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Gerard didn’t even realize what had happened until his knees hit the cold metal ground.
The show had gone as usual. It was starting to become sort of fucked up routine and Gerard didn’t know what to think about that. On one hand the shows were miserable to live through but on the other at least he could see what was coming and brace himself. His memory was jumbled up at best (missing huge chunks at worst) but he realized that they had done this before and that is was likely to happen again. When the clown stabbed him and he collapsed onstage, only to be dragged off again, he didn’t so much as bat an eye. It was hard to think beyond the pain wracking his body anyway and what did he care?
They followed the same routine after every show. Gerard would be hauled offstage where he would catch a glimpse of his band mates, his friends, being cuffed and carted off to the cells. Mikey was always pinned to the ground and jabbed with some sort of taser for his insubordination in running off. He never got far but he still tried and Gerard couldn’t help but feel proud of his little brother. Even so he wished he didn’t have to watch them haul Mikey’s limp body out of the wings.
Gerard was then taken to a little sterile room somewhere in the facility that the shows took place in. The shape and look of the room seemed to change with every show but they really couldn’t remember. All the same they were strapped down to a table where a doctor in a white lab coat came in to “fix” him. Blood was replaced by the pint with some sort of Draag concoction. It certainly wasn’t blood and Gerard couldn’t be sure what it was anymore. He didn’t know if he actually had any blood left.
Then came the skin grafting, cleaning out the burn marks, and the stab wound in his chest. Gerard wouldn’t call the person a doctor, so much as a doll maker, the way they picked at Gerard and sewed him back together again. It was horrible but Gerard was usually too out of it to care.
As such he didn’t realize when their session was cut short by some of the Dictator’s tin soldiers. The doctor’s brow had furrowed when the soldiers arrived. The work was finished hastily so the tin soldiers could sit Gerard up and walk him out.
Their legs moved of their own accord, following the soldiers out of the room and to where the Dictator had claimed to be his throne room. He always had access to one no matter where they were (if they even changed locations at all? No way they actually went to Transylvania right? That was so much traveling for just a few days…).
Gerard was forced to his knees less than two paces from the Dictator, the cold metal biting into him and sucking out any of the warmth he had accumulated. The Dictator glared down at them through his spectacles. It took Gerard far too long to look up to meet his gaze.
“What am I supposed to do with you?”
Gerard almost flinched at the anger in the Dictator’s voice. He was usually just haughty or displeased, or even amused. Never this much anger. What had happened?
They knew they weren’t meant to respond so they kept their lips shut tight.
“Oh now you won’t speak? You go prancing around on stage every night, singing of treachery, questioning my decisions, making this audience think that there is something else going on under the surface of it all, and now you decide to go quiet. You will regret it, I guarantee it.”
The Dictator snapped, the noise slicing through the air like a blade. The Clerk stepped forward. Gerard hadn’t even realized he was there, still clutching the clipboard like a lifeline. He of course looked fine. Even if he had been blown up only a few hours prior. Gerard could never figure out why the Clerk looked so much like the Clown. Who was the Clown really? Was it all in his head? Whose side was the Clerk on?
“Since you have failed to keep it in line I misstep in for you.” The Dictator grinned as the Clerk paled.
Now he remembered. Gerard had blocked the slap. All the memories came back a lot sooner this time around and his instincts kicked in to stop the slap before he made contact. The Clerk still got him in the end but it was nice to flex that muscle and try to break free a little more. Obviously the Dictator had taken notice.
The Clerk and Gerard both watched as the Dictator removed his glasses, revealing piercing blue eyes. He held them out and the Clerk took them easily, even if he stiffened when his hand brushed the Dictator’s. He was so jumpy around the Dictator. Gerard had to wonder what punishment he had endured for failing to control Gerard. They almost felt bad. Not bad enough to stop, no, but there was a chance the Clerk was more human than he seemed. Were they in this together?
“The Doctor.”
The Dictator’s voice snapped Gerard back just in time to see the Clerk open the door and let a doctor in. She was carrying a tray of implements and wore the same white coat and dead eyes as the rest of the doctor’s the Dictator employed.
“Don’t worry you filthy creature I’ll get you in line,” he hissed. “You maybe act that way on stage but we all know what you really are. Some fucked up broken down disposable front man. Without me you would have nothing and this is how you repay me.”
Eyeing the tools, Gerard tried to shake his head or respond.
“N-No-” His voice was rough, throat sore from the show and all the screaming he had done on this tour. “I-”
Gerard had become all too familiar with the feel of leather crashing into his cheek so the sensation of the slap wasn’t new but it still caught him by the side. His head snapped to the side and it took every ounce of strength he had not to bring a hand up to clutch at it. The Dictator slowly lowered his hand.
“You’ve done quite enough speaking for now you miserable wretch. Let’s save your voice for the show hmm?”
He snapped his fingers and the Doctor stepped forward. Gerard couldn’t help flinching back but it didn’t matter. The guards at the door rushed forward and locked their hands onto Gerard’s arms, holding him in place. The Doctor looked down at the silver instruments as if debating which to use first.
His fight or flight instinct kicked in and Gerard yanked away, trying to break the hold the tin soldiers had on him. They held firm as his actions got more jerky and desperate.
“Wait.”
Everyone in the room went still, including Gerard. He hated the way his body naturally reacted to the tone, tensing in fear and staying stock still. The Doctor’s gaze wandered to the Dictator looking almost bored. The thought made Gerard want to sob. He had no idea what she was going to do to him, if she would be cutting away his fingers, his nose, his eyes, and if he would ever get them back. If she was going to slice up his face and leave him there bleeding at the Dictator’s feet. Maybe they were going to bring Mikey up here again, hold a gun to his head until Gerard was slicing up his own arms and face, pleading for them to not hurt his brother.
(They had done that once and Gerard would never, ever be able to get the image of his brother, drugged to high heaven, bruised, with a gun to his head.)
And she didn’t care. None of them cared. Except the Dictator who was watching him with a sick fascination.
“I want you to do it.”
Inflicting any sort of pain on himself was atrocious. It took too much willpower to convince himself that mutilating himself was the best option and the Dictator always got impatient and angry. That didn’t end well.
But the Doctor didn’t offer him the tray. Instead she turned to the Clerk.
For a moment the Clerk looked just as baffled as Gerard felt before he careful schooled his expression.
“Me sir?”
“Yes you. Are you really asking your Creator to repeat himself?”
The Clerk moved forward quickly.
“No your Excellence I would never. Merely want to make sure I am carrying out your Will exactly how you desire.”
He reached for the offered tray and picked up a gleaming silver needle. There was a spindly bit of what looked like twine, fed through the eye of the needle.
Gerard’s struggles resumed almost subconsciously. His brain was too smart to fight back but his instincts were unfortunately not. It didn’t matter though, the Dictator didn’t care. The Clerk approached him, needle and thread raised.
Gerard was the only person in the room who didn’t know what was about to happen and that thought was horrifying. The Clerk knew what was going to happen even if he didn’t know he would be carrying it out. He knew enough that he could easily step up and execute it.
Shouldn’t he be overjoyed at this chance to abuse Gerard? The Clerk couldn’t do much on stage in front of all the onlookers and Gerard blocking his hit must have frustrated him to no end. And now Gerard had no means of fighting. His feet kicked and splayed on the floor but did nothing and his jerking around did nothing but tighten the grip on his arms. Maybe that is why the Dictator was letting him do this. A reward and a chance to regain control.
The Clerk’s hand latched onto Gerard’s chin, holding to tight it ached. But almost felt… nice? Gerard hated the warmth that curled in his chest. He hadn’t been touched by another human in so long. The feeling of skin on his was so rare Gerard struggled to remember the last time it had happened. It must have been in rehearsal when Ray helped him up after his legs gave out. He could still clearly remember Ray’s concerned expression before they were wrenched apart. The reconditioning that day had been brutal with the reminder of the rules No Touching!
Gerard leaned into the touch even as the grip tightened ever more. That was until the needle hit his face.
It burned going in and Gerard jerked back. A gloved hand landed on the back of his head, holding him in place and the needle slipped in just above his upper lip. The Clerk forced his lips open so he could stab the needle through the backside of his bottom lip. Then he pulled. The thread dragged through his skin making his mouth burn. A gnarled cry force its way between Gerard’s teeth as tears pulled in his eyes.
And then the Clerk did it again.
The next stitch was placed close to the last one. Gerard could feel the blood beading up on his lips and soaking into the thread as the Clerk did it again and again and again.
It didn’t take long for Gerard to realize he was being silenced. He could barely see the Clerk through the tears welling in his eyes and sliding down his cheeks. The Clerk’s brows were furrowed in concentration as he continued to stitch a neat line across Gerard’s lips. Gerard couldn’t begin to guess what sort of fiber the thread was made of but it got caught and tangled, forcing the Clerk to yank it straight. Agonized whimpers were pulled from Gerard’s vocal cord and silenced by the firm grip on his face.
When he finally finished, the Clerk stepped back and cleaned his hands on a sterile towel. The towel came back red with blood. Gerard’s blood. Gerard couldn’t feel the sensation of blood on his face anymore, just the sting, burning pain.
The soldiers released him and he dropped like a sack of flour. It jostled the stitches making Gerard cry out. But the sound couldn’t escape and the attempt to open his mouth pulled the stitches more. His vision went white as his senses filled with the sounds of gargled muted screaming. He didn’t know how long it took for his vision to return but by the time it did, his chest was heaving as he tried to suck air in through his nose.
He rolled over trying to catch site of his tormentors. The Dictator was watching him carefully while the Clerk took notes on his godforsaken clipboard.
“You have returned to us,” said the Dictator, bored. “We were quite enjoying the peace and quite.”
“When he finally stopped screaming,” muttered the Clerk. The Dictator made a dismissive noise.
“And now for the next part.”
The Clerk’s head jerked up as Gerard groaned. It wasn’t over? What more could they do to him without wrecking him completely. He had another show to do didn’t he? They-they couldn’t wreck him completely. Right?
The Dictator stood and stepped forward until he was towering over Gerard’s pitiful figure. He carefully pulled his gloves off and held them out. The Clerk took them with shaking hands and the Dictator didn’t so much as glance at him. Then he sank to his knees and reached out.
Careful fingers ran over Gerard’s forehead, brushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes. Gerard whimpered, trying not to lean into the touch. He was aching for it even if was from the man who had ordered his lips sewn shut. More useless tears slipped down Gerard's cheeks at his own treachery.
The Dictator’s hand wandered lower, popping the snaps on his makeshift hospital gown. Gerard immediately tensed again, heart stuttering as the warms hands brushed along his bare chest and torso. What was happening-
The hands stopped low on his stomach, right above the waistline of his pants.
“I hear this is an activity you and the Short one enjoyed partaking in,” he said lightly, as if Gerard wasn’t about to hyperventilate. Gerard shut his eyes tight, as if that could block out the onslaught of torment. “Consider this a gift. An apology for the torment you just endured.”
His voice was dripping in sarcasm and barely contained glee. A warm hand hatched around Gerard’s chin and the singer’s eyes flew open as he was jerked to face the Dictator. Those icy blue eyes dug their hooks into him, searing his skin more than the needle managed to do.
“I want you to remember this, next time you think about acting out, vermin.” The Dictator was all but snarling now. “However bad you think this is, just know that I can always make it worse. What if the others were involved? Perhaps your brother?”
A pained noise burned Gerard’s throat at the thought. He couldn’t hurt Mikey he just couldn’t Gerard couldn’t let that happen. What was he thinking, fighting this? He couldn’t do this he couldn’t and now he was paying the price for thinking he was anything more that what he was: just some fucked up musician with delusions of grandeur.
The Dictator went through the motions as if reading them from a script. Every touch seared at his skin, turning from something coveted to something to escape from but he simply didn’t have the strength. The best he could do was not cry out because that would only irritate his mouth and make it feel like the stitches were about to tear right through his mouth, leaving bloody, gaping cuts.
All he could think of was his family, how he would do this with Frank and how Frank’s touches had the care and love that the Dictator’s lacked and how Ray would have bandaged him up the way he’d done a million times after stunts went wrong and how he just had to endure and let it happen because what if they touched Mikey? He couldn’t let his baby brother go through this. He just couldn’t.
Eventually it became too much. He was only mortal and the Dictator was much more than that. The assault, the sensory overload, the ache in his chest because he couldn’t breath. Whether it was from the pain or the asphyxiation, Gerard would never know. All that he knew was that he got to go and fade into blissful darkness.
*******
“Gerard? C-Can you hear me? Fuck I think he died. Ray can you see him? Is he breathing?”
“…What do you mean is he breathing?”
“I can see his chest moving Frank he’s fine. I think…”
“None of us are fine. Gerard!”
Gerard peeled his eyes open sluggishly. He might as well have been trying to move the pyramids with the effort it took. Somehow he managed and was able to see enough to realize he was back in his cell. The cell block contained a square of bars making four separate cells, one for each of the lead members of the Dictator’s prized band. Gerard’s was right next to Ray’s and Frank’s with Mikey’s being catty corner to him. He was on his back, staring up at the ceiling.
“His eyes are open.” Ray’s voice was even but tight with worry.
“Thank fuck. Gee can you get up?”
Frank did not sound like he was even attempting to be calm. Which Gerard wasn’t quite sure he could blame him. Something had happened…
It took way too long for Gerard’s disjointed thoughts to connect the dots. He blamed the memory wipe that happened after every show damaging his brain, probably beyond repair but he really couldn’t think about that right now.
All he could think about was the Clerk and the needle and the Dictator's wandering hands-
His hand jerked up to his lips. His entire body screamed at the sensation but he he had to know.
The stitches were gone. The holes too. Like they had never been there in the first place. All that was left was a few flakes of dried blood. What the hell?
“He’s moving,” added Ray.
“I can see that dipshit but-but… Gee c’mon can you say something.”
Gerard didn’t want to speak again for the rest of his natural born life (though he wasn’t really living his natural born life now was he?). Not if this was the results. But still it was his family, he needed to do something.
So he jammed a hand under him and tried to force himself up. It worked for about a half a second. It was a wonderful half a second though. He could see Frank and Ray and Mikey, all pressed to the bars of their enclosures like he was some sort of exotic zoo animal. All their faces mirrored the same look of concern.
Then his arm failed him and he crashed to the ground. One arm stayed crushed under him and the other kicked out toward Frank.
“Gee!” Mikey rarely talked anymore. They didn’t feel the need to teach him to talk again since he didn’t sing so he simply didn’t. That was the loudest Gerard had ever heard Mikey speak since before Mexico City, however many years ago that was.
“Mm ‘kay,” slurred Gerard. He winced at the sound of his own voice but it couldn't be helped. He couldn’t worry his brother.
“Thank fuck you are still alive,” said Frank. “You were gone for a long time we weren’t… we weren’t…” His face screwed up and he reached through the bar, trying to reach Gerard. Frank loved being physically affectionate with people, from back slaps to hugging Gerard so hard Gee was sure Frank was trying to fuse into his skin. Normally Gerard loved it. It was why he was missing physically contact so much. Most of the time they were chained to the far walls of their cells so they couldn’t reach the bars near each other. It was made very clear why they had been left off now.
Gerard’s hand jerked back of its own accord, before they could so much as brush skin. The Dictator’s face invaded his vision.
I hear this is an activity you and the Short one enjoyed partaking in.
His breathing sped up, catching in his throat. He was so thankful he could breath through his mouth again, otherwise he might’ve passed out on the spot. Frank’s face fell as he retracted his arm. Gerard’s stupid brave wonderful love looked on the verge of tears. That might’ve scared Gerard more than anything else so far.
“‘m sorry,” murmured Frank. “‘m so so sorry.”
For what Gerard wasn’t sure.
“Do you have any injuries?” asked Ray after a minute of silence. “Can… can I help you? At all?”
Gerard shook his head, the movement making his vision swim. So maybe it was a lie but who cared. They all knew it was a lie. No one was willing to say anything about it.
“Are we still…doing this?” asked Frank.
He meant defying the Dictator. He meant everything they had been doing. Mikey sprinting off during the show, playing the extension to Mama. Raising hell in the small ways they could. The last thing Gerard wanted to do. He could still feel the Dictator’s hands wandering his body him too weak to fight, unable to scream.
But Gerard just nodded. He couldn’t let them down. They all looked to him for guidance and lead them because that is what he had always done. All this shit was his idea to begin with. He couldn’t abandon them now. And if he gave up they would wonder why and what would happen then? He could imagine their looks of disgust, burning his skin. He wouldn’t be able to handle it. So he kept his mouth shut, as if the threads were still holding his lips together.
******
The shows were worse after that.
Gerard danced the fine line between rebelling and behaving, trying to please both parties. He let himself be hit but continued to scream the lyrics to the dagger interlude. When they got done with reconditioning he could feel their worried looks. Every time he saw the Dictator’s face on the big screen he could sense his disapproval. He was letting everyone down in one fell swoop and there wasn’t anything he could do. This wasn’t a choice. He couldn’t let his friends get hurt by the Dictator but he also couldn’t abandon them in their fight. He had to keep the target on his back without angering the Dictator enough to warrant another special punishment.
In some ways he still felt like his lips were sewn shut. He couldn’t speak or cry out or warn anyone. Hell he couldn’t even take a full breath to the point he feared he was going to collapse. What was he going to do?
At least none of them tried to touch him again.
He didn’t know what he would do if he actually made contact with another person. It was eating them all alive, Frank especially, but Gerard couldn’t bring himself to tell them. What was he supposed to do?
*******
The answer was nothing, the situation would reveal itself without his consent (because so much of his life right now was that)
It was another day in between shows when they were all stuck in their cells, trying to pass the time without saying something that would result in another round of reconditioning. They slept in shifts during these days or at least tried to. They tried to make sure at least one person was awake at any given time so they weren’t caught unaware. Unfortunately, they all ended up passing out eventually, the physical and mental strain being too much or none of them were able to sleep due to the fear of the nightmares that follow.
It was Frank’s turn to be on watch but Gerard couldn’t sleep. Anytime h close this eyes he could picture hands wandering up to the fasteners on the hospital gown they had given him and never bothered to switch out. That kept him wide awake and staring at the wall, trying to think up a way out of this situation.
“Can you please just tell me what is going on?”
Frank’s voice, however quiet, sounded like a bombshell in the silent room. Gerard jumped a mile, almost slamming his head into the metal bars.
“Whatever it is I can take it. You don’t have to try to protect me. You don’t have to try to protect any of us but especially not me. I can handle it. I won’t say anything if you don’t want me to I just-” His voice crack and the ache flared up in Gerard’s chest. “I just want to know what is going on. I already feel like I’m drowning in the dark here.
Boy did Gerard understand that. That did make him feel bad. This situation was already bad and confusing enough without them working against each other. But even as he tried to form the words they got stuck in his throat.
“Is it something I did? Did they tell you I did something? This is the first time they’ve left us here unchained and even still you won’t...”
“‘ts not you,” murmured Gerard. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry just tell me what they did to you. And why aren’t there any… indications?”
He meant why are there no open wounds. Why wasn’t he able to just look at Gerard and tell what had happened?
“They fixed me I guess.” Gerard’s voice was barely more than a mumble. The Dictator didn’t want his doll out of commission for long. He had to sing again too soon after the punishment.
“Its just that we care about you Gee. We want to help but we can’t if you don’t tell us what happened.”
Gerard stayed silent.
“And this whole rebellion thing-” Gerard tensed up. Didn’t Frank know that they were being monitored? Every movement, every word being record to be used against him later. “You aren’t fighting anymore. Not that I blame you, Ray has been a lot more worried recently too but…” Frank paused and groaned. “This is going to sound so stupid but bear with me. You used to have this fire in your eyes. You wanted to burn this place to the ground. Now you are just scared. What changed?”
“I don’t want anyone to get hurt,” whispered Gerard. “Not anymore.” Why couldn’t Frank drop it? Why couldn’t he see how desperately he wanted to never have to think about it again?
“I understand that but what did he do to you? Why are you so quiet now?”
“Because he sewed my goddamn lips shut Frankie,” croaked out Gerard. He tried to sound mad. He was mad but it felt more like the words were being torn out of him. “I couldn’t talk or breath or scream and then he- he touched me and-and…”
A look of horror traced Frank’s face.
“W-When you say touched?”
Bile rose in the back of Gerard’s throat and he swallowed it down, trying to block the images from his mind. At least Frank got the message.
“Oh,” he choked out. “Oh God Gee I’m so sorry-”
“He did what?”
There was a shuffle as Ray sat up and moved closer to the bars. Mikey was still out cold for the time being. All the best. Gerard could still see the Dictator’s smirk when he mentioned dragging Mikey into this.
“I think he… he raped Gerard,” said Frank. His voice was barely above a whisper as if that could make it go away. Tears slid down Gerard’ face as he buried his head in his knees. He hated what was happening, what had happened, everything. How he ached for a friendly touch but knew he would jump a mile if anyone ever came near him again.
“That’s fucked up,” spat Ray. “Why would he? Was it you stopping the Clerk? Is that why you haven’t wanted to…do anything?”
Gerard nodded into his legs. He just needed it all to stop. He couldn’t keep fighting and things wouldn't get better on their own so he had no choice but to be stuck in this hell until he died with no chance of being brought back to this hell.
“Then no more okay?” said Ray. He was obviously scrambling, his words coming out rushed and panicked. “We can stop. We can make sure this doesn’t happen again.”
Gerard laughed. Genuinely laughed out loud because who were they kidding? They were powerless against the Dictator. There was nothing any of them could do.
“I know, I know.” Gerard looked up just in time to see rake a hand through his messy curls. “That doesn’t mean anything but we can try. God that’s so fucked.”
“Don’t keep shit like this from us!” interjected Frank. “What if we had done or said something that made it so much worse and he had done it again? We need to know, we have to be on the same team here okay? Otherwise we really are done for.”
“That’s all we got right now,” added Ray. “We are a team, we are still together. Together we can do a lot of shit, including fighting this.”
Frank’s hands were knotted in his lap. Now would be the time where he would take Gerard’s hand and try to comfort him but he didn’t even attempt it. Gerard’s chest ached but he couldn’t bring himself to move.
Because at the end of the day it didn’t matter if they knew or not. None of them were going anywhere anytime soon. The only reason they were allowed to have this conversation was because there was only one conclusion.
They were powerless to fight back.