Two phone-calls, a furious Pete Wentz, a remorseful Brendon Urie and a thoroughly confused Gerard Way. Read, review, rate and feel my love! :P
“And you’re sure?”
“Positive.” At Pete’s undoubtable response I can’t stop the sigh that escapes me; his sure tone leaves no room for any form of hope and therefore it leaves no room for my baby brother’s happiness. “I wish to God I wasn’t, Gee, but I am. Brendon’s done something. And now Mikey’s gone. Just flipped out completely and ran.”
A rampant ache starts swelling in the pit of my stomach, gnawing it’s way through muscle and bone until it strikes at my heart, at which point a single poisonous drop of bitter venom worms it’s way out through my left eye. Because Mikey’s run away, it’s seven in the evening and there’s no sign of either him or Brendon. It’s something that’s making me worry more than I ever thought to be possible, even more than when he was out all night in the freezing cold without a jacket and Pete found him unconscious on the roadside. And that’s saying something.
So why does this worry me even more than horrific night spent scouring Jersey in the arctic temperatures? Because this time it isn’t some meaningless bitch who has made Mikes run; it’s Brendon motherfucking Urie, his own goddamn boyfriend.
I can’t believe I encouraged Brendon to get with my brother. My baby brother, the one who I’m meant to protect from jerks like Urie.
Maybe I wouldn’t feel so guilty right now if it wasn’t for the fact that I used to tease Mikey myself, back before I knew he got it even worse at school. Never about his muteness of course, I’m not that maliciously cruel, but I used to like making him frightened. Tell him scary stories, pull practical jokes and that kind of thing. Only did I stop when one of them went too far; he had a panic attack, one that knocked him out in my petrified arms. Arms that he’d tried frantically to get away from. Frankie had been coming over that afternoon and chose to arrive the moment that Mikes woke up, tears streaming and wheezing so violent that I wanted to force him back into my arms even though every move I made towards him increased his panic tenfold. Frank asked me what happened, I told him and he slapped me. Twice. He explained to me, with a tone of heartfelt sorrow, that Mikey gets hurt at school and then I ran to my bedroom. To cry my eyes out in hatred for my own stupidity.
I haven’t teased Mikes since. But they have; all those motherfuckers at school. It was okay though, because Brendon was there to make it all better. When Bren’s with Mikey it’s like the poor kid’s truly happy, despite the depression and muteness, it’s as though he feels like he finally belongs.
And now Brendon, somehow, has fucked it all up. Trust me, he’s fucking lucky I don’t know where he is right now or else he’d already be burning in hell for making Mikey run.
Mikey’s running. That’s my main priority right now, finding Mikey.
“Right.” I squeak back down my cell to Pete, trying to sound as strong as he always is but doesn’t sound to be right now. “Uh, Pete? How bad was he?”
It’s a question that I sincerely don’t want to ask, yet at the same time I know that I have to. If I don’t then I won’t be prepared when I find Mikes and nor will I know just how bad of a state he’ll be in, which often reflects where he’s ran to.
There’s a heavy outtake of breath down the phone, one that fills me with terror because it doesn’t exactly fill me with hope for my baby brother.
“Bad, Gerard. Really bad.”
Shit; for Pete to say that my poor baby boy must be worse than apocalyptically awful.
“I don’t know what Bren’s done, but it’s really pushed Mikes clean off the edge. When he first showed up he was panicking, y’know, all hyperventilation and shaking.” Poor kid. My poor kid to look after. Because I know our parents are too busy working right now in Tokyo to even know that Mikey’s dating the boy he went to prom with. “But then he lost it with me when Tricky and I were trying to get him to write down what happened. Told me to stop, and I quote, ‘fucking patronizing’ him. Then he called me a liar, just like Brendon.” He pauses, a shake evident in his tone. “Because we both said that we care.”
Brendon’s really done it, hasn’t he?
He’s finally broken Mikey, the kid that he had very nearly mended after the years of agony that life in general has put my poor baby brother through. And I as good as let him.
I’m so fucking stupid. Too stupid to be a halfway decent big brother to my suffering baby one. I’ve always looked after Mikes, even when I was teasing him as a kid, and he’s always worked so hard with people. Two facts that I thought might just mean something in the grand scheme of things, but apparently not. Apparently this world has no sense of how to be at least a little bit fair to one of the most innocent and kind kids I’ve ever met. And I’m not just saying that because the title belongs to my brother.
We need a plan.
If we’ve got any hope of finding Mikes before the creeping night slithers in and claims him like it almost did last time, we need to come up with some sort of plan.
One that, whether I like it or not, involves Brendon Urie. He might just be our only chance.
“Okay. Pete, you search around the school and park. Tell Tricky to take the mall. Ring Frank and get him to search the woods where we used to play in as kids, he knows the ones. Anyone else you can think of?” The strict authority surprises me because, in all honesty, I thought my words were going to come out in strangled sobs with no hope of being a coherent plan.
“Well, there’s that kid who took a shine to Mikes at my last party. Pulled him out of a fist-fight before Mikes could get too badly bruised.” I wince as I remember how Mikey came home that night a few months ago; a tooth knocked out and a heavy heart to match. “Gabe Saporta, his name is. Told me if there’s anything Mikes needs help with in terms of his part of Jersey just to give him a ring.”
It’s just further proof of the stunning person that my brother is, the fact that some rough-tough king of the Jersey scene wants to help him out after only meeting him once at a party. That’s just the sort of affect Mikes has on people though when they give him the chance to be himself before they pass judgement.
“So that’s me by the school, Tricky at the mall, Frankie in the woods and Gabe taking downtown.” He stops, running the list over in his head and his sense of father-like sensibility returning and giving my racing heart enough reassurance to slow to a healthy pace. “What are you gonna do?”
“I’ve just got a phone-call to make and then I’ll take the high street.” I reply ambiguously, my tone ominous.
“You’re phoning Brendon, aren’t you?” He lets out a dry chuckle, one that makes me wince with the pain behind it. “Tell him that he better watch his back because I’m not happy with him. Not at all.”
I can’t help the smirk that creeps it’s way onto my face as Pete hangs up; Brendon either is stupid enough to not know who he’s fucking with or he’s just a masochist looking forward to getting his nose broken by Pete. At the moment, I’m thinking more of the stupid.
My fingers punch in Bren’s number. I learnt it off by heart for Mikey’s sake, never did I think that I’d be ringing it out of anger. Apart from anger isn’t a strong enough word for how much I want to hurt Brendon right now. If anything’s happened to Mikes because of his idiocy, I don’t know what I’ll do with myself. But I do know what I’ll do to him; it involves my dad’s handgun, the one that’s fully loaded and hidden in the garage.
I would kill for Mikey. Of course I fucking would; he’s my baby brother. My weak, vulnerable baby brother who’s just had his trust shattered by some cocky bastard in need of being put in his place.
He sounds terrible. Worse than terrible; devastated. So torn-up that I almost feel sorry for him. Perhaps I would if I knew Mikes really is alright and not at risk from the sick perverts and vicious gangsters that roam New Jersey in search of fresh meat, innocent blood to be shed.
“What the fuck have you done, Urie?” I snarl down the speaker, letting him know how much I truly loathe him right now. “What the fucking hell ha-“
“Gerard?” His voice has sprung to life, little crystals of hope clinging hopelessly to his tone. “Gerard, is Mikey there? Is he alright? Please tell me he’s alright, Gee. Please. Can you put him on to me? Just let me speak to him, please. Let me say sorry, I know he won’t believe me but please le-“
“Shut the fuck up, Urie.” My sharp snap slices unforgivingly across his desperate please, his words inflicting me with agony like nothing else ever has. Other than when I found out that Mikey gets bullied, of course. Nothing will ever compare to that. “I can’t hand him over because he’s not fucking here, Brendon. He was at Pete’s.”
“He’s done a runner. Left. Disappeared. Gone. Vanished” My tone is only cold and harsh because the alternative would make me lose my authority; the alternative being me breaking down and begging Brendon to get his boyfriend home. “And none of us know why.”
The silence that follows, save for the mocking crackle of the phone, is tense. So tense that it’s impossible to tell if it really is just the crackle of a dodgy line or Brendon trying to stifle back sobs. In fact, it’s not impossible; it’s obvious that it’s Brendon. And that kills me.
He might have done something unspeakably terrible, but he’s still one of my closest friends; I can’t help it if I want to comfort him.
No. I don’t. I fucking hate him. Until we get Mikes back anyway.
“I-I fucked up, Gee.” He says it like a small kid confessing to eating all of his mom’s cookies and I feel a fraction of my heart try to break at the stutter to his words. “I kissed Ryan Ross. He bullies Mikes. And I fucking made-out with him in the goddamn restroom!”
Fuck you, Brendon Urie. I hope you choke to death on a cherry-turnover. Or on this Ryan Ross’ dick. Whatever would be the most painful.
“That’s sick, Urie.” I spit, my skin crawling at the idea of my baby brother’s boyfriend getting off with one of the reason’s that Mikey’s so broken; a bully. “You make me sick. Do you know how much you mean to Mikey? Do you have any idea how bad he was before he met you?”
“I didn’t mean it!” As cliché as his plea might sound, I can’t deny that he truly does sound sincere. If only Mikey could hear him right now. “It was a mistake, a really stupid fucking mistake.” Understatement. “Ryan and I were best friends; he’s always liked me more than that though. When I found out how he treats Mikey I left him and now this is some sort of twisted idea of revenge.” He sighs, sounding so wrecked that I half want to go round his house and hug him until he’s happy again. Just like he would do for Mikey; I know he would. “Look, I’m coming over, okay? Punch me, kick me, yell at me. I don’t care because I deserve it, but please, let me help you find him. It’s something I have to do.”
I want to say no; tell him that he’s already caused enough damage as it is, that the last thing Mikey needs is to be reminded that he’s dating a motherfucking bastard cheater. I want to take him up on his offer of beating the merry shit out of him and I want to deny his request just because I know that it’d hurt him almost as bad as he’s hurt Mikey.
I want to make him burn.
But I also want to have a chance at making my brother happy again.
Something that only Brendon Urie can do.
“Thank you, Gerard.” He sounds so genuinely grateful that a smile has wound up on my face before I can tell it to mentally fuck off. “I’ll be right over.”
Just as he cuts off, there’s a knock on the front door. Or rather, there’s a series of rushed, frantic knocks that announce the arrival of someone in a blind panic, the same kind of panic that lunges into my heart upon hearing them.
I rush to the door at a speed that would do Sonic the Hedgehog proud and fling it open as though I’m merely tearing a piece of tissue.
To reveal a boy I’ve never seen before, but boy, is he beautiful. He’s a few shades paler than Brendon, with wispy lips and hair like caramel drooling over his forehead. He’s as skinny as my brother, but with a less girly build, and is probably only slightly taller than my Frankie.
And then there’s what he’s got bundled in his arms; a body.
It’s drenched in two different hoodies and an oversized coat, not to mention obscured by a nauseating amount of blood, but I can tell who it is immediately.
A/N: Thank you very much for reading and sorry if it’s kinda crappy; I went to a local music festival today and rushed this so I could go gear-up before hand. Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think! :)
Song of The Chapter: “Sick Little Games” by All Time Low