Gloves

Frank watched Gerard out of the corner of his eye as they walked to the coroners office. The circles under his eyes were deeper, if anything, and his mouth was drawn in a tight, thin line. He could see the beginning of a crack in the boy's bottom lips, a drop of blood struggling to worm its way from under the dry skin. His red eyes were duller than he was used to, harder and colder than they had been in days. His hair had gone, of course, ungroomed for days, ending in a tangle of overlong black locks.
The swinging doors flew open before they reached it with Billie flying out and yanking them in. His blue eyes were frantic and scared, sweat collecting on his forehead and sticking to his hair. He dragged them to the sterile slab, where another body lay, unmoving and unsuspecting. Truman was, surprisingly, absent from the room ("I stuck him with the paperwork this time," said his partner). Louis stood over the corpse, a pair of tongs in his hand and a piece of damp paper on the tray next to him.
Gerard visibly stiffened, eyes narrowing and fists clenching. Frank shuffled closer to him, fear flooding his system once again. He was always relatively uneasy being in the same room as a dead body (even if there was a touch of irony in the thought), but the added presence of murderer brought clean, unadulterated dread into the equation.
The taller boy could feel the apprehension falling of Frank in waves, but made no move to comfort him. He knew he was regressing into old ways, habits before Frank dropped dead into his life, yet he could not stop it. He could feel himself falling back into the shady demeanor Frank had yanked him from, although he was not sure if he wanted to be caught again. It was easier that way, so much easier.
Frank's hand found his own and squeezed, getting a returned gesture. Gerard resolved to try, at least for Mikey. It was always for his brother. Everything was for Mikey. He was most important, he was the thing he had always stayed for. And now there was Frank, the one he needed to live for. The one he wanted to live for. He was attached to Frank, as much as he did not want to admit it. Really, he did not want to admit the extent of his attachment. He had weaseled his way into Gerard's self-proclaimed stone heart and settled quite comfortably in a spot next to his brother.
His thoughts were gibberish, even to himself.
"Another one," breathed Billie, although the explanation was unnecessary. Louis peeled the sheet back, revealing a dark-skinned man with several ugly gashes in his skin.
The coroner sighed. "James Freid, 46. Cause of Death: severe blood loss and brain trauma." He lifted up the man's head, revealing a caved-in skull and what looked to be the remnants of brain matter on the table. "A small scrap of paper was lodged in the cranium. Large gashes, created by a serrated blade, were found on the abdomen and lower extremities. The skin on the arms is largely peeled off. Several teeth are missing, including the canines and the left central incisor."
A stirring feeling in Frank's stomach began as the explanation progressed and he hid his face from the stiff in Gerard's side. He tightened his hand around the boy's leaned his head down, shushing him quietly.
Louis lifted his stopwatch and gestured for Gerard to start. The boy sighed had pulled his hand from Frank's gently, feeling him latch onto his jacket. He pulled his glove off and let Frank hold it, who squeezed it so tightly Gerard was genuinely glad that was not his own hand. He pressed his hand to the corpse's cold forehead.
Brown eyes flicked open, squinting at the fluorescent lights and the silhouettes leaning over him. James raised a stiff hand, and, in seeing the raw flesh, jolted up as fast as his rigid body would allow. He assessed his surroundings, as he had grown accustomed to doing, and found himself surrounded by a variety of people; two teenagers, one with a stony expression, cold red eyes, and one glove, another hiding his eyes in the other's side, one tall man with sweaty black hair and a suit, and a stout man with large spectacles sitting on his nose. He looked down, only to realize he was wearing nothing but a sheet.
"Damn," he murmured, "I really am dead, huh? How'd you bring me back?"
The stern teenager raised his ungloved hand. "I'm special," he said, his expression never changing.
James nodded slowly. "And your name is?"
"Gerard Way, sir," he answered, then gestured to the boy hiding in his jacket. "Frank Iero."
He nodded. "I see. So, I must be here for a reason, correct?"
The suited man nodded. "Yes, you are. I'm Detective Armstrong. We'd like to ask a few questions about your death."
"Shoot."
He nodded again. "Did you see your murderer?"
"Whoever is was had a mask on, and one of those voice modifier things."
Armstrong nodded and wrote it down. "Same M.O. as the last one. Alright. Was there an accomplice?"
James looked down in thought. "Ah, no, I don't believe so. At least, not one that I saw," he finally replied after a short pause. "If it helps, I saw a sign. A green one. I'm not sure where it was, or what it said. Sorry I can't be anymore help."
Armstrong nodded again. "It's no problem at all, Mr.Freid. Thank you for your cooperation. I'll let you go now, okay?"
"Wait!" gasped James as Gerard moved his hand closer. "Tell my daughter I said 'goodbye', please."
The detective nodded once again. "Of course, sir."
And then it all went black as the boy's pale hand came in contact with his own.
Gerard slipped his glove back on and let Frank latch onto his once again. He glanced at the note and sighed. It was now or never.
I'm one away from infamy, aren't I? I can't wait for that new title. Can you, Gerard?
Frank inhaled sharply. "What is he talking about, Gerard?"
A harsh grunt left the aforementioned boy's mouth. "The title of a serial killer," he replied. "The required kills to be a serial killer is three."

Notes

My computer is a magnet for viruses, ugh.
And, to Elise-Iero, hi. Those were so friggen' cool. Just, very cool. She did these crazy designs with numbers and computer symbols. Just ask her if you want to see them.
Comment and subscribe and shit.
-Stitches