Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Rest Calm (and Remember Me)
A/N: This one is a combination of the request where Gerard has a mental breakdown, and the request where he has a mental breakdown due to a band members death. The one who asked for the first mental breakdown one asked for a chaptered, so I'm dividing this into a few parts... not yet sure how many. I don't expect it to go on for very long, but I will try my best. :)
Rest Calm (and Remember Me)
Part One: Against Advice
Losing someone close to you, especially those who are young and whose death comes abrupt, never feels real at first.
It couldn't really be that James Dewees, a man who they had seen or heard from nearly every week for a good portion of 10 years, was taken by something as simple as a trip to the store. He was supposed to come right back. Thirty minutes, tops. All he was getting were some snacks for a hungry band working late hours into the night.
It was at any moment that Gerard Way, Frank Iero, Mikey Way, and Ray Toro all expected him to come up to them, armed with junk food filled plastic bags. They each kept waiting for that to happen. And finally, three weeks after the car crash, they did see him; his arms folded over his corpse, his lids closed, and his face in that serene expression that the folk at the morgue force the dead into displaying.
...But it still feels so strange, Frank thought to himself as he flipped open a light switch, illuminating the cluttered room before him, ...to think you'll never come back to all this again.
He was in the recording studio, which had endured a slight abandonment lately. The room he had just entered; James' room. The room where James had kept his notes, his projects, his ideas --- his job. Papers lay strewn and scattered throughout the room, many of them with incomplete thoughts written upon their face. There were pictures lying among them as well. James was one of the few people who actually still printed their photos into hard copies, for keepsakes. A variety of keyboards were kept in large boxes piled up against the back wall. A single keyboard, the one James had used most often, was propped on a stand and looking terribly lonely.
The rooms messy state could be blamed on its size. Each band member had been assigned a closet worthy room for their things. No one's was bigger than the others. But it could not be denied that James had never been an organized person, which was why Frank was here. Someone had to clean the mess up, sort out what was important and what could be thrown away. They still, as far as they figured, had music to record, and James had written some relatively vital components to the completion of their current project. Although truthfully, it was doubtful when their current project would commence, if it ever did at all.
But the band knew, everyone knew, that the creation of expressive music might be exactly what they needed at the moment.
Frank had brought a trash bag, an extra large one. He already had his plan -- sort out what is to be kept, and what should be thrown away. The throwaways were fairly obvious: scrap paper, things he had only written one word on, things that are no longer needed or relevant. James had not been secretive about his work either. Any progress made, he spent a needless amount of time boasting to the other boys about. So Frank had a good idea of what to keep.
Yet as he crouched down, beginning with the piles of paper that obscured the navy blue carpet from view, his previous plan seemed to make no sense at all. He looked at a few papers, and what to keep and what to throw were suddenly the farthest thing from clear. Some were bank statements... well, he certainly had no right to throw those. He found a few pages with only one or two sentences on it. Sure, they were incomplete -- but hell, it looked like a promising beginning to a potential lyric. Photographs, well no one said anything about what to do with those... best keep them to be safe. Notebooks can contain varying amounts of information, so it would have been wise to look through them later. And... wait.
Frank stretched to touch the corner of something with an official looking seal that caught his attention. It was below another piece of paper, and he had to drag it out from underneath. Just another page of something. But the word "hospital" caught his eye. In the top center of the paper, was in bold type: Discharge Against Medical Advice
Closer observation revealed that it seemed to be a consent form. Frank read the first two sentences of it's one large paragraph: This is to certify that I am leaving City Of Hope Hospital at my own insistence and against the advice of my physicians at the Hospital. I have been advised of the possible dangers to my life or health from this departure, and I hereby assume...
He stopped, uncomfortable with reading any further. It wasn't really his place to read something as private as a medical document. But this was definitely something that should be kept, something his family may have wanted to know about. Frank was just about to throw it into the 'keep pile', when something else about the paper caught his eye.
The signature on it was not James's... it was Gerard's.
His stomach made a funny clenching motion. While one would think he really shouldn't have, Frank suddenly felt much more of an entitlement to snoop. He now scanned the paper thoroughly, taking in every detail of the form. The written date on it was less than a month before James had died. It gave no other details about what could this potential danger be... only a date, a time, and some other signature under the word WITNESS.
He frowned, wondering what on earth this was doing in James's room. He itched to grab his phone and call Gerard right then and there, but he stopped, wanting to take a moment to gather his thoughts as well. As he continued with what he came there to do, he wondered how Gerard might react to this discovery of the form. He wondered if he would be angry if confronted about it. He wondered if he should say anything at all to Gerard. Maybe he should tell Mikey instead. Mikey would have more of a right to interrogate Gerard about such a thing. But of course, Gerard would wonder how this was found out at all, and the blame could go to him anyway.
Frank shook his head and told himself not to worry. If Gerard hadn't mentioned it, then it was probably nothing to worry about. Perhaps Gerard had merely fractured or twisted something, and didn't stay as long as the physician had recommended.
In the end, the only things that ended up in the trash bag were soda cans, empty beer bottles and used up potato chip bags. The box meant for things to keep on the other hand, was filled to the brim. Frank just could not bring himself to throw anything out. Everything seemed too important. While he had tried to thrown one or two things into the trash bag, it felt like throwing away piece of his friend. But it was okay, he would merely keep these things in his own home. As long as the room in the studio was cleaned out, no one was likely to care.
Frank loaded the boxes and the bag into the trunk of his car. He had pocketed the mystery hospital document. As he got into the drivers seat, he felt one of his pockets vibrate, and reached down to pull out his iPhone. It was Mikey.
Immediately after pressing talk, he wanted to blab about what he had found. But he bit his tongue, letting Mikey carry out conversation about how his day had been and his asking of how Frank had done cleaning out James's studio room.
"It was fine." Frank answered him, hesitantly. "Hey... have you talked to Gee lately?"
There was a pause before Mikey answered, "No... no, he's sort of been withdrawn as of recently. I've tried calling him up but no answer. I figure he's just trying to deal with this like the rest of us are. You know him, he needs a lot of alone time whenever he's coping with something tough."
"Oh." Frank sighed, slightly disappointed that Mikey didn't give him the answers to all his questions right there and then, "Well, have you tried going over to his house?"
"Nope." Mikey admitted, with an almost guilty edge to his voice. "I just think... he probably wants space right now."
"I see." Frank nodded although only he could know it, "Whens the last you heard from him?"
"I haven't since the funeral." came a tense response.
There was a long awkward silence before Frank finally said, "Oh okay. Well, I'll talk to you later, I'm about to drive home."
"Alright." Mikey sighed. "Later."
They hung up, and Frank realized that Mikey may have been the wrong person to ask. While Mikey could usually be trusted to know every detail of Gerard's schedules and current happenings, the grieving process had taken out a lot from all of them. Mikey was no different. Although Mikey was probably the least close to James, he had seemed shell shocked by his death none the less. Something about the tone of Mikey's voice when the subject of Gerard came up told Frank that for once, Mikey was focusing on himself more than worrying about whatever was going on with Gerard. And Frank was happy for him... it was about damn time.
But Frank did know that Mikey's interest might spike if he showed him the folded up paper currently in his jean's pocket. He bit his lip and looked at his phone again, contemplating calling back Mikey.
No, that kid has enough to deal with right now, Frank decided. However...
Frank hit the speed dial button for Gerard's phone.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
...and then it hit voicemail.
He then tried Lindsey's phone. Same result, although since it went to voicemail in the middle of a ring, Frank wondered if he had been hung up on.
While he knew it could merely be the influence of his recent discovery, something just didn't feel right. He decided that if he could not contact Gerard by phone that night, he would drive over the next day.
He pulled away from the studio and drove off, passing the intersection of James's accident. It had occurred so close by, that it was nearly impossible to go to or from the studio without passing it. He knew this was why no one else volunteered to do what he had just done.
He wondered if anyone would want to ever come back again.
Rest Calm (and Remember Me)
Part One: Against Advice
Losing someone close to you, especially those who are young and whose death comes abrupt, never feels real at first.
It couldn't really be that James Dewees, a man who they had seen or heard from nearly every week for a good portion of 10 years, was taken by something as simple as a trip to the store. He was supposed to come right back. Thirty minutes, tops. All he was getting were some snacks for a hungry band working late hours into the night.
It was at any moment that Gerard Way, Frank Iero, Mikey Way, and Ray Toro all expected him to come up to them, armed with junk food filled plastic bags. They each kept waiting for that to happen. And finally, three weeks after the car crash, they did see him; his arms folded over his corpse, his lids closed, and his face in that serene expression that the folk at the morgue force the dead into displaying.
...But it still feels so strange, Frank thought to himself as he flipped open a light switch, illuminating the cluttered room before him, ...to think you'll never come back to all this again.
He was in the recording studio, which had endured a slight abandonment lately. The room he had just entered; James' room. The room where James had kept his notes, his projects, his ideas --- his job. Papers lay strewn and scattered throughout the room, many of them with incomplete thoughts written upon their face. There were pictures lying among them as well. James was one of the few people who actually still printed their photos into hard copies, for keepsakes. A variety of keyboards were kept in large boxes piled up against the back wall. A single keyboard, the one James had used most often, was propped on a stand and looking terribly lonely.
The rooms messy state could be blamed on its size. Each band member had been assigned a closet worthy room for their things. No one's was bigger than the others. But it could not be denied that James had never been an organized person, which was why Frank was here. Someone had to clean the mess up, sort out what was important and what could be thrown away. They still, as far as they figured, had music to record, and James had written some relatively vital components to the completion of their current project. Although truthfully, it was doubtful when their current project would commence, if it ever did at all.
But the band knew, everyone knew, that the creation of expressive music might be exactly what they needed at the moment.
Frank had brought a trash bag, an extra large one. He already had his plan -- sort out what is to be kept, and what should be thrown away. The throwaways were fairly obvious: scrap paper, things he had only written one word on, things that are no longer needed or relevant. James had not been secretive about his work either. Any progress made, he spent a needless amount of time boasting to the other boys about. So Frank had a good idea of what to keep.
Yet as he crouched down, beginning with the piles of paper that obscured the navy blue carpet from view, his previous plan seemed to make no sense at all. He looked at a few papers, and what to keep and what to throw were suddenly the farthest thing from clear. Some were bank statements... well, he certainly had no right to throw those. He found a few pages with only one or two sentences on it. Sure, they were incomplete -- but hell, it looked like a promising beginning to a potential lyric. Photographs, well no one said anything about what to do with those... best keep them to be safe. Notebooks can contain varying amounts of information, so it would have been wise to look through them later. And... wait.
Frank stretched to touch the corner of something with an official looking seal that caught his attention. It was below another piece of paper, and he had to drag it out from underneath. Just another page of something. But the word "hospital" caught his eye. In the top center of the paper, was in bold type: Discharge Against Medical Advice
Closer observation revealed that it seemed to be a consent form. Frank read the first two sentences of it's one large paragraph: This is to certify that I am leaving City Of Hope Hospital at my own insistence and against the advice of my physicians at the Hospital. I have been advised of the possible dangers to my life or health from this departure, and I hereby assume...
He stopped, uncomfortable with reading any further. It wasn't really his place to read something as private as a medical document. But this was definitely something that should be kept, something his family may have wanted to know about. Frank was just about to throw it into the 'keep pile', when something else about the paper caught his eye.
The signature on it was not James's... it was Gerard's.
His stomach made a funny clenching motion. While one would think he really shouldn't have, Frank suddenly felt much more of an entitlement to snoop. He now scanned the paper thoroughly, taking in every detail of the form. The written date on it was less than a month before James had died. It gave no other details about what could this potential danger be... only a date, a time, and some other signature under the word WITNESS.
He frowned, wondering what on earth this was doing in James's room. He itched to grab his phone and call Gerard right then and there, but he stopped, wanting to take a moment to gather his thoughts as well. As he continued with what he came there to do, he wondered how Gerard might react to this discovery of the form. He wondered if he would be angry if confronted about it. He wondered if he should say anything at all to Gerard. Maybe he should tell Mikey instead. Mikey would have more of a right to interrogate Gerard about such a thing. But of course, Gerard would wonder how this was found out at all, and the blame could go to him anyway.
Frank shook his head and told himself not to worry. If Gerard hadn't mentioned it, then it was probably nothing to worry about. Perhaps Gerard had merely fractured or twisted something, and didn't stay as long as the physician had recommended.
In the end, the only things that ended up in the trash bag were soda cans, empty beer bottles and used up potato chip bags. The box meant for things to keep on the other hand, was filled to the brim. Frank just could not bring himself to throw anything out. Everything seemed too important. While he had tried to thrown one or two things into the trash bag, it felt like throwing away piece of his friend. But it was okay, he would merely keep these things in his own home. As long as the room in the studio was cleaned out, no one was likely to care.
Frank loaded the boxes and the bag into the trunk of his car. He had pocketed the mystery hospital document. As he got into the drivers seat, he felt one of his pockets vibrate, and reached down to pull out his iPhone. It was Mikey.
Immediately after pressing talk, he wanted to blab about what he had found. But he bit his tongue, letting Mikey carry out conversation about how his day had been and his asking of how Frank had done cleaning out James's studio room.
"It was fine." Frank answered him, hesitantly. "Hey... have you talked to Gee lately?"
There was a pause before Mikey answered, "No... no, he's sort of been withdrawn as of recently. I've tried calling him up but no answer. I figure he's just trying to deal with this like the rest of us are. You know him, he needs a lot of alone time whenever he's coping with something tough."
"Oh." Frank sighed, slightly disappointed that Mikey didn't give him the answers to all his questions right there and then, "Well, have you tried going over to his house?"
"Nope." Mikey admitted, with an almost guilty edge to his voice. "I just think... he probably wants space right now."
"I see." Frank nodded although only he could know it, "Whens the last you heard from him?"
"I haven't since the funeral." came a tense response.
There was a long awkward silence before Frank finally said, "Oh okay. Well, I'll talk to you later, I'm about to drive home."
"Alright." Mikey sighed. "Later."
They hung up, and Frank realized that Mikey may have been the wrong person to ask. While Mikey could usually be trusted to know every detail of Gerard's schedules and current happenings, the grieving process had taken out a lot from all of them. Mikey was no different. Although Mikey was probably the least close to James, he had seemed shell shocked by his death none the less. Something about the tone of Mikey's voice when the subject of Gerard came up told Frank that for once, Mikey was focusing on himself more than worrying about whatever was going on with Gerard. And Frank was happy for him... it was about damn time.
But Frank did know that Mikey's interest might spike if he showed him the folded up paper currently in his jean's pocket. He bit his lip and looked at his phone again, contemplating calling back Mikey.
No, that kid has enough to deal with right now, Frank decided. However...
Frank hit the speed dial button for Gerard's phone.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
...and then it hit voicemail.
He then tried Lindsey's phone. Same result, although since it went to voicemail in the middle of a ring, Frank wondered if he had been hung up on.
While he knew it could merely be the influence of his recent discovery, something just didn't feel right. He decided that if he could not contact Gerard by phone that night, he would drive over the next day.
He pulled away from the studio and drove off, passing the intersection of James's accident. It had occurred so close by, that it was nearly impossible to go to or from the studio without passing it. He knew this was why no one else volunteered to do what he had just done.
He wondered if anyone would want to ever come back again.
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