ONESHOTS, kurt cobain & dave grohl

✧ drummers ✧

drummers, by orphan_account

4,709 words

published 10/12/18

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"This isn't right – you can't let him do this to himself over and over," Dave was worried, scared almost and it would seem he was correct. For the third night, Kurt had failed to join them after the show. For the third night, Kurt had chosen to remain in his own company, with the comfort of drugs and alcohol. It was no secret really, however, his usage and the amount was something the others weren't certain of. Krist shrugged and opened a beer.

"You can't make Kurt do anything, Dave. If he wants to be on his own, in his room, that's his choice."

Dave felt a wave of anger sweep over him. At first, he had been reluctant to say anything. He had barely been drumming for them for three months - he needed to get adjusted. But it was almost like they didn't care. Dave couldn't understand it and before, he wouldn't have said anything. Krist took a large mouthful of the dark, dirty beer and offered Dave some. He refused, looking almost disgusted at his band mate.

"Don't you care at all?" He asked, his voice rising slightly.

Krist swallowed slowly and lowered his hand, placing his beer on the table. He turned from Dave slightly and sighed.

"Of course I do." He replied. "But you just can't make Kurt do anything. If I went in there and demanded he come out with us, he wouldn't – if anything, it would make things worse. He would withdraw into himself even more."

Dave couldn't understand. It was like Krist hadn't even tried. Of course, they had been friends longer, they had been in the band since it first started – it was just Dave's role - his drummer role, which had been changed so often. He turned away from Krist. The giant of the man before him looked angled and smaller, tired and worried. But he wasn't doing enough. Dave left, slamming the door behind him.

Heading out into the rain, he crossed the street and went directly to their hotel. People spoke about Kurt a lot. They would say things about not being able to make him do anything – would suggest any idea wouldn't work automatically assuming that Kurt would rebel, do his own thing, play up to what was being asked of him and make it worse. Dave couldn't understand how people knew all this if no one ever asked. He smiled slightly at the receptionist before going through the thick double-doors and taking the stairs to the second floor.

Dave hardly expected Kurt to respond – the 'do not disturb' sign had already been plastered on the door and scrawled on with various drawings and words but he knocked anyway.

"It's Dave... Kurt, it's Dave, I really need to talk to you about some of our sets." He lied. He couldn't think of any other way for Kurt to let him in. There was no response. Dave knocked again. "Kurt? I know you said you wanted to be on your own, but I really don't want to screw this up." He heard movement, something slamming on a surface and Kurt muttering to himself. There was a silence, a pause and then the door opened slightly. Kurt looked sick. Dave tried to hide his shock – only ever seeing Kurt in some kind of daze; he'd never seen the full effects of his drug-use until now. Kurt's face was pale, gaunt, shadowed and almost grey. His eyes were dilated and blood-shot.

"Kurt..." Dave said very softly. "Can I come in?" his voice was careful. He was unsure how to judge Kurt's reactions at the best of times, but he was a complete novice when it came to Kurt being on drugs.

Quickly, Dave closed the door. On the floor, there were two syringes and a burnt spoon. Kurt's lighter was on the bed with another burnt spoon. Kurt was shaking, muttering to himself like a delusional old man. He was slightly hunched - carrying himself forwards slightly but his gait was odd.