Chapter Text
It was pushing three in the morning when Tom started to wonder when they’d come home. He’d opted out of this one, claiming an uncharacteristic bout of fatigue. But when twelve came and went, then one, two and suddenly it was three AM, he was beginning to regret that decision.
It wasn’t that Bill was alone, he was with Georg and Gustav plus three member of their security team, it was that he wasn’t with Bill. That always bothered Tom.
But something else was making Tom’s stomach knot in concern. Bill had been going out a lot recently and more often than not he’d come back wasted. It was all part of being a rock star, he’d said to Tom, but Tom wasn’t so sure. Bill was acting differently and not just when he was under the influence.
He was antsy and restless and when he wasn’t moving around the bus aimlessly he was holed up in his bunk sleeping. At first Tom had put this behaviour down to boredom but when Bill’s already snappy mouth turned on Tom he was confused. Bill was always a bitch but now he barely spoke to Tom aside from an obligatory morning grunt.
Besides, they had too much of a hectic schedule for even Bill to get bored.
Tom sighed and began flipping disinterestedly through the channels they had on the bus. Nothing good was on and he’d watched every DVD they’d brought between them, some of them twice and The Notebook more times than he felt was necessary for a teenage boy.
Beside him rested a pile of Bill’s magazines and a couple of Georg’s Playboys but even those didn’t interest him at the moment.
“Should have gone out with them,” he mumbled, slouching further against the leather sofa in the media room. At least then he’d be able to keep an eye on Bill. His fingers stopped tapping the remote and on flickered a badly dubbed episode of Scrubs. Better than nothing. He resigned himself to the quietest night in ever.
Slam.
Tom jerked, a hand going to his face as he blinked into the dim room and realised he must have fallen asleep.
“Shit.” He glanced at the blue digital numbers on the TV and saw it was almost four o’ clock in the morning.
“Fuckin... fuckin... Tom.”
Tom frowned as he heard his brother’s voice on the other side of the door.
Blearily, he stood and wobbled his way across the room, taking care to avoid the low set coffee table.
“Shut up, Bill,” he heard Georg say, just as loudly. “You’re so loud all the time.”
“You’re both too loud,” Tom recognised Gustav’s voice as it was added into the mix, the drummer much quieter.
He pulled open the door to see Georg trying to hold Bill up by his waist and Gustav standing behind them looking as stoic as ever. Bill was bent double, one hand trying but failing to steady himself on his bunk, directly above Tom’s own.
“He’s awake!” Bill hollered when he noticed Tom.
“You got him drunk again?” Tom hissed, namely at Georg.
“He insisted!” Georg said. Tom scowled as he heard the jovial slur in his friend’s voice.
“Fuck you, man.” Tom moved closer, putting his hands on Bill’s shoulders and trying to manoeuvre him upright.
“Grow a pair. Bill did.”
Tom ignored his friend and instead looked over his shoulder at Gustav who shrugged.
“He can do what he wants, man.”
Tom’s pulled a sour expression and tried to ignore that one, too.
“Tom, Tomi Tomi Tomi,” Bill was babbling.
Without warning the bus lurched into motion and Bill pitched forward. With wild hands he tried grabbing onto Tom who was standing in the way to catch him but failed, one hand smothering Tom’s face and the other clutching thin air.
“Mmph,” Tom’s hands automatically found Bill’s waist and held on, steadying his brother.
The bus jolted again and Bill slipped from Tom’s grip, knocking into the bunks with a yowl.
“Elbow, fucking... ow.” Bill was cursing, rubbing sloppily at his sore elbow.
Tom caught it in his hand and bent it to inspect the damage. It was already an angry shade of red. “It’s gonna bruise, Bill.”
Bill grumbled and allowed Tom to pet over it briefly.
“I’m going to bed.” Tom heard the eye roll in Gustav’s voice and was tempted to bite back with a well you didn’t have to go out with them.
Before he could though, Georg yawned obnoxiously loud and turned on his heels, heading towards the kitchenette at the other end of the bus.
Georg always cooked after drinking; eating the concoction seemed to be optional.
“Tom,” Bill was still saying.
Tom’s attention returned to his twin. “I’m right here.”
“Come to my bed,” Bill said, still somewhat slumped over Tom. His head couldn’t sit straight and it kept lolling forward, bashing against Tom’s collar bone.
“I’ll take you to bed, just—shit you’re heavier than you look.” Tom grunted as he hefted Bill’s arm over his shoulders, trying to turn him round and face his own bunk.
“No, no, no,” Bill was shaking his head, his breath wafting over Tom’s face. It smelt like Jack Daniels and cigarettes. Tom tried not to yell at Georg.
“Yes,” Tom said firmly. “We’ve got a 6:30 wake-up call courtesy of David. That’s three fucking hours from now.”
He boxed away that comforting thought for never.
“Oohh Tomi, the room—”
“Is spinning,” Tom finished for him, “yeah I know. Fucking great.”
“No, that’s not it.” Bill mumbled. “It’s really hot, no... oh, too hot, Tomi. Take it all off.”
Tom didn’t want to even try and make sense of Bill’s drunken ravings so he spun his brother round and forced him to sit back in his bunk.
“Oh, yes... yes,” Bill’s hands stroked over the duvet, his hands swishing back and forth. He smiled down at it. “Not my bunk.”
“Nope,” Tom said, crouching to tug off Bill’s leather boots. “Not tonight.”
“Not any night.” Bill muttered, his head lolling dangerously again and his eyes slid shut. “Clothes,” he tried in vain to pick at the top he was wearing. Tom chuckled and helped his brother extricate himself from the tiny piece of fabric.
Bill made a vague gesture and grunted and apparently jeans were next on the agenda. Tom aided him with these, too and soon Bill was swaying on Tom’s bunk in just his tiny boxers.
Biting his lip, Tom looked away and ignored every weird feeling his body was battling with at seeing his brother so exposed.
On the bed Bill was muttering about something. Tom sighed; and finally looked back up at his brother before gently lifting his legs up and placing them on his bunk. There was no way in hell Bill was in a sober enough state to attempt getting him into his own bunk. His lack of spatial awareness and general finesse made it nearly impossible under the best of circumstances. No, tonight Bill would have Tom’s bed and Tom would try and sleep in Bill’s bunk.
Bill’s eyes flickered open and Tom found himself staring right into them. Bill smiled softly, swaying where he sat with his legs half curled onto the bed just as Tom had placed them. The moment was sweet and Tom wondered why they couldn’t share more of these again.
He blinked and the moment was gone. “Right, sleep now.” Carefully he pressed his palms into Bill’s shoulders and eased him back into his bunk.
Bill snuggled down readily, becoming a dead weight as Tom tucked him under the covers and tried to ignore the stench of alcohol.
Just as he was about to pull away Bill’s arms locked around his neck and said; “This ‘s your bunk.”
“Uhh,” Tom tugged, trying to get his brother to release him. “...Yeah,” he finish lamely.
Bill’s eyelids were heavy but he was fixing Tom with a stare he couldn’t escape. “I knew you wouldn’— you wouldn’t stay in your bunk.”
Tom didn’t know what to say to that. He wasn’t even sure what Bill was talking about.
“Alright. Alright...” Bill nodded, his eyes closing again.
The grip Bill had around Tom slackened as he drifted closer to slumbers and Tom sat back on his haunches, watching his twin fall asleep. Bill’s make-up was just beginning to smudge and his hair was already sticking up at odd angles, not unlike his usual styled coif. At last his face had arranged itself into something much more tranquil, his features relaxed and finally at ease.
Very softly, Tom reached forward and placed his palm against Bill’s cheek. It was flushed and warm beneath his fingers. A moment later he stood, removing his hand and wondering if Bill’s alcohol levels had somehow seeped into his own system. His twin remained motionless and Tom exhaled through his nose, feeling that bizarre feeling he’d learnt to keep under lock and key trying to surface.
He climbed into Bill’s bunk and wondered when Bill had become so much more fucking beautiful. That thought hurt a little so he focused on Georg’s drunken culinary skills until he fell asleep.
~~~~
Clang clang clang.
CLANG.
Bill woke, grumbling and shifting stiffly where he lay. Someone was being way too loud and if they didn’t want to lose a limb they had better shut the fuck up.
Clanggggg.
He screwed his eyes shut against the world and hoped everything would stop.
As if someone had heard his silent plea the noises subsided and Bill was left in peace one more. “Thank fuck,” he murmured.
He rolled over and tried to fall back to sleep, willing his body to succumb to the gentle lull of the bus and low rumbling that meant they were travelling at quite a speed.
Unfortunately his stomach did not agree and in a flash he sat bolt upright, throwing his legs down to the ground. They hit the floor instantly and Bill swore as he felt a sharp pain bite into his knees at the unexpected contact.
“Fuck.” He was in Tom’s bunk.
His confusion became secondary in the next moment as his stomach roiled angrily.
“Fuuuuuuuck,” he groaned, throwing himself toward the bathroom and tugging on the handle. It slid open to reveal Gustav, a mildly indignant expression lining his smooth features and a toothbrush hanging from the corner of his mouth.
Before he could no doubt tell Bill to wait, Bill shoved past him, managing to growl; “get the fuck out,” the split second before he heaved, chucking up everything inside his belly from the previous night.
He gasped, heaving again and slumping over the toilet. Coughing, he flushed and groaned pathetically. The movements of the bus jerked him around and he croaked, leaning his clammy cheek against his arm.
Sucking in several deep, controlled breaths, Bill managed to get his belly to calm down. How much had he drunk last night? It had become a bit of a blur after Georg had started ordering; never something that boded well.
Once again the bus rolled over uneven terrain and Bill jolted, his back arching as he spewed more of his insides into the loo basin.
He didn’t hear anyone come in, but a moment later someone was pulling gently on his hair, tugging it into a low ponytail and holding it in place.
When he was done he spat, reaching with an unsteady hand to flush.
“Better?” Someone was rubbing circles into his back and Bill hiccupped.
He remained still, placing his sticky cheek back onto his arm and focused once again on breathing. In, out, in, out, in, fucking out again.
“Are you okay?” The voice came again. This time Bill’s head was clear enough to tell it was Tom.
“No,” he croaked.
Tom continued to stroke Bill’s back soothingly. It was beginning to irritate Bill. He shrugged his shoulders, indicating to Tom to cease his movements. His brother took the hint and removed his palm leaving Bill feeling bereft instead of relieved.
Too much contact was dangerous, he’d set himself ground rules that were becoming harder and harder to enforce during the past few weeks. The tour had been challenging for everyone but it was grinding on Bill more than ever, especially as he was fighting so hard to keep something so precious to him. If he let himself get too close again he’d lose Tom, he was sure of it.
No. No contact, no overly sassy comments and definitely no doting-twin performances.
“Are you feeling okay now?” Tom said. Bill shook his head and realised Tom was still holding his hair back for him.
He jerked out of the gentle grip and half-turned to glare at Tom. “Go away.”
Tom scowled, “I was just checking on you.”
Bill grimaced into the toilet, fighting was much easier. “Just fuck off, Tom. I feel like shit and I’m not in the mood for the self-righteous big brother act.”
“I wasn’t going to—”
“Fuck. Off,” Bill said lowly.
He heard Tom leave and proceeded to throw up his guts.
~~~~
Half an hour later, he emerged from the bathroom having thrown up everything from last week it seemed. During his time locked away a headache had made itself known right behind his eyes and he’d discovered a bruise on his right elbow. Great, David would make him wear jackets for the next week until it healed.
Maybe he’d pay a visit to Natalie before any appearances. It was too hot to drape himself in layers.
He’d cleaned his teeth, splashed water on his face then decided a shower would be a good idea. After finally managing to escape the sticky, post-clubbing feel he towelled himself dry and made his way back to the bunk area.
Georg’s curtain was still pulled shut and he could hear the tell-tale rumble of the bassist’s snores - loud enough to fool anyone into thinking they were experiencing World War III.
Gustav was nowhere to be seen and Tom must have made himself scarce after Bill’s earlier outburst.
Fine. Great, thought Bill. He could get dressed in peace.
~~~~
“I’m so glad we don’t have anything until sound check this afternoon.”
“What?” Tom looked up form where he was slumped over his third mug of coffee.
“You know, David cancelled that six thirty wake up call,” Gustav said, reaching above the counter for a box of cereal.
“Oh, yeah,” Tom mumbled. He’d forgotten about that but dimly remembered saying it to a very drunk Bill last night. They’d sort of been conditioned not to question anything that happened, or that didn’t happen; someone would always be around to chivvy them to and from every second of their lives. They hadn’t been responsible for their own time management for a long time now. “Good.” He thought of trying to wake his twin at 6:30 and realised he probably wouldn’t have been able to, Bill had been out cold.
He was worried about his brother. Bill was supposed to be the good one; he didn’t drink too much, smoked less than everyone bar Gustav and his unintentional celibacy wasn’t just a rumour.
They’d always gone out together to let off steam but usually it was Tom and Georg that ended up drinking each other under the table. Even at the time he’d known it annoyed Bill so now he’d calmed down a bit. Was this Bill’s version of pay back?
“Earth to Tom.”
“Oh, sorry,” Tom wasn’t really sorry. He didn’t even know what he’d been missing. Probably a monologue about drums.
“I asked if Bill’s okay.”
Huh, Tom had been wrong. “Ugh,” he slouched even further onto the table. “Yeah... no. I don’t know.”
“He drank a lot last night.” Gustav paused then snorted. “Nearly drank Hagen under the table.”
Tom’s groaned at the thought. It was like Bill was purposely derailing himself. Was that it? Was Bill losing it? More than likely considering their lifestyle but Tom knew Bill. At least, he thought he did. Bill was stronger than anyone Tom knew and he wasn’t about to throw away what they’d worked so hard to build. Besides, Bill actually cared about his public persona. He wanted to be Germany’s sweetheart. Hell, he wanted to the whole fucking world’s sweetheart.
Tom sighed, “I’m going to get dressed, David wants us out in an hour.”
He left Gustav in the company of his untouched coffee.
~~~~
“Stop fucking around, we’re gonna be late!” Tom yelled onto the bus.
Bill emerged looking mutinous and shoved a pair of sunglasses on. With purpose he stalked past Tom, making sure to knock into him on the way.
Tom grit his teeth and ignored it, turning to follow his twin. He had a guitar slung over his shoulder and Bill’s jacket for when David ragged on him about the bruise to his elbow.
This was going to be a long sound check.
They were the last ones out, Tom of course being stuck waiting for his brother, and now they would be the ones to get shit from David about how time is money; this industry doesn’t wait around for stragglers.
Tom hadn’t realised how sour his expression had turned until Natalie plonked him in the make-up chair only to stand back, looking affronted.
“What?” Tom snapped.
“What did I do?” Natalie folded her arms, one hand wielding a brush.
“Oh,” Tom had the good grace to duck his head apologetically. “Sorry, long week.”
“Mm, sorry,” Natalie returned and began to apply some powder to Tom’s nose. “We all need a break.”
Tom nodded absently then stopped, frowning. “Wait, why are you doing make-up now? It’s just sound check.”
“David didn’t tell you? And stop frowning,” Natalie continued with her work. “Someone’s here for a backstage feature, Bravo I think.”
“Shit.” Slapping on a happy face was not on his agenda until at least their live show that night.
He wondered how Bill would take the news.
~~~~
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Bill threw his hands in the air and stalked to the greying sofa in the Green room.
“Stop acting like a brat, Bill,” David sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Easy for you to say, you’re not the one with a camera shoved in your face all day.”
“I’m the one that organises all your shit,” David fixed Bill with a stern glare that made Bill feel slightly ashamed of his diva act. Only slightly. He was hung over, craving his twin’s attention but not about to seek it himself and his head hurt. On top of that he was hot because, as predicted, David had made Bill put on a jacket to hide the bruising elbow.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, only half meaning it. He folded his arms and crossed one leg over the other. “Can you get Tom?”
David snorted and turned to leave the room. “Get him yourself, he’s your twin. I’m going to carry on organising your shit. Be ready in fifteen.”
Their manager left Bill sitting in mocking silence and he groaned, collapsing sideways and face planting into the sofa. He knew he had to get his act together, both for the backstage feature and for the sake of the band, let alone his own sanity. Tom’s, too for that matter.
He knew how to be professional, he would be professional.
Closing his eyes Bill absently thought back to the start of his behavioural shift.
Their twinned laughter bounced around the deserted hallway as they made their way to the hotel rooms. They’d been given one each, a treat to everyone but Bill, and he was beginning to suspect, Tom, too. The night had been fun and the alcohol had been flowing and Bill had become happier and happier as the night wore on.
Tom jabbed his ribs good-naturedly and Bill laughed, squirming away playfully.
“You’re pretty. Pretty when I’m drunk,” Tom was saying. “When’d you get so pretty?”
Bill giggled and stumbled a bit as they made their way up the corridor. “I’m always pretty.” He sang.
Tom grabbed him around the waist and said “I know. I know I know.”
“You fucking know it,” Bill beamed.
Tom nodded but he wasn’t smiling like Bill was. He looked troubled and Bill reached an unsteady finger to poke between his brows. “Don’t frown. I’m here.”
Tom’s frown deepened, “I know.” He said again.
Bill didn’t stop beaming. He was soaking up the attention Tom had been giving him all night. Tom only gave him attention when he got drunk. The normal kind he got all the time, but the special kind he only got when Tom’s system had been flooded with alcohol.
Tonight they’d gone to celebrate... something, the importance of it having been eclipsed by Tom’s almost constant attentiveness.
Bill wasn’t as drunk as Tom. Tom drank and drank until he wouldn’t remember anything in the morning. This normally annoyed Bill but tonight he revelled in it, seeking thrill after thrill as Tom would touch him more and more. At the beginning of the night Tom had been next to Bill, elbow to elbow as they shared laughter and drinks. By the end of the night Tom’s hand kept wandering to Bill’s knee under the table, squeezing it and stroking his thumb over it. He’d even wrapped an inconspicuous arm around Bill’s waist, pulling him closer.
Tom was still frowning so Bill placed both hands on Tom’s forehead and massaged the wrinkles away.
“Smile for me, Tomi,” Bill said quietly.
Tom smiled, his eyes drifting down to Bill’s lips.
Bill allowed himself to be pulled closer and smiled still wider. “We’re here,” Tom said huskily, the alcohol lowering his voice considerably.
This time it was Bill’s turn, “I know.” He nodded.
He was so happy. He wanted Tom to kiss him. Tom thought he was pretty. Tom was going to kiss him.
Then Tom’s features contorted and he whirled round, opening the door to his hotel room and slamming it in Bill’s face.
Bill’s smile dropped from his features instantly and he opened his mouth, ready to throw a tantrum. Then the edges of sobriety began to creep in and Bill flushed, holding a hand to his mouth as he felt bile rise in his throat.
He ran to his own room, fumbling with the key card before lurching inside and only just making it to the bathroom.
They’d been that close to destroying everything they had. If Tom didn’t want what Bill wanted, he’d just have to bury it as deep as fucking possible.
Which was easy considering Tom remembered nothing of it.
“I’m coming in!”
Bill jerked, his head coming up as he briefly struggled with gravity to sit up.
It was Tom, shuffling in and trying not to look too lame as he held up his voluminous jeans.
Bill snorted and nodded at Tom’s trousers. “You should borrow a pair of mine.”
It was Tom’s turn to snort, “No thanks. Mum wants grandkids.”
That stung and Bill tightened his lips, folding his arms in a defensive posture.
Tom must have noticed his change in conduct for he shuffled closer until he’d dropped himself beside Bill, far too close.
Bill decided he wouldn’t be the first to say something and sat in prickly silence. Luckily for him, Tom started barely a minute later.
“How are you feeling?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
To his mild horror Tom had the audacity to laugh. “So like shit then.”
Bill didn’t say anything.
“Come on, Bill,” he felt Tom shift minutely closer. “Talk to me.”
“What about?”
There were a few more minutes silence in which Bill stewed and Tom moved around again, his jeans scraping against the rough fabric of the dilapidated sofa.
“Bill,” Tom tried, “I’m worried.
“Don’t be.”
“I’m serious!”
“So am I!”
“You’ve got to stop acting like some fucking distressed rock star all the time,” Tom said sharply.
Bill turned to his twin, opening his mouth and feeling utterly affronted. “I am a fucking distressed rock star.”
“Why? You’re only doing it to yourself. The drinking I mean.” Tom frowned. “Just... can’t you stop?”
“Maybe I don’t want to.”
“But I want you to,” Tom’s voice was tinted with a plea now and Bill felt a bit guilty. He knew his brother must hurt when he was acting like such an alcoholic bitch but it was better than the alternative. He couldn’t have Tom hate him, he knew he’d die.
“I’m just letting off steam,” he said flatly. “It’s not like it’s a problem.” And truthfully, it wasn’t.
“Why are you so distressed then?” Tom was trying a different tact.
Bill shrugged, “Tour stress, David, homesick. I don’t know.”
“Is it me?”
Bill was thrown an unexpected curve ball and turned sharply to look directly at his twin. “Why would it be you?”
“Is this like, revenge?”
Honestly, Bill didn’t know what to make of that. “Revenge? What the fuck for?”
Tom shrugged, clasping his hands in his lap and regarding Bill. “I used to drink and go out a lot, more than you. I knew it bothered you so I stopped. Then you started and I... yeah,” he trailed off.
Bill winced, feeling guilty. How could he explain any of this to Tom? He had enough trouble trying to pick through his own tangle of emotions. It was such a mess.
Fate interrupted them at that very moment in the form of Dunja, leaving Bill to flounder no more. “Bravo are here, David wants you in the arena.”
Bill could feel Tom’s desperate stare on the back of his head as he stood, moving swiftly to the door and disappearing into the furore.