Status: Active and typing.
Freight Hopper
.05
Frank
Frank is sprinting, and as he sobs he is fearfully reminded of that night all over again. Seeing him, alive, breathing, but damaged...Frank feels like breaking. Breaking...but he know’s he can’t because if he does, if he falls, who will be there to catch him? He is alone.
He knows Newark; it’s impossible to forget, but he has no sense of where he is going. He knows only that he couldn’t have stayed, couldn’t. He is going wherever his feet are leading him. He’s left everything back at the yards, and he knows what will happen if he goes back. That is not an option. Eventually, he throws himself onto the ground in an abandon alleyway. He’s heaving; his chest painfully tight from the cold gripping the air, but he is not crying any longer. It takes a few, long minutes before he is breathing normally again, and when he is, he wraps himself into a tight, protective ball. He is not afraid; he has faced much worse than the dirty streets of Newark. No, not scared of this city. He is scared of being found, of confrontation, of guilt, mostly...of love.
He should have expected something like this from Rat, should have been smarter than he was. Rat never approved of people riding to run, didn’t think trains should be used as an escape from things one is not brave enough to face. Rat rode for the beauty, the lifestyle, and the pure love of it; he had no past troubles to settle, or reasons to avoid whatever he used to call home. Riding was his life, not his escape. Rat always pushed Frank to go home, fix what needed to be fixed. But Frank isn’t brave, isn’t strong. Frank is selfish and weak.
The winter chill is settling in, and Frank begins to get very cold. He stands slowly, shivering. He pulls on his hood, and walks with this head down. The familiar noises of the city welcome him, but the paranoia of discovery hangs like a cloud above his casted face. He has nothing.
Gerard
His mouth is clenched in worry and concern. The temperature is dropping and he knows Frank is out there somewhere, with nothing. He has to find him. He won’t be able to live through losing him all over again. That horrible night, three long years ago, watching him leave had broken him, not being able to follow only heightened his sorrow. He didn’t blame Frank for the accident or his injuries. Or at least, he tried not to. Sometimes, he couldn’t help it. Sometimes, he’d get so furious and frustrated, he would curse Frank’s name, and all the shit he had put him through. He didn’t really feel that way though. Or at least, not all of him did. Gerard loved Frank in every way a person can love someone. Gerard, the boy who didn’t have emotions, Iron Man, loved Frank in a deeper way than even he could comprehend. Somehow, even after 1092 fucking days, he had never stopped. He will find him.
It’s two am when the snow begins to fall. The worry that has clouded Gerard’s mind for the past hours is beginning to erupt into panic. Newark is big, but he’s been everywhere; he’s been driving in circles for hours with not even a glimpse of Frank. He’s hoping, praying that the snow won’t thicken, that this won’t turn into a heavy storm, but It’s Jersey, he thinks.
“Fucking hell!” He bursts, slamming his fist into his window.
Frank
Frank likes the cold; He loves the snow, but he is not stupid. He’s wearing nothing more than a thin hoodie which isn’t doing shit to outlast the bitter cold. And, for the first time in his life, Frank curses the snow the moment it begins to gracefully fall. He’s been walking for hours and hours, and he can feel the exhaustion setting in. He used to have friends, connections here, but it’s been three years. Those connections are either locked up or gone, now. The shelter is already closed and by now the churches are too. It’s luck, pure, beautiful chance that calls to him when he finds an old, moth eaten blanket lying next to a dumpster. He ignores the thoughts in his mind telling him all the kinds of diseases this thing could by carrying and throws it around his freezing body. He takes shelter in another alley, under a balcony where the snow isn’t as thick. He is drained, but terrified to fall asleep; terrified of the dreams that lurk there. But he must face them.
He knows he really shouldn’t be sitting here, that he would have a better chance at staying warm were he up and moving, but by now he is so tired, the mere thought of keeping his eyes open is purely laughable. The snow is getting harder, more furious, but he lacking the energy to care anymore. He just wants rest.
Frank is sprinting, and as he sobs he is fearfully reminded of that night all over again. Seeing him, alive, breathing, but damaged...Frank feels like breaking. Breaking...but he know’s he can’t because if he does, if he falls, who will be there to catch him? He is alone.
He knows Newark; it’s impossible to forget, but he has no sense of where he is going. He knows only that he couldn’t have stayed, couldn’t. He is going wherever his feet are leading him. He’s left everything back at the yards, and he knows what will happen if he goes back. That is not an option. Eventually, he throws himself onto the ground in an abandon alleyway. He’s heaving; his chest painfully tight from the cold gripping the air, but he is not crying any longer. It takes a few, long minutes before he is breathing normally again, and when he is, he wraps himself into a tight, protective ball. He is not afraid; he has faced much worse than the dirty streets of Newark. No, not scared of this city. He is scared of being found, of confrontation, of guilt, mostly...of love.
He should have expected something like this from Rat, should have been smarter than he was. Rat never approved of people riding to run, didn’t think trains should be used as an escape from things one is not brave enough to face. Rat rode for the beauty, the lifestyle, and the pure love of it; he had no past troubles to settle, or reasons to avoid whatever he used to call home. Riding was his life, not his escape. Rat always pushed Frank to go home, fix what needed to be fixed. But Frank isn’t brave, isn’t strong. Frank is selfish and weak.
The winter chill is settling in, and Frank begins to get very cold. He stands slowly, shivering. He pulls on his hood, and walks with this head down. The familiar noises of the city welcome him, but the paranoia of discovery hangs like a cloud above his casted face. He has nothing.
Gerard
His mouth is clenched in worry and concern. The temperature is dropping and he knows Frank is out there somewhere, with nothing. He has to find him. He won’t be able to live through losing him all over again. That horrible night, three long years ago, watching him leave had broken him, not being able to follow only heightened his sorrow. He didn’t blame Frank for the accident or his injuries. Or at least, he tried not to. Sometimes, he couldn’t help it. Sometimes, he’d get so furious and frustrated, he would curse Frank’s name, and all the shit he had put him through. He didn’t really feel that way though. Or at least, not all of him did. Gerard loved Frank in every way a person can love someone. Gerard, the boy who didn’t have emotions, Iron Man, loved Frank in a deeper way than even he could comprehend. Somehow, even after 1092 fucking days, he had never stopped. He will find him.
It’s two am when the snow begins to fall. The worry that has clouded Gerard’s mind for the past hours is beginning to erupt into panic. Newark is big, but he’s been everywhere; he’s been driving in circles for hours with not even a glimpse of Frank. He’s hoping, praying that the snow won’t thicken, that this won’t turn into a heavy storm, but It’s Jersey, he thinks.
“Fucking hell!” He bursts, slamming his fist into his window.
Frank
Frank likes the cold; He loves the snow, but he is not stupid. He’s wearing nothing more than a thin hoodie which isn’t doing shit to outlast the bitter cold. And, for the first time in his life, Frank curses the snow the moment it begins to gracefully fall. He’s been walking for hours and hours, and he can feel the exhaustion setting in. He used to have friends, connections here, but it’s been three years. Those connections are either locked up or gone, now. The shelter is already closed and by now the churches are too. It’s luck, pure, beautiful chance that calls to him when he finds an old, moth eaten blanket lying next to a dumpster. He ignores the thoughts in his mind telling him all the kinds of diseases this thing could by carrying and throws it around his freezing body. He takes shelter in another alley, under a balcony where the snow isn’t as thick. He is drained, but terrified to fall asleep; terrified of the dreams that lurk there. But he must face them.
He knows he really shouldn’t be sitting here, that he would have a better chance at staying warm were he up and moving, but by now he is so tired, the mere thought of keeping his eyes open is purely laughable. The snow is getting harder, more furious, but he lacking the energy to care anymore. He just wants rest.
♠ ♠ ♠
Sorry for the switching between Frank and Gerard. I'll almost never write chapters like that. I just couldn't make it work and still all be under Frank. Thoughts?