It was unmistakeable.

The trees were dead in nature; the bark either withered to a lifeless almost ghostly white, or charred and blackened into a mess a pyromaniac would dream of, and the grass grew long, almost crawling up to where the fog clung long to the ground, as it had never been worn down my footprints, and the mausoleum a top the hill, protruding from the fog in nothing more than a spine tingling, ominous manner.

Frank was in the graveyard.

Yet he hadn't a clue why.

Or how.

In fact, he had no memories of ever even getting here; the last thing blurred into his memory was a rushed apology to Ray, who had been busy on the phone with someone and in consequence paid very little attention to Frank, who just left eventually, his memory of course fading away completely as soon as he had shut the door behind him, which now almost comically donned a silver cross, and Frank ought to wonder what had possessed Ray in order for him to put it there, but right now he honestly had much more pressing matters on his mind.

He found himself almost rooted to the ground, frozen both physically from the cool air and his abundance of a jacket, yet almost frozen to the spot, his eyes fixated upon the mausoleum and the path up there - well, the shorter part of the grass, littered with the odd rock somewhat embedded into the dirt - that was all there was, not much of a path, really.

Frank's heart was beating heavily, thudding in his chest as he still found himself fixed to the spot in awe of just what to do, and how the hell he'd ended up here - he hadn't woken up or anything, he'd just suddenly started becoming conscious of his actions, and it really was a weird thought, especially considering just where he'd ended up and just how well the fog ensured that he was completely unaware of anyone or anything watching him right now.

And fuck, Frank couldn't help but wish that whoever had kidnapped him or drugged him or whatever had thought to bring him a hoodie, because goddamn, Frank couldn't place why, but it was just so cold.

And just in the same way as he grown to realise where he was and question what the hell he was doing here, he started walking, his feet moving not unwillingly, yet still without him even considering the thought.

And for what was probably even an even further unknown reason, Frank allowed himself to keep walking, his feet guiding him up the hill to the mausoleum, and he really wished that his body had developed this 'auto-walk' function back when he was still forced into doing sport in high school.

It was only as the fog slowly faded away as Frank's heart really began to pound his chest; the situation moving on from a little stomach churningly weird, to 'oh fuck I am most definitely going to die right this second tell Bob Bryar I will love him forever for giving me that joint yesterday'.

To put it simply, it had become all too apparent that Frank wasn't alone in the graveyard.

And it wasn't the hundreds of dead corpses in the ground being referred to here; it was the dead things that dwelled above ground - the ones you should be really worried about.

Yet, despite every nerve in his body practically exploding as he forced himself to turn and run back, sprint down the hill and jump over the gate and then run as fast as he could, most likely ending up in a different state in the process, yet despite this, Frank didn't stop.

It was almost like he couldn't, but he felt deep down that he could, it was weird, weirdly like he didn't quite want to.

The thing Frank's heart had stopped at stood at the front of the mausoleum, leaning back against the stonewalls, standing out in all black against the grey architecture, and as he was turned in Frank's direction, there wasn't a question regarding the fact that he'd noticed him.

"Well," The stranger exhaled, pulling his body off the mausoleum wall so he stood up straight, dropping the end of his cigarette and stubbing it out in the grass with the heel of his shoe - black, of course. "Hello there."

It was then that Frank stopped, barely a metre away from the nasally yet pretentiously spoken stranger; both parties in a state of almost panicked scrutiny of one another, and Frank found himself far too caught up in wondering how on earth he could see from behind such a fringe; a mop of unwashed black hair that covered the majority of his face, only his mouth visible - pale pink lips barely visible against his abnormally pale skin, then again he didn't look like the type that frequented visits to the outside world - it was the black trench coat that really screamed it aloud though.

"I've heard, that the polite thing to do, is say hello back." What little of his face was visible moved upwards in support of a raising of his eyebrows, causing Frank to fall into a blush over the stranger - a stranger who felt just so familiar, yet he still couldn't place them - like a face he'd seen before in a dream or something. "Not that the fact that I appear to have taken your breath away isn't flattering."

"Sorry..." Start with an apology, well done Frank. "I.. I.. Just you... do you happen to know how the hell I ended up stood here with no recollection of ever walking here?" Frank didn't even know why he was asking - the guy would most likely think him insane, but if he'd learned one thing as he'd lived here, it was that insanity was most certainly not uncommon.

"Well, yes." And oh god that fucking smirk did nothing but scream smug. "I am, however, not inclined to tell you, sweet talk me a little, honey, and then maybe I'll reconsider - it is of course still rather unlikely, I will, and then obviously furthermore unlikely that you will believe me, so perhaps your efforts would be nothing but wasted here, but I'm in no objection to you sweet talking me regardless."

"I... uhmmm..."

"Take your shirt off then or something-" He continued to speak in such casual tone, amusing himself with Frank's lack of understanding in an awfully sadistic manner, and then doing far too little in the department of caring afterwards.

"What?" Frank's eyes practically leapt from his sockets at that.

"Well, it's clear eloquence isn't your speciality, therefore I doubt sweet talking me would be all that effective-"

"I'm not trying to flirt with you..." Frank eventually spat out, piecing together what he could as he looked first at the stranger clad in black and then back behind him, the rest of the world buried underneath the fog, ensuring that Frank felt like it was impossible that he'd ever escape from whatever kind of hell he'd ended up in here.

"Well, that's disheartening." He shrugged it off, grabbing a packet of cigarettes from his trench coat pocket, offering the box in Frank's direction. "Care for a smoke?"

"Dear god, yes." The stranger winced at little at his response, leaving Frank to blush at just how overly enthusiastic and generally pathetic he was coming off, but he took a cigarette nonetheless, before the stranger changed his mind.

"You really need to sort your life out, honey." The stranger passed Frank his lighter as he placed his own cigarette between his lips, rolling it to the side of his mouth as he spoke. "What in hell are you doing here if you aren't flirting with me? I'm clearly the most important thing here right now."

"And the most modest." Frank commented as he passed the lighter back, gaining an unexpected chuckle from the stranger.

"Certainly." He responded, his words slurred slightly as he lit his cigarette, a smirk curling around the smoke he held between his lips.

"Well, I suppose since we're in a graveyard, everyone else is dead." Frank added, taking a prolonged drag of the cigarette, treasuring it like it was his whole world - the nicotine allowing him to push aside the fact that he stood in the graveyard with a mysterious and rather pretentious stranger.

And as the stranger descended into a chuckle, Frank queried him as to what was so funny, a blush accompanying his words - feeling awkwardly excluded from the joke, yet still generally pissed off at the stranger.

"It seems that intelligence isn't your strong point either."

"Shut up." Frank moaned, rolling his eyes at the guy beside him - for some reason still not feeling entirely insulted, perhaps it was the stranger's tone, or perhaps it just was the familiarity and weird kind of trust between them that forced Frank into the feeling that this wasn't the first time the two of them had met, and really this was a felling he just couldn't loose.

"We don't even know each others names and you're insulting me." He added, his eyebrows raising in the direction of the stranger's face, or rather the mop of dark hair that covered it.

"Well, go on." He continued, his cigarette moving almost dangerously in his hand as he gestured wildly in accompaniment to his words.

"Huh?"

"What’s your name?" He rolled his eyes, sighing a little as if the fact that Frank was a little slow brought him physical discomfort.

"Oh... uhh.. I'm Frank." He introduced himself, knowing that, unlike New York, in a place like this, being on a first name basis with just about everyone was the norm, and that it was totally normal that this guy was asking his name, even if it didn't feel like it, and Frank disregarded instinct in what he thought was a good decision, which in retrospect, perhaps wasn't.

"And I'm Gerard." He turned to face Frank, a smile passing momentarily over his lips, before it faded away into the alabaster glow of his face. "Can I continue to insult you now?"

"Knock yourself out."

-

And the weirdest thing was that Frank barely remembered the last word leaving his lips before everything seemed to fade away again, and he found himself stood outside Ray's shop, just about a metre away from the front door, stood gazing at it rather dumbfounded, but of course within reason.

Had it been just a dream?

Had he passed out?

What the hell had happened?

Really, Frank could put no rational explanation to what had just occurred and continued to stand in a typically dumbfounded state as he fixed his eyes upon the silver cross that now hung against the shop door, and how it had been moved, almost in mock, perhaps by a group of teenagers, and Frank instantly found himself laughing at the fact that a move from state to state had turned him into one of those middle aged stuck up pricks with enough in their bank account to comfortably walk around tutting at the 'youths these days' and 'damn kids', when in New York, he'd very much been one of those 'youths', but he could say for certain that he'd never flipped a cross over in a Catholic town.

Frank almost laughed at the shop door now branded with the symbol of the antichrist, before he thought it perhaps best that he turned it back over before Ray blamed him and got angry or whatever - he reckoned Ray was already on odd terms with Frank regarding the incident that had occurred yesterday involving that joint and just what Frank had said about his boyfriend.

And Frank really needed someone to talk to about what had just happened... whatever the hell it had been that had just happened. Perhaps Bert had drugged him or something, or perhaps somebody else had prior, causing him to pass out, or maybe the weed still hadn't fully worn off, but Frank deemed the last one rather unlikely, considering the fact that he felt anything but high right now.

But as Frank reached out to flip the cross back over, he found that it simply wouldn't budge, and it felt almost nail down in that position, despite only being hastily hung over a hook with a piece of fucking string, so Frank tried again, harder, but it simply would not budge, and really despite how ignorant he recognised this to be, he had to give whoever had vandalised it credit, because they'd certainly done a good job.

"Frank?" He jumped out of his skin as the door he'd been staring so intently at opened, revealing a rather flustered Ray, his afro sticking up in a variety of directions, and he could only assume that, one, whatever he'd been doing hadn't been exactly warranting a silver cross on his door anyway, and, two, that Mikey was here.

"Your, uhmm... cross, is... uhm-" Frank stuttered out as he stumbled over what could possibly be the least suspicious manner in which he could explain the current situation.

"I know." Ray let out a sigh, grabbing Frank by the hand and pulling him inside, and sure enough, as Frank had suspected, perched on the edge of the counter top was Mikey Way, spindly spider legs and all.

Mikey let a chuckle pass over his lips as he met Frank's gaze, leaving the nineteen year old both equally confused and distressed at just what was so funny, and of course, considering his homosexual tendencies, his first thought was 'oh my god has my eyeliner smudged?'.

Thankfully, that was not the case.

"A spider? Really?" Frank's eyes popped out at the realisation of just what Mikey was referring to, and he could only send a glare in Ray's direction, signifying Frank’s message of 'oh my god you did not tell him'. Ray, of course, only smirked in response, finding this all rather amusing, as he knew that Mikey wasn't at all offended, and that the person making the biggest deal out of this was really Frank himself.

"I was high." Frank blushed, his gaze trailed down in the hope of what was a non verbal apology, because he hardly reckoned that he was up to putting out yet another coherent sentence in this state of embarrassment and 'oh my god please kill me'.

"Yeah, I know." Mikey added with a small, yet friendly smile - a smile of anything other than miniscule size was never encountered upon his lips. “It’s fine, Frank. Don't worry."

"Thank god, I'm sorry." Frank felt into yet another blushing, brushing his fringe over his eyes in a terrible attempt to hide it. "Wait, Ray, what happened to the cross thing outside?" Frank asked, somehow still curious about the thing, and more so just adamant in his efforts to ensure that Ray was aware that he wasn't to blame - he really could not run the risk of loosing what few friends he had, especially in a place like this.

"Uhmm..." Frank couldn't help but notice and in turn question the blush that fell upon Mikey's face as he turned away, biting his lip ad allowing Ray to answer. "I don't know?"

"I thought someone had just fucked with it, turned it over, but it seems to be nailed down or something-"

"Oh, so you tried to flip it back over?" Mikey turned back, his eyes widening at first and as Frank nodded in response, he sighed in correlation to a gesture or a conversation shared only between him and Ray, leaving Frank, of course, clueless.

"Don't worry about it, Frank. I'll get Bob to sort it out later." Ray suddenly began to question his original plan of keeping Frank in the dark about what was going on here, because although intended as a means to keeping him safe, it seemed to be causing everyone a lot more trouble than it was worth.

"Who do you think did it?" Frank couldn't help but ask; something Ray mentally cursed him for, forcing the usually honest boy into yet another lie - something Mikey could only offer him a sympathetic glance in help with.

"I don't know. Lots of strange things have been happening here." Ray shrugged it off with a generic comment, that wasn't untrue, but it certainly wasn’t the whole truth either.

"Yeah, I've noticed." Frank went a little pale at that as he began to recollect the memories of how he'd unexplainably ended up in that graveyard and had a conversation with that weird stranger in a trench coat, what was his name? Jared? Gerard? Esteban Julio Ricardo Montoya de la Rosa Ramírez? Frank couldn't quite remember.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mikey queried, one eyebrow raised as he jumped up off the counter, leaning back against it, crossing those spider legs of his.

"Well... I think, I don't know, but I think I keep blacking out, or passing out, or something, it's just I end up in places with no recollection of ever getting there and nothing ever quite seems to add up as if my mind or something is purposefully fucking with me, and... god, I probably sound insane right now, and I probably am, but it's got to the point where this has happened enough for it to be real... it has to be..."

"Frank... can you... uhm... go into details here...?" Ray finally dragged his words out into the silence, him and Mikey sharing a look of connotations far too ghastly that Frank had been shielded from understanding.

"I.. uhh... wait you actually believe me?" Frank stopped, glancing up at Ray, his brows furrowing as he found himself almost set in the belief that he'd receive nothing but ignorance and skepticism in return for his confession.

"Of course I do, Frank. What kind of friend would it make me if I didn't?"

And that word 'friend', that stuck with Frank, because he found himself astounded by the fact that despite comparing his boyfriend to a spider, getting high inside his shop, and being generally annoying, Ray still considered him as his 'friend'.

God, that guy must have incredibly high patience.

"So... it kind of started the day I got here and I was stupid enough to go into the graveyard and I don't know if this is some messed up kind of karma thing or whatever, but then, I saw this kind of figure thing, and I got totally freaked out and just legged it after that, but I... I think... I know it sounds crazy but I think that whatever I saw there, just won't leave me alone..." Frank jolted as Mikey inhaled audibly, sucking a harsh breath of air, and as all eyes focused on him, he simply nodded for Frank to continue, passing Ray a far more concerned glance.

"And then I just kind of kept seeing it, like in the corner of my eye, or its shadow in a mirror, or in the shadows, or something - the kind of things you can dismiss on their own, but as they all stack up, it just fucks with you, you know? And then today, just now, just as I was going here, I was stood outside the door, but then almost in blink, I wasn't - I was in the graveyard and there was this guy in this stupid fucking trench coat and dark hair and he gave me a cigarette, and then suddenly in just a blink I was back here, and it almost felt like a dream, but it wasn't, because... because my throat's still scratchy from the smoke he gave me-"

"I told you it wasn't going to work, Ray." Mikey suddenly snapped, interrupting Frank, with widened eyes from all parties, as suddenly all the attention found its way to Mikey and the glare fixed onto his face; not angry at anyone, or anyone here at the very least - he was just angry at what had happened to Frank, because unlike the nineteen year old, he knew what this meant, and he knew it all too well.

"At least I was trying... he didn't have to know-" Ray stuttered to explain, suddenly feeling both pairs of eyes on him as Frank struggled to piece together as to just what on earth was going on here, and just how everyone in this damn town seemed to know something he didn't.

"Know what?" Frank questioned, stepping closer to the two of them in a manner that would have been intimidating if Frank wasn't like three foot tall.

"Frank, what exactly did this guy look like?" Ray countered Frank's question with another in a manner that the nineteen year old wasn't all that fond of but obliged to regardless; mainly in the hope of an eventual explanation rearing its head.

"He had messy black hair, kinda long, covering most of his face, and he was pretty fucking pale, wearing all black with a trench coat and I think a hoodie underneath because he had a hood as well, and stupidly tight jeans-"

"Did he look like..." Mikey began, exhaling as he glanced at Ray, realising that his boyfriend was still unaware of the event that he was about to bring up. "When Ray had gone behind the back the first time we met, and that guy that walked in... did he happen to look like him?"

And suddenly Frank's heart stopped entirely, because he didn't even just look like him, there was no question regarding the fact that they were the same person.

And Mikey knew him.

"Wait... what was this?" Ray's eyes widened, glaring at Mikey, as he had expected - Ray didn't particularly take well to being left in the dark. "Was it him?"

Mikey nodded.

"Did this guy tell you his name?" Ray directed his question at the eternally confused Frank, who still found himself utterly devoid of any answers whatsoever.

"Yeah, I think it was like something beginning with a G.. Ge...r..?"

"Gerard?" Mikey exhaled, pushing the word forward, despite it being an option he daren’t consider.

"Yeah! Yeah, actually... it was..." Frank glanced between Ray and Mikey, confusion still evident upon his face.

"Fuck."

-

Hey guys:) I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it and if you did, comments and votes are always appreciated;) I love you all<3