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Mikey hates that he has to lie to his own brother.
He tries to convince himself that it’s all because Gerard is too sensitive, it won’t do him any good to know the truth, not yet. Mikey will tell him one day, when he’s sure the news won’t send Gerard into a downward spiral. But he’s been telling himself this for the past few years, and still he hasn’t uttered a word.
“I could talk to him,” Ray offers. “Prepare him for this, y’know.”
Mikey has no doubts that Ray, indeed, could make things easier. He’s good at it, calming people down, and to think that he hasn’t been accepted into a team because his powers are ‘too weak’ and ‘not suitable for battle conditions’... it sounds ridiculous.
Too bad Mikey knows now what was the real plan behind the seemingly innocent front. It’s the system: you either play by the rules some big shots have established to make more money than anyone could possibly need, or you’re going to be left at the roadside. It’s the same system that failed his brother more than once, it’s the system that spit Mikey out the moment he stopped being useful, and the same system ignored Ray, the sweetest, caring, most loyal person in the world, just because he isn’t as flashy as some people at the top want him to be.
They would never do this to their own children, Mikey thinks. They would never make their kids prove every single day that they deserve to be treated as humans, and they would never force their families into a standard that automatically excludes people like Gerard, or Ray, or Mikey himself.
Gerard needs to know all this. Mikey is fairly sure he already understands at least some part of it, even if he doesn’t show it, — he’s always been smart, he probably knows exactly who’s to blame, and it’s not the priest from all those years ago, or their parents, or the school administration that had no idea what to do with him, — but he’s still hiding in the little world he made up for himself, and it’s getting harder to drag him out of it these days.
“You both have been through a lot. Give him time, he’ll come back when he’s ready,” Ray says, and of course he’s right, he’s always right.
Sometimes Mikey sees them together, sitting in silence, and it always takes him too long to realise that they’re talking. Part of him is jealous: it took him months to make Gerard feel comfortable speaking to him again, while Ray can just use his abilities to communicate, and shit, Mikey’s paying thousands of dollars for his brother’s speech therapy, and Ray actually makes things worse when he lets Gerard go non-verbal like that.
But a few years ago Gerard also spent several months talking to the doctors, and lawyers, and every single representative on Mikey’s behalf, and he was the one who found that support group somehow, and without it he would have never met Ray, so Mikey can’t be too angry. Gerard did everything he could when it mattered the most, he can afford taking it easy from time to time.
Ray’s right. They both have been through a lot.
Mikey’s going to find everyone at fault, and he’ll make them pay.
***
Ray gives him a ride that day. It’s the middle of December, and Mikey’s bad leg hurts too much for him to drive. He hates how helpless he becomes on days like these: the pain doesn’t let him jump properly, and it’s just humiliating, he used to do this all the time, he honed and mastered his abilities when he was still in his early teens without anyone noticing, and now he can’t do the only thing he has ever been good at.
“I’ll pick you up in an hour,” Ray says, “signal me if anything comes up.”
It’s just a youth shelter, Mikey thinks, there’s nothing dangerous about it.
“Yeah, but I know how it makes you feel,” Ray argues.
“Stop reading my mind, you asshole.”
Ray just laughs and kisses him on the cheek.
It’s not that Mikey hates this place — he helped to establish it, he couldn’t hate it even if he wanted to. It still doesn’t make things easier, because in every single kid that ends up at the shelter he sees his brother, numb and catatonic, wasting his days staring into nothingness, and every time Mikey has to remind himself that it was over a decade ago. Gerard got better. Maybe not the way he was before, and Mikey doesn’t hope he’ll ever see the Gerard he knew before that bastard of a priest broke him, but he’s better, and this should be enough.
He has to tell him the truth.
He can’t bring himself to do it.
Mikey knows Gerard gets depressed around this time of the year — well, more depressed than usual. He knows January is the worst month, and next year Gerard will probably spend weeks hiding from the world and picking on old wounds, but the winter holidays are always a rehearsal of things to come. It’s hard to blame him: it’s the kind of damage not even time can heal.
At least this year Gerard is doing better. At least he’s going out this time, even if it’s only once a week.
From the doorway Mikey watches Gerard helping a girl with her drawing. She must be new: Mikey hasn't seen her around before. Half of her face is badly burnt, left eye milky white, and she's trying to hide it behind the hair that looks more like a cheap wig.
Some people are fucking monsters.
Everything alright there? Ray asks.
Yeah, Mikey thinks back. We're good.
Cool. And then Ray projects an image that makes Mikey blush so hard he's actually worried someone will notice.
Wait until we're home, he replies.
I'm gonna hold you to that.
Mikey rolls his eyes.
His hand starts hurting from the pressure he puts on it, and he moves his weight to the right leg. A spike of pain in his left hip makes him wince, and Gerard chooses that very moment to turn around.
Mikey nods at him. Only now he notices Gerard's wings are out, folded and pressed tightly against his back. He wonders if he does this every time he comes here, or is this something he reserves for those like this girl, his way of showing them he understands what they're going through.
Gerard whispers something to the girl and stands up.
“Hey,” Mikey says.
“Hey yourself,” Gerard mutters as he comes closer and out of the girl's earshot. “I thought you didn't like it here.”
“What, I can't make an exception for my own brother?”
It is supposed to be a joke. Gerard doesn't laugh.
“Did something happen at home?” he asks instead.
“No. I just wanted to talk to you,” Mikey nods at the door. “Wanna take a walk?”
“Talk about what?”
Here it is, the moment of truth. And still—
“Nothing serious,” he shrugs. “Just, y’know. Hang out, talk about stuff and whatnot. I’ll buy you a coffee.”
This seems to work. Gerard still gives him a suspicious look but nods in agreement.
“I need to wrap things up with Miranda first,” of course he already knows her name. “It's gonna take, like, five minutes, and I'm good to go.”
***
“They want to register us all,” Mikey says.
Gerard shrugs.
“You're not gonna say anything?”
“What do you want me to say?” Gerard suddenly sounds tired. “It sucks. I know.”
“That's fucking discrimination, that's what it is,” Mikey grumbles. “First they create a franchise to profit from our existence, then they register us, and then the database is gonna accidentally get leaked and every radical group will have your full name, home address and driving licence number.”
Gerard takes a sip of his coffee. “And what do you want to do about it?”
Mikey has an idea. In fact, he has an entire plan he's ready to set in motion at any given time, but he needs to tell Gerard first. He needs to tell Gerard, and yet he finds himself numb every time he's almost ready to do it.
“I don't know,” he says. Another lie, another attempt to protect Gerard from the outside world. “Revolution sounds kinda too far.”
Gerard chuckles, “Yeah, that's more of a Frank thing anyway.”
Mikey flinches. Gerard hasn't spoken about Frank for so long, ever since he—
“We could carry on,” Gerard says. “Do what we can.”
“And you think it's gonna be enough.”
“Maybe. Probably not. But,” he stares at his cup, and his knuckles turn white as he clenches his fist, “you’ve seen those kids, Mikes. They need someone to show them they're not alone.”
Because I was alone back then. Because I didn't know what to to, and I needed someone to tell me it was going to be alright, and I know you tried your best and I’m grateful for that, but it didn't make any of it go away, and I wanted to hurt myself and almost did more than once, and I know I’m not the only one who's going through this, and this is why I want to make this struggle easier for people like me. He doesn't say any of it, and still Mikey understands.
“Yeah. I get it.” he sighs. “It's just— it's so fucking unfair, what they’re doing to us all.”
It's like the world is trying to take everything from him. His family, his brother, his powers, and now his freedom.
It makes him so damn angry.
“If I didn’t know you I’d think you’re about to go Dark Side,” Gerard smiles, and then adds, concern clear in his voice: “You’re not gonna go Dark Side, right?”
“If you insist,” Mikey laughs.
The joke falls flat. Gerard is still staring at him, expression almost unreadable, and yet Mikey knows. He's had enough practice in understanding his brother without words.
“I’m not going to the Dark Side of the Force,” he says. “Seriously. I promise.”
He knows he won't keep this promise. He’s already on the slippery slope, and it's just a matter of time until he falls down.
Gerard needs to know all of this.
If only it wasn't so hard to tell him.
***
“You still haven't told him, have you?” Ray asks that evening as they both lie in bed. There is no sign of accusation in his voice, and still Mikey feels guilty.
“I don't know how to say it,” he confesses. “I mean, it's Gerard, he's so fucking sensitive I’m afraid he's gonna fall apart if I say something wrong sometimes.”
“Or maybe he won't.”
Mikey takes off his glasses, and Ray’s face turns blurry, a mix of pink, yellow and brown shades. He still can feel Ray’s eyes fixed on him.
“Maybe he won't,” he agrees. “Ray, is it wrong?”
“Is what wrong?”
“What we’re gonna do. I mean— Are we going too far? Is it, like, the first step to the Dark Side?” he lets out a shaky sigh. “What I’m trying to say is, if we carry on with the plan people may get hurt. Not just them. Ordinary people.”
“Wait, I didn't know we were going to drop a giant squid on Manhattan.”
“You're worse than Gee, Jesus fucking Christ!”
But at least Ray is joking, so maybe, just maybe, Mikey hasn't lost it completely, and the rage that has been building up inside him for so long is still under control.
Ray’s fingers trace the scars on his left thigh, and Mikey lets out a shaky breath. They almost don’t hurt these days, and still it’s a constant reminder of what has been done to him, to his family. How he spent years watching Gerard work himself into an early grave trying to provide for three people and pay the bills that never seemed to end, how his grandmother had to get a job at a supermarket because at some point Gerard almost broke down from all the pressure, and Mikey is sure she would have still been alive if she didn’t start working again.
It got better, Mikey tries to remind himself. Maybe not perfect, but better, because at least now Gerard doesn’t have to run on three hours of sleep and ten cups of coffee a day to make sure they have food on the table and Mikey can get physical therapy and pay for his meds. At least now he has Ray by his side.
“We can wait,” Ray whispers. “If you’re not sure, we can wait. Maybe think of an alternative, if you’re so worried.”
‘I’m not—” Mikey sucks in a breath, “it’s not just Gerard, Ray. It’s… well, everything. And with that registration act, we can’t make a mistake, ‘cause if we fail, they’re only gonna make it worse. Like, ‘forcing people into reservations’ level of worse.”
“They wouldn’t do that,” Ray argues. “I mean, what about the teams? They still bring money and all.”
“Oh, no, they’ll definitely keep those as ‘good pro-American mutants’ or whatever. It's the rest of us who're fucked.”
Gerard mentioned Frank today. Mikey briefly wonders if he follows the news to keep up with whatever his ex-boyfriend has been up to lately. It’s almost funny: Frank was always the one against any kind of authority, always about sticking it to the man, and yet here they are: Frank is the one playing by the corporate rules while Mikey is planning a revolution.
Ray kisses him on the lips.
“You’re overthinking it,” he whispers to his ear. “And it’s not a revolution, it’s just, y’know, people demanding to be treated like people, nothing wrong with that.”
“You’re reading my mind again.”
“Sorry.”
Mikey can’t see Ray’s face clearly, and still he can tell he isn’t sorry at all.
He’s going to tell Gerard. First thing tomorrow.
***
In the morning he finds Gerard in the kitchen making coffee. He’s humming something under his breath, and his wings are out, so it must be a good day. Mikey really hates to ruin it.
“Want some coffee?” Gerard smiles at him.
Mikey shakes his head. Better to do it now, before he gets a chance to coward out of this conversation.
“I need to tell you something,” he says. “You better sit down.”
Gerard puts his mug on the kitchen counter. With his back turned to Mikey it's hard to figure out what he's thinking, but his wings twitch slightly, and Mikey holds his breath.
“Is it about what you and Ray have been planning?”
He knows. Jesus Christ, he knows.
“Do you—” Mikey stutters. “Did you—”
Gerard shrugs. “I kinda figured it out,” he still doesn't look at Mikey, doesn't even turn to face him. “I mean, Mikes, come on, I’ve known you all your life, you suck at keeping secrets from me.”
“And you didn't say anything.”
Gerard gives him a quick glance over the shoulder. “I didn't think it was necessary. Thought you were gonna tell me yourself.”
Mikey lets out a breath he didn't notice he was holding.
“So,” his voice is shaking. Why is it shaking? “Just to clarify: you knew that Ray and I are going to do something that may or may not lead to an uprising that may or may not turn into a revolution that might forever change the world as we know it. And you didn't say anything.”
Finally — finally! — Gerard turns and looks him in the eyes.
“Honestly?” he says. “I think it's not the brightest of your ideas. In fact, I think it's one of the fucking worst of your ideas.”
“Great, thanks for your support, really appreciate it.”
“But I’m in,” Gerard finishes. “I mean, if you want me, I’m in.”
Wait, what?!
“What?!”
Gerard rolls his eyes. “Someone’s gotta make sure you don't get yourself killed, dumbass.”
“I don't know, Ray’s been doing a pretty good job.”
“Yeah, I’ve been doing a pretty good job,” Ray says entering the kitchen. “I take it you figured it out.”
See? He’s still in one piece.
He also wants in, Mikey replies.
Gerard waves at Ray and retreats to his room, full cup of coffee in hand.
“Then give him something to do,” Ray says when he's sure Gerard can't hear him.
“Yeah. I’ll figure something out,” Mikey rubs his eyes. “I gotta call Brendon, tell him to get ready.”
“Wait, we’re not—”
“We need to do it before the registration act passes.”
Ray gives him a sharp nod.
And maybe revenge will never make up for all the damage: it won't bring Grandma back, it won't make Gerard's wing grow back, won’t give Ray justice, and it surely won't heal Mikey's leg, but it needs to be done. It’s been this way for too long.