Archive of Our Own

The air was cold all around him. 

Despite the usual warmth California evenings carried, the wind blew in cool. Normally, it would’ve been a relief. It would wrap all around him, and remind him of the falls up in New Jersey - pushing carts around a parking lot and the crackle of cassette tapes. 

He could hear it now, too – the crackle. Buzzing in his ears, where it always lingered. Not quite tinnitus, but a soft texture over all of the sounds he heard - particularly, music. Music was made to be listened to on a shitty knock-off Walkman, as far as Mikey was concerned. That, or live. 

But right now, it was the buzz of his headphones that floated between his ears. He could almost feel them. The thin band of metal that dug into his skull if he wore it too long. The way the foam that covered the speakers would start to peel, and itch over the hours, but at least they kept his ears warm in the winter. 

He stepped forward, and wrapped his toes around the edge of the pool. 

The Paramour loomed behind him. The wind whistled. It whispered to him. 

No one will miss you.

He looked behind him. And the windows of the mansion were eyes. The door was a gaping mouth. And it spoke to him still. The shades in the windows shuttering, like it was blinking at him a dozen times. Do it. They don’t need you. They don’t need you, Mikey repeated to himself. And maybe it was true. Maybe- 

At once, the windows all snapped open. Glass shattering and falling down like a shimmering rain. In the aftershock, the wind swept him off his feet and knocked him back into the water. 

The water was warm. Like the air should’ve been. He sunk down. Not fighting against the way the waves pulled him down, down, down. 

Mikey turned over, and beneath him was only darkness. The pool was suddenly bottomless and he was never going to stop drowning. 

The crackle in his ears grew louder, and despite the gallons of water above him, he could hear the Paramour cackling. Mocking him. 

Mikey turned back again - sinking down on his back. The glass blew into the pool above him, and caught in the light of the moon as it swirled down through the water. If he wasn’t about to die, he might’ve thought it was beautiful. 

His ears popped. His mouth opened, and the water rushed in. Filling his lungs. Filling his skull. The house still laughed. 

“Mikey?” It was distant, and fuzzy, but he could hear Gerard. “You’re drowning.” Gerard remarked. Mikey couldn’t see the surface anymore, the water growing darker and darker. “You’re drowning.” The crackling grew louder, but Gerard’s voice became clearer. “I can’t wait for you to die already.” 

When he woke up, he couldn’t breathe. Beneath his bed, the floorboards creaked. The Paramour still chuckled. 

“Would it kill you guys to shut the fuck up for five minutes?” It wasn’t like Mikey to snap at them; and the silence that immediately followed made that obvious. And slightly painful. In the silence, he could still hear the echo of the walls snickering at him. He pinched the bridge of his nose, ducking his head down as he breathed in hard. But, before he could speak, he was interrupted. 

“What’s your fucking problem, man?” Frank asked, accusatory. Angry. His shoulders hunched up and his face flushed red. He had been in the middle of bickering about God knows what with Gerard for the past fifteen minutes. Ray had been jumping in every now and then, ping-ponging back and forth between whose side he was on. Bob, like Mikey, hadn’t said much at all. But unlike Mikey, he had been watching them with intent. 

“ You’re my fucking problem,” Mikey snapped back at him; lifting his head to glare back at Frank. “You’re being such a fucking dick hole, dude.” 

“At least I’m fucking doing something. When’s the last time you touched your fucking bass, man? Or even tried to help us write a fucking line?” Frank demanded, his fingers balling up into fists as he stared hard at Mikey. He was no stranger to staring, but he usually didn’t do it with venom in his eyes. 

“Frankie-” Gerard started, his voice heavy with exhaustion. 

“Someone has to say it.” Frank spat. “We can’t keep carrying around dead weight. Toro can play the bass better than he can anyways! We might as well cut him off.”

“Yeah, and Toro can play the guitar better than you too. Why the fuck should we keep you around?” Mikey argued back. 

“Mikey-” Gerard tried again, half-hearted. The weak attempts falling on deaf ears, anyways. 

“You’re such a bitch, you know that? You’re being fucking pathetic about this whole thing.” Frank grumbled. “Like, seriously, Mikey? What’s your fucking problem?” 

There were a lot of things that were Mikey’s problem at the moment; the primary one being the fact that he desperately wanted to off himself, and the way Frank was yelling at him was making the possibility all the more appealing. Or there was the fact that he could still feel the house begging him to do it. Or maybe it was the fact that Frank was right about everything he said, and Mikey just wasn’t ready to confront that fact yet. He was basically in the band on nepotism, Frank was right about that. 

“Fuck you,” Mikey said flatly, his voice a little smaller. He had lost some of his drive to fight back. Frank was right, after all. 

“Really? That’s it?” Frank scoffed. “That’s all you’ve got? You can’t even keep up in an argument right now? You’re such a little bitch.” 

Mikey wasn’t looking when it happened, but Gerard and Bob were. It was like it was in slow motion, Ray getting up and moving across the room to knock his knuckles cleanly into Frank’s jaw. The floor creaked beneath them, seemingly only to Mikey’s notice; the house was chuckling along with everything.  “Stop picking fights, dick.” 

Mikey wasn’t watching; but he heard it happen. The crack of skin on skin made his stomach churn uncomfortably. The pipes rattled. The foundation groaned. Like him, Ray was a puppet of the house’s bidding. 

Frank was quiet after that. 

“Holy shit, Ray,” Gerard broke the silence in the room. “Are you fucking out of your mind?” 

“No.” Bob chimed in, before Ray could counter. “Everyone get to your fucking rooms. We’re not doing this.” 

“So you’re all just going to let Toro punch me out?” 

“I’m sorry,” Ray added, quietly. He looked down at his hand, purple from the punch, almost stunned; like he hadn’t realized at all what he was doing. 

“If you don’t shut the fuck up, yeah, we are.” Bob smacked the back of Frank’s head; not nearly as roughly, but hard enough to get the message across. “Get out of here.” 

Mikey stood first, and stormed out of the room before anyone moved. 

Gerard slumped in his seat, rubbing his face. “I’m gonna keep writing.” He announced. 

Bob eyed him for a moment, before sighing. “Whatever man. Frank, Ray, get out.” 

Frank kicked at Bob’s shin, with minimal effort, and turned to leave. Bob followed out just behind him. 

Ray stayed in the room with Gerard for a moment. “... I’ll apologize to Frank in the morning.” He mumbled, rubbing his knuckles, before he too, left the studio. 

With everyone else gone, Gerard stayed in the studio. Even with Bob returning to hover by the door for a few moments longer, almost to see if Gerard had any intention of getting up. It became clear that neither of them were going to talk about it - and Gerard wasn’t going to leave. Not like there was much for them to say anyways. What had happened, happened. And they needed to finish writing this album. They had a deadline to contend with, and the label executives weren’t going to take interpersonal drama for an answer.  

When Bob finally left, Gerard turned his TV back on, and rewound Joan of Arc back to the beginning. The film had become a crutch for him during this time. Not that he would admit it. Not that he needed to either. It must’ve been obvious enough, given he had lost track of how many times he had even watched it since they started these sessions. Playing it over and over and over and over again became his main source of inspiration. A consistent voice he found himself turning too, when no good ideas would cross his mind. Now, he was watching it again. And again. And again- 

His eyes were getting dry, and heavy, slipping in and out of sleep before there was a knock at the door. Gerard flinched, and almost turned his head to tell whoever it was to go away, when the door slammed open. 

“What the hell?” Gerard blinked owlishly. 

Frank and Ray stood at the other side, stock still, and with anger on their faces. “Get up.” Ray said flatly. 

“Ray?” Gerard asked, confused.

“Get up.” Frank repeated, his voice slightly raised. 

When Gerard didn’t move, still struggling to comprehend what was happening, Frank and Ray came forward, gripping onto him from either side and yanking him up from his seat. Gerard stumbled as he was pulled up, and struggled to get himself out of their grip. “What the fuck is going on?” 

They dragged him the whole way, white knuckle grips on his shoulders and not a word spoken between the two of them, despite Gerard’s struggles and demands for answers. They hardly even looked at him as they carried him all the way into the foyer of the mansion. 

Bob stood by the door, his arms folded and his expression hardened. Ray and Frank pushed Gerard to the ground, at Bob’s feet. 

Gerard grunted, his knees hitting the ground hard. When he looked up at Bob, he was immediately met with a slap across his face. The floor beneath him creaked, as he leaned back - putting distance between himself and Bob.

“Dude-” Gerard started, but Bob interrupted him. That was when the panic began to set in; the real moment that proved that something was deeply wrong. He looked like Bob. He sounded like Bob. But it was distinctly not Bob. He carried himself differently; with a sense of superiority Gerard may have only attributed to obnoxious royalty of the past - something like how he would’ve imagined King Henry the Eighth would’ve looked down upon him, should they have ever crossed paths. Thank God they couldn’t; the way Bob was staring at him with such an unfamiliar malice and contempt was already enough to leave him feeling nauseated. His hands fell helplessly to his sides, with fingers twitching and trembling as he tried to understand what the fuck was happening to his friends. 

“You call yourself our saviour?” He questioned, scoffing. “You’re pathetic. You think of yourself as a king? We have kings, we have no need for self-proclaimed righteous idiots.” 

It was surreal; it was absolutely Bob’s voice, but not any words Gerard would ever dream of him saying. Hell, not even if he paid Bob to wax poetic like this for some album aesthetic could he imagine Bob doing it; at least, not with this level of harshness. Not with this absolute dedication, like he was taking on some fucking method acting role. He brought his hand to his cheek, flushed red and hot to the touch where Bob had hit him. 

“Do you know what we do to false gods?” 

Behind him, he heard Frank snicker. An awful sound; it made goosebumps rise up his arms. 

Gerard only stared back at Bob, his mouth agape. 

“We kill them.” 

It was so short, and relaxed. Completely nonchalant, as though he had rehearsed it about a dozen times. Gerard furrowed his brow, confusion only continuing to set in. It had to be a prank, he thought. Some sort of sick and twisted joke. Surely, Bob could commit to something this intense for a joke. That was one of his favourite things to do; be irritating. But this wasn’t irritating. 

This was frightening. 

“For you, saviour,” Bob smirked. “You will be hung up on a cross you will carry. But first,” Ray stepped forward from behind him. “We will crown you, oh king.” 

Gerard dared to look over his shoulder for only a second, just in time for Ray to place the so-called crown upon his head. A woven circle of spiky thorns. It was a couple of inches too small, evident immediately by the way Ray had to force it onto his head. Gerard tried to fight back, grabbing at Ray’s wrists to stop him. “What the fuck, that fucking hurts, man.” 

“Good.” Ray said back. 

Blood beaded where the thorns dug into his skin, and dripped down his face. An unfortunate drip of blood slid over his eye, and Gerard frowned and wiped it away. When he tried to remove the crown, Bob just turned and slapped him again. “Kings need crowns, don’t you think? Why don’t you wear yours with pride?” 

Gerard furrowed his brow, staring up at him in continued confusion. “Why are you doing this?” 

“Why do you call yourself a king?” Bob snapped back at him. “Why do you continue to claim miracles and deny your allegiance to the real king? Bring out the cross.” 

With a heavy thunk, Frank and Ray appeared to pull the thing out of nowhere. It was almost twice as tall as Gerard, and made of thick, heavy wood. A cross. No, his crucifix. It was only with the sight of it that Gerard put everything together. Bob pulled him up to his feet, just in time for Frank and Ray to put the cross upon his back. 

His knees buckled under the weight of it, and he tried to hang on tightly. Already, the wood was digging into his shoulder, and he felt his fingers brushing over splinters. But by then, it was clear enough that this wasn’t a joke. That they were serious. And that, somehow, he had earned it. After all, they wouldn’t put him to death if it wasn’t earned. He had forced their hand at this. 

“My soldiers will guide you.” Bob explained. “You will be made to suffer before death.” 

“No such thing as mercy, right?” Gerard grit his teeth. Blood from his head dripped down to his lips, and he frowned. 

“There is no mercy for false gods.” Bob explained simply. “Go.” 

Go to your room, man. Take a break. Bob’s words echoed in Ray’s head. Once they had left the studio, and Bob took a moment to speak with him privately, his tone had softened - by just a hair, but enough for Ray to notice, and be strangely comforted by.

They had never fought like that. Of course, like all bands, like all friends, they had their disagreements. About music, about movies, about sleeping arrangements on the road. And sometimes, things got bad. Sometimes they raised their voices. Sometimes they said all these horrible and bitter things that they didn’t really mean, but at the end of the day - they were still a band. They were still friends. And ultimately, they were still brothers. No matter what bitter words and thoughts slipped out of them. They always had that. 

Up until now, anyways. The last argument had left Ray uncertain of the things that used to make him feel secure. They were all secluded now. Off and different wings of the old mansion that had become their home over the past week. If he didn’t know better, he’d think it was this very house that was eating away at them,Wearing down their spirits and raising up all of this vicious bickering between them. But this wasn’t a Stephen King novel, this was real life. And real life had ups and downs. And maybe this was the most down they had ever been, but it was going to be fine. It had to be fine. They were always fine. Distantly, he heard the pipes rattle. 

He spit his toothpaste into the sink, and lifted his head to look up at his reflection - and immediately jumped back. 

The spider wasn’t on his actual face, his hand confirmed when he smacked himself in an effort to get it off. But it was very much on the mirror, and way bigger than it should be. “Shit.” Ray groaned softly. When was the last time he slept? “You’re massive, little dude.” 

He squished the spider under a wad of toilet paper, and discarded it into the toilet with a flush. Elsewhere in the house, he heard a bang. He tried not to think too deeply about it as he stumbled back into his bed. But even laying there, he couldn’t rest. He couldn’t relax. His head was still too restless. The bitter words Frank had snapped at him were still playing over and over in his head. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly. 

None of this was right. They weren’t meant to fall apart like this. 

The only problem was that the people he usually turned to talk to about these sort of things were the very people he was upset with; the people he didn’t think he could talk to about all of this. His stomach twisted uncomfortably, the loneliness was crushing him like a brick. Heavy and suffocating. He turned over to reach for his phone in the dark, flipping it open as he scrolled through his contacts.

It was midnight in California, which meant it was about 3am in New York. That was enough to give him pause for a moment, but it was Geoff; if he wasn’t awake already, odds are he wouldn’t be that upset. Ray needed someone to talk to. And if anyone was going to understand the trials and tribulations of a band of brothers, and more specifically, the problems that came with his particular band, it was going to be Geoff Rickly. He hit the call button, and held the phone to his ear. 

Geoff answered on the last ring. Ray must’ve woken him up, judging by the sound of his voice when he spoke. “Hello?” 

Maybe he shouldn’t have called. Maybe he should just hang up and let Geoff get back to sleep. “Hey,” Ray said, instead. “Sorry if I woke you up.” 

“Ray?” Geoff asked. There was some shuffling on the other end of the line. “You okay? What’s up?” 

Ray closed his eyes. “I dunno where to start.” He mumbled, his voice low. As though he was worried about being overheard by his bandmates. As if they weren’t all off far away from his room. “It’s bad, man. It’s never been this bad.” 

“What do you mean?” Geoff asked. 

Ray took a deep breath in. “Everything’s wrong. Gerard’s like, manic or something. Frank’s pissed as all hell, and Mikey has barely spoken a word to any of us. He just- he just sits there. And it’s all fucked up. We’re not cooperating. We’re not doing anything but fighting.” 

Geoff was quiet on the other end of the line for a moment. “Shit.” He finally said, and Ray couldn’t think of a better word to describe the absolute misery he felt. 

“Yeah,” Ray echoed, and swallowed. 

Geoff sighed softly. “Do you wanna talk about it?” 

Frank’s face still hurt from the punch, not that he’d ever admit it. Not that there was anyone to admit it to, anyways. Frank stalked his way up the stairs to his room; at the top of the spire in the west wing of the mansion. He only knew that because he liked to say it. He liked the drama of it all, which is why he had picked the room in the first place. At a time when they had all been in better spirits. 

Now, alone in his room, he could feel the anger starting to dissipate. It was weird that Ray had punched him at all; so unlike him, even in the worst of circumstances. He might’ve expected it from Gerard, or even Mikey or Bob, but Ray? Something was very wrong with him; with all of them. 

But Frank wasn’t going to push it. Not now, anyways. It was clear enough that they all needed some time on their own to heal from… whatever was starting to haunt them all. Frank rubbed his jaw, aching from the hit, and frowned to himself. Regardless of whatever was going on, Toro was way out of line for that. Frank would have to talk it over with him later. Maybe dole out a few hits of his own, just to even them out. 

After all, Frank was no stranger to fights. Out of all of them, he had probably been in the most fights anyways. Not that that was saying much. It was frankly ridiculous that he was the one who got hit anyways, when Mikey had been the one starting the argument in the first place. Mikey was the one who wasn’t carrying his weight. Mikey was the one causing all of the fucking problems these days, always moping around and stressing everyone else out because he couldn’t keep his shit together. Gerard would’ve been fine if he wasn’t stressed about Mikey , maybe then he’d keep his head on his shoulders and actually get to work, and if Gerard was working, then Ray would be working, and if Ray was working he’d get his head out of his ass and cooperate with Frank, and then they wouldn’t look like total idiots the first time they tried to write anything with Bob there. Mikey was clearly the problem here. 

It was a miracle Bob hadn’t quit on them yet; with the shit he he had been through since they had gotten there - how long had it even been? Frank couldn’t remember; the days bleeding and melting into each other in a dizzying haze. He laid back on his bed, and stared up at the ceiling; blurring his eyes on purpose as he tried to settle down. But he was angry. And the longer he stayed there, the angrier he got; at Mikey specifically. What the fuck was he thinking saying Frank was the problem? That they didn’t fucking need him? 

“They wouldn’t give a shit about us if it wasn’t for me.” Frank said aloud to himself. “The kids, they fucking love me. No one would give a shit to watch us if I wasn’t there. You’re such a fucking stiff performer. You give them nothing. I carry our fucking shows.” He turned to his suitcase, rummaging around his stuff until he found his pre-rolled joints. 

He fumbled with his lighter, curling up against the headboard of his bed. “Shit,” Frank hissed softly, struggling to get the flame to light. When he finally caught it, he exhaled softly, and pressed the end of a joint to the flame. When it caught, he brought it to his lips, and took a long inhale. Quickly, he found himself relaxing. His shoulders slumped as some of the pent-up energy began to dissipate. It was amazing, the miracle weed seemed to work when he worked himself up. He tilted his head up, watching the ceiling as he took drag after drag. Time seemed to go still, and yet, before he knew it, he felt the tips of his fingers getting burnt from the end of the joint - now only a stub. 

He could feel it all over his body; tingling, and heavy. As he got up from the bed, his legs felt like they were weighed down with bags of sand. Every step felt like a forceful lug, heavy and purposeful. Frank snorted to himself. “Fee, fi, fo, fum, fuck,” He said aloud to himself, and laughed out loud. He let his feet carry him, deciding on the path. And they lead him to the door, and then down the spiral staircase. 

As he looked down at the ground, he could see it rushing towards him. So quickly, for a moment, his body jerked hard as though he was falling. But he was still, clinging onto the railing. “Oh, fuck me,” Frank slid himself down, sitting on his ass instead. Step by step, he inched himself down the stairs. Scooting his ass from one step, down to the next. It was a rhythm that was surprisingly easy to lose himself in until he found himself at the bottom, his feet hitting the door. It took significant effort to pull his heavy body up, leaning onto the railing to keep himself upright. He reached down towards the door knob; tiny in his hand. Like a scene out of Alice in Wonderland, he tried to turn the handle, only to find it locked. “What the fuck?” He tried again, and the door was still locked. 

Frank kicked the back of Gerard’s knee, making him hiss, and almost fall over again before he started moving. Ray took to walking just ahead of him, turning to the left, and leading him toward the parlour. Quickly, Gerard learned that holding the cross and standing still was one thing, but having to walk and drag it around was another. It was a lot more exhausting, off the bat. With each step, he’d have to pull the cross further. With each step, his arms holding onto the cross grew heavy from having to be upright. The shape was awkward, with really no good way to grasp it, even with the short end hooked over his shoulder to help, he couldn’t risk letting go without it falling. The thing must’ve weighed almost three hundred pounds, if he had to guess. 

He wasn’t surprised when he only made it into the adjacent smoking room before falling to his knees. “Shit,” Gerard hissed. 

Immediately, Frank kicked at his side. “Get up. You’ve only just started.” 

Ray turned to him, too, his arms folded much like Bob’s had been. “You should’ve figured this was too much to bear before claiming yourself a god.” 

“If you really were the saviour of men, you’d be able to do this no problem.” Frank added with a scoff. “Instead, you’re just proving that you’re a pathetic liar.” Gerard huffed hard. 

“Since when did you two become jury and executioner?” He grumbled, and slowly, he pushed himself up. It took an obvious show of effort, with Gerard struggling to keep his knees from buckling. At one point, he even straightened out the cross to try and use it as a crutch to get back on his feet. 

“Took you long enough,” Ray said, and turned to continue leading him through the house. 

They turned into the next room. A former music room when the building was someone's home, now turned into a sort of central office for the studio that ran it. It was empty now, except for a woman that was all too familiar, and made Gerard stop in his tracks. 

Elena approached him slowly, tearful, as she moved in closer towards him. “Gerard,” she said softly, reaching out to touch his face. Gerard closed his eyes, almost trying to will the scene away. His stomach twisted up into knots, but the presence of his grandmother remained. Even with his eyes screwed shut, he could sense her just before him. He could still feel her featherlight touch upon his cheek. He swallowed hard, but his throat was dry. He was afraid to look. Afraid that if he opened his eyes, she’d be gone. 

The tension was heavy following his fight with Frank, and to say Mikey felt guilty about the whole ordeal was an understatement. This must’ve been his fault, somehow. In a way that Mikey couldn’t quite articulate, he was to blame for the band's troubles. For the way that Gerard just couldn’t seem to focus. For the way Frank was getting all pissed off all the time. For the way that Ray wasn’t just meshing with the two of them in the way he normally did. For the way song writing normally flowed so easily for them - somehow, it was Mikey’s fault. 

And maybe that was because he wasn’t a natural with music like the rest of them. He shouldn’t have been invited to the band. 

They just wanted your band name idea. A tiny, vindictive voice whispered in the back of his head. They never really wanted you. The floor creaked beneath him. 

The thought of it made his stomach twist; and he had to insist to himself that it wasn’t true. That it couldn’t be true. Angry and hurting, he turned back around. Gerard would know what to say. Or, even if he didn’t, they could sit in shared silence. There was always some sort of comfort there. Maybe if he sat there long enough, he could find inspiration in Joan of Arc like Gerard did. Maybe that would make him feel better. Maybe he would feel a little less useless. 

When he turned to head back into the studio, Gerard was still sitting there, his eyes heavy and weighed down by bags as he stared at the TV screen. 

“Hey,” Mikey said quietly. Gerard didn’t answer. In fact, he made no acknowledgement of Mikey’s presence at all. “Hey,” Mikey tried again - this time, a little bit louder. Maybe Gerard was too wrapped up in it. Maybe Mikey hadn’t spoken loud enough. Gerard just didn’t hear him, that was all. The house groaned - settling, like it always seemed to do. 

And still, he didn’t say anything. He didn’t even blink, or nod his head, or do anything to imply that he was aware of Mikey being there. 

But Mikey tried not to be so discouraged. Things were still… tense, to say the least, and maybe this was just a byproduct of that. Gerard didn’t want to talk. That was fine. Mikey wasn’t so sure he wanted to talk either. He just didn’t want to be alone, because being alone meant having to think, and having to think just meant he was going to hurt. And he was worried if he hurt enough in his head, he might start to hurt his body, too. 

And Mikey really didn’t want to think about that. 

“If it’s cool, uh, I think I’m just gonna hang here with you.” 

But whether or not it was cool was a little vague as Gerard’s vacant stare remained transfixed on the black and white figures on screen. Like he was studying every detail of the grain the old film provided. Like he was trying to memorize every move Ingrid Bergman made. Like he hadn’t already memorized it with the dozen times he had seen this movie before. 

But Mikey supposed the silence wasn’t a rejection either. And so, he made himself comfortable beside his brother. Perched upon the other side of the love seat in the studio. Maybe if Gerard had been a little more receptive, Mikey might’ve sat closer. He might have even hugged him. Or maybe even curled up with his head in his brother's lap and soaked up the comfort like he did from their mothers lap when they were just kids. He could really use that sort of comfort now - something like that might’ve been able to stop the black hole that already swallowed his heart, and now threatened his soul. 

The screen flickered, and the movie played on. Ingrid Bergman speaking the same lines, and meeting the same marks Mikey had seen her reach before. Gerard was unnaturally still beside him. If not for the faint rise and fall of his shoulders with each breath he took, Mikey might’ve been able to mistake him for a wax figure. 

“Gee?” He tried softly, when he noticed Gerard’s eyes slipping shut. And he frowned when they stayed closed, and Gerard stayed perfectly still. “Are you mad at me?” 

Frank let go of the door, and when his hand returned, the knob could only fit between two of his fingers. With one hard tug, the whole thing came clean off the hinges. He lifted up the door to his face, it must’ve been the same size as his eye. It was only then he noticed how cramped the room had become. The staircase digging into his spine and the awkward way he had to sit to keep his head from hitting the ceiling. He crouched down further, peeking through the hole of the doorway. He pushed his head against it, and the walls bent easily around him, like rubber, he was able to push and pull it every which way to get himself through. His foot caught on the door frame, and he turned to push it back, and pull himself out. 

In the blink of an eye, the door was back to normal, back on the hinges, and back to normal size. Frank stepped closer, feeling it over to be sure. Locked and all, with the key nowhere to be spotted. 

“What the fuck?” He said to himself, again. Rubbing his eyes, Frank turned back around, and continued to let his body guide him. 

The kitchen was a natural place to go when he was stoned. 

“Hey Toro.” Frank said, barely looking at Ray sitting at the kitchen table. 

“Didn’t Bob tell you to go to your room?” Ray asked, his voice sounding wavy, far off, distant. 

Frank scoffed, and rolled his eyes. “He told you to go to your room too, dumbass. And you’re here too.” 

“You’re the dumbass.” 

The anger bubbling up inside of him was unexpected, his chest growing hot and his jaw getting tight. “Shut up, man.” 

“Why should I? You’re a dumb piece of shit.” A bang rattled off elsewhere in the house. Frank only barely registered it. 

The voice was sounding less like Ray, but Frank couldn’t process that yet. He was more startled about the fact that he didn’t seem to be in control of his own body. He was only able to watch helplessly as he moved toward the knife block. His fingers curled. “Ray, c’mon man, don’t be like this.” There was fear in his voice then. 

“Are you really that much of a little bitch? We don’t fucking need you, man. Get the fuck out of here.” 

He reached for the knife block, pulling out the large chef's knife. It glittered in the pale light of the moon. “Ray,” Frank’s voice cracked, his eyes watering. “Ray, you gotta get the fuck out of here.” 

Ray pushed back hard in his chair, scraping it against the tile. “Or what, Frankie? You gonna kill me? Do it. You wanna be the star, is that it? You wanna be the only guitarist? Is that going to satisfy you? Get all the eyes in the room on you? But if you kill me, you gotta kill all of us. There’s always going to be a bigger star, Frankie.” 

Frank’s throat went tight as he stared back at Ray. Confused was the best way to describe what he was feeling. 

Terrified was another. Especially when his feet continued to move against his will, inching closer toward Ray. His hands shook as he gripped the knife, but as much as he tried to pry his fingers off, as much as he willed himself to just let go of the fucking thing, it refused to slip from his grip. “Ray, get the fuck out of here.” Frank said, only this time, he was pleading. His eyes watering as he stared back at him. 

“No. I was here first.” In the kitchen, and in the band. The reality of that was all too real to Frank, and it made him feel nauseated. If Ray didn’t stop- 

For a split second, he wanted to do it. He actually wanted to plunge the blade into Ray’s chest and feel his heart stop. He wanted to see him paint the kitchen red with the way his blood would spurt from the wound. He wanted to see the hopeful, optimism drain from his eyes with Frank being the very last thing he ever saw. 

And then it was happening. And Frank was watching it like it was a movie. An out of body experience, watching from the other side of the room as he drove the knife into Ray over and over again. Even after Ray collapsed, Frank fell to his knees just to keep driving the blade into him. The blood pooled on the floor, like a scene out of some of Frank’s favourite horror films. The sound wasn’t anything like he expected though; it lacked the overdramatics that came in the b-movies he loved. It lacked the suspension of his disbelief. To his surprise, it was quieter than he could’ve imagined. And wetter. Almost like the sounds he’d make as a kid, splashing through every puddle he saw when it rained. He was laughing too, as he dropped the knife down into Ray again. His head tilted back, his eyes closed, and a wide grin spread across his blood splattered face. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Geoff asked.

The answer seemed obvious to Ray, of course, he hadn’t called up Geoff to not talk about this. The whole thing had left his head spinning. “Yeah, I just-” He finally opened his eyes, and jumped out of his skin. “Fuck! Holy shit!” 

“Ray? Are you okay?” 

The figure that stood at the end of his bed was unmoving, facing away from Ray as it stood completely still, shrouded in some sort of dark sheet or veil. His heart was in his throat, pounding mercilessly against his ears. His eyes wide, watering, as he stared back at it. “Frank? Is this some fucking joke?” 

The figure didn’t move, or respond. 

Cautious, Ray lifted his blankets, slipping out from the bed. The wooden floors creaked beneath him as he moved around to look at the person before him. Only the closer he got, the more apparent it became that the person standing in his room wasn’t any of his bandmates. The shoulders were too broad to be Mikey, too tall to be Frank, and too still to be Gerard. “Geoff?” Ray spoke over the phone. 

“Yeah? You okay? What’s going on?” 

“I think I’m hallucinating.” Ray said out loud. “Because this isn’t making any sense.” He moved closer, more in front of the thing standing there. The same height as him, the same outline to their body, there was no way- 

“Are you okay?” 

“I think I’m standing at the foot of my bed.” Ray said. 

“What? Are you or are you not?” 

Ray frowned to himself. “No, like… I think-” He swallowed. “This sounds so crazy. I think there’s another me. And there’s me, and I was in bed. And there’s another me standing in the room.” 

Geoff was quiet on the other end. “You’re right,” he responded, his tone slow. “That does sound crazy. Listen, I’m gonna call Gee, okay? I’ll get him to come check up on you-” 

“Don’t,” Ray said quickly. “I can’t- Look, we all need a break from each other right now. You get it? I can’t talk to him right now. It’s- It’s probably just because I haven’t slept. I’m making things up. Just stay on the phone, and I’ll relax and- and I’m gonna try and get some sleep.” 

Again, Geoff was quiet on the other end. “Alright,” he settled, finally. “If you’re sure you’ll be okay.” 

“Yeah,” Ray decided, on his own behalf. “I’ll be okay.” The floor creaked in the same spots as Ray moved back around to get back into bed, pulling the blankets up, and keeping the phone close. He closed his eyes tightly, and opened them again. The figure was still in the same spot, still covered in the dark cloth that kept Ray from being certain. He closed his eyes again. 

“Ray?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Just seeing if you were still there.” 

“I’m still here.” 

“Good.” 

Another minute passed, and Ray opened his eyes, just for his breath to once again hitch and catch in his throat. “Shit.” This time, when he looked at the figure, there was no denying it. The figure was him, without any doubt, because now, the sheet was gone and the Other Ray had turned to face him. His eyes were nothing but white, his skin pale and sunken. A quiet drip rang out in the room, only barely audible over Real Ray’s heavy breathing. 

“Ray?” 

“It’s me.” He said quietly. “I’m looking at me.” 

When he finally did open his eyes; Gerard couldn’t believe what he was seeing, and his own eyes began to water as well. “Grandma?” 

She was exactly as he remembered her, and her touch was just as warm. The only problem was the absolute heartbreak he felt from having to see that look on her face; the pain, the sadness, the tears. In all of his memories of her, she was always smiling when she looked at him. Always proud of his accomplishments, both personal and professional. Now, she only looked scared. 

“You are so strong,” She said softly to him. “And so brave. You’ll be okay.” Her words were soft; a gentle encouragement that flooded him with the strength to stand up a little straighter. 

“I miss you so much.” He said back to her, his voice cracking as his tears finally spilled over. “Are you okay?” 

Elena cracked the tiniest hint of a smile, and she nodded. “I’m okay,” she assured him gently. “And I am always, always, with you, Gerard.” 

She leaned in and kissed his forehead. He closed his eyes, soaking up the comforting feeling of her touch. When he opened them again, she was gone, and he had to keep going. 

As he tried to exit into the next room, the bottom of the cross caught on the door frame. Frowning, Gerard turned, and tried to tug it to no avail. He was sweaty, with blood still dripping down his face, and struggling under the weight. Helplessly, he looked back at Ray and Frank, who offered nothing but a roll of their eyes. 

“You,” Frank had turned and pointed to someone, unseen by Gerard. “Help him.” 

From behind Ray and Frank, Mikey emerged. Nervous, frowning, and silent as he moved around Gerard to lift up the cross at the bottom, and help him continue on. 

“Mikey,” Gerard said softly, watching him for a moment. “Thank you.” 

Mikey ducked his head, looking away as he carried it with him. The added support made it so much easier, and he was more confident as he continued to follow Ray through the house. It was almost too easy, which is why he wasn’t surprised when at the bottom of the stairs, Ray stopped him. “You may go.” 

Gerard felt the bottom of the cross drop before he even turned to look, only catching a glimpse of Mikey retreating, and disappearing from sight. 

“Are you mad at me?”

The question hung in the air, with Gerard unmoving. It was a question Mikey almost didn’t want to hear the answer to, if he was being truthful. If Gerard wasn’t mad at him, then the silence was a pure dismissal, which would make Mikey want to curl up and die. However, if Gerard was mad at him… well, that would also make Mikey want to curl up and die, in a far more immediate sense.

Somehow, the silence was better. For only a moment, it meant Gerard didn’t care. He wasn’t mad. And he didn’t care about Mikey at all. 

It was better than what he could’ve expected, even if it made him nauseated. 

He just couldn’t do a single thing right, could he? 

That was why Gerard didn’t care. That was why Frank was so pissed off with him. He was the fucking failure of the band. Frank was right to pick a fight with him. Maybe he should just fucking quit- 

When Gerard moved, it made Mikey flinch. He had almost forgotten that Gerard was even capable of movement, let alone doing it unprompted. His head snapping towards the door, which remained cracked ajar, just as Mikey had left it. 

“What the hell?” Gerard spoke, his voice low, and mumbled - almost like he was in a daze; or even sleep talking. 

Mikey frowned more. “Gerard?” He asked. “Are you okay?” 

And still, Gerard didn’t answer. His gaze drifting passed Mikey, like he could see right through him. Like Mikey wasn’t even there. 

“Ray?” Gerard asked. 

Mikey furrowed his brow, looking back to the door where there was clearly absolutely no one standing; Ray, or otherwise. But that only made him worry more. What, was Gerard hallucinating now? Or was this some kind of sick joke? Maybe he really was mad at Mikey, and this was his fucked up way of expressing it? 

Mikey, quite honestly, didn’t know which was going to be worse. 

Suddenly, Gerard lurched forward. Stumbling as he got up onto his feet and flailed his arms before pressing them tightly to his sides. “What the fuck is going on?” 

“Uh, why don’t you tell me?” Mikey questioned back at him, a hint of anger slipping into his voice. He got up, too, going to stand in front of Gerard. But even then, with his face right in front of Gerard’s, there was no sense of him seeing him. It was like Mikey was completely invisible. In fact, he even had to look down at himself and ensure that he was still there. 

Gerard stepped forward, his steps awkward and stumbling. When he bumped into Mikey, it was like he wasn’t even there. When he pushed his way through the door, it was more of the same. Mikey frowned, as he followed behind him. “What the fuck, dude? Did you fucking take something?” 

In the back of his mind, Mikey wondered if Gerard had any more of whatever he may have taken.

But Gerard, again, continued to not acknowledge him. Stumbling his way towards the foyer where he went still again, before falling down to his knees - staring up at absolutely nothing.

“Gerard?” Mikey tried again. This time, getting in closer. He put his hand on his shoulder, shaking him lightly. But Gerard showed no indication of seeing it, or even feeling him next to him. Mikey’s heart sank down into his stomach - everything becoming more terrifying the longer it went on. This wasn’t Gerard ignoring him. This was Gerard being unable to see him, to feel him, to hear him. 

“Dude-” Gerard started, and then stopped. His face was going pale, and Mikey felt the colour draining from his own face as well. Something was wrong; very, very wrong. He tried to pull Gerard up on his feet, but he felt like dead weight - unable to be lifted, no matter how hard Mikey pulled. 

Suddenly, Mikey couldn’t tell if the problem was with Gerard, or if it was with him. Was this like some fucking Goosebumps book and he had turned into some… intangible version of himself? Or had something broken inside of his brother and Gerard was trapped in some fantasy world? 

He didn’t know which of the options was scarier. 

“A-Are you sure it’s not like… a mirror? Or have you guys been smoking?” Geoff tried; anything to try and make sense of this, Ray supposed. But Geoff wasn’t here. Geoff couldn’t see what he was looking at the ghost - no, zombie? - of himself. A cold sweat spread over his skin, and his stomach twisted itself up into an even tighter knot. Another drop. 

“No, no I haven’t smoked anything.” Ray assured him. He couldn’t look away. He couldn’t close his eyes. This thing, it was like a fucking Weeping Angel or something, if he looked away, it was going to get closer. It was going to kill him and take his place or something insane like that. If he didn’t have Geoff on the phone, maybe he would’ve been killed by it already. “And there’s no mirror. It’s- It wasn’t even there before. It just showed up and-” Another drop. “Somethings leaking?” 

“Can you like, take a picture of it?” 

Maybe he could’ve; but maybe he was afraid of what the picture was going to show. If he sent it to Geoff, and he saw nothing, Ray didn’t know what he was going to do. But if he took a picture and Other Ray was clear as day… he didn’t know what he was going to do either. “No,” he decided quietly, and Geoff didn’t seem to want to push him on the matter. “Just don’t hang up, man. Please.” 

“I’m not gonna hang up. But I really think you should get Gerard or- or anyone. Is Bob there?” 

Ray shook his head, despite the fact that Geoff couldn’t see him. “Bob- Bob was real fucking pissed. He went to bed. He’s not going to talk to anyone.” 

“Okay.” Geoff said softly. “So we just gotta get you through until morning, right? It’s like… what? Just after midnight now? And the sun’ll be up at six, maybe earlier. And when the suns up, all the ghouls are gonna go away.” Geoff spoke slowly, a light uptick in his tone. Like he was speaking to a child. At any other time, the tone might’ve sounded condescending and pissed Ray off, but right now, it was comforting. He was willing to take it. “That’s only six hours. You can make it through six hours.” 

When he said it like that, it sounded like an eternity. But Ray wanted to believe it. He needed to believe it. And as of now, he had no reason not to believe it. The room was still and quiet, aside from his own breathing and the quiet dripping. And so far, the Other Ray hadn’t even moved while Real Ray had been watching… it? Him? As long as everything stayed the way that it was, he was going to make it out of this. Everything was going to be fine. 

“Okay.” Ray answered, his voice cracking. 

“You’re sure it’s you?” Geoff asked him, his voice a little small. 

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure I know what I look like.” He knew Geoff was only trying to help, but he couldn’t help but to also be a little annoyed by the stupid question. 

“And you’re sure you didn’t take anything?” Geoff asked; unbothered by Ray’s irritation. 

“Yes. Nothing. Completely sober.” 

“Okay.” Geoff sighed softly. “...Can you tell me more?” 

Ray furrowed his brow as he stared back at the Other Ray, still unmoving. He noticed then, at some point, Other Ray’s gaze had turned slightly, his eyes pointed towards the window, branches fluttering lightly in the wind. Other than that, everything was the same before. “It’s- he’s just standing there. Just at the foot of the bed. He’s… it’s looking out the window, I think. But he doesn’t really have eyes. They’re… they’re all white. No pupils.” He explained, his voice shaking. “He looks dead.” 

Distantly, through the tinny phone speaker, Ray could hear a kettle start to boil. “Shit.” Geoff said again. “That’s…” The thought trailed off. There were no words for all of this. At least it sounded like Geoff believed him. “Can you touch him?”

When he was back in his body, he was in the bathroom, scrubbing the blood off of his hands, and watching the rusty water swirl down the drain. Out damned spot, out I say , he thought on impulse, and his stomach twisted harshly. He didn’t want to think about what he had done, or what was going to happen when someone else found out about Ray. He just hoped it wasn’t Gerard. He didn’t think Gerard could handle that. 

He also hoped no one found out it was him who had done it. He couldn’t handle the way they would all look at him. Or worse, the way that none of them would ever look at him again. 

The blood didn’t seem to want to wash off entirely. Even as he scrubbed up to his elbows. He was afraid to look up into the mirror; afraid to see the extent of the mess the remains of Ray would’ve left all over him. He licked his lips, and tasted copper. And then his own vomit as he turned to heave into the toilet, clutching the cool porcelain, and smearing more red all over it. Once his stomach was empty, he laid back on the cool tile floor, trying to ground himself. It wasn’t him. He didn’t want to do it. He had told Ray to get away from him, but he wouldn’t budge. It wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t in control. Maybe he should tell Gerard. If anyone would understand what it was to lose control of himself, it was going to be Gerard. But would Gerard understand this? 

Did Frank have a choice? He had to tell someone. He needed to tell someone. If he didn’t tell someone, he might do it again. He could never, never, do it again. 

Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet. He flushed the toilet, and splashed some water onto his face - making a point to rub the blood away from his mouth. He exited the bathroom, and found himself staring down a seemingly endless and doorless hallway. The bathroom door shut behind him, and just as quickly as that, it was gone. Frank felt around the edges - or where a door frame should’ve been, but no matter how hard he shoved his shoulder against the wall, there was no give. Even knocking returned a flat sound in return - no sign of anything on the other side.

With no choice, he turned to continue walking down the hall. It was surreal; the end of the hallway was shrouded in darkness, but wherever he walked was washed in a dim green light. Although there was no source for the light that Frank could see. He rubbed his eyes, and time seemed to slip and melt. Minutes could’ve been hours, seconds could’ve been days. When he turned to look over his shoulder, the space behind him was just as dark and mysterious as the way ahead of him.

“Motherfucker.” He said out loud, his voice sounding foreign and unfamiliar to himself. He continued on, the same way, until his knees began to ache. It was almost exactly at that moment, a door appeared to his left. 

He stared at it for a moment, not convinced the door was even real. Although, it was growing increasingly difficult to convince himself that absolutely any of this was real. He reached his fingers out, brushing along the edges of the frame. The gap was real, anyways. And when he held the door knob, it twisted, so that was real as well. 

“Fuck.” Gerard said, eyeing up the stairs. Without Mikey’s help, he didn’t think he could do it. But he didn’t think he’d have a choice either. There was no way Frank and Ray, at this point, would let him off easy. He lifted his foot onto the first stair, preparing himself to have to pull up onto the next one, when he was interrupted. 

“Wait.” It was a woman’s voice, and one that was familiar, but he couldn’t quite place. Not until she moved closer, and he could look. 

Lindsey Ballato came up to his side, with a silk cloth in hand that she used to gently blot his face. They had met a few times before, and Gerard had always liked hanging out with her. She was smart, quick witted, and always made him laugh. She was an artist, too, like him, and he was always fascinated to see what she was working on. 

But now, her presence surprised him; even if it was more than welcome in the circumstance. She was gentle as she wiped the blood and sweat off of his face. “You’re going to be okay, you know.” She said quietly. “You might feel like you’re all alone, but you’re not. So many people are rooting for you. So many people love you.” 

For a brief moment, Kat slipped into his mind. His fiance back at home, whose ring was suddenly heavy on his finger. 

But then his eyes met Lindsey’s, and the thought slipped away. She had always been beautiful, but now, she was breathtaking. 

“Why are you here?” He asked quietly, confusion slipping through. 

Lindsey cracked a small smile. “Oh, Gee.” She said softly. “You don’t know it yet, but I’m meant to be close to you.” She smiled a little more, cupping his cheeks before leaning in to kiss his lips gently. When her lips met his, his stomach flipped, goosebumps shot up his arms, his chest warmed, and his fingertips tingled. 

Kat hadn’t made him feel like that in quite some time. 

“Don’t go.” Gerard whispered to Lindsey when she pulled back. She dabbed his eyes, alerting him to the fact that his eyes were watering at all. 

“I can’t help you with this,” Lindsey said quietly. “Not yet, anyway. Not now. But I will.” She assured, and pecked his cheek this time. “I’m always going to be there for you, Gerard.” She said softly. “I believe in you, I know you can do this.” 

The assurance was more helpful than he expected, and it filled him with the drive to keep moving forward. Lindsey stepped out of his way, but she stayed close to him as he mounted the first few steps. “See?” She encouraged softly. “You got this, Gerard. You’re so much stronger than you know.” 

Gerard grunted as he lugged the cross up onto the next step, and the next. When he turned, hopeful to get one more glimpse of Lindsey before he carried on; she was already gone. There was just Frank behind him, and Ray ahead of him, and the echoes of her words swirling around his head. She was right. He was braver than he thought. He needed to keep pushing himself. He needed to reach the end of this. He had Elena with him. He had Mikey with him. And to his surprise, he had Lindsey with him, too. 

Mikey watched as Gerard’s eyes flickered around, his jaw dropped, and his head turned, and he flinched - tears brimming in his eyes. 

“Gee,” Mikey tried again, gripping his shoulders. “Gee, look at me. I’m right here. What the fuck is going on, man?” His voice was heavy. His mouth felt like it was filled with cotton, and his stomach went tight. “Frank!” Mikey turned his head, shouting up the stairs at no one. “Ray! Bob, fuck, someone!” He tried - uselessly. The house was almost too quiet, not even the usual creaks and groans of the old building shifting and settling in the night could be heard. 

There was nothing, except Gerard’s breathing and sniffling - then, “What the fuck? That fucking hurts, man.” 

What hurt - Mikey couldn’t tell - but it worried him more. Something was hurting, something that he couldn’t see, and that was making Gerard’s eyes water. Mikey touched his cheek, then. Gerard’s skin was warm under his touch, and still, it was like Mikey wasn’t there at all - like he couldn’t see him. Like he couldn’t feel him. It was nauseating. 

“Why are you doing this?” Gerard asked, staring off in another direction - at something - or someone - Mikey couldn’t see. 

Mikey frowned. “Fuck, Gee, I wish I fucking knew.” He mumbled, and turned his head to yell again. “Frankie, c’mon!” He tried; an empty shout, echoing off the walls as no one would come to his rescue. 

Gerard rose to his feet, and then stumbled - his hands contorting - held awkwardly up in the air as he hunched over. 

Mikey furrowed his brow, frowning hard as he stepped back and watched. If only for a moment, letting his confusion set in, and he tried to put the pieces together. But he only got more confused. “No such thing as mercy, right?” Gerard said, his voice rough, his jaw tight. Suddenly, he lurched forward. Gerard almost fell, before he started off walking. 

Mikey blinked. Part of him tempted to grab onto him, to hold him back from wandering off again. But, on the other hand, he was convinced that any attempts to stop Gerard would be shrugged off; or worse, confirm his nightmare had come true. 

So, he did the only thing that he could, which was to follow behind Gerard. 

Just like he always did. 

He trailed behind him; silent, watching, like a shadow. Constantly lagging just behind him, and hardly noticeable. Intangible. Useless. 

Gerard fell in front of Mikey, and on instinct, Mikey moved forward. He only touched Gerard’s shoulder, before he backed up. There was no use, he reminded himself. There was nothing he could do. He was going to lose Gerard. He was going to lose himself. 

It was halfway up the stairs that Gerard tripped over his own feet. The cross slid off of his back and down a couple of stairs, before Frank showed enough mercy to stop it from going all the way down. His knees must’ve been bruised, judging by the way the ache shot up his spine. Still, Gerard pushed himself to his feet, and all the way up. He turned to pull the cross back up, too. He needed to keep going. He needed to prove them all right. They were counting on him. They must’ve been. Maybe that’s where he’d find them all again - at the end of this. And maybe then, he’d be so lucky that Frank and Ray would simply let him go once he proved himself a saviour, and things could go back to the way they belonged. 

Carefully, Gerard pushed himself to his feet. His knees were shaking under the weight of his body, but he made himself stand upright regardless. With significant effort, he hauled the cross back up as well, up and over his shoulder as he pushed himself to make it all the way up the top of the stairs. 

And at least there was some relief when he reached the top and could walk straight again, with less effort of having to pull the weight of the cross, only needing to let it drag behind him once more. Gerard took a deep breath, pushing himself forward as he continued on behind Ray. Even if he kept sweating, and the blood kept dripping, and if Lindsey was no longer there to clean it up. For a few minutes, anyways, it was easier. 

When Frank finally pushed the door open, it was a familiar place. The first apartment he and Mikey had gotten together when they moved to LA. Frank glanced around, confused, as he stepped in. 

The place had always been strange, but it was home for a time. An eclectic mix of the stuff they thought they needed to bring from New Jersey, which was mostly movies, posters, and comic books, as well as all the new fancy LA stuff that their label money had gotten them. Like the fancy leather couch and the marble countertops in the kitchen. It was a meeting of universes, in a strange way. And, even stranger, was the way that the apartment still felt haunted to Frank. His heart rate picked up as he stepped further into the apartment. It still smelled the same, somewhere between new car and week old compost. He found his feet gravitating towards Mikey’s door, rather than his own. He raised his fist, knocking twice. 

“Come in.” 

Mikey’s voice on the other side of the door took him by surprise. Like he didn’t expect him to be there. Or maybe it was the uncanny quality. The voice was definitely Mikey, in that it sounded like him. But Frank couldn’t ever imagine Mikey responding to him with such… formality? 

Still, Frank didn’t hesitate. Opening the door only a moment later. Mikey’s room was the same as Frank had remembered it. Clothes strewn over the floor, a wide king bed filling most of the liveable space. A couple of basses mounted on the wall, with a baseball bat above them. 

The more surprising part was Mikey himself. Or maybe that was the least surprising part. Because he was a couple years younger than he was now, and in that sense, he fit in perfectly to the room. His hair wasn’t styled, but it wasn’t typically if they weren’t going out. His bangs only brushed to the side to keep them out of his eyes, and held in place by the white-and-black framed glasses that were once a staple of his wardrobe.

Frank’s stomach flipped at the sight of him; he had always loved those glasses on him. 

“You okay, man?” Mikey sat up suddenly, looking him over. “Is that your blood?” 

Frank blinked, his jaw dropping slightly. Somehow, he had forgotten all about Ray’s blood that was still staining his clothes. His eyes watered, and he shrugged. 

“It’s a long story.” He said quietly, instead, and moved closer again. “Shit, Mikes.” He whispered, and got closer still, until he could collapse himself onto the familiar mattress. He never spent enough time in this bed. 

Mikey sat up a little more, reaching out to touch Frank’s shoulder. Hesitant. Careful not to touch any blood spots. “Shit.” Mikey said back to him. “Shit, take that thing off if you’re gonna- if you’re gonna be on my bed, dude.” 

It was another thing Frank would never admit, how much he had wanted to hear Mikey say that to him. Well, sorta. The way he imagined Mikey telling him to take off his clothes if he was gonna be in his bed was always a lot sexier in his head. Frank obeyed either way, pulling the shirt up and over his head, and tossing it aside. Forgotten. 

Like Ray’s body on the kitchen floor. 

Mikey touched his back, and he tried to focus on that instead. The cool touch of his fingers brushing down along his spine. 

“You look like you’re thinking. You’re not gonna make your tiny brain blow up, right?” 

Past Frank would’ve rolled his eyes at that, maybe even laughed and put some space between himself and Mikey before he made himself crazy. But now, Frank still felt outside of himself, barely in control of his own actions. An audience member in his own body as he sat up on the mattress, and turned toward Mikey. 

Like before, he was on the outside looking in. Staring in on the scene from the other side of the room as he watched himself press into Mikey, and press their lips together. 

Mikey kissed him back without hesitation; something that made Frank’s stomach flip. He could feel it as he watched it, the way Mikey’s mouth felt against his, the way he pressed into him, the way he started to lean back, and pull Frank over him. 

For a moment, Frank was back in his own body, just long enough to crawl entirely over Mikey, a knee pressed between his legs, where Mikey rolled his hips up, the outline of his cock visible in his jeans. Frank had heard Mikey moan before, muffled through the walls of this very apartment, but it was entirely different hearing him moan into his mouth. The noise shot straight down to his dick. 

Mikey’s hands were cool as they slid along his back, blunt nails dragging along his spine. 

“Mikey,” Frank breathed into his mouth, groaning softly as he clutched him, tugging at his shirt. Mikey pulled away just enough that Frank could get the shirt off of him. 

“Frank,” Mikey breathed back to him. “Fuck, I’ve wanted you for so long.” 

Frank couldn’t help the way his whole face warmed. He closed the inches between them, pressing against his chest, and letting their groins press into each other. Mikey squirmed under him, and Frank’s hands shook slightly as they found his hips, holding him still. 

“I’ve wanted you, too.” He whispered back, before kissing him again. 

And just like that, he was watching from outside of himself. Watching with the butterflies in his stomach as Mikey reached to undo his pants, as he slid his hand into Frank’s pants, and wrapped those cool fingers around his hot, hard cock. 

He watched as his lips moved to Mikey’s neck, his shoulders, his collarbone, kissing, sucking, and biting - anything he could to make little whines and moans spill from Mikey’s lips. His glasses fogged up with the way his breath grew ragged, and his hand kept jerking Frank’s cock; only a phantom of which he could feel, but fuck, it might’ve been enough to just watch it happen. To watch the way Mikey hooked a leg around his waist and flipped them over. The way he sat over Frank and finally got his pants all the way down. 

A blink, and he was lucky enough to get to watch and feel it when Mikey wrapped his lips around the head of his cock instead, to feel the way his tongue pressed into his cock when he slid his mouth all the way down. To feel the way his cock bumped against the back of his throat, and the way Mikey’s spit started to pool around his groin. 

“Fuck, Mikey-” He gripped his hair, and rolled his hips up, taking it upon himself to fuck into his mouth. 

And to Mikey’s credit, he took it remarkably well. There was no sign of discomfort, of choking, just warmth in his eyes as he looked back up at Frank and moaned around his dick like a fucking porn star. 

Just before Frank was about to cum down his throat, Mikey pulled off and Frank whined. “Dude, what the fuck?” 

“I wanna ride you.” Mikey said, his voice a little rough. “I wanna- I wanna sit on your fucking cock. Want you to cum in my ass.” 

Frank swallowed hard. “Yeah, yeah fuck, do that.” Like hell was he going to say no to that. 

Mikey sat up, getting his pants off before he settled onto Frank’s lap. Lube appeared out of nowhere, somewhere on the bed, Frank figured. It was warm, and tingly when Mikey put it onto his dick. 

“Shit, Mikey,” Frank groaned softly, watching while Mikey stroked him over slowly a couple of times, before lifting himself up and slowly sliding down onto Frank’s dick.

He was tight; and hotter around Frank than he imagined. With a moan, Mikey rolled his hips, sliding up and down along the length of Frank’s cock in a way that left his head spinning. Within moments, Frank was left breathless. Helpless as he watched Mikey ride him; and the room changed around them. The walls bleeding, melting, as they turned back into the walls of Frank’s tower. With each roll of Mikey’s hips, the floor creaked menacingly beneath them. 

Mikey didn’t seem to notice any change. He stayed the same. His head tossed back, his moans high and breathy as he rocked himself faster on Frank’s cock. 

“Oh fuck,” Frank panted, and thrusted up into him. “Fuck, Mikey-” He gripped Mikey’s thighs tightly, his nails digging into his skin. His muscles gave way for Frank’s fingers. Blood poured from the holes that formed from his hands. Like he was made of clay, Frank’s fingers dug into him. Squeezing. The muscles squelched, and more blood oozed out. Onto the bed. Onto Frank. He pulled his hands back, and melting chunks of fleshed followed. 

Mikey didn’t stop. 

“Mikey-” Frank’s voice cracked. Fear taking over. His cock was rapidly softening inside of him, his heart rate picking up in his chest, but Frank stayed still, staring at the gaps in his flesh with wide eyes. 

“Frankie-” When Mikey spoke his name back, it was filled with pleasure. The sound of which would’ve normally went right to his dick, if it wasn’t for the way he was still bleeding. Or the way that his bone was just peeking out. 

“Mikey, wait-” Frank went to grab his arm, and the flesh fell away immediately. Everywhere he touched, Mikey melted. Crumbling like sand, only it was flesh and blood and bone and it was everywhere. “Mikey-” Frank tried again, and grabbed at his chest. His hand sunk in, and gripped the only solid thing he could find. 

He knew what it was before he pulled it out. Even if he wanted to deny it. The way it pulsed in his palm was sign enough. 

It was black when he pulled it out, beating fast, and spewing more blood from the veins no longer connected to anything. Frank’s eyes watered hard as he stared back at it. 

At least Mikey finally stilled. Alive, by some miracle, as he too was taken by the image of his weakened, black heart struggling to beat. It stopped, for a moment, before giving another beat. It trembled in Frank’s hand, and he sobbed. “Mikey, what the fuck?” Was all Frank could manage out. 

“You’re killing me.” Mikey said quietly. He pushed a hand through his hair, and his scalp came away with it. “You’re killing me, Frank. Look at what you did.” He dragged a hand down his cheek, revealing his skull beneath his skin. “I’m nothing. You’re killing me. You.” 

Frank sobbed, forcing himself to sit up straighter, and pull Mikey in. “Stop, stop, I’ll fix it-” Frank tried, and tried to fit the heart back into the hole in Mikey’s chest, but all he did was knock out his ribs, and puncture a hole in his lungs that made Mikey’s breathing go ragged. “Mikey, please-” Frank tried, the beats of his heart were becoming less frequent, with longer pauses between them, but Frank kept it close to him. Hugging it to his own chest as if he could keep it safe long enough for this to all stop. 

But the parts of Mikey that weren’t falling off, or covered in his blood, were abnormally pale. His voice was thin, wheezy. “You’re killing me.” He said again, repeating it like a prayer. “You’re killing me. You’re killing me.” 

When he collapsed, it was on top of Frank. 

When he collapsed, his heart stopped beating. 

When he collapsed, Frank couldn’t get out from under him quick enough. 

His heart remained whole, and unsure of what to do with it, Frank kept it in his hands. He backed out of the room, and stumbled his way down the spiraling tower stairs. 

“Can you touch him?” Geoff questioned. 

The question had been one that was at the back of Ray’s mind, too. And one that made him choke on his words. “I dunno.” He was scared to do that, as well. Scared that it might mean he really was hallucinating. Or scared of there truly being some other entity there. “I don’t know if I want to.” Ray admitted. 

Geoff paused on the other end. “Yeah, I don’t blame you for that. Shit.” He rubbed his eyes. “He hasn’t moved? He’s just… standing there?” 

Ray nodded to himself, before remembering to answer out loud. “Yeah. He’s… staring at the wall.” He explained quietly. “I think. You know uh, no eyes.” 

“No eyes.” Geoff repeated back to him, and exhaled shakily. “I guess sleep is sorta out of the question now too, huh?” He tried to quip. Ray didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smile. 

Other Ray did. A sad, empty smile that didn’t meet the lifeless eyes. His hand raised slowly, intentionally, as he brushed his fingers across his own face. They were smeared with blood, dripping still from worn down fingers. Ray watched a drop roll off of his wrist, and hit the floor with a familiar thunk. 

He thought he might’ve been about to faint. “Oh fuck.” Ray said aloud. 

“What?” Geoff asked, by that point, the worry in his tone was too obvious. It was making everything worse. “What is it?” He asked, when Ray didn’t answer. 

“He’s bleeding.” Ray said quietly. “His fingers are bleeding.” 

Ray had to look away, down at his own hand. Calloused fingers with bruises on his knuckles The tips of his fingers were red, his nails cracked from the fights he had been having with his guitar the past few days, but he had yet to reach the point of bleeding. Not like Other Ray. Blood poured heavily from nailless fingers, dripping down his arm and undoubtedly beginning to pool over his feet. Geoff was saying something, but Ray couldn’t hear it over the pounding in his ears. When he looked back up, Other Ray was closer. His jaw dropped, and his hand outstretched towards Ray. Trying to grab him. To bloody him as well, maybe. 

In the back of his mind, Ray imagined the horrific things Other Ray might be able to do to him. Like pulling his hands right off of his bones in a gut wrenching crack. Maybe he’d gnaw through the bones with teeth sharper than any normal human should have. Maybe he’d pop his own hands off like they were nothing, and take Ray’s. Maybe then Other Ray could learn to play. To take his place in the band. Maybe Other Ray couldn’t speak. Maybe everyone else would like that better. A silent version of himself that did nothing but play play play until he bled all over the floor. Maybe he’d pass out, maybe he’d play until he bled out, live on stage. Maybe they’d like it. Maybe it’d fit perfectly with the fucking vision or whatever Gerard had been going on about. Maybe then someone would remember him, if he was fucking dead. 

Maybe he’d be a martyr, just like Gerard wanted. 

“Ray?” Geoff was almost yelling on the other end, and it made Ray flinch as he snapped back to reality. Other Ray was still there, unmoving, dripping. 

“Sorry,” his voice cracked when he finally answered Geoff. He could taste salty tears on his lips, and he swallowed hard. “I’m here. I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be. You just… you scared me.” Geoff said quietly. “What do you want me to do, man?” Ray had no answers for that. There was nothing Geoff could do from the other side of the country, other than to stay there, on the phone. Listening. Making sure this thing didn’t take Ray’s soul out of his body, or… whatever else it wanted. 

Or maybe Ray would be better off if he just let it fucking happen. 

“Look,” Ray started, taking a breath. “I… I think - I think I must just be seeing things. Maybe ‘cause I haven’t slept.” He mumbled. “You should go back to sleep. I’m gonna get to sleep.” 

Geoff was quiet. “I dunno if that’s a good idea, Ray. Let me call Gerard-” 

“No.” Ray said quickly. “Gerard- Gerard doesn’t need to worry about me right now, okay? He’s got enough to worry about. Just- I’m gonna go to sleep. If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll call you in the morning. Deal?” 

Geoff sighed hard. “Look, just stay on the phone at least. Until you fall asleep. I’ll stay up and hang up once I’m sure you’re asleep and-” 

Ray just snapped his phone shut. It was a bad idea, he knew that much immediately. It was going to make Geoff panic, and then he was going to call up everyone in the house, after he blew up Ray’s phone. Ray just turned it off, instead. Silencing any further attempts of Geoff to contact him. He imagined the others would be unlikely to answer him anyways, no matter how many texts or calls he sent. 

He set his phone in the drawer of his side table, and sat on the bed, staring up at Other Ray. Maybe giving up was the better choice. Maybe Other Ray would be a better Ray than he ever could be.

“What do you want?” 

He sorta doubted that Other Ray would even respond to him in the first place. He hadn’t said anything thus far, anyways. But, when Ray addressed him directly, he turned. His head tilted, and his arms slowly dropped to his sides. Slowly, and without any smoothness. Like he was some sort of rusted machine. He opened his mouth, speaking without any noise. Ray was never any good at reading lips. 

“I’m sorry?” He tried again. “... I… I can’t hear you.” 

Maybe that was the wrong thing to say, because Other Ray moved quickly then, kicking the edge of the bed, knocking it back a couple of inches, and Ray with it. He scrambled back then, fearful all over again. “What the fuck?” 

Other Ray responded by grabbing the nightstand, and knocking it onto the floor. The lamp clattered, and the lightbulb shattered. Streaks of blood where his fingers touched marked the wood. Other Ray was yelling, but remained completely silent. Ray got up slowly, moving back from the bed, and inching towards the door. Before he could even get close, Other Ray was there, gripping the door knob and yanking it right out of the door in a smooth motion. 

“Oh.” Was all Ray could say, backing away toward the window. He was too high up, and there was nothing beneath to grab onto. Either way, in the dark of the night, it was pitch black below him. At least he… mostly knew what was in the room with him. 

When he turned back around, Other Ray was only inches from him. His empty eyes staring hard into Ray, making him jump back in surprise. His stomach dropped, and his breathing grew heavy. “What do you want?” 

Other Ray, again, spoke without sound - before reaching out toward the window. A bloodied finger putting two dots on the glass, with a heavy frown underneath. When he pulled his hand back, he slapped Ray hard on the cheek. 

Again, Ray stumbled back. This time, knocking his head back against the glass of the window with a soft grunt. “What the fuck?” He lifted a hand to his cheek, stinging, and now covered in Other Ray’s blood too. 

Other Ray stumbled back, holding the back of his head like he was hurt too. Ray frowned, straightening up, and keeping back from him. “Don’t slap me then. What the fuck?” 

Other Ray glared back at him, his empty eyes oddly well-capable of expression. His brow was furrowed as he rubbed the back of his neck, staring back at Ray. 

And Ray could only stare back. “I can’t hear you.” He tried to plead. “I’m trying to help. I dunno. I want to understand this.” 

Other Ray turned towards the vanity, staring into the mirror. In the reflection, he lost the shroud of mystery that separated him from the real Ray. His eyes were bright, and normal, just like Ray’s. When he lifted his hands up to the mirror, there was no more blood from his fingers, just the same calluses that Ray himself bore on his own hands. The same bruises on the knuckles. That was, until, Other Ray’s brows furrowed at his reflection. This time, when he mouthed his words, he did it so slowly and clearly there was no mistaking what he was saying. 

Fuck. You. 

His fingers curled into a fist, squeezing so tight a fresh wave of blood came out with a squelching that made Ray’s stomach turn, then, Other Ray lunged his fist at the mirror. Beating it over and over and over. The glass cracked, and Ray screamed. With each hit, his fists throbbed. Although the skin remained unchanged, he could feel it tearing. He could feel each jagged piece of it ripping him apart, digging into the muscle and embedding itself there. Other Ray punched again, at a shattered piece on the top of the vanity, and this time, Ray felt his bones crack. He cradled his hands to his chest, curling up, as though that would stop the pain. But nothing worked. Nothing changed as long as Other Ray kept punching. 

“Stop it!” Ray finally managed to scream out - his voice cracking, his words breaking. But Other Ray didn’t seem to notice, too intent on breaking every last piece of the mirror, until all of it was dust. 

When he finally came to a stop, Ray took a moment. Struggling to catch his breath as the pain shot up through his arms, and his chest. Despite the fact that he knew nothing was wrong with his own hands, he felt like he couldn’t move them. His bones felt broken, disjointed, even if they looked fine to his eyes. His muscles felt shredded and aching. When he looked up at Other Ray, his hands were nothing more than bloodied stumps at the end of his arms, his fingers broken and limp, dangling, and soaking the floor beneath him with blood; glittering, from the glass shining in the dull light of the moon.

It’d make some wonderful imagery for the album. 

Bile rose in the back of Ray’s throat. 

He only barely managed to swallow it down as Other Ray approached him. Ray tried to scramble back, but he stumbled, slipping on the blood on the ground and falling backward. He pushed himself back, until he hit the bed and had nowhere else to go. Other Ray got closer, closer, and closer, until their noses were almost touching and Ray could tell that Other Ray wasn’t breathing. 

The weight started to set in again, and Gerard’s breathing grew heavy as it got increasingly difficult to keep himself going. The heavy, unsanded wood kept digging into his skin; Gerard was breathing hard. He rounded a corner, following Ray down the next hallway towards where his bedroom during this trip was, but there a group of teens stood, teary eyed. 

They weren’t faces he recognized specifically, but he knew their shirts. Hand painted with lyrics he had written, and art that had become synonymous with My Chemical Romance. The eyeliner around their eyes, some of it streaked down their cheeks, went with their harsh bangs and brightly coloured clip in-extensions. He paused, watching them sniffle and weep. It took a moment for him to understand; but they were afraid. They were afraid of losing him. 

“Is there anything we can do?” One of them asked, a young girl who couldn’t have been any older than sixteen. “You saved my life. How do we save yours?” 

Gerard was frozen. In all of his interactions with the kids, the question had never been turned around on him like that. For a moment, all he could do was stare at them and think of something he could say to possibly make any of this better - but nothing was coming to mind. “I’m sorry.” Was all he could say back. The cross was too heavy. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could take it. 

But looking at them did nothing but fill him with guilt. A harsh ache in his chest that made his own eyes start to water once more. He wanted to fight for them, fuck, he did. He was too scared to look at Ray and Frank; people who would normally provide comfort and understanding for this exact situation, but now, he could only imagine the bitterness that would appear on their faces. He couldn’t bear to see that turned towards their kids like this. But he didn’t know what else he could do. He didn’t know how he could fix this. 

“Just, please don’t go.” The same girl whispered, her voice so small, and more fearful than Gerard could’ve imagined. He knew what it was like, of course. He couldn’t pretend like he wouldn’t be on the other side when he was a kid and he was facing Billy Corgan or Robert Smith marching off to their deaths. But it was so strange to be the one receiving the question. Nothing in his life could’ve prepared him to take on that kind of pressure, and the thought of it was almost nauseating.

Gerard closed his eyes tightly. Each word from this girl was like another weight on the cross. Furthering the pressure that threatened to knock him over entirely. The very thing that was going to be his downfall. He swallowed hard, letting his own tears bubble over and roll down his cheeks. “I’m gonna try, okay?” He said quietly. “But even when- if, I’m gone… If we’re all gone…” He took a deep breath. “You have to carry on, okay? You guys are… you’re so much more than you think. You’re capable of so many amazing things. And… it’s an honour that we’re the ones to inspire you. But you can inspire yourselves too.” 

The girl sniffled again, wiping her eyes and leaving a smear of eyeliner and mascara across her cheek where her fingers brushed. “Just keep going, please?” She pleaded quietly, but there was a certain shine on her face. At least that spark in her eyes was enough to tell Gerard she was taking what he had said to heart. 

It was enough to make him feel like he could move on. 

And so he did, but not without a kick in the calf from Frank to nudge him along. Grunting, he continued on after Ray. This time, with his gaze turned towards his feet. The kids had given him a lot to think about. A lot to worry about, too. If he was ever going to make it to where Ray was leading him. If this parade of despair was ever going to end. If there was a point to all of this. Or if he was just going to end up dead and bleeding; a martyr of bands everywhere, or something. 

As long as he was something, he supposed. Something was better than nothing. 

When Frank reached the bottom of the stairs, the heart was shrunken and dried out. If he didn’t know better, he may have even mistaken it for a large date or something similar. 

He was still crying when he stepped out of the tower, and even more so when the building appeared to be completely normal. Everything was all starting to feel a little too real. He turned down the hallway, sniffling hard as he made his way down to Gerard’s room. He needed to tell him what happened. He needed the three of them still alive to get out before something else happened. 

He knocked on Gerard’s door, rapidly, with his one hand that wasn’t still clutching onto Mikey’s heart. “Gerard-” He begged through the door. “Gerard, please.” He pleaded. “Open the door. Fuck, open the fucking door.” 

His hand was red and raw from knocking when Gerard finally opened it. It only got worse. He looked like he had just woken up, his eyes only half open and his hair sticking up. “Frank?” His voice was rough, and tired. “You okay? What’s up?” 

The words all dried up in his throat. All he could do was hold out Mikey’s heart. 

“What?” Gerard frowned, picking it up slowly. “Dried fruit?” He blinked in confusion. Frank shook his head, sobbing again. Gerard didn’t seem to notice. “Uh, thanks?” 

He lifted it up, and took a bite.

A moment of shock passed, before Frank was lunging at him. Tugging the remains of the heart out of his hands. “Fuck, spit it out. Spit it out.” Frank snapped, yelling at the top of his voice as he punched at Gerard’s chest. Gerard coughed, pushing back against him. 

“Frank, what the fuck are you doing? Get the fuck off of me.” 

Frank’s fist connected with his jaw. “Spit it out. Spit it out you motherfucker.” With each word, he kept punching. He kept crying. He kept yelling. But no heart came up. Only blood, and then teeth, and then nothing when Gerard went still beneath him. It happened all too quickly. Frank pulled back from him, looking down at his own hands. Bruised, beaten, and bloody, too. He stepped back, out of the room, and into the wall opposite. He sank down to the floor, and pulled his knees up to his chest. He was too fucking dangerous, clearly. He was a murderer. He had killed his best friends. He had destroyed the band. He was going to go to prison, or worse, get killed for this. Or maybe he deserved to die for this. Because none of his friends deserved to go out the way that they did. Maybe he needed to just turn himself in. Let the cops fucking take over from there and see all of the horrible things he had done. 

Still, he swallowed hard when Gerard mumbled to himself - something about you two becoming executioners; and Mikey felt his eyes watering. It wasn’t him Gerard was speaking to, but fuck, he wished it was. He’d rather hear Gerard call him every name in the fucking book. Call him horrible things. Wish aloud that Mikey wasn’t his brother, even. Wish him to die, then the silence he was experiencing now. 

It was too much then, he couldn’t take it. Before Gerard could even get to his feet, Mikey was turning away. And then he was running. Around the corner, and up the stairs, and all the way to the spiraling staircase Frank had decided to live atop of. 

By the time Mikey reached the top, he was breathless. Heaving as he pushed Frank’s door open, and found him sitting on the floor, staring at the wall. 

But Mikey couldn’t think that it was anything but normal. Breathing hard, his words all rushed out. “Frankie,” he tried. He was sniffing too, Mikey realized suddenly, only from the salty taste of tears on his tongue. “Frankie, fuck, I’m sorry or- whatever, I don’t know what’s going on. Somethings seriously fucking wrong with Gerard-” 

But Frank didn’t move. He didn’t even flinch. He didn’t even look at him. And worst of all, he didn’t even respond. 

Mikey crouched down in front of him, blinking as he stared back at Frank, his gaze unmoving. Transfixed by something that Mikey couldn’t see. Something he couldn’t even understand. The only thing that could possibly help him piece it all together was the lingering smell of weed in the room. 

Was that it? Were they both just so fucking baked that they weren’t even on this plane of existence anymore? If Mikey hadn’t ever smoked before, he might’ve been convinced that that was the case. But he wasn’t an idiot. He knew that wasn’t what was happening - as nice and convenient as it would be to believe. 

He grabbed Frank’s shoulders then, and shook him as hard as he could. “C’mon, fuck, man.” Mikey tried, his eyes still watering hard. “Snap out of it. Fuck, what the hell is this?” He tried, desperation slipping in. 

His chest ached as he watched Frank. Even as his head lolled around with Mikey’s attempts to rouse him, nothing seemed to work. Nothing seemed to change.  

“Frankie, please.” Mikey tried desperately. His hands cupping Frank’s cheeks as he stared him right in the eyes. Willing him to snap out of it. For his eyes to focus back on Mikey. But it didn’t happen. Frank blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. But his gaze didn’t change. He still looked right through him. 

His skin was notably cold under Mikey’s touch, and a soft sheen of sweat covered his skin. 

“Fuck,” Mikey sobbed. He lowered his hands, his fingers trembling by then, and felt around his neck until he could find Frank’s pulse. It was solid, and steady. Which felt foreign when countered with the way Mikey’s entire body trembled. Not one part of him was free from the shaking fear that had started to settle in. But at least it was something - a sure fire sign that, at the very least, Frank was alive. 

Which brought on the much harsher reality that all of this was real - and there was seemingly nothing Mikey could do about it. 

He pressed his forehead against Frank’s, breathing hard. He kept his fingers pressed against Frank’s pulse, and tried to time his own breaths to the beat of it. 

It didn’t last long, every few breaths he’d fall out of sync and have to start over again. But not that it mattered, not with the way Frank was entirely unchanging. Like a living, breathing statue.

The thought made Mikey recoil, and back up. 

Maybe Frank was gone. But there was still Ray and Bob. Maybe- maybe they just hadn’t heard Mikey yelling. Maybe there was still a chance they’d be able to help. 

Mikey turned, making his way down the stairs again, and into the hallway. When he passed the main entrance stairs on the way, he saw Gerard. This time, slowly heaving himself up the stairs. He stumbled, and slipped onto his knees about halfway up. Mikey paused, again, almost about to bring himself to try and help him back up - but he stopped himself short of that, and watched as moments later Gerard rose to his feet again, seemingly unharmed. 

That was good enough for Mikey to duck his head and move on for the time being. He resolved to check back on Gerard, and on Frank, soon. 

But first, he found himself turning to head towards Bob’s room - the next closest room to him. 

He knocked lightly at the door, at first. “Bob?” He called out. 

He shouldn’t have been so surprised to be met with silence. 

But he held out hope. Maybe Bob had already fallen asleep. Maybe he had some white noise going that had drowned out Mikey’s screaming for help from earlier, and that was why he hadn’t responded. 

The silence from the other side of the door seemed to support that theory enough for Mikey to relax, even if just for a second. Bob was asleep. He was a heavy sleeper. Maybe he even fell asleep with his headphones in. 

Mikey tried the door, and to his relief, he found it unlocked. He squeezed his eyes shut; and opened it entirely. 

Bob was asleep. Curled up under his blankets and breathing steadily. The sight of it couldn’t have been more welcomed. Mikey stepped in closer, and looked him over. 

“Bob?” He tried again, clearing his throat. But Bob stayed still, sleeping peacefully. 

Mikey allowed himself another step closer. The strangeness of this wasn’t lost on him - it felt weirdly… invasive, he had to admit. Sneaking up on Bob while he was asleep - but short of yelling, he wasn’t sure how else he was supposed to wake him up. 

Mikey cleared his throat again, “Bob.” He tried again, speaking up slightly. “Bob, c’mon, man.” He tried. But when Bob still didn’t stir, Mikey gave up. Too much weird shit was happening - he needed someone normal. Someone who would understand, and help him snap Gerard and Frank out of whatever weirdo trance- 

He shook Bob’s shoulder, and Bob only snored back at him. 

Mikey felt his heart dropping into his stomach. Of course, the revelation didn’t stun him necessarily - at this point, he might as well have expected this sort of thing to be happening to Bob as well. But still, he had somehow convinced himself that things were going to be better this time. But even as he shook Bob as hard as he could, Bob didn’t move. Bob didn’t even flinch. There was no sense that he was ever going to wake up. 

“Fuck, you gotta be fucking kidding me.” Mikey sniffled. “What the fuck, man? Please - c’mon, you gotta fucking wake up.” 

Bob snored again. 

It was the worst sound Mikey had ever heard - next to the villainous creaking of the house that chilled him to the bone. 

Nauseous, he stumbled back. In his head, he rounded back to convincing himself that it was some sort of sick joke. They were all pranking him. And any minute now, one of them was going to break. And sure, Mikey would be fucking pissed. It was the worst fucking prank ever. But it was okay. It was going to be fine, because at the end of the day, he’d be able to get out of it. It would all be over. He’d be okay. They’d all be okay. That’s what mattered most. 

He stepped out of the room, finally. And he shut the door behind him. He pressed his back against it, and breathed hard. Somewhere down the hall, he could hear Gerard talking to himself. Gerard’s voice had been drained of all comfort it once carried. Now, it only filled him with dread, and sadness. 

“Why are you doing this to me?” Ray asked, his voice shaking. His vision blurred by his tears. 

Other Ray reached out toward him, cupping his cheeks in his hands. By then, the blood had run cold, and his loose fingers had gone stiff; as though somehow rigor mortis had begun to set-in on the still moving creature. Ray couldn’t breathe, like all of the air had been sucked out of the room. His hands felt like snakes all over his face, and when Ray closed his eyes, he could imagine them growing - slithering like tentacles and wrapping around his throat and- 

He felt it then. The pressure on his neck. Slow, steady, like Other Ray was enjoying this. He was afraid to open his eyes. Like he could somehow convince himself now that it was all a dream if he tried hard enough. If he pretended like there wasn’t another Ray in the room with him. If he pretended there wasn’t a hand wrapped around his throat. If he pretended that nothing was wrong, and that everything was okay, and that he was laying in bed and still on the phone with Geoff merely venting about the problems with the band, and then he’d go to sleep, and then everything would be fine in the morning and he’d barely remember the last- hour? Twenty minutes? He couldn’t remember how long it had even been! That must’ve been a good sign, right? That meant it wasn’t real. It had nothing to do with the fact that his chest was getting tight and his head was starting to get lighter and lighter. This couldn’t work anyways, could it? If Other Ray’s injuries hurt Ray, wouldn’t that mean he was suffocating himself as well? So as soon as Ray would pass out, he would too and then- and then maybe Ray could… fight him off? If he could figure out how that could work- if he could hurt a fly- 

His body jerked, instincts kicking in as he was forced to fight back. His eyes shot open, and he had to look Other Ray right in the eyes. 

He was smiling. 

Ray grabbed onto his wrists, digging his fingers into the raw skin, feeling his nails digging into the tissue exposed under broken skin. He felt a stabbing pain in his arms, and the Other Ray showed no reaction to it. He tried to pull his hand away, but Other Ray’s grip only grew tighter, more forceful, and his smile grew impossibly wider. Ray tried to kick at him, scrambling to do anything he possibly could. But a kick to the stomach only made him struggle harder. He tilted his head back, next. Trying to get his neck away from his hand instead. But the footboard of the bed stayed firm behind him, leaving him nowhere to go. His vision blurred, and panic really set in until he couldn’t feel the pain anymore. All he could feel was the rapid beat of his heart in his chest. The organ struggled against the odds to push blood around, but the sound didn’t even reach his ears.

He closed his eyes tightly; taking one more attempt to will it to just be a dream, before everything slipped away. 

Gerard followed Ray around in a loop, eventually forced to descend the stairs. The angle was awkward. The steep decline left him worried about tipping over, but with some maneuvering, he managed to make it almost all the way to the bottom without incident. But on the last couple of stairs, he tripped once more. This time, his head hit the ground, pushing the crown of thorns deeper into his skin. The ache was harsh, and the pain shot down his neck as he grunted out. 

Frank kicked at his side while he laid on the ground, rolling his eyes. “Will you stop fucking falling?” 

Gerard flipped him off wearily, rolling onto his back to catch his breath for a moment, the cross laying beside him. “Fuck, one second.” 

Again, Frank kicked at him, and Ray hovered over his head, staring down at him with nothing but malice in his eyes. It was strange - how he managed to look identical to, and yet, nothing like Ray at all. The physical features were all there, but the way this version of Ray carried himself was all wrong. The look in his eyes wasn’t right. The scowl on his face wasn’t right. It didn’t even do a convincing job of looking like Ray when he was actually mad; and perhaps that was the most unnerving part of it all. 

The crown was heavy on his head, but with effort, he got back on his feet, and pulled the cross back up onto his shoulder. From there, the trip was straight ahead, and out the front door. The air was cool at night. The sky was still dark, and the breeze that blew by was surprisingly refreshing. Gerard breathed it in, and straightened his back. In the middle of the mansion's yard, was a hole already dug. 

It was harder to drag the cross along the lawn. It kept getting caught in the grass and along the uneven surface. However, to Gerard’s relief, when they arrived at the hole, Ray and Frank took it from him, and laid it on the grass. 

It was absolutely naive; but all at once, Gerard thought maybe this nightmare was over - at least for a while. Maybe Frank and Ray would announce it was all some sort of fucked up prank, and he could go back inside and get some sleep. After all of that work in dragging his cross around the house, he certainly could use the rest. 

But that didn’t come. All that happened was Ray holding his arms while Frank cut the clothes off of his body, with a pair of scissors he didn’t seem to have prior to this. 

“What the hell-” Gerard started, evidently stunned. “What the hell are you doing?” 

But Frank didn’t answer him, merely tossing the discards of his clothes onto the ground until he was wearing nothing at all. His attempts to cover up his groin were blocked by Ray, and a moment later, Frank as well. Frank grabbing his ankles and Ray holding his shoulders as they lifted him up. 

“Stop it!” Gerard argued, trying futilely to kick at Frank. “Stop it, fuck, put me the fuck down!” 

“We will.” Ray said flatly, and sure enough, they did. Laying him back on the cross. There, Ray held him down by the shoulders, while Frank adjusted his legs, placing one of his feet over the other. 

The hammer and nail came out of nowhere too. But before Gerard could even process it, could even make an attempt to argue against it, the nail was being driven into his feet. One hit of the hammer, and Gerard screamed. Another hit, and the blood spurted out of his feet. He could feel it, driving through the muscle and bone. Sharp pain shot up his legs, his thighs twitching in response. Another hit of the hammer, and another scream. His eyes wet his face with tears, too. 

“Frank, please.” He pleaded. “Frank. Frank, please stop. Please don’t-” 

Not that it made a difference anyways. Frank didn’t care. And it wasn’t like he could undo all of the pain that had been caused so far. Another hit. And then another, and with the sharp sound of wood cracking, Gerard knew it was too late, and there was no way he’d be able to free his feet now. 

With one more hit, the nail was flush against his flesh, and he sobbed again. A glance downward only made it worse; blood still poured from the wounds, soaking him in blood. 

In comparison, his hands were a mercy. Taken one at a time. Frank moved to hammer his right first, and Ray focused his attention on keeping that arm still, freeing his left arm entirely. It was a symbol of how helpless he was. One hand free; and there was nothing he could even try to do. 

One. Two. Three. Three hits of the nail was all it took to drive into his hand. Moving his fingers ached, and he tried to keep as still as possible, but when Frank moved to nail his final hand into place, it was impossible to not twitch and squirm; an accidental reaction as he tried to get away from the pain. But again, one, two, three hits - and that was it. 

For a moment, Gerard felt like he could breathe. Taking in a deep breath, and exhaling it slowly. But it was far from over. When Ray and Frank lifted his cross, he found himself quickly growing lightheaded. His eyes fluttered, and his energy rapidly depleted. Maybe it was the blood loss. Or maybe it was a reaction to all the pain. Either way, the cross was turned upright, and placed into the dirt, before being secured. 

And Gerard was a failure of a martyr, with no one around to even watch him die. 

Ray was the last hope Mikey had. Although, by now he was certain that it was no use. That he would go to Ray, and find him just as unresponsive as everyone else in this house, and he would only feel worse. 

But he had to try, didn’t he? 

Ray’s room was just around the corner from Bob’s. And just like Bob’s, the door was unlocked when Mikey tried to turn it. 

Unlike Bob, and more like Frank, Ray wasn’t asleep. The nightstand had been knocked over, and Ray paced around in the center of the room. Walking back and forth in a tight circle. He clenched and unclenched his fingers over and over, while staring off at nothing. 

For a moment, it gave Mikey hope. Maybe he was awake. Maybe he just hadn’t heard Mikey come in. Maybe he was so wrapped up in his head still, that must’ve been it. Any moment now, he was going to snap right out of it. 

“Ray?” Mikey tried. Ray looked around the room. For the brief moment his eyes swept over Mikey, he let himself believe Ray actually noticed him - that this nightmare was going to finally be over. 

But Ray looked away again. He didn’t even flinch. He didn’t even look back. As quickly as the hope had flooded into Mikey’s chest, it drained out of him entirely. 

“Ray?” He tried again, this time his voice was a little weaker. His breath was a little faster. And this time, Ray didn’t look at him at all. “No,” Mikey whispered. “No, no this is- this is a prank. It’s a fucked up, meanspirited, prank. You looked at me-” Mikey pleaded, tears rolling hot down his cheeks. “You fucking looked at me, Toro. You saw me. You had to have seen me-” 

Ray moved toward the vanity, staring into it. 

“Don’t fucking ignore me!” Mikey rushed at him, grabbing onto him, tugging at his arms, his hair, his clothes, anything to get him to move. Anything to get him to speak. Mikey pinched Ray’s arm as hard as he could. He grabbed his cheek and pulled it from his face. He tugged. He grabbed. He pulled. He kicked. He bit. But all of it did nothing. 

When he looked back at himself in the mirror, he almost didn’t recognize his own reflection. His hair, which was normally carefully styled, was a mess, sticking up in all different directions, his cheeks were red and soaked with his tears. His lips were swollen, too, and his eyes were puffy. 

Ray was completely himself; except for the empty look in his eyes. 

It was like he was just a shell of his former self. Like Ray’s body, with absolutely no Ray inside of it. When he looked at Gerard, there was still something. A piece of him that just couldn’t see Mikey, for whatever reason. But Mikey wasn’t sure if Ray was seeing anything, if there was anything even happening behind his eyes. 

He was lucky Ray was standing, otherwise, he might’ve really believed he was dead.

Mikey moved a hand onto Ray’s chest. It rose and fell steadily beneath him with the slow breaths Ray took. Deep, long, and even. As though he were asleep. He slid his hand over more towards Ray’s left side, resting just lightly on his chest as Mikey felt the steady heartbeat there, too. 

He was alive. Warm to the touch. And Mikey was the one who was a phantom. 

Ray surged forward suddenly, his fist balled up as he punched the mirror, leaving it shattered and his knuckles bleeding. 

“Dude-” Mikey jumped back at the noise, only to soften and reach for his hand. The blood was spilling over his knuckles, and dripping down his fingers, but Ray just stood still - staring at his shattered reflection. 

“Shit,” Mikey groaned, and took a step back. “I’m gonna- I’m gonna find you some bandaids. I dunno…” 

He didn’t know what else to do. He didn’t know how to help, but Ray was hurting. Gerard was lost. And Frank was… 

Mikey stumbled out of Ray’s room, and pressed his back against the door - breathing hard as he tried to relax. As he tried to get all of his thoughts together. But none of it made sense; not unless he was a ghost, invisible, something nefarious in the house keeping him away from his friends and family. 

But then, on the other hand, maybe it was worse than that. Maybe he just didn’t belong here. 

Maybe he didn’t belong anywhere. 

Mikey pushed himself off of the door, and stumbled down the hallway. Distantly, he heard the front door open, but he couldn’t process it over the pounding of his heart in his ears. His eyes watered hard, and he headed back into his own room, and locked the door behind him. 

He slumped back on his bed, and pressed his hands over his eyes, sniffling. Maybe they were all just trying to drive him out, in the most hurtful way possible. He tried to convince himself that Gerard wouldn’t do that to him; but evidently, it was happening before his eyes. He sobbed to himself, and turned over, pressing his face into his pillow. 

All of it was nauseating, and Mikey couldn’t stand another night in this place. Fighting to catch his breath, he forced himself up, and reached for his phone. 

When Ray woke up, the sun was filtering into the room, and his neck was cramping. He rubbed his eyes, and then flinched hard. His knuckles ached, and now, there was more than just the bruise. The skin was cracked and covered in dry blood- 

All at once, the memories flooded back. Ray scrambled up to his feet and he looked around the room in a panic. But there was no one else there. There was no blood on the floor. No glass glittering amongst it. The mirror was shattered, from one solid hit by the looks of it. Slowly, Ray turned to look at the door. The knob was exactly where it should be, settled firmly in. He approached it slowly, holding onto the cool brass for a moment, before he turned it, and opened it. He closed it. And then opened it again, deciding to leave it open, just to prove to himself that he could leave. 

The nightstand was knocked over still, and he propped it back up, and set the lamp back on. The lightbulb was still broken, but everything else appeared to be unharmed. 

When Frank lifted his head, he wasn’t in the hallway at all. He was tucked into the corner of his room, and the sun was peeking through the curtains. There wasn’t a drop of blood in sight. 

Slowly, Frank pushed himself to his feet. Everything felt unstable, and he almost tripped going down the stairs, before he reached the bottom, and found the door locked. 

Frowning, he turned the latch. And it was still locked. The outside latch was pulled shut. Frank frowned hard, and pressed himself as hard as he could against the door. The hinges were old and worn, which meant if he pushed hard enough, he could squeeze his fingers through the gap and fiddle with the latch until it slid out, and he could open the door entirely. 

He looked down at himself one more time, but there wasn’t a hint of blood, not on his clothes or under his nails. Like none of it had happened at all. 

He rubbed his tired eyes, and headed toward the kitchen. 

When Gerard woke up, the morning dew had left him damp and shivering. His clothes were off, but not cut up like they should’ve been. Merely in a pile behind him. The sun was only just coming up; and to Gerard’s relief, it seemed as though no one had seen him. 

Dazed, a quick inspection of his hands and feet revealed no sign of nailing, and a touch around his head showed he was free of thorns. Even the grass was perfectly neat, with no indication of a cross having ever been planted into the soil. Slowly, he dressed. Even if his clothes were damp with the morning dew - it was better than wearing nothing at all. His head pounded when he stood, and a wave of dizziness washed over him as he stumbled his way back inside, and to the kitchen. 

It was a long night's call with their manager; talking out his doubts through the night. Naturally Mikey left out the most recent events - as soon as his mouth started to move, he knew how unbelievable it sounded. Instead, he opened with the fact that his suitcase carried enough sleeping pills to knock out a horse - let alone him.  

That was enough to earn the promise of a ride. But they talked first too. About nothing. About everything. About his head. About the band. About fame. About all the kids. About the music. The writing. The touring. 

She agreed with him on the conclusion; he needed to get the fuck out right now. 

He packed his bag before he even left his room. Fearing that the whole thing had been a nightmare, and that the second he told Gerard of his plans, he’d be trying to talk him out of it. He even waited until their manager was on her way, leaving him with no choice but to leave with her - anything that could guarantee an easy escape. 

Ray made it to the kitchen first. Finding the house all too quiet as he prepared the coffee maker. He filled it all the way, figuring there was going to be at least five of them made. Possibly more, but the pot could only fit so much coffee. 

He leaned back against the counter, gently rubbing his knuckles as best as he could without disturbing the dried up blood. He was going to have to clean that eventually - but that was a problem for later as far as Ray was concerned. 

Gerard stumbled in next. Shivering as he hugged himself. When he found Ray there, for a moment he stopped - quiet as he stood by the door, blinking back at him. He was pale, and damp. Ray assumed it was sweat - and the shivers a sign of a fever. 

“Are you okay?” Ray asked quietly. 

Realistically, Gerard knew the answer was no, but he was nodding before he could stop himself. “Yeah. Just- cold…” He explained vaguely, and waved off the confused look on Ray’s face. “What happened to your hand?” 

Ray frowned, and curled his hand toward his chest - immediately on the defense, although he hadn’t been accused of a thing. “Nothing.” Ray said quickly, glancing away for a moment. Then, he cleared his throat. “Did you, uh, get any sleep?”

Gerard wasn’t quite sure he’d call what he had gotten sleep , but he supposed that was the closest definition for what he had been through. Still, Gerard figured it may be in his best interest to lie - and save himself from having to dissect and explain everything he had gone through the previous night. 

“Yeah,” His voice was pitched slightly up. Gerard cleared his throat. “Yeah, I got some sleep. You?”

Before Ray could answer, Frank wandered in. His hair was messy, and there were bags under his eyes that were heavily contrasted by how pale he looked. His eyes wide, too, like he had seen a ghost. 

“Frankie?” Gerard asked carefully. “Are you okay?” 

Frank blinked at him, and slowly went to sit down. Behind Ray, the coffee machine began to pour out the freshly brewed coffee into the pot. The sound filled the air, and allowed Frank the room to take a couple of deep breaths before he spoke. “Yeah, I’m okay.” He decided. One more look at each of them, and relief started to spill over his features. “I just… I had the craziest dream- you both…” He paused, and shook his head. 

Gerard might’ve been convinced that it was a dream as well, if he hadn’t woken up on the front lawn. 

Ray, however, nodded once. He rubbed his knuckles. A dream. He really wished he believed that it could’ve all been a dream. But the mirror, and the state of his room, seemed to suggest otherwise. “Me too.” He said anyway. “And, uh,” Ray started - and swallowed hard. “I’m sorry about yesterday, Frankie.” 

Frank blinked at him. Quiet, for a moment, as though he had forgotten about it entirely. Carefully, he raised a hand to touch his cheek. In truth, the punch hadn’t even left a bruise. He didn’t care a thing about it anymore. “It’s cool, man.” Frank decided. “Seriously. You know, shit happens. Friends fight. Brothers fight.” 

Ray cracked a tiny hint of a smile, before turning away to get the coffee pot. 

Bob entered next, scratching the back of his neck and yawning. He stopped in the room, glancing around them all for a moment. “Are we still fighting?” He asked, already prepared to be annoyed. 

Gerard shook his head. “I think we’re okay now.” 

“Yeah, we’re okay.” Frank said, then paused. “Anyone seen Mikey?” 

Gerard shrugged, and shook his head. “... He’s probably still asleep.” He nodded at Ray when he set a mug of coffee down in front of him, already filled with milk and sugar how Gerard usually prepared it. Ray did the same for Frank and Bob as well; before setting down a mug for himself, and a fifth one at the empty seat for Mikey. “I’ll go check up on him if he’s not up soon.” 

Bob nodded. “I don’t know about you guys, but I slept like a rock.” He stretched. “Hopefully if we’re done with all the bullshit we can get some progress going today. Maybe send something to Craig by the end of the night?” 

Songwriting was about the last thing on Gerard’s mind right now. His forehead still felt a little tingly from where the spikes had pushed against his skull. “Yeah, maybe.” He agreed, if only for the sake of agreeing. “Maybe we can figure out the guitar and drums for something we’ve already written.”

Frank nodded, looking at Ray who had seated himself between Frank and Gerard. “Sounds good to me. If you’re up for it, Toro.” 

Ray nodded. “I like the sound of that.” 

Mikey could hear them talking before he approached, and he stopped to listen. Preparing himself for the worst, which was still being unseen and unheard and unfelt. They seemed fine. Happy, even. Discussing loose plans of continuing their work on the album. But Mikey couldn’t do it. Even if it wasn’t for the temptation of the pills, or their manager's imminent arrival, he didn’t think he could bounce back from the previous night so easily. He didn’t know what they had seen, or gone through, and at this point he didn’t want to know. He just wanted to make sure it never happened to him again. 

When he finally gathered the courage to enter the kitchen, four heads turned to look at him. 

His heart dropped into his stomach, and tears flooded his eyes before he could even try to stop them. “Dana’s on her way.” Mikey said, the words streaming out of him like a tidal wave - punctuated by tears. “She’s picking me up. I’m leaving.” 

Gerard blinked, and stood up. “What?” 

Mikey shook his head. “I can’t do it. I can’t do this. I-I’m going to die if we keep doing this.” 

Gerard fell quiet - and without a word, he stepped forward to hug Mikey tightly. “It’s okay, man.” Gerard spoke softly to him. “It’s gonna be okay. You… You do what you need to do, okay? We’re always going to be here for you.” 

Frank moved next, getting up and coming in behind Mikey to hug him too. “I’m sorry, man.” Frank said quietly. “For what I said.” 

He didn’t need to say that, but Mikey appreciated it anyway. “We got your back.” Ray said, having gotten up as well and reached over to squeeze his shoulder. “No matter what.” 

Bob spoke last, standing beside Ray, and clearing his throat. “Take a break. It’s been stressful.” 

Mikey didn’t think it was a break, in all honesty. It was all over. He was throwing in the towel. Maybe he’d go home, move back in with his parents for a while. Maybe he’d escape the limelight forever. 

But for now, Gerard and Frank didn’t let go. And after a moment, he felt Ray and - to his surprise - Bob press in on either side of him. 

Nothing was okay, but the house was quiet. And, at least he was seen. He was heard. He was felt.