Huge mega fic of Doom
For Holley, and anyone else interested, here's a snippet from the first chapter of my huge My Chem/Dresden Files fic of Doom.
AU RPF/Bandslash fic. Rough draft, unbeta'd at this stage. Bad words. Frank/Gerard established pairing. Gratuitous 1980s References.
Disclaimer: This is all in good fun. No harm or offense is intended. As far as I know, no members of My Chemical Romance are actually Wizards, Sprites, FBI Agents or mechanics.
Walking Contradiction, a Tale of the Way Repository
Chapter One
“Please state your name for the record.”
Gerard Way peered at the digital video camera in front of him out of bruised eyes. There was an ominous hissing sound and static in the air as he tried to restore his own internal balance. The lights above him kept zapping in a way fluorescent lights should not.
A caged wizard was never a good thing, especially when electricity was involved.
Gerard raised a hand to his face and touched his jaw. Frank was going to be pissed if it was too bruised to eat dinner. He got like that when Gerard missed out on the anniversary meals. Cold tofurkey was punishment enough without the additional angry, disappointed silences and glares from his partner and his brother, Mikey. Combine all three and Gerard was ready to slit his wrists with the nearest paperclip.
He considered it a grand achievement that he could make suicide jokes these days and find them honestly funny.
A rough cough sounded through the room along with an annoyed finger tapping on the table. Gerard looked up from the tanned and callused finger to the man in front of him. He smiled, even though the pain in his jaw was getting worse.
“Gee, Officer Toro, I was sure you knew my name by now,” Gerard said.
Ray Toro, Special Agent Ray Toro, was a junior member of the Newark Field Office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s Spook Squad. It was a real life office of X-Files bred out of J. Edgar Hoover’s paranoia that the Reds were everywhere, even on the other side of the Nevernever. Toro was also a former high school classmate, good friend, weekend jam buddy and all around schleper for Gerard and his circle of acquaintances. Despite the well known fact of their association, the powers that be from D.C. demanded Gerard be dragged in for questioning once every three months. Some of Ray’s co-workers were not as understanding of the artistic drive that took hold of Gerard when he was in the middle of a project, hence the black eyes, cuts and bruises currently decorating his face and arms.
Gerard caught sight of his reflection in the glass mirror of the interrogation room. Man, Frank was going to be beyond pissed. Gerard coughed as he imagined just what his partner would throw into this particular shit fit against Ray.
Ray ran his hands through his truly impressive hair. Gerard doubted such a thing was regulation in the Bureau but he bet even Mulder and Scully couldn’t explain the curly Afro-puff that made up Ray Toro’s coif.
“Gerard, must we go through this every time?” Ray asked.
“I don’t see why not,” Gerard answered. “You know Frank is going to scream at someone over this,” he continued as he gestured at his face.
“I’ll send you home with a complaint form to fill out,” Ray said. He pointed to the camera on the table. “Now, may we proceed?”
“Proceed,” Gerard said with widened eyes, “so official.” His fingers itched for a pencil or a cigarette but finding both lacking, he sighed. “Fine, let’s go.”
“Thank god,” Ray muttered. He took a breath and continued in his official voice. “This is Special Agent Raymond Toro-Ortiz of the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s Newark, New Jersey Field Office. It is 16:45 Zulu on Friday, January 20, 2006. I am with Informant number 6671362. Please state your name for the record.”
“Gerard Arthur Way,” he dutifully replied. He also omitted six of his middle names. Having a full wizard’s name on file in the archives of the FBI was just asking for a special kind of hell.
“Thank you, Mr. Way.” Ray paused to pull out the stylus of his PDA and began to take notes. “Please inform the Bureau of the most notable supernatural phenomena you have encountered since our last meeting.”
“Are we including Frank’s birthday celebration and all his family and friends from the Nevernever who decided to swing by for a visit?” It was an honest question. Frank Iero, as a half-sprite, half-human part-time resident of the Nevernever aka Faeryland aka the Otherside aka every other Otherworld of any religion/belief system/culture to ever exist, had a lot of associates who could be termed notable supernatural phenomena on an individual basis. Gerard still could not believe he’d met the real honest-to-god Queen Mab and had a talk about that ‘delightful Bard of yours? What was his name? William something or other?’ If Gerard wasn’t glaringly sober at the time, he honestly would have believed he dropped some acid with an absinthe chaser after that night.
Ray paused in his note-taking, twiddling the stylus between his fingers like a drumstick. “I believe we can exclude Mr. Iero’s birthday festivities. We are all well aware that everything becomes more active than usual from October 28th to November 4th.”
Gerard leaned forward in his chair and tapped his charcoal stained fingers on his chin. “Well,” he said, “there was the owl the size of a small dog who we thought was rabid but turned out to be Joseph Listens-to-the-Wind. I did not know his wizarding abilities included that form of self-transformation. You might want to tell your fellow agents about that tidbit. The Council gets miffed when law enforcement shoots their members, especially the really old and respected ones.”
“How is Mr. Euringer doing?” Ray asked. He didn’t bother to hide the smirk.
“Mr. Urine is healing nicely but also swearing vengeance on the family lines of everyone present at that officer-involved-shooting. I would stay out of his part of New York if I carried a badge.”
“Noted.”
“We had a bean shìdh near Bellville Park.”
“Anyone catch her?”
“One of the McGardy’s but apparently she was here for Old Man Cavanaugh.”
“Did you got to the Wake?”
Gerard shrugged. “Had to, if only out of respect for Old Man Cavanaugh. It takes someone special to get one of the Wailing Women at his or her time of death.”
“Anything else at the park?”
“Headless corpse, but that’s mob related.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Dr. King confirmed that the head was chewed off post-mortem by a wild animal. Heads, hands, and feet are normally the first to go or do you need to attend that Forensic school in Tennessee?”
“Funny.”
Gerard scratched his arm, fingers gliding over the smooth material of the winter jacket. Since it didn’t smell like his studio, bedroom, or a den of chain-smokers, he guessed it was Mikey’s. He hoped the blood washed out. “Um,” Gerard paused and chewed his lip. “The normal Pixie incidents at Christmas, of course.”
“Those things are vicious,” Ray interjected.
“Frank says it’s because they want to make sure the trees go to a good home.”
“I did not know a pixie could double for a Lorax.”
“Why not? Theodore Gisele had some magical ability through the power of words. He must have known about the Nevernever.”
Ray put down his PDA. “Dr. Seuss was a wizard?” he asked.
Gerard waved his hands and responded, “Practitioner is more accurate. Why else do you think everything rhymes?”
Ray shook his head. “moving on,” he continued, adjusting his tie and leaning forward, “What about the last few weeks?”
Gerard studied his nails. He needed to repaint them. Not black this time; even though it was more acceptable for guys to wear, it was a bit of playing into a stereotype. Perhaps gunmetal grey. One of the Skeleton Crew girls could probably suggest a good shade. “These past few weeks?” Gerard asked. He glanced up at Ray through the dark strands of his hair. “These past few weeks have been quiet.”
“What about the Vampire Courts?” Ray asked.
“The local Reds are regrouping somewhere that is not Jersey. Even they know they can’t compete with everyone whose connected here. The Whites are still doing their back-alley pornos in the Triborough area. Some of the Reds have wandered into that territory so you might want to watch for snuff films.” Gerard stopped and thought for a moment. There was something he forgot, something about the Sidhe that pissed Frank off for a few days straight. What was it? “Oh,” Gerard exclaimed, “that kidnapping? The one in Philly? Frank’s pretty sure that’s a Sidhe job.”
“Really?” Ray asked, interest creeping into his voice for the first time. “Is he certain?”
“Definitely,” Gerard said, “it has all the traditional markers of Changeling abduction, calling one back home, so to speak. I hope it’s not, really, but if it is...”
“There’s nothing we can do.” Ray dropped his head in disgust. “If Frank is positive its Fae than it’s already over.”
Gerard nodded his head in resignation. When the Sidhe took a child it was done and final. Normally if a Changeling was half-mortal, half-fae, a choice could be made. If the child was stolen, however, the Sidhe had passed their judgment and no personal choice could be made in the matter. When they took a human child and didn’t offer a Changeling foster in exchange it meant the parents either bartered something for their child, or they choose their own lives over that of their offspring. Fosters always appeared within three distinct timelines: three hours, three days, or three weeks. After the three weeks it was the point of no return. The girl from Philly went past four weeks yesterday.
There was always the possibility of taking on the Sidhe for the right of the child, but it was difficult to decide what to do with the child in the rare event you won. The parents obviously thought something was of more value than their child, and while their own lives could be understandable as a reason, Gerard often found that the Sidhe only bartered with life and death in the most dire of situations. The Sidhe were oddly protective of the children they took as their own and had no end to the means they would go to keep them safe. Gerard took up the fight three times in the past. One loss, one win (which he got by invoking legal precedent, never expected that to work), and one draw. The one loss cost Gerard a future decade of his life in service to the Sidhe, though they were not allowed to invoke the prize until after his parents passed. It also cost him a year of his ability to draw which was an experience he did not want to repeat again. He’d also been required to spend a month among the Winter Court carving ice statues. Not the worst job in the world, or the Nevernever, but Mikey had glared at him for three months after and Frank still complained, three years later, that he was finding ice shards everywhere.
“I wonder why they take kids,” Ray said, breaking Gerard’s contemplation.
“Because it’s not very easy to have and raise their own. Because they need new bloodlines. They seek children who belong to nature more than anyone or anything else. Anyone with Sidhe blood calls to them.”
“Fair enough,” Ray said. He looked down at his PDA and started scrolling through his notes. “Killed any living beings? Any property damage outside of the normal electricity problems?”
“No killing outside of the typical arachnids. I helped a ghost dog cross over if that counts?”
“It doesn’t.”
“I threw a book at a wall as far as property damage goes. The bean-sidhe caused a picnic table to explode and there was a small fire with the Pixies at one of the Christmas tree lots. I also hope you’re appreciating the effort it’s taking me to not have an electricity incident with your beloved PDA there, what with my black eyes and possible broken jaw.”
“Your jaw is not broken, Gerard, and you go out of your way to make yourself look like you have black eyes.” Ray put his stylus down and cut off the camera. “I will talk to those assholes, though. Better yet, I’ll have Frank talk to them.”
“Please don’t let him get arrested for assaulting a federal officer. Again.” Gerard looked at his watch. “Can I go now?”
“Yeah,” Ray said. He started to dismantle the camera. “Are you going to Murphy’s Law this weekend?”
“As long as no major events cause me birth-rite-related stress and let me keep my suppression spell up, yeah. Frank’ll be pissed if I make his amp explode again.”
“It was kinds of awesome last time. Well, until the small fire,” Ray said. He walked over to the door. “If you break my amps, I will kill you.” He opened the door for Gerard and gestured for him to proceed out.
Gerard walked down the sterile hallway of Ray’s office, thankful, if only for a moment, his life was not spent in a cubicle wasteland.
*********
Gerard turned the ignition of his car and prayed to whatever deity was listening for a start up. Wizards, being people who tapped into the primitive forces of nature, did not agree with modern technology. Apparently evolution was working for them, slowly, but Gerard knew that he was less susceptible to electrical problems than other older wizards at the same power level. Which meant that Gerard was able to have a modern car for a wizard, and by modern he meant made in the 1970s. He’d tried a car from 1988 once, but the power windows were just too much to take while trying to also manage a working engine, radio, and a/c unit.
After Gerard found out about the whole wizard thing, and before he started driving, he always hoped that his car would be like Crowley’s in Good Omens and that every tape would eventually turn into Queen’s Greatest Hits. Life, unfortunately, was not a Gaiman or Pratchett creation and Gerard was left with whatever he could find on cassette and the occasional radio station. Mikey, being the best little brother anyone could ask for, somehow still managed to make him mixtapes of the newest Jersey bands, but Gerard’s car was a musical zone mostly reserved for Iron Maiden, Metallica, The Smiths, the Misfits and yes, Queen.
The car sputtered, but started, even with the sound of hissing steam. He pulled his day planner out of his paint splattered black canvas bagged and noted the day. He was only a week off from his monthly check-in with Bob Bryar, the best mechanic for all the Wizarding folk in the Tri-State area, but from the sounds of the car, lovingly entitled Shitbox Junior, the appointment needed to be pushed ahead. He threw the planner back into his bag, tapped his fingers on the cracked and worn leather of the steering wheel and watched the plethora of worry beads, prayer beads, and rosaries hanging from his rearview mirror swing with the draft coming in through the windows. He didn’t bother turning the heat on for fear the car would actually stall and die on the highway. Again.
Lighting another cigarette, he pulled out his cell phone (the special non-technologically advanced kind they made for senior citizens) and noted three missed calls, one from Mikey and two from his mom, a typical afternoon then. A quick glance at the time revealed he was going to be late for dinner at this rate. Checking his face in the mirror he shook his head again and cursed. Frank was so going to murder someone.
***************
Gerard Arthur Blackthorne Gaius Leonardo Dylan William Benito Way was a wizard, an artist, a writer, a brother, a lover, a son, a musician, a recovering addict and alcoholic, a spiritualist and an occasional pain in the ass diva. He made a good bit of money selling paintings and doing freelance work at animation studios and comic book offices. He also did some writing and kept a collection of his own personal essays on his life for the day when the world accepted, for the most part, the phenomena around them. He had aspirations of becoming the wizarding David Sedaris. He lived in a triple decker with his partner, Frank Iero and his brother Michael Way known to most of the world as Mikey. The house belonged to Frank’s grandfather, but when Frank finished college and went to graduate school, his grandfather gave him the deed. Frank and Mikey lived there for years before the deed got passed over by Frank Iero Senior, but apparently Grandpa Iero wanted to make sure his grandson, and his grandson’s roommate, would not burn the place down. To insure that this was still the case, all of Gerard’s work stayed in the basement which had the least amount of wood paneling. The Iero-Way household was not in the nicest part of the city, and sat on the borders of an old Italian-American neighborhood where half the people were connected and everyone knew to keep their mouth shut. Still, it was home, and Gerard would not have it any other way, even if home came with peeling green paint and white trim, uneven bricks and wooden decks in great need of replacement.
Gerard pulled into the driveway next to Mikey’s dented and cracked Kia Spectra and managed to trip over at least two street hockey pucks and a lone skateboard either from the neighborhood kids or Mikey’s plans to invent the next great sport in the spirit of Frisbee Golf. He grabbed the mail from their custom made box, a red skull with devil horns and halo, the jaw opening and closing to hold the mail, and put his key in the door, giving it its normal push to both get it to move off its hinges and dissipate the wards he had placed on the house. Throwing the mail and his bag on the gargoyle table in the entranceway he followed the sound of music to the first floor living room.
“What the hell happened to you?” Mikey asked. He was sprawled out on the couch, light brown hair in disarray and Gremlins t-shirt riding up from his black pants. Gerard didn’t say anything about the mismatched socks.
“Is that Jet?” Gerard asked, gesturing the Mikey’s laptop on the coffee table. The day-glo shirts and the over synthesized sounds only from the 80s was enough of an answer, but one could never tell with Mikey Way.
“I’m reliving my misspent youth,” Mikey said. He pushed up from the couch and moved towards Gerard. Mikey grabbed his hands, inspecting the bloody knuckles and the bruised wrists. He eyed Gerard’s mouth. “Any teeth broken?” he asked.
“I’ll live to chew another day with a mostly full mandible,” Gerard replied. He canted his head to the bathroom. “I’m going to go pour hydrogen peroxide and Neosporin on my hands before Frank sees them and starts yelling about gangrene.”
Mikey let go of his hands. “With all his hospital visits, he would know.”
“Yeah,” Gerard agreed, “it sucks living in Jersey when anything made out of cold iron or steel compromises your immune system and can lead to serious burns.”
“At least he has some resistance to it and not a full on supernatural allergy.”
“Is he still in class? What time is it?” Gerard asked. He walked down the hall towards the well stocked bathroom, Mikey following him.
“It’s almost six. He should be home in about a half-an-hour. Class is getting out early tonight. Something about thesis work. I don’t know. He texted me like a paper or something.”
“Your attention span is getting worse as the years go on,” Gerard said. He sat down on the toilet seat as Mikey pulled out the first aid kit. It was the size of a just regulation carry-on. Mikey called it the Iero Special.
“My attention span is just fine,” Mikey said. He popped open the first aid kit and pulled out all the necessary equipment. “Frank’s text messages rival in length to Beowulf. He doesn’t seem to understand the meaning of concise.”
Gerard smirked. “And you do?”
“Shut up,” Mikey said. He tugged on Gerard’s hands, pulling them over the sink. “At least I don’t have diarrhea of the mouth like you do, I do know when to shut up before people start thinking I’m insane.” He poured the hydrogen peroxide over Gerard’s hands.
Gerard hissed at the sizzle, ignoring Mikey’s eye roll. Sure, rubbing alcohol hurt worse but hydrogen peroxide could sting. Gerard held his head still as Mikey rubbed the cuts on his face with a q-tip. The Neosporin came next but Mikey paused over the band-aids.
“We only have Hello Kitty, Barbie, and Scooby-Do. What’s your poison?”
“I’ll go with Hello Kitty. You know the Scooby-Do ones are verboten to anyone but Frank.”
“And you, Hambone, and Bob,” Mikey said.
Bob Bryar was the exception to all the Iero-Way household rules based on his levels of awesomeness. John McGuire, known to everyone as Hambone, well, Hambone had known Frank since Frank was a snot-nosed twelve-year-old trying to sneak into music venues and tattoo parlors. Their grandfathers were mutual friends and they had a friendship akin to brotherhood. Frank let him get away with everything.
“You’re only forbidden from them because you broke his favorite toaster.”
“For the last time, I just touched it and it exploded. I did not put a fork, spoon, knife, spork or any other form of cutlery in it nor did I use a tin-foil paper towel. I just pushed the handle down and it died a horrible electrical death,” Mikey said. He covered Gerard’s knuckles in band-aids. “I think you need to put one of these on the cut near your nose.”
“I am not putting Hello Kitty on my face, Mikey,” Gerard said. He craned his head and looked in the mirror. “The cut’s shallow, I’ve had worse after a binge. It’ll be fine.”
Mikey shrugged as he washed his hands in the bathroom sink. “It’s your face,” he said. He began to pack everything back into the First Aid kit. “If you got any blood on my jacket, I’m telling Mom.”
Gerard shrugged off Mikey’s jacket and checked it over for blood stains. “I think it will be fine.” He handed the jacket over to his brother. “If not, I promise to call Ray up and make him wash it out.”
“The fucking fascist should be doing it in the first place.”
Mikey and Gerard both jumped and turned to glare at Frank in the bathroom doorway.
“Stealth ninja motherfucker,” Gerard murmured.
“You’re early,” Mikey said. “I put your tofurkey in the oven.”
“Did you turn the oven on?” Frank asked. He stepped into the room, squeezing between the brothers.
Mikey flipped him off as he pushed past Frank. “After living with you for five years, I know how to cook your lameass tofurkey.”
“You love my lameass tofurkey, MikeyWay,” Frank said. He took Gerard’s chin between his hands and studied the injuries.
“I love dousing it in Lowry’s,” Mikey said as he walked out of the bathroom.
Gerard studied Frank’s face. It was his teacher look, halfway between exasperation and affection. He didn’t know if it was a good or bad thing that Frank judged him like one of his preschoolers.
“Do I need to go kick Toro’s ass?” Frank asked.
Gerard played with Frank’s tie; he was still in his work clothes. “Toro promised to say something to his guys and he has a complaint form for you to fill out. You know how the FBI loves paperwork.”
Frank let go of Gerard’s chin and pressed a soft kiss to his bruised jaw. “Are you going to be able to chew dinner?” he asked.
“I’ll be fine,” Gerard said. “Why are you still in work clothes?” he asked.
Frank tugged on Gerard’s arm and led him out of the bathroom and up the stairs towards their bedroom. “I was on my way home to change when I had a visitor.” He pushed open the door leading to the second floor and continued down the hallway in silence until they reached the bedroom. Some news, Gerard knew, could not and should not be overheard by Mikey. Entering the bedroom, Frank sat Gerard down on the bed while he dug through the dresser for jeans and a t-shirt. “My cousin came to see me.”
“Which cousin?” Gerard asked, toying with the tie and shirt Frank had already discarded.
“Miranda,” Frank answered.
Gerard winced. Frank’s cousin Miranda was a full-time resident of the Nevernever and a servant in Mab, Winter Queen of the Sidhe’s court. In the hierarchy of the Fae, Sidhe sat at the top followed by Frank’s people, the Sprites, down through to dryads, sylphs, faeries, dew-drop faeries, pixies, and brownies. They ranged from nobles to servants with the Sidhe serving as Queens and the pixies and brownies as servants and nature spirits. The Sprites were high in power but their long-standing interaction with the mortal world made them a lower class than the Sidhe. Still, a visit from Miranda was never a good thing. Miranda only crossed over the boundaries when Mab sent her and Mab never sent her just to say hello.
“Is some weird shit about to go down?” Gerard asked.
“Miranda was vague, as per-fucking-usual. She said something about balances flipping which, yeah,” Frank muttered as he pulled his t-shirt over his head, “is normal after Mid-winter as the Winter Court power begins to wane but that’s normal. Miranda seemed to think that some Buffy-grade bullshit is about to go down.” Frank paused to change out of his work slacks and pull on his jeans. He made an unhappy sound as he noticed a splotch of finger-paint on them, he scratched at it before putting them in the hamper. He turned back to Gerard, tugging his shirt and tie from Gerard’s grasp. “She couldn’t just tell me, of course, but I refused to barter with her. Sprites shouldn’t be pulling that shit with other Sprites but of course I’m the untouchable one who aligned himself with mortals and decided to shack up with a wizard and his brother.”
“You’re such a rebel.” Gerard said, patting down Frank’s hair.
“I am one bad-ass descendent of the Fae.” Frank smiled at Gerard before giving him a kiss. He slapped Gerard on the thigh, “Come on, magic boy, dinnertime. I’ll even let you cut the veggies into little people and animals this time.”
Gerard nuzzled Frank’s neck. “You truly know the way to a man’s heart, Iero,” he murmured into his skin, breathing in that familiar scent of Marlboros, classrooms, and play-doh.
“Like you could ever find another to treat you better than I do,” Frank said. He held out a hand. “Mr. Way, would you please accompany me the dinner table?”
“Why, Mr. Iero, I would be delighted,” he replied.
AU RPF/Bandslash fic. Rough draft, unbeta'd at this stage. Bad words. Frank/Gerard established pairing. Gratuitous 1980s References.
Disclaimer: This is all in good fun. No harm or offense is intended. As far as I know, no members of My Chemical Romance are actually Wizards, Sprites, FBI Agents or mechanics.
Walking Contradiction, a Tale of the Way Repository
Chapter One
“Please state your name for the record.”
Gerard Way peered at the digital video camera in front of him out of bruised eyes. There was an ominous hissing sound and static in the air as he tried to restore his own internal balance. The lights above him kept zapping in a way fluorescent lights should not.
A caged wizard was never a good thing, especially when electricity was involved.
Gerard raised a hand to his face and touched his jaw. Frank was going to be pissed if it was too bruised to eat dinner. He got like that when Gerard missed out on the anniversary meals. Cold tofurkey was punishment enough without the additional angry, disappointed silences and glares from his partner and his brother, Mikey. Combine all three and Gerard was ready to slit his wrists with the nearest paperclip.
He considered it a grand achievement that he could make suicide jokes these days and find them honestly funny.
A rough cough sounded through the room along with an annoyed finger tapping on the table. Gerard looked up from the tanned and callused finger to the man in front of him. He smiled, even though the pain in his jaw was getting worse.
“Gee, Officer Toro, I was sure you knew my name by now,” Gerard said.
Ray Toro, Special Agent Ray Toro, was a junior member of the Newark Field Office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s Spook Squad. It was a real life office of X-Files bred out of J. Edgar Hoover’s paranoia that the Reds were everywhere, even on the other side of the Nevernever. Toro was also a former high school classmate, good friend, weekend jam buddy and all around schleper for Gerard and his circle of acquaintances. Despite the well known fact of their association, the powers that be from D.C. demanded Gerard be dragged in for questioning once every three months. Some of Ray’s co-workers were not as understanding of the artistic drive that took hold of Gerard when he was in the middle of a project, hence the black eyes, cuts and bruises currently decorating his face and arms.
Gerard caught sight of his reflection in the glass mirror of the interrogation room. Man, Frank was going to be beyond pissed. Gerard coughed as he imagined just what his partner would throw into this particular shit fit against Ray.
Ray ran his hands through his truly impressive hair. Gerard doubted such a thing was regulation in the Bureau but he bet even Mulder and Scully couldn’t explain the curly Afro-puff that made up Ray Toro’s coif.
“Gerard, must we go through this every time?” Ray asked.
“I don’t see why not,” Gerard answered. “You know Frank is going to scream at someone over this,” he continued as he gestured at his face.
“I’ll send you home with a complaint form to fill out,” Ray said. He pointed to the camera on the table. “Now, may we proceed?”
“Proceed,” Gerard said with widened eyes, “so official.” His fingers itched for a pencil or a cigarette but finding both lacking, he sighed. “Fine, let’s go.”
“Thank god,” Ray muttered. He took a breath and continued in his official voice. “This is Special Agent Raymond Toro-Ortiz of the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s Newark, New Jersey Field Office. It is 16:45 Zulu on Friday, January 20, 2006. I am with Informant number 6671362. Please state your name for the record.”
“Gerard Arthur Way,” he dutifully replied. He also omitted six of his middle names. Having a full wizard’s name on file in the archives of the FBI was just asking for a special kind of hell.
“Thank you, Mr. Way.” Ray paused to pull out the stylus of his PDA and began to take notes. “Please inform the Bureau of the most notable supernatural phenomena you have encountered since our last meeting.”
“Are we including Frank’s birthday celebration and all his family and friends from the Nevernever who decided to swing by for a visit?” It was an honest question. Frank Iero, as a half-sprite, half-human part-time resident of the Nevernever aka Faeryland aka the Otherside aka every other Otherworld of any religion/belief system/culture to ever exist, had a lot of associates who could be termed notable supernatural phenomena on an individual basis. Gerard still could not believe he’d met the real honest-to-god Queen Mab and had a talk about that ‘delightful Bard of yours? What was his name? William something or other?’ If Gerard wasn’t glaringly sober at the time, he honestly would have believed he dropped some acid with an absinthe chaser after that night.
Ray paused in his note-taking, twiddling the stylus between his fingers like a drumstick. “I believe we can exclude Mr. Iero’s birthday festivities. We are all well aware that everything becomes more active than usual from October 28th to November 4th.”
Gerard leaned forward in his chair and tapped his charcoal stained fingers on his chin. “Well,” he said, “there was the owl the size of a small dog who we thought was rabid but turned out to be Joseph Listens-to-the-Wind. I did not know his wizarding abilities included that form of self-transformation. You might want to tell your fellow agents about that tidbit. The Council gets miffed when law enforcement shoots their members, especially the really old and respected ones.”
“How is Mr. Euringer doing?” Ray asked. He didn’t bother to hide the smirk.
“Mr. Urine is healing nicely but also swearing vengeance on the family lines of everyone present at that officer-involved-shooting. I would stay out of his part of New York if I carried a badge.”
“Noted.”
“We had a bean shìdh near Bellville Park.”
“Anyone catch her?”
“One of the McGardy’s but apparently she was here for Old Man Cavanaugh.”
“Did you got to the Wake?”
Gerard shrugged. “Had to, if only out of respect for Old Man Cavanaugh. It takes someone special to get one of the Wailing Women at his or her time of death.”
“Anything else at the park?”
“Headless corpse, but that’s mob related.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Dr. King confirmed that the head was chewed off post-mortem by a wild animal. Heads, hands, and feet are normally the first to go or do you need to attend that Forensic school in Tennessee?”
“Funny.”
Gerard scratched his arm, fingers gliding over the smooth material of the winter jacket. Since it didn’t smell like his studio, bedroom, or a den of chain-smokers, he guessed it was Mikey’s. He hoped the blood washed out. “Um,” Gerard paused and chewed his lip. “The normal Pixie incidents at Christmas, of course.”
“Those things are vicious,” Ray interjected.
“Frank says it’s because they want to make sure the trees go to a good home.”
“I did not know a pixie could double for a Lorax.”
“Why not? Theodore Gisele had some magical ability through the power of words. He must have known about the Nevernever.”
Ray put down his PDA. “Dr. Seuss was a wizard?” he asked.
Gerard waved his hands and responded, “Practitioner is more accurate. Why else do you think everything rhymes?”
Ray shook his head. “moving on,” he continued, adjusting his tie and leaning forward, “What about the last few weeks?”
Gerard studied his nails. He needed to repaint them. Not black this time; even though it was more acceptable for guys to wear, it was a bit of playing into a stereotype. Perhaps gunmetal grey. One of the Skeleton Crew girls could probably suggest a good shade. “These past few weeks?” Gerard asked. He glanced up at Ray through the dark strands of his hair. “These past few weeks have been quiet.”
“What about the Vampire Courts?” Ray asked.
“The local Reds are regrouping somewhere that is not Jersey. Even they know they can’t compete with everyone whose connected here. The Whites are still doing their back-alley pornos in the Triborough area. Some of the Reds have wandered into that territory so you might want to watch for snuff films.” Gerard stopped and thought for a moment. There was something he forgot, something about the Sidhe that pissed Frank off for a few days straight. What was it? “Oh,” Gerard exclaimed, “that kidnapping? The one in Philly? Frank’s pretty sure that’s a Sidhe job.”
“Really?” Ray asked, interest creeping into his voice for the first time. “Is he certain?”
“Definitely,” Gerard said, “it has all the traditional markers of Changeling abduction, calling one back home, so to speak. I hope it’s not, really, but if it is...”
“There’s nothing we can do.” Ray dropped his head in disgust. “If Frank is positive its Fae than it’s already over.”
Gerard nodded his head in resignation. When the Sidhe took a child it was done and final. Normally if a Changeling was half-mortal, half-fae, a choice could be made. If the child was stolen, however, the Sidhe had passed their judgment and no personal choice could be made in the matter. When they took a human child and didn’t offer a Changeling foster in exchange it meant the parents either bartered something for their child, or they choose their own lives over that of their offspring. Fosters always appeared within three distinct timelines: three hours, three days, or three weeks. After the three weeks it was the point of no return. The girl from Philly went past four weeks yesterday.
There was always the possibility of taking on the Sidhe for the right of the child, but it was difficult to decide what to do with the child in the rare event you won. The parents obviously thought something was of more value than their child, and while their own lives could be understandable as a reason, Gerard often found that the Sidhe only bartered with life and death in the most dire of situations. The Sidhe were oddly protective of the children they took as their own and had no end to the means they would go to keep them safe. Gerard took up the fight three times in the past. One loss, one win (which he got by invoking legal precedent, never expected that to work), and one draw. The one loss cost Gerard a future decade of his life in service to the Sidhe, though they were not allowed to invoke the prize until after his parents passed. It also cost him a year of his ability to draw which was an experience he did not want to repeat again. He’d also been required to spend a month among the Winter Court carving ice statues. Not the worst job in the world, or the Nevernever, but Mikey had glared at him for three months after and Frank still complained, three years later, that he was finding ice shards everywhere.
“I wonder why they take kids,” Ray said, breaking Gerard’s contemplation.
“Because it’s not very easy to have and raise their own. Because they need new bloodlines. They seek children who belong to nature more than anyone or anything else. Anyone with Sidhe blood calls to them.”
“Fair enough,” Ray said. He looked down at his PDA and started scrolling through his notes. “Killed any living beings? Any property damage outside of the normal electricity problems?”
“No killing outside of the typical arachnids. I helped a ghost dog cross over if that counts?”
“It doesn’t.”
“I threw a book at a wall as far as property damage goes. The bean-sidhe caused a picnic table to explode and there was a small fire with the Pixies at one of the Christmas tree lots. I also hope you’re appreciating the effort it’s taking me to not have an electricity incident with your beloved PDA there, what with my black eyes and possible broken jaw.”
“Your jaw is not broken, Gerard, and you go out of your way to make yourself look like you have black eyes.” Ray put his stylus down and cut off the camera. “I will talk to those assholes, though. Better yet, I’ll have Frank talk to them.”
“Please don’t let him get arrested for assaulting a federal officer. Again.” Gerard looked at his watch. “Can I go now?”
“Yeah,” Ray said. He started to dismantle the camera. “Are you going to Murphy’s Law this weekend?”
“As long as no major events cause me birth-rite-related stress and let me keep my suppression spell up, yeah. Frank’ll be pissed if I make his amp explode again.”
“It was kinds of awesome last time. Well, until the small fire,” Ray said. He walked over to the door. “If you break my amps, I will kill you.” He opened the door for Gerard and gestured for him to proceed out.
Gerard walked down the sterile hallway of Ray’s office, thankful, if only for a moment, his life was not spent in a cubicle wasteland.
*********
Gerard turned the ignition of his car and prayed to whatever deity was listening for a start up. Wizards, being people who tapped into the primitive forces of nature, did not agree with modern technology. Apparently evolution was working for them, slowly, but Gerard knew that he was less susceptible to electrical problems than other older wizards at the same power level. Which meant that Gerard was able to have a modern car for a wizard, and by modern he meant made in the 1970s. He’d tried a car from 1988 once, but the power windows were just too much to take while trying to also manage a working engine, radio, and a/c unit.
After Gerard found out about the whole wizard thing, and before he started driving, he always hoped that his car would be like Crowley’s in Good Omens and that every tape would eventually turn into Queen’s Greatest Hits. Life, unfortunately, was not a Gaiman or Pratchett creation and Gerard was left with whatever he could find on cassette and the occasional radio station. Mikey, being the best little brother anyone could ask for, somehow still managed to make him mixtapes of the newest Jersey bands, but Gerard’s car was a musical zone mostly reserved for Iron Maiden, Metallica, The Smiths, the Misfits and yes, Queen.
The car sputtered, but started, even with the sound of hissing steam. He pulled his day planner out of his paint splattered black canvas bagged and noted the day. He was only a week off from his monthly check-in with Bob Bryar, the best mechanic for all the Wizarding folk in the Tri-State area, but from the sounds of the car, lovingly entitled Shitbox Junior, the appointment needed to be pushed ahead. He threw the planner back into his bag, tapped his fingers on the cracked and worn leather of the steering wheel and watched the plethora of worry beads, prayer beads, and rosaries hanging from his rearview mirror swing with the draft coming in through the windows. He didn’t bother turning the heat on for fear the car would actually stall and die on the highway. Again.
Lighting another cigarette, he pulled out his cell phone (the special non-technologically advanced kind they made for senior citizens) and noted three missed calls, one from Mikey and two from his mom, a typical afternoon then. A quick glance at the time revealed he was going to be late for dinner at this rate. Checking his face in the mirror he shook his head again and cursed. Frank was so going to murder someone.
***************
Gerard Arthur Blackthorne Gaius Leonardo Dylan William Benito Way was a wizard, an artist, a writer, a brother, a lover, a son, a musician, a recovering addict and alcoholic, a spiritualist and an occasional pain in the ass diva. He made a good bit of money selling paintings and doing freelance work at animation studios and comic book offices. He also did some writing and kept a collection of his own personal essays on his life for the day when the world accepted, for the most part, the phenomena around them. He had aspirations of becoming the wizarding David Sedaris. He lived in a triple decker with his partner, Frank Iero and his brother Michael Way known to most of the world as Mikey. The house belonged to Frank’s grandfather, but when Frank finished college and went to graduate school, his grandfather gave him the deed. Frank and Mikey lived there for years before the deed got passed over by Frank Iero Senior, but apparently Grandpa Iero wanted to make sure his grandson, and his grandson’s roommate, would not burn the place down. To insure that this was still the case, all of Gerard’s work stayed in the basement which had the least amount of wood paneling. The Iero-Way household was not in the nicest part of the city, and sat on the borders of an old Italian-American neighborhood where half the people were connected and everyone knew to keep their mouth shut. Still, it was home, and Gerard would not have it any other way, even if home came with peeling green paint and white trim, uneven bricks and wooden decks in great need of replacement.
Gerard pulled into the driveway next to Mikey’s dented and cracked Kia Spectra and managed to trip over at least two street hockey pucks and a lone skateboard either from the neighborhood kids or Mikey’s plans to invent the next great sport in the spirit of Frisbee Golf. He grabbed the mail from their custom made box, a red skull with devil horns and halo, the jaw opening and closing to hold the mail, and put his key in the door, giving it its normal push to both get it to move off its hinges and dissipate the wards he had placed on the house. Throwing the mail and his bag on the gargoyle table in the entranceway he followed the sound of music to the first floor living room.
“What the hell happened to you?” Mikey asked. He was sprawled out on the couch, light brown hair in disarray and Gremlins t-shirt riding up from his black pants. Gerard didn’t say anything about the mismatched socks.
“Is that Jet?” Gerard asked, gesturing the Mikey’s laptop on the coffee table. The day-glo shirts and the over synthesized sounds only from the 80s was enough of an answer, but one could never tell with Mikey Way.
“I’m reliving my misspent youth,” Mikey said. He pushed up from the couch and moved towards Gerard. Mikey grabbed his hands, inspecting the bloody knuckles and the bruised wrists. He eyed Gerard’s mouth. “Any teeth broken?” he asked.
“I’ll live to chew another day with a mostly full mandible,” Gerard replied. He canted his head to the bathroom. “I’m going to go pour hydrogen peroxide and Neosporin on my hands before Frank sees them and starts yelling about gangrene.”
Mikey let go of his hands. “With all his hospital visits, he would know.”
“Yeah,” Gerard agreed, “it sucks living in Jersey when anything made out of cold iron or steel compromises your immune system and can lead to serious burns.”
“At least he has some resistance to it and not a full on supernatural allergy.”
“Is he still in class? What time is it?” Gerard asked. He walked down the hall towards the well stocked bathroom, Mikey following him.
“It’s almost six. He should be home in about a half-an-hour. Class is getting out early tonight. Something about thesis work. I don’t know. He texted me like a paper or something.”
“Your attention span is getting worse as the years go on,” Gerard said. He sat down on the toilet seat as Mikey pulled out the first aid kit. It was the size of a just regulation carry-on. Mikey called it the Iero Special.
“My attention span is just fine,” Mikey said. He popped open the first aid kit and pulled out all the necessary equipment. “Frank’s text messages rival in length to Beowulf. He doesn’t seem to understand the meaning of concise.”
Gerard smirked. “And you do?”
“Shut up,” Mikey said. He tugged on Gerard’s hands, pulling them over the sink. “At least I don’t have diarrhea of the mouth like you do, I do know when to shut up before people start thinking I’m insane.” He poured the hydrogen peroxide over Gerard’s hands.
Gerard hissed at the sizzle, ignoring Mikey’s eye roll. Sure, rubbing alcohol hurt worse but hydrogen peroxide could sting. Gerard held his head still as Mikey rubbed the cuts on his face with a q-tip. The Neosporin came next but Mikey paused over the band-aids.
“We only have Hello Kitty, Barbie, and Scooby-Do. What’s your poison?”
“I’ll go with Hello Kitty. You know the Scooby-Do ones are verboten to anyone but Frank.”
“And you, Hambone, and Bob,” Mikey said.
Bob Bryar was the exception to all the Iero-Way household rules based on his levels of awesomeness. John McGuire, known to everyone as Hambone, well, Hambone had known Frank since Frank was a snot-nosed twelve-year-old trying to sneak into music venues and tattoo parlors. Their grandfathers were mutual friends and they had a friendship akin to brotherhood. Frank let him get away with everything.
“You’re only forbidden from them because you broke his favorite toaster.”
“For the last time, I just touched it and it exploded. I did not put a fork, spoon, knife, spork or any other form of cutlery in it nor did I use a tin-foil paper towel. I just pushed the handle down and it died a horrible electrical death,” Mikey said. He covered Gerard’s knuckles in band-aids. “I think you need to put one of these on the cut near your nose.”
“I am not putting Hello Kitty on my face, Mikey,” Gerard said. He craned his head and looked in the mirror. “The cut’s shallow, I’ve had worse after a binge. It’ll be fine.”
Mikey shrugged as he washed his hands in the bathroom sink. “It’s your face,” he said. He began to pack everything back into the First Aid kit. “If you got any blood on my jacket, I’m telling Mom.”
Gerard shrugged off Mikey’s jacket and checked it over for blood stains. “I think it will be fine.” He handed the jacket over to his brother. “If not, I promise to call Ray up and make him wash it out.”
“The fucking fascist should be doing it in the first place.”
Mikey and Gerard both jumped and turned to glare at Frank in the bathroom doorway.
“Stealth ninja motherfucker,” Gerard murmured.
“You’re early,” Mikey said. “I put your tofurkey in the oven.”
“Did you turn the oven on?” Frank asked. He stepped into the room, squeezing between the brothers.
Mikey flipped him off as he pushed past Frank. “After living with you for five years, I know how to cook your lameass tofurkey.”
“You love my lameass tofurkey, MikeyWay,” Frank said. He took Gerard’s chin between his hands and studied the injuries.
“I love dousing it in Lowry’s,” Mikey said as he walked out of the bathroom.
Gerard studied Frank’s face. It was his teacher look, halfway between exasperation and affection. He didn’t know if it was a good or bad thing that Frank judged him like one of his preschoolers.
“Do I need to go kick Toro’s ass?” Frank asked.
Gerard played with Frank’s tie; he was still in his work clothes. “Toro promised to say something to his guys and he has a complaint form for you to fill out. You know how the FBI loves paperwork.”
Frank let go of Gerard’s chin and pressed a soft kiss to his bruised jaw. “Are you going to be able to chew dinner?” he asked.
“I’ll be fine,” Gerard said. “Why are you still in work clothes?” he asked.
Frank tugged on Gerard’s arm and led him out of the bathroom and up the stairs towards their bedroom. “I was on my way home to change when I had a visitor.” He pushed open the door leading to the second floor and continued down the hallway in silence until they reached the bedroom. Some news, Gerard knew, could not and should not be overheard by Mikey. Entering the bedroom, Frank sat Gerard down on the bed while he dug through the dresser for jeans and a t-shirt. “My cousin came to see me.”
“Which cousin?” Gerard asked, toying with the tie and shirt Frank had already discarded.
“Miranda,” Frank answered.
Gerard winced. Frank’s cousin Miranda was a full-time resident of the Nevernever and a servant in Mab, Winter Queen of the Sidhe’s court. In the hierarchy of the Fae, Sidhe sat at the top followed by Frank’s people, the Sprites, down through to dryads, sylphs, faeries, dew-drop faeries, pixies, and brownies. They ranged from nobles to servants with the Sidhe serving as Queens and the pixies and brownies as servants and nature spirits. The Sprites were high in power but their long-standing interaction with the mortal world made them a lower class than the Sidhe. Still, a visit from Miranda was never a good thing. Miranda only crossed over the boundaries when Mab sent her and Mab never sent her just to say hello.
“Is some weird shit about to go down?” Gerard asked.
“Miranda was vague, as per-fucking-usual. She said something about balances flipping which, yeah,” Frank muttered as he pulled his t-shirt over his head, “is normal after Mid-winter as the Winter Court power begins to wane but that’s normal. Miranda seemed to think that some Buffy-grade bullshit is about to go down.” Frank paused to change out of his work slacks and pull on his jeans. He made an unhappy sound as he noticed a splotch of finger-paint on them, he scratched at it before putting them in the hamper. He turned back to Gerard, tugging his shirt and tie from Gerard’s grasp. “She couldn’t just tell me, of course, but I refused to barter with her. Sprites shouldn’t be pulling that shit with other Sprites but of course I’m the untouchable one who aligned himself with mortals and decided to shack up with a wizard and his brother.”
“You’re such a rebel.” Gerard said, patting down Frank’s hair.
“I am one bad-ass descendent of the Fae.” Frank smiled at Gerard before giving him a kiss. He slapped Gerard on the thigh, “Come on, magic boy, dinnertime. I’ll even let you cut the veggies into little people and animals this time.”
Gerard nuzzled Frank’s neck. “You truly know the way to a man’s heart, Iero,” he murmured into his skin, breathing in that familiar scent of Marlboros, classrooms, and play-doh.
“Like you could ever find another to treat you better than I do,” Frank said. He held out a hand. “Mr. Way, would you please accompany me the dinner table?”
“Why, Mr. Iero, I would be delighted,” he replied.