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The Small Hours; James/Lars, teased James/Kirk
Topic Started: October 16, 2011, 7:00 pm (2,126 Views)
Jungleland
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Just because I thought James looked younger in 2010.

I'm trying to revise it (with Trin's help :heart: ), so this isn't a version I'm totally happy with, but I may as well post it here too. You could say it's for Halloween :D

Enjoy if you will and feel free to give me some crit!

(PS: it is supposed to end like that)

--

01

Behind him, Lars packs as fast as he used to. The only change is in the care he's taking folding the clothes. Expensive clothes. He groans when his back makes a little cracking noise.

And Lars says, "We're too old for this shit."

James looks at himself in the mirror, gel in hand. Lars's words are unusually loud in his buzzing ears.

His grey hair suddenly looks impossibly dull. Old. A bad grey, the grey of aging and giving up on this life of music making and world touring. He finds himself wondering whether Lars will still look up to him then-if he's still looking up to him now. Still looking at him like he was some kind of god.

So he changes again.

Blond and spiky. That's better. That's fun. That's young.

Lars is no fun, and doesn't care about how young it is. He only wants to go out, have nice dinners, nice dates. Sometimes, he wants to get drunk, go to some places James doesn't want to hear about. And off Lars goes-with Rob, among other people.

Rob, with the long black hair, and the muscled up body.

Sometimes, James wants his long hair and muscled up body back.

He still isn't sure what is wrong exactly in their relationship. Something just is. Something tells him Lars is going away. Is already far. And "we're too old for this" sticks with him, echoing in his head.

So here he is, sitting in his car, blankly looking at his watch as he ponders Lars's present for Valentine's Sappy Day.

Lars bought him that watch in 1988, once he could really afford it. James remembers being in a fucking pissy mood. Smashing doors. Yelling. Uncaring. He knew Kirk helped choose the watch. He didn't know how, where, and why, but 'does that really matter ?' Kirk said. 'It's not just any watch. There's something special about it.' Back then he thought it looked way too old, not radical enough.

But he wore it.

Deep inside, it felt so good to have Lars offer him something like that. To just have someone think about him on that fucking day.

In return, James offered Lars a few albums. Couldn't think of anything else. He felt shitty about it.

He tried to make an effort on Christmas day. Didn't complain much about the cold in Copenhagen, didn't complain much about the cold in Utah, didn't complain about that disgusting looking French food, the disgusting British Christmas pudding... He did his best. That special night. Lars's birthday and Lars's Christmas.

It was jewelry on Valentine's Day. He thought-and still thinks--Valentine's Day was bullshit, just an excuse for shops to get their sales up. But he knew Lars saw it the romantic way, and so he was going to give him something. A new pendant. A new bracelet. New earrings.

It's February 13th, and he needs one of those presents.

His watch is ticking, telling him with each passing second that he should hurry the fuck up and find something. This time, it needs to be good, better than a random piece of silver.

It needs to make Lars stay with him.

It has to be out of the city. Nothing would be special enough there.

He takes Golden Gate, north 101 through Mill Valley and Novato, and at Petaluma, he veers left, taking the backroad to Wine Country. There's too many people driving too slow on the freeway, and all routes lead to 128 eventually.

Slowly getting to the south ends of Sebastopol (or is it Occidental), James decides he could pull an 88 Lars and ask Kirk for help. He takes his cellphone in hand, glancing at the road--Joy Road--as much as he can. No one behind. No one in front. It's not a part of North Bay he drives through often. He's not sure he ever did.

After three rings, Kirk doesn't even bother with a 'hi' before asking him, "Are you driving?"

"So what? I need your advice on somethi--"

"Hang up or stop the car, James."

His mom would probably talk to him that way. He snorts. "I know how to drive. Now, I need--"

"I'm hanging up."

He glares at nothing. "Jesus, Kirk, I just need something--"

screech

The car isn't moving right. His hand reflexively grabs the wheel tighter. His eyes widen.

'For Lars' is his last thought before hitting whatever is in front of him.

*

His clock is making the most annoying sound. James doesn't remember it being so fucking loud-and his bed being so uncomfortable. And he thinks, fuck, it was all a dream. Now he still has to go fetch Lars a fucking present. Maybe a clock. Maybe a watch too. It'd remind them of the good old times.

When he opens his eyes he realizes the alarm clock really is the horn of his car. His face is flush against the steering wheel. One of his eyes is reluctant to open.

He groans. Yet another accident, woop dee doo.

Lars is going to kill him. Kirk is going to patronize him for not hanging up sooner.

"Are you alright?"

He lifts his heavy head and sees he crashed into a lonely half-dead tree. A poor lonely, dying tree on this lonely road-Joy fucking Road-in an area he doesn't really know. A lonely road, because he wanted to find something special. Something that wasn't in the city.

...right?

James turns--his neck protests sharply--and faces whoever just spoke to him. An old woman. Her head is almost past the window, looking huge from his angle. Feels like he's looking at her through a fisheye.

"Uh... I think I'll live." He tries to swallow saliva and tastes iron.

"You look hurt."

"Hehe, I guess." Trying to straighten up, he only manages to wince, and clutches at the part of his back he can reach. He feels sick.

"See. What can I do for you?"

"I guess you could call 911 for a start." He's not fond of her tone--it sounded more like a reproach than an offer to help--but attempts to smile. "Where are we anyway? I don't--"

"What do you really want?"

"What?"

"I know what you need," she says.

James frowns. His breathing is getting jagged. "Just call--I have my cellphone somewhere here..."

A wrinkled hand slowly settles on his cheek.

He startles at the touch, triggering pain in his neck, in his back, at the back of his head, a little everywhere, keeping his body from moving further.

Another hand wraps around one of his wrists. The one with Lars's watch.

He gasps. "Don't--"

"It'll happen if you wish strong enough," says the old voice.

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about, just fucking let go." He hates the tremor in his. He hates that he's scared.

She smiles, giving him a close-up of her toothless mouth.

And before he can start telling her to fuck off again, James is the one going, darkness suddenly taking over.

*

He comes to with the dreaded smell of antiseptics in his nostrils, and under the burning glare of an angry Lars. Hospitals always seem to be the same.

And he may as well try. "Hi, babe," he says with a chuckle that makes his neck slightly ache.

Lars only looks angrier, and starts the expected rant. He's tired of worrying. He's just tired.

He's even further away.

Hours later, and the day after that, and the day after that day, while his Lars is at home, James sits in some hotel room.

So much for making their relationship better.

It's been a long time since that last happened. Lars forgave him a lot more easily the last time he came back bloody from a trip. He'd fallen down an ATV, had said ATV dumped on his head. A small accident. Lars only swapped him on his throbbing head with a thin magazine.

Years ago...when they were younger.

Younger. That again.

With a tired sigh, he checks his watch before slipping under the cover of the clean bed. Too clean, with a fresh smell that is nothing like home. A long time ago he would have emptied bottles of vodka until finally passing out in the morning, messing that clean bed with his boots still on and dirty clothes, but now, it's only 10--old man--and it's 4 when he wakes up.

Already the sun is filtering through the blinds, weirdly enough. His cellphone, that fucking cellphone that survived the trip better than him (he randomly bought it years ago when he realized it could keep him from having to actually talk to people), chirps right on cue--or maybe woke him up. He grabs it with as little movement as possible.

"What."

"What are you doing? It's almost two, Hetfield. I'm fucking waiting."

Lunch with Lars.

He forgot.

After all that... He forgot.

"Uh... Sorry." He stares at his watch. 4:20. Wrong hour. Shit. "I'm going."

His body hurts all over when he stands up too quickly. He resists the urge to throw the watch against the wall.

*

James doesn't bother looking at the name of the restaurant. It looks fancy. It looks like something he's not going to like.

Lars is easy to spot. His eyes try to burn him down as much as they did in the hospital.

He still merely glares at James when he tries to tell him about the details of the accident--mostly, James tries to tell him about the old woman, and see if Lars freaks out like he did. Just a matter of shattered ego.

Lars doesn't want to hear about it, and focuses on his plate.

When they get to the dessert and there's a cheesecake floating in cream in front of him, he tries again. Emptying his glass of water in one go, he checks his watch. 4:45. Damn thing is slowly stopping.

"I wanted to buy you something cool," he finally says with a sigh.

"I know." Lars looks at him with a mix of understanding and reproach. "But what a fucking present that'd be, uh, your dying in a car crash?"

"Excuse me if I think about you before I--"

"If you think about me, think about how I'd feel learning that you fucking died looking for some present fuck knows where--"

Words drown out.

There's a sudden sound in James's head. The noise of guitar strings breaking and melting in the fire of Montreal pyros. Ding ting. A strident sound.

And an E chord... A new riff. It could make a pretty song.

It's an Orion kind of riff.

It should make an interesti
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Isis
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jdfkl;sdjkl;asdjflaksjdfasd I LOVE THIS FIC OMG :heart: :heart: :heart:

James, James and Lars's failing relationship, James wanting to do something nice, the old woman, the fucking spookiness, the whole sadness and the needy romance and then omg the ending dlkfjkdfjdf UGH. I love this story and I am so it's #1 fan. ;w;

:heart: :heart: :heart:

CAN'T WAIT FOR THE NEXT PART~
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Karla Hetfield
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Sounds great!!!
I want some more, really, keep it up :wavey
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LaurenHetfield
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Really, really good. I can't wait for more. :biggrin :heart:
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Lars Mi Amor
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Oh I'm enjoying this story!! :heart: I can't wait for the update! :heart:
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Jik Hyun
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nice so far. leaves me wantin more.
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Jungleland
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Thanks :D :heart: Didn't think many people would read.

Warning for this part: character "death". If you think you won't be able to stand the description, skip the beginning. You'll probably get what happened.

--

Lars's hands curl and tighten into fists as he talks. Fucking James. Always worrying about the wrong things. Always...

He stops mid-sentence when James's eyes widen and a frightened look takes over his face.

Words couldn't have scared him like that.

James's hand goes to the side of his face, the way someone reacts to a sudden headache. The lips move, as if trying to mumble something, and then James just drops like a dead weight, falling off his chair.

Almost bringing the tablecloth with him and stumbling, Lars rushes to him.

The blue eyes are lost. They're still. They're empty. They're dead.

The clatters of knives and forks stop. His breathing is the loudest sound around.

He falls to his knees.

That look, it's mesmerizing. It's trapping him. He can't move away.

And with his hands shaking their way to James's face, Lars screams.

Someone starts yelling. Other people yell back. Someone else grabs his shoulders. They're trying to drag him away. Those bastards.

He struggles, using his little legs and elbows to break free, and crawls back to James. Slumps over his chest.

He looks at him. The dead eyes look back.

No no no no no no no.

The hand that was against his temple lays motionless near James's head. The wrist has his watch wrapped around it, the one he bought James in 1988. Kirk had showed him a shop, a nice little shop with nice little things, and this watch seemed to be all James. It didn't look like much at first no but really was precious and special. When he offered it to him, the way James's face stayed midly blank--dead --stung a little bit. He quit sulking four days later when he realized James was wearing it. No. Two years later, he was still wearing it. No. Ten years later, it was still there. No no no. It disappeared sometime in 2001. It reappeared in 2004.

Lars touches it, and somehow notices the stillness, how the second hand isn't moving rhytmically. It stopped. Like James.

Like James. God no. No no no no.

Then, the black dots in James's eyes dilate. They focus on him.

There's a sharp intake of breath, from him and from James.

His eyes burn, and he almost expects James to quirp a light 'hi, babe'. But James says, "Shit, what happened?"

Somewhere near, a woman gasp loudly.

His tongue and his throat move silently before Lars can say, "I don't... You..." You died. You fucking dropped dead. You... "Fuck, I love you."

James nods dumbly.

Lars presses his face into his chest--there's a beating heart in there--and lets himself go, lets a few tears spill out. They wet James's shirt, that shirt he rolled his eyes at when James sat down at the table--it was anything but fancy. And that seems so petty now. So nothing.

Just how many times is James going to 'die' this week?

*

After sitting in a black chair somewhere in that hospital he knows too well--again--and knocking over the dozen of empty plastic cups next to his feet, he learns that nothing is wrong with James. Nothing is worse than it was already, anyway.

The day they let him out, James feels dizzy. It's like guiding him to his hotel bed in the early days. Lars tries to support him, and takes him home for the first time in weeks. The first time in weeks--he doesn't even want to think of the reason why.

That night, he curls around James in bed. They slipped into the sheets early, when the sun was still up. And after hours of quiet breaths, James talks to him.

"You know when I was in the car..." He doesn't want to think about it... "Some old hag was there."

He blinks in the dark. Why is James talking about that? Who fucking cares? "So what about her? She probably called for help. And if so, thank fucking God for her, who knows--"

"No, she freaked me out, man." The body against him tenses. "She told me she knew what I needed. That I had to wish for it."

"I see." He doesn't.

James's voice is getting slow, and sleepy. "I thought she was going to steal your watch..." He yawns. "I wouldn't have let her, you know?"

"I know," Lars says, sincerely this time.

"I wouldn't have let...her." A few seconds. A last mumble, and silence, only interrupted by a soft snore.

Lars curls around James more tightly.

*

He's awaken by a tickling all over his neck. Kisses.

Opening his eyes, he sees James's hand clutching the sheet, and the corner of a pillow. He hears the smacks of the kisses on his skin. He looks down, and blue eyes, bright and alive, are looking up at him. James grins before dipping his head again, licking his way down.

The sex is more intimate. And the pleasure stronger, because of that intimacy, Lars thinks--when he can think.

It's the orange light bathing the room, and James's hands keeping him into place, the slow movements of his hips, all those kisses, and that little bite on his neck when James comes. His legs twitch around James's waist when Lars does too.

He feels like a cat, stretching, rubbing his legs against the man next to him. He feels so good...

He also feels like going back to sleep, and closes his eyes with a sigh.

When he's done dozing, the bed is colder. James is dressed and shaved, standing there smiling at him.

Lars sits up and stares.

The smile fades slightly. "What?"

"You look...fucking good."

"I didn't look good the other days? Thanks."

"Well I mean... I mean... You're... I don't fucking know."

James takes him in his arms again, jumping on the bed with a meaningful rise of his eyebrows.

Lars laughs and says, "I'm tired now."

"Well I'm not." He kisses him all over, pushes him back down on the bed. Lars quickly gives up on resisting.

The whole week is good, feels like one of their first weeks as a couple, full of hot kisses and words of love, with a James eager to please (as long as they were alone). He remembers when James used to discretly hop in his bed in the middle of the night.

Or like these weeks after James got out of rehab. Awkward at first, but a new James who only wanted to love him. Only wanted to get better.

And this time Lars is happy enough to give him anything he wants.

But he's tired.

After a few days, he doesn't feel like stretching like a lazy cat anymore, just turn his head and sleep. James can always hump his leg (and almost seems like he would).

He finds himself gazing at James moreso than usual. He looks wonderful. He can see the young James in there, he can see that 18 year old boy he fell in love with. More and more everyday.

And lovesick thoughts enter Lars's mind, the kind of thoughts he had all the time in the 80s.

He's so cool...

He's so hot...

James can feel it. He smiles, teases him, pushes him against the walls and their bed.

Lars can't help but wonder if dying for a minute gives you some kind of renewed energy. Change the way you see your life and other people.

Then the holiday is over, and it's time to go on tour again. He doesn't mind as much as he thought he would, watching James bounce around and get ready.

As they're boarding their jet for Mexico, Lars notices the old watch is still around James's wrist. "James, it's not working. You can take it off, you know."

"What?"

"Your watch."

"It's not broken."

Lars frowns. "It stopped when you uh..." He doesn't want to think about it.

"It's working," James says, and his tone is final.

Well. Whatever. Good. No more thinking about it, right?

Lars slumps in his seat and, after wondering if James is going to be alright for the rest of the tour despite his good mood and that renewed energy, he falls asleep staring at the winged skull on James's neck.
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Isis
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I've said it before, but I'll say it again: I love the ending. I love the ominousness of it. Staring at the black winged skull tattoo--talk about ominous foreshadowing, man.

Also, just the whole James/Lars interaction in this is just ;; :heart: like, ugh. James and the whole 'death,' and then Lars and James reconciling and coming back together but there's just this feeling you know even though James is okay now, something bad is going to happen. All because of that watch...

I LOVE IT. :heart: Can't wait for the next part, this is greatness.
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Lars Mi Amor
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^ what she said! :heart:
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Jik Hyun
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glad james dun really be dead. or I'd has to stop reading this fic. I dun like death fics its bad enough cliff is gone.
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Jungleland
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Don't worry, I hate death fics with a passion. That was sadly just kind of...necessary.
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Isis
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Jungleland
October 20, 2011, 5:10 am
Don't worry, I hate death fics with a passion. That was sadly just kind of...necessary.
Necessary, but dramatic and awesome. :D

*prods for the next part* :3
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Jungleland
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:D :heart:

Here are the last parts. It gets weirder (or even more ridiculous). And it still needs revision, but enjoy if you can :) Otherwise, I accept crit.

--

3
James looks at the minute hand of his watch. Two minutes, and his suspicions are confirmed.

It's going backwards.

A little like he is. He feels so good, lately. He looks good. Better. And Lars is definitely paying more attention to him, Lars is downright ogling at him sometimes.

It's what he wanted.

What do you really want?

His grip on his wrist tightens. What he really wanted. His eyes dart to the sleeping Lars near his seat.

What he really wanted...

In the early morning of the third day of tour, he tries to see how fast his tattoos are fading--it's not normal for them to fade that quickly, and that the one for Cliff is now near inexistant almost hurts--but has to squint into the mirror. His vision is a bit blurry.

It stays blurry the whole day, and the day after that. After bumping into everything and asking anybody that's beside him what exactly is written here and there, he accepts needing glasses again. He shouldn't need glasses again, ever. He shouldn't.

When he enters the locker room with glasses on his nose, everybody rightfully frowns at him. "You're trying out that style again?" Kirk quirps.

"I wouldn't be wearing them if I didn't need them."

Lars's stare turns to worry. "I thought the surgery..."

"Look, whatever. I'll live."

"Fine." Lars's eyes close.

Rob is next to him--as usual, James's jealous part of his brain serves--and patting his back. "You sure you're sleeping enough?"

"Yeah. Don't worry I'm not going to break down on you this time." And he tries to laugh.

"That's not what I meant..."

Lars smiles reassuringly, and his eyes close again.

*

The third week, when Lars's eyes open and glare at James, it's a glare he hasn't seen in... He doesn't really remember.

Actually, that glare has no reason to be here.

Who does Lars think he is? Can't a guy drink a fucking beer in peace? Is that too much to ask?

With long strides he walks up to Lars, and tries to look at him with as much disdain as possible when he asks, "What?"

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"Who the fuck are you to ask me that?"

Lars gapes. "I'm... That's not the fucking question. What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with you? What's your problem? Why are you picking on me like that? What did I fucking do? I'm just sitting there drinking a beer--"

"THAT's the problem!"

"And WHY is that a problem, dick?"

Lars shakes his head, disappointed.

Disappointed?

James is getting tired of being confused. Before the other man can say anything, he spits a "fuck you" in his face, and turns around...to face some guy he's not sure he’s seen before. "And who the fuck are you?"

"Uh... Your bassist?"

Eyes narrowing, he searches deep in his mind, and there's a little something. Rob. That's it. "Oh yeah." And he laughs.

Rob awkwardly laughs with him.

Now Lars looks almost terrified, and James doesn't like it. He's scared of him. Why is he scared of him? Does he think so little of him? Does he think he'd be stupid enough to hurt him? Hit him? Fuck him. Fuck Lars. Fuck Rob. Fuck Jason for leaving, too.

"Everybody's going fucking crazy here."

He crashes the can of Coors in his hands, and throws it away.

The morning after, after a night in another hotel room, he watches his almost naked arms in the mirror, and thinks he should add one or two tattoos on his forearms.

4
Moving his head to the rhythm, Kirk looks at James's agile fingers moving on the guitar, then focuses on his face.

At first he thought James just looked fucking good. Maybe it was how he shaved, maybe it was the color of his hair that looked a lot more natural than usual. No. No, it wasn't a matter of looking good, it was a matter of looking young. James looked younger.

And he looks even younger now. Kirk is starting to think it's not just an impression.

The inexistant tattoos. Each time he sees James change--and he tries to show as little skin as possible--one more faded away. Even the cards are slowly turning back to being reddish, and he's sure they will disappear too, eventually.

The beers, the glasses of wine omnipresent in James's hand. Nobody really dares talking about it. Talking to him about it. When Lars did, James didn't talk to him for two days. There was disappointment at first--fucking James falling off the wagon after all these years?--but now he's worrying.

The riffs. All the riffs from Death Magnetic James has trouble playing lately, as if he was learning them all over again, even marvelling at some of them. So cool, flamenco!

Yeah, so cool.

Lars asked the doc to check on James again. After yelling for an hour, James gave in, and, of course, nothing's wrong with him. His back is even doing better.

Of course.

Kirk gulps. It makes him think of all those fountain of youth myths, or the wishes you'd make to a stuffed monkey paw. And those stories never end well.

Then James is getting closer to him, with a little smile on his face. Kirk notices he's letting the moustache grow back.

"Hey, wanna go out after the show?" James asks.

"Uh... Where do you want to go?"

James looks for a beer he doesn't find--Lars probably took care of that. "Don't know, we could go to some bar." He shrugs, and curls a finger around one of Kirk's locks that's turning grey. "I like that. Looks nice."

Kirk's eyes frantically dart around the room, looking for Lars. He can't see this. "James."

"What?"

He knows that smile. It's a smile that's reserved for Lars nowadays. But there was a time...

There was a time James flirted around. "Lars."

"What about him? He's always fucking sleepy lately. Old man." James gets even closer. Kirk tries to back off. "We could have some fun tonight."

And he knows those eyes. The eyes of that Load era, the ones that looked at him that way from time to time.

Fuck.

"James, what did you do?"

"Uh?"

"You're getting..." He lowers his voice. "You're aware of the fact you're getting younger, right?"

There's a pause. "People can't get younger, Kirk. We're not in one of your weird shit movies." And there's that smirk again. "I'm looking fine, I guess."

Kirk steps closer to look into the blue eyes. "You're in your thirties." His heart starts beating fast. There's a little bit of embarassment for believing that kind of thing is happening, and a bit of fear. "I bet next week we'll see your precious wolf pendant back. You're going to lose that pudge of yours. And why don't you go pierce your nose the week after that?"

This time, James backs off, making a face. "You're fucking nuts."

"You're nuts for doing that. The fuck did you do?"

"I didn't do anything!"

"It can't just happen randomly! You did something!"

"NOTHING'S FUCKING HAPPENING!"

"What's wrong?"

Kirk turns to a worried Lars. Rob is next to him, slightly supporting him. Lars looks exhausted.

Lars looks older.

Kirk feels his eyes widen.

"You okay, Lars?" He's glad to hear a tint of concern in James's voice.

"James, uh... I don't think... I'm sorry but I'm not feeling well at all."

"They checked on him, and it wouldn't be smart to make him play," Rob adds. "We should--"

"Fine." James takes his guitar off, a slightly pissed off look on his face. "You go tell them."

And he leaves the room.

Turning away from Lars's hurt eyes, Kirk says, "Me and Rob will do it. Come on."

And it's a tense walk to the stage.

"What's wrong with them?" Rob asks when they’re as alone as they can be.

"I..." He laughs. "You're going to think I'm crazy."

"I already know you're crazy."

Kirk laughs nervously again. And in a rush, he says, "James is getting younger."

"He is." He throws a startled look Rob's way. "Well everybody's saying it."

"But they think it's just good looks. I'm sure he's around 35 right now."

Rob slows down his walk.

"I just wonder how he did it..."

"Why, wanna get younger too?"

He makes sure Rob is joking, then, "That kind of stuff never ends well. He should...stop. Reverse it. Whatever the fuck he can do about it."

At least Rob seems willing to humor him. "Maybe he doesn't know what's--"

"He does."

They hear the noise of the crowd. They're ready to hear them yell their support, their disappointment and a bit of hate, too. He knows how some of them reacted back in Stockholm, back in Donington.

*

When they're walking back to the locker room, shoulders slumped, Kirk sees James checking on his watch. "What time is it?"

"Uh?"

"What time is it?" He looks at the watch pointedly.

"Uh..." James looks around, then at the watch, then back at him. "It stopped working."

"Oh." He doesn't look away. "Still want to go out tonight?"

He's going to find out where all that crazy shit comes from.

James grins, forgetting his watch. "Fuck yeah."

*

James actually hesitates before ordering a beer. They talk normally, and for a moment, Kirk thinks he really was just crazy for thinking one of them was rejuvenating. It is in his weird shit movies. It's in the myths and the supernatural stories of his favorite novels. James isn't getting... James is playing with his grey curls again.

"James, stop that."

"You're no fucking fun."

"You're not single."

"Might as well. I'm not getting any."

When did the weird shit start? After James's accident. "You almost killed yourself buying him a present."

"I did? Right. That was..." The playfulness disappears from his eyes. It's like he has the right James in front of him again.

"What happened?"

James perks up. He seems eager to talk about it. "Man, there was that old hag next to me when I woke up--"

"A witch?" Kirk asks, half-serious, but James laughs.

"Sure looked like one. She told me I could get what I really wanted or some shit. It freaked me out." He drinks. "You'd have loved it." And laughs.

"Did you make a wish?"

"Of course I fucking didn't. And I was too busy bleeding on my wheel." Kirk shakes his head. "I couldn't move. She scared the shit out of me when she touched me." He mocks a shudder. "Ugh."

Kirk's brain works furiously for a few seconds. There's something there. There's... "Did she take your watch?"

"I thought she was going to. Fuck. Robbing a dying man. Old people aren't how they used to be." He chuckles, and looks at said watch.

"Didn't it stop?"

"Uh... It's working again." He doesn't look at James's eyes when James answers. He looks at the hand moving second after second and minute after minute. Moving... "Backwards," he whispers.

James hides his hand under the table. "Anyway. Where are we going next?"

He remembers when Lars bought James that watch. Valentine's Day 1988. After laughing a little at him for buying James something at all--he knew James thought the day was bull--he showed him a little shop that had opened recently. It had the kind of quirky things he loved, the kind of things that'd make a present unique.

They might have been more quirky than he thought. Unless that old hag...

"Kirk?" He looks up. "I asked where you wanted to go next."

"To bed." There's a glint in James's eyes. "Not with you."

"You don't know what you're missing."

"Go back to your Lars," Kirk says, and James rolls his eyes. But the more he thinks about it, the more he is reluctant to leave him alone. Who knows what he could do. As long as he has that watch going...backwards... "I'm going back with you."

"I'm staying here."

"No, you're not."

"I think I can do whatever the fuck I want, Kirk."

Taking a big breath, Kirk imagines himself back in 1998. What would he have said to that? If it was a sexy girl, he would have said... "Well, wanna do, uh, me?" He cringes at himself. Thank God he got older.

James has that feral grin on. "Thought you didn't want to."

"I just realized what I was missing. 'Fuck it', you know? Let's go."

And it's not a long ride to the hotel.

Kirk is hopeful, on his way to Lars's room instead of his. Things are under control.

Until James stops his walk and pushes him against the wall.

5
James leans in to swallow the "stop" he knows is ready to get out of Kirk's mouth. And he feels there's something wrong about it. Some part of him is silently screaming.

Don't do it.

Lars.

Lars.


He loses himself in the black of Kirk's eyes, inches away from his face.

"James? You alright?"

"I..." He blinks a few times. There's a sudden need for more alcohol building in his body. And there would still be the need to fuck if that little voice at the back of his head would only shut up. "I just..."

"Let's go to your room."

"Uh..." Lars. "Kirk, in the end, I don't..."

Kirk smiles. "Alright. Let's go to Lars's room, it's right this way." And he starts walking down the corridor happily.

He gets it. Kirk never really intended to sleep with him.

Fucker.

He follows him still, passing a hand through his still short hair. He needs to let it grow out. Who told him cutting it was a good idea?

Yourself, years ago.

He shakes his head.

Knocking on Lars's door and getting in, they find Lars sleeping on his bed, breathing shallow. Wheezing.

Kirk touches his forehead. "Shit, he doesn't look good." And takes his cellphone.

James stares for a while, then feels the inconvenient need to go to the bathroom. He can still hear what Kirk is saying.

Washing his hands, he looks at himself in the mirror. He's looking good. He's looking so good. He can't believe Lars keeps pushing him away and only wanting to cuddle and stuff. Surely James has the stamina to go on all night...

*

They got him to the hospital quickly. Kirk panicking and James following. There's still that voice at the back of his head going crazy.

He remains passive.

It's only when they help him breath, under the bright lights of the room, that James realizes Lars really isn't going well at all.

White hair.

Wrinkles that weren't there last week.

"Shit. What..."

He's dragged out of the room by his shirt, vaguely hears people asking him to leave.

In the corridor, Kirk crowds him. He says with a low voice, "It's because of you."

His eyes shine. They blame. James feels suddenly weak.

"What?"

"He's getting older. I-I mean, faster than he should. It has to be because of you."

"Don't start with your freaky shit again."

He tries to go, one step forward. Kirk grabs his wrist.

"What did you do to that watch?" he asks. His grip tightens.

"Nothing!"

"It's going fucking backwards. You're going fucking backwards."

"Just how much did you fucking drink--"

"He's going to die!"

The part of him that pushed him away from Kirk is screaming for Lars again. It pours out from his heart and fills his insides. The fear of losing him is cold and sends shivers down his spine. "He's... He's not."

"Why did you do whatever you did to... To..." Kirk waves his hand in front of his face.

Something stabs James's heart. "I just wanted..."

He feels desperate.

Kirk frowns.

He needs to get out of here. And does, running away like some coward.

Kirk yells behind him. "Where the fuck do you think you're going! James!"

He runs to the car he followed the ambulance with on the way to the hospital.

He drives as fast as he can, out of the city, trying to find that lonely road with the lonely tree.

He's scared.

Then his cellphone rings. For some reason, he answers. The habit, maybe. Habits will lose him.

"COME BACK IN HERE."

"I can't--"

"He's calling for you."

His vision blurs. "I just wanted him to--to look at me that way again. I didn't mean--"

"It's too late now. Come--"

James cuts him off. Throws the cellphone on the passenger seat, and speeds up.

It's all so stupid.

He started thinking about his looks for Lars to begin with. Because he wanted him back. Lars was drifiting away from him. Or so he thought.

And now Lars is...

Dead

There's a tree on the side of the road.

James turns the wheel swiftly, and crashes into it. This time he hears glass break.

His thought is the same. 'For Lars'.

*

James doesn't feel worse than he did the first time.

He looks at the watch, still going steadily backwards, at a faster pace.

His arm hurts. Part of the skin is slowly turning red, part of the skin feels like it doesn't belong, like an added skin that he needs to tear off. It burns.

He feels blood flow on the side on his head. Some glass probably cut the skin there.

But no old woman.

He gets the watch off his wrist and glares at it. His hand shakes.

Back in the restaurant, the watch stopped. That's why he heard the guitar chords, and then woke up on the floor with a scared Lars beside him. It stopped, and he died.

If he smashed that fucking watch...would he die?

...would Lars live?

His cellphone rings again. Multiple times. Then, the signal of a message.

He's still staring at the watch, feeling his arm burn. He glances at it and sees the skin peeling off.

His shaky hand grabs the phone.

'He's gone.'

The phone falls. James buries his face in his hands, rubs his face, and looks forward.

His hands are smeared with blood, now. Literally. Figuratively.

He gets out of the car, eyes and skin burning, and throws the watch on the ground. He steps on it, smashes it down with his foot. And again. And again. And again.

Whatever happens.

It's not like he can keep on living without him.

The blood flowing down his face reaches his chin.

More guitar sounds. Nothing like a riff this time. It's more like

*

Bright lights. Hospital.

And Lars.

James jumps out of the bed, wincing when his body protests, and grabs Lars's shoulders. Lars. He beams.

"You're alive..."

Lars's eyebrows go up. "You're telling me that? Who's the idiot who crashed his car?"

He hugs him. Tight.

"Alright, alright, I'm happy you're good."

"I love you."

He can see Lars's eyes shine a little, and smiles.

"Me too. God knows why, uh."

He kisses and nips on his neck, slides his hands down his back, his ass, and squeezes. Enjoys.

"James, not the place."

"We can hide somewhere if you want." More kisses.

Lars chuckles. "We're too old for this."

James tightens his arms around him.

"Don't say that."
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Isis
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TEA + CUDDLES

LOVED IT. Definitely the best damn story on the forums. It has all the elements I love in a story. Beautiful romance, severe angst, desperation, helplessness, hopelessness, and the supernatural element is like a cherry on top.

Someone might argue that this is a cliche Monkeys Paw story--wish for something bad, the consequences after, but it's done so well with strong, minute details that give away a lot in so little (your forte). On top of that, the best part is that James sucks the life out of Lars to keep his own. You wanna talk consequences? Shit, that's one hell of a fucking consequence. He wanted to be young for Lars, and he ends up killing him. God, the angst. The fact that James doesn't notice it until the very end, when his younger self has taken over and the scene where his older self is screaming in his head for Lars--that is so powerful it hurts.

The whole idea of James regressing backwards is fascinating and spooky. I mean, for those who don't like modern day James and wish he would be his younger self--fan and James in this story alike, it happens. You get your younger James who is back to just flirting and fucking anything that moves, is aggressive, drinks beer, the macho man women (and men) want. You know what I mean? You hear them all the time on Youtube. "HETFIELD SHOULD GO BACK TO DRINKING." So he does. And what is the outcome but an awful James who hurts the ones he loves, not just Lars, but Kirk, Rob... again, back to that old adage. "Be careful what you wish for." The tattoos fading, his eyesight going, the beer coming back, etc. Love it.

On top of that your characterization was so spot on. Rob, Kirk, Lars and your James, but I expect nothing less considering you write the best James ever. He comes across so real, as does Lars. I can hear them when I read your words. Even the romance part of James, that seems so him. No adages of love or professing flowery language. The love is inherit in there, in the story, with his actions and what happens in the story. So well done here.

I could quote so many passages out of this story it's fucking ridiculous. The whole crash scene in part 1. I could see James in that crash. I love how you chose the right words needed to paint a gruesome, hurtful picture in my head. Then there's that part where Lars in part 2 realizes all the anger he had against James was so useless. Kirk's shock and realization as to what's going on with James in part 4, and the funny part where he's like, THANK GOD I GOT OLDER, lol, that's so Kirk. And Rob, quietly there for Lars, and James's jealous over their relationship... I just love it all. The BEST part though? In part 5, James, his skin peeling over while he sits bloody in the car crash, signs of Montreal, and how it's like, such a BRUTAL fucking image, as well as grotesque, as well as a fucking metaphor for how distraught and hurt he is that Lars is dead now, and it's all his fault. His skin is peeling off, trying to get away from himself. Trying to just die. Montreal was the time when James COULD have died, and now he just wants to die, and he dies in that time period, when things could've changed for the worst--and now they are in the worst, now, in 2010. Man. Fucking awesome.

Seriously, in addition, the ending of part 5. "Don't say that." I can hear it, and see it, James's face as he hugs Lars to him, realizing the whole moral of the story is beyond "be careful what you wish for," it's to enjoy what you have and don't let it go.

tl;dr: I love this story and I don't give two shits that you think it's weird or ridiculous. It's wonderful and I'm happy you shared it here. Here's hoping others feel the same way. If not, idgaf. :heart:
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Jungleland
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HUG PEOPLE
[ * ]
...what can I say but thank you Posted Image :heart:
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