Fic: Unraveled Title: Unraveled Author: Tabby (why_me_why_not on IJ & LJ) Fandom: bandom; The Academy Is... and Empires Pairing/characters: William Beckett-centric, appearances by Tom Conrad, Sean Van Vleet, and Nick Scimeca Rating: PG Word Count: 1278 Disclaimer: I don't claim to actually know anything about the lives of anyone mentioned herein. If you found this by googling your own name or that of someone you know, please hit the backbutton. Or at least don't tell me about it, okay Tom? Summary:He’s not sure how things got so fucked up with Tom, how they went from being bandmates and friends and so much more to where they are now, when their mutual friends won’t even mention them to each other. Everything happened so fast, not just them falling apart but everything before it as well. A/N: Inspired by the prompt of Time After Time. Encouraged by reallythateasy and beta'd by irisgirl12000. Any remaining mistakes, inaccuracies, and ridiculousness are all mine.
William’s staring at the ceiling of his bedroom, counting cracks in the ceiling that he’s long since memorized and listening to the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. Insomnia is supposed to be Pete’s thing, not his. He doesn’t seem to have a problem with it most of the time, at least not without an excuse – coming off tour and adjusting his sleep schedule again is the big one. At least Christine and the baby are at her parents’ house for the weekend and he doesn’t have to worry about keeping her up or lying to her about what’s keeping him up.
He sighs and picks his cell up off the side table, scrolling through his contact list. He pauses when he gets to the entry that says Cat. He doesn’t even think the number’s right anymore, but he couldn’t take it off his contact list. Just in case. He did change it, so Christine, or Carden, wouldn’t accidentally find it and give him shit. Cat. Carden thinks it’s the number for some chick William picked up after a show in Des Moines, instead of simply Tom's initials backwards. Sometimes William just has to go with what works.
He’s not sure how things got so fucked up with Tom, how they went from being bandmates and friends and so much more to where they are now, when their mutual friends won’t even mention them to each other. Everything happened so fast, not just them falling apart but everything before it as well. They had all handled it differently, the life of The Academy Is…, and William hadn’t listened to hear what wasn’t being said, hadn’t realized that they weren’t all on the same page.
Whatever went down, whatever tension there was, he hadn’t wanted this. It’s probably unrealistic to think that they could be friends again. There were too many hurt feelings, too many words that couldn’t be taken back, on both sides. All sides. Trying to reign in the strings of their friendship after it unraveled was like trying to put smoke back in a cigarette. Still, he wishes there was something he could do, that he could have offered something to Tom after he left other than bad memories.
There were good memories too, he knows. Probably more than the bad, actually, but they seem to hurt worse, the warmth of them enough to burn, so he keeps them locked up, bringing them out only on nights like this.
The five of them onstage that first time Tom played with them, hot and sweaty and shaking with nerves. Tom and William grinning at each other like idiots when… well, that actually happened a lot. Tom, bleary eyed and grumpy, being woken up for his turn at the wheel and threatening them all with evil looks until someone brought him coffee. William and Tom and Sisky squished together on a hotel bed – five guys and a room with one bed, Butcher asleep on the tabletop and Carden crashed out on the floor. Tom and Jon, back when Jon was still teching for them, before he was stolen away. Sometimes William thinks if Jon hadn't left to join Panic, things wouldn't have turned out like they did. No one would've been able to treat Tom the way they did with Jon watching them.
Then again, he doesn't begrudge Jon any of the success and happiness he's found either, and he’s probably fooling himself to believe that anything could have made a difference. Maybe this is the way it was meant to be, anyway. Tom's happy now, settled into a different life, a life that William has no part in. But when William slips Tom into conversation, makes a roundabout inquiry into his wellbeing, the answer is always a positive one these days.
Nick tells him Empires is playing the Bottom Lounge on the 22nd, and even offers to find him a ticket. William turns him down, but calls him back the next day. “You still have that ticket for Tom’s band?”
“I’ll bring it by tonight.”
“Thanks. Oh, and Nick—“
“I know,” Nick cuts him off. “I won’t tell him.”
William waits until the band is just about to start before sneaking into a spot in the corner of the bar and orders a drink. He tries to watch all of them, tries to listen to the music, and it shouldn’t be as hard as it is to focus on it because they’re not bad. He feels pretty shitty for not listening to their album, but he’s selfish enough to admit he didn’t want to know how well Tom fit in with someone else’s band.
William has nothing against Chislett, has no problems with The Academy Is… in its current incarnation. But it’s not the same, and there are times, even now, when they’re onstage that he’ll turn to smile at Tom and get thrown off beat when it’s not Tom beside him.
Tom looks good, William thinks. He looks happy, and William realizes he didn’t actually believe that until now, until he could see it for himself. William watches as Tom grins at Van Vleet, a grin that used to be his, and tries not to feel jealous. Van Vleet smiles back, just as bright and happy, and okay, maybe William is a little jealous. He watches Max for a minute – he knows Max, of course he does, but he’ll always be Tom’s girlfriend’s little brother, even if he is ridiculously talented – before turning his attention to the guy on bass. Something Smith, his mind supplies after a moment, and William makes a mental note to google it or ask Nick. He’s well aware of how creepy that sounds, even to himself, but he really feels obligated to check up on the people Tom’s hanging out with, now that he’s given in to admitting Tom’s moved on.
He’s distracted from his thoughts about that when he notices blood on the drumkit, and his heart races a bit, wondering exactly what the hell their drummer did. Apparently it’s not a big deal, because a tech passes Luciani a rag between the next songs, and Tom just shakes his head at him, a familiarly indulgent look on his face. William makes a second note to find out about the drummer as well, because he’s apparently pretty faily.
After the set, William sits at the bar, peeling the label off his bottle and wondering if he’s imbibed enough liquid courage to go over and talk to Tom. He wants to, wants to congratulate him, maybe smooth things over a bit. It’s been far too long, and it’s a little ridiculous. He’s surprised when Van Vleet turns up beside him, ordering a round of beers for the band before he turns to William.
“Why are you here?”
He’s not sure how to respond to the barely-concealed anger in Van Vleet’s tone, but he decides honesty is probably the way to go here. Fucking Gabe and his insistence on telling the truth, even if it hurts everyone involved. “I just… I heard you guys were good. I wanted to see for myself. And… I needed to check up on him. Make sure he’s okay.”
“He’s fine.” The answer is cold, sharp. Van Vleet picks up the drinks the bartender passes over and William puts a hand on his arm to stop him before he walks away.
“Just… if there’s anything I can do, any way to help him…”
“He doesn’t need you.”
William sighs as he watches Van Vleet cross the bar, back to his friends. His band. He’s probably right; Tom doesn’t need William. He never did.