Something's Gotta Give

alt title: George Romero Will Be At Our Wedding

Rating: M

Fandom: MCR

Ships: hint of frerardif you squint

Warnings: Graphic Violence, MCD

Post-Apocalyptic AU. Frank wakes up on the side of the road with a pounding in his head and a black hole where his memories should be. He sets out to find answers.

Frank woke up feeling like his organs were in all the wrong places, his head had actually melted into itself, and his limbs were full of beans and rice. In short: like complete and utter shit. And he was so… tired. All he wanted to do was sleep, but he felt restless at the same time. It was strange. 

So, Frank struggled against his own exhausted body, against the hot, damp air that seemed to weigh him down with every move he made, and sat up on his arms. He opened his eyes and looked around himself. He was at the edge of a forest, just off the side of a highway. The overgrown grass tickled his forearms. 

The strangest part, though, Frank thought to himself, was that he didn't seem to recall how he had gotten here. In fact, the more he tried to think about it, the more he realized he couldn't remember anything at all. He couldn't remember basic facts about himself- his birthday, where he lived, or even what his own face looked like. 

Some fuzzy memories came up as he tried to piece together his immediate situation, but only in vague bits and pieces. He remembered the sound of gunshots and frantic shouts. The voice of a news broadcaster. The one he remembered the least, but held fondest- the memory of feeling peaceful as he laid against someone's flat chest. He couldn't remember their name for the life of him, but he thought he might have remembered them being sad.

In the present, Frank found himself standing, staring at a hole in a tree. When did he get up? Frank blinked a few times and stepped back. The sharp pain of hunger pricked at his stomach, and he remembered why he'd been so upset just a few seconds ago- he didn't know where he was or how he got there, and he needed to find something to eat. And maybe some medical attention while he was at it. His head hurt like hell, and he figured a concussion or something must have been to blame for his memory loss. Or was he just very forgetful? It wasn't like he would remember if he was.

Frank looked back to the road- it was a little farther away now. He must have wandered while he was thinking to himself and not realized it. He made his way back to the highway, staring out at the sea of asphalt that stretched through the midst of a dense forest. He couldn't see a sign of civilization on either side of him, so he turned to his left and started his trek onwards in that direction. That way, he would see any oncoming cars, so if something was going to hit him he'd at least see it coming.

Maybe an hour or two of walking was Frank's estimate before he came across a car, crashed into a tree. The car itself looked like it had once been a sports car, but besides the crumpled-up front from the collision, she was well and truly a junker, with spray paint and stickers to show for it. The drivers-side door was open, so Frank said what the hell and took a look inside. 

The first obvious detail- the driver was missing. The keys had been left in the car, probably because they weren't worth anything. Frank tried to grab for them anyway, cursing when he fumbled and dropped them on the floor instead. He picked them up and looked. It had two decorative keychains on the ring- one shaped like New Jersey, another shaped like… some kind of blue cat-thing. Frank dropped the keys. Would have been nice if it at least had a bottle opener strapped to it, something useful.

Frank looked in the passenger seat, then in the back. Nothing useful at all, really- no bags, no guns, nothing. It was… strange, eerie almost. As he was about to leave and ditch the car in favor of more walking, a sticky-note on the dashboard caught his eye. It read:

KEEP YOURSELF ALIVE FOR ME, SUNSHINE. I LOVE YOU. -G

Frank blinked once, twice, the words barely registering in his head as his eyes scanned lazily over the letters. 

He took the note and kept walking.

The next time Frank came into himself, he didn't know how long he'd been walking, only that it had been a long time. He was chewing on something with no flavor at all, and he didn't know what it was or where it came from, but food was food so he went ahead and swallowed it anyway.

He was coming up into a city- he could see the tall buildings in the distance, the way the highway he'd been walking had ballooned into fifteen lanes and bridges all atop each other, constant loops and divisions. It was disorienting to say the least- and the pavement was crawling with cars piled on top of each other, some crashed and some abandoned. There wasn't a single living person in sight, just hundreds or thousands of vehicles with dead or missing drivers, left to rot in the place they once called home. Frank tested the door of one of the cars to see if it would open. It was locked. So was the next one, and the next one, and the next, until Frank decided just to give up. He kept walking.

Frank found himself bent over the side of one of those big high-up bridges. He felt like he couldn't breathe, like something inside of him was trying to get out. Weirdly, it wasn't distressing or even unfamiliar. He was in the middle of the city now, only asphalt far below him as he heaved, and heaved again, trying to dislodge whatever was upsetting his entire digestive tract. He coughed twice, and then up it came, chunky and thick and too solid. A string of something hung half out of Frank's mouth, tripping his gag reflex, and more and more came up. 

Eventually, Frank felt better. He wiped his mouth, took a breath, and looked down at the sidewalk 10 feet below. A large splotch of red and pink stood in stark contrast against the pale gray of the footpath. Frank wondered if a lung came up too or something. 

He looked at the hospital sign in the distance, across from skyscrapers and high-rise apartments, and kept walking.

Frank woke up again slumped against a dumpster, to the smell of something burning. He sniffed once, twice, then hoisted himself forward onto his hands and knees, when he spotted a newspaper on the dirty pavement under him, with the headline, DEAD WALK THE EARTH!

Frank blinked a few times as he read it once, then twice, and then again. His head felt like such sludge that he couldn't comprehend what that was supposed to mean anyway, so he made the decision that he would find it in himself to care later. He pushed himself up onto his feet proper, stumbling a little as he made his way out of the alley he'd somehow wound up in. He needed a hospital and he needed answers. His gaze turned to the sky again, honing in on the hospital sign. It was much closer now. He just needed to push onwards.

Frank stood at the hospital doors, staring in utter disbelief. The doors were boarded up, plywood covering the glass and denying him even a chance to look inside. This wouldn't do. This wouldn't do at all . 

Frank felt rage build up in himself- maybe he didn't know what he'd been looking for at first exactly, but he hadn't walked this long and came this far to be blocked out like this! In a moment of frustration, Frank mustered all the strength he could in his leg and kicked at the door. His foot burst through the plywood, and he heard glass shatter. One problem: his foot was now stuck in the plywood.

Frank wriggled his foot around, then eventually pulled it back, tearing a larger strip through the plywood. He used his hands this time as he widened the hole, pulling out chunks until there was a Frank-sized hole in the door that he could step through, and step through he did. 

The hospital waiting room was empty, the lights off. Frank groaned in annoyance. Maybe he should have seen it coming that they didn't want anyone to come in, but they couldn't at least post up a sign saying the hospital was closed?

Frank stumbled forward, almost tripping over himself. He looked down at his leg. He hadn't noticed until now the large shard of glass that had embedded itself there, blood oozing around it and soaking the leg of Frank's jeans. Frank elected to ignore it for now- he would find medical supplies and fix it himself.

So, Frank found a nurse.

She was- well, Frank assumed they were a she because they were wearing a dress, but they actually looked sort of like a guy so he wasn't sure. But the nurse looked utterly petrified. 

"Frankie?" The nurse asked, stumbling back. That voice, high and almost elfish… it sounded too familiar. Frank took another step forward, trying to close the distance the nurse had created. Did he know them? How did they know his name?

"Frank, don't- don't come too close," The nurse stammered, eyes darting around for something. What were they looking for? Their back hit a wall of X-Ray printouts, and the nurse swallowed heavily as Frank closed the gap. 

"Frank, I know you're in there somewhere, listen to me-" The nurse grabbed his shoulders. They had tears in their eyes. Frank hesitated, almost softened under their touch. A glimmer of hope flickered across their face, and the nurse smiled at him bittersweetly. Frank only stared, tilting his head a little. Who were they, and why did they seem so familiar?

"That's- That's it, Frankie… you remember me, don't you? You don't wanna eat me," The nurse said, softly, like they were trying to reassure Frank and themself. They pulled Frank close, into a hug, and ran a hand through his hair. A jolt of pain ran through Frank as their finger- or maybe the ring they'd been wearing- snagged on his hair, and out of instinct, or maybe need, he bit down on their shoulder, like a bear trap set off.

The nurse cried out in fear, in pain, in abject agony , as the blood filled Frank's mouth, delicious and sweet. Frank moaned into the flesh, biting harder, deeper, until a chunk of it came away from the nurse's body entirely. The nurse stumbled back and collapsed onto the floor, their blood painting the wall as they slid downward. 

Frank continued to chew on their flesh as he watched the life slowly drain from their eyes. It tasted like nothing at all.