(no subject)
After The Tone
Gerard Way; Mikey Way
G, for the we_are_cities november 7th, 2006 prompt, which I sort of took liberties with, a little, but you see where I'm going with this, right? This isn't slash, and it was never intended to be. I suppose you could choose to think of it that way, but that was not my intent.
For those who don't know: MCR stayed in a mansion called the Paramour while recording The Black Parade. Mikey had the misfortune of getting what both he and Gerard document as the most haunted room in the place. This proceeded to fuel a breakdown that Mikey was already well on his way to having. Mikey moved out of the house. All work on the record stopped and Gerard began having night terrors where he dreamt that he was being choked to death. He also claims that doors were slammed by no one in his and Ray's faces, and that Bob's shower was turned on while no one was in the house. That is where this fic came from.
He jerks awake choking and snaps up in bed, breathing hard and sweating and the lingering feeling of hands wrapped around his throat. It's the fifth time in as many nights and he is seriously regretting the decision to stay in this place, and lamenting his misfortune to get stuck in this room.
He untangles his legs from the sheets and swings his feet to the floor, walking toward the door and pacing back and forth, part of him not wanting to open it ( it slammed shut in his face today, no one on the other side and no reason for it to do that ). He doesn't scare easily but he's scared enough now.
Any other night he'd pick up the tape recorder and record what he's felt, what he dreamt, but the truth is, it was the same dream as the night before, and the night before that. There's no point. He wakes up with the same feeling of choking. He wakes up with his heart racing the same way. There's just no point.
He walks back and picks up his cell from the table becide the bed and walks back to the door. A fit of bravery has him pushing it open and walking down the hallway. He walks straight out into the back patio and sinks down into one of the chairs by the pool. It's warmer outside but at least he feels like he can breathe.
He hits the button on his speed dial ( number two, and only because his voicemail is number one and he won't switch it to anything else for fear of screwing everything up ) and waits through the rings. There's no answer, of course there isn't, because it's nearly three in the morning and no one in their right mind would be up answering the phone if they didn't have to.
The voicemail clicks through and he takes a deep breath, listening to the recorded message in the familiar voice.
When the tone finally sounds, he starts talking.
"Hey," he says quietly. He doesn't introduce himself because after twenty five years, he shouldn't have to. He's entitiled to that. "I know you're probably sleeping. I didn't really expect you to answer. I don't know."
He doesn't know why he's on the phone suddenly. "I think maybe I just wanted to hear your voice." He laughs softly, draws his legs up against his chest as he speaks. "I just think.... I miss you, you know? I'm stuck out here by myself and since you left I..."
How was he going to explain the nightmares he was having? The fucking terrors? "I know you won't think I'm crazy," he says quietly. "Anyone else would think I was crazy. But you lived here, so maybe... I think you know. But ever since you left, I've been having these dreams. Fuck, they're not even dreams, you know, more like... I don't know how to explain it. The worst nightmares ever, maybe. Night terrors..." He sighs softly and looks down at the soft rippling of the water of the pool. He can see the tiny sliver of the moon reflected back on the surface, shimmering and changing with the movement of the water.
It's beautiful, he thinks. He thinks maybe he could see this anywhere, really. Any pool at any house in any part of the world, but it strikes him that something that could be so startlingly beautiful as that pale crescent reflected back to him shouldn't be in a place so horrible as this.
"It's funny how when I walked outside -- oh, I'm sitting outside, I forgot to tell you that, I think, I don't think I mentioned it," he continues, his voice low as he speaks as though he's trying not to disturb anyone or anything. "When I walked outside everything changed. It's hot but now at least I can breathe. I'm sweating less out here than I was inside... " He's quiet for another moment and knows that if this goes on, the message will get deleted before it's ever listened to all the way through. "It's just this house, I think, this place. I don't... things were easier when you were here."
He stretches one foot out and drags it through the water, breaking up the lines of the moon's reflection. He remembers bad horror movies from when he was younger and imagines that he could just get jerked into the water by some unseen force and really choke to death, but on water and not with someone's hand around his throat. He pulls his foot back and the edges of his dirty sweatpants are wet. Oh well, he thinks.
"I know why you left," he all but whispers. "I get that. Sometimes it's too much. This place is too much. But I miss you. I miss talking to you and I miss seeing your smiling face -- ha ha, funny joke, right? When you do come back you'd better smile more. Talk more. Make jokes. Keep the rest of us from losing our minds or ripping each other to shreds."
Another pause, and as this time the silence stretches longer. He wonders if later his breathing will be audible on the recording. "Come back and keep me from falling apart, okay?" he finally says. "Or at least... at least get better, okay?" Another deep breath, and this time a sigh. "I love you," he finishes, and disconnects the call.
He sits there for a long time, watching the silver crescent of the moon's reflection making it's way across the surface of the water. He hears the guitar and it takes him a few minutes to realize what it is before he pushes himself to his feet and makes his way back into the house, following the sound and finding Ray playing absently. He puts the phone down on the table and curls up on one of the couches and just listens for a while.
When he finally does head back to try and sleep some more, he notices that he has a missed call. Funny, he didn't hear the phone ring and he didn't hear or see it vibrating. He also notes that he has a voicemail, and dials it as he walks back up to his room.
It's short, sweet, and too the point.
"I miss you too, Gerard," comes the sleepy sound of his baby brother's voice, who knows how many miles away in someone else's apartment. Probably getting a good night's sleep, too. "Maybe sleep on the couch?" Mikey suggests, and Gerard can tell that he's already half asleep again. "Or sleep out on the patio." Gerard wonders how comfortable that would be, and thinks that maybe he'll try the couch first. He turns around and starts back down and wonders why this completely logical idea never even crossed his mind.
"I love you, too," the message finishes, and he hears the soft noise as Mikey's sidekick disconnects.
He even manages to get a few hours of undisturbed sleep in on the couch.
Gerard Way; Mikey Way
G, for the we_are_cities november 7th, 2006 prompt, which I sort of took liberties with, a little, but you see where I'm going with this, right? This isn't slash, and it was never intended to be. I suppose you could choose to think of it that way, but that was not my intent.
For those who don't know: MCR stayed in a mansion called the Paramour while recording The Black Parade. Mikey had the misfortune of getting what both he and Gerard document as the most haunted room in the place. This proceeded to fuel a breakdown that Mikey was already well on his way to having. Mikey moved out of the house. All work on the record stopped and Gerard began having night terrors where he dreamt that he was being choked to death. He also claims that doors were slammed by no one in his and Ray's faces, and that Bob's shower was turned on while no one was in the house. That is where this fic came from.
He jerks awake choking and snaps up in bed, breathing hard and sweating and the lingering feeling of hands wrapped around his throat. It's the fifth time in as many nights and he is seriously regretting the decision to stay in this place, and lamenting his misfortune to get stuck in this room.
He untangles his legs from the sheets and swings his feet to the floor, walking toward the door and pacing back and forth, part of him not wanting to open it ( it slammed shut in his face today, no one on the other side and no reason for it to do that ). He doesn't scare easily but he's scared enough now.
Any other night he'd pick up the tape recorder and record what he's felt, what he dreamt, but the truth is, it was the same dream as the night before, and the night before that. There's no point. He wakes up with the same feeling of choking. He wakes up with his heart racing the same way. There's just no point.
He walks back and picks up his cell from the table becide the bed and walks back to the door. A fit of bravery has him pushing it open and walking down the hallway. He walks straight out into the back patio and sinks down into one of the chairs by the pool. It's warmer outside but at least he feels like he can breathe.
He hits the button on his speed dial ( number two, and only because his voicemail is number one and he won't switch it to anything else for fear of screwing everything up ) and waits through the rings. There's no answer, of course there isn't, because it's nearly three in the morning and no one in their right mind would be up answering the phone if they didn't have to.
The voicemail clicks through and he takes a deep breath, listening to the recorded message in the familiar voice.
When the tone finally sounds, he starts talking.
"Hey," he says quietly. He doesn't introduce himself because after twenty five years, he shouldn't have to. He's entitiled to that. "I know you're probably sleeping. I didn't really expect you to answer. I don't know."
He doesn't know why he's on the phone suddenly. "I think maybe I just wanted to hear your voice." He laughs softly, draws his legs up against his chest as he speaks. "I just think.... I miss you, you know? I'm stuck out here by myself and since you left I..."
How was he going to explain the nightmares he was having? The fucking terrors? "I know you won't think I'm crazy," he says quietly. "Anyone else would think I was crazy. But you lived here, so maybe... I think you know. But ever since you left, I've been having these dreams. Fuck, they're not even dreams, you know, more like... I don't know how to explain it. The worst nightmares ever, maybe. Night terrors..." He sighs softly and looks down at the soft rippling of the water of the pool. He can see the tiny sliver of the moon reflected back on the surface, shimmering and changing with the movement of the water.
It's beautiful, he thinks. He thinks maybe he could see this anywhere, really. Any pool at any house in any part of the world, but it strikes him that something that could be so startlingly beautiful as that pale crescent reflected back to him shouldn't be in a place so horrible as this.
"It's funny how when I walked outside -- oh, I'm sitting outside, I forgot to tell you that, I think, I don't think I mentioned it," he continues, his voice low as he speaks as though he's trying not to disturb anyone or anything. "When I walked outside everything changed. It's hot but now at least I can breathe. I'm sweating less out here than I was inside... " He's quiet for another moment and knows that if this goes on, the message will get deleted before it's ever listened to all the way through. "It's just this house, I think, this place. I don't... things were easier when you were here."
He stretches one foot out and drags it through the water, breaking up the lines of the moon's reflection. He remembers bad horror movies from when he was younger and imagines that he could just get jerked into the water by some unseen force and really choke to death, but on water and not with someone's hand around his throat. He pulls his foot back and the edges of his dirty sweatpants are wet. Oh well, he thinks.
"I know why you left," he all but whispers. "I get that. Sometimes it's too much. This place is too much. But I miss you. I miss talking to you and I miss seeing your smiling face -- ha ha, funny joke, right? When you do come back you'd better smile more. Talk more. Make jokes. Keep the rest of us from losing our minds or ripping each other to shreds."
Another pause, and as this time the silence stretches longer. He wonders if later his breathing will be audible on the recording. "Come back and keep me from falling apart, okay?" he finally says. "Or at least... at least get better, okay?" Another deep breath, and this time a sigh. "I love you," he finishes, and disconnects the call.
He sits there for a long time, watching the silver crescent of the moon's reflection making it's way across the surface of the water. He hears the guitar and it takes him a few minutes to realize what it is before he pushes himself to his feet and makes his way back into the house, following the sound and finding Ray playing absently. He puts the phone down on the table and curls up on one of the couches and just listens for a while.
When he finally does head back to try and sleep some more, he notices that he has a missed call. Funny, he didn't hear the phone ring and he didn't hear or see it vibrating. He also notes that he has a voicemail, and dials it as he walks back up to his room.
It's short, sweet, and too the point.
"I miss you too, Gerard," comes the sleepy sound of his baby brother's voice, who knows how many miles away in someone else's apartment. Probably getting a good night's sleep, too. "Maybe sleep on the couch?" Mikey suggests, and Gerard can tell that he's already half asleep again. "Or sleep out on the patio." Gerard wonders how comfortable that would be, and thinks that maybe he'll try the couch first. He turns around and starts back down and wonders why this completely logical idea never even crossed his mind.
"I love you, too," the message finishes, and he hears the soft noise as Mikey's sidekick disconnects.
He even manages to get a few hours of undisturbed sleep in on the couch.