Chapter Text
“Josh…they know.”
“Who?” Josh’s face was inscrutable.
“Everyone.”
Tyler knew he was being dramatic but he couldn’t stop himself right now, his mind in panic mode. Jenna was squeezing his hand—he didn’t remember her taking it, and Josh was looking wide-eyed and lost.
“How?” Josh demanded.
“We don’t know. Apparently we’re getting lots of phone calls,” Tyler said as his phone started buzzing again. It was someone from the label. He hit ignore, seeing the other missed calls from various known and unknown numbers—family members, friends, fellow musicians, reporters, and about twenty from Mark alone.
“Call my parents. Tell them to meet me at my place.” Josh stalked up the beach, Tyler and Jenna running after him. Tyler had driven them there in Josh’s car, but Josh had the keys and was starting to open the driver’s door. Tyler called Josh’s mom first, while trying to block Josh from getting behind the wheel.
“Hi sorry, please meet us at Josh’s apartment, bye”
“Tyler. I’m fine, let me drive.” Josh’s hands were visibly shaking and Tyler hadn’t seen him this angry before.
“You can’t use your arm like that. I’m driving.” Josh glared and stomped over to the other side, slamming the door as best he could with his left arm. Jenna slid silently into the backseat.
“Give me your phone,” Josh demanded as Tyler pulled out onto the street.
“Why?”
“I want to see what they’re writing. Tyler, don’t make that face. I’m going to find out anyway.”
Without looking, Tyler unlocked his phone and tossed it to Josh, who went silent. Tyler could see Jenna through the rearview mirror on her own phone.
“I’m on TMZ?” Josh said as they pulled into a parking spot near his apartment and then he started laughing. Jenna and Tyler made nervous eye contact through the mirror as Josh practically howled with laughter, clutching at his ribs. “This is absurd. I’m no one important. Will the paparazzi start following me around? Oh God, here’s my parents.” Josh slid down low in his seat, putting sunglasses back on despite the fact that it was nighttime now.
They tapped on the window, and Tyler leapt out, deciding to distract them away from Josh who looked like he needed to hide for a bit.
“Tyler, what is going on?” asked Josh’s father, “Everyone is calling us and asking questions. We’ve been trying to reach you both. It looks like—”
“Let’s go inside,” Tyler suggested, “Maybe we could order some food if you’re hungry? Sorry, but we can’t go out. Josh and I have to make some phone calls.”
"If I see another pun about how 'I must've been Stressed Out' I'm gonna...well… never mind." Josh was now on his own phone, sprawled out on his bedroom floor, door shut, since he couldn’t bear to be in the living room with everyone else. The last thing he wanted was to be touched right now, and if he had to sit between his parents on the couch, Josh would probably start screaming. He felt sick and dirty; an object of public scrutiny and ridicule. Tyler was lying on Josh's bed, talking to Mark and someone from the label on speaker phone, trying to figure out their next move. His arm was thrown over his eyes and the phone was held loosely in his other hand, dangling off the bed.
"MTV's offering to interview you tomorrow," Tyler announced and Josh rolled his eyes.
"Fine."
"Josh you don't have to if you don't want to," said the label rep, "it'd just be a good idea for you to get your side of the story out there. There's a lot of wrong information circulating right now. Get the media storm over with and then you can focus on your music and getting better."
"They're all vultures,” Josh said venomously, “They don't care about me, they just want the story. 'Emo drummer tries to kill himself—ugh just trying to get more famous or something.’ This sucks," Josh pulled the brace off his arm without thinking. It was too tight, and his stitches itched underneath it all.
"What about the fans?" Mark said.
"What about them?" Josh started his arm stretches. His drums sat in the corner and he wanted nothing more to hit something hard and repeatedly.
"They're asking about you and I don’t mean the jerks that are making rude comments. The fans are showing a lot of support. There's a petition or something going around Tumblr and Twitter pledging and telling people to stop harassing you. To let you to take your time and that they're ready whenever you're ready to tell them.”
“That’s…that’s actually really nice,” said Josh.
“It's got thousands of signatures and stories from kids that did the same thing, saying you supported them so now they support you."
"If you're going to say something, say it to them. Not to the trolls," Tyler lifted his head to look at Josh, who was biting his lip, obviously holding back tears.
"Okay. I'll talk to them. But not on MTV. We'll film it our own way, and then put it on our website. I don't want anyone to think I'm making money off of this. I just want to...I don't know," words failed him. What would he say to everyone when he didn't even know his own mind?
“Sleep on it. I’m flying out tomorrow anyway,” said Mark.
“We’re going to turn our phones off for the rest of the night, so we’ll talk then,” Tyler said, he had rolled over onto his side and was looking at Josh, who was sitting cross-legged now and looking lost. Tyler ended the call with a half-hearted “goodbye” and went straight to shutting it down completely. He lifted a hand to Josh who gave him his phone reluctantly.
“It’s for the best,” Tyler said, reminded of all the times he looked at mean reviews and comments. Once he started getting visibly upset, Josh would grab his phone away and hide it until Tyler genuinely smiled.
Josh looked down and caught a glimpse of the laceration on his arm, ruining everything. Irreparable. He couldn’t bear to look at it for more than a second before he felt like vomiting. What a waste. Feeling cold, he hugged himself.
Tyler coughed lightly, and Josh met his eyes, not realizing Tyler had been studying him. Tyler scooted over on the bed, and patted the space he had vacated. “Come join me.”
The feeling of not wanting to be touched had passed, Josh needed a body, anybody to hold him and tell him that he wasn’t as terrible as his mind was shouting that he was. The bed was warm where Tyler had been laying and Josh crossed his legs and arms, trying not to crowd Tyler, who took the stiff posture as a cue to slide his arm across Josh’s chest and rest his head on Josh’s shoulder.
“Is this okay?” Tyler said.
“Little late to ask.” Tyler moved as if to withdraw, and Josh placed his hand upon Tyler’s wrist, saying, “no, it’s okay.”
They existed in silence, and Josh could feel Tyler’s soft breaths, while Tyler listened to the reverberating beats of Josh’s heart.
“Is it possible to tattoo over a scar?” Josh asked, the vibrations of his words through his chest jolted Tyler from his daze.
“Yeah,” Tyler had Googled that a few days before, knowing Josh would be wondering. “Can I see it?”
Josh shrugged and unfolded his arms. Tyler sat up and took the injured one into his hands. Everything on that arm looked the same from the outside, but the soft, inner forearm was split and sewn back together. The line of the cut was pinkish red where it wasn’t dyed with ink. Black sutures marched evenly and neatly down the length, contrasting with the vibrant colors. Tyler looked at Josh’s face—eyes were closed and head was turned away.
“You should look,” Tyler said, “Come to terms with it, and accept it.”
“Why do people keep telling me to accept it?” Josh said, “I should be ashamed of myself for being weak.”
“I don’t think you’re weak,” Tyler replied, pressing his lips briefly to the back of Josh’s hand, “People that have scars from cancer or—or heart surgery aren’t weak. Soldiers get scars from war. You have an illness, and you fight battles, but just because they are invisible doesn’t mean you should be ashamed.”
“What am I going to say to the rest of my family? Our friends? Our fans?” Josh pleaded, “How do you say all those…” he floundered for a moment, “deep things?”
“It sounds clichéd, but you just have to say what your heart is feeling. I think I was just so tired of bottling everything up, that I decided to just put it all out there, you know? And if I wasn’t afraid to stop hiding it, I would be able to confront it.”
A single sob escaped from Josh’s pursed lips, and Tyler patted Josh’s face, and then embraced him in an awkward half-lying position. “It’ll be fine, Josh, we’ll be fine,” he said soothingly, not too sure he could keep this promise, but vowing to try his best.
The video wasn’t long. No special effects, music, or gags, just Josh, with Tyler sitting on his left, telling the camera what had happened to him. Just the truth and no hiding. Tyler was proud of how steady Josh’s voice was—he didn’t look away or bite his lips. Tyler knew there would be people who analyzed every second, every syllable, every word, but this was just Josh saying what he wanted to say. He wasn’t trying to be a hero, and he even said that at one point.
“I just don’t want people to feel in the dark, because that’s what I’ve felt for a long time. It shouldn’t be a hidden struggle, and I just want everyone to know I’m getting help. And if you’re going through something too, I ask you to reach out—if it’s a friend, or neighbor, or teacher, or even a hotline—which we’ll put a link in at the bottom of the video, because no one should suffer alone. It’s a long journey to getting better and it won’t be easy, but I hope to be there for it. And I’m excited to make more music for you all,” Josh said, and looked over at Tyler who’d been staring at him as if a blink would make him disappear, “Tyler, my friend, do you have anything to add?”
Tyler took some time clearing his throat, “I guess I’m glad I let you talk for once because that was beautiful, bro,” he turned to the camera, “I agree with Josh—please don’t fight this fight alone, seek help and stay alive, my friends. We’ll see you soon.”
Neither could be surprised by the internet anymore be shocked that the the video spread like wildfire. But they didn’t spend the day watching the news sites repost it, or see other musicians respond (though Pete Wentz wrote a beautiful message about his own attempt, and other people started opening up too, and Josh felt like he started something good for once), or read the thousands of messages they were getting. They were in the studio, and Tyler was playing the new songs for Josh. He’d decided to stay in LA since he was in such a creative mood, and things were starting to fall into place. There was just once thing holding them back from recording a whole album right then and there.
Josh picked up his drumsticks for the first time that day they posted the video. It really hurt no matter how much Motrin he took before, or the stretching, not to mention the drumstick kept flying out of his hand. He only tried for a grand total of three minutes, before giving up, complaining his stitches stretched uncomfortably. Tyler was already calling the hand therapist (he promised it wasn’t him that hired her in the first place) and Josh started seeing her three times a week.
Josh also started speaking to a therapist on a regular basis, one who would even accept calls from Skype if Josh was on tour and needed to talk. Sometimes he felt the wrung-out-sponge feeling afterward, but other times he felt light as air. Either way, the frequency of Josh’s panic attacks slowed, his moods evened out, and it could be the medicine, but it was probably some combination of unbottling the darkness inside and fixing the chemicals in his brain.
He did end up doing an interview with MTV, framed under a campaign to promote mental health. They did the occasional acoustic set in random places, looking to surprise fans while Josh worked on building his strength up. The pain went away as the stitches dissolved and the wound healed to a scar, but he found he wasn’t able to move his wrist as well It took some months before they could even record him drumming—initially they used a friend to do basic beats so they could at least build some tracks around that and later fill in with Josh. He felt like an athlete out of the winning season, sitting on the bench in a track suit, but his doctors were impressed with how much he was able to do.
“The amount of damage you inflicted should have caused moderate paralysis in your grip and flexion, but I’d say it is 65 to 70 percent returned,” the specialist doctor said at one of his follow up appointments. Josh’s delivery of custom gripped sticks arrived that day, and it helped significantly. Tyler teased that Josh always had a problem holding onto sticks anyway.
They finished the album and they were ready to tour with it. This all felt like part of the healing process for both of them. Each word and note felt more significant—they came so close to losing everything, but here they are, stronger than ever. Josh saw a series of posts on Tumblr wondering if he’d wear long-sleeved shirts on stage now, and decided wholeheartedly to not hide away the scar. When it was fully healed, he was going to touch up the tattoo around it, but leave it how it was. It was a reminder, and he was going to live with it.
So that first show, after playing a few songs, Tyler pointed to him and shouted his name. As he lifted his arms to hit the cymbals as hard as he could—the roar of the crowd thundering in his ears and the breeze across his bare arms—Josh felt so alive.