MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE ONESHOTS

typhoid frank

 (trigger warning for death, illness, screaming, crying, and medical themes)

(happy valentine's day!!!!)

(i finally posted!!! happy?)

(this is a pretty bad drabble but i like the premise so. it's based on a lady named mary mallon, better known at "typhoid mary")

(go on and read 😎)

          Frank was a servant. He liked to think that he was good at being helpful.

           His family had emigrated from Italy to the United States in 1884. He was 15. There, he and his mother, Linda, served wealthy and aristocratic families; Families like the Way family.

           Also of Italian descent, the Way family — Donald Way, his wife, Donna, and their sons, Gerard and Michael Way — had moved from Italy to America, too. Donald had, like the Ieros, come to America looking for work. However, he ended up creating work for himself. 

           Overcoming the prejudice against US immigrants and the bumps down the road of entrepreneurship, he made quite the profit with his business. With all of their money, the Way family bought a beautiful manor and lived the good life in Poughkeepsie, New York.

           When the Iero family were desperately looking for money, the Ways sympathized and hired them quickly.

           But what they didn't know of was Frank's terrible disease.

*

           "Hello, Frank," Gerard said.

           "Buongiorno," Frank replied. He'd lived in Italy longer before moving. Gerard had left when he was seven.

           Gerard smiled. "Do you have any work to do?" he asked.

           "No," Frank answered, "not right now."

           "Then let's go out in the garden," Gerard suggested. "It's a nice day."

           They did. And they had their fun, picking flowers and playing in the grass. 

           But it wasn't meant to last.

           "Master Gerard," Linda said, walking out into the garden, grease-stained apron tied around her waist. "Mi dispiace... but... you must come quickly. Your brother, Michael... he isn't..." She looked down worriedly and mumbled something.

           Gerard glanced at a confused Frank and a concerned Linda. He sat up from the bench he and Frank were sitting on.

           "Take me to him."

*

           Michael wheezed out a dry, hacking cough. When Gerard walked in, he took his eyeglasses from his nightstand and perched them on his nose. He smiled warmly when he recognized his brother, but then he coughed again, and it nearly caused Gerard to flinch.

           "Mikey," he whispered, leaning over Mikey, who was tucked into the sheets of his bed despite the sweat covering his face and neck. "What happened to you?"

           Gerard rested his hand on Mikey's, which were folded on the sheet over his lap. Frank could only stand and stare anxiously.

           "I've just developed a little cold, is all," Mikey whispered hoarsely. "I'm alright, Gerard."

           Gerard didn't look too convinced.

*

           Rightfully so. Mikey died a week and a half later of the unknown illness. Frank never saw Gerard smile again.

           One day, however, Gerard walked up to Frank and asked again,

           "Would you like to sit in the garden with me?"

           Frank was surprised, but not unhappy. He followed Gerard into the garden again, and they sat on the same bench they sat on when they learned of Mikey's illness.

           Gerard held his head in his hands. "Why did this happen?" he asked suddenly.

           Frank didn't know what to say. He simply put his hand on Gerard's back comfortingly.

*

           Shortly after, Donald and Donna Way were infected by the same illness. Neither died, luckily, but both became very sick and it was difficult even after their bodies had fought it off to do certain tasks. 

           Frank and Linda now had more work to do.

*

           "Frank," Linda said, "I must tell you something important."

           Frank listened attentively.

           "Before I gave birth to you," Linda continued, twisting her apron in her fingers, "I was stricken with a terrible disease: typhoid fever."

           Frank put two and two together immediately.

*

           "Frank!" Gerard called, rushing into the forest behind his home, umbrella in hand to fend off the rainstorm. "Where are you going?"

           "Somewhere I can never harm anyone again," Frank replied, a cloak hiding his nose and mouth and gloves over his hands. "Leave. Dovresti tornare a casa."

           "No," Gerard yelled, stomping towards him, muddying his dress shoes. "I don't know why you're running away, but I won't let it happen."

           "I killed Michael!" Frank screeched, scraping up his throat in his sadness and his anger. His eyes watered. "I was sick and I killed him! The same will not happen to you!"

           Gerard's face paled as his eyes teared up, too. He clutched his umbrella tight.

           He looked back at his home, then at Frank. Finally, he looked up at the heavens.

           "I won't let you run away," he repeated. "Even if I die, too, I will be with Michael again. Whether you like it or not, I am coming with you."

*

           Frank and Gerard weren't seen again.