Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Perfectly Imperfect

Meet the Family

by DisenchatedDestroya 12 reviews

"I’m Pete Wentz and I’m your little brother’s boyfriend." 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 - Warnings: [V] - Published: 2012-01-01 - Updated: 2012-01-02 - 5783 words - Complete

Chapter Five – Meet the Family

Pete’s POV

This really isn’t as un-innocent as it looks. Honest it isn’t.

I know that it must seem really un-innocent, some sweaty eighteen-year-old practically on top of an extremely fragile sixteen-year-old angel, but it is as far from what most people would probably assume this to be as humanly possible. Just because my t-shirt’s off to reveal my chest, where my heart should be but isn’t because it belongs to aforementioned angel, it doesn’t mean that I planned on taking anything else off; far from it. I wouldn’t dream of going any further than this with my Mikey, he’s too precious for me to rush into something more than this and even if he did want it, I would not allow it; he’s got a lot on his mind at the moment and I’d never let him do something that he could quite easily regret.

Despite our positioning, Mikey had complete control of the situation because this was more for his benefit than my own and I would never have kissed back if I wasn’t one hundred percent sure that he was one hundred and ten percent sure that he really wanted me to. I wasn’t pressing too hard down on him, just enough to make him feel more un-alone then he seems to think he is and about as loved as his indescribably sweet lips have made me feel, I made it so that he could push me off whenever he wanted to do.

It started off with a gentle peck, something far softer than the pillows cushioning his delicate head, something that he leaned into and I encouraged fully; something sweeter than the happily-ever-after of a fairy story and cuter than a baby penguin hugging a seal pup. It started off with us chest to chest, hands crawling curiously across the one another’s waist until clasping together like the catch of a platinum chain, his legs curled carefully in between my own like a teddy bear hiding in the downy embrace of a duvet. It started of perfectly innocent; all light blushes and dazzled eyes.

Dazzled eyes that shone with some form of disbelief too heartbreakingly astonished for me to wish to recall; the sort of disbelief that it isn’t adorable or humorous.

The sort of disbelief that screamed at me not to leave him, not to push him away or say that he was doing something wrong; that beseeched me to not hurt him by just upping and leaving or pushing him away like a cold plate of food. The sort of disbelief that made it blatantly obvious someone else had had the pleasure, the pure good fortune of tasting the divine lips of an angel, had earned my Mikey’s trust and then threw back in his face; made it obvious that he’s had his heart broken before in such a way that makes it hard for him to hand it over without it shattering completely in resolute fear. But then, when we broke apart for the first time so that I could see his smile, the disbelief turned to sickly fright; he thought that I was going to laugh at him or leave him or hurt him in some way. There was a smile, a small heaven-sent uplift of the lips that made my heart ache because it longed for my own lips to be riding his once more, but it was the kind of sullen smile of someone who had just gotten a glance at a loved one in heaven only to find that they themselves are damned to hell; happy to have had the small mercy of seeing that loved one, but destroyed on the inside that they’ll never see their face again.

So, me being me, I did the only thing that I could think to do with regards of making him feel as wanted as a red rose on Valentine’s day is to the ugly girl with no friends; as adored as a young puppy in a retirement home; as beautiful as the face of a lost child is to a frantic mother; as loved as he really is. That thing was to kiss him again, but better. The kind of kiss that I have used before on many people to make them want more, but yet so different from any kiss that I have ever given; unlike the others, this kiss was fuelled by unbridled and unparalleled adulation combined with a marvellously overwhelming hunger to take away all of my angel’s pain, not by the normal lust that I have felt so many times before that it barely even registers with me anymore. Of course the lust was there, it just didn’t play a huge part in the kiss. It was like true love, concern and the need to protect were the main parts of the kiss with other factors (such as lust, my own loneliness, desire, the appeal of his taste, a need to understand his mouth and body better) playing the supporting roles.

He wanted to feel wanted, so I did the best thing that I could do; I made him feel loved. He felt out of control and uncared for, so I made him be in control, made him feel more cared for than I’ve ever even felt myself.

Well, that’s not entirely true; I felt indescribably cared for when his arms fastened around my neck, which was dangling over his own so that I could suck at the pre-nuzzled skin on it softly, so cared for in fact that I almost felt sad because I know that I’ll never be able to make him feel as needed and cared for as he does me.

As for the stripping of my torso…

How the hell did that happen? Was it me or Mikey that pulled the constricting fabric from my toned top half? I don’t know but it doesn’t really matter either; it made my Mikey happy and that’s all I need in order to have my own glee. I think it made him happy anyway, if the way he pawed my skin and clung to it are anything to go by, then he most certainly did. I think that I was the one to remove it, it was done more through need than any sort of lusty desire for my Mikey to touch my chest as though he’d never seen a six-pack before; no, it was done because it really was getting unbearably hot in that small, cosy room.

Besides, like I said earlier; it made my angel happy.

But not only that; it made my angel confident in himself, sure enough to just reach out and touch my bare skin. Skin that tingled like popping candy at the ignition of his wispy, semi-nervous touch. ‘Semi-nervous’ when it would normally have been ‘cripplingly nervous’. Why? Because I showed him that I think he is wonderful, that he can do nothing to upset me, that he matters enough to me for me to open my heart to him so that he can take it to replace his own, broken ticker. It showed me who my Mikey really is beneath the ever-present sorrow that I managed to eradicate with my love; showed me that he really is amazing, twice as amazing than I already knew him to be. He was actually not being frightened, not looking as though he thought someone was going to dare to hurt him at any given moment; he actually looked like everything my actions were intended to make him.

He actually looked happy.

‘Looked’; as in the past tense. Because now he looks like all of the terror that I’ve just managed to draw from him like venom from a snake bite is dousing those stunningly benevolent eyes again.

Because some vampire-wannabe is stood in his doorway, looking very much like he’s about to do something that will get him arrested for grievous bodily harm.

Looking like a threat to my Mikey’s happiness and fleeting feeling of security. Not just a threat; the murderer of my sweet little angel’s momentary joy and sureness because the poor boy is now shaking underneath me as though there are a million squirming scorpions pulsating beneath his highly breakable porcelain skin. Shaking like I’ve never felt him shake before, not even on one of those days where I’ve found him in the back of the library, like this man stood fiercely in front of the only way to exit the room is a vile beast that he’s only ever before seen in his nightmares.

And I’m guessing that his name is Gerard Way; someone way too imperfect to even claim to be related to my shuddering little angel.

I’ve never met the man, if such a failure can be called that, but I already hate him; he lets my Mikey come into school with dried tears etched onto his face, lets my Mikey feel alone, lets my Mikey think all of the horrible things that he does about himself. And then has the nerve to stop me from comforting my Mikey, my Mikey, in a way that is clearly the most effective; making him feel loved. I know that he voluntarily acts as Mikey’s legal guardian, although I personally think that my frightened little angel would be better off under the care of someone who is actually capable of looking after such an introverted soul, but I think that he may see that as a free ticket into my Mikey’s heart; a heart that is a lot easier to break than it is to gain access to.

I manoeuvre myself to be lying next to Mikey, on the side facing his big brother so that I can shield him from the potentially hurtful view of his fuming family, I put my arm protectively around his shivering shoulders; shivering from the arctic glare that Geetard is shooting us, the kind of glare that makes me feel a little uneasy. I don’t scare easily, threats don’t normally threaten me all that much, so for this guy’s stare to make me feel uneasy means that my Mikey must be absolutely petrified. Which in turn means that I need to teach that bastard a lesson for making the one who possesses my heart like a kitten with it’s beloved ball of string anything less than happy; for making him look like he’d be crying in fear if I wasn’t pulling him into the safety of my side.

“Get the fuck away from my little brother!” He barks angrily as though I’m beating up his brother instead of making him feel better, making him feel protected from any kind of threat; including the threat of his big brother being mad with him when all my frightened little angel wants is for his big brother to show him some sort of honest affection.

I think that it’s time that I taught this motherfucker a lesson; have some fun with pissing him off like he’s pissed me off.

Some would say that I have some sort of revenge complex, but I see it as righting all of the wrongs; creating a sense of empathy so that he knows not to fuck with me again and certainly not to upset his little brother any more. I’m not going to hurt him, I would never hurt a guy that obviously means so much to my frightened little angel even though I can’t for the life of me comprehend why, but rather vocally; it’s time for me to have some fun with a wound up bully who’s about to realise just who he’s fucking with.

He’s fucking with the person that loves his little brother more than anything; more than a dying sinner loves the idea of life-support, more than mosh-goers love having the bruises to brag about in the morning, more than a starved infant loves having a huge meal.

More than anything because he is my everything.

I guess some people would probably say that I’m too young to actually be experiencing proper, true, pulse-raising love; that people don’t really understand what love means until they’re halfway through life and have gotten bored of simply fucking anything that moves. I guess some people would say that two months isn’t long enough to know someone and then decide that you want to spend the rest of your life with them; that you have to live half of your life with that person before you can decide how you want to spent the other half of it. I guess some people would call me a lovesick teenager in need of a good slap for chucking out cheesy clichés about love like they’re going out of date, but I really do mean everything that I say about how much I love my Mikey. No, I don’t; I mean it tenfold, because no words can ever begin to describe how much I love that shy, cute, adorable, anxious, sweet, kind, gentle, quiet, amazing little angel.

An amazing angel whose big brother appears to not be loving the fact that Mikey’s curled up into my sweaty, topless body.

“Are you deaf or something? I said get away from him!”

I feel Mikey flinch against me as his big brother stamps his foot childishly on the floor, like a fussing toddler not getting his own way.

God, he needs a slap.

Mikey stops shaking and I look from his brother to him to see that he has closed his eyes and is holding his breath as though he’d like very much to disappear. I’d like him to disappear right now too, like him to be away from the situation that’s stressing him out so unbearably much.

“No; I’m not going anywhere.” I state the immovable fact in a voice that just dares him to challenge me and is intended to make my Mikey feel safer, feel stronger for me showing my strength and immovability where his precious self is concerned. “Now piss off before you make my Mikey even more upset.”

I can’t help but smirk as Mikey snuggles closer into me and Gerard turns a furious shade of crimson, like his blatant fury and misunderstanding have poisoned his bloodstream. I guess that it is just a misunderstanding really; he walked in on something far more innocent than it looked to be, I can’t say that I really blame him for being more than a little shocked.

But I do blame him for scaring my Mikey; for being the cause of my Mikey’s earlier tears; for being a total bastard and, to be frank from what I can gather, a shit big brother towards someone who clearly needs the support of his only family.

Gerard lets out a disbelieving, incredulous snort of laughter that barely manages to disguise his blatant fury at my blunt honesty and snarky tone; a tone that I reserve especially for people who upset my Mikey.

“Ha! ‘Your’ Mikey? Who the fuck do you think you are?” He sounds like I’ve made some sort of ridiculous claim, like I’ve said that I’m actually an elephant and can fly simply by flapping my ears. But he also sounds like he’s gearing up for something.

Something that I can’t see coming because I’ve turned my back to him so that I can look at my Mikey’s panic-stricken, frightened face. Look at it and use it to remind myself not to lash out at the one who has caused it to be this distorted by negativity; I don’t want him to view me as someone capable of hurting his only surviving family member, as someone who could hurt him.

I hear slamming footsteps behind me, slamming footsteps getting closer, but I just can’t bring myself to look away from my Mikey’s trembling lips and scrunched-shut eyes. My poor little angel was so happy, was finally content with himself for the first time in I dread to think how long and now, because of some grumpy bastard, that’s all been snatched away like a Zimmer frame from a blind old man.

Is it too much to ask for my Mikey to be allowed to actually be happy for once; for him to have a memory of him not being frightened?

The footsteps stop. Gerard’s breathe is almost tornado-like. Mikey opens his eyes only to shut slam them immediately shut again, denying me the wonderful light of his irises.

“Get away from him. Now.” A molten voice erupts into the tense silence, pouring it’s lava of spite all over my bare back that is preventing it from reaching my Mikey.

If it wasn’t for the fact that the one I’m going to protect until the day he no longer needs protecting is clinging to me as though he thinks that I’m indestructible, I might actually do as the fuming Dracula lookalike requests because he really is starting to sound dangerous; like he’s going to do something that I’ll make him regret. But my Mikey is clinging onto me like he actually believes that I’ll keep him safe from anything, and so I’m not afraid.

Not outwardly anyway.

“Make me.” I taunt haughtily, letting my cocky side shine through like it normally does when I’m around people who aren’t Mikey Way.

“Oh, I will.”

He really does sound threateningly ominous for some guy who is probably only a year or so older than me in the first place, for a guy that my Mikey has described as his ‘amazing big brother’, for a guy that’s meant to be the guardian of a frightened little orphan. A guy that, if he acts like this all of the time which I pray he doesn’t, shouldn’t be let anywhere near a scared and scarred kid like my Mikey.

And, once more, I would probably be shitting myself if I didn’t have my Mikey to prove myself to.

“I’d like to see you try.”


I have bite my lip to stifle the shocked yelp from shooting from throat as I feel Gerard grab my shoulders, grab them like they’re still covered in my t-shirt so that he pulls harshly at skin, and hauls me violently off of the bed, throwing me to the floor like a piece of dirty laundry. No, like a piece of diseased meat that he doesn’t want his little brother to taste through fear of him getting sick. Fear. I can see the fear in Gerard’s eyes, eyes that have just locked onto my Mikey’s lonely body.

Lonely because I’m not lying next to it like we both need me to be. Because I’m sprawled on the floor with a burningly stinging sensation on my back from where Gerard’s nails have just pressed into it whilst he was yanking me off of the one person who needs body-heat from a loved one more than anything else. It suddenly doesn’t feel so warm in here, if anything it feels like a tundra of icy emotions that should never be present in my Mikey’s bedroom; in the one place that he should feel comfortable in no matter what.

“Mikes, kiddo, are you alright?” His voice is all soft now, like he expects Mikey to forget that he just threw me across the room purely because the so-called problem (me) has been removed, and his eyes have melted like chocolate at seeing my Mikey in such a state, even though my Mikey’s being so incredibly brave and holding in the tears that I can sense brewing in the surrounding air like some sort of deadly cocktail.

Is the man fucking blind? Or just plain stupid?

There is no way on this hell that some guy decided to name ‘Earth’ that this man is fit to look after any child, let alone a depressed and orphaned teenager. It really isn’t all that surprising now that I’ve seen his home and met his only family that my poor Mikey is the way that he is; broken inside, just like his home. And it breaks me to know that he has to live like this, in a room full of fake images of what he thinks his big brother should mean to him and with some guy who’s pissier than a vampire with severe bloodlust.

Mikey hasn’t replied, has just wrapped his arms around himself like a child’s safety blanket and pulled his knees into his chest in the same way that a new born baby does; like he’s trying to make up for being suddenly without my supportive arms.

I’ve got to do something. So I spring to my feet and move to go forward, only stopping when Gerard turns to face me with sadness hiding behind the fury in his wild and intimidating eyes; the eyes of a lost, frustrated wolf that’s had enough of wandering aimlessly through a forest in search of it’s pack.

“What the fuck did you do to him, you little shit? Can’t you see that he’s messed up inside, or do you like ‘em like that? Huh? Do like hurting fucked up little kids?” He hisses with such venom that I know for a fact I’d punch if he wasn’t my Mikey’s beloved big brother; more like big bully.

That’s not fair really though, is it? I don’t know everything about Gerard, don’t know all that much about his relationship with the kid he’s just called ‘fucked up’ and pretty much tried to convince him in a very sly way that I’m just some user playing a game, I don’t know what he’s normally like with my frightened little angel, so is it really fair for me to judge him as something as evil as a bully; as the kind of person that Aaron is? No, it’s not fair at all.

Or rather, it wouldn’t be fair if he hadn’t just thrown me away from the fallen angel who needs me to mend the broken wings of his heart, if he hadn’t just made my Mikey shake in such a pure form of fear that it makes hell seem like Hawaii, if he hadn’t just said some of the most disgusting things I’ve ever heard about my little baby angel. Words that are all the more disgusting because they came out of the mouth of someone who I know for a fact that Mikey looks up to; someone who means the world to the one I’m hopelessly in love with, to the one whose own world is being shattered by the bastard that is Gerard Way.

He takes a forceful step closer to me, a step that seems to make the whole room shake, and looks as though he’s about to back his cruel words up with a punch or two.

But then something amazing happens, something that makes me feel like the proudest person to ever set foot in Belleville; Mikey tugs on his big brother’s arm like a small child trying to get the attention of a distracted parent. He actually comes out of his shell of fear to try and do something about something that’s causing him distress; he’s trying to be all that I’ve always encouraged him to be since the day we met.

“Not now, Mikes. I’m busy.”

You absolute fucktard; he’s trying to talk to you, a kid who hardly ever talks is trying to speak and you’ve just pushed him away!

I hope you’re proud, Gerard, proud of scaring the little brother that you supposedly adore even more into silence. On scaring my innocent, frightened little angel to the point where he’s almost bighting through his bottom lip despite the fact that it’s already released a thin dribble of blood that makes my heart bleed along with it.

Congratulations on making a bad thing worse, Geetard.

Hang on. Mikey’s not letting go of Gerard’s leather jacket sleeve, still got his spindly and shaking fingers curled tightly around it as though his meagre prowess would be enough to hold Gerard back should he decide to punch me like I think he is most likely to. And because of that, because of the stunning bravery that my Mikey shouldn’t have to be using, my love for him increases tenfold, to the point where it’s almost painful to see him and not be holding him. I catch his eye and give him a reassuring smile, the kind that I’m sure he’s given me when I defend him from bullies at school, a smile that he blushes at adorably before returning his eyes to his big brother’s exasperated form.

An exasperated form that’s glaring at me as though I’ve enchanted his brother with some sort of evil incantation; with such a high level of disgust at me in his eyes that I can’t help but feel sorry for him, if he’s always this narrow-minded then he’ll never get to enjoy life.

“Ge-gerar-ard, p-p-pleas-ease-se, h-he-e’s-s my-y… m-y-y…”

The terrified, fragmented words should break my heart because of all of the anxiousness and fear portrayed within them; should make me feel like a knight who has just failed to slay the dragon. But it doesn’t. Because he’s looking at me with eyes that are asking the question I’ve been waiting to be able to ask him for the past two months.

“I’m Pete Wentz and I’m your little brother’s boyfriend.”

Wow, it feels good to say that; like it’s the most natural way to introduce myself. Mikey’s face lights up in the cutest, most uplifting way imaginable. Gerard’s face darkens in the most disapproving way imaginable.

“Whether you like it or not. And I’ll do what the fuck I want to him because I know that it’s what he wants too. I wouldn’t want something if he didn’t want it too.”

I really mean that, mean it with same amount of force that Gerard seems to hate me with. Hates me with and I just don’t really understand why.

Mikey looks up at Gerard with the eyes of a cat who’s just bought it’s owner the gift of a dead mouse; obliviously pleased and thinking that Gerard will be too. He should be; Mikey’s found someone he trusts enough to call his boyfriend and that should be enough to win Gerard around. Even if it isn’t he should at least act like he’s happy for us; I can take him not liking me, but can’t he at least pretend for the sake of my Mikey’s rare happiness? If my Mikey had came to me yesterday with some other guy calling him ‘Sugar’ then, whilst I’d hate that guy for stealing away my Mikey, I’d act like I was happy for him just because that’s what Mikey needs and if I really love him then I’ll be happy whenever he is, however he gets to be happy. So why can’t Gerard see things like that?

“Have you met my brother? He doesn’t fucking know what he wants; he’s emotionally troubled and if you love him like you say you do you’d know that he can’t handle someone like you right now.” He pauses, shaking Mikey off of his jacket sleeve which makes me furious as it forces my Mikey to curl into himself once more, and bares his teeth in an almost animalistic way before running his hand through his messy mane of jet black. “How old even are you?”

Jesus, what is this? One of those old romance novels where the father always has to find a problem with the only perfect suitor? Oh well, if I have to play that sort of game to gain his approval then I’m willing to give it a go. For my Mikey, my sweet and frightened little angel.


“Then you should know better than to go around fucking suicidal kids, shouldn’t you?”

Suicidal? Just because my Mikey has a tendency to feel down, it’s no wonder with a brother like this, it doesn’t make him suicidal. How dare he say such a drastic thing about my lost little angel? My lost little angel who has let his inner strength dissolve and is currently crying his heart out on his bed.

I just gawp at Gerard in complete, unbridled disgust.

“Oh, so he hasn’t told you that he tried to kill himself a few months ago, then?” I just shake my head, stunned into silence and too sorrowful to even scowl at him for using something like that against his little brother. “Guess you don’t know him at all then, do you?”


How could my Mikey do something like that?

I know exactly how; this bastard would be enough to push anyone over the edge. But still; suicide? The kind that people try to do when they really can’t take anymore, the kind that could have prevented me from ever meeting my broken little angel? And he never told me. Never told me that he is capable of feeling that low; never really trusted me enough to tell me he tried to fucking kill himself.

He never trusted me at all.

That’s not fair; I know my Mikey and I know how much he’s scared of what other people think of him. It only makes sense that he’d try to keep something like this from me. Tried and failed because his big brother just spilt his cruel little secret in the cruellest way possible; in a way intended to scare me away from my Mikey, to make him all alone again. But I can kind of see why he’s doing this now, why he’s acting this way towards me; he doesn’t want Mikey to get hurt again.

But he could at least give me a chance to be the person that my Mikey is in love with.

He could have at least said it without using the kind of tone that implies my Mikey is bad because he let himself get so desperate, that no one will ever want my poor little angel for something that makes me want to hold him all the more.

“You sick bastard! Look at him, look at what you’ve done to your own little brother!”

He does look and immediately he tries to run a hand over my Mikey’s outward facing back. Tries to because I slap it away; he doesn’t get to touch my Mikey when it’s so obvious that my Mikey’s frightened of him. I would be too if I wasn’t feeling so livid.

“You need serious help, Geetard. How you can even think Mikey should be in your care is beyond me.”

He punches me.


Square in the nose.

I hear something click.

I hear my Mikey scream.

I feel the pain.

The searing agony that pulsates through my nose and around the surrounding areas like some sort of funeral parade. And then I feel the blood dribbling from nostrils, like liquid hate from Gerard’s fist, so I move my hand to hold my nose. Partly to try to soothe the pain, but mostly to hide it from my Mikey’s petrified wide-eyed gaze that makes him look as though he’s about to pass out.

I’d say it again, though. Of course I fucking would. Because that punch means that Gerard knows that I’m right. And I like that I’ve beaten him at his own game. I like it a lot. Would like it a lot more if my frightened little angel didn’t have to see something that has obviously sparked some chain of treacherous thoughts to stampede through his head.

I haven’t won Gerard’s game, have I?

I’ve lost.

By saying what I just said about his big brother I’ve contradicted everything that Mikey believes, everything that he wants to be true. By letting myself get punched I’ve scared and scarred his fragile little heart.

“Get out of my house.”

So I turn to leave.

What else can I do? I need to get my nose sorted out, I need to let my Mikey sort his big brother out, I need to stop before I’ll say something bad. I’ll phone him later to make sure that he’s alright, see if he wants to come around mine for some comfort, for someone to hold him like someone should be holding him right now.

But as I walk down the stairs, my Mikey’s loud crying and Gerard’s louder hushes dousing my ears like a forest fire, I catch sight of some short dude hitching a lead up to an overweight Jack-Russell. It must be the Frankie and the Misfit that I’ve heard about. The two nice things in my sobbing angel’s life other than the nice thing that I am trying to be. He must have heard me running down the stairs because he’s looking up at me in almost comical shock.

Because seeing a teary-eyed, bloody-nosed, topless stranger run through your house is probably not something that he’s used to.

“I think your boyfriend needs the leash more than your dog.”

And with that I run outside, ignoring a faint noise of surprise from Frank, and to my Ferrari.

A Ferrari that feels way too empty with just me in it.

A/N: Thanks for reading; I’m really sorry that it’s so long and crappy, it just kinda wouldn’t stop. Sorry. Anyway, thank you very much for reading and please review! :)
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