FicWad

For a blissful moment there’s silence.

Then a rush of air zips loudly in his ear, a vacuum suction drawing him from mid-leap to a pile on the floor.

Gerard groans, hating every fiber of his being. That, of course, is nothing new.

His shoulder took most of the impact, sore but bearable. The world is a blurry, spiraling mess, so he’s careful picking himself halfway off the ground. He lifts his head only to be met with scraped up knees poking out of torn jeans, and his eyes follow the legs up to the guy’s face, where he has an eyebrow quirked up and his lips pursed. The eyeliner he’s wearing makes his eyes gigantic.

“Uh. Hi,” he says with lack of anything better to say.

The teen gives him a once over. He shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. With a surge of unnecessary force, he scoffs, throwing his hands away from his face. Sparing a glance in Gerard’s direction, he offers up the assistance of a hand.

There are red lined bones on his gloves. Gerard takes the time to admire them.

“Get the fuck off the ground, man.”

He’s been staring at the glove for too long to be considered normal. He takes his sweet time to react.

“Oh! Okay, okay.”

The guy heaves him up, and Gerard’s cheeks are feeling too warm as he’s suddenly up close and personal with this stranger – one he’s let lead him into the great beyond, no less.

They’re staring at each other for a couple beats, tension making Gerard feel uneasy. It’s supposed to be impolite to stare, but this guy’s not stopping, and Gerard somehow feels obligated to hold his gaze steady, like this is some sort of test.

Who knows, maybe it is. There isn’t a brochure or handbook for this shit, fuck.

“Gerard,” the ‘r’ in his name is dragged out, nearly a growl. Gerard catches himself miss a breath.

“Yeah?” He manages, strangled.

The stranger nods his head once in confirmation. “Frank.”

“Hi Frank.”

Oh God, how fucking meet and greet is this?

Gerard hasn’t introduced himself to anyone in a long time; a time long enough that he’s clearly forgotten the logistics of communicating like a normal person.

In a way he never lets himself think for too long, Gerard is a fun guy. And he’s always drunk. Drunk and hilarious and friendly. Drunk being the operative term; Gerard needs to be fun and drunk and funny and friendly and drunk, drunk, drunk.

“Hello Gerard Way,” Frank responds, and Gerard’s stomach twists with the shortness punctuated in the three words. “Some other asshole was supposed to be the one to show you towards the light, or whatever the hell this place is, but he’s busy so I’m your guy.” And Frank shrugs, all what can you do? before flicking his eyes back up to Gerard, eyes bright when he bursts out loud, “Welcome to the afterlife! Guess you deserve congratulations? You know how it is. ‘You finally died!’”

Gerard leans away, taken aback at Frank’s insensitiveness even as much as he braced himself for it. So he laughs along, even though Frank’s not laughing. Never let them see it hurts. “I guess,” He says, smiling too wide.

“I guess? Do tell, Gerard.”

Frank’s a book of contradictions – stare attentive, expression open but mouth set in a straight line. Curious and threatening. Rapt and Murderous. His hand wrapped around the rail is clenching in rhythmic pulses, on off on off on off, like it’s a promise Frank is going to punch Gerard in the face sometime in the near future.

Maybe it’s not contradictory, but it still doesn’t make sense. You can’t hate someone you hardly know without good reason. Maybe it’s the principle of Gerard. Drunk anti-social artist poet-soul dirtbags really just set guys like Frank – tattooed short violent take-no-shit punk – off.

Yeah. That must be it.

Gerard sighs. “I don’t think I’m ready to talk about it. Not yet.” Not with you, Gerard refrains from adding. He’s not actually asking for a death wish. Even though Frank is smaller him, Gerard decides with no doubt he can throttle his pudgy body to the ground.

Frank shrugs again, leaning against the curvature of the wall.

They’re in heavenly, mold-scented tunnel, the same blinding light glaring at the distant end.

Frank licks his lips, tugging at the fabric of his gloves. He glances at Gerard again and somehow looks disappointed. It’s gotta be disappointed, because the way Frank squares his body so he can’t see Gerard anymore and marches toward the light on the other side says nothing else. Gerard watches him go, heart seizing up in his chest.

“Frank, w-wait!”

Gerard immediately regrets opening his mouth. Frank’s already just a small blurry shape, but he stops and turns his head so it’s only his profile, stark against the blinding white.

He asks anyway. “Where are we going now?”

Frank points his head forward, shaking his head. “Just go into the goddamn light.” He says it with the kind of finality that stains Gerard’s cheeks a hot pink of embarrassment.

With nothing else to do, Gerard treks onward. Left, right. Left, right, left, right, left, right.

He starts trembling from willfully not thinking about. That’s just it: not thinking. Not thinking at all. It works a little. For some meager moments, his mind is full of nothing. He’s nothing. All that hurt and fear, worry morphing into something bright and clean. Clean and bright and nothing.

Gerard doesn’t dare open his eyes once he pushes past the light, choosing to skip the sharp spiking whiteness. The solid claps of his rubber soled shoes on the concrete transition into a dull thud of carpet. Slowly, he opens one eye.

He’s in a foyer. The spotlessness of the large room leaves him unsettled, an untiring sensation in his gut telling him he doesn’t belong here, he’s too filthy. The matting is mercifully off-black, the walls are an off-white. And from then on the theme follows; to a black front desk is a white table surface, white lounge chairs placed around a black coffee table.

He didn’t expect purgatory to look so corporate. It’s not really comforting but he’ll take it if it means he’s not burning up at the able hands of the devil.

“Actually… not purgatory. But good guess!”

“Shit!”

He twirls and expects Frank, but he’s mistaken. Although the person is, like Frank, tattooed and short, the beard type facial hair is the first thing that throws it off.

“Gerard,” he says. Gerard darts his eyes to the side, not really sure how to handle this much social interaction. Never mind how he’s supposed to respond to this guy. He’s worn out, and consequently settles on a shrug.

“Well,” the man shakes his head and pulls out a folder from behind his back, “Gerard Way, my name is Brian Schechter and I’ll be sending you off into the afterlife. I’m here for all the paperwork and the transaction concerning your entry into the afterlife. Blah blah blah, we aren’t responsible for the life you had before, but we’ll try our upmost best to make the life you’re about to take on now substantially better. Good? Good. Follow me this way.” Brian curtly turns to the west wing of the building, into a white walled hallway with the folder labeled Gerard Arthur Way tucked under his arm. Gerard’s head is reeling from Brian’s speech, the whole shebang a flashing thirty seconds. Business as fucking usual, Gerard follows Brian stumbling over his two left feet.

The hallway is lined with doors; each one labeled with what Gerard assumes is the names of each office owner. Stump, Walker, Bryar, Ross, Lanza, Saporta whoosh past in important capital letters centered in the gray tinted windows. Brian keeps his head down, eyes focused on the papers he’s pulled out from the tan folder. Every step is measured and sure; Brian knows where he’s going without having to check his path once.

Gerard is certain that Brian has seen it all in his line of work, but the thought of having some stranger hold a literal written version of his life and therefore his entire being will never escape from making him feel uncomfortable. “Um. So Brian?”

“We’re almost there, hold off for a minute, Gerard, sorry,” Brian shoots an apologetic peek over his shoulder and carries on shuffling through Gerard’s innermost thoughts. Gerard tries not to stop and squirm at the idea as he trails after Brian. Brian makes a calculating noise. “Hey, relax.”

At this, Gerard flashes his eyes back to Brian, who’s turned around at the junction where the narrow hallway has abruptly opened up into a commodious area with a great desk placed fixed overlooking a picture window.

It’s nighttime, too dark to see anything beyond the brilliant expanse of stars, brighter than Gerard’s ever seen living close to the lurid city. This shit’s reserved for the faraway rural side of the world. Gerard‘s breath is punched out of him at the sudden and weighty feeling of insignificance and wonder.

“Overwhelming, inn’t it?” There’s an expressive lilt in Brian’s voice that screams routine. Even so, he nods wordlessly. “Yeah, the guy up there has a thing for passing on the big bad world as not so bad, but even bigger.”

It’s even more confusing when the words hit Gerard with a background of lit up cosmic objects like some old Sunday cartoon. He’s got uncountable questions for his guide, every single one of them wasted on lackluster energy pumping fast in his veins.

“So there’s a big guy out there?” Concise and connecting. Like a retort. Gerard can have a sense of humor; his death is after all, the biggest joke out there.

“Just a saying, Gerard,” he fires back.

Brian’s face seems to be perpetually set with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Gerard is inclined to think it’s because of dealing with clueless folks like him.

“But really? Isn’t that a little melodramatic considering you actually don’t know?”

Gerard flushes, thrown off balance by Brian’s bonus, and likewise vague, quip. Suspicion prickles at the bottom of his spine. “What are you talking about?”

Brian exhales, eyes squinting. Then his expression flattens to a poker face. “Forget about it. Well!” He claps his hands together and grins. “Time to get a move on!”

In a puff of dust, Brian’s sitting at the desk with glasses on his face and Gerard’s folder spread out on the table surface. A wave of an arm directs Gerard towards an office chair, as magically appearing as Brian’s teleportation. Gerard delays, mind still catching up when his body belatedly slumps into the cushion seat.

“Can,” Gerard waits until Brian lifts his attention away from the documents, “Can we all do that?”

Confusion clouds Brian’s face. “Do what?”

“The,” Gerard stumbles on words, “The whole – ” he makes an abortive motion with his hands, flailing in the air around him.

Brian’s lips ease into a smile, and he kicks his feet up, folding his hands together on his stomach. “It’s a job benefit.” Brian heaves a sigh, flicking his scrutiny up to the ceiling. “Make sure us sorry suckers keep the gears moving,” he mutters under his breath. Gerard hums, uncertain how to respond to that.

There’s a knock at the doorway. “Hey Bri?” An unfamiliar voice interrupts the awkward silence. Gerard swings his head around to see a young woman with blonde hair and a honey gaze peek from behind the wall. Brian immediately drops his sneakers from the table and stands up, losing his footing for a moment and looking flustered but his smile spreads significantly wider.

“Greta?” His voice cracks. Gerard bites a knuckle, watching Brian’s eyes flick from Greta’s mouth and eyes as she goes on about some papers being processed. Before she leaves, her hand touches Brian’s shoulder and the tension in his body eases. He stares at the door long after she’s gone.

Gerard coughs, shattering Brian’s daze.

“Oh, right, right. We’ve got papers.” Brian takes a seat, this time with his back straight and feet planted firmly on the ground. He skims through the pages, and Gerard wonders what he’s going to say about his pathetic life. “So Gerard, it looks like you’ve got quite the track record with alcohol and loose inhibitions.” Brian’s scanning the page and he stifles a laugh as he reaches the bottom.

Gerard flushes. “What?”

“ ‘I killed so many plants…’ ” Brian quirks an eyebrow at Gerard.

“Yeah. That wasn’t my best moment.” Gerard remembers Mikey having to pick him up off the puddle of vomit he’d collapsed on. The memory in itself doesn’t strike up as much guilt as it should, but the thought of who he used to be and he is still is send out a pang in his chest. He tried so hard.

“Come on, man,” Gerard is met with a solemn look, “This is the hardest part. It’ll be tough but I promise you’ll get through it just fine.”

Gerard lets out a breathy exhale. “Okay, sure.” It shouldn’t sound as skeptical as it does when he says it. Brian smiles, looking only a bit sad.

“So, I’m going to need you to fill these out, sign here and here, and initial here,” Brian spouts off instructions at a rapid fire pace and Gerard does every last one of them without any real consideration. If it wants his blood type, he’ll write his blood type – whether or not he really has any blood to give (and how his fear of needles does at the afterlife blood bank) – because he doesn’t have to think about that too hard. The paperwork is tedious and boring, while it is easy to follow and mind numbing. Gerard doesn’t have to think, and he supposes that’s the best deal he could ever get.

They’re finally done and only then does Gerard realize the clock on the wall has no arms. It’s strange and eerie and Gerard finds himself entranced that, while there isn’t a second hand, he swears he can hear each tick-tock echoing off the bare walls. Like time exists only in his mind, and this is seriously messing with him, and he’s asking himself, if this isn’t heaven or hell or even purgatory then where am I?

“Took you long enough.”

“Wait,” Gerard’s eyes get wide, “Can you hear my thoughts?”

Brian shrugs. “I get the general idea.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. Ask already.” Brian leans forward, fingers knotted on the table.

Gerard idly rubs dust off the glass tabletop. He doesn’t look up when he says, “Where are we?”

Brian’s beam drops so fast, it’s almost funny. Gerard catches the slip before Brian recovers, as quickly as he faltered. His eyes stay shadowed in despondency, an echo of his mom, his dad, Mikey, and oddly enough, of Frank. The expressions blur into one warped image of disappointment. Gerard’s vision hazes at the edges, like a burning photograph.

“Um, hey Brian, I don’t think – I mean,” Brian is still wearing that smile that doesn’t reach the upper half of his face, Gerard can tell as much as his eyesight crumbles in swirling color, fuck if he isn’t tripping balls right now.

“I guess I wasn’t the best judge of character. I’m sorry, Gerard.”

There’s hardly time for Gerard to react before the whole world collapses and plunges into black.