And it was late, and Gerard was in anything but the right mind to make decisions in, but this house, and this world, and this smile, and this kind of hope, it just wasn't for him.
And he thought of the ex-boyfriend and the bullet he'd put in him.
Gerard didn't deserve anything, except this, because he didn't deserve this world, and he most definitely didn't fit in it, but instead of getting out while he could, he changed himself to fit there; the final piece of the world's most tragic puzzle, and only now that things were falling apart, only now did he want out.
Because most of all, Gerard just wanted Mikey back, because like that, maybe he could be okay again, but things weren't going to work out like that, and the twenty eight year old had to accept that as he piled his things into a bag, and closed the door behind him.
Because leaving was the easy part; Gerard had always been good at that - running away from his problems, his parents, his life, the people who loved him, and the people who mattered, and in reality, this was little but second nature to him, and he just wished that he could really convince himself of that, as he forced himself not to look back and not to think about Bert as he made his way down the driveway at something close to midnight.
He'd dug this grave for himself, and he'd been the one to lay Frank in it.
And despite the multitude of fucks ups, and the mess that Frank had caused, he could never deserve anything for this, and especially not this, not death.
And not the phone call that came too late, and left Gerard alone, because if Gerard knew what the worst thing in the world was, it was that silence, and Pete's lacklustre apology, and the tears, and Bert getting angry, and Gerard curling up and waiting for it all to go away.
He'd laid still for hours; waited for hours, pleaded forever, and still, reality stood firm, and perhaps like this could even fathom accepting his own mistakes, but no, that'd be too logical, and he still had one last ditch attempt at making another mess of himself on the outskirts of town, because Gerard didn't know what was left for himself anymore at all.
The obvious answer was, indeed, nothing.
The right answer was, also, nothing.
And the answer Gerard didn't want to believe was, of course, nothing.
Perhaps he should have never moved in besides a certain Frank Iero, and perhaps then no one of this mess could have possibly happened, or possibly not, because fate had an odd way when it came to going about things, and it was something Gerard Way would reckon he was somewhat unfairly and overly accustomed to.
Not that he believed in fate, at all, because it wasn't like fate believed in him either.
But still, Gerard didn't half blame it, because he was a mess, and he was the mess; he was the cause, he was the man behind the trigger, and he was the grenade thrown into the crowd, and still, he couldn't quite bring himself to accept it.
Because Gerard had loved Frank, of course he had, there was no question about that, but perhaps he loved the idea of Frank more than the person he really was.
Because the twenty eight year old was an artist, he lived inside his own head, with the most abstract and poetic of thoughts, and the prostitute and the painter had meant a lot; the innocent and corrupted, the hopeless and the hope - the demolition lovers, set on course for destruction and demise, and that was just something that hadn't quite sunk into Gerard's head until the very moment he found himself on Pete Wentz's doorstep, but this time, alone.
Alone.
And the thought, the notion, seemed awfully permanent, and it had Gerard with a heavy heart and shallow breaths, as the doorbell rang out in a deafening silence, and he could barely piece together what exactly was happening as the door opened and he was pulled into the tightest of hugs.
"I'm so sorry." And sincerity was of the utmost evidence in her words, as she closed the door behind them, and the man at the end of the hallway swallowed, hard, and he swallowed hard in little but guilt, because he was in two minds about the situation; one where it was nothing, not his fault, and one where it was nothing but his fault.
"I'm so, so sorry." She added, finally pulling away from the artist, and leaving his heart racing in his chest as he glanced between the faces that he recognised to be of Pete and Lindsey.
"I-It's... o-okay..." And it wasn't, but Gerard had developed somewhat of a finesse for lying, and he wasn't the least bit regretful.
"It's okay to be sad." Lindsey told him, making sure he had very little opportunity to question it as she lead him into the kitchen, handing him a glass of water, and the man at the end of hallway followed them in a guilt ridden silence.
"It's my fault; I shouldn't get to be sad." Gerard shook his head firmly, sipping on the glass of water that Lindsey had practically placed into his hands for him.
"It's not your fault." Lindsey's response was instant and damn well insistent, taking a seat beside him, and leaving Pete to lean against the wall in an odd kind of apprehension that he hadn't really happened upon before.
"Then whose fault could it possibly be?" Gerard was unconvinced, to say the least, and it showed, "I was the one who pulled the trigger; I killed him, and he lay dead because of me, and Pete was there and he saw me, and Bert did too, and I... I..."
"He died on the car ride home," and Pete spoke up for the first time: all eyes on him as he did so, "and never once did he stop talking about you, and he doesn't blame you, and he's sorry, and he loves you, and that was what he was going to say before he-... before... you know, and... and... he told me about this dream he had, this stupid fucking dream, with you on a hill and you wouldn't let him across a river to see you, and it made no sense, and it was so stupid, and I... I'm sorry-"
"Fuck, this isn't your fault either, Pete, you idiot-" Lindsey protested, but Pete gestured for her to be quiet, and in the circumstances, she found herself respecting that.
"I'm sorry about Mikey, because that was; that really was..."
"What?" Gerard piped up, eyes wide and tear stained.
"I didn't shoot him or anything, but he was injured, he was bleeding out: a head injury, and I... he wasn't going to make it, and deep down, I knew that, but I wouldn't admit it to myself, and I wouldn't take him to a hospital where they could have stopped this, but I wouldn't, I couldn't because I was scared, and the authorities, and... I fucked up, but I never let go of his hand, because Mikey... fucking Mikey... I love him, you know? Like, really love him..."
And the world's longest silence and Gerard swallowed every word in his vocabulary, because nothing felt like enough, and he doubted that anything ever would, but that really wasn't something he could even fathom living with.
"What happened to Alicia?" Lindsey broke the silence, shaking a little as the question left her lips, because this was more than just friends, and this was more than simplicity would allow, because things could never be quite that easy.
"She... there was an argument.... I'm sorry... I... I... a gun... I... there... I...-"
"You shot her?" Lindsey exclaimed, getting to her feet in a mix of rage and disbelief, because fuck, she didn't want to believe this at all, and indeed, for the most part, she really couldn't.
Pete nodded his head, biting his lip, and it was the smallest gesture in the world, but still, it was far too much.
"You fucking- and what? I get no apology? No explanation? Not even a small 'let you know'? Nothing, absolutely nothing?" Lindsey shook her head in disbelief, "is that all I'm worth to you, Pete? I loved her, you know? And fuck you, and fuck, because she was, she is, beautiful, and I want to go back to that alleyway and tell her to run, and tell her to get the fuck away from you and these people, because she doesn't belong in this mess, she's nothing but a victim here, and you know it."
Pete swallowed hard, short of anything to say, but Lindsey gave him little chance to even consider something resembling a response before she'd turned to Gerard and the words flowed through her lips once more.
"And you too, you too. Because Gerard, you're beautiful, you're too kind, and you're talented, F-Frank never shut the fuck up about you and your art, and you deserve more than this, you deserve the walls of an art gallery, not blood-stained ones-"
"But I made this mess, didn't I? Because I shot him, and I fucked Ray and Bert, and I caused that one initial argument that seems worlds away now, and I... he'd still be alive, he'd still be here if I'd never moved in next door."
"Stop telling yourself that: Ray and Bert manipulated you, and I hate to say it, but on a level, Frank did too, and it's not your-"
"I'm a pushover, I know it well, but I can't apologise for being myself, because when I'm not, I fuck up, still, I fuck up always: I am a fuck up-"
"No, everyone fucks up, it's nothing to do with you, and it's most certainly not your mistakes that determine what kind of a person you are; you're an artist, you're beautiful, and there's so much for you, and there's a whole world outside of this town, and there's art school, go to art school, Gerard, come on, fix your life before you ruin it again."
"I can't just leave... Bert doesn't even know I left, and I-"
"But you did." Pete spoke up this time, "she's right."
"You're staying here tonight, of course, but please get out before it's too late: make something out of yourself, while there's still some part of you that you haven't yet let people destroy." Lindsey grabbed Gerard's hand, and passed him a smile, "go get some sleep, okay, there's a spare bedroom down the hall."
And as the door closed behind him, and footsteps faded out into nothingness against the wooden hallway floor, Lindsey turned to Pete, and flashed him the worst kind of glare.
"Fuck you, Wentz, seriously fuck you." And her words were little but bitter, but perhaps Pete deserved it.
"Look, I'm not happy, am I? We both lost people, of course we did-"
"No, Gerard lost so much, but all you have to do is fucking go and make everything about yourself, because Mikey Way is most definitely Gerard's brother over your stupid little schoolboy crush, because you didn't even date, and that's all it ever was, and with your fuck ups, that's all it will ever be, and you fucking, you fucking... just go, Pete, just go-"
"This is my house!" Pete protested, eyes widening a little.
"I don't fucking care, Pete." Lindsey slammed her fist down against the table, causing Pete to jump a little.
"What if I say no? What the fuck if I say no? You don't own me, Lindsey, so fuck you, because I'm hurting and this isn't fair, and you know that, don't you?" And Pete was brave, perhaps a little too brave.
"You're going to want to shut the fuck up right now, because all you've been, all you've ever been is selfish, and you know that, but you daren't admit it for fear of bruising that precious little ego of yours, huh? And you know I'm right; you don't need to tell me-"
"And you think you know everything, and you know that too, and all you are is a controlling bitch, who never quite got the guts to tell one fucking girl that you were just a little bit gay for her, well fucking done, Lindsey, and come on, like this isn't your fault too-"
And that was too much, and perhaps Pete knew it.
But down the hallway, Gerard certainly did, as that night, he fell asleep to the echoes of gunshots; too distant to seem real in the ears of an almost mad man.
-
When Gerard was younger, he'd never really meant much to anyone at all, and it was nothing short of a sad truth, but it was a truth nonetheless, and he knew it, and Mikey had known it too.
Mikey wasn't all that far better off than him, but the younger of the two Way brothers had avoided the majority of the bullying, and Gerard was forever graceful for that, because Mikey deserved the entire fucking world, despite the hatred he'd grown for him as he'd moved out and hated him for being the 'loved' and 'perfect' one.
Because Gerard was a spiteful asshole at best, and Mikey had been in no way exempt from that temperament.
He'd managed to brush off the majority of the teasing and hardships he found himself facing on a basis far more regular than he would have preferred, but it had only really struck a chord in him once that new kid, Lucas, or whatever his name was, moved schools, and he was new, and cute, and Gerard couldn't shake that fact, and in turn, Gerard couldn't shake his crush on him.
Even as Lucas didn't even speak to him, even as Lucas got a girlfriend, even as Lucas got a girlfriend whom he hated, even as said girlfriend told Lucas that Gerard was making a pass at her, and even as Lucas had beaten him to the floor for it, and even as Lucas and his girlfriend got in Lucas' friend's car and drove away, and even as laughter rung in Gerard's ears as he lost all conscience.
And it had been different for the first time then, because Gerard had really cared about someone or something for the first time in his life, and then for that someone to fucking ruin Gerard like that, it dug a hole where his heart should have been; it dug a hole that needed to be filled, and without knowing it, Lucas had low key ruined Gerard's life.
Because that was why Gerard was always too quick to trust, and too desperate for attention, and that was the secret he kept close to his chest, and would perhaps even carry to the grave, not that the grave meant much to Gerard anymore.
Because indirectly, indirectly, Lucas had gotten Frank Iero killed, because Gerard knew deep down that if he'd never fucked him up like that, then Gerard would never take to solving situations with bullets as opposed to talking things through.
Because, it could be anybody's fault if Gerard pondered on the matter long enough, because Gerard was good at that: pinning the blame, removing the guilt, just to save his skin, because really, Gerard had been fucked up from day one, and perhaps with Lucas, with Frank, with Ray, with Bert, it had been little more than a switch and the flicking of it.
It had been his mother's fault too, because she'd never accepted him for who he was and who he wanted to be, and it had been her fault because she'd never pushed him into the lifestyle that he didn't want, but the lifestyle that would keep him out of the mess, and out of the grave that he'd dug for himself, and everyone he'd ever loved.
It had been his father's fault because he'd never spent much time with him and Gerard never felt like he was appreciated, and Gerard had taken that lack of appreciation with him for the rest of his life, and it had been his father's fault because he paid too much attention to Gerard, and he'd gotten complacent with the fact that people would just care for him, no matter what he did or how he fucked up.
It had been Frank's fault for walking in when he shouldn't have that one day, because if he hadn't, the two probably never would have crossed paths so much, and it had been Frank's fault for not letting things just be easy and letting this relationship and everything work out so easily and so fucking happily, and it had been Frank's fault for letting things go, and not telling Gerard to just fuck off before he could fuck himself over, because surely Frank must have seen this a mile off.
It had been Ray's fault for making Gerard trust him, and fucking him over like that, and then doing so little after Bert had stood up to him, because maybe Gerard needed that trust and love more than he could ever admit to himself, and it had been Ray's fault for not just being straight with Gerard, well not like that, but perhaps they really could have worked if he'd just told the truth, and perhaps Gerard could really see himself being happy with Ray.
It had been Bert's fault for 'rescuing' him from Ray and making him wake up a little, and see just what a hell of a mess he'd gotten himself into, and it had been Bert's fault for letting him call Frank, and giving him that chance to let him be okay again, because Gerard hadn't deserved it, and Frank hadn't deserved what he'd heard. It had been Bert's fault for not kissing him first, because then it was Gerard's fault, and Gerard was selfish enough to believe that mattered at all, and it had been Bert's fault for kissing him back, and letting Gerard feel okay, despite the mess he was making.
It had been his own fault for all the above reasons, and in addition, the fact that Gerard continued to seek someone else to pin the blame on, because that's all this was: no sob story, nothing beautiful, tragic, or romantic, just one fucked up guy, as fucked up as the rest of them, who saw everything and nothing at the same time, and got greedy for both.
This was the story of the man who wasn't sorry, this was the story of the man who'd do it again, this was the story of the man who mourned his ex-boyfriend and fucked his new one simultaneously.
This was the story of the man who lay awake at night and dreamed for a world where the gun had been pointing at himself and not Frank, or perhaps a world where Frank had had his gun pointed at Gerard, because maybe he wouldn't have minded.
This was the story of the man who fell asleep and dreamed the dream where he was a top a hill, and Frank climbed up, and wanted to cross the river, and this was the story of the man, who lay frozen and unwilling as someone else pulled the words from his lips and denied Frank access.
This was the story of the man who woke up the next morning and found the house empty and blood-stained, and a note on the countertop from Lindsey Ballato.
'I'm sorry.'
And the note did little to explain the empty house or the bloody mess, let alone the two bodies on the kitchen floor.
-
tfw you literally have no idea how to end this fic so it turns into a little hunger games with the characters like lmao pals pls tell me how the fuck i end this before everyone dies!!!11!! i am professional writer i promise i know what im doing like all time i promise. please vote and comment maybe your comments and votes will inspire me to think of a better idea than major character death. i love you all i promise im just a wreck lmao <3