Unholyverse

~Part 9~

Danny didn't seem too sure, chewing on his lip and his eyes moving around everywhere, but Gerard was making that face that inspired mothers to randomly hand him their babies to hold in Wal-Mart while they reached for something on a high shelf, and the kid was no match for that. Mikey didn't know anyone who was.

"I guess," he said doubtfully, and Gerard gave him a huge smile.

"Awesome, thank you."

Danny chewed on his lip some more, then mumbled, "You're like, welcome."

Gerard promised he'd hook back up with them before the show, and moved to follow Danny out of the room. Before they could leave, though, Mark appeared in the doorway. He looked from Gerard to Danny and back again, his face darkening with each glance.

"Danny, what the fuck?" he said. "I didn't know where you were."

"Pete told me to show these guys to their room," Danny gestured to where Frank and Bob were setting up in the corner.

Mark glared at them all and curled a hand around Danny's upper arm. "Yeah, well, now you can get back to work."

Danny shook him off and took a step back. "I said I'd show the Father around."

"He's not your fucking Father," Mark snapped, and Frank looked up, his mouth set in a grim line.

Gerard stepped forward hurriedly, and spoke in his most soothing voice. "Mark, look, I'm not trying to cause any trouble, here. I got no sense of direction and Danny was kind enough to offer to help me out, that's all."

Mark laughed, and it wasn't a nice sound at all. "I'll bet."

Frank was practically vibrating by this point, and Bob and Brian had matching pissed-off expressions on their faces. Mikey exchanged glances with Ray, but before anybody could say anything, Cortez stuck his head in the room.

"Mark, what the hell, I thought you were gonna help me – oh hey," he said when his eyes landed on Frank. "You guys comfy in here? Nothing but the finest salon facilities, am I right?"

"Just like home," said Frank.

Cortez did that smile again, the one from on the bus, slow and sort of crooked. It was a total pick-up smile. "Well, maybe I'll swing by later and see if you guys can make me even prettier," he said in this stupid smooth voice, and then ruined it by laughing at himself so Mikey couldn't even dislike him. "Shit. All right, Marky Mark, let's get to work. Danny, you at a loose end, here?"

"Danny was just about to give me a tour of the venue," Gerard said, resting his hand on Danny's shoulder.

Mark was like, purple in the face by now, but Danny didn't – or, as Mikey's own experiences as a younger brother suggested, pretended not to – notice and nodded hard.

"Danny," Mark began, but Cortez was already dragging him out of the room.

"Come on, dude, where's he gonna be safer than with the preacher, right?"

Mark went reluctantly, but not without giving Gerard a final suspicious, angry glare.

"All right," Gerard looked back at the rest of them, eyebrows raised. "Danny, shall we?"

"Okay," said Danny, and he led Gerard out of the room.

"Wow," said Ray when they'd gone. "That Mark dude is seriously unpleasant."

"The brother seems okay, though," Bob said thoughtfully, leaning back against the low counter. "How old do you think they are?"

"Not old enough," Brian said, folding his arms. "The kid can't be more than sixteen."

"Maybe he looks younger than he is," Frank said. "I didn't look my age until-"

"You still don't," Brian interrupted him. "You look like you should be in homeroom."

Frank gave him the finger and his sunniest smile. "Hey, man, there's only one high-school dropout in this room."

"Right," said Brian. "Which is why I know an underage kid working a rock tour when I see one."

"Who's an underage kid?" Pete said, coming through the door with Joe in tow. He frowned suddenly and pointed at Frank. "I'm not looking to be prosecuted for transporting minors across state lines, dude."

Frank went, "Ugh," and turned his back on Pete, who looked confused.

"What?" he said to Bob, but Bob was laughing too hard to answer. "Whatever, you guys all suck, with your inside jokes. Are you going to wrangle my boy's locks or what?"

"I don't want to cut it," Joe protested, but he let Pete manhandle him into a chair. "Pete, come on. I'm like Samson, you're gonna strip me of my strength."

"I feel you, man," Ray said, waving his scissors around so they caught the light. "You can keep the length, but I can thin it out a little underneath. Otherwise all the shape's going to drop out."

Ray sprayed Joe's head with water and started snipping away, and Pete came to squish himself into the chair Mikey was lounging in. He kept pushing his foot against the floor and making the chair spin around, so Mikey only saw the other guys' faces whiz past in little glimpses. It was weird; like being inside a zoetrope.

"Are you gonna watch the show?" Pete wanted to know, prodding Mikey's side. "You're gonna watch the show, right?"

All of a sudden, Mikey felt like he'd been dropped into a glass of cold water. He could feel his skin cringing up in goosebumps behind his ears and down his spine; Pete's voice was far away, suddenly, and Mikey slammed his own feet down on the floor to stop the movement of the chair, breathing hard through his nose and willing himself not to throw up.

"Mikey?" Frank was there more or less instantly, his hands shockingly warm on the cold, clammy skin of Mikey's forehead. "Mikey, you okay?"

Mikey had to swallow a few times to work up enough moisture to stutter out, "Yeah – yeah. I'm fine. Just...motion sickness, I guess."

"Wow," said Joe, peering out from under the hair Ray had combed over his face. "That is a delicate stomach you got there, dude."

Frank pulled him out of the chair and away from Pete, and settled him onto the low, shabby couch on the other side of the room. "I'll get you some water, okay?"

"Gatorade," said Mikey. Frank squeezed his hand.

He left the room, and Mikey closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to see everyone giving him weird looks. He opened them again when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

It was a text message from Frank that said 'Another vision? What was it? Should I find Gerard? What color do you want?'

Mikey texted back 'not a vsn, tell u l8r, blue' and put his phone away again.

Ray had gone back to snipping at Joe's hair, but he kept shooting Mikey worried little glances. Mikey was saved from any further scrutiny by Bob, who got up all of a sudden and crossed the room to Pete.

"What," said Pete, and then he went, "Ow, hey, what the fuck," because Bob was grabbing his arm and hauling him out of his chair and across the room. "I pay people to do that, man, I don't need any freelancers."

"What the fuck is this?" Bob demanded, pushing Pete down into the chair in the corner. He grabbed a little stool and sat down next to Pete, pushing the sleeve of his T-shirt further up his arm. "Dude, how many of these are unfinished?"

Pete groaned. "Oh, God, you're one of those weird militant tattoo artists, aren't you?"

"The militantest," said Mikey. "Bob never lets us start anything new if we've got a work in progress."

Pete grinned. "Oh, well, see, my secret is to have an artist in every port."

"Yeah," said Ray, twisting a lock of Joe's hair up into a clip. "Pretty much we only go to Bob."

"I feel that," said Joe. "It sucks if you go to some new guy and they mess things up."

"It really does," said Mikey.