Incisions to Corrupt a Mind

"…and maybe, you know, the mafia, or– or like, an evil motor scooter or something!"

To be completely honest, Frank had tuned Brendon out about a year and a half ago (or so it seemed, as the day dragged on, that he'd been trapped in the hell that was Belleville High for longer than the measly eight hour requirement), and his attention was truly only diverted from thinking about completely Brendon-irrelevant things until he heard said boy say something about puppies.

Well to be completely honest, he had said "pup punk", and it has been a complete accident, but Frank wasn't paying nearly enough attention to that because he had squealed at the word pup itself, swiveling around to Brendon, interrupting his monologue of, "Oh, wait, I didn't mean that, I meant pop punk," with a girlish shriek.

"Where?" he inquired frantically, and Brendon jumped, before eyeing Frank strangely. One eyebrow rose up over his thick-rimmed glasses and he let out a noise of confusion.

"Where what?" Frank's smile drooped and he let out an exasperated sigh.

"The puppies, uh-duh." Frank rolled his eyes and Brendon blinked at him.

"No, pop punk like the music genre. I fucked up. No puppies, calm thyself," Brendon said, arms out and gesturing for Frank to take a deep breath. Frank just glared at the floor.

"Oh. Yeah," he said awkwardly, one hand reaching up to rub at his neck. "I like puppies."

"No shit?" Brendon laughed and reached up, resting a hand on Frank’s shoulder. “It’s kinda cute, but don’t spaz yourself to death.” Brendon’s eyes gleamed and he gave Frank a lopsided smile, before removing his hand and continuing to walk with the slightly older boy down the school’s nearly once again empty hallway.

Frank blushed and was about to say something like, “Thanks, I guess,” but he didn’t quite get his breath of air out before Brendon had returned to his previous monologue over things Frank had no idea about, whatsoever.

So his thoughts wandered back into themselves and he was perfectly content that way, having tuned Brendon out almost completely, before he heard the younger boy say something like, “…even Gerard, although I doubt it,” and Frank stopped, going, “Wait, what?”

“I said everyone goes to prom. Maybe even Gerard, but I doubt it,” Brendon repeated, looking at Frank strangely once more. “Hey, dude, you okay?”

“Gerard has a brother, right?” Brendon, a look of concern still vague on his face, nodded.

“Yes, and why is that relevant?”

“Skinny kid, right? Likes Anthrax, tall fucker, with the dipshit glasses?” And Brendon nodded once more, narrowing his eyes slightly.

“Why, did he talk to you today, or something?” Frank shook his head, but he had an expression of complete realization etched into his features.

“Dude, he almost brained me with the door this morning!” Frank exclaimed. Brendon cocked an eyebrow, mouth set in a straight line.

“And you’re proud of this why?” Brendon inquired. Frank snorted.

“M’not, but I mean. Heck. I actually know who you’re talking about for once, kinda. I even saw Gerard this morning too.” Brendon looked surprised by that. “What?” Frank asked, coming out of his excited haze and back into the reality that was Belleville High’s barren hallways and a skinny boy with suspenders looking at him as if he’d resurrected Jesus Christ himself.

“No one actually sees Gerard,” Brendon spat, and then, “He’s fucking legendary for being the most invisible fuck on the planet, I mean… wow, what. He’s kinda antisocial, um; I think I’ve seen him once in the two years I’ve been here. Once,” Brendon repeated. Frank looked lost.

“He was here this morning, and skinny Anthrax kid was dragging him by the wrist or something. And he like, smiled at me.” Brendon’s jaw dropped open, and Frank let out a frustrated, “What? M’not lying!”

Brendon gave him the “Really?” face, the one Frank knew all too well from his mother, and said, “I didn’t say that.” Brendon shook his head, repeated his words, and then, “But like, smiled? Gerard doesn’t smile, or actually let people touch him, or be seen anywhere at school or–” Brendon cut himself off before continuing. “Dude, I think you witnessed, like, a fucking miracle or something.”

Frank truly was lost, but he just shrugged, and nodded along with Brendon’s disbelief. “Maybe,” he offered. “Anyway, he didn’t seem weird. Yeah, that’s a lie; he was weird, but I never would have guessed he was like, famous for being King Reject or something.”

“Well I’m about to have a seizure because I’m pretty sure what you just told me is the equivalent of Christ’s resurrection, and um, wow. I need to sit down, or something.” Brendon put his hand to his head dramatically and gripped onto Frank, looking as if he was going to legitimately faint.

Frank thought this was all entirely ridiculous because Gerard really didn’t seem that weird, and who the heck cared anyway, because he really didn’t. So he just rolled his eyes at Brendon, playfully shoved him off and said, “Don’t you think it’s a bit rude?”

Brendon just stated, “Dude, you don’t even know him. You wouldn’t know.”

And Frank said, “Well, would you?”

Brendon had nothing to say to that. The boys spent the rest of the walk out of Belleville High in silence.

•••••

“M’home,” Frank grumbled, sliding in the door and up to the kitchen counter, looking across to his mother. She turned to him and smiled, the corners of her eyes creasing.

“Hi, dear. How was your first day at your new school?” Frank just shook his head before dropping it down onto the table.

“Weird, boring, school,” Frank monotoned. His mother sighed, but the now slightly faked smile still played at her lips.

“Well, did you meet anyone?” Frank nodded, groaning into the table.

“Yes,” he told the kitchen table. “His name’s Brendon ‘n he’s like, taller than me and wears big glasses and talks all the time, but he’s cool. He’s nice, well; he’s also the only person who talked to me today. Oh, and he dresses… interesting.”

Linda set her hands down on the table, one on top of the other. “Well, that’s good. Does he seem to like you? Are you going to become friends?” Her tone was hopeful. Frank nodded against the kitchen counter.

“We’re friends, yeah.” Linda refrained from letting out a shriek, and instead rested her palm against Frank’s shoulder, squeezing lightly.

“That’s great, dear,” she enthused. Frank just shrugged.

“I was late to school today,” he said, and his mom let out a loud laugh.

“That’s actually hysterical,” she said, but Frank replied, “I wasn’t done,” and she shut up.

“I escaped near death,” he added. Linda looked on in confusion.

“What?” Frank just shrugged once more, and sighed.

“It’s weird. It’s not St. Mary’s though.” Frank sat up and stretched out, giving a glance to his mother before yawning, “No homework. I’m gonna sleep, or something. Moving is tiring.” Linda looked concerned for only a second before her lips pulled tight into a smile and she nodded.

“Should I wake you up for dinner?” Frank just shook his head.

“If I’m hungry enough, I’ll get up. Love you, ma.” He nodded to her before getting up and dragging himself up the stairs to his room.

Moving was tiring, but he wasn’t tired. Not really.

•••••

Gerard had told Mikey before lunch was over that he could sense a breakdown coming. Mikey had nodded, plain and simple, and patted his brother on the back before drawling out, “G’luck. Bye,” and that was it. So he really shouldn’t have been surprised.

He really wasn’t. He blamed his 7th period teacher for everything, including making him so worried about his AG test that he wasn’t paying attention to his brother, –the one who could be a psychopath sometimes¬– saying he was going to, at some point later in the day, go crazy again. So Mikey huffed as he got into Gerard’s beat up car, and only avoided promising God a blowjob at the thought that his brother didn’t look (so hopefully he hadn’t gone) off the deep end just yet.

“Mikey I’m going to cry,” Gerard sighed, and Mikey immediately took back his offer of oral sex to the Lord. Fucked. That’s what Mikey was, he was screwed.

“Please don’t,” Mikey said; because he never really did know what to say, he couldn’t deal with his own problems 90% of the time. Gerard turned to him, eyes heavy. Mikey internally cringed. This wasn’t good.

“Yeah.” Gerard swallowed thickly and Mikey could actually feel his soul leaving his body in a last ditch effort to avoid his brother’s pain. He hated seeing Gerard like this.

“Gee?” Mikey said, voice soft with concern. Gerard shrugged.

Gerard hated everything and its grandmother, truly. The entire ride home through traffic and past the comic book store he wished he could afford to go in was certainly not helping; neither was the tension literally radiating off his brother, who looked as if he was trying to become frozen solid, he appeared as if he had stopped breathing in effort to turn to stone, or something, and that just made Gerard feel worse.

So Gerard stumbled into his house, stopping briefly to read the note his mother had left on the fridge which read, “Week trip, won’t be back till Monday,” before shuffling off to his basement/cave/home-thing, a heavy sigh leaving his body along with all hope for anything he’d ever had, ever.

Mikey was planning on staying as long as he could in Gerard’s car, avoiding his brother. This made him feel very much like an asshole but he truthfully didn’t know if Gerard even wanted to be helped, so how was he supposed to try.

So it was a lame excuse, but Mikey was never the best one in the face of family drama, clearly, and so he sank back in the pleather seat and looked out the window, mid-sigh and almost feeling less bad.

Almost, mind you; he never did finish that sigh because Gerard was screaming now, loud enough for old Mrs. Haberdashery, or whatever the fuck, to hear and call the police again, and for all Mikey knew Gerard could be dead, so he got out of the car and slunk into the house, miserably, hating himself all the while for being a shithole of a brother.

By the time he had reached claustrophobia-land, Gerard’s screaming had stopped and he finished that sigh with a not so subtle undertone of relief, before knocking on the door and calling, “Gerard, you okay?”

It was officially the stupidest question Mikey had ever asked and that probably made him more of an asshole; he was still going to leave when Gerard responded with something that was either, “Fine,” or “Go away,” but he couldn’t. Morally, or something.

“I am officially the worst brother in existence,” Mikey moaned to himself, before pushing the door to Gerard’s paranoia-ensuing safe haven open, revealing the horrors to himself for the second time that day.

He needed to stop being such a whiner, honestly.

“Gerard, hey–?” Mikey looked around the room in extreme confusion because he could honestly not find his brother anywhere, and the living space was as small as a closet. Mikey wondered briefly if the screams had been due to that one growling sock eating Gerard alive, or something, before he spotted him on the floor underneath a heavy lump of comforter and maybe a few shirts that hadn’t been washed in a year or five.

Gerard’s “go away” sounded more like “get me laid” due to comforter voice-muffilization and Mikey almost laughed but he didn’t; he sighed big and loud and heavy and sat down on Gerard’s bed, and said, “No, I won’t, come here,” to the lump on the floor that was his older brother.

The lump shrugged, then rustled, and finally Gerard’s face emerged. He took one look at Mikey before fucking bawling, and Mikey’s eyes were sad as he watched his brother on the floor, red-eyed and hiccupping and trying to say something, although it went clear past Mikey because he didn’t speak emotion, really. Most of the time, anyway.

So he slipped down off the bed and onto the disgusting, rank clothes-covered floor and he pushed the comforter off his brother, putting his arms in its place and leaning into Gerard and letting out a shaky sigh because oh, god, he was going to start crying too and then he really would be truly useless.

“Shh, Coffee Bean. Gee, it’s okay, Hun, I’m here,” and Mikey really didn’t know what to say, because what even, did he just call his brother a coffee bean, and then Hun, oh god. Gerard only clung harder to Mikey though, so he figured that was a good thing, maybe? But he really didn’t know, and he was about to start crying himself out of stress, and… augh.

“Gerard, I got you, okay? It’s okay, it’s okay I’m right here,” Mikey said, softly, unsure if he was actually helping. Gerard looked up, sad hazel eyes shaking slightly, scared as they took in Mikey’s expression.

“I’m afraid,” Gerard whimpered, and Mikey said, “I know, it’s okay, I got you,” and rubbed his hand up and down Gerard’s back and hoped somehow this was helping, because it helped him when Gerard did it, so heck.

“You’re crying,” Gerard sniffled out, between soft sobs, and Mikey reached up and touched his fingers to his cheek and sure enough, Gerard was right. Shit.

“It’s okay,” Mikey said, and pet Gerard’s hair down. “I’ll be… okay. Let’s worry about you, okay? Wanna get up, get some coffee or something?” Gerard shook his head.

“Mom’s gone ‘till Monday,” Gerard said, then, “What is our family, Mikes? What are we anymore?”

And Mikey pressed his face into Gerard’s shoulder and let out a heavy sob, and they really were both crying in the middle of the tiniest room in the house, and the claustrophobia wasn’t even bothering Mikey anymore.