Let Art Be Our Weapon: Frerard/Killjoys Epic

Phase III

        After lying still for so long wasting away, I can't help but fall asleep. The dreary feeling of lying motionless and breathing in and out takes over. My eyes fall heavy and soon close. I'm not tired, I convince myself. I'm just resting and closing my eyes. Of course, that's a lie. I am tired and I do fall asleep.
Dreaming is weird for me. I know that sleep and I aren't exactly on good terms lately. Haven't been since I was 14. First, it was the just insomniac, sleepless nights but then 4 years later it turned into night terrors on top of that.
There's blood everywhere. I'm standing around a mass of slaughtered people. There are two different types. The first type is those wearing ugly vampire masks or bland smiley faces. They are all dressed in pure white entirely with the exception of black boots and some black on their strange masks. But mostly everything is pure white. Their jackets, their shirts, their pants, their gloves, their belts, their guns. Everything is white. Between the white and barely black, the absents of color gives an unsettling feeling. The other type is brightly colored, completely different from the.. the white suits. They all have leather jackets, each one different and unique as is the very specific shade their guns are. All colors and hues of the rainbow and not any gun similar color to another. Multiple hues of every shade imaginable. Many different tints of red and kinds of blue and shades of green and different types of purple. They wear skinny jeans, which also differ in color. Their shoes are combat boots. Some have it lace up to their knees, other only their shins or their ankles. Many wear unique handcrafted, colorful masks over their eyes with a complimenting scarf over their mouth and nose. Others have complete helmets over their face. The colorful type has a name. They all look, I know there's terms for them. Punks, crash queens, motor babies, emos, rock 'n' rollers. That's what their style is but I'm missing a very important word for them. It's the white suits and....
And the Killjoys.
These two groups are against each other. There is nothing about them at is similar. They all have such different styles that it is a certainty that their entire life is complete contracting from each other. However, its image sharpens and I realize the dream in finer detail. Going back to what I first said but forgot, there is blood everywhere, on both the white suits and the Killjoys.

I open my eyes and see him. Frank is sitting in a chair next to my bed with his legs resting on the edge or my mattress. With on hand, he holds open a book he's reading about some Society and with his other, he's holding mine. I glance down at our fingers, how perfectly they intertwine. I fascinate over the ink on his hands. There are letters but they don't make any sense. His thumb absentmindedly taps a beat on my hand and I give him a reassuring squeeze. Glancing up from his book, he sees I'm awake and accidentally shuts the book. "Gee, you're awake," he says trying to take his hand back embarrassed but I don't let him. I hold onto him tighter so he can't pull away. He slowly realizes I don't want him to let go and he stops. "Do you remember anything?" he asks, looking at our hands.
"Not really," I say.
"Mikey said you seem connected like you could recall the Luke and Melanie's colors and could remember your emotions,"
Mikey? So that is his name, my supposed brother. If I am Gerard Way, then he is Mikey Way? Gerard and Michael? Those could be sibling names. It could be us. "There were certain things he said that upset me or made me angry, even though I don't know why."
"Did you remember anything he said?" Frank asks.
"Mikey, he told me a lot about Gerard and I can't differentiate what he's said with memories," I say. "I had a weird dream." His hand stiffens as soon as I say that. I raise an eyebrow. "What is it?" I ask concerned.
"You have a bad record with dreams. There was an incident when you were sick and delirious. It wasn't good. You saw, us dying," he says.
I did see people dying but I don't recall seeing Frank or Mikey, however, I could have forgotten that part. "I did see a lot of people dead and covered in blood," I break off at the end, hoping Frank doesn't think I'm a psychopath for seeing the bloody dead people. "There were these white suits."
"The Draculoids and Bounty Hunters," Frank clarifies. There is something oddly fitting for their names. "They're the bad guys trying to kill us."
"Yeah, there was this other group. The kill-something?"
Frank looks at me and sits up. "You mean the Killjoys?"
"Yeah, that was the word that came to mind. Who are they?"
He's quiet for a moment then speaks. "We are. I am, you, your brother. Everyone you know and hold dearly."
"Oh," I mutter. I feel so out of place here to the point where as much as they are trying to convince me and as much as I'm trying to believe them, deep down I don't think I'm Gerard Way. I loosen my grip on Frank's hand and pull away from him. His eye widens as I take my hand back, looking a little hurt. "I don't know," I whisper.
"You don't know what?" he asks.
"Anything," I say. "I don't know who I am and as much as I want to believe you, I don't know who you are or anyone. I don't know what's going on or what to do or say. I am so confused and lost right now what when I simply say I don't know, it's referring everything and anything," I ramble on. Frank looks at me sad while listening. "You say all these things and I can see what you guys say but, but I can't tell if it's just me making up or is an actual memory... I honestly doubt I'm this Gerard Way you miss and love." His eyes shimmer and tears form. "Please don't cry again. I'm sorry."
"You have nothing to be sorry about," he says looking up at me. Such fantastic hazel with enough green to notice. There's a calming feeling to looking in his eye except he's crying and it breaks my heart. I am the reason he's crying. I have no right to care about him if I'm the one hurting him. I don't want him to be sad but being around me is making him cry.
Frank reaches for my hand but I flinch at his touch. He freezes in place and looks offended and unsure. Why did I flinch away? Frank awkwardly slides away from me. I open my mouth to say something but I don't speak. Frank lightly laughs, but not the kind that's funny or happy. It's out of frustration and pain like he's finally broke. He stands up and paces around crying so hard he's now laughing. "Frank?" I call out. He just shakes his head and trudged to leave. "Please don't leave me."
"Why not?" he asks. "I'm just bothering you."
"No you're not, not at all," I say.
"Oh please, don't lie to me. I'm in love with you still and I've refused to lose you again. I can't see that you're already gone." I look at him longingly because I once again can't say anything to that. "I'm sorry I left you to end up like this in the first place. I love you, Gee."
"I love you too," I say then bite my lip. What the hell was that? What the hell did I just say?! Those words just slipped off my tongue! It just came out.
Frank looks at me with confusion, his eyes wide. "Do you really mean that or are you just saying it to placate me?"
I don't know why I said it. I wasn't thinking and it just came out, it slipped. Why would I say that? "I think I meant it?" I mutter.
"Are you asking or telling me?"
"I'm telling you," I say unsure.
He closes his eyes. "You lie to me," he whispers. Something is wrong. You lie to me. He has said that to me before. Did he say that yesterday? No, it was in a different place he said it. He was leaning and holding onto something. A bar or some sort. Why did he say that? What did I say? It flashes back. I love you. Trust me.
Lie to me. You lie to me, Gerard.
I was crying and bleeding. My arms stung and hurt not as much as the pain I felt in my chest as my heart began to break. That was a long time ago. Am I able of making that up? I think I remember that I remember him. He was leaving me. I go numb as my thoughts gather. That's what Frank meant yesterday when he said he left me, the biggest regret of his life. I remember him leaving me and I remember the pain. I don't want him to leave me again.
"I'm not lying," I say. "Please, stay with me? Things...things are better if you stay." His eyes glisten as he tries to believe me. "I love you," I say more reassuring, granted I myself still don't know it's true. That doesn't matter though. It feels right to say it to him.
Frank looks at me longingly and I give him a smile. I pat on the bed and he comes over, curling up next to me. I slowly raise my arms around him and lightly hold onto him. He snuggles closer to me and I'm unsure of what to do now. I don't want him to leave but it feels wrong to just embrace him. I still don't know him. Actually no, That is complete bullshit and so is everything I've been saying since I woke up. It feels quite right holding him in my arms and it feels right to say I love him. Frank senses my discomfort and he shifts away to leave again. But I don't want him to leave me. I hold him tighter and start pulling him closer to me. I can't explain this. What is it? What is it about this boy with straight black hair and eyes that can see through everything? Why is he so special? Why do I care about him so damn much for not knowing anything about him? Resting on my chest, he cries in my arms and I don't know what to do. I don't want him crying. I rest my mouth on the top of his head. Should I give him a kiss or would that be too much?
His straight hair fluffs up and brushes against my neck. I gently brush it back. He turns his head and raises his chin. His lips grazing my skin. I involuntarily squeeze him tighter in my arms as my heart rate increases. What is he doing to me? His lips press down and kiss my neck, causing chills to shoot down my back. He kisses the same spot over and over. His tongue slips out of his mouth and touches my skin. My mouth falls open. What is he doing? I close my eyes and he starts sucking on a soft spot on my neck.
Suddenly it flashes and I know him. His name forms on my tongue. I don't say as I have been. I say it with meaning. "Frank, I love you," I mutter. I know him. He's kissed me there before. He's kissed me before in general. The cheek, the nose, my forehead, my lips, other places all across my body. And I have kissed him before as well. But that's it. I've only kissed him. At least, in that manner I have. A few loving stray kisses on blurry faces before but none of them had this passion in them.
My hands take hold of him, curving around his figure and pulling him closer against me. I know this boy. I love this boy. He sits up on me in a way he had before in the past. A lot of the times when he sat on me like this we were in a car and there were other variables to the situation. His legs wrap around my waist and he hangs his upper body over me. My heart pounds in my chest. I do love him. I can't take my eyes off his lips. There's this look in his fantastic eyes and a curving smirk spreads across his lips that I fixate on. I mimic his mouth and smirk myself as I stare at his lips. I can't handle it anymore. I reach up and grip his hair, pulling him to me. My lips crash against his and instinctively kiss him. Magic. Fireworks. I come to life. I do love him. Frank Iero. I remember kissing him before a thousand times, some in secret, others not so much. I remember holding him and loving him. All my memories come flooding back and not one of them of us embracing are bad or unpleasant. They all range from innocent to intimate. Years of memories with him come back. Then more memories come to the rest of my memories as Gerard Way. Not entirely everything, just the feelings and the most recent are all dark and lonely. Most of the recent ones involve me missing him. I hold him tightly and bring him closer. I don't want to miss him. Not when he's right here. I think of an intimate memory I share with him. There are quite a few, years worth actually but the most recent one I think I was I remember the day before and on his 21st birthday. I pull back from his lips and look into his fantastic eyes. "I remember you, Frankie," I say smiling. "I remember everything and I love you."
There are tears again in his eyes but not heartbreaking ones. Quite the contrary in fact, heart-warming. He smiles ever so brilliantly and happy. "I love you too, Gee," he says and there are no objections that follow us as I kiss him again and everything after it.