When the Savior Is Damned
Please Don't Be Redundant
“Mikey, Mikey…”
A voice was calling him awake, and he did, with his eyes still closed and stuck halfway in his subconscious.
“Mikey…”
He grunted softly, adjusting himself on the bed, trying to ignore the voice.
“Mikey!” Someone shouted.
“What?” He sat up abruptly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, groping around for his glasses. He found them just under the edge of the bed, where Gee placed them last night, and as he put it on Ray’s face materialized into perception in front of him.
“Wake up, you idiot!” Ray began to shake his shoulders, and he pushed him away.
“Fuck, Ray, what’s wrong with you?” Mikey snapped, irritated.
Ray’s expression regained that anxious look. “It’s Gee. He’s passed out, in the bathroom. He’s not breathing.”
Mikey was rubbing his forehead from the oncoming migraine before the words sank in.
“What?” He bolted from the bed, tangling his legs in the sheets, and Ray helped him stand up.
“Frank found him. We think he overdosed on something,” Ray narrated urgently as they half-ran, half-staggered to the bathroom.
“Then why didn’t you call a fucking ambulance?” Mikey yelled, mostly out of worry than anger at Ray.
“Bob already did, a few minutes ago.”
When they came to the bathroom, Frank was trying to sit Gerard up against the toilet, not crying, but looking like he was about to.
“Gerard!” Mikey fell to his knees beside his brother, pushing the helpless Frank away.
Mikey’s hands were trembling as they fumbled against Gerard’s pale skin, searching for a pulse. He wasn’t aware of it, but salty tears were dropping from the end of his nose as he pounded on Gerard’s chest.
“You bastard, you fucking, selfish, shithead bastard…” He mumbled angrily, shaken and desperate and furious, all at the same time, because now all he could think, or not think about was Gerard last night, Gerard cracking a joke about his inability to take care of himself, Gerard ruefully telling his little brother he loved him even if he didn’t show it at times, Gerard being Gerard for fleeting, foolish, but all-too-perfect moments, and now the only thing running through his head was how life without those moments wouldn’t be life at all.
“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you…” Mikey says repeatedly, low enough for only him and his brother to hear. He knows, before he even says it, that it is a lie, that he couldn’t hate Gerard even if he wanted to, and he didn’t want anyone else but Gerard to hear him lie, because he’d be the only one who can tell it wasn’t the truth.
And then, just when he is about to give up and resign to a life without his big brother, the two fingers he pressed against that spot in Gerard’s neck felt something. It was weak, it was barely there, but it was something.
His heart was still beating.
Gerard was still alive.
A voice was calling him awake, and he did, with his eyes still closed and stuck halfway in his subconscious.
“Mikey…”
He grunted softly, adjusting himself on the bed, trying to ignore the voice.
“Mikey!” Someone shouted.
“What?” He sat up abruptly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, groping around for his glasses. He found them just under the edge of the bed, where Gee placed them last night, and as he put it on Ray’s face materialized into perception in front of him.
“Wake up, you idiot!” Ray began to shake his shoulders, and he pushed him away.
“Fuck, Ray, what’s wrong with you?” Mikey snapped, irritated.
Ray’s expression regained that anxious look. “It’s Gee. He’s passed out, in the bathroom. He’s not breathing.”
Mikey was rubbing his forehead from the oncoming migraine before the words sank in.
“What?” He bolted from the bed, tangling his legs in the sheets, and Ray helped him stand up.
“Frank found him. We think he overdosed on something,” Ray narrated urgently as they half-ran, half-staggered to the bathroom.
“Then why didn’t you call a fucking ambulance?” Mikey yelled, mostly out of worry than anger at Ray.
“Bob already did, a few minutes ago.”
When they came to the bathroom, Frank was trying to sit Gerard up against the toilet, not crying, but looking like he was about to.
“Gerard!” Mikey fell to his knees beside his brother, pushing the helpless Frank away.
Mikey’s hands were trembling as they fumbled against Gerard’s pale skin, searching for a pulse. He wasn’t aware of it, but salty tears were dropping from the end of his nose as he pounded on Gerard’s chest.
“You bastard, you fucking, selfish, shithead bastard…” He mumbled angrily, shaken and desperate and furious, all at the same time, because now all he could think, or not think about was Gerard last night, Gerard cracking a joke about his inability to take care of himself, Gerard ruefully telling his little brother he loved him even if he didn’t show it at times, Gerard being Gerard for fleeting, foolish, but all-too-perfect moments, and now the only thing running through his head was how life without those moments wouldn’t be life at all.
“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you…” Mikey says repeatedly, low enough for only him and his brother to hear. He knows, before he even says it, that it is a lie, that he couldn’t hate Gerard even if he wanted to, and he didn’t want anyone else but Gerard to hear him lie, because he’d be the only one who can tell it wasn’t the truth.
And then, just when he is about to give up and resign to a life without his big brother, the two fingers he pressed against that spot in Gerard’s neck felt something. It was weak, it was barely there, but it was something.
His heart was still beating.
Gerard was still alive.