FicWad

Author’s Note:

Hey. Okay. This is my first time writing a My Chemical Romance story. So if it turns out like crap, I'm sorry, I have an excuse.
Never done this before. Jus' saying. Plus, I'm writing this on Notepad, instead of Word or some program like that. I want to see how far I can get without
any major spelling problems. ^^ Okay. I shall stop my ranting now, on to the story.

Gerard's point of view

Sitting on the swings in the park, I pulled my thick black hoodie closer to my thin body, hoping to god the snow wouldn't somehow find its way through the various holes in the fabric to my
already-chilled skin, even though I knew it was inevitable. Even as the thought crossed my mind I felt one of the small icy flakes drift through a hole onto
my arm, sending chills through my body. It seemed, to me, as though the snowflake that had crossed the protective barrier that was my hoodie called all
the other snowflakes, notifying them of the breach in security, because since the one small snowflake melted on my skin, all the other snowflakes drifted
through as well. Fuck. I shrugged my shoulders, hunching over so that the small hole was partially covered. My forehead brushed the cold metal of the swing's chain, and I shivered.
I was in desperate need of a new sweatshirt, butI knew I wouldn't be getting one any time soon. Any and all money I got went to the cause of Mikey, my younger brother.
He wasn't old enough yet to get a job, so he didn't have money for new clothes and shoes like I did. You would think that our parents might show some love and buy new clothes for us, but
that was a hope I'd abandoned a long time ago. For some demented reason, our parents completely despised us. They refused to buy us new things; any
possessions Mikey and I had were bought by me. Not that working part time at the cd shop brought in a lot of spending money, but I managed to keep us out
of the gutter with my meager salary. You might say our parents were cruel and abusive by neglecting us like that, and you'd be more correct than you'd think.
As much as I hate to admit it, our parents...well, lets just say they take out their anger on us. Well, me, mostly. Dad hit Mikey once and then learned just
how much of a threat I can be. You don't hurt Mikey. Nobody does. So, for that fact, they turned to me, and now I'm their favorite punching bag. Mikey thinks
its his fault, and I guess it kind of is, though I'd never admit that to him. But then again, it's not so much his fault as it is mine; I mean, if I didn't
care about him, I might not have had that broken rib last summer, or the cracked wrist I was currently attempting to nurture back to health. I looked down
at the frosty grass below, my Converse-clad feet cold and wet from the snow. My jet-black hair fell in a messy disarray around my deathly pale face. To any
outside observer, Mikey and I might just be two friends, sitting on the swings, enjoying the rare snow. But upon closer inspection, it was clear that we were
brothers; we looked alike. It was also pretty obvious that we were abused, seeing as scars and bruises adorned our exposed skin.

I looked over to see Mikey sitting on his swing, huddled up, shivering like mad. He was almost as pale as I was due to the cold, and his lips were frosty blue.
You could clearly see each breath he took in the frigid air.

"C'mere Mikes," I murmured, reaching out to him. I gently stood him up and shrugged out of my hoodie. I pulled it over Mikey's head, adding another thin layer of
warmth to his body. I pulled him into my lap and wrapped my arms around him, resting my head on his shoulder. I only wanted him to be safe, to be warm and
comfortable. I'd give anything just to get Mikey out of this pathetic excuse for a family and into the arms of someone who loved him, who could care properly for
him. He didn't protest when I gave him my jacket, though I could tell he wanted me to keep it. He hated when I gave up something to help him, even if I would be
miserable for it, but I didn't care. I helped him anyway, no matter how much he didn't like it. He shot me a look, but said nothing, knowing it would be useless.
I always win in arguements. He sighed and put his arms over mine, leaning against me. If you couldn't already tell, we're very close. I let my breath fall over his
neck, hoping it would warm him a little. Its not like I wanted to be out here, in the freezing cold with nothing but a thin t-shirt on, but Dad had kicked us out, so
what were we supposed to do? We had nowhere to go. I pulled Mikey closer as he began to shiver again. My own trembling had gone up tenfold, but I tried hard to ignore it.
My naturally pale skin began to take on a bluish tone, and I hoped I wasn't getting hypothermia. I wouldn't be able to pay the hospital bills, and if Mom and Dad had to pay,
they'd be pissed. I pressed my eyes closed, trying to ignore the cold. It wasn't working, my chest felt like a huge weight was pressing on it, and I could no longer feel my hands
or feet. I remained silent, my thoughts only on keeping Mikey warm and safe. As hard as I tried to ignore it, I knew Mikey wouldn't. I felt my trembling worsen yet
again and he turned to look at me.

"Gee, are you okay?" He asked, worry shining in his eyes in the form of tears.
"Y-y-y-yeah, of c-c-c-course," I said weakly. I looked across the street, seeing something shiny glinting in the grass. I was a sucker for shiny things, and
plus, I needed a distraction from the tormenting cold. "I-i-i'll be right back," I stuttered, gently pushing Mikey off my frozen body. I stumbled up and
across the snowy park. I wrapped my arms close around myself, trying in vain to block out the freezing cold. My skin became more blue by the second, i could
just feel it. I crossed into the frozen asphalt street, willing myself to take each pained step. In the middle of the empty street I stopped, shaking, feeling
even weaker than before. My knees knocked together and before I knew it I had collapsed, curling into a tight ball. There was a beat of silence, then the
sound of Mikey calling my name, followed by Mikey screaming my name, the squeal of tires and blinding lights in my eyes, then blackness. Total and complete
blackness.


Frankie's point of view

I asked myself for what must have been the ten billionth time why I was driving to the pathetic little house my parents were making us move to. I had it all:
my own car, boxes full of clothing and other possessions following me in a huge van, enough money in my bank account to last me a lifetime. I was old
enough to be on my own; i was nineteen. Yet, here I was, driving to the assumed hellhole like a good little child. Why? Because my mother made killer
macaroni and cheese. That is, when she was around. Mom and Dad traveled a lot, and they were only home about half the year. Truth be told, I didn't even
know what my parents did for a living. All I knew is that they were both doctors of some sort, and made enough money to give me 10,000 dollars in spending
money every week. They didn't know what I spent all that money on, but I doubt that they would care if they knew. For the record, it was mostly spent on
pot, cigarrettes, alcohol, marijuana, more alcohol, and fresh razors. Good razors, the kind that don't rust with blood, are pretty damn expensive. And I'm not
talking about shaving razors either. I admitted to myself that I really do have a problem with cutting, and if i don't do it at least once a day, I go
insane and eat everything in the fridge, which I kick myself in the ass for later because I happen to be bulemic, and it hurts to throw up that much food.
See, the lesser of two evils. Neither Mom or Dad know I'm bulemic, and like my drug use, I doubt they would care. I doubt they care about me at all, as long
as I'm not dead, in jail, or breaking the bank, they're fine. They give me money and pay for monthly rent on the house while they're gone, but that doesn't make
up for anything. They still don't care, and I've told myself that's the reason I'm bulemic, the reason I cut myself. I don't want to admit that I'm simply fucked
over in the head.

I glanced to the side, at my old school uniform lying on the seat. Yeah, so, I'd been held back a year. I didn't care. I never abided by any of their rules anyway.
My hair was way past regulation, it was cut drastically and dyed black, blonde, and red. It's my hair on my head, and they couldn't tell me how I can wear it.
Not to mention that I had always liked the effect of drawing black X's over my eyes in black, accompanied with smudgy red around it, and they didn't take too kindly
to guys wearing makeup. They thought it was as good as a huge light up sign saying, "Yeah, right here, I'm gay," which they didn't like, because it was a Catholic
school, full of damned homophobes. In case you couldn't tell from that little rant, I'm proudly gay. I have noone to hide it from. It wasn't like Mom and Dad cared
and any friends I had at school were gay too. So it all worked out pretty well. Right before we had left, I had finished high school, and I mean, right before we left.
We went to the stupid graduation ceremony they make you have, and right after jumped in the car and began our drive from Chicago to New Jersey. I mean, what was so
special about Jersey anyway? Sure, it might be cool to live there if they were moving to some huge city, but no, my parents had seen fit to buy the large manor house
in the tiny city of Belleville. I doubted there was even a good cd shop around here, and I'd given up the hope ages ago that any good bands might come here in concert.

I was driving down the street of a residential area, probably a million miles over the speed limit, especially considering I had a huge moving van following me. I wasn't
paying much attention, and only had one hand on the wheel, the other was trying to jam a Misfits cd into the cd player of my car. The car was high end, fancy, but for
some reason I could never get the goddamned thing to play my Misfits cd. I admit, it was dark out, and I probably should have been paying more attention to the road.
My head flew up as I heard someone scream 'Gerard', whatever the hell that was, only to see a gaunt boy dressed completely in black appear in my headlights. I spun the
steering wheel to the side with a loud curse, trying to avoid hitting him. It was inevitable though, the front of my glossy black car slammed right into him, and I could hear
a sharp crack.

"Ah, shit," I murmured to myself, jumping out of the car. I kneeled next to the kid I had hit, he didn't look much younger than I was. He looked bad. There was a severe gash
on his head where it looked like the skullhad been smashed, and one of his arms was twisted at an odd angle. Something else I noticed was that he was covered in bruises and
scars that obviously weren't from this accident. His skin was pale and frigid cold, and almost had a blue tinge to it. His lips were definitely blue.
Another small boy came running up, younger than the first. He fell next to the boy with the raven black hair, pulling him into his arms with a whimper. "Well?!" he demanded. "Call 911!"

I broke out of my reverie and took out my cell phone. I hurriedly called 911, explaining the entire situation to the operator. I realized I didn't know his name. "er..." I started,
looking up at the other. He took the phone from me and began telling the operator all his personal information. I learned that the boy I had hit's name was Gerard Way, and that he
was 17. While he was talking, I pulled my sweater off and gently pressed on Gerard's head with it. He was bleeding a lot. I felt an obligation to help him, not just because I had
hit him, but...I don't know. I didn't want him hurt. The ambulence arrived a minute later, and the paramedics wasted no time in loading him up onto a stretcher and into the ambulence.
When Mikey had climbed in after him, it sped off. I ran back to the moving van and told the driver to continue on without me. I wanted to go to the hospital and make sure he was
okay. I felt horrible for hitting him, especially since he seemed to be in a horrible condition already. I jumped in my car and sped down the road, following the blaring sirens of the
ambulence.


A FEW DAYS LATER...

Gerard's point of view

As I came into consciousness a throbbing pain pounded through my head. I groaned, trying to reach up to twine my fingers into my hair, but they were caught by tubes and needles sticking
into my forearms. Dad must have been pissed to hit me so hard, I wondered what I did. My eyes fluttered open and bright lights filled my eyes. I realized I was in a hospital as the scent
of...well, hospital, reached my nose. I looked around at all the blaringly clean white decor in disgust. I hated hospitals. Shit, I was in a hospital?! Mom and Dad were gonna be pissed!
How was I gonna pay for this. I looked around desperately for someone who could get me out of here, a doctor, nurse, Mikey, someone, but the only other person in the room was a boy, maybe a
year or two older than me, sitting in a chair by his bedside. He was leaning against his arm, asleep. Who was he? "Um...." I muttered. "Hello?" I reached out and poked him in the cheek. He
jolted awake, his eyes fluttering open. That was the first thing I noticed about him. His eyes. They were the most beautiful hazel.

"Oh, hi. Are you alright?" He asked me. He seemed worried.
"Er, yeah. Who are you?" I asked in confusion.
"I'm Frank. Frank Iero." He smiled. "I, uh, hit you with my car." He added apologetically.
"Gerard Way," I replied with a sigh. "What's the damage?"
"You have a pretty bad gash on your head that they fixed up, a broken arm, two cracked ribs, a sprained wrist, but they said that was a previous injury, not to mention a mild case of hypothermia."
I sighed. "So I ended up getting hypothermia after all."
"Yeah, why didn't you have a jacket on?" He asked with concern.
"I gave it to Mikey," I explained. Then I frowned. "Where is he anyway? He's my brother."
"He's at school." he told me.
"Ah. Why aren't you at school?"
"I'm 19. Don't have to go anymore," He smiled in triumph.
"Lucky, I've got a year left."
"The last year is always the easiest," he told me, smiling.
"Good." I smiled back at him.

I wondered why it was so easy to make conversation with this guy. I mean, I'm usually really shy and introverted, unless someone messed with Mikey and then they got their ass kicked. I had just met this
guy, who had hit me with his car, I might add, and yet I was talking to him like I'd known him forever. There was just something about him, I guessed. I loved his eyes. I liked how when he smiled, it wasn't
just a smile, it actually reached his eyes. I liked how he wore eye makeup like he didn't care what people thought. I liked his hair, it was awesome. I was even more impressed by the tight black Misfits
shirt he was wearing, it was obvious that he actually liked the band, and wasn't some poser wearing the shirt just because it looked cool. I became so caught up in my analysis of Frank that I didn't hear
his question.

"Gerard? Gerard.... Hey, are you okay? Gerard!" He shook me, and I jolted out of my reverie. I smiled reassuringly at him. "I'm fine. I'm sorry, I spaced out."
"S'okay. I asked you where your parents were, they haven't been here at all."
"Oh..." I paused, trying to make up some excuse. He seemed to know that I was trying to lie because he shot me a look. "You don't have to lie to me Gerard."
I sighed and looked down. "They don't care."
"What do you mean, they're your parents, of course they care."
I shook my head. "They hate us."
He paused. "Is that maybe what all the bruises and scars are from?"
"I don't want to talk about it," I whispered.

He seemed to take that as a yes, which, in a way, it was, because he leaned over and hugged me. "I'm sorry," he murmured.
I was taken aback by his actions. We had just met, could it be possible that he actually...cared about me? Even after so short a time? I put my arms around him, hugging him back to the best of my ability.
One of the needles in my arm caught, though, and tore from my arm. I gasped. NEEDLES?! I started to panic with a whimper, letting go of Frank. I hated needles. He looked at me in concern.

"What's wrong, Gerard?"
"Needle," I whimpered weakly, gesturing with a shaking hand at the needle that had popped from my wrist. "I'm deathly scared of needles."
It was an irrational fear, I know, but I had a best friend who had died from drug overdosing, and it was when he had injected himself. Ever since, I can't stand the sight of needles, or to even be around them.

"Oh," he seemed to understand. He picked up the needle attatched to the small tube, and set it on the small bedside table. Then he pushed the doctor call button.
"Why are you calling the doctor?" I asked.
"Because that was your IV drip, which you need. We have to get it back in."
I whimpered, though I knew he was right. I. Fucking. Hate. Needles. In case you couldn't tell, I have a spaz attack whenever I get near one.

When the doctor came back in, I glared fiercely at him. "Don't you dare put that needle back into me."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Way, but I'm afraid I have to," he said in his kind doctor voice. He walked over and picked up the needle, fixed up the IV drip with a new one, and took my arm.
"Nooooo!" I wailed.
"Shh, it's okay Gee." I heard Frank murmur in my ear on my other side. He slid his hand into mine, squeezing it. I was immediately calmed by his voice, by the feel of his hand in mine. I calmed down
enough for the doctor to put the IV back in my arm. When he left, I leaned against Frankie's shoulder. "Thank you," i sighed.
"No problem," he murmured back with a smile. I yawned, feeling sleepy.
"Tired?" he asked.
"No," I replied, but I yawned again and that gave it away.
"Go to sleep. You need to rest."

I didn't have the willpower to resist him and his smooth voice anymore, so I closed my eyes and attempted to sleep. No matter which way I turned though, the small hospital bed was unbearably uncomfortable.

"I can't sleep, it's not comfy," I complained.
He responded by lifting the covers and sliding into the bed as well. He sat with his back against the pillows and pulled me on top, winding his arms around my waist. I curled up on his chest, considerably
more comfortable now. I smiled. "Thanks Frankie."
"Go to sleep," he whispered in my ear. I relaxed, falling into sleep. Before I became unconsicous though, I was aware of his lips pressing a soft kiss to my forehead.

Oddly, I really didn't mind.

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Okay. So, like I said, it's my first MCR fic. Don't hate me. ^_^
Also, in addition to reviews, i love ratings...hint hint! yeah.
You can has virtual cookie if you rate and review and such ^_^

and I'm sorry it looks all messed up. Again, it's because I wrote it on Notepad and it doesn't have that little cut-off thingy. Sorry. >