FicWad

This is meant to be after Meds, like seriously I'm so sorry but I just found this today ugh Lornaigh you and your hiding skills

This was hidden in her OTHER laptop (one that was meant for her Irish essays) and I found two other hidden FOTG chapters, one fluffy and one gangsterish, and I shall try to upload them soon, again, so sorry.

And Miranda: ugh, so sorry, just got this up, I shall send you a nice long email soon, I promise!

Jane

Not trying to be a disrepectful cunt here, but try to understand this from Gerard's point of view. I realize most of us are not gay Don's of the IA Mafia who saw their father kill their mother when we were six, but you'll have to use the power of imagination for this, folks. Imagine Donald is on his deathbed and shit. Victoria (briefly mentioned) you might remember from Megalomania (#53)

It was not my intention in any way or form to make this sweet or sentimental; this is not where Gerard and his father kiss and make up and shit. I didn't want that to happen in my fic. The things Donald says in this chapter are pretty horrible and should not be taken to heart. It's purely for the purpose of seeing their relationship here and Gerard hating his dad and all that. Hope you guys like it; maybe some a you can relate I dunno. I tried very hard to get across that Donald never experienced trye love and therefore was unhappy with life, but Gerard has Frankie now so his dad is like all jealous and shit. And also, round the halfway mark, Gerard goes a little crazy and starts joking in my weird fucked up sense...

Title from Radiohead, and is probably my favourite song of all time. Some people think it's about suicide, others think it's about losing your innocence from the impact of scoiety (wow Ni Ionnrachtaigh fucking deep) and some people just think it's a damn epic song. I belong to that last group.

By the way, and you guys must be wondering; the reason I killed Mikey very early in the story was because I wanted this to be ultra original and shit, and honestly, I just didn't fit Mikey into my story. That is so mean to say, but I didn't wanna involve him in the Mafia and wanted to focus on Bob and Ray more, apart from Frank and Gerard. As well as that, I couldn't imagine Mikey Way in the Mafia. Just...no.

I disagree with everything Donald says here, like to do with sexuality. I believe everyone's equal(em, hello, I write gay fan fiction) Just trying to make him look a dick is all. I get told I'm quite good at characterization, so hey ho here we go. Also, 'fanook' is Italian for 'faggot'. A polesmoker os someone who sucks a lot of dick, but is not neccesarily gay.

xo lorna

First of the Gang To Die
Sessantaquattro
No Surprises


"Oh, fucking hell," Donald Way groaned. "What the fuck is he doing here? I asked for Michael, you bitch."

Gerard Way heard the squeak of fear Victoria let out as she stood next to him. The twenty nine year old, in black shirt and trousers, had ventured into the city centre of Los Angeles after he had been informed from his father's consigliere (a friend of Donald's since Gerard's childhood; he distinctly remembered he had mocked the young boy about his abbhorrent fear of needles by jabbing him with a sharp object, the horrible fuck) that his father was dying. A mixture of Alzherimer's disease, ("He called me Donna earlier-do you know who that is?" the young girl had questioned Gerard at the door.) anti-depressants and a lifetime of alcohol and drug abuse was costing the older Way his life at the tender age of forty nine. Having had Gerard at just twenty years of age (as his wife had also) the man was young to most. To Gerard, it seemed like the bastard had been around for about two hundred years.

Gerard cocked his head and regarded his father. Donald was shorter than he was, by a substancial three or four inches, and a little fatter. Apart from those two physical features, the older man was just like his son. His hair, dyed glossy black, was turned up in a sleek quiff with a stripe of white ascending through the lift. He had those beautiful green, glittering eyes, but they seemed harshed, more judgemental. His lifeless pupils sweeped the room and settled on his son, travelling up and down, scrutinizing his eldest. Gerard, as a child, in his innocence, had always thought his father like a shark. He was sharp, cold and cursory; he swore at and beat his son to the severity of which he saw fit. Now, twenty something years later, the younger criminal thought the comparison still accurate. Donald was lying in bed, glaring at his fiancee and his son in a rather childish, accusing manner.

"Will I...will I leave you two alone?" The American girl asked ever ao quietly, tugging at the Don's sleeve. Gerard turned to her and saw the relief in her eyes. She was a young girl who had made a mistake in agreeing to marry the cunt that was his father. He felt an odd sense of sympathy, almost empathy, even though she did irritate him. "I...he gets real angry." Her eye was swallowed up in a dark bruise. She didn't even have to explain. "I don't-he doesn't want me-"

"It's fine," Gerard muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets, twisting his ring around his finger. Soon it would be replaced by another more gaudy, more vivacious one. "I'll be fine with him." He pulled up his shirt to show the buttstock of the Colt sticking out from his belt. Her baby blue eyes bulged slightly at the sight of his golden skin, his toned abdominal muscles. He heard his father mutter something about showing off. "I'm armed, thank you. You can relax for now."

"Thanks," she whispered, looking small and vulnerable. "Good luck."

Gerard nodded curtly as she walked down the hall, high heels slapping the wooden floors. It was obvious Donald didn't share his son's prediliction for modesty; the girl was wearing a thin strip of material around her waist (a skirt, perhaps?) and a tight white shirt. Nonetheless, the younger gangster walked into his father's bedroom in silence, stony-faced and sombre. He should be home with Frank. He should be in his bed with his husband, taking care of the boy with tuberculosis. He had only come because he needed to get the ring. Also, he knew the old man wouldn't have anyone else. The girl obviously didn't care for him, just another gold digger the older Way seemed to fall for in such a harsh, unrelenting manner. Gerard thought it pathetic.

"Where's Michael?" Donald demanded, slamming his fist down on the nearby table. Gerard pulled out a chair and placed himself at it. Yep, he was right; those cold, lifeless eyes were just as dead-like upclose. "I want Michael to be here. He should be here. He's a good man and he'll be a good Don. Not some worthless fanook. I don't want a polesmoker representing our family. He just wants to paint or read or something homo like that. I want my younger boy." He stretched his thin lips into a curl as Gerard realized he wasn't talking to him, but just to himself. The sexual slurs didn't bother him now; not after fifteen years of abuse. "Such a good boy, my Michael. His wife is expecting their first child now. I hope to fuck it's a boy. And he takes after his father. Michael, you never disappoint me..."

"Michael's dead," Gerard said in a flat tone, emotionless and desolate. He was having regrets about coming here already, goddamit. "Michael's dead. He's been dead for over a year. He has a daughter, Luciana. She lives with you. I am already the Don. You-"

"Gerard," he snarled suddenly. "What the fuck are you doing here? Come to apologize for not shooting the boy dead? You should be. You are such a fucking disgrace to me, you fail the House of Way, you always have since you came out as a cocksucker-"

"Listen, cuntface," the younger man seethed, pulling his father by the collar. "Listen up because I ain't gonna fucking repeat myself. You better sit back and shut your fat, Italian ass up and let's get some fucking shit straight. Your son is dead. I killed him because he was ratting me out to the cops. You're Donald Way and you're nearly fifty, I'm your son and the only person who ever remotely dealt with your complete SHIT throughout the years. Now shut the FUCK up and stop fucking insulting the only person who's sitting by you as you fucking pray to God you get to fuck some whore when you're burning in Hell." He jumped to his feet suddenly and paced the room. "Jesus, you're such an asshole. I want you to jump off a cliff."

"You've got such a warm personality, Gerard," Donald said sarcastically. "So kind and sweet. Treating your father with such respect." He scoffed and looked out the window. "I always thought Donna should have got the abortion. A quick punch in the stomach would have done well."

Gerard turned slowly to his father. Behind his mask of intimidation, that had stung deep down. His glittering eyes penetrated the elder's.

"I'll leave right now," he warned calmly, pointing to the door. "I don't have to stand here and take this shit. My husband is sick and suffering without me and I'd much rather be taking care of him than having a fight with my braindead father. I'll leave now and not a feel a bit of guilt. I don't deserve this." He shook his head, fists clenched. "I don't have to stand here and listen to this."

"Fine. See if I care."

Gerard, without a second's hesitation, turned on his loafer's heels and pulled the door open. His blood was surging with anger and an arsenel of insults were building up in his mind. He felt like breaking down. Donna should have got the abortion. It burned him, hurt him, goaded him. He was in the door frame when he heard a weak:

"Ger...Gerard? Mio ragazzo? I...I'm sorry. That was harsh. I shouldn't have said that." Way turned to Donald again, who was looking at him with large, repentful eyes. Gerard sighed angrily and glared at his watch. Quarter of six; he had promised his love he's be back by half past. This next forty five minutes were going to be difficult to endure, sitting next to the Devil himself. An overweight, Italian version of the Devil. Gerard sat gingerly on the chair again, eye on his father warily. Donald smiled wanely, almost a grimace, and clapped his clawed hand on his son's knee. "Oh, mio ragazzo. I've been harsh to you, I'm sorry-"

"Correction one, get your fucking hand off of me." He picked up his father's hand and tossed it back to him carelessly. "Correction two, I am not your boy. Stop calling me that. I am nothing of yours. Correction three, saying my mother should have aborted me as a child as means of marital abuse is a little more than harsh in my eyes. Disgusting maybe, even monstrous." His glare was cold and unflinching. Gerard Way had not come here to be mocked and ridiculed. "Do not sit here and make the mistake of trying to conceal the peace with me. After twenty nie years of beating me, you cannot honestly sit here and be friendly to me. You are not judged by God for the last half hour of your life."

Donald looked worried. "You think I've got that little time left?"

This man could not honestly get more selfish, Gerard thought, his rage building up like wooden blocks again.

"How the hell am I meant to know? I ain't your goddamn medical consultant. But you look like shit, so yeah, I would assume so." His eyes flickered over to his father's desk. A copy of a magazine positioning a woman in a rather provacative tract (her mouth open, fingers inside, one hand slipped down her lower abdominal region, for want of a better word, her chest emphasised by an ill-fitting corset) on the front cover. Gerard found it hard to understand how others found this attractive. Imagining his husband in the same position, indeed, yes, but not this creature...

"What about Frank?" Donald said, craning his neck. Gerard hoped it would snap. "Is he here? He's an MD, you said that, didn't you?"

"He's not here. He's very ill and couldn't come." He rubbed his forehead wearily and wished to be back, cuddling said medical doctor. "His tuberculosis is playing up again. Had a breathing attack this morning-"

"You didn't bring him with you? You bring him goddamn everywhere, you little cunt! How-"

"Don't pretend you care remotely about my husband's medical skills. It's only now that you're dying that he matters?" He asked coldly, and Donald tried to refute, but Gerard was adament on his debate. "You never enquire about Frank. You don't remotely give a shit about anything going down in my life. You didn't fucking show up to my wedding. You were utterly horrible to him upon coming to my and his home. My poor baby," he murmured. "He was so upset from the words you said to him."

"He's not like you, Gerard," Donald said. "He dresses strangely. Gets his face...pierced with needles. He's even effected you, look at yourself. No hint of a tuxedo, your respect is gone-are you fucking wearing sneakers?!"

Way glanced down and saw his Converse peering back at him. He rubbed at his eyes and sighed.

"Frank was in bed all day and I was with him, attending to his needs. He could hardly fucking breathe on his own, and when your sonuvabitch Reverdici called me I had to promise him nothing would happen to him while I was gone-"

"You looked after him? This meaning...you neglected the Famiglia for a day to be with that boy?"

"Oh my God," Gerard muttered, rubbing his temples now. "You are actually looking for a beating right now. I gotta crowbar in my car that's just dying to get some action with your face..."

"Hilarious, Gerard, now answer the question. You neglected your position as Dominus to tend to that boy getting a sniffle? You were well aware your syndicate had a meth raid down on forty fith and seventh today-"

"I DO NOT KNOW 'THAT BOY' YOU ARE REFERRING TO," Gerard screeched, upstarting. "MY HUSBAND'S NAME IS FRANK. HE DOES NOT HAVE A MOTHERFUCKING SNIFFLE, HE IS INFLICTED WITH TUBERCULOSIS BACILLUS, HIS LUNGS ARE SO CLOGGED WITH BLOOD HE CAN BARELY BREATHE-"

"Dear Lord, calm down-"

"MAYBE YOU SHOULD HAVE THOUGHT OF CALMING DOWN THE NIGHT YOU KILLED MY MOTHER, YOU NASTY SONUVABITCH-"

Gerard had been leaning in close to his father then; that was a mistake. Donald slapped him across the face, sending the younger man's cheek bright pink. Gerard growled and whipped out his pistol, aiming at his father's temple. He had the bastard's life right in his hands now; he could cut Donald Way off this string any minute he wanted. He stared into his father's eyes, the jade orbs that mirrored his own, as his cheek began to sting with pain. He growled again, deep from his throat, an animalistic sound. A sot tapping came upon the door. Neither man removed their gaze from one another.

"Um...is there a Gerard Way in here?"

Gerard got his feet quickly, jabbing his pistol in his hilt again. He was damn fucking angry with himself. He shoulda killed the cunt right then and there, splayed his brains all over the walls and stormed out, gone back to his love and looked after Frank. Life would have been perfect then. The girl-what was her name again?-was standing there, a thick black telephone in her grasp. He grabbed it from her and brought it to his ear.

"Yes?"

"Gee?" Oh God, it was Frankie. That was fairly obvious; he had not introduced himself but the affectionate nickname was reserved for one person and one person only. His polite, quiet lisp soothed Gerard's soul, who found himself smiling again, stomach bubbling with excitement. There was static on the light, as the roaring winds and the pelting rain was not doing the telphone connections any favours. Gerard smiled into the receiver and turned so he faced his father, curious.

"Who is it?" He asked loudly. Gerard flipped him off and spoke to his husband.

"Hey sugar," he said, and Donald rolled his eyes. "Are you alright, bunny?"

"I just wanted to tell you I'm feeling a little better," he said. Gerard noted a slight squeak was stil in his voice, so effeminate and soft. He could imagine Frank standing on his toes to reach the cande-stick telephone, twisting the cord in his fingers, tilting his head to the side. The mental image made Gerard wear a wide smile. "Doctor Calversari was here and he said my blood level is better than it was a few days ago, Gee. He says I have to stay in bed til at least Friday-today's Wednesday-but then I'll be healthy again." He could hear a smile in Frank's voice. "Isn't that good?"

"So awesome, sweetie," Gerard returned, smiling genuinely. His rabbit laughed his hiccup giggle. "I'm so glad you're getting better, baby. Did you eat yet? You know what the doc said about your diet, babe."

"I want to wait until you come home," the boy chirped happily, and Gerard smiled wider. The younger one was so cute in his loyalty to Gerard. Then, voice lower: "Sorry I had to ring your dad's house, but I just wanted to tell you real bad...is he okay?"

"He's dying, baby." Donald glared at him, scowling. "He's gonna be dead soon."

"Thanks a whole fucking lot, you little shit."

"What was that, Gee?"

"Oh, just...feedback, sweets. But yeah. He's pretty shit. Still manages to be the biggest cunt on the face of the planet, however, which I do applaud him for."

"Oh," Frank lisped, and Gerard could hear slight hesitation that hinted at apocryphyl in his statement. "That's...that's real bad, Gee. I'm so sorry. Tell Mister Way I said I'm sorry and I-"

Gerard chucked. So like Frank to apologize to someone for dying.

"I will, Frankie. Just relax back and rest until I get home, okay? I shouldn't be too long." His eyes flicked to his father. Donald was looking into his lap, regarding his ring. "Don't want my little kitty cat straining himself after such a hard day." Another giggle. "See ya around, sugar."

"Bye, Gee. I love you."

"Love ya, sweetness," Gerard replied. He waited until Frank hung up before he placed the phone back in it's cradle. He walked back over to his father, bearing in mind his beloved's jubilant news, swaggering slightly, hips rolling. He sat at tha chair again, thinking of the Mexican standoff he and Donald had very nearly just encountered.

"I hear he calls you by a slang word." Way senior picked at his nails. "The first letter of your given name. How sweet." His tone was sticky and mocking, nearly spitting at his son. "Donna only called me sir. Or by my honourary name."

"Donna was also beaten," Gerard said airily. "She was raped and battered by her rat of a husband who eventually killed her and shoved their eldest son into the Italian-American Mafia when he was fifteen. Donald continued to drink, fight and fuck girls younger than his fucking sons." Gerard put on a fake beam and gave his father two thumbs up. "Great parenting job, dad! Extra kudos for beating me with a crowbar when I came out as gay! That was super awesome!"

Donald scowled, staying silent.

"And thanks for giving me the worst middle name of all time, too. That was pretty cool to say in fronta my men when I became Don. Cool shit, daddy-o. Or papa, maybe? O wondoerous father? Great one? My illustrious-"

"Gerard." Voice stern now. "Don't tease me. I-"

"What'cha gonna do, fuckface? Stare me to death? Can hardly fucking move from your goddamn bed. You're a bundle of blankets with a lotta tubes runnin in and outta ya." He put on a lower baritone and frowned. "'Oh now, don't tease me, Gerard, you're being a child, Gerard, you're such a cunt, Gerard.'"

"Gerard-"

"No, no, I get it," the New Jersey man said reasonably, showing his palms. "I totally get it. You get to kill my mother and beat me from the age of about two onwards. But I mock you a little and it's not cool. Okay, awesome. Long as we're laying down some rules here."

"Gerard."

"It's like, oh totally yeah, I'm Donald, this is my son, Gerard, Don whatever the fuck, he kills and pillages and raids and beats and all that shit, that's so awesome, but hey, he fucks guys instead of girls, that's so not cool, man. So not cool." A flick of the hand. "He can torture the fuck out of someone and it's cool, but suck a little dick and HEY NOW, that shit's gotta stop."

Silence hung over the room as Gerard finished his bizarre comedy routine. Donald was looking into his lap again, eyes downcast all of a sudden. Gerard glared at him; he didn't like how the fucker was playing the woe-is-me card.

"I really envy the love you share with the boy, Gerard," he muttered. His hand were idle in his lap, his Family ring glittering in the light. "I do not care for the way in which you just spoke to me...but I wish I could have experienced what you have for him."

"Frank." Gerard leant against a nearby wall. "He was named for a reason, yanno."

"Frank," he said like he had never such a word before. "Do you call him Franco?"

"Why tha hell would I call him that?"

"Maybe because you're Italian, Gerard."

"Hate to burst your whole Italy is the bomb thingy, but I'm about as Italian as apple pie, honey." He looked amongst his father's papers on his desk; mostly dates on which his girlfriend's visits were allowed. "No. I call him pet names because he's precious to me. I love him so much. Everything to me." He looked to Donald. "You don't know how to treat human beings. You're like fucking socially retarded. Beat your son, kill your wife, fuck whores. The good life, huh?" He slipped his hands into his pockets again. "Sucks to be ya, I know. Cunty old Gerard, goddamn fanook, is gonna be Don, he's got the best person in the world as his husband, is rich, fucking hot as hell...and Donald, tough old Don de la Via is alone and fat and miserable." He pouted. "My heart cries for you."

Donald growled. "Frank'll die soon anyway. Tuberculosis and all that."

He expected Gerard to shoot him there and then. But the made man just chuckled.

"Oh, sure. I mock you, you tell me my husband's gonna die. Seems fair." The twenty nine year old chuckled and glanced at his watch. "Oh, look at the time. Six twenty seven. Promised my baby I'd be home by six thirty and I don't want him waiting a single minute more for me than he has to. Also, I wanna get the fuck on outta here. Now, as productive and super fun as this little chat has been, father, I feel I must take my leave."

"You're-you're going?" Donald questioned suddenly as Gerard gathered his coat. "You're just...leaving me to die now?"

"Uh...pretty much, yeah. I got bruschetta at home for me. Can't delay on the meal of the day, yanno."

"Gerard," Donald said now, eyes full of hope. "Gerard, please. Please stay with me, son. I-I know we've had our troubles in the past but you know deep down you love me." And of course you love me, Gerard thought spitefully. "Please. Victoria couldn't give a shit and I...I need you here with me. My only son. Michael has abandoned us. I didn't mean what I said-please don't leave!" He cried shrilly as his only son did up the buttons on his trench coat. "I-you're going to be Don after I pass, Gerard, and I need to-"

"This is for everything you ever did to me," Gerard said clearly. "I'm leaving now. To get on with my life. Accept that."

For a moment Gerard thought Donald would apologize. Would say sorry for all his misdeeds against Gerard, would break down like a shambles of a man. However, he raised his head and spoke the last thing Gerard ever heard him mutter:

"Wear sunglasses at my funeral. I don't want that hideous red eye showing at my service."

With that, the younger Don turned on his heel and left.