For I am legion
Title: For I am legion
Author: creepylicious/alles_luege
Pairing: Steve/Ghost
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The Ways's car breaks down and while it gets fixed in the middle of nowhere, also known as Missing Mile, Gerard insists on staying in an abandoned house.
“You know how it feels,” he whispered, not looking at Ghost.
Ghost knew. “Yes.” Mikey nodded. “You should stay here,” Ghost said, knowing that it was futile to even suggest it.
“I can't,” Mikey said. “You wouldn't either. For Steve, you would stay for Steve,” Mikey whispered, because Mikey knew. Because Mikey, like Ghost, knew things.
Warning(s): creepy, ghosts, violence, disturbing imaginary
Author’s Notes: Lyrics/songs: Emilie Autumn (Liar), Björk (Army of me) and Emily Browning/The Smiths (Asleep). Bandom/Lost Souls crossover. This is my interpretation of the haunted house from 'Drawing blood' by Poppy Z. Brite.
Pod-fic read by the awesome and talented inkjunket.
Written for pod_together.
Word Count: 2.040
Beta: asm_z, stones_at_moons
Disclaimer: Don’t know, don’t own, not real
~1~
The car made funny noises for three days before it broke down. That's why Gerard was standing out on the balcony of the abandoned house now, smoking his second cigarette, while Mikey was charming the gas-station-guy to get their car fixed as soon and as cheap as possible. But then again, maybe 'charming' was too strong a word for what his brother was doing.
Gerard's lips curled into a smile that looked a bit cruel at the thought. He took a last drag of the cigarette and threw it onto the sandy ground underneath him.
~+~
“Seems like we'll be stranded here for a few days,” Mikey said flopping down onto the dusty arm-chair in the corner.
“How long is a few days?” Gerard asked with a curious tilt of his head.
“How the hell should I know? We shouldn't have split up with Ray and Frank, we’re no use when it comes to cars.” Mikey sighed, a little frustrated.
Gerard nodded. True fucking enough. It was really a spectacularly bad idea to put Frank and Ray in one car and them in another. “At least we don't have to sleep outside.”
Mikey looked around the dusty room and gave Gerard a look. “This is as creepy as it can get, Gee,” his brother answered.
Gerard lit another cigarette.
~+~
Missing Mile was as unspectacular as it could get. Gerard walked a bit in every direction of the creepy house and even ventured into the ‘city’ part of the town, but well, Missing Mile didn't get its name for nothing, apparently.
~2~
Steve was watching the stranger like a rare insect, Ghost thought, his lips curling into a barely-there smile. Steve didn't like strangers much. Ghost, on the other hand, had no problems with them. There always were people at his grandmother's house when she was still alive.
Steve made a noise and the stranger looked up and at them, his gaze zooming in on Steve's guitar.
A musician, Ghost thought. It made him warm inside; a happy feeling spreading through his veins.
“Hey,” he said, waving and ignoring how tense Steve got beside him.
“Hey,” the stranger said. He pushed his blood red hair away from his face. His smile was shy, but real and affectionate. “You play?” he asked.
Ghost shook his head. “I sing.”
“Me too!” When he grinned, happy and real, he looked like a kid. Ghost liked him immediately.
~+~
Gerard was sipping lemonade from an old glass while Steve was quiet, still unhappy with him being here. Ghost couldn't figure out why Gerard bothered Steve so much, or maybe he just didn't want to think about it too closely, like Steve didn't want to either, clearly.
“And that's why we're sleeping in that creepy abandoned house far, far, far away from any civilisation,” Gerard closed.
“You can't call Missing Mile civilisation,” Steve threw in. It was a test.
Gerard smiled at him and shrugged. “It's your home,” he stated. Steve relaxed beside Ghost on the couch.
“You shouldn't sleep out there,” Ghost said softly.
“It's not that bad,” Gerard replied and then after a short pause, “I kind of like the feel of it.”
Steve shuddered, but Ghost knew Gerard didn't see it. He wasn't sure Steve was aware of his own repulsion towards that house in the middle of nowhere, though.
“At least take some blankets with you and a pillow,” Ghost answered reasonably.
“Uhm, sure, thanks.”
~3~
“Only you could take a walk in the middle of freaking nowhere and end up finding a charitable musician,” Mikey said, taking a deep drag. His lips formed a smile around the cigarette. There was sand clinging to his clothes and skin.
“Well, I’m just that magical. Were you standing out here all this time?”
Mikey shrugged. “I find it less creepy out here.”
“Mikey...” Gerard said softly.
“It's nothing,” Mikey answered firmly.
But it was never nothing when Mikey preferred the harsh sun to the safety of a house. Gerard bit his lip until it hurt. He could tell Mikey that Ghost offered them a guest room. He could, but something inside the house called to him.
“Okay,” he said and felt like a traitor because he knew, he knew, that Mikey wouldn't ask him to leave. And that he wouldn't leave Gerard here alone either.
~+~
Don't try to wake me in the morning, 'cause I will be gone.
Gerard woke up with a start.
It was pitch black in the house. He closed his eyes and tried to match his breathing with his brother's. In and out and in again. It helped a bit. Something was at the edge of his awareness. A shadow of some sorts, a nameless terror, a nightmare from his childhood when Mikey came into his bed late at night, silent and ghostly white.
The normal creaking noises of the house sounded threatening to him all of a sudden. He took a carefully measured breath.
“Don't try and wake me in the morning...” Mikey whispered.
Gerard held his breath, but Mikey's breathing was even. He was deeply asleep.
~+~
In the harsh morning sun the bite mark on Mikey's throat looked even more vivid than it had any right to.
Gerard was holding on to his paper-cup of coffee like it could save him.
Mikey looked tired and washed out. He stared out of the window onto the overgrown garden. His fingers clasped around his own coffee cup, his knuckles white.
“Are you okay?” Gerard asked softly.
Mikey's head whipped in his direction. His eyes fever bright. “Yes, I’m fine.”
Gerard bit his lip again, until it bled this time. Mikey stared at the blood kind of hungrily. But maybe Gerard was imaging things. Gerard nodded and still didn't say what needed to be said; that they should get out of the house.
The house sang in his veins. His fingers itching for a pen and paper constantly.
He filled his notebook during the long hours of day while Mikey was out, maybe playing guitar with Steve. Maybe talking about something obscure or other with Ghost.
Gerard couldn't muster up the energy to care.
The house sang in his veins, his brain, his soul.
He never wanted to leave this place.
~4~
Ghost took one look at Mikey and knew. Just knew that something was going on. Something not good. Something evil.
He never even set a foot into that building. Just stood at the edge of the property when the other kids dared each other to go inside the murder-house. It felt wrong to him even then. Like it could steal your soul.
Mikey could feel it too. He looked at the ceiling, his throat exposed like he was offering it to some unknown, unnamed person, thing, evil - or his brother. Surrendering.
“You know how it feels,” he whispered, not looking at Ghost.
Ghost knew. “Yes.” Mikey nodded. “You should stay here,” Ghost said, knowing that it was futile to even suggest it.
“I can't,” Mikey said. “You wouldn't either. For Steve, you would stay for Steve,” Mikey whispered, because Mikey knew. Because Mikey, like Ghost, knew things.
~+~
Ghost watched from his grandmother's porch as Mikey made his way down the road to the house at the end of the world. At the end of reality, of sanity. The house, Ghost knew, and Mikey knew it too, was an abyss and it would drag you down if you let it, would lure you in with a siren song and pretty pictures. It would draw blood, but not your own.
Ghost shuddered in the warm summer evening.
He really hoped Gerard was strong enough, loved Mikey enough to get the hell out of there.
~5~
Gerard looked up from the sketch and at Mikey as his brother put a mug of coffee on the floor beside him.
“What are you drawing?” Mikey asked, softly.
Blood was the first thing that came to mind, but that wasn't what Gerard was drawing. “A comic, I call it ‘Army Of Me’,” Gerard said. He was already impatient with Mikey. He took a sip of the coffee and wished Mikey would leave him alone and felt horrible the second the thought occurred.
“It does look a bit like you, I suppose?” Mikey said, sitting down next to him. Gerard could feel Mikey's familiar body alongside his own. Felt the warmth, his brother's breath on his skin. It was too much, it was not enough, it was- he stopped this thought as the soft noise the snapping of his pencil made penetrated his brain.
“It isn't me,” he pressed out.
“Gerard...” Mikey said softly, his fingers careful on Gerard's arm. Gerard jerked away and got up.
“I need to finish this. Leave me alone!” It came out sharper than it should have, than he intended it to sound, but he wasn't sorry.
~+~
I want to mix our blood and put it in the ground. So you can never leave.
The house kept singing, kept whispering into his ear.
Gerard was staring at the curve of Mikey's jaw, the soft line of his neck, the pale skin of his so very vulnerable throat.
The red pen in his fingers jerked with the twitch of his hand. The motion of drawing invisible red lines onto that pale skin, like dirty canvas. He wanted to push the tip into Mikey's flesh and watch it bleed ink onto, into, Mikey's body.
The house sang louder around him in different voices that sounded like one.
Mikey made a noise and shifted on the bed. It sounded like a whimper. Somewhere between pain and pleasure.
Gerard clenched his fingers around the pen until it broke, the shards biting into his palm, red ink mingling with his blood. The same blood he shared with Mikey.
Not like that. the voices hissed. Gerard closed his eyes, drawing more blood by clenching his hands to fists.
Mikey's breath hitched. Gerard could see the outline of his throat as he swallowed a moan.
Gerard closed his eyes, took a deep breath and opened the sketchbook to the last blank page.
~+~
Mikey handed him a cigarette and didn't jerk away as their fingers brushed. Gerard's hands were stained with blood. He took a deep drag, kept it in his lungs until they screamed and exhaled carefully. Mikey looked over the overgrown backyard. The marks on his skin vivid in red and darkening to a soft purple. Glaring at Gerard in the harsh morning light. Accusing and horrible and beautiful. He still didn't tell Gerard that he wanted to leave.
Gerard took another deep drag. The sketchbook was lying on the floor. The last page a mess in blood red (that wasn't blood) and a coppery brown (that wasn't ink).
Gerard crushed the cigarette on the windowsill and lifted his hand. Mikey's pulse sped up at the touch, the second Gerard's fingers made contact with his skin. Gerard could feel it under his fingertips. It was an electric shook, a thrill, a surge of unbelievable power. It made him giddy and high and disgusted with himself. He leaned in until he could see the muscles work when Mikey swallowed.
“I finished the comic,” he said quietly.
“Yeah?” Mikey answered. His voice calm.
“Yeah, everybody dies,” Gerard replied, leaning forward on a whim to kiss Mikey's neck. Just a brush of lips like they used to do it when they were kids, but they were kissing cheeks back then. It made all the difference in the world.
Mikey choked on a laugh and Gerard grabbed his hand. He pulled them onto the porch and into the sun, making his way steadily away from the house. Mikey didn't protest.
Gerard could make out Ghost's pale form at the end of the road, the wind playing with his light hair. He was leaning against their car.
Gerard's blood mingled with Mikey's sweat as they made their way towards it.
~end~
Author: creepylicious/alles_luege
Pairing: Steve/Ghost
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The Ways's car breaks down and while it gets fixed in the middle of nowhere, also known as Missing Mile, Gerard insists on staying in an abandoned house.
“You know how it feels,” he whispered, not looking at Ghost.
Ghost knew. “Yes.” Mikey nodded. “You should stay here,” Ghost said, knowing that it was futile to even suggest it.
“I can't,” Mikey said. “You wouldn't either. For Steve, you would stay for Steve,” Mikey whispered, because Mikey knew. Because Mikey, like Ghost, knew things.
Warning(s): creepy, ghosts, violence, disturbing imaginary
Author’s Notes: Lyrics/songs: Emilie Autumn (Liar), Björk (Army of me) and Emily Browning/The Smiths (Asleep). Bandom/Lost Souls crossover. This is my interpretation of the haunted house from 'Drawing blood' by Poppy Z. Brite.
Pod-fic read by the awesome and talented inkjunket.
Written for pod_together.
Word Count: 2.040
Beta: asm_z, stones_at_moons
Disclaimer: Don’t know, don’t own, not real
~1~
The car made funny noises for three days before it broke down. That's why Gerard was standing out on the balcony of the abandoned house now, smoking his second cigarette, while Mikey was charming the gas-station-guy to get their car fixed as soon and as cheap as possible. But then again, maybe 'charming' was too strong a word for what his brother was doing.
Gerard's lips curled into a smile that looked a bit cruel at the thought. He took a last drag of the cigarette and threw it onto the sandy ground underneath him.
~+~
“Seems like we'll be stranded here for a few days,” Mikey said flopping down onto the dusty arm-chair in the corner.
“How long is a few days?” Gerard asked with a curious tilt of his head.
“How the hell should I know? We shouldn't have split up with Ray and Frank, we’re no use when it comes to cars.” Mikey sighed, a little frustrated.
Gerard nodded. True fucking enough. It was really a spectacularly bad idea to put Frank and Ray in one car and them in another. “At least we don't have to sleep outside.”
Mikey looked around the dusty room and gave Gerard a look. “This is as creepy as it can get, Gee,” his brother answered.
Gerard lit another cigarette.
~+~
Missing Mile was as unspectacular as it could get. Gerard walked a bit in every direction of the creepy house and even ventured into the ‘city’ part of the town, but well, Missing Mile didn't get its name for nothing, apparently.
~2~
Steve was watching the stranger like a rare insect, Ghost thought, his lips curling into a barely-there smile. Steve didn't like strangers much. Ghost, on the other hand, had no problems with them. There always were people at his grandmother's house when she was still alive.
Steve made a noise and the stranger looked up and at them, his gaze zooming in on Steve's guitar.
A musician, Ghost thought. It made him warm inside; a happy feeling spreading through his veins.
“Hey,” he said, waving and ignoring how tense Steve got beside him.
“Hey,” the stranger said. He pushed his blood red hair away from his face. His smile was shy, but real and affectionate. “You play?” he asked.
Ghost shook his head. “I sing.”
“Me too!” When he grinned, happy and real, he looked like a kid. Ghost liked him immediately.
~+~
Gerard was sipping lemonade from an old glass while Steve was quiet, still unhappy with him being here. Ghost couldn't figure out why Gerard bothered Steve so much, or maybe he just didn't want to think about it too closely, like Steve didn't want to either, clearly.
“And that's why we're sleeping in that creepy abandoned house far, far, far away from any civilisation,” Gerard closed.
“You can't call Missing Mile civilisation,” Steve threw in. It was a test.
Gerard smiled at him and shrugged. “It's your home,” he stated. Steve relaxed beside Ghost on the couch.
“You shouldn't sleep out there,” Ghost said softly.
“It's not that bad,” Gerard replied and then after a short pause, “I kind of like the feel of it.”
Steve shuddered, but Ghost knew Gerard didn't see it. He wasn't sure Steve was aware of his own repulsion towards that house in the middle of nowhere, though.
“At least take some blankets with you and a pillow,” Ghost answered reasonably.
“Uhm, sure, thanks.”
~3~
“Only you could take a walk in the middle of freaking nowhere and end up finding a charitable musician,” Mikey said, taking a deep drag. His lips formed a smile around the cigarette. There was sand clinging to his clothes and skin.
“Well, I’m just that magical. Were you standing out here all this time?”
Mikey shrugged. “I find it less creepy out here.”
“Mikey...” Gerard said softly.
“It's nothing,” Mikey answered firmly.
But it was never nothing when Mikey preferred the harsh sun to the safety of a house. Gerard bit his lip until it hurt. He could tell Mikey that Ghost offered them a guest room. He could, but something inside the house called to him.
“Okay,” he said and felt like a traitor because he knew, he knew, that Mikey wouldn't ask him to leave. And that he wouldn't leave Gerard here alone either.
~+~
Don't try to wake me in the morning, 'cause I will be gone.
Gerard woke up with a start.
It was pitch black in the house. He closed his eyes and tried to match his breathing with his brother's. In and out and in again. It helped a bit. Something was at the edge of his awareness. A shadow of some sorts, a nameless terror, a nightmare from his childhood when Mikey came into his bed late at night, silent and ghostly white.
The normal creaking noises of the house sounded threatening to him all of a sudden. He took a carefully measured breath.
“Don't try and wake me in the morning...” Mikey whispered.
Gerard held his breath, but Mikey's breathing was even. He was deeply asleep.
~+~
In the harsh morning sun the bite mark on Mikey's throat looked even more vivid than it had any right to.
Gerard was holding on to his paper-cup of coffee like it could save him.
Mikey looked tired and washed out. He stared out of the window onto the overgrown garden. His fingers clasped around his own coffee cup, his knuckles white.
“Are you okay?” Gerard asked softly.
Mikey's head whipped in his direction. His eyes fever bright. “Yes, I’m fine.”
Gerard bit his lip again, until it bled this time. Mikey stared at the blood kind of hungrily. But maybe Gerard was imaging things. Gerard nodded and still didn't say what needed to be said; that they should get out of the house.
The house sang in his veins. His fingers itching for a pen and paper constantly.
He filled his notebook during the long hours of day while Mikey was out, maybe playing guitar with Steve. Maybe talking about something obscure or other with Ghost.
Gerard couldn't muster up the energy to care.
The house sang in his veins, his brain, his soul.
He never wanted to leave this place.
~4~
Ghost took one look at Mikey and knew. Just knew that something was going on. Something not good. Something evil.
He never even set a foot into that building. Just stood at the edge of the property when the other kids dared each other to go inside the murder-house. It felt wrong to him even then. Like it could steal your soul.
Mikey could feel it too. He looked at the ceiling, his throat exposed like he was offering it to some unknown, unnamed person, thing, evil - or his brother. Surrendering.
“You know how it feels,” he whispered, not looking at Ghost.
Ghost knew. “Yes.” Mikey nodded. “You should stay here,” Ghost said, knowing that it was futile to even suggest it.
“I can't,” Mikey said. “You wouldn't either. For Steve, you would stay for Steve,” Mikey whispered, because Mikey knew. Because Mikey, like Ghost, knew things.
~+~
Ghost watched from his grandmother's porch as Mikey made his way down the road to the house at the end of the world. At the end of reality, of sanity. The house, Ghost knew, and Mikey knew it too, was an abyss and it would drag you down if you let it, would lure you in with a siren song and pretty pictures. It would draw blood, but not your own.
Ghost shuddered in the warm summer evening.
He really hoped Gerard was strong enough, loved Mikey enough to get the hell out of there.
~5~
Gerard looked up from the sketch and at Mikey as his brother put a mug of coffee on the floor beside him.
“What are you drawing?” Mikey asked, softly.
Blood was the first thing that came to mind, but that wasn't what Gerard was drawing. “A comic, I call it ‘Army Of Me’,” Gerard said. He was already impatient with Mikey. He took a sip of the coffee and wished Mikey would leave him alone and felt horrible the second the thought occurred.
“It does look a bit like you, I suppose?” Mikey said, sitting down next to him. Gerard could feel Mikey's familiar body alongside his own. Felt the warmth, his brother's breath on his skin. It was too much, it was not enough, it was- he stopped this thought as the soft noise the snapping of his pencil made penetrated his brain.
“It isn't me,” he pressed out.
“Gerard...” Mikey said softly, his fingers careful on Gerard's arm. Gerard jerked away and got up.
“I need to finish this. Leave me alone!” It came out sharper than it should have, than he intended it to sound, but he wasn't sorry.
~+~
I want to mix our blood and put it in the ground. So you can never leave.
The house kept singing, kept whispering into his ear.
Gerard was staring at the curve of Mikey's jaw, the soft line of his neck, the pale skin of his so very vulnerable throat.
The red pen in his fingers jerked with the twitch of his hand. The motion of drawing invisible red lines onto that pale skin, like dirty canvas. He wanted to push the tip into Mikey's flesh and watch it bleed ink onto, into, Mikey's body.
The house sang louder around him in different voices that sounded like one.
Mikey made a noise and shifted on the bed. It sounded like a whimper. Somewhere between pain and pleasure.
Gerard clenched his fingers around the pen until it broke, the shards biting into his palm, red ink mingling with his blood. The same blood he shared with Mikey.
Not like that. the voices hissed. Gerard closed his eyes, drawing more blood by clenching his hands to fists.
Mikey's breath hitched. Gerard could see the outline of his throat as he swallowed a moan.
Gerard closed his eyes, took a deep breath and opened the sketchbook to the last blank page.
~+~
Mikey handed him a cigarette and didn't jerk away as their fingers brushed. Gerard's hands were stained with blood. He took a deep drag, kept it in his lungs until they screamed and exhaled carefully. Mikey looked over the overgrown backyard. The marks on his skin vivid in red and darkening to a soft purple. Glaring at Gerard in the harsh morning light. Accusing and horrible and beautiful. He still didn't tell Gerard that he wanted to leave.
Gerard took another deep drag. The sketchbook was lying on the floor. The last page a mess in blood red (that wasn't blood) and a coppery brown (that wasn't ink).
Gerard crushed the cigarette on the windowsill and lifted his hand. Mikey's pulse sped up at the touch, the second Gerard's fingers made contact with his skin. Gerard could feel it under his fingertips. It was an electric shook, a thrill, a surge of unbelievable power. It made him giddy and high and disgusted with himself. He leaned in until he could see the muscles work when Mikey swallowed.
“I finished the comic,” he said quietly.
“Yeah?” Mikey answered. His voice calm.
“Yeah, everybody dies,” Gerard replied, leaning forward on a whim to kiss Mikey's neck. Just a brush of lips like they used to do it when they were kids, but they were kissing cheeks back then. It made all the difference in the world.
Mikey choked on a laugh and Gerard grabbed his hand. He pulled them onto the porch and into the sun, making his way steadily away from the house. Mikey didn't protest.
Gerard could make out Ghost's pale form at the end of the road, the wind playing with his light hair. He was leaning against their car.
Gerard's blood mingled with Mikey's sweat as they made their way towards it.
~end~