So, this is the first non-Castlevania fic I've ever attempted to write x3 I know its for a lesser known fandom, but please bear with me. The day I got Rhythm Heaven was the day I became obsessed with these two, and their backstory is so vague I couldn't help but want to write a little more about them. That said, I still firmly believe that Rocker's student is male and I have written him as such in this story.

But with THAT said, this fic will eventually contain yaoi. And it will probably be slow, just like all my previous fics have been. Don't like it don't read it, kay? Kay.

As for in chapter notes, I don't know anything about neck injuries except that I sprained mine once. I don't know any medical terms and all that fun stuff either. So therefore Doc is vague. Doc is always vague. I also don't know anything about headbanging or guitars, so excuse me if I derp it up and make anyone sound like an idiot. I am a musician, I just don't play guitar. I suck like that.

But I hope you enjoy Rock on, Rock off! Thank you for taking the time to read this, and don't let me hold you back any further :'D

Chapter 1 - in which Heaven becomes Hell

"We're almost there, Mr Rocker."

Dull, disinterested eyes turned from the back of the taxi driver's head to stare sullenly out the somewhat grimy window of the moving cab. All he could see for miles along the bumpy country road was field. Miles and miles of field. The same dull green pattern, divided up into segment after predictable segment. And the occasional beetroot leaping into the air from the hard stomp of some dirt smeared farmer. He hated beets. Beets were disgusting. And he didn't understand stomp farmers either. How they could possibly want to spend day after day stomping away in sun-scorched fields for some sort of lumpy root that didn't even taste good... he glared as another one of the vegetables bounced into the air, only to tumble back into the soil. Clearly whoever was tending them hadn't quite mastered their sense of rhythm yet.

J.J Rocker sighed in frustration. Flying beets, dislodged moles... nothing screamed countryside more than those things. He was truly out in the boonies now. Running a hand through his hair, his eyes narrowed as his fingertips came in contact with the brace at the nape of his neck and he winced inwardly.

The first time had been an accident. Whiplash, the doctor had said. Damaged some vertebrae. And that had been on top of the concussion/almost-coma of knocking his head into one of the amps. He'd almost broken his neck, ruined himself for good. The muscle was weak and the doc had suggested taking some time off to let it recover. The doc had insisted on sending him home, pulling him mid-tour, for some 'much needed R&R'.

Bullshit, he'd said. I don't need it. I don't want to let my fans down, he said. And so at his next gig he'd gone on, reveled in the cheering crowd, sung at the top of his lungs, rocked them all with his tunes. He'd ignored the vertigo, dulled the pain with a mixture of tylenol and gin, had a cigarette before he stepped into the spotlight. He lived for his music, lived for his fans. He was the King of Headbanging, J.J Rocker! Nothing would pull him down, not even a little headache and a stiff neck.

Perhaps he'd rocked too hard. Perhaps that little cocktail of medicine and alcohol had been a bit too much and affected his co-ordination. Either way, something had happened mid-song; he recalled a pain so sharp that it felt like someone had driven a red-hot blade into the base of his neck and simply ripped it through. Everything else after that had been hazy. He vaguely recalled something bumping the back of his head, vaguely remembered falling on his guitar. When he'd next opened his eyes, he found the doctor's face frowning down at him. While he'd lain unconscious, they'd canceled his tour and told the media he'd be out for a while. A long time in fact.

And of course the doc was furious. But he'd been furious too, he hadn't wanted to stop what he was doing, not for a second. But the threat of 'never rock again' had halted him in his tracks. Rocking was his life, his passion. He didn't want to have to wait for anything, he was fired up and ready for the world. He'd always been fired up and ready for the world.

But the doc had put his foot down and insisted he go away. Go far away so that the lure of the crowd, the glamor of the stage would not sit at his shoulder and constantly tempt him. He'd sat home for a few days feeling sorry for himself, and then suddenly he woke up at the hospital again. Those little cocktails he'd been making, those little things he'd been taking to dull the aches of his injury and the longing for his moment in the sun had taken their toll on him. If he didn't run off to reclaim the stage and break his neck, his love for painkillers and alcohol would see him drinking to oblivion.

And that was how he'd found himself in the back of a cab, traveling down the road to nowhere. He needed a place to rest and recover. Far away from his normal comforts, far away from anything familiar. Just think of it like a vacation, the doc had said.

J.J was downright miserable. He didn't want a fucking vacation. Especially not in some dingy little backwater town surrounded by fields of... beets.

And to top it all off, the place was called Heaven. It made him feel like he'd died or something. Like his career was or would be over forever. He scowled, plucking at his neck brace. Ever since he'd left the hospital, he'd just become more and more tempted to rip the damn thing from his throat. The King of Headbanging was stopped by no obstacle. Especially not some stupid fucking cast around his neck. Fingers twitching, he dropped his hands back into his lap, gazing balefully out of the window as the muted 'Yeah, yeah, yeah's of some pop singer crackled out of the radio. He'd met her once before, he recalled. And hadn't liked her. He couldn't respect any singer that bribed a pack of monkeys with a banana a day to cheer and clap along to her songs. He'd seen them in her apartment. He knew.

Turning his thoughts back towards the scenery around him and away from miss One Hit Wonder, heavy eyebrows narrowed as they moved through what could only be considered the township of this tiny, close knit community. He shuddered at the amount of vegetable stalls featuring those hairy beets. The damn things had eyes. How would you go about cutting those things up, let alone cooking them? Gross.

His eyes roamed the town through that begrimed window, taking in as much of it as he could. Aside from your common variety of stores, he noted a stadium, a racetrack, a couple of small factories, a public pool... and as they traveled further down the cheerful main road, what appeared to be a small university of some sort. Had J.J been in the mood to admire it, he would have found it impressive. It wasn't very often that you found little academies out this far in nowhere. People of all sorts of shapes and shades went about their daily business in the streets and as they rounded the fountain in the town square, he caught the faintest hint of a song above the tacky 'love you, love you, love you' and 'I suppose!' of the poser on the radio. His gaze was drawn to the park just beyond the spurting jets of water, where a couple of kids were kicking a soccer ball back and forth to one another.

Confusion furrowed his brow. Maybe he should have read more about this Heaven place before he jumped to conclusions. It was... bigger than he expected. More colorful. Staring around, he began to wonder just what kind of a town it was... but instants later, his face was clouded in a scowl once again. He was being sent here against his will. He wouldn't enjoy it. He refused to enjoy it. He would sit in the little room of his little hotel – it was a hotel, right? - and not move from the sofa for as long as he had to sit and wait this little trip out.

He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the glass, just wishing the trip was already over so he could drown himself in the oblivion of sleep. Sure, J.J had tried to sleep on the ride over, but that godawful music had been playing the entire way down. And that damn driver had always exclaimed and turned up the volume whenever a song of his had come up on the radio. Clearly he was a fan, and at any other time J.J would have appreciated it. But today was just... a day for disappointments. Right now all he wanted was out of the cab, away from this hick town, a cigarette and a flight back to his tour bus. He loved the fans gushing over him, but only when he was on stage where they couldn't do more than reach for him from behind a flimsy barrier.

The cab pulled to a gentle stop, coaxing his eyes open to gaze upon his place of residence for the next... fuck, he didn't know. The doc had mentioned it but he'd been too furious to pay attention. But as he looked out at the tiny, most likely single room cottage he'd been assigned, he felt his heart sink a little. The doctor expected him to live in a place like this? He'd barely have enough room to stretch his damn legs here!

He hissed in frustration as he heard the boot pop, the driver getting out to unload his things. He hadn't brought too much with him; essentials, really. With a pack of cigarettes and a few bottles of gin hidden in the mix, certainly. And painkillers. Lots and lots of painkillers. The doctor hadn't said he couldn't stop his regular habits, though he'd gotten hell from a few one night stands exclaiming over how he'd ruin his pretty voice if he kept smoking. Fuck. Just thinking about it made him want to pull out a cigarette and light up. Shoving open the taxi door, he yanked his guitar off the seat beside him and slung it casually over his shoulder, digging in his pockets for a lighter.

The driver set his bags down by the door of the cabin as J.J whirled around and strode up to examine the place. He wondered just how much was coming out of his pocket to rent this place – the doc had taken care of it all, he'd had nothing to do with it really. It looked relatively clean, at least, possibly even quaint, if J.J hadn't been mulishly determined to hate every day of his existence here. He missed home - missed his tour bus even more he thought as he blew a slender ribbon of smoke up into the clouding sky. He had the keys, but he didn't want to go in just yet... his gaze flickered back over to the cabbie as he heard the boot slam.

"Just a second, my good man." he swaggered over to the surprised driver, suddenly smiles and radiating rock star charm. A roll of bills had all but materialized in his hand as he clapped his palm to the other man's, forcing the money into chubby fingers. "I trust you'll keep my being here a secret, yeah?" he said cheerfully. "Doc did say I needed rest and recuperation."

He smiled as the driver blubbered and stammered, flustered and flushing now that J.J Rocker was actually speaking to him. He'd seen it many times with his fans and most of the time he actually found it endearing... though usually the subjects in question were cute little groupies in overdone makeup and miniskirts. They'd follow him everywhere... from the stage to his hotel and back again... all over the country in some extreme cases! He blinked. The man before him was neither a groupie nor remotely cute.

"I'll sign you something." he mumbled to seal the deal.

Half an hour later found J.J flopped out on the sofa in the small, two room cabin. He'd explored the place rather thoroughly and it had taken him all of five minutes. It was tiny. There was a bed in the furthest corner, a small, rustic looking thing with a mattress that looked as though it would at least give his neck a bit of relief. He'd immediately dumped his things on it, peered through an adjoining door at a reasonably clean bathroom, then staggered around the rest of the cabin, examining the tiny fridge, testing the taps and peering out of the window at the township a stone's throw from his new residence.

He'd then proceeded to take a painkiller for his headache and fill the room with smoke, despite the letter from the doc that had warned him not to – this place was a rental after all. But fuck if he'd listen, if he was going to be stranded here, he wanted the things that brought him the most simple of joys. Alcohol, cigarettes and pain medication.

Dull eyes gazed up at the wood pattern on the ceiling as he blew a puff of smoke skyward. The brace around his neck made lying down uncomfortable, but sitting up was just as much of a chore. He'd been sitting all day, his legs were stiff. A sigh followed the slender ribbon of smoke as he rolled onto his side, groping for the bottle of gin he'd placed on the floor beside his current place of rest. This was turning out to be the biggest disappointment of his life. All he'd ever done were things he'd loved... his music had always been his passion, ever since he was young. But young J.J had only cared about the soul of his songs, young J.J had yet to learn the wonder of a cheering crowd, never enjoyed the heady ecstasy of a full blown concert. Lifting the bottle to his lips, he began to wonder if the roar of the crowd had changed him at all - much as he loved to scream, much as he loved to sing, if he didn't have an audience...

He drove the thoughts away with a slight sniff, stubbing his cigarette out on one of the coasters left on the table. If the doc was going to hole him up in here for however long it was, he'd have to put up with the charges at the end. That'd show him not to send J.J Rocker off against his will.

Something at the back of his mind told him he was being utterly childish, and he blinked down at the table feeling a slight twinge of guilt. Fine, he'd replace the damn coasters. And buy an ashtray.

Clearing his throat and draining the rest of the bottle to rid himself of his guilty feelings, he trudged back to his bed in the corner of the cabin, hefting his bag and promptly upending it onto the plush duvet. Among the clothes and medication that tumbled out, he noticed something in a gaudy yellow hue that he didn't recall putting in for one and clearly wasn't his for another. Picking it out of the jumble of black and grey, he found a note, hastily scrawled on brown paper, pinned to it.

"I figured you wouldn't want to go out on vacation without one of these.
Doc told me what happened to you. I know you'll find a good use for it!
Get better and come home soon, bro

- D.J.Y"

Unrolling the long swath of woolen fabric, he found himself holding an incredibly long scarf, complete with tassels at the ends. His frown only deepened. DJ Yellow, whilst something of a friend and a once upon a time affectionate rival, was not his favorite person in the world. Lately he'd just been sinking into a deeper and deeper hatred for the little yellow man. To find a 'gift' like this, in such a... horrible, horrible color, mixed in with his luggage felt like more of a jab and insult than any manner of kindness. It wasn't screaming 'use me as a sad excuse to hide your neck brace'. Not at all. It wouldn't fucking work anyway, his brace was too thick. He'd just look even stupider than he did already. What the hell was Yellow thinking?

Somewhat tipsy and more than a little frustrated, he lumped his clothes together and stomped over to the cabinet on the far side of the room, throwing everything in and slamming the doors shut, holding them in place a moment later as everything threatened to spill out. The cupboard shuddered, held, and J.J stalked back to his bed, stumbling on the floorboards. The rub of the infernal brace around his neck stopped him from simply jumping into bed – he moved with deliberate care and slid on top of the sheets, staring up at the wood-grain pattern of the ceiling again.

What the hell was he meant to do to pass the time here? The cabin didn't even have TV... or a bookshelf. Not that J.J read much in his spare time. Magazines mostly. He was always curious as to what his fans and reviewers were saying about him. He'd miss them the way they'd miss him once they heard about his accident... surely it was all over Guitar Monthly by now.

His gaze traveled to the small fridge, stocked with enough to last him a day or two. He didn't feel like leaving the cabin ever. Especially not to associate with country bumpkins. He vowed to only go out when he had to, where he had to. There was still a bottle or two of gin. His neck was beginning to hurt again. All he needed was to close his eyes and keep himself warm... as long as he could deaden the pain with alcohol and cigarettes, he could just sleep the days away.

Another sigh parted his lips, expressing the feelings buried under the haze of smoke and the warmth of gin for just a second. Here he was in a town away from everything and everyone he adored. With a brace around his neck and his career slowly but surely slipping between his fingers. He couldn't rock. He couldn't sing. In a few weeks, he'd be just a memory. A legend that would fade from the spotlight, a fool who did too much and wasted his moment away.

J.J Rocker closed his eyes. Today had just simply been a terrible day.