Fire Fly’s POV
I ran. Something I was quite used too. I ran with Oliver in arm, blood gushing out of my nose, blood gushing out of Oliver’s arm. Another typical outside of the Seven eleven fight. We finally got to the car, Oliver slumping into the back as I climbed in after him, Loran climbing in quickly after me.
“Benna you drive.” Said Alexa, sounding exhausted, as she clutched her bleeding knuckles. I maneuvered my way through the back to the driver’s seat. I didn’t have my license on me, as usual. I’m guessing no cops would stop us seeing our condition, so I thankfully took the wheel. The ride to the hospital had so much tension you could almost taste it in the air, or that could’ve been the blood that had made it’s ay into my mouth.
After 10 long minutes of waiting in traffic, the familiar red emergency sign was now shining down on us from where we parked. Loran slung Oliver’s good arm around her shoulder as he began to sway, and we made our way into the hospital. The whole emergency room was in frenzy as they saw our bloody, dazed, and exhausted bodies as we entered the sliding doors. Doctor’s came to rush Oliver and me into stretchers, my nose bleeding even worse than before. I felt my vision become to get fuzzy as they poked an IV into my skin. And before I knew it, I was out like a light.
Party Poison's POV
I can’t believe he did it again. He had broken another limb on his body and still managed to have a stupid grin on his face. We had to drive all the way back to California, back to our hometown. The only good part, maybe I’ll be able to stay one day and see my gorgeous family. It was already 4:30am, so most likely (and hopefully) they’d all be asleep. A nice pay in visit would’ve been nice in the morning, and finally a good quality shower with lots of soap. We finally reached California National Hospital, and checked in Frank. They quickly took his temperature and got him a curtained off bed as we waited for the doctor.
As we both began to drift off, Frank on the stretcher, me on the chair beside it, we were awoken to the sound of alarms and instant clutter. Frank turned to me, an alarmed look on his face.
“What’s going on Gerard!?” He said uncertainly.
“I don’t know, probably just a cardiac arrest or something.” Oh how wrong I was. I peered outside of the curtain to see two stretchers enter our room, filled with doctors. I could see to kids, in their teen years on the stretchers. A feeling of panic washed over me, what if they were mine? I quickly shunned myself; Lindsay could take care of them while I was on tour. My oldest Bandit, the quiet, obedient (despite her name) one, and the other Jelena, a mix of Elena and Jenna, a mix of names that me and Lindsay couldn’t decide between. The run-for-your-money wild child. I didn’t see much of her; she doesn’t stick around the house much. She often just goes somewhere, and doesn’t come back for nights, Making Lindsay and I rip out our hair in worries. Lindsay told me she was staying home tonight, so I had nothing to worry about. Or so I thought. I couldn’t let myself just sit there and assume, so I stepped out of our curtained area. We all had teens around the same age, Bandit oldest, at 16, Frank’s twins only a couple months younger than Bandit. Then came Jenna, who was turning 15, and Ray’s and Mikey’s both around 13. Like I said, it couldn’t hurt to check, after all, no one can truly understand a teenager in his or her adolescent years.
As soon as I stepped out, a distraught looking nurse escorted me back in.
“Mr. Way, I assure you everything is fine but we need you to keep your curtain closed for privacy issues of our patients.” I felt panic, what if it was one of our children? I doubted it, and I couldn’t let myself think that. They were all safe and sound asleep.
The doctor’s hustled and bustled around, and Frank and I waited in silence hoping to catch what they were saying in their hushed tones.
They were talking so quietly and fastly, I doubt Frank could hear or understand them either. Finally after long hours wait for the doctor, we could catch what they were saying.
“One stab on the arm to the 17 year old male, profuse bleeding from nose, slight concussion and broken right pinkie on the female.”
“How old ma’am?” Said what sounded like a officer.
“Ms. Way; 15 years old, white female. She’s beginning to regain consciousness and she seems to feel and function fine.” I felt my breath catch in my throat. Frankie and I exchanged glances, and as soon as my muscles began to function properly I dashed out of our curtained area.
“Mr. Way! I understand you may be very stressed for your friend but that kind of disruption is not accepted at our hospital! I suggest you get back into your room, the doctor will be there soon to assist you.”
“Wait! What is the name of the patient in the next room.. Way you said?”
“I’m afraid that is at the privacy of our patient, unless in the rare case you are her Father.”
“Just tell me her name!” I said, a surge of bottled rage coming out.
“Her name, is Jelena Iris Way.” I felt my head spin.
“That’s my daughter.” I said grimly. The nurse had a shocked look on her face, as she began to explain her mistake.
“I apologize for my mistake Sir! We cannot get a hold of her Mother, and your cell phone was off a-and I didn’t know it would be YOU, THE real Gerard Way. U-uhm right this way Sir!” She said as though I was holding a gun to her head.
She opened the curtain to reveal my bruised, bandaged, shocked looking daughter.
“Oh hey Dad, what brings you to this neck of the woods..” She said, her voice quivering as she spoke.
“You have TONS of explaining to do young lady.”