Category Linkin Park

It Starts With by Silent_Slaughter

Fall from Grace

It wasn't that unusual from any other night. The six boys were most certainly enjoying themselves, that is, until Mike missed the amp and fell. He landed on his feet, but ended up jamming bone against bone and fell back, guitar and all. He groaned, but managed to get up, and with a wonderful thing, called adrenaline, he was able to continue the show on some sort of high. Of course, the adrenaline wore off before the show was even over, but at that point he was going on the high of pain and shock.

Once off stage, Rob was the first one to ask if he was okay, the other four didn't even seem to have noticed. He smiled at the younger male, “Yeah, I'm fine, just landed a little funny, but I caught myself.” He reassured. Rob seemed skeptical at first, and Mike almost had to curse to himself, thinking he had been caught. The drummer was too observant, but then, he nodded, and patted Mike's back before disappearing. The emcee blinked; strange boy.

Mike managed to limp his way backstage. He let out a relieved sigh once off his leg, and couldn't believe the pain it had been causing him. Maybe he should get the damned thing checked out. He wasn't pleased with that idea. They would tell him it was broken and he needed a cast, and he would refuse, and then they would force him to wear a boot twice as long, and those things weighed a lot.

The half-Japanese male had dealt with doctor's long enough to know exactly how he reacted to them. Not very well. They just didn't please him. They always tried to hinder him; stop him, and get in the way.

Luckily, though, they had a break soon, and he would be able to go home and just relax. He had to thank some holy being for that. Maybe he would feel much better afterwards.

As he laid back against the couch, he yelped. His shoulder blade absolutely throbbed. “Ohhh...” He whimpered as he tried to hunch over, but that hurt too. He finally just sat up, keep the muscles relaxed as possible.

“Mike?” The singer asked, in an all too familiar sing-song fashion, “We're leaving to go home soon.”

Mike nodded, “Kay... come get me when we're leaving, kay? I'ma take a nap...” He trailed, knowing Chester was just going to question his statement. A nap? Why the hell did he need a nap now? They could do that on the plane! Chester pouted slightly, “But I was kinda hoping to hang out and stuff.” He answered.

The emcee sighed, no arguing with that face. He would hear it from the diva until he gave in and just hung out with him, well, entertained him. Chester was obviously in one of those 'I'm bored and helpless, entertain me.' moods.

“Then what'd you wanna do?” Mike asked, knowing it was a stupid question, but he might as well try to spark up a conversation. He was hoping his friend didn't recognize the stiffness in his actions and movements, but he usually did.

Chester was silent for a moment, almost contemplating. One could tell when he was thinking, it was the only time he didn't run his mouth. Okay, so Mike might be being a little bitter, but he was hurting, a lot, he figured he was allowed to think something like that, after all, he hears his band mates talk about how he has a stick up his ass twenty-four-seven. Can they blame him? No, he, himself, is kind of high-strung. He needs things done, and he needs them done perfectly. He has to constantly please other people, and he's not sure why. He just knows that he does.

But, Mike sighs, he's wondered off in thought and forgotten about the main point in his thoughts. Chester was thinking. His eyes were unfocused and distant as he thought about whatever it was he was thinking about. The Asian was just waiting for him to say something about the slip up. “You fell and hit the stage... rather hard...” He pointed out, as if Mike didn't know that.

“I'm aware, Chaz.” He answered, simply, not spiteful at all, despite the fact that he felt like hitting the other upside the head.

The singer shrugged, “You know... maybe... you should go to the doctor?”

Mike shook his head, “I was thinking about doing that when we got home... It'll give me sometime to rest... and then get ready to run out on stage again.” He almost wanted to wince at the very idea of running. Right now, he didn't even like the idea of walking. He really had no idea how he was going to make it to the car, and then to the plane.

The artist groaned, accidentally. 'Well, shit, Shinoda...' He huffed, this time, remembering to keep the sound to himself.

Chester looked up alarmed, “Mikey...?”

'Oh, don't say it that way, you're making me feel bad about being hurt,' He wanted to pout back at the other for the childish voice, but that would accomplish nothing. In fact, it would cause more trouble. Mike pouted, playfully, all the time, but right now just wasn't the time.

The emcee made one of 'those' (as his band members called it) faces. The one that he usually made when thinking about new lyrics, keyboard parts, guitar parts, or a painting. This time, though, he was trying to think about how to get Chester out of the room so that he could fall asleep.

That's when he realized that he had pretty much fallen into the singer's trap. 'Note to self, lock the door.' Chester wouldn't go anywhere, and if he even tried to get the singer to leave, he would question him. Eventually, Mike was screwed, and he knew it. Somehow, someway, he was going to the doctor's very soon, and he was going to be babied. 'Note to self, number two, don't miss the amp stacks.'

His mind was already hazy, and he knew he probably wasn't acting right. But any of his actions didn't compare to the next. He leaned forward, kissing the other. In a matter of three seconds, his brain was gone, and his heart took over, and right after that, everything seemed to slow significantly, and he was unconscious.

Chester put his middle and index fingers to his lips, blinking. He liked that... a lot... and he knew he liked it too much, but who could blame him? Honest? Mike was one of the most amazing people he knew... if not the most amazing. He was amazingly talented, artistic beyond his own grasp. The man had to have an impressive IQ. There was no way so much could go on in one brain otherwise. A twenty-six year-old brain, no less. What Mike thought about definitely wasn't normal for a twenty-six year-old.

He was constantly scribbling something, not always necessary in English... actually, not always necessarily in any language. The man was just so complicated, and so hard to understand, yet, Chester always felt that he knew him best, mentally. Brad may know more about his past, but Chester could grasp the functions of the brain inside the thick skull, under the ebony hair, spiked to a perfection.

Chester had to pull himself back into reality, especially when he heard Mike whimper out, having landed on his injured shoulder blade.

The singer set to work to make him feel somewhat better. Chester grabbed two pillows, and lifted Mike up a bit. He put the pillows right under his shoulder blades, trying to lesson the pressure. Then he began to work on the task of removing the shoes. He got those off pretty easily, then his socks, and he gasped. “Fuck, 'noda. This...” He sighed, “Is so like you,” He managed to finish. He always was out to prove something. He had to have done at least half the show like this; nearly an hour on his feet. That was insane. Mike was insane, but he had already covered this.

Yes, Chester had done a show with a broken wrist, but you didn't need one of those to sing. As long as his other arm was okay to hold the microphone, he was good to go. Mike had continued to run around on this leg though, and it looked pretty bad. He had obviously jammed bone into bone when he landed, slamming his heel into the ground, at an awkward angle, and pushing the shin down and grinding it into the other bones. The very thought was nails on a chalk board to Chester. How he got up and kept playing, he wouldn't know. He wished he had known. They could have altered the play list to allow Mike a little more at the keyboard and allow him to just take it easy, even if only for a moment.

Sighing, he grabbed the pillow behind his own back, and propped up Mike's leg, rolling the pants up and inspecting the damage fully. It definitely was broken, and he would definitely need some kind of casting, or a boot for an extended period of time. Mike wasn't going to get away with wrapping it up or even staying off his feet for the five day break (one of their longest breaks in god knows how long).

Chester sighed, grabbing a blanket and putting it over the younger male's body, and then just sitting back on the couch and staying there, once again losing himself in his thoughts, most of which revolving around Mike.

End Chapter One.

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