I’ve Got Nothing To Lose, You’ve Got Nothing To Say (Never Go Home!)

by 2001helloangel (frostwool), Poly_N

Summary:

Ray goes missing. When his band finds him, he’s not exactly himself.

lots of trigger warnings for this one, but they’ll be in each individual chapter’s notes, not the tags :p

NOT ABANDONED I PROMISE

Notes:

happy mcr breakup anniversary :3 we’ve been working on this for a while and i’m so excited to finally post it. the first few chapters are already basically complete, so they’ll be uploaded soon, but after that the wait times will be a little longer. eat up freaks !

Chapter 1: Prologue

Ray is starting to think he’s gotten used to being on tour. The atmosphere of Warped is by no means mundane, but it’s getting predictable, almost familiar, if not exactly safe. My Chem have friends here, anyways—Thrice, Reggie and the Full Effect, Fall Out Boy, so on and so forth. It’s not all that bad.

Gerard, Frank, and Bob are back at the bus (their brand new bus!) bonding over Bob’s taste in music and the new sound he’s bringing to the band. Mikey’s probably off somewhere chatting up the other touring bands, no doubt adding to his already extensive list of connections and owed favours. Ray, though, Ray is just enjoying the sunshine.

It’s a sunny late morning in California, and the sea breeze is pleasantly warm on Ray’s skin as he strolls leisurely around the outskirts of the venue. The air buzzes with conversation and distant music, and Ray basks in the June heat, happy to take a minute to himself for once. It’s nice to get a second to just relish how far they’ve come, think about the present moment rather than what comes next. The band isn’t on for another five hours, so there’s plenty of time to laze around and, yes, light up from Ray’s personal stash. Call it a celebration, in honour of just how well things have been going.

They’re already working on their next album, and more than anything, an air of excitement floats around the band. They’re doing what they love, and people are loving it too. Frank cut his hair and started stealing makeup from Gee, and Ray thinks he’s really coming into his own. Bob’s talented as hell, and his stint in the band is off to a strong start. Mikey’s going out and making friends. Gerard is even starting to use less after his messy breakup with Bert. Things are good. Things maybe couldn’t be any better.

Yeah, Ray’s feeling pretty optimistic lately. Maybe it’s something in the air, maybe it’s his band’s astronomical rise to fame, maybe it’s even the new tour bus (they have beds in there! real beds!!!), but he thinks he knows what’s really making the world seem so bright.

Ray’s in love.

And he doesn’t mean that in the sappy metaphorical sense, like he’s in love with his band or their music or the touring lifestyle, although all of those things are pretty much true. No, Ray is in love with his lead vocalist and frontman, Gerard.

It’s a comfortable kind of love, though- not like what he sees in Gerard and Frank, the desperate clawing and grinding and stolen kisses. It’s not the kind of love that demands grand gestures and romantic dates in gondolas under the moonlight, either. The love Ray feels for Gerard is perfect to enjoy on days like this. Warm and lazy and sweet, unhurried, no rush to do anything or go anywhere. It’s not a want, or a need, it’s a quiet contentment with promises already made and friendships already steadfast. Ray loves Gerard and Ray knows Gerard loves him, so nothing needs to change. Not now, maybe not ever.

There’s no room to doubt that. There’s no room to want anything more.

Ray takes another hit from his joint and exhales, watching the smoke dance away and dissipate into the cloudless blue sky. He’s not blind, he sees what’s going on between Gerard and Frank. Gee’s as good as a taken man. He’s always been the hottest guy in New Jersey, it’s just that the rest of the world has finally caught up. He’s probably the scene’s most wanted at this point, with every guy and girl vying for a piece of his attention. So, Ray has been practicing acceptance, sort of has for years now, and he’s gotten pretty good at it.

It’s not denial, no. It’s acceptance, there’s a difference. There’s a difference between suppressing one’s desires and acknowledging that there’s just no point in having them in the first place. And that’s okay. Ray is okay with this. He’s happy the way things are, and he’ll be happy to stay by Gerard’s side for as long as he wants him there. As it is, he’s one of the luckiest guys in the world.

Five hours to spare, plenty of time to himself, and the rest of this joint. He’s found a shady spot under a tree, far enough away from the commotion of the festival that he’s fairly confident he can get a moment of peace. Yep, Ray’s set for the afternoon and the rest of his life after that. He leans against the sturdy trunk and takes another puff. It’s going to be another good day.

How naive it was of him to hope.

Just as Ray’s about to crush the end of his joint, a pair of (startlingly cold) hands worm their way around his face and over his eyes. He startles, but the panic is only momentary. This is pretty much what he’s learned to expect from his bandmates, after all. “Frank?” He guesses.

“Yes…” A voice replies from behind him, and, okay, either that’s not Frank or Ray’s been on too long of a tolerance break. “Hi, Ray.”

The effects of his weed haven’t hit him quite yet, but maybe they’re starting to, because Ray feels like something is very, very wrong. It is Frank’s voice, but the inflection isn’t quite right, and the way he drags out Ray’s name, like he’s testing the way it feels in his mouth… It’s fucking freaky. The shock quickly curdles into an uneasy feeling in Ray’s gut.

 

Whoever it is, whoever has their hands on him- Ray is absolutely certain it is not Frank.

 

-

 

Everyone in My Chem is plenty used to dealing with their bandmates’ psychotic bullshit, possibly nobody more so than Mikey. Breakdowns and breakups, bad trips and property damage — he’s seen it all. It never gets easier, but past a certain point, you learn to expect it, to see it coming, predict the predictable and prepare for the unpredictable. Shit gets messy when you live in a bus with four other guys, never staying in the same place for more than three days at a time. You just have to know how to clean up and get back on the road. Mikey Way prides himself on being equipped to deal with whatever mess touring life throws his way.

He’s not prepared to deal with this, though.

Ray doesn’t pull shit like this. Ever. Frank does, Mikey himself does, Gerard’s gone so far as to disappear without a trace during recording. But Ray? Ray’s always been on damage control before anyone else. Ray, in the band’s four years of life, has never once ditched them like this.

Not a word, not a note, just… gone. Mikey’s asked around every bus he could think of, tried interrogating every other band Ray might have friends in, and there’s absolutely no sign of him anywhere. It’s like he just went for a walk and vanished off the face of the earth.

Gerard’s back at the bus assuming the worst and making frantic phone calls, sending out anyone he can convince to put up the handwritten missing posters he’s been scribbling out. Mikey’s out with Worm, and Frank and Bob are covering the other end of the festival grounds, looking for Ray and spreading word of his disappearance. But he’s been gone for, what, fourteen hours now? Mikey is starting to think Gerard’s abduction-murder-cult-recruitment theory might have some credence to it.

Yeah, Mikey’s freaking out. But he’s taking it better than Gee or Frank, and he intends to keep it that way. Be the rock. If he panics, then Gee’s gonna be completely inconsolable, and if Gee breaks down, they’re gonna have to put Frank on Gerard Duty again and the search party will be down to three.

It’s a wonder they’re functional at all. But they still are, and Mikey is not going to let that fall apart. Though, honestly, he might be closer to giving up than he would like to admit. It’s coming up on midnight, and they’ve been searching since two P.M, an hour before they were supposed to go on stage. It’s hard not to feel a little defeated when your friend is missing, you’re exhausted and covered in sweat, and you might’ve just lost your biggest festival gig yet. Plus, Brian’s been blowing up Mikey’s phone since they were supposed to go on for sound check, sending messages ranging from concerned to furious to scared.

It’s been a long day. Mikey’s fucking tired.

It’s just as he’s exiting the Offspring’s bus, though, that he hears Worm calling from his right.

“Hey! Someone, help! Over here!”

Turning his head, Mikey sees Worm, bent over a cluster of bushes near the edge of the fairgrounds. As Mikey gets closer, it becomes evident that Worm is trying to pull something out of the foliage, closer still and- Oh, that’s a leg.

Mikey rushes over and helps Worm drag Ray from the bushes, wishing the entire time that he had led a more active lifestyle up until this point.

Ray’s either asleep or unconscious, because he’s as limp as a bag of bricks. His eyes are screwed shut and his face is red, his hair damp and his face coated in a layer of sweat. He’s wearing the same clothes as he was when he went missing, only mildly scuffed from being unceremoniously pulled from the bushes. He looks sick, panting heavy and open-mouthed. While Worm radios for backup, Mikey checks his pulse and temperature.

Ray’s heartbeat is normal, but he’s running at a fever pitch, shockingly warm against the night air. He groans quietly when Mikey touches his forehead, and Mikey’s heart jumps in his chest. He’s either totally out of his head or in severe pain, but it’s impossible to tell. This doesn’t look like any OD Mikey’s seen before. A seizure? Stroke? Heat exhaustion? Fuck, he’s not a doctor.

“Worm? He’s not doing great…” Mikey can’t keep the concern out of his voice, but he steadies his breathing and turns back to Ray. “Can you hear me, dude? We need to know what you took. You’re gonna be fine, we just need to know what you took.”

Ray doesn’t open his eyes, or his mouth, just keeps breathing like he’s never done anything more difficult in his life. Either he’s barely conscious, or putting all of his effort into staying in his mind.

“Bus is too far. I’m getting the guys at the first aid tent to bring over a stretcher and some water.”

Mikey nods, but doesn’t turn to look at Worm, his focus trained on Ray, his mind racing. “Kay.”

The next half hour passes agonizingly slowly and imperceptibly fast all at once. Frank and Bob are first to arrive on the scene, followed by a pair of first aid-trained festival volunteers, and then a panicked Gerard, who meets them halfway back to the bus. After he doesn’t respond to the naloxone, the senior of the two volunteers prescribes Ray headache medicine and bed rest. Which seems… Inadequate, to say the least, but again, Mikey isn’t a doctor, and a bottle of Ibuprofen might be the best that anyone can get at Warped.

Gerard advocates for taking Ray into the city for ICU treatment, but is eventually pacified by the volunteers’ assurance that this is a perfectly mundane fever and it’ll pass before long. Admittedly, Mikey is still skeptical. Frank looks like he believes them, though, and if it’ll keep Gerard from freaking out again, it’s probably for the best that Mikey tries to believe it too. 

In the end, Mikey calls Brian to let him know Ray’s come down with something, and the band stays on the road. With Worm’s help, Bob carries Ray back to the bus, powering past the stream of weak moans and whimpers he lets out along the way. It’s decided rather unanimously that someone should stay up with Ray at all times, to monitor his condition.

The band draws straws, choosing two people to take tonight’s shifts, which ends up being Frank and Mikey. Frank, convinced he won’t be able to sleep anyways, volunteers for the first shift, and Mikey agrees. He’s exhausted enough as-is.

Chapter 2

Summary:

Frank tries his best to help.

Notes:

trigger warnings for this one: EXTREMELY dubious consent

Whatever Ray has going on, Frank doesn’t believe it’s just a fever. He’s seen fevers. He’s been sick on and off his whole life, he’s got experience with fevers. He knows fevers intimately, like, biblically even. Point being, Frank knows what illness looks like, and this is not fucking normal.

The Ways and Bob are attempting to get some sleep, while Frank is just entering his second hour of Ray-sitting duty. The entire time, he’s been perched at his bandmate’s side, keeping his distance as best he can. It’s not easy, though, the practice space is small and sparse in the way of real seating, so Frank’s just taken up a spot on the arm of their one couch. He doesn’t exactly mind staying uncomfortable, though. It keeps him awake, counteracting the soothingly familiar rumble of tires on the road below. If he falls asleep now, he’ll fall on his head, and that’s sure to wake him up.

See, he’s taking his duty seriously. Frank fidgets restlessly as he keeps an eye on the half-conscious man curled on the couch, ears perking up at every movement.

Every time Frank has offered, Ray has refused food and water. The only thing he’s done in the hour since he got back to the bus is claw weakly at the hem of his shirt, so Frank helped him pull it off, and now there’s a heap of discarded clothing laying at the foot of the bed. He started shivering soon after, so Frank took it upon himself to wrap Ray in every single blanket he could find.

At the moment, it seems like all Frank can do is keep him warm, bundled up, swaddled to counteract the fever chill as best he can. He makes a mental note to add pajamas to the packing list for their next tour.

Suddenly, the silence is broken. Ray groans, almost imperceptibly, but to Frank’s hyperactive senses it pierces through the quiet like a gunshot. It’s the loudest, most intentional-sounding noise Ray has made since he boarded the bus.

Frank bolts upright from his slouched posture, and scrambles awkwardly over to Ray’s side. "Hey! Hey? Man, can you hear me? Are you awake?”

No dice. Ray is still curled up in a ball, totally unresponsive, like he has been since Worm and Mikey found him. His breaths remain heavy and uneven, his hair still stringy with sweat.

Frank hunches over him like that for a good three minutes, heart thumping with anticipation, before he decides to try again.

"Dude, you're freaking me out. If you’re awake you gotta say something. Just, like, any sign you're alive would be cool, you know?" Frank can't help the anxiousness seeping into his tone. A bandmate disappearing for a day and wanting to be left alone for the rest of that night, that's one thing. This, though, this total shutdown? It's not cool, and it's not like Ray in the slightest.

"I'm not leaving you alone until you say something, man."

Stubbornness is Frank's greatest advantage. Ray's freaky fucking behaviour is nothing, Frank's broken through his fair share of Gee and Mikey's death spirals purely by being as annoying as possible. He's persistent, and he intends to keep it up until he knows Ray is alright.

It's weird, though. It's really fucking weird. Something’s up, something worse than a fever. He passed every drug test the medical guys ran, and whatever this is, it’s not chemically induced. Not that he would take anything so strong as to knock him out like this, he’s smarter than that. If that was what he’d done, Frank and co. would have a whole other dilemma on their hands; that being Ray’s sudden descent into madness, or theft by a body snatcher.

Like, Mikey's a friend his age, Gerard's a bit older than him but also a total dork. They're both known to do shit like this, benders and breakdowns galore. Ray, though? This is not Ray.

Ray is a guy Frank looks up to, a guitar genius who can probably bench Frank's entire body weight. A guy who notoriously has his shit more together than anyone else in the band. He's as good at communication as he is at fucking shredding his Les, and unlike Gee and Frank and Mikey, he knows his limits. He's the one who takes care of everyone else. He's the one who lets the others know when he so much as feels a cold coming on.

But right now, he's shivering in a ball in the back of the bus, wrapped up in three layers of blankets, refusing to speak to anyone after fucking disappearing for roughly fourteen hours.

And shit, Frank's getting desperate.

He reaches out to put a hand on Ray's shoulder. No sooner has he made contact with Ray's shirtless skin than his arm is grabbed, not to push him away, but pull him closer. Ray is stirring, uncurling from his position, and Frank's heart just about stops.

He looks like, seriously fucked up, and Frank gives the drugs theory another chance. It’s the first time he’s been able to see Ray’s face since he got on the bus. His pink-tinted skin glistens with sweat and his eyes are dull and unfocused. Frank takes his face in both hands and pulls him closer to investigate, prying one of his eyelids wide open and looking for any signs of what the hell he could have taken. Ray doesn't even react, doesn't look at Frank, just stares blankly ahead. Limp like a puppet in Frank's hands, it's like Ray isn't even here.

Until he leans in closer, pushing Frank backwards onto the couch. His intentions are clear- he's trying to initiate a kiss.

"Dude!" Frank pushes his face away and scrambles backwards, but all Ray does is stare blankly. His expression hasn't changed as far as Frank can tell, but he looks confused, somehow, maybe disappointed.

When Frank sits up and regains his bearings, he places both hands on Ray's shoulders. "Look, I dunno what's wrong with you, but I'm gonna help, 'kay? We can't play without you. We need you."

Another vacant stare.

"Tell me what you need?"

No response.

"You're stressing me the fuck out, man..."

Nothing.

"Ray," Frank says, and apparently, that works. Something seems to wake up in Ray, and he snaps to attention. "Ray, I dunno what to do."

Frank has his focus now.

"Kay, I don't know what the hell is wrong with you, or how to fix it, so. Fuck, I'm just gonna try shit. C'mere."

Ray obeys. Frank feels his face heat up as Ray climbs on top of him, leaving him feeling totally dwarfed by the larger man.

"No, fuck, not like that. Just- Here." Frank pulls Ray into a tight, secure embrace, and it feels like hugging a doll. He strokes over Ray's back, hoping to ground him, or offer some comfort, fucking anything, and-

Ray moans. There's no mistaking it for anything else, that's a moan. Frank tries to will his blood away from his dick, to no avail.

"Please..."

Oh, shit.

It's the first thing Ray's said since he got back to the bus. Frank should be elated, but he's just kind of... scared.

"What? What do you need? Ray?"

He just whimpers in reply, and then he's palming Frank's dick through his sweatpants.

This is wrong. Like, astronomically fucking wrong, and Frank is horrified with himself for even considering it.

He's also really hard. So is Ray. That second part becomes evident when Ray grinds down on Frank's thigh, this ridiculous moan tearing from his lips as he does.

"Need you... Please... Want you to fuck me..."

"No the fuck you don't, Ray, you're not- this isn't-" Frank lets out a low groan of his own when Ray drops down, ass in the air and face in the crease of Frank's thigh, whining and pawing desperately at his crotch.

Maybe the correct thing to do would be to push Ray away. To lock him in the back and return in a few hours when whatever's in his system is gone. The right thing to do is absolutely not to give in and let this happen.

Apparently Frank doesn't feel like doing the right thing at the moment.

But, because he isn’t like, the fucking worst, he tries to justify it. Shaking, he places an unsure hand on the curve of Ray’s hip, and asks “S that what you need right now?”

Ray just echoes his own words from before; insistent.

“Please… Need you… Fuck me, please…”

“Yeah? Yeah. Yeah, okay. If that’ll help.” Frank scrabbles at his fly, seriously doubting his own sanity. What he’s doing, he isn’t sure. The ethics of this are even more questionable. At some point between pulling his pants down and the decision to get on top of Ray, he wonders if he’s risking catching whatever Ray has. Then he’s thinking, fuck it, if he’s going to catch it he has already.

Ray looks at him with… well, really not much more emotion on his face than earlier. That wouldn’t be particularly reassuring, but what little emotion is visible in his empty eyes is a look of pure hunger. And how could Frank possibly say no to that?

He’s already so hard, and the impatient whining sounds Ray keeps making definitely aren’t helping his case. Frank’s never even considered himself to be all that attracted to Ray, but maybe sometimes you don’t realize how hot someone is until the universe literally shoves him into your lap. Ray’s an objectively attractive dude, don’t get him wrong, but Frank’s never done more than idly admired him. He’s certainly never had any feeling-feelings for him, of any sort. Frank is going to have a lot to think about and a lot to experiment with later. For now though, the realizations can wait…

He looks down at Ray, and the guilt stirs in him again. Still, the way he’s so compliant and ready underneath Frank, like he really does want this… it makes taking the leap a lot easier.

Finally, Frank shoves down his boxers, and prays that the rest of his bandmates are fast asleep in their bunks. What little clothing Ray still wears is quickly discarded, and the sound he makes when Frank frees his cock from its fabric prison is enough to make Frank’s stomach do a flip.

“I’m gonna… You just tell me what you need, ‘kay?”

As if Frank ordered him, Ray moans out more pleas, sounding so unlike himself.

“Fill me, please. Need it… I’ll be so good, promise.”

And that’s definitely new, and more specific of a request. So maybe Ray really does want this. He doesn’t sound any less out of his head on… whatever it could be, but his words somehow sound more sure. Not to mention how hot that sounds. Frank wouldn’t have taken Ray to be the dirty talking type, but here he is, being proven wrong. It makes him want to do just what Ray asked, if only to see what expressions and noises he might make when he gets what he needs.

Besides, Frank’s more than sure that he will be good. Always is, he’s sweet and polite and a considerate friend, so it’s not hard to imagine how well those traits would translate to the bedroom. Especially in a state like this, fuck…

It should make Frank feel worse, the condition Ray’s in. But no matter how hard he tries to deny it, this might be the hottest thing that’s happened to him since the first time he kissed someone on stage. Besides, Ray stares so expectantly up at him, pleading silently for Frank to just fuck him already… Yeah, he’s done with second thoughts.

“Fuck, okay, Ray. Lemme just,”

Frank moves to get up, to get lube, condoms, anything. Because he’s not totally irresponsible! He can think with his head and his dick. At the same time, even! But Ray grabs his wrist to keep him from stepping away, and it’s kind of adorable, actually.

But then he speaks, a small whisper of “don’t leave me,” and Frank just feels guilty again. It makes Frank think of one of his dogs whimpering when he leaves the house, but he quickly shakes that comparison away, because if anything, Ray sounds more aware, more human than he did before.

There’s a twinkle of something in his eyes, more feeling in his voice, and suddenly Frank gets the feeling that this is the most lucid he’s been yet. This is what he was hoping for, he should be happy. Instead, it’s worrying, because Ray just sounds scared.

“H-hey, it’s okay. I’m just gonna grab shit to make it better. Uh, easier. I wanna take care of you, make it feel good.” Frank internally cringes at his dumbed-down speech, and reminds himself that Ray is an adult man. “I don’t have to go, but I think it would be better for both of us if I do?” He doesn’t mean for it to come out as a question, but that light of awareness in Ray’s eyes slowly diminishes while he speaks, and it makes Frank lose confidence again.

Ray releases his grip, though, and Frank sighs in relief. Okay. It’s all going to be fine. It looks like- yeah. They’re both still hard; Ray’s maybe even harder than Frank is now. So all that fear must’ve just been in his head. Ray is fine. He would say something if he wasn’t. And he still can, too, so it’s not like this is wrong! They’re both just guys with needs.

Ray’s needs, though, that’s what’s important here. Ray needs something and Frank’s gonna give it to him. Because they’re friends and that’s what friends do, take care of each other.

Frank keeps that in mind as he pulls his boxers back up and heads towards the bunks. He roots through his bag for a condom and his travel-sized bottle of lube, staying as quiet as he can to avoid waking the others. This is about Ray, Frank is trying to help Ray, this is what Ray needs. If Frank wants it too, well, that’s just a happy coincidence.

When he returns to the back of the bus, Frank can’t hold back his gasp at what he sees there. Ray’s moved, and now he’s ass-up and face-down, ready. If Frank wasn’t fully hard before, he is now, and quickly fumbles to get his boxers down and his condom on.

“Oh, dude… Okay,” he says, running a hand over the curve of Ray’s ass and waist. “I’m gonna… gonna fuck you now, but you have to stay quiet for me, ‘kay?”

Ray doesn’t nod, not with his head buried in his arms, but he does let out a soft whimper, quiet enough that Frank can take it as agreement.

“Rad.” He laughs nervously and pats Ray’s ass.

Ray makes another desperate sound and—shakes his ass at Frank, what the fuck?—in some kind of attempt to tantalize him or offer himself up even more than he already has been. It’s honestly unsettling. But it also goes straight to Frank’s dick, which twitches in his boxers.

“Fuck, c’mon man, that’s unfair…” Frank nearly purrs. “Y’know you have a sweet ass. Or I hope you do. Would be even more unfair if you had no idea what that could do to a man.”

The way Frank is looking at Ray, thinking about him, talking to him — it’s downright disrespectful. And yet, Ray doesn’t seem to mind one bit. He just seems grateful for the attention, honestly, which is truthfully weirder. Frank’s glad to know what his friend wants, though, because he plans on doing his best to give it to him.

Frank moves closer, and Ray responds by pushing back into him. He almost loses his balance, but steadies himself with a firm hold on Ray’s hips. He almost asks if Ray is ready, but catches himself- he knows better. Grasping for the lube and pouring it out onto his fingers, he readies himself to get Ray prepped. It’s important, right?

Ray doesn’t seem to think so. When Frank slips a finger in, it goes easily, and Ray just pushes back with a soft, breathy whine of “ More.” He’s not as tight as Frank would have expected, but he’s not sure if that’s due to the drugs(?), the circumstances, or prior experience.

Obliging to Ray’s pleas, Frank slides another finger in, and starts slowly pumping them in and out, drawing a sigh from Ray’s lips. When even that doesn’t seem to be enough, he adds a third. For anyone else, this would be the beginning of too much, but Ray takes it so well, and Frank is sure to tell him so. It’s not like Frank is being gentle, either- not when Ray is literally begging him not to be.

Still, the sound he makes when Frank pulls away… You’d think the sudden absence of touch was actually painful to Ray. Frank doesn’t let it last long, though. He doesn’t draw it out any more, just makes sure Ray is still wet enough before starting to push in.

Ray whines and pushes back, hands grasping but failing to find purchase on the couch. When Frank bottoms out, Ray moans like a girl, and it’s doing something crazy to Frank that he doesn’t quite feel like thinking about yet. However, hot as it is, Ray is also being way too fucking loud. Normally, Frank would be all about that, even encourage it, but not tonight. Something tells him he’d be in deep shit if the others found him like this.

“Shh, baby, you gotta be quiet, yeah? Was part of our deal.” Frank doesn’t move, giving both of them a second to adjust.

Ray doesn’t seem to appreciate that one bit. He bucks backwards, shoving himself into Frank and letting out this keening whine that is absolutely without-a-doubt loud enough to hear in the bunks.

“Shh! Shut up! You- you can’t do that!” Frank hisses under his breath, and without thinking, leans down to clamp a hand over Ray’s mouth.

Now muffled, Ray whimpers and jerks again, almost like he’s struggling. He’s quieter now, though, more subdued, and Frank takes it as a win.

“Kay, I’m gonna… Gonna keep this here. You tap twice anywhere if you need me to stop.” Frank starts to move, painfully slow at first. The much quieter sounds escaping Ray make Frank think his idea was pretty solid, and he builds up speed and confidence.

Finally, he’s giving Ray what he wants, and it feels really damn good for Frank, too. Ray’s breath is humid on his hand, and probably warmer than any human’s should be. He’s warm inside, too, and it’s bliss, feeling him clench around Frank every time he pulls back. Frank is almost a hundred percent sure he didn’t use this much lube, but he’s not complaining, because Ray is dripping, and every thrust feels easier than the last.

“So good, baby. You’re so hot like this.” Frank threads his fingers in Ray’s hair and pulls, forcing his head to tilt back. His mouth opens, and, well, Frank's hand is right there, so why shouldn’t he slip a couple fingers in? Maybe he has a problem with sticking his fingers where they don’t belong.

Ray gasps in what must be surprise, but this works just as well to shut him up as what Frank was doing before. It doesn’t feel mean, anyways- not with how eager Ray is to suck on them, how he moans around Frank’s fingers.

“Fuck, look at you…” Frank’s hips stutter, and he loses his pace, but if Ray notices he doesn’t show it. “Like you were made for this. Had no idea you were such a slut.”

That’s the point where any of Frank’s past partners would have gotten all flustered and cute, maybe argued with him, or denied it. Ray, though, Ray just moans like it’s the hottest thing he’s ever heard. Like he can’t help but agree.

“You like that?” Frank is thrusting into Ray so hard that it should hurt, but the man underneath him shows no indication of pain. He looks totally blissed out, his lips wrapped around Frank’s fingers, and he’s working them with his tongue like his life depends on it.

“Yeah, maybe I’ll get my cock in that pretty mouth next. Bet you’d love that.” Frank’s probably never been so straightforward in his life. He feels confident, in control, and best of all, like he’s doing a good job of making Ray feel good. He probably shouldn’t be talking as much as he is, but he’s never had so much to say. He’ll commit every detail to memory. After tonight, he’ll have a hell of a lot to think back on.

Ray doesn’t seem to feel like using his words, which is almost disappointing to Frank. He might be the one running his mouth more often than not, but he likes when he can get a response to his teasing. Not that Ray’s unresponsive—far from it, actually. He’s squirming and bucking and writhing like he wants to get under Frank’s very skin.

He still wants to hear him, though. Give him another chance, even if he was being much too loud before. So, very slowly, Frank carefully removes his fingers from Ray’s lips, though there’s a clear suction as he does. It seems Ray really is all too eager to have something in his mouth.

Obviously, that is so fucking hot, Frank stares openly as he pulls away, but it’s just this side of too weird for Frank when the guy he’s fucking doesn’t talk back. He wants verbal feedback. Maybe he’s spoiled by Gerard’s sailor mouth, maybe it’s actually pretty normal not to speak. Still. Enthusiastic consent is more than just happy sounds. Ray’s words would do a lot to make Frank feel better about this all, and besides, he wants some material to store away for later. It’s definitely not that Ray doesn’t sound like he’s having the time of his life, because he does, he definitely does . Frank just wants to know what he could do better. That’s all.

“Know what,” he pants, “I think you can talk. Just. Quiet, be quiet for me. I gotta know how it feels for you. I gotta know. Tell me you like to be used like this.”

He’s almost embarrassed now, just asking point-blank like that. It started as an attempt at dirty talk, but by the end, Frank felt more like he was asking for reassurance. It’s one thing to talk dirty, but another entirely to… nearly beg for a confirmation that your partner is enjoying themself.

Ray doesn’t say anything, just keeps letting his sounds fall free. Like he doesn’t hear Frank at all.

If this was happening under normal circumstances, Ray would certainly be huffing and rolling his eyes; telling Frank ‘yes, obviously, now get on with it, asshole,’ and they would both laugh a little about that. Or so Frank imagines- he’s never actually thought about this. It’s a first. And whatever’s happening, it doesn’t feel normal.

Frank pulls out. Probably a lot faster than he should have, but the feeling of wrongness was suddenly just too overwhelming.

Ray whimpers at that, but when Frank places a hand on his waist and guides him to turn over onto his back, he goes easily.

“If y’want me to keep going,” Frank says, more shakily than he would have liked. “Tell me. Tell me you still want it.” It’s exactly the kind of asshole move Frank would have pulled with anyone else, exactly the kind of shithead power trip he’s known for. Now, though… He really does need to know. He’s not sure he can keep going if he doesn’t.

Ray looks completely ruined. Hair tangled, face pink and sweaty. There isn’t much space on the couch, so the two are still pressed together to an extent, Ray’s legs half hooked around Frank’s waist, their cocks now flush with one another. Ray’s arms are up by his head, like he’s waiting for them to be pinned in place. Between that, and the sad, pleading look in Ray’s eyes, it takes every bit of willpower Frank has to keep him from holding those wrists, shoving his tongue into Ray’s mouth, and going back to giving it to him hard. But he manages to wait. Because he really does need to know. Ray doesn’t look hurt by his words, but he still refuses to say that he’s been into them. It’d almost be aggravating if it wasn’t so worrying. Maybe he likes to be talked at rather than talked to, but if that’s the case, why can’t he just say that? Did… did Frank do something wrong? He needs to know, so he can fix it, and everything can be okay again!

“C’mon, baby, talk to me. Tell me what you want and you can have it.” Frank puts on his most seductive voice, but doesn’t touch Ray any further.

Ray shudders, and if Frank isn’t mistaken, his eye twitches. His mouth falls open, like he’s getting ready to speak, but nothing comes out.

Another wave of anxiety begins to sweep through Frank. What if Ray is still like, drugged out of his mind? What if he hates Frank for this in the morning? Will he even remember any of this?

It’s only when Ray speaks that Frank’s thoughts start to quiet down. Well, speaking maybe isn’t the right way to describe it. A tiny plea of “Frank,” is all that escapes Ray’s lips.

“Yeah?” Frank has never in his life been this relieved that someone remembered his name. “Yeah, I’m here, baby. Talk to me.”

But whatever spark was present behind Ray’s eyes is gone as quickly as it appeared.

“Need you to use me, please… Make me your cumslut, your sex toy. I need your cock in me, so deep and rough, filling my holes and breeding me… I’ll be a- a good girl for you.”

And, fuck. A good girl? If Frank wasn’t already as turned on as he possibly could be, he’d be instantly hard and drooling over those words. As it is, he has to grab the base of his dick just in case. Just words would never be enough to send him over the edge, but he does jerk noticeably in his fist, and… wow. He’d better take some deep breaths if he wants to keep going. Or, if Ray wants him to. Helping Ray is what’s important here. Even if Frank wants it just as bad.

He almost feels like Ray read his mind and said exactly what he knew would get Frank going. Clearly, he didn’t just echo back Frank’s remarks from before, because he never said any of that out loud. Maybe if he was thinking clearly, he’d find something wrong with that. Now, though, he just finds it serendipitous that they’re both into the same shit.

Maybe, whatever’s wrong with Ray isn’t necessarily a bad thing. How else would they have ever found out how compatible they are- at least for hookups like this, if nothing else? They might never have discovered that! It’s another reason to keep going. After all, Ray is desperate, and Frank is getting there too. This sheer need, total unfiltered want without pretences of dignity or fear of judgement? It may never happen again, so they had better make the most of it while it lasts. And Frank had better make it good for Ray.

Without much warning (or any warning at all, really), Frank shoves back into Ray, hard. He cries out at first, but when Frank starts moving, Ray’s sounds stabilize, fewer yelps and more moans of pleasure. All the while, he whispers “ please, please, please, ” nearly too quiet to hear, chanting like he’s saying a prayer. Frank can’t really complain though, since quiet is exactly what he asked Ray to be.

“Yeah, I got you. Relax, baby.” Not that he really needs to. There’s barely any friction at all, the slide is easy and comfortable. Frank pistons his hips, and leans over Ray, hands pinning his wrists to the couch.

Ray moans in this choked sort of way that could almost be mistaken for a sob. It’s a weird kink, for sure, but who’s Frank to judge? He can indulge Ray, no problem. He transfers both of Ray’s wrists to one hand so he can use the other to support his weight, and, somewhat forcefully, kisses him.

Ray nearly squeaks at that, jerking upward, thrashing in a way that reminds Frank uncannily of a rabbit in the jaws of a dog. Frank’s tongue flits out to lick at Ray’s soft lips, asking for entry, but Ray remains tense, his mouth shut tight.

Without pausing his movements, or letting go of Ray’s hands, Frank pulls away, confused. Ray doesn’t like to be kissed? If it’s an intimacy thing, that seems strange, because Frank is quite literally balls deep in Ray, not to mention, in fucking missionary, of all positions. Shouldn’t they be past that point? Ray’s kissed Gerard on stage, hasn’t he?

The problem is solved the moment Frank takes his lips off of Ray’s, though. While, yeah, he’s confused, it’s no reason to stop.

“Y’alright?”

Eyes closed, Ray nods, his teeth digging into his lower lip. “Mm. Please. Please, need you.”

And he sounds so eager and genuine that Frank can’t help but try again, leaning in and kissing again when Ray’s lips are parted in a breath. Ray lets his tongue in this time, though he has less choice, but he doesn’t actually seem too bothered. Maybe he just likes the power struggle, or acting coy and playing hard to get? Pretending he doesn’t want what he actually does like? It would track with Ray’s personality; being as private about his sex life as he is. Still, though, this feels like more than that. Despite the uncertainty, even as Ray seems to struggle, Frank can feel Ray’s tip leak more where he’s pressed between them. Again, weird kink, but also pretty hot, so maybe he can just run with it.

Frank reaches down between them and wraps his hand around Ray, who gasps and bucks at the new attention. Taking his cues, Frank slams into Ray harder, and when that gets him begging, holds that pace steady. He jerks his bandmate quick and sloppy, feeling his own climax finally building, starting to pay more attention to his own pleasure. He isn’t selfish, he won’t be, he wants to bring Ray over the edge at the same time as himself.

“Ray, ‘m close, are you..?” Frank groans.

Ray whines, tilting back his head. He looks like he’s close too. Actually, he looks totally overstimulated, trembling and gasping like he’s been on the edge for far too long. Frank wonders if that’s on purpose, and if so, where the hell Ray learned to do that. Because Frank sure as hell hasn’t been edging him, not with how desperately he’s chasing his own orgasm now. Maybe he just needs an extra push.

Just as Frank is about to tip over, he whispers, “C’mon, cum for me, I know you can,” and to his surprise, Ray does as he’s told. With a moan so loud Frank has to slap his hand back over Ray’s mouth, he releases, tensing up and relaxing, clamping down around Frank, spilling over Frank’s hand and his own abdomen.

Taken aback, Frank follows him with just a couple more thrusts, rough and uncoordinated and desperate. Pulling out slowly, he pants, and as he comes down, presses his chest to Ray’s. Curly hair brushes Frank’s skin as Ray nuzzles into his neck, keening muffled by his tattooed hand.

“Fuck, that was good. How’re you feeling?” Frank breathes, forehead pressed to the arm of the couch.

Ray makes a kind of… uncomfortable humming noise, not good, not bad.

“Gotta give me more than that.” Words, namely. Any indication that Ray knows where he is and with who.

“What… Frank, what?” Ray stirs, shifting as if he’s waking up from a nap.

“Ray!” Nearly giving himself whiplash as he does, Frank bolts upright, staring hopefully down at Ray under him. “Man, there you are. Feeling better?”

“Frank?” Ray looks confused. “Why’re you… What’s going on?”

Frank’s heart drops to his stomach. “What do you …remember?”

“It’s… it’s all fuzzy. Was I drunk? Frank, have I been-?”

“No! No, you haven’t had anything to drink.”

“I feel like shit.” Ray reaches up to rub his temples, screwing his eyes shut like he’s struggling to remember something, or fighting off a headache. “Fuck, I’m all fucking… sore, and…”

Frank feels a little queasy.

“I think I remember feeling… scared. I didn’t want to be alone but… then, I was scared of not being  alone.” Ray laughs weakly. “What did we take?”

“Didn’t take anything.” He wants to move, but Frank is terrified of drawing attention to… the evidence of what they’ve been doing.

“Oh,” Ray says, “I think I remember… Yeah, I…” And his eyes go dark, and he sort of twitches, entire body going rigid.

Frank tenses too, bracing for the inevitable. He doesn’t know why he’s so scared. It’s not like he did anything wrong! Right?

Ray’s eyes flick in every direction, and when they finally settle on Frank’s, they’re wide with what could only be terror. He backs up, separating himself from Frank, getting as far away as he can while remaining on the couch. Like a scared animal, he makes himself small, covering as much skin as he can by bringing his knees up to his chest. “Frank. Frank, what happened, what did you do?!” His tone is dire, bordering on outright panicked.

“Ray? Don’t- don’t do that. Fuck, you’re scaring me, I…” For once, Frank is at a loss for words. The dread in his gut grows darker and deeper the longer he watches Ray’s face. He’s obviously, viscerally upset, eyes wild, mouth closed tightly.

“We’re on the bus! Gerard and Mikey and Bob are here, you’re safe, it’s fine!” Frank is all but panicking now. If what Ray is insinuating is true, he… He fucked up.

Ray stills, doesn’t run like Frank is convinced he wants to, but his chest is still heaving, he still looks scared. “Why did you…”

Frank can’t answer that. Not entirely truthfully. His voice comes out quiet and weak. “I was trying to help.”

Ray makes a face like he just received a horrible prognosis. Devastated, scared. He doesn’t speak.

“It worked, though! It worked, didn’t it? You’re… You’re…” He’s what? Awake? Sober? Himself? All of those words imply that Ray had been… gone, somehow, not aware or present. That Frank took advantage of him.

Ray still doesn’t say anything, his face frozen in something like fear. His naked body is rigid in the places it still touches Frank’s.

“I’m- I’m sorry, man, gonna- I’m gonna go.” Frank stumbles to his feet and pulls his pants up with trembling hands. “If you need anything- Yeah. You know. Okay. Sorry.”

As he trips out the door, Frank hears a pitiful sound escape Ray, somewhere between a whimper and a pained gasp. He thinks about staying, he really does. It’s not that he doesn’t want to find out what happened, to comfort Ray. He doesn’t know if he can, though. He doesn’t know how to clean up this mess.

Post-orgasm lightness conflicts with the heavy guilt settling in Frank’s stomach, resulting in a hazy, confused dread. He doesn’t want to, but he staggers into the bus’ tiny cage of a bathroom. Focuses on the simple mess, the one he knows how to clean. Going through the motions of cleaning the dried cum off his belly (fuck, he left Ray to do that alone), Frank’s mind still races.

They’ve come this far, so goddamn far. Frank is living his childhood dream, he’s in a band, his favourite band, playing music that fucking rocks with four of the most talented people he’s ever met. He has everything he needs, the best friends anyone could ask for, and he probably just ruined it all.

He feels like he might hurl. Staring down at his hands in the sink as he scrubs them clean, he pointedly avoids looking up at his face in the mirror.

When his hands start to turn red and raw under the water, Frank turns the sink off and leaves. It’s impossible to tell how long he was actually in the bathroom, but for all he knows, he might’ve spent an hour there on the floor hugging his knees to his chest.

The bunks are silent except for his bandmates’ familiar snoring. Not fake, either, and Frank would be able to tell. Good. That means he and Ray didn’t wake anybody up. No witnesses, his brain whispers insidiously.

By the time he realizes just how much he doesn’t want to sleep alone, he’s already in his bunk, lying on top of a thin, worn old duvet and at least three of his own t-shirts. Ray doesn’t leave the lounge, at least not that Frank can hear. He’s left alone in the quiet and dark, the steady breathing of his bandmates his only company.

Despite himself, he considers climbing into Gerard’s bunk, as he so often does. But he feels like he’s already smeared his gross thoughts all over half the bus (and the band, his brain hisses), and he doesn’t want to taint Gerard’s sleeping place, too.

Against his will, Frank’s mind keeps replaying the events of the night. Ray’s face, mostly. In dim light, molded to pleasure, fear, relief, pleading, pleasure again, fear again. The sounds he made. Blissed-out and sinful and fucking music to Frank’s ears. He might have been the first of them to see Ray like that, and… Shit, even if Ray didn’t want it… What an honour.

Yeah, Frank regrets it. He’s also so fucking glad he got to do it. Who else on earth has had Ray fucking Toro under them, begging for their cock? With a sick sort of satisfaction, he wonders if that was Ray’s first time taking it up the ass. Maybe his first time with a guy at all.

Irrespective of the shame burning through Frank’s chest, his hand wanders to his hipbone and slips under the waistband of his boxers. He’s already fucking disgusting for this. What’s one more round?

He’s already half-hard, but his hand on his dick is all he needs to get back to full mast. Turning his head sideways, he bites his pillow, trying to stifle his groans, and stops trying to fight against what his brain wants him to see. 

The parts of Ray that only Frank got to experience. Ray promising to be a good girl. Ray begging Frank to fuck him. Ray underneath him, hands pinned, whining and moaning like a whore.

That last image has Frank thrusting into his palm, face hot as he chases his second orgasm of the night. He lets a soft whine of his own escape into his pillow, clamping his jaw down hard when he remembers how easily sound travels in the bus. He thinks about getting caught, Gee’s face if he were to see him like this, Ray’s face- Frank chokes back another moan. He fucked everything up and it felt so fucking good to do it. He’s a terrible person and he isn’t going to dwell on that yet, because he feels so good right now . If Frank’s gonna be a selfish hedonistic prick, he’s going to make the most of it.

It’s not long before Frank starts to feel the tension, like a bowstring half-drawn. He’s unable to focus on anything but his dick and his hand and his dick in his hand, and the thought his mind snags on then is Ray, of course. A bubblegum-pink-pale-yellow soundbite of Ray whimpering Frank’s name, replaying over and over and he’s so close-

When an alarm goes off in the bunk above Frank’s, he nearly has a heart attack. He goes stiff as he listens to Mikey stir and grumble over him. Fuck.

While Mikey drags himself out of bed, Frank stays frozen, hardly even breathing, heart pounding in his chest. Since when has he been so afraid of getting caught jerking off? Since he- …since tonight.

Panic is a real boner-killer. Whether or not Frank is grateful for this, he isn’t sure.

Mikey retrieves something from the minifridge and stalks towards the back of the bus, and Frank’s heart leaps into his throat. This is it, the moment where someone finds out and either beats him senseless or tells everyone and either way they’re going to kick him out of the band.

He lies there, tense, afraid to so much as roll onto his side. He doesn’t hear anything else from Mikey after the curtain is drawn, but Frank expects him to come storming  back into the bunks at any second, to drag Frank out into the light and demand an explanation in front of the entire band.

But those footsteps never return. After what seems like an eternity passes with no sign of Mikey or Ray, Frank tentatively begins to relax. His heartbeat slows to normal, and even though his thoughts don’t stop racing, at a certain point they become incoherent and addled. Rolling onto his side, Frank sinks into the thin mattress, reluctantly letting sleep take him.

Notes:

oh well! there’s other rhythm guitarists.

DONT BE LIKE FRANK KIDS

Chapter 3

Summary:

Something’s got to give.

Notes:

whoof we had some technical difficulties with this one but like. it is a monster of a chapter so i’m not too sad about getting it out late :]

trigger warnings for this one:
- mentions of dubious consent + straight up assault
- vague and brief allusions to past eating disorders and substance abuse
- emeto mentions (nothing graphic)
- pete wentz earning his ‘unfortunately’ tag

For the entirety of Mikey’s shift, Ray stays warm and silent, curled into himself. Mikey rubs his back as he shakes, heaving as if he were violently sobbing, but no sound comes out. When he finally goes still and steady, it’s nearly five in the morning, and Mikey leaves him with a blanket over his shoulders and a bottle of water by his head. Ray is okay for now, his fever is breaking. Mikey can leave him alone until he’s ready to talk.

 

In the early hours of the morning, Mikey isn’t quite sure when, he wakes up to the sound of what might be someone vomiting into the toilet. He writes it off and goes back to sleep, the memory fading as quickly as it was made.

 

-

 

It’s only ten in the morning, and Mikey’s on his third cup of coffee, but he’s pretty sure Gerard is on his seventh. Everyone is stressed about Ray, but Gerard has been taking it the worst by far. At some point between Mikey’s shift and the rest of the band waking up, Ray migrated back into his bunk, where he remains now, probably sleeping the last of whatever drugs out of his system.

Today, the bus has stopped in Fresno, so Frank and Bob are making a supply run into the city, partnered up as per Brian’s newly mandated ‘buddy system’. Frank in particular had seemed anxious to get off the bus. He had been fidgety and nervous for the brief minutes that Mikey had spent chatting with him, before Gerard had woken up. When Bob stumbled out of his bunk, Frank had practically grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the bus, pausing only momentarily to flash Mikey a thumbs-up in response to his request for some Dayquil.

Mikey, Gerard, and Ray are the only ones left on the bus, with the former two convening in the dining area. A silence hangs over the vehicle, nobody’s snoring, or blasting music, or watching TV. The wheels are unmoving on the ground for another three hours.

Gerard hasn’t said much since he woke up at nine, and Mikey recognizes his thinking face when he sees it. There isn’t anything to talk about until he’s worked through whatever train of thought he’s following, so Mikey doesn’t interrupt.

Pete’s blowing up his phone, but he doesn’t really feel like responding now. His stress has manifested itself as a quiet, sleep-deprived lethargy, and so the quiet remains uninterrupted except by his buzzing cellphone.

“Someone threw up Pepto-Bismol in the bathroom last night,” Gerard says, picking dejectedly at his breakfast of toaster waffles with blueberry jam. “Were you awake? I thought that was your shift.”

“I went back to sleep at… Five, or something. Ray was already out, I left him alone.” Mikey sips his long-cooled coffee. “I thought I heard something, but I didn’t go to check.”

“Mm.” Gerard looks forlornly at his waffles. “When did you switch with Frank?”

“Around three. He’d already gone to bed.”

“Maybe I should go check on him.” Gerard shifts like he’s about to stand, but stays seated.

“He’s asleep. I think we should let him get some rest.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know. But…” Gee trails off. For a few seconds, he looks like he’s heavily considering saying something, but hesitates. When he does speak, all he says is, “You think he’ll be alright to play tonight?” It’s not what he wanted to say, but Mikey doesn’t know what he was holding back.

“I don’t know. The first aid guys said he’d probably get better overnight.” Not that Mikey really believes that. But he should stay optimistic, for Gee’s sake, for Ray’s, for the band’s. He can’t have them falling apart, not now.

“He should eat something.” Gee does stand, then, abandoning his half-eaten waffles. “I’ll, like… leave something in the lounge, for him. I won’t disturb him.” He starts towards the minifridge, crouching down to look. He doesn’t seem particularly hopeful about his options.

At that moment, though, Mikey hears the back lounge’s curtain open. Gerard must hear it too, because he freezes in place, turning his head towards the sound. Seconds later, Ray emerges into the light, rubbing his eyes and looking like he just crawled out of a wet ditch.

“Mmm… Mikey, hey,” he grumbles, voice still thick with sleep. He’s not wearing a shirt or pants, only a pair of boxers (probably scavenged from the floor somewhere). Gerard is staring rather unsubtly.

“How’re you feeling?” Mikey asks.

“Bad,” Ray groans. “Weird fucking dreams. Or something. Better, though.”

“So, what happened?” Gerard questions, rising from his place on the floor. “Now that you’re, um…”

He’s cut short by the expression on Ray’s face. His eyes are wide behind his tangled hair, and Mikey has no idea why, but he looks scared. Specifically, he looks scared of Gerard .

“Ray?” Mikey stands too, but Ray is already gone, back through the bunks and to the lounge.

Gerard looks confused and upset, understandably so. Ray is nothing less than his best friend. “The hell?”

“Dunno.” Mikey rubs his temple. “I’ll go talk to him.”

Gerard opens his mouth like he wants to protest, but shuts it and nods.

Grabbing a granola bar from the kitchenette on his way, Mikey enters the back lounge unannounced. “Ray,” he says, tone conveying less of a question and more of a ‘we need to talk’.

“Yeah,” Ray mumbles, pulling on clothes from a pile on the ground. “Yeah, just gimme a second.”

When he’s done, Mikey tosses him the granola bar, which he catches two-handed.

“So. What’s up?”

“I don’t want to talk right now.” Ray stares at his fist, clutching the granola bar like he’s trying to crush it. His words sound strained, almost rehearsed, like they’re concealing emotions that Ray would rather keep to himself. “Thanks, though.”

“Look,” Mikey says, exasperated. “We’re not doing this. If something happened, you can tell us. If you did something stupid, you can tell us. If whatever’s going on is going to fuck with the band, we need to know.”

“It’s not,” Ray says. “It’s over. I can play, I’ll be fine, just… I want to be alone for now. Sleep the last of it off.”

So, he isn’t telling the full truth. Actually, he’s not telling any of the truth. But, Mikey’s been there, and he can empathize well enough. If Ray needs time, he can have time. “Kay. Lounge is yours for today, then. Can’t promise it’s just yours, but I’ll tell the guys to leave you alone.” Mikey draws in a sharp breath. “Do you need anything? Medicine?”

“Tylenol, maybe.” Ray rubs his eyes again. “Thanks. For… Yeah. Thanks.”

“Okay. We’ll talk tomorrow. I’m giving you until then. I’ll come get you for sound check.” Mikey dips his head, and turns to leave.

He almost expects Ray to stop him, to say something else, anything else. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking, though.

“Hey,” Gerard says when he sees Mikey reenter the kitchenette. “Hey, what did he say, is he alright?”

Mikey grabs another bottle of water from the minifridge, and starts to root around in the cabinets for some painkillers. “He’s not ready to talk, yet. Says he’ll be fine to play tonight, he just wants to try to sleep it off.” He finds what he’s looking for, and starts back towards the rear of the bus.

“What, that’s not, he can’t just-“ Gerard sputters. “He was missing. Like, gone gone. For most of a day, we missed a show!”

“Yeah, I know.” Mikey can’t help getting a little snappish. “I told him he has until tomorrow. Then he has to explain himself.”

Gerard chews on his lip in a way that tells Mikey he’s more concerned than angry. “That’s… reasonable, I guess.”

“Unless he gets worse, we’ll play tonight. For now, just leave him alone, yeah?”

“That stuff.” Gerard gestures at the medicine Mikey’s holding. “That’s for him?”

“Yeah,” Mikey says, questioningly. “Treating it like a hangover.”

“Okay, then let me bring it to him.”

“Not if you’re planning on interrogating him.” Mikey knows how this goes.

“I just want to get a look at him. I’ll keep my questions to myself.”

Mikey seriously doubts it, and he gives Gerard a look that says it. But he also understands, and the circumstances are weird, and he knows how Gerard is about Ray. So he hands over the Tylenol and the water bottle, and says “Be out in two minutes or I’m coming in there for you.”

 

It doesn’t take Gerard two minutes.

“He’s already asleep,” he says, dejectedly. “I just left the stuff on the coffee table.”

“Huh,” Mikey says, and takes a sip of his coffee. “Rapid onset narcolepsy? Maybe we should be taking notes.”

“I have been.” Gerard pulls his travel-sized sketchpad out from who-knows-where. “In case we have to, like, recount all this to someone, or whatever.”

Mikey catches a glimpse of the page the sketchpad is opened to. It looks to him like it’s about twenty percent notes and eighty percent drawings of Ray. But hey, again, he’s not a doctor. “Mhm.”

 

——

 

By that evening, Ray had made what looked to be a speedy recovery. He spent most of the day alone at the back of the bus, either sleeping, or absorbed in his work with his headphones on.

According to Mikey, the only person he spoke to all morning, he was alright to play, and insisted on going up on stage. So, that night in Fresno, the band played their first show since he went missing, and Ray played with an aggressive, frantic energy that had the fans in a frenzy. Whenever Gerard tried to get close to him, to play off of that feverish power, he’d practically growl at him to get away. Frank approached him once, in an awkward, tentative sort of way that was completely unlike him, and Ray actually shoved him to the ground, nearly causing him to fall off the stage, and eliciting a total uproar from the crowd.

Once, during Venom, Ray nearly smashed his Les into splinters when he collided into the rigging at the side of the stage. Spinning and stomping around the stage, he was reckless, restless, and borderline violent. The fans loved it. He shredded like it was the last show he’d ever play, and swung his guitar around like he was using it to fight off a horde of zombies. Gerard thought he saw real, genuine panic in his expression when Frank approached him near the end of The Ghost of You. There was no recognition or familiarity in his eyes at that moment—only fear.

By the end of their set, Ray’s hair was a mess of sweaty curls, and his face, barely visible underneath the curtain of broken, frizzy ringlets, was bright red. As he walked off the stage, he didn’t so much as acknowledge his bandmates or the screaming crowd behind him. Actually, he hadn’t acknowledged much of anyone all day.

As much as Gerard can appreciate this fiery new stage presence, he’s more concerned than anything. Ray’s been totally closed-off if not hostile all morning, and he sent the band and Brian into a panic when he went missing twenty minutes before sound check. When he miraculously turned up in time for their set, Frank had tried to check up on him, but Ray refused to so much as make eye contact.

He’s ignoring Frank, he’s jumpy and nervous around Gerard, and even with the people he does speak to, he’s seemingly afraid to get too close. Bob grazed him, once, just trying to squeeze past him to get to the drum kit, and Ray nearly jumped out of his skin. Mikey tried to give him a pat on the back, nothing out of the ordinary, and nearly ended up with a broken hand.

It’s not like Ray at all. He gets quiet sometimes, sure, but he’s never been one for the silent treatment, and even when he’s totally pissed off at someone or something, he’ll always at least talk to Gerard about it. But now, Ray does his job silently and with total focus, never even sparing a glance at his vocalist and best friend.

If Gerard’s being totally honest, it’s breaking his heart. He feels utterly trapped, unable to help and completely in the dark as to what’s wrong.

So, he devises a plan, albeit a flimsy one. The band is off stage just before the sun starts to set, and Gerard asks Frank and Bob to stay out of the bus for a while so he can confront Ray one-on-one. Mikey’s already gone (against Brian’s orders), Bob throws his hands up and walks away without protest. Frank, though, doesn’t go easily.

“I just- I watched him all night, and…” His face is twisted into a pained expression that Gerard attributes to Ray’s earlier defensiveness. “I just think he… I think I…”

Gerard lets him speak, but can’t hide his reluctance to let Frank see Ray. He’s sure it’s written all over his face. Considering the way Ray reacted last time Frank tried to get near him, he’s probably the last person Ray wants to see.

“I wanna know what’s up. Because he… and I… Fuck, I…” He looks at his shoes and shuffles awkwardly, and Gerard thinks; oh . He isn’t being completely honest.

“What, Frankie? Did something happen?” Even as Gerard tries his best not to sound accusatory, Frank visibly withers under his gaze.

“…No. Go talk to him. I’ll bring the guys back in a couple hours.”

He’s gone before Gerard can stop him, turning on his heel and heading after Mikey, in the direction of the party going on at Fall Out Boy’s bus.

“Stay safe, Frankie!” Gerard shouts after him, but he’s unsure if he even hears. He takes a deep breath, and turns back to the bus. Whether or not he needs to be, he’s nervous.

There’s no doubt that Ray is already holed up in the back of the bus, so Gerard doesn’t bother knocking before he enters.

“Ray? It’s just me,” Gerard calls into the silent bus. As predicted, Ray isn’t in the main lounge, the car, or the bunks, so Gerard makes his way to the back. Announcing his presence slightly louder, he speaks to the closed divider curtain. “I wanted to check on you. You’ve been weird today, y’know. Since last night… We’re worried. Can I come in?”

No response.

“I’m coming in, okay?” Gerard pulls the curtain open and steps into the back lounge area.

Ray’s sitting there, still in his sweaty stage clothes, computer on his lap, backed into a corner like he’s trying to hide. His headphones are on, blasting music that Gerard can hear just well enough to identify as Maiden. When he sees Gerard enter, he jumps, slamming his laptop closed and tearing off his headphones, seemingly by reflex. He stares, wide-eyed like a cornered animal, and Gerard realizes it’s the first sustained eye contact they’ve made all day.

“Hey,” He says, carefully situating himself in the entryway. Hands up in mock surrender, he doesn’t step any closer.

“D-don’t.” Ray’s voice is raw and strained. He sounds like he’s been screaming for hours, but… he hadn’t even done backup vocals for that night’s set. “Don’t come near me. Don’t fucking touch me.”

Okay. It’s worse than Gerard thought. “What? Ray, I wasn’t gonna- What’s going on? You gotta talk to me.”

Ray doesn’t speak. His eyes dart from side to side, like he’s trapped, like he’s looking for escape routes. Like Gerard has him cornered, and he’s preparing to fight his way out. Gerard can’t think of any reason why.

“We’re worried about you, man. What happened yesterday?”

A flash of anger crosses Ray’s face, only to be covered up by the same defensive apprehension from before. When he speaks again, his voice trembles, and he sounds so truly scared . Gerard feels his heart sink to the bottom of his stomach. “Don’t- Don’t act like- I know you were, know you’re, shit, I know what I saw…”

Clueless as he is, Gerard is really starting to doubt that Ray knows much at all. “Ray, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please, you have to tell someone what happened. Did you take something? Do you remember anything?” He chances a single step closer, and Ray recoils like he thinks he’ll be burned.

“I said don’t! Don’t fucking touch me!” He’s shouting now, voice shrill and broken and almost feral. “Get away. Get the fuck away from me!”

“Ray, what is wrong with you?!” Gerard can’t hold the anger and hurt out of his voice, and against his better judgement, he moves in further. “What do you need? Please?”

Breathing heavily now, Ray’s shoulders are tense and drawn upwards. He’s practically bristling at Gerard like a scared cat. But then, his eyes glaze over, his expression drops, and suddenly Gerard feels less like Ray’s fighting him, and more like he’s struggling against himself. “I need… I need, I just…”

“Ray?” Within arm’s reach of Ray, now, Gerard reaches out, stopping just short of touching his shoulder. “Should I call someone? You’re scaring us, man.”

“Just don’t… tell, tell Mikey, Bob… Don’t tell Brian, I…” Ray sounds subdued, his voice wavering. “Frank already… ‘M sorry, I just…”

Now he’s getting somewhere! Emboldened, Gerard sits on the couch next to Ray and places an arm around him in what he hopes is a reassuring gesture. “Frankie knows? You can tell me too, Ray, it’s okay. I promise I won’t judge you, I just need to know how to help.”

Ray doesn’t speak. Instead, he crumples into Gerard, gripping the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline. Shivers—or sobs?—wrack his body. He feels fragile, vulnerable in Gerard’s hands. Gerard’s heart aches at the sight, and he pulls Ray closer, wrapping his arms around the larger man.

He smells like floral perfume, very un-Ray. It’s not exactly unpleasant, but it’s unsettling. It feels like a clue, another hint pointing Gerard towards the full story. Does he even know anyone who wears perfume?

Right now, he feels like he’d stop at nothing to find out who hurt Ray and kick their fucking asses. A warm protectiveness blooms in him, a fiery determination to do whatever it takes to fix this, to make sure Ray is okay. Something anxious and tense stirs in Gerard then, anger at Frank for clearly knowing more than he let on, an uneasy dread that he could have had something to do with it. Gerard steels himself, though, focuses on the present, promises himself he’ll deal with Frank later.

“S okay, honey, I’ve got you. You’re okay. You’re safe.” A familiar stream of reassurances falls from Gerard’s lips as he strokes Ray’s back. “Talk to me, Ray. What do you need? Can I get you anything?”

Admittedly, it comes as a surprise to Gerard when Ray actually does respond, more so when he processes the actual content of Ray’s words.

“Need you. Please, please, just need you.” There’s an undertone to those words. An implication in his voice that Gerard is all too familiar with, even if he’s never heard it coming from Ray. Working against his better sense, his face heats up, and his heartbeat quickens. Gerard can recognize lust when he hears it.

He’s imagining it, though. Right?

“Yeah, I’m here, baby, it’s okay. Not going anywhere.”

“Please …” There’s a fresh urgency to Ray’s voice, one that Gerard can’t ignore or deny.

“What? Ray, are you feeling okay?” Gerard brushes Ray’s hair behind his ear, pushes him away to get a better look at his face. “C’mon, sit up.”

Ray complies, looking up at Gerard with what can only be described as bedroom eyes, and his breath catches in his throat. Sweaty as he is, even with his face so flushed and his expression so strange, Ray is beautiful. It’s hard to resist running a hand over his pretty jaw, but resist Gerard does. He imagines slipping a finger or two past those full lips, to the back of his tongue, maybe-

He cuts those thoughts off at the source. Instead, he moves Ray’s hair out of the way and places his palm over the other man’s forehead to check for fever. As expected, he’s warm, bordering on too warm. His skin is sticky with sweat, but not in the right way. The texture of it is all wrong, slick, almost slimy, and it doesn’t smell like sweat. It smells like flowers.

“Ray, I can send someone into town to get something for you. You just have to tell me how you’re feeling, I can’t help if I don’t know. Okay?”

Ray just whimpers, and when Gerard tries to take his hand away, pushes into it, pressing it against his jaw. It doesn’t make sense. None of this does.

“You- you have to talk to me, honey. We need you, we can’t go on stage without you. Please, Ray, angel, I just need to know what’s wrong so we can take care of you.” Gerard hears the shake in his own voice and curses it. The last thing he needs to be right now is afraid. That fear is his to bear, the last thing Ray needs right now is to know that everyone else is just as scared as he is.

Ray presses further into Gerard, staring at him wordlessly, eyes pleading. It might be time to accept that he isn’t going to talk.

Gerard reaches up with his free hand to pet his hair, offer Ray some semblance of comfort. This results in Gerard losing his balance, so when Ray pushes him to the couch, he goes down like a sack of bricks.

“Wh- hey, what?,” Gerard chokes, stunned by confusion. His hands find Ray’s wrists, now planted on either side of his face.

The other man looks totally deranged. His eyes are wide and glossy, focused intently on Gerard’s, and his hair hangs like a sweaty canopy around his face. He’s breathing heavily again, laboured inhales that suggest he’s struggling against something. Like it took everything he had to take control the way he did. “Need you. You.”

Gerard shivers at that. It’d be impossible not to. After Ray’s horrible silence, his avoidance, his fear… It comes as a relief to know what he needs. That alone feels good. It feels better to know that what he needs is Gerard. It’s a confirmation that all his wishful thinking came true and Gerard alone can save Ray. He just has to… get what he wants, too. It’s so perfect.

But that’s not him, is it? Gerard wouldn’t do that. Ray clearly isn’t in his right mind, it wouldn’t be right, it wouldn’t be okay, not without knowing what’s going on.

Now in possession of his own mind, Gerard squirms under the blanket of warmth that is Ray’s body. “No. No, you need to stop. We’re not doing this.” Against his best efforts, Gerard’s voice has taken on a thick, heavy affect, the tremble still barely disguised. He’s starting to feel a nervous warmth building in his own body, a tension in his gut, but it’s still all so wrong and he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that this needs to stop now.

Ray doesn’t resist when Gerard pushes him off. He rolls over, actually. Bares his body and tilts his head to his shoulder, exposing his neck along with everything else. He’s acting like a dog, displaying his belly in what must be a show of submission, and it’s fucking freaky. There’s the sense that Ray is trying to be appealing, seductive, and it’s tying knots of confusion in Gerard’s brain and heart. It’s an image he’s only ever seen in his self indulgent late-night thoughts and it does not belong outside of them. Not like this.

Gerard is starting to feel like something isn’t right in his own mind, too. The idea that he might catch whatever Ray has becomes a sudden, immediate threat, and Gerard springs to his feet. Tripping over his words, he chokes out, “I’m going to go. I’m sorry, I’m going to go. You stay here, I’ll be back. I’ll be back with help, you’ll be okay.”

It’s only as Gerard exits the bus that it hits him; he realizes what happened with Frank. He winces, but breathes a sigh of relief anyways. Of course it wasn’t real, of course it was a symptom. But this also means Frank is free of any wrongdoing short of slipping Ray a love potion, and that’s what matters. Gerard needs to go find him, and clear things up.

 

It’s barely been ten minutes, so Gerard jogs in the direction of Fall Out Boy’s bus, fairly assured in his assumption that Mikey and Frank will still be there. The fresh air is a welcome change from the stuffiness of the bus, its warm, heavy air only made apparent when Gerard leaves.

The music reaches his ears before the chatter does, tinny and something of a strange choice for a party setting. It isn’t too loud to talk over, though, and Gerard spots Mikey and Pete standing in a cluster outside of the bus as he approaches. There are less people there than Gerard had anticipated, and it looks like less of a Wentz rager and more like the kind of hangout he’d be invited to. The door of the bus is closed, but the window glows warmly, casting yellowy light into the night like the eye of a jack o’ lantern. Gerard can make out the silhouettes of a couple people inside, and as he gets closer, he can hear their muffled laughter.

“Hey,” he gasps, embarrassingly out of breath, when he reaches the group outside. “Frank here?”

Mikey steps back and tilts his head toward the door of the bus. “Yeah, in there. Something happen?” He’s holding a beer, but he doesn’t sound drunk at all, which Gerard is thankful for.

“Yeah, kind of? I’ll tell you, I just- Just need’a talk to Frank first.”

Mikey exchanges a glance with Pete. “Kay.”

Cracking the door open and peering in, Gerard sees Frank talking with Patrick and Joe from Fall Out Boy, Bob, and a handful of other faces he doesn’t quite recognize. “Hey,” he calls, a little too quietly at first. “Hey, Frank! C’mere, I need to talk to you.”

Slowly, Frank sets down his beer, and moves from his place leaning against a countertop. He waves and nods to Bob and the others as he exits.

“We heading back to the bus?,” he asks as Gerard leads him out of the vehicle.

“No, just around the back here is fine.”

“Mkay. Dark over here, though.” Frank laughs nervously. “What’s up, Gee?”

Gerard keeps his voice low. “I- so, I was back at the bus, with Ray, right? And- Okay, I get why you were embarrassed, I’m sorry. Like, he was all over you too, huh? God, it’s so weird…”

Mouth closed, Frank stares with anxious eyes. “So you… he, uh…”

“Yeah. It’s fucked up, Frankie, I don’t know what to do. He’s gotta be like, brainwashed or something, I got close to him and he just-“

“What are you guys talking about?” Comes an interruption from behind Gerard. Pete Wentz stands there, Mikey one step behind, looking like he’s really disappointed he didn’t get to eavesdrop any longer.

Frank opens and closes his mouth like he doesn’t know what to say, so Gerard fills in. “Ray. He’s been acting weird since we found him.”

“Yeah, he put on quite the show tonight. What’s up with him? I bet I can help.” Pete nods knowingly, and Mikey makes this exaggerated eye-rolling grimace directed at Gerard and Frank. He already knows about Ray’s absence, he and his band were probably the first to find out after My Chem.

Gerard fidgets, unsure exactly how to respond. “Well, he… There’s the stuff from earlier, I’m sure Mikey told you. Coulda sworn he was going to bite someone, ha. And, he didn’t really talk to any of us, except Mikey once in the morning. And you saw him on stage. But now, uh… After the show, I mean, he…” He trails off, unsure how much to disclose.

“The guys are inside now, it’s fine.” Pete gestures back to where he and Mikey had been congregating before. “Seriously. I’ve seen it all. Bet you 20 bucks I can help.”

“He was trying to get me to fuck him last night,” Frank blurts abruptly. “Like, he wasn’t hearing a word I said, then I just tapped his shoulder or some shit and he was, fucking, rolling over and making these eyes and…”

“What?” Says Mikey, eyes narrowing near-imperceptibly in the dark. Gerard feels bad for Frank, he knows what it’s like to be on the receiving end of a third-degree Mikeyway Look. “Why didn’t you say anything? Gerard, did you-“

“No, I didn’t. I didn’t know, but just now, he did the same thing to me.”

“Did you leave him alone on the bus?” An abnormally expressive look of unease is visible on Mikey’s face. “ Gerard ,” he starts.

In contrast, Pete looks like he’s trying to hold back laughter. “Dudes, it’s fine. Shit, Mikeyway, you shoulda called me sooner. Really, this hasn’t happened to any of you guys yet? Didn’t think Toro would be the first, but…” He shrugs, a smug grin plastered across his face. “Guess it’s the quiet ones.”

“Pete?” Mikey growls. He looks offended. “The fuck is going on?”

“Toro’s gonna be fine. You just gotta fuck it out of him.”

Mikey gapes, Gerard sputters, Frank mumbles, “I tried that.”

Oh god, Gerard is an idiot.

“Frank?!” Betrayal, or anger, or something else, makes Gerard’s chest feel tight. “You tried what?”

“Wait, you- Gerard! What the hell, I thought you…” Frank looks as hurt as Gerard feels, and there is no way he has the right to. “You didn’t?”

“No! Of course I didn’t!” Is Frank stupid, or is he actually an awful person?? Ray is so clearly not in his right mind, it would be impossible not to notice. Frank would have had to be shitfaced, or totally sleep deprived, or… Yeah, anything but the alternative.

Mikey flashes his withering glare at each of his bandmates to shut them up, then directs it to Pete. “First of all, Pete, we are not doing that, we are going to get him some fucking help. Second,” He turns back to Gerard and Frank. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Gerard wrings his hands. “I didn’t! I swear to fucking god I didn’t do anything!”

Frank stares at his shoes.

“Third ,” Mikey continues. “Wentz, you need to tell us what the hell is going on.”

In stark contrast to Mikey’s rage, Pete still looks like he’s stifling a bout of giggles. “Oh my god, it’s like you guys have never been on Warped. Like, seriously, this shit just happens. You gotta get used to it.”

“What do you mean this ‘just happens’?”

Mikey looks ready to pounce on Pete, and Gerard prepares to intervene. A feeling of nausea is starting to rise like bile in his throat, and he spares a glance at Frank. Pete and Mikey are arguing, if somewhat one-sidedly, but it’s hard to focus on what exactly they’re saying. It’s all just too much to process.

One thing at a time. Gerard turns away from his brother and Pete, and gives Frank a hopefully sympathetic look. He looks ashamed of himself, dejectedly hanging his head and shuffling his feet in the dirt. Gerard opens his mouth to speak, but Frank beats him to it.

“I know I shouldn’t have, okay? But he- Shit, he seemed like he needed it so bad, and I… I just didn’t know what else to do.”

“It’s okay, Frankie. I’m not mad at you. I mean. I am, I really am, but I understand.” Gerard puts a hand on Frank’s shoulder. “We should probably hear Pete out before we jump to any conclusions. If he’s right, maybe you did the right thing.”

Gerard doesn’t feel like Frank did the right thing. Whether that’s a result of jealousy or, like, actual morals, he isn’t entirely sure. It’s impossible to tell what Ray really needs, anyways, whatever he’s actually feeling is obscured by layers of impenetrable anger and fear and need. If any of those are him, really him, Gerard doesn’t know. As… honestly insane as Pete can be, Gerard still needs his answers. Even if he disagrees with his suggested solution, maybe there’s still something to be gleaned from his experience.

Gerard tunes back in just as Pete is saying “Yeah, Patrick was a cat for like a week once,” and kind of wishes he could stop paying attention again.

An only somewhat less furious Mikey responds; “Oh, did you ‘fuck that out of him’  too?” Some delirious part of Gerard observes that he sounds like their mother. 

“Yeah,” Pete says, and when Mikey looks at him like he’s ready to rip his throat out, clarifies, “Not like, an actual cat! Dude, seriously. Ye of little faith.”

Gerard takes his chance to speak up. “Isn’t there anything else we can do? You saw Ray earlier today, right? I don’t think he… actually wants anyone near him.”

“No, he does, trust me. That’s probably all he wants.”

Shifting uncomfortably on his feet, Gerard objects. “Ray’s not that kind of guy. Whatever happened to you, I think this is different. I mean, no offence, but…”

Mikey huffs out a quiet not-laugh.

“Gee’s right,” Frank adds, and Gerard notices it’s the first time he’s contributed anything to the conversation. “I don’t think he’s gonna be happy with us when he, you know, gets back to normal…”

“Well, I dunno how else you could help him.” Pete shrugs. “Any of you got some unresolved Toro-feelings? Because that’s usually what this is about.”

An image of Ray asleep in a glass coffin and surrounded by roses crosses Gerard’s mind. He almost laughs, it’s so absurd. If only this was that kind of fairy tale, and if only Gerard was Prince Charming. (Or whoever the prince in Snow White was, it’s been a while.)

Never one to run out of words, Pete continues, as 3/5 of My Chem stare in silence. “It’s that or you like, nurse him back to health like a baby bird, and that’s gonna be fuckin’ agonizing for all involved parties. Seriously, you want him to be functional for the rest of the tour? Then take my advice.”

When nobody responds, Pete fails miserably to read the room, and keeps talking. “Look, if none of you guys want to do him,” he sounds like he doesn’t believe that’s even possible, “I can bring my guys in and-“

“No!” Gerard snaps before he can stop himself. “No, we’re not doing that. We’ll take care of him.”

Frank hums in agreement, but Mikey looks at Gerard skeptically. “I’ll… call Brian. We’ll probably need a substitute guitarist…” He sounds reluctant, and Gerard doesn’t blame him. It’ll be difficult at best to find someone who can play the shit Ray writes. Especially on such short notice…

“Maybe we should drop the tour. It probably isn’t safe for him to be on the road with us,” Frank suggests.

“That’s not happening. We can’t afford that.” Mikey shoots him down.

“Think we could get Brian to arrange a hotel night?” It’s wishful thinking and Gerard knows it, but he wants Ray to be comfortable. “In between dates, maybe. Maybe it would give Ray some time to calm down.”

Pete snorts disbelievingly, and Mikey looks at Gerard like he sees right through him. Not that there is anything to see. Obviously.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Mikey sounds unsure.

“Uh, in the meantime…” Frank starts, his voice wavering. “Do we have to tell Bob about this?”

The group exchanges silent looks. Mikey’s eyes broadcast a message that probably only Gerard can read, that being ‘what he doesn’t know won’t kill him’. Frank seems to agree, silently begging the other three to keep quiet.

“…No.” Gerard says, breaking the silence. “I don’t think we have to tell him.”

“Not all of it,” Mikey concurs. “Definitely not all of it.”

“Yeah,” Frank breathes. “Yeah, okay, good.”

Gerard notices Mikey glancing around at the dark surrounding the group. He seems on edge, and it makes sense, anyone could overhear them right now. “Why don’t we go back to the bus?,” Gerard proposes. “Ray’s probably asleep now. We can have you take a look at him, figure out what’s going on.”

The consensus seems to be agreement, so the group files out from behind Fall Out Boy’s bus and into the half-light. Pete yanks the bus door open and calls out to his bandmates. “Goin’ to My Chem’s bus! Bryar, you might wanna stay the night here.” He makes it sound like a joke, but the move is quite strategic- Gerard is a little impressed. Pete is a smart guy when he wants to be.

His innuendo is met with a chorus of laughter from the guys on board. Gerard can pick out a couple wolf whistles, and what sound like rather regressive gay jokes. The bus sounds a lot fuller than it had been when he arrived.

Admittedly, Gerard is reluctant to have another pair of eyes ogling Ray, but it seems like Pete might be their best bet. They’re a step closer to finding out what’s wrong with Ray, and how to help. And if the band needs someone to take on Ray duty for the next couple of days? No problem. Vocalists don’t do any real work anyways.

“So, what is it, anyways?” Frank’s question is directed towards Pete.

“My bet’s on werewolf,” Pete says, and it’s hard to tell if he’s joking. “I mean, pretty sure it was a full moon last night?”

“Not even close.” Mikey pipes up from behind him. “The new moon was like, two days ago.”

“Would be a weird fuckin’ werewolf, anyways.” Gerard says. “It doesn’t match up.”

“Should we be thinking like that, though?” Mikey adds, sensible as ever. “I don’t know if we’re going to find our answers in ghost stories.”

“Dudes, anything is possible. Welcome to Warped.” Pete spreads his arms.

Mikey elbows him. “We’ve been touring just as long as Fall Out Boy.”

“That may be so,” Pete retorts. “But this is your Warped christening, dudes. ‘S gonna put some hair on your chests.”

“Can you… not talk about it like that?” Gerard says, uneasy. “Ray’s really fucking sick, or something. This isn’t fun for him.”

Gerard sees Frank nod out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t speak up.

“Yeah. Seconded,” Mikey says, shooting another venomous glare at Pete. “Take this seriously, please, Wentz.”

“Okay, okay!” Pete throws up his hands. “But it’s really not that dire. Play your cards right, he’ll be fine by tomorrow morning.”

“What, by assaulting him? I hope you’ve got some other ideas.” Mikey narrows his eyes in warning, clearly doubting Pete’s idea of a solution. Frank visibly winces, and Gerard doesn’t know whether or not to feel bad for him. He slows his walking speed, lagging slightly behind the bickering couple. With an expression of relief falling across his face, Frank does the same.

The two don’t speak, but it’s easier to ignore Mikey and Pete from a distance. Thankfully, they’re keeping their voices down, Mikey in particular speaking in whispers  that sound more like hisses. Hearing damage probably contributes to how muted they seem, but whatever. They’re being quiet enough. Nobody else needs to know about Ray’s predicament. So, Gerard and Frank walk in tense but mutually appreciated silence, leaving the other two to their argument. In the dark cover of night, it could almost be called peaceful.

Pete Wentz doesn’t seem to be interested in peaceful. “Hey, Iero,” he calls. “You gotta tell me about it. I need more info, y’know?”

For some reason, Gerard really, really doesn’t want to hear this.

Thankfully, Frank doesn’t seem to want to say it, either. “Um… Just, you’ll see him for yourself. I don’t really. Want to. Talk about it,” he mumbles.

“Okay, okay,” Pete says, and goes back to bothering Mikey.

By the time the group reaches My Chem’s bus, Mikey looks like he’s about to snap, Frank is slouching so bad he looks like the earth is pulling him down, and Pete has not let up.

Gerard steps up to the front of the group, the others parting like the red sea around him to give him access to the door. He knows Mikey, knows what this means- Ray is officially his problem now. Everyone else is going to follow his lead.

Which maybe doesn’t feel the greatest, but at least it’s not Pete, or Frank.

Gerard enters the bus without knocking, and calls out, “Ray? We brought help,” in the direction of the back lounge. He receives no response, but it’s not like that’s unusual lately. Pete files in behind him, followed by Mikey and Frank, the former of which sits the latter down at the table.

“Right, Way, after you.” Pete makes some kind of sweeping gesture towards the back lounge. Gerard obliges.

Ray isn’t in his usual spot on the couch. That’s weird in and of itself, and Gerard’s gaze flits across the room, searching. His eye catches on a pile of fabric next to the armrest of the couch, which, on closer inspection, appears to be Ray’s clothes from earlier.

“Think he went streaking?” Pete suggests, unhelpfully.

“No, I don’t,” Gerard says, stepping towards the pile. Doing so gives him a better angle, and his line of sight crosses over the space behind the couch. As he’d hoped, Ray is there, curled up, seemingly asleep.

“Pete?” Gerard calls. “He’s here. Can you grab a blanket from the bunks?”

“Roger that.”

Gerard hears Pete exit the lounge, and kneels at Ray’s side to get a better look at him. He’s definitely unconscious, and his breathing is heavy but not strained. When Gerard brushes his hair out of his face, it’s sweaty, but not the way he was before. It feels like a perfectly mundane fever sweat, nothing out of the ordinary. Ray’s face is still flushed, but in a way that could be attributed to a common cold or flu.

Pete returns with a blanket from Ray’s bunk, and Gerard accepts it. He tucks it around Ray’s naked body, doing his best to ogle as little he can, and looks back up at Pete. “Gonna need some help here. We should get him to his bunk.”

Pete salutes, and moves to help Gerard pick up his unconscious bandmate. Something bubbles in Gerard, seeing Pete lay his hands on Ray. He shoves it down and refuses to let his feelings get in the way of taking care of his friend. When Ray whimpers in his sleep, though, that something returns and nearly boils over, because Pete just has to go and remark, “Aw, Toro’s cute like this, huh?”

“Don’t,” Gerard snaps. He hooks his arms under Ray’s shoulders and heaves, drawing another quiet noise from him.

Pete raises his eyebrows and shrugs, but relents. The two haul Ray out of the back lounge as carefully as possible. He’s dead weight, which makes it unnecessarily difficult, but the one time Pete does hit his toe on a sharp corner, Ray doesn’t even stir. They deposit him in Bob’s bunk for the time being, since Gerard, Mikey, and Ray all have top bunks, and leaving Ray in Frank’s seems inappropriate.

As tenderly as he can manage, Gerard tucks Ray under Bob’s blanket. A hand on his forehead tells Gerard that Ray is only slightly warmer than normal, which seems like a good sign. His breathing is steady, and his face is almost serene. Gerard takes a place at his side, feeling rather like a nurse or some kind of service dog, while Pete settles at the table with Frank and Mikey.

After a moment of awkward silence, Mikey starts. “So. You saw him, Pete.” His question is evident (at least, to Gerard) in his tone; Do you have anything to tell us, or are you going to continue being just as useless as you have been so far?

“He seems fine now.” Pete shrugs. “Smells weird, but that could be anything. He’s just, uh… sleeping?”

“It comes and goes,” Gerard fills in. “You should probably stay, in case he gets worse again.”

“Gimme a recap, then. Start from when you noticed he was missing.”

“Right, yeah.” Gerard pulls out his sketchbook, suddenly thankful that he positioned himself how he did. From this angle, he’s the only one that can see his page, and the many anxiously scribbled sketches of Ray that decorate it. “So, uh… He left the bus around ten AM yesterday. We noticed that he still hadn’t come back at two PM, before sound check. So we started looking for him then, and when we found him, it was almost midnight. He was unresponsive, and he had a fever that didn’t let up with anything the first aid guys gave him.”

“Mhm,” Pete nods, looking disinterested.

“Yeah,” Mikey says, sharply. “He was like that when we got him back here, too. So, something changed during Frank’s shift.”

“You were taking shifts?” Pete interrupts.

“We drew straws. Frank first, I switched in around five.” Mikey looks pointedly at Frank, prompting him to speak.

Pete raises his eyebrows at Gerard, like he’s asking; not you? Gerard doesn’t give him any more ammunition, and instead focuses on Frank.

“He, uh… it was probably an hour or two into my shift when he… got weird. I didn’t do anything, he just woke up all of a sudden, so I went to try to talk to him, and that’s when he started, you know…”

“So, when you got close to him?” Pete asks.

“Yeah, maybe.” Frank flails his hands. “I wasn’t touching him, or anything, he grabbed my arm. Like, pulled me in.”

“Right, what else?”

Frank looks uncomfortable with the line of questioning, but he seems to understand its importance. “Uh, he was warm, still. Like, really warm, and like you said, he smelled weird. Like old lady perfume or something. Uh, and he was sweating a lot? Seriously, more than any normal person would.”

“Did he say anything?” Gerard asks, hopefully. He wants to know that Ray could at least say yes .

“Not immediately but then, yeah. Yeah, uh… He was totally begging me, to, uh…” Frank shifts uncomfortably. “He said he’d be a ‘good girl’? That was… weird.” It sounds like Frank has more to say on how he felt about it. 

Gerard has to stifle a gasp at that, and he desperately hopes nobody else notices. He stares intently down at his paper, and busies his hands by scribbling succubus? in what little free space is left on his page.

Pete hoots, earning himself yet another vicious Mikey Glare. “Kay, we’re getting somewhere! What else did he say?”

Frank is starting to look unusually pink. “I’m not gonna repeat any of it. It was, uh, dirty. Seriously fucking dirty, the filthiest shit you can imagine.”

Gerard tries not to imagine. He underlines the word he’d written with heavy, dark pencil marks.

“It was like he was reaching into my head and pulling out all the stuff I like. You know, saying exactly what I want to hear. Really uncanny shit.” Frank scratches his forehead, looking somewhere between exhausted and embarrassed.

Pete looks like he’s figured something out. “You’ve thought about this a lot, then? Y’know, boning him?”

Gerard feels his ears start to burn, and opens his mouth, prepared to come down hard on Pete. If Frank has been thinking about fucking Ray, Gerard does not want to hear about it. Frank beats him to it, though, sparing Gerard from having to yell at Pete. 

“No!” He yelps indignantly. “Not like, him specifically, I mean, fuck, is any of this even relevant?”

A strange sense of relief washes over Gerard.

“Pete,” Mikey says, warningly.

“Yes, this is relevant. It’s like, porn logic, y’know? Shit like this happens for a reason, usually. One of you probably has some shit you need to work out with Toro.” Pete smirks, and Gerard is pretty sure he’s never wanted to punch anyone so badly. “I have my theory, but I’m gonna keep this up until one of you comes clean.”

Mikey looks at Gerard. Frank follows Mikey’s lead. Pete looks smug to a degree that Gerard didn’t think was possible for a human.

“I didn’t do anything!” Gerard hugs his sketchpad to his chest defensively.

“Not saying you did.”

“Then, what?”

“You might be able to fix him. I mean, it’s just a theory, but…”

Something unidentifiable swirls around Gerard’s head, and he feels suddenly dizzy. “No. No way, I’m not doing that to him.”

“No, you’re not,” Mikey seconds.

“No, really. True love’s kiss.” Pete tilts his head in Ray’s direction. “Sleeping Beauty.”

“You’re fucking joking.” Gerard laughs disbelievingly. He wants to be upset about this, but the idea that the solution really could be so simple is appealing. Fucking tantalizing, actually. “He was… You didn’t see what he was like with me. When he was lucid.”

He doesn’t want to elaborate. He knows he’ll have to. So, before Pete can push him any further, Gerard continues. “He was scared, and angry. I don’t know, but it felt like… Like whatever happened to him… Like he thought I did this to him.” Without really thinking about it, he’s started to run his hand up and down Ray’s forearm.

The group falls into a shocked, uneasy silence. Even Pete doesn’t say anything. Mikey looks like he’s fighting off a migraine, and Frank seems torn between sending Gerard a sympathetic look and staring down at the table.

The first person to speak up is Frank, addressing nobody in particular. “Do you… Do you think he’ll be himself when he wakes up?”

There’s another long pause, and Mikey is the first to break it. “I don’t know. Maybe we should wake him up now, while everyone’s here.” He casts a look around, and some guilty part of Gerard feels like he deserves the suspicion in the way Mikey glares at him.

“Good idea,” Pete concurs. “We can just ask him what we wanna know.” He looks at Gerard with his weird always-too-wide eyes, and indicates Ray with a tilt of his head.

Staring down at Ray, Gerard places a hand on his shoulder, feeling the rise and fall of his friend’s deep, sleep-heavy breaths through the thin blanket. He doesn’t want to linger there for too long, stare at Ray too much and too meaningfully. But he’s nervous, he’s afraid that the Ray that wakes up won’t be their Ray. He can’t help but hesitate.

“Are you sure? Maybe he’s… sleeping it off?” Gerard keeps his eyes on Ray, whose face is invisible through his disheveled hair.

“We’re all here.” Mikey looks like he’s trying hard to be sure of what he’s saying. “What other chance are we gonna get?”

Inhaling deeply, Gerard steels himself, and jostles Ray slightly. He doesn’t react. Gerard tries again, harder, but he can’t bring himself to really try. “Mikey, maybe you should…”

“Yeah.”

The two switch places, Mikey sitting next to Ray, but he looks like he’s going out of his way to make himself uncomfortable. This whole time, he’s been trying so hard to stay levelheaded and detached, and Gerard wonders if anyone else notices how much of a strain it’s putting on him.

Pete gives Gerard another look, but he just sets his jaw, and doesn’t make eye contact. He doesn’t need to feed into his bullshit. 

Mikey shakes Ray by the shoulder, harder than Gerard had before. He begins to stir, grumbling nonsense into Bob’s pillow, and Gerard just barely notices that he’s holding his breath.

When all Ray does is shove his face deeper into the bedding, Mikey shakes him again, slightly rougher, but still gentle.

“What is it?” Ray slurs into Bob’s pillow. His voice is rough and thick with sleep, but it’s lucid, it’s Ray, and that alone is enough to allow a spark of hope to catch inside Gerard.

“Just get up,” Mikey says, quietly. Gerard recognizes that tone from every breakdown and detox that his little brother has ever helped him through, and it makes his heart ache.

“M getting up,” Ray groans, and slowly pulls himself into a sitting position next to Mikey, who tucks a blanket around him as he does.

Ray rubs his eyes and brushes the hair out of his face, apparently unsatisfied with the sweaty, tangled state it’s in. When he’s done, he straightens his back, and blinks at the room, confused. He looks aware, vibrant, if a little frazzled.

The looks they’re giving him tell him they’re all gathered here for a reason, though.

Gerard has a million things to say, but he doesn’t want to overwhelm Ray. For the time being, he keeps his mouth shut, lets the silence linger, lets Ray decide when to break it.

“…Hi?”

“Hi,” Gerard says quickly, unwilling to let anyone else respond first. “I just wanna say that whatever you think I did, I didn’t do it. Okay?”

“Yeah… I know.” Ray rubs his temples. Even if he’s agreeing, he doesn’t sound like he fully believes Gerard.

“We need to figure out what happened,” Mikey starts, cutting straight to the point. “We’re your friends and we want to help.”

“Wait, no, back up,” Gerard suggests. Ray looks like a mess, he just woke up, and he probably needs time. What’s important isn’t what happened, not yet. They need to know that Ray is safe right now. “How are you feeling? And, uh… What do you remember? About today, and last night?”

Ray winces, biting his lip so hard that Gerard worries he might draw blood. The blanket moves as he wraps his arms defensively around his chest, dropping the posture, and suddenly looking a lot smaller. “I slept. A lot. First thing I remember… after… was waking up in the lounge. With Frank.”

Frank stares at him with wide, pained eyes, like he’s bracing for Ray to say something about last night. He doesn’t. They all stay silent, waiting for Ray to continue.

“Uh… Slept more. Mikey was there for a bit?” He sounds unsure of that part, but Mikey nods in confirmation, so Ray continues. “It kinda clears up starting this morning… I saw Mikey and Gee having breakfast, then I sort of freaked out, went back to sleep. Sorry. About freaking out.” Ray looks down at his hands.

“Napped for a while. Woke up, worked on some demos for 3. I, uh… It’s like being sick. I feel better for a while, so I wake up, I feel worse again, so I go back to sleep.”

Mikey nods like he understands. “You remember talking to me this morning, and playing today?”

“Yeah. Not perfectly, but…” Ray cuts himself off, screwing his eyes shut and grimacing. “Fuck, do we have any Gatorade left?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I think.” Frank bolts to his feet, and Gerard isn’t surprised that he’s so anxious to step out of the room. “What colour?”

“Uh, orange.”

Gerard looks at Mikey, silently asking if one of them should say something, anything about Frank. Mikey responds with a look that says something like ‘ not yet.’  Gerard replies with a nod. Pete looks confused. Ray seems unimpressed, slightly irked, and continues speaking.

“The show was kind of fuzzy, too. I, uh… Don’t remember the setlist? Did everything go okay?”

“You played fine.” Mikey sucks his teeth. “You kinda attacked Frank. Do you wanna tell us what that was about, or…?”

“That… yeah. That would… Yeah.” Ray sets his jaw, and his expression hardens. He stumbles over his words, and tries to change the subject. As far as Gerard is concerned, he’s deflecting. “Why’s Pete here?”

“He’ll leave if you want.” Gerard says firmly.

“I’m just-“ Pete starts to protest right as Frank returns with Ray’s drink.

“We thought he might know what was going on with you,” Mikey finishes for him. “He hasn’t been useful yet, so, yeah, I’ll kick him out if you want.”

Ray eyes Pete warily. He looks like he’s really considering whether or not he wants Pete gone, but finally, he shakes his head. “It’s fine.”

“Right, also, uh,” Mikey sounds like he’s trying to choose his words carefully. “Did you throw up last night?”

“I did. Was trying to…” Purge, is the word Ray is looking for. Gerard can tell by the way he glances nervously at him, and averts his gaze just as fast. He doesn’t use it, but it makes Gerard feel a little queasy anyways. “Get it out of me.”

Pete raises his eyebrows.

Mikey looks hopeful. “Get what out? What did you take?”

“I didn’t take anything.” Ray says, defensively. “I don’t want to talk about it, alright, so can we just leave it alone and hope it goes away?”

Gerard can sense that Ray wants to change the subject. He’s not just being prickly, or defensive, or avoidant; thinking about it is genuinely upsetting him. So Gerard moves the conversation ahead, flashing a look at Mikey. “Do you remember after we got offstage? I came to talk to you, and…”

Ray stares intently at his unopened Gatorade. “Yeah. Sorry for freaking out at you, again, I just…”

“You’ve been treating me like I had something to do with this. I can understand Frank,” Gerard’s question is selfish enough, and he regrets that addition as soon as it leaves his mouth. “But why me? What did I do?”

“None of you would believe me if I told you.” Ray laughs bitterly.

“Yeah, dude, we really would.” Frank speaks up. “I think I’d believe anything you told me right now.”

“Our leading theory about twenty minutes ago was that you were bitten by a werewolf,” Gerard adds.

That draws a genuine laugh out of Ray. It sounds real, not sarcastic or forced, if not as full-throated as usual.

“They’re not joking,” Pete supplies. “Seriously, I’ve seen some shit. You can’t tell me anything weirder than what I’ve seen. Joe was fucking a horny ghost or something for a month last summer. Shame is so last year.”

Ray just stares disbelievingly at Pete, and, in fairness to him, so do the rest of his bandmates. “You’re serious?”

Pete nods. “Dead serious.” His pun goes woefully unrewarded.

“So, if I told you…” Ray wrings his hands and pulls the blanket tighter around himself. “That I was abducted by an alien, or whatever, you wouldn’t just tell me to lay off the LSD?”

“Are you doing LSD!?” Gerard asks, alarmed, at the same time Pete asks, “Is that what happened?”

“No!” Ray exclaims in Gerard’s direction. “No, nothing stronger than weed.”

Gerard feels his shoulders relax. The last thing My Chem needs is more, harder drugs.

Then, Ray turns to Pete, and mumbles, “Yeah, uh, I think so.”

The group lets out a collective breath of something like relief, followed by a substantial amount of terse silence. Pete nods soberly. Mikey pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and draws in a long breath. Frank looks dizzy.

“So you… don’t think I’m crazy? You believe me?” Ray asks, incredulous.

Gerard can’t believe that he does. But, he believes Ray, so he says it. It stands to reason that feeling like his friends trust him would be good for Ray right now. “I believe you.”

“I have questions,” Mikey says. He looks like he’s coming to terms with the existence of magic, which isn’t too far from the truth.

Ray shakes his head. “I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t remember much, and I don’t know why I’m… Like this.”

“But, what did I have to do with it?” It’s another selfish question, but Gerard needs to know why Ray’s been so weird around him in particular.

“It was you. Or it had your face.” Ray takes a deep inhale. His expression is pained, like it hurts just as much to admit it as it does to know. “Time-out. Can someone get me some clothes?”

Gerard does want to keep asking questions. If anything, Ray’s answer has only brought up more uncertainties to detangle. But he holds back until Ray’s pulled one of Bob’s old sweatshirts over his head, and Mikey’s retrieved a pair of Ray’s ever-stunning jeans from his own bunk.

The group migrates out of the bunks and into the kitchenette, then, where everyone but Ray and Pete squeeze into the benches on either side of the tiny dining table. Pete positions himself awkwardly next to Mikey’s bench, while Ray leans back against the countertop, still looking tense, but more comfortable clothed. Frank practically hides behind Gerard on the bench opposite to Mikey’s.

“So,” Pete starts, after at least a minute of charged silence and loaded glances.

“Yeah,” Ray agrees. “I, uh. Don’t know how long I’ve got. Like this, I mean. So, we should probably start.”

Gerard wants to ask more questions about the him-but-not-him alien, but Mikey is apparently more pragmatic with his thinking. “Then the first thing we should do is figure out how to handle it. The other stuff can wait.”

Everyone seems to understand what ‘it’ is, even without saying outright what they’re talking about. It’s almost frustrating to Gerard, who kind of wishes they would all just speak plainly, but he understands well enough not to complain. He doubts Ray wants to talk about it much at all.

Ray nods in agreement with Mikey. He doesn’t speak, though, just looks like he’s waiting for someone else to make a suggestion.

“Well, what’s it feel like? Like, are you in there, when you go all…” Pete twirls his finger around his temple.

“It’s like…” Squeezing his eyes shut, Ray takes a deep breath, like he’s trying to think of the right words. “Halfway between being shitfaced drunk and dreaming. So it’s hard to remember all of it. I’m doing and saying these things, but I’m not really in control, I don’t… process it. People are just bodies, my body’s just… a machine, or something. I get all warm, and it feels like if I don’t get skin-to-skin contact, I might just die.”

Ray receives what must be an overwhelming amount of sympathetic looks, but everyone stays silent, allowing him to continue. Gerard resists the urge to take notes.

“When I’m alone, it’s like a normal fever. I just curl up and suffer and wait for it to go away. It’s not… weird, when I’m alone. I don’t have the energy to go seek anyone out, or anything. It just sucks.”

“So, should we leave you alone, when it comes back?” Mikey asks.

“No!” Ray blurts, and then he sighs. “No, I mean, maybe, but that seems worse, somehow.”

“But, uh,” Frank mumbles from behind Gerard. Everyone turns to look at him. “What are we supposed to do?”

“I don’t know,” Ray says, sounding truly defeated. Gerard can’t imagine the situation he’s in, between a rock and a hard place.

“Okay, hear me out,” says Pete. “Groupies.”

“What?” Mikey whips around to look at him. “Fucking, what? Why?”

“I said hear me out! Okay, the problem is, you’ve gotta have sex, right, but you don’t wanna fuck your bandmates. So you need an impersonal one-night-stand kinda deal. And you’re fucking rockstars on tour, remember? We can get you a different girl every night, and even if you embarrass the fuck outta yourself, you never have to see her again. Or him. You into dudes, Toro?”

Gerard is immediately, intensely, not on board with this idea. They just don’t do groupies. They aren’t that kind of band. Ray looks like he feels a similar way.

Mikey, though, looks thoughtful. “…Huh. Well, that’s an option. But, we have to consider, what if something gets out to the press?”

Gerard can’t believe he’s even considering it.

“Oh, huh, yeah.” Pete scratches his head. “Shit, uh, maybe you’d be better off with someone from another band. Not a lotta girls on Warped, though… Are you into dudes?” He repeats his prior question, which irks Gerard on Ray’s behalf, because it really didn’t seem like he felt like answering.

He does, though. “I… don’t know. Maybe? I don’t do hookups, though. Impersonal sex, not my thing, never has been.”

“Okay, well,” Pete says, and Gerard’s started to recognize the tone he uses when he has an idea that nobody is going to like. “It’s not impersonal if it’s a friend, yeah? People do platonic hookups all the time.”

Mikey looks at him in a way not even Gerard can decipher.

“What are you suggesting?” Ray seems to be losing his patience.

Pete makes a sweeping gesture, indicating the room.

Visibly blushing, Ray’s eyes flick from person to person, lingering just long enough on Gerard that he starts to read into it, and immediately scolds himself for doing so at a time like this.

“Or!” Pete interjects. “There’s the guys in my band. I know you and Trick get along. He’s fuckin’ great.”

“Trick’s nice…” Ray says. He sounds like he’s about to add a ‘but’, make some excuse, but he leaves it there.

“We could blindfold you, or something.” Pete, who may be entirely incompetent, suggests. “So you wouldn’t know who it was, and it wouldn’t make things weird.”

The expression on Ray’s face can only be described as done. He blinks slowly. “I think I’d still be able to tell?”

“Your definition of weird is…” Mikey shakes his head and opts to simply keep his thoughts to himself.

Gerard is starting to feel doubtful that they’re going to get anywhere if they continue in this direction. As usual, Mikey must be on the same page, because he redirects the conversation.

“I don’t think we should be focusing so much on the who. Ray, we need to know exactly what you need, and what you’re comfortable with.”

Mikey said exactly what Gerard wanted to convey. He’s equal parts jealous of and thankful for that. Every time Gerard wants to speak, he rethinks, and rethinks again, and someone else beats him to it. He’s ended up contributing only barely more than Frank so far, and he resents that.

There’s nothing he wants more than to help Ray, but all he has are more selfish questions. He’s scared of hurting Ray, or sending him back into that… state. Still, he wants to be the one to get Ray through his lapses. He wants to hold Ray and be there for him and touch him and take care of him in every sense. He’s also terrified of the idea that he might get used to it. Might start to need it in a different way than Ray does, start to want it and believe that Ray wants it and then get his heart broken.

Because Gerard knows how he is when he gets his claws hooked into something he wants.

This is why he doesn’t offer his help.

“What I’m comfortable with… Fuck, it’s all bad, isn’t it?” Ray laughs, and the sound comes out sour. “I don’t know. Just… Whatever, I guess, and we’ll hope I don’t remember it. I’m sorry.”

Gerard flares up at that. Hearing Ray try so hard not to care makes him angry in a directionless, futile way, and even if he doesn’t know how to make it better, he can’t stand to see his friend give up like that. “No, don’t talk like that! We’ll figure something out. Even if it’s gonna suck it doesn’t have to be… ‘whatever’, okay?”

As is often the case, once Gerard’s started talking he can’t make himself stop. “We’ll drop the tour, fuck Brian. We’ll get you home, or, screw home, we’ll get you to a hotel and you can hole up there and wait it out and we’ll be outside your door the whole time and I’ll take care of you, okay?”

“No… No way.” The look Ray gives Gerard is wide-eyed and murky, somewhere between flattered and devastated. “We don’t need to drop the tour. I want to keep playing. Even… even when I’m fucked up, y’know, I still have our music, the band. I can still play.”

He takes a deep breath before he continues. “I’d rather stay with you guys. On tour, I mean, playing shows together, staying here on the bus. With the structure of tour, and you guys here to support me. I don’t know what I’d do if I just…” Trailing off, Ray leaves a a long pause.

“I think I’d fall apart. If I didn’t have,” he gestures to the table, and, seemingly as an afterthought, extends his movement to include Pete. “This. The band. You guys.”

Everyone in the kitchenette looks significantly closer to crying than they had before. Gerard has the overwhelming urge to stand up and hug Ray. This might be a group hug kind of moment, actually, but Pete is also here and Gerard has no idea how Ray feels about being touched right now and there’s no way Gerard is going to be the guy that calls for a group hug. Not now.

When nobody speaks, Ray fills the silence, laughing awkwardly. “I guess what I’m saying is that I’d rather it be you guys. Than, like, my mom, or whatever. You guys are the only people crazy enough to believe me.” He smiles, and it doesn’t look forced at all. Just sad.

“Oh, Ray.” Gerard’s heart feels like it’s simultaneously swelling to four times its size and shattering into a million pieces. He has so much to say, and yet nothing at all. He can’t help but sniffle as he repeats, “Ray.”

Expectations are a thing of the past, but even so, Gerard is caught off guard by what Ray does next. He runs his hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face, and looks directly at Frank. “And I’m sorry, about what happened. I, uh… I don’t know how you’re doing. But I’m sorry about last night and whatever happened on stage earlier. You didn’t deserve that, and it’s not your fault that I’m fucked up right now.”

Frank’s mouth opens and closes, his brow furrowed, expression concerned and incredulous. Gerard feels about the same way Frank looks. Ray shouldn’t be the one apologizing, should he?

When Frank doesn’t find his words, Gerard readies himself to step in, to protest, but Ray looks to him before he can speak. “You too. I know you didn’t have anything to do with this, and even if I forget that…”

“No,” Gerard interrupts. “None of this was your fault, don’t apologize. To anyone.”

“Yeah, I know.” Ray sighs. “But this sucks and I wish you guys didn’t have to deal with it.”

“You’re the one getting the worst of it,” Mikey reminds. “We want to help. So just tell us how we can.”

Gerard almost says something cheesy like ‘we love you’ or ‘we’re in this together’ or ‘if you’re hurting I’m hurting’, but keeps his mouth shut.

“Right,” Ray says begrudgingly, and Gerard can guess he’s probably dreading this part of the conversation. He looks at Pete. “I guess, um, it’s not that I have a problem with fucking my bandmates, necessarily? It’s just…”

“Not being there for it?” Pete suggests.

“That sounds weird, but, basically, yeah.” Ray chuckles weakly. “I mean, I already know I can trust you guys, but it’s still weird. I just don’t know- Oh. Fuck, uh, hold on.”

Grimacing, Ray clutches his stomach. Gerard is on his feet in a heartbeat, and then kneeling at his friend’s side as he keels over. Pete, who hasn’t said anything for a record length of time, joins him on the opposite side, and Frank and Mikey stand over them, watching with concern and curiosity.

“Kay,” Ray chokes out. “Uh, I feel like shit, so, uh, maybe leave me in the back. I can…” He tries to stand, and Mikey steps forward to help.

“Wait, wait, what should we do? Are you, uh…” Gerard starts towards Ray, reaching out to his shoulder but not touching.

Expression resigned, Ray nods. “Just, I don’t know. Anyone. It’s fine. It doesn’t matter.”

Gerard doesn’t get the chance to protest before Ray’s pushing off of Mikey and dragging himself to the lounge. Pete looks at Gerard pointedly, and tips his head in the direction Ray went. Frozen with nerves and unsureness, Gerard doesn’t move.

So he loses his chance. Beaten to the punch yet again. Mikey crosses his arms and follows Ray, Pete trailing close behind. That leaves Gerard standing awkwardly next to Frank, staring after the three and feeling uncomfortably helpless. He doesn’t even want to know why Pete would need to be in there.

Wrapping his arms around his middle, Frank takes a deep breath. “What’s their plan?”

“I don’t know,” Gerard replies. “Maybe I don’t want to know? Yeah, I definitely don’t want to think about that.” And not just because it’s his brother and Pete Wentz. Those are contributing factors, yeah, but Gerard doesn’t want to imagine how awful this must be for Ray. He hopes nobody goes too far.

“Pete keeps looking at you weird.” Frank observes bluntly. The two stand next to each other, adjacent like strangers at a bus stop, and the conversation feels just as unfamiliar. Neither turns to look at the other.

Gerard doesn’t intend to change that.

“Yeah.”

“What’s that about?” Frank asks, and it sounds like he doesn’t expect an answer.

“What if this is because of me, somehow?” Gerard blurts. It’s not an answer. It’s also far more honest than he wants to be. “I mean, I know I sound crazy, but this is crazy, why would it have my face?”

“This might be a question for Pete…” Without looking, Gerard can tell Frank is trying to hide behind his shoulders, and keep his anxiousness disguised in the pockets of his pants. “Or Ray, I don’t know. He didn’t mention you, or anything, when…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, and Gerard wants to snap at him, tell him to own the fuck up and take responsibility for what he did. He keeps his mouth shut. The high road is safer. Gerard isn’t the one with the right to get angry at Frank, those are Ray’s feelings to have.

Instead, he asks; “Was he okay after? Did you check on him?” Or did you just leave him?, Gerard’s brain wants him to say. Did you just pussy out and run away? Was he even fucking awake?

“He wasn’t all… Weird, after, if that’s what you’re asking. It did help.” There’s a defensive bite to Frank’s last statement. Mild, disguised under layers of regret and guilt and concern, but it’s there. It seems like he picked up on Gerard’s silent accusations, though, because he only gets more upset. His voice wavers as he says; “I’m sorry, okay? I fucked up, or I took it too far, and I feel awful about it and I just really don’t want you guys to hate me!”

The shake in Frank’s voice makes Gerard want to tell him it’s okay, that he doesn’t hate him, but he doesn’t know if he could say that honestly right now.

“What do you mean, you took it too far?”

“I…” When Gerard looks at Frank, he’s biting the inside of his cheek, like he’s wishing he could take back the words. “Just said some shit to him, okay? And now I don’t know if he was into it or if he was just sayin’ and doin’ everything I wanted him to.”

“Fuck.” Gerard doesn’t know how else to respond to that. He can swear that he’s started to hear muffled voices coming from behind the lounge curtain. He doesn’t want to think about what’s happening in there. Actually, he’d really like to forget about everything that’s happened in the past twenty-four-odd hours.

“Yeah,” Frank says, and after a long pause, “We shouldn’t be in here.”

Gerard nods, realizing only after another few breaths of agonizing not-silence have passed that Frank probably isn’t looking at him. He turns to his friend, and asks, “Wanna go get something to drink?”