The Fall and Rise of The Black Parade, 7/10
VI.
VII.
After everything else, Gerard reflects, it shouldn’t be that surprising.
It still is, seeing things he’s painted but not shown to anyone given form, each one exactly the way he would have made them if he’d had the technical skills to do it. He has no doubt that if he and the others tried the uniforms on, they would fit perfectly, tailored exactly to each of their measurements. Like the way Frank’s hands curved around the white guitar, like he knew it, like it was made for him.
It’s a little disturbing, the same way the realization of what the songs are about was. The thought that someone or something knows them all that well without their permission makes Gerard’s skin crawl.
They leave the uniforms and the instruments where they are, for now-though Frank seems a little reluctant to put his new guitar back-and head back to the other apartment.
“So,” Ray says, once they’re gathered in the living room. “The Black Parade?”
Gerard shrugs. “It just came to me, while I was working on the painting, but…I think maybe it’s what we’re supposed to do. What we’re supposed to be. I told you all about my dream-”
“Leaving the city,” Ray says, nodding. “Like a procession. Or a parade.”
Gerard nods as well, looking down at his clasped hands. “There’s something else. The dreams I had about all of you, without realizing that’s what they were? I’ve been having them about someone else. A man in a hospital room. He-I think he’s dying.”
Mikey’s brow furrows. “Do you think he might be-”
“-The man leading us in the dream?” Gerard finishes. “I’ve never seen his face, in any of the dreams, but I think so. And if that’s the case, I think when he gets here is when we leave. That’s what we’re preparing for.”
“I used to think this was Hell,” Frank says, apropos of nothing.
Gerard looks up, blinking. “What?”
Frank leans against the wall near the door of their room, folding his arms. “I mean, I always figured that’s where I was headed, if there was any afterlife. And then when I got here…there were no lakes of fire, or anything, but I was stuck on my own in a place where nothing grows or changes, so I figured, okay, Hell’s just a little different than I always thought it would be.”
He moves forward, sitting at the edge of the bed and not looking at Gerard. “But then, after a while…it wasn’t so bad. I found a place where I could kind of belong, and I met Toro and Brian and Bob and Mikey…and you.” He looks up and over at Gerard, then, giving a faint, crooked smile. “And I figure…if I was in Hell, falling in love shouldn’t really be in the cards, should it?”
“Frankie-” Gerard says, and reaches for him. Frank leans closer and kisses him, but pulls back, going on.
“So after that, I started thinking-okay, maybe this place isn’t anything I ever heard about in school or church. But then again, maybe it is. Maybe this is Purgatory. And I always had the idea that Purgatory was kind of like prison, y’know, you gotta serve your sentence and the only thing that’s gonna get you out quicker is good behavior or having friends in high places. But maybe-maybe you don’t have to just sit around waiting for someone to tell you your sentence is up. Maybe Purgatory ends when you get yourself out of it.”
“Maybe,” Gerard agrees. “I never really went in for the whole Heaven-Hell-Purgatory view of things, but maybe that’s what we’re doing.”
Frank reaches into a pocket, pulling out a folded square of paper. “Here.”
Gerard takes the paper and unfolds it. It’s covered in scribbles and notations in Frank’s handwriting, and Gerard doesn’t know what they mean, but he’s spent enough time around people writing songs lately to know what they are.
“Frank,” he says. “Is this-”
Frank nods. “My song. Part of it, anyway-the riff just came to me, and I’ve been working on it a little.”
He takes the paper back to fold it again, then puts it in Gerard’s hand and closes his fingers around it. Close enough for another kiss, he meets Gerard’s eyes. “My grandmother told me once that if you went to Hell, you had to relive what you did to get there every day for the rest of eternity. But if you went to Purgatory, you didn’t have to-you could ignore your sins, pretend they never happened. Unless you wanted to get out, and then you had to face up to them. Maybe she was right.”
“Thank you,” Gerard says, and raises a hand to cup his jaw. “Frankie…I don’t know if I could do this without you completely on board.”
“There’s no one but you and Toro I’d trust with it,” Frank tells him. “But you’ll do it right. I know that.”
Gerard kisses him, and it’s a promise, one he repeats over and over again with his mouth and hands and body.
Bob lets them know a few days later, less dramatically. The others are helping him move into the empty bedroom-he doesn’t have that much stuff, really, though Frank suspects that the box he’s carrying is completely full of socks-and he waits until they’re all in the room before clearing his throat and saying, “So, hey-I’m in.”
Gerard looks over at him, eyebrows raised. “You’re sure?”
“Wouldn’t have said that if I wasn’t,” Bob grunts, and goes back to moving clothes from his boxes to the dresser. “Iero, you got my socks?”
Frank deposits the box in front of him, his expression solemn. “Bob, man, don’t take this the wrong way, but I think you have a problem.“
“Your face has a problem,” Bob responds, dragging the sock box a little closer and opening it.
Frank flips him off cheerfully. “Whatever you say, sock junkie.”
Mikey puts down the box of books he’s carrying and turns, craning his neck to look. “…That is a lot of socks, dude.”
“I am obviously the only one in this room who’s ever been in the Army,” Bob says. “And therefore the only one who properly appreciates the importance of having enough pairs of clean socks.”
Gerard leans back against the wall and watches them banter, smiling a little.
With all of them on board and the second apartment to rehearse in, the songs start taking shape quickly. The new instruments play a part, too-Ray’s never had a guitar that kept in tune so well, but beyond that, it feels weirdly responsive, like it can sense and react to what he wants from it. It’s more a little weird, honestly, but it also feels right in a way he can’t argue with.
They’ve used the lyrics that aren’t about any of them to kind of explore and get more comfortable with the process of writing songs together. Gerard produces two songs that are just sort of generally about death (“It’s been on my mind a lot, go figure,”) with a healthy dose of black humor, and suggests they might work as companion pieces, one leading into the other. In spite of how serious this whole thing’s been so far, Ray and Frank find themselves undeniably having fun, mixing different styles and sounds and really just playing around with it, taking creative input from the others wherever anyone wants to offer it.
There are songs for the twins, too. Regret’s is a pretty straightforward ode to love lost, and Ray can sense right away that it wants to be a ballad, so he embraces that, but also gives what he hopes is just enough of a edge to the guitar riffs. Fear’s is trickier: a sharp, sarcastic treatise on misunderstood youth that throws both guitarists for a loop until they just kind of shrug at each other and go along with the playful irreverence of the lyrics.
Not all of the songwriting is that fun, or that easy. They’re all resolved to have their songs in there, to have those words laid out among the five of them and deal with what that means, with the stories they tell. It’s still hard to deal with, at times.
Ray’s pretty sure that the only way they’re going to be able to pull this off is by being able to rely on each other, trust each other, help each other through the rough patches. They’re already all friends first and a band second, but he’s not sure that’s going to be enough.
There’s one more song they’re working on that’s still in the early stages, which is fine, because it seems like they won’t have to perform that one for a while. Gerard says it’s a song for the parade, for when they leave the city, and Ray knows without Gerard having to say that it’s important that they be careful with this one, take their time and get it right. And the harmonies and tempos and chord progressions they’ve tried for it so far haven’t sounded bad, not technically, but there’s a sense shared by all five men that they aren’t right yet either, that there’s something still missing, and the parade song won’t be ready until they find it.
As their five songs get close to being finished, they start gearing up for a performance at the House. It’ll be Gerard’s first time singing since they performed the first song, the one they’ve dubbed “Mama”.
“What d’you think about the uniforms?” Ray asks Gerard one night while they’re discussing the upcoming performance. “Should we start wearing them now, or are we supposed to, like, keep them in reserve for later?”
“I think we can,” Gerard replies, then smiles wryly. “I feel like wearing mine’ll help me out, actually.”
Ray nods, remembering how nervous Gerard was the first time, until he got warmed up. If he thinks the uniform will help give him confidence, Ray’s not gonna argue.
Before he gets up in front of the crowd at the House again, Gerard goes back to the outskirts of the city. He has a promise to keep, after all.
Jeanne listens quietly as he outlines everything that’s happened since they last spoke, the two of them sitting side-by-side on a broad steel beam stretched out in the wreckage. Her eyes widen a bit when he talks about his dream of leaving the city and Frank’s Purgatory theory, but she doesn’t interrupt, remaining silent until Gerard asks “So…what do you think?”
Jeanne turns her head, looking over the hills and plains that stretch out around the city, to the hazy, flat horizon that gives no indication that there might be anything else out there.
“I’ve never seen anything beyond this,” she says, gesturing around them. “The wolves have always left me alone so long as I’ve kept away from their territory, so I’ve been able to live out here, in peace, and I’ve ridden far out from the city, but never seen anything. If there is something out there, you would have to travel far and long to find it.”
Looking back at Gerard, she goes on, “But that does not mean it is not there. I think your friend’s theory is as good an explanation as any I’ve ever considered for this place, and if the truth of the situation is anything close to that, then helping lead people to something else-something better, hopefully-is a noble purpose.”
“Yeah, but-how do I know that we’d be heading for something better?” Gerard asks. “How do I know there’s anything out there at all?”
“Perhaps it’s a question of faith,” Jeanne suggests, her voice low. “No visible proof that what you’re doing is right, just…”
“Just my dreams, like you had your visions,” Gerard finishes, and sighs. “If it were just me, or even just me and my friends, that’d be one thing. But if we’re supposed to evacuate the whole city-or however many we can, at least-that means trusting everyone’s safety to my leap of faith. I never asked for that kind of responsibility.”
Jeanne reaches out, putting a hand over his. “I think only tyrants and fools ever ask for it. Maybe the man in your dreams, the sick one, will be able to help you overcome your uncertainty, when he comes.”
“Maybe,” Gerard says, looking down. “I feel kinda bad about that, though, that I’m, like, waiting for this guy to die.”
Jeanne shrugs. “If it’s a sickness taking him, and nothing unnatural…I would have called that God’s will, once. I don’t know about God now, but still, I don’t think you need to feel guilty for it.”
“I guess not,” he agrees, and then squints up at the sky, where the light is starting to fade. “I should get back.”
“You’re singing, tonight?” Jeanne asks, and he nods.
“Yeah. Um. I know being in the city isn’t really your thing, and I don’t know how likely it is that our music would appeal to you, like, at all, but if you wanted to come check it out or anything…”
She smiles at him. “Perhaps. I think I would like to hear you sing, regardless of the rest.”
It’s been a long time since Bob wore any kind of uniform.
This one is a lot fancier than anything he ever wore in the Army, even though it’s the plainest of the five Black Parade uniforms. It’s also better-fitting and a lot more comfortable than his Army uniform, which was secondhand-the boots need to be broken in before they’ll really feel right on his feet, but that’s the only thing he can say against this one.
The uniforms make it feel like each of them is playing a role, being someone just a little different from their usual self. That might be kind of the point, Bob reflects. It’s done something good for Gerard, at least-from the moment he steps out of his and Frank’s room with the buttons of his jacket done up and the little extra touch of black gloves on his hands, he seems to have reclaimed the presence and attitude he found onstage last time.
And he’s probably going to need it, Bob thinks, because by Gerard’s own decision, they’re starting with Gerard’s song tonight.
Gerard hasn’t said as much out loud, but Bob has the idea that he wants to prove he won’t ask anything of them that he hasn’t also asked of himself. He certainly hasn’t pulled any punches with it-the whole song is sharp and biting, and Gerard practically spits out the words as he struts across the House’s small stage.
It’s become pretty common for Frank and Gerard to sort of play off each other during practice, and Frank steps the game up a little tonight, maybe feeling that Gerard can use the extra boost. On you’re in time for the show he sidles up and presses against Gerard’s side for a moment, only to whirl away when Gerard tries to grab him, and on Juliet loves the beat and the lust it commands, Frank darts up again and actually licks the side of Gerard’s face, catching him off guard. Gerard’s ready when Frank moves back toward him, though, catching him with one arm and singing the last chorus with Frank’s back pressed against his chest and Frank’s head tipped against his shoulder.
They do the do the two companion songs next, and Gerard puts just as much energy into the performance, though in a considerably more light-hearted way. He even does a chorus-line kick at one point where it fits in with the beat, which makes Ray crack up and Frank wolf-whistle at him. Bob grins, and even Mikey’s smiling, all of them loosening up a little, letting themselves have fun with it the way they have during rehearsals.
Toro was the second one to volunteer his song for performance, so his follows. It’s a little subtler, lyrically-you can’t help but know that Gerard’s has to do with addiction and self-destruction, but a chorus like shut your eyes, kiss me goodbye, and sleep is more ambiguous, unless you know how Ray died. Bob glances at him, trying to gauge how he’s handling playing it, but Ray’s got his head down and his hair in his face, concentrating on the music. If Gerard threw himself completely into his song, Ray’s done no less on this one; the riff is intense, the kind Ray calls a face-melter, and he plays it like he means it.
They bring things down a little with Regret’s ballad (though Gerard’s singing stays every bit as passionate), only to rev it back up with “Mama”, which the crowd greets with enthusiasm. They could do more, but they’d agreed on a short set, Gerard saying that they should leave the audience hungry, not show their whole hand yet.
As “Mama” draws to a close, the crowd is on its feet, alive with energy. Gerard takes his microphone and walks to the very edge of the stage, grinning.
“You guys want some more?” he asks casually, and gets a roar of assent, waiting for it to die down before he goes on. “Well, stick around. We are The Black Parade, and we’ll see you again soon.”
Beep.
Beep.
The smell of the hospital has always been what’s bothered him the most. Too sanitized, too unnaturally clean, and yet never clean enough to cover the lingering scents of sickness, of bedpans that need to be cleaned, of human bodies dying by inches, a little closer to being corpses with every passing second.
He doesn’t want to die here. He wants to die at home, in his own bed, and if that means losing the machines that are keeping him alive, well, this is hardly living, anyway: it’s a sham, a mockery, and god damn it, he doesn’t want to die in a cold white room.
But his family is still clinging to hope, still waiting for an eleventh-hour miracle, and he doesn’t have it in him to take that hope away from them.
So here he is, surrounded by cold white walls and the smell of death, listening to the beats that remind him that his own heart hasn’t had the sense to give up yet, either.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep-
Gerard opens his eyes half-expecting to see a hospital room, half-waiting to hear the beat of the monitors continue. He’s greeted by a darkened bedroom and Frank’s breathing instead, and he rolls to the side, pressing himself into the curve of Frank’s body just because he can, just because Frank is there.
Frank stirs, draping an arm around him and mumbling “Gee? Y’okay?”
“Yeah,” Gerard whispers, and then, “Cancer.”
Frank makes a vaguely questioning noise.
“He’s dying of cancer,” Gerard says. “The Patient, I mean. And he’s close. Weeks, maybe days.”
“Y’think it’ll be tonight?” Frank mutters.
Gerard thinks for a moment, then shakes his head. “No.”
Frank hugs him closer, leaning his forehead against Gerard’s shoulder. “Then go back t’sleep.”
There’s a song for the Patient too, now.
(Gerard apparently started thinking of him that way at some point, and the rest of them just sort of picked it up, because hey, it’s easier than “that guy in Gerard’s dreams” or “the man with cancer”.)
It’s simple and heartfelt, and while Frank wouldn’t have said that any of the lyrics Gerard’s written were lacking in truth, he thinks this one may be the most unguardedly honest thing they’ve seen so far.
Gerard’s been dreaming about the Patient nearly every night now, dreaming of hospital rooms and doctors and feeling sick and weak from some kind of treatment they didn’t have in Frank’s time, something called chemotherapy. It leaves him solemn and quiet, but it’s better than the nightmares-at least he doesn’t wake up screaming from his dreams about the Patient.
It turns out that Gerard’s not the only one having weird dreams, either.
A few nights after their debut as The Black Parade, Mikey calls everyone together in the living room.
“I’ve had this dream six or seven times, now,” he begins. “The exact same dream every time, so I kinda feel like there might be something up with it.”
All of them automatically glance over at Gerard, who gives a wry smile and nods. “All the dreams that’ve ended up as songs were like that, yeah. What’s yours about, Mikey?”
“Um,” Mikey says, and folds his arms, almost hugging himself. “It’s the big house outside the city, where the wolves are. I keep dreaming I’m going there.”
Ray shifts a little closer to him automatically, brow furrowing. “Like you did before…?”
“No.” Mikey shakes his head. “I didn’t realize where I was going, then. In the dream, I know exactly where I’m going, and I don’t want to go back there…but I can’t stop myself. I just…do it.”
Everyone’s silent for a moment, following that. Then, Gerard gets to his feet, crossing the living room to stand in front of his brother.
“It’s not gonna happen, Mikey,” he says, in a tone of calm authority.
Mikey looks up at him, less than certain. “I don’t think you can guarantee that, Gee.”
“Yes, I can.” Gerard drops to one knee and reaches out, taking Mikey’s hands in his own. “We can. Because this is what we’re gonna do: you’re going to stick close to the rest of us, and we’re going to watch out for you. All of us. If you try to go to the house, we’ll stop you, and…and if we can’t stop you, if you do end up there somehow, we’ll come after you. We’ll come and get you back no matter what it takes.” He looks around at the others. “Right?”
Ray, Frank, and Bob all nod, and Mikey looks around at them. “You think that’ll work?”
“We’ll make it work,” Gerard says. “Hey,” he touches Mikey’s chin with one hand, bringing Mikey’s eyes back to him. “I’m not going to leave you again, Mikey. I promise. Don’t you leave me, either, okay?”
Mikey looks at him for a long moment, and then nods. “Okay,” he replies softly.
Mikey knows the others already thought he needed watching out for, even before this. He’s Gerard’s little brother, first and foremost, and he’s also the one who wandered off and ended up in the wolves’ territory before.
He doesn’t have any problem with being cared about. Being cared for-looked after, patronized, pitied-he’s not so wild about.
He’s sitting on the bed that night when Ray comes into their room after his shower, hair still damp, falling heavily around his face when he bends over, sliding his arms around Mikey’s shoulders from behind.
“Hey,” Ray says quietly. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” Mikey replies, and it comes out more defensive than he means it to. He sighs and closes his eyes, then scoots forward to let Ray climb onto the bed behind him and leans back once Ray’s settled. “Ray…I promise I’ll let you know if I think I need help with anything, okay? You don’t have to…check up on me all the time.”
Ray’s silent for a moment, sliding his arms around Mikey’s waist and resting his chin on Mikey’s shoulder. “Okay,” he says eventually.
“I just,” Mikey goes on, not wanting to leave it there for some reason. “I know you’ve got the best intentions, but…I don’t want to be the one who has to be looked after.”
“Okay,” Ray says again. “I get that. But-” He rears back a little, turning his head so he can see Mikey’s face. “I don’t just do it because I think you need looking after. I do it because you’re one of the best things that’s ever happened to me, and I worry that something’s gonna happen to mess that up.”
Mikey tilts his own head at that, craning his neck to look at Ray. He looks vaguely surprised. “Really?”
Ray kisses him. “Yes, really. It’s not-I mean, it is about you, but I’d probably do it no matter what. When it comes to important stuff, I’m a worrier.”
“You are,” Mikey informs him. He turns around and climbs into Ray’s lap, almost kneeing him in the stomach, but Ray just waits for Mikey to rearrange himself and then puts his arms around him again, lacing his fingers together at the small of Mikey’s back. “It’s kind of cute.”
A few nights after that, they play the House again.
They debut Frank’s song, which ended up fast and heavy with just the right amount of swing to the beat, and this time it’s Gerard winding Frank up on purpose, drawing him out of himself. Frank starts off standing on his side of the stage and looking out at the crowd with a kind of sullen defiance, as if daring them to figure it out, to connect the words to him. He ends up leaning back against Gerard with Gerard’s arm around him again (and, Ray notices, Gerard’s fingers creeping under the hem of Frank’s uniform jacket), then spinning away to drop to his knees in front of Gerard when they get to ashes to ashes, we all fall down, Gerard impulsively reaching out to grab a fistful of Frank’s hair on we got innocence for days.
The other songs they bring out for the first time that night are Bob’s-Ray glances back at him a few times, and he seems to be dealing okay with it, focusing on the drums-and Mikey’s. There’s a slow, gentle guitar intro to that one, and while he plays it, Ray sees Gerard look back at Mikey for a long moment, but once the vocals kick in, Gerard doesn’t look back again. Can’t, maybe, if he wants to keep it steady and finish the song.
So Ray watches Mikey instead, the way he’s got his head down, concentrating on playing steadily, and the way he mostly manages to keep his face impassive, but Ray sees the line of his jaw tighten when Gerard sings I hate the ending myself, but it started with an all right scene. Ray moves over a little, staying close to Mikey, bumping shoulders with him now and then, and Mikey gets it, raises his head and gives Ray a tiny smile, and leans against him as much as he can without messing up Ray’s playing on the second verse.
It’s during Regret’s song, with things as toned down as they are for that one, that Ray notices Gerard noticing Jeanne. She’s at the very back of the House, looking out of place and a little uncomfortable, but her eyes are fixed on Gerard, and she applauds as hard as anyone in the audience when they finish the set.
Gerard talks to the audience some more afterwards, reeling them in a little before bringing out the big stuff.
“So, okay, I gotta be honest with you guys,” he says, lowering himself to sit on the edge of the stage and letting his legs dangle off it like a kid’s. “The truth is, we didn’t just come here to play songs for you guys. I mean, don’t get me wrong, we love playing for you, but that’s not all of what The Black Parade’s about.”
He looks out at the crowd, waiting until he has as much of their attention as he’s likely to get.
“How many of you have ever tried to leave the city, or just thought about it? How many of you think there might be something else out there, and want to see it if there is?”
Some people raise their hands instantly. Others join in after more hesitation. Gerard waits, and eventually, Ray would estimate that more than half the people in the House have their hands up. Gerard grins, and asks the real question.
“So, if we said we had a plan for leaving that we thought might work, how many of you would be up for coming with us?”
That gets an instant uproar, people talking, shouting.
“There’s nothing out there,” one woman shouts. “If there were, someone who left would have found it and come back to tell us by now!”
“Unless they were eaten by the wolves before they could find it, or before they could get back-” a man who couldn’t have been out of his teens when he died points out, and someone else cuts him off before he can finish.
“Exactly, and the same thing will happen to us if we try! It’s insane!”
Gerard gestures for quiet eventually, the whole thing feeling more like a town hall meeting than a concert, now.
“I won’t tell you it won’t be risky, or that I’ve got a foolproof plan or anything like that, because I don’t. But I believe there’s something out there that’s worth the risk to look for, and I believe there’s someone coming who can lead us there. When he arrives, The Black Parade is leaving the city, and everyone is welcome to be a part of it, if they choose.”
There’s another uproar at that, and Gerard eventually has to shout for quiet over it, after which he concludes, “If any of you don’t think it’s worth the risk and want to stay, that’s fine. The choice is yours. All we’ll ask is that you not stand in the way of those who want to leave.”
“Hell, I’m in,” someone shouts, and Ray grins as he recognizes Schechters’s voice. Brian’s leaning against the bar, smiling crookedly as he looks over at the stage. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’ve been standing behind this bar every day for about eighty years, I’m ready for a goddamn change of scenery.”
“Count me in,” someone else shouts, and another voice chimes in with “Me too!”, and Ray can still hear the other voices, the dissenting, naysaying ones-but as far as he can tell, he doesn’t think they’re the majority.
“All right,” Gerard says eventually, smiling as he looks out at the crowd. “All right. Anyone who’s on board with this, what I’d like you to do is spread the word. Tell the people who weren’t here tonight, and tell them to tell other people. Tell them we’ll be playing here again soon, if they’d like to come and hear us, or talk to us. And when the time to leave comes, we’ll let you know.”
In the days following that, they start to gain a certain amount of notoriety in the city. They were already well-known among the usual patrons of the House of Wolves-just about anyone who’s a regular there knows Ray and Frank, and when they started playing as The Black Parade, they picked up a musical following pretty quickly. But now people who aren’t regulars at the House are showing up there, on nights when The Black Parade plays and nights when it doesn’t, asking after the band in general and Gerard in particular, wanting to know if he’s the one who talks about leaving the city.
It’s a little overwhelming, at times-Gerard figured he was letting himself in for this when he announced their plans, but he didn’t really know how the idea would be received, and he’s a little surprised at how much it’s spread and caught on, at how many people have come to talk to him. Sometimes it’s more than he feels able to handle, and he asks Ray or Frank to talk to anyone who shows up (he doesn’t think it’s the best idea to put the duty of answering questions from strangers on either Bob or Mikey’s shoulders) while he hides out in their apartment, but whenever he feels able to, he goes down to the House and sits at a table there, making himself available.
At least one of the others usually keeps him company on those nights. When it’s Frank, he tends to hover protectively at Gerard’s shoulders, nursing a drink and glaring at the inevitable handful of people who show up to tell Gerard that he’s wrong, that he’s crazy, that all he’s going to lead people to is the equivalent of a death trap, only it’s even worse because when the wolves find them, they’ll suffer and not even be able to die.
Gerard responds to all of them the same way: he keeps his voice as calm and steady as he can, acknowledges their concerns, repeats what he said before-you’re free to stay, but let us go-and, if Frank’s the one with him, keeps him from getting into any fights.
The two of them are down there one night when Frank starts humming under his breath, scribbling something down on a scrap of paper. Gerard listens idly, half-hearing Frank in the background, for about five minutes before he blinks and straightens up, turning to look at Frank.
“What is that?” he asks, and Frank shrugs.
“Nothing, yet. Thought I might work on it a little more, then maybe try it on for size with the parade song.”
“I think you should,” Gerard says instantly, and Frank looks up at him, eyebrows raised.
“Yeah?”
Gerard looks back at him for a moment, then smiles a little, nodding. “Yeah.”
What happens is this: one night, Mikey steps outside the House of Wolves for some fresh air.
He’s been good about staying close to the others, and they’ve been good about watching him. But Ray and Bob are talking to Brian, and from the way Frank and Gerard looked when they finished playing, both of them riled up and still full of energy, Mikey sort of suspects they’re making out in the bathroom. And he’s just stepping right outside the door-if anything happens, it’ll only take him a second to get back in or call out.
So he steps outside.
It’s only when he turns and comes face-to-face with Fear that he realizes it might have been smarter to err on the side of caution.
“Hello, Mikey Way,” she says sweetly.
Mikey takes a step back, partly in surprise, partly because of the way she makes him nervous just by existing.
“Hi,” he says, and glances around. There’s no sign of Regret anywhere. “Where’s your sister?”
“Where’s your brother?” she replies. “I’m surprised he let you out of his sight, he’s been so careful of you lately.”
“He’s right inside,” Mikey tells her, and takes another step back, towards the door of the House.
Fear shakes her head. “Not good enough. You and I have an errand.”
Mikey steps back again-or means to, anyway. Tries to. His feet don’t move.
“No,” he says, mouth suddenly dry, heartbeat pounding in his ears.
“I’m afraid it’s not up to either of us,” Fear tells him, and holds out a hand.
Mikey still can’t move his feet, but he puts his hands behind his back, clasping them together tightly. “I don’t want to,” he says, and his own voice sounds small and weak in his ears, like a child’s. “I want to stay with them.”
“I know,” Fear says, unwavering, hand still outstretched. “I can feel how afraid you are, and you wouldn’t be so fearful if you didn’t want to stay. But I can promise this: I won’t take you anywhere that they can’t follow, if they choose to.”
Mikey knows that’s not an if. They came after him before, and they promised they’d do it again. Gerard will, Ray will, and Frank and Bob would come with them even if they wouldn’t come for Mikey himself.
He knows that. He’s still afraid.
But when Fear says “Come along,” a hint of impatience in her voice, Mikey watches himself reach out and place his hand in hers.
The first few minutes after they discover Mikey’s disappearance are the worst. The way all the color drains from Gerard’s face in a heartbeat when Bob says “Hey, where’s Mikey?”, the look on Frank’s face when he returns from running up to the apartment, all the confirmation they need that he didn’t find Mikey there, the sickening, yawning sensation in the pit of Ray’s stomach and the unrelenting mental chorus of we didn’t watch him carefully enough, we failed him, I failed him, Mikey, Mikey, oh god.
They don’t have to wonder where he’s gone, this time, but that’s a small comfort, considering where it is. It’s not fully dark yet, but they still take the two flashlights kept behind the bar by Brian.
“You guys be fucking careful out there,” Brian says grimly, as he hands them over. “But you find him, and you bring him home.”
“That’s the plan,” Bob replies, equally grim. He hands one flashlight to Gerard and keeps the other, and they’re about to head for the door when Brian speaks again.
“Hang on.” He ducks down behind the bar for a moment, and comes back up with a well-polished revolver. “I don’t know what the fuck good this’ll be against as many wolves as I know are out there, but-”
“Better than nothing,” Frank replies. He takes the gun when Brian offers it and flips it open in a quick, practiced motion. “Bullets?”
“Only the six in there,” Brian says. “I’ve never had enough trouble in here to have to use it, so I mostly keep it for sentimental value.”
Frank nods, snapping the cylinder closed again. “I’ll try and bring it back, then.”
VII.