The Only Hope For Me Is You

It was Mikey's first day back at school since Gerard, his brother, had died.
He was walking around, lost in his thoughts. Not paying attention to anything. He was depressed. That was a given. He had just lost his brother and best friend! Why wouldn't he be depressed? The only other friend he had was Frank Iero. He was Gerard's boyfriend. They were really close, and clearly in love. Anyone could have seen that. But there were some assholes who couldn't accept it.
The school had sent their condolences, but Mikey knew they didn't really give a fuck. None of them. Well, maybe not the art teacher. Gerard is a hell of an artist.
-Was, Mikey corrected himself. He was going to have to get used to using past tense. He didn't want to-God, did he not want to.
He wanted to believe Gerard was still alive, still breathing. That he was just hiding somewhere. He did have places in the school he hid out in when the bullies got to be too much. Which was often.
Gerard overdosed on his anxiety medication two weeks ago. Seeing as he had next to no friends, and how almost nobody liked him, and for reasons unknown to Mikey and his parents, most people were pretty over it by now. Not Mikey. No, he won't ever get over it. He loved-loves Gerard, he was, is, and will always be his brother. Nothing would ever change that. Ever.
Once he got closer to his locker he saw someone standing beside it. Frank fuckin' Iero.
He and Mikey were somewhat close before Gerard's death, but after, they had become best friends.
"Hey," Mikey said, "you okay?"
"Yeah, i'm just fine." Frank replied sarcastically.
"Really." Mikey stated, rather than asked.
"No, not at all. But i mean, fake it 'till you make it right?"
Mikey smiled, genuinely smiled, for the first time since what happened to Gerard. He didn't smile too much before it happened, but after, it felt like he never would again.
Frank did always seem to brighten the mood.
"Absolutely." He replied. Maybe today wouldn't be so shitty after all.
But when lunch rolled around, there was no such luck. A group of fucking assholes decided to fuck around with them.
"Hey cocksuckers," Some guy said, so very cleverly as Mikey and Frank passed their table. Because, yes. Poking fun at someone's sexuality is soincredibly original and funny. Hilarious.
"How's that faggot brother of yours?" He and his little fuckbuddies started laughing, like it was the funniest thing all fucking year.
That was it. Mikey was not having any-fucking-more of this. How fucking dare they say those things about Gerard. That's Mikey's brother they're laughing at. His dead brother.
Dead because of them.
They had given Gerard such shit for so long, made his life so fucking miserable, he fucking killed himself! Gerard would come home with bruises, cuts, scrapes, black eyes, broken bones, and every other injury there is. He had finally found a bit of happiness with Frank, and they decided to ruin that too.
Mikey lost it. Tackling the asshole that made the oh, so original comment. He was so shocked, along with everyone else, that he wasn't really fighting back all that much. Mikey threw punch after punch, nobody doing anything to stop him. Especially not Frank. No, he was clapping, cheering, and cat-calling. After a minute, he was being pulled off of the guy, by what or who, he couldn't tell. "FUCK YOU!" Mikey screamed at him one last time before being dragged to the principal's office.
"I understand you're in pain. Your brother just died, that's a completely normal way to feel. But hurting people, including yourself," He gestured to Mikey's arms, the sleeves having ridden up, and the wrists, covered in thin red lines, some new, some old, that had not healed yet. "Isn't going to help. Isn't going to bring him back. You're smart enough to know that. Look, I really don't want anything to happen to you, so I'm going to suggest that you see someone, get some help. I'll talk to your parents after this."
There were so many things Mikey wanted to say. Like how he didn't have any fucking idea about how Mikey felt. How he didn't fucking need any help. He was just fine on his own, thank you very much.
But when he got home, his mother didn't think the same. "I'm fine! I don't need to help! I'm o-fuckin-kay!" Mikey was yelling, trying to make his mother see some sense.
"Micheal James Way, do not use that language in my house!" His mother yelled back, "And it's not gonna hurt you to see someone!"
"But I'm fine!"
"Okay, but you're still going to see someone." Mikey groaned, walking to his room and slamming the door, flipping her off even though she couldn't see him.
***
Mikey walked into the office of his new therapist slowly. He was dreading this more than words could ever express.
"Hello," A short looking guy with very short bleach-blonde hair said, "I'm Mr. Wentz, but you can call me Pete." Mikey didn't want to call him Pete. Or Mr. Wentz for that matter.
He wanted to call his parents and get the fuck out of there.
"Have a seat. I don't bite-at least, not my patients." He then laughed, not caring how uncomfortable it made Mikey. Mikey sat down.
Pete, because "Mr. Wentz" sounded really kinky after everything he's read. Anyway, Pete was wearing something Mikey had previously thought wasn't allowed at most jobs, let alone something as formal as a therapist. Pete was wearing a nice-ish t-shirt, and black skinny jeans. He had tattoos. A bunch of them, from what Mikey could tell. And was very clearly wearing eyeliner.
"So, I have to ask, why do you think you're here?" Pete looked at him, waiting for a response.
"My principal called my mom and told her he thought I should see a therapist."
"Why?"
"Because I beat somebody up."
"Woah," Pete said, looking Mikey up and down, like he couldn't believe that Mikey of all people had actually beat someone up. Mikey blushed, even more uncomfortable.
"Why'd you do it?" He asked. If he couldn't be described as eager before, he sure as hell could be now.
"He made fun of my brother."
"Oh. You were just defending him. I don't see how that means you need ther-"
"My dead brother." Mikey cut him off.
"Oh..." He said, writing something down. He was silent for a minute before saying anything else. "I'm sorry for your loss."
"Don't." Mikey said, louder than he intended to, making Pete look up. Mikey hated when people said that. It was incredibly fucking stupid, and meaningless, in his opinion. "Stop it. I'm so sick of people saying that! It doesn't do anything. It doesn't help, and it sure as hell doesn't bring him back!" Mikey was uncomfortable before, but now he was angry.
Pete was shocked. He didn't expect that. He should have.
"Okay, what do you want me to say?" Now he was patronizing Mikey.
"I don't want you to say anything. What I want is my fucking brother back!" Mikey yelled, "But I know that's the one thing I can't have!" Mikey was so mad, he had started to talk with his hands halfway through.
Pete made eye contact with Mikey's wrists, and all the cuts there. Mikey noticed and quickly pulled his sleeves down. Praying Pete wouldn't say anything.
He would though, Mikey knew that, but he was still hoping.
Pete looked at him sadly, and wrote something down.
"How long have you had those?" He said.
Shit. Mikey cursed inwardly, Fucking hell. What do I say?
"None of your business." Mikey retorted.
"We're not going to get anywhere, and not going to get better if you don't start telling me things." Pete said sternly.
"Some of them two weeks, some newer, some older," Mikey gave up.
"How long has your brother..." He trailed off.
"About two weeks." Mikey said through gritted teeth.
"So you've been self-harming for longer."
"Yeah."
"When did it start?"
"None of your fucking business." Mikey snapped.
Pete looked at him softly, "We're not gonna get anywhere if you don't open up."
Mikey sighed. "I really don't wanna talk about it." He said sadly.
"Okay, we don't have to. Today, at least. But you should know I'll have to ask you about it eventually." Pete said gently "Just-please, don't do it again. Promise me?" Mikey nodded.
"Okay." But he wasn't so sure that was a promise he could keep.
After the session, Mikey went home and laid down in his bed, wanting to desperately to talk to Gerard about what had happened. His mom kept calling him down to eat, and wanting him to tell her about the session. But he in no way wanted to talk about it, so he just stayed where he was, lying unmoving on his bed.
The next week passed by uneventfully. At least the assholes had made a mental note not to fuck with Mikey or Frank too much, because they left them mostly alone. Mikey had tried, really tried not to hurt himself, but failed several times. Each time, feeling just as guilty with himself. Every time he did it, he just kept picturing the way Pete had looked at him. Like he genuinely cared about Mikey's well-being. That was odd, to say the least. Pete seemed like a nice-enough guy, but why the fuck did he care about whether or not Mikey's wrists were clean?
Then it was time for another session with Pete. Pete wasn't all that bad, Mikey guessed. But he really didn't want to go back.
"So..." Mikey trailed off when he sat down, not knowing what to say.
"How have you been?" Pete said.
"Fine." said Mikey. Pete looked at him in disbelief.
"Okay." Pete kept looking.
"Okay-ish?" Pete seemed sort-of satisfied with his answer.
"Did you keep your promise?" Shit.
"Yes." Mikey lied.
"Would you get pissed at me if i asked you to show me your wrists?"
"Maybe." Fuck, he knows. He fucking knows. Good fucking going Mikey.
Pete sighed, nodding. "I see." Mikey felt guilty. "I tried! I tried really hard! But... I-I failed. I'm sorry."
Pete looked slightly worried, "No, no we all fail. It's okay, just. Please, please try not to. For my sake at least?"
"Why? Why do you fucking care how I end up? How will it fucking effect you? Why do you give a fuck?" Mikey said, suddenly angry, yet curious of what Pete's answer would be.
"Because you remind me of myself. I knew somebody I was really close with that died when I was about your age. I loved him-I was in love with him. Suicide. I was crushed. Turned to self-harm, just like you. Drugs, alcohol. I almost killed myself. But then I was reminded of how broken I was when he died. How broken my family and friends would be if I died too. I care because I don't want you ending up like I was. I don't want you to hurt yourself, and I don't want you in so much pain, you kill yourself to take it all away."
Mikey was stunned into silence. Once he could talk again, he asked, "What was his name?"
Pete didn't look phased when he said, "Patrick."
"My brother did the same. Suicide."
"How? If you don't mind me asking."
"Overdosed." Mikey said, looking down. He finally looked up and said, "How did Patrick die?"
"Same as your brother. He overdosed."
"You said you were in love with him?" Mikey asked curiously.
"Yes. You got a problem with that?" Pete looked at him, slightly amused when Mikey got flustered. "No-no n-not at a-all. I-I'm, u-um-"
"It's okay, didn't mean to make you nervous. But what were you trying to say? You're um, what?" Pete cut him off. "Fuck off." Mikey said, keeping his poker face with effort, "You know what I meant."
"Yeah, I know." Pete said laughing.
The rest of the session wasn't that bad. Pete making a shit-ton of meme references. Mikey made a mistake, Pete was awesome. Not bad looking, either. Wait-no. No! Absolutely not! Mikey told himself. You will fucking not be attracted to your fucking therapist. NO!
Mikey went home and absolutely did NOT jerk off in the shower to the thought of Pete's hands around his dick. He one hundred percent did NOT do that.
Okay, maybe he did, but he'll never tell.

Notes

Someone tell me how to tag on this goddamn website. I'm used to Ao3's format, I can't fucking do this. Also, this is not the first fanfiction I've written, but the first I've posted on here. Seriously, how do I tag on here?