Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance
Here
“Well, well. Look what I found! If it isn’t Baby Way.”
“Fuck off, McCracken. I’m not in the fucking mood.”
The first to talk almost winces at that, at the violent spit of spite from the lanky man sat on the grass before him. It’s not that Bert thinks he doesn’t deserve it, he knows he does, he just never expected it to come from such a shy, sensitive mouth. Then again, he never expected to deserve it from the owner of that mouth in the first place, so one can’t really blame him for the almost-wince. Nor can you blame him for feeling the hurt that accompanies the hit of the hate; after all, Mikey Way has never really spoken out to anyone in even a remotely harsh way before.
Bert looks around sheepishly, peering up into the stars of the icy night sky as though expecting some sort of instructions to be spelled out to him in place of the usual constellations. When nothing appears to him he settles for taking a few steps forward and collapsing on the grass next to the shivering form of the lone bassist. For his part, the bassist just hunches his knees further into his chest and stares endlessly at his palms.
It’s unnerving, Bert thinks, how the younger Way brother can make himself look so insignificant, so without want to be significant. He wants to be worried about Mikey, worried for his best friend’s baby brother, but he can’t; it’s simply not how he works. So instead he dares to place a palm on Mikey’s back, but instantly recoils at the feel of how positively arctic the skinny man is.
“Jesus Christ, Way.” He mutters, filling the silence so that he doesn’t have to listen to Mikey’s chattering teeth or his tiny little sniffles. “You trying to catch hypothermia or something?”
“What are you doing here, Bert?”
The question isn’t a question, not really. It’s an accusation. And Bert doesn’t normally take too kindly to those, not at all. But this is Mikey Way, Gerard’s little brother, and he just can’t bring himself to get mad over it. Maybe if they were somewhere warmer and Mikey didn’t look like he just wanted to die and My Chem weren’t currently going out of their collective mind over a certain missing bassist, then maybe Bert could get mad about it. But all of those factors are there, so he can’t. He won’t.
Not when he knows My Chem would totally kick his ass if he did. As would the other three quarters of The Used too, probably. Because they all know Mikey is fragile, Mikey is undeserving of anger. Especially the kind Bert McCracken can create.
“Well, I was looking for you.” Bert pauses, tries to put a hand on Mikey’s back again but somehow winds up with putting an arm around his shoulders instead. He can’t say he isn’t glad when Mikey doesn’t shrug him off. “But then I found you and here we are. I think what you meant to ask is why was I looking for you in the first place.” Mikey makes a noise of mild pissed-off-ness and Bert braces himself for the sound of Mikey moving to get away, but instead is met with quiet sniffles and a slight nod. Bert thinks that maybe, rather than the sniffles, he’d rather have heard departing footsteps. “Believe it or not, Way, I am capable of caring about other people. And believe it or not, you are one of them. Not to mention your guys are one step away from sending out a search mob for you and flaming torches might scare the fans away.”
Mikey lets out a single, harsh chuckle that has absolutely no joy attached to it at all. Just a shadow of a ghost that might have once been a joyful sound, weighing the corpse-of-a-chuckle down like lead. Still though, he does nothing to move out of the encompassing warmth of Bert’s body, so the singer takes this to be a sign that he must be doing at least something at least a little bit right.
He sure as hell hopes so.
“How’d you find me?” Mikey stops, looks away from Bert and then blinks out a few tears that the other man-boy can see glistening like diamonds in the moonlight. Bert doesn’t believe that a human heart can break but, he thinks, if it could, this is what it would feel like. “No. I mean, how come you found me and the others didn’t?”
Bert hears the unasked question, the one that makes him think twice about the breakableness of his heart, and can’t help but pull Mikey further into his body, his chest, his entire fucking being. Maybe it’s just the sudden pick-up of a breeze that makes him squeeze Mikey a little, but Bert would like to think it’s something to do with what he vaguely remembers his mother calling his ‘better nature’.
“You mean how come I’m here instead of Gee, right?” Mikey doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t need to; not for Bert. Bert knows, he just does. “I pay attention, Baby Way. I know what kind of places might appeal to you and this one fits the bill. It’s quiet, far away from the tour buses, but you can still just about see the lights of them. You can see the stars too, reminding you that you’re still here on Earth. Just how you like it.”
“For an asshole, you are pretty deep. For an asshole.”
That hurts Bert maybe a little more than it should do, but the idea of leaving Mikey alone on this grassy verge in favour of storming off hurts even more.
Few things surprise Bert McCracken anymore, he’s too cynical for that, but surprise can’t help but pounce upon him when Mikey voluntarily shifts in closer, even hides half of his face in the soft fabric of Bert’s hoodie. It’s a nice sort of surprise though, like the Christmas present kind of surprise, and it fills him with a kind of warm feeling, even if his skin is currently numb with cold.
“And you’re pretty rude, for a fucking mouse.” Bert mumbles after a while, deciding to be characteristically grouchy, at least a little bit, to stop this from getting weird(er). “But back to the point, Baby Way. I’m here and Gee isn’t because I pay attention, even when I’m so fucking off my face that I can’t walk straight. Gee doesn’t, he can’t; it hurts him too much to.” Mikey raises an eyebrow and he looks so much like his brother that it makes Bert shiver. “He can see who he’s hurting when he’s like that and it makes him feel bad. Me? Like you said, I’m an asshole and I can deal with that. He can’t.”
“You’re not an asshole, Bert.” Mikey whispers after a few moments, nuzzling into the singer’s torso as though it’s a mattress. “I didn’t mean it when I said you are. Honest I didn’t.”
Bert knew that Mikey was sweet and affectionate, if a little clingy, but Jesus fucking H Christ; if Mikey got any cuter, Bert thinks he might well turn into a pile of gooey mush. In fact, the only thing stopping him from turning into gooey mush is the knowledge that gooey mush doesn’t have arms and so therefore can’t be practically snuggling Mikey fucking Way.
Now, Bert isn’t a snuggle kind of guy, not at all, but he can’t help but want to snuggle Mikey. Bert can just about deal with this because his want has three very good reasons; the first being that it is below freezing, the second that Mikey is kindofveryreallyquite hot and the third, most important reason, is that Mikey Way clearly needs to be snuggled right now. Maybe not snuggled by Bert, but a snuggle is a snuggle and Bert sure as hell isn’t about to deprive Mikey of this primal need.
“Naw, I am an asshole.” Bert exhales, the air so cold that it looks like cigarette smoke. “You’re just too sweet to see it.”
“Sorry I ran away.” Mikey mutters, sounding so lost and alone and so utterly childlike that Bert is moved to stroke a hand through his hair and pull the bassist fully into his lap.
Mikey does nothing to escape, just leans into it and wraps his arms around Bert.
“That’s okay, Baby Way. I’m not mad. Nobody is.” Bert’s voice is quiet and soft, but the point is not lost to the softness of it. “Just tell me why, yeah? Tell me why and then you can come sleep on my bus tonight, if you’d prefer.”
“It’s Gee. I-I. I can’t. I just.”
The words keep getting stuck in Mikey’s throat like vomit, the frustration and anger and hurt welling up until he starts heaving, literal vomit forcing it’s way up his too-dry throat until he’s no longer in Bert’s lap, but on his knees with his fists planted firmly in the ground, bent over and chucking up everything he hasn’t eaten in the last few days.
“Jesus Christ, Mikey.” Bert mumbles, crawling over to his friend and rubbing gently on his back. That’s when he realises; Mikey’s barely bringing up anything solid, just bile and no real substance. “When was the last time you ate?” He asks when Mikey is done and pulls the shaking mass of raw nerves back into his lap. “And coffee doesn’t count, no matter how much of it you drink.”
Mikey’s face reddens and that’s all Bert really needs to know.
He feels angry, fuming even, that nobody’s noticed anything wrong with the poor guy before now. He’s even more furious that he hasn’t; that ever-observant Bert overlooked the sweetest guy around. Bert wants to be cross with Mikey too, for not telling, but he just, he just can’t. Not right now, anyway. Not with Mikey so open and completely fucking helpless-looking, curled in his lap.
“Fucking hell, Baby Way.” It should sound disdainful, Bert knows it should, but instead it sounds sad, like some sort of comfort almost. “You gotta eat, even if it does feel kinda pointless.” He huffs out a sigh and turns Mikey so that they’re front-to-front, properly hugging on the grass. Bert doesn’t care that this contradicts his image; all he cares about right now is Mikey Way, something, someone, far more important than any stupid image he might have. “Do the others know you don’t eat?” Before Mikey can answer Bert squeezes him gently, fingers lacing through his hair as though it’s silk, as though it’s actually worth something. “Of course they fucking don’t. That’s what it’s about, isn’t it? Seeing if they’ll notice, right?”
“Gee.” Mikey looks up, to be met with a sight he may have longed for but never thought he would receive; Bert McCracken gazing intently at him with huge eyes brimming with the kind of emotion Bert only normally puts into lyrics. “If Gee would notice. And then he’d stop doing, y’know, the drugs. The alcohol. Everything. For me.”
“Oh, Mikey. Jesus.” For once, Bert can’t comprehend his thoughts, can’t think of how to voice everything he wants to say that could possibly make it all better.
So instead of talking, he uses his mouth for something different; he kisses Mikey, lightly on the lips. Sure, Mikey tastes faintly of vomit and he’s so weak that there’s not real fight in the bassist’s side of the kiss, the kind of fight that Bert likes there to be in a kiss, but it’s still perfect, in a melancholy kind of way. The singer places a hand on Mikey’s face, cupping the defined cheek as though it was created to be there, fingers all silky and gentle, like everything everyone thinks Bert isn’t. Their noses rub a little, making a muted chuckle seep from Mikey’s lips, and that’s all it takes for Bert to smile into it. This, Bert thinks, this here is perfect.
After a few seconds short of a minute, although it feels like never and forever all at once, Bert pulls away. His hand stays cupping Mikey’s cheek though. Of course it does.
“I noticed, Mikey. I notice you, even if nobody else does. Even if Gerard doesn’t. I do.” Bert whispers the words, pulling the taller boy in close so that each word causes his lips to brush against the other’s ear. “I’m here. I always will be.”
And just like that Mikey can’t help but feel at least a little bit at ease. Because Bert’s here, with him. Even if Bert isn’t Gerard, he’s someone and that someone is more than enough. Because that someone’s Bert and Bert sees, Bert notices and, above all else, Bert is here. With him. Even when nobody else is.
“I know. I-“
Bert cuts his words off with his lips once more, unable to stand hearing the wavering tone of Mikey’s voice that he associates with sadness. He’d rather hear nothing than hear Mikey Way being anything less than happy.
“I’m here, Baby Way. I’m here.”
A/N: So, I’ve been meaning to write a Bert/Mikey fic for far too long, I just never really got around to it. But now I have and I really hope you like it; I actually worked pretty hard on this one. This is the eighth part of my Alphabet Challenge, ‘h’ for ‘Here’. Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think! :)
“Well, well. Look what I found! If it isn’t Baby Way.”
“Fuck off, McCracken. I’m not in the fucking mood.”
The first to talk almost winces at that, at the violent spit of spite from the lanky man sat on the grass before him. It’s not that Bert thinks he doesn’t deserve it, he knows he does, he just never expected it to come from such a shy, sensitive mouth. Then again, he never expected to deserve it from the owner of that mouth in the first place, so one can’t really blame him for the almost-wince. Nor can you blame him for feeling the hurt that accompanies the hit of the hate; after all, Mikey Way has never really spoken out to anyone in even a remotely harsh way before.
Bert looks around sheepishly, peering up into the stars of the icy night sky as though expecting some sort of instructions to be spelled out to him in place of the usual constellations. When nothing appears to him he settles for taking a few steps forward and collapsing on the grass next to the shivering form of the lone bassist. For his part, the bassist just hunches his knees further into his chest and stares endlessly at his palms.
It’s unnerving, Bert thinks, how the younger Way brother can make himself look so insignificant, so without want to be significant. He wants to be worried about Mikey, worried for his best friend’s baby brother, but he can’t; it’s simply not how he works. So instead he dares to place a palm on Mikey’s back, but instantly recoils at the feel of how positively arctic the skinny man is.
“Jesus Christ, Way.” He mutters, filling the silence so that he doesn’t have to listen to Mikey’s chattering teeth or his tiny little sniffles. “You trying to catch hypothermia or something?”
“What are you doing here, Bert?”
The question isn’t a question, not really. It’s an accusation. And Bert doesn’t normally take too kindly to those, not at all. But this is Mikey Way, Gerard’s little brother, and he just can’t bring himself to get mad over it. Maybe if they were somewhere warmer and Mikey didn’t look like he just wanted to die and My Chem weren’t currently going out of their collective mind over a certain missing bassist, then maybe Bert could get mad about it. But all of those factors are there, so he can’t. He won’t.
Not when he knows My Chem would totally kick his ass if he did. As would the other three quarters of The Used too, probably. Because they all know Mikey is fragile, Mikey is undeserving of anger. Especially the kind Bert McCracken can create.
“Well, I was looking for you.” Bert pauses, tries to put a hand on Mikey’s back again but somehow winds up with putting an arm around his shoulders instead. He can’t say he isn’t glad when Mikey doesn’t shrug him off. “But then I found you and here we are. I think what you meant to ask is why was I looking for you in the first place.” Mikey makes a noise of mild pissed-off-ness and Bert braces himself for the sound of Mikey moving to get away, but instead is met with quiet sniffles and a slight nod. Bert thinks that maybe, rather than the sniffles, he’d rather have heard departing footsteps. “Believe it or not, Way, I am capable of caring about other people. And believe it or not, you are one of them. Not to mention your guys are one step away from sending out a search mob for you and flaming torches might scare the fans away.”
Mikey lets out a single, harsh chuckle that has absolutely no joy attached to it at all. Just a shadow of a ghost that might have once been a joyful sound, weighing the corpse-of-a-chuckle down like lead. Still though, he does nothing to move out of the encompassing warmth of Bert’s body, so the singer takes this to be a sign that he must be doing at least something at least a little bit right.
He sure as hell hopes so.
“How’d you find me?” Mikey stops, looks away from Bert and then blinks out a few tears that the other man-boy can see glistening like diamonds in the moonlight. Bert doesn’t believe that a human heart can break but, he thinks, if it could, this is what it would feel like. “No. I mean, how come you found me and the others didn’t?”
Bert hears the unasked question, the one that makes him think twice about the breakableness of his heart, and can’t help but pull Mikey further into his body, his chest, his entire fucking being. Maybe it’s just the sudden pick-up of a breeze that makes him squeeze Mikey a little, but Bert would like to think it’s something to do with what he vaguely remembers his mother calling his ‘better nature’.
“You mean how come I’m here instead of Gee, right?” Mikey doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t need to; not for Bert. Bert knows, he just does. “I pay attention, Baby Way. I know what kind of places might appeal to you and this one fits the bill. It’s quiet, far away from the tour buses, but you can still just about see the lights of them. You can see the stars too, reminding you that you’re still here on Earth. Just how you like it.”
“For an asshole, you are pretty deep. For an asshole.”
That hurts Bert maybe a little more than it should do, but the idea of leaving Mikey alone on this grassy verge in favour of storming off hurts even more.
Few things surprise Bert McCracken anymore, he’s too cynical for that, but surprise can’t help but pounce upon him when Mikey voluntarily shifts in closer, even hides half of his face in the soft fabric of Bert’s hoodie. It’s a nice sort of surprise though, like the Christmas present kind of surprise, and it fills him with a kind of warm feeling, even if his skin is currently numb with cold.
“And you’re pretty rude, for a fucking mouse.” Bert mumbles after a while, deciding to be characteristically grouchy, at least a little bit, to stop this from getting weird(er). “But back to the point, Baby Way. I’m here and Gee isn’t because I pay attention, even when I’m so fucking off my face that I can’t walk straight. Gee doesn’t, he can’t; it hurts him too much to.” Mikey raises an eyebrow and he looks so much like his brother that it makes Bert shiver. “He can see who he’s hurting when he’s like that and it makes him feel bad. Me? Like you said, I’m an asshole and I can deal with that. He can’t.”
“You’re not an asshole, Bert.” Mikey whispers after a few moments, nuzzling into the singer’s torso as though it’s a mattress. “I didn’t mean it when I said you are. Honest I didn’t.”
Bert knew that Mikey was sweet and affectionate, if a little clingy, but Jesus fucking H Christ; if Mikey got any cuter, Bert thinks he might well turn into a pile of gooey mush. In fact, the only thing stopping him from turning into gooey mush is the knowledge that gooey mush doesn’t have arms and so therefore can’t be practically snuggling Mikey fucking Way.
Now, Bert isn’t a snuggle kind of guy, not at all, but he can’t help but want to snuggle Mikey. Bert can just about deal with this because his want has three very good reasons; the first being that it is below freezing, the second that Mikey is kindofveryreallyquite hot and the third, most important reason, is that Mikey Way clearly needs to be snuggled right now. Maybe not snuggled by Bert, but a snuggle is a snuggle and Bert sure as hell isn’t about to deprive Mikey of this primal need.
“Naw, I am an asshole.” Bert exhales, the air so cold that it looks like cigarette smoke. “You’re just too sweet to see it.”
“Sorry I ran away.” Mikey mutters, sounding so lost and alone and so utterly childlike that Bert is moved to stroke a hand through his hair and pull the bassist fully into his lap.
Mikey does nothing to escape, just leans into it and wraps his arms around Bert.
“That’s okay, Baby Way. I’m not mad. Nobody is.” Bert’s voice is quiet and soft, but the point is not lost to the softness of it. “Just tell me why, yeah? Tell me why and then you can come sleep on my bus tonight, if you’d prefer.”
“It’s Gee. I-I. I can’t. I just.”
The words keep getting stuck in Mikey’s throat like vomit, the frustration and anger and hurt welling up until he starts heaving, literal vomit forcing it’s way up his too-dry throat until he’s no longer in Bert’s lap, but on his knees with his fists planted firmly in the ground, bent over and chucking up everything he hasn’t eaten in the last few days.
“Jesus Christ, Mikey.” Bert mumbles, crawling over to his friend and rubbing gently on his back. That’s when he realises; Mikey’s barely bringing up anything solid, just bile and no real substance. “When was the last time you ate?” He asks when Mikey is done and pulls the shaking mass of raw nerves back into his lap. “And coffee doesn’t count, no matter how much of it you drink.”
Mikey’s face reddens and that’s all Bert really needs to know.
He feels angry, fuming even, that nobody’s noticed anything wrong with the poor guy before now. He’s even more furious that he hasn’t; that ever-observant Bert overlooked the sweetest guy around. Bert wants to be cross with Mikey too, for not telling, but he just, he just can’t. Not right now, anyway. Not with Mikey so open and completely fucking helpless-looking, curled in his lap.
“Fucking hell, Baby Way.” It should sound disdainful, Bert knows it should, but instead it sounds sad, like some sort of comfort almost. “You gotta eat, even if it does feel kinda pointless.” He huffs out a sigh and turns Mikey so that they’re front-to-front, properly hugging on the grass. Bert doesn’t care that this contradicts his image; all he cares about right now is Mikey Way, something, someone, far more important than any stupid image he might have. “Do the others know you don’t eat?” Before Mikey can answer Bert squeezes him gently, fingers lacing through his hair as though it’s silk, as though it’s actually worth something. “Of course they fucking don’t. That’s what it’s about, isn’t it? Seeing if they’ll notice, right?”
“Gee.” Mikey looks up, to be met with a sight he may have longed for but never thought he would receive; Bert McCracken gazing intently at him with huge eyes brimming with the kind of emotion Bert only normally puts into lyrics. “If Gee would notice. And then he’d stop doing, y’know, the drugs. The alcohol. Everything. For me.”
“Oh, Mikey. Jesus.” For once, Bert can’t comprehend his thoughts, can’t think of how to voice everything he wants to say that could possibly make it all better.
So instead of talking, he uses his mouth for something different; he kisses Mikey, lightly on the lips. Sure, Mikey tastes faintly of vomit and he’s so weak that there’s not real fight in the bassist’s side of the kiss, the kind of fight that Bert likes there to be in a kiss, but it’s still perfect, in a melancholy kind of way. The singer places a hand on Mikey’s face, cupping the defined cheek as though it was created to be there, fingers all silky and gentle, like everything everyone thinks Bert isn’t. Their noses rub a little, making a muted chuckle seep from Mikey’s lips, and that’s all it takes for Bert to smile into it. This, Bert thinks, this here is perfect.
After a few seconds short of a minute, although it feels like never and forever all at once, Bert pulls away. His hand stays cupping Mikey’s cheek though. Of course it does.
“I noticed, Mikey. I notice you, even if nobody else does. Even if Gerard doesn’t. I do.” Bert whispers the words, pulling the taller boy in close so that each word causes his lips to brush against the other’s ear. “I’m here. I always will be.”
And just like that Mikey can’t help but feel at least a little bit at ease. Because Bert’s here, with him. Even if Bert isn’t Gerard, he’s someone and that someone is more than enough. Because that someone’s Bert and Bert sees, Bert notices and, above all else, Bert is here. With him. Even when nobody else is.
“I know. I-“
Bert cuts his words off with his lips once more, unable to stand hearing the wavering tone of Mikey’s voice that he associates with sadness. He’d rather hear nothing than hear Mikey Way being anything less than happy.
“I’m here, Baby Way. I’m here.”
A/N: So, I’ve been meaning to write a Bert/Mikey fic for far too long, I just never really got around to it. But now I have and I really hope you like it; I actually worked pretty hard on this one. This is the eighth part of my Alphabet Challenge, ‘h’ for ‘Here’. Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think! :)
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