Long time since the last update. Next chapter will probably be the last or second to last :) hope you enjoyed. As always, comments are extremely appreciated! So are votes! Thanks for reading.

Frank doesn't know how much time has passed before he wakes up again. He feels someone's hand on his face, and he's dripping wet. He's so tired he can barely comprehend what's happening. He only hears someone mumbling his name, and a closet door opening and shutting. Frank puts his hands over his eyes, and groans, crying out. Is he dead? Is this heaven? Where is God? Where is the everlasting black? Where the fuck is Buddha or Allah? Why is everything so normal-colored? Isn't it supposed to be white and golden? Maybe he's in hell. Actually, he's absolutely in hell. Why would he, of all people, make it to Heaven?

But then he hears, "Frank, you need to wake up." And it's a Jersey accent, it's soft and graveled, and Frank's heart stabs in his chest. Why is Gerard here? Why the /fuck/ is Gerard here? It's supposed to be different. This is all supposed to be different. This isn't supposed to be like this. This is supposed to be more, he's supposed to be dead. He wants to be dead. He wants... he needs to not be like this.

"Frank, wake up, we need to get you to the hospital," Gerard whispers, "Patrick, can you make him vomit again? I'm going to call 911."

Frank panics, and with the words, "I'm going to call 911," he finds his voice.

"No! Let me... I don't want to..." He moans, he wants it to come off more aggressive, louder, but it doesn't. He hears it as a groan, a soft voice, too weak to speak. He feels hands around his stomach, squeezing, and then he's vomiting into what he guesses is the toilet. He manages to find the strength to hold onto it for balance, and when he's done dry heaving, he falls onto the ground.

"Does he need an ambulance? I don't think they can legally take him if he refuses." Gerard mumbles.

Patrick signs something, Gerard lets out a soft hum, and then says, "Let's put him in the bedroom, and dry him off." Frank cries out, it's not supposed to be like this. How did they even know he was trying to kill himself? They're supposed to be oblivious. Gerard is supposed to hate him, Patrick is supposed to hate him. He's a burden. Them taking care of him through his suicide attempt is a fucking burden. They don't want to be here, they want to be home, they want to be minding their own business. The last thing they want is to be here. Frank wants them gone. He needs them gone.

He's gently lifted up and brought out of the bathroom into his bedroom. Frank groans the entire way, but immediately covers his face as he's set in bed and his blankets cover his body. This feels nice. This feels warm. He's still upset, he still wants to scream and protest, but this... this is okay.

He shuts his eyes, pulls the blankets over his head and tries to just sleep. He doesn't want to be here anymore. He doesn't want anything but death. Frank hates this, it's humiliating. He hates everything about this. Gerard and Patrick are too quiet. Frank hates it, he wants them gone. He wants to be gone. Forever.

He wakes up a long time later, when he looks at the clock on his bedside table, it shows 9:26 am. Sixteen hours since he called up Lindsey. He stares at the wall. He's much more awake now, he guesses the sleeping pills have worn off. Or something. He looks across his room. Nobody is here. Did they leave? The thought that they did both depresses him and also invigorates him, but he still can't find the energy to leave his bed. Frank feels strange, like he's darting in and out of reality and he isn't quite in or out. Maybe it's the sleeping pills, maybe it's sleeping in his clothes, still somewhat wet. He doesn't know, but he slowly creeps out of bed, somewhat dizzy and cold. He grabs a blanket off his bed and drapes it across his shoulders as he opens his door and looks across the overview to the living room and the kitchen. He spots Gerard staring at the wall, a cup of coffee in his hand, Patrick cuddled up against him, half asleep. Frank considers returning to his room or trying again before they can stop him. But he knows they'd find out. It's useless to try. He stands there for a second, staring at Gerard, unsure of what to do, but when Gerard's eyes dart up to meet Frank's, he feels a soft flush cross his cheeks. He pulls his blanket around himself tighter and swallows back his fear.

"Hi," Gerard smiles, Patrick stirs beside him, opening his eyes with a silent yawn, and then turning up to look at Frank with a soft, sympathetic smile. It makes him sick.

"Hi," Frank manages. He doesn't want to move away from his place, and instead stares down at his feet, unsure of what to say. This is embarrassing, he wishes that things weren't like this. He wishes he hadn't been caught. How the hell /was/ he caught in the first place? He asks, "How did you know to come?"

Gerard leans back in the couch, "You called. Your words were really slurred, but you called. You were sobbing, saying you didn't want to die. You sent your location. Patrick and I were both very worried."

Frank looks away, he's embarrassed, did he actually call Gerard? Fuck, he can't remember it. He must have been really drugged up. He pulls his blanket closer around himself, "I'm sorry. You can leave if you want to. I won't do it again."

Gerard gives him a worried smile, and stands, setting down his coffee before hiking up the stairs and pulling Frank close. The blanket falls, and the hug sets something over in Frank. He chokes up and covers his mouth before sobbing hard into Gerard's shoulder. He can barely keep himself together. Everything's been so fucking hard. He can't leave bed, he can't deal with anything, he can't. Nothing is okay. Everything just feels so bad, he wants to cry out and die. He wants to not have to be a burden to the people around him. Frank is so, so tired of being sad.

"Tell me," Gerard whispers, "It's okay."

Frank cries out harder, because he knows that it's okay. It's always been okay, but the permission to cry, the permission. Knowing that Gerard can take it. He cries out even harder, "A-are you mad... are you mad at me...?"

"Why would I be mad?" Gerard asks, leading him into the bedroom.

"C-Cause I fucked Patrick, and I-I know you hated that. I-I know I really fucked up, and-"

"Of course I'm not mad," Gerard replies, "God, I'm sorry. It was a game more than anything. I knew that it wasn't the best for you but I'm not mad at you."

Patrick enters the room and presses Gerard's coffee into Frank's hands. Frank immediately sips from the cup, it's black. He loves that. He shuts his eyes and presses into Gerard's shoulder.

"What's wrong?" Gerard whispers, "You can tell me anything. I promise."

Frank swallows back his fear, wipes his tears from his eyes and stares at the floor, he thinks back to this past month, to however long ago Hayley and Lindsey was. He shuts his eyes. However long ago he first wanted to die. However long ago... his mother screamed at him. However long ago it was that... That his uncle...

"I don't want to talk right now," Frank whispers, "I think... I'll tell you. Not right now."

Gerard nods and presses his lips to Frank's forehead. Frank wipes away the last of his tears and presses himself into Patrick, "I wanna stay like this for a bit. Is... is that okay?"

"Of course," Gerard whispers, "Of course, anything you need."

Frank nods and smiles softly. This feels good. Patrick and Gerard by his side. This... this feels right.