Inseparable

Mikey stares at his shirtless reflection in the mirror. He has to remind himself not to flinch, not to cry. He isn’t that person anymore. The presence of body fat (or lack thereof) doesn’t matter anymore.

Yet he can’t bite down the whimper that bubbles in his throat when he realizes that his ribs have sunken back beneath the skin of his stomach. He clutches the edge of the cold granite of the bathroom counter, resisting taking his fingers and tracing the dents and shadows where his bones protrude and fall underneath skin.

No. Not anymore. The important thing right now are the wounds scattered across his torso that his brother had stitched up with great care approximately two weeks ago. They need to be cleaned, and the bandages changed. Mikey is scrutinizing himself in the hazy mirror, waiting for Gerard to appear with the medical supplies. Gee is taking too long, way too long. The mirror only appears to grow and encapture him, begins to mock him, begins to point out the bones that stick out in all the wrong places and the ones that disappear beneath flesh in equally (if not more) hated spots.

Mikey and Gerard had stayed home from school today with the intention of patching Mikey up, Oli opting to skip the first three periods of the day to help.

Thankfully, Gerard comes back into the room then, closely followed by Oli, various antiseptics and other freakishly sterile medical equipment being carried by the both of them. They set the supplies on the bathroom counter next to Mikey, who has hopped onto the counter when he hears Oli’s bitching about carrying heavy stuff come nearer.

Oli perches himself on the lid of the toilet tank while Gerard scans Mikey’s chest quickly and then begins pulling out the required supplies.

“Mate, that shit is nasty. How are you not screaming in pain when Wentz claws his way up your chest?” Oli says, flinching as Gerard begins to unstitch one of the many cuts across his chest.

Mikey shrugs. “If I don’t let him crawl all over me, he gets sad. Sad Pete equals annoying Pete. Kinda like you when you don’t get your way.”

Oli pouts and crosses his arms.

“I’m not that bad,” He protests.

“You’re right,” Gerard chimed in. “You’re absolutely terrible.”

At that, Oli sticks out his bottom lip. He snuffles a few times and wipes at his eyes, pretending he’s crying.

Mikey rolls his eyes, and then flinches when Gerard slowly begins to unstitch one of the deeper wounds.

“How did you even get these? What did they use?” He asks, brow furrowed in concentration, voice breathy and hardly there.

“K-knives. Broken bottle. Somethin like that. Hurt like a bitch,” Mikey replies.

“If you said it was painless I’d be worried. Thank god we took care of them. People need to fucking learn to leave you and Mike the hell alone.” Gerard mutters, bringing an antiseptic wipe up to the now unstitched wound and making gentle and careful wipes across the surface of the battered skin.

Blood is now oozing freely from the wounds, making a gooey red mess of both Mikey’s chest and Gerard’s hands, as well as the few drops that have wriggled their way down to the counter. Oli grimaces and sucks in his breath.

“I don’t know jack shit about medical procedures, but I do know how to spot something sincerely fucked up. Gee, are we going to need to take him to an actual hospital?”

“Don’t worry Oli. It’s but a scratch,” Mikey says.

“Mikey, now is not the time to reference Monty Python,” Gerard chides, fiddling with the plastic clasps of the first aid kit.

“Fuck you, loser. It is always a time to reference Monty Python,” Mikey retorts.

“Whatever. Okay, take a deep breath.”

Mikey sucks in a heavy breath and braces himself for the first pinch and pulse of pain. When it comes, it’s stronger than he was expecting. Abrupt.

Oli shudders. “Gerard...”

“No, Oliver. No. I can fix this. I will fix this,” Gerard says decidedly.

Mikey and Oli glance at each other, sharing the same look full of confusion, hope, and doubt.

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Kellin is having one of those days. He feels like complete and utter crap and even Frankie can’t fix it. That just doesn’t happen. They’re always able to fix each other, but today, Kellin’s ickyness is untouchable.

Of course, this state of mind is really fucking helpful when you have to do a motherfucking project with a dude you have a hopeless crush on.

Vic must have had magical radar senses or some shit, because he picks up on Kellin’s sour mood.

“You alright man?” He asks. The truth is, no, he is not alright, he is very far from it, but he doesn’t want to burden someone (who isn’t Frankie. Frankie basically volunteers for dealing with this shit) with his crappy and pointless emotional problems. Kellin forces himself to perk up and grin.

“Yeah, I’m fine. We should probably work a little on our project now, don’t you think?” He says, pushing a hopefully convincing smile onto his face.

Vic, however, must’ve seen right through it, because he frowns and sets his pencil down, reaching over to close Kellin’s textbook.

“We are not gonna be able to at least half ass a project if you’re all sad and shit. We’re ditching after class. Whether you wanna or not,” Vic says, taking Kellin’s stuff and putting it away for him before putting away his own things and glancing up at the digital clock mounted on the wall to see how many minutes left of class they have.

Kellin finds himself stunned.

“Y-you don’t have to do that,” He manages to force out of his mouth.

“I may not have to, but I want to. No one deserves to feel like crap,” Vic says, giving Kellin a truthful and sweet smile.

Kellin curses his stupid fucking schoolboy crush. His heart is fucking swelling.

“I... Okay,” Kellin says at last, the primary reason he agrees being that Vic shoots him a very quick look that repeats his previous statement of ‘whether you want to or not’.

Vic grins. “Perfect. Text whoever you’ve gotta text to let them know you’ll be home a little later than usual.”

Fighting his phone out of his pocket, Kellin taps out a quick message to Frank, who sends one back in reply stating something very sexual with a winky face attached.

He doesn’t blush. What? He doesn’t!

The bell signaling the end of class rings, and Kellin’s heart may or may not have sped up.

“C’mon, babycakes. We’ve got places to go,” Vic says, locking his fingers around Kellin’s wrist tightly and half dragging, half running out of the room, Kellin hastily in tow.

“B-but were? Where are you going to take me?” Kellin asks. Vic ignores him and walks up to Andy Biersack (oh shit, oh motherfrikkin shit, Kellin tells himself not to blink, don’t make eye contact, don’t breathe to heavily, or loudly, or at all) and promptly sticks his hand in Andy’s back pocket (what the fuck, does Vic have a fucking death wish) and retrieves a key ring.

“Taking the truck, Andy. Ditching the rest of school. Be back in time to pick your loser asses up,” Vic says, elbowing Andy in the ribs. Andy murmurs incoherently, flapping a dismissive hand at the pair.

“Spectacular. Love you honey, bye,” Vic says, standing on tiptoe to press a loud, smacking kiss to Andy’s cheek.

Kellin, in short, is dumbstruck.

“How do you know him?” He asks as they leave through the glass doors of the school.

“Andy? He’s a very good friend. We’re, ah, business associates,” Vic says, giving Kellin a glance at a sideways angle.

Kellin isn’t an idiot (most of the time). It’s clear to him that Vic means his illegal involvements.

So, he nods, pleased at the small smile that creeps its way onto Vic’s face.

Vic jabs his thumb against the ‘unlock’ button of the car key, the locks sliding down with a heavy ‘clunk’. Vic climbs up into the driver’s seat with no hesitation, while Kellin slides into the passenger side with an excess of trepidation.

Turning on the car and flashing Kellin an award winning, heart stopping (literally) smile, Vic pulls out of the parking lot and begins down the road.

“What do you wanna do?” Vic inquires once they’re about halfway down the road from the school.

Kellin seriously doesn’t know, and he voices as much.

“That’s okay,” Vic replies. “We can just drive around for a little bit until one of us has a revelation.”

Conveniently, Kellin has his revelation then. He remembers a game he used to play with his father; they’d drive around aimlessly, with Kellin saying ‘left’ ‘right’ or ‘straight ahead’ whenever they came to a stop sign.

“I had a revelation!” Kellin all but shouts.

“Great! Where do you wanna go?”

“I don’t know. Stop looking at me like that, this is part of the revelation! My dad and I used to play this game whenever we were in the car and not in a hurry to wherever it was we were going. Basically, he’d drive, and I’d tell him to go left or right or straight ahead until we found ourselves somewhere that either served ice cream or burgers. Preferably both. You up for that?” He asks.

The grin that plasters itself across Vic’s features could have killed Kellin, seriously. “Fuck yeah I am. When do we start?”

“This stoplight.”

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“I FUCKING SAID RIGHT!”

“THIS IS RIGHT!”

“NO YOU DUMBASS, THIS IS LEFT!”

“WELL IT’S RIGHT IN MEXICO! YOU’RE RACIST!”

Kellin throws his hands in the air in mock exasperation. Both boys are laughing extremely hard, their yelling mixed in with laughter so loud that Kellin is sure people on the street can hear it coming out of the truck.

“HOW THE FUCK AM I RACIST IF I’M SITTING IN A TRUCK WITH A MEXICAN?”

“SEE? Oh shit we’re in the rich part of town. How the fuck did we end up here? YOU AND YOUR SHITTY ASS DIRECTIONS KELLIN, YOU LANDED US IN STUCK-UP DOUCHEBAG CENTERAL.”

“WELL IF SOMEONE FUCKING TURNED RIGHT, WE WOULDN’T BE HERE!”

“I TURNED RIGHT!”

“I AM GOING TO KICK YOUR ASS FUENTES, JUST YOU WAIT!”

“I’M SO SCARED!”

“YOU FUCKING BETTER BE! NOW FUCKING TURN RIGHT!”

Vic jerks the steering wheel to the right, throwing the truck down the direction Kellin requested in an insanely unnecessarily reckless way.

“I SAID TURN RIGHT, NOT GET US KILLED!” Kellin shouts, flailing his arms in an attempt to convey his annoyance. Vic rolls his eyes.

“Like I would wreck Andy’s truck. I may be a fucking idiot, but now way in hell am I going to fuck up Andy’s precious baby. He’d gut me, eat my intestines and use my skin as a blanket and my bones as jewelry. I shit you not.”

Kellin crosses his arms and narrows his eyes.

“You are so shitting me. It shows on your face. Your stupid, ugly, stupid face.”

“You said stupid twice,” Vic says with a smirk.

“And?” Is Kellin’s only form of response.

“Nothing, nothing.”

“You’re stupid, you know that?”

“Really? I had no idea.”

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“WILL YOU STOP DOING COOKIES AND GET BACK ON THE ACTUAL ROAD?”

The boys had drifted from the main road (as Kellin’s direction of ‘left’ had landed them there) and Vic had completely ignored Kellin’s request to get them out of the parking lot and simply spun the vehicle around in circles, pretending Kellin’s protests are nonexistent.

Eventually, however, Vic feels himself begin to get a little motion sick and brings the truck to a stop.

“Fucking finally!” Kellin proclaimes, leaning forward and resting his head on the dashboard.

Stealing a quick glance at the clock on the radio, Vic is a little more than relieved to see they have approximately an hour left before they have to be back at school to rescue everyone.

Kellin better ‘left, right’ their asses to some food quickly.

“Okay, okay. Straight ahead, and then left.”

“As you wish, your highness.”

Kellin was silent for a moment, before answering. “Did you just... Try to seduce me with a movie reference?”

“What? No! Not at all! I would never-“

Okay, so maybe Vic had intentionally referenced The Princess Bride. Maybe. He isn’t going to admit that to anyone, you can’t make him. Besides, Kellin is really fucking pretty and very far out of Vic’s league.

“You’re lucky I can’t tell if you’re blushing or not ‘cause your face is so tan.”

Vic blushes harder. Kellin pokes his cheek.

“Yup, you’re blushing. Cutie.”

“Did you just call me cute?”

“What? No! Oh hey, look! A Dairy Queen! Stop this car right now, I want me a goddamn Blizzard and since you can’t tell the difference between right and left you’re paying,” Kellin says in a rush, jumping out of the car and avoiding any further confrontation.

Vic rolls his eyes and follows Kellin into the restaurant.

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Two cheeseburgers, a shared basket of French fries and two Blizzards later, Kellin is grinning like a madman and laughing at almost every single thing Vic says, and vice versa. Vic really doesn’t know when this became part of the plan – All he had wanted to do in the first place was cheer Kellin up, and okay, yeah, maybe he’d had a teensy crush on him beforehand - but now it has turned into full blown infatuation. He can’t deny it.

Hoo boy, is he fucked.

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Kellin’s crush has gone from ‘I can contain this’ to ‘oh my god I want to pin you to the door and kiss the fuck out of you’.

This is not easy to contain, at all. Plus, he doesn’t even know if Vic swings that way! For all Kellin knows, he likes girls! And tits!

This is terrible, just terrible.

Nonetheless, Kellin is going to sit in the fucking passenger seat and he is going to be a patient, normal human and he is going to survive the car ride back to the prison. School. He means school.

“Hey, thank you for this. I really do feel a lot better now,” Kellin says, hand resting on the door handle, halfway ready to leave. Vic grins and waves a hand dismissively.

“No problem. It was fun. But seriously, you need to learn your lefts and rights, because you kept getting them wrong.”

“You’re stupid,” Kellin laughs.

“And you’re prissy. See you around?” Vic asks, not even considering for a moment that he should keep the hopeful tone of his voice in check.

“Yeah, see you around.”

With a small smile, Kellin slides out of the car and went to go find Frankie. He is going to tell him everything.

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“Okay Mikey, I think you’re done now,” Gerard says, finally closing the first aid kit. The cleaning and re-stitching of Mikey’s wounds had taken so, so much longer than Gerard had originally anticipated. Apparently, during the first round of cleaning he did, he’d missed a piece of glass buried in Mikey’s upper arm, and this time had to remove it, hoping and praying an infection hadn’t set in.

Gerard is mentally cursing those fucking bastards, inexcusably glad that they’re dead. Oli had left a while ago, about forty minutes since Gerard had found the piece of glass, obviously frazzled and worried.

Mikey and Gerard, however, are fucking exhausted. Gerard knows for a fact now that he never wants to be a surgeon.

“C’mon, let’s go fall asleep on the couch because there’s no way in hell I am going to be able to climb stairs right now,” Gerard says, watching as Mikey delicately tugs his shirt back on and follows Gerard to the couch, where they promptly collapse, Gerard having a presence of mind for just long enough to pull one of the blankets off of the back of the couch over them.

He’s asleep before he could even close his eyes.

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“Awwwwww!”

No. Gerard is tired. He’s not going to wake up. No.

“You two are adorable.”

Gerard can feel Mikey stir against his chest, the younger boy somehow having managed to tangle himself expertly against his older brother in his sleep.

“I want cuddles too!”

The blanket lifts, and cold air rushes to spread goose bumps across Gerard’s now exposed arm. They quickly sink back beneath his skin, however, when another warm body cuddles up against his side. Gerard pries his eyes open long enough to see Oli huddled against him too, and then to see Tony smile and nudge around until he’s also cuddled up against them.

“Like a bunch of puppies,” Mikey murmurs, the vibrations pulsing out against Gerard’s ribcage.

“I like puppies,” Oli says, and Mikey hums back in agreement.

“Someone take a picture, this is our next Christmas card,” Andy says. Gerard looks up long enough to see the grin on his face. It’s a mixture of teasing, affection and overall sweet. Like sugar. Ew.

“No picture. No,” Tony mutters.

“Shut up and let me sleep losers,” Gerard finally manages to say.

They fall silent, and the noises of the TV coming on and the other boys settling into the surrounding chairs help drag Gerard back into a deep, peaceful, and overall comforting sleep.

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“Frankie? Frankie, I’ve started naming mine and Vic’s babies,” Kellin calls out into his house.

“And I’ve named this sandwich. His name is Armando. Armando was created so he could die.”

Kellin rolls his eyes and walks into the kitchen, leaning against the door frame and watching his friend stuff his face with the (truly) massive sandwich.

“You’re weird, Frankie. You’re lucky I love you. Anyway, I may or may not totally and completely want Vic’s babies.”

Frank raises an eyebrow.

“I’m serious. I want his babies.”

“I’m also serious. Either grow a pair and tell him this, or shut up. I’m tired of your whining and crying and desperate need for Vic’s dick in your ass.”

“I don’t whine-”

“But you do have a desperate need for his dick in your ass. Seriously, Kells. Chill. Come here and eat one of Armando’s siblings. Watch a movie with me. Sleep. Plan out how you’re going to tell Vic this. But for now, I wanna hear all about what you did today.”

Kellin grins and gladly begins to recount word for word the events of the day.

Who cares about how Kellin catches himself grinning like a maniac with every thought?

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