(c) Fairy Tales Aren't Real [PG-13]

by **rock and/or roll** Sun 19 Apr 2009, 7:31 pm

Title: Fairy Tales Aren't Real
Author: Me (Smashed Pumpkin).
Pairing: Unrequited Gerbert (Bert McCracken/Gerard Way)
Rating: PG-13 for swearing and sexual references.
Type: One-shot - but seperated into two posts.
Summary:

He wouldn't admit it, but Bert really did want to be Gerard's Cinderella.

(Oh and note: their ages are kinda messed up fyi.
And this was written for a challenge on mibba.
My prompt was: You're the one that I need, I'm the one that you loathe from The Sharpest Lives.)

Fairy Tales Aren't Real.

I first spoke to Gerard Way when he chased me ten yards down the road.

I’d like to say it was in a playful and flirtatious way, with light-hearted laughter and tripping over shoes and holding hands like every starry-eyed romantic wants their relationship to be – kisses and cuddles and roses in bed sheets and the finest wine in glossy green bottles on ice that wouldn’t melt and all that candy goo shit - but it wasn’t. I’d thrown a rock at the back of his brother’s head and he wanted me to pay for the blood that I’d unintentionally spilt with my own.

I didn’t have anything against the kid – Michael ‘Mikey’ Way – no, nothing at all. He looked like a massive nerd who does Maths problems for fun and aces Spelling Bees and asks to be sent to Computer Camp as a birthday gift – forgive my stereotyping – but no, he hadn’t mortally offended me in anyway. I was bored strolling home from school and honestly didn’t think my throw would do that much damage – maybe make the kid start a little, wince at the unexpected impact and look my way with a ’Yeah...don’t do that again’ glare...I mean, I wasn’t on the baseball team and wouldn’t have put much faith in my aim, but I’d clearly underestimated the sharpness of the jagged little rock picked up from the gravel road, and the fury with which Gerard protected his little brother. Yeah, I definitely underestimated that.

His yells of ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’ as he stormed onto the scene of Mikey clutching at the cut on the back of his head as it leaked blood, and ‘Get back here, motherfucker,’ as we both went pelting off down the road – me with a significant head start, sprinting as my legs burned - carried through the clear still air.

He didn’t manage to catch me that day, of all the luck, but he came pretty fucking close - his shaky fingers stretching out to grab at the back of my t-shirt every now and then. My legs probably hated me for it, but I’d speed up, just enough to keep me ahead of the fury that was Gerard Way behind me. It was a tree that saved me in the end and I made a hasty mental note to dedicate the rest of my life to preserving the environment – my bad – but it’s the thought that counts, right?

Its large and inviting branches caught my eye as I neared a street corner, and I was soon nestled safely like a nest of eggs and, though he tried – boy, did he try – he just couldn’t stretch his leg up far enough to reach the first branch.

“Fuck.” He kicked the tree with his sneaker – which must have hurt - glaring at the mottled trunk that was keeping the tree up, and keeping me out of his reach. “Stupid fucking piece of stupid fucking wood.” His glare extended to me as he bent his head back, eyes transmitting nothing but the utmost contempt through his pretty eyelashes – he may have been livid beyond belief, but he was still pretty. “This isn’t over, dickweed. I fucking swear. You go near my brother again and I’ll get a fucking chainsaw to bring this tree down so you’ll have nowhere to hide, fucking little pussy.”

My heartbeat was playing like the drum part of a particularly hectic and spastic punk song, whether with fear or the sudden spurt of unwanted exercise I couldn’t be sure – probably both, but more the latter. Yeah, definitely. I wasn’t the most in shape guy, and Gerard wasn’t the scariest guy I’d ever come across – quite the opposite. He looked like a pixie. But I still had to shoot my mouth off – I had to – I couldn’t let the little spastic black-haired firecracker have the last word.

“Hey man, if you like me that much you don’t have to chase after me,” I goaded – I was safe after all. “Why don’t you just write me a stupid little love letter like I’m sure you’re dying to, and leave it in my letterbox? And then you can go write about how much you want to be Mrs Bert McCracken in your diary.” I adopted a high-pitched irritating squeal. “Dear Diary, Bert looked at me today. I nearly ovulated all over my school bag. He’s so handsome. I want him to be my Prince Charming, and I can be his Snow White because she has black hair like I do and is totally the prettiest out of all the Disney princesses. I really heart him, Diary. Bye for now. I need to go paint my toenails.”

And I had to laugh – loudly, very very loudly - because I was pretty sure that I had ruffled the demented pixie’s wings with a whole new intensity.

I swear he hissed at me then. Or maybe I imagined it, but his teeth were clenched together so hard I was almost surprised they didn’t recede back into his gums. He didn’t want to let that slide – and I knew he probably wouldn’t – but I was in the position of power now that I wasn’t being hunted down like a fox.

With a relieved breath, I watched him leave – movements rigid with overexertion and pure anger - as he cursed the skinny jeans clinging to his legs. I have never been happier that Gerard chose to shop in the women’s department. Well, okay, maybe that’s a lie – they did highlight certain attributes – but I have those skin-tight denim pants to thank for my eventual escape.

He did get me back in the end – but not in the way I expected. Turned out he was more into emotional and psychological revenge than the physical brand. It was his senior year and I was a sophomore, sitting comfortably within the ranks of the social ladder; I wasn’t a social leper, but I wasn’t any Queen Bee – not that I wanted to be either – maintaining that shit looked hard. But I was happy with where I was – I had friends and acquaintances, and teachers who appreciated my sense of humour and those who didn’t give a shit as long as I handed in my work on time and wrote legibly.

And it was those same people – plus a barrage of students I’d never even given a second thought – who gave me the weird looks when I went into school a few weeks later.

The muttering started not long after – but it wasn’t until a couple of days later that I found out what the hushed voices were saying. One of my closer friends passed me by as I stood outside my English classroom, but not before telling me why I was being stared at like I had some sort of terrible disease; the funny thing was they thought they were being discrete.

“Rumour is that you’re banging Jeph,” Quinn rasped in my ear.

I stared with my mouth slightly open – I had to. Jepharee Howard was the principle’s son and by all means the actual rumour wouldn’t have been surprising, ignoring the fact that he and I had barely shared more than three words together - he wasn’t a slut, but he wasn’t a monk either. He partied, he drank and he popped ecstasy as easily as if they were tic-tacs – and maybe he thought they were. But that wasn’t the point – no, of course not. Sexuality was always a touchy thing at high school, a fact that Gerard obviously knew very very well.

“Hey Cinderella, you off to go fuck your boyfriend?” got thrown my way whenever I dared go into a boys’ toilet, followed by, “At least this way you can suck up to his daddy so you don’t fail.”

I never got beaten or physically harassed – people weren’t that stupid and obvious – but there were the sucky taunts and graffiti inked in permanent marker and sprayed with paint cans over my locker. Remember my hilariously witty Dear Diary remark? Yeah, that was now being used against its creator – hence the stupid ‘Cinderella’ tag - and I couldn’t help but notice Gerard’s insane smile whenever it was said in his vicinity. Hell, he probably started it.

One thing I learnt for sure: mess with Mikey and Gerard will get you. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but some day. And perhaps it was just the masochist in me, but I started to feel a little something other than disdain whenever the demented pixie and his ass-hugging jeans were in the same corridor as me.

by **rock and/or roll** Sun 19 Apr 2009, 7:32 pm

-

You hope – I know I did – that all the shit that got put on you and followed you in high school would somehow evaporate once that graduation certificate was in your hand and you were free from the confinements of corridors and timetables and bells and teachers telling you to ‘pay attention’ and ‘stop drawing inappropriate pictures.’ And while most of it does, some of the bad manages to seep through the cracks every once in a while, resurfacing to remind you of the years spent cooped up in those classrooms with your friends and enemies, and the teacher who could be a little of both.

“Bert...Bert...hey! Fucking Cinderella! C’mon dude, I’m in a bit of a rush.”

I had to wince then. Against my hopes, it was Gerard standing in front of me - I mean, hell, who else would have brought up that stupid Disney princess nickname? He looked less like a demented pixie, and more like a girl with his long hair – but I didn’t want him to feel compelled to leak some made-up rumour to my colleagues restocking shelves behind me, so I overlooked his appearance – well, overlooked it for bagging-out purposes at least; he was wearing tight pants as always, and I was definitely not going to miss out on the opportunity to perve on that shit once he’d turned to go.

“Hi Gerard,” I muttered, and I noticed the shopping bags restraining his pale wrists. Food, toiletries, enough for two – I felt a little...gutted then. No, maybe just curious. “So you’re still living with Frank?” I asked it casually of course, but maybe ‘Are you banging the gnome?’ would have been more accurate.

“Yes,” he answered – to my first (voiced) question of course, “and before you ask, no, I actually haven’t been writing in my diary about wanting to be Mrs Frank Iero.” Shit, that guy was good. “But I’m sure your diary’s completely full with all your teenage angst...I heard things went sour for you and little Jepharee” – he smirked at the mention of the principal’s son – “which is a shame, because I also heard that you really hearted him.”

I grunted a little then. When his little brother wasn’t getting beaten up by rogue rocks – okay, maybe not rogue - he was perfectly calm in his sardonic and cruel sense of humour – almost elegant with the way his words rolled so effortlessly off his tongue, and I had to wonder if he’d rehearsed the verbal blows before waltzing into the shop, laden with plastic bags – hell, maybe he’d just come in here to poke me painfully with a metaphorical stick. It wouldn’t surprise me all that much. And that stick was sharp.

“Anyway, as much as I love our pleasantries, I actually am in a rush,” he went on, perfectly composed with that same smug look on his face. “I’d like a bottle of Smirnoff Black please and a four pack of Melon flavoured Vodka Cruisers” – I snorted a little – “and if you laugh at my drink choice, I will have to sleep with Frank...just because I know how much you’d love that. Oh, and just so you know, I’d enjoy it too.”

He smirked triumphantly, at what I’m guessing were wide eyes on my part – and for good reason, thank you. Damn. I swear he was a psychic. Either that or he was stalking me and had my phones bugged, or maybe I was just too loud for my own good; I’d make a mental ‘your mom’ joke there, but I wasn’t that pathetic. I bet Gerard would beg to differ though; he waited with a surprising air of patience as I retrieved his desired liquor, the Smirnoff and the fruity and plain gay Cruisers – I mean, seriously, how can a man drink one of these without creating flashing signs pointing to him and stating quite clearly ‘One man pride parade’?

“That’s forty-nine, ninety-five,” I muttered again. I seemed to be doing that quite a bit.

“Why so glum, Cinderella?” Damn that fucking smile. “You know, one day you’ll meet your Prince Charming and he’ll sweep you off your feet and you’ll get married and have so many babies you won’t be able to remember any of their names. And he’ll buy you a new diary so you can gush your little heart out about how manly and impressive he is.”

I had to hand it to him though – he could dish out an insult like a fucking pro. I just took the money he held out to me. I mean – fuck – what was I supposed to do? Start a fight and get my ass kicked, start a fight and kick his ass, bend him over the counter and kiss that stupid smile off his face? None of those options seemed plausible...not to mention all of them seemed to end up with karma biting a big chunk out of my ass...bruises, a restraining order, rejection...

“Oh, and just so you know... Gnome? What the fuck, Cinderella? He’s not even a head shorter than me and he’s way nicer than you. Grow the fuck up.”

That stung. He just gave me a look of disdain, added the booze to his shitload of bags and walked away.

-
I’d like to say that I left it at that, but what I’d like to say and what actually happened aren’t exactly the same. And when I say aren’t exactly the same, I mean not the same at all, so that would make me a liar. Regardless, I didn’t leave it at that. Gerard was something different; as I’m sure everyone else would agree. He looked like some kind of soot-covered angel, but spoke like something out of The Importance of Being Earnest, all wit and insults, but still so fucking articulate somehow. Even when he swore it sounded classy.

So, as it was, I followed Gerard home. Yeah, I know – there go the warning bells – creepy-ass stalker. But no, I was curious. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but then you have to wonder what the fuck the cat was doing in the first place.

That was how I found myself outside Gerard and Frank’s place, my car parked halfway down the road. I had to stand in a painful crouch near their window – too high for me to be on my knees and get a good view of the sooty angel and the gnome, but too low for me to stand at my full height. You’ve got to wonder how architects plan these things. At that moment Frank the gnome was asking for his Vodka Cruisers, and I had to stifle a snort and keep my ‘I should have known’ in my head.

“Yeah-heh, I’ve got them.” Gerard laughed slightly. And it was...something amazing. I mean, I hadn’t seen Gerard and how he acted around his friends; this was him in his natural habitat. And he wasn’t a pompous ass who spent all his energy ripping into your ego. He was nice. “Here man.”

“Sweet as.” Frank tore open the cardboard, and it made me boil a little that he was touching the very same carton I’d been handling just earlier. “Thanks man. I know they’ve got a whole heap of calories but they’re so good.”

“They’re also for girls,” Gerard quipped. He plopped himself down next to Frank, and I didn’t like how close they were sitting. I mean, I knew they weren’t together or fucking, or fucking together or whatever, but dammit. “But I guess that’s not really a problem.”

“That’s not nice.” The gnome poked him with the neck of his Cruiser bottle. I wanted to be that Cruiser bottle...which...doesn’t make much sense, but you get the general gist of that comparison, right? “I expect better manners from the brother of Mikey Way, you know. He always was a very nice lad.”

Gerard laughed, and it made me smile a little – on the inside. “Lad? Geez, this is twenty-first century America, not fucking – what? – nineteenth century Britain?”

“What can I say? I’m cultured.” The gnome sniggered a little at this. But his expression soon softened slightly, like gooey butter – and I specifically used that analogy because I despise gooey butter - and he turned his face to Gerard, acting all concerned and whatnot. “Did you see Mikey today?”

Gerard’s expression surprised me – well, surprised and confused might be a more accurate way of describing it. He looked saddened at the mention of his brother, and I had to wonder whether they’d had a falling out, or if Mikey had died and they were talking about his grave. But mustn’t think thoughts like that of course.

“He loves you.” Frank was patting his back then. Fucker. “And he’s really worried about you. I mean, I saw him yesterday, and he was so freaked because he thought you were back on drugs.”

Drugs? I blinked a little more than usual as Gerard leant his head on Frank’s oh so obviously inviting shoulder. Gerard never struck me as the kind to get into that kind of shit. Then again he walked like an angel and stung like an entire nest of angry hornets, so I guess there was no saying what he would and wouldn’t do.

“I can’t be around him,” Gerard sighed, and the utmost melancholy just...leaked out of his mouth. “I don’t want to worry him – that’s the last thing I want to do – but it’s just too hard. Do you have any idea how disgusting I feel...most of the time? I mean, shit...he’s my little brother. I’m meant to love and protect him, sure...”

It took me a while – it definitely took me a while – but the pieces finally fit together to make a completely bizarre puzzle – each bit jagged and sticking out at all the wrong angles, yet somehow making one big picture. And I almost threw up in the cracked pot-plant sitting on the front steps as I realised who had taken priority in Gerard’s heart.

I mean, I always knew that fairy tales were just the wishful thinking of gooey butter-hearted romantics and not real in the slightest, but sometimes I had to question whether God was a massive sadist.

(c) Fairy Tales Aren't Real [PG-13]

(c) Fairy Tales Aren't Real [PG-13]

Re: (c) Fairy Tales Aren't Real [PG-13]