Mikey needs his big brother and guardian to listen. Gerard needs his baby brother and charge to tell him what's wrong. Short, extremely angsty one-shot. Strong language.
“What the fuck were you thinking?!”
I don't even know the answer myself, let alone be able to give it to the one who is asking for it.
“Or were you even thinking at all?”
No, I was definitely thinking. Maybe that’s the problem, perhaps I think too much and that’s what makes life seem so painful.
“You could have died, Mikey; died. Do you not get that?”
Of course I get it, it’s pretty hard not to; you need blood to live, lose too much of it and you die.
“You could have fucking died!”
Stop shouting at me, it hurts! I don’t understand him; he says he’s worried about me and all he wants to do is look after me, but all he ever does is yell at me!
“What do you think I was trying to do?!”
Looks like I just found my voice. He may be the speaker, may think that he can talk for me and at me, but oh, how wrong he is. I have many things to say, there’s just not enough people to listen. He says he wants me to talk to him, to open up; how can I when all he ever does in my presence is shout at me, never listen to me?
He says nothing. Just sits there shaking like the weak mess that everyone expects me to be.
Wait. This isn’t me. I’m not like this. I’m not mean. I don’t shout at people, especially not my big brother.
Oh, fuck, now he’s crying, too. I’m the one who always cries, not him; he just tries to shout the tears away.
“I don’t want you to die.”
“Neither do I. I just want it to stop.”
He pulls me into a firm hug, my tears are soaking his t-shirt as his are mine. Neither of us seems to mind.
“What to stop?”
He isn’t shouting anymore, just listening and all of a sudden I don’t have anything to say.
What exactly do I want to stop? The bullies? My failing grades? The shouting? The silence? The fact that our parents are dead? The fact that he’s trying to look after me but all I do is cause him more trouble? My life?
“Just… All of it.”
I erupt into fresh tears; clinging tighter to the only person I have left who actually cares.
“I’m scared, Gee.”
He doesn’t shout at me to talk to him, just kisses my forehead and rubs my back.
“Me too, Mikes. Me too.”
I think that’s the first time he’s been honest to the both of us since our parents died. Two and half fucking years ago.
But still, it feels good to have my brother back instead of some stranger trying to be my father.
A/N: Don’t quite know where that came from, but there you go! Probably the product of being stuck indoors all day with a bad cold. Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think. :)