Chapter Text
"MIKEY FUCKING WAY!"
It was two days before the start of Mikey's Christmas break, and he'd been mindlessly scrolling on his phone sitting on his bed, a trashy reality TV show playing in the background when his brother came crashing into his bedroom. Gerard wasn't even supposed to be here, or at least that's what his mom had told him.
Gerard was going to spend Christmas on tour with Frank, his boyfriend, and said boyfriend's band, leaving Mikey alone at home with his parents for the holidays. At least Bob and Hayley had promised to come visit him when he told them Gerard was abandoning him to face his relatives alone, again.
The sheer volume of Gerard's entrance almost gave Mikey a heart attack and he started spitting an array of creative insults at the intruder.
"That’s not a way to greet your beloved brother, Mikes. You disappoint me," Gerard mockingly sighed, dramatically placing a hand over his heart as if he were about to faint.
Mikey narrowed his eyes at him, still clutching his phone like it could shield him from the chaos that was his older brother. “You told Mom you weren’t coming! She made this whole dramatic thing about how I should cherish my alone time and learn resilience.”
Gerard shrugged off his coat like he owned the place, which, to be fair, he kind of did, and flopped onto Mikey’s bed like he hadn’t just nearly busted the door off its hinges. “Yeah, well. Frank’s got the flu. Like, gross, snot-everywhere, death-warmed-up kind of flu. So the band postponed the rest of the shows.”
"We should be picking up touring around the 23rd, heading towards Chicago next, our last gig was in Detroit, but then Frankie's immune system crashed and Claudine forced us to get him back here before he actually dropped dead." Gerard kept on rambling about the highs and lows of touring, recounting stories like he was already a rockstar, despite not even being in the band.
"So you are ditching me then." Mikey looked up from his phone, his arms crossed, his expression remaining somewhat skeptical.
Gerard pouted dramatically, flopping back on the bed with his arms spread like he was reenacting a tragic death scene. “No, no, ‘temporarily’ ditching you. There’s a crucial difference! Plus, you’ll survive like the infinitely resilient young man Mom seems to believe you are.”
Mikey rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t fall out of his skull. “She says that every time you bail. And every time, I end up playing referee between Uncle Jeff and Dad arguing over politics, and Aunt Carol telling me how pale and skinny I look like it’s a moral failing.”
Gerard winced in sympathy. “Okay, yeah, that does sound bleak,” he admitted, grimacing at the thought. “Maybe I should fake the flu too, and we can both curl up here, drowning beneath layers of blankets and a tidal wave of existential dread.”
“That’s the dream,” Mikey muttered, glancing back down at his phone. “But no, you’ll be off living your little rockstar's girlfriend fantasy, and I’ll be here getting passive-aggressively judged for being the 'quiet one'."
Gerard sat up, suddenly more serious. “Hey, I’ll be back by New Year’s, at the latest. And if Frank still looks like a Victorian orphan by then, I’ll probably just end up coming home early. You’re not completely abandoned.”
"Wait." Mikey's eyes lit up like a little lightbulb actually was turned on in his head. "You said Chicago, right?" Mikey turned towards his brother, looking surprisingly giddy for someone who had been complaining only seconds before.
Gerard nodded, although an expression of confusion crossed his face. “Uh, yeah… that’s where Pete said he was from. Forget I said anything.”
"Pete?" Gerard looked perplexed like he didn't quite recall who Pete was. Suddenly, he started smirking. "Oh, Pete. Like resort Pete. You're ex Pete." Yeah, Mikey had totally been talking about that Pete, and Pete was not his ex okay! They'd never actually dated, and it had totally been Mikey's decision to keep it a one summer thing. And besides that, Pete had been the one to never reach out to Mikey after they both got back to their respective sides of the country.
“Oh, resort Pete,” Gerard repeated with an obnoxious level of glee, leaning back on his elbows like he’d just unearthed the juiciest piece of gossip. “The one with the abs and the eyeliner and the shitty haircut? Damn, that boy was even more addicted to hair straightening than you.” Mikey groaned and shoved a pillow at his brother’s face.
“Shut up. We were just friends. Who maybe made out a couple of times. And maybe went skinny dipping. Once.” Okay, they had definitely been more than that, and maybe Pete had been the first guy he'd said I love you too, but Gerard was making it way more of a deal than it had actually been. Mikey is an emotionally mature 17 year old that was totally over it. He'd even gotten a girlfriend in the meantime! Maybe he and Sam had only dated for a week, but that was a story for another time.
Gerard peeled the pillow off his head, grinning like the menace he was. “Mikey Way, you scandalous little creature. You never told me you went skinny dipping with Pete Wentz!”
"That happened once! It was warm, and the ocean was right there, he dared me..." And it had been one of the best nights of his life, but that wasn't something he was particularly keen on sharing with his brother.
"So what shall I do with the information that Petey dearest lives in Chicago?" Gerard raised an eyebrow at Mikey. "I know! I should totally try to convince Frank and the rest of the guys to let you tag along for the next leg!" Gerard was beaming, Mikey thought he was being an idiot.
"You live in a cramped van with three other grown adults, I'm not going on tour with you." Mikey looked deadpan at his brother, he was not going to try and cohabitate with his brother, his brother's pothead boyfriend, and said boyfriend's bandmates for an extended period of time. Sure, he liked Claudine and Alex, but nowhere near enough to play roomies in a moving vehicle with them.
"Think about it for a second! It's such an opportunity!" Gerard ducked his head and looked at his brother like some kind of hurt puppy. "It's gonna be fun Mikes, I promise." Gerard kept going about how sad Mikey was about not getting to spend the holidays with him, it was going to be perfect. He didn't need to stay the whole thing, he could just tag along for the Chicago date if that was what he wanted to do (and wouldn't it be great if he ran into Pete at the same time).
"No." Mikey stated, putting his program back on. On the TV, a girl was loudly crying about her father having bought her the wrong colored car for her birthday.
***
The next day, Bob spent almost half an hour scolding him at lunch for being "an antisocial piece of shit who refuses to change his routine, no offense, love you man." Mikey had made the mistake of telling his friends about Gerard's proposition, and the reaction had been pretty diverse.
Much like Bob, Spencer looked disappointed when Mikey admitted that there was no way in hell he was going, but he had absolutely nothing to say because he was himself getting dragged across the country to see his family back in Nevada during the break. Hayley, her, told him that she was on his side no matter what he ended up choosing to do and that if, and only if he actually really wanted to go with his brother and the band, she'd be totally down to call for morale support. Only if he made sure to send her pictures of his little road trip though.
"Dude, it's totally your chance to get out of weird family gatherings, because I really love my family! They're all amazing and my mom is the sweetest person ever but I just know I'll be asked by at least seven different relatives if I'm dating Hayley. And that's totally not something I'm looking forward to." Spencer almost immediately apologized to the only girl sitting at their table because she's great and totally girlfriend material, it's just that it's hard to see anyone that way when you've known them for literally your entire life.
"Spence, I was there for your weird Beatles phase, you know? When you stopped cutting your hair and only wore old clothes that were always a size too small? I don't think you were ever an option on my side either." Hayley deadpanned, taking a bite from her sandwich. Spencer let out a relieved sigh, turning back towards Mikey.
Spencer sighed, asking where Mikey would even be going, was it some kind of transamerican tour? Just the state?
"I don't even know man, I'd be going for at least the Christmas show in Chicago, then maybe stay for a bit longer on the northern leg," Mikey answered, poking his soggy looking pizza. Why did cafeteria food always need to look so unappealing? He looked at Spencer's home cooked meal and and pouted. His mom had stopped making him lunch when he was about eleven and he was maybe a bit jealous of his friend.
"That's where your ex lives, right? Chicago?" Now Bob too! Why did everyone think Pete was his ex?
Mikey shot Bob a warning glance, a mix of annoyance and intrigue swirling in his chest. “Stop looking at me like that! You're the one who kept ranting about how pretty his eyes were when you got back from your trip.”
Bob took a long sip from his soda like he was trying to wash Mikey’s denial down with caffeine. “You’re so emotionally repressed it’s a miracle your organs still function. Just saying.”
Mikey muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Thanks, Bob. Truly, your friendship is a gift.”
“Hey, I insult because I care,” Bob asserted, giving him an affectionate shove, the kind that was more playful than confrontational. “If I didn’t love you, I’d just let you rot in your little emo cave filled with your weird bootleg Star Wars vinyls.”
Mikey couldn't help but chuckle. “That’s rich coming from a guy who owns five copies of the same Black Flag album.”
Bob straightened up, a mock-serious expression taking over his face. “They’re different pressings, Mikey.”
Spencer, sitting cross-legged on his chair at the table, peeled the label off his juice bottle with the precision of a scientist, his face completely deadpan. “This is what love looks like, in case anyone was confused,” he said, his dry tone cutting through the chatter.
Hayley snorted in laughter, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Honestly, I think it's sweet. You guys are like aggressively affectionate kittens fighting over a toy.”
“I am not affectionate,” Bob said, deeply offended.
“You just said you loved him.” Hayley countered, a knowing grin spreading across her face.
Bob pointed at her. “That was legally protected sarcasm.”
Mikey leaned back in his chair, watching them all spiral into another dumb debate about the emotional implications of sarcasm. For a moment, the background noise of the cafeteria faded out, and all he could hear was laughter. Spencer grinning behind his thermos. Bob pretending he didn’t care about anything even though he absolutely did. Hayley arguing with enough passion to power a small city.
It was loud, and it was messy, and it was safe.
He could already feel that tight pull in his chest. The one that told him things were going to change, whether he said yes or no. Whether he stayed or went.
Mikey picked at the crust of his pizza. “You think I’d have to share a bus with Gerard and Frank if I went?”
“Absolutely,” Hayley said without missing a beat. “They’d eat all your snacks and emotionally damage you within a week.”
Bob smirked. “It’d be like babysitting a pair of raccoons on Red Bull.”
Spencer finally looked up, squinting. “Wait, Gerard’s the short one, right?”
Mikey blinked in bemusement. “What?”
“No, Frank’s the short one,” Hayley said. “Gerard’s the cryptid with the shitty dye job.”
“Ah, right.”
“Guys, I’m literally related to him.” Mikey reminded them, a hint of exasperation creeping into his tone.
“Yeah,” Bob said with mock-gravity. “That’s why we’re worried.”
Their laughter burst forth, vibrant and infectious, even capturing Mikey, who for a moment forgot about his pizza, lost in the moment.
For now, at least, he was still here. Still in this cafeteria, with these people, his people, and that counted for something. Didn't it?
Even if the road was calling him, whispering promises of adventure and uncertainty.
***
Last day of school before Christmas break was a pajama day for Mikey and the other students, so after a panic what-do-I-wear crisis phone call with Spencer that morning, Mikey finally settled for a white t-shirt and basic checkered black and red bottoms before going downstairs and forcing Gerard to make him a coffee while he ate cereals at the dinner table. Today was the 23rd, Gerard and The Sierra Project would be leaving for the rest of their tour that night.
How some random punk band from the middle of Jersey had managed to book shows across the country was still a mystery. Every time Mikey asked, Gerard just waved him off and said something cryptic about Frank having “contacts in the scene.”
Somewhat ominous, if you asked Mikey.
When he finally got to school, Mikey almost got jumped by a Santa hat wearing Hayley who was a bit too excited with the whole Christmas spirit thing, hugging Mikey before scolding him for his boring choice of outfit.
“You look like some kind of low-effort fuckboy...” Hayley complained, playfully ruffling Mikey's tousled hair as she took in his appearance with an exaggerated grimace.
Mikey blinked back at her, a hollow look in his eyes. “Good morning to you too, spirit of Christmas,” he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. She gestured at his outfit, an unimpressed frown etching across her features.
“You could’ve worn, like, literally anything else. You had a full canvas to work with, and you showed up broadcasting 'I gave up at 8 a.m.' energy.”
Mikey shrugged, gesturing down at his ensemble. “These are pajamas,” he said, his voice laced with defiance. “They have a pattern. Festive. Classic. Noncommittal.”
“Exactly,” Hayley replied, raising an eyebrow. “You look like the background extra in some Netflix Christmas special, where the main character’s emotional arc is all about realizing they hate small talk and shopping at Target.”
“Sounds about right,” Mikey said, a hint of self-deprecation in his voice. Just then, Spencer sauntered over, witnessing the playful critique unfolding. “To be fair,” he chimed in with a smirk, “I told him it was charmingly apathetic.”
Hayley turned her piercing gaze towards Spencer, hands on her hips. “You’re just an enabler.”
“I prefer to think of myself as an advisor,” Spencer countered casually, taking a sip from his thermos as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “There’s a distinct difference.”
Mikey was still trying to flatten his hair back down as Bob showed up wearing his regular jeans, a zip-up hoodie, and the dead-eyed expression of someone who regretted all of his choices but refused to acknowledge it.
Hayley locked eyes with him. “Oh, come on, Bob. Really?”
***
The day dragged on, each class blending into the next like a monotonous loop. Maths felt endless, the equations blurring into a haze that made Mikey’s eyes glaze over. History was even worse, with dates and figures flying around like confetti in a chaotic celebration he didn’t want to be a part of. But finally, the lunch bell echoed through the hall, slicing through the drudgery like a much-needed breath of fresh air.
Mikey settled into his usual spot at the cafeteria table, a flimsy excuse for a chair that creaked beneath him as he tossed his backpack down. He picked at a bag of chips that had long since lost their crunch, the stale taste a reminder of both his lack of money and culinary ambition. His pajama pants were bunched awkwardly around his legs, a symbol of his commitment to comfort over style, especially when no one was really paying attention amidst the lunchtime chaos. He scrolled aimlessly through his phone, the screen lighting up with notifications that he chose to ignore.
Then his phone rang, its familiar tone pulling his focus away from the stream of social media posts. He glanced at the screen, already bracing himself for the conversation he knew was coming.
“Gerard.”
With a heavy sigh, he answered, holding the device slightly away from his ear in case it turned into one of those over-the-top calls.
“Mikey! Baby brother! Light of my life!” Gerard's voice crackled through the speaker, exuberant and loud, as if he were broadcasting from a concert stage rather than just calling from a few towns away. “We’re leaving in four hours, just saying. Clock's ticking!”
Mikey groaned. “I already told you, Gee. I’m not going.”
Across the table, Spencer chortled, sipping from a juice box like he had a front-row seat to the family drama. “You sure about that?” he teased, raising an eyebrow as he leaned forward, fully engaged in the conversation. Mikey shot him a glare, a mix of annoyance and the urge to defend himself.
On the phone, Gerard continued rambling. “I just think you’re making a huge mistake, but that’s fine! We all make mistakes! Mine was bleaching my hair during a thunderstorm. Yours is refusing the opportunity of a lifetime. Tomato, tomahto.”
Mikey couldn’t help but mutter under his breath, “Pretty sure you almost went bald that summer.”
“Details!” Gerard brushed off the remark with a laugh so loud it could almost be felt through the phone.
Hayley, ever curious, leaned over the table, peering at Mikey’s phone screen. “Is that Gerard? Tell him I said hi!”
Bob shoved another fry into his mouth. “Ask him if the van still smells like cheap weed, sweat, and despair.”
Mikey sighed and put the phone on speaker.
“Okay,” Gerard’s voice boomed through the cafeteria, sending a ripple of attention their way. “I heard that, and it really doesn't smell that bad! Alex is just dramatic.”
“Then why did he call it a mobile trash fire?” Spencer asked as other people sitting at tables near them started to chuckle at Gerard's reaction.
“He's dramatic, we already established that. Anyway, Mikey, seriously. Think about it. You come for a couple of shows, maybe hang out in Chicago, sell a few shirts, look mysterious and aloof under bad lighting. It’s your brand.”
Mikey gave his friends a look like, can you believe this guy? They all shrugged. Hayley pointedly didn’t meet his eyes. On the phone, Gerard’s voice softened just a little. “I’m just saying… I don't want you to be lonely again for the break, like last Christmas, y’know?”
That comment hit harder than he expected, stirring something deep within him. Mikey began picking at the corner of his lunch tray, suddenly feeling the weight of his solitude pressing down like a heavy blanket. “Gee…”
“Just think about it, okay? You’ve got time.” Gerard urged, and with that, the call ended, leaving a silence that felt almost palpable.
Mikey leaned back in his seat, acutely aware of his friends’ eyes scrutinizing him, each one filled with varying degrees of sympathy and understanding.
“You’re going,” Spencer declared matter-of-factly, his tone leaving little room for argument, as if the decision had already been made for him.
“No, I’m not,” Mikey said, attempting to sound resolute.
Bob chimed in, a sly smile creeping onto his face. “You’re already thinking about what to pack.” Mikey opened his mouth to protest, then hesitated and fell silent. He could feel his resolve wavering, and Hayley just smirked knowingly.
“You’re gonna cave. I give it, like, two hours,” she predicted, a glint of mischief in her eyes.
I’m not going,” Mikey repeated, but even he didn’t sound convinced.
***
As the final bell rang, Mikey had buried himself under a mountain of rationalizations, convincing himself he wasn’t going anywhere.
Sure, the van was scheduled to leave that very night. Sure, Gerard had called him earlier, bursting with enthusiasm that made Mikey's stomach churn with uncertainty. Sure, he hadn’t deleted Pete’s contact from his phone nor managed to forget how Frank always referred to him as “Mikeylicious” for reasons that still baffled him. But despite all that, he was staying put. He was determined.
He shuffled through the front door, an uneasy feeling immediately creeping in. The house, usually alive with noises, Gerard blasting The Misfits in the kitchen, laughter echoing through the halls, was eerily silent.
Sighing, he dropped his bag unceremoniously at the foot of the stairs and trudged toward the kitchen, only to come to an abrupt halt when the doorbell rang, slicing through the stillness.
With a mixture of curiosity and suspicion, he opened the door slowly.
Standing there, grinning like they owned the place, were his little crew: Hayley, Spencer, and Bob.
Hayley was holding his duffel bag like it was a prize trophy, her eyes sparkling with mischief. Spencer wore a smug little grin, one hand resting on a Ziplock bag filled with snacks that he must have procured with the intention of swaying Mikey’s resolve. Bob, ever the coffee connoisseur, clutched a large iced coffee in his hands, the very order Mikey always got: slightly bitter, with just the right amount of cream.
“Hey, loser,” Hayley chirped, her cheerful tone at odds with Mikey’s growing anxiety. “We packed for you.”
Mikey blinked in disbelief. “What the hell is this.”
“An intervention,” Spencer declared.
Bob extended the coffee toward him, the chilled cup a familiar comfort. “Thought you’d need some caffeine for the drive.”
“I didn’t agree to go,” Mikey protested, bewildered by the turn of events.
“Ah, but you didn’t not agree,” Hayley pointed out, already marching past him, her confident strides suggesting she felt at home in his space.
“Do you people understand the concept of boundaries?” he asked, throwing his hands up.
“Yes,” Bob replied nonchalantly. “We just choose to ignore them.”
Spencer grinned. “You love us and you know it.”
“I tolerate you.” Mikey countered, attempting to maintain some semblance of authority over the situation.
Hayley shoved the duffel bag into his chest, the weight of it a reminder of the reality he was trying to escape. “You’re wasting time. The Sierra Project leaves in less than an hour. And Gerard texted me to say you’d changed your mind.”
“I didn’t—!” He started to argue, but the words caught in his throat.
“Too late,” Spencer interjected, “he’s expecting you.”
Mikey groaned, clutching the bag like it might offer him a way out. “I hate all of you.”
“But you’re going,” Hayley sang, already turning to lead the way down the driveway, her enthusiasm infectious despite his reluctance. Bob clapped a hand on Mikey’s shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. “Just think of it as a festive hostage situation,” he said with a laugh.
Mikey stared at the coffee in his hand, then glanced down at the duffel bag, feeling a swirl of emotions collide within him. He could already picture the worn, familiar van, and could almost hear Frank yelling something stupid through the open window, the kind of chaos that always felt oddly comforting. The thought of the open road tugged at his heart, mixing exhilaration with anxiety. Finally, with a resigned sigh, he muttered, “…Fine. But I swear to God, if anyone expects me to fold socks, I’m leaving them in a Waffle House parking lot.”
“Attaboy,” Spencer said, tossing him a granola bar like some sort of peace offering. “Let’s go then!”