Evening all :) Hope everybody is okay! Right then, here's the first chapter of the sequel to Burning Star. There will be the usual warnings in this one - noncon/rape/violence/slash/swearing - all the juicy stuff basically! Not quite as much Victim!Gerard as Burning Star though... he'll be kicking some ass in this one - once he wakes up, obviously ;)

I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who read Son of a Gun, especially if you reveiewed. I really appreciate all of you guys support. This story is the third in the series... the order goes: Son of a Gun, Burning Star and Purifying Flame. It's a good idea to read the other two stories before this one or you really won't know whats going on!

Disclaimer: I do not own My Chemical Romance, Green Day or anyone else you recognise! The Killjoys and St Jimmy are not mine. Dammit.

Thanks to Amy for betaing for me! Love ya!

Okay - enjoy and please review! I really want you guys to enjoy this as much as Burning Star so please leave reviews! I'll be aiming to update once a week :)

Purifying Flame

Chapter One.

There was always only darkness.

Far and wide, for as far as he could see, if he could see, there was only the black, and the cold, and the never ending nothing. He wanted to remember when there was more, wanted to remember who he was and who they were, the faces he couldn't see any more. Were they still calling to him? What name did they say? It hurt to think about it. He needed to see them again. They were part of him, they made him complete.

'Well, is it hard understanding I'm incomplete?'

Who was he? Why was he trapped? Why was he alone?

He was standing, he was sure of that, but not moving. He couldn't feel his body, couldn't reach oand touch. There was nothing to touch, or see, or hear. There was only silence. He couldn't hear his own breathing. Was he dead?

He wasn't dead, was he?

There had been someone near him, someone had been holding him, so close, so tightly. Someone had loved him. Who was that? He wanted to see that man's face, hold that man's hand, to know that he was no longer alone, but he wasn't there now. He'd left him forever, and there was no going back. No returning to the light.

There was only the dark.

Wait. What was that? The noise coming closer, getting louder. A sound. Something, at last.

Laughter. Soft, but getting clearer. A chuckle, a cold, cruel snickering that was eating up his very soul, causing the dread to increase. It was creeping up inside him, holding him in its clutches. He couldn't escape, he would never escape.

The evil man. The man who would not die.

The laughter was all around him now.

And suddenly, he's there. He can feel him, he's going to touch him, hurt him, possess him.

He wants to run, has to get away, but he has no body, he had no where to go.

'No. Please. Not again.'

'You're mine.'

That face. Right in front of him. In the blackness.

He's there. He's always there.

He screamed.

She was watching him. Her perfect prisoner. Comatose and helpless. Just the way she liked them. She could have sworn that there was a flicker on that face, a deepness in his eyes that just could not have been there. He was finished, nothing but her own private entertainment, ready to be disposed of when there was nothing left to learn. He would not wake up, because he couldn't. Everything that had made this man dangerous had been taken from him.

She glanced at the machine beside his head, watching the red light flicker, as it ripped the last pieces of information she required from his brain. Soon, she could end it. Soon, he would no longer be needed. And then, her Michael would be hers completely.

The Coordinator smiled to herself. Her boy would wake soon and it would not do for her not be beside him when he did so. Michael loved his schedule, loved everything to be just right. And he loved her.

She would bring him to this room, and order him to destroy his old life, and she would stand by and watch him give in to her utterly.

And Gerard Way would die.

She chuckled.

"Sleep well, rebel," she whispered.

With a toss of her hair, she turned her back on him, lying prone and forgotten on the plain white table, and walked toward the door.

She didn't hear the sounds. She couldn't. She needed to listen with more than just her ears, she needed to listen with the soul that no longer existed.

Then she could have noticed him dreaming.

And maybe even had heard his screams.

XXX

Frank was curled up, staring out of the window, a cigarette hanging from his lips. He gazed, watching the rain falling, and remembering. It was one of those strange nights, when the acid rain came, relentless and deadly. Anyone caught out in the storm tonight would not survive. The acid rainfall was the worst, just another reminder of how much they, everyone, had fucked the world up. They were in a rebel base, a small factory on the borders of Zones two and three. One of the few places "Exterminator Michael" had not yet ambused. Frank sat by himself, away from the rest of his friends, who were all grouped around Dr Death Defying, and allowed his mind to take him back. Back to before the rain came, and the bombs, and Better Living. Back to when Gerard and Mikey had still been there...

He saw them all, the way they had been, happy, and satisfied. Unaware of what was about to happen. He was sitting, facing Gerard, who was flicking through a comic book, pausing to share a page with Mikey, who was sat beside his brother. Ray was standing, hovering by the open doorway, can of Lager in his hand, taking swigs and laughing at whoever was standing just beyond the door. Probably Bob.

Frank remembered feeling like nothing could touch them. They were on top of the world and would be together forever. There was nothing particularly special about that moment, just one that stuck in his memory. Just sitting backstage before a Black Parade show, laughing, talking, taking the piss out of each other. Happy and content.

He smiled, recalling how he could have sworn he had seen Gerard looking at him out of the corner of his eye, but when he had turned to look directly at his lead singer, the dark haired man had quickly looked away...

"Frankie?"

Frank looked up quickly, abruptly brought out of his musings, to see Ray eyeing him cautiously. He gave Ray a timid smile, and then lowered his head.

"You okay, man?" Ray asked, softly.

Frank could only nod. After all, they both knew any positive answer he gave would be a lie. Because, he wasn't okay, and neither was Ray. They missed Gerard and Mikey more than either of them could stand. They were both grateful that they had each other, Ray had believed himself to be completely alone only three weeks previously, before Frank came crashing back into his life, but that didn't stop the pain. They gave each other strength and the will to go on, but it wasn't enough. Their lovers were gone. They had been a team, a family and they knew that even if they could recover Mikey, there was no bringing Gerard back. The four of them would never be together again.

And that realisation hurt like hell.

Ray grasped Frank's shoulder and gave him a squeeze. "You better join in with this, buddy." Ray muttered. "We're figuring ways of getting into the city-"

Frank scoffed, and he ignored the agitation that flashed across his friend's face. "Ray, we've talked about this for three fucking weeks. Getting into the city ain't the problem. Getting out again might be more of an issue. You don't just walk in and out of Better Living..."

"Thanks for being so fucking helpful, Frank. Anything else you wanna offer? I'm sure you got plenty more doom and gloom to share, y'know?"

Frank glared over at Billie Joe Armstrong, who was staring angrily back, hands planted firmly on his hips.

Billie hadn't finished. "We've sat tight for three fucking weeks, Iero! How much longer do you want to sit and gaze out of the window for?" He lowered his voice. "If it were both Way brothers we were planning to save, maybe it would be different-"

Frank jumped to his feet. "What the fuck did you just say, Armstrong?"

Ray let out a weary sigh. Great. Time for yet another argument...

Frank and Billie had been arguing constantly for the last three weeks, once almost coming to blows. Frank had not been himself since they had reunited. He was clearly devastated about Gerard, and the fact that nothing he could do would ever bring Gerard back to him. Ray's heart ached for Frank. He could only guess at how difficult it must be, all this talk of saving Mikey, who Ray knew Frank adored, but it only would hit home for Frank even more that there was no helping Gerard, no chance to have his love back. Ray didn't know if Mikey was still in there to be saved, but he had a chance. While there was life, there was hope.

There was no such hope for Frank.

And now, Ray was between a furious Frank and exasperated Billie Joe once again. Billie had run out of patience with Frank. Ray couldn't blame him. Frank wasn't the only one to have lost their lover, after all. It was Billie that tended to get through to Frank, reminding him that Tre was gone too. He had convinced the broken man that they all had to keep on fighting, fighting to bring down the company that had cost them Gerard, Tre, Bert and so many others.

And those words were what Frank seemed to be remembering right now. Billie too. The former front man took a deep breath, and then took a step toward Frank.

"I know it hurts," he whispered. "Bad. It feels like your whole fucking heart is dying inside your chest and every fucking day it's like a huge black hole is trying to swallow you up. I know that, Frank. But we need you. Mikey needs you. Are you with us on this?"

Frank didn't speak, but just glanced down at the ground for a few seconds. Finally, he stood up and walked over to the others, taking his place beside Ray. They nodded at him appreciatively, and then finally the Doc spoke up.

"You said you had a idea, Billie? Lets hear it."

Billie nodded. "Okay, Doc, you know I've got people on the inside, right?"

The Doc inclined his head in agreement, watching intently.

Billie continued. "All the information we've been gathering lately has come from them and they've really come through for us. They have a way of getting in and out of the City, through a small school in the rear of the complex. We can get in, get Mikey, get out. No bloodshed, no fuss, no aggro. It's perfect and I know we can do this!" He looked around excitedly, his expectant expression fading slightly when he saw uncertainty on his fellow rebel's faces. He had apparently expected them to like the sound of his idea. He turned his full attention on Mike, and pouted.

"Well, Mike? What do you think?"

Mike frowned. "I dunno, BJ. I know you trust these people, but this is a fucking dangerous mission, and you're asking our friends to put their lives on the line..." He paused, scratching at the back of his head. "Not all of your ideas have come off before, buddy. We've gotta be sure about this."

Billie rounded on him. "You think I'd fucking suggest this if I wasn't one hundred percent certain these guys are the real deal? We've been working on this for three fucking weeks, y'know! These guys provided me with info we'd have never had gotten to if it weren't for them! You have no fucking idea how important some of that has been! They've gone out on a limb to get food and drink out to us, to rebel families, y'know? These are good people, Mike. I know this can work." He glanced down. "I thought you at least would believe in me."

Mike shook his head. "Come on man, you know I'd follow you to hell and back. Fuck, I have done enough times before! But there's a lot riding on this..." He glanced over at the Killjoys, swallowing hard. "You know I'd support you to the end, Bill. I just wanna know that you have no doubts whatsoever before we get past the point of no return."

Billie nodded furiously. "I know we can pull this off. Get in there, grab Mikey, get out. Very little fuss, no blood spilt. We can do it."

Mike waved a hand in surrender. "Then I believe you, Billie. Of course I'm with you."

Doctor Death had listened to the exchanges silently. Finally, he spoke up. "It seems to be the only option to me."

Ray nodded. "Agreed. It's definitely a better plan then going in all guns blazing-"

"I don't like it," Frank spoke up, staring straight ahead. "I don't trust anybody, especially some fucker I've never met before, working for the scum company. I don't really want to put my life in their hands, y'know?"

Billie glowered over at the unimpressed Killjoy.

"Do you have a better idea?"

"I do actually."

"Oh? Lets fucking hear it then!"

"We could walk right in there and blow the bastards away."

An uncomfortable silence fell on the room at Frank's suggestion.

Finally, Ray gave him a wary look. "We can't mount a full scale attack on them, Frank. We don't have the man power and even if we did, we'd be so outnumbered it would be-"

"Suicide," Frank finished for him. "I know that, Ray. But to trust some stranger to get us right into the heart of the fucking citadel, someone we've never even spoken to. I don't like it."

Billie took a step forward then. He cleared his throat, and then addressed Frank:

"What would Gerard have done?"

Frank bristled at the mention of the name, but then calmed himself, and actually thought about Billie's words.

Finally, he replied, so softly: "He'd have gone with it. He'd have saved Mikey."

Billie nodded. "Right, that's what I fucking think too. So, why don't we do this for him? Make him fucking proud?" He swallowed hard. "Make them all proud."

Frank fought back his own tears that threatened to spill, and then he nodded his head aggressively. He reached out and grasped Ray's hand, who gave his a strong squeeze in return.

Frank's eyes blazed as he stared, unflinchingly, at Billie Joe.

"Lets fucking do this."

XXX

Grace was sat by herself, no other kid anywhere near her. It was lunchtime and she was perched near the school facility, watching some of the other children playing and screaming. And laughing. She envied them for that. This was how it had been for her, since the day she had arrived at this place, three long weeks ago. Even the girl, Bandit, who had been so kind to her to begin with had drifted away, finding Grace's constant silence and unpleasantness impossible to deal with. Grace had liked that, being left alone. Just her and her thoughts. If only it had stayed like that.

A week into her stay, things had changed. The bullying had begun. One kid in particular, a boy, Jonas, who she guessed was around fourteen years old, old enough to know better, had decided she was an easy target. It had been sniggering while she was in earshot to begin with, laughing at her hair and her clothes, then mocking her efforts in the classroom, or lack of effort. Learning was not something she could be bothered with – she didn't intend to be there long - so their immature goading of her was nothing she couldn't handle. But then, Jonas and his cronies had grown bolder, especially as their teacher seemed too weak to prevent their horrible behaviour, and the emotional abuse had soon turned physical. They tripped her up when she walked past, pulled her hair, shoved her to the ground. Sometimes, she caught Bandit looking over, and felt that the girl was building up the courage to intervene. Grace kinda hoped that she didn't. She was the only person there the Killjoy respected. She didn't want to see her hurt.

Grace had not responded to the bullying. She'd shaken her fro-ed head and had turned away each time, fighting the urge to retaliate. Sometimes, she imagined them there, beside her, staring down her bullies, fighting alongside her and giving her strength. She could see their smiles, hear their voices. Her Killjoys. Her heroes.

"C'mon Gracie, show 'em what you've got!"

She laughed. Party was still there for her. They were all still there.

But when she looked up, of course, they weren't there. They'd never be there for her again. She knew she was being weak and childish. She could almost hear Party's scolding words in her ear:

"Come on, kiddo. This isn't you. Get your head up and show these City bastards what being a Killjoy is all about..."

She closed her eyes tightly, no longer able to hold back the tears. She'd lost him. She's lost all of them. And there was no bringing them back, no one coming to rescue her. Not this time. She would do her heroes proud, and get through this.

For them, she would give it her best shot.

"Hey, freak! I'm talking to you, Zone Runner!"

Grace let out a deep sigh. Not again. She rubbed quickly at her red eyes with the back of her hand, and then looked up in the direction of her approaching tormentors. She had expected this. It happened everyday after all.

"I'm talking to you, freak!" The boy hissed to her. "What's wrong? Has the poor little Zone rat been crying?"

Grace balled her small hands into fists and glared furiously at the kid who had decided his personal purpose in that school was to make her life a complete misery.

"Get away from me," she snapped, cringing at how pathetic she sounded. "Just leave me alone."

Jonas giggled gleefully, while his friends stood behind him, whispering and snickering. He was a big boy for his ages, with messy raven coloured hair, and a very cruel smirk plastered permantently on his lips. He enjoyed lording it over all of the smaller children, and had apparently taken a real dislike to Grace. He crossed his arms as he regarded her. "You're always on your own, Rat, or haven't you noticed? Wondered why no one wants to be friends with you? It's because no one wants to be near some stinking little zone scum like you."

Grace got to her feet and took a threatening step forward. "I said: leave me alone, you clone, or I'll kill you!"

That made them laugh louder.

"You'll kill me?" He taunted. "I'm so scared." He pushed his hair back from his face. "From what I've heard, you're the only one of your little Zone buddies still alive. Why don't you go join them? Do everyone a favour!"

Grace couldn't help herself, and let out a low sob. She could still feel them beside her. Party Poison, Fun Ghoul, Kobra Kid and Jet Star. Her best friends, her family, always close by, always watching over her.

And she needed them.

They'd left her alone. Why hadn't they taken her with them?

"Say something, Rat;" Jonas hissed, getting in her face. "Tell me all about Party Poison. You should hear what my Dadda says about him..."

She felt the anger coursing through her. "Don't talk about Party Poison."

He laughed. "Why not? He was nothing but a wimp. He died begging the company to-"

She'd heard enough. This kid was asking for it. She struck, slapping him hard across the face. He recoiled, taken by surprise. He glanced over his shoulder, seeing his friends staring at him, unsure. Then, he recovered.

He grabbed for Grace, gripping her by the hair and dragging her toward him. Then, he punched her in the face. She gasped, struggling in his grip. He grinned at her, and prepared to hit her again, but he never got the opportunity.

A small bundle of fury suddenly threw itself onto Jonas, forcing him to release Grace. Jonas gasped in shock, totally bewildered by the storm that had just descended on him. Bandit was hitting, scratching and slapping at the bully, pushing him further away from Grace.

"I hate you!" She was yelling. "Just leave her alone!"

Finally, the boy got the upper hand and shoved out at Bandit, sending her sprawling to the ground. He saw his chums were now laughing at him, and he seethed, surging forward, this time towards Bandit. She leapt to her feet again, and simply stared at him. The look in her eyes brought him to an abrupt halt. Grace saw the fire there and she shivered. She recognised it, that look and she watched Bandit intently. There was something so familiar about the girl. Something that Grace simply couldn't ignore.

Jonas had apparently had enough. He glowered at Bandit and Grace, and then turned back to his group, who were still doing their best not to show their obvious amusement at their leader being attached by a tiny, incensed, eight year old.

"Lets go, gang;" Jonas bristled, actually clicking his fingers. "These are just stupid little kids. They aren't worth our time!" And with that, he whirled round and took off, his yes-men following him hurriedly, not looking back at Bandit and Grace.

When she was sure they were gone, Bandit finally turned to look at Grace, a gentle smile on her face.

"Are you okay?" She asked quietly, helping Grace up.

"Yeah," Grace said. "I'm fine."

Bandit nodded. "You should ignore them, you know." She whispered. "They're just dumb asses."

Grace smiled. "I didn't like them talking about my friends," she muttered, then looked down.

"Your friends are dead?" Bandit asked simply.

Grace looked up, surprised, and then let out a weary sigh. "Two of them were killed by BL/I. The other is as good as and the last one? I really don't know." She swallowed hard. "I think so." She frowned as one solitary tear escaped and ran down her face. She wiped it away angrily. "They were all I had."

Bandit glanced away. "I know how you feel. My parents are dead too."

"I'm sorry," Grace told the other girl, and found she genuinely was. "How did they die?"

Bandit shrugged, fighting back tears of her own. "It was a long time ago, I don't remember them that well. Only flashes. They told me they were murdered by Zone runners years ago. I've been here for years, all by myself."

Grace looked across at Bandit, who now had her back to her. Very carefully, she reached out and took the dark haired girl's hand. Bandit didn't respond immediately but then, squeezed her hand in response.

They two girls then faced each other, smiled, and then hugged, holding each other tightly. When they pulled away again, they remained holding hands, neither wanting to lose the closeness they felt to the other.

After a little giggle, Bandit spoke up.

"I'm so hungry! Lets go get something to eat?"

Grace nodded, and together, they raced off.

XXX

Michael yawned, and stretched. He blinked a couple of times, and then opened his eyes. He looked around at the splendour around him, exactly what would be expected inside the Coordinator's private quarters. Everything was white, of course. The walls, the furniture, the ceiling. Eveything about the city was white. Any other colour would show originality, which was strictly forbidden.

He climbed out of bed, shivering due to his nakedness, and hurriedly pulled on his dressing gown. Michael frowned. The air conditioning was too cold in there, as usual. Michael crossed the room, stopping in front of the large mirror, staring at his reflection. He swallowed painfully, suddenly thinking about the dream he'd had that night. It had been that man again, the man with the shocking red hair, the man he knew so well but didn't recognise. He couldn't understand it. It was the same dream every night. The red haired man, calling to him, pleading for help and using a name Michael didn't know. He did not know this man. He couldn't help him. Couldn't get to him.

The door opened behind him, and he looked round quickly. The Coordinator had entered the room as silently as ever, and was smiling at him sweetly. She walked over to him, and kissed the back of his neck possessively.

"Good morning." She said, breathlessly. "That was a wonderful night last night, Michael." She stroked his hair. "Did you enjoy it too? Tell me you did?"

"Yes, I did," he said, emotionless. "I always do."

"You're mine," she hissed, in his ear, and then turned him round to face her. Her eyes flashed when she saw the nasty looking scratch on his chest, where she'd left her mark. She traced her finger down the red line gently. "All mine."

She kissed him then, forcing her tongue down his throat. He returned the kiss, but with no passion, and kept his eyes open, staring toward the open door. Finally, she released him, and gave him a knowing smile.

"The Saint wants to see both of us, Michael, in the holding cells. Get yourself ready and then meet me outside. Be quick, Saint seemed to be excited about something."

She began to walk away from him then, but Michael, steeling his nerve, called out after her:

"May I ask you something, Ma'am?"

She paused, looking back at him. "Anything, my love."

"Do you ever have dreams?"

The smile faded from her face. "Dreams are banned in the City, Michael, as you well know."

He bit his lip. "Yes, madam, but I have a recurring dream. Every single night. There's a red haired man and-" He broke off, seeing her expression. She looked furious, as if she wanted to attack him. He had never felt so uncomfortable in her presence. "I don't know what it means-"

"It means nothing!"

"But I don't know who-"

"Forget your dreams, Michael."

He blinked. "Why?"

She pursed her lips together. She did not appreciate him questioning her. "They are not real. They are not important. They are lies." She tilted her head slightly, contemplating him. "The drugs we take should allow us clear, worry free nights. I will increase your dosage." She reached out and touched his cheek. "That should deal with the problem."

He gazed at her, opened his mouth, as if he wanted to question further, but then changed his mind.

"Yes ma'am."

The Coordinator smiled. "That's my boy." She placed her hand on his cheek. "Now, get dressed and get ready. I will see you outside in ten minutes."

And with that, she turned on her heel and walked away from him, slamming the door loudly behind her, making him cringe.

He gazed after her for a moment, trying to figure out why she was so furious with him and drawing a blank.

Why did dreams matter so much anyway?

Michael turned back to the mirror, and sighed. He looked so tired, so pale, so weak.

He was an Exterminator. He was trained to be the best. He was trained to obey.

He knew all dreams were banned. No one in the city suffered with them, so why did he?

As he stared on, and his reflection gazed back, he had the same question burning inside of him.

'Who are you?'

The weirdest thing was, he felt that the answer was in his dreams.

The answer was the red haired man.

And one thing Michael knew, with absolute clarity, was that he wanted to see the man again.

He had to keep on dreaming. Even if it meant disobeying her.

He would not take the drugs. The idea of that scared him, but he had to know what the dreams meant.

And why the red haired man called him that name. The name he finally remembered. The name that she forbade him to even think about, let alone use. Yet something deep inside him told him it was his name, the name he called him, with so much love.

'Mikey Way.'

TBC