We Can Run, Or We Can Die [Frerard]

Four|The Great Quest To Find Michael James Way: Part One

At first, the problem was getting Frank to shut up. Now, it was actually getting him to speak that was the pain in the ass.

"So how do you know where we're going?" Shrug. "Do you actually know where we're going?" Shrug. "Have you somehow lost the ability to speak?" Shrug.

"Fucking hell, Frank, I swear if you shrug once more I'll -"

"You'll what, princess?" His eye narrowed, dark and challenging.

Gerard paused, stumped. "I - um - I'm not sure."

"Exactly. So shut the fuck up."

"But I'm bored! And we've been walking for hours! And you're not saying anything!"

"Okay, fine." Frank linked arms with Gerard, giving him a nudge to the ribs for his trouble. "We are going to need a map, and we are going to have to find a store to get a map, and then I'll be able to tell you where we're going."

"Yes, but where exactly are we going?" Gerard persisted, receiving another nudge.

"Well he said he was going to New Jersey, so there, I guess."

Gerard came to an abrupt stop, making Frank trip slightly. "New Jersey?"

"Yeah..." The younger's eye narrowed. "Why?"

"Nothing, I just..." He bit his lower lip. "I was born there, is all. I - I should've known that would be where he'd go." If he was alive in the first place.

Frank was silent for a few seconds, and then gently tugged Gerard along with him. "C'mon. Let's go find him."

~

The store stank, and there were flies absolutely fucking everywhere, and even though the shelves were upright and immaculate, there were bloody handprints on the walls and various items.

The only sounds were the crunching of glass beneath their boots and their heavy breathing. But no sooner had they rounded the corner of the first aisle when the door to the back room was thrown open, and someone stepped out.

There was a man with wild curly hair and a gun, and he was holding a wound in his side. He pointed the gun straight at Frank and Gerard, and the latter responded by pointing his own gun at the stranger.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." The curly-haired stranger spoke slowly, as if he was threatening them rather than if he was in pain. He was both.

"Put yours down then." Gerard replied, equally as slowly. He could feel his heartbeat thundering in his ears, and he tried not to let just how scared he was show.

The stranger scoffed. "As if I haven't heard that one before." He winced, clutching his side harder. "Put the damn gun down."

"What, so you can shoot me?"

There was a tense silence as they both stood, guns pointed at each other, as Frank stood beside Gerard, his hand poised near the handle of his knife.

The stranger then rolled his eyes, slamming the gun onto the filthy counter in front of him. "Fine!"

Gerard hesitated for a few seconds, before slowly lowering his gun and slipping it back in the waistband of his jeans.

"That was the worst Mexican standoff I've ever seen." Frank said.

Gerard ignored him. "Who are you?"

"I could ask you two the same question."

"I'm...Gerard. Gerard Way." Gerard looked at Frank, who sighed.