AHHHH seeing that you got the ask box open again got me so excited! i feel like i’ve been waiting forever! anyhow, hopefully this sends, but! i’m not sure if you ship brian and tim much, but how about a short drabble about tim finding out brian was ill with hepatitis? i love my angst! <3
I am so sorry about the wait!
*
Tim was deep in songwriting thought when his phone rang, shrill and loud and unexpected in the quiet of his apartment.
“Hello?”
“Tim?”
“Yes. Who is this?”
“It’s…it’s John. Deacon.” Tim recognised the voice now, quiet but…but trembling? Why did he sound on the verge of tears?
“Oh, hello, John. What’s up?”
“It’s - it’s Bri,” John rushed. “We’ve had to come home early - Tim, he’s really sick - they took him straight to the hospital - Tim, he might - I don’t know -”
Tim’s heart stopped so abruptly that it was almost painful. While he didn’t know John that well, he knew the bassist was generally considered the sensible, level-headed one…and right now his voice was breaking and shaking and if John was losing it then Brian must be - must be -
“Where did they take him?”
“We’re - we’re at Royal London,” John gulped.
“I’ll be there at once,” Tim said, and hung up.
*
The cab driver was unusually sympathetic and quiet as they pulled up to the hospital. Perhaps the driver had seen enough to know that someone in a rush to a hospital with a pale face rarely meant good news.
As soon as Tim paid him he raced inside, asking breathlessly at the reception desk for Brian May. The receptionist asked, “Are you family?” and Tim didn’t know how to answer. Even if their relationship wasn’t illegal anymore, you couldn’t very well go rushing into hospitals asking to see your boyfriend.
Before he could get himself into a mess, though, the elevator doors opened and John rushed out. “Tim! Oh, thank god. Come with me.”
Tim could hardly look at John. The bassist was pale, his hair unkempt, his eyes reddened, and all of that pointed to something Tim would rather not think about.
“I told the others I’d come get you,” John managed to say, his voice surprisingly steady, now. “Roger didn’t want to leave his side and Freddie didn’t want to leave Roger.”
“Is it…?” Tim took a deep breath. “Is it bad?”
To his surprise, John took both his hands in his, and met his eye.
“It’s bad, Tim. They think he has…they think he has hepatitis. And maybe something else, with the way his arm is swelling. They think…they think…oh, god,” and John squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing his sob. Without thinking, Tim pulled him close, letting John hide his face in his shoulder for a moment. “They think…he might lose his arm.” John’s grip tightened on his shirt, and Tim could feel John’s shaking, as well as his own blood running cold.
Tim knew why John was reacting that way. Brian would never recover if he couldn’t play guitar.
He swallowed several times as the lift continued its slow climb as he tried not to think about the possibility of a life without Brian.
“So,” he said after a moment, “Roger is looking after Bri, and Freddie’s looking after Rog, but who’s looking after you, John?”
John smiled weakly.
“I’ll be fine. Bri needs the people he loves most around him.”
“Deaky, that includes you.”
John just shook his head, saying nothing, as they arrived at the floor.
“Timmy, darling!” Freddie rushed to sweep Tim into a hug. “Oh, I’m so glad you came. This way.”
Freddie ushered them into a room and Tim’s stomach turned over.
Brian was hooked up to so many tubes Tim could barely count them all. His skin was yellow and his face sunken, and his arm was grotesquely swollen and distorted. Roger was sitting in the chair next to the bed, his head bent over Brian’s good hand, his shoulders shaking.
“Rog?” Freddie murmured. “Rog, darling? Tim’s here.”
Roger’s head snapped up, and Tim felt his pain increase at the pale, washed out expression and the blue eyes swimming with tears.
“Oh - oh Tim -”
“Rog,” and Tim folded Roger into a hug, pulling the drummer tight and feeling wetness soak his shirt.
“He - he promised,” Roger whimpered. “He promised he wouldn’t - he wanted to see you.”
“I’m here,” Tim murmured. He turned and bent over the bed, pressing a kiss to Brian’s forehead. The guitarist stirred.
Vaguely, Tim was aware of the other three leaving the room, but all his focus was on Brian.
“Bri? Love?”
“Tim,” Brian sighed faintly. “You came.”
“Of course.”
“I love you, Tim.” Brian’s good hand lifted painfully off the bed and clumsily stroked Tim’s cheek. “Love you, so much.”
“Shh. It’ll be all right, Bri. You’ll be all right. I’m here to help you get better.”
Brian smiled faintly. “What if I don’t?”
“You will, Bri. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Tim bent and kissed Brian properly, sealing his promise. When he pulled away, Brian’s eyes were closed again, as though exhausted.
Tim settled in and held onto Brian’s good hand tightly.
He wasn’t going anywhere until Brian came home.
