Chapter Text
At least Mikey isn’t here.
This is all Gerard can think about when he finally comes back to his senses: at least Mikey isn’t here. At least his brother was lucky enough to oversleep and miss the flight, and Ray stayed behind to make sure he doesn’t miss the next one either. Gerard should have probably stayed, too, but it took him the whole day to mentally prepare himself for the fourteen hours he’d have to spend trapped eighteen thousand feet above ground (which is approximately eighteen thousand feet higher than he’s comfortable with), and he wasn't ready to go through it again. So Frank volunteered to go with him, and…
Shit. Frank.
Gerard's ears are still ringing as he pushes himself up. Every muscle in his body protests, and some part of him wants to lie down and never move again, but he has to. He has to force himself to his feet, and he has to make sure he still has all his limbs intact — or at least that they’re functional enough, — and he has to find Frank.
The first step is the hardest. Gerard feels dizzy, his vision is blurry and swarmed with black dots, and he thinks he’s about to collapse at any second now, and he feels something wet streaming down his forehead, right into his left eye, making him squint, and his right leg hurts when he tries to put weight on it, but at least he can still feel pain. It should be better than nothing, right? Especially given the circumstances. He’s alive, and he’s in pain, and he can barely stand, but this isn’t important right now. Frank is the priority. Frank is…
He smells it before he sees it. The distinct stench of burning meat mixed with gasoline, clouds of dark smoke rising up to the bright blue sky, splashes of crimson red on the grass.
And the screaming. Pained, agonized screaming of someone burning alive.
Every instinct is screaming at him to turn around and run, to save himself while he still can. This is hell unleashed on earth and Gerard is stuck in the middle of it, and he needs to get moving, get away from it, as far as he can, until his bad leg gives out. But Frank is still trapped somewhere among the flames. Frank is still there — he must be, their seats were next to each other, and if Gerard managed to survive then Frank must have, too.
Gerard forces himself to go forward. His right leg is nearly ready to give out, the ringing in his ears gets louder. The ground is shaking under his feet, once or twice Gerard almost loses his balance and falls, and someone is still screaming. Gerard tries to tune it out, tries to focus on one voice, just one, that’s all he can think about.
He’s screaming too, he realises. Just one word, over and over again, until his throat is so hoarse the only sound he can make is laboured, desperate wheezing.
He never gets an answer.
The flames are roaring around him when his legs finally give out and he collapses to the ground, choking on the smoke and fumes. Gerard tries to stand up again — he can’t stay here any longer, he’s going to choke to death if he does, — but his body is too weak, and he can barely move his leg, his left eye is rendered blind.
“Come on, get up!”
Gerard feels strong hands on his back, and in the next second he’s yanked up. Someone lets him lean on them — a man Gerard doesn’t recognise, but judging by the remains of white uniform shirt he must be one of the flight attendants — and forces him to move. Gerard does his best to stand upright, to keep up as the flight attendant drags him away from the wreck and to a tree at a safe distance.
“My friend,” Gerard manages to whisper. “My friend is there.”
The man gives him a concerned look.
“He alive?” he asks. “Know where he is?”
Gerard shakes his head. “I need to find him,” he rasps. “I need to— He’s—”
“You’re not going anywhere.”
Gerard tries to fight back as he’s forced to sit down. The flight attendant gives him a stern look.
“Don’t move,” he warns him. “You’ve lost a lot of blood already, gotta save strength.”
Gerard shakes his head. “I need to find Frank,” he forces out. “Please, I—”
The man sighs.
“Alright, fine,” he grumbles. “What does he look like?”
“Dark hair. Tattoos,” Gerard closes his eyes. He’s so tired. The pain subdues for a few moments, and Gerard should probably be worried, but all he can think about right now is Frank. “Short. Had a— Had a Misfits shirt last I saw him.”
“Okay,” the flight attendant breathes out. “I’ll go look for him. Stay put.”
Gerard doubts he could move even if he tried. His body feels too heavy, he can barely open his eyes to give the man one last look. When he blinks the flight attendant is already gone. The world is covered in a mist, dull and distant, and all Gerard can do is watch.
The earth shakes under his feet. Gerard looks up at the remains of the plane just in time to see the fuel tank explode, the rest of the plane catching fire in a matter of seconds before the explosive wave reaches him, deafens him, throws Gerard’s limp body against the tree trunk.
And then — nothing.
***
It’s almost dark when Gerard opens his eyes again. His left eye is still useless, and when Gerard touches his face he feels a thick crust of dried blood covering half of his face. It takes him a few moments to access the damage: a gashing wound on his forehead; the blood crust has stopped the bleeding for now, but it will probably open again the moment Gerard tries to wash his face. His pants are ripped at the right thigh, wet fabric sticking to the skin where Gerard finds a long deep cut going from his upper thigh almost to the knee. It’s still slightly bleeding, but judging by the fact that he’s still alive Gerard was lucky enough not to damage an artery.
It hurts. Everything hurts. Gerard thinks he’s going to throw up.
He looks up and ahead, at the remains of the plane, almost black in the twilight. Something is still burning deep inside the carcass, the air still smells of blood, burnt flesh and melted iron.
Frank is still there.
Gerard squints, trying to make out any signs of movement, but the only thing he sees is the wind slightly shaking the treetops. A vague sense of dread settles in his stomach. Gerard tries to push it down but it only makes his anxiety worse as he stares at the still, lifeless remains of the plane.
Someone should have found him by now. It must have been a few hours since the explosion, if there were any survivors, they would have found Gerard by now, or at least returned to the crash site to look for food or water, or anything that could be salvaged.
They were above the ocean when the engine broke down, right? Which means that, since Gerard hasn’t drowned just yet, they managed to land on an island, and there’s over twenty thousand islands in the Pacific Ocean, what are his chances to end up on an inhabited one? And besides, if someone lived on this island, they would’ve noticed already. The area would have been swarmed with first responders looking for survivors, but all Gerard can see is the dark carcass, the remaining fires smoldering here and there, and not a single movement.
Which means that Gerard is the only one left.
He doesn’t break down. Too soon: Frank might still be somewhere nearby, he could have followed his instincts and got away from the burning plane. There might still be a chance. It’s small, it’s almost futile, and Gerard might be wasting his time, but he can’t leave until he finds out what happened to Frank.
It’s his fault Frank was on the plane in the first place. It’s his fault that Frank had to come with him because Gerard is so scared of flying he can get a panic attack before the take-off. He was the one who put Frank into this situation, so the only option he has is to look for him, alive or dead.
Gerard forces himself to stand up. His wounded leg protests, and after the first step Gerard understands that the only way he can move around is pretty much by hopping on one leg, and even then the pain is almost unbearable. He clenches his teeth and keeps limping, cursing under his breath every time an awkward or miscalculated movement sets his leg on fire. This is what he needs to do, no matter how much pain it brings him.
Keep moving. Just keep moving.
By the time Gerard reaches the wreck he thinks he’s going to lose his mind. It took him almost fifteen minutes to cross a two hundred feet distance, and he already feels like he’s ran a marathon. And to make things even worse, the sky has turned dark, so dark Gerard can barely see anything in front of him, he will never find Frank in this darkness. But waiting for the sun to rise would be a waste of time. Gerard has already lost a few precious hours while he was unconscious, he can’t afford waiting.
He stops and leans against a scrap of metal, something that once used to be a part of the fuselage. The metal is still warm to the touch, which brings a relief Gerard never knew he needed: the temperature is dropping rapidly, cold is already seeping under his torn jeans and the thin fabric of his shirt.
He needs to keep moving. The last thing he wants is to die of hypothermia on a tropical island.
Gerard doesn’t get the chance to walk far: after just a few steps he stumbles upon something and falls, his injured leg unable to support his weight anymore. ‘Something’ looks suspiciously human-shaped, and as Gerard squints (tears of pain cloud his vision, but he’s trying his best) he notices that the person — or, rather, the body, Gerard is almost certain they’re not breathing, — is lying on their back. He can’t make out their features, no matter how hard he tries, and this uncertainty is making everything so much worse.
Gerard reaches out.
Please don’t be him, please don’t be him.
His palm connects with the face. Or what once used to be a face: Gerard feels something wet and slimy under his fingers, and when he instinctively jerks his hand away and looks at it he sees something black streaming down his arm. A distinct metallic smell fills the air.
Gerard barely has the time to lean forward before throwing up. His already tortured throat feels like he swallowed sanding paper, and it makes Gerard gag and heave again. A few drops of bile land on his sleeves, and Gerard thinks he can feel a few tiny pieces of half-digested airline food drop on his pants, but it couldn’t matter any less at this moment.
This can’t be Frank. He couldn’t just die that easily. It’s Frank, he might be a trouble magnet but Gerard knows that he is stubborn enough that if he dies, he will die on his own terms. Not like this. Definitely not like this.
A choked sob escapes his throat. He wants to give up. He wants to lay down and wait for the inevitable to come. If the worst happened, if Gerard really is the only survivor, he’s not going to last long on his own anyway. He can barely walk, he has no idea how to make camp, and even if he manages to find some food among the plane remains, it will last him a few days at most. And that is if he doesn’t get his wounds infected, which, given that Gerard hasn’t bothered with bandaging the cut on his leg, would be a miracle.
“Hey! Anyone there?”
The sound of a familiar voice makes Gerard’s heart beat faster. He can barely hear the uneven footsteps and hitched breathing somewhere behind him and to his right, too focused on the voice.
“Shit,” the voice grumbles. “Fuck. Can you hear me? Anyone?”
Frank. He sounds borderline hysterical, like he has spent some time looking for other survivors, but he’s alive, and Gerard can’t sense any pain in his voice, just fear, almost panic, and Frank is alive.
Gerard sobs again, a momentary weakness before he pushes himself upwards. He knows he won’t be able to stand up, not when his entire body is trembling from exhaustion, but he still has his voice. Probably. His throat hurts so much Gerard doubts he will be able to make any sound for a moment.
“Frank!” he calls out, his voice raspy and hoarse.
Silence. Then — hurried footsteps, grass rustling under someone’s feet, and in the next moment Frank rushes in his direction from behind the remains of the turbine. He limps slightly — but only slightly, Gerard is almost certain his injury isn’t too serious, — and he freezes the moment he sees Gerard, breathing heavily.
“Gee,” Frank whispers. “Holy fuck, Gee.”
Gerard is pulled into a hug before he has the time to process what is going on. Frank holds him close to his chest, slightly rocking back and forth, his breath suspiciously wet, like he is seconds away from crying.
“Frank,” Gerard hears himself whisper. “Frank, Frank, Frank…”
He feels so cold. His body is barely able to move, all strength he had left in him disappeared the moment Frank wrapped his arms around him.
Gerard barely remembers standing up. Frank is dragging him somewhere, away from the crash site, and all Gerard can think of: Frank is alive. Despite everything, Frank is still alive, and he doesn’t look hurt, and maybe they still have a chance to survive.
***
Gerard has no idea for how long they’ve been walking. Frank is suspiciously quiet, and Gerard doesn’t dare to say a word. What could he possibly say? That he’s glad that Frank is with him? This is just selfish: Frank could have been on another flight right now, unaware of the crash, along with the rest of the band. He could have been safe.
When they reach a small spring in the middle of the dense forest Gerard manages to spiral so low he barely registers it when Frank helps him sit down.
“Look at me,” Frank orders in a hushed voice.
Gerard obediently raises his head, letting Frank take a good look at the wound on his forehead — well, as good as he can get in the complete darkness.
“Okay, sit still,” Frank whispers and takes a step back. He hesitates for a few moments before he takes off his T-shirt and with regret clear on his face tears off the right sleeve.
Gerard watches him walk to the spring and dip the piece of cloth in the water before coming back and gently wiping Gerard’s face. Gerard winces at the touch, tries to pull away but Frank’s grip on him is too strong and he has no other option but to sit still and take it.
Frank spends a good few minutes wiping dried blood from Gerard’s eye until Gerard can finally open it, lets out a satisfied hum when he understands that Gerard can see with both of his eyes, and moves onto gently cleaning the remaining blood off his face.
“D’you need bandages?” he asks the moment he’s done cleaning Gerard’s wound. “I found a first aid kit, so if you need anything…”
“Leg,” Gerard rasps. “It’s bad.”
Frank looks down on Gerard’s hurt leg. For a few seconds he’s quiet, as if trying to process what exactly he’s seeing (if he can see anything at all) before letting out a shaky breath.
“Okay, one thing at a time,” he mutters under his breath. “I think I had a flashlight…”
“It’s okay,” Gerard mutters. “It can wait.”
“No, it can’t,” Frank cuts him off. “It’s gonna get infected if we wait.”
He rummages through his pockets until he finds a small flashlight the size of his middle finger and triumphantly turns it on. Gerard instinctively flinches and tries to cover his face as bright light hits his eyes. He barely notices it when Frank kneels next to him, flashlight clenched tight between his teeth, and tries to take a better look at Gerard’s leg.
“Shit,” he mutters. His speech is almost unintelligible but Gerard still understands what he wanted to say.
Frank pulls a small bag Gerard never noticed before closer to himself and opens it to take out a bottle of rubbing alcohol and some gauze pads. He takes his time trying to clean the wound as best as he can while Gerard is doing his best to stay still despite the pain. The worst comes when Frank decides to pour what feels like the entire bottle of alcohol onto Gerard’s leg, which makes him hiss and squirm in pain.
“Stay still,” Frank grumbles, taking the flashlight out of his mouth for a few moments. “Dude, this is fucking serious.”
“I don’t think it works like that,” Gerard rasps. “I think I need a real doctor.”
“At least it’s better than you running around with an open wound all over a possibly deserted island,” Frank bites back. “So shut the fuck up and don’t move.”
Gerard obeys. What other options does he have? Some part of him wants to give up, wants to let nature take its course and leave the wound untreated just to see what happens, but he can’t leave Frank to deal with this entire mess alone. If Frank is here because of Gerard, then at least Gerard can try to hold on a little bit longer for him.
Just a little bit longer. Just to make sure that Frank doesn’t have to endure all this alone.
“Have you seen anyone else?” Gerard mutters as Frank tries to wrap the wound in as much gauze as possible. It doesn’t bleed anymore, at least, so this must be good news. Frank also decided to pass the torchbearing duty to Gerard, no doubt so that he could talk.
Frank shakes his head. “Not sure,” he replies. “It’s kinda… I think I just ran. Found this place,” he nods at the spring. “Heard an explosion. Decided to come back to look for,” he gulps, “for whatever I can find. Found you. You know the rest.”
“But no other people?” Gerard asks. “Nobody… no other survivors? No locals?”
Frank wraps the final bandage tight around Gerard’s thigh and leans against the tree trunk next to Gerard. Their shoulders touch, making Gerard shiver.
“Nobody,” Frank replies grimly. “Too soon to tell, but—”
“But we’re trapped here,” Gerard finishes for him. “For fuck knows how long.”
Maybe forever.
“They’re gonna look for us,” Frank tries to reassure him. “They take this stuff seriously, I’m sure there’s gonna be a rescue mission or something.”
If there is anyone left to rescue, Gerard thinks bitterly. They crashed in the middle of the ocean, it’s going to take days, if not weeks, for the rescue team to find this island, if they find it at all and don’t decide that the plane drowned and there’s no point in looking for survivors.
He rests his head on Frank's shoulder and closes his eyes. At least he's not alone, he tries to reassure himself. At least he has a friend by his side.
It brings him little comfort.