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Freak	By : EmilyRose Category: My Chemical Romance > Slash - Male/Male Views: 3917 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of My Chemical Romance. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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A/N:
Here's a new story by me. This should be completly different from anything else I've written.
I've researched Asbergers Syndrome for this, but if some things seem like they're not AS related, don't worry there's a reason for that.

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“Mikey!” Comes a shout from upstairs, my eyes open instantly. Fuck, I fell asleep again. I wasn’t supposed to fall asleep, I was just resting my eyes and leaning my head on the table. Without any further delay I got up, stretched my aching body and ran towards the stairs.

My name was heard again, louder this time. ‘What does mum want this time?’ I thought to myself as I sprinted up the stairs. I cursed in my head as I felt my tired body cry out for sleep. No time for that, almost never any time for that. Which is why I tend to fall asleep when I’m supposed to organize next weeks schedule.

“Mike, where’s your brother?” My mothers voice said, sounding distressed. Suddenly I wasn’t calm anymore, suddenly I wasn’t tired anymore. Suddenly I shared her feeling of distress.

“What- I…” I didn’t know what to say. There was nothing to be said, this had happened so many times before. He would leave his room, and we would search for him, franticly. We didn’t waste any time talking, we started moving.

First we looked through my room, then the guestrooms, then the hallway closets. I tried to calm mum down, I tried to tell her everything would be fine and that we would find him soon.

But what if I’m wrong? What if he’s really hurt this time?

I shook my head as I ripped coats out from the closet. I reached the small door in the closet that lead to the attic. He had never gone up there before, he doesn’t like small spaces, but what if he had this time? What if he fell?

With my mother hot on my tail I ran quickly towards the dusty room above.

“Never, ever do that again Gerard!” My mother shouted to the boy who was currently sitting on the couch, hugging his legs tightly to his chest and rocking back and forth.

He wasn’t in the attic, he was hiding under my bed. I don’t know why we didn’t look there, after all he had a thing for hiding under beds. Even if he has a problem with small spaces.

“Gerard, look at me!” I heard mum say to him. As usual it was of no use. Normally he would look at us, but not when he was upset. And he was upset now, he didn’t like when people shouted to him.

I put a hand on my mothers arm to calm her down. She sighed deeply and put a hand on her forehead.

“You take care of him Mikey, I can’t right now.” She whispered to me, and then she left.

Don’t judge her, she does try. She does try really, really hard. She’s just had a hard time since dad left. She has to have two jobs, otherwise she can’t support us. I have a job as well, at a bookstore. But Gerard can’t really work. He can’t really… well, he just needs…

I love my brother, I love him to the end of the earth, but he’s special, there’s no denying that. When they told us why he behaved as he did, it broke my parents down. I didn’t really understand back then, all I knew was that my brother wasn’t like all other children.

My name is Michael James Way, and my brother is Gerard Arthur Way. And Gerard, has Asberger Syndrome.

“Come on Gerard, it’s alright, she was just worried.” I said to him as I leaned down to pull him into a hug. Hesitantly he hugged me back, when he was sure I wasn’t going to shout at him.

I think, at 18 I’m as grown up as I’ll ever be. Gerard may be 21, but he doesn’t seem like it.

“Lets get you back into bed Gee.” I slowly pulled him to his feet and lead him back upstairs.

We live in a two-story house. It’s got many rooms, and maybe you start thinking ‘if you don’t have a lot of money, why not sell your house and buy a smaller one?’.
That is a good question, but I have a better answer.

This was my mothers childhood home, she loves it too much, it’s too filled with memories. Besides, it might be pretty big, but it’s not exactly in great shape. The wallpapers are faded, the floor dirty, and the smell of… well I can’t really describe the smell, but it’s smells almost like an old basement.

Even if we sold it, we wouldn’t get that much money for it. And we’re doing alright. With mum’s jobs and my job and our dads checks that come once a month we’re making it through. Of course a lot of money has to go to Gerard’s psychiatrist, but he needs it to function better.

Moving out is out of the question. Gerard can’t live on his own, and mum can’t take care of him without me. Now some people might think that I’m bitter, that I’m angry, because I can’t live my own life. That’s not true. I know it’s not Gerard’s fault, neither my mum’s. It’s just the way life turns out sometimes.

Slowly I lead Gerard into his room and tuck him back into bed, normally he can do things like that on his own, but he hasn’t been to see his psychiatrist for a few weeks and he tends to get worse when he doesn’t. More closed off in himself.

“I’ll see you in the morning Gee.” I whisper before I make my way out of his room. If anyone who didn’t know Gerard saw his room they’d think there was a much younger boy living in there. Sure, he has some band posters, but he has lots - I mean lots! - of action figures. They are all in perfect order and arranged by size/colour.

Actually everything in Gerard’s room is arranged and sorted. There’s no mess, there’s nothing that’s not in it’s right place. His CD’s and movies are sorted by genre and are also in alphabetical order. His books are sorted by size and author. In his wardrobe everything is neatly folded and sorted by the order he’ll put them on.

Some people might think it’s freaky, or scary, but it’s just Gerard. He needs everything to be in order, and if it isn’t he’ll freak out. When we give him breakfast, he needs the cereal to be put in the bowl first, then the milk and last the spoon. If done in the wrong order, he can’t eat it. I accidentally put in the spoon before the milk once and he threw it on the floor and ran off.

Same goes during dinner, everything must be put on his plate in a special order. And the setting of the table must be perfect and in complete order. If we have several pots and pans on the table, they must be arranged by size, or he can’t sit down at the table.

Sounds hard? Well that’s just a few of the things you need to think about when living with Gerard. Everything has a special system, everything has a special place and everything has a special way of being done. It isn’t as hard anymore, you really get into the routine after living with it for years and years.

Finally I can sit down on my bed with a book and just relax. Finally I have some just me time. Some alone time in my room.

My room is the exact opposite of Gerard’s room. It’s a complete mess, with things everywhere. Which is why if Gerard has a nightmare and can’t sleep, I have to come into his room and sleep in his bed with him. He can’t relax in my room, he gets anxious and starts trying to put things in order.

With a tired sigh I put my book down, I need to sleep, because it’s already past 11pm and I have work tomorrow. When I’m at work Gerard has an assistant that comes over to the house to look out for him. Only Monday to Thursday though, on Fridays he has therapy. Or he would have, if he would go. He used to go every week, but lately he doesn’t want to.

And if Gerard doesn’t want to do something, it’s really hard to force him. We try, but he cries, he screams, he throws things around and he hits things. Furniture, us or himself. After receiving a black eye from your older brother, you tend to try and not to force him to do things.

With a final glance on the clock I crawled under the covers, not bothering with brushing my teeth or changing into something else to sleep in. I simply just wriggled out of my jeans once I was under the covers and turned the nightlight off.

Another Tuesday down, about a billion more to go.

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