wordslinging | The Fall and Rise of The Black Parade, 10/10

IX.

X.

They build the float themselves, Gerard’s design given form this time by the five of them and a sizable army of volunteers (some of whom have actual knowledge of carpentry and how to construct a float, which helps). Ray and Frank, in particular, help decorate it, and the large skull at front and center is the result of each of them drawing on childhood memories; Day of the Dead celebrations for Ray, Halloween birthday parties for Frank. The red flowers all around the edge are false, of course, made from scraps of silk and tulle, but their color is no less bright for it. Once the float is completed, the others—the procession, the congregation, all those wiling to chance leaving the city—seize on the black-white-red color scheme, making costumes and masks for themselves, becoming part of The Black Parade.

So there’s a float, and a procession to walk behind it. There’s the song they wrote for this, finally brought to completion, rehearsed meticulously but not a note of it revealed outside their practice space yet.

And then, one morning, Gerard finds himself lying in bed next to Frank, half there and half caught in a waking dream, listening to the beat of a phantom heart monitor in the back of his mind.

When that beat starts to slow, he knows what it means.

He tells the other four, and they tell others, and the message starts to spread through the city like ripples in a pond: it’s time, The Black Parade marches today, and anyone who would be a part of it knows where to go. The five of them gather what belongings they want to take with them—not much, the only things any of them truly need are their instruments and each other—and then suit up, collect their equipment, and head to where the float waits, close to the edge of the city.

Fear, Regret, and Mother War are waiting for them, and Gerard slows as he approaches the trio. His anger at them has died down, but he doubts he’ll ever feel completely at ease around the twins or their mother, and thinks perhaps it’s not possible to, given what they are.

“You’ve done well,” Regret tells them. “And for all the right reasons—we would not have had you simply obey us, without feeling on your own that what you did was right.”

Gerard looks from one twin to the other, and then at Mother War, looming silently between them. “It was right,” he says eventually. “I’m certain of that. And no matter what I’ve had to go through to get to this point, I’m aware of what I’ve gained in all of this, and grateful for it.”

Mother War studies him for a long moment through the fathomless dark eyes of her mask, and then holds out a hand. Resting in her palm is what looks like a medal or an amulet, dark metal hung on a black satin ribbon.

And as Gerard reaches out his own hand and takes it, he hears the monitor in his head go from slow beats to a single note, stretching out, unrelenting as it fills his mind.

“It’s time,” he says to the others, barely able to hear his own voice over the sound of the flatline. “Let’s go.”

He expects Fear, Regret, and Mother War to go first, but they take up places just behind the float, the gathered congregation falling in behind them. Among those gathered, Gerard can pick out the faces he’s come to know better than others—Brian, James and some of the other musicians who used to play the House, the woman who traded him both art supplies and the journal he wrote every one of The Black Parade’s songs in, people who’ve been staying in the same building as him and the others. And as he watches, Jeanne joins them, armor gleaming and head raised proudly as she steers her horse to a spot near the front of the crowd. Gerard smiles, then looks back at the four men around him, taking up their places on the float.

“I love you all,” he says, quietly, and they say it back, one by one. He stays in their midst for another few moments, nodding to Bob, squeezing Ray’s hands, leaning into Frank for a quick kiss and pulling Mikey into a tight hug before he moves up to his place at the front.

He closes his eyes for a moment, waiting as the congregation at his back settles into silence, and then he sings.

“When I was a young boy,
My father took me into the city
To see a marching band…”

It’s The Patient’s memory, his story, but as Gerard sings it, he realizes that it’s his own story, as well. The story of the band at his back, each of them weaving their way into the song one by one, the music building and swelling as each separate part blends together, and the story of the procession behind them, everyone who’s been willing to hear their message and follow them. The song of anyone who has ever needed to be saved, or become a savior, or achieve their own salvation by helping others find theirs. The song of those who are the broken, are the damned, but are nonetheless resolved to be defiant, to sing and march and carry on.

The float rolls forward and the parade moves, its journey through the wreckage slow but inexorable. Out of the corner of his eye, Gerard sees the soldiers who join them, perhaps responding to some silent beckoning from Mother War, or, perhaps, drawn in by the song. Not all, not enough that there won’t still be unending senseless war in the trenches when they’ve gone, but enough to form an honor guard, marching in steady ranks on either side of the procession. On the float behind Gerard, Frank and Ray and Bob and even Mikey are a flurry of movement, playing with a passion and strength they’ve only achieved once before, every inch of their bodies and hearts and minds pouring into the song while Gerard stands out in front, singing as loud and clear and strong as he can.

When they come upon the man in the hospital gown, he’s a small, dark figure huddled among the debris, and he doesn’t look like anything special. Gerard’s certain that none of them did, either, when they first arrived.

The Patient stares at them as they approach, looking overwhelmed and amazed as the song builds to a soaring crescendo and then crashes triumphantly into its final section. When Fear and Regret move forward, taking his hands and drawing him to stand in front of the float as it rolls to a halt, the Patient lets himself be led, drifting forward as if in a dream.

No one’s told Gerard or the others what to do at this point. No one has to: with the last notes of the guitars still echoing and the drums falling away to a simple marching beat again, Gerard reaches into his pocket, and as he steps forward, the others leave their places wordlessly to fall in around him, Mikey and Frank to his left and right, Ray and Bob closing ranks behind them. Gerard bends to place Mother War’s medal around the Patient’s neck, watching as the twins kiss him, one on either cheek, and then fall back to where their mother stands nearby.

The Patient looks down at the medal for a moment, turning it over in his fingers and then letting it fall back on his chest as he glances around, still seeming dazed. When he turns to look at the five men standing above him on the float, Gerard smiles.

“Hello,” he says. “You’re going to need to talk to the twins, in a moment, but I wanted to welcome you, first.”

“What—” the Patient begins haltingly, looking around at the masked and costumed procession, the soldiers flanking them, the destruction surrounding them and the city looming behind them all, and then back at Gerard. “Who are you?”

“We’re The Black Parade,” Gerard tells him, still smiling gently. “And we’ve been waiting for you.”

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shoemaster.livejournal.com

Oh man, this is just. Fuck. I love it like a crazy thing, which I kind of expected but I didn't expect it to be like this, I never could have, really. I just *flail* I love the city, I love our boys and their back stories (Frank, the gay sex virgin from 1938 is stupidly hot, MIKEY HOW COULD YOU, and poor Ray and BOB ;___;) and who they are here and Fear and Regret and oh.

This bit here: “…What about me?” Gerard asks. “Could I have done something like this when I was alive?”

Regret studies him calmly. “You could have, yes. If—”

“If I’d been stronger,” Gerard finishes for her. “If I hadn’t fucked it all up for myself.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, and he shrugs.

“I’ve come to terms with it. What about Mikey and Frank and Ray and Bob?”

“They have potential, too, in their way, but not the same kind,” Fear explains. “Theirs can only be brought out when lead or inspired by that of a greater potential. None of them could have dreamed your dreams, but they had what you needed to make those dreams take shape. And none of them could have defied the wolves or the fire on their own, but together, the five of you found a way.”

makes me so ridiculously sad for this Gerard that never got a band. I just want to hug him and say it was different in...reality. Uhm. God, and then Bob with the fire and that fucking house and just all of them.

I am quite fond of this, in case that hadn't come across already. Well done, dude.

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The Fall and Rise of The Black Parade, 10/10

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