Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance


by DisenchatedDestroya 3 reviews

They say history repeats itself. Ray just wishes it wouldn't. RIKEY one-shot. Read, review, rate and feel my love! :P

Category: My Chemical Romance - Rating: G - Genres: Angst,Drama,Romance - Characters: Mikey Way,Ray Toro - Published: 2012-07-15 - Updated: 2012-07-16 - 1348 words - Complete


“Mikey, Mikey, wake up!”

It’s happening again, just like every night since we started sleeping together. That makes up three whole months of only half-night sleeps, three months of me waking up shaking and then of me shaking my boyfriend to get him awake.

It’s really fucking strange, actually, what’s been waking me up. It’s the same thing every night, always the exact dream that rouses me from my otherwise peaceful slumber. Well, when I say ‘dream’ what I think I really mean is ‘nightmare’. Apart from it feels more real than that, like it’s actually happening but not to me, more like to someone I once knew in the shadow of a memory. I asked my guitar buddy, Frankie, about it and he said it sort of sounds like when someone gets a flashback. But it can’t be that.

Why can’t it be?

Because I’m twenty years old. Way too young to be having flashbacks to the Normandy landings of 1944.

But I know Frank’s right; these aren’t just dreams or nightmares, they’re too real for that. They’re memories. Me being the lifeless geek that I am, googled what’s been going on in my frantic mind. Apparently I’m having recalls of my past life, something that happens to most people at some point during their life, but usually when they’re kids and too young to think anything of it. So I guess it’s pretty normal, right?

Wrong. So very, very wrong.

Because in my dreams/nightmares/flashbacks, I always see the same thing. And it’s something that wakes me up in tears every night.

I watch Mikey Way, my seventeen-year-old boyfriend, die in my arms on the battlefield.

It always happens the exact same; there’s a big group of us on these overcrowded boats, the icy water sloshing in over our toes like baying rats, and then we land onto the chaos of Hades. Everything goes crazy and only the order to surge forward without stopping, only looking out for yourself, is clear in my pounding head. But I’ve got this extra thing to carry, like a little first aid kit, and I know that my orders extend to helping the fallen wherever I can. Deep down though, in the pit of my pulsating heart, I know that if anyone falls here then they’re as good as gone. So there I am, sprinting through blood and bodies and bullets, just trying to survive to see sundown, when I hear a blood-curdling cry from behind me. I swing my head around to see a soldier falling. At first I think it’s just another soldier, another name on a list soon to be crossed out in scratchy black ink, but then I see the glasses, the pale skin, the soft lips caked in crimson-soaked mud; Mikey. After that the memory goes blurry, but I always remember the ending way too clearly. My feeble attempts at playing medic failing and my Mikey dying whilst a voice I can vaguely hear in the background screams his name.

I have to live through that every night I spend being close to him; I have to live through hell on Earth just to be able to wake up in Heaven.

It’s not that simple though. After I wake up every night, Mikey always starts freaking out. Not just a little bit of turbulence through his foggy veil of sleep, but proper almost-screaming. Regular as clockwork, just like my flashback to a time when I wasn’t even a twinkle in my dad’s eye.

That’s what’s happening now; I’ve just woken up sweating and panting in heartbroken terror, thinking that I’ve lost everything that makes my life worth living, and now Mikey’s knocked me out of that by thrashing around. Thrashing around in my arms and nearly knocking me off our bed. And it breaks my heart, seeing him looking so frightened because of something inside his own mind.

Then again, though. It’s not like I’m any better.

“Mikey, Mikey!” I’m shouting now, not giving a damn that I’m probably waking the neighbours because, let’s face it, Mikey can give way better blow jobs than they ever will. “C’mon, Mikes. Open those eyes for me.” I kiss his forehead urgently, hating the way that our position mirrors how it is in the end of my dream almost perfectly. But it always does when I have to wake him up. “Let me see those pretty little eyes that I love you for. Wake up.”

All of a sudden, just like always, his eyes ping open. He starts gasping for air, his mouth wide and set in a silent scream, his chest heaving in panicked desperation. Some nights his breathing just evens out pretty quickly naturally, over nights however he starts hyperventilating, almost going into some kind of panic attack. Last night the poor little thing very nearly blacked out through lack of oxygen, serving to make him panic even more.

I pull him to be upright, leaning heavily against me with my nose nuzzling into his feathery hair. My hands splay across his back, the feeling of his spine beneath my fingers reminding me that he’s right here safe in my arms, the sound of the ever-noisy street outside telling me that we’re as far away from battle as is possible.

We’re safe, yet we’re far from normal. But at least we’re together.

“There you go, you’re all safe now. All safe. I won’t let anything happen to you.” I whisper, following our routine like a script. “Same as always?”

He takes a few deep breaths to steady his nerves, glancing over my shoulder at the clock to check the time; three fifty-seven, on the dot. The same as it is every day when this happens, when he’s reduced to a sobbing nervous wreck and I’m pulled into the worst kind of fear I’ve ever felt; the fear of losing the love of my life.

“Y-yeah.” The reply is nothing but a shaky whisper muffled by the warm comfort of my bare chest. “Soldiers, beach and so much death. So many people screaming for help but I just keep running. But then I wait and they go on. So I run late and I… I get shot.” He swallows as I wipe away some of the sweat glistening on his forehead, if only to reassure myself that it isn’t his precious blood. “Then there’s you, Ray. You come for me and you try but then you start crying and… and… I-I-“

“Die.” I finish for him, looking away as he starts crying like a little kid seeing the Boogey Man. I can’t blame him though, not when I’ve felt it all for myself. “I know, Mikes, I know. I see it too. I know it’s scary, but it’s all okay. You’re safe now. I won’t let you get hurt. Promise.”

He bravely wipes his eyes on the back of his fists, eyes two huge moons of desperate exhaustion, and does absolutely nothing to hold back the yawn that forces his jaw apart; poor little thing. He sleeps less than I do, and he has to go to school every day. Go to school to get teased and beaten up and all of the other things that I can’t protect his drained, weak little body from.

But I’ve got to at least try.

Or else all I’ll be left with is the ghost of him.

A/N: This in response to a request for a Rikey based on “The Ghost of You”. I tried my best to do something a little different with it, but fear that I may have failed miserably. Oh well, it was fun to write. Hope you liked it and please let me know what you think! :)
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