Famous Last Words || FRERARD

12

"Good morning, Gerard," Mikey mumbled to him, passing by his door that was open a crack. Gerard would have closed it like normal, but he was too fucking scared to move. This hadn't happened much since he was a child, seeing as his father had taken a chill pill or two since then, and he had grown to be less afraid of Mr. Way, but now, that meant nothing. He just lay there, hugging himself around his waist and staring at...well, he didn't even know what he was staring at.

None of that really mattered, of course, because Donald Way had told Gerard to kill himself.

He'd handed Gerard a shiny, freshly cleaned knife and screamed: "GO FUCKING KILL YOURSELF, YOU FUCKING FAGGOT." And of course, Gerard knew his father wasn't sober when he'd said it, but it still stung. Just like the cuts now littering his entire body stung. It hurt to fucking breathe, they were so bad. So that's what left him there, no tears left to cry, no emotions left to feel, no words left to mutter. Except for the moment he heard glass shattering downstairs.

"YOU USELESS FREAK!" He heard yelled from downstairs and he instantly shot up, forgetting all the pain that racked his body. He bolted down the stairs, eyes scanning the scene before him. Mikey stood there, clutching his stomach and hunched over while their father screamed, pointing at the broken glass that covered the floor.

"I-I'm sorry, Dad. I-It slipped-"

"I DON'T WANNA HEAR IT, FAG. CLEAN THIS FUCKING MESS UP, or do I need to BEAT IT INTO YOUR BRAIN?" Gerard sprinted over, slipping a bit on the clear liquid that had puddled on to the floor, but managing to regain his balance and stand in front of Mikey.

"Dad, stop. He'll clean it up. Just leave him alone."

"Don't tell me what to...do." Mr. Way replied, burping in the middle of his sentence. Gerard wanted to badly just to kick this drunken asshole out of the house or at least roll his eyes, but he knew he couldn't. There was no point in wishing for things that will never come true.

"Relax. I'll get you another drink while Mikey cleans this up."

"Good fag." Mr. Way waltzed out of the kitchen, moving to the connected dining room and plopping down on a chair. This seemed to be the family's favorite routine; Donald getting drunk after work or just out of nowhere, his temper getting out of control, and his sons gaining more and more mental issues by the day as the result of it. It was simply what they did, almost like a family bonding activity minus the bonding and plus the trauma. This wasn't what they used to be; They used to be happy, in fact. Donald Way was a kind, honest man. Donna Way was a happy, outgoing woman who would never just sit by and let people do what she knew as wrong. Mikey was young back then, the happiest little four-year-old with knock-knees in the world. Even though he couldn't run like the other kids, he didn't need to, because he had a older brother and parents that loved him just the way he was. Now, he only had the brother part of that. Even Gerard had been different. Sure, he had already been starting to notice he was different, specifically in the fact that he was fairly heavyset and more anxious than most kids his age, but it didn't matter, because he had a family that loved him.

If only that still applied.

All of this ran through Gerard's head as he handed his father a fresh bottle of vodka, which he'd purposefully pulled from the old stock. He said a silent prayer that the clear, entoxicating liquid inside would poison his father. Maybe his father dying would't be the end of the world.

X O X O X O X O X O X O X O X

"Faith, honey, it's just a dress. Stop acting like it'll kill you." Frank stared down at the garment in his hands, shaking his head as tears welled up in his eyes. It was....not Frank, to say the least. It was a knee length white sundress, complete with frills and flowers galore. And it made Frank feel sick to the stomach even to see.

"Y-Yes, it will. I'm not wearing that. I don't care if it's communion or anything like that."

"What are you talking about? It won't hurt you a bit!"

"Yes, mother, it will. I'm a boy. Boys don't wear dresses."

Mrs. Iero rolled her eyes, crossing her arms and glaring at the child she was begging to regret bringing into the world. "You're not a boy, Faith. How many times do I need to remind you?"

Frank gritted his teeth, glaring right back at her with an angry fire burning behind his eyes. "My name is Frank, not Fath. And I am a boy."

"No. You're. Not."

"Yes. I. Am."

"You know what? Fuck this, you ungrateful little twat. I buy you nice clothes and all I get is shit for it! Guess what? You're a dick, Faith."

"You know what, Mom? I wish I had one." He held up a middle finger to his mother, walking up the stairs to his home turf and leaving the fuming mother alone in the living room. Slamming the door behind him, he leaned against his door and took a deep breath. Jesus, it made his heart race. He'd been slapped once or twice before after a fight like this, and even now he could feel it, a phantom pain plaguing him. He was lucky he'd left when he did because she had the look in her eye he would've recognized anywhere. Even now, he felt his heartbeat speeding up a bit, fluttering in his chest like a bird trapped under a box. Or in a closet, which he could seriously relate to at the moment.

God, he didn't understand why things had to be like this. Why couldn't he be normal? Why couldn't things just be normal? Why couldn't he have a mom who supported him and a dad that was actually worth anything and someone out there who actually cared about him. No one in his life gave two shits about him, or so he thought, and god, it just made him want to do idiotic things. He knew that wasn't really what he should want to do, but that didn't mean he still didn't want to do them.

'God fucking damn it. The world would be fucking better off without me. No one gives a fuck and no one ever has and no one ever fucking will. Jesus fuck, I should just fucking off myself right now.'

Tears spilled down Frank's cheeks at this point, his breathing becoming jagged and unsteady. But as the darkness clouded and pooled in his mind, something managed to push through the darkness. Well, it more so blended in with the darkness, except for the pale skin that graced his bones. The boy had dark, shoulder length black hair, troubled hazel eyes, and a solid black trench coat that grazed the ground. Frank would have recognized the boy anywhere; it was the same boy that had been plaguing his mind since he arrived. And that boy's smile was the one thing that shone through the darkness of Frank's mind. It was at this moment that Frank decided. Decided that Gerard would be his angel of darkness, his flicker of light in a world full of shadows, his reason to keep going. Little did he know, Gerard now lie in bed, thinking exactly the same thing as him.

Except, for Gerard, there was no boy in a black trench coat. No saving grace, no light in the darkness. In Gerard's mind, he was alone. 

(A/N)
Sorry about that, kiddos. Had to do it to 'em. I was gonna put a big old TW on the top, but I warned you at the beginning, so *shrug*
Also I may or may not have been crying while writing this so sksksks r i p