Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > The Tour

The Request

by blue-flame 0 reviews

Beer and soup.

Category: My Chemical Romance - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Drama,Humor,Romance - Characters: Bob Bryar,Frank Iero,Gerard Way - Published: 2009-05-09 - Updated: 2009-05-09 - 2385 words

When we got back to the bus, the main area was quiet. The occasional bump or groan emanated from the bunk room to remind us we were not alone. Os was sulking at the table, head in hand staring out the window whilst I wrestled the toast out of the toaster. Finally fishing out the last lightly browned slice, I threw it on a plate with the rest and put it down on the table in front of Os.


“So the hospital gave you all clear?” Os finally spoke after we both got through two rounds of the cooling toast in silence.

“Hmm. Got two bloody inhalers mind.” I grumbled, spreading some jam onto my third round. I haven’t eaten in about 24 hours and it shows. Toast is officially the best food in the world. Who needs fine dining when you have warm bread?

“Well don’t fucking forget them. You scared poor Bob to death.” Os glared at me darkly across the table before adding. “And me.” Running a hand through her hair, Os’ brow furrowed as she pulled a twig out of the blond mess.

“Yes mother.” I muttered tartly. I couldn’t miss the flash of a smile before Os composed herself back into her briefly forgotten ‘anger’.

“Less of that cheek young lady.” Os swatted me as she took her plate to the sink. “What you got planned for today? You should probably take it easy, inhaler or no inhaler, it makes sense.” Running some water she began stacking the dishes in the sink whilst I polished off my fifth round of toast. Sighing I brought my plate to the sink and leant against the counter beside her,

“I’m not a cripple. I just bumped my head which I slept off.” Os glanced up to where a small splodge of purple and brown marred by forehead. Brushing my fringe across to hide the evidence, I continued. “Once I do the washing up, I am going to go hide backstage. Unless you like soggy bandages. You?”

Huffing in defeat, Os backed away from the sink. “Shopping I guess. The pizza ingredients have gone off. Thought it might get me back in Frank’s good books. Doubt it though. I’m going to go shower and change. Catch you later.” Os slinked into the bunkroom leaving me alone in the kitchen.

As I finished the washing up, the floor creaked behind me and arms wrapped round me. I froze until a familiar voice broke through the peace.

“Morning.” Bob kissed the base of my neck, hugging me tighter before letting me go. Turning around, Bob stood before me looking slightly fresher than first thing this morning. He wore his usual black jeans and an unusually snug t-shirt, hair styled to perfection. “I have to get going, will you be around later?”

“Once I’ve de-hospitalized myself in the shower I’ll come find you backstage.”

“Awesome. Till later.” With another quick peck he skittered off the bus.


As I walked through the bunk room I ignored Bob’s greeting and attempt at conversation, not caring how rude I was being, grabbed the essentials and locked myself in the back bedroom. The shower was still steamed up and Frank’s cloths littered the room, so I assume he must be in his bunk.

The shower did little to brighten my mood or ease the tension I felt at having to face Frank, keep tabs on Bri, avoid the cameras and keep on the lookout for Ian. At least I no longer looked like a tramp. The hot water stung my stitches and I winced at the stiffness in my wrist when I removed the sodden bandage. Who knew bandages weren’t water proof? Puling on long shorts and a hoodie, I unlocked the door and returned to civilization, thankful to find the bus quite. Bri’s curtain was pulled too and a foot hung out from under it; guess she’s catching up on some sleep. Grabbing some shoes I headed out of the bus and made my way through the vast array of tour buses and trailers to the security cabin. After blagging a car I drove toward the town centre where I eventually found a Wall-Mart and got everything for my pizza, plus two black sports support for my aching wrists, making me look like a boxer heading for the ring. By mid afternoon a stone bake margarita and two deep pan bacon and brie pizza’s sat cooling in the fridge, waiting for the bands return tonight to be cooked.

After a while of channel flicking, I cracked. I had to do something. My head was spinning with what if’s and it had to stop. Going to the fridge, I rooted around till I found the familiar brown bottle. I’m not a Budweiser fan, but right now it could be fermented elephant dung and I’d drink it. As I searched for the bottle opener, I nearly dropped the beer when that wretch of a friend spooked me.

“Don’t you dare!” Briers voice came from behind me, causing me to spin around in shock. Despite the recognizable voice, the fear it could be Ian still caused my pulse to race. She stood arms crossed in faded jeans and a black parade tee-shirt, flip flops accentuating the irritating tapping of her right foot.

“Don’t fucking scare me! Christ almighty.” I turned back around, continuing my fruitless search for the bottle opener, ignoring her condescending look. Loud footsteps approached and the bottle was whisked out of my grasp.

“You spoil all my fun.” I grumbled, slamming the draw shut with more force than necessary.

Bri ignored me and put the beer back in the fridge. “Good. You drunk is not going improve matters.”

“It’s one beer, not even a pint. I’m not going to get drunk. Just relax a little.” I slumped down on the sofa, not bothering to hide my frustration.

“Sorry, but you’re a lightweight, plus I know there’s about seven more bottles where that came from and you drink like you eat Pringles.” I wasn’t that bad… Though I guess I was slightly worse for wear than Frank that night despite both drinking the same amount…

“Fine. No drink. Got your inhaler?” I raised an eyebrow, watching her expression change from triumph to pissed. Smirking I kicked my shoes off and put my feet up, happy to return the favor of spoiling my day.

“Dam it. I don’t need it.” She moaned, stomping her foot loudly on the mock wood floor.

“Take it or I take the beer.” Bri stormed off to her bunk and returned holding the offending items with distain. Making a show of shoving them into her bag, she marched off the bus.


The rest of my afternoon was spent dosing around and playing Halo. By seven I headed out to the main stage to catch MCR’s set. Walking through the crowds, I still felt on edge, thinking anyone who brushed passed me could be Ian back for me. Gerard said he was going to circulate a description of Ian to security at all venues, but I had little faith in the dip shits who tried to stop me from helping Bri. Flashing my pass, I relaxed as I got backstage amongst the security of familiar faces. Fall Out Boy were on stage blasting out Sugar, and techies ran around gathering instruments and cables ready to set up for My Chem as soon as the stage was clear. The guys and Brier sat in a circle on some cases acting as improvised benches. Frank though, was missing. Scanning the swaths of staff running about, I spotted spiky hair sticking out from behind a large guitar rack, twists of smoke rising into the air from behind it.

Walking over, Frank was sat on the grass with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Sitting down, Franks gaze didn’t shift from the distance.

“Didn’t realize you smoked.” I said, trying to break the tension that hung between us. The guitarist shrugged, sparking the flame on his lighter and watching the breeze blow it out.

“I quit.” Frank glanced in my direction, grabbing the cig and flicking ash to the ground. Taking it from his hand, I took a long drag, letting the smoke fill my lungs to the brim. Leaning back, smoke curled up and disappeared into the comfortably warm air. Frank shifted, watching me from the corner of his eye.

“Didn’t realize you smoked.” Frank chided. A smirk crossed his lips as he pulled a box of Lucky Strikes out.

“I don’t, ruins your sense of taste.”

“Not ideal if you’re a chef I guess.” Flicking his lighter, he lit another cigarette as I reveled in another long drag. We both sat puffing away in silence till the butts were stubbed out in the dirt. Whilst feeling calmer, I ran through what to say over and over, hoping he’s accept my apology, nerves making me continually adjust my glasses.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I should have trusted you.” I finally spoke. Turning to Frank, he sat quietly, still rhythmically sparking his lighter.

“Dam right.” Frank stood quickly, grabbing a white guitar off the rack and walking toward where the guys were going on stage.

As Brier approached I shoved the lighter and disguarded cigarettes into my pocket out of sight. Offering me a hand she pulled me up. “Come on, you don’t wanna miss this.” She said with a large smile and bounced off toward the stage. Sighing I reluctantly followed, knowing its better just to go along with it than be stubborn.

We stood in the darkness of the wings, watching the guys thrash about on stage. “Do you smell smoke?” Brier yelled over the stream of music coming from the speakers. I shrugged it off and shifted a step away. “Maybe its pyrotechnics?” Brier nodded and went back to watching the band, well Bob, and the rest of the set.

As usual the performance was flawless. Bob continually shared glances with Brier, adding to her insanely happy mood. Halfway through the set, Gerard talked to the crowd as the guys grabbed bottles of water.

“You guys enjoying the show?!” He yelled, earning a roar from the crowd.

“You fucking better be. Now we are going to do a request.” He paused as another cheer ripped through the crowed. “A young boy from our very own New Jersey has traveled all the way here and has a request for someone very special to him. Usually we would say fuck off, but the poor guys suffers from the terrible affliction of dwarfism, so how could I say no?”

“Fuck you.” Frank muttered into his mike with a smile. “You’re a bitch Osla Jones. But I love you anyway.”

Ray and Bob immediately kicked in with a familiar beat.

“Is it OK if I speak to you today?” Frank began to sing. I have never heard just Frank sing before. He’s no Gerard, but he’s no American Idol reject either.

“You’ve been pissed off for a week now
but, nothing I can say could make you look up.
or crack up. Is there anything that I can do
Anything to show you

You’re a bitch
but, I love you anyway
OH OH You can’t sing
But, you still put me to sleep
Baby, You’re a bitch”

“Hey Hey, Hey Hey” Gerard and Ray joined in, along with the majority of the crowd. I have no idea what Gerard had been doing instead of singing I was so transfixed watching Frank.

“You make me sick
But, don’t ever go away.

So you tell me that there’s nothing left to say
I drive you face the window
Then you’re in my face telling me to grow up
I wish you’d grow up
I can’t wait until you fall asleep, I wonder if you know

You’re a bitch
but, I love you anyway
OH OH You can’t sing
But, you still put me to sleep
Baby, You’re a bitch
Hey Hey Hey Hey
You make me sick
But, don’t ever go away”

Frank turned to look me dead on the eye, playing the last few cords solo as the rest of the band grinned from their respective positions on stage.

“Yeah you’re a bitch but I love you anyway
So why don’t you...... Stay”

The crowd roared as Frank ended the cover, Gerard stepping down from the drum riser (fuck knows what he was doing up there) and took centre stage. Brier was cheering Frank on next to me in between glances at Bob who had been mouthing along to the words too.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the multi talented Franklin Iero.” Another cheer erupted as Frank raised a hand in between gulps of water. “We have a serious note now guys. You all seem intelligent. I mean, your fans of the best mother fucking band there is after all. So I want you all to think about all the shit you read. Don’t take anything at face value. Question everything. Demand to see evidence before you believe anything. Unless it’s a review saying we’re fucking A. Cuz that’s just plain fact.” With a wink the band erupted into House of Wolves.

As the last chords rang out I jogged back to my seat next to the guitar rack, waiting for Frank to return his instrument. After a minute or two a very sweaty Frank emerged from the stage stairs, hair plastered to his face along with his infamous grin. Slinging the white guitar back into the rack, he took a seat beside me in the trampled down grass.

“So I’m a bitch am i?” I raised an eyebrow.

With a smirk he playfully nudged my shoulder. “My bitch.”

“No way. You’re my bitch Iero.” Before he could retaliate, Frank was on his back under me as I assaulted his mouth to the cat calls of the rest of the band.
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