FicWad

I wrote the last chapters so long ago, I can hardly remember what I was heading for!
The last time I even tried to write this was, like, four months ago, so... UGH. It might be a while. A long while. This chapter was the last of the ones I had already written since the third.

-g.


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Gerard shouldn’t have been back in Manhattan in the first place. He had known he hadn’t been in stable condition when he’d left almost three months before. It had been risky, but he was well aware of the possibilities.
“Gerard, Gee, wake up!”
Gerard’s eyes snapped open.
He’d seen it. He had seen it just as the room came into focus. That face. That boy, the face that the voice belonged to, sitting on his chest and looking down at him, grinning as he always did until he was whisked away into the air again, a missing memory just out of reach by Gerard’s reeling mind.
Gerard’s chest felt tight; he choked, almost sobbed, stumbling off the mattress and into the bathroom, his lungs aching, and his head spinning as rage built up in his veins. He ripped open the medicine cabinet, smashing the mirrored door into the wall, the shards cascading down to the floor and cutting into his shoulder and bare chest on their way down.
He groped through the shelves blindly, knocking bottles over until his fingers closed around a specific object. He gripped the edge of the sink and took a breath, holding the air in for a second before pushing the object up to his neck with trembling fingers.
The needle felt strange under his skin; it was cold, haphazardly placed, and puncturing his breathing channels, even though he had done it that way thousands of times.
He shuddered and felt his legs get weak, the whirling, blind fury simmering away to the back of his head and fading to complete misery. He dropped to his knees and sat back against the cold bathroom floor, ignoring the glass cutting into his feet and the blood trickling down his torso. He closed his eyes and felt hot tears running down his face; desperate tears, tears that had built up for hundreds and hundreds of years of being alone and in agony.
He wanted his dad. He wanted his brother and the people who had surrounded him and accepted him for the beginning of the life he thought he could keep forever.
He didn’t want to be alone anymore. He missed movement, and not being the only person in the world who made anything different. No one talked anymore, maybe didn’t even know how, and he missed the communication.
No one wanted him.
“I don’t feel that way. I want you back. I miss my best friend.”
Gerard flung his arms around to the sound of the voice, banging them against the doorway and the walls. “No, just g-get away. Get the fuck away from me!” he yelled. “You don’t fucking exist!” He didn’t dare open his eyes, because he would be alone, and he didn’t think he could stand another day acting like he wasn’t scared. Because he was terrified.
No matter how long he kept living, no matter how high and mighty he made himself feel, Gerard Way would always be that same dependant, seventeen-year-old boy at heart. The screwed up, shy kid who always needed his pack to return to at the end of the day to watch over him.
“You’re not… n-not here…,” Gerard whimpered, his eyes screwed shut. His flailing limbs were lowered by a strong, firm, grip, and pushed to his sides. He felt the warmth of someone kneeling in front him and curling a hand against the back of his neck fearlessly. So unlike the contact he had experienced since that one familiar person who handle him like that, gentler than anyone had in his life. The only person who wasn’t afraid of him, who he could relate to and communicate as himself to. The one person who he couldn’t remember in the faintest at the times when he needed it most.
He relaxed to the foreign touch, and sank back against the wall, the tears flowing out freely as the blood reduced to clotting drips over his skin.
He opened his eyes after what felt like hours.
Gerard was alone.