FicWad

A/N: What's that? Molly's actually sticking to writing schedules? Can't be.
Anyway, I hope you guys are enjoying what I'm -trying - to do with the plot. If you could I would super appreciate it if you could leave a review so I can see what you guys do and don't like!
Until next time...

The truck swayed along the highway, punctuating four days worth of tarmac between the vehicle and Olkahoma State Hospital. Frank sat in the rear section of the truck, accompanied by nothing but his pathetic sheet of a gown, and a companion he neither chose, nor grew fond of. Bob and Gerard sat in the front of the truck, talking in serious tones about matters Frank was neither aware of or interested in; what Frank was interested in appeared to be the particularly large boxer dog that was sat somewhat mechanically against the opposite side of the truck.
Gerard, being the polite, gentlemanly, homicidal manslaughterer that he was, had conveniently failed to mention Bob's guard dog, Jaxon. Frank, who in fact had a conveniently raging phobia of any dog bigger than a rat, was therefore logically thrusted in the back of the truck with said dog bigger than a rat.
If Frank had had any emotions regarding his current extended company of a murderer and his right-hand man, he had neglected them with his clothes in Olkahoma.

Seriously, Frank mulled, why the fuck have I been in a hospital gown for five days? Where can a man get a shower, or a fresh pair of pants?

Jaxon proceeded to growl in response. Frank flinched, pulling the thin gown in attempt to cover his bony limbs, half in hope of disappearing beneath the garment altogether.
Frank whimpered, causing Gerard to turn around in the front seat, observing the scene in amusement. “Sorry, I, I didn't mean to offend you Jax-”
Jaxon rumbled and yapped, baring his noticeably sharp teeth.
Frank jumped quite literally out of his clothes, mournfully watching his gown fall to the floor of the truck. “Crap,” he whispered inwardly.
“How are you holding up, Frankie?” Gerard asked behind a seductive grin, showing off tiny lines of teeth.

With his presumably high lack of dental care, the man has astoundingly impressive dentures, Frank thought.

He swallowed, desperately covering his manhood after whipping up the gown from the floor. “A-alive.”
“Forever the clown, eh Frank?” Bob chuckled heartily.
Frank's eyes widened large as saucepans. Since being in the back of a truck - with his only meals having been dry bread with warm cola - for nearly a hundred hours, he had so far failed to speak to the man driving it. He opened his receding lips to speak, but found no words.
Gerard raised his eyebrows at Frank. Then he laughed, his Adam's Apple sliding up and down his throat. Frank took a moment of silence to commemorate the many throats Gerard had slit open himself.

Hold up. Why is little Frank triggered by a murderer's smirk? Frank thought in a panic as he felt his lower regions stiffen in response to eye contact with Gerard. Steady down, Frank, Jesus, can you not even contemplate what the fuck is going on?

“You wanna stop for a beer?” Gerard continued to grin. His dark eyes wandered down to what Frank was desperately trying to disguise with the ratty remains of his robe. “Or maybe you have other liquid business in hand?”
Frank sat stiff – quite literally – and found himself incapable to reply.

No, Frank. No, I can't contemplate what the fuck is going on.
*
Their chosen refuge was a considerably dodgier highway café than Frank had hoped for. Bob had appeared to only just remember that he had some spare jeans, shoes and a shirt, four days after Frank had been living in what was effectively a particularly large sheet of paper.

Isn't this whole experience convenient, Frank thought.

Despite this whole convenient experience that was Frank's legitimate kidnap, Frank still failed to be disturbed by the event. Was he travelling to an unknown destination with a notorious murderer? Check. Was he completely in the dark of this journey's purpose? Check. Was his best friend and part-time carer most likely dead? Double check. So why was it when Frank looked at Gerard, he felt more than just an absurd comfort, but a sense of familiarity beyond the memory of a television screen? Nothing made sense, but for some reason, that made everything sort-of okay.
Frank walked a few metres behind Gerard and Bob, clad in too-loose trousers, a stained shirt, and a pair of trainers resembling flippers more than shoes. Gerard had assured Frank that he had ancient links to the bartender's family, and they would not be 'busted', as it were.

As if that's of my concern, Frank mulled. Surely I should want to be 'busted'. But that was exactly the problem; Frank didn't feel that he wanted to be 'busted'. Was it the medication withdrawal that was causing this obscure state of nonplussing calm? If that was the case, then the medication Dr Whitedale had had him on was positively ineffective in all the ways it should have been.

The café was a cabin of sorts set on the left hand side of the highway. Gerard, Bob, and Frank were the only customers when they arrived. This should have been disheartening, but once again, it wasn't. Gerard directed them himself to a small booth beside the window onlooking the mostly empty car park, its only occupant being Bob's truck.
Ten minutes later, a busty waitress with hair the colour of road kill hustled into the café. Her mouth dropped into the shape of an 'o', and Frank momentarily feared that she would call the police. However, the shape of an 'o' soon melted into a warm smile, as she ran to Gerard and engulfed him in a wrap of her meaty arms.
“Gee,” she pulled away from the hug and looked devotedly into his eyes. “I was wondering when I was gonna see my boy again.”
Frank looked disbelievingly between the waitress and Gerard. “You're his mother?!”
Gerard pulled his eyebrows together in a scowl, and for the first time in days, Frank was -rightfully- scared to be under Gerard's gaze.

-'Frank momentarily feared that she would call the police.'-
You're losing the plot, Frank.

“That I am,” the woman unfolded her back and stood to her full height. She nodded a welcome to Bob. “Hello, Robert. And you are, my dear?”
“I-uh,” Frank felt himself burn red.
“This is Frank, ma.” Gerard picked up a menu, and met Frank's gaze quickly before looking down at the laminated print.
Frank was rather unsettled to see an ounce of recognition on Gerard's mother's face. She nodded at him, and if Frank's eyes weren't deceiving him, he spotted a tear well at her eye.
“Anyway, Gee,” she patted him on the back. “You must come out back with me, we gotta talk about your brother.”
Previously, Frank would be damned if he imagined Gerard Way ever being dis-empowered by a woman, yet there he was, avoiding everybody's gaze and following his mother 'out back' like a sheep.
Frank had almost dismissed Mikey Way from his mind, and the fact that the police had him in their grasp. Gerard hadn't seemed distressed by this since Frank had met him.

Met him, Frank thought self-depricatingly, kidnapped by him, you mean.

Gerard and his mother left an awkward silence in their wake.
“So,” Bob exhaled, “what's, uh, what's up?”
Frank was taken aback by the sudden pent up emotion that appeared to drip out of him. “What's up? What's up is I that don't know who the fuck you are, what the fuck he-” Frank gestured pointedly to 'out back', “wants with me, and why the fucking fuck I am sitting here, and not calling the fucking police, because I should be terrified, but here I am, and the only thing I'm currently terrified of is how sexy Gerard Way's smirk is.” Frank regretted what he said instantaneously. “I, I didn't mean...”
But Bob just chuckled that chesty laugh of his again. “It's okay, dude. Trust me. I'd be exactly the same in your position.”
Frank shifted in his seat, laying his arms crossed on the table and resting his chin on his forearms. “What exactly is my position?”
Bob patted his back, brotherly. “You'll find out soon enough.”
After hearing only twenty three words out of Bob's mouth directed at him, Frank decided that he liked Bob Bryar.
Gerard returned a quarter of an hour later, and his mother twenty minutes after that, riddled with plates of chips and beers.
It was only when they left Gerard's mother's café -with Frank almost tripping over his trouser legs- that Frank noticed the 'closed' sign had been on the door the whole time.