Warnings: Character abuse which might get upsetting. Language and angst.

Thanks to Reincarnatedwitch for being epic. As usual. Merci.

Frank had a stinking rotten cold. His head hurt, a familiar feeling of pounding cotton wool trying to escape his brain. His eyes were dry and itchy, like he had hay fever despite it being November. It was days like this when Frank wished he was still young, when his mum would bring him hot soup and plump his pillows. He could stay at home and sleep off the worst of the infection.

He wasn't young, though. His mum had passed away, he had no family left to take care of him. He couldn't stay at home, he had to go to his crappy night job to pay the extortionate bills on his crappy flat that he needed to live in, alone.

So Frank dragged himself out of bed at six in the evening, and went to stand under the spray of his shower for five minutes. He pulled on his slightly creased uniform – a white shirt, black trousers, and his belt with the taser. He deliberated, and eventually took a jumper instead of his coat, just to hide the taser on the bus – people gave him strange looks.

The ride was quiet, the over head luminescence making the skin on his hand look even paler than it normally was. The ink on his hands standing out in high contrast. He glared at it. The tattoos in combination with his appalling school grades were the reason he had to have this job. He had no desire to be a prison guard – he was fed up of the bulkier inmates trying to push their luck and tackling him. He could normally handle them fine; he was short, yeah, but he was strong. Didn't stop them trying though.

'Evening, Frank' the middle aged woman at the sign-in desk said, taking only a cursory glance at his ID. Frank gave a non committal grunt before signing in and going to check out his timetable. First job of the evening, escorting a prisoner 342-7 to a new facility. Oh joy of joys.

'Jepha?' he called. Jepha was another guard, the only one near enough Frank's age that he could talk to. 'What's up?'

'Escorting 342-7?' Frank left the question open. It never hut to have an idea who the person was, especially when Frank was going to spend the next hour and a half cuffed to him in a mental cage on wheels.

'Gerard Way, busted for assisting manslaughter. Quiet guy, artist. No trouble.' Jepha said, zipping up his coat – his shift was over.

'Why's he being moved?' Frank frowned, looking back at the paper work.

'I dunno. Be grateful you're not moving Wentz – he was a nightmare, I swear, hollering and flailing like. . .'Jepha launched onto his story of Pete Wentz being taken to the psychiatric ward. He'd been causing trouble for weeks, and the bosses didn't want another riot, so he was shipped out.

'. . .So I signed the papers and legged it. Anyhow, got to go' Jepha finished with a smile. Frank waved and headed off in the opposite direction, to the cells. The facility was a maze of the same cream coloured walls and grey bars. A few of the prisoners called out, but years here had made Frank take a deep breath and keep walking. Another reason he hated this job.

'Gerard Way?' Frank called when he stopped outside the cell. It was a double-sleeper, with a bunk bed.

'He's signing his papers' The other inmate looked up from his book. Bert McCracken, he was actually a certified psycho, unlike Wentz, who was just nuts. Frank nodded once. Bert had killed a married couple; Frank didn't know, and didn't want to know, the details. He seemed nice enough, on the surface. But two riots had introduced Frank to the crazed look in his eyes – the way they lit up when he had whacked Greta, another night-guard, over the head. Frank wouldn't forget that, not ever.

'All yours.' Frank was pulled out of his day-dream by Lyn-z, the only other female guard. She was escorting Way back to his cell, and Frank gave her a small smile. He ignored the way that she had left the cuffs a little loose on Way's wrists, and was holding his arm instead of the chain between the cuffs. It was technically breaking regulations, but Lyn-z was nice to all the prisoners who deserved it. She uncuffed one of Way's wrists and moved the cuff to Frank's outstretched hand.

'Right, let's get you moved' Frank said. Way nodded to the floor, his mop of black hair blocking his face. Frank did actually recognise him, seen him a few times in the corner of the yard with Bert, talking and whispering.

Way shuffled along beside him with little trouble, staring at the ground. This was easy enough, Frank thought. It made a change from hauling guys along. Frank didn't even have to argue Way into the bus, he just sat in the seat Frank pointed to, and let Frank sit beside him.

Frank was beginning to worry though. Gerard hadn't looked at him, said anything. It was like Way was withdrawn into his head, and that never boded well. Frank was peering at him sideways when it happened. The driver, who was on his last route, started coughing.

'You all right?' Frank said, leaning into the isle. The driver nodded a few times, but didn't stop coughing. Frank could see him turning slightly pink in the rear view mirror.

'Pull over' Frank insisted. The driver did, stopping slightly jerkily. Frank was in full panic mode now. Gerard had looked up, and his mouth was moving minutely at the corners. Frank stood in the isle, tugging Gerard with him as he reached the driver. Taking his pulse with one hand, he reached for his radio to call the facility.

Then, his arm was being pulled across his chest, Gerard's arm was over his head – and the cold chain of the handcuffs was taught across his throat.

'Do not touch that radio' Way's voice was calm and low. 'Let's take a step back' he said, pulling gently on the chain at Frank's throat.

'Gerard, this isn't going to work' Frank tried, gently flexing his fingers at the chain around his throat. He felt Way's breath against his ear for a moment. 'It already is working' he said, as his free hand unclipped the taser from Frank's belt. The only weapon he had.

The driver had stopped moving now, his face no longer pink, but very pale. Very, very pale. 'Is he dead?' Frank said.

'It doesn't matter' Way replied, nudging his leg into the back of Frank's knee. 'Walk' he said. Frank couldn't tell if Way meant that it didn't matter if the driver was dead, of it if didn't matter if he was alive. Frank hoped he was alive, the guy probably had a family somewhere, who were expecting him home.

Frank almost tripped on the steps of the minibus, but Way pulled up sharply on the chain and Frank kept moving. Way's entire attitude had changed. Frank was acutely aware of the power shift, and it made him anxious.

Gerard unwound the chain from his throat when they entered the not-quite woodland on the roadside. He pushed Frank down until he was kneeling. Frank looked up with defiant eyes.

'What's your name?' Way said, rolling up the sleeved up his jumpsuit in a way that made Frank's spine shiver.

'Frank Iero'

'Okay Frank. I want you to listen to me very carefully' Way said, couching down and taking the sides of Frank's head in his palms. They weren't even slightly sweaty, unlike Frank's head, which was shining. Frank nodded.

'Take out your cell phone' Way said.

'I don't have one' Frank said quickly and flinched when Way moved one of his hands, slapping Frank across the face before pulling Frank's face close to his.

'Do not lie to me, Frankie. Take out your cell phone' he hissed. Frank fumbled with his free hand, trying to get across his body to the pocket it was in. Way noticed immediately, and pushed his hand into the pocket, pulling it out for him.

Way placed the phone carefully on the ground before pulling Frank onto his feet. It wasn't hard – Way wasn't exactly big, but was taller and had lithe muscles that rivalled Frank's.

'Stamp on the phone' Way said. Frank blinked at him, but did as he was told. Way could have done that himself.

'Good. If you try anything Frankie, I will kill you. Do you understand?' Way said in his calm, controlling voice. Frank nodded.

Gerard slapped his face again, and Frank was sure his cheek was red now. 'I said, Do you understand?'

'Y-yes' Frank stammered. Gerard smiled at him, before taking hold of Frank's hand, like he was a child about to cross a road. 'Okay Frankie. We're going to go on a walk.'

'The driver?' Bob asked, as his colleague sat back in the car and buckled up. He'd not gone in the hospital, he never did. Hospitals gave him the creeps.

'He'll be fine. Non-lethal poison. He remembers pulling over, and that's it.' Ray said and Bob pulled away from the hospital.

'Poison?' How had he got that into him?

'We need to talk to a Guard "Jepha". He mentioned that one of the inmates fell into him on his last journey. Could have injected him – the convict was on his way to a psych ward, Way might have persuaded him to do a favour'

'Right. Oh, Schechter called. The guard missing is Frank Iero, no family, young guy. Not exactly hostage material.'

'Apparently the guards are cuffed to the inmates in transit. Iero is going to become a liability pretty soon'

'That's what I was worried about. Schechter also said that Way was in for assisted manslaughter, he took the fall for the prime suspect.'

'The prime suspect never did time?' Ray gawped.

'Nope. Here's the kicker, Prime suspect is Way's younger brother' Bob said.

'Oh shit.' Ray pretty much hit the nail on the head there.

Frank had been walking for hours, it was completely dark now, and he had no idea where he was going. His hand hurt form the cuff – it was normal for it to be a bit sore after a inmate move, but he'd been wearing it for as long s he'd been walking – seemingly forever.

'Keep up' Way huffed, tugging.

'Where are we going?' Frank mumbled.

'You are going to be staying here if you do not keep up' Way growled.

Frank snapped. 'If you kill me you'll have to drag my body' he said. Which was true. Dead or alive, these cuffs couldn't be pulled off. Goodness knows, Frank had tried as he walked.

'If you're dead, it'll be a lot easier to dislocated the bones in your hand and pull these cuffs off' Gerard stopped, emphasising his point with a tug. Frank swallowed and moved along in the darkness.

He couldn't help wondering when Gerard Way's kindness, or patience, or whatever it was that was keeping Frank alive, would wear out. If the roles were reversed, Frank knew he wouldn't keep a guard cuffed to him for very long.

Thanks for reading!