"You're kind of cute, or something." Pete Wentz was of course severely drunk and Mikey Way was left to deal with the little emo baby he'd been reduced to as a result of that.
"Or something?" Mikey raised one eyebrow, taking the glass of wine out of Pete's hand as the 'gang leader' snuggled into his side.
"Hot." Pete added with a smirk; he was far too proud of himself and he was most definitely making no secret of it. "That's the something."
"So am I hot, or just 'kind of hot'?" Mikey asked, not even sure why he was bothering, but he was pretty certain that at this point, Pete was going to pass out and sleep for the next seven hours at any point in the next fifteen minutes.
"Extremely hot." Pete corrected him, again smirking like a motherfucking idiot. "If you were Nando's chicken, you'd be extra extra hot with peri peri sauce."
"And what would you be? Lemon and herb? Plain?" Mikey rolled his eyes, leaving Pete to scowl in some sort of exaggerated offense.
"No, I was wrong, you'd be extra hot - one extra, and I'd be extra, extra hot - two extras, because, because, fuck it, come on, you know what I mean, you're not blind after all." Mikey glared at him in disbelief, and mainly because, well, Pete Wentz was a motherfucking idiot, but Mikey couldn't deny that he had developed a certain fondness for the emo wreck he was totally not cuddling with right now. "Okay, okay, realistically, I'm a medium at best, but you're extra, extra, extra hot, like they'd have to make a whole damn new sauce to cater to just how fucking hot you are."
"I tell you something, Pete, no one has ever flirted with me by comparing me to Nando's chicken before." Mikey smiled to himself, his gaze fixated upon the locked front door of his home, and he tried his best not to think of Alicia and her cousin in hospital who she'd gone to see, and Mikey was technically having an affair right now, but only technically because cuddling and talking about Nando's was hardly comparable to being fucked up the butt, but... butt... fuck it. Whatever.
"We should go to Nando's, like a date, or something." Pete grinned up at Mikey, who promptly shook his head, because he reckoned Pete was so drunk right now that he couldn't even walk.
"It's one in the morning, Pete." And there was also that, which was far better to argue with because Pete wasn't going to tell him to fuck off and that he was wrong after Mikey told him the time, and then of course, bet him on it and fall over and break his legs or something, and then they'd have to go to the hospital and it was one in the morning and he was going to have to explain to Alicia just why he was with a drunk, gay emo at one in the morning when she was out of town.
"McDonald's then, because they don't give one single fuck you can turn at three in the morning and order four milkshakes and they won't give one single fuck I promise you I have done it before." Mikey wrote this off as a story that he didn't particularly desire to know any much more about, and really, chances were that it was better off that way.
"How about we just go the fuck to bed? It's one in the morning, Pete." Mikey reminded him, of course, having little hopes about what he was saying making any sense to the guy whatsoever, because well, this was Pete Wentz.
"Do you have any Capri Suns? I want one." Pete chose to ignore Mikey's suggestion completely, and well, let's just say that Mikey wasn't all that surprised.
"Pete, as a grown man without children, I don't tend to keep Capri Suns in my house, just casually, you know?" And Pete looked wholeheartedly disappointed in him.
"We're going to buy some." Pete didn't even pose it as a question this time, springing to his feet, and much to Mikey's surprise, staying there without dying, which looked to be a good start already.
"I don't think that's such a good idea, you know?" Mikey couldn't exactly talk though, because as we all know, it wasn't him, but his brother who was a world renowned pioneer of motherfucking ideas.
"I like Capri Suns: you can suck on them. I need something to suck." Pete's eyes fell to Mikey's crotch in the least discreet gesture known to mankind ever. "Exactly, how big is your cock?"
"Pete-" Mikey spluttered, choking, already, his eyes widening in surprised, because he was so fucking sober in comparison to Pete.
"I want to get a tattoo above my cock that's like one of those signs you get on packaging where it's like 'warning choking hazard', but without the 'not suitable for children under three years' bit because well, I'm not a pedo, at least I hope so anyway, because if I was, well, my whole life would be fucked, wouldn't it?"
"Pete, I really think you should go to bed-"
"You know, what if you are a pedo? What do you even do? Like you can't exactly just go and tell your mum 'hey I like kids', like what the fuck are you supposed to do about it? Mikey, tell me, what are you supposed to do?"
"How the fuck should I know?" Mikey exclaimed, shaking his head firmly, and wondering if just letting Pete suck him off would ensure that he just went the fuck to bed before he accidentally ended up killing the both of them or something.
"You were glasses: you're clever."
"I'm not quite sure that's how it works, you know?" Mikey raised his eyebrows, grabbing Pete's hand and pulling him back down onto the sofa. "Just go to sleep, Pete, okay? We can work this all out in the morning, okay?"
"You promise me when can Google what to do if you're a pedophile?" Pete stressed, meeting Mikey's gaze with a sincerity that kind of concerned him.
"I promise." Mikey sighed, brushing Pete's fringe out of his face, which was exceptionally difficult, considering just how goddamn emo Pete was, but eventually, Mikey managed it. "You're an idiot, you know?"
"Rude." Pete mumbled, his words muffled and pressed into Mikey's side.
"But you're my idiot, you know?" Mikey added, smiling to himself in the darkness, because he was so utterly fucked, especially if Alicia came home before they woke up, but whatever, right now, he couldn't give a fuck.
"I know..."
And with that, Pete Wentz had passed out in Mikey Way's arms and everything was just so romantic, besides the slight crisis Mikey was having silently, but otherwise, they were practically Romeo and Juliet, except of course, they weren't dead...
Yet.
-
Gerard wasn't exactly sure when he'd woken up.
Gerard wasn't exactly sure when he'd fallen asleep either.
It was all one big blur of the outside world rushing past the car window, and soon enough Gerard dared to wonder just how long Bert had been driving for, and in turn, just where they were going.
He tried to convince himself that everything was fine, but there was something in the pit of his stomach that just wouldn't settle.
He knew he should trust his gut instinct, but really, he didn't know what to do: his head spinning like crazy and he pulled his face away from the icy cold surface of the window and brought his gaze to the man beside him in the driver's seat.
The man. The man wasn't Bert.
And Gerard knew instantly from the curly hair that the man beside him in the driver's seat was Ray Toro.
And just like that, Gerard stopped breathing; his body running out of oxygen as his organs yelled and squirmed from inside him before shriveling into nothingness as his head slammed back against the window: out cold. As cold as the window itself.
And then, Gerard woke up.
But he didn't wake up in Bert's car, and he wasn't sure whether he was simply gladder that he'd just been dreaming or that he'd woken up in the wrong spot of reality. Perhaps he'd never even woken up at all.
He considered the possibility as he sat up, finding himself under a blanket he didn't recognise, on a sofa he didn't recognise, in a living room he didn't recognise. And as he met his well rested, almost content, well face in the mirror, he didn't even recognise himself.
Of course, he didn't have too long to get too philosophical about this, before the comfort of the surrounding darkness was poisoned with a rectangular dagger of light creeping in from under the doorway. And footsteps. And then, the door opening itself, and Gerard was squinting little the pathetic little goth baby he was.
"Sorry- I didn't mean to wake you." The voice was Bert's and Gerard instantly knew it to be so, and really, never had Bert McCracken brought anyone that kind of comfort.
"It's fine. I'm awake already." Gerard mumbled, stretching a little and sitting up, and just praying that this really was Bert's living room and not another fucked up dream.
"Okay." Bert let out a sigh, switching the lights on and making his way to the sofa to sit beside Gerard. "You sleep okay? No bad dreams or anything?"
"No, I'm fine." And it wasn't even deliberate: lying was just some sort of weird second nature to Gerard. "I can't exactly remember what happened after we left that party though."
"Nothing much." Bert shrugged it off, pushing Gerard's fringe from his face and tucking it behind his ears: a gesture that Gerard shouldn't have allowed him to do, but somehow felt right in the circumstances, and maybe that was okay, but Gerard definitely didn't care enough to debate its morality at this time in the morning. "I drove you here, to my house."
"Why not to Frank?" Gerard asked, shuffling a little closer to Bert as he did so.
"Because where do you think the first place Ray's going to look is? Oh yeah, your house and for your boyfriend. He doesn't know me, he doesn't know where I live, so you'll be safe here for a few days until this blows over, okay?" Bert met him with a smile, and really, it even seemed genuine, which kind of surprised the both of them.
"Can I like call Frank and tell him I'm okay?" Gerard asked, pleading face in full swing. "I haven't spoke to him in ages now..."
"Of course, I- Ray didn't let you speak to him, did he?" Gerard shook his head, and Bert looked like he was going to punch something.
"He never called or texted though, so it's not that bad... I think he's kind of... I don't know... angry with me or something?" Gerard shrugged it off, leaning against Bert again, in a manner that probably wasn't appropriate considering Frank Iero's existence, but Gerard was kind of lonely and kind of sad and Bert McCracken was the first kind of comfort he'd received in far too long now.
"I promise you he did- fuck- Ray's fucking deleted them or blocked his number or something, Jesus Christ..." Bert shook his head, pulling Gerard in closer to his side. "You don't deserve these kinds of guys, okay? You don't deserve this kind of life, Gerard, I promise you that and I mean it wholeheartedly."
"I guess..." Gerard shrugged, not entirely convinced by Bert's claims, but he was in no state to protest against them. "I want to call my brother too... I miss him. Can I borrow your phone... mine's out of battery probably-"
Bert snatched it out of his grasp as he pulled it from his jeans pocket, and well, Gerard hadn't been expecting that to say the least.
"He can track this." Bert stood up, checking the phone and breathing a sigh of relief when he saw that it had indeed run out of battery: perhaps shitty iPhone battery life was good for something after all? "I'm sorry, Gerard, but we have to get rid of it, okay?" Gerard nodded, not really having been all that attached to his cellphone in the first place. "You can use mine now, though, look you call who you want to call, and I'll go and take this phone and drop it in a dumpster around the block or something, okay? I'll be like five minutes."
Bert placed his cellphone into Gerard's palm before making his way out of the house, locking the front door behind him, and effectively locking Gerard in here, which made his stomach twist into an array of knots, but it was fine; he knew it was fine - it had to be fine.
Anyway, he'd missed Frank like hell and was a little caught up with the matter of getting his fingers to stop trembling long enough for him to dial the number, and not have some form of heart attack in the impatient wait between dial tones.
He took a moment to consider what Bert had said about Frank, and about Ray, and about guys like them, and about Gerard himself, and really, it felt kind of off, but Bert had no motivation to lie to him, or at least Gerard had convince himself of that, and mainly for purposes of retaining his sanity, because this whole mess with Ray and Frank left him stressed out and entirely unsure what to believe.
-
Frank had slept at Pete's for the last two nights.
Not in Pete's bed, as the 'gang leader' had hoped for, but it was good enough, and it was someone to pass him the beer in the mornings, and well, it had certainly put a smile on Lindsey's face when she made her way in through the backdoor.
"Pete, I really don't think mixing orange Capri Sun and vodka is the best of ideas." Was the other thing that Lindsey had done as she closed the backdoor behind her: her eyes widening in shock as they fell upon Pete concocting the new 'cocktail' in the kitchen.
"Shut up about ideas, Lindsey, I'm emotionally unstable, right now." Pete groaned, stirring the 'cocktail' furiously, as Lindsey waved at Frank, who hadn't moved from where he'd curled up like a burrito on the sofa for the past four hours or something.
"No, Pete, you're just emo." Lindsey rolled her eyes, deeming it best just to leave Pete to alcoholic madness, and made her way towards Frank, or well, to put it better, the burrito on the sofa. "You okay, Frankie?"
"No, Gerard's not returning any of my fucking calls or any of my fucking texts. I think he hates me." Frank stopped staring into space and having a casual existential crisis long enough to let his gaze meet Lindsey's. "I genuinely think he hates me."
"That's bullshit, Gerardo is in fucking love with you, Frankie boy, and you know it!" Pete added from the kitchen, which was of course very, very helpful indeed.
"He's even read my texts though, he just never replies and it's fucking killing me." Frank groaned, pulling out his cellphone to show Lindsey, as if he felt the need to prove his point or something. "Look, I-" Frank was cut off as the device began to vibrate in his hand, and no, he hadn't accidentally opened the vibrator app that Pete had installed for him last week, someone was fucking calling him.
"Fucking answer it, Jesus-" Lindsey exclaimed, reaching across to press the accept call button for Frank, and then the one for speakerphone as he continued to remain frozen in some sort of fear of it being Ray who picked up, but these weren't the kind of worries he could share: not even with Lindsey's.
"Frank?" Gerard's voice burst into the room: distorted by the shitty speaker on the phone, but to Frank, now stunned into silence, it felt like the oxygen he needed to finally get his heart beating again.
It was the first breath of air after nearly drowning, it was the light switch finally turning on as you wake from a nightmare and stumble for it in the dark, it was the hope in the world, and it was enough to render Frank into a state of silence for long enough to ensure that Gerard assumed he'd died or something.
"Frank? Are you there-"
"Yeah, he's here... I think he's having some sort of breakdown, though." Lindsey ended up answering for Frank, and well, Gerard was just as relieved to hear her voice as he would have been Frank's. "Frank, fucking speak, you asshole."
"I-I-I-.... fuck- Gerard, I'm so sorry- I... I... I really am I-" Frank was near crying at this point, and that really wasn't something he felt comfortable doing in a room with Pete Wentz in, let alone a room with drunk Pete Wentz in.
"Frank, it's fine, I- I- I'm sorry... I was the one who got myself into this fucking mess... I- I- I..." Gerard trailed off, biting his lip and trying his best not to cry.
"Gerard, where are you? What's happening? Are you okay?" Frank found himself asking about a million questions at once as he suddenly founding himself remembering that Ray Toro existed.
"I'm at Bert's house, I'm fine, everything's fine, I-"
"I thought you were with Ray- fucking Ray, I-"
"Ray?" Lindsey's eyes widened, and really she hadn't planned upon joining in on this phone call, but Frank had mentioned Ray once or twice when he was incredibly drunk, and Lindsey had already heard more than enough.
"I was, but... but I was at this party with Ray, or something, and then Bert got me out of there and I'm at his now, and it's all fine, Bert's been really nice, though Ray was nice too, and he said you were horrible, and he made me believe it and I'm sorry, I really am but my head's such a mess right now."
"What did Ray say about me?" Frank found himself asking before he could stop himself, and really this was not somewhere he wanted to go, but he was quickly realising that he had very little choice in the matter.
"He said you dated, and you like cheated on him, and were manipulative or-"
"He can fucking talk- fuck, Gerard, don't ever go near that guy, okay? I'll explain more later, okay, but like trust me on this one. Fuck, do you know the address you're at now? I need to see you, I love you so much, I'm sorry."
"I don't know the address, I'll ask Bert when he comes back-" And there we go, wonderful, totally coincidental timing. "He's back now." Gerard added before pulling the phone away from his face and turning to face the figure who'd just opened the door.
Gerard's grin was wide with excitement form his conversation with Frank, and he was full of hope that maybe, just maybe everything was going to be okay again, but that excitement, that hope, that happiness was soon crushed into a million pieces when Gerard really laid his gaze upon the man who'd just walked through the door.
Because he'd come to find that it wasn't Bert at all.
The man at the door was none other than Ray motherfucking Toro.
But this time, Gerard stood there motionless, because this time, he couldn't just wake up: it wasn't just a dream.
-
hey guys look another fun new chapter lmao im such an emotional wreck right now bury me in a well. pls vote and comment because it's nice and i love you<3