Chapter Text
Frank's not sure at what point Bert suddenly pops into being, perched on top of his own gravestone as usual, but the chuckle makes him look up from the circle of salt he is pouring around the plot. The ground is hard from recent snow, but is unseasonably clear tonight, the grass glittering in the dim light. “So, what's this then... Oh wait, I saw this in a movie once, you're doing a circle of salt to protect yourself or block me in or some shit aren't you!” Bert jumps down easily, walking up to the edge of the circle and doing a mime act against it. “Oh no, the salt, it burns, I'm trapped, I'm trapped!”
Hopping over the circle, he pulls a shocked face and looks back at Frank as he finishes the line. “Oops! I escaped! Quick, I'd better get back in before the big bad witch gets me.” Doing a weird, skipping dance over the salt, Bert smirks as Frank silently moves to the centre of the circle and sits down, fumbling through his bag for his lighter and supplies. The salt water is a bit of a long shot, but taking the small bottle in his hand, Frank flicks it around the space anyway, a few drops passing through Bert's form and making him stop short, rubbing his leg.
“What the actual fuck?” Looking at his leg - or what was once his leg, Frank's not really sure about the whole physicality of a dead guy who won't fucking die - Bert snarls as he spots a small dot, like a cigarette burn, on the skin. “You little shit!”
Frank sits back quickly, holding the bottle in one hand with the plait of herbs inexpertly tied and resting between two fingers like a cigarette. He tries not to flinch as Bert approaches, flicking his lighter with his other hand and trying to get it to catch.
“I'm gonna make you pay for that, you little-”
Frank ducks as Bert aims a punch as his face then grins as another arm blocks it smoothly. “If it's all the same to you,” William says softly but with steel in his voice, “I'd rather you didn't hit my great grandson. I know it's really tempting, believe me, as he can be an annoying young man, but believe it or not he is trying to help you.”
Bill steps forward, blocking Bert's path, even as Frank finally gets the herbs lit, the dry straw kindling catching quickly and the smell of burning sage, sweetgrass and juniper start to merge together in the air. It's kindof thick, heavy, and tickles Frank's lungs as he starts to chant, trying to get the words right, but unlike the girl Bert doesn't seem that bothered by it.
In fact, he starts to laugh.
“Seriously? You think you can fucking exorcise me like I'm some little pansy assed puritan bitch? Oh you are asking for it Iero, you are going to fucking pay!” Frank tries to focus, to not look up, but William's feet start to slip along the ground as Bert charges into him, the physical manifestations of their energy pressed up close together and fighting for dominance.
And by the looks of the way Bill is wincing and trying to brace himself, but his feet keep slipping back, Bert may be stronger.
“You think you can do this to me? You think you can just, what, send me on my way so you get Gee to yourself?” Bert is thrashing against Bill, throwing himself against the guide and snarling with anger. “He was mine first motherfucker, he was mine, he promised me, he is the asshole who fucking well did this to me, and you think you can just wish me away? You think Linda Blair had it bad, well watch the fuck out because I am going to tear you apart-”
Frank stutters over the words, fear starting to bloom within him. This isn't like before. This, this is like the difference between 1 + 1 and fucking algebra. Before he could feel the power growing within him, he could draw strength from everything, everyone, even the ghost but instead this time every single time he tries to draw on his power it's draining him, his arm growing weak even as he tries to hold the burning stick higher.
“You wanna know what it's like, huh, want me to slip inside you and tear you apart from the inside out because I can fucking do that,” Bert purrs, dropping his voice, the threat even more intense for the lack of yelling. “I can make it so you don't know left from right, I can make it so you lose your fucking mind, so you won't even need me to kill you because you won't be able to resist doing it to yourself-”
Frank can't find the words, his voice dying in his throat as he looks up, his whole body shivering with exhaustion and cold and he's afraid, really, fucking terrified, the emptiness of Bert's grey eyes locked on his seeming to draw everything out of his body, leaving him hollow. If this is what happened to his mom, if this is what she felt then in that second he can completely understand everything, the whole of his life, all of it, because he would do anything to avoid feeling this again.
“Frank!” William yells, trying to keep Bert back but being forced down to one knee in front of Frank and tiring fast even as Sisky the parrot appears and starts attacking too, squawking around them, as if Frank's life couldn't get any weirder. “Go! Get back to your room, within the sanctuary space, please, hurry!”
Frank wants to obey, wants to move more than anything else in the whole world, but his joints are mush, refusing to lock and support his weight, sending him sprawling on the ground in front of the gravestone, the salt water tumbling from his fingers and spilling over his hand. He can barely see, his vision starting to spark out at the edges, his body numb as he tries to look up, as he can see William start to bend too far, losing the fight and suddenly fading out.
He's alone.
Then all of a sudden Bert's hands are on his throat and oh, God, it burns, it burns right down to his bones, to his core, the pressure fierce and hot and he can hear screaming, hoarse and desperate even as he lifts his salt soaked hands to try and push Bert away, to try and get some relief-
Then everything is black.
*****************************************
Mikey Way yells first, curling up on the floor of Ray's room, covering his head with his hands and staring at something none of them can see, reacting to something they can't feel but that is all too clear in his mind. He can't see, can't hear, can't feel any of the others around him, can't feel anything but the burning, then like a blanket smothering out the flames Gerard is there, wrapping over him, pulling him close. The silence is deafening, as intense as the pain had been, and Mikey can't stop his teeth from chattering, it's too much, the loss of stimulation as disorientating as the pain had been.
Then all of a sudden a shudder passes through him, but this time it's not from his own body although it takes him a second to realise it, too lost in the return of the world around him, the pain fading yet still there in the black waiting for him.
No, not him.
As arms push him away again, new yells filling the room. Mikey scrambles back into the corner by Ray's bed, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his hands over his ears but he can't stop watching, can't take his eyes off the scene as Gerard begins to scream, shaking on the floor as though having a fit. It wasn't coming for Mikey at all.
It was coming for Gee.
**************************************
Gerard Way knows pain on a very... intimate level. It is the Hydra to his Captain America, the Spectre to his James Bond, the THRUSH to his Man From U.N.C.L.E. (which he will deny having ever watched if questioned!), the nemesis that haunts him and the enemy that he has to learn inside out in order to ever defeat.
Suffice to say, he and pain have been on a first name basis for years, and would be the subject of some very serious battles to the death and or hate sex, if it was actually possible to interact with a sensation.
It also has to be said though, that most of that knowledge has been gained second hand, watching and feeling the edges of pain's attack on others, Mikey and Pain in a steady and decidedly abusive partnership that Gerard has been forced to witness ever since Mikey got his powers. Yes he can offer a refuge, a safe place to escape to, but he can't watch over Mikey all the time and, like a seriously fucked up stalker who can't take a hint or a restraining order, pain often sneaks back in.
Gerard hates other people's pain so much.
His own pain though, that has become mostly a memory. His body heals too fast now to really suffer for long, the sharper pains fading quickly and longer aches more a low growl than actual pain. He can remember it though, the pain from the crash the worst thing he has ever felt and the measure against which everything fucked up thing he has managed to do to himself since is measured.
He can still feel the literally breathtaking thud of his chest hitting the dash, the sharp slice and explosion of glass cracking around his head, and the fiery scraping of limbs over gravel somehow familiar to old wounds from messing around on a skateboard and yet at the same time as distant from that as a paddling pool to an ocean.
That pain, that memory, still wakes him in the night sometimes, but pain in general has been steadily growing harder to recall.
This though, this pain is so much more than that ever was.
Gerard can feel more than hear himself screaming, vaguely aware of the sound, but there is nothing else but the pain. His head is too small, too tight, his skin stretched and the pressure threatening to split his skull in two. He can feel it, crawling, squirming, like something is burrowing into his brain straight out of a bad sci fi movie. Except if something really was in his brain it probably wouldn't actually hurt this fucking much.
He can feel his shields sparking uselessly, trying to defend him against nothing, but he's so sore, so drained and tired from watching Ray that his defences are nothing but so much tissue paper and he can almost feel them bursting into flames at the slightest touch. He can't even heal himself, can't find where the pain is coming from, because there is nothing there, just the pain, nothing else, nothing at all-
Finally, mercifully, a spot of darkness appears in the blinding storm of pain, a oasis of peace and nothingness, and quickly, gratefully, Gerard surrenders to it.
*********************************************
Bob likes to think of himself as a fairly unflappable kind of guy. The sort of guy who, when crazy shit happens or everyone around him is losing their head, will know what to do. And fuck knows, he has enough practice at it – you try living with a Werewolf and not learning to keep your cool in the face of pretty much anything. Not to mention the magic he has been exposed since birth makes it really hard to get wound up about stuff, really, it does. Even when Bert died, and that motherfucker had been Bob's friend first goddammit, he had barely even reacted, not in public anyway.
So yeah, Bob is a pretty grounded, laid back, solid, dependable kind of guy, the sort you really want around in a crisis.
But this? This is way too fucked up even for him.
One of his best friends screaming his throat out on the floor, thrashing like he's having some kind of fit? Fucked up, definitely, but maybe something he can deal with. He can't remember, are you supposed to restrain someone having a fit or just leave them to it, or maybe he's supposed to stick a pillow under his head or something, or was it putting a belt in his mouth so he can bite down on it?
Okay, so he can't deal with it, not really, he hasn't the first fucking clue what to do to help, but, okay, so, get down on the floor by him, try that pillow shit, try not to get knocked out-
Mikey, one of his other best friends (what, Bob doesn't like to play favourites, but maybe if he did the Way brothers would come a close second to Ray if only because, you know, they have each other and sort of come as a set) rocking back and forth in the corner like he should be in one of those old fashioned lunatic asylums, or a bad horror movie? Creepy, really creepy, especially as Mikey only stopped screaming just as Gerard started, and hey, that was how those bad body snatcher movies sometimes liked it – or was it another genre-
Focus Bryar, Mikey Way. Looking like a ghost, curled up like a scared toddler, and shaking like a plucked guitar string – basically looking as far from his normal almost zen like state as possible (short of running around the room screaming of course.) The way his hands clutch at his head, fingers white with the pressure against his skull, yeah, Bob's seen that before, more times than he cares to remember, and he can handle that, okay, so Mikey's bitten off more than he can chew, maybe gotten stuck in a corner of his own head again, he can handle that, just calm him down, just get Mikey to focus long enough to let Gerard block it-
Gerard, who is still screaming on the floor and, ow, has one Hell of a kick for a scrawny little shit.
Okay, help Gerard, who can then help Mikey, he can do this, he just needs a hand getting Gerard safe first, if Ray can just-
Ray, who is still lying in his fucking bed just watching the whole thing through glazed eyes, as though out of his gourd on some seriously good shit.
Fuck. This.
Sitting back on his haunches, his hands rising to his hair of their own accord, Bob feels something inside him snap and that's it. He can't handle this, not even close.
Yelling in frustration, Bob shivers as he fumbles his phone, staring at the buttons and watching them swim slightly in front of his eyes. He doesn't even know who to call, there is no 911 for mystical emergencies, no heroes in capes or even just high viz uniforms and flashing lights to come to the rescue, he can't even call Nonna Way because Ray's warning about the collective is still fresh in his mind and it's too much, it's just-
Suddenly there is silence, a shocking end to the screaming as Gerard loses consciousness and it stops. The four of them sit frozen, like some sort of sick artist's imagining, Gerard's body slowly going limp even as Mikey's shaking gets worse, silent tears streaming down his face, splattering through his lashes onto the inside of his glasses. The silence is so complete, so solid it's shocking.
“I can't wake up.” Ray's whisper is so small, just a tiny sound but enough to make Bob jump. Ray is still just staring blankly at them but then his eyes flick to meet Bob's. “I keep trying, but I can't wake up. Why can't I wake up this time? Please wake me up, please don't make me watch this again, please-”
Dropping the phone to the floor, Bob scuttles backwards, not stopping until his back hits the wall and he can throw his arms around himself and just try to keep himself in one piece.
Bob Bryar can handle weird shit, really, he can. But this? This is too much.
At least it is until Mikey finally speaks again.
****************************************
“Frank.”
It feels weird to talk, like his throat is red raw and on fire, but his face is wet and his nose is so blocked up he can hardly breathe, so how can his throat be dry? Weird.
Focusing on the sensations, on the sheer physicality of it, Mikey Way forces himself to move, each careful creak of muscle and bone – huh, his fingers hurt like he's been pressing them too hard against a surface, white numb and stinging as circulation returns, that's odd – he slowly shifts from his ball and tries to stand only to feel his legs give way. His foot is asleep.
Shifting to kneel instead, the needle sharp pressure of returning circulation sends a fresh wave of urgency through him and Mikey reaches for the bed, using the edge of the mattress to drag himself out of the corner – safe, still, stay still and safe, the corner is safe – and has to fight the urge to just let go and curl up again. He has to keep moving.
“Frank,” he tries again and this time he gets a reply, but it's not Frank, it's someone else. Huh.
“Frank's not here Mikey,” the voice says, and it sounds like Bob but not Bob, it sounds too freaked out to be Bob, Bob doesn't sound like that, “that's – that's Gee.”
Mikey would roll his eyes if they weren't having quite enough trouble staying in a straight line as it was thank you very much, and looks at the still body on the floor. Of course that's not Frank, it's not like he doesn't know his own brother. Except for a second it doesn't look like Gerard, the shape wrong somehow, but it must be Gerard.
Besides, whatever it is, it certainly isn't Frank, he'd know that skinny assed lunatic anywhere by now.
“Duh,” he mutters, crawling slowly across the carpet towards the body. Person. Gerard. His brother, yes, Gee, that's where he was going but that's not the point. “Frank, he's not here. He's...” Mikey pauses, considering. “Not here.”
“Mikey?”
Shuffling slowly, and really, carpets, okay so they are easier on the knees than wood but really, a bit itchy, Mikey shakes his head. “Need to find Frank. He's not here. He was, or I was there, I'm not-” The thoughts slip around his head like stray bits of eggshell in a cup of yolks, evading him each time he tries to catch them and slippery when he does. “I'm not sure. But we have to find Frank.”
“Gee- Mikey, Frank's not here, we have to help Gee...”
Mikey looks up at last and hey, it IS Bob, but he looks really pale, even for Bob, were they trying out makeup again? Is it Halloween? That would explain the body. Person.
Gerard.
Shuddering, Mikey takes a deep breath and tries so hard to focus but it's so, so tiring, and he's so sore, does he really have to get up now?
Still crawling forward without really noticing, Mikey stops as his hand touches something warm. It's not soft, not exactly, but warm and without thinking he reaches out and holds it-
The flash of presence is enough to snap Mikey wide awake again, recoiling in horror but even as he does so Gerard coughs, wildly flailing as he wakes again too. Gerard's eyes are wild as he reaches out, grabbing onto Mikey's hand tight and oh God, it's too much, he can feel so much-
He can feel Gerard. He's never been able to, not all the way, not properly, but for one second he's there, whole and so strong and familiar and yet at the same time nothing he's ever heard before and it's wonderful but there's something else there, something inside Gee, and is this what they mean about dark magics leaving a mark, this thing inside Gerard and it's looking right at him-
With a snap he can feel in the back of his skull like the flick of an elastic band, Mikey feels Gerard's shields come up and surround him and everything goes mercifully blank as he sags down against his brother.
“Gee,” Mikey whimpers, letting himself be soothed quietly, even as Gerard carries on taking gasping breaths and Bob comes closer. He can't hear the words, some sort of half whispered argument going on over their heads, but then there's warmth at his back and the soft tickle of Ray's hair on his face and oh, he can see Bob again now, on the other side of Gerard, talking to them all, but it's so far away and he's so warm and it's so quiet at last.
Just five minutes won't hurt.
As he surrenders to the aches and exhaustion dragging him away, Mikey can't help thinking there was something he was trying to tell them...
*************************************
Bob watches as Ray finally accepts that he is awake and clambers awkwardly off the bed, wrapping himself over Mikey and tucking himself back inside the fragile protection that Gerard is offering, however temporary. They all seem to breathe as one, relaxing at last, but Bob can't let go, can't undo the knot in his stomach that is threatening to overwhelm him. How can they be so calm, how can they just lie there-
Scrambling to his feet, Bob bolts out the room and almost trips over his own feet as he runs to the bathroom, the door banging back against the wall as he barely makes it to the toilet in time to lose his lunch. It hurts, inside his chest, inside his stomach, all his muscles tense and clenching and he feels so indescribably sad but he doesn't know why. It's too much, too physical, and he can't help the coughs that wrack him as he leans over the bowl. His gaze fixes on a cobweb hiding under the basin, focusing on it as he fights against the wave of nausea, just watching the way it drifts slightly in the faint draught through the open door.
“Bob?” Ray's voice is still weak, and his footsteps sound like they are stumbling, but then Ray is at the door. His arms are wrapped around himself in a vain attempt to keep warm, shivers running through him as his teeth start to chatter with him dressed in just his boxers and t-shirt. “You o-okay?”
“Do I look fucking okay?” Bob manages to spit out before flushing the toilet, watching his food disappear before using the basin to pull himself shakily to his feet again. “You saw this, Gee, you fucking saw that.” It isn't a question but Ray nods anyway, jerky and sharp. “Why the fuck didn't you warn me?”
“I... I wasn't sure, I never- It kept changing, and most of the time it isn't Gee on the floor, it's Frank, it was just the feeling, that was what I've dreamed-”
Bob looks up and catches sight of his reflection in the mirror and for a second, just a blink of an eye, he sees something behind Ray, in the corner of the bathroom, mouth wide and pleading.
A pirate.
“Oh, Hell,” Bob shakes his head quickly, rinsing his mouth out before pushing past Ray and back into the hallway.
“Bob?”
“Mikey!” Bob skids to his knees alongside the two brothers and none too gently shakes Mikey awake again, ignoring Gerard's feeble protests. “Mikey, you said Frank, Frank wasn't here, Mikey, where is he?”
Mikey curls up tighter around himself, shaking his head. “I don't remember-”
“Yes you do, dammit! Mikey, this isn't- What we're feeling, this isn't our pain is it, this is Frank's!”
“What?” Ray says quietly from the doorway. “What do you-”
“What hurts one hurts us all,” Bob says quickly, dragging Mikey up to sit upright and pulling him out of Gerard's influence. “Ever since we did that spell together, Hell ever since he got here things have been going crazy, our powers have been all fucked up, and I think I know why. I think... I think Frank was our missing Witch, I think we're a coven.”
“Fuck me,” Gerard breathes quietly, his hands over his eyes as he continues to lie on the floor. “But Frank's grounded, what could-”
“Cemetery,” Mikey whispers, pale again and starting to shake. “He snuck out, he's at the cemetery. I think... I think he tried to exorcise Bert.”
“The stupid little prick,” Bob mutters, shaking his head again. “How did he even figure out what Bert's anchor is?”
“I don't think he did,” Ray says softly, staggering across the room and grabbing his clothes, pulling them on haphazardly. “I think that's what I've been seeing, why it keeps changing, sometimes we're there and sometimes we're not, but Frank always is and I, I think... I think he got it wrong. Really wrong.”
“What happens if you pick the wrong anchor?”
“I dunno,” Ray admits, “I'm betting nothing good though.”
“We have to find him,” Gerard mutters, trying to sit up but collapsing straight back down again. “Ow, oh motherfucker-”
“Gee? You okay?”
“Feels like I've been run over by a truck. That was part of a convoy. My head...”
“Ray, you awake yet?” Ray nods, still pale but much more alert now, downing the glass of water on the side and reaching into his bedside drawer for some caffeine and sugar pills.
“Give me a couple of minutes to finish convincing myself this isn't another fucking nightmare and I will be.”
“Mikey, stay here, watch Gee. We'll go get Frank, you meet us at Frank's house as soon as you can move. Make sure you bring some of that green goo crap and that Gee gets his mojo back as soon as possible.”
“But we left the medicine at home and mom-”
Swearing, Bob keeps gathering up his stuff, taking three attempts to manage to get his arm into the sleeve of his jacket. “Then sneak in or something! Look, I'm making this shit up as I go here, throw me a frickin' bone will ya?”
Ray finishes pulling on his sneakers and tucks his hands into his jeans pockets, nodding to Bob. “I'll drive, you look worse than I feel.”
“Cheers,” Bob mutters but tosses his keys to Ray. “Let's go.”
**********************************************
The last of the daylight has dropped below the horizon, night rapidly falling as they crunch into the cemetery car park, gravel skidding them slightly as Ray pulls up too fast, too hard. They don't even notice as they jump out though, and quickly grab a couple of flashlights from Bob's 'spare' toolkit in the boot (hey, you never know when a breakdown might happen, and if he can help out a fellow motorist – especially a hot female motorist – then all the better).
Ray's flashlight shines fairly bright through the slightly too long grass as they hurry through it towards Bert's grave, Bob's flickering a little and making him slap it against his palm and tighten the cap until it steadies. Really, Ray thinks, Bob should invest in one of those self powered ones with the little handle-
“There!” For all its faults, Bob's light has quickly picked out the flare of white from the soles of Frank's Converse sticking out into the path and they break out into a full on run at last.
The smudge stick lies abandoned in the grass, just a bare inch or so left to mark how long Frank has been lying there. Trails of ashes and burnt grass lie in its wake and the air carries the trace of its sweet and cloying, oddly sickly scent before Bob quickly stamps it out as Ray drops down to lean over Frank.
“Frank? Come on, buddy, wake up!” Ray can feel his hands trembling as he lifts Frank's eyelids, wincing at the sight and not knowing if the way Frank's eyes sluggishly start to shrink in the light is a good or bad sign. He's breathing though, faint and very shallow and with a definite wheeze, his lips tinged blue, but fuck, that's Frank on a good day sometimes. Pulling back at the layers of clothing, searching for some sign of injury, Ray freezes as the scarf shifts down exposing Frank's throat-
The burns are long, red, and unnaturally sharp, the clean lines of fingers all too visible and clearly wrapped around Frank's neck.
“Oh, fuck.” Quickly tugging at Frank's clothes to expose his chest, Ray breathes a small sigh of relief that the old scars are still fading, no new lines marking Frank's skin, but his skin is clammy and he's way too pale, freezing but not even shivering in the cold night air. “Bob, we gotta get him outta here-”
“Car, even driving round the park it will still be quicker than trying to carry him through all the headstones. Especially as he is a deceptively heavy fucker when he's dead weight.”
Nodding, Ray shifts to grab Frank's feet, propping the flashlight across his body to shine feebly. Bob clips his own to his belt loop before grabbing Frank under the arms and hoisting him up. “Careful.”
Bob just glares in the weird shifting light of the two flashlights and focuses instead on backtracking through the gravestones. The air smells sharp with frost and the grass is slick beneath their feet, but they manage to make it back to the car and manhandle Frank across the back seat.
“Really getting tired of dragging your lazy ass around Iero,” Bob mutters as he haphazardly loops a seatbelt over Frank to stop him falling off the seat.
“His mom is going to kill us all, for real, this time.”
“You know what?” Bob slams the door and slides back in the passenger side with a slight groan. “I don't blame her. This is fucked up, dude.”
“Yeah.”
“I loved Bert but I wish to God they'd just cremated the fucker so I can stop finding my friends half dead on his grave.”
Nodding and slipping the car into gear, Ray hits the gas and they are away.
************************************
To say that Frank's mom is upset is like saying Mount Everest is a bit steep. She is so far beyond upset it's bordering on full on hysteria, at least it seems to be until she spots Frank sprawled out between them, still unconscious and pale.
“Oh, Frankie...” Hurrying down the steps, she helps them guide him into the house, her panic gone so fast that it almost seems as though another person has taken over. “The couch, lay him down.” She leaves them alone, the boys struggling but finally managing to get Frank into a position that looks like it might be vaguely comfortable, but then she is back, a first aid kit in one hand and a blanket in the other. “Help me get his clothes off.”
The boys hesitate, looking at each other, and she almost smiles before shaking her head. “Just do it, I need to see the damage.” Moving awkwardly, they start with the outer layers, shoes and jacket tossed to the floor, but once Frank is down to his shorts she simply checks his legs and, finding them free of marks, pulls the blanket up over his chest, hiding the fading scars under it.
“What happened?”
“We, we don't know,” Ray admits, “we weren't there, but we felt-” He breaks off, hesitating, but she looks up at him sharply. “We felt it. Him. Something. At least Mikey and Gee did, we just got a bit of it. And Mikey said Frank was in trouble, we, uh-”
“We think he was trying to exorcise a ghost. On his own.”
Swearing colourfully and muttering about the idiot gene being strong in the Iero family and seriously, what the Hell was William thinking letting him do that, and if he hadn't already been dead she was going to kill him-
“I think I saw William,” Bob blurts out, watching transfixed as her hands move over Frank's body, assessing his neck and checking his breathing before digging through the first aid kit and pulling out a thermometer. “His guide, I uh, I saw him in a mirror. He looked a little beat up and really freaked out.”
Nodding, she slides the thermometer into Frank's ear and waits for the beep before pulling it out, catching Bob's confused look. “When his lungs are bad he has trouble keeping a mouth thermometer in without coughing all over it. Be grateful I didn't get a rectal one. And yes, Bill was probably very 'freaked'.” Leaning down for a moment and resting her head against Frank's arm, she sighs heavily. “Not again, please.” Sitting up again, she shakes her head, her eyes fixed on Frank's.
“Gee and Mikey are on the way, they have some stuff to help with the burns.”
“Good, good, I used to know a recipe but I... I can't remember it now, but if they have one good, that's good. If he has failed an exorcism though he will be in danger, we have to watch over him and make sure.”
Bob glances at Ray who shrugs. “Make sure of what?”
Sighing, she gets to her feet and brushes her hands off against her top before heading for the doorway. “That he is Frank still.”
“What?” Bob follows her out, running halfway up the stairs after her as she goes up and roots around in a linen cupboard for a washcloth and towel. “What do you mean, that's he's still Frank?”
“Why do you think I was so pissed off that you boys were playing around with this stuff?” She snaps, slamming the door closed and stomping down the stairs towards him and, despite him being big enough for her to just bounce off him Bob jumps out of the way quickly. “You may have grown up with magic but you know shit about the spirit world. This isn't some Earth plus thing, this is its own world with its own rules and if you go poking around in it you're just as likely to get your hand bitten off as shook. I should know, I've been trying to tell him but oh no, he knows better. Kids.”
Wetting the cloth in the kitchen sink she wrings it out and hurries back into the front room and lays it over Frank's neck, watching as he winces slightly even in his unconscious state. “We didn't poke around-”
“Bullshit.” Running her fingers over Frank's forehead, she considers. “Oh Frankie, you stupid boy.”
“He was trying to help,” Ray whispers, standing somewhat lost in the corner.
“If he was trying to help then why were none of you with him to stop him doing something so idiotic-”
“They were all with me,” Ray admits, sounding close to tears and frustrated, “I kept seeing- All the time, every time, I couldn't stop- They were trying to help me, they were making it stop, but I was supposed to see this, I was supposed to stop him, and I didn't, and now it's going to happen, all of it, and I can't stop it, and Mrs Iero, I'm so sorry, I should have been able to stop it, it's my fault-”
Bob isn't sure exactly what is going on and when she rises again and moves towards Ray he instinctively tries to stop her, fearing she's about to attack but instead she grabs Ray's face and forces him to look at her.
“Stop that. It's happened, it's not-” Blowing out a long breath, she sighs, shaking her head. “It's not your fault I raised a dumbass who won't listen to me.” Letting go, she drops her hands to her side and takes deep breaths, visibly struggling to draw herself together again. “If anyone started this, it was me, a very long time ago.”
“Mrs Iero-” Bob starts to speak but a hammering on the front door stops him and, at a wave from her he hurries to open it. Gerard looks like Hell, Mikey half holding him up, but the jar of goo is tucked safely under his arm and they both look more awake at least. “You okay?”
“Never better,” Gerard jokes, letting Mikey help him over the step them pushing him away to go into the room under his own power. “Mrs Iero-”
“Gerard.” Moving to stand by Frank's head, she gives him a moment to just stare, his mouth open in horror at the sight of Frank unmoving, the finger marks around his neck.
“Holy fuck.”
“Can you help him?”
Nodding, Gerard drops to his knees on the floor, grateful for the chance to just collapse again. The jar is stiff to open but as soon as Bob manages to get the lid off Gerard is reaching in and liberally coating his fingers with it. The first touch to Frank's skin makes him react, just a little, a faint gasp that fades as Gerard begins to rub it in, sending as much energy as he can spare through the mixture.
It's not much, his body already sagging, but it seems to help a little, the red easing – although that could just be the green of the goo hiding it like makeup. It's clear from the tremble in his fingers that he can't keep it up for long, but as soon as he begins to falter Ray leans in closer, taking over the work and letting Gerard flop back against the edge of the sofa, skin tinged grey and with deep shadows making their way under his eyes.
Frank's mom just watches as, at Gerard's instruction they take it in turns to rub their fingers through the green goo, over Frank's neck, his breathing easing with each touch until a little colour starts to return to his face and his breathing eases out, just a faint rattle remaining. Bob goes last, the slick goo making him wince in disgust, but finally he steps back to let her back in.
Gently sliding her way onto the sofa, lifting Frank's head and chest up so he can rest on her lap, she cradles her son gently, placing her fingertips on his throat and just feeling the heat of the burns easing a little. There is still a rattle in his throat, something blocking the way, but he can breathe. It's a start.
“Thank you,” she says quietly at last, taking in the bedraggled group of boys – young men – around her. “He's likely to be out of it for a while, if you want to head home-”
“With all due respect ma'am,” Bob says slowly, “you said something about needing to make sure he is himself when he wakes up. We can help with that.”
“What do you mean?” Gerard sounds like Ray looked that morning, his voice slightly slurred but his eyes sharp as he looks between them. “You think he's been hurt?”
“He failed an exorcism,” Mrs Iero sighs softly, shaking her head. “Doors swing both ways and when you open one you have to be sure the spirit will go through it or there is a, a recoil of sorts. We need to make sure Frank hasn't been possessed by the spirit.”
“By Bert?” Gerard looks like he's going to throw up. “No, he, he wouldn't-”
“Wake up Gee,” Bob snaps, pointing at Frank's throat, “you think Frank did those to himself?”
“No, but Bert wouldn't-”
“Enough!” Raising her hands in defeat, Frank's mom stares them down. “You have to stop this, stop thinking of spirits as being the same as the person they were in life. It doesn't matter if they were the sweetest little old lady who wouldn't hurt a fly, as a spirit they can be powerful and dangerous and have no appreciation of their own strength and no control, just instincts and memory. And even if they are self aware the instinct to just be, to stay, to cling onto this approximation of life is the strongest of all, no matter what they may have believed about an afterlife.”
“So if Frank is... isn't himself, what then?”
Mikey's voice is quiet but enough to draw their gazes. “Then we have to find a way to find him again.”
****************************************
Frank hurts. It's all he knows, all he can feel, his throat several steps beyond sore and into holy fuck who let him gargle with broken glass because seriously, that shit ain't funny. His chest aches like someone has been standing on it and he can't move, his fingers trapped and too hot and-
“Ow.”
His fingers twitch, pulled up from his side in a jerking movement that makes him flinch and his head throb but no more than the sudden burst of noise around him.
“Frank?”
“Is it him? Fuck, how do we know-”
“Shh, let go of his hand Gee, you'll crush him-”
“Mikey, can you tell, is it him?”
“Maybe if you'd all shut up and let me listen-”
“Enough!”
Frank opens his eyes slowly at the sound of his mom's voice, and he winces as the sunlight blinds him, forcing him to keep blinking. There are shadows everywhere, blurry and coloured and looming over him. They seem nice enough shadows, not the creepy sort from Ghost (not that he has ever seen that movie, nope, and even if he had, he definitely never thought that the pottery scene made Patrick Swayze look really hot.) Patrick Swayze made a dull ghost though, a boring fucker like Bruce Willis, not full on creepy Poltergeist evil, now that was a ghost-
Ghost.
Evil.
Bert.
“Gee!” Frank shoots upright, shouting and trying to throw off the hands holding him, sudden fierce grips pushing him back against the couch and wow, shouting was not a good idea, his throat is screaming right back at him and his voice was kind of pathetic-
“Stay back Gee, don't get too close yet-”
“Is it him? Mikey can you tell?”
“Guys, just let-”
“Frank?”
The last is whispered, just a soft plea, but it's enough to get Frank to stop struggling and focus again, coughs wracking his body as he tries to breathe and oh, who replaced his nice wide airway with a spitball clogged straw. Letting himself be pushed back into the cushions, Frank looks wildly round, searching the room until he spots Gerard. Gerard is being held back, Ray blocking him into a corner whilst Bob and Mikey hold Frank himself down, even though it feels like far more than four hands on him-
Oh. Bob must be copping a magic hands feel. Cheeky motherfucker.
“Gee, you okay?” Frank whispers at last, his voice cracked and barely audible but he doesn't even notice. He's too shocked by the sight of Gerard looking so pale, his fingers clenched tight against Ray's shoulder and tension clear in the tired lines around his eyes. At the sound, Gerard laughs once, half relief and half hysteria, and rolls his eyes.
“Am I okay? Frankie-”
“Wait, Gerard, shut the fuck up for a minute,” Bob interrupts, his grip on Frank solid but also caring and gentle, not too hard. It's not rough for the sake of it, but rough for everyone's safety in the way that only the child who has cared for a loved one lost to a curse, whether magical or medical, can be. “Mikey, verdict?”
Frank twists his head and spots Mikey, standing behind him and with hands pressing down against his shoulders. It doesn't make sense, what are they all doing, why are they treating him like this, what-
“Bert,” Frank mouthes at last and lets his eyes roll shut. Stupid, asshole, motherfucking Bert, he hadn't stopped him and seriously, next time he was taking a supersoaker of holy water up there and just dousing the fucker – or better still, just drinking a couple of gallons of the stuff then peeing on his grave, see how he liked that-
Mikey snorts with laughter and steps back, letting go of Frank. “It's him, it's Frank.”
“You sure?” Bob asks, still holding on tight and wow, Frank thinks, paranoia must be a side effect of the Werewolf thing because who doesn't trust a telepath, except for maybe Garabaldi from Babylon 5-
Laughing again, Mikey sinks down to the floor by the couch as Ray and Gerard come a step closer. “Really sure.”
“Oh thank fuck,” Bob breathes and lets go at last, collapsing down to the floor and dropping his head into his hands. “Seriously, thank fuck for that.”
“Amen,” Gerard echoes and pushes past Ray, dropping to his knees beside Frank and leaning in to kiss him hard. Frank almost laughs in surprise before melting into it, his body responding with way too much interest for current company-
“Enough,” his mom says at last and wow, that is enough of a wake up call to make Frank flush red right down his chest, hot and kindof itchy as Gerard drops back, his head resting on Frank's shoulder. “Let him breathe Gerard, he's had a nasty injury-”
Injury? Frank zones out for a minute and concentrates on the aches in his body, experimentally twitching all his fingers and toes before running his hands under the blanket and over his chest, tracing over the healing scars and up to his throat-
“Ow.” The conversation around him stops as Frank hesitantly pokes at his throat. Well, that explains the broken glass feeling, not to mention the fact that he's wheezing like his dad's old laptop just before it finally died. His skin is too hot, feeling like sunburn, and swollen and stretched tight over his throat but at the same time it's a little sticky, the now sadly too familiar feeling of the Way family ghost goo on his skin making him scrunch up his nose in disgust.
“Yeah,” his mom says, whacking him over the top of his head with the flat of her hand. “You got off lightly you idiot.” Twisting his head back to look up at her, Frank tries to croak out a sorry but ends up having to mouth it instead. Rolling her eyes, his mom shakes her head and leaves the room, making Frank wince but then the others crowd in closer again, each touching him as though to reassure themselves that he is okay, and with so many questions about what happened that he really, really can't answer right now.
The tangle finally resolves itself with Frank sitting up on the couch with the blanket wrapped around him and Gerard against his side, hands entwined loosely. Bob and Ray crowd into an armchair in a heap of too long limbs and hair whilst Mikey sits on the arm of the couch beside Frank, his hand resting on Frank's shoulder.
By the time Frank's mom has forcefed him warm honey tea and tepid water he is feeling stronger but his voice is still completely wrecked. Without a word, Mikey's grip tighten as Frank's hand slides up to rest over his and he opens himself up to his friend. So, surrounded by his friends and feeling like an idiot (especially when Mikey decides to narrate the story with extra details that Frank certainly isn't thinking), Frank lets Mikey in and tells them everything that happened.
Their reactions range from anger to disbelief to despair as Mikey narrates the tale, wincing along with Frank as they reach the part about Bert attacking him and him passing out.
“So you just what, fainted?”
Snorting hurts, but Frank tries anyway before giving in and untangling his fingers from Gerard's to flip Bob off. “You try it next time,” he tries to croak out before his mom silences him with a glare. Looking up at Mikey he lets his friend ask the one question he's been worrying about since waking up.
“How did you guys find me?”
There is an exchange of looks and a hesitance running through the room that makes him stop and look at them each in turn. Frowning, he finally settles for looking up at Mikey questioningly. *What?*
So they tell him. About Mikey's reaction. About Gerard on the floor. About Bill in the mirror. And about Bob's theory.
“We're a coven?” Frank manages to mouth, looking round the room as Gerard shrugs and Ray just smiles. Grinning to himself, Frank closes his eyes and leans back into the couch. Okay, so it feels like he has been trying to deep throat a flamethrower, but here, with his friends around him, Frank feels like he can take on the world.
“Congratulations,” his mom says drolly, her voice cold. “Doesn't mean you are not still in serious trouble young man.”
Take on the world, yes.
Bert? With his team, his motherfucking most awesomest thing ever actual honest to God coven, by his side next time, maybe.
Taking on his mom though? Hell no. At least, not until his life has a hell of a lot more caffeine in it...
*********************************************************
It takes both Frank's mom and Gerard working together to get him up the stairs and into bed, his body drained completely and his voice raw and wheezing with the exertion. Whilst everyone around him looks exhausted, and his body settles into the pillows far too gratefully for his liking, Frank's mind is wide awake and whirring as it processes what he's been told.
Not to mention his stomach is kicking up a riot of guilt at the thought of his friends having suffered so much because he was stupid. Mikey had kept the description of Gerard's reaction matter of fact but sitting so close the connection between them was still open and he had seen it, heard the screaming, seen his face-
“I don't know what I'm going to do with you,” his mom says at last, sitting down on the end of the bed and dropping her head into her hands tiredly. “I ground you and you just get into even more trouble than when I let you out. I try to keep you away from Magic and you find it anyway. I tell you to be patient, to be careful and you jump in headlong-”
“Mom-”
“I'm starting to think I should just tell you to go for it and do whatever you like, maybe then you might actually take the time to stop and think for once in your life-”
“Mrs Iero-”
“Gerard, quiet.” Dropping her hands, she looks up at last but doesn't look at Frank, focusing instead on the wall. “I'm starting to think my only hope to keep Frank alive and sane is you, Gerard.”
Frank is gratified to see Gerard jump in surprise, turning to face her with a shocked look on his face. “What?”
She looks at them both and lets out a long, steady breath. “Do you love him?”
Frank isn't blushing, nope, no way, but Gerard definitely is, his ears pinking up adorably as he stutters a little and fidgets, and really, if he was in any fit state to do anything about it Frank would totally just pull him under the covers too.
“I- Y-Yes, but I don't know what-”
“You're a healer and defender, you've grown up around magic, you know its dangers, and you love him. If I can't keep him from being a moron maybe you can. If he won't listen to me, if he won't listen to William, then just maybe he will listen to you.”
“Mom-”
“Shut up, Frank. I didn't really expect you to get your powers, I certainly didn't expect you to find other Witches, as for you getting a coven, that was just a dream that I gave up long before you were born. But if it's true, and it certainly sounds that way, then I have to respect that. Coven is...” She hesitates, looking at Gerard and he swallows hard, his adams apple bobbing up and down nervously, before speaking.
“Coven is sacred.”
“Exactly.”
Frank isn't sure he likes the sound of that, the way they are looking at each other implying something he's sure he has missed along the way, but Gerard isn't pulling away this time, his fingers seeking out Frank's again and that's a good thing. He'll take what he can get for now.
“Frank,” his mom sighs and oh, so now someone is actually talking to him, instead of about him, awesome. Trying to shift in the bed then giving up, Frank settles for peering at her over the covers with a hopeful smile. “I know you don't really understand all this right now, I'm not even sure there are words to explain it, but you're part of something bigger now, and you have to grow up.”
Sputtering slightly, Frank tries to object but she cuts him off.
“No, I mean it, your actions affect more than just you now, your magic can cause great harm if you get it wrong and your friends have already had a taste of that now.” The guilt monster inside Frank's gut shifts again and make him swallow hard which, ouch, is a mistake. “You need to be more careful but most of all you need to be with them.”
A sliver of hope worms its way in alongside the guilt. Does she mean..?
“So,” she says decisively, slapping her hands against her thighs as she stands up before staring them down again. “No grounding. Instead I want you to spend as much time with your friends as possible. Strengthen your connection, let them anchor you and maybe teach you a little responsibility and Goddamn restraint for once.”
Frank is trying not to take any of that as innuendo, honestly he isn't, but he's half naked in his bed and Gerard is right there and being told to spend more time with him is just too good to be true.
Huh, maybe he did die in the cemetery? A quick swallow pushes that thought aside. The dead don't need to swallow and it certainly wouldn't hurt as much.
“Gerard, I'm trusting you to watch over him and God help you both if you mess up again, understood?”
“Yes ma'am,” Gerard whispers, pale again now as she moves away from the bed, straightening the covers and pulling the drapes as she goes.
“Good. Now, you're welcome to stay but Frank needs his rest so take it easy boys. And just because I'm letting you two see each other again does not mean other house rules are lifted, understood Frank? The bedroom door stays open and unlocked mister.”
Nodding quickly, Frank tries to look innocent but fails miserably as always.
“I'll go check on the others but you all could do with some sleep. As could I.”
Frank tries to speak but it comes out a croak, his voice almost non existent until Gerard passes him some tea to sip again. “William?” he finally manages to wheeze out. His mom pauses, considering.
“From what you describe, my best guess is he's exhausted and needs time to recover. As do you. He'll be back.”
Nodding, Frank breathes a sigh of relief, settling back into the pillows as she leaves and smiling as Gerard shifts to curl up alongside him. Sadly on top of the covers rather than under, but hey, Frank'll take what he can get right now. Wrapping an arm around him, Frank tries to ignore the pain in his throat and concentrate on rubbing slow circles over Gerard's back, feeling the tension start to drain out of him. But without him even noticing his eyes slide closed again and sleep claims them both.
*************************************
Gerard finally leaves after dark, his body still tired as he trudges home, Mikey and the others (and the car) long gone but he doesn't mind the walk. His mind is wide awake, still working its way through everything.
Coven. He has a coven.
He's grown up with the stories, the wistful looks and longing sighs that accompany the word. Every Witch has the potential to form a coven but the actual blending of personalities and talents or, as his nonna puts it, finding your soulmates, it's rare. Even within the three collectives he knows of, his own and two others within the nearby states, he only knows of one active, current, coven.
Sure, his nonna had been in one for a few years when she was a young woman, and his mom's friend ran off to join one down in Florida, but still, they were considered something of a dream, or something to aspire to like playing for the Yankees or running for President. They're also usually all women, or at least mixed, all male covens rarer just as male Witches are rarer due to the talents passing through the maternal line.
Female covens are more common, and more powerful, than male ones. But male covens have the potential to last an entire lifetime whereas most end when female Witches choose to have children to pass on the gifts; even those women who didn't lose their powers to their children were often changed by pregnancy, sometimes enough to disrupt the balance of the coven and break the bond. To find an all male coven was to find something permanent and lasting, with the potential to shape a collective for decades.
For all their joking about wanting to find a coven Gerard had never, ever, considered it a real possibility, just an idle fantasy. Even when he had thought about it, he'd figured their missing member would be a girl, maybe even Tori, a natural expiry date being set on the bond by her presence. A few years as part of a coven, being powerful, making a difference, it had sounded fun.
To spend the rest of his life tied to his friends? To force that on Frank, when they'd only just started going out, really, it was too much and what if they didn't work out and broke up, the whole bond would know, would be ruined-
Taking a deep breath, Gerard bends over and tries to concentrate on just not panicking. One thing at a time.
The future would take care of itself. Hiding the fact that they had bonded as a coven with a guy who nobody knew was a Witch, now THAT was something to worry about right now. They couldn't hide it forever, not now, and especially not if they were going to keep a closer eye on Frank, but just until he was ready to 'come out', that was all they had to manage.
How hard could it be?