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- Disclaimer- The only thing someone like me owns is...um...not this. So...sighs...I don't own, okay?

A/N- And now, ladies and gentlemen (Are there dudes reading this? Do guys even like slash?), I proudly present to you: the final part of YKWTDTGLUIP!!!! grins at applause that doesn't exist Thanks for the reviews! does Napoleon Dynamite dance This is from Frank's POV. And now...dramatic pose Enjoy, my minions, enjoy...

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I stared at the gun in my hand in shock, trying to figure out why I wasn't dead. Or at least unconscious bleeding to death.

And then it hit me.

No bullets. I had used the last bullet on Gerard.

Oh God.

I gripped the gun tightly, my knuckles turning white. My breath quickened, as did my heartbeat.

Shit. They were going to get me if I didn't do something. And quick. I looked around just as the hands gripped my shoulders, hauling me to my feet.

"NO!" I wailed, swinging my arm around and slamming the gun into the person's head as hard as I could. The person, the Irish guard, hit the ground with a 'thud'.

That's when the middle-aged 'I must prove my self and be commended as a hero after this ordeal is through' came from behind and caught me around my waist in a football tackle.

He had me pinned, and I looked him in the eye.

"Are you married?" I breathed, still crying from the loss of Gerard. He sneered at me.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Because...," I said, struggled slightly, "because I know what it feels like to be in love."

"The hell does that have to do with anything?" he asked as the people were ushered out of the bank by the security guards.

I whimpered, and said, "I just killed my boyfriend. The only people I hurt in my entire life were Gerard, that unconscious dude on the ground, and a kid I got in a fight with in the seventh grade."

"And?" the man asked. "You just held us hostage for the past three hours. Do you want me to sympathize with you and let you go or something?"

I blinked and said, "I just wanted you to know that I'm not a monster."

He snorted.

"Right."

"Gerroff me," I muttered. "Do you have any idea what they do to guys like me in prison?"

His eyes widened and he looked at me.

"Holy shit. Frank Iero. My daughter had the hugest crush on you, and that dead man lying over there. I let her listen to your music, hell, I even let her go to one of you concerts! You sick freak! She met you!"

I smiled grimly.

"Did she stop listening to us after Gerard killed half the band? And he and I went on the run?"

"No," he half-whispered, his eyes wide.

"That's cool," I said. My Chemical Romance still had fans? Sweet.

"Are you going to go home and tell her about what psychos we are?" I asked.

"No."

I grinned.

"That's even cooler."

"Alright sir, you can get off of him now. We have this under control," a new voice said. As the man slowly climbed off of me, I noticed that the entire place was swarming with police and a few medical examiners.

As a few cops pulled me to my feet, I couldn't take my eyes off Gerard. God, even in death he was beautiful. So pale, so elegant, gorgeous. Dramatic Gerard.

My hands were cuffed behind my back, and they dragged me from the scene.

Right about then reality slammed into me.

I was going to prison.

Maybe I could get off as insane. Hmm, the voices in my head told me to do it, right? Maybe I could try and say that Angel did it.

I laughed loudly, perhaps hysterically, and the cops actually stopped walking to stare at me in disgust. Of course, my reflexes suck ass, so I ran straight into a tall and thin cop.

After exchanging glances, and realizing that I wasn't going to shut up, they continued dragging me and threw me roughly into a police car.

I hadn't been in the back of one of these things since...since I got arrested at 17 for underage drinking, I thought.

I was lost in my own head, so I didn't notice the other occupant of the car until we were halfway to the station. I heard a sniffle, and turned to face the other person. It was Brendon. His head was low, and he was crying silently. His hands were cuffed behind his back. My eyes widened in horror.

That's when I lost control.

I began screaming and kicking, struggling against my bonds hysterically.

"We forced him!" I screamed. "He was a hostage! He didn't do anything wrong!"

Brendon's eyes widened considerably, and he looked at me.

"Shut up," he hissed. "Didn't you hear them? Anything you say or do will be used against you in court!"

Then, if possible, his eyes got bigger.

"Please tell me that Gerard is in a different car," he pleaded.

I shook my head, tears rolling down my cheeks in thick rivers.

"I killed him," I muttered. I actually killed him, didn't I? I squeezed my eyes shut, leaning my head against the seat.

"This didn't work out like we planned, Brendon. I screwed up bad. I killed him and was gonna kill myself, but the gun wasn't loaded, goddammit. We were supposed to die together. But I'm still here, Brendon. I'm still here, and you're here with me."

I slammed my foot against the seat in front of me, earning a shout from the cop sitting there.

"This wasn't supposed to happen like this!" I screamed again, before repeating it over and over again. My chant melded with Brendon's, who was repeating, "Shut up! Please, just shut up!"

This really wasn't supposed to happen like this.

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Two months later...

It only took two hours for the jury to decide that I was guilty. I can't recant to you for what exactly. Truth be told, I wasn't really paying attention.

The entire trial time, I was trying to find ways to kill myself. I had already been cut down from the ceiling at least seven times.

I was actually pretty lucky. That night of the robbery, I had my bail paid by Billie Joe Armstrong, who for some strange reason had been in Vegas and had felt bad for me, I guess. Plus, I think that he had missed Gee and felt bad about his death. He just paid the bail and left, though.

I'm a murderer, remember?

So, no. I was not shanked in jail that night and was free to try and kill myself as much as I wanted during the trial time. But, of course, I am a screw-up. I am not able to kill myself. I am a loser.

How the hell do you fail at killing yourself? Especially when you live alone?

So now, here I am, being shipped off to a maximum security prison. Guess what? I'm on death row.

In seven years, I am going to be strapped to a chair and have high voltage currents be sent through my body. Which, as cool as that sounds, I don't think I can wait that long.

I don't want to go to jail.

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'They all cheat at cards and the checkers are lost,
My cellmate's a killer, they made me do push-ups (in drag)
But nobody cares if you're losing yourself...am I losing myself?!
Well, I miss my mom,
Will they give me the chair,
Or lethal injection, or swing from a rope if you dare;
Ah, nobody knows...all the trouble I've seen!'

How is that a song my band wrote for fun and metaphorical purposes ended up being about me?

I've decided to take the final option, because my cellmate weighs at least 400 lbs. I'm no match for that beast of a man. And of course, he's a sexual predator. So, yeah.

You can imagine the hell I'm in.

I have to escape, I have to be with Gerard. The guilt is killing me.

Yesterday, I learned that Brendon died. He was raped and murdered, in prison.

And it's my fault.

I'm taking the coward's way out, but I don't care. I deserve this.

I want to walk through the flames of hell, hand in hand with Gerard.

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A/N- It's pretty much the same ending, but...it's more detailed and over all better, in my eyes at least. And since I write for me and just share with you...it's all good with me. But please, share your opinion. I wanna know if you liked the older one better or what. REVIEW!!!!!