They heard Bob shout Brian's name before they even had time to move.
When they reached the living room, Frank didn't know where to look. Brian's red, still face, his closed eyelids, his hands, hanging limp and swollen by his sides. The empty chair Gerard had been tied to. The ropes on the floor.
"Cut him down!" Bob shouted, wrapping his arms around Brian's legs and lifting him, supporting his weight. "We have to cut him down!"
It was like being in a dream; Frank moved on auto-pilot, climbing onto Ray's shoulders, taking the knife Mikey handed him, hacking and slicing at the rope that made a noose around Brian's neck. Bob was shouting - Frank cut as fast and as deep as he could, and finally Brian's body was loose and Bob was tumbling him to the floor, laying him out and scrabbling at his throat, pulling the noose over his head and throwing it away.
Frank fell on his knees next to them. He felt Brian's wrist. "No pulse," he heard himself say.
"He's not breathing," Bob said, his ear over Brian's mouth. He turned and - for a second Frank thought he was kissing him, but his hand was on Brian's chin, the other pinching his nose shut. Brian's chest lifted; Bob was blowing breath into his lungs.
"Out of the way!" he shoved Frank and laced his hands together, one on top of the other, pumping the heels hard into Brian's chest, once, twice, three times, four, five. Another breath. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
"Breathe, god dammit!"
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
"Breathe!"
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
"Bob," said Frank.
"No," said Bob. He covered Brian's mouth with his own again.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
"Bob," said Frank again.
"No," Bob told him, smacking Frank's hands away when he reached for him. "Breathe, asshole!" he yelled, and brought his fist down into Brian's chest, hard, making Brian's body jerk and settle back into stillness on the floor. "Brian!" he shouted, and punched him again, and again, and Frank thought he heard a snap, something breaking in Brian's chest.
"Stop it," Mikey begged him, kneeling next to Frank and reaching out to block Bob's arm. "Bob, stop."
"Don't tell me to stop!" Bob yelled. "Don't tell me to stop when he's - Brian, don't you fucking do this to me, you don't get to fucking leave us, come on, breathe, breathe," he roared, and slapped Brian across the face so hard his head rocked violently against the floor. Bob brought his fist down on Brian's chest one more time and Brian convulsed, opening his mouth and sucking in a huge, hoarse, painful-sounding lungful of air, choking it back out, coughing and shaking and struggling for breath while Bob held him up, close to his chest, one hand spread over Brian's torso.
"Easy, easy," he said. Brian's hands flailed around; Mikey caught one and Ray the other. Frank sat back on his heels and just stared - his hands hurt and when he looked down he found that he was gripping Brian's legs so hard his fingers were driving into them. "That's it," Bob was saying. "Just breathe, you can do it, you're okay."
Brian fumbled his hand out of Mikey's grip - he caught Mikey's chin clumsily before scrabbling at Frank's shoulder. "What is it?" said Frank, catching his hand. "Brian?"
Brian couldn't speak yet, but Frank was watching his face and he saw his mouth form the words, "I didn't."
"I know you didn't," said Frank, holding on tight. "I know you didn't, I know that."
"He didn't what?" Bob demanded, still holding Brian close.
For a minute Frank couldn't answer because he wasn't there, he was back in his bathroom, sprawled out on the floor, and Brian was holding him in his arms until the ambulance came. "He didn't try to kill himself," he managed eventually, leaning into Mikey, pressing Brian's hand between his own. "It was Gerard."