Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Frowning, pale and unshaven, Norman Sheffield had been letting himself rancid in his office for weeks, if not months.

He didn't even bother to clean the room anymore; he, who before was so meticulous in putting back in place the slightest sheet. The shelves overflowing with binders and other pockets were about to break and the desk was covered with a white snow of varied documents. Lost contracts, electricity bill, numerous reminders from the real estate agency warning him that he risked being kicked out if the rent wasn't paid soon... Norman didn't care anymore, to the dust’s greatest pleasure.

Trident Music's numbers were plummeting, and the label was financially agonizing. Despite the many advertisements he published in the newspapers and on the streets, no one had ever come before him again. The few artists he had managed to take under his wing recently ended up canceling their contracts with the label.

He had never found himself being so low since the beginning of his career, and even since the beginning of his life. Truth be told, he never thought he'd end up so low at all.

The cause of all this? A certain quartet, and, more precisely, a song that they had fun writing. A song directly addressed to Trident Studios featured on an album that went to the top of the United Kingdom charts. At first, it can seem very rewarding. After all, what company wouldn't want to have such advertising?

Indeed, it could have been genuinely beneficial for the label. Only, to Norman's surprise, it wasn't quite that.

He remembered as if it were yesterday that pang he felt in his heart, that urge to vomit that suddenly seized him, that anger that had burned him inside and had still hardly ceased. The words that Freddie Mercury uttered had given him a deep desire to go and set fire to the farm in which he knew they were.

Of course, he wanted to murder everyone in this group, but the singer was awaking an additional hatred in him. He didn't know if it was the fact that he was wondering how such a whore could become successful or how much this little singer had taken pleasure in fooling and pretending to be a victim to the ears of millions of people.

Well, of course, Norman had received many letters from artists begging him to reduce the production debts that were imposed, but he was obliged to do so. Business is business! It was the price of the fame he brought them. And fame was worth skipping a meal or two.

What a bunch of ingrates! thought the manager. And yet, it was thanks to him if the group had taken off! He was the one who had produced their first album and who had used his contacts. He was the one who had been there at the right moment for them. It was thanks to him that all of this had happened. It was so unfair...

The old wooden door to the office creaked suddenly, revealing Norman's brother, Barry, struggling to carry a large stack of papers between his skinny arms. The former manager didn't even pay attention.

“Where do I put this?” Norman wearily pointed to the last table in the office that remained uncluttered. Barry put them down as gently as he could before letting out a sigh of relief. "The agency called again, Norman, we have to pull ourselves together or the company will sink for good... And so will we."

"What's the point of trying again...” Norman muttered thoughtfully.

"But we can't give up for God’s sake! Not after all we went through to build everything! Barry exclaimed in disbelief.” His brother shrugged, indifferent. “Trident Studios are too young to die! We have no right to give up!”

“Our reputation has been made Barry!” It had been weeks since Norman had raised his voice. "Queen destroyed it!" Thousands of people around the world have heard them! The label's numbers will never go up again! Do you want anything more?” Just admitting it made the manager red with anger. These four bastards better not cross his path again. He quickly lit a cigarette to calm his nerves.

A loud silence fell between the two brothers. Barry knew well that Norman was right, there was no point in denying it. The savings from the company were certainly appalling, but there was only one good reason why he wasn't giving up.

"So, you're going to let them win?" Norman just puffed on the cigarette, paying no heed to his brother's words. "Do you know how Queen would react if they saw us right now? Can you imagine that smirk that would appear on Freddie's lips?” Leaving no expression on his face, the former manager’s grasp on his cigarette tightened. “He would be so glad to know those Sheffield sharks are screwed— “.

"Shut up!” Norman suddenly shouted in frustration. “I never want to hear you talk about them within these four walls or in front of me ever again, do you hear me?” Barry crossed his arms defiantly at his brother's words.

The former manager twitched his fingers around the almost completely consumed cigarette. He closed his eyes and could perfectly visualize the singer's lips twitching into a smirk. It revolted him, he wanted to break something.

Barry huffed smugly. Norman had just demonstrated all the points he had advanced. “So, what are we doing huh? We continue to mope in his office while the people responsible for our downfall live their best life outside?” Norman's face contorted at the thought. No, his brother was right. He wasn't going to let them win. That was out of the question. “…Or we pull ourselves together and find a solution to erase all this history and take back our status as the best label in the UK.”

Barry's final solution, while being very appealing, seemed impractical. "And how do you want us to do it, Barry? By erasing the memory of the whole town? Of the whole country?” Norman joked. His brother, on the contrary, seemed more serious than ever.

“I have already thought about this option, but no rational method could lead us there. No, I was mostly thinking about destroying Queen. Norman raised a surprised eyebrow. He didn't really get his brother’s point.

“Ehhm… What do you mean by destroying them? »

Barry looked innocent. “Well, at first, I thought we could trigger a band’s breakup, but that might only be a short-term method, these fools would certainly end up reconciling. It was then that I thought that we could probably try to cause an accident so that one of them finds himself unable to practice. This would dramatically lower their productivity, and therefore their sales—“

“Get to the point, will you?”

Barry took a deep breath. " Good. You will surely tell yourself that it’s a bit excessive and that I shouldn’t have done all that, or that I should certainly have consulted you beforehand.” He paused. “I contacted the former manager of Queen who took care of them right after us, you know, Ray Foster? ". Norman nodded. “Well guess what, exactly the same thing happened to him as to us. Overnight, they breached the contract. He’s just as furious. In addition, the group blew his window right after they left. But, that’s not the point.” He struggled for words for a moment. “I don’t know where he got the idea from and I didn’t influence him in any way, but…”

" But what?” growled Norman, who was seriously starting to get impatient.

“Basically, we set out to build a giant robot that would be so destructive that the whole city could go through it.” His brother raved in a matter of seconds.

Norman felt like he had been struck by lightning. He almost hoped he had misheard what Barry had just told him. "I beg your pardon?”

“Look at us, Norman. At least half the country has heard this damn song and laughed at us, we have to fight back now!” Norman had a hard time understanding where this was coming from. "Don't you want, like me, to make Queen disappear forever?”

“Of course, I want it. That's what I want the most in the world! But I don't see the connection with the robot.”

"It's simple, though!” Barry took on a more serious tone. “We will impose respect while making everyone understand that we have rabies. Whose fault is it? To Freddie fucking Mercury. Our power in sight, people will all side with us without any hesitation. They’ll resent the band for making us so angry, they’ll hate them from the bottom of their souls; it's almost as if they’ll want them dead themselves. And, the icing on the cake, the robot has a humanoid shape, and Ray and I made sure that it was as well-equipped as possible to cause serious damage. For instance, this can potentially mean that anyone who finds their way into its hands has a slim chance of making it out alive.”

A wave of excitement ran through Norman's body. This plan wasn't so bad after all. He saw himself suddenly very happy at the mental image of the pain on Freddie's face being crushed by the robot or Brian lying lifeless on the floor. “It’s kind of…convincing.” He contented himself with saying, with a hint of a smile, the end of his cigarette held by his fingertips.

"I know.” Barry lit a cigarette as well. “Follow me, I’ll introduce him to you. »

Chapter Text

"U-N-I-Q-U-E" Freddie mumbled with each tile he placed on the grid. “Unique” He read out loud arrogantly.

John scribbled calculations on the game sheet. “That’s a hundred points for Freddie who ends up being first.” That didn’t fail to annoy Roger.

“That’s not fair! He’s cheating!” The drummer pouted as he crossed his arms. The singer found himself very amused by the situation. Although his newly short haircut gave him a much more masculine appearance that he had struggled to get used to, he was still the same. Very bad loser.

"Oh! It’s okay Blondie, better luck next time, huh?” He provoked. The so-said Blondie gave him an obscene gesture in response and Freddie let out an exaggerated gasp. “How dare you?” He exclaimed in a dramatic voice, which earned him a tap on the arm from the drummer and a giggle from the bassist.

The singer felt genuinely happy. In the first place because he was going to beat Brian at Scrabble for the first time since he knew him, but also because it had been almost seven years since the group was formed and the atmosphere had not changed in the slightest. Their complicity hadn’t gotten a single wrinkle. They all had been through a lot, the majority of which could have been a pretext for separation but had remained together despite everything and kept up with facing Brian at Scrabble in the middle of the night.

Truth be told, it was the most normal game of Scrabble they’d had in a long time. It usually ended with screams and a TV or two flying out the window. This time, it was almost too quiet.

There was, however, something else that tickled Freddie. It was extremely strange that Brian did not react to the singer's points gain and, therefore, his defeat. Usually, he was more the type to look up all the arguments in the world for Freddie's word not to be validated.

“Brimi, it’s extremely touching that you finally recognize my superiority,” Freddie said with a hand on his heart, wiping away an imaginary tear.

“What superiority?” Brian asked, looking visibly confused. “Hold up, the game is not over.”

"Ehhm Brian, he's fifty points ahead of you,” John informed in a small voice.

The guitarist remained silent, fist against mouth. He had to exploit the Q that had been deposited by Freddie. His eyes alternated between his tiles and the board, creating a tense atmosphere within the room. He thought for a long time about possible combinations with the letters he had and Freddie's word. It took a real spark of genius to find THE perfect word in the English lexicon.

Brian frantically placed a tile, then two tiles, then way too many tiles. Freddie's eyes widened. “And there you go!” Finally said the guitarist.

L-A-C-Q-U-E-R-S Could read singer. What an asshole! He screamed internally.

“Quite impressive! 168 points for Brian who wins the game with an overwhelming lead.” announced the bassist.

Freddie's jaw was about to hit the floor. He was boiling with rage. He was extremely upset about this.

"Oh… You know, Freddie, it's no big deal, better luck next time." Repeated the drummer in a honeyed voice mimicking the tone previously used by the singer, placing an affectionate arm around his shoulder.

A solution had to be found, and quickly. There was no way to let that space nerd beat him again. But his tiles weren't much help.

“No, look! If I add an N to the end of Brian's word that gives me 170 points, so I'm technically the winner.” Freddie said in an innocent voice placing the last letter.

“Freddie, what is “Lacquersn”? That's not a word!” The guitarist said in an exasperated voice. If Roger had become very masculine, Brian had not changed at all. His hair had stayed long, and he was still just as much of a killjoy.

"Of course, it is, Brian!" Freddie exclaimed though he wasn’t very convinced himself.

" That's enough! Accept that you’ve been defeated! The singer let out a dismissive huff which made the guitarist roll his eyes.

“I told you he was cheating.” Roger suddenly said.

“It’s true that you’re the most well-placed to blame for this kind of thing, Rog.” Freddie retorted ironically with a satisfied smile.

“Is Freddie Mercury going to lecture me on this?” The drummer raised an eyebrow.

“What are you talking about?” John intervened with a tray of teacups between his hands.

« Don’t worry Deaky, I’ll explain it to you when you grow older. » Confidently said the singer. The bassist chuckled at the remark as he began to each give them a cup of tea.

“For the love of God, quit referring to him as if he was a toddler, Fred.” Sighed Brian who was tidying up the Scrabble into its box.

“But he is a toddler.”

“Yeah, a married 25-year-old toddler.” Snorted the drummer.

Freddie almost jumped at the realization. “But you were only 19 when we met… Oh, why do they have to grow up so fast?” The singer threw himself on the bassist to hug him tightly and do a loud fake cry.

John shook his head, amused. “I promise it’s gonna be all right Fred.” He said, patting his back.

“No matter what they say, you’re trapped into staying my little Deaky forever!” The singer rubbed the bassist's hair affectionately, which made him laugh. Freddie could die for that adorable teeth gap John had. However, the singer truly missed the poofy hair he used to have. “Oh, why did you have to cut your hair though?”

“You have also cut your hair, Freddie.”

“Of course, I did! My old haircut made me look like a real tart.”

But no matter what he said, the frontman truly missed their early shows. He missed the outrageous outfits, their mystical photoshoots, Ridge Farm, Roger’s falsettos, Kensington Market, welcoming Deaky into the band, and the flat they used to share. He utterly missed the time they were all living together.

However, each time he thought about that time of their career, his memories took pleasure to remind him of the atrocities their former managers made them live. They were the only reason the singer would hesitate to live those years again if he could do so. By the way, he found himself wondering about what they became. Miami, their new manager, gave news from Ray Foster sometimes, since he was somewhat close to him at work, but they never had any sight from Norman Sheffield ever again. According to what Brian said, Trident Studios was currently drowning. Norman, who has nonetheless dared to indebt the band until there weren’t any pence left and almost starved them to death, all of this because of his obsessive love for billets.

Well, if only that were the only thing he did…

I hope he enjoyed my song, said Freddie internally as he delicately sipped his tea. Death On Two Legs was a personal vengeance from the band to the former manager and nobody could guess the singer’s dismay when he didn’t receive any complaint letter in the mail.

“I liked it back when we all looked like tarts.” Said the bassist as he stared into his cup of tea pensively.

“Yeah! Even more, if we forget Norman.” Responded the singer.

“As you say.” Agreed John. “Do you think he has listened to our last albums?” He added conscientiously.

“I don’t know.” Freddie shrugged. “I’m more likely to think he did. I don’t want my targeted masterpiece to go unnoticed.”

The bassist giggled. “I wouldn’t want to be near him when he first listened to it. He must have gotten really mad.”

“He was always mad, Deaky.”

“You’re not wrong.” Admitted the bassist. “Ray wasn’t better for a bit.” He added in a lower voice.

“That asshole certainly wasn’t.” Freddie bitterly said before he sipped his tea again. “I’m glad Miami was here to help us out of this.”

“So, do I. Having someone who listens to you without thinking about money first feels great.” Freddie nodded before a yawn made his whole body stir. He threw a look at the clock in John’s living room. 4 am.

“Well, I think I’m going to head off to bed.” Suddenly whispered the bassist. The singer was about to ask him why he was whispering, but he immediately got it at the sight of Roger slouched and Brian resting with an arm over the drummer’s smaller body on the couch. “Feel free to use the guest’s bedroom.” Freddie did a thumb.

“Sleep well my Deaky!” He said. “And say good night to Veronica from us if she’s still awake.” The bassist nodded as he waved to him as he went upstairs.

The singer got up and made his way to the said room, trying not to wake his two bandmates. Once the door closed behind him, he let himself fall onto the bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to the vibrations of the city’s traffic through the window.

The singer felt a bit anxious and there wasn’t any reason for him to feel that way. The band was at last surrounded by people they could trust and their touring in Japan had been a true success. However, the talk he had with John gave him some bad feelings. As if something was lurking in the shadow, ready to take the band down. As if they weren’t getting completely rid of the people that populated the beginning of their career.

“Goddamit!” Cried Ray, letting the clamp he held fall on the ground. “And that shitty power cable! Fuck it!” He was desperately shaking his hand to soothe the pain.

“Hurt yourself again?” Barry asked wearily, hands on his hips.

“It’s only a matter of time until we all get shocked with that shitty machine.” He spat, giving a kick into the cables.

Norman sighed. “We need an electrician. Someone who would know how to actually make a robot work.”

“Ha! Nice one, Norman. What kind of electrician would even accept to work on that carcass and deign not to denounce us on that?” The blonde-haired man asked. “And who would even accept to spend a whole day knelt on the ground, fumbling with cables? The guy would want to get paid millions!”

The mental image of a guy knelt on the ground fumbling with cables triggered something inside Norman. He suddenly had a flash of a young chestnut-haired boy crouched while fixing a malfunctioning amp with agility right before a show… That was THE choice. Norman was almost certain that the guy did electrical studies at some point. But he needed to be a hundred percent sure.

“It could happen that I maybe know someone.” He calmly said, a perverse smile across his lips.

“Who?” Barry interrogated suspiciously. He looked almost disappointed his brother didn’t even tell him first.

“You don’t have to worry Barry, I’ll make sure the kid will agree,” Norman assured. He had a plan forming in his mind. “Jim, could you be a sweetheart and go fetch Queen's files in my office?” Norman handed him the keys.

Chapter Text

John was awakened from his heavy sleep by the din of the phone's high-pitched ringtone. He struggled to keep his eyes open and truly considered ignoring the person calling him at such an hour. Speaking of hours, what time was it?

The bassist had to gather great mental strength to reach out for the phone on the nightstand.

"Hello? John Deacon's here,” he replied, his husky voice betraying fatigue. He was surprised to hear nothing on the other side of the line after a few seconds. He straightened up painfully. "Hello?” He tried again. Nothing. The silence that answered him was way too loud. “Ahem… Can you hear me?” Not a sound, even after several seconds of waiting.

The bass player resigned himself to hanging up. It was surely a mistake, or maybe a joke from a fan who wanted proof that he had his number, who knows. But he was way too tired to think about it.

He let himself fall back on the mattress, to the delight of his muscles numbed with fatigue. The possibility of going back to sleep was tempting, especially after wrapping himself in the sheets again, but the bassist was reluctant to give in to it. He glanced furtively beside him only to realize in dismay that Veronica was gone, she must have already left for work.

A glance at the alarm clock told him it was two o'clock.

That's what we call oversleeping, John thought. Japan's jet lag wasn't doing any good to him. He rubbed his heavy eyes and looked at the surroundings around him. That late awakening was confusing him. He almost wondered which day it was.

The bassist finally decided to get up and ventured down the stairs to make a day-starting cup of tea.

It was only when he turned on the kettle that he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. He took a few steps back, almost dropping the cup he was holding when he spotted two figures lying on the couch.

He had completely forgotten about the presence of his bandmates in his living room. He placed a hand on his chest, hoping to cure that morning fright, which had made his heartbeat drastically increase.

Of course, the shrill din of the kettle made the guitarist's eyes flutter and he eventually half-opened them. A smile got drawn on his face as he noticed the bassist.

Brian was about to raise his arm to greet John when he was abruptly snatched by a groggily Roger who was using it as a blanket, or maybe as a pillow.

This interaction did not fail to amuse the green-eyed boy. Brian just shrugged and rolled his eyes.

The friendship between the guitarist and the drummer had always fascinated the bassist. Brian and Roger were so close that he often thought of them as full brothers. He had never seen two people get along so well. Even three people if we added Freddie. They behaved so much like brothers that sometimes John felt a bit left out. Not that the others made him feel too voluntarily - they killed themselves by repeating to him every day how much he meant to them - but the bassist's memory sometimes persisted in reminding him that he had arrived later, with a bitter feeling of rejection.

He also felt a wave of melancholy wash over him when he saw how tactile Roger and Brian were between them. It could range from a simple pat on the back, to bear hugs after gigs. He was certain that even after years and years of friendship, he would never reach that friendship level with them. Not his bandmates disliked being tactile towards him, however, he felt very self-conscious when it came to having to physically manifest affection.

He didn't know why, but he still had this fear of appearing awkward or even making a gesture considered inappropriate when someone showed him physical affection.

When John first joined the band, he got extremely surprised by the many physical interactions Freddie had towards him. Not that it bothered the bassist, but he just didn't know which way to turn when the singer jumped into his arms with joy or surrounded him with his arms during a photo shoot. To tell the truth, no one had ever behaved like that with him, not even his parents. John soon realized, however, that those interactions were just part of the singer’s personality and got used to it.

He usually never was the one who was known to make the first move, although his relationship with Veronica made him develop more and more confidence and somehow made him try to initiate from time to time.

Speaking of Veronica, he missed her so much! He cursed the fact she was sound asleep when they got back from the airport the night before. They didn’t even interact yet if it wasn’t for a sleep hug or a lazy kiss! He was only waiting for her to come back from work so he could hold her in his arms.

“Is everything alright Deaky?” Suddenly asked Brian in a husky voice. The bassist then realized he was looking into the void pensively.

“Yes, don’t worry Brian. I’m just a bit tired.” The curly-haired man smiled in answer.

The bassist was carefully pouring hot water into each respective cup he had displayed on a tray when Brian got up from the couch.

“Brian! Come back!” Roger suddenly implored with his typical raspy voice. “You were warm!”

“Oh, come on, Rog, it’s past 3 pm.” The drummer groaned tiredly as an answer. “Rog.” Repeated the guitarist with a disappointed-mother voice to which the blonde-haired man replied with a middle finger.

“Wake me up once you’ve got Fred to do so.” He said, his voice half muffled by the pillow he buried his head in.

“Well, someone’s gonna be extremely disappointed.” Suddenly said a well-known cheerful voice with a slight exotic accent.

The bassist was met with the sight of a morning-messy-haired Freddie who just stepped into the room.

“Roggie, if you keep sleeping all day, you’ll never recover from the jetlag.” Informed the guitarist.

“Fuck off, I’m exhausted.” Mumbled the blonde-haired man.

When the vocalist spotted John carefully carrying a tray of cups of tea to the living room table, he frowned at the sleeping drummer. “You’re unbelievable, Rog, darling, I can’t believe you’re enslaving poor Deaky into making your tea! You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“N-no Fred, don’t worry I’ve decided to do it by myself.”

“Yeah, at least Deaky’s doing things for others without expecting something in return.” Taunted the drummer.

“Oh! Are you saying I always expect something back when I help people?” Freddie sounded absolutely scandalized.

“Well, every time you bought a guy a drink it ended up–“

“That’s different!” Exclaimed the singer, as the drummer gave a satisfied grin. “Oh, I’ll show you, you fucker!”

The bassist didn’t even get the time to say “cheese” that Freddie practically pounced on Roger who let a little “oof” escape. The vocalist didn’t think twice before rapidly letting his hands travel on the drummer’s sides, successfully tickling him.

“No! Fred, I swear to God!” Tried to articulate the drummer between hysteric laughs.

“And what do we say in that kind of situation?” Asked the singer, obviously waiting for the blonde-haired to give him some apologies.

“Help me! Bri, Deaks make him stop! He's torturing me again!”

---

It was totally in the habits of the bassist to worry unhealthily, but this time, the worry he felt was more intense.

He was often criticized for being somewhat paranoid about the people he cared about. But that was despite himself. It wasn’t really his fault if he couldn't help but call his bandmates to find out if they had arrived home safely, a bit earlier in the day. The death of his father had been a lesson that taught him to cherish every second he spent with his loved ones and to worry deeply when he didn’t get news from them.

And that was exactly the case that night. He hadn't had a single call or sign from Veronica during the day. Usually, the two newly married lovers gave each other at least one phone call a day, if not two or three. But this day, nothing. The bassist nevertheless had tried to reach her several times through the phone, but the sound of her voice never came from the other side of the line.

The green-eyed boy had first tried to tell himself that she must have been super busy and that she would surely call him back when she had a minute. But that also never happened. Though, he hadn't stopped staring at that cursed phone, hoping for a call.

But it was especially when the time by which she usually got back from work was well-passed that he utterly began to worry to his stomach.

John imagined the worst scenarios: an accident at work, a health problem, there were so many possibilities!

What if she was cheating on you? Suddenly ask a small voice. He shook his head at the thought. No, Ronnie wouldn’t cheat on him, she promised she would never hurt him.

What if she lied to you? No, she would never lie to him, that definitely didn’t sound like her. However, he felt his heart ache at the thought, just as if he received an invisible stab in both his chest and self-confidence.

Ronnie would NEVER do such things. He retorted to the nasty voice in his head.

Are you sure of that? Or did you just convince yourself?

Taken by a sudden panic, the bassist once again rushed to the phone and desperately dialed the number of the woman he shared his life with. He had dialed it so many times during the same day that the muscles in his fingers had remembered the exact location of each number. “Come on Ronnie, you gotta pick up!” He quietly implored himself.

He felt his heart pounce in his chest when the continuous beep stopped. But then, once again, he was met with her voicemail.

Now, this has gotten him dead worried. He was a hundred percent sure something unusual had happened. Even though London was one of the busiest cities in the whole wide world, one couldn’t simply blame the heavy traffic for this.

Maybe she went out to eat with a colleague and you forgot about it Suggested a thought. But that didn’t explain why she didn’t pick up her work phone the whole day.

John however still had another hypothesis in the corner of his head. A hypothesis he didn’t even dare to think about.

What if she d–?

The sudden squeal of his phone ringing startled him. His heart started pounding. Thank God! Veronica was finally calling him back!

He almost tripped on his rushed way to get the phone. He snatched the device with relief-shaking hands.

“Hello?” He almost shouted.

“Hello! Am I speaking to Mr. John Deacon?” The man thick Irish accent on the other side on the line dashed all the bassist’s hopes brutally.

“Ahem… Yeah, that’s me…” The green-eyed man replied with a small voice, trying to hide his disappointment.

« Oh I’m glad to know it! I saw your name on the directory. It says that you’re an electrical engineering student.” John raised his eyebrow at the man’s statement. That was extremely bizarre. He was sure that he removed both his name and phone number from the directory a long while ago.

“Em… I was one. I’m extremely sorry sir but I think that your exemplary might be a bit outdated…” The bassist kindly replied. How he hated to prove people wrong!

“Ah…” The man seemed utterly disappointed. “My apologies, I shouldn’t have bothered you then. I guess I’ll find someone else to resolve my problem. Have a nice evening Mr. Deacon!”

“No wait!” Suddenly intervened the bassist. “I guess I can give a hand.” John immediately face-slapped himself. Why the hell was he offering his help to a stranger when his wife was missing? Goddamit! Veronica was way more important than disappointing some guy.

“Really?” The tone of the man brightened.

“Yes, I mean, it all depends on the problem you have. I can guide you by the telephone.” The green-eyed boy expected the guy to give him some complex explanations to which he would have replied that he wasn’t qualified enough to help.

“Ehm… Actually, I think you should come and see by yourself. Is it possible that you do so in the hour?” That answer surprised John

« Sir, I’m extremely sorry but, you see, I’m not doing that job anymore…” The bassist prevented himself from going further. He always had that fear that some sick people might recognize him and invade his private life. Furthermore, it’s a bit late and I like to have an organized schedule.” And I also don’t wanna move out of this house until I know my wife is safe and sound.

“Please Mr. Deacon, I’ve tried to reach everyone on that goddamn directory, and nobody agreed to serve me! I’m begging you, you’re my last chance of repairing my electrical system, I promise I’ll pay you a whole lot.” The man sounded so desperate it gave the green-eyed boy chills.

“All right, let me think…” The bassist went through every possible excuse to decline. It wasn’t like he was the most qualified for the job anyways. The guy just had to wait the next morning to find a real electrician who would do wonders. But the man’s situation pained him. A dysfunctional electrical system was a danger to anyone. He couldn’t let him hurt himself by trying to repair him all alone. By looking at the kitchen clock, he convinced himself that it wasn’t that late and that Ronnie would probably be back once he get back, and he wouldn’t just stay here worrying to death until she passed the door. “Okay Sir, I’m going to help you.” He firmly decided.

“Oh, Mr. Deacon! A thousand thanks could not describe how grateful I am.” Almost exclaimed the man. John smiled, truly touched.

“There’s no problem, Sir. I just need to know your home address.”

As soon as the bassist hung up, he got everything he thought he would need to repair the electrical system of one’s house. He also carefully left a note on the kitchen table in case Veronica would come back before him.

He then went outside and started his car.

Chapter Text

John was seriously starting to worry. Even though he had first wondered if the right route had been provided to him by the GPS, he then realized he was in the right place from the beginning.

It wasn't necessary to have an excellent direction sense to suspect that something was wrong with the address that the man gave him.

Simply because this address did not exist.

The bass player was unable to locate any portal and any dwelling number appeared to be indicated. The only thing he saw in front of him was what seemed to be a beginning of wood with a winding path much too narrow to let a car go through. A voice in his head persisted in telling him that it was simply necessary to walk to possibly access the dwelling, but the total darkness of the outside, if not for the headlights of his car dissuaded him completely.

Besides, how could there be no vehicles if someone lived here?

I must have gone the wrong way, the green-eyed man convinced himself, despite the indications of the GPS which seemed exact.

He was about to pull the lever back when he saw a shadow forming in the light emitted by the headlights. The shadow of a man.

Normally, the bassist wouldn’t think twice before rushing to the nearest exit and crushing the accelerator in the opposite direction. But this time, he let his rational side take over when this same man knocked on the seat’s door.

He felt struck by lightning when he saw his face more clearly after lowering his window. He had already seen this person somewhere. His imposing build, short black hair, and mustache were strangely familiar to him. He was almost certain that he had even spoken to him. But where? And above all, when?

John suddenly remarked than the man also had a weird face as he was suspiciously inspecting him from the top to the bottom.

An awkward silence that didn’t fail to make the green-eyed boy unease settled between them. John was truly wondering if he was at the right place and was possibly about to ask him if they knew each other.

“So… You must be Mr. John Deacon I got on the phone?” The strong Irish accent of the man answered the bassist’s question. He was meeting the right person and that was a relief.

“Yes.” John nodded. “And you must be…” He truly wanted the slap himself. He didn’t even take the time to get the man’s name. “… The man who needed my help!” That was a close one to humiliate himself in front of a stranger. “I hope I didn’t bother you parking here, I couldn’t find any other path.” He added, apologizing.

“No, of course, you didn’t! It’s true that it’s a bit of a pain in the ass to enter my… property.” The bassist may not have studied human sciences, he could definitely see that the man was nervous as he almost struggled to find his words. “By the way, I’m Jim Hutton.”

Jim Hutton, John repeated in his head. He was now sure he had already heard that name, somewhere. 

“The only way to get in there is by walking...” Jim kept talking but the bassist wasn’t listening anymore. He was lost in thoughts. Where has he heard that ‘Jim Hutton’ name? Was it from a book, a movie, or maybe some TV show he watched? The guy definitely looked like Burt Reynolds. “…Asked to build a road through the trees so I would get more accessible by car, but, ahem… you know how… public services are those days.” The man forced a laugh to which John grinned slightly. No, it wasn’t through fiction that he saw Jim, it was in real life. He went through to the very pit of his memory, looking for some flashback that might include his face. He thought about every place he had been to before the Japan tour. There had been a few restaurants with Veronica, some pubs with the band, rehearsals in the studio… “… So, I’m extremely sorry but you may have to follow me and leave the car here… Don’t worry no robbery was to be heard lately around here.” That last part of his sentence got the bassist’s attention, even though a possible robbery of his car was the least of his concern at the moment.

“Ehm… Yeah, sure.” He took some time to reply. “I just need to grab my stuff if you don’t mind.”

“I’m waiting.” Jim nodded kindly.

The bassist got out of his car, grabbed the few tools he had taken with him, and carefully closed his car. “I’m right behind you.” He then said.

---

The more they were advancing through the now completely dark woods, the less John felt safe. He listened with half an ear to Jim trying to do the talking. The only thing he wanted was to get that electrical stuff done quickly and rush back home to see Veronica who must have been home by now. Else, the bassist will have to search for her across the entire country, or the entire world, if needed.

It was now quite late, but thanks to Japan's jetlag, the bassist didn’t feel tired at all.

“There we are.” Suddenly said Jim.

John couldn’t believe his eyes. That place was definitely worth being in a horror movie of some kind. At the sight of the kind of abandoned warehouse in the very middle of a deserted and isolated field, his instincts were screaming to run away and leave the car there if he had to.

“Is that your house?” John asked in an unsure voice.

“Hm.” Approved the Irishman. The bassist was both expecting and fearing that answer. “I know, it genuinely needs a refurbishment here and there.”

Half-convinced by the man’s words, he kept following him to the dilapidated building. He wondered how there could even be an electrical system there. 

As soon as they got in front of the door, Jim put the keys inside the locket. The bassist looked around him nervously, eventually looking for a way out once he would get into the house, even though he was pretty sure the walls might collapse if he tried to climb them.

The door opened. “After you.” Said the Irishman as he gestured for him to move forward.

John hesitated for a while before deciding if he should cross the doorway or not. Once he would get inside the building, it would get significantly harder to find an escape. That was his last chance of running away from that creepy warehouse.

But he suddenly felt Jim’s hand slightly pushing him forward, which made him pass the doorway.

The bassist completely froze. When he heard the door being slammed shut right behind him, his heart was suddenly beating so fast he thought it could almost pop out of his chest.

“I’m extremely sorry, John.” Said Jim in a deep voice he hadn’t used yet as he lowered his head.

The lights of the room went on and the green-eyed boy thought his heartbeat genuinely stopped working. He must have been hallucinating, or maybe all of this was a nightmare he was about to wake up from. It had to be.

He couldn’t be met by both Norman and Ray’s condescending stares in an abandoned warehouse while it was completely dark outside, and on top of all when he was alone. The bassist unconsciously stepped back to the door and fumbled to find the handle. Unfortunately, Jim had taken care of closing it right away.

“Well, good to see you again John.” Casually said Ray, smiling creepily. No, no, no! He had to get out of there. “Come closer, I promise we won’t bite.”

“And quit standing so far like you’re doing, it’s rude.” Norman snapped.

The bassist was lost for words. Panic riled up in him, warm and frothing. It couldn’t be real. He got so overwhelmed he felt like he was witnessing himself from a third-person point of view.

“Fine, I’ll do it myself, then.” Ray sighed as he dangerously got up from his seat.

“S-Stay back!” John shrieked in a voice that sounded everything but intimidating.

“Are you standing up to me, now?” The blonde-haired man raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound like you, Deaky.” The use of his nickname made the bassist want to throw up.

He frenetically looked around him to find something that might help him. There must have been a solution. There always was a solution, even in situations like this.

“Cats got your tongue?” Norman asked defiantly.

John was everything but ready to face them alone. He never did, in fact. Every time he had met them, Freddie, Roger, and Brian were with him. “W-What do you want from me?” He managed to articulate.

“We won’t kill you nor harm you in any way if that’s your concern,” Ray assured. The bassist felt somewhat relieved, even though he knew better than trust their words. “We only have some kind of problem we would like you to resolve for us.” The green-eyed boy couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“You want me to help you?” He asked, completely confused.

“Oh! Come on John, we know we all here made some mistakes and did things that were a bit out of place, but…” Norman said gritting his teeth. “We could make this stay in the past.” He reached his hand for John to grab, and the bassist stopped moving. The last time the band and he shook his hand, they ended up practically starving for 2 years.

“N-no, I’m sorry but I really can’t help you. Maybe you should find someone else.” John kindly declined his offer.

Even though Norman seemed to stay calm, he heard Ray take a deep breath. “John… Do you really think we’d made you come all the way here to eventually go and find someone else? You’re the most qualified for that job.” The bassist opened his mouth to reply but he then realized that they hadn’t told what they wanted him to do yet. “We pertinently know you’re one the most – if not the most – reasonable and least stubborn member of the band you’re in.” The green-eyed boy had a hard time understanding where that conversation was supposed to lead. He just wanted to get back home where he would be safe.

“What job are you talking about?” The bassist asked defensively.

“Well done, Deaky, I was expecting that question.” Norman winked at him. “You’ll need to follow us to know, why though. We wouldn’t want you to run away, now, would we?”

John’s heart kept beating faster. He shouldn’t follow them in any way, but he was also curious about what the hell they were plotting. He was pretty there was no turning back from there. Even though Ray gave his word about the fact they wouldn’t harm him, John couldn’t help but doubt it. They had him trapped all the way here after all. But it wasn’t like he could get out easily from where he was, in the first place.  

“Okay, John, enough thinking, follow us now,” Ray said firmly. He could feel he was losing his patience as he didn’t move. “Please, don’t make me carry you all the way there.”

“N-no, I’m coming, I’m following you,” John said precipitously. He instantly knew he might regret that decision.

“Good to hear, come, then.” Norman smiled at him as he made his way to a door at the back of the room.

The bassist took a step forward, then two, and then he was walking behind Ray and Norman with Jim closing the walk. John didn’t really know what to think.

They arrived at some kind of lift that went downwards. When the green-eyed boy saw the very clean and quite modern room right after the doors opened, he quickly understood that the upward warehouse was only a façade made not to rise any suspicious about what on Earth was occurring here.

It’s a few steps back out of the lift that the bassist saw it for the first time. He felt like his jaw might hit the floor.

There was a huge, typical human-looking robot lying in the middle of the room.

“I know, it’s quite impressive.” He barely heard Norman chuckle. John actually didn’t know if he should feel impressed or frightened. He couldn’t get his thoughts straight over what he was witnessing. “Deaky, let me introduce you to Frank! I’m sure the two of you will get along very well.”

The bassist was certain that those types of engines only existed in fiction. He was sure of having already seen that thing in some science-fiction book Roger was sometimes reading. What was its name again? Either way, best not to think about that at that right moment. John suddenly remembered he was still alone in an isolated place with potentially dangerous people.

“We’ll get along?” He interrogated.

“Yeah! We need an electrician to rebuild to entire system and software of that engine and we thought you’ll be the man of the situation.” The bassist felt an enormous knot settle in his stomach. “I hope you don’t mind not getting paid, though. We’re a bit tight on money now.” He should have known. He should have run away when he still had the occasion to do it.

A thousand questions crashed into the bassist’s head. What the hell was that? What would they do with such a giant thing? A robot on top of everything? Why now? Why him?

“I can’t do that.” He managed to say.

“I beg your pardon?” Asked Ray.

Breathe, John reminded himself, just breathe. “I can’t do such things for you.”

“Why not?”

“W-what is this? What on Earth are you trying to do?” Stammered the green-eyed boy as the question eventually escaped his lips.

He saw Norman throwing an ‘explain-it’ stare to Ray. “You see, John, we really didn’t appreciate the way you and your friends ended the contract with both of us. We truly felt like it was some kind of betrayal, you know. We give us the fame, and then you leave spitting on our face. Maybe vomiting would be more appropriate for Norman’s case with that foolish song you created about him. So, Barry and I thought a long time about a proper vengeance for us to get over you, but nothing came if it wasn’t for unrealistic plans. But we were so angry, even unrealistic plans didn’t seem that unrealizable anymore. Eventually, we began to read science fiction books. Plenty of them where thousands of people get killed because of the invention of one man who decided to get some revenge over some people who underestimated him. To be honest, we kind of felt really close to those characters.

You and your precious mates can’t even guess how much you’ve humiliated us, great men of the music industry. The thought of you going unpunished and keeping your career with your shitty music is honestly unbearable. Just as unbearable as seeing your dumb faces on the news every single time we open a newspaper.

It took us a long, long time to find THE thing that would make all the band agonizing. We thought a lot about what you guys were cherishing at all costs and emitted a few hypotheses, but only one stuck out. Without people’s love and encouragement, you’ll be nothing anymore.” The blonde-haired man concluded with a dark smile.

John felt his stomach twirl. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad that Freddie’s masterpiece goes unnoticed after all. “We’re sorry, we were just angry and–“

“Shut up, I don’t care about your apologies. Now is the time, I show you what you owe us.” The bassist saw Ray fumbling with his pocket to get something.

“Are you planning on… Killing me?” John knew this was a dumb question to ask.

“Nah, I thought I’ve already said we won’t hurt you.” Ray eventually got a screwdriver out of his jeans and placed it in the bassist’s trembling hands. “You’re Freddie’s best friend, aren’t you? I remember he kept calling you “dearest”, “my sweetest darling” or “my precious Deaky”.” John actually didn’t have the answer. Of course, Freddie and he were close, but he didn’t know if he could qualify their relationship as “best friend”. Freddie had plenty of friends. “Well, I just wanna see him breaking down when he’ll learn that the cause of the whole city and Queen's destruction was built was his own bassist that he trusted with all his heart.”

The bassist was now seeing red. “You’ll never get away with that. I won’t let you–“

“Oh! And what exactly are you going to do, hun?” Asked Ray condescendingly. “It’s not like you have a choice anyway.”

“You’re not getting that damned thing from me, Foster. I’m not helping you over anything.” John said as firmly as he could.

“Oh.” Norman chuckled, his eyes widening with delight. “We’ve actually considered you might refuse.” John stared at him, confused.

Whom John remembered as Norman’s brother Barry suddenly appeared in the room, pulling someone out of the shadows.

The bassist felt something new. Something he never felt before slowly unraveling from the pit of his stomach in realization. Some primal feeling, maybe. A terror a thousand words couldn’t describe. He felt it everywhere on his body, below and upon his skin. It was the strongest feeling he ever felt in his entire life, shattering him in million pieces.

“RONNIE!” John shouted louder he ever shouted. He didn’t think twice and immediately rushed towards her, but he didn’t get far before Jim’s strong arms encircled him. “NO!” He desperately kicked in the air, trying to get free, but he truly was no match for the Irishman.

“Whoa… Calm down there Deaky, there’s no need to get in such states.” Barry laughed, holding Veronica tight so she also couldn’t move.

“John!” Called Veronica.

“Shh!” Snapped Barry immediately.

“Let her go! Let her go right now!” The bassist screamed at him, desperately pulling at Jim’s iron grasp on him.

“Reaching a sensitive nerve there, haven’t we?” Norman asked, a wicked smile drawn on his face.

“Fuck you!” John’s chest contracted in pure anger as tears of rage began to form in the corner of his eyes.

“Bad words coming from Deaky!” Exclaimed Barry in a fake shocked tone.

“Shut the fuck up! I’m going to kill you all!” The bassist truly meant it. 

“I’d like to see you try…” Mumbled Ray loud enough to get heard. John groaned in frustration as his moves were completely useless against Jim.

“All right, enough of that Deaky, we’d like to discuss serious business with you, now,” Norman said with the tone he usually used when speaking about their contract, back then. “It’s pretty simple, actually. You have two options. Either you agree to cope with us, and, in that case, your Ronnie is as free as the wind…” John’s liver was about to burst as he deeply feared the second part of his sentence. “Or else we make sure your love story ends right away.” The bassist’s chest shuddered with force as he saw Barry taking out a knife and holding it dangerously close to Veronica’s throat.

“Stop!” Yelled John as he fought once again against Jim’s arms. “Stop that now!” He shouted louder.

“The choice is yours my little Deaky.” The bassist was disgusted. Disgusted by these men, disgusted by their intentions. He stared at Norman; teeth gritted.

“John, don’t listen to him–“ The rest of Ronnie’s sentence was muffled by Barry’s hand slapped across his mouth.

“Shut. Up.” He hissed.

A new feeling hit John. It wasn’t panic or fear this time. It was something that felt very heavy on his chest. He imagined a world where Veronica got killed. Where his Ronnie got killed because of him. Because he got selfish. A world where he would never get to see her again. Not her sweet smile in the morning, nor her throwing her head back with an enchanting laugh, nor her presence, nor ever telling her he loved her again.

He made an eye-contact with Ronnie. He actually couldn’t imagine a world without that woman anymore. If that was something he could prevent from happening, he was doing it.

“Leave her alone.” John suddenly said in a neutral voice.

“What did you say Deaky?” Norman asked, even though the bassist was sure he heard it well.

“Leave her alone.” The green-eyed boy repeated more clearly. “You won; I’m coming with you.”

“John, no!” He heard Veronica scream in horror, as Barry shushed her again.

“Oh! That’s a great thing to hear, Deaky, you can’t guess how glad we all are.” Barry exclaimed cheerfully.

“Johnny, you can’t–“ Ronnie tried again, as she was hardly being dragged away by Barry.

“Will you stop resisting–“

“Wait!” Yelled the bassist. “Let me talk to her one last time, please.” He saw Barry giving him a jaded look as Ronnie stopped in her tracks.

“Why would I do that?”

“Please.” Insisted John. “I’ll do everything you want.” Barry looked at the other men in the room, trying to know if they approved or not. The bassist clearly saw them nodding after a time of reflection.

“Fine.” He eventually said. “I’ll give you both one minute, but if you try anything stupid, I swear that you’re both gonna regret it.”

As soon as Barry and Jim respectively let go of each lover, they immediately rushed to hug each other.

“Are you okay?” John asked in a shaky voice.

“It’s all my fault, John, I’m so sorry… Forgive me.” He gently stroked her soft chestnut hair.

“Shh… It’s okay. You’ll be okay, don’t worry for me.” He struggled not to cry as he felt Ronnie’s tears wet his neck.

They slightly broke the hug so they could look at each other in the eyes. John gently wiped a tear off Ronnie’s cheek. She truly was beautiful, even when she cried. A sad smile drew itself on the bassist’s face.

“They won’t get away with this, Johnny. I promise they won’t.” Veronica firmly said, looking intensively into the bassist’s emerald eyes.

“Calm down, Ronnie.” John soothed.

“They’re gonna pay–“

“Ronnie.” He got her attention. “I don’t want you to blame yourself for what’s happening. It’s my own fault. I and the boys shouldn’t have provoked them.” He said softly. “Once you get out of here, it’s not your problem anymore, okay?”

“I can’t leave you here knowing they have the power to hurt you–” Whispered Veronica.

“I know how to defend myself when needed; don’t you worry.” He whispered so they wouldn’t hear him.

Without warning, Ronnie then closed the distance between them and kissed him. It was probably one of the most passionate kisses they ever exchanged. Veronica hugged John’s neck and John hugged Veronica’s hips. Their lips moved in perfect synchrony and harmony as if their life depended on it. As if it was the last time they would get the chance to do it.

It lasted several more seconds before Barry intervened, separating them.

“All right, enough. This isn’t a love hotel.”

“N-no.” Ronnie moaned weakly as John was taken away from her. Then, she was progressively dragged away by Barry. “I love you, Johnny!” She yelled.

“I love you too, Ronnie.” The bassist replied, feeling a pang in his chest as he also got dragged away.