Homesick
Title:Homesick (one-shot)
Pairing: mentions of almost!Gerard/Frank
Raiting: PG-13 (for lanuage)
Summary: Sometimes, we all wish we could go back to the way things were
Warning: Mentions of Character Death
Disclaimer: don't know the famous people; they own themselves; not for profit
A/N: Answer to Prompt 56. Sidenote: ohmehgehd. I can't belive I wrote a character death fic...
Winters in Jersey were cold and dirty. Mikey pulled up the collar to his jacket as crystallized breath escaped from his mouth in little clouds bursts. A swish sound was made every time a car drove by, slinging brown sludge into the ditches beside the road. Night fell early and the street lights that still worked flickered on at five in the evening. As Mikey walked down the sidewalk, he dug his fingers deeper into insulated pockets, fingering a tattered, folded paper with an address written in blocky handwriting that he knew oh so well. Taking a left at the intersection of Vine and McDowell, Mikey’s eyes fell upon a faded blue Victorian house which looked vaguely familiar-like a memory of a dream.
The sidewalk beyond a chain link fence in front of the Victorian house hadn’t been shoveled since the last snow storm; Mikey’s ankles sank deep into the cold wetness as he trudged up to the front door. He hesitated at the door, unsure if he press the buzzer or just walk in. It had been almost a year since the last time he’d seen Gerard in person. Taking the cold bronze doorknob in hand, he twisted it, pushing a little. The door jam groaned against the intrusion. Mikey sighed, pressing a finger to the discolored buzzer.
“Who is it?” The voice hissed and cracked as it slunk through the slats on the rusted speaker above the buzzer. Gerard sounded busy and annoyed.
“Your brother.” Mikey’s own voice sounded harsh, accusing. They’d lived in the same city this whole time, and it took a death to make Gerard reach back out. Mikey pulled the door open when it sprung slightly ajar from an invisible signal Gerard must have activated.
Inside the house, the wooden floors were bare and needing a good waxing. Bare bulbs hung from a gilded chandelier above the hallway. Mikey’s eyes wandered as he slowly walked towards the steps that led to the basement where he could hear a deep pulsing bass playing. The walls shuddered a little with each strike of a drum. Black and red paintings lined the walls, spider webs and laughing killers hiding in the shadows.
Gerard was standing in front of a blank canvas, six feet by six feet, his back to Mikey. Paint spattered the sanded down cement floor around Gerard’s boots; it was as though Gerard bled and cried paint. Mikey had always associated the smell of oil paints and cigarette ashes with Gerard. The room was mostly empty except for a pulled out futon in the corner and a makeshift work table created from an old door and crates which held up a big, black stereo. Paints and brushes of all size littered the table. Standing at the base of the stairs, Mikey wasn’t sure if he should announce himself again.
“It’s bee a while, Mikes.” Gerard’s voice was barely audible above an angry sounding chorus. Mikey didn’t recognize the band or the language. Gerard walked over and shut the stereo off. The sudden silence seemed louder than the music had just a second previous. Gerard looked over at Mikey as he pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his jean pockets, lighting a fag. “How’s it been?” An ironic smile, the one Gerard had perfected so many years ago for the magazine covers, bloomed across his face.
Mikey shrugged before crossing his arms; he hadn’t moved one step closer, afraid of the consequences. “Living. Wondering just where the fuck my brother went.” His voice was lighter than his words. He could be just as ironic.
Slumping down on the futon, Gerard let the smoke he’d been holding in, slide through his nostrils. “I’ve been here. Right here.” He flung out an arm, seemingly to showcase his abode.
“You never told me where ‘here’ is though, Gerard.” Mikey felt like walking back up stairs and slamming the door on his way out. This conversation had been doomed before it had even started. “Look, I’m here to talk about the funeral.”
Gerard had lain back, still sucking on his cigarette. A cloud of smoke escaped his mouth as the elder brother said, “Coulda called me on the phone, Mikes.”
Rushing forward, Mikey kicked Gerard hard in the shin. “Stop fucking acting like an asshole, Gee. This is about Frank. Frank, Gee.” He barely felt any sympathy as Gerard nursed his leg, cursing Mikey.
Glaring, Gerard shouted. “I fucking know.” His small teeth were bared, glinting in the florescent light as he clenched his jaw. He sat up, pulling his legs to his chest like he was a twelve year-old again playing hide-and-seek at their grandmother’s.
Mikey crumpled to the floor, holding his head in his hands and attempting to emotions back. “Fuck.” He whispered. It’d been four days since he’d gotten the news and the raw ball of hurt in his chest had only grown over time. Head still holding his forehead, Mikey looked up and sighed. Gerard’s eyes were leaking hot tears onto his jean-clad knees. “Look, I tracked you down because I didn’t-you shouldn’t…” Mikey swallowed hard and stared at his brother. “I can’t take this anymore. I can’t deal with your fucking recluse shit anymore, only talking to your comic people via email and FedEx. I can’t deal with all the phone calls with mom who’s crying every other minute because she hasn’t heard from you. I can’t deal with losing my brother figuratively, and actually losing one of my best friends. When the band broke up, I didn’t think that meant that we would all just…break apart.” His voice choked out at the end.
“It wasn’t working anymore. We weren’t working.” Gerard bargained as he turned onto his stomach, pillowing his head on his folded arms.
“You ran away. You ran away from the diagnosis. From the treatment. From the fucking remission. You ran away.” Mikey’s voice was low as though he didn’t want to let the ghosts in the house hear his accusations. “You didn’t take me with you.”
Gerard hid his face in his arms and shuddered. “I couldn’t handle it-the breakup, Frank’s cancer, all this shit.”
“He loved you.” The words shot out of Mikey’s mouth before he could stop them.
Moving his head a little, just so one eye was visible, Gerard said, “I didn’t love him. Not like he loved me.”
Something dropped inside Mikey. “But…no. Yes you did. I saw the way you looked at him.” What Gerard was saying, made no sense; it didn’t compute in Mikey’s mind. “You loved him. You broke his heart.”
Hiding his face again, Gerard shook his head. “No, it wasn’t like that-not for me. That’s why I had to leave. I had to cut the ties, Mikey. I couldn’t lead him on like that. I couldn’t lie to again.” He stopped, voice shaking. “I’ve been lying almost my whole life and it didn’t seem right to lie for the rest of Frank’s. He was better off hating me than loving me and hurting because I would have to watch him die.”
Anger colored Mikey’s face as he moved closer, hissing in Gerard’s ear. “You fucking pussy. I spent every spare minute up there with him, holding his hand, listening to him lament telling you how he felt. You didn’t disappear because you wanted to spare him; you left because you were fucking scared to watch someone else die.” When Gerard didn’t have anything to say to that, Mikey let his forehead fall against Gerard’s fist. “I didn’t want to do this. I told myself I wouldn’t do this, Gee. I just…I just want everything to go back to the way it used to be. I miss you.” Gerard’s hair smelled like stale cigarettes, oil, and paint, but to Mikey, it reminded him of home.
“Me too.” Gerard pulled himself into a crouching position, and hugged Mikey as hard as he could, tears streaming down both brothers’ faces.