FicWad

I Could(n’t)



I wish I could protect you, Mikes. Push back all of those monsters who are all too willing to hurt you like hellhounds baying for the blood of an angel.

But then people would start talking, wouldn’t they? Start spreading rumours and lies that aren’t really lies, not in my mind anyway. And besides, it’s not like I would actually last two minutes against those huge six-foot blocks of pure muscle that take pride in fracturing the perfect porcelain of your face every day. I tried once, you know, cornered the smallest one of them in the boys’ bathroom after school and told him that if he ever even looked at you, at my precious baby brother, again then I would kill him. He just laughed. Barged past me. Called me an ‘incestuous freak’.

I’m not though, am I? I’m not a freak. I’m just unique; that’s what you always tell me, Mikes. You call me your ‘unique awesome big brother’, and when you call me that you smile that captivating smile; the very one that could make clouds fall and oceans rise and makes my heart beat out of time at simply seeing it. It’s not wrong, not really, for me to love my fifteen-year-old brother in the way that I do; other people just don’t understand.

If I could protect you, Mikes, then I would. I would make you feel as safe in the corridors of that hellhole as you do in when you crawl into my arms every time they hurt you. Every time that happens, when the peaceful paleness of your skin gets interrupted by the hellfire of your own liquid-gold, I just want to kiss it all better; wear your blood like lipstick so that I can show everyone if they hurt you then it’s me that they have to deal with. But kissing you better apparently stopped being cute a fair few years ago, back before they told me that loving you in any way other than brotherly is wrong. They’re the wrong ones though, Mikes; love is love. Right?

I wish I could stop the nightmares, Mikes. Force away all of the demons that your own heart conjures so that you can have just one night of peace.

But then Mom would ban me from your bedroom if she saw me watching over you every night like every part of me screams at me to. Screams at me like I hear you screaming every night before you come stumbling into my bedroom, eyes fogged with the violent haze of your own treacherous thoughts. Although it makes me feel physically sick to see you looking so helpless, Mikes, I can’t help but look forward to you clambering into bed with me as though just being near me can stop the fright; sobbing into my chest about feeling like a baby as though my approval or disdain is all that you care about; snuggling into me like we should always be. I love it because it’s just the two of us, warm and close, with me making you feel better.

I’m not though, am I? No matter how many times I cuddle you through your fears of what the cruelty of sleep might inflict upon your cotton-candy mind, it still happens again; you still get sad and frightened and everything else that you never should be. Would that change if I told you the truth? I know that you’re nightmares are about being alone, so would it help if I told you those three little words that dance dauntingly upon my lips every time I have you held close? No. Because then they’d tear us apart. And then who would look after you when you have a nightmare?

If I could stop your nightmares, Mikes, then I would like to think that I could overcome my own selfish wants and do it. Not just because it’s the brotherly thing to do, but because I just love you too much to be able to bear hearing you scream at things that your own brilliant mind has forced upon you. I would make it so that, instead of you crying yourself to sleep in my strong arms, you’d be drifting off to sleep happily pressed against my chest; our heartbeats synchronised and our hands intertwined, just like the two lovers that I know we should be. People say that the idea of us two sharing a bed, no matter the circumstances, is weird. They’re weird ones though, Mikes, for not being able to see how much I love you; love is love. Right?

I wish I could make you smile, Mikes. Make the corners of your lips rise like two pristine rose petals caught in a warm summer updraft.

But then you wouldn’t need me to hug it all better whenever you’re not smiling, which is pretty much all of the time now. They’ve broken you, Mikes; the people at school have smashed your beautiful soul like they’ve smashed your porcelain skin too many times before and now seeing the bling light of your smile is something that is becoming all too rare for my liking. You used to smile all of the time, back before I realised how I truly felt about you, and I always just took it for granted in the same way that a kid always just expects to find it’s dinner on the table every night. Apart from now I’m starting to be starved of your smile and I really don’t fucking like it. I’m the only person left who’s capable of igniting the world with the lightning of your smile now, and even I’m starting to struggle to do it.

I shouldn’t be though, should I? You’re my baby brother, I should be able to make you smile as easily as ‘God’ can paint a rainbow into the clouds, I should be able to make you as happy as just being around you makes me. I’m unbelievably in love with you, I should just instantly know what’s going in that head of yours and be able to fix it, I should be able to make you forget all of your worries like you make me forget all of mine. Perhaps kissing you would make you smile, I could certainly force your lips upwards with my own easily enough. But would that really make you happy?

If I could make every living second glow with your flawlessly innocent smile, then I would force myself to forget what it feels like to comfort you and just do it. Because you really do deserve to smile, little brother. I adore it whenever you smile; it makes you look just like you did back when you were too naïve to realise that the world is full of nasty people, people that your big brother can’t always protect you from. I’ll never stop trying though, Mikes, because I love you no matter how many people would find it ‘gross’ if they ever found out. They’re the gross ones though, Mikes, for not appreciating that I’m just a boy in love; love is love. Right?

I wish I could give you the strength to stop. Have you reaching for me to cradle you like the baby you are instead of the unforgiving razor blade that you have hidden in your room.

But then I truly would be a miracle worker and that’s impossible because miracles just don’t exist in this cruel world; aside from you, of course. You think that I don’t know, that I don’t see the angry and confused war-medals that life has awarded to you in the form of messy, scabbing scars and regimented, deep cuts. If you knew that I know, if you knew how much it’s destroying me inside to see you going through this, would it make you stop? I doubt it. And that’s not me being mean or spiteful or thoughtless, it’s just me being honest. Because I know that it’s an addiction, one that all those who I can’t protect you from have triggered. Yet at the same time I know that love is all that you need, not some grimy razorblade that I try to find and dispose of every time you’re out of the house.

It isn’t though, is it? My unadulterated love for you, my baby brother, just isn’t enough to make you realise that you don’t have to be as dependent on the pain as you are. Because instead of cutting you could just be laying in my arms like a fallen angel in the arms of a demon, just like I ache for it to be so; just like I know that it should be so. I could tell Mom about what you do to yourself, but that would just push you even further away. Besides, I am enough to get you through it. I have to be. But I’m not though, am I, Mikes?

If I could give you the strength to beat this addiction like I know you can, then I really fucking would. Because life hurts you too much already without you doing it too. And if there’s one person on this miserable rock who doesn’t deserve to be in pain, it’s you. Just like you’re the only person who’s ever managed to make my heart dance to the beat of their own pounding drum of life, just like you’re the only person who could ever make me fall in love. But everyone says that it’s incestuous, that it’s disgusting. They’re the disgusting ones though, little brother, for not understanding how wonderful love is when it’s true; love is love. Right?

I wish I could tell you how much I love you. Make you see that you are the one thing that makes waking up in the morning seem more like a blessing than a curse.

But then they’d never let me see you again. And that’s something an uncountable number of times worse than having to live in silence because, although it may make my heart burn like cheap bleach on a new born baby’s delicate skin, if I can’t have you in the way that I want then I’d much rather just be here for you. Protecting you, getting rid of the nightmares, making you smile, giving you the strength to stop.

But I’ll never be able to do any of those things, will I?

Because I’m Gerard and you’re Mikey; brothers forever and always.

Brothers. Not lovers.





A/N: Thanks for reading, I hope that this was alright! I never thought that I’d write a Waycest, but here we are. I was kinda nervous about posting this so I’m really sorry if it’s crappy. Thanks for reading and please review! :)