FicWad

Chapter 1


Frank looks across the dark, humid club, his gaze locked on one particular girl slouched over the bar, clutching a shot feebly.

It's one of those seedy establishments where the bartender doesn't care about her poor state of being - he'll serve her until she stops paying. It doesn't look like that will happen any time soon, though. The girl's one who likes to drown her sorrows, and fuck knows she's got enough of them at the moment.

Nothing original of course, it's all petty disputes related to her work, her recently ex-boyfriend, and her disintegrating relationship with her sister. Her problems are nothing compared to most of the world's, but they're enough to trouble her thoughts and warp her mind.

But that's why Frank is here.

In her drunken state, the woman's thinking about something she'd never conceive in her right mind. Something insane. Something that would ruin her life forever, and have her locked in a cell.

Personally, Frank thinks she's being more than slightly over-dramatic. But then, it's people like this that make his existence what it is. And it doesn't matter to him what pushed her to these thoughts, just that she's thinking them, and is currently willing to act on them.

He slides across the room, and sits down next to the drunk girl. She's pretty - dark, and slim, and with hair that Frank personally thinks she should patent.

"Shitty day, huh?" he asks, pretending that he doesn't know exactly what's going through her head right now. Some people are difficult to read, but this woman's like an open book.

"Like you don' even know," she slurs back, eyes narrowing at the young man in front of her.

He looks about twenty, with black hair falling across his face on one side of his head, and shaved close and dyed blonde on the other. If she could see better she'd probably think that he's quite attractive, but alcohol has impaired her vision to the extent that all she can make out is the weird hair and bright patterns down his arms. She thinks that there may be a tattoo on his neck, but the flashing lights in here have never been the best to see by. Either way, she doesn't really care.

"My... my life is fucked."

"I know, I know," Frank murmurs, patting her comfortingly on the back, "I think he deserves it, you know."

The woman is drunk enough to not even question how this stranger knows about her problems, never mind her plans. "You thin'?" she asks instead, looking tentatively at the man.

"I do. Cheating on you like that, the scum deserves everything that's coming to him."

The woman's wide eyed and listening intently. Someone approves of her idea. It must be right.

"He's in his apartment right now, you know? Probably screwing that whore he picked up. You still have the keys though, don't you? Never gave them back.

"You know where he keeps the knives. You could slit his throat, and the slut's. It wouldn't hurt anything, and no one would ever know it was you."

The last bit is a blatant lie, but Frank's voice is low and hypnotising and the woman's fallen for it completely. Now, even killing some girl she's never met before seems appealing. It's mostly the alcohol that will convince her to carry out this horrendous task, but the man in front of her - his poisonous words slide into her brain and anchor there, keeping her chained to her ideas. They're a grenade, one biding it's time before exploding.

In a daze, she stands up and leaves the club, not even bothering to bid farewell to Frank. He doesn't mind that. His work here is nearly over.

All that needs to be done now, is to arrange an 'accident' for the unfortunate woman, just after she commits the crime. Kill her before there's time for the guilt to set in, and her soul to seek redemption. And for that matter, make sure no one interferes with his work before it's complete.

It turns out to be an easy night for him. He follows the woman through the dark streets of the Spanish city and up to her old lover's apartment. He watches as she stabs the couple through their throats, not giving them time to scream. Frank's actually impressed with how efficient she is.

He watches and as she drops the knife and leaves, her movements calm. Clearly the gravity of what she's just done has not pulled her down yet. When she's out in the alley, that's when he makes his move. There's a dumpster there, and it weighs a good tonne.

The girl walks right past it, and sadly enough, it's at that moment it decides to overpower the laws of physics and topple over on to its side. The human is crushed immediately, and it's with a satisfied smirk that Frank turns away and transports himself back to the gates of Hell.

It's as desolate as the human mind can comprehend down here. A barren, volcanic land, where the mountains spew fire and choking gas. This would probably look dramatic, if not for the continual state of twilight making the land uncomfortably dark, and far too bright.

The woman's there too, her soul having plunged down into the fire as a result of her depraved last hour. She's screaming, or rather, her ghost is, as she's dragged through the gates by two demons. They just cackle evilly, unforgiving her terrified soul.

Frank smiles, satisfied with himself.

No matter how often he does this, he still gets that immense pleasure of a job well done. Knowing that he's the one pulling souls down for the Devil to feed on. Getting Saints to sin; people to hate; priests to kill; children to tear out their mother's eyes in fits of anger. Dragging them down to Hell with him, where they will be tormented until Judgement Day. He's a demon - one of the fallen himself. He was never human - having come into being unnaturally, and cast down as a result. Over the centuries though, he's worked his way up. Barely two decades ago, he gained the right to walk on Earth, and he remained thankful for this, every moment of his mockery of a life. It's a privilege that could easily be lost though; by not claiming enough souls. Fortunately, he's good at his job.

"Well done." As though he'd been reading his thoughts, Richard appears behind the younger demon. He is applauding, but the claps sound almost condescending. It doesn't help that the man is looking into the distance, as opposed to meeting the other's eye.

The sound grates in Frank's ears, but there's not much he can do about it - Richard is his direct superior, and his presence now either means that Frank's in huge amounts of trouble, or is in for a dose of good luck.

"I was thinking, little Frankie, it's time for you to step up." The yellow eyes snaps on to the younger's own deep brown ones, and Frank feels a familiar shiver go down his spine. It's something that will never go away he knows; Richard is so powerful and evil that even a relatively strong demon feels daunted.

You can tell too. His skin is an acid green for the most part, only littered in darker green speckles. It should look bright and beautiful (albeit in a very unnatural way), but in the bleakness of Hell, it's just sickening.

Richard was human once, this much Frank knows. He had died in what would become Germany before Christianity had even come into being, but Devil worshippers were already in plentiful supply. If they hadn't been, he would have been one of the persecuted billions down here.

He had died at the hands of such sycophants, and due to his sinful life had been condemned to Hell. The nature of his demise had allowed him to strike a deal with the Devil himself though. If he served His Infernal Majesty for the rest of eternity as a demon, he could have his revenge on his murderers. Needless to say, Richard accepted.

The fine-print had apparently included his previously pale skin to be marred though, and his blue eyes turned an unnatural yellow shade. The demon wore the disfiguration with pride though, and was all the more intimidating for it.

One, the junior demon considers his words carefully, before speaking. "How so?" Frank asks, careful to keep his voice even.

"Well, I've found a boy for you. A young one. He's got a very good soul, is very brave, and very kind. He's weak though, and in a bad place. I think that he's a suitable challenge for you." Even after so many years, there's still a thick accent clouding the man's words.

"Oh?" Frank raises an eyebrow. This doesn't sound too challenging.

"You have a time limit though. Two months. And I'm not giving you any information on him. You won't be able to read his mind either - he's too strong willed."

"If I manage this?" It doesn't sound too hard at all to Frank, but he's not going to judge that until he meets the boy. He knows that there's going to be a reward at the end of this though, and a big one, or Richard wouldn't have delivered it in person.

"Hmmm," The elder demon taps his chin, as though considering. "How about a free range on Earth, choosing whom you target, and control over the souls you claim."

It wasn't a question, but Frank nods eagerly anyway. "And if I fail?" he can't stop himself from asking.

"Then, we'll see what happens. His name is Gerard Way and he lives in New Jersey. I trust you can find him from that." And with that, Richard disappears.

The younger demon stands in place for a few seconds, scowling. What the other doesn't seem to realise is that New Jersey is a big fucking place, and that there's probably several people by that name wandering around the state. Frank knows that when he sees his next target, he'll instinctively know him, but finding him in the first place will be a bitch.

Frustrated, the demons closes his eyes and transports himself back to Earth in a flush of cool liquid-y gas that's an indeterminable colour and horrible to travel through. Thankfully, it only lasts a second, and Frank's feet touch the hard tarmac of a sidewalk soon enough.

He's in the capital of the state - a busy, and somewhat repulsive city called Newark. It is by no means the worst place on Earth to inhabit, but he's met more than one demon who enjoys walking the dark streets and preying on the desperate, lost souls there.

It's exactly the sort of place that's easily corrupted - people have far more than they need, yet are still pressured to want more, more, more. Sp many lose themselves seeking to 'live the high life', only to end up in the gutter. These people are ripe for picking, even more so than the selfish ones, who live inside their warm bright houses, not thinking about the man outside shivering under the streetlights.

Frank walks down the road, slowly. It's warm and raining, and the city smells all the better because of it. It isn't exactly helping the demon though - he can't see well through the thick sheets of water, so can't recognise his new victim. Oh well, he has two months. He doesn't have to start the campaign tonight.

Unknown to Frank, Gerard is only about a mile away, getting drunk in the local bar, and laughing at his maniac boyfriend as the latter tosses nuts down the waitresses' cleavage. Thankfully, they're good friends, and the woman doesn't really care, just keeps on charging them extra in tips. Bert and Gerard can't really afford that, but the night's still young. Well, kind of. The point is though, that in a few hours, all three of them will either be baked, high, or pissed past the point of remembering the missiles or the tips. With any luck at least.

Thank fuck for Fridays.

“Dude, dude, dude!” Bert yells, abandoning his game in favour of leaning towards the younger boy and yelling in his face, “I fucking love this drink!”

Gerard can't put a name to the bright blue liquid in his boyfriend's glass, all he does know is that neither of them are old enough to be drinking it. They all have fake ID's, and the bar always checks, despite knowing full well that most of their customers are under twenty-one. That doesn't really matter to them though – technically, because they always check, they aren't breaking any laws supplying alcohol to the high-school students who inhabited the bar.

“What is it?” Gerard replies, his voice softer. The bar isn't really loud enough to merit shouting like Bert is.

“I have no fucking idea, but I want another one.” He leans over the bar, and yells at the waitress, “Hey, hey, hey – can I have another one?”

“Can you afford it?” the pale girl from earlier slides up. Her tone is flirty, and Gerard can't stop himself from bristling. He knows she isn't being serious; they're in here enough for the waitress to know that he and Bert are together, but it always annoys him how much attention his boyfriend gets.

No one can quite put their finger on it, but there's something very charismatic about the older boy. He's not exactly good looking with his shoulder length, greasy black hair, and the beginnings of a beard gracing his lower face. In fact, Bert looks like a stereotypical homeless stoner dude, which to be fair, he kinda is. Ok, maybe not the homeless part, but the guy certainly gets high more often than anyone else Gerard knows.

Perhaps it's the piercing blue eyes, or more likely the voice that does not fit his appearance but everyone seems to be drawn to the eighteen year old. Only a year younger himself, Gerard can't understand how he, of all people, ended up bagging him.

As far as he's concerned, he himself is nothing special. He's too pale, too introverted, too much of a freak. Most of his mates, he's made through his boyfriend, or younger brother. Other than that, it's really only Bob who he's managed to befriend without someone else's input.

“Fuck.” Bert's voice is quieter now, as he stares down at the money in his wallet. “Is one dollar twenty enough for one?”

“Nope,” the waitress chirps, “You're a dollar short.”

“Aww, come on – you love me, don't you?” the teen whines, pulling the best puppy-dog face he can. It shouldn't work, but somehow, he looks like the most innocent thing on the planet. Gerard has never, and never will, understand how he does it.

The girl rolls her massive brown eyes, but pushes another shot across the bar regardless. “This one's on the house if you get your arse out straight after, ok?”

“Deal, sweet-cheeks,” Bert laughs. “Share?” That bit's aimed at Gerard who smiles and accepts the glass happily.

It's just about big enough to be worth splitting in half, and the younger boy takes a small mouthful before passing it back. The other grins before downing the rest, and hopping off his stool. Gerard follows, dodging around bodies until he was through the door and out in fresh air.
It's raining outside, huge tumults of water pouring down from the heavens in soaking sheets that engulfed the boys' bodies.

“Shit!” Bert yells, a grin breaking across his face. “This is fucking awesome, Gee!”

“It's rain, Bert,” Gerard replies, although he's laughing at his boyfriend's enthusiasm.

“Exactly,” The blue-eyed boy darts forward to grab the other's hand and pull him into a sloppy kiss.

The both taste of alcohol, but the rain has added a freshness to it, making the whole thing feel cleaner. Their tongues wind around each other's for a moment before Bert pulls back, eyes glittering.

“Do you wanna come back to mine? It's closer.”

“Won't your parents mind?” Gerard frowns, knowing the McCrackens aren't overly fond of him.

“Meh. They can't do anything about it,” Bert shrugs.,“Anyway, you'll freeze. And I don't want an icicle for a boyfriend!”

The younger laughs, and nods, allowing the other teen to pull him through the rain. Bert's still acting insane and the rain is washing away the bleariness brought on by the alcohol, making Gerard feeling more alive than he has done in a while. It's exhilarating.

They arrive at a small town house after a ten minute walk. Thankfully, Bert has a key, so they let themselves in, before stumbling into his room. They’re as quiet as possible – trying not to wake his parents – but it's hard to see in the pitch of the house, and Gerard isn't sure how successful they are. However, they make it to Bert's room without any angry adults yelling at them, so they get away with it.

“Now what?” Gerard asks in a hushed voice as his boyfriend closes the door.

“S'up to you, baby,” Bert grins in reply, coming to stand toe-to-toe with the younger boy. “Although... I do think it might be an idea to get out of these wet clothes.”

“Sounds good.” The teen's eyes light up.

Bert grins and peels his top off slowly, enjoying the hazel eyes focusing on him. He's skinny, and pale, with a small trail of dark hair running down his stomach and disappearing into his pants. The jeans are the next item of clothing to come off, although being too tight and wet from the rain makes this painful as opposed to sexy.

Gerard laughs at his boyfriend's struggles. “Want some help?” he asks, voice low and husky. He's usually so nervous, but Bert can bring out a confidence in him that few others ever see. The older boy doesn't reply verbally, just smiles and drops his hands from his fly.

Way walks forward and presses their mouths together, as his fingers work under the waistband of the too-tight jeans and begin to ease the down over the bony hips they're wrapped around. When they're around Bert's thighs, Gerard has to drop down to reach them.

He smirks up at his boyfriend when he comes face to face with a pair of black boxers which are clinging very revealingly to Bert's junk. The younger boy pulls this cloth down as well, and leans forward to stroke the tip of his tongue over the organ now on display. Bert hisses, making Gerard smile. He carries on working the pants down around his boyfriend's legs, whilst still drawing patterns with his tongue all over the other's cock. It's rapidly hardening under his touch, and Bert's breathing is quickening and hitching.

When the older boy is fully hard, Gerard leans forward and wraps his mouth around the hot organ. Bert lets out a barely stifled moan.

“Fuck, fucking hell Gee. Fuck, shit.”

“Love you too baby.” He pulls back for a second to grin up at the man standing above him.

Gerard straightens up then, the two boys press their lips together, a wet, sloppy drunk tangle of lips and tongues.

“Bed?” Bert asks.

Gerard nods – it's not like he has any better ideas right now.

The older boy pulls the other back and pushes him down onto the soft mattress, before following swiftly. Their mouths meet again, and this time, it's Bert pulling Gerard's clothes off.

When they're both fully naked, he draws back from where their mouths are still battling furiously, to just stare at his boyfriend.

Gerard's gorgeous, he really is, especially right now – flushed and soaked from both sweat and the rain. Unfortunately, he's also very self conscious. Bert can't understand why – the younger boy is far prettier than him. His skin's paler, and he's got an almost curvy body as opposed to Bert's own skinny one. His wide hazel eyes are blown at the moment, looking huge and dark against his white skin, and the inky black hair that usually falls to just beneath his chin is clinging to his face. The contrast is starkly beautiful.

“Bert, don't,” Gerard whimpers, uncomfortable with his boyfriend's eyes raking him as they are at the moment.

“Why, babe?” the older boy complies, despite not understanding. He pressed their lips together once again and murmurs through the kiss; “You're gorgeous. Seriously.”

“Come on. That's really not true,” Gerard frowns.

“Yes, it is,” Bert argues back. He know he's not going to win this though, so instead decides to change the topic of the conversation. “Now, tell me, why aren't you paying any attention to my cock?”

The younger boy grins, and trails his hands down the other's body until he finds the hot, engorged member still slick with the saliva from his mouth. He swipes his thumb over the head of it, loving the small moan Bert emits with the movement. There's pre-come pooling there already and Gerard swirls his finger around the foreskin, collecting the warm liquid and drinking in his boyfriend's noises of appreciation.

A second later he lets out a gasp of his own – Bert's reached down to grab at his cock, and he's now receiving the same treatment, except the older boy can rarely be bothered with teasing. He just likes to get Gerard off, so he goes in for the kill straight off; wrapping his hand around the organ and pumping at it.

With this, Gerard speeds up as well, not wanting to cum an age before his boyfriend. Their both sweating, panting messes soon, moaning and gasping into each other's mouths and staying mindful of the fact that one of Bert's younger sisters was right next door.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit!” Way groans as he spills across the bed and the boy in front of him. The eighteen year old pulls back to watch the sight, moaning and continuing to stroke Gerard through his orgasm. When he's finally come down, Bert's hand moves to his own cock and seconds later, his own cum splatters over the mattress, and on his boyfriend.

“Gross,” is Gerard's only word as he closes his eyes sleepily.

“Uhuh, but do you seriously want to move right now?” Bert fires back.

“Nope.”

The older boy smiles. “Me neither, you disgusting little freak.” Despite the harsh words, his voice is warm, fond, tired. “Night, Gee.”

“'G'night Bert.” Gerard snuggles closer to his boyfriend, not caring that he's right in the wet patch created by their little escapade. In fact, in a really fucked up way, he kinda likes it.

They sleep through to the morning, when they're woken up rather abruptly by Bert's mother banging on the door, shouting that he had to wake up, or they'd be late to Church.

“Ahh, shit.” The older boy rolls over, groaning into his pillow, “Alright, mom! I'll be up soon!”

“Hurry, Robert.”

Gerard giggles, rubbing the sleep away from his eyes. “Off you go, choirboy.”

“Shadd'up!” Bert replies, shoving the other gently, “I fucking hate this shit.”

“N'awww. I'm sure God would love you for that,” the younger boy continues his teasing.

“Shut the fuck up, Gee! Just because you have no faith.”

“Yeah, and I get to spend Sunday mornings in bed.” Gerard stretches happily across the mattress. “Where they should be spent!”

“Whatever Gerard. You have to get up today – there's no way in Hell you're staying here whilst we're all gone.”

The door swings open to reveal Rachel – one of Bert's younger triplet sisters. “Faggot, have you been nicking my eye shadow again? I can't find it fucking anywhe-” She cuts off as she takes in her older brother still curled up in bed, Gerard pressed up against him. “Mom and Dad are gonna kill you, dude.”

“Thanks for the reminder, Rach',” Bert rolls his eyes, “I haven't stolen your fucking eye shadow, now piss off – you're giving me a headache. You shouldn't wear that to Church anyway.”

“You do,” Rachel announces. “Hi Gerard,” she says, before flouncing off.

“I am related to such freaks,” Bert groans, rubbing his eyes, “and I am so hungover.”

“That's what you get from drinking blue stuff. Anyway, you're not exactly in a position to judge about who's a freak, are you?” Gerard points out, “Besides, I like Rachel. She's the only one in your family who doesn't treat me like shit.” The teenager frowns, realising that he just insulted all of his boyfriend's relatives. “I mean, no offence or anything, but the rest just really don't like me.”

“It's fine dude. They're ass-fuckers,” the older boy replies lazily, whilst Gerard snorts at his choice of words. After all, that's pretty much why the McCrackens hate him. Rachel seems to be the only one who doesn't care that he's dating Bert – doesn't see him as the one who corrupted the eldest child of the family.

Really, she's the only one that Gerard can stand, apart from Bert himself. He wonders how those two ended up so different from their parents and other three siblings.

After a moment or two, Bert rolls out of bed and begins to dig around for some semi-smart clothes that don't smell too bad. The best he can find are tight black jeans, which isn't really appropriate for Church, but they'll do; at the very least, they don't make him look homeless. Well, no more than usual, that is.

“Do you think God will forgive me if I don't wear underwear to Church?” he asks Gerard, who is still sprawled out across the bed.

“Well, it can't be any worse than that one time you wore a thong.”

“Shut up! That wasn't intentional. I don't exactly check what pants I'm wearing every time I wake up!”

“That still doesn't explain how you ended up wearing it in the first place!” Gerard chuckles. “I've seen worse looks on you though.”

“You loved it, bitch,” Bert smirks. "I think it was Jeph's or something," he shrugs. "And up, lazy bones.

“Gnah,” Gerard groans, but crawls out anyway, collapsing on the floor. “Why do I do this shit?”

“Because you wanted to spend the night with your gorgeous boyfriend?”

The younger boy rolls his eyes, but doesn't respond. Instead, he begins to pull his clothes on.

“Dammit. I hate clothes when you're in them,” Bert mutters, making Gerard blush fiercely. He grins, finding it hilarious, if slightly sad, how critical of his appearance his boyfriend is.
In about five minutes, they're both fully dressed.

“Time to face the parental units?” the older boy yawns, and extends a hand for the other to take.

“Oh God, don't remind me.”

They make their way downstairs, to be faced with an angry woman hissing at one of her daughters – Rachel.

“Take that stuff off your face now, young lady. You cannot show your face in the house of God looking like that. It's bad enough wearing it out, but to Church!”

“Mom, I've barely got anything on. God doesn't care about a bit of eye shadow.” Rachel's apparently refusing to back down, something Gerard can't help but admire her for.

“You look like a slut Rachel. You're worse than Bert.” That's Mel, probably. She's the most outspoken of all the sisters, and the one Gerard hates the most. She's just horrible, plain and simple, and in his opinion, God would look down on that, a Hell of a lot more than a bit of makeup.

“That's enough Melanie. Rachel, go and take that stuff off now.”

The woman gestures up the stairs, where she sees Gerard and Bert standing, and a small frown of dissatisfaction appears on her face.

“Good morning boys,” she says, lips pursed as though it's a struggle to get the greeting out, “I didn't know you stayed last night, Gerard.”

“I invited him, Mom. It was raining and we were walking, so I said he should just come over.”

“And I hope he spent the night in the spare room?” Mrs McCracken's face is thunderous now – why she's even bothering to ask is beyond Gerard, she already knows the answer to that.

“Of course he didn't. He's my boyfriend Mom – he slept with me.”

Bert mother closes her eyes for a moment, looking like she's in pain.”I see. Well, I think it's best you leave now, Gerard.”

“Ok,” the younger boy shifts uncomfortably, glancing nervously at his boyfriend. “Goodbye, Mrs. McCracken.” She's the only one of his friends' mothers that he calls Mrs anything. “See you tomorrow, Bert.”

“See you 'round, Gee. Love and hugs and kisses and all that shit,” Bert smirks.

“Robert!” his Mom exclaims, outraged. Gerard chooses this as his moment to slip out. He half runs out of the neat little neighbourhood, barely breathing until he's no longer amongst the stifling houses that look down on him as much as their inhabitants.

Although it's no more than a twenty minute walk away, Gerard's estate couldn't be more different. The neat houses soon become rougher and less organised. The few people that he passes are differing too - from stuck up and religious, to well, people like Gerard, who aren't trying to fix their lives with faith. Like where they live, they're rougher, dirtier, and as a result the teen hadn't been allowed outside after dark until he was fourteen. At least here, he doesn't feel like a piece of gum stuck to bottom of a boot.

He doesn't have a key to the house yet, and even if he did, he probably wouldn't take it out with him because he'd just lose it. Instead, he just bangs on the door until it swings open to reveal his exhausted looking little brother.

“Shut up, fucktard. Most sane people are asleep at this hour,” Mikey complains, pushing his mouse coloured hair back from his face and yawning.

“My boyfriend goes to Church remember? He's not sane, so it means I get woken up at ass o'clock in the morning,” Gerard grumbles, pushing his way in and heading to the kitchen.

“Yeah, well, you should have just come home. Invited him over if you really can't survive the night without him.”

“Yeah, I don't wanna know what his mom would do if he wasn't home on a Sunday morning. She scares the living shit out of me, and their dad's no better.”

Mikey makes a sympathetic face. It isn't really that perceptible – but Gerard knows it him well enough to recognise the different nuances of his younger brother's poker face that are just about the only way to gauge his emotion. Especially at this time in the morning, it's nearly impossible to figure out exactly how the kid feels. Really, in that respect, the siblings couldn't be more different – Gerard's a complete drama queen who makes sure the world knows exactly what he's feeling.

"So what do you wanna do seeming as your boyfriend is otherwise engaged?" Mikey asks. He's as much his brother's friend as he is sibling, and the two year gap is easily ignored for the most part. They hang out in the same groups, have the same interests, and are just generally on the same page. Gerard doesn't know what he'd do without Mikey, and the thought of life without his elder sibling terrifies the younger of the two.

"I dunno. I was thinking I'd meet up with Bob later, but just watching TV now is fine with me," Gerard shrugs.

"Sounds good. Any preference?"

"Nope."

The two walk into their small lounge and collapse on the couch. Mikey turns the television on, whilst Gerard lies down, head in his brother's lap. He's asleep in a few minutes - still hungover and exhausted from the previous night. Mikey rolls his eyes at this, but leaves him be, settling on some old cartoon that he vaguely recognizes from a comic book.

Outside, Frank leans on the side of the whitewashed house, peering through the net curtains drawn across the lounge windows. He can't believe he found his victim this quickly - he would have bet on it being a good week before he tracked the kid down. Apparently, though, luck's on his side at the moment.

Now he knows who the kid is, and has his address (he assumes that this is Gerard's house at least), he can begin to do a bit of digging. He would hazard a guess that the boy had been out drinking last night, and gotten laid afterward - the smell of booze and cum is prominent on him. What surprises him is that Gerard's gay. He heard him talking about his boyfriend to the kid whose lap he's currently passed out on. Complaining about the fact he got woken up early so the other boy could go to Church.

Well, Frank thinks, walking away from the window before the neighbours start to notice him lingering there, You, my friend, could probably do with taking a leaf out of his book. Who knows, it might just save you. The demon doubts it though - sooner or later, everyone he's targeted has fallen.

Right now, what he wants to do the most is shadow Gerard, trying to figure the boy out. Richard was right - he can't read the boy at all, can barely get a feel for his emotions. That's inconvenient, but Frank enjoys a challenge. Besides, he's good at guessing what makes people tick, even without his mind reading skills.

However, he's not going to get anything out of the teen whilst he's asleep at home. Frank reckons his best bet is to find out Gerard's age. With any luck, he'll still be in school. That's the easiest environment in which to make friends with people - or drive them over the edge. Plus, in high school, hormones make the students run amok, be overly emotional and perfect to screw in the head.

The demon wanders through the streets which are gradually getting busier and busier. Frank doesn't pay any attention to them though. He's trying to find somewhere which will give him access to the internet. In this modern day and age, everything was stored in cyberspace - from money to personal secrets. It's amazing really, and with just his victim's name and address Frank could find out his age, workplace, school, medical information, IQ, and heaps more of personal information, some of which Gerard probably didn't even know existed. The difficult part is un-digging that information.

Frank finds an internet cafe easily enough, and flirts with the waitress until she agrees on giving him some free time, and a mug of coffee. Ok, so he may have bent her mind a little, but the end result is the same. And she's not going to lose her job over it.

Grinning as the page loads up, the demon thinks over the next few months. He has very little to formulate a plan on, but the fact Gerard's gay, has a boyfriend and likes a drink is enough to scheme a little. From there, it's mostly going in blind. But as said, Frank enjoys a challenge.

Back in his house, Gerard wakes up when his cell phone goes off in his pocket. It's on vibrate, but he is in a very shallow slumber, barely unconscious. He digs it out of his pocket, to see it's Bert.

Hey babe. Church is so borin n v priest needs to blw his nose. Wat u up 2?

The boy smiles at the text and replies.

Watchin tv with Mikes. Thnk u'll be able to meet up latr?

A few seconds later, his phone vibrates again.

Sorry cant - u kno wat v familys like. C u tomoro thou.

Yh, c u ven. Gd luck with v rest of church!

"Who's that?" Mikey asks.

"Bert."

"Can you not live without him for ten minutes?" the younger of the two rolls his eyes. He doesn't really care though. Gerard's been so much happier since he started dating Bert nearly a year ago now.

"Of course not," the older brother teases. "You wanna meet up with Bob?"

"Yeah, go for it. Only if he comes here though. I cannot be arsed to move right now."

"Amen to that."


~~~~~~~


"What?"

A sudden elbow connects with Quinn's ribs, making him wince and glare at the other boy.

"What?" He asks back, reaching out to jab him in the stomach.

They're lying on Bert's bed, the small television playing some old cartoon that Quinn's sure he used to watch when he was still in diapers. Children's shows are the best though - all of the story lines seem to be written by some douche on crack, and watching the bright loud characters is like having some weird trip. Better still, they take no brain power to follow.

Which leaves Quinn free to pay attention to his friend.

His eyes may be fixed on the screen, but every other sense is locked on Bert. The sound of his deep breathing; the heat coming off his small body; the smell of him, which Quinn can't even begin to think of an analogy for (and probably doesn't want to). Now all that was left to explore is the taste of his skin, but the blonde is unsurprisingly hesitant to reach over and lick Bert. Ok, so his friend probably wouldn't mind - after all, far weirder things had happened when they were drunk, or high - but Quinn doesn't want to have to explain why he has the urge to coat the other boy with saliva.

"You're a million miles away, dude." Bert interrupts his thoughts again.

"No," Quinn makes a show of glancing down at his body, as though checking it's still lying on the bed. "Right here."

Bert laughs, and whacks the side of his head. "Up there. What's occupying your pretty little brain?"

"How do you know my brain's pretty?"

"I cut open your head a few nights ago to check."

This time, Quinn laughs. It's the stupid little exchanges like this that he loves Bert for. The other boy seems to never be serious, and his constant cheeky grin and borderline flirting makes the blonde feel like he's in some sort of ridiculous rom-com. He wouldn't even care if that were the case, as long as he gets the hot guy at the end of it.

Not that Bert's exactly the stereotypical dishy dude that always gets the chick in those films. More like the creepy stoner guy who stalks the chick, and ends up being beaten up by the dishy dude. Whatever. Quinn loves him either way.

"So, go on. What's up?" The black hair boy shoves him gently again.

"Many things. The sky. My cock."

Bert snorts. "Up where?"

"Your mom."

"Ooh, that was low Allman, low."

"So's she."

"Since when have you liked vag' anyway?"

"Who says your mom has one?"

"Ouch," Bert punches him - again - but Quinn knows he's not really offended.

They've known each other since they were both twelve, and have been best friends ever since. Of course, Quinn wishes they were more, but that's a different story.

He wonders what Bert's mom would think if she ever interrupted them mid conversation. He's probably the only friend of her eldest son that she can stand, which Quinn guesses is mostly to do with the fact that she has no real idea what he's like.

The moment she ever found out exactly what he and Bert spend their time discussing (sex, sex, and more sex - but hey, they're teenage boys, what did you expect?), or what they do when they go out every Friday (drugs, booze), or worse still, exactly what Quinn thinks of her son (that he'd really like to get in his pants) - well, he'd be able to kiss goodbye to ever coming round the McCracken house again, never mind on Sunday afternoons, after the family has come back from Church.

Quinn supposes he can see why Mrs. McCracken thinks better of him than the rest though. He doesn't have the appearance of being a moment away from falling apart at the seams like Gerard does; he's not covered in tattoos, like Jepha is; he doesn't wear eyeliner on a daily basis like Billy does; and he isn't generally sullen like Bob is. Hell, in comparison he's a cute and innocent little boy with his mop of white blonde hair and easy smile. Besides, he's had long enough to learn how to deal with the family, and their fanatic religious views. So yeah, Bert's mom likes him.

"You're gone again." Bert points out, poking up his friend's ribs this time.

He can't figure out why Quinn's was so spacey today. Recently, that has seemed to be the case more and more - especially when Gerard's around - but this is exceptional. It seems as though every other word he's saying is going straight over Quinn's head.

"Sorry," His friend shoots him a small smile back, which Bert leers at. Quinn rolls his eyes. "I didn't get much sleep last night."

"Well, neither did I, but you don't see me spacing out on you."

"That's because you're so far out there anyway, if you added spacing out to the equation you wouldn't exist anymore."

"Out where?" Is Bert's only reply.

Quinn rolls his eyes again. "You know what I mean."

"Do I?"

"Shut it, you noob."

"Moob." Bert pokes him in the ribs. "What was the question again anyway?"

"I dunno."

Bert stares off into the distance contemplatively for a moment. It's scary, seeing him think. "Why didn't you get much sleep last night?"

Quinn shrugs. "I dunno, man. Just couldn't. You?"

The other boy shoots a smirk at him. "Gerard was round."

The blonde resists the urge to retch. There probably aren't words to describe how much he detests Gerard.

The boy's a wreck.

He drinks more than Bert, is a complete psycho, and probably listens to Madonna in his spare time. He's a whack-job, and an annoying one at that. Ok, Quinn gets that they're dating and all in love and bullshit, but he doesn't see the need for the younger teen to be continually latched to Bert's side. It's impossible to get Bert on his own anymore (except for these traditional Sundays) because there's always a small, greasy cling-on attached to him, and being a general prick.

Ok, so Quinn's jealous. But he'll admit that. That doesn't mean that Gerard's not a douche though. And one that needs to shower. (because Bert always smells like a garden of fucking roses)

Somehow, it just doesn't seem fair though. He's known Bert since they were kids for Christ's sake, and has probably wanted him for just as long. He gets the other boy - his family issues, and his drugs addiction, and all the bullshit that came with being Bert McCracken. Yet, it's still Gerard who gets him. Fucking Way who's too self-absorbed to even notice when Bert's had yet another argument with his uptight mother. Who's too messed up himself to begin to think about helping Bert. Who's an arse licker with no balls. (Actually, Quinn would be surprised if the last bit was true - Bert would have definitely mentioned it to him if he was dating a eunuch. And the first bit... Well, Quinn doesn't want to think too hard about that)

The blonde doesn't let any of his distaste show though. Instead, he elbows Bert again. "Great man. Just 'cos you're getting some whilst I'm stuck here with blue balls."

"Well, I'm up for a threesome, if you are."

"Gross," Quinn shudders. That would mean having to touch Gerard.

Bert laughs. Seconds later, his mom comes him.

It's obvious from her face that she didn't hear the topic of their conversation - if she had, he face would currently be a mask of horror, and distaste. Instead, her lips are pursed slightly in that permanent look of disapproval she always seems to wear. Quinn resists the temptation to roll his eyes.

"Dinner's nearly ready," she says softly, sounding not nearly as mean as she looks. "So Quinn, do you mind getting ready to go?"

"Sure," he nods and forces himself to smile at the woman. She nods gratefully and withdraws.

Bert sighs. "You best be off then, Quinnifer."

"Probably, Robert." Quinn snipes back. Bert just glares and pushes himself off the bed.

The two boys walk down through the house slowly. It's too quiet in the blond boy's opinion. No shouting siblings; or blaring music; or crude jokes of TV. Hell, he can't even hear anybody talking. It's weird.

"See you tomorrow then," he says as he steps out the front door.

"Yeah, see ya." Bert grins back. "Keep yourself out of trouble, and don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

Quinn laughs, knowing full well that he wouldn't dare do half the things that Bert does anyway.

They pretend to kiss each other's cheeks, making loud 'mwah!' noises as they do so. It's probably one of the campiest habits Quinn has, but that's the effect Bert has on him.

As he walks away, he can't help but glance back down the street over his shoulder. His friend has already gone in though.

Quinn sighs. He knows it's stupid feeling like this - Bert's not his. But he can't help but feel the bitter jealousy bubble up inside of him as he trudges through downtown Jersey. He wants his best friend back. He hates sharing him, and having to vie for his attention with the Way kid. Hates having to keep a poker face as the couple sit in each other's laps, and kiss sweetly in sickening displays of affection.

Most of all he hates the thought of Bert fucking Gerard.

Not just the act of copulation (although Quinn bets that he'd be better in bed), but the fact that that's what Bert's doing when he makes excuses to not see his supposed best best.

The blonde huffs as he walks through the dirty streets, trying to repress the images swarming into his mind of Gerard and Bert fucking in the latter's bed. He just sat on that thing, for Christ's sake.

He's left the good Christian neighbourhoods behind by now, and is in amongst the lower middle class dwellings - off-white picket fences, and kids playing outside, but noisy and refreshingly real. There's litter of the ground, and dog shit on the sidewalk, but it's still one of the nicer areas of the city. At least, nicer in the sense that you didn't have to look over your should in fear of being stabbed.

It's here that Quinn lives. His ten year old brother is outside on the lawn when he arrives, talking to one of his friends about whatever the Hell it is that ten year olds talk about. The blonde greets them both, before going inside. In the cool air of the interior, he's met by the sounds of some X-Box game, and a Beatles CD playing softly from the kitchen.

In search of food (his stomach being the only thing Quinn thinks about as much as Bert), the teen ambles in to the kitchen. Both his parents are there, just standing about chatting and letting the lilt of Paul McCartney fill any short pauses in the conversation.

"Hey guys," the teen greets them.

"Hi, dude." His dad smiles. "Good afternoon?"

"Yeah - same as ever really."

"Bert good?"

"Uhuh," Quinn grabs a slice of cheesecake out of the fridge as he talks.

"Don't have too much - dinner soon." His mother chips in.

"Don't worry, mom! I'm always hungry!" The boy grins and leaves the room, digging into the sweet dessert with a spoon he'd grabbed en route. From there he went into the living room, collapsing on the floor in front of the sofa next to his brother.

"Hi," the kid grunts, too immersed in the game he's playing to greet his older sibling. "What you eating?" Apparently not too immersed to notice the food though.

"Cheesecake."

"We have cheesecake?"

"Not anymore."

"Jackass," the younger boy snorts.

"I know." Quinn grins. "Two player?"

His brother considers it for a second, chopping off the head of a zombie on screen, and grinning as blood spurts everywhere in a fountain of red and bad graphics. "Go for it," he replies.

The blonde grabs the remote from the sofa, shoves the last piece of cheesecake in his mouth, and joins his sibling in the virtual world of mindless violence.

It's the perfect distraction from real life.