Chapter Text
Ray is starting to think he’s gotten used to being on tour. The atmosphere of Warped is by no means mundane, but it’s getting predictable, almost familiar, if not exactly safe. My Chem have friends here, anyways—Thrice, Reggie and the Full Effect, Fall Out Boy, so on and so forth. It’s not all that bad.
Gerard, Frank, and Bob are back at the bus (their brand new bus!) bonding over Bob’s taste in music and the new sound he’s bringing to the band. Mikey’s probably off somewhere chatting up the other touring bands, no doubt adding to his already extensive list of connections and owed favours. Ray, though, Ray is just enjoying the sunshine.
It’s a sunny late morning in California, and the sea breeze is pleasantly warm on Ray’s skin as he strolls leisurely around the outskirts of the venue. The air buzzes with conversation and distant music, and Ray basks in the June heat, happy to take a minute to himself for once. It’s nice to get a second to just relish how far they’ve come, think about the present moment rather than what comes next. The band isn’t on for another five hours, so there’s plenty of time to laze around and, yes, light up from Ray’s personal stash. Call it a celebration, in honour of just how well things have been going.
They’re already working on their next album, and more than anything, an air of excitement floats around the band. They’re doing what they love, and people are loving it too. Frank cut his hair and started stealing makeup from Gee, and Ray thinks he’s really coming into his own. Bob’s talented as hell, and his stint in the band is off to a strong start. Mikey’s going out and making friends. Gerard is even starting to use less after his messy breakup with Bert. Things are good. Things maybe couldn’t be any better.
Yeah, Ray’s feeling pretty optimistic lately. Maybe it’s something in the air, maybe it’s his band’s astronomical rise to fame, maybe it’s even the new tour bus (they have beds in there! real beds!!!), but he thinks he knows what’s really making the world seem so bright.
Ray’s in love.
And he doesn’t mean that in the sappy metaphorical sense, like he’s in love with his band or their music or the touring lifestyle, although all of those things are pretty much true. No, Ray is in love with his lead vocalist and frontman, Gerard.
It’s a comfortable kind of love, though- not like what he sees in Gerard and Frank, the desperate clawing and grinding and stolen kisses. It’s not the kind of love that demands grand gestures and romantic dates in gondolas under the moonlight, either. The love Ray feels for Gerard is perfect to enjoy on days like this. Warm and lazy and sweet, unhurried, no rush to do anything or go anywhere. It’s not a want, or a need, it’s a quiet contentment with promises already made and friendships already steadfast. Ray loves Gerard and Ray knows Gerard loves him, so nothing needs to change. Not now, maybe not ever.
There’s no room to doubt that. There’s no room to want anything more.
Ray takes another hit from his joint and exhales, watching the smoke dance away and dissipate into the cloudless blue sky. He’s not blind, he sees what’s going on between Gerard and Frank. Gee’s as good as a taken man. He’s always been the hottest guy in New Jersey, it’s just that the rest of the world has finally caught up. He’s probably the scene’s most wanted at this point, with every guy and girl vying for a piece of his attention. So, Ray has been practicing acceptance, sort of has for years now, and he’s gotten pretty good at it.
It’s not denial, no. It’s acceptance, there’s a difference. There’s a difference between suppressing one’s desires and acknowledging that there’s just no point in having them in the first place. And that’s okay. Ray is okay with this. He’s happy the way things are, and he’ll be happy to stay by Gerard’s side for as long as he wants him there. As it is, he’s one of the luckiest guys in the world.
Five hours to spare, plenty of time to himself, and the rest of this joint. He’s found a shady spot under a tree, far enough away from the commotion of the festival that he’s fairly confident he can get a moment of peace. Yep, Ray’s set for the afternoon and the rest of his life after that. He leans against the sturdy trunk and takes another puff. It’s going to be another good day.
How naive it was of him to hope.
Just as Ray’s about to crush the end of his joint, a pair of (startlingly cold) hands worm their way around his face and over his eyes. He startles, but the panic is only momentary. This is pretty much what he’s learned to expect from his bandmates, after all. “Frank?” He guesses.
“Yes…” A voice replies from behind him, and, okay, either that’s not Frank or Ray’s been on too long of a tolerance break. “Hi, Ray.”
The effects of his weed haven’t hit him quite yet, but maybe they’re starting to, because Ray feels like something is very, very wrong. It is Frank’s voice, but the inflection isn’t quite right, and the way he drags out Ray’s name, like he’s testing the way it feels in his mouth… It’s fucking freaky. The shock quickly curdles into an uneasy feeling in Ray’s gut.
Whoever it is, whoever has their hands on him- Ray is absolutely certain it is not Frank.
-
Everyone in My Chem is plenty used to dealing with their bandmates’ psychotic bullshit, possibly nobody more so than Mikey. Breakdowns and breakups, bad trips and property damage — he’s seen it all. It never gets easier, but past a certain point, you learn to expect it, to see it coming, predict the predictable and prepare for the unpredictable. Shit gets messy when you live in a bus with four other guys, never staying in the same place for more than three days at a time. You just have to know how to clean up and get back on the road. Mikey Way prides himself on being equipped to deal with whatever mess touring life throws his way.
He’s not prepared to deal with this, though.
Ray doesn’t pull shit like this. Ever. Frank does, Mikey himself does, Gerard’s gone so far as to disappear without a trace during recording. But Ray? Ray’s always been on damage control before anyone else. Ray, in the band’s four years of life, has never once ditched them like this.
Not a word, not a note, just… gone. Mikey’s asked around every bus he could think of, tried interrogating every other band Ray might have friends in, and there’s absolutely no sign of him anywhere. It’s like he just went for a walk and vanished off the face of the earth.
Gerard’s back at the bus assuming the worst and making frantic phone calls, sending out anyone he can convince to put up the handwritten missing posters he’s been scribbling out. Mikey’s out with Worm, and Frank and Bob are covering the other end of the festival grounds, looking for Ray and spreading word of his disappearance. But he’s been gone for, what, fourteen hours now? Mikey is starting to think Gerard’s abduction-murder-cult-recruitment theory might have some credence to it.
Yeah, Mikey’s freaking out. But he’s taking it better than Gee or Frank, and he intends to keep it that way. Be the rock. If he panics, then Gee’s gonna be completely inconsolable, and if Gee breaks down, they’re gonna have to put Frank on Gerard Duty again and the search party will be down to three.
It’s a wonder they’re functional at all. But they still are, and Mikey is not going to let that fall apart. Though, honestly, he might be closer to giving up than he would like to admit. It’s coming up on midnight, and they’ve been searching since two P.M, an hour before they were supposed to go on stage. It’s hard not to feel a little defeated when your friend is missing, you’re exhausted and covered in sweat, and you might’ve just lost your biggest festival gig yet. Plus, Brian’s been blowing up Mikey’s phone since they were supposed to go on for sound check, sending messages ranging from concerned to furious to scared.
It’s been a long day. Mikey’s fucking tired.
It’s just as he’s exiting the Offspring’s bus, though, that he hears Worm calling from his right.
“Hey! Someone, help! Over here!”
Turning his head, Mikey sees Worm, bent over a cluster of bushes near the edge of the fairgrounds. As Mikey gets closer, it becomes evident that Worm is trying to pull something out of the foliage, closer still and- Oh, that’s a leg.
Mikey rushes over and helps Worm drag Ray from the bushes, wishing the entire time that he had led a more active lifestyle up until this point.
Ray’s either asleep or unconscious, because he’s as limp as a bag of bricks. His eyes are screwed shut and his face is red, his hair damp and his face coated in a layer of sweat. He’s wearing the same clothes as he was when he went missing, only mildly scuffed from being unceremoniously pulled from the bushes. He looks sick, panting heavy and open-mouthed. While Worm radios for backup, Mikey checks his pulse and temperature.
Ray’s heartbeat is normal, but he’s running at a fever pitch, shockingly warm against the night air. He groans quietly when Mikey touches his forehead, and Mikey’s heart jumps in his chest. He’s either totally out of his head or in severe pain, but it’s impossible to tell. This doesn’t look like any OD Mikey’s seen before. A seizure? Stroke? Heat exhaustion? Fuck, he’s not a doctor.
“Worm? He’s not doing great…” Mikey can’t keep the concern out of his voice, but he steadies his breathing and turns back to Ray. “Can you hear me, dude? We need to know what you took. You’re gonna be fine, we just need to know what you took.”
Ray doesn’t open his eyes, or his mouth, just keeps breathing like he’s never done anything more difficult in his life. Either he’s barely conscious, or putting all of his effort into staying in his mind.
“Bus is too far. I’m getting the guys at the first aid tent to bring over a stretcher and some water.”
Mikey nods, but doesn’t turn to look at Worm, his focus trained on Ray, his mind racing. “Kay.”
The next half hour passes agonizingly slowly and imperceptibly fast all at once. Frank and Bob are first to arrive on the scene, followed by a pair of first aid-trained festival volunteers, and then a panicked Gerard, who meets them halfway back to the bus. After he doesn’t respond to the naloxone, the senior of the two volunteers prescribes Ray headache medicine and bed rest. Which seems… Inadequate, to say the least, but again, Mikey isn’t a doctor, and a bottle of Ibuprofen might be the best that anyone can get at Warped.
Gerard advocates for taking Ray into the city for ICU treatment, but is eventually pacified by the volunteers’ assurance that this is a perfectly mundane fever and it’ll pass before long. Admittedly, Mikey is still skeptical. Frank looks like he believes them, though, and if it’ll keep Gerard from freaking out again, it’s probably for the best that Mikey tries to believe it too.
In the end, Mikey calls Brian to let him know Ray’s come down with something, and the band stays on the road. With Worm’s help, Bob carries Ray back to the bus, powering past the stream of weak moans and whimpers he lets out along the way. It’s decided rather unanimously that someone should stay up with Ray at all times, to monitor his condition.
The band draws straws, choosing two people to take tonight’s shifts, which ends up being Frank and Mikey. Frank, convinced he won’t be able to sleep anyways, volunteers for the first shift, and Mikey agrees. He’s exhausted enough as-is.