FicWad

"And how, in doing that, did you accomplish-?" The psychiatrist waved her hand in the air looking for a response from Mr. Frank Iero. "What did you /expect/, or /want/, out of all of this?" Frankie just shook his head.

"Sleep." He answered simply. She cocked an eyebrow.

"Mmhm." She took her pen and jotted down some lines in her notebook. "Why couldn't you sleep?"

"I don't know." But Frankie realized that she wasn't going to take that for an answer. She was going to pry and dig until he gave in. "I guess it was just stress, you know?"

She nodded.

"Well, you probably don't know...but the point is, it was stressful! Reprise was expecting a new CD out of us by next fall, and we just put out 'Welcome To The Black Parade'. But they wanted an EP of what our new stuff was gonna sound like." Frank could feel everything inside him give, and before he knew it, he was talking nonstop. "And I was like, 'We just released a new CD, how can we just suddenly change in half a year, you know? And then there was the concert schedule, and they had us up to play almost four concerts in one day! Do you know how bad that can be on you? And the constant travel, never getting any real sleep to begin with! I hated it. Honestly..."

"Yes?" She encouraged him to continue.

"Honestly, I was going to quit the band." He dropped his voice and felt her eyes on him. "I didn't want to be in this situation anymore. I had Skeleton Crew, I had everything I could ever want. Money, my own record company..."

"And-"

"And a life." He said, his voice dropping again. "I just couldn't put up with all of MCR's shit anymore. The drama, the depression, Gerard breathing down my neck to work harder on my guitar, Mikey's constant wineing that he never got as much attention as the rest of us, Bob's 'happy-go-lucky' attitude 24/7, Ray's..." Frankie swallowed. "Ray's...."

"What about Ray, Frank?" She asked sympathetically. No doubt she had heard what had happened to their star guitar player. No doubt that she would be seeing him too once he was out of the hospital...if he ever got out.

"I've never thought about it, but I actually didn't mind Ray." Frank said, beginning to go into thought. He was talking more to himself than the counselor at this point. "He was always nice to me, and we got along great. We played video games together, drank together, smoked together... And he always was happy to show me some new riffs on the guitar or help me with one I was stuck on."

She just nodded and Frankie stopped. He was feeling something, deep inside him. If stress was the real reason he tried to commit suicide, then Ray-

"Oh, my God!" Frank shouted, standing up. "I didn't do it because I Ray!" He could feel something inside him snap. "I didn't! I did it because I was tired. I wanted sleep!"

"And?" The psych had a smile on her face.

"He's not the reason I tried to kill myself." Frankie almost fell to his knees then. "But I'm the reason he did." His voice dropped to a whisper.

"No one can make someone commit suicide, Frank." She said.

"But you can give them reason to." He corrected her and the smile on her face went bigger. "I have to go. I need to go see Ray and tell him."

The psych nodded and stood from her chair and went behind her desk, pulling out a prescription pad. She scribbled some stuff down and handed it to Frankie. "Here, a months supply of sleeping medication." Frankie took it and looked at it. "Give it a few days to build up in your system before you pull another stunt, okay?"

Frankie nodded and grabbed his jacket and was out the door in less than five seconds. He needed to get to the hospital, now.

*

Frankie pulled up to the patient parking lot and parked his car. His hands were shaking and he was nervous beyond belief. He needed to see Ray. Needed needed needed. He opened the door, almost falling in his haste to reach the information desk. He ran, through the sliding doors and into the lobby. An elderly woman sat at the front desk, thick rimmed glasses perched on her nose.

"Can I help you, sir?" She said, taking in his hurried expression and shaking hands.

"Um, Ray Toro-Ortiz? What room is he in?" Frankie asked quickly.

"Hm...he's not in our system anymore." She said, and Frankie felt his heart drop to his feet. What happened? "He's been moved to the state hospital."

Frankie nodded and thanked her, than ran back out, got in the car and drove off.

*

Bob sighed as he flipped aimlessly through the channels on the T.V. Nothing was on. Literally nothing. The sports channel was racing(blah), MTV was some reality show(blah), Fuse was another reality show(blah), everything was either boring or reality and he just couldn't stand that stupid reality shit. He finally just flicked the T.V. off and walked down the hall.

He needed to check on Mikey. "Mike?" He asked, standing next to Mikey's bunk. Well, it used to be Frankie's, but ever since Mikey's accident, he needed a lower one. "Are you alive?"

"Mmgouhway..." Came the muffled reply.

Bob just rolled his eyes. "Mikey, seriously, it's been five days. You stink. Get up and have a shower." He demanded.

"Noumnevergettingupunidunwanna." Was the answer. Bob just growled softly before reaching out and yanking the covers off. He pulled Mikey to him and slung him over his shoulder. Mikey was too weak to fight back and hung limply over Bob. "Putmedownunorillkillubobimunit."

"You couldn't kill me even if you tried, Mikey." Bob muttered. He sat Mikey in the shower and turned only the cold on. Mikey squealed.

"Agh! Bob!" He said, tried to get away. Bob just shut the shower door and pressed his back against it so Mikey couldn't escape.

"Take a shower or you can sit in there all day for all I care. I'll just keep standing here." Bob offered. "Soap's on the left and shampoo's on the right."

Mikey groaned before Bob heard him attempt to stand, succeed and remove his wet clothes. A pair of drenched boxers and a wet tee shirt appeared over the top of the shower. Bob took them and put them in the sink. He stood there as he heard Mikey taking his damn sweet time to have a shower.

Finally, the water shut off and he heard Mikey's teeth chattering. "Well, why didn't you turn some hot, retard?"

"I d-don't c-c-care." He muttered. "J-just give me-me a t-towel...pl-please." Bob stepped away from the door, grabbed a towel off the rack and opened the shower. Mikey stepped forward and Bob wrapped the towel around him.

"C'mon, let's find you something to wear."

*

Gerard slumped into the bus and made his way down the hall. He'd spent the day at the hospital watching over Ray, talking to Ray, and praying for Ray. Nothing was really happening. No sign of increased activity, but his body was healing. The bruises were fading and the cuts and scrapes were slowly repairing themselves. Thank God...

Gerard stripped off his shoes, jeans, and shirt and crawled into his bunk in only his boxers. He shivered and pulled the covers up around him. That was when he noticed the Mikey was gone and out of bed. Bob was gone, too.

"Bob must have finally convinced that the world wasn't over or something..." Gerard mumbled to himself. He yawned and closed his eyes, quickly falling asleep.

*

Bob ushered Mikey to a seat and sat him down, opened his menu for him and then sat across from him. Bob decided that since Mikey hadn't eaten in five days, that he needed a real meal. He'd taken them to El Parian, a well known Mexican restaurant.

"Order anything and everything, Mikey." Bob said. "I'll pay." Mikey nodded, his mouth watering already. Chips and salsa arrived and Mikey almost cleared out the whole basket in less than two minutes. Bob just laughed.

"Learn a new lesson?" Mikey just glared at him. "Never go without eating. Especially if you're Mikey-the-bottomless-pit." Bob said. Mikey rolled his eyes, still scanning the menu.

"I want..." He muttered. "I want the fajitas!" Bob rose an eyebrow. "And a chimichanga!" Bob wove his hand in the air, waiting for Mikey to continue. "And and order of Aroz con Pollo...and...um...some cheese dip."

"Is that all?" Bob asked. Mikey nodded, a smile on his face for the first time since...forever. "Okay."

*

Frankie peered through the glass a sleeping Ray. His body was so pale, his beautiful hair limp around his face, his face sunken in. He didn't even look like Ray anymore. From what Gerard said, though, he was healing fast. His brain activity wasn't all that great, but his body was healing itself at an incredible rate. Frankie opened the door and quietly stepped in.

Ray's heart monitor beeped, the I.V. clicked every so often releasing more morphine and saline... "Jesus, Ray." Frank whispered. He went to the bedside and sat down in a chair that was already pulled up close. Probably from Gerard.

"Ray...I needed to talk to you." Frank started, wishing the Ray could hear him. "It's not your fault, Ray. You weren't the reason I did it. I used to think it was your fault, but then I discovered that the only reason I did it was because I wanted sleep. I was so, so fucking tired, Ray. The band was stressing me out. I was this close to quitting..." Frank could feel tears gripping him. "But...I don't know...all I do know is that it's not your fault, Raymond."

Ray's heart monitor beeped again.

"It's not your fault." Frank's voice dropped. Frank reached out and took Ray's hand. "Please Ray...you've got to give me a sign or something that you're okay and you heard me...please."

Nothing happened. Then, faintly, just barely, he felt it. He looked down at his hand and saw Ray's fingers barely tighten around his. Frank felt himself smile big.

"Ray!" He whispered harshly. "Thank you...thank you, God." He looked at Ray, but nothing showed on his face. But it didn't matter. Ray had heard him. He was still in there. Fighting...

"You can do it Ray. I believe in you, man." Frank said, slowly removing his hand from Ray's. "Give'm hell kid. Give'm hell."