If You Can't Beat 'em, Join em (Gen)
Title: If You Can’t Beat ‘em, Join ‘em
Author: sashimi_salad
Pairing(s): No obvious pairings. Unless you look really hard.
Rating: Gen
Disclaimer: All fiction, presumably.
Warnings: Fluff, very slight angst
Summary: Sometimes, the twins mess with Georg’s head.
Recipient: peki
Author's notes: Peki wanted ‘the twins arguing and the Gs trying not to lose their minds’, ‘a glimpse into life on tour’ and a happy ending. I hope this story manages to get at least a little bit of that in. Merry Christmas, peki!
“Tom. Tom! ”
Tom mumbles something incoherent, dragging an arm across his head.
“Toomi!”
Something, no, someone is jostling him, shaking him awake. Tom forces open one eye, squinting in the darkness. His world is shaking around him and he is being bodily shoved up against the wall.
“What are you doing, Bill?” Tom groans. His brother is still pushing him further into the bunk. It’s a one-person bunk, and against the soft background lighting cast by the wall lamp by the galley, he can make out Bill’s determined face; his brother is going to fit two people into a space meant for one.
Again.
Tom shifts, making way and making room, and Bill utters a soft, happy sound as he clambers under Tom’s blanket. He has his own wrapped around him, but he tugs at his older brother’s blanket as well, immediately laying claim to all he could get his grabby, little hands on.
“What is it this time?” Tom mutters, a slight irritation coming through as he frowns with his eyes closed. He turns onto his side, back to the wall; there’s no other way to fit.
“I’m cold,” Bill whispers, snug in his two layers of blankets. “It’s warmer here.”
“You could always turn the air conditioning down.”
“Gustav will kill me.”
“He wouldn’t. He’s asleep.”
“He’ll kill me in the morning. All you’ll find of me will be my mp3 player and my phone.”
“And where would he have put you? Throw you off the bus?”
“He’ll stuff me up the air conditioning vents,” Bill giggles, burrowing deeper into his blankets and shuffling closer towards his brother. “He’s vicious when he doesn’t get enough sleep.”
Tom laughs along, already half-lulled by the rocking of the bus as it moves along the European highways.
“Get an extra blanket next time,” he yawns, already in that comfortable zone between falling asleep and dreaming.
“Nah. It’s nicer here,” Bill mumbles, equally half-asleep.
They don’t talk anymore after that.
---
Tom yawns and blearily eyes his bowl of cornflakes.
“Where’s the milk?”
“It’s in the bowl,” Gustav answers, chewing on his apple as he reads the paper. They must have stopped by some convenience store or petrol station earlier, because Tom sees that the date on the paper is today’s.
“Really?” Tom scoops out some of the cereal, and yes, there is a white liquid in the spoon, so Gustav must have been telling him the truth. He chews with his eyes closed, leaning against the window of the dining kiosk. He hardly tastes his breakfast, just chews it because that’s what you do when you have food in your mouth.
“Why aren’t you still sleeping?”
“Huh?” Tom jolts awake, momentarily disoriented. Could someone eat while asleep? Apparently so.
“You’re dribbling,” Gustav points out, making a disgusted face, and Tom realises that he does have milk dribbling down his chin.
“Uh... sorry. Ugh. Gross.”
Gustav snorts at him, reaching for the roll of Scotties and nudging it towards his band mate. The twins are a constant source of amusement for him, and this morning, Tom makes a nice change from the morning cartoons.
“You shouldn’t even be awake yet,” the drummer observes, going back to his paper. Tom yawns again, and Gustav resists the urge to yawn also. He doesn’t succeed, but he tries to hide it behind a clenched jaw and a half eaten apple.
“I know,” Tom groans through his yawn, unashamedly stretching his arms out to the ceiling; his spine pops satisfyingly. “But Bill kicked me out.”
“He’s in your bunk again?”
Tom nods, rubbing at his eyes in an attempt to wake himself up. He glances at Gustav’s wristwatch, turning his head so until his neck begins to hurt. It’s 9.40 in the morning and honestly much too early for him to be up and about.
“’e said he was cold.”
“So turn down the air conditioning.”
“’e said you were hot.”
Gustav chortles. Bill logic too early in the morning would make anyone’s head swim. He goes back to reading his paper. He’d have to pour himself a fresh bowl of cereal later.
---
“Why is there no milk?” Bill whines. His hair is a mess and his face still has pillow tracks on it.
“Gustav finished it!” Tom bellows from somewhere at the back of the bus.
“Tom ate my cornflakes!” Gustav shouted out from the tiny bathroom.
“Eww! Don’t talk when you’re in there!” Bill yelled, grimacing. “The germs will get into your mouth!”
“But I’m not doing anything!” Gustav laughs back. “I’m just -“
“Shut up Gustav!” The twins shout back simultaneously.
Gustav cackles manically.
---
“You need to stop doing that.”
Bill looks up at Georg, eyes wide.
“Why?”
“You’re sixteen! You’re too old for this shit!”
“Why?”
“Because!” Georg huffs, sharply pulling the curtain of Tom’s bunk closed before he stalks off to his own bunk nearby. He misses Bill’s hand slipping out from underneath the curtain, giving him the finger.
“When’re you going to learn?” Gustav grins as he walks past and makes himself at home on Georg’s mattress. “Just leave them be.”
“He’s acting like a child.”
“He is a child.”
“He’s sixteen! You weren’t like that when you were sixteen,” Georg grumbles as he pulls off his jeans.
“I’m mature for my age. You said so yourself.” Gustav settles himself in the limited space, pulling out the pack of cards from where Georg had it stashed the last time they played cards in his bunk.
“Yeah? Well, they should be growing up. There’re already all sorts of rumours about them.” Georg grumbles. He hugs his pillow to his middle, waiting for his friend to deal out a hand.
“I don’t think Bill will care. What’s a few more?” Gustav shrugs as he shuffles. “What’re we playing for?”
“Hey! Are you talking about us?”
Georg and Gustav look up into each other’s faces, hesitating for a split second before they both answered. “No!”
“You are! You are, aren’t you?” Bill is half-in, half-out of Tom’s bunk, one arm stretched to the floor to support himself while the other is pushing away at the folds of the curtain separator. Finally, he just pushes the cloth to the side, a little agitatedly. The movement makes him jerk forward slightly and his other arm buckles at the elbow. Bill gives a little squeal, but Tom has a tight grip on the back of his shirt and Bill is saved from kissing the floor.
The other two look on as the twins end up in a tussle of flailing limbs as Tom tries to pull Bill back in and Bill tries to get away because the neck of his shirt is choking him. It takes them a minute or two before they are sorted out and by then, Georg and Gustav are back at their game, ignoring the rather colourful cursing from the bunk down the aisle.
--
“You don’t like it, do you? Admit it,” Bill deadpans, slurping at his coke.
“I didn’t say that,” Georg grumbles. He is sitting uncomfortably at the end of the one, lone sofa in the dressing room. Tom is sitting at the other end and is barely three feet away, but he feels remarkably alone.
“I think you don’t,” Bill insists, chucking the empty can at the small metal trashcan near Tom’s feet. He misses and the can makes a loud, clanging noise as it hits the wall and bounces off the metal trashcan. Tom glances up from his guitar, eyeing the rolling can. He kicks it away when it rolls near his feet.
The sound makes Georg’s head ache.
“It doesn’t matter,” Georg sighs. “You do whatever you want. You always do, anyway.”
Bill is sauntering, humming the melody of Rette Mich. He doesn’t walk as much as he lopes, and even if he is moving relatively slowly, he still reminds Georg of an antelope on a National Geographic episode; even when he’s still, he twitches.
Back and forth. Back and forth.
It’s driving Georg crazy.
“Okay!” Georg bursts out, finally. “Okay, okay. I don’t like it. Does it matter that much to you?” His headache isn’t abating and Tom’s picking out random tunes on his guitar and mashing them together isn’t making it any better. He rubs at his head, trying to at least distract himself from the throbbing ache behind his eyes.
Bill stops, almost mid-stride. He heaves a loud breath, very exaggeratedly, and draws it out slowly, just as loud. He turns to Georg, eyebrow quirked in that way he has, dark eye makeup making it even more pronounced. He grins.
“I don’t know. Should it, Tom?”
Tom chuckles, not even bothering to look up. He doesn’t bother to verbalise an answer; it would hardly make a difference.
It isn’t even two seconds later when Bill is crouching in front of Georg, peering up into his face, all earnest and serious.
“Georg?” he asks softly.
Georg peers at him through his fingers and grunts in acknowledgement. Now that Bill’s hair has grown out somewhat, Georg thinks Bill looks even more like a wet cat. He doesn’t say it, of course; he values his life.
“It does. It does matter.”
Georg frowns at him, but Bill is still looking at him seriously. Calm but serious. Georg swears he can hear the wheels turning in Bill’s head.
And then Bill is huffing and standing up, and walking away again. “You should take a crap, Georg,” he throws. “The show will start soon.”
---
Gustav watches Georg from a safe distance. They are alone in the van, Georg and he, discounting the driver, and Georg is sitting quietly in front of him. The twins are still in the studio, doing one of those after show interviews that always ends up with impromptu spots for the tour sponsors. Sometimes, all of them would be involved, but this time, they specifically requested just the Kaulitz twins.
Gustav supposes he should be offended, if even slightly, but in actual fact, under pain of torture, he would have to admit that he sometimes pitied the younger half of their group. There is a blessing to being the less outstanding half; there is less pressure to conform to what other people think they should represent. For that, at least, he is grateful that all that is expected of him is a good show.
“You’re quiet,” he grunts, shifting a little in his seat and making sure his knee nudges the back of Georg’s seat roughly. The gentle rocking of the van as it waits in the midst of jostling female bodies would surely make him nauseous if it continues, but the security team is already clearing the van’s vicinity, and he only feels the engine vibrating then.
“Tired,” Georg grunts.
“You looked pretty hyped up during the show.”
“Must’ve been the adrenaline,” Georg sighs, letting his head fall against the headrest. A pillow would feel so great right now.
“Everything okay?”
“Huh?” Georg starts, and hesitates a moment before turning to face Gustav. “What do you mean?”
“You and them,” Gustav clarifies, fingers gesturing in an uncanny imitation of Fleming’s Rule. “It looked a little tense before the show.”
“We’re always tense before a show. You know how Tom gets.”
“You know what I mean. You and Bill.”
“Oh. Um...” Georg looks a little guilty as he turns away and adjusts his dark glasses. “He was upset with me.”
“Because?”
“You know.”
“Because of that?” Gustav laughs, incredulous, and Georg joins him.
“Well,” Gustav sighs, finally. “Do you?”
“I don’t know,” Georg admits reluctantly. “Sometimes, I think it’s cute, the way they’re so close. Sometimes, it makes me uneasy.”
“You know they adore you.”
“They do?” Georg shuffles, eagerly grinning over the headrest at Gustav. “Really?”
“You’re really an idiot if you still don’t realise that,” Gustav growls. Georg is usually more intuitive, but there are times when the twins mess with his head and he hardly knows which way is up.
Georg sniggers, and Gustav rolls his eyes. Immaturity could be relative, right?
---
In the end, Bill and Tom make their way out of the building via a different exit. The promotional spots had taken up more than their allocated time and the surge of fans waiting for them outside had become a hindrance to their original security vehicles. Gustav and Georg had long been whisked off to their hotel for the night.
“We should do this more often,” Bill quips at Saki as he climbs into the black van.
“Decoys can be easily arranged,” Saki says as he closes the door behind the boys. “I’ll talk to Mr. Jost about it,” he continues when he is finally seated in the driver’s seat. He doesn’t notice the boys’s horrified faces in the back as he starts the van and pulls out of the alleyway.
“No!” Bill cries out. “Nonono, I was just joking,” he laughs nervously. “You take things too seriously, Saki.”
“Guaranteeing your safety is my responsibility. That is serious,” their Head of Security replies gruffly. “If decoys are necessary, I’ll look into it.”
“I was just kidding,” Bill pouts, voice a little smaller. “We don’t need decoys. You know the fans won’t like it.”
Saki doesn’t reply, but Bill has known him for so long that he imagines he can see Saki frowning disapprovingly at him in his head.
“They won’t, right, Tom?” Bill turns to his twin for validation.
“Uh. Yeah, yeah,” Tom nods absently, eyes darting from Bill’s upset face to the back of Saki’s head and back to Bill again. “They won’t what?” he whispers.
“Saki wants us to use decoys.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. He’s being paranoid.”
“You shouldn’t put words into other people’s mouths, Bill.”
The twins turn toward the new voice, meeting Dunja’s disapproving gaze.
“I was not,” Bill huffs, defensively crossing his arms across his chest. “He did say it.”
“You suggested it, you know,” Dunja snorts, throwing him a knowing little smile before turning away. “I heard you.”
“I was just thinking aloud! Geez, can’t you guys take a joke?”
Tom is guffawing beside him, and Bill throws him a venomous look. It is lost on his brother, of course, because Tom is enjoying the fact that Bill is being called out on one of his little idiosyncrasies. It doesn’t happen often, but Tom enjoys it every time it does.
“What are you laughing at? You don’t even know what you’re laughing at, Tom,” Bill grumbles, slapping at Tom’s middle with the back of his hand. He knows it doesn’t hurt, and that the only thing Tom would feel is a flap of air against his voluminous jacket. Still, slapping Tom is satisfying.
“You. I’m laughing at you,” Tom giggles, sniggering even louder when he catches Bill’s narrowed eyes looking at him. “You really deserved that.”
“I didn’t say anything!”
“Yes, you did!” Tom, Dunja and Saki said simultaneously, shocking Bill silent.
Tom laughs louder.
---
“Uh-oh, he’s in a mood,” Gustav mumbles, sinking deeper into the armchair, one of a few in the living room of their current hotel suite. This time, it is one of those luxury suites that come complete with a kitchenette, living room and small dining room, besides the two bedrooms with attached bathrooms. Once in a while, management comes through and gets them a homey place to stay in after a few days of being cooped up in the tour bus.
Georg is slouching in front of the TV, flipping channels, and he too glances up at the twins’ entrance and subsequent disappearance into their shared bedroom. He throws Gustav a quizzical look and receives a shrug in reply.
It is only moments later when Tom comes out, sans jacket and headgear, and both boys look at him silently. After years of being together, they hardly need to ask and Tom is already laughing and waving off unasked questions as he heads for the mini fridge in the kitchenette.
“Well?” Georg asks finally, when Tom is finished with his coke and in the midst of hooking up their Play Station console to the TV set.
“Don’t mind him. He’s just sulking; he didn’t get his way,” Tom explains, settling with his joypad. “Here,” he hands another to Georg, who is seated on the chair behind him. “Play with me.”
Georg smirks, and takes the pad. He slips down to sit cross-legged beside the younger boy and they start on a game of D1 Grand Prix.
--
Bill tosses and turns. He glances at Tom’s bed and sees that it is empty. Bill frowns at that, wondering why Tom isn’t asleep yet. He grabs at his cell phone and presses a button just so the backlight on the tiny screen would show up the time display.
3.48 am.
He frowns harder at that. Tom is always grumpy when he doesn’t get enough sleep, and he, himself, needs all that he can get. Bill hates waking up in the mornings, but he does because he has to. Still, being awake at 3.48 am doesn’t help. He flips on the switch of his reading lamp, blinking as his eyes adjust to the slightly brighter room.
Bill reaches for the air conditioner’s remote, suppressing a shiver when he has to stretch a little from under the cover of his blanket. The cool air quickly rushes in, replacing the pleasant warmth he’d already accumulated since he’d turned in. Bill groans when he sees that the room temperature is already set at his preferred temperature; he still feels cold.
Maybe he is coming down with something, Bill thinks, placing a palm against his forehead. In the dark and alone, the gesture is not comforting and he doesn’t know whether the heat he feels there is because he really is sick, or just because he feels cold. He sits up and pulls a face, sticking out his lower lip in self-pity. He wants someone to cuddle up against, who’ll tell him whether he is sick or whether he is just feeling sorry for himself.
Again, he glances at Tom’s bed, but the slightly rumpled bedding just mocks him. Even if he were to curl up in Tom’s bed, it’d be as cold as his, Bill knows. It doesn’t work if his twin isn’t there.
It makes him remember the way Tom laughed at him, in the van. He knows his brother doesn’t mean anything by it, and when he pulled his hissy fit during the drive back to the hotel, he knew they all knew he wasn’t serious.
Tom knew.
Bill whined softly, shuffling out from under the covers. Tom did know, didn’t he? He knows that Bill just calls him names because he likes the way the words roll off his tongue, right? Tom does the same thing to him, after all, so Tom isn’t purposely avoiding him, right? The possibility of it makes Bill mewl and he feels even more miserable.
Maybe he is getting sick.
--
Tom whoops, patting himself on the back. He’d just beaten Georg. Again.
“You’re lucky this is just a practice game,” Tom grins, keying in his name as the screen flashes the winning score and best players list. “I’d own everything you have if we were playing for money.”
“Hah! You wish,” Georg yawns tiredly. “I let you win. I’m older than you are.”
“What does your age have to do with it?”
“Babies cry when they lose - OW!” Georg laughs as Tom whops him in the face with a cushion.
“Who’s a baby?” Tom laughs, pushing at Georg so that the older boy falls against the armchair behind him, waking up a dozing Gustav, who’d migrated from his own chair to this one sometime during the game.
“Whu...” Gustav blinks, eyesight finally clearing up to take in the sight of Tom squealing because Georg had him pinned to the floor. He groans and wonders why he bothers. Just as Gustav is about to stand and announce that he is turning in, Bill shuffles in, all wrapped up in his blanket and looking miserable.
“Hey,” Gustav signals quietly to Tom, nudging at him with his toe. When Tom looks up at him in askance, Gustav cocks his head towards Tom’s approaching twin.
“Hey,” Tom asks Bill, shifting from under Georg, who sits up. Suddenly, they are all wide awake. “What’s wrong?”
“You weren’t in bed,” Bill pouts. “I couldn’t sleep; I’m cold.”
“Turn down the air conditioner,” Tom replies, rolling his eyes at the feeling of deja vu. He leans back and stretches his legs.
“Still cold,” Bill sniffles as he stands near Tom and Georg. “I think I’m sick.”
“Yeah?” Tom frowns. “Come here.”
Bill flops down almost immediately beside him, a sad bundle of boy and blanket, and offers his forehead to Tom.
“Yeah,” Tom agrees, palm against Bill forehead, ruffling his brother’s hair when Bill nuzzles against him. “You do feel a little warm.”
Bill whines at the declaration, scrunching up his face because he really hates being sick. His throat will hurt and his nose may run; he never looks good when he gets sick. Plus Dunja will make him eat so many vitamins. Bill shudders at the thought, feeling even more miserable than he should.
“Come here,” Tom says softly, pulling at the blanket all wrapped around his brother until Bill rolls over and is lying on the floor beside him.
“Here,” Georg says, throwing a few cushions towards the twins. Tom catches one, while Bill just whines louder when a cushion falls on his face.
“I hate you, Georg,” Bill cries from under the cushion, just as Tom pulls it off him.
“No, you don’t,” Georg laughs. “You adore me.”
“Who says?” Bill pouts, sticking out his tongue. He does, really, but he’ll never admit to it in public.
“Here,” Tom grunts, pushing a cushion under Bill’s head, making him sigh with pleasure.
“Thank you, Tomi. You’re so good to me,” Bill smiles, content. He curls up against Tom, who is also making himself comfortable on the floor. The floor is hard, but the carpeting is thick and he has a nice layer of blanket and cushion between him and it. And with Tom beside him, he doesn’t need anything else.
Well... maybe a darker room.
“Georg?” Bill mumbles, eyes closed and already half-asleep.
“Yeah?”
“Lights?”
Georg looks at the two brothers; Tom is flat on his back, and already softly snoring with his mouth slightly open, while Bill is curled up on his side, snuggled against Tom. He looks towards Gustav, who is already dragging the cushions off the armchair and crawling up towards the twins, cushions in tow.
“Yeah. Okay,” Georg sighs, moving to switch off the main lights in the room, leaving just the light in the entrance alcove on. He makes his way towards his friends, who are somewhat haphazardly arranged around each other, in various stages of sleep.
“Here,” Gustav mumbles, patting an empty spot between himself and Bill. “I saved you a spot.”
Georg grins, grabs an orphan cushion and squeezes himself in the tight, but comfortable space. Bill’s back is warm against him and Gustav keeps him supplied with cushions. Georg supposes there are worse places to be than with friends who care enough about each other to fight and make up with.
He sighs, eyes heavy with sleep, and wonders what the tabloids would say if they saw them now.
But then again, who gives a damn?