Metallica one shots and headcannons

The wind rises- (James Hetfield one shot)

Warnings: illness, major character death, sad

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Life on the road was always unpredictable. Late nights, roaring crowds, and the endless hum of the tour bus felt like chaos to some, but for us, it was magic. James and I made it magic.

I remember the first tour I joined him on, a whirlwind of lights and sound. Back then, I wasn't sure how I'd fit into his world. But James made it clear I wasn't just in his world—I was his world.

The happiest days were the quiet ones, tucked away in dressing rooms or backstage corners, where it was just us. He'd pick up his acoustic guitar and strum a soft tune, one he swore was inspired by me. I'd tease him about being a big, tough metal god with a soft side, and he'd laugh that deep, infectious laugh that could melt every worry I had.

But then came the day everything changed.

It happened during a break between shows. I had been feeling off—more tired than usual, some lingering aches that wouldn't go away. James had been the one to insist I see a doctor, and I could tell by his furrowed brow that he'd been worried long before I admitted something was wrong.

The doctor's office was sterile and cold, the hum of fluorescent lights filling the silence after the diagnosis. The doctor cleared his throat, his tone gentle but unyielding.

"Miss Hetfield" he began carefully, "you're suffering from a rare condition—one that, unfortunately, we don't have a cure for yet."

I felt the words settle over me like a heavy fog. James, sitting beside me, stiffened.

"How long?" I whispered, barely able to form the words.

The doctor hesitated, his kind eyes filled with a sympathy I didn't want to see. "It's difficult to say. Months, perhaps longer, depending on treatment."

James's hand found mine, squeezing it tightly. His voice was calm, but I knew him well enough to catch the tremor beneath the surface. "What do we do now?" he asked, his jaw clenched.

The doctor explained what little could be done—pain management, options to slow progression—but I barely heard him. All I could think about was the life James and I had built, the dreams we hadn't yet chased.

Later, when we were alone in the car, I couldn't hold it in anymore.

"I'm so sorry," I choked out, tears spilling down my cheeks. "I didn't want this to ruin everything."

James pulled me into his arms, his chin resting on top of my head. "Hey, none of that," he murmured, his voice breaking just slightly. "This doesn't ruin us. Nothing ever could."

He held me tightly as I cried, his strength the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely. "We're in this together, Y/N," he whispered. "Every step of the way. I won't let you alone throught this."