We Can Run, Or We Can Die [Frerard]

Five|Ray Toro The Fucking Saint

Ray wasn't half as irritable or annoying as Gerard expected him to be, but there was something about him that Frank didn't trust, that much was clear.

Frank himself was in front, nose buried in the map, trying to figure out just where the fuck they were. He had no clue, and figuring it out was just as hard as he thought it would be.

He sighed heavily, coming to a stop and turning around. "I can't fucking -" he frowned when he saw Gerard and Ray further away than he thought, whispering closely together and glancing at him. "Find where we are." He muttered uselessly to himself, sitting down on a nearby rock and cursing when he sat so hard the rock jammed into his ass cheek.

His eye - or what was left of it - itched behind the eyepatch, and the scarring hidden behind the messy outgrown hedge that he called hair was irritating him also. He rubbed it with the heel of his hand, a headache starting at his temples, and he cursed quietly to himself. Ray and Gerard weren't exactly getting any closer, so he took the chance and lifted the eyepatch.

He winced as he felt the mess, the scarring and burnt skin, and it did nothing to help the itch. It was as if it were his eyelids - maybe even the useless eyeball itself - were itching, and he cursed again, a little louder, because it wasn't as if he could get to the itch and scratch it.

He dreaded to think what it looked like, even after the healing process had near-enough completed. Probably gross. Probably disgusting. He didn't care. He was an ugly little fucker, and he was only going to get uglier.

"Why have you stopped?"

Frank's head snapped up at the sound of Gerard's voice, and he quickly snapped the patch back into place. "I was waiting for you to catch up." Bitterness seeped into his voice, intentional or otherwise, and Gerard's eyebrows rose. "I can't find where we are."

"Somewhere in New York, I know that much." Ray piped up, and Frank glared before holding out his hand.

"Do either of you have a compass?"

Ray rummaged in his bag and pulled one out, handing it to Frank as he turned to Gerard. The two moved off once more, away from the sidewalk and towards the field, muttering something about setting up camp. Frank glanced up towards the sky, noticing that the sun was beginning to set, and he sighed before frowning. He refused to let himself be jealous. He couldn't.

~

Frank couldn't sleep.

He'd taken it upon himself to sit outside the tent that Ray had oh-so-graciously brought along, as an unofficial guard. The tent was another reason that Gerard thought Ray was a fucking Saint, and Frank hated it.

He hated the whole apocalypse, and he hated being alone, and he hated lying to everyone. But most of all, he hated being scared.

And the truth was, Frank was too scared to sleep. Inside the tent, Gerard and Ray were sleeping (too close together for it to be purely innocent, which Frank also hated), and they were both oblivious to the thoughts swarming around Frank's head.

He was scared of Lindsey, too, and didn't know why they were going to where she was. But Mikey was there too, and he was the priority, only...

Frank shook his head, pulling his knees closer to his chest. He'd been allowed a night or two off from the nightmares, but he reckoned they would come back tonight - if he allowed himself to sleep.

He was tired, but he couldn't sleep. He couldn't.

The headache that had started at his temples had reached a crescendo in his head, and it felt like his skull was throbbing. He contemplated shooting himself in the head, just to get rid of it, but that would make matters worse - and messier.