Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W
Hey everyone! Back for chapter two, so I hope you enjoy! Listened to the Smashing Pumpkins song "Shame" while writing this. It's pretty good. Give it a listen.
A/N: One thing about the Waycest I mentioned earlier- There will be hints, but this is NOT a predominantly Waycest story. I'm sorry if that's what you were expecting. Hope you enjoy anyway.
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S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W
He couldn't sleep. Just, couldn't. He tossed, turned, dragged the comforter up his body, and kicked it off. Poor Lindsey. But he just couldn't sleep. Couldn't. Hadn't been able to for days, since that call.
Does she know? Will they know? Will he know? I don't remember what they say. I don't remember which ones I lost. Which ones I burned. I don't fucking remember!
He cursed himself silently, hissing into the darkened bedroom. He pounded his palms against his tightly clamped eyes, bare-chested, sweating for no reason. He was fucking boiling. Why was it so fucking hot in his house?
Not for the first time, he cursed all that teenage drinking. All those nights he couldn't fucking remember. Or worse, the ones he half-remembered. Nights when he'd stagger home, grab armfuls of his notebooks, not even looking which ones, because they were all terrible, and he'd race to the backyard.
Half-sobbing, screaming to himself, a half-drained bottle of alcohol clutched like a safety blanket in one hand, he'd dump them in the dirt, pour whatever he was drinking all over them. Light a match. Flip open his lighter. Whatever. And he'd burn them.
Hunched over, knees to his chest, sobbing until he felt like there was a cavern in his heart, he'd grip himself, staring drunkenly into the flames. Their glorious light dancing, hot and smoky, across his face, soot mixing and staining with his tears. They always burned so beautifully. He'd pass out back there sometimes, with just tatters and ashes left to remind him of his half-crazed scribblings in those notebooks.
Which ones are they? I don't fucking remember. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.
He smashed his fist into the soft mattress, hissing furiously, forgetting the sleeping woman next to him. She moved, stirring.
"Gerard, honey, what the fuck?" she mumbled, rubbing her eye, peering blearily out at him, "What the fuck's your problem?"
"Can't sleep," he muttered back woodenly, turning his head to face her. He studied her face critically.
"Did you try taking something?" she grunted back, collapsing back into her pillow, dragging the covers farther up her body. For some reason, she was cold while he was boiling.
"I'd rather not," Gerard said dryly, turning away from her, "You know I don't like taking things to sleep. Too many bad memories."
"Oh, yeah, right," She muttered, snuggling closer to him, dropping a hand to rest on his shoulder, "I kinda forgot for a sec. Sorry."
"S'all good," he brushed it off, sighing heavily, "You're tired. Go back to sleep Linds."
"Don' wanna," She muttered, half-coyly, burying her face into his warm shoulder, "Not 'til I know you're gonna."
"I don't think I'm gonna get very much sleep," Gerard replied softly, sighing yet again, turning his face into her head, brushing a light kiss to her hair, curling one arm around her bared back, "I'm not really in a sleeping mood."
"Mmmm, I'm sorry," she half-slurred back, clearly not listening; she was half-asleep again. He couldn't suppress a small grin, kissing her again as she started to snore lightly. She was already asleep.
Moonlight streamed in through their window, illuminating her in an ethereal silver light, casting shadows across her tranquil face. Gerard stared, a little sadly, at her. Sighing once more, he disentangled her from himself, gingerly managing to maneuver her off him and back onto her side of the bed.
Realizing he wasn't going to win his fight with sleep tonight, he swung his legs to the side, and sat up in the bed, feet hitting the ground. Grabbing his Nike's, he slipped them over his bare feet, letting his loose jogging shorts sling low on his hips as he stood and grabbed a t-shirt off the ground. Burying his face in it, he inhaled deeply, deciding it wasn't too pungent, before pulling it on over his flaming red hair.
Grabbing his keys and wallet as quietly as he could from their dresser, he tip-toed from the room, down the hall, skipped over the creaky stair and finally made it to the front door. Slipping out as quietly as possible, he shut the door behind him, stepping out into the cool night air.
He inhaled deeply, the smells of outside cascading over him. Cut grass, clean air, warm earth, night smells. He took in as many lungfuls as he could in quick succession, getting dizzy, before he finally gave up and walked to his car. Sliding behind the wheel, slipping in his keys, he turned on and slowly backed out the driveway, before speeding quietly down the street.
---
The phone rang and rang, buzzing on the bedside table, making a terrible racket. The sound sliced through the dark, disturbing any quiet he'd been hoping for that night. He cursed to himself, swearing violent death as he finally concluded the person calling wasn't going to give up.
His hand shot from the tangle of blankets, snatching the Blackberry off the table, and bringing it to his eyes. He squinted at the name blinking up at him urgently.
'Gerard (Gee!!) Way!! :D'
He punched 'accept', bringing the phone to his ear, while simultaneously sitting up, and whispering into the speaker, "Gerard?"
"Mikey, you awake?" Gerard's voice broke through a fizzle of static, sounding tinny and far away.
"I am now dipshit," Mikey growled back grumpily, swinging his legs out of bed, standing and wandering from his and Alicia's bedroom, careful not to wake his slumbering wife, "Until you so rudely awoke me at four in the fucking morning."
"Oh, uh, sorry, I didn't look at the time," Gerard sounded genuinely sorry, and Mikey forgave him instantly, sighing as he traipsed down the hallway, then the stairs, wandering out into his living room.
He yawned, rubbing his eyes and stretching his arm high above his head, arching his back until it cracked satisfyingly. "Gerard, did you need something?" Mikey asked, yawning wider, "Or are you just trying to fuck with me by waking me up at four in the fucking morning? Are you okay?"
Silence from the other end of the line. Mikey's brow furrowed. He thought the call must've dropped out. "Gerard?" he questioned, slightly worried now, "Gee, you there?"
"Yeah, I'm here," Gerard muttered back, so quiet Mikey barely caught it, "I was just wondering, y'know, if maybe I could come pick you up and we could, y'know, hang out a little?"
"Why?" Mikey asked, slightly alarmed, "Gerard, did something happen? Gerard, are...are Linds and Bandit okay?"
"Oh, no, no, nothing like that. They're fine. Both sleeping at home," Gerard replied hastily, before continuing on softer, "I just, y'know, wanted to spend some time with you. Old times sake and shit."
"Fuck man, and you couldn't think of any better time than at four in the fucking morning?" Mikey half-joked, half-whined, grinning in spite of himself, "Really Gerard?"
"Mikes, please," Gerard whispered, and Mikey felt his stomach tighten. His brother's voice sounded... off. He couldn't place it. His veins tightened.
"Yeah, of course, I'll be ready in a minute," Mikey replied quickly, glancing at the glowing digital green numbers of the oven clock. 4:09a.m. Fuck.
"Good, 'cause I'm almost to your house," Gerard replied, sounding perkier, "Meet me outside in a few."
Mikey groaned, rubbing his forehead. "Okay, see you in a bit," He said, already making his way back to the stairs, "Gotta get ready real quick. Later Gee. Love you."
"Love you too, Mikes."
Gerard hung up. Mikey clicked 'End Call'.
He stared at the phone in his hand a few moments longer, until the screen went dark and he finally hurried up the stairs to his bedroom.
---
Mikey was standing on the curb outside his house when Gerard finally pulled up. He looked pissed and tired, bags under his eyes, wearing jeans and the half-skeleton t-shirt that he and Gerard used to share back in the 'van days' of touring. He yawned hugely, mussing his hair absently with one hand as Gerard pulled up, stopping next to him.
"What's up man?" he asked as he slid into the car, stretching and yawning again, glancing blearily at his brother, who looked no better than he did. He did a double take, looking up at Gerard.
Gerard looked exhausted. Like he hadn't slept in days. He was wearing an old t-shirt and jogging shorts, complete with Nike's and no socks. He had bags under his eyes too, and looked worn around the edges.
"Gerard?" Mikey muttered, leaning in closer, concern painting his features, "What's up Gerard?"
"Nothing," Gerard grunted back, switching from park to drive, and pulling back out onto the street, cruising down the lane, "What's up with you?"
"Oh, y'know, just hanging with my brother at four in the morning," Mikey tried jokingly, still staring at Gerard. Gerard cracked half a smile, turning to grin at him.
"Yeah?" Gerard asked, taking a hand off the wheel to punch Mikey gently in the side, "And wearing my fucking shirt while you're at it, no less."
"Oh fuck you," Mikey laughed, slugging him back, "This is my fucking shirt! I bought it in the first place, remember?"
"Nope, I distinctly remember buying that shirt," Gerard said, shaking his head at him, grinning devilishly, taking one hand entirely off the wheel to tickle Mikey's side.
"Ah, stop it!" Mikey actually squealed, trying to arch his body as far away from Gerard's hand as he could, laughing, body half-pressed to the door as he tried to get away. Gerard was one of the few people who knew that Mikey was still extremely ticklish after all these years.
Gerard only laughed, and kept reaching further and further over, leaning away from the wheel, digging his hand into Mikey's soft sides, grinning wickedly as Mikey giggled and tried to push him away, seemingly pissed. They continued on, and finally, with Gerard actually pulling over to the side of the deserted street, turning totally in his seat and lunging for Mikey.
Mikey cried out, howling with forced laughter as Gerard tickled him relentlessly, hands all over his stomach and sides, digging into the overly sensitive flesh. Mikey squealed, trying in vain to shove him off. Gerard only laughed harder, falling all over Mikey as he was weakened from the force of his own laughter, while still trying to tickle Mikey.
Finally, they both just gave up and collapsed in a heap, Gerard half-splayed across the front seat, belly button pressing into the gear shift as he lay on Mikey, weak from laughing so hard he could barely breathe. Mikey was laughing uncontrollably as well, still half-trying to shove Gerard off, even though he'd ceased the tickling.
Finally, they subsided into little occasional spurts of giggling, but were otherwise quiet. They didn't bother to change the position, although Gerard did reach over and turn the car almost completely off. He left the key turned half-way, so the radio still blared quietly. They lay in silence, Mikey lounging against the door, Gerard's upper body resting against Mikey's lower one.
Neither spoke, both content to let things lie this way. Mikey half-consciously began trailing his hands through Gerard's wild hair, combing it with his fingers, trying to bring some order to the chaos. Gerard picked at a loose thread in the seam of Mikey's jeans, his other arm curled around Mikey's hip, resting on the seat.
"Gerard?" Mikey spoke first, quietly, hands never ceasing.
"Hm?" Gerard's eyes had slipped half-shut, and he seemed in a trance.
"Why'd you call me?" Mikey was even quieter, shifting into a slightly more comfortable position, careful not to disturb his brother.
"I don't know," Gerard began honestly, hazel eyes slipping open wide, staring up into a nearly matching set that were Mikey's, "I just...I don't know. I couldn't sleep. I was driving, and just, I was thinking about when we were kids-"
He saw Mikey flinch visibly, hands twisting unconsciously into his hair. Memories flickered across Mikey's eyes. Gerard could almost see them. He bit his lip before continuing.
"-And I remembered, when I couldn't sleep, you'd always rub my back. And that always worked. And I just... I found myself driving to your house. And then I called you. I don't know, Mikes. Maybe I just wanted to see you."
"Okay," Mikey replied, eyes softening, hands still working through Gerard's hair. He accepted his brother's answer. After what they'd survived together, he didn't think he could ever feel awkward with Gerard.
They sat in silence for a while. The radio, some local rock station, played on quietly. A couple good songs, even some a Smashing Pumpkins song Mikey recognized vaguely. It was comfortable.
"Mikey?"
"Yeah?"
"You wanna grab some coffee? I think it's gonna be fucking morning soon."
"Fuck yes."
And like that, they both dissolved into fits of giggles as they both pulled apart from each other, and sat up in their seats, buckling in, restarting the car and driving down the street to find the nearest Starbucks.
---
He remembered when they were seven and ten.
The grass was prickly against his back, but soft. He stared, enraptured, at the sky, blazing black and full of stars above them. He'd never seen stars like this before, not in the city.
"Gee, how many stars are there?"
Right next to him, Gerard chuckled, turning his head to face him. "Way too many to count, that's for sure Mikes."
"More than ten hundred thousand?" Mikey asked in awe; that was the largest number that he could think of.
"More than ten hundred billion zillion," Gerard said in something approaching reverence, rolling onto his side to face Mikey, who did the same.
They stared into one another's eyes, not really talking. Mikey was grinning happily, childishly, arms folded against his chest, hands nestled under his chin. Gerard mimicked the action, arms folded to himself as well.
"Gee?" Mikey's eyes clouded over and he looked a little nervous. He bit his lip, wiggling in closer to Gerard, as if he had a very important secret to share with the older boy.
"Yeah Mikes?" Gerard muttered absently, glancing up at the night sky once more, before dropping his gaze back to look into Mikey's worried eyes.
"Do we...Do we have to go home? I wanna stay at camp forever," Mikey asked, looking miserable, wriggling in even closer, until he was snuggled against Gerard, "I don't like it at home."
Gerard sighed, wrapping his arms protectively around his little brother. He rested his chin in his hair. "Yeah, Mikes, we gotta go home soon," Gerard whispered back, rubbing his back gently, sounding a little bitter as he next spoke, "We gotta go back home."
"Oh, okay," Mikey sounded broken, half-whimpering into Gerard's chest. Gerard's shoulders tightened, and he felt bile rise in his throat. It wasn't fucking fair.
He glanced up, just in time to see a star fall.
"Hey, Mikey, look!" He cried excitedly, shaking Mikey as he pointed up, "Falling stars!"
Mikey craned his head up instantly, eyes widening in awe as more and more stars cascaded from the heavens, streaking the sky. "Oh wow," He breathed, gasping, "Why're they doin' that Gee?"
"You wish on them," Gerard said, pointing again, "You're supposed to wish on falling stars. And if you do, they say you're supposed to get your wish to come true."
There was silence for a second, as Mikey thought about his wish.
"I wish my dad would stop hurting Gee," Mikey whispered finally, squeezing Gerard tightly.
Gerard felt his throat tighten at that thought. He blinked several times to clear his eyes, gripping tighter to his brother, clearing his throat. He couldn't help thinking to himself, I wish that too.
But then, he made his wish, in earnest, to himself.
I wish Mikey didn't have to see this anymore. I wish Mikey could be safe forever.
---
"I want a double shot of espresso, okay?"
"Only if you're fucking paying for it!"
"Hey, I need it!"
"No you fucking don't!"
"Oh, excuse me, I was so rudely woken up at four in the morning by you! I think the least you can do is pay for my coffee!"
"I didn't say I wouldn't pay for your coffee, Mikey-boy, I said I wasn't fucking paying for your espresso addiction!"
"That's total bullshit!"
"It costs like, two dollars more to get a double shot!"
"It does not!"
"Does too!"
"Does not!"
"Does too!"
"Um, can I help you two gentlemen?"
Gerard and Mikey froze in the middle of their argument, both turning their heads to faces the barista, who was giving them a weird look. Granted, they both looked like hell, in jeans and jogging shorts, tennis shoes and yesterday's t-shirts. They didn't mix very well with the early morning business crowd, who were all looking incredibly pissy as they waited in line behind the brothers.
"Uhh..." Gerard began, flushing slightly, "Um, can I just get a caramel macchiato, iced blended, with chocolate, hold the whipped cream?"
"And you, sir?" the young woman spoke, arching a brow in Mikey's direction, "Did you want anything?"
"Yeah, uh, can I get the espresso macchiato, with a double espresso and caramel, hot, please?" Mikey replied, turning to face her fully, "And can I get a cranberry orange scone and a chocolate croissant?"
"Hell no," Gerard hissed at him, glaring, "I am NOT paying for that shit."
Mikey rolled his eyes, and gave him a cold look. "I forgot my wallet, Gee, and you said you'd buy breakfast. It's my breakfast. Buy it."
Gerard glared a moment longer, but relented, breaking into a small half-grin, and running his hand along Mikey's side, tickling him again. Mikey jerked away, swearing at him, glaring. He reached over and tugged on a lock of Gerard's hair affectionately, eliciting full grin.
"Fine, I'll buy your damn breakfast, Mikes, 'cause I love you so damn much," Gerard joked, grinning wider, turning back to the barista, "And can I get two of those chocolate croissants as well? All on one check, please."
She rang them up quickly, with Gerard pretending to throw Mikey a dirty look as he handed over a twenty, getting a dollar back in change.
As they were leaving the line, coffee and pastries in hand, walking close to each other, Gerard ambling, Mikey walking straighter, they heard a voice hiss from the tangle of people in line:
"Fucking faggots."
Mikey froze, coffee half-way to his mouth. The moment was silent. His eyes flicked to Gerard. Gerard's shoulders bunched, his back jerking oddly. His eyes were glazed and wide, mouth slightly open. Mikey could feel the heat practically radiating off him.
"Don't, Gee," he whispered, grabbing his brother's arm. Gerard shook it off furiously, but Mikey only grabbed on tighter, physically dragging him away before Gerard exploded.
As Mikey dragged Gerard away, he could hear little giggles and whispers erupt in their wake. His blood felt cold and clammy sweat was crawling down his back, those hateful words ringing in both their ears.
Fucking faggots.
He could hear it over and over. And then suddenly, he heard it again. Someone else had whispered the word, "Faggot" at them. He'd had enough. He felt himself snap.
"He's my fucking brother!" Mikey snarled, whirling around on them, eyes shooting sparks, practically breathing fire, "Fuck you!"
There was an awkward moment of total silence, where Mikey stood stiffly, glaring at them. The people at least had the decency to look a little ashamed of themselves. Mikey's fist was balled so tight, he could feel his fingernails digging crescents into his palm. He was seething.
Then, he felt a gentle hand on his arm, pulling at him insistently.
"C'mon Mikes," Gerard whispered, dragging him away from the overly-curious eyes of the people in line, "Let's get the fuck outta here."
In the parking lot, Mikey was still seething. Gerard was uncharacteristically quiet, sipping his coffee while Mikey raged
"...And the fucking nerve of those motherfuckers! Fucking, assuming shit that isn't true! Fuck them! Fuck'em!"
"Mikey, calm down," Gerard muttered, leaning against his car, staring at Mikey dolefully, eyes hooded.
"How can you be so fucking calm!?" Mikey practically shouted at him, waving his coffee-free hand wildly, "I mean, I thought for a second back there, it was gonna be you that was tearing them apart. I mean, who the fuck do they think they are!? We're brothers, not, fucking, I don't know what the fuck they thought we were, just, they're just, they're fucking sick, is what they are!"
"Mikey, can I tell you something?" Gerard was quiet, gesturing for them to get back into the car. Mikey, begrudgingly, obliged.
"What?" He snapped irritably as he slid into his seat, glaring, annoyed, at Gerard, "What did you wanna tell me, Gee?"
"Well, Mikes, they thought we were, y'know, dating or some shit," Gerard said, cocking his head, "We don't fucking act like most brothers act, y'know? What would you think if you saw two guys, fucking looking like they just rolled outta bed, coming in together, tickling and playing with each other's hair?"
Mikey fell silent, grinding his teeth, fists curling. The hard part was, he knew it was true. He knew what he'd of thought of them, if he'd been one of those people.
---
He remembered when they were eleven and fourteen.
"Run Mikey! Mikey, run!"
Gerard was screaming, eyes wide, terrified, standing in the mouth of the bottom of the stairs, as he waved his baby brother away frantically. Mikey was wearing a sky blue t-shirt, with a bright pink rabbit on it that was tight across his thin chest. His eyes, wide as Gerard's, were terrified.
"RUN MIKEY!"
Mikey did as he was told, dashing away, hurling himself up the stairs as fast as his legs could propel him. He could hear, behind him, the sounds of his father's enraged roar. The sounds of crashing, as he managed to grab Gerard's leg as he was trying to flee, trying to follow Mikey up the stairs, and the sound of Gerard's body smashing into the stairs as he was dragged back down.
"Where th' fuck d'ya think your goin'!?" Donald Way snarled, drunk again, hauling Gerard back down, "You sick little faggot! Touchin' my boy!?"
Mikey could hear the sounds of Gerard's screams as he blasted out the back door, past his mother's unconscious form on the kitchen floor. Part of him wanted to stop, make sure she was okay. The other part was bleeding panic into his belly and couldn't stop. He needed to escape. He needed to help Gee.
But Gee told him to run.
So he ran.
Out the back screen door, the summer night air in Jersey wasn't sweet, but harsh. Chemical, almost. So much smog. Dead grass tore at his sneakers as he raced past his barren earth patch of a backyard, out the back gate, into the bushes behind the chain link fence. 'Wait back there for me, if you ever need to hide' Gee told him once. He buried himself in dead leaves, brush and branches.
His fingers curled over the chain linking as he stared through it into the house. He could see through the back door. Donald Way was dragging his oldest son by the hair, bodily, through the kitchen. Mikey could hear his roarings ebbing out into the still night. Next door, the light in the neighbor's window flipped off. They never heard anything.
"You little fag!" Donald screamed at Gerard, and Mikey's eyes widened, horror pooling hotly in the pit of his stomach as he saw his father pull a cigarette lighter from his pocket.
He took the lighter, a Zippo, and flipped it open. Mikey couldn't breathe as he watched Donald hold the lighter to Gerard's skin, right under his arm. Gerard's eyes widened, as he realized what was happening. He started screaming, but Donald clamped a wicked hand over his mouth, silencing him.
Gerard began to twist and kick, trying to bite his father's hand as the flame started searing his skin. Donald managed to wrestle his way into a chair, one leg over Gerard's middle, holding his legs still. One of his arms was over Gerard's face, silencing him, gripping Gerard's hands so tight he couldn't move. In his other hand, Donald held the lighter to Gerard's skin.
Gerard was screaming. He was screaming, crying, trying desperately to twist out of his father's iron grip. Donald was laughing drunkenly, holding the flame closer. Gerard's skin blistered and seared, scorching.
Donald kept laughing, then pulled the lighter away just long enough to grab the half-empty bottle of lukewarm beer that was on the table. Mikey's stomach literally heaved as he realized what his father was about to do. He had to help.
Mikey threw himself from his hiding place, racing back through the gate, dashing up to the house, ready to yank open the screen door just as Donald emptied the bottle over Gerard's body. Gerard looked up, like he sensed Mikey's presence. He caught his eyes. Gerard's hazel orbs widened, horrified. He shook his head, violently 'no!'.
Mikey quivered, torn between trying to help, and the look in Gerard's eyes which begged him not to. Gerard shook his head frantically. No. No. NO! Go away Mikey. Gerard's eyes willed him. He whimpered, but did as he knew Gee wanted. He ran back to his hiding place and hid. He watched.
Donald brought the lighter back to his son's alcohol drenched skin, laughing sadistically as he burned it. The alcohol intensified the burn, scorching Gerard's arms. His chest, his neck, his hips and legs. Gerard screamed, twisting, sounds muffled by the arm his father still held over his mouth.
Mikey watched in horror. It went on and on. Finally, Donald grew bored. He dropped his burned son to the ground, kicking him and wandering away. Off to go pass out on the couch.
Mikey couldn't move fast enough to get to him. He literally couldn't. He was next to Gee, crying, blanching, not sure what to do, or if he could even touch him. Gerard seemed dazed, he looked like he was delirious with pain.
"Gee?" Mikey whispered, hands hovering over his brother's seared body, too frightened to even touch the burning, blistered red skin, "Gee, what do I do!? Gee, how do I help?!"
Gerard couldn't respond. He'd passed out.
Mikey collapsed on the warm, worn tiles of the kitchen floor, where he curled up helplessly and cried himself to sleep.
---
"Gerard?"
Gerard glanced up, eyes focusing as he looked up at Ray. In Ray's arms was a massive package marked 'air mail'. They were in the studio today, trying to record something. It wasn't working.
"Yeah, Ray?"
"You got a package from your Mom? I think so anyway. It's marked with a New Jersey postmark..."
Gerard was on his feet, snatching the package from Ray's arms so fast Ray jumped in surprise. "Whoa, man, hold on," Ray began, but Gerard literally shoved him out of the way, tossing the package onto the coffee table in the middle of the sound booth room.
"Do you have a knife?" Gerard snapped harshly, finger nails digging frantically at the tape, practically shredding his fingers as he tore at the stubborn box, "Ray!?"
"Yeah, hang on," Ray said, alarmed, digging out a pocket knife, flipping it open just in time to have Gerard snatch it dangerously from his hand, almost cutting Ray.
"Whoa man, calm down!" Ray cried out in alarm, cradling his almost injured palm; Gerard was too busy to notice.
He'd already managed to shred the box, bits of tape and cardboard flying, bits of the old newspaper the cargo was cushioned in littering the studio floor.
"What the fuck happened in here?!" Frank asked, alarmed as well, wandering in, Mikey in tow, "What the fuck Ray, man?"
"Don't look at me!" Ray said, throwing up his hands in defense, "Look at Raggedy-Andy over there!"
Gerard wasn't looking at them. He was staring intensely into the crate, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. The knife hung loosely in his hand, bits of tape stuck to the blade.
"Shit," he breathed softly, eyes blank, panting, swallowing hard, "Shit."
Their brows furrowed as they all exchanged curious glances. They walked forward slowly, and all three stared into the crate at the same time.
From the box, a pile of old spiral notebooks stared up at them. The one on top, a bright lavender thing, with frayed edges, had black Sharpie scribbled on its cover in huge letters.
S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W
"Scarecrow?" Frank muttered, brows furrowed, frowning, "What the fuck is Scarecrow?"
---
Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. Sorry this part was so long. I promise the next ones will be shorter. If you liked it, please rate and review. It really helps keep me motivated to continue! :)
A/N: One thing about the Waycest I mentioned earlier- There will be hints, but this is NOT a predominantly Waycest story. I'm sorry if that's what you were expecting. Hope you enjoy anyway.
---
S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W
He couldn't sleep. Just, couldn't. He tossed, turned, dragged the comforter up his body, and kicked it off. Poor Lindsey. But he just couldn't sleep. Couldn't. Hadn't been able to for days, since that call.
Does she know? Will they know? Will he know? I don't remember what they say. I don't remember which ones I lost. Which ones I burned. I don't fucking remember!
He cursed himself silently, hissing into the darkened bedroom. He pounded his palms against his tightly clamped eyes, bare-chested, sweating for no reason. He was fucking boiling. Why was it so fucking hot in his house?
Not for the first time, he cursed all that teenage drinking. All those nights he couldn't fucking remember. Or worse, the ones he half-remembered. Nights when he'd stagger home, grab armfuls of his notebooks, not even looking which ones, because they were all terrible, and he'd race to the backyard.
Half-sobbing, screaming to himself, a half-drained bottle of alcohol clutched like a safety blanket in one hand, he'd dump them in the dirt, pour whatever he was drinking all over them. Light a match. Flip open his lighter. Whatever. And he'd burn them.
Hunched over, knees to his chest, sobbing until he felt like there was a cavern in his heart, he'd grip himself, staring drunkenly into the flames. Their glorious light dancing, hot and smoky, across his face, soot mixing and staining with his tears. They always burned so beautifully. He'd pass out back there sometimes, with just tatters and ashes left to remind him of his half-crazed scribblings in those notebooks.
Which ones are they? I don't fucking remember. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.
He smashed his fist into the soft mattress, hissing furiously, forgetting the sleeping woman next to him. She moved, stirring.
"Gerard, honey, what the fuck?" she mumbled, rubbing her eye, peering blearily out at him, "What the fuck's your problem?"
"Can't sleep," he muttered back woodenly, turning his head to face her. He studied her face critically.
"Did you try taking something?" she grunted back, collapsing back into her pillow, dragging the covers farther up her body. For some reason, she was cold while he was boiling.
"I'd rather not," Gerard said dryly, turning away from her, "You know I don't like taking things to sleep. Too many bad memories."
"Oh, yeah, right," She muttered, snuggling closer to him, dropping a hand to rest on his shoulder, "I kinda forgot for a sec. Sorry."
"S'all good," he brushed it off, sighing heavily, "You're tired. Go back to sleep Linds."
"Don' wanna," She muttered, half-coyly, burying her face into his warm shoulder, "Not 'til I know you're gonna."
"I don't think I'm gonna get very much sleep," Gerard replied softly, sighing yet again, turning his face into her head, brushing a light kiss to her hair, curling one arm around her bared back, "I'm not really in a sleeping mood."
"Mmmm, I'm sorry," she half-slurred back, clearly not listening; she was half-asleep again. He couldn't suppress a small grin, kissing her again as she started to snore lightly. She was already asleep.
Moonlight streamed in through their window, illuminating her in an ethereal silver light, casting shadows across her tranquil face. Gerard stared, a little sadly, at her. Sighing once more, he disentangled her from himself, gingerly managing to maneuver her off him and back onto her side of the bed.
Realizing he wasn't going to win his fight with sleep tonight, he swung his legs to the side, and sat up in the bed, feet hitting the ground. Grabbing his Nike's, he slipped them over his bare feet, letting his loose jogging shorts sling low on his hips as he stood and grabbed a t-shirt off the ground. Burying his face in it, he inhaled deeply, deciding it wasn't too pungent, before pulling it on over his flaming red hair.
Grabbing his keys and wallet as quietly as he could from their dresser, he tip-toed from the room, down the hall, skipped over the creaky stair and finally made it to the front door. Slipping out as quietly as possible, he shut the door behind him, stepping out into the cool night air.
He inhaled deeply, the smells of outside cascading over him. Cut grass, clean air, warm earth, night smells. He took in as many lungfuls as he could in quick succession, getting dizzy, before he finally gave up and walked to his car. Sliding behind the wheel, slipping in his keys, he turned on and slowly backed out the driveway, before speeding quietly down the street.
---
The phone rang and rang, buzzing on the bedside table, making a terrible racket. The sound sliced through the dark, disturbing any quiet he'd been hoping for that night. He cursed to himself, swearing violent death as he finally concluded the person calling wasn't going to give up.
His hand shot from the tangle of blankets, snatching the Blackberry off the table, and bringing it to his eyes. He squinted at the name blinking up at him urgently.
'Gerard (Gee!!) Way!! :D'
He punched 'accept', bringing the phone to his ear, while simultaneously sitting up, and whispering into the speaker, "Gerard?"
"Mikey, you awake?" Gerard's voice broke through a fizzle of static, sounding tinny and far away.
"I am now dipshit," Mikey growled back grumpily, swinging his legs out of bed, standing and wandering from his and Alicia's bedroom, careful not to wake his slumbering wife, "Until you so rudely awoke me at four in the fucking morning."
"Oh, uh, sorry, I didn't look at the time," Gerard sounded genuinely sorry, and Mikey forgave him instantly, sighing as he traipsed down the hallway, then the stairs, wandering out into his living room.
He yawned, rubbing his eyes and stretching his arm high above his head, arching his back until it cracked satisfyingly. "Gerard, did you need something?" Mikey asked, yawning wider, "Or are you just trying to fuck with me by waking me up at four in the fucking morning? Are you okay?"
Silence from the other end of the line. Mikey's brow furrowed. He thought the call must've dropped out. "Gerard?" he questioned, slightly worried now, "Gee, you there?"
"Yeah, I'm here," Gerard muttered back, so quiet Mikey barely caught it, "I was just wondering, y'know, if maybe I could come pick you up and we could, y'know, hang out a little?"
"Why?" Mikey asked, slightly alarmed, "Gerard, did something happen? Gerard, are...are Linds and Bandit okay?"
"Oh, no, no, nothing like that. They're fine. Both sleeping at home," Gerard replied hastily, before continuing on softer, "I just, y'know, wanted to spend some time with you. Old times sake and shit."
"Fuck man, and you couldn't think of any better time than at four in the fucking morning?" Mikey half-joked, half-whined, grinning in spite of himself, "Really Gerard?"
"Mikes, please," Gerard whispered, and Mikey felt his stomach tighten. His brother's voice sounded... off. He couldn't place it. His veins tightened.
"Yeah, of course, I'll be ready in a minute," Mikey replied quickly, glancing at the glowing digital green numbers of the oven clock. 4:09a.m. Fuck.
"Good, 'cause I'm almost to your house," Gerard replied, sounding perkier, "Meet me outside in a few."
Mikey groaned, rubbing his forehead. "Okay, see you in a bit," He said, already making his way back to the stairs, "Gotta get ready real quick. Later Gee. Love you."
"Love you too, Mikes."
Gerard hung up. Mikey clicked 'End Call'.
He stared at the phone in his hand a few moments longer, until the screen went dark and he finally hurried up the stairs to his bedroom.
---
Mikey was standing on the curb outside his house when Gerard finally pulled up. He looked pissed and tired, bags under his eyes, wearing jeans and the half-skeleton t-shirt that he and Gerard used to share back in the 'van days' of touring. He yawned hugely, mussing his hair absently with one hand as Gerard pulled up, stopping next to him.
"What's up man?" he asked as he slid into the car, stretching and yawning again, glancing blearily at his brother, who looked no better than he did. He did a double take, looking up at Gerard.
Gerard looked exhausted. Like he hadn't slept in days. He was wearing an old t-shirt and jogging shorts, complete with Nike's and no socks. He had bags under his eyes too, and looked worn around the edges.
"Gerard?" Mikey muttered, leaning in closer, concern painting his features, "What's up Gerard?"
"Nothing," Gerard grunted back, switching from park to drive, and pulling back out onto the street, cruising down the lane, "What's up with you?"
"Oh, y'know, just hanging with my brother at four in the morning," Mikey tried jokingly, still staring at Gerard. Gerard cracked half a smile, turning to grin at him.
"Yeah?" Gerard asked, taking a hand off the wheel to punch Mikey gently in the side, "And wearing my fucking shirt while you're at it, no less."
"Oh fuck you," Mikey laughed, slugging him back, "This is my fucking shirt! I bought it in the first place, remember?"
"Nope, I distinctly remember buying that shirt," Gerard said, shaking his head at him, grinning devilishly, taking one hand entirely off the wheel to tickle Mikey's side.
"Ah, stop it!" Mikey actually squealed, trying to arch his body as far away from Gerard's hand as he could, laughing, body half-pressed to the door as he tried to get away. Gerard was one of the few people who knew that Mikey was still extremely ticklish after all these years.
Gerard only laughed, and kept reaching further and further over, leaning away from the wheel, digging his hand into Mikey's soft sides, grinning wickedly as Mikey giggled and tried to push him away, seemingly pissed. They continued on, and finally, with Gerard actually pulling over to the side of the deserted street, turning totally in his seat and lunging for Mikey.
Mikey cried out, howling with forced laughter as Gerard tickled him relentlessly, hands all over his stomach and sides, digging into the overly sensitive flesh. Mikey squealed, trying in vain to shove him off. Gerard only laughed harder, falling all over Mikey as he was weakened from the force of his own laughter, while still trying to tickle Mikey.
Finally, they both just gave up and collapsed in a heap, Gerard half-splayed across the front seat, belly button pressing into the gear shift as he lay on Mikey, weak from laughing so hard he could barely breathe. Mikey was laughing uncontrollably as well, still half-trying to shove Gerard off, even though he'd ceased the tickling.
Finally, they subsided into little occasional spurts of giggling, but were otherwise quiet. They didn't bother to change the position, although Gerard did reach over and turn the car almost completely off. He left the key turned half-way, so the radio still blared quietly. They lay in silence, Mikey lounging against the door, Gerard's upper body resting against Mikey's lower one.
Neither spoke, both content to let things lie this way. Mikey half-consciously began trailing his hands through Gerard's wild hair, combing it with his fingers, trying to bring some order to the chaos. Gerard picked at a loose thread in the seam of Mikey's jeans, his other arm curled around Mikey's hip, resting on the seat.
"Gerard?" Mikey spoke first, quietly, hands never ceasing.
"Hm?" Gerard's eyes had slipped half-shut, and he seemed in a trance.
"Why'd you call me?" Mikey was even quieter, shifting into a slightly more comfortable position, careful not to disturb his brother.
"I don't know," Gerard began honestly, hazel eyes slipping open wide, staring up into a nearly matching set that were Mikey's, "I just...I don't know. I couldn't sleep. I was driving, and just, I was thinking about when we were kids-"
He saw Mikey flinch visibly, hands twisting unconsciously into his hair. Memories flickered across Mikey's eyes. Gerard could almost see them. He bit his lip before continuing.
"-And I remembered, when I couldn't sleep, you'd always rub my back. And that always worked. And I just... I found myself driving to your house. And then I called you. I don't know, Mikes. Maybe I just wanted to see you."
"Okay," Mikey replied, eyes softening, hands still working through Gerard's hair. He accepted his brother's answer. After what they'd survived together, he didn't think he could ever feel awkward with Gerard.
They sat in silence for a while. The radio, some local rock station, played on quietly. A couple good songs, even some a Smashing Pumpkins song Mikey recognized vaguely. It was comfortable.
"Mikey?"
"Yeah?"
"You wanna grab some coffee? I think it's gonna be fucking morning soon."
"Fuck yes."
And like that, they both dissolved into fits of giggles as they both pulled apart from each other, and sat up in their seats, buckling in, restarting the car and driving down the street to find the nearest Starbucks.
---
He remembered when they were seven and ten.
The grass was prickly against his back, but soft. He stared, enraptured, at the sky, blazing black and full of stars above them. He'd never seen stars like this before, not in the city.
"Gee, how many stars are there?"
Right next to him, Gerard chuckled, turning his head to face him. "Way too many to count, that's for sure Mikes."
"More than ten hundred thousand?" Mikey asked in awe; that was the largest number that he could think of.
"More than ten hundred billion zillion," Gerard said in something approaching reverence, rolling onto his side to face Mikey, who did the same.
They stared into one another's eyes, not really talking. Mikey was grinning happily, childishly, arms folded against his chest, hands nestled under his chin. Gerard mimicked the action, arms folded to himself as well.
"Gee?" Mikey's eyes clouded over and he looked a little nervous. He bit his lip, wiggling in closer to Gerard, as if he had a very important secret to share with the older boy.
"Yeah Mikes?" Gerard muttered absently, glancing up at the night sky once more, before dropping his gaze back to look into Mikey's worried eyes.
"Do we...Do we have to go home? I wanna stay at camp forever," Mikey asked, looking miserable, wriggling in even closer, until he was snuggled against Gerard, "I don't like it at home."
Gerard sighed, wrapping his arms protectively around his little brother. He rested his chin in his hair. "Yeah, Mikes, we gotta go home soon," Gerard whispered back, rubbing his back gently, sounding a little bitter as he next spoke, "We gotta go back home."
"Oh, okay," Mikey sounded broken, half-whimpering into Gerard's chest. Gerard's shoulders tightened, and he felt bile rise in his throat. It wasn't fucking fair.
He glanced up, just in time to see a star fall.
"Hey, Mikey, look!" He cried excitedly, shaking Mikey as he pointed up, "Falling stars!"
Mikey craned his head up instantly, eyes widening in awe as more and more stars cascaded from the heavens, streaking the sky. "Oh wow," He breathed, gasping, "Why're they doin' that Gee?"
"You wish on them," Gerard said, pointing again, "You're supposed to wish on falling stars. And if you do, they say you're supposed to get your wish to come true."
There was silence for a second, as Mikey thought about his wish.
"I wish my dad would stop hurting Gee," Mikey whispered finally, squeezing Gerard tightly.
Gerard felt his throat tighten at that thought. He blinked several times to clear his eyes, gripping tighter to his brother, clearing his throat. He couldn't help thinking to himself, I wish that too.
But then, he made his wish, in earnest, to himself.
I wish Mikey didn't have to see this anymore. I wish Mikey could be safe forever.
---
"I want a double shot of espresso, okay?"
"Only if you're fucking paying for it!"
"Hey, I need it!"
"No you fucking don't!"
"Oh, excuse me, I was so rudely woken up at four in the morning by you! I think the least you can do is pay for my coffee!"
"I didn't say I wouldn't pay for your coffee, Mikey-boy, I said I wasn't fucking paying for your espresso addiction!"
"That's total bullshit!"
"It costs like, two dollars more to get a double shot!"
"It does not!"
"Does too!"
"Does not!"
"Does too!"
"Um, can I help you two gentlemen?"
Gerard and Mikey froze in the middle of their argument, both turning their heads to faces the barista, who was giving them a weird look. Granted, they both looked like hell, in jeans and jogging shorts, tennis shoes and yesterday's t-shirts. They didn't mix very well with the early morning business crowd, who were all looking incredibly pissy as they waited in line behind the brothers.
"Uhh..." Gerard began, flushing slightly, "Um, can I just get a caramel macchiato, iced blended, with chocolate, hold the whipped cream?"
"And you, sir?" the young woman spoke, arching a brow in Mikey's direction, "Did you want anything?"
"Yeah, uh, can I get the espresso macchiato, with a double espresso and caramel, hot, please?" Mikey replied, turning to face her fully, "And can I get a cranberry orange scone and a chocolate croissant?"
"Hell no," Gerard hissed at him, glaring, "I am NOT paying for that shit."
Mikey rolled his eyes, and gave him a cold look. "I forgot my wallet, Gee, and you said you'd buy breakfast. It's my breakfast. Buy it."
Gerard glared a moment longer, but relented, breaking into a small half-grin, and running his hand along Mikey's side, tickling him again. Mikey jerked away, swearing at him, glaring. He reached over and tugged on a lock of Gerard's hair affectionately, eliciting full grin.
"Fine, I'll buy your damn breakfast, Mikes, 'cause I love you so damn much," Gerard joked, grinning wider, turning back to the barista, "And can I get two of those chocolate croissants as well? All on one check, please."
She rang them up quickly, with Gerard pretending to throw Mikey a dirty look as he handed over a twenty, getting a dollar back in change.
As they were leaving the line, coffee and pastries in hand, walking close to each other, Gerard ambling, Mikey walking straighter, they heard a voice hiss from the tangle of people in line:
"Fucking faggots."
Mikey froze, coffee half-way to his mouth. The moment was silent. His eyes flicked to Gerard. Gerard's shoulders bunched, his back jerking oddly. His eyes were glazed and wide, mouth slightly open. Mikey could feel the heat practically radiating off him.
"Don't, Gee," he whispered, grabbing his brother's arm. Gerard shook it off furiously, but Mikey only grabbed on tighter, physically dragging him away before Gerard exploded.
As Mikey dragged Gerard away, he could hear little giggles and whispers erupt in their wake. His blood felt cold and clammy sweat was crawling down his back, those hateful words ringing in both their ears.
Fucking faggots.
He could hear it over and over. And then suddenly, he heard it again. Someone else had whispered the word, "Faggot" at them. He'd had enough. He felt himself snap.
"He's my fucking brother!" Mikey snarled, whirling around on them, eyes shooting sparks, practically breathing fire, "Fuck you!"
There was an awkward moment of total silence, where Mikey stood stiffly, glaring at them. The people at least had the decency to look a little ashamed of themselves. Mikey's fist was balled so tight, he could feel his fingernails digging crescents into his palm. He was seething.
Then, he felt a gentle hand on his arm, pulling at him insistently.
"C'mon Mikes," Gerard whispered, dragging him away from the overly-curious eyes of the people in line, "Let's get the fuck outta here."
In the parking lot, Mikey was still seething. Gerard was uncharacteristically quiet, sipping his coffee while Mikey raged
"...And the fucking nerve of those motherfuckers! Fucking, assuming shit that isn't true! Fuck them! Fuck'em!"
"Mikey, calm down," Gerard muttered, leaning against his car, staring at Mikey dolefully, eyes hooded.
"How can you be so fucking calm!?" Mikey practically shouted at him, waving his coffee-free hand wildly, "I mean, I thought for a second back there, it was gonna be you that was tearing them apart. I mean, who the fuck do they think they are!? We're brothers, not, fucking, I don't know what the fuck they thought we were, just, they're just, they're fucking sick, is what they are!"
"Mikey, can I tell you something?" Gerard was quiet, gesturing for them to get back into the car. Mikey, begrudgingly, obliged.
"What?" He snapped irritably as he slid into his seat, glaring, annoyed, at Gerard, "What did you wanna tell me, Gee?"
"Well, Mikes, they thought we were, y'know, dating or some shit," Gerard said, cocking his head, "We don't fucking act like most brothers act, y'know? What would you think if you saw two guys, fucking looking like they just rolled outta bed, coming in together, tickling and playing with each other's hair?"
Mikey fell silent, grinding his teeth, fists curling. The hard part was, he knew it was true. He knew what he'd of thought of them, if he'd been one of those people.
---
He remembered when they were eleven and fourteen.
"Run Mikey! Mikey, run!"
Gerard was screaming, eyes wide, terrified, standing in the mouth of the bottom of the stairs, as he waved his baby brother away frantically. Mikey was wearing a sky blue t-shirt, with a bright pink rabbit on it that was tight across his thin chest. His eyes, wide as Gerard's, were terrified.
"RUN MIKEY!"
Mikey did as he was told, dashing away, hurling himself up the stairs as fast as his legs could propel him. He could hear, behind him, the sounds of his father's enraged roar. The sounds of crashing, as he managed to grab Gerard's leg as he was trying to flee, trying to follow Mikey up the stairs, and the sound of Gerard's body smashing into the stairs as he was dragged back down.
"Where th' fuck d'ya think your goin'!?" Donald Way snarled, drunk again, hauling Gerard back down, "You sick little faggot! Touchin' my boy!?"
Mikey could hear the sounds of Gerard's screams as he blasted out the back door, past his mother's unconscious form on the kitchen floor. Part of him wanted to stop, make sure she was okay. The other part was bleeding panic into his belly and couldn't stop. He needed to escape. He needed to help Gee.
But Gee told him to run.
So he ran.
Out the back screen door, the summer night air in Jersey wasn't sweet, but harsh. Chemical, almost. So much smog. Dead grass tore at his sneakers as he raced past his barren earth patch of a backyard, out the back gate, into the bushes behind the chain link fence. 'Wait back there for me, if you ever need to hide' Gee told him once. He buried himself in dead leaves, brush and branches.
His fingers curled over the chain linking as he stared through it into the house. He could see through the back door. Donald Way was dragging his oldest son by the hair, bodily, through the kitchen. Mikey could hear his roarings ebbing out into the still night. Next door, the light in the neighbor's window flipped off. They never heard anything.
"You little fag!" Donald screamed at Gerard, and Mikey's eyes widened, horror pooling hotly in the pit of his stomach as he saw his father pull a cigarette lighter from his pocket.
He took the lighter, a Zippo, and flipped it open. Mikey couldn't breathe as he watched Donald hold the lighter to Gerard's skin, right under his arm. Gerard's eyes widened, as he realized what was happening. He started screaming, but Donald clamped a wicked hand over his mouth, silencing him.
Gerard began to twist and kick, trying to bite his father's hand as the flame started searing his skin. Donald managed to wrestle his way into a chair, one leg over Gerard's middle, holding his legs still. One of his arms was over Gerard's face, silencing him, gripping Gerard's hands so tight he couldn't move. In his other hand, Donald held the lighter to Gerard's skin.
Gerard was screaming. He was screaming, crying, trying desperately to twist out of his father's iron grip. Donald was laughing drunkenly, holding the flame closer. Gerard's skin blistered and seared, scorching.
Donald kept laughing, then pulled the lighter away just long enough to grab the half-empty bottle of lukewarm beer that was on the table. Mikey's stomach literally heaved as he realized what his father was about to do. He had to help.
Mikey threw himself from his hiding place, racing back through the gate, dashing up to the house, ready to yank open the screen door just as Donald emptied the bottle over Gerard's body. Gerard looked up, like he sensed Mikey's presence. He caught his eyes. Gerard's hazel orbs widened, horrified. He shook his head, violently 'no!'.
Mikey quivered, torn between trying to help, and the look in Gerard's eyes which begged him not to. Gerard shook his head frantically. No. No. NO! Go away Mikey. Gerard's eyes willed him. He whimpered, but did as he knew Gee wanted. He ran back to his hiding place and hid. He watched.
Donald brought the lighter back to his son's alcohol drenched skin, laughing sadistically as he burned it. The alcohol intensified the burn, scorching Gerard's arms. His chest, his neck, his hips and legs. Gerard screamed, twisting, sounds muffled by the arm his father still held over his mouth.
Mikey watched in horror. It went on and on. Finally, Donald grew bored. He dropped his burned son to the ground, kicking him and wandering away. Off to go pass out on the couch.
Mikey couldn't move fast enough to get to him. He literally couldn't. He was next to Gee, crying, blanching, not sure what to do, or if he could even touch him. Gerard seemed dazed, he looked like he was delirious with pain.
"Gee?" Mikey whispered, hands hovering over his brother's seared body, too frightened to even touch the burning, blistered red skin, "Gee, what do I do!? Gee, how do I help?!"
Gerard couldn't respond. He'd passed out.
Mikey collapsed on the warm, worn tiles of the kitchen floor, where he curled up helplessly and cried himself to sleep.
---
"Gerard?"
Gerard glanced up, eyes focusing as he looked up at Ray. In Ray's arms was a massive package marked 'air mail'. They were in the studio today, trying to record something. It wasn't working.
"Yeah, Ray?"
"You got a package from your Mom? I think so anyway. It's marked with a New Jersey postmark..."
Gerard was on his feet, snatching the package from Ray's arms so fast Ray jumped in surprise. "Whoa, man, hold on," Ray began, but Gerard literally shoved him out of the way, tossing the package onto the coffee table in the middle of the sound booth room.
"Do you have a knife?" Gerard snapped harshly, finger nails digging frantically at the tape, practically shredding his fingers as he tore at the stubborn box, "Ray!?"
"Yeah, hang on," Ray said, alarmed, digging out a pocket knife, flipping it open just in time to have Gerard snatch it dangerously from his hand, almost cutting Ray.
"Whoa man, calm down!" Ray cried out in alarm, cradling his almost injured palm; Gerard was too busy to notice.
He'd already managed to shred the box, bits of tape and cardboard flying, bits of the old newspaper the cargo was cushioned in littering the studio floor.
"What the fuck happened in here?!" Frank asked, alarmed as well, wandering in, Mikey in tow, "What the fuck Ray, man?"
"Don't look at me!" Ray said, throwing up his hands in defense, "Look at Raggedy-Andy over there!"
Gerard wasn't looking at them. He was staring intensely into the crate, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. The knife hung loosely in his hand, bits of tape stuck to the blade.
"Shit," he breathed softly, eyes blank, panting, swallowing hard, "Shit."
Their brows furrowed as they all exchanged curious glances. They walked forward slowly, and all three stared into the crate at the same time.
From the box, a pile of old spiral notebooks stared up at them. The one on top, a bright lavender thing, with frayed edges, had black Sharpie scribbled on its cover in huge letters.
S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W
"Scarecrow?" Frank muttered, brows furrowed, frowning, "What the fuck is Scarecrow?"
---
Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. Sorry this part was so long. I promise the next ones will be shorter. If you liked it, please rate and review. It really helps keep me motivated to continue! :)
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