had the creakiest staircase known to man, alien and giraffe kind. This was going to be tricky.
First step was okay, second was fine, by the third he could hear murmurs of conversation from inside the house, and by the fourth he was getting cocky, taking the fifth one as just a normal stair-
CREAAAAAK
Well shit.
Then he was on the floor; sadly it wasn’t in a sexual way. He didn’t scream, nu uh, not at all.
Frank wasn’t even sure how he’d gotten from the fifth step to the floor, but really all he was concerned about was that there was a dude holding his arms back and pinning him to the floor. When he looked up he could see Gabe and Gerard. Oh wow, Gerard was so good at this, fabulous, he was handling this well… TIED BACK TO BACK WITH GABE ON TWO CHAIRS.
“I thought by ‘don’t come over’ you meant you had a handle on things,” Frank gasped out.
“Yeah well I’m… a little tied up,” Gerard grinned.
“Really guys, making jokes now?” Gabe said, sounding more or less annoyed at the current situation.
“Shut up all of you,” Holy shit. Jim Parsons, the Way’s neighbour and the town gardener, was stood in the doorway. The voice that had come from him wasn’t exactly human, like at all. It was deep and growly and sounded like someone had taken a razor to his lungs.
Frank's arms were roughly tied behind his back and a rope wrapped around his neck to tie him to a table leg. It was not the most dignified position he had ever been in, to be frank (no pun intended, c'mon this is the serious bit.) And he couldn't really breathe, but on the bright side he was being treated to a fantastic view of Jim Parson's fifty-year-old arse as he interrogated Gerard.
"So Mr Way-"
"You've known me since I was six."
"You're not who Jim knew-"
"And I wasn't talking about Gerard. Let's be straight with each other. Let the boys go, they've done nothing wrong."
"They're harbouring a-"
"They don't know."
“You think we care if they know or not?”
“Listen dudes, I’d love to sit here and listen to you ramble about random shit that I don’t understand-“ Gabe started.
“Shut up!” Both Gerard and Jim shouted. Gabe shrugged, “I just thought you might like to know that my best friends are stood in the doorway holding carving knives and croquet mallet.”
Frank turned his head as much as he could, jolting it to the side (leaving one mother of a rope burn) to see Pete twirling a croquet mallet, an interested but nonchalant look spread over his face, Ryan holding a carving knife in a distinctly more warrior like fashion than Frank could ever have imagined he'd see from the boy who freaked out when there was a two for one on sparkly eyeliner, Mikey standing at the back, holding some kind of bucket (Frank wasn't entirely sure what he was hoping to achieve with a bucket, but he was sure Mikey would manage a massacre armed with a chocolate tea pot) and Patrick from band holding a hockey stick that he used to great effect against bullies' shins (his current record was four broken shins in a week.)
"And we'd really recommend that you left." Pete said, smiling in the way that Frank had learnt to associate with broken noses and visits to the Principal. Frank turned around to smirk.
Jim looked like he was wondering what exactly a group of teenagers with assorted blunt murder weapons were going to do.
“What are a group of teenagers with assorted blunt murder weapons going to do?”
“First of all,” Gabe stood up, “We’re smarter than you bitchface.” He held up his bright pink house key (we were there when he got it customised, he hit on the key guy and got it for free. I maintain that the only reason was that Gabe scared the general population).
“Hey!” Frank noticed Gerard was still tied up.
“Dude, no offence but-“
“You’re tacky and I hate you,” Pete elbowed Ryan in the stomach.
“Ryan means, we’re not sure whether you’re on our side or not.”
“Wait… am I missing something?” Frank asked.
“I’m a little confused too, if I’m honest,” Gerard said.
“Do you think they left us out on purpose?”
“Probably, bit of a nobish thing to do. Bunch of nobs.”
“Don’t you hate it when people just leave you out?”
“It’s like they were raised without any manners.”
“No manners?!” Ryan put in, outraged, “YOU HATE A PENTAGRAM PAINTED ON YOUR WALL IN-“
Gabe tackled Ryan to the floor, quickly joined by Pete.
“Well now it’s just a pile on,” Mikey commented.
“Oh I love those, we used to have them all the time in middle school,” Patrick said.
“I know right, but it’s all fun and games until the fat kid joins the pile-“
“Um, HELLO! TIED UP HERE” Frank sassed. Jim just looked rather disbelieving.
"If any of you would care to explain just what the fuck you think you're doing, that'd be great-"
"Not really." Mikey said, before pouring the contents of the bucket over Jim's head.
Jim kind of - evaporated. Honest to god evaporated. One second he was there, then there was a howl of anguish and black smoke poured out of his mouth, ears, nose, eye sockets, like broken souls were attempting to escape him-
And then he was gone.
"Guys get me out-"
"No offence Frank, but we really don't-"
"Gabe for god's sake-" Gerard flinched, jerking the chair backwards and Mikey turned to stare at him,
"You said you were you-"
"I am- I have- It's sporadic!"
"I let you in the house because you said-"
"I'm in control!"
"No, you're clearly not-"
"Mikey please, Mikey it's me-"
"Pete can you gag him or something, I don't wanna-"
"GOD, CHRIST, JESUS, HOLY MARY." Gerard shouted, looking at Mikey with desperation written all over his face, "It's me, it's me, I just lose it sometimes-"
“CAN SOMEONE PLEASE. FUCKING. EXPLAIN?!” Everyone went silent and turned to look at Patrick. Patrick never swore. Patrick was the politest person on the planet when he wasn’t breaking shins. Patrick didn’t swear.
“YOU FUCKING TWATS A DUDE LITERALLY JUST BLOOMFED OUT OF HERE, AND WHAT THE SHIT? NO ONE KNOWS WHAT’S HAPPENING!” Correction: Patrick swore like a professional.
"...I agree with Patrick-"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP FRANK." Okay well clearly Patrick was beyond reasoning now, though that was a little rude considering Frank was trying to- "YOU SHITS BETTER HAVE A FUCKING EXPLANATION AND IT BETTER BE ORGASMICALLY GOOD." Well okay Patrick is angry that's new.
"...I don't know about orgasmically good-" Mikey stuttered as Patrick fixed his glare on him, vibrating with fucked off energy and terrifying despite being tiny, "Gee?" His voice cracked as he looked at his brother in desperation.
Everyone looked at Gerard, he looked stressed and freaked out and like he didn’t know what to.
“Gerard Way I swear to god if you don’t started explaining soon you insufferable blonk,” Ryan started, “I will rip your head off and shove it up your-“
“I’m a hooker!”
Wait. What?
Mikey whipped his head round to stare at Gerard,
"I'm a hooker. Streetwalker. Man of the night-"
"Prostitute." Mikey said, "He's a prostitute. We're very ashamed. Uh."
Silence. And then…
“You sell yourself for sex?” Gabe said with raised eyebrows.
“Yes. I’m a naughty, naughty boy,” Gerard deadpanned.
“That’s… interesting,” Pete said from the top of the pile on.
“Wait, so Gerard sells himself for sex,” Ryan said, “and Jim next door disappears in black stuff.”
“And Mikey’s a magician,” Gerard said too quickly, “That’s the smoke thing, he was testing it on you guys for audience reaction.”
“So… Gerard’s a prostitute and Mikey’s a magician,” Patrick stated.
“Yes.”
“Well you can sell yourself to me any time honey,” Gabe winked at Gerard. Frank was gratefully for his legs being free; it gave him room to kick Gabe really hard in the head.
"Ow! Jesus freaking- Frank!"
"Just because he has a career in the sex industry, doesn't mean you get to take advantage of him." Frank said, as if that was actually why he pissed off and not because if anyone was going to be buying Gerard's penis it was going to be him.
"Thank you Frank..." Mikey was looking at him like he'd grown an extra head and shed his porn collection along the way.
"Well it's true. It's a career and you shouldn't be harassed for it." Frank folded his arms and nodded, glaring at the group, daring them to disagree. Gerard looked like he was on the verge of bursting into laughter but nodded back seriously,
"That, yes."
“Now can someone untie me?”
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