Death Rides a Horse

The first thing that woke up Frank -or so he thought- was the hint of a headache and the lack of any body or heavy fabric making contact with him. At some point of the night he had evidently kicked off the bed covers, the room having gotten way too hot. Before going to sleep he had made sure to hermetically close all shutters and windows, hoping the living room heater's warmth would disperse through all the small apartment. Gerard always said that was a bad idea, but he wasn't there now to keep Frank warm, and one night wouldn't hurt.

The bedroom still felt pretty warm, but not exaggeratedly so; and Frank's shirt -which had rolled up his back- left his waist unpleasantly exposed. He reached behind him to pull it down, and the sudden movement seemed to send his brain into -almost- full working mode. With a loud groan, Frank then wished he had stayed half-asleep. What he had thought was a mild, normal headache was actually the worst skull-shattering migraine he had ever experienced.

Sitting up with difficulty, he noticed that the sharp pain was centered on his nape, and it appeared to shift and increase as he turned his head to the sides, up, or down. He could see through his eyelids that the room wasn't too bright, yet when he tried to open his eyes the pain blinded him and forced him to close them again.

Nevertheless Frank obliged himself to get off the bed, squinting and peeping through his lashes, trying not to cry as the pain got worse and worse. Supporting his weight against the walls, he made it to the living room where the strong smell of gas gave him the answer he was searching for.

"Oh shit, Gerard will kick my ass..."

A violent wave of nausea hit him and he fell to his knees, emptying his stomach as his head pounded. When he was done, he tried to crawl towards the window to get it open, but his vision got progressively more clouded until everything went black. Frank felt consciousness abandon him.

*******************

The next time he awoke he wasn't home, neither was he in a hospital bed. Even more strange, he wasn't lying down but standing on pavement over the crosswalk of a wide avenue, still in his socks and the blue pajama set with robots that Gerard had bought him. A gentle breeze messed with his long hair and the temperature was ideal. He hadn't dared raise his head yet, but he knew it was night. The place was bathed in artificial light, and not only the usual street lights. Frank could see the flashing of multiple colorful ones. Lots of red, blue, green and yellow flickering.

He finally looked up and around him, his eyes first huge with surprise but the gesture quickly replaced by a frown out of confusion. Frank was in Broadway, surrounded by all the big theaters with their luminous marquees announcing famous musicals and all kinds of plays. That, together with the giant advertising signs, made the sight overwhelming yet beautiful. The only thing out of place was the absence of people and cars. Frank had been there before, only this time he knew he shouldn't, and nothing made sense. How had he made it to Broadway? When? Why was it looking deserted? Was it a dream? It had to be.

He didn't have time to ponder much about those intrigues. The silence was broken by the sound of electric guitars. A song had started playing, and Frank could have sworn it didn't come from any of the buildings in the block...but from above. The notes were familiar -invigorating and sexy, he was sure he knew the song, but he couldn't figure out the name or the band. It just didn't seem important in that unknown plane or dimension he was in.

There was another sound that disoriented Frank far more than the rock song. He thought his ears were deceiving him, but as it got louder and louder he had no doubt: hoofs. And there it was when he looked ahead, a dark horse approaching him, calmly galloping along the avenue.

As the animal got nearer, Frank saw that someone was actually mounting it, a person that looked like an outlaw escaped from a western. Black hat -a sombrero, black boots with shiny spurs, dark brown pants and a matching vest over a dusty looking shirt that had once been white. Two pistols rested on the stranger's hips and when he stopped a few steps from Frank, all that was visible below the sombrero was the lighted up tip of a hand-rolled tobacco cigarette.

Frank felt a chill and couldn't move when the outlaw dismounted, unexpectedly swinging his hips to the rhythm of the song as he walked towards him. He even stopped by a light pole, holding to it with one hand as he provocatively danced around it. Frank shook his head and nervously walked in the man's direction...who vanished before he could reach him. Astounded, Frank froze in his place once again.

"I'm here for you, babe," came a smug voice from behind him. He knew that voice...

He turned round and faced the stranger, trying to see his face which was still concealed. Frank's eyes fell down to the black belt, adorned with what appeared to be human finger-bones. Then traveled back up -to the popped up collar of the yellowy shirt, to finally set on the pursed lips that held the cigarette, faintly illuminated as the guy puffed.

"Who are you?" Frank simple asked.

Instead of responding, the man slowly lifted a hand to his sombrero, taking it off to reveal long black hair and a sickly pale face. A face, however, that Frank knew very well -except for the eyes, these eyes were completely black.

"G-gerard? What the fuck...?"

"Who's Gerard?" the stranger questioned.

"Uh...you? Gerard, my boyfriend of five years and band mate of even longer?" Frank caressed the other's cheek with concern. "What happened to your..."

Who looked like Gerard smirked. "Gerard what?" He disconcerted Frank.

"Gerard...Way."

With a fast move the man's right hand neared one of the pistols and Frank jumped back, frightened. The outlaw laughed, retrieving a little notebook from out of a pocket and searching for something in it.

"Mmmm no, no Gerard way in my list, not his time yet."

"What do you mean it's not his time yet? Who are you?" Frank feared the answer as soon as he asked the question.

Suddenly, the fake Gerard was breathing on Frank's ear. "I'm Death, the Ripper, however you want to call me."

"WHAT?" Frank screamed. "No but...does that mean I'm dead?"

"Pretty much so." Death grinned, his tiny teeth those of Gerard too.

"No...that can't be true! You can't be Death...aren't you supposed to like...wear a black cloak and carry a scythe?"

"Only if my 'client' wants it that way. I personally prefer leather and an electric guitar, but this is not bad at all, I must admit." Death shrugged.

Frank had so many questions in mind that he wasn't able to react properly to the news that he was -indeed- dead. "Why would I want Death to be dressed like a bandolero? And why the fuck do you look like my boyfriend?"

"Thick, aren't you? I told you, this was all your idea, how you imagined your death to be. Your boyfriend pictures a fucking black parade, others go for a prairie full of flowers with me as a beautiful young woman." He gags at that. "I had this guy for whom I was supposed to come to him as a purple penguin with a basket full of chocolate eggs. You...wanted me riding a horse and dressed like an outlaw."

"I didn't!" Frank insisted. "I never even thought of how I wanted it to be, and I'd have never thought of Broadway, that's more of a Gerard thing."

Death shrugged. "Don't look at me, I just read what's on people's minds."

"Bullshit! I don't care what the fuck you say, I'm not going anywhere with you! I..." Frank was cut short when he felt two arms encircle him and lips kiss his neck.

"Oh, come on...you could even enjoy the ride, just imagine I'm Gerard. You said I look like him, right? You can't escape Death, kid."

"I'm 28," Frank retorted, battling between freeing himself from the forced embrace and succumbing to temptation. This ripper did look like Gerard, he sounded like him, even kissed like him.

"I know, so?"

A cold tongue licked behind Frank's ear. "I...I'm not a d-damn kid."

"Well, I'm as old as the world, so you're a baby to me."

"Then don't be a pedo and l-let me...GO!" Frank trashed about in Death's arms until he released him, clutching his jaw that had received a blow of Frank's elbow.

Frank began to run, but it wasn't long until he heard Death's horse galloping behind him. He knew he had no chance -those two years of break hadn't left him in the best physical shape, but he wasn't going to give himself over without a fight.

"You can come easy...or I can do this the hard way!" Death yelled. "Either way you're coming with me!"

"I...I won't! I can't let Gerard f-find me dead when he comes b-back from the convention!" He panted, already slowing down against his will.

"You should have thought of that before leaving all windows closed with your crappy old heater on..." The words sounded dangerously close this time.

Right at the moment when Frank looked up into Death's black eyes, he was lifted off the floor like he was light as a feather. He was now sitting in front of Death, sharing the saddle. He saw no use in fighting anymore, so he relaxed against the Ripper's chest and closed his eyes.

"I bet I'd have died today anyway, no matter what I did. I was destined to die today, wasn't I?" Frank's voice was almost a whisper, but he knew the one leading the horse would hear him. He would even if he didn't use his voice at all.

"I can't disclose that information, sorry," Death replied formally, chuckling afterwards.

"Fuck you. So...are we gonna just...ride into Heaven or what?"

"Heaven? I have a better place for you, Iero. Heaven's no fun. We're riding the train to Hell!"

Frank didn't know what he should frown at the most: Death's childish excitement, what he had just told him, or the evident hard-on pressed against his ass. Was Death trying to hump him?

He finally paid attention to the second option. "What train...?"

"That one!"

Frank looked back at Death, waiting for a more specific clue. All he got from the other was a nod to their right. He opened his mouth to speak again, but air choked him as a strong wind picked up. The song that had been playing on repeat was stifled by the more boisterous, but not less rhythmical sound of an approaching train.

Death gave the reins a drastic tug, veering the horse just in time for the train to miss them by an inch.

"You fucking knew it was coming! Did you have to wait until the last moment to get off its path?" Frank cursed, covering his ears to lessen the deafening impact of the train's honk.

"Yes I did, where's the fun otherwise? What are you afraid of, Frankie...dying?" Death mocked him.

"Fuck you again, you....supernatural asshole! What now? Do the wagons ever end?" He pointed at the steam-powered train advancing track-less down Broadway Avenue.

"Yeah, eventually. But that's not the point since we wanna ride it, don't we?"

"Speak for yourself, dogshit." Frank sulked on the now still horse.

"Aww, I love you too! Now, come on."

Frank felt himself being picked up again, but he didn't end up on the floor as he thought. They were now standing on the horse's back, facing the passing train as all its doors opened. Death had a vicious grip around his waist.

"Now listen: this train never ever stops until it reaches its destination, so we gotta jump to board it, okay?"

"We gotta WHAT?" Frank instinctively tried to draw back, and he would had fallen off the horse if his captor's iron-like arms weren't securing him.

"Jump." Death rolled his eyes. "Do I need to explain everything twice? I won't let go of you, but if you don't jump too you might only half-land on the train and that wouldn't be a pleasant experience now, would it?"

"Stop talking to me like I'm an idiot, you're taking me wherever we're going -Heaven, Hell, Scumbagland- against my will, so don't expect me to be nice to you," Frank spat, gritting his teeth. He felt faint, must be the fear.

"Okay, whatever, but when I say 'Jump,' you jump. Understood? Frank? Are you listening to me, Frank? FRANK!"

**********

"Frank...Frankie please wake up, baby..." The scene before him dissipated. He couldn't feel Death's arms around him anymore, but he could still hear his voice as someone shook his shoulder gently.

"I think he's waking up! Oh my God, Frankie, thank you!"

His senses returned and he felt a soft surface below him. He was lying down this time. As he slowly opened his eyes the headache came back to haunt him -although considerably more tolerable.

"Fuuuck..." he whined, taking a hand to his head and blinking several times until he was able to keep his eyes open long enough. He was in a small emergency room, Gerard sitting by the stretcher he was on.

"I know, Frankie. The doctor said your head was going to still hurt a whole lot, but the analgesics they're giving you will help soon." Gerard pointed at the IV bag that was connected to Frank's right wrist. He also had an oxygen mask attached to his face.

"W-what happened?" Frank asked, taking the mask off. He took a deep breath. His chest hurt a little, but the air entered with no problem.

"Leave it on, babe, you need to breath that for a little longer." Gerard looked from Frank to the nurse who was checking his blood pressure.

"I'm okay, w-will put it back in a moment." Frank eyed the woman.

"Five minutes," she stated.

"Will do. Tell me, Gee, how...?"

"Fuck, Frankie...you were lucky that today's part of the convention was canceled and I went right back home! I...I freaked out so much when I got into the house and smelled the gas...imagine if I had been smoking! And...and then I found you on the floor, unconscious over your own vomit. Damn, babe, I thought you were dead! Now the doctors...they were about to take you for a brain scan, cause you weren't waking up and they were afraid it'd lacked oxygen for too long." Gerard cried while he kissed and caressed Frank desperately. "Frank...I fucking told you not to..."

"...l-leave the heater on at night with all the windows closed, I know. I...I'm s-sorry, Gee. I was just so cold and you weren't there to keep me warm."

"Next time...you're coming with me, I don't give a fuck what you say you gotta do here, okay?"

"Okay." Frank smiled, tugging at Gerard's hoodie to bring him down for a slow, heartfelt kiss. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Go ahead, sweetheart."

"Was I...how do you say it...clinically dead at some point?"

"What?" Gerard laughed for the first time in the whole while. "Of course not, Frank, you'd be hooked up to machines if it had been so bad! You had a rather severe case of gas poisoning and were passed out for nearly two hours. It was a little longer than expected, by your vital signs were okay. Why do you ask? Did you see the light?"

"No...well, unless you count Broadway and the train...that's a lot of lights..." Frank murmured.

"What are you talking about, baby?" Gerard ran a hand through his face, worried. The nurse also stood there in doubt, probably pondering about Frank's mental state.

"Nevermind, I guess it was just a simple dream, then. Just one more thing before I put the annoying mask back on."

"What is it?" Gerard took Frank's hand, rubbing it with his thumb.

"Next time...can you be an outlaw? You know, a 'bandolero', with the whole outfit...all the acces-sories..." Frank felt a nausea then but he fought it, he needed to tell Gerard his idea before it left his mind.

"What do you mean...what next time?" Gerard tilted his head, trying to make sense of what his boyfriend was telling him. It was when Frank chose to just stare at him with a playful glint in his eyes and wiggle his eyebrows that he got it. He then gave the nurse an apologetic smile, knowing that she'd definitely gotten Frank's suggestion too.

"Oh...okay?" Gerard mumbled, at a loss for words.

"Shit, fuck." Frank made grabby hands towards the oxygen mask the nurse was holding and snatched it with desperation, hoping it'd help him avoid throwing up again. After inhaling and exhaling a few times, the nausea retreated and he sighed alleviated.

"You okay?" his boyfriend asked.

"Yep, come 'ere." Frank beckoned him with a finger, feeling tired. He only lifted the mask off his face the necessary for Gerard to understand him. "You carry the pistol...but I do the riding."