Colorful Brother Chapter 11
Title: Colorful Brother
Author: 2he_re (Heather and Reena)
Fandom: Jonas Brothers
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, the real people in it are used without their permission and we do not own them or have any copyright to any part of any of them. We do not believe any of this happened, is likely to happen, or will happen. It is simply a story created around known facts about those involved.
Summary: He doesn’t remember anything before the white flash. He needs to stand the colors, to fix everything. So his brother can be happy again. So that Kevin and Danielle can be happy. So the boy before the white can come back, and make everything right.
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13
~*~
His brother held another coffee cup when his brother came into his room.
White room. Brown coffee cup.
His white room that still didn’t have a handle on the door.
The door swung shut softly behind his brother, and he sniffed at the smell of coffee in the air. He really loved the smell of coffee; it came back like a long forgotten smell, musty and damp. His brother always smelled like coffee now, his brother always brought coffee. He thought it was some kind of bribe, to bribe him to get better. But maybe it was a bribe to remember, too.
He glanced over his brother, as he always did. He saw the colors he had been craving ever since his brother’s last visit.
Red shirt. Blue pants. Brown hair. Yellow shoes. Green socks.
His brother paused before him on the floor. His brother gave him a strange look, holding the coffee cup.
Brown coffee cup.
“Why do you always sit on the floor?” his brother questioned him, and he laughed. His pants were again rolled all the way up to his knees.
White pants.
His thighs pressed into the floor.
White floor.
“Where else would I sit?”
“On the bed?” his brother rhetorically asked.
He shook his head and smiled, because they both knew he just didn’t sit on the bed anymore. His brother just didn’t understand why. His brother folded down awkwardly to the floor, while he immediately rose gracefully up.
“Why are you sitting down?” he asked. He was ready to go to the piano. He was ready to make music. He loved doing it; he wanted to do it forever.
“”Cause I want to show you something before we go.” He frowned at his brother, trying to guess what his brother was thinking, before he decided he didn’t need to guess. His brother would tell him. So he sat back down, his legs swiftly folding down under him.
His brother took a sip of the coffee and smiled as the warm liquid went down. “So…?” he started for his
brother, who seemed to forget what was going to be said.
“So…” his brother started slowly. His brother set the coffee cup down between his legs. “I brought you a present.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You brought me a present?”
“Yeah, yep. I think you’ll like it.”
“Do I get the piano in my room?” The smile faltered on his brother’s face. “Or, wait, do I get a handle on the door?” His brother bit his brother's lip and looked down.
“No, no, it’s nothing like that. It’s something smaller, but I think it’s better.”
“Better than a piano?”
“Mhmm.”
“Do I get to guess?”
“Guess away.”
He scrunched up his face, thinking. He wanted to guess the right thing. Because isn’t that something you did, you guessed the right present? He tried to think about what his brother might’ve gotten for him. What was better than a piano? What was better than a room he wasn’t locked in? “A guitar.”
“Nope.”
He frowned, he was out of guesses. “I don’t know…” he said softly, admitting defeat.
His brother laughed. “It’s fine. Gosh, you didn’t have to guess. I wouldn’t have been able to guess either.”
“So what did you get me?”
His brother took a sip of coffee. “This.” His brother pulled something out from a jean pocket, and handed it to him.
Carefully he took the object wrapped in a plastic bag. “What is it?”
“Open it,” his brother said with a smile, the coffee cup held up.
His brother watched as he slowly unwrapped the plastic bag, pulling out a pair of socks.
Multi-colored socks.
He made a weird face. Why did his brother give him socks?
“You like?” He opened his mouth, and then closed his mouth. When you receive a present, and you don’t really like it, what do you say? Wasn’t he always supposed to say the truth?
“I don’t think I like them.”
“Why not?”
“They’re… socks. I don’t really like socks.”
“But you don’t have a pair. So how do you know you don’t like them, until you have a pair?”
He laughed in response, and set the socks down. “You, take off your shoes.” His brother gave him a weird look. “No, don’t argue, come on, I want to show you.” His brother slowly put down the coffee cup, before tugging off his brother’s shoes. “Now socks.”
His brother tugged off his brother’s socks.
Purple socks.
“Now what?”
“Stand up.”
His brother stood, and didn’t know what he was getting at.
“You feel that?” he asked softly. His brother looked at him, to find his eyes closed. He was feeling the floor under his feet. His brother’s eyes slowly closed to mirror him. He slowly took a step, foot skimming the top of the floor. He could feel the soft boom-boom of the people moving around outside. He could feel how steady he was on his feet.
“You feel that?” he asked again.
This time he heard his brother whisper, “Yes.”
“You can’t feel this with socks on. You can’t touch without touching when you’re wearing socks.” His brother smiled softly, and he caught that smile when he opened his eyes to look at his brother. His brother looked peaceful, standing while holding the coffee cup.
Brown coffee cup.
His brother’s eyes remained closed, so he closed his eyes, too.
“You know who else liked doing this?” his brother’s voice floated out around him, and he snuck a glance at his brother, thinking his brother’s eyes would be open, but they were still closed. He quickly shut his own, and listened to his brother’s quiet breathing, which slowly turned into quiet words again. “Our mom. Denise. She would walk all over the house in her bare feet. Even in the winter, when it was so cold on your toes, she’d be there without any slippers.”
He stood very still, and felt his brother starting to move. He could feel the soft vibrations through his feet.
“Dad would call her insane, and the two of them would dance in the snow in bare feet anyway.”
“What did the boy before the flash do?”
“He didn’t like it.”
“Why not?”
“He didn’t like going outside of comfort.”
“Would Mom like that I like my bare feet.”
“She would laugh and hug you, probably.” They both fell silent, and at the same time, their eyes opened. His brother didn’t meet his eyes though. He didn’t know why, he wrapped his arms around himself, thinking. His brother took another sip from the coffee cup.
Brown coffee cup.
“What was Frankie like?”
His brother was caught off guard. His brother’s eyes widened looking at him. “How do you know Frankie?”
“Kevin told me I didn’t remember my little brother.”
“Right…” his brother said softly, but didn’t say anything else.
“You don’t like talking about Frankie, do you?” His brother’s head shook slowly left and right. He softly padded around to the door. “Can we go to the piano now? I want to try something new.” His brother took a sip of coffee, nodding slowly.
His brother’s feet slapped into the tile floor just like his did.
White floor.
His brother’s feet remained bare, and he didn’t know what his brother was thinking of now. His brother’s face was this blank slate, the same strange blank his brother had gotten on all those videos sometimes. His brother slid onto the stool next to him.
Black stool.
His brother’s hands pressed the keys next to his fingers, coffee cup resting on top of the piano.
Black piano.
His brother’s long fingers played out a little song he didn’t know. His brother’s long fingers played out a song he hadn’t heard before.
“Frankie knew it.” His brother played the song over again. His brother didn’t say anything as he listened. “You taught it to him,” his brother said quietly, the last note fading away under his brother’s fingertips. “Do you remember?”
His brother’s fingers sagged when he shook his head. His brother got up and took another sip of coffee.
“That’s like an addiction too, isn’t it?” His brother jumped out of his skin, the coffee cup almost falling to the floor.
“What?”
“The coffee,” he repeated. “The coffee is another addiction. A safer addiction, but not really, because it’s not coffee.” His brother didn’t say anything, but his brother did set the coffee cup not filled with coffee back down on the piano.
Black piano.
“Before, you needed something to occupy your mind, to keep it off of the addiction. So you got obsessed with trying to keep the family together.” His brother softly padded over to the window without socks or shoes. “You came here to take your mind off of a craving.” He paused, closing his eyes, breathing in. “But now, now you’re addicted again. To the coffee. I remember that. I remember that smell. I wish you didn’t bring it here. It isn’t coffee in there, is it?”
His brother turned red, ducking down and making sure he couldn’t see his brother’s face.
“You weren’t ever clean, were you?” he spoke softly, barely above a whisper. The thoughts were threading together in his mind as he spoke them. He was just realizing it now, and he hated it. “That’s why I’m still in here? I remember you talking with a nurse, you wanted to take me out, but you couldn’t, because you’re not clean, still not. After how many years, four years now? Four years and you can’t even get clean for me? For family?”
His brother started out of the room, the coffee in hand.
“Why?”
His brother paused. “Why what?”
“Why, if I can do it, you can’t do it?”
“Because you don’t remember what it’s like,” his brother started, his brother's words not tied by any emotion. “You got an easy way out! You got to go to sleep, then wake up, and it’s gone. You didn’t have to struggle with the craving, trying to not use when your little brother doesn’t remember who you are, and your baby brother died. You don’t have to go through with all that and still have this craving!”
He looked at his brother’s red face sadly through his hair.
Brown hair.
“Just because I couldn’t remember what I craved, didn’t mean it wasn’t there.”
His brother took a sip of the coffee cup that wasn’t filled with coffee.
“Brother?” His brother’s head shot up to look at him. He noticed for the first time how his brother’s eyes were.
Red eyes.
He could barely see the normal brown color.
“Will you try to quit? For family? Isn’t that why Kevin is mad at you, because you’re addicted, even when you’re coming to see me?”
“Yeah,” his brother affirmed. “But, I’ve only started again. I was clean all those other times, just not…”
“Not when you’ve had the coffee cup that isn’t filled with coffee. Because when Kevin left, you didn’t know what else to turn to. This happened before, didn’t it? This pattern of addiction? Before the flash, before the crash?” He paused, before moving to the cool tile floor.
White floor.
“Was our family breaking apart," he asked quietly, "even before the white flash, the crash with fire?”
There was a pause. There was a pause so long and quiet it hurt. “Yes.” His brother nodded, sinking down to put the coffee cup that wasn't filled with coffee on the floor. He watched his brother straighten up. He watched his brother leave him in the room. His brother left him in the room, the coffee cup that wasn’t filled with coffee sat on the floor.
Brown coffee cup.
He crawled over to the cup and picked it up. He popped off the lid, and looked inside. The smell assaulted him, and filled the room. He turned his head away in disgust, repressed need, and got to his feet. He carried the cup with him all the way to his room. He waited until the person with the rattling tray came and the same pattern of pitter-patter bare feet. The tray stopped rattling and the bare feet stopped sounding.
“I want you to take this,” he said softly, kneeling on the floor with the cup of coffee that wasn’t filled with coffee. “And I want you to throw it away. I didn’t drink any of it. I don’t want my brother coming in if my brother has this cup, or if my brother smells like this.” He watched the coffee cup as a pale hand wrapped around it and brought it up to the rattling tray. “Can you do that?”
“Yes, I can.”
“I still want it, whatever is in that cup. I don’t want to want it. I don’t want my brother to want it either. Do you understand?” For the first time he looked up at that person who always brought in the rattling tray with the same quiet pitter-patter pattern of steps.
The person looked back at him with the same sad expression that they saw on his face. “Yes, I understand.”
“Will my brother come back clean?”
The person turned around, the tray was on the ground, but the coffee cup that wasn’t filled with coffee was in their hand. “That’s his decision.”
~*~
Author: 2he_re (Heather and Reena)
Fandom: Jonas Brothers
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, the real people in it are used without their permission and we do not own them or have any copyright to any part of any of them. We do not believe any of this happened, is likely to happen, or will happen. It is simply a story created around known facts about those involved.
Summary: He doesn’t remember anything before the white flash. He needs to stand the colors, to fix everything. So his brother can be happy again. So that Kevin and Danielle can be happy. So the boy before the white can come back, and make everything right.
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13
~*~
His brother held another coffee cup when his brother came into his room.
White room. Brown coffee cup.
His white room that still didn’t have a handle on the door.
The door swung shut softly behind his brother, and he sniffed at the smell of coffee in the air. He really loved the smell of coffee; it came back like a long forgotten smell, musty and damp. His brother always smelled like coffee now, his brother always brought coffee. He thought it was some kind of bribe, to bribe him to get better. But maybe it was a bribe to remember, too.
He glanced over his brother, as he always did. He saw the colors he had been craving ever since his brother’s last visit.
Red shirt. Blue pants. Brown hair. Yellow shoes. Green socks.
His brother paused before him on the floor. His brother gave him a strange look, holding the coffee cup.
Brown coffee cup.
“Why do you always sit on the floor?” his brother questioned him, and he laughed. His pants were again rolled all the way up to his knees.
White pants.
His thighs pressed into the floor.
White floor.
“Where else would I sit?”
“On the bed?” his brother rhetorically asked.
He shook his head and smiled, because they both knew he just didn’t sit on the bed anymore. His brother just didn’t understand why. His brother folded down awkwardly to the floor, while he immediately rose gracefully up.
“Why are you sitting down?” he asked. He was ready to go to the piano. He was ready to make music. He loved doing it; he wanted to do it forever.
“”Cause I want to show you something before we go.” He frowned at his brother, trying to guess what his brother was thinking, before he decided he didn’t need to guess. His brother would tell him. So he sat back down, his legs swiftly folding down under him.
His brother took a sip of the coffee and smiled as the warm liquid went down. “So…?” he started for his
brother, who seemed to forget what was going to be said.
“So…” his brother started slowly. His brother set the coffee cup down between his legs. “I brought you a present.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You brought me a present?”
“Yeah, yep. I think you’ll like it.”
“Do I get the piano in my room?” The smile faltered on his brother’s face. “Or, wait, do I get a handle on the door?” His brother bit his brother's lip and looked down.
“No, no, it’s nothing like that. It’s something smaller, but I think it’s better.”
“Better than a piano?”
“Mhmm.”
“Do I get to guess?”
“Guess away.”
He scrunched up his face, thinking. He wanted to guess the right thing. Because isn’t that something you did, you guessed the right present? He tried to think about what his brother might’ve gotten for him. What was better than a piano? What was better than a room he wasn’t locked in? “A guitar.”
“Nope.”
He frowned, he was out of guesses. “I don’t know…” he said softly, admitting defeat.
His brother laughed. “It’s fine. Gosh, you didn’t have to guess. I wouldn’t have been able to guess either.”
“So what did you get me?”
His brother took a sip of coffee. “This.” His brother pulled something out from a jean pocket, and handed it to him.
Carefully he took the object wrapped in a plastic bag. “What is it?”
“Open it,” his brother said with a smile, the coffee cup held up.
His brother watched as he slowly unwrapped the plastic bag, pulling out a pair of socks.
Multi-colored socks.
He made a weird face. Why did his brother give him socks?
“You like?” He opened his mouth, and then closed his mouth. When you receive a present, and you don’t really like it, what do you say? Wasn’t he always supposed to say the truth?
“I don’t think I like them.”
“Why not?”
“They’re… socks. I don’t really like socks.”
“But you don’t have a pair. So how do you know you don’t like them, until you have a pair?”
He laughed in response, and set the socks down. “You, take off your shoes.” His brother gave him a weird look. “No, don’t argue, come on, I want to show you.” His brother slowly put down the coffee cup, before tugging off his brother’s shoes. “Now socks.”
His brother tugged off his brother’s socks.
Purple socks.
“Now what?”
“Stand up.”
His brother stood, and didn’t know what he was getting at.
“You feel that?” he asked softly. His brother looked at him, to find his eyes closed. He was feeling the floor under his feet. His brother’s eyes slowly closed to mirror him. He slowly took a step, foot skimming the top of the floor. He could feel the soft boom-boom of the people moving around outside. He could feel how steady he was on his feet.
“You feel that?” he asked again.
This time he heard his brother whisper, “Yes.”
“You can’t feel this with socks on. You can’t touch without touching when you’re wearing socks.” His brother smiled softly, and he caught that smile when he opened his eyes to look at his brother. His brother looked peaceful, standing while holding the coffee cup.
Brown coffee cup.
His brother’s eyes remained closed, so he closed his eyes, too.
“You know who else liked doing this?” his brother’s voice floated out around him, and he snuck a glance at his brother, thinking his brother’s eyes would be open, but they were still closed. He quickly shut his own, and listened to his brother’s quiet breathing, which slowly turned into quiet words again. “Our mom. Denise. She would walk all over the house in her bare feet. Even in the winter, when it was so cold on your toes, she’d be there without any slippers.”
He stood very still, and felt his brother starting to move. He could feel the soft vibrations through his feet.
“Dad would call her insane, and the two of them would dance in the snow in bare feet anyway.”
“What did the boy before the flash do?”
“He didn’t like it.”
“Why not?”
“He didn’t like going outside of comfort.”
“Would Mom like that I like my bare feet.”
“She would laugh and hug you, probably.” They both fell silent, and at the same time, their eyes opened. His brother didn’t meet his eyes though. He didn’t know why, he wrapped his arms around himself, thinking. His brother took another sip from the coffee cup.
Brown coffee cup.
“What was Frankie like?”
His brother was caught off guard. His brother’s eyes widened looking at him. “How do you know Frankie?”
“Kevin told me I didn’t remember my little brother.”
“Right…” his brother said softly, but didn’t say anything else.
“You don’t like talking about Frankie, do you?” His brother’s head shook slowly left and right. He softly padded around to the door. “Can we go to the piano now? I want to try something new.” His brother took a sip of coffee, nodding slowly.
His brother’s feet slapped into the tile floor just like his did.
White floor.
His brother’s feet remained bare, and he didn’t know what his brother was thinking of now. His brother’s face was this blank slate, the same strange blank his brother had gotten on all those videos sometimes. His brother slid onto the stool next to him.
Black stool.
His brother’s hands pressed the keys next to his fingers, coffee cup resting on top of the piano.
Black piano.
His brother’s long fingers played out a little song he didn’t know. His brother’s long fingers played out a song he hadn’t heard before.
“Frankie knew it.” His brother played the song over again. His brother didn’t say anything as he listened. “You taught it to him,” his brother said quietly, the last note fading away under his brother’s fingertips. “Do you remember?”
His brother’s fingers sagged when he shook his head. His brother got up and took another sip of coffee.
“That’s like an addiction too, isn’t it?” His brother jumped out of his skin, the coffee cup almost falling to the floor.
“What?”
“The coffee,” he repeated. “The coffee is another addiction. A safer addiction, but not really, because it’s not coffee.” His brother didn’t say anything, but his brother did set the coffee cup not filled with coffee back down on the piano.
Black piano.
“Before, you needed something to occupy your mind, to keep it off of the addiction. So you got obsessed with trying to keep the family together.” His brother softly padded over to the window without socks or shoes. “You came here to take your mind off of a craving.” He paused, closing his eyes, breathing in. “But now, now you’re addicted again. To the coffee. I remember that. I remember that smell. I wish you didn’t bring it here. It isn’t coffee in there, is it?”
His brother turned red, ducking down and making sure he couldn’t see his brother’s face.
“You weren’t ever clean, were you?” he spoke softly, barely above a whisper. The thoughts were threading together in his mind as he spoke them. He was just realizing it now, and he hated it. “That’s why I’m still in here? I remember you talking with a nurse, you wanted to take me out, but you couldn’t, because you’re not clean, still not. After how many years, four years now? Four years and you can’t even get clean for me? For family?”
His brother started out of the room, the coffee in hand.
“Why?”
His brother paused. “Why what?”
“Why, if I can do it, you can’t do it?”
“Because you don’t remember what it’s like,” his brother started, his brother's words not tied by any emotion. “You got an easy way out! You got to go to sleep, then wake up, and it’s gone. You didn’t have to struggle with the craving, trying to not use when your little brother doesn’t remember who you are, and your baby brother died. You don’t have to go through with all that and still have this craving!”
He looked at his brother’s red face sadly through his hair.
Brown hair.
“Just because I couldn’t remember what I craved, didn’t mean it wasn’t there.”
His brother took a sip of the coffee cup that wasn’t filled with coffee.
“Brother?” His brother’s head shot up to look at him. He noticed for the first time how his brother’s eyes were.
Red eyes.
He could barely see the normal brown color.
“Will you try to quit? For family? Isn’t that why Kevin is mad at you, because you’re addicted, even when you’re coming to see me?”
“Yeah,” his brother affirmed. “But, I’ve only started again. I was clean all those other times, just not…”
“Not when you’ve had the coffee cup that isn’t filled with coffee. Because when Kevin left, you didn’t know what else to turn to. This happened before, didn’t it? This pattern of addiction? Before the flash, before the crash?” He paused, before moving to the cool tile floor.
White floor.
“Was our family breaking apart," he asked quietly, "even before the white flash, the crash with fire?”
There was a pause. There was a pause so long and quiet it hurt. “Yes.” His brother nodded, sinking down to put the coffee cup that wasn't filled with coffee on the floor. He watched his brother straighten up. He watched his brother leave him in the room. His brother left him in the room, the coffee cup that wasn’t filled with coffee sat on the floor.
Brown coffee cup.
He crawled over to the cup and picked it up. He popped off the lid, and looked inside. The smell assaulted him, and filled the room. He turned his head away in disgust, repressed need, and got to his feet. He carried the cup with him all the way to his room. He waited until the person with the rattling tray came and the same pattern of pitter-patter bare feet. The tray stopped rattling and the bare feet stopped sounding.
“I want you to take this,” he said softly, kneeling on the floor with the cup of coffee that wasn’t filled with coffee. “And I want you to throw it away. I didn’t drink any of it. I don’t want my brother coming in if my brother has this cup, or if my brother smells like this.” He watched the coffee cup as a pale hand wrapped around it and brought it up to the rattling tray. “Can you do that?”
“Yes, I can.”
“I still want it, whatever is in that cup. I don’t want to want it. I don’t want my brother to want it either. Do you understand?” For the first time he looked up at that person who always brought in the rattling tray with the same quiet pitter-patter pattern of steps.
The person looked back at him with the same sad expression that they saw on his face. “Yes, I understand.”
“Will my brother come back clean?”
The person turned around, the tray was on the ground, but the coffee cup that wasn’t filled with coffee was in their hand. “That’s his decision.”
~*~