Bandslash: Your name in lights (PG-13)
Your name in lights
(five things that didn't happen to Brent Wilson)
PG-13 // Gen with implied pairings // 1806 words
For we_are_cities 24 April 2007.
Important things: Tom Conrad // Cultverse
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue.
Warnings: Asphyxiation
Notes: Thanks to crazyjedi and duendeoflorien for beta'ing, seanarenay for saying "no takebacks," and my flist for putting up with me.
I could still be ruthless
When the article comes out, he feels a little guilty. It's not regret, really; he meant to do it, he decided to do it, he's glad he did it. But there's some guilt, too. Not for telling anybody's secrets, because they weren't even secrets to begin with. It was nothing people couldn't have figured out or assumed on their own. It felt good to say it, and he doesn't regret it at all.
Ryan's father is a secret. Beer cans in the fridge, calls in the middle of the night, hospital waiting rooms; those are secrets Brent would never tell. They probably don't believe that anymore, but it's true. He knows enough not to spill secrets like that.
He doesn't read the article when it comes out. He already knows what it says. Maybe there are pictures, and maybe there are responses, but he doesn't need to see them. He did it for himself, not because he wanted to see what they would do. He did it because he wanted to. The guilt will fade, in time, and he'll look back and be glad he did it when he had the chance.
He turns his phone off the day it gets released. He doesn't want to talk to anyone who'd be calling anyway. If there was an apology on the other end, maybe. There won't be, but it's not like he did it because he wanted one. He's not sitting by the phone hoping, and he sure as hell isn't sorry.
Besides, it's not the worst thing he could have done.
who knew what we know now
"How did you get this number?"
"Crew guys. Look, you can hang up. I just thought. You know, we have some things in common, right?"
"Right. But I'm friends with Jon. We're friends, we hang out, I'm gonna go on tour with them."
"I'm not saying... I'm not gonna talk shit about them. Or anything like that. If I wanted to do that I wouldn't be calling you. But it's hard, after, and. I don't mean it in a bad way, but Jon's pretty much the last person who's gonna get it."
"I know. Trust me, I know. But I think I know about four dozen people who would disown me for talking to you."
"You can hang up if you want to."
"Does it get better? Is there any way to make it better?"
"There's no way to fix it, if that's what you mean. It's better now than it was when it happened, I guess. You move on, you delete their numbers from your phone, you figure out how to live in a house that doesn't move. You're still on tour, so maybe that's different. But you can't snap your fingers and stop missing them. It. Whatever."
"Sometimes I wake up and I think I'm on our bus. I keep expecting to hear Bill snoring. So maybe the 'back on tour' thing wasn't the best idea. But Jon offered, and he was trying to help. He is helping. It's just weird, being around them. I can't stop thinking about it."
"Are they okay? Just. I wanted to call, after Ryan's dad, but it would have made things worse, so. Are they?"
"I think so. I mean, they're tired, but that's normal. Sometimes I walk in on, like. Moments, you know, where right before I came in things were maybe not so great. But they're handling it okay."
"Good, that's. Good. In interviews and stuff, you can't ever really tell."
"Jon saw your name in my phone. And he's my friend, all right, I can't just. It's making everything weird."
"Oh. So, do you want me to-"
"I have to stop talking to you. Fuck, I'm such an asshole, but I have to."
"Okay."
"I'm sorry, I just-it's not okay, Brent, I'm being a total dick."
"Maybe a little. But hey, it was nice talking to you."
"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. Sometime, when things aren't so messed up, I'll give you a call, okay? And we'll start our own band and win Grammies and shit."
"Yeah. So I guess I'll see you around."
"Yeah. Yeah, I'll see you."
sing it right back to me
Ryan disappears with Pete a few days after they meet him. Brent isn't stupid; he knows what they're doing. But Ryan comes back with this look in his eyes, like something important has happened. All he can talk about is Pete. And it's not like before, not like when he just had a crush. He talks about Pete like some people talk about God.
"The message," he keeps saying, voice hushed and reverent. "The message is so important."
Brent starts to think he doesn't know what they were doing at all.
"Hey," Brent says to Joe backstage one night. "Hey, I think I need help."
"What, what's up?"
"Ryan, he said-" Brent looks over, catching Joe's eye. "I just. It's all just so important, I'm afraid I'm gonna mess it up."
"I know dude, playing in front of this many people can be kinda freaky."
"Yeah," Brent nods. "That too."
Joe gets this look, half a smirk and half something else Brent doesn't quite recognize. Three nights later Pete sidles up, swinging an arm around Brent's shoulders.
"Hey," he says, flashing a grin. "Hey, I heard you needed some help."
Ryan calls Pete on a Wednesday. "I think. I think we're going to kick Brent out."
"No," Pete says, "you're not."
Brent isn't stupid.
who's going to let you down
"Look," Ryan says. "Look, we're gonna go with a different bass player."
Spencer leans forward. "It's nothing personal, you know? It's just. You don't know the songs, Brent. You can't play what we wrote, and it's not getting any better."
"Pete Wentz is coming," Ryan says plainly. "We can't-he's never gonna sign us if you're up there fucking up the bass lines."
Three days later, Brent's phone rings. "You can totally come over and punch me if you want, but I have a question," Brendon says.
"Okay."
"Okay you're gonna punch me, or-"
"Okay, ask me. We'll see about the punching."
"See, the thing is," Brendon says, "the thing is, we don't have a bass player. And Pete's coming tomorrow. And. And Ryan won't call you because he thinks he'll have to apologize-"
"He would. If he called, he would."
"Um."
"It's still at three, right? I'll be there at two."
"I think this will work out better if we just don't say anything," Spencer says, careful not to look at any of them. Brendon fidgets and offers Brent an awkward smile.
"And if nobody fucks anything up," Ryan says. He is not quite as careful as Spencer.
They warm up without speaking. The doorbell rings an hour later, and Brent has to bite back the urge to tease Ryan for automatically reaching to fix his hair. And then Pete Wentz is standing in their practice space, wearing a hoodie and grinning.
"Hey," he says. "I'm Pete."
The others introduce themselves, and Pete shakes their hands. He turns and Brent steps forward.
"Brent," he says, holding out his hand.
"And you're-"
"Brent's just filling in," Ryan announces. "Until we find someone permanent."
"Hey, no, that's cool," Pete shrugs, shaking Brent's hand. "You need a bass player? I know a guy."
A week later there's a message on Brent's voicemail.
"Hey, um. Pete's gonna sign us. So I just wanted to say. Um, thanks, for. For, you know, playing on Saturday. And for everything. Thanks. Bye."
I need somebody to take me home
"That's it," Jon says softly. "That's it, you're doing so well."
Brent's vision is graying on the edges. His fingers and toes are numb. Jon's weight on his chest, pressing down, is second only to the feel of Jon's hands around his throat. Brent can feel bruises forming on his arms, his stomach; bruises made by Jon's hands and elbows when he wrestled Brent to the bed and held him there until he stopped fighting. He lets his eyes close, feels his chest tighten in time with Jon's fingers. His hands slide down from Jon's arms, but he doesn't realize until he feels them hit the bed.
When he wakes up he's gasping for breath, whining a little in the back of his throat. Jon's making soothing sounds, petting Brent's hair with one hand.
"So good," he murmurs. "Such a good boy."
They play until his fingers bleed. Jon wipes the blood away with a Kleenex and tells him to keep going. He never yells. He just sits, hand light on the nape of Brent's neck, and gives quiet instructions. Jon counts out the time, measure by measure, voice strong and sure. He doesn't get angry when Brent messes up. They just start over at the beginning.
Jon always tells him he's done a good job, no matter how many mistakes he's made. He knows he's getting better, but sometimes he feels like he'll never be good enough. It's not until the day Jon brings Brendon in to one of their practices that he understands how far he's gotten.
"Show him," Jon says.
Brent plays. He means to watch Brendon, to gauge from his expression whether he's doing all right. But he gets distracted. He hears the notes and feels Jon's hand on the back of his neck and he plays all three songs with his eyes closed. He's barely had time to open them when Brendon is launching himself across the space between them. Jon pulls Brent's bass out of the way, and then Brendon's in his lap, hugging him fiercely.
"You were so good, you're so good," he says into Brent's hair. Brent hides his grin in Brendon's shoulder and hugs him back.
They add the new bass parts into the show one by one. Each night is harder and harder, and he makes mistakes, but when he looks up one of the others is always grinning at him. And Jon, Jon is always sidestage, his face serious but his eyes warm. The night Brent plays every song, he and Ryan migrate to the center of the stage for the final number, flanking Brendon as Spencer keeps the beat behind them. When Brent looks over, Jon is smiling.
After, the five of them crowd onto the bus. Brendon tackles Brent to the floor, pulling the others down with him. They wrap themselves around Brent, hugging him and kissing his cheeks. Jon's hand goes to the back of his neck, and Brent feels the tension of the past few months sink out of him. He feels Ryan's fingers touch the bruises on his hips hesitantly. Jon's other hand folds over Ryan's, squeezing lightly.
"Okay?" he asks Brent.
"Okay."
Soundtrack:
But there you go for the last time
I finally know now what I should have known then
And I could still be ruthless if you let me
Something Corporate, Ruthless
We are who, we are who we were when
Who knew what we know now
Could've been more but at least
You're still my day late friend
Anberlin, A Day Late
A Day Late (acoustic)
I won't be the one who's going to let you down
Maybe you'll get what you want this time around
Garbage, The Trick Is To Keep Breathing
But I was scared to death of eternity
I was saved by grace but destroyed by naivety
And I lied to myself
And said it was for the best
Straylight Run, For The Best
I won't wait to hear them say,
"You were wrong all along."
This Day & Age, Building A Home
Or download a .zip file of all six.
(five things that didn't happen to Brent Wilson)
PG-13 // Gen with implied pairings // 1806 words
For we_are_cities 24 April 2007.
Important things: Tom Conrad // Cultverse
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue.
Warnings: Asphyxiation
Notes: Thanks to crazyjedi and duendeoflorien for beta'ing, seanarenay for saying "no takebacks," and my flist for putting up with me.
I could still be ruthless
When the article comes out, he feels a little guilty. It's not regret, really; he meant to do it, he decided to do it, he's glad he did it. But there's some guilt, too. Not for telling anybody's secrets, because they weren't even secrets to begin with. It was nothing people couldn't have figured out or assumed on their own. It felt good to say it, and he doesn't regret it at all.
Ryan's father is a secret. Beer cans in the fridge, calls in the middle of the night, hospital waiting rooms; those are secrets Brent would never tell. They probably don't believe that anymore, but it's true. He knows enough not to spill secrets like that.
He doesn't read the article when it comes out. He already knows what it says. Maybe there are pictures, and maybe there are responses, but he doesn't need to see them. He did it for himself, not because he wanted to see what they would do. He did it because he wanted to. The guilt will fade, in time, and he'll look back and be glad he did it when he had the chance.
He turns his phone off the day it gets released. He doesn't want to talk to anyone who'd be calling anyway. If there was an apology on the other end, maybe. There won't be, but it's not like he did it because he wanted one. He's not sitting by the phone hoping, and he sure as hell isn't sorry.
Besides, it's not the worst thing he could have done.
who knew what we know now
"How did you get this number?"
"Crew guys. Look, you can hang up. I just thought. You know, we have some things in common, right?"
"Right. But I'm friends with Jon. We're friends, we hang out, I'm gonna go on tour with them."
"I'm not saying... I'm not gonna talk shit about them. Or anything like that. If I wanted to do that I wouldn't be calling you. But it's hard, after, and. I don't mean it in a bad way, but Jon's pretty much the last person who's gonna get it."
"I know. Trust me, I know. But I think I know about four dozen people who would disown me for talking to you."
"You can hang up if you want to."
"Does it get better? Is there any way to make it better?"
"There's no way to fix it, if that's what you mean. It's better now than it was when it happened, I guess. You move on, you delete their numbers from your phone, you figure out how to live in a house that doesn't move. You're still on tour, so maybe that's different. But you can't snap your fingers and stop missing them. It. Whatever."
"Sometimes I wake up and I think I'm on our bus. I keep expecting to hear Bill snoring. So maybe the 'back on tour' thing wasn't the best idea. But Jon offered, and he was trying to help. He is helping. It's just weird, being around them. I can't stop thinking about it."
"Are they okay? Just. I wanted to call, after Ryan's dad, but it would have made things worse, so. Are they?"
"I think so. I mean, they're tired, but that's normal. Sometimes I walk in on, like. Moments, you know, where right before I came in things were maybe not so great. But they're handling it okay."
"Good, that's. Good. In interviews and stuff, you can't ever really tell."
"Jon saw your name in my phone. And he's my friend, all right, I can't just. It's making everything weird."
"Oh. So, do you want me to-"
"I have to stop talking to you. Fuck, I'm such an asshole, but I have to."
"Okay."
"I'm sorry, I just-it's not okay, Brent, I'm being a total dick."
"Maybe a little. But hey, it was nice talking to you."
"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. Sometime, when things aren't so messed up, I'll give you a call, okay? And we'll start our own band and win Grammies and shit."
"Yeah. So I guess I'll see you around."
"Yeah. Yeah, I'll see you."
sing it right back to me
Ryan disappears with Pete a few days after they meet him. Brent isn't stupid; he knows what they're doing. But Ryan comes back with this look in his eyes, like something important has happened. All he can talk about is Pete. And it's not like before, not like when he just had a crush. He talks about Pete like some people talk about God.
"The message," he keeps saying, voice hushed and reverent. "The message is so important."
Brent starts to think he doesn't know what they were doing at all.
"Hey," Brent says to Joe backstage one night. "Hey, I think I need help."
"What, what's up?"
"Ryan, he said-" Brent looks over, catching Joe's eye. "I just. It's all just so important, I'm afraid I'm gonna mess it up."
"I know dude, playing in front of this many people can be kinda freaky."
"Yeah," Brent nods. "That too."
Joe gets this look, half a smirk and half something else Brent doesn't quite recognize. Three nights later Pete sidles up, swinging an arm around Brent's shoulders.
"Hey," he says, flashing a grin. "Hey, I heard you needed some help."
Ryan calls Pete on a Wednesday. "I think. I think we're going to kick Brent out."
"No," Pete says, "you're not."
Brent isn't stupid.
who's going to let you down
"Look," Ryan says. "Look, we're gonna go with a different bass player."
Spencer leans forward. "It's nothing personal, you know? It's just. You don't know the songs, Brent. You can't play what we wrote, and it's not getting any better."
"Pete Wentz is coming," Ryan says plainly. "We can't-he's never gonna sign us if you're up there fucking up the bass lines."
Three days later, Brent's phone rings. "You can totally come over and punch me if you want, but I have a question," Brendon says.
"Okay."
"Okay you're gonna punch me, or-"
"Okay, ask me. We'll see about the punching."
"See, the thing is," Brendon says, "the thing is, we don't have a bass player. And Pete's coming tomorrow. And. And Ryan won't call you because he thinks he'll have to apologize-"
"He would. If he called, he would."
"Um."
"It's still at three, right? I'll be there at two."
"I think this will work out better if we just don't say anything," Spencer says, careful not to look at any of them. Brendon fidgets and offers Brent an awkward smile.
"And if nobody fucks anything up," Ryan says. He is not quite as careful as Spencer.
They warm up without speaking. The doorbell rings an hour later, and Brent has to bite back the urge to tease Ryan for automatically reaching to fix his hair. And then Pete Wentz is standing in their practice space, wearing a hoodie and grinning.
"Hey," he says. "I'm Pete."
The others introduce themselves, and Pete shakes their hands. He turns and Brent steps forward.
"Brent," he says, holding out his hand.
"And you're-"
"Brent's just filling in," Ryan announces. "Until we find someone permanent."
"Hey, no, that's cool," Pete shrugs, shaking Brent's hand. "You need a bass player? I know a guy."
A week later there's a message on Brent's voicemail.
"Hey, um. Pete's gonna sign us. So I just wanted to say. Um, thanks, for. For, you know, playing on Saturday. And for everything. Thanks. Bye."
I need somebody to take me home
"That's it," Jon says softly. "That's it, you're doing so well."
Brent's vision is graying on the edges. His fingers and toes are numb. Jon's weight on his chest, pressing down, is second only to the feel of Jon's hands around his throat. Brent can feel bruises forming on his arms, his stomach; bruises made by Jon's hands and elbows when he wrestled Brent to the bed and held him there until he stopped fighting. He lets his eyes close, feels his chest tighten in time with Jon's fingers. His hands slide down from Jon's arms, but he doesn't realize until he feels them hit the bed.
When he wakes up he's gasping for breath, whining a little in the back of his throat. Jon's making soothing sounds, petting Brent's hair with one hand.
"So good," he murmurs. "Such a good boy."
They play until his fingers bleed. Jon wipes the blood away with a Kleenex and tells him to keep going. He never yells. He just sits, hand light on the nape of Brent's neck, and gives quiet instructions. Jon counts out the time, measure by measure, voice strong and sure. He doesn't get angry when Brent messes up. They just start over at the beginning.
Jon always tells him he's done a good job, no matter how many mistakes he's made. He knows he's getting better, but sometimes he feels like he'll never be good enough. It's not until the day Jon brings Brendon in to one of their practices that he understands how far he's gotten.
"Show him," Jon says.
Brent plays. He means to watch Brendon, to gauge from his expression whether he's doing all right. But he gets distracted. He hears the notes and feels Jon's hand on the back of his neck and he plays all three songs with his eyes closed. He's barely had time to open them when Brendon is launching himself across the space between them. Jon pulls Brent's bass out of the way, and then Brendon's in his lap, hugging him fiercely.
"You were so good, you're so good," he says into Brent's hair. Brent hides his grin in Brendon's shoulder and hugs him back.
They add the new bass parts into the show one by one. Each night is harder and harder, and he makes mistakes, but when he looks up one of the others is always grinning at him. And Jon, Jon is always sidestage, his face serious but his eyes warm. The night Brent plays every song, he and Ryan migrate to the center of the stage for the final number, flanking Brendon as Spencer keeps the beat behind them. When Brent looks over, Jon is smiling.
After, the five of them crowd onto the bus. Brendon tackles Brent to the floor, pulling the others down with him. They wrap themselves around Brent, hugging him and kissing his cheeks. Jon's hand goes to the back of his neck, and Brent feels the tension of the past few months sink out of him. He feels Ryan's fingers touch the bruises on his hips hesitantly. Jon's other hand folds over Ryan's, squeezing lightly.
"Okay?" he asks Brent.
"Okay."
Soundtrack:
But there you go for the last time
I finally know now what I should have known then
And I could still be ruthless if you let me
Something Corporate, Ruthless
We are who, we are who we were when
Who knew what we know now
Could've been more but at least
You're still my day late friend
Anberlin, A Day Late
A Day Late (acoustic)
I won't be the one who's going to let you down
Maybe you'll get what you want this time around
Garbage, The Trick Is To Keep Breathing
But I was scared to death of eternity
I was saved by grace but destroyed by naivety
And I lied to myself
And said it was for the best
Straylight Run, For The Best
I won't wait to hear them say,
"You were wrong all along."
This Day & Age, Building A Home
Or download a .zip file of all six.