MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE ONESHOTS

cigarette daydreams

(trigger warning for mentions of hoarding/death/bullying/emotional abuse and smoking)

(requested by Blood-Soaked_Rainbow)

(i love this one a lot, so i hope you do too)

Sometime in the 1950s...

Ray, Gerard, Mikey, and Frank stand all by themselves on the sidewalk of their nice, suburban-style cul-de-sac. Well, as nice as slightly-less-than middle class could be nice in New Jersey. There was litter everywhere: food containers, wrappers, tipped over trash cans... smushed cigarettes. Most of those weren't Ray, Gerard, Mikey, and Frank's fault, though; they were all early environmentalists of a sort, and even though occasionally one of them would forget, they knew that trash cans were there for a reason. Other than that, the block was actually very pretty. Daisies and hydrangeas were planted in boxes in front of houses, and the grass grew green and fresh with dew. The houses looked lovely.

But to be be truthful, as nice as most of the houses looked on the outside, they weren't very beautiful inside — metaphorically and literally. Most of the houses had children and teenagers and house pets inside, and that meant that there were toys and clothes and fur just about everywhere. Ray had complained about how his ash tray had been knocked over by his overexcitable retriever, and his mom got mad at him and made him clean it up. He claimed it took "almost forever." Nobody even went by the Bryars' house anymore, because it was rumored that there was a hoarder who lived inside and the entire home had been trashed.

But even the messy houses were no match for the emotionally-distraught and allegorically-broken homes. And Ray, Gerard, Mikey, and Frank knew that firsthand. They all lived in them.

Ray lives with his uncle. His father isn't in the picture anymore, but his uncle stays in touch with him and it turned out he didn't actually die in a car accident or go missing forever. He was just off partying in Vegas. Meanwhile, his mom is dead, and divorced Ray's dad when Ray was only five years old. He barely remembers her, but he says he knows that she treated him nicer than his uncle. It's a complicated mess, like a tangle of TV wires. He doesn't know which one to cut, and he doesn't know how to explain his mess — or even fix it. But his friends are always there for him, or try to be.

Gerard and Mikey are brothers, and live together. Both their mom and dad are dead, so Gerard takes care of Mikey, even though he's only two years older. It's a bit of a heavy weight to lug around, taking care of his brother and himself with nobody to help and going to school every weekday, but he cares about Mikey so much that he doesn't care. As long as he can keep them together and avoid the adults that would take them away and separate them, leaving them stranded somewhere in an orphanage. They're always paranoid and on the look-out, but they have each other, and their friends.

Frank's parents are both still present, but they're never there to comfort him. His dad always says that he should just toughen up for the real world since he's "going to be a man soon." Frank's real strong because of that, though, stronger than anyone else, even if he has to let it out in private by crying in his cramped closet occasionally. He doesn't like to be called a softie, even though he feeds stray dogs and protects his friends from bullies and Socs. He's also the smallest, even though he's the strongest, and he always looks at the ground like he's seen things. His attention span is short, and he zones out constantly. Sometimes he wonders if he should just end his life, but Gerard's the only one who knows about that. At least he has a few friends to comfort him, even if it doesn't always work.

They stand on the pavement and smoke, right in front of the very houses that have them cornered and afraid. Frank puts his lighter back in his pocket and stamps on his cigarette. He holds a hand out for Gerard. Yesterday, they planned on having a jam session, just the two of them. Gerard takes his hand and they walk towards Frank's house. It's small, only one-story and built of brown and tan bricks. There's carnations growing in the front yard, and they invite them warmly inside as they walk down the white pavement path. Too bad it's just a lie.

When Frank opens the door, it creaks loudly. Frank's dad's head doesn't even turn. He's watching their tiny TV, and it's better to believe that whatever he's seeing is captivating rather than remembering the fact that they barely notice their son. It's like Frank's the invisible man, and he sure feels like one. An infinitesimal speck blending into the entire city that is Belleville, New Jersey, and completely unable to be seen if you were to hop off the earth and see the world from the sky. But Frank's used to it, and right now he doesn't have a care in the world about his cruel parents as long as he has Gerard and his music with him. It's enough.

Together, they walk into Frank's room, the door covered with posters, crude drawings, and polaroid pictures. Gerard opens the door and holds it open for Frank.

Once inside, Gerard closes the door as Frank plugs in the amp. It was an investment, and Frank's friends had all dished in some money for it. He feels so grateful, and just using it makes him content. He plugs his guitar in, lifts the strap over his head, and is ready to play whatever Gerard wants to play. It's not surprising when Gerard says he'll play whatever Frank wants to play, and they have a polite war trying to figure out who would choose and what they should decide on. This happens frequently. Just as frequently, Frank is yelled at to "pipe down" by his father after a song or two. It doesn't bother Frank much anymore, but it still stung a little. Gerard comforts him.

After covering what could be an entire album of music, the two lie on Frank's bed and stare at the ceiling, cigarettes fresh in the dusty ash tray and the window still open to blow out the smoky atmosphere. A light breeze and some watery sunshine flow through, lighting up the room dimly and fluttering the curtains. They aren't talking much, but that's okay. Just being near people that they care about — or nice people at all — is refreshing for the both of them. Frank sighs and places the back of his hand on Gerard's palm. Gerard rubs his thumb slowly on the side of Frank's hand. They smile.

"I want to run away," Frank says lowly. "I don't like it here, and neither do you, or Ray, or Mikey, and I wish we could just get outta here."

Gerard doesn't gasp; he isn't shocked, he isn't surprised, he's not mad. He knows it's true — he'd like to go too. And maybe they could, and as he looks up at Frank's ceiling as if it has the stars of the night sky blinking brightly on it, he thinks of the possibilities. Maybe he would. "I'm not sure," he decides. "But I agree. It would be nice to leave."

Frank's smile returns more wide than before. "Maybe one day, when we're tougher and stronger."

Gerard looks lazily over at Frank. "But you're already tough and strong," he mumbles back."

Frank's eyes light up, but he shrugs nonchalantly. "I guess so. It just depends on when you want to go."

Gerard looks back up at the ceiling, but his grin remains. "Anytime you want."