FicWad

A/N: This is a pretty uneventful chapter, sorry. Also I won't be updating for the rest of the month because it's exams season (unenthusiastic party popper) so I'll -most likely- be updating on the first week of June!

Frank, Gerard, and Bob had been staying in the motel room for four nights when it was finally decided that Frank was well enough for the road trip to continue.
Frank was barely conscious of the situation when Bob carried him back into the truck groom-and-bride style. The migraines had stopped, but an aching fuzz was lingering in his front temples. The mental seizures had set him in a state of nonplus, and he was somewhat unaware of the multiple times that Gerard had kissed his forehead over the past few days.
Within an hour of driving, they were out of Illinois and into Indiana. Gerard and Bob had been listening to a live compilation of Nirvana's Reading Show when the truck began to shudder and jerk.
“The fuck, Bryar?” Gerard catechized. “What're you playing at? Frank's still mostly out of it!”
At the sound of Gerard uttering his name, Frank came to. His eyes felt like small tennis balls shoved into needle-eye sized holes in his skull.

Fuck me, where can I can some decent sleep? Apparently not in this company.

Gerard's hospitality over the past week had been generous, if not suspicious. Frank had always come first, especially since the migraine epidemic. Frank laid back down on the bench, and hoped for the episode to pass so he could get back to fucking sleep. Gerard and Bob, however, were in no hurry to quieten down for Frank's sake.

“You think I'm purposely trying to stall the damned thing, in the middle of a highway? Jesus Gee, I'm trying to rev it, but it's lost its shit.” The truck vibrated and shuddered forward a little. The sound of external car horns reverberated about the vehicle. Frank heard Bob pound the dashboard. “Fuck!”
“Can you not like, boot it?” Gerard suggested hopelessly.
Bob stared back at Gerard, aghast. “How the fuck have you managed to perform like, a hundred perfect murders, and still think that 'boot it' is a genuine term for fixing a car?” Bob shook his head defeatedly. He punched the power button of the stereo. Kurt Cobain's voice was cut off mid lyric. “We're fucked.”
Gerard groaned, so voluminously that it was almost inhuman. “What are we meant to do now?” He whined.

Frank; you have now witnessed Gerard Way, the serial killer, be dis-empowered by his mother, kiss your head, and whine like a child. You cannot say that your life is duller than Delia Smith's complexion any more, Iero.

Bob managed to steer the truck off the road by using the last of the vehicle's gravitaional momentum. He cranked it to a halt, with the gear stick that appeared to be the only functioning control left in the truck. “Well, we can't use this pile of shit any more, that's for sure.”
“Where are we going, anyway?” Frank bleated from the back, his eyelids still stretched closed over his tired eyes.
Gerard and Bob fell silent at the sound of Frank's voice, understandably. He hadn't spoken for near on five days. Frank swore he could hear Gerard gulp.

Achievement unlocked; for the first time, Gerard is more uncomfortable in your presence than you are in his, Frank. Just one step closer to making him your bitch.

Of course, Frank wasn't going to tell Gerard about his objectifying plans. Frank did not need Gerard to know any more about his current feelings surrounding the raven-haired man. Gerard did not need to know. And Frank was a hundred per cent sure that neither wanted to acknowledge the often stiffness in Bob's old jeans that appeared whenever they made subsequent eye contact. Nobody needed to have that image.

“Well?” Frank encouraged. He could hear Gerard's hoarse sigh again.
“We're going where all the stars shine, sunshine.” Gerard laughed half-heartedly. Gerard's hint was not serious, but anything to do with location sent Frank crazy. His mind was instantly ticking.

Stars. Star. Star... porn star! We're going to watch porn, Frank thought hopelessly. No, stars, uh, Hollywood stars? Los Angeles! Oh, wait, we're heading East, dumbass. California is on the West Coast. Stars... New York?

However, Frank's desperate line of thought was disrupted by the sound of slamming doors and the uncomfortable shriek of the truck door sliding open, revealing streams of sunlight and disturbing dust in the golden afternoon light. “C'mon, Frank,” Gerard's raspy voice was suddenly at his ear, and his warm breath caressed his left cheek. “We've gotta go.”
Frank let Gerard help him out of the truck voluntarily. Nonetheless, when Frank's bare feet made contact with the blazing grass and cement of the road-side, he nearly passed out. There was an awful clenching at his gut that was all too familiar. His intestines were snakes, writhing about discontentedly, snapping at the inner layer of his stomach. The intolerable cramps along with the abnormally humid weather almost tipped Frank into unconsciousness again.
The digestive problems had started when he was fifteen, but after treatment they had cooled with the antibiotics. Frank had barely noticed the absence of his twice-daily antibiotic doses over the past fortnight.

Shit, you've really done it this time, Iero. Gerard Way isn't gonna make way for fucking cramps, Frank. Even if it is your time of the month, Frank groaned mentally.

Gerard's face was inches away from Frank's when he opened his dry eyes again, the extreme sunlight halo-ing about Way's head. “Is it the stomachaches again, Frankie?”
“A-again?” Frank frowned, his forehead creasing in both agony and confusion. “How do you know I've had them before?”
But before Frank could even think about hearing the answer, the heat finally got into his system, and he passed out cold.
*
When Frank came to, he was in a foreign position. His cheek was stuck to a leather surface, and one of his legs was bent up to his chest, whilst the other dangled lazily off the surface. The familiar sound of Gerard and Bob muttering was welcome. Dazedly, Frank attempted to sit up. The blaring light about him presented that a new car had materialized around him. Well, new might not have been the most appropriate word, but the vehicle was new to Frank nonetheless. The seats were of black leather, and had sectioned indents where the sewing was placed. There wasn't much leg space, but the interior of the car suggested it was somewhat antique, and the bonnet stretched far in front of the windscreen.
Gerard looked over his shoulder at Frank, noticing that he was awake. “Beauty, isn't she?” Gerard smirked.
Frank nodded idly as he watched Bob drive. “Where's Jaxon?” He croaked.
Gerard grinned slyly, and raised his eyebrows in the direction of the boot behind Frank. “I don't know,” Gerard winked, “where is Jaxon, Bob?” He gave a passing glance to Bob and laughed.
Scared stiff, Frank rotated snail slow, only to jump out of his pants -quite literally, as he fell off the back seat into the footspace, the oversized jeans slid easily over his hips- at the sight of the massive panting dog. “Jesus,” Frank complained as he attempted to regain whatever dignity he had left by trying to haul his trouserless self back onto the car seat. However, a sudden growl from Jaxon lead him to give up in defeat and fall back down.
“Sorry, Frankie,” Bob chuckled. “I would say I hope your feeling better, but it appears that that question doesn't need asking.”
Frank frowned.
For the rest of the drive through Indiana, Frank pondered on his situation for what felt like the thousandth time. He hadn't dared to ask Bob and Gerard how they'd manage to redeem a vehicle; they were on a level of unlawfulness that Frank couldn't comprehend. He felt that his life at current was a film, but victims in films are usually hell bent on escaping. Frank had loved Ray's company, but it still remained that he felt undeniably guarded under Gerard's control. Even with intestinal plagues and fading migraines, Frank would go to where all the stars shine as long as Gerard was next to him, still kissing his sad little head every time it pounded. Oh God, Gerard made his heart ache in all the wrong ways.

Is there any point in asking myself what the fuck is going on any more? Frank wondered as he watched the endless countryside pass him by, a refreshing sight after just witnessing the rocking insides of Bob's truck for two weeks. I think I like the risk. Jesus, fuck it, I don't like the risk, I like Gerard.
And with that thought, Frank's head began to plunder with migraines again.

A/N: I really appreciate reviews! -coughcough-