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PROLOGUE - DREAMING OF BLOOD.

Gerard had always been mostly curious about red.

He'd decided already at six years old, that it was his favorite color. His mother had laughed and called him silly, because the blood that was smudged against his scraped up knee was only a dark shade of gray to his eyes. She wore a painful expression as she peeled back the plastic of a band-aid, before pressing it to her son's graze - a product of him falling from his bike. Despite his young age, Gerard knew not to ask about why she was sad.

"You'll learn about it all at school," she had told him before, but that wasn't what Gerard wanted to know. He'd grown up with no vision of his father, and always pleaded his mother to tell him about the man. He wanted to know everything - about the colors, the feelings, about how it was possible for a black and white world to suddenly be painted just from just one glance of your soul mate.

Seventeen years later, and Gerard was scared that he would never find out.

It was dull. The world around him had no contrast, no lust - no creativity. It lacked the art he was so frequently told about. Day after day locked up in his basement, he'd draw. He'd wonder just how it was possible for his sketches to become a mixture of blue and yellow and red and green. He just couldn't understand how anything other than gray could exist.

Yet he longed for it.

Everyone did. It was a mystery within the world, something that many had found but could never explain. "Picture a fire." Mikey had told him. "Think of how warm it is; think of how it burns your skin if you get to close. That's heat - it's red. Well, sort of. It's yellow, red, orange and white. All at the same time."

Needless to say, Gerard didn't have a clue of how to picture what his younger brother had attempted to teach him. He tried so hard; he thought he could be the miracle that dreamt up colors on nothing but imagination. Gerard knew he was a creative person, but it was impossible. "You'll just have to wait for the right girl. You'll see then. You'll understand and oh - Gerard. You'll love it. It's beautiful." Mikey always smiled and gazed into the distance when he spoke of color, and his undying love for Alicia. Gerard was jealous, and it was hard to hide.

Maybe that was the reason he spent so much time at parties and gigs - he wanted to meet her. This is what he told himself, anyway. It's what everyone told themselves. In reality however, Gerard knew that it was just for the alcohol. He liked to get drunk. His life was a mess, and screwing his brain up seemed to help. It took away the edge and left him feeling good for a change.

That was all he did for the better part of two years. He'd drink, he'd party, he'd lock himself in his basement, and he'd draw. The anti-depressants didn't help much, and people often got him confused for someone who had lost their partner. It made sense - the constant complaints about the washed out grays and the pleading for contrast - he sounded like he'd lived it once, but it had all disappeared. Just like what his mother had lived through.

"Your hair is brown. You have hazel eyes - that's a mixture of all the colors. Some green, some yellow, some brown and a splash of blue. Most people only have one. That makes you special, Gerard." His mother had long-forgotten his hazel eyes, but she could still dream of them. Ever since his dad had died, everything had been black and white again for her. "It's hard. Some say it's easier to never experience it, because if it's all taken away then you'll feel like there is nothing to live for." Because of his fascination for art, this made Gerard feel like crap on a colossal level. Everyone had mixed opinions on the rainbow, and Gerard hadn't even seen it yet.

When he met Lindsey at nineteen years old, he thought he was in love. It had everything - warmth, happiness, safety... but there were no colors. He wished they were there. All he wanted was to wake up and see the blue sky, with Lindsey at his side. He could have been happy with her, and Gerard knew this. Lindsey didn't care whether the grass was green or purple, she just wanted to be with him. She called it true love. Gerard was desperate to agree with her, but-

He just had to throw it all away.

He was selfish, and too curious for his own good. Art had gotten in the way and Gerard decided that he simply needed it in his life. He chose it over the most beautiful girl he had ever known, and four years later, he is still living in a world without it's secret.

CHAPTER ONE - SEEING RED.

Gerard is drunk, and fuck - does he know it.

He's perfectly aware that being encouraged by Bert McCracken to down another shot is a ridiculous situation to get himself caught up in, but he doesn't care. Instead of laughing and politely tell him him to fuck off, he narrows his eyes and nods in determination. He stupidly takes another glass, staring at Bert who does the same. Both boys throw the liquids down their throats, and an eruption of cheers surround them. Gerard grins, a heavy buzz pulsing through his veins. "You think you can take another?" he says loudly, slurring whilst trying to remain seated.

Bert pulls a face that Gerard finds hilarious, before he lifts his shoulders with an exaggerated shrug. "I dunno - maybe? Yea-no. I think I'll be sick in you."

Gerard is too drunk to realize how the sentence that just dribbled from Bert's lips made absolutely no sense. So, he points to the glass. "Drink another and I'll give you my guitar if you don't throw up." After saying this, he instantly feels regret sink into his stomach. He blinks once, then tries to ignore it. A bet is a bet.

Besides, Gerard sucks at guitar. Bert licks his lips slowly. "And if I puke?"

The oldest of the two takes a moment to think. "I get to kiss you - after you brush your teeth."

Around them, the entire room sparks up with a collection of 'ooh!'s and 'aah!'s. Bert smirks, before winking flirtatiously at Gerard. "Maybe you'll see pink when our lips meet then, baby."

"It is so on."

Gerard watches Bert as he drags a glass across the bar, his movement slow and lagging. When the shot touches his lips and he swallows, everyone stares in wonder. For a moment, Bert just scrunches his face up, before he suddenly turns a paler shade of gray. "Get me a bucket," he blurts out, before doubling over and spewing up his dinner into an abandoned handbag to his immediate left.

Everyone cheers.

Gerard rides along with the buzzing excitement of the room, smiling lazily as he runs a hand through his dirty hair. Today is one of those days where he just feels great. He feels happy and oblivious. The gray scale around him is cheerful and filled with warmth, making him feel safe around his friends.

Or rather, Bert's friends. Gerard has never actually met any of these guys, except his drinking partner for the night. He doesn't really process this, because he feels better than he has in a long time. That's all that matters to him. It's easier to just give in and float along with what ever is in front of his eyes. It's so much less painful than those days working for the CN. Deadline after deadline, it was killing him. More importantly, it was killing his art; holding him back. He had quit that job, and maybe he's unemployed and living in his parent's basement now, but he'll figure something out. He just needs more time.

He gets his kiss; a sloppy press of Bert's lips to his own. When he pulls away and opens his eyes, he feels disappointed at the lack of pink staining his vision, but he keeps smiling. That's all he tells himself these days: keep smiling. Hell, it's no secret that he's hitting depression hard, but if he can fake it enough, maybe it'll become real. One day, he'll be able to smile without feeling some other emotion nagging away at him.

That'll be the day where the sky is blue and the grass is green.

Gerard's thoughts are suddenly lined with sarcasm, and he shakes his head at his own skeptical comments. He can be happy. He just needs to finish Umbrella Academy, and then he'll be more than happy. He'll be famous. He'll be a fucking millionaire.

Until then, he'll do what he does best. Get drunk.

"Who're the band playing they sound fucking radical, man!" Gerard's face is filled with a grin, and his tone is cheerful as he practically yells into Bert's ear.

"I don't know but they're fucking fags," Bert grunts back. "See the bassist? My girlfriend slept with him."

Gerard leans into Bert, his body warm against his. "Did she say she saw pink?"

"No, she saw red. The red of that dick's blood after I beat the crap out of him."

The shorter man lets out a small laugh, his jaw moving against Bert's shoulder. It feels nice to rest his head against. He likes Bert. Gerard would have loved for him to have been the one, but everything is still black and white. Maybe colors don't even exist. Maybe everyone just makes them up to piss all the lonely people off. "Do you think I'm going to die in gray scale?" Gerard asks, his body slowly moving against Bert's, as if they are dancing at a high school prom.

He scratches at an itch on his head. "I think this whole color shit is over-rated. I don't get why you're so obsessed with it," Bert says, making Gerard's heart ache slightly.

"I like art," he points out. "And color is art. It's hard to be an artist when you're limited to only a few thousand shades of gray. It gets boring."

Bert pulls Gerard slightly closer. "But how can it be boring if you don't know anything else? I couldn't imagine the world with all fancy yellow and stuff." He starts to stroke his hair, and Gerard realizes that Bert is acting incredibly out of character.

"What's up with you tonight? You're acting all cute." Gerard looks up and smiles.

Bert's eyes turn hazy. "I don't know, man. I'm drunk. I'm a happy drunk."

"Just don't start growing a vagina and asking me to paint your nails, okay?"

"What if I wanna be a chick?"

Gerard rolls his eyes.

It's about an hour later that Gerard decides he needs to head home. His car is parked outside, but he can't drive in this state. After pacing up and down the parking lot for ten minutes, he remembers his cell phone. He tries to turn the out-dated piece of crap on, but the screen remains black. The batteries must be dead.

Which in turn means he can't call Mikey, which means he can't get picked up.

He throws a worried glance at his silver car. The drive isn't long. Just seven minutes or so down the road, and it's not as if he'd be on a motorway. Gerard purses his lips, wondering what he should do. He feels goose bumps rising on his arms and decides to get in the car, seeking warmth from the freezing New Jersey night. He should just take himself back. The alcohol buzz has gone down, and he feels fairly confident that he won't swerve from the road and drive into an orphanage. It's less than ten minutes. He'll be fine. He nods once, trying to reassure himself that he's perfectly sober. He starts the car up and takes a left from the initial road, so that he can drive down the secluded lane hidden by the trees. No one goes down there, so he'll only have himself to kill.

For some reason, Gerard doesn't feel too bad about that.

It's dark, and the dim grays being washed out from the streetlights do nothing to aid Gerard as he squints through the night. He'll never tell Ray or Mikey that he did this. They would kill him. Call him suicidal. His brother and best friend often tend to get worked up about Gerard doing anything even remotely dangerous. It's no wonder they hate him hanging out with Bert. He lets out a sigh as he drives, and yawns.

As soon as he gets home, Gerard decides that he's going to collapse on his bed and go to sleep. A quick glance at the time on his radio tells him that it's nearly 4 AM, which explains why his eyes feel so heavy. With no adrenaline left over from being at the party, Gerard feels himself start to slip under. Just as his chin touches his chest, he jerks back up, panicking and suddenly spinning the car out of control. He comes speeding out of the lane, slamming his foot down on the brake, but he feels something slam into him before the screeching of the tyres comes to a stop.

When everything is still, Gerard takes a minute to breathe. Did he hit something? Someone? He blinks, trying to think of what he had slammed into. God - what if that was a person? A child?

"Fuck," Gerard curses, using his trembling hands to get out of the car. His eyes flick around the scene, desperate to not find a body on the road. He feels his heart stop for a moment when he notices the black lump just a few meters away. His pulse quickens, and he has to internally scream at himself in order to start moving again. When he does, he runs forward.

It's a body - a boy. Gerard shakes his head, terrified as he cups his the teenager's face. Fuck, what has he done? Everything is moving so fast he feels dizzy. He bites his lip, and feels something wet cover his thumb. He's bleeding. His head is slick with the liquid, telling Gerard that he's probably dead.

Breathing erratic, Gerard pulls the boy up into his lap, so that the streetlight can help him inspect the wound. He's still not thinking - his mind a mess of panic and guilt. He lifts a hand to cover his mouth, but stops midway.

Red.

Gerard can see red.