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Part One; don't know what you've got until it's gone
Joe breaks up with God the day Nick is diagnosed with diabetes.
After he comes to and finds himself on the hospital floor, with Kevin, ghostly pale, shaking his shoulder and repeating his name over and over in a frantic whisper, Joe gets himself up, and he starts to pray.
He prays for whatever is wrong with Nick to take him instead. He prays that God will let him bear this burden, that He will let Joe be the older brother Nick deserves. He sits on a chair in Nick's hospital room, and he's there with his head in his hands, still praying, when Nick looks at his doctor and asks, "Am I going to die?" And Joe's there when the doctor tells him no, that diabetes is manageable, if he begins his treatments and sticks with them, he'll be fine.
Joe's there to see the determined set in Nick's shoulder, there to see the decision to keep going, no matter what, flash in his eyes. Joe watches this change come over Nick and, in that moment, he loses the carefree brother he's loved so long. He loses the boy with the high pitched giggle and the easy, confident, smile, the one who has led their family across America with a voice Joe's always trusted could change the world. Nick changes before Joe's eyes and he knows that he will love this new Nick all the more for his bravery, his strength, but it's not enough for Joe to keep his peace with God.
Joe's been raised his whole life to believe that if you prayed hard enough, if you truly believed, God would answer your prayers. He was raised to believe that miracles could happen, that prayer could heal, move mountains, save lives. But in that moment, when his prayers aren't answered and Joe has to sit and watch the tole this takes , so instantly, so viscerally, on Nick, he puts his hands out in front of him, fingers spread wide, and ends any covenants he's made with his father's God.
He doesn't tell anyone about his choice. There's no one he could tell, no one who would understand. He wants to tell Kevin, and he almost does, just out of the weight of keeping it from Nick. But he stays quiet, knowing he burdens Kevin enough, makes him take the brunt of Joe's frustration and his anger, his feelings of helplessness at watching all this happen to Nick, watching him work so hard to give so much. He knows it would be too unfair to tell Kevin simply because he can't tell Nick, can't take his faith and shake it to it's foundations, which Joe has always known rests on family.
He can't tell Nick what his diagnosis has cost Joe, not when Nick is living his own vow everyday, never letting the diabetes slow him down. Not when Nick left the hospital still fifteen pounds under weight, his ribs showing and making Joe sweat, making his fingers cut half moons into his palms. He was so weak and yet, only two days later, they were back on the road. Not when Nick's back singing, back touring and struggling under debt, under the weight of their whole families expectations. Not when Nick takes that on too, takes it as his responsibility, stronger than before. Not when he makes it his duty to save his family from the poverty that is threatening to overtake them. Nick takes on this role, one that should never belong to someone so young, becomes provider, savior. He does it while giving himself shots of insulin in the back of a van, levels rocketing in and out of control, no matter how hard he struggles to keep on top of it, no matter how closely Joe watches him.
So Joe can't take from Nick the faith that preserves him. He can't tell Nick every prayer now feels hollow on his lips.
Instead, Joe shrugs off his shyness, shrugs off the quiet keyboarder, content to hang back and watch Nick sing. He lets go of that boy and becomes someone new, changing just as Nick has changed. He hurls himself off speakers and runs in circles, shouting, chases non-existent traffic, and prowls up and down the front of their stage, drawing as much attention to himself as he can so Nick can sit at his piano, so he can catch what passes, as a Jonas Brother, for some rest.
And on quiet nights, wrapped around Nick in the back of their trailer or snuggled together in the same twin bed on the rare times they splurge for motel rooms, Joe closes his eyes and lets Nick believe Joe is praying with him.
---
Joe still wears his ring. The promises held there are to his family, to his brothers, and Joe still believes in them, even if he doesn't believe in much else. Even if he looks at his father, sometimes, and wonders how he can talk of sacrifice and faith, of family and duty, when it's Nick that's doing all the heavy lifting. Nick's voice, Nick's songs.
When the first girls start to scream for him, to scream Joe's name, he realizes his pretty face is finally something he can use. Something that will get him more than dates he can't follow through on, kisses that feel empty and cold against his lips.
---
The record sells poorly, and after a few panicked months, they lose their label as well.
Joe finds Nick on the side of the road, sitting on the gravel shoulder with his head in his hands right after their father has given them the news. Joe comes close to him and puts his arm around Nick's shoulders, feels them vibrating under Nick's fight against tears.
"What are we going to do now, Joe?" Nick asks, sounding desperate and uncertain and young, like he hasn't in months.
Joe pulls Nick closer and wills the words to come, sets his teeth as he searches for someway, anyway, to say the right thing. To not fail Nick in this moment. Eventually he laughs, low and without humor, and says, "I guess I could always get a job at Starbucks," and even though it's nothing, no real hope at all, he feels Nick loosen underneath him.
Nick chuckles and wipes at his cheeks, and says, "We gotta keep on fighting, Joe. We have to."
Joe smiles sadly, wishing he had something other than his own weakness to keep Nick strong, but he nods, because it's what Nick needs him to do, and says, "We won't let this slow us down."
---
In the end, it's their fans that save them. Their fans who keep commenting on their MySpace, who keep writing letters, who keep asking them about new songs, new shows. It's Kevin, all of eighteen and yet so on top of everything, Kevin who never stops networking, never stops putting their name out there. It's Nick, who never gives up, not giving in ever again to that one moment of weakness, never again letting hopelessness and exhaustion take him. And maybe it's Joe, who sticks by them, who believes in them, who will do anything, give up anything, as long as Nick can live his dream and Joe and Kevin can be there to see him live it, to keep him grounded, keep him safe.
It's all that which sustains them, which keeps them going until finally, there's Disney. The Mouse who sweeps them up and makes them a bright and shiny cog in a terrifyingly well-organized machine, and then before Joe knows it there's no more trailer, no more van. No more shitty motels and worrying every night if they'll be able to keep going the next day. No more waking up everyday with the expectation that each show is their last.
Suddenly the media is on them, all the time, suddenly there are hundreds instead of dozens of screaming fans, and then just as suddenly, before Joe feels like he can even catch his breath, there are thousands.
Everything happens in rapid succession. A new tour, a new album, the spots on Miley's show, touring with her, the roller coaster of intensity of her and Nick's relationship, Joe watching helplessly as it comes cashing down at the end of the tour. Nick takes that failure as hard as the rest, folding it inside himself and carrying it with him. He's changed after it, even older, even more restrained. Less quick to share his smiles, less willing to let even Joe in, to let any chinks in his carefully woven armor show through. Nick is strong, and brave, and he's not letting anyone, or anything, and least of all his diabetes, slow him down. Joe's proud, but sometimes he feels like he's the only one who sees how much that's cost Nick. How it means, more and more, that he's not letting anyone else in, either. Never giving anyone the chance to try and cause him to him falter, to leave the path of his and their father's ambitions for even one second.
They finish up with Miley and, with barely a moment's pause, they start another tour, their tour, headlining arenas, selling out to thousands. It's a gong-show, every minute of their lives feels crazy and exciting and terrifying, suddenly having so much to lose, and so much just inside their reach, if only they can stretch hard enough and grab it.
Joe feels like he doesn't sleep, doesn't stop for eight months straight. He's aware of nothing but the stage, the fans, and Nick. Always Nick. Nick, who is still tired too often, pale too often. Nick, who has to run off stage and chug juice. Nick, who can't sleep because he's too busy writing his next song, planning their next move, even more determined than before to succeed.
Joe feels dizzy, almost sick with it, from the touring, from the fans, from the constant need to be on all the time, to be the crazy one. Pretty, silly, unpredictable Joe. The cute, funny one. He feels like he's losing himself, forgetting who he once was, feels Danger slipping out of being a role he plays and into who Joe really is and sometimes he feels like he's spinning too fast to see straight.
Nothing is sacred anymore. Not their faith, not their rings, not even Nick's disease. Every inch of them is incorporated, shifted, tweaked, until Nick's diabetes is just another part of the promotion, another part of the Jonas Brother's package, with merchandise to match. Whenever they give interviews, after they go public about it, members of the Jonas family speak about how the diagnosis was a way for God to show them to appreciate every moment, that it was a test, a lesson. They talk about how it was a blessing. A way for Nick to give back, a way for all of them to spread awareness and share Nick's story. A story about overcoming, a story about not letting anything slow you down.
Every time, Joe plays his part. He talks about how proud he is of Nick, talks about being grateful to have him in the band, like somehow that's the reason, like this curse on Nick is why they should be glad to have Nick with them, why they should praise the technologies that keep Nick upright, keep him functioning. He thanks whoever has allowed them the opportunity to come and speak about it that day. He smiles through his father's talk of God, through his mother's subtle changes in Nick's story. He lets her say whatever she needs to believe, lets her tell the world and herself she noticed that Nick was fading, that she took the steps to get him help because of a mother's intuition, and not the frantic pleas of her second son.
He stays quiet because Joe loves his parents, because he knows that even good people have to lie to themselves sometimes, especially with all his parents define themselves by believing in. If anyone knows the cost of faith, the strength it takes to hold onto that belief, it's Joe, having lost it. Having given up, faced with a betrayal too bitter, too harsh on the thing he loves most in the world, to let stand.
He puts up with it because he has to, but he keeps certain things sacred, tells some truths despite who it might hurt. He lets his mother tell Nick's story her way, but that doesn't mean Joe stops telling it in his. When asked, he says that he was the one who saw Nick change, in those weeks before he was diagnosed. He talks of Nick's terrifying weight loss, but more than that, Joe talks about his desperate need to believe that the way Nick was turning brittle and sharp, mean edges and no patience at all, not even with Joe, wasn't really him. Couldn't really have been Nick.
He tells that story because it's the only truth Joe has left inside a life that's more and more about image everyday, more and more about living up to standards he no longer believes in. He tells that story and he wears the dog chains along with Nick, sharing the burden of his disease in the only ways he's been allowed. It's not much, but it's something, some semblance of truth, of reality, to keep Joe grounded as he and his brothers ascend to dizzying new heights.
They're going higher, higher, and Joe barely recognizes himself when he looks in the mirror, let alone when he looks across the stage and sees Nick on one side and Kevin on the other. They spend every minute together but they're drifting away from them each other, all three of them, but Nick and Joe most of all, and he doesn't know how to stop it, doesn't know how to stop any of it, until, suddenly, everything pauses. They stop moving, stop singing, stop running like crazy people through everyday.
Suddenly they're just out in the middle of nowhere, in Canada, of all places, filming a weird little movie for Disney where Joe finds himself at the center of a very different stage, having to figure out how to be a movie star. Trying to figure out a way to be good enough so that this will be a stepping stone instead of a roadblock on the path to living Nick's dream.
---
The longer Nick's been diagnosed, the less tolerance he has for questions about it from Joe. He puts up with questions about his levels and how much he's eating from their mother, smiles through the regular check-ups from the nurse who sidelines as their mother's assistant so she can travel with them, and who has now settled with them on location. He keeps his answers short and positive when their father asks. He stays hopeful and encouraging for Kevin. He's funny and disarming and positive for the cameras.
But when it's Joe, Nick's reactions are different. Harsher, less controlled. Nick is dangerous they're alone and Nick's mood seems off, his temper spiking at the most unexpected moments, when Joe feels prickly from worry, half afraid it's from a drop in Nick's levels and half afraid it's not, that it's just Joe himself that Nick's so frustrated with. In moments like that when Joe asks if he's eaten, asks if he's checked his levels recently, too tired himself to be anything but blunt, direct, Nick has a tendency to snap back, even more angry than before. Joe tries to remember what it must be like, on the other side; to have every bad mood questioned, every cranky comment or tight lipped reply held under scrutiny. He tries to remember that it's not his asking that makes Nick's levels low, or too high, those times when he checks them even while glaring resentfully at Joe and shaking his head, swearing he's fine, only to find that he's not.
Joe hates those moments most of all, the way Nick always just deflates under the realization that once again, as hard as he's worked to be careful, to eat right, to sleep when he can, to do everything he's supposed to do that's supposed to be enough, sometimes it's just not. Sometimes his body is against him no matter how well Nick treats it, no matter how much resolution to carry on is in his heart.
Joe hates to be the one to bring that feeling down on Nick, to be the one to remind him of all the things he can't do, all the little and yet essential ways he's still so far from in control of his body and his life, no matter how good the treatments are, no matter how careful Nick is.
It's a reality Joe's lived for months, slowly progressing from a sharp, new hurt into something almost familiar. His share of what's happened to Nick, his cross. It gets especially bad, though, during the filming of Camp Rock. Nick withdraws from Joe more and more, giving him less chances to ask, less opportunities to notice how hard Nick is struggling. Joe notices anyway, because it's Nick, and Joe's world is based on keeping Nick safe, on watching close enough to save him from anything. But it's hard, knowing Nick is deliberately shutting him out. Knowing that Nick's battle against his own body is one he's trying to fight all on his own.
In times like these, Joe almost wishes he did still believe in God, if only so he could rail against him.
---
As Nick pulls further and further away from Joe as filming goes on, he finds companionship with his co-star, Demi. She's amazingly grounded, funny, and cool, and Joe feels like he should have a crush on her, only he's having too much time fun just hanging out with her and goofing around with her on set and in their precious little downtime to try and get something like that going.
She makes fun of him, doesn't let him get away with anything, least of all having any kind of an ego about the movie, or their meteoric rise to fame. She's good at reminding him, even though she wasn't there, how hard it really was, how much work it really took, behind the explosion that's happening around them now. Demi's there for Joe like Nick once was, reminding him of how hard he has to work to stay humble, reminding him how much sacrifice comes along with so much success. She's there to laugh with him, to practice dance moves and their duet, there to clap when he does well.
Nick's there, too, but he's distant, shadowed. He spends all their time off sleeping and, while Joe's grateful Nick's giving himself the luxury of rest, he misses him. Misses the way Nick used to invite Joe to nap with him, silent hands stretching out to tug Joe into the bed beside him, arms winding around Joe to keep him close. Misses singing with him in their tiled bathroom back home, using each other's fists for microphones. He misses the touch of Nick's lips against his hair as they said good night, misses the way they used to fit together, when Joe was still taller and Nick could tuck under his arm as they stood side by side. He misses the days when Nick was small enough for Joe to pick him up, to toss him around until he gave in, laughing and beating his fists ineffectually against Joe's chest. He misses passing out on Nick's shoulder in the back of the van, misses losing sleep talking to him for hours, their hands clasped under the sheets.
Nick barely touches Joe anymore. He doesn't seek Joe out, doesn't stay up with him, talking, whispering. They're still rooming together, but it feels like he never sees Nick anymore. Even when Nick is there, watching Joe shoot a scene, a proud smile on his face, it never stays long enough for Joe to return it, always slipping off Nick's face as soon as he catches Joe watching.
He doesn't stop missing Nick, doesn't stop waiting for whatever it is that's wrong between them to right itself, waiting for his moods and levels to settle again, but he finds ways to make do, as best he can, in the mean time. When his dog dies, Joe wants to go to Nick, but the memory of how Nick snapped at him when he asked him how he was feeling the night before is too clear, too sharp, in his memory. So he finds Demi instead, lets her coax him into a hug and rest her chin on his shoulder, listening while he tells stories of Cocoa's many triumphs and amazing deeds.
---
As filming winds down and Nick still isn't letting Joe get closer again, still isn't letting him take care of Nick like Joe needs to, like he's supposed to, he starts to worry it's more than the diabetes. More than a long string of bad days, of too many highs and lows.
After Nick leaves the set the second after they film the Connect Three reunion hug, stalking away from Joe like he's been burned, Joe resolves to settle things, to make Nick talk. Only he can't seem to actually find Nick.
He looks everywhere, until he finds Demi instead, and she points him in the direction of the piano they have set up in one of the recording rooms. Joe could kick himself for not looking there first, but new songs, the band, have been so far from his mind in the frenzy of the shoot, in his frantic worry about how Nick's been slipping further and further away from him.
Nick's at the piano, his posture perfect, his face serene as his fingers glide over the keys, playing a song Joe's never heard. Even after only a few notes, he feels the music grab onto his heart, squeezing and refusing to let go, and Joe can't keep the small gasp that passes through his lips.
Nick's hands crash over the keys, head whipping around to catch Joe staring, looking all the while like he's the one whose been caught.
Joe smiles, small and careful, not wanting to spook Nick more than he already is.
"Hey," he says with a stupid little wave. He shakes his head at himself, wondering when it was that he started judging every action made in front of Nick so harshly.
Nick nods and says slowly, "Hey, Joe."
"Can I sit?" Joe asks, pushing his luck because he can't help it. It's been so long since they've sat at a piano together, trying to find the music together.
For a minute, Nick looks like he's going to say no, and Joe doesn't know what he'll do, how he'll deal, but then Nick says, "Okay," and Joe all but runs to sit down beside him before Nick can change his mind.
"What are you writing?"
Nick doesn't look up from the keys, but he bites his lip and says, "Something new. Something..." he shakes his head. "It's about the things you lose. The things you lose without even realizing you had them, or how much they meant, in the first place," he swallows hard and finally glances, just quick and over his shoulder, licking his lip, at Joe. Joe watches him, waits Nick out as he bites his lip so hard it goes white under his teeth, waits until he says, "It's about you, Joe. About me and you."
Joe feels his heart slam violently in his chest, but he stays silent, focuses all his energy on not letting himself speak, begs himself for patience until Nick starts to play again, starts to sing.
He manages to stay quiet, at least for a little while, even as the song strips bare all the pain of the last months, all the uncertainty and the struggle, you don't know what you've got until it's gone, bringing it from the place where Joe keeps it buried right up to the surface. But when Nick sings, "every time you smile, you laugh, you glow, you don't even know, know, know, you don't even know," Joe feels the love, the longing, in those words, and he has to move, has to touch Nick. At his touch, Nick breaks, stops playing, caving into Joe and clinging to him hard as Joe's arms come around him.
"I'm sorry," he says, because he finally understands what he has to be sorry for.
"I tried to do it without you, tried to manage it. Tried to be positive, to be strong and not, not use it as an excuse. But I didn't - I couldn't - I need you so much, Joe, and I can't - I can't do it without you - I don't want to." His voice is wrecked, and so sorry, but Joe just holds him closer.
"It's okay, Nick, it's okay. I don't want you to either." Joe promises, holding on tight and silently vowing to never let go.
---
Nick kisses Joe for the first time on his sixteenth birthday. He kisses Joe when everyone else has said good night, when it's just the two of them again, alone in Nick's bedroom in their new house, when it seems like the most natural thing for Nick to do in the world is to tilt up Joe's chin and kiss him, soft and slow. Nick kisses him when their movie is breaking Disney records and their new tour is kind of literally burning things up, when their new album is clicking, coming together and becoming something better, stronger than anything they've written so far.
Nick kisses him because he knows Joe's answer is already yes, given months ago when they were still shooting the movie, maybe even given earlier than that.
Nick kisses him and Joe thinks, okay. Joe thinks, so this is what I can do.
In that moment, when so many doors close just as the only one that's ever matters truly opens up to him, when Joe kisses Nick back and knows he's being given a way to truly help, to really be what and who Nick needs him to be, Joe almost believes in God again.
Part two; gravity is working against me
Joe doesn't know what to call what he and Nick have. They're not boyfriends, of course, because that would be impossible. They can never tell anyone, or go on dates and hold hands in public, or do any other normal, couple things. They can't celebrate Valentine's Day together or make each other promises.
Mostly, things between them are the same as they've always been. First and foremost, they're brothers. Joe is still older and now Nick is taller, and they still steal each other's socks sometimes and wrestle each other to the ground over it. They still look to one another, rely on one another, to be there, always, across the stage. They still survive interviews by passing quiet inside jokes back and forth, off topic comments meant to keep the other one sane, keep them grounded. And Nick still tries to manage his diabetes on his own and Joe still endures glares and the occasional shouting match in his efforts to show Nick he doesn't have to.
The only real difference is that sometimes, when Nick's had an especially hard time, when tension is building between Nick's denial and Joe's concern, sometimes then Joe will poke and prod at Nick until he acts - until all the distance between them is closed, erased in a few frantic, frenzied movements. It's not that often. In fact, it's so rare Joe finds himself half believing he's imagined it, as weeks pass when things are fine, when Nick is healthy and the shows are good, when the crowds love them and everyone sings along. But inevitably, gradually, but ever so surely, Nick will have a bad couple days, moods fluctuating with his levels, and he'll become exhausted beyond even what even their insane schedules should account for. All this while, Joe tries and fails to get him to rest, to get Nick to listen when Joe says he's there to help him, to pick up the slack so no one else sees that Nick needs it, so it can be a secret, a load shared between them. When things get that bad, so bad Joe doesn't know what to do or how they'll make the next show, he'll just give in to the worry and the desperate need to help Nick some way, anyway, and he'll push at Nick, push and push until he snaps. Strong hands holding Joe's wrists against the wall, the bed, whatever's closest, his angry mouth devouring Joe's, the frustration and fear and lack of control seeping out of Nick as he pours it into Joe, slamming into him until Nick is hollowed out and breathing hard and spent against Joe.
Joe doesn't care that Nick is rough with him in those moments, doesn't mind the bruises or the soreness that follows. He carries those things as the best reminder he has - proof that there is still some way Joe has to help him, still something he can give Nick that no one else can. The part he keeps quiet, largely even to himself, is how much he likes the knowing where those marks came from, knowing they're from Nick, because, at least in that moment, he needed Joe more than anyone else, and in that moment, made Joe completely his.
But it's not what you could call a relationship, not really. Not when it's so infrequent, so close to violence - more like Nick is fighting himself than fucking Joe.
Nick is always sweet to him, after, but sorry, eyes full of regret, and that's what Joe would change. Nothing else, just the remorse in Nick's eyes across the pillow, after. Just the way he carries that remorse for days, along with the resolve in his shoulders that keeps Nick's hands off Joe, keeps their conversations short, their moments alone rare and reserved.
Joe misses Nick most of all right after he has him the closest, and even though he's willing, grateful even, for the opportunity to be what Nick needs, he can't help but wish that Nick didn't burn out that need so quickly. An angry fuse he stores up until it engulfs them both.
---
The Burnin' Up tour ends and they get through the disappoint and the thrill of the Grammy's. They're mostly just doing promotion for the movie, and finishing up filming for JONAS, and it almost feels like downtime. They're not playing shows every night, anyway, on top of all the other stuff, so yeah. It's about as close to downtime as they're used to getting.
They're even living in a real live house again, not just hotel rooms and buses, and it's almost like a real life. Their house in LA is different, of course, than the houses Joe had known in his childhood. New and big and airy, with rooms in between Joe and Nick, instead of the few feet of space that once separated them. They still end up in the same room, most nights. The habit of shared hotel rooms and childhood bedrooms still too strong a pull to resist.
Nick comes to Joe on a night like so many others, pajama bottoms and nothing else, smiling tiredly and shuffling barefoot over carpet to get to where Joe's already tucked into bed, reading the newest Paul Coelho novel. He loves it like he's loved all the others, and he's almost annoyed to be interrupted. But it's Nick, inching Joe over to make room, hot breath on Joe's skin sending shivers along his spine, and he can't say he actually minds, not really.
"Hey," Nick says softly, once he's settled.
"Hey," Joe responds amicably, testing the waters with a tentative smile.
He doesn't know what this is, yet. Nick seems loose, relaxed - nothing like the way he's normally coiled up into himself when another test kit has told him something he doesn't want to know, or when words are fighting him in his newest song. All the ways things build up inside him until he has to bleed them out of himself and into Joe's open arms. But even though Nick is lax and smiling against him, his hands are roving, almost absently, like Nick doesn't realize what he's doing as he talks aimlessly about the shoot tomorrow, the interview they have after that, what Joe wants for dinner, whether they should go for a drive that evening if they have time.
It's not until Joe sucks in a shuddering breath as one of Nick's fingers strays over his right nipple that Nick seems to snap into sudden awareness, yanking back from Joe and stammering an apology.
By the time Joe can even begin to process what's happening, Nick is as far from him as the wall the bed is pressed against will allow, his hands held out above the covers like he's reassuring Joe it won't happen again.
"Sorry," Nick says again, red cheeked and refusing to make eye contact.
Joe carefully moves back into Nick's space, cocking his head at odd angles, trying to catch Nick's gaze.
"It wasn't a bad noise," Joe tries to explain, even as he feels his vocabulary for this is woefully lacking. "You just caught me by surprise. It's okay."
Nick shakes his head. "It's not okay. Not at all." It doesn't sound like he's telling Joe, though. It sounds like Nick's telling himself, a harsh reminder he's disappointed he requires. Nick's always been hardest on himself.
Joe touches his shoulder, and Nick jerks away sharply, glaring at the space between them like he's willing it to increase.
"Nick, we've done this," Joe speaks slowly, hoping to stumble onto an explanation as he goes along, "we've done more than this, we're past--"
"That's different," Nick bites in an interruption, his lips snapping back into a tight line as soon as he's finishes speaking. Joe waits, but Nick stubbornly fails to expand on this statement. Finally, Joe sighs and rolls onto his back, no longer turned into Nick, trying to edge closer.
After a long time, Nick settles onto his own back, and in the smallness of Joe's twin bed, their shoulders touch.
Nick doesn't say anything else, but Joe guesses he should just be grateful that Nick doesn't jerk away at even this slight contact.
---
When Joe wakes up the next morning, Nick is wrapped him, his leg slung over Joe's hip, one arm tucked under his chin and the other draped across Joe's chest.
Joe breathes in, counts to ten and for those brief seconds allows himself to simply enjoy the weight of Nick against him, and then he opens his eyes and eases himself out of bed, moving slowly and precisely enough that he doesn't wake Nick as he carefully rearranges his now empty limbs.
---
Nick's in a mood all day on set, but luckily they're mostly shooting scenes where he's supposed to be brooding over the non-threatening blond girl who breaks his heart in the pilot, which they're shooting behind several other episodes, but whatever, Joe's never really been a fan of linear thought anyway, so screw it.
When Nick actually tries to leave the set without Kevin and Joe, though, it's only because he has Frankie in toe that Joe doesn't start yelling at Nick right there to get it together. Not that he's really the yeller in... whatever it is this is. Between them. Now, or ever, really. Joe doesn't like yelling, it unhinges him, sets him on edge in a way he doesn't know how to control, and he ends up saying things he doesn't know how to take back. So, as a rule, he sticks to passive aggressive needling and leaves the yelling up to Nick.
On the drive home, Frankie sits in the front with Nick even though Joe clearly called shot-gun, so he's stuck in the back with Kevin.
Kevin smiles sympathetically when Joe makes a face about the lack of leg room in Nick's stupid douche car.
"I thought with your learners permit you had to have a licensed driver up there with you, anyway," Joe grouses, mostly to himself.
He's still paying attention well enough to see Nick roll his eyes in the rear view window. "Which still rules you out, you spaz."
Joe is actually kind of sensitive about how much he sucks at driving, and it's not usually something Nick makes fun of him for, because he knows that.
Kevin pats Joe's knee and says, "Frankie's got things under control up there," and there's a gentle warning in his tone. Like Joe has to be reminded not to be jealous of a seven year old.
He crosses his arms and slouches, annoyed with himself because, yeah, he kind of is. When they get home, Joe all but leaps out of the car, half running up the rest of the drive way into the house. Their dad is pacing in the foyer, yelling at someone over the phone. Joe doesn't stop to say hello, just guns it up the stairs and into his room. He shuts his door behind him and feels, for an absurd moment, like he's about to start to cry. He's just so tired.
He drops to his knees, curling up in a ball on his carpet, breathes in and out until he feels like he can stand again. He picks himself up off the floor, standing resolved for a moment, before making a sloppy flail towards his bed and mashing his fact into his pillow. He feels around in his sheets until he finds the remote for his sound system, and presses play.
It's fucking Elvis Costello, because Nick listens to more music in Joe's room than Joe does, and because Nick is as much of a little tyrant about what CD's get played in his presence as he is about every other aspect of his life.
Joe's three tracks in when there's a knock on his door. He doesn't bother to answer, just turns the music up and waits for Nick to either rise to the bait or not.
Less than five seconds later, the door is yanked open and Nick is elbowing his way in, shutting it behind him with just as much force. He crosses his arms and glares at Joe.
They stare in silence until Joe says, "This CD sucks," just to see what Nick will do.
Joe's expecting something along the lines of a vein popping in Nick's forehead, but instead he starts wheezing, and after a beat Joe realizes he's laughing, laughing harder and harder until he's bent double with it, caving in on himself, grabbing his belly with one hand and groping for the wall to keep him upright with the other.
After awhile, Joe starts laughing with him.
Once Nick recovers, he goes and sits down on the bed beside Joe, his hands folded in his lap.
"Sorry," he says, one word encompassing a multitude of sins.
Joe nods. "Okay."
Nick's head jerks up, eyes darting across Joe's face. "That's it?"
Joe shrugs, palms up. When hasn't he been easy for Nick?
"It won't happen again," Nick promises, because he's clearly planned more to say, and even if Joe isn't following scrip, Nick can't decide something needs to be said and then just not say it.
Joe bites the inside of his cheek, but can't stop himself from asking, "Why not?"
Nick recoils, looking horrified. "Because it's wrong."
Joe just stares at him, staggered. "Wrong?"
"Yes, Joe. Wrong." Nick says, like he can't believe he's having to explain this, clearly not part of the plan.
The thing is, Joe knows. Knows this is one sin piled on another, but he just... he didn't think he was expected to care. He didn't think, from the way Nick touched him, rough and wild hands coupled with kisses that felt almost sacred, that he cared either. He thought, at least, that he and Nick understood that about each other.
"So it's okay when you're sick, when your levels are fucked or you're having a bad day, but that's all? That's it? It doesn't matter what I want? When I want it?"
Nick is starting back at him, and he looks absolutely flabbergasted. "This isn't... you let me. I'm weak and I'm wrong and you let me. That's what happens. That's why we can't - why I won't -- I won't make you, not unless I... not until I can't... not." His face is twisted, tortured, and Joe can barely breathe.
"No," he says urgently, grabbing onto whatever part of Nick he can touch as his mind races to process this, "No. No. I want you, Nick, I want you every second, every half-second. All the time, with all that I am," he's babbling frantically, spilling out all the kinds of things he knows Nick doesn't want him to say, the ones that makes him sound so desperate, but he can't stop himself from continuing. "I love you so much, I just want to be what you need."
Nick is still staring, still stunned, but he doesn't shake off Joe's hands. "You are what I need. You're everything I need. " He sounds distant, the words hollow like they're echoing from far away, from a place Nick thought they both were, only to realize Joe was far away.
"So why won't you let me be that all the time? Why does it only have to be when you can't stand anything else?" Joe realizes he's throwing what little dignity he has to the wind, face open and pleading. He'll beg, next, if he has to.
Nick shakes himself, hands covering Joe's and slowly prying them off.
"It's still wrong, Joe. We're still brothers, and men, and in the eyes of God we--"
"Fuck God," Joe all but shouts, his words ringing out sharply against Nick's measured, placating tone.
Nick goes white under Joe's words, silently mouthing them as though he can't bear to truly speak them aloud. He runs a shaky hand through his hair and gets up off the bed, pacing across the length of Joe's room.
"That's not new," he says eventually, knowing Joe well enough to hear the certainty in his voice, the time it would take to build that confidence up in the face of a childhood of unconditional belief.
"No," Joe agrees, shaking his head. "For awhile now."
"How long?" Nick demands, voice cracking.
"How long do you think," Joe spits back, reckless and frightened, needing Nick to know, to understand at least this, if nothing else.
Nick crumbles, clearly understanding all too well. "That day." They both know the one.
Joe nods. "That day."
"I saw you change," Nick says, pacing faster now. "I thought it was just how scared I was, I thought I was seeing you differently because I was seeing everything differently, but that wasn't it. It was you. Changing because of me."
"Always because of you, Nick," Joe says tiredly, wondering when he'll run out of having to say things he didn't realize needed to be discussed.
Nick stops in his tracks, looking at Joe piercingly. "I'm not worth your relationship with God. I'm not worth your salvation."
Joe smiles, sad and certain, and says, "Yes, you are."
---
They're called for dinner before their conversation can go much further, and over the next few days, Nick retreats into his head. Even though they hardly speak, Joe feels Nick watching him, sees the puzzled yet determined glances Nick casts his way, like he's observing Joe for the first time, hell bent on figuring him out.
Kevin notices the new levels of weirdness between them, and comes to Joe after the fourth day.
"How worried should I be?" he asks, straight to the point, wearing a weary smile.
Joe shrugs. "Not that much more worried than normal, I guess."
Kevin sighs. "So pretty freaking worried, then?"
Joe sighs too, and gets up off the dressing room chair he was perching on, walking over to Kevin and patting him on the arm. Kevin looks at him, his serious eyes an invitation for Joe to say whatever he needs to say, but in the end, Joe just says, "Yeah, Kev. Pretty freaking worried."
Kevin pulls Joe into a hard hug, but leaves it at that.
---
On the seventh day, Nick comes to Joe again as he's lying in bed. He hasn't been sleeping well, without Nick, and from the way Nick's shoulders have been drooping whenever he's not holding them straight and high on set, Joe assumes Nick hasn't been getting much rest either.
Nick's fully dressed, a zipped up hoodie over a faded T-shirt, and Joe thinks it's probably supposed to be a gesture, assurance that he's not here to take anything from Joe, but it just makes Joe feel worse. He's realizing, now, how much their time together has cost Nick, how much of his pride in himself he's probably thrown to the wind every time he touched Joe.
He'd thought he was helping, but knows different now, and feels perpetually sick to his stomach at the thought.
They stare at each other for a long time, Nick standing frozen in the middle of the room.
"Come to bed," Joe says eventually, voice heavy.
Nick doesn't make a sound, but he unzips his hoodie and shimmies out of his jeans, crawling into bed with Joe in nothing but boxers and the t-shirt Joe recognizes, on closer inspection, as one of his own.
"I've been trying to sleep in it," Nick says, unselfconsciously, looking down at it when he catches Joe doing the same. He shrugs. "Didn't really help."
Joe puts a hand on Nick's bare arm, easing him into a horizontal position, and moves closer until their fronts line up.
"I can behave if you can," he promises softly, hoping he means it.
Nick chuckles, bitter and involuntary, and he answers back, "Not sure I can say the same."
"I can't do this with you if it makes you hate yourself, Nick," Joe says, realizing it's true. He can resist anything, even Nick, if that's the cost he's avoiding.
Nick shakes his head. "You're the one who should hate me, Joe. Look at how I've been treating you." He waves a hand between them. Joe wonders if he's remembering their last time together, the deep thumb shaped bruises Nick left scattered along Joe's hips.
"I always wanted it, wanted you."
Nick shudders and presses a shaky pair of lips against Joe's jaw. "Did you think I didn't? Did you really think you were just... that it was just stress relief, or something? Like that's all I needed you for?"
Joe frowns a little, but makes himself answer honestly. "I hoped it wasn't. I hoped."
At this, Nick surges forward, clumsy lips catching Joe's, kissing him hard. "Love you, Joe, love you so much - you can't - don't ever think that I don't. Please," and then, somehow, Nick is the one who is begging, rutting against Joe and pleading into his ear, whispering his name over and over, begging for the forgiveness Joe never would have thought Nick needed.
He slows Nick's onslaught with firm hands and soft lips, slipping his tongue between Nick's parted mouth and licking the guilt and shame away until it's just them, just their hands and mouths and nothing else in between them.
"I've only ever wanted to be yours, Nick," Joe says, because he has to be sure that Nick knows, needs to be sure.
"You are mine," Nick swears against Joe's neck, kissing the raised bone of his clavicle and moving his hands up to hold onto Joe's face, his thumbs pressing against Joe's temples. "But I'm yours, too, Joe. I'm yours."
Joe lets himself be pulled in for another kiss, slower and sweeter than anything they've shared before. He smiles into the kiss, and believes.