Gerard hates his existence.

Vampires have been hidden in seclusion since that Stephanie Meyers wrote that book about them (he doesn’t even know how someone writes shit like that without being completely drunk), and all those teenagers kept going to clubs and asking dominators to bite them and the dominators are all like, "Why the fuck not?" and there's shitloads of teen death everywhere, all because of one stupid mistake. Now people think guys like Gerard sparkle. How was this his life.

He was right in the middle of getting a job (FINALLY) at this sweet little blood cafe (disguised as a coffee shop), when the vamp police barged in, immediately found some random dom sucking on this twilight crazy's neck, and shut the whole place down. He could've gotten discounts on blood. And coffee! He and Mikey are the only vampires they know who like the beverage, it's just so addictive... It sucks cos now they can't live in their own damn houses, not without those damn vampire hunters.

Meyers lied her little ass off about everything, but because their love was, "immortal", all those little teenage girls thought you couldn't kill a vamp without tearing them apart and burning the remains. No. God, stick with the old school, people.

Wooden stakes. Very lethal. Gerard liked the danger of staying at human made areas, being around wood, knowing he can die if some stupidly clumsy human pushed him against anything pointed and wooden, even something as small as a pencil. It gave him that thrill, that shiver up his spine. He liked it.

But because of those vampire hunters, you took one step into a heavily human populated area and you suddenly had a stake in your chest, holy water down your throat (shit burns...), and a cross to your forehead. Fucked everything up. The humans got smarter, and the government of their kind couldn't just kill them all since they were their only food source. All the dominators, fertiles, and toys picked up shop and moved underground.

Gerard liked his basement. He, however, hated when there were other people with him underground. He enjoyed his solace, thank you very much, and a bunch of toddler doms running amok, making him spill his cup of blood all over the drawing of Mikey and his fanged unicorn slicing off all the vampire hunters' heads was the exact opposite of what he wanted.

It wasn't that Gerard didn't like kids, no, the vampire just wasn't exactly made for a having children. He wouldn't be a good father; he was too moody, too irate, probably wouldn't give enough affection and hardly see the kid. He wanted to love, though. He wanted a mate. Those fertiles were always so cute, with their little shy, coy personalities and squeaky giggles. He wasn't sure if he was attracted to guys or girls, they both appealed to him. Was he bisexual? Or was that just a silly human term? It sucked. His mother, Donna, kept pestering him to find one, "I want grandchildren, godamnit, and Gerard, sulking in your room isn't going to get you a mate."

There was a time when a pretty girl fertile lingered her eye a second too long over Gerard, but he would always be too scared to go get her. Another time there was a this hot guy just sitting at a club, sippin his blood from a wine glass, bright pink eyes practically boring holes into Gerard already purple tinted hazel ones, and Gerard couldn't fucking do it. What kind of fucking dominator was he?

Gerard's dad kept trying to whip into shape using "pep talks." He kept telling him, "Straighten up, son. What the hell are you, a fucking human? Are you sinking as low as those pathetic, filthy creatures?" Maybe he was, but he wasn't quite sure. And it sucked. Mikey got a lot of shit about it too, he was the skinniest dominator ever, and hardly spent anytime messing with fertiles. Even though he could probably get anyone he wanted, Mikey was that type of person. He just wanted to play his bass and make comic books. Love was hardly taking up ten percent of his brain. The bastard.

Unlike Gerard, who was a hopeless romantic at heart, which, oh look!, also a very un-dominator trait. His percentage for love on the mind was probably, oh, seventy-five percent? Why couldn't he just find a nice fertile with a sweet smile and just fucking fall in love already?! It was mystery, to him and the world.

"Mikey," Gerard looked at his brother; patiently waiting for him to put down the Doom Patrol his bespectacled eyes were glued to, "Mikey... Mikeyway!"

"What." He laid the graphic novel on his chest, staring at his older sibling with a questioning annoyed hint only Gerard could catch on his both classical and impressive eternal pokerface. Mikey, in Gerard's mind, was magical in this way. His emotions could be glazed over, totally invisible to an outside person. He could've swore his little brother could also keep the color of his eyes from changing with his emotions, but he figured it was probably from the contacts the protection services gave them on those high risk vampire searches the hunters sometimes went on. Gerard's emotions just barfed all over the world so they could see the messy contents of his entire being.

"Let's run away together." Gerard's typically hazel eyes were suddenly a blur of colors, in his brain most likely in turmoil with mixing emotions and if his heart ever pumped, by now it would be reaching heart attack levels of rhythms. He had a wide-eyed hopeful expression on his face, as he looked up at his brother, who was sitting on the floor of their bedroom (they had to share due to minimal space of this underground prison) with his knobby knees to his chest, from his own position on his stomach, propped up by his long-sleeved arms.

"Oh, Gee. I love you, but I don't wanna elope with you. I don't even think that's possible, we're both doms, who would be - " Gerard yelped and clapped both of his hands over Mikey's mouth. He hated when he did that. Granted, most of the crap that filtered through Gerard's mouth sounded like it came from one of those girly romance stories (also very not dominatorish unless trying to woo a fertile, which he wasn't) and Mikey was like the pervy publisher who added smut everywhere. The most disturbing thing was how his little brother's face looked so comfortable spewing whatever nasty thought that came to mind.

Mikey's eyes were doing that beady-stare thing and they were starting to turning a red hue so the ebony haired romantic removed his hand and watched as his sibling opened his mouth and - "You into that type o' shit, Gee? Kinky."

"For fuck's sake, Mikey, why do you even go there? I don't remember ever teaching you all this - this - this - BLARG." That's kind of what the sound Gerard makes looks like, and it looks like that because he was at a loss of words and his dead brain could not compute what to say except blarg. But honestly, it sounds pretty awesome with his slight Jersey accent, like lower and slurred. Buttery and smooth, but broken up at the same time because the vamp kinda has a nasally type voice that is rich at the same time. There's a lot of multitasking in their house.

"Blarg?" Mikey has this tone that is pretty fucking smart, which is odd because you never think a tone can be smart until you meet Michael Way, right here, "Is that our safe word? Blarg. Huh."

"Jesus Christ, no." Gerard flails his arms around a little because he is freaking out. He hates this fucking hole, he wants out, and he wants out now. Except he doesn't really want to die before escaping because this whole staking bit so he's counting on Mikey to have a brilliant plan like he usually does with shitty times like this, "Mikey, I need to leave this place, there's no coffee."

Pokerface broken.

"I know..." The last word pulls into a groan because if there anything that can break Mikey Way's infamous pokerface, it's lack of coffee. He needs that warm or cold beverage (depending on the mood) like the mother earth needs water to provide for her children. Like a flame needed oxygen, like the sea needed the moon, like a dog needed a bone, like the Aztecs needed a fresh sacrificee to pull a thumping heart out of, like the

"Gerard!" The older gasped then nodded and tried his best to look like he had been listening instead of going ape-shit with the similes, as Mikey rolled his eyes before testing his head to look at the small box he never let Gerard touch and sometimes merely look at during his moody days. To his brother's surprise, he reached down and plucked the box from under his bed, dust bunnies gathering underneath its blue bottom and fingerprints all over the plastic lid.

"I have about ten thousand dollars in here." Gerard eyes nearly popped right out of his skull when Mikey pulled out that a wad of cash, like shit… Where did he even get that money, he knew their family had comfortable means, but how did - "Gerard, relax. Remember when I told you about that jingle thingy for that one commercial?"

"That? You got motherfucking stacks from that old cheeseburger place?!" He did remember vaguely Mikey asking him his opinion on this happy little bass-line he was working on. It was too skippy and pop-ish for his taste, Mikey and his weird love for British pop music. His brother shrugged.

"The old owner loved it. He died, had no family, and gave all his money to me." Gerard stared at the fluffy haired brunette. This was another reason why Mikey was all kinds of magical. There would be a one in a billion chance of something happening, and if that was the case Mikey's fucking aura up to about thirty or forty percent.

"I was going to save it to buy an amp and maybe a couple switches but..." Gerard stopped listening after he realized Mikey was going to use it for something he loved. Immediately, his stomach did loop-the-loops with guilt.

"Mikey... You don't have to..." He drifted off as his brother eyes shifted in between blue and gray.

"Oh, shut up. Ever thought about the fact that maybe I don't like it here too, that maybe I want to go up there, you dunderhead."

"Well... It didn't cross my mind...?" Mikey sighed, "Anyway, have any idea how we're gonna get past the security?" The vampire society was as cut throat as ever, still couldn’t fuck with the doms, still couldn’t hurt the fertile, still thought of humans as repulsive parasites that sucked the life out of things (Gerard thought this one was stupidest, seriously, they were vampires, did they really have the grounds to say something like that?) and they still killed randoms (any doms, toys, or humans that defied their ways) in the goriest way possible. He didn’t mind the gore, he enjoyed a little too much, perhaps, but he hated the up-the-butt strictness of things.

Mikey and Gerard Way were different from the usual vampire. They were – at the age of seven and ten–diagnosed with a mental disease called mortalis morbo. This disease was very specific to vampires. The sickness caused the infected to develop human feelings and/or habits. In other words, this “disease” was complete bullshit.

What their society called "disease," Gerard and Mikey called "open-mindedness;" something all of these vampires were hugely missing. “Open mindedness” flew so far over the vampire society’s metaphoric head it reached astronomic levels of obliviousness. The Way brothers did not understand what the hell the humans did to deserve such revulsion from their people. ‘Course, they never paid much attention in history.

"Brian Schechter, boss-man guard, owes me big time. That guy who had to help move all his shit through a twilight premiere in Hollywood when he just so happened to get pranked and covered in glitter?" Gerard's grin is a sigh in itself, small, sharp teeth and pixie-like scrunched nose, "We're going to need to seem not Vampire-y though."

His older sibling's face fell a bit.

"Well, in that case we're already good as is." His voice was both sarcastically bitter and honestly melancholy. Again, they were the multitasking type people. Gerard met the warm eyes of his brother, widening to see so much mischief in them. Mikey got up and strolled over to their dresser, where he opened the top compartment.

"The best hiding place..." Gerard furrowed his eyebrows in confusion as Mikey dug his hand into the drawer, a smirk almost visible as he continued to search until he pulled out a little black box, "...is in plain sight."

Up went the top lid, and white, gleaming porcelain shone brightly on a red velvet cushion.

Fake fangs.