![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
laniew1Fic! And My Chem – Killjoys fic at that.
Summary: There are dreams, faces that skitter away and he can see the mouths of those faces that he can’t focus on moving but he can’t hear what they’re saying.
TITLE: We All Fall Down
RATING: PG-13
PAIRING: Allusions to Gerard/Korse, Gerard/Frank
AUTHOR: Melanie
SUMMARY: There are dreams, faces that skitter away and he can see the mouths of those faces that he can’t focus on moving but he can’t hear what they’re saying.
DISCLAIMER: If you recognize your name or the names of any of your bandmates/siblings you need to hit the back button now. I’ll wait.
We All Fall Down
When he wakes it’s in a white room, four white walls, closed door (he knows its locked, even though he doesn’t get out of the bed to check), no windows.
He rolls onto his back and he presses his fingers into the stiff mattress, stares at the white ceiling.
He closes his eyes and he breathes, concentrates on the breaths and the motion of his chest moving.
It takes him a moment, mere seconds of breathing for him to realize that he’s not only not sure where he is, he’s also not sure who he is.
******************************************************************************
He sleeps.
There are dreams, faces that skitter away and he can see the mouths of those faces that he can’t focus on moving but he can’t hear what they’re saying.
There are flashes of skin, inked at that and jet black hair that frames a hazy face that is familiar yet not. Other flashes of a face, thin lips and blonde hair and yet another man with the curliest of hair, with a patch over one eye.
A girl is the only focused thing in his dreams and she stares at him with wide sad eyes and her lips move in the shape of words that he can’t hear and doesn’t understand.
******************************************************************************
“Your name is Gerard,” there is a man perched on the edge of his bed, he’s wearing white and gray and has no hair so he knows that this man wasn’t in his fragmented, unfocused dreams.
The man reaches out a hand and touches his arm, hand stroking lightly down the skin and the touch is not unfamiliar, he doesn’t instinctively shrink away in revulsion and he thinks he should be.
“My name is Korse,” the man, Korse, says. He stares at Gerard with intent eyes and he stares back.
He knows that name, knows both names, though he knows that Gerard is only one name, there is another that skitters just out of reach.
Korse wraps his hand around Gerard’s wrist, thumb pressing into his skin.
Gerard closes his eyes when Korse lifts his hand to his lips, swallows thickly when he can feel the brush of those lips against the skin of the back of his hand.
Someone, he doesn’t know the name, but he knows that inked skin and jet black hair would be spitting mad at the sight of Korse touching him in any way.
******************************************************************************
There’s pills with breakfast and pills with lunch and pills with dinner. Korse is not always there, but those that bring his meals to him watch as he swallows the pills down with water, checking to make sure he takes them.
He doesn’t know what the pills do, he doesn’t feel ill, he doesn’t feel anything and he wonders if that’s the whole point.
He curls on his side, one armed curved under the pillow under his head, the other playing with the edge of a blanket.
He stares at the white wall in front of him; sometimes he has to force himself to remember to blink. He’s trying to decide if he’s supposed to feel boredom when Korse arrives.
The door shuts behind him and Gerard waits for the sound of the lock snicking into place.
Korse stands there and in his hands he has a book and a thin box, Gerard suddenly, desperately wants what he has in his hands.
It’s like an aching, craving in his gut and he wonders if he looks like a madman.
“Boredom has evidently set in and right on schedule,” Korse says, he sounds amused.
“Why the locks on the door?” Gerard asks, he pushes himself up so he’s sitting, knees drawn to his chest. He wraps his arms around them and closes his eyes. Korse will ask him for something in order to get those items he holds so loosely.
“They’re to protect you,” Korse says, Gerard doesn’t open his eyes but he feels the shift of the bed when Korse sits on the bottom edge of it.
“Protect me,” Gerard repeats.
“There was an attack,” Korse says. “You were injured, in here; with the doors locked you are able to heal without us worrying about your safety.”
Gerard opens his eyes and looks at him, Korse looks sincere, Gerard knows, he doesn’t know how that the story is only a half-truth.
There was an attack, Gerard was injured, and he has a suddenly, violent image of Korse staring at him, gun pressing into the soft underside of his chin… and then nothing.
Gerard draws his bottom lip between his teeth, links his fingers together and squeezes tightly.
Korse sets the book, a glance at it shows that it is a sketchbook and the thin box is box of pencils, plain, pencils, no color.
Gerard looks away, the gift is a Trojan horse, and he’s not sure what betrayal Korse is asking him to make.
Korse lips curve into a smile, it’s thin and when Gerard’s face doesn’t form one in return it deepens into a smirk.
“Always so suspicious,” he says and he leans over, places a hand on the back of Gerard’s head and pulls him gently forward so Gerard is sprawled half on his knees next to him. Gerard freezes when he feels the touch of cool lips to his own, it’s familiar and not familiar all at once.
Korse presses their foreheads together.
“My only desire is to protect you, keeping you here, that protects you,” Korse says.
He kisses Gerard’s forehead and stands easily, Gerard blinks and doesn’t move except to lay a hand across the sketchbook and pencils.
“Thank you,” he says, Korse smiles at him.
“You are so very welcome.”
******************************************************************************
The pencils are all sharpened and Gerard presses the tip of one to his finger.
He wants to draw but thinks that is what is expected of him.
Korse comes and goes; he doesn’t look at the sketchbook and doesn’t ask to see inside it. Gerard thinks that he’s already quite aware that there is nothing there to be seen. Yet.
His dreams remained fragmented though inked skin and jet black hair look at him in disappointment, and thin lips and blond hair tug him into tight hugs that leave him aching for more when he wakes.
The first thing he draws is a tattoo, one of the clearer ones from inked skin and jet black hair. It needs color that he doesn’t have and it feels like the worst of betrayals to put the mark onto paper.
He still does it, traces his fingers over it like he knows that he did to the one on the man. He thinks know he kissed it, dragged lips and tongue over it and he can feel the phantom clutching of hands at his shoulders, of his hands gripping thin hips tightly to keep him from moving.
He’s suddenly painfully hard and he hunches in on himself, closes the cover of the sketchbook and throws his pencil across the room.
He doesn’t touch himself, just tilts his head back until it’s resting against the wall.
“Frankie.”
******************************************************************************
Korse doesn’t come that day, or the next.
Gerard lets the sketchbook sit on the small table, eyes the pencil that remains where it fell after he threw it.
Frankie, Frank, Frank
He can feel frustration prickling along his skin.
The others have names too, and they come to him as he lays there struggling to not pick up the pencil and paper and draw their faces into life; thin lips and blonde hair is Mikey and curly hair and eyepatch is Ray.
They’re his closest and dearest friends; Mikey is his brother, his baby brother that he dragged into this with Mikey not uttering a word of complaint.
Not when Alicia was taken from him, not when Pete was as well.
Ray lost his eye, his family, and he still stood there, tall and proud beside him.
They followed him because they loved him, because they believed that the fight that Gerard was fighting was true and right and they stood by him even after that fight cost them everything and everyone they cared about.
Gerard wonders if they would still follow him if they could see him now.
Swallowing pills and allowing Korse to touch him.
He ignores the food and the pills, or tries to. The first day the guards hold him down and force the pills down his throat and bind his hands at his back to keep him from sticking a finger down his throat and throwing them right back up.
The second day they come with needles and Gerard cowers in what seems to be an instinctive fear of the needles, he’s embarrassed at the noise that he makes, embarrassed at the fact that he’s whimpering and cowering when Frankie must have loved needles with the evidence being all over his skin.
He sleeps and tries to dream of a way out; all he feels is the heat of gun at his throat, all he feels is Korse’s lips on his skin.
******************************************************************************
“You make it so difficult,” Korse says, he’s sitting on the edge of his bed, hand cupped around his face. He bends down and Gerard knows that he means to kiss him and turns his head away.
“Where’s Frankie?” he asks, he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t cower in on himself though he wishes he could. A muscle twitches in Korse’s jaw. “Where’s Mikey and Ray?”
Korse leans back, though his fingers tighten against Gerard’s jaw. He’ll have bruises he’s sure.
“They’re dead,” Korse says, his eyes are cold. “They’re dead and you’re the one that killed them.”
“I don’t believe you,” Gerard says. He may have led them into a fruitless fight but he would die before he’d let them die before him. “If I’m alive, they’re alive.”
“You’re alive because I wished it to be so,” Korse says, he leans down and his lips brush against Gerard’s cheek. “You’re alive because it suits my purposes to have it be so.”
“I don’t believe you,” Gerard says again, stubborn.
“Do you wish to see their bodies? I can have you brought there, have you peel open their cases so you can see their cold, dead bodies for yourself.”
Gerard makes a noise deep in his throat; he thinks it might be denial. Or maybe it’s a scream.
******************************************************************************
The pills appear with breakfast the next day and Gerard takes them, dutifully swallows them and opens his mouth so that the guard can see. He picks at his food, eating just enough to silence any pangs of hunger that make themselves known.
When the guards take the tray away he curls up in the bed, stares at white walls and ignores the locked door and the closed sketchbook and the pencil that lies on the ground where he threw it.
He doesn’t think, he doesn’t dream when he sleeps, he waits, and hopes with everything within him that Korse is wrong.
******************************************************************************
Summary: There are dreams, faces that skitter away and he can see the mouths of those faces that he can’t focus on moving but he can’t hear what they’re saying.
TITLE: We All Fall Down
RATING: PG-13
PAIRING: Allusions to Gerard/Korse, Gerard/Frank
AUTHOR: Melanie
SUMMARY: There are dreams, faces that skitter away and he can see the mouths of those faces that he can’t focus on moving but he can’t hear what they’re saying.
DISCLAIMER: If you recognize your name or the names of any of your bandmates/siblings you need to hit the back button now. I’ll wait.
We All Fall Down
When he wakes it’s in a white room, four white walls, closed door (he knows its locked, even though he doesn’t get out of the bed to check), no windows.
He rolls onto his back and he presses his fingers into the stiff mattress, stares at the white ceiling.
He closes his eyes and he breathes, concentrates on the breaths and the motion of his chest moving.
It takes him a moment, mere seconds of breathing for him to realize that he’s not only not sure where he is, he’s also not sure who he is.
He sleeps.
There are dreams, faces that skitter away and he can see the mouths of those faces that he can’t focus on moving but he can’t hear what they’re saying.
There are flashes of skin, inked at that and jet black hair that frames a hazy face that is familiar yet not. Other flashes of a face, thin lips and blonde hair and yet another man with the curliest of hair, with a patch over one eye.
A girl is the only focused thing in his dreams and she stares at him with wide sad eyes and her lips move in the shape of words that he can’t hear and doesn’t understand.
“Your name is Gerard,” there is a man perched on the edge of his bed, he’s wearing white and gray and has no hair so he knows that this man wasn’t in his fragmented, unfocused dreams.
The man reaches out a hand and touches his arm, hand stroking lightly down the skin and the touch is not unfamiliar, he doesn’t instinctively shrink away in revulsion and he thinks he should be.
“My name is Korse,” the man, Korse, says. He stares at Gerard with intent eyes and he stares back.
He knows that name, knows both names, though he knows that Gerard is only one name, there is another that skitters just out of reach.
Korse wraps his hand around Gerard’s wrist, thumb pressing into his skin.
Gerard closes his eyes when Korse lifts his hand to his lips, swallows thickly when he can feel the brush of those lips against the skin of the back of his hand.
Someone, he doesn’t know the name, but he knows that inked skin and jet black hair would be spitting mad at the sight of Korse touching him in any way.
There’s pills with breakfast and pills with lunch and pills with dinner. Korse is not always there, but those that bring his meals to him watch as he swallows the pills down with water, checking to make sure he takes them.
He doesn’t know what the pills do, he doesn’t feel ill, he doesn’t feel anything and he wonders if that’s the whole point.
He curls on his side, one armed curved under the pillow under his head, the other playing with the edge of a blanket.
He stares at the white wall in front of him; sometimes he has to force himself to remember to blink. He’s trying to decide if he’s supposed to feel boredom when Korse arrives.
The door shuts behind him and Gerard waits for the sound of the lock snicking into place.
Korse stands there and in his hands he has a book and a thin box, Gerard suddenly, desperately wants what he has in his hands.
It’s like an aching, craving in his gut and he wonders if he looks like a madman.
“Boredom has evidently set in and right on schedule,” Korse says, he sounds amused.
“Why the locks on the door?” Gerard asks, he pushes himself up so he’s sitting, knees drawn to his chest. He wraps his arms around them and closes his eyes. Korse will ask him for something in order to get those items he holds so loosely.
“They’re to protect you,” Korse says, Gerard doesn’t open his eyes but he feels the shift of the bed when Korse sits on the bottom edge of it.
“Protect me,” Gerard repeats.
“There was an attack,” Korse says. “You were injured, in here; with the doors locked you are able to heal without us worrying about your safety.”
Gerard opens his eyes and looks at him, Korse looks sincere, Gerard knows, he doesn’t know how that the story is only a half-truth.
There was an attack, Gerard was injured, and he has a suddenly, violent image of Korse staring at him, gun pressing into the soft underside of his chin… and then nothing.
Gerard draws his bottom lip between his teeth, links his fingers together and squeezes tightly.
Korse sets the book, a glance at it shows that it is a sketchbook and the thin box is box of pencils, plain, pencils, no color.
Gerard looks away, the gift is a Trojan horse, and he’s not sure what betrayal Korse is asking him to make.
Korse lips curve into a smile, it’s thin and when Gerard’s face doesn’t form one in return it deepens into a smirk.
“Always so suspicious,” he says and he leans over, places a hand on the back of Gerard’s head and pulls him gently forward so Gerard is sprawled half on his knees next to him. Gerard freezes when he feels the touch of cool lips to his own, it’s familiar and not familiar all at once.
Korse presses their foreheads together.
“My only desire is to protect you, keeping you here, that protects you,” Korse says.
He kisses Gerard’s forehead and stands easily, Gerard blinks and doesn’t move except to lay a hand across the sketchbook and pencils.
“Thank you,” he says, Korse smiles at him.
“You are so very welcome.”
The pencils are all sharpened and Gerard presses the tip of one to his finger.
He wants to draw but thinks that is what is expected of him.
Korse comes and goes; he doesn’t look at the sketchbook and doesn’t ask to see inside it. Gerard thinks that he’s already quite aware that there is nothing there to be seen. Yet.
His dreams remained fragmented though inked skin and jet black hair look at him in disappointment, and thin lips and blond hair tug him into tight hugs that leave him aching for more when he wakes.
The first thing he draws is a tattoo, one of the clearer ones from inked skin and jet black hair. It needs color that he doesn’t have and it feels like the worst of betrayals to put the mark onto paper.
He still does it, traces his fingers over it like he knows that he did to the one on the man. He thinks know he kissed it, dragged lips and tongue over it and he can feel the phantom clutching of hands at his shoulders, of his hands gripping thin hips tightly to keep him from moving.
He’s suddenly painfully hard and he hunches in on himself, closes the cover of the sketchbook and throws his pencil across the room.
He doesn’t touch himself, just tilts his head back until it’s resting against the wall.
“Frankie.”
Korse doesn’t come that day, or the next.
Gerard lets the sketchbook sit on the small table, eyes the pencil that remains where it fell after he threw it.
Frankie, Frank, Frank
He can feel frustration prickling along his skin.
The others have names too, and they come to him as he lays there struggling to not pick up the pencil and paper and draw their faces into life; thin lips and blonde hair is Mikey and curly hair and eyepatch is Ray.
They’re his closest and dearest friends; Mikey is his brother, his baby brother that he dragged into this with Mikey not uttering a word of complaint.
Not when Alicia was taken from him, not when Pete was as well.
Ray lost his eye, his family, and he still stood there, tall and proud beside him.
They followed him because they loved him, because they believed that the fight that Gerard was fighting was true and right and they stood by him even after that fight cost them everything and everyone they cared about.
Gerard wonders if they would still follow him if they could see him now.
Swallowing pills and allowing Korse to touch him.
He ignores the food and the pills, or tries to. The first day the guards hold him down and force the pills down his throat and bind his hands at his back to keep him from sticking a finger down his throat and throwing them right back up.
The second day they come with needles and Gerard cowers in what seems to be an instinctive fear of the needles, he’s embarrassed at the noise that he makes, embarrassed at the fact that he’s whimpering and cowering when Frankie must have loved needles with the evidence being all over his skin.
He sleeps and tries to dream of a way out; all he feels is the heat of gun at his throat, all he feels is Korse’s lips on his skin.
“You make it so difficult,” Korse says, he’s sitting on the edge of his bed, hand cupped around his face. He bends down and Gerard knows that he means to kiss him and turns his head away.
“Where’s Frankie?” he asks, he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t cower in on himself though he wishes he could. A muscle twitches in Korse’s jaw. “Where’s Mikey and Ray?”
Korse leans back, though his fingers tighten against Gerard’s jaw. He’ll have bruises he’s sure.
“They’re dead,” Korse says, his eyes are cold. “They’re dead and you’re the one that killed them.”
“I don’t believe you,” Gerard says. He may have led them into a fruitless fight but he would die before he’d let them die before him. “If I’m alive, they’re alive.”
“You’re alive because I wished it to be so,” Korse says, he leans down and his lips brush against Gerard’s cheek. “You’re alive because it suits my purposes to have it be so.”
“I don’t believe you,” Gerard says again, stubborn.
“Do you wish to see their bodies? I can have you brought there, have you peel open their cases so you can see their cold, dead bodies for yourself.”
Gerard makes a noise deep in his throat; he thinks it might be denial. Or maybe it’s a scream.
The pills appear with breakfast the next day and Gerard takes them, dutifully swallows them and opens his mouth so that the guard can see. He picks at his food, eating just enough to silence any pangs of hunger that make themselves known.
When the guards take the tray away he curls up in the bed, stares at white walls and ignores the locked door and the closed sketchbook and the pencil that lies on the ground where he threw it.
He doesn’t think, he doesn’t dream when he sleeps, he waits, and hopes with everything within him that Korse is wrong.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2011-01-08 04:50 am (UTC)Thank you for writing this.
(no subject)
Date: 2011-01-28 06:36 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-08-01 03:17 am (UTC)The tattoo part was wonderful. This fic makes me ache; I'd love to see you continue it!!
(no subject)
Date: 2011-09-13 02:22 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-08-21 11:11 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-04-28 03:09 am (UTC)