Classic Rock Bands One-shots

Platonic!Frian: I'll Always Be Your Best Friend ⭐

AN: I will not be taking requests today it's my sister's birthday. I'll be taking requests for the 9th though just mark them for the 9th

TW: Death, Grief, and Therapy

Brian's POV:

"Brimi, please." Freddie begs,

"This is so stupid. And you know I hate it when you call me that." I gruff

"It's really not. You just have to dig up my grave, burn my bones, and then I'll be set free."

I stare at my dead brother's ghost. This is, quite possibly, the worst birthday I've ever had. And that's saying something, seeing as he died on the last one.

"And how the hell do you know that'll work?" I retorted,

"I've seen it before." Fred says

"From where?"

"Er...a T.V. show?" Freddie blushes or at least looks like he is trying to.

I glower. He rubs his neck. "You have got to be kidding me, Freddie."

"What? It worked!"

"Because it was fake, dumbass!" he scowls and jerks him head toward the grave site,

"Just start digging, please. Don't you want me to be at peace? Go into the light?

Shake hands with Gandhi? Play with Squeaky again?"

I sigh, staring down at the plot overgrown with grass and weeds. his headstone is clean and clear, thanks to the recent rainstorm. It's quite small, about a foot in height and width with a curved top and his name etched into the brindle-colored stone. Freddie May. Then the year he died, too. A year ago exactly. On my birthday.
It still feels like it was yesterday, the car accident. Just this morning, I could have sworn I'd seen him sipping on a glass of orange juice, reading a book about Japanese culture, already dreaming up his next dream trip. Which was what he was doing just an hour before a drunk driver rammed into his car he was buying tickets for a plane ride to Japan for the both of us. The impact forced his vehicle straight into oncoming traffic.

But for me...I did see him this morning. I've been seeing him since the moment he was declared dead in the hospital. Nobody believed me, of course; I learned my lesson after my parents enrolled me in three different therapy programs--all at the same time. So, I kept it to myself: I could see my brother's ghost. And his ghost alone. And I was okay with that. I am okay with that.

I take the shovel and ram it into the ground, using the heel of my boot to wedge it further in the earth. And I start digging. Freddie keeps watch as I continue, glancing around the cemetery for any onlookers. But it's midnight, and we're shrouded by a thick layer of trees; we'd hear anyone coming our way crunching through the fallen leaves.

"Wow. They really make this look easy in the movies," I grumble, blinking sweat out of my burning eyes. My arms already ache as I push the shovel in the ground once again, load it with dirt, and throw it to the side of my rectangular hole. Wash, rinse, repeat.

It's...very slow-going.

"Can't you go any faster? We need to be done by morning. Or, you're screwed." Freddie whines attempting to dig his shoe in the dirt,

"Just shut up and keep watch, okay?"

With each hit of the shovel, a memory flashes before my eyes. I try to keep them at bay, shoving them to the back of my mind; but they resurface immediately as the dirt flies around me. So, I give up, and I let them flutter before me.

I remember the first instant I knew Freddie was dead. I remember because the pain was so unbelievably crushing. I couldn't breathe. Something or someone was standing on my chest that day, holding me down, preventing me from ever rising again. And when I saw him, standing there, looking at his own body, and then locking his eyes with mine in wonder...
I could breathe again.
I thought I was crazy, of course. But only for a second. And then I knew the truth: he was dead.nBut he wasn't gone. Another memory flashes. I've dug about a foot down now in the grave.