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Gerard hates the Paramour.
All he can think about on his way up the stairs to his horrible, horrible room is how much of a mistake this whole “write and demo the album in a haunted mansion” idea was. He hates himself for it. Hates, hates, hates himself. Now Frank is avoiding him, Mikey is gone, and he’s getting these fucking night terrors. No, scratch that, whatever is worse than night terrors. Oh, and hallucinations too.
This whole place is a fucking nightmare. And it’s all his fault.
He chokes up before he even gets to the top, and starts tearing up right as he gets to the door. He slams it behind him and stands there for a few heartbeats, before the world gets all blurry and he flops onto the floor, sobs wracking his chest as he squeezes his eyes shut and lets himself cry.
He thought he was getting better. He was getting better. And it’s all falling apart again. He hurt Mikey. He hurt Frank. He’s hurting Ray and it’s all his fault.
Well, crying like a baby’s not gonna fix anything, he thinks, slamming his fist against his skull. It makes a knocking sound. Get your shit together. You need to be better.
He keeps his eyes squeezed shut a few minutes longer, forcing himself to calm down. “It’s fine,” he whispers to himself. The silence is too loud and his voice echoes across the too-big room. “You’re fine. Just finish the demos and it’ll all be over.”
Fuck, he wants it all to be over now. What if it never gets better? What if he falls back into his old pit?
“No, you’re better now,” he mutters, knocking his head again. “C’mon.”
When Gerard opens his eyes, he does not see his room at the Paramour, and he is not alone. He is in a hotel room, by the looks of it, being watched by two big-eyed middle-aged people who look terrifyingly familiar.
He practically jumps out of his skin, falling back against the wall and causing a few books and a TV remote to fall off a shelf in the process. His heart is probably running a marathon right now and his head is swimming. He does not remember being able to teleport.
One person, the taller one, says something, reaching their hand out, but Gerard’s ears are ringing too loudly to hear it and his limbs are too shaky to take it. The shorter one says something to the taller one, and the taller one nods and comes to kneel by Gerard.
They look like Gerard, but older. This freaks him out even more. This is one mindfuck of a hallucination. Yeah, that’s what this is. Just a hallucination. His heart calms just a bit at that. He feels like an insane person. He probably is.
“Hi,” says Old-Gerard, slowly and clearly so Gerard can make sense out of it. “Are you okay?”
Gerard doesn’t know how to respond to that. “Who are you?” he asks instead, teeth gritting together so hard he’s surprised they’re not breaking.
“I’m you,” Old-Gerard says sweetly. “Older you.” They smile, but it’s an odd little pushed-together, frowny kind of smile that’s more in the eyes than the mouth. They have a bob that looks like it’s been sprayed black, but it looks more dark brown than anything, with silver roots. They have black eyeshadow on and a skeleton-y, black-and-white-and-red marching-band-esque outfit that looks like something straight out of a Tim Burton movie. They sound like Gerard, but not what Gerard sounds like to himself in his head, what he sounds like on recordings, and a bit more nasally.
Gerard decides to believe them, because they do look just like a fiftyish-year-old Gerard, and because it’s easier to play along.
“And that’s Frank,” continues Older Gerard, pointing back at the shorter man. Just like Older Gerard looks like, well, older Gerard, he looks like—
“Older Frank?”
Older Gerard’s smile deepens a little. “You guessed it.”
Something clicks in Gerard’s head. Frank is here. And Frank is paying attention to him. And Frank is not angry. He tears up all over again, runs past Older Gerard and catapults himself towards Older Frank, immediately going for his lips and wrapping his arms around him. Frank staggers, caught off-guard, but when Gerard starts crying into his mouth, he feels him kiss back.
God, he hasn’t changed. The way he kisses is just like the way his younger, real? counterpart does, and it just makes Gerard feel both horrible and relieved. A distant part of his mind hopes he isn’t upsetting Older Gerard, but a louder part insists that if things continue for him and Frank the way they’re going now, there’d be nothing for Older Gerard to get upset about. That just makes him cry harder, clinging onto the back of Older Frank’s matching goth marching band uniform.
He peels himself away right as he feels like maybe he might pass out from lack of oxygen, favoring to hug Older Frank instead. He can practically feel the tension melt away from Frank when Gerard whimpers pathetically as his arms wrap around Gerard. He vaguely notes Frank experienced twink death. He has mixed feelings about that, but whatever.
“I miss you,” Gerard whispers. “I miss you so much.”
“I know,” Frank murmurs back, and it’s been so long since Gerard’s heard his voice that he almost starts crying harder. “I’m sorry.”
Gerard can hear (the fuzz has appeared to clear itself from his ears) Older Gerard say something like, “Oh, you poor thing,” and then he can feel himself being hugged from behind. He can’t stifle the whimper that escapes him. It’s been so long since he was touched, since he was hugged. Older Gerard presses a kiss to his hair and makes a shhh, shh noise, and they all hug until Gerard finally calms down, and then Older Gerard and Frank guide him to an empty hotel bed and sit him down.
“I know you have lots of questions,” says Older Gerard, holding Gerard’s hands and rubbing their thumb over his skin. Older Frank is sitting next to Gerard, their sides pressing together. “I remember being you. I know what you’re going through, and I know what’ll help you feel better, even if it feels like it won’t. So you’re gonna ask me all those questions you have in that pretty little head of yours, alright, and we’re gonna make you feel all nice and safe until you gotta go back, okay?”
Gerard nods. “Okay. Um…do Frank and I…us...do we get better?”
Older Gerard’s eyes shine with sadness, and Gerard’s heart absolutely falls. “You do, but…” They and Older Frank exchange a look Gerard can only describe as sad acceptance. “It’s not for forever.”
Gerard’s eyes start stinging. He hates himself. He hates himself so much.
“You stay together a good few more years, and things do get better after Paramour,” continues Older Gerard, “but eventually, it starts to become something similar to what you had with Bert. You remember him?”
Gerard looks at his feet and resists the urge to dig his fingernails into his skin. He nods gingerly. Of course he remembers Bert. The first person to ever actually fucking hurt him. He was awesome, and they had an amazing time together, but only when Bert was drunk. And when Gerard started getting clean and sober after nearly killing himself, Bert got mad and left him. And that’s where Frank came in.
Gerard could never, never imagine sweet, sweet Frankie to be like Bert.
“Now, honey, Frankie doesn’t hurt you, don’t get that into your mind. He’d never do anything like that. But y’know, your relationship kinda…shallows out after a bit. You meet Lindsey and the two of you immediately get married. Frank and his girlfriend Jamia, they get married. You guys keep goin’ for a bit cuz those sweethearts don’t mind so long as you treat each other right, but it becomes a lot more about doing it for the sex than yourselves, and Frank reminds you of how you used to be, so you guys split. You’re still awesome friends, alright? You’ll always be friends.” They sneak a smile at Older Frank. “It’s just…some things are better off that way. You fell outta love. Simple as that.”
Gerard cannot possibly fathom how he could possibly fall out of love with Frank, but this is all just a hallucination, anyway, and he uses that thought as a crutch.
“What about Mikey? Is he…okay?”
Older Gerard squeezes his hand reassuringly. “Always. Y’know what you should do is write him a song. He’ll love it.”
Gerard takes a mental note of this as he sighs in relief. “Okay. Do we finish the record?” His heart suddenly hollows out with panic and he shoots his head back up to face Older Gerard. “Do I relapse?”
“No, no, no, honey, don’t worry.” Older Gerard’s hand is on his face now, gentle. Caressing. Soft. But there’s something in their face that Gerard knows means they aren’t telling the whole truth.
“I do, don’t I?”
Older Gerard sighs. “Not now. Not for years. Eventually, though, yeah. It gets bad again. Not as bad as it was,” they add quickly at Gerard’s horrified face. “And you get over it again. And this…” They gesture at themself. “Is the best you’ll ever feel in your life.”
“Promise?” Gerard hates how small his voice is.
Older Gerard smiles. “Promise. You’ll make it out.”
Gerard is enveloped in a hug on both sides once more, and he eases into it, feeling calmed.
“Now go finish that album, sweetheart,” whispers Older Gerard, and when Gerard opens his eyes, he’s back in his room at the Paramour, alone, and with a song he’s never heard before stuck in his head that Mikey would love.
It takes a minute for him to orientate himself, and then he gets up, walks over to his bedside table and grabs his notebook, and writes down in chickenscratch handwriting: I am not afraid to walk this world alone.