Frank on a Leash

Frank sat solidly in his hospital chair when his mother came and pleaded with him to go home, gripping onto the brown marshmallow armrests like an anchor though no one approached him. Outside the door, the doctor held a hushed conversation that Frank tuned out, turning back to Mikey's lethargic form laying on the bed. Needles attatched to tubes attached to cold, pulsating machines littered his arms and Frank had the itch to pull them out. He knew he shouldn't, but. But they were there, and Mikey didn't like needles very much, he told Frank so one day after watching Frank stick a safety pin through his earlobe.

"So--"

The doctor told him talking to comatose patients helped. No, no, it was the nurse who said that, wearily, after trying once again to get Frank out of the room because the hospital had rules and Frank was breaking them.

So Frank talked to Mikey nonstop, as if he were awake and all this was very normal, him being strapped up to a bed. He struggled sometimes to hear himself over the whirr of the fans in the computer that was fixed to the heart monitor.

The talking ouside the room got louder, melting into beats the wall absorbed and held. A sharp soprano here, as Mikey's mom squeaked, the low staccado try-to-be-brave farce from an unknown voice, the bass of Mikey's dad thrumming in the background as he soothed his wife. Frank didn't know if they knew what he was to Mikey yet. They so far had kept to themselves, not sparing a glance to the boy clutching their son's hand and only addressing him to reiterate what everyone else seemed to be telling him.

"Denial's not healthy," Frank told Mikey in a whisper, pressing his chest into the rail to get to his boyfriend's ear. The ring on Mikey's finger was cutting into Frank's hand in a cresent; angry red and waxing just over his life line. "I saw it on Dr. Phil. And shuddup, I know Dr. Phil is compensating for his tiny dick, alright? Yeah, yeah, big production values, big stories, big gut, I don't need the rundown again, Mikey." The tap on Mikey's shoulder was feather-light, Frank's fingers pressing into the hollow indent more out of need to touch than anything more.

"He, he said that if you bottle things up, you can start to believe them so much that, that all the thoughts just--aren't separated anymore, and you can make yourself believe anything. Like, any little whim that floats into your head can become the reality that you percieve, and you start to imagine people who aren't there. Then they commit you...but I'm sure they won't commit your parents, baby. That's just dumb."

The dark pooled on Mikey's cheeks and under his eyes glared back up at Frank as he looked down, studying the boy's face again. The deep bruises of fatigue and illness ate at Mikey's pretty skin, nipping at the sharp-cut jaw and the valence of eyelashes. The buzzing white lights flooded out what was left of Mikey's tan.

And, as if he thought Mikey could hear his thoughts, "But you're still so fucking pretty. You'll always be my pretty boy, you know that." The pad of his thumb swiped over the blotches, wiping them away and wiping them away but they stayed, got more irritated then blossomed red and yellow.

"I'm always hurting you..." he choked, stuffing his free arm into his mouth and pressing his teeth down until they found purchase.

The world swam in his wave-filled eyes, red lines from the heart monitor jabbing into his eyes and blinking out, forcing him to wince at the only indication he had that his boyfriend wasn't--

His teeth broke through to the blood laying dormant under his skin, layering his canines with red, the bubbly liquid resting on his bow of his curled tongue. Metal, damp wet copper lapped against the sides of his mouth and he choked it down, sputtering into his hand when it started to come back up.

"Hey," and there was the warm weight of a hand on his shoulder, moving down to his back and patting. "You okay?"

He turned in his seat, not recognizing the voice nor the actions because he was pretty sure that Mikey's mom had a death sentence for him at this point anyway, whether they knew about his connection to Mikey or not. A boy stood next to his chair, squatted to his level, deep brown eyes boring into his own. Frank didn't waste the time really taking in the boy's appearence because at first glance he was pretty, and just--no.

Mikey's pretty. Not this boy, whoever the fuck he was.

"You're Frank," he stated, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Bits of his arms were still visible where the sleeves of his jacket pulled too tight and didn't come all the way down to his hands. Frank took the opportunity to not look at him. Instead, he took his free hand and fisted it into the sheets of Mikey's bed.

"I'm Gerard."

"Mikey's brother..." Frank noted, releasing the sheets to ghost his hand over Mikey's forehead, to push hair out of his eyes though none was there, to tuck it behind his ear. They looked nothing alike.

Mikey was prettier.

*

But it was nice to hold a conversation with someone other than himself, Frank let himself think, as he and Gerard were in the middle of a discussion about the only thing they had in common.

"He's had these glasses Forever, geez," Gerard remarked, twirling said glasses on his pointer finger. The glasses stopped in midair as Frankie watched them, then appeared on Gerard's face. He scrunched up his nose and looked down into the lenses. "Give me headaches..."

"No, really?"

Frank hadn't invested much into the conversation, not as much as he normally would have. Not even as much as he had talking to himself. His heart felt like lead and Mikey's heart rate wasn't getting any better, and if Frank kept this up, he was going to have a permanent moon tattooed into his palm. He let Mikey's hand slip so he was just grasping his fingers loosely, bringing each one up to his mouth to kiss in return.

"He's lucky." Gerard had been watching him.

"He's in a coma," Frank cut back, kissing Mikey's knuckles, nipping at the elastic skin affectionately. Mikey's skin tasted like soap now, the orange kind they kept in the adjoining bathroom that smelled a little like childhood and daycares to Frank. The lithe, unresponsive fingers in his possession fit into his so neatly when he finished with the knuckles that Frank could almost believe Mikey was helping out a little.

"I mean he's lucky because you love him so much. He's never had that before." And Gerard didn't say, and now it's all being taken away from him, but it was there, hiding in the scenery, barking laughs in the silence because the world took joy in beating down anyone who's already so close to defeat. The walls had shrunk in at least an inch from the last time Frank surveyed them, he was sure.

He wondered how long the both of them could manage to not mention the thing on both their minds. Wondered, passively, if the elephant in the room could stomp on his brains and take him away, transport him back in time a week, two days, just long enough to know and stop all of this shit. But for that to happen, it would mean that anyone who wished hard enough could turn back time, and then the whole continum would be fucked royally and Frank would end up getting lost in time and separated from Mikey anyway.

"Did he tell you his whole funeral scheme?" Gerard asked with a tight smile, and really, it took Frank a hell of a lot of patience not to punch him for bringing this up now.

"Smashing Pumpkins shirt," Frank croaked, looking anywhere but the corner where the very shirt had been discarded so the doctor could get Mikey into a hospital gown. "He--wants to wear it." A streak of black sliced through the back of his hand after wiping at his eye. In the back of his mind he added, but it won't come to that--

Because it won't. Frank promised Mikey that he would turn back time to keep him safe, and if that's what it takes--Frank doesn't break promises. Not to Mikey, at least. Never to Mikey.

He choked just a little bit and turned away so he could take several deep gasping breaths, so he could wipe at his eyes before the wetness there condensed into tears. Because he knew that once he started to cry, he wouldn't stop. It would signify the time of grieving, and that would validate that there was something to grieve over. But there wasn't.

Mikey was just in a coma. It was--it was like sleeping, right? He would wake up in a few days well-rested and Frank would never let him out of his sight again.

He choked again. His breaths were coming in short little spurts. He let Mikey get this fucking way, and that guilt was never ever going to go away. Why didn't he have the sense to check the motherfucking BATHROOM? Where else had everything in their lives went down? When, in the entirety of his relationship with Mikey, had things not ended up in the boys' bathroom? It was just--he totally should have known. Mikey wouldn't blow him off right before class, he knew that.

The dead weight of a hand on his shoulder snapped him to attention. But it was only Gerard, leaning over with his hair falling all over his face, asking Frank if he was okay.

That was all anyone could ask anymore. Fuck it, he wasn't the one in the hospital bed, was he? His boyfriend was. Why would anyone ask the boy sitting upright in his chair if he was okay?

The shrill beep of the heart monitor pulsed again, cutting off any smart ass answer Frank might have had. Instead, he settled for a sob and a pathetic little, "Mikey's hurt." He tightened his hand around Mikey's loose fingers and held on as tight as he dared. If Mikey woke up just to find his fingers were broken, Frank would have a hell of a lot more on his consience.

"And, and it's all my fault because I didn't go into the bathroom, and I knew I should have, but the stupid motherfucking teacher had to be a cunt, and I hope she dies alone--" Frank just shut himself up after 'dies alone'. He couldn't even--no. Not that word, not those words together.

"Frank?" His name comes from a timid Gerard, one that has almost worn down his mask of fake-brave and everything-will-be-okay. His eyes dart constantly from Mikey's face to the wall, back to Mikey's thin form under the blanket like he doesn't want to be caught looking at his sick brother. He chews on his fingers until the nubs are pooling tiny droplets of blood on his lips.

It's all a little too much, now.

"We were gonna spend the rest of our lives together. We were going to get married," Frank spat angrily at the floor. Were. He was already to that stage, where he refers to Mikey in the past tense.

"He's not going to die, Frank. He's my baby brother, he can't go. He can't leave me. He's the only family I have left..." Frank watched Gerard's head dip into his lap and heard the sniffles. "He told me about--about how you proposed, and all. It sounded sweet."

It really wasn't anything, Frank thought, but it was a memory. It was something he could drag up to remind himself of all he had gotten in life.

It was a weekend, one where they were both at Frank's house, helping his mom put groceries up. She had just gotten back from Krogers with a car full of paper bags, and Mikey was the first to offer to help. He saw how much his mom appreciated it. So, on one of the last trips outside, he jumped onto Mikey's back and clicked his heels on his hips.

"Mikey, my dear..." he had begun, pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck. Mikey giggled and leaned forward so Frank wouldn't slide off of his back.

"Frankie, my dinosaur..."

"Dinosaur?"

Mikey stopped at the car, twisting his head around to glance at Frank with a beautiful little grin stretched on his face. His nose was red from the cold and Frank leaned up to kiss at it before Mikey could get a word in.

"You called me a deer," Mikey explained, licking a line on his cheek. "Dinosaur is a compliment. I like dinosaurs."

And Frank did, too. "Ugh. Mikeyway, seriously, marry me." At first, it was a joke, one of his little hyperboles. Until Mikey beamed and said yeah, then--yeah. Frank could live with that. That was just fucking gorgeous.

"Did he tell you about the ring?" Frank asked Gerard, a proud little lift to the corner of his lips despite the setting and the circumstances. He was remembering the look on Ray's face when Mikey had shown him. And the look on Mikey's face when he gave it to him a few days after the accidental proposal, even going so far as to kneel on one knee because Mikey deserved that.

"Only a thousand and twenty-two times, seriously." Gerard gave a choked giggle hidden behind his hand. "So fucking proud of it, really."

Frank watched as Gerard's hand made the journey to his brother's forehead shakily, resting just atop his eyebrows, his thumb skimming his temple. His throat made a clicking sound when he talked. "Thanks for taking care of him. When, when I couldn't..."

Frank swallowed his jealousy when Gerard leaned over to peck Mikey's cheek. It wasn't anything threatening, he knew that, Gerard wasn't trying to piss him off, but. But Mikey was his, no matter that Gerard was flesh and blood and had known him longer. Gerard glanced up at him with an apologetic smile.

"I love him too, y'know."

Frank knew. "Lots of people do."

"Now."

Frank hesitsted before nodding slowly and agreeing, "Now."

*

He was dreaming, sitting up in his chair outside Mikey's room. They wouldn't let him stay the night in Mikey's room anymore so he resigned himself to sleep out in the waiting room for a night. It was only his third night staying over at the hospital, he didn't think he had broken any rules. He was part of Mikey's family, after all.

The hazy, blurred outline of Mikey stood in front of him, talking with him about--about something. Anything. Maybe it was about the Smashing Pumpkins, maybe it wasn't the ocean, but it was definitely something.

"...and he drowned," Mikey was saying, reaching out to pet at Frank's face. His smile dropped a little and he crouched down to be on Frank's level. "Hey, hey, don't cry, Frankie. You didn't even cry when we watched the Titanic, and tons of people died in it."

Frank drew in a sharp breath, snapping his eyes open, barking out into the silence, "Who's dying?" But Mikey wasn't there. His faint scent Frank was so sure he could smell was replaced with the sterile over-cleaned and nauseating smell of hospitals.

"Mr. Iero?"

Frank blinked up at a doctor. When did he get there?

"Wha?"

"Do you know where the family of Michael Way is? We can't seem to find them."

They went home, the fuckers. No. Gerard was at work, but he promised to come back early the next day after Frank made pleading eyes at him.

"Home. But--um, what, is something wrong with Mikey?" His throat tightened up, and all the saliva that had built up while he was sleeping settled on his tongue. He started to stand up but the doctor put a firm hand on his chest, pushing him back into the seat.

"We'd really rather speak with his family first."

"He's my boyfriend! We're fucking engaged, I have as much a right to know as they do," Frank yelled, pushing at the hand still on his chest. "And they went home because they're motherfuckers who don't care about their son," he added.

"Okay, calm down."

"Don't fucking tell me to calm down, tell me what the fuck is going on!" The doctor flinched everytime Frank said fuck. So he kept using it. "Hurry the fuck up!"

"He--"

"He?" Frank glared. He glared so hard that the doctor must have known that if he said it, he would be fucking killed, so when a nurse went by, the doctor reached out and grabbed her by the arm. He whispered something in her ear, and just as Frank was about to yell at him some more, he fled.

"Fucker!" Frank called out after him, just to watch him flinch again. Then he turned to the nurse, who he felt a little sympathy for. His mom was a nurse here, after all. "What is it? What did he tell you?" he cried, flicking his hand in the direction the doctor had wandered off to. He licked at his lips, his heart feeling more and more like lead by the minute.

"Um--he, he said Mr. Way. Um." She stopped, seeing the tears well up in Frank's eyes, and reached out to put a hand on his head in a motherly way. She ran her thumb over the crown of his head. "He said he died."

"What? What?" Frank breathed desperately, looking up at the nurse.

"He had. A thoracic aortic aneurysm, and--oh, I'm sorry. C'mere, sweetheart." She bundled Frank into her chest and maneuvered the both of them into one of the hard plastic chairs.

Frank went limp. He--he wanted to thrash, his limbs itched with the need to kill Bob. But Bob went and fucked that up too, so Frank couldn't even do that. And he couldn't stop fucking crying. He laid in the nurse's arms and screamed weakly into her collarbone and hated everything. His life was fucking over.

*

Frank Iero laid out in the shade of a tree in the schoolyard, passively ignoring the odd looks he got. It was the first day of his senior year.

A group of girls passed by him, one bursting into giggles when she thought they were far enough away.

God, it was like they've never seen a goth boy before.

Frank sighed, squinting up into the blindingly blue sky and following a splotchy cloud until it disappeared behind the leaves of the tree. His legs were getting sweaty; Mikey was so right about wearing Tripp pants in the summer. It wasn't worth it, mostly. And his makeup felt like he threw a blanket over his face.

"Mikey," he sighed up at the sky. "How the fuck did you do it?" He shook his head and snapped the rubber band on his wrist. He was talking to Mikey again...

It's not like he was crazy. He wasn't. He knew that Mikey wasn't there anymore. But when his mom had heard him carrying on conversations regularly with 'Mikey', she got understandably worried and started sending him to a shrink, who only told him to put on a rubber band and snap it when he started. He called it a habit, like smoking, or something.

Frank got pretty offended. The boy he was in love with is not a habit.

"Hey," a soft voice called to him from somewhere in the left vicinity.

"Hmmm?" His stomach burned as he lifted the upper half of his body off the ground to look over at the girl who was addressing him. The sun hit his eyes and he was blinded so he let his body hit the ground.

"Hi, Frank. Are you okay?"

"Sure. I lay down in the grass all the time," Frank answered honestly. It was his favorite thing to do nowadays since 'making out with Mikey' was out of the question. He patted the ground next to him and waited for the girl to get comfortable.

"I meant--you didn't come back last year, and..."

"My mom made me. She said I couldn't stay locked up in my room anymore."

She scooted over until their elbows were touching. Frank could feel the warm energy radiating from her and he wanted some of it. He wanted to start feeling alive again.

"...I miss him. He sat behind me in third period last year and sometimes he would talk with me about bands." He could hear the smile in her voice. "He really liked Anthrax, and I just thought they were horrible." She sniffed.

Frank tilted his head to her. She had brown hair and brown eyes and freckles. He thought they were kind of nice. "Yeah. He'd argue with me about that all the time. He made fun of me for liking The Beastie Boys."

"Can't say I blame him," was followed with a timid giggle, like she was afraid to make fun of him. He just smiled and snorted.

"You suck. Hey, what's your name?"

She smiled at him, showing teeth and everything. The complete opposite of a Mikey-smile.

"The name's Jamia."