Hey! This seems Ryan/Gerard, but I swear on my dead cat, it will be Ferard and Ryden. Soon. Enjoy!

The psych ward wasn't what Gerard had expected. Actually, it was more that he didn't expect being sent to one in the first place.

He had come home after a long night at the bar, a beer in hand, when Mikey called him. His brother had said that their parents had important news to discuss. Therapy.

Of course, it probably didn't help Gerard's case when he showed up at his parents' place at one-o-clock in the morning with a pack of cigarettes and a six-pack of whatever was in his fridge tonight close at hand.

The conversation with their parents started off with a customary 'how are you?', but soon proceeded to Gerard awkwardly sitting in a corner while his family badgered him about substance abuse, violent tendencies, and his rapidly increasing depression. His mother had shed a few tears over her 'poor little boy' and his father scolded him, because he wasn't living up to the high standards set by his younger brother, who was also awkwardly making attempts to leave the room.

Gerard sighed, stood, and left the house, ignoring Mikey silently begging him to take him with.

That lead him to now, sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair in the lobby at St. Jimmy's Hospital for Troubled Young Teens. In all of the movies Gerard had seen, mental hospitals had been portrayed as scary, old places where doctors wore stark-white lab-coats and carried around gas masks. The place he currently found himself in was a small facility much like the ones he went to as a kid to get a check-up. He was pretty sure that the old magazines on the coffee table were the exact same ones, too. The walls were painted a pale blue, almost white, and had numerous scratches and pen marks on them.

A young lady, possibly in her mid-twenties approached him, clipboard in hand.
"Hello? Mister Gerard Way?" She had one of those high-pitched voices you'd hear a kindergarten teacher use, and she spoke carefully, as if anything she said would trigger a psychotic breakdown.

Gerard feigned a smile and followed her down a wide hallway. There were plain oak doors on either side of them, each holding a brass plate reading the name and diagnosis of the patient or patients it belonged to. They arrived at the end of the hall at a door with a similar plaque reading: 'Ryan Ross, Schizophrenia, Gerard Way, dissociative disorder.' The lady turned the handle, stepping aside.

"Your brother is coming along tomorrow with a few of your things, but in the meantime, busy yourself with getting to know your neighbors. Why not start with Ryan? I'm sure the two of you will get along fine. Just... Don't pressure him to talk if he doesn't want to, okay?" And with a fake smile, she turned on her heels and left. Once the clanging of her shoes on the wood floor abided, Gerard turned to observe the room.

It was a simple setup, two twin beds, one in a simple cotton quilt, the other bearing a Rolling Stones blanket, and covered in an assortment of CDs. There was a dresser in the corner and an empty bookshelf above it, both symmetrical to the dresser and shelf on the other half of the room. Except the other shelf was full of old figurines and leather-bound books. Gerard approached the bed to get a better look at the CDs. If he was going to live with this kid, he'd better have good taste in music.

"Put it down! Now!" Gerard did as told, then turned to get a good look at his roommate. He was tall and lanky, and dressed very old fashioned, which, added to the way he carried himself, made him seem much older than he really was. Gerard guessed he was about the same age as himself.

"Sorry, man. Just looking. Jawbreaker? They're awesome,"

"Oh, thanks. I love them. Sorry about freaking out at you.I, um, psycho, remember?" Ryan smiled sheepishly, shrugging.

"It's cool. So, favorite song?" Ryan pondered this for a moment, before replying,

"For Esma." He hummed a few bars, then retreated to his bed.
Gerard watched for a moment as Ryan carefully placed all of the discs back on his bookshelf in alphabetical order.
Glancing at his own shelf, he promised:

"Once my brother brings my shit in tomorrow, I'll have to loan you my collection of music." Ryan nodded, and after a few more minutes of mindless chatter, they were called out for lunch.

The hospital food wasn't... Well, it was like school food, plus a side of pills. Disgusting. After poking at the brown sludge on his tray, Gerard concluded that it was either refrained beans or chicken someone had thrown in the blender. Wrinkling his nose, he took a bite. He forcefully spat it back out, much to the amusement of Ryan.

"Delicious, right?" Ryan smirked, handing Gerard a napkin.

"Honestly, it tasted a bit better than the shit they served us at my old school." Ryan grimaced, imagining a meal worse than this, as Gerard wiped his face.
The pair both placed the pills given to them in their throats, Gerard's a small orange capsule, Ryan's the standard half red, half white pill. Tipping their heads back and lifting their small Dixie cups full of water, they swallowed.

"Cheers." Gerard said, lifting the now empty glass to the air.

"Cheers." Ryan repeated, copying the movement.
Gerard gagged, then finally managed to choke down the chalk flavored anti-depressant. Why couldn't they have given him something smaller to ingest?

So, there you go! this time, the next chapter actually will get longer, and now that class is almost out, I will outdated more. Sayonara bitches!

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