For the Monsters that I've Been.

It was not long after Mikey left Gerard’s hospital room that he and Frank were back at the house that their band shared. They had spent a majority of the day at the hospital waiting for Gerard to wake up and, it was ironic to Mikey that, once he finally had, they all went back home.

The other two band members had driven separately and, having said something about grabbing some coffee, were not back yet, leaving the house empty. It was odd, stepping through the door that he had previously thought that he would never enter again. He had been convinced that he would be on the run for quite some time. He was convinced that he would have to leave everything in his life behind. Convinced that he would have to start from scratch, to abandon his identity and try to find some sort of way to make it. But now, he was walking back into the place that had been home for at least a month or so.

It felt good, in some regards, and bad in others to be coming back to this place. He supposed it was better than going back to the old apartment with Gerard, but at the same time, everything looked so different from his new perspective. He looked at the couch that he remembered laying, his head in Frank’s lap while the boy’s fingers ran through his hair. That could no longer be the same. He couldn’t lay his head down in an open room anymore, not if Frank was in the same room. That felt foolish. That just begged Frank’s eyes to wander again. It just begged for another chance for Mikey’s trust to be violated. It just begged for another slip up from Frank. It just begged for Mikey’s hand to collide with Frank’s face another time.

No. Mikey decided, vowing to spend as little time in the living room as possible, he instead instructed Frank to go up to their bedroom and wait while he made his way to the kitchen. Once in the vicinity to do so, he opened a drawer, pulling out a zip lock bag from it. He then headed to the freezer, opening the appliance by its handle. He removed an ice tray and emptied its contents onto the counter, then swept the ice cubes into the baggie, throwing the empty ice tray into the sink, then took the roll of paper towel that was sitting on the counter as well.

He made his way through the living room again and up the stairs, across the hallway, then finally through the door that lead into his and Frank’s room. As he entered, he observed the boy laying on their bed, his feet, however, still on the ground. Mikey crossed the room, sitting next to him. He tore a few sheets off of the paper towel roll and wrapped the baggie with ice in them. He reached his free hand out and grasped the nearest hand of Frank’s, overturned it and then placed the makeshift icepack in his palm, closing the boy’s fingers around it.

“You should ice your eye,” he said, quietly.

Frank nodded, smiling slightly as he brought the ice to his face, moving his eyes to Mikey’s. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Mikey leaned his weight onto one arm, his eyes cast down as he watched Frank. He lifted his hand, running it through the strands of Frank’s (still dirty) hair. “You should take a shower after that, too.”

“I will.” They sat there for a few minutes in silence, Mikey stroking Frank’s hair back regardless of its filth. Then Frank started to shiver a bit. He moved a hand to Mikey’s jeans, gripping the fabric lightly. “Can I take the ice off now?”

“Yeah. Here.” Mikey held out his hand and Frank gave him the ice pack. He sat up, then leaned away, placing it on the bedside table before attending to Frank again. He moved his fingers still cold from the ice pack, onto the bruise under Frank’s eye. He pressed down gently to observe the state of its swelling and sighed slightly as Frank winced. “Sorry,” he said, lightly, stroking the boy’s hair back again. “but I had to see how swollen it was.” Frank nodded and mumbled something along the lines of ‘it’s fine,’ leaning into Mikey’s hand, his eyes closing as the bassist continued to speak. “That shouldn’t last too long. I think a few days, tops.”

Frank did not reply to this, but simply nodded, eyes closed, breathing deeply as Mikey continued to touch him. After a few moments, Mikey pulled his hand back and laid down next to Frank. A few moments after that, the boy turned on his side, resting his head on Mikey’s chest and a hand on his stomach. He closed his eyes again as Mikey wrapped an arm around him and Mikey let his eyes close as well, only opening them when Frank broke the silence by calling his name.

“Hey, Mikey?” Frank asked, looking up from the bassist’s chest to establish eye contact.

“Huh?” Mikey replied, eyes still closed. He hadn’t realized how tired he really was until he had actually laid down.

Frank stayed silent for a few moments. Mikey could feel his head shift on his chest. He blinked his eyes open, noting that Frank was looking away from him. “Do you ever think things might go back to how they used to be?”

Mikey sighed, moving a hand down Frank’s back. The motherfucker had slept for hours that day. Of course he would insist on talking just when Mikey was ready to lay down for the first time. But as he opened his mouth to voice this, the brilliant purple on Frank’s face made his stomach lurch in a sick sort of pang, so he simply replied: “What’re you talking about, sugar?”

"I don't know,” Frank shook his head, burrowing his face in Mikey’s chest. “Nevermind.”

God damn it. Mikey sighed again, withholding himself from using a bitter voice. He could only assume that some of his annoyance with the question he was being asked had seeped through in his tone. He would be able to sleep sooner if he let Frank finish what he was saying and either way, he conceded to himself, Frank had hardly spoken all day so he was actually quite interested in what had finally made him speak. “No, really,” he urged, “I want to know.”

“I guess…” Frank said slowly, “I guess I mean: do you think you'll like me like you used to again?”

“Frank, if you’re not going to speak coherently then forget it.”

“Do you think you'll always want to hit me?"

Mikey tensed, taking a few moments to take in what exactly Frank had just said to him. Do you think you’ll always want to hit me. That was certainly a loaded question. Could Mikey honestly say that there was a point in time that he actually wanted to hit Frank? He was not entirely sure that he had ever wanted to hit Frank. He knew that he had and he knew that he probably had the means to stop himself from doing so, but he was quite unsure whether he had ever actually enjoyed hitting him. If he got anything out of it. However, he was much too tired to articulate this point so he spoke truthfully, but shortly. "I don't want to hit you right now."

“I know you don’t right now,” said Frank, nodding, looking timidly up to Mikey, "but once I make you angry again, you will."

Mikey could have argued, but there was no point in that. It was probably true. Whether it be later that day or the next day, there would be something that Frank would do that would make him angry. And it was true, Mikey admitted, he would probably hit him again. In fact, it was almost a certainty.

"You’re right.” Mikey said, taking his arm from around Frank.Suddenly, he wasn’t so tired anymore. He sat up slowly, allowing for Frank to do the same as the boy took his head off of Mikey’s chest. “I probably will.”

He watched Frank, who shrugged slightly, “I know. But... I dunno. Do you think you’ll ever stop? Do you ever think we’ll go back to how we were before this all happened? When you... when we used to be... just how we used to be.”

Mikey took a deep breath, letting it out sharply, his eyes casting downward for a moment before they casting back up to Frank, who met them hopefully, his eyes searching Mikey’s face. He didn't have to ask what Frank meant. He knew that he meant before Mikey had started treating him like shit. Before Frank had to be frightened to speak his mind in front of him. “That’s a difficult question to answer, actually.”

Frank nodded solemnly for yet another time, biting his bottom lip slightly. When he stayed silent for a few moments, Mikey decided that he probably would not have a response, so he asked a question of his own: “What if I said things would never go back to how they used to be. What if I promised that I would hurt you every day? What would you do? Leave?"

Mikey could actually see Frank considering this situation in his head. His breaths were shallow, his eyes scanned back and forth, lost somewhere in Mikey’s jacket. Finally, however, his eyes moved up, and to the right, slightly and he swallowed then shook his head. "No,” he said shakily.

Mikey’s eyebrows raised as he observed the boy in front of him. "No?" he repeated.

Frank nodded, a twitch of what may have been intended to be a smile pulsing quickly across his lips. "I would stay." he said, more firmly this time.

“Why?”

“I-” Frank’s lips parted and his eyes searched Mikey’s face, his own dropping in composure quite a bit, “I don’t know… I just… I don’t know. But I would. I will. I’ll stay for however long you’ll let me. No matter what.”

“You’re too much.” Mikey chuckled, watching the boy who opened his mouth, surely to inform Mikey of his sincerity, but the bassist simply allowed himself a small smile, bringing his hand up and gripping Frank’s chin, pressing their lips together momentarily before he pulled back, pressing his hand on the small of Frank’s back. “Come on.” He prompted Frank to stand, and then did so himself, taking the boy’s hand and leading him down the hallway. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” He said, noting the still filthy state of the rhythm guitarist’s hair.

“Okay,” Frank followed as compliantly as possible. It only took a few steps to get into the bathroom and, once inside, he spoke again. “I mean it though,” he said as Mikey flipped the light switch on, closing the door behind him. He kept babbling as on as Mikey pulled his shirt over his head. He continued to tell him how much he meant to him as he undid his zipper, pulling his pants to the floor. Frank didn’t even shut up as Mikey pulled his boxers down to the floor, then stood and turned the tap on. It was only as Mikey forced him under the stream of water coming from the shower head that Frank finally stopped speaking as he let out a shiver from the cold water hitting his skin.

Mikey sighed, pulling his own clothes off in the bit of silence that he finally had, then stepped into the shower as well. He could immediately tell why Frank had been so quiet upon entering: the water was freezing. He turned the tap to a more comfortable temperature and then pulled Frank under the water further, getting his hair wet, running his fingers through it and kissing him as the water washed the dried blood from his hair and skin causing the liquid circling their feet to become a dim red color.