OUT OF THE RED ↝ dave grohl

one-hundred-thirty-two.

[ A/N: I just want to disclose in advance that this chapter involves Taylor's overdose in 2001. It was incredibly difficult to write, but I will say that the plot line of this chapter had been planned since I first conceived the story in 2018. I usually know how my stories will end when I begin writing them, and considering that OOTR was published in 2018, I had intended on including this a long time ago. I went back and forth for awhile on whether or not it was acceptable to write, but being that it WAS indeed such a momentous time in Dave's life, I didn't want to skim over it. I tried to keep it as light as possible on the details concerning Taylor out of respect for him and his family. While I never wanted for anything in this chapter to come off as careless, it may seem that I don't focus as much on how horribly painful this time was for Dave. I even wrote Reagan as not quite emphasizing the severity of it, but again, this is because Taylor's death is still extremely fresh and I personally was unable to emotionally withstand going into specifics on this, nor could I have condoned it. Please know that it is completely understandable if you want to skip this chapter. Thanks 🤍 ]

AUGUST, 2001, LONDON, ENGLAND

DAVE BERATED HIMSELF for not knowing. As he sat in his London hotel room on the edge of his bed repeatedly swallowing just to get some moisture into his mouth, he mentally calculated a long list of regrets in which he'd majorly dropped the ball.

Taylor was awake. That was what mattered most. Nothing could possibly describe the relief that had ballooned up inside of Dave when his best friend had opened his eyes in that fucking hospital room. He'd never thought they'd open again.

He blamed himself for not seeing it. Each reminder that he'd been with Taylor the most out of anyone, and that he'd been the one to miss how detrimental the constant partying had become, was a rock solid punch to the gut.

The downfall had come at a time when he'd thought he was getting better. He was finally happy, more himself than he'd been since April. And then his best fucking friend had ended up in a coma, bed-ridden in a foreign city with no guarantee of ever waking up.

He was up now. Finally. Taylor waking up had freed Dave from the shackles he'd put himself in for the last two weeks. He'd been deep in the process of mourning the death of the closest thing to a brother that he'd ever had, but the flames of that hell had been put out.

Now all there was left to do was to breathe. Dave struggled with that the most as he sat in his quiet hotel room, staring at the carpet beneath his feet and feeling every breath come up strangled through his throat.

The rollercoaster that he'd been on for those last two weeks had been worse than just nauseating. It had rearranged his insides and he wasn't sure where anything vital was anymore. His lungs felt snagged somewhere in his lower stomach and his heart was missing entirely. That ride had just about killed him and although he knew there would be long days to follow, days spent coming to terms with nearly losing Taylor, he wanted it all to go away.

He wanted to reverse time and go back to before the overdose. Back to when things had at least held a shimmer of perfect reality to them.

Dave turned his cellphone over in his hand, gripping it tightly. He hadn't let go of it since he'd gotten back to the hotel. After Taylor had woken up, he'd fielded what  had felt like a hundred calls from people, wanting to know the circumstances in which his drummer had amazingly pulled through.

He wanted to tell them. He wanted to share in their rejoice. He assumed that he eventually would, but the shock of what had transpired had kept him relatively frozen for the time being.