TS: I Never Told You What I Did For a Living
I thought I'd give your guys' LJs and in-boxes a break and post this properly, in *my* journal. :)
TS info post is located here.
A/N: This bit follows directly after the sections posted about Bob's first fight with a monster, in Iowa.
~~~
If he'd only had Gerard to worry about, Bob knows everything would have been different. Sometimes, even now, Bob daydreams about it, about grabbing Gerard sometime during that first tour and spiriting him away. Those daydreams always come with a low burn of shame. Because it was never just Gee that needed protecting- Gerard Way had a pack already, was part of a package deal.
Bob should have known something was up at the end of the tour, when it hurt to say goodbye to My Chem. He thinks Jepha knew; he'd certainly grown... not colder precisely, but Bob could feel a divide between he and The Used that hadn't been present earlier in the tour. He's grateful for tour's end; Bob tells himself that relief is due to being gone too long from his home territory.
Chicago's familiarity did help ease the unexpected ache. And it gives him the opportunity to track down answers he couldn't find on the road.
~~
"We're going to Europe. We have no sound tech."
Bob was making travel arrangements, was packed and on a plane before he even wondered what was going on. But Gerard -and his band - needed him. Bob couldn't say tell them no, even if he wanted to.
Once in Europe, he walks an edge of alcohol and exhaustion, fighting for understanding while trying to translate the group dialect. There's a radical difference between touring properly with My Chem versus hanging out when he's got spare time.(And he'd found a lot of spare time towards the end of that tour.) Bob knew they were a tight group; he didn't realize what that truly meant until he's in the thick of it, trying to figure out when arguments about Golden Age comic book heroes are true fights and when they're just a way to pass the time. He can read the underlayers roughly half the time, which feels like a honest victory. Frank's probably the easiest to read - the more invested he is in a conversation, the more obvious his words become. It helps that his scent's also the easiest to untangle out of the group.
He compensates for the frustration by patrolling. It's an escape and an excuse to draw blood, but he also feels like he's accomplishing something real. Bob can't tell if there's something about My Chem that draws predators in, or if he just hadn't noticed the danger in the larger tour setting. As the tour progresses, Bob finds himself pushing the patrols later; Brian needs him around, more and more. But that works out - when the night's starting to bleed away, diluted with the dawn is the best time to catch his quarry.
Afterwards, it's always a relief, coming back to Gee and Bri, to Mikey and Frank and Ray. Still, that grey pre-dawn light follows him into sleep even on nights when he stays in.
~
Bob doesn't harbor much love for Matt. He challenges pack order all the fucking time, and is a sloppy musician besides. Okay, sometimes Bob wishes he could have left Matt in Germany, with that succubus who flirted with him all through the Hamburg show. But Bob's not that much of an asshole. He did get some grim pleasure that night, out of cockblocking. Still, this pack - this BAND - deserved more than Otter's growing hostility.
Despite the rumble of drums in his soul, it isn't Bob's place to make those kinds of decisions. He does what he can - chasing off the threats he could fight, but otherwise stayed close, letting them sleep on him - though, that's a self-serving action too. He curls up with them, the touch of their skin on his almost enough to convince him that he had an assured place here.
~
In London, Bob leans against another sticky bar top, after another show, elbow bumping Brian's forearm.
"Bryar..."
Bob turns towards him. Brian looked away, took a long swig of his beer.
"Bri?" He finally said.
Brian watches him out of the corner of his eye and then laughs.
"Don't think I don't know you..."
Bob thumped his pint glass on the bar top. "You don't." His fingers itch with the muscle-deep prickle that can only be soothed by fur. It's too close to the full moon for the conversation he can feel approaching. Bob fumbles out a cigarette instead and drinks his pint. He's drained the glass before Brian replies.
"Fuck you, Bob. You're as lost as me. From the first glance..."
And he looked away, ordering them shots.
Bob didn't need further clarification; he lifted that glass and drank to his chains.
Not that a single, half-spoken conversation settled anything. No, he'd run first.
~~~~
Bob leaves because he has to, because he can't stay. For all that he wants to say otherwise, he's still a tech, still an outsider. Leaving still feels like he's tearing himself to pieces - the end of tour and the entire plane ride back to the states, Bob is twitchy, irritated. He retreats behind silence and as much clothing as he can get away with wearing. Every accidental brush of his skin against a stranger's pulls growls closer to the surface. Bob left, he left when he knew they needed him - even if Brian was the only one who knew the true extent of that need
Bob scowls at the self-pity in that thought.
No one had wanted him to leave. The hugs at the airport were lingering - Bob hadn't been sure that Mikey was going to actually let him go. He can't help but worry about Mikey. He's been sleeping badly, twitching his way through what Bob can only imagine are bad dreams with increasing frequency over the past few weeks. Ray clung just as tightly and Bob felt guilty for leaving him. Bob held on as long as he dared to each of them, wallowing in the bony point of Frank's elbow against his side, as he clung to Gerard, his nose buried in unwashed hair. He listened to the stuttering pulse against his cheek, the sound of Brian's low argument with Otter distant, unimportant.
"Bob..." Gee's breath was a hot entreaty against his skin and Bob shivered.
Gerard's arms tightened and there was a sudden press of heat, bony limbs and road stink as the others moved close, surrounding him in a group hug. Bob shivered again and relaxed.
"Come on...stay." Ray's words brush up against his other cheek, followed by the familiar tickle of red-brown curls.
"I can't." Bob says, hoping the indecision and anguish aren't apparent in his voice.
Arms tighten around him. Bob felt something well up in his chest and clenched his jaw, trying to hold words back. He could feel himself teetering, wanting to give them what they asked, wanting to surrender and STAY. If one more of them asked...
There was a garbled announcement in French above their heads and then Brian's voice broke the moment.
"Alright, guys, break it up."
Bob took a deep breath and with an internal yowl, pulled up his determination. "Iero, get your nose out of my armpit." He muttered.
Frank giggled and wriggled closer. "Aw, but you smell so sweet!"
Bob wrapped one hand around Frank's face and pushes him away.
The group breaks apart laughing, hands slapping between his shoulder blades. Bob breathes shallowly through his mouth, grumbling as he lets them go. Looking up, he meets Brian's eyes and finds he can't read the emotion there. But Brian just nods, once, and looks irritated.
"Are you planning on catching that flight, Bryar, or are we stuck with your sorry ass in Japan too"
There's a single loaded moment when the men around him focus, hanging on his answer. Bob ducks his head, leans over to pick up his duffle bag. "Later."
And he walks away, doesn't look back.
TS info post is located here.
A/N: This bit follows directly after the sections posted about Bob's first fight with a monster, in Iowa.
~~~
If he'd only had Gerard to worry about, Bob knows everything would have been different. Sometimes, even now, Bob daydreams about it, about grabbing Gerard sometime during that first tour and spiriting him away. Those daydreams always come with a low burn of shame. Because it was never just Gee that needed protecting- Gerard Way had a pack already, was part of a package deal.
Bob should have known something was up at the end of the tour, when it hurt to say goodbye to My Chem. He thinks Jepha knew; he'd certainly grown... not colder precisely, but Bob could feel a divide between he and The Used that hadn't been present earlier in the tour. He's grateful for tour's end; Bob tells himself that relief is due to being gone too long from his home territory.
Chicago's familiarity did help ease the unexpected ache. And it gives him the opportunity to track down answers he couldn't find on the road.
~~
"We're going to Europe. We have no sound tech."
Bob was making travel arrangements, was packed and on a plane before he even wondered what was going on. But Gerard -and his band - needed him. Bob couldn't say tell them no, even if he wanted to.
Once in Europe, he walks an edge of alcohol and exhaustion, fighting for understanding while trying to translate the group dialect. There's a radical difference between touring properly with My Chem versus hanging out when he's got spare time.(And he'd found a lot of spare time towards the end of that tour.) Bob knew they were a tight group; he didn't realize what that truly meant until he's in the thick of it, trying to figure out when arguments about Golden Age comic book heroes are true fights and when they're just a way to pass the time. He can read the underlayers roughly half the time, which feels like a honest victory. Frank's probably the easiest to read - the more invested he is in a conversation, the more obvious his words become. It helps that his scent's also the easiest to untangle out of the group.
He compensates for the frustration by patrolling. It's an escape and an excuse to draw blood, but he also feels like he's accomplishing something real. Bob can't tell if there's something about My Chem that draws predators in, or if he just hadn't noticed the danger in the larger tour setting. As the tour progresses, Bob finds himself pushing the patrols later; Brian needs him around, more and more. But that works out - when the night's starting to bleed away, diluted with the dawn is the best time to catch his quarry.
Afterwards, it's always a relief, coming back to Gee and Bri, to Mikey and Frank and Ray. Still, that grey pre-dawn light follows him into sleep even on nights when he stays in.
~
Bob doesn't harbor much love for Matt. He challenges pack order all the fucking time, and is a sloppy musician besides. Okay, sometimes Bob wishes he could have left Matt in Germany, with that succubus who flirted with him all through the Hamburg show. But Bob's not that much of an asshole. He did get some grim pleasure that night, out of cockblocking. Still, this pack - this BAND - deserved more than Otter's growing hostility.
Despite the rumble of drums in his soul, it isn't Bob's place to make those kinds of decisions. He does what he can - chasing off the threats he could fight, but otherwise stayed close, letting them sleep on him - though, that's a self-serving action too. He curls up with them, the touch of their skin on his almost enough to convince him that he had an assured place here.
~
In London, Bob leans against another sticky bar top, after another show, elbow bumping Brian's forearm.
"Bryar..."
Bob turns towards him. Brian looked away, took a long swig of his beer.
"Bri?" He finally said.
Brian watches him out of the corner of his eye and then laughs.
"Don't think I don't know you..."
Bob thumped his pint glass on the bar top. "You don't." His fingers itch with the muscle-deep prickle that can only be soothed by fur. It's too close to the full moon for the conversation he can feel approaching. Bob fumbles out a cigarette instead and drinks his pint. He's drained the glass before Brian replies.
"Fuck you, Bob. You're as lost as me. From the first glance..."
And he looked away, ordering them shots.
Bob didn't need further clarification; he lifted that glass and drank to his chains.
Not that a single, half-spoken conversation settled anything. No, he'd run first.
~~~~
Bob leaves because he has to, because he can't stay. For all that he wants to say otherwise, he's still a tech, still an outsider. Leaving still feels like he's tearing himself to pieces - the end of tour and the entire plane ride back to the states, Bob is twitchy, irritated. He retreats behind silence and as much clothing as he can get away with wearing. Every accidental brush of his skin against a stranger's pulls growls closer to the surface. Bob left, he left when he knew they needed him - even if Brian was the only one who knew the true extent of that need
Bob scowls at the self-pity in that thought.
No one had wanted him to leave. The hugs at the airport were lingering - Bob hadn't been sure that Mikey was going to actually let him go. He can't help but worry about Mikey. He's been sleeping badly, twitching his way through what Bob can only imagine are bad dreams with increasing frequency over the past few weeks. Ray clung just as tightly and Bob felt guilty for leaving him. Bob held on as long as he dared to each of them, wallowing in the bony point of Frank's elbow against his side, as he clung to Gerard, his nose buried in unwashed hair. He listened to the stuttering pulse against his cheek, the sound of Brian's low argument with Otter distant, unimportant.
"Bob..." Gee's breath was a hot entreaty against his skin and Bob shivered.
Gerard's arms tightened and there was a sudden press of heat, bony limbs and road stink as the others moved close, surrounding him in a group hug. Bob shivered again and relaxed.
"Come on...stay." Ray's words brush up against his other cheek, followed by the familiar tickle of red-brown curls.
"I can't." Bob says, hoping the indecision and anguish aren't apparent in his voice.
Arms tighten around him. Bob felt something well up in his chest and clenched his jaw, trying to hold words back. He could feel himself teetering, wanting to give them what they asked, wanting to surrender and STAY. If one more of them asked...
There was a garbled announcement in French above their heads and then Brian's voice broke the moment.
"Alright, guys, break it up."
Bob took a deep breath and with an internal yowl, pulled up his determination. "Iero, get your nose out of my armpit." He muttered.
Frank giggled and wriggled closer. "Aw, but you smell so sweet!"
Bob wrapped one hand around Frank's face and pushes him away.
The group breaks apart laughing, hands slapping between his shoulder blades. Bob breathes shallowly through his mouth, grumbling as he lets them go. Looking up, he meets Brian's eyes and finds he can't read the emotion there. But Brian just nods, once, and looks irritated.
"Are you planning on catching that flight, Bryar, or are we stuck with your sorry ass in Japan too"
There's a single loaded moment when the men around him focus, hanging on his answer. Bob ducks his head, leans over to pick up his duffle bag. "Later."
And he walks away, doesn't look back.