Defy the Laws of Gravity - The Black Parade

bobsgirlfriend · 05-26-2008, 08:50 AM

DEFY THE LAWS OF GRAVITY
Rated PG

Summary: Bob saves a kid from a not-so-nice orphan life and gets all the responsibilities that comes with it. (sorry, I really suck on summaries)

Disclaimer: This story is completely fictional and I do not own any of the members of My Chemical Romance or Brian Schechter.

CHAPTER INDEX:
CHAPTER I- Almost Exposed- page 1
CHAPTER II- The Deal- page 1
CHAPTER III- Back to the Stadium- page 1
CHAPTER IV- Meeting the Rest- page 2
CHAPTER V- Nash Runs Away- page 2
CHAPTER VI- The Punishment- page 3
CHAPTER VII- The Accident- page 3
CHAPTER VIII- The Brown Eyes- page 4
CHAPTER IX- The Miracle-page 4
CHAPTER X- Not Happy to See Them-
CHAPTER XI- The Explanation-
CHAPTER XII- No Hard Feelings-
CHAPTER XIII- Back on the Road-
CHAPTER XIV- Surprise!-

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Chapter I- Almost Exposed

“Hey, Chris, just drop me off at that convenience store for a while and go on ahead,” said Bob.
“And why is that?” asked Chris, but he still pulled the bus up beside the sidewalk.
“I need another pack or two of cigarettes,” said Bob, heading for the door. “I’ve ran out.”
“Why not just buy ‘em after the show?” asked Gerard, who was busy putting on thick makeup on his already deathly-pale face.
“Because I need a smoke before a show,” reasoned Bob, who stopped at the door. “It’s kind of an anti-nerve-wracking thing that works on me. When I smoke, I kind of stop making me feel so nervous like I’m sweating all the water out of my body.”
“OK, just make it quick,” said Chris, as Bob opened the door. “We’re waiting.”
“No, I insist, just go on ahead and I’ll catch up,” said Bob. “I promise.”
“How long does it take for a guy your size to buy one stinkin’ pack of cigarettes?” Ray yelled from the back. Bob can hear that he was practicing with his guitar for the show.
“Just go on ahead,” Bob insisted. “I promise to catch up. I won’t be late, really.”
“You’d better not be,” said Frank, who was already dressed and well-prepared for the show, except perhaps the jumping jacks, which Bob always leads, “’cause word has it that the stadium is almost full of hungry people, as in, hungry for a great dose of Gerard’s sexy dancing, of course.” Frank swayed his hips in a sexy way, like a go-go dancer. This, at all, wasn’t a pretty sight. And poor little Mikey was passing by when Frank did this.
“My eyes! Ah! My eyes!” Mikey suddenly yelled. He dropped down to the floor and pretended to cover his eyes in pain from seeing Frank’s “sexy” dancing. The rest of the band laughed. “They burn! I’m blinded! Somebody help me!” Mikey flailed his body like he was having a violent seizure as he covered his eyes like they hurt more than hell.
“Aw, c’mon, Mike,” said Frank. “It can’t be that bad.”
“Not that bad?” said Mikey, still on the floor and still covering his eyes. “You blinded me! Don’t you ever do that again in front of anyone! You’ll blind them too! Have mercy!”
“OK, fine,” said Frank. “So Bob, don’t forget, don’t be late.”
“Alright, don’t worry, I might even be there before you,” said Bob with a smirk.
“Hey, dude, don’t forget,” said Frank, tossing Bob’s sunglasses.
“Oh yeah, I almost forgot,” said Bob. He caught the airborne glasses and put them on. Then he saw a dark outline of Frank pointing to his jacket’s hood through his pitch-black sunglasses.
“The hood, dude, don’t forget the hood!” he said. “Geez, I sound like your mother now. Do I have to remind you to check if you’re wearing underpants?”
“Yeah, I forgot about that, too, sorry,” said Bob. “And no, no need to remind me about that, thank you. I know I’m wearing, um, underpants.” With his sunglasses and hood on, nobody would be able to recognize him immediately, not even his own mother. That’s good, if you’re the drummer for a really famous rock band and for somebody who wants to avoid wild and crazy fans from jumping onto your neck and holding a blinding camera at your face. Bob and cameras mixed together look like a spinach and soda smoothie with a little added spicy factor. Imagine having that down your throat.
Bob stepped off the bus and watched it drive away and disappear into a right turn before he went inside the convenience store.
Bob purchased two boxes of Marlboro lights cigarettes, which were his favorite, and as he was about to exit the store, a kid of about seven or eight suddenly bolted through the door, and, as both people were not looking at where they were going, bumped each other, rather hardly. Bob was able to keep his balance, but the kid literally was thrown off his feet for a moment and landed hard on his butt.
“Whoops, sorry, kid,” said Bob, stretching his hand to help the kid get up.
“Hey, watch it, Klutzilla!” barked the kid, which made Bob withdraw his outstretched hand in surprise. “Can’t you see that there’s someone here? Geez, you must be blind not to see me. Are you, like, mocking me ‘cause I’m barely half your size?”
Bob was surprised to hear a kid talk so insolently. But yet, with today’s version of the world, nothing’s too surprising anymore. The world can get pretty ugly. “Excuse me?” said Bob, looking down at the kid, who was a little more that half his own height, about a few inches above three feet. He noticed the kid’s MCR hoodie, and was sure his disguise worked pretty well. The kid was also wearing a baseball cap backwards and little sideways and baggy shorts that fell just below the knees. He looked like a mini-rapper.
“What, are you deaf, too?” the kid barked. He looked kind of cute with the way he talked and looked up to Bob. “Didn’t you just hear me say anything at all?”
“Wow, you’re pretty cocky for a kid your age,” said Bob with a smirk, bending down to level with the boy’s face. Despite all the things the little dude said, he was still keeping his cool. “How old are you?”
The boy didn’t answer. Instead, as suddenly as he had bumped into Bob, he dropped down to the floor and crawled quickly to the wall, right below the boundary between real solid wall and glass wall.
“What the heck are you —?” Bob started, but the kid’s mad glare caught his eye and he shut up immediately. Well that’s odd, thought Bob. Why would a kid this age be acting like that? Shouldn’t it be like, “Oh, I’m sorry so sir. I didn’t mean to bump into you.”
Then Bob, through the glass walls of the store, saw about three lanky teenagers wearing MCR t-shirts and thick eyeliner run by the store yelling, “Nash, you asshole, where are you? Get back here because I wanna kill you, you pipsqueak!” Then they ran towards the other direction. Bob looked at the kid, who was slowly raising himself to look over the glass.
“Phew,” he sighed, wiping sweat from his forehead. He looked up at Bob, who was gaping at him in surprise. “What?” he hissed.
“Were those guys after you?” Bob asked.
“Why should you care?” asked the kid. “You’re just like all the other ignorant people of the freakin’ world. Don’t care about orphans. Instead throws them off the sidewalks and kicks them like they’re bull turd.”
“Um, all right,” said Bob, bending down to level with the little boy’s face. “And how old are you?”
“Listen, you really wouldn’t want to know about my dang life, okay?” he said. “So if I were you, I’d just go and live life like I never have before. Now if you’d just get out of my way, I have a concert to break into.”
“What concert?” Bob asked. His eyes lit up behind his sunglasses. He knew the answer. MCR was the only band in town.
“Have you been living like a hermit?” asked the boy. “The My Chemical Romance concert, of course! They’re the only fun around this freakin’ town. The worst crime anybody’s ever committed here was placing a toe on a lawn with the label ‘keep off the grass, please’. You’d practically die with boredom if you live here. Good thing I’m a truckload of trouble. I’m basically public enemy number one around this joint.”
“I see that,” said Bob, clicking his lip ring with his teeth.
“Who are you anyway?” asked the kid, and Bob noticed his huge bright green eyes trying to survey Bob’s face. He looked away when he answered. “The real question is who are you and how old are you?”
“Hmmm,” The kid’s eyes just darted from Bob’s hood to his lip ring. “Everybody calls me Nash,” he said, curiously studying Bob’s shadowed features. “I’m seven. Now, it’s your turn to answer my question. Who are you?”

**Juliet** · 05-26-2008, 10:07 AM

You're going to need a rating, summary, disclaimer and chapter index at the top of your first post, within the next 24 hours or your story will be locked

*katelyn* · 05-26-2008, 02:49 PM

^ what she said.
please do so i really like this

bobsgirlfriend · 05-27-2008, 12:53 AM

eeee... sorry, new member, not so sure of what i'm doing...

bobsgirlfriend · 05-27-2008, 10:28 AM

“Bob, but —” Bob started, but the kid’s happy yelp cut him off.
“I knew it!” Nash yelled out loud. He was jumping up and down, like he just got the latest Lego toy or something. “You’re the drummer for My Chemical Romance! I knew it was you the minute I heard your voice!”
Bob felt cold sweat on his face. He was just about to get busted. “What are you talking about?” said Bob, trying to act convincingly. But it was one of the millions of traits the Man Upstairs hadn’t blessed him. In plain speaking, he sucked at it. Instead, by doing this, he was making it obvious that he was bluffing. “I’ve never played drums in my life. I don’t even know this My Chemical —”
But Nash jumped up and grabbed Bob’s sunglasses before he could dodge. This revealed his startled baby blue eyes.
“Ha!” said Nash. After a short pause, he said, “You know, Mr. Bryar, you pretty much suck at faking it. So, drop it, alright? You’re busted!”
Bob hated that fact, but it was true. He really did suck at lying. And, it even earned him the name “Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes” from none-other than Frank.
Bob took his sunglasses, which were being wave about by Nash, put them back on, but pulled his hood back, which revealed his blonde hair. He squatted on the floor so he could once again level with the at least three-feet-tall boy.
“Okay, fine, you got me,” he said. “But don’t yell. And don’t tell anybody.”
“I’ll won’t,” Nash sneered evilly, “if you take me to your concert.”
“What?” Bob blurt out. He stood up immediately and stared at the kid like he was some kind of unidentifiable item. “You must be insane!”
Nash sighed and took a deep breath, but Bob covered his mouth before he could scream.
“Wait!” he said. “Let me think about it first.”
Bob did think about it. If he didn’t take him, he’d be going to the concert all blind from camera flashes and in the remains of his jacket as it will be torn apart. That’s how wild MCR fans are. If he did take Nash, he didn’t know how the guys would take it. He didn’t know if he should call. One thing’s for certain, though. He’d be yelled at again for being late. Just like a million other times before. Then he decided, hoping his decision was right.
“All right,” said Bob. “I’m taking you, but only if you tell me all about yourself on the way. Deal?”
“Heck yeah, that’s a deal!” Nash said excitedly.
Bob went put his hood back on and walked out the store. “Just follow me and don’t talk, except when I ask you to,” he told Nash, who was happily skipping beside him. “I think we need a cab. Wait; is the stadium far from here?”
“No, it’s just about two or three blocks,” said Nash. “Are we walking?”
“I don’t know, how much will it be if we go for cab?” he asked Nash again.
“I don’t know,” said Nash.
“You don’t know? Aw, man. How wouldn’t you know? You live here!”
“Have I ever told you that I live with my irresponsible foster parents who never seem to notice that they have adopted a son? They haven’t given me a single penny since I started living under their stupid roof. They’re even planning on shipping me off to military school and moving to England to abandon me.”
Bob stopped, and so did Nash. He gets that a lot. When he tells somebody that he’s an orphan and has parents that don’t even care about him, they always act shocked. Yes, he knows they act. But he wasn’t quite sure if Bob was acting.
“I’m sorry,” Bob apologized. “It must be hard.”
“Yeah, it kinda is,” said Nash, bitterly thinking of the real family he used to have. But that was a long time ago, back to a time when he wasn’t even supposed to remember. But he remembered it, not just as vividly as he used to. “But I’ve been through worse.”
“Living with irresponsible parents is worse than losing your real family?” Bob asked.
“Well, yeah, once you start getting used to it,” Nash said simply.
Suddenly, Bob’s phone rang.

bobsgirlfriend · 05-27-2008, 10:33 AM

“Excuse me, I’m sure it’s the guys about to yell at me for not being there yet,” Bob said. He answered it, preparing to be deafened by one of his band member’s shrill screams. “Hello?”
“BOB!” came Gerard’s angry voice. “WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU, DUDE? WE’RE ABOUT TO START IN LIKE, FIVE SECONDS! YOU HAVE BETTER BE HERE NOW AND ON YOUR WAY TO THE DRESSING ROOM!”
“I’m sorry, dude, but I’m not,” said Bob, holding the phone about a foot from his ear. But Gerard’s screams were still there, loud and clear. “But I promise I’ll be there in five minutes flat.”
“You’d better be!” said Gerard. “I’ve got to go; Brian is now leading the jumping jacks. He’ll kill us with the excessive jumps. You don’t. You always know when to stop.”
“Well, sorry, I’m kind of in a holdup here, I’ll tell you all about it later, but now I gotta dash.”
“OK, and I’m sorry for yelling. You know how I am when I’m upset.”
“Yeah, I get that. It’s OK dude, just don’t do it again. You scare the shit out of me.”
“OK, bye.”
“Bye. See ya later.”
“Was that Gerard?” Nash asked when Bob had just hung up.
“Yeah, and we’re taking a cab,” said Bob. He called a cab, and they both got in. “So,” Bob said suddenly when they were already moving, “tell me your whole name and where you live.”
“Nelson Ashton Daniels,” said Nash, “but I like Nash better. And I live there.” He pointed to tiny, violently red house that stood on only one floor. The front lawn was dead and the porch seemed to be collapsing. There were missing parts on the red roof. It reminded Bob of the rumored haunted house the band rented. “They’re not always home, but at least they leave some leftover food for me.”
“Leftovers?” asked Bob. He couldn’t imagine how horrible this kid’s life must be. He’s only seven and he already lives off scraps. He also has a tiny red dump for a home.
“Yeah, leftovers,” said Nash. “They always eat outside and never take me. They only come home bringing what’s left of the food they eat. And the guy always makes sure to spit on it before he leaves it at the table for me.”
“God, that’s horrible,” said Bob. “I just don’t think it’s so fair for a kid like you to be treated like that, even if you are completely insolent.” Bob sneered.
“Thanks,” Nash said sarcastically. Bob snatched Nash’s hat and ruffled his hair. He noticed that they were both blonde. But Nash had short hair, only long enough to still be combed. Like Bob’s hair before MCR’s third album, during the “Revenge” era. He hadn’t noticed it before because it was hidden under the hat.
“Hey, don’t ever do that,” Nash said, obviously annoyed, snatching his hat back. He didn’t seem as amused as Bob. Clearly, he hated it when anybody touched his hair.
Thankfully, the cab was quick and they arrived at the stadium before Gerard called again.

**Daisy** · 05-27-2008, 10:45 AM

You're going to have to keep updating your chapter index with each chapter

And I'll move your rating for you, so it's at the top of the thread.

FireAndBlaze · 05-27-2008, 10:55 AM

I call no.1 spot I love this story!

xx

bobsgirlfriend · 05-28-2008, 12:42 AM

aw.... i never thought anybody would like my fic... i never thought anybody would READ my fic! and sure you could get no.1 spot, FireAndBlaze!

thanks for luvin' my story!

*katelyn* · 05-28-2008, 05:22 PM

aw this is so cute. nash reminds me of my brother. he's seven too and i have, in the words of my mother, "Brainwashed him with MCR"

*is proud* he knows every song word for word

loved the updates!