Fic: Somewhere In Neverland - Part One

[chimneythunder]

“All children, except one, grow up.”
- J.M Barrie, Peter Pan


Everything that happened all seemed to stem from one simple thing.

Gerard was trying to watch TV. That was it. He wasn’t particularly bothered about what he was watching, but he was trying to watch it while Dale and his Mom chatted and Pete... Pete was being Pete.

When he thought back on things, he wondered if he hadn’t - maybe if he’d been reading instead or if he’d not been so fucking pig-headed in his determination to watch something he didn’t particularly care for... if he hadn’t been trying to watch TV, everything that happened afterwards wouldn’t have. His Mom wouldn’t have got fed up with him and sent him out the house, Pete wouldn’t have run off and Frank wouldn’t have...

Either way, it was no use in pondering on such things. What happened, happened.

However, before that simple catalytic event took place, there were several things that happened before it. It all actually started the day before, where Gerard Way was sitting at the kitchen table in his parents kitchen and marvelling at just how spectacularly his life was going at the moment. After all, he was pretty certain that there weren’t many other 28 year olds who were broke, unemployed and currently living back in their parent’s basement after a particularly hellish few months.

Yes, Gerard was certain; when his life flashed before his eyes, this was going to stand out as a particular high point.

He sighed and read the jobs listings page in the newspaper for the third time that day. There was nothing that really caught his eye. Mostly it was menial jobs like waitressing or labouring, which would have been fine except at this point in his life, Gerard really felt like he should have been making moves towards an actual career as opposed to a job that would give him some extra cash for a bit. Then again, maybe because he was actually at this point in his life, he shouldn’t be turning down any kind of work.

He sighed again and circled a particularly promising-looking advert just as his Mom came into the kitchen.

“Seen anything?” she asked.

Gerard shrugged. “A few things. I’ll start emailing out later.”

His Mom nodded. “You can take your time, Gerard.” She patted his head fondly, like she used to do when he was a kid. “No one’s trying to push you.”

“I need to do something,” he explained. “Even if it’s not a career. I just... I need to do something. I need to keep myself busy.”

Again, his Mom nodded understandingly. “You could always take up babysitting,” she suggested.

Gerard stared at her in confusion. “But I don’t even like kids – oh.”

The penny dropped.

“Dale’s coming over, isn’t she?”

“Well, she was worried about you after... you know. What happened.”

“You told her?”

Donna’s sheepish smile said it all.

“Not all of it,” she lied. “It came up when she last called, she asked how you were and what you were doing and I mentioned you’d gone through a bit of a rough patch lately –”

“Is... is she bringing Pete?” Gerard asked, trying to ignore the anger threatening to flare up inside of him.

“Of course! He’s her son!”

Without another word, Gerard stood up and went outside into the garden, letting the kitchen door slam behind him in a satisfying way. He fumbled around in his pockets for a cigarette and Lucky Lighter (so-called not due to any particular significant luck-bringing but more due to the fact that it was one he’d managed to not lose for many years), before finding a cigarette and lighting it up.

Dale Wentz was one of his Mom’s closest friends. They’d known each other since before Gerard was born; both Gerard and Mikey had grown up calling her ‘Auntie Dale.’ Personally, Gerard had nothing against her, but as for her son...

He blew a refreshing mouthful of smoke up into the air.

Pete Wentz. The devil incarnate. He was like what would have happened if Damian, Chucky and the Children of the Corn had an unholy union and formed in one vessel.

In the first few years of his life, Pete had merely just been annoying. As a baby, he’d scream like a banshee whenever Gerard entered the room, immediately quietening down the moment Gerard left (all the time whilst giggling and curling up next to Mikey). As a toddler, he’d pooped in Gerard’s bed one Christmas and Gerard had been too drunk to notice until the next morning. The last time Gerard had seen him, after Gerard had explained just why his copy of Doom Patrol was so important and valuable (a mint, first printing, signed by none other than Grant Morrison himself) and that Pete must never touch it under any circumstances, he’d been distracted by the phone ringing. When he got back, he found the plastic wrapping in shreds on the floor and the precious comic reduced to a mangled mess of confetti and saliva.

It later transpired that Pete had tried to eat it.

That was two years ago. By Gerard’s math, he’d be eight now with two years of plotting and scheming behind him.

He scowled, humming Tubular Bells.

“He’s just a child, Gerard,” Donna said, quietly closing the back door behind her. She rubbed Gerard’s shoulder encouragingly. “Come on Gerard, I know you’ve never really got on with Pete but he’s practically family... And Dale has been really worried about you.”

“How long are they staying for?”

“Just for the weekend. And no sulking in your room the whole time either!!”

Gerard blew a lungful of smoke out into the air and scowled.


~*~*~


“Gerard!!”

Gerard barely had time to register the woman in the main hallway before he was being yanked down into a vice hug, smothered against a giant cleavage that smelt of cigarette smoke and flowery perfume.

“Hi Dale,” Gerard managed to squwark out, his spine bent uncomfortably and his arms sticking out at odd angles.

Dale Wentz let him go but immediately seized his face roughly in her warm hands, holding him in place to inspect him.

“You’re looking awfully thin, Gerard,” she announced. “Too thin. Donna, I hope you’ve been feeding him up!”

“Of course I am,” his Mom laughed, descending the stairs behind Gerard. He was immediately flattened against the wall as Dale pushed past him to embrace her friend with air kisses as they broke into animated conversation.

For a few seconds, Gerard remained in place, frozen against the wall and debating about whether or not it would be possible for him to try and melt into the shadows and sneak away down to the basement –

“Ouch!”

Something kicked him in the ankle.

He looked down and saw a mass of shiny black hair. One eye blinked up at him, the other hidden by a long fringe.

“Hello Pete.”

Gerard mentally awarded himself bonus points for not saying “not you” or “fuck off.”

Pete grinned up at him, scrunching up his nose as he did. It was not the smile of an angel. Gerard tried to ignore the feeling of foreboding settling in his chest.


~*~*~


Pete had demanded they played in the garden, and Mom and Dale, who wanted some peace and quiet while they chatted, had sent Gerard out to keep him company. Gerard wished he’d been smart like Mikey and pretended he wasn’t in the minute they arrived. Unlike Gerard though, Mikey actually had a social life so him vanishing from the house was much more plausible.

“Come on, it’s freezing out here!!” Gerard hissed, stuffing his hands deep in his pockets as he searched for a cigarette. “Can’t we just go in and watch TV or something?”

“No!!” Pete said. “I have soccer try-outs next week and I need to practice! You can be in goal.”

Gerard made a fucking useless goalie. He would have been better as one of the posts.

“Gee-rraard!!” Pete whinged. “You’re not even trying!! You’re just standing there and smoking!! Did you know smoking is bad for you?”

“I had no idea,” Gerard said, taking a long drag, feeling the warmth contrast against the cold wind.

“Yes!” Pete continued, oblivious to sarcasm. “Miss Lopez says that smoking makes your face shrivel up and you get cancer and then die.”

“Really?” Gerard said, flicking the ash. “How terrible.”

“It also makes you smell really bad,” Pete added, wrinkling his nose. “Is that why your boyfriend left you?”

Gerard’s cigarette fell to the cold ground.

“Who – how did you –”

“I heard Mom talking about it on the phone to her friend Sarah,” Pete said triumphantly. “She said Auntie Donna had told her that your boyfriend Bert had cheated on you and you’d oh-ver-dosed and you were now back living at Auntie Donna’s because everyone thinks you’ll re-lah-psse.

The way he was pronouncing certain words was clearly an affectation meant to be endearing to the right company – Oh, look, how cute! He’s using grown up words! – and deliberately annoying as shit to others. Before Gerard could throttle the brat though, he’d carried on with an obnoxious grin.

“Jack at school says only drug addicts re-lap-se and his dad is a doctor so he sees that kind of person all the time. I asked Miss Lopez about it and she said you were clearly a very dis-turbed individual and I shouldn’t speak to you.”

Pete had taken advantage of Gerard’s shocked silence to kick the football at his head. On instinct, Gerard’s hands flew up to his face, deflecting the ball and sending it flying through the air; it got wedged in the branches of the giant tree at the bottom of the garden.

“Gee-rrarrrd! Why did you do that?!? Get it back, I can’t reach that!!”

Gerard was already storming off inside, slamming the kitchen door behind him. His Mom and Dale looked up at him worriedly.

“Gerard?” his Mom asked. “Is everything OK?”

Gerard ignored her and stomped upstairs to Mikey’s room. He didn’t even bother knocking, instead kicking the door open dramatically and collapsing facedown on the bed next to Mikey. Mikey didn’t even look up from his phone.

“My life,” Gerard announced, his voice muffled by the pillows, “fucking sucks.”

“Still?” Mikey asked.

Gerard nodded, letting out a groan. “Pete Wentz was mocking me.”

“Gerard, you’re my brother and I love you, but if you can’t hold your own against an eight year old then there’s not much hope for you.”

Despite everything, Gerard snorted. He rolled onto his side, looking up at his brother.

“Apparently the entire of Belleville’s social circle knows the ins and outs of my problems,” he said.

“Ah,” Mikey said with an understanding nod. “Mom told Dale, who told Sarah who probably told –”

“Yeah,” Gerard cut him off. “Fuck. They probably even included Mrs Toro on things for good measure too.”

“Really?” Mikey pulled a face. “You think you’re that important that they’d even include her on things?”

“Why not?” Gerard asked, holding his hands out as if framing an imaginary headline. “Donna Way’s faggot son, fucked-up and back home, and talk of the town again!”

Mikey frowned. “When were you the talk of the town before?”

“You know what I mean,” Gerard shot him a withering look. He’d always attracted weird looks and suspicious whispers even as a teenager, although that might have been more to do with his penchant for dressing all in black, wearing make-up and glaring at everyone.

When he explained all this to Mikey, Mikey just rolled his eyes and said “But you still do that.”

Gerard responded in the most dignified, mature way he could muster and flipped his brother off. With a yet another sigh, he rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. The room had barely changed over the years with the same faded music posters tacked to the walls and the same worn sheets on the bed. Unlike Gerard, Mikey had yet to move out; he was four years younger than Gerard and had gone through college whilst living at home but then chose to remain at home at considerably-reduced rent while he tried to save up some money for his own flat. Mikey worked as a promoter, trying to break it into the music scene and unfortunately for him, while he was doing something he loved, unless he made it big, he was never going to be very well paid for it.

Or at all, as the current situation was.

Mikey put his phone down to the side and patted Gerard’s shoulder. Gerard closed his eyes, wishing he could stay in this moment. Forget the world outside this room, forget the shit of his life, forget everything about pills, medication and sobriety... if he could live in this quiet space of time, with just his breathing, the soft duvet beneath him, the dust mites lazily floating through the air, his brother’s warm body beside him...

A knock on the door ended the moment.

“Mikey? Gerard? You in here?” Mom poked her head around the door with a small smile. “Pete says he’s really sorry.”

Gerard and Mikey both snorted.

“I’ll bet he is,” Gerard muttered.

Wisely, Mom had decided that what everyone needed was a “nice trip out to the mall.” She also decided that Gerard was not included in the word “everybody.”

“It’d be nice to get Pete’s ball back,” she said in an undertone before they left. “You know, to show him there’s no hard feelings.”

As far as Gerard was concerned, there were nothing but hard feelings between him and Pete. He knew it was wrong and petty to let the kid rile him up the way he did but Gerard couldn’t help it. He didn’t have much experience with kids and tended to treat them as he did everyone else; if they attacked, he’d fight back and fuck taking the higher, mature ground! He’d never believed in censoring the truth or himself, and figured that most kids were smart enough to tell if they were being patronised or lied to.

It was this belief that was precisely why Gerard knew he should never be allowed to interact with children.

Still, to spare on his Mom’s nagging more than anything, he waited until they were long gone and then ventured back outside. Mikey even joined him, not to help but to watch because “at some point, you’re going to either get yourself stuck or fall.”

Climbing trees had never been Gerard’s forte. He was an artist with soft hands, virtually no upper-body strength and malcoordinated when it came to balance. From the ground, the ball seemed all the more higher up.

“OK,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s do this.”

Mikey took a sip of the coffee he’d brought outside and said nothing.

By the time Gerard had reached the branch, he was hot and sweating profusely under his hoodie, his hands were sore and scraped from the rough tree bark, his arms were killing him, and he was pretty sure he’d torn his jeans in more than one place. Swearing furiously under his breath, he shook his sweaty hair out of his eyes and looked up. The ball was only a few feet above him, if he could steady his feet, he might be able to reach it...

He wedged his foot on a nearby branch, gingerly testing his weight. It shook slightly but seemed to be OK so he put his other foot on it and tried not to look down. Clinging onto the tree trunk with one arm wrapped firmly around it, he reached up with his free hand and tried to swat the ball free. His fingertips brushed uselessly against the plastic.

“Come on, you fucker!” he snarled, stretching onto his tiptoes. The branch wobbled dangerously beneath him.

“You know Dad keeps a ladder in the garage?” Mikey called out unhelpfully.

Gerard chose to ignore him and made another desperate swipe at the ball. He managed to dislodge it this time and let out a triumphant cry as it flew back down earth, landing on the grass a few feet away from Mikey.

“Suck it!” Gerard yelled, flipping off his brother. Mikey just took another mouthful of coffee and stared back, unimpressed. “OK... Now, how do I get down?”

“This’ll be good,” Mikey said, folding his arms. “Should I call the ambulance now in advance?”

Gerard flipped him off again and twisted so he was facing the trunk. If he could crouch down on the branch, using the trunk to support himself, he should be able to slide down on the branch below and keep doing that to get back down...

“What the -?”

The words “FRANK WAZ HERE” were carved into the tree trunk.

“Come on Gee, you’re not that high up!!” Mikey yelled.

Gerard was halfway through saying “Mikey, have you seen this?” when he took a step backwards to steady himself, completely forgetting that he was already only standing on eight inches of wood. He let out a shocked yell as he went flying down through the air, and crashed painfully into something soft but spiky and then everything was suddenly... green?

“I told you this would end badly! Gerard! Are you OK?!”

Gerard was stuck in the bush at very odd angle. He could feel his feet stuck above his head and could smell mud. He did a quick mental check of all appendages; toes, feet, ankles, fingers, hands, wrists, neck... nothing seemed broken.

“I’m OK!” Gerard called out, although his voice sounded shaky. His hair had fallen over his face and he had to twist himself around before he could get a hand free from the foliage to push his hair out the way.

“Are you stuck?”

“No...”

“I can only see one of your feet.”

“Hang on – ouch!!”

Gerard tried to shift his weight and ended up freeing himself completely from the bush... and landing in the mud. Slowly, wiping his nose, he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees.

He gasped.

“Oh my God... Mikey, it’s my old hideout!!”

“Your old what?!”

“My old hideout!! I used to hide in here when you were annoying me!”

“Charming...”

“No, seriously! There should be like a gap underneath the bush by the tree...”

Childhood memories came flooding back in a rush as he looked around the hole. He’d discovered this hideout when he was a kid through a gap in the bushes at the bottom of the garden that lead to this tiny, sheltered clearing. Gerard pushed himself into a sitting position, drawing his knees up to his chest as he looked around. It was a lot smaller than he remembered but a lot of it was exactly as he’d left it. There was some heavy-duty plastic sheeting on the ground that he’d painstakingly dragged in and laid out as a carpet, along with some wonky wooden shelves attached to the tree truck that only held two very mangled paint brushes. Gerard remembered that he’d installed the shelves himself after stealing the nails and hammer from his dad’s toolkit. Looking around, he could see there were some old tiny paint pots scattered around in the undergrowth, the contents long dried up into flakes of colour.

“Gerard? There’s no gap,” Mikey called out. “It’s probably grown over now or something.”

“Ah.”

“Look, stay there. I’m gonna see if Dad’s got some hedge cutters or something in the garage to get you out.”

Gerard was about to point out that he’d probably get out just by standing up but he could already hear Mikey’s retreating footsteps. Peering through a gap in the leaves, he saw his younger brother’s retreating back as he headed back into the house.

Gerard sat back and looked at his old hideout again. The smell of damp musty earth and leaves sparked off a million memories, including a sudden feeling of security. He always used to feel so safe when he played in here, like no one could find him, like it was just him and...

He blinked.

Frank.

He looked up at the sky, up the tree trunk, up at the branch where the words “FRANK WAZ HERE” had been carved.

“What the - ?” he said, not for the first time.

Frank was...

He could suddenly see the ghost of a memory sitting opposite him as clear as day. Messy black hair that fell over one eye. An impish grin. A loud crowing noise of triumph. Clothes made of autumn leaves.

Gerard blinked and shook his head. That couldn’t be right.

“Who are you?”

“I’ve got lots of names... you’ve probably heard of me. My name’s Peter Pan, but you can call me Frank...”

They must have been playing Peter Pan or something, Gerard figured. Fucking Peter Pan. Of course. He wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d played Wendy; he could totally picture himself aged 5 running around in one of his Mom’s lacy slips and pretending to be a girl.

“Tell me about the pirates, Frank...”

“The pirates are what all grown ups in Neverland become. They’re grumpy and bad tempered all the time! But they’re no match for me and the Lost Boys – we always let them think they’re winning and then we give ‘em the slip!!”

Gerard snorted. Neverland and pirates. He was such a weird kid.

“Tell me more about Captain Hook, Frank. He’s your enemy, isn’t he?”

“Yu-huh. He hates me because I once cut off his hand and fed it to the crocodile!”

“Wow!! That’s so cool!!”

“Yeah, and now that croc won’t leave him alone! He’s always after the taste of ol’ Hooky!!”

Gerard laughed at himself, hugging his knees to his chest. It was quite comfortingly small in his hideout in a way that was more cosy than claustrophobic.

He looked at the tree trunk again, following it down to the rocks piled up against the base, and then frowned. He could have sworn there was something significant about those rocks... like they were hiding something...

The rocks were a lot lighter than he remembered them being when he was a kid and he shifted them to the side with no problem, revealing a gap between the tree and the ground.

He bit his lip. There might be rats or something down there now, something that could bite. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone (amazingly, it had survived the fall) and used it to shine light inside the hole, expecting to see a pair of eyes gleaming back out at him. As it was, there were no signs of life in the hole but then – there! Pushed right to the back was something wrapped in an old plastic bag.

Buried treasure? Gerard put his phone down and reached in the hole, although he was unable to shake the paranoia that there was still something lurking in the darkness. His fingers closed around the edge of the bag and he pulled it out with relative ease. Whatever it was, it was incredibly light.

“Gee?” Mikey’s voice broke through the silence. “I couldn’t find the hedge trimmer – can you push your way out?”

“Probably,” Gerard replied, looking around for the old exit. The bushes had grown over them slightly and it would be a bit of a squeeze but the opening was still there.

He quickly shoved the bag under his hoodie. He couldn’t be bothered to deal with any questions at this moment in time and, somewhere, childishly, a voice in his head was saying that this was his treasure. He found it. He shouldn’t have to share it.

By the time Gerard managed to battle his way through the foliage, he found himself crawling out at Mikey’s feet. Mikey peered down at him suspiciously.

“OK, I know you’re not the biggest fan of showers and all but you really need one right now,” he said. “You look like you’re auditioning for the remake of The Swamp Thing.”

Gerard sniffed and pushed some of his hair out his face, inadvertently smudging more mud over his cheek. He climbed to his feet, making sure to keep the mysterious treasure under his hoodie held close to his stomach. There was dirt fucking everywhere over him, caked under his nails and embedded into his clothes. He was lucky Mom was out. She’d never even let him in the house like this.


~*~*~


One hot, hour-long shower later (Gerard had decided to make a day of it and wash his hair while he was at it. It took several rinses before the water stopped running out with mud and bits of leaves in it) and Gerard was sitting crossed-legged on his bed with the buried treasure in front of him, still wrapped securely in its plastic bag. With only a moment’s hesitation, he reached forward and opened it.

It was an old tin, like the kind biscuits came in. Though the metal was rusted and tarnished with age and mud, he could still make out the red design imprinted over it. Gerard brushed some flecks of dirt off the lid and tugged it stiffly off.

“Huh?!”

Gerard wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting exactly. He knew he was the only who could have put that box in there so he’d assumed the contents would be something he recognised at the very least, like an old, long-forgotten toy with sentimental value or maybe even a trinket of actual value. Therefore, he couldn’t hold back the sound of surprise and – yes, disappointment – when he saw the contents.

It was a set of panpipes.

Fucking panpipes, what the fuck?!

He picked them up out the box and stared at them in disgust. He’d been hoping for lovely childhood memories. Instead, he got more unwanted recollections of mocking and laughter from that disastrous school play.

Scowling, Gerard was about to throw the pipes across the room, when he spotted the yellowed scrap of paper at the bottom of the box.

“I bet this is a note from younger me to older me saying ‘Dear Gerard. Whatever you do, DO NOT tell people you believe in fairies’,” he muttered, taking it out and unfolding it.

It wasn’t even that. Instead, written in scrappy handwriting were a bunch of numbers and letters with random dots and lines.

He squinted, staring at the writing.

“Fuck, my handwriting was bad back then.”

The handwriting was so bad that he almost didn’t even recognise the writing. He couldn’t make any sense of it anyway. It was just a mishmash of numbers and capital letters. If he stared at the lines and dots, he felt like there was a code hidden in there, like he’d tried to leave a message...

“I was a fucked-up kid,” he said out loud, giving up and tossing the pipes and paper back into the box.

He looked down at the skeleton onesie he’d changed into after his shower.

“... and became a fucked-up adult.”

It wasn’t even that late but... he’d had enough of the day. He’d had enough of being conscious for one day. When he got those urges, he used to just drink the feelings away but now he had to deal through them like a normal person. Even one year on and he still wasn’t sure if he’d ever get used to that.

He’d been prescribed sleeping pills along with anti-depressants shortly after... it... happened as there was a chance the new pills might initially fuck up his sleeping patterns. He’d since gotten over the worst of the restlessness of the new meds and didn’t need to take the sleeping pills anymore but he was craving that instantaneous blissful release of sleep which he knew he wouldn’t get for several hours. With a shrug, he downed two pills with a mouthful of water, flicked off the light and crawled into bed, waiting for the sedative to kick in.

He still wasn’t used to not having another person in the bed at night. The bed felt too big and cold without someone to cuddle up next to.

He glanced at the clock by the side of the bed. The sleeping pills normally only took half an hour or so to kick in. He considered doing some drawing but he couldn’t be bothered. Instead, he picked up one of his Batman comics that was lying nearby on the floor and idly flipped through it, waiting for the familiar signs it was working; for the world to get a little bit fuzzy around the edges, for his head to feel light, for his eyes to get heavy, for all thoughts and worries to gently fade to black.

He hated himself for still missing Bert.



~*~*~


Gerard was woken up from his dreamless sleep at some God-unearthly hour to some God-unearthly noise that turned out to be Pete turning on the TV with the volume full-blast.

“Wake up!!” Pete yelled cheerfully. Gerard swore and pulled the blanket over his head, trying to block out the irritating irritation. “Me, you, Mom and Auntie Donna are going shopping!!”

Gerard had to throw a pillow at the brat to stop him riffling through Gerard’s drawers as getting up and stopping him would have required far too much actual effort. All effects of the sleeping pill would have worn off by now but it always took a little bit longer for his brain to kick in properly the morning after taking one and after that, a few hours for the horrible taste they left in his mouth to dissipate.

He was all ready to ignore the child and go back to sleep when Donna Way herself came marching down the stairs into the basement, saying that he’d been asleep for far too long and it time he got up anyway.

“Mom, I feel sick,” Gerard said in a feeble voice. It was true; he had a headache and the morning light was hurting his eyes. Perhaps he was going blind. Or maybe he had meningitis. “I think I have a temperature.”

“Well then you can stay in and babysit Pete while Dale and I go out,” his Mom replied. She was being entirely unsympathetic to how her son was probably dying from the shock of being woken up so abruptly.

Gerard groaned and forced himself to sit up.

“I’m up, I’m up,” he said, rubbing his eyes.

“Good,” Donna said. Even in his pre-caffeinated state, he couldn’t miss the smugness in her voice. “There’s fresh coffee upstairs. Better get up before Mikey drinks it all.”

While the Wentz’s got dressed, Gerard enjoyed the companionable quiet in the kitchen between him and his Mom. As he took another refreshing mouthful of caffeine, he suddenly remembered the carving on the tree.

“Mom?" He cleared his throat. "Did I... uh... did I ever have any friends when I was younger? Like, friends who came over to play before I started school?”

Mom took a sip of a coffee thoughtfully.

“Of course you did,” she said fondly. “You were such an imaginative child.”

His heart sank. Imaginary friends.

“That wasn’t quite what I meant-”

His Mom laughed, clearly not listening. “If my memory serves, you were always playing with Peter Pan. Funny how things turn out, with you taking the role in the school play and all!”

Gerard smiled weakly.

“You would play for hours with him,” she continued. “You and him in the garden in that little den you made, do you remember?”

“Not really, no. No Mom, did I have any other friends? Friends with real names? Or anyone who lived down the road?”

“I don’t think so,” Mom said. “I didn’t really let you play in the street by yourself after what happened to the Toro boy. Anyway, you didn’t really start making friends until you were at school, and even that took a while. You were such a funny little boy, always keeping yourself to yourself and you preferred to play by yourself because the other kids got scared too easily by the games you played. Do you remember the vampire game you played with poor William Beckett? Apparently he had nightmares for a month and his mom never spoke to me again!”

“It’s not my fault he was such a wimp!! Besides, vampires won’t hurt you unless you do something stupid!” Gerard protested.

“You said the same thing back then,” Mom said with a fond smile. When he was a kid, he’d always felt a bit sorry for some of the other kids at having such boring parents. His Mom had always been so supportive of the fact that he’d been a weird kid; heck, she’d fucking encouraged it as he was growing up.

“So, no other friends?” he asked.

“You used to play with some of Mikey’s friends... but even then, you –”

“Generally kept myself to myself, yeah, I get it.”

“What’s brought this on anyway?”

“Nothing... I just... I found a name carved into the tree out the back when I was getting the ball down yesterday and I was trying to work out who it was.” Gerard shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, I guess. I was just curious. I’m going for a smoke.”

He was halfway to the backdoor when his Mom suddenly gasped.

“Oh, I just remembered!”

“What?” Gerard turned around.

“Frank!”

“Frank?! You know Frank?” Gerard’s stomach gave an excited leap.

“Yes!” To his surprise, Mom burst out laughing.

“What? What happened to him?”

“Nothing honey, no, nothing like that!” She was still laughing. “Frank was Peter Pan. You said he changed his name when he felt like it and didn’t like being called Peter anymore.”

The disappointment was so heavy that Gerard’s shoulders slumped with it.

“Oh. So Frank... wasn’t real?”

“Of course not! You were very fond of him... but you grew up. I think you had a fight with him one day and that was the end of that.”

“Right.”

Gerard let the door crash shut behind him. Stupid fucking childhood. Stupid fucking vivid imagination. And that was exactly like him to break up with his imaginary friends by argument!!

Though for someone who was only a figment of his imagination...

Gerard stared up into the tops of the tree at the bottom of the garden. He wondered how he’d managed to climb the thing when he was smaller and in considerably worse shape physically then now.


~*~*~


Feeling petulant, Gerard had dressed in several layers of black and even put on some black eyeliner for good measure. He’d wanted to pull his hair over his eye but sadly it was still too clean and shiny from being washed the previous night to obey.

Great. Even his hair was determined to annoy him. With a theatrical sigh, he rolled his eyes and wandered barefoot back upstairs. He nearly sent Dale flying as he pulled open the basement door.

“Fuck, sorry!” he said.

“I was coming to get you,” she said, giving him a friendly look, and oh fuck, Gerard felt his stomach sink. “I wanted to have a quick chat with you, just me and you.”

Fuck. As much as he liked Dale, she had a habit of saying the exact worst thing at the exact worst time with the best of intentions.

“I was wondering how you were doing, Gerard?” she said. She sounded so concerned that Gerard didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth. He forced a smile onto his face that he knew looked far too pained.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Doing great, actually!”

“Yeah?” She smiled encouragingly. “And how are things going on the job-hunt?”

“Yeah, I’m looking but... you know. I was just trying to get settled back in a bit more back here before I started looking for something serious, you know?”

“You’re a talented man, I’m sure you could go into different things. You were always loved performing when you were a little boy, you could do something there! You and Mikey said you were going to form a band, do you remember? What happened to that?”

“It... kinda fell through,” Gerard said. It was nothing to do with how he’d spent more time drunk than practicing at all, nope.

“And you were in all the school plays too,” she continued with a cheering smile. “Do you remember when you took the lead in Peter Pan? Your grandmother was so proud of you!”

There was the typical sting of childhood trauma curling in his stomach. As much as he loved his grandmother, she really should have known better than to encourage a 9 year old boy to audition for the lead role. He’d seen her face in the audience on opening night, beaming proudly and he’d felt his chest swell with emotion as he poured his heart into the performance, leaping and bounding around the stage as he sung about how he never ever ever ever wanted to grow up...

“Yeah,” he said blankly. “Yeah, she was.”

He could still remember the laughter that greeted him as he walked into his classroom the morning after opening night. To his classmates, there was nothing funnier than the image of a fat kid dancing in green tights.

“Do you believe in fairies, Gerard??” one of the boys had said.

Stupidly, Gerard had answered honestly.

He spent lunchtime hiding behind the sheds, crying and clapping his hands desperately.

“You know, there’s a few theatre groups around the area,” Dale was saying. “Or you could go to some of the late-night art classes at the college! You should go sign up, it might do you some good to get out and make some new friends.”

“Maybe,” Gerard said.

“You might meet someone new,” she added hopefully. “To help you get over that good-for-nothing –”

“Yeah, maybe. I mean... I’m not really looking for a relationship right now.”

He didn’t want someone new. He just wanted to be left alone and for everyone to stop with their titbits of well-meaning advice.

Finally – fucking finally - Dale seemed to get the hint that the matter was not up for discussion.

“Well, I’m glad we had this chat,” she said, looking anything but. She reached out and awkwardly patted his arm. “And – and you know you’re always welcome around ours if you ever need a place to stay.”

“Thanks.”

“Anytime. I mean it,” she said.

He knew she did. He just wished she didn’t bother. With a scowl, he slumped off into the living room and collapsed on the sofa, picking up the remote and idly flicking through the channels.

And thus, the narrative brings itself around to our opening point; Gerard Way was trying to watch TV. Pete, bored, was trying to distract him and in a moment of irritation, Gerard had snapped “Leave me alone, or I’ll send you round Mrs Toro’s!!”

The threat had the desired effect; Pete’s entire face drained entirely of colour and he ran screaming from the room.

Afterwards, as Pete sobbed into his mom’s arms, Gerard’s own shot him a filthy look.

“That was a low blow, Gerard,” she said. Gerard tried his best to look apologetic (and failed).

“Oh come on,” Gerard said, rolling his eyes. “It was just a joke! Everyone knows Mrs Toro’s harmless enough these days.”

Pete let out a loud wail. “The kids at school say she eats children!”

“That’s not true,” Dale said comfortingly.

“Yeah, she only ever killed one kid,” Gerard said. “And that was her son.”

It took about twenty minutes before Pete’s crying went down from ‘hysterical’ to ‘mild panic.’ Dale eventually had to take her son outside to get some air because he’d cried so much, he’d made himself dizzy.

“Do you have to be so... you?!” his Mom asked, sounding exasperated once Pete was safely out of earshot. “Dale’s trying her hardest to be supportive –”

Gerard had had enough.

“I don’t want supportive, Mom!! I just want everyone to fuck right off and stop fucking asking me how I’m doing! I feel like enough of a freak-show as it is, I don’t need people pointing out how badly I fucked up!”

His Mom tried to say something but Gerard was on a roll.

“I’m a fucking adult! I can legally buy alcohol, go into clubs and fuck knows the last time I was even fucking I.D.ed! I had a flat and a boyfriend for seven-years and now I’m fucking back in Belleville, and it feels like I’m just fucking waiting to die here.”

He stopped himself, finally and - oh God. He’d just said the worst thing he could have ever said, and to his Mom...

He couldn’t look at her. The silence weighed heavily in the room, suffocating and -

“I’m sorry,” he tried to say but the words seemed to get stuck in his throat.

“Crying shame, what happened to that poor boy,” Mom said softly. “The Toro boy, I mean. Do you remember when it happened? He was the same age as you.”

Gerard shook his head, still not looking at her.

“Probably not, you were only six at the time,” she agreed.

He just remembered his parents talking in hushed voices in the kitchen and how his Mom made him swear he’d never talk to Mrs Toro or ever go into her house, which was just across the street from theirs. He’d asked her why and she’d replied ‘because no matter how nice some people may seem to be, Gerard, you just can’t trust them, do you understand?’

His Mom never let him play unattended in the garden ever again after that either.

“Anyway,” she said, “I’m going to see how Pete’s doing –”

“Mom, I’m sorry,” Gerard said, finally looking at her.

She smiled at him. She looked so tired under all her make-up. Gerard couldn’t recall if she’d always looked like that.

“I know sweetie. You can’t help it. It’s the medication, not you.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. It was a fucking lie though and they both knew it. There were mood swings and then there was being an asshole. Still, if the lie worked...

To try and make up for his behaviour, when his Mom discovered they needed some groceries, Gerard immediately volunteered. He was already looking forward to getting out the house and -

“And Pete could go with you!” Dale said.

Gerard opened his mouth to protest but Pete beat him to it.

“Mooooom!!” he whinged. “I don’t wanna go!!”

“Enough of that, young man,” Dale said sharply. “You don’t see Gerard whinging.”

Of course not. Gerard more specialised in sulking. Still, he was trying to be nice so he swallowed down any retort and said he’d be happy for the company, and when he and Pete were at the grocery shop, he even asked the child if he wanted any sweets or a fizzy drink.

Pete stared at him suspiciously.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Gerard said. “I’m just trying to be nice.”

“But you’re not nice,” Pete said, like it was obvious.

“I can try, can’t I?” Gerard said through gritted teeth.

Pete just shrugged and pulled a set of panpipes out his pocket.

“Where did you get those?!” Gerard asked incredulously.

“From your bedroom,” Pete said casually, blowing across the panpipes. They made a horrible, loud screeching noise that sent cold shivers running down Gerard’s spine.

“That’s not how you play them!” Gerard said, snatching them out of Pete’s hands. He lifted them to his lips.

“Yeah, so these? These are my panpipes. They can be heard all over Neverland. If you play my song on them, I’ll hear it and come straight to you!”

He blinked and lowered the pipes. What the fuck?

“You can’t play them!” Pete pointed his finger, accusingly. “My name’s Gerard Way and I can’t even play my own instruments!”

“Oh, leave off!” Gerard said, feeling his temper rising again. He shoved the panpipes in his hoodie pocket and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths in through his nose.

“You’re wearing make-up.”

“Yes, I am. Well observed.” Gerard opened his eyes to see the accusatory look on Pete’s face.

“My dad says men shouldn’t wear make-up, and that only fags wear make-up.”

“Call me a fag then.” Gerard fluttered his eyelashes. “Your dad’s a narrow-minded prick.”

“He is not!” Pete protested but Gerard just rolled his eyes.

“Listen kid, don’t get into an argument with someone if you’re not going to like it when they retaliate. Your dad’s an asshole and you’re not the only reason why they split up.”

Hurt flashed over Pete’s face. He opened his mouth to say something but then closed it. Gerard ignored him, trying to ignore the feeling of guilt squirming in his stomach. He shouldn’t have said that. That was below the belt, especially to a child.

“I didn’t mean that,” he said quickly. “I’m sorry, that was wrong of me.”

Pete picked up a nearby bag of crisps, tore it open and then put it back on the shelf, the whole time glaring at Gerard.

“Pete, don’t do that!”

“Why not?” he asked, reaching for another bag.

Gerard snatched the bag out his hands just in time. “Because it’s not very nice!”

“It’s not very nice!” Pete mimicked.

“Come on Pete,” Gerard said, still trying to make amends. “Be a pal?”

“Come on Pete, be a pal!!” Pete shot back in what was clearly meant to be a high-pitched imitation of Gerard.

“Why are you repeating me?”

“Why are you repeating me?“

“Stop that!” Gerard hissed, feeling his patience wear thin.

“Stop that!!”

“Pete, I’m warning you –”

“Pete, I’m warning you!” Pete put his hands on his hips and glared at Gerard. “My name’s Gerard Way. I’m a big, fat loser who smells and my boyfriend just dumped me so I spend all day crying about it!”

“I don’t smell, you little motherfucker!!” Gerard snapped. “And stop saying that you’re me!! It’s annoying!”

“No! Your name is Pete and my name is Gerard now, so nyah!” He stuck his tongue out.

“Seriously, stop it!”

“Make me!!” Pete yelled and before Gerard could stop him, the child had run away. Gerard sprinted after him, following him down the aisle he’d run down; Pete was already at the other end.

“Pete!! Get back here! Now!” Gerard shouted, his voice echoing around the shop.

“That’s not my name,” Pete said in a sing-song voice.

“Ahrg, you little – fine!! Gerard, would you please come back?” Gerard said.

“No!” Pete shouted and ran away again, disappearing behind the next isle.

“Ahrg!! Get back here!!” Gerard yelled, giving chase.


~*~*~


“Take care, lest an adventure is now offered you, which, if accepted, will plunge you in deepest woe.”
― J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan


After ten minutes, Gerard had circled through all the isles and gone around the entire shop without finding Pete.

He asked a spotty teenager stacking one of the shelves if she’d seen Pete and gave her his description. She hadn’t but radioed the main desk to see if anyone else had, and then lead Gerard to the main office while Pete’s name was called over the PA system. Security guards were sent over the shop to see if they could see him.

Twenty minutes later after one horrible phone call, his Mom and Dale came running to the main office, both women panic-stricken.

“Has he turned up yet?” Dale asked.

Gerard shook his head.

“What happened??” Mom asked.

“He just ran off!” Gerard said. “One second he was there and then – he was just gone!”

Security waited ten minutes, then called his name over the PA again.

They waited another ten minutes.

The shop manager called the cops.

CCTV was examined. Gerard had to repeat what had happened when it turned out that Pete had literally run into a blind-spot on the CCTV and then just disappeared. He hadn’t left the shop and he hadn’t been grabbed. He had literally just vanished.

There were more questions.

“Are you sure you didn’t see any suspicious characters, Mr Way?” “Did you say or do anything to Pete that could have led to him running away?” “Do you know anyone who could have motive to kidnap Pete?”

Gerard had never been more ashamed of himself. Yes, they’d fought. Yes, he’d said some horrible things.

Yes. He’d fucked up.


~*~*~

The car journey home was in silence. Gerard didn’t even know what he could possibly say to make up for this. When they pulled up outside the house, he wordlessly got out.

“I’m going to stay with Dale tonight,” Mom said. She didn’t get out the car.

He nodded.

“Mom, I –”

“It’s OK, Gerard,” Mom said. She smiled at him and placed her hand softly on his cheek. “No one blames you.”

He didn’t believe her.

When he let himself in the house, Mikey was already waiting for him in the hallway. Gerard shook his head, predicting the question. Later that evening, Gerard was curled up on the sofa next to his brother.

“I fucked up, Mikey,” Gerard said thickly. He wasn’t even sure if he was crying or not. “Worse than ever. If I hadn’t been such an asshole to him, if I hadn’t been so self-centred...”

Mikey squeezed Gerard in reassurance.

“It’s not your fault,” he said. “Gee, come on, it’s not like you didn’t even bother going after him. You did. And seriously, the shop’s at fault too. What kind of crap-ass CCTV system has blind spots?”

Meaningless words.

“I’m – I’m going to bed,” Gerard said abruptly, standing up.

“I’ve got your sleeping pills,” Mikey said, not taking his eyes off the TV.

Gerard froze in the doorway.

“Sorry Gee,” he added. “It’s just.... you know.”

“Yeah,” Gerard said. Because he did. He really fucking did.



Part Two