A/N: Hah... In case anyone is wondering, YES, the action/BLI ass-kicking-ness will start up again next chapter. Also, about all the angst and whatever I've been/will be continuing to put on Gerard (for a while, not too long...it switches off to another character then ;D). If any of you really want to know the main reason for all of it, aside from a lot of it actually being symptoms of having gone through a traumatic experience (that I researched so everything is as real as possible), it's because I've been going through a really stressful and hard time, and am/was struggling with a lot of the depression and whatnot I wrote Gerard (and some of the others) going through. I tend to write my real-life issues into my stories when I get really stressed, as a sort of therapy for myself to get through it. And not only does he eventually get through it, but I'm working on the same. :)

And if you, by any chance, are going through anything similar or hard or whatever, the MCRmy is here for you. (Look up MCRmyHelpline on Twitter, they have a link to their FB page and an email address on there, too.) We're not 'just another fandom', we're not a cult, we're not suicide-promoters, and we sure as hell aren't here just for the popularity of the band. We're a family, and families not only stick together for as long as they're around, but they help each other. Through whatever's wrong, through whatever problem, through whatever situation you're in. We love you and we want to help. But the first thing you have to do is realize you need to ask for it.

"This band is for fucking life. It's like a life sentence, and a life sentence isn't always a bad fucking thing, because we all get to be in this fucking cell together." And I really hope all of you realize that I, that we, that MCR, that the MCRmy, want to make sure none of you get out of your life sentence early.

Chapter Seventeen

You Can Find Out First Hand What It's Like To Be Me

It was very early in the morning still when Gerard awoke, groggily attempting to reach up and rub his eyes, frowning when he couldn't. It took him a moment to realize the reason was Frank, who was lying beside him on the couch, curled up so close he was half on top of him, his arms tightly wrapped around him, a slightly troubled expression on his face.

The twenty-four-year-old sighed softly, raising his head as much as he could to look around, noticing most of the Killjoys were still sleeping, sprawled on the floor or other pieces of furniture. In the background he could vaguely hear talking, but didn't know who it was or what they were saying, their words mumbled and incoherent.

He shifted a bit, trying not to wake his love, quickly glancing up again as he almost literally felt someone staring at him, noticing Bert regarding them without emotion as he walked past and into another room.

Gerard frowned, remembering at once what had happened the night before. He'd only had three glasses or so—that wasn't wrong, was it? He didn't feel sick or anything, and had barely gotten woozy the night before. He was also sure he'd willingly chosen to sleep when he had, which wouldn't have been the case if he'd gotten incredibly drunk.

Or...would it? He had no experience with alcohol, and had never planned to, honestly. It was a shitty way to ignore the problems in life, and the effects only lasted a little while. Sure it'd felt nice because it'd relieved some of his stress—or else, he thought it had—but he was almost completely sure he shouldn't allow himself to do it again. Not when he was the one supposed to be coming up with what they were to do.

And anyway, it was obvious Frank wasn't still upset about before, which gave him no particular reason to want to again.

He moved once more, wincing as Frank mumbled, "Don't…"

For a moment, he thought the younger had woken up, but then he looked at him, noticing tears silently streaming from his still-closed eyes, his teeth clenched like he was in pain.

"Frankie," Gerard managed to get his arms free, shaking him gently, and the boy cringed at his touch, giving a soft cry. "Wake up!"

Frank took a sharp breath and winced, his eyes blinking open in confusion and fear. "Gee—"

"It's okay. It was just a dream."

Burying his face in the crook of his love's neck, Frank stifled a whimper and muttered, "N-no. No, it wasn't."

It hardly took a second to register what that meant, and Gerard hugged him tighter. "It's over." he said, and then hesitated before speaking again. He wanted to assure the younger Killjoy that the man would never touch him again, that Gerard wouldn't let him, but the words caught in his throat, a wave of self-consciousness washing over him. God, what would the others think if they heard—if they knew what the agent had done to them?

No, he couldn't let them know—could never let them know. They'd realize how weak he'd been—that it'd been his fault Frank had gone through it, too. They'd never look up to him again!

Is that such a bad thing?

Frank's trembling still hadn't faded, and he cursed silently. Say it! Comfort him!

But he simply couldn't, remaining silent and gently rubbing his boyfriend's back to calm him, thankful that he did stop shivering after another minute or two, though the younger did not move or relax his grip even then. It was a relief to have a few moments he felt safe, and he didn't want it to end so soon. "…Love you."

Gerard closed his eyes, feeling he'd been of no help. Why did he have to be so fucking useless? "I love you, too. More than anything."

At last, his breathing more calm, Frank released him, pulling back to look at him and then sitting up, his eyes closed.

Already missing the embrace, Gerard watched him for a moment before reaching out to place a hand on his side, jerking it back as, the moment he touched him, Frank gasped and recoiled as if the older had struck out in his direction, jumping off the couch and to his feet in the same instant.

Hurriedly facing him again and seeming just as surprised as Gerard, his eyes wide in both regret and fear, Frank opened his mouth to say something, though nothing but a sigh came out after a moment, and he averted his gaze.

"Frankie…" Gerard began, his brow furrowed in concern, but the younger turned before he could continue, walking past the Killjoys and to the bathroom in the hall, quietly shutting the door.

Gerard frowned and sat up, shaking his head after a moment and running a hand through his hair to get it out of his eyes, glancing at the small amount of dye that smudged on his hands, looking almost like he'd been handling charcoal.

"Still looks nice."

He knew it was Bert before he even looked up, frowning at the older boy as he came out of wherever he'd been before, leaning against the wall beside the couch, grinning at him.

"Thanks," he murmured slowly, uneasily, averting his gaze as Bert leisurely looked him over, not seeming to notice how uncomfortable it made the Killjoy or otherwise completely enjoying it.

"It looked cute red, too."

Gerard shrugged, stiffening as he stepped closer and frowned. "Why're you so scared of me?"

"I'm not scared of you!" Gerard hissed, fed up. "I have a fucking boyfriend—you know that, right?"

Bert tensed up like he was offended. "You think I was trying to get with you?" He chuckled softly as Gerard blushed furiously. "Lose that funny thing you do with your lip when you talk and maybe."

Gerard flinched and reached up to cover his mouth, startled at the sudden insult. He'd never cared much about it before—hadn't even noticed it, really—and yet at the mention of it, he recalled having frequently been made fun of for it back when he'd lived in the city, before the fires, even.

"It's not cute, it's weird." Bert continued, aware he'd found something against him. He hated being called out on things, and the fact that he got angrily defensive whenever that happened may have been the reason almost no one, even his own brother, cared to actually talk to him. "Don't get me wrong," he stepped closer, reaching out with a finger to stroke Gerard's cheek and smirking as he instantaneously jerked back. "You're fucking adorable." He leaned towards him a bit. "But you're gonna have to fix a few things for me to really want you. I'm a little too good for you."

He rolled his eyes and turned around, heading towards the door, and a few moments after he'd closed it fairly loudly, Ashton poked his head out from behind the wall of the kitchen, frowning. "Was that Bert?"

Gerard slowly nodded, and Ashton eyed him. "You okay?"

"Yeah." the Killjoy mumbled, and the man shrugged, going back into the kitchen.

Too good for him? Was Frank too good for him, too? And "fix a few things"—what the hell else was wrong with him?

"Gee,"

He blinked and turned to Frank as he called him, not even having the urge to smile when he saw his love was doing so, unlike any other time. The twenty-year-old had a smile that was utterly infectious, and more than that, he no longer looked afraid, something that should've made him happier immediately.

But the smile disappeared as he saw that Gerard was distressed, and he sat back next to him, a hand finding his free one. "Are you okay?"

The older Killjoy nodded, and Frank reached up to gently take his hand off of his mouth, frowning as his effort was vaguely struggled against before Gerard willingly dropped it to his lap, biting his tongue.

"…Are you sure?" Frank asked uncertainly, cocking an eyebrow and tilting his head slightly.

"Mm-hm," Gerard forced a diffident smile. "I'm fine."

Whatever confidence he'd gained for a moment vanished as Frank's gaze went to his lips. Oh shit—

He began to move away until Frank grabbed his wrist and pulled him back to kiss him. The older's eyes fluttered closed, but he felt nothing, even as Frank gently squeezed his waist, unable to even bring himself to return it with enthusiasm. It wasn't that he didn't like it, it was just...well, he didn't quite know what it was. It was like he'd forgotten how loving him was supposed to feel.

"Whoa," Wire murmured jokingly from the floor, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

Gerard insecurely turned away, and Frank kissed his cheek. "Are you sure?"

"Yes!" he exclaimed suddenly, standing and walking past the others to the bathroom, relieved he could be alone. He stared at the mirror for a long few minutes, mouthing sentences and aiming to stop the left side of his bottom lip from curving in as he did so. It was impossible—he hadn't any control over it. It was just part of him.

And that was all right, wasn't it?

He looked his reflection up and down, feeling anger and confusion building up inside of him.

You're fine. You're not anything anyone says except you. You can't change that—you're fine!

He turned and gripped the side of the sink with one hand, pushing back his hair with the other. The words meant shit to him. He was just numb—numb from anything but fear and anger and absolutely nothing could make the feeling come back, not even kissing the one person he loved more than anything.

He clenched his teeth, furious, glaring back at the mirror in utter hatred, resisting the urge to smash the entire thing so he wouldn't have to face himself anymore.

Why'd you let it happen, huh? he demanded, thinking to how Frank had flinched away from him. That was his Goddamn fault. Frank was suffering because of Gerard's own weakness, his inability to have saved him.

Why did you let him hurt Frank? Hurt everyone? You pathetic son of a bitch! You're useless—

'—insignificant, incompetent—absolutely nothing.'

Gerard groaned and shook his head, his vision blurring, feeling a sharp, familiar, stabbing pain go up his arm.

'Just like your friends, your brother, your allies, and your parents—and you'll never be anything more!'

The pain worsened until he suddenly couldn't stand, collapsing to the tile and curling into a ball, unreservedly terrified because all he was aware of was being back in the room, helpless and agonized, with Korse spitting insults at him.

'I should kill you—'

Gerard let out a shriek, writhing. "Frankie…"

'The world will be so much better off when you're dead.'

"Gerard!" he heard vaguely, believing it once again to be Frank calling out for help and him being powerless to do anything.

I'm sorry…I'm trying!

Then he flinched and cried out as somebody grabbed him, holding him very close and speaking words he couldn't comprehend as more than distant murmurs for several moments.

"…here, Gee. I'm here. It's—"

"It hurts—" Gerard whimpered, squirming like that would get him away from the pain, wanting nothing more than for it all to end. "P-please!"

"You're safe! Nothing is hurting you! I promise—you're safe!"

He didn't notice the agony leave him, nor did he feel a warm hand gently caressing his cheek to calm him. All he knew was that he wasn't being hurt—Korse wasn't there. He was safe, and more importantly, Frank was safe.

"You're safe, baby," Frank repeated, sounding strangely distant, like he talking from the other end of a tunnel. "I'm right here, okay? It's okay…"

The voice dropped out for a brief moment, faded back in, and then the red head sagged in Frank's arms as reality died out completely into a silent, almost comforting oblivion.

"But he's gonna be okay, right?"

Dr. D sighed; Mikey could not for the life of him seem to listen to what the man had explained happened, assuring him Gerard would be fine several times already. "Yes, Kobra. He's gonna be fine."

Mikey heaved a long breath of relief, glancing over at his brother on the other side of the room, who was still deathly pale, yet had thankfully not given any other sign of discomfort. In fact, as he sat on the couch, a glass of water at his lips despite not drinking any, his gaze on the wall behind everyone else, Mikey realized he didn't remember what had happened not twenty minutes ago. Dr. D had said something about that, though he'd barely been paying attention, and yet, he'd thought he would've recalled something upon awakening. But he'd said nothing of it, in a sort of daze but otherwise all right, frowning whenever any of them glanced his way like he hadn't any idea why they were acting so concerned. No one had brought it up directly, and Dr. D had nodded at them in a silent conformation once they'd realized that it was something they were going to have to pretend never happened, for the Killjoy's sake.

Personally, Mikey had thought flashbacks only happened when sleeping, as nightmares, and that the full-blown, wide-awake ones were just from the movies. They were a symptom of traumatic experience, usually, and while he knew Gerard had been treated terribly during their capture, he'd believed he was getting better, not still suffering.

"I didn't think he'd been through anything traumatizing enough to cause that," DJ had murmured softly after they'd laid Gerard on the couch, discomfited just from the horrified scream the Killjoy had given that they'd all heard. She hadn't noticed the glance she'd gotten from the twenty-year-old across the room, who'd then shaken his head and not raised his gaze again, holding Gerard's hand and yet, even after he'd woken up, never getting too close in a fear of anything else being triggered. He hated what his love had been forced through—whatever had happened before what Korse had done along with that, and the fact Missile Kid had fucking died in his arms—it was no wonder he was acting so frightened and confused and angry.

"What happened?" Gerard finally murmured softly after his brother cast what must have been the hundredth worried glance at him, looking at his boyfriend and squeezing his hand, sensing something was wrong and yet not quite able to put his finger on it.

Frank hesitated before meeting his eyes, and then bit his lip. "Nothing." he replied, giving a reassuring squeeze back and forcing a smile. "Don't worry about it."

Gerard frowned, looking like he was going to do just that anyways, and Frank gave a long sigh, watching him put the glass to his lips once more and then facing the others, noticing that none of them looked at them again.

Nothing at all.

"So," Ashton began, unlocking the door to the room he held his instruments in, out of sight from anyone but him. "Any of you guys ever play before?"

Despite everyone except Bullet, Elise, Bell, and Bert having been interested in following him once Candy had questioned him about his 'collection', none of them could answer, in awe as Ashton clicked a light on.

Inside were eight or so instruments leaned against either the wall or on makeshift stands; the bass Bert had given him along with an amp, four guitars with two amps, a very shitty looking drum set (that seemed to be missing something even with their poor experience with them) a keyboard, and a broken violin.

"Where'd you get these?" Note gasped, intrigued.

Ashton chuckled softly. "Over the couple years I've been here…I don't know really. Bert's brought me most of them. His dad used to own a music shop, and he's had 'em for a while. Pretty sure he doesn't play, though." He shrugged. "Neither do I, really, I mean…I've had those drums longer than the rest, but it's hard to practice much more than tapping."

"Didn't you say the room was soundproof?" Candy asked quietly, and Ashton nodded. "As much as it can be, and I don't think anyone would hear, but…when I could be jailed for it, it's damn hard no matter what."

Ray leaned against the wall and then bent forward to gently tug on one of the guitar's strings, frowning as he could somehow recall the notes it was supposed to make, looking at Ashton. "It's already tuned."

Ashton seemed impressed. "Bert did the best he could from memory. How'd you know?"

Ray shrugged slightly. "I might've played a little…back before it was banned, in Battery."

Gerard gave Frank a small smile. He remembered very clearly that his love had been interested in the guitar as well, beaming at the praise Gerard would give whenever he had played for him.

Grinning a bit, like the memory had been mutual, Frank gently took his hand as he at once missed that. Not having to worry about being killed or shot at or captured for information…he almost wished it could be that simple again. He did wish it could be—maybe nothing would have happened to them that way.

He then stepped towards the electric guitar closest to him, almost without knowing, and cautiously murmured, "Can I…?"

Ashton hesitantly gave him a nod. "Just…be careful."

Frank gently lifted the instrument off the rest and kneeled, placing it on his lap and reaching his arms around it. He took the cord to the amp and glanced around for an outlit, bending back as much as he could manage once he'd noticed it on the wall behind him to plug it in, carefully attatching the other to the end of the guitar, and then assured the volume was turned to an almost non-existent level before he finally played a note, closing his eyes as he shivered. God he had missed that sound.

He struggled to remember a chord, or some of a song, and then he made eye contact with Gerard, lips pursed in a bit of thought before he grinned and started clumsily strumming it, watching Gerard remain uncertain for a moment before he gave a half-smile.

"I know that song!" Cat giggled. "What was that band...ACDC?" She smiled a bit at the memory of how her father had been insistent on catching her up on all the music from before she had been born whenever he could, lecturing her on the history of each and every band he could.

And I got annoyed at him.

Her smile disappeared. Though she'd had a fairly good relationship with her father, there had been many times it was less than so. They had disagreed a lot, and it had gotten worse a few years ago, when she'd started refusing to take her medication, prompting her escape.

She wouldn't have been irritated at his almost constant monologues now...in fact, she missed them. Missed them more than she would ever be able to tell him.

Candy must've seen something in her expression change, because she reached out and gently took her hand, offering a comforting arm that Cat gratefully allowed her to place around her, focusing back on the present.

Killjoys who remained caught up in the past and regrets were killed, and unfortunately, they would all have to come to realize that. They couldn't solely think about how their families and former lives were gone forever; they had to assure it happened to no one else, that no other childhood or life was ripped away by the company. And they would, too; they would find someway to help. She was absolutely sure of it.

Frank continued right on with his playing, staring at Gerard, his smile increasing, and then the twenty-four-year-old actually laughed. It startled Frank so much he nearly stopped—he hadn't heard that laugh in too long. "I'm on the Highway to Hell," he sang, hoarsely and yet in tune, and Gerard chuckled again. It had been the first song Frank had learned on guitar, and he'd honestly never been more proud of any other accomplishment once he had mastered it.

The chords got closer together and more in rhythm as Frank recalled them better, and by now all of them were smiling, the pure joy of hearing someone play music, and play right in front of them…it was almost overwhelming.

Mikey shifted like he wanted to say something and then didn't, biting his lip. He knew the song, and had learned the song on the only instrument he'd ever known how to play, the bass. And he was under a wave of excitement, desperately wanting to play as well, but knew he couldn't. He wouldn't remember, or else he'd forget if he tried. He didn't like people looking at him, watching, waiting for him to make a mistake. He'd never even played for Gerard before due to this very fear he'd always had, one that always came up, even when music wasn't involved and mere interaction with other people was.

His brother apparently noticed him staring anxiously at the bass, and he gestured at it.

Mikey immediately froze, frightened before he even looked at the thing. "No," he mumbled, and Gerard frowned. "Didn't you play?"

Mikey shook his head. "Not—not good I didn't."

Ray nudged his shoulder affectionately. "I'm sure you're great," he offered.

"Gee, no," the blonde insisted, and Gerard lowered his hand. "Sorry."

The blonde shrugged and looked away, and suddenly Gerard felt guilty. He was such an idiot; why did he think suggesting his exceedingly shy and nervous younger brother to do something that would cause everyone to look at him was a good idea?

He looked back at Frank as he continued playing, thrilled he was making everyone happy, and then turned, moving past the others to leave. Frank stopped playing and frowned, mouth open to say something to him, but Gerard was gone before he could, closing the door behind him.

The red head sighed quietly after a moment and then began to walk into the living room, rolling his eyes as he saw Bert talking to Bullet. Yeah, he thought, annoyed. He really needs more ideas on how to be a complete asshole. He had already irritated them all enough—maybe that was why he was getting along with Bert so easily. It was still confusing to him how Ashton put up with Bert being an absolute jerk to everyone he could.

Unless it's just me, he thought flatly. It wasn't such an insane idea—he hadn't seen him insult any of the others.

Or touch them.

He cringed in disgust, going back into the hallway and leaning against the wall, closing his eyes in the near-complete silence he half never wanted to end.

"Party?"

Gerard glanced over to see Elise looking up at him, a cute smile on her face, her eyes lit up. "Yeah?" he murmured sadly.

Elise frowned suddenly, concerned. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Gerard replied, though wasn't at all, even less so as she came up to him. He couldn't look at her without remembering Missile Kid…remembering how he'd failed her.

"You and that other guy…are you, y'know, together?"

Startled by the question, Gerard hesitated. "Yeah…why?"

Elise innocently shook her head. "Nothing. I was just wondering." She pursed her lips to the side for a moment, like she was contemplating whether or not to continue. "Was…that allowed in Battery City?"

Gerard swallowed hard. "No. Is it here?"

"No." she answered with a sigh. "I saw…" she trailed off for a long moment, her eyes on the wall behind him. "I saw two people get dragged away by Watchers because they were guys and they…kissed."

She raised her gaze to meet his, with stunning intensity that alarmed him. "Why do they even care?" she murmured, her eyes watering. "Why do they care who loves who? It's not like they were hurting anyone!"

Gerard widened his eyes as tears were suddenly flowing down her cheeks, and he got to his knees, slowly bringing her into a hug." Ssh, it's okay…"

"No…they took them, and I'll never see them again!" she mumbled, and with a pang of horror, Gerard abruptly understood who the girl was talking about.

"Never," Elise shook her head. "They took them and they're not coming back."

"You don't know that," Gerard tried, and Elise gave another sob. "I do. I've been waiting as long as I've been with Bell—almost two years—and I haven't seen them. They're not back at our house, they're not anywhere—they're gone."

Gerard was trembling a bit now as well, memories of his and Frank's awful difficulty back in Battery flooding through his mind. Had BLI killed them? No, not even they would go as far as that. They were fucked up, but not that fucked up.

Or at least, he prayed they weren't.

"People are sent to Correction Centers for that...are you sure they're not still in one of those?"

"For two years?" Elise let out a short, miserable laugh. "They wouldn't keep them that long."

"Maybe they did," Gerard insisted. "They don't have to be dead. You could find them again, okay?"

Elise vaguely shook her head but did not protest the idea more than that, stepping back after a moment, her gaze on the floor as he released her.

"It'll be okay," he said comfortingly. "We'll…we'll find a way to find them."

"You can't," she murmured, biting her lip, and he looked at her."We will. I promise. Once we figure out what we're doing, we'll find them."

Elise hesitated, clearly disbelieving they would, and then leaned to hug him again anyway. "Thank you," she said quietly, and the resemblance of her tone caused Gerard to indistinctly shudder, remembering the day everything had gone wrong, where he'd been waiting for Missile outside the bathroom of Dr. D's place.

"We're safe, okay? There's nothing to be worried about right now."

"I know, but still…can you stay?"

"Of course, I'll be right here."

"Thank you."

He felt Elise pull back, and he protectively almost held onto her longer, releasing her as she smiled at him. Her eyes then went to the door he'd just come out of. "What're they doing?"

"Playing music," Gerard replied after a moment, acknowledging how nice it felt to have the ability to say that again. "You wanna hear?"

Elise nodded, and he gestured towards the room, standing as she wiped her eyes and went off.

He bit his lip and then turned to go, jerking to a stop as he was suddenly in front of Bell, who appeared almost irritated, along with sad. "What?" he asked slowly, stepping back, and she shrugged. "I thought she'd let that go a while back."

"Would you if it were your parents?"

"Hell yes I would." She frowned after a second and sighed. "Sorry. It's just…I'd hate for her to have to be disappointed if…"

"I'll try," Gerard said. "We'll try."

"I know. It's just…I don't think she could go through getting her hopes up and then losing them again."

"I was trying to help," Gerard frowned, and she shrugged again. "Sometimes helping is letting someone know what's wrong."

"So you think they're dead?"

She didn't reply for a moment, shoving her hands into her pockets. "I don't know what I think. I just know it took two years for me to finally convince her to try and move on. Please…don't make her have to go through that again by making promises you can't keep."

"Why can't I?" Gerard asked, a bit aggravated, and Bell walked past him without responding at all this time, going off to where the twelve-year-old had, and Gerard scowled, making his way into the kitchen to get something to drink, the anger building as he saw Bert standing by the wall leading to it, watching him and possibly everything that had just happened. "Nice."

"Can't you leave me alone?" Gerard snapped coldly, walking past him without waiting for an answer.

"Aw, getting annoyed with me?" Bert pursed his lips and followed him. "You're too cute."

"Thanks so much!" Gerard spat. "Go piss off someone else—Ashton, so he won't let you back here." He grinned sardonically, glancing at the older boy. "Yeah, please—that's a great idea."

Bert only grinned, leaning against the kitchen counter. "Haven't fixed your lip yet, hmm?"

Ignoring the self-consciousness he'd become all too familiar with, Gerard growled, "Fuck off."

"Ooh, hurtful," Bert mocked, crossing his arms as the Killjoy opened the fridge, taking another direction in his taunts, seeing what other areas the boy was sensitive in. "Not getting something to eat, I hope?"

Gerard straightened up to glare at him. "What?"

Bert smirked again. He was too easily amused by making anyone he could uncomfortable or uneasy—especially the Killjoy. It may have been because he truly did think he was a little attractive, or that he was envious that the other boy had him and clearly had no plans of giving him up, or maybe it was just that he had nothing better to do. Making him squirm gave him more or less the same thrill drugs had at one point before the ban on them had forced him to…mostly sober up. "It's just…you really don't need it." he finally said, shrugging, his tone derisive.

Gerard's brow furrowed in confusion just long enough for Bert to realize he'd hit something, and then the younger muttered something that sounded like, "I don't care."

"That's obvious. Really obvious." Bert almost smirked as the Killjoy shuddered, shutting the fridge with a bottle of water in his hands. "You probably should, though."

"Fuck off!" the Killjoy said again, the intensity of his words higher than before, and Bert sighed. "I'm just saying, you should probably lose this." He quickly reached out to pinch Gerard's side, and the Killjoy gasped, whirling back to face him, eyes wide as the older boy leaned back again, smiling innocently. "It's not attractive."

"Leave me alone," Gerard warned angrily.

"I thought you wanted to be perfect so your little boyfriend loves you. I was just trying to help."

Gerard snorted, mockingly looking him over as he always did to him. "I don't need your 'help.'" he spat, air quoting the last word and then glaring at him. "You wouldn't know shit about being perfect."

"Neither would you, Party." Bert straightened up, irked. "'Cause you're nowhere near it. Honestly, I don't know how he doesn't dump your irritating little ass." He paused. "Or maybe he's smart, and will."

Gerard stared at him, clutching the bottle tighter, and then at once threw it at him, hitting him in the mouth and not even realizing what he'd done until Bert shouted and bent over, both hands over his lip.

Startled, Gerard stepped back. "I—I didn't—"

Bert interrupted him with a string of muffled curses, and suddenly he heard Bullet's voice exclaim, "What the hell?" as he went over to Bert, regarding the twenty-four-year-old in utter confusion. "Did you hit him?"

"N-no, I—"

Bullet waved a hand to cut him off, clearly uncaring of what he had to say, calling for Dr. D as he led Bert out of the kitchen.

Gerard remained frozen, staring at the several drops of blood on the tile, nausea rising up in him.

What'd I just do?

He groaned quietly and looked around, frantically trying to think, and then his knees went weak and he had to sit down at the table, burying his head in his arms, unable to catch his breath. No matter how insulting the bastard had been, he hadn't meant to hurt him. It was what he had said that set him off. He couldn't lose Frank—he just couldn't. He was the only thing Gerard could think of that made him happy; or at least, what he believed was happy. He couldn't feel it, but he tried to, and thought he might have sensed something a few times. But he didn't know anymore—he honestly just didn't know.

"Poison, what happened?" Rainbow tried quietly as she approached him, and Gerard didn't answer, shaking his head slightly.

"Why'd you hit him?"

Shit—she knew already. She was going to tell him how he wasn't fit to be their leader, that he was nothing but an idiot.

It was all true, but he didn't want to hear it.

He stood without looking at her and eyed the door. He wanted to leave; to get away from everyone and just be alone, yet he couldn't. What the hell was wrong with him? Why was he feeling so completely out of control?

He felt tears well up behind his eyes, and he blinked hard, walking past the bemused Killjoy and going into the bathroom, barely having time to shut the door before he couldn't hold them back, sinking to his knees and pressing his forehead to the mirror, his eyes screwed shut. What had happened to Party Poison? He sure as hell wasn't in him anymore. Party Poison wasn't weak, or scared, or constantly angry enough to hurt someone. He would never hurt someone else, in fact—unless it had been someone trying to hurt him or who he loved.

Except for Korse. You couldn't hurt him, could you?

He stifled a cry of pure frustration and dug into his pocket, taking out the small shard of glass he'd forgotten about until now, staring at the sharp edge of it, his breaths coming in shallow gasps, beginning to make him dizzy. Something shouted at him not to do what he so desperately wanted to, and he ignored it.

I've hurt everyone else, who the hell cares? I deserve it.

He eyed his arm, the question of how exactly he was going to hide it never crossing his mind, holding it out in front of him and pressing the glass next to the other mark, applying pressure and dragging it along in a straight line for a moment until the pain lessened his anger, and he at last let out a loud sigh, slumping back against the wall, again feeling a small sense of relief that he in fact could feel. Even if it was only pain, it still meant he wasn't entirely numb, and unfortunately feeling that was still better than nothing at all.

Control. That's all he fucking wanted. He wanted control over anything he felt he could, and since that sure as hell wasn't his emotions, choosing when and in what place the little beads of red oozed from his skin would have to be sufficient for now.

He stared for a moment before finally realizing he should tend to it, reaching out with a wince to grab a handful of toilet paper and holding it to the wound. He'd barely drawn blood, so it wasn't deep enough that it would cause a problem, and that was all he cared about for now.

He held any sound of discomfort inside and closed his eyes, leaning back again until his breathing steadied, then raising his head again and staring at the mirror beside him. He was soglad they'd never had them out in the zones. He hadn't seen himself in quite possibly years beside the glances he took in the rear view mirror of their Trans-Am—and it was probably for the better. Every time he'd seen himself over the past days, he'd hated it—there was always something else he saw that he didn't like. Something else he saw that Frank might not like. He couldn't risk losing the only thing he had left—that simply wasn't an option.

He shook his head, turning away. How the hell had anyone ever looked up to him…?

"Gee?" Frank called, tapping on the door. "Gee, can I come in?"

"Please don't." Gerard swallowed back tears as they stung his eyes again.

"Are you okay?"

Gerard shook his head, feeling them fall down his cheeks against his will.

No. No, Frank, I'm not o-fucking-kay. Trust me; I'm not.

"Yeah," he said shakily. He wouldn't weigh anyone else down with his problems. He refused to. He was their leader—used to be, still was, whatever. It didn't matter. He couldn't let them know he how helpless he felt and probably was if they were ever to look up to him again. He bit his tongue and pressed harder on the cut, unable to think of anything but how pathetic he was for having done it to himself.

Again.

"I'm just great."