Here, have some Frank too. It ain't easy, being a vegetarian werewolf.
[This is later, of course. and is also likely crap...but *hands*]
~~~~~
Frank knew something has changed when the dreams started up again. The first time he’d leapt up from sleep, a scream caught behind his teeth, cold sweat flattening his hair and drawing a cold line down his back, he’d barely been able to rein in the hysteria. He’s worked so hard to push the dreams back to shadows – he’d first tried appeasement, drawing images on his skin in blood and ink, hoping that the pain and bloodshed would be enough of a sacrifice. That worked for a time- the nightmares slumbered, except for full moon nights but then… well, three nights of insomnia wasn’t much of a hardship. Sure, the wail of his dreams voices crackled in him, but he could burn off the wildness they called up on the stage. The band helped; in more ways than providing an outlet, a means to lance the turmoil bubbling under his skin.
Then he met Bob, and that was when Frank felt the last piece of the puzzle slide into place. Bob had just looked at him, and they’d understood each other. When Bob joined the band full-time, Frankie’s dreams finally quieted, sliding into their proper place in the shadows. His family was solid around him and he was playing music… it was perfect.
Then... and then Mikey went away, more quiet than he’d ever been, something panicked skittering behind his eyes. Then he came back. And the Mikey Way who returned was…different. Which turned out to be a good thing, because not even two nights in the tour after Mikey’s return, the dreams returned. Frankie sat breathing, sweat matting his eyelashes. The taste of blood was thick on his tongue and he. was. HUNGRY.
He'd huddled in the blankets, shivering against the force of the bloodthirsty spirits howling for flesh in him. Unable to keep to stillness, he stumbled out of his bunk and headed to the tiny kitchen, to make himself a huge fake meat sandwich. It took far longer than usual – his hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Frank stood against the counter, not bothering with a plate, just leaning over the counter and devouring the sandwich in huge jaw-clicking bites. The yowling inside him wasn’t appeased. He sagged against the counter, taking deep gulps of air, trying to quiet his internal voices.
“You should just eat the hamburger Ray brought. It can be replaced.” Frank flinched away from the quiet voice. “Wha…” he managed, before meeting Mikey’s eyes.
All evasions died on his lips as he stared at Mikey. “I don’t know how you’ve survived so long, denying yourself. No wonder you’re sick all the time.” The bassist said. “What the fuck are you talking about?” Frank hissed. Mikey shook his head, smiling. “I don’t know how I missed it before.” When he met Frank’s eyes this time the weight of his gaze calling up shivering. “Frank, you are killing yourself trying to repress your wolf.”
Frank took a deep breath and willed his hands to stop shaking. “Mikey, what the fuck are you talking about?” He repeated. Mikey watched him for a moment, a frown wrinkling his forehead. Then he leaned back, vinyl creaking under him, and started talking.
no subject
Here, have some Frank too. It ain't easy, being a vegetarian werewolf.
[This is later, of course. and is also likely crap...but *hands*]
~~~~~
Frank knew something has changed when the dreams started up again. The first time he’d leapt up from sleep, a scream caught behind his teeth, cold sweat flattening his hair and drawing a cold line down his back, he’d barely been able to rein in the hysteria. He’s worked so hard to push the dreams back to shadows – he’d first tried appeasement, drawing images on his skin in blood and ink, hoping that the pain and bloodshed would be enough of a sacrifice. That worked for a time- the nightmares slumbered, except for full moon nights but then… well, three nights of insomnia wasn’t much of a hardship. Sure, the wail of his dreams voices crackled in him, but he could burn off the wildness they called up on the stage. The band helped; in more ways than providing an outlet, a means to lance the turmoil bubbling under his skin.
Then he met Bob, and that was when Frank felt the last piece of the puzzle slide into place. Bob had just looked at him, and they’d understood each other. When Bob joined the band full-time, Frankie’s dreams finally quieted, sliding into their proper place in the shadows. His family was solid around him and he was playing music… it was perfect.
Then... and then Mikey went away, more quiet than he’d ever been, something panicked skittering behind his eyes. Then he came back. And the Mikey Way who returned was…different. Which turned out to be a good thing, because not even two nights in the tour after Mikey’s return, the dreams returned. Frankie sat breathing, sweat matting his eyelashes. The taste of blood was thick on his tongue and he. was. HUNGRY.
He'd huddled in the blankets, shivering against the force of the bloodthirsty spirits howling for flesh in him. Unable to keep to stillness, he stumbled out of his bunk and headed to the tiny kitchen, to make himself a huge fake meat sandwich. It took far longer than usual – his hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Frank stood against the counter, not bothering with a plate, just leaning over the counter and devouring the sandwich in huge jaw-clicking bites. The yowling inside him wasn’t appeased. He sagged against the counter, taking deep gulps of air, trying to quiet his internal voices.
“You should just eat the hamburger Ray brought. It can be replaced.”
Frank flinched away from the quiet voice.
“Wha…” he managed, before meeting Mikey’s eyes.
All evasions died on his lips as he stared at Mikey.
“I don’t know how you’ve survived so long, denying yourself. No wonder you’re sick all the time.” The bassist said.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Frank hissed.
Mikey shook his head, smiling. “I don’t know how I missed it before.” When he met Frank’s eyes this time the weight of his gaze calling up shivering. “Frank, you are killing yourself trying to repress your wolf.”
Frank took a deep breath and willed his hands to stop shaking.
“Mikey, what the fuck are you talking about?” He repeated.
Mikey watched him for a moment, a frown wrinkling his forehead. Then he leaned back, vinyl creaking under him, and started talking.
~~~~
[eek! I can't believe I posted this!]