From Brooklyn to Bear Mountain State Park, Sunday

[suitably_heroic]

It was a rare Sunday where all their schedules collided perfectly, and so the band had jumped on the opportunity to finally finish– what might be the last song for the new album that had been coalescing on them unexpectedly over the past few months. Music flowed through their practice space. Piano, to be precise, as Jack led them into another go at ‘The Dead Should Leave Us Alone’.

The opening melody was a quiet one, a little haunting but not too much. Dane picked over the guitar strings beside them, following the progression he’d set out weeks ago. Riffing on the edges. “Pretty days like this, the dead should leave us alone,” Jack started, cutting in halfway into the melody. “The sunlight's on me, but my feet get caught on the stone…”

Still quiet. Jill and Trent came in after him, bass low and warm and a little punchy, kick drum keeping pace. Building, winding, the chorus louder, guitar chords kicking nice and full, and then louder again on the second go around, and on the third–

Dane’s guitar went off. Higher. Jack winced, swallowing the next few syllables– “Why do we al-ways cra-ve ab-so-lu-tion,” – and then, finally, slowing to a stop.

“We talked about this,” he said, looking aside at his guitarist. Who gave a little shrug, a one-shoulder affair that probably looked like nothing to anyone outside of the room. But he and Jill both winced at the exact same time, their gaze meeting across the room.

“Oh, come on,” Dane sighed, still looking his guitar. He was messing around with the tuning, making the E bend weirdly to something more F-sharp-y. “Let’s just modulate the key in the last chorus. Let’s just do it. It’ll give a kick to it–-”

“It’ll make it sound like an 80s power ballad,” Jack retorted. “Which this is not. I'm already trying to ignore how half of this album is in the key of ‘Livin’ on a Prayer’.”

Yeah. No. That kicked-puppy look he was getting was not good. “It’ll work,” Dane said.

“It won’t.”

“And how do you know for sure?” Dane said, pointing at him with a pick. “I taught you everything you know.”

“And lo,” Jack said, tilting his head. “The student has become the master.”

Look. He didn’t want to hurt Dane’s feelings. He just also didn’t want the record to sound like something Michael Jackson would’ve birthed in his glory days. And clearly he’d communicated that correctly to Dane, because now the guy was looking at Jill instead.

In the corner, Trent muttered, “Awkward,” and pulled on a bass string.

“Jillian Spooky Anderson,” he proclaimed. “You have my back on this, right?”

Jill sighed. She tapped the kick drum, and shook her head. “I hate to say it,” she said, “But I’m with space boy on this one.”

Oh, good. Jack let out a deep breath. (He’d have to talk to Dane later.) “Thanks.”

That got him a drumstick pointed at him. “But you better have my back next time I want to 5/8 something.”

“Sure, sure,” Jack said. His gaze skipped to Dane’s face again, but the man’s expression had closed. “Now can we run it again? I’m into the layering, Jill.”

-

It wasn’t often that Dane got a weekend day off, and so they’d decided to head back up to Bear Mountain after practice - for a hike, and then camping. It had seemed like a fantastic idea in the morning, with the weather improving over the next couple of days. They’d been stuck in the apartment too long. Some exercise and blue skies, had been the thought, would suit them well.

Unfortunately, the gloom from practice hadn’t dissipated. Dane was quiet for most of the initial hike, gripping the straps of his backpack tight as he followed Jack further and further into the wilderness. A few times, Jack thought about saying something. Every time, he chose not to.

He didn’t know how to unspool this tension without just blowing a big hole in it.

In the end, he didn’t have to. They were halfway around a big boulder when the bomb dropped.

“You know, it’s my song too.”

Jack’s feet almost missed a step, but he caught himself. He’d clearly let his guard down. “Yeah,” he said.

“And this started as a tune for me,” Dane added. His voice sounded stretched thin. “Why couldn’t you just back me up?”

Talk about loaded questions. Jack racked his head for an answer, but he didn’t have any, so he just exhaled. Maybe he should just… stop walking?

Apparently he hadn’t said anything quickly enough, because Dane’s voice twisted, and he was speaking again. “It’s– It’s my song. We made it for me. Why can’t you just let me have that one thing, huh? It’s just a fucking key change.”

Right. Stopping was good. Jack’s feet slowed, then turned. He half-expected Dane to run into him, with him sounding like that, but… no. Apparently they’d been on the same wavelength on that one, at least.

Though what could he say here, exactly? Dane knew the technical reasons for his response. This wasn’t about that. He wasn’t even sure there was a right answer to that. Wasn’t even sure Dane was asking him, exactly.

“Well?” Dane retorted. “Come on, man. You argue like it’s your reason for breathing. I know you’ve got something stored up. Just let me have it! Tell me I’m being an idiot, that I don’t get what’s right for the song, or for my own fucking music…”

Yeah. Definitely not asking him.

“You’re not an idiot,” Jack said patiently, meeting his eyes. “And I’m not arguing because I don’t think this is my argument.”

Oh. Oof. That one had landed. Dane looked lost, his eyes spooking all over the place as he clearly tried to make sense of that and then– didn’t.

“Please don’t ask me to spell it out,” Jack muttered. “I hate it when people spell it out to me.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Dane said.

Jack shook his head, tossing a quick glance away from him. At a… bush, or something. Very interesting bush. “Look, can I ask you a difficult question?”

“... Sure.”

“Do you really think there’s no point in talking to your sister about what happened to your brother,” Jack said, as he leaned back against the large rock wall, arms crossed. He looked back at Dane. “Or are you just scared because you’ve been putting it off for a million years and you don’t want anything to change?”

The lines in Dane’s face grew tighter. Suddenly, he almost looked his age. “Hey, now,” he snapped. “I have been trying–”

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” Jack said quickly, before he could wind himself up all the way. “I’m genuinely asking. I get it. I’ll back you up either way, I just want to know what you need.”

Space. The guy looked so pole-axed right now, it made him feel bad. He wanted to reach out further, say, I get it, sometimes things are hard and you want to feel in control of something in this stupid galaxy, so you start firing your blaster into your boots. But that would be condescending. And probably not helpful.

“I don’t,” Dane started. He shook his head, as if trying to unwind his own mind with a gesture. “I. I think it’s the last one,” he admitted. His shoulders caved inward. “I just, if we get this song just right, maybe she’ll get it, you know? Maybe she’ll leave it alone, or it’ll be easier, or I’ll… I’ll feel like I’ve said something, done something, helped something…”

Aw. Shit.

Jack pulled away from the rock. “Hey,” he said, quieter. Thought: oh, fuck it, and took a few steps, pulling the poor guy into a hug. “I’m just trying to help,” he said. “But I think maybe you should talk to her too. Or to somebody who’s less of a broken-brained, emotionally unavailable dick.”

Dane buried his face in his shoulder. The sound was muffled, but Jack thought he could work out the, “You help.”

Made his stomach squeeze a little harder.

“We’ll game it out,” he offered. “Okay? We’ve got a day and a half to game out this whole stupid conversation, so you can get through it unscathed and then it’ll be done.”

“Okay,” Dane mumbled.

“Okay,” Jack repeated.

Space, when had he become this guy?

“So now let’s just breathe.”

“Breathing,” Dane managed. “... and you were right about the key change.”

Jack pulled away and shot him a wry smile. “Yeah, I know.”


[[ establishy ]]