---Gerard---

At least once in everybody's life, someone will get taken to the hospital and you'll hear the call of sirens rushing to you.

The sirens. The lights. The yells. The flashes. Red and blue and black. The stars above me, the concrete below me. The shuffling of belts and the clicks of switches on handguns. My fists beating on the front door. The pain in my hands. The blood running down my knuckles. The blood I can't feel. The pain I can't process. The freedom of the air, the captivity of the ground.

Everything is pushed aside into a blur of hate, and it's all in my subconscious. I know it's there I just don't care. All I can care about is finding Sugar, Darling, Love, Mine. Patrick. Whatever you want to call him. He's my first priority. He'll always be my first priority.

If you love me, let me go.

I feel sick to my stomach. I feel like I'm going to puke up everything that I ate today at any moment and completely lose it. He sounded so scared. He sounded terrified, and I wasn't there to protect him.

I still can't protect him, not yet at least. The front door is locked. I can't get in no matter how hard I hit. I'm banging on the door, my knuckles are bleeding, my voice is cracking. I'm screaming Patrick's name into the cold night. I'm begging him to answer me. I'm begging for anything but nothing. I'm screaming, but I'm hopelessly hopeful. I can barely hear myself over the siren, anyway. All my attempts are for nothing. Just a small whimper among the screams.

I can't breathe as a cop pulls me out of the way. I can't breathe, I'm panicking because Patrick is in there are he's probably dead. He could be gone, and I can't do anything about it but watch as a firefighter breaks down the door, armed with a handgun.

I'm sitting with my knees against my chest, rocking back and forth on the curb of the block. How did I get here? Who dragged me here?

I'm terrified. Is Patrick alright? Will he survive? What if he really is gone? My heart sinks as more thoughts come into my mind.

What if he is gone? He sounded like he was in danger over the phone... oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god.

Before I know what's happening, there's a tear running down my cheek, and I've puked on the street. Bile and food dropping onto the road in a yellow-orange shade. It's disgusting.

"LET ME GO YOU BASTARD!" A man shouts. My head turns so fast that I'm surprised it doesn't snap.

A large man with wide shoulders and greasy blonde hair is yelling and struggling against the cops' firm grasp. He's shoved into a car followed soon after by another boy I recognize as Kevin. That little shit.

I keep watching, waiting for Patrick. Praying for Patrick. He can't be gone. He has to be okay. Please.

"We need a medic!" Someone yells, "He's in critical condition!"

No, no, no. I watch as a woman runs into the house with a first aid kit in hand. No, no, no.

Someone is talking, but I can't concentrate. Is Patrick okay? How much pain is he in? Will he survive? What if I came too late?

"Kid!" A man shouts, finally grabbing my attention. As I turn my head, I see it's another medic, holding out a bag for my vomit, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine just worried," I reply taking the bag and wiping my tears.

"Is he your friend?" He asks, sitting beside me.

"He's my boyfriend," I reply with a soft smile.

And I break down.

"I can't lose him. Please," I whisper, as the tears begin streaming down my face, "I love him so much..."

"Hey, it's gonna be alright, okay? I promise," he says, patting me on the back.

I promise

How strong are your promises?

I have yet to break one

"Don't make promises you can't keep," I growl, hostility in my voice.

He remains silent after that, eventually getting up without a sound and leaving to head into the house. I can only watch helplessly as the scene unfolds. A couple stretchers go in, one comes out. It's Megan.

My heart sinks further. Where is Patrick?

He can't be gone. Please. No, no, no.

I vomit again, into the bag this time. The foul taste lingering in my mouth. As disgusting as Kevin and Patrick's dad. I can't stop myself I'm just so stressed and scared. What if he doesn't make it? I take a deep breath, trying not to gag.

"We need to get him to the hospital," someone yells in the distance. I don't pay much attention until another man approaches me, "do you need a ride there? Are you family?"

I look up at him, I must look pathetic. Sitting here on a curb with a vomit bag and puffy eyes, crying, puking, stressing over something I can't fix. I still nod despite my embarrassment, "N-Not family but I'm his boyfriend. Please."

"We can only accept family, I'm sorry, Kid." He replies.

My eyes widen, and it takes all my will not to scream, "No, please, please. I need to, please. I love him so much. You can't do this to me. Please."

He furrows his eyebrows, conflicted. After a moment of thought, he finally replies, "Are you a witness? You know him well?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Okay... Good enough for me. You gotta keep quiet, though."

"Thank you so much, I-"

I'm interrupted by yelling to my left, and my eyes widen as I realize who it is.

Patrick out on a stretcher, unconscious and I can't tell if he's breathing or not, but the sight alone makes me bring the bag back up to my mouth. His blonde hair is matted with blood and alcohol while shards of glass are stuck in his hoodie. Blood is streaming from his nose, there are bruises on his neck, and his eyes are shut, sleeping peacefully like an angel. No, no, no.

The man helps me up on my shaky knees, and we stop at the back of an ambulance, "Hop in, Kid," The man says as he climbs in. As soon as I'm in, he shuts the door behind me, "We need as much information as we can get, can you tell us... what happened, his name, the situation?"

He grabs a notepad from his back pocket, a chewed pencil attached to the side and I honestly just feel more like shit than before.

A medic wraps a blanket around me once I've sat down, and the ambulance starts moving.

"I-I..." I take a deep breath, shutting my eyes. Name, "Patrick Stumph," what happened?

"I don't know exactly what happened... but I know th-that... the taller man is his Dad, um... David Stumph I think... the younger man is his brother Kevin Stumph." The man is quickly writing down everything I say, "The girl is his sister Megan Stumph. Patrick told me a while back that... he was getting abused..." I bite my lip, "I shouldn't have let it get this far. I tried to tell him that he had to get out of there and I should have done something."

"Hey, it's gonna be okay. Just keep answering the questions." The man says, "What's your name?"

"G-Gerard Way," I whisper. The vehicle bounces slightly as it speeds down the road.

"And what's your relationship with Mr. Stumph?"

"He-He's my boyfriend," I reply.

"How long have you known him?"

"Since the fifth day of school... um... September second..." I say, "We've only been dating since Monday..."

"Do you know if he has any medical issues? Um... depression, anxiety, blood clots..."

"He was diagnosed with anxiety, but he doesn't take medication. He also has PTSD... S-suicidal tendencies..." I'm just listing everything I can think of, "S-self harms... I think he starves, but I'm not entirely sure... Depression, maybe."

The man swallows, keeping a straight face as he scribbles the information down, "Can you tell me what exactly happened? In your point of view?"

I swallow, struggling to keep answering these questions, "We... our friend, Joe just dropped us off after a short party with five friends, and I told him to call me if he needed anything or if something was wrong... I went home...

"About fifteen minutes later, he called me and told me to get help. He hung up, and I called 9-1-1 and came to his house. The door was locked, and you found me at the door. I must've been there for fifteen minutes before you came..."

I feel the urge to puke again, so I quickly raise the bag to my mouth, emptying absolutely nothing, just gagging painfully.

"Was there alcohol involved at the party?"

"No," I lie. There was... just none this morning, and Patrick sure as hell wasn't drinking.

"Drugs?"

"No."

"Okay, well we're going to get you and Patrick to the hospital, and we'll have you in the waiting room for a while. They told me he's in critical condition which means he'll be sent to the E.R." The man says I nod in understanding, but I don't understand. I'm so conflicted. I want to scream.

"Do you have a parent or guardian you can call to come to the hospital?" He asks.

"Yeah," I whisper, then I realize what he's asking, "Yeah, hold on."

I pull my phone from my pocket.

2 missed calls from Mama

I dial her number and hold the phone up to my ears with guilt swelling in my stomach.

It rings once. Twice. Three times.

"Hello? Gerard?"

"Hey, Mama. I need you to get to..." I look up at the man, asking for the hospital.

"Linda Vista Community Hospital,"

"Linda Vista Community Hospital downtown. Patrick's in critical condition and I need to be there for him."

There's silence for a moment. Then, "Alright, I'll be there in a bit."

I hang up the phone, my head immediately burying itself in my hands. Everything is happening so fast. The world is spinning. I'm trying not to be stressed, but Patrick's in the hospital.

He could die. He could live.

If he lives, I won't be able to see him again because he's going to be transferred to a foster home. My sugar will be gone, and I'll be left alone. What would Pete say? Or Joe or Brendon? What about Ryan or Frank? They never see him again. I'd never see him again. Pete might become depressed again like he did when Patrick first left... that's what he told me at least...

He'd attempted suicide in his car in a parking lot while listening to Hallelujah... he called Brendon who called his mom, and they eventually got him to the hospital where they got his stomach pumped... that's what he told me anyways... that's also what Brendon said to me.

He's gotten better since there and now that Patrick's back, he's been a lot happier. If Patrick did manage to survive this, though, God knows what it would do to Pete. Patrick would be shipped to foster homes, different schools, the only contact would be long distance, and everyone knows long distance relationships never work out.

I know it.

Mikey knows it...

I can't let Patrick go... I don't know any other way to be able to contact him besides calling him but... at the same time, it's better than the alternative. He could keep his life and get a job. He could be successful...

Then the alternative...

He could die.

That would be it. That would be the end. He would be dead. Even the sharpest lives know that's how he'd disappear to join the Black Parade, it would kill me inside because I can't just say, 'I don't love you,' and let it end because it hurts as much as a house of wolves. It's so conflicting, and it makes you want to scream. After cancer had hit Dad, I came crying to Mama for hours, but all she wanted to do was sleep away that terrible feeling in her gut. It was like everything was disenchanted and the only thing I could think of was his famous last words and the blood flowing from the IV...

"You're not gonna let him die, are you?" I ask, looking up at the man.

The man looks back down and opens his mouth, hesitating, before saying, "I can't promise anything. But we'll try our best to save him."

I nod. It's the only thing I can do right now other than trying my best not to gag.

The ambulance comes to a stop, the back door opens, and I immediately run out, searching frantically for Patrick. Please, please, please.

He comes out on a stretcher in another ambulance, an oxygen mask taped around his face, and he's still unconscious. Megan comes out soon after, and they're rushed inside, out of sight.

I guess Kevin and David were sent to the police station...

The man escorts me into the waiting room where I stay for a long time, Mama joining me soon after. The moment she enters the doors, my eyes widen and I run to her, sobbing into her chest.

"What happened?" She asks softly, looking around the waiting room like Patrick would be here. Like he actually has a chance at life.

"P-Patrick, h-he was hurt by his d-dad. They're putting him in the ER r-right now. I-I'm so s-scared M-Mama, I don't want him t-to die." I choke. Eventually she hushes me and pulls me with her to a couch where I cry myself to sleep in her arms in an old waiting room that seems to take my happiness from me.

The same waiting room that I waited in for Dad.

***

I wake up late Sunday morning when a man shakes me awake. I'm still in Mama's arms, and it takes me a moment to realize where I'm at. The couch I'm in is uncomfortable, lined with bumps and my ass honestly hurts from sitting in it. Mama's snoring softly beside me, still in peaceful sleep but I know she'll be disturbed as soon as I move.

I finally look up at the man to see it's a doctor. He has short gray hair atop his head, strands of white and dark gray weaving their way through the locks. His face is wrinkled, but he doesn't look too old to be working here.

"You're Gerard, right?" He asks as I slide off of my seat. When I nod he greets me, "Dr. Capaldi, pleased to meet you,"

We shake hands, and as soon as it's over he lowers his voice, "Patrick, isn't doing too well. There's some significant damage to his airpipes, he has cracked ribs, a twisted ankle, minor head damage..."

I feel sick to my stomach as he lists everything off, but before he can finish I whisper, "Is he going to live?"

"We don't know yet, we're working as hard as we can, but there's only so much we can do before he has to decide." Dr. Capaldi replies, "What I'm trying to say is he's not doing well, and you should go home. At least until he wakes up. Staying here and worrying isn't going to do anybody good."

I sigh, realizing he's right. I don't want him to be right but he is, and it's frustrating. But I also remember the last time I was here. What had happened.

***

"Gerard, Mikey," Dr. Smith calls, his brown parted to the side in this weird ass part, his light green eyes filled with sorrow. Something is wrong. Something is seriously wrong.

"What happened, how is he?" I ask, worried. Mikey takes my hand, trying to comfort me but it's useless when he can't even comfort himself. My eyes are set on Dr. Smith, and I can't look away because I'm determined. He got worse, but just because he's worse doesn't mean that he's going to die, right?

"I... I'm sorry to inform you, but he's on his last few hours," Dr. Smith says, his head down.

Last few hours. Dad.

"No," I smile slightly, "You're joking..."

Dr. Smith purses his lips and looks away, "I'm not kidding, Gerard, he's almost gone. If you'd like to say your last words, now is the time to say them."

"No!" Mikey shouts beside me, in just as much disbelief as me, if not more, "You said they'd heal him. You said he would be okay."

Mikey's not talking to Dr. Smith anymore, he's yelling at me.

"I-"

My brother glares at me, "You what-lied to me?"

"Mikey, please, I thought he'd heal, too," I sigh, devastated.

He shakes his head and walks away, off to room 511. To Dad's room.

I can barely even look at the doctor. I want to scream. There's no way Dad could be dying. There has to be something wrong with this. Anything. Dad's supposed to live. He's supposed to be there for us. I guess it just hurt too much and his family wasn't worth it.

I speed down the hall stopping at Dad's room. My heart kind of breaks in half as soon as my gaze rests on them, though. Mikey's crying into Dad's chest, clinging onto the blankets and mumbling out, "No, please, don't leave. I love you so much."

My hand grips the door frame. Dad really is leaving, it really is over, that's why Mama ran off crying earlier.

The blood flowing from the IV to his arm. His famous last words...

"Gerard..." He whispers, his voice so silent it hurts. It actually physically hurts. Like a broken heart. It is a broken heart.

I walk forward, beside Mikey who immediately buries his face into my chest. I feel like I'm in a trance as I run my fingers through Mikey's hair comfortingly.

"Dad," My voice cracks but I barely pay it any mind.

"I need... to talk... to... you..." Dad whispers. He's so weak like even a pinch in the arm would send him away forever.

I look down at Mikey, "You need to go, you can come back in a little bit, okay?"

Mikey nods softly before leaving my arms and going into the waiting room. That goddamn waiting room...

"Gerard," Dad whispers, "There i-is... one thing... you have t-to do for me... bef-ore I l-leave..."

"Anything," I whisper, trying to ignore the tears dripping from my cheeks.

"I l-love you so m-much..." He whispers.

"You've d-done... so well w-with th-this... E-Eight y-years is a l-long time... I'm so proud of y-you..." his voice is getting softer and weaker.

"While o-one of y-you needs t-to go to Th-The Black Par-Parade." no, no, no. It's over... isn't it...?

"I n-need both of y-you to s-stay bra-brave. T-take c-care of your brother f-for me... D-Do you understand?"

I let out a shuddery breath as a tear escapes my eye, "I understand..."

He smiles as his eyes get glassier and glassier, "Go-Good..."

And he stops. He lets out one last breath, and his face stops tensing.

He's gone...

They said his final hours. They should have said his last minutes because he's lifeless now. A limp body to go to the grave. I feel numb. I feel... empty. With the heart monitor a long, never-ending beep confirming my thoughts.

I walk out.

I leave through the waiting room. That's the last time I'll be there for four more years. Watching someone else waste away on their deathbed.

***

"Okay," I whisper, snapping back into reality.

Dr. Capaldi places his hand on my shoulder, "We'll call you when he wakes up."

If he wakes up.

"Okay."