A/N: HOLY SHIT. *flings update at all of you* LOOK I ACTUALLY DID IT. There're probably gonna be a few mistakes because I wrote half of this half a year ago (and there are just SO. MANY. CHARACTERS. to keep track of) and also I got pretty sick and tired of re-reading the same thing and staring at it and decided to just publish it, buuuut in any case, I hope you like it!

(I SWEAR NEXT CHAPTER STUFF WILL HAPPEN. OR AT LEAST...IT'LL START LEADING UP TO SOMETHING HAPPENING. Trust me I'm as tired of writing all this depressing shit as you are of reading it, it needs action, and I'M GETTING TO IT.)

Warnings: Flashback/mention of previous non-con.

Chapter title is from the song Papercut by Linkin Park.

Chapter Twenty

Paranoia's All I Got Left

"I want to tell the Doc."

Gerard blinked and turned to face his boyfriend, who had come up behind him as he stood watching the A.P. as they tied together everything for what was about to happen. It had all been planned out over the course of the night, and while nearly everyone had offered, it was only Gerard, Frank, Rejection, Bullet, and the rest of the six members that ended up being the ones who would put the plan into action. Craig had decided it would be less obvious than a whole group, and with them having done the same with only six people many times before, ten was more than enough to have extra guard, still do everything right, and get away uncaught without so many to assure kept up with the pace and weren't lost.

"What?" Gerard asked in regards to the question, reaching out to take Frank's hand.

Frank pulled away and shifted uncomfortably, placing his arms behind his back and straightening up. Whenever he became incredibly anxious, his old habits came back without him even being aware of it. His father had constantly berated him about having better posture, along with a million other things, and Frank still occasionally catagorized being afraid with being in front of the man, even after all this time. Gerard always listened a bit more intently when he did that, though, and he eyed Frank curiously, but his boyfriend would not look up as he spoke. "I want to tell him. About..."

Feeling a sharp pang of cold terror go through his body, Gerard shook his head. "Why?"

"I—I'm—I can't sleep." Frank reached up and rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand, as if to try and convey his constant, intense exhaustion in one motion. "And I can't think straight. And I fucking—I feel horrible, Gerard…" He glanced away, regretful he was talking about this after they'd both been silent so long, even more so as he admitted to his newly developed mannerisms. "Like I'm never going to be clean again. Like no matter how many times I take a shower, it's not going to help."

Gerard bit his lip. Suddenly Frank's own increasingly long intervals in the bathroom with the water running made sense—how could he have not realized that before? Oh right, because you've been busy feeling sorry for yourself. "Then just…just tell him that."

"I can't, Gerard. He's gonna wonder why. I mean…I don't want anyone to know anymore than you do, but…it's fucking killing me, and I don't have anyone else to talk about it to, and—"

"I'm here," Gerard interrupted, frowning, trying to remain steady.

Frank clearly saw through the façade; he even seemed a bit irritated at it. "You're shaking already. I just…I mean, what if—"

"No." Gerard cut him off, startling the younger with the intensity of his voice. "It didn't. Nothing did, okay? We're fine."

"Fine..." Frank echoed numbly, his voice hollow, his eyes unfocused. He seemed to be trying to think of how to explain that that was the very last word he could possibly think of to describe either of them.

"You just...you just can't."

Frank blinked, coming back to himself. "What? I can't?"

"Don't. Please."

"Just him! I didn't say I was gonna go around bragging that our enemy fucked us!"

Gerard's eyes went wide, and he immediately stuck an arm out and put his hand over Frank's mouth like the other hadn't been whispering, like they weren't alone. "Stop!"

"What the hell?" Frank mumbled, stepping out of his reach, scowling. "Like you don't want help, too! Come on, Gerard, how many times have you locked yourself in the bathroom for half an hour? Or move when I try to touch you? Why do you do that, if it's not because of what happened?"

"I don't know. I'm…fine." Gerard shook his head again. "But you can't tell anyone."

"Why?"

"Because! Because if...you do...then they'll..."

Frank tilted his chin down slightly in a gesture to continue as the older stammered to a halt.

"I don't know! I don't know and I don't want to know what they'll do, okay?"

"What, you think they're gonna laugh? Tell you you can't be our fucking leader anymore?"

Gerard flinched.

"Goddamn." Frank muttered, his eyes widening as he understood. He took another step back and looked his boyfriend over in such disgust that Gerard actually had to fight the urge to run away from the situation. "That's it? That's why? Are you crazy?"

"They already fucking think I'm useless! You didn't hear Bullet back at the warehouse, did you? When he was so nicely telling me how I'm not good enough? He was right! And if they know about...about that...about how I couldn't stop it...they're gonna realize it, and no one is gonna look up to—to us anymore!"

"Yeah, us!" the younger spat. "Gerard, this is all about you. You don't give a shit how much it fucked me up, do you? As long as they still picture you as the same Goddamn perfect leader you've always wanted to be? Is that it?"

"Frank, no, please—"

"I really mean a lot to you, don't I?"

"Frank," Gerard moaned as the younger turned around. "That's not what I…"

He trailed off and shook his head in hatred of himself. His excuses weren't going to make a difference. Frank had stopped again before he was too far away to hear his pleas, though, his head lowered, hands shoved in his pockets, trembling like he had too much fury inside for his small body to handle.

Gerard finally looked up. "Frank, I'm sorry. It wasn't that…it's…"

"Tell me what, then." Frank whirled back to face him, and Gerard suddenly realized the younger hadn't been shaking in anger—he was crying.

Gerard's mouth formed the beginning of a sentence, but no sound came out, and after a moment he gave up.

Frank scoffed at his silence. "Fine, Gerard. I won't tell them. I won't tell anyone, not ever. Is that what you want?" He gave the bitterest laugh Gerard had ever heard, wiping tears from his cheeks. "Great. I love you too, Gerard."

The words were spat so mordantly that it felt like he'd slapped the older, and Gerard was rendered speechless by the blow, unable to do anything but watch as Frank again turned, this time storming off, up the stairs and out of the basement entirely without a moment of hesitation.

"Frankie…" Gerard took a step forward, and then, not quite understanding how it happened, he was abruptly on the ground, staring up at the ceiling in shock, a throbbing pain in his elbow. He must have made some noise, or else hit the floor pretty hard, because there were footsteps on the stairs, and then—

"Ah, shit!"

Dazed, Gerard raised his head, watching Craig hurry down the rest of the stairs, give Gerard a fleeting look to assure he wasn't hurt, and then lean over the table Gerard must have hit when he'd taken the fall he didn't remember, scowling. "Great!"

"Sorry," Gerard murmured, propping himself up on his other arm, uncertain what Craig was upset over. Then, he looked at the table beside him, seeing that the mug of water that had been on the table had been knocked over, spilling the contents all over the map, the red ink smearing beyond recognition.

The Killjoy widened his eyes as he understood. "I'm sorry! I didn't—I don't know—"

"It's okay," the younger said, not very convincingly, still staring at the paper. Gerard took that as it was not all right at all, and he bit his lip. "I'm sorry," he tried again, and this time Craig looked down at him, frowning as he looked the older over. It wasn't a frown of anger, however; it was a frown of complete pity, something that the twenty-four-year-old felt worse seeing than he would have any other emotion. He didn't take the A.P. member's hand when it was offered, instead pushing himself to his feet, half bent over to hold onto the couch beside him for support, his voice barely a whisper as he again apologized.

"It's fine," Craig said after a long moment, sighing loudly. "At least you guys saw it once, right?"

Gerard lowered his head so his hair fell in his eyes, attempting to hide, and then moved past him to go upstairs. The building was empty; every footstep echoed, and his shadow crept along beside him in the rubble and cracked tile. He stopped, staring at it for a minute. That's all he was, wasn't it? A shadow of his former self; a ghost, even. He'd been ghosted after all; by himself, by BLI, by everything but a gun like he had feared. Was that what the others saw? Just a nothing following blindly behind the people he used to lead?

Tears burned at his eyes, and his fingers found their way to his left wrist, absentmindedly pulling at his sleeve and scratching at the wounds already there until the pain brought him out of his daze and got him moving again. Once outside, he took a deep breath to calm himself, not glancing at any of them, keeping his eyes on the ground. He had to focus, he had to do everything perfectly at the stage in order to prove to them he could do something other than be a nuisance, even if that's all he truly was. He wanted them to forgive him for ruining the map, and Frank to forgive him for fighting, and—

"Whoa, Party," Jesse murmured, and Gerard blinked, vaguely feeling that there was a grip on his wrist, pulling it up, thankfully leaving the jacket sleeve where it was. "You're bleeding..."

Gerard gawked at the red that had dripped down to his fingertips, and then shook his hand free, holding it to his chest. "I fell earlier," he said, because, well, he had, and Craig hadn't seemed intrigued enough with him to realize it'd been his other arm that had hit the table. As far as they knew, and as far as Craig could substantiate, that was exactly what had happened.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Gerard gave a small laugh, as if to say it was ridiculous to believe he wasn't, and then dropped the subject, glancing at his boyfriend, who was at the end of the corridor, keeping watch. The sun fell on the younger's shoulders, making his hair shine, creating a sort of aura around him. He turned back then, not looking at Gerard, but the twenty-four-year-old still made out that his eyes sparkled in a similar way, entranced despite the distance. There was still life in them, but unlike before, when carelessness and hope and curiosity had also been visible...they were empty, fearful, too cautious. He'd noticed Mikey's were the same way, and, though he hadn't known most of the others long enough to observe any real change, he knew they'd been affected too. BLI had taken their former personalities away, and they all were aware such feelings wouldn't be returned to them until the agency burned to the ground, if they ever returned at all.

"You sure you're good, Party?" Bullet sneered, coming up beside him. The younger had been spending way too much time with Ashton's friend to not have taken on an even more snotty than usual attitude. Gerard turned to him and nodded anyway, and Bullet looked like he was holding back a laugh. "Because, you know, you could've stayed at Ashton's if this is too much."

"I'm fine," Gerard replied, his irritation growing.

"I'm just saying...Bert told me—"

Gerard's fingers were around the younger's wrist in a flash, painfully tight, roughly shoving the other back against the railing of the steps with his other arm. "Told you what?" he practically growled, and Bullet stared at him with wide eyes.

"What'd he fucking say?"

"Nothing! Fuck! He just told me how it would've been a better idea or whatever to bring someone else because...you're so...like this," Bullet looked the older over, then jerked on his arm. "Now let go!"

The twenty-four-year-old held onto him a moment longer, frowning, and then stepped back, blinking rapidly as he came back to his senses, his expression softening. "Shit, I'm sorry, I—"

"Whatever." Bullet rolled his eyes and shoved past the older, going down to the end of the corridor and leaning against the wall. "Your boyfriend's fucking crazy," he muttered without looking up, and Frank frowned, glancing back at his love, who had grabbed the railing, still facing the opposite direction, and leaned over it like he was going to be sick. Frank for once had nothing to say, and so he simply ignored the comment, watching as Craig exited the building with the small bag of what they would need, nodding at all of them. "Everyone ready?"

Getting less than reassuring murmurs of yes in response, Craig cleared his throat and gestured, beginning to walk. "Let's go. Like I said before, it's all pretty easy. I'll go over it again on the way."

Easy my ass, Gerard grumbled silently to himself, gripping onto the railing of the catwalk that was at least twenty feet above the audience of zombie-citizens. The coast was clear, and there was no one stopping him from going out onto it, except for maybe his common sense telling him that if he went, he was going to fall and die.

"Oh, no," Brett had murmured, "it's safe. They hid the stuff up there to try to get it away from us, but people walk up there themselves. As long as you hold onto the railing, you'll be fine."

Hold onto the railing, okay, easy enough. If only he had both hands available—his left was tightly clutching the small pair of wire cutters he would need to complete the task he'd been given. Shaking his head, Gerard took a deep breath and stepped forward, the entire bridge wobbling dangerously, and he gasped, resisting the urge to jerk back.

Goddamn it. Suck it up, Party Poison. They're counting on you.

With another shaky inhalation, Gerard forced himself to continue, his eyes focusing on the middle area, where all the equipment was, his right hand beginning to hurt from how tightly he was grasping the railing.

Finally, he slumped to his knees in front of the transmitters, breathing hard and feeling sick and dizzy again. He held the wire cutters tighter in his grip and then positioned them, blinking back the dark spots that were suddenly in front of his vision. Fuck no—he wouldn't fail them. He swallowed hard and shifted, focusing on anything he could—the fact that at any moment he could be caught and killed, anything. Looking up, he stared at the platform the television camera was set up on, turning his attention down to the stage below him, the audience droning on and on, making his thoughts even fuzzier.

Focus, he ordered silently, and then went over Craig's directions in his head another time. 'Wait for the signal—then snap the receiver.'

The signal would be the briefest flash of sunlight on Elliot's mirror behind the cameras, just enough to alert him and no one else. He had to keep his eyes on the platform; had to continue blinking to keep his vision clear enough to catch the signal. How great would that be? he thought, trying to steady the trembling wire cutters, breathing as deeply as he could manage. Have everyone counting on the supposedly great Party Poison only to have him fuck up what they'd been planning for two weeks, and maybe even get them all captured.

Something flashed from behind the cameras, and Gerard hesitated. That was it, right?

Like he'd read the Killjoy's mind, Elliot flashed the mirror again before ducking back down, and Gerard turned back, grabbing the cutters with both hands and clamping them down hard on the thick wire. He used all the strength he had in him to snap it, terrified for a moment as it remained in one piece, then felt a satisfying shudder as the wire seperated into two. He heard a bit of static from below, and he managed a weak smile from the sheer relief of being successful. He took a moment to gather the rest of his energy and then forced himself to his feet, staggering as the entire walkway swayed again.

"Meet outside the back door again. Don't run, you'll only draw attention to yourself."

Gerard grabbed onto the door handle for support before going through it, looking around, and then somehow managed to find his way back to where they had all entered the place, going through it and hearing Craig hiss, "Party!"

He turned to where the rest of them had crossed the little back-lot and towards the corridor leading to the street again. Craig waved him over, and the black-haired Killjoy swallowed hard, hurriedly catching up with them and then glancing at Frank, who refused to make eye-contact with him, though nodded as if to say he'd done well.

"Was that it? Did it work?"

"Hell yeah, it worked!" Brett cocked an eyebrow like it was ridiculous to even ask. "But…we should probably go before security's called out. They keep coming faster every time, but…we're faster."

He winked and then started off in a sprint, followed closely by the others.

"See, I told you this was gonna work," Jesse giggled as softly as he could manage as they made their way through the streets, glancing at the only female member of their base.

Alexi smacked his arm. "Yeah right."

Jesse looked at her and blushed from the contact before smirking, forcing himself to place his gaze back on the others. He couldn't help it, really—he'd had a crush on her since the moment he'd been part of the group, and although she probably noticed him staring several times, she'd never confronted him about it. Whether that meant she didn't mind or just didn't care, he didn't know, but he had always sort of hoped she liked him back.

Though of course, with all the others, it was a bit unlikely. In fact, being the youngest, he was used to being the second option. That irritated him: not being able to ever be as good as them. He'd never been as good as anyone, not even in his family. He'd had two older brothers, and he had always been subject to competition between them. He'd never felt as worthy of anything as they had, though his parents had reassured him he was overreacting, that he was just seeing things when they treated his brothers better. That had to have happened a lot in families, though, right? He couldn't have been the only one…it just felt like it sometimes.

Anyway, Alexi would never go for him; she was two years older than him, and had never shown any interest in return.

He sighed. He would stay the youngest, the most undeserving of the girl. Probably forever, he guessed.

They all stopped for breath in an alleyway once they'd run a good mile, a distance that was sufficient for Brett to believe they were out of harm's way.

"All right…" Brett wheezed after a few minutes, looking at the group as they either plopped onto the ground or leaned back against the wall of the corridor, worn out.

"How long do you think that'll put 'em out of commission?" Rejection asked.

Brett shrugged. "It's different every time. But I'd say a few weeks, at least."

Frank opened his mouth to say something, stopping as he felt a hand grab his wrist. He jumped, frowning, and then looked at Gerard, who appeared to be staring right through him, dazed and frantically struggling to catch his breath. "What?" the younger snapped, probably a bit louder than he should have, anger from what had happened still coursing through him.

"Frank...I..." Gerard couldn't even finish the sentence before his eyes rolled back and he pitched sideways. Elliot saw and jumped into action, reaching out to catch him just a second before he would've hit the concrete, lowering him the last few inches as gently possible.

Frank kneeled beside him, eyes wide in concern, touching Gerard's cheek and neck and then shaking him without receiving a response.

"What happened?" Craig asked in confusion, and when he got no answer he rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Elliot, help me…"

Frank watched the two lift his boyfriend up and then he glanced at the others, feeling terrible about his fury before, quickly following the others as they set back off towards the basement, assuring to stay in the shadows.

"I don't know what to do."

Ray looked up at the sudden, miserable moan that came from Mikey as he sat in the back of the soundproof room, watching Ray as he fiddled with the strings of the instruments, tuning and whatnot because, well, they really hadn't anything better to do at the moment. The older put the guitar was holding down upon hearing that, though, frowning and limping over to sit in the chair beside Mikey's, taking his hand, confused. "About...?"

"Gerard." Mikey replied, shaking his head and lowering it to stare at the ground. His hand remained limp in the older's grip, like he had no care to return the affection. "He doesn't talk to me anymore."

Ray sighed, silent for a long moment. "He just needs time..."

"Time from what?" the younger demanded, looking up at Ray in an almost accusing way. "From me? I haven't done anything to him! And he's been fucking avoiding me like I have..." He shuddered and reached his free hand up to rub at his eyes. "Do you understand how much it hurts?" he asked, quieter. "How much I hurt because of it?"

"I know it does," Ray said, solemnly, stroking his thumb along the back of Mikey's hand. "You know he loves you. It's just...shit changed after we were there. He just...we all just need time. It hasn't even been a month. It'll get better."

Mikey relaxed a little at that, giving a halfhearted shrug with one shoulder. "Hm," he hummed. "I don't know. I guess. I hope. I just...want him to be able to come to me, you know? For anything, if he needs it. I really can't remember if he's smiled since we got out, and I don't know what's...I don't even think Frank knows what's wrong." He shrugged, pulling his hand out of Ray's and bending over a bit, tangling all ten of his fingers in his hair.

Ray gave a small nod in agreement, and then gave another heavy sigh. "He'll be fine. Frank'll be fine. You'll be fine. I'm already fine," he added, with a slight joking tone, and Mikey looked up, leaning forward and kissing the older.

"I trust you," Mikey murmured once he pulled back, interlinking their hands. "And I really hope you're right."

"You okay?"

Gerard blinked up at Mikey and then nodded, taking the glass of water he was holding out to him. He was currently sitting on the couch of Ashton's place, having only a blurred recollection of being helped back, only really coming to when Frank had gently kissed him after he'd stirred.

"You scared the shit out of us," Mikey continued as he took a drink, his eyes lowering again, and then he gave a little shrug. "Sorry."

Mikey shook his head. "Don't be. It wasn't your fault. Are you feeling better?"

"Yeah," Gerard smiled a bit, and then denied his younger brother's offer to get him something to eat. Mikey then sat next to him with a sigh and looked at him, almost suspiciously.

Gerard shifted uncomfortably under the gaze. "W-what?"

Mikey snapped out of it and shrugged a bit, suddenly seeming just as awkward. "Nothing. You just...you haven't eaten in a while."

Swallowing hard, Gerard managed a little laugh. "Sure I have. I'm fine, Mikes."

Nodding slowly, Mikey raised his eyes again, but the concern hadn't left his expression. "...Gee, can we talk?" he finally asked, and Gerard stiffened, his eyes going to the floor. He didn't respond, and so Mikey continued. "Uh...you're kind of...you're just..." He paused and took a breath. "You're acting...different. You have been since—"

"Don't."

Mikey frowned at the irritated-sounding command. "What?"

"Where's Frank?" Gerard asked, like he'd never heard anything, and Mikey absentmindedly pointed towards one of the bedrooms, getting to his feet as Gerard did. He wasn't going to allow his brother to walk away again like he had been every other time he'd try to talk. "Gee, I—Gerard, stop!"

"What?" Gerard whirled around to face him, his loud voice attracting the attention of the other Killjoys in the living room, and Mikey actually took a step back. "I don't want to talk."

Mikey watched as the older began to walk off, and then caught up, stopping him in the hallway with a hand around his wrist. "Please, I just wanna—"

"Don't touch me!" Gerard exclaimed, jumping away, anger momentarily replaced with the terror from when Bert had stopped him outside the same way, and he shoved the figure behind him back, determined not to let himself be hurt again. Mikey staggered a few steps away, putting his hands up in surrender.

Blinking himself out of the past, Gerard trembled and turned away from the younger. "Just fucking leave me alone," he muttered, and Mikey leaned back against the wall when he had gone, sighing heavily and closing his eyes.

"I'm really sorry." Gerard said for what must have been the fifteenth time that hour, sitting on the bed in the guest room of the house as Frank worked at the table in the corner, biting his tongue and trying his best to copy the map that'd been ruined. He'd offered to rewrite it for the next time, and the A.P. had seemingly been thrilled, maybe because it was less work for them when they were normally swamped in it. "About…you know. Before."

"It's fine, Gerard." Frank finally replied, slowly, more focused on what he was doing. They'd gotten back two hours ago, and after confirming he could use the room in order to be away from everyone and in silence, Frank had hardly lifted his attention from the map for that entire time, probably because it was something he could do other than think. And Gerard was enjoying the silence; if he could stay here, away from the rest of the world with only Frank, he probably could have stopped feeling how he was.

Or...then again, maybe not. Frank didn't quite seem mad, but Gerard had practically forced the younger Killjoy to keep the incident preventing him from rest a secret—if he wasn't a terrible person for doing such, he didn't know what else could make him so. He was selfish and just fucking awful, and the only reason Frank had probably agreed was because he felt bad his health wasn't fully up to par.

God, that's just what I need. Sympathy. Gerard thought flatly. He'd do anything to assure none of them felt that for him if he could—he didn't deserve that, nor respect, nor even being acknowledged in existence. He was worthless; it was as plain and as simple as that. Even if they were alone, Frank wouldn't want to spend longer than he had to around the older.

"Frank?"

"Hmm…?" The twenty-year-old was completely caught up, and so Gerard softly kicked the ground with his foot. He probably wouldn't hear him anyway… "You don't think...I don't know...that there's something wrong with me, do you?"

Frank raised his head so quickly it felt like he could have broken his neck. "Of course not! Are you crazy?" He looked his love over, trying to determine if the older was finally going to open up to him or if that was still a hopeless prayer. "Why would you even think that?"

"I was just wondering." Gerard murmured awkwardly in response, wrapping his arms around his stomach as a hunger pang shot through it. Shut up, he ordered it, like he expected that to help. When was the last time he'd eaten? Three days ago?

He put a finger to his mouth, trying to find words. "Frank?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm…" he trailed off and chewed on his nail, and the twenty-year-old straightened up, tilting his head and coming over to him, taking his free hand and pulling him to his feet. "You're beautiful, okay? Don't ever think you're not. And I wouldn't care what you looked like anyway; I love you, and I always will."

Lies. Gerard ignored all urges to speak, to tell him what he wanted to, and simply smiled. "I love you, too."

Smiling as well now, Frank wrapped his arms around the taller boy's waist and leaned forward to rest his head on his shoulder. "Anything else?"

"...No."

Frank moved away for a moment and stood up on his toes, pressing his lips to the older's.

Tensing and yet not pulling away, Gerard returned the kiss, hoping yet again to feel something, even more dejected when he couldn't. He should have been used to it by now, but...

Frank gripped at Gerard's shirt and then gently pushed him back to sit on the bed, and Gerard flinched. "Stop—"

"What?" Frank asked, surprised, and then stepped back. "Sorry, I wasn't thinking." he murmured, and Gerard stared at him for a moment before his guilt forced him to take the younger's hand and pull him back into another kiss, feeling Frank almost immediately deepen it and wincing, allowing the younger to continue until he broke away and wrapped his arms around him. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Gerard repeated nervously, managing to stay still as the shorter boy kissed him again. He wasn't afraid of Frank hurting him; in fact, the twenty-year-old was the only person he felt he could trust. But he was terrified of any contact of this sort at all when only the night before he'd been taken advantage of—terrified of making Frank feel any dirtier when he at last found out.

But he wouldn't find out. Gerard couldn't tell him; he just...couldn't. He couldn't give Frank any other reason to hate him, like Bert had told him after the entire scene before he'd even been aware Frank was still alive, when the younger had been huddled against the wall, trembling and shocked and more so relieved when he finally realized Bert wasn't going to make him do anything else.

"I—I'll t-tell them." Gerard's voice was shaking as much as the rest of him was, and though he'd meant to come off as threatening, he knew he was anything but.

"Tell who, cutie?" Bert scoffed, squatting down and reaching out to stroke Gerard's leg, causing the Killjoy to flinch, moan, and curl up tighter, his stomach lurching again.

"Your boyfriend? I already told you what'll happen if you do," he continued, sounding like he was slowly losing interest in this entire situation. He probably had, too—he'd spent the past five minutes standing by the opening of the corridor, watching out for anyone and listening to Gerard quietly retching behind him, hoping no one else could hear. "And what would you tell him, anyway? How you let me touch you? How you came for me like the little whore you are, and then sucked me off?"

Gerard gave a soft sob and didn't respond.

Bert reached out then, grabbing the boy by his hair before he could jerk away. He pulled him closer, until their noses were almost touching, looking first at his mouth and then up at his widened, hazel-green eyes. "Don't give him anything else to hate you for. He'll leave you in a heartbeat. 'Course then you'd just come running back to me, wouldn't you?"

"Never." Gerard grimaced, but did not fight back as he was kissed for what felt like the hundredth time by him in…how long had he been out here? It didn't matter, of course—no one would think anything of it when he came back. Bert had already went over what he was going to say to them, that he'd been looking for Frank and been attacked by someone he never saw. And the worst part was, because he was being made to say it, and how Bert had helped him back…the others would believe it was the truth.

He gave a quiet whine, desperate for the older to stop, though he didn't, his tongue trailing over the mouth that refused him entry, and then finally withdrew, eyeing Gerard as he sucked in a much needed breath and trailed his wrist over his lips in pure abhorrence, fighting the urge to be sick again. Bert didn't seem to care and didn't attempt again, instead standing. "Get up."

Overwhelmed by fatigue, Gerard did so with a wince of discomfort, suddenly glaring daggers at the older.

"Go ahead, tell them what happened when you get back." Bert's voice took on a childlike quality at the last words, rolling his eyes and giving a chuckle. "You think you're scaring me, but it's you who needs to be scared of those thoughts." He looked him over. "Just go along with what I said, or I'll have to hurt you again." He smirked. "Ghoul, too. And the blonde…who's he? Your brother? You really care about him, don't you?"

Gerard flinched and shook his head. "I won't."

Bert stepped back, smirking, walking out of the corridor and then gesturing for Gerard to follow.

Hesitantly, the Killjoy did, allowing Bert to put his arm around his waist for "support" and starting to limp like he was in more physical pain than mental, in case any of the others saw.

He could have told, but he didn't. He couldn't allow anything to happen to him due to his own foolishness. Whether or not he would have tried to do something about it anyway if he hadn't already been on the verge of completely breaking down, he didn't know. He just knew he couldn't put Frank or Mikey in danger like that.

And if their safety meant living with what had just occurred, then so be it.

Gerard closed his eyes as Frank gave a soft moan, halfheartedly kissing back, silencing a cry of distress as Frank gently pushed him onto his back and cupped the front of his jeans with a hand. He instead sighed very softly, placing his shaking hands on his love's hips. Just give in...

He then frowned as Frank suddenly stopped and pulled back a little, his expression utterly confused. "You don't want this," he said, and he released the older Killjoy instantly, scooting so far away from him he nearly fell off the bed entirely, his arms up like he'd let go of something burning him.

Gerard lifted himself up on an elbow, trembling a bit. "I…if you w—"

"If I?" Frank turned his head a bit without looking away from him. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Gerard gave a feeble shrug, his gaze on the blankets, his voice very soft as he said, "It doesn't matter."

Frank scoffed. "Doesn't matter? What the hell is that supposed to mean? It does matter." He looked the other over. "What's wrong? Why didn't you tell me you didn't want to?"

Gerard only shook his head, and Frank swallowed uneasily, like his boyfriend's wordlessness was scaring him. "Gerard," he began, eyes widening a bit, "you don't think I would...did you think I'd get mad if you said no?"

The twenty-four-year-old opened his mouth to make an excuse, found nothing to say, and then closed it again, cheeks turning red in shame and embarrassment.

"God, Gerard, no! I wouldn't care if you never wanted to do anything again!" He cautiously reached out, aiming to simply hug him, yet Gerard still recoiled.

"Sorry," Frank whispered, shaking his head. He was such an idiot! "I'm sorry, Gerard."

"Can I tell you something?" Gerard suddenly blurted out, surprising both himself and his love, who frowned and nodded. "Anything—what's wrong?"

Everything Gerard wanted to say, everything he knew would only bring Frank down or make him angry—it all refused to come out in words. He stuttered for a moment without making a bit of sense and then fell silent, unsure whether or not that was the better option.

Frank tilted his head a bit and frowned, urging him on with his eyes, and at last Gerard managed, "I don't feel good."

"Then lie d—"

"Ever, Frank," Gerard clarified. "Not anymore."

"What?"

Cringing, Gerard looked away for a moment. Then he reached out and grabbed Frank's hand, getting off the bed and pulling him out of the room, down the hallway, and towards the soundproofed room, quietly pushing him inside and then shutting the door behind them, flicking on the light, feeling it was the only place they could safely speak. Then he turned to Frank, whose back was facing the door, and looked directly at the younger for a few moments—the longest eye-contact Frank had had with him in days—before averting his gaze again.

Frank frowned, noticing how much the older Killjoy looked like he wanted to cry. "...Gerard?"

"I—" Gerard cut off. "Frank, I want..."

Frank looked at him, desperately wishing he would continue, seeing that he was gripping the right sleeve of his jacket, the arm entirely stiffened. Something clicked in his head at that, a reason as to why he was continuously wearing the jacket, to why he grimaced everytime he hit that arm on anything or anyone tried to touch it—

"When you were gone…" Gerard tried again, but could only trail off. He bit his lip in sudden anger as his voice simply wouldn't continue no matter how much he willed it to do so, and then gave a soft sob of frustration, releasing his sleeve and throwing his hands up in an exaggerated shrug, shaking his head. "Never mind, Frank," he whispered, on the verge of tears, and before Frank could stop him, he had walked past him, out the door.

Frank turned in surprise, hearing the bathroom door shut from down the hall, and he almost went after him until his eyes landed on a folded, very crumpled piece of paper on the floor.

He frowned, bending down and grabbing it, unfolding it as gently as he could so it did not rip, and then stood again, confusion spreading throughout him as he read the lines scribbled.

'Well if you wanted honesty, that's all you had to say...'

The handwriting got messier and darker as it went along, like the writer had quite literally been pouring out their emotions onto paper, and Frank took a shuddering breath as he looked up, shifting his weight from one leg to the other and then hurrying out of the room, beginning to knock on the door of the bathroom—but stopped as he heard very soft, muffled sobs coming from the other side.

Frank cut off whatever he was about to say as his lips formed his love's name, not allowing a single sound to escape them. How many of the times Gerard went off to hide in the bathroom had he been breaking down like this? Just this once? All of them? Had Frank honestly been blind enough not to have noticed, or heard?

He held the paper a bit tighter between his tattooed fingers, purposely walking into the kitchen, where Dr. D was discussing something with DJ, and interjected with, "Doc?"

Dr. D looked up with a little frown of confusion that was immediate, and Frank wondered if he looked as frantic as he felt, or if his tone had somehow given it away.

"What's wrong?"

"I…" he trailed off a moment, looking off to the side and digging his free hand into his back pocket. "I gotta talk to you." His eyes went to DJ, and he added, "Alone."

Dr. D's frown deepened, but he glanced at DJ, who smiled at both of them and then nodded, going off into the living room.

"What's wrong?" the Doc repeated, and Frank cleared his throat, hesitant to respond at once. He glanced around, but there was no one. The kitchen's wall blocked out a good amount of the sound that came from inside of it, and anyway, the other Killjoys were in the living room, occupying themselves, and Ashton had gone out earlier to work. It was a perfect time to speak, and yet he couldn't find the words. Instead, after a moment, he held out the piece of paper.

The man extended his hand and took it, read it over, and then looked up to see Frank even more uncomfortable, breathing deeply through his nose like he didn't trust himself to open his mouth.

"Did—"

"Gerard wrote it. And he's in the bathroom now, crying. No, fuck that, he's sobbing." He scratched the back of his head, splaying dark hair in all directions, pacing to the counter and then back again, at last slumping into one of the kitchen chairs. "I'm really fucking worried about him. I was before, too, but now…" he chuckled without a hint of amusement. "I think he just tried to show me..."

Dr. D looked at him with another frown, at a loss from the words, and Frank couldn't even find the will to say it, pressing his tongue to his bottom lip and holding up an arm.

The man's mouth opened in a silent, "Oh," before he swallowed hard, averting his gaze for a moment in thought and then placing it back on the Killjoy, looking him over in sudden seriousness. "Are you sure?"

"I don't know!" Frank shrugged, leaning his head back to rest on the back of the chair and looking up at the ceiling like it was going to give him the answer. "If you're asking if I saw anything, no. I didn't. But he's not…he's not Gerard anymore." He picked his head up again and looked at the man solemnly, nausea suddenly making his body feel very weak. "Something…" he swallowed hard and leaned back once more. "Something happened when we were being held in BLI...I don't...it might be why..."

To his relief, Dr. D didn't ask what that had been as the younger trailed off. He instead gave Frank a glance full of so much sympathy, the twenty-year-old was immediately afraid he somehow was already aware of it. But, that was impossible...wasn't it? Even for the man, even for how good a doctor he was, deducing things like a post-apocalyptic Sherlock Holmes with a mere glance, there was just no way in hell he could have any idea of what had happened. He unconsciously scooted the chair back a little with his feet anyway, petrified the man's late response would be something like, 'I know.'

Then the man looked away and shook his head, as if to snap himself out of whatever he'd been thinking of. "There's something else, too."

"What?"

"He's not eating."

Frank opened his mouth like he was going to say something and then frowned and closed it again for a moment. "Earlier? I thought it was 'cause he wasn't feeling…" he trailed off as he suddenly understood was the Doc clearly believed was wrong. "No, he—you think he's doing that on purpose?"

Dr. D gestured at him as if to say Frank could figure it out on his own, giving a small shrug.

"No, he wouldn't…he's not…" Frank trailed off, trying to remember the last time he'd seen Gerard eat anything, letting out a loud sigh when he couldn't. And the older fainting after their escape...people didn't do that without a reason, without something causing it. If Gerard hadn't eaten anything in the days leading up to that...

"Ah, shit," he muttered,rubbing at his face. "I'm such a fucking idiot." How could he have overlooked something like that? "How do you know? No, you can't know. Not for sure."

The Doc gave him a look that said he did, but Frank shook his head, going back into his state of vain denial. "He wouldn't."

"I hadn't been paying close enough attention to him until after you got back from the broadcast..." The man sounded ashamed of himself, and Frank frowned. "What do you mean?"

"He's tired, he's lost weight, he's always cold—don't tell me you haven't noticed. I can't believe I didn't until now...that any of us didn't."

Frank shook his head again, but didn't disgree again. Instead, he asked, "How do we know? I mean...how do we find out?"

Dr. D gave a humorless chuckle, his expression remaining utterly serious. "Considering I haven't any idea how much he weighed before, I can't very well find out that way. And I don't have any of my equipment, or—"

"What if we just...ask him?" Frank said, and the Doc gave him such an exasperated look Frank tensed up and looked away. "Okay," he added, "You're the doctor, think of something else if it's such a bad idea!"

The man narrowed his eyes and continued staring, and Frank sighed in frustration, taking that as permission to do so. He turned around, went back to the bathroom, and knocked gently on the door. "Gee?"

For a moment, only silence greeted him, and then there was some movement and a few quiet sniffles. "Yeah?"

"Can you come out really quick?"

"Frank, I don't feel good..."

"I know, but it'll just take a second. Please?"

The twenty-year-old stepped back as Gerard opened the door, keeping his head lowered to hide the tears he wasn't aware Frank knew about. "What?"

Frank took Gerard's wrist and led him into the kitchen, gesturing for the older to sit at the table. Gerard blinked very slowly, his brow furrowing, beginning to realize what was going on—he'd had enough 'talks' with his parents to know the faces someone made when they were suspicious yet unsure how to question about whatever it was, how they made you stay when you wanted to leave. Only Frank was not in charge of him, nor was Dr. D. He could leave anytime he wanted. But something in Frank's expression, a certain desperate concern, made him obey and sit down, asking what was wrong.

"You have to tell us," Frank replied after a moment, and Gerard stiffened. His mouth opened to say something, but Dr. D cut him off before he could, his words blunt. "When was the last time you ate anything?"

Gerard squirmed in discomfort. "Earlier."

"Truthfully." the man ordered, looking up. Frank had never heard the tone he was using before—it was both deeply worried and disappointed, almost fatherly.

"That is the truth. What the fuck are you trying to do, interrogate me?" He rolled his eyes as neither answered, his agatation growing the longer he was the center of attention. "I'm tired. I'm going to bed. Goodnight."

He tried to stand, and Frank, not knowing what else to do, grabbed him and pushed him back down, surprised when the Killjoy didn't fight back, wondering if it was simply because he was too worn out to.

"Stop," Gerard whispered, his eyes pleading with Frank's. "Why are you doing this? I didn't do anything!"

Frank looked away, blinking back emotion, and then turned to him again. "Please, Gerard, talk to me."

The older Killjoy lowered his head without responding.

"Gerard!" Frank exclaimed, his voice cracking. "What the fuck is wrong? What do you think is wrong?"

Gerard shook his head, crossing his arms and shivering vaguely like he was cold. "Please...just let me...I'm tired..."

"You just asked me if I thought there was something wrong with you," Frank scowled. "Why?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Why do you keep saying that?" the twenty-year-old demanded, just as irritated now, unable to stand how helpless he felt, and Gerard unconsciously rubbed his arm, wincing. Frank eyed him, taking the arm as gently as he could. "Are you—?" He was unable to finish the question before Gerard suddenly pushed him away, with such a startling amount of strength that Frank tripped, staggered, and fell, the back of his head hitting the cabinets with a loud thud that must have caught the attention of the other Killjoys, because at once the rest of the apartment was silent.

Gerard blinked as he realized what he'd done, horrified as he watched Frank's mouth open in a silent cry of pain. He stayed where he was for a moment, a bit dazed, and then looked up. "Gee…" he began hoarsely, slowly standing, resisting the urge to rub at the throbbing area that had been hurt way too many fucking times in the last month. "Did you do that to yourself?"

"Do what?" Gerard chuckled humorlessly, gripping at the table.

"Don't fucking play dumb. You know what I'm talking about."

Gerard's eyes closed for a moment.

"Are you hurting yourself?"

"No!" the older Killjoy exploded, glaring at him, venom literally dripping from his words. "You think I'm that fucking pathetic? That I'm that weak? I'm not, Frank! I'm not as fucking weak as you are!"

Frank stared at him, his mouth agape, and Gerard took a shuddering breath. "If you wanna fucking think that, go ahead; I'm not weak. I wouldn't."

"Then show me your arm."

Gerard looked at him, almost frightened, and then whimpered, "Leave me alone!" before standing and then pushing past Frank, who didn't try to stop him this time. The younger had his eyes closed, his cheeks glistening with the tears he'd been trying to hold back, and then he blinked. "I love you, Gerard. You're more beautiful than anyone I've ever seen in my entire life."

Gerard half staggered at the words but didn't stop, ignoring the stares he was very aware he was getting and heading towards the bathroom again.

"Gee, are you okay?" he heard Mikey ask, limping to catch up with him before he could disappear again, reaching a hand out to Gerard's shoulder, which the older shoved away. "Leave me alone!"

"What? Gerard, I—"

"I'm not…just, leave me alone…please…"

Mikey held his hand up, allowing his older brother to lock himself away again, and then blinked away tears and frowned, going into the kitchen to stare at the two and ask what the living hell had just happened.

Gerard curled onto the carpet and grabbed the hood of his jacket, pulling it over his black hair and burying his head in his arms, his own mind spitting insults at him in a repetitive cycle. He bit his lip, almost drawing blood until he was sure he wasn't going to scream at it to stop. What was wrong with—?

No. He was done asking that question. He knew what was wrong with him. Everything. And now Frank knew it, and Dr. D knew it, and everyone else knew it thanks to his stupid little outburst he hadn't been able to control. He wasn't Party Poison. He wasn't Gerard Way.

He was nothing. Absolutely nothing but an object for Bert to fuck with and it was only a matter of time before the twenty-nine-year-old went and told Frank how the once-great leader of the Killjoys had enjoyed what Bert had done, what he'd made Gerard do. He'd probably say Gerard was the one who'd started it, or the only one who'd done anything at all. It hadn't been rape in his eyes, no matter how much Gerard had pleaded for him to stop. And as far as Gerard knew, there was a possibility Frank would see it as his fault, too, and then want nothing more to do with him, and he would be alone—alone and broken and destroyed and numb and just as fucking useless as he had been his entire life.

Stop. Make it stop. I'll do anything, please…He shook his head and felt tears unwillingly seep from behind his closed eyes, unsure who or what he was pleading with. Anything…just make it stop…

He stiffened suddenly, quietly taking a deep breath to cease crying and raising his head, dazedly glancing at the small, square, blurred glass window at the very top of the shower wall. It would be dark soon. Everyone would go to sleep, and he'd be able to think.

Not here. No, he needed somewhere quiet and alone. No one would miss him if he left, anyway. No one would miss him he never came back.

If he were to die, even—not a single person would care.

It didn't register that this thought was absolutely nonsensical. The truth never did in a moment of panic, of desperation, and he didn't acknowledge anything about how dangerous the sudden thoughts inundating in his mind were. He simply didn't care anymore. He just suddenly knew how to make everything stop—how he could assure he wouldn't be hurt again, that he wouldn't hurt anyone else.

No. I'm not okay. he silently replied to his brother, a sense of absolute, calming exhaustion washing over him.

But I will be. I fucking will be.