The Beginning

Quinn was sitting in their bus rolling a joint on the couch when Bert came in and sat beside him.

"If I fuck a guy, does that make me gay?" Bert asked.

"We fuck all the time," Quinn pointed out. He licked the paper and closed up the joint.

"Yeah, but that's different," Bert said. "Because we're soulmates."

Bert lay his head down on Quinn's lap as Quinn lit the joint. Quinn wasn't sure he followed Bert's logic, but he usually didn't argue with Bert.

"Just tell me it isn't Gerard," Quinn said. "I don't like that guy."

Bert barked out a laugh. "You barely know him."

Quinn took a hit off the joint and handed it to Bert. "I don't like his face."

"I want to do things to his face," Bert said. He took a hit from the joint. "All over his face." He choked out some smoke and laughter.

Quinn took the joint back. "Lean up."

Bert lifted his head a bit, and Quinn leaned down with the joint backwards between his lips. He shotgunned some smoke into Bert's mouth, and Bert sucked it in expertly, catching Quinn's chin with a small kiss as he sat back up.

"I'll make you a deal," Bert said once he was done exhaling all his smoke in a thick white plume. "After I blow him, I'll disinfect my mouth before I kiss you."

Quinn was sure that by 'disinfect', Bert meant 'drink some vodka', but it wasn't like he hadn't tasted worse things on Bert's lips. "How romantic," he said. "I love you, too."

Bert made a kissy face, pushed himself off Quinn's lap, and hurried off the bus.

The End

Quinn was woken up at around 2:30pm by a phone call from Bob. Quinn knew that MCR was in town. In fact, he was pretty sure Bert went to visit them today, and would be playing with the Street Drum Corps later that night, so if Bob had some pressing issue he could've just talked to Bert. Quinn answered the phone sounding annoyed.

"Bert's having a meltdown," Bob said. "We're at the L.A. county fairgrounds. How soon can you be here?"

Quinn sat up and ran a hand through his hair. "Wait, what? What's wrong with Bert?"

Bob paused. "He and Gerard had a...disagreement."

Quinn's call waiting beeped. It was Brian. "Why is Brian calling me? Hold on." He pressed the button for call waiting. "Hi, Bob just called me."

"So you know," Brian said. "He's pretty bad. How soon can you get here?"

"What did that motherfucker do?" Quinn demanded.

"Bert? He smashed three liquor bottles, punched out a headlight, got a fucking megaphone -"

"Not him. Gerard."

Brian took a deep breath. "Sometimes in relationships people need to -"

"Oh, fuck you in the mouth," Quinn said. "I'll be there in twenty minutes."

Quinn was still half asleep when he climbed into his car, but by the time he got to the fairgrounds he was seething mad. He found MCR's bus and threw open the door. Mikey was sitting at the kitchen table eating cereal.

"Hi. Bert's in the other bus," Mikey said.

"Where's your brother?"

"Not here."

Quinn considered searching the bus anyway. Then he considered punching Mikey, just on principle. "You tell your fucking brother the next time I see him, I'm gonna knock his fucking teeth out," Quinn said.

"Okay," Mikey said. "Tell Bert I'm sorry."

"Fuck you," Quinn snapped, and he stormed off the bus.

In the other bus, Bert was sitting in a chair. Brian was standing next to him, and Bob was sitting behind them, like they were standing guard. Bert looked wrecked. His face was red, his clothes were stained, and his knuckles were bleeding. When he saw Quinn, he stood up and walked swiftly into his arms.

"Are you okay?" Quinn asked.

"I didn't say anything that wasn't true," Bert said. His eyes were unfocused and his voice was bordering on hysterical, a sure sign that he'd drank too much.

"Where's Gerard?" Quinn demanded.

"Just get him out of here," Bob said.

"So you're on his side?"

"There are no sides," Brian said. "Right now Bert just needs to get somewhere safe, and sober up, and tomorrow we can -"

"Fuck you both," Quinn interrupted. "And if I ever see Gerard again, I'm gonna break his fucking legs, cut his dick off, and feed it to a squirrel." He hurried Bert out of the bus and toward his car.

"That fucker," Quinn said once they were out on the highway and headed back to his place. "I swear, I'm gonna beat him over the head with a crowbar and fuck his eye sockets."

Bert put his hand over his face and started crying.

"Fuck," Quinn muttered. He reached out and put his arm around Bert, and Bert leaned into his shoulder.

When they got to Quinn's house, Bert collapsed on the couch, and Quinn brought him a glass of water. Bert took a sip and placed it on the floor. He wiped his eyes. "I want..."

Quinn sat next to him and put his arm around him. "What? What do you want?" Quinn wasn't stupid. He knew what enabling was, and he knew he did it with Bert pretty much constantly, but he also knew that if Bert ended his sentence with 'heroin', Quinn would be in downtown L.A. trying to score smack inside of an hour, and fuck what anyone thought about it.

"I wanna cut my hair," Bert finished. His chest shook and he wiped his eyes again. "And dye it. Do you have stuff?"

As drunk ideas went, it wasn't nearly one of Bert's worst ones, and Quinn was mildly relieved. Quinn still had plenty of dye from when he'd had his hair blond. When he first met Bert, Bert was blond, and he thought it would be nice to see him that way again, like a kid. Then Quinn could go back and find a way to stop all the bad shit from happening to them. He could go back and strangle Gerard Way with his own fucking entrails before he ever got the chance to touch Bert.

"We can do that," Quinn said. "You should probably wash it first." Bert smelled like a distillery covered in shit, so a shower couldn't hurt.

Bert blinked with purpose, as if trying to refocus his eyes. "Yeah, all right," he said.

They went into the bathroom, where Bert stripped and fumbled with the shower knobs for a minute before Quinn turned it on for him.

"You want company?"

Bert shook his head sadly, like he was scarred for life from naked men, and Quinn vowed to put Gerard Way's fucking face in a blender and drink it with lime, that motherfucker.

Quinn sat down on the closed lid of the toilet and waited. Bert took his time in the shower, and at times Quinn peered through the frosted glass to make sure he wasn't asleep. A few times he caught Bert with his head against the wall and his shoulders shaking.

"Don't cry for that asshole," Quinn said finally. "I'm gonna stab him in the throat and fuck the bloody hole."

Bert just sniffed. He finally turned off the water and got out. Quinn handed him a towel and he dried off and put on just his pants.

"Come on." Quinn took his hand and led him into the kitchen, where he steered him into a chair and wrapped a fresh towel around his neck. Quinn picked up a lock of his wet hair. "How much?"

"All of it," Bert said. "Fucking shave my head."

"You'll regret that tomorrow." Quinn cut off a lock in front at about shoulder-length. "How about that?"

"Fine," Bert muttered, and he closed his eyes as Quinn struggled to comb his hair before cutting it. Bert was eerily quiet through the whole process.

When he was done cutting, Quinn put Vaseline around the edge of Bert's scalp to protect him from the bleach, and the fact that Bert didn't comment on him being three-fingers deep into a jar of Vaseline made Quinn's stomach hurt a little.

"You know what I'm gonna do tomorrow?" Quinn said as he worked the dye into Bert's hair. "I'm gonna find out where those fuckers are stopping next on their tour, I'm gonna go there, and I'm gonna beat him to death with a chain, and then piss on his face."

Bert just pursed his lips together, then said, "Do you have any weed?"

"Yeah, lemme just finish this."

Quinn finished putting the dye in and went into his bedroom to get a joint. He sat across the table from Bert and they passed it back and forth silently. When it was finished and Quinn ground it out in the ashtray, Bert gestured to his head and said, "Is it time?"

Quinn nodded. Bert went into the bathroom and rinsed his hair off in the shower. When he heard the water stop running, Quinn followed him in there.

Bert was standing in front of the mirror and considering his new hair. "I like it," he said. "I don't look like me anymore."

"Fuck," Quinn muttered. It wasn't enough that the asshole had to break his heart, he had to fuck with his head while he was at it. "Fuck that guy, Bert. I'm gonna cut off his nose and crap on his head."

Bert rubbed the middle of his forehead. "I feel like shit," he said. "I'm gonna lay down for a while."

"I'll go with you," Quinn followed him into the bedroom. Bert seemed a lot more sober, but Quinn thought he should still be there in case he started puking in his sleep.

Quinn tossed some dirty clothes off his bed, but Bert was already climbing underneath the covers. Quinn got in beside him and put his arm around him.

"I fucking swear to god," Quinn whispered. "I'm gonna cut that motherfucker's arm off with a chainsaw, and..." He felt his throat close up. "And then I'm gonna..." His eyes burned with angry tears, and his breath hitched. "I'm gonna beat him to death. With his own motherfucking arm."

His voice broke at the end of the sentence, and Bert pulled him closer, so that Quinn could hide his face against Bert's chest as Quinn tried to cry silently.

"I love you, too," Bert said.