"Frank?" The nineteen year old groaned at the mention of his name, rolling around in the sheets of his bed and generally trying his best to ignore the impatient tone with which his grandmother called to him with. "Frank, it's noon. Get out of bed."

Frank considered it for a moment, but soon concluded that he'd rather not and resorted to pulling the covers over his head and going the fuck back to sleep, because really, getting up when he'd been out late last night with his fucking vampire boyfriend was not a good idea at all, but of course, he couldn't just casually bring that up to his Catholic grandmother - she'd probably try and exorcise him without a second thought or something.

"Frank!" She called out again, her voice growing louder as she knocked on his door for a second time, growing more impatient by the second, and her grandson growing simultaneously more pissed off in sleep deprivation. "Get up, come on."

"Why?" He moaned out, wondering why God ever had to create such a thing as the early morning, of course, that and grandparents... Catholic grandparents. Catholic grandparents that cared far too much about everything, and really would not like his vampire boyfriend one bit.

"Because, Frank Iero, you have a visitor." She sighed, opening the door, revealing her grandson curled up like a burrito in his bed sheets with his head buried under the pillow.

"What?" He pulled his head up at that, rolling over in the bed sheets and looking at his grandmother like she'd just told him that she was a Satanist and that they were going to go out and worship the devil again. "Who?"

Jesus fucking Christ, if this turned out to be his asshole of a boyfriend, he was going to fucking shoot him, well if his grandparents didn't get there first - Frank doubted that they were all that kind to vampires, you know, being strict Catholics, and all that.

"He said his name was Bert."

Oh, thank the fucking holy lord.

Frank threw himself back down against his bed in relief, and in fact, now even somewhat motivated to go and personally thank Bert for not being his boyfriend, and not fucking his life up. Although, what was so important that Bert had to go around to his house and drag him out of bed at a time like this, just couldn't be anything but a cause for concern.

"Okay, yeah, tell him I'll be down in like five minutes." Frank shrugged it off, rolling out of bed in his covers after his grandmother had left the room, and cursing like hell as his head hit the floor with an uncomfortable crash.

It took him a few moments to collect himself before he pulled himself up and made his way over to his closet, pulling out the first items of clothing he found and casually throwing them on, before looking himself down in the mirror, and after deeming his appearance acceptable, hurrying downstairs to await whatever surely disastrous news that Bert would face him with.

Frank could only say that he wasn't particularly looking forward to it, because really what ever was important enough to force Bert to actually arrive at his grandparents house, had to be disastrous, and Frank just knew that he'd hate it already, and then there was also the matter of convincing his grandmother that no, Bert did not want to say for lunch or have tea or anything and that he just wanted to severely stress Frank out with some sort of tragic event that had called for world anarchy or something.

"Hey." Bert was sat at the dining table - looking awkward and out of place in the posh interior with his baggy black jeans and shirt with coffee stains on, not that Frank really looked all that much better in his mismatched sweatpants and some shirt from like three years ago, that due to his general unfortunate lack of growth, still fit him. Being a midget had its positives, it seemed.

"Hey, what is it that's so important that means you need to get me out of bed at this time?" Frank exclaimed, sitting down beside Bert, watching as his grandmother made her way into the living room and ensuring that she was fully out of earshot before he turned back to Bert and nodded for him to continue.

"Well, you know, you how I have these visions and shit?" Bert gestured to his head in an awfully generic manner, leaving Frank to nod along impatiently and really just wish that he'd get to the point sooner than later.

"Yeah, go on, what is it?" Frank exclaimed, growing sick with nerves by this point, and even shaking just a little, perhaps just out of sleep deprivation, though.

"Well, I saw... I saw Ray, and he... he... the vampires find out about him and Mikey... and they fucking... they kill him... they drain him... they destroy him - completely, and then Mikey gets to the shop and he's crying and screaming and swearing like mad because his boyfriend's body is there on the floor - fucking dead and there’s just nothing that he can do about it, and he even thinks that they're going to kill him too, but they... they just laugh and threaten him before leaving.. and fuck... I-"

"Fuck, have you gone to see if Ray's alright, I... I-" Frank's words came out all at once as he struggled to comprehend just what he was being told, continuing to battle with himself and how little he wanted to believe this for the sake of the awful reliability of Bert's 'visions'.

"Yeah, I just went to the shop and he's fine, I mean I didn't say anything, like how can you tell someone that you've literally just predicted their death and that's it going to happen because you're rather unfortunately never wrong about these things?"

"Fuck, how do we even? Does this even have any context? When is this going to happen, how can we stop this, I? Fuck, just fuck.... he's my friend, he can't just die, I fuck... I just this can't happen, can it, Bert, I mean-"

"I hate to say it but reality suggests that there's actually very little that I can do about this at all, like I have no more information other than that vision and dear god, I would tell Bob about this, but he doesn't feel all that strongly about Mikey's and Ray's relationship either, and then again he has this don't disturb the peace and natural order bullshit going, and fuck... we just need to stop this."

"We do, but how? How are we even supposed to?" Frank asked, his mind practically exploding at the new information his mind grew full of. "We'll have to tell Ray, and Mikey, like fuck, maybe he can only avoid this fucked up fate thing himself- why don't you know more about this?"

"Because, frank, as we've covered, I can only see so much that it's relevant and works with the plot, therefore I have no idea how we stop this or how it happens." Bert sighed, reeling off an explanation that he was almost tired of repeating by now.

"Fucking fuck this, fuck..." Frank threw his head down, face planting the table with a cringe worthy bang and a terrible bruise upon his forehead, which was perhaps just about worth every single fucking curse word that was strewn from Frank's lips in consequence.

"As much as I hate to say it, after approaching them about this mess, we will have to do some research, and yes, Frank, that involves studying textbooks, because even I don't know anything, but what I do know is that we just damn aren't going to let Ray die... although, considering my past visions, it is highly likely that he will-"

"Bert, shut up, look lie about something to my grandmother as an excuse and I'll go put some fucking decent clothes on and then we'll go and inform Ray of his death."

Bert snorted at that, even if it was a little cruel and uncalled for, and even if Frank didn't half raise his eyebrows in response. "What? Like, I'm sorry to inform you, Mr Toro, but technically, you're dead." Frank rolled his eyes in response, trying his best not be even slightly amused by Bert’s impression, but perhaps cracking a smile, just a little.

"Well, we're trying our best to ensure that he won't be anyway- seriously, fuck, why don't we just ask Bob about this: he's the expert, he'll probably know how to stop this just off the top of his head or something, dear fuck, I-"

"Bob, will bitch on about not changing the course of designated events and will, I promise you, he will, do anything in his power to ensure that we don't manage to stop this happening, because you know what? Even if it does fuck up the entire universe, maybe I don't care, because I don't particularly fancy Ray dying."

Frank nodded, smiling a little as he almost began to put hope and belief into their quest. "Neither do, I, ray, neither do I."

-

"Pete, seriously, get the fuck out of my house." Bob rolled his eyes, watching as the eighteen year old sat down opposite him, on his fucking sofa, in his fucking house, and really this was so fucking messed up, and dear god, he couldn't even get rid of the little emo parasite.

"I have nowhere else to stay!" He exclaimed, almost offended that he'd been asked to leave the house of someone that he was barely acquainted with, and who also kind of hated him.

"Well, maybe you should have thought that through before moving here on a whim just to slay some fucking vampires, huh? Kid?" Bob took another sip of his can of beer, watching the eighteen year old with a certain degree of confusion; he had come to the conclusion that perhaps there was no getting rid of him, but there was most definitely something off about the guy, and that feeling didn't bode well for Bob at all.

"Well, I have a dream, and I'm following it." Pete shrugged it off like it was absolutely nothing, pulling his knees up to his chest as he continued to speak in his almost unnervingly chirpy and nonchalant manner. "That's what you're supposed to do, isn’t it? The American dream and all that?"

"Vampire killing, yeah?" Bob scoffed, rolling his eyes once more as he downed a great deal of his beer, wondering how much he'd have to drink before Pete managed to shut up. "What a fucking dream, hey? And how experienced you are at it as well - phenomenal."

"You can stop insulting me, too, you know." Pete snapped, catching Bob's gaze in an extraordinarily gutsy manner. "Just because I'm younger than you doesn't mean I'm nothing."

"No, it's nothing to do with age, it's just the fact that you're you - that's what makes you an idiot, kid." Bob sighed, smirking a little as he got up from the sofa, glancing awkwardly in Pete's direction and generally just praying that he wouldn't follow him around like some sort of little lost puppy.

"Yeah, and it's just you, that's what makes you a bigoted asshole, Bob Bryar." Pete stood up after Bob, stopping the guy in his tracks, the older of the two taking a couple of moments to recover from the recent hit to his ego.

"If you think so then why don't you just get the fuck out of my house, Wentz?" Bob asked, eyebrows raised as he looked the eighteen year old up and down, wondering really what had messed him up so bad that this vampire ridden shithole was the only place he wanted to be in life, but he soon brushed it off, due to the fact that he generally didn't tend to give that much of a shit about most people, and especially not idiots that marched into this place, ready to fuck everything up for everyone.

"As I said, I have nowhere else to say." Pete repeated, still calm, and still far too nonchalant and Bob began to contemplate the ethics of punching the guy with the face of a twelve year old. Bob went by his own morals and ethics most of the time, and yet, he still couldn't quite figure out just where Pete Wentz fitted in all of this, because he just didn't, and there was something about him that maybe, he just couldn't quite figure out.

"Why are you here- not in my house, but here, in this town, really... why? Tell me."

Pete scoffed a little at first, rather taken aback by Bob's direct question, juxtaposed with his menial and almost sarcastic comments prior, but after a few moments of silence, the sincerity really began to sink in, and for the first time, Pete felt himself truly speechless, because this was a question that should never be asked and simply for fear of being answered, because he couldn't answer it and he couldn't tell the truth to anyone, and especially not Bob Bryar.

Pete didn't particularly do too well under pressure either, and Bob's determined gaze wasn't at all helping the skittish eighteen year old regain his composure, because the words didn't seem to even reach his lips at all, and found himself without words in front of the most impatient guy he'd ever met, and of course, on top of that, the impatient guy didn't particularly like him all that much.

"Well?" Bob continued, soon growing bored of the what seemed to be everlasting silence, and with good reason - staring at Pete's eyes, drowning in eyeliner, wasn't exactly the most joyous of pastimes, and yet somehow, he couldn't help but let curiosity take the better of him as he found himself continuing to wait for the eighteen year old to answer, even if it'd take years.

"It's nothing." Pete forced himself into an over enthusiastic smile as he attempted just to shrug this all off, even after the almost melodramatic pause of silence that they endured as his brain searched for a somewhat better excuse, but it was now made rather evident that perhaps the eighteen year old's evidence, or perhaps lying technique was not quite up to par.

"Yeah, sure, and I'm a fucking jellyfish." Bob rolled his eyes in response, watching the eighteen year old's reaction with great intrigue, because really, he knew that there was just something about this guy that despite the fact that he couldn't quite place, was just far too important to miss.

"Yeah, good for you." Pete retorted, his voice quavering a little, ensuring that his tone was worthy of mockery, however Bob took the moral high ground of keeping his mouth shut and simply observing the manner in which the eighteen year old presented himself.

"If you're going to abuse my home and questionable hospitality, then that's a question you will need to answer at some point." Bob reminded him, perhaps just for the sake of threat, but regardless of the elder's intentions, Pete managed to shrug it off nonetheless, making his way to the door.

"I'm going out." He added as an explanation, leaving Bob to come to the conclusion that he really didn't give that much of a shit, as long as there was actually some peace and quiet for once, so he could carry on being self-righteous and protector esque without any damage to his precious ego.

But there was just something, and Bob knew that now he'd noticed it, it simply wasn't going to leave his head until the day that his head left his body, and still, in this torture, he hadn't a single fucking clue as to what, and right there was the most fatal flaw in being the cleverest person you knew.

-

The walk to Ray's was like a ride in a hearse, and Bert wouldn't shut up out of nerves, going off about every little thing he noticed and even rambling through random and nonsensical anecdotes from his childhood, which really wasn’t helping Frank compose himself at all, because really, telling your friend that there'd been a vision of their death that was most likely going to come true wasn't exactly something Frank had been prepared for in school.

Dear god, when he left New York, he never thought this would have been something that he'd have to do, and in fact this was just the kind of absurd that he wouldn't be all that surprised if he blinked and then just woke up in his bed, and then perhaps even in his bed, not his grandparent's, in New York, and at home, with his parents alive and this fucked up little town rendered nothing more than a figment of his imagination, and Gerard Way rendered nothing more than a figment of his imagination.

It was however the latter that he reckoned he'd have trouble dealing with, because despite the fact that you tended to forget dreams not long after you'd woken up, but there was just something about Gerard that ensured that no matter what happened, even if Frank's brains got blown out of his fucking skull, he'd still never forget Gerard fucking Way, and perhaps something about that was weird, but it just felt nature, and it just felt right, and he just felt loyal.

"We're here, fuck, we're here." Bert's words finally seemed to contain something of sense and Frank tuned back in at that point, fidgeting nervous with the bracelet Gerard had given him, because fuck, this was not something he wanted to do. "How do we even? How? Fuck what do we even do, fuck?"

"We just go in and you tell him briefly about your visions in general, and then casually bring it onto the subject in question, which just happens to be his, his uhh... death, and it'll all be totally fine, because it's not like it's our fault or anything we just... we're doing him a favour by letting him know and giving him a chance of not being able to die, I mean, technically- fuck, come on," Frank grabbed Bert by the arm, pulling him towards the door, "let's just get this over with and then we can have a smoke as we decided that we are all absolutely screwed later."

"Or we could just ignore the issue at hand right now and have a smoke instead and just hope that I was wrong-"

"Yes, that would be a great idea, if it wasn't for the fact that you're never fucking wrong, now come on, for fuck's sake!"

But as Frank pushed the two of them into the store, with enough faked self-confidence for the both of them, it turned out, in fact, that everything would not be okay, and that everything had most certainly gone to shit already, but Bert most certainly hadn't predicted this, because fuck, Frank could not believe his eyes, and it was getting to the point that they were going to fall out of their sockets if he kept rubbing them in disbelief.

Ray wasn't dead, at the very least, and in fact, Ray was nowhere to be found, and it was exactly that fact that had allowed disaster to take place in the form of the sight before them: the two figures jumping apart as they came to acknowledge their presence in the room, and really, Frank was nothing but fucking speechless, and it seemed this was in fact the first time Bert had shut up today, and of course, it was simultaneously this first time that Frank wished for something other than silence.

Because that's all there was silence - silence and awkwardly passed around gazes between the four of them. The four of them being, Frank, Bert, Mikey, and Pete.

Perhaps nothing even needed to be said, because they'd already seen it all, and perhaps not even the most ambitious of liars could make their way out of this one.

"It's not what it looks like." Mikey finally broke the silence with words masqueraded in an apologetic tone that left Frank grasping at possibilities in the struggle of just what to think, because there was nothing to think other than the obvious, but in this case, it was the obvious that also became the unthinkable.

"You were kissing, you were fucking kissing- and fuck, Ray?" Frank exclaimed, his words coming out without absence now, and dear god, it was every emotion all at once as he struggled to figure out the one question on his mind - why. "Ray?" He exclaimed again, meeting Bert's gaze. "What the fuck about Ray?"

"I-I... I'm sorry..." Pete stuttered out, struggling for the second unfathomable explanation of the day, and really, when it came to this kind of confrontation, he'd rather be explaining his whole life story to Bob Bryar, and in fantastic detail too.

"You should fucking say sorry to Ray, you fucking piece of shit, just what the fuck. Mikey, seriously, fuck, why?" It was needless to say that Frank wasn't thinking straight, not that he was ever anywhere near straight in the first place, and his words made it the hit you in the face kind of evident.

"Is sorry not enough?" Mikey choked out, his head spinning as he watched one simple fucking mistake tear everything down. "It was just one kiss, a mistake, perhaps, and there was never anything more, I just fuck-"

"How about you tell that to Ray?"

"Tell me what?"

And all four pairs of eyes spun to see Ray pushing the door of his shop open, and oh fuck, as if things just couldn't be worse.

-

Hey guys:) I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and if you did, I'd appreciate it if you could leave a comment and/or a vote if you want to:) I love you all<3