WARNING: heavy mentions of suicide and gun violence
FRANK WAS SMILING so hard he felt like he was seconds away from starring in his Hollywood debut as a hysterical idiot.
He looked back down at his leg that felt naked without his cast.
Frank had to admit, although he was fucking over the moon he didn't have to keep the itchy and stiff cast around his entire leg, catching sight of the bullet mark hit him quite hard. The mark was small enough though, and somewhat ragged around the edges. There was a deep indent with almost a pinkish-white colour surrounding it.
But even so, he didn't think anything could take away from his relief and happiness that his cast was finally gone. Sure he still had to walk with the crutches for a few days but that was it.
Then he would be back to normal.
The thought by itself made Frank want to smile harder, and he had never been a fan of smiling in his entire life. Not even as a kid.
Luckily it had been after work, so he had asked Gerard if he wanted to come over. He hadn't told him about the cast-removal yet, in hopes of surprising him. And also he was worried Gerard would ask to see his bullet wound, which he wanted to avoid looking at all costs, well, he supposed he couldn't really put off looking at it while he was showering and getting changed- but he wanted to avoid Gerard seeing it at all costs.
It wasn't exactly a pretty thing to look at.
When Frank walked out of the hospital room, he spotted Bob who had been on the phone.
When Bob saw him, he smiled again.
Though honestly 'smile' wasn't the right word for it- the top row of Bob's teeth were showing, and there was a faint curve to the lips, but there was no crease below the eyes, no movement of the cheeks. On anyone else, it would be a grimace at best- but on Bob's face, Frank knew it was a sign of bliss
"How's your leg feel?" Bob asked after he hung up, Frank shrugging in response.
"Like a leg," Frank muttered, "Like a really fucking numb and weird leg."
Bob laughed, wrapping his arm around Frank's shoulder jokingly. Frank clenched his jaw, pushing Bob off of him as they walked, only making Bob laugh again.
"Oh yeah, sorry I forgot you're saving your first shoulder embrace for your little boyfriend." Bob said with a teasing smile, making Frank glare at him.
"He's not my boyfriend," He said sternly, because Gerard wasn't. Sure, Frank wanted him to be, but maybe Gerard was right. He wasn't the most ready to have them be official yet... he still wasn't the most stable person in the world.
Bob frowned at that, "Why not? Don't y'all like each other?"
Frank shrugged, "Yeah, I guess. But I'm still... y'know."
Bob nodded slowly, "So, you two are like casually fucking or is it more of a friendship kind of thing?"
Frank sighed loudly, "It's neither. We're not having sex and we're not just friends."
"But you two did fuck that one time, right? Or was that someone else?" Bob was seriously fucking getting on Frank's nerves with these questions.
"Yes we fucked once, alright? But now that we're... a thing... we're waiting." Frank said, feeling thankful when Bob limited himself to a simple nod.
"One more question," Bob said, making Frank groan loudly.
"Yes?"
"Is it like an exclusive sort of deal?"
Frank stopped, was it? To Frank it certainly was, and he had to think the same went for Gerard... but he had seen him with multiple guys before in the past. But Mikey had said he didn't date a lot, so maybe it wasn't fair for Frank to assume he had been cheating on multiple guys, they were probably just hookups.
Though the thought did make Frank slightly uncomfortable, especially since he himself had seen Gerard and how he was during sex, but he had to give Gerard the benefit of the doubt and confirm that his past wasn't really any of Frank's business. It was also probably better for Frank to maybe not go accuse Gerard of being a whore again.
Especially not when they were a sort-of item.
"Um," Frank mumbled, finding himself nodding, "Think so."
Bob must have sensed Frank's lack of certainty because he quickly cleared his throat.
"I'm sure you don't have anything to worry about, bud. I mean you're technically dating anyway." Bob said with a small shrug, making Frank swallow with a nod.
Yeah, he... had nothing to worry about.
✩ ✩
Frank's body was trembling.
He felt the dread building up like an unstoppable snowball in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't concentrate on anything that was happening.
It felt like his skin had another hot skin on the outside, like a garbage bag, it moved over his body and never released. The negative thoughts kept coming like waves on rocks, his brain feeling like it was being pickled in brine.
A gun.
The man had a gun. A 9mm just like Alex.
And for once, it wasn't a dream. It wasn't a pigment of Frank's imagination. It was really happening.
When Frank had initially been yanked out of the squad car, he didn't even have a second to register what was happening as his crutches fell beside him on the gravel, leaving him to be dragged like a rag doll by his shirt.
Frank could barely remember what he was doing. All he could remember was Bert telling him to wait in the car while he went to arrest some guy Frank couldn't even remotely give a shit about.
But now Bert was nowhere to be seen as Frank felt a man slam his body against a stiff brick wall. Frank's legs were shaking in pain, the strain of being held up without any support making his knees ache. Frank couldn't remember what the procedure for a situation like this was, he didn't have his own gun with him and it wasn't as if he could flash his badge at him— the man clearly knew he was a cop. It was more than obvious with his jacket decorated in the letters NYPD.
And Frank couldn't remember where he fucking was- all he could let himself focus on was the gun being pressed to his chest.
The pain of being held at gunpoint throbbed in his guts, it was deep and warm, but not in a nice way. It felt like someone had put their hands in there started squeezing his organs either gently or as hard as they could. When it subsided slightly he could move, when it returned he could only hold still and breathe, breathe slow and deep until it passed. But every breath felt like a nail bomb exploding in his innards.
Frank couldn't help but hate himself more in that moment. He was a cop damnit, he was supposed to be strong and follow things through, but the longer the man screamed at him and the more forcefully he pressed the gun against his rib cage, the more Frank wanted to cry.
God, he was a terrible cop.
Frank couldn't even understand what the man was saying, he was too focused on his heart rate that was going to make him go into cardiac arrest any second.
It was like an invisible hand was clasped over his mouth; an equally ghostly hypodermic of adrenaline piercing his heart, unloading in an instant.
He felt his ribs heaving as if bound by ropes, straining to inflate his lungs. Frank's head was turning into a ferris wheel of fears spinning out of control, each one pushing his mind into blackness. God, he wanted to run; but his legs could barely keep him upright as the man spoke louder at Frank's lack of response. His voice felt far away though, like Frank was no longer in the body that was paralyzed against the brick wall.
His day had started fine, he had been actually quite happy when he managed to take a nap without any nightmares. But now all of that didn't matter, because it looked like he wouldn't get to live to see another fine day.
He felt himself gag, the action aggressive and making his whole body convulse as he felt bile rise in his throat.
The man made a face of disgust as Frank forced himself to swallow it. God, everything fucking hurt.
And then it happened.
Seemingly out of nowhere his body collapsed against the concrete beneath his feet, his tailbone banging harshly against a rock as he fell.
Frank couldn't see what had even happened- his eyes were far too blurry, only making Frank's fear worse.
The panic started tightening his chest further, as if the muscles were trying not to let another breath in and instead leave Frank to suffocate. Had he gotten shot again? Was the adrenaline just pushing him through it?
But then the breath came, shallow, lungs unable to move much against his suddenly heavy ribs. Then his mind became like static once again, thoughts making no sense, his head replaying his worst fears and nightmares all over again.
Frank spotted it then. He spotted the gun laying on the ground by his side.
And all of the sudden it didn't matter what had happened to the guy with the gun, Frank was working off of muscle memory. His shaking limbs unwilling to stop his hand from reaching for the firearm.
Frank felt the warm handle against his hand as he curled his fingers around it, his breathing erratic and making everything spin. He heard a loud voice, a voice nowhere familiar to the man whom had dragged him.
But Frank didn't care anymore, he just wanted it to stop. He felt the bile again as he remembered the only way this feeling had stopped before- in his dreams there had only been one way out of the pain.
He shakily put the nuzzle of the gun between his lips that were letting out soft cries.
He put his finger on the trigger, feeling his body tremble in protest as he cried harder, his eyes looking up one last time to see the blurry figure in front of him.
It was Bert, holding down the pervious man.
His eyes were wide and terrified as he stared at Frank with fear. "Frank... calm down. Give me the gun, man-"
But Frank wasn't listening to his words at all as he took one last look of Bert's horrified face before he did it.
He pulled the trigger.
//—//
i promised myself i was gonna space my updates out to a fuckin' REASONABLE amount of time between them, but there's just so much plot to get through and i love all your comments so i'm just gonna fuck all of that lmao
★ not edited ★