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mayqueen517I...really don't know, you guys. A while back, I wrote three drabbles about each of them from the aftermath of the Lovebug video. I have ended up writing a small ficlet about that aftermath and...here it is.
Drabbles found here.
(I do recommend reading those first before this)
Title: The Subtle Grace Of Gravity
Pairing: Gen, but hints at Joe/Kevin/Nick
Fandom: Jonas Brothers
Rating: G
Author's Note: This...ended up being kind of dark, but I can't help that. Also, the title comes from the lyrics of The Hush Sound's 'You Are The Moon', which is a painfully beautiful song. I own absolutely nothing in this.
The storm of parades and honors and medals is overwhelming, in the days after the end of the war. The press (and government) have been calling it The War To End All Wars, and Joe snorts at that. There's always going to be a war, he thinks. Always going to be some different conflict that they have to stick their noses into.
Joe spends his time at home, at the home he, Kevin, and Nick have made for themselves. They live two streets away from their childhood home, and there's a comfort in that. A comfort in being able to cut through backyards and over roads to go home, to see his mother working in the garden.
He spends his days there, while Nick works at the school, and later on wherever else he works. Kevin is busy helping with clean up the factories, dismantling machines that made their weapons, and helping the workforce women go back to their lives. Joe wonders how many of them are arguing with Kevin.
"Joseph, are you okay?" his Mother asks as she hands him a glass of tea, sweat already beading the sides as he takes a long swallow. The sun makes him squint his eyes and he goes to shade them with his free hand.
Oh.
Except that he doesn't have a free hand.
Joe swallows thickly, trying not to lose it and just yell at his mother that he's not okay and nothing will ever be okay again.
"Fine. Thanks for the tea, Mom," he says, draining the glass before he puts it down. There's a cold spreading through him from his chest and he doesn't know if it's from the cold drink or the increasingly familiar feeling of rage sweeping over him.
"Honey, I didn't mean -"
"Mom. Fine. I'm going home," he says, walking off the porch and towards the house. His hands - no, hand - is shaking from the effort. He gets angrier more easily these days, like it comes upon him like a fit. He gets angry and wants to punch things, and all he can think is that his brothers understand. His brothers understand and no one else.
He gets home, barely registering the fact that Kevin's home, just stalking inside and clenching his hand into a fist. Joe feels his throat let loose a noise, a frustrated growl of sound as Kevin comes in from the living room. He's got on his slacks, his shirt unbuttoned to show his undershirt as his suspenders hang down around his waist and Joe envies him. Kevin can still help.
Kevin still has both hands.
Joe yells in frustration, feeling his hand connect with the hard surface of the counter top. His hand stings with the contact as he keeps punching it, unable to control himself, even as Kevin wraps his arms around him. The moment stretches taut before it snaps and Joe's sobbing quietly against Kevin's chest, clinging to him and wishing he had both arms to hug back.
Kevin's rubbing his back, gently hugging him close and murmuring. Soothing words and sounds as Joe shakes into compliance. These bouts of rage leave him feeling drained and dumb, like he's been sedated, like he's numb all over.
"C'mon, Joe," he says, helping them up and leading him into the living room, making him settle down on the couch. Joe feels fuzzy, like it was some hallucination as Kevin pulls him over, making Joe rest his head in Kevin's lap. He goes to sleep like that, clutching Kevin's shirt in his hand, feeling the gentle, soothing touch of Kevin's fingers combing through his hair.
When he wakes, Joe can hear someone strumming on the guitar and he knows that sound and that tune. He vaguely registers the sound of Kevin picking up his mandolin, Nick and Kevin's voices weaving around the music as Joe opens his eyes slowly. He's got a blanket over him but he easily tosses it off as he carefully wiggles off the couch.
There's an ache starting where his left arm used to be, and it tells him that it's going to be a bad night. The phantom pains are the worst, because he can feel the itch, and feel the pains, and it's like losing it all over again. Joe's mouth dries up as he thinks about losing it, about the way that it was just gone when he woke up one morning, Kevin's face covered in tears as he held Joe's remaining hand.
He shakes his head, walking into the room that they've stored all their instruments in, feeling hazy and tired, but too wired to walk up the stairs to go to bed. Nick's strumming on his guitar, hair falling out of the slicked back style he's been affecting in the recent months. His glasses are perched low on his nose as he writes words down.
Kevin sits across from him, still dressed like before with his mandolin in his lap, fingers gently picking out small melodies. The notes tinkle through the air as Joe sits down beside of Nick, listening carefully.
They don't rush to ask him if he's okay, and he's fine with that, because he doesn't know how to answer that question truthfully anymore. But they start up with a song he knows and he smiles a little, pulling the words from the depths of his brain. He pulls them over memories, dark nights and darker days of being away from Kevin and Nick and Frankie, and just being away period.
He pulls the words out and sings, feeling lighter already.
Drabbles found here.
(I do recommend reading those first before this)
Title: The Subtle Grace Of Gravity
Pairing: Gen, but hints at Joe/Kevin/Nick
Fandom: Jonas Brothers
Rating: G
Author's Note: This...ended up being kind of dark, but I can't help that. Also, the title comes from the lyrics of The Hush Sound's 'You Are The Moon', which is a painfully beautiful song. I own absolutely nothing in this.
The storm of parades and honors and medals is overwhelming, in the days after the end of the war. The press (and government) have been calling it The War To End All Wars, and Joe snorts at that. There's always going to be a war, he thinks. Always going to be some different conflict that they have to stick their noses into.
Joe spends his time at home, at the home he, Kevin, and Nick have made for themselves. They live two streets away from their childhood home, and there's a comfort in that. A comfort in being able to cut through backyards and over roads to go home, to see his mother working in the garden.
He spends his days there, while Nick works at the school, and later on wherever else he works. Kevin is busy helping with clean up the factories, dismantling machines that made their weapons, and helping the workforce women go back to their lives. Joe wonders how many of them are arguing with Kevin.
"Joseph, are you okay?" his Mother asks as she hands him a glass of tea, sweat already beading the sides as he takes a long swallow. The sun makes him squint his eyes and he goes to shade them with his free hand.
Oh.
Except that he doesn't have a free hand.
Joe swallows thickly, trying not to lose it and just yell at his mother that he's not okay and nothing will ever be okay again.
"Fine. Thanks for the tea, Mom," he says, draining the glass before he puts it down. There's a cold spreading through him from his chest and he doesn't know if it's from the cold drink or the increasingly familiar feeling of rage sweeping over him.
"Honey, I didn't mean -"
"Mom. Fine. I'm going home," he says, walking off the porch and towards the house. His hands - no, hand - is shaking from the effort. He gets angrier more easily these days, like it comes upon him like a fit. He gets angry and wants to punch things, and all he can think is that his brothers understand. His brothers understand and no one else.
He gets home, barely registering the fact that Kevin's home, just stalking inside and clenching his hand into a fist. Joe feels his throat let loose a noise, a frustrated growl of sound as Kevin comes in from the living room. He's got on his slacks, his shirt unbuttoned to show his undershirt as his suspenders hang down around his waist and Joe envies him. Kevin can still help.
Kevin still has both hands.
Joe yells in frustration, feeling his hand connect with the hard surface of the counter top. His hand stings with the contact as he keeps punching it, unable to control himself, even as Kevin wraps his arms around him. The moment stretches taut before it snaps and Joe's sobbing quietly against Kevin's chest, clinging to him and wishing he had both arms to hug back.
Kevin's rubbing his back, gently hugging him close and murmuring. Soothing words and sounds as Joe shakes into compliance. These bouts of rage leave him feeling drained and dumb, like he's been sedated, like he's numb all over.
"C'mon, Joe," he says, helping them up and leading him into the living room, making him settle down on the couch. Joe feels fuzzy, like it was some hallucination as Kevin pulls him over, making Joe rest his head in Kevin's lap. He goes to sleep like that, clutching Kevin's shirt in his hand, feeling the gentle, soothing touch of Kevin's fingers combing through his hair.
When he wakes, Joe can hear someone strumming on the guitar and he knows that sound and that tune. He vaguely registers the sound of Kevin picking up his mandolin, Nick and Kevin's voices weaving around the music as Joe opens his eyes slowly. He's got a blanket over him but he easily tosses it off as he carefully wiggles off the couch.
There's an ache starting where his left arm used to be, and it tells him that it's going to be a bad night. The phantom pains are the worst, because he can feel the itch, and feel the pains, and it's like losing it all over again. Joe's mouth dries up as he thinks about losing it, about the way that it was just gone when he woke up one morning, Kevin's face covered in tears as he held Joe's remaining hand.
He shakes his head, walking into the room that they've stored all their instruments in, feeling hazy and tired, but too wired to walk up the stairs to go to bed. Nick's strumming on his guitar, hair falling out of the slicked back style he's been affecting in the recent months. His glasses are perched low on his nose as he writes words down.
Kevin sits across from him, still dressed like before with his mandolin in his lap, fingers gently picking out small melodies. The notes tinkle through the air as Joe sits down beside of Nick, listening carefully.
They don't rush to ask him if he's okay, and he's fine with that, because he doesn't know how to answer that question truthfully anymore. But they start up with a song he knows and he smiles a little, pulling the words from the depths of his brain. He pulls them over memories, dark nights and darker days of being away from Kevin and Nick and Frankie, and just being away period.
He pulls the words out and sings, feeling lighter already.
