Chapter Text
The blizzard raged through the city as James Hetfield leaned back on the hotel couch, chuckling to himself while sipping another swig of cold beer. Beside him, Kirk Hammett and Lars Ulrich exchanged uneasy glances. The hotel bar, dimly lit with yellowish lights, was thick with the scent of tobacco and alcohol. The waiter moved from table to table, ignoring the obvious tension between the three musicians.
“Man, this went too far,” Lars finally broke the silence, running a hand down his face. “We always messed with Jason, but leaving him behind? That’s a dick move.”
James laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, come on, Lars! The kid’s gotta learn to handle himself. He thinks he can join Metallica and just be one of us? He’s gotta toughen up. He’ll show up soon enough.”
Kirk sighed, tracing the rim of his glass. “I don’t know, man... This isn’t just some stupid prank. Jason’s always been insanely dedicated. He never complains about the crap you throw at him. We should’ve said something before we left.”
James rolled his eyes. “You’re overreacting. I bet he’s already on his way. He’ll show up pissed, but nothing a beer won’t fix.”
Meanwhile, Jason was waking up in the silent hotel room, his body heavy with exhaustion from the night before. The show had been intense, and the deafening roar of amplifiers still rang in his ears. He blinked a few times, trying to grasp the strange sense of emptiness around him. Something felt off.
The clock read 10:47. His heart skipped a beat.
“Shit!” He jumped out of bed, pulling on his jeans and grabbing the first shirt he found. He ran to the window and yanked the curtains open. The city lay frozen under a relentless blanket of snow. Grabbing his suitcase, he bolted down the hotel corridor, shoes pounding against the carpet until he reached the front desk.
The receptionist looked at him with a neutral expression. “Can I help you, Mr. Newsted?”
“Where’s the band? Kirk, Lars, James? The crew?” he asked, breathless.
The man checked the computer records before responding. “They checked out about three hours ago.”
Jason’s stomach twisted. His throat went dry. He already knew what had happened, but hearing it confirmed hurt more than it should have.
“Bastards,” he muttered, fists clenched. This wasn’t the first time James had tested him, but this...? This was way too far. His place in the band was hard enough without the frontman constantly treating him like some unworthy rookie. But he wasn’t going to give James the satisfaction of seeing him break—not this time.
He threw on his coat and rushed to the bus station. The snow bit at his face as he wondered how many more of these he would have to endure.
Back at the hotel, James kept drinking, while Lars and Kirk shared glances of growing concern. “Maybe we should call him,” Kirk suggested.
Lars scoffed, irritated. “And say what? ‘Hey man, sorry we ditched you like an asshole’? He’s probably already trying to catch up with us. Or... I don’t know.”
James raised his glass in a mocking toast. “Jason’s a smart guy. He’ll figure it out. And if he doesn’t... maybe that proves a point.”
Hours later, on the road, Jason was wedged between the hard seats of a crowded bus. The heat inside clashed with the merciless blizzard outside. The driver looked tense, the wipers struggling against the snow buildup.
The bus jolted slightly. Then again. Jason looked out the window, catching his own weary reflection. The road was icy, and the tires were squealing softly.
Then everything happened too fast.
A metallic screech. The driver’s panicked shout. The bus swerved, spinning across the slick road. Passengers screamed as luggage flew down the aisle. Jason gripped the seat in front of him, the world flipping upside down.
The bus flipped violently, metal crunching against the surrounding trees. Jason was slammed into the side of the vehicle. Pain exploded in his head—and then darkness.
Back at the hotel, a crew member rushed into the bar, panting. “James, we need to talk... now.”
James frowned. “What the hell’s going on?”
“A bus crashed on the highway. There are casualties and injuries. Jason was one of the passengers—and he’s in critical condition.”
James dropped his glass, shattering it on the floor. Silence fell like a hammer. His mind flashed back to Sweden—the wrecked bus, Cliff Burton’s lifeless body being pulled from the wreckage.
“No...” His voice was barely a whisper before it turned into a scream. “NO!”
He ran out, Lars and Kirk chasing after him. “James, wait!” Lars called, but James didn’t stop.
He had never truly accepted Jason, never shown the respect he deserved. And now... now he might lose the bassist forever.
And if that happened—he would never forgive himself.