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((Gerard's P.O.V.))

And Frank really expects me to sleep? He must be delusional.

I can't get any sleep knowing that Frankie, my dear, sweet Frankie, whom I love with all my heart, is out there crying his eyes out and he refuses to let me help him. Yes, he is crying his eyes out. I know he is. He probably put on The Nightmare Before Christmas just so I wouldn't be able to hear him. But he shouldn't be crying. He shouldn't be staying up waiting for an asshole like Bob to come back from fucking some guy's brains out as if there's no complete angel waiting for him. Because there is. Frank being an angel is the only explanation I can come up with as to why he has stayed with Bob for so long, not only tolerating everything he does to him but also accepting it and loving him for it anyway.

And to be completely honest, on nights like these, where I have to sit through Frank crying and not tell him all these things, not tell him how terrible it is that he's still with Bob, not tell him that he should be with so(ME)one who cares about him, I would rather die.

And perhaps one day I can follow through with that.

But not tonight.

Not tonight, because I just heard Bob come in a little while ago, and now the sound of Frankie screaming my name fills my ears. I jump out of my bunk and fall to the ground with a loud thud, ignoring the fact the I hit my head and I can feel every blood vessel going through my brain throbbing with each beat my heart makes. And as I run to the living room area, stumbling with every other step, I hear Bob yelling at my poor, delicate Frankie.

"GERARD?! I knew you were fucking him, you little shit!" I run in just in time to see Bob punching Frankie in the side as he thrusts into him, and Frank seems to be blowing some guy but he doesn't seem to be enjoying any of it. In fact, tears are streaming down his cheeks as I see the guy's body shudder and a small moan escapes his lips. For some reason I hate him more than I hate Bob right now, so I find it more fitting when I pull him up off the couch and throw him on the floor, sitting on his legs so he won't get away, and punch him repeatedly in the face, alternating fists. The only thing my brain can comprehend right now is left, right, left, right.

The guy is close to passing out when I hear Frankie whimpering near the other side of the room. My heart sinks and I turn to see if he's okay. Bob is standing over him, his knuckles bloody, as is Frank's face. At this point my mind has absolutely no control over what my body does. I grab the TV that Frankie was watching only minutes ago and let it crash on Bob's head. When he is on the floor, I flip him onto his back, kneeling on his chest, and begin pounding my knuckles into his face. He's yelling at me to stop, but again my mind really doesn't comprehend anything besides that Bob is finally getting what he deserves. Eventually I can't see Bob's facial features much anymore, just the blood that came spilling from his nose and lips after about the 7th punch. Both of his eyes seem to be bruising already, and his face seems swollen. I begin to wonder how long I've been hitting him. I get off him when he starts whimpering and turn to see that Frankie is still crying. There is a mess of blood all over the floor, but I feel it still hasn't made up for what they did to Frankie until....STOMP! I slam my foot in between the mystery guy's legs and I hear him scream kinda like I do sometimes when I'm performing.

I get on my hands and knees next to the guy and practically spit, "Good luck using that piece of shit you call a dick now."

I turn back to Bob and see him getting up, his fist already in the air to hit me, but I grab his wrist and pull him close to me to whisper in his ear, "You deserve a lot worse than what you're getting, bitch." I'm about to throw him back on the floor when I see Frankie come up behind him. Bob must hear him coming, because he then elbows my beautiful Frank in the face, sending him back to the floor. This throws me over the edge and the anger in me gives me the strength to lift Bob and toss him out the bus window, the glass shattering everywhere.

I get on my hands and knees and crawl to Frankie, the pieces of glass cutting my palms. Frankie is curled up in a ball, sobbing uncontrollably. I wrap my arms around him and begin rocking him back and forth gently. He looks up at me slowly, tears still running down his face, washing away some of the blood that was a result of Bob's abuse.

"Gerard," he whispers, digging his face into my chest.

"Ssshhh, Frankie," I tell him, trying to calm him down. We hear Bob grunting outside the bus, and Frank looks up at me, his eyes wide with fear.

"Take me away from here, Gerard."

"Okay," I whisper back. "We'll take some time off from the tour and go back home..."

"No, Gerard, I mean....I want you to take me away from here....forever."