The Perfect Foundation

Gerard plodded aimlessly across the unkempt fields of orchard. The sky was dark, streaked with unruly clouds as though they'd been applied with acrylic paint. Messy and cold, broken by fingers of blue moonlight and powered by a swift, relentless wind. Shielded by the warm buzz of alcohol, Gerard walked further and further into the wilderness.

Why was he even here on this earth? This fucking broken earth with its fucking broken people and broken things.

He kicked a bunch of grass, feeling anger rise up inside him, billowing like smoke in his lungs. I mean, he saved these people. He saved them from a life of slavery and he felt sick inside, he felt broken, he felt wrong.

And Brendon.

Brendon with his fucking beautiful smile and eyes full of light and sadness all at once. What if he could just hold him, just once. Like he wanted to do since they'd been kids and he'd come out to him all those years ago. But why would Brendon want that? I mean why would he. He was their saviour, he wasn't real, wasn't seen for his quirks and his flaws and his imperfect nature.

Once he destroyed that, everything was lost. So he could never truly be himself really. He had everything, but had lost what could have been the only relationship he could've had in this stupid excuse for a planet.

Really all he had to do was immortalise himself for eternity and the ruse would be complete.

But everyone knew what that meant. And was that really the way he had to go? The path he must take?

Tears pricked the back of his eyes like little angry stinging bees and Gerard wanted to scream just as the cloud rumbled with inevitable thunder.

"I'M NOT DOING THIS YOU LITTLE FUCKERR!"

He bellowed, his voice cracking and hoarse in the quiet before the storm.

"I'M NOT...I'm not..." His sight swam as he finally felt his legs give way and tears leaked down his cheeks.

"Mikey..." He whispered, gritting his teeth against the sobs that wracked his body and curling inward as though he could go back into the womb and erase himself from existence.

The rain began to fall.

-------*---------------------

Back at the house things were sobering up. Most of the boys had gone to bed.

Apart from Brendon and Avary, who were sat on the porch.

"I've digressed," mumbled Avary miserably, "I've strayed from the path."

Brendon could think of a million and one responses to this admission of guilt but he wasn't sure which one of them Avary wanted to hear.

Eventually he settled on:

"God always forgives, Ave. You got nothin' to worry 'bout."

He put a comforting hand on the small shoulder as the blonde began to cry and bit back verbal abuse of this so called 'loving God' to mentally shout choice words to the sky.

Complete consensual sacred love should never be a crime. Ever. If he could drag the pain Avary was feeling out of him and add it to his own that would be something. Shame all he could think of was kissing it away.

He smiled self-deprecatingly at no one and continued to sit in silence, letting Avary weep in peace.

Oh dear, he thought, this can't go on. Things are gonna have to change.

He needed to have a word with Gerard and see if Avary could be taken to a different location. Maybe with some girls.

Maybe to a church that was still standing.

Anywhere but the place where he was tempted to sin.

Some time past before the blonde stopped crying and merely snuffled, taking deep breaths and regaining some of his composure.

He turned to Brendon, eyes red and smiled weakly.

"I think I need some water." He choked out a laugh and Brendon patted him decisively, standing up and offering his hand to Avary.

"Good plan."

They headed into the kitchen and Brendon had just finished scrambling onto the counter top to fish out a clean glass, brandishing it triumphantly when Avary leaned over and whispered: "Thanks, Bren. I needed that."

It was almost physically painful to stop launching himself at the boy - he wanted to hug him so badly - but he managed it, and instead flashed a kind smile and pressed the water into his fingers.

"Anytime."

————-*———————-*———————*—————

Mikey wasn’t worried about Gerard until he poked his head into the room he shared with Frank and could only (dimly) see one body, one dark head wrapped up in cream blankets and sheets and one light rumbling snore that emitted from Frank in the gloom. He even tiptoed in closer to double check, wanting to be absolutely certain there was no second body before he panicked. But no. No Gerard; just Frank, heavily comatose, taking up a surprising amount of space for such a small person.

Mikey took a steadying breath - he was still drunk and trying to rapidly blink away his dizziness was proving unsuccessful. He put a hand out on the soft grooves of the doorframe, gripping the edges with his fingers hard to ground him. Around him the house was oddly silent and loud at the same time. Silent of voices but punctuated by the whip and snap of branches on the windowpanes, undercut with the punch of rain and whistling of wind from the storm. In the house there were no footsteps, rustling or moans to disturb Mikey’s thoughts. His first thought, in the pure, single-mindedness that came from years of trauma and grief- was G e r a r d. It stretched itself across his mind’s eye like a blindfold, thick and obscuring and suffocating. Mikey was blinking so rapidly and gripping the doorframe so determinedly that a headache began to build in his temple. Finger by finger, breath by breath, the blonde man pulled himself back together and mechanically padded along the landing to his shared room with Pete. He stopped just before the threshold and put together his plan. First; check all the bedrooms. Second, check all the bathrooms.

His stomach was churning. This was not good. This was not good at all.

He made himself drink a pint of water before he carried on his search - making sure to check Gerard’s bathroom first. Gerard had been known to sleep in the bath if he’d had a bit too much. But no. Bath empty. No Gerard.

Mikey systematically checked every room in the house, down to the pantry and cleaning closet. When his brother was nowhere to be found, he turned resolutely to go back into his own room, opening the door wide and trying not to cry as he announced ‘I can’t find Gee’. Pete, who should have been fast asleep, sat up immediately.

‘Mikey? What’s wrong?’

‘I can’t find Gerard,’ repeated Mikey, his voice breaking, ‘I don’t know where he is.’

The last part of the sentence was lost as he couldn’t speak through the tears.

Pete was in front of him in two seconds flat, hands on Mikey’s arms.

‘What do you mean you can’t find him?’

‘I said I can’t find him!’ Mikey almost shouted, nose streaming as his eyes leaked hot tears, although he did nothing to wipe them away, ‘He’s gone.’

Pete switched to business mode immediately, using his shirt to clean Mikey’s swollen face he sat him down on the bed and quizzed him on Gerard’s whereabouts.

‘You checked everywhere? Every room?’

‘Yes.’ Mikey croaked.

‘He can’t have gone far.’ Pete reasoned, ‘I’ll find him.’

‘I’m going to find him.’

‘You’re a mess Mikey. You’re going to make yourself sick if you go out there. I’ll find him, I’m sure he’s just passed out somewhere-.’

‘No.’

‘Mikes-.’

‘No. No way. He’s my brother.’ His voice cracked again and he put his hands over his face, taking in several shuddering breaths until he was calm again.

‘I know I can’t stop you. But still.’

Mikey wiped his face one last time and stood shakily.

‘You’re gonna put a coat on right?’

Mikey didn’t answer and began walking towards the stairs, Pete at his elbow.

‘Mikey-.’

Mikey pulled on his coat and zipped it up.

Pete’s face set into a state of careful blasé and he led the way into the driving storm.

Without discussing a strategy, both men doggedly did a loop of the house, the front garden, then the back, leading into the orchard. The rain was relentless, being blown constantly into their eyes and making it hard to see what was in front of their noses, let alone on the ground - where Pete was presuming Gerard would be.

Still they trudged silently, stopping and pivoting occasionally to check the area. They moved further and further into the trees - branches bending and jackknifing in the breeze.

Mikey was so cold he could barely feel his face, and his hands were clenched into fists, pushed down into his coat pockets to try and keep them warm between searching the shrubbery.

Pete seemed stoic, calm and uncaring of his extremities in the brutal weather. Part of Mikey wished he could send him back to their warm, cosy bed but he knew he wouldn’t go.

Somewhere along their route, Mikey stopped and heaved out everything he’d consumed in the past 3 hours.

Pete wasn’t as calm as he seemed on the outside. Inside he was having major flashbacks to the fair, searching for boys who were missing or dead, finding them half-cut on cocaine or covered in bruises. He was trying not to imagine their saviour in any of these conditions and knew that, later on, he would be replaying ever second of this wondering how he could’ve done more to help.

The wind howled and battered at them as they pushed determinedly into the orchard, which was by far the hardest part of the journey. Twigs and apples flew at them from all directions, they tripped over earth that had been ripped up more than once and it was so so cold. Pete considered turning back, running for more help - which would have been the logical thing to do, but he couldn’t and wouldn’t leave Mikey out here. For one, he might not find him again. He could barely see in front of his nose in the darkness. He was glad he hadn’t had anything to drink, then he really would have been useless. The traitorous part of his brain thought maybe a drink would’ve dulled the emotional and physical pain he was in. He pinched his arm savagely to punish himself for this thought.

There were a lot of things Pete wanted to say to Mikey; comforting things, rallying speeches, words of love and encouragement but the storm was so all-encompassing that this was a pointless venture. Instead they trudged in silence. Pete desperately scanned what little he could see in the blinding rain. Anything body-shaped he stopped and squinted, mostly attributed to broken trees and bushes, when suddenly Mikey lunged forwards like a bat out of a cage and Pete jumped after him, grasping his arm for fear of losing him.

How Mikey had spotted his brother in the wilderness was beyond Pete, but there he was, huddled and still under one of the few trees still standing. He was vaguely aware of Mikey screaming Gerard’s name and shaking his prone form and then the younger man was grasping at Pete’s jacket and dragging him down, shouting in his ear “HE’S NOT MOVING!” Pete tried to yell back “WE NEED TO GET HIM INSIDE!” But demonstrated what he wanted more through actions rather than anything else. He gently pulled one of Gerard’s arms over his shoulder and, thankfully, Mikey took the other. Powered by adrenaline and panic, the two men carried him back to the house in record time. Piling through the doorway, Pete laid him on the mat and barrelled through Jon’s door, shaking him awake and hoping he wasn’t so drunk that he couldn’t help them. Fortunately, Jon pulled himself upright in seconds and came down in his boxers as he could hear Mikey’s hysterical shouting from downstairs. Pete’s heart almost stopped beating as he watched Jon crouch over Gerard, calmly taking his pulse and motioning for Pete to take Mikey away so he could assess him without interruption.

Mikey was hyperventilating so badly, Pete thought he was going to have to rouse the second doctor Spencer to give him a sedative. He grasped Mikey’s arms and shook him soundly.
“You HAVE to calm down, Mikes. Look at me! Breathe! You’re no use to Gerard like this! Breathe. LOOK. AT. ME.”
Mikey met his gaze, bloodshot and wet with tears. Pete felt sickness lance through him like a lightning bolt and knew there would be bruises on Mikey’s upper arms in the morning but this was the only way.
“P-P-Pete,” the younger man choked out, voice hoarse, “What if he’s-.”
“He’s not dead.” Jon said brusquely, looking rough himself as he carefully checked the man’s body for signs of life.
“Oh Pete…” Mikey crumpled into a sobbing heap on the floor and Pete had no choice but to go with him, taking him into his arms like a cocoon.
“I need-.”
“What’s going on?” Ryan had appeared on the stairs and, taking in the scene before him, followed this with, “What do you need?”
“I need you to help me get him into bed.”
The two men took half each and transported Gerard’s sodden limp body into the nearest bedroom which was Ryan and Brendon’s on the first floor. Without being told, Ryan began to help methodically strip Gerard of his wet clothes and between the two of them they hauled him into the bed. At this point, Brendon, who had been trying to calm down Avery in his bedroom appeared in the doorway half-asleep and still drunk.
“What-what’s happening?”
“Gerard. Collapsed outside. Hypothermia.” Jon had grabbed some towels from the bathroom and was rigorously drying Gerard’s wet hair.
“Brendon get in the bed.”
“What?”
“Body heat.” Ryan muttered shortly, “I’ll be back.”
“He’s right. It’s one of the fastest ways to warm someone up,” Jon paused, “I will also be back.”
The two men raced away to sort out Mikey and Pete. Brendon didn’t need to be told twice. In some kind of trance, he pulled his clothes off and slid under the covers, wrapping himself around Gerard’s freezing body like a koala. He thought for one horrifying moment the man wasn’t breathing but, laying his head gently on his chest he could feel he was taking soft shallow breaths.
“I need to save you.” He whispered. “I need to save you, Gee.”
Downstairs, Jon had taken Mikey to his room and forced him to have a warm shower and put some clean clothes on before he went anywhere near his brother. Ryan had lead an almost catatonic Pete to Mikey’s room and made him do the same. He then went to the kitchen and put the kettle on, rooting around in the cupboard for some teabags and some sugar.
“Tea,” he murmured to himself, “Tea for everyone.”
There was a tentative shuffling of feet and Ryan started to see Spencer standing in the doorway in his pyjamas.
“I’ll help with the tea.” He said softly, then yawned, pulling cups off the shelves. Ryan thought this was so cute that he almost kissed him right there. But, bigger tasks at hand.
“Gerard collapsed in the orchard.” Ryan told him, by way of a thank you.
Spencer stopped what he was doing, froze in the middle of picking up a tray.
“Is he ok?”
“He’s alive.”
“Is Jon-.”
“Yeah. He was the closest to the door, they didn’t-.”
“I know.”
7 cups of tea later found Brendon and Ryan’s room full of people. Mikey refused to leave his brother so Ryan and Spencer had set up a bed on the floor for him and Pete while Jon piled on more blankets onto Gerard and Brendon.