"And they just took the money, no questions asked?"
Mikey nodded. "Yep. All they had to do was make sure this thing was near you while you were on stage. They never even asked what it was."
"Man," said Joe, "I knew those kids were weird."
They'd relayed the whole story to Pete and his guys: how Mark and Danny didn't have any family other than their parents, that they'd wound up getting sent to separate group homes, and in a moment of desperation, Mark had accepted an offer made to him by 'some shady dude' to carry the soul-sucking ball, or whatever it was, onto Pete's tour. The shady dude had paid the kids half up front, with a promise for the other half when he met them in Chicago.
"What I don't understand," Patrick said for the millionth time. "Is how they got on the tour in the first place. You seriously can't remember, Pete?"
"No," Pete shook his head. "I just remember begging Dan to let them come along."
Andy scratched his beard. "Like mind control?"
"It was probably just a temporary thing," Ray said. "It's actually pretty simple once you know how."
Mikey cut his eyes at him. "I'm going to remember you said that."
Ray waved him off, smirking. "The point is, the kids had no idea what they were getting into. Once they realized you were getting sick, the little one got scared, and left the thing where he thought Gerard would find it."
"But it's okay now, right?" Patrick said. "I mean, it's over?"
"We don't know," said Frank. "We need to keep the kids and that weird ball thing away from you, Pete, and we'll see how you are after the show tonight."
Mikey didn't know whether it was better or worse that Mark was doing this for money, that it wasn't because he was trying to bring his parents back from the dead. Being an orphan was pretty much the worst thing Mikey could imagine in the world; it had been bad enough when his Grandma died, although he knew that it had been worse for Gerard.
It had happened right after Gerard graduated from SVA, the ink barely dry on his diploma. At first Mikey was kind of mad at the way Gerard wallowed inside his own misery; locking himself in the basement, only staying awake long enough to drink himself back to sleep again. It seemed so selfish, when Grandpa had lost his wife, Mom had lost her mother; everybody was hurting but Gerard just went to pieces, totally lost inside his rage and grief.
Mikey remembered going down to Gerard's room with the intention of dragging him upstairs, and saying furiously, "I loved her too."
Gerard didn't turn to face Mikey, stayed facing the wall. He said blankly, "Not like I did," and as much as Mikey wanted to argue with him, the thing is, he was right. Mikey loved his Grandma and he would miss her for the rest of his life, but she had been Gerard's hero. And that was different, because Mikey's hero was Gerard.
Mikey was pretty sure that if Gerard had found a way to bring her back, he would have taken it in a second. When he thought about it, actually he was glad that wasn't what Danny and Mark were trying to do, because when Mikey imagined trying to tell them that it wasn't going to happen, his stomach hurt.
He, Frank and Bob stayed on Pete's bus for the rest of the journey, leaving the kids alone with Gerard and Brian. Mikey still didn't know what Gerard was going to do with the kids, and it wasn't even like Mikey could help him decide because the stupid Vatican wouldn't let Gerard tell him anything.
"I mean, they had no malicious intent," he said anxiously to Mikey once they reached the venue and the kids were safe in a room with security posted outside. "They weren't trying to hurt Pete. They had no idea. They were just desperate and someone took advantage of them."
Mikey agreed, but he also thought that handing back to the care system wouldn't help, when they'd been desperate enough to do anything to get away from it. "Isn't there, like, can't the Church look after them?"
Gerard gave a hollow laugh. "Yeah, I'm sure Mark would be just thrilled with that. One of the homes they were in before they were separated was run by the Church."
Oh. "And...it wasn't nice?"
"No," Gerard said shortly. "It wasn't."
He obviously didn't want to talk about it, which meant Mikey didn't want to hear about it, really, because anything that Gerard didn't want to talk about had to be pretty fucking bad. He just rubbed Gerard's shoulders and made a sympathetic noise.
"There's just no way that it's over," Gerard said, rubbing his eyes. "My guess is that this shady guy, whoever he is, is draining more people in Chicago itself. But I can't figure why he needs Pete."
"Well, but he won't have him anymore, right?" Mikey pointed out reasonably. "I mean, won't that ruin his plans?"
Gerard shook his head, his mouth set in a grim line. "I don't know, Mikey. Seems like they always find a way."
Whatever Gerard's misgivings were, the show that night went off without a hitch, and afterwards Pete was totally fine, no ill effects at all. He practically danced off the stage and immediately wrapped Mikey up in a tight, sweaty hug, dancing him around a bit so Mikey had to cling to his shoulders in case they ended up on their asses on the floor.
"Magic," he said, beaming, and pressed a wet, smacking kiss to Mikey's cheek. "You're totally magic, Mikey Way."
Patrick and the other guys were smiling so hard Mikey was a little worried they might hurt themselves. "This is what he's like," he heard Andy say to Bob. "This is what he's really like, when he's okay."
Everyone was in a good mood after that. The band because Pete wasn't fading away in front of their eyes anymore, the crew because the tour was a breath away from being over, and Bob because he kept remembering things that his Mom cooked that he couldn't get anywhere else and couldn't wait to have.
"I mean, I don't want you to think I only love her for her food," he said seriously. The crew were still loading the buses back up, and Mikey was keeping Bob company while he had a smoke. "But good God, the woman can cook."
Mikey nodded, lifting his hand to shade his eyes from the sun. "I believe you, man."
"Plus you really can't get good pizza outside of Chicago," Bob mused.
"Hey," Frank scowled, leaning on the wall next to Mikey and lighting a cigarette of his own. "Jersey pizza is the best, man."
"You know I'm not even going to dignify that by debating it with you," Bob said lightly. "Don't even try."
"Hey guys, good news," Brian said, snapping his phone shut as he came out to join them. "I just spoke to Craig, and it turns out he sits on the board of a charity that helps troubled teenagers. He thinks he can find somewhere safe for Danny and Mark to stay."
"Seriously?" Brian nodded and Mikey thumped his shoulder. "That's so awesome, man, Gee's gonna be stoked."
Brian grinned. "It means they won't have to go back to a group home, won't have to be separated. I think Mark's still going to need someone keeping an eye on him, but-" he was cut off by his phone ringing again; he looked down at the display, raised his eyebrows, and answered it. "Ray? Why are – what?" Brian frowned. "Why? But – okay, then. We'll be right there."
"What is it?" Mikey said as soon as he hung up.
"I don't know," Brian said worriedly. "He's upstairs with Gerard and the kids. He said we need to get back up there."
"Every time when we're having a smoke, Jesus," Frank bitched, pinching off the cherry and sliding the cigarette back into his pack.
The venue was super-quiet inside; everyone must be outside already, Mikey guessed, but one of the security guards was still standing outside the door. He nodded at Mikey in recognition and opened the door to let everybody in.
Once the door was closed behind them, Mikey noticed that Gerard was standing weirdly; totally still in the corner of the room with his hands hanging by his sides. Ray was standing next to him, and the kids were nowhere to be seen.
"Hey," Mikey started, "Where are-"
There was a sudden scuffle behind him, and a really ominous clicking sound, and when Mikey turned around he saw that Mark was holding a gun.
A gun. "Mark, what the fuck?"
"Get back," Mark ordered, waving the gun at them in a hand that shook. Mikey didn't know what to do – try to get it off him, stand in front of his friends so they wouldn't get hurt, yell at him to put the thing down. It was so weird, Mark was just a kid and now he had a gun, and Mikey's overwhelming instinct was just to do whatever the fuck he said, but he seemed to be rooted to the floor.
"Get back," Mark repeated, and Mikey snapped out of it and did as he was told, shuffling backwards until he felt Gerard at his back. The other guys did the same; Frank moved incredibly slowly but eventually they were all huddled in the corner of the room. Mark's hand was still shaking; he wrapped his other hand around it too but the gun still shook as he warned them, "Don't move. Don't you fucking move, all right?"
Mikey's lungs were seizing up; he groped behind him for Gerard's hand, to hold onto it and reassure himself that he was there.
"Danny, grab your bag," Mark ordered, reaching out with his foot to kick at Danny's shin when he didn't immediately comply. "I said grab your fucking bag!"
Danny moved miserably to the other corner of the room, where he zipped up his backpack with the ball inside before heaving it onto his shoulders. He glanced briefly over to them and whispered, "I'm sorry," before moving back to stand behind Mark again.
Mikey could feel the tension crawling off the other guys in waves; Frank was almost shaking with it, and Mikey wanted to meet his eyes and make sure he was okay, but he couldn't seem to pull his eyes away from Mark, away from the gun. Even for a second. The safety was still off; Mikey wished he didn't know that, that he hadn't seen it a thousand times in the movies, that it wasn't possible for a kid to know how to work a gun.
"We should just yell for the security guard," Ray whispered, breaking the silence.
"You try it and I'll fucking kill you," Mark said, and even though his voice was wobbling as badly as his hands, Mikey believed him. "We're going to leave now, and you're not going to try and stop us, okay? If you try to follow us, I'll shoot you. I mean it."
"Fuck this," Frank said suddenly, and before any of them could react, he was already across the room, he was moving towards Mark, towards the gun.
Mikey wasn't even aware that he was moving; everything seemed like it was in slow-motion at the same time as it was speeding up. He was next to Frank, suddenly, and trying to get him away from danger, and everyone was yelling and pulling at each other and all Mikey could think was the gun's going to go off, it's going to go off, and then suddenly Mark had his back pressed to the wall and Frank was right there in front of him, the barrel of the gun resting against his forehead, and everyone stopped moving at once.
"What the fuck, Frank," Brian hissed, but Frank didn't even blink, just kept staring at Mark. Mikey was going to throw up, he was sure. He kept his eyes on the gun as if it would go off if he looked away for even a second.
Mark's hands were still shaking, Danny was crying now, tears running down his face as he pulled weakly at Mark's shoulder. "Don't," he pleaded. "Mark, they'll send you to jail."
"You're not leaving this room," Frank said softly. He wasn't even sweating or anything, he looked totally calm, and Mikey found that almost as scary as the gun. "Shoot me if you want, kid. Kill me, I don't care."
Mark's eyes flickered up and down, and he said, "Okay."
"Frank," Mikey said desperately, and then Mark turned the gun on him.
"I bet you care if I kill him, though, don't you?" he said to Frank, who had already backed off, hands held up in front of him. "Right? You want me to shoot him, or are you gonna back the fuck off?"
Frank stumbled backwards even further, his eyes moving frantically between Mikey and the gun. "Backing off. See? Don't – look, just put the gun down."
Mikey raised his hands in front of him, because that's what people did in the movies when they had guns pointed at him. He could feel his heart slamming inside his chest, could feel how scared he was and how it must be showing on his face. He kept swallowing down the acid in his throat and just didn't look away, kept his eyes on the gun.
"Where did you even get it?" Gerard said, taking a step forward and then stopping, hands held out, when Mark jerked the gun briefly in his direction. "Mark, why are you doing this? I just want to help you. Nobody's going to split you and Danny up, I promised you that."
"You said it could bring our parents back," Mark said, moving slowly towards the door, backwards, keeping Danny behind him and the gun trained on Mikey all the time. "This ball thing, you said it could do that, right? I mean, you asked if that's what we were doing with it. So that's what it's for? That's what it can do?"
Gerard's face drained of color, and he closed his eyes and swallowed briefly before saying, "Mark, I didn't mean that-"
"You said!" Mark insisted. "You don't understand, I didn't know it could do that. And now I do, and – and I have to try, okay? I'm sorry, I don't want to hurt you," his voice had started to break, and he was on the verge of tears when he added, "But we need them back. You don't know how much things suck, okay? You don't know how bad it is."
"I should never have – Mark, it won't bring your parents back, it doesn't work that way. You have to listen to me," Gerard begged, his hands outstretched. He had started moving again, and this time Mark seemed to be letting him, although he still kept the gun pointing at Mikey. "People don't just come back from the dead. What you're talking about is incredibly dangerous, and it's wrong, Mark, it's so wrong."
"I don't care!" Mark said, starting to cry for real. "I don't care if it's wrong, I don't care what God thinks. He shouldn't have taken them away."
"I know it's hard," Gerard soothed him, getting close enough to start edging his body into the line of fire. "I know you're angry, and it isn't fair, and we don't understand why bad things have to happen to the people we love. But you can't bring them back. Even if you're successful, they won't be your parents. They won't – people don't come back the way they were, Mark. They come back wrong."
By now Gerard was standing right in front of Mark, and when he reached up and put his hand over Mark's, on top of the gun, Mikey's heart stopped. But Mark let him push his hand down, tears streaming down his face. Danny had his arms wrapped tightly around Mark's waist, his face pressed into his shoulder, and Mikey could hear the soft, anguished noises he was making.
"You're going to make it worse, and I won't be able to help you," Gerard said gently. "Give me the gun."
For about a second, it seemed as though Mark was going to do it, but just as Gerard was curling his fingers around the gun he snatched it back and pointed it at Mikey again. "I'm sorry," he repeated, fumbling behind him to open the door. "But they said that they could help."
He shoved Danny through the open door, kept the gun trained on Mikey as he backed out of it himself, and then they were gone.
"Mikey," said Gerard, whirling around and running to pull Mikey into a hug. Mikey clung to him and felt how Gerard's heart was beating just as fast as his own, how Gerard's skin smelled sharply and sourly of fear. "Oh, fuck, Mikey, I was so scared."
"Me too," Mikey mumbled against Gerard's shoulder. He felt Gerard's hand on the back of his neck.
"The guard's gone, too," Bob said grimly. "He must be the one who gave them the gun. He was probably watching the whole time to make sure they did as they were told."
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Brian already had his phone out. "What do we do, call the cops?
"No," Gerard said immediately, releasing his grip on Mikey a little bit. "That's not what Mark needs."
"What?" Ray said furiously. "Gerard, he just pointed a gun at us, at Mikey. Who cares what he needs, he could hurt someone!"
"Call Pete," Gerard said to Brian, ignoring Ray. "Tell him to get on his bus, lock the doors, and only have people he trusts on board with him. Just the band, if possible, and that Charlie guy, he's been with them for a long time, right?"
"Got it." Brian pressed his phone to his ear and set off for the stairs, beckoning for Bob to follow him.
Gerard turned back to Mikey. "You're sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine," Mikey nodded, easing himself out of Gerard's grasp and going to put his hands on Ray's arm, instead. "I'm fine, Toro, take it easy. He didn't hurt me at all."
"He could've, though," Ray insisted. "All my sympathy for that kid just went right out the window."
"For real," Frank agreed, and then jumped when Gerard rounded on him and shoved him across the room.
"What the fuck were you thinking?" he yelled. "Getting in his face like that when he had a gun? Are you out of your mind? You think that tattoo makes you bulletproof? Was that supposed to be brave?"
"No," Frank said, startled, but Gerard wasn't done.
"It wasn't brave, it was stupid! What the fuck is wrong with you, Frank, you don't care if you live or die anymore? Is that it?"
"I was just trying to-"
"I don't care! I don't wanna hear it," Gerard seethed, his hands curling and uncurling restlessly by his sides. "You have a death wish, that's your problem. But you keep it the fuck away from Mikey, do you hear me? If you ever put him in danger by being a stupid crazy asshole again, then I swear, Frank, I'll-"
"What?" Frank burst out, giving Gerard a shove of his own. "You'll what, Gerard, lecture me to death? Stop including me in your prayers? Take it out of the paycheck I don't get? Fuck you."
Frank turned on his heel and slammed out of the room, leaving Mikey and Ray to stare at Gerard, who was still glowering at the space Frank had been standing in a moment before.
"Don't," he said, when Mikey reached out for him. "Let's just get back to the bus."
Mikey spent the whole of the rest of the night saying, "I'm fine," over and over and over again. Gerard kept making anxious faces, and Ray didn't even seem to believe that Mikey hadn't been shot: he kept putting his hands on Mikey's shoulders or his face or the front of his chest and frowning like he thought maybe Mikey was hiding a bullet hole somewhere.
"What's weird about it," Mikey said to Frank when they'd barricaded themselves into the back lounge, "Is that I'm still the same. I mean, it seems like having a gun pointed at you should be a life-changing thing, you know? Like I should have had a revelation."
"So your life didn't flash in front of your eyes?" Frank said curiously.
Mikey cut his eyes at him. "You tell me."
Frank waved his hand. "He was never gonna shoot me, dude."
"You thought he was gonna shoot me," Mikey pointed out reasonably.
Frank scowled and said, "That's different."
It totally wasn't, but Mikey didn't want to get into it. He didn't want to ask Frank if he would have done the same thing if he thought Mark would shoot him. Instead he said, "Pretty much I just felt like I was gonna hurl. Brave, right?"
"Hey, man," said Frank. "You didn't cry or shit yourself. Count it as a win."
"I wonder if I would have gone to Heaven," Mikey mused aloud. "I mean, I didn't confess or anything. You know, like Lucy?"
"I should fucking think so," Frank said grumpily. "We don't even do anything except eat, sleep, and work our asses off. If we die and there's a Heaven and we don't get in because we didn't say the right fucking prayers, then I am kicking somebody's ass."
Mikey actually thought that God, the one that Gerard talked about, wouldn't care if you didn't happen to have a priest to hand when you died in a car crash or whatever. But he kind of liked the image of Frank getting in the angels' faces outside the gates of Heaven, yelling and demanding to see a manager. He imagined it like the DMV, which was always a fun place to go with someone who had as short a temper as Frank. Only the Heaven DMV was in the clouds, and everyone wore white and floated around peacefully.
Mikey relayed this image to Frank, who lit a cigarette and said, "Sounds dull as shit, my man."
Mikey told him, "Then you'd better stick around here."