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Gerard Way has grown up with magic. Even though he didn't get his powers until he was seventeen (actually he was nearly eighteen before he had figured out how to use them properly) and his mom lost her powers when she had him, he has always been exposed to magic. His nan is one of the most powerful witches in the state (Mikey reckons it should actually be THE States, but she is more modest than that) and very big on ensuring they know their heritage.
Gerard's been to Solstice celebrations, All Hallows Eve gatherings, danced under the moonlight, mixed potions and cures, and seen many crazy things in his life.
He's never had to explain them all to someone else before though. Not until he started dating Frank Iero. In fact, before Frank, the only other people he ever trusted enough to be himself with are witches or from magic families themselves so already know what it's about.
Actually that's not true, there was one other person who found out his secret. But Gee tries never to think of him.
Frank has taken it well though. Very well.
Too well sometimes...
**************************
“Oh come on, just one more!”
Gerard groans and throws his arms up over his head in mock despair, the weak winter sunlight glinting on the zip of his padded jacket, but he can't keep the small smile from his lips. “Come on, enough already.”
“Do it, Way,” Bob grumbles from the other side of the tree, gardening gloves covering his hands as he favours his right over the left and tugs at weeds and fallen leaves. “Maybe then he'll shut up and go back to work.”
“Have you met Frank?” Ray calls back, the rake in his hands oddly reminiscent of his hair as he drags it over the grass. “Seriously, like a dog with a bone.”
“Woof,” Frank barks back before rolling over on the grass to lie in front of Gerard, a pair of secateurs in his hands and a huge grin on his face. “Come on Gee, you know you want to.”
Reaching out, Gee ruffles his hair, getting soil and leaves into the strands but that hardly matters. They are all filthy and tired by now, the sun starting to set and their work nearly done. The garden is peaceful, the plants settling down for the winter, most going to sleep whilst others are perking up and welcoming the chill to the air. Except for the ones that they trashed chasing Bob's dad, in werewolf form, through the garden a few weeks ago. Gerard's nan is one for cruel and unusual punishments, so the Way brothers have been on clear up detail for four weekends in a row.
Of course, Bob feels more than a little responsible for this, what with it being his dad who caused most of the trouble, and his own part in leading him to the garden that made it happen here. So he comes along too. And Ray comes because... Well, he's Ray, he's just a nice guy. And even though strictly speaking he's not supposed to know about the garden, or magic, Frank comes too. Because he's their friend.
And because he enjoys watching Gee work up a sweat. But there is something else he enjoys too...
“Pretty please?”
With a pained sigh, Gerard rolls his eyes, stretches himself to work out the kinks developing in his muscles and takes a deep breath in before looking over at Bob. “You wanna do the honours?”
Frank wriggles back on the grass, ignoring the further mud patches developing on his jeans; they're already destined for a wash or two. Resting his head on his elbows, he lies on his front and stares up at Gee, batting his eyelashes. Then, as he watches, Gee raises his hands and nods to Bob and it begins.
The leaves come in a flurry, flying across the garden in a steady stream towards Gee in a way that is just too weird to be natural. Bob has that little frown line between his eyes as he concentrates, pointing his hand and glaring at the leaves as they dance towards Gerard. But even as they start to reach him, flashes of light appear, just subtle but steady, each leaf being deflected away and drifting down to land in front of his feet. The lights are small, just a brief shimmer each time, but the dance of colours is like soap bubbles in the autumn sun and Frank just watches, mesmerised until the leaves stop and they both lower their hands again.
Sighing happily, Frank shakes his head slightly. “That never gets old.”
*Give it time, trust me, it does*
Twisting round, Frank sticks his tongue out at the last member of their group, Mikey rubbing his arms where dozens of small scratches are forming from his pruning of the rose bushes. “Aww, honey, it's okay, you're impressive too.”
Only a tiny smile flickers over Mikey's face but in his head Frank is sure he isn't imagining the laughter.
“Now will you get back to work?” Gee mock pleads, dropping to his knees in front of Frank and leaning over him, forcing Frank to twist his neck uncomfortably to see. Pushing up on his arms to reach Gerard, Frank tilts his head to the side, considering.
“Show me one more of your special powers first.”
“Oh, yeah?” Leaning down, Gerard wraps his fingers through Frank's hair and pulls him up just an inch higher, forcing him up onto his fingertips. “Like this?” Dipping the rest of the way, Gerard kisses him deeply, ignoring the protesting noise from Mikey and the sigh from Bob (the aww from Ray he is ignoring most of all; it's a passion killer to be awwed over like a stray puppy). Instead, he focuses on the sensation of Frank's mouth against his, the feel of his hair-
-and on wrapping Frank within Gee's shields so his thoughts are no longer readable by Mikey. Yeah, okay, so Mikey should try harder not to peek really, but he's already had too many complaints about Frank being hard to block when he's... happy. It's easier this way, and, he hopes, good practice to get into the habit when it's innocent like this so that when the time comes for more he will be able to control his powers then too.
If they ever finish cleaning up the garden, maybe he'll have a chance to test that theory.
With a disappointed noise, Gee lets Frank go and shifts to stand upright again, glancing down at the bush he's supposed to be fixing up. It's pretty much done but still, there's a little more to do. “Work.”
“Yes boss,” Frank sighs, sliding back to his place weeding one of the flowerbeds, even as Bob pushes the leaves back over to Ray's rake. He goes with good grace, but as much as they all may bitch about Frank's enthusiasm for their powers, there's no denying he's a good influence on them.
It's usually all their nan can do to get them to acknowledge occasionally that they have magic, let alone actually work on getting better, but showing off for Frank isn't the same thing; when Gerard's folks try to get him to hone his shields or healing, it feels like work. When Frank goads Bob into throwing stuff at Gee just to make him force it away, or encouraging him to try and make the biggest shield possible, pushing it further and further out, poking at it and laughing at the static shock until it gets so thin it collapses, it's just fun.
At least, it is for Gee. And as much as he will never admit it to his mom, it is helping. Even his healing seems sharper, the level of detail clearer, like turning up the resolution on an image. Instead of just blurs of dark, he can see different shades in the pain, the edges in more focus, allowing him to direct his energy more clearly. It's just easier.
It's like Frank is their own little cheerleader, spurring them on, winding them up and pushing them to do more, his pom poms held high as he-
As the mental image of Frank in a cheerleader outfit flits through his brain, Gee grins to himself and quickly turns back to the shrubbery, grateful for the seven millionth time that that is one more thought that Mikey will never, ever, see. And one thing's for sure, it's something Gerard will never admit to anyone else.
**********************************
As Frank tries to set up a sing along 'to help the work go quicker' (or pretty much any excuse to mess about) Frank reminds Bob of a football coach. Not the one from their old school, Hell no, that dude can barely manage to get through a game without looking like he's going to slit his wrists. His idea of encouragement is promising to reward anyone who stays out of hospital for an entire season with a thousand bucks. That he hasn't had to pay out in two years explains the lethargic weariness about him.
No, Frank reminds Bob of one of those teen movie coaches, all 'be the ball' and 'just two more laps' and training montages in the rain and shit, standing at the side of the boxing ring with a towel and a grin. He's re-fucking-lentless, always asking for one more demonstration, one more question, one more 'why don't you try...' It's exhausting, like a new puppy or baby, just when you think you're the one in charge, training it, you realise you're the one obeying their every command. It's ridiculous.
He'd never admit it to anyone, especially not his folks, but it's also working. His mental block about moving liquids is fading, after a really daft afternoon with Frank and a bunch of water balloons (and a couple of filled condoms). Moving liquids had always seemed so hard, but with a thin skin around them suddenly it seemed easier to find the edges, touch the surface and feel the way it flowed with the move. Poking the water through the balloon, feeling the thin edge of it, somehow made it easier to find the edge of the water itself and push just that.
Now Frank has him staring at his zippo most evenings, the flame lit and trying to make it dance and flicker with his mind. Frank's determined to have him doing entire scenes in the fire Mr Tumnus style, by next winter.
Bob's never been that bothered about his powers before, but suddenly finds himself trying to think of new tricks to try, stuff to show off to Frank. It's weird, having someone around who doesn't take it all for granted or just accept it, his genuine delight at it all contagious. When he isn't wheedling and pushing and demanding anyway.
Relentless.
But as he concentrates on the leaves, pushing just enough into the pile to lift one up into the air to nestle itself in Ray's hair, Bob has to admit, it's kind of worth it. Frank's one hell of a coach.
Not that Bob would ever admit to thinking of him like that.
*************************
Staring through the pile of leaves, Ray ignores the one burrowing into his hair at Bob's gentle insistence. It's not the first one and he is totally going to make Bob pick out every last one later. He just knows it. Not in a Seer way, but in a 'going to hold him down and beat him unil he does what I say' way. He doesn't need second sight to know that Bob is gonna get his ass kicked if he sticks one more leaf in there.
That's not to say that Ray's lessons at seeing the future aren't coming on leaps and bounds, his parents gently pushing him after his success with Mr B, and for once his gift is starting to feel less like a curse.
The dreams still scare the shit out of him sometimes, but it's getting better, like he's starting to see things from a different perspective. The adrenaline, the heartbeat, it's not his but something abstract, like watching a movie, his view becoming the camera instead. The detachment it gives him is helping him start to control it better, giving him time to focus on the details rather than just reacting to what he's seeing, letting him capture something quicker. A name. A place. A date.
Ray still can't make much sense of anything but at least it's dialled down the intensity of his nightmares, his sleep the best he's had in years.
Predicting the future whilst awake though, now that's always been a completely different story. Other than the incident with Bob's dad, Ray has only had a handful of waking visions – and never usually enough time to prevent what he's seen. It kills him, the feeling that if he can just get stronger, maybe, maybe he would get more than a few minutes warning, maybe he could make a difference.
So, unlike the others Ray is more than willing to practice his powers and try to get better. And, unlike the others who have been putting up with him for way too long, Frank is more than willing to be his guinea pig. Frank drinks the horrible leaf tea without complaint and lets Ray pore over his palm for ages (only occasionally having to stop for a fit of giggles when Ray catches a particularly ticklish line). He sits patiently in front of the Tarot cards or crystal ball, listening to Ray predict his future, which never seems to be the same twice.
Which, though Ray would never admit it, fascinates him. He's been reading his friends and family for so long it's familiar and all interconnected, the collective binding them together somehow. It's nice, comforting, but at the same time boring. Reading his 'clients' as Madame Toro on Halloween is fun, but harder, and he's never been able to capture more than a flash of the future for strangers.
Frank though, his future seems to change and shift, ebbing and flowing like a tide. It's almost as though his future is constantly in flux, Frank himself at a crossroad, and dozens of paths open to him, his fate truly what he makes. It makes him so hard to read consistently, the answers coming out different each time, yet Ray instinctively knows they are all right, each is Frank's future, once he decides for himself.
It's fascinating and Ray could happily lose himself in Frank's leave or palms or the crystal ball for hours.
Of course, even Frank has a limit to his patience, as does Gerard. And for some strange reason when Gee comes along after his shift ends, or just turns up and wraps his arms around Frank's neck and starts whispering in his ear, Frank's future shifts from a multitude of possibilities and instead one future emerges. And it's not just Frank's.
Ray's learned the hard way that as soon as Gee turns up it's time to stop. Some things even a Seer really, really doesn't want to see.
But he has to admit, he is a little smug that he can see it at all, the extra practice helping and he's getting stronger, more accurate, the images coming easier and all the time Frank is willing to spend being stared at is helping so much. He's like Ray's personal talisman.
Not that Ray would ever admit that of course.
********************************
Mikey grins as he hears Frank singing in his head, loud and off key, and totally unexpected. He's getting used to it though, more than the background of noise he always lives with; Frank stands out, deliberately trying to provoke him.
Mikey's powers don't need any help, they just are, all the time, whether he wants them to be or not. Most of the time his energy is spent on stopping them from overwhelming him. But it's different around Frank, easier. Not that Frank is easy to read (he is, but so is everyone) but that his mind is so simple, uncomplicated. Mikey doesn't think Frank's stupid, Hell no, he sees the snark and hidden bank of knowledge Frank hides, his intelligence like a private joke, a keen wit hidden behind insults and jokes.
No, Frank's not stupid, and his mind is fascinating to Mikey sometimes, but more importantly it's clear. There's no constant second guessing, no bitten back comments or commentary (unlike with Bob who always seems to be monologuing to himself or has some beat on the brain). What Frank thinks, Frank says. He does what he intends to do, and doesn't constantly plan ahead, analysing every move and what if.
It's peaceful, the usual roar of another's mind reduced to an echo, thought and voice meshing in such a rare way. Sitting alone with Frank and just chatting is soothing, peaceful. It kind of reminds Mikey of Gee, of the silence they share sometimes, when Gee wraps Mikey up in his defences and shields him from the world.
It's more than that though. Focusing on Frank seems to help drown out the noise but at the same time the drop in volume makes it easier to focus, to pick out lone voices. And not just someone they know.
Sitting side by side in the cafeteria, their knees touching as discretely as possible, it has become a game, trying to fish for one clear thought in the ocean of the room. It rarely works; Mikey's still reluctant to open up enough, but every now and then it slips through.
For Mikey, the more unexpected part came when he suddenly got a craving in the middle of the afternoon. For pop tarts. He doesn't even like pop tarts, they taste too artificial and sweet and weird and gritty but suddenly it's all he can think of. It's a mystery until they are walking home and Frank suddenly asks chocolate or strawberry.
Without thinking, Mikey says chocolate, the flavour and taste the one that he's been thinking of all day, then turns to Frank only to spot an evil grin on his face. Nobody has ever done that before, no one has ever managed to slip into his mind or influence him and Mikey is gobsmacked.
At least, until Frank asks if anyone has ever tried before.
Mikey can't answer that, but there is no denying Frank has a point. Mikey's always accepted the limits he has found for himself, that he has to be either close to someone or in sight of them to pick up their thoughts. Even then it's hard sorting through them, a jumble of words and images and flashes, often incoherent unless it's actually directed at him, the guys easy to read only through familiarity and practice. But if Frank can do that, then what else is possible, what else could Mikey manage?
Admitting that to Frank might have been a mistake though; Mikey found himself blindfolded and stumbling through the cemetery with only Frank's voice and the images he sent to Mikey's mind to guide him. It had actually gone surprisingly well, Mikey traversing a whole host of obstacles with a mixture of directions and images, not a single word spoken by either of them. It had been pretty fucking cool.
At least until Frank got distracted by some old guy visiting a grave. He was so busy trying not to look suspicious that he let Mikey walk into a shrub. By the time Mikey'd managed to disentangle himself, get rid of the blindfold and get his glasses back off a hysterically giggling Frank, the old guy was gone but that didn't stop the blushing. Knowing his luck, the guy was bound to be a friend of their nan, and would of course tell her all about her grandson getting up to some sort of kinky shit in a graveyard with another guy.
For all Mikey knew, that was factually correct, just the wrong grandson, but he tried very hard not to think about that.
Not that his nan wouldn't understand, or even be pleased if he explained he was training, but that would mean telling her about Frank and that... He didn't want to. There was no logic to it, no reason not to, but he just didn't want everyone to know that Frank knew about them yet, that he was anything other than a friend, like the other guys from school.
Even today, Frank is only with them in the garden because they know no one else is gonna be around, and even if they do turn up, it's just a herb garden, organics and shit, Frank can just make pretend he thinks it's for the LeeWay hair range like everyone else in town. Frank can keep a secret, their secret, and Mikey kind of loves him for that.
Not that he would ever admit it of course.
*************************************
Frank's tired as Hell, smells of dirt, and is sure he is never going to get his nails clean ever again and will probably die of some hideous disease next time he licks his palm, no matter how many times he washes his hands first. And licking his hand is something he's been doing a lot of lately. His hand, Gee's, Gee's neck, Gee's stomach, Gee's-
A sudden glare from Mikey makes him grin and he changes thoughts quickly, not sure how much Mikey picked up on but runs a couple of tunes around his head instead to make it stop. It had been weird at first, the idea that his mind was not his own, but now it was scary how quickly it became normal. All of it.
And he fucking loves it.
He loves letting Ray read his future, trying not to laugh as it gets weirder and wilder each time before cycling back to some dead end job in Sticksville. He enjoys watching the way Ray frowns and concentrates, his eyes drifting out of focus as he Sees something else. (And he really likes the way how when Gee turns up Ray snaps out of it instantly, sometimes flushing a little, and wonders what in Frank's future Ray just saw.)
He loves messing around with Bob, setting up new games or just playing catch to floating objects that Bob keeps nudging out of his reach, making him jump and climb around after them. He gets a kick out of 'going long', making Bob reach further and further until they get to his limits, things starting to droop and surge as he tries to hold on. Even the accidents and breakages are fun, (up to a point anyway, and at least Gee turned up in time to help sort out the cuts to Frank's fingers from broken glass the only time it went really wrong.)
He loves teasing Mikey, focusing on him and just directing all his attention there, even though he's sure Nick thinks he has either developed a) a serious crush on Mikey or b) a serious case of constipation. He even sort of enjoys the feel of Mikey in his head, starting to pick up on a really faint tingle each time he's there, the hairs on the back of his neck rising up in warning. He especially likes the jokes, the comments that Mikey doesn't share with the world but keeps hidden and sends him instead, making Frank laugh at the worst times but always in the best way.
But most of all, Frank loves the feel of Gerard's hands on him, with or without his powers. Okay, so there have been a couple of awkward incidents (apparently it is possible to heal a boner away, and the first time Frank tried to get his finger- well, suffice to say, he's learned to give Gee a lot more warning now!) In spite of that though, it's amazing, the tingle of Gee's shields along his skin, the flicker of his shields lingering until he relaxes, until he truly lets Frank in-
And then there's the warmth of his healing touch, the feeling like a little of Gee himself is being given to him, like it's more than their bodies touching but their souls, their spirits somehow becoming one...
Frank doesn't believe in souls, or fate, or any of that shit. He doesn't. But sometimes, with Gee, with his friends, it's hard to believe that all of this is an accident, that they weren't somehow destined to be together, that everything in his life has been leading him here, that Gerard Way is somehow his, meant to be, his soulmate-
Not that he would ever admit that of course. There are some things a guy just doesn't tell his friends, not even his boyfriend, a telepath, or two guys who are rapidly becoming some of his very best friends. Some things are better left unsaid.
That doesn't make them any less true though.