#electronic stuff or music to relax in the tub to | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

macandlacy · 5 years ago

Text

“His Baby” updates!

Chapter 5: Bedtime RoutineSummary:

Summary: From a prompt by HCShannon: Stuff like putting him to bed, swaddling him in blankets, then reading him a story.

John liked routine, and had had a self-imposed bedtime since he was a youngster. He adjusted it a little as he got older, but not by a lot. Really the only exceptions were gigs that ran late or the occasional study sessions. But he was good about budgeting his time, and except for a performance, he was rarely up past his bedtime.

Especially with Freddie around.

The singer had two modes and schedules when it came to John’s bedtime- at home, and on tour. When at home, it was pretty easy to keep John on his schedule; recording sessions simply ended when it was time to head home so John would have time to properly unwind and relax. His usual bedtime was around 11:00, depending on the schedule for the next day.

But when on tour, it was a lot more difficult. The more successful Queen became, the longer the after parties tended to go. Sometimes the show wasn’t even done until after 10:00, and then the party was going strong until the wee hours of the night. It could take hours for John to settle down after a good show.

So Freddie learned to play it largely by ear, although he always aimed for around 1:00 am when they had another show the next day. Midnight would be better, he fretted, but it was seldom realistic. The best Freddie could do was insist that parties were always at their hotel, so all he had to do was get John tucked in bed upstairs, and then he could easily return to the festivities. Clubbing was reserved for nights when they didn’t have a show the following day and John was allowed to stay up later.

People often wondered where Freddie had disappeared to, and Brian and Roger would just shrug. It was usually assumed that he had gone off with someone, and truth was, he had. It was just he had gone with John, and not a party person.

“I’m not tired,” John fussed.

“Yes, you are,” Freddie said. He started running a bath and made sure to add John’s favorite bubbles and bath salts. They’d all had showers just a few hours earlier at the venue, but Freddie knew a bath would settle John the quickest. He heard the tinkling of the mini-fridge and frowned.

“John, no more drinking,” he said firmly, going out the living room area. Sure enough, John was just about the pull the tab on a can of beer.

“One more?” John pleaded, using his puppy eyes. Fortunately, Freddie was immune to puppy eyes.

“Decaf tea,” Freddie said sternly. He started the kettle and picked out a chamomile blend. John huffed, but accepted the cup when it was ready and stomped off to the bathroom.

“Wash behind your ears,” Freddie called. John muttered something in return, waving his hand.

Freddie got the bedroom ready for his son, making sure the temp was set to how John liked it and fluffing the pillows. They were sharing a two bedroom suite, Freddie’s favorite set up when on tour as it enabled him to keep on eye on his boy, and he was nearby if John had a nightmare. The fact that John seldom had nightmares didn’t matter to the singer; he needed to be close just in case.

John emerged from the bath dressed in his favorite Disney pajamas and Freddie barely resisted the urge to take a photo; Deaky was just too cute for words. Of course it was also pretty funny to see John in a Disney shirt and his mouse ears, chugging a beer. Freddie allowed John to drink only on special occasions and finding a new Disney shirt had been rated a suitable event.

“Did you take your vitamins and medicine?”

“Yes, Freddie.”

“Good, good.”

Freddie tucked John into bed, fussing to find a channel on the television that would give some noise but not be annoying. Anything violent was of course not allowed, and the news could be distressing. Freddie finally found a nature documentary that looked suitably boring and adjusted the volume so it was just enough for some slight background noise. John was already yawning, pleasantly relaxed after his bath and having drank just enough to be sleepy without being drunk. “Alright dear boy, I will be back soon. Just call to the front desk if you need anything.”

“I’m fine,” John protested mildly.

“Of course you are,” Freddie murmured reassuringly. He continued to tuck the sheets and blankets firmly under the mattress until John was practically pinned to the bed, swaddled securely. “Do you want a story?”

“No,” John wrinkled his nose. “The television is fine.”

“Alright.” Freddie kissed his forehead. “Glass of water is on the nightstand. The light is on in the bathroom. I’ll leave the door to my bedroom open. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Freddie.”

John waited a few minutes to make sure Freddie was gone, and then started the struggle to get free. Tonight wasn’t too bad; some nights John swore that Freddie had tied him to the bed. He managed to get his arms free and from there it was easy.

John fetched his beer from the mini frig, and flipped through the channels until he came to the pay-for-view section. Umm…..”Hot Tub University: Bikini’s gone wild.” Sounded interesting.

***********************************************************************

Chapter 6: BreakdownSummary:

Summary: John didn’t ask for much. Just one little thing after a horrible day. And when he’s not happy, Papa isn’t happy….

"John Richard Deacon Mercury, unlock the door this instant, young man!" His full name. John was in serious trouble.

Notes:

From a prompt by Bella: Maybe John throwing a tantrum?? Or getting super overwhelmed???

Chapter Text

John handed his autism well. He knew what bothered him, and worked hard to avoid it. Of course, in the career he had found himself in, it was hard to avoid stress and noise was 100% part of the deal. But he could usually block things out when Freddie, Brian, and Roger were having an epic argument (he knew they wouldn’t actually hurt each other). He could block out the chaos from a typical sound check. Audiences screaming were part of the deal, and once he got over his stage fright, he was able to concentrate on the music and truthfully didn’t usually even notice a crowd until the show was over.

And all the other things as well, he could usually tolerate. Reporters yelling questions, cameras in his face, a different hotel nearly every night. Freddie, Brian, and Roger shielded him as much as they could, and John did his breathing exercises and usually all was well.

Usually.

The problem was when everything happened at once, or everything that could go wrong did go wrong. Sometimes, there was a simple straw that broke the bassist’s back.

And Hell hath no fury like Mama Bear Freddie, backed up by Big Brothers Brian and Roger.

The plane had been delayed, making them have to go directly to the auditorium for sound check. John hated flying to begin with, and it was worse when they had sat on the plane for an hour, unable to disembark because of a back log at the gate. Then it was the Sound Check from Hell, with everything possible going wrong. John could have done a better job with the electronics when he was eight, and none of the venue staff would listen to him or let him try to fix it.

They were supposed to have dinner at the hotel and John had been looking forward to the time to relax, but they had to stay at the venue because everything was running late. The last-minute caterer had done a very good job, but there wasn’t a toaster or slices of cheese in sight, so no cheese on toast tonight.

He had really wanted cheese on toast. He hadn’t had it in *days*. At the hotels, they always seemed to have toast available from room service, but at the venue, it was plain white fluffy bread. The caterer had vegetarian for Brian, roasted meat for Roger, and some spicy curry for Freddie that made John’s stomach hurt just to look at it. But no toast or cheese.

What the Hell?

Maybe he could write a song about it. *oooh, you make me live. You’re my best friend; cheese on toast* Or maybe *can anybody find meeee….soooooome, some cheese on toast….*

Okay, he recognized the signs when he was obsessing. Didn’t make it any easier.

He got through the concert well enough despite the new lights and pyrotechnics, which he didn’t really like, visions of cheese on toast dancing in his head and keeping him steady. They were playing the same venue the next night, so the plan was to go back to the hotel and sleep in. John was confident he could score cheese on toast at some point, maybe even at the after party (it wouldn’t be the oddest thing Queen had asked room service or the hotel concierge for, after all).

But no, it all had to go to Hell. The after party was a disaster. Hotel in process of renovations and nothing working. Someone (John was pretty sure it was Ratty) had told the hotel as a joke that Queen had become Vegan non-drinkers, and the only thing at the tables was water and raw veggies (even Brian was bitching about the lack of alcohol and protein).

And John became overwhelmed.

He didn’t want to cause a scene. So he locked himself in a bathroom off the ballroom where the party was being held.

“John?” Freddie was knocking on the door during within minutes, always keeping an eye on John during parties. “What is wrong, darling?”

“Go away!” John wasn’t in the mood to deal with anything. He had his hands over his ears and was sitting on the floor, rocking.

“John, open the door this instant. We’ve talked about this before, young man. We don’t lock doors.”

That was true, a rule that Freddie had made the day John moved in with the band. Roger was the only one who was allowed a locked door, and only when he had someone for the night because Freddie was afraid of John being traumatized by what he might see. Freddie said it was a safety issue; he want to be able to reach John at all times, especially when he was having difficulty.

“I don’t want anyone to see anyone!” John yelled. He knew logically he was in a loop now that was just getting worse and worse, but he couldn’t help it. Locking himself away was just making the scene bigger and bigger.

There was a murmur of voices. “John!” Roger yelled. Oh great, John thought, now his brothers could be witness to his humiliation. “I swear I will break down this door. Unlock it now.”

“I don’t want anyone to see me!”

“Darling, they won’t if you unlock the door now. We’ll all go upstairs together. Unlock. This. Door. Now!”

John just rocked more, and kicked the wall. “No!”

“John Richard Deacon Mercury,” Freddie said firmly, and Oh, Shit. John knew he was in trouble when it was his full name. Well, not really his full name…it was even worse. “I am going to count to 5, and the door better be unlocked by then, young man. One!”

Tears were welling up now. “It’s stupid,” John tried. He was embarrassed now. “I’ll be fine. Just let me be.”

“Dear, nothing is stupid if its effecting you. Talk to us. Two!”

“I just wanted…..” he stopped, unable to continue.

“What do you need, darling? But I am not stopping the count. If I get to five, Roger is going to break down the door. Three!”

Shit, he was doomed.

“Four!”

John kicked the door, and then reach up to unlock it.

Freddie shoved his way in, and thank God, shut the door behind him so no one else could see John’s humiliation. A grown man, sitting on the floor of a bathroom, crying because he didn’t have cheese on toast.

“Darling, what is wrong?” Freddie was all mother hen mode now, clearly brooding as he gathered John into his arms. “I know its been a stressful day, dear. Is that what’s upset you? You know you can tell any of us if things get to be too much for you at any time.”

“I was alright,” John sniffed. “But—” he trailed off again.

“What, dear? Tell me.” Freddie had a hand on John’s chin, making the younger man look at him.

“I wanted….cheese on toast,” John confessed.

Freddie, Bless him, didn’t even blink. “Well of course,” he said calmly. “It’s your favorite food. They didn’t have it at the venue?”

“No,” John felt like he was whining, but Freddie was listening intently. “Not there and not here, either.”

“Fuck!” Contrary to popular belief, Freddie did listen to some of Brian’s speeches about vegetarianism, and understanding dawned. “No cheese – milk, and no bread - eggs.”

John nodded. “No toaster even if there was,” he added. “And, and…noise. And crowds. And the new sound and lights.” He didn’t need to elaborate. Freddie was finely attuned to what could affect John.

“Those bastards,” Freddie snared. He gathered John in a fierce hug. “Don’t worry. We will get you set up right away. Let’s go upstairs where its nice and quiet and dark, and you can take a nice bath and eat. In fact, let’s get Brian and Roger for a sleep over? Does that sound nice?”

“I just want cheese on toast,” John said in a small voice.

“And you shall have it!” Freddie stood, pulling John up with him. He opened the door, and thankfully it was only Roger and Brian who were present.

“We are all going upstairs,” Freddie said firmly. “Fuck this dead party. We are going to have a movie night and order in cheese on toast. And if the hotel doesn’t have it, send I am sending Ratty to Hell *after* he finds a market and makes cheese on toast.”

“Sounds good to me,” Brian immediately said. They all knew about John’s possible triggers and how he needed the comfort of familiarity.

“Yeah, its been a pisser of a day,” Roger agreed. “I mean, the Hell? Vegan non-drinkers? What the Fuck? Brian, are you *sure* you didn’t say something?”

“Screw you, Rog. You know I would never say non-drinker. And whoever thought Vegan means only raw veggies is stupid. Mammals can’t survive without some type of protein, and that’s a fact.”

Forty minutes later, John was in bed, calmed by a lavender bath, and clad in his favorite pajamas. Brian and Roger, now in their own pajamas, had gathered the contents of all their stocked mini-bars (including Ratty’s), and were mixing drinks while Freddie answered the door for room service in one of his elegant robes. He had screamed on the phone for five minutes about the Vital Importance of Cheese on Toast, and given strict instructions on how to prepare it. He had threatened to come down to the kitchens to make it himself it he wasn’t satisfied with what was delivered.

Then he called rooms and screamed at members of their crew, making damn sure they all ensured in the future that cheese on toast was 100% available at all times.

And booze.

He also threatened Ratty in vivid detail about what would happen if he ever again messed with the availability of cheese on toast. And booze. In fact, Ratty was now officially in charge of providing cheese on toast at the snap of Freddie’s fingers, and Ratty was truly terrified at the threats that made been made. He went back to his room to write a formal apology to John, and may or may not have found a church to pray in for forgiveness and asked a priest for penance.

Freddie had, of course, made sure that John was in the bathtub with the door closed and water running so he couldn’t hear the threats he had made. He was rather strict about foul language used in front of his son.

Thank God, room service rose to the occasion and provided booze, real food, and yes, Cheese On Toast.

Freddie fixed John a plate and handed it over to the young man, who eagerly accepted it. Everyone settled on the bed and they turned on a movie. John didn’t care what it was and he suspected that no one did. What was important was that they were together.

“We are going to have another talk tomorrow about locked doors, young man,” Freddie said sternly as he wiped John’s hands.

“Yes, Freddie,” John said meekly.

“And you are grounded for the rest of the week. Not because you were upset, darling; that happens, and its fine. Never apologize when you need space and quiet. But you knew not to lock the door. I’m not mad; I’m disappointed.”

“I’m sorry, Freddie.”

He felt bad about having a break down over food, but thankfully his family still accepted him. John still wanted to write a song.

*another toast bites the dust. And another one’s gone, and another one’s gone. Hey! I’m gonna get me some…cheese on toast!”

*******************************************************************

Chapter 7: Zooday

Summary: From a prompt by mtnsam: Maybe you can do one where they take him to Disney or a zoo? :D

John generally did not like crowds. Ironic, he knew, given his profession. But crowds at concerts didn’t bother him too much. He knew he was protected on stage by his band mates and their crew and the crowd couldn’t actually get to him. (Actually, his most reoccurring nightmare was him falling off the stage into a crowd. Freddie could always tell when he’d had that nightmare and would get him some warm milk and sing until he managed to go back to sleep).

Where John really hated crowds was in public places. Stores, restaurants, overcrowded clubs, etc…. There was a reason he ordered a lot of room service on tour and was pretty choosy about what clubs he would remain at. Crowds were just too overwhelming. So much chaos. So much talking. But he was usually okay.

He was also a fully functioning, highly capable adult. Freddie thought he was about 13, but John knew he meant no harm in it, and John was usually content to let Freddie have his harmless delusion. It was annoying, to be sure, but there were lots of benefits such as sweets and not having to worry about picking out clothes. It was easier to just let Freddie lay out clothing for events and all John had to be concerned with was casual day wear.

And even though John didn’t like crowds, he had a few exceptions, and there were times when his tolerance of a crowd was made even better when Freddie had woken up convinced that John needed a fun trip.

Like when Freddie decided to take John to the zoo.

“John, darling, I have a surprise for you!” Freddie cheered one morning at breakfast. “There is a new mammal habitat at the zoo and we are going today!”

“Wow, that’s great,” John said happily. He loved going to the zoo and seeing all the amazing animals.

“Now, eat a big breakfast, because I am not letting you fill up on too many sweets,” Freddie warned, putting a plate of toast and oatmeal in front of his son. “We can get a treat at the end.”

An hour later, after Freddie had packed a bag with sunscreen and made sure John had a hat, they headed off to the London zoo. John was more than willing to put up with crowds there in order to see the animals.

“Remember,” Freddie said, going over the rules when on outings as they rode in the taxi. “You stay with me, don’t wander away.”

“I know Freddie.”

“If you get lost, find a zoo worker – they all have uniforms and name badges – and we meet at the nearest security station.”

“Okay.”

“Drink a lot of water; it’s very humid.”

“I will.”

“Do you have our phone number memorized if you get lost and security asks you?”

John tilted his head a bit. “Do *you*?”

Freddie shook a finger in mild amusement. “No back talk. Do you know our phone number?”

“Yes, Freddie, I promise.”

“You don’t go anywhere with strangers, *especially* if they have candy.”

“I remember our talks about stranger danger, Freddie.” Really, John was about to toss Freddie out of the cab and go to the zoo himself, but he knew it would hurt the singer’s feelings and he would never do that.

They lined up for tickets at the automatic tellers, and John rolled his eyes when Freddie purchased one adult and one teen. While Freddie was distracted, John discreetly and quickly purchased another adult ticket, ready to slip it into the gate attendants’ hand. He dealt with this quite a lot, and had gotten rather good at secretly buying the proper adult ticket.

It didn’t hurt to allow Freddie his little delusions.

They toured the new exhibit and had lunch at a picnic area, Freddie fussing and making sure John had more sunscreen applied to his face. Freddie also bought John another stuffy, and John just smiled, happily carrying the large stuffed tiger. They mutually decided to name him Simba.

After lunch, they ended up at the best part of all; the petting zoo. John was glad he and Freddie weren’t the only adults in the area without kids. There was nothing wrong in childless adults wanting to pet the animals too.

John looked over at Freddie, who was talking nonsense to a baby llama. Ummm…..maybe he did have a child.

***************************************************************************

Chapter 8: My Best Friend

Summary: From a prompt by Wiggles91: How about when Autistic John wrote his first song about his wife Veronica "You're my best friend." And he is very scared to show it to his wife and to the boys because he thinks it's not good enough. So the boys bring Veronica to Rockfield Studios to help him with the song with encouragement from Freddie.

John had never considered himself a ‘songwriter’. He freely admitted he was sort of an accidental up and coming rock star. Had he set out to be a star like Freddie or Roger? Nope. Had he been determined to be a song poet and performer like Brian? Not at all. He had quite frankly auditioned for Queen because his father liked music and John’s therapist had insisted that he try to get out more.

And look where it had landed him.

In a very powerful up and coming band. With records released and more on the horizon. John just wanted cheese on toast and to play music, and yeah, he wanted Veronica. So sue him. He may be autistic, but he knew a lady when he saw one, and Veronica was all that and smart, and talented, and beautiful and just simply amazing.

And he was just plain John.

Veronica was SO out of his league. As was Queen. John kept thinking that everyone would wake up one day and realize it. But no.

Brian and Roger went out of their way to make John feel comfortable and part of the band. Every tiny bit he contributed was welcomed and applauded.

Veronica was simply….amazing. John honestly could not find words to describe what she meant to him. And this was from someone who thought he would never be loved, and really, truly, had not set out to find it. He was convinced that love was a nice feeling, but not one for him. Sure, someone people had had true love, and John respected and admired that. But it surely wasn’t for him. He wasn’t sure he would even *know* was love was.

And then he had met Veronica. At a disco, of all places.

And Freddie, the other most important person in his life after his Mum, sister, and Veronica, had done nothing but endorse Veronica. John had no choice but to put his worries aside, and trust in his Dad….er….he meant, Freddie.

And that had been a huge source of John’s nerves. He kept telling Veronica that he was different, and she just kept on smiling. Okay, she was training to be a teacher, and John figured that she had to put on that smile. But after a while he really began to suspect that she truly did understand, and did not judge him for it.

When he had to do certain routines to be comfortable, she just nodded, and even *helped* him. When he didn’t know what to do in a social situation, she was beside him, always smiling and gently helping him, acting as if his nerves were perfectly normal, and politely, sweetly, deadly, daring anyone to say otherwise.

If Freddie was his would-be-Dad, then Veronica was his would-be-Mum….but in a good sense. Not kinky or weird. It was really like his….wife….John finally realized.

Thank goodness he had the presence of mind to say Yes when she proposed to him.

Freddie for once was totally silent on the subject- just beaming with pride - but for the rest of his life, John suspected that Veronica had gone to Freddie and asked permission for his hand in marriage.

John didn’t lie…..he felt quite flattered and more than a bit woozy at the notion.

And the fact that Freddie always referred to John and Veronica’s children as his ‘Pautrō’ made John smile. He guessed they really were. Lord knew they would not have been born without Freddie’s encouragement. John would have been the virgin-in-a-rock-band if it wasn’t for Freddie giving him a pep talk and then shoving him in Veronica’s direction.

And Veronica. She was a wise, wise, woman of wisdom. Never underestimate her. John didn’t. He learned to just say “yes, dear,” and do as she said. It made life much simpler and happier. She was never wrong when it came to them. Thank God he could rely on her.

What was that saying? You could pick your friends, but not your family? In his down moments, John guessed that his band mates had to put up with him since they were family. But Veronica?

She *let* him sleep with her. On a number of occasions. Touch her inappropriately.

John was truly grateful.

And he was grateful when she showed up at Rockfield studio with a big smile and all her gentle strength.

“Play them your song,” she said gently.

“What? No!” he protested. It was crap, truly. He had just been messing around with notes and words. It wasn’t a *song*.

“Darling,” Freddie said, “Veronica already shared some of it with me. You simply MUST play it now.”

John shot Veronica a dark look, and she just smiled as usual. Okay, it was the sign that John was being ridiculous and he needed to go along with whatever she wanted.

“It’s dumb,” John muttered. “I mean the words, but it’s…..silly.” He wasn’t romantic. He didn’t know how to say things in actual conversations, let alone in a song. And now Brian, the lyrics specialist was smiling at him, and Roger, who could put words together almost as well as Brian was grinning in encouragement.

John frowned a little at Veronica….had she told the band? She smiled, and he sighed, knowing she had. Well, she did know best.

He went over to the piano and nervously ran his hands over the keys, trying to warm up. “I wanted to write a song for Veronica,” he mumbled. “But you know I’m dreadful with words. This is all I could come up with.” He cleared his throat, and reluctantly started to play.

Ohh, you make me live…You’re my best friend…

When he was done, Brian pulled him up into a hug before John could start making excuses about how bad a song it was. Then Roger was hugging him as well, and Freddie pulled Veronica into the group.

“Perfect!” Freddie was saying over and over. “It’s perfect!”

“John, you’re secret has been uncovered. We need more of your songs!” Brian said happily.

“I’m about ready to cry,” Roger joked, but by his smile and hug, John knew Roger was also pretty serious. “I can’t wait to play it.”

And Veronica just smiled, proud of her husband. She had known all along that he could do it. He just needed support and encouragement.

And his family would always make sure he had that.

***** Pautrō – Grandchildren

******************************************************************************

Chapter 9: I remember it all

Summary: From a prompt by Bella: John has Highly Superior Autobiographical Memory (HSAM). Yes, it’s a real thing where he remembers *everything*. Yes, it can be a pain.

John was not consciously aware of it, but he had a video camera in his head. All he knew was that he had an excellent memory. He had used to think that everyone did, but around starting secondary school he had realized he was different in more ways than one. If it happened to him, he could remember it. He could recall with perfect clarity almost every single day of his life. What he wore, what he ate that day, what he did. Recall verbatim what he said and what people said to him. Ask him about the local weather on Saturday, the 14th of August 1965, and he could tell you.

He tried to keep it quiet and for the most part succeeded. He didn’t brag about it, of course, and tried to stay silent even when someone was very wrong about what they were claiming and John knew it. It did actually came in handy at times, such as when his mum asked what they had served for tea or dinner when the family last came over, or what presents had been given at the holidays five years ago. And obviously his memory helped with school work. He figured it was a photographic memory, and just let it go. Whatever it was, it seemed to work.

The first time Queen was aware of it was when Freddie was fussing about what to wear for their next performance a few months after John had joined the band.

“Did I wear the black or the brown shirt last week?” Freddie screamed frantically. God forbid he wear the same outfit two weeks in a row.

“Black,” Brian said.

“Brown?” Roger guessed.

“Are you sure?” Freddie was going nuts.

John sighed and looked up from his bass. “You wore both,” he said calmly. “The black shirt at the start, and then changed into the brown shirt during the break. With the silver scarf and black boots.”

All three were looking at him, and John nervously looked back down at his guitar. “He’s right,” Freddie finally said. “I sort of remember now.” He beamed and hugged John. “Thank you, darling. You are in now in charge of my wardrobe.”

Bit by bit, the band began to realize just how much John could remember. Brian conducted a test on him, quizzing him about weather, and John was never wrong. Brian quickly determined that John could only remember things that he had done, said, saw or did.

“It has to be personal to you,” Brian mussed on a long drive. “Something that you saw, or heard, or did. Like how you can remember the Scrabble score of a game that you played, but not one that you didn’t play or see. It’s an…..autobiographical memory.”

“So Roger is not the only one who is self-centered,” Freddie teased. Roger easily flipped him the bird from the driver’s seat.

“It’s a pain,” John said shyly. “I keep worrying that my brain will get full, or something.”

“Even the most intelligent person only uses an estimated 10-20% of their brain,” Brian mussed. “Even as smart as you are, I don’t think it will get full.”

“You can borrow some of Roger’s brain,” Freddie offered. “He’s not using it.”

“Shut up, Freddie.”

The band quickly learned how to put John’s memory to good use (Brian ruling that John being responsible for remembering Freddie’s and Roger’s wardrobes was not a good use, but still, it happened). There was a reason John took charge of band finances as he never forgot a thing that was said or written. He made even the nastiest of record producers unnerved by reciting what they had worn and drank at every meeting and knew to the penny what was spent.

“I am so proud of you,” Freddie beamed after one meeting where John quietly, humbly, tore a manager to bits. “By the way, what did I wear to the club last week?”

“I wasn’t there, so I don’t know,” John said wearily. “I keep reminding you that you have to either take a picture and show me, or tell me, or write it down if you want me to remember that.”

“My baby computer,” Freddie cooed, pinching John’s cheeks.

“Stop that,” John muttered. “Or I won’t tell you what you wore at the last concert and let you wear the same thing over and over.”

“Shit, don’t scare me like that darling!”

Even Brian was guilty of using John at times. “John, did this restaurant have vegetarian options?”

“You had the garden salad and mushroom soup,” John said. He didn’t need to look at the menu. “I had the hamburger, Freddie had the fish and chips, and Roger the roast beef.”

“Did we like it?” Roger asked.

John sighed. “I guess?” he said. “No one complained.”

“Great! Order for us, would you? I’m going to have a smoke.”

Roger wanted to know totally random things, such as how many sugars had he put in his coffee six months ago, and how many dates he’d had two years ago at Easter. But he was good about seldom ‘abusing’ John’s memory – better than Freddie and Brian, actually. He just occasionally wanted to know odd stuff. John figured they were all entitled to have their brains work in different ways and if Roger really needed to know what he had for breakfast on the fifth of last month, John was willing to tell him if he knew.

John learned to balance things. He had to have things a certain way, a routine no matter how difficult it was on tour, and his brothers did all they could to help. Anyone who crossed John in any way was first politely torn apart verbally by the bassist and then kicked out by Roger and Freddie while Brian loomed. Some wondered why the other three deferred to the quiet bassist for so much, but Freddie, Brian and Roger never said a thing.

He was their secret weapon, and they protected what was theirs.

****************************************************************************

Chapter 10: Stepdad

Summary: From a prompt by LadyOfLoriens: Maybe you could write something about Freddie meeting Jim? A second dad for our baby John?

Note: In this universe, Freddie does not have AIDS.

“How do you feel about children?” Freddie asked Jim as they returned to Freddie’s home after their official second date. Freddie was ready to scream to the world that he loved this man.

The Irishman smiled. “I love them,” he admitted. “I didn’t know you had any. I would love to meet them.”

“Just one son, John,” Freddie beamed. “How about we all have dinner together Tuesday?”

Jim chuckled as he kissed Freddie. “Sure. How old is he?”

“He’s just a child,” Freddie sighed. “But thinks he’s a grown up. It’s so cute.”

***** *****

“Well, you are a little older than I expected,” Jim said cheerfully.

“Oh God.” John sighed. “How old did he tell you I was?”

Jim shrugged. “He didn’t really say,” he mussed thoughtfully. “For some reason, I was picturing a 10-year-old.”

“I’m adopted,” John said dryly, taking a long drink.

Freddie appeared like magic and took the glass from John’s hand. “Now, Deaky, I said you could have a glass of wine with dinner, not before.”

“Its not wine, it’s vodka,” John said.

The singer stiffened. “Who gave you this?” he demanded. “Phoebe?”

“I brought the bottle with me as a gift, Freddie. I purchased it from a store.”

“With a fake ID?” Freddie shrieked. “Where did you get that from?”

“Its not fake, I keep telling you.”

“John Richard Deacon Mercury----” Freddie began to rant.

John looked at Jim. “Ignore him, it’s easier that way.”

“Ignore what? Is someone selling to underaged kids?” Jim was starting to look pissed. “Did you get pressured into buying?”

John blinked, a shiver going down his spine. “Jim, look, here’s my drivers license. Look at the date of birth. Please.”

“So many fakes out there,” Jim shook his head. “No wonder Freddie worries about you so much. So many bad influences.”

“I play in the band! I have since I was 19, which I am *not* anymore! Look at the date, Hell, look at me! I’m not a kid!”

“Don’t listen to him, dear,” Freddie said to Jim. “He’s acting out. He’s at that age, I’m afraid. Questioning authority.”

“I understand,” Jim smiled at Freddie, hearts in his eyes. “I can see why you are so protective of him.

“Jesus, I should have known,” John grumbled to Phoebe when the other man wandered into the room in search of booze.

“I like him,” Phoebe said seriously. “He’s a good guy, and I can tell Freddie is absolutely mad about him. I think they will be good for each other.” Phoebe reached out and patted John’s shoulder. “And he’ll be a good stepdad to you,” he teased.

“Shut up,” John muttered.

Dinner went well, until Freddie threatened to send John to bed without dessert, which led to John pointing out that he didn’t live there. Then Jim politely and innocently asked just how long John had been living on his own, which made Freddie feel like a bad parent. He dragged both Jim and John upstairs to show them ‘John’s bedroom’, proving that John did have a bedroom. John said he had only slept there twice (both when he was hungover after a party) and Freddie then really felt like a horrible parent, and Jim was going to leave him because he couldn’t be trusted and he was a dreadful person and he started to cry.

John and Jim both apologized. John ended up spending the night to prove to Jim that Freddie hadn’t thrown him out on the streets when he turned 18 (which, no matter how hard John to tried to convince Jim, had not been just a few months ago – he was in the 30’s for God’s sake), and Freddie calmed down enough to be happy.

Jim started referring to John as his ‘son’, and John knew he was doomed.

*****************************************************************************

Chapter 11: Operation D-A-T-E

Summary: From a prompt by Rogerina_Taylor:John going on a date. Freddie goes full mama bear mode. Maybe Freddie spies on their date or Roger or Brian.

Freddie stood in the center of the living room, tapping his foot. Nervous energy radiated off him.

“Jesus, Freddie, calm down,” Roger said from the couch.

“Calm down? Calm down? My baby is going on a D-A-T-E and you are telling me to calm down?”

Brian took a sip of beer. “Maybe because your baby is 20 years old and its high time he got out?”

“Yeah, even you had a date by age 21, Bri. I remember,” Roger smirked, and Brian hit his arm.

“My precious baby John is not you Brian, and – Thank God – not you, either, Roger. John is….special.” Freddie was about ready to tear his hair out.

“We’ve been tutoring him for weeks,” Brian said, trying to be logical. “He knows all about stranger danger and has memorized more than even I can say about safety. I’m surprised he is even willing to leave the flat, given all the scary stuff you have warned him about.”

“Yeah, I was about ready to live under the bed after your lecture this afternoon,” Roger volunteered.

“Hush!” Freddie hissed. “He’s coming out.”

John emerged from the bedroom dressed and groomed. Freddie fussed over him for a few minutes, adjusting a collar here, a jacket sleeve there. John looked amazing. *sniff* His baby was growing up.

“Now remember, don’t accept any drinks from strangers. Keep your ID in a separate place from your money.” Freddie was patting down John, making sure his directions had been followed. “You have phone numbers memorized, I know, but repeat them again.”

John sighed. “The phone here is 555—“he began. He kept reciting the numbers for local police, taxis, neighbors, and Scotland Yard. Freddie nodded in approval and made sure John had proper change for all calls.

“And the plan?” Freddie got out a piece of paper that had been carefully drawn up. Seriously, the Magna Carta had had less time in its drafting. Freddie, Brian, and Roger had all gone over it.

“7:45, leave apartment,” John began to recite again. “7:50, get in taxi that Brian has called for, but only *after* confirming the license plate.” Brian gave John a thumbs up. “Approximately 8:10, arrive disco. Call apartment to confirm my arrival from the pay phone out front before entering disco. Call you again from pay phone inside the disco once I have entered said disco. 8:20 meet Veronica at the bar, left side by the beer taps. Call again to confirm I am with Veronica. 8:20 – 11:30, dance. Three hours. I can have 2 beers, total, as can Veronica. Rest of time, order water. Keep glass in possession at all times. Do not accept drink offers. 9:30, order bar snacks. 11:30, call you before we exit disco. Approximately 11:40, call you once I have put Veronica in a taxi home. Include license plate of taxi. Approximately 11:42, I call you with license plate of taxi I am taking home. Should arrive home no later than 12:10. Make taxi driver stop and call if running late.”

“Good, good,” Freddie approved. He went to the bedroom to get a last-minute scarf for John and the bassist looked over at Brian and Roger.

“12:30. Sneak out of apartment and go to Veronica’s to shag,” John muttered. Brian chocked on his beer and Roger beamed in approval.

Promptly at 7:45, John left, clutching a piece of paper with the taxi number on it. Freddie had wanted to walk him out to the curb, but finally decided it might a little much. Roger and Brian exchanged glances, knowing that *something* was going to happen.

At 8:00, Freddie jumped up. “Alright, boys, here is the plan. Brian, you stay here for the phone calls. Roger, you and I are going to disco.”

“For God’s sake Freddie,” Roger grumbled. “John is an adult---”

“You take that back!” Freddie gasped.

“And he can go on a date by himself. What do you honestly think is going to happen? They are going to the lamest disco in all of Europe – it opens at 7:00 and closes at midnight - and Veronica is a nice girl.”

“Roger, stop being a sexist pig. A woman can be just as frightening as any man; more so, in fact.”

“Are you saying Veronica is frightening and is going to assault John? Maybe kiss him?” Brian asked.

“Brian, I thank you to not use such foul language and say such scary horrible things concerning John. Roger, get your damn coat now. We are running behind.”

Fifteen minutes later, Freddie and Roger were in the shadows of the disco, spying on John and Veronica. Freddie may have frowned a bit at how *physical* some of the dancing was, but he certainly couldn’t cast stones. They called Brian every hour, confirming that John had called as directed and giving updates. Freddie grabbed a taxi at 11:30 so he could be home before John while Roger stayed behind on John and Veronica duty, memorizing taxi license plates and calling Brian to confirm.

John arrived home to find Freddie and Brian relaxing while watching an old movie. Roger came in a few minutes later, saying he had gone on a last-minute date that ended early. It fooled no one.

At 12:30 AM, Roger gave another thumbs up to John as he quietly left the apartment. Freddie was in bed, asleep with dreams of his son innocently playing with kittens and stuffed animals.

Notes:

End Notes: What do you think? Would you like more snippets in this little universe? **I take Prompts for this universe!** You can comment below or message me at Tumblr “MacandLacysPlace” with requests.

Rules: may be gen, m/f, or m/m, but never explicit. Fluff! Austic!John will factor in on occasion. NO AGE PLAY or Infantilism; just pure fun and silliness. Great thanks again to LetMeEntertainYou.

Upcoming stories: Grandparents Day :-) Will John ever be allowed to date? Or drink?? Or drive??? (Papa doesn't drive, so why should his son?)

2 notes · View notes