“Driving through this world unknown,
I've built my life on broken bones.
Not living for this anymore,
You want a fight... I'll bring a war!” -Heart of Fire, Black Veil Brides

---

"This goddamn car," Dr. Death grumbles, shutting the hood of the car with more force than is needed. "Sorry, guys, this shit's broken." All four of us groan in disdain, a slight breeze blowing our hair in all different directions.

"Damn it," Mikey mumbles, pushing his hair out of his eyes. "And we're in the middle of Two. Where'd you get this god-forsaken car anyway?"

"Iero," Dr. Death growls and Frank turns to look at him.

"What about me?" He asks. He's still in his jumpsuit, but he unzipped the top and tied it around his waist, showing his gray tank top underneath, as well as his heavily inked arms.

"I got this car from your papa's car garage," Dr. Death says, jumping up onto the hood of the defunct car. "No wonder the piece of shit was only 500 Carbons."

"Well, how're we getting to Five now?" I ask, pushing my hair behind my ear. "It'll take all night at this rate. That's if we don't freeze to death first."

"Welcome to April in the Zones," Dr. Death hisses. "We'll have to walk until we find a place to stay, I guess. I didn't account for the car to shit the deck and die."

"You told me he had thought of everything," Gerard says to me, smiling a bit.

"I got you out of jail, don't be acting like that," Dr. Death says, managing a small smile. "Alright, if we want to find someplace to camp for the night, we better get going." He adds.

With that, we're off. We didn't bring much with us, considering Dr. Death told us that we'd be at his safe-haven in Five before midnight, and that he has supplies there. The only things we brought were as many Carbons as we could scrape together, our zaps, a few flares, and a box of matchsticks. Like I said, we didn't bring much.

After about an hour of walking, Frank squints his eyes and points to something on the horizon. "What is that?" He asks.

"It looks like..." Mikey starts but before he can finish his sentence, he starts to run full-speed. He yells something as he runs off but I can't decipher it.

"A gas station," Gerard says. "We found ourselves a home for the night."

We all take a page from Mikey's book and run after him, ignoring the burning in our legs and lungs. The ability to run is overwhelming. It's such a petty thing to be so excited about— being able to run— but it's honestly the best thing I've experienced since that cold night in November.

The appeal seems to be more of the 'running away from Bat City' persuasion. Running away from my problems; the oppression; the lies that I was fed from birth. With each step I take, the less those lies become, starting as a screaming and, as I approach the gas station, quieting to barely a whisper.

"I've scanned the place," Mikey starts, his hand gripping a corner of a sheet of graffitied plywood, covering a hole in the wall of the building. The whole of the front wall is covered in graffiti as well, the large windows blinded with sun-dried butcher paper. There's only one source of light out here: a small, flickering sign for the gas station company, Dead Pegasus. The whole vicinity has the lingering stench of gasoline and burnt rubber, as well as cheap perfume. "It doesn't seem like anyone's there. If they are, they are they the quietest motherfuckers I've ever seen."

"C'mon, let's go," Frank says, skidding to a stop behind me. "I'm tired, man. I need sleep."

"And I don't?" Gerard asks, slowing down next to his brother. "I escaped prison, too, today. Halsey and Kobra and Dr. D are probably even more tired, anyways."

"That's true," I say, prying the plywood open a bit to make a small crawl hole into the building.

Soon, all five of us are scattered across the room in various states of unconsciousness. I can hear the familiar sounds of Mikey's little snores across the room and I turn my head to see him laying on a wooden pallet, surrounded by two or three threadbare blankets. Dr. Death is on the floor, using a combination of his hair and jacket as a suitable pillow. Frank is curled up in a tight ball, his jumpsuit zipped up the all way, with a thin, red blanket wrapped around his body. Finally, Gerard is laying in front of me, next to the window. The cold seeps through the glass, giving me an excuse to curl up into his body, pressing my forehead to his chest.

"Ash—" Gerard starts quietly, but he clears his throat and starts again. "Halsey," he corrects himself. "This is absolutely crazy, what we're doing."

"Cuddling in an abandoned gas station in Zone Two?" I offer, smiling a bit.

"Well, yeah," he says and lets out a quiet, breathy laugh. "But also... I'm not in prison anymore. God, it's the hardest thing I've ever had to do. Apparently, almost everyone in there was a rebel, so that wasn't so bad. What made it horrible was that everyone knew what I convicted of. Everyone seemed to know that I was supposed to have raped someone the night I got arrested and, no matter how many times I tried to protest, no-one would listen. Frank was the only one who believed me. Everyone else called me a liar, said that I deserved to be in prison.

"I was attacked a few weeks ago because of it," he tells me, his grip on me tightening before he releases me and his hands go to his jeans, unzipping them and pulling them down enough for me to see the top of his thigh. A large, white scar sits there, extending up into the leg of his boxers, and poking out of the top, ending just a bit below his bottom rib. "I tried to defend myself but the little bitch had a knife or a key or some shit, 'cause he gave me this."

"Holy fuck," I mumble, running my fingertips across the raised skin.

"He said that he had to 'give me a taste of my own medicine'," he starts back and pulls his pants back up. "It hurt so bad, Hales. It was the worst pain I've ever been in my entire life."
"You got..." I start and trail off. "But... What about Frank? He's a better target than you are. He's smaller, he's—"

"More intimidating," Gerard cuts me off. "He's been in there for a while when I arrived, so he had a bit of respect. Nobody would bother to lay a finger on Frank Iero, unless they have a deathwish."

I cast my eyes down, unsure of what to say next. "That's..." I whisper, and swallow. "That's so horrible. Ger— Poison, why didn't you tell... Kobra and me immediately when this happened?"

"It was during your dry spell," he says, shrugging. About a month ago, Mikey and I had to stop visiting Gerard to update him on the plan. We were visiting about once a week, maybe more, and Dr. Death said that the officials may start getting suspicious.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper, sitting up all the way and leaning forward to hug him.

"Don't apologize. There's nothing you could've done," Gerard tells me, running his hand down my back. He gives me a small kiss on my mouth and hugs me tighter, bringing his mouth right up next to my ear. "If the guys weren't here, I would have you right now," he whispers. "God... I want you so bad."

"Poison," I start but I can't finish my sentence. Gerard quickly falls onto his back, pulling me down with him. His legs straighten once we hit the floor and he immediately starts kissing me, his hands running up and down the sides of my body. Finally, his hands find something to do, pulling off my vest and discarding it next to us, never once breaking the kiss.

My fingers fumble as they search his chest for the zip to his jacket and, reluctantly, I pull away so I can find it easier. Finally, I see it and pull it the rest of the way down, pushing it off of Gerard as he puts his mouth on my neck, nipping at the skin and leaving small red marks.

Gerard is definitely a different man than the one he was in November. That man was adorable: slouched forward, always hiding his height; slightly chubby, the last bits of baby fat clinging onto his bones for dear life; always covered in paint or charcoal of some kind, and always smelling like some sort of art supply, whether it be the sharp acidity of the acrylic paint or the sweet scent of chalk. His hair was always frumpy, uncombed and messy, like he had woken up and not even bothered with his hair. He was familiar and welcoming.
This man, however— the one that came out of the Battery City Penitentiary— isn't adorable in the slightest. This new man is, for lack of a better term, sexy. At least, this man is confident, not slouching, showing off his full height. He no longer has the much-loved fat on his thighs and stomach, replaced by muscles. He also doesn't smell like art supplies— the scent is replaced with the familiar smell of dryer sheets, mixed with the dusty thriftstore smell that lingers on every article of clothing bought there.

In the six months he was gone, he changed completely. In a sense, he went in as Gerard Way, and came out as Party Poison.

But, then again, the same thing happened to Mikey and me. Mikey had a total change as well: his dark brown hair was no longer at his shoulder, trapped to his temple by his glasses, replaced with short, dyed blond hair undeterred by the lack of eyeglasses. He has a bit of a darker tint to his skin, making it easier to see the freckles dusting his nose. A silver ring hangs from his freckled nose, every light shining off of it, making it impossible to forget that it's there. The addition of the black spider on the inside of his arm adds to the appearance, but that's far from the conclusion of how Mikey Way changed. This new Mikey— the Kobra Kid— seems very unburdened, almost carefree. His sense of humor has turned a bit crass, but he's 20— I'll give him a break.

And me. God, am I a different person now. Not only the physical changes, but I've noticed that, now, I have a sort-of... Unwelcoming personality. Brash, definitely, and explicit. Not very becoming for a woman of 22, but what-the-fuck-ever, right?

In the two seconds it takes for me to mentally denote all of our changes, Gerard has moved his mouth back to mine, dipping his tongue in, earning a squeak from me. His hand slowly travels up my thigh, stopping at the waistband of my jeans. He hills his thumb in one of the belt loops and starts to tug down, him seemingly unaware of his attempts to undress me.

Suddenly, the familiar cocking of a zap snaps through the air, accompanied by a new voice. "Who in the everloving fuck are you?" They ask. "And what the fuck are you doing in my hideout?"

Notes

There might be some smut??? Later in the story??? I DON'T KNOW YET???
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