Chapter Text
Author's note:
Someone said to me the other day, "where are the other bands??? What are they doing in this world?"
1. Canonically in this verse, Patrick is a lowly desk clerk at the local police statement who has to deal with Pete on a constant basis. He is tired.
2. Ryan Ross and Jon Walker are in a business together. Jon is mostly there to steal weeds (literal weeds, not marijuana) and he grows them instead of real flowers. Ryan is not amused.
###
Mikey was in deep shit.
Not just knee-deep shit, mind you, but quicksand-imitating, putrid, neck-high shit. The kind that you can still smell even after washing fifteen times in boiling hot water that leaves your skin searing and pink even an hour later. He was in deep, deep shit and all he could do was stay in this tiny en suite with the grey walls and hope like Hell that no one would think to look for him there. He glanced to the side and noticed Gerard's handwriting. Had his brother been scribbling on the wall again? He squinted at it and eventually it formed into words, a phrase that made Mikey snort softly.
Desolation Row, huh? That song was getting old now. But so were all the classics. He let out a shaky breath through his nose as footsteps sounded on the concrete stairs to the basement and started reciting the lyrics in his head, mouthing the words. He'd only gotten to Cinderella, she seems so easy when the footsteps made it into the main room. Oh, fuck.
His hand clenched tightly on his phone, the case creaking a little bit. If it cracked and made a huge, ridiculous noise - well, he was fucked. Not that he wasn't fucked anyway, but still. The phone didn't crack, but he still heard footsteps coming in his direction. He held his breath, but the footsteps stopped suddenly befote they got to the bathroom door. What had slowed them down? All that was down here were all of Gerard's old paintings. Mikey had insisted on keeping them all when they moved - even the half-finished, angry pieces he'd done when he went to college. Mikey treasured them all, just like he treasured his dumbass of a brother, and he was so thankful that Gerard wasn't home. He'd gone to the art gallery because the owner wanted him to host some drawing classes.
The footsteps started up again and Mikey dropped his phone, silently ran his empty hand over the tiles in the hope there'd be something, anything he could use for self defence. Even a comb would be great at this point; he could stab the end into his attacker's eye. His fingers closed around something rough and he looked down to find a tattered copy of a Shakespeare play with zombies scribbled on it. Good enough. He picked it up and thanked the stars that it was pitch black and the guy probably couldn't see him, and stuck his leg out as the figure entered, tripping them.
He lifted the book to brain the guy and probably break a few ribs (it was a heavy book and maybe he was a little excited, okay?) but then the figure let out a familiar whine of pain and Mikey stopped.
"Gerard?"
"Mikey... thought you were upstairs," Gerard wheezed.
"...nope," Mikey replied. "That would be the person that broke in."
"Oh." A pause. "Wait, are we being robbed?"
"Maybe. Might be Pete, though."
Gerard sat up somewhat painfully and Mikey felt guilty immediately, though he didn't show it. His brother glanced out into the basement warily, hair still visible even in the darkness. Mikey shuffled back a little so he wasn't in the doorway in plain sight. Gerard turned his head back towards him and it felt kind of like he was frowning, even though Mikey couldn't see it.
"Is Pete that crazy, Mikes?" His eyes were wide.
"I hope not."
This was all his fault. Jesus. And now Gerard could be in danger, too. Maybe he shouldn't have moved in, in the first place - he could've just gone to college and had a dorm, gone to keg parties and played it safe doing weird drugs like the kind from Jump Street. People could get hurt and it was all his fault for being so stupid, for having these relationships he couldn't handle. He made a distressed noise and hid his face in his hands. Fuck everything.
Gerard shuffled in next to him, toeing the bathroom door shut as he did. He nudged Mikey over so he was closer to the door - he'd be in the way if it was Pete, goddamn him for trying to be a hero. A warm arm settled on his shoulders, and Mikey scrunched his eyes shut tightly.
"If you cry, I'll cry too," Gerard said, sounding like he was joking even though Mikey knew he wasn't. Empathy was taken to a whole new level with Gerard Way around.
"I'm not crying," Mikey said after a pause.
"Good. Because if you did- well, the tissues are upstairs."
He refrained from laughing but couldn't help the twitch of his lips, which was good enough for Gerard anyway. "I have bad taste in men."
"Honey, I've been telling you that for years," Gerard said with a sigh, flapping his hand.
"Stop the prissy housewife impression or I'll throw you to the burglar."
Gerard sniffed. "Maybe I am a prissy housewife."
"I'll make sure to let Frank know he needs to buy you shoes and a maid to scream at."
"Can I be a nice prissy housewife?"
"That's boring, Gee."
"Yeah, but..."
"You're too nice to be a prissy housewife."
"I honestly can't tell if that's a compliment or not."
Mikey shrugged, and if he snuggled a little closer to his brother in the process, so what. He was warm. Maybe the robber/Pete/intruder would just take their coin jar and leave. Maybe they'd steal Gee's art and sell it on the black market. That'd be pretty awesome. Maybe they should sell his art on the black market.
It'll be fine, he told himself. Ray's coming to help.
###
"That is most certainly not the speed limit, Raymond," Frank said reproachfully.
Ray didn't actually answer him, didn't even acknowledge that he'd spoke, and Frank frowned. At least they were in an area where the cops mostly just sat in their offices and drank copious amounts of coffee. But Ray was going to break his fingers or something, clenching the steering wheel so tight his knuckles were almost protruding from the skin. Frank closed his eyes in the hopes it'd do something, felt a wave of nausea, and opened them again. Hopefully this was all nothing. Maybe it was an overeager mailman, or Gerard coming home-
Oh god. What if Gerard came in and got attacked by crazy Pete? Shit. Fuck.
"Go faster," Frank said hurriedly, changing his mind about the road rules in the space of that one thought. Ray ignored him this time, too, and Frank started thinking about whether they had any weapons in here. It was Ray's car, but Frank was in here often enough that he knew there were only used tissues and a couple of batteries in the backseat. Maybe the boot had something? He wracked his brains. Mulch? Maybe a spade? Frank was creative, but he didn't think using a spade for self-defense was a very good (or smart) plan. What if Pete had a gun?
"This is bad," Frank muttered to himself, pressing his face against the cool window to watch houses zip past. Ray made an affirming noise, and wow, he actually was listening.
Why didn't we just call the police, he thought dismally. That'd be the proper thing to do. Although lately the police didn't seem to be helping anyone with anything. At least the police knew self defense. Frank knew how to mosh, he knew how to poke a homophobic asshole in the stomach and/or groin with his keys, but this was way over his head.
He side-eyed Ray. Mikey Way must be pretty damn special to have him running in like this. Frank's pretty sure if someone had broken into his house, Ray would've just told him to call the police instead. And then he'd go and water his flowers.
Frank sighed.
Ray stopped the car and got out without turning the engine off. Frank watched him for a minute, still grumpy, and then turned off the car and got out. He shoved the keys in his back pocket and entered the unlit house, anxiety creeping up his spine. Ray was a few steps ahead, looking up the stairs. Frank noticed a dismantled curtain pole and grabbed it, for reassurance more than anything.
"Should we check-" he started, but Ray interrupted him.
"I'll check here, you go upstairs."
"Yessir," Frank said, but Ray had already walked away.
He let out a heavy sigh and started up the stairs, glancing around in case someone was lying in wait to attack him. It was too risky to turn on a light, but the gloom was freaking him out as well. He made it to the top of the stairs and strained his ears for movement, didn't come up with anything. Maybe the intruder had left? He was still keeping the pole, though.
Hm. Who's bedroom was this? He pushed the ajar door open fully and squinted. Mikey and Gerard lived alone, as far as he knew, and Gerard's room was down the hallway. So... Mikey's room. He stepped inside and flicked the lava lamp on. Man, who knew Mikey Way was a dork who liked lava lamps. The room was pretty bare apart from that, a stray band tee on the floor, a pink sock in the corner. The lava lamp didn't help his sight that much, but it let him see enough that his gaze went to the mirror near the window, and the words written on it.
"Fuck me," he said softly, looking at the WHORE written on it in marker. Cliche, much? This guy needed to... chill, honestly. "Stupid."
That was when something hard hit the back of his head and Frank fell, trying to twist around as he did. He saw dark hair, a scowl, and cringed as his ankle twinged painfully.
"I'm too gorgeous to be killed by a yandere wannabe," Frank joked, eyes fixed on the crowbar in Pete's hand. This was so not funny.
"Who are you?" Pete's face scrunched up. "Don't tell me he's sleeping with you as well as that afro freak."
At that point, Frank got angry. "Hey, fuck you, he's not a freak."
The crowbar was pressed against his throat and Frank tried to stop breathing. It didn't work, obviously, but he flattened himself against the floor and it helped him breathe a little more. Then Pete pressed the cold metal down more, and he coughed.
"You don't fuck with him anymore," Pete hissed. "You won't be fucking with anyone anymore."
"I- I don-" Frank wheezed.
"He's mine, you hear me, fucker?" Pete shouted, and Frank tried to push him off, felt around for his curtain pole and realised he'd dropped it somewhere when Pete had hit him the first time. He grabbed Pete's hair and yanked, hard, and Pete swore but didn't let up, and Frank's vision was starting to get staticky and he thought, oh, fuck me, I don't want to die because of someone's else's crazy ex.
He squeezed his eyes shut when he heard the thunk, and then something heavy and bony fell on him. He refrained from squealing and pushed it off. What the fuck. Was crazy Pete trying to suffocate him now?
Wait.
He blinked his eyes open to a silhouette standing over him (and Pete's unconscious body). "...Ray?"
"Not quite," Mikey said drily, hefting the curtain pole over his shoulder. Frank stared. And then frowned at Ray and Gerard, peeking around the corner of the door.
###
"What happened to being the almighty hero," Frank said, sarcasm dripping from every word. Gerard glanced up from where he was applying ice -well, half-melted frozen peas, but close enough - to the swelling on Frank's ankle. It looked painful. He then snuck a glance at Ray, who looked vaguely puzzled. Man, he really was oblivious. He could understand why Frank was frustrated. And yet... tension. Yikes. Frank's glare wasn't even focused on him and he wanted to run to the hills. Gerard moved Frank's hand so he was holding the ice instead and stood up.
"I'm going to check on Mikey," he explained as he was eyed off as well, although it wasn't too nasty.
"Hmph."
"I'll put the kettle on and make coffee as well?" He got an approving nod at that, and fled the room. That tension was way too much for him. Jesus lord. He pushed his fringe off of his forehead and went out the back, to where Mikey was sitting on the grass. There was some dew when he sat down, and Gerard realised it was morning. Well, it was still dark, but the clock would be in the AMs.
"You okay?"
Mikey didn't look at him. "I guess."
"We'll get a restraining order, he's being locked up for now - it'll be okay," Gerard said comfortingly, wrapping an arm around his bony shoulders. Mikey continued staring at the beetle making his way up a blade of grass. And that was when Gerard thought... maybe Pete showing up wasn't all of the problem.
"You like Ray," he said.
"What are we doing, Gee? You saw Frank and Ray together," Mikey replied. "Frank... likes Ray."
"Frank likes Ray, but I don't know if he like-likes Ray," Gerard said doubtfully.
"What is he does?"
"Why would he be going out with me if he liked Ray?"
"I don't know," Mikey said, picking at a hole in his jeans.
"I don't think anyone infatuated with Ray would be chewing him out for being a coward," he said, tapping his already-cold fingers against his jeans.
"I don't know," Mikey repeated, and despite himself Gerard felt a little bit of anxiety. He got up off the grass and walked back into the house, grimacing at his damp jeans. He went into the kitchen first, turning on the kettle and leaning against the counter. Ugh. Today had been too much. At least they'd solved the Pete problem, right? Right?
He slid to the floor and refrained from sighing. This was all so confusing.
Gerard barely noticed Ray come in and sit next to him. Or, he wouldn't have noticed, except there was hair tickling his ear. He turned slightly. Ray looked embarrassed and kind of confused still - although that may have just been his default expression. Gerard just sighed again.
"He keeps swearing at me in Italian," Ray said after a moment.
"Well, I mean, I understand why," Gerard replied, not looking at Ray.
"Huh? You do?"
Gerard refrained from throwing a mug at his head. It'd probably just bounce off his afro anyway. They'd just left Frank alone to stew in his anger as well - he'd probably be more mad once someone returned. Which was... well, fair enough.
"What's going on with Frank?"
Gerard waved a hand in the air. "That's for you to ask Frank. Or to figure out yourself, even better." Maybe he was being kind of mean, but he wasn't sure about Ray at all, really. What if Frank did like Ray that way? But... but he'd seemed so genuinely interested in Gerard. There wouldn't be any point in asking Ray, he wouldn't know if Frank got on his knees and threw flowers at him. He didn't see Ray move from the corner of his eye, and when the kettle made an unholy screech he got up off the floor and poured four cups automatically. There was a bottle of soy milk in the fridge, so he used that, not worrying about putting it in his own cup. He left Mikey and Ray's cups on the counter and wandered down the hall where they'd left Frank.
Thing was, he wasn't there. Gerard stood stock-still for a moment, puzzled. Had he gone home? No, that was Ray's car out the front and anyway, he couldn't drive with his ankle like that. On a hunch, he turned and made his way up the stairs.
Sure enough, Frank was huddled in Gerard's room, a stained sketchbook in his hands. He was lying on his side, flicking through the pages slowly, like he was really taking in the zombies and the blood. Gerard entered the room and set the coffees down on the bedside table. Frank didn't say anything as he toed off his boots and sat on the bed, just continued looking. Gerard couldn't find the words he wanted to say, felt them stick at the back of his throat even though in his mind he knew what they were:
Are you in love with Ray?
"All these pictures of superheroes and your brother was the one who rescued me."
"I'm sorry," Gerard said automatically, but what? Frank was mad that he didn't save him too?
Frank glanced over his shoulder. "Lay down. Don't loom over me like that, it's creepy."
Gerard laid down.
"I like this," Frank commented, fingertips brushing over a skeletal marching band covered in soot and what Gerard always thought of as despair. "Think we could make the jackets?"
"I..."
"We'll think about it in the morning," Frank decided, dog-earing the page and setting the book down. "Now come here, I'm cold."
"Okay," Gerard said, voice barely audible. Frank shuffled around until they were closer and then he sighed.
###
Ray didn't get it.
Why was Frank so mad at him? No one could have predicted that creepy Pete Wentz was hiding in Mikey's room, writing slurs on his mirror like a teenage girl. Ray had found the Way brothers in the basement, Mikey almost kicking him when he descended the stairs. Gerard had just looked at him with worried eyes and asked where Frank was. And Ray had said upstairs, I dunno. Then he'd gotten that look from Gerard, the one he'd been given when he asked what had upset Frank. It was a weird expression, because he hadn't frowned or smiled or anything obvious, there was just this... look in his eyes that meant something. Ray didn't know what. It had something to do with Frank, though.
Frank.
Yeah, he didn't get it.
Ray was interrupted from his swirl of thoughts by Mikey's footsteps echoing on the tiles. He watched as Mikey crossed to where the coffee was, picking up a mug with a badly-drawn cow on the side and taking a sip. He didn't say anything, so Ray didn't say anything, casting his eyes down to the beige tiles. Come to think of it, the expression Gerard had looked like most of Mikey's - only ever reaching his eyes. Hell, maybe Gerard had been the one to teach him that.
Mikey's footsteps started again, walking away, and Ray resisted the urge to follow him, to ask what now? Because - well, if Pete was gone... what did they do now?
"You can sleep here if you want," Mikey said in a flat tone before he turned the corner and went out of sight. Ray wondered if Frank was going to sleep here. Did they have a spare room? Was he supposed to sleep on the couch? They probably had a spare room, right?
He got up, ignoring the single lonely cup of coffee still emitting wisps of steam, and made his way down the hall. There was an old photograph there, of an older woman and two boys grinning at the camera. Gerard was barely recognisable through the scruff of dark hair covering his eyes, and Mikey... had Ray ever see him smile like that in real life? No. Elena was hugging the Way brothers tightly, her smile even brighter than theirs, kind of reminding him of the first time Frank had kept a plant alive by himself, that look what I made, isn't it great face. It was... cute. Ray couldn't remember the last time he'd had a happy family photo.
He sighed and turned away from the staircase leading up to the bedrooms, pulled his car keys out his pocket and looked at them. Yeah... he was out of here. Boys were confusing. Maybe he'd just make only girl friends from now on. Or maybe it was just the people he hung out with.
Somehow during the driving and static on the radio (he'd never bothered to tune it in the two years he'd owned it) he ended up at Pansy's Picks again. Ray got out the car and unlocked it in silence, glad that the shop was in an area where everyone couldn't be bothered stealing. He'd left the lights on when he ran out, so he didn't have to bother turning them on.
Ray sat down at the computer and avoided his own gaze in the computer screen. Was tomorrow Frank's day off? Would he skip coming to work anyway? It was three am right now. And... Mikey. Mikey wouldn't come anymore - he'd just come as a trade for Ray helping out Pete. So... he probably wouldn't be coming in again. In a way, Ray was kind of... well, disappointed. They'd have to post ads for a new person to replace Bob.
Ugh.
Ray pressed his face against the cool keyboard. It didn't help his stress, but it felt nice enough. That is, until the computer woke up from sleep and decided to beep at him. Ray groaned at it, but the computer didn't care about his mental struggles and continued to ping happily. He raised his head wearily and squinted at the too-bright screen.
"Dear Pansy's Picks Belleville Manager Ray Toro," it read.
"Your request order #38475 has been processed and the object has been brought over from its native country. As it is a rather large and difficult to find plant to order, it has taken longer than normal for the shipping service to get back to us. It is now in our warehouse in the north of New Jersey. We apologise severely for the wait but assure both yourself and the customer that it is being cared for - my business partner has taken it under his wing and is checking on it every day. He has much respect for such a specimen, unlike myself. Does the owner of the order [ACC #429, FIRST NAME: ELENA] still wish for the order to go through? We can ship the plant and have it arrive at your store the day after tomorrow, if that is satifactory. Please let us know.
G.R. Ross Junior, Head of Shipping at the PP Franchise."
Ray sighed.
"Hello, Mr Ross,
That would be fine. Much appreciated. Is order #39001 being processed currently? We had a power outage while it was sending.
Thank you, Ray Toro."
###
Frank woke up with a start when something warm and soft fell against the side of his ribs. Fuck, they must have gotten bruised when he'd been attacked. He squinted at the clock, registering it was five am and he'd only gotten two hours of sleep. Gross. He then surveyed what had landed on his side and realised it was an arm. Gerard's fingers twitched where they were, tips brushing the skin where Frank's shirt had ridden up. It tickled, so Frank wriggled back against Gerard, away from his fingers.
Surprisingly, that strategy worked. That is, until Gerard breathed out and his warm breath tickled Frank's neck instead. He grimaced. Despite Pete's attack lasting maybe five minutes, his whole body ached from it and being tired didn't help. Gerard made a snuffling noise and his hand was against Frank's stomach again, although tighter, so it didn't tickle so much this time. He refrained from elbowing his sleeping - boyfriend? Artist? Why was Gerard his, anyway? - and resigned himself to the fact he was at this moment, basically a live teddy bear.
Gerard made a small, frightened noise and his blunt nails dug into Frank's stomach. Bad dream, probably, which didn't help the fact his internal organs were being poked. Frank twisted around in the half an inch of space he had and blinked at Gerard's face. Did he have to be so damn pretty, even with a frown creasing his face and those tiny scared noises breaking up the morning silence. Frank didn't know how to deal with bad dreams, so he just held Gerard's hand tightly and shook him a little. Wait, you weren't supposed to wake someone up when they were having a nightmare, were you?
Gerard's eyes flicked open suddenly, making Frank flinch away. Christ, that was freaky. After a moment, he seemed to remember where he was, and glanced down at where Frank and his fingers were laced together.
"I'm sorry," he croaked, and Frank frowned.
"For what?"
Gerard's hand unhooked itself from Frank's and he curled in on himself a little, still out of it from whatever he'd been dreaming about. Frank frowned at him, but it still took a few minutes of loaded silence before Gerard actually spoke.
"I... you don't want..."
"Don't want wh-" oh. The hand holding. "I know we haven't talked about it explicitly, but..."
"But you like Ray," Gerard stressed, pressing his face into the pillows so only a tuft of hair was visible from where Frank was laying.
"I- you think I- what?" Frank stared at the top of Gerard's head in shocked silence, and then started giggling hysterically. He kept laughing until he was struggling to breathe, and his lungs felt like they were crumpling in his ribcage. "You think I'm in love with him?"
Half of Gerard's face appeared from behind a grey pillow with a llama depicted on it. "You're... not?"
"Fuck no, I'm not that dumb," Frank replied vehemently. "Wait. If you thought I was in love with Ray, why did you...?"
He could barely make out the weak smile. "Mikey was worried. He... I guess I got caught up in it...? You are kind of into him."
"If I was into him I wouldn't be in your damn bed, you idiot." Him. And... Ray?
"So I'm not your replacement Ray?"
"Ugh," Frank groaned. "No. You are not a replacement Ray. You would make a terrible replacement Ray."
Gerard looked slightly offended, sitting up a little. "Why?"
"You pay attention to me," Frank answered, half joking and half bitter. Gerard just looked like he'd seen an adorable baby animal and slid closer to Frank again, put his arm over Frank's side cautiously. He was so nervous when he was awake. It was... cute. Frank leaned up and kissed the tip of his nose and then laughed at the expression it got.
"I'm sure Ray pays plenty of attention to you, but I'm cuter than he is."
Frank snorted. "The narcissism in this one is strong."
"Mm," Gerard mumbled in agreement. "You wanna try making those zombie jackets in the morning?"
"Can you sew?"
"No. Can you?"
"No. But you have to do it anyway, as repayment for yesterday."
"Repayment... for?"
"It's kind of demeaning when you have to be rescued by your boyfriend's brother," Frank said, blatantly honest. Because it really was, and it did hurt a little. From both Gerard and Ray. Ray had practically flown over here to rescue Mikey and sweep him off his feet - and wouldn't even step in to help Frank when he was about to have his ass kicked by Crazy Pete. He was a little less pissed with Gerard, who wasn't pretending to be a hero, but he still would've appreciated at least trying. Mikey probably hated Frank if he thought that Frank liked Ray, and he was still Frank's rescuer.
"I'm sorry," Gerard said. "I didn't know what had happened, and I froze up."
"...it's okay," Frank replied, snuggling closer to Gerard to steal his body heat. Boy was like a furnace.
"Do you forgive me?"
"Make those jackets and breakfast in the morning and I'll think about it."
"Deal," Gerard said, sounding so ridiculously happy that Frank had to hide his own smile in the bedcovers.