Work Text:
“So,” John Redcorn said sheepishly, “the, uh, the band’s breaking up.”
He was sitting on his living room couch at seven-thirty in the evening with Dale Gribble, his—well, it was complicated—right next to him. They both smelled like smoke and meat, like the grill-out they’d been to earlier.
“I know, and that’s a damn shame,” Dale said, taking another sip of red wine, the only alcohol John had in the house, “but John Redcorn, you were amazing out there earlier, doing your show in front of all those kids. And who knew you wrote kids’ music? You, sir, are a visionary.”
John ducked his head, feeling like he absolutely didn’t deserve the praise, but then again, those kids had really liked him.
“I just changed the words from some songs I wrote for the band,” he admitted.
“Even better,” Dale said, setting down his wine on the coffee table before clapping John on the back. “Use that old material, don’t let any of it go to waste. Keep it all stored up and ready to unload in case of an—”
“You’re not angry?” John asked. “I mean, you were managing the band, and now the band is dead because of me. I know we were hardly paying you anything at all, but it was still something. And you liked managing us.”
“Aw,” Dale said, his hand wandering from John’s shoulder to the middle of his back. “You’re scared I won’t still want to be your friend now that the band’s dead, aren’t you? Have you forgotten our long and complicated history together?”
John cracked a little smile. He couldn’t help it.
“I guess I was worried about that,” he said, maybe meaning it too.
“The way I see it,” Dale said, “if the concert you gave for those kids today is any indication, you’ll be bringing in more money on your own than you ever did with the band. All that money, mostly for you and a little bit for me, rockstar.”
“You still want to manage me?” John asked, eyebrows raised. “I’m not making real music anymore, Dale. Those kids—”
“Have better taste than half of Arlen if they liked you,” Dale finished for him.
John smiled again, bigger this time. Dale really was too good for him. If there was anything he’d learned in their “long and complicated history” with each other, it was that.
“Thank you, Dale,” he said.
“Sure thing, my client,” Dale said. “Hey, you got any more of that wine?”