"We’ve shared a lot of the same troubles. But sometimes he’s the older brother and sometimes I have to be." — Mikey Way.

The night was cold, and I was tired. My feet hurt and my head ached, and the bus seemed about 100 miles away. We walked the city streets, which were nearly empty, with only the occasional drop of rain to keep us company. It was four in the morning on a Thursday, and most people were tucked away in bed.

The only sound that could be heard was the giddy laughter of my brother, who looked to be having a thousand times more fun than I was. Next to me, he was clinging to Frank’s arm. His face was flushed, and his steps were unsteady. His words were slurred and his body swayed.

He was very, very drunk.

He perhaps knew better to cling to Frank when he was like this. Frank found his drunken antics amusing, while I did not. It might have had something to do with the fact that he wasn’t even supposed to be drinking, but hey, it’s anyone’s guess.

When I glanced sideways at them, a random memory came to mind.

While people have always brought up and recalled my struggles at the Paramour Manor, where I would run to Gerard’s room in fear, Gerard had actually clung to me similarly years before then.

When we were children, Gerard was always the scaredy-cat. He would be afraid of the most ridiculous things, like Bloody Mary and dumb tales about local ghosts. In a poor neighborhood like we had grown up in, there wasn’t a whole lot to do other than make up urban legends.

I remembered a 9 year old Gerard grabbing onto my arm as we walked through the dingy hallway of our old home. The sight must have been ridiculous, considering he was already very large and much more prepared to take on any monsters than someone of my thin, tiny physique. I remembered having to walk him to the bathroom in the middle of the night whenever he needed to go.

But honestly, I never minded.

I snapped out of my reverie. I pretended not to hear the flirtatious banter transpiring between Frank and Gerard through whispers and chuckles. Letting myself fall behind the group a little, I checked my phone and mindlessly flipped through my facebook feed, not really reading anything. We had just come from a long night of partying, and even my eyes felt tired of just being open. I saw a friend of mine, Sarah, had sent me a message asking how I’d been. I was in the beginnings of writing a response to her message when I heard it.

“GERARD!”

It was Frank who yelled his name, I think. I wasn’t sure what had happened for a moment. When I had looked up, the guys had already walked a bit farther ahead of me then I would have expected. Not to mention it was dark, and they were all clad in black clothing, so it took me a while to spot them. What did stand out, however, was a pair of headlights flying very fast across the street we walked along.

And the next thing I saw was him.

Illuminated by said headlights, Gerard stood in the way of the oncoming car completely frozen. His eyes wide, but uncomprehending. I have never seen he phrase “a deer in headlights” more in my life.

My phone fell from my hand as I ran, trying to get to him. But I knew it was impossible, I was too far back. Frank had tried to dash to him as well, but Ray had held him back, knowing that it would only lead to them both getting hit. Gerard had stumbled off too suddenly, and the car was coming insanely fast.

By the time I reached the crosswalk, impact had been made.

His scream was short, but piercing. It was the most horrifying sound I had ever heard, and likely the most horrifying thing I ever will hear. Just that sound alone has left a permanent wound in my psyche. Even just remembering it would always hurt.

And then there was the sight of it. The sight of my brother’s small body being thrown, pulled up into the air by an invisible hand, which then threw him hard into the pavement seconds later.

He didn’t move once he fell, splayed out on the ground.

The best part?

The car that hit him making a hasty U-turn and then fleeing the fuck away.

I could never describe the terror of those five minutes, no matter how hard I might try. There were no words for it. My whole body shook as I ran to him, thinking the worst, but desperate to be wrong. I rudely shoved Frank aside as I bent over him, inspecting the damage.

He was knocked out cold, and blood was seeping out from underneath him. But the relief was immeasurable when I realized he was still breathing. Only slightly, but it was still something. I shook him gently and whimpered out a squeaky “G?”, not sure what I was expecting. Perhaps hoping he would open his eyes and smile at me and tell me he’s okay, that the car barely nicked him. That I was worrying too much, like he often does tell me.

In the background, I could hear Ray calling an ambulance. I looked up and met Frank’s eyes, which were also clouded with worry. I formed enough words to ask what happened.

“He must have wandered off at some point.” Frank answered, his voice heavy with guilt, “I’m so sorry Mikey, I wasn’t watching him. I got distracted by my phone and I looked over and he was already halfway across the street. I...”

Frank trailed off and I didn’t pry him further. I knew it wasn’t his fault, but he was likely feeling like it was, judging from the hitch in his voice during that last sentence. That was something I would deal with later, though. At the moment, all my brain could comprehend was the image of that car slamming into my brother. My best friend. My other half.

All I could think about was the possibility that Gerard might die.

And that thought alone made me want to die.

Thankfully however, Gerard did not die.

I sit with him now, on the bed he and Lindsey share. Lindsey is gone for the week, in New York with her friends for an art gallery that features her work. She had wanted to cancel in light of her husband’s accident, but the show had been planned for months and I insisted that I could take care of Gerard just fine.

I always have, right?

Gerard’s made it clear he doesn’t believe he needs babysitting. It is true, he’s healing pretty fast, considering the incident was only about a week ago. Miraculously, he managed not to break anything. A good amount of one of his forearms had been practically skinned however, but he kept it well bandaged with gauze. He still has waves of pain in his legs, but he doesn’t like taking too much of the vicodin he’s been prescribed. It would do no good to fall back into yet another bad habit, he says.

If you hadn’t fallen back into the first bad habit, I think to myself, this all wouldn’t have happened to begin with.

The whole thing plays in my mind over and over again. If not in my waking hours, I relive it in my dreams and nightmares. I just can’t shake the sight or the sound of the moment I thought he could be gone forever. Gerard himself doesn’t seem so haunted by it, as I’ve seen him twice tilting a shot glass to his lips since I got here. He probably figures that I’m “cool” with it, where as Lindsey would not be.

Of course I’m not.

But I admit that he might not know that. I haven’t really commented on the subject since he relapsed. I’ve shown no support for it, but I haven’t tried to stop him either. I guess I just don’t want to be a hypocrite, having the habit of relapsing into drug use every so often.

Maybe this is all a little my fault too.

Beside me, Gerard is lying down. He’s wincing, and I can see him trying to mask his pain. He’s been doing that a lot. I never know why Gerard tries to act tough around me the times that he does -- he doesn’t exactly have any sort of reputation for being macho. I roll my eyes and go to the kitchen to get another ice pack. I wrap it with a hand towel and come back to Gerard’s side, pressing the pack against his thigh. I feel him relax almost immediately.

He looks up at me and says “Thanks.”

Better late than never, I think to myself.

“You can thank me by not drinking anymore.” I tell him, trying to sound as stern as possible.

Gerard doesn’t answer, not for quite some time. Long enough to make me wonder if he heard what I said, or if he was just going to flat out ignore it.

“It isn’t that much.” Gerard finally responds, “It’s not like before.”

“You got hit by a car.” I state the obvious.

“That’s not...” Gerard struggles with whatever excuses he’s trying to find, but I don’t let him finish. Pressing the ice pack a little harder against him than I mean to, I feel my rage and hurt and disappointment rise up like bile. It comes up so fast I can’t stop it, and it all comes spilling out of me at once.

“I don’t care!” I can feel myself tearing up. And its embarrassing, honestly. I can’t remember the last time cried in front of someone else, even Gerard. Its been years. I am always stoic, expressionless Mikey. Emotions are a difficult thing for me to show. But truthfully, Gerard has always been the one person to make me show them -- whether it’s a smile or a tear. It’s like the kid inside of me that once was a roller coaster of emotions only ever shines through for his brother.

“I don’t care...” I repeat, “I’m not mad at you for going back to it. I know it’s hard, and you did so good for so long. But it’s time to put it down already! I don’t need anything like this ever happening again.. do you know how scared I was when they took you in the ambulance? I was mortified! This is not okay, Gerard...”

Gerard does not argue with me past this point. He only stares at me sadly as I vent. He knows he’s wrong. He knows theres nothing he can say to change that fact.

“Please...” I’m shocked to feel myself actually sobbing at this point. I pull him towards me, and bury his face into my chest as I cry into his hair. “I couldn’t take it if anything happened to you...please stop...do whatever you need to do, just don’t let this happen again. I couldn’t take it... I couldn’t....”

He reaches up and returns my embrace awkwardly, probably a little shocked himself. He reeks of vodka, and it just makes me cry harder.

This time, I realize, I am the one whose terrified. And I cling to him like he did to me, so long ago.

“Okay, Mikey.” he mutters into my neck. “I’m sorry...”

I’m not sure how much longer we stay like that before I finally let go of him. I think I hold on to him for so long because, petty as it may sound, for once in ages, I feel like I’m keeping him safe. Like I can control him, for just a minute.

Like I can protect him -- even from himself.

The rest of the evening is spent silently. We watch The Twilight Zone, keeping our eyes on the 50 inch screen. But I can tell Gerard’s mind is elsewhere. I myself don’t notice my hand absentmindedly stroking his hair for a long while.

When I do notice, I don’t stop.

It brings me back again to when we were kids, and all those times he would wake me to tell me he couldn’t sleep -- back when nightmares and scary stories were our biggest problems. But now our nightmares are much, much scarier. And despite it being somewhat his own fault, Gerard’s whimpers and winces still pull on my heart strings as his shivers and cries did back then. But just like I have always done, I do my best to make him as comfortable as he can be.

I figure it’s mission accomplished when I look down and realize he’s fallen asleep. I check the time and it’s nearly six in the morning. Theres a sleeping bag on the floor for me, just to my left. But I know Gerard won’t mind as I fall asleep where I lay, with him wedged into my side.

The next morning, I turn over and see that his bed spot is empty. It was odd, as I was always the early bird between the two of us. I get up and begin my morning routine which basically just means I’m on my way to coffee.

When I walk down to the kitchen, I can already smell a pot in the coffee maker. It’s full and freshly brewed and it smells delicious. But also on it is a yellow post it note, and I recognize Gerard’s tiny scrawl immediately. It reads:

Went out to go throw out some trash. Be back soon.

Having a slight idea of what Gerard might mean, I pour myself a mug. I go into his study and lean against the doorway, sipping the coffee as I take a look around. At first nothing looks different, with papers lying everywhere. Various art pieces hang from the walls where there aren’t shelves upon shelves of comics and books.

But then I notice an emptiness where there hadn’t been before. The mini bar Gerard has kept for many years is suddenly devoid of all it’s bottles, the shot glass collection now vanished as well. I smile.

We will always continue to face fears, I figure.

But as long as Gerard and I have each other, neither of us should ever have a thing to worry about.

END.

Notes