Chapter Text
“Oh, Blondie!” Freddie sang as he stepped up into the bus, a box of assorted donuts balanced on one hand and a coffee cup clutched in the other. “We come bearing gifts!” He set the items down on the table and the three returning musicians settled into the booth-type seat around it. Freddie looked over his shoulder toward the sleeping area but couldn’t see the drummer, so he glided over to the bunks and, seeing his own bed now empty, peered into Roger’s. “Rog.”
The blond turned his head and blinked at Freddie, seeming a bit out of it.
“Breakfast. Come on.” The singer plunged his hand into the tangled lump of blanket, pillow, and drummer and somehow found a wrist to tug on, all but forcing Roger to come along, but not without a groan of protest.
“Freddieee,” Roger whined, now off his bunk and digging his heels into the carpet.
“Nope. Not going back to bed.” The singer pulled Roger to walk in front of him and steered him into his seat. He opened up the box to reveal a dozen sickly sweet pastries “Donuts, my dear. Take any one you’d like. The coffee is for you as well, fixed the way you like. The rest of us had ours inside.”
“Thanks.” Roger grumped, pulling the cup over and taking a cautious sip. He then reached out and chose a donut, glancing suspiciously around at the others as they chose theirs after him. Something was off. Where was the arguing over flavors? Where was the endless banter and teasing? And they’d brought him coffee without giving him hell over it? “Why are you being so nice to me?”
Freddie took a small bite of his donut and chewed thoughtfully as he mulled over a response. The truth was that Freddie knew Roger was struggling and he wanted to take care of him, but he also knew the blond would not take kindly to being so blatantly babied. The other two bandmates were still confused over last night and over Roger’s failure to come to breakfast at the rest stop. Freddie decided casual teasing might be the best approach: “Well, I’m simply preventing all of us from having to deal with a hangry and caffeine-deprived arsehole later. Should be knighted for my nobility, really.”
“Sir Freddie Fucking Mercury.” John deadpanned, raising an eyebrow at the singer as Brian stifled a laugh.
Roger smiled, glad to hear something lighthearted and responded with “Well fuck you too, Fred!” and laughed playfully as he tucked in to his breakfast. “Really though, I appreciate it. Thanks.”
“Of course.”
A silence fell over the table and the boys were all faintly aware of the bus roaring to life around them before beginning to crawl back toward the highway. Everyone was biding their time mulling over how to start the conversation they knew they needed to have.
Of course Brian was the one to break the silence, ever pushy as he was, though only because he cared for Roger’s wellbeing. “Uhm, so what was last night all about, Rog? Freddie said last night you might tell us?”
Freddie shot the guitarist a glare but quickly looked back to Roger to gauge his response.
Roger swallowed hard and took a sip of his coffee, his eyes locked on the fake wood grain of the table. He then brought his hand up to his mouth and began nibbling on the skin around his nails, trying to think up a response. He figured the safest route would be to be as nondescript as possible, as he needn’t bear his soul without more prying. “I uh, get nightmares when I’m under a lot of pressure or I’m really tired or something. Freddie is used to it. I was awful to room with during exam weeks.”
“He’s not lying,” Freddie chuckled, trying to keep the atmosphere from weighing down. “He was an absolute nightmare, no pun intended.”
“It certainly took us by surprise,” John began, his kind gray eyes meeting Roger’s. “But we’re just glad you’re okay—“
“We didn’t know what was happening.” Brian gushed suddenly, his face flushed as he leaned forward in his panicked attempt to explain their fear from the night before. “I thought something was really wrong and if it weren’t for Fred being all calm I don’t know if John and I would’ve been able to handle it.”
Roger deflated. He didn’t have the energy to tell Brian that it would’ve been fine without Freddie, but only if Brian hadn’t woken him up. He knew Brian had meant well, but in not listening to Freddie Brian had inadvertently made the situation worse. The nightmares almost always went away on their own, and when they didn’t go away on their own they would end with a quick, more natural wake up as long as Roger was left to ride it out. Back when he’d lived with Freddie he’d told the singer it was better to just let him go through it, because to wake him in the middle of a nightmare meant yanking his mind into wakefulness much too abruptly, making the experience all the more traumatic with unnecessary shock and confusion. Roger had told him ‘if it makes you feel better you can comfort me— in fact: please comfort me but try not to wake me yourself unless you absolutely have to.’
“I wish you’d just listened when I told you not to wake him up.” Freddie sighed though not unkindly, voicing Roger’s thoughts.
“Was I supposed to just let him suffer?” Brian spat back, rounding on Freddie.
That definitely set Freddie off, and he tensed, his nostrils flaring with anger as he stared the guitarist down. No one could accuse him of not caring for his friends. “What, you think I’d let him suffer? I would never! I knew he was fine, you should’ve bloody trusted me! You act like I’ve never—“
“Please don’t argue” Roger whimpered then, barely loud enough for the others to hear. Three pairs of eyes turned to look at him in concern as tears welled in his own, but he gritted his teeth and glared down at the table surface, stubbornly willing away the unwanted display of emotion. As usual, he could feel anger bubbling up inside of him to drown his less-favored feelings.
“Roggie?” Brian inquired softly, eyes searching the drummer in question.
Roger felt like he was on fire as his cheeks began to heat once more and his heart pounded in his ears. He was unable to control the rush of emotion that smacked into him full force. His hands slammed onto the tabletop, producing a sound akin to a gunshot and causing the other three to jump in surprise as he leapt to his feet. His body shook with rage and anxiety and he clenched his fists hard, digging the nails into his palms. “Stop it,” he hissed, voice low and shaking. “Just fucking stop it.”
“Roger, what are you on about?” John asked fearfully, squinting up at his standing bandmate, his concern for him growing. Freddie and Brian gawked at the drummer, his outburst having momentarily stunned them both.
“Stop bloody fighting!” Roger continued, shouting. “Stop ignoring what we say to each other! I mean, fuck, guys I’m not innocent either but just fucking stop.” The drummer was in tears now, not from sadness, but from the frustration that was overwhelming him. “I can’t fucking take it!” He quieted and tilted his head back then, blinking up at the ceiling to rid himself of the unwelcome tears.
Without a word Freddie stood and stepped to the drummer’s side, gently laying a hand on his trembling shoulder. At the touch Roger straightened up and sniffled, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes as Freddie guided the blond back to sit down and perched beside him, an arm sliding around him in comfort. Freddie was the only one who knew why he was so bothered. “You’re right, I’m sorry. We need to stop fighting. We’re all just cranky and need to stop taking it out on one another.”
“Roggie, please talk to us,” Brian croaked out, reaching a hand out to the drummer, but dropped it to the table as Freddie shot him a look, but he continued speaking nonetheless. “I’m sorry we’ve been arguing, really I am, I just don’t understand the way Freddie does, I guess.”
Roger’s azure eyes flashed up to meet Brian’s and he grimaced as he challenged the guitarist: “You don’t understand yet you still think you know what’s best?”
Brian’s jaw dropped and his cheeks flushed with shame before he dropped his gaze to the table. When he spoke again his voice was small, pleading: “please let me in, Roggie.”
Roger just sighed, a sad, defeated look shadowing his features. “You want to be able to understand like Freddie?”
Brian’s sad eyes grew curious and traveled back up to the drummer’s as he raised his brows in silent affirmation.
“And you, Deaky? Its not pretty.”
John frowned but nodded once, prompting Roger to continue. “I suppose if you’re going to share anyway…”
Roger took a shaky breath eyes trained on the table as he searched for the words to begin. “My nightmares are usually scenarios that happened a long time ago, but as if they were happening in the present.” he explained, his steely gaze now locked challengingly on the guitarist. “It’s like everything I’m glad to be away from— to be rid of is back and worse than ever.”
Brian was leaning forward in his seat now in stark curiosity, while John shifted uncomfortably and Freddie just sadly looked on. Roger continued, speaking mostly to Brian. The guitarist was the one who wanted to know so badly anyhow.
“You see, Bri, I could tell you a sob story about how I was relentlessly teased in school or how my father made every little thing a big deal; how he made every issue, every mistake about how it would affect him; how he and my mum never got on; or how bloody confused I was when at 11 years old both my parents were trying to make me hate the other. How my mum told me we would pack up and go away forever and I would be left wondering when my life would be turned upside down, just for it to never actually happen.
“Or I could tell you how despite it all I know both of them loved me and that I loved them and still do, but that their mind games fucked me up so bad I can’t trust anyone or any place because God only knows what ulterior motives people have when they’re being nice to me, or what they’re plotting behind my back, or if they even really mean what they say!” Roger was letting himself get upset now. Tears now freely flowing, his fists were balled on the table, his chest hurt, his face was red, and the lump in his throat was bigger than ever. He could barely speak around it. Nevertheless he pushed on, determined to get everything out that needed to come out. Nothing more, nothing less. “But I won’t tell you a sob story. Because I had it good. I know i shouldn’t feel the way I do, I shouldn’t be ungrateful or claim trauma like some battered child. I could take corporal punishments, hell I probably deserved it most of the time but its the mind shit that got to me. But regardless of any of that, I was loved. I am loved, but for some reason my unconscious brain can’t wrap itself around that and its fucking infuriating.
“I have nightmares, Brian. About all that shit happening again, but instead of my parents its the other people I love most doing it, like you, and Deaky, and Freddie, hell even Mary has shown up in them. And it sucks. And sometimes I cant even tell what was real and what was just a dream. But if I’m left alone to ride out the nightmare, let it run it’s course, it turns into something mundane, like shopping for bloody fish tanks or playing my newest guitar. Its so much easier if I can just get it over with naturally than feeling like I teleported into another world. That is why I asked Fred to try to avoid waking me. That is why you should have bloody listened.”
Roger was shaking like a leaf with the adrenalin that coursed through his veins from just scratching the surface of his childhood trauma. He never spoke of this kind of thing except for to Freddie. Freddie and him were mutual confidants and were the only ones who knew each others’ deepest secrets. In reality, Freddie knew way more about all of what was mentioned, but Roger just couldn’t make himself rehash all of that now, here in the middle of no where, far out of his comfort zone. Brian and Deaky didn’t have to know the nitty gritty details, they now knew what they had to know for the sake of their living situation, and knew just enough of his past now to understand him a bit more in general. He had said what he needed to say and he wouldn’t— couldn’t say more.
“Bloody hell,” Deaky breathed. He had gone pale, and Brian beside him looked like a ghost.
Roger wanted to reach out and comfort them, tell them it was okay and that they needn’t worry, but he just didn’t have it in him. He stood once again on shaking legs and threw back the rest of his coffee before addressing the table once more. “I’m gonna go back to bed. Thanks again for bringing breakfast.” He padded off to the bunks, fully prepared to dissociate from his surroundings and block everything out until they reached their next destination in a few hours.
Meanwhile, Brian sat brooding at the table. He was deeply disturbed by some of the things Roger had implied during his rant, and he was even more disturbed by the fact that he hadn’t known. He’d known Roger for years and had never had a clue that the blond had such a troubled past, and immense guilt washed over him as he thought of all the times Roger had blown up in anger, had broken things in a fit of rage or had been in such murderous or melancholy moods that no one wanted to interact with him. Brian had always written the drummer’s behavior off as childish or attention-seeking, but now that he knew it was deep rooted in trauma.
The guitarist felt sick to his stomach and stumbled into Freddie, effectively pushing him out of the way as he scrambled to escape the table’s seating to follow the drummer. He hurried after him and caught him by the wrist as he went to climb into his bunk.
Roger started and gasped when he felt the long fingers wrap around his wrist, but relaxed when he saw that it was Brian. “Oh, didn’t hear you coming.”
Brian smirked playfully, fondness for his drummer overwhelming his guilt for a moment, “should really turn down your monitor on stage, Rog.”
Roger scowled but didn’t respond verbally, settling for an exaggerated eye roll. Brian knew he needed it up loud, even if it would damage his hearing. It was just one of the many occupational hazards of drumming.
The two bandmates shifted in uncomfortable silence for a moment before Brian gathered his courage. He took a deep breath before meeting the drummer’s eyes. The unique deepness of the blue orbs always fascinated the guitarist. “Can we talk for a sec? Then I’ll let you alone to sleep, promise.”
Roger sighed heavily, and crossed his arms over his chest, hunching over slightly as the hint of frown twitched at the corner of his lips. “Uh, yeah... I guess.”
“Thanks.” Brian gestured to his own bunk and sat down on it. He closely observed the drummer as he did the same, his shoulders tense and his expression guarded.
Roger squirmed uncomfortably before seeming to settle a bit, and raised his brow, prompting Brian to begin.
The guitarist took another deep breath carefully calculating his words before he spoke in a low voice so the others wouldn’t eavesdrop. “I can’t help feeling like maybe I triggered your nightmare last night, Roggie. I’m so sorry.”
Roger seemed stunned for a moment, his eyes wide in surprise. “You didn’t—“
“Of course I did, Rog. You don’t have to lie to spare my feelings. I was awful to you. I saw the hurt in your eyes, I saw that flinch when I nearly hit you. Just let me be sorry. And please, please forgive me.”
“You didn’t know, Bri.” Roger sighed, softly, uncrossing an arm to lay a gentle hand on the guitarist’s shoulder. “But sorry for being a prat during scrabble or for nearly hitting me? Of course I forgive you for both.” Roger flashed a brilliant, teasing smile that miraculously pulled a small grin from Brian as well.
“That too,” Brian chuckled, sending both musicians into a fit of giggles. They both missed this: the child-like fun they could have together as a band when they weren’t all caught up in the pressure of tour life. Silence settled between them once more before they spoke again.
“So, ah... this is rough, innit?” Roger sighed. He didn’t specify but Brian knew he meant the tour. “I never expected it to be… so damn exhausting. It’s nothing like touring back home.” He nervously pulled at a loose thread on his shirt, his gaze trained on his lap in order to avoid Brian’s.
“Are you disappointed, Roger?” Brian responded, his voice low.
“No!” The drummer started, his eyes snapping up to meet the guitarist’s. “This is everything! Touring— this— I have never wanted anything more than to play music for a living, Bri, this is everything I’ve ever wanted and more. But, ya know, there’s a downside to everything. Being a rockstar just happens to be a lot of fucking work.”
Brian snorted “that’s an understatement.”
“Regardless,” the blond continued as he bowed his head to force out the next difficult words, “it’s taken a toll and, well, I’m sorry if I’ve been a dick or if I scared you lot last night. I’ve been having a bit of hard time as of late.“
Brian laid a reassuring hand on Roger’s hunched shoulder and gave him a playful shake. “Don’t worry, mate, you haven’t been any worse than your usual bullheaded self.”
“Good to know,” Roger hummed sarcastically, a sweet smile gracing his face for a moment before he grew somber once more. “I guess I’m just really tired.” He went to stand, but Brian caught him once more.
“Wait, Rog. Just one more thing?”
Roger’s eyes wandered up to Brian’s curiously.
“Look, uh, Deaky said something to me last night after scrabble about the way I treat you sometimes…”
“And?”
“Well he said I treat you badly. Like you’re daft, and I just want you to know that I don’t think that of you at all, Rog. You’re incredibly bright, and I can’t explain why I say the things I do. I guess I’ve just always seen you as a little brother. I never had a sibling but if i had one I’d assume it would be like my relationship with you. Maybe that’s it.” Brian was curling in on himself, biting his lip nervously as he waited for a response.
Several seconds passed before the blond spoke: “If I’m being honest, Bri, you do talk down to me sometimes, I’ll admit. But you said it yourself: you’re my brother. That’s just how we are. All four of us have this kind of dynamic, and it just works, our music works because we hall give our input and the struggle makes it happen. I don’t know…” Roger trailed off and bit his lip. “I, uh— well… I don’t want you to compromise your musical vision for being nice to me.”
Brian was shocked. Did Roger really think his feelings were less important than Brian’s opinions? “I’m sorry Rog. But i need to be better, not just with you but with the whole band. I’ll figure out how to convey my thoughts without being an absolute arse. Just talk to me, yeah?” Brian clapped the blond on the back, forcing a smile to try to bring the mood back up. “I really don’t mean to talk down to you and I don’t want Deaky to be the one to have to tell me I’m being awful to you next time. Okay?”
“Okay.” Roger gave Brian a soft smile of reassurance.
“Are we okay?” Brian asked, his hand gripping the blond’s shoulder.
Roger’s smile grew and he met the worried gaze readily. “Yeah. Yeah, we’re okay, mate.”
“Good. Now go get some sleep.” Brian ruffled Roger’s hair fondly and gave him a gentle shove off the bed.
“Don’t have to ask me twice!” The drummer stumbled into the spindly metal ladder up to his bunk with and immediately clambered up and burrowed into his blanket. “Do try to keep those hooligans out there quiet for me, will ya?”
“Alright, Rog. Just don’t bite anyone’s head off when we have to wake you for the press conference when we get there.”
Roger just groaned in response and Brian chuckled as he returned back to the kitchenette where Freddie and John had pulled out the scrabble board.
For the moment, the raging stress of the tour was quelled and all was alright.