Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W
S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W
6 reviews"I found a bunch of your old notebooks when I was cleaning out your room. Did you want them back, Gerard?" The first song he ever wrote.
5Moving
So, I'm new at this, but I hope you all enjoy! First story ever, so all review is welcome.
A/N: This story contains hints at Waycest. Don't like? Please don't read.
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S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W
The phone rang four times before Gerard finally hit the "accept button". Part of him felt terrible for saying it, but he really, really, really didn't wanna talk to his mother right now. Not even ever, he thought to himself, but pushed the thought away, bringing the phone to his ear instead.
"Hey, Mom."
"Gerard, oh good, I'm glad I got through. These cell phone things, I swear, I never understand them, I mean, they work fine one minute, and the next, it's like whoop, no bars or whatever the hell it's supposed to be. I have no idea..."
"Mom, did you want something?" He felt bad for being so brusque, but he really, really, really just wanted to get back to what he was doing. Which wasn't much, but better than talking to her.
"Oh, yes, right, Jesus, I swear, I forget everything these days. It's just, I was cleaning out the garage and I..."
"Why?" he interrupted her, then kicked himself; he really didn't care to know and was practically begging her to just keep rambling.
"Oh, well, I was thinking, y'know, since your father died, one of these days, I might just sell this old house and move to somewhere nicer. Florida, maybe."
How cliche, he thought, rolling his eyes, sighing so heavily he heard the static from the other end, "Why'd you call me mom? We're kinda busy right now, working on the next record?"
"Oh yes, you boys and your silly little rock group, I swear. When are you gonna get a real job Gerard? You're throwing your life away on this shit. Remember when you wanted to draw pictures for the television stations?"
Gerard felt the overwhelming urge to punch the wall, throw the phone or scream at her. He resisted, gnawing the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted coppery blood mixing with his saliva before he finally spoke, spitting his words between gritted teeth.
"It IS a real job, Mom. We've sold over four million albums, remember? I bought you the Lexus, remember?"
"Oh, I sold that car. I really had no use for it. I mean, so many computers and doo-hickeys. I had no idea how to drive it. I just kept looking for the auto-pilot."
Gerard resisted the urges again, counting off in his head. One. Two. Three. Four. Five...
"Did you need something Mom?" He ground out, feeling his pulse in his temples, throbbing.
"Well, like I said, I was cleaning up, and I found a bunch of your old notebooks when I was cleaning out your old room. Did you want them back, Gerard?"
His eyes widened. His stomach clenched and he felt his lunch twisting its way up his throat. Oh God no. Please dear God, don't let her read them.
"Did you read them?" -He hid the panic in his voice.
"Of course not, dear, I haven't got time for silly little scribblings. Lord knows if I want those I've got piles and piles of old paintings you used to bring home from Kindergarten somewhere around here..."
"Mom," he interrupted, "Can you send me those notebooks? As soon as possible?"
"Well, I mean, postage is expensive honey, and there's a whole crate of them..." She began uncertainly, but his patience was all used up for today.
"Fuck postage Mom!" He snarled, rubbing the bridge of his nose, voice tight, "Just send me the goddamn notebooks and I'll pay for the postage, alright?"
"Fine then, Mr. Grumpy Gus!" she explained, and Gerard felt his anger melting a little; she was essentially harmless. She wasn't the type to do much of anything. Helpless, was the word he'd scribbled next to her when he'd sketched his family when he was eleven.
Helpless.
And that had always been her problem, hadn't it?
---
He remembered, when they were five and eight.
"No, don't, please, don't...Don, please don't! I'm sorry! I'M SORRY!"
"Goddammit Donna! I'm so fucking sick of your shit!"
Their screams cascaded across the pair, huddled together in the farthest corner of the basement bedroom. Two figures, with stick like arms and skinny hips, the two boys both shuddered as the sounds of more breaking glass, more breaking furniture, more breaking bones.
"Wh-why're they always fighting?" the smaller boy, a sandy blond with massive hazel eyes, whimpered, clinging tighter to the bigger boy, sniffling and hiding his face in the sleeve of his pajamas.
"Shhh...Shhhh...It's gonna be okay Mikey," the older boy, Gerard, soothed, smoothing his younger brother's hair, pulling him into his lap, wrapping an arm around him, "Please, stop crying Mikey. If he hears you..."
Mikey sobbed quietly, dropping his head to bury his face in Gerard's chest, nodding as he tried desperately to control his sobbing. He needn't have bothered.
In that moment, they could hear their mother's screams finally subside, signaling that Donald Way had once again beaten his wife into unconsciousness. Mikey couldn't help it; he let a whimper slip through. Both boys, knowing what happened next, quivered, frozen with fear, staring wide eyed across the blackness of the room, knowing what would happen.
Angry, smashing footsteps echoed down the stairs, thumping, crashing and banging letting them know Dad was approaching. Gerard's arms tightened over Mikey, squeezing him tightly. The eight-year-old pressed his lips to Mikey's temple for a kiss.
"Hide under the bed Mikey. Do NOT come out unless I tell you it's okay. Hide, now!"
Mikey scrambled quickly out of Gerard's lap as the footsteps grew even closer, echoing down the hallway now. He'd just managed to hurl himself under the bed as the door exploded off the hinges, light snapping on.
He could see his father's workboots standing in the doorway. He was swaying slightly, obviously drunk. "Where's th'boy?" Donald slurred, taking two heavy steps into the room, "Where's Mikey? Where's my son?"
"Here I am," Gerard said, and Mikey saw him push himself to his feet. Gerard's voice sounded braver than he felt. He was shaking badly.
"Not you!" their dad shrieked furiously, slapping Gerard as hard as he could, sending the boy sprawling across the carpet, cheek split open and bleeding, "Where's Mikey? My REAL son?! You ain't been fucking with m'boy, have you? You filthy little faggot..."
Mikey jumped, biting his tongue to keep from squealing in terror, his eyes bulging, as he watched his father snatch Gerard up from the floor, and heard the sounds of fists colliding with Gerard's soft, childish flesh. Gerard didn't cry, didn't scream, didn't make a sound. He didn't wanna scare Mikey.
"Where's my son!?" Donald screamed, nearly snapping Gerard's fragile arms as he held him off the ground, massive hands clamped around his son's arms, shaking him violently, "WHERE'S MY SON!?"
"I'm r-right here," Gerard stuttered, voice nearly failing him. He could feel his heard nearly beating out of his chest, prickles of icy fear drenching his insides. I gotta protect Mikey.
"You little fag!" His father screamed again, smashing his fist into Gerard's face, stomach, chest, anywhere he could find, hitting him, over and over. Gerard still didn't cry. "You've NEVER been my son!"
Gerard didn't cry, even as his father screamed at him, hit him, shook him, and finally, hurled him as hard as he could onto the concrete floor of the basement. Donald Way snorted in disgust, turning away, stumbling away drunkenly.
Both boys held their breath, waiting and counting his steps up the stairs. If he made it up all 13 steps, he wouldn't come back. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve.
A pause. Both boys' chests tightened. Mikey whimpered. Gerard's shoulders quivered.
Thirteen.
"Gee!" Mikey cried softly, scrambling out from his hiding place, dashing to his brother's side, where he lay on his left side, back to where Mikey'd been hiding, "Gee! Gee, are you... are you okay?"
"'Course I am," Gerard muttered, trying to sound cavalier, rolling onto his back to stare up at his baby brother, "I'm okay Mikes, don't worry."
Mikey stared, horrified, into what'd once been his brother's beautiful face. Blood cascaded from his busted nose, cuts were smattered all over his face, his lips were swollen, his eye already beginning to blacken, bruises on his cheeks and chin.
"Gee, oh, Gee," Mikey whispered, horrified, not sure what to do. He patted Gerard gently on the shoulder, but flinched when the older boy hissed in pain, wincing. "Sorry! Oh my god, I'm sorry Gee!"
"It's fine, just a little tender," Gee managed to gasp between clenched teeth, as he reached up and prodded the shoulder as well, wincing again, "Think it might be outta the socket. Help me pop it back in Mikey."
Mikey's eyes were as wide as saucers, but did as Gee instructed him to do, and held his brother's arm while Gee jerked himself downwards, yelping as his shoulder popped back in.
"Shit that hurt," Gerard muttered, sitting up gingerly, rubbing his sore body, "Fuck. Man. Wow. Mikey, I want you to stay with me tonight, okay? I don't want you where he can get to you, okay?"
Mikey nodded, staring, wide-eyed at him. Gerard cracked a smile, getting gingerly to his feet. He limped a little, but made his way to the bathroom adjacent to his room. Standing on the stool, he examined his face in the mirror, before sighing and grabbing a washcloth.
"Do you... Do you want me to help you with that?" Mikey asked, standing in the door way, bunny pajamas riding up his tummy, eyes still wide, hair flopping into his eyes.
Gerard couldn't help but to smile at his little brother. He loved him so much it hurt. "Sure," he said, wetting the washcloth with warm water, plugging the sink so it filled with more water. He added a few drops of soap, letting it fill and bubble up before he flipped off the tap.
He lowered himself gingerly into a sitting position on the toilet, which had the lid down, and handed Mikey the cloth. Mikey moved slowly, dipping the cloth in the water, wringing it out as best he could, before reaching over to begin sponging Gerard's face free of blood. The initial touch stung, and Gerard couldn't suppress a pained hiss and a wince.
"Sorry!" Mikey cried, looking utterly horrified; Gerard waved it off, giving him a grin.
"I'm sorry Mikes, I'm okay, keep going. I'll be alright."
Mikey nodded slowly, carefully bringing the washcloth back to Gerard's bloody face, carefully wiping away as much blood as he could, being as gentle as he could. When it was finally over, the once white cloth was pink and so was the water in the sink and Gerard's face looked like him again, only a little more battered.
"C'mon Mikes," Gerard said, getting to his feet, wincing as his whole body throbbed, but grabbing Mikey's shoulders anyway, spinning him and marching him from the bathroom, "It's time to go to bed."
"Okay, Gee," Mikey said, yawning, skipping on ahead and jumping into the messy tangle of blankets, pillows and other assorted junk Gerard kept on his bed.
Gerard couldn't suppress a grin, his heart squeezing happily at Mikey's childish antics. He went over to the door, grabbing the chair he kept folded up, unfolding it and bracing it under the knob. He then proceeded to lock it, hopeful no one could get in now.
"C'mon Gee, I'm tired," Mikey whined from the bed, sounding exhausted, "We gotta go to sleep!"
"Yeah, yeah, gimme a minute," Gerard muttered, waving him away with a grin as he flipped off the light. It went deadly silent and dark. He heard Mikey whimper. He bit his lip. "Do you want me to get the night light?"
"Y-yeah."
He grabbed the night light off the dresser next to the door, where he kept it for just such occasions as these. A Yoda night light he'd bought with his own money when Mikey started spending the nights down here, and needed one. He plugged it in, flipping it on before limping over to the bed, checking to see that the knife he'd stolen was still in the drawer of the bedside table, right to where he could get to it.
"Are you comin', Gee?" Mikey whined even louder, throwing a pillow in frustration.
Gerard laughed, climbing into the bed, shimmying closer to Mikey across the sheeted expanse. He reached out instinctively, as did Mikey. He cuddled Mikey close, like he knew the little boy needed. Mikey felt safest like this. He let his little brother practically wrap around him, clamping tighter than his sore body would like, but he didn't mind. Mikey snuggled closer, letting his head rest on Gerard's chest.
"Gee?"
"Hm?"
"I love you Gee. You're the best big brother ever. And thanks."
"I love you too, Mikey. And you don't have to thank me. It's what big brothers are for. I love you and I'll always protect you. I promise. Now, go to sleep, okay?"
Mikey was already breathing evenly, doing that weird little humming thing he did while he slept, warm and snuggled in. Gerard sighed, grinning, grabbing the blankets and pulling them over the two of them. He was asleep before he could even think about how to get to sleep.
---
Okay, that's the first part! Let me know what you think and I shall continue to your liking. :) Stay tuned for what's in those notebooks!
A/N: This story contains hints at Waycest. Don't like? Please don't read.
---
S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W
The phone rang four times before Gerard finally hit the "accept button". Part of him felt terrible for saying it, but he really, really, really didn't wanna talk to his mother right now. Not even ever, he thought to himself, but pushed the thought away, bringing the phone to his ear instead.
"Hey, Mom."
"Gerard, oh good, I'm glad I got through. These cell phone things, I swear, I never understand them, I mean, they work fine one minute, and the next, it's like whoop, no bars or whatever the hell it's supposed to be. I have no idea..."
"Mom, did you want something?" He felt bad for being so brusque, but he really, really, really just wanted to get back to what he was doing. Which wasn't much, but better than talking to her.
"Oh, yes, right, Jesus, I swear, I forget everything these days. It's just, I was cleaning out the garage and I..."
"Why?" he interrupted her, then kicked himself; he really didn't care to know and was practically begging her to just keep rambling.
"Oh, well, I was thinking, y'know, since your father died, one of these days, I might just sell this old house and move to somewhere nicer. Florida, maybe."
How cliche, he thought, rolling his eyes, sighing so heavily he heard the static from the other end, "Why'd you call me mom? We're kinda busy right now, working on the next record?"
"Oh yes, you boys and your silly little rock group, I swear. When are you gonna get a real job Gerard? You're throwing your life away on this shit. Remember when you wanted to draw pictures for the television stations?"
Gerard felt the overwhelming urge to punch the wall, throw the phone or scream at her. He resisted, gnawing the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted coppery blood mixing with his saliva before he finally spoke, spitting his words between gritted teeth.
"It IS a real job, Mom. We've sold over four million albums, remember? I bought you the Lexus, remember?"
"Oh, I sold that car. I really had no use for it. I mean, so many computers and doo-hickeys. I had no idea how to drive it. I just kept looking for the auto-pilot."
Gerard resisted the urges again, counting off in his head. One. Two. Three. Four. Five...
"Did you need something Mom?" He ground out, feeling his pulse in his temples, throbbing.
"Well, like I said, I was cleaning up, and I found a bunch of your old notebooks when I was cleaning out your old room. Did you want them back, Gerard?"
His eyes widened. His stomach clenched and he felt his lunch twisting its way up his throat. Oh God no. Please dear God, don't let her read them.
"Did you read them?" -He hid the panic in his voice.
"Of course not, dear, I haven't got time for silly little scribblings. Lord knows if I want those I've got piles and piles of old paintings you used to bring home from Kindergarten somewhere around here..."
"Mom," he interrupted, "Can you send me those notebooks? As soon as possible?"
"Well, I mean, postage is expensive honey, and there's a whole crate of them..." She began uncertainly, but his patience was all used up for today.
"Fuck postage Mom!" He snarled, rubbing the bridge of his nose, voice tight, "Just send me the goddamn notebooks and I'll pay for the postage, alright?"
"Fine then, Mr. Grumpy Gus!" she explained, and Gerard felt his anger melting a little; she was essentially harmless. She wasn't the type to do much of anything. Helpless, was the word he'd scribbled next to her when he'd sketched his family when he was eleven.
Helpless.
And that had always been her problem, hadn't it?
---
He remembered, when they were five and eight.
"No, don't, please, don't...Don, please don't! I'm sorry! I'M SORRY!"
"Goddammit Donna! I'm so fucking sick of your shit!"
Their screams cascaded across the pair, huddled together in the farthest corner of the basement bedroom. Two figures, with stick like arms and skinny hips, the two boys both shuddered as the sounds of more breaking glass, more breaking furniture, more breaking bones.
"Wh-why're they always fighting?" the smaller boy, a sandy blond with massive hazel eyes, whimpered, clinging tighter to the bigger boy, sniffling and hiding his face in the sleeve of his pajamas.
"Shhh...Shhhh...It's gonna be okay Mikey," the older boy, Gerard, soothed, smoothing his younger brother's hair, pulling him into his lap, wrapping an arm around him, "Please, stop crying Mikey. If he hears you..."
Mikey sobbed quietly, dropping his head to bury his face in Gerard's chest, nodding as he tried desperately to control his sobbing. He needn't have bothered.
In that moment, they could hear their mother's screams finally subside, signaling that Donald Way had once again beaten his wife into unconsciousness. Mikey couldn't help it; he let a whimper slip through. Both boys, knowing what happened next, quivered, frozen with fear, staring wide eyed across the blackness of the room, knowing what would happen.
Angry, smashing footsteps echoed down the stairs, thumping, crashing and banging letting them know Dad was approaching. Gerard's arms tightened over Mikey, squeezing him tightly. The eight-year-old pressed his lips to Mikey's temple for a kiss.
"Hide under the bed Mikey. Do NOT come out unless I tell you it's okay. Hide, now!"
Mikey scrambled quickly out of Gerard's lap as the footsteps grew even closer, echoing down the hallway now. He'd just managed to hurl himself under the bed as the door exploded off the hinges, light snapping on.
He could see his father's workboots standing in the doorway. He was swaying slightly, obviously drunk. "Where's th'boy?" Donald slurred, taking two heavy steps into the room, "Where's Mikey? Where's my son?"
"Here I am," Gerard said, and Mikey saw him push himself to his feet. Gerard's voice sounded braver than he felt. He was shaking badly.
"Not you!" their dad shrieked furiously, slapping Gerard as hard as he could, sending the boy sprawling across the carpet, cheek split open and bleeding, "Where's Mikey? My REAL son?! You ain't been fucking with m'boy, have you? You filthy little faggot..."
Mikey jumped, biting his tongue to keep from squealing in terror, his eyes bulging, as he watched his father snatch Gerard up from the floor, and heard the sounds of fists colliding with Gerard's soft, childish flesh. Gerard didn't cry, didn't scream, didn't make a sound. He didn't wanna scare Mikey.
"Where's my son!?" Donald screamed, nearly snapping Gerard's fragile arms as he held him off the ground, massive hands clamped around his son's arms, shaking him violently, "WHERE'S MY SON!?"
"I'm r-right here," Gerard stuttered, voice nearly failing him. He could feel his heard nearly beating out of his chest, prickles of icy fear drenching his insides. I gotta protect Mikey.
"You little fag!" His father screamed again, smashing his fist into Gerard's face, stomach, chest, anywhere he could find, hitting him, over and over. Gerard still didn't cry. "You've NEVER been my son!"
Gerard didn't cry, even as his father screamed at him, hit him, shook him, and finally, hurled him as hard as he could onto the concrete floor of the basement. Donald Way snorted in disgust, turning away, stumbling away drunkenly.
Both boys held their breath, waiting and counting his steps up the stairs. If he made it up all 13 steps, he wouldn't come back. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve.
A pause. Both boys' chests tightened. Mikey whimpered. Gerard's shoulders quivered.
Thirteen.
"Gee!" Mikey cried softly, scrambling out from his hiding place, dashing to his brother's side, where he lay on his left side, back to where Mikey'd been hiding, "Gee! Gee, are you... are you okay?"
"'Course I am," Gerard muttered, trying to sound cavalier, rolling onto his back to stare up at his baby brother, "I'm okay Mikes, don't worry."
Mikey stared, horrified, into what'd once been his brother's beautiful face. Blood cascaded from his busted nose, cuts were smattered all over his face, his lips were swollen, his eye already beginning to blacken, bruises on his cheeks and chin.
"Gee, oh, Gee," Mikey whispered, horrified, not sure what to do. He patted Gerard gently on the shoulder, but flinched when the older boy hissed in pain, wincing. "Sorry! Oh my god, I'm sorry Gee!"
"It's fine, just a little tender," Gee managed to gasp between clenched teeth, as he reached up and prodded the shoulder as well, wincing again, "Think it might be outta the socket. Help me pop it back in Mikey."
Mikey's eyes were as wide as saucers, but did as Gee instructed him to do, and held his brother's arm while Gee jerked himself downwards, yelping as his shoulder popped back in.
"Shit that hurt," Gerard muttered, sitting up gingerly, rubbing his sore body, "Fuck. Man. Wow. Mikey, I want you to stay with me tonight, okay? I don't want you where he can get to you, okay?"
Mikey nodded, staring, wide-eyed at him. Gerard cracked a smile, getting gingerly to his feet. He limped a little, but made his way to the bathroom adjacent to his room. Standing on the stool, he examined his face in the mirror, before sighing and grabbing a washcloth.
"Do you... Do you want me to help you with that?" Mikey asked, standing in the door way, bunny pajamas riding up his tummy, eyes still wide, hair flopping into his eyes.
Gerard couldn't help but to smile at his little brother. He loved him so much it hurt. "Sure," he said, wetting the washcloth with warm water, plugging the sink so it filled with more water. He added a few drops of soap, letting it fill and bubble up before he flipped off the tap.
He lowered himself gingerly into a sitting position on the toilet, which had the lid down, and handed Mikey the cloth. Mikey moved slowly, dipping the cloth in the water, wringing it out as best he could, before reaching over to begin sponging Gerard's face free of blood. The initial touch stung, and Gerard couldn't suppress a pained hiss and a wince.
"Sorry!" Mikey cried, looking utterly horrified; Gerard waved it off, giving him a grin.
"I'm sorry Mikes, I'm okay, keep going. I'll be alright."
Mikey nodded slowly, carefully bringing the washcloth back to Gerard's bloody face, carefully wiping away as much blood as he could, being as gentle as he could. When it was finally over, the once white cloth was pink and so was the water in the sink and Gerard's face looked like him again, only a little more battered.
"C'mon Mikes," Gerard said, getting to his feet, wincing as his whole body throbbed, but grabbing Mikey's shoulders anyway, spinning him and marching him from the bathroom, "It's time to go to bed."
"Okay, Gee," Mikey said, yawning, skipping on ahead and jumping into the messy tangle of blankets, pillows and other assorted junk Gerard kept on his bed.
Gerard couldn't suppress a grin, his heart squeezing happily at Mikey's childish antics. He went over to the door, grabbing the chair he kept folded up, unfolding it and bracing it under the knob. He then proceeded to lock it, hopeful no one could get in now.
"C'mon Gee, I'm tired," Mikey whined from the bed, sounding exhausted, "We gotta go to sleep!"
"Yeah, yeah, gimme a minute," Gerard muttered, waving him away with a grin as he flipped off the light. It went deadly silent and dark. He heard Mikey whimper. He bit his lip. "Do you want me to get the night light?"
"Y-yeah."
He grabbed the night light off the dresser next to the door, where he kept it for just such occasions as these. A Yoda night light he'd bought with his own money when Mikey started spending the nights down here, and needed one. He plugged it in, flipping it on before limping over to the bed, checking to see that the knife he'd stolen was still in the drawer of the bedside table, right to where he could get to it.
"Are you comin', Gee?" Mikey whined even louder, throwing a pillow in frustration.
Gerard laughed, climbing into the bed, shimmying closer to Mikey across the sheeted expanse. He reached out instinctively, as did Mikey. He cuddled Mikey close, like he knew the little boy needed. Mikey felt safest like this. He let his little brother practically wrap around him, clamping tighter than his sore body would like, but he didn't mind. Mikey snuggled closer, letting his head rest on Gerard's chest.
"Gee?"
"Hm?"
"I love you Gee. You're the best big brother ever. And thanks."
"I love you too, Mikey. And you don't have to thank me. It's what big brothers are for. I love you and I'll always protect you. I promise. Now, go to sleep, okay?"
Mikey was already breathing evenly, doing that weird little humming thing he did while he slept, warm and snuggled in. Gerard sighed, grinning, grabbing the blankets and pulling them over the two of them. He was asleep before he could even think about how to get to sleep.
---
Okay, that's the first part! Let me know what you think and I shall continue to your liking. :) Stay tuned for what's in those notebooks!
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