Diluted ☻ FRERARD ONE-SHOTS

Stockholm Syndrome

"Honey, this is all I want from you," Gerard coos with a somewhat relieved exhale, "I don't enjoy hurting you, you know. You just have to be good for me, Frankie, that's all."

Don't be so weak, you pathetic loser, fight back! Frank had sworn he wouldn't let himself be broken, especially this easily. Two months is hardly enough time to give up. He's revolted at himself and his desperation. He should be able to take a hit or two.

"N-n-no," Frank stammers as Gerard fully lifts him up to his feet. They shake as he takes a step. God, he can't even walk—

"Sh, it's done now. I'm gonna take care of you, what do you say about that, huh?" Gerard swings the shorter man over his shoulder and Frank lets out an agonised breath as black spots dance across his vision. He's expected to answer, he knows this by now.

Don't you dare say it, you coward.

"Tha-thank you S-Sir," he stutters, ducking his head until all he can see is a monster's back. The man hasn't broken a sweat. He imagines those eyes gleaming as his captor smiles in a sort of sick, proud way.

"Good boy," Gerard murmurs, "and are you going to behave for the rest of the afternoon?"

"Y-yes S-Sir," Frank breathes through exhausted lungs (everywhere hurts, just absolutely everywhere), but he doesn't know if it's a lie or not. It would be easier to simply behave, to submit, even though Frank is a fighter... most of the time.

Just maybe not today.

Gerard puts him on the kitchen table, a stable platform where Frank will be able to have his wounds inspected and dealt with conveniently. He understands how things will follow: Gerard will treat Frank's injuries gently and he will keep his voice soft and caring and full of praise and promises, and if Frank (or any other victim) were to fall for the tricks, he would see this as a comfort, an apology. Like a caged dog getting a treat when it doesn't bite.

It's been their routine for what seems like years now, and will continue as normal until Frank learns his lesson and does as he's told.

This is only manipulation, and Frank is not easily fooled. This is not a 'reward', and being beaten is not the punishment he will come to associate for his defiance. He won't fall into these tricks. He's studied monsters similar to his attacker, and therefore is convinced he knows Gerard's motives, partially. But partially, unfortunately, that would be impossible (Frank is no mind-reader).

"Jesus, why do you keep provoking this when you know you'll make me lose my temper?" Gerard sighs after retrieving the first aid kit and pulling his captive's shirt over his head to reveal his bruised torso. Frank stays silent, trembling slightly - a response to physical trauma he cannot control.

Gerard runs a hand carefully across Frank's kicked side and Frank's breath hitches in his throat as he struggles not to let out a strangled noise of pain. Gerard admires the black and blue but eventually decides there is only surface trauma and there hasn't been damage so severe it's life-threatening - no internal bleeding, no broken bones.

"Your ribs will heal themselves," he decides and his eyes sparkle and flicker up to meet Frank's terrified and hurt gaze. Not that Frank would ever be taken to a hospital even if something required surgery or worse. Gerard knows he's winning and he enjoys nothing more than watching his prisoner squirm and suffer - but also fawn over him when it's all done. "Would you like some painkillers?"