A/N/WARNING: Finally, an update! Sorry it's at such an awkwardly late time...Anyway, there's some sexual assault in this chapter, towards the middle (trust me, you'll know) and then an indication of (off-screen? Off-page?) Non-Con...I'd really hope by now that if all the angst and such shit wasn't your thing, you wouldn't be reading. :D (It IS going to stop soon, I swear! ...For Gerard. Take that as you will.) Also, hope you had a Happy/Merry [enter-whatever-you-celebrate-here] and have a Happy New Year!

Chapter Nineteen

Think Happy Thoughts

"God, where are they?"

Gerard glanced at Ashton and stopped his nervous pacing for a moment, something he was surprised he could manage with how much pent-up fear and worry he had—had been having since the moment Frank left. It only increased with the man muttering that; it meant something was wrong, and even he knew it, despite having acted relaxed until now. "It wouldn't take this long, would it?"

Ashton ran a hand through his hair. "Not an hour."

"Fuck." Gerard rolled his eyes and angrily rubbed at his face.

"It'll be okay," Bell tried, reaching out to pat his shoulder for comfort, but the older Killjoy shrank away before she could, having seen her out of the corner of his vision. He stepped away from the rest of them and then began walking to and from the door again, shaking his head. No, he couldn't let something else happen to Frank—he just couldn't! And yet, he might have already allowed that to happen by not stopping his love from going out before.

Of course, there was no way he could have stopped him—Frank was every bit as stubborn as Gerard usually was, if not more so. He'd been absolutely set on going, and clearly wouldn't have allowed anyone to get in the way of that, although Gerard still didn't know why exactly. To prove that he could? Was there a chance Frank was just as desperate as Gerard was to convince both himself and the others that he wasn't as useless as he felt? It didn't seem too likely...Frank appeared fine, or at least, more fine than Gerard. The younger had no slashes on his wrists, nor did he seem to have anything worse going on in his head than his nightmares.

Anything worse! a voice spat at him. Since when did this turn into a contest of who feels worse? You selfish piece of shit. He'd probably win if you were, and yet you're the only one complaining.

Gerard winced. It should have been him who had gone with Bert, who had been in a situation to possibly get recaptured. Frank didn't deserve any of that, nor did anyone else. Only him. He deserved so much worse than simply standing here and being scared to death for his love—he deserved to be wherever Frank was, if it was bad. Hell, he deserved to be there anyway. His abscence would do nothing more than help them all. He had always been the one who had ideas, who had plans, who made plans. People had relied on him, and he'd never let them down until now, until he'd become so weak he'd resorted to hurting himself to feel, to starving himself because of a few derogatory comments. He couldn't help himself, he couldn't help Frank, he couldn't help what had happened to them or Missile Kid or any of the others that had died—he was useless! Absolutely worthless in every aspect, and the more he thought about it now, the more he wondered if Korse had been right, not even registering how laughable caring what the man who had raped him and his boyfriend thought.

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

He sure as hell couldn't fuck anything else up if that was the case.

"Would they have gone anywhere else?" Dr. D asked at last, snapping Gerard out of his thoughts to realize he was leaning heavily against the wall, arms folded tightly over his chest, breathing hard as if he'd been running from something. He glanced up, thankful no one was paying attention to him. That was just what they needed—someone else to worry about, someone who'd only slow them down, or at least make them realize that a hindrance was all their leader had ever been from the start.

"Yeah," Rejection nodded, gesturing absentmindedly at the air in front of Dr. D, as if his words still hung there. "A friend of Bert's, maybe?"

Ashton sighed heavily and sat on the edge of the couch. "No—yeah...I mean, maybe. He's got a place he goes for...to talk to his friends."

DJ stared at him, suspicion clear on her face. "For what?"

Ashton shook his head, and Gerard glared daggers. "For what?"

"He...I don't know...he's always been an ad—when they banned everything, he—"

Gerard widened his eyes in understanding and buried his face behind his fingers as Ashton trailed off uselessly, clasping his hands behind his head as Pony murmured, "He wouldn't take Ghoul with him, would he?"

Ashton shrugged and dropped his hands back to his lap, suddenly looking incredibly stressed, as if he hadn't had a reason to be for the past whatever minutes. "I don't know!"

It was silent for a moment, and then Skye sighed. "It'll be okay. I'm sure they're fine."

"He better be," Gerard mumbled, not quite loud enough for them to hear, and then jumped as the door suddenly opened, a very distraught Bert standing in the hall, panting, his face pale.

"Where is he?" Gerard immediately exclaimed, loudly, not caring who else in the whole building heard, and Bert shook his head weakly. "I don't—look, I—"

"You fucking lost him?" Ashton hissed, and Gerard grabbed the older boy by his shirt, jerking him inside with strength he didn't know he possessed, fueled completely by fury, slamming Bert into the wall and kicking the door shut. "What happened?"

Bert looked over Gerard's shoulder at the others, like he wanted them to pull the Killjoy away, but none of them moved, glaring at him just as impatiently.

"Tell me!"

Bert frowned at the intensity of Gerard's voice. "Shit—I don't know, okay? I—I went to see someone, and I told him to stay outside, and—" he shook his head. "Next thing I know he's just—gone!"

"You took him to one of your fucking druggie friends, didn't you?" Gerard demanded, noticing the brief flash of anger in Bert's eyes and disregarding it. The bastard had no right in the entire world to be upset at the moment. "Why? Why didn't you just come back?"

"I—"

"No, I don't care." Gerard spat, shoving him back and then letting go, turning to the others. "We've gotta look for him."

"There's Watchers—" Bert began, and Gerard shot him a look so fierce he swear he saw the other wince.

He faced Ashton again, who was already by the door, along with DJ, Skye, Candy, Pony, Rejection, and Bullet, the others either too young to risk being hurt or lost as well or weighed down by some injury and unable to. He then pushed Bert out of the way to go with them, no one saying another word until they had all quietly exited the apartment, shaking his head.

"Eight people'll have to do," Ashton murmured, glancing around at them, and then turned to Bert. "Where were you?"

"Um..." the twenty-nine-year-old frowned. Street names had never been what he cared about enough to remember (and, to be honest, he had usually been too out of it coming back from the place to ever think of looking, anyway) and so he simply gestured after a moment. "Like six streets that way."

Ashton glared at him a moment longer in an unspoken threat Bert seemed to get immediately, and then set off with the others down the stairs. As Bert started off as well, Gerard faced him, scowling, jabbing a finger into the older's chest, his anger still lingering. "We'd better find him, you son of a bitch, because I fucking swear to God, if he's hurt..." he trailed off, stepped back, and then turned to catch up with the others.

At once Bert grabbed him from behind, clamping a hand over his mouth and dragging him back, shoving him onto the flight of stairs that led to the roof, slamming his fist into the younger's stomach as he tried to move.

"You think you're so tough?" Bert growled as quietly as he could, landing another two blows on the Killjoy before he had regained his breath. "You think you're so fucking tough?" He snapped back for a moment as Gerard's fist managed to catch his jaw, and then glared down at the Killjoy, who's eyes went wide as he realized his mistake. Bert grabbed Gerard's wrist and pinned it to the stair above the Killjoy's head, using his free hand to strike at him until Gerard stopped trying to fight back, instead reaching up to shield his face and whimpering, "Please..."

Bert stopped, breathing hard, and then grabbed the younger's throat tightly with both of his hands. "Sorry, what?" he sneered, only getting a choked wheeze in response. "Not so fucking badass now, are you?"

Gerard gasped for breath, desperately struggling to pry the fingers away, but Bert ignored him, cruelly smirking after a moment. "Don't worry, Party. If Ghoul got himself captured, I'll still be here."

Then, to Gerard's horror, Bert jerked him closer and kissed him, disregarding the Killjoy's muffled cries entirely until he went limp, either from lack of air or defeat. Then, Bert finally broke away and let him go, pushing him back onto the steps as he coughed and sputtered.

"You know you liked it, you little whore," Bert spat, watching as Gerard flinched and wiped his mouth. "You better pray I gave them the right place to start looking."

Gerard looked up at him, no longer appearing anything more than terrified, something that delighted the other. "Please tell them."

"Why? I don't give a rat's ass about him, and I'm sure as hell not doin' it for you."

"Just tell them!"

Bert slapped him, and he fell back in a daze, blood beginning to trickle down from his lip.

"What'll I get out of it, huh?"

Gerard shook his head, putting his fingers to the wound, his gaze on the ground. "Anything, just...please."

Bert smirked. "I'd love to say I didn't already, but..." He watched the Killjoy exhale sharply in relief. "I'll let you know when I think of a way you can repay me." He leaned forward to roughly place a hand on the younger's waist and squeeze.

Gerard whimpered and kicked out to force Bert to release him, and Bert grunted, taking a step back and then clenching his fist in anger. "You son of a bitch—"

The Killjoy gasped, trying to scramble away and dart up the stairs before Bert could hit him again, but it only succeeded in giving Bert the chance to grab his ankle, drag him back down, covering his mouth when he tried to shout again. "No, Killjoy," Bert whispered into Gerard's ear, lifting him to his feet and putting an arm around his waist to keep him there, "everyone else thinks you're out look for your boyfriend. You can't go back yet, or else they're gonna wonder how you got hurt."

Gerard shook his head and pushed back, a foot on the bottom stair, aiming to put Bert off balance and get free. At least loosen the hold on his mouth—enough he could shout for Mikey, or for anyone, really. Bert, however, only staggered a bit, and then took a step to the left, murmuring, "C'mon, Poison," and then leading him towards the stairway as he struggled, adding a slightly panicked, "Stop! If you fight, you're gonna knock us both down five flights of stairs."

Knowing the older was right, Gerard reluctantly allowed himself to be led down into the lobby and then outside completely, at last giving a groan he hoped Bert would understand meant he couldn't continue. Bert released him, and Gerard slumped down onto the steps, breathing in broken pants, wrapping a hand tightly around one of the bars of railing for support, his other arm around his stomach.

Bert rolled his eyes, clearly uncaring of the other's pain. "It was your own Goddamn fault. You've been pissing me off since you got here." He left Gerard alone until his gasps had steadied, and then finally reached out, cupping a hand under the other's chin. "Better?"

Gerard pulled away from him without responding, wincing and forcing himself to stand, leaning on the metal rail for support. He glared at the older for a brief moment before he staggered down the remaining two steps and to the ground, looking around in thought. The pain wasn't too unbearable anymore...he could easily have still gone out into the city to look for Frank. And he'd even taken a few small steps to do so, worry for his love again overwhelming anything else, before Bert came up behind him, placing his hands on Gerard's waist.

"Don't touch me," Gerard growled, moving out of his reach, and Bert chuckled. "Why? I told them where to look...you owe me."

"I don't owe you shit," the Killjoy said, slapping the older's hands away as he tried again. "Stop!"

Bert's eyes suddenly lit up with an unreadable emotion, and he clenched his teeth. "Shut up. You wanna get a Watcher on us? Really? There's no one else around now but them."

Gerard pursed his lips, letting out an irritated exhalation through his nose, and then again turned, more set on getting away from the older than he was of really knowing which direction he was heading and if it would help him find Frank or not, or even end up getting him in an even worse position.

A hand suddenly took hold of his wrist, making him gasp. "Let go," he whispered, but Bert did not. Gerard dug his heels into the ground, determined to stay where he was, and yet Bert still managed to yank him off balance, dragging him back, to the left, and into a small corridor behind the complex. It was much smaller than the others Gerard had seen or walked through—so thin that Bert was almost immediately pressed up against him. Then he placed his hands on the Killjoy's waist again, looking him over. "Damn are you adorable," he murmured. "Maybe that's why Ghoul hasn't left you yet...maybe that's the only reason."

"Let go!"

Bert put a finger on the other's lips, smiling sickeningly. "Go ahead, yell louder. You can. But I know you won't. You can't made a single Goddamn sound because if you do, you'll get us both captured." He leaned closer. "You don't want that, now, do you? Go back to BLI and have them do whatever they did to you then, all over again? Or worse?"

By how wide Gerard's eyes got at the words, Bert knew the Killjoy had realized he was trapped. "That's right, cutie," he murmured, thrilled he was in control, rubbing at the younger's sides. "You're mine."

"Please, don't..." Gerard whimpered, his eyes darting, desperate to get away and yet knowing he couldn't. The other side of the corridor was a dead end, the already narrow opening only getting smaller until Gerard was sure he would not be able to fit through it, or even try before Bert would jerk him back. That meant Bert was blocking the only way in or out, and as he didn't seem to be planning on moving anytime soon...

"Please," Gerard started again, "j-just let me—" He cut off and shuddered violently, his eyes refocusing back on Bert to find him smirking.

"Like that?" he asked, and Gerard shook his head. "Please stop."

Amused, Bert moved his right hand down further, hearing Gerard let out a loud breath and another, "Stop!"

"Yell louder," Bert grinned, the words causing the other to fall silent again, and then began gently rubbing the seam of the younger's jeans.

Gerard stiffened, alarmed. He...felt something. It wasn't joy, of course—it was nothing even close to that. The older's actions were on the verge of becoming abuse that he most certainly did not want. But it was something; a reluctant pleasure from the touch that was still an emotion different from the misery he'd been stuck in for the past two weeks, and it was one he realized with a jolt that he almost didn't want to stop. It both disgusted and most of all surprised him, so much he gasped, and Bert seemed to take this as an invitation to keep going. "I thought you didn't want me, Poison," he taunted, stroking the younger's chest with his free hand.

"I d-don't, please...please, I don't..." Gerard murmured, and then couldn't prevent a small sound to escape his lips as Bert removed his hands completely.

"Really? I think you do..." Bert went on, suddenly tucking a hand in Gerard's jeans, and Gerard tensed as the older grasped him. "No."

"You said you'd give me anything I wanted, cutie." His voice took on a bit of a higher pitch, mocking Gerard's own slip-up. "As long as I told them where your baby was. So...it's only fair. Why, what's wrong? Not hurting you, am I?" He let out a small, sadistic chuckle like he thought he was hilarious. That was the only reason he was going to do this—to humiliate and degrade the younger. It sure as hell wasn't to make him happy, although Bert noticed he seemed to be achieving a similar reaction in one way or another.

Gerard writhed as the other only continued to violate him, using his left hand to grip Gerard's jeans and tug them a little further down, trying to further the embarrassment that was already clear upon his cheeks.

"Please..."

"You want this? Or you want me to stop?" Bert asked, and the younger couldn't even meet his gaze, both uncertainty and anguish written on his features. "Then make me. Fight me, Poison. Do something and make me stop."

In response, Gerard's eyes closed, and Bert leaned forward to kiss him, ignoring the pathetic effort the younger gave to push him back. "I can fucking tell you're enjoying this, you know," he whispered when he pulled away, his grin increasing when Gerard lifted up into his grip and then gasped, horrified.

"What would your little boyfriend think? You letting me do this, while he's not even here? You liking it?"

"Fuck you," Gerard said finally, "Let go. Let me go!" He scowled and grabbed at the other's arm, digging his nails into the skin. Bert hissed in pain and then slapped the younger's mouth with his free hand.

"L—"

"Shut up!" Bert growled, putting his palm over Gerard's lips and pushing his head back against the side of the building so hard the Killjoy's vision flashed white.

Gerard whimpered, dazed by the pain, and then quieted himself before Bert could find another reason to hurt him. God, why was he doing this? Why couldn't he have shouted the moment Bert had touched him in the hall instead of pretending he could take on the older by himself? He could've fought harder in the hall, gotten free enough to yell for help—and even now, he could have been doing something other than simply taking it, right? He needed to keep fighting, keep trying to get away...anything! He couldn't be enjoying it—he couldn't be. Frank was the only person in the world he'd ever enjoyed the touch of, and yet...the fact that he was suddenly feeling something that resembled an actual emotion after so long...it unfortunately left him vulnerable.

Bert grinned at the submission Gerard wasn't aware was completely obvious in his actions, and then removed his hand from the Killjoy's mouth. "Moan for me," he murmured, his breathing slightly quickened, and Gerard squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his lips together.

"Just pretend I'm him," Bert went on, almost encouragingly, and Gerard was sickened as he realized the older was getting off from more than just from the knowledge he was anguishing the Killjoy. "Or...am I better?"

Gerard shook his head at that. "Stop," he whispered again, and then couldn't close his mouth fast enough, letting out a groan only loud enough that Bert could hear.

"I fucking knew it." Bert said, pressing himself closer, smirking. "Make this easy on yourself, Party. Just do what I want. I already hurt you, and I can do it again. You know that, right?"

Gerard nodded and closed his eyes, almost completely giving in to the pleasure he didn't want to be experiencing, half because that would make it end sooner. "Please, stop..." he tried a last time, knowing it was useless, and then tilted his head back, his mouth opening in another short moan.

"I will, cutie," Bert assured him quietly. "Just let me see your pretty little face when you come, yeah?"

Too far gone to fight anymore, Gerard let out a little cry of distress and unwittingly gave Bert what he wanted, swaying in utter exhaustion and defeat as Bert released him and stepped to the side, allowing the Killjoy to slump to his knees and lean back against the wall, panting.

"Oh. Good idea, Party."

Not understanding what he meant at first and truthfully not wanting to, Gerard reached down and desperately began to try and fix his jeans, his cheeks burning red in shame.

"C'mon, you're already on your knees..." Bert nudged him with a foot, taunting him with a suddenly obvious intent.

Gerard refused to raise his head. He didn't want to see how trapped he still was, nor remember how incapable he was of calling for help. "No, no, I'm sorry, I don't...please, I won't tell them, just please...please don't..."

"I know you won't tell, cutie," Bert cooed, "You won't tell them about anything."

Gerard nodded in agreement, frantically hoping that would somehow allow him to evade the suggested action.

"You won't because you know I can hurt them if you do."

"Don't touch them," Gerard growled, defiance creeping back in, and he reached up with a hand to hit the older. Bert grabbed it and jerked him forward, placing it on the front of his own pants, smirking as Gerard whined pitifully and weakly struggled to pull his fingers out of Bert's. "You're gonna do what I want, or I will. Hear me, Killjoy? I will."

Nodding again, unreservedly humiliated, Gerard hung his head and ended his efforts, swallowing hard. Give in. He can't hurt them. You can't let him. You're worthless. You're nothing. They can't pay because of you. Just give in.

He didn't even exclaim when Bert reached down with his other hand and yanked on Gerard's hair, forcing him to straighten up, still kneeling, and then raise his head.

"Bite me and I swear—if your boyfriend's not already dead, he'll wish he was."

At last coming back to himself, Frank heard nothing but his own heartbeat, beginning to pound as he struggled to open his eyes. What the hell had happened? Where was he? And why, he wondered, lifting both hands up to hold his aching head, did he feel like he'd been concussed all over again? Was that even possible? He was sure taking whatever blow he'd just recieved barely two weeks after getting the last hadn't helped it, anyway. Only...he didn't recall being hit, nor of any struggle he must have been involved in whatsoever. In fact, if the awful throb on the back of his skull hadn't been there, along with a sense of panic slowly overtaking his dazed senses, he probably would've believed he was still at Ashton's, and gone back to sleep like he wanted to, or maybe rolled over and hoped to touch Gerard's shoulder and bring the older into his arms.

He forced himself to raise his head, his vision fuzzy, and almost wished it hadn't cleared when it did, looking around the small room he was in. It was separated from the rest of the dimly lit place by a thick black curtain hanging from hooks in the ceiling, and, with a pang of fear, he vaguely understood.

No, please—not again!

He sat up in a panic, only then realizing he was on a small cot, throwing his arms out for balance with a gasp as it wobbled. Once it had steadied, he frowned at it. A bed? When the hell had anyone any Killjoy had been captured by given them one of those?

Frank screwed his eyes shut as he recalled that he'd had a bed in the cell he'd been placed in at the Correction Center he, Gerard, and Mikey had been forced to stay at for a few days. It had been for show, of course, like they believed that that one piece of furniture would somehow comfort them despite the fact they'd all been brought there against their will, but it was the only time he could ever remember his captors even pretending to care if he was comfortable. He couldn't be back in one of those, though—he couldn't be hurt again! He'd already been put through far more agony by the Goddamn government agency than he ever would have believed he would in his whole life; he didn't need anything to add to it!

He quickly jumped to the ground, ignoring the room as it spun dangerously, blinking dark spots away and stumbling over to the curtain, staring at it in confusion. The cells in the Center had not been separated by a piece of fabric, but a thick wall of clear, soundproof plastic on either side, something all of them had been convinced was merely to taunt them. Frank had been able to read Gerard's lips, but not hear his voice—that had been torture enough without everything else they'd done to them.

The thought not as comforting as he believed it should have been, Frank managed to find the courage to pull it back, just enough he could see, bracing himself for whatever it was.

Outside of the little sectioned off room was the rest of what appeared to be a fairly large basement, complete with a beaten up couch, a television, a table, a fridge—and six other teens casually either sitting or leaning on the walls, seeming absolutely careless and unaware of him, caught up in their own conversations.

"What...?" Frank mumbled, stepping out from behind the curtain, staring at the kids. So he hadn't been captured...? Or else, if he had, these were the youngest agents of BLI he had ever seen. Had they really gone as far as enlisting teenagers to do their dirty work?

He swallowed hard and reached out for something solid to support him, but his fingers found nothing, and he distantly heard someone off to the side of him call, "Hey, wait—lie back down!"

Frank did—right where he was, causing a loud thud to echo throughout the room, every one of them going silent and turning to stare at him.

"Idiot!" the same boy growled, going over to the dazed twenty-year-old and grabbing his arm, hauling him up with another's help, waiting until Frank's eyelids had stopped fluttering before he asked, "Can you stand?"

Frank didn't respond, wincing, and the boy rolled his eyes. "Get 'em to the couch."

Blinking hard, Frank managed to recover, sighing softly as they lowered him to sit on the soft fabric. He took a moment to reorient himself, his eyes on the ground, and then raised his head. "Where...?"

"West side of Skyline," one replied immediately, gesturing at a very young boy, maybe just entering his teenage years. "A couple blocks from where Jesse...found you."

Frank stared at the kid, lifting a hand to rub the back of his head. He'd been overpowered by him? What kind of Killjoy couldn't take on a thirteen-year-old? Embarrassed, he felt his cheeks go hot, and he hoped none of them noticed, tilting his chin down so his dark hair fell in his face, biting his lower lip.

"Yeah," Jesse smiled, clearly proud, though Frank was unsure of what. "We coulda left you there, but we saved you!"

Frank contemplated saying something about how it was Jesse's fault he couldn't have saved himself, but decided against it. "Thanks," he muttered instead, still coming off as sarcastic.

The first one who'd spoken smiled a bit. "You're not on pills, are you?"

"I've never taken 'em."

He nodded and then cleared his throat. "We thought we'd found the last of the resisters months ago."

"Resisters?"

"How long have you been here?" the kid laughed jokingly, then stopped as Frank only raised his head to watch him, patiently waiting for an answer, and changed his tone. "How long have you been here?"

"I don't know."

"C'mon, I barely shoved you!" Jesse murmured, eyes wide, clearly taking the words the wrong way.

"No, I mean—a couple days? A week? I'm not sure."

They were all focused completely on him in awe by now, intrigued.

"How'd you get in?" one of the oldest-looking ones spoke up, frowning.

"I—"

"And why?" the only girl interrupted, "Why would you want to come here?"

"We were—"

"We?"

"Stop!" Frank winced, gently massaging his temples. "Please. It's not important how I got in, and yes. We."

"Who's we?" Jesse asked.

"Who're you?"

The one who'd told him to lie down a few seconds too late held his hand out. "Brett."

Frank didn't move, woozy again from the pounding ache in his head that the perplexity of the situation wasn't helping, and Brett frowned, clearing taking it as a gesture he didn't want to shake his hand, moving his arm back to point at the others, who very slowly introduced themselves. Craig was eighteen, Elliot was seventeen, Jake, Brett, and Alexi were sixteen, and Jesse was the youngest at fourteen. All of them had short, dark hair except for Alexi, whose almost strawberry blonde locks went down a few inches past her shoulders. And, aside from Jake and Elliot, who had very dark skin, they were all incredibly pale, like they hardly ever stepped outside the basement.

"I'm Fr—ah, G—um—" Frank stuttered to a halt, irresolute on how exactly he should respond.

Brett cocked an eyebrow, his amusement obvious. "Hm?"

Frank clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Maybe I don't trust you yet. You did practically kidnap me."

"Kidnap!" Craig actually laughed. "Are you crazy? First of all, you were stumblin' around like you were drunk."

"No I..." Frank trailed off and frowned, again trying to remember what had happened and again finding his mind blank. He'd been with Bert, and he had a very vague memory of them stopping off in some building he hadn't recoginized, and then...nothing.

"So screw that," Craig went on, "I didn't see you puttin' up a fight. And second, we easily could've left you there for that Watcher you alerted to come and take you away. It would'a been a lot less difficult to get back here if we hadn't'a had to lug your tiny ass around and stay hidden. But we didn't. That's called saving, kid. Not kidnapping. If you don't trust us, we'll have to assume you have a reason not to."

"I thought you were a 'Crow," Jesse said with a shrug like it'd been no big deal.

Craig eyed the younger. "He's five feet tall! You're almost taller than him—even if he had been, you could've taken him on yourself!"

Frank stared at them, unsure if he should be offended or not, and then narrowed his eyes as another thought came to him. "You're...are you part of that A.P. thing?"

Crossing his arms, Craig raised the pitch of his voice a little, as if taunting him. "I don't know. We'd have to trust you to tell you that."

Frank rolled his eyes. For being only two years younger, the kid didn't seem to have half the maturity Frank would have expected. "Jesus Chr—my name's Ghoul, okay? Fun Ghoul."

"Fun Ghoul?" Jesse stared at him, grinning a bit and clearly trying to hold back a giggle. "What's that, a code name?"

"And why does it sound familiar?" Jake murmured, half to himself, looking at the ground.

Alexi pointed at him after a moment. "You're that Killjoy from the television, aren't you?"

Frank swallowed hard, unsure how to answer so instead saying nothing at all.

"You're supposed to be dead."

"I will be if any of you—"

"We're not working for BLI!" Craig insisted, and then gave an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Yes. We're 'part of that A.P. thing.'"

"You hide down here?"

"Yeah. When we're not messing up something they're doing," he grinned.

Frank blinked very slowly, unimpressed. "You've got six teenagers."

The eighteen-year-old sighed, like that was something that irritated him. "At this base. We've got four in the whole city. I'd say there's more like thirty of us all together. We get a lot done. And anyway, BLI broadcasted an entire messageto everyone that you and a couple of others had 'finally been exterminated' and whatever. I don't get it—how're you here?"

"I shouldn't be," Frank mumbled, and then shook his head. "I...I'm staying...somewhere."

"Are the others alive, too?"

"Yeah."

"Why would you come here?"

Frank frowned, wondering if they were even aware of what had happened to Battery. "Is there any other place we could've gone?"

"Sleeping in the desert would be better than this hell, trust me."

The Killjoy managed a chuckle. "You think that?" he asked softly, and Craig shrugged.

"It's not. Trust me. I've been out there for years. It's hot and nasty and lonely and—and you should just be lucky you have places to sleep that aren't in a car or a booth in a diner."

"You lived out there?" Alexi murmured. "Why?"

"Nowhere else to go."

Craig eyed him. "Didn't you come from a city or something?"

"Yeah, but—"

"Why didn't you just rebel from inside? You can do a lot more damage that way."

"I didn't have a choice!" Frank exclaimed, and then averted his gaze. "None of us did."

"Why?"

"It doesn't matter." Frank rubbed at his eyes. "Hell...what time is it?"

"Around midnight," Brett replied, and caught the panicked expression that crossed Frank's face. "Relax. You weren't out that long from what happened. You woke up right after we got back and then fell back asleep. You probably don't remember that, but...you weren't hurt too much."

Frank shifted, not sure how that was supposed to comfort him aside from ruling out the possiblity of another concussion. But, more importantly, he realized now that he was probably causing the others to panic, and so he looked around, gesturing at what he believed was the exit to the place. "I really have to..." he trailed off, all at once becoming aware of the fact he had absolutely no idea where he was, nor how to get back. He hadn't been living here as long as Ashton had, and he barely recalled what the man's apartment even looked like from the outside.

Jesse almost seemed hurt. "Fine. We don't care," he muttered, crossing his arms and turning sideways.

Frank frowned. "...What?"

Craig gave the younger boy a little push to stop his pouting, shrugging. "I don't know. We were thinking that...if you didn't turn out to be on meds..."

As lost at the words as he was from the others, Frank tilted his head a bit.

Brett cleared his throat. "Look, I don't know what we were thinking exactly. We need as many people to help us out as possible, and we...were wondering if maybe you'd...help us out."

Frank stared at them. "Thirty of you? You do know there's at least a thousand BLI agents in that building, right? Dracs and whatever else?"

"Dracs?" Elliot finally piped up. "You still worry about those?"

The Killjoy was running out of confused expressions to give them.

Elliot laughed. "You're really out of it, aren't you? Dracs stay on the inside of the wall around the building. Like guards. 'Crows are the ones you should watch out for. They patrol the streets and take people in. Dracs are nothing."

"'Crows?"

"SCARECROWS," Alexi cut in. "You know, Watcher vans? Those belong to them."

"...Are they worse?"

"Hell yes they're worse!" Craig snickered. "Dracs can't do anything. Or at least, not unless it's in their own building. 'Crows are allowed to do whatever they have to to arrest whoever's breaking laws and assure—"—he raised his fingers to form air quotes and made his voice monotone—"—'everything remains perfect.' And I thought you said there were more of you?"

"Well, yeah...like, eighteen?"

"Then that's almost fifty people. Don't tell me you all want to do nothing like the rest of the city is, right?"

"Of course not!" Frank scowled, irritated at the accusation. "We were..." he struggled for words. "...resting." And playing music—absolutely something Killjoys should be doing.

Brett snorted. "Well, when you're done relaxing, there may just be something you could help us out with."

"Like what?"

The sixteen-year-old shrugged and then gestured at a piece of paper on the table. Frank frowned, leaned closer, and looked it over, realizing it was a drawing of what appeared to be a large stadium, letters and numbers scribbled onto it, along with a ton of red circles. He didn't say anything, waiting for someone to explain, and then glanced over at the picture that had been clipped to the side of it. It was shitty quality, but he still made out a man with dark brown hair in a professional-looking black suit, his mouth open in the middle of a sentence, addressing an audience that couldn't be seen off to the left. "Who's that?"

"Jared Adams," Craig replied quietly, like he was afraid of someone hearing him speak the name. That or he was simply too disgusted by it to care about saying it louder. "He's, as far as we've seen, the guy in charge of all the broadcasts and shit. He's the only one who's ever done them, so..." He trailed off with a shrug.

Suddenly interested, Frank looked at the map again, realizing what it was for now. "You disrupt those, right? How?"

Craig crossed his arms. "You wanna see? He's got one he's doing tonight, and we could use extra hands..."

Frank bit his lip, swallowing hard, indecisive. Could he agree to that without even asking the others? Then again...he was fairly sure that by now, hours after he'd disappeared, they probably thought he'd been captured. They might start to see him as Fun Ghoul again if he turned up not only free and proving he could be on his own, but also with the answer to how they could help out.

He gave a soft sigh finally and smiled. "Yeah. We'll help."

Brett grinned as if he'd never heard better news. "Great!" He held out his hand again.

Frank hesitated as a strong sense of what just may have been optimism washed over him, relieved to finally have that again. Then he reached out and shook the other's hand.

Craig cracked a smile, crossing his arms, pleased at the sudden trust the Killjoy was showing. Maybe they'd have a chance against BLI after all.

"Welcome to the A.P., Fun Ghoul."

"You don't remember anything about what it looked like?"

Frank glanced at Elliot with an aggravated sigh, wishing he would stop prodding for information Frank had explained multiple times that he didn't have. "No!" he whispered back, peering out from behind the wall they'd stopped at. "It was the first time I've been out since we got here!"

Elliot leaned against the wall, and the Killjoy almost didn't notice until he went to say something else, surprised when he found he was alone, turning around and walking back. "Why—what're you doing?"

"Listen; I'm not searching the whole city. Especially not when there're Watchers." He averted his gaze as Frank's eyes widened in despair. "We'll look when it's light out. Maybe you'll remember then."

Frank scowled, clenching his hands into fists. "No. I'm not giving up. I have to find them."

"You have to find them when we're the only targets on the streets? Great." He rubbed at his face. "Listen, kid—"

"Stop fucking calling me kid!" Frank hissed, his headache and lack of sleep allowing his anger to get the best of him. "I'm older than you!"

Elliot looked up, startled at his tone, and the twenty-year-old pointed almost threateningly at him. "Listen to me, kid—I didn't plan on any of this happening, okay? I didn't plan on running into that van, or getting taken to your place, or anything! You said you'd help me get back. We've only been looking for ten minutes!"

"All I'm saying is that it'd be easier if it wasn't night." Elliot held his hands up, dismissing the arguement. "I'm going back. I'm not getting captured 'cause you ran away from home. We'll look later."

Frank watched him turn and start off, gesturing subtly with his hand for the older to follow. The Killjoy didn't move, scowling. "Fine. Where's the street I was on?"

Elliot pointed back at the concrete without speaking a word or stopping, and Frank rolled his eyes. "Thanks!" he called quietly.

He let out a sharp breath of irritation and then glanced at the ground. Would it really be that bad to wait a handful of hours to find them again? Maybe Elliot was right—if it were to be daylight, he might see something he remembered better. He could hardly see to the end of the alley now, the streetlights very dim, and he was also tired. Not tired, exhausted. If he didn't look like he'd been run over a few times by now, it'd be a miracle. His head ached, his muscles ached, and yet he knew he had to find the others as soon as possible. He was making them worry, and anyway, he missed Gerard terribly. He still didn't know why, but since they'd been captured and even more so since they'd been rescued, he'd felt a need to be around him, both to protect him and be protected, and, most recently, to receive comfort and give it back, as he clearly needed it. If something were to happen to him—anything—

Frank's thoughts were stopped dead along with his heart as he heard footsteps from nearby, and he immediately pressed himself against the wall in fear, shakily backing away as they came to a stop. He gasped as a hand clamped over his mouth and an arm grabbed him around his waist, struggling until he heard an almost inaudible, "Ssh."

He froze, staring straight ahead, and then Elliot slowly began inching back, releasing him and then taking a hold of his arm to get him walking.

"Don't move!"

Elliot's grip tightened to the point where it hurt, but Frank was suddenly grinning, and he whipped around to face the girl pointing a gun at the younger holding him. "Re!"

"Ghoul..." Rejection breathed, relieved, and then she shook her head, glaring at Elliot. "Let him go!"

"No, no, no, wait!" Frank shook his wrist free, stepping in front of Elliot and placing his hands out. "He's with me! He's not—he's—" he frowned when he couldn't think of what to say, dropping his arms. "Just put the gun away, Re..."

Rejection cocked an eyebrow but did so, tucking it back under her shirt so it was concealed, and then she placed her hands on her hips, taking on a tone that was almost motherly, like she was scolding him.

"Where the hell have you been?"

The entire walk back, which only ended up being somewhere around fifteen minutes, Frank quietly explained to Rejection what had happened, Elliot chiming in whenever he could to either defend the A.P. from what he thought could be an insult (though the only thing Frank had said even close to that had been that the group was little) and to add details that Frank couldn't, about the A.P. itself. Rejection was clearly intrigued, nudging the twenty-year-old's shoulder during a brief lull in their speaking and giving him a nod, which he felt a flutter of happiness at, relieved he once again had something they could look up to him again for doing. He'd been such a waste of their time before, and he was thrilled he'd finally helped out.

"But anyway," Elliot cleared his throat quietly, turning as he realized his pace had been quicker than theirs despite not knowing where he was going. He always had a tendency to do that—if you weren't quick, you would be caught, and that meant killed, or worse. "If you guys're gonna help, we need to talk."

"What do you mean?" Rejection asked curiously.

"I mean," he clarified, "that it's tonight. The broadcast. We've already got it planned out, but..."

"But what?"

"Well, it's all a little complicated. Not that I think you can't do it!" he added quickly, putting a hand out to dismiss the accusation that hadn't been placed on him. "It's just...we always have to plan these things really carefully, and we can't mess up, or else..."

Frank shivered, apparently noticeably enough Rejection saw, because she gently touched his shoulder. He cringed immediately but managed not to jerk away, and then relaxed as she dropped her hand to her side again. He kept his eyes on the ground until Elliot spoke again.

"For this time, we only need, like, four more people. That'd be enough. That way you guys can help us with actually disrupting the feed, and our guys, the ones who know their way around the place best, can keep watch. It almost ended badly for us last time because we only had one kid watching three entrances."

"You don't join with the others?" Frank questioned. "The other groups?"

"Not for little things like this. We've always had it covered, because we're closest. I mean, they've gotten some, too, but...usually it's us." He shrugged. "And we do have meetings once and a while, it's just...not lately. After the guard picked up a few weeks ago, we sort of lost contact with the others. It's too much trouble to get to them, so it's kind of just been us six since then."

"And you just...go on?" Rejection tilted her head a little, and Elliot nodded somberly. "Sure. It's not like they're dead or something...or at least..." He trailed off for a long moment and then swallowed hard, shaking his head. "We've got our own shit to handle, and they've got theirs. If it's important enough...you have to learn to keep going, even if you lose someone, you know?"

Rejection looked away and blinked to keep her eyes from watering. "Yeah. I know."

"Re?" Frank murmured, changing the subject as he acknowledged how dejected they were all becoming. "Were you the only one out here?"

"Probably," Rejection answered after a long moment. "There were others earlier, but...we were looking for, like, two hours. They're probably back by now."

"...You were all looking for me?"

"Why do you look so surprised?" Rejection laughed weakly. "Of course we were, dumbass. What'd you think, we'd just leave you?"

Kinda, Frank thought, but decided it was better to keep that to himself, and so he simply smiled and nodded. "Thanks."

Rejection nudged him again. "We're all in this together. Even after we win."

"Or die trying," Elliot quietly pointed out with a shrug, and both of them looked at him solemnly.

"Yeah." Rejection agreed, giving a long, tired, shaky sigh. "Yeah. Or that."

When the door opened, every single one of the occupants of Ashton's living room turned to look, their eyes widening as Rejection came in, allowing Elliot to enter beside her, looking quite nervous after taking in all of the confused and slightly angry expressions of the Killjoys, clearly having expected either Frank or bad news, not a new, unknown face.

"Re, who's—?" Jet began, and then cut off with a gasp as something was tossed at him from behind the two. He instinctively grabbed it with his uninjured hand, blinking at the thing for a few moments before he realized it was a box of painkillers. With a grin, he raised his head again, in time to see Frank step in front of the two, a shy smile on his face. "...Hi."

"Holy shit," Skye murmured in response, and then grinned, rushing over to give the twenty-year-old a hug.

"Thank God," Mikey breathed, shaking his head, and then his next question of, "What happened?" was chorused with almost every single one of the others, staring at him in surprise, several coming closer. Elise literally jumped on him once Skye had pulled back, wrapping her legs around his waist and tightly hugging him as she murmured how glad she was he was all right.

Frank smiled, surprised at the sudden affection, returning the embrace and disregarding the pang of sadness and regret he received from doing so. All Elise did was remind him of Missile...and he knew the others had noticed it, too. The resemblance was uncanny; she even did the same little tilt of her head when she smiled. Almost overwhelmed, he struggling not allow the emotions to show when she dropped back down to her feet, grinning crazily up at him.

"I, um...I was..." he began, looking back up at the others, his cheeks turning pink as he saw from the extent of their relief how worried they'd all been. "Sorry."

"We're just glad you're alive, kid," Ashton said, and then looked around at the others, hoping to find no one else missing, his gaze lingering on Bert the longest, who was settled in one of the chairs, his arms crossed, motionless. He'd come back a half hour or so after the rest of them had left, apparently with Gerard, who'd been mumbling something or other about someone he never saw attacking him. Bert had insisted he had no idea what had happened, and that he'd come back that way to find the barely conscious Killjoy against the side of the apartment. He'd helped the Killjoy inside, and then, as Gerard went to the bathroom to clean up, refusing help from anyone, the older had gone off on his own, changing his shirt and not speaking another word, seemingly content despite the Killjoy's injuries.

"No one else is still out, right?" Ashton continued once he'd met Bert's gaze, turning away. "Everyone's back?"

The Killjoys glanced at each other and then at last gave small nods, relaxing just a little more at that. Frank watched them, frowned, gave a sigh, and then stepped past them, into the hallway. Goddamn it—had Gerard locked himself in the bathroom the entire time? Had he even noticed Frank had been gone?

As he was about to knock on the door, it cracked open, and Gerard slid out into the hallway, his gaze on the ground, not even seeing the other at first, an arm around his stomach. He was very pale, Frank observed, and along with his lip being swollen, there were cuts and one or two forming bruises on his face, like he'd been in a fight, and Frank felt terrible for being irritated. "...Baby?"

Gerard flinched and looked up, his eyes going wide and giving away every bit of his emotions—fear, relief, hurt—all at once. "Frankie—" he choked out after a moment of useless stuttering, and then grabbed the younger and brought him close, relieved and desperate for the comfort.

"Gee, I'm...I'm fine..." Frank smiled a bit, nuzzling Gerard's shoulder, giving a contented sigh. Gerard didn't respond or say anything at all for a long minute, allowing Frank to kiss at his cheek and rub his back, more interaction than the older had consented to in days.

"I...I thought you were..."

Frank heaved a sigh. "I know. I didn't mean to worry anyone." He pressed his lips to the side of Gerard's mouth, and the twenty-four-year-old shuddered, reluctantly pulling back and averting his gaze, guilt almost overwhelming him. "Sorry." he mumbled.

"About what?" Frank asked, slightly confused, taking the older's hand. "And what happened to you? Are you okay?"

Gerard recoiled from the touch, murmuring nothing but another weak apology before moving past his love to the living room again, never once raising his head.

Frank turned to watch him go, frowning, and then went to use the bathroom before rejoining the others, eyeing Gerard as he sat on the couch. He looked like a child, all the way in the corner of the thing, his knees drawn up to his chest, eyes focused somewhere behind the rest of them. He was clearly distressed about something, and after a moment's thought, Frank decided it was better he left the older alone, no matter how much he wanted to lean against his boyfriend's reassuring form and have Gerard's arms around him again. He chose to lean against the wall instead, folding his arms across his chest and glancing at Elliot as he came over to him.

"You're sure you guys want to help?" he asked quietly, almost nervously, and Frank nodded. "Of course...anything. Just...tell us what to do."

Elliot cleared his throat and turned to the others, who quieted down despite him never having said a word, eager. "Um," he began awkwardly, and then swallowed hard, wishing he had thought to bring the map of the auditorium to point at and make it less confusing. And, if nothing else, give him something to look at instead of meeting their gazes. He'd always hated being in front of people, for any reason, leaving this the first time he'd done so since...the last presentation he'd done in school all those years ago, if that.

"Okay, well..." he began. "Tomorrow—well, today—" He paused and briefly shut his eyes, blushing furiously. "You can see the map later, I didn't bring it, but it'll be pretty easy to get when you know what the plan is..." He blinked and then made some weird gesture with his hand, half from the surprise that the others were still listening intently, their expressions displaying anything but the boredom or annoyance he would have expected.

"Okay." Elliot murmured again, more in confirmation to himself that he was being listened to, and then he shook his head.

"So here's what we're gonna do..."