Fandom: School of rock

Rating: PG-13. Do not let the rating put you off; This rating might change as I continue through the story.

Disclaimer: This story might not be the bgreatest I have written. Call the disease 'writersblock'

Chapter one : The aftermath

Dewey Finn was crazy about the music. He lived in it, breathed it.He had surrounded himself in a safe coccoon of it, and the outside world almost never got to him.
He might not be very skilled at playing the guitar, but his fierceness made up for that. Backed up by a good band, his licks and moves looked more than good.
And he had a good band, didn't he?

Dewey Finn lived for the music. Dewey Finn was easy to perceive. He needed music as badly as one needed to drink or to eat. Music was his addiction.

He looked at himself, at the faint reflection of himself in the window. Band practice was over, and everybody had left.Ned had gone off to drop off the little ones. This place was empty. Lifeless. Too quiet. He tore his eyes away from the window, and absently grabbed his Les Paul, plugged it in and fell down in the sofa. His fingers strummed the strings lightly, and they made a faint sound. He had forgotten to turn up the volume of the amp, but he did not care. He hummed softly as he played, trying to ignore the aching feeling in his fingers. Playing the guitar was one thing he would never tire from, not even if it hurt badly. He stopped, stretching the fingers of his hands for a couple of seconds. Yes, his fingers hurt, sometimes unbearably so, but he would never give up what he had here.He would not give up on the music.

His fingers strummed the strings again, lightly so, trying to keep his hands from shaking, and played some old song from The Beatles.He hummed softly as his guitar faintly played.

When I find myself in times of trouble Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom
Let it be
And in my hour of darkness
She is standing right it front of me
Speaking words of wisdom
Let it be


Ned knew. It was inevitable, really. Dewey and Ned lived with eachother, 24 hours on 24, so Dewey could not hide it from him.His guitar skills never had been perfect or facemelting, like Zack's, but he managed to pull it off due to intensity. But even Ned Schneebly had noticed that his playing had somehow slacked down, thathis fingers had begun shaking and had suggested doctors and the likes. But Dewey had said no. No way that some doctor was going to order him around. The Man was not going to get him.

Dewey shook his hands as he played a wrong chord.Today his hands and fingers were not coöperating at all.He had managed not to play during band practice today, and had stuck to the singing. Singing was the thing he just could do like forever, no matter whether he screamed, yelled or hummed. Everybody could sing, no matter if they sang false or not. Everybody could sing.

The front door opened and closed, but Dewey did not look up. Ned Schneebly was home.

" The kids are all home. Dropped them off safely.", Ned said as he put his keys on the kitchen counter and removed his jacket." Band practice went well today."

"Yeah, it did.", Dewey muttered as he struggled to hit the right chords." The kids were fantastic.It seems like they're getting better everyday." And I'm getting worse with every day that comes. He didn't bother telling Ned that his hands were hurting too bad to play properly. Ned knew. Ned knew almost everything. Roomies knew everything of each other.

"How's your hands?" Ned grabbed a mug from the kitchen cupboard and poured himself some coffee. From where he was standing, Dewey looked utterly miserable, as if he was ready to burst out into tears.

"Not better, not worse. Fairly reasonable.", Dewey admitted. He was lying, and Schneebly knew it.

"Just get your hands some rest. And get some sleep. You look like hell, Dewey."

Dewey nodded impatiently. "Yeah, yeah. What are you, my mother? Just let me be, man."

"Fine, fine." Ned decided that it was best to leave Dewey alone, since he was in one of his moody fits."I'll be in my room."