Title: Black Holes And Revelations
Pairing: Frank/Gerard, Bob
Disclaimer: I don't own them etc.
Summary: Frank, a 17 year old boy, is simply at the wrong place at the wrong time. What happens when he finds out the crazy phycopath that kidnapped him isn't what he seems?
I rushed hurriedly down the dirty street, toeing my younger brother—Ryan—behind me, eager to get inside. We didn’t exactly live in the nicest of neighbourhoods, actually, probably on the bottom of the ‘Nice Neighbourhoods to Live In’ list. I slipped quickly into the convenience store, making my way to the back, to grab us some sodas, and Mom’s cigarettes and getting the hell home.
Well, home wasn’t exactly the safest place either; Mom had been in a very bitchy mood lately and had taken to hitting either of us when we accidently got in her way. Times that by about twenty, that’s what she was like without the nicotine in her system.
We reached the back of the store where the coolers were and I reached in to pull out two of the sodas (she always gave me too much money, she didn’t know how much cigarettes cost anymore)when the door was thrown open violently, I stepped in front of my ten year-old brother, instinctively, to protect him. It had grown second nature in our seven years together that I protect him to my best ability.
But sometimes that wasn’t enough.
Standing in the front of the small room were two men. One had thick shoulder-length black hair and furiously demanding greenish hazel eyes. The other was slightly bulkier had blonde hair that hung into his face sometimes and a lip ring. The raven haired man stormed to the counter armed with a rather large semi-automatic—not uncommon in this part of town—demanding money.
The clerk, obviously wanting to be some sort of hero—or just freaking INSANE—denied the guy his money, shaking his head and refusing to move.
“Give me the money or the kid dies.” He growled, pointing the gun back at us. I knew this would happen eventually, but not like this, and sure as hell not with Ryan still half crouched from digging in the cooler behind me, “You have three seconds.”
The clerk made no move.
“One.” The man pulled off the safety.
Still the clerk didn’t move an inch, just kept staring at the pale man in front of him.
“Two.” There was a click as he cocked the gun.
Move damn it! I screamed at him in my head, mentally urging him to get his ass moving.
The bang that ripped through the enclosed space was deafening. I flinched waiting for the blinding pain that, surprisingly never came. I opened my eyes that had clamped shut, looking myself over. Then I noticed it.
A pool of blood forming around my shoes.
I turned halfway around, staring at my brother’s lifeless body, lying sprawled across the floor behind me. I stared on, horrified, seeing his dead eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling, still glazed over with expressions of fear and horror. I tore my eyes away from him, flicking my tear-filling eyes upward to the man who’d done it.
The man who wasn’t there anymore.
Then, suddenly I felt an arm around my neck, and the slightly warmed metal of the gun pressed to my head. Truthfully I wouldn’t have cared if he shot me too; I was too numb to care about anything right then. Apparently the clerk still hadn’t moved.
“You want another life on your hands, boy?” The man standing behind me growled out as the blonde guy stepped toward the counter that the clerk was behind.
The clerk shook his head furiously; a terrified looking in his eyes as he grabbed up a plastic bag and crammed what could only be a thousand dollars at most, into it.
I knew one of two things would happen to me then, one: he’d shoot me. Or two: for some reason, he’d leave me alone.
But neither of those things happened. The raven haired man behind me released me, pushing me forward with the gun stabbing into my back whilst growling, “Go.”
I forced my legs forward, afraid of what he’d do if I disobeyed. After being shoved out after the blonde man, who had the money, the guy behind me paused for a moment, before I heard another echoing gun shot. Why was I the only one left alive?
The gun in my back again, I was forced toward a sleek black car with dark tinted windows, impossible to see through. Obviously these guys weren’t from around here.
The blonde turned for a moment, before registering what he was told, and threw open the back door, into which I was roughly shoved.
Once I was inside I moved quickly out of the way. This raven haired man was gonna sit down whether I moved or not. The door slammed behind him, and the car sped off with a loud screech of the tires.
“Sit up,” He growled, lowly.
I obeyed thoughtlessly, totally terrified, to face him.
“Turn around.” He pointed behind me, at the window, which I did.
“Hands behind your back.”
I felt cool, surprisingly gentle fingers on my wrists, binding them together with some sort of cloth.
As soon as the fingers left my wrists, I was immediately blindfolded with the same type of fabric.
“Bob, move your damned arm.” The man grumbled, followed by the thud and clank of metal on metal and carpet.
“Was that necessary, Gerard? I mean, really? The clerk too?” Came the other voice that I would assume was the driver.
“What about descriptions?! He got clear shots of both our faces! I had to!”
“Then why not him too?”
It could’ve been just me, but I could’ve sworn I heard Gerard's breathe hitch.
There was a long silence after that. It stretched of for what seemed like forever. It seemed even longer to me because it’s near impossible to get comfortable with your hands tied behind your back. Eventually I found a spot slouched across the seat with my knees pinned to the seat in front of me.
“Why?”I asked quietly, voicing Bob’s questions before.
“Why what?” I heard the sharp reply from the man next to me.
“Everything. Why didn’t you kill me too? Why did you shoot Ryan and not me? And what are you gonna do with me now?”
The man completely ignored my first two questions, “What do you think we’ll do with you? Your parents won’t want you back?” The question had a stinging bitterness attached to it, like something else entirely was implied to the question.
To my own surprise, (and horror) I laughed.
“No. My mother won’t notice either of us are gone, until she needs a smoke. She doesn’t care about u—“ I cut myself off. There was no us anymore, “me.”
There was a pause before Gerard whispered something like “whose mom doesn’t give a rat’s ass about their kids?’ to Bob.
“You mean, besides yours?” Bob replied louder.
“Fuck you.” Gerard growled, “Well, if that’s how it is, I don’t know then. I’m sure we can find some use for you.”
I didn’t like the undertone of his voice nor the images that flashed through my mind.