[Oneshot- Mikey] There's a fine line between 'stable' and 'breaking down,' and Mikey was sure he had crossed it long ago.
Anyway, this is based on Mikey's depression during the making of The Black Parade. Just to clear up any confusion.
For the first time in quite a while, Mikey Way didn't need coffee. He was jittery enough without it, and his band mates feared they would have a Mikey-shaped hole in the wall if he had caffeine. And that was certainly unnecessary, wasn't it?
Mikey sat in a lounge chair off to the side of the room, watching his brother bitch and moan to Bob, telling him that his drumming was drowning out everyone else. Well, everyone else except the bassist. Mikey simply sat there, one knee pulled up to his chest as he rested his chin there. His head bounced with his knee as he bit his lip, thinking about the past week in which the band had been- basically- living in the recording studio.
Despite popular belief, Mikey was never asthmatic. But, lately, he was starting to question that. Every day, it seemed his chest would tighten and he would feel the pressure of making this new album crushing him. It felt horrible- almost as if the weight of the world was ramming into his chest, and he was scared beyond words. Luckily, Mikey was told he didn't have a problem. These things were fairly common in people put in his situation. It even had a name, apparently. Panic attacks, his therapist called them. Of course. An 'attack' of emotions. He was perscribed pills that he ate like candy. Mikey always wondered why doctors perscribed several hundred milligrams of some substance to take away one issue... only to start another. What was truly worse? So-called 'panic attacks' or addiction? To be honest, Mikey couldn't answer that question.
If you asked him, Mikey would say that he was okay. He would lie, telling you that he simply 'missed Alicia.' His band mates, though, weren't fooled that easily. They were concerned about their bassist- Gerard the most. He sometimes stayed with Mikey on the large sofas in the studio, venti chocolate mocha latte in hand, watching his little brother try to get to sleep at night. He was having terrible nightmares, he bet. Of what, though, he didn't know. That scared him. Mikey needed him more than ever right now; and as much as Gerard wanted to help, he just couldn't. (How can you help someone if you don't know what's wrong?) This would be the first time he couldn't help his baby brother face his demons- and it broke his heart.
As Mikey sat on the chair, he stared into space, still thinking. He thought about what his beautiful girlfriend would be doing at home without him, if the cats were taken care of, making this new album meet his brother's visions and how different it would sound and feel... and just about anything else his mind would come up with. These thoughts would normally make him smile, because he knew for a fact that everything was going right in his life. But now... something told him that nothing was. There was a fine line between 'stable' and 'breaking down,' and Mikey was sure he had crossed it long ago.
Mikey didn't notice the rest of his band staring at him until Frank sneezed rather loudly, poor sickly thing, causing him to snap his head up. They were looking at him- all four of them. The concerned look on their faces told him that it wasn't because they wanted a reaction to another one of Ray's famous gut-busting jokes, or Bob holding Gerard in a headlock, threatening to snap his neck off if he didn't stop his hissy-fits. No. This time, they weren't laughing. Baby blue, hazel, brown and green... four sets of eyes fixed on him.
It was then that he noticed the trail of tears rolling down his cheeks, off his chin, and onto his shirt- soaking the cotton so it clung to his chest. "Fuck," he muttered, making his band mates' stare intensify by at least a thousand times- if that was even possible at this point. Now the tears wouldn't stop, and neither would Mikey's thoughts. "FUCK!" he yelled to nobody in particular, standing up from his spot on the lounge. "Fucking, fucking, fucking FUCK!!!!!" he screamed out, a sob wracking his entire body. Falling to his knees, Mikey let the tears drown him, not caring anymore if he was showing his weakness to his brother and best friends. He closed his eyes- how could he have let this happen so fast? Everything had come crashing down in a matter of a mere five minutes.
Strong arms wrapped around him, lifting him up off the ground before pushing up his chin. Opening his eyes, Mikey was met with striking baby blues, staring back at him with fear and worry. This was really, really unusual for Bob. "Mikes..." he whispered, afraid that if he spoke any louder, he'd brake the fragile boy in his arms. "Mikey, what... what's wrong, man?" Bob hated taking responsibility for dealing with these situations, but he was the only one strong enough to handle them. He let go of his skinny friend, running a hand through his short blonde hair, awaiting an answer.
Wiping tears from his glasses, Mikey shook with his sobbing. "I..." he began, but he couldn't finish the sentence. What could he say? What words would possibly be said to make his thoughts sound reaistic? Deep inside, he knew he nothing was wrong. But on the outside, he was cracking, and he couldn't see that everything was alright. Looking up at his band mates, Mikey saw his brother- paler than ever, hazel eyes wide and waiting, biting his lip. If Gerard could save himself from self-destruction, why couldn't he? But, first, he needed to admit to himself that he had a problem. "I don't... I don't think I'm okay." He shook his head, re-adjusting his glasses. "No," he whimpered. "I know I'm not okay." He almost added 'I promise,' but decided a reference to their last album wouldn't help the situation.
Bob nodded, hugging Mikey gently before ruffling his slightly-dry-from-straightening hair. Gerard stood silent and unmoving; his complexion adding to the effect of looking like a statue. He could see Ray and Frank slowly creep out of the room, obviously not wanting such a vivid dejà vu. He wasn't with the band when Gerard was an alcoholic, but Bob had seen the effects it had on them all. Losing the other Way brother to self-destruction simply wasn't an option, and Bob wanted to prevent that from happening as much as possible. As Gerard had once said, "Mikey is like everyone's kid brother." And nobody wants to watch their brother fall.
"Gee," Mikey reached a hand out for his brother's, gripping the limp fingers tightly like he did when they were younger. "Help me." he pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper. Gerard's lips twitched into a smile as he heard those words. He didn't ask for help until it was almost too late; he was proud of his baby brother for wanting help.
It would take a while, he knew, but Mikey didn't care. He had the help he needed. Like his brother, he would reinvent himself. And he decided to start tomorrow- with a haircut... and maybe some dye.
So. Tell me what you're feeling in the form of reviews [that make my day] and ratings [that make me squeal]. ^-^