The Man I Know I'm Not [Frerard] (Sequel To Tell Me I'm A Bad Man)

Fifteen - I Hate The Ending Myself, But It Started With An Alright Scene

[No author's note at the end of this 'cause I have nothing to say.]

Thump, thump, thump, thump...

Ryan, Ryan, Ryan, Ryan...

My lungs were burning and my legs were aching and my mouth was dry but I couldn't stop running. I needed to get to the hospital. I would get there, even if it killed me. Great choice of words, Frank.

I stumbled against a wall a few blocks away and scraped my hands, but grazed palms were the least of my worries. People were fucking everywhere - did they really have nothing better to do than wander aimlessly around Belleville? Clearly they didn't, clearly they didn't want me to get to the hospital, clearly somehow they knew that my best friend was dying and didn't want me to go anywhere near him. Fate was a bitch.

Please let him be okay, dear God let him be okay...

My heart jumped into my mouth as I saw the building looming above me, taker of lives and bringer of bad news. There were ambulances and people everywhere, but I pressed on, regardless. Brendon had told me that they were on the second floor, so I pushed past random drunk people (at mid-afternoon?) and took the stairs two at a time.

C'mon, c'mon Ryan you'd better fucking be okay...

The muscles in my legs screamed at me to stop running for just one fucking second, but I couldn't. I just couldn't. Brendon needed me, Ryan needed me. A second stopped was a second wasted. I found the room and burst in, bending over as the door swung shut behind me. There was the low whirr of machines, and someone's gentle sobbing. When I straightened up, holding a stitch in my side, I saw Brendon on the bed's right, and Ryan's parents to the left. And in the bed was Ryan, who looked so pale and sickly and out of it that I felt my thundering heart sink.

One look at his barely-breathing form told me that he wasn't going to make it out of here alive.

And maybe Brendon knew that, because he was gripping his husband's hand in a borderline vice-like grip, tears rolling down his face. He was watching Ryan with nothing but agony in his eyes.

"Ry? Baby?" He said softly, and Ryan stirred, turning his head to face Brendon.

"Yeah?" He choked out, the fingers of his left hand clenching into a fist.

The hospital gown almost swamped him, and the sheets were pulled up to his waist. I felt so sorry for him; I'd much rather me be there than him, that was for sure. I couldn't even begin to imagine the pain he was in, or what was happening to his body, or anything.

"Frank's here, just like you wanted." Brendon's voice cracked, and I lowered myself into the seat beside him.

Ryan's eyes opened, bloodshot and barely there, and he smiled. "Hey." He choked out, clearing his throat. "Never looked better, huh?"

"Forget to put your make-up on?" I arched an eyebrow, and he grinned, shrugging.

"Something like that."

"Well when you're coughing up blood, make-up tends to be the last thing on your mind." Brendon snapped, his eyes hard and glassy. Ryan simply waved a dismissive hand, and Brendon's jaw clenched. "I can't believe you're being so...so blasé about this! You're dying, and you're acting like it simply doesn't matter!"

"But Bren, it doesn't matter." Brendon shook his head frantically. "It doesn't. We're born, we eat, we shit, we die. Sometimes...people don't get past eating. Sometimes people don't get past being born." He coughed, his face screwing up in pain. "Sometimes people get past shitting, and they fuck, and they fall in love, and they marry...and then they die."