Category Linkin Park

Metallic by Trash


Remember this? Thank you to - Hayley for the beta; Bec, Tracie, Doodle, Tali and all of the others who said 'just finish it!'; Zoe for saying 'I hear you're not with Kassandra any more'; Kate for saying 'She likes her life to be one big epic drama'.


Chester and Rob aren’t speaking. This could either be because Rob flipped Chester’s Mullen M-11 six times into on coming traffic, or because he’s fucking Mike.

After much begging and pleading and reassurance that he would get it back without a scratch, Chester eventually handed over his keys to Rob. In the drummer’s defence, the car didn’t have a scratch on it; it had several million scratches, indentations, the passenger door was missing and all of the windows were destroyed. When Chester arrived at the scene of the accident a cop handed him the half melted number plate. Mike had to take it off of him before he threw it at someone.

Mike drove Chester to the hospital where Brad, Dave and Joe were already sitting in the waiting room, batting a Dixie cup back and forth. Seeing them laughing and joking was all Chester needed to know that Rob was going to be alright. A doctor came through hourly to update them on Rob’s condition. Apparently, he got off lightly because of the Mullen’s strong frame work and reinforced windscreen and double airbags. He was still a wreck though, broken bones ensuring that he wouldn’t be drumming for a while.

Later, when they are allowed into his room, Rob would assure them repeatedly that he was totally sober and that he wasn’t stupid enough to drink and drive even if he liked alcohol. Later again, as they are leaving, Brad will say to Rob “Goodnight, you alcoholic.”

In between arriving, draining cup after polystyrene cup of lukewarm coffee, whilst sitting in the waiting room and visiting Rob, Chester sat and imagined the world without a car. Not just any car, a $69,950 car. He imagined having Mike escort him everywhere. That didn’t seem like such a bad thing, really, since they hardly spent a minute apart anyway. Being without a car made Chester feel stranded, and he kept thinking of things he needed to do that required a car. Mike would never let him borrow his since Chester wasn’t exactly known to be a safe driver. He was screwed.

He sat on his hard, plastic waiting room chair with his head in his hands and sighed deeply. Mike sat beside him and slung an arm over his shoulders, leaning in and placing a discreet kiss on his cheek, before sitting back again.

“At least nobody was seriously hurt.” Mike murmured, loud enough for only Chester to hear. “It’s a good job it was your car he crashed.” He continued as an addendum.

Chester turned in his crummy little seat to stare at him. “Are you for real?” He hissed angrily.

Mike simply nodded. “If it was my car or Joe’s or Dave’s, or Brad’s rust bucket, then he’d be dead by now.”

Chester didn’t answer because, as much as he wanted his Mullen back, he wouldn’t want Rob to be in a worse state than he was already.

Mike started fretting when the doctor didn’t come to tell them how Rob was doing. Everyone else was nervous, but Mike was livid. He kept walking around in a circle in front of the others, cursing the health system and biting his lip until Joe told him to “Sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up.”

When Chester wasn’t wondering what the hell he was going to do about transport or how long it would take before Rob was healed enough to play again, he wondered if Mike would react to him getting hurt in the same we he reacted to Rob getting hurt. When they showed up at the crash site and saw the Mullen on its side with the hood concertinaed, and its door ripped off, Chester saw Mike’s face pale. At first he had thought it was because one of their best friends had been in that wreck of a car at one point, or maybe it was because of the other eight cars piled up behind and on top of each other, and mashed into the front of the Mullen, but now Chester was getting a little suspicious.

Brad took him aside and reminded him “Rob’s got a girlfriend.” But that didn’t quieten the little voice in the back of his head.

After the doctor let them in to see Rob and after Brad had called him an alcoholic, and after thirty minutes of Chester standing beside the drummer’s bed awkwardly he heard a quiet “I’m sorry.”

Chester smiled a little and said “It’s just a car.” By this time, he was starting to accept the fact that the Mullen was not going to come back.

Rob shook his head “I know.”

Chester was silent on the ride home. Mike didn’t say much either, save for humming along to Californication on the radio. Pulling up outside of the house, Mike killed the engine and turned to the other man, staring at him with glassy eyes. “What’s wrong? Are you still mourning for that fucking car?”

“Fuck you.” Chester spat, pushing his door open and slamming it shut after him. He couldn’t explain why he felt so antsy and bitter, but he put it down to the way Rob had said sorry, because it left Chester feeling like Rob was apologising for more than wrecking his car.

Mike followed him up the path and into the house, closing the door behind him. “Why are you acting like such a spoilt child?”

Chester made a noise at the back of his throat, throwing his hands in the air and staring at Mike. The expression painted on the emcee’s face was one of anger and confusion. The confusion grew as Chester yelled “You tell me!” before storming up the stairs and slamming any open doors.

Chester sat on the edge of his bed staring out of the window, wishing he could shake the thoughts of Mike and Rob. He knew he should have more faith in Mike, but now that the idea was in his head, it wasn’t about to leave. He found himself picturing them together, and suddenly all of those friendly touches and hugs lost their innocence.

He must’ve fallen asleep because when he opened his eyes he was under the covers with Mike beside him, wrapped in his warm embrace. All thoughts of Mike cheating on him left his mind.


With their tour on the horizon, the pressure was mounting for Rob to get better. He had long been out of hospital and spent most of his time at home resting. The only thing left was the graffitied cast encasing his left arm. The doctor said that as long as he gave it plenty time to heal, he should have no future problems with it.

Rob’s slow recovery pissed Chester off to no end. He was itching to get back on tour. He was itching to do anything. He spent hours on end sitting down with Mike and Brad organising everything. Ideally, the entire band would like to practice but there wasn’t much they could do without their drummer. When he wasn’t talking business with Brad, he was writing lyrics with Mike in an attempt to get rid of all of the emo crap he had running through his mind. Mike didn’t seem to notice how bad the lyrics were, he just added his own bit and then they’d mess around singing them in stupid voices, and then they’d fuck.

He still had no car, which meant he had to either rely on Mike or cab it, and who knew cab drivers could sing so badly and so out of tune to every song on the radio? Rob had said he’d buy him a new car, not a Mullen but anything else he wanted. Chester turned down Rob’s offer when he noticed Mike watching him from the background. The emcee probably put him up to it in the first place. Everyone had noticed how snappy and irritable Chester had become since Rob’s accident. They all put it down to his profound lack of personal transport, and Chester didn’t correct them.


Mike went with Rob to get his cast off, as Mike left the house Chester made faces at his back. He realised how pathetic he was being, and went back inside and emptied a bottle of vodka between the shot glasses in the cupboard.

When Mike called to say that he was staying at Rob’s for a little while, Chester was so completely out of it that he muttered some colourful phrases and hung up, before calling Brad and crying down the phone to him. The guitarist tried his hardest to calm the distressed singer down, but couldn’t really understand anything he was saying. He must’ve called Mike out of desperation, because soon enough he was standing over Chester, who had his cheek pressed to the cold linoleum of the kitchen floor.

“Chester?” He whispered gently, reaching out for his lover. Chester slapped at his hand and pushed himself backwards along the floor, until his back connected with the cupboard doors.

“Fruck off, Mike.” He slurred under his breath angrily.

Mike sighed, “What’s wrong Chester?” He asked, reaching out to help him to his feet. Chester batted the hand away again.

“Didn’t I tell you to fuck off?” He asked angrily, clambering to his feet gracelessly and gripping the edge of the counter for dear life.

Mike leaned against the fridge and rolled his eyes “No, you told me to fruck off, however.”

Chester turned his back to Mike, meaning to say ‘Smart ass’ but his words stuck in his throat, and he vomited into the sink. Mike was straight there, rubbing his back like he used to all those other times before. Chester felt his eyes sting with tears as he dry retched some more, before sticking his head under the tap to wash his mouth out. He turned a little and came face to face with Mike, and Mike’s guilty brown eyes and Mike’s guilty expression.

“Get out.” He hissed through his teeth, his stomach hurting from throwing up so violently.

“You’re drunk, Chester.”

“You think?” He said, rolling his head along his shoulders listening to his neck pop.

“Let’s just talk about this, please Chester.” Mike begged taking a step closer to the other man, who held up his hands in warning.

“Leave me alone, Mike. Please, just leave me alone.” He turned, and stared out of the kitchen window, not seeing very much because his glasses were smashed and on the living room floor from where he tripped on the stairs but, of course, the vodka wasn’t helping all that much.

“Why are you being like this?” Mike asked in frustration.

“Go crawl back to Rob.” He snapped viciously, dropping his chin to his chest and trying to keep the tears at bay.

It was hard when Mike just took a deep breath and exhaled through his nose, whispering “I’m so sorry, Ches’.” Chester didn’t turn away from the window; he just stared out at the back yard, only blinking when he heard the front door slam, and Mike’s car engine start up.

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