Metallica one shots and headcannons

Lost and found- (James Hetfield one shot)

I had always imagined what it would be like to become a mother—rocking my baby to sleep, watching them grow, hearing their first laugh. But nothing could have prepared me for the sleepless nights, the endless crying, and the overwhelming exhaustion that came with it. It was supposed to be the happiest time of my life, but instead, I felt lost.

The first few nights were a blur. Our baby, so tiny and helpless, cried almost nonstop, and I did everything I could to comfort him. But despite my efforts, the cries only seemed to get louder. James? He barely acknowledged it. I'd ask him for help, but he'd just roll over and tell me he was tired. I understood—he had a busy schedule with the studio—but after a while, it started to feel like he wasn't just tired. He was avoiding us.

At first, I told myself it was just temporary, that once the baby settled into a routine, things would get easier. But James didn't seem to want to be a part of that routine. His late nights at the studio grew longer, and when he did come home, he was distant, lost in his own world. I'd find him at the bar more often, or out with friends. There were whispers, rumors I tried not to believe—about strip clubs, about other women—but they stung all the same. I never confronted him about it, though. I didn't want to believe it. But the signs were there.

One night, when I'd finally hit my breaking point, I tried to talk to him. I needed him, needed him to see that this wasn't easy for me, for us, and that I couldn't do it alone anymore.

"James," I said, voice shaking. "What's happening to us? You're never here. The baby needs you. I need you."

He didn't even look up from his phone. "I'm tired, Y/n. You don't get it. I'm doing this for us. I'm working, I'm—"

"No," I cut him off. "That's not it. You're avoiding us. You're always gone, always out. And the baby's crying. I'm drowning here, and you're just... you're just... gone."

I was angry. So angry, and it all came pouring out.

"You think this is easy for me? You think I wanted this?" he snapped, finally looking at me. His words felt like a slap to the face. "I didn't ask for a kid, Y/n. This... all of this... it's not what I wanted. It's not how I imagined my life."

The room spun as those words hit me. They cut deeper than anything he'd ever said before. I had given everything for this family. For him. For our son. And he regretted it.

I couldn't breathe. I didn't know what to say. The tears started to fall, but I wiped them away quickly. I had to leave. I couldn't be here, in this house, with him anymore.

I grabbed the baby's things, packed a few bags, and left. I didn't even know where I was going, but I couldn't stay with him anymore. I couldn't keep pretending everything was okay when it was falling apart in front of my eyes.

The next morning, I woke up alone in a new place, the silence deafening. I didn't know where James was. I didn't care. I was done.

But as the days passed, I realized just how far he had fallen. He wasn't just avoiding me—he was disappearing into his own world. His drinking was out of control, his late nights stretched longer, and his reckless behavior spiraled further. I couldn't watch him destroy himself, but I couldn't fix him either.