The Way family visit Gerard...the crap cliché title is finally changed!!! WOOT!
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Chapter Seven: Time
The very second the doctor opened the door to Gerard’s room, four days and three nearly sleepless nights after the shooting, Mikey was beside his brother in the blink of an eye, and holding his hand once again. Gerard was still extremely pale, but the bassist ignored it as well as the annoying clicks and beeps from the machines working in unison to keep him alive. It was simply the concept of being next to his brother again that satisfied Mikey for the moment.
“I told you I’d be back, Gee,” he told him, wiping tears from his eyes. “I never break promises. You know that,”
A knock on the door distracted Mikey and he smiled briefly at the sight of Frank and Ray in the doorway before returning to what he was saying to Gerard. The two guitarists entered and took their seats next to Don and Donna.
“How’re things with Mikey?” Ray asked in almost a whisper.
“He’s okay, I guess,” Donna replied. “Although these last few days I found him sleeping in Gerard’s bed. It’s not the first time he’s done it either,”
“Nightmares,” Frank concluded, recalling the times at the Paramour mansion. “He gets like that sometimes,”
Donna sighed. “He’s going through so much right now,”
It was Don who decided to change the subject. “How’s Bob, by the way?”
Ray laughed. “He hates this place. We visited him yesterday and almost the whole time he complained. He let us sign his cast though,”
“I know someone who would have a ball with that,” Don said, gesturing towards Gerard. “I remember when Mikey broke his arm, the cast was completely covered the day it was put on,”
Frank grinned. “You should see his bunk,”
Four months passed. Bob’s cast came off and he could walk again without the aid of crutches. Mikey’s arm was released from its sling and now sported only a bandage. Gerard’s condition, however, did not improve nor deteriorate. Mikey stayed by his side the whole time, eating little and sleeping occasionally, leaving his seat only to use the bathroom or get himself coffee. The times he did manage to sleep, it was either in his chair or on the floor. The nurses had long since given up in trying to get Mikey to leave, and they never bothered to call hospital security because he wasn’t a nuisance. Several of them were fans and of course knew all about the brotherhood, plus many had siblings themselves, and could relate. He kept boredom at bay by talking to Gerard about whatever was on his mind, and when he found there was nothing more to say he watched the television above Gerard’s bed. The incident was a major item on the news, but the story was constantly being twisted and warped like Chinese Whispers. Some claimed that Gerard was already dead, while the tabloid resorted to the ridiculous: The Way family were debating on whether to pull the plug or not; Gerard had taken the bullet for his brother; Mikey had turned to drugs and alcohol in his grief, the list went on. Worried fans discussed the topic in forums, wrote fanfictions on the matter and tried their best to contact their heroes. Such contact came in forms of cards and letters and anything else that might possibly bring light to an otherwise bleak situation.
The night before Gerard woke up, Don finally convinced Mikey to come home. He found his youngest fast asleep, his head in his arms, resting on Gerard’s hand. For a moment he didn’t want to wake him, but his paternal instincts kicked in, hard, and he reached out and gently touched his shoulder. Mikey shifted in his sleep, but did not wake.
Four months of sleeplessness had finally taken its toll.
“Come on, Mikey,” Don bent down and whispered to his son. “Let’s go home,”
The bassist shifted again with a slight groan but still didn’t stir.
Don Way left the hospital with his youngest cradled in his arms.
“Did it work?” Donna asked hopefully from the passenger seat as Don reached the driver’s side of the Way family car. He merely touched a finger to his lips with a smile and gestured to the back seat, where he had gently set Mikey down, half sitting up, leaning against the window like a weary bus passenger. Donna craned her neck to view the back seat and she smiled to herself.
“He gets that from you, y’know,” she said as Don started the car.
“Being such a deep sleeper,”
From the backseat Mikey muttered something inaudible and Donna smiled again.
“He gets that from you,” Don spoke up, turning his head briefly to grin at his wife. “Him and Gerard both,”
“You got me there,”
When Mikey awoke at last in his own bed, he thought for sure the whole ordeal had just been some horrible nightmare and Gerard had not been lying in a hospital bed for four months in a coma because of some psycho with a gun. He yawned and got up, his stomach growling and made his way to the kitchen, feeling along the wall in the pitch darkness. His fingers brushed a light switch and he flipped it on, having to blink as the sudden glare reached his light-deprived eyes.
He was standing at the open door to Gerard’s room.
Gerard’s empty room.
Mikey muttered a curse to the shadows, realising that he hadn’t been dreaming, and moved on. His feet slapped softly against the tiled kitchen floor and his stomach growled again as if egging him on. The refrigerator hummed away gently as Mikey opened the door and scanned the shelves for something to eat. Finally he pulled out a plate of lasagne and vegetables, his stomach rumbling eagerly, and left it to reheat in the microwave.
By the time the timer had finished counting down, Mikey’s mouth was watering impatiently. He ate it there on the kitchen bench, wolfing it down so fast he nearly choked, then sat back, satisfied with the feeling of a full stomach. After a moment he got up and wandered into the living room, switching the TV on and flopping down onto the couch. Kurt Cobain was belting out the chorus of Smells Like Teen Spirit and he watched, amused, until the next song, which was an old U2 song he didn’t recognise.
He changed the channel.
Some old black-and-white movie.
Mikey finally settled with a horror movie, despite the fact that he thought it was absolutely terrible. But it got so bad after twenty minutes or so that he changed it back to the music channel he had been watching in the first place.
There, on the screen, holding the old-fashioned microphone to his mouth like a walkie-talkie, was Gerard, dressed in military attire.
Mikey couldn’t speak, only watch as his brother sang, then acted, then sang again. And when the Mikey on screen was shot down he didn’t see himself; he saw Gerard.
By the time the last note of the song had faded, tears were streaming down Mikey’s cheeks.
“...And that was My Chemical Romance’s The Ghost Of You, marking the four month anniversary of the shooting that leaves frontman Gerard Way still in a coma. Our thoughts are with the Way family, who are still eager to see him pull through...”
He switched it off.
You have no idea. No fucking idea at all.
Mikey pressed his face into the couch cushion and sobbed, and Don found him after a while and comforted him.
The digital clock in Gerard’s room read 4:39 am.
He opened his eyes at that time, and then fell unconscious again at 4:41 am.