Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Paging Nurse Iero. Nurse Iero: please come to the intensive care unit immediately.

Frank paused, a syringe filled with 55 units of insulin pressed up against his belly. His imminent mausoleum, a shit-smeared yet somehow sterile-smelling bathroom stall with a giant phallus drawn in sharpie just above the lock, couldn’t offer him the privacy of a dignified hypoglycemic shock. Lowering his scrubs, he slammed his fist against the wall, wishing he hadn’t wasted precious minutes contemplating what should have been an easy fucking decision. If he hadn’t hesitated, in some thirty minutes his outraged colleagues would barge in, asking how long it takes a man to crap, to find him already passed out on the bathroom floor and beyond the help of modern medicine. And everything would be so fantastically dark and empty, not a problem in the world.

Paging Nurse Iero. Nurse Iero: please come to the intensive care unit. Now.

Uh-oh, he recognized the voice. All the more fucking reason to have gone through with it. He sucked in a shaky breath, trying to push out tears knowing they would come anyway—but they didn’t, and he just felt stupid. So fucking broken he couldn’t even cry in the privacy of a bathroom. He could hold off on just about any fucking emotion, but lately, he found that he wasn’t just holding off. He was absolved of it, entirely. Nothing but emptiness and fatigue. Forever.

Paging Nurse Iero. Frank, get your short ass into the intensive care unit now.

He had to fucking go. Capping the syringe, he exhaled slowly before running out, dropping it into the nearest sharps container on the way, and getting himself into a surgery gown before entering the sterile room. His eyes darted over the patient, whatever remained of his crispy ass, and was handed over the forceps and told to press while the graft was applied. The nurse who gave it to him left quickly, and Frank made a face behind the surgical mask. Good luck getting a passport photo to this guy. If it were him, he’d opt to just have a picture of the phantom of the opera or something.

“Give me the plaster.”

Frank glanced up at the voice, handing the surgeon the tool. He returned his look before getting back to work, no affection behind the eyes. Fucking figures.

“Thirty bpm,” another nurse told him. “Dr. Toro, twenty-nine.”

“Give epinephrine,” he replied. Frank watched, determined not to interfere, not really trying to be more help than a coatrack as he held the gauze in place. Toro glanced at him again, this time with what Frank perceived as judgement. He supposed he was not beyond that, even with his infinite patience.

“Stable,” was declared. Frank felt like he was watching someone else going through his motions, handing Toro the suturing tools, watching the grafts be applied, holding the forceps, getting the gauze. He was so utterly fucking useless, his own mind didn’t seem to want to belong to his body. And that was fucking insane, because looking at Mr. French Fries on the operating table, he didn’t have too much to complain about. Sure, his knees and back were probably permanently fucked, his immune system suspended in a perpetual state of fighting off something viral, and his body was a saturated cortisol sponge by now. But he was, by some accounts, hot, alive, and twenty-five.

With the same detachment he followed his colleagues out, entrusting the flambé to the next shift as they peeled off the nitrile gloves and gowns. He looked up and to his chagrin, found that Toro was already looking at him. His handsome face was glistening with perspiration from the mask, and dark rings formed under his eyes.

“Slacking on your last day, Nurse Iero?” he droned out, though he didn’t sound mad. “Why’d I have to page for you three times?”

“I…was taking a shit,” he said, without a blush. “You know how it is.”

“Uh huh, well, didn’t they teach you to time your shits better? People are counting on you with their lives, Frank.”

“Nope,” he replied with swift finality. “On you, yes. You had five other nurses there and an anesthesiologist. You just wanted something to rest your eyes on. Understandable, since Chris P. Bacon probably wasn’t doing it for you, Ray.”

That drew a grin from Ray. God, he was such a fucking honey trap. Young doctor, good looking, kind, no fucking cockroaches taking up residence in his brain yet. Maybe Frank was just a fucking victim. But he knew damn well he was getting what’s coming to him. And perhaps, looking at him, Ray knew that too.

“I’m gonna miss you. Sorry,” he added quickly, before Frank could even say he’ll miss him too. Though he never should’ve started. “I’m not trying to rehash anything, man…I’ve caused you enough trouble as is.”

“No, it wasn’t you,” Frank said a tad too quickly. It was just like Ray, this ‘share the blame’ bullshit, but what would be the point when they were already post-fallout? “It’s…not important. Anymore.”

“I mean I’ll miss working with you,” he tried, still grasping at civility. They had gone out into the hallway, the incessant flow of people and the noise of shouting, groaning, and pagers going off muting their conversation to the world. “You…you shouldn’t blame yourself for anything. What happened—you just needed an escape. Really, I think you’re making a mistake, transferring out. You’re running from your problems.”

Pre-fucking-cisely.

Frank shook his head. “It’s already done. Bags are packed. Driving down tomorrow. Well, up.”

“Where is it again?”

“Maine. Yeah, I know. Whatever, man, I really just intend to work and not do much else. I feel like I lost at life already.”

Ray pursed his lips. “Jesus, what are you, fucking St. Sebastian? You gonna beat yourself up about it for the rest of your life?”

Frank’s face seemed to answer that. Ray sighed, rubbing his face. Frank figured he had that effect on people. Then he put a hand on his shoulder, shooting flames through him as he said, “Let me buy you a drink. C’mon man, just to say goodbye. I don’t know if we’ll see each other again.”

Frank shrugged, ignoring the burning feeling of want.

“I don’t know, man. This is so fucking awkward.”

“Yeah, you’re fucking making it awkward, dude. I’m talking about one drink. When are you off?”

“Already am. That was my last patient at Jersey General,” he waved towards the ICU ward dramatically, and reached for his badge, entrusting it to him like a farewell token. “Thanks for the offer, Ray, but I really, really don’t think it’s a good idea. I’m gonna go home and just try to catch a wink. It’s a long drive.”

Ray’s gaze seemed to peer into his soul. He hated that look, like he knew exactly what his thoughts were.

“Okay, Frank. Again, I’m sorry, and I’ll miss you. You got my number, yeah? Give me a call every now and then. And,” he raised his hand, like he wanted to pat his shoulder again, but held off. “Just…fucking take it easy, dude. Just learn to forgive yourself, please. For your own sake.”

“Fuck my own sake. Goodbye, Toro.”

As it always felt after sixteen hours on his feet, collapsing into bed was otherworldly. Almost wrong and nauseating, being horizontal after standing up for so long, and his entire body felt like a wound spring, the events of the day flitting through his mind, the phantom noise of pagers making the quiet room loud. Somehow the episode in the bathroom was hardly of any concern to him, and as he lay there, stomach growling from the sparse dinner, he thought about the long drive the next day. Eventually his eyes closed, and he found himself half-dreaming, half-remembering. The interview.

The short man with a square face and black-rimmed glasses to match stared at him from over the lenses, scepticism contorting his lips. He flipped the page of his resumé, and Frank honestly couldn’t tell whether he was impressed or not. Eventually he leaned back, setting it down to rub his beard, and finally settled on steepling his fingers.

“Lots of training, Mr. Iero. It’s impressive, for someone your age. Makes me wonder why you’d like to transfer…oh, right.” His eyes settled on the open letter. “Quite the string of tragedies, huh? Must make for a difficult working environment.”

Frank had shrugged at him, slouching in his seat.

“Well, let me ask you—do you know what you’re getting yourself into, transferring to Talcoma county? I mean, the facility services mainly the prisoners from Ravencolm Penitentiary, and largely equipped to house those with, err—advanced mental difficulties. We’re talking an institution for the criminally insane and the physically infirm, Mr. Iero. What makes you want to work there?”

Frank had slowly raised his head to meet his gaze, his own eyes empty.

“I don’t want to work there. But I know someone must. And it might as well be me.”

The interviewer nodded at him. He’d introduced himself, but Frank had forgotten his name. Still, he found it odd that an administrative clerk would come to work in a suit with a red carnation in his breast pocket. Seemed a bit much.

“Well, that’s an honest answer, I’ll give you that. But I want you to understand—it's in a rural location. It’s very remote, the nearest town being Matherville, and even that is, well, half abandoned. Not a lot of people like living near a prison, you understand. And the staffing there is, well, not ideal.”

“Give me an idea.”

“Three nurses. For 200 beds. And orderlies, of course.”

Frank’s eyes must have widened accordingly. “Three nurses…for 200 beds? That is impossible.”

“They manage somehow. There are only four wards.”

“No oncology, right?”

He remembered seeing him raise an eyebrow. “No, Mr. Iero, why would there be one? Long-term, intensive, geriatric…but most are in the psychiatric.”

“That’s fine.”

“Most of the beds are occupied in the psychiatric ward, but the hospital is meant to service all one thousand prisoners. I’m sure you would be appreciated in the intensive care unit. You would be nurse four. Anyway, I believe you are sufficiently qualified, but I do ask that you think your decision over. It would be cruel of me to promise them a new nurse if you get cold feet after a few weeks.”

Frank shook his head. “I already made my decision.”

Chapter Text

He made his decision, he told himself time and time again. Repeated it, as he drove up past the city, getting a view of the shoreline for a bit before turning towards the highway with nothing but trees and hills on either side and an overcast sky. He stopped only for a supply of coffee and donuts, which he ate as he drove, rather indifferent to their taste. He thought twice to check the map, though he was sure he remembered the directions. The road had gone sketchy when the derelict sign of Matherville appeared, signalling an end to his long journey.

And as though the sight of the sign exhausted the life force of his beat-up Chrysler, a sputtering sound made him pull over on the shoulder, and he sighed heavily as it refused to roll any further. Predictably, there was no signal, and though he thought it an amazing coincidence that he stalled literally before the bridge into Matherville, he was pissed.

Well, the bridge was narrow--too narrow to pass through, anyway--and leaving his untrustworthy shit mobile at the entrance, he crossed into Matherville on foot, taking in the view.

Tall hills surrounded the town, and a wide, gray lake enshrouded it, colourless even when the evening sun broke through the clouds. The roads were cracked and buildings old, some so much so that plaques detailing their origins were installed, the bronze long since oxidized. It was a short walk into town, and the diner he spied was already closed. Frank sauntered out into the empty street, finding it both unnerving and calming, the complete absence of people. He had packed a sandwich among his sparse commodities, sitting on the edge of the concrete parapet and staring into the lake. Maybe this was just fine. Just the sort of place he belonged. Fucking dead, just like him.

He did consult the map before setting out to find the house that required a GPS pin rather than an address, the place he’d be staying in. He found it through Craigslist, which was probably the first sign for alarm, but he figured it was too late now as he trekked down the main road and into the hills, no apparent hostel or motel or even bar in sight. It was a little ways out and it was pitch fucking black out by the time he found the house. Dilapidated and half-obscured by creepers, Frank wondered if he’d been pranked until the front door creaked open, and a pitbull charged him. Thankfully for Frank and his nether appendages, the hound was all bark and no bite, rolling on its back at his feet. The man he supposed was to be his landlord and roommate walked out, looking as thrilled to see him as one might be seeing a house centipede.

“You the nurse?” he asked. His voice was deep, monotone, more or less what Frank expected as his imposing stature loomed over him. His sandy blonde hair was hidden beneath a cap, and a sparse beard obscured his face. He took him in, decidedly unimpressed. Frank figured he should’ve taken the nose ring out and worn a long-sleeve shirt, like he usually did. “Don’t look like one.”

“I am,” he assured him. “I’m Frank. You must be Robert.”

“It’s Bob,” he told him. “You got a lot of stuff?”

“Not really. Just a bag of clothes I left in my car. I...broke down right past the bridge. And I guess, uhm, guitar. Is that alright?”

“Sure, just don’t play it late at night,” he told him, hacking a wad of spit at the grass at his feet. “We'll get it tomorrow. Not like you’ll have a lot of time for that anyway.”

Word.

He followed Bob in, and quickly learned his landlord was the tacit sort. He showed him rooms without explanation, opening the fridge to display his allotted shelf, the bathroom on the first floor they were to share, and finally, the bedroom on the second floor that was to be his. It was small and unadorned, but with a window towards the woods outside. Frank noticed there were no curtains, and no lock.

“Everything good?”

“Yeah,” Frank told him quickly. Not like he’d spend a lot of time here anyway. Still, he wasn’t thrilled to sleep with the door unlocked. Or the window wide fucking open to the dark, creepy-ass woods. “Maybe I’ll just, uhm, get some blinds.”

“Why? There’s no neighbours.”

Yeah, well, maybe he didn’t want fucking Nosferatu watching him jerk off at night. He didn’t tell Bob that, joining him instead to eat his own food, abstaining from the pork chops.

“Don’t eat meat?” Bob asked with a raised eyebrow. “That’s a family recipe.”

“Sorry,” he muttered awkwardly. “I just—don’t. But thank you anyway.”

“Well, you can cook for yourself. I’m not about to learn how to cook vegan shit, man.”

He figured he wouldn’t. Frank minced through his food, wanting to ask him mundane questions, for instance if there was a grocery store nearby, or if he was expected to fucking hunt and gather his chickpea and lentil patties, and if there was a place he could get a beer after ten, or if the only hobbies people had around were churning butter and whittling.

But it felt strange to talk when the silence felt so natural in this place. Cicadas screamed outside, the unseasonably warm and humid night prompting them to open the window. The only other animal Frank’s city-slicker ass could identify were owls, and there seemed to be an endless number of them, as he caught the glint of their eyes from the darkness outside. Bob had finished his food, and pushed the plate aside, staring at him. He didn’t even turn away when Frank noticed, like it was normal in this part of the world to just devour people with your eyes. He settled on staring at his hands, and Frank wondered if he was just trying to get a look at his knuckle tattoos, or searching for the glint of something shiny.

“So what the fuck d’you do to end up here?” He said at length. “Didn’t come here for the scenery, surely.”

“I, uhm, no one made me, really. I just…needed to get away from Jersey.”

“That’s understandable,” he muttered. “But you probably could’ve gone anywhere else. Why Matherville, and why Ravencolm, of all fucking places?”

Frank shrugged. “Why anywhere else? I mean, you’re here, aren’t you?”

Bob nodded. “Yeah…I keep the ferry running that gets you across the lake. Well, it’s more of a fishing boat, really. That’s pretty much it. Doesn’t really compare to why you’re here. I mean, they got some sick fucks there. Like in the head, I mean. You’d rather take care of murderers, sadists, fuckin’ molesters?”

“They treat the residents from nearby towns there too.”

“The majority of the patients are prisoners. And act as prisoners do. You know they used to have way more nurses and residents come down, most people here housed them. That came to an end pretty quickly.”

“Yeah?” Frank voiced, not particularly enjoying the conversation. “Burned out?”

“Well, most of the female staff left first. But I guess you spend your life in that place,” he gestured to the outside, which appeared through the window as a wall of black. “Anything that moves starts to look attractive.”

Yeah, okay. Frank decided for them both that the conversation is over, but he definitely kept his shower to a stern three minutes and moved the dresser in front of the door that night.

The walk down to the edge of the lake was not long, going through town. Frank was told that Bob would row him across, and to hoist a buoy up in case he needed a ride across—he would always be around. He figured it wasn’t too long of a hike up the hill on the other side, though it became more imposing as he saw the weaving road, and it felt like he climbed mount goddamn Everest by the time he stood at Ravencolm’s doors.

It was the most imposing building he’d ever laid eyes upon, stately as a cathedral, yet somehow gaunt, its brown brick façade reminding him of a sallow face of the soon-to-be departed, the windows like bleary eyes, the sparse tiles on the roof like remaining patches of hair. The gates were open.

It felt like he was transported back in time, and he half expected the premises to be traversed by nuns in billowing wimples, or uniformed men. What exactly would they make him do? He wasn’t trained in bloodletting or lobotomies, for fuck’s sake. Entering through the maw of the building he found, to his relief, the inside wasn’t as antiquated as the outside, though not exactly squeaky clean. No receptionist greeted him—instead, an orderly who looked surprised to see him asked what he was after, and he had to explain to him, and then to another one, that he was there for his first shift.

He thought he’d been played again, sent on some kind of fucking sabbatical to one of Maine’s longest-standing witch trial academies or some shit, when finally, someone addressed him.

“Mr. Iero?” a brassy female voice asked, and he turned to find a stout, red-cheeked woman smiling at him, donning white scrubs. “Welcome to Ravencolm, dear. You’ve no idea how happy we are to have you—but my, aren’t you a bit young,” she remarked, like it was a concern. “You’re not an RN, are you?”

“Nah,” he assured. “I’ve been at the Jersey General Hospital for four years, mostly ICU. I’m not gonna be a little bitch—” he paused, turning red. “Shit—I’m sorry, I—”

“Good, we don’t want a little bitch,” she laughed. “We got enough of those to deal with. You’ll see. So tough coming in, but the moment they need bloodwork—you’d wonder how they did what they’re in for in the first place. I’m Meg. Well, let’s get you into some scrubs, what do you say? So, so nice to have a bright young man around here. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.”

“He?” Frank tried to match her surprisingly brisk pace. He was half sprinting as they walked through the ward, and he was about to have his curiosity satisfied when—

“Hey Meggy! Hey babe!” someone whistled, and he turned impulsively towards the room with the open door. The patient was in an orange jumper, leg in a cast and hand-cuffed to the bed. That didn’t deter him, though. He seemed on the verge of getting up and with his build, Frank wouldn’t be surprised if he succeeded breaking free of the restraint. Instinctively, he turned to walk into the room, stop him from hurting himself, but Meg caught his arm, tutting.

“Who’s that, Meg? Who’s that hot piece of ass? You brought us a new toy?”

Before Frank could register those words, another whistle sounded behind him, and he whipped around to look through another open door. This one wasn’t restrained, though Frank figured he didn’t want to get too near him. He could smell the fucking fetor hepaticus from where he stood.

“Fuck yeah, another one! Come closer, sweetie, let me see your face. Hey, turn back here, bitch!”

“Walk,” she suggested, as the catcalls continued. Frank turned again with indignation, initial desire to help overridden by a much more poignant desire to beat him to a pulp. Meg pressed on, unperturbed, even as more eyes picked them up, and more vulgar catcalls came their way.

“There,” she said once they crossed the corridor, the catcalls turning to disappointed boos. “Staff room and supply closet is on the second floor. I’ll show you some of the other ones later. We’ve all got ourselves a nice corner to just take a breather, but the coffee maker’s in this one. Let’s see…you don’t mind a women’s small?” she commented, glancing at the sizes she had in the supply closet.

“Are they always like that?” he breathed, realizing his face was hot from the embarrassment.

“Well, no. You got them a bit rowdy. They don’t see a lot of new faces,” she smiled. He didn’t understand. Her tone suggested they were misbehaved children. “Some are definitely worse than others. We get him to deal with those.”

“Who?” Frank shook his head. “Who’s he?”

“Oh, sorry! Gerard—he’ll be your charge. He’s got seniority, and after him Tisi. But,” she gave Frank a knowing look. “They don’t get along. Gerard’s got…a bit of a temper, you’ll find. But you’ll learn a lot under him! You won’t regret the practice.”

Great, Frank thought, slipping into the women’s small scrubs. A charge nurse with a temper. He’s had his fair share of hair-trigger supervisors, losing their shit over the smallest thing. And he’d been called incompetent and an idiot, so he figured it was all whatever, as long as he got paid at the end, and left to do his goddamn job.  And Meg seemed just fine, brewing them some coffee with that same contentment, like they didn’t just get the verbal equivalent of a sewer poured on them.

He imagined what this charge nurse might be like, totally spilling his fucking bitter coffee and giving up on drinking it before his scrubs looked any worse. With a name like that, and with what he’d seen of the residents so far, he figured he’d be some old dude who’s been at this job for fucking ever, probably bent in two and mad at the world. He’d probably berate Frank for wearing a surgical mask instead of a fucking plague doctor beak or whatever the fuck they used back in his day, or lecture him on the benefits of cocaine tincture and the evils of the food and drug administration for banning perfectly good nausea solutions.

Frank imagined how he might deal with him as Meg showed him the wards, figuring it would take months to stop getting lost. She knowingly lead him quickly, lest they get catcalled again, before sighing painfully, telling him, “Well, that’s about all I gotta show you, dear. Gerard asked me to send you to him once we’re done. He’s in geriatric, room 2B. I think he’ll want you starting with the, er, calmer patients. Good luck,” she added as he turned to find the room, her smile sorely resembling the one his mom gave him went she sent him off to college.

He paced the hall for a good ten minutes before finally finding the right room, but figured there was no way he could get in trouble so quickly, giving a polite knock before entering. But Gerard wasn’t there, and Frank’s eyes settled on the back of another nurse, scrubbing vomit off the floor.

The emitter of said vomit was reclined on the bed, watching her work like he was proud of his accomplishment. And though he must have been close to seventy, he leered at her on her knees, getting a sick kick out of it that now brought nausea to Frank’s stomach. So occupied in gawking at the nurse on the floor, he hardly realized Frank came in, who opened his mouth to ask her to help him out or the charge nurse would flip, when she cursed in a nasal tone, throwing the paper towels and absorbent powder to the ground as she stood up.

Frank found himself somewhat ashamed to admit he might have also checked out her ass, but then found himself at an utter loss when…he turned around.

It was totally a dude, standing there in a goddamn scrub skirt and rolled up blouse, a pinafore apron reaching past his knees and fucking heels. Looking like he walked out of a motherfucking World War 2 pinup poster. Staring at him with ire in his eyes. Well, Frank was staring too. His fucking face…

“Ever heard of on the double, Nurse Iero? Get on the floor and clean this up. You’ve got all of two minutes. No! Not without protective gloves, fuck—what the fuck do they teach you in the city? Are you dense? There, in the corner, gloves and mask! Pour the absorbent first! And what the fuck are you staring at?”

Frank snapped out of his daze as the tirade ensued, jumping into action and struggling with the nitriles as evil Florence Nightingale turned red in the face from the yelling.

“You’re gonna have a good time training this one, eh Gerard?” their patient leered, now watching Frank take over.

“Got as much desire to train this one as I do getting anal fissures,” he replied, and Frank scrubbed harder, trying to hide his embarrassment. He was nearly done, moving a bit closer to his foot, staring at his heel.

“Is there a problem, Nurse Iero?”

“No,” he hurried to say. “Just…well, nothing.”

“No, please, speak up. You know what I can’t fucking stand? Colleagues who don’t communicate. What if Mr. Creed over here was having an epileptic seizure, and you said nothing, because you’re flustered, or whatever? Am I supposed to just read your mind?”

“Okay,” Frank breathed. “What’s with the outfit?”

“What outfit?”

He can’t be fucking serious.

“Your, uhhh, heels…sir.”

That address alone made Mr. Creed laugh boisterously, before it turned into a coughing fit, and Frank hoped it wouldn’t bring up the rest of his foul-smelling breakfast.

Gerard seemed to regard him with contempt that one reserves only for the vilest in the world. Inspecting his work on the floor, he grabbed his arm and hoisted him outside, turning him roughly to face him in the hallway.

“Okay,” he seethed. “Let’s get a few things out of the way. Number one—it’s Nurse Way. Not Mister. Certainly not fucking ‘sir’. Not master, not chief, not captain—fucking Nurse. And you, what’s your name?”

“Frank.”

“You, Frank, are Nurse Iero, as was reported to me. Number two—you listen to me. I tell you to scrub the floor, you scrub. I tell you to perform a manual disimpaction, you fucking do it. Gloves on. I tell you to drain puss, you drain it. I don’t give a shit what you did before. I don’t give a shit who said what, who called you what, who hurt your feelings. You’re here now.”

Fuck.

Frank nodded.

Gerard raised an eyebrow. He crossed his arms, shifting his weight. Frank could almost bet the heels were hurting him. Whatever this was…he thought there were more practical ways of doing it.

“Just like that? No whining, no bitching, no ‘please spare me, I’m a delicate flower’? You got anything to tell me?”

“Nothing,” Frank admitted. “Just—I hope the outfit’s not mandatory.”

“Smartass, huh? You got a phlebotomy to perform in 2C, 2D, and E1, but not before you deal with a code brown in 6F. Clean towels on the trolley. Today, Nurse Iero.”

Today, Nurse Iero, he parroted in his head, as he inhaled small breaths through his mouth taking the shit-stained sheets out, and not before the patient yelled at him for being a slut and a ninny (?) and demanded his mattress be changed too. The phlebotomies went bad, worse, and fucking terrible; the first flinched and yelled like he was getting murdered, the second slapped the needle out of his hand, making him look for it for the next thirteen minutes, and the third wrangled it out of his hand and would have succeeded in stabbing him if Frank hadn’t come up with the idea of threatening to call Gerard.

The old fucker scrunched up his face into a sour expression, and let him drain blood. He wondered if it was because Gerard was more annoying to deal with than he was, because he certainly couldn’t be scaring anyone, not in those heels. Well…his demeanour was something else. And Frank was honestly all for self-expression…but if there was ever an appropriate use of time and place, maybe this was it. How could he possibly think it was a good idea, trotting around in a dress with these distinguished gentlemen around?

Suddenly, Frank felt a presence behind him, as though his thoughts were audible, and turned around. He held the tray in both hands, and apologetically offered it to Gerard, who was standing there with his hands on his hips and a look like he was about to whip him.

“Labelled?”

“I remember the order I put them in.”

“Are you sure you worked in a city hospital? Go and fucking do it again. I’m not gonna tolerate this kind of incompetence from a nurse under my charge, Iero.”

Frank must’ve made a face unconsciously, as Gerard approached him, staring down at him. Frank could see his hazel eyes, glowing with anger, and the lines that formed from them and from his mouth where he held a long, perpetual frown.

“You got something to tell me, Nurse Iero? You don’t agree with my request?”

“They won’t be happy,” Frank explained, trying to sound patient. “One of them nearly stabbed my eye out, for Christ’s sake.”

“Happy?” he stated. Then laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant laughter. “Happy? You think anybody here is fucking happy? Does this seem like the kind of fucking place where anyone could be fucking happy? I got the happiest place I’ll show you—set down the tray, we can walk down there right now.”

Frank honestly didn’t want to know where Gerard’s happy place was. Still, he obliged, putting down the tray with the samples he’d have to retake anyway, following at a few paces to avoid pissing him off for walking out of sync or something. As they walked through the ward, more catcalls echoed, some aimed at him, most at Gerard. He pressed on like there was no sound at all, even humming to himself as they entered a derelict elevator—the sort that had a screen—and descended to the basement level.

As they rode down, Frank couldn’t help it. He glanced over to Gerard, seeing he was watching the dial above, declaring their level. Perceiving Frank’s eyes on him, he turned to glare at him, silently demanding to know why he permitted himself to look at him.

“Been here for a long time?” Frank asked, conversationally. It’d be so much fucking easier to work with him if he chilled for even a second. But he got it, honestly. “Must take nerves of steel.”

“Long enough to remember nothing more than this place,” he answered, and Frank was too whiplashed from that esoteric response to register his next words, “so what the fuck is a cute guy like you doing here?”

Oh, cool, his maniacal charge found him cute. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t flustered. But the tone conveyed no ease or playfulness, like he was simply acknowledging a fact and impatient for an answer.

“Fuckin’…personal problems,” he stated. “Don’t wanna work in Jersey anymore. Too many people I’d like to avoid.”

“What, you wanted by the law or something? I already deduced the personal problems part—you wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

Frank blinked at his demand for honesty, but the elevator dinged and Gerard pulled back the screen, leading them to the frigid underground. Of course he wanted to show him the morgue.

He saw goosebumps run down his forearms as he led them in. Was this some sort of fucked up initiation process, was he gonna show him a gnarly waterlogged corpse? But he just stood there, facing the wall, hugging his arms.

“I need to understand why you’re here, Iero,” he said, more so to himself. “That way, I’ll be able to help you better.”

“Help me?” Frank asked, rubbing his own arms. “How would knowing why I’m here help you? It’s kinda personal, man.”

“Fine, you don’t have to tell me…but what was the main reason, was it to get away from something?”

Frank thought about it. “It’s punishment. My own—on myself.”

Gerard nodded, like it was a good answer. And Frank supposed that, in a way, it was. He turned to face him half profile. “That’s good to know. You go up and redo the phlebotomies now—labelled, this time. Check the entire geriatric ward, make sure none of them need anything, take their blood pressure if they let you, then arrange to have them fed. Make sure no lactose for 5E.”

Frank sighed, but obliged, leaving that fucker shivering in the morgue.

Chapter Text

Frank’s face burned with anger and he was sure those three miserable fucks would never let him hear the end of his incompetence, drawing blood twice. This time the third succeeded in smacking him across the face, but at least with no needle in hand, and Frank thought fine, sure, maybe he had that coming. Blood pressure was somehow seen as an equally painful procedure, though he felt by his third argument that they were doing it on purpose. He flipped through charts, not seeing anything out of the ordinary. COPD, cirrhosis, arthritis, gout. Hardly any of them looked like they were making it out of there, and what they needed (he asked, following Gerard’s request) he simply couldn’t provide. Not for his salary.

That took the better part of the day, and he learned not to question the schedule for a while now, just getting into the flow of things, trusting he’ll be relieved sooner or later. No relief came as the hours crawled by, and he decided, after ensuring no one else had ripped their IV out of their arm or needed their ostomy bag changed, that he was permitted a quick meal. He hadn’t packed one, still not having figured out what was in Matherville and still half expecting that he’d need to harvest berries or some shit after all, but hoped like any hospital they’d have a stack of granola, or some expired canned soup, or something. He wasn’t about to admit, even to himself, the things he had scarfed down after a ten hour shift, simply because it had nutritional value.

He was glad to find Meg in the room with the coffee maker, and she told him to help himself to some chili in the fridge. Frank gave her a suppressed smile, settling on some yogurt he found. Well, that at least meant there was a grocery store somewhere around.

“Hey, uhm,” she started, and Frank looked over at her, spoon half-way to his mouth. “You took blood pressure, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Hm, okay. Gerard told me to do it—I got caught up with something in long-term. Guess you just had more time to do it.”

“Uh huh.”

“Everything went alright on your first day?”

“Yup.”

“Hm, lucky for you. Must be quite the change of pace, from the city I mean. It’d be nice to be somewhere with any kind of night life. Well, the night life here is wild, too,” she chuckled. “They got an alright diner, though. Hey, did Gerard tell you to take care of lunch for geriatric? He asked me, but—”

“What’s up, assholes,” Meg’s shitass excuse was cut short with the entry of another nurse Frank hasn’t met. She was considerably taller, which wasn’t a new sensation for him, but she literally towered. Her poker-straight black hair hung limp over her shoulders and her face was transfixed in what Frank learned was a permanent sour expression. Her mouth was small, mostly because she puckered it angrily when she interacted with anything, but looking down at Frank, her ferret face was stern and serene. Frank imagined Roman legionaries must’ve looked up at something similar.

“Who’s this,” she said, the flow of her words implying she wasn’t waiting for a response, having already come up with one. “You trying to get into Berghain or something? What’s with the tats and hair? No lip piercings, unless you want someone to rip ‘em out of your face…” her eyes settled on the yogurt, still untried in his hands. “Meg, do my eyes deceive me, or is this punk eating my fucking yogurt.”

“I’m sorry—” he said immediately, handing it over. He should’ve honestly known better. “You caught me before I could try. It’s my bad—”

“You’re lucky I’ve got a strict no-dog-beating policy, or your ass would be grass right now. Meg,” she snapped, and Frank watched Meg shoot out of her seat like someone stuck a red-hot poker up her ass. “Feed ‘im something that isn’t my fucking Chobani pomegranate, and don’t let me catch him thinking about it—”

“I told him there’s chili, Tisi!”

“I’m vegan,” Frank breathed, wondering if that would make this new nurse detonate. She beat Gerard, he figured, but rivaled him closely. Jesus, they were all a fucking high-strung bunch.

“Fine, have the yogurt, dipshit,” Tisi told him, reaching to get another one. “But I’ve got my eye on you. Capeesh, Thumbelina?”

Frank nodded, gratefully shovelling a single spoonful of awful tasting (fucking pomegranate) yogurt into his mouth before she could change her mind. He threw the rest away, hoping she wouldn’t notice.

They didn’t relieve him for another four hours, and by then, he held out on only delusion and self-hatred. He was told they’d see him at seven p.m., and Gerard, who was the one who came to tell him he’s off, did not let him leave without a lengthy lecture on all the things he did wrong that day.

Well, Frank tried to listen, but was a bit distracted, truth be told. Gerard was probably the world’s biggest cunt, but he unfortunately ticked the box for Frank for potentially the prettiest. He decided he wasn’t even gonna question the outfit anymore—it’s his eyes on Gerard’s legs, after all—but worried throughout the day how he was faring down in the psychiatry ward. That’s where he’d spent most of his time, it turned out, and Frank was strictly forbidden from there for now, told to page him in case he needed him. Frank figured ‘needing him’ was something truly dire, not a privilege to be abused for when he was getting smacked across the face for placing a blanket over the patient with gout, or when he wanted to stare at something nicer than old man’s phlegm.

Frank thought he reminded him of those old-ass, black and white movie stars with the exaggerated eye makeup, the way he always looked sad when he wasn’t yelling at him. And though his nit-picking drove Frank halfway to insanity, he had a strange conviction…that Gerard was entitled to a little bit of a temper tantrum. A lot. Maybe too much. He didn’t see him in the break room, not once, and he didn’t see him sitting down, or half-assing anything around there. Call Frank a fucking sucker for finding professionalism attractive, but Gerard knew what the fuck he was doing, and it took all of one shift to realize that.

He even found himself looking forward to the next day; Gerard said he’d shadow him in the intensive care unit. And maybe Frank was too far gone from the realm of the sane to be looking forward to spending sixteen hours with a cross-dressing control freak while helping suture stab wounds, but he wasn’t about to change anytime soon.

Remembering that going down was a trek and a wait for Bob to get his shitty little boat across, he went to find a seat in the front foyer, and in a practiced manner, reclined and fell promptly asleep. Much like the food he resorted to, sleep was a scarce commodity that did not wait for ideal conditions. He made sure there was no one around, but found himself roused by a tap on the shoulder after a few minutes of dreamless slumber.

He blinked a few times, seeing the day had progressed and the sun was up. The interrupter was inclined to give him a moment to snap out of his confusion, and he regarded the tall man, looking down at him with a severe look.

He didn’t look like an orderly or a security guard, but his imposing features intimidated him more than the law ever could. His features were sharp, angular, and he was bald but for the heavy eyebrows that arched over his narrowed eyes, leading Frank to deduce he worked at Ravencolm, as he shared their perpetually irked expression. Settled on the end of his narrow nose was a pair of bifocals, permitting Frank to see his unsparing dark eyes.

“Hardly the place to rest, young man,” he droned out, his voice higher than Frank anticipated, an accent he couldn’t place. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“I was just…uhm, just taking a nap,” he explained sheepishly, unsure why he felt the need to explain himself to this guy. “I’m coming out of a sixteen hour, man, I’m not bothering anybody.”

“Oh,” he stated, peering further down at him, noticing the scrubs. “You must be the new nurse. Rough start, hm?”

Frank blinked again, finally realizing what he was fucking wearing. He was in a goddamn lab coat.

The doctor must have caught the transition between annoyance and fear, chuckling lowly. “I’m not going to reprimand you for what you do in your free time, Nurse. I trust the personnel took care of you?”

“Uhm,” Frank swallowed. God, why the fuck was he so nervous? It wasn’t like he was in trouble or anything. “Yeah. I’m under Nurse Way’s charge.”

He watched the man’s lips stretch thin in a tight smile, like the mention of Nurse Way inspired humour. He leaned over confidentially, like he did not wish for their conversation to be overheard, and Frank caught the glint of a silver chain on his breast pocket.

“Well, then I mustn’t have interrupted your rest—you will need it. Gerard must be too busy for common civility, as he didn’t even bring you up to introduce us. I am Dr. Morrison,” he presented his hand. “Medical director at Ravencolm.”

“Frank Iero,” he offered timidly, feeling like he should be standing up in his presence. “Just…nurse.”

“Come now, Nurse Iero, the backbone of the hospital should not have ‘just’ as a prefix, don’t you think? I daresay, you look rather young to be so far advanced in this profession—where was your previous practice?”

“Jersey General.”

“And what brought you here?”

“Just…need for a change, I guess,” he answered, really wishing people moved on with their fucking lives and stopped asking him questions. Dr. Morrison nodded, like that would suffice, and Frank thought he would at least have the decency to get the hint and fuck off, letting him get on with his day. He studied Frank as one might study something dissected, before finally reaching into his pocket and taking out the watch attached to the chain, giving it a glance.  

“It was good to meet you, Nurse Iero. Get home safe,” he said slowly, stepping back, but not before adding, “and would you pass it along to Gerard to come and join me upstairs for a coffee every now and then? He’s gone feral, working himself to the bone. Remind him we’re colleagues, every now and then.”

Chapter Text

He wasn’t gonna tell Gerard shit, of course, though it did gnaw at him why he didn’t even mention their boss, leading him to this indignity of meeting him drooling on the foyer couch.

Frank reasoned he would catch another nap before the afternoon was through—but right now, his life goal was to find a fucking place to eat. Getting rowed across, he was weirded out by the fact that Bob took his job so seriously he made no conversation, and Frank amused himself by watching the grey water, the surface occasionally broken by the mouths of fish. From across the shore, Matherville looked pretty but also utterly fucking dejected. The buildings were worn, looking strange in the sunlight, like a mirage. As he walked the main street, he could not believe there were places like this still left in the world, so empty and quiet. The whole place looked like it longed for humanity, the dark windows like languid eyes staring down at him. And yet there were streetlights, and trash cans and working traffic lights, and there was a gas station with a working pump. But no one was around. Out in the hills and along the lake’s shore there were houses, but of course there was no way of telling whether they were inhabited.

This place was seriously messing with his fucking head. How was he to tell any of it happened at all? Surely, he remembered it vividly, not just the past sixteen hours, but the drive there, the last day in Jersey, the conversation with Ray…

He shut his eyes tightly, willing the memory away. He could call, he supposed. But if that wasn’t the most desperate thing he could do right now—even someone as understanding as Toro would find it sad. Two-ish days out and already calling. No fucking wonder it ended the way it did.

Frank didn’t realize he was pacing along as his thoughts raced, coming upon the diner like he stepped on rakes. It was no different than the other buildings there, squat and grey and seemingly empty, but for the neon sign that read open, and the faint warm light coming from within. Frank exhaled, finally finding something fucking corporeal, and pushed his way in, hoping to either wake up or finally fucking eat.

The place resembled the exact sort of spot Frank imagined his grandparents would recall as the blooming bed of their romance—that is, it was utterly uncool. With its checkered floor and red-cushioned booths, he wasn’t buying into that creepy-ass 60’s ‘charm’, as they called it, but figured he didn’t have many options and he needed a grilled cheese so, so bad. Half-expecting the diner to also somehow be empty, he froze in his tracks, looking at somebody’s back.

Somebody’s broad-shouldered back and long, curly brown hair, tied back, and turning around—Frank audibly gasped.

The man looked at him, equally bemused.

Frank must’ve looked like a fucking idiot, opening and closing his mouth like a fish, staring at this fucking guy. He…couldn’t be. He looked almost exactly—but what the fuck? He was in fucking Jersey! And this guy was older, besides. But still...

Frank felt a violent shudder run through him as he closed his eyes, shaking his head as if trying to rid himself of the vision. But when he opened them the guy behind the counter was still there, twisting a dish rag around the rim of a cup and looking at him like he was mental.

“Are you, like, lost, or something?” he asked, and Christ, even his fucking voice sounded similar. Frank wanted to curl up in an incinerator and give the operator the thumbs up. “You want a coffee, maybe?”

“I’m—fuck, sorry,” Frank gasped. He blinked. Okay, he didn’t look that much like him. He was just imagining things. God, he needed to get a fucking grip. “I’m sorry, dude, you just—you just look like someone I know.”

“Oh yeah?” he deadpanned. “Don’t get that a lot. But then, don’t got a lot coming down here. Passing through?”

“Working here,” he muttered, cautiously approaching the counter, as though he was frightened of taking in any more details. “I’m…I’m a new nurse over at Ravencolm. I just got here like a day ago.”

“Oh yeah, where’d you work before?” he droned, like conversation was just part of the job. He took his silence as a yes to the coffee, and Frank was slowly coming out of his stupor to remember he was starving. Maybe it was making him see things. He looked away sternly, refusing to notice the colour of his eyes.

“Jersey General,” he said, getting tired of saying it. “You, uhm, you got sandwiches or something? Just—no mustard, and no meat.”

“You see, that’s kinda how a sandwich works,” he explained to him, narrowing his eyes in a condescending way. “It can have anything you want in it.”

Frank sighed. This day was already so fucking hard. And getting sandwiches explained to him by Ray Toro’s fucking dead ringer was seriously not what he needed right now. He glanced at his shirt, glad there wasn’t a name tag, and that he wasn’t called Tray or some other sick, fucked-up joke.

“Can I please have a grilled cheese sandwich?”

Frank was glad he actually started making it and didn’t say ‘I don’t know, can you?’, but still, he looked away, refusing to look at him. What the fuck? Wasn’t life already a cruel fucking joke?

“So what’re you called?” he asked as the silence stretched, and Frank closed his eyes, fearing he would ask him. Because that means he’ll have to ask him his. But then, he figured, what was the obligation of telling him the truth? He might frequent the joint for late breakfast or dinner (probably not though, seeing as looking at the guy was giving him fucking flashbacks), but he wasn’t showing him government-issued ID any time soon.

“William,” he answered, accepting the plate he set before him. He didn’t know why he didn’t think of a cooler name, or one closer to his own. He wasn’t becoming an undercover agent anytime soon, not with his shitty lies.

He was forced to look at him as he gave him a crumpled up bill, and sure fucking enough, his eyes were tawny brown. God fucking damn it. He told him to enjoy his sandwich and went to the back, never bothering to introduce himself.

Frank had wandered the town a while longer after that, not because there was anything to see, but because he needed to blow off steam. Seeing Ray Toro’s fucking body double in that diner seriously messed with his head, and it was definitely not a case of face blindness. Besides, how the fuck could he possibly forget his face, if it still haunted his goddamn dreams?

He was contemplative and sullen by the time he walked home, never finding that goddamn grocery store. He figured he’d benefit from the Spartan lifestyle, but was he supposed to fucking starve?

Unsure why he was surprised to find Bob there, doing some shit around the yard, he gave him a tepid smile and wave, and went inside to change. He just stared at him, pruning scissors in hands, like he’s seeing him for the first time. His dog had ran up, having learned that Frank got lots of affection to give her, but Bob whistled, restraining her. Bob followed him into the house, completely missing the social cue of two dudes minding their own business.

“How was the shift?” he asked him. Frank shrugged, filling a glass with tap water. “You made it out in one piece.”

“Why, you had a bet going I wouldn’t?” Frank chuckled. Bob just stared. “I mean, it was pretty rough, and my supervisor…is something else. But hey, that’s what we sign up for,” he flashed him a long-suffering smile.

“We?”

“Nurses,” Frank stated, like it was obvious. It kinda was, really. “Shovelling shit and getting bent over by the doctors. It’s whatever, honestly.”

“Why’d you become one? Ain’t it a girl’s job?”

Frank puffed his cheeks before catching himself on the gesture. He didn’t know what the fuck he expected from a Maine guy, to not be confused by the existence of a male nurse.

“They don’t check whether you got balls when you sign on, man,” he muttered. “Anyway, I, uh, checked out the town. It’s really quiet…like, really quiet. Is that normal?”

“For Matherville, yes.”

“Okay, I guess I’m just too much of a city slicker. Hey, uhm…” he rubbed the back of his neck. Maybe it was stupid to even acknowledge it. “You know the diner on the main street? You know who runs it?”

Bob shrugged. Fucking figures.

“Alright, well—”

“You shouldn’t eat there.”

Frank blinked, but Bob was completely and eerily serious.

“Why?”

“Just don’t.”

“That never works, man. You tell me don’t, without explaining why—I’ll do it. I’m like a cat.”

“Just for your own fucking sake.”

“Okay, but like, why?” he almost wanted to stomp his foot, desperate for an answer. His initial plan of snoozing was shot as he felt a rush of adrenaline. “Like will I get E. Coli? Is it Soylent Green? C’mon man, it’s cruel to just not tell me.”

“There’s some fruit and chips I got from outta town in the cupboard,” was all he answered him. “Help yourself.”

With that, he left him, and Frank decided that he’s making another excursion there after all. Besides, a warning like that probably wasn’t a paranoid delusion on Bob’s part. Probably.

He was determined to get neither the heebies nor the jeebies as he watched Ravencolm in the rapidly approaching dusk across the lake, growing closer as they rowed, the surrounding woods casting dark shadows and the bright hospital lights blinking at him like a hundred eyes.

He was already in scrubs and there on the dot when rounding the corner, he was nearly run over by a gurney rolled by Gerard. His dishevelled hair framed his face as he looked up with a scowl, rubbing one foot against the other absentmindedly as he skidded on his heels.

“Nice of you to fucking join us, Nurse Iero. Mind pressing down?” he told him, and Frank realized he was neglecting the patient, a rough-looking man reduced to whimpers as he clutched his bleeding side. “Take him into surgery, and meet me at the trauma unit. On the fucking double, Nurse.”

He rushed the gurney, uttering assurances that it wasn’t looking too bad as he pressed a tad bit too hard. His bedside manner didn’t suffice around here, as his arm was twisted and he had to let him bleed, rushing him into surgery and then standing a bit confused as he looked around the impossibly bright room. The surgeon, Frank figured, was standing with his back to him, and when he asked if he should stay and help, said that would be all. They really were fucking crazy around here, he thought, sheepishly exiting. Normally there’d be one hand too many, but here, he guessed the standards differed.

It felt wrong to walk out of the room, and he rubbed his arms as he sped towards the trauma unit. Gerard glanced up at him, gloved hands bloodied as he held on to a howling man’s barely attached finger. Frank was about to jump in to help but Gerard shook his head vehemently, pointing with his eyes to another, reclined and unconscious man with a growing bruise over one eye and blood on one side of his face.

“You can’t fucking cut it off,” he heard the other man wail, and even in his pain, was not deterred from using his other hand to grab a fistful of Gerard’s hair. “You do it and I’ll wring you like a fucking bitch, you hear? I’ll stab your fucking neck and fuck you through it.”

Jesus fucking Christ, Frank thought, opening his mouth to say something, but Gerard just laughed, releasing himself from his grasp to bring out the ice box. Uh oh.

“We’ll sow it back on, dear. Just be thankful it’s the longer appendage you got. Anything smaller, it becomes harder.”

“Keep running your mouth you’ll see what happens—”

“Hey,” Frank yelled. “Watch it, dude. Saying heinous shit doesn’t make him work better or faster.”

Contrary to what he expected, Gerard glared at Frank. Using the distraction of the venomous look Frank was getting from the guy, Gerard brought the scissors down in one swift motion, severed the remaining bit of skin that held it on. The room was filled with his wails and Frank just focused on wrapping the bandages around his patient’s head, not wanting to see what he might do to Gerard. Even Frank’s creative lexicon did not accommodate the names he called Gerard, or his imagination permit him to picture the things he promised to do to him.

Daring a glance, he saw him applying gauze with perfect indifference. There might as well be music playing in the background with how calmly he took his words. When they were done, he took the ice box with the finger (that was promised to find its way into multiple orifices, when it was sown back on), and Frank followed him out.

“You did really good—” Frank started, when Gerard whipped around.

“Don’t you ever, ever fucking try and interfere again, you got that?” he pointed at him like he was talking to a misbehaving dog. “Are you trying to make me work twice as hard, Nurse Iero? I’ve got enough to take care of without making sure your sorry ass doesn’t get it.”

“Geez,” Frank breathed, watching the flames in his eyes. “Settle down, man. I just didn’t like the way he talked to you. Sorry, I thought I’d look out for you—”

“I don’t need looking out for. I need you making sure your assigned patient gets an X-ray and surgery in the next half. And you better be back here by then, and he better be alive.”

He couldn’t even waste precious time to call him a jerk who deserved to be dunked in verbal sewage. Between running to and getting shit from the orderly X-ray technician, and running back into surgery, and checking on the first stab victim, he had sweated through the shirt under his scrubs, and hardly realized it by the time they were on hour five. He definitely wasn’t gonna try and make conversation with him, not when he was berated on the way he put up an IV drip and handled a shattered femur.

But at least he was left alone and away from the ire of the prisoners, who reserved all their hellfire for Gerard. Even when it was him that tried to put the needle in his vein, Gerard got the short end of the proverbial stick, vowed to be given a prolonged and miserable end.

After the broken femur, there were no more, and the deafening intensive care ward became silent as a winter’s night. Frank followed suit when Gerard ripped off his gloves, and turned to Frank.

“You did alright.”

Frank’s heart picked up and he was keenly aware of his cheeks burning. He…did alright? Boy, it sure was his lucky day.

“That was still fucking incompetent, the IV bag,” he reminded him, seeing the unbridled joy the compliment brought him. “But…you can go have your dinner.”

He reached into the front pocket of his pinafore, throwing a small bag of chocolate mints at him. “You better add a nap to that.”

“I’ll take a nap,” Frank realized he might’ve moaned that out instead of said it, not realizing how desperate he was for one. He thought the chocolate mints were a joke, but no, Gerard scoffed and turned to saunter away, the click of his shoes fading down the hall, and Frank never got around to eating his own damn food, so the mints really were his dinner. And as miserable as it fucking was, he did find a secluded room with a bed that he gratefully occupied, his hunger easing him into a restless slumber.

Chapter Text

He was roused almost immediately by his pager going off. Gerard’s nasal voice demanded his presence in the intensive care unit as he was busy in psychiatric, and he allowed himself exactly two seconds of contemplative despair before getting up and hurrying. He was still so fucking hungry, and even the sight that he was met with did not deter that hunger. The man presented a skinned arm like it was Frank’s fault, his lips quivering to hold in tears. Frank moved to get the antiseptic to begin cleaning his wound without thinking, until he was getting yelled at for not even considering his pain.

“You want me to just fuckin’ take it? Get me some fucking pain killers, man.”

“Uhm, yeah—right,” Frank breathed. He wasn’t fucking told how he was supposed to get those, as Gerard did not permit him entry upstairs to grab prescriptions from the doctor. Just passed them on. “You, uhm, you got any allergies?”

“Get me some fucking morphine, bitch. Go!”

“That’s a bit much,” Frank commented, but paged Gerard, getting on the intercom.

“What the fuck is it now, Iero?”

“Need your permission to administer morphine.”

“Permission denied.”

Frank blinked, making direct eye contact with the patient, who was growing more exasperated by the moment.

“He’s in pain,” he stated simply. “Won’t let me touch him until he gets morphine.”

“No fucking morphine. It’s a fucking scratch.”

“How about I skin your fucking ass and pour antiseptic all over, huh?” the patient shouted. “Get me something for the pain or I’ll fucking gut this kid right now.”

“Don’t. I’ll page the doctor. Just wait.”

“He’s paging the doc,” Frank breathed. He had stood up and gotten so close to Frank he could feel his breath on his face. “Just take it easy. Deep breaths.”

“Fuck you. Fuck your fucking bitch. Go up there and get the script from the doc.”

“Gerard’s getting it, just wait.”

“I ain’t waiting for that fag. He’ll take his sweet ass time, just because. You go and get it, fucking now.”

Frank really wasn’t in any mood to help him, or to explain to him with the required patience that him walking up there, explaining the situation, coaxing the doc to write him a script, and getting the drugs from the dispensary couldn’t possibly take less time than Gerard just doing it. But leaving him with the gauze pressed up to his wound and otherwise stable, he obliged, pacing to the elevator and drawing the screen back. He wasn’t sure why going up was making him nervous, because in all honesty, the doc didn’t seem all bad. But he knew he'd be pissed that Frank bothered him for it, and he tried not to overthink what Gerard would say when he found out Frank didn’t listen.

Exiting the elevator, he considered if his number one mistake hadn’t been the fact that it will take for fucking ever to find the office, but thankfully, it was pretty straight forward. It was a long, brightly lit hall, and there was but a single red door at the end of it. His relief quickly returned to anxiety as he walked, hoping the lights wouldn’t flicker and no fucked-up twins would appear to ask him to play forever, and ever, but made it to the end safe but slightly more disturbed, knocking.

He was told to enter. Creeping in, his eyes immediately fell upon the doctor, his bifocals on the end of his nose as he capped a fountain pen. Frank figured it’d be like him, this antiquated office with a large mahogany desk, the walls lined with tomes, and a green-shaded lamp illuminating his work. A window of pure darkness was behind him, no blinds. But it was tidy, neat, well-maintained, the only decorative touch being a bust on the edge of his desk.

Though he knew he had entered, Dr. Morrison did not hasten to bring his eyes up for some time, finally regarding him with a monotonous expression.

“How can I help you, Nurse Iero?”

“I’m—uhm, sorry to disturb you, Doc. I need a morphine prescription, and Nurse Way…doesn’t think it necessary, but the patient is in pain.”

“That sounds like a necessity to me,” he remarked, and reached for the prescription pad. “Name?”

“Sam Douglas,” Frank returned, recalling his name from the chart, and wondering if Dr. Morrison had a mental tally of all patients. And it seemed he did, as he went on writing. “Who’s that, Hippocrates?”

Dr. Morrison glanced up, following his eyes to the bust, and smiled. “Virgil, actually. But a good guess, nevertheless. Are you familiar with his work?”

Frank shook his head timidly, feeling stupid.

“No, the youth have no time for the classics these days. Of course, I don’t mean hard working fellows like yourself, but who knows, maybe you’ll find them enlightening.”

“Probably won’t help in my line of work,” he muttered, wishing he’d just hurry up and give him the script. Maybe Gerard wanted him to avoid his office so he wouldn’t be talked to death. “I don’t exactly need enlightenment to wipe shit off the floor.”

Dr. Morrison smirked at the crude suggestion, reaching to hand him the slip of paper. “You never know. Take care, Nurse Iero. Come up again when there’s no pressing matters, we can have a nice conversation over some coffee.”

Frank felt a bit bad, honestly, for thinking he’d be a prick. Sure, it probably wasn’t the right time to talk about fucking Virgil when old Sammy down there was cursing his mother from the pain, but he figured Dr. Morrison probably didn’t have a lot of people to converse with. He read the script and was halfway to the dispensary when his way was abruptly blocked, and he slowly looked up to peer into Gerard’s infuriated face.

“What did I fucking tell you?” he snatched the paper out of his hands, leaning his hand against the wall and looming over him. “How fucking clear could I possibly make it—you don’t go upstairs?”

“Gerard—”

“Nurse Way!”

“Nurse Way,” he conceded, “I was just trying to be helpful. Dr. Morrison wasn’t even mad, I didn’t want to add to your workload, so I went to get the script myself—”

“You got a serious fucking problem with authority, don’t you, Nurse Iero? It seems like anything I say, you always seem to know better.”

Frank looked up with a bemused expression, trying once and for all to understand just what the fuck was this guy’s problem. He traced the lines from his eyes and around his mouth that would disappear if he just stopped fucking scowling all the time, and dared to meet his blazing eyes.

“I’m sorry, Nurse Way. But Mr. Douglas is waiting,” he stated, gently taking the slip from between his fingers. “And with the threats he uttered towards you, I wouldn’t stand in my way.”

A look of such profound ire crossed him that Frank thought he might need to catch him falling. Instead, he was thrown into a moment of utter confusion as his world flashed white, and belatedly, the stinging pain rose in his cheek. He looked up with wet eyes at Gerard, who didn’t stay for the reaction, storming away, letting the leaflet fall to the ground.

He was seriously fucked, Frank thought, and though he’s met lots of no-pain-no-gain type nurses in his day, this was next level. He kept thinking about it as he brought the ampoule, administering it to Sam, who was beside himself by now. And though a part of him wanted to shift the blame on his unhurried coworkers, he couldn’t bring himself to say another word.

Frank was in no fucking mood to talk as he got into the boat, staring into the limpid waters as Bob rowed them back. He seemingly understood, and paused to hand him a wrapped package.

“Relax,” he mumbled, positioning his hands back on the oars. “I went outta town. It’s a veggie burger.”

Frank unwrapped it and bit in before he thought to thank him. It was soggy as all fuck and cold, evidently coming from out of town, but in that moment, tasted like fucking ambrosia. Seeing his anger ebb as he ate, Bob hemmed awkwardly, as if to get his attention.

“What’s with your cheek,” he brushed his own, indicating it to him. “D’you get hurt?”

“Yeah, the charge nurse is going through fucking menopause,” he bit out. “I was just trying to get a patient some morphine for the pain, and this dude slaps me. Can you believe it?”

“You gotta be careful with that stuff,” was all Bob had to say, and Frank huffed, trying to reconcile in his mind how the fuck this was his fault.

“Don’t you think the doctor would say something if he didn’t think it appropriate therapy? Gerard is just—ugh!” he tossed the wrapper aside, burying his face in his hands. No way he was fucking crying in front of this guy, but the sting in his cheek was somehow worse than everything else that’s happened. “He’s just…so fucking angry.”

Well, as expected, Bob was about as good at comforting people as Frank was at seeing the top shelf. They rowed in silence, occasionally turning to watch fish splash, catching bugs near the surface.

Call him a fucking masochist but what he wanted more than anything in the world was to go to the diner and have a stare-off with Ray Toro’s doppelgänger. The fact that he wasn’t hungry anymore was tardy as he pulled the door open, entering the empty diner and deciding he’d settle for a coffee, so as not to be rude. And he was right there, and it gave him whiplash again, seeing him.

“Here for a long time, huh, William?”

Frank was about to correct him before he remembered his own lie.

“Hey. How have you been?”

“Not terribly busy. Get you something?”

“Cup of coffee, please? Oh—shit,” he patted his pockets, realizing he was in his scrubs, and he totally didn’t change back into his jeans. Fucking awesome. “I…damn it.”

“Don’t sweat it,” he told him, taking out a blank sheet of paper and pen from his breast pocket. “I’ll just put it on your tab. Under William, yeah?”

“Yeah. Thanks man, I appreciate it. I’m usually not this scatterbrained.”

“Anytime,” he said with disinterest, turning to pour his cup. “Got into a bit of a fight with one of the inmates, I see.”

Frank pressed his palm to his cheek, wondering how fucking long he was gonna walk around with a fucking handprint on his face. Thankfully he didn’t press, giving him his cup. Frank supposed it was better this way, that he didn’t resemble his…friend in every way. Because the real Ray Toro wouldn’t leave it at that.

“Worked in the psych ward yet?”

Frank looked up from his reverie with the coffee to stare at him.

“I—no, not yet. How’d you know?”

“I get some customers here, every now and then. Tisi and Meg come here…the horror stories they tell,” he smirked. “They’re probably saving their tender new nurse from having to go there. Make sure you don’t carry any pens or pencils when you go there.”

“How come?”

“Meg told me last time, Gerard assigned her to look after this guy. Seemed calm at first. She restrained him like he told her, but he started complaining, saying they’re too tight. And bless her, she loosened them a bit. Well, that fucker got up and grabbed for the pencil in her pocket.”

“Shit,” Frank breathed.

“Gets worse,” he promised, like it was a high tale. “Meg probably thought, ‘oh fuck, there I go’, but this dude starts stabbing himself in the eye. Like no pause, no holding back, straight up, led to the skull.”

Frank shut his eyes, imagining it, even as Ray’s morbid double went on. “She calls Tisi over and they try to get him restrained, and he just keeps banging against the floor, like he’s trying to push it further in. Gerard was pretty pissed off that day.”

“Yeah, I fucking bet,” he breathed. Ray Two hummed.

“Yup. I mean, I always say, you want something done right, you do it yourself. They told me they had a big meeting that day, the head of the hospital came down to talk to them about it. He probably gave them the biggest down-dressing of their careers.”

“You mean Dr. Morrison?” Frank piped up. “I mean, it’s understandable…but he seems like a pretty chill dude. Especially compared to the rest of them.”

“Well, I don’t know, I guess you know better than me. Meg and Tisi are scared shitless of him, and I wager so is Gerard. They always avoid talking about him, and when they do, they whisper, like I got the place tapped or something. Maybe listen to the old-timers and stay clear.”

“Sure,” Frank voiced, wondering. It wasn’t like he was gonna go out of his way trying to piss their boss off. He figured it was easy to make himself liked, based on his two conversations with the man. Maybe those three fuckers needed to unclench for one goddamn moment.

Those thoughts seemed to echo in his mind as the day went by in a blink, and he was right back there, pulling the screen close and riding the elevator to the break room, really hoping he’d find something edible before his shift started. The break room was empty, and he was about to relish in the solitude of a thorough pantry search when the door opened, and Frank jumped back, but not before hitting his head on the side of the pantry door.

Gerard looked at him, unimpressed. His once white dress was creased, and a loose seam ran down his calves. He crossed his arms, like he caught him misbehaving, and Frank climbed down from the counter in defeat.

“Ready for another day?” he asked in a grating tone. “I’ve got something special planned for you, seeing as you’ve got too much free time on your hands. You’ll be with me in psychiatric.”

Fucking fantastic.

“Sounds good,” Frank sighed. “Just—before we go, is there, like, a biscuit around here or something?”

Gerard rolled his eyes, groaning audibly like he had never been more annoyed in his life. He reached into his pinafore and pulled out another bag of chocolate mints, but Frank shook his head.

“No—dude, come on, I’m a grown man.”

“Well, hardly.”

“I just need something to make me last. Please. It’s like impossible to get food around here.”

Gerard cussed under his breath as he pushed him aside, opening the fridge. Frank was about to tell him no, he can’t have chili, but he had gotten out the milk, and opening the pantry, reached for oatmeal that definitely wasn’t fucking there when he looked. He watched him turn the stove on, leaning over the counter with his hips to the side to take a saucepan off the hook, then glaring back at him.

“I, uhm, thanks,” he stated, trying to let him know he didn’t literally have to make him something. He felt his face turn red. “I-I got it. Thank you.”

“Shut up and sit down.”

“Okay,” he said. It was pointless to argue, anyway. He tried not to stare as he stirred the oatmeal in, tapping the spoon loudly on the edge of the pan. He figured this must be some kind of fucked up motherly instinct or something, or he really trusted him so little he couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t fuck up making oatmeal. Whatever his deal was, he set the pan down before him, not before yelling for him to place a coaster on the table, and sat opposite. He wasn’t scowling per se, just had a sullen, tired expression. Frank shovelled the still hot food into his mouth, honestly expecting him to yell at him to let it cool, before pushing it towards him as an offering.

“I can’t,” Gerard simply stated. “Finish faster.”

He…can’t? Maybe the milk. That explained why he poured it so liberally. He obliged him in eating faster, ignoring his burnt lips. It was somehow good, even though Frank considered that meal the definition of ‘made without love’. Still, he was sated as he followed him to the other wing, having only been there in passing. He spied Tisi walking in and out, carrying sheets that were definitely not white. The sounds of yelling and grunting became audible through the doors and Frank braced himself, unsure what Gerard had in store for him.

“Listen to me,” he ordered, taking his arm to spin him around and show him the row of doors. “You’ll spend the shift watching this corridor. Not any other. You’ll go in, check on them, arrange for them to be fed, take blood pressure, and administer their medication. Forty-four and fifty are due for a zuclopenthixol shot. You’re not gonna wander, you’re not gonna try and help out, and you sure as shit aren’t gonna go upstairs and talk to the doc. You page me only if something gets out of hand, you got it?”

“Are any of them, uhm,” Frank blushed, knowing it was a wuss thing to ask. “Any special precautions needed?”

“Are you fucking dense? I’m not gonna leave you in charge of fourteen patients needing restraints. That’s my job,” he muttered, glancing up. “I’ll be just above you. Use the intercom.”

He nodded, but watching him leave, felt the urge to call out. “Hey, Gerard? Thanks for feeding me.”

He ignored him.

Frank figured he felt bad for slapping the shit out of him last time, and that was his way of sucking up. Whatever, he’ll take it. He gave a polite knock before entering, looking at the pallid, bucktoothed man sitting cross-legged on the bed. He shot up and Frank was ready to bolt but he just stood in place, rubbing his arms.

“Hey, buddy,” he tried, testing the waters. “I’m Nurse Iero. Nurse Way asked me to look after you today. You want anything?”

“I don’t want you here,” he told him. “When’s Nurse Way back?”

“Nurse Way’s upstairs,” he explained. “He asked to take care of you—uhm, James,” he glanced at the chart. “Maybe some water, a snack? Something else?”

“There’s shit crawling in my bed.”

Righto, Frank thought. He glanced at the covers, drawn over the mattress. He gave him a tight smile. “I’m sure it’s all fine. Just take it easy, maybe walk around a bit?”

“It’s crawling. It’s up my back. I can feel it.”

He honestly couldn’t bring himself to admit he was woefully unprepared. He’d taken up shifts in psychiatric exactly two times before deciding that shit was not something he could handle. And while he figured this was by no account a difficult case, he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to lean into the delusion and check, or just keep reassuring him.

“It’s okay,” he said. “Nothing’s wrong. I—uhm, I gotta check on the others, but I’ll be back.”

“You suck,” he was told as he left, and sure, whatever, that was honestly the tamest he’d heard there. And it kinda hurt because of that.

Gerard was definitely feeling bad for the slap, Frank decided, as not one of them was as unmanageable as the guys down in ICU. Sure, they either spouted nonsense or said nothing at all, but they held their arms out patiently as he took their blood pressure, and a few took him up on the offers. He almost felt like he had it under control, though found he was more paranoid than any of them, running from window to window, making sure he didn’t get lured into a false sense of security. His corridor was mostly quiet, and he figured the loud singing or occasional shout was hardly cause for alarm. The same could not be said about the noises coming from upstairs.

He thought about Gerard managing a similar corridor upstairs, not having nearly the walk in the park that Frank was presently having. At one point he couldn’t help it, paging him just to see if everything was alright, but was told to promptly shut it and focus on his own patients. Gerard only called him up to inoculate, as he was busy talking another patient down from strangling him.

The day passed quickly and it was the best part—getting them all to sleep. He made his rounds, stopping last at James’ room. He had been standing in the corner, or by the window, or pacing around the entire time, never reclining back on the bed. Frank didn’t think to comment on it, letting him have his food standing up, but tried to usher him towards the bed, just to be shoved away.

“Hey, c’mon,” he coaxed him. “It’s time to go to sleep. Your feet are probably sore.”

“It’s crawling.”

“Okay,” he sighed. “There’s nothing crawling, alright?”

“Why don’t you fucking believe me? Where’s Nurse Way?”

“He’s busy,” Frank said through grit teeth. He was getting pretty fucking tired himself. “We’re not gonna distract him and go to bed, yeah?”

He was shoved, harder, and James grabbed a chair. Great, there it was. Frank held out his hands, trying to ease him down.

“Hey—no need for that! Come on, be reasonable, there’s nothing crawling there!”

“Fucking look!”

“I ain’t fucking looking—there’s nothing there!”

“Liar!” he threw the chair in his direction, and Frank figured it was time to page Gerard.

“Nurse Way, do you have a moment?”

“What is it?”

“James would like to see you.”

There was a beat that Frank knew involved an exasperated sigh. “Tell him I’ll come in later.”

“He thinks there’s bugs in his bed. Can you please come now, tell him it’s alright?”

“Fuck’s sake—did you check?”

“For what?”

“For bugs, you fucking idiot. Check now. Change the bedding. Or better yet, find a new, clean bed.”

Frank sighed. Where the fuck is he gonna find him a new bed? James returned a belligerent stare, having grabbed another chair that he was ready to throw. It’d be just like Gerard, he thought, to indulge this guy’s delusions, probably preventing him from getting better.

But what the hell, he was just fine doing what the fuck he was told. Returning an annoyed stare, he came up to the bed, patting it down performatively while staring at James. He still hadn’t moved, and Frank drew back the covers, and damn near screamed. A violent shudder ran through him as he watched the writhing mass—ants, larvae, spiders, maggots—and drew the covers back, retching.

“Fucking told you,” was all James said. Frank felt tears brim at his eyes, a shaking hand reaching for the intercom.

“Gerard…”

“Fucking what!?”

 “It’s—fucking, oh god,” he retched again. “It’s like a fucking infestation here. They’re fucking everywhere.”

"Change the bedding.”

“W-what? I—but—”

“Get the patient into another bed, and change the fucking bedding, Nurse Iero. I don’t have time to hold your hand.”

Fuck him, this was fucking cruel. And that guy just sat on it—Frank shuddered again. James just stood there, hands crossed like he was waiting on Frank to get over it. He tried to look again, seeing the fucking spider colony running down the mattress. He felt faint, leaning against the wall.

“How’d they let you become a nurse?” James muttered. “Nurse Way always checks. And he gives me containers for the ones I wanna keep.”

“God,” Frank leaned over, sure he was gonna throw up. Only the thought that he’d be the one cleaning up stopped him. “Fucking—fuck, okay. I’m sorry. Let’s—let’s go find a clean bed, yeah? And then I can set fire to the building, or something.”

“Nurse Way wouldn’t like that.”

“He wouldn’t,” Frank agreed, leading him out, but not before obliging to brush his back for any stragglers. “You’re not terribly freaked out, are you?”

“Nah.”

“Okay, cool, just me. Shit.”

He breathed through his nose when he found a place for James to spend the night. Figuring he would simply place the entire mattress into the garbage. Well, a few definitely got on him, and he was definitely sobbing just a little bit when Gerard finally came downstairs, watching him disinfect the bed frame.

“Everything alright?” he barked, staring at his back. “I see you’ve grown a pair after all. That was hardly an out of hand situation, now was it? What the hell are you so afraid of, you’re way bigger than them. Hey, I’m talking to you. Nurse Iero. Frank?”

He turned around, wiping his face against his sleeve. Gerard’s face softened momentarily before it became stern again.

“You made him stay in a room full of insects all day, and you’re the one crying?”

“I didn’t think there really were any,” he explained, hating how thin and wet his voice sounded. “Like, I thought he was just delusional.”

“Delusional, not a liar. You didn’t believe him. No wonder he wasn’t cooperating—you betrayed his trust.”

“I’m sorry,” he tried, but it came out as a sob. “I’m sorry, really. It’s—fuck.”

“Put the disinfectant down and come here.”

He obliged, pulling off his gloves and preparing himself to maybe be slapped, or whatever else Gerard decided he was worthy of. Not hugged, definitely.

His head was pressed against his chest, and Frank went completely still, strangely secure in his warmth. Confusion hadn’t settled in before a hand ran through his hair, and he was pulled back. “Take an hour, Nurse Iero. I’ll relieve you while you sleep.”

Chapter Text

It was becoming increasingly strange to Frank that he wasn’t dreaming. Usually, he had all sorts of fucked up dreams—missing exams, getting caught inexplicably naked in public, his teeth falling out—but the stress must have overtaxed his brain to such a degree that his subconsciousness became latent. Opening his eyes, he glanced at his watch, seeing it had not been an hour, just forty-five minutes. There was still time, he figured. He should change, splash water on his face, heat up the rest of the oatmeal. But all he could think about was Gerard’s embrace, every word he ever spat at him absolved in that single action.

He sighed as he got up, walking into the break room and almost immediately turning around, seeing it was Meg.

“You’re the favourite now, huh?” she snapped as Frank opened the lid. “Did Gerard give you a sucker for being good yet?”

He nearly choked on his spit. She chuckled humourlessly.

“Just messing with you. He’s an okay guy, once you get to know him.”

“Yeah,” Frank intoned, waiting for her to bark instructions at him, or add something mean. “He’s really not scared to just walk around like that, though?”

“You’re really just asking now?”

Frank didn’t know how to explain to her that he was kind of preoccupied. Her teeth grated against the spoon as she consumed a bowl of chili, a thousand yard stare at the wall.

“He was giving me and Tisi hell once, so we told him to try and do our job wearing our clothes. Just started, and I mean, it wasn’t like we were in heels and a pinafore. Told him the patients were threatening us. So he’s doing it now, for a year. Honestly, doesn’t seem to mind it too much…don’t know how he tolerates all the shit they say, though.”

Frank didn’t either. And while there was a sense of admiration, it filled him with incomprehensible rage, thinking about him right now, getting ogled.

“Is he…seeing anyone?” Frank tried, the plan of being subtle utterly falling through. He honestly didn’t even know where that came from. It’s been hardly any time at all, and there he was, already desperate. He guessed he didn’t hate people that much after all, suffering from the solitude that Matherville offered. Besides, he felt if he could just see past the callous veneer, he would see…

“Oh, well, he’s got all the available bachelors in Matherville swooning over him,” she said, closing her eyes as if imagining it, before laughing. “Of course he’s not seeing anyone. He’s like a captain married to the sea," she leaned over to whisper loudly. “And just between us two—I don’t think doing him is such a good idea.”

Wow, fucking rude. Frank turned away before she could see his hurt expression, thinking what fucking ever. He wasn’t going for nationals, or even provincials, for good ideas. He was about to make himself coffee when his pager went off, and he was brashly reminded that the honeymoon was fucking over.

“Psychiatry wing, second floor, now.”

On the double, Nurse Iero, he parroted in his head, feeling stupid for smiling as he rushed to join him. All his levity was gone when he came upon the picture; Tisi was there, one hand covering a black eye and the other feebly pulling at the strap of the straight jacket of a scrawny man, all bones but somehow overpowering Gerard, pinning him underneath. He looked around, wondering where the fuck were the orderlies and what the fuck were they thinking, but Gerard turned to look at him, his forearms shielding his face from the man’s teeth.

“Don’t fucking think of calling them—I won’t have him sedated!”

“He’s—shit, hold on!” Frank moved to help Tisi pull him back, finding he had to put his fucking back into it just to pull him off. “Tisi, go get midazolam—”

“Tisi, don’t you fucking think of getting midazolam. Frank, you sack of shit, get him off me and tighten the restrainers!”

Frank briefly thought about just letting the strap go and letting Gerard get his face eaten by twiggy Hannibal Lecter, but managed to shift him just enough for Gerard to crawl out from under him. Instead of rushing off as anyone might, he immediately bowed down to help them, all three succeeding in pulling him back and getting him back into the room, on the restrainer bed.

“There we are, dear! See, nothing to worry about,” Gerard cooed at the man, and Frank watched in wonder, trying to understand how he was okay with this whole thing. He shot him a glare. “Don’t just fucking stand there, Nurse. Tell him it’s alright.”

“It’s alright,” he responded automatically, trying not to look into his eyes. But on his back, he seemed to calm down, his shallow breathing slowing as he looked into the ceiling, and Frank saw—his eyes were bandaged over, light hair falling over his forehead. His sharp jaw moved as he struggled to breath, and Frank saw he had bitten his lips bloody.

Gerard blew a strand of hair out of his face, beaming down at him. “You feel like meeting someone new?”

“I’m good,” Frank stated, really not wanting to stay around this guy. Gerard’s smile dropped as he shot him a glare.

“Not you. Mikey, turn to your left. Can you hear him? This is Nurse Iero. You want him to stay?”

Nurse Iero was fucking scared shitless, truth be told, as the man turned to him, feeling the unseeing gaze upon him. He shook his head.

“No? Okay. Frank, beat it.”

Glad to, Frank thought, except Mikey shook his head again, and Gerard, the fucking bastard, hummed unhappily, removing his restraints. Frank exchanged glances with Tisi, but she stood calmly, and he thought he was the only one overreacting, surprised when he was free that he did not immediately lunge to strangle him.

Gerard reached down to grasp at his hand, like he was comforting him. Frank’s eyes trailed to his arm, where the bite bled.

“Make him stay.”

“He can’t stay and watch you, Mikey, he’s too new. And I think he’s got things to do down in the ward below, doesn’t he?”

“Please.”

Tisi’s eyes darted to Gerard, who released himself from Mikey’s hands, exhaling. He gave Frank an evil glare, and turned to walk away, taking Tisi along. Frank wanted to beg him to stay, and not leave him there, but whatever danger he presented was episodic, as the man sat up, docile and calm, turning towards him.

“You there?”

“Uhm, yes,” Frank muttered, glancing again at the door. “You, uh, not a fan of him, I guess?”

“What are you doing here, Frank?”

He blinked at the directness. He supposed Gerard did name him, but he somehow expected him to be dazed, confused, unsure of what was going on around him. He knew he would be, if he was fucking blindfolded.

“I work here,” he offered. “I’m a nurse, just like Gerard. I used to work in New Jersey.”

“I know,” he stated simply. “I mean, what are you doing here in Ravencolm? Aren’t there people waiting for you?”

“Well, yeah,” he said awkwardly. “Down in the ward below, but I’m sure they can wait a couple minutes. Hey, so, do you remember what happened just like a few minutes ago? Because…you seem perfectly fine now.”

“Hm, no,” he admitted casually. “But that’s what happens, when I see. It’s my bad, really, but Gerard is pretty understanding. I didn’t hurt him too bad, did I?”

No, thought Frank, just took a big fucking bite out of his arm. He seriously hoped Gerard had enough self-preservation instincts to be cleaning it right now.

“He’ll be fine. What, uhm, what do you see, exactly?” he tried, glancing sceptically at the bandaged eyes. Mikey seemed to know that.

“Well, not fucking literally, obviously. But when the visions come—it’s not really me. You know how it is. They’re brief, thankfully. You know I had some crazy ones lately—like I’m pretty sure I know what you look like, because I totally saw you coming here on the ferry.”

Frank froze. His stomach dropped and his hands became clammy, wondering just what the fuck he meant, how the hell he knew that.

“You haven’t been eating a lot, have you?”

“Hold on—” Frank told him. “What do you mean, you saw me coming here on the ferry? There’s…there’s no way you could tell it’s me, even if you were looking out the window. Well, actually, what’s with the bandages?” he asked, feeling like he was lucid enough to answer him.

“An accident,” he explained. “But I see. Not in the usual way. You’ve been careful about the food, right? And avoiding the head doc?”

“I barely get to fucking eat anything,” he complained, before adding, “and don’t worry, we’re not friends or anything. I talked to him maybe twice.”

“Fucking twice? Damn it, dude, how’d you fuck up so bad already?” he shook his head. “Well, guess you got it all figured out then.”

“Buddy,” Frank gasped, leaning against the bed in exasperation. “I don’t got shit, fuck, or piss figured out. I don’t know what you’re on about, I don’t know what’s with this town, I don’t know why I’m not allowed to fucking eat food, or why I’m not supposed to talk to the doctor. And if you could, like, enlighten me, I would honestly appreciate it, and I’ll overlook the fact that you almost chewed off Gerard’s arm.”

Frank jumped a little when he started. “I did what?” Mikey shrieked, trying to get up, but found himself strapped to the bed. “Oh, shit, it was bad, wasn’t it? Fucking—can you go tell him I’m sorry? Fuck, poor guy. Is he alright?”

“Relax, he’ll be fine, I told you,” Frank said, patting his shoulder. Geez, he almost wanted to believe he didn’t just watch him completely lose it. “You guys are friends after all, huh?”

“Brothers.”

Chapter Text

Frank felt that his body was positively in denial, because he felt too awake. Even as he was sent, with varied insults, to go take another nap before he fucks something up, he thought about the man with the bandaged eyes. Fucking brother? What was this, the fucking Addams family mansion? He could hardly believe it all happened, and certainly doubted his words, and that would be that if he hadn’t glanced at the chart and, yep, there it was in black and white. Mikey fucking Way.

He thought he could make it through the rest of the shift without another break, because damn it, he thought he was tough. But Ravencolm was slowly sapping him. Succumbing to a yawn, he pushed the door open into the dark room, and kicked off his shoes, sitting on the cot before jumping out of his fucking skin, realizing someone was already there.

He punched the lights on and, to his unspeakable horror, was met with Gerard’s irritated face, his hair messed up and pinafore off, sleeping in his button-up white dress, his stockings and heels at the foot of the bed.

“What the fuck are you doing here? This is my fucking room.”

“God, shit—sorry! I’m sorry, I—I just—I’m on hour eleven—”

“He’s on hour eleven,” Gerard mocked. “Did you go to psychiatric like I told you?”

“Yes,” Frank whined. He wanted to sit down so fucking badly. On the edge of the bed, the floor, anywhere, just to relieve the pressure in his spine. “Do you, uhm, know where I can crash for a bit? I’m sorry I’m just—I’m so tired.”

“No spare beds that aren’t for patients,” he muttered, eyes shutting to resume his interrupted sleep. “Guess you gotta tough it out.”

“I’m gonna lie down on the floor. Is that cool? Okay,” Frank decided, succumbing to the fatigue and forgetting all dignity as he started going down on his knees, but Gerard’s eyes snapped open, and he furrowed his brow.

“God, you’re such a fucking pathetic thing, Iero. You can lie down beside me.”

Uhm.

“I’m okay, really.”

“You’re not sleeping on the floor like a goddamn dog. What’s the fucking matter? You too much of a tough guy, did I threaten your manhood?”

His manhood has literally never been threatened by anything, Frank thought begrudgingly, as he lowered himself into the bed. He felt incredibly dirty, but the bed warmed by Gerard was currently the most inviting place in the world, even though it felt like snuggling up to a scorpion. He tried to keep to the edge but Gerard scootched back against the wall to let him lie down, and he figured he might as well fucking try and sleep. The covers were thrown over him out of necessity, not care, and he was told to go the fuck to sleep and not squirm. So he did.

It felt like minutes, but he woke up, thinking maybe Gerard was trying to wake him. But no, he figured that would be louder. Gerard was beside him, still, though the bed was…shaking, slightly. And there was a sound, after all, maybe the one that woke him, but it was…slick. With growing embarrassment and disbelief he recognized that sound, lying perfectly still as he realized he was totally fucking beating it beside him. Jesus fucking Christ.

Well, what the fuck was he supposed to do, just fucking address it? Turn around and ask him to stop? He supposed that yes, that’s what anyone else might do, but he just lay petrified on his side, his face growing impossibly hot as he listened to him let out tiny gasps, desperately trying to relieve his want. It was so fucking messed up, and he never wanted out of a situation more than now…and it was so much worse with him right beside, his warmth terribly inviting, the sounds he was making—

Frank snapped out of it, shooting out of bed. The other looked just as surprised, like he wasn’t the fucking creep jerking off beside him. His bright eyes were huge, hand still around himself under the covers.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Frank breathed, shaking his head.

“Fuckin’ what I gotta,” he replied, and to Frank’s infinite indignation, actually kept fucking going. “Leave if you don’t like it. Or stay, I can do you next,” his eyes trailed over to Frank’s waist, and his hands shot down to cover his own fucking predicament. Well, at least he was keeping it in his fucking pants.

“You’re fucking messed up, dude,” he told him, but for some reason, sat back down on the bed. “Who does that?”

“Someone with my fucking job,” he explained, reclining back against the pillow. “You can go have a cigarette or something, if you know of another way. Or you can just stop being a fucking wuss and let me take care of you.”

“You’re so subtle about it,” Frank huffed. It was pretty fucking enticing, he wasn’t gonna lie. But still. “You jerk all your coworkers off?”

“You’re special, don’t worry. Nobody even knows about this room.”

“You do this frequently, I take it?”

He just shrugged. His hand sped up and Frank looked away, wondering how he could just fucking keep at it even with him present. He kept making small sounds, like he just couldn’t get enough. Against his instincts, he turned to look at him. His face looked so fucking different like this, serene yet sad, eyebrows arched in a pitiful expression and lips parted as he tried, dark strands falling over his half-lidded eyes. Fuck him, thought Frank, and not knowing what possessed him, reached under the covers to wrap a hand around him.

The other gasped, probably not expecting it either, but didn’t stop him, bringing his hands up to rest under the pillow as he watched Frank get to work.

Frank didn’t know why, just knew that he was possibly beyond help, and that it was a concerning habit, and that he wanted to touch him, and that in that moment of weakness, he really showed his true colours.

He felt him twitch in his hand as his gasps turned to suppressed moans, and it didn’t take long for him to spill over his fist, sighing heavily before sinking further into the bed. Frank didn’t even know what the fuck he was thinking, watching his relaxed features with a strangely familiar longing. Was it a subconscious thing, wanting to please him? Something fundamentally messed up in his brain? Fucking maybe. He was too tired to question it. Besides, he was getting pulled into bed beside him and his hand was reaching into his pants.

“Need some relief, Nurse Iero?” he teased, whispering it into his ear. Frank hoped he didn’t notice how it made his dick twitch, or his hips rut against him. “Of course you do—pretty thing like you shouldn’t be worked so hard. But I know just how to make it better, as long as you promise to be a good boy and not make much noise.”

Frank tried to keep his whining quiet in response, surprised when his cheek was kissed.

“Do you promise?”

“Yeah,” he sighed, reaching down as if to guide him, urging him to quicken his pace.

“Yeah what? You gotta tell me, or I’ll stop. That’s how this works. You either talk to me or you don’t get to play.”

“I promise—ah, that I’ll, that I’ll—ah, be good.”

“See, that wasn’t hard. You’re being so good right now, so good for me.”

That’s really all it took, as he was spilling over in his hand, fascinated only a moment later that he was permitted to press up against him, wrapping his arms around him. Gerard let him lay there, trying to catch his breath, a reassuring hand running down his back when his pager went off.

“Fun time’s over, sweetie. Get up and get dressed.”

Frank moaned, burying his face into his chest. A hand reached up to run through his hair, before he was hoisted up and made to stand.

“Come on, Frankie, just five more hours. You’re doing so well.”

Was it terribly pathetic he wanted to ask if this was a one-time thing? As he arranged his cluttered feelings they had stepped out, Gerard straightening his dress and patting his hair into place.

“Once a shift,” he told him, his voice irritated and nasal again. It was sweet as honey just moment ago, Frank pouted inwardly. “No mention outside that room. And nothing too complicated, Iero. I need my sleep. So hand jobs, blowjobs, a quick fuck is fine—but don’t start asking to be tied up or anything. Oh—and you rip the stockings, you get me new ones. Are we clear?”

Frank blinked at him, really at a loss of words. Did he…just fucking give him an orientation on their fucking affair? Frank has never felt less fucking dignified in his life, really wishing the ground would open up and swallow him. He was hardly surprised they both bowed to their weakness—in fact, felt a bit bad for judging him at all, like he didn’t think about doing it when it was all too much.

“Nurse Iero, head out of the fucking clouds. You know what, forget it. I don’t have time for this—”

“Hey, wait, okay! All clear,” he conceded. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

“Unless the world stops spinning,” he barked, and sent him to the psychiatry ward.

To say his feelings were all over the place would be the understatement of the fucking century. Comfort and neglect clashed in him as the memory burned fervent, and he really hoped Bob didn’t have any fucking conversation for him. He just tossed him another soggy vegan construction from out of town, and Frank accepted with defeat. Truth be told, he felt like an empty fucking husk, ignoring Bob’s query as to when he might be going home and walking towards the diner. He wanted a miracle to happen and for it to be the real Ray.

He supposed he was just a phone call away, but Jesus, what the fuck was he gonna say? Hello, friend, how’s it going, I’m fucking my coworker again. Ha ha, shit! Hi Ray, thanks for helping me out when I was in a rough spot. Question: is it weird I got a fucking crush on my coworker? He insists on wearing a pinafore and got a brother in the mental ward. XO!

His anguish must’ve been writ all over his face as he entered the diner, and a cup of coffee was pushed his way. He realized belatedly he forgot to change out of his scrubs again, and put his head in his arms.

“It must be some kind of sick pleasure you derive from it,” Not Ray commented, and Frank looked up, his face burning.

“Huh?”

“Nurses, with your line of work. Is it about feeling needed, about taking care of people? Can’t be the pay. But is it worth it when the patients don’t appreciate anything you’re doing? Help me out, man, trying to figure out how getting worked like a dog and wiping asses feels rewarding.”

Frank didn’t really know how to answer him. Maybe four years ago, his naïve ass would’ve piped up with a full-hearted yes, it did feel rewarding to work yourself up to a stomach ulcer. Moreso, it made you lose a lot of self-respect. Expired soup cans and cold oatmeal was just the start, he wanted to say, detailing the dark and twisted path of sleeping on any surface, accepting a disimpaction over an intubation, and thinking your coworkers are eligible mates.

“Okay, don’t answer,” Antiray told him, and Frank blushed.

“Sorry…I’m just,” he shook his head. “I really don’t know. I haven’t felt good about what I do since…fuck, I dunno, it’s kinda personal.”

“Uh huh,” he prompted him. “I mean, I ain’t telling anybody, if that makes you feel better.”

Frank breathed out. Oversharing with the diner guy who never introduced himself, huh? He just wanted the gossip, he knew, probably bored out of his goddamn mind in this diner. Well, Frank supposed he might as well give it to him.

“I, uhm,” he glanced around, like someone might hear. “Worked with a guy. A doctor. And…and I totally fucking slept with him. More than once,” he bowed his head, feeling the walls pressing down on him even as he sat in the world’s least private confession box. “I just couldn’t cope. I couldn’t watch—couldn’t see him.”

“You mean the doctor?” he prodded gently.

“I mean…fuck,” he closed his eyes. “My fucking husband.”

Well, he sure was quiet after that. Frank wiped his face, catching the tears that trailed down and sniffling, trying to obscure the motion with a prolonged sip. The man that resembled his sin just watched pensively, letting the silence hang heavy between them.

“You cheated?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, pushing the cup aside. He rubbed his eyes raw, trying so, so fucking hard to keep it together. God, what was he doing, just admitting it to this guy? He waited for the relief of the truth leaving his body, but none seemed ready to come.

“How come?” he asked gently. “Just…because?”

“Not just because,” he said quickly, and sucked in breaths. He let another prolonged silence mend the heavy air before he spoke again. “I couldn’t cope. I fucking—I couldn’t. And, Jesus…I don’t even remember, y’know? Fucking…Christ.”

“Hey, easy, Will. What can’t you remember?”

“His fucking face, man. I can’t—I can’t remember it. He’s—fucking everything to me. My whole fucking world. But in those few months—oh God,” he pushed his face down into his arms, sobbing. “I can’t remember his fucking face, man. I can’t remember it, at all! I just remember what he became, in the last months. Oh God, fucking let me die.”

“William,” his voice sounded gentle. “I’m sorry. It’s…I don’t even know what to say.”

“You wanna know why I’m here?” he looked up, his hair stuck to his face with tears. “Because fucking people like me—deserve hell. Deepest fucking layer. I walk an empty fucking world, day in and day out. I go to work, and I go home. I cannot eat, I cannot feel the wind or the sun, and I cannot dream. I get to hold the hands of people who want me dead, and let their bodies rot before my eyes, and even that is not punishment enough for what I’ve gone through, what I’ve done.”

Before the other could speak, he swiped the cup off the table, letting it shatter on the ground, and left. He walked to the edge of the lake, went on his knees and yelled until he could yell no more. Then walked back up to Bob’s place.

And as he lay awake, staring into the darkness outside, he couldn’t believe he confided in a stranger that his love’s face was washed away by Lethe’s waters.

Chapter Text

Frank thought he might deserve a little commendation as he came into work. Each step shot sparks of pain up his spine and his head throbbed from weeping for fucking hours. And he figured Gerard wasn’t exactly who he wanted to see in the break room, even when he pushed a bowl of soup into his hands.

“Drink up, Nurse Iero. I need you in intensive today. Easy shift,” he barked, before arching an eyebrow. “What’s up with your eyes?”

Frank figured they’d be bloodshot.

“Weed.”

“Better fucking not be—and you didn’t even bring any? Seriously, what the fuck is up? Can I trust you won’t hang yourself on the fucking curtains, I need you on your own for eight hours.”

“Relax, I can do my fucking job,” Frank hissed. “Get off my fucking back, Gerard.”

His stern look fell. He shrugged, like it was whatever. And Frank felt fucking terrible.

“Sorry,” he added. “I’m sorry. I just—it’s been a day, okay? I didn’t mean to take it out on you. And,” he looked down at his food, “thanks for making me soup.”

“Yeah, just keep your snot out of it. C’mon, Frankie, you can make it through eight hours today, right? Who knows, maybe you’ll get to have a little fun at the end of it.”

And was it fucking terrible that he looked forward to it? Gerard was surely not cruel enough to make a false promise, even if it was for a few minutes of dirty pleasure. Whatever, he thought, who the fuck was judging him at this point. Wasn’t aiming for redemption, anyway.

Dragging himself into the intensive unit, he was met almost immediately with screaming, groaning, and threats to dice him into a million pieces. He hadn’t had a chance for a proper triage, but rather decided the code blue on the floor might benefit from some attention. His pulse was slow as he pumped away at his chest, before he leaned down to try rescue breathing. The realization that he was stone still and cold dawned on him, but suddenly he was dragged off him, a hand gripping his hair and he was brought up to face the motherfucker in more dire need with his three broken fingers.

“Morphine,” he growled.

“Cool—should he just die?”

“Get me fucking morphine. Now.”

“Dude, let go!” he screamed. He couldn’t fucking believe it, the callousness, but before he could try and fight, he watched petrified as the man walked over…and fucking put his foot over the unconscious man's throat.

“You—” Frank gasped, hearing the death rattle. He just…fucking…

“You…you just…you just fucking killed him. You just fucking killed a man.”

“Get me morphine.”

“You killed a man! You fucking killed him, because what, because you can’t wait five fucking minutes? God,” he retched, stooping over. “You—you fucking monster. You just fucking—”

“Everything alright, Nurse Iero?” a grating voice came from across the hall. It was Tisi, an armful of towels in her arms. She watched the scene with a bored expression, like this was just another fucking day, like Frank wasn’t about to go into fucking shock, like the Three-Fingered Reaper didn’t just fucking step on a man’s throat as he went into cardiac arrest, like everything was fucking great. He had to be dreaming, he thought, blinking hard. Had to be. This couldn’t be happening.

“Get him to bring me some fucking morphine!” he shouted, and Tisi puckered her lips. She turned to Frank, her hair falling to the side as she cocked her head.

“Make yourself useful for once, Nurse Iero, and get some morphine.”

He shook his head, realizing he hadn’t breathed in a minute. “He—Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with you people? How can you be so fucking heartless—he fucking murdered him! He fucking murdered him in cold blood!”

“Okay, go have your little meltdown somewhere else, Frank.” She barked, and he stepped aside, too fucking astonished to even be angry. She grabbed his arm and dragged him forward, propelling him with a shove between the shoulder blades towards the hall, like she needed to prod an undecisive cat outside. “Go for a fucking walk, Frank.”

“Okay,” he sobbed, and didn’t remember when he started. What the fuck was he gonna tell Gerard? It’s not like it was his first…but it sure as shit was his first fucking witnessed murder. He barely walked down the hall when he leaned against the wall, sinking down. Hysterics shook his body and he tried to calm himself, hiding in his arms. Just how fucking jaded were these assholes that stepping on a guy’s throat warranted a walk?

What’s worse, he was acutely aware that he had to go back in there. His little cry-fest might cost somebody else their life, and he mentally chastised himself for leaving Tisi alone with that animal.

Yet when he returned, he found that she had somehow calmed him down. Well, he didn’t look calm, his fucked-up face twisted into a morbid mask of pain, fury, and…fear. He was laid out on a gurney, his injured hand strapped by his side, no doubt hurting far worse, and Frank watched with frozen detachment as Tisi came up to his side, her face the picture of serenity. The glint of a filled syringe caught Frank’s eye, and he watched as she drove the needle into his arm. Her ferret-like face stretched into a smile as she watched his thrashing weaken.

Frank blinked. She…had morphine all along? Administered lorazepam? Whatever liberties she had that Gerard may or may not be privy to, the lights overhead flickered, and the pressure in the room seemed to drop. A chill ran down his spine as Tisi looked up, making direct eye contact with him. Her eyes seemed unnaturally dark and she brought her finger up to her lips in silent pantomime.

When he walked towards the room, his whole body was shaking. Would it be easier to run, he thought, rather than confront Gerard? There was no universe in which he wasn’t getting wrung out and chewed up, and when he saw the back of him, he was ashamed to admit he whimpered.

Gerard whipped around—he was smiling.

“Wondered when you’d come,” he purred. His voice was low, sultry. “Didn’t call me once. Went good, huh?”

Frank swallowed painfully, shaking his head. “Gerard—I…aw, man.” He buried his face in his hands. He heard Gerard click his tongue.

“Oh, right, those two. Tisi told me you did all you could. Well, they’re gone now, no sense in dwelling on it. That’s what you’re scared of, that I’ll be mad?”

Well, there was also the matter of witnessing of a man getting his fucking trachea crushed, but sure.

“Are you not—wait, two?” he gasped. “What-what do you mean, two? I—I only lost one! I tried to resuscitate, but that fucking bastard—”

“No sense speaking ill of the dead now, Frank,” he told him. Frank blinked, still unsure he was hearing him. “He had an embolism. Probably from the broken bone. The morphine wouldn’t have helped him.”

Frank squinted his eyes. A fucking embolism? Is that what Tisi told him?

He couldn’t challenge the idea as Gerard rolled his eyes, taking his hand and pulling him into the room. Closing the door, they were left in the dark, and Frank short-circuited when his hands went up to cup his face, stroking his cheeks.

“You did everything right today, Frankie.”

He sucked in a breath. No tears came, all shed in a brief stint, and all that overtook him was a weariness, punctuated by a violent shaking. Feeling it under his arms, Gerard drew him in, enveloping him in his warmth.

“I know, I know,” he cooed, rubbing his shoulders, kissing his temple. “Your heart’s too big for this. Are you sad they are dead?”

“No,” Frank answered, surprised at himself. “I…I fucking wished it upon the one that killed him…but…” he sniffled. “The other one was already dead, regardless.”

Gerard nodded, like Frank didn’t just confess to something heinous. In some fucked up way, it felt good to admit it. Two lives just cut short before him, a consciousness that will never be again. What was he supposed to feel?

“Lie down with me while there’s still time,” Gerard said, gesturing to the bed. No fucking way he was in the mood for anything right now, but thankfully, it needed no telling. “Don’t have to do anything. Just lie down. Come on,” he coaxed him, and Frank let himself be pulled in, Gerard removing his pinafore and slipping out of the heels before leaning down to take Frank’s shoes off, tucking his legs in.

“Don’t think about it,” he suggested un-fucking-helpfully, but lying behind him, Frank felt his fingers ghosting over his back, gently running down. It was a strange sensation at first, one he didn’t particularly like, but it was distracting enough to make him realize, after a few minutes, that he wasn’t thinking about it.

He kept doing it until Frank’s body untensed, and slipped his arm around his waist, pressing him closer in. “Try to sleep.”

Despite his overwhelming fatigue, he said, “don’t think I can.”

“Fine. Tell me why Halloween.”

Frank was confused until Gerard’s hands found his, and his fingers stroked over his knuckles.

“Oh—it’s, uhm, it’s my birthday. And it’s the best holiday. Was. Well, it still is, but…it’s kind of stupid to celebrate it now.”

“Why?”

“Because…because it’s for people who think it’s fun to be scared.”

“It can be,” Gerard offered.

“Not after you know what real fear feels like.”

“It’s not just about the fun of being scared,” Gerard muttered, after a beat. “I mean, that’s like saying Christmas is about indentured elves. It was a day to celebrate the autumn harvest…and to speak again to the beloved dead.”

“How’d it become about fuckin’ bats and corn candy, then?”

“Well…it’s a long story, but I think it started with the Celts. To them it was the end of autumn, the beginning of winter, and the darkness that came with it. It was a liminal day, when spirits could easily pass into the mortal world. And they were due hospitality, with the dead returning home to spend one night a year with those they left behind. Then later on, it bled into Christian beliefs, and it was a day to commemorate all saints and martyrs, then just all deceased…with church bells ringing for those in Purgatory.”

“Maybe it’s better it just became what it is,” Frank muttered, almost falling asleep to his voice. “I’d hate to think about my beloved dead in Purgatory on my fucking birthday.”

Gerard hummed, rubbing his arm. Frank felt like he never wanted to be out of his arms again, leaning back to get even closer.

“Gerard…what’s up with your brother?”

Suddenly, his hand stopped, and Frank felt him tense up.

“What d’you mean?”

“Mikey—y’know, the guy who bit you,” Frank suggested. “You guys got the same last name. Is he…uhm, is he one of the penitentiary prisoners?”

“Of course not,” Gerard said quickly. “But he’s gotta stay here. It’s…necessary.”

“I’m sorry,” Frank reached down to stroke his hand. “It’s probably too personal, but…what’s wrong with him? Why are his eyes bandaged?”

“An accident.”

“I got that, but what happened?”

“Something irreversible.”

Frank hesitated. Was it that touchy for him? He supposed it was rude to pry, so he just made a small noise, kneading his hand as if to let him know he was sorry for pushing it.

Chapter Text

The two of them had drifted off after all, and Gerard’s arms tightened around him as his pager went off, startling them both awake. He heard him groan tiredly, pressing his face against Frank’s shoulder as he lifted himself up.

“Move,” he told him. “Gotta go upstairs.”

“Mmhh,” Frank agreed, still asleep. Gerard sighed, climbing over him.

“Frank, get up and go home.”

“Where are you going,” Frank muttered, holding onto his wrist as he slipped back into his heels. “I’ll come with you, just wait.”

“I’m going upstairs—Doc’s calling.”

“Can I come along?”

“No, Frank, I told you to avoid him.”

“I think you’re his favourite.”

“Funny,” Gerard stated coldly. “I gotta go.”

Frank watched through half-lidded eyes as Gerard left the room. He sighed, turning over to occupy his still-warm spot, realizing he had buried his face in the pillow to inhale his scent. How could he be such a fucking sucker for him? But at least he knew, knew it was all for show. He was so fucking gentle, talking him through it, and so caring. Frank felt like he could tell him anything, and not just in the room, that they could talk about anything, if not for this awful place…he was sure he could get a genuine smile out of him.

He thought of all the things he’d like to ask him when he was in a talkative mood again, contemplatively bringing another spoonful of his soup to his lips. By then it was early morning, and he changed out of his scrubs and left before someone could page for him. He took in the fog-enshrouded world as his shoes squeaked on the wet dirt, felt the first of autumn on summer’s breath. Signalling for Bob to row across, he wondered if he could bring himself to ever enter that diner again, after saying what he did to Mirror Ray. He wanted to talk to somebody so badly.

As if perceiving that, Bob stared ahead with resolved silence, offering him nothing. It was one long row across, and he said nothing until he noticed him walking in the same direction.

“No diner today?”

“Nah,” Frank said. “I, uhm, got fed by Gerard.”

“That bitch that slapped you last time?”

“Well, it wasn’t—yeah,” he admitted, reddening. “But, I think he felt bad about it. He’s…uhm, he’s gotten a bit better.”

Bob made an unsure sound as they arrived at the house, his dog running from behind the house to greet them. Frank had asked her name, but Bob never told him, and he thought she must be named after an ex or something embarrassing, so Frank had resorted to secretly calling her Pork Chop, after the first meal he was offered. Not like he ate it, but he appreciated the gesture, and her giant grey-blue form was very pork-chop reminiscent. He had dumber names for dogs in the past. Maybe he should ask Gerard if he likes dogs.

“Uh, okay, don’t answer, weirdo.”

Frank blinked rapidly, turning to Bob. “Sorry, what? I wasn’t listening.”

“I said d’you wanna go for a drive outta town? We can pick up some shit you can actually eat.”

“Uh, sure! Thanks dude, that’s—”

“Let’s go.” Bob told him before Frank could get too sappy with him. He supposed he was lonely too, and this was his way of tricking him into spending time with him. Whatever, thought Frank, telling him about the guitars he had aspirations to get when the magical period of time where he has free time appears. Then he talked at him about his past dogs, then about the decline of morning cartoons, then about his theory that he was 5’6” only because his mom drank copious amounts of coffee when she was pregnant with him.

Bob seemed to treat Frank’s one-way conversations as background noise as they settled into his decomposing pick-up and slowly turned down the main road. Frank was honestly looking forward to it a bit, knowing Bob wouldn’t be able to resist having a beer with him, and finally seeing the outside world again.

Yet he noticed the edges of his vision turned a bit fuzzy as they neared the narrow bridge out of Matherville, and his eyelids suddenly felt incredibly heavy, as did his chest. Bob noticed that he stopped talking and Frank tried to signal for him to stop, feeling the seconds without air go by. What the fuck was this, an asthma attack? He couldn’t even hold his head upright. It all went black.

Next thing he knew, he was lying beside the pick-up, peering into the overcast skies. Bob cursed beside him, lifting his hands from his chest and propping him upright, as though to will him into being alright.

“What the fuck, dude?” he huffed at him.

“I—I dunno,” Frank gasped, breathing still hard as his tongue seemed swollen. He might’ve bit down on it. “Honest—this is the first time this ever happened. Maybe…a seizure? Hold on—” he said as Bob hoisted him to his feet. “Dude, just hold on, fuck, I’m so dizzy.”

“I’m taking you back.”

“No, no, I’m okay, just—oh, okay,” he sucked in a breath, feeling nausea swell. “Maybe that’s a good idea.”

Bob was shaking his head the entire time. “Something you ate?”

“I dunno,” he said slowly. What the fuck was he implying, that Gerard fucking poisoned him? Leave it to this guy to think that. “Maybe it’s because of the work, and just lack of…everything. I’ll be okay. I think I’ll walk back.”

Bob glared at him. “You sure?”

“Yeah, it’s not far. The air will freshen me up.”

“Don’t stray.”

“O-kay, wasn’t gonna,” Frank muttered, watching as Bob gave him another sceptical look and climbed back into the pick-up when he saw Frank take a step, speeding off. Frank sighed, cursing his lost excursion into the outside world. Man, his iron levels were probably subterranean. Walking back up to the house, he couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, and unconsciously hurried.

Chapter Text

He had to fill his time with something other than fainting spells and oversharing in diners, he thought as he came in again. Bob had, against his expectations, brought back enough food to finally pack a lunch…though truthfully, he had hoped that Gerard would continue to care just enough to feed his sorry ass.

Getting into his scrubs, he stretched as though to prepare himself for the trials of the day, when he spied the familiar form walking down the hall, casting glances to either side. Frank smirked, hurrying after him. Fucker was speedwalking to the room, probably timing his break with the start of Frank’s shift to get his relief hours in.

“Hey Gerard! Long time no see,” he laughed, grabbing his waist, meaning for it to be gentle. Frank didn’t expect him to literally hiss when he did so. Gerard whipped around, looking at Frank like he fucking wronged him in a past life or something.

“What the fuck d’you think you’re doing, Nurse Iero?” he seethed. “Don’t you fucking touch me. You don’t know what to do with your hands, go get yourself busy in long-term. You’ll be there all day, and let’s try without fucking casualties this time. Got it, dipshit?”

“Woah,” Frank stepped back. “Geez, I—I just wanted to say hi. I’ll go down in a second, just wanted to ask you how you’re doing. I didn’t—”

“Like you give a fuck how I’m doing—you saw me going in and thought you could get away with screwing me, huh? Fucking bastard. You deserve to fucking die for what you did. How could you?”

To say Frank was beyond fucking bewildered would not suffice. His eyes were wide as he backed away. Gerard was…scaring the fuck out of him. His eyes were aflame and his fists were clenched, and maybe it would have seemed ridiculous if it wasn’t for the things he said. All that…couldn’t be because he grabbed him a little rougher than intended.

“Gerard,” he breathed, raising his hands in front of him in case he fucking lunges at him or something. “Please—I’m sorry, okay? It—it was absolutely not my intention to, uhm, to screw you. I literally just wanted to say hi—I missed seeing you. Don’t you think this is a bit of an overreaction?”

Frank hoped it would clear things up—but evidently, it did fucking not. He could not understand how exactly it had escalated to this, but Gerard had placed his hands over his ears, as if to block him out, bowing his head as his expression twisted in such anger it bordered on pain. Frank watched him kneel down, and just fucking scream.

He backed away, wondering if he was witnessing something…else. There just wasn’t a way…but his scream tore his throat, sounding more like a wail than anything. How could he have caused him such fucking anguish just from touching his waist? Frank was beyond himself, feeling fucking stupid, fucking bad.

“Man, just, fuck,” he breathed, kneeling down beside him. “Just like, breath, okay? I’m—I’m sorry. Fuck. I’m so, so, sorry. I’m more sorry than I have ever been in my life. I—I didn’t—I didn’t realize. Dude, please, I’m begging you, just—stop. You’re fucking scaring me. Do you like, need to be on something? Please, please calm down. I missed you—I touched you because I missed you, okay? It was a fucking sleazy thing to do, I realize that—but I wasn’t trying to like, hurt you, or to use you.”

Frank didn’t realize he was on his knees at his side, bargaining with him. He had, at least, stopped screaming, saliva glinting on his chin as he slowly looked up. His eyes shimmered, flowing with tears.

“To adamant,” he growled, hardly sounding like himself, “you shall be changed.”

“Okay,” Frank deadpanned. He cautiously reached out his hand, surprised it was still attached to him when he managed to touch him, pressing his palm to his forehead. “You’re okay. You’re just…the most fucking stressed out person in the universe right now. Why don’t we go get you some water? Have you sit down for a little bit?”

He sighed, going limp. Frank thanked the fucking stars he spent his anger, because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to fight back. Not if he was anything like his brother when he’s mad. He asked if he could help him up, and he nodded, letting Frank lift him and walk him into the room, rushing to bring a glass from the break room. He found him sitting on the edge of the bed, looking utterly drained and distant. From the world, from himself.

Frank approached slowly, sitting down beside him.

“Sorry,” Gerard muttered. “Something…comes over me.”

“Yeah,” Frank agreed. Something that’d get him exorcised if they lived a few hundred years back. “Does it happen often?”

“Uhm, more frequently, lately,” he accepted the glass, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I just get, like, I dunno, unceasing anger or something. I didn’t, uhm,” he glanced up at him. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

No, just gave him a heart attack and a new ulcer. Thank you.

He glanced at the time, seeing it was quarter to the start of his shift. He sighed.

“I gotta go soon—but you should lie back. Here,” he kneaded his shoulders. “Just take it easy, yeah? I don’t think I’ll need to page you down in long-term. You just take a nap, okay baby?”

FUCKING FUCK!

What the fuck is wrong with him!

He went completely still, embarrassment flooding him as he waited to see if Gerard would address it, or, if he had an ounce of sympathy for Frank’s idiotic ass, ignore it. Gerard glanced at him with a bewildered stare before looking down into his lap, brushing a stray lock behind his ear.

“On to pet names now?” he smiled, as though in spite himself.

“I’m so fucking sorry—”

“Don’t be. Unless you didn’t mean it.”

“I…I mean, I guess I meant it. Sorry. It’s just…” why do I care so much for you?  “I don’t know. It hurts to see you like this. And…and I feel like I’ve, uhm—god, I need to shut up.”

“You can say anything in this room,” he suggested gently, like he was comforting him. “You know I won’t judge you.”

Frank turned away, feeling like something was constricting his heart, drowning him in emotion.

“I feel like I’ve known you for a while.”

He feared that, in that heavy pause, Gerard was reconsidering his words. God, he must think him such a fucking clingy sucker. But what else was he supposed to fucking say, if not the truth? That even though he treated him like fucking garbage, he still couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to him? That every iota of his affection was magnified like an echo in the chambers of his heart? That even with his fucking emotional seesaws, he knew him to be kind?

Speaking of… “Does that mean—you’ve forgiven me, and you’ll let me have a kiss before you go?”

Holy shit, did something just fucking go right in his life? Frank wanted to tell him, wait here, don’t move, I gotta go grab the fucking camera to commemorate this moment. He figured as the seconds went by he was losing that very same moment, and hurriedly wrapping his arms around Gerard, leaned in, but he turned his head.

“No, c’mon. I meant lie down and, y’know. Don’t rush it.”

Frank didn’t know, but watched him recline, stretching out a hand for him to join him. Excitement coursed through him as he lay down on top of him, supporting his weight on his elbows at Gerard’s sides, before becoming aware he was flush against him, and he could probably feel him through the fabric. Frank paused, realizing that while he adjusted himself, Gerard was waiting for him to look into his eyes.

He was going to, obviously, but it was…painful, somehow? Not in a physical sense, no, rather…something about his eyes. The way they glinted when he was tired. Eventually he did hurry Frank, bringing him to his lips, and for ten incredibly awkward seconds they just stayed like that, like neither one knew what he was doing. Well, Frank’s heart was out to win the fucking derby and he felt Gerard’s face grow hot beneath his own. Finally he moved, and the strange, petrified moment was forgotten as he tasted him, sighing as the feeling of unending want overflowed.

Frank’s hands had found themselves at Gerard’s face, cupping it. The strange feeling was back, like he was doing something more, like beneath the simple desire for relief was a tenderness. And either he was so starved of affection he had stupidly fallen for him, or there was something inexplicable. Something familiar.

Gerard drew back, separating them to gasp. Frank was faced with his raw lips, slightly swollen from where he nipped at them.

“How much time you got until your shift?” Gerard breathed, one hand reaching down to sneak beneath his shirt. Frank looked—nine minutes. Life wasn’t that fair.

“Enough for this,” he straddled him properly, feeling Gerard’s warmth through the dress now. “If you want, that is. Or we can keep doing this—”

His voice trailed off as Gerard went to lower the waistband of his scrubs, pushing him forward a bit and preventing Frank from seeing him hitch up his skirt. He decided he could live with that for now, reaching down to help him blindly, and suppressing a moan when he could feel him, his skin hot and desperate against his own. Frank shut his eyes as the pleasure of being against him overwhelmed, feeling like he must stay like this for it to remain and not spill over, for them to be forever in that moment, but Gerard squirmed under him, bucking his hips and pressing him closer, trying to get some friction.

He muttered suppressed curses between moans, all of them whispered to Frank like a secret. In answer, Frank buried his face in the crook of his neck, pressing his mouth against the tender flesh. He wished so badly they could turn on the light, and he could sit back and admire him beneath himself, remove the uniform in an agonizingly slow striptease, watch his face contort in pleasure and hear the sounds he makes. Instead, the alarm went off.

“Fuck,” Gerard gasped. “Wait, wait, I’m so close, just wait a second—ah!” he kept uttering as Frank ignored the alarm, pressing against him harder, moving to give him what he sought. He felt him come between them, belatedly realizing some had gotten on his scrubs, and a lot definitely got on his dress. He cussed again, and they sat up, Frank abandoning his own release to get his scrubs in presentable form.

“Wait, just hold on,” Gerard told him, and wrapped his hand around him. “No need to be that selfless, Frankie, let me help you.”

He melted under his touch, leaning against his chest as he panted. It felt obscene, the wet sound that filled the air, and Frank’s moans. He wasn’t sure what was making him hold off—maybe simply not wanting it to be over—but he glanced down, and the sight of Gerard’s hand around his cock finally did it. He shut his eyes and buried his face in his chest as he came. Gerard kept going until he was soft in his hand.

Frank craned his neck to press another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I gotta go,” he groaned, repressing the desire to suggest they should leave every single one to his fate and just leave together.

“Have a good shift, sweetheart,” he cooed, and stood up to smooth his dress over himself, adjusting his stockings. He glanced down, screwing up his mouth as he tried to rub out the obvious stains, before resorting to hiding them beneath the pinafore.

“You should still try to get some sleep,” Frank told him, getting up.

“I don’t think there’s time for that. You better hurry,” he added, but not before wrapping his arms around him. “Don’t miss me too much. I’ll see you again, dear.”

He could do this, he thought. Glancing at the charts Gerard had given him, he made his way to long-term, noticing as he arrived the strange quietus that suddenly fell upon the place. Long-term was in the west wing of the building, the corridors above the intensive care ward, but either the prisoners finally got tired of shivving each other and biting off fingers, or the walls were especially thick, permitting long-term patients some quiet. There were caged windows on one side of the corridor he was to monitor tonight, and he cast a longing look out of one, watching as the sun set earlier than yesterday over the hills surrounding Matherville, its red glint escaping the river and darkness falling just as soon.

Peeking into the first room, he already knew this was going to be different. The older man sat propped up on multiple pillows, his skin sallow and receding hair thin. He said nothing, did not even move his eyes, and Frank slowly approached after announcing his presence, matching his name to his chart. Stroke, two years ago. Long-term rehabilitation. He didn’t need to read the prognosis.

“Get you anything…” he tried, before feeling stupid at his own blunder. He checked his vitals and took blood pressure, and making sure his bed pan needed no changing, promised he’d go back and, like, read to him or something. He supposed he could tell him all about The Cure’s discography and why they should’ve disbanded after Pornography, seeing as the guy wasn’t going anywhere. Probably beat whatever conversations Gerard had with them.

The others were likewise indisposed to chat or simply too confused to register he was a different nurse from their standard. Most of them were middle-aged, some a bit younger, and even the lucid ones utterly disinterested in conversation, or food, or anything he tried to offer them.

It was going to be, by all accounts, an easy shift. Finally, he came upon the last room in the corridor, 61L. It was a little bit more spacious, offering a view out into the woods behind Ravencolm. Well, whatever the moon illuminated.

“Hi, I’m Nurse Iero,” he introduced himself, seeing he was awake. He gave a long whistle. “Best room in the hotel, huh? Must be nice in the daytime. So I’ll be looking after you tonight, let me take your blood pressure, and then I can bring you something to eat, or anything else I can—”

His voice trailed off as he looked at his chart. He looked up, really looked this time. The patient was young, younger than the others anyway, maybe thirty-something. His stare was vacant and into the ceiling, and his frame was emaciated, his features mostly his jutting skull. He turned his sunken eyes to look at Frank, like he was surprised he even attempted to make conversation. There was no reaction, not even a flinch, as Frank dropped the clipboard, the clatter so loud it echoed down the hall.

“I—fuck, I’m so sorry,” he cleared his throat. Stooping down, he felt a tightness in his chest, and his throat burned. “I, uhm, I just…I’m sorry.” He said again.

What kind of fucking nurse was he, unable to handle the most common terminal illness?

He approached the bag labelled cytotoxic, seeing if it needed disposal, then took his too-low blood pressure with shaking hands. Frank didn’t realize he was doing everything not to look him in the eyes, even though the man sought them out, refusing to look at his hairless face.

“I’d like some water.”

Frank never left to fetch a glass faster, desperate to be out of there. Fucking nurse of the year, unable to stomach a man with cancer. He had to get it the fuck together, had to get over it, and had to offer him something that wasn’t petrified silence. He was lucid, his words slow but clear, and he was probably dying (oh, real fucking funny) for a conversation that wasn’t about the imminence of death.

Peering into each room to make sure no one else needed anything, he returned with the glass, and watched somewhat helplessly as he strained to sit up, accepting it.

“I haven’t seen you before, Nurse Iero.”

“Right, I’m new,” he explained, hearing his voice squeak before clearing his throat awkwardly. “I’m, uhm, just shadowing Ger—Nurse Way, before they assign me to oversee a ward permanently, I guess.”

He nodded. “Bet it took something other than boredom to bring you to Ravencolm. No one’s here for no reason.”

“Well, the pay’s alright, and it’s, uhm, it’s different practice—”

“C’mon, why are you bullshitting me? You think I’m gonna tell anyone?”

Frank reddened. “No.”

“What’s your name, Nurse? Like your first name?”

“It’s Frank. What’s yours,” he deadpanned, completely giving away his unfocused study of his chart.

“William.”

Oh, that was fucking awkward. Way to go, Nurse Iero, stealing a dying man’s identity now? Well, it was a pretty common fucking name, wasn’t it? Still, he felt a strange shudder run down his spine.

“So tell me what brought you here, and I’ll tell you why I’m here.”

Frank supposed it was a fair exchange—he was one of the prisoners, after all, so whatever brought him there was probably some heinous shit. More heinous than his, if that was possible. It didn’t feel like it was.

“I guess it’s, uhm, just some personal problems. I sorta messed up in my workplace, my professional relationships, I mean. And, like, my real relationship. I fucked up,” he summarized unhelpfully. What kind of detail was he supposed to get into, exactly?

“That’s…hardly a good enough reason,” he commented. “Unless you messed it up beyond repair.”

“Oh, I did,” Frank assured him unhappily. “Fucked up so bad they got satellite photos. Just, completely betrayed his trust, did something completely fucking selfish. When he needed me most…I was a coward.”

“That’s rough,” William muttered. “I am hardly better myself.”

“What’d you do?”

“Been to the Middle East,” he said, glancing back up to the ceiling. “Wasn’t a model soldier, or commander, for that matter.”

Frank blinked. “Oh.”

“Local family housed me. I…betrayed their hospitality.”

“Why?”

He shrugged.

“Just the way I am. Got discharged, came back...girl I was with back then wasn't too happy with me. Said I shouldn't have done what I did. Maybe. But what does it matter at the end? This came to me, and would have, either way."

Frank sat on the edge of the bed, staring. He wasn’t about to fucking press for details, that was damn sure…but what was he to say? That he agreed? That it was kind of fucked up? That men like him were bound to pay, sooner or later?

“How long have you been here—in the hospital, I mean?” Frank asked, desperate to change the subject.

“Longer than you think.”

“What…does that mean?” Frank shook his head. He had stood up. “Like, a year, two? I mean…at your stage—” he paused. Just what the fuck was he thinking? But William nodded, like he wasn’t deluding himself on that front. “Just what do you mean, longer than what?”

“I mean it’s eternity down here.”

Chapter Text

It felt like a fucking eternity by the time his pager went off, and Gerard came on the intercom to tell him that Meg was on her way to relieve his stupid ass. He wondered what he could say—or do—to convince Gerard to never make him do another long-term ward shift again. It was impossible to explain, even to himself, why he would rather do two back-to-back sixteen-hours in intensive, or get his ass pinched in geriatric, or even play fucking entomologist with James in psychiatric, than have another heart-to-heart with William. He wasn’t rude, he didn’t say anything particularly obscene—Frank wasn’t sure what exactly he implied—and his care regime involved very little. Still, Frank just couldn’t do it.

He stopped half-way down the corridor, putting his hands on his knees. Was fucking nothing easy? He needed a nap, ten days off, a joint, full body massage, a 12-hour session with Gerard, and a fucking grilled cheese. And what did he get instead? The fast-approaching steps and realization that he was facing Dr. Morrison as he rounded the corner.

He looked down at Frank like he was surprised to find him there.

“Nurse Iero,” he greeted him. “I was under the impression that you were reserved for the intensive care ward.”

“I, uhm, I was, but Nurse Way asked me to cover the long-term ward today.”

He nodded. “He must be very confident in your abilities, entrusting you with patients with such complicated needs. Oh well, I don’t intend to question how he manages his nurses. Would you mind paging him, and telling him he’s due for an appointment with me in twenty minutes?”

Frank narrowed his eyes. Fucking appointment?

“Uhm…sure,” he reached for his pager, but faltered. “Sorry, it’s not my place to ask but…what do you mean by appointment?”

“You understand that’s confidential, Nurse Iero.”

“I—well, of course,” he said, his face burning up. “I just—well, I did notice that Nurse Way is…probably undergoing more than the regular stress of nursing work. I mean, he had a really concerning outburst last evening.”

“Oh? I wasn’t aware—I always thought he managed perfectly fine, and it never manifested beyond the occasional curtness. I have never known him to exhibit any…outbursts.”

Regret for saying anything was already leaving a bad taste in his mouth, and he sure as shit hoped this guy didn’t, like, perceive something was off, or somehow know about their…activities. His piercing gaze gave Frank the impression that nothing in this hospital was a secret to him. Slowly, he dipped into his pocket to retrieve the watch, glancing down, and Frank got the gesture and paged Gerard.

Walking away, he sighed, realizing it meant he probably won’t get to see him until next time. He wondered if he’d tell him what this was all about, when a voice came through the intercom, like someone knew he’d be in the break room just then. The voice didn't belong to any of the nurses.

“Come to the psychiatry ward, Nurse Iero.” 

“Uhm…” he approached, pressing the button. “Who’s this?”

“Come here.” 

“I’m…well, off. Is it urgent?”

“What do you think.”

“Which room?”

“Mikey’s room.” 

Frank sighed, and against his better judgement, abandoned his change of clothes to trek back up to psychiatry, in the other wing. He remembered the floor and the corridor, but found himself peeking into each room to find Mikey. Those he made eye contact with looked…well, mad. Most were in restraints, either awake and with their mouths moving, or staring vacantly. He didn’t need a reminder that he was, by all definitions, a shit psychiatry nurse. And maybe indulging Mikey in his request was also stupid, but he knew he was doing it subconsciously, for Gerard.

Entering Mikey’s room, he realized after a beat that he was restrained, snug and propped up by pillows and with a glass of water within bending distance with a straw. He turned slowly towards the sound, fresh bandages over his eyes. His hair was combed, he was shaven, and his sheets were clean, Frank noted, not wanting to imagine the anger that would overtake Gerard if his brother wasn’t properly taken care of.

“Hey, Frank,” he said, like they were hanging out after work or something. “Long time no see. Or hear, I guess. Hah.”

“How’s it going,” he offered, looking at his arms again. “Hey, uh, how’d you manage to page me on the intercom?”

“So I was thinking,” he said, totally ignoring his question. “With you here, that must mean something's gonna happen. Now, I’ve been spending a bit of time with the Doc, for assessments and shit, y’know. And he reads to me to pass the time, when he’s got it. Though I’ll tell you honestly, it wouldn’t fucking kill him to get a fucking Batman comic or some Shirley Jackson.”

“Okay, you called me so I can read to you?” Frank asked. “I mean I don’t mind, really, but I don’t know where to get—how about this, next time, I’ll ask Bob for a ride outta town, and I’ll bring some stuff back from the library—”

“That's not what I called you here for. Also good fucking luck, getting out of Matherville. Well, the Doc is a big fan of Virgil.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

“And I think he’s trying to give me a hint. You too, probably, but shit’s going right over your head. Not like it’s got far to go.”

“Uh huh,” Frank deadpanned, unsure what joy Mikey derived from calling him in to insult him. “Well, good thing you’re paying attention, Mikey. You’ll let me copy your notes before the big test, yeah?”

“Frank, be serious, dude. I thought you fuckin’ figured out why you’re here by now.”

“You keep fucking saying that!” he shouted, before quieting down and apologizing. “I mean, what’s with this vague bullshit, man? Are you just trying to get a kick out of me, is that it?”

“I’m trying to help you—without getting them pissed off at me. I’m already on tender footing, truth be told. I mean, shit, look at my face.”

Frank blinked. “I thought…you did this to yourself.”

“Why the fuck would I do this to myself, dude? This is punishment, or a price to pay, in exchange for seeing in the unusual way. Don’t get mad, just maybe, like, pay more attention? Maybe see if you can get some information out of the Doc?”

“Gerard gets pissy when I talk to him,” he muttered, adding, “and I think your brother’s having a psychotic break or something. He totally lost it on me last night, just for five minutes, but he was totally unrecognizable.”

“He was fine after though, right?”

Frank blushed. “Uhm, yeah.”

“Then chill,” he said. “But yeah, you totally gotta talk to the Doc. And make sure not to eat anything he offers you. He’ll definitely try, the bastard.”

“Why? What is up with that, why can’t I fucking eat?”

“Just don’t!”

“I eat what Gerard offers me!”

“That stuff’s fine! I mean, Gerard makes it for you, so I’m like ninety percent sure it doesn’t count.”

“Oh my god, why, why, why?”

“I mean, if you like it here so much…” he sighed. “Man, they did my restraints way too tight.”

Frank looked up from the floor, narrowing his eyes. “Nice try.”

“The fuck you mean, ‘nice try’? They’re fuckin’ hurting me, man! You seriously don’t give a shit? Even Tisi’s got more of a bedside manner than you!”

“Yeah, right. Okay, how about this—I’ll trust you and loosen them a bit, and you answer me one goddamn question straight. No bullshit esoteric answer, no fucking riddles, just a plain answer.”

Mikey pursed his lips, thinking. “I can try—but you better choose a good question to ask.”

Frank cursed inwardly at this clown logic. One question in exchange for potentially getting his face chewed off? He thought really hard.

“What do they do, the Doc and Gerard, during their appointments?”

Please don’t say it. Please don’t say it. Please.

“He makes sure Gerard doesn’t remember.”

“Mikey!” Frank shouted. “C’mon, I thought we agreed!”

“That’s all I can say! Honestly! Okay, now loosen the restraints.”

Frank realized he’s been holding his breath as he got up to fulfill their bargain. Mikey was perfectly still, no indication that he was gonna go off the rails or anything, when the door behind him was nearly kicked down, and Meg and Tisi barged in, looking…like they were going to kill him.

“What the fuck d’you think you’re doing!” Tisi screeched, shoving Frank back with such force he nearly fell backwards on his ass. “Fucking idiot!”

He heard Mikey mutter a quiet ‘aw, man’ as he was pushed down, a syringe of midazolam readied for him by Meg, who said nothing but threw Frank a venomous glare.

“Hey—hey, wait! Gerard—Nurse Way said not to sedate him!” He uttered, but much too late, as it was pushed into the drip. It was totally fucking unnecessary, and Frank was gonna tell her as much, but Tisi whipped around, her hand raised as if to backhand him.

“You’ve no fucking clue what you’re doing, you moron,” she hissed. “Not a fucking clue.”

“We’ll tell Gerard,” Meg snapped, “see how he likes you then!”

Jesus, were they for fucking real?

“Oh yeah, how about I tell Gerard what you did in the intensive care unit the other day, Tisi?” he screamed. He glanced at the door, waiting for either Gerard or Dr. Morrison to come in and ask what the fuck they were thinking, sorting their differences all in one room when there were some 200 beds to attend to? “Fucking embolism, my ass!”

“Oh, he’s dumb for real,” Meg muttered. Fuck her. “She’s just doing her job!”

“Her job’s killing people? You people are fucking sick. You’re more messed up in the head than anybody in this ward. And it’s no fucking wonder Gerard’s acting the way he does—I’d be going off my fucking rocker too if I had to spend years working with the likes of you!”

With that, he stormed out, refusing to partake in this fucked up charade any longer. In fact, he thought now was as good a time as any to check if his fucking Chrysler hasn’t been picked apart by racoons, and for a drive down to see civilization, and remind himself there was a fucking world beyond this shitty, hick town. He signalled for Bob by the edge of the lake, waiting impatiently and kicking rocks into the water while he took his sweet ass time, partaking in the silence he enjoyed while rowing. After their row across ended and Bob snapped back to his bored reality, he asked Frank where he was going, but he didn’t answer, shoving his hands into his jean pockets and speed walking towards the bridge.

Fuck this place. He was so fucking done. With these fucked up nurses, these fucked up patients, and even with Gerard and his fucked up mood swings. He somehow knew that their next reunion would find Gerard turned against him again, bashing his head against a wall or tearing his fucking skin off in hysterics, just to pull him into the room again when he wanted his dick sucked. Well, he could find plenty of people to use him without the fucking crazy thrown into the mix. Whatever it was that hurt so bad when he came to Matherville surely could not compare to this hell, and by then he was sprinting beneath the stream of the rising sun, trying to finally reach that fucking bridge.

The moment his foot touched the decaying wood, he felt it. The tightness in his chest and throat, the sharp drop in blood pressure, and he was sinking to his knees, his oxygen cut like someone decked him in the guts. He tried to call out, do something, but instead just watched as the world was consumed in shadow.

When he came to, he heaved deep breaths. It felt like he was drowning, but no one was around. His lips and tongue were bleeding, as he had bit on them. Just how the fuck was it possible, this random onset of seizures?

He sat up, slightly confused, mud and grass staining his pants. Lying back on the ground, he panted, watching the clouds pass overhead. He reached into his pocket, finding his phone.

Fuck what he thinks of him, he needed help right fucking now.

“Hello?”

“Ray…” he sucked in a breath. “It’s me.”

“Frank…” his voice quivered. Was he really that touched he called? “Frankie…where have you been?”

“The hell you mean, where? In Maine, for all of a week! Listen man, I think something’s going on with me.”

“A week? A fucking week, Frank? I haven’t heard from you for months! I tried calling you, I fucking missed you—I thought you were giving me the cold shoulder! Now you’re telling me you didn’t realize months had passed, and for all I or anyone that’s tried to contact you might know, you might be fucking dead in a ditch! Your mom was calling me, crying that you weren’t answering the phone—”

“Stop,” Frank gasped. “That—that can’t be right. It’s been…it couldn’t have been months. I counted, I clocked in, I have a watch…” he heaved each word. Ray finally seemed to notice his laboured breathing.

“Frank, what’s going on? Why are you breathing so heavy? Are you alright?”

“No man,” he choked out. “I’m—I’m like, having trouble breathing. I think I just had a seizure.”

“Is anyone around to help you? Are you lying down?”

“Yeah, on the fucking muddy ground! I was trying to leave…” his voice trailed off. “I was trying to leave.”

“Okay, Jesus, fuck, just—uhm, just stay there, okay Frankie? I’ll get my things and start driving. You—you call the ambulance once you get off the phone with me. I just don’t know where you are.”

“Ray…” he gasped. Tears welled in his eyes. “Ray, I can’t leave.”

“What?”

“This place…this place is…different. I think I’m trapped.”

“Frankie, you’re confused. It happens after a seizure. You’ll be okay, just hang tight, yeah? God, I never should’ve let you fucking leave, not in the state you were after—look, I can’t promise you anything, I know you left so you wouldn’t have to see me again…but you shouldn’t be on your own. Someone’s gotta look after you.”

“Someone is looking after me,” he muttered, staring at the momentarily clear sky. “Gerard’s looking after me. I mean, he’s a bit weird, and he goes through, like, fifteen mood changes per second. But like, I think I have a giant fucking crush on him, Ray.”

There was a long silence on the other end.

“I’ll call the ambulance for you.”

“Wow, no comment, huh? Don’t tell me you’re jealous. It’s not like we’re together anymore.”

“Not jealous. Just…you need help.”

“You’re not even gonna ask me what he’s like?” Frank groaned, forgetting his predicament, as he rolled over on his side, twirling a piece of grass between his fingers. “’Cause he’s amazing. He’s got this really androgynous face, and pretty hazel eyes, and upturned nose—but like, cute,” he hastened to tell him. “And I mean at first, I thought he needs to pull the stick out of his ass, ‘cause y’know, he’s got, like, a a bit of a temper problem. But he’s actually so nice, and caring, and kind.”

There was a heaved breath on the other end. “I know. I remember.”

“How, I never told you about him! And I mean, I haven’t really hung out with him after work or anything, but I’m just so…I don’t know, mesmerized? Not to be lame but…I think I'm falling in love.”

“Frankie…”, he heard Ray’s voice grow thin. “Frankie, I’m gonna call the ambulance, alright? I’m—I’m sorry you’re going through this alone. It’s gonna be alright. I think you just gotta, like, not work for a bit. Stay with your mom. There’s…there’s support groups, there’s therapy, there’s options for people going through this.”

“Going through what, love? You’re overreacting so much right now, dude,” he told him. “Or you’re trying to dupe me, because you’re not over us, or whatever.”

There was a prolonged silence. “I’m not gonna get mad at you, because you’re clearly going through it right now…but just know that I’m absolutely not trying to dupe you, or whatever the fuck. I’m honestly a bit offended you’d even suggest that, but as I said, I’ll just ignore it. I’m sorry, Frank. For what you’re going through. Truly.”

“Oh my god, why won’t anyone actually hear the things I’m fucking trying to say?” he shouted, slamming his fist against the ground. “I’m not going through fucking anything, I’m not sick—I just found him, against all fucking odds, in the middle of fucking nowhere! Why can’t you just be happy for me, Ray?”

“Okay,” there was a sniffle. Really? “I’m happy for you, man. I’m sure he’s…uhm, I’m sure he’s great. What’d you say his name was?”

“Gerard!”

“Right. Last name?”

“Way—dude, c’mon, are you gonna run a background check on him or something?”

“No, but maybe you should. Or better yet—don’t. Just wait there, and I’ll come down.”

“Fine, if you’d like to see the most boring town in the fucking world,” he muttered, hanging up.

Chapter Text

Frank decided his catharsis would be fulfilled by going to the diner, since it was closer than Bob’s place anyway. He was honestly more than a little miffed after his conversation with Ray—because history aside, they were friends. And friends shouldn’t dismiss it when you tell them you got a fucking crush. He seemed entirely disinterested, and while Frank didn’t care to admit that it might be one of the very few things keeping him alive, he had wished he’d ask. Ask him about Gerard. About what he was like.

Well, Pseudoray was there, alright. And as Frank entered the diner, he became aware that it wasn’t just the two of them today. His eyes trailed over to the booth in the far right, overlooking the lake, occupied by three elderly ladies. Though he could hear their gravelly voices, trained in a lifetime of yelling and one pack a day, he could not make out their conversation. They leaned over to one another confidentially, entirely absorbed in whatever it was they were talking about, but hearing the ring of the bell signifying Frank’s entry, paused, looking at him.

Frank felt prespiration bead on his forehead. Maybe he would faint again, but at least Unray was there to witness it now. They looked away just as quickly, paying him no mind, really, yet still, he felt like he should tread carefully.

Ray Naught gave him a knowing look as well, signalling with his eyes towards them when Frank gave him a quizzical expression.

“Was starting to think you’re avoiding me,” he quipped. He reached for a plate, but Frank held out his hand.

“Just—coffee, please.”

“Suit yourself,” he said. “You’re looking a little pale there, friend. Everything going alright?”

“I…I guess,” he said unconvincingly. “Uhm…who’s the new company?”

Frank watched the corner of his mouth twitch as he filled his cup, wiping the splattered coffee off the porcelain edge before setting it before him.

“Hardly new,” he muttered. “They’re…uhm, monthly regulars, more or less. Gotta get out for some sandwiches every now and then. But,” he warned, seeing him cast another glance. “I wouldn’t try and talk, y’know? They’re, how shall I put it,” he sighed. “Old fashioned.”

Oh, nice, old homophobic ladies. Well, it wasn’t like Frank was gonna interrupt their fucking crochet circle or anything, as he brought the coffee up to his lips. He saw that Ray Two was watching him intently.

He lowered the cup. “You’re weirded out after what I told you,” he suggested, because he honestly couldn’t place the look. “Listen…I’m sorry. I overshared. I…I was just having a rough day. I’m not usually like that—”

“D’you hear me complaining about anything you said, William? I’m sorry you went through…whatever it is you went through.”

“Thanks,” Frank offered sheepishly, feeling his face grow hot.

“And you know I’m here.”

“Um, sure. Thank you.”

“He can forgive you. If it was that strong—he’d understand.”

Frank looked up. He couldn’t believe he’d permit himself those words, and…what the fuck did it mean, anyway?

“Look, man—”

“No, you look,” he hushed him. Frank was acutely aware that their conversation was getting picked up by the old and furious in the corner. “Whatever happened—you’ve got one chance to make it right, and it’s now. You gotta get your shit together, Will, and you gotta prove it. I’m serious. Very few get this chance. Shit, I remember the last guy, and that was, oh, forever ago.”

“Last guy?”

“That came here like you did. You remind me of him, y’know.”

“Oh?” He felt a stabbing pain in his gut. “Came here…same time as Gerard?”

“Nah, man, way before. Way before. He was taller, mind you. But he was in much the same anguish as you.”

Frank furrowed his brows. One chance? How—he couldn’t even fucking leave!

“What do you mean?” he urged, trying to speak in a hushed tone. “Tell me—is this…about what I did, or is this about…”

“Yes,” he answered. Unhelpfully. “You know what it’s about. And you gotta do something. And you gotta get a move on, because honestly, at this rate,” he glanced down at his coffee cup. “You’re here for a long time.”

He didn’t want to go in. By now, he couldn’t even tell which of the four wards was the lesser evil—people were fucking murking each other in intensive for morphine, sending him up to beg for a script every hour, eating bugs and gouging their eyes out in psychiatric, coughing up brown phlegm and slapping his ass in geriatric, and just fucking giving him an existential crisis in long-term. At least in intensive, the time went by fast. And today, with some kind of cold finally sinking its teeth into him and a pounding headache that he guessed was an aftermath of his fucked up seizure, he needed the day to go by fast.

He wondered, as he trekked up the hill, if Ray really was coming over. Something told him they were just words, something to make him feel like he cared. But Frank figured he’d stopped caring some time ago. Maybe when he realized what kind of a man he is, if you could even call him one. More of a piece of debris, lost at sea.

Dread filled his entire being as he entered again the maw of Ravencolm, the bright fluorescent lights worsening his headache and the sounds of the outside muted, replaced with sounds of human suffering. Frank didn’t feel the floor against his feet as he walked, his mind drifting off as he went to the break room out of instinct. 

Peering in, he made eye contact with Meg. She had dropped the nicety pretense on day one, and Frank found he hated her more than even Tisi, who was at least forward with her fucking problem with him.

“You get the shorter shifts, huh Iero?” she muttered, putting a container of something away in the fridge, her face like sour milk. “Pays to be fucking the charge nurse, huh?”

“Hey!” he gasped. “We’re—not—we’re not!”

“Uh huh. Sure.”

A deep blush spread over his cheeks. Did Gerard…fucking gossip with them? About—them? What the fuck?

He felt sick to his stomach all of a sudden, his ever present hunger momentarily forgotten. He wanted to be angry but somehow the indignity of it mortified him as he hugged his arms, looking at the floor. Meg chuckled.

“Oh, come on, I’m just messing with you—”

“I’m real glad my private life gets the excitement going,” he snapped. “Where the hell is he, anyway?”

“Psychiatric,” she mused, “making sure Mikey stays restrained. He’s having a bit of a rough day—he gets like that, after he’s been sedated.”

“Maybe you two shouldn’t have sedated him.”

“He almost made you undo his restraints! You’ve not fucking clue how dangerous he is, do you?”

“I mean…he seems, fine? What is he on, zuclopenthixol? Maybe he oughta be on a mood stabilizer, or just, y’know, be let to fucking walk around and live a normal life every now and then? Not be fucking restrained in bed all day?”

“Why didn’t you tell us you also had a psychiatrist’s degree?”

He sighed at the jab, wondering why he even bothered. His face burned as he filled a glass with water, but to his utter bemusement, the glass just fucking shattered in his hand. Water and pieces of broken glass fell into the sink.

“Must’ve had a crack,” Meg suggested, and Frank cursed, wringing his hand to rid it of crystal dust and storming off to start his fuckass shift.

Right from the get-go, he was presented with something utterly bizarre. The first patient awaiting him in one of the few private rooms of the intensive unit had the worst case of scleroderma Frank had ever seen, and his chart helpfully supplemented (in case he couldn’t figure it the fuck out on his own) that he was paralyzed. Frank walked over to peer into his face, seeing his eyes were moving.

“Can you talk?” he asked him, and of course he couldn’t, but he blinked. “Okay—blink for yes, don’t blink for no. Are you in pain?”

No blink.

“Can you move…anything at all, not including your eyes?”

No blink.

“Man, what happened?” he muttered more to himself, gently rolling the man forward to get the blanket from under him. “Did you fall, got a spinal injury?”

No blink.

Frank sighed. At least he was breathing. He took his vitals, surprised when they were normal, and was slowly starting to get mad at the others for bringing him here, since there wasn’t really anything he could do for him, besides lathering on some tacrolimus on his skin lesions. He told him he’d be back, going to see what the guy in the next room was screaming about, fully expecting a degloved hand or a puncture wound, but ending up with colitis.

He could honestly feel the place wearing him down, his heart calcifying in his chest and the sense of urgency fading even as screams of agony followed aft him. He figured that, given a year, he’d be just as jaded, just as mental as those three idiots. He wondered if him and Gerard would grow any closer, or remain as they were, coworkers with benefits. His spirit sank imagining it as he wiped urine off the floor, a bleak future of this endless routine, a seesaw of biting remarks and fights and short bursts of passion and affection.

The pause allowed him to go and get catheters from the supply closet, but as he stepped back out into the corridor, there was a different, mechanical sound, and then all went dark. He gasped, thinking for a moment he’d blacked out again, except all his senses remained—the noise of confusion and shouting, the smell of alcohol wipes and body odour, the slightly acidic taste of the dry air—overflowing with input as the lights went out. He told the darkness to remain calm, and he would go and try to turn the power back on, even though as he took a step forward, he couldn’t even see his own hands in front of him.

Even as his eyes adjusted, it was still so unnaturally dark that even near the open windows the faint glow of night failed to illuminate the halls, the stars all hidden behind a canopy of clouds. He must have wandered out of the intensive care unit, trying to find an emergency supply closet, a lamp, fucking anything, and wondering if the elevator was operational, and if he’d be able to find the generator room, and conjure a few years of mechanical expertise to fix said generator. A new cacophony reached his ears, all the way from the psychiatric ward, sounds of crying and shouting making everything seem more dire.

Frank tried to orient himself by the shapes of doorways, unable to make out the numbers on the rooms, when, in the darkness, his hand touched a shoulder.

He jumped, and the person jumped too with a squeak.

“Who’s this?” a nasal voice demanded, and Frank sighed in relief.

“It’s just me, Nurse Way. What’s going on, isn’t there a backup generator in this goddamn place?”

“There is,” he said slowly. “It’s down in the basement.”

Frank waited for him to tell him the plan. If anything, he’d expect Gerard to be prepared. He seemed like the type, but when he spoke, he sounded…scared. It was silly to think of him as being scared of the dark, though Frank was ready to admit he was scared shitless, mostly of what he couldn’t see going on in the dark. He figured there was no small number of patients waiting for such a moment.

“Okay, well,” he said after the pause grew too long. “Let’s go down. You’ll have to help me out, I’ve no idea where I’m going.”

“Okay.”

He felt Gerard brush past him, and followed closely, hearing his hands run along the walls to feel the way, listening to the click of his heels to know where he’s going. Sometimes he would quicken his pace, as though he could suddenly see clearly, and Frank huffed for him to slow the fuck down and wait for him. They arrived at a door and the air grew much colder.

“Stairs,” Gerard informed him. “Watch your step.”

“Be easier if we…fuck, never mind,” he muttered. Watch him have a goddamn freak out over being touched now. He tried to feel the way down with his foot, but had at least a few heart-arresting moments of thinking there was another step. Goosebumps ran down his arms, and as they paused on a landing, he could feel Gerard shiver beside him, the sound of his clothes ruffling as he tried to warm himself.

“Dude, is it in the fucking morgue?” Frank asked him hesitantly. “Why the hell is it so cold?”

Gerard didn’t answer him, and Frank cussed as he heard him continue the descent. They must have climbed down two stories, and Frank thought surely they had reached the level of the morgue by now. Just as he acclimated to the cool air, it somehow became colder, and he thought he felt rime on the railing they held on to, feeling his skin stick to the cold metal.

“Nurse Way,” he groaned. “Nurse Way—Gerard!” He caught his sleeve, making him pause. “Do you know where you’re going? Even if we find the generator, it’s not like we can do anything—shit, I can’t fucking see a thing! Let’s go back.”

“We’re almost there.”

“Do you know what to do when we get there? Hey—wait! Just wait,” he heard the whine in his voice as he begged, trying to grasp at his sleeve again, but clinging to the railing as they descended another floor. He stopped answering and Frank felt the fear that he tried to ignore swell in the pit of his stomach, until it soaked through him, poignant and terrible dread.

They had stopped, and all Frank could perceive was that they were in a large room, based on the cavernous sounds. As Gerard walked forward, he heard his footsteps on a metal grating.

“Nurse Way.” Silence. “Nurse Way,” he urged. “Are you deaf? What do you want me to do? How can I help?”

More footsteps on metal grating, and the faint sound of rushing water, or maybe some noisy machinery, he couldn’t be sure. He kept calling out to him, and the fucker kept not responding. Though he couldn’t see, Frank was sure that his breath came out in a cloud, it was so fucking cold. After what felt like twenty minutes of just standing there, he heard the footsteps come near him, and a hand sought out his arm.

Frank grasped it, squeezing unconsciously.

“What’s the matter, didn’t watch enough episodes of Home Improvement?” he deadpanned, but took up his hand in both of his, like he tried to hang on to the warmth. “Let’s go back up, dummy.”

Clutching his hand, he felt for the railing, feeling like he had to walk further to find it, but then the room they were in was probably huge, and he probably wandered off towards one of the corners unconsciously.

“Great, now we gotta climb back up. Gonna get your steps in today,” he told him over his shoulder. He didn’t say anything. Frank shook his arm. “What’s the matter with you, are you scared, cold? I can, uhm, lend you my shoes, I guess. Save your feet. Wouldn’t be thrilled going in just my socks though,” he leaned down to take his shoes off, trying to let go for a moment, but his hand did not release him. “Fine, suit yourself.”

He kept talking, realizing it was with himself. Was he seriously scared stiff? Gerard’s clutch on his hand was making him lose sensation in his fingers, and he could hear him follow closely as he pulled him aft.

They had climbed three flights and Frank was already panting, and he could hear Gerard pant behind him. He tried to release his hand to wipe the sweat off his brow, but Gerard’s grip remained adamant.

“Geez, I’m right here,” Frank breathed. “You’re gonna rip it off. Are you just embarrassed ‘cause you’re scared, huh? You’ll be okay,” he grinned, before remembering Gerard couldn’t see him. Still, he could fucking say something. “C’mon, where’s the tough nurse I know? You’d beat my ass if I were scared right now.”

The sound of the machinery below made itself more prominent, and Frank felt a jolt of terror as the noise echoed.

“Let’s go, Nurse. C’mon, just a little bit more. They probably found some flashlights by now, they’ll send the orderlies down to fix it.” He felt him slow down behind him, not realizing that he was all but sprinting up the stairs, tugging him along. “C’mon, hurry up. I wanna see that sweet scowl.”

He would’ve been embarrassed at his attempt at flirting, but he was so desperate to leave that fucking stairwell. It seemed so much longer than the descent, and he felt Gerard’s grasp weaken as they went, like he was getting tired of holding his hand. A few steps more and he heard his shoe slip, and there was a thud as his knee made contact with the floor.

“Shit—are you alright? Let me help you. That must have hurt, you poor thing,” he twisted around to lift him up, but Gerard had gotten up, no sound of pain, not even a hiss or a curse that he’d expect, coming from him. “I know your legs are probably tired but we’re almost there, just a little bit more. Almost there.”

It felt more like he was dragging him along as his grasp weakened, and Frank seriously considered doing a fireman’s lift just to hurry up and get them the fuck out of there, even though he wouldn’t get very far. He kept reassuring him, promising what he could, asking him to just walk a few more steps. He thought he could see the outline of the door at the end of the flight they were climbing. Gerard’s hand was limp and cold in his hand.

“We’re literally here,” Frank gasped, pulling him along. “Come on, just a few steps more, just a little bit more—please.”

Why the fuck wasn’t he answering him? He felt like the last two steps were nearly insurmountable, like a force was pulling him back, like multiple bodies were dragging him down. His hands felt like lead, heart seemed to drop, and his mind did a strange somersault, probably from his deprived senses. The only thing solid in that moment seemed to be the handle that he finally managed to turn, and when he stepped out, the lights were back on, blinding him.

“Okay—shit, that was…Nurse Way?”

He looked at the empty stairwell behind him.

Chapter Text

Frank felt like he was going to faint, for sure. He was going to throw up, and faint into the vomit, and hopefully roll back down the stairwell where the vermin that surely live in the basement of the hospital would devour him. He stepped back, unable to look into the darkness a moment longer—and walked directly into the wall. The intercom cackled, and he turned to it with a bewildered stare.

“Come up to my office, Nurse Iero.”

Dr. Morrison didn’t sound pleased. How did he even know to page him in this corridor? And more fucking importantly, shouldn’t he be going the fuck down and fucking looking for Gerard? How did he miss him, how did he let him go just before they exited? He didn’t even remember letting go of his hand.

“Now, Nurse Iero.”

This was beyond fucked. He looked around, the returned illumination much too bright, bouncing off every surface and seemingly searing his eyes as he walked towards the elevator, unable to stop turning around and looking at the door, like it might open and Gerard would come out.

Just what the fuck? Was he dreaming?

He rubbed his eyes as he rode up, ruffled his hair, slapped himself. It was…so real. It was fucking real. Just what the actual fuck? And how could he tell the Doc? And what the fuck would he do about it, that didn’t include putting Frank on antipsychotics?

He almost forgot to knock, but as he entered, a squeak escaped him, because sitting across Dr. Morrison with his legs crossed and a cup of coffee, was Gerard. He scowled as he looked up at him.

“Not in any rush, are we, Nurse Iero?”

Frank wanted to ask Dr. Morrison to move to the side and let him fucking throw himself out the window. He was right fucking there, this whole time, fucking sipping coffee like a goddamn—Frank’s eyes trailed to his knee. It was bloodied, red seeping through the white stockings.

“When you have a moment,” Dr. Morrison said, making Frank draw his eyes away from Gerard’s legs with embarrassment. “Please take a seat, Nurse Iero.”

“I better go,” Gerard said, setting the nearly full cup down. “Thank you, Doctor. But I think I’m missed in psychiatric—”

“Actually, I was hoping to have a conversation with you both.”

Frank thought Gerard grew paler, his self-assured smile fading. He dared a look at Dr. Morrison, whose expression betrayed nothing. Still, he reached for the gooseneck pot on his desk, pushing a cup he filled towards Frank. It smelled fucking divine, and seeing as Frank was legitimately hallucinating, some goddamn coffee didn’t seem like a bad idea. He muttered a thank you as he pushed it closer towards himself, setting down to sip when the tip of Gerard’s heel found itself in his shin, and he could barely suppress a pained hiss.

“Firstly, how are you finding it here, Nurse Iero?”

“Uhm, it’s good,” Frank lied, and he could almost hear the two of them laugh internally. “It’s been getting steadily better,” he amended.

“Is that why you tried to leave?”

Frank paled. “I—didn’t—how did you know?”

“Word gets around.”

“I mean…” Frank sucked in a breath. He tried to exchange glances with Gerard, but he was staring straight ahead, like he was scared of taking his eyes off the Doc. “I needed to, like, just take a drive into the next town over. Check on my car,” he suggested, failing to see why an overwhelming feeling of guilt washed over him. “I’m sorry.”

“You understand this makes it seem like you’re not treating this seriously,” Dr. Morrison said in perfect monotone, drumming his fingers on the desk. “But no matter for now—we need to discuss certain protocols around here, since it seems you two have a different understanding regarding the administration of pain relief medication.”

Frank heard the clink of the cup as Gerard’s hands twitched, spilling a little bit of coffee on his hand. He set it down, rubbing his hands together as a deep scowl spread over his lips.

“Nurse Iero is following my instructions—we have the same understanding, don’t we?” this was snapped at Frank, who knew better than to do anything other than nod vehemently. Dr. Morrison’s expression didn’t change, even as his hand wandered over to lift the pocket watch out, absentmindedly twirling the chain around his index finger.

“Then why the reservation in administering it? Your selective use of it and sedation are affecting your performance, Nurse Way. You wouldn’t be burdened nearly as much if you just followed procedures, and besides it is cruel to deny pain relief—”

“I just think you’re overprescribing,” he muttered. “And it makes them…want it more.”

“You think I’m overprescribing,” Dr. Morrison repeated, bemusement in his voice. “You think I am unaware how opioids work?”

“I didn’t say that—”

“You think you know better than me, Nurse Way, how to treat these patients? Don’t kid yourself thinking I don’t know everything that goes on in this hospital—including your bedside manner. What are you trying to accomplish, holding off on morphine, on lorazepam? Trying to return these distinguished gentlemen into society? None of them are leaving this place—your only line of business is whether they remain in the penitentiary cells, or in your ward.”

“I’m sorry,” he heard Gerard mutter, so quietly it was hardly perceptible. “I was just trying to help—”

“Do your job then, Nurse Way, without deluding yourself that you know better, or that your methods are secretly helping them. You are making them more violent. And while it was explained to me, in broad terms, what this…masquerade is about, it isn’t doing you any favors in garnering an ounce of respectability, is it?”

Frank was frozen in his seat, feeling as much in the line of fire as Gerard was, though daring a glance, he saw that he was staring down into his lap, his lips quivering. He dared to shift his foot, just so it was touching his heel.

“That will be all for you, Nurse Way. I trust you will do better,” he said in a glacial tone, and Gerard nodded stiffly, and if Frank didn’t know better, he thought his eyes glinted with suppressed tears. He got up and left quickly, before Frank could do any other stupid gesture like try and caress his hand on the way out or something.

“Now you, Nurse Iero,” he turned to him, and Frank felt his insides curl. “You and I ought to have a more honest conversation, as there is also the matter of two nurses off duty at the same time.”

Frank doubted he could contain his mortification at those words. How—just how could he possibly know? And it wasn’t like—

“Before you think of something to say, Nurse Iero, let me ask you this. What exactly went through your head when you came here?”

Frank blinked. What went through his head? Well, many things, as a matter of fact, asides from the bitter recollection of his cowardice in the bathroom stall. How much detail did he want, exactly?

“I…” he started, then closed his mouth, taking another breath. “I came here to get away. I should have thought my decision through,” he admitted, before saying, “but it wouldn’t have impacted it, honestly.”

“Is that to say, you do not know?”

Frank narrowed his eyes. “I do know—I mean, I know why I’m here.”

“Really?”

“How…exactly are you to say, Doctor? I mean, I guess I haven’t lived up to your expectations, which I suppose I’m sorry for. But if even Gerard cannot do that—”

“What did you notice about him, Nurse Iero? Is he much the same?”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“That’s a shame, really. I had hoped…well, who is to say how these things work, but I had hoped that, since you made it here, and have braved what you have so far, that you must be worthy. That whatever brought you here must be rather remarkable, as it happens so seldom.”

“Worthy…of working at Ravencolm?” he uttered. “And what am I supposed to notice? That you’re being a fucking cunt to him right now?”

It took a beat for his words to catch up to either of them. Frank’s hand slowly went over his mouth and he leaned in his chair, just trying to process what fucking atrophied part of his brain was responsible for the words that he just uttered to his boss.

“I am so, so fucking sorry—”

“We can speak candidly, if you prefer. Seems to cut straight to the point,” Dr. Morrison’s voice did not suggest that he found it preferable or amusing. “What makes you think you are worthy of him, Frank?”

He looked up slowly. Finding the courage to look into his eyes, he noticed their darkness was…different, somehow. Like despite the deep shadows of the office, there was a strange, almost ethereal glow to them. Like the shimmer of shook foil. He felt profound fear course through his body.

“Worthy…? Of Gerard? I…I don’t know. I—I’m not sure I am, really. I just know that—” he paused, swallowing hard “—that I care about him. And I don’t want him hurt, or suffering, or sad. It’s…strange, really,” he admitted, suppressing the urge to add that having this conversation with Dr. Morrison was stranger yet. “Strange that I do, because coming to think of it, I don’t really know him. We’ve worked together for a bit, we shared a few conversations, but…it feels like I do know him. Like, deeply, or whatever, and for a long time.”

Dr. Morrison nodded, like he was understanding him despite his jumbled words. “And yet you don’t recall.”

“Recall what?” he nearly yelled. “You and everyone here keeps asking me the same shit—the same questions, but I just don’t fucking understand. I don’t understand what’s up with Gerard, or his brother, for that matter. I don’t understand how this hospital is operational, if I’m being real, and how the local government hasn’t provided more staff, and I don’t understand how the hell there isn’t even a grocery or a home goods store, and how nobody seems to ever just go the fuck home, and how I can’t fucking leave. I feel—I feel like I’m losing my fucking mind. I feel like this is just one never-ending bad fucking dream, and I just want to wake up.”

He was aware, then, that tears had broken through the barrier and he hurried to wipe them. This was fucking great, he thought, getting tricked into some kind of mandatory worker therapy session with this fucking guy. Why did he even entertain his notion about caring for Gerard? Why share it with him?

“It’ll be alright, Nurse Iero,” he said at length, and reaching into the drawer beside him, took out a sleeve of biscuits. “Maybe you should eat something. You must be famished.”

As a matter of fact, he was. But in that moment, he also remembered Mikey’s words.

“I’ll be alright,” he echoed, masking a sniffle with a cough into his sleeve.

Dr. Morrison held his gaze for a moment.

“I will reiterate that it perplexes me how you came to be here. But let’s say, I give you one more chance. Let’s see here,” he unwound the watch from his index, snapping it open. “Two more weeks, if you’re careful. Figure out what you’re here for. Mind, it’s my decision at the end.”

Frank came out of that office drenched in sweat. He ran his hands over his face, wanting to just sink through the floor, since that definitely beat every single conversation with management he’s ever had in terms of how shitty that went. Guessing his probation period had started the moment he left the room, Frank thought whether he should go and deliver the news to Gerard—then decided it wasn’t even worth a thought, because he had to see Gerard, and he had to ask him just what the hell happened, and he had to see his skinned knee to assure himself that trip down to the basement wasn’t the result of living off breadcrumbs and fumes.

Sure he’d find him in psychiatric, Frank was rushing down the corridor when he froze, seeing a form shambling about. The lights overhead flickered and Frank instinctively reached to press his palm against the wall, ready for the lights to go out again, but they did not, and he recognized the tall figure to be Mikey’s. He was taking small steps, his hands restrained by soft cuffs, and he turned his bandaged face towards Frank, hearing him approach.

Despite knowing better, Frank felt a surge of fear, wondering where Gerard was, and if he knew his brother was just wandering about the place.

“Did you see him?” Mikey asked once he crossed the corridor.

“You mean the Doc?” Frank muttered, trying to keep his distance. Just in case. “Yeah, we, uhm, had a very awkward discussion. I think I’m on probation.”

“And Gerard?”

“He’s…uhm, well I thought he was with you, actually. The most batshit thing happened to us earlier…I wanted to make sure he’s alright.”

“He’s still down there.”

Frank felt the blood freeze in his veins. Mikey pursed his lips, like he could see Frank’s startled look, and shook his head.

“Man, what’s it gonna take for you to figure it out? I mean, the Doc sure ain’t fucking helping, but you—shit, do you even regret what happened? Does it even concern you?”

“Concern me,” Frank breathed. “Concern? You—you’ve no fucking clue what the fuck I went through—”

“And what about what he went through, Frank? You only ever think about your fucking self, don’t you?”

“Stop,” he said, tears returning to his eyes. “Don’t say another word.”

“You—you fucking came here, was given the fucking gift of coming here, a chance so few ever get—just to keep thinking about your fucking self? I mean, holy shit, even that dipshit fucking figured it out, and they didn’t fucking have the internet back then, y’know?”

“You’re fucking nuts,” Frank told him. “Fucking all of you. You all—you all fuel each other’s fucking insanity. And I’m supposed to, what, google what all of you are on about? I’m only sorry Gerard has to fucking put up with this bullshit—”

“Nice to know you care enough to be sorry for him, at least. I’d help you, if you let me out.”

“Fuck off, Mikey, I’m not letting you out.”

“You’re such a bitch, man.”

“Sure.”

Frank started walking in the opposite direction, but could still hear Mikey call after him. “You’re a bad man, Frank! You betrayed him! If it wasn’t for your fucking weakness--fuck, people like you don’t deserve a second chance. Hey, turn around!”

He didn’t, leaving.

Chapter Text

As soon as Frank was outside, he took his phone out. There was no signal, of course, and he had to walk around and cuss until he finally found a spot. He listened to the dial tone, praying.

“Hey, Mom! Thank fucking Christ. Listen, you gotta come get me—”

“Hello?”

“Yeah, hi! C’mon, you don’t recognize my voice? Look, I know you’re probably upset I didn’t call, and I’m sorry and all, but I really need you to come drive down—”

“I don’t know who you are, and how you’re doing this, but it’s a sick fucking joke, alright? You should be ashamed of yourself!”

“What?” he gasped. “What are you on about? It’s me!”

The line went dead. Great, did she get fucking scammed by telemarketers again, and now had phone trust issues? He cursed, realizing he’s got to dial Ray.

“Ray,” he gasped, as soon as the dial ended. “Ray, it’s Frank. Please, do not hang up. I’m begging you. I need your help.”

There was a long silence.

“Hey, Toro, you there? Dude, I need you to come get me, for real. Like, I’m not sure if you meant it, but I need you to actually take a day off and come get me. I’m sorry, I know—”

“If it’s you,” his voice was strained. “If it’s really you, tell me something only Frank would know.” 

“Dude, did my identity get fucking stolen or something? First mom, now you—”

“Tell me something Frank Iero would know, or I’m hanging the fuck up.”

“No, no, wait! Uh, shit! Fucking—fucking got a flame tattoo over my nipple, says ‘Hope’. Good enough for you?”

“Something else.”

“Dude, what is this? I—uh, had a dog named Soup. I got in a fight with a guy at the bar once ‘cause he groaned and said ‘lame’ when they played Bon Jovi. I nearly went into psychology ‘cause I didn’t know the difference between that and like, criminology, and I don’t know why I’d wanna go into that, ‘cause I fuckin’ hate cops and shit—am I gonna have to give you body metrics next?”

“No…that’s enough. Frank…how is this possible?”

“Through the power of fucking technology, dude? Can you like, put down the blunt or whatever you got going on, and come get me?”

“Come get you from where? What are you on about?”

“Ray, we had this conversation, like, yesterday. I’m in fucking Matherville, Talcoma county, Maine, I’m working at Ravencolm, where I transferred less than a month ago, from Jersey General, where we fucking worked together! And I’m having a pretty shitty time, and right now, what I’d like most is for my friend to stop acting like I’m calling you from fucking Pluto, and make the trip here, and get me out!”

“Yesterday? We talked a year ago. It was the last time we talked. And…I did drive up to Maine. I drove up there with state troopers. We found your Chrysler on the side of the road. You…fucking, you’ve been a missing person since.”

“Are you—huh? What the fuck! What the fuck do you mean, missing person since? Stop fucking with me, Ray, I’m fucking freaking out right now.”

“How the fuck do you think I feel, huh? I drove up there, I looked for that fucking town everywhere! I searched all over the fucking state of Maine for you, I hired detectives, I gave up my fucking job to search for you, Frank! You—you disappeared off the face of the fucking earth for a goddamn year, and now—now you’re calling me like it’s fucking nothing, telling me shit like we talked yesterday—”

His voice broke with a sob. Frank just stood there, listening to his weeping.

“I thought you were fucking dead, Frank. I was convinced that you fucking offed yourself, okay? I’ve just been trying to live with myself, one day after another, knowing that I couldn’t help you.”

“I fucking hate this so much,” Frank breathed. “You’re freaking me the fuck out, man. I—how can I be dead? I’m fucking here, I’m breathing, I’ve got a fucking headache. Dead people don’t have that.”

“Man, I don’t know, it’s just…there was no sign of you. Anywhere. Not a goddamn fingerprint, not a goddamn hair. They had the fucking FBI come down and look for traces of you, but as soon as they learned the story…shit, they just concluded that you offed yourself somewhere in the dead of the woods, and stopped searching. Maybe…maybe I shouldn’t have told them what you were going through…maybe they would’ve kept searching.”

He sucked in breaths, trying to calm down.

“Hey—Frank? Please don’t go silent—please talk to me.”

“I don’t even know what to say, man. I’m just so, so fucking scared and tired right now. God, I fucking want to talk to Gerard.”

“Frank. Please just tell me where to come get you. I swear to you I’ll head out this instance, if you promise to stay where you are. It’s gonna take a few hours. Just—please, don’t repeat the conversation we had. You disappeared after you talked about him. Please don’t start.”

Fucking why not? While it reassured him that Ray was taking this more seriously than his mom, he did consider going back in and finding Gerard, and dragging him along to wait for Ray to come pick them up. He would protest, sure, but more than anything right now, he needed them both out.

“The place where you found my car,” he said, looking out towards the lake. He saw Bob rowing someone across, and knew he could catch him going back if he hurried. “Was there a bridge beside it?”

“A bridge…wait, let me think. I…I think so, yes? It didn’t really lead to anywhere, just like a forest path.”

“Well, that forest path leads to Matherville. I will wait for you…on the other side of the bridge, okay?”

“Yes, yes, okay. Just stay there, yeah? Don’t go anywhere, have your phone with you. Fuck, I’m leaving right now, I’m putting my shoes on. Please just stay there as long as it takes, okay Frankie? I’ll gun it, I’ll try to get there as fast as I can. Please don’t leave, don’t go away, and don’t make this the last time I talk to you.”

“Ray…” his voice trailed off, and he turned to look at Ravencolm, gray even in the morning sun. “You don’t mind if we take Gerard along? The guy I told you about—I can’t leave him here. I’ll just go in and get him real quick, and—”

“No, no! Frank, fucking knock it off, I’m serious! Gerard’s not there, okay? He—he can’t come.”

“What? Ray, what the fuck?”

“Frank, listen to me. Gerard…is gone, okay? I’m sorry.” 

“You’re…you’re mixing it up,” he breathed. “He’s not gone. I saw him, just minutes ago. He’s there, somewhere. He’s with me.”

“Frank, baby, I’m coming to get you, okay? Go to the bridge, and stay there. I’ll get you, and it’s all gonna be alright. We’ll get you help. You can live with me, okay? I’ll take care of you, I’ll make sure you get better. Everything’s gonna be alright, you hear me?”

“Meet you at the bridge—me and Gerard,” he said, and hung up. He was gonna have to sort through Ray’s feelings later, he thought, heading back in to get him.

The moment Frank stepped through the doorway, the world began to spin, and it was luck alone that found him collapsing on the foyer couch instead of the floor. Thinking it was another onset of a seizure, he tried to lay in a way that wouldn’t make him choke on his spit and waited for the darkness to come, but none did, though he was unable to move his limbs. There were voices around him, none he recognized, none that belonged to the place, and the rush of traffic was inexplicably in the background of his mind.

His eyes fluttered shut and he thought he must be asleep, except he was acutely aware of everything going on around him, even as his body pulled him forward, a quick step leading him to the emergency room at Jersey General.

“Nurse Iero—over here,” he turned to the receptionist, who pointed towards a teen, slumped in her seat and cradling an ice pack to her face. “I’m sorry to pull you away—we’ve called for the psychiatric nurse, but would you mind just keeping an eye on the kid?”

Frank heard himself answer in the affirmative, his voice a bit different, higher. Trapped in his own body he was unable to look around, recreating the motions that he realized belatedly belonged to a memory. He knelt down beside her, even as she shimmied away, asking her name, offering to go to a quieter room. Though she followed behind him, untrusting, she was reluctant to let him leave when the minutes crawled by, and he wondered where the fuck the psychiatric nurse was.  

“Is that a Misfits shirt?” he asked her, leaning against the wall as they waited. She mumbled an agreement when the curtain was parted, and—

He stared at the nurse who entered, casting one judgemental look at him as he tucked a long strand of mousy brown hair behind his ear. His tired face immediately changed, hazel eyes filling with warmth when he made eye contact with the girl.

“That’ll be all, Nurse—” he glanced at his name tag. “Iero.”

“Took you long enough, Nurse—” Frank glanced at his name tag, but a searing pain overcame him—

Frank gasped, thrashing out of his stupor with such violence he fell to the ground. He was vaguely aware of a pair of gray eyes looking at him, and sat up to see Gerard, scowling and leaning against the wall with crossed arms.

“Weren’t you off a fucking hour ago?” he demanded. Frank sighed in relief, realizing he wouldn’t have to go out looking for him. Unless…

“I know you complained to the Doc about me.”

“What?” he shook his head in genuine confusion. “Gerard—”

“Nurse Way.”

“Why would I complain about you? I—stood up for you, if anything.”

He raised a sceptical eyebrow, his expression never easing up. “What did you talk about?”

“I’ll tell you—if you tell me what your appointments with him are about.”

His eyes darkened, and he wrapped his arms around himself. “None of your business.”

“Gerard—”

“Nurse. Way.”

“What is wrong with you? Like, genuinely? Tell me, because…because I’d love to help you, or at least understand. Is that what your…appointments are for?”

“Why should it matter to you?”

“Because I care for you? Is that a good enough answer? Matter of fact—I came back to get you out.”

“Real fucking funny, Nurse Iero.”

“I mean it. I think we gotta skip town. Something really fucking weird is going on here. And…” he shook his head. “I think we’re both losing our minds.”

“Right, well, you are welcome to waste your free time however you see fit,” he said with finality, turning around. “I gotta go work.”

“Wait,” he called. “Wait…were you down there with me, in the basement? Please say you were. I heard your voice, I felt you beside me…I held your hand.”

“Wow, sounds romantic,” he deadpanned. “Wish I was there for that.”

“You mean…you weren’t?”

“You’d better go home and sleep, Nurse Iero. I don’t need you fucking up during your shift in a few hours.”

Chapter Text

Bob yelled after him as Frank climbed out of the boat. He figured he’d have more than enough time to go grab his things and stand on the other side of the bridge while he waits, but Bob nearly tackled him to the ground when he didn’t respond.

“Dude, what the hell? Let go!”

“Where the fuck d’you think you’re going?”

“Uhm, fucking anywhere I want? Didn’t realize that wasn’t allowed.”

“Not here, it ain’t. You can’t cross the bridge, dipshit.”

“Why the fuck not?” he whipped around, freeing himself from Bob’s grasp. The man’s eyes were wild as he panted, ready to grab him should he try and make a run for it.

“You just can’t.”

“Listen man,” Frank hissed. “If someone doesn’t tell me what the fuck is going on right the fuck now, I’m gonna—” he glanced behind him. “—I’m gonna drown myself in the goddamn lake.”

He truly did not know why Bob would give half a rat’s ass if he would, but it seemed like his devious plan had some hold after all, as he blocked his path to the water.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Guess you’re gonna have to give me a reason not to—tell me what’s going on, man. I called my mom and friend, they act like I’ve been away forever. I’ve been here less than a few weeks! And everyone’s so, so fucking weird, even you—why is this happening to me?”

“It’s the food,” he sighed. Then went silent.

 For fucking real?

“The food,” he repeated. “You shouldn’t eat the local food.”

“You already fucking said that—that doesn’t explain anything!”

“It fucking does. It makes you stay.”

Bob used the moment of confusion to grab his arm, all but dragging him in the direction of the house. Though Frank tried to struggle and even kick him, he overpowered him easily, and as they walked up the hill, Pork Chop ran up and, to Frank’s annoyance, growled when he tried to wring himself free.

“Dude, I’m like one more incident away from calling the goddamn cops,” Frank gasped. “You can’t fucking put me under house arrest. I want to go back to Jersey, and I’m gonna go and wait for my friend by the bridge, and you better let me fucking go.”

“You won’t be able to cross the motherfucking bridge, Frank! You ate the local fucking food, despite what I told you, so now you gotta stay!”

“I—I ate like a grilled cheese and had a coffee a few days ago! Nothing’s happened since!”

“And nothing at the hospital, right?”

“Just whatever Gerard made me! And like, a spoonful of fucked up yogurt!"

Bob narrowed his eyes. "Yogurt?"

"A spoonful, man! It tasted like shit, it was fucking pomegranate. I mean who eats that?"

"Oh my fucking--" Bob raked his hands through his hair, heaving a sigh. "Okay, well...just a spoonful, yeah? Maybe in a week or so. You should be fine."

“A week? Why do I have to wait a week? I wanna leave now! I wanna be in fucking Jersey, I wanna be somewhere where there's other fucking people, and where I can get a fucking Dunkaccino!”

“Look, I’ll see if I can—”

“No, I don’t want you to get it, I want—and how come you get to fucking leave?”

“Because,” he growled. “I work here. I can be trusted.”

Frank laughed, turning away. Bob had shepherded them into the house, locking the door behind him, and sat Pork Chop in front for good measure. Frank paced the room, kicking furniture in his wake, before his laughter turned to sobs.

“I’m fucking dreaming,” he said. “This is all just, fucking—a fucking clown house. I want to leave. I want to go home. I want to see my mom. I don’t want to spend another fucking day in this place.”

“Just wait.”

“I want to go home,” he screamed, burying his face in his hands. “I want to go home, I want to go home.”

“Alright, settle down. Shit,” Bob breathed, coming up behind to lay a hand on his shoulder. “You’re freaking out, I get it, but you’re also being a huge pussy. Y’know, this place used to be a whole lot worse.”

Frank didn’t answer him, just rocking on the ground on his knees, face buried in his hands.

“Like, there used to be all kinds of shit and…uhm, yeah, that would drive anyone mad. But I guess no one could stop you if you wanted to stay here, wait it out, and then leave. It’s better than being over at the hospital.”

“I don’t understand anything you’re saying to me, man,” he breathed. “Maybe…maybe I am in hell. Maybe I died and went to hell.”

“Nah, you didn’t die.”

He turned to him slowly. “But I am in hell?”

Pork Chop growled.

Frank figured there was still the tried and true method of his teenage years. After convincing Bob he had calmed down, he told him he’d go and try to sleep it off, closing the door and sitting on the bed quietly for a while. When the sounds of him walking around the house stopped, he opened the window and glanced down. It was hardly a long drop, but one that still needed some padding, so he took the sheets and tied them to the foot of the bed. He still rolled his damn ankle landing, but got over it quickly as he jogged down the path, the cover of evening descending. He figured he must have called Ray about two or three hours ago, which meant he was still waiting for upwards of seven. He was soon regretting not grabbing a jacket, and his jog turned to a morose walk as he thought about the long and boring wait on the other side of the bridge, comforting himself only with the fantasy of their reunion.

Ray would be mad at him, sure, and chastise him, and tell him he’s lost it. Fine, whatever. He’d also take him into his arms and hold him until he stops shaking. He wouldn’t tell him to toughen up or suck it up, and Frank knew he meant it when he said he’d take care of him. Maybe he was right, after all. He needed help.

Still, as he wandered the edge of town in the faint glow of streetlights, he wondered how he might still get Gerard to come with him. He guessed that it would be difficult to convince him, with Mikey there and all, but…was he seriously planning on just staying there forever? Frank sighed, realizing he had come across some kind of park, squinting at the structures that he belatedly realized were dilapidated carousels, swings turned green and black with mold, and slides that looked to be on the verge of collapsing. It was a wonder how he hadn’t seen it before from the other shore, but glancing around as though to make sure he was truly alone, took a step forward, walking the preserved path amidst the ruins of the playground.

Maybe it was the fact that this was supposed to be a happy place, or maybe it’s everything fucking else, but Frank felt a profound sadness looking at the tattered swings, the faded paint, the rusted metal. Feeling like his heart was about to fucking break, he sat down on one of the swings, hanging his head between his knees as he tried to brave the tide of misery. Instead, the now familiar tightness in his chest returned, and he collapsed forward, laying on his side, eyes open but unseeing what was before him.

“C’mon, just tell me,” his own voice beseeched, and he was faced with Ray. He looked younger, the ‘resident’ tag still under his name. He rolled his eyes, puffing out his cheeks as Frank tugged at his sleeve. “Just tell me where his office is and I’ll stop bothering you.”

“Man, what’s with you and this guy? If I give it to you, you’ll go up and banter with him for hours and still not get his number.”

“Please, no, I got a plan this time. I’m gonna do it for real. No banter. I’ll be smooth.”

“Maybe get his name while you’re at it.”

“I know his name, dude! It’s Nurse,” he laughed, ducking Ray’s shove. Eventually he succumbed to Frank's begging, giving it to him. He sprinted to the other side of the building, skidding to a stop in front of a glass door, peering in to find him there, entirely absorbed in his work, black-rimmed glasses sliding down to the tip of his nose.

He glanced up at him as he tapped, and his expression immediately soured, though he got up to open the door.

“Not interested in another burn care workshop, Nurse Iero.”

“C’mon, no burn care workshop today,” he beamed. “Did you want to get training on how to administer a prostate exam?”

He watched his face turn from serious consideration to deep embarrassment before he broke out into laughter.

“Get out, you’re distracting me!”

“Okay, I’m sorry—I just wanted to ask if you’re free tomorrow evening.”

“I’m not interested in any workshops, additional training, or visits to the supply closet.”

“How about visits to a coffee shop, or a bar? I can’t promise I’m less annoying outside of work, but we can go anywhere you like—I’ll pay for you. Please?”

He bit down a smile, trying to look mad. “Are you…asking me out?”

“So observant, Nurse. C’mon, just once. If you still hate me—I’ll leave you alone.”

He brought his finger up to his lips in mock deliberation, though Frank could see he was still trying to suppress a smile.

“So you came here with the assumption that I hate you, and still asked me out?”

“Yeah, but like, I got my knee pads on if you need me to beg.”

Though the flirting was getting progressively less smooth and his desperation was coming out, he giggled.

“Fine, I’ll save you your dignity. You can pick me up here at eight tomorrow.”

Frank came to, heaving a breath. His limbs jerked as he sat up, and he instinctively looked at his watch, trying to see how much time he spent hallucinating on the ground. He couldn’t miss Ray, not this time, not when he sounded the way he did over the phone. Casting another glance around, he lifted himself off the ground, trying to shed the lingering feeling of sadness and confusion the vision left him with. He guessed he was delirious, seeing visions of…of him, inserted into the past.

Walking back towards the bridge, he sat down, waiting.

And waiting.

The last of the evening light sank away and the eyes of owls peered from the darkness. The sounds of other crepuscular creatures began to come out, crickets and cicadas screeching in unison, the occasional laughter coming from the woods behind him. Foxes, he figured. Many of them. He tried not to dwell on it, not to look around, not to let his mind play any more tricks than it already was on him. But his thoughts kept wandering back to Gerard. To leaving him all alone.

Was he truly down there?

Did Frank leave him in that cold, dark place, all alone?

The moon was high above him when he heard it—an approaching car, and a slam of the door as someone stepped out, approaching the bridge.

Frank shot up, seeing his silhouette on the other side of a bridge he did not remember being that long. It felt like he was looking through a very long tunnel, and with the deep shadows of the woods, it was nearly impossible to see.

“Ray,” he called out. “Ray! Is that you?”

He cussed, pulling out his phone, dialling him.

“Ray, is that you? Are you here?”

“Where are you?”

“I’m on the other side of the bridge…you’re probably looking at me! Have you got a flashlight?”

“What bridge?”

“You’re…you’re standing on the other side of it, aren’t you? Staring straight ahead at me?”

“Frank, I’m still driving. Just hold on, okay? You’re staying put, yeah?”

“Someone’s here,” he whispered. He watched the silhouette move, a creak travelling across the night as they stepped on the bridge.

“Someone? What do you mean, I thought you were alone?”

“It’s…I feel like it’s a warning," he breathed. Though there was no reason behind these words, he just...knew. The silhouette moved, melting into the shadows. "Listen...I'm gonna have to get back and get him. I don't think I should leave--don't think I can. Not without him."

“What? Frank, no, no, just stay there! Fuck, just stay! Please, don’t fucking do this to me again! I feel like I’m losing my goddamn mind, you’re just making me fucking chase phantoms—”

“Just, uhm,” he paused, listening to the footsteps. They stopped, like the figure was indecisive. “Just find a motel, go to sleep. Don’t drive today anymore. I’ll—I’ll go get Gerard, and you can find us here in the morning. Deal?”

“No! Stop it, just stay there! Stop talking about—”

He hung up, feeling like shit, but that feeling was swiftly overpowered by intense fear as the ambling footsteps turned into running ones.