FicWad

Frank screamed.

It seemed that no matter how hard he fought, he could never escape this darkness. The depression, all the thoughts his previous boyfriend drilled into his skull before he met Gerard. Before he could talk again much less like someone else.

A bolt of lightening flashed white, startling Frank out of his nightmare. He would never escape it seems, because the first thing he did or could do was bawl his eyes out.

Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.

What would Jackson think of him now? He'd snort and laugh at weak little Frankie bawling from a silly storm and his own imagination. There wasn't anything there. Just darkness he couldn't escape.

Frank buried his face in his pillows to muffle his sobs. He's never woken up Gerard when he'd scream from a nightmare, and he wasn't starting tonight.

Hot wet tears stained the pillow as his heart finally began to slow, sobs reduced to quiet whimpers and cries. Frank practiced what his therapist told him to and took deep breaths. In and out, in and out, in and out.

Then, a roaring crack shook the apartment, sending Frank to burrow even deeper into his blankets. "Fuck," he whispered once it ended and the lightening started again, flashing his room in short bursts.

Frank laid suffocating himself into the pillow for a while before an enormous boom, and the tears were back. Another strike of lightening was enough, and Frank bolted up, sighing and rubbing his eyes. He'd never get back to sleep at this point.

Glancing again at his clock, Frank found it had been three minutes since the thunder
woke him. 2:40am, the clock mocked in bold red letters.

Curling his toes, Frank found himself standing and opening the door to the guest bedroom. He was lucky Gerard bothered Frank with a room at all, considering he couldn't do anything. Before him, Frank could barely get outta his apartment before retreating. Whether over a fake shadow, or noises that just weren't real.

It was like Jackson was still controlling his life, even in prison. But with time and Gerard's patience, he was getting better. Slowly enough. Frank padded into the living room, finding the couch with a blanket thrown over the side of it. He sighed, curling his fists out of habit.

Nights like this, whether from nightmares, hallucinations, Frank didn't favor staying in his room. There were two windows without blinds, in comparison to the living room that had none.

He was several yards away from human contact in his room, in comparison to the living room. Twenty two feet.

He wasn't gonna wake up Gerard with the petty nightmare excuse anytime soon, nope. In reality the couch was always Frank's better option. Sure it was lumpy, but it's not like sleep came in his own room anyways; no difference.

Frank decided to go with his plan and walked forward. At least he was before a low thump sounded over the drumming of rain on the roof. A noise you wouldn't hear unless you pay attention like Frank does.

Frank froze dead and looked toward the kitchen doorway. That was no ordinary house settling noise; that was a footstep at most, light but very there.

Oh god, a thought dawned on Frank. Was it Jackson? Had he escaped and tracked him and Gerard down after so long? The step coulda been heavier, now that he thought about it. Like-Like a boot, the combat boots Jackson wore when he wanted to discipline him better.

Frank whimpered and instinctively took a step back. His hands curled into fists tighter as his mind reeled.

He heard Gerard when he got up at night (rarely) and that was always on purpose.
To make Gerard-like noises to reassure him if he was awake that it wasn't a stranger, or God forbid, Jackson in the apartment. When he knocked on the door, waking him, hell, even when he calls on the phone.

It couldn't be, it couldn't be, it couldn't be, Frank repeated over and over in his head.

Breathing a little faster, Frank found his legs and toddled forward exactly a yard and two feet. Six away from the kitchen, where absolutely nothing (his death) was waiting for him. More footsteps alerted Frank, messing in the kitchen, maybe drawers. A knife?

Suddenly Frank's breathing wasn't just fast but erratic. He tightened his fists, recalling every single time Jackson did the same thing to scare him. It had to be him, it had to be. Fleeting images of Gerard's rotting corpse wafted into Frank's head, prodding rational thoughts away.

Jackson was alive and he killed his only friend, the only one who gave a shit about him. Gerard's not dead. Gerard's dead. Gerard's fucking dead.

Then, a silhouette of a man approached the kitchen doorway. Jackson, Frank shook his head over his wild breathing. Holding something, a knife, Frank's mind chanted. A knife that he'd be murdered and forgotten about forever with.

Then a far off, "That you, Frank?" A light switched on in Frank's head, sending his focus and hyperventilating into a frenzy. It was Gerard, greasy red-haired Gerard who made Frank kill bugs for him and wore Star Wars T-shirts to bed.

The next second Frank's hands were over his ears, in both an attempt to calm himself and block all the static in his ears. He didn't hear Gerard rush forward, apologizing furiously as he set his coffee mug down.

He only felt his friend pull him into his arms and keep him in his tight embrace. The next moment Frank was sobbing for the second time that night, except now into Gerard's neck. That didn't seem to bother him though.

Gerard smoothed down Frank's hair, rubbing his back and whispering soft nothings in his ear. "Hush Frankie, shh it's okay. I'm so sorry I scared you, there's nothing here, it's okay, it's okay."

Slowly, gradually, Frank and his breathing began to calm from Gerard's being there. Hugging him like it was the last he'd see him, caring for Frank like he was any use to him but a toy.

Soon he was hugging Gerard back (never as tight) and the tears reduced to short, steadying breaths. "Yeah, that's it, you're okay, just me and you here Frank, me and you," Gerard's quiet voice coddled.

Frank hardly believed how helpful his friend was all the time, in comparison to himself, but that wasn't the point. Frank's utter uselessness wasn't the point. Jackson wouldn't just be chewing him out by now.

"Are you okay?" Gerard's voice again broke his thoughts. Frank nodded numbly and leaned his head against Gerard's chest. He was upfront if he was uncomfortable; Gerard would say something.

But nothing was said for a while but Gerard stroking Frank's hair before he spoke up. "I'm sorry. I just- fuck, I just made you have a fucking panic attack, I'm so sorry b- Frankie.." Gerard trailed off after he was about to say something else. Bitch, Frank corrected before he realized Gerard was prodding him to face him.