The Black Parade Chapter I - Disenchanted. Part I/II
Title:The Black Parade Chapter I - Disenchanted. Part I/II
Author:
bluexxyellow_ Rachel.
Pairing:Frank Iero//Gerard Way PAST: Bert McCracken//Gerard Way
Rating:R. Dirrty Language.
POV:1st, Gerard's.
Summary:I choke on a sip of coffee, sputtering and trying to catch my breath, "What's wrong with him?" I ask, my voice low. I know Frank can hear the disdain and worry in my voice but he goes on, even though I'm sure it tears him apart to know that I still care about Bert and all the bad things he did to me.
Disclaimer:Fake.
Author Note:Started with just this "chapter" and it's expanded. And for some reason, I seem to have this thing towards Bert where he's dying, hospitalized, in my stories. It's a curse.
"Fuck! Run!" Bert yells, pushing my shoulders from behind. I lurch forward, the still half way full syringe falling to the floor as Bert grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet as he starts to run from the cramped room. Our feet are echoing on the floor, pounding like the beat of a drum as the entire club seems to being running and screaming to get away, then Bert lunges forward, throwing his small body into the back door and it flies open, where we fly out into the night.
"Why are we running?" I gasp, as he yanks me forward and rushed us through the alleyway behind the bad. Somewhere police sirens are blaring, tearing through the sky and distilled air. He loops around a decaying dumpster and through a five foot hole in the chain link fence.
"Cops," he says, pulling me closer as he looks back over his shoulder. His eyes look wild, glowing like embers even thought it's long past midnight. He slows down to a walk and we're standing midway up a small hill, that barely overlooks the back of the city we just ran from. The grass beneath our feet is cracking, the color a dirt brown and patchy. We stand, Bert doubled over, with his hands resting on his knees as he pants trying to catch his breath. I running my shaking fingers through my matted hair and gulp in the cold autumn air, trying to breathe myself.
Then he starts to laugh in that high-pitched fucking hyena way only Bert McCracken can. He falls backwards onto the ground, laughing louder and sprawls himself across the grass. His laugh is piercing the still air. It's infectious, and I start to laugh too, throwing my head back and laughing along with Bert's. It's louder now, his voice filling the air as his head rolls back and his eyes burn bright into mine. Soon we're both coughing, choking for air with our arms wrapped around our sides before we stop and silence blankets the scene. I'm wheezing, my breathe whistling through my lips and teeth as I sit down. Bert sits up slowly, looking at me.
I tilt my head to the side, "What's so funny?"
He chuckles a bit then runs his fingers slowly through his hair, "Hell if I know."
He never knew. But then again, neither did I.
The siren passes by and so does the memory. I'm here, at my house, sitting on my kitchen counter clutching a Nightmare Before Christmas mug that Frank got me for my last birthday between my hands. Bert isn't here, I have no idea where he is or what he's doing. I do know that I need to not worry about him anymore. There's a sharp knock at the front door, knocking me from my thoughts and shaking me back into my house. I hop off of the counter top, landing on my feet, and pad footing across my messy living room floor to the front door. I pass the fireplace and instinctively hold my coffee mug tighter, the fire is almost out and the house is filling with cold air, I just don't feel like putting anymore wood into the fireplace. For a second I pause, just before I put my hand on the knob and open it, just a second believing that it's him, Bert, knocking on my door.
When I place my hand on the doorknob it's cold, the gold metal chilling my fingers but I unlock it anyway. I hold my breathe as I slowly pull the yellow door towards me, and sigh when I see it's just Frank. Just Frank with a brown scarf and a black "We Are The Black Parade" hoodie on. Black and brown, he's kidding? If Bob could see this he'd fucking flip out. I take a step to the side and watch him as he passes, slowly unraveling his scarf, and then when he's in I firmly shut the door. It takes a bit of a push, and re-lock it just in case.
"That fire is almost out," he states, like I wasn't already aware of that fact. He unzips his hoodie and takes a seat in my big, overstuffed red chair.
"I'm aware," I say, shuffling my socked feet. My socks have snowmen on them.
"So, guess who called." He gets back up and pulls away the black fence covering the fireplace. He throws a log in I had laying next to the fireplace and the fire roars. He takes a seat on the ledge sticking out, running his finger over the cracks in the brick.
"How would I know that?" I ask him back, taking a seat on the floor. He looks down and smiles.
"You look good, Gerard," he says lovingly, his eyes warm. I look down, I'm wearing a pair of pajama pants and snowmen socks, I haven't brushed my hair in days, what the hell is he talking about?
"Who called you?" I ask again, reverting back to the previous topic. I shake my head and my hair tumbles into my eyes.
"Quinn Allman. You remember him?" He says with a smile, "That blond guy."
My heart leaps into my throat and for a second I can't catch my breath, "vaguely." It is always easier to lie when it comes to Bert and everyone that has any tie to him. It's always been easier to lie.
"Oh, you guys seemed pretty tight," Frank remembers, but he sweeps his hand in a long, wavelike motion. "Anyway, he called about Bert." I'm quiet, "you know, Bert McCracken."
I choke on a sip of coffee, sputtering and trying to catch my breath, "What's wrong with him?" I ask, my voice low. I know Frank can hear the disdain and worry in my voice but he goes on, even though I'm sure it tears him apart to know that I still care about Bert and all the bad things he did to me.
"He's," Frank pauses, narrowing his eyes and staring hard at me, like he's surveying an accident scene for any one who's still alive; with a deep breathe he finishes, "he's in the hospital."
Author:
bluexxyellow_ Rachel.
Pairing:Frank Iero//Gerard Way PAST: Bert McCracken//Gerard Way
Rating:R. Dirrty Language.
POV:1st, Gerard's.
Summary:I choke on a sip of coffee, sputtering and trying to catch my breath, "What's wrong with him?" I ask, my voice low. I know Frank can hear the disdain and worry in my voice but he goes on, even though I'm sure it tears him apart to know that I still care about Bert and all the bad things he did to me.
Disclaimer:Fake.
Author Note:Started with just this "chapter" and it's expanded. And for some reason, I seem to have this thing towards Bert where he's dying, hospitalized, in my stories. It's a curse.
"Fuck! Run!" Bert yells, pushing my shoulders from behind. I lurch forward, the still half way full syringe falling to the floor as Bert grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet as he starts to run from the cramped room. Our feet are echoing on the floor, pounding like the beat of a drum as the entire club seems to being running and screaming to get away, then Bert lunges forward, throwing his small body into the back door and it flies open, where we fly out into the night.
"Why are we running?" I gasp, as he yanks me forward and rushed us through the alleyway behind the bad. Somewhere police sirens are blaring, tearing through the sky and distilled air. He loops around a decaying dumpster and through a five foot hole in the chain link fence.
"Cops," he says, pulling me closer as he looks back over his shoulder. His eyes look wild, glowing like embers even thought it's long past midnight. He slows down to a walk and we're standing midway up a small hill, that barely overlooks the back of the city we just ran from. The grass beneath our feet is cracking, the color a dirt brown and patchy. We stand, Bert doubled over, with his hands resting on his knees as he pants trying to catch his breath. I running my shaking fingers through my matted hair and gulp in the cold autumn air, trying to breathe myself.
Then he starts to laugh in that high-pitched fucking hyena way only Bert McCracken can. He falls backwards onto the ground, laughing louder and sprawls himself across the grass. His laugh is piercing the still air. It's infectious, and I start to laugh too, throwing my head back and laughing along with Bert's. It's louder now, his voice filling the air as his head rolls back and his eyes burn bright into mine. Soon we're both coughing, choking for air with our arms wrapped around our sides before we stop and silence blankets the scene. I'm wheezing, my breathe whistling through my lips and teeth as I sit down. Bert sits up slowly, looking at me.
I tilt my head to the side, "What's so funny?"
He chuckles a bit then runs his fingers slowly through his hair, "Hell if I know."
He never knew. But then again, neither did I.
The siren passes by and so does the memory. I'm here, at my house, sitting on my kitchen counter clutching a Nightmare Before Christmas mug that Frank got me for my last birthday between my hands. Bert isn't here, I have no idea where he is or what he's doing. I do know that I need to not worry about him anymore. There's a sharp knock at the front door, knocking me from my thoughts and shaking me back into my house. I hop off of the counter top, landing on my feet, and pad footing across my messy living room floor to the front door. I pass the fireplace and instinctively hold my coffee mug tighter, the fire is almost out and the house is filling with cold air, I just don't feel like putting anymore wood into the fireplace. For a second I pause, just before I put my hand on the knob and open it, just a second believing that it's him, Bert, knocking on my door.
When I place my hand on the doorknob it's cold, the gold metal chilling my fingers but I unlock it anyway. I hold my breathe as I slowly pull the yellow door towards me, and sigh when I see it's just Frank. Just Frank with a brown scarf and a black "We Are The Black Parade" hoodie on. Black and brown, he's kidding? If Bob could see this he'd fucking flip out. I take a step to the side and watch him as he passes, slowly unraveling his scarf, and then when he's in I firmly shut the door. It takes a bit of a push, and re-lock it just in case.
"That fire is almost out," he states, like I wasn't already aware of that fact. He unzips his hoodie and takes a seat in my big, overstuffed red chair.
"I'm aware," I say, shuffling my socked feet. My socks have snowmen on them.
"So, guess who called." He gets back up and pulls away the black fence covering the fireplace. He throws a log in I had laying next to the fireplace and the fire roars. He takes a seat on the ledge sticking out, running his finger over the cracks in the brick.
"How would I know that?" I ask him back, taking a seat on the floor. He looks down and smiles.
"You look good, Gerard," he says lovingly, his eyes warm. I look down, I'm wearing a pair of pajama pants and snowmen socks, I haven't brushed my hair in days, what the hell is he talking about?
"Who called you?" I ask again, reverting back to the previous topic. I shake my head and my hair tumbles into my eyes.
"Quinn Allman. You remember him?" He says with a smile, "That blond guy."
My heart leaps into my throat and for a second I can't catch my breath, "vaguely." It is always easier to lie when it comes to Bert and everyone that has any tie to him. It's always been easier to lie.
"Oh, you guys seemed pretty tight," Frank remembers, but he sweeps his hand in a long, wavelike motion. "Anyway, he called about Bert." I'm quiet, "you know, Bert McCracken."
I choke on a sip of coffee, sputtering and trying to catch my breath, "What's wrong with him?" I ask, my voice low. I know Frank can hear the disdain and worry in my voice but he goes on, even though I'm sure it tears him apart to know that I still care about Bert and all the bad things he did to me.
"He's," Frank pauses, narrowing his eyes and staring hard at me, like he's surveying an accident scene for any one who's still alive; with a deep breathe he finishes, "he's in the hospital."