ATTENTION: NOT A WAYCEST! I REPEAT NOT NOT NOT A WAYCEST! -Set in New Jersey, in the Way household, when Gerard was 12 and Mikey was 9- Based on something that happened with me and my sister.
Mikey and I were home alone, again. Ugh. I hated when my parents would leave us alone. Mikey was so clingy, and annoying. Always trying to be in my business. But, ha! Not today! I locked him out of my room! I don't really care that he's sitting outside the door, crying like a two year, because I knew it was just an act to get me to feel bad and open the door just so he could ruin everything I was trying to do. Some of those things being drawing. He would want to color them and cut them and I would end up smacking him and leaving him in the middle of the floor crying. Even though I never smacked him anywhere other then the arm, and I knew it was never that hard. It's not MY fault that he was such a baby!
"Gerard!!" Mikey cried. "PLEEEEEEASE LET ME IN!!!!"
"NO! SHUT UP!!! STOP BEING SUCH A BABY!"
"I HATE YOU!!!"
"NO! IF YOU HATED ME THEN YOU WOULDN'T WANT TO BE IN MY BUSINESS ALL THE TIME!"
That shut him up. Such an idiot. God, he had no comeback. Wow, he acted way younger then nine. Seriously. I started drawing him sitting on the couch crying. Cause that's always what he did when he would say that he 'hated me.' I drew his glasses then his eyes and hair and then the furniture and soon, the whole picture unfolded. I was surprised at how good it came out. Just for laughs, I ripped the picture from my sketchbook and walked up to the living room. Just as I suspected, there was Mikey, sitting on the couch, crying. I had walked up quietly, so I knew he hadn't heard me. I lifted the picture so it looked like the living room was the drawing. It was surprisingly accurate. I felt proud. I began walking down the stairs, until I heard a huge THUD on the floor. It sounded like it was coming from the living room.
I heard small sobs coming from the corner.
Damn. What was he doing this time?
"OWWW! GERARD.. Gerard..." Mikey sobbed. He sounded so helpless.
I had to go help him. My baby brother was hurt. I could tell.
"MIKEY?? ARE YOU OKAY??"
"N-no." His face was dripping with tears, and he looked very VERY homeless. Poor thing. All red and blotchy. This WASN'T an act.
"Mikey!" I ran to him. "What happened?"
"I fell from the couch, and hit my head on the corner of the table. Then I tried to get up and I burned my hand on the candle!" He was crying hysterically.
I cradled him in my arms and we rocked back and forth. I tried calming him down.
"Shh, shh. It's okay. You'll be okay." I kissed the side of his head, where a large lump was starting to form.
"Ow!" He cried.
"Shh, shh. I'm sorry. Let me see your hand. It'll be okay." He gave me his hand and turned his palm up. There was a scar forming. It was a purple-ish shade and was starting to scab over. I scarcely rubbed my thumb over the crescent-shaped mark and he winced.
"Hush, hush. It's okay Mikes. It's already started to heal. C'mon, I'll get some ice for your head." I led him into the kitchen and grabbed a plastic sandwich bag. I filled it with six ice cubes and placed it gently against the sore on his head. He winced in pain, and whimpered.
"It'll be all better soon. I promise."
"Thanks, Gee." He gave me a soft squeeze, with his hand that wasn't burned.
"I'll go look in the medicine closet for some burn gel and a band-aid for your burn. I'll be right back." I took off, up the stairs and into the closet. I searched for the first aid kit and grabbed it. I opened it and took out the blue-ish green gel and some off-white gauze. I really didn't know what to do, but I was gonna try. My poor baby brother was hurting, and I had to fix it. I ran back down the stairs and softly grasped Mikey's hurt hand. I opened the packet of gel and lightly poured it onto his scabbing burn. I guessed that it started to cool the burn, because Mikey's expression suddenly turned pleased and quite peaceful. I wrapped his hand sloppily in the gauze. Once it was secure, I gave his hand a quick kiss, doing what mom or dad would have done, and smiled.
"Thanks again, Gee. I love you." Mikey said, grinning.
"I love you, too, Mikey." I sighed. "I'm sorry."
"For what?" I could tell he was confused.
I sighed again. "For being a jerk. I'm sorry. Really, I am. You know I love you. Forever and always."
He gave my waist a tight squeezed and looked up, his eyes sparkling, and said, "I know, Gee. And I'm sorry for saying I hate you. I never mean it. Your my hero."
I giggled at the last part. "Aw, thanks, Mikes. That's a big compliment." I sighed, once again. "Oh Mikey. Your such a klutz." We both laughed.
"Yeah, but at least I have my awesome big brother to help me." He smiled.
Just then Mom and Dad walked through the front door and saw the ice on Mikey's head and the gauze on his hand.
"What happened to my baby?" Mom rushed toward Mikey and began kissing his cheeks.
"I fell and then burned my hand. But Gee helped me, can you and dad leave the house more often? I want to be with Gerard more." A large grin spread across my face and I couldn't help but swell up with pride.
Good Lord, I loved that kid.