Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance
In The Middle Of A Gunfight
4 reviewsBert and Gerard fic, based very loosely on the beginning of 'You Know What They Do To Guys Like Us...' A sad fic written by a hyperly happy person!! XD [Oneshot]
0Unrated
A/N: A Bert and Gerard fic cos I really don't think there are enough of them about XD Not a happy one but then again do I specialise in happy fics?? I wrote this because MCR are currently playing half an hour's drive away from my house and I've got bloody butterflies even though I'm not gonna get to see them!!
Disclaimer: No I don't own, never said I did XD
Dedicated to: Bert McCracken and Gerard Way for making me feel really, properly safe and to SafeFromRobotsDAMN! For writing such amazing fics XD
In the Middle of a Gunfight
In the middle of a gunfight, in the centre of a restaurant, they say 'Come with your arms raised high'. Well they're never gonna get me - like a bullet through a flock of doves.
Screams rode high over the piercing shatters as razor-sharp shards of glass exploded off tables and onto the floor, cutting into the skin of the terrified mass and scarring the hands of those huddled below the wooden tables or crawling on their hands and knees on the crimson carpet. It hadn't used to be crimson, five minutes ago it was dirty beige; the kind of colour that reveals instantly that something hasn't been thought through properly. There was another gun shot and a shriek and then, for the first time since the glass in the swing doors had smashed in, silence. The room seemed to freeze as the last dead body sunk into the blood that had dyed the carpet, every single living being holding their breath for the carnage that not one of them doubted would start over in the next few minutes. But there was only silence.
Twenty minutes ago the doors had smashed in with the blood chilling sound of riffle fire from outside the building. Seconds later people had started screaming, throwing their half finished glasses to the floor and diving under tables as five men had stalked into the room, each carrying some sort of gun. They were dressed perfectly normally - in jeans and dark hoodies but there was no doubt after the first few minutes that they were killing machines. In five minutes two barmen and a burly security guard who'd all tried to phone the police were lying, bleeding on the beige carpet. The room had hit new levels of hysteria when the first body had fallen and panicked possibly even more with the second and third. That's all the last twenty minutes had been, carnage and screams and turmoil. That was all until the first customer had been brutally murdered as she'd crawled from under the table - shot twice in the head. Then the room had gone silent.
He saw it all of course, the dark haired man hunched up under the bar with his hand wrapped around the neck of an empty wine bottle. He too was holding his breath as the silence descended, his other hand clamped hard against the mouth of the man next to him as he tried to stop his ragged breathing to ring out across the room. Half way through the mess Bert McCracken had been hit in the arm by a ricocheting bullet and he'd lost too much blood to be worrying about breathing quietly. The room froze again, interrupting the man's silent prayers that this would be over and the cops would come sooner than later as one of the gunmen, his riffle hanging on a strap down by his side as guitarists would hold their guitars, started to speak.
"Me and my men have already shot four of you so I suggest you keep still," He instructed the room in a tone no more than a murmur and so eerily calm that it sent shivers down everyone's spines. He smiled as nothing stirred "Good, I'm glad you lot at least are sensible." He sighed with almost a hint of bitterness.
"Now," He started again, as two of the four men behind him began to space themselves around the little room. "You are all, I suspect normal everyday people come for a drink with friends perhaps," As he spoke he paced - two steps forward, two steps back. "But there are two men in this room who've been bad, they've upset the boss." Here he paused dramatically for a second before continuing "And people who upset my boss don't live long enough to do it again." He flashed the room a glittering smile "So I want them to come forward, if they don't we shoot everyone in this room to make sure we get them." He grinned slightly manically as the room seemed to slip even deeper into the realms of terrified silence. "And that's kids and ladies too."
There was a silence that seemed to last forever, not even broken by the wail of police sirens that every mother, teenagers and illegal drug dealer had never wanted to hear more in their lives until he spoke again. "So," He beamed "Would Mr Way and Mr McCracken please crawl out from where they're hiding until the bar like the pair of motherfucking cowards that they both know they are?" He asked politely as his icy glare turned to where the two rock stars crouched. Then there was silence again.
Gerard shut his eyes for a second as the silence crushed down on him, making it even harder to think. If he didn't go out all those people would die and what about Bert? There was no way that fucker would be able to think straight after losing that much blood, hell he could hardly keep his eyes open as it was. Could he really be responsible for Bert's death as well as his own?
His thoughts were interrupted by a rippling gasp that followed a sharp and terrifying gunshot. A body hit the floor seconds later.
"Are you coming?" The man asked quietly, blowing the smoke away from his gun as he glanced down at the body of the teenager he'd just shot through the stomach. The boy was still dying, his eyes dilating as he breathed his last.
Gerard made his choice without giving it a second thought, standing up quickly from under the bar, his black hair slicked to his head with sweat. "Don't shoot yet!" He begged, ever so aware of how likely those words were to have been his last. Even in his minds eye he could picture the 'Too late' that would echo from the man's lips as he sent the bullet hurtling into the rock star's brain.
As it was the bullet never came, just the horrible feeling that comes when all eyes in a room are on you. "Yes?" The man asked coolly. "And is Mr McCracken standing up or not?"
Gerard shook his head but realised it was the wrong thing to do only after the bullet had entered the neck of the woman couched centimetres away from his feet, blood pooling around his converse seconds later. Gulping he started speaking before the man had time to argue. "He can't," The vocalist almost whimpered, sounding pathetic even to his own ears "He got shot, he doesn't have a fucking clue what's going on." He pleaded. The man interrupted him "No swearing." He muttered, glaring possibly more at the word that had spewed out of Gerard's mouth than he had during the whole situation. "Do it again and I shoot someone."
Gerard gulped and nodded quickly "Sorry," He muttered quickly. "He's lost too much blood," He carried on hastily "He can't make a decision like that now..."
The man cocked the gun "Then you'll have to make it for him." He shrugged "You give yourselves up or the room dies. You're choice Gerard Way, your friend or," He did a vague head count "The lives of about two dozen people."
Gerard closed his eyes, praying to what ever god was sitting up their in the clouds that the sirens would sound soon. But what would happen then? They might just shoot everyone and run. Chewing his lip he opened his eyes and looked up at the killer in front of him. "I couldn't kill half a dozen people and live with it." He whispered But my conscience wouldn't let me kill my best friend. He stopped for a minute and then smiled as the thought hit him like a ton of bricks But fuck, it's not like I'm gonna be hear to care.
Bending down he took a deep breath as he gently laid a kiss on Bert's forehead, the front man's eyes flickering open, bloodshot and unfocused. "Come on McCracken," Gerard whispered to him, brushing a stray strand of hair out of his friend's eyes "We're going home."
Bert shifted slightly "Why is it so quiet?" He murmured, his voice rough.
"Cos they're waiting for us at home." Gerard answered, smiling reassuringly even though inside it was tearing him to pieces.
Bert smiled back and tried to get to his feet, only succeeding when Gerard helped to lift him up, leaning him against the bar as blood poured from the gaping hole in his left arm. The man smiled slightly curiously as Gerard nodded to him and closed his eyes. There was a shot seconds later and the dull thud of a body hitting the carpet. Gerard couldn't bring himself to look down as he slowly opened his eyes, catching the blue orbs of his friend's murderer.
"Any last requests before I send you to Hell with McCracken?" The man almost spat, fire blazing in his eyes.
Gerard just shook his head "Only that you'll tell the cops that I took you with me." He whispered venomously as he swung the wine bottle that had been clutched in his hand all along through the air, sending it into a collision course with the man's forehead. The sound of four more gun shots followed the smash of breaking glass as the man's companions opened fire and milliseconds later Gerard's body followed Bert's down to the blood swamped carpet. The last thing his dying eyes caught sight of before he left the world were Bert McCracken's piercing blue eyes.
Police sirens wailed in the distance seconds after the two men had died. Gun shots followed from the cops and the gunmen. Eight people survived, eighteen people died. The man who'd killed the two rockstars died from blood loss and glass wounds to the head after three hours in hospital. Three of the four other men got a ten year sentence - one got away and was never seen again.
~~~~~~~~~~*
Blue eyes flicker open slowly, heavy with sleep and blinded by the Sun which hovers high above. The scent of autumn leaves and early morning dew drifts in and out of the golden, flaming trees; alive with September colours.
Hazel eyes stare back down at him, shining with a peace that had never graced them before. He stirs, a smile flitting across his lips as he recognises the hazel orbs and shifts slightly on the wet grass. The owner of the hazel eyes smiles laughingly back down at him, propped up on his elbows, his pale skin glowing in the light of the rising Sun.
"You took your sweet time." He murmurs, his voice laughing with his eyes as he reaches a hand up and tucks his dark hair behind his ear. The motion is so familiar that it brings the man beside him hurtling back to his surroundings.
"Gerard?" He asks shakily and as he does the world around him seems to fade, the pretty, peaceful autumn colours swirling together in a whirl winding mass of grey until they settle again but this time the scene isn't so pretty. They now sit on dull, ashen grass with a cold winter wind playing around the tall, bare trees. A concrete path winds away from them to where a group of black clothed people stood, their heads bowed.
Gerard looks down at him again but this time his hazel eyes aren't laughing; they're filled with regrets and shame, his pale skin is almost grey but stained with blood that also coating his black locks. "I'm sorry Bert." He whispers, so pained and so guilt stricken that the other man doesn't know how to respond and instead shifts so he is sitting up with his legs crossed on the brow of the hill.
There was silence, but for the mournful prayers that uttered from the group of people at the bottom of the hill, clustered around what was obviously a coffin, their quiet sobs and words blowing towards where the pair sat with the frozen wind. "What for?" The younger man asks quietly, breaking the quiet as he glances up at Gerard, his blue eyes almost confused.
"For killing you," The vocalist almost chokes "For killing you and me and the teenager who he shot through the head." He whimpers and as he does so tears begin to roll down his cheeks, mingling with the blood. "I lied to you Bert..." He sobs "I..."
His sobs become more muffled as the other man wraps his arms around his shoulders, "Don't be fucker," He whispers back, closing his eyes and waiting for the loss to come. The overwhelming crashing feeling that you've just lost everything that ever meant anything to you - the knowledge that he was damned to Hell. But it didn't come, instead a kind of weird, idyllic peacefulness settled over his tired mind as he rests his chin on the top of Gerard's head, his friend still shaking with sobs, and looks down to the little group of people.
From where he sits he can see one of the pallbearers take around a tin of earth as the coffin hits the bottom of the pit. One by one they all drop the earth onto the wooden surface of the casket, as the words 'Ashes to ashes, dust to dust' ring out across the hill side. Bert shivers and Gerard feels it, his sobs dying down to low whimpers. "I'm sorry." He whispers again, lifting his head up as his hazel eyes meet his friend's blue ones.
"I told you," Bert smiles, almost cockily "Forget it fucker, there's nothing you can do about it now."
Gerard shuts his eyes and takes a breath and doesn't open them for a couple of seconds, almost as if he's wishing away the memories of the short time he'd lived on mother earth. When he opens them again they're gleaming with the same sort of childish excitement about the unknown that lies before them as has just entered Bert's eyes.
Standing up, his hazel eyes shining he holds out his hand to the other vocalist before beginning to sing as they both start off down the hill to the find what lies before them on the other side of the ridge.
In the middle of a gunfight, in the centre of a restaurant they say 'Come with your arms raised high' Well they're never gonna get me, like a bullet through a flock of doves...
~~~~~~~~~~~*~
FIN.
Disclaimer: No I don't own, never said I did XD
Dedicated to: Bert McCracken and Gerard Way for making me feel really, properly safe and to SafeFromRobotsDAMN! For writing such amazing fics XD
In the Middle of a Gunfight
In the middle of a gunfight, in the centre of a restaurant, they say 'Come with your arms raised high'. Well they're never gonna get me - like a bullet through a flock of doves.
Screams rode high over the piercing shatters as razor-sharp shards of glass exploded off tables and onto the floor, cutting into the skin of the terrified mass and scarring the hands of those huddled below the wooden tables or crawling on their hands and knees on the crimson carpet. It hadn't used to be crimson, five minutes ago it was dirty beige; the kind of colour that reveals instantly that something hasn't been thought through properly. There was another gun shot and a shriek and then, for the first time since the glass in the swing doors had smashed in, silence. The room seemed to freeze as the last dead body sunk into the blood that had dyed the carpet, every single living being holding their breath for the carnage that not one of them doubted would start over in the next few minutes. But there was only silence.
Twenty minutes ago the doors had smashed in with the blood chilling sound of riffle fire from outside the building. Seconds later people had started screaming, throwing their half finished glasses to the floor and diving under tables as five men had stalked into the room, each carrying some sort of gun. They were dressed perfectly normally - in jeans and dark hoodies but there was no doubt after the first few minutes that they were killing machines. In five minutes two barmen and a burly security guard who'd all tried to phone the police were lying, bleeding on the beige carpet. The room had hit new levels of hysteria when the first body had fallen and panicked possibly even more with the second and third. That's all the last twenty minutes had been, carnage and screams and turmoil. That was all until the first customer had been brutally murdered as she'd crawled from under the table - shot twice in the head. Then the room had gone silent.
He saw it all of course, the dark haired man hunched up under the bar with his hand wrapped around the neck of an empty wine bottle. He too was holding his breath as the silence descended, his other hand clamped hard against the mouth of the man next to him as he tried to stop his ragged breathing to ring out across the room. Half way through the mess Bert McCracken had been hit in the arm by a ricocheting bullet and he'd lost too much blood to be worrying about breathing quietly. The room froze again, interrupting the man's silent prayers that this would be over and the cops would come sooner than later as one of the gunmen, his riffle hanging on a strap down by his side as guitarists would hold their guitars, started to speak.
"Me and my men have already shot four of you so I suggest you keep still," He instructed the room in a tone no more than a murmur and so eerily calm that it sent shivers down everyone's spines. He smiled as nothing stirred "Good, I'm glad you lot at least are sensible." He sighed with almost a hint of bitterness.
"Now," He started again, as two of the four men behind him began to space themselves around the little room. "You are all, I suspect normal everyday people come for a drink with friends perhaps," As he spoke he paced - two steps forward, two steps back. "But there are two men in this room who've been bad, they've upset the boss." Here he paused dramatically for a second before continuing "And people who upset my boss don't live long enough to do it again." He flashed the room a glittering smile "So I want them to come forward, if they don't we shoot everyone in this room to make sure we get them." He grinned slightly manically as the room seemed to slip even deeper into the realms of terrified silence. "And that's kids and ladies too."
There was a silence that seemed to last forever, not even broken by the wail of police sirens that every mother, teenagers and illegal drug dealer had never wanted to hear more in their lives until he spoke again. "So," He beamed "Would Mr Way and Mr McCracken please crawl out from where they're hiding until the bar like the pair of motherfucking cowards that they both know they are?" He asked politely as his icy glare turned to where the two rock stars crouched. Then there was silence again.
Gerard shut his eyes for a second as the silence crushed down on him, making it even harder to think. If he didn't go out all those people would die and what about Bert? There was no way that fucker would be able to think straight after losing that much blood, hell he could hardly keep his eyes open as it was. Could he really be responsible for Bert's death as well as his own?
His thoughts were interrupted by a rippling gasp that followed a sharp and terrifying gunshot. A body hit the floor seconds later.
"Are you coming?" The man asked quietly, blowing the smoke away from his gun as he glanced down at the body of the teenager he'd just shot through the stomach. The boy was still dying, his eyes dilating as he breathed his last.
Gerard made his choice without giving it a second thought, standing up quickly from under the bar, his black hair slicked to his head with sweat. "Don't shoot yet!" He begged, ever so aware of how likely those words were to have been his last. Even in his minds eye he could picture the 'Too late' that would echo from the man's lips as he sent the bullet hurtling into the rock star's brain.
As it was the bullet never came, just the horrible feeling that comes when all eyes in a room are on you. "Yes?" The man asked coolly. "And is Mr McCracken standing up or not?"
Gerard shook his head but realised it was the wrong thing to do only after the bullet had entered the neck of the woman couched centimetres away from his feet, blood pooling around his converse seconds later. Gulping he started speaking before the man had time to argue. "He can't," The vocalist almost whimpered, sounding pathetic even to his own ears "He got shot, he doesn't have a fucking clue what's going on." He pleaded. The man interrupted him "No swearing." He muttered, glaring possibly more at the word that had spewed out of Gerard's mouth than he had during the whole situation. "Do it again and I shoot someone."
Gerard gulped and nodded quickly "Sorry," He muttered quickly. "He's lost too much blood," He carried on hastily "He can't make a decision like that now..."
The man cocked the gun "Then you'll have to make it for him." He shrugged "You give yourselves up or the room dies. You're choice Gerard Way, your friend or," He did a vague head count "The lives of about two dozen people."
Gerard closed his eyes, praying to what ever god was sitting up their in the clouds that the sirens would sound soon. But what would happen then? They might just shoot everyone and run. Chewing his lip he opened his eyes and looked up at the killer in front of him. "I couldn't kill half a dozen people and live with it." He whispered But my conscience wouldn't let me kill my best friend. He stopped for a minute and then smiled as the thought hit him like a ton of bricks But fuck, it's not like I'm gonna be hear to care.
Bending down he took a deep breath as he gently laid a kiss on Bert's forehead, the front man's eyes flickering open, bloodshot and unfocused. "Come on McCracken," Gerard whispered to him, brushing a stray strand of hair out of his friend's eyes "We're going home."
Bert shifted slightly "Why is it so quiet?" He murmured, his voice rough.
"Cos they're waiting for us at home." Gerard answered, smiling reassuringly even though inside it was tearing him to pieces.
Bert smiled back and tried to get to his feet, only succeeding when Gerard helped to lift him up, leaning him against the bar as blood poured from the gaping hole in his left arm. The man smiled slightly curiously as Gerard nodded to him and closed his eyes. There was a shot seconds later and the dull thud of a body hitting the carpet. Gerard couldn't bring himself to look down as he slowly opened his eyes, catching the blue orbs of his friend's murderer.
"Any last requests before I send you to Hell with McCracken?" The man almost spat, fire blazing in his eyes.
Gerard just shook his head "Only that you'll tell the cops that I took you with me." He whispered venomously as he swung the wine bottle that had been clutched in his hand all along through the air, sending it into a collision course with the man's forehead. The sound of four more gun shots followed the smash of breaking glass as the man's companions opened fire and milliseconds later Gerard's body followed Bert's down to the blood swamped carpet. The last thing his dying eyes caught sight of before he left the world were Bert McCracken's piercing blue eyes.
Police sirens wailed in the distance seconds after the two men had died. Gun shots followed from the cops and the gunmen. Eight people survived, eighteen people died. The man who'd killed the two rockstars died from blood loss and glass wounds to the head after three hours in hospital. Three of the four other men got a ten year sentence - one got away and was never seen again.
~~~~~~~~~~*
Blue eyes flicker open slowly, heavy with sleep and blinded by the Sun which hovers high above. The scent of autumn leaves and early morning dew drifts in and out of the golden, flaming trees; alive with September colours.
Hazel eyes stare back down at him, shining with a peace that had never graced them before. He stirs, a smile flitting across his lips as he recognises the hazel orbs and shifts slightly on the wet grass. The owner of the hazel eyes smiles laughingly back down at him, propped up on his elbows, his pale skin glowing in the light of the rising Sun.
"You took your sweet time." He murmurs, his voice laughing with his eyes as he reaches a hand up and tucks his dark hair behind his ear. The motion is so familiar that it brings the man beside him hurtling back to his surroundings.
"Gerard?" He asks shakily and as he does the world around him seems to fade, the pretty, peaceful autumn colours swirling together in a whirl winding mass of grey until they settle again but this time the scene isn't so pretty. They now sit on dull, ashen grass with a cold winter wind playing around the tall, bare trees. A concrete path winds away from them to where a group of black clothed people stood, their heads bowed.
Gerard looks down at him again but this time his hazel eyes aren't laughing; they're filled with regrets and shame, his pale skin is almost grey but stained with blood that also coating his black locks. "I'm sorry Bert." He whispers, so pained and so guilt stricken that the other man doesn't know how to respond and instead shifts so he is sitting up with his legs crossed on the brow of the hill.
There was silence, but for the mournful prayers that uttered from the group of people at the bottom of the hill, clustered around what was obviously a coffin, their quiet sobs and words blowing towards where the pair sat with the frozen wind. "What for?" The younger man asks quietly, breaking the quiet as he glances up at Gerard, his blue eyes almost confused.
"For killing you," The vocalist almost chokes "For killing you and me and the teenager who he shot through the head." He whimpers and as he does so tears begin to roll down his cheeks, mingling with the blood. "I lied to you Bert..." He sobs "I..."
His sobs become more muffled as the other man wraps his arms around his shoulders, "Don't be fucker," He whispers back, closing his eyes and waiting for the loss to come. The overwhelming crashing feeling that you've just lost everything that ever meant anything to you - the knowledge that he was damned to Hell. But it didn't come, instead a kind of weird, idyllic peacefulness settled over his tired mind as he rests his chin on the top of Gerard's head, his friend still shaking with sobs, and looks down to the little group of people.
From where he sits he can see one of the pallbearers take around a tin of earth as the coffin hits the bottom of the pit. One by one they all drop the earth onto the wooden surface of the casket, as the words 'Ashes to ashes, dust to dust' ring out across the hill side. Bert shivers and Gerard feels it, his sobs dying down to low whimpers. "I'm sorry." He whispers again, lifting his head up as his hazel eyes meet his friend's blue ones.
"I told you," Bert smiles, almost cockily "Forget it fucker, there's nothing you can do about it now."
Gerard shuts his eyes and takes a breath and doesn't open them for a couple of seconds, almost as if he's wishing away the memories of the short time he'd lived on mother earth. When he opens them again they're gleaming with the same sort of childish excitement about the unknown that lies before them as has just entered Bert's eyes.
Standing up, his hazel eyes shining he holds out his hand to the other vocalist before beginning to sing as they both start off down the hill to the find what lies before them on the other side of the ridge.
In the middle of a gunfight, in the centre of a restaurant they say 'Come with your arms raised high' Well they're never gonna get me, like a bullet through a flock of doves...
~~~~~~~~~~~*~
FIN.
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