Work Text:
Belief
Frank’s been in the business a long time, but he’s never seen someone possessed with such iron certainly. For a moment it’s as though he can see them, the Fabulous Killjoys up on stage, Toro letting loose a crushing solo, Gerard preening for the crowd, even Mikey, in the spotlight where he longs to be, and himself up there with them, playing a kind of music that hasn’t existed before. The scale of Mikey’s vision is absurd, but Frank’s not laughing. His own bands have always been right-now, making a record and splitting apart; Mikey’s been in this band for half an hour, yet he’s already propelling them towards the future like it’s real and he can see it.
He stands up. ‘You didn’t say the other thing we’ve got going for us, the one that you bring.’
Mikey frowns. ‘Contacts? I guess. I can set up some meetings, get us on the showcase circuit.’
‘Not contacts.’ Frank could laugh: Mikey Way, standing there is a suit in a ratty rehearsal room, selling them a dream of global success. ‘Belief. You’ve got enough for all of us.’
Mikey studies him, then a tiny smirk appears on his face. ‘So, Iero, are you going to let me into your band this time?’
Sometimes you make the future, and sometimes it creeps up on you and socks you in the jaw: Frank spreads his arms wide. ‘Mikey Way, Kobra Kid, want to be in—’ Frank stops. ‘We don’t have a name.’
‘Yeah.’ Mikey smiles like he knows a secret. ‘I’ve got an idea about that.’