Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > And I'll End This Direst: a Frerard story

Chapter 37

by xDescendingAngelx 4 reviews

Each other's medicine

Category: My Chemical Romance - Rating: PG - Genres:  - Characters: Frank Iero,Gerard Way - Warnings: [!] - Published: 2009-07-27 - Updated: 2009-07-27 - 2430 words

is it just me, or do these updates get stupider and stupider? my writing's changed A LOT over the past year! =/
Frank’s POV

Gerard seemed distant this whole week, more so than usual. He shrugged it off when I asked him what was wrong, but I knew he was worried about Bob. I did, too, but I tried my best to let him know Bob would be just fine, even if I doubted it myself. I felt bad for Gerard; not only has he had more than one person he loved die, but they were both murdered by the same person’s hand. The fact that the person in question was his own brother, his own blood, was unbearable to know.

Of course, that was only assuming Bob didn’t make it. But he was Bob, for God’s sake. He had to make it. I needed to stop thinking about Bob being already dead; it hasn’t happened yet, and hopefully it won’t. But there was still that nagging doubt…

“Frankie?” My thoughts were thankfully interrupted by Gerard’s timid voice. Today was Friday, a week after all this started. School had just let out, and Gerard and I had been on our way home. Right about now, a week ago, was when I found Gerard passed out on the floor, and when I first met Bob. I noticed we had stopped outside his front door, on the porch. He continued, “Frankie, would you… I mean, can you… I understand if you…” He couldn’t seem to get the words out, and he was looking down at his feet.

I squinted at him, trying to understand. “Go ahead, Gee. Just ask.” He shifted uncomfortably, as if whatever he was about to ask would somehow hurt him or me. “You don’t have to ask me anything if you don’t want to,” I said, but was then confused as to why I had said that, considering my previous statement. It was normal for me, though; I would confuse myself all the time if it made Gerard comfortable.

“I have to. Frank, would you still love me… if you knew I had murdered Bob?”

I was taken aback by this. “Gee, you didn’t murder Bob. You had nothing to do with it. Besides, he’s gonna be fine. He’s gonna live, trust me; he’s strong.”

“But what if he doesn’t? If he doesn’t make it, it would have been my fault. If I hadn’t gotten drunk in the first place, I wouldn’t have forced you two into helping me run away. I’m shit, and it’s because of my cowardice he’s in the hospital now.”

I put a finger under his chin in attempt to bring his face to my level so I could look him in the eye, but he refused, keeping his head down. “Look, Gee, it’s not your fault. You didn’t make him want to help you. You didn’t make him get in the car and turn it on, and you certainly didn’t make him drive for two whole days. He did it because he cared enough about you, and didn’t… doesn’t, think you’re shit.”

“It’s not fair for him to die, then. He was helping us, so why should he be the one to pay for it? He has people who love him, family and friends. People who would care if he were gone, unlike me. It was my fault, anyway, not his. Nobody would care if I died, so I should be the one to-”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” I said sternly. “You, Gerard, are lying to yourself. It’s true: Bob shouldn’t die, but he’s strong enough that he’ll probably look death right in the face and piss on it. And how can you say no one would care if you died? Does it not occur to you that if you died, I would too, just to be with you?” I meant it.

“No, if Bob died, you would leave me, like you should. You would know that I killed Bob, and you would want nothing to do with me. I told you, I don’t deserve you. I deserve to die, not Bob. You don’t deserve shit like me, you can do better.”

“Bullshit, I can’t do better. If it weren’t for you, I probably wouldn't be here today!”
"That's not true," he argued.

“Yes, it is. I found a real family in you, and I found a part of myself I never knew because of you.”

“But Frankie, it is my fault-”

“If you still think you’re to blame, then why the hell am I still here? I obviously can’t change your mind or make you feel any better about yourself, so what’s my purpose here, anyway?”

Shock filled his eyes. “You’re right; I’m sorry, Frankie. It’s just that all my life, I’ve been told that I deserve everything bad that happens to me, and that I was nothing but a waste of space. I can’t believe I never knew you wanted to kill yourself. Just another reason why you don’t deserve me, but I want to tell you that the same goes for me as well. You know, the whole suicide thing. Except for the fact that you already knew.”

It was true: I did already know, but I still couldn’t believe it. I had never heard it being put into words from him, and it made me realize how much we really do need each other. We were like each other’s medicine; relying on each other to survive. There was no way I was going to leave him for something that he thinks is his fault.

“Gee, I love you. Just remember that, and I’ll never leave you. Not ever.” He looked like he was deep in thought for a second, then quickly flung his arms around me. I returned the hug and we stood on his front porch, frozen in the hug position for a few minutes, until I realized that we were, indeed, still on the front porch.

“You want to go inside now? We’ve been out here for a long time; people are starting to stare,” I asked, looking across the street at the neighbors who were now curiously poking their heads out of their windows to watch us. Gee nodded against my hair, and finally let me go. I turned and opened the door to see Elena, sitting on the couch.

“Hey, Grandma,” Gerard said quietly, closing the door. My ears perked at the sound of a sniffle in the place of a worded response.

“Elena?” I asked, my eyes trying to adjust to the dark room. The TV was on, I noticed that much, and I noticed the tissues surrounding Elena. “Elena, what’s wrong?” She sniffed again and pointed to the TV, which was tuned in to the news.

“Three local teenage boys were arrested today for the attempted murder of local high school student Robert Bryar,” the news announcer said over the TV. My jaw dropped, and I could hear Gerard breathing behind me. “It was said that the three boys arrested: Alexander Carter, Michael Way, and Eric Matthews; followed Bryar and his friends out of town, and brought a weapon with them.”

“Damn,” I said under my breath. I couldn’t help it. Gerard was quietly whimpering behind me.

“Bryar was stabbed by one of the trio, according to our sources. Another involvement includes one of the the victim's friends, whose own brother used the weapon against Bryar.”

“Bullshit. I wasn’t an involvement, I was the reason the whole thing started,” he stated. I shushed him; the announcer lady was about to explain something about Bob.

“Bryar lies in the Critical Condition Unit at Monroeville Hospital. The three boys charged with attempted murder will be sent to youth detention centers across the country. This is all for the hour; tune in tomorrow night.”

As the TV switched to a commercial, the three of us stood speechless. With the exception of the commercial and Elena’s crying, the room was completely silent.

“He got what he deserved,” Gerard said, and went to comfort Elena. I too sat down beside her, and the three of us sat in almost-silence. It wasn’t until Elena had to go to her bridge club that any of us spoke, and she asked if we wanted her to stay with them.

“No, you can go ahead to the bridge club, if it’ll take your mind off of everything,” Gerard told her, and Elena smiled gratefully at him. Five minutes later, she had gotten everything she needed and waved us goodbye.

“How are you?” I asked.

“Shocked,” he answered honestly. “But he deserved it. All of them did. That’s what they get for trying to mess with us.”

“Agreed,” I nodded. Wanting to lighten the mood and change the subject, I said, “Hey, guess what? I have an idea for your untitled song. I wrote some music and stuff.”

“I want to hear it,” he said, smiling. I returned the smile and went to get Pansy and the music from his room, where I stayed. When I came back, he was still on the couch, waiting. I sat down beside him and said,

“Before I play anything, I’m sorry for snooping. I found some other lines you’ve written, and just thought it would sound good in the song with the music I’m about to play you. You don’t have to use it, or anything; I was just working on it for fun.”

He nodded, and I started to play what I had been saving for a while. I played my little intro, then started to sing:

Late dawns and early sunsets, just like my favorite scenes
Then holding hands and life was perfect, just like up on the screen
And the whole time while always giving
Counting your face among the living

I paused, not stopping the music, to look up at Gerard. He looked like he was shaking a little, not being used to having his work played back to him, probably. I smiled and kept singing.

Broken-down escalators, pennies and colder fountains
Elevators and half-price sales, trapped in by all these mountains
Running away and hiding with you, I never thought they’d get me here
Not knowing you changed from just one bite, I fought them all off just to hold you close and tight.

Looking up again, I noticed he had his eyes closed, mouthing the words along with me. I dropped my voice a little lower and started to sing the main part; the first part of the song I’d ever read.

Before I pull this trigger
Your eyes vacant and stained
And in saying you loved me
Made things harder at best

And these words changing nothing
As your body remains
And there's no room in this hell
There's no room in the next
And our memories defeat us
And I'll end this direst

Before I pull this trigger
Your eyes vacant and stained
And in saying you loved me
Made things harder at best

And these words changing nothing
As your body remains
And there's no room in this hell
There's no room in the next
But does anyone notice there's a corpse in this bed?

There were tears in both our eyes once I hit the final note, and there was silence for a few seconds before Gerard breathed, “Frankie, it’s beautiful.”

I gave him a small smile. “It’s a bit repetitive, I know, but that was all I found. I’m not that much of a snoop,” I grinned.

He looked and sounded awestruck. Quietly, he said, “No, it’s perfect. You took something I wrote about the two people I loved most and you made it into art.” Seeing my confusion, he explained, “I wrote the last part, the ‘repetitive’ part, a few years ago, in seventh grade.

That verse is a couple of years old,” he said. “I wrote it not too long after Bert killed my
boyfriend, kind of like his tribute.”

I nodded, following. “And the first part?”

He grew silent, then reluctantly said, “That’s about you. ‘Running away and hiding with you’? I
wrote that part about you, and the first verse was when I was scared of Mikey, you know. But anyway, the music is perfect. I love it!”

I grinned again. “Glad you like it. I’m glad it has such a deep meaning for you.”

“Have you come up with a name?”

I hadn’t. “No, I figured it was your song, you should get to name it.” He nodded.

Gerard’s POV

Frankie didn’t know how much that song meant to me. He managed to combine two of the hardest moments in my life, and make them beautiful. Just listening to him play it for me gave me a sense of hope and future. I wanted to be a better person, and I couldn’t have done it without Frankie.

“You know, I have other songs you can write music to,” I joked, but he smiled.

“I’d love to,” he said.

The rest of that afternoon was dedicated to nothing but sitting on the couch and watching movies. Grandma came home after winning a bridge game, and Frank played her the song before dinner. She too had tears in her eyes after he had finished.

“I can’t believe you wrote that music,” she said, hugging him. “That is the very definition of beautiful, hon.”

After that, we had dinner, and Grandma even took us out for pizza when we had finished. The night was perfect, and for once in my life, I was happy to be myself.

That is, until we got home.

We had just stumbled through the front door, full of pizza and laughs, when my cell phone rang in my pocket. I looked at the screen, and my blood froze.

“Monroeville Hospital,” I said out loud, and Frank stopped in his tracks. I picked up, “Hello?”

“Gerard Bryar?”

I gulped; this was a different voice, not the same guy who called for the usual updates. “Yes, it’s me.”

He sighed into the phone. “I’m calling on behalf of a Robert Bryar…”
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