Disclaimer: I do not know or own My Chemical Romance; however I do own the characters other than the ones from My Chemical Romance. These events never happened. This story is no representation of anything Bob or the others from My Chemical Romance have ever said or done, it is completely fictional.

***

The rain kept pouring in Chino as it always had and probably always would. A lone figure sat by his window and watched the broken world go by. The street looked so tattered from above, as if no amount of sunlight could ever make it bright. Upturned pieces of concrete made the road uneven and cracks ran through it like veins, cracks that you felt could open up and down below there would be hell. Every street corner held dark secrets, every shadow danced along traumatized walls. The large figure sighed and looked around him, his room wasn't much better than the world outside, it wasn't a place you could run to when you were scared, hell, it was probably a place you'd run away from. He stared at the stained mattress in the corner, the litter that fell around it, the broken cupboards, the empty bottles, the holes in the walls from the nights of complete anger, and worst of all, the empty syringes that helped get him through this trauma, or maybe it just helped him to an early death, he didn't know and he didn't care. Grunting he thumped his hand against the wall next to him, he didn't even notice the pain that seared through his already banged up hand, he was numb to all that. Why me? Why this life?

"Bryar!" A voice from behind caused him to turn.

"Lewis, what the fuck do you want man?"

"Junk. That's what I want....and I know where to get it..."

"Yeah?" Bryar was suddenly alert. This one simple word was the only thing that got him through each day, one mention of it and he forgot the world in which he lived, "Where?"

"Downtown, by Sanes Square. Some fucker's offering to sell it, andpound100 for 4 grams."

"Dude, we don't fucking have that money."

"I know, and we don't need it," Lewis waved a black object in Bryar's face, a gun, a cold bleak gun. Bryar's lips formed into a smile as he swiped the gun out of Lewis's hand.

"Let's fucking go and get us some then!"

Franks car swerved its way down the road, the sheet rain blocking his view.

"Shit," he mumbled, shuffling about and trying to focus on the map that lay on the seat beside him, "so, I go right there and then left...seems simple enough..." He sat back up straight and strained his eyes to look out, his windscreen wipers were going at what seemed like a 100mph, but it didn't make much difference, the rain kept shattering down on the glass.

Seeing a road turning off to the right he flicked on his indicator and turned. He gazed out of the window; the street was dark and bland, the walls were tatty and seemed neglected, and he felt that the road was very bumpy. He began to look worried as he turned to check his map again, "Hmm, well it's the right road..." he muttered to himself. Time passed slowly as he drove through a maze of alleyways and dark roads before he finally came across a group of guys. He mentally debated whether to stop and ask them for directions or just to keep driving until he got out. Come on, you could be driving for hours....They don't look like bad people...well....stop being a wimp and just ask them! He slowed down and then stopped beside them.

Getting out he was aware that they all stopped and stared at him. It seemed there was hatred in their black eyes. Bad idea Frank

"Um, excuse me, I was just wondering if you could tell me the direc..." before he could finish he was forced up against a wall, an arm squeezing against his throat and a cold metal feeling object placed up against his temple.

"Please, please, don't hurt me," Frank began to beg, unwanted tears forming automatically in his eyes, his fear pouring out of him like water from a bucket.

"And why would we not want to hurt you?" The guy who was holding Frank jeered, "a posh little shit like you...what the fuck you doing here aye?"

"I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry, I just got lost, please," Frank mumbled, "please."

"Please may work when you need a new car from daddy, but it doesn't fucking work with us," the metal object, which Frank knew was a gun increased it's pressure on his head and he winced.

"Get his money Jenkins," the filthy son of a bitch said, his breath drenched with the stench of alcohol. Frank felt some hands on his hips and his pockets and let a tear drop from his eyes because of the helplessness he felt.

"Oh for fuck sake guys, we need to get going, let's not waste our time with this piece of shit," another male voice spoke over the rest.

"Fuck off Bryar, lets just kill him now, at least it'll be fun..." they all laughed. A hand wrenched the guy off Frank, and Frank breathed a sigh of relive as he rubbed his sore neck.

"Bryar! What the fuck are you doing?" the guy yelled.

"We need to get going!" the voice now known as Bryar's replied, shooting Frank a glance which he could not read nor understand.

"Fine," the others grunted like little children who had been torn away from a sweet shop.

"Count yourself fucking lucky," the one known as Jenkins spat in Franks face, before kicking him hard in the stomach. Frank clenched his middle area and fell to the ground where he felt more punches and kicks land on him to the rhythm of taunting laughter.

The pain caused him to fall unconscious and he lay on the desolate ground for hours, the cold rain drenching his skin.

Bryar's P.O.V I don't know why I even went back there. I guess the heroin hit had turned me into a thoughtful little fucker, I doubt it, but hey, I went back. Maybe it was to see if he was dead or not, I'm not sure....All I knew was that I needed to get that kid out of there before any more harm was caused to him, if he wasn't out by sunrise I knew more gangs would come, and trust me, they'd get him better than my boys did. They'd kick him until his heart stopped beating. I lent down over him as he lay shivering, holding his body together as if he felt if he let go he'd fall apart completely.

"Oi," I said, trying to sound soft, but, ya know, I'm a fucking heroin addict who lives in the slums, soft isn't something I need to put on a lot of the time. I poked him in the side causing him to whimper.

"Kid," I said again.

"Please, please, I don't want to die..." he muttered through a mouthful of blood.

"I'm not going to hurt you," I mumbled looking around me cautiously. I didn't want to be seen helping someone because then they'd get me too, even my own boys, I mean, they'll help you when you're on their side, but the minute you do something they won't, they'll pump you to the bloody ground.

"Kid, you have to fucking get up," I said louder, pushing him to make him stir. He turned around slowly to look at me.

"Kid, you have to fucking get out of here," I pointed to his car. Slowly he moved, and I have to say, I felt relieved.

"Thank you," he muttered still spitting out blood as he got into his car, "you saved my life, thank you. How can I repay you?" I looked around me again, "There's no need, I better go now, I got to get," I was about to say home, but a room full of pain and junkies half the time isn't much of a home, "yeah, I just got to go..." I began to move away. The kid, bless him, must've noticed the pain on my face as I looked around me.

"Wait," he said, suddenly able to speak properly, "You've saved me; I have to save you, why don't you come home with me? I mean, what've you got to lose?"

Wow, that's all I could think, even though a stab of hatred did soar through me when he asked what I have to lose, I mean I could've been a family man for all he knew, but no, he knew I was just nothing, but still he was taking a chance on me, but why? I would never have taken a fucking chance on me, no chance in hell, the minute I'd been back on my feet I would've been back in that little car of his and off, but no, not this kid.

"Really?" I grunted, aware at how gruff my voice was and how he winced slightly.

"Er...sure..." he said slowly. I knew he wasn't sure, but I got in the car anyway, planning to be a better person around him, fuck, I was getting out, I was finally escaping the anguish I'd known all my life....off to do bigger and better things...

Frank and Bryar, who introduced himself to Frank as Bob, arrived at Frank's house hours later.

The journey had been a weird one; the conversation had surprisingly flowed well. Bob had laughed when he'd found out that he and Frank were the same age, he felt so much older, his life putting years on him, even though, he to, was just a teenager. Frank smiled wearily as he walked up his path to his house where he knew his friends were waiting, he'd been on his way to collect a birthday cake for his mum's birthday, leaving his friends at the party at his house, but now the party was long over and he knew his mum would be in bed, probably too drunk to realize Frank's cake trip had taken over 5 hours. Bob clenched his fists, scared of what he'd find, probably other caring people like Frank and that was what scared him most, compassion was something he'd never come into close contact with. They entered the house slowly, it was big, but not too big, but to Bob it seemed like a mansion. Wow. A group of three guys immediately surrounded them.

"Frank, where have you been?!" a guy with long black hair asked hurriedly, "We've been worried sick...you even caused Mikey to have an asthma attack....fuck...look at you...you're all banged up....you..." he came to a halt as he noticed Bob.

"Guys," Frank said, forcing a smile, "This is Bob! He's staying with me from now on!"

Bob's P.O.V Well, fuck me, who'd have thought that Bob Bryar Heroin Addict of The Slums would be living in a house in a good neighbourhood with fucking fantastic people!? I still can't get over it myself.

The first night was a little, well how can I put it? Crazy! You should've seen the look on little Frankie's friends faces when he said I was going to live with him. Man, some funny shit that was! They all came around to the idea by the end of the night and ya know what, they are probably the best guys I have ever had the privilege to meet. We spent the rest of the night just hanging out, that's like the first time I've ever done that! I learned about them, they learned about me, and they accepted me for who I am, damn, I didn't even know people like this actually existed, they're like saints, no, they fucking are saints!

Their in a band you know, and guess what, they said they'd teach me the drums so I can join! I've always wanted to be in a band; when I was young and my dad hadn't been murdered yet, we used to steal stereos from people's houses, it wouldn't matter what music was in the stereo, we'd love it all the same....and now here I am, verging on making music...Shit, this is too good to be true. And you know the best part? I'm not craving, I'm not fucking craving. My love affair with junk is officially over!

A week later Bob sat on his bed, gazing at his surroundings. Frank's mum had been really good about everything, she'd bought him new clothes, some CD's Frank thought he'd like, she bought him everything he'd always wanted. Sighing Bob kicked off his shoes and lay back on his, unstained, bed. He smiled softly to himself, it was all so perfect, that was until he'd close his eyes to sleep and the pain would all seep back into him. There was a knock at the door.

"Come in," Bob called.

"Hey dude," Frank slumped onto the bed and curled up. It was amazing how close they'd grown in only a week, who'd have thought that they'd turn out to be the best of friends, ey?

"What's happening Frank?" Bob asked softly.

"Just thought I'd say the guys are coming round later."

"Right," Bob smiled, laughing at how random Frank's visits were.

That night all of the five guys sat around in Frank's basement, the four of them chatted animatedly together, but Bob sat on the outside, he didn't mind though, he was just happy being there.

Mikey, a tall guy with dark rimmed glasses came and sat by Bob as the others discussed who were better, Anthrax or Slayer.

"Bob..."

"Yeah Mikey..." Bob said, almost snapping because he was so unused to people speaking nicely to him.

"What's it like in the slums?"

Bob closed his eyes briefly trying hard not to remember what it was like, "I don't want to talk about that Mikey...." He snapped.

Mikey fell silent, then suddenly, "Are there gunshots all the time?"

"For fuck sake, I said I didn't want to talk about it!" Bob stood up, his anger flaring, causing the others to fall silent.

"Hey Bob, just calm down man, ignore Mikey," Frank said carefully.

"I cant just "calm down" Frank! You have no fucking idea what it's like there...or what it's like to be made to think about it....you have no fucking idea what I've been through, none of you do. You've just lived here, and enjoyed your rich little lives with no worry or pain, you have no fucking idea what it's like to be that scared 24/7 or to..." He faded away at the sight of Frank slowly lifting his shirt.

"Frank, what the..." he began, but then he saw it, a large scar amongst the bruises from the night they had first met.

"My dad did it. He used to drink a lot....and then he'd get angry....I guess one night he couldn't control himself and he stabbed me here with a kitchen knife...." Frank mumbled.

Bob just didn't know what to say as he stared at him, his mouth slightly ajar. Gerard then stood up and pulled up his sleeves, on them were fine thin scars, "I did those myself, I just hated the thought of being me so I hurt myself...and then I lived in fear of me...." He muttered.

"Fuck..." Bob said quietly to himself. Mikey and Ray just sat silently, with no scars and no stories to tell.

"See Bob, we know we never had it as bad as you, but we've all been through things, although we don't all have physical scars to prove it....I ran to Ray every time my dad was angry, Ray had to cope with my dad coming around and threatening to kill him if he didn't tell him where I was...and Mikey, well, he had to wipe up the blood every time Gerard tried to kill himself. We're not stupid rich kids; we know what its like to be afraid." Frank fell silent, then left the room. The tension in the room was suffocating thick.

"I'm so sorry guys..." Bob said, trying to hold back tears, "I, I think I'd better go..."

"No Bob..." Gerard began, but before he could finish Bob had fled up the stairs and out onto the street. He ran along the pavement, in the direction of the place he hated so much, but that was the only place he could go and be around people who he didn't care if he hurt.

-------

I fucked up. Why can't I just be nice and not have to ruin the best thing that ever happened to me? Those guys, they've had hard times as well, I shouldn't have been so selfish and snapped at them....and where has it got me? Nowhere! I'm running now, as fast as I can, I have to get away from them before I hurt them even more. The lactic acid is burning my muscles as I run out of breath, but I'm not going to stop, no, I'm not going to stop till I see the streets turn black, back to the only place I'm good enough for.

Fuck, I can feel the feeling building up in my bones again, that damn craving, those people were the only ones stopping me from needing it, but now what's to stop me? I think Junk and I are lovers once more.

Hours passed, maybe it was days, Bob didn't know, he had so much crap in his body that he didn't even know if he'd know anything ever again, he'd got his drugs, he'd had to cause pain to get them, but he had got them, and you know what, he didn't feel any better now they were swooping around his blood stream and he was lying in a gutter.

"Shit, he's over there!" a shout caused Bob to wake from his incoherent drugged up hallucination. He felt hands on his body and knew he was being moved, but to where? He didn't care.

-------

Frank saved me. Well, him and the guys anyway! Can you believe it? After hurting him in his own home, he came back and looked for me. He practically had a search party out there, his mom, all the other guys, even some people I'd never met before. The guy's may all be only 17, but they've fucking saved me...twice! You know what, this time I'm going to stay saved...I will not mess it up again, and when I say not, I mean not! I can't, I've been given a second chance, a fucker like me shouldn't be given a first chance let alone a second one, so yeah, this time I'm going to do it properly.

I'm in the hospital now; the guys just came in and placed a drumming book in my hands. They bought me a drum kit as a get well present, that's just...wow...that's all I can say about that! I really can't get over what they all have done for me...me...Bob Bryar...And I know I said this earlier, but I have to say it again...This time I'm not going to mess it up; I'm going to be thoughtful and thank everyone at every opportunity for what they've done for me, I'm going to practise extra hard at the drums just to make the guys proud at me, hell I might even go to school and get some qualifications! I'm going to put everything behind me! Yeah, I'm going to fucking make it!