Chapter Text
By the time, Brian was used to the pain. In fact it got so far that he didn’t even fully realise its presence – the starving fire inside him, twisting and turning everything in an iron grip. He felt his skin drying and shrinking like a Spanish boot in hands of some lazy torturer, and eyes didn’t remain unaffected either, dry and useless, he couldn’t see anymore. Even his hearing was getting hazy... or was it his mind? To focus a thought was becoming more difficult by day, as Brian got detached from his own self. Perhaps it was just as well. Everything blended together, sleep and being awake, solitude or company... he didn’t know.
Was he dreaming or... did some warm hand really touch him? Roger... Was it Roger? Was he still here? Brian found himself wishing it was true. He wanted him there. He needed... How was it even possible to love someone, to need someone so, so much? To love someone so it hurt to be both with him and without him? Brian didn’t regret his choice but if he had to admit... pangs of doubt came when Roger was near. Brian longed for him. He didn’t want to die, he didn’t want to leave, he couldn’t... And he didn’t want to die in general, he wanted to live. To live long and happily, loved and loving, protected and protecting... Was it so silly he still hoped? Perhaps he shouldn’t. But what does it matter anyway what he’s thinking about? Dreams of an impossible future were the last thing he had left.
And then... Brian woke up.
Not abruptly, more slowly and lazily, flooded with a sense of peace and happiness. Everything was suddenly so different, so... rich and full... He couldn’t comprehend it. It took a moment to figure it out.
And then Brian screamed. He screamed in shock and jerked the blanket so hard he could hear a loud thumb when Roger rolled out and hit the floor.
“FUCK!”
Brian quieted, staring at the mess that was the situation. He could move, he felt fine, no pain, and... slowly... he turned his head to the window. It was wide open and a morning light flooded the room and ran all over him. Brian blinked, blinded by the light he hadn’t seen for a long, such a long time.
“Bri...,” Roger was picking himself from the floor, “just... don’t panic again, okay? This will take some explaining, but we’ll go slow and I promise-“
Brian felt a bit dizzy taking it all in, took a deep breath... and realized he had to breathe. In and out. In and out. In and out.
“The sun,” he whispered shakily, “it doesn’t hurt a-and...,” his eyes fell to the back of his bony hand when he noticed a small vein pulsating with the beat of his heart. He wasn’t... dead? He wasn’t dying? He was... “Roger!” Brian’s breath quickened. “Roger, Roger-“
“Shh, I’m here, listen-“
“Ooooh, look at this, darling,” someone from the door chuckled, “isn’t he so adorably confused?”
Brian quickly turned to the warm voice. “Freddie...,” he shivered, fingers restless and nervous, “and... Father, I’m sorry, so sorry...”
“I don’t think you should call me that,” John grinned. “And there’s not need to be sorry. We’ve all came a long way.”
Wordlessly, Brian stretched out his hand. John quickly came and took it.
“It’s alright, baby,” he assured him, still smiling. Brian thought he’d never seen Father so calm and happy.
“You’re... warm,” he whimpered. His head hurt, he felt dizzy, overwhelmed by this moment, he didn’t know, he didn’t understand... “What-what is happening, what-“
John opened his mouth to explain, but didn’t get to it, really.
Brian fainted.
When he woke up again, Brian groaned, slowly realizing this all hadn’t been a weird dream. He was alive. And human. He was human.
“I was wondering when you wake up to join us,” Roger said and got up from his chair just to plop down on Brian’s mattress. “How are you feeling?”
“Ehhhm... hungry?” Brian looked up and his expression was a combination of shy and guilty.
Roger chuckled. “I bet. Deaky insisted he’d make some breakfast for everybody. We’ll see how that goes, but don’t worry, I’ve got a secret food stash for emergencies.”
Brian exhaled. He could already smell something delicious from the kitchen and hear silent plopping of grease on a pan. “H-how did this happen?” he asked and turned his head to the window, blinking to the sun. No one could tell, not even Brian, if his tears came because of the light or the situation itself. Not that it mattered.
“I guess Deaky will be able to tell the story better than I,” Roger said, “but basically... it’s because...,” he hesitated a bit and scratched his chest in unease, “because you...”
Brian frowned and reached for Roger’s hand. “I... what?”
Roger’s ears reddened. “Because you wanted to be with me. Because... you love me.”
“Oh.” Brian’s cheeks were warming up, he could tell, but his heart felt suddenly heavy because Roger’s expression didn’t give anything away.
“You know,” Roger’s voice shook in a nervous laugh, “you owe me for a great deal of nerves, you bastard.”
“I know, Roger, I’m so sor-“ Brian didn’t get a chance to finish the sentence when Roger’s soft lips suddenly pressed against his.
Brian would be first to admit that despite his actual age he didn’t have many experiences with kisses. But despite that, without a doubt, he knew - this one was perfect. Even though Roger leaped so suddenly, the kiss itself stayed slow and soft, comforting in ways Brian never realized he needed – but already wondered how he had possibly lived without them. Roger’s hand rested in his wild curls, his thumb caressing his cheek as their breaths mingled. Brian ran her fingers down his love’s spine, pulling him closer on the bed until there was no space left between them and Brian could feel the beat of Roger’s heart matching his.
“Here you are,” John smiled when the two finally appeared in the kitchen, following the irresistible smell of full English.
Brian was still a bit flabbergasted seeing his intimidating vampire father so human and relaxed, standing by a stove dressed in a pink “Kiss the Cook” apron. It seemed quite new.
“Where the hell did you get that?” Roger tried his hardest not to burst out in giggles.
“In the shop,” John explained, unphased. “They had them in the general grocery section, I’ve always wanted to try it but there... sorts of... there’s never been an occasion. Would you fetch Freddie before the eggs go cold?”
“Where is he?”
“Still in the bathroom, molesting your mirror.”
Finally, some five minutes later, they all gathered around the small kitchen table and John actually blushed getting complimented on the breakfast. He didn’t really understand what the big deal was, after all, he had read the instructions from the book he’d bought together with the apron.
With a small hesitation, Brian slowly pushed away the bacon away from his plate, and the whole room froze.
“Brian?” John frowned. “Don’t tell me-“
“It’s just- it’s from an animal,” Brian muttered. “Like... dead animal and...”
“That’s ok,” Roger quickly scooped the offending items on his plate. “But the eggs are good, no? And the beans?”
Brian thought about it. “Yes... I suppose. I can eat that.” John had to use all the willpower not to roll his eyes.
“Had anyone thought about what now?” Roger asked in between the bites of his extra bacon.
John shrugged. “Pancakes?”
Roger gave him a glare. “Not now now!” he waved his hands. “But tomorrow, next week, next year, I mean... I’m the only one who has a job, and it’ll be quite hard to explain you three and – what do you even want to do?”
Freddie snickered, and Roger felt a bit betrayed because not even Brian or John seemed overly bothered by the problem. Ugh, Roger hated being the responsible one.
John smiled. “What do you think about Bali?”
Roger blinked. “The island?”
“No, the hair studio,” John deadpanned. “I want a perm.”
“Don’t you dare,” Freddie ruffled the long brown locks. “And... Bali? A bit of sunbathing, darling? Brilliant idea.”
“We can’t go to Bali!” Roger protested. “Be reasonable!”
“We are,” Brian assured him and took his hand. “You know,” he smiled, “we’re kind of... rich.”
Roger blinked. “How rich?”
Brian turned to the other couple. “How rich, John?”
“Around eighty million pounds or so,” John shrugged. “I haven’t checked in a while – so maybe a bit more.”
Roger’s jaw almost audibly hit the floor.
“So?” Brian grinned and gave him a peck. “What do you say? Bali?”
Roger looked him in the eyes, softly and solemnly. “I say HELL YEAH!”
***
14 years later
Saturday July 13, 1985, everyone got up with the same purpose in mind. Nearly two billion people, one third of humanity, tuned in. It was 12 noon in London, 7am in Philadelphia, and around the world it was time for Live Aid.
The greatest rock concert ever.
Truth to be told, in the trailer the atmosphere was a little tense, and the air around almost shivered in anticipation.
Brian, dressed in his signature unbuttoned shirt, strummed mindlessly, trying to manage his slowly rising adrenaline. Roger, on the opposite sofa, matched to him, dressed in white, and his facial expression seemed undecipherable under the dark sunglasses. Freddie tugged on his leather jacket and had to smile, seeing John’s outfit choice. The bassist seemed so quiet and lost in his head.
“What are you thinking about?” Freddie smiled, bringing him back to reality.
John shrugged. “All this,” he waved around. “I mean, who would’ve thought.”
“The trailer is a bit cramped; I admit.” Freddie teased, even though he knew with quite a certainty that wasn’t what John had meant.
They spent over four months all together in Bali, and it was just a regular warm day when the local hotel organised an evening of rock’n’roll for its guests. Naturally, the now inseparable foursome couldn’t miss that and... truth to be told... the performers weren’t that good. Terrible, actually.
“That’s an insult to everyone in fifty miles with a functional hearing!” Roger protested as he dragged all the others away from the offence. “Jimi Hendrix is screaming in his grave! They call themselves professionals? Hell, even we could do that!”
Freddie’s eyes sparkled. “I don’t think we could do that, darling. We can do better.”
And so, they did. And so, there they were.
John grinned and carefully touched his fluffy hairdo. “It’s kind of fitting, isn’t it? Us playing on a concert that’s supposed to feed people.”
Roger groaned. “Deaks... I beg you, you don’t even try to be funny.”
John only rolled his eyes.
“I’m serious,” Roger straightened up. “And by the way – if there’ll be any more interviews, Deaks, just because we gave you a birthyear, it doesn’t mean you have to emphasize it during introductions. Believe me, no one would guess you’re over eight hundred years old.”
“I sure feel like it, lately,” John mumbled. “And found a grey hair. Yesterday.”
“In Freddie’s comb?” Brian snickered and quickly dodged to avoid a thrown lighter.
“I don’t have grey hair!” Freddie protested. “Not even close!”
“It’s still kind of amazing,” Brian continued seriously, and his eyes lit up with a warm spark. “Looking back and all that... Growing old feels almost like an achievement.”
“We’re NOT growing old!” Roger exclaimed. “You’re thirty-eight for fuck’s sake! It’ll get worse and we’ll see how you’ll like it.”
“As long as you keep liking it, no complaints from me,” Brian chuckled. “And fine, call it a necessary evil, if you want. But it’s still worth it, isn’t it?”
Freddie and Roger slowly nodded after a while of hesitation, and John smiled a bit.
“It’s worth it,” he agreed and ran his hand over the opposite forearm. He never got used to how warm it felt. And to feel his own pulse.
“After all,” Freddie grinned, “it’s not like we’re that bad for four aging queens. And I expect you darlings to last in a serviceable condition for a long time to come, is that clear?”
“It’s a deal.” Brian strummed a vague chord to emphasize the point.
The broadcasted voice from outside was getting louder and somebody knocked on their trailer door to lead the band to the stage.
“That’s almost us,” Freddie said and looked over his bandmates.
Brian’s eyes met his. “You’re ready?”
“I’m sorry to interrupt but we have had a bit of a complaint about the noise… from a woman in Belgium.”
The voice of Griff Rhys-Jones filled the air and whole Wembley stadium roared in laughter.
“Ladies and gentlemen, who are enjoying the boogie woogie music here today. I would ask you to bear in mind that there are a lot of older people in the area who aren’t up to date with the latest trends in modern music. Like Status Quo, for example.”
John felt his heart beating high up in his throat as he followed the others quickly towards the stage. On the stairs they quickly exchanged glances with U2 who just had their bit.
Just the last seconds before their supposed entrance, Freddie turned around and John’s heart fluttered. This was Freddie at his finest, full of energy, light and life. Doing what he was born to do. Perhaps... perhaps he really was.
Who said it, that God works in mysterious ways?
“.... HER MAJESTY QUEEN!”
The stadium exploded in screams and chees when the band hurried on the stage, Freddie waving to the crowd.
It was enormous. Magnificent. And perhaps... it wasn’t only Freddie who was destined to end up here. John looked up to the sky, to the only one who could possibly have an answer to that.
Freddie took a deep breath and started the first chords on the piano.
“Thank you,” John whispered, still looking to the sky, his eyes wet with emotion. “Thank you...”