fic: In The Walls (3/8)

[thesamefire]

 
Headers & Main Post - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Bonus Content



When Gerard wakes up he's in probably the best mood he's been in since they got to the Paramour, like the sunlight is seeping into his brain to make everything seem that much better. He looks out his window and almost right away he's blinking away the spots from the bright light reflecting off the pool's placid surface. The sky is blue, and it would be cloudless but for the haze he can see hanging over the city as it stretches down the hill below them. It's a gorgeous day, real California weather, and he's actually looking forward to taking his smoke breaks outside while the weather is this great.

He smiles wryly to himself at that, because it's strange to think how far he's come-it really doesn't feel like it was that long ago that he was living in the basement of his parents' house where he refused to let the sunlight in, and now he's waking up in a mansion in California where he's enjoying the weather and working on his band's third album. Not to mention, he thinks, it's still great to wake up with a clear head, even after a year and a half of doing it every day. He hopes the feeling never gets old, that he appreciates it this much every single day for the rest of his life.

He's humming to himself under his breath, some snippet of melody he probably heard on the radio years and years ago, when he goes downstairs for breakfast. The hallways of the house look different with the addition of natural light, which he should have expected but it still takes him by surprise that they're so immediately less ominous. The main hallway is practically airy as he passes through on his way to the kitchen. It hardly feels like the same house in a lot of ways, and Gerard wonders if the vibe in the ballroom will be different now too.

He's still wrapped up in his thoughts when he gets to the kitchen, still humming, still happy, so the last thing he expects to see when he rounds the corner is Frank and Ray squaring off across the kitchen table.

Ray is red in the face and his shoulders are so tight they're almost up at his ears, and Frank is bristling like a wild dog-and they're shouting almost as loud as they can as they try to drown each other out as they argue about... something. It takes Gerard almost a minute, standing stunned in the doorway, to piece it together, but he finally catches enough pieces to figure out that they're arguing about the chord progression in the chorus of the new song they've been working on.

Gerard finally gets over his shock and shuffles around the edge of the room to stand next to Bob, who's leaning against a counter as far from the table as he can get. Mikey is standing a little further down in front of an open cupboard door, like he stopped right in the middle of getting his breakfast. He's hunched in on himself and Gerard tries to catch his eye, but Mikey is staring at Ray and Frank, concerned and perplexed.

"What the hell happened?" Gerard murmurs.

Bob shrugs awkwardly. "It sounds like they both wrote something for the chorus and they can't decide whose to use?"

Gerard frowns. He's not sure he's ever seen Ray and Frank fighting like this, not over songwriting. "What set them off?"

Bob is silent for a moment. "Not sure," he finally admits. "They were sitting at the table, talking it over like they always do, and then the next minute they're on their feet, yelling and looking like they want to kill each other."

"The fuck?" Gerard sighs, and he feels more than sees Bob nodding his agreement next to him.

The three of them hang back and watch, seriously at a loss, as Frank and Ray keep yelling at each other. It's so surreal that Gerard feels like he's watching it on a screen or something, or maybe even imagining it; there's no way it can actually be happening, not when it's Frank and Ray.

And then Frank is stepping around the table. It's practically happening in slow motion-Gerard watches in shock as he sees it telegraphed in Frank's body language before it even happens, but he can't do anything to stop it as Frank's arm comes up, his hand clenched into a fist that's moving through the air between them, swinging, and then connecting with the side of Ray's face.

Everything is completely still for what must be the longest split-second in history, and then Ray lunges at Frank, grabbing hold of his arm and pressing him back towards the wall in two giant paces. Frank grunts when he hits the wall and Gerard catches a flash of Frank's face in the blur and he looks stunned, just rocked with disbelief.

Ray leans in and Gerard starts to brace himself for whatever violence is coming next, but Ray simply pushes Frank again, his hands spread wide on Frank's shoulders. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" he growls. The sudden quiet of his voice is in such sharp contrast to the yelling of mere seconds earlier that it's all the more effective, and Frank looks like he's trying to shrink away from Ray, but he can't go anywhere. Ray doesn't lift his hands; he keeps standing right in front of Frank, looming huge and leaning into his space and pressing him back against the wall.

Gerard feels sick to his stomach and hot all over, like all the tension in his body is giving off enough heat to burn through his skin. He can't see Bob or Mikey because he can't take his eyes off Ray, but he can imagine the looks that must be on their faces (and on his own, for that matter). He keeps watching, horrified and enthralled, waiting for something to snap.

Then Bob is surging forward past Gerard and pulling Ray away from Frank. Ray goes willingly enough and Frank sags when Ray lets him go, sliding down the wall to sink to his knees. His head is bowed and his shoulders are slumped.

"What the hell got into you guys?" Bob asks them with more steel in his voice than Gerard has heard from him in a very long time.

Frank doesn't answer, doesn't even move. Ray shrugs but doesn't say anything aloud.

Bob sighs and crosses his arms over his chest like he's settling in to wait them out. "I don't want to say that you owe us an explanation, but actually, I think you do."

It's silent again for a few beats before Ray says, slowly, "I guess, yeah."

"Let's go talk," Bob says, not unkindly, and ushers Ray out of the kitchen.

As they leave, Frank finally comes alive again, jumping to his feet and running to the door.

"I'm sorry!" Frank yells at Ray as he follows Bob down the hallway. "I don't know what I was thinking!"

Bob twists to glare at Frank over his shoulder, but Ray just keeps walking.

"I really don't," Frank says dejectedly. He's much quieter, and it takes Gerard a moment but he realizes that Frank is really embarrassed. He's not used to seeing or hearing Frank like that; it almost never happens. "I barely even..." Frank starts, then trails off. "I didn't do it," he insists suddenly. "It was like I wasn't even there in my own body when it was happening."

Gerard frowns. It's really not like Frank to try to dodge blame like that.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Mikey asks, crossing the room to stand near Frank, close but not quite touching.

"I... dunno?" Frank trails off and starts chewing on his lip, still looking at the floor.

"I kind of insist, actually," Mikey tells him, and then grabs hold of Frank's arm and pulls him along out of the kitchen.

"What am I supposed to do?" Gerard calls after their retreating backs.

"You'll find something," Mikey tells him, and then disappears around a corner.

Gerard sighs, sits at the table, puts his face in his hands. A minute later he gets back up, his chair scraping across the floor with a ghastly screech, and goes to get some coffee in the biggest mug he can find in the cupboards. He hasn't had any yet, and it probably won't make the morning suck any less at this point, but it sure can't hurt to try.

* * *

It feels like forever before Bob shuffles back into the kitchen, but the light coming in the window hasn't changed much so it can't have been more than an hour. Bob makes a beeline for the fridge to grab a Red Bull, and then puts a couple pieces of bread into the toaster. He doesn't say anything to Gerard as he starts digging through the fridge and pulling things out, but he seems relaxed enough that Gerard is content to let the silence go on.

The toaster pops, and Bob grabs the toast and starts putting together his sandwich. When it's done, he sits down across from Gerard and takes a big bite, chewing noisily.

Gerard gulps at his coffee, trying not to watch Bob chew. "How's Ray?" he asks.

"He's okay," Bob says around his food.

"Yeah?" Gerard leans in.

"I think it was just stress boiling over," Bob says when his mouth is empty again.

"Okay," Gerard says. "That's good, I guess."

"He feels really bad about it."

"Yeah." Gerard isn't surprised at all to hear it.

The conversation lapses for a while before Gerard says, "It's not going to be a problem between him and Frank, is it?" Bob looks up but doesn't say anything, so Gerard tries to clarify. "I mean, Frank punched him in the face, I wouldn't be surprised if..." He's not sure how he wants to finish the thought so he shrugs and spreads his hands, like the gestures are enough to explain everything.

"I don't think so. He's upset but he doesn't seem that angry. And he says that Frank didn't actually hit him that hard," Bob says, but he doesn't sound like he believes it.

"You think he's lying?" Gerard asks, taken aback. "Why would he?"

"To make nice? To get past this that much faster? Dunno."

"He would do that," Gerard agrees.

They fall quiet again, and Gerard alternates between staring at the scratches in the table and watching Bob eat.

Bob keeps glaring at him every time he notices Gerard watching him, and Gerard looks away every time, but it's not like there's much else to look at so his gaze keeps wandering back to Bob.

Finally, Bob puts his sandwich down. "Stop it," he says.

"Sorry," Gerard apologizes, and then gets up to go stick his head in the fridge so he's not looking at Bob. He ends up not taking anything out, and when he sits back down, Bob clears his throat awkwardly.

"So, uh, when me and Ray were talking in the heavy room-"

"Wait, what did you call it?" Gerard interrupts. "A heavy room?"

Bob shrugs. "Yeah, I don't know, it seemed appropriate, you know? Like a place to get heavy shit off your chest."

"I like it," Gerard says.

"Anyway," Bob goes on, "Ray claims that he heard voices last night, a man and a woman arguing. He made it sound like... like he was beating her."

Gerard frowns. "That's terrible."

"Yeah," Bob agrees. "So he was pretty freaked out already, and then when Frank started yelling..."

"Oh," Gerard says. It makes a lot of sense, or at least Ray's reaction. He still doesn't know what to make of Frank, though.

The conversation falls off and they sit in silence for a while. Bob starts picking at the crusts of his sandwich instead of finishing it.

"I wonder if I should be worried about Frank," Gerard says, thinking out loud.

"Why?" Bob asks.

"Maybe it's nothing," Gerard says slowly, "But before, after you left the kitchen, he swore that..." he trails off as he tries to remember the exact wording, "it was like he wasn't in his own body when it was happening."

"Whatever," Bob says skeptically.

"I kind of want to believe it," Gerard tells him. "Since when does Frank ever yell at Ray like that?"

"Do you think something made him do it?" Bob's tone is a little mocking at that, like he can't believe he's even giving voice to the words.

"Maybe not when you put it that way," Gerard allows, "but I think something was wrong, and if that's how he wants to describe it, then I believe him."

Bob is quiet, obviously thinking it over before he says, a little carefully, "I didn't know you believed in this haunted house stuff too."

Gerard sighs. "I don't know what I believe anymore. It seems hard to argue with, after everything that's been happening."

Bob doesn't say anything, just breathes out heavily and goes back to his sandwich, so Gerard looks back down at his coffee.

Frank comes back into the kitchen then, Mikey trailing a few steps behind him.

"Hey," Frank says, and when Gerard and Bob are looking at him, he hesitates. "So I was thinking, maybe we should take a bit of a break."

Gerard frowns, more at the brusqueness of the announcement than anything else. It's not necessarily the worst idea Frank has ever had.

"We could use a day off," Frank goes on nervously. "I mean, we've been going really hard pretty much every day since we got here, right?" He breaks off, looks at each of them in turn. "It couldn't hurt, right?"

The fact that the suggestion is coming from Frank is what does it for Gerard. Frank, who loves playing more than anything else in the entire world, who plays until his fingers bleed and then grits his teeth and keeps going. Frank, who still maintains that he's in his favourite band in the world. "Maybe we should," Gerard agrees slowly. "Say, the rest of today and all tomorrow?"

"I could go for that," Bob says. He puts down the crust of his sandwich and rubs absently at his left wrist.

Frank relaxes some. "Is Ray in his room?" he asks. "I want to go apologize."

Gerard glances at Frank, like he's anticipating a request for company on the way upstairs, but Frank doesn't say anything, just turns and leaves the kitchen.

* * *

Gerard wakes up early the next day and he waits quietly in his own bedroom for Mikey to leave his. He kind of can't believe he's plotting to sneak into his brother's room to snoop around, but there it is. There's no excuse for it, except that he's really worried about his brother and can't help but think he'll feel better if he can find something, anything about why Mikey's been so strange and distant ever since they all moved into the house. Maybe he's been keeping a journal, maybe he hasn't been taking his pills, maybe he's been taking too many pills... There are a lot of maybes. Gerard wants something a little more concrete.

It takes a while but he finally hears Mikey's door open and then click shut, and he listens as the sound of Mikey's footsteps on the creaky floorboards fades. Once he can't hear Mikey any more, he steps into their shared bathroom and puts his hand on the knob of the door leading into Mikey's room.

He's pretty sure that this isn't the best idea he's ever had-he actually has this suspicion creeping around the back of his mind that it might backfire badly. He still remembers the blow-ups they had as kids sharing a room; even though they never really fought in any seriousness, they'd still push each other's buttons on bad days and Gerard remembers just how upset Mikey would get if he thought Gerard had touched his stuff without permission.

He takes a deep breath and opens the door. He sighs heavily in relief when he finds the blue light isn't on, and then he stands there, stopped a step across the threshold, as he reminds himself that what he's about to do is for the best.

Gerard starts by walking slowly around the room, looking for anything that might be out in the open and thus reasonably plausible for him to have found "by accident". There's nothing, though, and he's not surprised. He sets his lips in a thin line as he takes stock of the various hiding places the room could hold. There's the closet, the dresser, maybe under the bed, that's about it.

The dresser is first, he decides after a moment of thought. He can open the drawers, maybe poke around a little, but he won't have to move things around like he might in the closet. It feels less intrusive somehow, even though he knows his justification for it is seriously weak, so he's starting there.

The first drawer he opens is actually completely empty, so he pushes it shut and moves on to the next one, which is full of black t-shirts. They're not folded or piled in any particular order, so Gerard gingerly pushes a few aside as he looks quickly through the drawer. He still can't believe he's doing this, and he can barely bring himself to look at his hand where it's moving through the shirts. He doesn't find anything, so he shuts the drawer with a shaky breath of relief.

He pauses before opening the next one-it's not too late to back out flashes big across his mind-but he grits his teeth and opens the next drawer. He pushes aside a hoodie he thinks might have belonged to him about ten years ago, and then his fingers brush up against the cool plastic of a nice shopping bag, setting something inside clinking. Gerard lifts the hoodie out of the way and then pulls the bag forward. Whatever's inside clinks again, and Gerard's stomach starts to sink when he realizes that it's an awfully familiar noise.

Inside the bag are three bottles of vodka, one completely empty and the other two most of the way there.

Gerard stares at them blankly, waiting for his brain to provide him with something, anything, any reaction at all that isn't just staring, aghast, at the contents of the bag. He isn't sure what he was expecting to find, but he never, ever expected that it would be this.

It's not like Mikey was supposed to quit drinking when Gerard did, that any of them were-but Gerard knows they all cut down anyway, not just out of respect for him but because they'd all had their own wake-up calls. So finding evidence that Mikey is not only drinking but drinking a lot, from the looks of it, is bad enough, but the fact that he's so clearly been doing it behind everybody's backs is what hits him like a knife to the chest. It shouldn't feel so much like a personal betrayal, but it really, really does.

Finally some sense kicks in and he drops the bag back in the the drawer and pulls the hoodie back over top of it, and then he eases the drawer shut and turns to leave the room. On his way out, on a whim, he sniffs the empty glass sitting on Mikey's dresser. It reeks so strongly of vodka that it makes Gerard recoil sharply, his eyes watering even as something dark and familiar uncoils in the back of his brain. He hasn't smelled vodka so close up since he got sober and now he can practically taste it in his mouth, just from the stink of it. The familiar heat of a craving is already flaring up under his skin, and he wants it as much as he wants to get away from it. He stumbles backwards from the dresser, running as quick as he can through the bathroom and into his own room, slamming doors behind him.

Gerard leans against the wall next to the bathroom door, his heart pounding harder than it ever has before. He wants to throw up to get the lingering smell out of the back of his mouth.

A lot of things suddenly make a lot more sense to Gerard now that he's found the bottles. The way Mikey's been shaky, clumsy, unfocused. The way he's been pulling away from Gerard and distant from everybody else. The mid-rehearsal disappearances, and his increasing tendency to zone out instead of playing.

And- fuck, Mikey's drinking on antidepressants, he's still on them, Gerard's seen him take them as recently as a couple days ago, and Gerard's guts twist and clench at the thought. He knows exactly how bad of an idea it is, but god, it really does explain so much about Mikey's strange behaviour.

Gerard simply doesn't get it, doesn't have the first idea where to start figuring what went so wrong that Mikey would be doing this, hiding it, and slowly falling apart in front of them. He still doesn't understand why Mikey's even drinking in the first place.

But he doesn't have to figure it out, of course. He just needs to ask Mikey, to pull him aside and get him to explain it. Gerard sighs. If he does that then he has to admit that he was digging through Mikey's things, and no matter how well-intentioned it may have been, it's still a betrayal and he knows it. He wishes he hadn't found anything, so he could pretend he'd never snuck into Mikey's room and he wouldn't be torturing himself like this. But at least this way he knows, even if it was wrong of him, and this way he can help Mikey...

Gerard sinks to the floor and buries his face in his hands. He's not crying but he's shaking like he is, his shoulders hitching up around his ears as his whole body trembles. Even if he doesn't have the details it's clear that Mikey is in a really bad place, and knowing that it's been going on under his nose hurts so much. He can't do anything but sit there now and wait for this spell to pass, because he needs to put in an appearance downstairs, needs to eat something, have some coffee, smoke a cigarette-a lot of cigarettes.

So he waits. He sucks in deep breaths and tries to clear his mind and then hold it deliberately empty. He doesn't have much success but it helps anyway; he feels a little bit calmer, even if he's not at all happy about the situation. A few more deep breaths help some more.

He eventually gets it together enough that he feels okay leaving his room. The kitchen is empty when he gets there, and he's surprised how relieved he is to not have company. He pours two cups of coffee and then carries one in each hand as he walks out to the patio to sit and smoke.

He lets his mind wander but it doesn't get him anywhere; he keeps coming back to the same questions, keeps throwing the same accusations at himself-he should have been a better brother, more perceptive, more supportive, whatever it would have taken to keep Mikey's problems from getting so big.

He needs to deal with it right away, that much is obvious. It's clearly a huge problem and it affects them all, not just Mikey, so there's no sense waiting to do something about it. He should do it today, this afternoon. It doesn't give him much time to figure out what he's going to say, though, and that makes him nervous.

Gerard finishes his second coffee and his fifth cigarette-he doesn't remember smoking the third and fourth cigarettes, but the butts are right there in the ashtray-and gets up.

At some point on his walk back up to his room, his unconscious mind must have decided that "doing it soon" means "doing it now", because he finds himself looking past his own room towards Mikey's as he comes down the hall.

The door is closed, and Gerard hovers at it for a minute, not quite able to bring himself to knock. He waits another minute and then huffs a breath out through his nose in disappointment and turns to go into his own room.

He paces for a while, too jittery to sit down and start doing something else, and it's not long before he reaches the point where he's driving himself so crazy over this that the best thing for it really is to go knock on Mikey's damn door.

Gerard strides through their shared bathroom to find the door into Mikey's room closed, as expected. He knocks once, hard, and waits for an answer. He doesn't get one in the time it takes to count to ten, so he knocks again, a few times.

"Mikey?" he calls through the door.

Still no answer.

It's entirely possible that Mikey isn't in his room, but Gerard has this feeling that he is and that he's not answering the door on purpose.

"Mikey, can I..." He puts his hand on the doorknob and starts to turn. It gives easily; the door's not locked.

Now that there's a crack between the door and the frame, Gerard can hear Mikey's voice. He's murmuring something, too quietly for the words to be intelligible. Gerard pushes the door open a little further, just far enough to catch a glimpse of his brother.

Mikey is sitting cross-legged on the floor, facing away from Gerard. He's slumped- no, he's leaning forward and doing something; his elbows are sticking out awkwardly at his sides, bobbing up and down as he moves his arms.

"Mikey?" Gerard calls again.

Mikey jumps then, clearly startled, and he twists around quickly to look at Gerard. "Holy crap, you scared me!" he says accusingly.

"Sorry," Gerard says, then steps wholly into the room. All of a sudden the air around him is heavy and practically crackling with strange energy. Gerard feels like his hair should be standing on end because of it. "What's up?"

"I'm busy," Mikey says, turning back to whatever he was doing when Gerard interrupted.

"I was hoping we could talk," Gerard tells him, and takes another few steps forward. It gives him just the right angle to see around Mikey at what he was doing-he's got a Ouija board spread on the floor in front of him, a few small candles lit and lined up at the top of the board, and the planchette is stopped between letters somewhere in the middle, turned on an angle like Mikey knocked it off-course in surprise when Gerard came in. Mikey's got one hand back on it already, and gently nudges it until it's pointing straight ahead.

Mikey turns around again, and this time he looks angry. "Can it keep?"

"I'd rather do it now," Gerard tells him. He's trying to keep calm, steady, reasonable, even though inside he's really freaking out.

"I'm busy," Mikey says again, his voice flat. "Leave me alone, Gerard."

Gerard blinks at his brother, put off by how brusque and dismissive he's being-but then he remembers why he's here in the first place, and he wishes Mikey's behaviour didn't make so much sense now. Gerard tries to catch Mikey's eye when he notices that there's something off about Mikey's face, like it's not quite right somehow. It's got this strange blue tinge to it, pale and lifeless in a way it's never been, and the whole arrangement of his features seems knocked askew, just a tiny bit.

That's when Gerard realizes that the blue light is on even though there's plenty of sunlight spilling in through the window, and right away he feels this horrible slither of revulsion. He takes a step back instinctively. "Mikey?" he asks, totally confused.

"Please, just get out of here." Mikey's voice is kind of thin and scratchy, Gerard notices now that he's heard him speak more than a couple words at a time. It's wrong, all wrong, and Gerard is getting really worried.

"I'm not leaving," Gerard says. He tries to breathe but all he gets is a thin hiss of air through his nose.

Mikey stands up, then, all awkward knees for a moment as he gets to his feet, and he takes a step towards Gerard. "Leave me alone." Mikey still sounds strange, and his voice is starting to get louder.

"Mikey, what's going on?" Gerard feels like he's practically pleading now, but he doesn't care. He's so worried about Mikey, between the strange look on his face and how seriously bizarrely he's acting-fuck, he's very probably drunk, on top of everything else-and he doesn't care if it shows. He hopes it shows, if it'll help him get through to his brother.

"Leave," Mikey says with an edge of anger in his voice. "Get out and shut the door."

"Not until you tell me what's going on, Mikey." Gerard is having real trouble keeping his composure now.

Mikey takes a step closer, and then another. Gerard looks him in the eye and refuses to back down. Mikey keeps moving closer until he's almost right up in Gerard's face, and when there are barely a few inches separating them, a sudden chill strikes Gerard, freezing the thin layer of sweat that's popped up across his shoulders.

A strange look flits across Mikey's face, and he starts to regain his normal colour for a moment before he gets pale again. His eyes go dark, so dark, and his lips are pulling back into a snarl.

And then Mikey pushes him, hard.

"What the fuck!" Gerard yells in shock, staggering backward until he's got one hand on the wall behind him, holding himself up.

Mikey takes another step towards Gerard and lifts a hand like he's going to hit him, but then he stops and gets tense all over like he's visibly holding himself back, and he says, "Get. Out."

Gerard gives up. There's obviously no way Mikey is about to tell him anything right now, let alone actually talk to him, so he steps sideways, not turning away from Mikey, and moves until he's standing in the doorway to their shared bathroom. He steps backwards through the doorway and then shuts the door, fighting down the urge to slam it. He walks into his own room and shuts that door just as carefully.

It's not until he's collapsed on his bed and staring up at his ceiling that Gerard realizes how hard he's shaking. He can't help it, can't stop it. He squeezes his eyes shut and lets the shakes run their course. His heart is racing and he's sweating like he ran a marathon, and holy fuck, he wants to drink, has ever since he found those bottles, got a whiff of that glass.

He digs his nails into his palms and tries to push the thoughts back out of his brain. It doesn't go so well.

One thing's for sure, though: if he'd been on the fence before, he's now completely convinced that there is something deeply fucking wrong with this house. He knows his brother better than he knows anybody else in the whole fucking world, and that was not him. It's got to have something to do with this stupid fucking haunted house.

Maybe they should pack up and leave. They could do it tomorrow, just get the fuck out of the house and not look back. But even as the thought crosses his mind, an overwhelming reluctance to leave wells up in its wake. As much as he sometimes wants to get out, he's really not ready to give up the progress they're making here or the way the atmosphere in the house is adding so much to their songs. The songs are finally starting to sound the way he's been hearing them in his head all along, and he doesn't want to stop everything dead when they're picking up the momentum they need to make the album as huge as he's been envisioning.

And as long as they're all holding it together enough to keep playing and keep pushing forward, they need to stay in the house and do it. It's hard, getting harder, but it's not impossible, it can't be. Leaving now would be too much like giving up, he thinks. They just need to tough it out. They can do it.

* * *

The day off really must have done some good because at practice the next day Frank and Ray are working together easily, same as always. They're arguing over a chord progression again, but it's good-natured and they're both smiling. It probably helps that everybody is paying attention to the conversation-or at least, everyone but Gerard. He's still having a hard time dealing with what he found out about Mikey, and the inevitable confrontation is hanging heavy over his head. He does his best to pay attention, though, because the song in question is something they're all pretty invested in at this point.

"The Five Of Us Are Dying" has been following them around for years, and they've been taking it out every so often to play with for a while before shelving it again. Ever since they've been in L.A., though, it seems like they've been gripped by this weird fixation with finally making the song work. A few days ago Ray decided to see what would happen if he played a couple of the sections at double-time, and fuck, it really seems to be making a difference.

They spend the first part of practice running through the song over and over, trying out different variations in tempo, and Gerard suggests switching the positions of two of the sections just to see what happens. They end up switching them back almost right away, but then Frank starts experimenting with a different chord progression in one of the fast sections, and they take it all again from the top and that seems to work out for the better. It's really unbelievable the progress they're making on the song-it's almost enough that Gerard starts to hope the song may finally see the light of day on this album.

The chorus still needs work though, and a lot of it. Gerard isn't happy with the lyrics in their current shape, and he suspects the entire melody is going to get a face lift at some point in the very near future. But that will be a task for later; for now he's only going to worry about the changes that are going well, maybe starting to get certain parts more nailed down.

Frank suggests another change, this time to something that might end up being a bridge if nothing else changes too much, and then Bob counts them back in so they can try it out. They muddle their way through the intro-it's still kind of a mess after the changes they started working on the week before-and they're almost at the maybe-bridge when it happens.

It takes Gerard a moment to pinpoint what sounds so off, and his heart sinks he realizes that it's Mikey. Gerard twists his neck to shoot a concerned look at his brother, who's got a stormy expression on his face as he stares down at his hands.

The song comes to a sudden end when Frank hits his strings once, hard, and stops playing. He spins around, and it's a tight, angry, barely-contained movement. "Jesus, Mikey, what the fuck is wrong with you? Why can't you play anymore?"

Mikey goes pale and Gerard can see the muscles in Mikey's face twitch as he clenches his jaw. "Sorry if I'm not good enough for you," he grits out.

"Wait, that's not what I'm saying-" Frank starts to protest, but Mikey cuts him off.

"Have I ever been good enough?" Mikey's voice is tight, weak, and it sounds like he might be about to cry.

Frank boggles at Mikey, mouth hanging open, all aggression draining out of his posture. "Are you kidding me? Of course you have, what the hell?"

"Because if you don't want me playing, just tell me now and get it over with." Mikey crosses his arms over his chest and he straightens his shoulders, like he's trying to make himself bigger.

"Mikey- what are you- of course we-" Frank sputters, his hands waving at his sides as if they'll pluck the right words out of the air around him.

"Of course we want you playing," Ray says over Frank, setting his guitar aside and starting to walk towards Mikey. But he stops, stunned, when Mikey bursts into tears, not even trying to hide it as his face goes an unflattering shade of red and his jaw trembles and the tears keep coming as the sobs wrack his body.

Ray hangs back, visibly unsure of what to do next, and Gerard can see the sentiment echoed in everybody else's posture, too. He feels like he should do something, but all he can think to do is put his hand on Mikey's shoulder-which he does, and it shocks him to feel how hard Mikey is shaking. He can't stop himself from pulling Mikey into a full-on hug then, but it only lasts a heartbeat before Mikey pushes him away.

Gerard stares at his brother, feeling overwhelmingly helpless and heartbroken. Frank is hovering awkwardly near Mikey, just an arm's length away, but he's not touching him. He looks just as lost as Gerard feels, just as miserable.

Gerard feels a touch on his elbow, and he turns to see Ray leaning in to him.

"Maybe you should take him to a heavy room to talk," he murmurs. He sounds like he's expecting his suggestion to blow up in his face, but Gerard thinks it's a good idea. It's not like he's got any other ideas, anyway.

"Yeah," Gerard agrees, and he's heartened that Mikey doesn't pull away when he puts a hand on his elbow and tugs gently, just enough to get him walking.

The stark smallness of the heavy room is almost claustrophobic after the ballroom, but Gerard steels himself and waits for Mikey to step in, then follows him in and shuts the door behind them. It's surprisingly cold, much colder than the ballroom or the hallway, and Gerard tucks his hands under his armpits almost instinctively to keep them warm. There are two chairs in the room, dark overstuffed armchairs drawn close together, but Mikey doesn't make any move to sit down so Gerard doesn't either.

Mikey stands there, trembling and bleary-eyed and sad, tear tracks drying on his cheeks. Gerard wishes he could read the look on Mikey's face, but it's too strange and impassive-just like everything else about Mikey since they got to this damned house.

"What's wrong?" Gerard asks simply, trying to make eye contact with his brother. Mikey avoids it, which is disappointing but unsurprising.

Mikey shrugs. "I'm fine," he says, but it's totally unconvincing. There's no way he can get away with that, not after what just happened in the ballroom.

"You're clearly not," Gerard says. "So what's wrong? What's with this 'not good enough' business, anyway?"

Mikey doesn't say anything.

"Have you always felt that way?" Gerard asks.

Mikey doesn't answer, again, but Gerard knows him well enough to read the yes in the line of his shoulders, the way his head sags a little.

"It's not true," Gerard says softly. "You've always been more than good enough for us."

Mikey's silence stretches on and on.

Gerard sighs, shakes his head. There's a question sitting right at the tip of his tongue, and Gerard braces himself before he asks it: "Are you drunk right now, Mikey?"

Mikey's reaction is immediate, his head jerking up like Gerard just slapped him. "What..." he trails off, his mouth still hanging open even though no sound is coming out. He doesn't deny it, though.

"I found the bottles in your room," Gerard starts, but Mikey interrupts him before he can go on.

"What the hell, Gerard? What were you doing in my room? Why were you going through my stuff?" Mikey's eyes are flashing with real anger, hot and bright, and it's been a very, very long time since Gerard saw that directed his way.

"I was worried about you, okay?" Gerard offers, not as an excuse but an explanation.

Mikey's face gets tight as he glares at Gerard, but he doesn't answer.

"I just don't get it," Gerard goes on, to fill the silence. "Why are you so distracted that you're barely able to play? Why are you so distant and-" Gerard cuts himself off to take a steadying breath- "and why are you drunk all the time?"

Mikey is staunchly silent, his lips pressed so tight together that they're turning white.

"Mikey, why?" Gerard asks plaintively. He wonders if Mikey has any idea how his aloofness, his silence-his total withdrawal-has affected him, Frank, the band. He thinks Mikey should but hopes he doesn't, because it would hurt too much if Mikey knew but was doing it anyway.

Mikey shrugs, a lopsided, one-shouldered thing. "Why does anyone do it?" he asks softly, cuttingly, and that's just not fucking fair.

Gerard clenches his teeth and balls his hands into tight fists, forces himself not to rise to the bait. "Why are you doing it?" he asks again.

Mikey doesn't answer for a long time. Gerard starts to wonder if he's not going to answer at all, but then Mikey says so softly that Gerard almost misses it, "I don't know what else to do."

Gerard blinks at Mikey. There's still something he's missing here, and it's killing him that Mikey won't just tell him. He shifts his weight, re-crosses his arms, and wonders if waiting Mikey out will work.

The silence between them is almost unbearably heavy as they stand there, not quite staring each other down, but almost. Gerard chews on the inside of his lip as he waits. Mikey stands immobile, but finally, finally he curls in on himself, looks down at the floor.

His voice is just a tremble of breath when he finally speaks. "When Grandma died, I couldn't deal with it, you know? And then Dad had his heart attack, and I just..."

Gerard nods and keeps waiting, even though his heart is breaking all over again and he wants to wrap Mikey up in a hug and never let go.

Mikey starts wringing his hands, squeezing his fingers so tight that it looks painful. "And I still haven't dealt with it, I guess. I never had the chance to stop and figure it all out."

"You could have said something," Gerard says, trying to cover how he's hurt that Mikey didn't say anything.

Mikey shrugs. "I just said something now."

"I meant before." Gerard tries not to sound accusatory, but it's hard.

Mikey shrugs again.

Gerard doesn't have anything to say right away. Their grandma is still an empty space in his heart, even after almost two and a half years. It's breaking him apart to hear that Mikey feels the way he did, and that he's trying to drink it away the same way Gerard did-and they're both still painfully aware of how badly that ended. But Gerard's done an okay job of dealing with it since then, even though the edges are still a bit raw sometimes, and he honestly thought Mikey's been doing better too. He just wishes Mikey would have come to him sooner, said something, anything. He would give anything to know why Mikey didn't trust him with that before now.

"You need to deal with it at some point," Gerard eventually says, then sighs when he sees Mikey roll his eyes. "Is that where this 'not good enough' bullshit is coming from? Because that's not true, you have to know that's not true." Gerard sees Mikey open his mouth to cut in, so Gerard keeps barreling forward. "And the drinking-fuck, Mikey, come on, you're on anti-depressants, you can't possibly believe that's a good idea."

Mikey says nothing, and his face is turned enough away that Gerard can't read it.

Gerard sighs. He can tell he isn't going to get anywhere on that front. "I can't believe you were going to hit me, yesterday," he says instead.

Mikey flinches at that, almost as if Gerard had hit him back. "That's... I'm sorry," Mikey says. He sounds genuinely sorry, almost anguished.

"What were you thinking?" Gerard isn't quite ready to let it go. He wants an answer, an explanation-because it's so out of character for Mikey to do something like that, he wants to be able to blame it on the drinking, on stress, on anything other than his brother being so irrationally angry he would deliberately try to hurt him.

Mikey shakes his head. "That was... I..." Mikey trails off, and Gerard waits as patiently as he can for him to continue. "I wasn't really myself," Mikey finally offers, a bit tentatively. It's not quite the admission Gerard was hoping for, but he can read between the lines as well as anyone.

He nods at Mikey, who looks like he's trying to avoid meeting Gerard's eyes, and they sit in silence for a while. They're both standing hunched, hugging themselves to try to keep warm, and Mikey is intermittently rubbing his hands together. The brush of skin on skin is the only noise other than their breathing.

Gerard takes advantage of the quiet to try to get his thoughts in order. He knows what he wants to say but he's still not sure how to bring it up without damaging things with Mikey any more than they already are-and god, he can't believe he's even in a situation where that's a consideration.

He keeps thinking, but the silence is starting to get really heavy between them, practically stifling, and Gerard is starting to feel the itch to say something just to cut through it. He opens his mouth and says it before he can really stop himself. "How do you feel about taking a break for a while, leaving the house?"

"What, for the afternoon?" Mikey asks, strangely suspicious.

"Uh," Gerard hedges, "more like a week or two, or longer. However long you want."

Mikey's eyes go wide. "No! I can't, I have to stay!"

"You have to, Mikey," Gerard says, taken aback. The vehemence of Mikey's protest catches him by surprise. "You need help that you can't get here."

"I can't leave her- Who's going to- I can't, okay?" Mikey's panic is clear as the words tumble quickly out over each other.

"Leave who?" Gerard asks gently.

"Never mind, okay?" Mikey snaps, so harshly that Gerard takes a step back.

Gerard breathes out hard, almost a sigh, and the air hisses through his teeth when he breathes back in. "No, Mikey. Tell me what's going on."

"I'm the only one who can-" He breaks off, stares down at his feet with unfocused eyes.

"Who can what?" Gerard leans in, puts his hand around Mikey's forearm and pulls him close. "What's going on, Mikey? Why won't you tell me?"

Mikey shakes his head no, his body rigid and straight.

Gerard can feel his hand getting tighter around Mikey's wrist as his frustration builds, and he lets go guiltily. "Do you think I won't understand? Do you think I won't care?"

"I think you won't believe me," Mikey mumbles.

"Why don't you try me," Gerard says, trying to keep his voice even, trying not to show the anger that's burning hot at Mikey's reticence. He's not doing a very good job of it. "When did we stop telling each other the important things?"

Mikey looks up just enough to glare at Gerard, and he holds it for a moment before his face softens and his whole body practically collapses, sagging forward as his muscles give out. Gerard leans further in to catch him but it doesn't quite come to that; Mikey gets ahold of himself and stands up again, his shoulders still slumped but his posture better.

"Fine," Mikey says, and all the fight's gone out of his voice. Gerard watches as Mikey takes a breath, and then another. "You know yesterday, when you saw me with the Ouija board?"

"Yeah?"

"I was talking to Daisy-you know, the woman who had the house built? Her ghost is trapped here."

Gerard doesn't know what to say to that. He stares at Mikey; he's sure he's gaping. He's sure it's the wrong move. "Okay?" he says, trying to get Mikey to say more to cover the fact that he himself has nothing.

"You know how weird shit's been happening?"

"Yeah- what, is that her doing?"

Mikey shakes his head. "It's the house. There's something wrong with the actual house. She's been... I've been talking to her. I convinced her to help hold it off, make it easier for us."

Gerard is definitely gaping at Mikey now; he can feel the strain from how wide his eyes have gotten, and his mouth is hanging open. He stands there, looking at his brother, looking at the little clouds that form in the air between them every time they breathe out.

"See, you don't believe me," Mikey sighs. He's already shrinking back in on himself, like if he pulls in hard enough he'll disappear completely.

"I don't not believe you," Gerard says carefully. "I mean, it explains a lot."

"It's true," Mikey says emphatically, and Gerard nods at him, hoping it doesn't come off as patronizing. Because while he now does believe there's something up with the house, he knows Mikey and his ongoing penchant for believing in ghosts and all things spooky, and he isn't really convinced that Ouija boards aren't a crock of shit, everything else aside.

"I still think it would be better if you left, just for a while," Gerard says. It's the only thing he has to say, right now.

"I don't," Mikey tells him, the firmest he's been since everything went belly-up this afternoon.

"Mikey, you need to get help," Gerard counters equally firmly.

"I'll be okay," Mikey insists. He doesn't look it though, doesn't sound it, and Gerard definitely doesn't believe it.

Gerard sighs, runs a hand through his hair nervously. "You should go."

"You can't make me leave!" Mikey's voice cracks with desperation as his strength gives out, and the last word is practically a sob. "I need to stay."

"Mikey," Gerard says gently, "you're not in a good place here. You need to take care of yourself, and you can't do that here."

"But I have to take care of you." Mikey is crying again now, and Gerard suspects that only part of it is frustration.

Gerard's having a really hard time keeping himself together enough to get them through this. He always gets upset when Mikey gets upset, and he hasn't seen Mikey this upset in a very long time. Since their grandma died, he thinks. "You have to take care of yourself first," he repeats as steadily as he can. "And being in this house isn't doing you any good. You need to leave."

"So, what, you're kicking me out?"

"If that's how you want to think of it, then go ahead," Gerard says slowly. It's all he can do to hold himself together now in the face of Mikey's distress. "But that's not how I see it, and that's not how anyone else is going to see it. We want you to come back as soon as you're doing better. But we need you to get better."

"What if I don't leave? Are you going to make me?" It's amazing how Mikey shakes off his upset to flash defiance, Gerard thinks, impressed even now, even after everything.

"No," Gerard says. "But I'm not above canceling the rest of our time here and putting everything on hold, if it gets you out of here."

Mikey is clearly taken aback. "You wouldn't."

"Watch me." Gerard puts everything he has into making his voice steady, believable.

Mikey blanches, and his face crumples. "Fine," he groans, like the words are getting torn out of him against his will. "Do whatever the hell you want, Gerard."

"We'll be waiting here for you, Mikey," Gerard tells him emphatically. "As soon as you're ready." He's glad he doesn't have to follow through on his threat of canceling their time-because as weird as the house can be there's really no sense in the rest of them leaving with Mikey, not yet. He still believes that being there will do them nothing but good, artistically, and it's worth it to stick it out.

Mikey doesn't acknowledge that Gerard's said anything, and it bothers Gerard a lot. He steps closer to Mikey, takes hold of his arm again-but much more gently this time-and slides his hand up to rest on Mikey's shoulder. "Mikey, I promise. Go take care of yourself, and we'll all be here when you come back."

Mikey nods, his head still bowed.

"Let's go back out," Gerard suggests gently. "It's freezing in here, and we need to talk to the guys, okay?"

* * *

Mikey doesn't say anything right away when they get back to the ballroom, and he shoots Gerard a pleading look, like he's asking Gerard to tell the rest of the band for him. Gerard shakes his head and Mikey frowns at him, but Gerard holds his ground.

Mikey sighs in defeat, and then crosses his arms over his chest and says in a rush, "I'm leaving the house."

"Forever?" Frank asks incredulously.

"No," Mikey says, his voice small. "Just for a while."

"Oh," Frank says, "okay. I mean, it's not, but-"

"Yeah, I know." Mikey sticks his hands in his pockets and looks up for the first time since he came back into the room. "Come help me pack?"

Gerard watches the two of them leave the ballroom. They're walking close together and Mikey's leaning down like he's talking into Frank's ear, maybe filling him in on the things he'd left out earlier.

"What the hell happened in there?" Ray asks, which pulls Gerard's attention back. Ray's eyes are still as wide as they were when Mikey first made his announcement, and he looks like he might be sick to his stomach. "What did you guys even talk about?"

Gerard's spit gets thick in his mouth and he swallows with difficulty, then starts blinking to try to force down the tears that are pricking hard and hot at his eyes. "Turns out a bunch of shit runs in the family after all," he hears himself say.

His words hang awkwardly between them, and Ray clearly doesn't know how to respond. Gerard doesn't blame him.

"Can I ask for details?" Ray finally asks, tentatively.

Gerard thinks about it and comes to a decision pretty quickly. "I don't think it should be a secret," he says, picking his words carefully. "He's been drinking, a lot. I found the bottles in his room." Ray sucks in a gasp and actually recoils, and Gerard forces himself to press on before he loses it completely. "He's still really screwed up over Grandma, and Dad's heart attack. He's...I don't know, you saw him. He's in a really bad way. I honestly don't know how he even managed to keep it together this long."

Ray looks totally stricken at the words. "Oh my god, I didn't realize! Is that really awful of me? I feel terrible."

"I didn't either," Gerard says miserably, "so how do you think I feel?"

Nobody says anything for a while, and Gerard is completely okay with that. He doesn't want to talk about it anymore, he just wants to curl up into a ball and hide until everything stops feeling so bad. He sits down on the nearest amp and pulls his knees up until he can rest his face on them.

"Do you want me to call Brian?" Bob asks gently.

"Yes, fuck, thank you," Gerard says into the fabric of his jeans.

Gerard hears Bob's footsteps as he shuffles out of the ballroom, and then feels Ray's hand on his shoulder a moment later. "Do you want coffee or something? Lunch?"

"'m not hungry," Gerard croaks.

"We don't have to stay in here," Ray says gently, but he doesn't make any move to make Gerard get up.

Gerard keeps sitting because he'd be more than happy to just stay sitting forever and never move again, but Ray is right, they really ought to get out of the room. There's still tension clinging to the walls around them; Gerard can feel it like something slimy in the very air he's breathing. He heaves a big sigh and straightens his legs, then gets to his feet and follows Ray out and over to the kitchen.

Once they get there, he sinks into the closest chair to the door and slumps forward, cupping his chin in his hands as he stares across the table at nothing. Ray puts a cup of coffee down in front of him so he drinks it, and when Ray puts an ashtray in front of him, he reaches for his cigarettes.

He sits there chain-smoking cigarettes and drinking the coffee Ray keeps refilling, because he doesn't know what else to do. He only stops when he runs out of cigarettes, but that's okay because he's had enough, he thinks; his throat feels ashy and thick from the steady stream of smoke over the last- Gerard realizes he has no idea how long he's been sitting in the kitchen, but it doesn't matter. It really doesn't matter. Not much at all matters right now.

Bob comes in at some point and pulls up a chair one over from Gerard. "I talked to Brian and to Stacy," he says, and Gerard looks up at mention of Stacy. He hadn't thought of calling her, but fuck, that was a good idea. He never imagined their lawyer (of all people, really) would end up so much like a mother to the band, but she did, and she lives in L.A., and now that Bob's mentioned her, Gerard can't think of a better person for him to have called.

"She's coming to pick Mikey up, he's going to stay with her. For as long as he needs. She said she'll be here in an hour and a half."

"Okay," Ray says. "That's good. I mean, it is good, right? If he stays with Stacy?"

Gerard glances up at the clock on the wall, then, feeling strangely compelled to keep track of the time until Stacy's arrival, like it's the countdown to Doomsday.

But time is moving weirdly for Gerard, and he's not sure if the next hour and some feels like a minute or a year. He finds himself pacing back and forth in the front foyer, his eyes glued to the slice of driveway he can see through the windows flanking the front door. He's got a napkin clenched in one hand, and when he realizes he's got it he starts tearing at it nervously, pulling it into tiny pieces that trail behind him as he walks.

"Just have another fucking cigarette," Bob tells him from where he's sitting straddling one of the weird lion statues in the corner.

"I ran out," Gerard says. He has more in his room, a few left in the carton that came with the last order of groceries, but he'd have to go upstairs to get them, have to hear Mikey and Frank packing up Mikey's things.

"You can have one of mine, you're driving me crazy." Bob pulls his pack out of his hoodie pocket and holds it out.

Gerard angles his next lap around the foyer to bring him over to Bob, and he accepts the cigarette gratefully. His napkin is almost completely gone, anyway. He lights the cigarette, sucks down the smoke almost without feeling it.

The cigarette is only halfway done when Gerard finally sees a car pull into the driveway. It comes to a stop right in front of the door, and Stacy gets out. Gerard opens the front door for her-it's something to do. She hugs him when she gets up the stairs, pulling him in tight and rubbing his shoulder. Her hair tickles his ear but it's a good hug, tight and long and comforting, and he didn't realize exactly how much he needed it until Stacy is pulling back and holding him at arm's length and asking quite seriously if he's okay.

"Not really," he says limply, and she sighs and hugs him again. He hugs her back, reluctant to let go when she steps back again and moves to actually go into the house.

"Where is he?" she asks.

"In his room, getting packed up," Bob tells her. "He should be down any minute."

And sure enough, Frank and Mikey appear at the top of the stairs a few minutes later, Frank walking down awkwardly as he wrestles Mikey's bags by himself. Gerard wouldn't be surprised in the slightest if Frank had refused to let Mikey carry any of them.

Mikey hangs back when they get to the bottom, but then Stacy is rushing forward and catching Mikey up in a hug, just as fierce as the one she'd given Gerard. At first, Mikey stands awkwardly with his arms hanging loose at his sides, but then he gets caught up in it, wrapping his arms around Stacy's back and burying his face in her shoulder.

"You ready to go?" she asks, and Mikey nods.

The hug keeps going, so Frank heaves Mikey's bags back up and brings them outside. Gerard watches him through the window as he loads the bags into the back seat of Stacy's car.

It's only then, at that particular image, that it really hits him that this is really happening and Mikey is leaving. He follows Mikey out as far as the front step but can't bring himself to do more than touch Mikey's sleeve and nod at him.

And then the car is starting up, pulling around the circular driveway and then out through the gate, which was still open from when Stacy arrived.

Gerard watches, his hands curling into helpless fists, as the gate swings shut behind them.

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