He Makes Me (Queen AU)

Chapter 26

The blonde stumbled back into the counter—a few pots and pans clattering to the floor by his feet as he clung to its edge. He stared at the icebox with wide eyes, sweaty palms, and a racing heart, trying to rationalize the horror he just witnessed. He didn't want to believe that what he saw was real. It couldn't be. He must've been hallucinating, like a wanderer lost in a desert, their hunger and thirst encouraging them to see things that aren't really there. What didn't seem right, though, was that those wanderers usually envisioned beautiful oases, with refreshing pools of water and tall, shade-providing palm trees, not the curled-up corpse of a frozen infant.

Roger swallowed the thick lump in his throat, stepping forward on shaky legs and cautiously approaching the freezer, as if something were to jump out of it and scare him. As he latched onto the freezer's handle, all the strength escaped his arm, leaving it weak. He exhaled sharply and dropped his hand down to his side, shaking it out in an attempt to gain the courage to proceed, but before he could wrap his hand back around the handle, the faint slam of a door hit his ear, startling him.

He snapped his head to the left, where the sound had originated. Curious, he ventured down the hallway, attracted to the window at the end of the hall—this one uncovered and allowing light to pass through. The blonde approached it with squinted eyes, his vision adjusting to the sudden change in brightness and his bandaged hands finding their way to the dirtied glass panes.

Outside, he watched Tim hop into the lone car that was parked out in the street, the old engine roaring to life and the tires skidding against the asphalt as he sped off, neglectful of the posted speed limit. Roger leaned against the window, trying to see where the brunette was driving off to. His efforts were pointless, though, his vision too poor to spot any kind of road sign and his visibility limited by his location.

"You left the stove on," a voice tickled the blonde's ear, causing him to jump in fright. He looked over his shoulder to see Freddie standing beside him, having joined him in watching his friend disappear down the street. His hands were clasped behind his back and his lips were pursed. His brown eyes flickered to meet Roger's blue ones, and he smiled. "He did a really nice job with you, you know. 'Best one I've seen yet." He raised a hand to tuck a piece of the wig behind his ear, but the drummer was quick to swat the hand away, his captor's accomplice pouting in response.

An awkward moment of silence passed over the pair before Roger peered back outside and asked, "'You know where he's off to?"

"I wouldn't worry about it," Freddie replied, conveying the same dismissiveness that Tim did when Roger had asked him about Brian. "He just had something to take care of. 'Should be back in a day or two, a week at most."

"And what, he put you in charge of me 'til he gets back?" the blonde sneered.

The dark-haired man chuckled. "No, I'm not here to tell you what to do. I'm just here to make sure you don't do anything you're not supposed to." Roger barely had time to react before Freddie interlocked his fingers with his and pulled him away from the window, dragging him through the corridor and down the staircase the blonde remembered descending the day Tim had invited him over to work on his new song.

He wished he had a cigarette and a lighter in his hands like he did then, something to calm his heightened nerves, but he had nothing as he was led to the basement, the damp, dark halls vaguely reminiscent. The two turned a corner, and at the end of the hall was a room with its door wide open. Light beamed into the hallway, and the dark-haired man guided the blonde towards it.

Fearful of what lay beyond the alluring glow, Roger began to resist Freddie's pull. "Oh, come on, blondie," the captor's accomplice groaned, tugging harder at the captive's arm. "No one's going to hurt you here."

"You're lying," the blonde bit out, trying his hardest to counter the dark-haired man's efforts but finding his opposition unsuccessful as he was jerked forward, landing right outside the doorway. Gazing into what appeared to be a makeshift recreational room—fit with a card table, enough secondhand instruments to start a band, an even older television than the one in the bedroom Roger slept in last night, and a radio that looked twice his age with its rounded top and once-glossy-but-now-matted wood finish—the drummer's anxious eyes fell upon those of two other men. He recognized John, but the other was a stranger who couldn't have been more than eighteen years old. The unlikely pair—John's older woman and the cross-dressed teenager's suggestive maid—were situated at the card table, the former's head in his hand and the latter's arms folded over his flat, bloused chest.

"Well, look who it is," John greeted with a growing smirk and a straightening posture. "'Guess someone didn't take my advice about not being in places they shouldn't be."

"Oh, shut up, John," Freddie chastised, nudging Roger into the room and providing him no chance to escape as he followed in after him. "He's not down here for that."

"Then what is he down here for?" the teenager chimed in timidly, his tired eyes scanning Roger up and down before reverting to the dark-haired man who dropped a heavy hand on the blonde's shoulder.

"To meet you two blokes, of course," he answered, using his other hand to gesture between Tim's newest project and his other, older ones. "Roger, meet John and Neil. John and Neil, meet Roger."

John stood up from the table and strode over to the pair who lingered by the doorway. "We've already met," he confessed, grabbing the drummer's hand and giving it a solid shake, "but it's good to see you again." The young man who was two years shy of twenty-one pulled him close and whispered, "Seriously. You saved me from having to listen to another one of Neil's bloody stories about Gordon—" he nodded at the teenager shooting his daggers his way with blue eyes that gave Roger's a run for their money, "—and trust me, once you've heard one, you've heard them all."

"Neil's the youngest of us," Freddie shared, crossing his arms and glancing over at the offended boy. "He's only sixteen years old; came from Catholic school. Poor lad traded one bad situation for another."

Roger let go of John's hand and rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably, the fabric of the bloodied bandages that needed to be changed scratching his skin. Hearing that Neil was sixteen made him think back to what his life was like at that age—gallivanting all over town, making loud music with friends, and bumming smokes off strangers and stealing sips of alcohol from his father's liquor cabinet. Those were admittedly some of the best days of his life, and he couldn't imagine what it would've been like if he had met Tim five years earlier and wound up here like Neil had. He just couldn't.

"You know, I am still here," Neil murmured, though his irritated reminder was met with indifference.

"Yes, Neil, how could we possibly forget?" John replied, rolling his eyes at the teenager who scoffed at the older man's sarcasm and contemptuously turned his head in the opposite direction.

"Enough, you two," Freddie interjected, glaring at the both of them. "I have an announcement to make."

"Then make it," the young man dressed as an older woman sneered, matching the dark-haired man's stance.

His captor's friend pressed his lips tightly together and clenched his hands into fists underneath his arms, doing all he could to refrain from sinking to Tim's level. He swallowed the threat that wanted to slip past his lips and held back from slapping a hand across John's face, maintaining his composure and revealing tersely, "It looks like it's just going to be us for the next couple of days, so enjoy it while it lasts, but when Tim gets back, you might have to make yourself scarce."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Neil asked from across the room.

"It means we might have company," Freddie answered, briefly glancing over at the teenager whose face had turned a ghostly shade of white before returning his gaze to John. His next words were directed seemingly only at the mouthy older woman, though they really applied to everyone. "And that means you're going to have to be on your best behavior." His humorless eyes finally fell upon Roger as he finished gravely, "All of you."