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Heaven Ain't Got A Vacancy

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Gerard’s tired. So fucking tired. Of everything. Everyone. And he desperately misses Mikey. More than ever today.

But of course as the prospective leader of Better Living Industries he can’t permit anyone to properly know that. Or maybe he could. If he wanted to be sent into the drab rehabilitation centers, but he knew that would do nothing but obliterate his memory of everything he had ever thought other than the strict things BL/Ind allowed.

So basically his absolute existence. Oh man. He is so fucked. He was fucked from the very terrible second he was born. Born into a charmed life that he never really wanted to have. FUCK. Born into a miserable life of pills and mind wipes. Constantly. He’s so weary of it.

He’s so tired. He absolutely could use a nap. But no. He has to complete this mission. Or at least provide enough fake evidence that he undoubtedly did to be able to fake his way home for a nap. There’s nothing he desires more at the moment. Well, that’s not precise. What he desperately desires is to get out of this hellhole he’s been ensnared in for as long as he can remember.

It was bearable for the first fifteen challenging years. And then Mikey left.

At least, that’s allegedly what the high-ranking official known as his mom draped in her flowing cloak of fucking lies informed him on that typical day three terrible years ago. He remembers that day vividly. He sits back and recalls it.

“Gerard,” He hears his mother call, in her cautious way of speaking, like any word said wrong could lead to her downfall. And he supposes as he carefully pulls on his issued hospital white combat boots, it very well could. The implemented system is rather unforgiving. He finishes lacing his boots and stands up allowing a cursory glance in the mirror to affirm that he is presentable.

Slicked back hair? Check.

Uniform in proper place? Check.

His identifying badge for getting into the office later? Check.

The awful blank look he invariably has to correctly assume to appear innocent? Double check.

The daily pills? Ha. As if. He and Mikey stopped forcibly taking them years ago. As soon as he had recognized what the did to you, he had voluntarily stopped taking them and forced Mikey to do precisely the same. Mikey. Poor Mikey. Gerard had inevitably been his mother’s favorite and he knows that if she knew that Mikey didn’t receive his pills he would be in rehab in five seconds flat. Probably faster. He remembered the first time they hadn’t taken them and the shared realization that they were breaking the law. It had been exhilarating and terrifying. That had been precisely three dreary years ago. Gerard cautiously feels a little bit off from time to time, but that’s just because he and Mikey represent the solitary ones in this whole goddamn city who perceive the brutal truth about what they do to you.

Instantly remembering that his mother had indeed called for him he responds properly, “Coming, Mother,” Ha. Like she justly deserved that title. He allowed another shrewd glance in the mirror and intentionally allowed him one last look of being alive, then proceeded to walk out of the cramped spartan immaculate and utterly drab room that has been his since before he can remember bitterly. Probably since before he was born.

He walks into the dining area and walks around the table, the soft thumps of his combat boots, the only noise he can hear other than his heartbeat. “Good morning Mother,” He says, monotonically just like he had been taught from birth and leans down to give her a swift kiss on the cheek, just as is expected. “Where’s Mikey?” He carefully questions realizing that his younger brother isn’t here.

A glazed look comes instantly into his mother’s pensive eyes. “Mikey,” She murmured then looks up her cold diluted brown eyes looking up into his hazel ones, “He’s vanished,”

“Gone where?” Gerard politely asks, fighting down the mild panic he feels rising in his chest.

His panicked anxiety merely grows when his mother completely disregards the question instead standing up and gently forcing him into his seat. “Why don’t you eat your breakfast?" She gently suggests no evident trace of emotion in her familiar robotic voice. Gerard nearly bursts into tears.

Exclusive fear holds him together. If he were to lose it, Destroya knows precisely what would invariably happen to him. Probably rooms full of nothing but disappointed faces dressed in white playing at angels and needles. Shiver. So instead of mourning what has happened to his mother he ingests his food numbly, and for the first time since he had taken the pills forced down every citizens throat by BL/Ind he experiences no emotion. Not even for his mother who had been deprived of every human emotion who had no idea where her second born was precisely. The stage of no emotion doesn’t last long and soon he is finished and pretending to be emotionless again.

Gerard shakes off the melancholy memory and stares into the moonlit desert. He wishes he would have pressed the issue further that day. Gotten more info. But he didn’t. He was a fucking coward as usual.

He knows intuitively that his unknown target was supposed to have appeared hours ago and as soon as he goes back to Battery City he will most likely be in huge trouble.

And that’s when he sights it.

Off in the sufficient distance, a dust cloud slowly getting larger on the horizon drawing nearer and nearer.

Gerard stares at it, carefully trying to gage whether it is BL/ind or if it is the Killjoys he was sent out to take down. He instantly feels a sickening drop in his nervous stomach as he identifies the uniform pair of white cars drawing near. He totals the cars and groans into his hands as he counts. Two! They either thought he needed backup, or he’s about to be in huge trouble. It’s probably the second he think numbly.

The white cars draw nearer and as he can undoubtedly see the Dracs staring steadfastly at him from behind the wheel and he genuinely feels like puking. Sure he allegedly knows that BL/Ind has reasonably suspected him for a long time, but he never thought that they would take this far.

He’s constantly assumed that he would die young. Probably executed on credible accusations of treason or intentionally killed on a impossible mission. He’s inevitably retained a target on his back from both sides of this war. From the Killjoys for being the eldest child of the prominent leader of BL/Ind and from BL/Ind for just not fitting in all the possible way. He had hoped however, that he would get to see Mikey again before he died.

It was this that flicked him out of his desolate state.

There was no fucking way he wasn’t going down without a vicious fight. For Mikey. He told himself carefully pulling his raygun out of his holster and stepping out of the car. He takes a deep breath for good luck and begins aiming carefully at the tires of the approaching cars. His fingers clutch the trigger turning white at the knuckles.

He hesitates for a second. If he pulls the trigger, there is no going back. Never again will he see his mother or his father. But than he thinks of everything he comprehends about the Killjoys. Freedom. Colors. Anti BL/Ind.

The desperate chance for personal freedom from the humdrum lie he’s resided since the second his mother and father decided to have a child, the chance to maybe see Mikey again. He’s never given up hope that his brother was alive. Not even after his mother had failed to recognize Mikey’s name when he scarcely dared to bring him up.

And that’s what seals the deal for Gerard. He’d do anything to see his little brother again. He raises his blaster and carefully closing his left eye to aim, pulls the trigger. The resounding pop of the left punctured tire giving out rings out across the desert. He merely watches in grim satisfaction as the battered car swerves into the other sending sparks screeching into the brightening desert. The cars, however, manage to avoid completely crashing and escape with just some malicious scratches on the sides and a singed smell starts to tint the air. Gerard snatches a deep breath.

No going back now. He prompts himself snatching another breath and steadying his aim he pulls the trigger again.

BAM! There inevitably goes the other car’s tire he thinks grimly to himself. He watches attentively as the other car collides with the other one sending flames roaring into the night.

He extracts the appropriate keys out of the ignition of his still running car, and carefully keeping his blaster with him gradually makes his way across the moonlit sand to the wrecks.

The wrecks are emitting visible smoke billowing into the air, and Gerard feels keenly a glowing spark of panic as he realizes all the Killjoys in the local area will most likely come this way to note what the terrific explosion is from and what there is to loot from the scene.

Gerard cautiously approaches the car on the left first. He wrenches open the familiar door to the driver’s seat blaster in hand finger on the trigger ready to instantly shoot anything that moves in the cars. Nothing. Just a dead Drac. He investigates the other car with the equivalent amount of necessary caution then, certain that all the dracs are dead he levers over the trunk.

He knows that supplies are hard to find in the arid desert and if he is captured by Killjoys he can most likely use the necessary supplies to a) get information on Mikey, b) convince them not to kill him, and c) hopefully convince them not to turn him into BL/Ind. He kind of doubts that they’d get near enough to the city to turn him and risk getting caught, but hey, they’re Killjoys. Doing the impossible is kind of their whole thing.

He looks into the trunks dusty and slightly broiled interior and is not disappointed with the contents. There are five rayguns in each trunk, along with enough food rations to last about a month. He gathers everything into his arms and walks laboriously back to his car. He pops the trunk with his foot and deposits his load into the trunk. He rubs his side as three of the rayguns he carried had been digging rather painfully into his bruised ribs.

He takes an appraising look at the trunk then closes it and locks it. He has no doubt that anyone could pick that lock, but the Killjoys likely maintain too much honor to perform that, he hopes anyway.

He takes a look at the wrecks, and he knows it’s not overly long until the Killjoys show up and correctly decides that the excellentest course of action is to wait for them. He double checks that the key is secure in his shallow pocket then climbs on top of the car’s roof.

He sits passively and waits. His fingers slowly follow patterns on the roof. He relishes in the feeling of being free. All the more if that feeling is merely temporary, he’s gratified he received a taste of what it feels like to be free before he died. He looks down at his hands. He turns them this way and that regarding them. He never genuinely grasped why his hands always seemed so delicate, he’s invested hours training with every weapon left under the nuclear blasted sun sky and has spent hours typing reports of ‘crimes’ carry out by the Killjoys so one would think that he would bear some trace of that, but no his hands are so fucking smooth it’s driving him insane.

He realizes that looking down instead of looking up is an impractical idea as he doesn’t terribly feel like being attacked again so promptly.

He looks up, and his breath catches in his throat. The sunrise is astonishing.

There are all sorts of colors strewn across the sky in no particular order and there are a few last stars miraculously disappearing as he watches the sun rise slowly over the visible horizon.

He watches entranced until the sun is practically above the horizon.

At that time he hears the footsteps. He rises gradually, while staying low knowing that designating himself a more significant target would not remain a good idea. He's like to avoid being killed without even having a full day of freedom. He carefully pulls his blaster out his holster again if only to cause himself feel a little bit safer. He has no doubt that any Killjoy could easily outshoot him.

Hence, he holds it close to his side and crouching, spins around to confront the person approaching the car he’s perched on like a hysterical bird and regains his breath. There is something comforting in the way the Killjoy, for he can clearly see it’s a Killjoy because whoever it is, is decked out in a leather vest and a bright yellow shirt. AND of course the infamous mask of Frankenstein’s monster.

A flash of recognition appears in his exhausted mind. Fun Ghoul. Rather fitting given the mask. He gathered a deep breath.

This particular Killjoy had wreaked terrible havoc a couple of years ago by planting a errant bomb in a supply truck. Gerard remembers the day vividly and how he had secretly cheered for the man, because knowing that there was at least one person still out there who universally hated BL/Ind as much as him, he could keep going without Mikey. No matter how much it hurt.

The man had drifted closer now, and Gerard could clearly see that he had his blaster out and was clearly ready to execute him if he displayed any suspicious sign of violent hostility.

Gerard took a deep breath and in one smooth motion flung his gun onto the ground in front of him, placing his graceful hands on his head.

He had seen the Killjoy tense when he had moved, but the figure seemed to relax somewhat now that he was the only one with a weapon.

“Get off the car,” The Killjoy commanded, clearly not going to allow any chances.

Gerard slid down the side of the car and landed nimbly on the ground imposing his hands back on his head, which he had moved to steady himself if he fell. He placed his back up against the car and watched as the Killjoy drew nearer, blaster pointed directly at his head. Gerard just stood there, knowing full well that if the Killjoy wanted him dead he would be slain in seconds.

“Who are you?” The Killjoy said, haggard eyes boring into his.

“Gerard,” Gerard scarcely manages to choke out, suddenly very aware that the man in front of him is decked out in colors, and he is very much still in his Bl/Ind uniform which is probably enough to provide him negative incentive to annihilate him.

“Way?” Questions the Killjoy, face not giving away anything as he stares into Gerard’s soul.

Gerard moistens his lips nervously then slowly nods, not knowing if the man will kill merely because of his bloodline. The Killjoy tightens convulsively his fierce grip on his weapon, and says tersely, “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t shoot you,”

Gerard takes a breath, and he knows that bargaining will accomplish him nothing, so he answers satisfactorily, “BL/Ind wants me dead too,” He says nodding at the cars behind the Killjoy, “I was on a mission and those two came at me,”

The Killjoy extends his hand, “Stop. I don’t require the details. BL/Ind may want you dead, but why shouldn’t I kill you?”

Gerard thinks carefully for another critical second, “I haven’t taken the pills since before I turned thirteen,” He says flicking his tongue over his teeth nervously. He anxiously looks the Killjoy dead in the eye and waits nervously for his reaction.

“Keep talking,” The Killjoy monotones looking all for the world like Gerard is the most uninteresting person he has ever met.

“I really just want out of the City, and I don’t care if you shoot me, I just want out of there,” Gerard says earnestly his mind fighting off the apparent exhaustion of not having slept peacefully in three days, “I came out of that place three days ago as the future leader of that eternal hell. I’m standing here today as a traitor, with no more incentive to re-enter that place than you.” He lamely finishes looking tiredly up at the Killjoy, who has lowered his gun, a minor fraction.

“Alright,” Says the Killjoy, “Why shouldn’t I turn you in?”

Gerard tiredly smirks, “Turning me in would be the equivalent of turning yourself in,”

The Killjoy lowers his weapon entirely, “Fun Ghoul,” He says holding out his left hand for Gerard to shake, Gerard takes it and shakes it weakly before leaning against the car, sagging relieved the Killjoy has decided not to kill him for the moment.

“Even if you were going to run, I think you’re too tired,” The Killjoy comments.

Gerard’s fighting off sleep and it feels like a losing battle.

“Mmhm” He manages sleepily and through his tired haze he could swear that Fun Ghoul grins. Then he remembers that he can’t see because of the grinning green mask he wears.

“Here’s the plan,” Ghoul says taking a look at Gerard who is so tired he feels keenly like he could fall over at any possible second, “I’m going to transport you and the car to Dr. D who will decide what to do with you,” He reluctantly decides and Gerard nods sleepily along, “Are there handcuffs in the car?” He questions an apologetic wince conveying itself across his features.

Gerard intuitively understands, he takes the set he is required to carry off his belt (Fucking BL/Ind, like he was going to meet a stray Killjoy in the middle of Battery City) and offers them to Ghoul who takes them cautiously like they might be rigged. Gerard than sleepily twists the keys to both the handcuffs and the car out of his pocket and holds his hands out to Ghoul.

Ghoul bestows him an astonished look, “Just don’t damage the car,” He mutters sleepily as Ghoul puts the cuffs on his hands and Ghoul laughs, "I don't have enough sleep to worry about anything else,"

“I won’t,” He promises and directs a very placid Gerard into the back seat where after determining that Ghoul is not going to turn him in he falls asleep, feeling oddly safer than he has in a long time.


"Who do you think he's waiting for?" Says Jet a few hours earlier peering nervously over the sand dune. Ghoul can tell he's nervous because his afro is vibrating as he quivers with nervous energy as he slightly shakes.

“Us,” He says shooting Jet one of the grins he’s known across the desert for before pulling his mask all the way off.

It has the intended effect and Jet visibly calms down, “Yeah, right, an agent of BL/Ind is just going to sit out in the desert and wait for us,” He says rolling his eyes affectionately.

“You never know,” Says Ghoul brightly. A car’s motor suddenly permeates the air. “Where’s it coming from?” He asks as he intensely cranes his neck up trying to be able to see anything. Jet pokes his head over the dune edge they’ve been sitting behind for the past couple of hours watching and waiting tensely. Damn tall people. Why are all of his friends so tall?

“Over there,” He whispers and points one of his freakishly long fingers in the direction of the horizon where the sun is beginning to poke over the horizon cautiously, like it wishes it could go away.

Ghoul looks and sure enough in the distance he can vaguely see two white cars contrasting obviously against the desert. He moves to stand, but Jet pulls him back down, “Look,” He hisses violently in Ghouls ear and he winces. Then he looks.

The official they have spent the last few hours watch sit still has finally moved. The figure steps smoothly out of the car and smoothly pulls out a blaster. “What’s he doing?” Ghoul hisses, they’ve never seen another BL/Ind employee pull a weapon on another, much less on two cars. It’s madness. If he pulls it off Ghoul is going to be mildly impressed. He watches the figure’s shoulders rise and fall once then suddenly, BAM! One of the cars veers off course towards the other and Jet makes an impressed noise. Even Ghoul has to admit that was an insane shot, but this guy made it look easy. (But then again, what does he know about guns? He just blows stuff up. But Jet looks impressed so that’s good enough for him.)

He looks back at the figure, and they’ve pulled off another insanely talented shot in the time that he looked away, and he watches as the cars collide. He sees the figure’s shoulder sag in relief and he is unsure if this is some crazy training exercise, but then the figure holsters his ray gun and walk to the car crash.

They watch as he pokes around the wreckage, and Ghoul and Jet exchange startled looks when he walks back to his car arms full after looting the other two cars of any useful items they might have. The figure then proceeds to climb on top of their car and just sit there.

“I’m going in,” Declares Ghoul, realizing that this could be their chance to get inside info on BL/Ind. Jet gives him a look that says Don’t do anything stupid and he just grins again. Jet is clearly not reassured, but before he can do anything Ghoul is off and running across the sand crouched down, then standing up. Totally not stupid. No way.

The man spins around slowly and rises to a crouching position on the car. The man appears to recognize him, but doesn’t do anything which surprises Ghoul. Normally he would have been shot at by now. The man moves his hand towards his belt, and Ghoul tenses instantly.

He had watched this man disable two cars in the space of a few precarious seconds easily, if he wanted him dead he would probably be dead. Instead he throws his gun towards Ghoul and it lands at his feet. He looks at it cautiously hoping it won’t explode. That would be an ironic way to die he thinks morbidly as he relaxes slightly, but doesn’t ease his grip on the gun in the slightest. He looks back up at the man and realizes he has his hands on his head.

“Get off the car,” Ghoul states, tone invoking no argument, slightly amused not like he’d show that now though.

The man slides down the car moving his hands to stabilize himself as he wobbles precariously and Ghoul notices that he has lovely hands. He places them back on his head though.

“Who are you?” He asks staring the other man down and it does the intended job as he seems rather intimidated.

“Gerard,” The man says tensing like he expects something and- wait Gerard. Like the future leader of BL/Ind? Ghoul instantly tightens his grip.

“Way?” He questions.

The other man licks his lips and Ghoul pretends he isn’t staring at the sight from behind his mask, and nods.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t shoot you,” He states, willing to withhold his judgement until he gets an answer as to why this man just killed his companions in cold blood.

“BL/Ind wants me dead too,” The man monotones, “I was on a mission and those two came at me,”

“Stop,” Says Ghoul, this could easily be a set up he thinks, then continues, “I don’t require the details. BL/Ind may want you dead, but why shouldn’t I kill you?”

The other man hesitates then says more nervous than Ghoul has ever seen a person, “I haven’t taken the pills since I was thirteen,” Ghoul tried to hide his surprise at this. A Way?? Who didn’t take the pills? This was going to be interesting.

“Keep talking,” Ghoul tries going for as bored as he can.

“I really just want out of the city,” Way says and Ghoul is shocked. Who is this guy? “I don’t care if you shoot me. I just want out of there,” The guy says looking more tired than anyone he’s seen since- he doesn’t need to get distracted. “I came out of that place three days ago of the leader of that eternal hell,” Ghoul feels like if the stranger could see his face that h’s find it quite amusing, “I’m standing here today as a traitor, with no more incentive to re-enter that place than you,” Ghoul’s astonishment at this guy is slowly growing, first the cars now this.

“Alright,” He says, “Why shouldn’t I turn you in?” He questions knowing full well that that would be suicide. (And he has no intention of letting this opportunity get by him)

The guy smirks and holy shit he looks tired! And cute but Ghoul ignores that, “Turning me in would be the equivalent of turning yourself in,” He states matter a factly.

Ghoul grins. He’s not wrong. This guy has his respect, “Fun Ghoul,” He states holding out his left hand in a mean-spirited effort to confuse the man. He takes it in stride though and shakes it. He then sags against the car and Ghoul can’t believe how tired he looks. “Even if you were going to run, I think you’re too tired,” Remarks Ghoul and to his relief, the only response he gets is “Mmhm”

“Here’s the plan,” Ghoul says taking a look at Gerard who is so tired looking “I’m going to transport you and the car to Dr. D who will decide what to do with you,” He reluctantly decides and Gerard nods sleepily along, “Are there handcuffs in the car?” He questions an apologetic wince conveying itself across his features. He really doesn’t want to do this, but it really is safer for him and Jet.

Gerard sleepily fumbles at his belt and Ghoul is surprised when he hands him a pair of handcuffs. He takes them looking suspiciously at them and looks up to see Gerard holding his hands out to him with two sets of keys in them. One for the car and one for the handcuffs he assumes.

“Just don’t damage the car,” He mutters sleepily as Ghoul puts the cuffs on his hands and Ghoul laughs, "I don't have enough sleep to worry about anything else," Gerard mumbles sleepily and Ghoul feels like this sleepy Bl/ind employee is either telling very much the truth or a very good actor.

“I won’t,” He promises and directs a very placid Gerard into the back seat where after determining that Ghoul is not going to turn him in he falls asleep.

Ghoul leaves him napping in the car and stand sup signaling to Jet.

“What’s the story?” Jet asks gesturing at the sleeping passenger.

“Gerard Way. Traitor and dead shot,” Informs Ghoul and he grins a little at the perfect O shape Jet’s mouth makes.

“Holy shit,” Jet breathes taking a closer look at the man.

“I know,” Says Ghoul leaning against the car, and it seems some of Gerard’s exhaustion has worn off on him. “Ready to head back?” He questions Jet who seems slightly in shock at the man sitting in the back seat.

“Yeah,” He replies snapping out of his awe inspired stupor, “You going to drive that?” He asks as he nods distastefully at the white car.

“Yeah,” Says Ghoul, “But you’d better go first to warn them what I’m driving or I’ll be dead.”

“Alright,” says Jet squaring his shoulders, “See you at the broadcast station,”

Ghoul nods then watches as his partner hikes back to where they parked their car nearly twelve hours earlier. He sighs and opening the door swings his small frame into the car and buckles up for the drive back to the Station, where he wonders what is going to happen.