InsaneJournal

FIC: Surviving the Day
title: Surviving the Day
author: lisa roquin
fandom: MCR
rating: 15+
disclaimer: fiction. lies. made up. killing time to save sanity. did. not. happen. (or at least not likely as portrayed in the case of photographic evidence)
author's note: for the fic/music prompts, also timelines? a little fast and loose, but there was indeed a time where Brian was both managing My Chem, and tour managing the Used, I've taken liberty of when/where it was for this.
song: Never Alone by the Dropkick Murphys
bonus song: Nice Boys by G'n'R simply because this popped up a few songs later and was too perfect.
prompt: Brian Schechter, dealing with the Shenanigans.
word count: 1417




They said yes. Hell, he'd stalked them for six freaking months trying to get them to say yes. Soon he'd be able to quit tour managing as well, but for now he was still tour-managing the Used, and managing My Chemical Romance. At least they were all on Warped together. That...that was a good thing, maybe.

*

"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST JEPHA! A PINEAPPLE IS NOT DECENT COVERING!" Brian growled. Jepha posing for a goddamn picture with My Chem--stark naked except for a strategically placed pineapple . That where the fuck Jepha had come up with a goddamned pineapple was the only real question he had, really went to show how long of a day it had been. "Locals are complaining about nude people running around! PUT SOME FUCKING PANTS ON NOT A PINEAPPLE!"

Brian looked at his watch. It was noon. They were actually up early. He was fucking doomed. Even if Gerard, Frank, Mikey, Bob and Ray better fucking well be up and be moving toward sound check they were playing an extra show earlier than usual today.

*

Kickball. Now that really should be a nice, safe time killer. Shouldn't it? Nice big bouncy, but not really that hard, rubber ball. Much safer than a baseball and a softball and god forbid a bat. They even vaguely had rules they used to play--which wasn't that surprising, Brian thought maybe a few of the kids out on this tour still played it at recess during the school year. Jesus. Well. They were playing on dirt and gravel which was a huge plus. That was better than concrete. Less chance of concussion or broken bones but these fucking idiots would try to manage that anyway. Frank just made a flying tackle at Jepha. He watched the two a minute they didn't seem to be hurt. If they were he'd beat them since they were both playing later in the day. He tilted his head. Were they fighting or making out? It was hard to say. Mikey kicked the ball, flailed wildly but stayed upright. The ball bounced off Ray's ass and into Frank's head.

Frank. Mikey. Jepha. Ray. Branden. Bob. Four fifths of one band and half of the other accounted for. That was good. Now where the fuck were the other three?

*

The girl that was riding Quinn actually looked legal, looked and was were far from the same thing but at least looked legal made for some bare hope of plausible denial of not knowing, rather than not caring.

The girl looked at Brian wide eyed.

"You've got sound check in 30. You're late, you're dead."

"Yeah uh huh." Quinn agreed.

Brian turned and headed back off the bus. He still had two singers to find.

*

Bert showed up to sound check on time.

That honestly wasn't a surprise. Bert was pretty good about that. It might be the only thing he was pretty good about some days, but he was good about that.

"Bert. Is that come on your shirt?" Brian stared. It sure looked like it. And...fresh enough to still be wet, which was why Brian forced himself to comment. The occasional suspicious crusty stains on Bert's clothes could be ignored, as much as possible and the bug put in Quinn's ear to start a water fight. Which might get Bert vaguely clean, or at least muddy enough to cover the crusty stains. And Bert usually changed his clothes once or twice a week. Quinn made him. But this...was still, well, dripping.

Bert gave him a shit eating grin.

"You're not wearing that shirt on stage."

"Okay," Bert tugged his shirt off, tucked it half in his back pocket and left it hanging like some lopsided tail as he bounced toward the rest of the band and launched himself onto Quinn sticking his tongue in Quinn's ear and announcing loudly Quinn smelled like pussy and cheap perfume.

*

He headed for the stage where My Chem were supposed to be going on. Just to count heads. They were all there...

"What are you doing?" The words were out of Brian's mouth before he had a chance to think. He probably didn't want to know but Frank was on his knees in front of Gerard with a roll of duct tape snagged from the techs.

"Got a hole in my pants." Gerard said.

"So duct tape." Frank explained.

Hole was actually an understatement now that Brian looked. The entire fucking crotch of Gerard's pants seemed to have split out at the seams and down one leg.

"Are those the only pair of pants you have?" Brian asked. It was an almost fair question since Gerard tended to wear things til they disintigrated rather than wash, or often even change, his clothes.

"No."

"Could you...maybe wear a different pair of pants?"

"These'll be okay." Gerard shrugged.

"Totally. There. All taped up."

"Thanks, Frankie."

Brian eyed the bag of stage makeup. And the spray bottle sticking out. They were all in one spot and standing fairly still. He grabbed the Febreeze and started spraying.

"You got it on my glasses, fucker." Mikey complained.

Brian didn't care. At least he could be within six feet of his band now without his eyes watering. Two days to a hotel night. Frank, Ray and Bob would happily use the showers. Mikey would if someone told him to take one, otherwise he might simply forget. Gerard was getting a shower if Brian had to steal a roll of duct tape tape Gerard up and bodily throw him under the spray himself.

The duct tape thankfully held for the show.

Brian made mental note to find those pants and throw them away the first time he saw Gerard not wearing them.

*

Brian slumped in a folding lawn-chair watching the chaos in the midst of the buses and vans which were parked in a pattern to make a "square" in the middle. Someone had been bright setting up the parking assignments. Keep the animals contained to some extent. He was fucking beat.

Mikey was back in the kickball game. So were Frank and Branden. That didn't seem to end anymore than the party, just players wandered in and out of the game as sound check, stage call, and hook-ups dragged them away. Ray was missing. The last Brian had seen he'd been trying to drink a couple techs under the table. Hell, Ray might be under one of the picnic tables scattered around. They weren't pulling out until nine in the morning. There'd be time to find Ray. He should be more concerned since they'd left Ray behind more than once but he was too fucking tired to care. And Ray just called and said someone please get me I'm at this or that gas station, not call and say some one please come bail me out. Ray was pretty mild even if he got lost.

Gerard was laying on the bench of the picnic table to Brian's left. Bert was on top of him, examining Gerard's tonsils and grinding on him. Quinn was sitting on the picnic table nursing a bottle of Jack and occasionally spitting sunflower seed shells into Bert's hair. Jepha was sprawled with his head in Quinn's lap, fairly well baked to near comatose and wearing nothing but his underwear, but hell, it was dark now and fruit of the looms were a fuck of an improvement over a pineapple.

"Oh for fuck's sake quit the whining or go fuck on the bus." Brian groaned as the high gaspy sound Gerard was making poked at his last frayed nerve. "And you're picking every last one of those shells out of Bert's hair in the morning, Quinn."

Quinn grinned and another sunflower seed shell hit the back of Bert's head. Quinn wasn't aiming for Bert's head, but neither Bert or Quinn seemed sober enough to care that's where the shells were landing.

Aluminum rattled as a folding lawn chair was dragged next to his own. "Here, it's cold. Bob's dragging Ray to the bus. He's toast for the night. Bob ain't far behind him."

Brian glanced up at the beer, took it, popped the tab and raised it in toast. "I fucking love you, Cortez. Remind me to give you a raise as soon as they can afford it."

"Ow," Matt winced as Mikey missed the ball he intended to kick, flailed, and landed flat on his ass.

Brian simply took a long drink of his beer. Another day survived.

~fin~


also. you cannot make this shit up. a pineapple seriously.