Foo Fighters One Shots

Dan (Grohlkins)

** To Heiferdoctor who just opened Pandora's Box on this whole Grohlkins thing**

It was all her idea, okay?

She was the one that had sidled up to him one night on the patio when they were halfway through their second bottle of wine saying, "Wouldn't it be funny if..."

So it absolutely her idea.

Definitely.

It wasn't like he would just go to a Chevy Metal show in professional movie makeup as a disguise on a whim. He just wouldn't, okay? It just wasn't his style.

He was more apt to barge into the dressing room with his fists full of liquor bottles, yelling at the top of his lungs about everyone in the entire fucking building lining up to do shots with him, rather than slink into the GA area in a much longer beard with his dark hair shoved up under a wig several shades lighter than his eyebrows, which had been painted as well.

But he felt ridiculous.

And a little bit miffed. He hadn't been invited, in fact, he got the feeling that everyone around him was specifically told not to tell him about the Chevy gig, making it pretty clear he was persona non grata, and that bugged him enough to bitch to his wife about it once or twice. Four times, if you asked her.

So there he was, being jostled and shoved in the crowd, listening to his best friend's fan's excited chatter and the occasional question, "I wonder if Dave'll be here?"

Well, he was there. He just wasn't up on the stage with his Gibson, he was fighting his way to the rail. Though knowing what he knew, he managed a front row spot way before the band that was scheduled ahead of Chevy even left the stage. But that only gave him time to think and then to regret and then to panic.

What if he recognized him? What would he do? Would he call him out? Call him up on stage? How was he gonna explain all the fake hair and blue contacts? He hadn't thought this through...

There wasn't any time to come up with a valid excuse because there he was, in all his torn up shirt, Van Halen leggings, surfer blonde glory, clutching the microphone with that adorable clench of self-consciousness. 

He felt himself beaming from the rail, taking a brief moment to tamp down the emotions that were threatening to burst forth. There was pride, of course. Adoration, sure. Deep affection, yeah. Love... 

Well, that's a tricky word, isn't it?

Of course he loved his friend, he'd been vocal about that in the past. Very vocal, very... open about his fondness and it was never once a lie. Sure, they'd been facetious about sex and making out and long tours, but that's all it was. Just a couple jokes to break up a lull in a show.

That's all it was.

That wide, too-big-for-his-face grin was scanning the crowd against the barrier and all of a sudden he felt seen. His head lowered between his shoulders and let the bill of his trucker hat shield his face, only looking back up when that raspy voice rang out across the festival.

"You guys ready for some fuckin' rock?"

It was forced and uneasy, but only sounded that way to someone that had known him for decades. Someone like him... and maybe Wiley.

He looked over at the other blonde on stage and examined him a bit. He'd always wondered if there had been more between the life long friends - if maybe there still was more, but he couldn't ever really determine.