Before The Sun Goes Down

He watches the sun rising sat on the roof, again.
This is the fourth night in the row that he hasn't slept hardly at all. He's witnessed the birds waking up and calling to one another, he's witnessed the stars slowly disappearing and the sun rising and filling the sky with mellow pinks, yellows, and reds.
For something that used to fill him with such wonder and amazement, the sky can barely even make him stir from his listless staring. A chill makes him shiver, and he decides to get off of the roof and go and get some breakfast before Miles gets back.
For Frank, seeing Miles is the only thing to make him feel anything. But, he feels a deep, burning hatred that he can't act upon. The hatred is slowly consuming him, turning him into another person that he shouldn't ever have to be.
Someone that Gerard wouldn't be able to recognize. The glazed-over, hate-filled eyes are something Gerard has never set his eyes upon. The detestation that Frank feel for Miles would make even the cruellest of human beings shaking in their shoes. But, he can't act upon it.
He would never be able to act upon it unless he became as powerful and strong as Miles himself. Frank knows that, if he ever gets out, Gerard would never change him, neither would Gerard let anyone change him. He knows that Gerard would insist on taking care of Frank's business himself, even though he knows next to nothing of what has actually happened to Frank.
Walking down the stairs, Frank is careful to make no noise. Noise could alert Miles to the fact that Frank is out in the open and extremely vulnerable, and Miles would then swoop and take advantage of Frank once again.
Looking in the cupboards, Frank spots some microwavable porridge. Deciding to have that, he starts to prepare it, the back door already unlocked so he can make a run for it into the forest.
The microwave rings, so Frank gets the bowl out, not even feeling the prickly burn from the heat. A spoon is already set out on the island for him, and paranoia gets the better of Frank,so he grabs the spoon and sprints outside, almost dropping the bowl.
He slows down after five minutes, trying to control the shaking of his hands.
Frank hates how easily he can start shaking, and how hard it is for him to stop. Well, it never completely stops, it just calms down a little so he can actually pour a drink instead of getting it all over the counter-top. Miles despises mess, but he seems to like giving a certain someone bruises all over the their face.
The trees slowly gets denser, so Frank sits on the floor and eats his lukewarm porridge. He barely tastes it, he's too busy thinking.
The bowl is placed to one side, and Frank lies down on the forest floor and closes his eyes. If only I could just get some sleep, he thinks, then I might feel better.
Deep down, though, he knows that that is a load of bullshit. The only thing that might give him a tiny bit of satisfaction is if he got to see Miles squirming underneath him as the life slowly leaves his eyes.
That image going through his head is the only thing keeping Frank sane.
It's midday before Frank moves. He didn't sleep, he just lay there and listened to nature, feeling somewhat content. Debating in his mind over whether or not he should go back to the house and get something to drink or something, he absent-mindedly starts picking at his stitches.
Half of the cuts were ripped open by Miles again, so the healing process had to start again. He didn't have Gerard guiding him through the stitching process, and he didn't dare do it on his own. He can't remember anything about it, anyway.
He stops only when he feels a slight sting, and another stitch has been reopened. Not that it matters to Frank though, all he cares about is the bloody mess that it would leave on his clothes if he continued picking at it.
Surely, though, he thinks, it's around time for them to come out, anyway? But, dare I take them out? I might do it wrong and nick a vein...
At this, Frank shrugs and decides that he doesn't care if he bleeds out, and that he'd actually make sure he left the blood everywhere, because, you know, Miles hates a mess.
Walking back to the house, he watches the blood thinly and occasionally drip down from his arm. Like a paper cut, there isn't much blood, but it accumulates enough that it drips.As he reaches the tree line, he slows down a little and peers into the kitchen, trying to see if Miles is in there or not. When Frank doesn't see him, he walks to the house with his head down, thinking up an excuse on why he was out in the forest.
Miles knows that Frank like being outdoors, so he keeps him inside as much as he can, but over these last few days, Miles' discipline has lacked quite a bit. They've hardly seen anything of each other, much less had time for Miles to beat Frank again for enjoying himself.
Tiptoeing into the kitchen, his ears straining, Frank quietly sets the bowl down and waits for a minute.
Miles doesn't come in, so Frank assumes that he's safe. He starts washing his bowl up, keeping the vital fact in his mind that: Miles hates mess.
Frank finds himself chuntering abuse about Miles under his breath, quiet enough that he though Miles couldn't hear it. But Miles did, and Miles was standing right behind Frank all the while. Listening, with a smile on his face.
“Stupid fucking bastard... I hope he rots in motherfucking Hell,” Miles purposely chuckles, masking the noise enough that Frank wouldn't know that it's him and would turn around. Just as his pictured, Frank turns around, his face pale and his eyes wide.
“You're so damn sweet to me, Frankie. I'm so lucky to have you in my life, sugar-plum, aren't I?” Miles pinches Frank's cheek, twisting slightly.
Frank doesn't know what to do, Miles could literally murder him right now if he wanted to. And, by the look in Miles' eyes, he did. He clenches a shaky fist and closes his eyes, swallowing deeply.
“I... I wuh-wasn't, I wasn't, uh, tuh-talking about you... Muh-Miles,” His eyes are open again, and they stare into Miles' unforgiving, merciless ones.
“Well, Frankie,” He spits the name out, his face twisting into a snarl. “Who the fuck were you fucking talking about? Because, I sure heard my fucking name mentioned a few fucking times!” Frank cranes his head back, away from Miles' snapping jaws.
Violent images flick through Miles' head, each more satisfying then the next.
Should I scare him so much that he pisses himself? Miles thinks, a slow, lazy smile settling on his lips.
“I... I, uh, I...” Frank's stammering makes Miles annoyed, so he slaps him. This makes Frank sprawl out on the floor, the slap unexpected and harsh.
“Come on, upstairs.”Miles says, making Frank quiver.
Frank tries to scramble away from Miles, towards the back door, but is stopped when Miles kicks him in the face with military-style boots on, making Frank's neck crack when it's whipped backwards.
Pain shoots across Frank's neck and down his back, and he's terrified Miles has broken his neck for a second, before he's grabbed by Miles and pulled upwards, his neck moving freely. The pain slowly ebbs away, replaced by a tenderness.
Terror quickly consumes Frank as he tries to squirm out of Miles' grip, to no avail, and soon he can't breathe. Sickness sets in, deep in his stomach, and he can feel it twisting around. The grip Miles' has on the back of his shirt is suffocating, and Frank can slowly feel himself edge closer and closer to unconsciousness.
He's dragged up the few remaining stairs, then thrown into the bedroom.
Miles stares impassively at him, his arms crossed over his chest. Frank waits in terrified anticipation, his eyes staring widely at Miles. Thinking he looks pathetic, Miles laughs, and makes Frank jump.
“Undress, Frankie,”The laughter stops just as quickly as it starts, replaced by a barking order. When Frank does nothing, Miles shouts it at him again, stamping his foot. “I said, undress! Do as I say!”
Looking into his eyes, Frank sees nothing but the same hatred as he feels, and that is enough to jolt him into action. Slowly, he stands up, his legs shaking so bad that he has to grip onto the wood of the bed to keep upright.
“Okay, good boy. Now, go slowly. Let me enjoy it, baby,” Frank shivers at Miles' stare, which is predatory, and stares at him for another second, almost shaking his head.
Steeling himself, he looks down and starts to take off his shoes and socks, going slowly like Miles asked. He can feel Miles' burning stare on him, and he feels the rising sexual tension, which is completely one sided.
He continues taking his clothes off, his cheeks burning with embarrassment and shame all the way through. Soon, he's all but naked in front of Miles, just his underwear on. Looking at Miles, he sees him smirking and looking him up and down.
Shivering, he stands with his arms crossed and his back hunched, all curled up.
Miles moves so quietly that Frank doesn't hear him until he's standing right next to him, whispering vulgar words to him. Miles trails his fingers up and down Frank's body, occasionally jabbing or flicking him. Hot tears gather in Frank's eyes, but he closes them tight so they don't escape.
He just feels so violated, so dirty. Like a prostitute, but he doesn't even get money. He just gets bruises and horrible, dark thoughts.
The touches and words from Miles don't stop until Frank feels like screaming. So he does, and Miles stops and stares at him, dumb-founded. Frank starts to completely lash out, all the while making some kind of deranged noise.
Furniture gets thrown, Frank gets cuts all over his hands from breaking things, and Miles just stands and stares while Frank has breakdown. Frank screams profanities at Miles, his chest heaving up and down.
With the adrenaline pumping around his body, Frank feels like he could take on Miles, so he does. He pushes him backwards with one side of his body, whilst hitting him continuously in the face with his fist. Miles starts back away, out of the door, but Frank follows him, his eyes completely possessed with anger.
“You fucking bastard! You fucking bastard! You fucking bastard! Stay the fuck away from me! I hate you, I hate you, I fucking hate you!”
Frank can feel his throat slowly getting wrecked from his screaming, but he's past the point of caring. He cares about nothing or no-one, not even himself.
Perhaps, he thinks, I'll make Miles so mad that he'll finally fucking murder me! I'd die happy!
He's beyond hysterical as he chases Miles down the stairs, and Miles is actually scared of him. Frank wouldn't be able to murder me, Miles thinks, but he could have a good go if he got hold of a knife or something! Fuck, I can't let him into or anywhere near the kitchen, or someone is going to get seriously hurt...
But, Miles continues running when they get down the stairs, into the dining room. Franks stops dead in his tracks when he sees the knives glittering in the sunlight, and an insane smile spreads across his lips, seemingly too big for his face.
“Fuck you, Miles! You're fucking dead!” He says this with as much anger as he can muster, then bolts into the kitchen, making the door bang onto the wall and leave a dent and cracks in the paintwork.
Mile hears the bang, instantly knowing Frank's in the kitchen, he hasn't followed him, and he probably has a sharp, long knife in his hands. Miles turns around and bolts back into the hallway, just in time to see Frank come out of the kitchen holding the same knife he used to cut Frank's arms up.
Unable to stop in time, Miles runs straight into the knife, and he feels it plunge deep into his stomach. Black liquid comes oozing out as Frank pulls the knife out and stabs again, making pain shoot around Miles' body.
Stumbling, Miles falls into the wall, clutching his stomach. This won't kill him, but it'll weaken him considerably. Though, if Frank stabs him many more times, he might become so weak that he might as well be dead.
Wearing a sickly smile, Frank lunges again and plunges the knife deep into Miles' shoulder. He feels it get caught between some bone, so he has to wiggle it slightly to get it out. Miles weakly tries to push him away, but Frank's grip on the knife is too strong for someone in so much pain.
“Frank, you're so fucking dead when I get my fucking hands on you!” Miles manages to wheeze out, black oozing out of his mouth. He coughs, the black stuff flying onto Frank's face.
Pulling the knife back over his head, he stabs Miles again, in the face, making Miles scream.
“Good! I'm already dead up here, Miles,” Frank points to his temple, tapping it twice. “So why not finish me off? I mean, once I'm finished with you, I'd be fucking happy to die! Over the fucking moon! Ecstatic!” He stabs him again, the knife cutting through his sternum, making it crack. Miles howls with pain, now lying on the floor with his hands clenched and his face twisted into a pained snarl. “How does it feel to be on the receiving end? Does it feel good?” Frank stabs again, just under the first wound he made, a chuckle escaping at Miles' pained screams. “I didn't think so! It feels pretty shitty, doesn't it? How about this?” Again, right under his breast bone. “Still a no? Damn, what a crying shame! You know, it feels fucking good to give pain out to you, for once, though!”
Miles looks at Frank, and he sees madness. I've pushed him too far... Too far... Miles thinks, his trail of thoughts getting interrupted by his pain and Frank's words, some of which are so garbled and insane-sounding that he can't even begin to understand him.
All Miles can do is lie on the floor, his life bleeding out of him. He dreads to think what would happen if he was bled dry. Miles isn't exactly sure what the black stuff inside him is, but he's absolutely certain that is he gets too low on it, he'll crumble away or implode or something like that. His Masters wouldn't be too happy, anyway.
Miles tries to whisper words out, asking Frank to stop and that's he's sorry, but Frank can't hear him. So, Miles grabs Frank's wrist as he lifts the knife up, making Frank stop and stare at him with the wild, scary eyes.
“Frank... Stop... I'm sorry... Just stop,” He can barely wheeze the words out, and coughs break up the sentence.
Frank looks at Miles incredulously, his mouth ajar slightly.
“Did you stop when I asked you to? Did you? No, you just carried on shoving your dick inside me or beating me or cutting me! Why the fuck should I stop or accept your stupid, pathetic fucking apology? You didn't stop for me, you bastard!” Frank stands up, the knife raised over his head, but he's shaking so much that he drops it. The knife clatters to the floor, besides Miles' head.
Frank's hands slowly fall down, and his legs buckle underneath him and make him fall to the floor. Hands cover his mouth, and his head bows. One choked, broken sob comes from him, then he breathes in and straightens his back.
“You raped me, Miles. You fucking raped me. You raped me, you stole my everything!” He stops suddenly, shaking his head. “You deserve every-fucking-thing that comes your way, and more. You... you... raped me...” He stops again, tears filling his eyes. His back slumps again, and he sighs deeply. “I want to leave. I want to go back to Gerard, to normality. If you don't let me,”He picks up the knife, holding it lightly in his right hand. “I'll use this to kill myself. I can't take this any more, Miles. I can't do this, I can't live in constant pain, fear, fucking misery.”
Frank pleads with Miles using his eyes. Miles doesn't know what to do, he wants Frank to stay, so he can have someone to take his anger out on. He can't let Frank go, because he knows what Gerard would do to him if he got Frank back. Gerard would murder him, not caring about the consequences. Just as long as Frank wants it, Gerard would do anything.
“I... I can't, Gerard will murder me...” A distressed cry falls from Frank's lips, his back hunching over like he'd just been winded or gutted. Hoarse, heart-wrenching sobs start then, actually making Miles guilty. “Frankie, stop crying... I'm... I'm sorry, okay? I'll leave you alone, I promise, but I can't let you leave...” The apology leaves a bad taste in Miles' mouth, and it just makes Frank cry harder.
“Fuck you...” Miles can barely hear him, his voice is so broken up and quiet from the crying.
'I promised myself I wouldn't cry any more...' Is one of the only things going through Frank's head.
Frank clenches his fists, forgetting he has a knife, and makes himself bleed. Miles notices this at the same time as Frank, and Miles lunges for the knife, adrenaline making him forget about his pain and injuries. Frank launches himself backwards, the knife cutting his palm deeper.
“Frank! No!”
Frank positions the knife over his wrist, his hands shaking so he can't get an accurate position. Miles lunges just as Frank is about to make the cut, making the knife skid up his arm and cut deeply further up. Miles holds Frank down as Frank struggles and kicks, the knife lying to rest over by the front door.
Miles manages to straddle Frank, pinning his arms above his head. Frank bucks and kicks even more because he thinks that Miles is going to force himself upon him again, and the weak Miles struggles to stay on him.
“Calm the fuck down! I need to sort out your fucking arm! Stop fucking struggling!” The words get through to Frank, who stops moving, and looks upwards at his gushing arm.
“Leave my arm alone! Leave it, don't touch it!” Slowly but surely, Frank begins to rise past hysteria again, so Miles grabs his hair and slams his head on the floor, successfully knocking his out. Miles gets off Frank, feeling light-headed, and rests by his side for a minute before ripping some of his shirt and pressing it against the cut, then ripping more off and tying it around the bit of cloth already on there.
“Shit... what do I do?” His hands flutter around Frank, panic slowly rising. Half of Miles is telling him that he hates Frank, that he doesn't care if he dies, but the other half of him is saying that it's his fault, that if he dies it's his fault, that he never meant to push Frank this far.
He decides to meet the sides in the middle, and only care for Frank for so much until he hasn't got the risk of dying, then he'll leave the rest up to Frank. If he tries to kill himself again, Miles decides, then I won't help him, I won't encourage him, I won't try to stop him, I'll just let him.
The wound, when Miles cleans it out and cleans it, looks deep enough to merit stitches. But, Miles has no idea on how to do the stitching, so he just puts gauze over it and applies lots of pressure after letting the tap run over it for a while.
He can feel his 'blood' ooze out of his wounds, but he has to sort out Frank first. Miles heals quickly, so the actually injuries aren't the problem, but the loss of whatever the black substance is. He has a supply of it in one of the cupboards, the liquid mixed with some special blood to give him more strength. As soon as the wounds close up, I'll have some.
The wounds close up just after Frank is placed on the couch, so Miles drinks some of the mixture and feels instantly better. Still really weak, but he can see straight now. He goes back to Frank and sits on the floor beside him.
He'll change the dressing every so often, until Frank wakes up, then he'll leave him to it.
Frank is left on the couch, with some water and pain killers left on a small table next to him. He doesn't stir until the stars he loves so much are out in the sky, and Miles is just changing his dressing.
The first thing Frank sees is Miles' face, and Frank being disorientated, groggy and scared, head-buts him. Out of pure surprise, Miles' falls backwards. The first reaction Miles has it to get angry, but he sees Frank's wide, soft eyes, and it instantly calmed. He finds this slightly strange, but he doesn't dwell on it, he just carries on with changing the dressing, feeling slightly awkward.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Frank is instantly defensive, moving his arm out of the way of Miles. “Don't fucking touch me!” Miles' shoulders get pushed, and he's so weak that he actually falls over. Frank stares at Miles, stunned.
Miles is usually so strong, and not weak. Not this weak, not ever.
I must of really damaged him...
“Sorry, Frank,” Miles looks away. He's different to usual, Frank thinks. “I just... you cut yourself, and I was just changing your dressing,” Miles rambles, continuing to look more and more embarrassed as he talks.
"I can do it myself, thank you...” Miles nods, starting to stand up. Frank lets him leave, thousands of thoughts twirling around his head.
Only now is he realizing that his arm is throbbing. He winces as he moves it closer to his face to have a look at it. A clean bandage is half hanging off, and the cut isn't bleeding any more. There's blood in it, but Frank thinks that it's congealed or something.
He finishes wrapping it up, then stands up and walks into the kitchen, slightly light headed. Before he walks in, he checks if Miles is in there, and he's not. The kitchen is empty of people, and slightly messed up.
Frank can barely remember anything of last night, just blurred, half-finished memories. He stabbed Miles, but he isn't sure on how many times. Or what with, or where. Actually, he does know what with, because he almost stands on it. It has a dry, thick paste-like substance on it, as well as his own blood.
He turns around, looking out into the hall, and sees dry patches of the same black stuff and a few spots of blood. Feeling slightly revolted, he spins back around and places the knife in a kitchen towel and puts it in a drawer, deciding to sort it out later.
His stomach growls, making him jump slightly. Patting his stomach, he gets some cereal out of the cupboard and eats it out of the box, absent-mindedly, until they're all gone. The box gets left on the island, and Frank makes himself a drink. He listlessly drinks it, wishing it was something stronger.
The parched feeling in his throat is gone, so he gets up. He stands in the middle of the kitchen, debating on whether he should drink something. Just one drink, he promises himself, just one...
Looking over his shoulder, he strains his ears to see if he can hear Miles. Not hearing anything, he decides that just one drink will be okay. I can handle it.
He finds some beer, some shitty stuff that looks like it's been there for ten thousand years from the amount of dust on it, in the cupboard. He takes one, but he leaves the others out on the side unintentionally.
Opening the can, he takes a sip. The flavor assaults his tongue, the bitter, lukewarm liquid hard to swallow down. But, as he drinks more, the easier it gets. After all, no-one gets drinks for just the taste of the alcohol, do they?
One drink turns into all six cans, turns into finding some bourbon in a glass cabinet and walking up the stairs with it. Frank's vision is slightly foggy, but he can still walk up the stairs without tripping up, so he decides to brave the loft ladders and go up there to drink the liquor.
Unable to work out how to hold the bottle and climb up the ladder at the same time, Frank thinks to shove the bottle down his pants. The cold glass that hits his thigh makes him cringe, and he can't bend his leg properly, but he manages to walk up the six ladders and limb through the hatch.
“Wonder what time it is...” He slurs out, looking through the window at the moon. “It could be... be mid-night... three... fuh-five...” Frank shrugs his shoulders, twisting the lid off the bottle and drinking some.
He drinks more, until he feels ill, then he stops. His stomach twists, the cereal he ate earlier almost ready to make a reappearance.
He stares out of the window, looking at the moon that is slowly falling to the ground to meet and greet the sun. The sky is starting to get lighter, and Frank's eyes are starting to get heavier. He throws the bottle to one side, hearing a smash, and lies down.
He watches the sky until he just can't keep his eyes closed any more, then he dreams fitfully of blood and blackness and Gerard.
Meanwhile, Gerard calls the number that Frank called him off for the tenth time. No-one hears the phone ring at the house, because Miles isn't even there, Charlotte has been told to not answer the phone, and Frank is still in his drunken, deep sleep.
Disappointment reigns heavy in Gerard's chest, so heavy it's almost crushing.
He hangs up, hearing the voice of the automated woman telling him the nobody can reach his call right now, but to call back later or to leave a message after the annoying, long-winded beep.
He runs a hand through his hair, telling himself for the hundredth time to fucking wash it, already! His hair is greasy and lank, thinner than ever and now an even more faded-red that he probably shouldn't even classify as red. His clothes are crumpled, and his shirt has animal blood soaked into it from three days ago.
He's been sleeping in the forest near the cemetery, not able to build up the courage to look for any of his group. By now, he can't even feel the bugs crawling over his skin. It's not that bad in the forest, though. The blood is plenty, the beauty even more so, and the quiet is amazing.
He bought a new phone, on the way to here. The only number he's called on it is the phone at Miles'. Gerard is sure that he looks absolutely terrifying, as unkempt as he is, but he really just doesn't care any more. His only goals are to find Frank, to get him away from Miles, and to kill the bastard.
So far, all of them have been unsuccessful. No-one even answers the phone.
He walks for a while around the forest, listening to the animal's minds. They are simplistic creatures, but beautiful all the same. Even the plants have some sort of though trail going on. Once he reaches another spot near the stream, he calls the house again, getting no answer once more. Instead of walking, he sits on the stream-bank, listening to the water to calm him down.
He gets so far into his thoughts that he doesn't even hear his cell phone ringing to start with, it just becomes another noise to add to the cacophony around him.
He feels the vibrations in his pockets, though, that's the only thing that makes him realize. But, by then, it's too late and the call stopped. Frantically, he pulls the phone out of his pocket, ripping the seams of it slightly. He presses redial, and waits.
“Hello?” He's groggy, his voice hoarse and empty. But it's definitely the person Gerard wanted to hear from.
“Frank?” You can hear the joy in Gerard's voice, and it makes Frank picture his cute, little smile.
“Gerard?”
“Frank,” They both smile at the same time, one in a forest covered in dirt and blood, the other in a house covered in a black, dry paste-like substance and his own dried blood.
“Gerard,” Now Gerard can hear the smile in Frank's voice, but he can't, no matter how hard he tries, picture the smile. Not after the last few calls.
“Are you okay?” The thinly-veiled panic in Gerard's voice makes Frank's smiling voice disappear.
“No... no, I'm not. Not really... I'm actually pretty damn fucking not okay.” Frank bites his lip, stopping himself from feeling it tremble.
“What's... wrong?” The question is lame to both of their ears, and they both know it. “Stupid question, sorry,” Frank shakes his head, closing his eyes and shutting them tightly to get the tears away.
“It's okay... How are you?” Frank changes the subject, perhaps not very tactically.
“I'm fine, Frankie-”
“Don't call me that.” Suddenly rigid, Frank's tone makes Gerard on edge.
“Okay, okay. I'm okay, Frank, I'm absolutely fine.” He hears a sigh from Frank, the silence for a minute.
“Gerard, I tried to kill myself yesterday. I stabbed Miles, he... I just lost it. I can't take this any more,” Gerard's throat closes up, stopping him from making useless promises that it will all be okay, that it'll all be over soon. That he'll be okay. He won't be okay, he isn't okay, and he never will be okay.
“Frank... I...” He stops, unable to think of what to say. “I love you.” The words come out in a rush, spoken with such a passion it makes Frank shiver.
“Good, Gerard. I... luh-luh....” He can't force the words out. He wants to, because he does love Gerard, but he can't sound them out.
Frank thinks that he can actually hear Gerard's heart break. He hears the intake of breath, and for an inhalation, it sounds broken.
Silence consumes the call for the next three and a half minutes, because Frank has no idea what to say, and Gerard can't speak. Gerard finally pulls himself together, enough to utter a few more sentences before hanging up and staying sat on the stream-bank in silence and stillness for the next day.
“It's okay, Frank. It's... okay. I just wanted you to know, you... you, uh...” He hangs up after that, his eyes shut tightly.
After a day of sitting completely still, he brakes out of his trance and starts moving again.
He starts by hunting, and he gorges himself on blood enough to last him at least two weeks. Then, he shifts into someone else and walks into the town, going to buy hair dye, some more clothes, and something to wash and clean himself with.
Once he has everything, he runs back into the forest and finds a deeper part of the stream. He puts the hair dye on his hair, piling it all atop his head using a hair-tie he bought. It's so long now that he can put it up in a ponytail.
He strips off, getting all of the toiletries out and washing himself. Once he feels clean enough, he washes out the dye and washes his hair. Then, he gets out of the stream and dries himself, then he puts on his new clothes.
Once all clean and kind of presentable, he starts the journey back to the Council's home, ready to step out from being a Council member and to find Lucifer. He reaches the house in a few hours, his energy more replenished than ever.
He goes to the blood-bank first, and he drinks some stuff that gives you extra strength. He can hear all of the Council talking in the meeting room, so he heads there. On the way, he gives himself a pep talk and gets prepared to have a fight with at least one of them.
Stopping outside the door for a second, he smooths down his hair and shirt. All of the talking has stopped, so he guesses that they've all realized he's here, and they can probably tell he's fucking bursting with anger.
The doors swing open just as Gerard reaches for the handle, and they all stare at him. Gerard stares back, making his eyes change to a steely grey.
“Ah, Gerard. You're back,” He notices the slight disgust in The Grey Ones voices, but he chooses not to comment.
“Yeah, but not for long,” He moves his line of sight down the table so he makes eye contact with everyone. He looks back to Lucifer, and smiles, baring his teeth. He hears Lucifer gulp. “I resign from the Council. I no longer want to be a part of this, considering you are all liars and bastards.” They don't look shocked at this, instead bored would be closer to the right answer.
“No.”
“No?” Gerard stomps his foot. “What the fuck do you mean? No? Fuck you, I fucking resign! I hate all of you motherfuckers, especially you,” He pints at Lucifer, who is probably the only one that looks worried at this precise moment.
“No, Gerard. You're in the Council until you turn to dust. You can't just resign.”
“How about... fuck off?” Silence returns to the room, so Gerard sighs and throws his hands up. “What can I do to get out of it?”
“You have to win in a fight between each of us and you, one person at a time.” Gerard rolls his eyes, growling slightly.
“For Fuck's sake! Really? Can't I just fucking leave?” Lucifer is smiling now, amused by Gerard's annoyance and anger.
“No.” He growls louder this time, his hands hooking into claw shapes.
“Fine! Fine!” He starts tapping his foot on the floor, an idea forming in his head. “What if I only fight one person, but if they die, then I'm free?”
The Grey Ones consider it for a moment, talking between themselves.
“Hmm... Interesting offer, Gerard. Fine.”
“I want to fight Lucifer.” The amused smile drops right off Lucifer's face, replaced with a wide-eyed, terrified look.
The Grey Ones simultaneously turn to face Lucifer, silently watching him. Lucifer starts shaking his head, muttering disagreement under his breath.
“Fine.”
“No, this isn't fine! It really isn't, I don't want to fight him,” He tries to play off his terror with disgust towards Gerard, but no-one buys it.
“Lucifer, the decision is final. You two fight in an hour. Whoever wins, survives, the looser will only lose if He is dead.” Smiling, Gerard walks out of the room, heading to the blood bank again.
He drinks more strengthening blood, then he sits out in the hallway for a while, until he hears footsteps heading towards him.
Gerard turns around in time to see a fist hurtling towards him. He stops it in time, twisting the arm back round and holding the person. It's Lucifer, his eyes deranged.
“I was hoping to catch you before the fight, Lucifer. You see, I don't actually want to kill you. I want to come to a deal with you. Can you stop throwing punches around long enough for us to come to that deal?” He whispers this in Lucifer's ear, his voice a deadly calm. Lucifer struggles for another minute, then he stops and nods his head.
Keeping hold of his wrist, Gerard twists the arm back around until Lucifer is facing Gerard.
“Okay. Now, we won't have to fight if this goes to plan. You and I will get out of here, we'll go to Miles' house. I will get Frank, and we'll never see each other again,” Gerard pauses, so Lucifer starts filling the air with his protests. Gerard shuts him up with a twist of his wrist.
“You didn't let me finish. Now, as I was saying, we'd never see each other again. I'd take care of the Council. You wouldn't have to worry about them. Just make sure you're never seen by any of them again until I give you word of safety. All you have to do it take me to Miles' house, and I'd do the rest. You can leave even as soon as we get in sight of it.”
“But... the Council would find me, and you, and Frank. They'd murder us all, you don't know what they're like...” He pauses, hesitating over something. Finally, he looks up at Gerard, and nods. “Fine. You better have this planned out real fucking good, Gerard. If I go down, you'll go down with me. And your pretty boy,” This gets Lucifer a backhand around the face.
“Don't talk about Frank like that. Don't even talk about Frank. He isn't mine, he is his own person.” Lucifer rubs his face, glaring at Gerard.
“Fine, whatever. Let's just go before it's time for the fucking fight, man,” Gerard nods, letting Lucifer go and starting to walk down the hallway. “No, what are you doing? We can go out of the fucking door!”
“Keep your damn voice down, Lucifer. I know we can't go out of the fucking door, that's why we're going out of the fucking window.”
They reach the door, but instead of going through it, they climb out of the already open window so there isn't any noise.
Once outside, they start running. They run all the way to the stream, where they rest for a while and Lucifer gets his bearings.
“I only know the way by road, Gerard! I don't travel in the fucking forest! We need a car,”
Gerard huffs, then disappears. He's back in five minutes, carrying some car keys.
“Come on then, hurry up!” They run again, all the way to a blue Mondeo parked on the side of the road. Gerard gets in, and starts the engine.
“Okay, now what?” Gerard looks at Lucifer, who is studying the road and the signs around it.
“Just drive forward until I say.”
They continue on like this for the journey, with Gerard getting more pissed off and Lucifer more amused. He can tell that Gerard hates being told what to do, especially by him, so he tells him what to do more than he needs.
“Fuck, Lucifer! This isn't a fucking game, okay? Get your shit together and stop playing around. Do I fucking turn left, or do I fucking turn right?”
This time, though, Lucifer pushed him too far, so now he's being pinned to the window by his neck while Gerard shouts in his face.
“Left! Turn fucking left, okay? Get your damn hands off me!” Lucifer pushes them off, he himself now pissed off.
Okay, okay! That's all I wanted,”
They drive the rest of the way in silence, apart from a few 'turn left', or 'turn right' by Lucifer. They reach the house, parking around ten minutes away from it.
“Is Miles in there?”
“I don't know? I'm not his fucking keeper?” Gerard rolls his eyes, turning the engine off and starting to get out.
“I was only asking a question. No need to be so fucking defensive.”
“Whatever, Gerard. Whatever.” Gerard slams the door behind him, walking off with his arms crossed. He hears footsteps behind him, and spins around.
“I thought you weren't coming? You better not get in my fucking way, Lucifer.”
“I won't, I won't. I'll even wait outside.”
They walk around the back of the house, hiding in some bushes. Gerard assesses the house, the back door, the windows. He tries to find Miles' mind, but only finds Frank's and Charlotte's.
“Okay, I don't think Miles is in there. The door is locked, but I can fix that,” They hear a slight click of the lock opening, then Gerard speaks again. “Okay, Lucifer, I might need help. Unlikely, but possible. I'll shout for you if I do, and I need you to come instantly if I shout you, got it?” Lucifer nods, looking at Gerard curiously.
“Why do you care about Frank so much? He's only a human...” Gerard stands up, looking down at Lucifer. He shrugs, glancing back at the house for a second.
“I really, really fucking love him, Lucifer, that's why.” Gerard disappears again, he just sees the door open and a slight blur of red. The door closes again.
Gerard looks around the kitchen. Frank hasn't cleaned it yet, so it's still a mess and the hall outside still has dried shit on it. He tiptoes through the kitchen, into the hallway and then into the connected dining room and lounge. No-one is in there, either. Again, there are bloodstains on the carpet where Frank was lay on the couch.
He checks everywhere down the stairs, and finds no-one.
The house is silent, Charlotte is asleep and Frank is, too. He managed to finish the bottle of bourbon and some other bottles of beer that he found, and he fell asleep in the loft, but Gerard doesn't know that.
Creeping up the stairs, Gerard checks all of the rooms and finds no-one but Charlotte. He doesn't wake her, instead he just creeps out of the room and stands in the hallway for a minute. He looks around, and spots the loft hatch.
A smile spreads on his lips, and he pulls down the ladder and goes into the loft. Frank is there, curled up in a ball, sleeping with his mouth slightly open. In the dark, Gerard can't see the healing bruises or cuts, so he thinks Frank looks terrible cute.
“How to approach this...?” He whispers under his breath, staring down at Frank before gently scooping him up. Frank stirs, but he doesn't wake up. Gerard accidentally kicks over a liquor bottle, sending it crashing into the wall. “Alcohol?” He looks down at Frank, a deep frown on his face. “Oh, Frankie...”
Gerard somehow manages to get down the ladder without waking Frank up, and he makes it all the way outside to Lucifer.
“Gerard... You got him?” Lucifer smiles in disbelief, patting Gerard's shoulder. Gerard shrugs him off, not interested in a friendly pat from someone he almost-hates.
“Yeah, I did. We need to go, like, right now. I can't be carrying him when he wakes up, it'll freak him out,” Gerard starts walking back to the car. “Come on!” He whisper-shouts to Lucifer, who is still standing by the bush. The walk-run back to the car, and Gerard puts Frank in the back and tries to buckle him in so he doesn't fall.
Gerard starts the car and he speeds off before Lucifer even had both of his feet in. Now that he has Frank, the panic and anxiousness he was holding back earlier is breaking out, making him really jumpy and quite grumpy.
“Do you want me to stop anywhere specific?”
“No, just anywhere that isn't near the Council.” Gerard stops the car, unlocking it.
“Okay, here is fine, then.” He makes a shooing motion with his hands, but Lucifer just stares at him with his mouth open.
“Here? But, surely-”
“Yes, here. I'm very thankful for your help, but you need to get out. Don't worry about anything, I've been around you for long enough that I can contact you even when you're in a different country, so I'll let you know if you're in any danger.” Lucifer continues looking at Gerard for a minute, then smiles.
“Okay, Gerard. You're a weird guy, thanks for the ride.” He climbs out, waving at the car as Gerard drives away. The goodbye left Gerard confused, but he pushes it out of his mind and just focuses on getting as far away from anyone he knows as possible.
He drives for another six hours before Frank starts to wake up, so Gerard makes a quick decision and pulls over behind some foliage. He unbuckles, turning around in his seat and looking at Frank for the first time in daylight for months.
Indescribable joy courses through him, making him smile so wide it hurts his cheeks instantly. But, then he sees the mess on Frank's face and on the strip of skin he can see from the t-shirt riding up.
Bruises cover him, his nose is slightly crooked and has a cut running across it. Not to mention everything else that is going on, like the half healed cuts running up his arms, and the explosions of color everywhere. They've started to fade, but that doesn't mean that they weren't there. They were there, brighter and more painful, and that makes Gerard so incredibly angry.
He has to clench his teeth and save it for later, though, because right now, Frank's eyes are open and he looks terrified. Not knowing how to handle the situation, he waits until Franks' eyes rest on him, where he's smiling and hopefully looking as friendly and kind as possible.
“Good morning.” Franks' mouth drops open. His eyes widen until there's more white around his iris than there is color in the eye. All of the color runs out of his face, even out of his chapped lips.
“What the fuck?” He whispers to himself, slowly sitting up. “What the actual fuck?” He closes his mouth, looking deeply at Gerard's face. He lifts up and hand and pinches himself, then shakes his head at everything when he's sure this isn't a dream.
“Why'd you do that?” Gerard half-smiles at him, making Frank's eyes fill with tears.
“I... I.. just... I... this is a dream? Surely?” Slowly shaking his head, Gerard's smile gets bigger.
“It sure isn't, Frank. Unless we're both dreaming the same thing, but I don't sleep, so that's impossible.” Gerard shrugs, biting his lip to contain a joy-filled smile.
“But... what?” Confusion fills Frank's voice, and a tear drips down from his eye.
“You're free. Miles is soon to be dead, okay?”
Frank bites his lip, nodding once. More tears fall, but his eyes a mixture between happiness and confusion.
“Oh my God...” He breathes out, reaching out a hand and feeling Gerard's face with it. He traces all of his features, still unbelieving that this is all real. When he reaches his lips, Gerard kisses Frank's fingers lightly, making Frank have to choke a sob back.
“I, uh, didn't manage to pick you any clothes or anything, sorry. All we have is out clothes, this car, and ourselves.” Frank smiles at him, shrugging.
“I don't care, that's all we ever needed, anyway.”

Notes

*Cries*