The day Gerard missed the pizza

“Mikey is going to kill me.” Gerard groans, pressing his back flat against the crumbling alley wall behind him.

He knows he shouldn’t be here, skipping out on Bob’s attempt at making veggie pizza yet again. (Even though he almost lost a lung hacking that thing up last time) He understands he shouldn’t have left the house without a word in Ray’s direction, leaving him clueless to his whereabouts and pulling out his hair in frustration. And he’s pretty darn sure he should have told Frank about this. Yeah, that he’s pretty sure of.

Pushing his greasy hair out of his eyes, (and ignoring a voice that sounds a lot like Bob telling him that he should “Take a bath, you dirty motherfucker.”) Gerard takes a cautious step out of the shadows.

The sudden glare of the streetlamp makes Gerard cringe, and he pauses for a moment, letting his eyes adjust. The street is deserted; the sky a black canvas peppered with stars, the only movement the breeze that ruffles his hair. Gerard yawns, struggling to keep his eyes open. He knows he should have handed this one over to Pete and his team, but he needed a little time to himself. What other way is he going to get it? Yawning once more, Gerard loosens the knives tucked in to his waistband, and thanks Frank for making his jeans super stretchy. Not that the needed extra room had anything to do with the amount of time Gerard spent vegging on the sofa, with a tub of Ben and Jerry’s and re-runs of Buffy.

Side-steeping the streetlamps pool of light, Gerard flexes his hands, ready for the moment the thief stepped towards the bank. He only has a moment, however, to realise that any good robber wouldn’t use the front door and that maybe, standing in the middle of the road, squatting and sticking out a hand was a bit too obvious, before he felt the cool pressure of a gun pressed to his head.

“Move it.” A rough, gravelly voice demands.

Must be the owner of the gun pushed against his skull, Gerard muses.

“Move or I’ll shoot.”

Oh yeah, definitely the owner of said gun.

Sighing, and following orders, Gerard lets himself be forced back in to the shadows of the alleyway. This is so not worth the hassle, next time Ray can do it.

“Gee, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Gerard spins at the sound of his brother’s voice, and cringes slightly at the sight of Mikey, hands on hips with his eyebrows raised, the moonlight circling his head like halo.

“Robber.” Gerard says, trying to look as innocent as possible and not like he snuck out to fight crime alone. Again.

“What are you doing here?” Gerard shoots back, trying to avoid Mikey’s wrath.

“Saving you, obviously.”

“I don’t need saving, everything’s under control.” Gerard insists. He’s a grown man; he doesn’t need his younger brother to help him.

“Gee, you have a gun pointed at your head; I think you could use my help.” Mikey snorts, rolling his eyes. Gerard opens his mouth to argue, but is cut short by the robber.

“Shut up!” The man shouts, making the Gerard jump. Funny how easily you can forget you have a gun pointed at you.

Mikey sighs exasperatedly, sauntering off of the road and towards Gerard.

“Don’t move!” the robber demands, grabbing Gerard’s arm and pushing the gun harshly
against his temple.

“Ow!” Gerard moans, flailing his arms and stumbling to Mikey’s side.

“Don’t move or I’ll kill him!” Shouts the man, still pointing the gun at Gerard’s head.

“Oh, please.” Mikey rolls his eyes and takes a step towards the robber.

The man hesitates, gun moving frantically between them in a silver blur. With a yell he fires at Mikey’s chest.

It all happens in slow motion for Gerard, the bullet flies through the air, hitting Mikey dead-on. His brother frowns, watching crimson blood blossom on his Dogma shirt, before he falls to the floor with a meaty thump. Flicking out his wrist and snapping it in the robber’s direction, Gerard sends the knives away from his waistband and hurtling forward, pinning the robber’s shirt against the wall and sending the gun flying out of his hand.

Tearing off a strip off of his shirt, Gerard scurries to his brother’s side and heaves him up. Struggling with Mikey’s weight for a moment, he almost falls over before he pushes him against the wall and wraps the material around Mikey’s chest, tying it tightly.

Gerard leans his head against the wall for a moment, and all that can be heard is the distant sound of cars zooming past and Gerard’s heavy breathing. Wow, he needs to get in shape, maybe he could go with Bob next time he works out. He turns to his brother, head thrown back against the wall and eyelids flickering.

“Wake up, I know you’re pretending.” Gerard says, poking him harshly in the ribs.

“I’m still healing you bastard!” Mikey yells, eyes snapping open and swatting away his brothers hand.

“Yeah, yeah. “ Gerard mumbles, flopping beside his brother.

“You need to work out a little more,” Mikey chuckles, poking Gerard’s stomach.

“Shut up, I happen to enjoy my chub.”

“Chub?” Mikey snorts, wincing slightly as he turns to Gerard.

“Painful?”

“Nah, just stings a little.” Mikey says shaking his head.

Gerard nods, raking his hand through his hair. It’s a nervous habit that hides his worry.

“What we gonna do about him?” Mikey asks, cocking his head in the robber’s direction.
Gerard turns to the man still trapped against the wall, eyes closed and head lolling against to the side.

“I guess we could just leave him.” Gerard suggests, shrugging.

“Yeah, I guess, but what about the knives?”

Gerard sighs, flicking his wrist at the robber, who slumps to the floor while, like melted butter, the blades of the knives drip down the wall, pooling on the floor in a silver puddle. Raising his eyebrows as the remaining plastic falls to the ground with clatter, Mikey turns to Gerard smirking.

“You’ll have to explain to Bob why his best knives are melted.”

“I’m not explaining shit; I don’t want to be sent to an early grave.” Gerard says, waving his hand once more and sending the metal streaming in to a near-by gutter.

Mikey chuckles, picking up the plastic hilts of the knives and handing them to Gerard.

“Are we calling he cops?”

“So we can say what? That we think that a man might be robbing a bank, but we have no proof? But we know for a fact that there is a man passed out in an alleyway? ”

Mikey shrugs, picking up the abandoned gun off of the floor and twirling it in his hands.

“We’ll leave him this time, no-one’s going to believe him if he says anything. Besides, we’ll have The Serum soon, if Bob can get it to work. That way no one will remember anything anyway.”

Mikey nods resignedly. There’s an awkward silence, and Gerard suddenly feels guilty.

“Mikes, I really sorry I just-“

“Let’s go, I’m itching like hell.” Mikey interrupts sharply.

When Gerard doesn’t move he softens his voice. “Please, Gee.”

Gerard nods, and pulls some keys out of his jeans pocket.

-------

Gerard flings open the door of the van, scowling at the paint flying off the door and on to the sidewalk. They need to get a new van, or at least give it a lick of paint. Maybe they could paint some zombies down the side of the door, or some robot werewolves. That would be totally kick-ass; Gerard muses as he slides in to the driver’s seat.

“It stinks of pizza and gym socks in here.” Mikey complains, clearing chocolate wrappers off his seat, and flinging the gun in to the back of the car before he sits down.

Gerard grunts.

“Gee?”

“Yeah?” Gerard mumbles, snapping back in to focus.

“Is this going to happen all the time?”

“Is what going to happen all the time?”

“You running off and not telling any of us, trying to fight crime on your own.” Mikey says, in a
voice that questions what else it could possibly be.

Gerard shrugs, unsure of what to say. Why does he do it? All he knows is it’s nice to do something alone every once in a while.

“It’s stupid Gee,” Mikey continues. “We’re supposed to be a team and it scares the shit out of me because you just disappear. You don’t have to tell us everything; just don’t disappear at midnight and not tell anyone. I was fucking terrified that something had happened.”

“I’m sorry?” Gerard says, the apology sounding more like a question than anything else.

“It’s not just me you should be apologizing to,” Mikey says, rolling his eyes. “The guys are pacing the floor at home.”

“You told them?” Gerard exclaims, betrayal evident in his voice.

“No.” Mikey pauses, as if debating whether to tell him or not.

“Frank had a vision.” He finally says, misery apparent in his voice.

Well, shit.

“Do I dare ask what of?”

“You, obviously, who else is it gonna be?” Mikey says, rolling his eyes.

“No, I mean was I-” Gerard mimes slitting his throat.

“Dead? Oh yeah, that’s why Frank sent me. He was shitting himself, Gee, so he demanded I go and save your sorry ass.”

“Oh.” Gerard mutters.

“Yeah, so don’t do it again ‘cause I might die from worry.” Mikey jokes, but Gerard knows he’s serious about the not disappearing thing.

“I won’t.”

“Good.”

Mikey pulls Gerard in to a hug.

-----

“You ready?”

Gerard pulls a face, staring up at the grey, crumbling apartment block. Wringing his hands nervously he stares up at their window, where he can see a pair of furious eyes stare out from the slats in the blinds. Face plastered in a sheepish smile, Gerard waves and the blinds snap closed. He turns to Mikey, looking terrified.

“Is it bad?”

Mikey snorts.

“Remember that time that you told Mom you thought she was fat?”

“I didn’t mean it like that!”

“But do you remember what happened?” Mikey presses, smirking slightly.

Gerard shudders. ”I couldn’t move for a week.”

“Well, it’s worse than that.”

Gerard pulls a disbelieving face.

“Gee, you angered three guys who, when together, could kill you in a numerous number of painful ways. Then, bring you back from the dead and do it all over again.”

He gulps.

“I might just stay outside for a smoke. Maybe draw how the smoke curls in-“ Mikey cuts him off by grabbing a fistful of hair a shoving him inside.

----

The moment Mikey raps his knuckles against the peeling black door of apartment 12A, it flings open. A furious Frank stands in the doorway, only moving to let Mikey slide inside. Eyes bloodshot and hair ruffled, he glares up at Gerard, his tattooed arms folded.

“Well?” Frank demands.

“I didn’t know-“Gerard begins, but clearly it’s the wrong thing to say, because Frank tackles
him to the floor.

“What the hell were you thinking you bastard? Are you crazy?!” Frank yells, punching him in the stomach.

“Frank, I didn’t-“Gerard wheezes, but Frank doesn’t let him finish.

“Exactly! You weren’t thinking, were you? You just went on your merry way, not caring how worried we were about you. Do you have to be the hero all the time, can’t you tell someone before you leave?”

“I didn’t think you had to know!” Gerard yells, pushing Frank off of his stomach and scrambling to his feet.

“You thought we didn’t have to know?!” Frank roars, jumping to his feet. “We’re your friends; do you have any idea how terrified we were that something had happened to you?”

“It’s not a big deal!”

Frank pushes Gerard and his back hits the door behind him.

“I saw you dead. I saw you with a bullet stuck in your skull and covered in blood! Do you know how that makes me feel?”

Frank takes a shuddering breath, and it’s only then that Gerard realises that his eyes are red because he’s been crying.

“We thought we’d lost you.”

Gerard breaks and pulls him in to a hug. Frank pushes his head into his chest, gripping at his coat.

“I thought I’d lost you, Gee. I thought you’d died a-and-“

Gerard shushes him, and pulls him closer.

“I promise I won’t do it again. I promise.”

-----

Bob doesn’t look up from where he’s sat on the sofa when Gerard walks in, Frank closing the door behind him and sliding into the kitchen. Pulling his coat off and hanging it up, he cautiously shuffles forwards, feet dragging on the carpet. The air is thick with tension and the smell of pizza.

“Bob?” He says, voice cracking.

Bob looks up, face blank. “You missed my Pizza.”

“I’m sorry.” Gerard mumbles, knowing that he’s apologizing for much more.

“Is it going to happen again?” Bob asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Never.” Gerard shakes his head furiously.

He stays motionless for another moment, before his face melts in to a relieved expression.

“Well, then that’s different.” Bob says, getting up and pulling Gerard into a bone-crushing hug.

“But if it does happen again I will pull you limb from limb, got it?” Bob threatens when he pulls away.

Gerard nods and Bob flops back on to the sofa, picking up a comic book and putting his feet on the stained coffee table.

“Get your feet off of the table!” A voice shouts from the kitchen.

Bob rolls his eyes but puts his feet on the floor anyway. A moment later, Ray appears at Gerard’s side looking disapprovingly at Bob, hair flapping with the speed he ran.

He flaps a tea-towel at Bob’s legs angrily. “It just polished that table.”

Bob looks pointedly at the coffee stains then back at Ray.

“It’s not my fault you’re all addicted to coffee.”

Bob scoffs, but returns to his comic. Ray turns around and Gerard shuffles nervously, picking at his shirt.

“Never again. I put up with your lack of hygiene and girly mood swings, but not this.” Ray says, pointing at Gerard.

“Never.” Gerard agrees and Ray nods, pulling him in to a quick hug.

“Now go help Mikey get the bullet out of his chest. He’s bitching about being the unloved sibling.” Then, in a blur of limbs and hair, Ray disappears back in to the kitchen. Bob looks sideways, at the way Ray vanished, before swinging his feet on to the table and turning invisible, just in case.

----

Snatching the remote off of Gerard, Frank makes himself comfortable on Gerard’s lap, before flipping through the channels.

“Do you mind?”

Frank ignores him and continues to search for something to watch. Rolling his eyes, Gerard shifts so his feet are on Bob’s lap. Bob idly turns the page of his comic, before throwing it onto the table and ignoring Ray’s squeak of protest. Smiling, Mikey passes Frank a bowl of popcorn before leaning back against Ray’s knees.

They stay this way for hours, Frank trying to catch popcorn in his mouth, while Gerard sketches some zombie-pig apocalypse, occasionally pelted with flyaway popcorn. Mikey and Ray are absorbed in some French romance on the T.V, both sniffling when they think no-one is listening. Bob rolls his eyes, snatching the popcorn from Frank’s lap, who flips him the bird. It’s then, that Gerard realises what and idiot he was to leave without telling them, he could only imagine what it must have been like when he left. If it had been Mikey, or Frank, or any of them, Gerard would have been furious. Tearing his hair out and slowly turning bald with worry.

He is so fucking lucky to have friends like them. No, not just friends, but brothers. Gerard smiles, sinking closer to Frank and ignoring the popcorn that hits his eye. Bob sighs, pushing Gerard’s feet off of his lap.

“Anyone for coffee?” He asks, standing up and stretching.

Choruses of grunts follow, but Bob rolls his eyes and walks into the kitchen anyway. There is a moment when all that can be heard is Frank munching on his popcorn and cups clinking in the kitchen. It’s nice and peaceful, so Gerard closes his eyes and sighs contentedly.

“Gerard, where the hell are my good knives?” Bob shouts from the kitchen, his voice threatening.

“Sucker.” Mikey snickers.

That bit of quietness, however, must be broken.