FicWad

Happy Misery




Twenty minutes ago I pretty much lost all faith I once had in the good of mankind, in the idea that maybe, just maybe, we’re an alright bunch of semi-advanced apes. Because twenty minutes ago, the same time I lost my frail beliefs, Gerard Way showed up on my doorstep with panic rife within his ocean-wide eyes.

And an unconscious Mikey sprawled across the back seat of his overused Peugeot, bruises dotting him like a deadly rash and blood seeping out of his nose like white-hot lava creeping down upon innocent victims. My heart would have all but stopped in complete and utter misery at the pitiful sight had it not been for the fact that I know listening to it beat away for him helps to calm his tortured soul.

You may very well be wondering why on this Godforsaken rock Gerard bought his baby brother to my house instead of to his own, or even to the nearby hospital. It’s because their dad did it. The huge, bouldering forty-nine-year-old knocked his fifteen-year-old son unconscious. Unconscious and straight into my arms, the arms of his cradle-snatcher boyfriend, as Gerard first called me when he saw me kissing Mikes on their couch a few months back because I’m four years older than Mikey.

That brings me to where I am now; sat in my bed with my legs stretched out on top of the duvet and Mikey resting on top of me, precious little head cuddled cutely into my tummy, thumb hanging loosely out of his pink lips. Gerard left a little while after we finished bandaging our baby up to go and clean up the mess back at his house, leaving it as just us two.

Simply Patrick Stump and Mikey Way.

“Does it still hurt, Mouse?” He shakes his head tiredly against me, sleep-strained eyes lighting up just a tiny bit at my affectionate nickname for him. “You sure? ‘Cos you know I can tell when you’re lying.”

For a second he looks conflicted, something that stings because he should trust me enough to tell me when anything’s less than perfect for him, before letting his glassy orbs steam with tears. It hurts like hell seeing him like this, but I knew it was coming. This is something of a sickly twisted routine for us now, the Way brothers and I; Gee will bring Mouse to the undeniable safety of my arms, we clean him up, Mikes acts like a ghost for a few hours and then just breaks down, me holding onto him as I pick up the pieces of his broken spirit.

“It’s alright, Mouse. Tell Tricky all about it, just let it all out.” My soft coo floats into the room like the playing of his bass does whenever he plays it for me, yet it somehow manages to escape sounding like I’m patronizing him. It’s just pure, unbridled love and care. “Talk to me, let me help you, Mouse.”

He de-snuggles himself and manoeuvres so that he’s sat parallel to me with his battered head lolled onto my welcoming shoulder, fixing me with the most heartbreakingly hopeless look I’ve ever seen anyone give.

“He broke it, Tricky.” He mumbles, voice so distant that I have to wrap my arms around him just to reassure myself that he really is here with me. “He broke it and I was stupid and I yelled at him.” His voice starts sounding wound-up so I rub my thumbs over his cheek-bones, wiping away tears at the same time as wiping out at least a little of the tension. “But he broke it.”

“What did he break?” I ask gently, voice almost softer than my experienced thumbs are whilst comforting my baby. His eyes bloom into two colossal wells of utter terror, making me press a kiss to his bandaged forehead. “It’s okay, Mouse. You’re safe now. You know he can’t get you here.”

He nods three times, the movements dragged out in the same way that his breathing is now that he’s trying to calm himself before he starts hyperventilating, and grips onto my t-shirt like a leech. A cute kind of leech, though. The kind that I don’t ever want to let go because as long as he’s leeching onto me I know that he’s safe. Just like he should be in his own home.

“Now tell me what happened, Mikey.”

“My b-bass.” He sobs, hiding his face in my familiar scent of black liquorice swirled with cigarette smoke, the scent that he knows as something comforting. Kind of like I’m his human teddy bear. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. “Broke my bass and I yelled. So he got even madder.”

His voice sounds so haunted, so broken; like a music box with a disfiguring mirror, turning every smile at it’s pretty little tune into a frown through the cynical eyes of the glass. As he dissolves into full-throttle sobbing I start rocking him back and forth, planting kisses on every piece of exposed skin I can find that isn’t bruised beyond recognition.

That bass meant the world to Mikey. It was his one release from everything, his one way of getting himself heard without the implication of having to figure out exactly what it is that needs to be said. And now it’s gone, all because some bastard can’t figure out how to control his drinking and/or temper.

“Mikey Way, you listen to me right now because if you don’t I’ll keep repeating it until your ears bleed.” He looks up at my stern tone, eyes giving me the impression that he wouldn’t dream of not listening to a single syllable that my lips create. “You did not make your dad mad, Mouse. The alcohol did that, not you. So don’t you dare go thinking that you’ve done something wrong.” A small, sincere smile plants itself on his lips and he nods, nestling back into me and letting his eyes turn a drowsy shade of adorable. “I’ve got some money put away, mostly tips from work. It’s not a lot but it’s enough, y’know?”

He blinks up at me, the sleepy confusion that’s mussing his face making me have to use every iota of my self-control to stop myself from marching straight over to the Way ‘family’ home and murdering his dad for denting my baby’s happiness. More like tearing a huge fucking hole in it.

“Enough for what, Tricky?”

I smile at him, pressing my lips softly to his as his eyes start to flicker shut.

“For a new bass.”





A/N: Just some angsty Miktrick fluff that I hope you enjoy. Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think! :)