Gerard, fog and Mikey. You'll have to read this to know what the hell I'm talking about, because I don't like giving things away. Credit to IeroMyHero once again for being the awesome beta that she...
Shut the curtain. I don't like you.
His first non-fuzzy thought came as a surprise even to him. It was crazy, completely insane, but he was grateful, at least, for the fact that it was clear. He wouldn't remember it later, but since his short-lived reunion with his grandmother, he felt like he was constantly walking through a thick fog, unthinking, unfeeling; a lonely, living statue. So it had been an enormous relief when that one nonsense thought made its way sluggishly through his brain.
Then several voices pierced the drugged haze of his mind.
"...hasn't slept in days. He needs it,"
"But what if he wakes up today?"
"It's not like he's going anywhere,"
"I think Mikey has a right to know when his brother wakes up,"
Mikey...Gerard was familiar with the name, and had been for the last 27 years of his life.
He wanted to open his eyes, but being in a state of sensory deprivation, he couldn't even feel anything. His hearing had returned though. That was a start. And he could think. Sort of. His thoughts were slightly out-of-focus, like a radio with bad reception. He desperately wished his body would do something --anything-- that might mean he could open his eyes and see his brother's face again, but his limbs wouldn't obey him.
You're not a quitter, you're a fighter.
That was his second clear thought, the concept of which impelled even more motivation into his mind. And so, being the fighter that Mikey made him out to be, he fought. Gerard battled the fog that kept his thoughts and his senses in chains, and through it all he managed a single movement: a twitch of his finger. But he felt it. He felt that twitch, and in that subtle action, his sense of touch was back. There was another sudden feeling, one he'd missed for so long, though he couldn't exactly be sure how long it had been.
He could breathe.
Gerard drew a deep breath, releasing it in almost a sigh, and then, remembering the battle raging inside him, continued to struggle against his subliminal restraints. This time his sense of taste was released, though he wished it was something else. There was a taste in his mouth that consisted of plastic and stale blood, and that was far from one he relished. Along with his sense of taste came his sense of smell, the whiff of cleanliness and antiseptic and numerous other chemicals meeting his nostrils. But Taste and Smell didn't matter to him, not when the only thing he wanted was to see. So Gerard began to focus primarily on getting his eyes to open, and although his mind kept reminding him that he wasn't ready yet, he repeatedly told it to fuck off and kept trying. At long last his efforts prevailed and the fog began to clear. The heaviness was lifted from his eyelids, a bit at a time, and Gerard managed to open his eyes slightly. The first thing he saw was not the face of his brother, but the harsh pallor of white walls, before an unclear, brown, fluffy thing came into view.
"Hey Frank, I think he moved," it said, and Gerard realised it was not an 'it', but the unclear vision of Ray Toro's face and his trademark frizz of hair.
It took a moment for Ray's words to register in his still-foggy mind, but when it did, he blinked. Though the motion was slight, it confirmed the guitarist's spoken thought.
"Trust you to oversleep,"
His vision cleared a little more, and Gerard could see the smile on Ray's face, but he couldn't help feeling there was something missing.
Ray...Frank...wait... where's Bob and Mikey?
Desperately he searched the room, his eyes darting as fast as the drugs would allow, but although he saw Frank's face come into view, there was no trace of Bob or his brother.
A sudden terror seized him.
He tried to say the name, forgetting his own injury, and squeezed his eyes shut as his attempt caused pain to ripple through his throat. Nevertheless he tried again, struggling to ask the two faces above him --his friends, his bandmates-- if anything had happened to his baby brother.
"Dammit, Frank, get your own fucking coffee next time,"
That was Bob's voice. One person less to worry about.
Where's my brother?
He couldn't get through to them. Couldn't ask where Mikey was and if he was okay, couldn't even gesture or write his enquiry down because he didn't have the strength. For all he knew, Mikey was dead. It made sense, considering the circumstances. His brother was missing, and the last thing he heard had been four more gunshots. Slowly, painfully, his mind came to that very conclusion; one he hoped would not come into existence for many more years to come.
Gerard closed his eyes and drifted into unconsciousness; the only thing he could do, the only thing he really felt like doing for the moment. And as he slept, Ray saw tears hugging the frontman's eyelashes and wondered what was on Gerard's mind.
A/N: This is going to be my last chapter for a little while because I'm going on schoolies tomorrow. Anyway, hope you like this one and I'll be expecting lots of reviews when I get back. Nah, not really, but if you could review then that would be fucking fantastic. What can I say? I'm a review junkie. Oh yeah, and sorry this chapter's short. The next pne will be longer, I promise.