Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Perfectly Imperfect

Nobody Can Hurt You (Us)

by DisenchatedDestroya 7 reviews

"I like playing with my food, always have done." Read, review, rate and feel my love! :P

Category: My Chemical Romance - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Angst,Drama,Romance - Characters: Mikey Way - Warnings: [V] - Published: 2011-12-29 - Updated: 2012-01-01 - 5103 words - Complete

Chapter Two – Nobody Can Hurt You (Us)

Pete’s POV

I can’t but help but smirk at how terrified those motherfuckers look.

At least twice as terrified as they’ve made my Mikey.

They should know better than to fuck with him, should know that if they do fuck with him then I’ll fuck them up.

Normally I’m dead set against violence, especially on using it against animals that don’t have enough intelligence to know a beautiful thing when they see it, but in this case I’m more than happy to make an exception; Mikey would never hurt a fly, would never even say anything hurtful let alone do something to inflict pain, so it makes absolutely no sense whatsoever that anyone would ever want to hurt him. I just can’t comprehend how anyone would want to hurt someone like him, what sort of motivation could they possibly have to wreck some poor, shy boy that’s too scared to even to talk to me, his closest and only friend, at school because he’s petrified of what people will think of him. I just don’t understand, but I think it’s the same kind of principle as us humans driving some beautiful, rare creature to extinction for reasons that nobody understands but live by because that’s just how we function; we, as a collective, are a destructive race and any member of that race who is too inhumanly nice gets destroyed for it.

That’s just how things are, especially in high school.

It’s bad enough for him with me here to protect him to the best of my ability but even I, a self-confessed social retard, can see how frightened he is of everyone who isn’t me. Sometimes I think that I frighten him too. Not often, but on those few days where he comes in with dried tears clinging to his face like torn stitches, I can see him glance fearfully at me as though he half expects me to have turned into a monster over night; if I were someone else I might find it annoying or insulting, but I’m not someone else and I find it heartbreakingly adorable and it only adds to my fire of hatred for everyone who’s plain stupid enough to hurt my bass buddy.

Stupid because only stupid people would want to make someone already too melancholy for his intricately stunning face even more depressed.

Stupid because they know that he’s my friend and I don’t take kindly to people who hurt my friends.

Not at all.

I hope they weren’t like this to him whilst I was in detention at break and lunch; I’ll hate myself for eternity if they were. I’m the only person standing between him and getting beaten up on a daily basis, if I’m not here then the odds are that he’ll get hurt and I can’t let that happen; I think I’ll do my homework next time, if not for my own future then for my Mikey because he needs me to protect him. I need me to protect him. Because if I don’t then I won’t have my bass buddy; I’ll just have some echo of the shadow that only comes into the light when it’s just the two of us.

Yeah, when it’s just the two of us he is a different person. No, not a different person; he is almost himself when it’s just us, at school he’s not even a shadow of himself. When it’s just us he’s not scared to talk to me because he knows that his stutter is just another part of him, another part of my closest friend and treasure that makes me like him no less nor any more; I like him for who he is, not for the delicately perfect way he looks and nor for his sweet honeysuckle voice, just because he’s a lovely person. When it’s just us his eyes are alive with some sort of light that tells me he’s glad that it’s just us, glad that he can finally not be frightened because there’s nobody here to hurt him. When it’s just us he smiles more and I love it, love the way he acts like I’m the only thing in the world to understand how to make his lips reach for the sky in joy. When it’s just us he blushes a lot, which is at least ten times cuter than his endearing little smiles, and I know exactly why; he has a crush on me.

And I like it.

Like it a lot.


Because I have a crush on him too.

Apart from it’s more than a crush; what should it be called if it’s a breath-snatching feeling of pain whenever he looks anything less than happy; what should it be called if it’s a heart-soothing stroke of loving warmth whenever I manage to make him smile after seeing him sad; what should it be called if it’s a feeling of scorching hatred to whatever caused his scar, to whoever hurt him bad enough to make him so fretful whenever it isn’t just the two of us?

I think that it should be called love. True love. Yeah. I think that just about fits. Fits like my arm around his shoulders whenever he cries. Granted, he doesn’t cry in front of me very often but I can always tell when he wants to; when something’s preying on his mind like a hideous vulture picking at a rotten carcass. It kills me to see him upset and I think he knows that, which is why he always tries to hide it; but that makes it hurt even more. I’m his friend, he should be able to talk to me whenever he needs to no matter where we are, what time of day it is or what it’s about.

Which is why I’m constantly texting him because I want, no, I need him to know that I’ll always be here for him just like I know that he’ll always be here for me. I’ve seen him cry and he’s seen me cry; we both find comfort in each other and that’s why we’re a perfect match, he helps me as much as I try to help him.

I wonder what would happen if we ever did push through the friend barrier? Well, I’m naturally flirty so I doubt that our dialogue would change all that much but it’s meaning would; it would go from being friendly and joking to being truly sincere and full of the pure adulation that he deserves.

I want to be his boyfriend and I know that he wants to be mine, but he’ll never ask because he’s too scared of rejection and I’m not going to ask either; with a boy like Mikey Way you can’t just rush into something, we’ve known each other for two whole months but there are still some things that I don’t know about him or understand. Things that I need to know and understand so that I can be the best boyfriend that I can be, so until that day comes when I have enough knowledge to be able to be all that he needs and deserves, I’ll stick with just being the greatest friend that I can be, because he shouldn’t have to settle for anything less than perfect; I will not push what we have until I know for a fact that I can make it as perfect as possible for him.

Yeah. This is definitely love. True love; the kind that makes you feel less than perfect because you know that you’ll never be as good as the one that you love; the kind that makes diamonds look like coal and gold look like tin purely because they aren’t anything to do with the one you love; the kind that makes your eyes ache whenever they aren’t fixated on the one you love; the kind that means I’m about to break some noses.

Noses that were pushed up in my Mikey’s terror distorted face a few seconds ago before my purposefully intimidating presence shocked those three bastards away from their innocent, helpless victim. A victim too frightened and kind to even ask them to leave him the fuck alone. I guess I’ll have to make it perfectly clear to them that they have to leave him the fuck alone or else I’ll never leave them alone.

To hurt Mikey is to hurt me but unlike Mikey I’m not scared to let someone know when they’ve pissed me off. Far from it. When someone pisses me off I make sure that they know about it, that they can feel it, that they won’t make the same mistake twice.

And nothing pisses me off more than seeing my Mikey in pain, in tears, in a shaking heap leaning against the lockers for the support that every passing person should be offering him because he really is that nice of a person.

“What the fuck are you doing?” My voice is falsely pleasant, the kind of sickly sweet that teachers often use on me when they ask me a question they know I won’t be able to answer correctly.

I guess I am the teacher here; teaching those pathetic bullies a lesson for daring to hurt my Mikey. My Mikey. Not theirs. They don’t get to throw him around like an unwanted play thing that their mother refuses to throw out; so it’s only fair that in punishment I get to throw them around, right?


“No. You most certainly are not doing me.” I shoot back smugly to the leader, a conceited little prick called Aaron, a leader that’s gawping at me as though I’ve just arisen out of the ground in a storm of fire and with sharp horns sticking out of my head. “So, I’ll ask again; what the fuck are you doing?”

I pull Aaron up close to my chest by the front of his grey mottled t-shirt, not caring that the other two boys are sprinting off, and my fake smile turns to barred teeth and narrowed eyes like a puppy quickly evolving into a vicious Rottweiler. I can hear Mikey crying from behind me even though he thinks nobody’s listening.

“You hear that?” I shake Aaron a little too violently, smirking once more as all hope drains from his soulless eyes. Just like he did to Mikey; oh, how I love sweet revenge. “That’s a kid crying. A kid that’s never done a fucking thing to you.” I spit in his face, loving every millimetre of his grimace.

I like playing with my food, always have done.

Not that I make a habit out of this. Like I said earlier, I despise violence like a fish hates air but I despise seeing Mikey hurt and crying and cowering away in fear even more.

And the only way to stop it from happening is to use the same currency as the bullies, fight fire with fire and teach the perpetrators a lesson that clearly spells out the fact that they can’t hurt my Mikey. Not unless they want to get hurt back.

“This is the last time I’m gonna ask and if you don’t give me a correct answer I’m really gonna lose it with you; what the fuck are you doing?”

Aaron sniffles, tears welling in his eyes like the ones that I can still hear Mikey trying to fight off. I change my grip on his shirt so that my fingers aren’t just digging into the fabric, but into his flesh too. I want him to hurt, hurt like he wants to hurt my Mikey.

“I’m waiting, Aaron.”

“Pete, please, just put me down.” He squeaks amidst his running nose and frenzied struggling.

He really is terrified of what I may or may not do to him.

Maybe I should just let him go; I think he’s got the point. No. He doesn’t get it; he’s only shaking in fear for his own precious face, not in regret for hurting my Mikey. Hurting my Mikey with both the sharp stings of his unforgiving fists and the evil little lies of his worthless lips. I won’t actually hurt him properly, then I’d be as bad as the scum that he is, but he doesn’t have to know that; just has to know that I am more than capable of looking after my Mikey like a cunningly smart cat can protect a defenceless, adorable little kitten from some stupid dog.

“No! Would you have stopped if he’d asked you to?”

“He didn’t as-“

“And you fucking knew that he wouldn’t.” I all but growl over his jumpy, defensive words; unbelieving, furious shock igniting every inch of my body that wasn’t already burning in appalled rage at Aaron.

How can he even try to justify this? Is he mentally retarded or something? Beating up anyone, let alone a kid who is already blatantly lacking in self-esteem, is unjustifiable.

Unless the person you’re beating up hurt my Mikey, then it’s the only sensible thing to do.

No, it’s not. Hurting others is never the correct thing to do. Not when there’s a crying kid behind you, a crying kid that is already panicked enough and scared of everyone without the addition of seeing the one person that he does trust completely go mental and inflict the pain that he fears receiving himself. This isn’t right. I can’t hurt or threaten Aaron. Not in front of my Mikey. It just wouldn’t be fair to put him through more terror and suffering.

Wait. I can’t hear his crying any more. And I can’t even turn around to see if he’s alright because I’ve still got that bastard wriggling in my grip like the slimy snake that his soul is.

“He’s gone.” Aaron’s mocking voice confirms my well-placed concerns.

The fear from Aaron’s eyes is gone as quickly as it arrived; instead his face is painted with some sort of smug achievement, like he can only be truly happy when he’s making other people miserable. And that’s probably my fault. He’s scared of me and hates me for reasons I care not to comprehend. Other than the fact that I think it may revolve around a drunken night out a year or so ago, a drunken night out that ended with both of us in the same ditch. Together. Entwined. Naked. He didn’t like that. Not one bit. Neither did I.

And that’s why he found it so easy to hurt my Mikey. He knows that I’m stronger than he is, that I’m a better fighter but he also knows that when it comes to Mikey I’m a complete softie; a vital piece of information that has caused more harm than good.

If you can’t get to the giant, cut down the beanstalk. If you can’t assassinate a king, take down his armies. If you can’t physically hurt a man, hurt him with guilt caused by the knowledge that the one he loves is hurt because of him.

If you can’t win by playing fair, fight dirty.

“You motherfucker! What the fuck did he ever do to you? If you have an issue with me, sort it with me but don’t drag Mikey into it. Ever.”

“But it’s more fun fucking with him than losing a fight with you, Petey-boy. Just what do you actually see in that freak?”

If it wasn’t for the fact that he sounds like he is being genuinely honest I’d have already thrown him to the ground in disgust and be running after my Mikey.

“Everything that you’d see in him if you weren’t too stupid to open your goddamned eyes.”

And with that I do throw him to the ground, unable to help a wince as his body hits the tiled floor that my Mikey has been thrown to enough times for me to know that it leaves a fair amount of bruises, as I turn to sprint like a hound after a fox in the direction of my Mikey.

He’s scared and hurt and I know exactly where he’ll be; the music section of the school library.

It’s where he always is when he’s not by my side like a loyal and well-loved puppy. It’s like his little sanctuary that only we know about and I’m glad that he has a place in this hole that he feels comfortable in, not only that but it’s his subliminal way of letting me know that something’s wrong; that he can’t face anyone, even me, so he just hides his face in books full of knowledge that he probably already possesses.

I may be glad that he has his sanctuary, but at the same time it fills me with the same sort of inexplicable guilt that an animal lover feels when it sees a homeless dog. No, it isn’t inexplicable; they feel guilty for what a race, a race that they are a part of, has done to that homeless dog. I guess it’s just the same with me and Mikey; the bastards that upset him won’t apologize so I feel the guilt that they do, I’m a part of their society and therefore I’m partially responsible for this. Apart from I know that I’m not; I just try to prevent it to the best of my ability. So whenever he runs to the music section of the library I can’t help but feel like an epic failure; if I was worthy of his friendship he wouldn’t feel the need to escape to the haven of his beloved books. But he does and I always make up for it by putting my arm around him, by comforting him and making him smile once more.

God, I love that smile. A smile that I think I only ever get the pleasure of seeing. I’ve never met his family, or what’s left of it anyway, but if they were any good at what they’re supposed to do he wouldn’t be so unsure of himself and that is how I know I’m the only one with eyes blessed enough to see his angelic smile; if the brother that he’s often told me about is half as decent as Mikey gives him credit to be (”Ge-era-ard alway-ays d-does what’s bes-est.” “Gerard-ard works s-o-o h-ha-ard to be-e a-able to look-ook aft-fter me.” “I-I wi-ish-sh I were-ere as goo-ood a bro-other-er as Gee-ee is.”) then Mikey wouldn’t be as fragile as he is now.

I like the sound of his brother’s boyfriend though, from what I’ve heard I think that me and Frank, I think his name is, would get on really well (”Fra-rankie-ie jammed-ed with-ith me las-ast night-t.” “Frankie-ie’s fuck-ucking-ing awesome-ome!”). I hope I get to meet this Frankie guy soon so I can tell him how grateful I am that he seems to be as nice to my Mikey as everyone else should be, that he is actually someone I’d trust to take care of my frightened little angel.

His brother on the other hand… When Mikey talks about Gerard it’s like he only says the nice things because he feels that he has to, not because they’re true. It’s like he resents his big brother without even realising it, like he’s scared of what will happen if he ever says anything negative about his guardian. I hope I get to meet Gerard soon so I can tell him how much he needs to actually do a good job with my Mikey, how much I hate him already for letting Mikey go on like he has, for letting my frightened little angel come crashing from the heaven that is worse off for sending him to Earth.

Fuck, I really do sound like some sort of lovesick teenager, don’t I? Full of cheap and cheesy clichés that I swore I’d never use or become.

Oh well, I don’t care about cliché anymore; all I care about right now is the fact that my frightened little angel is hiding and sorrowfully sad/scared/singed by hatred he should never even feel burning his porcelain skin. I saw Aaron punch him, on a skinny kid like Mikey he’s got to be in agony; Aaron’s a strong guy, he could’ve caused some real damage if I hadn’t stepped in.

He could’ve gotten seriously hurt. Could’ve, would’ve if Aaron had had his way. I know it sounds soppy and clichéd, but just the idea of what could have happened if I hadn’t stepped in makes me want to cry; he’s already so introverted and shy, he just can’t take any more hate on top of what he gives himself. I know that he hates himself, it’s clearer than the snow-white slick of a scar that runs down his face like an enchanting stream of moonlight. I can see that he hates himself; I can sort of comprehend his logic as to why he thinks that way but I just don’t get how.

How this ‘amazing’ big brother of his let it happen, how Fate let it happen to such a perfect boy.

My perfect boy.

Because even if we aren’t going out, I know that he fancies me and that I completely love him; he is mine.

Just like I’m his should he pluck up the courage to say that he wants me; he has to feel comfortable enough with me to be able to ask for my heart or else it would be like forcing him into something that he’s not sure about. And I don’t want that. I want him to have a perfect boyfriend and a perfect relationship; which is exactly what we will be when it does happen. Because I know that, one day, it will. When he’s ready and not a second before.

I’ve reached the old, dilapidated library door and even from here I can hear my Mikey crying. From outside the door I can hear him sobbing at the back of the library.

Fucking hell; this is bad.

And nobody’s even bothered to go up to him to ask if he’s alright. Granted, there only about three other people (including the librarian) in there but still, how can they just ignore a normally silent boy sobbing his heart out like it’s the end of the world?

Because they’re pathetic little bastards in need of a good slap, in need of something that’ll make them cry.

Before I can even process the panic into physical movement, I’m at the back of the library and a few feet away from the table that my frightened little angel, my perfect boy, my Mikey is sat at and leaning over like it’s his bed. He’s shaking like he’s on fire, even though if he were I imagine that the amount of tears that are dousing his face would be more than enough to extinguish it, and his head is resting on the table as though it’s too heavy for him to hold upright.

Heavy with hate.


He likes it when I call him that, it always makes him light up with a dizzy smile and blush like my affection warms his desolate soul. But not today. Today he’s too wound up to even notice that I’m sliding to kneel next to his chair, my head level with his shuddering shoulders. This isn’t all Aaron’s fault; I’ve seen people tease him before and, whilst it more often than not does make him cry, he’s never reacted like this to it.

Maybe too much finally became unbearable?

No. This is something else, another bond tying his wings down.

I don’t care what it is, be it a bully or his home life; he’s upset and he needs me, his bass buddy, to cheer him up. So I will. Of course I will. It’s what I live for.

“Mikey, Sugar, c’mon, look at me; I’m here, Sugar. I won’t let them hurt you again. I promise. I don’t break my promises.”

He doesn’t respond, just carries on like his soul is being swallowed by the black hole of hatred that his heart seems to have become. I reach an arm around his shoulders and tilt his chin up with my other hand, gazing intently into his lost eyes.

Eyes that strike me with their complete, profound misery and grief.

I think that the worst I’ve ever seen him was when I asked him about his scar. I just wanted to know the sort of pain that he’s gone through, whether it’s the sort that still haunts him and if so, is it the sort that I can lessen? It obviously does still haunt him with the ferocity of a vengeful spirit, but I don’t think that I can make it better; not if he won’t tell me how that perfectly mesmerising line of agony-inflicted distortion came to rest upon his naïve little face. He’d interpreted it as me making fun of him, as me telling him that I don’t want to be seen with the freak that everyone tells him is even though I tell him he isn’t. He’d looked destroyed then, destroyed at the thought of losing his bass buddy, but how he is right now makes that day look like a barn dance.

He blinks at me, as though deciding whether I really care or not (something which breaks my heart), and then just launches into my arms like I’m the kind of protection that I want to be. He launches with such a force that I’m knocked onto the library’s pea-green carpet, Mikey clutched closely to my chest.

“Shush, Sugar, I’ve got you. Know what that means? Nobody’s gonna touch you. They won’t dare.” I feel him nod into me. Good. “Are you hurt, do you need help?” I can’t help the frantic tone in my voice, I sound kind of like a panicking mom fretting over the first time her baby gets sick. But he is my baby and I am panicking; I don’t want him to be hurt. “Sugar, did they hurt you bad?”

“N-no-o.” He stutters silently into my Alkaline Trio t-shirt, leaning even further into me than my hands are pressing him in.

“This isn’t about those dickheads, is it? You can tell me, Sugar. If something else is wrong you know that I’m always here for you.”

He nods, but I know him well enough now to understand that it doesn’t mean that he’s going to talk. And that’s fine. If he doesn’t want to talk then I won’t make him, I’ll just make him calm enough to want to talk. But I can’t do that here on the library floor.

I rub his back, treating his spine with an even higher amount of care than I do the neck of my bass, and make soft hushing sounds into his ears. I’ve got to get him home, to somewhere that he associates with safety and where I can comfort him properly without having to worry about people jumping in and laughing at him like the bastards here probably would.

I’ve never been inside his house before, only ever dropped him off or picked him up outside, and now’s a good as time as any to invite myself into the place blessed with being my Mikey’s heaven.

“C’mon, Sugar, let’s get you home.”

He nods heartlessly, just kind of accepting that that’s what I want to do and so that’s what should happen.

“Let’s get you home, Sugar, so that I can take care of you.”

This time his nod is rushed and exaggerated; good. He really means it, really wants me to be there with him, making him feel better. I want to be there with him, finding out what’s really wrong so that I can make him smile and laugh and play his bass for me.

I slowly stand and help him up, hooking my arm around his shoulders in a protective manner. And in response he rests his head into my side; listening for my heartbeat. It’s this cute little thing that he does whenever he’s scared or upset; just listens for my heartbeat. Apparently it’s something he’s always done to those he trusts enough to get close to.

And that’s how we leave the library, leave the school and head to my Ferrari; me with my arm acting like a Velcro scarf and him acting like my own personal teddy bear.

Kind of like a couple.


A/N: Thank you very much for reading; I hope that it wasn’t as dragged out as it felt to me to be. I doubt that the rest of the chapters will be this long, just the first few because they’re kind of meant to establish the state of things. Anyway, sorry if this was crap. Thank you to anyone who was amazingly kind enough to review and rate the first chapter; you really do have no idea how much it means to me! Thank you very much for reading and please review! :)
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