Archive of Our Own ^beta

Dave burns bright.

It's the first thing James notices about him, when he shows up for his audition.

He's strawberry blond, his hair is the biggest thing about him. It's puffy, something between waves and curls. It cascades over his shoulders, and the sunlight makes it look like it's glowing. When he smiles, his eyes narrow so hard you can't even tell they're open, and his two front teeth sort of bend inward towards each other.

He is physically unassuming, rail thin and pale in a t-shirt and jeans, but then again so is James.

When he plays guitar though, he burns bright. He shreds the instrument like no one he's ever heard before. The ginger is amazing, even just hearing him from the other room is enough to have them all agreeing he should be in the band.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the months that pass, things are rocky, but manageable.

Dave burns too bright, James thinks.

Like there's a fire in him that threatens to incinerate him, and take the rest of them out in its wake.

Dave drinks, they all do, but he drinks more, like he wants to extinguish the flame, but the alcohol helps it grow instead. The liquor feeds the fire, until it's out of control. Until Dave is out of control, blackout and violent.

For how small he is, he can fight better than he can play guitar. Ferocious, unyielding, he doesn't stop until he's sure he has won, or until someone pulls him away kicking and screaming.

Before it gets to that point though, things are good. Dave is fun, and James likes spending time with him. He likes rehearsing with him, he likes drinking with him, he likes him. Dave is witty, and funny. He can talk for hours, and James never gets bored.

They're fast friends. James doesn't have to try at all. Dave opens up for him easily, his life has been hard, they relate.

Everyday they're together. Even if there's no rehearsal. James picks him up and they just drive around. They eat, they go to the record store, they get drunk, the cycle continues the next day.

His favorite days are the ones where he doesn't take Dave back home at the end of the day. They stumble drunk together into James' bedroom and collapse on the bed. A mess of long limbs and long hair, clinging to each other, smiling.

Dave never hesitates to get close, burying his face in James' hair, his mouth close to his ear, his breath hot.

And he tells him how much he loves him.

And James just nods in agreement, because he can't say it back.

He loves Dave, of course, but he can't make the words leave his mouth.

If it bothers the ginger, he never says so.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

James is so busy riding the wave of happiness with Dave, it's easy to forget that the other is burning up inside.

He overlooks altercation after altercation. He ignores reckless behavior. Pretends he doesn't see violence.

Until the day Dave's temper is aimed at him.

Dave had brought a dog with him, one of two that he owned, and the dog was unruly, much like Dave himself.

It had jumped up on Ron's car, scratching the paint. Ron was afraid of the dog, and of Dave, so James stepped in.

All he did was nudge the dog with his foot. He thought it was no big deal, but when he looked up Dave was glaring at him, fists balled at his sides.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Dave shouts at him, and James isn't sure how to respond, so he tries to match the anger he can feel seeping out of the man.

"She was scratching the paint!" He yells back, throwing his hands up, as if to say 'what did you want me to do?'

In hindsight, he should have just walked away. Should have let Ron try and stick up for himself or something. Should have let the stupid dog scratch the paint.

Dave doesn't hit him just then, he waits until they get inside.

He waits until they're in front of everyone else.

The first is quick, it collides with his mouth, the taste of blood is stronger than the pain, and it makes James gag.

He stumbles backwards, falls over, and staring up at Dave he can see the ginger is burning up. He's so bright, it scares him.

Dave leaves, and Lars comes to his side, complaining about the guitarist, saying he's out of control, they need to do something about him. James doesn't listen to any of it, just keeps picturing the way Dave looked at him, the anger in his eyes is burned into him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Things aren't the same after that.

Ron leaves the band, is replaced with Cliff, who is a better bass player anyway.

Cliff drives Dave to and from practice. James doesn't hang out with him all day like he did before.

They still spend time together, when the band hangs out, they hang out. When the band goes out drinking, they go out drinking. It's not the same.

Until a night they're all out at a bar, each of them drunk in their own way.

James heads to the bathroom, he doesn't notice that Dave follows him, until the ginger is pushing him against the bathroom wall.

It's not violent though, when he looks at Dave he's not angry, he looks…Hurt.

"What are you-" James starts, but he's interrupted before he can finish.

"You hate me?" Dave asks, he's frowning, his hands are pressed against James' chest, but they aren't forcing him to stay there, he just stays.

"I don't hate you." James says, shaking his head. He knows why Dave would think it though. Suddenly he feels bad over how distant they've become, even though it wasn't even his fault.

Dave's frown deepens, like he doesn't believe him. His hands move from his chest, his arms coming to encircle James neck, he leans on him, heavy and drunk.

The ginger presses his face against the side of James' head, shudders a breath against his ear.

"I'm sorry." He whines, and it makes James' chest ache.

He loves Dave. Dave is his best friend, and he let him walk around hurting.

James is still for a moment, before wrapping his arms around the other, running one hand up and down his back.

"It's okay." He says, and he erases the taste of blood from his memory. The pain, the way Dave's eyes had bored anger directly into his soul. He forgets it all, just focused on here and now, on the man hanging on him, pressing drunk kisses against the side of his face.

"I love you Jamie, I do." Dave breathes against him, pressing their bodies closer, kissing his neck.

James makes sure the bathroom door is locked.

Dave delivers a very convincing apology on his knees.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Things go back to normal, or something close to it, for a while.

James and Dave become inseparable again, even living together at one point. Sharing a room.

Sharing a bed.

Things are good. Until they aren't.

Lars and Cliff still don't think Dave is good for Metallica. James wants to argue that he is, but everytime he tries they just shut him out, or start listing all the bad things about him.

They don't know Dave like he does.

They never see him in the early morning, or when he's deep in thought. They've never seen how gentle he can be.

It doesn't matter though, they have their eyes set on a different guitarist. Kirk, something about him has caught Lars' attention, and any protests from James fall on deaf ears.

He doesn't warn Dave. He doesn't want to upset him.

They just carry on together like they have been, but James can feel their time coming to an end.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They still drag Dave across the country with them.

Even though it's been decided he's not going to be in the band much longer, they still pack him up with all their belongings, and head out.

James feels like it's his fault. He doesn't want to let him go. He doesn't want to let go of the hope that things might get better when they get to the east coast. They won't need that new guitarist after all, and Lars and Cliff will stop complaining.

The trip proves to be a disaster though.

Dave nearly kills them all, losing control of the U-Haul when it's his turn to drive. He blames it on black ice, and James wants to believe him, but he's loaded. They shouldn't have let him drive in the first place.

It does nothing to help his case with Lars.

At one point James finds himself trying to hold Dave still while he pours a water bottle into his eyes. The guy is thrashing around, begging to be taken to a hospital, but they just don't have time for that, they have to keep driving.

They're outside a gas station, it's night time, and he's trying to use the overhead light from the pumps to see the ginger's eyes better.

Dave isn't making it easy on him, he's screaming, and he won't stay still.

"I have rust in my fucking eyes!" He yells at him, desperately trying to get out James' grasp. "I need to go to the hospital! I'm gonna go blind!" His voice is raw from screaming, and from anger.

He's clawing at the arm that James has wrapped around him, and trying to kick him wildly.

Looking back, James wishes he could have identified this as a panic attack, but at the time he just thought Dave was overreacting, drunk and delirious or something. They all did.

"Just stay still! Let me look!" James yells at him, trying to push his head back so he could look in his eyes.

Cliff steps in, and holds Dave's arms behind his back, it makes Dave scream louder, but it makes it easier for James to deal with him.

In his peripheral vision, he can see Lars watching, an amused look on his face.

James ignores him. He pours a bottle of water from the gas station into Dave's eyes, and Dave just screams louder, threatens them all, lets out a string of obscenities, and writhes around.

Cliff gives James a concerned look, but James is too focused on Dave, frowning at him, wondering if maybe they should take him to a hospital.

Dave tires himself out, for the most part.

James decides to stay with him in the back of the U-Haul for the rest of the night.

They don't sleep. James spends the majority of the night smoothing the hair back from Dave's face, wiping the tears that keep flowing from the ginger's eyes. He doesn't know if he's crying because of how he feels, or if his eyes are just watering because of the rust in them. He doesn't care.

"It's gonna be okay." He tries to reassure him, but Dave just stares at him, unconvinced, and hurt.

"Everything is gonna be okay when we get there. We just gotta get there first." He lies, because he doesn't know if everything is really going to be okay.

Dave just sighs, and closes his eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

James wishes he knew that they were driving across the country to live in a fucking warehouse, and eat plain bologna out of a cooler every day.

He also wishes he could stop the inevitable, but Dave is becoming more and more of a handful.

The ginger is cantankerous, constantly drunk, and barely functioning. James can't help him, or rather he didn't help him in time.

Lars has already extended an invitation to Kirk Hammett, to join the band as their lead guitarist.

He's flying in tomorrow.

Which means they need to get Dave out of there.

The very thought of it is breaking him. How is he supposed to look Dave in the eye and tell him he's out of the band? That he needs to go?

Dave who loves him, Dave who is his best friend.

Dave who cuddles up to him when he can, and kisses him so sweetly when he wants to.

It's going to kill him.

Of course James knows that Metallica can be something great with the right people, and of course he knows that Dave Mustaine isn't one of those people.

It's not the things that he knows that make this decision hard. It's the things he doesn't know.

James doesn't know what will happen to Dave after this. He doesn't know if the man will drink himself to death, or blow his brains out, or just fade into obscurity, homeless and alone.

What will happen to Dave? Who burns so bright it's practically blinding.

It's not fair, because Dave could have been the right person. He could be great. If James had just gotten him help in time.

Lars makes the decision for him. Gets James up early the next morning, and the two of them drive to the bus station and purchase a single ticket for Dave to get back to California.

James is silent on the drive there, and he's silent on the ride back. Lars fills the space, talking about the new guitarist, how good he is, how professional everything will be now. How much better they will be with Dave gone.

James wants to reach over and hit him, but he doesn't. He grips the steering wheel until his knuckles are white.

When they get back to the Music Building, where they've been living and working, Dave is still asleep. Blissfully unaware of what is about to happen to him, of how his life is about to change.

To look at him, face peaceful, orange hair splayed out around him, it makes James' chest ache.

Cliff, Lars, and himself gather around the sleeping figure. Lars reaches out and shakes his shoulder.

Dave wakes up immediately, blinking up at them a few times, squinting at them.

"What?" He asks, and James has to look away.

"Dave, we all talked it over, and you're out of the band." Lars breaks the news like ripping a bandaid off. It makes James wince.

Dave just stares at them, like he can't quite understand what was just said.

Then he looks past Lars and Cliff, and stares at James, and he can't quite meet the ginger's gaze. He feels like he's going to throw up.

"What?" Dave asks, his voice is a little clearer now, no longer heavy with sleep, but instead laced with panic.

"It's just not working out Dave." Lars explains, shrugging. "So it's over. You need to go."

Cliff nods in agreement, and James looks down at his shoes. He can feel the guitarist's eyes boring into him, but he can't look.

"No warning?" Dave asks, his voice a little louder. "No second chance?" There's an edge to the words. Somewhere between anger and agony.

"No." Lars responds simply, and he shoves the envelope with the bus ticket inside towards the other. "Your bus leaves in forty-five minutes." He doesn't give Dave time to start. No time to cause a scene or have a breakdown. He's quick and efficient in the way that he ruins the ginger's life.

It makes James sick.

With that, Lars and Cliff depart. James stays, still staring at his shoes.

Dave is quiet, just lying there, bus ticket in hand. He's staring up at James, and when he finally does look at him, there's tears in his eyes.

There's tears in both their eyes.

Neither says anything though. What is there to say?

I'm sorry?

What good would that do now?

Slowly, Dave gets up, packs his clothes in his bag, his notebooks, all his personal things.

James sets his jaw, and swallows. He knows he has to drive Dave to the bus terminal.

The two of them climb in his truck, and the drive is silent. Dave is staring out the window, he looks small. Smaller than James recalls him ever being.

"I…I tried." James starts, "I tried to make it work Dave." It's not entirely true, but it's not a lie either. He could have tried harder. He should have tried harder.

"Yeah." Is the quiet reply from the passenger seat. Void of emotion.

James can feel his heart breaking in his chest, and it's completely shattered by the time they reach the Port Authority Bus Terminal.

They just sit there for a moment. Dave gets out of the truck first.

James follows suit, getting out and coming around to stand in front of the ex-guitarist.

Dave looks at him, and he's not burning anymore. He looks empty. Extinguished. Hurt.

Hollow.

James wraps his arms around him, pulls him close, closes his eyes.

Sobs wrack Dave's body, James can feel his shoulder becoming damp with the tears. His own tears are wetting the ginger's hair.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He whispers against the side of his head, but it's too late for the apology. It's too late for the tears.

Dave doesn't say anything.

When he pulls away, he pushes Dave's hair back from his face, wipes the tears from his cheeks, and just looks at him.

If this is the last time he ever sees Dave Mustaine, he wants to remember his face.

"Please take care of yourself." James says, still blinking away tears.

He doesn't want to hear about Dave being found dead somewhere. He doesn't want to hear about Dave killing himself.

"Yeah." Dave says, and nods, but James can tell he doesn't mean it. He isn't going to take care of himself, and there's nothing he can do about it.

Dave doesn't tell him he loves him, like he has so many times before. He just walks away, gets on his bus, and James is left standing there, alone.

His hands shake on the drive back to the Music Building.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's months later when James sees him again.

The album is finished, and it's a success.

They're back in California for a little break before starting a short tour to help promote the record.

James is in a bar, when he sees the unruly mop of strawberry blond hair from across the room.

Dave is slumped over the bar when James slowly approaches him.

"Dave?" He says cautiously, and puts a hand on his shoulder.

The man sits up quickly, and spins around to face him.

"Who the fuck-" he starts, until recognition sets in, and he sees that it's James standing next to him.

James expects the anger to fade from his face, but it doesn't, it intensifies.

"You." Dave grinds out, "What the fuck are you doing here?"

James is taken aback by his hostility. Dave wasn't hostile at the bus station. So what has happened to him in the last few months?

He looked tired. There was no burning flame inside of him, his anger was cold now. His skin was pale, his eyes were red-rimmed. His lips were chapped. His hair was longer, more frizzy than curly now.

"Well we finished the record so we're -" James started to explain what he was doing back in California but Dave cut him off.

"The record, yeah. The one with my songs on it." He says bitterly, glaring at James.

Oh.

Oh.

That's what this anger is about.

James pursed his lips, unsure of what he could say to make this situation any better.

The problem was that they did steal his songs.

James had voiced some concern over it, but Lars had just said 'well what is he going to do with them?' and that was that.

It was wrong, and they did it anyway.

"We collaborated on those songs." James says, even though it's not totally true.

Dave just looks at him, curls his lip up in disgust, and breathes through his nose.

"That's bullshit and you know it." He says, his voice is a little bit more nasally than it used to be.

"Dave, come on…" James tries to put his hand on his shoulder again, but Dave shrugs it off. "I missed you."

"Fuck off." Dave spits at him, and rises from where he was sitting at the bar. He sways for a moment, looks like he might fall down, but he doesn't, and he stalks off in pursuit of the door.

Naturally, James follows him.

They make it all the way outside, and down a side street before Dave turns to look at him again.

"Leave me alone!" He shouts at him, effectively stopping James in his tracks. "You don't get to just walk up to me in a bar like nothing happened! Not after what you did to me!"

Dave is shaking, trembling hard, with his fists balled at his sides, and James just wants to get him out of here. Get him back to a hotel room or something, and make sure he's alright.

"Dave… Just let me help, okay?" James holds his hands up in front of him, and approaches slowly, like he's dealing with a wild animal. "I want to talk about this." He's staying calm, he's not yelling back.

"There's nothing to talk about!" Dave screams at him, taking a step backwards for every step James takes towards him. His voice is breaking. His eyes are tearing up.

James advances a bit quicker, manages to get his arms around the ginger and pulls him against his chest tightly. Dave resists obviously, trying and failing to pull away, he's too drunk, too disoriented and upset.

"Stop it." James tries to make his voice as calm as possible, and tries to pretend Dave isn't scaring him.

"How could you do this to me?" Dave tries to shout, but it comes out broken, "How could you fucking do this?" He dissolves into tears. Hard sobs that leave him hanging onto James for support.

James just runs a soothing hand up and down his back, unsure of what to say.

How did he let this happen?

How can he fix it?

Can he fix it?

"I'm so sorry." Is all he manages to say, but it doesn't fix anything. Dave is still hanging on him, sobbing, still drunk and in anguish.

He can't take Dave back to the house he's sharing with Lars, and he can't take Dave home to his mother's house, so he does the next best thing.

He gets them a motel room.

Dave doesn't protest along the way, like he's resigned himself to letting James do as he pleases with him. It's worrying.

When he gets the ginger into the motel room, he sits him down on the bed, and immediately starts looking him over. He wants to make sure he's alright, he wants to know what he's been doing since the bus terminal.

"What are you doing?" Dave asks him, narrowing his eyes at him while he strips the denim jacket from him. His arms are both wrapped in bandages.

It makes his chest ache, it makes his stomach drop.

Gently, he takes one of Dave's arms into his hands, and he's surprised with how easy it is, how Dave doesn't resist at all. Like he wants him to see. Look at what you've done to me. Look at what I've done to myself.

Slowly, he undoes the bandaging. Just as he suspected, Dave's pale arm is littered in cuts. Angry red marks maring the porcelain skin.

"Shit…" James curses under his breath, and wraps his arm back up tightly. He doesn't bother with the other arm, sure that it's the same.

"Dave…" he sighs, looking at the man, but Dave is just staring at him, his eyelids heavy, his face expressionless. His eyelashes are still wet from his crying earlier.

James pushes his hair back from his face, notices how his cheek bones are a bit more pronounced than they used to be. He's lost weight.

"What can I do?" James asks, feeling desperate. "What can I do to help you?" It's too late for it now, he should have helped him months ago. He should have helped him the first time he watched the ginger drink himself into oblivion and start a fight.

Dave frowns at him, "I don't need your help." He says bitterly. "I don't need you, or anyone else."

James wants to say that's bullshit, because obviously Dave is not okay on his own, but he doesn't say anything. He just sighs, and stands up.

If Dave doesn't want help, he can't help him.

If Dave doesn't want his love, he can't love him.

"You can shower if you want, and you can stay here all night. Do you want me to leave?" He asks, looking down at the man now.

Dave looks up at him, tries to glare, but it's not hateful enough.

He gets up from the bed and heads to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

James sighs, and sheds his jacket and shoes, he leaves his jeans and shirt on, and lies down on one side of the bed. Dave didn't tell him to leave, so he's not leaving.

The shower turns on, runs for about twenty minutes, and then turns off. Dave lingers in the bathroom for a while after that, before emerging in just his jeans. Low hanging on his thin frame.

There's bruises on his hips, and James tries not to look at them. The bandages are gone from his arms, and he tries not to look there either.

The ginger climbs into the bed with damp hair, and lays on the opposite side as James.

They lay in silence, staring at the ceiling for a few minutes.

Dave moves first. He rolls over and drapes his arm over James' chest, rests his head on his shoulder, buries his face in his neck. His hair is wet against him, but he doesn't mind.

James wraps his arm around him, kisses his forehead.

"I missed you." He whispers, running his hand up and down Dave's side, he can feel his ribs.

"I missed you too." Dave mumbles quietly against his neck.

Dave falls asleep first, breathing slowly and evenly against him, and James holds him. He feels like he's holding something fragile, like if he makes the slightest move, the ginger will crumble away.

So he doesn't move, he stays still, and eventually he falls asleep too.

When he wakes up, Dave is gone. Leaving behind only a damp spot on the shoulder of his shirt, and a note messily scrawled on the pad next to the phone.

'I still love you. - Dave'

James tears the note off the pad and folds it up neaty, sticks it in his jeans pocket, puts his shoes and jacket back on, and leaves.

It's not until he tries to buy a coffee at a place down the street that he realizes all the cash is gone from his wallet.

God damnit.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

James isn't expecting to see Dave again just a week later.

He's going into a convenience store, and Dave is coming out.

Only he doesn't recognize him at first, he has to do a double take to make sure it's actually Dave.

The man is wearing a polo-shirt and his hair is pulled back in a ponytail. Sunglasses cover his eyes.

If he saw James, he certainly doesn't show it, just continues out of the convenience store and down the street.

James blinks once, twice, and then follows him.

"Dave?" He calls after him, and the ginger stops walking and turns around. He slides the sunglasses up to sit on the top of his head.

The sun is just about set, so why the fuck is wearing sunglasses anyway?

When James gets closer he knows why he's wearing them. His eyes are bloodshot, his pupils dilated.

"Hey." James says simply, he doesn't mention the money, instead he points to the shirt. "What's that about?"

Dave presses his lips together, doesn't quite look James in the eye, and swallows. "I'm going to work."

Work?

Dave has a…Job. A real job. One where you have to wear a polo-shirt and pull back your hair.

It's so shocking, he almost doesn't know what to say.

Someone like Dave doesn't belong in the working world. Not when you know how fucking talented his is.

"Oh." James manages, nodding. "What… Do you do?"

"I'm a fucking telemarketer." Dave says bitterly, pulling his sunglasses back down to cover his eyes. "I gotta go." He starts walking away again.

James stands still for a moment, taking in the information.

Dave Mustaine is a telemarketer.

The best guitarist he's ever heard is being reduced to sitting in a call center all night, and it's all his fault.

Maybe it's partially Dave's own fault too, but he'll shoulder the blame for them both.

He's got that 'I still love you' note burning a hole in his pocket.

So James follows him down the street.

"Dave, wait!" He calls after him, but Mustaine doesn't stop.

"Are you trying to make me late?!" He shouts back at him, and picks up his pace. "God, do you want me to get fired from this job too?!"

"No! I just want to walk with you!" James yells, trying to catch up with him.

Dave stops. Visibly slumps his shoulders, and sighs.

James catches up with him, stands at his side, and tries to smile at him.

Dave doesn't smile back, and they walk in silence.

Until James speaks up.

"I think it's good that you're working. It's good that you're doing something with your time." Maybe it's the wrong thing to say, it sounded better in his head.

"Yeah, whatever." Dave grinds out, and pulls his jacket closer around himself, even though it's not cold.

"What time do you get off work? I could pick you up." James suggests.

"It's an overnight job. I don't get out until the morning." Dave mumbles.

"I can pick you up in the morning then. We can get breakfast." James is relentless. He just wants to spend time with the ginger, before he has to leave.

Dave sighs, loudly. "I don't eat breakfast." He says with a frown. "You can pick me up, we can get coffee or whatever." Dave finally agrees. "Six in the morning."

James can't help but smile at him again, "Six. Yeah. I'll be there, in my truck."

Dave just nods, and he stops outside of a rather unassuming building.

"This building. Six. If you're gonna be late, just don't show up." He says flatly.

"I won't be late." James says, and he hesitates for a moment, before wrapping one arm around Dave, a half-hug. "I'll see you later."

Dave stands awkwardly in the embrace, until he's released. "Later." Is all he says before he disappears into the building.

James looks at the building, commits it to memory, and walks back towards the convenience store he never got to go in.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

James' night is spent with Cliff and Lars, drinking, hanging out, eating dinner, and watching television.

He doesn't drink much, knowing he needs to be able to pick Dave up at Six.

'What's the matter James?" Lars asks him, "You've barely spoken, or drank."

James had admittedly been a little quiet. His mind kept drifting back to the image of Dave in that polo shirt, hair pulled back. Jacket too big for his thin frame, and sunglasses hiding his bloodshot eyes.

"Nothing." He says, shrugging.

"Bullshit, what's up?" Cliff joins in asking.

"I just got something to do later, and I need to be able to drive." That's the best excuse he can give.

"What are we doing later?" Lars asks, looking at Cliff with a puzzled look, and Cliff looks equally confused.

"We aren't doing anything. I gotta pick Dave up from work." As soon as the words escape him, he knows he shouldn't have said anything at all.

This is further proved by how quickly a shit eating grin spreads across Lars' face.

"Dave Mustaine?" He asks.

"What's Dave up to these days anyway?" Cliff asks, giving James a genuinely interested look.

"Prostitution probably." Lars says, laughing, and Cliff laughs too. James doesn't laugh, but the image of the bruises on Dave's hips comes to mind.

"He's a telemarketer." James tells them, just to shut them up, but they just erupt in laughter.

James rolls his eyes.

"What are you doing even talking to him?" Lars asks, slightly more serious now. "I don't even want to know where you found him."

"Dave was my friend." James points out. He says 'was' because he isn't sure he and Dave are still friends. There's something there, but it's not really friendship.

"We did kind of fuck him over." Cliff says, shrugging.

"We did what was best for the band." Lars argues. "Dave Mustaine is going nowhere, fast. He would have just taken us all down with him."

James doesn't say anything, and neither does Cliff.

"It would be good for you to just forget him." Lars suggests, looking at James.

"Whatever." James sighs, and gets up. There's still a few hours before he has to pick up Dave, he'll spend them just driving around. It'll be better than sitting around here, looking at Lars' stupid little face.

"You know I'm right!" Lars calls after him as he leaves.

James knows that technically, Lars is right. He doesn't know why he's trying to force a relationship with Dave. The ginger never looks happy to see him, he speaks in single word answers most of the time, and he always seems to be running off.

It just feels so good to look at him again though. Plus, there's the note, and the way Dave had cuddled up to him in the motel room.

And stole all his money.

James tries to forget that part.

He thinks if he just tries hard enough, he can fix all this. He just has to show Dave that he really does still care about him.

He drives around for two hours, and then parks outside of the building where he'd parted ways with Dave earlier. It's 5:55 AM.

Turns out he's early for nothing, because Dave doesn't actually come walking out of the building until 6:15 AM, and he'd had the nerve to warn James not to be late.

Dave has shed his jacket, and is carrying it with him, he's also let his hair down. There's bandaging on his left arm only, his right arm is sporting semi-healed slashes. His sunglasses are nowhere to be seen.

James tries not to look at his arm too hard, and he smiles at Dave from the driver's seat of the truck.

Dave doesn't smile back at him, but he does come around the passenger side and climb into the truck.

The early morning sun is making the ginger's hair appear glowing, and James just stares at him for a moment. He hasn't seen his passenger seat occupied by Dave since he dropped him off at the bus station.

"Are we going for coffee or are you gonna stare at me all day?" Dave asks, scowling.

"I could stare at you all day, but let's get coffee." James says, and puts the truck in drive, "How was work?" He asks, pulling away from the building.

"I hate it." Dave answers, looking out the window. "Its so fucking boring."

He sounds exhausted, not necessarily tired, but just exhausted by life itself. It's as if the very act of continuing to be alive is taking everything he has.

James feels a pang of guilt in his chest.

"I'm sorry." Is all he says in response. It earns him a light chuckle from the passenger seat.

"Yeah, you keep saying that." Dave says, nodding. "Eventually it'll start to make you feel better."

James sighs. Thinks for a moment, and then turns to the ginger at the next stoplight.

"What's gonna make you feel better?" He asks, and it's genuine, so he hopes Dave takes it as such.

Dave looks at him, sneers, and then looks back out the window.

"It's too late for that." He mumbles, and James hates how defeated he sounds.

They pull up outside the coffee shop, the same one James tried to go to after their last encounter.

He parks, and they both get out of the truck and head inside.

"You sit down, and I'll get the coffee." James instructs, and Dave looks for a moment like he wants to argue, but then he shrugs, and stalks off to a table in the corner.

James gets them two black coffees, in to-go cups, in case Dave runs off on him, and…A croissant.

Dave is too fucking thin. If James can see him physically eat something in front of him, he'll feel better.

He sits the coffee and croissant down in front of Dave, and sits across from him.

"The fuck is this?" Dave asks, and James smiles at him.

"It's a croissant."

"Yeah, I know what a fucking croissant is, James." Dave says, giving him an unimpressed look. "Why is it in front of me? I told you I don't eat breakfast." He slides the croissant across the table towards James.

"Yeah well you look like you don't eat anything." James argues, and slides the croissant back towards him. "So I want to see you eat this."

Dave gives him a bored look, and then sighs and takes a rough bite out of the croissant, chewing it with his mouth open.

"Happy now?" He asks through a mouthful of croissant.

"I'll be happy when I see you swallow." James says, smirking at him.

"Yeah, you always were." Dave rolls his eyes, and swallows the bite of croissant, washing it down with a sip of his coffee. "You wanna come back to my place?"

The question takes James off guard for two reasons.

One, he doesn't know what exactly prompted the request. He can't get a good read on Dave anymore and it's bothering him.

Two, he's pretty sure Dave is staying with his mother. Who no doubt will know about the way James was involved in effectively ruining her son's life, and probably won't want to see him.

"Where is your place?" James asks, taking a sip of his coffee.

Surprisingly, Dave goes in for another bite of the croissant.

"It's my mom's place." He says, chewing.

James thinks it over for a moment.

"Is she gonna be like, pissed at me?" He asks, raising a brow at the ginger. "About…You know." You getting fired.

Dave looks at him a second, then shrugs.

"She's gonna be leaving soon anyway, for work. You probably won't even see her."

James wishes that's what happened.

In fact, the opposite happens, and it's a disaster.

They arrive at Dave's house, his mother's house, and not only is she there, she's right in the kitchen, and she looks right at him when he walks in the door.

"Oh! James!" She greets him, and suddenly Dave looks very uncomfortable.

"Not right now Mom, we're busy." Dave grabs James by the wrist, and tries pulling him towards the bedroom.

"I was wondering when you would show up again, Dave says you boys are taking a break from the music thing?" She gives him a soft smile.

The pieces all fall into place, and it makes James feel… Bad.

Dave didn't tell his mother he was fired. She thinks the band is just 'Taking a break'.

James looks over at Dave, and he looks mortified.

"Oh, yeah I'm just uh, visiting." James says, smiling.

"Well it's certainly nice to see you." She tells him, and gives him a hug.

In his ear, barely audible, her words broke his heart.

"Can you help him?"

She pulls away with a smile, but worried eyes.

James feels horrible because he's definitely not here to help Dave. He's pretty sure he's here to sleep with him.

"Okay, good, great, we're all happy to see each other." Dave says, rolling his eyes. "James and I are busy mom."

"Alright, I won't keep you two any longer. There's food in the fridge if you get hungry, and I made iced tea in the pitcher. Try and have a nice day."

She gives Dave a one armed hug, smiles at James one more time, and then leaves the house.

Dave stalked back to his bedroom, and James followed him.

James feels awful about the whole encounter, and one look at Dave says he's not too happy about it either.

He still has a look on his face somewhere between embarrassment and anger.

"It's not a big deal-" James starts, but he is quickly interrupted.

"I moved all the way across the fucking country, and came back in less than a month." Dave spits at him, "It was easier to tell her we all failed instead of just me." He throws himself down on the bed, and crosses his arms over his chest.

James hesitates for a moment, and then sits next to him.

The room hasn't changed. The bed hasn't changed.

"You didn't fail." James says quietly, and receives a bitter laugh in response.

"Yeah, getting kicked out of the band and shipped back to California with nothing isn't failing. Sure James." He's frowning now, his bangs are falling just over his eyes.

James reaches out and pushes them back.

"You didn't fail." He tells him again, and holds his cheek in his hand.

He wants to tell him 'I failed you.' but he doesn't. He doesn't think that's really what Dave wants, or needs, to hear right now.

Dave sighs, and gets down to business.

He pulls James by the front of his shirt, on top of him as he lays back on the bed.

"Just kiss me or something." He demands, and James follows directions, closing the gap between their mouths, kissing the ginger like he'd been starved for it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dave is lying on top of him, breathing heavily, exhaustion taking him over. Likely from both being up all night, and from the sex.

James is wide awake though. The events of the last hour keep running through his mind. He's committing then to memory, as he runs his hand through the ginger's hair that is everywhere, and sticking to his sweaty skin.

Dave had been on fire.

He had ridden James like he was angry at him, fast and hard. Using James to fuck himself, rather than being fucked by him.

All James could do was stare up at him, at how beautiful he looked glistening with sweat, mouth open, hair wild and bouncing. And when Dave looked down at him?

That fire was burning bright in his eyes. Like it had never even left.

He didn't know if it was from the anger or the sex. Maybe a combination of both. It didn't matter, James had just been glad to see it.

Dave is half asleep now, trying to bury his face in the crook of James' neck,

"I love you Jamie…" He keeps mumbling the words, and James both loves and hates the way they sound.

He loves them because he loves Dave. He wants to stay here with him, holding him, protecting him, making him better.

He hates the words because he can't stay here with him. He can't protect him, he can't fix Dave Mustaine. James feels undeserving of the man's love, he always has been.

He still doesn't say it back, just nods his head a little, and holds onto him tightly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's years later when James sees Dave again. In 1985.

Metallica is on their second album, they're successful, more than he had ever hoped they would be.

Dave has made something of himself too, he's got his own band. Megadeth. They aren't bad, he never thought Dave had aspirations for being a singer, and his voice is certainly unique, but not that bad.

Naturally, Lars doesn't like them. Makes fun of them a lot. Makes fun of Dave a lot.

In interviews he's dismissive of Dave's part in Metallica, claims he was only a placeholder, that he didn't do much for them.

Like they didn't steal his songs.

James tries not to say too much about it, he doesn't want to cause problems. He hasn't seen Dave since right before he left California, and he doesn't want the man to be angry with him if he does see him again.

He does see Dave again, at a hotel in New York.

James is waiting for the elevator, when it stops and opens up, he sees Dave Mustaine as its sole occupant.

Dave looks at him, and immediately starts pressing the 'Door Close' button, but James is faster, he sticks his arm in between the doors and squeezes his way into the elevator.

"What the hell Dave?" He asks, when they're both standing inside, just a little bit annoyed.

Dave smiles at him, but it's disingenuous. "Sorry. I'm kind of in a hurry."

James takes a moment to look him over. Dave is still very pale, his hair is much longer, past his shoulders now, half way down his back. It's still beautiful, orange and shiney. He's wearing sunglasses, and he looks like he's at least put on a few pounds.

Overall, he looks good. Not exactly healthy, but better than he had looked in California two years ago.

"How are you?" James asks, genuinely interested.

"I'm just fine." Is the simple reply he gets from Dave, who can't seem to stand still. He keeps opening and closing his hand, shifting his weight from left to right. "How are you?" He asks James back.

"I'm doing good, yeah."

They ride in silence until the elevator reaches the lobby.

"Hey so where-" James wants to ask him what he's doing today, but Dave is already bolting out of the elevator.

"I'm in room 513 if you want to stop by later, but I gotta go." He calls over his shoulder at him, and then practically runs out of the lobby, leaving James standing in the elevator, alone and confused, but also very interested.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

James tries, to no avail, to visit room 513 twice. Once a few hours after seeing Dave in the elevator, he knocks on the door, and no one answers.

He tries again around 10:00 PM. He knocks, no one answers, he goes back to his own room.

Finally, at 1:00 AM, he decides to try one more time, knocking at the door, and this time, Dave answers it.

Well, he more so opens the door about an inch and looks out.

"Oh." He says when he sees James, and sounds slightly disappointed. "I…Changed my mind. Go away."

James, who had initially been happy to see Dave, frowns.

"What the fuck man? First you try and close me out of the elevator, and now you won't let me in your room?" He asks, letting his aggravation show in his voice.

Dave rolls his eyes, and opens the door a little bit more, but still doesn't grant James access to the room.

The more Dave opens the door, the more of him that James can see, and what he notices is…Concerning.

Dave is not wearing a shirt. Or shoes. All he has on is a pair of jeans that look like they've been painted on, and a sheen of sweat is covering his body.

Out of habit, and worry, James' eyes go to his arms. Much to his joy, there appears to be no new signs of self mutilation there. Just old scars.

Much to his dismay however, there are marks on the inter crooks of both his arms. What appear to be punctures, and small bruises radiating from them.

Oh.

Shit.

Dave ultimately notices him looking, or notices the shocked and worried look on James' face, and folds his arms over his chest to hide them from sight. It's too late though.

"I don't feel great, and I don't want to hang out right now." Dave tells him.

"Yeah, I'm sure." James says, frowning. "How about we hang out anyways?" He offers. "I want to talk."

"Talk about what?" Dave asks, sounding annoyed.

"Just…Want to catch up. That's all." He doesn't want to scare Dave off. Doesn't want the door slammed in his face.

Dave sighs heavily, and moves back from the door, giving James the space to come inside.

They both sit down on the couch inside the room. James takes note that Dave moves very slowly, and he seems to be in a level of discomfort.

"You alright?" He asks him, but he knows the answer.

"Just fucking peachy." Dave replies, and doesn't quite hold James' gaze. His eyelids are heavy, and there's absolutely nothing behind his eyes.

Dave makes a face then, like he's been kicked in the stomach. "Fuck…" he curses under his breath, before getting up from the couch and staggering to the bathroom.

He doesn't shut the door behind him before he's on his knees in front of the toilet, vomiting.

James thinks that a sensible thing for him to do would be to leave.

Instead, he finds himself on his knees behind Dave, holding the ginger's hair back for him while he continues to retch into the toilet bowl.

"You're okay. It's alright…" James speaks to him softly, and tries to look anywhere else in the room.

When Dave is done emptying the contents of his stomach, he leans back against James, and groans.

"Dope sick." Is all the man manages to say.

"I know." James replies, and lets Dave lean heavily against him. He lets go of his hair, and rests one hand on Dave's abdomen, his other on his side.

It's silent in the bathroom for a long time, just the sound of Dave's somewhat labored breathing filling the space around them.

It occurs to James, sitting on the bathroom floor, with his once best friend in the throes of withdrawal, leaning against him, that Dave Mustaine will never be happy.

No matter what he does with his life, he'll always find a way to torture himself, and there's nothing James can do about it. There's no amount of care, or love, or help, that he can offer Dave that will make him stop hating himself. There's nothing that he can do to stop Dave from spiraling towards self-destruction.

It's a heartbreaking realization, and James is worried he has something to do with it.

"Do you want to lie down?" He asks after a while, and Dave nods.

So he drags him to a standing position, and carefully walks him to the bed, depositing him as gently as he can onto the surface.

He doesn't lie down with him.

Dave looks up at him, with an almost pleading expression, but James doesn't want to do this. He doesn't want to deal with this. He can't deal with this. It's just too much.

"I have to go." He says quietly, "I… I'm sorry Dave."

Dave looks crushed.

"No…" He whines, and weakly reaches out for James.

James says nothing, and as much as he feels like he's breaking apart, worse even than he'd felt that day at the bus station, he leaves the hotel room.

Walking down the hall, he passes Dave's bass player. A young looking guy, also named David apparently.

The two of them make an odd amount of eye contact, and when he passes him, James stops, turns around, and observes the young man going into Dave's room.

At least he knows he won't be alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

James wants to know why the universe is so hell bent on constantly shoving Dave Mustaine at him when he's at worst.

It's a question that's at the forefront of his mind in Summer of 1988.

He's in California again, and he knows from gossip that Dave's band has had to pull out of a tour due to the bass player checking himself into rehab, citing a problem with heroin.

James couldn't help but think back to the experience at the hotel in New York, heroin use was rampant in Megadeth.

He's heard that Dave himself has failed out of rehab, leaving by choice.

When he sees the ginger in a club one night, it's obvious that he's strung out.

Dave is sitting in a corner booth, there's a girl talking to him, but he looks like he'd rather be anywhere else in the world.

"Is that Dave?" Lars asks, at James' side.

"Yep." James replies, taking a sip of his drink. "That's Dave." He doesn't know if he wants to talk to him. Their last encounter was…Not pleasant.

The memory of Dave, dope sick, and reaching for him from the bed is burned into his mind, and he thinks it will be for the rest of his life.

Lars, ever the agitator, is grinning now.

"Let's go say our hellos."

Before James can argue, Lars is pulling him over to where Dave is.

As soon as Dave sees the two of them coming, he dismisses the girl at his side, and smiles at them. It's not particularly genuine, but Dave doesn't look like he could manage a genuine smile right now.

"Lars, James, how are you two?" He asks, inviting them to sit with him.

"We are just fantastic." Lars speaks, smiling, and sits next to Dave. "You know I was really sorry to hear about your bass player."

James sits on the other side of Dave, and holds his breath, hoping he doesn't say anything horrible.

It was, after all, not that long ago they lost their bass player. Dave wouldn't stoop that low though, would he? He knew Cliff too, he knows how awful of a loss that was.

"Ellefson, yeah." Dave says, nodding. "He's alright, just couldn't handle the tour." He doesn't say anything about the rehab, or about Cliff's passing.

James exhales, relieved.

Dave looks over at him, he looks like he's going to pass out.

"How are you doing?" James asks him anyway.

"Feeling fine." Dave says, but it doesn't sound very convincing.

"Yeah you look great." Lars says, and laughs.

Dave ignores him though, he just keeps staring at James. There's something akin to sorrow in his eyes.

James doesn't know what to do in this situation.

On one hand, he wants to take Dave away from this club, somewhere quiet, where he can take care of him. Make up for the last time, when all he could do was leave.

On the other hand, he has Lars with him, and that complicates things.

Lars has always had a suspicion about James and Dave, but he's never asked too many questions about it.

Just like James has a suspicion about Lars and Kirk, but he doesn't ask about it.

Lars, looks annoyed that he's being ignored, and he huffs and puffs accordingly.

"Well James and I have to go. It was nice seeing you Dave." Lars says, standing up. It's obvious this encounter did not go as planned.

Dave waves Lars off, not even looking back at him. His eyes are glued on James.

Lars looks at him expectantly, and James shrugs.

"I'm gonna hang around here for a little while." He says, "I'll see you later."

Lars looks angry, and there's no doubt he'll have to deal with that later, but he has to deal with Dave now.

Lars rolls his eyes, and walks off, and James looks at Dave.

"Can I take you somewhere else? Anywhere?" James asks him.

"Why? You gonna leave me again?" Dave asks him, and James sighs.

"No. I'm not gonna leave you this time." James assures him. "I promise."

Dave looks at him, quiet for a moment, thinking.

"Just take me home." Dave requests.

So James does.

He gets Dave out of there, gets them both into a taxi, waits for Dave to rattle off his address to the driver.

Apparently, Dave is sharing an apartment with David Ellefson, but he's still in rehab, so the apartment is empty when they get there.

James is stronger now than he had been three years ago, physically anyway.

Strong enough that he can pick Dave up, and carry him into the apartment.

Dave doesn't resist, doesn't complain. He reaches up and takes a strand of James' hair in between his fingers, and squints at it.

James has undergone a bit of an image change. He's no longer a scrawny kid with a mop of blonde hair. He's bigger, brunet, and sporting facial hair now.

Dave looks relatively the same though. It's an odd contrast. Like he's grown, and Dave is unable to do that. The ginger is suspended in time.

Maybe he is.

"I liked your old hair better." He mumbles.

"I liked your plain old alcoholism better." James knows it's the wrong thing to say, but he says it anyway.

Dave just laughs, bitterly.

James lays him down on the bed, and begins the process of looking him over.

He pulls Dave's jacket off, finds his left arm once again wrapped tightly in bandages.

James sighs, heavily.

Let's himself wonder if things would be this way if Dave was still in Metallica, if they would have ended up right in this same position.

Dave's band isn't unsuccessful though. They're on their third album, they have fans. Dave should be happy now, but he's not.

So obviously success isn't the problem.

It's something else that drives the self hatred. James just doesn't know what it is.

"Why do you do this to yourself?" He asks him quietly, sitting down on the edge of the bed, taking Dave's hand in his own. "What's so wrong that you have to destroy yourself like this?"

Dave hums, and let's James hold his hand. He closes his eyes and just lays there silently for a moment.

"There's too much of me." Is his final answer, and it doesn't do anything to help James understand.

"Too much what?" James asks, desperate to understand, if he understands maybe he can help. Maybe he can fix it.

"Too much everything." Dave complains, opening his eyes again and looking at James. "Too much me."

Looking down at him, James starts to get it, he thinks.

There's too much anger, too much sadness, too much pain.

Dave needs a fucking therapist, he needs a rehab, he needs so many things that James can't possibly provide him.

"I think you need some real help." James sighs.

It's the wrong thing to say.

Suddenly Dave is pulling his hand away, and turning over on the bed, facing the wall.

"Don't tell me what to do." He says flatly.

James sighs, he finds himself doing that a lot when he's around Dave.

"I'm not telling you what to do, I just think you would benefit, greatly, from some help." He tells him.

He doesn't get a response.

"Dave." James tries again to engage in conversation, but it's too late. Dave has shut down.

He's just lying there, staring at the wall.

James thinks for a moment that maybe he should leave, but he doesn't.

He lies down beside the ginger, and wraps an arm around him, pulling him close until Dave's back is pressed firmly against James' chest. He's getting a face full of wild orange hair, but he doesn't mind.

He presses his face into Dave's neck, and sighs again.

"I'm so sorry." He apologizes for what must be the hundredth time since 1983. He doesn't even know why he keeps saying it. It doesn't seem to make any kind of difference.

No amount of apologizing can ever fix what's been broken. Dave is broken.

It's taken him five whole years to realize it, but what he did at that bus station was break the smaller man.

James could spend the rest of his life trying to put Dave Mustaine back together, but he'll never get all the pieces right. He'll never have back the same Dave who showed up for his Metallica audition.

It hurts so bad, but he knows it hurts Dave worse.

They lay in silence, until he realizes Dave has either fallen asleep, or passed out.

Even then, James stays for a few hours, just holding onto him, the silent tears he's shedding are wetting the man's hair.

Eventually, he lets him go, and slowly retreats from the bed.

Dave doesn't move.

There's a notepad and pen on the bedside table, he grabs it and scrawls a note for the sleeping man.

'Dave,
I love you, but you need help that I can't give you.
I'm sorry, but this is the last time.
-James.'

The note ends up tear-stained, but he leaves it anyway, presses a kiss to the side of Dave's head before he leaves, and calls himself a cab home.