Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Fate's Cruel if Life's Great


by DisenchatedDestroya 6 reviews

"I guess it's a good thing I know CPR." Read, review, rate and feel my love :P

Category: My Chemical Romance - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Angst,Drama,Romance - Characters: Frank Iero,Gerard Way,Mikey Way - Published: 2011-11-30 - Updated: 2011-11-30 - 4353 words - Complete

Chapter Twelve – Click

Frank’s POV

I can pinpoint the exact moment that everything fell to hell. Deeper than hell. Lower than Atlantis. Fell through the floor, drilled through the Earth’s innards and plummeted out the other end into the abyss. I can replay it just like a record player playing back the hideous screeching of broken violins; I can but it won’t be pleasant. Far, far from it. It was the moment that I heard the tiny click of the bathroom door opening, a sound so quiet that you can only hear it if you’re listening for it, and the weightlessly silent footsteps of Mikey Way’s dripping form padded out; drowning in my baggy blue jeans and my faded Taking Back Sunday t-shirt hanging off of him, making him look even littler, even weaker, even more alone. Like the absence of body fat represented the absence of the good friend that I’m going to be. The clothes I’ve lent him are too tight for me, yet he could probably just be wearing the top as a dress and not lose any dignity. I’m not fat, not by any stretch of the imagination, and this kid is taller than me; should he really be that skinny? I doubt it, but it suits him. Not him; it suits his emotions. But it shouldn’t. I wish it didn’t. But it does; now so more than when he first stepped timidly out of the bathroom.

That’s when it fell to hell. When he stepped out and Gerard opened his mouth. Opened his mouth to vomit out horrible things that should never have come from such a luscious, perfect mouth. Especially not about his little brother. I know that he didn’t realise Mikes was stood behind him, but that still doesn’t mean he can say things like that. About his brother being ‘fucked up’, snarl about his trepid silence and then call him ‘fucking pathetic’. None of it’s right or even close to the truth. In fact, it’s so far from the truth that to travel from the truth to what he said would take centuries.

Mikey isn’t fucked up; just frightened and sad. Two things that someone like him should never be, yet he is and that just makes it even more despicable that Gerard twisted it into him being ‘fucked up’.

Mikey doesn’t want to be silent; I know that from how desperate to talk to me he looked last night. Like speaking to me was some sort of forbidden delicacy; something that he desires but can’t have for reasons that I have yet to fully get a grasp of. I get that he’s scared of what people will think, of course I get that, I just don’t understand how anyone let the bullying progress to the point where the poor kid can’t even find the courage to open his mouth.

Mikey couldn’t be less pathetic if he tried. He’s just really shy; so shy that it actually makes my eyes burn to see him like it because his wonderful personality should be full of confidence in the fact that he’s a much better person than any of the people who’ve caused this vicious shyness to consume him.

But no. Gerard shouted all of those lies and now, because Gerard is his big brother which must mean that he’s right, Mikey believes them. Even though Gerard doesn’t believe them himself. I know he doesn’t. He just got wound up with what he views as his failures and didn’t know how else to unravel. Wound up because I was telling him what to do, because I was trying to help by being a bossy bastard, because I was acting like a know-it-all. I should have known that it would’ve made him mad. I did know. I guess I was just hoping that he would use that anger as motivation to do the right thing, the Gee from high school would have, but he didn’t and now everything’s fallen to hell.

I don’t care that it was me that his barbed words were meant to pierce because I know that he didn’t even mean them. Not really. It was his chagrin, jealousy and concern that made him sick enough to throw up those insults; not some twisted evilness. Because Gee isn’t evil, isn’t nasty and spiteful as his earlier words may lead some misinformed people to believe; he just tries too hard to be the perfection that he isn’t. Nobody’s actually, truly and wholly perfect; if they were they wouldn’t be human. A perfect human is a nice thought in theory, but in practice it’s an impossible ideal that only succeeds in destroying people as they seek it out. Like it’s destroyed Gee because he thinks that he has to be perfect for Mikey and can’t accept that what he really is deep down is enough for his little brother. Because in Gerard’s head Mikes is no longer his little brother; he’s his responsibility, his charge, his little baby that he can’t let get hurt. Fair enough, that last one I’ll partially agree with. Mikes shouldn’t get hurt, but he’s most definitely not a baby anymore. But because Gerard can’t see that, he’s let himself become a slave to what his confused and overworked mind believes Mikey needs. And because Gee can’t take letting the kid down, his failures that could never have been successes are taking their toll. Which I don’t mind; I don’t mind him shouting at me if that’s what’ll help him deal with it. It’s when it starts to affect Mikey that I have a problem with it. Not so much a problem as a gouging, inferno of fury and shock. Not just that though; it makes me sad. Sad for both of the Ways because I know that Gerard’s going to beat himself up over this for an excruitiantingly long period of time. I don’t want to see him hurt, even if he was being a prize prick. Why? Because he’s my friend. But he isn’t, not really. He’s so much more than that. I want him to be so much more than that.

“Mikes, please let me in bro.”

Gerard’s knocking on the bathroom door, the door that has been locked for the past twenty minutes. Locked and hiding Mikey from us. Gerard wanted to kick the door down; I had told him in no un-certain terms that if he did I’d kill him. Not because I actually care about my crappy old bathroom door; but because he has to get Mikes to come out of his own free will. If he doesn’t he’ll only end up scaring the blackened daylights out of the poor kid. I don’t understand how Gerard doesn’t get it; Mikey hates himself for everything that goes even slightly wrong, Gerard yells about him, Mikey hides. Would you really kick the door down on the kid you’ve just made hide in fear? Perhaps you would, but not if you want them to trust you. So as a result Gerard’s been slumped against the door and scratching it like a caged in cat, begging Mikey to either open the door or let him in.

He hasn’t said sorry yet, though. Hasn’t told Mikey that he isn’t really mad. Which he should have the second the click of the lock detonated the symphony of silent chaos that has been plaguing the apartment since it’s quiet cry that announced exactly what Gerard had done to an already shattered soul.

The silence thickens with the lack of a reply from the other side of the door. A silence that isn’t really a silence. It is in the sense that there is no speech present, but otherwise it couldn’t be more deafening if it was being amplified and played through state-of-the-art stereo speakers. I can hear Misfit pacing the apartment in anticipation for a walk she should have had an hour ago; I can hear the telly whispering white noise in the background where I can’t afford a proper aerial and is only on because nobody bothered to turn it off after Mikes accidently turned it on before his shower this morning, causing him to jump adorably; I can hear the sound of the outside world rushing past like nothing is wrong with the cruelness Fate dishes upon it like it’s going out of fashion; I can hear the drip of the kitchen tap that I used to get Mikey some water last night when he was too out of it to even walk; I can hear Mikey.

I don’t know if Gerard can or if the siren of guilt is ringing in his ears too loudly for him to be able to receive it, but I can hear Mikey. I can hear miniscule little whimpers that sound so afraid of being heard that I almost want to let myself ignore them. I could never do that though, ignore the innocent tears of a suffering friend; that’d be like watching someone you love die and finding it hilarious. It just wouldn’t happen unless you’re messed up in the head. But Mikes is dying. No. They both are. The Way brothers are dying, dying on the inside. I guess that it’s a good thing I know CPR.

“Mikey, c’mon. You’ve nearly been in there half an hour; I’m worried about you. Please come out, just to let me know that you’re alright.” He sounds so genuinely heartbroken and sorrow-stricken that I almost look past the blatant stupidity of his words. He sounds like someone’s hooked his heart up to an electric current and is spiking him with little blasts of overpowering regret with every contrite syllable that leaves his frowning mouth that I’m almost deaf to the poor content of what he’s saying.

So what if he’s been in there for nearly half an hour? He’s frightened, Gerard, you need to let him know that there’s nothing to be frightened not that you only care because he’s been in that desolate room for thirty painfully dragged out minutes. Because that’s not really why you care; you care because he’s your little brother and he’s hurt, hurt by what you said. Why can’t you just let him know that and let him take comfort in the knowledge that you aren’t angry or upset or anything other than longing to look after him. But not look after him like you have been, like you used to. Because even I can tell that that’s what he needs. Why can’t you?

He lets out an aggravated breath and slams his fist on the door.

What the hell is he playing at? I love him and all, but how can he be so obtuse? I totally get that he wants Mikes out of there and into his arms, that’s what I want too, but by punching the door he’s only going to make his brother even more convinced that he can’t leave the semi-sanctuary of his hiding place. Who would in his situation?

By the anguished look on his grief-contorted face it appears that Gerard’s just realised how stupid taking a swing at my bathroom door to alleviate some his searing stress truly was. He looks dangerously close to exploding. I can’t let that happen again. No way.

I arise from the couch where I’ve been hanging off of the edge of the seat, almost falling off into a sea of anticipation and apprehension in wait for the click that will announce Mikey’s re-entrance. Apart from the click never came, just like the correct words never left Gerard’s tear-constricted throat in order to make that little click happen. I arise and walk the few steps to where he’s leaning against the door like the life’s been sucked right out of him. I think that it has; Mikey is his life and without Mikey his existence has no purpose. As touching as that is, it really shouldn’t be that way. He should care about Mikey like he does, but the kid shouldn’t be all that matters in his life; he should have other things too, things that can take away from the pressure of being the guardian of a distressed, yet stunningly amazing, kid. Things like a partner. Things like me. He shouldn’t feel like he has to do this alone, like Mikey is becoming a burden to him all because he’s too proud and protective to admit that he isn’t coping and ask for help. Perhaps if he did ask for help he could get back to being Mikey’s big brother, something that Mikes needs a hell of a lot more than whatever Gerard’s becoming.

I place my hand under his chin which is falling downward, pointing in the direction that everything has fallen to, and tilt it up so that he’s looking me directly in the eyes. Eyes that are missing the youthful exuberance mine always possess because I can still be a nineteen-year-old. I can still go out and do whatever it is Mr Casey thinks I should be doing with my weekends. I just choose not to. I wonder how much Gerard would give to have one weekend without having to be the responsible one. It’s funny how you don’t realise you’ve taken advantage of something until you see someone else desperately in need of it; I kind of feel like an ungrateful brat. Just last night I was moaning about my boss having a better social life than I do, something which is entirely my fault, but now, now I really do see that I have nothing to moan about, not compared to Gerard.

I pull his face forward and dust his cheek with the soft scratch of my slightly puckered lips. My way of saying that I’m not upset about the meaningless insults he roared at me in confused fury, just that I want to make everything better so that he never has to explode like that again. At least, I hope that’s what it feels like to him because that’s what I mean. And I really, sincerely do. Judging by how his platinum skin turns from being icy cold and slicked with tears to a rosy red and as hot as the Devil’s footsteps, I think that he gets it.

“I’m sorry, Frankie. Real-“

I press my finger to his lips, liking how much like my old comfort blanket they feel, and smile mournfully at him. The kind of smile that says I’m not really happy, but I really do want you to be because that will turn my smile real.

“Tell him that.”

He nods, blinking away the tears that my thumb is sweeping away like pixie-dust.

“Mikey?” He waits for a reply that we both know will never come, but don’t want to admit will never arrive because that would mean realising just how hopeless the situation is. But we haven’t admitted it and it therefore cannot be hopeless; we can never let it become that way. Without hope we’ll stop trying, if we stop trying then Gerard will never get Mikey back and I will never get to help the kid or even become his friend.

Sure enough, there’s nothing but the meek sobs that only I seem to be able to hear.

“Mikey, I’m sorry; I really am. I just… I just got wound up and angry.”

No! Don’t say that you got angry, that’s exactly what he doesn’t need to hear! He’s scared of making you angry, of you hating him. Don’t tell him that you got angry.

“But I didn’t mean what I said.”

At least it’s a start.

We both wait for that little click, for any sign of movement from the other side. I don’t think that we’ll get any; not yet anyway, Gerard’s still got a lot of reassuring and apologizing to do to his little brother before his words can encourage Mikey to find it in his empty heart to pluck up the courage to open the door. I want to say something to help him to find that needless courage, a courage that I don’t understand. I know that Gee isn’t exactly a joy to be around when he’s cross, but for Mikey to be scared enough to hide? It’s almost as if he thinks that Gerard will hurt him. He wouldn’t, not ever. I know that I hadn’t spoken to him for years before last night, but I can tell from his eyes and lips and hands that he could never hurt anyone intentionally; especially not a kid and especially not his little brother. No way. I also know that fear isn’t the only reason Mikey’s hiding. He’s feeling ashamed, like it’s all his fault; the look in his eyes, that were so helplessly hopeless that they almost looked like cold brown marbles rolling around in their sockets, before he ran back into the safety of the bathroom told me that. He’s scared, he’s ashamed, he’s upset, he’s hurt; he’s everything that Gerard has unintentionally caused him to be and should prevent him from being. He’s everything that I promised to make him not be when I found him last night. But I’m not stupid; helping Mikey to heal himself isn’t going to happen overnight and just because I want it to. No, it’s going to take a lot of time and for Mikey to want to willingly open up to someone. Someone that I know for a fact won’t be Gerard, even though it should be, because Gerard is part of the problems that he needs to open up about. If he doesn’t talk about it soon, doesn’t let someone listen to him pour all of the hurt out of his soul, then it will kill him. And that will kill Gerard. And both of those catastrophic events will kill me. This is why I’m going to be that someone he can open up to. For Gerard; for my own reasons, but above all else; for Mikey Way.

We wait for sound. Nothing.

Gerard sighs and he shuts his eyes so tightly that the sharp ends of his eyelashes stab through the lids and release a small spray of tears. I grab his hand, squeezing it in an attempt to transfer some of my hope for a better future to him. He clears his throat, visibly calculating the best thing to say.

“I really didn’t mean any of that shit, Mikes.”

We wait, my heart being paused by the fist that my ribcage has suddenly turned into. Silence.

“Honest, I didn’t.”

“Th-then why-y’d you say-ay it?” Mikey cynically shoots back, but it doesn’t sound as harsh as it should. More like he’s trying to convince Gerard that he really is all of the things that his big brother called him and inferred, like he wants Gerard to not feel bad because he was only being honest and should realise that.

He’s even more lost than I thought.

“Because I’m a fucking retard!”

“Don’t shout at him, Gee. You’ll scare him again.” I whisper forcefully, not liking that I have to say it but liking the thought of Gerard making it worse for them again even less.

His eyes scan down to the watch on his left wrist.

“Shit! I’m running late for work.” He sounds torn between what he should do and that genuinely appals me. His little brother is injured and upset and hiding in my bathroom; surely the pros of rescuing him from everything outweighs the pros of going to work by a megaton. I know that if I had work today, I wouldn’t be going in; I have to make sure that Mikes is okay. Even though I know he isn’t.

He must see my disgusted look because he frowns at me.

“I know, I know, but I can’t lose this job. Starbucks doesn’t pay so great so I make up for it by working weekends at Belleville Gallery. Pay’s alright, but my boss is a dragon. I’ve been late the past two Saturdays, one more and it’s over. I can’t look after Mikes without this job.”

I nod my understanding, feeling more than a little guilty for being so quick to assume the worst out of him. I shouldn’t; I love him. But I can’t help but worry the worst with the Ways; they must be rubbing off on me.

“What should I do, Frank? It’s a lose-lose.” He runs a hand over his face and through his hair, emphasising how bad this is all making him feel. I want to take that away from him, make him smile and not have anything on his mind other than good memories. Good memories and the feeling of making more of them. Making more of them with me.

“Look, you go. I’ll look after Mikes. It’ll be alright, I’ll keep him safe.” I smile, putting the truth of my words behind them to make them all the more believable for the panicked big brother in front of me.

“Are you sure?” He sounds so surprised at my offer that it almost hurts; didn’t he think that I’d be willing to help him. He kisses my forehead. “Thanks. My cell number’s on Mikey’s phone, ring me if anything happens, okay?”

“Of course.” I sigh, looking to the locked door, indicating that he owes Mikey an explination to where he’s going and to make sure that the kid knows that he isn’t the cause of his departure.

“I, err… I’m going to work, Mikes. See ya later.” He tries to sound cheery and normal, but it comes out all sullen and desperate for a reply.

None comes.

He turns to leave, but I grab his arm. I’m not going to let him leave on a downer; what sort of more-than-friend would I be then?

“Don’t worry, Gee. Everything will work out. I promise.”

His eyes light up a little at my solid statement of unmovable fact and so does my heart.

“Thanks, Frankie. I’ll come back later, okay?”

I nod and he turns to leave, not caring that his clothes are all crumpled from being slept in. I grin a little to myself as I note that he's taking extra care when he shuts the door, making it a soft movement and nothing like an angry slam.

My turn to try to get Mikes out of there; out of where the only inhabitants are him and his fear. And his hurt. And his guilt. And everything that I will take away from him, no matter how long it takes. It’s gone beyond a want to help him; it’s a primal need. If I don’t then I’ll have to live the rest of my life as though it is purgatory; forever wondering why I didn’t help him and hating myself for it.

“Mikey, it’s me; Frank. Gee’s gone and I was wondering if you wanted to come out? You don’t have to, but I know it isn’t all that comfy in there. You can just come out and sit on the couch, if you want to.” Heavy sigh. Heavier silence. “What Gerard said isn’t true; I don’t believe it and neither does he. So don’t worry about me not liking you or anything because of it.” Gentle silence. Gentler body movements. “If you come out you don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to, I won’t be offended.” Unsure silence. Unsurer footstep. “Of course, if you want to talk, you can. About anything; if you wanna talk about school or family or, I dunno, superheroes if that’s what you wanna talk about, then you can. I like your voice, I won’t make fun of you for it.” Steady footsteps. Steady silence. “I won’t force you to do anything; talk if you want, you don’t have to, just as long as you feel comfortable, that’s all I care about. If you come out I can make you one of my legendary hot chocolates; Skittles on top and everything.” Silent sniffle. Silent silence. “I won’t laugh at you or be mean or anything; I’m your friend. Let me be your friend.” One final footstep. Hopeful silence. “So, yeah. I’ll be on the couch. Come join me anytime you want.”

I do as I say and smile happily to myself, pleased with how I’m doing. Maybe I really will get through to him. I sincerely hope so.


A/N: Thank you very much for reading; I hope that you liked it. I wrote this fuelled on RedBull, six lollipops and an obscene amount of Pepsi, so I’m currently buzzing like a hyperactive bee around a flowerbed. Anyway, thank you sooo much for taking the time to read and please, PLEASE be gorgeously wonderful enough to review! :)
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