FicWad

A/N: So, here is my story, the Perfect World. It revolves around Gerard, Mikey, Frank, Ray, Lynx and occasionally Bob as they come to terms with horrible parts, and realise as however careless they can be, they will have to risk their lives for everything.
Certian bits will be fast paced. It's the way I write, sorry. Hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing it:D

Chapter 1- A new home.

I placed my grimy foot on her cold, lifeless head.
Dead.
I tilted it and it limply rolled to the left, her burnt hair falling across her face. I showed no remorse, just pity for the life she could have had; the life I could have used.
My head snapped away from her face and my eyes turned alert. Some noise, of some sort, I couldn’t tell. I looked around sharply, and placed my foot back on the floor, slipping it back into my shoe. I looked at the several other bodies in the room and sighed. So many wasted slaves. I adjusted my collar, and threw a coat I’d picked up from the floor over the remaining flames. It died instantly. I stalked around the room, investigating the sound I had just heard. It repeated, and I span around, realising it was the noise of a human. It was just another victim, but not quite dead... just slowly dying, part of him fighting for life.
“Your business here?” I asked sharply, taking a hip flask out of my pocket. I unscrewed it and tipped some into my mouth, smacking my lips afterwards. The poor boy was struggling for words.
“They... they... brought... here” He murmured. I raised an eyebrow.
“Who did?” I asked hoarsely, the air getting to me. He shook his head, sweat dripping from his forehead.
“Men... pick me up... they... put... me in... here... I don’t know, really...” He sighed. I looked down at him, crouching down to him . I cupped his face, and tilted it left... to right... left... to right, examining his scars. “Been through the wars young man?” I asked him.
“I’m not that young...” He breathed out. I looked at him, analysing his features, although it was hard to tell in a place this dark.
“How old are you. 15, 16?” I asked. He weakly shook his head as I took another swig out of my flask.
“22.” He whispered. I almost spat out my whisky.
“You don’t look it, you’re tiny, boy.” I choked out after forcing down my drink. He grunted in return. I sighed. “You’re putting up a fight. Why should you survive, kid?” He paused for a minute.
“Because if I can get away with 16, I have a lot to live for.” He glared. I laughed dryly at his witty remark.
“On your death bed and making jokes. I assume you to be the fun one.” I assumed. “Pity,” I murmured, turning away. I tipped some of my remaining alcohol over a barrel, and it shot up in flames. I stared into the fire, the sound of the crackling drowning out the boy’s choking
“What’s your name, boy?” I snapped. It took a while for him to produce a sound.
“Fra- Frank.” He spluttered out. I stared at him for a long, hard second. I walked back over and picked him up.
“You’ve survived this much- I’ll give you that.” I slung him over my shoulder, and looked back at the other dead bodies. The fire on the barrel was spreading across the floor, creeping towards the corpses. I walked out of the room, not bothering to shut the door behind me.

I shoved the dying boy into the car and slumped next to him.
“Drive,” I commanded, weakly. He’s certainly small, but doesn’t weigh half much. His eyes were closed and he was still, but he was deeply breathing, appreciative of the change of air. He had red slashes over his eyes, as if someone had ran a knife over them. His lower eye lids were bruised red, probably stained with blood. I noticed his hair was styled in a particular way that his hair was brushed over to one side, and his head left with stubble on the other. At what I assumed was a pattern at first, I observed what was shaven into his stubble was the word ‘Slave’.
I arched a brow. Somebody had the same idea of me, praying on the weak for servants.
I opened my pocket and took out a fresh, box of cigarettes, taking one out and lighting it. I took several puffs before stumping it out in the built in ash tray. Frank must have noticed the smell, as his nostrils wrinkled and he opened his eyes weakly.
“I would kill for a cigarette,” he hinted. I shook my head, wickedly.
“These are mine, boy.” I carried on smoking and paused as he spoke again.
“1 cigarette for a week of servitude.” He begged. I looked at him in an attempt to read his expression, but all I could see were his blood stained eyes widening in plead. I contemplated that offer.
“You’re already branded a slave- why should I give you what is mine to further prove that point?” I pointed out. He started to get angry.
“Oh for crying out loud, it’s a bloody cigarette, is it so impossible to spare one?” He shouted, but it was a weak shout. I looked out of the window, ignoring him, before leaning to the drive and whispering-
“To number 6, please” And leant back. He nodded once and turned a sharp left. I looked back at Frank, who was sleeping lightly again.
I looked outside the window. The sky had darkened into a midnight blue. Street lamps were being switched on, and shops were shutting. Everything disappeared once we headed down the alleyway.
Everything is ten times more dull down the alley. The sky instantly goes grey, the mood falls down by 60% and its all... black. Story of my life, really.
My brother’s home was down here. We’d never been rich, all our money was earned by stealing and spent on drugs, alcohol and cigarettes. We lived in what we could find- and right now, what I had found, was being burnt into flames.
I’d never had any time to think of anyone else other then myself and my brother. When you have to survive, your own blood comes first. But the majority of our... ‘neighbours’ were the same way, so it wasn’t always peace and quiet round here.
Was I sad that what I had called home was used for a massacre? No. But did I want revenge? Yes. It was so simple to find another abandoned house, and the people who set it alight before were probably assuming it was still abandoned. But those people took something from me, and I was angrier at that then the several dead bodies.
Like I said, looking out for number one. I suppose that’s the drugs talking.
My old neighbours threw dirty glances as the car passed. Right now, the chauffeur was one of the few things I now had, barring the illegal items I’d purchased. I supplied him with drugs, he took me around. It was a simple deal. He used to live down this street himself, but as soon as he got a job he flew out of here and landed himself with a pool of money. But he never quite got out of the drug addiction I landed him in eleven years ago.
I started to notice him slowing down, before he came to a stop. I shoved Frank and he shivered awake, sitting up straight.
“Out,” I ordered. He stretched briefly and hobbled out of the car, wounded from the fire. I had words with the driver before he did a swift U-turn and head back out to the street.
I turned around and stared.
It was the exact same as 3 years ago. There was a whole in the ground, where a ladder was placed and secured for people to transport themselves to and from the building. I noticed all the former holes in the upper ground walls had been bordered up by planks of wood. I tugged Frank by the collar and gestured to the hole, where he clambered down onto the ground, me following. A lampshade was suspended by a thick wad of rope hammered into the crumbling ceiling. Plaster was peeling of the walls, and a whole was situated in the wall where the door had once been. A towel was now acting as the cover. I looked around the ‘front garden’. A wooden stool was sat in the corner, and dust was circling in the shine of light. The side windows were smashed, a safety hazard, and I could see the inside of my former home through them.
Home.

I pulled Frank through the towel and observed the building that used to be just a memory. A set of wooden stairs were positioned facing the door way, and a door to the left presented the out-dated kitchen. I walked in as if it were my own and turned the tap on.
“Wash yourself up,” I ordered Frank. He rushed over and splashed his face with water, before leaning over and willingly drinking. I almost wretched. Water was far too bland, I was more into drinks that had a kick to it- like alcohol. I reached for my hip flask but realised it had decreased in weight, and only a drop of liquid spilt out when I tipped it. I instantly started raiding the cupboards, searching for some sort of substitute. Frank started taking off his jeans and rubbing the ice water all over the singes on his legs. He really was small for a 22 year old.
I didn’t look at his burns for long, I wasn’t done looking through the shelves. I noticed a packet of cigarettes in one, and pocketed it. I closed the cupboard door, and barely noticed the figure standing beside me before the impact.
Smack! A large fist slammed into my jaw, sending me backwards flying. The boy advanced for Frank, who held up a knife in defence next to the sink. I reopened my eyes and felt punches hit my stomach, and I looked at the figure’s face-
“MIKEY!” I screamed “IT’S ME, GERARD, STOP IT!” I yelled. He paused, and released me. I cupped my bleeding face in my hands, rolling in pain. Frank was deeply breathing, like he did when he was sleeping. I reopened my eyes to check if he hadn’t passed out again. He was still stood, holding the knife in a position of defence.
Mikey retreated, and I got a good look at him. His hair was still thick blonde, but overgrown and covering his eyes. His face shape was the same as the painted picture in my minds eye and he still wore the same black glasses. His eyes were looking up and down at me, before flitting over to Frank and doing the same.
“Give me the fags,” He mumbled. I dug into my pocket and threw them at him, aiming for his face. Sadly, he caught it before the corner hit his eye.
“What the hell was that for, Mikey?” I hissed. He shrugged.
“People been stealin’ things recently. S’pose it was you then, eh?” He accused.
“Actually, no.” I spat. “I just got here. My house has been used as a massacre spot and had 22 dead bodies dumped there, burnt, and one alive in the corner. Where did you think I got him from?” I struggled out, grasping my jaw.
“Thought t’was your new boyfriend,” He teased. I threw a rock at him from the floor.
“I’m as straight as you are, kid. That reminds me, where’s Cindy?” I asked. His face fell.
“She ran off with some bloke round the corner. Filthy slag,” He sneered. He pulled out a stool from beneath the table and sat on it, running his fingers through his hair. “So I get it now. Your new home get’s wrecked and you come running back to mummykins. Well then, plan failed, she’s gone. She ran off, ‘swell.” I stared at my younger brother.
“When?”
“Month or two ago.” He muttered. I didn’t say a word for a while. I’d never liked that woman, but I didn’t think she was the type to leave her sons in need. There was silence for a while.
“Can I have a room, please, there’s bound to be space with only one person out of the original four who-”
“No.” He declined. I stared at him.
“What?”
“You had a chance of living here, but no, it didn’t quite meet your expectations, so you run off on your own, forget about us for three years, and expect us to welcome you back with open arms?” He spat, disgusted. I smiled slightly.
“Why do you think I brought dear Frank? He is trade- your servant for my stay. It’s difficult living here, doing everything, so why not have a spare two pairs of hands?” I offered. Mikey considered that. He looked at Frank, and took the knife from his hand. He studied his health, condition, and strength.
“We’ll have to patch you up and make you healthy again,” He explained. “Okay, Gee, but here’s the condition. You stay for a minimum amount of time. Until I find you, or you find, a house that the council doesn’t give a crap about, you live here. But, even when you’re gone, I get to keep the slave. Fair do’s?”
“Fair do’s,” I smiled, shaking on it. Frank was unhappy with this.
“I’m not being used as some sort of trade, you brat!” He shouted.
“Would you rather be back in the fire? Cause I can take you back.” I sneered.
“Ah, but if you do that, you’ll have no bargain with dear brother here,” He pointed out. I sighed.
“Look, you ungrateful swine. I saved your life. Do something in return?” I asked.
“Yeah, you saved my life, and treated me like a shit after that.” He huffed. I shut my eyes, and took a deep breath. His eyes had turned into slits of anger; he clearly didn’t like the arrangement. I had no idea how to convince him to co-operate.
“If you stay with Mikey, he’s going to treat you so much better than I ever will; he’s a good kid.” Frank snorted, and starting to skit.
“Yeah, he’s a wonderful kid, best brother out there, the one who goes flinging punches at every nearby target who’ll take a hit!” He sneered.
“Hey!” Mikey shouted, fighting back. “My house was being broken into, and how the hell would I have known it was my brother? He’d buggered off for three years!”
“Yeah well you could of looked.” Frank finished, rubbing his eye and wincing. Mikey stared at him, disgusted.
“You know what? I’m not sure I want you as a slave. Your attitude is awful. See yourself out, Gerard.” Mikey stood up, slammed in his chair and stomped up the stairs. I hit Frank across the back.
“Well, well done, you git, we’re homeless again.”
Listening intently to the sound of Mikey’s footsteps, I followed his trail. I pulled Frank along with me so he didn’t run off, but spent the majority of the time observing what used to be my home. I’d forgotten it was bigger then it looked. The majority of it was hidden so the neighbours didn’t feel jealous and start destroying it seeing as we didn’t share- but they started ripping out bricks anyway. I knew exactly where he was, and how to get there. I knocked lightly on the door, and for the first time, became calm. I nudged open the door, and Mikey was sat on a stool facing the wall.
A lot had changed in the last three years.
The window was still there on the wall left to the door. The fact he was in a back room meant we could keep the window there without the need to border it up, so the neighbours didn’t smash the glass open. But everything else was different. There used to be just a pile of mattresses, but now an actual bed was situated just beside the corner, propped against the back wall. Next to it, joint to the furthest wall, was a block of drawers, with random ornaments he either found, or stole, positioned on top of it. A mirror had been loosely hung lopsidedly above it, and a stool was perched beside the window. The walls were fantastic. There was no paint to it, there was just white- but thousands of sketches in black markers were scribbled on; doodling was a favourite pass time in the family. It ran in the blood. I could imagine Mikey being so bored he just picks up a sharpie and lets his fantasy reign his walls. I totally understood the meaning to this- it was so he could escape from the world, and live inside his own built-up reality.
I look at Mikey, who had moved from the stool to the bed while I was observing the change.
“Things have changed, G.” He told me. I nodded in agreement. “But your rooms still as it was. Mum never went inside it. It set her off. You may be able to see a few things, if you do some dusting before you leave.” He said quietly. I nodded, and retreated out of the room. I carried on dragging Frank before he snapped at me: ‘I can walk myself you know!’ and I let go of him, glad, as my arm was aching.
We walked up more stairs, and hit a ladder. I let Frank up first before following myself. I was nervous, I hadn’t entered my room for years. I heard Frank let out a small ‘whoa’ before moving for me to go up. I poked my head through, and grinned instantly.
It was exactly the same as it used to be.
Sure, it was made up of old, broken toys and second-hand furniture, but that was what made it so unique. I had built my bed myself, and remembered how proud I had been when it was complete. I had made it sturdy, and everything. That was still to the left of the hatch. There was so much dust gathering, it was difficult to see everything, but I could make things out seeing as they were originally mine.
I too had a back window, so it had an open view of the city. I’d forgotten how breathtaking the sight was to just look at it from the high point of my bedroom. I smiled to myself, remembering the 23 year old me gazing at it longingly, and doing the same every day previously, before having enough of imagining and setting off to make it a reality.
My, also self built, wardrobe was opposite the window, and still looked crooked and shoddy. I grinned at that, remembering the door falling off and me screaming every curse invented. My mother grounded me at that, regardless I was 21. That was five years ago. I never cared to greaten my skill with building.
I walked over to a plastic box, which I knew was filled with toys. I lifted that up and pushed it to the side, pulling back the rug to reveal a loose floorboard, which had a self put lock attached to it. I looked at Frank and tapped my nose wickedly as he stared in awe. I opened the plastic box and took out a teddy toy I’d had since I was three. I unzipped the back and a key fell out to my delight. I used the key to unlock the trap door, which opened to my pulling. Shockingly, my stash of booze, drugs and cigarettes were still there, intact.
“Thank god,” I whispered, and picked up a couple of bottles and sachets. Frank rushed over and stared into the hole with awe. “It’s not very deep,” I told him. “It was just a loose floorboard, but I was that protective of my stash I padlocked it so I didn’t have it stolen. That’s what our charming neighbours do to each other; steal our stuff. I put all sorts of crap in here that meant stuff to me back then. My grandma’s locket, which still does- ooh, a wallet.” I picked up the wallet and opened it- and saw the licence card was my brother’s. “Oops, must be my brothers. I stole it from him a couple years back, he went mad finding it. This,” I grinned and shook it in Frank’s face “Is our ticket to staying here.” I took out a few five’s that he had, pocketed them, and put the wallet in a carrier bag.
I carried on looking and found a fistful of fivers; fivers that I knew where mine. I earned them through building people stuff, to try and make peace with the neighbours. However they always had complained that it was a rip off, paid all the same, but my intention was never met.
I re-padlocked the stash after counting all the things stored inside. Still several bottles, sachets and notes.
“If I ever notice anything missing that I didn’t take,” I threatened. “It’ll be your fault, seeing as you’re the only one I’ve shown. I’ll then take it back, and kill you.” I told him calmly. He didn’t seem really bothered, but I hid the key and led Frank back down to Mikey’s room.

It had been an easy negotiation. In return for returning the ‘wallet that was found in the downstairs lampshade that was never cleaned’, I got two weeks for my stay, and Frank got till he was fired. I knew Frank was secretly thrilled he now had a home, but he wasn’t making a show of it.
I used two unopened vodka bottles to celebrate the new home, and we got very drunk. We got several complaints from neighbours, but the majority of them just wanted to join in. We shut the flap leading to our front... ‘garden’ after a while and locked it, so they couldn’t get in.
After a very rough night, I woke up at one in the afternoon in the same room as Frank. He was already awake, and sat on the floor.
“What the hell?” I asked. He rolled one of his eyes, the other one far too wounded.
“You two were smashed last night. I was too, but not as bad. I don’t have a room yet, so I crashed on the floor.”
“Oh.” I mouthed, before smacking my face back into the pillow. There was silence for a while, before Frank started firing questions.
“Is that your everyday life, just drinking yourself to sleep?” He asked me. I resorted to yes/no answers.
“Yes.”
“Do you do drugs as much as you drink?”
“No.”
“Do you have any food?”
“No.”
“Do you plan on getting food?”
“No.”
“Do you plan on getting up?”
“No.”
“How bad is your hangover?”
“No.”
“That doesn’t make sense.” He criticized. I threw one of my pillows at him. It missed him by three metres. “And your aim is crap. I’m getting breakfast.”
“I told you, no food. I searched the cupboards last night.” He sighed.
“Yes, that’s why I’m going to the shops. Got any money?” I threw a fiver at him.
“Bring me back a coffee and a bagel. Don’t run off. If you do I’ll hunt you down and kill you.” He ignored that, and complained for the need of another fiver to get him and Mikey something, too. I chucked him another, and quietly mumbled; ‘Don’t tell Mikey that was his money’.

*

After an hour of lying in bed, I suddenly started to wonder where Frank was. I stood up and swayed slightly, before falling on my knees. I had no memory of how much I had drunk last night, but it was certainly a lot. I grabbed my hip flask and drank some more; that always helps with hangovers. My head was racing at a hundred miles an hour, and at every slight movement, my vision blurred. I couldn’t think straight, I kept hearing a buzzing noise, and I started screaming at myself to make it stop.
I was in agony. It felt like my limbs were being torn off, and my head was about to explode. I was pulling my hair in frustration, gritting my teeth and squinting my eyes in response to the pain. I heard a hurry of footsteps, and heard snippets of voices.
“What’s up with him?”
“Must be-”
“Drugs, the drugs, gotta be...”
I was rolling on the floor, clutching my heart. All my senses were off, I was being to overpowered by the pain. I felt dizzy, my heart was racing, I could feel it banging against my rib cage, pumping more and more blood around my bloodstream-
It was all over, and I was soaked. I coughed and looked up, my eyes wild, and bloodshot. My thick black hair was dripping and I stared accusingly at the empty bucket Mikey was holding. I looked at myself; there wasn’t a dry part of me.
I stared at Frank. He looked bewildered, but relived I was okay. Mikey walked over to me, emptied my pockets and took the sachets of drugs.
“No more of this for you.” He told me, before climbing out of the room, Frank following. I stared after them, before crashing my head on the floorboards, pounding my fists in anger.