Unfortunately for Gerard, his childe did not stay asleep for long. After his brother and their friends fell asleep, the boy decided to awakenHis head shot off of the jacket-clad shoulder in a quick, whiplash-inducing movement. His drunk eyes were wide and strangely hopeful, reminding Gerard of a dog in a pound.
"Gerard," whimpered Frank eagerly, amber orbs filling with liquid. "Do you think you could bring my dog back? Just for a few minutes, so I can say 'goodbye'?"
The black-haired boy was undoubtedly startled by the request. He did not seem to realize the repercussions bringing back anything for any amount of time, let alone something that had been dead for so long. "How long has it been dead, childe?" he asked cautiously, almost glaring at the smaller boy in a challenge to actually answer.
He looked up in thought for a moment, as if the ceiling had all the answers, and nodded to himself. "Uhh, two years ago, I think? Yeah, yeah, two years. Sweet Pea never had a chance, did she?" He was talking nonsense by that point.
Saddened by the babblings of his friend, Gerard shook his head regretfully. "No, I cannot. The longer it is that they've been dead, the harder it is to revive them. The difficulty in putting them back in the ground increases more-so as time passes on," explained the artist, letting his spindly, glove-clad fingers dance through the air in graceful motions.
The small boy frowned and tugged on Gerard's hand, ignoring the slight slipping of his glove. "C'mon, Gee," he slurred, drawing his words out and neglecting to finish the name. "Please? I never got to say goodbye! She died before I came home from school; please?"
The boy was tugging at Gerard's heart-strings, along with his glove. "I'm sorry, Frank, but no. How about this? It's almost 11; I'll touch you, and then we'll go to bed, okay? You need sleep." The younger boy look positively heartbroken, with huge, teary eyes and a trembling lower lip. Tears never did sit well with the younger (considering they're in the same grade, yet Frank's birthday is months earlier than Gerard's) boy; it explained why Mikey always got his way as a child. It instantly melted his irritation.
With a tired sigh, Gerard slipped his arm around Frank's shoulder, pulling him closer and allowing him to latch onto his glove. "How about, to pass the time, I tell you a story? Right?" Frank nodded soundlessly. "Okay. Well, it all started about a year ago.
"I, of course, was working for the cops. My career was already off to a good start; I was fighting crime on weekends and bringing people back from the dead for justice. It was satisfying, you know? Anyway, this guy had robbed a bank, and I was helping to track him down. A few weeks after he robbed it, the trail was about to go cold, and then he slipped up and killed someone. The trail got heated again.
"By the end of the month, we had him cornered. And that's when I saw him. A scrawny looking guy with blonde hair and awkward knees, kind of like Mikey. But he was faster than he looked. I chased him down alley after alley, climbing up ladders and jumping across roofs. And then we came to the end of the line. I cornered him, made him slip over the edge. He was barely hanging onto the ledge. I tried to grab him and-- oh?"
Gerard let his lip quirk upward into a smile. Frank was asleep on his shoulder, smiling in his slumber. The younger boy pulled off his left glove (he always saw his right hand as a better killing tool, like Hellboy's) and brushed his hand against Frank's forehead, receiving the standard sparks of his reviving touch and slipping the glove back on.
"So what happened?" Mikey whispered, startling Gerard slightly.
He sighed. "You know what happened, Mikey. He died."

Notes

#92
I have never laughed so hard.
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-Stitches