And I'm Paralyzed

Mikey:

I was woken by someone frantically shaking me. My eye lids fluttered open, and I cast a glance at whoever had aroused me. It was Gerard, staring into my eyes sharply and calling my name.

“Whut...whut? The hell, why are you back? You shouldn't be done masturbating at Starbucks for another hour.” I mumbled groggily. I hadn't even realized I had fallen asleep, let alone on top of Frank.

Gerard rolled his eyes, “Thanks for the warm welcome, douchefuck, but I came to see if you're alive.”

I raised an eyebrow, “Should I be un-alive for any reason? Did you guys forget to tell me I had AIDs?”

Gerard laughed, but it was short, “No, but I've been having issues regarding an enemy I shouldn't have made, and she's probably going to attempt to kill you. So, uh, ya.”

“So, uh, ya? You aren't going to say 'don't worry, Mikey, since I love you and want your babies, I'll protect you.'?”

“Eww,” he said, wrinkling his nose, “Who wants Mikey babies? No, of course I'll do my best to protect you, but she isn't exactly your average thug. She's.... her.”

“I love your use of adjectives.”

He rolled his eyes and kissed my forehead before telling me to be careful and walking out of the room. Seconds later, I heard the noise of the basement door slamming, and knew he was retreating to his dungeon.

Lovers or not, we were still brothers.

~

Gerard:

I paced my room and attempting to think as rationally as possible. The likelihood of Vanessa following through and attempting to harm Mikey was slim; she knew I would kill her if she did. She knew a lot of things she shouldn't.

I pushed the girl from my mind and instead found it returning to my brother. It all seemed so weird to me that not only had he accepted my proclamation of unnatural feelings for him, but he had told me he would try to love me, too. Was it possible for a boy like Mikey to love a monster like myself? I may have somewhat gotten over the fact that Mikey now knew, but that didn't mean I loved him any less, which made me a sick fucked up child. Being a pedophile would be better than being whatever I am... well, I guess it depends on how old and ugly the pedophile is...

I looked down at my arm. Fully extending it, scars glistened in the light from the lamp on my drawing desk, some much too recent, others from much longer ago. The one on the inside of my elbow joint, the one that spelled his initials, was possibly the boldest. Whenever I cut myself, this was the one I traced, permanently ingraining him into me. This way, when he realized I had issues and left me, told me I was sick and deserved to die, I would still have a small part of him. A very small part of him.

~

I guess I didn't realize I fell asleep until I was woken by soft sobs and the shifting of my blankets. I whipped my eyes, looking around for the source of the noise. My eyes fell on my brother, curled against me in my bed, shaking as he cried.

“Mikes! What's wrong?” I couldn't help how groggy my voice was, but I did my best and my arms cradled his small form. I couldn't understand why he had sought me rather than Frank, but I felt rather warm being able to hold him like this. It was a position of intimacy, not physically, of course, but mentally.

He whimpered, burrowing his face into my Smashing Pumpkins shirt and mumbling something incoherent.

I leaned down and shushed him gently, trying to calm him down, “Baby, I can't understand you.”

He pulled away from my shirt, though I noticed he clung to me tightly, like he was afraid I'd fall awa from him. Sitting up slightly he breathed in my ear, “I had a nightmare.”

I studied his glossy brown eyes, tears still falling from them. He was fifteen, and he tended to suffer from insomnia, and when he did sleep, he was plagued by dreams, though he usually sucked it up at this point. Before I became distant to him, he would come crying to me at all times of the night. But that was when he was eleven and twelve. Not fifteen.

I could see the fear in his eyes. It must have been a really bad one to reduce him to this.

“What happened, Kitty?” It was a nickname I'd used to calm him when he had these nightmares when he was younger. Mikey leaned on me, his head resting on my shoulder.

“Remember the one with the zombies?” he whimpered.

How could I forget? More often than not, his night terrors revolved around the walking dead, mostly bleeding heavily and dismembered, blood flowing from their mouths like foam from a rabid dog's. He told me about how he could outrun them, and for a while, he would be safe. He would be alone, when he would turn and see one of us, his most precious loved ones, forced into the zombified state and coming at him. The real scary thing was, he would never escape, but he was forced to watch his own body being devoured by the people he loved before he was free from the dream.

I nodded and kissed his head, “I remember.”

“It was worse... so much worse. There were these... bird-spider things that held me down, and they ripped out my heart and my eyes and....” Mikey broke of to sob, pressing his face into my neck.

I held him tighter, rocking him gently and singing like I did when we were younger. He calmed slightly, but silent tears still sliding down his beautiful face. I whipped them away with the pad of my thumb, “I'll protect you, Mikey. I'll always protect you. Nothing or no one will ever hurt you.”

Mikey smiled into my neck, and whispered a thank you. I lay back down, pulling him with me and letting him snuggle into my chest. The truth is, I was terrified for him. I had told him I'd protect him, and I would, as long as I lived. I would do anything for this boy. The reason I was so scared for him was because there was nothing I could do to help him fight off the enemies of his mind.

~

When I woke up for the second time that night, it was sis thirty am, but Mikey was still out. I watched him sleep, keeping my eyes wide. I knew what to look for. When he was having his bad dreams, he twitched and whined, made little frightened noises like a kitten. He was still, a blissful smile spread across his lips and his body was relaxed, pressed against mine sweetly. I stroked his hair, watching for signs despite my knowledge that he was now sleeping dreamlessly.

He was so adorable it hurt. Well, of course it hurt. Every time I looked at the boy, my wounds twinged. I knew what I deserved from him, his hatred, his disgust, it was a selfish act, forcing him to love me. I was sure his love was forced. I was so sure the only reason he had agreed to attempt to return my feelings was because he was so, so sweet. I hoped he realized soon he could do so much better than me.

~