Brother. •Frerard•

c. 1

  "Do you have your coat, Gerard?"
  "Yes, ma'am."
  "Your meds?"
  "Yes, ma'am."
  "Now give me a big smile!"
  Gerard Way. Diagnosed schizophrenia. Emotional trauma unit. Intense therapy. He smiled, though they all knew not an honest one, satisfyingly. Mrs. Jenkins, his assigned therapist and caregiver for the previous year and a half, cupped his chubby cheeks, planting a big kiss on each one. "You be good out there, you hear?"
  "Yes, ma'am."
  Yes ma'am had practically been the full extent to Gerard's vocabulary throughout his stay at the hospital, the doctors and therapists eventually accepting the fact he just did not want to talk about it. Talk about what, though? Nobody necessarily knew what Gerard Way saw that night. Nobody knew what all had happened leading to the death of his younger brother, Mikey. As much as they poked and probed on the subject, he would never let it out. There were a few occasions the therapists would speak to each other, all of them coming to the theory he had suppressed the memories to the back of his mind, unable to recall. But the nights he woke up with his blood curdling screams concluded he remembered.
  After a year and a half of him not showing any signs of suicidal tendencies and/or harmful habits, the therapists had agreed he was safe to go home to his mother. Despite the fact on rare occasions he believed he could see the ghost of his deceased brother, they believed he was okay, and with medication, his hallucinations would cease to exist. Gerard did not care either way, though. Of course not. What did it matter where he lived?
  "Gerard," Donna Way, Gerard's mother, spoke. Her arms were open, expecting him to run into them.
  He did not, though. Instead, he nodded at her, flashing his satisfying fake smile.
  "I missed you. I'm so happy to finally have you home."
  "I missed you, too, mama," Gerard said.
  Mrs. Jenkins smiled, and Gerard knew he said something to satisfy her. "Alright, Mrs. Way. His prescription of antipsychotics and anti tremors are filled, you will need to refill it once a month."
  Donna nodded her head, squeezing Gerard's shoulder as she listened. It got to the point Gerard didn't care to listen, and instead stared down at his shoes, wondering if his mother had gotten rid of any of his stuff. He found himself wondering if she had touched anything of Mikey's. He knew Mikey would be vivid; it took him years to find the perfect hiding spot for his porn magazines and weed.
  Gerard felt a tug in his chest and quickly began to think of something else. He never truly stopped thinking about Mikey, though. Never. He looked up at his mother, realizing they both had stopped talking, and were staring at him silently.
  "Ready, buddy?" Donna asked, smiling at her son.
  "Yes, ma'am."
  They parted ways with Mrs. Jenkins, walking out of the front doors. Gerard felt the air whip at his black hair, and he stopped. His eyes closed, face pointed to the sky, and breath hitched in his throat, he just stood there. He thought about the past, and just how happy he was.
  "Gerard?"
  "I'm coming."
  And with that, he left his new home to go back to his old home.

  When Donna and Gerard pulled into their driveway, Gerard's childhood best friend, whom he had not spoken to in over a year, was sat on the porch steps, a cigarette between his lips. Just as Gerard used to do with him.
  "Gerard." He stood up, quickly putting out his cigarette.
  "Bert."
  Bert McCracken had known Gerard for as long as he could remember. There wasn't a day the two wouldn't play together as children, and not a day the two wouldn't smoke a blunt, leaning out Gerard's window once they hit thirteen. Not until the day before Mikey's death, of course.
"How- you look good."
  Gerard could tell Bert was going to ask how he was, though Bert knew him better than that. He knew better than to ask the obvious.
  "Your hair is even longer than before."
  Bert let out a breathy chuckle, instantly, tugging at the ends. "Yeah, I guess it is. And yours isn't red anymore. What a shame."
  Gerard's lips twitched at the sides, scratching the back of his neck. "It triggers those with ADHD, I guess. They made me dye it back to black."
  Bert let out a soft tch, scuffing his shoe against the sidewalk.
  "Well," Donna said, looking between the two seventeen year olds. "I suppose you two ought to talk a bit, huh? I'll take my leave."
  "Oh no, Mrs. Way. I've gotta get going soon. I have a science project I'm supposed to work on with Ray Toro. I just wanted to be here for Gerard."
  Donna smiled kindly at the boy before heading inside, Bert's eyes trailing after her.
  "Don't check out my mom in front of me," Gerard said quietly, bringing back an old joke the two had.
  Bert grinned over at him, taking in a deep breath. "I'm here for you, Gee."
  The small smile that had been on Gerard's face vanished, and he averted his eyes from his best friends. "I know."
  Gerard didn't understand. He didn't understand why everybody kept saying that. Not when nobody was there the night Mikey died.
  "I'll see you at school...when you return, that is."
  "Monday. I go back Monday."
  Bert nodded, picking up his bike, which had been laying down on the front yard. "I'll see you Monday, Gerard."
  Once Bert left, Gerard went inside. He didn't bother to look around, knowing the first thing he'd see was a family portrait of Mikey, his mother and himself. Instead, he went straight up to his bedroom, instantly logging onto Facebook. He didn't want to look on his bed.
  Facebook was an utter mistake, especially when he noticed how many statuses he had been tagged in about his brother. He clicked on his own profile, it being covered with apologetic posts, and he felt physically sick. He deleted many of them before quickly going to his news feed, sharing as many things as he could, not even bothering to read any of them. He just didn't want to see the posts anymore; he didn't want to click on his profile only to be reminded about his brothers death.
  After maybe an hour of keeping his eyes on the screen, he gave up. He turned off his laptop, slowly turning to his bed.
  "Hey, Gee."
  The dead boy sat on his bed, flipping through what appeared to be a magazine. "Hello, Mikey."
  "Great to be back, yeah?"
  "Yeah."
  "It's good to be home. Being cooped up in that crazy hospital sure was boring."
  "Yeah."
  Mikey went on and on, Gerard saying as little as possible. He could feel his eyes start to burn, instantly shoving his palms into his sockets. When he pulled them back, they were soaked with nothing other than tears.
  "Why are you haunting me, Mikey?" He asked quietly.
  Mikey looked up from his magazine, smiling at him brightly.
  "I'm not haunting you, Gee," he said. "I'm your imagination, remember?"