Classic Rock Imagines and Preferences

Never let go -Brian Jones-

WARNING: this contains dark subjects like depression and dealing with addiction. So if these bother you or make you uncomfortable, you might want to skip.

Being Brian Jones' best friend had been a difficult task for the past two years or so. His mental health was decreasing rapidly, his drug problem, on the other side, was getting bigger and he didn't want to admit that he needed help. You really had tried to talk to Brian about it, but he didn't want to listen. Always telling you that everything was under control and that he didn't need help.

"No, Y/N, I don't need help! I'm fine! I got no problem. Stop bothering me with that!" He had said, once, when you told him that, maybe, he should get help. That time, he hadn't called you in days and hadn't come into the studio to record with the others for weeks, so you went to check on him at his house. It was a mess, and he was too. Bottles on the ground and on the furnitures, cigaratte butts and joints everywhere too and dirty clothes on the sofas and chairs. Brian looked so sick. Dark circles under his tired eyes, wrinkled clothes that didn't match at all, a cigarette in hand and a glass full of what you guessed to be alcohol in the other, it pained you to see him like that and yet, you couldn't do much more than reaching out a hand to try and help him.

Being Brian Jones' best friend was terribly difficult in 1969.

But then, it got worst. Brian got kicked out of the band. You knew it would have terrible effects on him and you had tried to prevent it, but no one would listen to you.

"Guys, you can't do that to him! He needs you all and you know it! Mick, come on..." You pleaded, hoping he would change his mind.

"Look Y/N, we can't go on like that. He's never there to record and when he is, he's as high as a kite or as drunk as a sailor, what are we supposed to do with that? God, he can't even travel anymore, how could we tour?" He answered, sternly. You knew there was no changing his mind and you leaved, your eyes full of tears.

"You're a horrible friend, Mick Jagger, I hope you know that."

Brian called you, the day he got kicked out of The Rolling Stones. Just by the tone of his voice and the way he was saying things, you knew he wasn't sober.

"I can't believe it Y/N, they fucking kicked me out of the band I created! They said they couldn't go on with me because I've got too many problems. Fuck 'em" He slurred in the telephone. Scared that, out of anger, he might do something dangerous, you tried to convince him to let you come to his house.

"Do you want me to come over, Bri? I'll cheer you up, we could watch a movie or listen to music..." You began. "I don't want to leave you alone."

"I don't want to see anyone. I'm fine on my own! I'll prove it to 'em." He said, before hanging up.

You didn't see him for a few days after that. He didn't seem to want to talk. You called multiple times but there were no answers, you went to check on him multiple times too, but still, he didn't answer the door. You were getting scared for his life, at this point and the boys were of no help.

"As he talked to you since you let him go?" You asked Bill.

"No... I'm getting worried honestly. I think he talked once or twice to Char, but I'm not su-"

"When?!" You interrupted him abruptly.

"Last week I think, but really, I'm not sure." Bill said, trying to not get your hopes up too much.

Brian had, in fact, talked to Charlie the week before. But it didn't calm your worriness at all. Charlie told you the calls he received mainly consisted of swears and something between crying and laughing. Whatever Brian was going through, it was horrifying.