Chemical City (An Mcr Fanfiction)

Chapter Twenty Five (Frank)

Frank couldn't recall much of his tiresome walk. He knew for certain he had stumbled and held onto the bleeding wound for most of the way, though he didn't know much of what happened after Pete shouted his name. Frank only knew the darkness in which blanketed him as he fell into Pete's arms.

Afterwards was nothing but dreams of death and nightmares repeating until finally he found himself to be in immense pain. So much pain, that he had woken from whatever horror his mind had created and screamed from the sharp stabbing in his side.

"Shh, shh. It's okay Frankie, hold on. He has to clean it." Pete's words weren't much, as Frank hurt and Patrick; though he couldn't quite tell for sure who it was as his vision was spotted, but Patrick had to be the one hurting Frank and all Frank wanted was the hurt to stop. He kicked and screamed a few times until the pain became too much and he fell unconscious.

Frank had repeating nightmares that he would wake up from. Most of the times Pete would be there to say a few words and help Frank fall back asleep. Once or twice had he woke up with Patrick by his side. Never, Frank realized in a off settling daze. Had he woken up alone.

It was one of those times when Frank was woken by one thing or another, that he had managed to stay somewhat conscious. Blinking drowsily, Frank turned his head to stare at Pete. Words were unable to form in his mouth so he simply watched Pete as the man slept in a chair beside him.

Frank groaned a little, though he soon realized he was feeling no pain. Just a small numb sensation that went through his entire body. He didn't quite know why he felt that, but assumed he had been put on some good drugs. Strong ones by how he was unable to form coherent thoughts. Most of which, were about nonsense that even he had trouble wrapping his head around.

Frank soon thought of how he couldn't wrap his head around things because his neck wasn't long enough, then remembered he had tucked Gerard's flower away in the notebook that Frank had in a kitchen where the cupboard was left open. Wait. What? Didn't he make his bed before leaving? What pain meds fucked up his brain so much? Well shit. Maybe Frank was just dying and reliving his life so that was why he was unable to read.

"Hey Frankie." Pete whispered. "I'm high." Was all Frank responded with. "Um, yeah. You kind've are. Patrick found some good shit. Some homemade stuff that may or may not make you go all weird on us. You know, because it's the twenty fourties and Tylenol is a thing of the past."

"Mmm." Frank wondered if scrambled thoughts were a sign of insanity or a medication effect. Was he finally losing his mind? Frank settled on watching Pete, who decided that he should tell Frank everything since Frank was, well, high off of potentially dangerous drugs.

"You were hurting a lot and well, the bullet missed you but it took off quite a bit of skin. It looks worse than it is-with your skin all torn and whatnot. It also showed early signs of infection-Patrick's words-not mine. I honestly don't know a thing about injuries except that you looked pale as fuck and I thought you were dead."

Somewhere during that conversation Frank fell asleep and with a clear mind; he wondered where he was.

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"Morning Frank." Frank mumbled a greeting and snuggled closer to the mattress, shouting curses the moment a small pain clawed at the place he had been 'shot.' "Oh. Yeah. Be careful. That thing ended up getting infected. It's a little better now but frick. Yellow puss and all that, not how I planned to spend my vacation." Frank groaned outloud and hissed through his clenched teeth.

"Sorry man, it hurts right now but it'll be as good as new in a few days. Had you all doped up for the past week. Let me tell you, you say some weird crap." Patrick said, sounding oddly concerned. Frank only squeezed his eyes shut and took a few calming breaths. "Week?" "Not necessarily. Only four days. You weren't out the entire time, if you don't remember. You talked with us and everything."