We Can Run, Or We Can Die [Frerard]

Five|Ray Toro The Fucking Saint

A rustling in the bushes, the ones twenty feet in front of him, caught his attention, and he shot to his feet, his knife out in seconds. He could feel his heart beating fast, but he edged forward anyway, towards the bushes. A low groan sounded from the greenery, and Frank gasped, freezing on the spot. And from the bush rose a zombie, five and a half feet tall and rotting away from the hairline downwards.

Frank hadn't seen one in ages. He hadn't dared to believe that they'd gone, of course, but still. It was there, in front of him. A lesser man - someone like Gerard - would've panicked, maybe run. But while Frank was scared of sleeping, of what lay in his own head, he wasn't scared of zombies.

It growled at him as he stepped closer, the foul stench hitting him and making him gag. There was no smell worse than death.

It stumbled towards him, reaching out, smelling the human that was so stupidly getting closer to him, but Frank sidestepped it and stabbed it in the back. It whined and tried to get at him, but Frank pulled the knife out and dodged its flailing arms, spinning and lodging the knife in the zombie's throat.

One of its arms caught him in the face, splitting his lip, and he cursed quietly to himself as he twisted and yanked the knife from the creature's throat.

Remove the head. Remove the fucking head, Iero.

The blood running down his chin made it hard to concentrate, and he felt like he was about to pass out. He darted behind the creature, its foul odor making bile - and the little food he'd eaten that day - rise in his throat. God, it was - it was fucking awful. He grabbed the zombie's hand, the flesh caving in beneath his fingertips, and he pinned its arm behind its back. He was going to smell like shit and gross and decay for days, oh fuck - the skin split and there was blood on his hands and Jesus he wanted to throw up -

There was some sort of muffled crack as the zombie's arm broke, and he stepped away as the skin split and the arm fell off at the elbow. He wanted to make some sort of stupid pun about its lack of arm but he was way too nauseous and just wanted it gone. Even for someone who liked gore as much as he, that was too much. The zombie was too decayed, so much that it really wasn't amusing anymore. So with more strength than he thought he had, he grabbed its head and snapped its neck, letting it drop to the floor.

Frank stepped back, breathing heavily, and he swiped at his chin, grimacing at the sting. He wiped the bloody knife on his jeans and put it away, his shoulders slumping. That was more than a little bit terrifying, he had to admit.

And Ray and Gerard were still asleep. Maybe that was a good thing.

He fell to his knees a few feet away from the dead (double dead? Triple dead? Quadruple donkey double black dead?) creature, his head hung low between his shoulders as his heartbeat slowed, and sleep would be just perfect right now, but...the nightmares...

He checked inside the tent and found that Ray had slung his arm over Gerard's waist, and he let out a heavy sigh, going back to sitting outside.

And he began to cry.

The hot, salty tears burned his eyes and tickled his skin, rolling down to his lips and over his chin. His lower lip was no longer bleeding, but it was sore, and as much as he wanted to stop crying, he couldn't. He hadn't cried in a long time, hadn't known he was capable of crying anymore. Evidently he was, if his sobs were anything to go by.

He pushed up his eyepatch and buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking. He didn't want to cry; it made him feel weak, and weakness was a killer these days. You had to be strong, you had to lead, but Frank couldn't do that. Frank wasn't a leader.

He was just another tortured soul in a tortured world, and he hated himself.

~

He was exhausted, and he didn't want to go anywhere, but they were looking for Mikey Way, Gerard was desperate, so he had to.

He shuffled along behind Gerard and Ray, who were well-rested and feeling positive, despite the rain beating down on them. Their clothes were soaked through and all three were shivering, but not even the sudden freezing temperature could shake Frank from his fatigue.

His joints ached from the uncomfortable position he'd fallen asleep in against the tent, and the dark fuzz didn't leave his thoughts, only clouded them further, made him bitter and jealous. He was angry, for what reason he didn't know, but he was angry, and tired, and everything that had happened in the past four years had snowballed and crashed into him, leaving him desperate and done.

He wanted to just leave and tell Gerard the truth, but he'd promised the guy he'd help him, and besides, the truth would destroy him. Gerard was sweet, and he liked him. He couldn't do that.

But Gerard and Ray were whispering together again, and Frank wanted to join them, but he was awkward, and wasn't good with conversation. He didn't particularly like Ray anyway, so it didn't matter.

"Guys?" He called out, his voice choked, and he was going to pass out, he knew it, it was just a matter of when.

And then the ground came rushing up to meet him, and everything decided it was going to turn black.

~

Gerard picked him up and threw him over his shoulder (not for the first time) and together, he and Ray managed to find a house that was just about intact.

They rushed in and laid Frank on the couch, and as Ray went to see if there was any form of water, Gerard sat beside the unconscious teenager and brushed his hair back from his face. The untidy black strands had masked the full extent of his facial injuries, and Gerard gasped, running his fingers over the scarring.

But he didn't have much time to wonder what had happened, because there were footsteps, and someone was speaking, someone that definitely wasn't Ray.

"Gee?"

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Hi guys, second update in two days, I'm in a bit of a roll tbh but I'm not sure how long it'll last - I'm just taking advantage of it, because who knows when I'll next be able to update?

The glorious picture is a glorious meme/edit thing from the glorious PotatoYoghurt, who has become a little fond of the dead possum in chapter whatever;)

Thanks for being patient with me guys (Wattpad's fucking up my spacing again smh);

-xøcharr <3