i am a monster

HAPPY FIFTH OF NOVEMBER

2009-11-05T14:58:03Z

OH, BEAUTIFUL IS IT NOT?

aceles @ 2009-11-03T15:54:00

2009-11-03T22:15:28Z

So I made an executive decision about an hour ago. I didn't talk to anyone about it, I didn't discuss it with anyone, I just made a decision.

It's not that big of a deal, I guess. It kind of is, for me. I don't know, but in case anyone is curious:

I've taken down everything I posted. The entries are all still there--privated, some of them--but none of the files are. I've also asked jinjurly to remove my files from her archive.

Why? I kind of had an epiphany today. I was talking to someone and they asked whether or not I was worried about someone finding my podfic and and podcasts and using them to hurt me, denying me of a job in the future or trying to hurt my chances of getting into a school.

I was gripped by a fear that I can only describe as paralyzing. I'm only now getting over it, and I'm still a little shaky. I can't explain it. I've never had a panic attack before, but that's what it felt like. I've thought this question over time and time again, but I was always able to brush it off and rationalize it.

But when it comes down to it, there's always a chance. And when I weigh the potential damage I could be dealt by someone linking my fics and audiofics and my love of slash to me in real life, it just doesn't seem worth it. I love podficcing, but I love writing alot more. And I realized that I'm never going to be able to enjoy fandom if I have to constantly live in fear that someone is going to discover who I am.

So I've made an executive decision. I'm ridding myself of that anxiety. And you know what? I feel better. I've felt this way for a while, but didn't want to let on too much because I was enjoying doing it and the attention and I felt a pressure to go on. But if I have to choose between podcasting/podficcing and writing as my contribution to fandom, I will pick writing every time.

I hope you guys aren't disappointed in me for not being braver or tougher, but I honestly feel like a weight has been pulled off my shoulders. When I started podficcing it was fun. Recently it became more and more of a burden and a fear wrapped around my neck.

There may be a point where I feel comfortable putting my stuff back up, but for now, I don't. I hope you guys will respect my decision and nobody will be too mad at me. I love you guys, and never think that your love, art, donations, hugs, and squeezes didn't make my last year so much better.

And christ, it's not the end of the world as we know it, yeah? I'm still going to be writing, which is what I've always focused on anyway. Maybe I'll actually get stuff done now, ROTFL.

I'm going to go watch some MST3K now and decompress. On the upside, it's one less distraction keeping me from getting my fics done. Focus on the bright side, right?

aceles @ 2009-10-24T15:01:00

2009-10-24T20:04:28Z

I have not been doing very well in the inspiration department this week. Aside from rp I've been really, really blocked, and it's frustrating the hell out of me. I think I need a refresher. So!

10 WORDS OR LESS meme
You post a pairing.
I write 10 different categories.
Each in 10 words or less.

❶. Angst:
❷. AU:
❸. Crack!fic:
❹. Crossover:
❺. First Time:
❻. Fluff:
❼. Humor:
❽. Hurt/Comfort:
❾. Smut:
❿. UST:

TOTALLY STOLEN FROM expletives. I'd just like to point out that I am really unlikely to make the 10 word limit.

AND YOU CAN ONLY POST EACH PAIRING ONCE. SO THAT I DON'T END UP DOING 15 FRERARD VERSIONS. XD

ETA: OH MY GOD YOU GUYS ARE INSANE. I didn't expect nearly this many responses. I just got home from school and I'm off to work in forty five minutes, but I'll try to start on these tonight. Barring that, I'll work on them tomorrow. Peace, darlings.

aceles @ 2009-10-16T08:17:00

2009-10-16T13:18:10Z

"Before I got on the plane this morning (yesterday morning? 24 hours ago, anyway) I recorded my NPR MORNING EDITION piece on Audio Books. I interview David Sedaris and Martin Jarvis (who recorded the GOOD OMENS audiobook they're releasing on Nov 10th in the US) and Don Katz from Audible and Rick Harris, who produced/directed me in many of my early audiobooks. It'll be broadcast in November and I'm sure I'll be back in time to tell you when it'll be broadcast (with longer versions of the interviews on the web)."
-Neil Gaiman's Journal

<3________________<3 MY HERO OF AUDIOBOOKS TALKING ABOUT AUDIOBOOKS WITH A WRITER I LOVE AND TALKING ABOUT HIMSELF DOING AUDIOBOOKS.

*Melts into a puddle of happee*

final countdown DOO DOO DOO DOO DOODEEDOODOODOO

2009-10-16T02:24:15Z

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! (DISREGARD IF YOU HAVE NO STAE IN BELLUM LETALE, FLISTERS)

This is your final warning. If you put a hold on a character or a played by on 10/02 and you haven't applied or asked me for an extension, your holds will be revoked tomorrow morning. Those people are dwg, expletives (Zero I know you told me you were having trouble with your app, but I just wanted to check in and see if you wanted an extension?).

The people with only a few days left are: kittywolf, chinacup, and ginnie_jazz. Again, if you need an extension, just let me know!

COME AND DANCE THE MACABRAY

2009-10-13T21:17:06Z

DUDE

A BUNCH OF RANDOM GOTHS DANCED THE MACABRAY.

AMAZING.

rp nooooote

2009-10-13T14:01:32Z

So. Today is my first day off in like five days (yusssss) so I am devoting it to fun stuff like writing and Halloween shopping and modly duties!

Those of you who have holds at Bellum Letale, who made them in my journal on 10/02--you guys have about three days left before you need to apply or relinquish your hold. If you need an extension, however, that is no problem whatsoever. Just comment to me here and ask for one and I'll give you the extra week or whatever. It's not like people have challenged any of the holds already up, so it's no big deal for me to renew them.

If, however, you've changed your mind and you don't want to apply, that's fine. Just tell me! It's no big deal either way, I'd just rather know for sure one way or the other than have to drop holds because I wasn't contacted, especially if you still plan on applying.

So this is your heads up. <3 Again, no big either way, I am super flexible, it's just that I sort of wanted to be started soon, within the next week and a half or so.

Also, if you don't have a hold yet or want to switch your hold, I'm going to be adding some Peter Pan characters later today, and we just got our first accepted application, this one for a Wendy Darling. :D

ONE MORE sorry gaiz--it's a REVIOW

2009-10-11T17:30:10Z

So. To cap off my spam of your Friends page today, a bit of a review of the book "Julie and Julia" which I just finished.

Though to be honest, it wasn't quite as frou frou as I had expected. I read the book after seeing and thoroughly enjoying the movie, and I was genuinely surprised by it. Julie Powell is funny, and not the kind of funny you usually see in memoirs or books about significant parts of people's lives or whatever. She's acerbic and interesting and totally unafraid to show her behavior through a microscope. To be honest? Alot of the time she comes off as...how do I say this nicely. Kind of a whiner. But she's whiny in th way everyone is whiny, in the way I myself am whiny, and she's funny enough that the fact that she has a meltdown every time something she's cooking doesn't work is totally forgivable. Also, the woman was under alot of stress.

For those of you not in the know, Julie is one of the first bloggers ever to really make it big. She did a blog on salon.com for a year where she cooked her way through all 524 recipes in Julia Child's cooking masterpiece 'Mastering the Art of French Cooking.' She started out with no one reading and ended with book deals and jobs writing about food for stuff like The New York Times. Very rags to riches, really inspiring.

She did this while working a hellish temp job at the company that was trying to manage the damage left over from 9/11 in New York (the book starts in May 2002 or so, I think) and while living in a cramped, kind of gross apartment in Long Island City. The book is not literally her blog copied and pasted, it's more like sections from her blog bridged with the things she wasn't writing about and rewritten, and it's vastly entertaining. I laughed and snorted out loud a couple times, which I never do.

And I have to tell you, this book hit me on a few levels. First and foremost, it made me want to cook. Cook alot. Cook alot of buttery french food.

The other level that it hit me on, and the reason I'm talking about it here, is that I haven't ever read the experiences of another blogger. I can relate so deeply to some of the stuff she's talking about that it was a big part of why I enjoyed the book. She has anxiety attacks over whether or not anyone is reading, she talks about the nutty people who leave her comments, she puts up a little donation button and is shocked when people actually send her donations--I was reading it going "Holy shit, that's the last six months of my life."

Long story short: If you like food or cooking or like reading about food and cooking, if you can take a little whininess that comes out under very much justified circumstances, and if you blog? This is definitely a book for you. I doubt it'll change your life, but I know it gave me hope, which is saying something. I'd give it 3 out of 4 stars.

Now, off to shower and prep for work.

Oh, and by the way, you know what's awesome?

This is fucking awesome.

AND

AND

WHAT

I JUST

HDFBAKDJHFGSADF

A MUSICAL EPISODE OF BATMAN

WITH NEIL PATRICK HARRIS AS THE VILLAIN

I JUST

JSHDFBALJDFLASKDF

BPB NEWS

2009-10-11T16:48:08Z

So good news and bad news!

The good news is, about five of us got together on Skype last night and had a grand fucking old time. We basically did a live BPB, which rocked. Alot of laughs were had, and it was described as a 'girl's night'. Badfic and horrific sex toys included.

The bad news: I tried to record it, but callburner for some reason refused to co-operate. It seems that it works fine with voicemails but doesn't like skype calls. And Panduh and paradoxicpirate who also recorded it ended up with really echoy recordings that broke up constantly and were, frankly, unlistenable.

So we're not going to be able to post it. And frankly, I kind of expected this to happen. People have been asking for a co-hosted episode for a while, and I was hesitant to do it because I knew it was likely to turn out this way. It's really difficult to do with more than, say, two or three people who don't all have top of the line computers with great mics. The lag, the breaking up, makes it genuinely hard to listen to. So as much as I want to do a group co-hosted episode, it doesn't look like it's going to happen any time soon.

But it was absolutely worth a try and I am so glad we did. I laughed my ass off. XD I'll likely still try to do the episode with Bell, because she's got a sweet computer and I think it'd be alot easier only between two people. But she's been wicked busy lately, so I'm not sure anymore if episode 15 will be with her or by myself and then one of the episodes following will be us together. It really depends on when we can get together, and there is a time zone difference, so.

BUT. All in all, I had a really good time. My family were all out of the house last night, and it gave me something super fun to do. Thanks to you guys who showed up and partied down and rocked out with me, we need to do this again sometime in a more informal way.

All that aside I wanted to put out a request. Is there anyone out there who knows how to create an RSS feed? I'm starting to seriously consider putting BPB up on itunes,which is sort of covered now because Bell has offered some free domain space to me. My biggest roadblock now is my total lack of knowledge about RSS, so if anyone out there knows what they're doing and can help me out, please contact me.

SKYPE PARTY WOOOOO

2009-10-11T01:45:16Z

So if you're going to skype tonight and join in on our LIVE BPB! We will be starting officially in 15 minutes. I am 'Donthaveajungian' at skype, and you can contact me there. <3

UUUUGH

2009-10-10T17:09:04Z

NEVER LET ME NEAR PROMPT COMMUNITIES. SON OF A BITCH. BUT YOU GUYS. I THINK I JUST HAD A HEART ATTACK.

SOMEONE HAS REQUESTED BOTH A CABARET AU AND A HAPPY APOCALYPSE AU. WHY DO THEY KNOW WHAT MY FAVORITE THINGS ARE? SON OF A FUCKING BITCH.

Cabaret as in the musical, by the way. If I picked up either one, it'll probably be sort of short form since I have other stuff to write but really could use something fun to vent steam with. I do love to shake things up, so either one will probably be sort of on the cheerful side, though both would likely involve darker humor.

Can I get a vote one way or the other? I know most people will go Apocalypse because I'm likely the only person here who loves Cabaret as I do, but LOOK, LIZA MINELLI WAS ALREADY IN MAMA AND I'M PRETTY SURE GERARD SECRETLY WANTS TO BE HER, SO IT TOTALLY WORKS.

This is all I am going to be able to think about at work today.

ETA: ALSO very important. Is anyone going to be around tonight to talk to me on skype? I was thinking of doing an impromptu group podcasting thing, because Bell's been really busy lately. If you are going to be around, let me know. I'll likely get on around 9 after I get home from work and have some time to eat, and if there are a couple people who show up I might whip out some badfic and sex toy links and record it. I'd also love it if you guys could record it as well, just in case I crash and lose audio. There are tons of free skype recorders around, including 'callburner' which you can get a free trial of and I'll be using.

Even if this doesn't happen tonight, it's still something I'd like to do. :D

ETA2: OH and people without mics are welcome to just pop in and im. And things. :D

fanmix: but i love you

2009-10-09T19:18:53Z

So despite poll results, I chose to go with obsessive love as my first fanmix topic because those were the tracks I kept noticed as I went through my library. Plus, it gave me an excuse to make a pair of fun new photomanips. :D

I went with a wide range of tones--from wistful unrequited love to intense, screaming "break your windows and breath over you while you sleep" stalking love, all obsessive and unrequited. We start with the ultimate in stalker songs and end with what is essentially a breakup song, that could easily lead back into the beginning of the mix, and around and around again. The cycle of love. GIANT VERSIONS of both the front and back cover are included in the rar. Track list, download link, and back cover under the cut. Original stock from deviantart. Note: I resized them, so they may still be GIANT in the preview versions for a bit, but that will resolve itself shortly.

Note--according to the RIAA, you need to delete any music after 24 hours after you download it to preview it, so I expect everyone to do just that.

DOWNLOAD THE .RAR

1. i will possess your heart - death cab for cutie
If only you'd give him the chance, it could be beautiful. Until then, he'll just watch you from a distance.

there are days when outside your window
i see my reflection as i slowly pass
and i long for this mirrored perspective
when we'll be lovers, lovers at last
you've gotta spend some time love
you've gotta spend some time with me
and i know that you'll find, love
i will possess your heart

2. i love you - the dandy warhols

The phone call in the middle of the night from a voice you don't recognize.

i love you
i love you
i love you
i love you
i love you
i love you

3. el tango de roxanne - moulin rouge
The jealous lover.

his eyes upon your face
his hand upon your hand
his lips caress your skin
it's more than I can stand

4. face to face - siouxsie and the banshees
Lying alone at night, dreaming of how you two are meant to be together, how it will be when you finally come to your senses.

face to face, my lovely foe
mouth to mouth, raining heaven's blows
hand on heart, tic tac toe
under stars, naked as we flow

5. back of my hand - gemma hayes
And you know you feel the same way that I do--don't try to deny it. You may go to her now, but you'll be back.

but there's something in your ways
that keeps me vying for a connection
and I know you feel the same
it's become a two-way addiction

6. the calendar hung itself - bright eyes
But I love you more. You can't leave me for him.

does he kiss your eyelids in the morning when you start to raise your head?
and does he sing to you incessantly from the space between your bed and wall?
does he walk around all day at school with his feet inside your shoes?
looking down every few steps to pretend he walks with you.
oh, does he know that place below your neck that is your favorite to be touched
and does he cry through broken sentences like I love you far too much?

7. the horror of our love - ludo
I will stop at nothing to be with you.

i'm a killer
cold and wrathful
silent sleeper
i've been inside your bedroom
i've murdered half the town
left you love notes on their headstones
i'll fill the graveyards
until I have you

8. kill! kill! kill! - the pierces
You have to take me back. I can't stop thinking about you.

well you could wash my bain
you could tear out my heart
but I would never forget you.
you could change my name
i could make a new start
but I would never forget you

9. i do - placebo
Even if I know it will never happen, I can enjoy your friendship. And imagine I was you.

i wanna be a girl like you
the way you swing your hips in jeans.
i wanna wear my face like you
shiseido, mac, and maybelline.
i wanna paint the town with you
and tickle you until you scream.
i wanna fall in love with you
i wanna say i do.

10. strangled - snake river conspiracy
But you don't understand. Maybe this brick through your windshield will make it clear.

and in this loneliness
i'm gonna show you
i couldn't leave
to love you
to need you
to take you down
i love you.

11. nothing better - the postal service
You can't leave if i won't let you.

will someone please call a surgeon
who can crack my ribs and repair this broken heart
that you're deserting for better company?
i can't accept that it's over.
and i will block the door like a goalie tending the net
in the third quarter of a tied-game rivalry.

aceles @ 2009-10-07T21:31:00

2009-10-08T02:32:45Z

So I just watched The Brothers Bloom, and I loved it. And clearly, because I can't watch a movie without my fandom goggles on, I calmly considered as I watched it how I would recast it.

The Brothers Way: Because come on, clearly Gerard is Stephen and Mikey is Bloom. And Pete is the eccentric billionaire who lived alone his whole life and has bizarre hobbies and fashion sense. And Bob is Bang Bang. Blowing shit up, it's his job. And Ray is the eccentric Polish guy. And, I don't know, Bert is Diamond Dog. Agree, disagree?

Anyway, the past few days have been boring and sort of lame. Aside from getting fandom stuff done, which is good, I feel like I wasted the non-working part of my week, but there hasn't really been anything to do. My friend canceled plans on me again because she's not getting a big enough pay check to go Halloween store shopping with me tomorrow, so I'll likely just come home and mope about. Lame. My friends need to work less so that they can properly cater to my social needs.

Meanwhile, I have a one page essay due tomorrow that I haven't started, but I'm going to do it before class. Unless, of course, I get side tracked, in which case I'll skip the first class in lieu of getting homework done for the second. A foolproof plan. I suck at this responsible student thing.

I don't know what to do with the rest of my evening. I wrote my app for Bellum Letale. There's people upstairs, so I can't podfic. I need to get started on the next page of TAN, but I'm too tired and lame. Maybe tomorrow on that one, I've been percolating ideas.

Maybe I'll fanmix. I've been addicted to fanmix lately, and I've been culling the best of the best from what I find.

SO FRIVOLOUS POLL TIME.

View Poll: #1467977

hayhayhay

2009-10-07T16:47:08Z

So! I finally finished my own application for Bellum Letale (ALSO WE HAVE A BADASS BANNER NOW THAT I MADE. :O). The app is for THE BIG BAD WOLF because he's a badass and I had to. :/ Also he is Cillian Murphy And his name is Shane. Score. You can check it out here.

See? I partially did it to prove that I'm not exactly looking for a novel, or anything, and it really isn't as intimidating as it sounds. It's just like filling out a form at the doctor's office, or something, if your doctor was doctor me and my prescription was joining the community.

:/

That was a poor metaphor.

FACT

2009-10-06T16:56:02Z

TWO RIDONKULOUS NOTES:

1. BRIAN SCHECHTER IS BECOMING A FUCKING STUNTMAN. THE FIC, WHERE IS IT. ALL THE MCR GUYS WORRYING ABOUT HIM BECAUSE HE'S ENDANGERING HIMSELF, HIS THRILL-SEEKING ACTUALLY BEING AS A RESULT OF BEING REJECTED BY BOB, OR SOMETHING.

RIGHT? I'M NOT CRAZY HERE. TELL ME I'M NOT CRAZY.

2. I would like to direct your attention to this man: He has the voice of satan, and I love him for it. His name's 'Godforbid' and he's the lead singer of That Handsome Devil. If you've never heard this band, go listen to 'Elephant Bones' and you'll get why I was literally shocked to discover that he is not, in real life, a giant black guy.

Or, you can just watch this video and tell me if the voice matches the face. I for one was flabbergasted.

This man can date me if he wants to.

"FACT: APPLES TASTE GOOD. AND YOU CAN THROW THEM AT PEOPLE IF YOU'RE BEING ATTACKED."

ALSO, I wrote fic based on theopteryx awesome and you should read it if you like boys who punch each other.

:/ I am developing a fetish for extreme romance.

virgin death; du sang (one shot)

2009-10-05T22:25:37Z

So. This is amazing. theopteryx is my hero, and I pledged I would write fic based on both that prompt and image. So I did! Here is 'REALLY SAD BAND BOYS GHOST OF YOU ALCOHOLISM AU'. I think this is the most I've ever written in a single burst, or certainly the most I've written recently in one long push. Oh god, I do hope this meets expectations. :/

I recommend clicking the link and ogling the fuck out of that beautiful image before reading. JUST SAYING.

Click the cut for hardcore angst, alcohol, painting, icons, flashbacks, and extreme kisses.

title: virgin death; du sang
rating: pg-13 (swearing)
words: 4614
pairing: frank/gerard

He was face to the grain on a hotel bar when someone slid into the seat beside him, nudging him with his elbow.

"Hey," a voice said, watery and far away. A groan seemed to come from somewhere outside his body, the only response he could muster. His thoughts were brief and disconnected (Did I make that sound?) and then they faded, like echoes in a well, disappearing into a place where he couldn't find them.

That was the point of getting absolutely plastered, wasn't it?

But the voice was insistent. A hand fell on his shoulder, shaking him. "Hey. Wake up."

He rolled his head sideways so that he could squint at the person shaking him. They looked familiar, but he couldn't identify them. "Ow," he muttered vaguely, like the firm shaking had wrenched his arm off. "Stop. Stop, I'm awake."

The face resolved itself--male, familiar, but still unidentifiable in his current haze. He plumbed the depths for a name, but it was too dark down there to find anything at the moment.

"Gerard?" the man asked. "It is you, isn't it." There was something in his voice--disappointment? He wasn't sure. The man sighed. "Come on."

Just like that, he was being hoisted off the bar. His head rolled back, and a brief laugh escaped him--the room rolled the opposite direction of his head. Then he doubled over, spilling his guts onto the floor, and the shoes of the man supporting him.

The man cursed, "Fucking hell. Alright, just hang on." He didn't let go of him however, helping him out the door.

They walked for what felt like a very long time, until they reached a car. Gerard was in no state to question this, but he tried. "Where are we going?" he asked, feeling very small and very sick.

"To my apartment," the man said. "I don't think you could give me directions to yours right now if your life depended on it."

He sounded sort of angry, which was vaguely disconcerting. But there was something in his tone--

"Frank?" he asked. The man's frown tightened at the edges. "You're Frank," he stated.

"Yeah, I am," he said, and glanced at him. "And you're three sheets to the wind. Get in the back."

He helped him into the back of the car, laying him there on his stomach. His face rested against the cool, smooth leather, and he was passed out before the door had shut behind him.

**

Open mouths and empty eyes everywhere. Plagues coming in threes. Gas masks. Dirty looks. Humming sounds, when bullets hit the water traveling too fast to track. All he ever saw of them was the trails they left behind, tunnels driven into the water, and the crimson blooms they created.

Sand in his teeth and mouth, on his tongue. His heart ramming against his rib cage like it would explode. Fumbling, trembling hands, barbed wire inches from the back of his neck, and hands on every part of him, hands holding him to the sand. When he screamed, it was still barely audible over the bombs and the machine gun fire, rendering his grief small and unimportant.

Mikey--

**

When he woke up, he was laying on a new surface--fabric. Scratchy fabric.

He lifted his head too quickly and moaned, dropping it again. His headache felt like his brain was about to pop out of his face through his eye socket and tap dance all over him.

He lay there for a while until the pain subsided a little, and then he attempted to sit up and get his bearings. He looked around blearily.

Well, it wasn't his apartment. Had he gone home with someone? Somehow that seemed doubtful. It wasn't as if he went to bars to pick up dates for the night. Even at his most trashed, he tended to be a bit too catatonic for even a casual pity fuck from a fellow drunkard. More often than not he woke up in the street somewhere, where ever he'd fallen after being thrown out at closing, or, more rarely, somewhere in his apartment if he got that far.

Waking up in someone else's apartment, however, was a first. And the night before was a fuzzy blank--he remembered going to the bar, drinking a few shots, and then nothing after that. The place had been pretty empty from what he could recall, and there hadn't been anyone there he recognized. So who had he gone home with?

The question of the moment. But before he could answer that, he needed some extremely irish coffee and a bottle of aspirin. And a shower. His face was cleaner than it generally was when he woke up, so someone had cleaned him off.

He rolled off the couch and wandered into the kitchen of the apartment. He checked several cupboards until he found some shitty instant coffee, and filled the dented kettle on the stove with water, flipping the stove on. All these small actions took a great deal of concentration, and when he was done he leaned back against the counter for relief.

The place was pretty nice, as city apartments went. The furnishings were clean, even if there was some trash scattered around, and there was a nice radio on one of the tables. Whoever lived here had it pretty good.

The kettle began to whistle and he started, hurriedly shutting off the stove. He paused for a moment, waiting to see if whoever owned the place had woken up. When no one stormed into the kitchen, he poured himself a mug full of coffee.

Too bad he hadn't been able to find anything in the cabinets to grease his wheels a little. The coffee was...well, shitty instant coffee, but it was something, and he started waking up a little.

He was halfway through the mug when the owner of the apartment finally came into the kitchen, wearing a rumpled pair of cotton pajama pants and nothing else. The locked eyes for a second, and Gerard felt a wave of familiarity.

"You never were a morning person," he said, and smiled faintly. All it took was the voice.

"Frank?" he asked. He was dumbstruck. "I...uh. Hi."

"Hi," he said, and leaned against the counter across from him, folding his arms. "Do you remember last night at all?"

He cleared his throat, sipping at the coffee. "...not really."

"You were passed out on the bar," he said. "I happened to be in the neighborhood, spotted you, brought you back here."

Gerard nodded, doing everything he could to avoid Frank's gaze. "Thanks."

"No problem," he said, looking him up and down. "So how've you been?"

"Fine," he said slowly, holding the mug about an inch from his mouth, curled over it like it would protect him from further inquiries. "You?"

"Alright," he said. "I've been playing with a band. We've been getting good bookings. It's not a lot of money, but it's enough to live on."

The stage, the lights, a microphone. "I'm going to school," he offered, as if that would prove something when placed against the state Frank had likely found him in the night before.

He barely knew how he was even making it through school, honestly. He was doing alright in his classes, thankfully, since he'd managed to contain his drinking to after classes, after homework. He did have priorities.

There was a long silence as Gerard stared into his cup and Frank stared at him.

"I didn't recognize you right away," Gerard said, hurriedly, breaking the silence before Frank could. His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. "Your hair is different. And did you get more tattoos?"

"Yeah," Frank said. "These," he pointed to the red stars on both his wrists. "And this," he said, gesturing to his left arm. There was an icon there, tattooed in shades of red, of a crying woman with a halo behind her head.

"The Virgin Mary?" Gerard said, and couldn't help but smile, lopsidedly.

"I'm being protected," he said with a grin. "That's gotta be it, or I would have been worm food by now."

"By what?" Bob asked. "Your special power that makes sure you trip and fall flat on your face?"

"Hey, if I hadn't tripped, I'd be dead," Frank said, pointing at him. "That bomb hit right behind me."

"Some superpower," Mikey said with a snort.

"I think it's the Virgin Mary," Frank said. He was received with laughter and jeers. "Hey, you never know. Maybe she decided she's finally found the guy who she thinks is good enough to give it up to."

"That's blasphemy," Gerard said, laughing through it.

"I'll make it up to her," Frank said. "Absolve it. I'll go to confession when we get home and I'll make her a shrine, or something. Tattoo her on my arm. Do something so nice she has to let me into heaven anyway."

"I think that's St. Peter," Mikey corrected.

"Whoever," Frank said. "They've got to let me in if I've got the Virgin Mary on my arm."

"I keep my promises," Frank said with a shrug.

Gerard's smile didn't fade, but he felt a pang. There was a silent question there. After a long moment of waiting for Gerard to say something, Frank finally voiced it.

"What about you?" he asked. "You said you'd write."

"I got pretty busy," Gerard said, a little too quickly. He looked back to his mug for comfort, but found he drained the coffee without realizing it. He set it aside. "Signing up for classes, and everything."

Silence settled between them again. Gerard studied his shoes, the hem of his coat. He hated this. This was why he didn't write, or visit, or call. Seeing Frank made him think about everything he'd been trying to forget for the past year. Everyone.

"You're still wearing that coat everywhere?" Frank asked, nodding to him. Gerard was still in the clothes he'd gone to the bar in--a dark shirt and slacks with a battered army coat shrugged over it. His medals weren't on it--he didn't even like to look at them, so how could he wear them out? Plus, his medals didn't belong on it anyway.

"Yeah," Gerard said, feeling even more self-conscious all of a sudden, like Frank might assume something based on the fact that he was still wearing the coat.

They looked at each other for a second. "You want to stay here for a while?" Frank asked. "It's the weekend. You might as well. We'll catch up."

The response in Gerard's throat was an emphatic 'No' that would lead him back to his dark apartment and the fresh bottle of gin he'd bought the day before, sitting on his bedside table, waiting for him. What came out was "Sure," almost against his will, and he got quiet after that, wondering if it was too late to take it back.

Apparently so, because Frank turned and walked back into the hallway. "I'm going to go get dressed."

**

Gerard ducked into Frank's bathroom to check his reflection. He didn't look for long. His eyes were bloodshot, and there was a bruise under one of his eyes that he couldn't place the cause of for the life of him. His hair was everywhere, and he tried to comb it into some semblance of normalcy with his fingers.

Sitting on the plane under a setting sun, sweaty hands wrapped tight around cotton cords. He shifted under the weight of his pack, imagining and re-imagining the jump.

"You scared?" Frank asked, sitting across from him.

"No," Gerard said. He wasn't, really. He'd done jumps before and survived. They were one of the few good parts of this whole bloody mess, floating weightless above the ground, drifting toward the target. When they hit the grass, reality would set back in and they'd be back to fighting. But while they were in the air, they could breathe.

"I am scared about next month," he admitted. Frank nodded. Nobody was really supposed to talk about it or call it by name, but they'd all heard the rumors. A beach attack. Dangerous under any circumstances, and this one was heavily fortified.

"Hey, if you weren't, it'd probably mean you're nuts," Frank said.

"I'm not scared," Mikey offered, and they both turned to look at him. "What? I'm not."

"Then you're crazy," Ray said solemnly.

The red light from outside glinted off of his glasses, giving them an opaque sheen. "Maybe I'm the sane one."

He splashed water on his face, which helped a bit. His headache was still going pretty strong, but it had subsided enough that he could stand in the bright, cold light of the bathroom without wanting to cover his eyes.

He checked himself again. It wasn't much of an improvement, but it was something.

**

When he got back out into the main room, Frank was pouring two fresh cups of coffee. He handed one off to him and walked over to the couch. "Thanks," Gerard said, settling into a chair across from him.

"No problem," Frank said. He had dressed in a loose fitting shirt and slacks. "You looked like you could use another one."

Gerard felt about six shades closer to human now that he was sort of washed and had some coffee in his stomach, enough that he felt on better footing to make conversation. He still wished, fervently, that the coffee was spiked with stronger stuff, however. "So, your band. Is it any good?"

Frank smiled slightly. "Yeah, we're alright. Not as good as the old band but," he shrugged, "What can you do?"

"Nothing," Gerard said, laughing a little. "A band's not a band without a bassist."

His nervous laughter died in his throat and he looked out the window. What was he trying to do, anyway? Scare Frank off? Probably. There was a reason he hadn't written after all.

He'd gotten all of Frank's letters. He left them unopened on his kitchen table, using one as a coaster for his scotch glass. He couldn't open them. He'd sit at the table, bottle and glass walling in the small pile of letters between them, and imagine a siege on them. Strafing left, strafing right, screaming, red light.

He couldn't open them because just seeing Frank's looping script on the outside of the envelope made him think about the day they'd played the dance. Everyone had signed in on a guest list, and he'd stood over Frank's shoulder watching him sign the ledger, giving the I in his last name a weird curl. And there it was on the return address--I-ero, a memory in a loop, just one more passage back to that time, to that place. God only knew what would happen when he actually opened the damn things and saw what he had to say.

"Did you get any of the letters I sent?" Frank asked, and Gerard jumped a little, almost spilling his coffee.

"No," he said. "But I moved, you know. They probably got lost in the mail."

He set the coffee down so that there was no chance he'd jump again and it'd go flying. "Weird coincidence, huh? You finding me at the bar." He tapped his fingers on the table. "I am sorry I didn't write you back," he said, looking up again.

"You said that," Frank said, with a kind of tolerance and wry amusement that tore Gerard at the edges.

"Yeah," he said. "I know. I just--I feel badly about it." He ran a hand through his hair. "Honestly, I did have time. I just haven't been in much of a writing mood."

"I kind of figured that one out on my own," he said. He paused a moment, which gave Gerard plenty of time to flush. "I talked to Bob a few days ago," he said. "He and Ray are living in the city too. Rooming together, I guess."

"--never even had a girlfriend?" Frank asked Mikey, incredulous. Sitting on the boats, headed out to sea.

"Nope," he said, smiling a little. "Well...there is this one girl."

"Aha!" Ray said. "I knew it. It's that girl who was watching you a the dance!"

"Maybe," Mikey said, smiling a little.

"So you've never done it then?" Bob asked.

Mikey got very quiet. "Well...I--"

"Oh God, a virgin!" Frank cried. "An untouched flower! His blossom not yet chopped off!"

"That makes no sense," Bob said.

"I'm shocked," Frank said. "Is anyone else shocked? Gerard? You must be shocked."

Gerard was staring upwards. "That is not something I think about. Ever."

"You're just sad for him that he's a virgin," Frank said. "Hey, Mikes, look on the bright side! If you die out there today, you'll die immaculate."

"What are the odds of that?" Gerard said. His nervousness was making a slow dive into sullenness. He was starting to see where this was going, and he didn't like it the tiniest bit.

"They've been talking about trying to get a band started up again," Frank said. "I told them I'd be happy to break from the guys I'm with now. They're pricks. But only if we've got a halfway decent vocalist."

Gerard raised his glass in cheers. "Good luck finding one," he said, and took a swallow, imagining there was some fucking whiskey in it. Christ, was Frank a nun or something? There had to be some booze in this apartment, and it took every inch of his short restraint to keep from looking for it.

"Come on, Gerard," he said. "What are you going to do, sit around drinking the rest of your life?"

That stung him. "I'm doing just fine," he said, raising his voice a little. "I'm in school, I've been working on my art--"

"There's something," Frank said. "How's that going?"

Gerard's anger subsided. God, Frank was good at this whole stupid drawing him out thing. "Alright," he said, tone guarded. "I showed one of my teachers my work. She wants to get me to do some gallery showing thing."

"That's amazing, Gerard," Frank said, shaking his head. "Did you say yes?"

Gerard shifted. "No."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't know if I want to do it yet," he said. "I don't have anything that's very...you know, big."

"Why not go for it?" Frank asked. "What can it hurt?"

Gerard bristled. "I said I don't know if I want to do it."

Frank sighed. He looked very, very tired. "Gerard, you have to do something."

"I'm going to school."

"And who knows how long that'll last?" Frank said. "If you keep things up like this? You'll be in the gutter or the hospital or the grave by the end of the year."

"I'll take the third option," Gerard said to his hands.

Gerard didn't see Frank get up, nor realize what was happening until a punch had thrown him from the couch. He lay on the floor, staring up at Frank who was standing over him, fists clenched.

It took him a long moment to comprehend what had just happened. Eyes wide, staring up, he said, "...you hit me."

"I can't take it any more," Frank spat. He was livid, suddenly, where he'd been collected and exasperated. Livid and there was something in there like pity that Gerard just hated. "You think no one knows what you've been doing? I thought you were dead when you didn't answer my fucking letters, I thought you'd offed yourself. So I moved here and found a job because I thought, stupidly, that if you weren't dead and I could find you that it would be enough. But it's not. I can't even look at you like this. It's so fucking stupid, you kicking yourself every second of every day over something you couldn't have prevented any more than the rest of us."

Gerard pushed himself to his feet, wavered a little, and lifted a chin. "No one asked you to get involved in my life," he said.

"So what is it then, Gerard?" Frank asked. "What's making you want to curl up and die so bad, huh? If not Mikey, then what?"

"Don't talk about him!" he yelled, and punched Frank back. He didn't try to block it, just took one on the chin. His head snapped back and then dropped again. His eyes shut, and he shook his head a few times. Then he opened his eyes again.

"You think he'd want you to sit around drinking yourself blind because of him?" he asked. "Really? He'd be pissed if he saw what you were doing to yourself."

Gerard saw red and tried to hit him again. This time Frank ducked, getting in a good uppercut.

The next few seconds were like the nights where he'd had so much to drink and the next morning all he could remember was a fuzzy redness, like light shining through closed eyelids. Bloody. Empty. When they were over, blood was oozing from Frank's nose and Gerard had him against the wall. Frank was staring back at him, perversely steady, saying nothing.

Gerard thought for a moment that he was bleeding. But the taste when it hit his lips was salt, not copper, and his tone was broken when he spoke. "Are you going to hit me again?" he asked. "Are you going to fucking torture me some more?" He shook Frank, his hands fisted in his shirt, shaking. "I don't want to think, Frank. I don't want to think about anything. Not about Bob or Ray or Mikey or you, or the war or the dance or Normandy! All I want is some quiet!" His grip on Frank was slipping. "I just want to be left the fuck alone!"

Gerard searched Frank's eyes for a response--for more anger, frustration, the tension that would lead into another punch, into more blossoming red, until he saw nothing.

Frank kissed him instead.

It was awkward, the angle--he had to lean his head in against the force of Gerard pinning him to the wall, but he managed, and kissed him hard enough the bruise a little. Gerard found himself kissing back, pressing him against the wall only harder at first, then gradually lessening the pressure until Frank slid down and had to tilt his head up to kiss him.

This was a memory he didn't have. He had bullets in the water, leaving behind insubstantial trails like darting fireflies on a dark night. He had standing in front of a microphone, watching girls dance and one girl sit alone, saving her smiles for the stage. He had marching orders, shoulder to shoulder, laughter, and the thrum of guitar strings. He had loose gauze, rolling across the sand, shaking and shivering, taut like the threads of fate, waiting to be cut. But he'd never had this, never had the touch of Frank's lips, had no context to trace them to.

He broke off for a brief moment. His nose brushed Frank's, trailing wetness. "Christ," he said, his voice cracking. "I'm a fucking mess."

"You're a fucking mess?" Frank murmured. "I just kissed a guy who punched me in the face."

A faint smile tugged at the edges of Gerard's lips. "So did I," he said.

"So we're even," Frank said. He kissed him again, lightly this time, and there were blood and tears in it.

**

When the gallery opened their showing of Gerard's works, he was insanely nervous. It had taken Frank standing somewhere nearby pretty much all day to prevent him from running down to the corner store and picking up something to fortify himself--two months clean, though, and he didn't break it.

The gallery was a sort of cafe/art installment, and all sorts of people came in to drink coffee and chat and look at the art. There were sketches and paintings of various sizes, a lot of them on the war. It had been billed as, 'A Soldier's Take' or something like that, and the gallery was keen on playing off the novelty of an artist soldier.

The biggest piece at the back drew bids all evening, and the gallery owners had to tell the patrons repeatedly that it was not for sale, at the request of the artist.

Anonymous, Gerard drifted through the crowds of people, listening to their praise--"The colors! Oh, and the lines in this piece!" "The raw emotion here just seeps through the canvas"--and trying to find a place to sit down away from the crowd.

He couldn't help but feel sort of overwhelmed. Two months ago, he'd been eking through college and drinking his nights away alone. The nights were still hard, but not as cold anymore, and he was just starting to settle into the idea that things were getting better.

Frank darted away to go get coffee for both of them, leaving Gerard stranded at the back of the gallery. Most of the patrons had already seen the mural piece, and had settled into their corners to talk, so he was alone before the massive painting.

He'd been worried that the works he had weren't big enough, so one day when he came home he found a massive canvas on the floor of Frank's apartment, waiting for him.

He'd attached it to the wall since no easel was big enough to fit it and had stared at it for days, agonizing over what to paint. He didn't want to waste it, couldn't waste it, not when Frank had gone to such expense to get it.

He wasn't able to start until, in the middle of the night, he had a dream. It was sort of misty and hard to describe, but he remembered seeing Mikey there. He was still in his uniform, and there was blood coming from beneath his helmet. He'd been smiling, though, and sort of serene, though with his glasses cracked so, it had to be hard to see.

Gerard had woken up in a cold sweat and gone to the canvas. He'd painted and then painted some more. When Frank got up that morning he had already covered a quarter of the canvas with sketched lines and painted color, all muted but driven through with red.

When it was finished and dry, he sent it out to the gallery without ever really taking time to look at the whole. He'd spent so much time on each small piece that now, looking at the finished product, it was like looking in some strange, dark mirror, shining every memory back at him. There was a table in front of the painting, and he sat down on the seat behind it, staring up at it.

There it all was. Marching. Dropping. Mikey. The city. Letters. And Frank, not least of all Frank, the biggest figure in the picture.

"I got your coffee," said a voice, and Gerard turned to face the picture's doppelganger. He was holding a cup out to him and Gerard took it mutely, setting it down on the table in front of him. Frank sat down across from him, studying his face.

Frank reached out and touched the side of Gerard's face. Gerard leaned in, over the table, and inclined his head toward him. Frank held his head against his shoulder. Gerard reached up and laced his fingers through Frank's bright red tie, his middle finger slipping through the knot. He looked at the frayed edge of his sleeve, Mikey's sleeve, the sleeve of Mikey's coat, and imagined a time where there had been no red in his life.

:o

2009-10-05T14:10:31Z

Alright, ladies!

As an FYI--Bellum Letale, the fairy tale roleplaying community. I have yet to get a single application, but I have quite a few holds. Just to get this out there, the parts remaining without holds are:

Red Riding Hood
Bluebeard
Prince Charming
The Snow Queen
Snow White
Cinderella
The Frog Prince
The Black Forest Witch
Hansel
Gretel
Jack of Tales
The Little Mermaid
Sweeney Todd
Mrs.Lovett
Pinnochio
Rumpelstiltskin
The Pied Piper
Rapunzel
King Arthur
Guinevere
Morrigan
The Baba Yaga
Aladdin
The White Snake
Monkey
The Witch of the West
The Witch of the South
Dorothy
The Scarecrow
The Tin Man
The Cowardly Lion
Dracula
Jonathan Harker
Mina Harker
Van Helsing
Alice
Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde

There's still about a week and a half before people's holds are up, but I know a couple people mentioned interest who haven't secured parts yet, and the most desired parts are going pretty fast. I haven't written my own app yet, so no worries, you have time, I just wanted to be sure I mentioned it again so nobody misses something they want, especially since I'm going to start advertising around today.

If anyone above strikes your fancy, you can go put a hold on them and your desired PB over here. And if you need to default on a hold, just let me know. :D

oc drabble time is go

2009-10-05T06:02:23Z

I went to go see Zombieland! It was fucking awesome and epic. And I drank a giant thing of cherry coke. So despite the fact that I have school in the morning, I felt the need to burn off some energy. And I've had James/Monster on the brain lately, so here's a little original fiction.

Open up, sugar, let me in.

He's having a conversation with the dead girl on the bed. He's not sure if he's forgotten she's there, or if he's just ignoring her. He's lighting up a cigarette--post-coitus. It's a tradition.

He takes a drag, and with smoke in his lungs, he exhales the words, "You really only have yourself to blame."

The room smells like copper, which is familiar and close to home, close to home as he gets. It's the only consistency in days and nights of wandering, sleeping under overpasses, next to dumpsters, and between stacks of books in the occasional library. Then again, the libraries never are him. He doesn't go in for that shit, thanks.

Her clutch is lying on the floor, open. It hasn't been touched by the spatter, and seems sort of islanded there in the middle of the filthy motel carpet.

He picks up her wallet from where it lies just outside the open mouth of the purse. He flips it open and there she is--

It's not her. She doesn't have a name, in his head, which is sort of irritating, and she's already dead so her name doesn't matter. But when every girl like her is a threat, it would be nice to have a name. Maybe then he could stop killing them. If he could just get that part back--

But no, that's not going to happen any time soon. Every time he reaches for the memory something reaches back and knocks him away, teasing. It's not his place to look. Fuck that, everywhere is his place. His reign spreads everywhere else--why not that cobwebbed corner? There's barbed wire there, and eyes that glow like his but aren't the same. After a while, he gives up.

It's not like the repetition bugs him, or that he gets bored of it. But sometimes, when he's sitting on the edge of the bed without a shirt, spattered with blood and smoking, he wonders idly how it got to be this bad, and whether it's ever going to shift for the better.

Not that he wants to settle down. Fuck no. It's just that sometimes the whole routine of it gets to him. He rarely gets out otherwise, though that's finally starting to shift in his favor, thank Christ. He just wants a little time to stretch, thanks very much. He feels like a gun in a holster some days. Every time he's pulled out, you can count on him to shoot to the very bottom of the magazine. Always lethal, every time, just a matter of aiming him at the target. But he doesn't like to be used and one of these days he's going to start something different.

One of these days.

For now, he's comfortable. The routine is fun because of the little differences--shades of blonde hair, different screams, where they get cut or gutted or de-headed. He switches it up, keeps things interesting in the bedroom--this one, that one, any one. And if the girl is smart enough to stay away from him, all smirks and hair falling into his eyes pushed back, head tilted back a bit to let the light catch his eyes, and Are those contacts? and he knows he's got her interest, takes her back to whatever motel he can find and the routine begins again--

If she's smart enough not to fall for it, not to be a bullseye, then she can go. Because she never was smart enough to see the bullet coming.

H/C Meme: A Company of Wolves

2009-10-04T04:41:54Z

IT IS DONE.

AND IT IS POSTED. Go. Read it. Enjoy it. Hate it. Lick it. HAVE SEX WITH IT I DON'T EVEN CARE BUT IT IS DOOOOOONE and I don't have to THINK about it anymore unless everyone loves it in which case :DDDDD but either way I am FREEEEEEE. And actually pretty proud of the damn stubborn horrible thing. A giant fic and a BPB in one day? I KNOW. A BONANZA OF THINGS. I AM GOING TO GO SLEEP NOW.

Part 1

Part 2

H/C Meme: A Company of Wolves Part 1

2009-10-04T03:34:55Z

title: A Company of Wolves
pairing: Frank/Gerard
rating: pg-13 (language, mild gore)
betas: chinacup, speep, kittywolf, bell_z
words: 13,630
prompt: 61. Werewolves and the werewolf hunters who love them.
summary: Dying, laughing, twitches in the night. Groans, splitting, opening up. The time for action is now, but now is already ten seconds too late. A love story about teeth, and what their presence can do to a relationship.

Art by speep.

a company of wolves

little girl, it seems to say
never stop upon your way.
never trust a stranger friend
no one knows how it will end.
you are pretty, so be wise.
evil lurks in every guise.
now, as then, tis simple truth--

sweetest tongue hides sharpest tooth.

-from the film 'a company of wolves', "The Message/Main Theme" by George Fenton

It was the highest profile assignment Frank had ever received. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't a little nervous.

But it would be fine. He was good enough for it, he was tough enough for it, he was...devout enough. That was key.

He'd been doing small stuff for a while. Guard duty on captive weres, patrolling outside headquarters. So why the promotion? Why the decision he was a soldier worthy of an assignment of this caliber?

Simple.

**

Two nights before the assignment had come in straight from the highest of the high ups, he'd been patrolling. Full moon patrol. Not an assignment anyone envied, and they all took turns each month so that no one had to do it more than a few times a year. Any more than that, and true paranoia and instability tended to set in, a certain amount of which was fine—too much, however, and the soldiers became unusable, which was no good at all.

It had just been him and Bryar that night. There'd been a skirmish out in the woods the night before with some of the crazy, feral weres. Not that all of them weren't a certain brand of nuts, but these were the worst, not even attempting to lead normal lives anymore. Some weres were able to hide pretty well, if they had enough people to help them and a heavy chain when the full moon came. But usually, one way or the other, they'd get loose, somebody would die, and the horror of their situation would send them off the deep end.

And that would be when they'd join one of the packs in the woods. If they couldn't live as humans anymore, why not live as animals? Or, at least, live where they were less likely to be found and killed? Frank supposed it had a certain kind of logic to it.

Personally, he was pretty sure he'd just shoot himself in the head.

Somebody had to stand outside the gates to defend against potential attack. They had men at the top of the wall, of course, but that usually proved not to be enough. They moved so fast, and could jump high enough to scramble freakishly fast over the thirty foot walls. Once they got in, anyone catching a few z's was a fucking goner. It wasn't like they could just kill the weres and then do damage control. Anyone who'd been bit had to be taken to the dungeon. Those were the rules. Just because the change was a once-a-month thing didn't mean they weren't changed in some fundamental way.

Frank had seen it. Rational, good people gone feral insane. It was almost worse when they didn't lose it, pleaded to be let go. Sometimes you could hear the sane ones screaming from the dungeon all the way in the barracks. He'd almost gotten used to it by now, but it still made it tough to go to sleep, some nights.

Still, it never lasted long. They were always torn apart by the others in the end, and there'd be quiet again. He'd seen that too. Once, while he was on guard duty, one of the feral ones screamed "Traitor!" over and over, beating a man's head in with a chunk of rock he'd pried from the wall. By the time they got the triple-reinforced door unlocked, he'd had his face buried in the guy's neck, ripping his throat out with his blunt teeth.

So. Patrol was essential.

To prevent anything from happening, there needed to be eyes on the ground who could look under the cover of the trees and spot weres on the run. They might only see them seconds before they broke from cover, but if you had a big enough gun and enough silver bullets, sometimes seconds were all you needed. Or all you had, barring that.

"Explain to me again why you agreed to replace Toro tonight?" Bob asked, lighting a cigarette. Frank had never seen someone so cool on guard duty in his life, but that was Bob for you.

"He's dog tired," Frank said, and flashed a grin, a quick white crescent in the semi-dark. "Stupid pun, you don't need to tell me."

The spotlights from the top of the wall were scanning over the treeline, as usual. Back and forth and back and forth. No lights where they were standing, though. They couldn't afford to fuck up their night vision.

"It's gotta be more than that," Bob said, his eyes never leaving the edge of the forest. "You could have just let somebody who hasn't been out on a moon night go. You were out here just last month, weren't you?"

Frank shrugged. "Yeah, but I didn't see any action."

Bob shifted his gaze for the first time, turning to look at Frank. "Is that what the job's about for you? Action?"

Frank squinted as though he were trying to make something out in the trees. Yeah, a distraction., if he could only find one. "Isn't that why everybody comes to work for the Company?"

Bob shrugged. He had one hand resting easily on his gun, one hand holding his cigarette. "Well, maybe you'll get lucky. Looks like another slow night."

"Don't say that," Frank said with a snort. "You're gonna fucking curse us both."

As if on cue, there was a howl in the woods.

At the same moment that Bob threw down his cigarette and clicked the safety on his gun off, Frank pulled his gun from his holster. Then both guns were up and both pairs of eyes were trained on the woods. They didn't need to look behind them to know that the men on the wall would have their sights trained on them as well.

There was no sound. No human sound, at any rate. The quiet stirring of wind in the autumn night. The faint creak of the spotlights as they turned back and forth, back and forth on their eternal, automatic axis. It was tempting to follow the path they made over the trees, but Frank knew better. He had his ears straining for sound and his eyes dead ahead. If they came from off to the side, he'd have the time to turn and follow that crashing, running sound they made as they came from the woods.

And then it came. Deep in the woods, yes, but it was definitely there. Something was coming through the forest, something that didn't care about being heard or seen. It had to be desperate, then. Starving, maybe. Most of the deer in these woods had been picked off, and weres seemed to prefer human flesh anyway.

Frank and Bob said nothing to one another, only waited, both holding their guns remarkably steady.

There was a flash, moving fast, and Frank knew that, had seen that speed. There was absolutely no doubting it now. It came from the woods, alone, thank god, if there had been more they would both be dead, and it was veering for Bob, and Frank was firing, no, not firing, just pulling the trigger and no bullets would come out--

and it was on Bob, it had its jaw around his leg and looked ready to tear it off and Bob was firing wildly, trying to aim down, still somehow coherent against the pain--

and Frank was dropping his faulty weapon and pulling his pistols from his hips and firing, firing, and firing again. Bullet after bullet hit home and the thing growled and began to come for him, then, but he caught it square between the eyes and it fell.

It was shifting back before it hit the ground (a boy, just a little boy and oh christ mothers used to think that little boys were terrors before the weres) and then Frank was standing over Bob with both pistols trained on his face.

He stood like that, holding Bob's gaze. He looked on the verge of passing out, and when he met Frank's eyes, then focused on the twin barrels pointed directly at his head, he smiled, just a little. He said something, choked with blood, and it sounded like "Good boy," and then soldiers were pouring out of the base and his commanding officer was putting a hand on his shoulder and telling him that wouldn't be necessary, it looked like Bob didn't have enough blood in him for the disease to take hold immediately. Blood, blood was key. A shallow bite, and you'd change immediately. Only partially (Frank remembered the class on the physiology only vaguely, but the symptoms of the immediate change he did remember: sharpened senses, sharpened teeth, incredibly strong lust for blood) of course, but it was still enough for the infected to do harm to the people around them.

With a gory wound like this the disease couldn't spread that fast. It was in the blood and the fluids after all, and Bob had already lost a lot of both.

They carried him inside on a stretcher, and Frank knew if he saw him again he'd be on the other side of a barred door. He also knew that he had been fully prepared just now to shoot his friend in the face, and that realization settled in cold around him. He reassured himself that it only meant he was a good soldier, and yet that wasn't quite enough.

**

He was commended for his bravery in the face of imminent death, as well as checked over thoroughly for marks. It didn't matter how much he snarled that the thing (it had been a boy, a boy with blonde hair and ten bullet holes) hadn't even touched him. They still kept him in the hospital ward for hours.

He didn't get back to his bunk until well after dawn. He tried to sleep, but all he could do was imagine them bandaging Bob and then dragging him downstairs to the dungeon. He wondered if Bob would fight them or go quietly. He'd always stood out at the Company for the very reason that he chafed at taking orders. Considering his prowess in combat, it was also the only reason he hadn't risen through the ranks.

So, honestly? When he was awoken the following morning by a commander and told that Bob had escaped to the woods, he wasn't all that surprised. What did surprise him was the small, quiet tug of relief in his chest. He tried to ignore it.

**

The next day, the order came down for Frank to report to the commander's office. Brian stood when Frank entered the room, only settling back into his seat when Frank took the one in front of his desk.

"Frank," he said--a breach of official etiquette, but considering that Brian had only been promoted a month before, it made sense. "I'm sorry about Bob." He pulled out a cigarette and lit it, adding, “Toro's gone now too. Seems he went and followed after him.”

Brian's posture was perfect and upright, fitting for a soldier, but his eyes held genuine empathy. Two friends gone, just like that. "No worries," Frank said, getting comfortable in the chair. Loss in this business wasn't something you could really take time out to acknowledge. That was a slippery slope to total breakdown. "So, what's this about? Are they going to give me a shiny medal?"

"Something better," he said, ignoring Frank's faint scorn. "You're getting a special mission."

That made Frank sit up. "What kind of special mission?"

"The special kind," Brian said dryly. "I can't really tell you anything about it because I don't know much. This comes from the top, Frankie. They heard about your behavior under fire and they want you for this job."

Frank didn't know what that said about the job, except that it was something different from the day to day grind, maybe even something that would actually help in some way. "I'm listening."

Brian slid an innocuous looking brown folder across his desk. "For you. Take it, read it. There's going to be a car here to pick you up tomorrow morning."

"That soon?"

"It has to be."

That response only made Frank want to tear into the folder right there, as he sat in front of him. But he restrained himself until he got back to the barracks, then sat cross legged on his bed, casting the folder aside and reading the contents over.

And over.

And over.

Post essentially to be guard duty. Guard experimental subject, test of WW007, aggressive mutagen designed to fight/kill lycanthropy leaving healthy human patient. Variables need to be tested--permanence, side effects and he was reading it again. Permanence.

A cure. They were talking about a cure.

Every time he read it, it got more surreal. Why hadn't anyone been told? Did they not want to give them even the slightest ray of hope?

If trial fails, test subject is to be immediately terminated. Weird, that underlining. Like they were afraid. Who knew what this stuff would do to the were who got pumped full of it? Maybe it would kill them slowly. Maybe it would make them even stronger. That would be a peach.

Frank thought of snarling, snapping, a girl's scream, "Good boy."

He packed his things.

**

He was turning, trying to turn, couldn't turn. Couldn't see! Not beyond the edge of his snout, no wait--

Face. He had a face.

And a nose! He could almost see it if he crossed his eyes. He felt like weeping in relief, and did, a tear tracking through the mud on his face.

He couldn't move his arms.

The relief of surviving another moon was replaced with panic. He tried to scream, and only then realized there was a tube in his throat. Then there was poking, snatches of voices--

"He's waking up."

"Quick, give him some more of the sedative."

The smell of antiseptic and metal and fear, fear that canceled out their attempts at sterilizing the room, fear that hung low and heavy and musky like a cloud. And under that, blood. Old blood, fresh blood pumping through veins, and he heard every heartbeat. And the heartbeat...matched...the beeping...

"Prepare him for transport."

**

When the car pulled up outside the base, Frank was already standing there waiting for it. He had packed a few extra sets of clothes and a book or two in his backpack. There would be food for him there, as well as more than enough to keep him busy.

The driver didn't speak to Frank--not when he entered the car, not while they were driving, not when he dropped him off. They drove through fields and a city that had been hit so hard by the disease that most of its shop fronts were shuttered, most of its windows dark. They drove through towns that bustled with people, all eying their car with suspicion. Or, more accurately, all eying the Company logo emblazoned on its side.

It didn't matter that the Company was saving lives in fighting the weres. It was a simple equation: almost everyone knew someone who'd been infected, and the Company was in the business of killing weres. Everyone wanted to believe that if they had only let their friends or family live a little longer, they would have bested their condition or proved to be of no real harm to anyone. No one wanted to believe that the people they loved had become monsters, and that being put down by the Company was the best thing they could expect after that.

Then they were past even the towns, out beyond the edges of civilization. They entered a forest, a forest quite unlike any Frank had ever seen. The woods around headquarters weren't very old, and they only stretched for a mile or so around. These woods were dark and deep. The road became rougher the further they traveled, the trees closer and closer together. The trees around them were ancient, teeming with animal life. That was one indication that the weres hadn't made it out this far yet, but with the way the disease was spreading, it was only a matter of time.

**

They arrived at their destination without fanfare. The driver waited only long enough for Frank to climb out of the car before he whipped off back down the road.

That left Frank standing alone in front of the cabin. He shouldered his backpack checked the door. There was a slot for his key card; he slid it through and the lock clicked open. He stepped inside, letting the door shut behind him. It locked with a soft electronic beeping.

The place was actually pretty nice. It only made sense--this was a special experiment, after all, and they needed Frank to feel aptly accommodated for the next month without calling the Company for more supplies. The little one-story building was cozy, with a fireplace, kitchen, and bedroom. All spacious, all well-equipped. Frank had been expecting something a little more like a hospital or a lab, all sterile white walls and complex equipment. But this wasn't a scientist's job he was performing--it was a soldier's job. A siege, in a way.

Really, if you went beyond the main room you wouldn't even know what sort of use the cabin was intended for. He wandered through the back rooms, ignoring the main one for as long as he possibly could. Then, when he'd satisfied his curiosity about the less important parts of the cabin, he walked back into the entryway.

The main room was split into two halves. One half was meant for Frank. There was a table there, on which rested a small package with his name on it. There was a chair at the table, facing the other side of the room, and a clipboard with forms centered on it perfectly neatly.

The other side of the room was sectioned off by heavy steel bars. They ran from the floor to the ceiling, only interrupted by the lines of the door. It opened with another card key slot, and the lock that held it shut was so heavy he doubted that the were would be able to get out, even if the experiment were to fail.

There was a bed bolted to the wall. It had a comforter, but no sheet. The back of the room opened onto a small bathroom, with a tiny, open shower, toilet, and sink, all in full view of Frank's table on the other side of the room. No privacy permitted, apparently.

There came a faint sound from the floor.

The were--the test subject--was curled up in the middle of the floor. He'd forgone the bed, for whatever reason, and had his knees tucked up against his chest. He was wearing generic, pale green sweat pants that tied with a drawstring and a t-shirt.

For some reason--and Frank didn't know why--he hadn't expected him to look quite like this. He didn't know what he'd expected. There had been no information about who the test subject was, whether they were male or female, black or white--but he'd somehow been expecting someone older. A were with a few more battle scars, perhaps, some prisoner they'd been keeping locked up in the cells for a while. This guy was just a little older than Frank. A few years, tops. His black hair was matted around his face, and he looked pale. Frank wasn't sure if that was the drugs or just how he looked, but whatever way he interpreted it, he did not look healthy.

Frank walked over to the table. It seemed that the were hadn't even noticed him come in, which was probably for the better. If he was going to get railed at and have to listen to him beg for mercy, he wanted to have the opportunity to arm himself with information first.

He opened the package and started reading the file inside. The instructions were pretty simple--explained in overly clinical language, yeah, but simple when he boiled them down. Apparently the lack of any sort of real comfort in the cage was to 'prevent self-termination by the subject and remove any extraneous variables,' for instance, which boiled down to 'keep him from killing himself or fucking himself up too badly.' He'd feed the test subject the provided, pre-approved food three times a day, make sure he was relatively comfortable, and not let him out of the cage under any circumstances. He'd take notes as to the test subject's state every day, remark on any changes or side effects, and if, when the next full moon came, the test serum hadn't worked, he would shoot him right between the eyes with a pre-approved silver bullet.

Alright, so the instructions didn't quite put it that way. They said to 'terminate the test subject and wait for the research convoy to arrive.'

If the serum did work, he was supposed to do the same thing, just without the shooting. Simple.

The man in the cage groaned briefly and shuddered, his feet twitching and sliding along the floor.

Frank set the file aside and went to go make dinner for himself and...test subject whatever-his-name-was. Better not to know, really. It was like naming a dog (ha ha) when you didn't know if you could keep it. Best not to get attached.

**

The test-subject food was some sort of weird white nutritional supplement paste spread over bread. One whiff of it was almost enough to make Frank feel sorry for the guy.

He walked back into the main room with a plate in each hand--eggs for him, bread-and-food-supplement for the test subject.

He set the latter down at the edge of the cage, sliding it through the small slot next to the floor. The guy was still curled up, but had apparently fallen asleep while Frank was in the kitchen. He was still twitching and moaning periodically, even in his sleep.

"Hey," he said, and the guy started awake. His eyes went wide and his hands flailed up to his face as though to protect it, and for a moment, all Frank could do was stare at the flashes of gold he could see in his irises, peeping through the gaps in his fingers and his wild hair.

Frank cleared his throat. "Uh, food."

The guy dropped his hands and slowly pushed himself to a sitting position. He wavered there for a moment, eyes still on Frank, hair partially covering his face. Then he dragged the plate toward himself and began eating with a grimace, tearing into the food. Frank wondered when he'd last eaten, how long he'd been here in the cabin by himself before he'd arrived.

Didn't matter, really. Frank went back over to the table and started eating his eggs. He was supposed to spend a good six hours a day observing the guy--that'd have to be abbreviated for today, considering that he'd gotten there so late, but he figured might as well get a good start.

He scribbled down a few vague notes--that the text subject was eating, so apparently he still had appetite, that he looked pale but pretty much healthy, and that he acted like he was in pain pretty much all the time. He didn't bother using scientific language. Christ, that wasn't what they were paying him for. If they had a problem with the way he wrote his reports, they could take it up with Brian.

He wondered if 'Test subject totally keeps glancing up whenever he thinks I'm not looking' was important enough to be added to his list of observations.

Twenty minutes into them both sitting across from each other, the silence was finally broken. "What...are you writing?"

Frank looked up. The test subject's pitched a bit high, soft, and rough, probably from lack of use. He sounded like he was still in pain, like just speaking was an effort. He had his eyes fixed on Frank. In full light, they just looked hazel, peeping through his tangled hair.

Nothing on the sheet said he couldn't talk to the guy, at least to answer his questions. Thank god they'd picked up one of the sane ones. Or maybe not--maybe that'd just make this whole thing harder. Nobody said this was going to be easy. But you put your guns to his head and he said "Good-"

"A report," he answered, turning his eyes back to it, reading over the sentence he'd just started, trying to remember how he'd been planning to finish it. "About you."

"For the Company?" he asked.

"How'd you guess?" He was wearing street clothes and there were no logos anywhere in the cabin.

"Who else is in the business of--of kidnapping people and putting them in cages?"

"Crazy people," Frank offered. "Maybe I'm a serial killer."

The guy huffed, smiling faintly. "You look too much like a Company soldier to be a serial killer. But they're kind of the same thing, so."

Frank had started scribbling away at the sheet again--not really writing anything, just looking for a distraction in hopes that the guy would go back to being quiet and creepy instead of talking and apparently bitter.

"Why am I here?" he asked, friendliness and humor sliding from his tone, leaving more of that bitterness and thinly-veiled anger in its wake.

"You're a test subject," he answered easily.

"A test subject for what?"

"A potential cure for lycanthropy."

The guy stared at him. He twitched and grimaced, wracked by further pain, and wrapped an arm around his stomach. "You're lying."

"Nope," Frank said, still not looking up from his report.

There was silence from the were's end, and Frank started to think that he might get some quiet again for a while.

"I'm Gerard," he said. Frank still didn't look up. He heard him shift. "Gerard Way. What's your name?"

"Frank," he said, because God, so much for no names, and they were going to have to live with one another for a month. He didn't plan on chatting too much, but hell, what did it matter? Whatever happened to this guy after the full moon, he was never seeing him again.

"Okay, Frank," Gerard said cautiously. "What's going to happen to me here?"

Gerard was imagining something with needles. Something with more of the needles they'd stuck him with before. Surgery while he was awake. Maybe Frank would get tired of the nice guy act and beat him like they'd beaten Mikey, out in the street with blackjacks and clubs. He wondered if Frank had a blackjack. He wondered if the pain was ever going to stop.

"I'm going to watch you," Frank said with a shrug.

"That's it?"

"That's it."

Gerard stared at him until Frank finally continued speaking. "If the cure works, you go back for more tests. If it doesn't, they give you the next prototype down the line and you hang out here for a while longer." It wouldn't do any good to have the guy panicking because he knew he was going to die if the cure didn't work. If he had any fucking sense he'd figure that out on his own.

Frank looked up at last. Gerard was standing, now, leaning heavily against the bars. He had his forehead against them, his hair pinned to his face. "So I'm a prisoner. Forever. No matter whether this 'cure' works or not?"

Frank stared across at him, but didn't respond. Not that he didn't have answers. Of course he had answers-- You're lucky to be alive, for one, or, No, maybe not forever, maybe just as long as you live.

Gerard slipped away from the bars and sat on his bed, facing the window. He didn't say anything else to Frank, not for the three hours he sat there. He just stared out a small window, watching the moon as it crept by. When it passed beyond his line of sight from the window, he just curled into a ball, shivering and shaking into the night.

**

Gerard was curled up on the floor again when Frank came in the next morning bearing food. He seemed to have something against the perfectly good bed--it looked completely untouched.

Frank slid the plate under the bars again, but Gerard didn't move. He was shaking, though, shuddering, and after a few moments Frank heard something recognizable--a sob.

He got up slowly and started moving back toward the table before he realized that this, what was happening, would technically qualify as a 'symptom.' He sighed. Fuck. He wished this wasn't necessary, that every little detail wouldn't potentially count in the long run. He had to think of the goal, of the cure.

"Are you crying?" he finally asked, after a long, uncomfortable silence, halfway crouched, trying to get a look at Gerard's face.

There was a pause. "No," he answered thickly.

Frank straightened. "Yeah, you are," he said with a sigh. "What's the problem? Are you in pain?" He did walk back toward the table then, getting the clipboard ready to take notes.

Gerard laughed, which wasn't exactly the response he'd expected. "Pain?" He laughed again, and it trailed off into a gasp. He pulled himself into a tighter curl on the floor. "It burns," he said finally. "In my blood."

Frank watched Gerard's back shudder again. That wasn't really a scientific response, but he figured he could just quote him and that would be good enough. "They didn't say if you could have painkillers, did they?"

Just because he was a were didn't mean he had to be in pain all the time. If this was supposed to be his last month to live, it would suck if the guy had to spend it in agony.

Gerard lifted his head, but still didn't turn to face Frank. Frank wondered if he could. He seemed so much worse today than he had the day before. "I begged," Gerard said, and his voice cracked. "Like a fucking dog." His head dropped again. "They said no. Something...something about variables."

Removing extraneous variables. That sounded like them. There probably weren't even any in the cabin, just in case Frank was tempted to go against protocol. Not that he was.

Good boy.

"It'll get better," Frank said vaguely, which was mostly a lie. Why was he bothering with comforting him, anyway? Pity, mostly. Even if this guy was most likely destined to die in a few weeks, even if he had killed people, he hadn't asked to end up this way.

He shook himself. It wouldn't do any good to think like that. This was a were, for Christ's sake. He wasn't human anymore. If he gave him even the slightest opening, there was no doubt that he'd do whatever it took to escape. The very fact that he hadn't killed himself outright should make him sick.

Should, but doesn't.

Pity wasn't going to get him anywhere.

He settled into his chair again. "I left you food," he said, and was sort of relieved when Gerard didn't respond.

**

The next few days things did get a little better. Frank spoke to Gerard only when absolutely necessary, and Gerard seemed to improve. He was still in pain all the time, but not so much that it kept him from moving around his cell.

He would pace, and stare at the window. He'd stare at Frank as though searching for something to say. And he continued to avoid the bed.

That little detail was what finally broke Frank's resolve. He figured it couldn't hurt to ask--maybe it'd be another symptom thing, something important. He was also probably going a little crazy from the isolation, so it was forgivable. "Why don't you ever sleep on the bed?"

It was late afternoon, and Gerard was sitting up against the back wall with his knees pulled up to his chest. He hadn't taken a shower, so far as Frank could tell, and his hair had only gotten stringier and more matted as the days went on. He was starting to smell. His head jerked up when Frank addressed him. "What?" he croaked out.

"I asked why you don't sleep on the bed," Frank repeated. "You haven't touched it."

Gerard settled his chin on his knee, his fingers sliding along his arms until they reached his elbows, holding there in a brace around his chest. "I can't," he said.

When he didn't elaborate, Frank finally took the bait. His curiosity was seriously getting the better of him, here. The closest he usually got to a one on one exchange with a were was between one were and one gun in Frank's hand. "Why not?"

"The pain, for one," he said, looking off to the side. "And it...feels fucking weird. It doesn't feel right anymore." His gaze snapped back to Frank. He was far enough back into the shadows of the room that his eyes had a little of that fire shine Frank knew, remembered vividly. It comes out of the woods and the eyes, you always see the eyes first. "You think I'm a freak," he said flatly, holding Frank's gaze. Frank said nothing.

Gerard shifted again, dropping his arms. "I can't help it," he said, a hint of hysteria creeping into his tone. "It feels too weird, like I can't get comfortable unless I'm curled up and flat. And it's so much worse at night. You have no idea..." he trailed off.

Frank should have been writing these symptoms down, but he hadn't touched his pencil. "What's worse at night?"

"This...this thing," Gerard said, gesticulating wildly, his hands fluttering indistinctly. "It's like something crawled inside you and replaced everything that used to be inside. And it gets so much more restless at night."

Frank didn't know what to say to that. "Oh." Gerard's lips were rough and chapped, Frank noted, probably because he kept licking and biting at them. Every time Gerard opened his mouth to speak he could see his teeth, all very white and edged a bit more sharply than they should be. The canines were the worst of course, slightly enlarged and sharp.

Suddenly, maybe because he sensed he had his undivided attention for once, Gerard started moving, crawling toward the bars. "You need to let me go," he said in a rush. "Please. You don't seem like a bad person, you don't seem like you're like the rest. I can't stay here forever."

Frank felt as though the hold of the conversation on him had suddenly snapped, and reality came rushing back, colors brightening, sound turning back up to full volume. "I can't let you go."

"You could," Gerard said. One hand was wrapped around the bars, the other around the handle on the inside of the cage.

"But I'm not going to."

"You don't understand," he said, gripping the bars more tightly. "I can't be here. I need to be out there, looking for Mikey. My brother. He's out there somewhere, maybe dead, and I'm here! He could be rotting!"

He pulled at the bars as though he wanted to shake them, but they were cemented into both the ceiling and floor, and didn't move. "Please," he pleaded. "He could be dead." The more he pleaded, the more it pissed Frank off. What a weak bastard, using some likely imaginary sibling to try to win his sympathy.

"If he is, and he's like you? He's better off," Frank spat, meeting his wild, frantic eyes.

Gerard's mouth fell open. He sank to the floor. "You really don't care," he said. "You don't care."

"I really fucking don't," Frank said, watching him.

Gerard watched him for another moment, then moved toward the back of his cell again. He faced away from Frank and curled up on the floor and hated himself for it but wasn't able to help it. It was one of the few things he could do that made him feel good anymore.

**

Frank stayed in the main room late into the night, taking notes and staring out the window and pointedly not watching Gerard unless he had to. When he made dinner he made Gerard food as well. He accepted it, grateful for the food if a little resentful toward its source, dragging the plate toward his spot at the back of the cage. He ate curled over the plate, and slid it back to the door clean. When he was done, he curled up on his side again, his shaking getting worse the later it got into the night.

Frank watched him, then, when he was sure he wouldn't be getting up again. Watched the curve of his back under the flimsy cloth, the way his shoulders jumped like he was cold, all the time.

At some point, Gerard started to moan. It was low and quiet and partially muffled, but he was definitely moaning, not crying. Frank checked the time. Midnight already, shit.

He sat there for a moment, debating. He could go to bed and ignore it, or he could try to find out what was wrong.

Symptoms chimed a voice in his head, and he sighed. He knelt down beside the cage.

"Hey," he said quietly. "What is it?"

There was a pause. He wondered if maybe he was just making noises in his sleep. Then "Why don't you just kill me?"

Gerard didn't move, or roll over, so Frank responded to his back. "Because that would defeat the purpose."

"No other reason?"

Frank said nothing.

"I wish you would," he rasped. He pushed himself up. Frank saw him bite his lip hard enough that it went white, then he sat up and turned to him. His face was drawn. He looked so tired and pale, worn at the edges, grimacing every time he moved.

"Where are you from?" Frank asked. It was a distraction tactic and an obvious one at that, so much so that it might not work.

"Jersey," Gerard said. It was hard for him to focus on him fully. The twisting in his stomach whispered and burned and dragged at him. It was abnormal, not fluid like it should be. Those drugs--"You?"

Frank nodded slightly. "Jersey," he said.

"What happened to it?" Gerard asked, leaning his side against the bars. It made it easier to stay upright.

"Overrun," Frank said. Gerard saw something of his own exhaustion mirrored in him.

Everywhere, emptiness. Empty houses, empty fields, empty, soulless bodies with empty eyes staring, strewn across streets after the morning of the full moon, empty headed, insane people waking up to find they had survived the carnage only to become a part of its cause. Every town, every city, empty.

"There aren't any people living there anymore."

"Are there weres there?" Gerard asked. His vision fluttered a little as he was wracked by pain, and he wrapped a hand around one of the bars. The conversation. He had to focus on the conversation.

"I said there weren't any people there," Frank said.

"Is that really what you think?" Gerard asked. "That we're not people?"

"You're not," Frank said.

"But I'm talking to you," he said. The haze cleared momentarily, and Frank was a little startled by the sudden piercing quality his eyes took on. "I'm a person. I still think things and feel things. I'm still a human being, we all are."

"So maybe you're a person," Frank acknowledged, wishing he'd cut this conversation off more quickly. He could feel that anger rising again. Why was he even bothering to argue such an obvious point? "But you're not human."

Gerard was leaning heavily on the bars now, his eyes cast down. His lips barely moved when he spoke. "But I am. I am." He seemed to be speaking in a dream, to someone else entirely.

Frank got up. "Well, if this cure works? You will be."

**

Things stayed quiet between them for the next week. Each night, Gerard seemed to shake less and less, and it didn't take a genius to figure out why. Frank started taking down the phase of the moon through the window on his sheet of notes, drawing a sphere beside the list of symptoms. They didn't change much, but they got less severe. Shaking, intense pain, periodic loss of appetite. Possible burgeoning insanity, insisting that he had to sleep on the floor.

On the night of the new moon, Frank walked into the main room to find Gerard curled up on the bed, which had been otherwise untouched since the day he'd arrived. He was facing the wall.

Frank set down the book he'd been carrying on the table, then walked over to the bars. Gerard's back was still curled in that tight curve, but his shoulders were relaxed. He lacked that bow-taut quality he generally had at night when he was trying to sleep, but denied the privilege by the pain that wracked him. He seemed peaceful.

When he suddenly turned his head to look over his shoulders, Frank pretended he wasn't startled by the swiftness of it. They stayed like that for a moment, staring at one another--Gerard peering over his shoulder, his eyes shining in the half-dark, and Frank a dim silhouette against the bars.

"It's better tonight," Gerard said after a long moment.

Frank nodded. "I figured as much. You don't look so..." He cleared his throat. "You look better."

Gerard rolled over onto his back. "I can sleep on the bed," he said with a faint smile. "You have no idea how nice that is after so many nights on the floor."

"I think I can imagine," Frank said, smiling lopsidedly. He paused, battled himself for a moment, then gave in to his curiosity. Again--who knew? It might matter. "Is it always like that?"

Gerard shook his head. As he moved, even so slightly, Frank had a distinct sensation of fluidity and grace that was just restrained, held down by pain and the weight of misery. He wondered what he moved like before all of this, when he was still on the run, hiding in foliage like something that belonged there better.

"Sometimes I'd sleep on the floor," he said. "But usually on a bed if I could get one. It felt a little weird but not...not the way it's been." He shifted, glancing out the window. "It's like that stuff they pumped me full of is fighting what's already there. And so everything is amped up a hundred times what it was."

"Must hurt," he said, trying to take his eyes off Gerard's and failing.

"It does," he said, staring back. "How did you end up with this job anyway? Must not be very exciting for a Company employee."

"I proved my worth," he said (good boy) and left it at that. "How did you end up here?"

Gerard's eyes roved 'here'--the cage, the room beyond it. "Bad luck." He looked back to Frank. "But isn't that how everyone ends up this way? None of us wanted this."

"Some people seem like they do," Frank said, and, on a whim, settled into a cross-legged position on the floor. "We had some back at headquarters that pretty well committed to it."

Gerard was studying his hands, picking absently at a scab on his thumb. His stringy hair hung in his face, and Frank realized that he hadn't bathed once since he'd arrived. "Of course they act that way," he said softly. "If they don't, the alternative is hating every fucking second they're still living."

Frank had nothing to say to that.

"They broke into my house," Gerard said. "I was in my room upstairs when I heard my parents screaming. I ran to get my brother, but by the time I got to his room they were already going up the stairs. I pushed him out the window, and they got me on my back while I was trying to get out after." A tremor ran through him. "You even fucking can't imagine it. The sound, the way their eyes looked--"

"I can imagine it," Frank said flatly.

"I guess you've killed enough weres to know," Gerard said. He paused, then went on. "Mikey made it out without a fucking scratch. A miracle.” He shook his head. “Didn't last long, for a miracle. Next full moon, I found an old barn to lock up in. Mikey slept outside and he...he got attacked. Barely got away. He climbed up a ladder to the loft and sat up there bleeding all night, watching me, waiting until morning.”

“But he healed up,” Frank said.

Gerard nodded. “Yeah. By halfway through the next day.” He paused. “He said...”

He trailed off. Mikey, sitting on the floor of the barn, peeling his bloody clothes away. Testing the edges of the wound with a wince, but with shocking calm as Gerard anxiously tried to find something to bind it up with, tried not to think about the implications—no matter what he had done in the past, he ultimately hadn't been able to protect him. And then, behind him, “It's fine.” He'd turned, and in the semi-dark Mikey's eyes had that characteristic gold glint. “We're the same, now.”

“What?” Frank asked.

“Nothing,” Gerard said. He cleared his throat. “We left, wandered around looking for shelter, but no one would help us. One time someone in a town figured us out. They dragged Mikey into the street and beat him.” His fists curled. “They held me back. I keep fucking failing him,” he added, suddenly. “Every fucking time.”

Frank took in Gerard's profile, the line of his nose, the shape of his lips with his head turned away. “How'd they catch you?”

"The Company chased us whenever they found us.” Gerard said. “Like dogs. Like we weren't worth anything anymore." His gaze was intense, fixed on Frank. "Why did you join the Company?"

Frank considered lying or deferring, but what did it matter? "They killed my baby sister," he said, not stopping to consider the fact that he'd used 'they' even though Gerard was technically part of the group. "They came into our house, same as they did with yours. Hungry, looking for someone to kill. She was still so small. Couldn't run fast enough, you know."

He ran a hand through his hair. "There wasn't even enough of her left to bury. I joined up the next week. Figured if I was going to get back at them, I might as well do it right."

Gerard was still staring at him, and it was a little unnerving. He didn't know if he liked the look in his eye, like he thought he knew more about Frank than he actually did. "That fucking sucks," Gerard said quietly.

Frank laughed, briefly. "Yeah. Yeah, it does."

"Do you think about her a lot?" he asked.

"All the time."

"I think about my brother a lot, too," he said. "I don't know what happened to him. When the Company got me, he was with me." Gerard returned Frank's favor--no inclusion within their separate sides, no association within the conversation between them and what they were there for. It didn't feel right. He brightened a bit. "I think he got away though. I'm pretty sure."

Frank eyed him. "He'd be better off if they did get him," he said. "You know that, right?"

"Do you know that?" Gerard asked. Frank thought of the dungeon, the screams and the ripping and tearing, the mops the guards had to use to take care of the blood that leaked out from under the door, and he had nothing to say in reply.

Part 2

A Company of Wolves Part 2

2009-10-04T03:25:47Z

By the next night, Gerard was back on the floor, though not in too much pain. They began to talk a little more, trading memories of childhoods in Jersey and what things had been like before the weres showed up. They kept up this pretense they had created--that the bars between them meant nothing, nor did who was on which side.

By three nights after the new moon, the pain was slowly ebbing back. Frank found himself staying up later and later to watch him in the night as he curled around himself and tried to bite back cries.

Five days in and it started to get ugly again. Even during the day he mostly stuck to the floor, and when he did have to move, he crawled on all fours, unable to stand without being struck by even worse pain.

That night, Frank knelt down beside the edge of the cell. "Hey," he said. Gerard's head lifted a fraction in response. He knew that he was awake--he'd seen him twitching, listened to him whimper for almost an hour.

Frank tried to figure out just how to word it. "Look...you need a bath," he said. He had started to really smell, so strongly that Frank caught whiffs of him every time he entered the room. His face had smudges from food eaten with little motor control over the last few days, and his hair was hanging in strings. Maybe it was all some passive-agressive ploy to get Frank's sympathy, but still. He looked at it from the perspective of his job--Gerard was a medical patient. If he couldn't take care of himself, someone else had to. "If I let you out and take you to my bathroom, will you give me your word you're not going to try to escape? It won't do you any good anyway--the doors are all locked unless I give them the passcode."

Gerard rolled over, winced, and then nodded. "Rather get a bath than escape," he joked wanly. "Least then I'll look nice when I die."

Frank unlocked the cell door, holding it closed for a moment in case Gerard launched himself at it. He did nothing, just watched him, waiting for him to open it. It stood to reason. He'd chosen the time of day when Gerard seemed to be in the most pain for a reason, after all. Just because they'd been talking didn't make them friends, and it didn't mean Gerard wouldn't try to run if he gave him the option. He was a were, after all.

Gerard got up onto his hands and knees and crawled over to the door. Frank let it swing open, then hesitantly extended a hand to him. "Come on. I'll help you up."

Gerard took Frank's hand with both his, and Frank wrapped his arm around him. Gerard stood up, teetered for a moment, and then found his balance. "Okay," he rasped.

Frank guided him over to the bathroom and helped him settle on the edge of the tub. He flipped the faucet on and then stood back, looking down at Gerard, who was doubled over himself.

When he didn't move, Frank asked, "Do you need help?"

Gerard nodded, mutely. Frank knelt down next to him. He set his mind firmly in one place, and focused on each motion as a task to be carried out for the greater good. A voice in his head said something along the lines of stripping down a werewolf and giving him a sponge bath? that's for the greater good? not for you?

He took hold of the hem of his dirtied shirt and pulled it up and over his head. Gerard helped as much as he was able, lifting his arms so that it came off more easily. Frank's mind diverted from it's carefully chosen track, noticing how pale he was under the cold fluorescents.

He untied the drawstring on the pants he was wearing, then slid those down as well. He was only mildly surprised to see that he wasn't wearing anything under the pants.

Mind firmly on track. Firmly.

He set the clothes aside and then checked the water. The tub was half full and steaming, so he helped Gerard ease in. He winced. "Too hot?" he asked.

Gerard shook his head. "No. No, it feels...it feels good. Warm, you know. Makes it hurt less."

Frank took a washcloth from where it was hanging and dipped it in the water, rubbing soap on it. "I promise to get behind your ears," he said, feeling a nervousness that had nothing to do with the potential danger, that having long since passed.

Gerard bowed his head, and Frank began to wash him. He seemed peaceful at least, so that was some consolation. He ran the washcloth over his back, and along his arms. He washed his legs and even his feet, which badly needed it after accumulating dirt as Gerard sat barefoot in his cell.

He gave everything higher than the thigh and lower than his belly button a wide berth. When he reached his face he had to tilt his head up, carefully. His eyes had been closed, but he opened them when he felt Frank's hand. He then shut them again, swiftly, to avoid eye contact. Well, thank god he wasn't the only one who was feeling weird about this.

He ran the washcloth over Gerard's forehead and cheeks, cleaning around his mouth and eyes, and couldn't help but be struck by how much different he looked clean. So much less like an animal, so much more like the person he claimed to be. But wasn't, he added immediately in his mind. what are you trying to prove? piped up that second voice, and Frank gritted his teeth a little.

He got the shampoo and washed Gerard's hair, more quickly now, anxious to be done. "Shut your eyes," he said, and ran water from his cupped hands over his head to clear the suds. Gerard squeezed them shut as tight as he could, like a little boy, and Frank almost, almost smiled.

When he was fully rinsed, Frank stood up and offered him his hand again. Gerard braced himself on the side of the tub, getting out carefully. His movements were slow, like that of a person much older than he was.

"Thank you," he said finally, just as Frank was lifting a towel to his face to dry it. "For everything," he added with a pained smile as Frank dried the rest of him, business-like.

"No problem," he said, and helped him back into the other room for a change of clothes.

**

When Gerard was dry and in clean clothes, finally asleep on the floor of his cell, Frank went into his bedroom, locked the door, and did what he could to purge himself of the thoughts he'd been fighting back all night.

**

The next day, Frank walked in half-expecting Gerard to give him an accusing look, or laugh at him for falling for his clever trick of pretending he was too in pain to wash himself just to embarrass him.

This was not the case. Instead, Gerard was settled in the middle of the floor, watching his hands, apparently lost in thought. He stayed close to the ground, but wasn't curled up in agony like he'd been every night throughout the month. The days always were better, although Frank was only too conscious of the fact that, soon, they'd be bad as well.

Gerard glanced up at him when he walked in, and the look said much about how Gerard felt about the night before. A mixture of gratitude and wistfulness. Frank hadn't had to do that--but if he'd just been a little stronger, maybe he could have made a run for it.

"How did you sleep?" Frank asked, sitting down on the floor across from him instead of at the table.

"Alright," he said. There were dark circles under his eyes, deeply etched. "I had a dream that I was with my brother."

He paused, and Frank looked him over. In the light of day, how much a difference just getting him washed made in his appearance was even clearer. The true color of his hair shone through, matte black that, when cleaned of grease, caught the light instead of throwing it. It looked soft, and when Gerard ran his hands through it a moment later, Frank caught himself imagining the sensation of Gerard's hair under the palm of his hand. "I have dreams like that sometimes," he said.

"About your sister?"

"Yeah."

"We were out in the woods," he said. His hand had run through his hair and come to a stop around the back of his neck, holding there. "We were running but no one was chasing us. Laughing."

Frank spoke to what was unsaid. "You might get a chance to do that again."

Gerard snorted, dropping his hand. "Yeah. Right."

Frank cleared his throat. "When I dream about my sister, it's usually me at a little table with her, because I finally said yes to one of her fucking stuffed animal tea parties." He smiled a little. "She always used to invite me to come, but I was too tough for that shit."

"Regret it?" Gerard quipped.

"Every day," he said.

Gerard was looking down again. "Yeah. Me too."

"What do you regret?"

"Not making sure they left him alone."

Frank raised an eyebrow in silent query. "I thought they would have told you,” Gerard said. “I came to this voluntarily."

"Voluntarily?" Frank asked, both eyebrows shooting up.

"Sort of," he said, waving a hand. "I...they found us in an abandoned house out in the middle of nowhere. I don't know how. It was the day after the moon and we just woke up in there. We were getting ready to leave when we saw the lights coming.

"They said they knew there were two of us, and that if one of us came out they'd leave the other one alone. Mikey tried to go, but I ran out before he could and shut the door behind me. They threw me down on the ground. One of them held a gun this far from my face." He demonstrated with his fingers, a little interval of no more than two inches.

"I tried to lift my head to see if Mikey was running from the back of the house. I saw more soldiers going around the other side, and then somebody above me told me to stop struggling. Hit me with a truncheon. Next thing I knew, I was in a hospital somewhere."

Frank had his head inclined to the side, trying to get a better look at Gerard's face, which was turned away from him. "You did the right thing," he said.

Gerard smiled faintly. "Not if he got caught."

"You did the right thing for everyone," he said. "For the rest of the weres, if the cure works. And if he had been caught, I would have heard about it."

He perked up a bit at that. "...yeah?"

"Yeah," he said. "I'd say so."

Gerard smiled faintly, his eyes still down. Frank wondered if he used to smile more. There wasn't much to smile about anymore for anyone.

**

Frank waited for three days before he decided bathing him again might be a good idea. He'd been thinking about it, though, a relentless cycle of images of Gerard naked and slick and shivering in the tub on an eternal loop in his brain.

He was fairly sure at this point that he was sick, and that there was something very, very wrong with him. He forced the thoughts from his mind every time they cropped up, but then they'd be back ten minutes later while he was watching Gerard make a tighter and tighter knot with his body each night.

By the second night he was already sort of getting dirty again, but he made himself wait until the third, calmly deciding that if he was going to get something weird out of this that he might as well force the waiting to be as painful as possible. That night, as if punishing him, his dreams were--

holding his head and kissing him, his tongue, their tongues, and those eyes, in the dark and yet very bright, catching light that he threw off or something did behind him, flashlights. and tangled together in the forest they were surrounded by the men in coats who had guns and one looked like someone he knew, but he couldn't stop. the one at the front had a nasty grin, and he lifted the gun, but frank couldn't let go, because if he let go he was going to lose absolutely everything

--strange.

He couldn't wait longer than three days. His own bizarre behavior aside, Gerard seemed to be in much more pain now than he had even that first night, only two days after the full moon, and when he had washed him it had eased his pain a little.

The third night he unlocked the door and went into the cage without asking Gerard to get up himself, since he looked unable to stand on his own. "I'm going to clean you up," he said firmly, and tried to ignore the way that sounded even as it left his lips, rolled over his brain.

Gerard nodded his head, hair hanging over his face. It was difficult for him to get up, even with Frank's help, but he managed, somehow. Tonight felt different. He was flushed and hot, and there was an ache deep in his bones that seemed tied to the twisting in his stomach.

Frank took him to the bathroom and helped him get undressed yet again. When he removed his shirt in a quick yank, he didn't realize how hard he'd pulled until Gerard winced, the buttons scraping past his face. Frank paused, took a breath, and undid his pants more slowly, helping him into the bath with his eyes on the wall.

Gerard sank down, his head rolling to his knees, and tried to control the jumping and shaking of his own body. But as Frank adjusted the temperature of the water, wet a wash cloth, and started to run it over his skin, he became lost in the sensation. The pain faded, ebbing slowly, and the ache in his limbs turned into a pleasant kind of fire.

He felt much better. He lifted his head a little and took that opportunity, the closeness of Frank, to smell him. Cigarette smoke, soap, bacon he'd made for breakfast, the woods outside, cotton sheets, ink, sweat.

"You smell good," he murmured, leaning his head against Frank's shoulder and tipping his face toward him. Frank stopped cleaning him, unable to move properly. Gerard's wet hair soaked through his shirt. Everything came into focus--he could see a droplet of water run down a lock of his hair, slicked to a point, and hit his shirt, leaving a dark circle where it fell.

Gerard's forehead against his arm felt warm, very warm, like he had a fever. He'd heard weres ran hot, but it was one thing to hear it and another entirely to feel it.

Gerard felt strange, but wasn't sure he wanted it to stop. It was like there was too much blood in his body. He could feel his heartbeat speeding up, feel every part of him flush. He lifted his hands, slowly, and wrapped them around the edge of Frank's shirt, pulling him a little closer. There was a sudden urgency to everything.

"You...smell," he muttered, but couldn't quite piece the sentence together. Something about scent and trails in the night, the fact that under everything else he smelled human, smelled like flesh and like blood and like something real under his fingers that he wanted, right now, to be close to more than anything.

There was a twitch around his heart and he gasped, holding Frank tighter. He didn't like that. The warm haze was fading and that--that hurt.

"Frank," he said, and then released him, his name choked off by Gerard clamping his teeth together, tightly. Frank stared at him, and started to reach out without thinking. Gerard had a hand on his chest and what was wrong, why was his face twisted that way, was he having a heart attack?

Then Gerard lifted his eyes and Frank thought Jesus--

And the voice in his head said and you didn't think you should bring your gun with you.

**

Outside the woods, forces were gathering to move toward the cabin.

Already, at the company's labs, scientists were preparing for every eventuality. A room had been prepared to hold the subject if he came back alive. It held a cot, a toilet, and nothing more. No books, even, in this prison, since the sanity of the prisoner really wasn't their concern. As long as his body remained intact, he would be a gold mine of information.

And on the other side of the building, equipment was cleaned and tested, knives sharpened and set aside, test tubes and sample bags restocked. If he had to be killed, they were prepared. They would strip him of anything that might prove useful.

And, a hundred miles away, a small band of men and women were packing up their camp and moving into the forest, passing through the tree line, leaving behind only the marks in the dirt where they had slept, tightly curled.

**

Frank stumbled to his feet and reached reflexively for a gun that was not at his waist.

Gerard was still sitting in the tub. Then he reached over the edge, his hand curling around it, long claws clicking against the porcelain as they settled there.

He was watching Frank through a curtain of hair. And he was growling in the back of his throat. He had his teeth bared, all sharp and interlocking neatly, and his eyes, what he could see of them, were empty of anything he could call thought or rationality.

Frank wrapped his hand around the doorknob. This was a standoff of the oldest kind in nature--predator waiting to strike against prey. He was going to have one shot, and if he missed it, he might be dead in the next thirty seconds.

Gerard pounced. Frank took a step back as soon as he saw Gerard's coiled muscles releasing. The last image he caught of him was Gerard, eyes flashing and mouth open wide, throwing himself with inhuman speed over the edge of the tub toward the door a few feet away. Then the door was shut.

Gerard hit the door so hard it burst through the lock and Gerard came rolling across the floor, dazed and confused, panting heavily, his eyes roving the ceiling. Before he could recover, Frank took him by the hair and hit his head against the floor.

**

Gerard woke up back in his clothes and in immediate pain. The twisting in his gut was back, along with the pain deep in his bones. Added to that was an intense headache.

He touched the back of his head and winced. It wasn't bleeding, but he had a nice goose egg.

He was on the floor of his cell, he realized, and by the amount of light it had to be day. It took him a long time before he could lift his head to look outside it. Frank was sitting at the table, taking notes in his report. He'd seen Gerard move, and when he looked up they locked eyes.

There was silence, at first. Then, "Do you remember?"

"No," Gerard said.

"You turned halfway," Frank said. He set his pen down. "And you tried to kill me. I knocked you out."

Gerard's face twisted. "What?" he said quietly. Frank said nothing in response.

Gerard lowered his head, lacking even the energy to turn his face away from Frank. When his tears hit the cement floor, they made a small, dark circle where they fell.

**

A few days later, they hadn't said a single word together aside from cursory hellos and words of thanks. If the pain wasn't bad enough, now Gerard was embarrassed. He couldn't help but wish someone else had come instead of Frank, someone who didn't...someone who wasn't...him. The pain was so bad now that when it sparked inside him he couldn't help but cry out, and every time he kicked himself, heaping shame and embarrassment at his vulnerability on top of the physical anguish.

There was only a day left until the full moon, and Gerard knew it. He knew it the same way he knew what kind of forest life lived outside the cabin even though Frank hadn't opened the door since he'd arrived, or the way he knew Frank's scent from anyone else's. He knew.

What he didn't know, or understand, was why Frank came into his cell that night, when the pain was so bad he thought he might finally, blissfully, black out. Or why he picked him up, carrying him in his arms and setting him down gently in the bath, carefully removing his clothes before he cleaned him up.

"Why?" he asked, shakily, even as Frank wiped his face clean, catching his tears in the washcloth.

It took Frank a long time before he could come up with a suitable answer. "Because...even if you are a monster? You don't deserve to be treated like one."

**

Frank spent the next day in the cell with Gerard. He'd cleaned and loaded his gun the night before, making sure it was ready. Perfect. It had to be immaculate. good boy.

He'd almost kicked the wall when that remembered voice filtered through his mind again.

Gerard ended up curled up in his lap, huddling towards Frank's warmth and his scent. Around midday, when the pain was only like his bones were splintering, he said, "Are you going to miss me?" with a funny smile on his upturned face.

Frank pushed a lock of his hair away from his eyes, smiling back. "Yeah. Of course. Where else am I going to find someone who'll let me watch them go through excruciating pain for a month?"

A laugh bubbled up in Gerard's throat, but it died out quickly, since it made the splintering feeling move into his throat. "Miss me," he said again. "Yeah." He looked up at him. "You'll find him, right?"

"Who?" Frank asked.

"Mikey," Gerard said. "Make sure he got away."

"Sure. Who knows? Maybe in a few weeks, he won't have to hide anymore."

Gerard laughed again, and this time the splintering couldn't make him stop. "I know you're going to kill me," he said, the smile not fading. "If it doesn't work. I don't care, you know, you can do it. You can do it. Better dead than in a cage forever."

Frank hesitated, then planted a brief, firm kiss on Gerard's forehead. He waited for digust, for a reaction, for anything.

Instead Gerard just nestled closer to him, and Frank stared out the window of his cell, watching the sun pass by.

**

As it got closer and closer to sundown, Frank got up only once--to retrieve his gun. Then he settled back into the cell with Gerard, letting him clutch him as the night bore down on them.

"I'm afraid," Gerard said, with a few minutes left to go.

"So am I," Frank said, glancing over to the gun against the wall.

Gerard's lips twitched into something like a smile. "I wonder...I wonder if we'd met on the street. In Jersey. What would have happened?"

Frank attempted to smile back. "I would have walked right past," he said. "Because I'd figure you were out of my league."

They had about a minute, and a spasm ran through Gerard's body. He gritted his teeth.

"You should...get your gun," he choked out, grimacing. "I don't think that this...this is going to go--"

Frank shushed him. "I don't need it."

"What?" he asked, panicked. Thirty seconds. "Frank--Frank, you can't, you can't--"

"What else can I do?" he asked, with a calm that showed he'd been thinking about this all day. "I can't leave with you, not like this. I can't kill an entire squad of company men. They'll kill me if I don't follow orders. By the time the sun is up tomorrow morning, they'll be here. And I can't kill you." He paused. "I couldn't live with myself," he finished, watching Gerard's pained expression mix with blossoming panic.

"No," he begged. "No, Frank."

"I think I'm in love with you," Frank said. Four seconds. "It's fucking unfair. But I wanted you to know."

The sun went below the horizon, and a spasm, more like a seizure, wracked Gerard so strongly that he threw himself from Frank's grip. He slipped past his fingers and hit the floor.

He screamed, so loudly that birds in the trees around the cabin outside took flight, fleeing for their lives, fleeing from the predator.

He began to change almost immediately, pushing up on all fours. Frank had never seen a were change, not firsthand, not this close. First his head dropped and started to shift. He could see his mouth with his head hanging the way it was, see it stretch and change as his teeth sharpened, glinting. He screamed again, and Frank could hear his bones moving under his skin.

It happened more quickly than he'd expected. First, the snout pressed out, and then fur was covering him. His clothes stretched to their breaking point and then tore, sliding to the floor. His legs snapped, shortened, and bent back, and claws emerged and he was still screaming. Still screaming, more animal than human at this point, his head twisting from side to side as if to shake the pain off.

When the howling and shrieking finally stopped, Frank held perfectly still. Where Gerard had been was a very large black wolf, almost the size of a human. It turned its head and sniffed the air and looked at Frank. It met his eyes.

Frank thought of the gun he wasn't going to use. How confused the scientists would be, wondering why he was inside the cage. Had he been tricked? Had he just been a fool?

The wolf padded over to him, its eyes the gold of Gerard's when they caught the light and glinted. Frank stared back at it.

"Come on, motherfucker," he said. "Let's get this over with."

The wolf padded closer, sniffing the air again. Then it lunged at Frank, knocking him off his feet. He shut his eyes and waited for the quick pain of his throat being ripped out. It would be quick, most likely, and at least...

At least...

Nothing happened.

He opened his eyes a crack. He didn't see the wolf. Then he felt something by his feet, something warm and heavy.

Frank sat up an inch at a time.

The wolf was curled up in his lap. It appeared to be sleeping--its eyes were closed, and it was breathing easily. When he tried to move one of his legs, it opened one eye and began to growl, low in its throat.

Frank slowly laid back down and stared at the ceiling. A miracle. A fucking miracle. The next chance he got, he was revisiting a church, despite the fact that he hadn't been in one since he was five. Fuck.

He didn't think about the next morning, or what this could mean. For the moment, he just reveled in the sensation of being alive, a smile spreading across his face. Even if his legs were going sort of numb.

**

It wasn't until Frank started awake that he became aware of the fact that he'd somehow fallen asleep despite everything. He sat bolt upright, half expecting a drooling maw of teeth in his face. Instead, he saw Gerard, naked, curled up on his legs.

He pulled one out experimentally and winced. The wolf had been heavy, and they were bound to be sore for a while. Gerard stirred, cracked one eye, and then pushed himself to his feet.

He froze when he saw Frank, briefly looking like he might fall over. "Frank?"

Frank couldn't help but smile now. "Yeah?" He got up, slapping his legs a few times to help bring feeling back into them, steadying himself with the help of the bars of the cell.

Just as he turned his head back to look at him again, Gerard caught him in a kiss. Once the initial shock had worn off, Frank kissed back. They were alive. Alive. This wasn't a dream.

He broke away, and Gerard smiled. It was the first time he'd seen him smile in a way that seemed unfettered by pain. "It worked. Fuck. Thank God you're a suicidal idiot."

Frank laughed. "Yeah. Thank God for that."

**

Frank checked the window. Another miracle--heavy clouds and mud. Some time in the night it had stormed, likely washing out the roads, slowing the progress of the convoy headed their way.

They dressed and packed a small bag. Frank's clothes were small on Gerard, but they would do for now. They packed food and essentials, just enough to fill a light bag, and Frank strapped his gun and extra rounds across his chest.

"We need to get out of here before they get here," he said, pulling the bag over his shoulder. "I know there's a town if we go south from here, but it's going to be a decent haul."

Gerard nodded. "I know. But...I mean, after this bullshit? I think anything is an improvement. Sore legs are nothing."

Frank waited until Gerard was just behind him, and then he opened the door. As soon as he did, Gerard sucked in a breath. Frank couldn't see anything, but when he turned his head, Gerard's eyes were wide. "What?" he asked, putting a hand on his gun, and turned back toward the doorway.

Where before there had been no one in the small clearing there was now a group of maybe twenty, some still filtering out through the trees. They were a ragged bunch, their clothes threadbare and dirty, but they all stood with the same sort of resolve, a weird steel in their eyes.

In the front a blonde man with a beard had stepped forward and was regarding Frank.

"Iero," he said, smiling.

"Bryar," Frank said, cautiously. "This your...uh...pack, or something?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"That it is," he said. A thin man with long, wildly askew curly hair stepped up next to him. "Meet my second in command, Ray Toro."

“I believe we've met,” Frank said, smiling a little. Ray looked thinner than he had when he'd seen him last, and dirtier, and a little more edgy. It was impossible to tell if he was a were or not from this angle. His eyes seemed normal enough, at least right now.

“Hey Frank,” Ray said, smiling a bit in return.

“He treating you okay?” Frank asked, nodding his head toward Bob.

Ray's smiled widened a fraction, and when he looked to Bob, his eyes softened, very slightly. “Yeah. He treats me just fine.”

"How did you know I was here?" Frank asked, turning his attention back to Bob.

"I didn't even know this was your case," he said, "But I should have guessed. We came to get him."

Gerard glanced between them. "Me? I don't think I've ever met you..." he trailed off, growing more and more distracted. There was something in the air that was familiar. Very familiar.

"No you haven't," Bob said. "The only reason we knew about you is because of our newest addition."

A man stepped forward from the group. He'd been hidden before by the people standing in front of him, and came into view with a huge grin on his face.

Gerard broke from Frank and went running over to him, practically tackling him. The man started to laugh. "Take it easy Gee, you're going to break me in half--"

"Fuck, Mikey, you're okay. You're okay, you're okay." He released him. "Fuck!" he exclaimed, and laughed.

Good news at last. Frank looked to Bob. "So what's your plan?"

"Well, we were going to kill whoever was here and take Gerard, but, for you?" he said, looking pointedly at the bag and the open door. "For you, I can make an exception. You and Gerard can come with us for a while. See if it suits you while you tell me the surely fucked up story of what happened here."

Frank nodded. "Alright," he said. "Sounds good."

"Time to run," Bob said. "We need to be out of here now. Those trucks are only ten miles down the road."

Frank walked over to Gerard and Mikey. Months of misery and now everyone had smiles on their faces. Maybe he'd been wrong about the state of the world.

Everyone in the group seemed to tense, and the three of them walked up to the head of the pack, where Bob and Ray were standing. They all settled for a moment, then took off, coiled muscles releasing, and ran.

Frank managed to keep up despite the pack on his shoulder and the gun he was carrying, but it wasn't easy. Everyone around him was moving with easy speed and a fluid grace that was unearthly to watch.

Bob called back to him from the front of the group. "I guess you finally decided to stop being a dog, Iero." They ran, and there was a sound of pounding, of feet on the ground, of the wind, of howling at the edges of the trees.

RESOLVE

2009-10-04T03:24:25Z

So I took down my "DDDD: CRY MOAR" post from earlier, but thanks to you guys who offered hugs. <3 And now, I am staying up for another hour and a half despite exhaustion because I have every intention to post warwolf fic at midnight.

WHO'S WITH ME.

baby-punchingly bad the fourteenth

2009-10-03T18:18:58Z

Baby Punchingly Bad 14--FLAG ON THE MOON. HOW DID IT GET THERE. BABY-PUNCHINGLY BAD. IT IS A PODCAST.

DL LINKS: Baby-Punchingly Bad 14 -- In which I expound way too long on questions again, give you double the toys, Gerard is always a slut, and Twila makes a triumphant return.

Fics read include: scrub harder, if i wouldve, We're Gonna Die Like This You Know Miserable And Old, Away He Hides, My Chemical Romance, Road Trips And Decisions, A Mystery Love, Do You Know How Much I Love You?, My Chemical Romance, TWILA, DA GIRL WHO WAS IN LUV W A VAMPIR, and My Immortal.

This week's featured inappropriate toys were the Mattel Vibin' Broomstick and The Tentacle.

If you would like to ask a question to be aired on the show, send me an email at bpbpodcast@gmail.com (five question limit), or leave me a voice message at bpbpodcast at Skype (limit four minutes). Please keep the content interactive--a question, something you'd like me to comment on, or other sundries! The next episode, episode 15, is going to be co-hosted by Bell, so any voicemail messages will not air until episode 16. If you want to send in email questions, try to make them questions we can both answer. And don't be afraid to ask something if you've already sent in a question in the past. Thanks!

t_adjectivenoun
Bellum Letale--A Premade Fairy Tale RP Community
Masterlist
Commissions < There is also a donation button. Please lend a sister a hand, so that I can buy a subscription to Callburner and always be able to take skype voicemail messages!

Side Note: Are you guys aware that according to my LastFM page, similar artists to me include Patrick Stump and My Chemical Romance? ...o_O

it's a very nice day

2009-10-02T13:00:19Z

I got alot of sleep, which rocks. I have to jet off to my one class and then I get to loll about for a bit before work. So. A few notes.

1. YOU NEED TO GO OVER TO speep'S JOURNAL AND GET SOME ART FROM HER AND arabel BECAUSE I COMMAND IT.

2. After woe and losing alot of recording, I at last finished part 1 of BPB 14, and I may record the rest this afternoon, assuming I get time.

3. BELLUM LETALE. THE NEW PREMADE COMMUNITY. IT IS OPEN FOR APPLICATIONS. We have I think five or six holds right now including my own, so if there is someone you want I recommend you get your ass over there and reserve them. I don't think we're going to be opening for play for at least a week, maybe two, so that folks have plenty of time to work on their apps and so on. Again, links to all pertinent information are in the community here. Even if you have never roleplayed before! I am the roleplay prima donna. Not really, but I'm an old hat at this shit, and happy to answer questions. GO GO GO. I also am still seeking people with rp experience to co-mod. This does not mean you, Zero, you are too busy. <3

I am going to school now. :/

Also, one minor thing. I've had roleplay on the brain alot lately, and it has occurred to me that roleplaying is one of the biggest communities on the internetz, but it has no podcast to speak of. Does anyone else find that weird? I do. What do you guys think of some kind of roleplay advice podcast somewhere down the road? God knows there's enough wank in the wide internets to support one.

HAY HAY HAY;Bandom Type News

2009-10-02T00:22:55Z

So ladies and gents, surprisingly enough roleplaying is not all I do--though it feels that way because of yesterday and today. I am also involved in bandom! WERE YOU AWARE?

On that note, speep (who draws TAN and I love) and arabel (Who drew me Prep!Voldemort and I also love) have started a bandom art meme where you can ask them to draw whatever you want. Get the hell over there and get one of the slots before it is too fucking late!

As a side note, THE HC MEME FIC OF DOOM IS SEEEEEENT and my posting date is Sunday, bitches. Watch for it.