Work Text:
1.
The first time Gerard got caught, he had been binge drinking before their show, as was normal for him during the Revenge tour.
“Where the fuck is Gerard?” Brian was asking everyone. They needed him - he was supposed to do a signing after the show with the rest of the guys, but never showed up.
It was Ray who found him - curled up on his bunk, crying into his grimy sheets. The smell of alcohol rolled off of him in waves. Toro hustled him into the bathroom, and he only puked three times when they were in there, face washing and all. Ray got him changed and semi-washed before putting him to bed like a toddler, praying he wouldn't have to do it again if Gerard puked all over himself when he woke up, but knowing he'd gladly do it anyways. He loved Gerard - they all did.
Gerard was the light, the spark, everyone's creative inspiration. Not to mention their leader, and the frontman and vocalist of their band. MCR would be nothing but a ragtag group of overgrown teenagers without him.
Late that night, after everyone had gone to sleep, they hit him again: the thoughts that Gerard spent most of his time trying to sleep off or drink away. Here they were again, late at night, causing sleep to elude him, even in his still-drunk state. He shivered in his place in the fetal position, trying to will himself back to sleep before they got too bad. But all he could do was lay there and feel them escalate until he couldn't ignore them anymore. The worst thing was, he knew they were true.
When they told him he couldn't really make a difference in the world, he couldn't prove them wrong.
When they told him his band members didn't feel anything but obligatory camaraderie towards him, he had no evidence to fight with.
When they told him that him getting wasted every day was dragging them down as people, he knew they were right.
When they told him him his stage presence was all just deception to the fans, he thought of the beers he had to pound just to go out there.
When they told him he was nothing, nothing, sober, he knew they were right. He could barely function without alcohol, not to mention sing in front of hundreds of people who would hate their idol if they really knew him, like the people who did know him already did.
He couldn't handle it anymore when they told him again, like they did every day and night of his existence, that he was nothing but dead weight for Frank and Mikey and Ray and Matt to drag around. He wanted it to end. He didn't want to wake up hungover tomorrow and drink through it until the alcohol wasn't enough to keep these thoughts at bay and he had to listen to them all over again. He didn't want to wake up tomorrow.
He dragged himself up out of his bunk and into the bus’s bathroom. He wasn't crying anymore, and he wasn't sad. He was just numb, and ready for it to all be over. He was trying to gently slide Mikey’s Ativan down from the cabinet when the door swung around, crashing noisily into the wall. He froze, praying no one would come looking for the source of the sound. When he heard nothing, he resumed his careful extraction. That was, until he heard Ray whisper his name from the doorway. He turned around to face the taller man, clothes and hair awry, clearly just having woken up. His eyes were wide with a mixture of fear and anger. He approached Gerard with small, careful steps, like one might a spooked animal.
“Gerard, put the Ativan back where it belongs,” Ray instructed. His motherly-ness was kicking in at the worst time. Gerard put it back gingerly, planning to come back later, when Ray wouldn't be an obstacle. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
“No, you're not.”
“Yeah, I am. Stop askin’,” he slurred.
“Fine, Gerard. We both know you're not, but if you want me to leave you to die, excuse my concern for your safety,” Ray snapped.
Gerard just harrumphed in response and stumbled heavily back to his bunk. He sensed Ray peek in his curtain, checking on him, but remained steadily ignoring him. Eventually, he heard Ray go back to bed, and intended to go back and finish what he'd started, but found himself too tired to get up. He allowed himself to pass out, grateful for sleep but already dreading the day to come.
He woke up to light and noise, but he didn't move immediately. Instead, he turned his foggy brain in to the conversation going on in the kitchenette in the next room over.
“He tried to kill himself last night, guys,” Ray was saying. Gerard felt betrayed.
“This is my last straw,” Mikey said. “We need to do something about this.”
“Which?” Frank asked, a little testily. “The drinking, or the suicide attempts?”
“Fucking both!” Mikey exclaimed. Gerard sighed to himself. Why did he have to be such a burden on all the other guys? He was just a fat, ugly loser who couldn't even keep himself together enough to sleep when he was hammered. He hugged the sheets tighter around himself and cried himself back to sleep, the tight feeling of self hatred winding itself around his chest, constricting him. He needed out.
2.
He managed to hold on a few days longer, trying to lull the guys into a false sense of security so he could act uninhibited. He broke again when they were playing on stage and he was starting to think he hadn't drank enough beforehand as he should’ve. He felt more down to earth than he usually did, and he was worried he was going to fuck up. He was more aware of himself than ever, and he almost lost it when Frank bounced over and kissed his cheek. It was no secret to anyone that Frank liked him. He had since the formation of the band, the poor guy.
Gerard hated that he was too much of a coward to admit to Frank that he liked him too, not that it would be any good for either of them if he did. He was too dependent on the guys as it was - already too likely to let them all down.
He was silent as soon as they got offstage, avoiding everyone and making a beeline for the bus. He chugged a couple more beers when he got in so he wouldn't have to think so much, and then he sat on his bunk and pummeled the wall until his fists stung. He deserved it, though, he knew. He deserved it because he was a coward, and a burden, and a fucking alcoholic dumbass failure who was wasting valuable oxygen.
When the wall wasn't enough for him anymore, he dug one of his blades from his bag. He let it drag over the skin on his forearms, bearing down just shy of enough. He felt it, though, a temporary distraction from the whirlwind of his mind. He closed his eyes and let his head drop back, relishing in the feeling for a second. This time, though, it wasn't for the temporary relief. He wanted permanent. He trailed the blade down to his thighs, feeling the burn in his forearms when the muscles there clenched. He was just about to press down when he heard Frank calling his name.
“Gerard?” He heard Frank’s shuffling footsteps. “Gerard, where the fuck are you, man?” The same footsteps again, closer this time. “C’mon, Gerard. Don't do this. Everyone is looking for you.” He resumed pressing the blade into his thigh. He had interrupted everyone's day. He was such a bother. He knew he was almost there, almost about to feel that burn in his leg as the blade split the skin, but then Frank was there, tossing back the curtain and wrenching the blade from his clenched hand.
Frank climbed onto the bunk with him, and Gerard didn't protest. He sat, stone-still, as Frank wormed himself around and wrapped himself up in Gerard. Gerard continued to sit, silent, as Frank buried his face in his shoulder and began to cry. He couldn't stand to see Frank like this, but it was all his fault and he was going to fix it. A few long moments later, Frank climbed out of the bunk and dragged a rigid Gerard down the hall with a hand around his waist. He led them to the bathroom, where he washed and cleaned the cuts on Gerard’s arm before bandaging him as best he could.
Frank lay them both back down in Gerard’s bunk, and as he snuggled up to sleep, Gerard silently cursed him for making everything harder. Couldn't he see that Gerard just wanted to help him?
Gerard woke to a cold bed and the tense whispers of Frank, Ray and Mikey. It felt like a sad sort of déjà vu.
3.
The third time, Gerard knew he wasn't going to fail. He was completely wasted, hopped up on some dangerous cocktail of pills, and maybe a little bit of coke. After every failed attempt, his thoughts got a little harder to abolish, a little louder and demanded a little more attention. He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he'd either succeed this time or go crazy.
Third time’s the charm, he thought darkly as he stumbled his way back onto the bus. This time, he didn't wait for his mind to catch up to everything floating through his system. He wanted to die in this substance-induced false calm he had created. He rifled through the cabinet, pulling out Mikey’s Xanax that the younger boy thought he had hidden from Gerard, but that was not the case. Gerard had found it weeks before, and he knew right then that it would be his be all end all method. He poured a decent mound into his hand and then filled a cup at the sink with the other. He swallowed as many at one time as he could, eventually downing them all. He reached a floaty high when the chemicals made it to his brain, and he was barely aware he was even alive. Then, he felt the drugs begin to react to the alcohol already pumping to his system, and he felt sick and then immediately blacked out. He never woke up again.
It was Mikey who found him first, the cup of water on its side beside him where he had crashed to the floor. Instantly, he just knew. His eyes went wide and he let out a bloodcurdling scream before falling to the floor himself, curling up beside his pulseless big brother and beginning to hyperventilate. The only one who could talk Mikey back down from his panic attacks was Gerard.
Ray immediately went running when he heard Mikey’s scream, following it and then searching frantically until he discovered Mikey and Gerard in the back bathroom. He might've been fooled by the regular occurrence of Gerard passing out drunk on the bathroom floor, but Mikey’s scream gave it away. Ray frantically checked for a pulse anyways, shaking Gerard, begging him to come back. It was like something out of a twisted movie, a completely different genre from the type of movie they thought their lives had become.
Frank arrived last, catching on when he saw Ray go running. He found Mikey staring blankly at the wall, unresponsive to anyone's voice or movements, and Ray frantically talking to a 911 operator, though a quick survey of the room showed Frank that the only person that might benefit was Mikey.
And then he was collapsing on top of Gerard, sobbing, because Gerard was dead. Gerard. His Gerard. As selfish as it was, Frank went practically hysterical at the thought that he would never know how Gerard felt. There was so much about Gerard that he didn't know that now he never would. He'd never seen him performing sober. He'd never seen that drawing Gerard did of him but never let him look at. He'd never found out what the concept for the next album would be. And now he would never know, because Frank wasn't enough. Doing everything he could to be there for Gerard just wasn't enough, and now Gerard was dead. Frank cried into the tile floor as the emergency responders arrived and took first Mikey, then Gerard away from him. He briefly worried of Gerard would be okay, with his hatred of hospitals and needles and whatnot, and then broke down again when he realized that Gerard wouldn't be alive to hate or love anything ever again.
The band was dissolved soon after, when the official announcement to fans went out. They were devastated, but even if they could find a replacement for a talent like Gerard’s, it just wouldn't be the same.
Music was always how Frank coped, but he couldn't bring himself to pick up his guitar again after what happened. He blamed himself more than was fair for what had happened, but he couldn't help himself. He would always bring himself back to the worry that Gerard never would’ve loved him, because Frank wasn't enough. He wasn't what Gerard wanted. And so he lost weight by the day, sometimes going days without eating at all and barely feeling it - he told himself he deserved it. When someone finally intervened, he’d lost nearly a quarter of his weight. He spent a lot of time in therapy, but somewhere in his mind he knew he'd never really be okay until he was with Gerard again, whether they met in whatever afterlife or were resurrected as vampires together some day. Frank knew when people told him he was getting better that he'd never be okay so long as that missing piece of him was gone.
Ray got an office job and pretended the band had never happened, checking in every couple months to make sure everyone was still as okay as they would be. He isolated himself from everything Gerard had ever touched, trying his damnedest to forget him. Even his best wasn't quite enough, though, and he never really got that happy new life he tried for. He just got a whole lot of paperwork and not a whole lot of friends.
Mikey was worse off than all of them. He was completely inconsolable. When he was finally brought back down to earth after being hospitalized for a severe panic attack, he woke up asking for his brother. When the news was broken to him for the first time out loud, he started screaming. People watched him with sad eyes, but when it came to Mikey, only Gerard ever knew what to do. He began distancing himself more and more, until eventually he broke. On the one year anniversary of Gerard’s death, a pale, spindly Mikey Way with dark, sunken eyes walked to a city bridge and gave up. He wouldn't keep fighting for a brother who was never coming back, and he'd stopped fighting for himself a long time before this. There was nothing left for Mikey anymore, and he went flying off of a bridge.