Fic: Fictitious Disorder
Title: Fictitious Disorder
Author: x_heterophobic
Pairing: None
Rating: R
POV: Third, slightly omniscient
Quote: “He’s not retarded,” the man continued, “he’s been traumatized into a child-like state of behavior.”
Summary: Gerard's been in an accident and Mikey has to pick up the pieces.
Disclaimer: Do not own, not affiliated with, nor am I speculating anything about My Chemical Romance. Title of a track off a Daniel Tosh CD.
Author Notes: It's AU in the fact that there is no band. Relationships, friendships, et cetera are all the same. No band.
Warnings: Character death, mild violence, may be disturbing to some.
Mikey stood there shifting anxiously back and forth with his arms wrapped around himself, eyes downcast and brow wrinkled in thought. He teetered on the edge of a dirt road, the toes of his sneakers barely nosing into the overgrown weeds at the edge of the field.
Field? What field?
The field Gerard, Mikey’s older brother, was roaming, fingertips outstretch to lightly caress each blade of grass. Mikey just stood at the edge, near their car, looking awkward and uncomfortable as he waited for his big brother to finish.
Eventually, twenty minutes later, he did finish. Wordlessly he walked up to Mikey and smiled, eyes bright and shining. Mikey sighed in relief, flashing his brother a closed lip smile as he piled both of them into the car and drove away from that field in the middle of nowhere.
Gerard stared out the back window until his vision blurred and road curved.
___
“So he’s like, what… retarded now?”
“He’s not retarded!” Mikey snapped, face flushing as he balled his hands into fists. The other man gave him an unconvinced look, and Mikey almost lost it. He managed, however, to take a deep breath and relax his fingers.
“He’s not retarded,” the man continued in a (slightly) calmer voice, “he’s been traumatized into a child-like state of behavior.” The words rolled off his tongue naturally, as if he’d been repeating them his whole life, despite that three months ago he couldn’t comprehend the concept those words held.
“Then why doesn’t he talk? Or like, write and shit?” Mikey wanted to deck this guy, some friend of Alicia’s probably. All he knew about him was that he was short, blonde, and dumb. And that he wanted to punch him in the face.
“He suffered some mental incapacities from the impact, and he’s having physical setbacks as well--”
“So he has brain damage?”
“Well, yes.” Mikey hated admitting that part.
“So he is retarded?” The man can obviously not take a hint, but Alicia, his beautiful, lovely, kind, understanding wife saved him from the monstrosity that was slowly driving him insane.
“Mike! Lara is calling for you,” she says with a sweet smile, the smile that somehow gets everyone to obey her without argument. Mikey is no exception, and he collapses around her shoulders wearily.
“Thank you,” he murmurs into her cotton sweatshirt, thanking whatever God there is that she loves him as much as he loves her.
___
Gerard can’t hold a pencil.
His brow is furrowed, his tongue poking out, and he’s pretty sure he’s reaching with his right hand, but for some reason the pencil just won’t stay. His fingertips twitch even as his brain is forming the image to ‘lift’ ‘grasp’ and ‘curl’.
The pencil clatters further away from him.
Gerard wants to scream. He wants to scream until his throat is raw and his ears are ringing. He wants to throw something or hit something or anything to make this frustration go away.
Because he can’t pick up a pencil.
Furious tears erupt from his eyes, his mouth gaping open and shut in a desperate fashion. Suddenly he’s on his feet, thrashing wildly, upturning his table and scattering papers and pencils everywhere.
He’s still crying when Mikey finds him amidst his torn up room, and all he can think is Mikey, Mikey, Mikey, as his little brother swoops him up and kisses the bruise on his forehead.
__
Mikey watches Gerard stand away from the doctor, whose eyes are downcast and arms are folded over his chest in a protective manner. Mikey’s brow furrows, the familiar stinging of tears returning to his eyes and nose. Pressing his forefinger and thumb to the bridge of his nose, Mikey manages to ward the tears off, but it doesn’t ease the pain of watching his older brother fight childishly with a doctor.
Physical therapy is the worst; it’s when Gerard tries so hard to direct his fingers or wrists in any particular fashion and fails. They merely twitch and jump sporadically, seemingly unconnected to the brain at all. It’s when Gerard tries to scream out his frustration and when he can’t he attempts to hit, kick, bite and hurt anything and everything around him.
The worst part is watching the doctors sedate him after he begins to hit himself.
___
Alicia’s arm sliding around his neck wakes Mikey from a nightmare. His entire body jolts and there are beads of sweat dampening his hair. He’s near crying.
“Mikey? Babe, wake up. It’s time to go pick Gerard up. C’mon babe, wake up.” She’s slowly rousing him, adjusting him cautiously from the dream world to reality. He moves slowly, like his limbs are in molasses.
“Coming, I’m coming,” he mumbles, pulling himself up and ignoring the creaking in his back. He’s too young to be old.
__
“He made great progress today. Only one tantrum and we didn’t have to sedate him at all,” one of Gerard’s doctors beam proudly. Mikey feels a thread of resentment towards her.
“Don’t treat him like a child,” he snaps, tired of this overcautious and ambiguous behavior people were adopting around Gerard.
The doctor’s smile immediately disappeared, her face contorted into a serious mask. “Mr. Way you must understand that your brother does not have the mental ability to understand and cope with adult situations--”
“Don’t. Don’t say that. He’s still Gerard. He just can’t do stuff any more, I know, but he’s still my brother, he’s still Gerard.” Mikey was reaching hysterics by now. Alicia’s hand on his elbow calms him. He takes a deep breath, retrieves Gerard and drives home.
__
“Is he okay? Will he be alright? Is he awake? May I see him?” Mikey’s questions tumble out of his mouth before he can stop them, knuckles white from gripping those useless pamphlets they offer at the hospital.
White coat, white walls, metal rimmed glasses and a salt-and-pepper mustache is all he can seem to see. The mustache is moving, and who everyone keeps calling ‘Dr.’ is talking.
“Mr. Way, your brother and his wife were in a very serious car accident,” I know I know, Mikey felt like shouting, tell me something I don’t! “His wife is currently in surgery; we’re attempting to save her life.”
Mikey probably should’ve felt more shocked at this, more traumatized, more upset. But all he could think was- “Gerard, how is Gerard?”
__
Gerard lived with Mikey and Alicia now, which he didn’t mind. Sometimes he wondered if they minded always having him around, but they never showed it if they did. Alicia was making dinner, and Mikey was paying bills downstairs. Gerard was in his room.
He was too exhausted from physical therapy to be frustrated, but he longed to draw. He wanted to draw a field. A pretty golden field with an oak tree planted near the edge. He wouldn’t draw the car that he embedded into it.
Gerard didn’t understand everything the doctors said, or what Mikey said, but he knew that Lyn-Z was dead because of him. And he knew the reason Mikey seemed so tired these days was because of him, and he remembered his old life but didn’t remember it at the same time. Like it was a dream, just a few inches away from reality.
Lyn-Z was dead.
Lyn-Z was dead.
Lyn-Z was dead.
And it was all his fault.
This is in no way finished. I just had to put this up because it may be the best thing I've ever written. -is proud of self- I know there's a tense change, but I have to get Jen to look it over and tell me stuff. Too tired right now.