Gerard was roused by the sound of a nearby fire crackling, threatening to consume his helpless self as a crushing weight pressed down on his entire body. Pain surged through his head at almost an unbearable rate. His vision, blackened and distorted, offered no aid in his struggles to figure out what the hell just actually happened, but the scent of smoke and blood on his tongue allowed him to reason that he was definitely screwed if he didn't get out of there, wherever 'there' may be. He attempted movement, but lacked the energy and tolerance of pain it brought him.
"Gerard? Are you okay?" As the vaguely familiar voice spoke, something gripped his forearms and forced his almost lifeless body from the wreckage. He was dragged across shards of shattered glass that only added to the excessive amount of lacerations he had. He winced in pain as this happened, and the same voice of the silhouette kneeling over him spoke once again. "Hey! Wake up! Say something!" It commanded. He responding by murmuring something inaudible to both him and his rescuer.
A second voice called out to the first. "Is he alright?"
"I think so," replied the first. "I mean... I don't know. He's bleeding pretty badly everywhere. It looks like he might have a concussion. He's also just mumbling random shit I can't really hear."
Gerard groaned and slowly moved an unsteady hand to his head and applied pressure as if to fight off the migraine forming in his skull. He was lying horizontally in the grass, and wasn't sure it this escalated the effects of the pain or diluted them. Then, slowly like molasses, the memories oozed back into his mind accompanied by visions that he wish didn't follow. The band, the tour, Canada, the collision, the pain, and above all... His brother.
"Mikey..." Was all he could choke out at first. The man kneeling beside him didn't respond, and Gerard would have felt more satisfaction with this response if he had been able to read his facial expression, but the sun made sure this didn't happen. His vision and thoughts then cleared when he took a moment to collect himself. "Where is he?" A gloved hand took the back of his neck and helped him sit up. Gerard glance for the first time up at the young man who had just saved him for the first time, taking him a moment to recognize the face. "Frank, where the hell is Mikey?" He felt guilt prick him in the heart as he spoke with a bitter tone, and not thanking Frank for saving him.
"I don't... know." Frank tucked the left side of his bottom lip under the top row of flawless white teeth.
"What do you mean you don't-" But the pain coursing through his skull forced him to break his sentence and press two hands to either side of his head. He continued when the pain was diminished by the pressure. "-fucking know?"
"Gerard, I was going... I-"
"Is he still in the bus?" No response. Gerard shook away the hand on his neck and crawled to the wreckage a few feet away. Frank seized his leg as he entered the bus for a second time.
"Wait!" Frank pleaded. "You can't go back in there!"
"Oh, so I'm just going to let my own brother burn alive?" Frank lost his gripped as Gerard kicked, and he clawed through shattered glass and other unrecognizable objects that had been consumed by flames on hands and knees. His sliced palms bled while the growing fires seared his skin, but he would bear through any sort of pain to ensure his brother's safety. Gerard spotted Mikey's body and called out to him, afraid he might to crying out to a corpse. He reached him within seconds. Mikey was unconscious with a rivulet of blood trickling down his temple. Gerard checked for a pulse, then a breath, finding both, then cradled his brother's head in his arms for a moment. "Don't die on me now, okay? I'm gonna get you outta here," He promised. He then wrapped both arms around Mikey's body and pulled him from the wreckage with all the strength he had left.
"That thing is gonna blow any minute now. Maybe someone should go in there and see if they're alright. I vote Bob goes."
"Wait a fuckin' second..." Bob protested.
"C'mon Frank, now's not the time. Oh God, I hope they're alright," Ray added.
"Wait! Look!" Frank gestured to the remains of the tour bus as he spoke, but it wasn't like it was necessary, because the sight was hard to miss at the moment. Gerard appeared with Mikey. Blood from multitudes of lacerations smeared over parts of his face and his skin was blackened in the sections where the flames had licked. An open wound from his head spilled crimson into his platinum blonde hair. Mikey didn't look any better, but what mattered most was that the two had successfully evaded the wreck, and the younger of the two brothers wasn't dead yet. Bob, Ray and Frank assisted in carrying the body out of the ditch and away from the tour bus that could potentially explode and kill them all at any moment. They placed him on the pavement and kneeled in unison, encompassing Mikey. Gerard once again took his head and brushed strands of blood-soaked black hair from his eyes.
"What should we do?" Asked Bob.
"I don't know... wait to see if he wakes up? I'm not a doctor." Gerard replied sarcastically.
"Is he alive?"
"Yeah, I checked for a pulse."
They waited, watching Mikey's chest slowly rise and fall.
"Frankie?"
"Yeah, Gerard?"
"Do you think... you think he'll be alright?"
Frank rested an arm on Gerard's back. "I hope so." There were a few agonizing moments of bitter silence as the four waited to see what would happen next.
"What if he-" Ray asked, but before the last words crossed his lips, Mikey's eyes fluttered open. They darted around frantically, as he was shaken and perplexed. He coughed once, and a drop of diluted blood seeped from his mouth. The four simultaneously released a serene sigh that had so desperately wanted to escape them. An array of panic was suddenly cast over Mikey. He sucked in shaking breaths, becoming tense and rigid while attempting to choke out words.
"What the hell? Where am...? What just...?"
Gerard cut him off though, still cradling his head. "Shh... It's okay now. You're safe. Everything's gonna be alright."
"What just happened? Did we all just...?"
"Yeah," replied Gerard, reading his mind, though the ending of the question was quite obvious, "we all got into a wreck and from the looks of it..." He paused and downcast his eyes in remorse. "We're the only five that survived. Are you okay? Think you can walk?"
"I don't know... I feel-"
"Oh shit!" Bob cried out. "Look at his ankle! Fuckin' look at it!"
"What? What's wrong with my..." Mikey propped himself up with his elbows. "Aw shit..."
"Dude, it looks like it's fuckin' broken."
"Yeah, no kidding," Frank sarcastically added. The others continued to be fascinated by the apalling sight of Mikey's ankle, contributing other comments until Frank continued again. "This is great. This is just great." He retorted. "Here we are, in the middle of fuckin' Canada, it's like forty degrees out, our tour bus just crashed and killed everyone in it but us, Mikey's got a broken ankle and we're all gonna fuckin' die!"
"Yeah, and we got a show tomorrow too!"
Frank shot Gerard a bewildered glare. "Seriously? Look at the condition we're in, Gerard! We could be dead in three days and all your tiny mind can wrap around is the fact that we're gonna miss our performance?"
"Hey! I'll have you know that my mind is not tiny! And excuse me if I'm thinking about my fuckin' career!"
"Well without us, there wouldn't even be a show!"
"I'm just trying to be a bit more positive than you!"
"Both of you shut up!" Bob cut in, but he wasn't needed as much, for the explosion of the tour bus silenced the conflict immediately. The band's attention was redirected towards the flames engulfing the entire automobile. No one dared to comment, especially after the abrupt outburst. He waited, and when the flames were no longer a distraction, he continued, vexation still darkening his face. "No one's gonna get outta here alive if we all keep bitchin' about it. Gerard, Frank?" He faced them both with a menacing stare that meant business, "Not another word from you or I swear to God I'll kill you both. Now, does anyone have a cell phone on 'em?"
"Yeah, I do. Hold on a second," said Mikey's raspy and weakened voice.
Bob, who had been towering over the other four because he felt he had need to stand when taking authority, waited patiently as the injured young man's shaking hand retrieved the device from his pocket and handed it to Bob. He accepted and examined it, his massive hands working the tiny keys. "Dammit. No signal."
"Yep, we're fucked." Frank exclaimed, tossing his hands into to the air to express his frustration.
"What about you, Ray? What do you think?" Asked Gerard, ignoring Frank's remark.
"I think we still have a chance," replied Ray. "All we have to do is wait here for another vehicle to pass, and when they see a tour bus up in flames in a ditch on the side of the road and five guys covered in blood and half-burned-alive they might think something's wrong."
The others shrugged in agreement at the suggestion.
"Then we wait," came the confirmation from Gerard, "but while that happens, we should do something about our wounds. I say Mikey's ankle is the top priority here." Frank moved in to examine the injury, placing a hand over it as he did so.
"Seriously? Dude don't touch it!" Mikey snapped.
"Relax," Frank said, "I'm not even applying pressure."
"Well how 'bout you go break your ankle and then let me touch and see how that feels!"
Frank, ignoring the comment continued his observations of the wound, then proposed his idea. "It looks dislocated. I think we should try to snap it back in place."
"Since when did you know any of this shit?"
"Oh, I have no clue. I'm just guessing. Now, Gerard you hold him down."
"Wait, I do not consent!"
"Frank! No!" scolded Gerard, "I say we just leave it how it is. Something tells me you're only gonna make this worse" Mikey was sure to defend himself with kicks from his uninjured leg to be sure and Frank retreated in defeat. Gerard directed his attention to his brother and spoke with a gentle tone. "You okay? Can you sit up?"
Mikey attempted this, succeeding only after a lengthy struggle. "Yeah, but I think I broke a rib also... hurts to breathe." He glanced up and eyed the red liquid staining Gerard's white hair with concern. "What about you? That wound looks bad."
"I'll be alright. Just a little light-headed but I can manage for a while." He pressed two fingers to the left side of his head, and they returned coated in a dark, menacing cerise, but ignored this. "So now what?"
"Now," said Bob, "we wait."
And they did, for an entire hour and until the sun balanced over the black horizon, on the verge of vanishing entirely. The vast expanse of the Canadian tundra was growing tenebrous, and in their wake, the illuminations from the sunset left a chill in the night air that plagued any exposed skin with a gnawing icy sensation. Most of the seconds that flitted past were those spent in silence, for the quintet lacked the energy or purpose to speak. They solitarily pondered over what death would feel like, how long they could hold on, and even who would go first.
Mikey couldn't bring himself to purposely stray his thoughts from his older brother. In the saturnine quietude of the night, his mind produced vividly animated visions of what his life would be like with Gerard's absence. He imagined the opposite as well, fearing for the other's safety and what sort of pain he would inflict upon himself with Mikey's vacancy. He despised himself for thinking this, and with the self-hatred still fresh in his brain, he firmly situated an arm across his brother's shoulder. The contact fractured Gerard's daydreams. The inky obscurity had eclipsed his face, but the remorse and hopelessness penetrated this shrouding. Mikey found this abnormal for Gerard was usually headstrong and audacious. The older one's expression forced Mikey's heart to cringe. The moon's light reflected shards of emerald-green and unsightly pain hidden within his irises, and Mikey could still see the black eye shadow had not yet faded entirely, only aiding his appearance in dreariness.
Without a single word, Gerard's head fell onto Mikey's shoulder, but the two didn't require verbal communication anyway to comprehend each other's emotions or thoughts. It wasn't necessary when they've known each other for twenty-seven years. He focused his hearing on Gerard's breathing, listening to the soothing jets of air expelled from his lungs, and within minutes Gerard slipped into a shallow slumber.
As he did this, Mikey couldn't help but feel guilty when he thought about how much he actually valued his life. Briefly, he considered those who hadn't survived and cursed at himself for not acknowledging them sooner. How coincidental was it for his four band mates and himself to evade death and no one else? And to think, if one factor had played out differently, one minuscule change, he could be nothing more than a corpse. When the tour bus had flipped, he could have landed on his head wrong, snapping his neck or denting his skull. A sharp object could have effortlessly penetrated a vital organ or a major blood vessel, leaving him to bleed out. And what if there was no escape? He could have been consumed entirely by the flames, skin eroded into black ashes as he screamed with every ounce of strength until the smoke constricted his voice...
...No, Mikey was still alive. Still breathing and still living, as well as his older brother and his friends, and as vain as it sounded, it was all that he cared about now. The fact fell nothing short of true, even though conceited was the last word one would think of when describing Mikey Way.
Sleep finally did come to him, though he wasn't sure when, but then again there was no way to tell the time without a watch. There was of course the stars, but he was no astronomer. The unconsciousness arrived to him almost hesitantly and it was a weak, uncomfortable rest, but it was there and he most certainly wasn't ungrateful for it.
