Chapter Text
It didn’t smell like apples anymore. The overhead light was cold and fluorescent- Frank remembered it being golden. There was nothing poetic about the scene in front of him as he opened his eyes.
He was in bed.
Gerard was sitting on the floor, asleep, leaning against the bed frame, clutching Frank’s hand. The tear tracks on his face didn’t glow like moonlight; they were dried and crusted. The puffiness under his eyes wasn’t due to the blinding light of holiness his head couldn’t comprehend; it was from clawing at his own eyes in guilt. Red nail marks still adorned his cheeks. His lips were thin and dry; his lip’s bow drooped- like cupid himself had beaten it down. He looked like he was waiting for someone to saint him.
Ray held, white knuckled, onto the cross with Mary on the front as he sat in a chair next to Frank’s bed. He was reading the bible; Frank didn’t know he was religious. His full lips were parted, not like the Red Sea, but so he could breathe better. His nose was still caked in blood from being knocked out. He didn't look at Gerard with anger or apprehension but with pity.
The room itself didn’t smell of despair and angels didn’t cry. All Frank could hear was the distant cough of the radiator. The room smelled like warm meat in a butcher’s shop- and vomit. His own blood had sprayed up the peeling wallpaper; it didn’t look like Pollock or Monet or Van Gogh. It wasn’t the drawings of saints on the floor; it was nail marks from Gerard clawing the ground as the demon inside him was exorcised. All art was tragic but not all tragedy was art. Sometimes things were just sad.
Frank could name every deadly sin like they were cousins at a reunion. He felt at home in basement bars and had more than a few alley scars. He loved the low life. The grease that clung to him wasn't the type that came out in the wash. But he'd never seen it, true evil, until he'd seen the demon that possessed Gerard. After that, broken bottles and bloody knuckles seemed much less romantic.
The Gods didn’t love them. The Gods didn’t loathe them. The Gods didn’t know who the fuck they were.
His only comfort, besides the cold hand gripping his own, was Sweet Pea curled up on the bed with him. Someone, he presumed Ray, had washed the mud from her. Her breath rattled and Frank couldn't help but think how ironic it was that she had dug herself out of a grave when she was going to die soon anyways. Was that poetic? He wasn’t sure but he hoped not. Death wasn’t romantic. It was just death.
“Ray, are we dead?”
Relief washed over Ray’s face as he looked up. “No, we’re okay,” he laughed but it sounded more like a cough, “why’d you think we were dead? The whole having your blood drained thing?”
“No, it just seems,” he paused, trying to find the right word, “duller.”
“Was it bright before?” Ray had set down his book and leaned forward in his chair. Frank wondered if Ray thought he was insane.
“Bright, in a way. Like headlights right before a car crash or the cherry of your last cigarette when you can’t afford more.” He sat up, ignoring the pain in his ribs and throbbing in his neck.
“I told you to get The Smiths off your Ipod dude. You sound like Morrissey if he was from New Jersey and had a martyr complex.”
“Oh shut up! You’re Mother Theresa with a nicotine addiction who uses empty beer bottles as room decor.”
The moment felt out of place- like things were normal. Like they were in Frank’s apartment drinking and watching cartoons on TV. Like Frank wasn’t laying in bed, coming back from the brink of death, after Ray and Mikey saved his life.
“You don’t need to worry about it by the way.” Ray watched Frank’s eyes settle on Gerard’s sleeping form.
“Worry about what?”
“Mikey and I found a spell in the attic to keep the two of them from getting possessed. It’s only temporary. We don’t know how long we have though.”
A spell. Ray was a wizard now. Super.
Frank realized then the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. Gerard always felt safe despite- well . He wondered if he should feel guilty.
He coughed and pain shot through his neck. That was going to take a while to heal apparently.
Ray shifted then, looking uncomfortable. “You never liked endings. Remember how you made me turn off Lord of the Rings ten minutes before the end?” He laughed and it walked the line of hysteria. “I’m happy you’re safe. I thought you’d- well I was just worried for a bit.”
Ray’s words snaked through the fog of Frank's mind, dancing along the spider silk between neurons and hit his epicentre like a torpedo.
His heart sank.
“What do you mean about endings? Ray?”
He wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“You should talk to Gerard. I’ll go.” He stood and Frank realized how tired he must’ve been. He didn’t seem as tall and his hair fell in stringy curls over his eyes. Usually it looked like a halo but the twisted strands pulling at his skin resembled a crown of thorns more than anything. It hit Frank then what he had really been through. He’d been knocked unconscious, watched a monster attack his best friend, who he’d assumed to be dead at one point, exorcised a demon, and only had vampires for company the last few hours. His death grip on the cross made a lot more sense now.
“And Ray?”
He hovered at the doorway. “Yeah?”
“Thanks for saving my life.”
“Mikey said he was surprised you held on as long as you did. You saved your own life Frank.” A knowing glance passed between them, heavy with unspoken words and phantom shotgun shells. Frank wondered if Ray would stop taking the razors out of his bathroom cupboard when he came to visit now.
“I think the exorcism helped.” As much of a smile as either could muster spread across their faces. Their lives were fucking insane. Was this how Joan of Arc felt when God first spoke to her?
The door swung closed and Frank waited to squeeze Gerard’s hand and awaken him. He really did hate endings.
Frank wondered how he was able to look up at him with eyes that heavy.
“Frank I’m so-”
He leaned down and pressed his lips against Gerard’s.
They were tragic and he didn’t mind. Gerard smelled like his favourite cigarettes, he listened to him talk about bands he didn’t know, he looked at Frank like he was a piece of art, and he cared- most importantly he cared. They could be Romeo and fucking Juilet and Frank wouldn’t leave him. Gerard knew he was a mess and he cared for him anyways. He took his flaws and his anger and his penchant for suffering and cared anyways.
Sometimes people were tragic and sometimes love was tragic. This was a case of both.
Gerard pulled away.
The second between the parting of their lips and Gerard’s explanation Frank knew it all. He felt nauseous.
“We can’t- not after what I did. I hurt you.” Frank tried to pull him up to the bed but he stayed on the floor.
“No, some crazy fucking demon hurt me and it hurt you too.” Frank looked at the spidery purple veins sprouting from Gerard’s eyes. “It must’ve been terrible.”
Gerard rocked to his feet looking sloping and unsteady.
“Hurt me? Hurt me! Frank- fuck! I’m dangerous! I almost killed you.”
“What the hell is wrong with you? It wasn’t you, Gerard.”
“You know how this ends Frankie.” He sat down on the end of Frank’s bed and Sweet Pea crawled into his lap. Frank saw a new wave of guilt wash over him. “Mikey and I are dangerous. This spell, it only lasts for a bit, then it could happen again. We can’t risk hurting you or Ray.” He leaned over and pressed his lips to Frank’s cheek. “This is it. We’re never gonna see eachother again.”
Frank wanted to scream and burn empires and throw cherry bombs soaked in gasoline at Heaven’s door. If you burnt Heaven down all that was left was Hell. Maybe he would light that up too. Gunpowder and a lighter from 7/11. The most biblical of ways to go.
But the fight was gone. He was tired and drained- literally. The war had been waged while he was asleep and he knew he’d lost. He couldn’t endanger Ray like that again. He couldn’t stand to see guilt like this on Gerard’s face again. This was it.
“I know.” The words felt heavier than the flies that plagued Elektra. “Will you tell me something though?”
“Anything.” He looked desperate. Like this might lift some of the tar from his soul.
“Do you love me?”
“Frank.”
“Do you?”
It seemed insane and stupid and childish. They’d known each other for a bit more than a week. And maybe it wasn’t love that they felt for each other. Maybe it was just belonging. They were desolate fuck ups. But they weren’t freaks. Not when they were together. They didn't love each other quite yet- but they would. Frank knew he would love Gerard, knew it from the second he saw him that he would love him eventually, but he wanted to hear Gerard say the same. Wanted to hear anything over the ticking clock in the back of his mind.
“When I was possessed I saw it all. I kept trying to get away and he would drag me back. He made me hurt Mikey- hurt Mikey and Ray and you. He made me wish I was never born and hope that I’d die. The things I’ve done would make the devil cry. All those books I burned? The cure was probably in there. And now it's gone forever. In the bathroom- fuck is your mouth okay?” Frank nodded weakly as his tongue burned. Ah , so it had been Gerard who’d poisoned his coffee and wrenched his jaws open. Well Not-Gerard. “I’ve never prayed. But I did when he walked into your bedroom. He kept playing it over and over again in my mind. What he wanted to do to you. He kept showing me how he wanted to push you against the wall until your ribs snapped, how he wanted to scare you, how you wanted to rip out your neck Frank! The things I’ve seen make love unholy.”
It wasn't unholy if God didn't see and God didn't watch over people like them. Frank was sure of it. Gerard wouldn't let himself love Frank? Fine. Fuck. Fine.
They sat in silence for a long time. Frank didn’t have anything left to say.
“We should go downstairs so Mikey and I can say goodbye to you and Ray.”
“Say goodbye to me here and then we’ll go down.”
“Why?”
“This is ours.” Frank shrugged like it was the simplest thing in the world.
“What do you mean?”
“My blood is on the walls, your nail marks are on the floor, our tears are fucking everywhere. This is our own Denver.”
“Denver?”
“You read Kerouac?”
“Not really.”
“Well then, it means kiss me. Kiss me one more time because it’s sad.”
“I don’t want you to be sad.”
“You’re twenty three years too late fucker.”
Gerard’s thumb ghosted over the puncture wounds on his neck and he leaned in slowly. Slower than it would take to fill the Grand Canyon with marbles. Slower than an apple rotting in a school bag. Slower than Lucifer’s fall- because it was slow, contrary to popular belief.
Before their lips pressed together all Frank could see was Gerard. His tear filled eyes and broken smile. They consumed his entire field of vision- and then the taste. He felt his tongue on his own and his lips against his. He could feel their mingled tears coat their joined mouths.
Was knowing the expiration date better than biting into rotten fruit? Than getting one last mouthful of sweetness from it because you ignored the warnings?
They parted and Aphrodite slew a dagger through her chest.
Gerard wrenched their hands apart and hovered at the doorway, cheeks still slick with tears. “You coming?”
Frank considered refusing. Staying in bed as a protest. But he couldn’t deprive himself of the extra minutes with Gerard. He nodded and followed him down the stairs.
Ray was sitting at the table in the kitchen, empty beer bottles splayed out in front of him. It had been a long night.
“Where’s Mikey?” Gerard sat across from Ray, as far away as possible. He eyed the dried blood on his face.
Frank slumped down next to Ray, who passed him a can. Misery loved company and so did the damned.
“Mikey’s barely said a word since, you know . He’s been up in the attic for hours now.”
Gerard eyed the stairs. He had to go get Mikey. To take them away from Ray and Frank before anything else could happen.
The steps creaked with phantom moans of perceived ills. A rail thin vampire with bed head to make Sid Vicious jealous and a leather journal in tow appeared. Mikey spoke.
“I found it.”
“Found what?”
“The cure.”
__________
A trailer. A fucking trailer.
They lived in a trailer in the woods. Lawn chairs sat outside along empty beer cans and blood tins. The inside was wood paneled and the floral curtains blew in the light breeze coming through the window. Stacks of comic books and overflowing ash trays were the decor of choice. The carpet had a few stray blood stains on it. Frank wondered if it was empty when they first found it.
The only sign anyone actually lived here were the walls. The majority of them were covered in Gerard's drawings. Some were fast sketches, others he'd clearly spent hours on. They varied from comics to still life to the gnarled roots of twisted trees. A lot of them were portraits. Portraits of Mikey and other people they used to know. One stared back with Frank's eyes.
"Uh, we don't really have company so sorry about...." Gerard trailed off awkwardly as he waived to the mess. His cheeks turned pink as Frank ran his fingers over the drawing. Mikey rolled his eyes and started packing a duffel bag.
The drawing was from the first time they'd sat on the porch talking. Frank was wearing an old sweater and had a coffee in his hands. His eyes looked bright and hopeful. He wondered if he really looked like that to Gerard.
"It's beautiful- they're all beautiful. You're crazy talented." He turned to Gerard and gave him a small smile.
"You don't think it's creepy I drew you?"
"Not creepier than cutting open your hand so a vampire would come talk to you." He couldn’t help the blush on his face.
"Can you two stop flirting and start packing?" Mikey shoved the last of his possessions into the bag.
The cure wasn't straightforward; they needed ingredients they'd never heard of and the journal itself still needed to be translated from Latin. It wasn't going to be a quick procedure but it could be done. It could be done.
They'd decided it was best to stay together. Frank and Ray were jobless, with no real obligations back home, no girlfriends or boyfriends to miss them. Ray had driven back to the city to get his and Frank's things and was on his way back to the house now. Frank had volunteered to go with the Ways to help them pack. He didn't particularly want to pack but he didn't want to be away from Gerard either.
Despite the hope of a cure boiling on the horizon Gerard was too scared. Too scared of hurting Frank again. Too scared of the things he'd already done. Too scared of his own feelings. They'd be friends they decided. Friends with a shit ton of sexual tension who stared at each other’s asses and held hands when they forgot they couldn't- but friends nonetheless.
Gerard brushed awkwardly past Frank as he grabbed his own bag.
Mikey and Frank helped Gerard carefully peel his drawings from the wall.
They found the ravine Not-Gerard had thrown their tins of blood into and painstakingly gathered them back up.
By the time they'd trekked back through the forest, with Sweet Pea trotting happily on their heels, Ray had returned.
They stood in a disjointed circle in the foyer with bags in their arms like teenagers on their first sleepover. Frank realized they were waiting for him to tell everyone which rooms were which.
Fuck. Why did he have to be in charge?
He figured Gerard and Mikey wouldn't want to be apart. There were two old twin mattresses in the attic. Most of the papers and junk had been cleared out now. All that remained were the mattresses, a lamp (he'd had to scratch off the cross on it), a few stacks of books and a chest of old clothes. He was pretty sure his grandmother's wedding dress was in there. Most importantly it had wall space for Gerard's drawings.
His Grandma's old room was the biggest and had its own bathroom attached. He gave it to Ray. Half out of guilt and half out of self preservation. He knew Ray took annoyingly long showers and frankly when his hair care routine was interrupted he was a bit of a bitch. Plus he'd shared a room with two of his sisters his entire life. He deserved the privacy for once.
Frank kept his room. Despite a thorough scrubbing, soft pink stains clung to his walls. The echoes of his almost ghost rattled around the room. He covered up the nail marks on the floor with a rug. There was something comforting about sleeping in a place you almost died. Something about pretty boys and graves.
As they unpacked he turned up the stereo. The Smiths. Of course.
He put in a Misfits cassette instead and wasn't sure if it was better or worse when Father started playing.
He ascended the stairs to check on Mikey and Gerard. The attic wasn't exactly spacious but he figured it was better than the trailer.
"Where's Mikey?"
Gerard was knelt on his bed taping up drawings while the other brother was nowhere to be seen.
"Went downstairs to make coffee with Ray I think. Or he got tired of unpacking." Mikey's things were dumped out onto his bare mattress. Comic books, t-shirts and a bottle of margarita mix scattered aimlessly. The sheets and blankets sat, still folded, on the ground. The only sign he'd moved in was a photo of the two brothers when they were younger with their parents, pinned above his bed. They looked happy.
"Yeah, I mean he got so much done. I see why he'd need a break."
Gerard laughed.
"He was the one who found the journal with the cure in it. He's going to be milking that for years. Probably won't ever work again."
"Did he before?"
"Fair point."
Frank had drifted over to Gerard's bed. They sat cross legged facing each other. Neither dared to move any closer, and it felt so painfully like the first night they sat and talked with the threshold dividing them, that Frank's heart ached in a way he didn't know it could.
Gerard saw the sadness in his eyes.
"It could be worse you know. We still get to see each other this way. Isn't it better to be friends than something more tragic?"
"I guess." He pulled his lip ring into his mouth as Gerard's eyes tracked him. "I just- it was so easy."
"What was?"
"Being with you. I didn't have to hide or pretend. You know I'm a mess and you never ran away. And you're so fucking passionate about everything."
"Me? No, you, you're amazing. You have this insanely bright internal light that leaks into everything you do."
"I wish we could've stayed frozen on the porch."
"It was only ever two options: an imagined fantasy or reality. Make believe happiness or something rougher. Something unpredictable and cruel and kind. Anything real can't be contained or directed. But I'd rather have that than some bullshit where the closest I can get to you is in my memories. Even if they're nicer than reality sometimes." Frank moved over and leaned his head on Gerard's shoulder as he continued. "But yeah, I wish we were on the porch sometimes too."
They stayed like that for a long time, sat on the mattress leaning against the wall.
Slowly the moon began to fade from the sky and Frank drew the curtains.
"Reality then?" Gerard held out his hand.
Frank took it and they walked down the stairs. "Reality."
They joined the table where Mikey and Ray were playing a card game with no discernable rules that they both seemed to be losing.
Ray tucked away the cards and the others spread out books and notepads.
Frank flipped on the coffee machine.
"So I guess this is HQ then." Gerard lit a cigarette.
"Let's fucking cure you two." They grinned so hard hope might've cracked out.