FicWad

A/N: This chapter's been a long time coming, apologies. Unfortunately, although it's summer, I still have English and History work as well a French controlled assessment to do -cries- however, in a few weeks I plan to binge write, so not long to go now! See you then^.^
By the time they were in Ohio, Gerard Way had fallen asleep. He sat in the rear-right seat, behind the front passenger's where Frank sat reclined. Frank watched him snooze through the mirror outside his car door; he watched the way his right leg was pulled up from the floor and on the seat, resting against the door. His lengthy left was stretched out before him, right beneath Frank's seat. His greased, raven locks fell in sections upon his sallow face, and his eyelids batted and glittered in syncopation against his prominent cheekbones. His long digits of fingers were lazily entwined, and his eyebrows knitted together in concern.
How can somebody who bears a knife in his trouser leg look so damn adorable? Frank thought peacefully. And how can I still be so infatuated with somebody who's likely to jump me as soon as he gets a chance?
The highway was near-on empty as they drove through the inky night. The sky was all but clear, and the clouds diluted the stars' shining. Bob drove quietly. The only sound he made was the odd yawn or humble tapping of his thumbs on the leather wheel. The orange light of the digital clock on the dashboard left bright silhouettes against Frank's eyelids as it caught his peripheral vision.
2:33am.
Frank's migraines, although frequent, had been less violent over the past four days. Regardless of the fact that he had been prone to epileptic seizures fortnightly for the past half decade, he had never felt fatigue more strong than he had after his tête attacks. The frequency of the headaches (if they could be referred to as something so mild) had left him in a permanent state of constant weakness, and the only thing he had energy to do was think. The human mind, Frank had known for a long time, was not a place to be strung too often.
That's the sixth four-by-four we've passed in the last one and a half hours, Frank mulled absently. He yawned. And that's the eighteenth time I've yawned in the past two minutes. Frank sat up a little, so as to not have more of an achy back than that he'd already obtained. He rubbed his forehead reflexively, as he was so used to having migraines now. However, as his fingers made contact with his skin, a thrashing pain whipped through his skull. “Agh,” he cried, squinting his eyes closed as if that would dull the pian.
Bob looked across the wheel at the crumpling Frank, an expression of concern crossing his face. “Frankie, what is it? Not another one, huh?”
The pain was beginning to return again and again, as if it were a sea of boiling salt water, and Frank's mind was the sand. The sensation was growing intolerable, and the only reply Frank could muster was a further, “Shit! Aghh, shit shit shit...” He pummelled his head with the ball of his hand in frustration. Just when he was about to get a blink of sleep...
“Shall I pull over Frankie? What's going on up there? Are you seeing things again?” Bob made a mental note to remember anything Frank might say, so he could repeat it to Gerard later.
Frank barely heard Bob speak. He wasn't seeing images, but colours; bright, burning oranges and reds, searing into his pupils. A cold sweat was dawning on him now, and a familiar twisting ache in his gut was building. Gerard, Gerard, he'll help, he'll help me, were the only words Frank could pathetically think. He wouldn't need to say anything, I just need to see him, and feel him. He's safe. Frank opened his eyes quickly, but only long enough to glance at the mirror again to see Gerard, still peacefully snoozing through the hell Frank was currently living through. Guiltily, Frank grew angry. Why wasn't Gerard awake to help him? This was his fault, his fault! Ever since Gerard had taken him, these kept coming.
Jaxon the dog whined grumpily beside Gerard, a noise of such high pitch that the sound of it made Frank feel like a cleaver had split through his head. “Stop it!” Frank managed to bawl. “Get out, get out! Shut... Shut the fuck up!” Tears began dribbling between his tightly squeezed shut eyelids. “Get out of my head!”
And then the beating came. The familiar images of anything that could hurt him; tongs, knives, guns, ropes, nails, hammers, daggers. Fire, coals, needles, acids, axes, scissors. The pain in his stomach was boiling, his entrails were spilling! His stomach was split! His groin was twisting, and somebody had hold of his hands! They were cracking his knuckles and ripping out his nails, and Frank could hear them laughing! He could hear them! They were cackling as they drew a knife down his torso and tore through muscle and tissue and bone. They had a hold of his neck! They were pressuring thumbs and arms and nails and knives and hammers into his throat and his windpipe and he couldn't fucking breathe and his hair was burning and being ripped bit by bit out of his skull. His bowels were ballooned open and he was soiling himself and they were laughing! Someone was kicking his head and his belly and his crotch, and somebody else was stamping on his arms and elbows and legs and knees. He felt them tease his chin with the tip of a knife and-
“Frank, Frank, kid, open your eyes!” Gerard's voice barely cut through the laughing.
His intestines were out of his tummy and being shoved in his mouth, and they tasted wet and jelly like and he was gagging and crying and bawling-
“Frank! Let go of your hair, it's coming out! Try and uncurl your toes, they're going to make your foot spasm. Bob, help me out, here.” Gerard was tapping through the din, if not adding to it.
Nearly all his bones were snapped and his head was boiling, somebody was shoving him underwater. He was choking and vomiting and the water was flooding his ear canals. His world was going black when-
“Wake the fuck up!” Gerard slapped Frank across the face.
He surfaced.
“Jesus, thank fuck,” Gerard sighed. “Bob, get a towel.”
“Why the fuck would we have a towel?”
“I don't know,” Gerard said resignedly. “Just get me something to mop this shit up.”
Frank's entire body was coiled from the seizure, if you could call it that. Although the pain he still felt was nothing in comparison to that that the migraine had made him feel, he felt as if he was going to pass out from the aftermath. He tried to blink his eyes open, but even the near pitch black of night was too much of a photo shock for his tender head to cope with. He heard the click of his seat belt being undone, and felt two muscular arms pull him out of the car bridal style.
A wet cloth of some material was dabbing at his head, hands, and inner thighs. Gerard -or Bob, he couldn't see- was removing Bob's old jeans from his legs. He was conscious enough by now to know that he might die of embarrassment later on; he'd wet himself.
It was painful as his muscles began to relax, as if he'd just run a million mile marathon and suddenly stopped moving. His body didn't know what to think or do. Just as he felt skilled hands uncoil his own fingers and brush against his head, he surrendered to sleep.

Frank woke up approximately twenty minutes later to find a pair of soft, worn jogging pants on his searing legs and a rolled up hoodie underneath his head. His entire body quaked with mere pain. Every inch of him ached. His sore, dry eyes batted open to see Gerard and Bob sat by him, each sipping on a can of beer whilst regarding him.
“Look what came out of it's cave,” Gerard sat amusedly.
Bob, however, did not seem to think so lightly of the situation. “Frankie! How are you? What hurts?”
Frank felt completely embarrassed. Gerard watched him, his perfectly boned face seeing his every move. Oh God, I literally pissed myself in front of him, he'll never fucking like me now. Frank mentally slapped himself. He'd never 'like' you anyway, look at him, then look at you. He's a flawless, dark, mysterious machine of a man, and you, Frankie, are lying broken on the ground, after having pissed yourself in front of him. “Mmm, everything,” was all Frank managed to mutter. Languidly, he reached a floppy arm up to stroke his hair out of his face, but he was horrified to find that a somewhat considerable amount of said hair had been ripped from his scalp. Well, considerable might be an over statement, but the burning pain he felt as he brushed his palm over his head was enough answer.
“Do you remember anything?” Gerard asked, cool and matter-of factly. He placed his can beside him and Frank watched and he rolled the sleeves of his plaid shirt up to his elbows to reveal slender forearms railed with veins and muscle. “You've never had one worse than that.”
Bob had pulled the car over in a lay by, and had obviously woken Gerard to aid Frank.
“No,” Frank squeezed his eyes shut again, as if that would remove him from the moment, and all embarrassment would cease. “Just pain.”
Bob chuckled, “As if that wasn't obvious enough.”
Gerard pulled a grim expression. He stood up and raked a hand through his hair. Frank opened his eyes and saw that it was wet; Gerard must have washed it with bottled water whilst waiting for Frank to wake up. “We gotta get going.”

After ten minutes, they were back on the road and at the back end of Ohio, Frank in the back and Gerard riding shotgun next to Bob. Frank wasn't even bothered by Jaxon next to him. His still throbbing head rested against the glass of the window, and little bits of his bloody hair drifted about in the wind coming into the car from Gerard's ajar window. The last thing Frank saw before he fell unconscious again were the emerging stars.
“We're going where all the stars shine, sunshine.”

Oh God, Frank thought sleepily and wistfully, I'd go anywhere with you.

A/N: I always appreciate reviews! -cough cough nudge nudge-