Strays - Bandom (MCR), NC-17, Frank/Gerard.

[gorgeousnerd]

Title: Strays
Fandom: Bandom (My Chemical Romance)
Rating: NC-17
Length: About 14,500 words.
Characters/Pairings: Frank/Gerard, Mikey, Ray.
Disclaimer: Unless I've become a psychic who sees into the lives of magical musicians, this is nothing but fiction.

Content notes: (skip) Involves grief inspired by a main character thought to be dead, animal cruelty at the hands of minors, vague violence and gore, somewhat explicit sex.

Summary: Frank and Gerard's life off-tour is all about grocery shopping and blowjobs and general domestic happiness...until Gerard goes missing, and bloody scraps are all that's left behind. So when a stray dog turns up on Frank's doorstep, can anyone blame him for wanting a little normal back in his life? (For werewolfbigbang 2012.)

Also available on: AO3 | LJ
Non-AO3 downloads: mobi | epub | PDF

Fanmix

Master post - wtfbrain

Author's notes

Another year, another werewolfbigbang! (Or, considering this is the third fic I'm posting with werewolves in the last few weeks: another day, another werewolf story in general.) As usual, this was not a one-person job. Thanks to:

-cheerfortyranny for the beta!
-My mom and rahnekat1 for listening to me ramble about the story. For that matter, thanks to all of my close family/friends/flist/rlist/Twitter feed for tolerating my usual hair-pulling. There's more to come, and I'm forever grateful for your patience.
-The fellow who paid me to housesit at the same time I was editing. Money and a place without distracting Internet! Win/win!
-wtfbrain for creating a fantastic mix to go along with the story. Give it a play and see if you find it half as catchy as I do.
-The community mod for running another great round. Here's hoping the werewolf ideas keep flowing and I come back again next time!


Strays

One

Frank's curled up on the couch with his Kindle. It's pretty much the best place in the world; there's lot of light, and whenever he and Gerard get a dog, there'll be room for it to snuggle, even if it's big. Frank is pretty fond of small dogs, so it's likely any snuggling will be on his feet or chest or whatever, but the possibility's awesome.

And okay, it's also great when Gerard comes over and starts running his hands all over Frank. And when he climbs on top of him and licks Frank's tattoos. And when he gets on his knees, yanks Frank's jeans down, and starts mouthing at his cock while humming happily. Maybe it makes Frank's neck ache to be shoved against the sofa's arm, but it's always worth it.

Today, Gerard has dried paint on his hands, and that's not his usual style; he's generally a markers kind of guy. But it adds just a hint of roughness to his fingers, and when he drags his hands over Frank's ass, Frank arches into the touch. Gerard's eyes flutter up—and fuck, his mouth, all stretched and red. Frank manages a wordless warning, and he comes not long after Gerard switches to his hand, splashing Gerard's cheek with his spunk.

Frank laughs in a gasp, brushing sweat off his forehead. "Where the fuck did that come from?"

Gerard kisses him as he wipes his own face, and Frank catches a touch of saltiness on his tongue, either from sweat or come or both. "Can't blow you much on tour," he says, his voice a little rough. "I like doing it."

"I like you doing it, too." Frank runs his hands through Gerard's messy hair, and Gerard laughs and pulls back.

"And I have to go to the store, but I was putting it off."

Frank snorts. "Love you, too."

Gerard pushes to his feet and adjusts his jeans. "You need anything? We've got enough for dinner, right?"

"Think so," Frank says. He pushes up, grabs his Kindle, and walks with bare feet across the tile until he hits the kitchen. They're going to pull up all the carpet in the next couple weeks so they won't have to worry about dog hair and house training and crap, but fuck, he's going to have get slippers or something. He pulls open the cabinets and, after a cursory glance, closes them again. "Yeah, I've got all the stuff for vegetarian chili. Think I'm out of toothpaste, though."

Gerard looks away.

Frank shuts the cabinet with a snap. "You used up my toothpaste again?"

"It's good!" Gerard says. "I like the minty stuff."

"Then stop buying the gross orange crap."

"It's not gross."

"It's orange. Orange is an unnatural flavor."

Gerard laughs, dorky and loud. "Orange? Is unnatural?"

Frank crosses his arms. "The way they put it in toothpaste? Yeah."

Gerard laughs even louder, ducking his head. Frank very carefully sets his Kindle on the counter and tackles Gerard to the ground, tickling his sides. Gerard tries to push him away, but he's never been able to take Frank on, size be damned.

"And just for that," Frank says when Gerard stops struggling, "I'm not going to the store with you."

Gerard gives him big eyes and a pouty lip, but Frank turns up his head. "Nope. You used my toothpaste—my superior fucking toothpaste—and mocked me. I think I'd rather read about vampires, thank you."

"Oh." Gerard's eyebrows rise a little. "Which vampires?"

"The ones in that Guillermo del Toro book."

"Fuck yeah. You know it's a trilogy, right?"

"Seriously? I'll have to...oh no." Frank climbs off Gerard and grabs his Kindle again. "No distracting me. Go ransack Whole Foods, and maybe I'll forgive you."

Gerard gives him the finger, and Frank gives him kissy lips back. But Gerard pecks him on the cheek and murmurs, "Love you" in his ear, so it's all good.

"Yeah, yeah," Frank says, but he adds an "I love you too" loudly just as Gerard grins and rounds the corner, so he's not a complete asshole. Just mostly one.

-

By the time Gerard finishes shopping and fills up the trunk of the car, the sun has set and an unpleasant drizzle has descended, much to Gerard’s annoyance. He slumps a little and digs his cigarettes out of his pocket. He could smoke on the way home, and doing it in the rain seems like an adequate “fuck you” to the weather.

He backs away from the store a little—Whole Foods shoppers give him more shit about smoking than anyone else he's ever run into—and moves toward the side, where a security light's blinking on and off. It'd almost be creepy if he wasn't in the middle of a city with other stores and lights and driving cars nearby, and if the clouds weren't glowing kind of pink overhead.

Except... Gerard flicks his lighter open and closed a couple times as he takes a drag. Maybe it's actually creepier with people and light around. All his favorite horror stories started with dark moors or forest or snowy towns in Alaska. He's not a big fan of going outside, but he wasn't raised to be scared of nature itself. Nature doesn’t spontaneously sprout hypodermic needles. Nature doesn’t dump bodies in the river. Maybe it was scarier to think of someone hiding in a shadow, waiting like a spider waits for prey for just the right opportunity to strike.

Gerard laughs to himself, exhaling a stream of smoke into the wet air. God. He can't take a five minute smoke break without psyching himself out.

At least Frank takes him seriously. The last time he mused about zombies breaking out of a hospital—The Walking Dead show is nearly as brilliant as the comic—Frank listened to him ponder and hypothesize aloud for a good half-hour, and it took at least five minutes for him to start losing his serious face. Frank had brainstormed the kinds of weapons you could make out of IV poles and syringes, so that was something.

A car rumbles. It's weird; it sounds like it's coming from Gerard's right, but there's nothing but dumpsters and a wall that way. Probably some kind of echo.

He stubs out the cigarette and heads for the trash. The rain's getting worse, rattling on all the metal on the trash bin and attached to the building. Gerard turns up the collar of his leather jacket way too late to keep water from sliding down his shirt. Fuck. He'd be home by now if he'd smoked in the car. But the butt's soaked all the way through, so at least there's no chance of fire if he tosses it in the dumpster.

It's only when he grabs the lid of the dumpster that he notices the car noise again. Except it sounds kind of like a low growl.

Weird.

-

Frank doesn't always know when he's dreaming, but this time he does. It's not one of those weird, cheese-on-the-head kind of things. It's just him and Gerard on stage, and Gerard's got "Frankenstein" written on his neck in Sharpie, like he did the show before they fucked the first time. And Gerard's giving him those wide-eyed grins like he did that show, mostly because they'd done their sappy declarations of love between sound check and the opening act.

Except he doesn't have his guitar, and there's no one in the audience. And actually, there's no Mikey on bass, or Ray shredding on the other side of the stage. But there's music in the air, and Gerard reaching for him, and—

—he wakes up.

The house is dark, and Frank's not cold exactly, but he's not as warm as he should be. He shivers a little, straightens up, and shifts his Kindle from his stomach to the end table next to the couch. His hair's probably messed the fuck up, but whatever, it's not like he's giving interviews today.

"Gee!" he yells. Probably went straight upstairs. It wouldn't be the first time he'd gotten an idea at the store and left the groceries in the trunk. Frank doesn't see bags on the counter, and it's always Frank's job to put stuff away. Not to mention Gerard loves to screw with him if he finds him asleep. "Why didn't you wake me up, jack off?"

The art studio is right upstairs because it gets good light exposure no matter the season, and they'd rigged up a bunch of bright sockets for his late-night scribblings. But it's dark, too.

Actually, everywhere is dark except for the faint moonlight coming through the parted clouds. No Gerard in the bedroom. No Gerard in the music room. No Gerard in the guest room. He isn't in the garage, and his car isn't parked out front...

Mikey. Of course, he's totally with Mikey. Just because his phone doesn't have any unread texts or missed calls doesn't mean anything; long Batman chats don't cease for voicemail. Frank presses three in his speed dial and waits.

"Hey," Mikey says after the second ring.

"Hey, dude. Gerard pestering you?"

"No."

Frank blinks. "Oh."

"Did you fight?" Most people think Mikey's monotone and bland, but Frank hears nothing but worry in his tone. At least he isn't judging.

"Fuck you, no." Frank's voice shakes a little. "He went to the store, and I fell asleep, and he isn't back."

"When'd he go?"

"When it was light out, I don't know."

"Okay. Pick you up in ten minutes?"

"Thanks."

Frank waits outside the entire time with his phone. He calls Gerard's number seven times, and every time, it goes to voice mail. Instead of hitting speed dial for the eighth, Frank stares down at his hand, willing Gerard to call him back.

Mikey's car pulls up ahead, and Frank jogs up and climbs into the front seat. He pulls his hoodie's sleeves over his hand and puts his hood up as Mikey hits the gas.

"Didn't pick up his phone," Mikey says.

Frank nods. Mikey doesn't say "He probably just forgot to turn the ringer on" or "His battery probably died", even though that's probably what happened. Gerard hasn't dropped off the grid since...it's been a while. He just got caught up. That's all.

Mikey pulls up to Whole Foods. Frank's out the door before the car's at a full stop, half-running toward the side Gerard usually parks. Sure enough, there's the car, windows still misted with rain. Frank wipes the water free on the driver's side so he can see, but the car is empty.

"Frank."

He turns, and Mikey's further down, crouched near a dumpster, his back to Frank.

"What—"

The words die in Frank's mouth when he sees what's in Mikey's hands: Gerard's leather jacket, torn, wet, and bloody.


Two

The words "media circus" had meant nothing to Frank. Or very little, anyway. Sure, the band's garnered enough attention over the years that they can't freely walk around in a number of countries. And when he and Gerard had gone...well, not public, they hadn't sold their story to People or any of that shit, they'd just stopped hiding. But since then, they deal with paparazzi at events sometimes, and it sucks, but it's part of the gig. It's not like he runs over photographers' toes or anything. And Gerard loves doing interviews with the queer press, so it works.

But now. Fuck, the second they'd called the cops, it was three rings, tent on the front lawn, and everybody scrambling to be the fucking ringmaster.

So Frank lives for two solid weeks with people from the label policing the front of his house, Donna Way on the phone, his mom constantly emailing him, and Mikey, Alicia, and Ray all at his back. (Christa had stayed home when Frank insisted; Alicia gave him a withering look before Frank could think of suggesting it to her.) All the curtains stay down, he smokes inside the house—with his own lighter; he can't steal Gee's since it had been at the scene, wrapped bloody in an evidence bag—and basically, he gives the Ways a run for their money in terms of vampirism because even TMZ gets a little quieter at five in the morning when there's no fresh blood to throw their way.

He puts an old air mattress in the art studio. Breathing the paint fumes in the air makes him feel better. Mikey and Alicia get the main bed, and Ray the guest room, and the nice assistant the label dropped on him to screen his calls—Andrea, he thinks when he can surface enough to think—takes the couch, since it's right next to the only landline handset in the place.

"You know," Mikey says pretty much every day. "If we went to my house—"

"Then they'd fuck with you there," Frank grumbles back. Well, after the first week. The first day, he didn't say anything and just shook his head. The next couple after that, he tried not to cry when he said that Gerard might come back and need his help.

For two weeks, the cops find nothing. Ray goes back home because Frank practically shoves him out the door. Alicia leaves of her own free will, but Mikey stays, sharing the main bed with Frank.

And Mikey. Fuck. If anyone takes it worse than Frank...but he just makes quiet phone calls in Frank's music room now and then, and the one time Frank had nearly walked in on him to ask if he wanted dinner or something, he'd heard Mikey talk to his therapist through the partially-cracked door. Frank had been willing to leave it—he didn't even think Mikey had known he was there—but Mikey told him without prompting later, "He won't like it if I slide back." And that was that.

After a month, almost all of the press has moved on. The cops have no leads. Mikey stops spending the night for Alicia's sake, which Frank totally gets. Fuck, he even agrees.

But the house. The house feels so empty.

-

Frank flicks ash off his cigarette and into his ashtray. Smoking outside's not a great idea, but they have a table with an umbrella hidden against the side of the house away from the fences. Besides, if the paps sell pictures of him, what's the worst they can say? That he's moving on because he's smoking outside? Yeah, anyone who could see the way his hands were shaking would know better. Not that it translates well in still pictures.

It's kind of nice being outside, anyway. Inside, the only things that greet Frank are the hum of the fridge and the echoes of his own footsteps. Here, cars whoosh quietly by and the breeze faintly rustles the leaves. He can hear the local kids playing nearby, too.

Frank rests his head in his free hand. It's unreal, kids giggling and blooming flowers and the sun shining. Shouldn't it always be raining? And shouldn't everyone shut up out of respect? That's what it had been like for the last month. Even with all the commotion that had been stationed outside his home, the yelling and raised voices at all hours of the day for an entire month, Mikey and Ray never spoke above hushed tones.

He takes another drag. The kids shriek, long and loud.

And then something whines.

Frank frowns a little, cocking his head like it'll help him hear, but he doesn't need to. Whatever whimpered does so again, though this time, louder and higher in pitch, sounding almost desperate. It sounds like a dog. A dog in pain.

He's jogging over to the gate before he realizes it. He opens the latch, and he looks at his hand briefly; the cigarette's gone. Frank looks back long enough to make sure he crushed it in the ashtray, and then it whines again, and he's outside.

The kids he'd heard were in the small alley behind his house. Usually, it was used to pick up trash. These days, it was gated off so only people who lived in the neighborhood or had the right code could get in; it was the only way they could keep vans from camping.

Now, it's full of a bunch of preteen assholes throwing rocks at a dog lying on the pavement. And if the red oozing out was any clue, the dog was in real fucking trouble.

"HEY!"

The kids freeze and turn in an instant. Frank can see the dog a little better; its gray fur is caked with dried mud in several places, and a jagged red line drips from shoulder to flank.

Frank balls his hands into fists and steps up. He's really shaking now. And he's not very tall—a couple of these little bastards are probably his height, if not taller—but whatever he looks like, it's enough to get the kids to run the other direction, noisily jumping the gate to escape.

Frank wants to scream something about how he'll find their parents or the cops or some mob guy to break their legs, but the dog whimpers, and Frank's hands unclench. His eyes burn a little, but he brushes them with the back of his hand and kneels.

"Hey, hey," he says quietly. Frank rests his hand lightly on the dog's head, and it stops shaking. It opens its eyes—green and bloodshot—and flares its nostrils. Frank moves his free hand over and lets the dog sniff. It licks gingerly.

He should call a shelter. But his phone's inside, and the dog's shaking. He might not make it that long.

"You think you can move?" Frank asks quietly, still stroking his head. His hand's tiny on the dog's skull. It's a big fucking dog. Bigger than any of the strays Frank's taken in before, and bigger than any dog Frank's owned in general. Both he and Gerard were thinking small so they could take the dog on tour.

As if the dog understood, he scrambles a little, trying to get his paws under him. He whimpers a lot, and he doesn't get very far, but he gives Frank enough space to get his arms up under the dog's shoulders.

"You can do this," Frank says quietly just before he stands. He's not sure who he's talking to.

-

The man lowers the wolf gently on the ground. The wolf huffs a little; the ground's harder than the dirt he's been sleeping on, and it pinches the skin pushed out from his bones. But the man leaves the room and comes back with more things in his arms, and when he sets them on the ground, he picks up the wolf just enough to set him on them. They're soft.

(Pillows? the wolf's thoughts echo. He corrects. Cushions.)

The man's hand strokes his head, and he closes his eyes for a moment, feeling each individual movement against his fur. It feels like the caress of the wind, but warmer, strange and familiar at the same time.

Home. He's finally home.

The wolf opens his eyes, and the man's gone. He lifts his head, panting, his tail stilling, and whines quietly. A voice calls out, and the man returns, holding something. The wolf settles back on the cushions, still panting.

He's walked every day that he can remember, which wasn't hard—if anything, to start, it was exactly what he wanted. But the smells he followed disappeared, and he got lost, and home was far. Too far on an empty stomach. He found scraps here and there, but people threw things or yelled half of the time, and it was safer to run, to search for the smells again. Safer until he grew tired, and the small people found him half-crawling.

So even though he smells water, hears it slosh in the thing the man carries, he can't lift his head again. Even if he had the energy, he hurts everywhere, and lifting his head makes it worse.

His head lifts again, and he huffs with surprise, but it's just the man, bracing the wolf's neck with his arm. Now the wolf can flick out his tongue, gather moisture, swallow. But even that's too much before long, and the man gently lowers him again.

The cushions shift, and the wolf whines again, pain resonating in his tone. The man makes soothing noises and settles behind him, careful not to jar his wound.

The wolf's eyes close again and he settles into a deep sleep.

-

Gerard shifts next to Frank, and Frank mutters. He's not ready to be awake yet. He's not ready for anything, but Gerard smells like he needs a shower, and if Frank has to crack the whip, it's probably better to do it when Gerard's not awake enough to put up much of a fight.

He rolls over, and instead of touching bare skin, he gets hair.

No. Fur.

Frank's eyes open, and the dog lies still beside him.

"Shit," he mutters, sitting up in a rush. The cushions he's on slide on the tile, but the dog stays still, since he's on a completely different set. His belly is also rising and falling as he sleeps, huffing breaths and twitching now and then, and fuck Frank didn't kill him.

Frank runs his hands on his legs and wills them to stop shaking. If the dog had been...no. He's okay. Just because Frank meant to call someone instead of falling asleep doesn't make him a completely negligent asshole. He was here. He would've known. And he had his phone—

His heart skips a beat, and he pats his pockets. No phone. He pats the cushions beside him, and between the one he was using as a pillow and the one the dog lies on is the phone, sticking half up. Frank sees the missed call—Mikey, fuck, how did he not hear? Did he bump his phone on vibrate? Gerard always gives—gave—gives him shit about that, leaving his phone in his pocket and letting it go to vibrate when they're lying around, but now...

He has to call Mikey back.

But before he can get his shaking fingers to settle long enough to hit buttons, he hears voices and clicking cameras filter in from the front, then quiet as the front door slams shut. Frank pushes to his feet, careful not to bump the dog, and walks to the living room at the front of the house.

Mikey's there, pulling off his coat. It's nowhere near cold enough for one, but it has a collar that's good for blocking his face, and with sunglasses, the cameras don't get much from him. He's paler than he used to be, and he's lost weight, but his hair is somewhat neat and he’s clean shaven. Alicia’s probably making sure he doesn’t lose sight of things like taking care of himself.

Mikey takes off his sunglasses and looks Frank up and down. "You didn't answer your phone."

Frank bites his lip and nods. "Didn't hear it, sorry."

"Are you..." Mikey cuts off. "Have you been sleeping?"

The answer's generally no, but he did last night, so Frank doesn't like he's lying when he nods. If his hair was shorter, it'd probably be sticking up everywhere. But it's hanging loose just under his chin—longer than he usually likes, but he hasn't cut his hair in a while—and if it looks rumpled, it's probably not in a I-just-slept way.

Mikey steps closer and holds open his arms a little in a silent question. When Frank steps closer, Mikey wraps his arms around him, squeezing gently. Funny that he's Gerard's brother, but hugging him is nothing like hugging Gerard. It never has been.

"I shouldn't have left," Mikey mutters in his ear.

Frank shakes his head a few times. "Alicia would hate living with me, dude."

Mikey doesn't give his little dorky laugh, but when Frank pulls away, he's smiling a little, so that's something. Then he frowns. "You smell like dog."

"Oh!" Frank glances over his shoulder even though he can't see the dog from here. "Yeah, I found one yesterday."

"What'll Gerard do to you when..." Mikey flinches. "I mean."

Frank giggles a little, turning the hem of his shirt in his hands. "No, you're totally right. He's always on my ass about picking up strays. But dude, the kids in this neighborhood. They were throwing rocks at him and he was bleeding… I wasn't sure he'd be alive when I woke up. And I was just about to call a vet, but—"

Nails click on the tile floor, and Frank turns.

The dog's up. And he's wagging his tail and has his tongue hanging out in some kind of vaguely happy way. He's skinny and dirty, but he's alive.

"Holy shit," Frank says, dropping to his knees. "You couldn't even drink water last night, dude! What the hell?"

He holds out his hands—he seemed to like Frank a lot, so it'll be good to give him something familiar to smell when he introduces him to Mikey. After all, he's not sure how the dog'll deal with someone who didn't save his life.

The dog comes trotting up, but he looks over Frank's shoulder, and he bolts. Frank scrambles to turn around again. Shit, shit, they have a baseball bat somewhere, where—

But the dog's licking Mikey's hands and leaning up against him and wagging his tail so hard it looks like it'll pop right off. Frank clutches at his chest a little until his heart slows down.

"Sorry, Mikey," Frank says, wincing as he takes in Mikey's oh-dear-god expression. "I didn't even think he could walk."

"Frank," Mikey starts,his voice calm but oddly strained, "this isn't a dog."

"Uh." It has two ears, a muzzle, four paws, a tail, and fur. Frank's no expert, but he definitely looks like a dog.

"It's a wolf."

Frank squints. It doesn't look much like a wolf. "But it's, like, licking the hell out of you."

"Still a wolf."

As if the dog—wolf, apparently—knows it's being talked about, he sits back on his back legs and looks up at Mikey, still wagging his tail. He's cocking his head like a dog might in the movies as though someone trained it to look worried. He bumps Mikey's hand with his muzzle, and Mikey sighs and starts scratching behind his ears.

"Nicest wolf I've ever met," Frank says.

Now Mikey snorts a little. "Have you even met a wolf before?"

"Have now!" Frank gets to his feet and brushes off his hands. His phone's in his pocket, although he doesn't remember putting it there, and when he bumps it, he says, "Shit, you called. And then you came over."

"Yep."

Frank holds his breath, but Mikey shakes his head right away. "I was just checking on you. I thought we could watch a movie or something."

"Oh." Something twists in Frank's chest, but he ignores it. He's gotten pretty good at that. "Okay."

Almost like the wolf notices, he breaks away from attempting to eat Mikey through cheerful tongue licks and trots up to Frank, leaning on him with his uninjured side. Frank laughs quietly and pets him. Not much because he's still caked in mud, but enough.

"I should probably take care of this dude," Frank says, wincing at the line of blood on his side. He probably shouldn't wash him if he's going to take him to a doctor, but the way his fur's matted, it's impossible to tell if he needs stitches or what. "That okay?"

Mikey shrugs. "Not doing anything else."

"I didn't mean—"

"Really. I'm not doing anything else."

Frank smiles. And maybe he wishes he could be half as cool as Mikey one day, but he'll never say it. "Awesome. Let's go upstairs."

-

The man with the lighter fur climbs the stairs. The smaller one waits behind, arms low like he's going to lift the wolf again, but the wolf follows the first man. He's only a little winded when he reaches the top, a few seconds ahead of the second man.

The second man makes impressed noises, and he waits by the wolf while he gets the energy to keep walking, petting him carefully. There's noise coming from where the first man disappeared, and when the wolf's got enough energy again, he pads ahead.

Water. Lots of water.

It's not like the wolf hasn't seen a lot of water before. The first few nights, it rained constantly, and some of the places he'd had to hide were covered in mud. But this is nothing like those because the first man's controlling it as the second helps the wolf up (into the bath, he thinks), and the filth washes away.

The two men talk to each other as they both wipe the wolf's fur clean, and the wolf sits and lets them. The one with the lighter fur smells like home, too. Not the same as the darker one, but the wolf's just as happy to nuzzle him, just as happy to hear soothing sounds come from his mouth.

But there's something wrong. Neither look like they should (not just no colors, the quiet voice says, but different), and while the darker one's happy to see the wolf, the lighter one seems like he's missing something. He keeps looking away, eyes roaming until the wolf nuzzles him again. One time, it takes a quiet whine to get his attention, and the darker one laughs and splashes water at the lighter one.

After a long time—longer than the wolf likes, even as nice as the warm water feels—the water disappears, and they dry the wolf with a towel. His fur sticks up, and he licks at it, trying to make it lie flat. But the men start to leave before he can make it work, so he follows, tail wagging behind him.

-

The words scrawl on the TV screen as the wolf curls up in front of Frank's feet, eating noisily. He's getting crap all over the tile, but Frank didn't feel like leaving him in the kitchen. Even though what he thought was a deep cut is mostly healed scratches, there's something about the wolf that's fragile.

"Who do you think his owner is?" Mikey asks, eyes fixed on the TV. Probably because the wolf's eating some of the hamburger Gerard had frozen in the freezer in the garage, and it's not really pretty, even for meat eaters. "A movie trainer?"

Frank shrugs and tucks his feet under him on the couch. "Probably. Are wolves even legal in California for normal people?"

"Dunno."

The movie shows the snows of Hoth, and Frank tucks his hands into his sweater. It seems like he's always cold. But Empire Strikes Back is Mikey's comfort movie, and the fact that he's watching it now is not a bad sign, actually. He hasn't touched it since...since.

"I can make some calls tomorrow," Frank says. "See if someone's looking."

"Good idea," Mikey says, reaching into the box of Lucky Charms he'd left a week ago.

Frank isn't so sure. Maybe it's not a great idea to have a wolf sitting around, but it's better. Mikey'll go home, and this way, someone'll make noise when Frank isn't.

Almost like Mikey can read Frank's mind, he slings an arm around his shoulders. Frank sighs and leans against him a little.

"He's out there," Mikey says quietly, almost too quiet to be heard over the movie. "I can feel it."

Frank looks down at the wolf, eating contentedly, and nods. He feels the same way. Maybe because he can't feel any other way.

-

The wolf dreams.

Later, he'll only remember it as colors and shapes and screaming, but good screaming. Happy screaming.

But when he's in the dream, it's like real life, walking in dark corridors and bouncing in place and brushing past other people. Because he's not a wolf in the dream. He's like the man who found him, furless except for his head and walking on two legs.

And the man who found him is there, standing next to him, grinning like the wolf hasn't seen. He's happy. And the wolf is happy, too.

Until he wakes up.

The room is dark. They're not downstairs on the cushions tonight. The man is in a bed, and the wolf is on the floor next to it. He pants, chest working, and heaves to his feet.

He brushes into another room, full of moonlight—not as much as it could be, not as much as the first night, but enough to see by—and eases up to the nearest table. The tang of paint and markers hangs in the air, but the drawings are black-and-white, the splotches on the end of the brushes shadowy. The wolf blinks, but they don't change.

It's not right. None of it is.

"Hey."

The wolf looks up.

It's Frank.

He's not smiling like he was in the dream. Or in the hazy picture in the wolf's mind, of him sitting on the couch. Frank kneels beside the wolf and says something else, but the words mean nothing. What really breaks through to him are the rings around Frank's eyes, the pinched look to his face.

The wolf grumbles a little, trying to say Frank's name. But he can't with this throat and mouth. They don't work this way. Frank stiffens, but the wolf smells no fear. It's all concern.

When the wolf eases forward, Frank winds his arms around his neck, squeezing gently as his fingers sink in to his fur. Things aren't right, but he can give Frank this much, at least.

-

The art room barely has the first hints of golden sunrise when Frank cracks his eyes.

He'd actually been sleeping in bed. Alone, for the first time since Mikey left. And it hadn't been great, or anywhere near normal, but he'd slept until the wolf had started knocking things over in the art room, and then it was just easier to sleep on the air mattress.

The wolf's sleeping under his arms like nothing's wrong. Probably isn't.

There's a noise above his head, and the door creaks open. Mikey eases in, eyes wide, and Frank glances down.

"It's okay," Frank says quickly. "Didn't tear out my throat or anything."

Mikey shakes his head once, then swallows. And Frank sits up.

"There was a message on my phone," Mikey says, holding it up. "Left about an hour ago."

The wolf stirs at the voice, but Frank doesn't so much as pet him. "Did they say..."

Mikey shakes his head again.

"You didn't call them back?" The cops wouldn't call Frank. He's not anything. Frank and Gerard couldn't get officially married in California or Jersey, so they hadn't dealt with any of the bullshit alternatives they could’ve resorted to. Frank got to be with Mikey when he was with the cops, but fuck, if they'd something worked out...

"Waited for you." Mikey dials and puts it on speakerphone. Even the wolf seems to hold its breath as the ringtone sounds.

The call connects, and at first, it sounds like crackling nothing to Frank. Why do phones sound like such crap, anyway? His computer a decade ago recorded better. The actual phone lines are just a haze of muffled words...

...which is why he almost completely misses the "ending the investigation" that comes out when they're connected to the officer in charge.

Frank doesn't hear anything after that, and it has nothing to do with the connection. It's more like he's on the shore and the ocean's roaring in his ears. He sees Mikey's mouth move and the distant look on his face. He sees the wolf look between them, searching for something. But sound is gone. And Frank isn't sure he wants it back.

"Frank?"

The call's over. Mikey's sitting in front of him, shaking his arm.

Frank nods like it means something, and then he gets up and walks back to the bedroom. He brushes past Mikey at some point, but judging by the vibrations through the floor, someone's following him. Mikey. The wolf. Both.

When he lies in bed, he doesn't bother pulling up the sheets or the comforter again. He dangles his arm over the side and breathes once, twice. His chest should hurt. He should be in pain. Something should be behind this tightness in his lungs.

The wolf slides under his hand, and he pushes his fingers through his fur.

He probably sleeps at some point. Certainly, there are points where the light changes in the room, and when he bothers to look, the wolf has shifted positions. He's never asleep when Frank looks, and he always licks Frank's hand when he notices Frank watching.

Eventually, daylight has shifted to the other direction, when Mikey reappears, kneeling in front of Frank.
"They gave back his stuff. They don't need the evidence anymore." It doesn't sound like he's humoring Frank. He sounds as hollow as Frank feels, actually.

He presses something cold into Frank's dangling hand, and when he flips it over, it's Gerard's lighter.
Frank probably stares for a while, but eventually, the wolf tugs on Frank's pant leg. Right. He probably hasn't been outside all day.

Mikey tries to pull Frank's jeans free, but Frank waves him off. "It's fine," he says, voice hoarse. "I should...it's fine."

He pushes out of bed—fuck, it's like someone turned down the gravity—and walks downstairs. The wolf's warm, moist breath huffs on his feet the entire way. Frank grabs his cigarettes and opens the back door, letting the wolf through first. Mikey's probably behind him, but he doesn't try to grab the door when Frank lets it swing shut behind him, and the door doesn't open again.

The wolf sniffs around as Frank holds the box of cigarettes in his hand. Or crushes it, actually. He stuffs it in his pocket after a minute and grabs the lighter.

It's nothing special: a random Bic lighter from the store, the same kind Gerard's been getting as long as Frank can remember. They always seemed like the best choice since he misplaced them all the time and smoked enough that he'd have to keep refilling nicer lighters. It was easier keeping a bunch of cheap lighters all over the place rather than letting Gerard bum lights off the roadies and fans. Which he did anyway.

Frank strokes his thumb over the plastic base. The blood's gone. Maybe Mikey cleaned it up.

God.

"This isn't..." He clears his throat. "You can't keep doing this to us, you selfish prick."

The wolf whimpers, and Frank looks up. His head's cocked like he's listening, and Frank kneels to his level. And he hugs the wolf again, who patiently puts up with it just like he did last night.

"Just come back," he mutters. "Gerard, please."

-

Gerard.

It means a lot of things. The hand that holds the markers. The voice. The strangely colored hair. The once-round face, now angular. The nicotine-stained teeth.

And now, it means the wolf himself.

Except, with the images of skin and flesh in his head and the smell of Frank in his nose, he expands and shrinks all at the same time, and when he opens his eyes again and Frank draws back, mouth gaping, he has hands in front of him. He has eyes that can see the green in the grass, and the yellow in Mikey's bleached hair as he runs outside, crying out his name.

He looks from the hands to Frank to Mikey and back to the hands.

"Huh," Gerard says.


Three

Gerard's devouring Fruit Loops. He's sitting in his chair in the kitchen, legs against his chest to help balance the bowl, and eating like Frank's never seen him eat. At least he's using a spoon. There's something about his face that implies he wants to stick the whole thing in.

Frank looks over at Mikey. Mikey looks back.

"Gee," Mikey says finally.

"Hmm?" Gerard barely clears his mouth, and he doesn't look up from his bowl. But his voice sounds like it usually does.

"What, uh." Mikey scratches his head. "What happened?"

"Dunno. Pass me the milk?"

Frank slides the carton silently toward Gerard. Gerard's already pouring what's left of the box of cereal into the bowl, a rainbow of crumbs heaping on top of the intact circles. Gerard grabs the milk and adds more, then goes back to eating.

Mikey's staring at Frank again. No, at Frank's hand. Because he's tapping it restlessly on the top of the table. Frank drops his hand in his lap.

"Start at the beginning," he says, and it's not a suggestion. He flinches a little at the sharp tone.

But Gerard doesn't seem to care. "I was shopping at Whole Foods," he says, and gross, he's chewing and talking at the same time. "I think it was Whole Foods."

"It was," Mikey says quietly.

"And then..." Gerard stops eating for a second. His gaze deepens. But the bowl slips a little and splashes milk in his lap, and when he grabs it again, he starts eating as though nothing was amiss. "I don't remember all of it. Just that I got hurt, and I wanted to go home, but I got lost."

"You don't remember?"

Gerard shrugs. "Things were a lot simpler. Not much to remember, you know?"

Frank really, really doesn't. But he rubs his eyes with his palms and says, "We've gotta call the cops. And then the media'll be all over this."

"And Ray," Mikey says.

"Well, yeah." Ray would be...well, not easier. They obviously have to tell him. But he's pretty laid back, so he'll get a little weirded out, and—

The bowl clatters to the floor, and Mikey's on his feet.

Because it's not Gerard sitting in the chair anymore. It's the wolf again, muzzle covered in colorful cereal. It's only when he starts licking at it that Frank remembers what breathing's like.

"No," he says quietly. "No, no...Gerard? Can you hear me?"

The wolf—Gerard, fuck—cocks his head. He whines a little when Frank runs over and hugs him again, and then, just like that, Frank feels the shifting back into his skin and Gerard folding out in a weird way that shouldn't be possible. The clothes they dressed him in are still on, too.

Gerard pulls back when he's human again. "I'm sticky."

Frank laughs, a little desperate, and pulls Gerard in again. The hug starts to hurt his arms. He doesn't let go. "Don't fucking do that, asshole."

"Sorry?" Gerard says, like he doesn't understand why it's weird to randomly morph into a fucking wolf.

Mikey comes up on Gerard's other side and hugs him, too. Mikey's shaking. It's kind of nice that Frank's not the only one barely keeping it together.

"You have to stay human in front of the cops," Mikey says. "Or the government’ll dissect your brain."

Gerard nods solemnly. Of course that's what gets through to him. "I'll do my best."

-

Ray comes over before the detective Mikey called. He hugs Gerard so hard he can barely breathe. It's kind of nice, except Gerard doesn't get his scent until they break apart. Gerard leans in without touching and takes a deep breath near Ray's hair. It's harder to smell this way, but Ray smells very Ray-like, so it works.

"Uh," Ray says. "Hey."

"Gerard's a werewolf," Mikey says over his shoulder on his way to the living room.

Gerard calls after him. "Can I show him?"

"Not yet."

"I, uh." Ray's frowning, but he still smells like he did, happy and excited, and that's really nice. "You doing okay?"

"Sure." Why wouldn't he be? He's finally home. "You?"

"Yeah, I guess. I..." Ray exhales. "You were gone a long time."

"Was I?"

"Yeah. Over a month."

Gerard bites the inside of his cheek. Month. He did see the moon get full the other day, now that he thinks about it. It was impossible to miss, framed by the hills and shining bright on his fur. He could even see his paws, the way they dug into the ground...

"No."

"Ow! Hey!" Frank's harshly pinching Gerard's hand. Gerard pushes him off and wiggles his arm. "Fuck, what was that for?"

"Don't even think about it."

Gerard's nostrils flare. Frank smells pissed, and Gerard ducks his head a little. He doesn't know what he did wrong, exactly, but it seems like he’s at fault somehow.

"Sorry," he says, looking at the floor. His voice sounds small in his ears.

"The fuck, Frank?" Now Ray smells pissed. Gerard flinches away from them both.

"I'll be upstairs," Frank says. "Call me when the cops are gone."

And he stomps up the stairs, shutting the door hard behind him.

"What did I do?" Gerard says, and he makes his voice sound bigger than it had. If it wasn't shaky, it would almost sound normal.

Ray shakes his head. "Come on."

They sit in the living room, and Ray talks about a guitar he bought a couple days ago. Gerard smiles and thinks about the stage; it was one of the first things he'd remembered before he'd turned back. It'll be nice to get back to the kids at the shows.

By the time the detective shows up, a tired-looking woman with dark hair, Mikey and Ray are talking pickups and distortion pedals, and everything smells happy. It's not hard to tell the cop the cover story he and Mikey had come up with, that he'd hit his head somewhere in Long Beach and ended up lost and dizzy.

"We're going to take him to a doctor," Mikey says, which is totally not true, but it's okay. The bruise Frank had given Gerard a few minutes before is almost entirely healed, so it's not like he'll need medical care. But he rubs the back of his hand and wants to go upstairs.

He stares at the ceiling until the cop's gone.

-

Frank passes out.

It's not like he meant to. But he hasn't slept for a month, and slamming things shut had killed the last of his adrenaline. So the second he slumps on the bed—which doesn’t smell of Gerard anymore, just Frank, and the littlest bit like dog—he's out like a light.

He wakes up to Ray's muffled "Holy shit" from downstairs and figures the coast is clear. But apparently he moves too slow because Mikey's opening the bedroom door and letting Gerard tear through.

And that's the funny thing. He's running on four canine legs and licking Frank's face with dog breath panting out, but there's something so completely Gerard about him, his stomach swoops.

Ray comes in behind Mikey and stares, big-eyed, at the wolf. "He's...you..."

"Weren't kidding?" Frank says, smirking a little despite his best efforts. "No. Really wasn't."

"Is he...can he turn back?"

Frank sighs. He pats Gerard's head and kisses him on his muzzle, and says, "Gee? Can you hear me?"

Gerard wags his tail a couple times, but he's still the wolf.

Mikey steps forward. "Come on, Gee. Let's go downstairs."

Gerard looks from Mikey to Frank, and there's something vaguely confused about his head twitches, but when Mikey starts walking away, Gerard follows.

Ray sags against the wall a little. "So he's not dangerous."

Since Ray doesn't sound like he's actually asking, Frank isn't offended. Much. "Dude, he's Gerard."

"I know, I know." Ray rubs a hand over his face. "Man, I'm sorry. When you hurt him earlier, I thought...I don't know what I thought."

Frank flinches. "I shouldn't have done that."

"What else would you have done?"

"I don't know. Anything?"

Ray kicks at his foot a little. "There's isn’t exactly a manual for this. You'll figure it out."

As Frank forces his face into something resembling a smile, he can’t help but hear the or else his brain tacks onto the end of Ray’s sentiment.

He gets out of bed and stretches. "Feel like playing fetch?"

Ray laughs, surprised.

-

Frank, Gerard decides, is an asshole sometimes.

It's not the way he giggles when he pats the dog bed they have by the bed and says, "Lay down!" in a commanding tone. Or the way he gets a monogrammed water bowl that he just happens to leave on the table at breakfast. Gerard loves that crap, and the way Frank slaps at him when Gerard licks his face fully human.

And it's not the way his scent becomes charged with fear and his eyes grow watery whenever Gerard slips into wolf form. He usually turns back right away; it's just...hard sometimes. There's something about the way the plants outside sway in the wind and the smell of dogs in the neighborhood that make his human form feel itchy and wrong. Just like the paints and Frank whispering his name makes his paws feel weird.

No, it's the way that Frank won't let Gerard go outside.

"I'm a grown man," Gerard huffs, crossing his arms. "I can go to the store."

And okay, maybe he's been himself long enough that he gets why Frank gets pale and shaky at the thought. If Frank had been the one...but he wasn't. And Gerard's fine. So it's not a big deal.

Except Frank paces around, grabbing at his hair, at his sweater, at anything he can get his hands on.

"Not with the press out there," Frank says. Gerard hasn't gone near the door, but Frank opened up for Mikey once, and he could hear the cameras from upstairs. Although part of that could be his enhanced hearing. "Not while you can't control it."

"I can," Gerard says.

"Yeah?"

Frank opens the back door a crack, and the sweet smell of grass wafts in. Gerard takes a deep breath, and—

—he's much closer to the floor, on all fours, and scratching his fur with his hind leg.

Okay, maybe Frank has a point. Forget going outside. How can he play shows like this? How can they tour? What if they can't?

He huffs a sigh and lowers onto his paws. Frank plops on the floor next to him and scratches behind his ears. He says something, and Gerard can't figure it out. He whines until Frank says his name, and he shifts back again. He scoots over to lean against Frank's shoulder.

"I don't know words when I'm like that," Gerard says. It's not a complaint, not really, but he picks lint off his sweatpants and rests his head on his knees.

Frank tangles his hand in Gerard's hair. "What's it like?"

"Like..." Gerard has to be careful. He can't think of it directly, not unless he wants to go there again. So he says, "Like taking a step back from all the bullshit."

Frank nods a little. "Must be nice."

It is. But not as nice as it is to have Frank curled around him.

"I'm still..." Gerard sighs. "I don't know how to say it. But things don't entirely make sense. You know?"

Frank doesn't say anything, but Gerard thinks he gets it.

-

Things don't entirely make sense for Frank, either.

He finds himself in the music room more often than not, jamming on his guitar. He isn't playing any of the band's material or even working on new music, like Ray probably is. Instead, he's going through the old punk classics, playing them fast and loud and just the slightest bit wrong. He screws with the settings on everything until it's nothing but noise.

When the ringing in his ears finally gets the best of him, he goes back to the rest of the house. Usually, Mikey's hanging out with Gerard, but occasionally, Mikey will head out to spend time with Alicia leaving only a wolf left behind, staring longingly out the window like he wants to make a run for it.

The third time this happens, Mikey comes back and sees Frank's face and says, "We're going for a drive. You okay here, Gee?"

And Gerard changes back and smiles faintly when Mikey says it again, but there's no mistaking the sadness in his voice when he says, "Sure. Someone should get out, if they can."

They can't actually get out easily. It's not as bad as it was—most of the press left once they figured out there wasn't a body, and Mikey's in and out enough in the same clothes that pictures of him and his car mean nothing—but Frank sitting next to him without Gerard in the same car is enough to get a little surge in attention. Frank stares at the dashboard until he feels the car actually pick up speed, and then he stares at the houses as they whip by.

"So," Mikey says.

Frank sighs. He's bracing himself for some kind of heartfelt are-you-okay speech. "So."

"How do you think we can train Gerard?"

Frank blinks. And then he giggles. It hurts his stomach a little; he hasn't really done this for a couple months. "I think he's housebroken."

He doesn't need to look over to see Mikey's eye roll. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah," Frank says, still giggling a little. "Training. Like the Dog Whisperer."

Mikey grins, big and dorky and wide. This should totally be offensive—whatever happened, Gerard's still a person—but Frank's thinking of whacking Gerard on the nose with a newspaper. Like that wouldn’t be fucking hilarious.

"So why aren't we doing this with Gerard around?" Frank asks as they turn up a hill. "He knows what's going on better than we do."

Mikey's still smirking a little. "So we can get some ideas. No reason to frustrate him without something in mind first."

Frank doesn't entirely buy that—they could've hung out in the music room if they didn't want Gerard listening in—but it's not like he didn't need a little space. "So you're going to help?"

Mikey shoots him a completely are-you-kidding look, which, okay, fair enough.

"And Ray?"

"You think he didn't threaten to kick my ass if I shut him out?" Mikey says. "Besides, it'll be good to have another house to go to. When we get there."

That makes the last of Frank's laugh die in his mouth. God, Gerard can't even leave the house. The public can’t see him yet.

"Okay," he says once the lump in his throat eases up. "What did you have in mind?"

-

"Hey, Gee?"

Gerard yawns and leans up. He can't remember ever sleeping half as well on the couch as he has these past couple weeks. "Hey, Frank."

"Feel like coming into the backyard with me?"

Gerard blinks. "Seriously? I thought it wasn't a good idea."

"Fuck good ideas." Frank offers his hand, and Gerard breathes deep before taking it. Frank smells...well, like Frank. None of that strange smell that’s been hanging over him for the last couple of days. Gerard could roll around in this smell. "You up for it?"

"God yes," Gerard says, and he lets Frank pull him to his feet.

They slip outside. Frank doesn't turn on the outside light even though it's just after sunset, but that's understandable. The moon's half-full in the sky, and Gerard can see almost like it's daytime. It's pretty fucking cool.

"Look," Frank says after they walk in the grass for a minute. There's really nowhere to go, so it should be weird to take a little patch of grass in a circuit, but it really doesn't. "I've been an asshole."

Gerard shakes his head hard. "No way," he states earnestly.

"Dude."

"You haven't." He watches Frank chew on his own lip. "It's not like you could really prepare for this."

There's a quiet pause, and then Frank hugs him hard. Gerard stays on his feet, but he wraps his arms around Frank's neck and breathes in.

"I really fucking missed you," Frank says. "Don't feel like I told you that."

"You didn't have to," Gerard mutters into his shoulder. Frank holds him tighter.

They stand out there like that for a while, and it's only when the wind comes up and Gerard turns toward it, sniffing all the people in the neighborhood, that Frank draws back. "Can you wait here for a second? Ray's in the music room with Mikey, but he wants to see you before he goes."

"Totally."

But when Frank goes back in and takes his smell with him, everything else is so much more there. They have some flowers on their fence that Gerard could smell even before he got turned, and he can smell the palm tree in a neighboring yard. His ears twitch a little as they pick up car noises near the front of the house: probably a couple of paparazzi, but they don't sound like they're anywhere near the back. And the way the breeze twitches in his hair feels kind of like the way it does when it's in his fur, and—

"Gerard?"

He turns toward Ray. And he raises his hands in front of him. He lets out a shuddering breath.

"Hey, man," he says as Ray comes out, hands in his pockets. "I totally forgot to ask you, have you written anything lately?"

"Not really," Ray says. "You had any ideas?"

"I—"

And then, for some weird reason, Ray is tall and easier to see. Gerard walks up to him...on all fours.

Oh.

He takes a deep breath. His human smell's still in the air, just like he can smell doggy stench just after he changes back. Maybe, if he pictures the way he was, the way he looked...

But nothing happens, and Gerard whines and lays down.

Ray says his name once, then twice. Gerard tilts his head enough so Ray knows he heard him.

After a second, Ray goes to the back door and waves Gerard in. That much, at least, makes sense. He pads inside and heads straight for Frank, who's sitting in the living room with Mikey. Frank scratches his head, and—

—Gerard's sitting on the living room floor, legs curled up against him.

"It's so weird," Mikey says seriously. "How can you be on four feet at one point and sitting the next?"

"Of all the things that have happened, that's the weird one?" Ray asks.

Mikey shrugs. "Everything else follows magic logic. This doesn't."

As he and Ray debate what exactly magic logic is, Gerard moves up to sit next to Frank on the couch. "Will you still love me if I pee on Mikey's leg?" he says quietly.

Frank leans his head against Gerard's. "You say that like I don't want you to do it."

-

After a couple days, Frank really is about ready to call Cesar Milan.

Despite Mikey's "magic logic" theory, which consists of a lot of crap that even Frank is not quite nerdy enough to make sense of, there doesn't seem to be any pattern to Gerard's changes. Yes, thinking about it and being around a lot of outdoors stuff does do it. But they can't avoid that and tour, and that doesn't trigger it all the time. Sometimes, Frank'll go upstairs to get something, and Gerard won't have moved at all when he comes back down except to not be human anymore. He turns right back when Frank says his name or pets him or something, but it's only the one way that it ever happens. It's like wolf is just...easier.

And changing back only works with Frank around. He's gone out with Ray or Mikey and left someone else with Gerard, and they can't get him to change back.

"I don't know," Gerard says, frustrated, when they ask him for the millionth time if he remembers why. "You're lucky I remember my own name at all."

"Maybe Frank's magic, too," Mikey says solemnly, and Ray laughs, but Gerard gives him eyes that say that's exactly what Gerard thinks.

But Frank isn't magic. If he was, this wouldn't have happened in the first place. Or he could make it stop entirely.

After a couple weeks of this, Gerard whispers, "You don't have to stay, you know. If this never fixes."

"Shut up," Frank whispers savagely.

"I know you need it," Gerard says, like he didn't hear Frank at all. "Music. I could give it up and still do other shit. But it's never been that way for you."

"Shut the fuck up," Frank says, normal volume this time. "I'm not leaving."

"Even if I'm a wolf most of the rest of my life?"

"Even if you're a wolf the entire rest of your life," Frank says. And even if his stomach twists, he knows it's true. No fucking way is he doing that month without Gerard again. Especially if it's longer than a month. "I can play whenever the fuck I want."

"But the band—"

"Guitarists don't hook up with their singers if they're not willing to lose their bands," Frank says. Which is totally true. "Now shut up and snuggle me."

So Gerard does. He never turns back to wolf when he's like this, and Frank savors every moment of it.

-

"Maybe we're going about this the wrong way," Mikey says over his bowl of cereal the next day.

Gerard hums over his cup of coffee. It's too early to deal with more theories, but Mikey can think out loud if he wants. Gerard would never stop him.

"Maybe we should try to get you practice switching to wolf, and then you can feel how it works better."

Gerard bobs his head without thinking. He'll try whatever they suggest.

Which is why they're in the living room with Frank fifteen minutes later, and Gerard's a wolf on the ground. Mikey talks at him for a little while, but it isn't until Frank says his name that he turns back.

"Try it again," Mikey says.

So Gerard does. It's way too easy to slip into the wolf mindset, and he's setting new personal records for the amount of time it takes to go standing on two human legs to sitting on paws. He's also tired as fuck, like he ran a mile with legs not ready for it. Gerard's never been a super jock, so it's not like he's unfamiliar with the feeling.

Mikey talks again, but Frank cuts him off quickly and says Gerard's name. Gerard changes quickly and nearly falls into Frank.

"Fuck," Frank says, trying to hold him up. They're not that different in height, but Gerard's leaning entirely on him until his legs feel solid again. "Maybe we shouldn't go so fast."

Mikey's looking at them both with a thoughtful expression. "So you're the key, Frank?"

Gerard moves away from Frank and slumps on the couch. Frank flops next to him.

"I don't know," Frank says. "He's just always responded to his name."

"Said by you."

"I guess."

Mikey sits in the chair next to the couch and stares at Gerard. Gerard stares back until Mikey grins sheepishly.

"Weirdo," Gerard mutters. Of course, if Mikey was the werewolf, Gerard wouldn't just be running him through experiments. He'd be reading every book on the paranormal that he had lying around and living on Google. The only reason they're not doing it is because Mikey said his first Google search was completely ridiculous.

"Maybe I should bite you," he says out loud, yawning a little. "Then you could figure it out yourself."

He's kidding, but Mikey perks up enough that Frank leans over and smacks him. "I am not sending you home to Alicia and Bunny furry."

"Bunny likes dogs," Mikey says solemnly.

It was true. They'd gone over to Mikey and Alicia's the other day, and when Gerard had changed, Bunny had done nothing more than sniff at him before lying down disinterestedly.

Mikey drummed his fingers on his legs for a second, and then he said, "Go in the kitchen for a minute, Frank. I want to try something."

Frank kicks at Mikey one more time, and then he skulks off.

"This doesn't involve moving, does it?" Gerard asks. The arm of the couch feels nice.

"Not if you don't want to." Mikey's still sitting, too. "Can you still smell Frank?"

"Uh, yeah." He could smell Frank on him even after he'd been changed for a week. It'd be hard to lose his scent.

"Hmm. Maybe that'll help."

Gerard waves his hands in a "well?" gesture.

"Okay," Mikey says. "So change and, when you try to change back, think of Frank."

"I'm always thinking about Frank," Gerard says, like it's obvious.

"Well, yeah," Mikey says, "but really think about him. Like you were thinking about you when you were trying to change back."

Gerard has no idea what Mikey means, but he's looking at Gerard so expectantly that Gerard sighs and changes into the wolf. It goes quickly enough now that it doesn't feel like he's folding in on himself like it used to; now, it's more like he blinks, and he's the wolf. It's harder to get into his stage mindset than it is to change his entire body, really.

The smell of Frank is much heavier in the air now, almost like Gerard's still sitting next to him. He can hear quiet noises in the kitchen that have to be Frank, and he wants to go to him, but he always wants to go to him. It wasn't like he wanted to leave Frank ever on a normal way.

Mikey's still watching him and saying quiet things, but of course Gerard doesn't understand him. He'd said something before Gerard had changed, something about Frank...to think about him, maybe?

Well, that's definitely not hard.

He can see Frank covered in tattoos, including a couple he had Gerard draw and stencil in advance. (Of course Gerard hadn't gone with him. Fucking needles.) He can see Frank wearing his stupid cardigans even when it's a hundred degrees outside, and he's sweating and throwing himself around the stage like he isn't about to have heatstroke. He can see Frank's face light up when they're talking in interviews and they agree with something, or Frank's face when he's thinking about his guitars, or Frank's face when they're snuggling in the super gushy and ridiculous way that makes Mikey gag. He can feel Frank's arms around him like he's holding him, and—

"Gee?"

That's Mikey. And he understood him. Probably because he's sitting on the couch, fully human.

"It worked?" Gerard says, vaguely confused. That was...easy, actually.

"It worked," Mikey agrees, yelling it so Frank could hear.

Frank steps back into the room. "How'd you do it?"

"I was thinking about you," Gerard says, smiling. And Gerard's mental picture didn't even come close to stand up to the reality. Sure, Frank has rings around his eyes, and he's a little paler than he is in Gerard's head, but the way that Frank beams at Gerard is like staring into the sun. If it didn’t fry your eyes, that is.

"Fucking romantic asshole," Frank says, jumping onto Gerard and kissing him hard. "You couldn't make this easy, could you?"

Gerard laughs into Frank's mouth. He isn't sure why it took so long to figure, really. Gerard didn't come home because he wanted it. He came back because of Frank.

"Can I separate you two long enough to try it a couple other places?" Mikey asks.

Frank purposely pulls Gerard closer to him and uses a lot of tongue when they kiss, flipping Mikey a very affectionate middle finger.

"Should've known," Mikey says dryly.


Four

Gerard's been changing at will for about a week when Frank finally goes to the store.

"Should've hired an assistant for this shit," he mutters as Gerard follows him into the kitchen. Frank flips the kitchen light on and starts going through the cabinets, marking things on a list. The hand holding the pen shakes, and Gerard comes up behind him, resting his head on Frank's shoulder.

"I'll be here," Gerard whispers. "Drawing. Unless you want me to come with you?"

"No," Frank says quickly, slamming the cabinet door closed. "I'd rather...I mean, I can do it."

Gerard nods and kisses him on the cheek. And then nibbles on his ear. Frank sighs and leans against him, and it'd be easy, so easy to bend him over the counter, lay on top of him, get his teeth in his neck...

He draws back, heart pounding. "Maybe you should get going."

Frank looks back, blinking a little. "Yeah. You've got your phone?"

Gerard pats his pocket.

"And it's on?"

"I checked it five seconds ago," Gerard says. "It's on, it's charged, and the volume's all the way up."

Frank smiles, and it's genuine, crinkling the edges of his eyes. He leans in and lays a kiss on Gerard's nose. He's only started doing this recently, but he does it when Gerard's a wolf, too. Just higher on his muzzle.

"I'll be back soon."

"I'll be in the art room," Gerard says. He's been drawing again, and even if his markers feel weird in his fingers sometimes, it's still nice. Familiar.

He waits until he hears the car pull away before climbing the stairs. He has a portrait of Frank he's been working on, purely black and white, the way he sees him as a wolf. He gets itchy sometimes when he works on it, like he should change, but it's not like he can get the right marks if he sticks the marker in his teeth as a wolf and braces himself against the desk. (And maybe he knows from personal experience, but he won't tell Frank that.)

Gerard's feeling the itch tonight, no question. He works for a few minutes, shading Frank's face, taking breaks now and then to scratch at the back of his hands. It doesn't stop the itch, but then, he's not entirely doing it to try. It's more like, if he can feel fingernails against skin, he won't feel fur poking up.

But the itch gets worse and worse until it starts hurting, and Gerard tosses his marker away. He rocks a little, and fuck, if he just changed...

Gerard runs down the stairs. It'll be okay when Frank comes back. Actually, he should call him and see how much longer he'll be. He pulls his phone out of his back pocket and walks to the back of the house, rocking a little as he parts the blinds across the kitchen window...

...and then he sees the moon, round and full and rising in the back.

-

Frank probably made a new record for running through the store. Gerard's usually the one who does the shopping, so he could probably go faster, but Frank knows where the essentials are, and if the people in line and on the freeway hadn't taken their fucking time, he would've made it back in under an hour, easy.

He parks in the garage—so much easier now that the paparazzi are finally gone—and kicks open the door, reusable bags in hand. "Gee? I could use a little help here."

The house is dark, and only the whistling breeze answers.

Frank drops the bags right away and runs for the back door. He doesn't know how he knows, but sure enough, it's open, and Gerard's phone is on the floor in front of it.

"Gerard?" he yells, but he pulls out his phone right away. His throat's too tight to actually make a call, and he can't stop long enough to do it, but he punches in Mikey's number and texts one word: help.

He's barely in the backyard before Mikey texts back where?

home

Mikey's parked out front by the time Frank's run around the block. Frank didn't scream Gerard's name, but something more like, "Here, boy." That's what he meant to say, anyway. It probably came out more like a strangled cry, but Gerard would come, either way. He would.

And Mikey being Mikey, he takes one look at Frank and says, "Where did you look?"

"Just around the block."

"Go inside. I'll find him."

His voice is so assured that Frank doesn't doubt him. He can't, really.

So Frank does go back inside, and he closes the back door, and he picks up Gerard's phone, and he brings in the groceries. He doesn't cry. He doesn't puke. Mikey is finding Gerard, and Frank is a functional fucking adult.

But he also nearly drops his phone in his shaking hands when it rings in his pocket. Whatever, just because he's an adult doesn't mean he's perfect.

"Got him," Ray's voice says immediately, and of course Mikey asked for help. But Ray sounds a little breathy, a little worried. "Open the garage, we'll be there in ten."

"Okay," Frank chokes out. He hangs up and goes to hit the button. He watches the door rattle up, and he stares at the street in the darkness. Or near darkness, since the moon's out.

There's a brief flash of light as Mikey's headlights illuminate the place, and after Frank's eyes adjust, the car's pulling into the garage. Before Frank can make out who's inside, one of the back doors kicks open, and Ray hefts out Gerard. As a wolf.

"He's okay," Mikey says right away, running up to Frank and hitting the garage door button. "Let's just get inside."

Ray puts Gerard on the couch, and Frank can see his eyes wide. For some reason, he thought Gerard was out, but no, he's watching Frank, his chest heaving.

"What happened?" Frank asks, crawling onto the couch next to him. Gerard whines, and Frank snuggles up to him right away.

"No idea," Ray says. "We just found him in a park, and he looked really confused when we called his name."

Mikey shakes his head. "I have an idea."

"You do?"

He pulls a pair of Frank's old fingerless gloves out of his pocket. "This was how we got him to come over, before he collapsed. I think he was looking for you."

Frank sucks in a quick breath. "I'm here," he whispers. "I won't leave you, Gee. I promise."

Gerard doesn't change back, but his breathing slows, and soon, he's asleep.

-

Gerard's eyes fly open.

He's inside, and the room's dark. He's surrounded by people and their smells, and he shivers. But the smell closest is the right smell, and the voice murmuring is the right voice, even if he can't remember how the noises work.

The shaking continues, and the pain peaks. He arches a little, and slowly, he becomes human again.

The closer to human he becomes, the more he remembers. He remembers standing in the rain, and how teeth tore into his legs and arms, and how they'd only stopped when he'd flicked his lighter on, swinging it. He'd remembered crawling toward a trash can, bleeding, and how his fingers had contorted and shrunk and sprouted fur. And how much it hurt until it didn't hurt anymore.

And then he remembers the night before, when he saw the moon again, and he'd hurt more than he'd hurt since he'd been attacked. He'd dropped to his knees and cried, and he'd crawled for the back door, desperate for Frank, desperate for anyone, desperate to make it stop. And then his hands had contorted again, and he'd felt every bone in his body warp and change until the pain stopped.

He'd run outside after that. It hadn't hurt as much, but everything was wrong, and he didn't know why, not until the men—Mikey and Ray—had found him again. But they'd smelled like Frank, and he tried to think of Frank, but the pain had started again, and it had been too much.

Gerard opens his eyes.

"Shit," Frank says, sniffling. His eyes are red, and he's cradling Gerard, letting Gerard dig his fingers into his shirt.

"Hurts," Gerard manages to gasp out. And it does. Not as much as it had moments ago, or any of the other times. It's just a dull ache next to that. But he clings to Frank, and Frank holds him until it stops.

-

"I didn't remember," Gerard says, pulling his robe closer. He's pale and small. Not physically, but the Gerard Frank is used to seeing can’t quite be reconciled with the one seated before him now. "Before. But I think that's what it was."

To Frank's surprise, Mikey laughs. He looks beat to hell, but all of them do. Ray's got his own head in his hands, like he's hungover, and Frank's about five seconds behind him. A person can't watch a guy change from wolf to man over an hour, screaming the whole time, and not feel like someone took a bat to your stomach.

"Of course," Mikey says. "The moon. I didn't think, since you were changing on your own...but that first night was a full moon."

Frank plays with the hem of his shirt a little. "So it isn't something to worry about?"

Mikey shrugs. "I guess it's just part of this new thing you've got, Gee. But I'm not sure."

Ray sits up suddenly. "But there was a full moon while you were missing. You didn't turn back, did you?"

Gerard startles a little, then frowns as he gives it thought. "I guess...no, I didn't. Didn't even hurt."

"Probably because you were already a wolf," Mikey says, running a hand through his hair. "That's my best guess, anyway."

Frank blinks. "So what, this'll happen next month?"

Gerard goes even paler, if that's possible, but Mikey's leaned back against his kitchen chair, loose like he hasn't been for months. "Probably not if he's a wolf all day."

Probably's not good enough for Frank. But Gerard reaches over and grabs his hand, and fuck, if Gerard's comforting him...

"Worth a shot, I guess," he says aloud, and Gerard squeezes his hand.

-

They don't waste the next month.

Gerard's never been one to hide from bad shit. Well, not after a while. Using was his own way of hiding, but he's past it, and he's not going back. Judging by the way Tylenol went through his system when he'd tried to get his post-shift aching to stop, he couldn't go back even if he wanted to.

Either way, he's been out of the studio and off the stage way too fucking long, and it's time that changed.

So the band spends the time between full moons recording, and it's fucking amazing. The music dances across Gerard's skin like the change does. Frank doesn't really fill out, but he gets the muscle he lost back, and Mikey puts on weight. Even Ray's hair looks perkier.

When Frank and Gerard aren't in the studio, they're doing one of two things.

The first is fucking each other's brains out, which is probably the obvious time-killer, but it's like they'd never had sex before. Or like Gerard was doing it with a missing sense. The way Frank's smells when he wants Gerard is like nothing else on the planet, and the first time they do it again, he takes a deep breath and comes in his pants before Frank so much as puts a hand on him. Frank rolls on the ground because he's laughing so hard, but Gerard pins him down and sucks him off, and it stops the laughter, if not the sly smiles.

So they become well acquainted with the bathrooms at the studios, with Frank bending Gerard over the counter by the mirror. And they become familiar with the supply closets, with Frank riding Gerard's dick. And they get to know their own home again.

It's more fun than the second thing they do, which is go out with Gerard as a wolf. It's Mikey's idea, and it's a good one, but it sucks.

"If you practice," Mikey said when Gerard scowled at him for suggesting it, "it won't feel like something you can't control, if you get the urge. And you'll feel better."

Which, okay, he suggested it after Gerard had spent a week human, and he'd been pacing the studio about ready to trash something. So it was fair. But Gerard could only think of the way every cell in his body ached on the night of the full moon, and he didn't want a repeat of that.

Frank, for his part, had told Mikey, "You trying to get your show on Animal Planet or something?" And Mikey had punched his arm and Gerard laughed.

But Frank also listened to Mikey and insisted they go out for walks in the middle of the night, after the band had quit for the day. And he'd waited patiently as Gerard had let things go the first time and only smelled a little worried when Gerard changed.

It was better. Gerard could sniff things without worrying about how weird their producer's face would get when he did it, and he could even pee in public, which was totally awesome. He huffed a laugh when Frank spluttered the first time he'd done it. Frank was totally jealous.

They'd just settled into a routine when the calendar at the studio had a date circled in red Sharpie, two days from then.

"We're taking a break," Ray had said, eyes shifting, when Gerard had asked about it. It was all he'd needed to say.

-

"So what are we actually going to do today?" Frank asks as he lets Mikey in the front door.

Mikey pulls a tennis ball out of his pocket. "Your backyard's big enough for this."

Frank snorts and rolls his eyes, but he leads Mikey to the kitchen, where Gerard and Ray are already waiting. Ray murmurs to Gerard too quietly for Frank to hear, rubbing circles on his back, and fuck, Frank's glad he has his band. There's no way he'd want to do this alone.

"Ready?" Mikey says in way too perky a tone. Frank scowls at him, but he softens a little when Mikey gives him a reassuring smile. If he isn't worried, there's no reason for Frank to be.

Gerard sucks a hard breath. "Now?"

"Sooner the better, I think." Mikey checks his watch. "That way we're not running into moonrise at all."

Gerard swallows hard, and it's Frank's turn to go up to him, kissing his cheek. "We'll be here all day," Frank says. "It'll be fine."

"Sure, yeah." Gerard kisses Frank's cheek back, and he closes his eyes.

It isn't like it was a month ago, thankfully. One second, Gerard's about Frank's height, hands in his pockets, and the next, he's on all fours, shaking out his fur to get it to sit right.

Mikey exhales beside Frank. "Fuck."

Frank looks at him from the corner of his eye, but he gets it. There was no way to be sure until it actually happened. And it's not over yet.

Ray opens the back door, and they all file outside.

They spend the hours until sunset dicking around. Gerard actually seems really into catch, so Mikey and Ray throw him the ball for a while. (Frank's laughing too hard at the thought of Gerard doing it as a human to give it a try.) When they get tired, everyone sits around the table and eats vegan burgers that Frank makes, except for Gerard, who gets a meat burger without the bun or toppings. He even drifts off after he's done, head on his paws, and Frank lets himself lean back in his own chair and close his eyes.

He only wakes when Mikey's shaking his arm. "Hey. Look."

Frank opens his eyes.

It's dark now, and the moon's out, big and shining in the sky. The backyard's cast in its weird blue light, bright enough for Frank to see some detail, but too dark to see much. He can see Mikey with his feet perched on a planter, and Ray's face glowing as he fools around with something on his iPad.

And he can see Gerard, still napping quietly by Frank's feet.

Frank grins. "You are a smart man, Mikeyway."

Mikey shrugs, but it's obvious he's pleased.


Five

It's been nearly six months since Frank hated a green room.

Before, they'd felt like cages that kept him from running on stage and fucking shit up in the best possible way. He hated the shitty food the venues provided, he hated the funky-ass smells the couches always gave off, and he really hated the graffiti that everyone thought was so clever and original.

But it was nice in its own way. Everyone was always a little jittery and warming up and napping and sticking slimy things in uncomfortable places. (That solved both Frank's boredom and the food problems. It didn't always endear him to Ray, though.)

There's none of that today. There's only Mikey and Ray and Frank, sitting around and trying not to stare at Gerard as he paces and occasionally sniffs the air. No one talks. No one toys around on guitars. Even Jarrod and some of the crew, who are usually big on hanging out, have found other places to be.

A knock on the door makes them all jump, except Gerard, who freezes. A voice says, "Five minutes", and all of a sudden, Frank can barely breathe.

Ray looks up at Gerard, and he pulls Mikey to his feet. "We'll see you out there?" he asks.

Frank nods.

Mikey and Ray make their way to the door, making sure to clap both Gerard and Frank on the shoulder before they leave. Mikey also whispers something to Gerard that Frank can't hear, and Gerard nods and smiles.

Then they're gone, and Frank and Gerard are alone.

"You can do this, you know," Frank says.

"Do I look worried?"

Yes, Frank thinks. Forget the holes Gerard's wearing in the carpet. The fact that they're playing a club show is telling enough. They could've packed the Garden after the amount of press they got. Not that they would've tried normally, but Gerard had been particularly set on going small.

"Doesn't matter," Frank says aloud. "You're a fucking superstar."

Gerard grins and swings an arm around Frank's neck. Frank's a little extra sweaty today on purpose; Gerard seems calmer when he doesn't put deodorant on. As long as the fans don't run from the stench, Frank couldn't care less. He has Gerard, and today, they're fucking immortal.

"Let's tear it up," Gerard says, kicking open the door.

And as they walk up the steps, the roar of the crowd growing louder, Frank knows that's exactly what'll happen.

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