Disenchanted Songfic

Another one’s gone, just like that. I see people dying. Constantly. I know what they’ll go through when they get there, as I’ve been there before. My name is Gerard Way, and I’m your resident dead guy, but everyone else just thinks I’m a looney. I know you agree with them, and I’m not gonna try to change your mind, but I do want to get my story out, so you can keep reading if you want. Or not, it’s not like it matters any to me. I died when I was six, I can’t remember how, and I’ve just been...off...ever since. I can see souls whizzing through the air by everyone’s heads, I can see them disappearing, and my first memory is of a room with a screen in it. I remember watching something on it, but not what I watched. Then I woke up to a hospital bed, looked at my mother, and said, “I don’t want to go to heaven. The angels aren’t nice, and they poked me full of needles (in reality it was only like, two or three, but come on, I was six. I’ve been scared of needles since!) and said a bunch of stuff I didn’t understand.” She looked at me then, not in relief, like I had expected, but in disdain. Like I was something nasty she stepped in and I stuck to the bottom of her shoe.

She was never mean to me, but I could tell she didn’t think I was right. The first few days, I overheard her muttering about my coming back being unnatural. I guess she was right, seeing as I remember some of the things they said and understand them now that I’m older. I’m an experiment they were trying, to see if they could bring someone who wasn’t supposed to die back. Yeah, they can, but the person’s never the same. Of course, I don’t know what ‘the same’ is, but I can tell it’s not this. She never hugged me after I died. Kept me around ‘till I was eighteen, then dumped me the first chance she got, luckily for me, she was rich and not heartless enough to throw me into certain failure, so I ended up at a nice art college. I graduated, started commissioning my art, made enough money to survive, my mother stopped giving me money, and here we are now.

I walk up the street, smiling at some of the souls I recognize, whispering, “I can see you, am I still crazy? Didn’t think so, just a guinea pig.” None of them stopped long enough to hear me, just continued to their viewings. I think people watch their lives on that screen. Hell, with the number of people that died at once, there must be billions of those screens, most people had a few years on their shoulders, and it took awhile to watch. I’d been dead for three minutes, in coma for a month, and after the ‘I don’t wanna go to heaven’ speech, I hadn’t spoken for around a year, except if I was talking to Mikey, my baby brother. He’s the only one who believed me. We live together now, and life is pretty good, I can’t complain, other than being called crazy all the time, and he can’t complain at all.

I get home, yell something about staying in the attic to work, and hole myself up. I’m up there for hours when I finally decide it’s time to get to bed. My life’s been pretty routine, and I’m glad I didn’t stay dead when I was six, because Mikey said he’d be really sad if I had.

I wake with a start, unable to remember my dream, only that it wasn’t good. I haven’t been able to remember any of my dreams since, well, ever. I always wake the same though, in a cold sweat and panting. I think it might have something to do with my death, but I don’t remember how I died, so I’m not sure.

It looks like Mikey’s been awake for a while, there’s coffee on the night stand. I seriously love that kid, he always seems to know what I’ll need, exactly when I need it, and this morning it’s coffee and hugs.

He seems to get the second one too, because as soon as I walk out of the room, he attacks me and says, “Bad dream?” I nod. I don’t feel like talking right now, but he gets that. I sit there, sipping my coffee and thinking. Mostly about high school. My high school years were spent getting picked on because I was a freak. I know I am, I mean, who else do you know that can see spirits? No one, right?

*flashback*
I’m running down the hall of my school, trying to avoid the boys chasing me. My mother thought it would be a good idea to send a ‘cursed boy’ as she calls me, to a catholic school. I got beat every day and had to put up with it because I couldn’t run very fast. I tried to hide, but it always made me late because they wouldn’t go away ‘till the bell rang. I get detentions all the time, and I never have an excuse because the teachers won’t listen.
“Gerard Way, please report to the principal’s office” The secretary’s voice buzzed over the intercom. I get up and swing my bag onto my back, starting to the office. When I get there the secretary simply points me to the door. I go in and sit down, waiting for the questions to come.

“Gerard, you’re a good kid,” the principal starts. I can already tell this is going to be one of his famous interrogations. People say that when he starts one of these, you can’t help but answer him. Probably because he waited so long to call you out. “I can see that,” he continues, “so why are you always getting to class late? You can’t have to go to the bathroom between every class, what’s up?” I’m pretty much done with getting asked the same questions all the time, so I answer honestly, knowing it won’t help.

“I hide in the bathroom. Hell, I hide in any damn closet I can find and lock!” I snap. “I get beaten up every day, and sometimes I just want to give up ‘cos they’re not stopping and you’re not believing me.” He starts to say something, but I cut him off. “And do you know that I do when I’m safely locked wherever I end up?” He shakes his head, seemingly content to let me talk, for once. “I sit there, and I cry because I’m just going to be beaten at the end of the day anyway. And I cry because when I get home, bruised and bloody,” I was yelling now, “I get called devil spawn by my own mother!” He raises an eyebrow questioningly. “Why?” I cry. “Because I died when I was six. You know what else? She says it’s my fault I get beat up because I’m devil spawn! But they’re not worried about that, no, of course not! They’re too busy being worried about my sexual orientation! Because not liking sports, writing lyrics, and drawing must make me gay, right?” He says nothing, and I continue. “So I hide wherever I can lock fast enough that they don’t get me. And hey! I can’t run very vast,” my voice breaks and the tears I’ve been holding back spill, “I don’t always get away.” I realise I’ve been standing, fists clenched, and I sink back into the chair. The guy, I can’t even be bothered to remember his name, gives me a moment to compose myself.

“You can’t keep being late,” he said. I nod.

“I know.” I look at him and see the worry in his eyes. Maybe this guy isn’t as bad as I thought.

“What’re you going to do?” he asks.

“I don’t know.” The tears are falling again and I’m shaking my head. We sit in silence for a moment, and he decides to ask another question.

“You died when you were six?” I laugh and he looks taken aback.

“That’s the question you decide to ask?” He nods. “Yeah. I died. For like, three minutes or something. Not much fun. My first memories are a blank screen and needles.” I shuddered. “My mom had been worried about me, she was sitting in the hospital room crying. But I made a comment about not wanting to go to heaven, and I’ve been ‘It’ or ‘devil spawn’ to her ever since.” He shook his head.

“Damn. That sucks.” I laughed. Yeah. This guy’s pretty cool.

“I don’t even know why I told you most of that,” I laugh. “I’ve been keeping it in for years...just too long I guess.” He nods.

“Is she mean? Your mom?” he asks and then laughs. “Stupid question.” I shake my head.

“Not stupid. I get ignored for the most part, or she says mean things, but it’s just words. I think she’s scared of me, so she definitely won’t hit me or anything. And Mikey’s there, so I’m not completely unloved or anything.” I look down at the nametag on his desk. Frank Iero sr, principal.

“Mikey?” Mt Iero asks.

“Yeah, my little brother,” I say proudly.

“He doesn’t go here.” It wasn’t a question.

“Nah, my mom only sent me here ‘cos she thought it would ‘fix me’ or something. Like being here will make me stop seeing spirits.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. Great, and now he thinks I’m crazy.

“Hm?” He wants me to explain. Well, I told him everything else, might as well tell him this.

“I see spirits. They fly through the air constantly. I know where they’re going, too. Please don’t think I’m crazy, it’s just ‘cos I died!” My head hangs and I wait for the laughter. It doesn’t come, so I look up and am met with a warm smile.

“I don’t think you’re crazy, I think you’ve got a gift. And while I can’t do much about your problems, I can walk you to lunch today, you’ve pretty much missed this period anyway. And I can introduce you to my son and his friends. They’re a lot like you, and there’s strength in numbers.” I nod.

“Thank you.” Mr Iero smiled. “No need. I know what you’re going through.” The bell rings. “C’mon, let’s go.” I smiled and stood, checking my eyes in the window. They didn’t look too bad, so I walked to the door and stepped out, half expecting him to leave me there. He doesn’t, but walks out and smiles. We walk to my locker, grab my lunch, and continue to the cafeteria. People start staring, probably wondering how much trouble I was in. I’m led to a table where three kids are sitting. Mr Iero addresses a boy with a two-toned mohawk. “Frank, this is Gerard, he’s got some similar problems and needs someone to watch his back.” They share a glance and it’s like seeing Mikey and my eyebrow language but I don’t understand it. Frank nods and pats the seat next to him. Mr. Iero leaves, and he speaks.

“So, this is Ray,” he motions to a boy with giant, curly hair, “and this is Bob,” he motions to a blonde. “Hi,” I murmur. Ray laughs.

“You don’t have to be nervous, we’re here to help.” Bob and Frank nod, and Frank speaks.

“You can see them?” I’m unsure of how to answer. He seemed to know what my silence meant, and spoke again. “Thought so. It’s okay, we’re the same. We’ll be here for you.”

*end flashback*

I shake my head. Frank had gotten really hurt keeping that promise. He’s still in a coma, because of me. “I can’t think about this now,” I mumble. Mikey nods. I stand up, take the last drink from my now cold coffee, and put the cup in the sink.

“Where are you going?” Mikey asks. I shoot him a look and he nods. “Say something to him this time.” I nod and walk out the door.
Ten minutes later I’m at the hospital. I walk in and the lady at the desk calls to me. “Gerard! You haven’t been here in a while!” I smile at her. I wish I could read her nametag, I like her, I’m just terrible with names. “I had a huge commission. I just finished it a couple days ago and I’ve been sleeping pretty much since.” She smiles and leads me to Frank’s room. “I’ll leave you to it,” she says and leaves. I sit by his bed and debate taking his hand. I do. “Mikey said I need to talk to you. I’ve wanted to, I just can never think of what to say. So i guess I’ll just talk about life and shit. Uhh...I commission art now, and I get paid pretty well, Mikey lives with me, he misses you.” He smiles and I grin. This is the first reaction I’ve ever gotten from him. “I miss you. I hate seeing you like this, it kills me. You shouldn’t be in here, especially not for trying to save me. I know what you’ll be going through if you give up, so don’t...” I pause, gulping and steadying my breath. “Just don’t give up.” I stand and walk out of the room, unable to handle any more. I have a terrible feeling that Frank’s time is up.