Chapter Text
Deaky plucked a few strings from his bass, waiting around until the rest of the band settled and got ready for practice.
He had gotten early to their small, shared, practice space, plugged his instrument to his amplifier and waited around for the guys to arrive because he had to tell them something... something he hadn’t managed to say just yet.
Even if his original plan was to tell them before they even started playing. Why had he taken out his bass and plugged it in, if he was supposed to break the news he was quitting the band before they started rehearsal? He had no idea.
Or rather, he had a pretty clear idea of how much he truly didn’t want to do this, and understood his actions perfectly.
“Hey, Deaky, are you alright mate?” Said Roger’s voice from behind him, pulling him out of his thoughts abruptly. He turned around to see his band mate, his friend, crouching down next to one of his drums, adjusting it.
John just nodded and tried his best to smile.
Roger looked at him with suspicion, standing up and coming closer to him “you have been looking a bit peaky lately and... well... not that I’ve been paying attention or anything… but you are a little more quiet than usual?”
His tone dragged in the end, which only accentuated the frown on his features. He looked concerned, or as concerned as Deaky had ever seen him about something. His hands were balled at his sides, like he was restraining himself from action. Which action though, John had no clue.
This sudden closeness to Roger and his worry only made Deaky’s insides churn even harder than they already were in the first place. His uneven heartbeat took a few missteps and he felt himself lacking air, trying to breathe deeply in front of his friend without it being too obvious that his heart was failing him at the moment.
He must have shown something though, as Roger’s hands went to his shoulders the next moment, his pretty eyes fixed on Deaky’s own. When he spoke his voice was death serious, again, highly unusual for the drummer “John, what’s wrong?”
“Stop the chatter darlings, it’s time to play, chop chop” Freddie said, entering the room and clapping his hands together loudly.
Deaky had never been more grateful for his friend’s bossiness than at that moment, since Roger, knowing fully well the hell that awaited him if he opposed their lead singer, let go of his shoulders and went back to his place behind the drums, grabbing his sticks and marking the rhythm for them to start.
John could feel his eyes bore into him the whole time they practiced. He tried hard to ignore him, and to keep playing decently at the same time his heart demanded rest, but it was useless. Every time he so much as turned a little to his right he could see the worry etched into the drummer’s eyes and he messed up his part.
He couldn’t breath again, the room going in and out of focus, his heartbeat struggling to keep up with what he was doing until finally Brian stopped playing in the middle of the song they were rehearsing and turned to face him, hands in the air, “Deaks what the hell!”
He heard Roger stop in the distance and he could feel himself stop playing, but it was all in slow motion. He opened his mouth to answer, but no sounds came out. The last thing he saw was Freddie, watching him with alarm, coming at him.
+++++++++++
His body felt heavy, all the way up to his eyelids. He could hear voices in the distance, voices he knew, voices he dared say he loved, but couldn’t quite understand what they were saying. They sounded frightened, panicked even.
He tried to open his eyes but realized he couldn’t. Maybe if he moved his hand, the voices would stop calling his name. Because that was what they were saying, he realized now, his name.
He gave it his best effort but his arm felt like lead. He vaguely realized that he could at least breathe better now, and that the constant constriction in his chest, the one he was almost getting used to, had eased a little.
The voices came slowly more into focus and the strangled voice of Brian said “we should call an ambulance, he has been out cold for more than 5 minutes, we need to do something”.
And that was his queue. Either he opened his eyes right now or he was going to be in a very large amount of trouble.
Exerting all his will, he opened his eyes.
The first thing he saw were Roger’s eyes, as pretty as ever, because they were open wide, irises full blown. His slow brain wondered for a bit why was he calling Roger’s eyes pretty all the time but it didn’t matter, for a hand appeared in his line of sight and turned his attention over to his owner. Freddie.
He looked pretty scared too but his voice didn’t waver when he said “John. John, can you hear me?”
Deaky’s voice sounded weak even to him when he said “yes, Freddie, I…”
And then it all dawned on him. He had passed out, in the middle of rehearsal. He had come in today, early, in order to quit the band. Because he had no intention, none whatsoever, of telling any of the members of Queen that he had had a heart condition since childhood, which had recently started acting up, and that he was facing open heart surgery not two weeks from now.
They needed a new bassist, because he wasn’t sure he was going to make it through said surgery. His doctors weren’t very optimistic about it all.
Otherwise he might just have lied to them about missing practice for a few weeks and come back. He loved the band, loved playing the bass with talented musicians, loved having fun with them, knew that Queen was going somewhere. And, if he was being honest with myself, he had grown close to Brian and Freddie... and Roger. Particularly Roger. Despite his best efforts.
He didn’t want to leave them, didn’t want to leave his easy college life and having projects and playing gigs and drinking with the guys and what the future might hold for them…but he had no choice really.
John didn’t want a pity party from anyone, and so he had decided he was going to spare his mates the trouble and simply quit the band in the name of his studies and then cut them all off.
If they figured out he had died after the fact, well... that was out of his hands.
Unfortunately, his cover was very much blown now.
Damn it, his doctors had warned him that as weeks went by his heart would get weaker and weaker, but he had never thought that playing a simple song would ever make him pass out like a princess.
Well, now he knew.
And exactly because of that he had to be extra careful now, not to give away anything else about his condition to his friends. He had tell them something believable, soon, and get the hell out of there, because the silence stretched on and he could see Brian hesitating to call the ambulance he had mentioned earlier out of the corner of his eye.
He took a deep breath and tried to get into a sitting position. Roger’s hands were in his back the moment he went upright, supporting him from behind. Huh, apparently his head had been laying in the drummer’s lap.
Trying harder, he stood up, feeling his heart beat out of his chest. Yeah, he needed to get out quick, before anything else he didn’t expect happened. As soon as his legs took on his full weight though he wobbled slightly, and the rest of the three members of Queen were supporting him the next moment, slowly taking him to the couch in the corner of the room.
The silence that continued was eerie, and he could feel their gazes on him, despite the fact he was making an effort not to look at them in anyway.
Finally, it was Freddie who broke the quiet they all seemed to have fallen into.
“Will you tell us what is going on John? You look white as paper and your swooning, as much as I like drama, isn’t funny at all.”
Deaky put his head in hands, rattling his brain, but couldn’t come up with something more creative than “I’m sorry guys. I haven’t been sleeping very well or eating much, because of that electronics project I told you about the other day. I probably just passed out from exhaustion”.
He kept his eyes shut, trying very hard not to see the reaction of his band mates and wishing with all of his heart that they might believe him.
He couldn’t stay that way very long, because the next thing he heard was Roger’s voice, anger coloring every syllable as he said “That’s a load of bollocks! You were out for more than 5 minutes, you couldn’t wake up! I could see it! You have been acting weird for weeks now! Messing up your parts, which had never happened before! You are fucking brilliant bassist and from one month to the other you start making amateur mistakes?! Not to mention you have gotten suspiciously paler as weeks go by. Even before you told us about your dumb electronics project. There is something way more serious going on here and you are not telling us!”
Deaky opened his eyes to see Brian shaking his head slightly at Roger, clearly in a calming gesture. He didn’t take it well though.
“What?! So I’m the only one who is going to say what we all have been thinking for the past month?! That Deaky is acting weird? That we are all worried about him? Well, screw me then.”
“Roger!”
“I’m quitting the bad!” John yelled loudly, cutting Brian mid sentence “That’s why I’ve been acting weird, that’s what I couldn’t tell you” He buried his face in his hands again, so that when he spoke his voice came out muffled “I need more time for my dumb electronics projects. My grades are suffering since I joined the band and I can’t allow that. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but I can’t stay here”.
Silence again and this time it wasn’t eerie but stunned.
It only lasted 2 seconds though since Roger just uttered a quiet “Fucking lies” and stormed out, trashing the door behind him.
Brian went after him, but not before he set a reassuring hand on John’s shoulder, making him open his eyes and face him “I’m sure you have your reasons for leaving the band Deaky. I’m not saying that you are lying, but your argument is not very convincing. I go to the same campus as you mate, I know you are top of your class. We are worried about you, but I’m sure you know that we are, the three of us, there for you if you need anything…we will miss you though. You are a terrific bassist. A terrific friend”. He patted John’s back a few times, and then he left, leaving him alone with Freddie.
Freddie sighted and lowered his head between his shoulders. Deaky looked at him closely. The singer had always been warm towards him, kind, gentle even. He looked at him like he was innocent and precious, like he needed protection. But not in a patronizing way. Because if there was something John had liked from Freddie from the beginning was that he was always himself, always honest, always straightforward. If he looked after John was because he genuinely cared about him. No agendas, no hidden motives.
Deaky had always been fond of Freddie, and had considered him a friend from day one.
“You know when I knew we were just going to be great? As a band, Deaky? When you joined us. That first time we played, the fours of us, together, and Brian gave me that long lecture about messing up the lyrics to Keep Yourself Alive? Then and there I knew, we had something special. We all did. Not just me. I knew I was special all along darling”, he laughed softly, keeping his head down for a moment before turning to look at him.
Deaky had never been good with words. He had always been the quiet one, the one that showed what he felt and thought through his actions. And right there and then, he simply didn’t know what to say to Freddie. Because he agreed with him, that was exactly when he had known too, that they were going places. His heart, the metaphorical one, not the real one, grew tree sizes smaller. This whole business with his health was costing him so much. It was costing him his life, literally and figuratively. It was costing him Queen.
So he said the only thing that came to mind, even if it felt infinitely inadequate at the moment “I’m sorry Fred. I really am. You have no idea how much. But I just can’t… stay with you. Trust me.” He kept eye contact with him until Freddie himself cut it, standing up.
“We trust you Deaky, but both Roger and Brian are right. There is something here that you are not telling us. And I do agree with our temperamental drummer that it has something to do with that paleness of yours, which is certainly not suitable to your complexion darling. But we can’t make you tell us the truth any more than we can make you stay. This is your decision.” He extended a hand towards John, who took it hesitantly, pulling himself to a standing position with his help. Thanks to all the Gods out there, his legs could handle his weight just fine this time around. Still, he took deep breaths as he started walking towards his bass, to put it away.
Freddie stayed close besides him all through the time it took him to unplug his bass and put it into his case, not crowding him but staying a little nearer than what was strictly normal. When he was done, the instruments of his band mates still laying around the room and making him regret what he was doing, he turned to his friend, who was giving him a steady look.
For a moment, a tiny moment, John considered telling him the truth. What would happen, if he told him the truth? Would his friends really have pity for him? Would they get worried? Would they help him? He knew he needed help, but didn’t want it. He was determined to get through this with his head held high, avoiding all possible indignity. He didn’t know what he was facing, heck, he didn’t have a clue. And he was scared. Ohh so scared.
But Freddie kept looking straight into his eyes and in them, Deaky saw what he thought of as respect. Mixed with worry yeah, but the first part was the important one for him. And no. He wasn’t willing, didn’t want to, change the image his friends, his band mates, had of him.
If he was going to die, at least when he would do so Queen would remember him as he was right now. A decent bassist, a good friend, if a little stoic but he was sure they would remember him with fondness.
Freddie extended a hand towards him and John, again, hesitantly took it. Then the singer pulled him to his side and started walking with him towards the exit “Now, I’m gonna take you home because I am sure Roger will positively assassinate me if I don’’t make sure you get home safe.”
Panic rose in his throat. What if he passed out again while going back with Freddie? What if he hyperventilated? He could cover up one fainting but two? He started squirming, trying to free his hand out of the singer’s strong grip but it wouldn’t give. So he tried reasoning with him “No Fred. Thank you but I can get home on my own. You really don’t have to, I’m fine, really...”
“Nonsense! And again, I’m not doing this for you darling. Roger will kill me if I don’t make sure you are in one piece. I am doing this as self preservation, it’s all”.
And with that, Freddie tugged him harder, forcing him to follow him.
John spared one last quick glance at the space in which he had laughed so hard he had cried a couple of times, where he had wrote songs and shared meals, where the instruments of who he realized now might have been the most important people in his life still lay astray, and then he was basically pushed out by Freddie, his arm around his shoulders, into the street.