Alisaura
Blue Crack Supplier
Happy Birthday Adam 
Yay ficspam...?
Disclaimer: A work of fiction, and the product of an overactive imagination. Errors and opinions all mine, band are not. Some swearing, and lots of bloody italics.
----------
8 November, 1987 – Denver, CO, USA
Bono had been speechless with rage and horror when he'd heard the news, but that hadn't lasted long.
"Eleven people dead! Eleven civilians!"
No one thought it worthwhile correcting Bono – one of the people killed in the Enniskillen bombing had been a member of Royal Ulster Constabulary, albeit off-duty. Fifty-five more people had been injured.
"Marie Wilson was twenty years old! The fecking miserable fecking cowards! Bombing a fecking Remembrance Day parade..."
Adam had never seen Bono angrier than this. The singer was marching up and down the room with a furious, jerky gait, gesturing wildly, looking like he needed to hit something. A newspaper flapped from one hand.
Bono wasn't the only one angry and sickened. It was a disgusting, cowardly act of terrorism, that made them ashamed to be Irish. Adam didn't like the idea of hate, but he could feel nothing but the basest contempt for anyone who would stoop to such a revolting act.
"You know they planted another bomb that didn't go off? They were going to blow up the Boys' and Girls' Brigades where they were gonna be marchin'! Children!"
Larry's teeth were clenched, a scowl deeply engraved on his forehead.
Edge turned a page of the book he was holding. Bono glared at him.
"You've been very quiet over there," he said.
"You're being very noisy over there," Edge returned. He didn't quite understand what all the fuss was about. He was considering going somewhere quieter, he needed to concentrate to get the meaning out of these words. Besides, he was really only holding the book because people tended to talk to him less when they thought he was reading.
Bono had almost turned purple. "Did you hear what I've been sayin'? Did you hear the news?"
"It's very sad." It was. It was sad that humans killed other humans, especially innocent humans who had done no wrong.
"Very... sad?" Bono advanced. Edge had become the target for his fury. "Eleven people get blown up at a Remembrance Day parade, most of them pensioners, and a twenty-year-old girl, and you think it's sad?!"
"Very sad," Edge repeated, looking at Bono. Had he not heard him properly?
Bono stopped very close to Edge, who was still seated. Bono glared down at him, peering into the blank face.
"What's happening to you?" His whisper was as intense as the shout. "Don't you care?"
Edge did care, underneath, as much as he had always done. But the wolf was coming ever closer to the surface, and its thinking was different, its emotions less complex. This was a human problem, human sorrow and pain; and Edge was hiding from his humanity and its pain behind the wolf, and every chance he could get, within the wolf's skin.
Edge didn't want to deal with this, with more anger and confrontation. He stood up.
Bono wasn't ready to let him go. "What's wrong with you?" he shouted. "Are you even human any more? For fuck's sake, people are being murdered back home!"
Something had gotten through, and Edge's eyes grew harder, more aware. He stared Bono down. "No," he said. "I don't want to be human, if this is what humans do. Maybe I lost my humanity when I killed that man, and maybe that's a good thing."
It was the longest speech any of them had heard Edge make for at least a week.
"You haven't LOST anything. Humanity is an act of will, you can't lose it, you have to let it go. Is that what you're doing? You're just running away from everything, hiding behind this wolf?"
That hit too close to home. Edge turned away.
"Those people who set off that bomb, they're the monsters, the inhuman ones. I know you're not like that, Edge."
"Do you think that everything not human is a monster?" Edge turned back to stare at Bono.
"No. Even wolves care about one another, or so you were telling us. Back when you spoke to us at all."
Edge stared at Bono a moment longer, glanced at Adam and Larry, and walked towards the door.
"We've a show tonight..." Larry said.
"I'll be there," Edge said, and left.
---
He was there. Whether it was the news of the bombing, or what Bono had said, or something else, Edge approached something like his old form that night. He found enough humanity to feel the anger and grief, and he remembered how to put that through his guitar.
What the others didn't know was that it was a gift he was giving them. A farewell gift.
----------
11 November, 1987 – San Francisco, CA, USA
The outrage from the Enniskillen bombing remained close to the surface of Bono's mind, at least, for the rest of that week. Even playing a very silly, frivolous and impromptu "Save the Yuppies" concert in San Francisco in broad daylight (that had been Bono's idea – no one could think of a reason to talk him out of it, and Edge simply didn't care), an innocent sign in the crowd had set Bono off in the middle of Sunday Bloody Sunday.
"What's this I see over here? I see two letters, 'SF' and U2.... Is that a girl's name or does that stand for Sinn Fein, the Irish Republican Army's ... 'Cause if it does, I dunno how you can stand or stomach to wave that sign this week..."
Uncomfortable looks were passing between Adam, Larry and now Edge. Bono was making a complete arse of himself, and all of them by extension. Most of Edge didn't care, but it was still excruciating for the part that did.
"... 'Cause you bastards left those people... eleven dead, fifty-five wounded, in the name of freedom. Fuck freedom!"
The crowd wasn't quite sure what to make of that. Six months ago, Edge might have realised he was better off letting Bono go, avoiding further public embarrassment. But now, fed up as he was with the tour and dealing with humans in general, he just saw something wrong that needed to be corrected. Larry couldn't do much, and Adam was doing his best to ignore what was going on. Edge had to put an end to it, and put Bono (and the rest of them) out of his misery.
"... Glory to the revolution, that's what they're saying... There's no glory in taking a man out of his bed and shooting a bullet in his head while his wife and children watch, mate..."
Edge walked up to where Bono was still ranting at the crowd ("When's the last time you were back in Ireland, anyway?"), and shouted in his ear, "We're in San Francisco!"
"I know where we are!" Bono replied, into the mike. The crowd roared. Edge winced, and tried again.
"That sign says 'SF'!"
"I know what the fucking sign says too!" Bono shouted. There was a mixed kind of cheer from the crowd. Edge was sure some of them were trying to tell Bono the same thing he was.
"'SF' stands for 'San Francisco'!"
Bono paused. Edge could have felt sorry for him, if he hadn't just wanted him to shut the fuck up and stop embarrassing them all. The crowd was still trying to argue with Bono.
"Does that stand for 'San Francisco'?"
A deafening affirmative.
Edge was forced to admire the way Bono's attitude turned on a dime. "And do the people of San Francisco believe in solving their problems through violence and terrorism?"
They emphatically did not.
"So we say, NO MORE...!"
---
"Don't ever fuckin' correct me on stage again! You made a complete fuckin' idiot of me!"
"You did that yourself," Edge said shortly.
"Would you rather he'd let you dig yourself even deeper into that hole?" Adam asked.
"I didn't see you leapin' to save the day," Bono shot back.
"Damned if you do, damned if you don't," the bassist had shrugged.
----
Edge was sick of it. Sick to death of everything; the music, the dramas, travelling, playing, having to be here and there and everywhere. Being watched and filmed and interviewed and scrutinised and followed and torn to pieces by everyone. Sick of feeling, sick of thinking, sick of ignoring, walking away, hiding.
And as much as Edge was sick of humanity, the wolf was lonely for wolf-kind. Since he had found the wolf in himself, they hadn't been near a place where real wolves lived in the wild.
The decision had almost made itself, the day of the bombing.
He needed to go north, and they were about to do just that.
----------
Yay ficspam...?
Disclaimer: A work of fiction, and the product of an overactive imagination. Errors and opinions all mine, band are not. Some swearing, and lots of bloody italics.
----------
8 November, 1987 – Denver, CO, USA
Bono had been speechless with rage and horror when he'd heard the news, but that hadn't lasted long.
"Eleven people dead! Eleven civilians!"
No one thought it worthwhile correcting Bono – one of the people killed in the Enniskillen bombing had been a member of Royal Ulster Constabulary, albeit off-duty. Fifty-five more people had been injured.
"Marie Wilson was twenty years old! The fecking miserable fecking cowards! Bombing a fecking Remembrance Day parade..."
Adam had never seen Bono angrier than this. The singer was marching up and down the room with a furious, jerky gait, gesturing wildly, looking like he needed to hit something. A newspaper flapped from one hand.
Bono wasn't the only one angry and sickened. It was a disgusting, cowardly act of terrorism, that made them ashamed to be Irish. Adam didn't like the idea of hate, but he could feel nothing but the basest contempt for anyone who would stoop to such a revolting act.
"You know they planted another bomb that didn't go off? They were going to blow up the Boys' and Girls' Brigades where they were gonna be marchin'! Children!"
Larry's teeth were clenched, a scowl deeply engraved on his forehead.
Edge turned a page of the book he was holding. Bono glared at him.
"You've been very quiet over there," he said.
"You're being very noisy over there," Edge returned. He didn't quite understand what all the fuss was about. He was considering going somewhere quieter, he needed to concentrate to get the meaning out of these words. Besides, he was really only holding the book because people tended to talk to him less when they thought he was reading.
Bono had almost turned purple. "Did you hear what I've been sayin'? Did you hear the news?"
"It's very sad." It was. It was sad that humans killed other humans, especially innocent humans who had done no wrong.
"Very... sad?" Bono advanced. Edge had become the target for his fury. "Eleven people get blown up at a Remembrance Day parade, most of them pensioners, and a twenty-year-old girl, and you think it's sad?!"
"Very sad," Edge repeated, looking at Bono. Had he not heard him properly?
Bono stopped very close to Edge, who was still seated. Bono glared down at him, peering into the blank face.
"What's happening to you?" His whisper was as intense as the shout. "Don't you care?"
Edge did care, underneath, as much as he had always done. But the wolf was coming ever closer to the surface, and its thinking was different, its emotions less complex. This was a human problem, human sorrow and pain; and Edge was hiding from his humanity and its pain behind the wolf, and every chance he could get, within the wolf's skin.
Edge didn't want to deal with this, with more anger and confrontation. He stood up.
Bono wasn't ready to let him go. "What's wrong with you?" he shouted. "Are you even human any more? For fuck's sake, people are being murdered back home!"
Something had gotten through, and Edge's eyes grew harder, more aware. He stared Bono down. "No," he said. "I don't want to be human, if this is what humans do. Maybe I lost my humanity when I killed that man, and maybe that's a good thing."
It was the longest speech any of them had heard Edge make for at least a week.
"You haven't LOST anything. Humanity is an act of will, you can't lose it, you have to let it go. Is that what you're doing? You're just running away from everything, hiding behind this wolf?"
That hit too close to home. Edge turned away.
"Those people who set off that bomb, they're the monsters, the inhuman ones. I know you're not like that, Edge."
"Do you think that everything not human is a monster?" Edge turned back to stare at Bono.
"No. Even wolves care about one another, or so you were telling us. Back when you spoke to us at all."
Edge stared at Bono a moment longer, glanced at Adam and Larry, and walked towards the door.
"We've a show tonight..." Larry said.
"I'll be there," Edge said, and left.
---
He was there. Whether it was the news of the bombing, or what Bono had said, or something else, Edge approached something like his old form that night. He found enough humanity to feel the anger and grief, and he remembered how to put that through his guitar.
What the others didn't know was that it was a gift he was giving them. A farewell gift.
----------
11 November, 1987 – San Francisco, CA, USA
The outrage from the Enniskillen bombing remained close to the surface of Bono's mind, at least, for the rest of that week. Even playing a very silly, frivolous and impromptu "Save the Yuppies" concert in San Francisco in broad daylight (that had been Bono's idea – no one could think of a reason to talk him out of it, and Edge simply didn't care), an innocent sign in the crowd had set Bono off in the middle of Sunday Bloody Sunday.
"What's this I see over here? I see two letters, 'SF' and U2.... Is that a girl's name or does that stand for Sinn Fein, the Irish Republican Army's ... 'Cause if it does, I dunno how you can stand or stomach to wave that sign this week..."
Uncomfortable looks were passing between Adam, Larry and now Edge. Bono was making a complete arse of himself, and all of them by extension. Most of Edge didn't care, but it was still excruciating for the part that did.
"... 'Cause you bastards left those people... eleven dead, fifty-five wounded, in the name of freedom. Fuck freedom!"
The crowd wasn't quite sure what to make of that. Six months ago, Edge might have realised he was better off letting Bono go, avoiding further public embarrassment. But now, fed up as he was with the tour and dealing with humans in general, he just saw something wrong that needed to be corrected. Larry couldn't do much, and Adam was doing his best to ignore what was going on. Edge had to put an end to it, and put Bono (and the rest of them) out of his misery.
"... Glory to the revolution, that's what they're saying... There's no glory in taking a man out of his bed and shooting a bullet in his head while his wife and children watch, mate..."
Edge walked up to where Bono was still ranting at the crowd ("When's the last time you were back in Ireland, anyway?"), and shouted in his ear, "We're in San Francisco!"
"I know where we are!" Bono replied, into the mike. The crowd roared. Edge winced, and tried again.
"That sign says 'SF'!"
"I know what the fucking sign says too!" Bono shouted. There was a mixed kind of cheer from the crowd. Edge was sure some of them were trying to tell Bono the same thing he was.
"'SF' stands for 'San Francisco'!"
Bono paused. Edge could have felt sorry for him, if he hadn't just wanted him to shut the fuck up and stop embarrassing them all. The crowd was still trying to argue with Bono.
"Does that stand for 'San Francisco'?"
A deafening affirmative.
Edge was forced to admire the way Bono's attitude turned on a dime. "And do the people of San Francisco believe in solving their problems through violence and terrorism?"
They emphatically did not.
"So we say, NO MORE...!"
---
"Don't ever fuckin' correct me on stage again! You made a complete fuckin' idiot of me!"
"You did that yourself," Edge said shortly.
"Would you rather he'd let you dig yourself even deeper into that hole?" Adam asked.
"I didn't see you leapin' to save the day," Bono shot back.
"Damned if you do, damned if you don't," the bassist had shrugged.
----
Edge was sick of it. Sick to death of everything; the music, the dramas, travelling, playing, having to be here and there and everywhere. Being watched and filmed and interviewed and scrutinised and followed and torn to pieces by everyone. Sick of feeling, sick of thinking, sick of ignoring, walking away, hiding.
And as much as Edge was sick of humanity, the wolf was lonely for wolf-kind. Since he had found the wolf in himself, they hadn't been near a place where real wolves lived in the wild.
The decision had almost made itself, the day of the bombing.
He needed to go north, and they were about to do just that.
----------
Where's he going? Canada?
