Urban battle songs (are about love)

[alles_luege]

~4~

~+~

The dreams are like shattered stars, like a puzzle coming together piece by tiny piece. Mikey dreamed a whole future without all of this. He dreamed about the band getting somewhere, being really big. He told Gerard about it, about Three Cheers and then The Black Parade and touring for years and feeling burned out and nearly dead. He told Gerard about meeting Lindsey, about marrying her and having Bandit. He described her in all detail, so Gerard could paint a picture in all her tattooed glory, it's in one of the unused guest rooms now. Gerard looked her up one Wednesday evening and stared at her picture and clips from concerts with her band and said: “I could've loved her,” and Mikey nodded and said, 'I know' because he does know. He told Gerard about Alicia and Bunny and they still decided against it. He didn't tell Gerard about The Umbrella Academy. It would've been cruel.

The point, is to find a balance between what people should and need to know and what will only make them sad. Mikey isn't sure he found that balance, but he is trying.

He can only see the boy’s eyes at first; big and careful and sceptic. And then hands, with long spidery fingers, one splayed out over his stomach and the other curled around is hip. And lips stretched around his dick. He can feel the wall against his back, cold and solid. The room is semi dark.
“I love your hands,” Gerard says and the boy's breath hitches and he moans and that makes Mikey moan as well. He can see Gerard's fingers tangled in the boy's dark hair. It makes his knees go weak and his head falls back with a soft sound. He is so close, he has no idea how long they're at it already, he doesn't know anything. And then Gerard's hands tug and he says only one word: 'Swallow' and it makes Mikey shiver, but not only him. The boy nods. Gerard's voice sounds harsh and used, like he was singing and screaming obscenities for ninety minutes straight. It's like a caress this side of too painful; full of dark promises. He bites his lip hard to keep his brother's name in. He wakes up with a start. Shocks of his orgasm wrecking his body and tries to breathe. Just breathe. In and out and in again. His hands are fisted in the sheets, that are damp from his sweat and the boy's soft 'Please, please, please...' echoing in his mind like restless ghosts.

~+~

Ryan is counting the days. He is always counting the days and now he also can count weeks and in two days even months. And Brendon still doesn't make him go, still hasn't kicked him out.

“Okay, I found this in a second hand book store,” Brendon says, throwing a book at the couch. It bounces and falls onto the floor, Ryan grabs blindly for it. He doesn't want to get up if he doesn't need to.

“Oh,” he says when he finally gets a hold of it. It's Invisible Monsters.

“I just bought it, because I like the cover, so I can't say . . .” Brendon trails off.

“I read it already,” Ryan says.

“Oh, sorry,” Brendon sounds funny, so Ryan looks up.

“No, I really like the author and it's one of my favourites. I read it five times and I'll read it five more.” Ryan doesn't know why he wants to make sure that Brendon is happy, but he really does and it's a strange feeling, but also kind of welcome and scary.

“Yeah?” Brendon asks.

“Yeah,” Ryan answers.

“I don't know what is left in the fridge . . . so maybe we'll just go and grab something from the Indian restaurant around the corner?” Brendon wants to know, he looks nervous, Ryan thinks, maybe because Ryan didn't leave the apartment for nearly two months now.

“Yeah, I'd like that,” he answers, getting up.

~+~

“I think she would like to have your children,” William says, they're lying on the new carpet Gabe bought and William insists doesn't match anything in his flat except maybe a coffee mug.

“I don't want my kids to be cursed for life,” Gabe answers. He isn't looking at William. He can't.

“It's not that bad,” William says.

“Not that bad? I can't touch you. I can't kiss you properly when you're aroused, I can't even run a finger over your collarbone when you come. I can't taste you, or wrap my fingers around your dick and stroke you hard and slow until you're a begging, writhing mess on my new sheets. I can't run my tongue from one vertebra to the next. I can't . . .”

“Gabe!” William says and it's only a gasp, kind of desperate, and Gabe turns to look at him; he is biting his lip and his hand is inching down his stomach.

“I want to feel your long fingers inside me, slow and dragging and your lips around my cock. I want to tangle my hands in your hair when you're going down on me. I want to see your back arch and your spine curve when you ride me and I want to feel you inside me, hard and fast. Your breath moist against my skin . . . I want-” he says and stops just so he can see William come. “That was fast,” he says.

“God, don't do that.” William's voice sounds small and sexy. Gabe always thought he should have been a singer.

“I love to see you lose control,” he says with a grin and then: “Give me your hand.”

William does and shivers as Gabe licks it clean.

“Maybe another fifteen years or so . . .” William says.

“More like 25; I know you,” Gabe answers.

“I would want your children in my family,” William says.

“No, I-”

“You love her, don't you?”

“Not like I love you and I don't want this, I never wanted this . . .” Gabe says and he kind of means it. William keeps silent. “I wouldn't trade it,” Gabe adds quietly and William turns his head to look at him, he runs a finger over Gabe's lips and then leans over to kiss him.

“I know,” he says.

~+~

The Indian restaurant is looking for help and Ryan thinks that maybe he can just get a job and help Brendon with rent and maybe groceries. It will not pay much, but if Brendon is going to let him stay, he wants to be able to buy his own food and maybe books and clothes.

The owner is a middle aged woman that seems to have a soft spot for too thin kids. She sends him home with leftovers on his first day. When he comes back, Brendon is already home. He is tuning his guitar and staring at the door.

“You're back,” he says when he sees Ryan open the door.

“Yeah, I'm back,” he answers and wonders if maybe Brendon though he would not come back. “And I have food,” he adds holding up a bag.

“Great, I'm starving.” Brendon puts his guitar aside and gets up to set the table. Ryan follows him into the small kitchen. “How was work?” he asks.

“Okay, you know, work.” Ryan puts the bag on the table and sits down. “Mostly cleaning,” he offers after a few seconds.

“Hmmm . . .” Brendon hums non-committally. They eat in silence, and then, while Brendon is cleaning the dishes and Ryan is just sitting there listening to Brendon sing, he says, “So . . . a friend of mine has a gig this Saturday . . . Wanna come?” Ryan has to think about it.

“Like a date?” he asks, he hasn't been on a date in . . . months.

“No.” Brendon turns around to look at him, his hands wet. “No, I just . . . it would be nice to do something?” he says. It's more like a question and it makes Ryan smile. Brendon is still so tentative around him, like he could break and it's nice to feel special from time to time. Even if he knows he is not.

“So, the band, are they any good?”

“You bet!” Brendon says with a laugh. Ryan raises an eyebrow. It's a question and a bit teasing. “Name's Midtown,” Brendon says and turns around to the dishes.

“You're kidding, right?” Ryan asks.

“Nope,” there is a laugh in Brendon's voice.

“Really?”

“Is that a yes?” Brendon wants to know.

“Yes, yes, it is!”

Brendon laughs out loud and Ryan hides his smile in his new orange scarf.

~+~

Mikey doesn't tell Gerard about the dream. Singular; because it's always the same, for a week now, he dreams about hands holding him down and spidery fingers and lips around his dick, dreams about Gerard's voice - so familiar and not. Mikey doesn't tell Gerard that he wakes up with his name on his lips, doesn't tell him anything. He knows that Gerard will ask, sometime soon, but he isn't ready yet and what good would it be to tell his brother - Gerard, who already feels guilty about nearly everything -that he will have an incestuous relationship in the near future? It makes the band dreams seem like such a good idea.

He sighs and gets out of bed. It's still dark outside, but he can't sleep anymore. The dream too vivid, his skin is still tingling with pleasure and aftershocks.

Coffee would be a good idea. He avoids the squeaking step at the top of the stairs and makes his way into the kitchen in complete silence. He doesn't switch the light on, just the coffee maker and waits in the darkness until it's ready. He isn't sure the dream means what he thinks it means. It's still too vague and maybe that's why he didn't tell Gerard about it, but he can't deny that he's aroused by it. By Gerard's voice, harsh breathing and the boy . . . he needs to find the boy. The boy seems to somehow be the key to all this. Mikey is sure he has never seen him before. He would've remembered. The spidery fingers and small wrists, a bit like a girl's, and the disbelieving, cautious eyes.

~+~

Gerard comes down four hours later. He pours water and coffee in the coffee maker, switches it on and sits down at the table. Mikey stirs, lifting his head and looking bleary eyed at his brother. His neck makes an unpleasant sound when he stretches.

“How long have you been here?” Gerard wants to know. He doesn't ask 'How long have you been up already,' it wouldn't do any good anyway.

“What time is it?” Mikey asks.

“Seven,” he answers. He doesn't exactly know what woke him up this early, but it doesn't matter now anyway.

“Four hours.”

“I'm making coffee,” Gerard states the obvious; Mikey smiles.

“I want some.”

Gerard knows that Mikey will tell him sooner or later, so he doesn't ask. He pours coffee and puts one in front of his brother. Their fingers touch for a second before Mikey snatches his hand back. He doesn't look at Gerard, he stares into his mug. Gerard doesn't wonder.

After the thing with Pete happened, well even before it happened, Mikey couldn't stand to be touched by anyone. They did what they could and it wasn't enough.

They couldn't save Pete, Mikey couldn't save Pete. It wore him down and Gerard as well, because he couldn't do anything to help Mikey.

“Gabe's band is playing this Saturday,” Gerard offers, sitting down. He is still a bit groggy and tired, too tired to have a serious conversation.

“We could go out from time to time. Brendon was dropping hints as well; he thinks we're hermits now,” Mikey says.

“Can you be a hermit when you're living with someone else?”

“I'm not saying he makes much sense,” Mikey answers with as soft smile that's nearly hidden by his mug.

~+~

It's loud and hot and Ryan feels more alive than he has in a long time. Everything here reminds him of before, but in a good way. He doesn't feel bitter anymore. He is pretty aware that he is standing out between all these scene kids, but it's not his fault he has a flair for the dramatic. He thinks Gerard would have liked that about him, if he ever had the chance to meet him, but that ship has sailed. There hasn't been a new record for years now and the website isn't updated anymore. He thinks that they really are finished. It's a shame, Ryan really liked the band and maybe he liked Gerard Way a lot more than he should have. Hero worship doesn't even begin to cover it. Well, he thinks, at least Pete is still touring and they're getting big. He was afraid, for a while, then. This overdose thing was pretty heavy. He doesn't think he would've been able to lose both his heroes. After all Blink packed it in as well.
It's a shitty time to like really cool music, he thinks, a bit frustrated. Brendon's elbow nudges his ribs and he turns his head a bit to look at him.

“Want something to drink?!” he nearly shouts in Ryan's ear.

“Sure! No alcohol!” he adds, he doesn't think Brendon would get any, but on the other hand this is the kind of sketchy place he maybe would get some beer. Brendon nods and begins to battle his way to the bar.

~+~

Gabe's band is really on a roll this night and it's fun and reminds him of old times when they used to play together or after each other on the same stage in the same shitty location. He misses it, a fucking lot. The kids love them, but Gerard honestly isn't surprised. Gerard fucking loves them as well. He keeps to the shadows and during a break he signals Mikey that he's going out for a smoke, waits until Mikey nods, and then shakes his head and Gerard leaves alone.

The pavement is still wet from the early spring rain. It smells clean and sharp. It's still cold and he's glad he put his hoodie on. He takes out a pack of cigarettes and lights one before closing his eyes and leaning against the cold brick wall.

“Damn,” a voice swears softly and he opens his eyes to look around. A few feet away a boy is standing and patting his pockets. He can't be older than eighteen.

“Forgot your lighter?” Gerard asks.

“Yes!” the boy answers, somehow irritated. It's not quite Mikey's duh-voice, but close.

“Wanna borrow mine?” Gerard asks, hiding his smile. The boy looks up and at him, seems to consider Gerard. “I'm not gonna bite,” he adds.

“Yeah, I heard that one before,” the boy says and Gerard has the feeling he means what he's saying.

He shrugs. “I could throw it?”

“God, no . . .” the boy says, coming closer. Gerard reaches out slowly to hand the lighter over.

“You can keep it. I have plenty,” he says. It's not true technically, though he has another one somewhere in his jacket and, Mikey has one as well; so, two in total, but who cares about that now.

“Thanks,” the boy says, lighting his own cigarette and inhaling deep.

“No problem,” Gerard answers, taking a drag from his cigarette. They smoke in silence and when the boy flips his butt away into a puddle Gerard does the same.

“Here, I don't need it . . .” the boy says, handing Gerard's lighter back over to him.

“You sure?” Gerard asks. The boy's fingers are long and slender and kind of freaky, spidery. He is staring at them; he can't help it. The boy curls them around the lighter, hard, and it makes Gerard look up and in the boy's face. “Sorry . . .” he says.

“Sure,” the boy answers; he looks kind of uncomfortable.

“No, really; I just like your fingers,” he says., staring at them again. He sometimes just says things like that and doesn't think about how this might sound to people who aren't Mikey.

“Heard that one before as well and stuff about my mouth,” the boy says, something in his voice changes, gets deeper, dirtier. Gerard wants to look at his lips, but he doesn't.

“They're like spider legs,” he says instead.

“You're kind of a freak, you know that?” the boy asks.

“Yeah, I am,” Gerard answers and it startles a surprised laugh from the boy. He looks up then and into the boy's face, grins at him. “I'm Gerard,” he says, pushing his hood back, so the boy can see his face.

“Ryan,” the boy offers.

“Nice to meet you,” Gerard says.

“Yeah . . . Hey . . ." he begins, and then stops, looking at Gerard closely. “You're Gerard Way,” he says.

“Yeah, I am,” he admits. It doesn't happen that often anymore that he gets recognized, but he still knows what to do and say.

“Here,” Ryan says, opening his spidery fingers and handing the lighter over in his open palm.

“You can keep it,” Gerard says.

“No, I really can't,” Ryan answers. Gerard doesn't ask why, he just takes the lighter back. Their hands brush. Ryan's skin feels cool and dry. He can feel the bones under the pale skin. Too sharp and asks himself if this boy is eating enough. “Thanks,” Ryan repeats, nods, and then disappears inside the club again.

~+~

“What's wrong?” Mikey asks in the car. He is driving and Gerard is brooding.

“Nothing.”

“Right,” his brother answers.

“Had a strange encounter outside the club: I met this boy,” he says. Mikey has a strange feeling about this whole thing. Not a bad one, just...something.

“Yeah?”

“I guess he was a fan of the band and he had really beautiful fingers; long and slender, spidery,” Gerard answers a bit dreamy. Mikey knows this voice. “I want to paint him,” Gerard adds unnecessary.

“Hmm . . .” he answers. He is still caught up on the 'spidery' part. He knew it would happen. He knew, but still.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, what's his name?” he asks.

“Ryan,” Gerard answers.

“Ryan,” Mikey says slowly, like he's testing the name on his tongue. His nightmare has a name now.

~5~

~+~

“So, I'm going to visit Mikey this Sunday. For dinner . . .” Brendon begins and Ryan looks up. Ryan doesn't know why Brendon bothers telling him every time. Ryan knows. After all Brendon goes over to Mikey's nearly every weekend for dinner.

“I know,” he says.

“Yeah, but maybe you want to come with?” Brendon asks.

“To meet your friends?” Ryan asks.

“Obviously to meet my friends and have dinner,” Brendon answers.

“But can we leave Shakespeare and Mozart alone here?” Ryan teases. Brendon is really into the frogs and the strange thing is they seem to be into him as well.

“Haha . . . yeah, they have a nice, warm, save terrarium,” he answers and then: “You don't have to. I won't make you come. I mean . . .” he trails off.

“Yeah, I know . . . I just . . . Maybe?” Ryan says.

“Okay, but they are really nice guys and Gee saved my life,” Brendon answers. Ryan doesn't know why Brendon insists on this stupid curse thing, but it doesn't annoy him as much as it maybe should, so he lets it be. Besides, he really likes Brendon and the frogs, strangely enough. Still he doesn't know if he is ready to have dinner with a bunch of strangers, strangers that will judge him. they’ll probably tell Brendon to kick him out because they're worried about him. He doesn't think he can deal with that, not again.

“I'll think about it, okay?”

“Promise?”

“Yeah,” Ryan says and smiles.

~+~

“You think this is a date-thing for Brendon?” Gerard asks. His head is in his closet, so his voice is muffled and Mikey doesn’t so much hear Gerard as instinctively know what he is saying.

“You can just wear the black shirt,” he answers. “And no, I don't think so.”

“Because he's never brought someone …here- I mean . . .” he says and turns around to face Mikey.

“I know, I live here too,” Mikey says.

“Right. Still not a date-thing?”

“No, he would've said, I'm sure. Besides, I think he's worried that we won't like him.”

“I'll be nice and charming and shit,” Gerard says, taking his grey t-shirt off, tossing it in one corner of the room and putting the clean - or clean-ish, you never know with Gerard - black one on.

“I'm sure you will. Try not to stare,” Mikey answers and Gerard flips him off, laughing.

“I'm an artist.”

“I've heard that one before,” Mikey answers.

“Ryan said that as well,” Gerard says, thinking stuff through.

“Just try to be normal,” Mikey doesn't mean it in a bad way and Gerard nods.

“Okay, no talking about frogs and curses and stuff like that, got it Even if I'm sure that ship has sailed. It's Brendon we're talking about.” He has trouble with his button down shirt and bites his lip. Mikey tries not to stare, but it becomes more and more difficult. He knows that this evening will change everything and he is afraid.

“God! I hate this shirt,” Gerard says a bit frustrated, “and I need a cigarette.”

“Let me,” he says, getting up. Gerard flings his arms wide and sighs, letting Mikey button it up. “There; all set.”

“I look . . . ?”

“Good, you look good, now shut up,” Mikey answers and Gerard gives him a smile.

~+~

“Try not to stare,” Brendon says as he rings the bell.

“What?” Ryan wants to know, but, really, that warning came a bit late.

“Brendon!” Gerard says, as in Gerard Way, as in the singer of that band he loved so fucking much.

“Brendon!” Ryan says, but it sounds a lot different from how Gerard said his name. Brendon winces and then grins.

“This is Ryan. Ryan, Gerard,” he says.

“I fucking know!” Ryan answers and bites his lip a second later; great way to make a douche out of himself. Fuck. He will kill Brendon. And also himself, because how could he be so stupid? Not making the connection; Mikey and Gee? Hello?! On the other hand, Brendon was talking about curses and frogs and not about music. It really isn't his fault.

“We've met before,” Gerard says, smiling.

“Really?” Brendon asks.

“God, would you guys please come in? The wind is fucking cold!” Mikey shouts from the inside.

“Yeah, right; come in!” Gerard says and Ryan really can't fucking believe his life. He doesn't exactly know why the hell he ended up in Jersey. Maybe because everybody wants to go to New York when they leave home? But he is kind of glad, he did.

~+~

Mikey can't take his eyes from Ryan. He looks kind of awed and kind of pretty with a hard edge. He really doesn't know how it could be possible that they will end up . . . well in a relationship.

“It's okay, I told him about the curse,” Brendon is saying as he zooms in on the conversation again.

“Oh, okay. So how are Shakespeare and Mozart?” Gerard asks. Mikey can't believe his brother sometimes.

“Great. I swear they're magic frogs!” Brendon answers excited.

“Like in the Disney movie!”

Ryan shakes his head and their eyes meet over the table. Mikey smiles and Ryan smiles back, ducking his head and not really looking at Mikey. It's okay, Mikey thinks. They will get there.

~+~

“I can't believe you are friends with Gerard and Mikey Way!” Ryan says on the way back to Brendon's apartment. The spring night is still chilly and it smells like rain.

“I thought you would freak out.”

“I am freaked out,” Ryan admits and Brendon laughs out loud. It echoes in the dark alley, ghosts of laugher. “Still,” he says, “a warning would've been nice. I like to know what will happen.”

“I don't know man. Mikey always seems freaked out by it,” Brendon says.

“What?”

“I said that Mikey always seems to be freaked out by it,” Brendon repeats.

“Yes, yeah! I heard that. What does it mean?” Ryan says impatiently. Sometimes Brendon is a book with seven seals to Ryan.

“Mikey dreams the future,” Brendon says, and he says it like it's something normal, that anyone does.

“Right,” Ryan answers.

“It doesn't make it less true, because you don't believe me, you know,” Brendon says.

“If you were me, would you believe that?” Ryan wants to know.

Brendon shrugs. “I was you,” he says and Ryan keeps silent. It begins to rain a few feet from the apartment. They are soaked when they get there. Brendon is stripping clothes as soon as he enters; wet shirt and jacket and pants landing on the floor.

“You can have the first shower,” Ryan says.

Brendon grins. “Of course, you're not a guest anymore here.”

Something warm and tender spreads inside his veins and stomach and he doesn't try to stomp on it like he usually would. It feels good. Like singing with Brendon and playing guitar and coming home and having someone waiting for him and fighting for the last spring roll.

He strips and spreads his clothes over the heater, before he wraps up in a blanket and sits down on the couch.

~+~

“I was dreaming about Ryan,” Mikey says. Gerard exhales smoke and looks up from the sketch he is working on.

“That's what this was about?”

“No,” Mikey answers. Because it's not, was not. He just doesn't know how to tell Gerard that.

“Am I going to . . .?”

“Fuck him?” Mikey asks.

Gerard makes a face. “Don't say it like that . . . but yeah.”

“Yes, you will,” Mikey says.

“Will this fuck things up?”

“More than they are?” Mikey wants to know.

“Yes, Mikey, more than they are now,” Gerard answers, handing his cigarette over to Mikey. He takes it and inhales. He can't taste Gerard on it, but he doesn't need to to know how Gerard tastes.

“Yes,” he says, exhaling and then inhaling deeply again.

“Has this something to do with Brendon?”

“Maybe? I don't know yet, but it was Brendon who found him,” Mikey answers and thinks that it surely means something.

“More like Shakespeare and Mozart,” Gerard says.

“But he saved them from a horrible death. Only these two frogs,” Mikey counters. Gerard makes his thinking face.

“Maybe you're right,” he says.

“I usually am.”

“Except when you're not.”

“Yeah, except then,” Mikey answers with a small smile.

~+~

“Shakespeare likes you,” Brendon says. The frog is . . . well, snuggling would be the word if frogs would do that. But frogs don't do snuggling. Ryan is pretty sure of that.

“Seems so; he's a pretty weird frog, you know?” he says.

“He found you for me,” Brendon answers as if that would settle things for him. In Brendon's world this maybe is really so.

“He didn't find me . . . I wasn't lost,” Ryan says. It's just a half lie. Brendon gives him a look that clearly says he doesn't believe Ryan. Ryan doesn't care if Brendon believes him. He doesn't believe a lot stuff Brendon is telling him on a daily basis as well. They're pretty even, Ryan thinks. Shakespeare lays down in Ryan's lap and Ryan begins to stroke his skin. It comes naturally to him, something about Shakespeare feels warm - despite his skin - and like home. “I like him too,” he says after a while and Shakespeare looks up.

“He is a bit like a cat . . . and he totally loves you more. Which is okay, I think,” Brendon answers.

“I'm sure he loves you too, Brendon,” Ryan says with a soft smile. Shakespeare lies down again and Ryan softly strokes his skin with one long finger. He doesn't think frogs should behave like this one, but he really doesn't care.

“You Doctor Doolittle now or what?” Brendon wants to know, but he is laughing between the words.

“Maybe?” he answers. Maybe he just likes Shakespeare and the frog can feel it, or something along the lines.

“I'm going to make some dinner. I don't think you want to help, hmm?”

“I think Shakespeare is going to take a nap in my lap . . . I don't want to disturb him,” Ryan answers with a small grin. Brendon mumbles something and disappears into the kitchen. Ryan would never tell anyone, but sometimes when he's home alone, he lets Shakespeare sit in his lap and reads out loud. It's not to hear his own voice; it really is for Shakespeare's sake. He thinks that maybe Shakespeare likes hearing him read.

It feels a bit like reading to a friend or a child; familiar and nice.

~+~

“I need to talk to grandma,” Mikey says. Travis doesn't think he needs to point out the obvious here.

“Dude,” he says, shifting his phone.

“I know she's dead,” Mikey answers in his duh-voice. Travis hasn't had this one directed at him in a long time. He feels kind of affronted.

“Well, that would make this shit a bit difficult...yeah?”

“I need to talk to her, Travis.”

“You're not going to dig her out, right? Even Gerard would flip if you try that shit,” Travis says.

“I know you can speak with the dead,” Mikey says. Travis sighs, he was suspecting this.

“I'm not talking to the dead, they don't even talk to me randomly . . . This isn't my version of The Sixth Sense.”

“But you can,” Mikey insists. Well, yes, he fucking can. It's a curse, even if no one else seems to think so. “I wouldn't ask, if it weren't really important. You know that. You know me,” Mikey adds. Damn him, Travis thinks.

“Yes, I can. It's more like . . . I'm a medium, okay?” Travis says. He kind of hates the word, because everyone is thinking about Patricia Arquette when it comes up.

“Okay.”

“You will not be able to see her or what not. Only speak to her and she will answer in my voice; nothing else. Like a phone-call . . . kind of,” Travis explains.

“More like a possession,” Mikey says quietly.

“Yeah,” Travis admits and that's the reason he doesn't do it. He doesn't like to share his body with someone else. It always feels strange and uncomfortable. He hates it.

“Oh . . . okay,” Mikey says, but he doesn't take the request back and that's how Travis knows they are in deep shit, like the thing with Pete a few years ago.

“What's this about?”

“Dreams, me, Gerard,” Mikey says. Travis knows Mikey, knows that he would do nearly everything for his brother. They only have each other.

“You realize that I will be there as well, right? I will know. Whatever it is that you don't want Gerard to know, I will hear it,” Travis says. He can hear Mikey biting his lip.

“I need to talk to grandma,” he repeats.

“My place, Friday; around seven.”

“Thanks,” Mikey says.

“We're in deep shit, right?” Travis asks, just because.

“Well, I am and Gerard is and I think Brendon as well,” Mikey answers.

“As I said, we're in deep shit,” he says.

~+~

Mikey has no idea how to tell Travis about this shit with Gerard and he really doesn't know what Elena will say to all this. He is kind of afraid, just a bit.

Travis apartment smells like burned sugar.

“You’re baking again?” Mikey asks, closing the door.

“Man, since I quit smoking I crave sugar like crazy...” he answers from the kitchen.

“Uhm, this smells . . . ”

“Burned, yes, I know. And no, it isn't supposed to smell like that. I suck at baking,” Travis answers and turns around to hug Mikey. “Mikeyway. A pleasure to see you!”

“You'd think I'm here for coffee and gossip,” Mikey answers, but he is smiling into Travis' shoulder.

“It's good you're not, cause I burned my cake anyway,” he says, letting go of Mikey.

They sit down in the kitchen at the table and Travis looks at him.

“So?” Mikey asks.

“We can do it now, if you want. Are you going to tell me what this is about now?”

“I'm dreaming about having sex with Gerard and Ryan,” Mikey says, not quite looking at Travis.

“Brendon's friend Ryan?” Travis asks. Mikey nods. “You sure they are prophetic?”

“What else?” Mikey asks, he never thought about Gerard that way before, but now he can't seem to stop thinking about it. Emilie is right, they are all cursed.

“Just checking,” Travis says and then: “Well, give me something that belonged to your grandma.”
Mikey hands over one of her handkerchiefs. She doesn't need it anymore, anyway. “Say hi to your grandma from me,” Travis says and then nothing. Mikey never saw anything like that, so he waits.
“Hello?” Travis says and it sounds kind of fragile.

“Eh . . . grandma?"

“Mikey?” Travis says. This is so weird, he thinks.

“Yeah,” Mikey answers.

“Are you using a medium?” she wants to know; she sounds halfway between amused and disapproving.

“I needed to talk to you,” he answers and then: “Yeah, I am.”

“Well, then let's make it quick, before this poor boy here snaps . . .” she answers, making herself comfortable.

“So, I'm dreaming about sex with Gerard and this boy.”

“You think it's the future,” she says. It's not a question. He loves her and he misses her suddenly in a way that makes everything is his body hurt.

“Yeah,” he answers. He really believes it. In the years she'd been gone he learned how to distinguish the prophetic dreams from everything else.

“Tell me about it,” she says and he does.

“We decided against everything else, just so the secrets would be safe . . . Against the music and the fame and family so we wouldn't fall apart, but . . .” he trails off.

“You are still falling apart."

He nods. He has the feeling they are. Gerard is obsessing about saving Brendon and Emilie and how to help Frank. “Yes.”

“You would've been famous . . .” she says; she sounds proud.

“Yes and Gerard would be an addict and I would've been in treatment and the media would hate us for being a death cult and for a young girl's death as well. On the other hand, we would have had wives and families. Someone who loves us, despite everything,” Mikey answers.

“Maybe this is about that need,” she says.

“Hmm?”

“About needing someone who loves you, how you are. And there is Gerard who always loved you and I can say the same for you,” she says.

“It's wrong,” Mikey answers, a bit desperate.

“Love usually isn't. You will figure it out.”

“Grandma.”

“I have to go. Mikey?”

“Yes?”

“The frogs are important and tell Gerard that I love him, would you?”

“Yes, of course,” he says.

“Love you.”

“Love you too,” he answers.

“So . . . She's an unusual woman," Travis says a few seconds later.

“You bet,” Mikey answers. He isn't sure she actually helped him, but he feels better nevertheless.

“Want to go for a coffee?” Travis asks.

“Sure, I’ll buy,” he answers, getting up. What the hell is it with these frogs? “You didn't feel anything unusual about the frogs, did you?”

“Mozart and Shakespeare?” Travis asks. He looks a bit pale and Mikey feels guilty.

“Yes, Brendon's pet frogs . . .” that found Ryan.

“No, but I'm not Doctor Doolittle.”

“Right,” Mikey answers.

~6~

~+~

“Not to be pessimistic,” Vicky says, “but the world is possibly ending.”

“Where the hell did that came from?” Gerard wants to know.

“Well . . . just a feeling,” she answers, lighting a cigarette with just her fingertips. It's a neat trick; Gerard wishes he could do that as well.

“Mikey's the one with the prophetic dreams,” he answers.

“Is he talking about what he sees . . . lately?” Vicky wants to know.

“No, he's being vague, at best,” Gerard admits.

“Maybe the world is going to end,” she says again with a wicked grin. She can't help it, he knows. Demon blood does that to a human.

“Don't think so, it feels more personal,” Gerard answers, taking a deep drag from his cigarette. She shrugs. “Wouldn't you know if the world was about to end?”

“In fire and blood and flames . . . I guess. Don't think I want to know this shit,” she answers. He knows she doesn't. It's not her fault her father sold her heart to a demon. Bastard.

“Well, then I guess this is about him, or me or . . . like, this thing with Pete a few years ago,” he says, crushing the butt of his cigarette under the heel. She nods in understanding.

“So, what can I do for you today?” she asks as they enter the shop.

“Mikey made pasta . . .” he says.

“So, I guess you need some bio thyme and maybe garlic?” she asks.

“Yeah, damn, I don't know why he just can't buy the stuff in a supermarket,” Gerard answers.

“Because the stuff I have is better,” she says.

“Some verbena as well; I'm running low,” he adds.

“Sure."

~+~

When he thinks about it, he isn't sure she didn't know about this, about this possibility of a future. Elena was just like that. Even if she knew, and if it wasn't certain, she didn't tell. She was different from him; she handled things differently as well.

He's still brooding about it when Gerard comes home.

“You're home?” he asks. Mikey nods. He asked Jon to take his shift at the record store. He doesn't think he would've been able to pay attention to bratty teenagers that don't have the slightest clue what good music is today.

“Yeah,” he answers. “Where were you?”

“Vicky's,” Gerard says; Mikey feels vaguely guilty for using up all the good garlic again.

“Sorry,” he says.

“Whatever . . .” Gerard replies “Help me to put the groceries away?”

Well, this is it, he thinks. Now he wants to know what the hell is going on. Mikey isn't sure he is ready to tell Gerard about the dreams, but he has to eventually. It's something he needs to know.

“Sure,” he answers, getting up and following his brother into the kitchen. Gerard is putting a pot with fresh basil on the windowsill when he enters.

“For you,” he says, without turning around.

“Thanks . . .”

“I know you don't want to talk about it, but . . . what the hell is going on?” Gerard asks. He wants to say 'nothing' or 'I don't know', because he doesn't, but it wouldn't be fair and besides Gerard is worried. “Vicky says the world is going to end.”

“It's not,” Mikey assures him. Well, their world, maybe.

“What is it then?” he asks, Mikey shrugs, taking out groceries and packing them away. “And you're afraid to touch,” he adds. Mikey flinches. “And not . . . it's just me.” Gerard sighs. “You can't cut me off like that. You're the only one left,” he says.

“I know,” Mikey says, turning around and hugging his brother, breathing him in. It was hard for him as well. They were always close. The last few weeks have been hell.

“What's wrong?” Gerard mumbles into his bony shoulder.

“I think I love you,” Mikey says, softly.

~+~

“I know that,” Gerard answers, because he does know that. Mikey sighs and steps back, but Gerard grabs his wrist and pulls him down with himself so they can sit on the floor with their backs leaning against the cupboards. The floor feels cold and hard, but Mikey feels warm on his side, his pulse fluttering under Gerard's fingers.

“I'm dreaming about Ryan,” Mikey says, quietly. Gerard nods. He knew it had to do with that kid, he isn't blind and he's seen Mikey's reactions. “We have sex with him,” he adds, not looking at Gerard. It takes a few seconds before Gerard catches up to what his brother just said.

“We, as in me and you?” he asks.

“Yes, Gerard, as in me and you.” The first impulse should maybe be to let go of Mikey's hand, but it would be the worst thing to do and besides, Gerard doesn't want to. This is Mikey. Gerard doesn't need another explanation or reason.

“You sure?”

“It's not set in stone, the future never is,” Mikey answers and Gerard squeezes his hand.

“It doesn't need to be-” he says, but he doesn't exactly know how to end that sentence.

“I know. It's just that I can't not think about it. I'm dreaming about it nearly every night; about his lips and his eyes on me and his hands digging into my hip and your voice. God, Gerard your voice. It's like when you were singing,” Mikey says and he doesn't need to tell Gerard that it feels right. Gerard can read between the lines, but with Mikey he doesn't even need to.

“I was thinking about you when I was singing, that's why,” he says instead, leaning his head on Mikey’s shoulder. It's not really comfortable, but it feels safe and familiar.

“We could just not see him anymore,” Mikey suggests.

“Yeah, I'm sure that‘s the solution.”

“You have a better idea?”

“We'll just wait and see how the dice fall,” Gerard answers.

“Don't quote fucking Caesar to me . . .” Mikey mutters.

“What else? Watchmen?”

“Fuck you!” Mikey says, laughing.

“Yeah, we'll see about that,” Gerard answers, nudging Mikey.

~+~

“So, the conclusion is: You're pretty fucked up,” Travis says.

“Thanks,” Gerard answers sarcastically.

“Hey, not that I'm judging; you know as well as I do what Gabe does with Courtney and what they do with William . . . I'm the last one to throw the fucking stone.”

“They don't have a choice!” Gerard says exasperated.

“Yes, of course they do: to just stop.” Gerard thinks that's no choice at all. Travis takes out a cigarette and lights one for him and then one for Gerard as well. They're backstage, watching some new, maybe in a few months cool, band.

“I'm sure we're not supposed to smoke in here,” Gerard mumbles, but he takes the cigarette anyway.

“As if you would really care; that is not your worst problem,” Travis answers.

“Fuck . . . what the hell should I do?” Gerard asks.

“How the fuck should I know? If it's all about love, go for it. If it isn’t, then just don't,” he says after three drags. Travis has a very straight forward way of looking at shit. Sometimes he cant understand why no one takes his advice. A lot of drama could be prevented. But then again, he has a feeling his friends actually like the drama. Weirdos.

“It's about Mikey,” Gerard answers on an exhale.

“Then it's pretty clear, isn't it?” and Gerard has to admit that it is. It's about Mikey, so of course it can only be about love.

“Doesn't make it right,” he says.

“So many things in the world aren't,” Travis answers.

And that's true as well.

~+~

Ryan wakes up with Mikey's name on his lips. He bites hard down to keep the word in - and because he doesn't want to wake Brendon - and lies there in the dark just trying to breathe again. He used to dream about Gerard all the time when he was younger, fucking young. Too young and Gerard's No Groupies policy was not helping, even if he kind of admired him for that, like so many other things. When he shifts Shakespeare makes a small noise. The frog is sitting on the table beside the couch, watching Ryan; his own personal guardian frog. Shakespeare sleeps on the table nearly every night and Brendon isn't even trying to put him into his terrarium anymore.

“I'm okay. Just a dream,” he mumbles, reaching out to stroke the frog. The first touch is always strange, because he thinks it should feel so much colder and slimy, but it really doesn't. “Just a dream,” he repeats; nothing more. He never used to dream about Gerard's little brother, he doesn't think many people did. He was just a geeky boy in a band and they weren't even that famous to begin with anyway. It must have something to do with meeting Mikey Way; sitting with him at the table and on the couch, feeling his body heat, also with the fact that Mikey is really cool and good looking. Kind of hot even in a way Ryan usually doesn't find attractive because it reminds him too much of his own imperfect body: too sharp and skinny.

Gerard is all that Mikey isn't and that means he's all that Ryan isn't either. That's what made him fall for Gerard, or for Gerard's stage persona, in the first place. He's still awed in his presence, even if he tries his best not to show it, tries to be cool and collected. The small, fragile boy he once was - maybe still is, but he doesn't want to think about himself that way - is still a bit in love with Gerard fucking Way. He can't help it.

“So, think he can save my life as well?” he asks Shakespeare. The frog doesn't answer, but it looks a bit like he's rolling his eyes at Ryan. “Yeah, right; I have to do it myself. I am not cursed . . .” he says, but he really isn't sure if he isn't.

Things are looking brighter now that he is with Brendon, has met Mikey and Gerard, has Shakespeare, and a job - he kind of likes - and can play the guitar and listen to Brendon sing. With Brendon, he thinks, they could have had a really cool band, but he doesn't want to have a band without Spencer and Spencer is gone. And no one knows if he's alive or not. Ryan doesn't like to think about it that often, but sometimes he can't help it. The day Spencer went missing was even worse than the one his mom left him with his dad to have a new family somewhere else. He doesn't like to think about those years either, about hiding bruises under hoodies in the Vegas sun and during summers usually spent in t-shirts.

Shakespeare makes a soft noise and Ryan looks at him, puts the frog on the pillow, and turns around so he can watch Shakespeare getting comfortable.

“You know, I'm kind of afraid,” he says, quietly, but he can't really say of what or why. Maybe the look in Mikey's eyes, as if he knows something no one else does and maybe it's even true, if Mikey can really see the future.

But no one can do that, right? Not even Mikey Way, no matter what Brendon wants him to believe.

~7~

~+~

“Leave it!” Gabe says angrily; he's nearly furious, that's what he is.

“You need to be reasonable about this!” William answers, pressing a cloth to his bleeding wrist.

“I can't! How can a normal person be reasonable about this shit?”

“People sell their blood all the fucking time!”

“For a good cause!” Gabe snaps back sharply. He doesn't think he can watch his fucking boyfriend bleed himself slowly to death much longer.

“This is a good cause! I'm saving lives, Gabe. I do a good thing and all it costs me is some blood,” William answers.

“From your fucking veins! So some crazy people can do rituals!”

“Blood is found in the veins, dumbass. You think Gerard is crazy? Or that he does this for fun? That it's easy for him to come here and ask for it?” William wants to know.
The thing is Gabe knows it's not, knows that Gerard is struggling every fucking time he comes here because he needs some virgin blood, and he knows that this solution is better than others, when girl's necks were slit so wizards could do . . . whatever needed to be done. He leans heavily on the wall behind him and doesn't look at William.

“No, I don't,” he says after a while. The silence between them is thick and he feels sick again. The cloth is soaked through and droplets are falling on the dark wooden floor of the Beckett's kitchen.

“Gabe . . .”

“I hate this,” Gabe says looking at William.

“I know,” William answers softly, reaching out slowly with the hand that isn't bleeding and Gabe grabs it. “I know,” he repeats.

~+~

It could be worse, Mikey thinks.

“Coffee,” Gerard says walking through the door. He looks like he didn't sleep all night again.

“Yeah, freshly made,” Mikey answers and pours him a mug, adds sugar, and puts it on the table. Gerard smiles his small, grateful smile and Mikey smiles back, sitting down.

“I love you,” he says and Mikey tries not to flinch. It's normal for Gerard to say that, mumble it into Mikey's shoulder when they're watching movies late at night. It was always normal, it still should be. It feels strange nevertheless.

“You didn't sleep again,” he says to mask his discomfort. Gerard gives him a look, but lets it slide.

“No, I think I'm on to something. Maybe The Lost Dagger is the key to helping Emilie.”

“Isn't it meant for Frank? And besides: It's a weapon.”

“Yes, but I was talking to Ray, he's in Russia right now, and he says that these kinds of daggers can also kill death . . ."

“Gerard . . . no one can kill death and who would want to?”

“It's not about death; it's about Emilie's curse! We could kill her with it,” Gerard says; he sounds exited. Mikey gives him a look and he mentally backtracks. Mikey can see it on his face. “I didn't mean it like that! I mean, when she's killed with it, maybe the death that is hovering around her will be satisfied and she will be free of it,” Gerard says.

“Oh . . . but, can she die then? Will she be mortal again and, more importantly, will the years she’s lived already catch up with her?” Mikey asks.

“I don't know . . .” Gerard admits.

“Don't play around with it then.”

“It's The Lost Dagger, Mikey,” Gerard stresses.

“A deadly weapon that can kill nearly anything and anyone and a weapon we know next to nothing about. That's why I want it out of the house. If people knew we have it, Gerard, they would kill us for it! We need to give it to Frank.”

“Because no one messes with Frank?”

“Since you made all the crazy runes and stuff and he got it inked into his skin? Yeah, no one messes with Frank,” Mikey answers. He knows he's right about this and Gerard knows it as well.

“I just want to help her,” Gerard sighs.

“I know you want to. That's why I love you,” Mikey says without thinking about it. It's the fucking truth after all. Gerard gives him a soft smile.

They will be okay.

~+~

“It's so totally unfair that Shakespeare loves you more, Ryan,” Brendon whines. Ryan just shrugs, it really isn't his fault. “I saved him from Gerard's mixer and he loves you more!"

“Mozart loves you more,” Ryan answers.

“Mozart loves everyone, but Shakespeare is kind of a bitch that only seems to love you,” Brendon answers. Shakespeare looks up at Brendon. “He is a really strange frog. . ."

“Yeah . . .” Ryan admits, but he doesn't mind at all. He strokes one pale finger down the frog's back and then up again. If frogs could purr, Shakespeare would right now, Ryan is sure.

“Maybe he is a prince?” Brendon says. Ryan shakes his head. Brendon's fascination with Disney movies is kind of scary.

“I'm not going to kiss him,” Ryan says, just to have it said.

“It doesn't work that way anyway. Just true love does,” Brendon answers in a voice that tells Ryan that he should have known that. Ryan didn't watch many Disney movies when he was younger, sometimes with Spencer, but never at home. His dad didn't like the singing and colours and happy endings. His dad didn't like anything to be honest. He didn't like Ryan . . . that's for sure. But he loved alcohol, still probably does, if he's alive that is.

“Who would love a frog?” Ryan asks.

“Don't you already?” Brendon gives back with a grin.

“Yeah . . .” he admits. It's the fucking truth, he doesn't know how it happened or when, but he really does love Shakespeare.

“See? There is hope for all of us if you can love a frog,” Brendon answers.

~+~

The spring is rainy and cold, even in late March. He tightens his scarf and looks up to the sky. It looks like rain again and it's really kind of depressing. Travis sighs, stepping into Vicky's shop. She turns around and smiles wickedly.

“Look what the wind brought me . . .” she says.

“Hey, I need some basil and verbena,” he answers.

“Seems like everyone is stocking up on verbena these days,” she says, cocking her head to one side, her eyes all glittering in the soft light from the lamp above her.

“I guess. It's that time of the year again,” he shrugs.

“Ostara, I know,” she answers, putting the herbs into small linen bags.

“You going to the Ways this year again?” he asks. He knows the answer to that, but he likes her to confirm it.

“It's the most protected house I know,” she answers, ringing it up. “Five bucks,” she says. He hands the money over.

“Hmmm . . .”

“Hey, Travis?”

“Yeah?”

“Is Frank coming back for Gee's birthday?” she asks. He hides a smile.

“Yeah, he is.”

“Okay,” she answers.

“See you around, Vicky.”

“Yeah . . .” she says with a small smile.

It starts to rain as he's nearly home. Just his luck, he thinks. He stops dead in his tracks as he sees a figure sitting on his porch, soaking wet.

“Fuck!”

“Hey, took you long enough,” Gabe says; he looks miserable.

“Come in, idiot; should have fucking called,” he answers, opening the door.

“Was a spur of the moment thing,” Gabe says, entering the apartment.

“Want a drink?”

“Yeah . . .”

“You were fighting with Bill again?” he asks, pouring whisky into glasses.

“Yeah,” Gabe answers miserably, before gulping the whiskey down and handing it over for a refill.

“About?”

“The same fucking thing as always,” Gabe answers frustrated. “Sometimes I just want to take him and be done with it,” he admits quietly.

“He would hate you,” Travis answers.

“I know. Don't you think I fucking know?” He pours himself another drink and gulps it down. “Sometimes I wish I listened to Mikeyway when he tried to warn me.”

“You don't mean that.”

“Courtney asked me to have children with her . . .” Gabe says suddenly.

“Shit, really?”

“I couldn't make this shit up if I tried,” Gabe answers, pouring another drink. He'll finish the bottle in a bit at this pace, Travis thinks and then he will pass out on Travis' couch and write angry lyrics on napkins in the morning before he had his coffee.

“You aren't even considering it, right?”

“I don't want my kids cursed, no one should want that,” he says angry.

“So it would've been better if Bill was never born?”

“I didn't say that,” Gabe answers, pouring another drink. He doesn't drink it, just plays with the glass, sloshing the liquid around. “It's just hard.”

“I know,” Travis says because he does know.

“Everyone else can be cured, but there is no hope for him as long as Courtney's children aren't grown up and even then . . . I know Bill,” Gabe says, leaning heavily onto the back of the couch.

“Yeah,” Travis says, because he knows Bill as well.

“I'm tired of waiting,” Gabe admits and he sounds disgusted with himself for feeling how he feels. Travis doesn't know what to say to that, so he keeps silent.

~+~

Gerard really thinks he's onto something and the Dagger might be the answer. He turns it in his hand, sharp blade glittering in the light. His mind flashes to Ryan's hips. Kind of like Mikey's, he thinks and knows he shouldn't, but since Mikey told him everything's fucked up in his head. He's constantly questioning himself. It's wearing him down. It seems like Mikey is doing it as well. They're not distant, but there is something that wasn't there before, an awareness maybe. He turns the knife again and it catches on his palm. The first thing he registers is the blood and how it forms markings on the blade and then a few seconds later the pain, sort of dull. He swears and sucks at the wound. It tastes sharp and sweet, kind of disgusting. The markings start to fade and he scribbles them down before he gets up and into the kitchen to find the first aid kit.

“What did you do?” Mikey asks.

“Cut myself on the fucking blade,” Gerard answers.

“You cut yourself on The Lost Dagger?” Mikey wants to know, setting the first aid kid on the table and tending to Gerard's hand.

“Yeah . . . I was distracted,” Gerard says.

“Thinking about Ryan?” Mikey asks.

“Yeah, can't help it . . .” Gerard admits. He really can't help it; he wanted Ryan from the first time he saw him outside the club: A dull pull to touch those hips, to kiss that pale neck, to feel these spidery fingers on his skin, in his hair.

“I know how that feels,” Mikey says, with a small smile. Gerard nods.

“Wanted him since the first time I met him,” Gerard answers.

“There,” Mikey says, finishing his aiding.

“Thanks.” It doesn't even hurt that much, just a shallow cut, but it always hurts less with a really sharp blade.

~+~

Ryan isn't sure why he said yes. He really isn't sure; maybe because Gerard still is his hero, maybe because he wants . . . something, maybe, maybe he has no clue at all.

“Hi,” Gerard says with a small wave of his hand as Ryan enters the Starbucks, it's the same one he was drinking tea with Brendon all these weeks ago. It seems like a lifetime now. Gerard is sitting in a corner, but so that he is seen from the door. Ryan thinks for his benefit. There is already a mug on his table, but Ryan would bet anything he has - and that's not much, not at all - that it's empty already.

“Hi,” Ryan answers, sitting down. He isn't sure yet how long he'll stay. He tries not to make a douche out of himself, but the first impression should be a good one thing has sailed and maybe crashed into a fucking iceberg and he can't even blame Brendon for that.

“So . . . coffee?” Gerard asks with a small smile.

“No, I don't drink coffee . . .” he replies and feels kind of stupid. He can't even say why. It's just something about Gerard makes him forget all the moves he's learned while being . . . away from home.

“Tea?”

“Chai with milk and sugar,” Ryan answers, it's what he likes to drink and this awesome ginger stuff Brendon got from Mikey, but he doesn't think Starbucks has it. Also, he is kind of bubbling in his head.

“I'll be right back!” Gerard says, getting up to get their drinks. Ryan watches him order and wait, he's tapping his foot in a rhythm only he can hear and that is kind of like a drumbeat. Maybe Gerard is singing in his head? The thought makes him smile. Gerard is such a freak.

Gerard is back at the table a few minutes later. He puts a mug down in front of Ryan and sits opposite of him, nursing his coffee.

“So . . . ?” Ryan prompts. He really is curious why Gerard wanted to meet up with him.

“I want to paint you,” Gerard blurts, not looking up from his coffee.

“I heard that one before as well,” Ryan teases.

“I mean it. I just want to paint you. I love your fingers,” Gerard answers, looking up and at Ryan. Ryan feels trapped by Gerard's eyes: Serious and honest and big and so fucking . . . something.

“Naked?” he asks, because that is the first thing that comes to mind and really what the hell was he thinking asking that question?!

“What? No?” Gerard says, and it's so totally a question.

“You sure?”

“You're taking money for it?” Gerard asks and Ryan flinches. “Fuck! Sorry. I don't know where that came from,” he says and he looks crushed. Ryan breathes out slowly, and then in, and then out again.

He smiles a small, cruel smile and says: “Yeah, I do.”

Gerard swallows, fumbling with the pack of his cigarettes he can't smoke here.
“I really didn't mean . . ." he tries, but Ryan cuts him off.

“But let me tell you something, I'm not that cheap.”

“Ryan,” he says. His voice seems to break on the word and Ryan looks away and out of the window.

“I would,” he says, still not looking at Gerard, he can hear him turn around sharply because he knocks something on the table and swears softly.

“Would what?”

“Take my clothes off for you,” Ryan states in his usual monotone.

“For money?” Gerard asks and Ryan nods. He doesn't tell Gerard that he would've have done so much more if Gerard had asked him a few years ago - or hadn't said what he said a few minutes ago - and he would've done it for free, because he wanted to. He still wants to, is the truth.

But he can't go back now. Something hard and stubborn inside him forbids it.

“It's up to you,” Ryan says, looking back at Gerard who is biting at his lip, considering Ryan's offer. . . maybe.

“I'm not rich . . . despite everything you might be thinking,” Gerard answers.

“That's okay . . .” he says, and then, because it just occurred to him: ”Give me the finished painting as payment.”

Gerard's eyes go wide and big at the proposal. He shakes his head, but Ryan doesn't think it means no. It just means that Gerard is struggling with himself and his artistic visions against . . . something else.

“Okay,” he says after a short silence and Ryan smiles at him.

~+~

“Something is going on with Emilie,” Bob says and he sounds a bit panicked - for Bob, who usually doesn't do panic at all.

“Should Gerard come out or do you want to come over or . . . ?” Mikey answers. He has no idea what might be wrong with Emilie, except the normal thing: that she can't die. He hears Bob sigh on the other end of the line. He's clearly thinking things trough. “How bad is it?” he asks.

“She says she's fine, but something is just not right, just fucking . . . she had a headache yesterday,” Bob clarifies.

“Oh . . .” Mikey says. She never had any health problems. Never. Maybe before she was buried alive, - though they have no way of knowing that - but not since they've known her, not since Bob found her and dug her out. “I'll tell Gerard as soon as he comes back.”

“Tried to call him,” Bob says, he sounds a bit grumpy.

“Forgot to charge his cell. You know how he is,” Mikey answers, because Gerard always fucking forgets if he isn't reminded to do it.

“Yeah. Call me back?”

“Course.” He ends the call and sits down, things are starting to happen and maybe the woman in his dream really was Emilie. He doesn't know what they can do for her if she is starting to get worse, but she hasn't changed in over hundred years. So why now? Why so suddenly?

His thoughts are interrupted by the phone. He picks up without checking the caller ID.

“Way.”

“Mikey?”

“Ray,” he says.

“Yeah, listen, I need to speak to Gerard,” Ray says, his voice sounds tiny and as far away as he is.

“He's not here and his cell is dead, so . . .”

“It's about the fucking dagger,” Ray says. Mikey has the feeling he doesn't want to know.

“Just tell me,” he says nevertheless.

“Okay, so it's not what I thought it is, okay? I made a mistake and there are three of them and they are all called The Lost Dagger because, well, they were lost, but this one he has is not the one that can kill death. He shouldn't be playing around with it.”

“How do you know?”

“Because Frank has the one that can kill death . . . and it can't kill death, but a reaper,” Ray says.

“Frank killed a reaper?”

“Yes, he fucking did . . .” Ray answers. He doesn't sound happy about it, but Ray hardly is when the order of things is being fucked with. Mikey understands.

“You're going to fix this, right?”

“It's a life for a life, Mikey . . ."

“You're going to fix this.”

“I'm going to try. Just tell Gerard not to play with it. Keep it somewhere safe, okay?” Ray asks.

“Sure,” Mikey answers.

“I'm counting on you.”

“I promise, I swear.”

“Good, say hi to him from me, would ya?”

“Sure,” Mikey replies and waits for the line to go dead again. They are in such deep shit, he thinks, and he needs coffee so bad right now. Sighing, he goes to the kitchen because there's one problem he can solve immediately.

continue