Chapter Text
Bobby wakes up once to strong arms cradling his head and body against a warm chest, to swift footsteps and strange sounds and Ray’s low, steady voice rumbling, “Go back to sleep, muñeco,” until he has no choice but to obey.
He wakes up again, some time later, to the gruff thump thump thump of a car against broken pavement, the distant bustle of city streets, and a hand in his hair, giving gentle strokes that tug pleasantly at his roots and ease his ever-present headache.
When he wakes up for good, he’s in a much more comfortable bed than he’s used to, and he feels better than he has in days. He’s hesitant to move, to even open his eyes, for fear that his earlier misery will resurface. But before he can try to go back to sleep, he feels a hand on his forehead, gently brushing his hair back, and Ray says, “Are you awake, mi amor?”
“That’s Rose,” Bobby croaks without opening his eyes. “Can’t have more than one amor.”
“And why not?”
“Dunno, but that’s the rule.” Bobby cracks an eye open to see if Ray’s laughing at him. Ray doesn’t look amused, though. He’s kneeling on the end of the nice hotel bed Bobby’s tucked into, a hand in Bobby’s hair. He gives a tiny smile, but it looks forced. Bobby frowns. “‘S wrong?”
“Nothing, lindo,” Ray promises. “I was just worried about you. How are you feeling?”
Bobby hums noncommittally, his eyes falling closed again as he takes stock. “Not so bad. Tired.” He disproves his statement almost immediately, of course, by coughing hard, raising a loose fist to cover with. “Sick,” he amends hoarsely.
“Pobrecito,” Ray coos. “Can you sit up and I’ll get you some water?”
Bobby would really rather just go back to sleep, but he’s just starting to reach the point where he’s been awake too long for his body to let him sleep any more. So he reluctantly blinks his eyes back open and pushes himself up to sit against the headboard, letting out a little groan when his limbs protest the movement. “Achy,” he murmurs in response to the worried look Ray shoots him.
Ray hums. “You’re still feverish. Wait there.”
“What choice do I have?”
Ray ignores his grumbling, just gets off the bed and heads over to the kitchenette in the corner of the room, bending down to reach into the minifridge. He returns a minute later with a cold bottle of water, which he presses into Bobby’s hands. But Bobby doesn’t drink it right away. He sits there, twisting the cap around and keeping his gaze trained on his lap until Ray sits gingerly on the edge of the mattress again and prods, “Bobby? What’s wrong, lindo?”
Bobby’s jaw clenches, his stomach twists. He doesn’t know how to explain it, just knows there’s tension between them that’s probably been there all day, that he just couldn’t recognize when his fever was a little higher, when he was a little more homesick. Now that he’s slept it off some, woken up with a little more control of his own mind… he can feel how Ray must resent him for bringing him here.
“Bobby…” Ray reaches over to brush his hair back again, drawing Bobby’s gaze up. Ray’s eyes are bright and sad, a concerned crease between his brows. “Talk to me, baby. What hurts?”
“Nothing,” Bobby mutters. “I’m fine.” Ray’s frown deepens, a silent, I don’t believe you. Bobby rolls his eyes, admits, “I just… I’m sorry, okay?”
Ray’s expression softens, but only barely. He strokes Bobby’s hair, his fingers lingering a moment on Bobby’s forehead. “What on earth are you sorry for?”
Bobby scoffs, painfully swallowing past a lump in his throat. “Come on, Ray! You—you got on a goddamn plane, at five o’clock in the morning, to… to wipe my fucking nose for me! I told you and Rose I’d be fine on my own, and I— I wanted to mean it.” He pulls his knees up to his chest so he can hide his face in them as tears leak from his eyes. He can’t look at Ray anymore, can’t stand to see the pity in his eyes. “I just… The whole point of being a fucking rockstar was to not be such a screwup anymore. And I can’t even make it two months on tour without needing you to come bail me out.”
Ray is quiet for a few moments. Bobby’s used to that, to be fair; Ray’s always quiet after he or Rose says something sharp or heavy. Ray always takes his time to think through how he’s going to respond, to decide if he needs to give advice or just comfort, to offer a solution or just a listening ear. Usually, Bobby appreciates it, would rather wait for an answer than provoke Ray into saying something he’ll regret.
But right now, it makes him furious.
“Say something, damn it!” he snaps, raising his head again to glare at Ray with tears in his eyes. “If you—if you hate me as much as you should, then you should just go, Ray, I didn’t ask for you to come here, I didn’t ask for your pity, I—”
“Hey, hey, hey, no! Bobby, stop that!” Suddenly, Ray is closer, leaning over Bobby on the bed, pulling Bobby’s hands into his own, his eyes wide and shocked but not angry, never angry, not from Ray. “Lindo, where on earth is this all coming from? Of course I don’t hate you, or pity you, I—I love you. That’s why I’m here. You were sick, and miserable, and it broke my heart to know you were here all alone. It’s not that I thought you couldn’t take care of yourself, I just didn’t want you to have to. Those tour people—your manager and—they don’t care about you, baby, they care about Trevor Wilson. They would’ve wanted you to be just well enough to play again before they lost too much money. I wanted you to be well, to feel well. I thought… I just thought you’d feel better sooner if you had a friendly face to keep you company. And I missed you. Bobby, baby, Rose and I miss you so much when you’re gone. We thought you missed us, too.”
“I do,” Bobby whispers, barely registering the tears that spill down his cheeks without his permission. “I miss you both so much.”
All the tension drains from Ray’s expression, leaving it open and warm again, and Bobby didn’t realize how much he’d been missing that warmth until it’s returned to him. He drops his face into his hands again, his shoulders heaving as he lets himself cry. Ray’s arms immediately wrap around him, pulling him in close, and Bobby slumps into Ray’s hold, buries his face in Ray’s neck, tries not to care that his nose is running or that his tears are leaking through the collar of Ray’s shirt.
It occurs to him, only once he’s cried himself out some, that he’s not one hundred percent sure where he is. A hotel, he remembers Ray telling him that, but he doesn’t know how far they are from the concert venue, if Tony and the crew still expect him to perform tonight. God, he doesn’t know what time it is, or even what day. How long was he asleep? How long has he been sick?
“How long do I have to be away from home?” he asks instead of any of those more reasonable questions.
He feels, more than hears, Ray’s breath catch. But his voice is a steady rumble—Bobby can feel it, pressed to Ray’s throat as he is—when he says, “Honey, you can come home right now if you want to. Rose and I only want what’s best for you. What makes you happy.”
Bobby doesn’t know what makes him happy. He’s not sure he’s known for a very long time.
That’s not true. Ray and Rose make him happy. He knows that. He’d be stupid not to.
“I don’t want to give it up,” he mumbles. “I want—I need to keep playing their—my music. I owe it to them.”
He shuts his mouth, hoping he didn’t misspeak too dangerously. He’s still a little out of it. But if Ray noticed his slip up, he doesn’t show it. “You can play music without having to be… this. Trevor. You can just be you. At home, with us.”
Bobby considers it. He really considers it. This isn’t the first time since his music career took off that he’s been sick and miserable, and it won’t be the last, but there’s nothing he can’t deal with if he’s got Ray and Rose by his side. And he really has missed them, so much. He’s missed his bed in their little townhouse. He’s missed being home.
But every time he even thinks about quitting, Luke’s voice rings in his ears. We’re gonna be legends.
This is for you, Luke, Bobby thinks, shoves down the guilt that accompanies the thought, and says, “I need to do this. But maybe… you guys can visit more often?”
“That sounds amazing,” Ray says softly, before his tone turns a bit teasing. “After all, we’ve got complimentary tickets reserved for every show, according to your lovely assistant.”
Bobby groans. “Damn it, Katie. I’m gonna fire her for that.”
Ray laughs, holding him tighter. “Don’t you dare, she’s delightful! She’s the only person I trust to keep your sorry ass out of trouble, and that includes you.”
“Hey!” But there’s no heat in Bobby’s protest. He even manages a little laugh—Ray’s right, after all—but it makes him cough.
Ray rubs his back and presses a kiss to his temple before pulling away. “All right, seriously this time. Water, medicine, rest. And then Rose should be home from work soon, if you want to call her.”
Bobby nods. Even just thinking about talking to Rose again brings a smile to his lips. He doesn’t know how he thought he’d get through this whole leg of his tour without seeing her again. Without seeing either of them. He needs them both there with him, however he can have them.
He sits back against the pillows and drinks from the bottle Ray brought him, takes a couple of pills when Ray presses them into his hand, closes his eyes when Ray kisses his forehead and whispers, “Try to go back to sleep, okay, lindo?”
But he can’t sleep, no matter how hard he tries. He can’t stop thinking about it—the possibility that he could actually have both. That he could continue his mission to honor his best friends in the most awful way imaginable and still have all the love and happiness he desires, even if he doesn’t exactly think he deserves it.
It feels like too much to ask for, and yet here it is being offered to him. Like he’s earned it. Because Ray and Rose want him to have it.
It just all seems too good to be true.
Ray waits until Bobby appears to have dozed off, and then he dials his home number on the hotel phone, glancing at his watch.
“Perfect timing, I just walked in the door,” Rose picks up on the first ring. She never bothers to say hello when she thinks she knows who’s calling. It’s one of Ray’s favorite things about her.
“We’re at the hotel,” he says quietly. “Bobby’s asleep, but I wanted to give you an update.”
“I appreciate it.” Rose pauses a moment, then asks, “How is he?”
It’s a loaded question, to say the least. Ray looks over at Bobby’s lanky form stretched across the bed. “He’s too thin,” he says, which doesn’t even begin to answer Rose’s question, really. “I don’t think he’s been eating much here.”
“That’s just what we were afraid of. What can we do?”
Ray looks up at the ceiling, thinking hard. Rose is scheduled to work all week, and that’s not exactly money they can afford to give up… Although, he thinks, glancing over at the rockstar asleep on the bed, maybe they can afford it more than they could a year ago.
“When’s the soonest you can fly out here?” he asks, keeping his voice low in case Bobby’s not quite asleep.
Rose hesitates. “Is it really that bad?”
“He needs us,” Ray says firmly. “And there are some things the three of us should talk about, in person, as a family.”
“Then I’ll be right there,” she promises. “Can I talk to him?”
Ray hums thoughtfully. He doesn’t particularly want to wake Bobby, when it’s so hard these days to get him to fall asleep, but at the same time, he knows Rose and Bobby will both fare better if they touch base before Rose gets on a plane for him. “Yeah, just a second.”
Ray lays the receiver carefully off the hook and goes to crouch by the side of the bed. “Bobby, sweetheart?” he says, carefully stroking Bobby’s hair. “Rosie’s on the phone for you, if you can wake up for a minute.”
He stirs right away, confirming Ray’s theory that he maybe wasn’t as deep asleep as he seemed. “Is she…?”
“She’s gonna fly out and be with us,” Ray confirms with a nod. “Just wants to say hi to you first.”
Emotion flickers across Bobby’s face—relief mixed with guilt, if Ray had to guess—but he dutifully pushes himself up to sit against the pillows and reaches for the phone.
Ray can only hear half of the subsequent conversation—it’s a lot of tired, raspy, “Yes, Rosie”s and “No, Rosie”s—but it’s obvious by the way Bobby’s features relax that just hearing Rose’s voice is making him feel better already. They’re definitely doing the right thing here, whatever they end up deciding to do.
Anything that keeps Bobby healthy and happy is well worth it, in Ray’s eyes. Because to him—him and Rose—Bobby is so much more than Trevor Wilson. He’s theirs.