Work Text:
Compared to the arid wheat wasteland that was the fields of Draag, their prisons tended to lean more toward being damp and moldy. Ray noted this as he breathed through the sack that had been placed over his head, letting cold and calloused hands guide him through what seemed like an endless maze of turns. His hands strained against his shackles as they hung pitifully in front of his weathered body, he reached up his pointer finger and thumb, toying with the hem of his uniform. He closed his eyes— not that the darkness behind his eyelids was very dissimilar to the one in front of him— breathing deep and ragged. This uniform, which once served to unite him with his similarly clad comrades, now branded him as nothing more than a tool for the state. A plaything, a symbol, a warning.
Ray’s memories were fuzzy around the edges, anything prior to their discovery by Draag was scattered, he wasn’t sure where things fell into place. He stopped trying to place them a long time ago, putting them into whatever shoddy timeline he could think of seemed to only make him more frustrated. So he focused on the feeling of the memories; A smell, a sound, a thrum in his heart, a hand patting him on the back, a guitar strap slung over his shoulder. His favorite memory was also his clearest. Ray remembered finishing up guiding another wayward soul to their rightful place, the band ready to call it a day. He doesn’t remember exactly where they were, but he remembered seeing Gerard facing away from him.
Ray’s eyebrows furrowed as he approached Gerard, their shoulders were tense as their hands fidgeted in front of them. Ray placed a hand on their shoulder before leaning down and bumping his head against them. Gerard laughed, tugging playfully at Ray’s curls— they were so much shorter back then, and darker— Ray lifted his head up and watched Gerard’s eyes for any sign of sadness or fear. They smiled and turned away.
“What’s wrong?” Ray grabbed onto Gerard’s jacket sleeve, feeling the cotton fabric snag on his roughened fingertips. Gerard dragged a hand through their stark white hair, sighing deeply. “Nothing, just thinking too much.”
They stood in silence for what seemed like an eternity before Gerard spoke again. They pulled their sleeve away from Ray’s hand before lovingly grabbing it with their own. Ray remembered the subtle heat in his cheeks as Gerard looked him in the eyes and lifted his hand up, their lips pressed a tender kiss onto the back of it. “Ray,” Gerard started while the corners of Ray’s lips slowly turned up, “Promise me if they ever get us, you’ll let me go out with a bang.” Ray let out a breathy chuckle, looking down at their entwined hands. He hooked his pinky around Gerard’s, closing his eyes and bowing his head to them.
“Promise.”
Ray’s damp footsteps halted as the guards stopped him dead in his tracks. He heard murmuring along with the clinking of keys, he assumed they had reached their destination. His body braced itself before Ray could think about it, the guards shoving him into his cell before slamming the door shut. He felt his uniform’s stitches tear at the shoulder as he skidded across the concrete floor, on his playing side, too. Ray groaned as he sat up against the wall, his arm and side already throbbing from the abuse. A cold breeze seeped through the badly constructed prison walls, Ray curled into himself as he shivered. As his head was pressed against his knees, the hair that had escaped the confines of his burlap face coverup tickled his hands, pressed against his chest. He sighed as he took his hair between his fingers, feeling up the split ends, and running them along its length.
Minutes passed, as the quiet of his cell began to make Ray’s ears ring, he heard a muffled voice and yell he knew all too well. “Let go of me, you assholes, you’re hurting me!” Frank’s determined cries bounced around until they reached Ray’s ears, he was probably the only person here that would actually listen to him. “We’re supposed to be the dictator’s band, at least pretend like you care!”
Ray shut his eyes tightly, gripping onto his hair harder. Frank let out a loud, pained, groan as he was supposedly shoved into his own cell. The guards handling him with way less care than they did Ray. “Yeah, walk away! When I get my fucking hands on you I swear—“ Quiet, again. But only briefly, for as the guards descend farther away from Frank, his tough demeanor quickly shattered. With nothing to mask the sound, Ray could hear Frank crying in his cell, mumbling and sobbing to himself.
Ray’s throat tightened as he felt tears well up in his eyes, he let out a shaky breath as he dug deep into his memories to soothe his ache.
He remembered Frank and Mikey sitting with him, talking about something unimportant, when Frank suddenly fell silent and stared at Ray. “What? Do I have something on my face?” Frank laughed and patted Ray’s cheek, “You got a bit of a five o’clock shadow but aside from that, nah, I was just thinking.” Ray rolled his eyes and playfully elbowed Frank in the ribs.
“Thinking about what?” Mikey questioned, leaning over Frank.
Frank bit the inside of his cheek, looking away as if deciding whether or not to share. “Just… Ray,” He reached a tattooed hand up to his black hair, twirling a curl around his finger, “Have you ever thought about doing something different with your hair?” Ray smiled a crooked smirk, furrowing his brow at Frank. “Like what? short like you and Mikes, and— Gerard?” Frank flinched away exaggeratedly, “No! God, no, I’d never tell you to butcher these locks of yours.”
“Like a ponytail or a braid or something?” Mikey piped up, grabbing onto Ray’s hair from the back and holding it in a faux-pony. Frank leaned back and put up his fingers like he was gonna frame Ray’s image. “Yeah, think a ponytail could suit you.” Mikey let go of Ray’s hair and ruffled it, Ray shooed his hand away.
Ray flinched as his cell door slid open. He listened in as a mass was dumped opposite of him, and his door quickly shut again. He listened for anything, breathing, shuffling. He stood still for minutes, hands still in his hair. When it seemed nothing was going to happen, Ray let go of his hair and awkwardly pulled the sack off his head.
If asked, Ray would have to describe Gerard as powerful. Their presence was powerful, it demanded to be respected, without seeming cocky or arrogant. Gerard could command an army if they decided they wanted to, Ray would’ve happily been their right hand man. Despite their short stature and Ray having at least 20 pounds of muscle on them, he still felt like Gerard was much stronger and intimidating than him. They were what The Dictator wanted to be.
The image of Gerard’s pale body strewn across Ray’s cell was, for a lack of a better word, not powerful. Sunken, colorless eyes stared blankly at Ray. Blood was drying around their lips and down towards their chin, turning crackly and dark. Similarly, the blood that pooled around their chest hardened the fabric of their uniform, already oxidized. Ray’s breath hitched as he saw Gerard, his hands shot up to cover his eyes. Despite this, he mindlessly opened up his fingers, staring at Gerard through the gaps; like their corpse was suddenly going to wake and lunge at him. Once the shock settled, Ray lowered his hands and crawled towards Gerard. Despite his bounds, he checked for a pulse with muscle memory. He pressed harder into their neck as his fingers desperately looked for anything, he was confident he could help Gerard, he just needed a pulse.
Yet, there was nothing. Like a piece of life-stock, they were bled out and thrown onto the slaughterhouse floor. “God, fuck— Please.” Ray choked out as he pressed his forehead against Gerard’s chest, hands gripping onto their bloodied clothes. “Gee please, please don’t tell me—“ He rocked their body back and forth subconsciously, tears wetting their uniform. Ray held his breath as he pressed his ear against where Gerard’s heart was. The only pulse he could hear was his own as blood rushed through his ears and his head.
Ray sat up and looked at Gerard, hands reaching up and pulling their eyelids down. A shaky hand cupped their cheek, already cold and pale. His hands ghosted down Gerard’s torso, their uniform a cruel joke, a reminder that even the things they held dearest could be taken and corrupted. They were a facsimile of what they used to be. Ray curled up beside them, nuzzling his nose into their neck. “I’m sorry,” He whispered, shutting his eyes again, “I broke our promise.”