That Wasn't My Brother

Disclaimer: I do not own any member of My Chemical Romance. This NEVER happened, thank whichever higher power you believe in. Song is property of Nightwish.

A/N: I'm SORRY! I know I have to work on 'Two for Tragedy' but I'm currently have a little bit of writer's block and this idea's been bugging me for awhile and I don't want to lose it, so here's my filler fic.

Thanks to all my reviewers. There are too many to name, but you know who you are.

A/N: I really really really want a Heath bar right now.

That's Not My Brother

"With time all pain will fade
Through your memory I will wade."

I hated it. I hated watching him on a high and I hated when he wouldn't listen to me. Yeah, sure, a little fix here and there wasn't that big of a deal, but watching Gerard high on so much shit and drinking so much and hurting himself on stage.

I fucking hated it. Everytime I tried to talk to him . . . well, I couldn't talk to him when he wasn't high because that's when he was locked in the bathroom playing the radio so he wouldn't have to listen to me. And then he'd come out with red eyes, wiping at his nose.

If I tried to talk to him when he was high, he'd just hug me and babble all these sentences that I couldn't understand while he was laughing his ass off. "Mikey, Mikey." And he'd try and hand me something and I'd leave.

I'd used before. Don't get me wrong. I'm not some little saint. I drank entirely too much and I'd tried everything Gerard had, but seeing him like that . . . I wouldn't touch the shit unless he wasn't there. And I didn't abuse anything like he did. I wasn't fucking addicted. I didn't scare the shit out of people when I was high.

And I certainly didn't do what he did in October.

Gerard and I were living together. I was going through boxes while he was out, flying high and doing stuff he wouldn't remember in the morning. Finally, at two I went to take an aspirin and go to bed.

I didn't even hear the front door open. I was going back to the living, debating whether or not I should lock the door. Gerard was sitting on the couch, reading a notebook I assumed he pulled from one of my boxes on the floor. "Wha's this?" he asked.

I took it from him and looked at it, blanching when I did. I didn't even remember writing that.

Everyone loves Gerard. And not like 'I love you, Gerard', but I fucking love you with the passion and the eyes and everything. Everyone falls in love with Gerard. Even me. I know it's wrong, but it's Gerard. Who doesn't fall in love with Gerard? It's not like I want him to hold me and kiss me or anything, but it's there.

I'm in love with my big brother. Hopefully this is one of those things you grow out of.

"It's nothing." I said, turning back to the couch and laying the notebook on the table. "Come on. I'll help you to bed." I held my hand out and he took, but instead of getting up, he pulled me down.

I tried to pull my hand out of his, but his other one came up to my arm. "Gee, knock it off." I said. "You're stoned and I have to get up tomorrow."

"My little baby brother." he said, his grip tightening. "My little brother was in love with me. How kinky, Mikey."

I tried to pull away from him. He was scaring me. I didn't like that look in his eyes. "Gerard, let go." I said, a little louder this time.

He kissed me and I struggled like hell then. How could he be so fucking strong after all the stuff he'd put in his body that night? "You know you want it." he said, pressing me flat on my back as he hovered over me. "The last person you lie to is yourself, Mikey. And you wrote it to yourself."

"Gerard, I was sixteen, for Christ's sake." I said, my legs flailing. He transferred his weight so he knees were digging in my hips. His hands held my wrists. I could smell the alcohol on him and it nearly made me sick. Weren't you supposed to pass out after so much?

"Did you grow out of it, Mikey?" he whispered in my ear.

I shrieked as I felt him bite down on the skin of my neck. What the fuck was he doing? What was he going to do? Jesus Christ . . . he wouldn't . . . would he?

"Answer my question." he whispered, his breath warm against my neck.

"Yes, I grew out of it." I said weakly. "Gerard, please. Just get up. We'll forget this happened, okay?" As if he'd remember anyway, no matter what he did.

"No, you didn't." he whispered. "It's okay, Mikey. I can give you what you want."

I stopped moving. No. Oh, God. No. "Gerard, Gerard, no. Please."

He moved both of my wrists to one hand and his other one traced my jawline. He kissed my cheeks, my forehead. He took off my glasses and kissed my eyelids. I didn't move when I felt his warm lips press against mine.

This wasn't happening. His hand left my face and I felt it trace the elastic of my boxers. I'd taken my jeans off when I went to get ready for bed. "Gerard, please. Don't do this."

The salt from my tears was hurting my eyes. "It's okay, Mikey." he said. "It won't hurt, I promise."

He took his own pants and boxers off before he took mine off. I was sobbing by now and terrified I was going to have an attack. And I had never been more aware of how fucked up Gerard was when he was naked above me and asking in a concerned voice, "Do you need your inhaler?"

If I said yes, would he let me go? "Y-Yeah. I think so." I muttered.

"Okay." he said. He stood up, put my glasses on me, and grabbed my wrist, pulling me with him to the bathroom. He locked the door and crossed his arms, leaning against it. "Get it." he said.

I stood at the other side of the room, my arms in front of me. "Gerard, stop this. Just go back to bed and we'll forget about this, okay? I'm not mad. You're high and you don't understand what you're doing. Okay?"

He smiled at me. "Mikey, honey, you want this. I know you do. You wrote it down. It's okay, baby. We all have feelings like that, feelings for people we shouldn't. It's okay."

Now I needed my inhaler. I fished around in the cupboard for a minute, opening a new one. The one I had been using was in my room. I felt him come up behind me, felt his fingers tracing my back. "See? You need me to take care of you." he whispered.

And the only thing I could think was, 'he's not in front of the door anymore'. But he must have had the same thought because he pushed me onto the floor and flipped me over so I was staring at him again. "Mikey, you weren't think of leaving, were you?" he asked. "Not before we even started."

"Gerard, stop it." I pushed at him now that I had use of my hands again. But I was terrified. Terrified of what he would do and terrified of hurting him. I knew what he wanted to do, but he was my brother for Christ's sake, he was my blood.

I think he knew that. He pulled my boxers off before he pinned my wrists down again. "I won't hurt you, Mikey. You know that." he kissed my cheek and pushed inside of me. No preparation, no lubrication.

I screamed until he put his hand over my mouth. "Ssshhh." he whispered. "It only hurts for a minute."

I blacked out. When I woke up I was laying in my bed with the sheets pulled over me. I was dressed in a tee shirt and another pair of boxers. Was it a dream? I sat up and knew it wasn't.

Gerard appeared in the doorway, smiling. I looked at him once and I knew he didn't remember. He sat down next to me and handed me a cup of coffee. "We have to record today." he said, smiling. He patted my leg and I yelled. Fuck that hurt.

"What is it?" he asked, all concerned. "Did I scare you? Did I hurt you? You look kind of peaked. You have a fever?" I let him put his hand on my forehead even though I was shaking the whole time. He bit his lip and looked at me. "I think you're sick. I'll call the guys, okay? Just get some sleep."

"Gee, what time did you get in last night?" I asked, trying to make it a throwaway question. I just wanted to know how much he'd remember, how long it lasted.

He thought for a minute and then shrugged. "I don't know. Woke up in bed around nine today."

He left and I rolled over on my stomach, partically dragging myself toward the end table by my bed. I dug out a notebook and a pen. Yes, I was perfectly aware that's what got me into the situation in the first place, but if I didn't write it down . . .

*

"Mikey?" I must have dozed off because it was dark when I heard Frankie calling my name. No, not calling. He was two feet in front of my face.

"What'd you give him?" he asked Gerard, who was standing in the doorway.

"A tranquilizer." Gerard said, confused. "Just a little. He was screaming and he said he hurt, so I decided that'd be better than a painkiller, wouldn't it?" He was wringing his hands. "Did I give him too much?"

"Why don't you tell me?" Frankie demanded. I took the distraction of them fighting, to slide the notebook under my pillow. "How much did you give him?"

Gerard bit his lip and thought. He was high, so it took a bit longer than normal. "Like half of a blue one?"

"How much is a blue one?" Frankie snapped.

"400. Stop yelling at me!" Gerard put his hands over his ears and sank against the wall, battling with the voices the drugs articulated in his head.

I looked at him. Even after what he'd done the night before I was worried about him. "What'd he take?" I asked Frankie, putting my glasses on. "Something new?" I winced as I sat up, but I didn't hurt as bad as I had that morning.

"You okay?" Frankie asked, concern in his face.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine." I said, waving it off. "What did he do?" I pointed at Gerard.

Frankie rolled his eyes. "He took too much Oxycotin. Again. He'll be fine. I think I'm going to throw him in the shower and see if he melts."

The shower? The bathroom. Oh, God. I rolled over and Frankie jumped out of the way as I puked. He ran over to the door and pulled the towel off it, coming over and wiping at my face. "Maybe we'd better get you in there first." he said. "Can you wallk?"

"Of course I can walk." I said bitterly. Barely.

Gerard stood up when I did and hugged me. I tensed up, but no one noticed. "Mikey's sick." he said, rubbing my back. "Mikey's sick."

Frankie pulled me away, somewhat annoyed. "Go take a shower." he said. "I'll take care of Gerard and check on you in a few, okay?"

"I'm fine." I said, trying to remember what I would say in the situation if the situation were a little different. Meaning, if my brother hadn't raped me the night before.

"Yeah, yeah." He waved his hand at me. "Just don't pass out in the shower, okay?" He started pulling Gee toward the kitchen and my brother was determinedly shaking his head and babbling like a child.

I opened the door to the bathroom, half expecting to see blood, a wreck, clothes lying in the corner, permanent marker on the mirror that spelled out 'Mikey was raped'. I was disappointed, relieved. I don't know. No blood, no clothes, no mess. If it didn't hurt to walk, I'd have wondered if it actually happened.

I locked the door and stared at my reflection in the mirror. Gerard didn't remember. He didn't remember stripping me and fucking me so hard I bled. When he woke me up eralier, he was worried. He was my big brother again.

The person who raped me last night wasn't Gerard.

I got undressed slowly and stepped into the shower, turning the water on as hot as it would go. My hips were bruised and there were more bruises on my torso where Gerard had bit me.

I couldn't stand more than ten minutes in the shower. I ended up back in my room, dressed in jeans and a tee shirt. It was only five. I figured I'd go out, get away from the house for awhile.

Frankie knocked on the door frame and came in a few inches. "He's asleep. You going out?"

"Yeah. I think I'm just going to drive around for awhile." I reached for my shoes and winced. Visibly.

Frankie crossed his arms and gave me a weird look. "What the hell is going on? What happened last night?"

Oh, you mean besides my older brother raping me?

"What do you mean?" I asked, trying to act like I would if I didn't know the answer. "Last night I stayed home, had a little to drink, and tried to unpack some stuff." After which Gerard came home, stripped me, and raped me on the bathroom floor.

Except it wasn't Gerard.

"You probably pulled a muscle then." Frankie said. "I think Gerard's got something--"

"I don't want it." I said, a little too quickly. "I mean, he already gave me something and I'll be driving so . . ."

"Okay." Frankie said, shrugging. "I'm going to hang around a bit, make sure he's okay. See you later. Careful, all right?"

"I'm fine." I assured him. "Really." I tried to assure myself.

*

I crashed on the couch without even taking my shoes off. I woke up the next morning to Gerard screaming and throwing things in the kitchen. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and moved toward the rack. The only pain I felt was my back protesting it's time on the couch.

"Gerard?" Jesus Christ! Was it possible for a person to bleed that much and not die? I grabbed a towel and pressed it to his wrist.

He pulled away, sobbing. "I'm sorry. God, Mikey, I'm so sorry. What the hell is wrong with me?"

He sank to the floor in a heap and I knelt, pressing the towel to his wrist again. "Gee--"

"Don't." he said. "I don't deserve to live. I can't believe I did that to you."

He remembered.

"Gerard, you didn't--"

"I'm sorry." he screamed. "Just let me die, okay?"

"No." I snapped. This was too much. "No. You're not doing this. I'm not letting you die."

"I raped you." he whispered.

"Yeah, because you were high." I yelled. "I'm not letting you chickenshit your way out of this. If I have to live with it, so do you."

He lifted his bloodshot eyes to look into mine. "What do you want me to do?"

"Quit." I said. "Quit doing the drugs and quit drinking. Now. Today."

He nodded. "O-Okay."

"Swear it on my life."

He trembled a bit, but he said it. "I swear on y-your life, I won't drink or do drugs again."

And then I pulled him to me, despite his weak protests, and held him.

*

The man who raped me wasn't Gerard. That wasn't my brother.

I never saw that man again.

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