A HOLLOW HOUSE AU

Originally posted on Tumblr (which is why it's so image-heavy) this is an Alternate Universe side-story of the main rocker!Valois arc. Much darker in nature, it is the AU backstory to the older versions of Cal and Ten that I've been posting, also on Tumblr. This side-story deals with upsetting themes, so please heed the trigger warnings that follow.

Trigger warnings for this side-story:
Accidental overdose, death.

"All I'm saying is it's not like him. I've texted, I've called, and he's not answering." Cal frowned as he strode down the hotel corridor, phone pressed to his ear and a worried frown biting a crease between his brows.

"He's gone AWOL before, though," Ten said hesitantly on the other end of the line. "Remember that time nobody could get hold of him and he'd just fucked off to Bali on vacay?"

Cal rolled his eyes. Oh boy did he remember that, and he'd given Valois hell for it when the little fucker got back. Valois knew what a worrier he was, but apparently he'd been so stressed at the end of the tour that he needed a time-out and didn't bother telling anyone.

"I dunno," Cal mumbled. "This is different. I've got a really bad feeling in my gut about this." He fumbled in his pants back pocket for the spare keycard Valois had given him a couple of weeks back.

"Yeah, well, that'll be the curry you had last night." Ten's giggle down the line made Cal smile briefly as he struggled to swipe the card in the lock and the door opened.

The room beyond was dimly-lit and, as he stepped through the entryway and into the main suite, his eyes adjusted from the bright corridor.

There was a long, long silence, broken only by Ten's voice—worried now—saying, "Cal?"

The phone trembled in Cal's hand, his palm suddenly sweaty, even as a cold chill shivered through him.

"Ten," he said hoarsely. "Dial 911."

Ten had called 911 on the landline phone, not wanting to break the call with Cal on his cell. With one phone pressed to each ear as he stuttered out the details of Valois's hotel suite, he listened to what was going on at that very place.

He cancelled the 911 call and toed into his boots, listening with increasing panic to his cell as he pelted out of the house and ran into the street, looking frantically both ways until he saw a cab coming toward him. Hailing it with one hand, he practically fell inside, gasping out the hotel's address as he sprawled across the back seat.

Cal had dropped his phone on the floor, but Ten could still hear what was going on, and he didn't want to leave his brother alone there by ending the call. Even though Cal couldn't hear him, Ten didn't want him to face whatever he was facing on his own.

"Baby," he heard Cal murmur. "C'mon, baby. C'mon. You're all right. You're gonna be all right. Valois? Can you hear me?"

Ten bit down on a whimper as he strained to listen for any reply.

"C'mon, baby," he heard Cal say again, this time with a tone of desperate pleading in his voice. "Oh god... please, please, please."

The cab pulled up outside the hotel and Ten fumbled in his pocket, throwing a twenty at the driver before precipitating himself out onto the sidewalk. A police car was parked in front of the hotel, blue lights flashing, and the wailing siren of an ambulance could be heard in the distance and drawing closer.

Ten slammed through the hotel doors, making everyone in the reception and lobby look up, startled. No time to wait for the elevator, and anyway Valois always stayed on a low floor because of his stupid fear of heights.

Ten almost fell several times as he took the stairs two at a time, the phone still glued to his ear. He could hear something he never thought he would ever hear and never wanted to hear again: the sound of his brother sobbing his heart out.

And then, a calm voice—one that could only belong to a policeman—came distantly down the line.

"Come on, son," he said gently, as Ten's heart sank and he stumbled again on the stairs. "Let him go."

By the time Ten reached Valois's floor he was panting. They hadn't toured for a couple of years, and Ten—who could normally rocket around a stage for two hours like a little livewire—was out of shape.

He rounded the corner to Valois's corridor so fast that he slammed into the wall, but as he righted himself again, his breath caught in his throat.

A policeman was standing guard outside Valois's door, and Cal stood nearby, his head in his hands.

"Cal?" Ten's voice was shaky at best, downright panicked at worst.

Cal looked up, and from the tears on his face, Ten knew. He fucking knew.

"No," he whispered, shaking his head until his brains felt rattled. Galvanised, he sprinted for the door, halfway through it before Cal could even react by grabbing his arm and almost yanking it out of its socket.

"No! Ten, no!" he begged, managing to pull Ten to a halt.

Twisting around, Ten stared into the dimly-lit room. There was nothing unusual from the last time he'd been here, just a couple of days ago.

Nothing unusual, that was, except for the white sheet on the floor covering the body of his dearest friend.

He felt Cal's hand touch his cheek, just as the tears started to flow.

"No," he whimpered as Cal pulled him close. "No, that's not right. That's not..."

"Come here," Cal whispered, folding his arms around him. Ten could feel him trembling, hear him crying, as he beat his fists on Cal's chest and howled in anguish.

"Not fair!" he cried. "It's not fucking fair!"

He sank to his knees, Cal going down with him, cradling his face.

"He can't be gone. He just can't," he whined. "Why him? Why not me? Fuck knows, I've done worse than him." He raised his face, looking at the tears on Cal's cheeks through the tears in his own eyes. "What did they say? What was it?"

"Baby, the paramedics aren't even here yet," Cal whispered, pressing a kiss to Ten's forehead, then resting his own forehead against it. "His bottle of sleeping pills was open on the table, next to a bottle of Jack. You know how much he struggled with getting to sleep every night..."

"Sleeping pills." Ten's voice was raw. "Not even a blaze of glory, is it?" He wiped the back of his hand across his nose, and the sight of his tattoos—exactly the same as Valois's; the affectionate little joke that he'd played on his best friend every time Valois had got a new tattoo—wrought fresh tears.

He rose to his feet, turned, and fled.

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to be continued