InsaneJournal

FIC: Art of Codependency: Them--MCR--gen, mature
Title: Art of Codependency: Them
Author: Lise aka lisa roquin
Pairing: gen, but multiple, predominantly het, in passing mention
Rating: mature
fandom: bandom (god help me), MCR in specific
POV: Gerard
Summary: The hum of the engine, the road beneath them, the movement, them.
Disclaimer: oh, what? of course this is the gospel truth. And I love your hat, tinfoil is all the rage this year, and so useful about keeping those pesky aliens and telepaths from getting in your head, I agree. Hello. Reality Check. This is pure bullshit. Fiction. Look it up.
Author Notes: a million things I should and need to be doing, but I took a very necessary mental health time out to try to find words again before I lost my damn mind. And this is what showed up.
Dedications: points. it's her fault. all hers. and she knows who she is. she's a little busy rolling on the floor laughing at me right now. but I swear. It's her fault. And yes that is so a dedication. if she can make death threats to make me post this, I can blame her for a dedication.


Gerard || Bob || Therapy



Gerard wakes up in a cold sweat, shaking hard enough to shake the entire fucking bed. Bob rolls spoons around him from behind and pulls him tight in his arms. "Just a dream, Gee," Bob murmurs his voice rough, more asleep than awake, his hand rubbing at Gerard's chest just a little.

"Yeah," Gerard manages to agree, and lets Bob just hold him.

Sleep for him is done for the night, his mind wandering in wild circles, skittering away from the blind rage at Brian who had found them a place, they could go, start working on writing, getting things put together and decided what they wanted. They had two months there, three months before studio time.

It was a summerhouse in fucking Maine, along the shore and no one really near. Five bedrooms and lots of room and fresh air and, just fuck.

Still it was time. They needed to start working on something. All of them, even if they canceled studio time, they needed to start working on something before they all unravelled completely. Frank was getting there and so was Mikey. Gerard was already unravelled and trying to get himself knitted back together. Ray was probably the most together of all of them, but then Ray always was, always had been. But even he was getting...something. Maybe sympathy unravelling with the rest of them fucked to hell or who knew.

"Thinkin' too loud, Gee," breath on the back of his neck, a little more awake.

"Sleep," Gerard manages. He's vaguely amused that Bob somehow knows when to wake up and when just to roll over and grab him and let Gerard think while Bob sleeps.

The last two weeks had been a helluva lot of intensive therapy. Mark and Jacob had pretty much cleared their calendars and spent eight hours a day devoted to the five of them one way or another. Gerard had to wonder in a way just how badly they'd broken at least Jacob.

"Mmmph," Bob murmured and pressed just a little closer, a wriggle, a tug of the covers, holding Gerard just a little more careful, just a little closer and tighter but at the same time more careful, without really waking up at all.

That was the part Jacob couldn't wrap his mind around. Or how utterly clueless they all were about a lot of things that he seemed to think they should discuss or know or talk about. They didn't. Their privacy was their heads. Even Frank didn't say things and Frank, was, well...there was no filter with Frank a lot of the time. It was done or out of his mouth before he finished thinking of it. But not always, not with some things.

Frank wasn't the best at recognizing when to step back because Frank couldn't stand to be stepped away from, not by them, so it was hard for him to get, even when he knew. The rest of them were good at pulling him back and holding onto Frank when he wanted to cling to whoever needed left the fuck alone. They didn't need the why to know what to do, to know how to manuver. Hell, they didn't have to be concious to know when it was something that needed woken up over and awakepresence, or just someone near while the other was thinking.

Air filled with music and noise and babble, but the important stuff didn't always need talking or words. The important stuff was a hyena giggle in your ear and a tattooed monkey on your back. Mikey on the bass instead of Matt on the stage. Matt was great, none of them would trade Matt for the world, because he gave Mikey the ability to walk away without it bringing the rest of them to a screeching halt. They all loved Matt more than a little for that, especially for Mikey's sake. They'd stop dead in their tracks and wait for Mikey, but it might destroy Mikey if they had to, no matter how willing they were. The important stuff was zombie movie marathons and throwing popcorn and twelve hundred mile long xbox tournements and...how Ray shed and there were curly long hairs left behind everywhere and how Bob snored with the least hint of getting worn down and a cold on the horizon.

"Words'll come now fuckin' sleep," was mumbled against his shoulder.

"Yeah," Gerard agrees softly.

~*~

The van is...god. Flashbacks. But they load up. Clothes and general crap, the little trailer filled up with their instruments, equipment and more shit. Barely room for them once they pile into it.

Hugs and kisses and bits of fussing from the ones seeing them off in a pretty ridiculous manner because it's just to Maine and just for a couple months and...Gerard is torn, his mother clearly not believing his denials that he and Bob aren't together. Mikey's amusement is not helping matters and Bob, just sorta stands there and shrugs. She looks less worried at the thought that Bob's there to take care of him, even if Bob's been there for the last four years being Bob. And he's really just been Bob the last few month, just being Bob with a side of intense Gerard-sitting as Mikey put it. Little shit. So...well... Gerard maybe lets her think what she will because it's kinder than letting her worry that much more, and fuck knows he and Mikey had given her plenty of that.

Ray takes the first bit driving. Bob navigating. Gerard claims the back most seat to himself to stretch out and pretend to sleep. Mikey and Frank do a fair impression of five year olds bickering in the middle seat until Bob threatens to make Ray pull over so he can beat both their asses.

"Gerard, your boyfriend's getting kinky on us," Mikey whines.

Frank cackles, and is off again how Bob and Gee were supposed to take care of each other and both of them watch out for Mikey on orders of Gerard and Mikey's mother.

"You making moves on my brother, Bryar?"

"He hogs the bed too damn bad to want to sleep with on a regular basis, Way," Bob shoots back, deadpan.

Frank's seatbelt's about the only thing holding him in the seat and Ray's laugh sounds so free like it hadn't in a really long time.

Gerard puts the earbuds to his ipod in and turns the volume up, drowning them out as he closes his eyes and just feels. The hum of the engine, the road beneath them, the movement, them. Nothing's felt so right in months, and he soaks it up. Words and scraps of rhythm images flitting through his head, yeah, words would come, they were already there, some from before, some from the composition books the last weeks filled while Bob beat out his own problems on the drums. This...this was going to be good. This was going to be right. This was going to be THEM.