Title: A Small Life
Author: GatorGrrrl
Rating: T+
Warnings: Bad words, angst
Disclaimer: I do not own Drake & Josh. I just like bending them to my will.
Author's Note: I struggled with this one, dunno why. Hope you like it.
Chapter 2: Misery Loves Company
Deplane. That's a stupid fucking word, Drake thinks, as he looks towards the front of the plane through the arms of people grabbing their bags from the overhead compartments. You don't decar or deboat. When you get on a plane, you don't aplane. Deplane. What the fuck ever. He just wishes he was off the damn thing already.
He's starting to feel the tell-tale buzzing inside his skull indicating the Valium he took before the flight is starting to wear off. The pills were one of the few things he had stuffed into his bag after finally talking Arlo into letting him into his apartment. The rest of the items consisted of clothes, a framed family portrait his mom had sent to him last Christmas, a few CDs, and two spiral notebooks nearly-filled with half-finished song lyrics. The rest of the stuff he left behind, telling Arlo, when he asked, to do whatever he wanted with it. He didn't care anymore; it was all worthless crap anyway. Everything of value he had left is currently nestled behind security bars and a flashing neon sign.
"Shit," he says, pressing his fingertips against his temple. He wishes now he hadn't checked his bag; he could use another pill. Or two. He kept them in a Tylenol bottle, anyway; no one probably would have questioned him in the security line.
"Shit." The word is spoken in a tiny voice that draws Drake's attention. A little girl with brown curls peers at him over the top of the seat in front of him, a big grin making a dimple appear on her right cheek.
"Emma!" the woman beside her says, glancing briefly at Drake with a look of irritation. "That's a bad word."
Drake smiles slightly when the little girl giggles and when she waves at him, he waves back. He considers saying another one just to see if she'll repeat it, but decides against it. God only knows how long they're going to be stuck on this plane and the last thing he needs is her mother haranguing him about her daughter's newly-foul mouth.
It seems to take a lifetime, but he's finally moving down the aisle towards the front of the plane and the pretty blonde flight attendant with the fake smile and beauty queen wave who's thanking everyone for flying with them. He pushes past her with barely a second glance and steps into the tunnel.
Compared to the cool canned air of the plane, the air inside the tunnel is hot and stifling. Josh is standing all alone at the tunnel exit when Drake turns the corner, and even from thirty feet away, he can see the relief in Josh's eyes when they lock gazes. A lopsided smile curves across Josh's lips and by the time Drake closes the distance between them, it has turned into an all-out grin.
"I bet you thought I wouldn't come," Drake says before Josh can even say hello.
Josh shrugs. "It crossed my mind," he says, his smile fading. "It's happened before."
"Yeah, well," Drake says. "I'm full of surprises." He's forgotten how tall his brother is. Like a friggin' redwood.
They stare at each other in silence for a long moment before Josh finally sticks his hand out. "It's good to see you, Drake."
Drake looks down at Josh's hand, sees it trembling just a little. "A handshake? Is that all I get?" he asks, looking back up.
Josh smiles, the expression brightening his eyes. "It's all you deserve, you ingrate."
"Ingrate? Is that a step up or down from black sheep?" The banter feels familiar and Drake's mouth curves into a smile.
Josh tilts his head slightly and twists his lips into a pensive smirk. "A step up, I'd say. But just barely."
"Fuck you, too," Drake says, still smiling, and pushes past him, his left shoulder bumping roughly into Josh's right arm.
He hears Josh laugh behind him, then feels him fall into step beside him. "What, no guitar?"
Drake clenches his jaw so hard he thinks his molars might crack. "I didn't bring it," he says simply, fighting to keep his voice even.
"Wow, I'm shocked. I didn't think you ever let that thing out of your sight." Josh nudges him with his elbow.
"Yeah, well, it's in safe hands. Under lock and key, in fact." The words flow off Drake's tongue with the ease of a practiced liar, but he refuses to look over at Josh, afraid his brother will see the bitter truth.
Josh laughs, but the sound feels forced, and they walk the rest of the way to baggage claim in silence. By the time they get there, Drake's worn duffel is only one of three left circling on the belt. As he reaches for it, he sees Josh's hand cut into his vision and grasp the handles.
"Josh." Drake turns to look up at him.
"What?" Josh asks as he swings the bag onto his shoulder. "I'm just trying to help."
Drake closes his eyes briefly before swallowing the anger he knows is irrational. "I know that," he says, looking away towards the escalators. "You're always trying to help." He says this last part to himself as he rubs his forehead with the heel of his hand. The buzzing has gotten worse.
"You okay?"
"Yeah," Drake tells him. "Just a headache." He looks over at Josh, who's looking back at him with well-worn concern. "I've got some pills in my bag," he says. "Set it down for a sec."
Josh looks at him appraisingly for a moment before lowering the bag to the floor. Drake can feel his eyes on him as he kneels to pull back the zipper. After a few moments of digging, he secures his fingers around the plastic pill bottle and pulls it out. Standing, he holds it between his right forefinger and thumb and shakes it in Josh's direction. "See?" he says. "Just Tylenol."
Josh doesn't seem convinced and the concern in his eyes hasn't lessened. "How many of those have you already taken today?"
The question annoys Drake. "Oh, I don't know, Josh. Twelve. Fifteen." He meets Josh's eyes evenly, struggling to keep the anger out of his voice. "I lost count after the last handful." He holds his brother's gaze a little longer before turning and walking angrily away towards the escalator.
"Drake," he hears Josh say behind him, but he keeps walking, his fingers clenched tightly around the bottle.
Then he feels a hand on his shoulder and he spins around to look up into Josh's face, which is clouded with regret. "I'm sorry," Josh says. "Really. It's just…I worry about you. I know you hate it, but I can't help it, okay?"
"Josh…"
Josh holds up his hand. "Let's not talk about this right now. Let's just go." He's got Drake's bag draped over his shoulder again and starts heading towards the escalator.
They're halfway to the upper level when Drake unscrews the bottle cap and shakes a couple pills onto his palm, then tosses them onto the back of his tongue, swallowing them down before they start to taste bitter. He can feel Josh's eyes on him and he turns to meet his gaze.
"What?" he asks as they step off the escalator and head towards the tram that will take them to short-term parking.
"I trust you, you know," Josh finally says after a moment, his voice soft. He nods to the bottle Drake still holds in his hand. "If you say those are Tylenol, I believe you."
Drake feels like he's just been kicked in the stomach, but he keeps his face impassive. They stare at each other in silence for a long moment and Drake swears he sees something – anger? resignation? – flash behind Josh's eyes. "Josh, I –" he begins, but the ding signaling the arrival of the tram breaks his train of thought.
Without a word, Josh steps onto the tram and Drake looks after him for a brief moment before following him in, reaching for one of the rails as he shoves the small plastic bottle in his hip pocket. They ride to the terminal in silence and Drake shoots surreptitious glances at Josh the entire way.
Josh doesn't look at him at all the entire ride and as they head out through the automatic doors leading to the parking garage, Drake drops the bottle into the trash.
His mom is the first to look up when he and Josh round the corner from the bank of elevators. She smiles, but it's brittle, and as he gets closer, he can see her eyes are red.
"Hey, Mom," he says, feeling happier than he thought he'd be at the sight of her.
She stands and opens her arms and he falls into them instinctively, burying his head in the curve of her neck and taking a deep breath. She smells like he remembers – like vanilla shampoo and fabric softener. It's comforting.
"Oh, honey," he hears her say. "It's so wonderful to see you."
"You, too," he whispers and he closes his eyes against the unexpected sting of tears, tightening his arms around her.
The feel of another hand on his shoulder draws his attention and he looks up to see Walter looking back at him, a tentative smile on his lips. "Drake," he says. "It was good of you to come."
What Walter doesn't say, though Drake can hear it lurking behind his words, is that it shouldn't have taken this to bring him back. Drake nods as he pushes away from Audrey. "How is she?" he asks his stepfather as he drags a finger quickly under his right eye.
Walter's face falls and his eyes flit to some point in the distance before refocusing on Drake. "She's hurting, son." It seems to be all he can say.
Drake feels his throat tighten as he nods, then feels his mom wrap her fingers around his forearm, the warmth blooming over his skin. "She'll be glad to see you," he hears her say and he turns to meet her eyes. Eyes so full of sadness yet bright with subdued happiness.
"Where's Mark?" he asks, the question suddenly springing to his lips, looking around the corridor for him. His mother's fingers tighten around his arm at the question and he turns his gaze back to her. She bites her lip and holds his gaze, but doesn't say anything.
Despite the double-dose of Valium, he can feel a vibration begin to hum beneath his skin. He looks at Walter, who looks away, then turns to looks at Josh, who's hovering a few feet away, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans.
"What?" he asks. But he's pretty sure he knows.
Drake's never seen his sister look so small, but when he opens the door to her room and sees her curled up on her right side beneath the thin blue blanket, it strikes him just how fragile she seems.
The realization of it scares the shit out of him.
He sinks into the chair beside the bed and stares at her face, remembering the last time he'd seen her. It had been three years ago. She and Mark had taken a trip to Boston to watch him play at some small-fry music festival back when he was still managing to get semi-regular gigs. The festival organizer had paid him 1000 dollars in cash after his set and the three of them had hit the local pubs, crawling from one end of the street to the other over the next four hours. He'd gotten pretty smashed, but he remembers the sound of Megan's laughter clear as a bell. And for the life of him, he can't reconcile that Megan with the one sleeping on the bed in front of him.
He wants to fucking kill Mark.
He reaches up and brushes a strand of black hair off her cheek. She sighs and her eyelids flutter open. She blinks slowly two or three times and then he sees her mouth curve up slightly.
"Drake?" Her voice is scratchy from sleep.
"Yeah," he says. "It's me."
"Hi," she says.
Drake smiles, but it fades quickly when he focuses on her flat, dark eyes. "I'm so sorry," he whispers and then feels stupid for saying it.
She nods against her pillow and closes her eyes and Drake doesn't know what to say, so he shifts in his seat and stares at the frayed edge of the blanket.
The silence stretches on for what feels like an eternity until Megan finally breaks it by saying, "They let me hold him."
Drake lifts his head at that and meets her eyes, which are looking back at him unblinkingly.
"He was blue," she continues, and Drake can see a tear roll slowly across the bridge of her nose and fall onto the pillow. She reaches up and drags her fingers across her eyes. "He was beautiful." Her voice is barely a whisper.
Drake clenches his hands so tightly, his knuckles turn white. "Of course he was," he says hoarsely. "He was your son."
"My son," she says and something seems to finally snap inside her like the last cable of a guy wire, the whole structure tumbling down between them. She starts to cry, her sobs making her entire body shake, and she reaches out her hand to him.
When he takes it, she clings to it like she's drowning in an open sea and he's the last life preserver, and he squeezes back with the same desperation. He covers her hand with his other one and bows his head, surprised to feel a tear slip down the bridge of his nose.
Life is so fucking unfair.
He holds her hand until her cries fade into soft hiccups and then looks up at her. Her eyes are red and shiny with tears, but even through her pain, she manages a smile. "His name," she says, "was Ben." She sniffles. "Benjamin Michael Parker."
Drake smiles and squeezes her hand. "Ben," he says through the lump in his throat. "I like it."
Parker, he thinks. Good.
The force with which his rage flows through him nearly knocks him over.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" he asks, standing as he clenches his fists.
Mark Jensen stops mid-stride about eight feet from him, his gray eyes wide. "Drake," he says, like he can't believe it.
Drake feels his mother's hand on his arm but shakes it off, taking a step towards Mark. "Where the fuck have you been?"
"Excuse me?" He can see Mark's eyes narrow.
"Your son," Drake says, "is dead." There's a muted gasp from behind him and he hears someone say his name. He ignores it all.
All the blood drains from Mark's face and his jaw goes slack. "What?" The word barely carries the short distance between them.
"Motherfucker," Drake says between his teeth and lunges for him, knocking him to the floor and slamming his right fist into his face. There's a satisfying popping sound as the cartilage in Mark's nose gives way. Drawing his fist back, he slams it home again, only this time the target feels warm and slick with blood. It doesn't matter that Mark has a good six inches and forty pounds on him. Drake feels fucking invincible.
He goes to hit him again, twisting his left fist tighter around the handful of Mark's shirt and relishing the way the guy is trying to shield his face with his hands, fingers splayed in defense. But before he can bring his fist down, he feels himself being dragged roughly away by two sets of hands and he struggles against them.
"Let me go," he says, pulling against the hands holding him back, his chest heaving and his blood singing with adrenaline. "I'm gonna fucking kill him." He can't take his eyes off Mark, who's struggling to sit up. Blood pours from his broken nose, covering his mouth and chin and soaking into his shirt.
"Drake, stop it," he hears Josh say very close to his right ear. "He's not worth it."
Drake turns his head to look at his brother. Josh's hazel eyes lock with his and the look, the connection, calms him. Just like when they were kids. Just like always.
His breathing starts to slow and after a few seconds, he feels Josh and Walter let him go. "You alright?" he hears Walter ask from his left.
"Yeah," Drake answers, nodding slowly. His eyes are on Mark, who's managed to get back on his feet, but looks kind of wobbly.
"I should fucking sue you for assault," Mark says, his voice muffled by the wrist he's gingerly pressing to his bleeding nose. His voice sounds brave, but the eyes he's looking at Drake with are full of fear.
Drake laughs – a harsh and bitter sound that tears from his throat. "Go ahead, asshole," he says. "You won't get much."
They stare at each other for a few more seconds before Drake says, "I'm gonna go get some air." He starts walking towards the elevators, stopping when he's right next to Mark, who nearly flinches when Drake leans in to whisper, "You better fucking be gone when I get back."
Mark doesn't say a word and Drake just turns and walks away.
Please review. Thanks. :o)
