FicWad

Hey everyone! Sorry it's been so long since last update; I got deathly ill. :( Actually, I'm fine now, so I'm back! Listened to "That Time of Year" by Sick Puppies while I wrote this. Check it out. Enjoy! :)

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S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W

"And so, I was telling her that maybe we shouldn't paint until later, y'know, 'til we get some idea of what the room's even gonna be for-"

Ray stopped mid-sentence, cut off, hand still holding the door to the mixing booth half-ajar as he stood with Frank in the entryway. They both stared, eyes wide, past the glass into the recording room, where a figure was hunched over, back turned towards them. They might've wondered how someone had slipped past security and weaseled their way into the band's personal recording space, if the trademark red hair hadn't given away the person's identity.

It was Gerard.

He had his back to them, wearing a ratty, filthy old t-shirt, perched on a stool, head down, shoulders hunched, knees pulled up and a guitar neck jutting oddly out of his side, from where he had a guitar cradled in his lap. He didn't look up when they walked in, clearly absorbed in whatever he was doing. He had a pair of chunky can-like headphones pulled over his ears, tangled in his matted, filthy hair.

Ray glanced, brow furrowed, jaw set, at Frank, who exchanged an equally mystified look with him. They both turned their heads back to Gerard's hunched form; from inside the booth, they could faintly hear the soured notes of a guitar that was being desperately abused by an unskilled hand.

"Fuck," they heard Gerard snarl quietly; they exchanged one more look, before both stepping forward into the booth. Ray moved forward, dropping down and clicking the page-in button, speaking into the mic, hoping Gerard's headphones were on, "Gerard?" he asked, "What're you doing? Where the fuck have you been?"

Gerard's head snapped up as he straightened hastily, not turning his body to them, but rather, turning his head 'til his chin was parallel to his shoulder. He glanced at them from the corners of his eyes. He lifted his arm, waving it, gesturing for them to come in as well. He didn't speak, but turned his head back to the guitar in his lap, ignoring them again.

Ray shot Frank another look, brow crinkled in confusion; Frank shrugged, waving his hand at Gerard, shrugging again. He moved to the door, pulled it open, walked the four steps it took to reach the second door, and pushed it open, moving in, Ray hot on his heels.

They both stopped short when they saw Gerard, fully, for the first time in almost two weeks. Both felt their stomachs flip somersaults, their throats tightening. The man before them was a ghost, returning from the dead. A brutal reminder.

They remembered a time from before, when Gerard used to always look tired, look worn, gaunt, skinny, pale and waxy. Warped Tour, 2005, when his best friends were Xanax, Ambien and Captain Morgan. He was that person again.

Perched on the stool, Gerard's head was down at first, but they could see enough. He finally looked up, and they saw the bruised rings of sleeplessness gathered around his eyes. He looked weak and frail, his skin ashy and gray. He tried to flash them a smile, but it faltered. He dropped his head, looking back to the guitar cradled in his lap, caressing it gently, almost remorsefully.

"I suck at guitar," he muttered weakly, thrumming his fingers absently over the strings, biting his lip, "Sorry."

Setting his jaw, looking more determined, Gerard brought his fingers back to the frets, his other hand, complete with pick, to the strings. He sucked in a deep, pained breath, shaking his head, hair skittering across his forehead as he fumbled over his fingers. They watched as he picked his way through an G chord, a Bm chord, a G, followed by a Gm. He repeated them, wincing every time they faltered, which was often. He alternated rhythm, adding what vaguely resembled an F chord at one point.

Finally, he stopped, body shaking visibly. He looked up desperately at them, first at Ray, then to Frank. He locked wild eyes with Frank, desperate, pleading with him. He dropped his head, hands repositioning. He repeated the chords again and again, then looked back to Frank, like he was begging him to understand. Frank's eyes widened suddenly, him nodding quickly, grabbing his own guitar from the stand, tuning quickly and plugging in.

Hooking a stool with his foot, Frank dragged it closer to Gerard's, hefting the guitar strap over his shoulders, settling it in his lap as he plopped down. Grabbing a pick from a nearby mic stand, Frank looked quickly to Gerard for confirmation what he was doing was right; Gerard grinned, nodding excitedly.

It was almost as if Gerard had lost the ability to talk and was communicating through his eyes and movements. Frank quickly moved his hands to the frets, and began to effortlessly play through the simple chords that Gerard had been struggling with a moment before. Gerard nodded, a smile flitting across his lips as Frank quickly caught on, getting into rhythm, moving toward the melody.

Gerard turned his gaze away from Frank, towards Ray, who stood near the door, eyes confused and wide. His gaze drifted from Ray to the in-studio drum kit that stood in the corner, then back to Ray. He swallowed, nodding slightly towards it. Ray's eyes widened as he realized what Gerard wanted, and he shook his head no. Gerard's eyes creased, dragging down at the corners as his mouth drooped. Please, he begged Ray silently.

Finally, Ray sighed and nodded, traipsing dutifully to the kit and dropping down behind it, moving his feet to the kick pedals, grabbing sticks from the bucket strapped to the bass drum, and tapping out a few simple rhythms. He kicked out a few simple beats, gripping the sticks hard as he hunched forward, thrumming his sticks against the rim of his snare for a moment. He closed his eyes, letting Frank's guitar wash over him, soaking in the sound.

Frank caught on to what Ray needed, and started over, stretching out the chords at the beginning, adding distortion with the pedals near his foot. He played the intro twice, 'til he saw Ray's fro shake as he signaled, yes, he was ready. Frank nodded back, shifting the guitar higher in his lap, playing it again. Three chords in, Ray brought his sticks crashing down onto the snare, pounding out a simple four part beat.

Suddenly, the mood shifted, as Ray and Frank started moving in unison, syncing up, as if they were together on-stage, playing guitar to guitar, melody to harmony, rhythm to lead. Guitar and drums merged, as they both started to play into the song. Gerard nodded along to the simple four part beat, bobbing his head as he finally stood up, moving shakily forward.

Grabbing a mic stand, he dragged it to the middle of the studio, between Frank and Ray, and flipped the mic on. Fishing in his pocket, he pulled out a neatly folded sheet of yellowed notebook paper, and carefully unraveled it, holding it with shaking fingers. Bringing it closer to his face, he moved his mouth to the mic.

He began to sing.

---

Mikey could feel himself shaking as he cradled the notebook in his hands, moving away from the door and into the living room, legs like jelly. He crashed, collapsed, into the couch, feeling like something was spinning around him. The notebook was cold in his hands, like a book that'd been left in the car overnight in winter.

He swallowed, fingering the edges delicately. Gerard's handwriting glared up at him from the fluorescent yellow sticky note, begging him, pleading with him, Please Read. He pursed his lips, grinding his teeth. He knew he shouldn't read it, that it would only make him want to strangle Gerard, if he didn't want to already. He knew the kinds of things it would say, and the thought of it made him physically sick.

"Goddammit!" Mikey snarled suddenly, viciously, an overwhelming urge to destroy the notebook in his hands raging through his blood, "Fuck!"

But he couldn't do it. Couldn't shred it. He knew, he needed to know. Had to know. Know what it said. Know why Gerard gave it to him. Know what it meant. What this meant, this whole fucked up situation. He had to know, because after that day in the studio, Gerard had dropped off the face of the planet and this notebook was the only proof he had that his brother was still alive.

Lindsey had called him, frantic, crying, sobbing, begging to know where Gerard was. He wasn't answering his phone. Was he okay? Was he with Mikey? Did he say where he was going? Why didn't Mikey know where his own brother was? Could Mikey call him? Had she done something wrong?

Mikey felt the guilt of the past week, like a familiar sweater, wrap around his chest, squeezing hard. He hovered somewhere between crushing guilt and boiling rage for the past five days. He knew he'd driven Gerard over the edge; it was almost solely his fault that Lindsey couldn't find her husband. But on the other side, he felt his teeth grit when he thought about it, pulse quickening, hands clenching the notebook harder. Gerard was...sick.

He closed his eyes, willing himself to breathe calmly, snorting furiously like an animal through his nose. He willed his pulse to settle, willed the rage to retreat back into himself. He counted off, one, two, three, four, five...

Sucking in a deep breath, his eyes slipped open and he looked down to the notebook in his hands, studying it critically. Purple, it looked like it'd been handled to death in its lifetime. It was ragged, old, he could see yellowing on the pages. He wondered, again, wildly, why the fuck Gerard had given it to him, begging him, Please Read.

He swallowed, hands shaking, as he sat back on the couch, legs sprawled out in front of him, cradling the notebook on his arm and thumbing the cover back off the first page. He began to read.

Once upon a time, there were two little boys...

Mikey frowned, realizing for the first time what this was. Crudely drawn boxes, inked with fading colors, it was unmistakably a hand-drawn comic book. Yellow text boxes and speech bubbles surrounded the two figures etched into the first box. One was a tiny, angelic little kid with over sized eyes and glasses, grinning with a missing tooth. The other was shorter, squatter, with hideously malformed teeth and small, narrow eyes.

...who lived in the Lost Time in an evil land. One boy had a pure heart, and was kind. The other had a black soul and had been marked for death since he was born. He was an evil scourge.

Mikey's scowled darkly, settling back deeper in the couch, unsettled. The pictures weren't very well drawn, the story was pathetically written, mixed in with speech bubbles, but somehow, knowing that a teenaged Gerard had written this, had undoubtedly spent hours and hours hunched over his desk, the feeble lamp the only light in the room, carefully constructing this, made it more important. Made it worthy, somehow. He continued to read.

One was called Bunny, and he was an angel. Not a fake one, but a real, full-fledged angel who'd lost his way and been stranded in the land of the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W. Bunny wasn't human, but the other boy, the evil boy, was. A human so vile, the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W stole even his name from him. He was so evil, he no longer deserved a name. Bunny called him Gee.

The people of the land hated Gee, feared him. He was a monster, with claws, hideous teeth, massive, gaping jaws, dripping with saliva and blood.

Together, these boys became friends, became brothers. The angel was so perfect, the people did not understand him. And they hated the monster so fiercely, they couldn't stand him. They made the two boys outcasts.

And in this land, there lived monsters, some worse than even Gee. One monster was the most terrible of them all. Many people feared this monster the most, for he was so terrible, so evil, so bad, he would even kill women and children in rampages.

"Now you all DIE!"

He was the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W.

"DIE weaklings!"

He terrorized the land, crushing and killing everything in his wake. Many people believed Gee was the spawn of S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W, and that was why they were so scared of him. They threw rocks at Gee and chased him away with torches.

"Get out of here freak!"

"You don't belong!"

"Go DIE already!"

Bunny was his only friend. He always bandaged his wounds.

"Are you okay Gee?"

"I...I th-think so."

"I'm really glad, Gee."

Bunny did what he'd been taught to do as an angel. He never knew what kind of monster he was friends with. And Gee couldn't bear to tell him, because he was afraid Bunny would leave him forever if he knew.

"I love you Gee!"

"I love you too Bunny!"

One day, S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W discovered Bunny and Gee, discovered their friendship. He despised love and fiercely despised Gee. He decided he would destroy them!

"I will tear you limb to limb, little Gee!"

They were terrified of the creature. They knew he was so powerful, so fast, so evil, he could destroy them. He could kill them both.

Gee knew he had to protect Bunny!

"Run Bunny! HIDE!"

Bunny ran and hid, trembling, afraid for Gee's life. He didn't know that Gee was a monster who deserved this. The rules said that monsters couldn't be friends with angels, and Gee was breaking the rules.

"Where's the angel, Gee? What have you done to him, monster?"

"N-nothing, S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W, I don't know where he is! I won't let you hurt him!"

But S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W was too strong. He threatened to find Bunny and kill him! Gee knew he had to protect him, had to save Bunny from being hurt! He couldn't let anyone hurt Bunny.

"Stay away from him! I'll kill you!"

"You think you can fight me, little freak? You're nothing! You're weak! You're pathetic!"

Blow after blow rained down on Gee's head, cracking his bones, but he must protect Bunny!

"I won't let you hurt him!"

"You can NEVER stop me!"

The battle raged, monster vs. monster. They fought viciously-

"I'll kill you! Tell me where he is, or you DIE Gee!"

"NEVER!"

"Then you DIE!"

-for hours on end. Bunny was hidden and Gee was glad Bunny couldn't see him. He became more and more of a monster, becoming more and more like S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W to become stronger.

"You think he loves you?"

"I know he does!"

"Will I have to kill you both, little Gee?"

Many hours passed like that, in Lost Time, and still, Bunny was safe. And that was all that mattered. The day was ending however, and the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W was strongest at night. When the sun set, he would surely be able to kill Gee and find Bunny.

"You think you can win when the sun sets? I'll destroy you, devour you, annihilate you! And Bunny's next!"

"NO!"

Gee knew, he must do it. He must sacrifice himself to S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W, he must do it to save Bunny. There was no other choice.

"Take me instead! If you have to kill one of us, take me instead!"

"I'll kill you both!"

"I'm begging you, take me instead!"

"Why should I, hmmm, little Gee?"

"Because...I...I know what you want! I know why you're doing this! If you promise me to never, ever hurt Bunny, I'll let you destroy me forever!"

And he knew, he'd made an offer S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W couldn't refuse. The monster knew what he wanted, and he knew he might never find Bunny. But he had Gee, and that was just as good. Better, even. He smiled a wicked smile, curling teeth and snorting smoke, hissing.

"You've got a deal, darling little Gee. You belong to ME now! I'll teach you a lesson."

Gee knew he'd done it, knew he'd saved Bunny. He wept, not from horror from what was sure to come, but from the joy of knowing, he'd finally been able to save Bunny just like all the times Bunny had saved him.

Mikey froze in his reading, sweat sliding down his temples, tongue like sandpaper as he swallowed a massive lump in his throat. His eyes darted across the violently colored pages, where a distraught teenage Gerard had engraved vicious images of two monsters. One, the little Gee, the other a massive, twisted contortion of stick-like limbs jutting at odd angles, jagged teeth and oozing fluids. The S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W.

Mikey swallowed again, an unpleasant prickling itching its way up and down the back of his neck, horror slowly dawning on him as he continued on. The words tapered off into nothing, but still, the boxes of pictures scrolled on. The monster, the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W dragging a howling Gee-beast into the darkness of his lair. Blood spewed from the frames as Mikey slowly realized what was taking place on the pages in front of him. He nearly choked, unwilling, unable, to believe what he was seeing.

And yet, he was seeing it.

He flipped frantically through, willing the images to stop, praying against all hope that what was being depicted on the page somehow wasn't what he thought it was. And yet, in graphic detail, without even words, a teenaged Gerard had etched his, Gee's, pain and humiliation at the hands of a creature that could only be their father. The pictures painted a grim tale, crystal clear, of what had happened.

Mikey felt bile rising in his throat as the Gee on the page screeched silently, eyes wide, horrified, terrified, in agony, as he was torn into by the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W. He flipped faster, unable to escape the images as the full realization of what had happened dawned on him.

Then, without warning, it was over. He flipped over the last page, and there was nothing. A jagged edge, where someone had ripped out the very last page of the notebook stared up at him. The worn brown cardboard backing stared up at him, another yellow sticky note stuck to it, more writing scrawled on it.

Mikey could barely make out the words on the note as his eyes clouded over, hot, wet heat pressing insistently into the backs of his eyes, a harsh sob catching in his chest. Bile rose higher in his throat, so uncontainable he curled into himself, knees pulled to his chest on the couch, rolling over the edge and vomited onto the carpet. Emptied, physically, emotionally, he fell back onto the couch, rocking, sobbing as he realized exactly what Gerard had done, for him.

He bawled uncontrollably, arms wrapped tightly around himself, notebook pressed hard into his chest, curled into a tight ball. Vaguely, he finally fully registered what the note in the back had read:

Mikey, meet me at the studio -Gerard

---

He remembered when they were eleven and fourteen.

"Gee, why aren't you awake yet?" Mikey whined, throwing Gerard's door open wider, padding in quietly, glasses slipping down his nose; Gerard was always awake before he was.

"Go away," Gerard hissed from the bed, voice hoarse and cracked, sounding ragged, "Get the fuck away fr-from me."

Mikey froze, half-way across the room, eyes wide. He couldn't even see Gerard, only a pile of blankets in the tangle on Gerard's bed. The boy in question was a barely discernible lump that moved up and down when he took a breath. He didn't turn to face Mikey, didn't move at all to signal that he was even alive.

"Gerard?" Mikey whimpered slightly, frowning, sounding hurt by Gerard's words, "What's wrong? Are you okay? What's...what's wrong with you?"

"Nothing!" Gerard snarled viciously from underneath the blankets, pulling them tighter around his prone figure, burrowing in deeper, "Just, get the fuck outta my room Mikey."

"Gerard, what's wrong with you?" Mikey asked, sounding panicked, "Did Dad hit you or, did he, did he do something to you? Are you okay? Gerard? Seriously, are you okay?"

"I'm fine!" Gerard snarled louder, thrashing and flipping over in bed, sitting bolt upright, glaring furiously at Mikey, face contorted, "Now can you please leave me the fuck alone!?"

Mikey recoiled sharply, eyes widening, horrified, as he caught sight of Gerard's face for the first time. It was battered, bruised, his hair wild, large ring bruises on his neck, scratch marks slashed down his neck into his pajama top. Gerard looked destroyed. Mikey's hand flew to his mouth, forming a perfect 'oh', as he whimpered, "Gee..."

"What?!" Gerard snapped irritably, turning away, pulling his pajama top higher on his neck, trying in vain to disguise the slash marks, refusing to meet Mikey's eyes, "It's not that fucking bad, okay Mikes? Do you hear me, it's not that fucking bad, okay? You don't fucking tell anyone about...about this, okay? Do you fucking hear me?"

"Gee, I-" Mikey began but Gerard cut him off with a piercing stare, hazel eyes hard and boring holes into the younger boy:

"No one, Mikey, do you understand me?" He growled, staring Mikey down, jaw clenched and eyes hard, "Get it?"

Mikey nodded mutely, biting his lip, looking away. Gerard stared, eyes hard, at him for a moment longer, before sighing heavily and collapsing back into his bed. He looked utterly spent, looked deflated, looked empty. "Sorry Mikes," Gerard muttered lamely, refusing to meet his eyes, "I didn't mean it. I'm just, I'm not feeling very well today. Sorry to snap at you like that. I really didn't mean to, I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," Mikey rushed to say, taking several steps forward, moving to climb into the bed, "Really Gee-"

"Don't!" Gerard shouted, panicked, eyes wild, yelping, barking at Mikey, shoving him away from his bed, away from himself, backpedaling away from the smaller boy.

Mikey squeaked in sudden surprise as he spilled across the carpeting, landing squarely on his ass, eyes wide. He stared, half-surprised, half-horrified at Gerard, as if he was staring at some kind of alien in a cage. Gerard's eyes were wild, darting, his chest heaving as he panted. Gerard's eyes widened as he realized suddenly what he'd done. Mikey watched guilt and regret spill out into his hazel eyes.

"Sorry Mikes," Gerard whispered, swallowing hard, wincing painfully as if he was in agony, biting his lip, gently maneuvering himself back to the middle of his bed, pulling the covers back over himself, "S-sorry about that. I, uh, don't want you to catch what I got. Don't want you to get sick, y'know? Um, there's uh, some money in my dresser, in my sock drawer. Why don't you, uh, take a bus up to the shore and hang out for the day? Take Myles, that kid from school, with you or something?"

Mikey pushed himself shakily to his feet, regarding Gerard cautiously, eyes wide. "Why don't you come with me, Gee?" Mikey asked quietly, never taking his eyes off Gerard as he backed off slowly, "It'd be way more fun if you came with me. I don't like Myles anyway."

"I can't Mikey," Gerard whispered, sounding heartbroken, shaking his head, wincing again, laying back down. When he next spoke, his voice became pleading as if he was begging Mikey to understand, "I...I just can't. I'm sorry Mikey. Please, just, go away? I'm so fucking sorry Mikey, just, take the money and go, just for today? I'll be better tomorrow, I promise. Just, please."

Finally, after a long moment, Mikey nodded. Wordlessly, he turned away from Gerard, trotted dutifully to the dresser, dragging the drawer out and pulling out a wad of bills. He didn't even bother to question where Gerard had gotten so much money. Instead, he moved quickly to the door. Gripping the knob hard, he turned back to Gerard, whispering, "I love you Gerard."

Silence hung in the air for a thick moment.

"I love you too, Mikey. I'm so fucking sorry."

---

"Oh, hey Mikey," Brian said off-handedly, giving him a half-hearted wave, glancing up from the glossy magazine in his hands, "I wondered when you'd show up. The band's working on the track now. Get in there and I'll start cutting it."

Mikey stared, hollow-eyed, at their long-suffering manager like he'd never seen him before in his life. He couldn't find the words to say to Brian, couldn't find the strength to pry his tightly glued lips and gums apart.

He couldn't believe he'd managed to get this far. Couldn't believe he'd found the strength to haul himself off the couch and into his car. Couldn't believe he'd managed to get himself to the studio at all. The only thing that got him here was knowing that this was where he was most likely to find Gerard, and he knew he needed find him. To ask him. To find out the truth, once and for all.

Gerard's car was in the parking lot, along with both Ray and Frank's car. Even Brian's car was here, as evidenced by the man himself sitting in front of Mikey, thumbing carelessly through an outdated copy of US Weekly.

Mikey stood awkwardly, shifting his weight from foot to foot, staring stupidly at the man who was lounged on one of the couches outside the mixing booth. He coughed, desperately hoping Brian would pick up on his confusion and come to his rescue. He honestly didn't have any fucking clue what Brian was talking about.

Brian caught on to his ignorance quickly, eyes widening, "Oh, yeah, you didn't know?" he asked, brow furrowing, then, shrugging and jerking his head towards the door to the recording booth, "The band's all in there working on a track like fuckin' maniacs. Ray's on drums. I can't even fucking believe that-"

"Gerard's in there?" Mikey broke in quickly, sounding urgent, pressing forward, infringing upon Brian's personal space in his haste.

"Yeah, of course, why-" Brian began, but Mikey was no longer listening as he blasted past the manager, moving quickly, curling up an old spiral notebook into a tube and hastily shoving it into his back pocket as he dashed to the door. Yanking it open, Mikey practically fell into the booth in his haste, hair flying in his eyes, tripping over his feet.

He froze as a solid wall of swollen sound smashed into him, crashing his eardrums mercilessly. He bit his lip, eyes widening as he soaked in the whole scene in front of him with incredulity.

Frank was perched on a stool, utterly absorbed in his guitar. Head down, hunched over, he was hammering into his strings, moving his whole body with the rhythm. In the corner, Ray had his eyes closed, head back, mouth slightly ajar as if enraptured as he smashed out a steady beat on the drums, sticks crashing down over and over onto his snare as Frank's last chord died out.

There was a moment of dead silence in which Mikey's eyes locked onto the only other person in the room, mouth opening, poising himself to speak. The flame-haired man beat him to it, speaking into the mic in front of him. "Again," Gerard muttered, eyes clamped tightly shut, "Again!"

Frank nodded, hands moving down the frets, pick colliding violently with the strings as one, two, three chords, with heavy distortion, sounding something like Soundgarden, something like the Smashing Pumpkins, like psychedelic metal, before Ray brought his sticks crashing down onto his snare, into a stolid beat, breaking off quickly, adding bass as Frank continued with the acid-trip metal sound.

Mikey froze as Gerard swayed, eyes still shut, hands gripping his headphones tight against his head as he moved forward, mouth to mic, and began to sing.

"Move your body when the sunlight dies, everybody hide your body from the scarecrow, everybody, hide," Gerard cried into the mic, howling.

Mikey's insides twisted as he realized what Gerard had said. Scarecrow. S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W. He kept listening, "Make a wish when your childhood dies, hear the knock, knock, knock when she cries, we're all, alone, tonight," Gerard continued, voice cracking, hoarse, "Hold your breath when the blackbird flies, count to seventeen, boy, and close your eyes. I'll keep you safe inside..."

Mikey stared at him, mouth ajar, taking in Gerard's appearance. His ashy skin, his unkempt hair. The song continued. "He burns, my skin," Gerard shrieked, wincing, clearly remembering, then, face melting into serenity, as if a happier memory crowded out the darker one, "And never mind about the shape I'm in, I'll keep you safe tonight."

Mikey choked, spluttering, missing some of the words. It was about...them. Gerard continued, "...Leave a dream where the fallout lies, watch it grow where the tearstain dries, just to keep you safe tonight."

Mikey felt more pressure digging at the back of his eyes as Gerard continued to sing, echoing the chorus over and over, before launching into the next part of the song, Frank and Ray playing seamlessly, moving as one unit. They'd clearly been at it for hours.

"Love, love, love won't stop this bomb, love, love, love won't stop this bomb, love, love, love won't stop this bomb," Gerard practically whimpered into the mic, never opening his eyes, face twisted in pain. Then, he sucked in a deep breath and howled the next part with all his might, "Run, run, bunny, run! Run, run, bunny run!"

Mikey let loose a strangled dry-sob, collapsing back into the wall, fingers scrabbling for purchase on it. He felt like he'd been socked in the stomach as Gerard finally let his eyes slip open. They locked with Mikey's as Gerard finished out the song in a quieter, more subdued voice, never taking his eyes off Mikey's, echoing the chorus at least four times, "Move your body when the sunlight dies, everybody hide your body from the scarecrow, everybody, hide."

The final notes from Frank's guitar faded out. Dead silence descended over the studio as Gerard and Mikey stared at one another. Frank and Ray finally lifted their heads, clearly confused as to why Gerard hadn't called for another run through. They didn't realize they were being completely ignored.

"We need to talk," Mikey croaked quietly, clearing his throat, eyes red from crying. He didn't remember the last time he'd cried this fucking much.

Gerard didn't speak. He stared, eyes searing holes into Mikey's own. They were loaded with hidden meaning. The silence stretched out between them.

Then, he nodded.

---

Cliffhanger? Alright, that's it! Thanks so much for reading! Hope you enjoyed it. Tune in next time to see what happens. Rate and review and I promise to update faster than I did last time. Everyone give mega thanks to thecrazyproduction for finally getting me to update! Thanks again! :)