Frank lay in bed, pillow over his head as he tried not to scream.
Crying was probably more appropriate in this situation, but Frank didn't feel like he could cry. He couldn't even say he'd lied to, because technically no one had ever said anything but the truth.
Frank cursed at himself repeatedly for not putting the pieces together on his own. How had he not figured it out?
None of this was real. None of it fucking existed.
It had all started on the first day of camp.
Frank hadn't planned on spending his whole summer at camp – he hadn't really wanted to either – but when the only other option was staying at a Ronald McDonald house with his mom until his boarding school began in the fall, he jumped at the chance of doing anything else. That ended up being his grandfather's summer camp: House of Blues.
Blues ran in Frank's family. His great-grandfather had played, his grandfather had played, and Frank's own father had played until he overdosed when Frank was four months old.
Frank's mother had remarried to a carpenter quickly after that, only to discover she couldn't have more children. Frank thought he had dodged a bullet there, until his stepfather's seventeen-year-old cousin got pregnant, and gave them the baby.
Just Frank's luck: That baby wound up being the most medically cursed child the family could imagine. They named him Patrick, and he had a shit ton of mucus in his lungs that caused him to stay in critical condition for the majority of his life.
Or as the doctor's called it: Cystic Fibrosis.
Thankfully Frank's stepfather had been loaded, and was able to afford all of Patrick's treatments. Frank had grown up spending most of his time on his guitar, learning to write his own music, and skateboarding through the halls of the many Ron Don houses they stayed at over the years. That was, until the scaffolding under his feet broke one morning and dropped him four stories down to his death.
Life insurance and inheritance could only take them so far, and it wasn't long until they'd been back where they started: poor and fatherless. An uncle on his stepfather's side had taken pity on Frank, and sent him to an expensive boarding school in Pennsylvania. Until then, though, Frank had the whole summer to waste.
"Fuck!" Frank cried as his skateboard landed on its side, skidding to a halt and sending him flying off. He stumbled for a few steps before catching himself on the side of the drained pool and steadying himself. "Son of a bitch." Frank huffed as he caught his breath, kicking his skateboard right side up. He placed one foot on the board, preparing to kick it forward when his phone chirped, making his hesitate.
He pulled it out, glancing at the contact before answering. "Hey," Frank said, putting it on speaker. "Frank!" Grandpa's voice drifted through the phone, friendly but urgent. "Where are you? Doors open in an hour, and you're supposed to perform at the welcoming speech! We need to start sound check." Frank's grandfather was named Frank Iero – same as Frank's father and same as Frank – but he was referred to as Grandpa by everyone.
"Heading there now." Frank said, clicking off his phone before Grandpa could continue. He was going to be late, and Grandpa was going to be disappointed per usual. Frank had been watching the camp since the start of summer, but this was the final week, so he'd decided to participate.
Unfortunately, Grandpa had seen it as a business opportunity, and when the news got out that Frank Iero would be in the camp, it sold out without hours.
That was the other thing: Frank was famous.
Turns out people had liked those songs he'd written at the hospital. The small label he'd signed to – four years ago on his twelfth birthday – soon sold him to a major one, kick-starting Frank into his music career.
The major label wanted quiet songs – and only quiet songs – so that's what Frank wrote. It wasn't his style, but it's what the industry liked. Once, Frank had shown them a heavier song he had written. He thought it was quite good with its harsh-toned guitar and screaming vocals, but the label had hated it with a passion. They threatened to end the contract, which wouldn't have been a problem, except for the fact that it was supporting almost all of Patrick's treatment.
And that was all that really mattered, in Frank's opinion. Not that Frank was the sentimental type, but he knew it should have been his brother here, not him. Patrick would have loved this camp, far more than Frank ever could have.
Frank pulled out his phone, texting Patrick.
F: Camp's starting soon, and I have to perform blegh
The three dots appeared almost instantly, before showing, Patrick's reply.
P: Being popular must be sooo hardd. Poor you.
Frank laughed, shaking his head. Patrick was so weird.
F: yeah, whatever
Frank shoved his phone back in his pocket as he reached camp, walking out of the woods and down to the front desk.
"Frank!" Brian called, brightening as he saw the boy. "Where the Hell'd you wander off to this time?"
"The drained pool," Frank shrugged, motioning to the skateboard under his arm. "It's the only flat place within a couple miles."
"You're lucky Grandpa loves you." Brian said. "Being two hours late? On opening day?"
"It's the camp's last week of the summer." Frank defended himself. "And he doesn't love me, he loves my fame."
"Don't say that." Brian warned, but Frank brushed it off. "I'm going down to the stage." He turned, walking down the stairs to the back entrance. The front doors of the stage were outside, but Frank avoided using them if he could.
Frank walked down the black and dusty stairs, his feet knocking against the hard floor. The weak yellow light from the ceiling reflected off the shiny posters on the wall, and Frank ran his fingers subconsciously over one as he passed.
"Frank!" Grandpa called, and Frank put his hand up in greeting, rolling his skateboard under the stage for later retrieval. "Hey."
"Go get your guitar, and let's start sound check!"
✰✰✰
Frank slipped a necklace off, over his head, tossing it back and forth between his hands as he waited backstage. He could hear the chatter of a couple hundred kids as they sat down, and he sighed, bored. Frank's feet swung beneath him and he tapped the toes of his Vans on the floor impatiently.
His phone let off a buzz, and he glanced at it with interest. Mom.
"Hello?" Frank asked, and his mom's worried voice responded. "How are you, Frank?"
"Good," Frank said quickly. "What's going on?"
A pause. "It's Patrick. His team wants to start him on new medicine, and – "
"Do you need money, mom?" Frank cut her off. "You can just ask me directly, alright? It's not embarrassing."
"Frank, it's . . . complicated." His mother said quietly. "The medicine – it's urgent. Patrick needs it very badly."
Frank frowned. "I'll ask James if I can get paid earlier this week." He said, practically hearing his mother's relief. He'd told her over and over that she could ask Frank's agent herself, but her pride was too high. "Thank you, Frank. You know how sorry I am to ask,"
"Don't be, really." Frank said exasperatedly, changing the subject. "How's Patrick?"
"He's right here." Frank's mom said, and there was a small rustling on the other end before Patrick's voice came through, excited and joyful. "Frank!"
"How's it going?" Frank asked, and Patrick laughed. "So good," He said, pausing as he was hit by a coughing fit. "We played Bingo the other night and I crushed everyone's ass!"
"Patrick," Frank heard his mother's muffled warning and Patrick's "Sorry," before he continued, his voice lower. "And then Andy and I snuck into the lobby and put fake spiders in the coffee machine!"
"You did not!" Frank grinned, and Patrick giggled. "We got in so much trouble, but it was so worth it!"
"I'm sure it was," Frank said, studying his worn down shoes. Patrick should be here, having fun at camp, not a hospital.
"Aww, I have to go," Patrick said, and Frank nodded. "Alright, bye. Talk to you soon."
"Bye!"
Grandpa walked by Frank, patting him on the shoulder. "You're on in fifteen," He said, before walking up the stairs to the stage. Frank could hear Grandpa's voice through the speakers, loud and welcoming to all the campers. For a moment he let himself wonder what it would be like to be out there, in the crowd like everyone else, but quickly squashed the thought. Patrick's treatment cost money, and Frank only knew one way to get it.
"James?" Frank dialed up his agent, letting the phone ring for a few minutes before giving up and pulling up his messages. He decided to type out a text instead; James could read it whenever he came back.
F: Hey – Can I get my check earlier this week? It's important, reply when you can.
"Welcome to House of Blues!" The sound of Grandpa's voice reverberated through the stage, down into the changing room where Frank was sitting. "Who's excited for camp?"
Frank's phone buzzed and he glanced down at it, surprised to see James' number. "Hey, what's up?"
"Jumping the gun, are we now, Frank?" James asked amicably, and Frank gave a tight-lipped smile. "I need the money for Patrick."
"Yeah, yeah, I know." James waved him off. "But I'm not made of money, and neither is your label. I can talk to them, but I think the best you're gonna get is from a new single."
"A new single?" Frank repeated. "But James, Patrick needs it sooner than that!"
"I don't know what to say," James replied. "It's the best deal I can offer at the moment."
"You know where I am, James," Frank sighed. "How am I supposed to record?"
"You're shitting me, right?" James laughed. "Frank, you're at a top ranked music camp! There are at least four studios there, if not more."
"You want me to record myself?" Frank repeated, confused. He hadn't mixed his own tracks since he was thirteen.
"It's not like you don't know how." James said, before adding, "Look, I got a call."
"Okay, okay," Frank said, before hanging up. He needed the money as soon as possible, so he better start writing.
"Frank! You ready to go?" Brian pushed his shoulder from behind and Frank jumped, not knowing he was there. "Yep," Frank nodded, jumping to his feet and jogging up the stairs. Grandpa was already waiting for him, and he smiled as Frank ran out on stage. The crowd cheered.
"As you all know, this is my grandson, Frank Iero." Grandpa introduced proudly. Frank leaned toward the microphone. "How are we doing today?" He asked brightly, grinning at the people in front of him. He talked for a minute or two about how happy he was to be at camp – all of it faked, though, as his thoughts were on Patrick – before stepping away from the mic and pulling it down.
Sitting down on a stool, Frank grabbed his guitar from the stand, plugging in a cable and fiddling with the tuning for a moment. As he pulled the microphone down to his face, the crowd grew quiet, and Frank glanced up at them.
It was hard to see anything through the blinding spotlights Grandpa had insisted on putting on the indoor stage, but Frank could just make out the outlines of teenagers, watching in anticipation. He swallowed, playing a few experimental power chords before closing his eyes and launching into the intro of one of his more recent songs.
The heat from the light burned his face as he played, starting quietly as usual. After a moment his thoughts drifted back to Patrick. He needed this single done, and he needed it done soon.
Frank was unaware of how worked up he was getting until he found himself slashing at the guitar, his voice raised to a shout. He finished strongly, taking a large sip of water as he hung his guitar back in the stand and stalked off stage.
"What happened up there?" Brian asked, meeting him as he stepped off.
"What are you talking about?" Frank replied. Sweat was dripping off his face, and he wiped at it with the neck of his shirt. Brian's eyes widened. "I don't know, you seemed kind of angry."
"Yeah?" Frank snapped, suddenly irritated. "Well, maybe I am."
"If I didn't know better I'd say you were on your period," Brian teased. "C'mon, Frank. Lighten up."
"Patrick's sick," Frank said, and Brian shrugged. "Isn't he always? Put on a happy face, Frank. No one wants to see you sad."
"I'm allowed to be sad!" Frank yelled, squeezing his eyes shut. "My brother could die at any moment!" The words hit him hard and Frank gasped, swallowing another shout.
"Frank, come on," Brian started, but Frank was already storming out the door, letting the screen slam shut behind him.
Frank was mad. Seething, actually.
He got into these funks often, where his mind seemed to overflow with rage, and nothing could calm him down. Frank tried to think about what his therapist had taught him – smell the roses, blow the candles – but Frank didn't think deep breathing was going to help him now.
Frank wanted to hit something, anything. He was running now, through the woods. He didn't realize where he was going until he broke into a clearing, finding himself back at the drained pool.
He huffed, kicking a rock angrily. It bounced a few feet before coming to a stop. Growling, Frank sat down, breathing heavily. Jesus Christ, he needed to calm down.
"Where's the bear?"
Frank's head snapped up, looking around until he saw the source of the voice. There was a girl sitting a fair distance away, her bright eyes glimmering with amusement.
"What?" Frank asked breathily, feeling the anger draining from him already as the girl laughed. "The bear." She repeated. "You were running to hard for there not to be one."
"Oh," Frank chuckled, rubbing a hand over his face. "Very funny." He waited for the girl to squeal as she realized who he was, but when a few moments passed and nothing happened, he hauled himself to his feet, walking over to where she sat. "Well, we should get over with it, already." He said. "You want my signature?"
"No?" The girl frowned, looking up at him. "Why, should I? Are you famous, or something?"
Frank opened his mouth to say yes, but stopped himself. Here was a girl who was both incredibly cute, and had no clue who he was. Frank supposed once she realized who he was that would change, but he didn't see the harm in prolonging it as long as he could.
"Nope," Frank shrugged, sitting down a comfortable distance away from her.
"Gee Way," The girl stuck out her hand, and Frank took it. "Frank Iero." Frank regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, bracing himself. But the girl just tilted her head at him. "You know, you're acting really weird." She pointed out. "I'm really sorry if you're someone famous. I've been in Argentina for the past three years, so I'd totally have no idea who you were. If you were famous," She added humorously. "Which you said you were not."
"Argentina?" Frank asked, looking the girl up and down. She had short white-ish hair that went down to her shoulders, and a faint goth aesthetic that Frank had never seen in any other girl at camp. "Is everyone there are hot as you?"
"You're hilarious," The girl said sarcastically, and Frank grinned. "Say something in Spanish."
"Que te folla una pez," She laughed, cracking up at herself.
"What does that mean?" Frank asked, and Gee's face flushed a little as she stumbled around her words, obviously unprepared for the question. "Uh, nice to meet you."
"Gee, even I know that wasn't nice to meet you." Frank replied, and Gee kicked his foot playfully, giggling a "Fuck you," before asking. "So, Frank, what brings you here?"
"To the pool?" Frank asked. "Well, I've been here the whole summer, so I come down here a lot."
"The whole summer?" Gee's eyes widened. "Wow, you must really like blues."
"Actually, I'm more of a rock-and–roll type of guy." Frank smirked. "Surprising, right? My grandfather owns the camp, but things just get to be a lot sometimes, you know?"
"I know." Gee nodded. "What happened? I mean, you totally don't have to tell me, but I kind of expect you to at this point."
So, Frank told her about Patrick, and James, and how he needed a new song if he wanted to help his brother. He wasn't entirely sure why he was doing it, but it just felt right.
"It's going to be a rock song, right?" Gee asked, but Frank shook his head. "No, my label usually likes indie or blues."
"Well, they're your label," Gee said. "You should write what makes you happy."
"I wish it worked like that," Frank said wistfully, and Gee pushed his shoulder. Frank noticed her nails were black and shiny as she drew her hands back. "I hope your brother's okay." She added after a moment. "It's really cool that you do this for him."
Frank shrugged. "It's not like that, it's just –" He was cut off as his phone began to ring. Cursing internally, Frank pulled it out.
"Frank!" Brian called. "Granpa's looking for you. Where'd you go?"
"I'm coming, I'm coming," Frank grumbled, hanging up. "Sorry," He apologized to Gee as he stood up.
"Someone cares about you a lot," Gee smiled, but Frank shook his head. Sometimes he wished they didn't. "Hey, can I get your number?" Frank asked hesitantly. He wasn't sure what it was about this girl that made him so nervous – it was quite the rarity to see him giving such a fuck.
Gee raised a brow, motioning for Frank to give her his phone. She put in her contact before tossing it back. "Thanks," Frank breathed, before taking a step back toward camp. "See you around?"
Gee nodded and Frank turned and ran off, his heart beating a little quicker than normal.
skskfdssks look i started a new fic ahhhhhhh
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