The Breaking of Frank Iero

Bent over a cruddy bathroom sink, hands grasping the grey outer surface. His back hurt like a bitch---and from how blurry his vision was right now, he might as well have been going blind. Sweat was dripping down his forehead into them and that stung badly. But it was just another day at work, and he loved his job.

It’s about to all become past tense anyway.

Fuck. He took one of his hands off the smooth surface edge and watched as it violently shook.
Fuck! He grasped back on the edge and used his other hand on the faucet. Felt the less- then-clean water with his fingertip. Ice cold. Took both hands and cupped the freezing liquid. 3, 2,--
“Shit!”

Water dripped down his face. That was colder then he expected, but it did the job. He blinked a few times and regained a bit of his eyesight. The tips of his hair were soaking wet. He watched it drip through the tarnished mirror above the sink.

Frank could feel the depression settling into his chest like pneumonia. He wasn’t a stranger to that, either. He had never been the luckiest kid when it came to health, and didn’t his asshole of an immune system tell it all. The depression, though, hadn’t been with him for such a long time he had almost forgotten how sick it made him feel when it uncurled.
All good things come to an end, dickhead.

Thank you, captain. Because he didn’t already know that? Inside, Frank could feel the lyrics
This is for the pills that never fucking work!

To leATHERMOUTH uncurling within the pit of his stomach with the sickening fury of losing something.
Well it’s hard to see blood on a black T-shirt!

That band was his medicine, something nothing else had ever given him. Something to scream and yell and be able to say everything he was feeling. All of his feelings that were twisted, gnarled, ugly---there was no word that was ‘pretty’ to describe any of them.

Instead of the lyrics to a leATHERMOUTH song, what came out of Frank’s mouth was a long cough. He could feel it vibrate his lungs and stick wetly just below his throat. He tried to inhale a breath, but only succeeded in having another cough fit. If I‘m actually get fucking pneumonia I will murder something, Frank swore.

Through the mirror, Frank saw someone swing through the bathroom door. Always has to make an entrance, even to the fucking bathroom door. The anger that was making Frank physically ill turned toward the redhead swishing his way in like he owned the place. Anxiety struck Frank and almost made him vomit into the sink. He didn’t want to be mad. He didn’t want things to go to shit. With the way his mood was though, Gerard wasn’t fucking safe. Better to not say anything at all. Frank took in a shaky breath and tried to control his emotions before he ended up exploding.

Gerard may have swished in like he owned the place, but he didn’t look well. His eyes were partially sunken in, which wasn’t really noticeable unless you really payed attention. It was there, though. His eyes also had a distant quality to them. Sure, they had just come from a killer show, and he should be tired, but not that tired.

“Hey.” Gerard said.
Even his greeting was distant. Arrogant bastard. He stood next to Frank and waited for a response.

“Hey.” Frank answered back.
Frank’s eyes dropped. Was determined to stare into the sink. Look at that little piece of dirt, wasn’t that interesting? It was easier then looking to the face of the man that you wanted to kill.
Gerard put a hand on Frank’s shoulder.

“Are you okay?” He asked slowly.

Frank looked up into Gerard’s face. Neither of them spoke. Frank was so dumb-struck he didn’t know what to say, but he was about to find the words. Fast.
Are you serious?
He smelled like fucking alcohol.

“Fuck you!”
Frank moved his shoulder so Gerard’s hand fell off and took a step back.

“You’ve been fucking drinking!”
Emotion exploded. Gerard’s face changed from being concerned to being confused. Still just as distant. Fuck you!
“How dare you? How fucking dare you?!”

Gerard rubbed the side of his stubbled face, still trying to figure out why Frank was having such an outburst. To Frank, it was all so clear.

He was breaking up the band.
He was the reason Frank was having anxiety attacks.
He was the reason Frank was dealing with his depression again.
Yet, he was the one who could drink?
While the rest of them were trying to cope normally.
No fucking way.

“Frank..I didn’t have that much to drink. I’d never get that bad again. ” Gerard said.

“You don’t have a right to feel stressed right now. You don’t have a fucking right!” Frank was shouting now, but he didn’t give a shit. Gerard didn’t have a reason to be feeling this way. He was the reason the band was ending. He didn’t want to do it anymore.
“What about the rest of us, you douche bag!”

Frank felt like his eyes were on fire. He was probably just crying. Distantly, he felt the tears that were beginning to drip out of his eyes. The words that were coming out of his mouth felt detached. Utterly detached. Part of his being was watching the scene from above. Nothing mystical, either. More like he was fucking dead.

The biggest thing was just said, though.
What about the rest of us.
What about Me, Gee?
How can you give us all up?

Gerard looked stricken. Utterly stricken. Like someone had punched him hard in the stomach. He looked as ill as Frank felt.

“You’re drinking again. How can you drink while I’m having panic attacks after every show knowing we’re planning to break up the band. How can you cope so selfishly, while I’m just getting by?” Frank asked. His eyes pleaded with Gerard.

“I’m not. Frank, I’d never get as bad as before. Never. I was just...”

“NOT EVERYTHING IS ABOUT YOU, YOU ARROGANT ASSWIPE!”

Gerard took a step back at the anger in Frank’s words. Maybe he’s finally listening. Good. Maybe he’s finally paying attention this time, instead of just pretending to. Gerard was almost against the wall at this point. Frank took a step forward, the wet floor squishing under his boots. He was never one to cause problems. Ever. He was the jokester, the little shit just having a good time living life. Always going a long with the plan. Frank balled his hands into fists.

Fuck you.

“It’s always I, I, I. ‘I was just doing this. I was just doing that. I am God, I have an explanation for everything!’ I’m sick of it! I’m sick of you having a reason for everything! The band’s breaking up---this was my fucking family! Everything’s ending because of another one of your whims! You aren’t God, Gee! You can’t just decide one day to fuck everyone else’s lives up because of a FUCKING WHIM!”

Frank was reeling. He was so mad, the walls were vibrating with the sound of his voice. Everyone outside could probably hear him. What fucking ever though. It’s not as though the real reason for anything ever left My Chemical Romance. ‘I am Gerard Way, I am God. You will hear what I want when I want it.’

Frank punched the wall next to Gerard’s head. It grazed the tips of his hair. From the way Frank’s fist hit, he wouldn’t be surprised if his knuckles were the same color as Gerard’s from-a-bottle red as a fucking firetruck hair. Although his roots were starting to grow in really badly at his scalp. A deep, dark brown. You know why? He was human. He looked so much smaller now, too, without all the lights and pyro-fucking-technics behind him, illuminating him like some sort of religious symbol. Right now he was Frank’s fucking level. He wasn’t Gerard the God, he was just Gerard. Maybe this time he would finally pay attention.

Please, pay attention.
I’m getting so tired of being ignored, Gee.
God, he smelled so heavily of alcohol.

“We’ll all still keep in touch,” Gerard offered weakly, “We’ll still be a family. My Chemical Romance will never die. It can’t.”

“Don’t give me that shit. My Chemical Romance is going to die soon, and it isn’t coming back. It’s easy to say all of that stuff behind a computer screen. I’ve seen when you’re writing out the rough drafts of what you want to tell all of the kids, the thousands of kids, who believed in us. They don’t have any idea yet of what you’ve already decided.”

“You’re being unfair, Frankie.” Gerard said miserably.

“Like hell I am!” Frank punched the wall again. Gerard seemed to shrink a little more.
“You fucking drunk bastard. You’re going to go to California. I won’t see you again. Our family is dying, Gee.”

You were my family.

Frank didn’t realize how badly he was shaking all over, or how badly he was sobbing. His skin was white as a sheet. He was loosing himself in his depression. It was piling up on him like giant bricks. He was surprised he wasn’t crushed already by the weight he felt was on top of him, suffocating him. It was becoming more difficult to breathe.

I need you.

“Gee...”

Frank collapsed into Gerard’s arms in a heap. His sobs were broken by his coughing, the coughing that he was sure was going to turn into pneumonia, that by now was vibrating his entire ribcage and just hurt. Between the sobs and the coughing he couldn’t get a decent breath out and was heaving terribly. He was going to pass out. He was sure he was going to pass out. Sweat dripped down his forehead as he gasped and sobbed and shattered into a million pieces all over the chipped bathroom tiles.

Gerard didn’t say anything. He just held Frank in his arms.

I loved you, Gee.

Notes

Please let me know what you think, and if you think I should leave this as a one-shot or make it a multi-chapter fic. Thank you!
-Kat.