Freedom writer
They cursed my brother to his face
Go home outsider
This town's gonna be your buryin' place
-Simon and Garfunkel, He Was My Brother
Chapter 14: My Brother And Me
Unlike his boyfriend, Spot liked being awake early.
In his earlier years, really, he'd hated it, but as he grew up he'd realized he didn't sleep too much anyway, and thus he was always awake by eight o'clock at the latest, more often before six.
So he had been the first one up in the Higgins household. He knew that because the clock said five thirty, and every single light was off as far as he could tell.
Despite his hopes, he found sleep hadn't made him feel better.
So he took a nice, long, hot shower and then put on the same outfit for the third day in a row, and it felt even grosser against his clean skin. But the shower had helped ease some of his aching bruises, and by the time he wandered up to the kitchen, people were awake.
Mr. Higgins was drinking a cup of coffee and reading the newspaper calmly, somehow ignoring Isabella and Marco, who were bickering loudly. Isabella was making something for breakfast and Marco was annoying her, as close as Spot could tell. But that seemed to be Marco's role in the family.
"Sean!" Izzy greeted him warmly. "Why don't you go wake Tony up?" She didn't wink, but she did catch his eye a little.
"If that's even possible before seven in the morning," Marco added obliviously.
But Izzy used it as an advantage. "True. I don't think we'll see you two down here for at least half an hour." She made a shooing motion and he tried not to smirk and wandered up the staircase to Race's room.
Spot climbed the stairs, and found his legs were very weak, and his stomach felt oddly full. He'd eaten more than usual the night before, and even though the feeling had long since passed, and he'd thrown a good deal of it up anyway, whenever Spot ate a normal amount of food, he felt it.
He reached Race's door, and didn't know why, but he felt nervous. Because right then, he felt like about the most needy boyfriend in the entire world--he really, really wanted Race to hold him or kiss him or something. But Spot didn't know how to ask for affection. Just sex.
Why was he analyzing himself so much?
He opened the door and, like he knew he would be, Race was sprawled out on the bed, passed out asleep.
He was a disgusting sleeper.
Half of the blankets were kicked off and lumped at the foot of the bed or hung onto the floor, and the sheets were wrapped around him at random, encircling part of one of his legs and his waist, and covering one foot. His hair was snarled and knotted, and he had one arm wrapped around a pillow, and the other hanging off the bed. His face was buried in another pillow and that muffled what sounded like snoring.
On the other hand, he slept wearing only boxers. And he had a nice back.
Spot hesitated for a second, then shut and locked the door behind him, sat down gently on the bed next to Race (which didn't disturb him in the slightest,) and trailed a finger down Race's spine.
He stirred a miniscule amount but didn't wake, even a little. So Spot kissed the back of his neck, and Race let out a pleasant groan into the pillow.
"Morning," Spot said quietly.
Race rolled onto his side and looked at him sleepily. "'Sr'ly, msleep." He rolled back onto his stomach and about two seconds later was snoring again.
Spot, deciding that being nice was just not the thing to do when it came to waking up Race, grabbed the side of Race's mattress, and just LIFTED.
Seconds later, Race was tumbling off of the bed, and with a large THOMP, followed by a string of swears, and his head popped over the side of the now mattress-less bed, and he was still looking drowsy.
Spot smiled for the first time in hours. Pain was so funny.
"Bastard," Race mumbled, or a rough approximation there of. "That hurt."
"Awww. Want me to kiss it and make it better?"
"Why're you awake?" Race whined.
"Because I'm not a lazy slacker slob." He let the mattress fall back into place. Race sat down, but jumped up again when Spot poked him in the ribs.
"Okay, I'm up. Jesus H. Christ..." he sulked. "I'm'na shower."
"Not yet you're not," Spot said.
Race gave him a weird look.
"You have bad breath but can't I have you for a few minutes? It's too early in the morning for someone to shoot me anyway."
Race hesitated, then ran a hand through his hair. Or tried to. It was hard, with the snarls and all. "Sure. But what'll you do with me?" he asked.
Spot smiled and vaulted across the bed to land next to him, and then just... Put his arms around Race, rested his head against Race's shoulder awkwardly. "Dunno," he mumbled. "Just wanted to see you."
Race seemed a little startled by the lack of sexual frenzy in the action, but then eased into Spot's arms, and soon they were comfortably leaning against the bed, on the floor, with Spot leaning his head on Race's shoulder, and Race playing with Spot's fingers, running his thumbs over Spot's nails.
"Did you sleep?" Race asked.
"No. Not really."
"How come?"
"...didn't feel good."
Race leaned back into him, turning his head to the side and giving Spot's jaw a slight kiss. "You okay now?"
"Not really," Spot answered. "Shut up, will you?"
Race, sensing he was treading into grounds that Spot would tell him sooner or later, just breathed in Spot's odd, clean yet dirty scent, and sleepily dozed a little longer in his arms.
And Spot suddenly felt... Just content. His boyfriend was asleep in his arms, and in some ways it was far more intimate than making out and fooling around. He purposely didn't look at the clock and didn't care how much time passed, until there was a loud banging at the door.
"TONY, SEAN." It was Sophia. "Breakfast is ready and Izzy says to make sure Sean didn't fall asleep and forget to get Tony up." Pause. "That means get the hell UP, Fratello."
Race yelled back something that was, Spot was certainly, highly insulting, but it was in Italian so he couldn't be sure.
Well, until Sophia answered, "We have the SAME MOTHER, jackass. Sean, PLEASE get him up."
"Yeah," Spot called back, and hissed in Race's ear, "I can get you up." He let his hand drop to Race's crotch. Just because he didn't have to be sexual all the time didn't mean he would ignore it when he had a perfect opening, after all.
Since Race was taken by surprise, he made a small yelp-like noise and his back arched a little as Spot grabbed, hard, and then responded with pushing his own hand up Spot's leg.
Race turned around and kissed Spot's neck, hungrily, and then his mouth.
It quickly grew passionate before Race pulled back. "You're feisty this morning," Spot commented.
"I have needs like you wouldn't believe." Race cleared his throat. "I uh...have to use the shower. See you downstairs." He kissed him again, quickly, as he seemed to realize the whole situation at hand. "Iloveyou," he said very quietly and quickly and it was so damned cute Spot kissed his mouth tenderly before grabbing his hand and then giving it a smack. "Go shower, Midgito."
"It is not."
"Hey, I would know."
"So would I! I've had it my whole life!"
"You upscale yourself."
"Asshole..."
Race threw him a mock-glare and left the room; Spot followed him out and walked back downstairs to the dining room. "Fifteen minutes, not bad," Marco mused. He had begun to steal the sections of the paper that Mr. Higgins had discarded.
"Coffee?" Mrs. Higgins asked, walking out of the kitchen with a large pot of coffee in hand.
"No, thanks."
"I see you're more of a morning person than Tony is," she noted.
"I think it would be hard not to be," Spot answered. "Though really, I kind of like mornings. Gives you a chance to get ready for the day, clear your head and all."
Mr. Higgins looked up from his paper and fixed a glare on Spot for a second before he went back to reading.
Sophia poked Spot in the side. "Dad's not a morning person," she hissed. "That's where Tony gets it."
"Sophia," Mr. Higgins muttered.
"Sorry, Daddy. But it's true. You're not. If you were, you wouldn't need so much coffee."
Mr. Higgins just shot an irritated look at his daughter before downing another cup of coffee, and (kind of subtly) poured himself another.
"Here you are!" Mrs. Higgins announced, handing Spot a bowl of some weird, fruit thingy with lots of mango inside. Spot stared, feeling his stomach bulge. "Eat up!"
But she was just so damned cute. So he smiled at her, and took the bowl and fork, before taking a bite. It was good, considering. Well, everything in this house was good. He just wasn't that big on food in general.
Sophia, who was wearing incredibly unsexy pajamas (baggy bottoms with ducks, and a huge hoodie) and Spot had to grin at her. "I see Gabe's images of you in a nightgown are shot down the drain," he muttered.
"Duh," she responded. "Look look, the ducks all have different expression on their faces!"
"Oh god, don't get her started on those," Isabella said, and Marco pouted.
"I got them for her!"
"Precisely."
"You SUCK, Izzy."
"Marco," Mrs. Higgins scolded.
"But she--"
"Marco," Mr. Higgins interrupted.
He rolled his eyes and made a face. "They all hate me," he mumbled at Spot.
"Yes, darling," Mrs. Higgins agreed cheerfully. It took Spot a second to realize she was joking, because Marco looked amused, not hurt.
"They ARE cute, though," Marco added. "You have to admit I have good taste in pajamas. I helped Aunt Angelina find a pair for Tony, too, with trumpets and pianos because he's such a band geek."
"Well, we all need talents in life," Spot replied, poking at his breakfast a little. "Just, most people have something more useful than finding good pajamas."
Marco sighed. "I give up. Why do I bother talking to anyone in this house?"
"Because you're not very smart," Sophia answered.
"They're impossible," he protested to Spot. "Only Tony is ever on my side."
"Yeah; because there's someone you want defending you. Our darling cocaine addict," Isabella answered.
"Hey," Spot snapped. "Tony's not--"
He stopped short when Mr. Higgins looked up, and didn't even have to say a word.
"He knows he messed up," Spot finally mumbled. "And he is sorry."
Spot wasn't sure what anyone would have said then, because Maria came into the kitchen and interrupted them, also wearing huge pajamas, and a shirt that was undeniably her brother's. She was rubbing her eyes, and blinking around the kitchen.
"Morning, stupid," she mumbled to Spot.
"You too, ugly," Spot answered, flicking her in the side. Maria yelped and smacked his shoulder.
"Oh, come on, you two are so immature," Isabella said seriously, as Marco chucked a grape at her.
The two of them failed to see the irony.
Finally, Race came into the kitchen, showered and wearing just jeans and a Tony Bennet t-shirt. Maria smiled brightly, and flopped into her brother's arms and he squeezed her tightly with a large, and affectionate hug.
"Morning, Carina," he said fondly, and Maria didn't let go of him. Really, Spot supposed that was where all the family sibling affection in the family went. Isabella and Marco continued flicking things at each other, Maria was hugging Race tightly, and thus Spot turned to Sophia, and grinned. Sophia, who had just finished her oatmeal, flicked her spoon at him and laughed as oatmeal hit his forehead.
"There, now we've ALL picked on you mercilessly," she smiled.
"Thanks, really." Spot scraped the oatmeal off with his finger, and then smeared it into Sophia's hair. She swatted at him, and grabbed a napkin.
Isabella caught his eye, and smiled a little, and Spot felt the conversation from the night before still lingering. She really HAD welcomed him into the family...
"Sean, perhaps you should be concentrating more on eating and less on wasting time?" Mr. Higgins suggested from behind his newspaper. "We wouldn't want you to miss school again."
The warm and fuzzy feeling faded quickly. "Sure thing, Mr. Higgins!" he said brightly, hoping that if nothing else, the fact that he didn't need caffeine to keep his eyes open would irritate Race's father. And while he couldn't see Mr. Higgins's reaction, he did notice that his hand clutched the coffee mug a little harder.
Race's mother came back into the room and handed Race a bowl of... whatever it was... and a mug of coffee, which he accepted gratefully and sat between Spot and his father. "So," he said after a yawn, "did you ever call Jack?"
Spot nodded a little and forced down another forkful of breakfast. It was easier than talking about how the phone call had gone.
Marco checked his watch, and downed the rest of his orange juice and gave Spot's shoulder a pat. "Ready to go?"
"Not really," Spot answered, and he saw Isabella give him a sympathetic look, which luckily no one else caught. Spot grinned slightly at her, and nodded. He didn't want anyone to think there was anything wrong with him... Well, anything more than usual anyway.
"I'm coming!" Race said as he picked up Maria from under her armpits and plopped her onto the kitchen counter--for no reason, really. Just a Race and Maria thing.
"No, you're not," Mr. Higgins replied. "You're going to study until you go to school--you missed a day."
"Because I almost died."
"No, serious, Tony. Stay," Spot said.
"But..." he groaned, and then saw the looks he was getting from his father and sighed. "Yeah, sure, fine."
Spot stood and picked up his dish to deposit it in the sink, which caused Mrs. Higgins to beam at him--he hadn't though it was a big deal, but supposed she probably did a lot of cleaning up after people. Especially seeing as how Marco made no move to take care of his dishes. Once again, Spot felt out of place.
"All right, let's get you home," Marco said, surprisingly cheerful. "Have good days, everyone."
"Get out," Isabella answered him. "Sean, have a wonderful day. I'm sure I'll see you again."
He nodded and forced a smile; he didn't want to leave, but didn't have a choice. He put a hand on Race's shoulder for just a second, and Race looked up and shot him a smile. "See you this afternoon," he promised.
"Yeah, see you," Spot agreed, and let his hand drop.
He'd taken no more than two steps when he heard Mr. Higgins call, "Sean?"
"Yeah?" he asked, turning around. Mr. Higgins had actually set his newspaper down for a second so he could fix a very stern glare on Spot.
"Don't screw up," he said flatly, then went back to reading.
Spot decided saying nothing was the best answer, so he followed Marco out of the house without another word.
Race watched Spot go, missing him already. More than he had before, actually, and he'd spent the night...that probably wasn't normal.
"Can I call Michael and David, Mama?" Race asked as his mother started to clear up the kitchen, whistling the tune of Mambo Italiano.
"Well, ask your father," she answered, giving his tummy a little pat as she whisked by. Race looked over at Mr. Higgins, who peered over the paper.
"Do you understand the conditions?"
"Yeah, you quizzed me, remember?"
"Very well." He shuffled the paper. "Then get to your homework."
"Thanks." Race picked up the cordless, and then snatched away the bagel Sophia was eating from her hands. She punched his shoulder.
*
Marco didn't comment about the decreasing quality of housing as they entered Spot's neighborhood, which really wasn't so bad. It wasn't the inner city ghetto most people assumed, it was sort of... a run down area between the city and the suburbs. Mostly houses, not large apartment buildings, though most of the houses were rented to a few families; some were smaller, single-family ones, though. Denise, Jack and Spot lived in the bottom of a two-family house, which was definitely enough space for the three of them. It was the first place he'd been where Spot had a room to himself.
"This one," he mumbled to Marco, who pulled over to let him out.
"Uh, Sean?" he called.
"Yeah?"
"Seriously--be careful; there are gonna be people watching and listening and stuff. I really, really don't want to hear about you getting shot."
"I don't want to get shot," he answered, and shut the door behind him.
Jack and Denise were waiting in the combined kitchen and dining room, Jack with a bowl of cereal in front of him, Denise eating oatmeal and drinking tea. He didn't really like the looks they gave him when he walked in.
He wondered if that was how Race felt when he had to walk in to his house and confess he'd given in to his cravings. The looks weren't angry, exactly, just upset and a bit cold.
"Sean," Denise said after an awkward quiet.
"Denise--"
"Don't you ever do that again."
"Jack started--"
"I don't care who started what, you don't run away from things when you're angry."
Spot didn't respond. He should have been more angry than he was. But this actually had been Jack's fault; Jack had brought up Spot's father. He'd never done that before. And even though Jack knew he'd gone too far, Spot doubted that his brother would apologize any time soon. Spot was reminded that people got angry at him more often than they liked him, and he did the same. So they didn't know when his feelings were hurt.
God, he felt so goddamned wishy-washy.
"You sure as fuck pulled a--"
"Hey, I'll listen to Denise," Spot shot at Jack. "Fuck YOU."
"SPOT--"
"No, I mean that," he snapped. "SHE didn't deserve to have me disappear and to worry and I am sorry that I did it, but YOU--fuck you, Jack. I walked out so I wouldn't kill you, you know that? Because I wanted to, I really fucking wanted to."
"Sean," Denise said. "That's... Be that as it may, you can't..."
"I know." He sat down at the table. "I know, and I don't wanna get taken away either. I..." He hesitated. "I kind of like it here. You know, when Jack's not being a dickhead. And I was gonna try and get home by the morning, if we hadn't been mugged..." He trailed off. "Shit, Denise, I am sorry."
He realized abruptly he'd never apologized before. Well, not really anyway; never sincerely. He never cared enough to be sincere, and he wasn't going to say he was sorry if he wasn't. But he was sorry he'd scared Denise, and he did feel bad about it. He wanted her to forgive him, and he wanted it enough to actually express it.
Maybe Race was good for him.
Or maybe Race was just making him into a pussy. Either way.
Spot drew his legs up to his chest, and propped his chin on top of his knees. He didn't look at Denise or Jack. He sure as hell wasn't about to make any meaningful eye contact that wasn't with Race.
"Thank you, Sean," Denise said, sounding very...odd. Spot doubted they'd expected him to apologize.
"By the way, Jack, yeah, I'm not sorry for you."
"Fuck you, I was just as worried as she was."
"Like hell you were."
"I WAS--"
"STOP." Denise stood up, crossing her arms. "You two, I've had it up to here... I really have, you're going to have to learn to settle your arguments in an adult fashion, because swearing at each other isn't going to help any."
Spot didn't say a word. Jack just mumbled under his breath.
"Can I leave the room and expect I won't have to come back in here and pull one of you off of the other?"
"He wishes."
"Fuck YOU, Spot!"
"STOP IT," Denise snapped again.
There was another quiet. Spot shifted so he was sitting normally again, kicked the leg of his chair. Denise took and released a deep breath, trying to maintain her calm.
"I will not have the two of you fighting," she finally declared. "Not if it's so bad Sean has to leave the house, Jack. I didn't take him in so he could be forced to leave."
"But--"
"No buts." She turned to Spot. "Sean, you can not do that. You need to learn to handle anger, you need to learn how to fight with someone without fighting someone. I realize that's hard for you, but if you're not willing to try then I don't know what to do."
Spot nodded, feeling a little numb.
"I don't know what the fight was about," she said. "And frankly, I don't care. Work it out." She gave them both serious looks. "And you're both grounded for a week; no phone, no TV, and no parties. Only friends' houses, not out with friends. Understand?"
"But Friday, David and IÑ"
"Jack," she interrupted, then rolled her eyes. "Fine, you can go on your date on Friday."
"It's not a date!" Jack objected, then saw the far too amused looks he was getting, and sulked, crossing his arms and slouching in his seat.
"Got it?" Denise asked again.
They both nodded.
"Good, I'm going to get ready for work while you two figure things out." And with that, she left them to settle things, trusting them to behave like human beings.
There was a long silence, and Jack was never good with long silences.
"I know I started it."
"Fucking right you did."
"But I'm right. He's an asshole. Since you've been with him, nothing but bad things have happened. Look, you go to his house and you get MUGGED. This is a sign, Spot."
"Yeah," Spot cracked his knuckles. "A sign for you to back the fuck off. It's not just what you said about Tony, you know."
Jack paled. "...Yeah, I know that. But it's beside the point--"
"No it fucking isn't." Spot pulled his knees down. "Your life was shit before Denise, I know that, but at least you fucking have SOMEONE. All I had was a crazy, pill popping old woman and a father who liked to..." Spot gulped, held himself back. He wasn't talking about that. "Fuck it, Jack. You brought back so many goddamn memories I wanted to punch you so hard."
Jack kind of nodded a little. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I know--I mean, I don't know what happened, you didn't tell me that much."
"I don't think about it that much. It's just--shit, Jack; I can talk to Tony, and he didn't get all fucking sympathetic when I told him about my parents or the other homes, he just let me TALK. No one else does, everyone tries to fix me or whatever, but I'm not fucking broken, I'm just..."
Jack waited, not sure what to say.
Spot shrugged a little. "So I am fucking broken, but he doesn't give a damn. And--and he's the only one who's ever just wanted to hang out with me and not you, because everyone else around here only puts up with me because of you."
Wow, he was really opening up today, he noted somewhere in the back of his mind. And he kind of wanted to beat the crap out of himself for it; he was Spot Conlon, and Spot Conlon did not talk about these things.
But he'd been Sean Conlon for a lot longer than he'd been Spot, and Sean was a terrified, desperate little kid who needed someone to listen to him and... And Jack and Denise sort of actually maybe cared about him, so he could maybe actually trust them. A little.
He could trust Jack enough to talk to him.
He saw Jack wince slightly out of the corner of his eye. "Jesus, Spot, I'm an idiot sometimes. I let my temper get away from me...you know that Dutchy, and Itey and Blink and Davey, and fuck, even Mush, they're your friends because they like you. Come on, you know that."
Spot, still contemplating his self worth (and estimating zero) didn't respond. Jack sighed.
"Fuck," he said. "Sean. Sean, I'm stupid, okay? That's not true, what you said, or what I said then. I'm serious now, they're YOUR friends too. They all have separate relationships with you, they all--"
"They all think I'm a fucking asshole because I can't do anything but hate everything," Spot spat. "Okay? I know that, stop trying to pep me up."
"I'm not!" Jack stood, and crept over to where Spot was sitting on the couch, taking a tentative seat next to him. "Christ, Sean, I'm not, okay? I'm really not. We all CARE about you.
"Not just Mom, not just me, and not...not just Tony." Jack lowered his head, and Spot had to hand it to him for swallowing his pride for a moment. "Stop it, okay? You're scaring me. You've always been okay before. Well...okay with being fucked up. But I'm fucked up too, we all kind of are, but you've got us at your back, you know people care, so it's alright to be a little screwed when people care about you."
"No one DOES." Spot turned on him, snarling. "Okay? You do because you goddamn HAVE to, you got stuck with it, and really, I feel sorry for you because caring for me really has to suck."
"Would you STOP IT--"
"No!" Spot backed away from him, into the arm of the couch. "No, no I won't because I want to but I've never done this before and I'm fucking overflowing and I CAN'T stop!"
Jack didn't know how to respond to that, so he said nothing, and the flow of Spot's words had finally ebbed, at least for a few minutes. Finally he threw an attempt at a wry look at Jack, though really he just looked miserable. "I'm way more fucked up than you knew, Jacky boy."
Jack nodded. "Yeah, you are. But you're still my brother and I care about you anyway. And NOT," he said, before Spot could talk, "because you're my brother, it's because I just do. You're my friend. And you're everyone else's friend too, or you would be, if you'd let them be your friends."
Spot swallowed. "I want to, Jack," he admitted softly. "I just--I fucking don't know how. I don't know how it works, I don't understand, I never..." He trailed off and gathered his courage again, took a deep breath.
"When I was a kid, my parents wouldn't let me go to school, didn't want me talking to anyone. They finally did let me in fifth or sixth grade, 'cause my fucking high school drop out mom couldn't home school me past there, and my dad was..." There really were no words to describe his dad, so he just continued. "And I'd never talked to anyone before except my parents. Like, ever. And I just--I mean, I don't know how--I fucking never learned how the hell people are supposed to talk or act or anything, I fucking don't get it."
Jack kind of gaped for a minute. Then realized he shouldn't stare. "Oh," he said finally. "I didn't know."
"No one does," Spot mumbled, now biting into his knuckle, gnawing at the flesh. "It's not exactly something I want to broadcast, but it's not like I want to be just this idiot in the dark anymore either, you know?"
Jack shrugged. "I...don't, actually. I mean yeah, you know what my dad was like. But I dealt with it, I could talk to people about it. It's still there but at least I can mouth off and not...not get all..." Jack waved his hands about slightly, looking for his words. "Freaky."
It was the wrong choice for his word search because Spot bit harder into his knuckle. "You know what? Forget it."
"No." Jack shoved Spot's shoulder. "No, no seriously, Sean, go ahead. Talk, yell, punch me in the face, do anything because I don't fucking want to lose you to this."
"You haven't exactly been doing a great job of keeping me, ass."
Jack winced, and leaned back in his seat. "I deserved that."
"Sure fucking did."
Jack sighed. "You know, you piss me off sometimes, too."
"Hey!" Spot snapped. "All I did was meet a fucking guy I like and--"
"I don't just mean with Tony, dumbass!" Jack interrupted. "But no, I don't fucking like him or that you like him, but I'll fucking deal with that because I don't have a choice. I just mean..."
"What?" Spot demanded.
"You! You're fucking... You do act like an asshole--"
"Because I am--"
"You're not, and we both goddamn know it," Jack snapped. "And it pisses me off when you treat me like shit because you can't deal and it pisses me off when you treat yourself like shit because you're not. And I don't know how to deal with you when you're like that 'cause you get fucking scary."
"You think I can HELP it?" Spot snapped back. "I can't. How the hell am I supposed to act? I don't even know!"
"Why the fuck NOT?"
Spot was biting his tongue, Jack could tell. He did that when he wanted to start mouthing people off but knew that he shouldn't. Granted, that only happened when Jack absolutely made him not mouth off.
"You want some stories, Jacky, is that what you want?" Spot's voice, though it didn't crack, did certainly sound...odd. And unlike him. If he was going to talk like that, Jack didn't want him to talk. He knew that was unfair, but it was true.
"What the hell do you want?" He didn't expect an answer, but he didn't dare not listen when he got one.
"I want--I fucking want this!" Spot yelled, gesturing around the room. "I want a mom who gives a shit and a brother I can fight with and a boyfriend I like and to have it be real but it's just not! And I can't even fucking make it real because I don't know how and I'm so goddamn sick of--" He stopped and inhaled sharply, and finally finished, "Of being fucked up. Of being me."
Jack and Spot didn't say anything for a long time after that. Jack, at that moment more than any other, wished he was always the guy who said the right thing at the right time. But he wasn't. He could charm people's socks off, he could brighten someone's day, but this was different because it was his brother, and it affected him too because he cared about Spot so damned much.
But Spot didn't know that. Spot didn't know anyone cared about him. And Jack didn't know how to let him know that they did.
"Sean..." he said, turning to watch his brother, who was so skinny and pale and small that he wanted to fucking FORCE food into the guy. "Sean, I don't...I don't know what to do, but even if I did, it wouldn't go away in a day. You know that."
Spot just nodded.
"Sean?"
He didn't say anything.
"Sean?"
Still nothing. Jack grabbed his brother's shoulder. "Sean, come on."
Then Spot shuffled over and buried his head in Jack's shoulder.
He wasn't crying; Spot Conlon did not cry, not matter how much he sometimes wanted to. He just sat there, face buried in Jack's shirt, and began shaking ever so slightly, and finally murmured almost too softly to be heard, "Why me, Jack? Why did it happen to me...?"
Jack awkwardly put an arm around Spot; he knew that saying, "There there, it'll be all right," would be no help, and besides that, would be a lie. So instead, he stayed silent, and let Spot just sit. It was almost like he was crying; his shoulders were shaking, but there were no tears. Like he'd blocked the part of him that could cry out totally.
Jack couldn't be sure, but he'd have bet anything that was Spot's father's fault. And at that moment, Jack knew what it was like to really want someone dead, because he knew that Spot had never been intended to be a shaking, vulnerable mess; Spot must have been meant for something better. Something he'd never get to be or to do, because he'd been too fucked up...
"Shit," Spot finally muttered, straightening up, sort of. His shoulders slumped and his head drooped and he looked like he'd wilted somehow. "Shit, I--I'm sorry, forget I ever, that I just..." He couldn't speak coherently, couldn't form sentences.
"It's okay," Jack said, sloppily putting his arm around Spot again, rubbing his back. "You don't have to talk, you don't have to be quiet, you don't have to fucking do anything, just...do what makes you feel better."
Spot, still shaking, muttered out something, but Jack didn't hear it. "What'd you say?"
"My..." Spot swallowed. "My notebook. I need to write or something, okay? I don't want anything but my notebook."
Jack had to note that Spot was strategically avoiding the mention of Race, which was kind of sweet once he thought about it.
"You wanna go get it and write for a bit?"
Spot shrugged.
"Anything else?"
"...I want a cheeseburger."
"Really?" Jack asked.
"Yes." Spot looked up at him finally, and Jack was relieved, because this wasn't the fragile mess he'd just seen. The look in Spot's eye was... Well, not exactly good, but it was at least solid. "Go get me a burger, bitch."
Jack shoved him a little, playfully, and stood. "So, we good?" he asked.
Spot rolled his eyes. Yeah; he was either snapping back to normal quickly, or pretending he was. Which, Jack reasoned, would probably make him feel better in and of itself. Spot had to hate being so open about everything.
"Spot," Jack muttered.
"You sound like a woman."
"...But?"
"Fine, yeah; I forgive you for being a dickhead. Now go get me food."
Jack half-laughed and went to do it, as Spot walked out to go find his notebook. And by the time he got back to the kitchen, Jack and Denise were both there. Cooking cheeseburgers with a plate all set out for him. He gave them a weird look.
"I'm not sure I can handle the 'one big happy family,' thing."
"Well, you're no Greg Brady," Denise answered, passing him ketchup.
"That's Tony," Jack answered, taking a big bite, as Spot sat down. "Well, sort of. He's like, the R-rated version with those sisters of his..."
Spot gave them a confused look, and began to eat, and wondered if this was normal. Somehow, he doubted it. But it didn't seem that bad, either way.
"So..." Denise said, plopping a dollop of mustard on her burger. "I see my boys sorted everything out."
"How do you figure?" Spot asked, pouring ketchup onto his food.
She smiled, and ruffled the hair of both of them simultaneously. "You hugged."
Spot snorted and Jack turned red. "Mom, shut up."
Denise just smiled, and checked her watch. "Burgers for breakfast, how nutritious. Both of you ready to get going to school? Sean?"
Spot, oddly enough, really just wanted to get into the van and write the whole ride to school, write during all of his classes (like he usually did) and act like a shit head to the teachers. He wanted to pretend he'd never broken down.
And he was going to. For now.
"Yeah, yeah, I can go," he said, chewing and chewing his food before actually swallowing. Jack grinned and started to do rude patterns with the ketchup on the meat.
"How about your injuries?" Denise asked.
"My shoulder hurts." Spot shrugged. "That's all, and my jaw's like...I dunno, it doesn't hurt anymore, so it's not like it'll affect my school work."
"Like you do any."
"Shut up Jack.'
"'Shut up, Jack,'" Jack mimicked, and Spot kicked him under the table.
"I just gotta change, 'cause these clothes are nasty."
"Yeah, you do kind of smell."
"Shut up, Jack."
"I can't believe Tony didn't loan you something. Are you two supposed to be in wuuuuuuv?"
Spot kicked him harder, and finally muttered, "Nothing of his would fit."
"What?"
"He's too short and I'm too skinny, so nothing of his would fit."
"So Sean," Denise said, "tell me about this Tony."
Spot almost choked on his burger.
He flipped the bird at Jack, who just grinned cheerily, indicating 'my work is done' in his face. Spot glared. "Well?" Denise asked. "Jack doesn't like him; all I've heard is HIS side of the story."
"Jack's an idiot," Spot said simply. "Tony's...really great."
"That all you're going to say?"
"What do you want me to say?"
"Come on." Denise leaned in. "Give me the goods."
She did that all the time. Like when Spot got into a fight at school and Denise had said Jack told her Spot had 'made it' with the most popular girl in school. Spot liked how Denise hadn't even blinked when he told her it was to get back at a hot guy he wanted to fuck ten times more than his girlfriend.
He liked Denise.
"I dunno..." Spot mumbled, kind of embarrassed. "I figure we'll be together for awhile, so..."
"So..."
"I dunno." Spot ate another mouthful. "He's... Hot."
"Lovely."
"He is. And he drums and he cooks and hates getting up in the morning." He really wasn't sure what to say.
"And he's an asshole," Jack muttered.
"Shut UP, he is n--okay, he is, but only until you get to know him."
Denise looked amused. "Sounds like he'd fit in around here, then."
"Fat chance," Jack muttered.
Denise sighed. "I hate to ask this, Sean, but I'm pretty much required to. Does he have a drug problem?"
Spot glared at Jack, who shrugged innocently. "I was just telling her what happened with Dutchy; don't blame me."
"I fucking think I will," Spot answered.
"Sean?" Denise asked.
"Uh, he's... That is, yeah. But not at the moment. He used to, and when he and Dutchy got together there was a problem, but he's okay now. As okay as he can be, I guess."
Denise raised her eyebrows as she poked ice cream around her bowl. "Well, you can't expect me to jump right onboard his fan club, can you?"
"See?" Jack grinned. Spot glared.
"But," she added. "I do like Dutchy. You know I do, I love Dutchy, he's a great kid, and I'm glad he's getting help. And if Tony had the will power to deal with his problem back then... Than I respect that. Of course I don't love that he slipped up, but I do understand that a cocaine addiction is a powerful thing, and not to be taken lightly." She patted Spot's shoulder. "You just take care of yourself, alright? AND I'd like to meet him before making any judgments."
"You want to what?" Spot asked, startled.
"Meet him," she answered. "If you two are going to be together for awhile, I'd eventually meet him anyway, wouldn't I?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"So, have him over for dinner or something," she said.
Jack made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort. "Hey, Spot, remember what happened when Tony had us over for dinner?"
"Not his fault," Spot snapped.
Denise gave them an odd look, but neither volunteered an explanation. Finally Spot answered, "I like him, so he's not just going to go away, Jacky boy."
"Yeah, well, I don't like him, so I think I'll act like a dick. That's what he did, isn't it?"
"It's what his dad did, so fuck you."
"Sean; Jack." Denise plopped her hamburger down on the plate. "Enough. Jack, I'm sure you're more than familiar with how much Spot hates Sarah, but he deals with it."
"That's different."
"How?" she demanded, then continued, "Never mind, I don't care. I have to go to work, unless you need me, Sean."
"Uh, nope."
"Okay, then, we'll go through what happened this evening. But Sean," she said, standing up, "I'm glad you're home."
He ducked his head a little and played with his now cold burger. "Yeah," was all he said.
"Be good, kids." She put her dishes in the sink, waved, and left.
"Yeah, Spot, be GOOD," Jack griped, angry that his side hadn't been taken in the Race Dislike War. Spot just chewed.
"Sarah is a stupid, ignorant, insecure brat who crashed your last car and didn't tell you for a week and a half. Also, she gets David mad at you all the time."
"That doesn't count for anything."
"Sure does."
"Sure does NOT."
"Drive me to school."
"Go change, smelly whore."
Spot stood, finishing up his meal, and then grinning down at Jack. "Hey, Jacky."
"What."
"I thought you were straight?"
"I am."
"Then why are you dating a man?"
Jack attempted to squirt some ketchup at his brother, but instead the bottle made a rude noise and the ketchup fell with a splat to the floor. Spot smirked and Jack was not fazed. "I am not."
"Uh huh."
"Would you just lay off? David and I are not dating, we're not in love, we're not soulmates, and we don't want each other. We're both straight, and you goddamn well know it!"
"Uh huh." Spot smirked, and shoved a cloth at Jack to clean the ketchup off of the floor. They'd had this conversation what felt like several hundred times. "I'm just saying, look at your friends. We're not gonna judge you when you come out."
"I'm not in the closet!"
"You so are." Spot decided he was done with his food, though he hadn't finished it. Not that it was surprising, given he'd already had breakfast, and he just didn't eat that much. "I'm gonna go change."
"Yeah, you smell," Jack agreed.
"And you are totally gay," Spot answered as he walked out of the room, leaving his dishes for Jack to deal with.
*
B: See? You've all accused us of hating Jack, when secretly we like him and he's been a nice guy all along. Just... a kind of a mean nice guy.
F: He's a darling. He IS, damn it. WE HAVE LASAGNA IN THE FRIDGE AND I DIDN'T KNOW. Mrs. Higgins would be proud.
B: Funkie likes to change topics with no warning.
F: I like to think it's charming...
B: That's one word for it.
F: I AM. Ssh! Now, you better all think twice before hating Jack. But we understand; he was an ass for a good while. Speaking of ass, Marco has a hot one.
B: Oh dear god, yes. Marco is beautiful. And stupid. Big and dumb, just the way I like 'em. Um... Did I say that out loud?
F: I'll make a note that B is unhealthily obsessed with Marco.
B: Well... not unhealthily... ::cough:: Um, anyway. Denise rocks too. We like her.
F: The next chapter has some juicy tidbits. Can anyone spell Blink and Spot talk about S-E-X?
B: Ooh la la. It's super gay best friend bonding hour in the next chapter. Because sometimes, pretty gay boys need to gossip like fourteen year old girls.
F: We were kind of deliriously hyper and horny when we wrote it and it came out sounding like a slumber party. But in a good way.
B: That's what happens when you do all of your writing at 5 AM.
F: Not to mention totally wired from all the like, cookies and pop.
B: I have Coca Cola in my veins where blood used to be.
F: My heart? Totally replaced by a colossal cookie. They sell them in our cafeteria. They're HUGE.
B: Nothing in our cafeteria is edible... But ANYWAY, major thanks to The Second Batgirl who has taken on the ridiculously insane task of beta-ing this monstrosity, because Funkie and I keep having people take off their shirts twice or being in two rooms at once.
F: We almost had a colossal (cookie...) mistake of Spot eating something wrong in this chapter, BUT I SAVED THE DAY. Well...B did, but I take credit 'cause I'm a jerk.
B: But now I no longer have to do that. Because we have a beta reader. Who rules. And you should all go read her stuff now.
F: TSB = BEST PERSON EVER
(B: Following closely behind her his Hilby, who gave us the R Rated Greg Brady line in a review, which made us laugh so hard we couldn't not put it in somewhere.) But anyhoo, this chapter celebrated with matzah, because it's Passover. Sadly, no cookies.
F: And lasagna. LOTS of lasagna.
B: Which is not kosher. But don't tell our parents that. ;)
F: No, it is! We got it from the kosher deli.
B: Really? ...DUDE, longest AN ever.
F: Yes, really. Isn't that awesome?? ...We're just kind of rambling now.
B: And so with that, good night!
F: Byeeeeeeeee!