[part two] Heartbreak Hotel | Joe/Nick | ADULT
Part One
Joe stays silent for the rest of the trip. He's only been to the Followill's once before, but it was enough of an experience that he doesn't forget the way. They drive out of the city, up into the hills, roads winding and dusted red-brown. Just after half past ten, he pulls into the driveway and shuts down the car. "We're early," he says.
There's one light on in the window of the small house. It's almost a cabin rather than a house, dark and underlit, and it gives Joe the creeps. He shifts in the seat, turning towards Nick but before he can open his mouth, the door to the shack opens and Caleb is framed in the doorway, cigarette between his lips.
He's topless and barefoot, jeans hanging low on his hips and Joe clenches the steering wheel, glancing at Nick quickly. Nick sucks in a breath, eyes trained on Caleb's face.
"Jonas. You're early. Get the fuck out here."
Joe tears his gaze away from Nick and climbs out of the car, grabbing the car keys as he does so. Nick climbs out after him and their doors slam in unison. Caleb raises an eyebrow appreciatively as he looks at Nick and Joe's hands clench into fists. "Caleb. You take your payment from me."
Caleb laughs, low and rumbly, and raises his hands. "Relax, man. I ain't gonna hurt him."
"You're not going to do anything to him, Followill," Joe snaps, his heart speeding up.
Nick is watching the exchange between them, silent and standing not an inch behind Joe. Joe can feel the heat emanating from his body in waves, the energy Nick is working so hard to restrain. Joe walks up the two concrete steps and right up to Caleb. Followill is tall, and Joe's nose only hits around his chin area. Joe can smell sex and booze and sweat on his skin.
Caleb looks at Joe, then his eyes flick over Joe's shoulder, and Joe knows Nick has followed him up. Caleb lifts a big hand and puts it on Nick's jaw, thumbs his lips. Joe repeats Keep your cool, keep your cool again and again in his head like a mantra, a prayer, like if he thinks it hard enough, Nick will actually hear him and not get them killed.
Nick stiffens behind him and growls at the back of his throat, but his hands remain in fists at his sides.
"How old are you, baby boy?" Caleb asks musingly.
"Twenty-two," Nick grits out from between clenched teeth. Joe wants more than anything to smack Caleb's hand away, punch him in the teeth or break his nose, but he controls himself. He knows Caleb is just testing the waters, seeing if he can push them. Caleb loves nothing more than a knockdown, drag out brawl to start his day with. Joe heard he practically beat his own brother into a pulp just last month.
"You got the softest skin, baby. Right, Joe? You know what I'm talking about, huh?" Caleb looks over at Joe, a knowing gleam in his eyes.
Nick's hand flies up to Caleb's arm and clamps around his wrist, but he doesn't pull him away, or punch him, he just squeezes until Caleb winces slightly. "Let's make a deal, hmm?" Nick suggests, stone-faced, and his voice is arctic.
Joe wraps his hand around Caleb's upper arm, making sure to keep his grip light. "You and I are gonna deal, okay Followill? Nick will come with us to check out the gear, and then you and me? We'll deal."
Caleb laughs, throwing his head back and releasing Nick. He takes a step back and jerks his head toward the interior of the house. Nick goes in first, jaw still tight and Joe can almost taste in the air the the effort he's putting into restraining his anger. Before Joe can follow him in, Caleb puts a hand on Joe's chest and lowers his head, speaking low in his ear. "Keep an eye on that one, Jonas. You never know what might happen with him."
Joe narrows his eyes but doesn't say anything; threatening Caleb will only make the situation worse, and as long as Joe can keep his tenuous hold on the outcome of this meeting, Nick can be in and out before Caleb has enough time to demand him as payment. Nick's name will be on his lips, Joe knows, and it's the last thing he'd ever let Caleb take.
Caleb lets him go and throws an arm around Joe's shoulders. He tenses up but Caleb either doesn't notice or doesn't care. Nick's already in the main room of the house, standing amongst the dirt and mess and looking disgusted. There's a guy only a little older than Joe sprawled out on the sofa, smoking a cigarette and holding a bottle of vodka in his free hand. "You must be Little Jonas," he says with the same drawl Joe recognises from the phone. He grins and he's oddly handsome. Joe blinks, eyes trailing his body and Caleb laughs again.
"Like what you see?"
The guy - he must be Jared - just raises an eyebrow. Nick looks pissed, all hard lines and frustration, and he grits his teeth. "Are we going to get what we came for?"
"Yeah all right," Caleb relents and starts down a narrow, dark hallway, gesturing for Joe and Nick to follow him. Jared wiggles his fingers at Joe in a mocking little wave as he turns to leave.
Nick slides a possessive hand onto the small of Joe's back as they pick their way around the bizarre detritus and clutter lining the floor. Nick hasn't touched Joe this much in years, and his hand burns through Joe's t-shirt all the way to his skin.
"Is that a fucking My Size Barbie?" Joe points at the battered plastic figure tipped against the wall and looks at Nick over his shoulder, incredulous. Nick cracks a small, tight smile, just the corner of his mouth quirking up a little.
"I think so. But it's missing half it's hair. This place is like Peewee's Evil Playhouse." Nick looks around, taking in the sagging, peeling wallpaper and the cracked pictures hanging from the damp walls.
"I know," Joe murmurs. "It's creepy. I heard this was the family house when Caleb was a kid. Pretty fucked, right?" Nick answers with a vague grunt.
"Get in here, boys, I'm not waiting all day," Caleb's voice echoes strangely from under their feet.
Nick looks surprised, and Joe rounds the corner and shows him the trapdoor entrance in the floor to Caleb Followill's weapons bunker. Nick's eyebrows climb towards his hairline, but he doesn't miss a beat and follows Joe down the rickety metal ladder, their eyes adjusting from the darkness of the hallway to the bright fluorescent lighting of the concrete room. Nick's eyes go wide as he looks around, turning slowly on the spot.
The walls of the room are lined with guns; hundreds of them. Nick's heart is pounding in his ears and he takes one step forward. "This is-"
He reaches out, touches one of the guns and keeps looking. Joe watches him, his eyes dark and unhappy. There is a rocket launcher against the wall and he bites back on the words that crowd his throat. Nick is looking at the weapons like Joe had once, in another life, all eagerness and desperation.
"Can I?"
Caleb snorts and moves forward, taking the gun off the wall mount. Nick breathes in and his fingers brush Caleb's as he takes it. He looks up, anger still burning in his eyes, but he stands taller, straight-backed and confident as Caleb looks him up and down. It's strange, the way Caleb can make people feel; like your torn between wanting to punch the bastard and wanting to have that icy blue gaze linger on you a little more.
Standing away from them, Joe feels like an outsider and it makes his breath catch in his throat. He can't seem to focus properly, as if he's moving and hearing through mud, watching them interact. They're talking about the Beretta in Nick's hands and he's holding it like a pro, fingers smooth against the slick plastic of the gun. Joe's nails dig into his palms, hard enough to draw blood, and he looks away from them.
The rocket launcher is huge and, despite himself, Joe would give anything to use it. His preferred target would be Caleb. He drags his eyes across the array of weaponry and it's then that he catches sight of it. It's not the same one, couldn't be the same one because Nick destroyed it, but it looks exactly the same. Joe's hand shakes as he reaches out to touch it. He remembers the last time he held it, hands shaking, and he shakes his head, trying to rid himself of the memory. He doesn't want to do this here, now, in front of Caleb and he jerks himself away, forcefully.
"I want to get the fuck out of here. Hurry up and choose, Nick," he snaps, his voice too loud in his ears. He's aware that under normal circumstances he would never talk to Nick like this but the gun has shaken him up and he just wants to get the guns, pay Caleb and leave.
Nick wheels around, looking thunderous, but he checks himself when he sees Joe's ashen face. He takes one last longing look around at the stunning display of weapons, and then he nods and hands Caleb the Beretta. "Yeah, alright. How about three Glocks?" Nick asks.
Caleb waits for a minute, running his fingers up and down the barrel of the Beretta, and Nick shifts impatiently and widens his eyes pointedly. Finally, Caleb turns to the far wall and swiftly hooks down three identical Glocks; huge, shiny, deadly looking things. Joe swallows down the bile that rises in his throat.
"Here you go, little man," Caleb almost croons, cradling the guns in his big hands. He hands two to Nick and before Nick can grab the third, Caleb has slipped over to where Joe is standing with his arms wrapped around himself. Caleb gets up in Joe's space, edging in until their chests bump with each breath. He holds up the Glock in his palm.
"Joey. This one's for you. You'll like her. She's great for really filling a place with lead." Caleb's voice is a deadly whisper in Joe's ear, and Nick doesn't hear it. Joe's throat contracts and his eyes burn, but he meets Caleb's eyes and slowly, gently pushes the gun away.
"No thanks, Followill. I'm good." Caleb grins and winks before stepping away.
Nick is inspecting the guns. "You keep your pieces in good condition? They aren't going to punk out on us, are they?" Caleb tosses Nick the third gun and Nick smoothly catches it with one hand.
"Please," Caleb scoffs. "These babies are the best cared for pieces in the state. You need ammo, too?" Nick nods. Caleb turns and shouts up through the open trapdoor. "Jared! Get your bony ass down here, you lazy fucker!" He turns back to Nick and Joe, scratching his bare chest. "Jared will take care of you, baby boy, with getting you set up with ammo and," Caleb's eyes flick to Joe, "Anything else you might need."
Joe grits his teeth, sharp click and shear of enamel. Caleb continues, "Me and Joey over here are gonna go upstairs and work out the payment for this little deal."
It's not long before there's a clatter on the stairs and Jared's feet come into view. He jumps down the last three rungs, cigarette in one hand and a box in the other. Joe wonders how many packs these guys get through in an hour, let alone a day.
Jared flicks his gaze from Caleb and Nick to Joe. He smirks at Joe and it's just as suggestive as it was upstairs. Joe wants to believe that they won't be dealing with the Followill boys on a permanant basis, but he knows what the look in Nick's eyes means. "I'll take good care of your boy, Joe."
Joe hates this whole situation but Jared doesn't look at Nick in the same way as he did Joe, just flicks open the lid to the box. Joe can only assume it contains the clips they need. Joe feels secure that Nick can handle Jared on his own, and in a room full of guns either Followill would be stupid to antagonise Nick to the point where he'd lose control.
Caleb puts a hand on the back of Joe's neck and pushes him towards the stairs. Joe snaps his head away and jogs up the ladder, feeling it tremble under his footsteps. Joe dreads to think what Caleb is going to ask for, but he's dealt with Caleb before and he knows how it goes. Whatever the price and however distasteful it might be, Joe will be able to pay it. He always can.
Caleb climbs out behind him and they make their way back down the dank corridor to the living room. Joe stands in the doorway as Caleb picks his way across the floor, reaching for his lighter. "What's your deal, Joey?"
Joe twitches at the name, he hates the way Caleb says it, drawing it out and making it his, somehow. "None of your fucking business," he grinds out. "Tell me your price so we can get the fuck out of here."
"You're lucky it was only three," Caleb says, eventually. He runs a hand through his hair, ruffling it. "You might satisfy three but if it had been four..."
He doesn't need to finish the sentence for his meaning to be made clear. "I think maybe I want your brother." Caleb's tone is light but there's an hard edge to his face that means he's serious. Joe ignores it. Caleb's fucked in the head if he thinks he's getting his hands on Nick.
"I said no," Joe snaps. "The payment is me or nothing, Followill. Which is it going to be?"
There's a stony silence. Caleb's eyes bore into his face and it's all Joe can do to tilt his chin. Despite his words to Nick the night before, he respects his reputation even if he doesn't care about it. He doesn't back down, never has, and he won't now, not even for Caleb. Crossing the room, Caleb comes to stand next to him, hand on his chin. He pulls him around, breath hot on Joe's face. "Bring the ladies back in one piece, and maybe I won't expect the second half of my payment."
Joe's hand curls around the bone of Caleb's hip. He hates being this close, the smell of Caleb heady, almost overwhelming. He should take a step back, he knows, but something stays his feet. He sucks in a breath as Caleb comes closer, his stubble brushing Joe's cheek. "Caleb," he says, tightly. "Fuck."
Laughing, Caleb released his chin. "Not yet, Joe," he breathes and kisses him, rough and hard. The force of Caleb's kiss rocks Joe back onto his heels, unbalances him enough so that he stumbles backwards. Caleb is pressing forward still with his mouth and tongue, with his hips, until Joe's back hits the doorframe at an awkward angle, a sharp shock of pain bursting through him, and his head knocks against the plaster wall hard enough to dislodge a picture frame.
Joe groans, and he honestly doesn't know whether it's from pain or from the fierce feeling of Caleb's teeth against his lips, of his tongue forcing Joe's mouth to open and let him in. Caleb grabs Joe's wrists and pins them against the wall over his head. Through the cloudy storm that has settled over Joe's brain, he feels a twinge of indignation at the degree of manhandling that's going on here. He manages to mutter a "Seriously, Followill?" into Caleb's mouth, and he feels more than hears his answering chuckle.
Suddenly, Joe's wrists are jerked together and Caleb is holding them both in just one long-fingered hand. His other hand slides torturously down Joe's side, Caleb watching his face to make sure he knows exactly where he's going with this. Caleb cups his hand over Joe's dick, traitorously hard against the zip of his jeans, and smiles a crooked, slashing, feral grin.
"I think you like it, Joey." Joe opens his mouth to try and make some sarcastic comment, but abruptly he hears the sounds of a scuffle filtering down the hallway.
He hears Nick's voice, sharp and getting progressively louder, and the sound of Jared protesting. Joe realizes with a jolt that he's hearing Jared trying to stop Nick from coming into the room. Joe starts to struggle against Caleb, jerking his wrists in Caleb's grip, almost frantic with the need to prevent Nick from seeing this. Caleb grins wider, and grabs onto Joe's wrists with both hands again.
"Here comes baby brother," Caleb sing-songs, and Joe hates him so much in that moment that he thinks he might actually be able to kill him with a look, if only he had the time to focus his concentration.
But there is no time. Joe hears it when Nick slaps Jared down, knocks him to the floor with one hand, probably, and then Nick is frozen in the doorway, his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide and disbelieving.
Joe sees what's going to happen, and it gives him the strength to wrench his wrists from Caleb's grip and shove him away. Joe throws himself at Nick, tackles him to the floor with such force that the back of Nick's head smashes against the wooden floorboards and rebounds into Joe's forehead with a crack. Joe fumbles at the waistband of Nick's pants, finding Nick's hand already there, reaching for the gun, and they fight, scrabbling and grunting and pulling at each other's hands.
"No!" Joe grunts. "Stop it, Nick!"
Nick is trembling hard under Joe's body but he doesn't stop his fight for the gun. Nick is stronger than Joe, but Joe's driven by the need not to see Nick try and kill Caleb. Joe presses his forearm against Nick's windpipe, and he grips Nick's wrist in his hand and snatches at the gun, pulling it away. "It's the payment," he says, breathless.
Jared has stumbled into the room holding a bloody nose. Joe hopes he doesn't choose to exact revenge. They're not on their own turf here, they're on unfamiliar ground but that won't stop Nick if he wants to kill them.
"It's the payment," he repeats, willing Nick to understand. Nick's eyes hold everything Joe wishes they didn't but he's stopped moving. Joe doesn't know what to think.
"If you want the ladies," Caleb says, coming closer. Nick's head jerks hard to the left, glaring at Caleb, and any lesser man would have crumbled beneath the force of Nick's anger. "You'll have to come through with the payment. We could always compromise with you."
Caleb grins toothily and Joe growls under his breath. "No," Joe says and climbs off of Nick completely, wrenching himself from Nick's grasp. "Nick is off-limits."
"What if I want him to pay for socking me in the jaw?" Jared asks, almost conversationally.
"Fuck off, Jared," Caleb snaps, and Joe whips around to look at him, totally surprised. Caleb shrugs. "If I don't get to have him, Jared sure as hell doesn't... Maybe I'll just charge you a little extra." He grins.
Jared makes a digusted sound in the back of his throat and swipes the broken picture frame off the floor, winging it at Caleb's head. "Eat me, you dick."
"You wish," Caleb calls after him, as Jared stomps off down the hall. Joe's head spins. He hadn't thought sibling relationships came much more fucked up and strange than his and Nick's, but Caleb and Jared have got them beat. It's just twisted.
Nick is still on the floor, legs sprawled out in front of him and holding himself up by his arms. He's looking up at Joe, and Joe hasn't seen Nick look helpless like this since Nick was just a little kid. Nick never even looked this helpless when... Joe cuts a sharp mental u-turn away from that thought. He's got things to deal with here.
"Joey- " Nick starts, his voice cracking the tiniest bit, and a little trickle of warmth flows through Joe's chest. Somehow when Nick says it, the name sounds so completely different from how Caleb says it.
Joe kneels next to Nick on the floor. He hesitates for a moment, but then tentatively slides his hand around the back of Nick's neck. There's a bruise rising on Nick's forehead where their heads collided. Joe can feel the spot on his head where he'll probably have a matching one. Joe carefully tips their foreheads together, expecting at any moment for Nick to push him away, spit furious words in his face. Nick is tense, his body stiff, but he doesn't shove Joe away, just looks at him. Nick's eyes are distant but pained.
"It's okay, Nick. I promise. I'm- I'm doing it for us." Joe murmurs.
Nick looks horrified, and then his hands do come up to Joe's shoulders, trying to push him away. Joe tightens his grip on Nick's neck. "Trust me, please, Nick. Just trust me. I know what I'm doing," Joe pleads. "It's all right. I can take care of myself."
Nick squeezes his eyes shut, breathing fast. "I can't- I gotta- Get the fuck off of me, Joe." His voice is harsh. Joe hangs on, listening to Nick's pants, until Nick rips Joe's hand off his neck, jamming one of Joe's fingers and pushing him off balance. "I'll be in the car." Nick scrambles up off the floor and is gone, leaving Joe cold. He kneels on the floor for a minute more, facing the door Nick just stalked out of, and then speaks.
"All right, Followill. Let's just get to the point here. No more fucking around, I've got places to be. What's your price?" Caleb stares at Joe, his eyes clouded. He crosses the room and stands over Joe, grabbing the back of his jacket. "I'll take the payment when you get back."
Joe wants to shake Caleb off, but Nick's gone and Jared's pissed off and he just wants this done. "No fucking way," he snaps. "We do it now. After all of that, I'm not letting you fuck me over, here."
Shaking his head, Caleb hauls Joe to his feet, their faces inches apart. "You're lucky I don't kill you for what your boy did to Jared. We're doing you a favour, Jonas. You don't call the shots, I do. If I want to take the payment later, when I know my merchandise is back in once piece, that's how we'll do it."
Joe's jaw tightens and he reaches up, placing a hand on Caleb's arm. "Get off me." He keeps his tone hard and emotionless and thinks about the last time he was in a position like this; his father looming over him and Joe desperate to leave, to get away from him, and the word no resounding loudly in his ears. His father couldn't stop him then and Caleb hasn't half the hold over Joe as his father did. "I swear to god, Caleb, take your fucking payment now or I'll use those guns and blow your fucking head off."
There's a moment when Joe thinks he might have ruined everything, that Caleb is going to kill him, but then he laughs, loud and low and releases Joe. He sobers quickly and pushes Joe towards the door. "You got fight, kid, but I mean it. My price is the same as it always is; on return of the goods."
"You were ready to take it just now."
"That was before your little brother pulled his shit and punched Jared in the face. Get the fuck out of my house and when you come back, you better pray to god I don't choose Nick as my payment." Caleb slams the door.
Joe stands there for a minute, running his fingers through his hair, an anxious repetitive motion, then he turns and trips down the rotting front steps. Fuck. He can see Nick in the car already, hunched over his folded arms, his lips a thin white line in his hard face.
Suddenly, Joe is pissed at Nick. Why couldn't he just trust that Joe knew what he was doing? Joe doesn't need Nick to save his ass all the time. Joe can take care of himself. Okay, he lost control kind of spectacularly once and left a big fucking mess, and Nick cleaned it up for him, took care of every last bit of it and never said one word about it. But that was different, that was something else. And Joe's always had his situations under control since then.
Just like he had the situation with Caleb under control. That is, until Nick stormed in all Dirty goddamn Harry and fucked it up.
Joe yanks the passenger side door open and drops into the seat. He slams the door after him, and refuses to look at Nick. Nick waits for a minute, and then cranks over the Mustang's engine with a growl and peels out of the driveway. They don't talk the whole way to Big Rob's, Nick too stubborn to speak, and Joe too angry to try and coax anything out of him.
"Lover's quarrel?" Henrie snarks when he's being used as a barrier between Joe and Nick on Big Rob's couch, and ducks Joe's swipe at him. Nick doesn't react to Henrie's jab at all, not even to tell him to shut up, and that's more telling than anything.
They lay out the plans for Big Rob; the layout of Baby V's building, the timing, the three entrances, and the guards. Rob looks a little nervous, but Joe heard what Efron pulled on him, and he knows Rob will be in a hundred percent.
"Where we gonna take Baby V once we got her?" Rob asks.
Nick rubs his forehead. "I got a place. It's a warehouse on 28th and Broad." He practically jumps off the sofa, restless and jittery, and heads into the hallway. "We go at sunset," he throws back over his shoulder.
Henrie, Rob and Joe sit in silence for a minute, and then Henrie grabs the remote and clicks on the big screen television. "Well, if I'm gonna get killed tonight, then I'm gonna watch some fucking Oprah before I go, right Big Man?" Rob pointedly ignores him.
Joe wanders back into the hallway, with a vague idea of looking for the bathroom to wash some of the day off of him, and then he sees Nick sitting on a futon in Rob's windowless little back room. He's still angry at Nick but the dejected line of Nick's shoulders has Joe walking into the room almost against his will. His feet know what to do even when his head is conflicted. "Hey," he says, dropping down next to Nick. Nick doesn't acknowledge him but Joe can feel him tense.
He wonders if they'll always be fighting. They're closer than they should be, maybe, but it doesn't mean they don't fight. It's almost worse because they know the ways to hurt each other, what matters most and how best to exploit it. They use each other more than they should, and Joe wonders how long it is before they do some serious damage. He could never lay a hand on Nick, but they've only ever needed words to hurt.
A lot of the time, they hurt more than fists and Joe bears the scars.
"You gotta trust that I know what I'm doing, Nick," Joe says. "You're fucking crazy sometimes and you scare the shit out of me, but I'm not a baby. I can fight my own battles." He rubs a hand over his jaw. Nick still isn't speaking, but that's not unusual. Joe hopes it's not going to be one of those fights, where Nick stores it up for hours, days and then unleashes it all on Joe at the worst time. It's screwed up jobs for them before and it's why Demi will only work with them solo; she's been caught in the middle one too many times. "I've only ever made a mistake once and it's not the sort of mistake I'd ever make again."
"Isn't it?"
There's a tone to Nick's voice that brings him up short and Joe feels the air leave his lungs in a rush. "You honestly believe I'd let something happen to you?"
"No, I just- I know that a lot of the time, you don't think about the consequences of your actions. Caleb was touching you. He was taking advantage of you, Joe, and nobody pays that kind of price for a fucking weapon."
Joe throws his hands up in the air. "Jesus Christ, Nick! What the fuck do you want from me?! We needed the guns, so I did what I had to do to get them for you, because I know how much it means to you to pay the Zef back for selling us out."
Nick's eyes are fixed on the floor, a strange, unreadable expression on his face. He shakes his head tightly. "Not that much."
"What?" Joe is pacing, agitated.
"Not. That. Much." Nick enunciates each word until the syllables are flint sparks. "It's not worth that to me."
"Isn't it?" Joe shoots, throwing Nick's own words back at him, the words sour in his mouth. "I saw how you looked at those guns, Nick." He expects Nick to bite back, for his face to darken with that rage Joe has become so accustomed to seeing. Instead, Nick seems suddenly drained of all his usual tense, vibrating energy. He looks exhausted.
"No," he says simply. "We would have found guns somewhere else." Nick rises from the bed and slowly approaches Joe. The look on his face is so focused and intense that it stops Joe in his tracks. The air feels thick, heavy with ozone. Joe licks his lips and thinks he can taste metal, like the taste of lightning in the air before a storm.
Nick doesn't stop until he's toe to toe with Joe, leaned back against the wall. Joe suddenly feels like he could cry. He hasn't cried in years. He misses Nick, misses his brother.
"What?" Joe asks, when Nick just looks at him as though he's searching for some kind of answer.
"No one like Caleb Followill gets to touch you," Nick mutters, and his voice is rough. "That guy is a freak."
Joe closes his eyes. "You're kind of a freak, Nick." The words come out quieter and softer than he meant them to.
Nick leans forward for a second, his eyes on Joe's lips, then seems to catch himself. "I know. But I'm your brother."
Joe opens his eyes and he finds himself almost nose to nose with Nick. Something in the air around them is different and it takes Joe a minute to focus. He doesn't know what to say to Nick's words, so he reaches up with a hand and places it on Nick's hip. "I'm sorry," he says, licking his dry lips.
Nick watches him, once again following the line of Joe's tongue with his eyes. Things like this have happened before, unbalancing and discomfiting moments where lines seem blurred and indistinct. "Don't apologise, Joe," he admonishes.
Joe's hand twists on Nick's hip and he slides it under the back of Nick's jacket. He can feel Nick's breath hitch and the word stop on his lips, but he never says it. Joe's fingers brush the butt of the gun still sticking out from the back of Nick's jeans. "You don't want them to touch me," Joe starts, catching Nick's gaze and holding it. "You hate it when Demi touches me, when Camilla and I do a job."
He's taking a risk, he knows. If there's one line between them, it's this. Nick never puts a word on it, doesn't acknowledge it at all, but Joe saw something in his eyes back at Caleb's. "Joe-"
Joe slides forward and their bodies fit together almost perfectly. He expects Nick to punch him, to push him away, but Joe needs this now. He needs to know Nick's always got him, that he's got Nick. Joe can feel every hard line, each sharp and delineated contour of Nick's body pressed against him, almost as familiar to him as his own. Nick shifts his weight abruptly and presses Joe against the wall, the entire length of Nick's body a hot weight. Nick's hands close around Joe's hipbones, and his chest pushes against Joe's, and Joe is finding it hard to take a full breath against it.
The thought strikes him that this mirrors the position Caleb held Joe in just an hour ago. Yet, Nick holds Joe against the wall with the gentle press of his body and his breath. His hands don't hold Joe captive, they rest on his hips, not gently but not a cruel and bone-grinding crush. Not a taunt. And Joe's head isn't a clouded, conflicted haze. His mind is clear, he knows what this is and what he needs from Nick. Maybe it's wrong, it's definitely not normal, but nothing in Joe and Nick's life is normal. It hasn't been for years, maybe never was.
They only have each other now, and this is just how it is. Joe doesn't waste time feeling guilty or conflicted about it. He's long since left behind the time of church pews and his father leading prayers around the dinner table.
"Why, Nick?" Joe asks on a exhaled breath. Nick cocks his head at him, having lost the thread of the conversation. Joe bites his lip and dives. "Why do you hate it when they touch me? When anyone touches me?"
Nick's eyes flash and his lip curls, showing a glint of sharp white teeth. His hands spasm around Joe's hips and his fingertips dig into the soft skin. Joe's breath catches, but he's not afraid.
"Because you're mine!" Nick hisses desperately, and he shoves a hand into Joe's hair, his ring catching and pulling on a tangled curl. The words are a bright firework shock in Joe's chest, and a little sound escapes his parted lips, not a moan or a whimper, just a vocalization of the pain and love and loss he feels.
Joe turns his head, because he knows Nick won't do it, and he kisses Nick.
The kiss starts of soft and easy but Nick doesn't do soft and easy, and he quickly turns it into something else.
Nick moves against Joe and Joe can feel the desperation and need in his movements, as if this is something he's wanted for a long time and the fear that Joe will cut him off, will say no, stop is driving him to make it fast. Joe's hand is still on Nick's back and he slides his hand under Nick's shirt, splaying his fingers across smooth skin. Nick makes a soft sound into Joe's mouth and deepens the kiss, tugging his hair and tipping Joe's head back until it hits the wall with a soft thump.
They should stop, Joe knows, but they won't. They've never been good at separating what they should be from what they are. He's as much a part of Nick as Nick is a part of Joe and this somehow doesn't seem like an unnatural progression for them. It's not new but it's still different enough that they're unsure of the ground on which they're walking.
"Nick," he says, kissing Nick again and again, pausing only for breath.
Nick pushes his tongue into Joe's mouth, planting a knee between Joe's legs. Joe groans low in the back of his throat and he tightens his grip on Nick's waist. The room is almost too hot and Joe can't think. He can feel Nick, hard and pressed against his hip, and the sharp shock of it sends Joe's hips grinding down against Nick's thigh. Nick groans softly and Joe can feel it rumble against his chest. He feels sweat break out around his temples, his neck.
"Nick. Nick, please. Can we-?" Joe breaks the kiss, dizzy with need, and Nick traces his tongue down the line of Joe's jaw, sucks on the pulse at the base of his neck.
"Yeah," Nick pants, and his voice is rough.
Joe pushes forward off the wall and Nick practically lifts him, hands still on his hips, keeping them crushed together. He backs Joe up towards the bed, holds them up when Joe stumbles, until the back of Joe's knees hits the edge of the futon and they tumble down, noses and chins bumping in the fall.
"Fuck," Joe pants against Nick's mouth, his tongue swiping against Nick's teeth, and Nick holds his face in a big hand and pulls Joe's head to the side, angling him so Nick can get closer, kiss him deeper and harder.
Joe feels open and raw, his skin singing and sparking like a live wire. He feels closer to Nick than he ever has, and he doesn't ever want to stop, doesn't ever want to put distance between them again. Nick thrusts against him, one long hard slide of his hips against Joe's, and Joe's back arches off the bed with the feeling of it. Joe's hands wrap around Nick's arms and pull him back down into a bruising kiss. The clash of their mouths, teeth knocking and scraping, hurts a little and Joe finds he sort of wants it to. He wants proof maybe, that this really happened and wasn't a dream, wants to be able to run his tongue over a stinging cut on his lip or a sore spot on his tongue, to find Nick's fingerprints on his hip so that Joe can remember. Nick keeps thrusting against him and Joe bites at Nick's lower lip, pulling a sound from deep in Nick's chest.
They're so desperate for this, it's been so long since it's been just them, alone, and Joe opens his eyes, touches Nick's face. I love you, he wants to say. Don't ever-
"Nick," he says, instead, "I want you to-"
Nick stops him with another kiss. Joe wants this, needs this sweat-hard grind and push, needs to come against Nick, but he needs Nick to keep kissing him even more desperately. The intimacy of Nick's lips against his, their tongues touching and sliding, is like a gift. They thrust against each other but it's not enough, Joe needs more and he can see that Nick does too. His eyes are dark, almost black, and his lips are swollen and red. He looks wild, dangerous even now, but Joe isn't afraid of him.
Is never afraid.
Joe grabs the ass of Nick's jeans, pulls him in hard and fast, and feels Nick tremble against him. He's so close and he wants Nick to be, wants to watch Nick lose control because of Joe. He thrusts again, this time biting the shell of Nick's ear and Nick clutches at Joe's face and neck. He makes a hard sound against Joe's neck, something not quite Joe's name and jerks his hips. Joe hitches a leg up and around Nick's hips and grabs him by the neck, his hand slipping in sweat. He pulls Nick's face to him, presses their foreheads together. Nick's face is contorted.
"Nick," Joe whispers. "Nick. Let go. Do it."
Nick doesn't even make a sound. His whole body freezes for a long moment, and Joe thinks he might have stopped breathing he's so silent. Nick sinks his teeth into his lower lip and Joe can only stare at him, wide-eyed and stunned as he jerks once, twice more against Joe's body and collapses onto him, his breaths painful sounding gasps. Joe wraps his arms around Nick's back and shoves his hips up, fast and desperate now. Each ragged thrust pulls a broken sound from his throat, and Nick fumbles a hand up to cover Joe's mouth, his face still pressed into Joe's shoulder.
"Nick-unh- Nick, I-I gotta, I need-" Joe babbles, sweat stinging his eyes. "Your hand, Nick, gimme your hand."
Nick props himself up on one arm and pops the button on Joe's jeans. He works his hand into Joe's underwear, and it only takes Nick's hand wrapped tight around him, a couple strokes and Joe is there. Nick watches his face the whole time, and Joe feels drunk with his attention, the feeling that his brother is really looking at him, really seeing him there in front of him, for the first time in a long time.
Nick rolls off of him after a moment, and Joe follows, slinging an arm across Nick's stomach. He feels greedy, like he has to touch Nick as much as he can now, before this strange spell ends and Nick closes off again, pulls away.
There's a low murmur from the other room and Nick shifts under Joe's hand. They should move, he knows, before Big Rob comes looking for them. Nick surprises him once again as he shifts closer and presses a kiss to Joe's face. Joe blinks but doesn't say anything, aware that this moment is fragile and any sound or movement he makes will ruin it. Nick lifts a hand and touches Joe's mouth, kisses him again. It's an intimate moment that Joe's never known from him and he doesn't have to wonder why he's getting it now.
"I'm not going to - we're going to get out of this one, Nick."
There are shadows in Nick's eyes but he smirks, cocky, a cover that Joe can see through. A cover Nick should know he can see through. "I know."
He moves away, then, and Joe feels cold without him pressed against his side. When Nick stand slowly, stretching, Joe watches him. There's so much about his brother that he can't see anymore. Nick still hides things from him and Joe hates it. They're all either of them have, Nick's all Joe wants and he wishes that sometimes Nick would realise he doesn't have to push him away. Joe frowns and sits up, buttoning up his fly and running a hand through his hair, smoothing out the curls.
"You look fine," Nick admonishes, but Joe just glares. From somebody who's spent the last few minutes straightening out his t-shirt and jacket, Nick's in no position to ridicule.
"Let's just get this over with," Joe sighs.
When he stands, they're still much too close. Nick looks at him carefully, but there's still a hint of whatever makes Nick dangerous. Joe doesn't think he'll ever lose it. "Joe- "
"We'll be fine," Joe repeats, voice hard.
Nick looks at him for a long moment, his gaze considering. "I know, Joe." he says finally. "You ready?"
"Yeah. More than." Joe picks the discarded gun up off the futon and holds it out to Nick. Nick shakes his head.
"That one's for you. You don't have to hold a semi, Joe, but you gotta carry something." Nick takes the gun and reaches around Joe's back, sliding the gun into the waistband of his jeans. He smoothes Joe's leather jacket down over the hard metal. Joe nods jerkily.
Nick still doesn't step away. "Promise me you'll use it. Promise me you'll use it if you have to." His eyes bore into Joe's and he feel dogged and invaded. But he knows Nick is right. He's going to have to use the gun tonight, he doesn't doubt it for a second.
"I promise." Joe mutters, and Nick looks satisfied. He heads towards the door, but stops abruptly just before he reaches it. He doesn't turn around, just turns his head back slightly. Joe can just see the profile of his shadowed eyes, the line of his nose, his tight-wound jaw.
"I-uh. Thanks, Joe." The words are clipped, but Joe is left gaping as Nick hurries out of the room.
Joe feels a wave of exhaustion crash over him, the shock of everything that happened in the past half hour hitting him hard. He'd like nothing more than to curl up on Big Rob's futon, where the smell of him and Nick still lingers, and sleep until this is all over. Instead, he scrubs his hands over his face and follows Nick out to the living room. where Big Rob and Henrie have the Glocks laid out on the table and are carefully inspecting the components and dividing up ammo cartidges.
Henrie looks up as they come in but doesn't say anything. Big Rob nods and pushes one of the Glocks across the table. "We should have enough ammo to last, even if it all goes tits up."
Joe snorts at Rob using the word tits and makes a mental note to tell him to stop hanging around with Garbo so often. The gun is a heavy weight against his back, and he hates the cold press of metal against his skin. He frowns as Nick picks up the Glock, cradling it in his hands like somebody else might do a child. Henrie picks up his own weapon and Joe is surprised by the concentration on his face, by the determination. It's seems like now that he's in, Henrie is going to uphold his part of the bargain. It makes Joe feel uncomfortable. He'd much rather do the small jobs, the ones that involve getting in, grabbing the gear and then getting out, all within the smallest amount of time possible.
Someone - Joe - screwed it up this time, though. He grabs the keys off of the table. "I'll get the car," he says, turning his back on all three of them.
Come on, Joe. Get it together. Get your head in the game.
Henrie stands up, stuffing the gun into the front waistband of his pants. "Boys," he declares, "It's time to rock."
Joe stops with his hand on the doorknob and turns, disbelief etched on his face. "Henrie, you cheesy motherfucker," he says, shaking his head. But in his periphery Joe can see just the corner of Nick's mouth quirk up a tiny bit, and he feels the tight steel band that's constricting his chest loosen a little.
The drive to Baby V's apartment building is silent and tense, Nick's hands white around the wheel again. Joe can feel his walls back up around him, the cold and distant set of his features as effective in cutting Joe off from Nick as a physical brick wall on the console between them. Big Rob is jammed uncomfortably into the backseat of the Mustang, and Henrie is pretty much pasted to Rob's side in the small remaining space and is looking mutinous, clicking the safety of his gun on and off rhythmically. Big Rob keeps cutting suspicious sidelong glances at Henrie and shaking his head minutely whenever he catches Joe's eye in the mirror.
They pull up a block away from the back of the building, a modern 8-story block of pink adobe and big glass windows. Nick cuts the engine and catches Joe's eye for a split second before turning around in his seat .
"All right. Henrie, Rob and I go in the back entrance. Henrie and Rob split off to the north side to draw the stairwell guards away and pick them off. I go for the stairwell. Joe goes in the side entrance around to the elevator and takes that guard. We aren't going to use the elevator, that's just asking for trouble, but we have to get rid of the guard. I'll take Bleu. Do your thing and get your asses to Baby V's apartment ASAP."
Nick pauses, "And remember. No kill shots. Knees, arms, maybe a clean shoulder if you have to. Nothing near a big artery. Get their guns and knock 'em out."
Big Rob nods and opens the side door. As he climbs out, Joe stares out at the building they're about to walk into. He can hear Henrie grumbling behind him and rolls his eyes.
"You ready?" Nick sits back in his seat and searches the side of Joe's face.
Joe could lie and say that he is, that he's been ready since this morning, but he doesn't. Instead he opens the glove compartment and pulls a thin leather holster out, running his hand over it slowly and then meet's Nick's gaze, unashamed.
"He fights dirty," he snarls, angry that Nick is going up against this, that they all are. He's already feeling the rush of adrenaline and it will only get more profound the further into this they go. It's in those moments that he wonders if this is what Nick feels all the time.
Nick stares at him, silent.
"You'll need all the extra advantages you can get." He pulls a knife out of the holster, the handle a solid silver and glinting in the setting sun. "He gave this to me on my twenty-first birthday," he says slowly. He doesn't have to elaborate on who. He knows Nick will understand. "He always said I might need it some day, but you will more than me."
Nick takes the knife slowly, turning it over in his hands. He doesn't say anything and Joe doesn't expect him to, so he pushes the holster into Nick's hands and doesn't wait to see what Nick does with it. He opens his door and climbs out, shutting it gently. He checks his gun one last time, holds it in his hand, resting it against his thigh as Nick comes around the car. Joe can tell by his face that he's ready for this and everything they have to do. His anger is back, eyes hard and determined, but they soften momentarily as he reaches up and places a hand on the back of Joe's neck, pulls him forward. Their foreheads touch and Nick breathes, "Be careful," into the space between them.
Joe rests a hand on Nick's hip, squeezes and then pulls away. "Go," he says, voice tight.
Together, they move to join Henrie and Rob by the building's back entrance. They both have their Glocks cocked and ready and Joe nods at each. Nick positions himself outside of the door. "On five, we go in."
Joe swallows, but pats both Henrie and Rob on the shoulder and then hugs the side of the building as he heads for the rusted brown door. He counts under his breath, reaching five and hears the slam of Nick's door, a yell and then he's kicking open his own door, swinging his gun up and holding it in front of him, grip tight. There's already a commotion inside. He can see around the corner of the stairwell and Henrie is already half in the corridor, yelling at one of the two guards coming towards them. Rob yells something about Nick that Joe can't make out, but he grabs the second guard by the scruff of his jacket and pulls him around, slamming him against the wall.
Joe's jaw tightens and he turns to find Nick, only to come face to face with the barrel of a gun.
It's Nick's gun, the Glock that had been in Nick's hand only a minute ago.
Joe can't think, can't process what is happening. He's frozen into stone and the cold press of the gunmetal against his forehead can do nothing to him. All he can see is Nick. Nick pressed facedown on the gleaming marble floor. Nick, a deep gash on his forehead from a bullet graze dripping thick blood down the side of his face. Nick, pale and bloody and on the floor with a heavy boot on his fragile neck and another gun pointing right at his head.
There is still a fight going on, a distant, muffled buzz of noise that barely reaches Joe through the roaring in his ears, the pounding of his pulse, his heart pumping frantically as if it could replace the blood Nick was losing if only it beat fast enough. Nick's eyes are closed, and for a dark moment that seems to last forever, Joe can't tell if he's breathing. The thought sears through his body like electricity and he feels deep terror rise like bile in his throat. Joe can't- Nick can't be-- Then he sees the movement of Nick's chest and the skin around his eyes tighten with pain, and Joe takes a breath, his fingers tingling.
Snap out of it, Joseph. Wake up.
It takes the greatest effort of Joe's life to tear his gaze from Nick's face, but he glances around quickly to assess the situation. Big Rob has got one of the guards jammed against the wall, gun digging into the man's back. Henrie is on the floor beneath the other guard, who's sporting a bloody nose and a missing tooth but has his gun pressed between Henrie's eyes.
It's Bleu who has Nick on the ground. Joe doesn't know what happened, what changed to bring Bleu down from outside Baby V's door to the stairwell, but none of that even matters. All that matters is that Nick is down. On the ground with his blood shining on his skin. Bleu grins up at Joe, one hand holding the Glock to Joe's head, his foot on Nick's neck and his other hand pointing his gun at Nick's head.
No one speaks, and the only sound in the hallway is that of their heavy pants. Nick's eyes flutter and open, bleary at first but focusing with shocking speed. He locks eyes with Joe, and it hits Joe in the chest like a speeding train.
It's all happening again.
--
"Are you sure about this one?" Kevin looks doubtful, and he keeps looking back over his shoulder, compulsively scanning the alley.
Nick smirks, cocks his gun and pats Kevin on the shoulder. "K2. Come on. What could possibly go wrong?"
Joe groans and rolls his eyes. Nick never learns, but Joe would never say anything. Nick's laughing at Kevin, eyes young and clear and open and Kevin snorts and smacks Nick upside the head with a fond grin.
"Come on guys," Joe says, interrupting their banter. "Let's do this."
Kevin sobers and turns to the heavy metal door. He hooks the code key replicator up to the keypad on the wall next to the door, and taps rapid-fire on the buttons, his fingers flying and his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth. Joe taps his foot impatiently and checks his watch, and Kevin shoots him a sideways glance. "You're in my space, Joe. Move." Joe smiles sarcastically and steps closer to rest his chin on Kevin's shoulder and breathe loudly in his ear, and it's Kevin's turn to roll his eyes.
"Got it," Kevin says triumphantly, and steps back from the door. The three of them exchange a look and a nod, counting a silent communal three-count.
Joe takes the lead, cradling the gun in his hand as he kicks open the door. There are no guards inside, just as they heard it would be, and he glances back over his shoulder. "All clear, guys," he shouts and then takes in the merchandise. Boxes upon boxes just waiting for them to load up. They'll make a mint off of all these components and he's already mentally counting the cash when Kevin makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat.
Joe barely has time to turn around before gunfire erupts in the small warehouse, echoing off the metal and concrete, and Joe curses under his breath, ducks behind a metal pillar. "Where the fuck did they come from?" he screams at his brothers.
Nick is shouting something about a trap, but Joe ignores him and concentrates on firing back. He can't even see who he's shooting at. He's fighting blind and he hates that more than anything. Out of the corner of his eye Joe can see Kevin crouched down behind a pile of crates and Nick behind the door, firing wildly around the corner. His little brother still has to learn how to handle a gun properly, he's not hitting anything but dirt with the way he's shooting.
Joe's about to say something, to get them out, when Kevin shouts, a scared and desperate sound, and Joe whips around just in time to hear the high whine of a bullet as it misses his neck by inches. Nick's caught in a headlock, a huge tattooed man pressing a knife to his windpipe but he still has his gun up, not afraid. It's the sight of Kevin, though, that makes the blood drain from Joe's face, makes him feel cold and dizzy with shock. There's a guy right behind Kevin, a guy with a long angry scar running down the side of his face, holding a gun to his temple and yanking his arms behind his back and twisting them painfully up.
"Drop. Your gun." The man's voice is like dragging over gravel, and it scrapes a shiver out of Joe but he shakes his head.
"Not a chance." Joe snaps, and his voice only trembles the slightest bit.
"How quickly do you think you can shoot, boy?"
Anger boils in Joe, he knows he's being mocked, and his feet drag him one step forward, only to the feel the cool press of metal against his neck. "There are two of us," Joe says, and he knows it's weak and pathetic. Kevin's eyes hold fear and anger, and Joe knows he could never shoot fast enough.
"You motherfucker," Nick snarls, snapping his gun up. Joe can see blood on his neck from the knife, but Nick barely feels it, he never does.
"Nick, shut the fuck up," Joe snaps, and turns back to the man. "Don't think I won't shoot you. I'll shoot you in a second."
The man tips back his head and laughs, booming in the warehouse.
Joe sees it happen like it's in slow motion, like the spinning world is creeping slowly to a stop as everything in Joe's life, everything he's known and believed always to be true crumbles and breaks. Kevin is looking at Joe, and his face is tired and beloved, and Joe pulls the trigger of his gun just a split second after the man does, and he doesn't stop.
He doesn't remember much of what happened after, only that there was blood, so much blood. He remembers standing in the middle of the warehouse, gun hanging limp by his side and then Demi and Selena and then Nick. Nick, who takes Joe's gun from his nerveless fingers. Nick, who catches him as Joe's legs give out and puts him in the Mustang, head between his knees, numb. Nick, who then disappears into the warehouse for a very long time and comes out with his clothes covered in blood and carrying their brother wrapped in a blanket. Nick, who takes Joe back to their apartment, gives him a sleeping pill and puts him in bed and is gone until morning. Nick, who cleans everything up, erases what happened that night from everything but their memories.
Nick, who comes back changed, who never had that bright, open look in his eyes again.
---
Nick, who still has a gun pressed to his temple.
Joe's gun is warm and heavy in his hands, and he doesn't think twice.
He only has to look Nick in the eye to know that he needs to act, that he can't lose Nick, not when he's the only person in the world Joe has. Later, Joe won't know how he moved so fast, how he pulled it off without getting either of them killed, but he's driven by a force more powerful than Bleu can comprehend. Pride is always the downfall of Zefron's goons and Joe can see it all over Bleu's face. He's smirking, saying something that Joe can't make out; it's as if he's moving through mud, hearing sounds through a long tunnel. He looks Bleu in the eye and he can feel his hands shaking. He wills them to stop; he needs Bleu to think he's won, needs Bleu to think he's finally done what nobody else could and got - what's left of - the Jonas Brothers right where he wants them.
Bleu looks away for only a split second, gloating at Nick still trapped under his gun, but a second is all Joe needs. He's faster than anybody ever gives him credit for, smarter than people think. Bleu is watching for Joe to raise his gun, and Joe can see that Bleu's finger isn't on the trigger of Nick's Glock. Joe drops his own gun and Bleu's eyes follow it, and in that moment Joe darts a hand forward, wraps it around Nick's Glock and twists it away in a flash. Bleu looks surprised, but he grimaces as his wrist twists and his hold on the gun breaks. Furious, he presses his foot down harder on Nick's neck, squeezing a choked gasp out of Nick's throat. Joe can see the pain in Nick's eyes, and it wouldn't even take a second for Bleu to pull the trigger and blow his brother away.
"Are you- " Bleu starts, the beginnings of a nasty smile on his face.
Joe doesn't give him the chance to finish. Before Bleu can gloat, before he can speak the words fast enough a single shot resounds around the empty corridor. Then another, again and again and Joe realises belatedly that it's him. Henrie and Rob are moving somewhere in his periphery, but Joe's vision is a tunnel, his hearing narrowed down to one frequency. He's breathing heavily, his pants like sobs, and he only stops shooting when Nick is standing before him, bleeding and pained, but with his hands on the gun, saying Joe's name over and over.
There's blood on Nick's shirt and Joe touches it slowly, eyes wide. "You're bleeding," he says, voice cracking. He doesn't know what to do.
"It's not mine," Nick is saying, thin and high, pushing Joe down to the floor, his back to the wall. "It's not mine."
It's then Joe feels the pain.
Part Three
Joe stays silent for the rest of the trip. He's only been to the Followill's once before, but it was enough of an experience that he doesn't forget the way. They drive out of the city, up into the hills, roads winding and dusted red-brown. Just after half past ten, he pulls into the driveway and shuts down the car. "We're early," he says.
There's one light on in the window of the small house. It's almost a cabin rather than a house, dark and underlit, and it gives Joe the creeps. He shifts in the seat, turning towards Nick but before he can open his mouth, the door to the shack opens and Caleb is framed in the doorway, cigarette between his lips.
He's topless and barefoot, jeans hanging low on his hips and Joe clenches the steering wheel, glancing at Nick quickly. Nick sucks in a breath, eyes trained on Caleb's face.
"Jonas. You're early. Get the fuck out here."
Joe tears his gaze away from Nick and climbs out of the car, grabbing the car keys as he does so. Nick climbs out after him and their doors slam in unison. Caleb raises an eyebrow appreciatively as he looks at Nick and Joe's hands clench into fists. "Caleb. You take your payment from me."
Caleb laughs, low and rumbly, and raises his hands. "Relax, man. I ain't gonna hurt him."
"You're not going to do anything to him, Followill," Joe snaps, his heart speeding up.
Nick is watching the exchange between them, silent and standing not an inch behind Joe. Joe can feel the heat emanating from his body in waves, the energy Nick is working so hard to restrain. Joe walks up the two concrete steps and right up to Caleb. Followill is tall, and Joe's nose only hits around his chin area. Joe can smell sex and booze and sweat on his skin.
Caleb looks at Joe, then his eyes flick over Joe's shoulder, and Joe knows Nick has followed him up. Caleb lifts a big hand and puts it on Nick's jaw, thumbs his lips. Joe repeats Keep your cool, keep your cool again and again in his head like a mantra, a prayer, like if he thinks it hard enough, Nick will actually hear him and not get them killed.
Nick stiffens behind him and growls at the back of his throat, but his hands remain in fists at his sides.
"How old are you, baby boy?" Caleb asks musingly.
"Twenty-two," Nick grits out from between clenched teeth. Joe wants more than anything to smack Caleb's hand away, punch him in the teeth or break his nose, but he controls himself. He knows Caleb is just testing the waters, seeing if he can push them. Caleb loves nothing more than a knockdown, drag out brawl to start his day with. Joe heard he practically beat his own brother into a pulp just last month.
"You got the softest skin, baby. Right, Joe? You know what I'm talking about, huh?" Caleb looks over at Joe, a knowing gleam in his eyes.
Nick's hand flies up to Caleb's arm and clamps around his wrist, but he doesn't pull him away, or punch him, he just squeezes until Caleb winces slightly. "Let's make a deal, hmm?" Nick suggests, stone-faced, and his voice is arctic.
Joe wraps his hand around Caleb's upper arm, making sure to keep his grip light. "You and I are gonna deal, okay Followill? Nick will come with us to check out the gear, and then you and me? We'll deal."
Caleb laughs, throwing his head back and releasing Nick. He takes a step back and jerks his head toward the interior of the house. Nick goes in first, jaw still tight and Joe can almost taste in the air the the effort he's putting into restraining his anger. Before Joe can follow him in, Caleb puts a hand on Joe's chest and lowers his head, speaking low in his ear. "Keep an eye on that one, Jonas. You never know what might happen with him."
Joe narrows his eyes but doesn't say anything; threatening Caleb will only make the situation worse, and as long as Joe can keep his tenuous hold on the outcome of this meeting, Nick can be in and out before Caleb has enough time to demand him as payment. Nick's name will be on his lips, Joe knows, and it's the last thing he'd ever let Caleb take.
Caleb lets him go and throws an arm around Joe's shoulders. He tenses up but Caleb either doesn't notice or doesn't care. Nick's already in the main room of the house, standing amongst the dirt and mess and looking disgusted. There's a guy only a little older than Joe sprawled out on the sofa, smoking a cigarette and holding a bottle of vodka in his free hand. "You must be Little Jonas," he says with the same drawl Joe recognises from the phone. He grins and he's oddly handsome. Joe blinks, eyes trailing his body and Caleb laughs again.
"Like what you see?"
The guy - he must be Jared - just raises an eyebrow. Nick looks pissed, all hard lines and frustration, and he grits his teeth. "Are we going to get what we came for?"
"Yeah all right," Caleb relents and starts down a narrow, dark hallway, gesturing for Joe and Nick to follow him. Jared wiggles his fingers at Joe in a mocking little wave as he turns to leave.
Nick slides a possessive hand onto the small of Joe's back as they pick their way around the bizarre detritus and clutter lining the floor. Nick hasn't touched Joe this much in years, and his hand burns through Joe's t-shirt all the way to his skin.
"Is that a fucking My Size Barbie?" Joe points at the battered plastic figure tipped against the wall and looks at Nick over his shoulder, incredulous. Nick cracks a small, tight smile, just the corner of his mouth quirking up a little.
"I think so. But it's missing half it's hair. This place is like Peewee's Evil Playhouse." Nick looks around, taking in the sagging, peeling wallpaper and the cracked pictures hanging from the damp walls.
"I know," Joe murmurs. "It's creepy. I heard this was the family house when Caleb was a kid. Pretty fucked, right?" Nick answers with a vague grunt.
"Get in here, boys, I'm not waiting all day," Caleb's voice echoes strangely from under their feet.
Nick looks surprised, and Joe rounds the corner and shows him the trapdoor entrance in the floor to Caleb Followill's weapons bunker. Nick's eyebrows climb towards his hairline, but he doesn't miss a beat and follows Joe down the rickety metal ladder, their eyes adjusting from the darkness of the hallway to the bright fluorescent lighting of the concrete room. Nick's eyes go wide as he looks around, turning slowly on the spot.
The walls of the room are lined with guns; hundreds of them. Nick's heart is pounding in his ears and he takes one step forward. "This is-"
He reaches out, touches one of the guns and keeps looking. Joe watches him, his eyes dark and unhappy. There is a rocket launcher against the wall and he bites back on the words that crowd his throat. Nick is looking at the weapons like Joe had once, in another life, all eagerness and desperation.
"Can I?"
Caleb snorts and moves forward, taking the gun off the wall mount. Nick breathes in and his fingers brush Caleb's as he takes it. He looks up, anger still burning in his eyes, but he stands taller, straight-backed and confident as Caleb looks him up and down. It's strange, the way Caleb can make people feel; like your torn between wanting to punch the bastard and wanting to have that icy blue gaze linger on you a little more.
Standing away from them, Joe feels like an outsider and it makes his breath catch in his throat. He can't seem to focus properly, as if he's moving and hearing through mud, watching them interact. They're talking about the Beretta in Nick's hands and he's holding it like a pro, fingers smooth against the slick plastic of the gun. Joe's nails dig into his palms, hard enough to draw blood, and he looks away from them.
The rocket launcher is huge and, despite himself, Joe would give anything to use it. His preferred target would be Caleb. He drags his eyes across the array of weaponry and it's then that he catches sight of it. It's not the same one, couldn't be the same one because Nick destroyed it, but it looks exactly the same. Joe's hand shakes as he reaches out to touch it. He remembers the last time he held it, hands shaking, and he shakes his head, trying to rid himself of the memory. He doesn't want to do this here, now, in front of Caleb and he jerks himself away, forcefully.
"I want to get the fuck out of here. Hurry up and choose, Nick," he snaps, his voice too loud in his ears. He's aware that under normal circumstances he would never talk to Nick like this but the gun has shaken him up and he just wants to get the guns, pay Caleb and leave.
Nick wheels around, looking thunderous, but he checks himself when he sees Joe's ashen face. He takes one last longing look around at the stunning display of weapons, and then he nods and hands Caleb the Beretta. "Yeah, alright. How about three Glocks?" Nick asks.
Caleb waits for a minute, running his fingers up and down the barrel of the Beretta, and Nick shifts impatiently and widens his eyes pointedly. Finally, Caleb turns to the far wall and swiftly hooks down three identical Glocks; huge, shiny, deadly looking things. Joe swallows down the bile that rises in his throat.
"Here you go, little man," Caleb almost croons, cradling the guns in his big hands. He hands two to Nick and before Nick can grab the third, Caleb has slipped over to where Joe is standing with his arms wrapped around himself. Caleb gets up in Joe's space, edging in until their chests bump with each breath. He holds up the Glock in his palm.
"Joey. This one's for you. You'll like her. She's great for really filling a place with lead." Caleb's voice is a deadly whisper in Joe's ear, and Nick doesn't hear it. Joe's throat contracts and his eyes burn, but he meets Caleb's eyes and slowly, gently pushes the gun away.
"No thanks, Followill. I'm good." Caleb grins and winks before stepping away.
Nick is inspecting the guns. "You keep your pieces in good condition? They aren't going to punk out on us, are they?" Caleb tosses Nick the third gun and Nick smoothly catches it with one hand.
"Please," Caleb scoffs. "These babies are the best cared for pieces in the state. You need ammo, too?" Nick nods. Caleb turns and shouts up through the open trapdoor. "Jared! Get your bony ass down here, you lazy fucker!" He turns back to Nick and Joe, scratching his bare chest. "Jared will take care of you, baby boy, with getting you set up with ammo and," Caleb's eyes flick to Joe, "Anything else you might need."
Joe grits his teeth, sharp click and shear of enamel. Caleb continues, "Me and Joey over here are gonna go upstairs and work out the payment for this little deal."
It's not long before there's a clatter on the stairs and Jared's feet come into view. He jumps down the last three rungs, cigarette in one hand and a box in the other. Joe wonders how many packs these guys get through in an hour, let alone a day.
Jared flicks his gaze from Caleb and Nick to Joe. He smirks at Joe and it's just as suggestive as it was upstairs. Joe wants to believe that they won't be dealing with the Followill boys on a permanant basis, but he knows what the look in Nick's eyes means. "I'll take good care of your boy, Joe."
Joe hates this whole situation but Jared doesn't look at Nick in the same way as he did Joe, just flicks open the lid to the box. Joe can only assume it contains the clips they need. Joe feels secure that Nick can handle Jared on his own, and in a room full of guns either Followill would be stupid to antagonise Nick to the point where he'd lose control.
Caleb puts a hand on the back of Joe's neck and pushes him towards the stairs. Joe snaps his head away and jogs up the ladder, feeling it tremble under his footsteps. Joe dreads to think what Caleb is going to ask for, but he's dealt with Caleb before and he knows how it goes. Whatever the price and however distasteful it might be, Joe will be able to pay it. He always can.
Caleb climbs out behind him and they make their way back down the dank corridor to the living room. Joe stands in the doorway as Caleb picks his way across the floor, reaching for his lighter. "What's your deal, Joey?"
Joe twitches at the name, he hates the way Caleb says it, drawing it out and making it his, somehow. "None of your fucking business," he grinds out. "Tell me your price so we can get the fuck out of here."
"You're lucky it was only three," Caleb says, eventually. He runs a hand through his hair, ruffling it. "You might satisfy three but if it had been four..."
He doesn't need to finish the sentence for his meaning to be made clear. "I think maybe I want your brother." Caleb's tone is light but there's an hard edge to his face that means he's serious. Joe ignores it. Caleb's fucked in the head if he thinks he's getting his hands on Nick.
"I said no," Joe snaps. "The payment is me or nothing, Followill. Which is it going to be?"
There's a stony silence. Caleb's eyes bore into his face and it's all Joe can do to tilt his chin. Despite his words to Nick the night before, he respects his reputation even if he doesn't care about it. He doesn't back down, never has, and he won't now, not even for Caleb. Crossing the room, Caleb comes to stand next to him, hand on his chin. He pulls him around, breath hot on Joe's face. "Bring the ladies back in one piece, and maybe I won't expect the second half of my payment."
Joe's hand curls around the bone of Caleb's hip. He hates being this close, the smell of Caleb heady, almost overwhelming. He should take a step back, he knows, but something stays his feet. He sucks in a breath as Caleb comes closer, his stubble brushing Joe's cheek. "Caleb," he says, tightly. "Fuck."
Laughing, Caleb released his chin. "Not yet, Joe," he breathes and kisses him, rough and hard. The force of Caleb's kiss rocks Joe back onto his heels, unbalances him enough so that he stumbles backwards. Caleb is pressing forward still with his mouth and tongue, with his hips, until Joe's back hits the doorframe at an awkward angle, a sharp shock of pain bursting through him, and his head knocks against the plaster wall hard enough to dislodge a picture frame.
Joe groans, and he honestly doesn't know whether it's from pain or from the fierce feeling of Caleb's teeth against his lips, of his tongue forcing Joe's mouth to open and let him in. Caleb grabs Joe's wrists and pins them against the wall over his head. Through the cloudy storm that has settled over Joe's brain, he feels a twinge of indignation at the degree of manhandling that's going on here. He manages to mutter a "Seriously, Followill?" into Caleb's mouth, and he feels more than hears his answering chuckle.
Suddenly, Joe's wrists are jerked together and Caleb is holding them both in just one long-fingered hand. His other hand slides torturously down Joe's side, Caleb watching his face to make sure he knows exactly where he's going with this. Caleb cups his hand over Joe's dick, traitorously hard against the zip of his jeans, and smiles a crooked, slashing, feral grin.
"I think you like it, Joey." Joe opens his mouth to try and make some sarcastic comment, but abruptly he hears the sounds of a scuffle filtering down the hallway.
He hears Nick's voice, sharp and getting progressively louder, and the sound of Jared protesting. Joe realizes with a jolt that he's hearing Jared trying to stop Nick from coming into the room. Joe starts to struggle against Caleb, jerking his wrists in Caleb's grip, almost frantic with the need to prevent Nick from seeing this. Caleb grins wider, and grabs onto Joe's wrists with both hands again.
"Here comes baby brother," Caleb sing-songs, and Joe hates him so much in that moment that he thinks he might actually be able to kill him with a look, if only he had the time to focus his concentration.
But there is no time. Joe hears it when Nick slaps Jared down, knocks him to the floor with one hand, probably, and then Nick is frozen in the doorway, his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide and disbelieving.
Joe sees what's going to happen, and it gives him the strength to wrench his wrists from Caleb's grip and shove him away. Joe throws himself at Nick, tackles him to the floor with such force that the back of Nick's head smashes against the wooden floorboards and rebounds into Joe's forehead with a crack. Joe fumbles at the waistband of Nick's pants, finding Nick's hand already there, reaching for the gun, and they fight, scrabbling and grunting and pulling at each other's hands.
"No!" Joe grunts. "Stop it, Nick!"
Nick is trembling hard under Joe's body but he doesn't stop his fight for the gun. Nick is stronger than Joe, but Joe's driven by the need not to see Nick try and kill Caleb. Joe presses his forearm against Nick's windpipe, and he grips Nick's wrist in his hand and snatches at the gun, pulling it away. "It's the payment," he says, breathless.
Jared has stumbled into the room holding a bloody nose. Joe hopes he doesn't choose to exact revenge. They're not on their own turf here, they're on unfamiliar ground but that won't stop Nick if he wants to kill them.
"It's the payment," he repeats, willing Nick to understand. Nick's eyes hold everything Joe wishes they didn't but he's stopped moving. Joe doesn't know what to think.
"If you want the ladies," Caleb says, coming closer. Nick's head jerks hard to the left, glaring at Caleb, and any lesser man would have crumbled beneath the force of Nick's anger. "You'll have to come through with the payment. We could always compromise with you."
Caleb grins toothily and Joe growls under his breath. "No," Joe says and climbs off of Nick completely, wrenching himself from Nick's grasp. "Nick is off-limits."
"What if I want him to pay for socking me in the jaw?" Jared asks, almost conversationally.
"Fuck off, Jared," Caleb snaps, and Joe whips around to look at him, totally surprised. Caleb shrugs. "If I don't get to have him, Jared sure as hell doesn't... Maybe I'll just charge you a little extra." He grins.
Jared makes a digusted sound in the back of his throat and swipes the broken picture frame off the floor, winging it at Caleb's head. "Eat me, you dick."
"You wish," Caleb calls after him, as Jared stomps off down the hall. Joe's head spins. He hadn't thought sibling relationships came much more fucked up and strange than his and Nick's, but Caleb and Jared have got them beat. It's just twisted.
Nick is still on the floor, legs sprawled out in front of him and holding himself up by his arms. He's looking up at Joe, and Joe hasn't seen Nick look helpless like this since Nick was just a little kid. Nick never even looked this helpless when... Joe cuts a sharp mental u-turn away from that thought. He's got things to deal with here.
"Joey- " Nick starts, his voice cracking the tiniest bit, and a little trickle of warmth flows through Joe's chest. Somehow when Nick says it, the name sounds so completely different from how Caleb says it.
Joe kneels next to Nick on the floor. He hesitates for a moment, but then tentatively slides his hand around the back of Nick's neck. There's a bruise rising on Nick's forehead where their heads collided. Joe can feel the spot on his head where he'll probably have a matching one. Joe carefully tips their foreheads together, expecting at any moment for Nick to push him away, spit furious words in his face. Nick is tense, his body stiff, but he doesn't shove Joe away, just looks at him. Nick's eyes are distant but pained.
"It's okay, Nick. I promise. I'm- I'm doing it for us." Joe murmurs.
Nick looks horrified, and then his hands do come up to Joe's shoulders, trying to push him away. Joe tightens his grip on Nick's neck. "Trust me, please, Nick. Just trust me. I know what I'm doing," Joe pleads. "It's all right. I can take care of myself."
Nick squeezes his eyes shut, breathing fast. "I can't- I gotta- Get the fuck off of me, Joe." His voice is harsh. Joe hangs on, listening to Nick's pants, until Nick rips Joe's hand off his neck, jamming one of Joe's fingers and pushing him off balance. "I'll be in the car." Nick scrambles up off the floor and is gone, leaving Joe cold. He kneels on the floor for a minute more, facing the door Nick just stalked out of, and then speaks.
"All right, Followill. Let's just get to the point here. No more fucking around, I've got places to be. What's your price?" Caleb stares at Joe, his eyes clouded. He crosses the room and stands over Joe, grabbing the back of his jacket. "I'll take the payment when you get back."
Joe wants to shake Caleb off, but Nick's gone and Jared's pissed off and he just wants this done. "No fucking way," he snaps. "We do it now. After all of that, I'm not letting you fuck me over, here."
Shaking his head, Caleb hauls Joe to his feet, their faces inches apart. "You're lucky I don't kill you for what your boy did to Jared. We're doing you a favour, Jonas. You don't call the shots, I do. If I want to take the payment later, when I know my merchandise is back in once piece, that's how we'll do it."
Joe's jaw tightens and he reaches up, placing a hand on Caleb's arm. "Get off me." He keeps his tone hard and emotionless and thinks about the last time he was in a position like this; his father looming over him and Joe desperate to leave, to get away from him, and the word no resounding loudly in his ears. His father couldn't stop him then and Caleb hasn't half the hold over Joe as his father did. "I swear to god, Caleb, take your fucking payment now or I'll use those guns and blow your fucking head off."
There's a moment when Joe thinks he might have ruined everything, that Caleb is going to kill him, but then he laughs, loud and low and releases Joe. He sobers quickly and pushes Joe towards the door. "You got fight, kid, but I mean it. My price is the same as it always is; on return of the goods."
"You were ready to take it just now."
"That was before your little brother pulled his shit and punched Jared in the face. Get the fuck out of my house and when you come back, you better pray to god I don't choose Nick as my payment." Caleb slams the door.
Joe stands there for a minute, running his fingers through his hair, an anxious repetitive motion, then he turns and trips down the rotting front steps. Fuck. He can see Nick in the car already, hunched over his folded arms, his lips a thin white line in his hard face.
Suddenly, Joe is pissed at Nick. Why couldn't he just trust that Joe knew what he was doing? Joe doesn't need Nick to save his ass all the time. Joe can take care of himself. Okay, he lost control kind of spectacularly once and left a big fucking mess, and Nick cleaned it up for him, took care of every last bit of it and never said one word about it. But that was different, that was something else. And Joe's always had his situations under control since then.
Just like he had the situation with Caleb under control. That is, until Nick stormed in all Dirty goddamn Harry and fucked it up.
Joe yanks the passenger side door open and drops into the seat. He slams the door after him, and refuses to look at Nick. Nick waits for a minute, and then cranks over the Mustang's engine with a growl and peels out of the driveway. They don't talk the whole way to Big Rob's, Nick too stubborn to speak, and Joe too angry to try and coax anything out of him.
"Lover's quarrel?" Henrie snarks when he's being used as a barrier between Joe and Nick on Big Rob's couch, and ducks Joe's swipe at him. Nick doesn't react to Henrie's jab at all, not even to tell him to shut up, and that's more telling than anything.
They lay out the plans for Big Rob; the layout of Baby V's building, the timing, the three entrances, and the guards. Rob looks a little nervous, but Joe heard what Efron pulled on him, and he knows Rob will be in a hundred percent.
"Where we gonna take Baby V once we got her?" Rob asks.
Nick rubs his forehead. "I got a place. It's a warehouse on 28th and Broad." He practically jumps off the sofa, restless and jittery, and heads into the hallway. "We go at sunset," he throws back over his shoulder.
Henrie, Rob and Joe sit in silence for a minute, and then Henrie grabs the remote and clicks on the big screen television. "Well, if I'm gonna get killed tonight, then I'm gonna watch some fucking Oprah before I go, right Big Man?" Rob pointedly ignores him.
Joe wanders back into the hallway, with a vague idea of looking for the bathroom to wash some of the day off of him, and then he sees Nick sitting on a futon in Rob's windowless little back room. He's still angry at Nick but the dejected line of Nick's shoulders has Joe walking into the room almost against his will. His feet know what to do even when his head is conflicted. "Hey," he says, dropping down next to Nick. Nick doesn't acknowledge him but Joe can feel him tense.
He wonders if they'll always be fighting. They're closer than they should be, maybe, but it doesn't mean they don't fight. It's almost worse because they know the ways to hurt each other, what matters most and how best to exploit it. They use each other more than they should, and Joe wonders how long it is before they do some serious damage. He could never lay a hand on Nick, but they've only ever needed words to hurt.
A lot of the time, they hurt more than fists and Joe bears the scars.
"You gotta trust that I know what I'm doing, Nick," Joe says. "You're fucking crazy sometimes and you scare the shit out of me, but I'm not a baby. I can fight my own battles." He rubs a hand over his jaw. Nick still isn't speaking, but that's not unusual. Joe hopes it's not going to be one of those fights, where Nick stores it up for hours, days and then unleashes it all on Joe at the worst time. It's screwed up jobs for them before and it's why Demi will only work with them solo; she's been caught in the middle one too many times. "I've only ever made a mistake once and it's not the sort of mistake I'd ever make again."
"Isn't it?"
There's a tone to Nick's voice that brings him up short and Joe feels the air leave his lungs in a rush. "You honestly believe I'd let something happen to you?"
"No, I just- I know that a lot of the time, you don't think about the consequences of your actions. Caleb was touching you. He was taking advantage of you, Joe, and nobody pays that kind of price for a fucking weapon."
Joe throws his hands up in the air. "Jesus Christ, Nick! What the fuck do you want from me?! We needed the guns, so I did what I had to do to get them for you, because I know how much it means to you to pay the Zef back for selling us out."
Nick's eyes are fixed on the floor, a strange, unreadable expression on his face. He shakes his head tightly. "Not that much."
"What?" Joe is pacing, agitated.
"Not. That. Much." Nick enunciates each word until the syllables are flint sparks. "It's not worth that to me."
"Isn't it?" Joe shoots, throwing Nick's own words back at him, the words sour in his mouth. "I saw how you looked at those guns, Nick." He expects Nick to bite back, for his face to darken with that rage Joe has become so accustomed to seeing. Instead, Nick seems suddenly drained of all his usual tense, vibrating energy. He looks exhausted.
"No," he says simply. "We would have found guns somewhere else." Nick rises from the bed and slowly approaches Joe. The look on his face is so focused and intense that it stops Joe in his tracks. The air feels thick, heavy with ozone. Joe licks his lips and thinks he can taste metal, like the taste of lightning in the air before a storm.
Nick doesn't stop until he's toe to toe with Joe, leaned back against the wall. Joe suddenly feels like he could cry. He hasn't cried in years. He misses Nick, misses his brother.
"What?" Joe asks, when Nick just looks at him as though he's searching for some kind of answer.
"No one like Caleb Followill gets to touch you," Nick mutters, and his voice is rough. "That guy is a freak."
Joe closes his eyes. "You're kind of a freak, Nick." The words come out quieter and softer than he meant them to.
Nick leans forward for a second, his eyes on Joe's lips, then seems to catch himself. "I know. But I'm your brother."
Joe opens his eyes and he finds himself almost nose to nose with Nick. Something in the air around them is different and it takes Joe a minute to focus. He doesn't know what to say to Nick's words, so he reaches up with a hand and places it on Nick's hip. "I'm sorry," he says, licking his dry lips.
Nick watches him, once again following the line of Joe's tongue with his eyes. Things like this have happened before, unbalancing and discomfiting moments where lines seem blurred and indistinct. "Don't apologise, Joe," he admonishes.
Joe's hand twists on Nick's hip and he slides it under the back of Nick's jacket. He can feel Nick's breath hitch and the word stop on his lips, but he never says it. Joe's fingers brush the butt of the gun still sticking out from the back of Nick's jeans. "You don't want them to touch me," Joe starts, catching Nick's gaze and holding it. "You hate it when Demi touches me, when Camilla and I do a job."
He's taking a risk, he knows. If there's one line between them, it's this. Nick never puts a word on it, doesn't acknowledge it at all, but Joe saw something in his eyes back at Caleb's. "Joe-"
Joe slides forward and their bodies fit together almost perfectly. He expects Nick to punch him, to push him away, but Joe needs this now. He needs to know Nick's always got him, that he's got Nick. Joe can feel every hard line, each sharp and delineated contour of Nick's body pressed against him, almost as familiar to him as his own. Nick shifts his weight abruptly and presses Joe against the wall, the entire length of Nick's body a hot weight. Nick's hands close around Joe's hipbones, and his chest pushes against Joe's, and Joe is finding it hard to take a full breath against it.
The thought strikes him that this mirrors the position Caleb held Joe in just an hour ago. Yet, Nick holds Joe against the wall with the gentle press of his body and his breath. His hands don't hold Joe captive, they rest on his hips, not gently but not a cruel and bone-grinding crush. Not a taunt. And Joe's head isn't a clouded, conflicted haze. His mind is clear, he knows what this is and what he needs from Nick. Maybe it's wrong, it's definitely not normal, but nothing in Joe and Nick's life is normal. It hasn't been for years, maybe never was.
They only have each other now, and this is just how it is. Joe doesn't waste time feeling guilty or conflicted about it. He's long since left behind the time of church pews and his father leading prayers around the dinner table.
"Why, Nick?" Joe asks on a exhaled breath. Nick cocks his head at him, having lost the thread of the conversation. Joe bites his lip and dives. "Why do you hate it when they touch me? When anyone touches me?"
Nick's eyes flash and his lip curls, showing a glint of sharp white teeth. His hands spasm around Joe's hips and his fingertips dig into the soft skin. Joe's breath catches, but he's not afraid.
"Because you're mine!" Nick hisses desperately, and he shoves a hand into Joe's hair, his ring catching and pulling on a tangled curl. The words are a bright firework shock in Joe's chest, and a little sound escapes his parted lips, not a moan or a whimper, just a vocalization of the pain and love and loss he feels.
Joe turns his head, because he knows Nick won't do it, and he kisses Nick.
The kiss starts of soft and easy but Nick doesn't do soft and easy, and he quickly turns it into something else.
Nick moves against Joe and Joe can feel the desperation and need in his movements, as if this is something he's wanted for a long time and the fear that Joe will cut him off, will say no, stop is driving him to make it fast. Joe's hand is still on Nick's back and he slides his hand under Nick's shirt, splaying his fingers across smooth skin. Nick makes a soft sound into Joe's mouth and deepens the kiss, tugging his hair and tipping Joe's head back until it hits the wall with a soft thump.
They should stop, Joe knows, but they won't. They've never been good at separating what they should be from what they are. He's as much a part of Nick as Nick is a part of Joe and this somehow doesn't seem like an unnatural progression for them. It's not new but it's still different enough that they're unsure of the ground on which they're walking.
"Nick," he says, kissing Nick again and again, pausing only for breath.
Nick pushes his tongue into Joe's mouth, planting a knee between Joe's legs. Joe groans low in the back of his throat and he tightens his grip on Nick's waist. The room is almost too hot and Joe can't think. He can feel Nick, hard and pressed against his hip, and the sharp shock of it sends Joe's hips grinding down against Nick's thigh. Nick groans softly and Joe can feel it rumble against his chest. He feels sweat break out around his temples, his neck.
"Nick. Nick, please. Can we-?" Joe breaks the kiss, dizzy with need, and Nick traces his tongue down the line of Joe's jaw, sucks on the pulse at the base of his neck.
"Yeah," Nick pants, and his voice is rough.
Joe pushes forward off the wall and Nick practically lifts him, hands still on his hips, keeping them crushed together. He backs Joe up towards the bed, holds them up when Joe stumbles, until the back of Joe's knees hits the edge of the futon and they tumble down, noses and chins bumping in the fall.
"Fuck," Joe pants against Nick's mouth, his tongue swiping against Nick's teeth, and Nick holds his face in a big hand and pulls Joe's head to the side, angling him so Nick can get closer, kiss him deeper and harder.
Joe feels open and raw, his skin singing and sparking like a live wire. He feels closer to Nick than he ever has, and he doesn't ever want to stop, doesn't ever want to put distance between them again. Nick thrusts against him, one long hard slide of his hips against Joe's, and Joe's back arches off the bed with the feeling of it. Joe's hands wrap around Nick's arms and pull him back down into a bruising kiss. The clash of their mouths, teeth knocking and scraping, hurts a little and Joe finds he sort of wants it to. He wants proof maybe, that this really happened and wasn't a dream, wants to be able to run his tongue over a stinging cut on his lip or a sore spot on his tongue, to find Nick's fingerprints on his hip so that Joe can remember. Nick keeps thrusting against him and Joe bites at Nick's lower lip, pulling a sound from deep in Nick's chest.
They're so desperate for this, it's been so long since it's been just them, alone, and Joe opens his eyes, touches Nick's face. I love you, he wants to say. Don't ever-
"Nick," he says, instead, "I want you to-"
Nick stops him with another kiss. Joe wants this, needs this sweat-hard grind and push, needs to come against Nick, but he needs Nick to keep kissing him even more desperately. The intimacy of Nick's lips against his, their tongues touching and sliding, is like a gift. They thrust against each other but it's not enough, Joe needs more and he can see that Nick does too. His eyes are dark, almost black, and his lips are swollen and red. He looks wild, dangerous even now, but Joe isn't afraid of him.
Is never afraid.
Joe grabs the ass of Nick's jeans, pulls him in hard and fast, and feels Nick tremble against him. He's so close and he wants Nick to be, wants to watch Nick lose control because of Joe. He thrusts again, this time biting the shell of Nick's ear and Nick clutches at Joe's face and neck. He makes a hard sound against Joe's neck, something not quite Joe's name and jerks his hips. Joe hitches a leg up and around Nick's hips and grabs him by the neck, his hand slipping in sweat. He pulls Nick's face to him, presses their foreheads together. Nick's face is contorted.
"Nick," Joe whispers. "Nick. Let go. Do it."
Nick doesn't even make a sound. His whole body freezes for a long moment, and Joe thinks he might have stopped breathing he's so silent. Nick sinks his teeth into his lower lip and Joe can only stare at him, wide-eyed and stunned as he jerks once, twice more against Joe's body and collapses onto him, his breaths painful sounding gasps. Joe wraps his arms around Nick's back and shoves his hips up, fast and desperate now. Each ragged thrust pulls a broken sound from his throat, and Nick fumbles a hand up to cover Joe's mouth, his face still pressed into Joe's shoulder.
"Nick-unh- Nick, I-I gotta, I need-" Joe babbles, sweat stinging his eyes. "Your hand, Nick, gimme your hand."
Nick props himself up on one arm and pops the button on Joe's jeans. He works his hand into Joe's underwear, and it only takes Nick's hand wrapped tight around him, a couple strokes and Joe is there. Nick watches his face the whole time, and Joe feels drunk with his attention, the feeling that his brother is really looking at him, really seeing him there in front of him, for the first time in a long time.
Nick rolls off of him after a moment, and Joe follows, slinging an arm across Nick's stomach. He feels greedy, like he has to touch Nick as much as he can now, before this strange spell ends and Nick closes off again, pulls away.
There's a low murmur from the other room and Nick shifts under Joe's hand. They should move, he knows, before Big Rob comes looking for them. Nick surprises him once again as he shifts closer and presses a kiss to Joe's face. Joe blinks but doesn't say anything, aware that this moment is fragile and any sound or movement he makes will ruin it. Nick lifts a hand and touches Joe's mouth, kisses him again. It's an intimate moment that Joe's never known from him and he doesn't have to wonder why he's getting it now.
"I'm not going to - we're going to get out of this one, Nick."
There are shadows in Nick's eyes but he smirks, cocky, a cover that Joe can see through. A cover Nick should know he can see through. "I know."
He moves away, then, and Joe feels cold without him pressed against his side. When Nick stand slowly, stretching, Joe watches him. There's so much about his brother that he can't see anymore. Nick still hides things from him and Joe hates it. They're all either of them have, Nick's all Joe wants and he wishes that sometimes Nick would realise he doesn't have to push him away. Joe frowns and sits up, buttoning up his fly and running a hand through his hair, smoothing out the curls.
"You look fine," Nick admonishes, but Joe just glares. From somebody who's spent the last few minutes straightening out his t-shirt and jacket, Nick's in no position to ridicule.
"Let's just get this over with," Joe sighs.
When he stands, they're still much too close. Nick looks at him carefully, but there's still a hint of whatever makes Nick dangerous. Joe doesn't think he'll ever lose it. "Joe- "
"We'll be fine," Joe repeats, voice hard.
Nick looks at him for a long moment, his gaze considering. "I know, Joe." he says finally. "You ready?"
"Yeah. More than." Joe picks the discarded gun up off the futon and holds it out to Nick. Nick shakes his head.
"That one's for you. You don't have to hold a semi, Joe, but you gotta carry something." Nick takes the gun and reaches around Joe's back, sliding the gun into the waistband of his jeans. He smoothes Joe's leather jacket down over the hard metal. Joe nods jerkily.
Nick still doesn't step away. "Promise me you'll use it. Promise me you'll use it if you have to." His eyes bore into Joe's and he feel dogged and invaded. But he knows Nick is right. He's going to have to use the gun tonight, he doesn't doubt it for a second.
"I promise." Joe mutters, and Nick looks satisfied. He heads towards the door, but stops abruptly just before he reaches it. He doesn't turn around, just turns his head back slightly. Joe can just see the profile of his shadowed eyes, the line of his nose, his tight-wound jaw.
"I-uh. Thanks, Joe." The words are clipped, but Joe is left gaping as Nick hurries out of the room.
Joe feels a wave of exhaustion crash over him, the shock of everything that happened in the past half hour hitting him hard. He'd like nothing more than to curl up on Big Rob's futon, where the smell of him and Nick still lingers, and sleep until this is all over. Instead, he scrubs his hands over his face and follows Nick out to the living room. where Big Rob and Henrie have the Glocks laid out on the table and are carefully inspecting the components and dividing up ammo cartidges.
Henrie looks up as they come in but doesn't say anything. Big Rob nods and pushes one of the Glocks across the table. "We should have enough ammo to last, even if it all goes tits up."
Joe snorts at Rob using the word tits and makes a mental note to tell him to stop hanging around with Garbo so often. The gun is a heavy weight against his back, and he hates the cold press of metal against his skin. He frowns as Nick picks up the Glock, cradling it in his hands like somebody else might do a child. Henrie picks up his own weapon and Joe is surprised by the concentration on his face, by the determination. It's seems like now that he's in, Henrie is going to uphold his part of the bargain. It makes Joe feel uncomfortable. He'd much rather do the small jobs, the ones that involve getting in, grabbing the gear and then getting out, all within the smallest amount of time possible.
Someone - Joe - screwed it up this time, though. He grabs the keys off of the table. "I'll get the car," he says, turning his back on all three of them.
Come on, Joe. Get it together. Get your head in the game.
Henrie stands up, stuffing the gun into the front waistband of his pants. "Boys," he declares, "It's time to rock."
Joe stops with his hand on the doorknob and turns, disbelief etched on his face. "Henrie, you cheesy motherfucker," he says, shaking his head. But in his periphery Joe can see just the corner of Nick's mouth quirk up a tiny bit, and he feels the tight steel band that's constricting his chest loosen a little.
The drive to Baby V's apartment building is silent and tense, Nick's hands white around the wheel again. Joe can feel his walls back up around him, the cold and distant set of his features as effective in cutting Joe off from Nick as a physical brick wall on the console between them. Big Rob is jammed uncomfortably into the backseat of the Mustang, and Henrie is pretty much pasted to Rob's side in the small remaining space and is looking mutinous, clicking the safety of his gun on and off rhythmically. Big Rob keeps cutting suspicious sidelong glances at Henrie and shaking his head minutely whenever he catches Joe's eye in the mirror.
They pull up a block away from the back of the building, a modern 8-story block of pink adobe and big glass windows. Nick cuts the engine and catches Joe's eye for a split second before turning around in his seat .
"All right. Henrie, Rob and I go in the back entrance. Henrie and Rob split off to the north side to draw the stairwell guards away and pick them off. I go for the stairwell. Joe goes in the side entrance around to the elevator and takes that guard. We aren't going to use the elevator, that's just asking for trouble, but we have to get rid of the guard. I'll take Bleu. Do your thing and get your asses to Baby V's apartment ASAP."
Nick pauses, "And remember. No kill shots. Knees, arms, maybe a clean shoulder if you have to. Nothing near a big artery. Get their guns and knock 'em out."
Big Rob nods and opens the side door. As he climbs out, Joe stares out at the building they're about to walk into. He can hear Henrie grumbling behind him and rolls his eyes.
"You ready?" Nick sits back in his seat and searches the side of Joe's face.
Joe could lie and say that he is, that he's been ready since this morning, but he doesn't. Instead he opens the glove compartment and pulls a thin leather holster out, running his hand over it slowly and then meet's Nick's gaze, unashamed.
"He fights dirty," he snarls, angry that Nick is going up against this, that they all are. He's already feeling the rush of adrenaline and it will only get more profound the further into this they go. It's in those moments that he wonders if this is what Nick feels all the time.
Nick stares at him, silent.
"You'll need all the extra advantages you can get." He pulls a knife out of the holster, the handle a solid silver and glinting in the setting sun. "He gave this to me on my twenty-first birthday," he says slowly. He doesn't have to elaborate on who. He knows Nick will understand. "He always said I might need it some day, but you will more than me."
Nick takes the knife slowly, turning it over in his hands. He doesn't say anything and Joe doesn't expect him to, so he pushes the holster into Nick's hands and doesn't wait to see what Nick does with it. He opens his door and climbs out, shutting it gently. He checks his gun one last time, holds it in his hand, resting it against his thigh as Nick comes around the car. Joe can tell by his face that he's ready for this and everything they have to do. His anger is back, eyes hard and determined, but they soften momentarily as he reaches up and places a hand on the back of Joe's neck, pulls him forward. Their foreheads touch and Nick breathes, "Be careful," into the space between them.
Joe rests a hand on Nick's hip, squeezes and then pulls away. "Go," he says, voice tight.
Together, they move to join Henrie and Rob by the building's back entrance. They both have their Glocks cocked and ready and Joe nods at each. Nick positions himself outside of the door. "On five, we go in."
Joe swallows, but pats both Henrie and Rob on the shoulder and then hugs the side of the building as he heads for the rusted brown door. He counts under his breath, reaching five and hears the slam of Nick's door, a yell and then he's kicking open his own door, swinging his gun up and holding it in front of him, grip tight. There's already a commotion inside. He can see around the corner of the stairwell and Henrie is already half in the corridor, yelling at one of the two guards coming towards them. Rob yells something about Nick that Joe can't make out, but he grabs the second guard by the scruff of his jacket and pulls him around, slamming him against the wall.
Joe's jaw tightens and he turns to find Nick, only to come face to face with the barrel of a gun.
It's Nick's gun, the Glock that had been in Nick's hand only a minute ago.
Joe can't think, can't process what is happening. He's frozen into stone and the cold press of the gunmetal against his forehead can do nothing to him. All he can see is Nick. Nick pressed facedown on the gleaming marble floor. Nick, a deep gash on his forehead from a bullet graze dripping thick blood down the side of his face. Nick, pale and bloody and on the floor with a heavy boot on his fragile neck and another gun pointing right at his head.
There is still a fight going on, a distant, muffled buzz of noise that barely reaches Joe through the roaring in his ears, the pounding of his pulse, his heart pumping frantically as if it could replace the blood Nick was losing if only it beat fast enough. Nick's eyes are closed, and for a dark moment that seems to last forever, Joe can't tell if he's breathing. The thought sears through his body like electricity and he feels deep terror rise like bile in his throat. Joe can't- Nick can't be-- Then he sees the movement of Nick's chest and the skin around his eyes tighten with pain, and Joe takes a breath, his fingers tingling.
Snap out of it, Joseph. Wake up.
It takes the greatest effort of Joe's life to tear his gaze from Nick's face, but he glances around quickly to assess the situation. Big Rob has got one of the guards jammed against the wall, gun digging into the man's back. Henrie is on the floor beneath the other guard, who's sporting a bloody nose and a missing tooth but has his gun pressed between Henrie's eyes.
It's Bleu who has Nick on the ground. Joe doesn't know what happened, what changed to bring Bleu down from outside Baby V's door to the stairwell, but none of that even matters. All that matters is that Nick is down. On the ground with his blood shining on his skin. Bleu grins up at Joe, one hand holding the Glock to Joe's head, his foot on Nick's neck and his other hand pointing his gun at Nick's head.
No one speaks, and the only sound in the hallway is that of their heavy pants. Nick's eyes flutter and open, bleary at first but focusing with shocking speed. He locks eyes with Joe, and it hits Joe in the chest like a speeding train.
It's all happening again.
--
"Are you sure about this one?" Kevin looks doubtful, and he keeps looking back over his shoulder, compulsively scanning the alley.
Nick smirks, cocks his gun and pats Kevin on the shoulder. "K2. Come on. What could possibly go wrong?"
Joe groans and rolls his eyes. Nick never learns, but Joe would never say anything. Nick's laughing at Kevin, eyes young and clear and open and Kevin snorts and smacks Nick upside the head with a fond grin.
"Come on guys," Joe says, interrupting their banter. "Let's do this."
Kevin sobers and turns to the heavy metal door. He hooks the code key replicator up to the keypad on the wall next to the door, and taps rapid-fire on the buttons, his fingers flying and his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth. Joe taps his foot impatiently and checks his watch, and Kevin shoots him a sideways glance. "You're in my space, Joe. Move." Joe smiles sarcastically and steps closer to rest his chin on Kevin's shoulder and breathe loudly in his ear, and it's Kevin's turn to roll his eyes.
"Got it," Kevin says triumphantly, and steps back from the door. The three of them exchange a look and a nod, counting a silent communal three-count.
Joe takes the lead, cradling the gun in his hand as he kicks open the door. There are no guards inside, just as they heard it would be, and he glances back over his shoulder. "All clear, guys," he shouts and then takes in the merchandise. Boxes upon boxes just waiting for them to load up. They'll make a mint off of all these components and he's already mentally counting the cash when Kevin makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat.
Joe barely has time to turn around before gunfire erupts in the small warehouse, echoing off the metal and concrete, and Joe curses under his breath, ducks behind a metal pillar. "Where the fuck did they come from?" he screams at his brothers.
Nick is shouting something about a trap, but Joe ignores him and concentrates on firing back. He can't even see who he's shooting at. He's fighting blind and he hates that more than anything. Out of the corner of his eye Joe can see Kevin crouched down behind a pile of crates and Nick behind the door, firing wildly around the corner. His little brother still has to learn how to handle a gun properly, he's not hitting anything but dirt with the way he's shooting.
Joe's about to say something, to get them out, when Kevin shouts, a scared and desperate sound, and Joe whips around just in time to hear the high whine of a bullet as it misses his neck by inches. Nick's caught in a headlock, a huge tattooed man pressing a knife to his windpipe but he still has his gun up, not afraid. It's the sight of Kevin, though, that makes the blood drain from Joe's face, makes him feel cold and dizzy with shock. There's a guy right behind Kevin, a guy with a long angry scar running down the side of his face, holding a gun to his temple and yanking his arms behind his back and twisting them painfully up.
"Drop. Your gun." The man's voice is like dragging over gravel, and it scrapes a shiver out of Joe but he shakes his head.
"Not a chance." Joe snaps, and his voice only trembles the slightest bit.
"How quickly do you think you can shoot, boy?"
Anger boils in Joe, he knows he's being mocked, and his feet drag him one step forward, only to the feel the cool press of metal against his neck. "There are two of us," Joe says, and he knows it's weak and pathetic. Kevin's eyes hold fear and anger, and Joe knows he could never shoot fast enough.
"You motherfucker," Nick snarls, snapping his gun up. Joe can see blood on his neck from the knife, but Nick barely feels it, he never does.
"Nick, shut the fuck up," Joe snaps, and turns back to the man. "Don't think I won't shoot you. I'll shoot you in a second."
The man tips back his head and laughs, booming in the warehouse.
Joe sees it happen like it's in slow motion, like the spinning world is creeping slowly to a stop as everything in Joe's life, everything he's known and believed always to be true crumbles and breaks. Kevin is looking at Joe, and his face is tired and beloved, and Joe pulls the trigger of his gun just a split second after the man does, and he doesn't stop.
He doesn't remember much of what happened after, only that there was blood, so much blood. He remembers standing in the middle of the warehouse, gun hanging limp by his side and then Demi and Selena and then Nick. Nick, who takes Joe's gun from his nerveless fingers. Nick, who catches him as Joe's legs give out and puts him in the Mustang, head between his knees, numb. Nick, who then disappears into the warehouse for a very long time and comes out with his clothes covered in blood and carrying their brother wrapped in a blanket. Nick, who takes Joe back to their apartment, gives him a sleeping pill and puts him in bed and is gone until morning. Nick, who cleans everything up, erases what happened that night from everything but their memories.
Nick, who comes back changed, who never had that bright, open look in his eyes again.
---
Nick, who still has a gun pressed to his temple.
Joe's gun is warm and heavy in his hands, and he doesn't think twice.
He only has to look Nick in the eye to know that he needs to act, that he can't lose Nick, not when he's the only person in the world Joe has. Later, Joe won't know how he moved so fast, how he pulled it off without getting either of them killed, but he's driven by a force more powerful than Bleu can comprehend. Pride is always the downfall of Zefron's goons and Joe can see it all over Bleu's face. He's smirking, saying something that Joe can't make out; it's as if he's moving through mud, hearing sounds through a long tunnel. He looks Bleu in the eye and he can feel his hands shaking. He wills them to stop; he needs Bleu to think he's won, needs Bleu to think he's finally done what nobody else could and got - what's left of - the Jonas Brothers right where he wants them.
Bleu looks away for only a split second, gloating at Nick still trapped under his gun, but a second is all Joe needs. He's faster than anybody ever gives him credit for, smarter than people think. Bleu is watching for Joe to raise his gun, and Joe can see that Bleu's finger isn't on the trigger of Nick's Glock. Joe drops his own gun and Bleu's eyes follow it, and in that moment Joe darts a hand forward, wraps it around Nick's Glock and twists it away in a flash. Bleu looks surprised, but he grimaces as his wrist twists and his hold on the gun breaks. Furious, he presses his foot down harder on Nick's neck, squeezing a choked gasp out of Nick's throat. Joe can see the pain in Nick's eyes, and it wouldn't even take a second for Bleu to pull the trigger and blow his brother away.
"Are you- " Bleu starts, the beginnings of a nasty smile on his face.
Joe doesn't give him the chance to finish. Before Bleu can gloat, before he can speak the words fast enough a single shot resounds around the empty corridor. Then another, again and again and Joe realises belatedly that it's him. Henrie and Rob are moving somewhere in his periphery, but Joe's vision is a tunnel, his hearing narrowed down to one frequency. He's breathing heavily, his pants like sobs, and he only stops shooting when Nick is standing before him, bleeding and pained, but with his hands on the gun, saying Joe's name over and over.
There's blood on Nick's shirt and Joe touches it slowly, eyes wide. "You're bleeding," he says, voice cracking. He doesn't know what to do.
"It's not mine," Nick is saying, thin and high, pushing Joe down to the floor, his back to the wall. "It's not mine."
It's then Joe feels the pain.
Part Three