Chapter Text

It was like being caught in an ocean current, tossed briefly back into consciousness only to be sucked back beneath the waves moments later, raw and tumbled and confused. He woke up a bit as he was being shoved into a trunk, and his hands were tied behind his back, what the fuck? His head hurt, he was bewildered and didn’t know where he was, and the coach was looming over him, face twisted. Gerard opened his mouth to shout, or yell, but Sikowski must have hit Gerard again, maybe, because there was another bright shock of pain and the undertow dragged him back down.

Then he was suddenly being dragged out of the truck, stumbling, and it was getting dark. He didn’t remember the ride at all, had no idea how long he’d been out. But it was dark outside, which didn’t bode well, he thought. It’d taken him a moment to even realize he wasn’t in Jersey, that this wasn’t Belleville. His brain was sluggishly rebooting, throwing out random outdated thoughts. Vermont. This was Vermont. He’d missed the test in Biology on the anatomy of amphibians. Ray was going to be so upset.

Sikowski didn’t give him much time to orient himself, just shoved him along a path, muddy and steep. Most of Gerard’s focus was on keeping his feet beneath him, but he noticed the coach kept looking over his shoulder like he was being hunted. He started pushing Gerard to go faster, but Gerard’s vision was swimming and he couldn’t keep up, had a suspicion he didn’t really want to.

“Fuck you,” he slurred, and thought about running, thought about losing himself in the trees and dead leaves, but the coach just laughed, ugly and deep, and gave him another hard shove.

His hands were still tied, and when he fell he couldn’t catch himself; he sprawled in the mud and leaves and felt tears stinging his eyes. Shit, he had to figure out what was going on. Something awful was happening, but his head fucking hurt, and he couldn’t think. These weren’t Frank’s woods. He knew that. Why did he know that, but not what was going on? Where was he?

“How’d you find out?” the coach asked, and Gerard glared at him from under his muddy bangs, tried to struggle back upright without moving his head too much. Fuck, he was going to throw up. He wouldn’t have answered the asshole’s question even if he knew. “Ted said you liked to dick around in the woods after school, I shoulda known—you fucking freaks are all the same.” A pause while Gerard started feeling more and more nauseous. “You saw him, didn’t you? I fucking knew it. They all said I was wrong, but I knew it.”

“You killed him,” Gerard said faintly, and then threw up.

“Aw, hell,” Sikowski said, and waited for Gerard to finish before hauling him up gingerly. Apparently they’d finally reached their destination now, some rustic hunting cabin in the middle of nowhere, where no one would ever find his body. Just like Frank. Fuck. Fuck. “I didn’t kill him. It was an accident, dammit. I never meant to kill anybody, and Iero can just shut the hell up about it.”

Gerard was pretty sure he had a concussion. A head injury would at least explain why Sikowski was talking nonsense, Gerard thought dimly, and tugged experimentally at the knots on his wrist. The coach spotted him doing it and scowled, dragging him inside the cabin and slamming the door shut.

There was a chair next to the fireplace, heavy carved wood, decorated with deer—fuck, people out here were fucking obsessed with deer—and Sikowski shoved him into it, then tied him in place, cussing under his breath all the while. He was in an old t-shirt and a ballcap, and the resemblance to Ted was striking—it was like watching an older Ted with a broader jaw, a thicker neck. But Ted had never looked so vicious, even when he was bashing Gerard’s face in.

“There,” he grunted. “Scream all you want, kid, nobody’s gonna hear you out here. You sit tight, now.”

“What?” Gerard said, startled. He supposed he should have realized he wasn’t going to be tied up and then bashed in the head with a brick, talk about a waste of time. But who fucking knew with this guy. “Where are you—”

But the door was slamming shut, and Gerard could hear the sound of the bastard walking quickly off through the fallen leaves. Then nothing. Not even the sound of the truck starting, which meant Sikowski was probably right. He was far from anything in earshot, far from any road; no one was going to hear him if he shouted, or screamed.

The dick hadn’t turned on the lights in the cabin, and the last of the sunlight was fading. Gerard stared at the darkening windows, breath coming quicker, but he couldn’t panic, he couldn’t fucking panic. He had to—there had to be something he could do, except he fucking hurt all over, and he was tired, and it was getting colder.

Mikey was going to be so mad at him if he died out here. He made a nauseating effort to try to rock the chair over or something—maybe he could get free, find a weapon. But the chair was fucking heavy, and possibly even tied to the wall. It wasn’t moving more than an inch, at best.

Okay, he thought. Okay, okay. Time to shout. Might as well try.

But Sikowski had been telling the truth. An hour later, Gerard’d gotten tired of trying for volume, his throat hoarse and sore. He had a head injury—he couldn’t sleep, he knew that much from all the late-night medical dramas he’d watched. So he sang the Misfits, and showtunes, and the theme song to the Thundercats, anything he could think of, feeling crazy and alone and forgotten, voice scratchy and shaky.

Next thing he knew, though, there was light streaming in the windows again. There was a disorienting moment of complete confusion—the last thing he could remember was running late to class, coming back from a smoke. And then—fuck. That murdering inbred fuckwit had fucking kidnapped him. Gerard was in a cabin, some weird fucking rustic cabin decorated with dead animals, and there were voices coming from outside, getting louder, and he still couldn’t move, and he hurt. And fuck, it was so fucking cold, but not the good kind of cold, not the Frank-kind. His shoulders were wrenched behind his back, his mouth tasted like stale bile, and he really, really had to pee. Shittiest morning ever.

“How could he know?” one of the voices said, sounding exasperated. “Mark, you goddamned moron, do you even know how badly you’ve fucked things up?”

“You didn’t see the kid’s face,” Mark said darkly. “He knows. And Ted says he spends a lot of time out in the woods, the fucking freak. Iero told him. I knew he’d tell someone eventually. I tried to warn you.”

“Goddammit, are you goin’ off about that ghost story again?” the other man said, and then the door was opening, and Gerard could see two men standing in the light. Mark Sikowski, and an older man Gerard had never seen before, but his identity was apparent enough anyway.

Great. Fucking fantastic. There was another Sikowski here, because Gerard hadn’t been doomed enough already, and this one probably had a badge and a gun and plenty of professional experience with covering up murders, and was probably actively out there keeping Gerard’s family and friends from finding him. Just great.

“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” the sheriff continued, rubbing at his temples tiredly, like he had a headache. Gerard had no sympathy whatsoever. “Worst thing the kid could have done was find the body, until you fucking snatched him. Now we’re all fucked. Did you think of that for one goddamned second?”

“Don’t act so superior,” Mark sneered. “You never go in those woods either, and you know why. You know damned well why. Ever since we dumped that little asshole’s body—”

Gerard made an involuntary noise of rage and both men went quiet. There was a heavy, thick silence as all the eyes in the room turned towards him. Gerard mentally berated himself—he should have tried to act like he was unconscious. Everyone knew that. You played dead until the bad guys gave something away, something vital. But he was having a hard time just keeping himself from shaking so badly his teeth rattled.

“Shit,” the sheriff said. “Great, Mark, he’s awake. Now what? You could’ve at least blindfolded him.”

“Well, obviously we should drug him until we figure what to do with him,” Mark growled, and then went to a drawer in the kitchen and came back with a hand towel, approaching Gerard with a smirk. Gerard glared, trying not to give in to panic as the blindfold went over his eyes. He couldn’t see. Fuck, he couldn’t see. And here he’d thought things couldn’t get any worse. And now they wanted to drug him, too. Gerard wasn’t drinking anything these bastards gave him, no matter how thirsty he got or how much his tongue felt like soiled sandpaper. He had to stay on top of his game, and not think about his mom, or Mikey, or Frank, who all had to be going crazy. How long had he been missing? Fuck, he had to keep calm.

“Jesus,” the sheriff muttered. “At least get the boy some water. We’re not fucking animals, here.”

A hand came down on his shoulder, and Gerard’s heart convulsed and his whole body jumped as he tried to edge away.

“Sorry, kid,” the sheriff said, sounding gruff and almost sincere. “Real sorry about all this. You shouldn’t have gotten mixed up in it.”

“He kidnapped me,” Gerard managed to say, and fuck, hearing his own voice, scratchy and scared and young, somehow made it seem so much more real. He breathed in, trying to keep the tears out of his voice. “I didn’t get mixed up in shit. Just—please, just let me go.”

The sheriff sighed, and Mark laughed darkly, and then they both moved away. It was driving Gerard crazy not knowing where anyone was, but he could hear them talking, voices low and combative. Then the sheriff came back with a cup of ice-cold water, and it turned out Gerard couldn’t resist drinking after all, even if it was drugged. It just tasted like water, though. He wished there was more.

And fuck, Gerard still had to pee. His brain was swelling, and he was going to get a bladder infection, and some assholes were probably going to murder him. He struggled a bit more with his bonds, squirming, and then thought, what the hell, might as well ask. Mark made some snide remark, but then the sheriff snapped at him, which, hey, Gerard totally supported, especially since afterward Gerard was helped up and led to the bathroom. He considered trying to make a break for it, but he was feeling queasy and dizzy just at standing and staggering around a couple feet, and besides, he was blindfolded. He’d probably knock himself out on a doorknob before he got anywhere. At least this way he got to stretch his legs a bit before they tied him back to the chair.

They both left a little while after that, and now that Gerard was marginally more alert and awake, he was going sort of insane with boredom. He almost wished they’d come back. Sure, he was fucking terrified, but he was also stuck staring the insides of his own eyelids for hours on end, with nothing but his own thoughts to distract him from how uncomfortable he was.

He wondered what Mikey and his mom were doing. They had to be frantic by now. He hoped Mikey didn’t panic and relapse, just because Gerard had been an idiot and provoked a known killer. Though in Gerard’s defense, they had been in public, in broad daylight. It’s not like Gerard could have known Sikowski was that crazy.

Crazy enough to wallop Gerard on the head and drag him out to the woods to die. Fuck. Fuck. Gerard thought maybe he understood why Frank didn’t want to talk about his family or friends from before. He kept imagining his mom and dad at the funeral. His mom crying. Mikey white and silent. Mikey alone. At least Mikey would know about ghosts, that Gerard was out there somewhere—but what if it didn’t work that way? What if not everyone became a ghost? What if Gerard would just be gone?

He had to stop thinking about it. He was going to hyperventilate. Deep soothing breaths, he reminded himself, and tried to focus on slowing his heart down. He’d just… think about X-Men for a while. No one died in X-Men forever, not really. It was just a matter of time before someone resurrected you, or shoved you in a parallel universe.

Someone came by in the afternoon, interrupting his mental rundown through all the X-Men story arcs. He thought it was afternoon, anyway—the light was warm and rich around the edges of the blindfold. Whoever it was didn’t say much, but they helped Gerard up and took him outside to pee again. He felt stupidly, pathetically grateful just for that. He fumbled open the button of his jeans, not even caring that the guy was looming behind him, menacing and silent. At least Gerard wasn’t going to piss himself, small comfort that it was.

He hadn’t had anything to eat since yesterday morning. That couldn’t be good. He was weak; he wouldn’t be able to fight back if he had to. Not that he could anyway, all tied up like this, with his vision spinning. But it would’ve been nice to know that if circumstances aligned themselves just right, he could fight, or at least attempt an escape.

Time passed really fucking weirdly when you couldn’t see or hear anything. It was almost like sensory deprivation, except for how he was way too intimate with this fucking chair and the ropes around his wrists. He couldn’t tell if his aching head was from caffeine withdrawal or, like, brain hemorraghing. By the time his captors showed up en masse at nightfall, when the air was cooling, Gerard was almost glad of the company.

Then they started debating what to do with him, and he abruptly reversed his opinion.

“I’m telling you, the boy knows what we did,” Mark snarled, and Gerard could hear him pacing. “He knows about Iero! I had to do it. I had to get him out of there, before he told anyone else.”

“Great, Mark, just lay it all out there for him like that,” a different voice said, tight and exasperated. “Right now this is just about your dumb ass getting us all arrested as conspirators to a kidnapping. You idiot. So shut the fuck up for once.”

“You don’t know shit, Tim,” Mark said, scowling. “I’m telling you, this boy goes in the forest, and he’s just like Iero, look at him. Fucking freak. He’s been messing with my nephew, too. And he’s a fucking liability. Something has to be done, and we all know what.”

Gerard wanted to snarl at Mark to shut up about Frank, to say he didn’t even deserve to know Frank’s name, but for once in his life he managed to bite his tongue. He just huddled in on himself and started painfully, carefully, testing the bonds on his wrists for the eleven thousandth time.

“Well, you sure as shit shouldn’t have done this,” the guy—Isaac’s brother? Tim Barrows, maybe?—said. “Now the Feds are involved. We’ll be lucky if we don’t all go to jail—my father wants this mess straightened out without any more bodies, so just stand down, man.”

“We can’t let him go,” Mark argued viciously, and he was standing right in front of Gerard, saying that. Gerard could smell the sweat of him, the cologne, and his throat kind of hurt with how hard it was not to cry. He wasn’t going to cry. He wasn’t. If they killed him, he’d be buried him in a different forest, away from Frank. Fuck fuck fuck. “He knows about Iero, and he knows all of our names. We don’t have a choice.”

“How the fuck—” the man next to Gerard said exasperatedly. “If there was anything to know, which I’m not saying there is, mind, how the hell would this kid have the slightest fucking clue?”

“I told you, the little fucker hides out in the woods! Iero told him everything, he must have,” Mark said, and he sounded crazy, fanatical. Apparently Gerard wasn’t the only one who thought so, because the sheriff snorted.

“Yeah, that’ll hold up in court. Christ, we would have been fine, Mark! I can’t believe—” Then there was a sound, something fell over with a hard clatter on the wooden floor, like maybe someone’d kicked over a chair, and Gerard couldn’t help but jump, heart pounding.

“I’m done cleaning up after you, Mark,” the sheriff said tiredly. “I’m done. We’re taking this boy home. We’ll dope him up—I’ve got a good stash in the truck from the last bust we did. No one’ll listen to him, even if he does talk.”

Mark snarled and stalked towards Gerard, Gerard could hear him coming, and then suddenly his head flew backward, slammed against the wall and everything went bright and sparkling with pain. Before he could think he was throwing up, heaving desperately and choking on it and dimly aware that people were yelling. He hoped he’d at least got some of it on Mark.

“Jesus,” he heard from far away. “Calm down, Mark. We’ll say you found him in the woods on a hunting trip—you said he likes the woods, right?—it’ll be fine. He hit his head hiking, trippin’ out on drugs. We don’t want to do anything stupid, Mark, he’s just a kid.”

“No,” Mark said wildly. “No, he knew about Iero before today. He knows. He knows it was me, he knew—fuck, Scott, he knew we broke that fucking kid’s neck. We have to let Iero know—we have to let him know what happens to people he tells. And then no one else will ever go in the woods. No one’ll talk to Iero again. We’ll be safe.”

Gerard felt a swell of triumph at that—fuck you, Mark, Frank’s out of the woods now. Even if Gerard did die, at least he’d done that, right? He’d saved Frank.

“Mark,” someone was saying. “You’re not a murderer, man, you just—we made a mistake. You didn’t mean to. Let’s just—”

“This kid knows. And he won’t forget,” Mark continued, sounding strangely serene now. “We have to kill him. It’s the only way.”

Everything went kind of still and quiet, even though people were still talking around him, arguing loudly, but Gerard was in some sort of bubble of shock. It was strange to hear someone say that out loud, and to know he honestly meant it. Mark meant it. Gerard was going to die. Mark was going to kill him, just like he’d killed Frank. Gerard was never going to get his own comics published, or show Frank what an X-box was, or even introduce him to Mikey. He’d never see his dad again, or meet his new girlfriend. Gerard hadn’t been ready to meet her, not yet, and now he never would be, and it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair.

And Gerard was just sitting here, letting it happen. He had to at least try to do something.

He started rubbing his wrists together again, panting harshly, and god, his head hurt, but he’d gotten his wrists almost loose and half the blindfold had slipped down. The first thing he saw, vision blurry and indistinct with pain and tears, was Mark glaring at him, holding one of the pokers from the fireplace. Someone was holding him back, but as Gerard watched, he shook them off and stalked forward.

“Fuck,” Gerard said thickly, struggling to a sitting position, raising his chin. His voice trembled, and he was covered in vomit, but this bastard had killed Frank. He'd thrown him in a river and left him to rot, and Gerard wasn’t going to beg. They weren’t the best last words ever, but he was tired, and he couldn’t think of anything better. “Fuck. You.”

“You little shit,” Mark said, face going red, and then the door was kicked in. Everything got very loud and confusing, and Gerard kept waiting for the pain, and the flash of light, like Pop Rocks, but there was just more scuffling and shouting.

One voice rose over the rest, and if Gerard turned his head he could see who it belonged to: a man in a suit, with dark circles beneath his eyes and a pink Hannah Montana tie. He’d shoved Mark into a wall, teeth bared in something like a smile. Someone was next to him, gun out, shouting orders.

Gerard stared, not entirely sure he wasn’t hallucinating or brain damaged. It was the tie that really threw him. Maybe he’d already died? Frank had said dying was confusing, and this was pretty fucking confusing.

“Miss me, fucker?” the man was sneering, and then finally the woman with him hissed in his ear and he let Mark slide down the wall. She kept her gun trained on Mark as the other man stepped back, straightening his tie and smiling tightly. “Right, by the books. Totally. I’m Special Agent James Dewees with the FBI, this is Agent Molly Hand, and you fuckers are all under arrest for the murder of Frank Iero and the kidnapping of Gerard Way. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. Sound good to you folks? Great.” His partner was glaring and he made a ‘What?’ face at her. “Aww, c’mon, the books are boring, Moll.”

Men in flak vests had swarmed into the room and were cuffing people, not being especially gentle about it. Holy shit, it was just like in the movies, Gerard thought, dimly fascinated.

“We never meant to kill Frank,” one of the men was saying as he got cuffed—Isaac’s brother, maybe. “It was manslaughter, not murder. Jimmy, you gotta—”

“I don’t gotta do anything except put your ass in jail, and if you didn’t all murder him personally, well, then you’re accessories. Not to mention the kidnapping charges. And go ahead, get all the lawyers you want, dickweeds. I look forward to reaming your asses in court.”

There was a lot more noise after that, but Gerard was busy gulping in huge breaths of air. He wasn’t going to die. He’d thought—he’d really thought—

“You okay, kid?” Agent Dewees said, crouching down and looking Gerard in the eye. “Let’s get you out of these ropes, get you some water. Molly, we got some water?” His partner tossed Dewees a bottle without looking, and Dewees snatched it, handed it to Gerard after he’d sliced off the ropes. Gerard couldn’t make his hands work, fingers numb, and the guy just smiled encouragingly and closed his hand around Gerard’s, helped him drink. Then he started cutting Gerard’s feet free.

“How the fuck did the FBI get involved in this?” Gerard asked weakly after he’d polished off the bottle, and Dewees grinned up at him. The Hannah Montana tie was a bright, blinding pink, and Gerard was both fascinated and horrified. Mark was outside, shouting threats, sounding truly, one hundred percent insane, and Gerard was starting to feel a little crazy himself.

“Murder on federal land, my friend,” Dewees informed Gerard, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “And, well. Frankie was my best friend. I’ve been waiting for this call for almost eleven years—had people keeping an ear out for me. Knew the little bastard would turn up sometime.” His voice was sad, but fond, and he seemed to be looking through Gerard for a moment, distant.

Gerard wasn’t sure what to do. His head hurt, and now the FBI were involved, and Frankie’s friend was here. Should Gerard say something about Frank’s ghost? He had no fucking clue, but he really didn’t want to get hauled into a psychiatric ward at this point. Mark had already been carried off frothing, and Gerard was close enough to hysteria already. Talking about dead people would probably just make it worse.

“How long have I been here?” Gerard asked finally, cradling his hands to his chest, wincing as the feeling really started coming back in them. He shook them loose gingerly, then touched his swollen jaw, the back of his head where it’d hit the wall. Fuck, he wanted his mom there, with a sharp suddenness so intense it ached.

“Yeah, you took quite a knock to the ol’ noggin, huh?” Dewees said sympathetically. “No sweat, we got EMTs waiting. We’ll fix you right up.” He paused, and then patted Gerard’s knee. “And it’s been two and a half days, buddy. You’ve held up swell. Look, I gotta run for a second, take care of some things, but my partner Molly’ll stick with you for a bit, alright?”

His partner was a lean blonde with a harried look on her face, and she crouched by Gerard’s chair, eyebrows drawn together. She was Dewees’ polar opposite, quiet and professional, but when she caught him staring wistfully at his empty bottle of water she immediately went and refilled it. Gerard was so grateful his eyes welled up.

“Thank you,” he said, and took a tiny sip, then another. They sat there for a while in silence, and Gerard started wondering how far they were out in the woods, if the EMTs were taking this long to get here. He could really use some painkillers. There was a pretty steep path—maybe that was the problem? At any rate, the silence in the room was getting awkward, and he really didn’t feel like staying in his own headspace right now. He fiddled with the bottle and glanced up at the agent. She stared straight ahead.

“So, uh,” he said awkwardly. “How’d you guys find me?”

“Don’t worry about it. Just stay calm. The EMTs are on the way, Mr. Way,” she said stiffly, and when Gerard looked disappointed, she sighed, offered him a half smile. “If you must know, it was a classmate of yours that tipped us off. He told us he saw the coach talking to you in the hallway right before you failed to show up for History.”

“Ryan fucking Ross,” Gerard laughed hoarsely, head pounding. “Jesus, I can’t believe it.”

“Well, even that tip didn’t help much. If it hadn’t been for the sheriff’s son,” she continued, shaking her head, “we probably wouldn’t have found this place for another day or two.”

“What?” Gerard said, not quite believing his ears. Maybe it’d been an auditory hallucination.

“Don’t worry,” she said awkwardly, and patted him on the shoulder. “We did find you. Everything’s okay. You’re safe now.”

“No, I know,” Gerard told her, shaking his head. “But –who was it that told you about this place?”

“Edward Sikowski,” she said, looking nonplussed. “One of your classmates. He contacted us, told us about this property—it’s not on any map. We’re sort of in the middle of nowhere, kid.”

Dewees bounded back into the room, grinning and beckoning people in, interrupting Gerard’s moment of total shock. “Medics are here! Bet you’re ready to get out of this hellhole, huh?”

“Ted. Ted saved my life,” Gerard stated blankly, stuck on that. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Huh? Oh, the Sikowski kid, right. Seemed pretty surreal for him, too,” Dewees agreed. “Said he didn’t like you much, but he didn’t think a person should die for being an emo-fag loser in high school, pardon my language. Wouldn’t have expected something so civilized from one of Mark and Scott’s relatives, but hey, people, right? Surprise the shit out of me all the time. C’mon, medics, sick kid this way, hurry it up.”

“This trail is complete shit,” the paramedic grumbled. “It’s two miles of pure mud. So shove it.” And then she was shining a light in Gerard’s eyes, asking him to count for her in a kind voice, and before Gerard knew it he was being carried on a stretcher up a winding path through the trees, then shoved in the back of an ambulance.

“I’ll be contacting you with some questions later,” Dewees said, smiling at him from the door of the ambulance as the woman worked, cleaning Gerard’s head of dried blood and setting up an IV or whatever, since apparently Gerard was dehydrated as all get-out.

Dewees had a nice smile, one that made the skin beside his eyes fan out into laugh lines, and there was an earring with a pink skull on it peeping through his straggly blonde hair. Gerard could see why Frank had been friends with this guy.

“For now, get some rest, kid.” Dewees paused, then said, in a softer voice. “Your buddies told me you were the one to find the body, so. You know. Thanks. I owe you one.”

Then he slammed the door of the ambulance shut, and Gerard could faintly hear him yelling through it, telling people to move out. And now—which was really stupid, Gerard, thought, because now he was safe; he’d won, and he was in a nice warm ambulance and, Frankie’s killers were going to jail, but—he was shaking, and he couldn’t stop..

“Shock, honey,” the woman said, and coaxed him to lie down again. “Just rest, okay. Been a long couple days.”

Gerard didn’t remember agreeing, but he must have, because soon she was gently shaking him awake.

“Sorry,” she said apologetically. “You’ve got a nasty bump to the head, there.”

It was a long drive to Burlington, the closest city with an actual decent hospital, and Gerard suffered through falling asleep and being woken up again several times, his pupils checked and his awareness of the current president ascertained. The adrenaline had left his system, and he’d finally got painkillers, and he was no longer thirsty, and it was easy to dip in and out of dreams, so much that the paramedic almost became part of them.

Then when they finally arrived at the hospital there was a swarm of people, bright lights and noise everywhere, and it took him a moment to register that he wasn’t still dreaming, that that really was his mom’s voice shouting somewhere off in the distance, and then a set of double doors came bursting open and Donna Way stormed in, Mikey on her heels. There was a crowd of people shouting behind her, but all Gerard saw was her for a moment.

Her hair was flat and lopsided and her make-up had run down her face in raccoon tracks, and it was his mom.

Gerard struggled to sit up, holding out a hand towards her, but he was still mostly strapped down.

“Mom,” he said, thick and choked, and the paramedic said, “Ma’am, if you’ll just—we only want—okay, but briefly, we have to—”

She batted the paramedic aside and took Gerard’s hand, and said, “Gerard Arthur Way, if you ever fucking scare me like that again—” and then burst into tears.

“Momma,” Gerard said, horrified, and she kissed his forehead, getting tears and mascara everywhere, probably. The only other time he’d seen her cry was at funerals, and it hurt, somehow, hurt worse than his aching temples or anything else, seeing her like this and knowing it was on his account. “Momma, it’s okay.”

“I know, baby,” she said, voice still watery, but firm, and kissed him again, ran her hand over his cheek, his arm. “You’re gonna be alright. You’re safe.”

Mikey had taken advantage of the distraction of the paramedics and all the shouting to eel his way through to Gerard’s side and climb up on the stretcher next to him. The doctors had followed and were trying to coax Donna to leave, rattling on about the tests, and when she could see him next. The paramedic was explaining how Gerard was essentially fine, mostly dehydrated, with minor head injuries, and they just had to check that out, be sure nothing was wrong—it wouldn’t take long! Gerard zoned most of it out, focusing on his mother’s hand tight in his own, and Mikey warm and snuffling at his side.

“Hey,” Gerard said quietly, smiling suddenly and unexpectedly. “You’re not in the Center!”

“I told you,” Mikey said into his shoulder. “I told you I was going to get out this week. You idiot.”

“You won’t be out long if you don’t stay put when I tell you to,” Gerard’s mom snipped, petting Gerard’s hair. “You were supposed to stay in the waiting area.”

“So were you,” Mikey said serenely. Gerard bit back a smile as his mother made an exasperated sound.

Gerard didn’t notice at first. His mom and Mikey were finally letting themselves be hustled out, glancing over their shoulders and waving, and Gerard had lifted his head to watch them go. That’s when he saw it, in the corner of the room, next to the oxygen tanks and some mysterious coils of rubber piping. A shadow that didn’t quite belong, that wasn’t being cast by the trays of instruments or stands of saline. It looked like a silhouette, head tilted down, shoulders hunched.

It could have been Gerard’s imagination. He was on a nice cocktail of drugs now, enough that the pain had ebbed and he could almost ignore the fucking IV—just as terrible as he’d always thought it’d be, silver and sticking out of his arm and creepily, disgustingly cold. But when the doctors wheeled him off for a CT scan, the shadow peeled off from the wall and followed them. Gerard watched it drifting along, barely visible in the bright hospital lights.

It solidified a bit when Gerard made a noise, tried to say Frank’s name, tongue thick and numb, but then a passing nurse did a double-take at the patch of wall where it was hovering, just the outline of a boy pacing, a slightly deeper darkness where the eyes would be. There was a sound like a sigh, and Frank faded again, paler than before. The nurse rubbed his eyes, muttering something about double shifts, and walked on.

“Sorry, Frankie,” Gerard mumbled, and the doctor patted his arm.

“Almost done now,” she said cheerily, which was a relief. Gerard wanted to get back to Mikey and his mom, to find a moment to talk to Frank, really talk to him, and find out how the fuck he was here at all.

But it turned out they weren’t almost done, because none of the CT scans or whatever seemed to work. First because Gerard kept turning his head to watch Frank pacing, and then because, well, probably because of Frank again, he guessed, because after Frank kicked over a rack of X-ray slides in a clatter, he disappeared and the computers all miraculously started picking up clear images again.

Gerard finally got settled in a tiny, cramped room, wearing a totally embarrassing hospital gown that he really hoped Frank hadn’t seen him staggering around in. He probably had, though. Dammit. His mom had fallen asleep in her chair, and Gerard felt awful about the huge dark circles beneath her eyes, even though he knew it wasn’t technically his fault. But at least now Gerard could ask Mikey how Frank had gotten here and why he wasn’t saying anything.

He was just standing in the corner, a faint dark outline of himself. Gerard got the impression he had his arms folded over his chest and was slouching. He could recognize a brood when he saw it—although fuck, that reminded him how badly he wanted a cigarette.

“Oh, yeah, Ray gave me one of Frank’s fingers so he could come with us to see you,” Mikey said after Gerard asked. He pulled the bone out of his pocket, seemingly totally at ease with handling what was probably part of a crime scene and super illegal to have in a sterile hospital setting. “He’s had to be careful, though. He gave one of the ER guys a screaming fit earlier—I guess a lot of people here can see him? And last time he said something out loud, all these babies started crying. It was wicked.”

There was a pointed snort from the corner of the room.

“Really?” Gerard whispered back, awed, and looked around for a piece of paper to start scribbling down hypotheses. “I wonder why. I mean, I guess we can’t, like, go interview the screaming guy, but—”

“Frank, you were right,” Mikey interrupted, shooting the corner a small smile. “He’s a total dweeb.” He glanced back at Gerard and patted his knee. “He said you’d say that,” he explained.

Gerard had a lot of questions—could Mikey see Frank too? What had happened when Gerard had disappeared? Had the FBI taken Frank’s body out of the forest yet? Why was Frank so fucking far away when he could be right here, next to Gerard, even if it was only as a shadow?

But Mikey was curled in the bed with him, and this time he was the one that had brought Gerard comic books and things to read, and as much as Gerard wanted to stumble out of the bed, holding this stupid gown closed over his ass, and tackle Frank’s immaterial form, at least get a fucking hug or something, he couldn’t manage to keep his eyes open for long. He drifted off to Mikey’s quiet voice, and the idea that Frank might be, just maybe, drifting closer.

***

He’d woken up with his side freezing cold the next morning, but Frank hadn’t been there next to him when he opened his eyes—it was just his mom flipping through a magazine and Mikey on his other side, tucked up in the bed and drooling on Gerard’s pillow. Then his mom had left to take a shower and get a change of clean clothes, promising to be back soon with his favorite travel mug of coffee, and it was just Gerard and Mikey and Frank’s shadow on the window sill, darkening the morning sky.

The nurses kept coming in and out, checking his pulse and pupils, but there were brief, precious moments of alone time. Frank didn’t approach, though. Just stood and stared. It was actually sort of creepy, and for some reason Gerard was having a hard time getting up the courage to break the silence between them. What would he say? Frank seemed so distant, almost angry. Maybe he’d thought better of whatever he’d been doing with Gerard, having a relationship, or dating, or whatever.

Fuck, Gerard really needed to say something. He had to at least try. He was pondering his approach when suddenly all his plans went to shit, because approximately ten thousand people were bursting into the room.

Gerard had been poking his Jello unenthusiastically, hoping the nurse would just take it and go, and then it suddenly went flying, green splotches everywhere, as Pete Wentz tackled him into a hug. Mikey made a squawking noise of indignation and rolled off the bed, rubbing at his face.

“Ow, you fuck!” Gerard croaked happily, and the nurse next to him tutted, and tugged away the tray, laughing, and wandered off to presumably get some clean-up supplies. “What are you doing here, Pete?” Holy shit, there were tons of people here, he could see Bob and Ray in the back, and Worm, and Patrick, and, inexplicably, Pete, who was sort of hard to miss, sprawled out on top of Gerard and Mikey like he was.

“What the fuck do you think?” Pete said, sounding fond and indignant, raspberrying his cheek, and then let Gabe pull him up and off, which Gerard was sort of thankful for, especially since he thought he could hear Frank swearing in the corner and was a little worried about him being spotted, or making babies cry, or whatever. “Dude, your getting snatched was all over the news, especially after they found that kid in the woods, too. Gabe and I were gonna fucking hunt you down ourselves if those FBI assholes didn’t get a move on.”

“Lucky they did,” someone quipped, head popping over Mikey’s shoulder. It was that Disney-loving kid back from Belleville—Brendon, maybe? He was wearing a lavender hoodie and possibly lipgloss, and Ryan Ross was lurking by the door with Patrick and Worm and staring at him with huge eyes. Gerard suspected that he had just been replaced in Ryan Ross’s affections. “Since we got lost, like, twelve times just trying to find your house.”

“Lost is a relative term,” Gabe said archly, sitting on the foot of the bed, flicking the remainder of the jello out of the way. “We took a detour and toured some lovely farms. And that farmer was a peach about the debacle with the haystack, very understanding.”

Mikey snorted, and Brendon started explaining something to him, waving his arms around, and Gabe chimed in, and it was all very disconcerting, seeing everyone there. Not just his friends from Glen Fell, but… well, his friends from his old life, too. And fuck, it was a weekday, how was everyone here anyhow?

“You guys know you didn’t have to come up here, right? I mean, thanks, but it was such a long drive, and—” Gerard blinked when they all rolled their eyes at him simultaneously. “I mean it! I mean, you’re missing school, right? And I’m totally fine.”

“No thanks to you,” Bob growled, arms crossed, and Gerard abruptly realized he and Ray were both glaring at him. Gerard shrank down in the sheets a bit. “You were supposed to lie low, asshole!”

“Some people were really upset when you went missing,” Ray hissed, ignoring Pete when he made an interested noise. “Like, wow, dude. You don’t even know how upset. Supernaturally upset.”

“Uh,” Gerard said, twisting the sheets in his hands. “How upset is that? Like, upset enough not to talk to me ever again?”

The lights flickered at that, and Gerard gulped.

“Upset enough to destroy a baseball field with tornado-filled rage, if that answers your question,” Ray muttered, and Gerard’s jaw dropped.

“We’ll deal with that later,” Bob promised, rolling his eyes towards Gabe and Pete, who were watching the conversation unfold with interest, and then he leaned down and wrapped Gerard in a hug, ignoring the Jello still splattered everywhere. “We were so fucking worried, Gerard. I’m glad you’re okay. You are okay, right? The news said they were treating you for minor injuries.”

“I’m really on the news?” Gerard asked, stunned, and Bob pulled back and snorted.

“Dude. ‘Teenage boy uncovers decades-old murder, is abducted.’ Hell of a headline, you know.”

“If Mikey hadn’t put our names on the visitor’s list, we’d be outside still with all the reporters,” Worm piped up, and then made his way over to the bed to thump Gerard on the shoulder. “You look like shit, Way. Did you really headbutt Coach Sikowski?”

“Uh, no,” Gerard laughed, startled. “I was kind of… I threw up on him? But that’s about it, really.”

“Nice!” Pete laughed, and high-fived him.

Eventually everyone came over and hugged Gerard, or thumped him, or touched his foot lightly. Well, only Ryan did that, actually–Gabe had, in contrast, kissed Gerard full on the mouth and called him querido, sparking a small electrical storm of flickering lights and beeping machines. Which made Gerard blush, just a bit, because, okay, it was nice knowing Frank was at least jealous, right? Even if it was just Gabe being Gabe.

The room was loud, and bright, and filled with barking laughter and boys shoving each other. Pretty much the exact opposite of the cabin in the woods, and Gerard soaked it all in, felt like Ferdinand, basking in the sun and stretching his roots and pathetic leaves. Well, like Ferdinand would do if Gerard had remembered to give him water him regularly and transplanted him into a better cup, he thought guiltily. He should probably do that when he got home.

After a while, Mikey had withdrawn from the rest of the group and was sitting in a chair in the corner where the shadows had gathered, knees drawn to his chest, watching it all with a small smile, and occasionally Gerard thought he saw him talking out of the corner of his mouth to Frank and was at once thrilled and totally jealous. He wanted to talk to Frank, but he was stuck trying to convince Pete not to abduct Patrick, even if he did wear adorable argyle and have the prettiest scowl.

But his headache was starting to come back, pain lancing at his temples, and while it was great to see people that weren’t lunatic murderers or conspirators or doctors with needles, he was having a hard time following the conversation.

Ray seemed to notice and began herding all of the group together, hustling them out the door, talking loudly about how Gerard needed sleep and he sure as fuck wasn’t getting it with these assholes around. Before he left, though, he came back to the bed and shifted from foot to foot in the suddenly quiet room. Gerard squinted at him, noticed belatedly how red Ray’s eyes were. He looked sick, like he hadn’t slept in days.

“I thought it had happened again,” he said finally, and scrubbed his hand across his face, then flicked a glance across the room. “I’m glad—I’m glad you’re okay, Gerard. I don’t—you don’t know how bad it was, here.”

Before Gerard could say anything, Ray came up and tousled Gerard’s head gingerly, then bounded out of the room, shutting the door with a quiet snick.

“It was pretty awful,” Mikey said quietly, and he looked so small in that chair. Gerard was trying not to think about how it’d been in that cabin, knowing he was going to die, knowing all the people who’d be left behind. It was one of the worst feelings he could imagine.

He’d survived, though. Granted, it had been through sheer fucking luck, but he’d survived. He’d gotten to come back—to see his mom again, and Mikey, and Ray and Bob and everyone.

Frank hadn’t. He hadn’t gotten that. No ride in the ambulance for him, just forensics guys hauling his bones out of a gorge a decade too late. Frank had come back, but to a world he was no longer a part of, one where he was set apart and lonely and feared.

“I’m sorry,” Gerard said, throat scratchy, not sure who he was apologizing to or what for. Mikey snorted, and looked over his shoulder, and then Gerard shivered and the world got slightly darker, and colder, and he breathed in shakily, reaching out his hand to feel nothing. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Not your fault, Gee.” Frank’s voice in his ear. “Not that I’m not furious, you asshole. But it’s not your fault.”

“I’m sorry, Frankie,” he whispered, and fuck, he was crying again, wasn’t he, and Mikey was looking studiously away. Cool fingers were wiping his cheeks, and Frank said it again, and again, soft and fond, voice scraping against Gerard’s heart. There was so much he wanted to say, but a few seconds later, the door was swinging back open. Frank melted away just as the nurse bustled in and oh fucking Christ, started pulling out his IV, which distracted him from his tears handily enough by introducing stark bodily horror instead.

Gerard nearly vomited, but Mikey was there raising an eyebrow and Gerard managed to swallow down the bile and just glare. Just because Mikey got IVs all the time didn’t mean it still wasn’t the worst thing ever. There had to be better technology out there for this shit by now, he ranted, trying to ignore what was going on with his arm and the needle and his wrist and the blood. Where were the hyposprays and tricorders, dammit? Mikey was grinning at him, and he thought he heard Frank giggling, and even the nurse was chuckling. Suddenly the whole ordeal was over and Gerard was being offered a Batman band-aid, ‘for being so brave.’ Ha ha, hilarious, Gerard didn’t say. …still, it was a pretty cool band-aid.

He was finally allowed to change out of that damned gown afterwards, too, so that was a plus, and then he was discharged, under strict orders to return if his headaches got worse, or if he had problems with his vision. The doctor gave instructions to his mom and Mikey—Gerard just knew Frank was listening too, and he mentally groaned when the doctor forbid caffeine for the next few weeks. Dammit. He had a sneaking suspicion Frank was going to be a better enforcer of that rule than either his mom or his brother.

It wasn’t like Gerard could see when Frank disappeared a few moments later, when they got outside—he was even more difficult to make out in the bright morning sunlight—but he could sense it, somehow. Probably it was just his imagination, but the air just seemed emptier. As Gerard’s mom went to go return the wheelchair, Mikey leaned over and said, “He hates cars, man. He’ll be back at the house.”

“See,” Gerard said triumphantly, snuggling down in his hoodie and reveling in the feeling of being in clean, ass-covering clothing once more. “I knew you’d like him.”

“Yeah,” Mikey agreed, smiling, shoving his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “He likes you a lot, too.”

Gerard went bright red. Luckily his mom got back in the car at that moment, and he was prevented from totally embarrassing himself and going all middle school and breathless and ‘Did he say something about me? To you? What’d he say, what’d he say!’ Though from the smirk on Mikey’s face, Gerard suspected that he might be broadcasting it loud and clear anyway.

He slept through most of the car ride home, and apparently the local cops that weren’t corrupt dickheads had been routing the reporters or something, because their house was dark and empty, which Gerard was glad for. There’d been a couple of them at the hospital, pointing their cameras at him and shouting questions, and it had been totally weird and really uncomfortable. He wasn’t sure how he felt about being on the news for something like this. Bob and Ray had been featured too, apparently, teenage boy detectives gone deadly serious.

It sounded like something Gerard would have daydreamed about, once upon a time: being on TV for an act of great bravery and intelligence and daring, but now that it’d happened, he—well, he had better things to worry about than being suddenly popular, or whatever. He had friends, now, anyway.

The house creaked welcomingly at him as he staggered up the porch stairs on Mikey’s arm—Gerard thought maybe he and the house had reached a truce, over these last couple weeks. He patted the porch railing, and it didn’t give him any splinters, or collapse beneath a wave of termites. Gerard would take it.

He got to the kitchen and collapsed in the chair with a sigh. His mom shot him a look, and then set the coffee pot brewing.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” she said as he perked up, straightening in his chair. “It’s decaf, buddy.”

“Ugh,” Gerard huffed out, disgusted. Decaf. It was a crime against humanity. But at least it smelled good. Smelled like heaven, even if it was impure swill masquerading as true coffee.

“No caffeine for at least two weeks,” Mikey reminded him, kicking his ankle under the table and not looking up from his phone. He was texting furiously, his thumbs a blur, his eyebrows knotted together in concentration.

“The doctor said four weeks would be better,” Gerard’s mom commented, poking around in the fridge, then straightening and pouring Gerard a cup of lies. “But I know better than to hope for that.”

“Damn straight,” Gerard muttered and took the mug mournfully. “Two weeks on the nose. Not a fucking second longer.”

“Some people might take issue with that,” Mikey said airily. “They might want you to be a little more careful with your brain. It’s a delicate organ, you know.”

Gerard glared and kicked out under the table, swearing when he missed and hit a chair leg. But he was smiling helplessly, just a little, at the idea of Frank caring and hovering over him like that. Where was Frank, anyway? He glanced around the kitchen furtively, but all the shadows looked normal. His mom sat at the table with her own cup of coffee, and they all were quiet for a moment, drinking and texting and staring at each other. Finally his mom stretched, getting up to put her mug in the sink.

“Baby, I’m sorry, but I have to get back to work,” his mom told Gerard, coming behind him and running her fingers through his hair, nails scratching gently. “I’ve missed a lot of hours, and the girls—”

“It’s fine, Mom,” he assured her, and leaned his head back against her for a moment, closed his eyes. She smelled like hairspray and nail polish remover and home, and the kitchen was warm and full of dancing light from the windows.

“Well, there’s soup in the fridge,” she said, sighing. “Heat it up, keep hydrated, okay? If your head starts hurting, take the pills the doc gave you. I’ll be back tonight.”

“You cooked?” Gerard squawked, eyes flying open, and Mikey snorted.

“I wouldn’t make you eat what I cooked, kiddo,” she laughed, fetching her purse and hovering by the door. “But Mrs. Toro’s been bringing over food every day—the lady can cook a mean casserole.”

“Cool,” Gerard beamed, and she smiled back at him. It was nice, seeing her smile, even with her face all lined and worried, her hair still kind of squashed, flatter than he was used to. He guessed the girls at the salon would take care of that pretty quickly, though. She waved, blew them a kiss, and then paused at the door, looking back.

“Hey, Gee, how about tonight we re-do your hair?” Gerard felt himself brighten. He loved when his mom did his hair. It’d been a while. Months, maybe. Maybe longer. She was good at it, and added all these cool streaks of darker color, and never stained his ears or his neck, and it was nice. It was always nice. He’d missed it. “Starting to see some roots, baby. It’s embarrassing.”

“Yeah, well,” he said. “I’ve been busy!”

“Me too,” she said softly, and then shook herself. “But tonight, right? Pencil me in.”

Gerard saluted and she left, honked the horn as she backed out the driveway, and then Mikey stood up, too.

“Where are you going?” Gerard asked, puzzled. “I thought maybe we’d watch some Buffy.”

“Out with Pete and Gabe,” Mikey said serenely. “They want to try to find some cows to tip. And besides, you need to, um, rest. Without me here.”

“Mikey,” Gerard chastened, puzzled. “Cow tipping is a trick. You can’t really tip cows. They’re actually very aware of their surroundings.”

“Don’t harsh the fun, Gee,” Mikey admonished, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Anyway, maybe we’ll just try to ride them. You know Pete.”

“Do you have to go already?” Gerard asked, feeling a bit miffed. He’d been looking forward to actually having Mikey at home with him.

“Yes,” Mikey said firmly, wrinkling his nose. “But I’ll be back. Um. Text me. Without details.”

And that was it; the kitchen was empty again. Gerard sighed and drained the rest of his faux coffee, then shuffled upstairs to wrap himself in his quilt and doze. He was getting tired again, he guessed, and the doctor had said to nap as much as possible. It was just he’d sort of thought his homecoming would be a bit more exciting than this.

He opened the door to his room, had a moment to realize the metal of the doorknob was ice-cold, and then a hand grabbed him by the neck of his t-shirt and dragged him in. He had an instinctive moment of panic, Mark’s face flashing before his eyes, but then Frank had Gerard’s face in his hands and was kissing him. His brain went from panic to zero to sex at light-speed, so fast he was dizzy.

Date: 2015-01-11; view: 868