Gloves

Gerard's eerie red eyes snapped open at his brother's cry. He took everything in quickly; the missing glove on his left hand, the unconscious Frank in front of him, aforementioned missing glove clutched in his hand, the other resting on Gerard's bare lefty, the other three boys freaking out above him.
"Shit," he groaned as he pulled himself up, looking to Mikey for explanation, although he already knew exactly what happened.
His brother looked frantic. Not because Frank was out-cold on the floor, but because he brother was liable to skin him alive. "I-I was asleep, and then he--"
"Yeah, thought so," Gerard sighed, snatching his glove out of Frank's still-warm hand. Bob and Ray were hovering over Frank, feeling for a heartbeat and pulse.
"Gerard," squeaked Ray. "Why is Frank dead?!"
The black-haired boy sighed again and pushed the two panicking boys to the side. "Don't be so dramatic," he huffed, pressing his still-bare hand to Frank's forehead. He checked his watch briefly. "God, could you have died at a less inconvenient time, Frank?" He only lifted his hand when Frank flicked his eyes open again.
Everything was blurry and confusing for a moment, before he focused on the pale face of a very attractive and very angry Gerard leaning over him.
"What the fuck is your problem, huh? I have these damned gloves on for a very good goddamned reason, Frank. You never, under any circumstance, take off my fucking gloves, you got that? You fucking idiot!" shouted Gerard, his face twisted into a carnal snarl that brought fear over the young formally-dead boy.
"I-I'm sorry, Gerard," he whimpered, cringing away from the fuming face above him.
The meek voice calmed the fire burning in his stomach, making him sigh deeply and sit back on his heels, gazing down at the crumpled figure sadly. "You're never going to live a normal life again, Frank. I'm sorry, but I can't fix that."
Frank sat up, staring in confusion at the mixture of horrified, sorrowful, and apathetic faces surrounding him. "What are you talking about? What happened?" he demanded, staring at Gerard pleadingly.
The red-eyed boy sighed yet again and pulled on his left glove. He grabbed Frank's shoulders and sat him up against the wall before sitting cross-legged and motioning for the others to surround him.
"Gerard, what's--"
"No need to repeat yourself, Frank. I'll explain everything," he said calmly, running his gloved fingers through his equally black hair. "Listen carefully, okay? I don't like repeating myself and I need you to understand completely, got it?" Frank nodded hesitantly, his attention solely on his red-eyed savior. "Alright, well, I'll start with who I am, I guess. I'm, in the simplest terms, a necromancer. But, I don't just talk to the dead; I can revive them. I can also kill, which is why I always where the gloves. It's only my hands, thankfully, that have this bizarre power.
"I found out when I was about seven. Mikey, five at the time, had a hamster, who died after about two years of ownership. Mikey was a wreck, and so I decided I'd help him bury it. When I touch it, it came back to life. But, after about five minutes, a bird died in the backyard. The next day, Cheddar died again. I tried to bring him back, but it didn't work. And then, the next day, my mother touched my hand."
At this, he paused, letting his head hang and squeezing his eyes shut. Frank reached out to touch his jacket-clad arm, but Mikey stopped him, shaking his head.
"She died, right there. I killed her. My father hit me, pushed me away, called me a freak. I found these gloves in Mom's closet. They were to big for me at the time, but I grew into them." A small, fond smile crawled onto his face, but his eyes remained pained. "Anyway, there's a catch to coming back to life. Something of equal importance will die after five minutes of you coming back to life. So, in about two more minutes, someone will drop dead. It most likely won't be anyone in this house; more than likely, it'll be someone you don't know. And, at eleven o'clock every night, I must touch you. Eleven sharp. Otherwise, you will die once again and whoever died for you to have the life will be a waste. Don't let it be a waste, Frank." He tone was harsh and demanding as he leaned forward, looking Frank in the eye.
His red orbs softened suddenly. "I'm sorry this happened to you. I never would have let it happen if I could," he murmured, leaning back again.
Frank smiled. "I brought it on myself, Gerard. I'll be fine."
Gerard did not seem so confident.
"Damn."
"Thank you for the input, Bob."

Notes

You see, I was watching "Pushing Daisies" when I came up with this. But this is going to be quite a bit different. Darker, maybe. Not as chaotic. It'll be cool.
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-Stitches