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Tripping

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Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

Commissioned by Mirath

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“Didn't you learn last time that this was a bad idea?"

Frowning, Donnie sat back on John's sofa, although it was less familiar territory to him. Strangely for the slick drug lord, he'd chosen to live outside the city where there was more space, which made actually getting anything done a nightmare and a half at the best of times. It was lavish and over the top, the home of someone with plenty of money to hand, but Donnie had just about managed to rein him in from getting the equivalent of a billionaire's mansion or the like, begging the cause that it would draw too much attention. Yet John had never seen much sense in having money around if he wasn't going to, well, you know…spend it. It was a theme shared by many who rose to power and fell from power, although it was not yet determined whether he would stay at the top or not. That wasn't worth thinking about.

The modern building was gated and walled, its contemporary lines integrated with the poshest, newest security system that Donnie could dream up. He should know about stopping people from getting into a place when he was so very often the one breaking in, whether digitally or physically now, or so it seemed with the digital and real worlds overlapping where they did. Technology was everywhere and John made use of it in his place too, the windows opening out onto beautiful vistas across the garden – all the way down to that wall, which was, truly, the only eyesore. It was understandable, of course, just why it needed to be there but that was the problem with illegal activity: one had to make efforts to protect themselves.

Inside, it was only minimalist, the bachelor pad of bad boy's dreams, as John seemed to spend most of his time crashing on the outskirts of the city with Donnie, or occasionally in Charles' flat when he wasn't with Soren or going off the rails with someone else. Something was up with that kid but it wasn't for them to interfere with, not unless there was something serious at hand there. The furniture may have looked utilitarian yet lavish but it was comfortable, more comfortable than Donnie could have ever had the know-how to pick out for himself, but John was more the kind that had a personal shopper do the hard work for him. As long as he got what he wanted in the end, it wasn't too important whether he did the legwork himself or not. Actually, on second thought, it was better if he didn't do any legwork at all.

And the sofa… Donnie smiled at himself, despite knowing just what his brother had in store, mixing a rum and coke – or something like that – at the fancy minibar that was installed right there in the living room, the place big enough that even a full bar did not make it feel cluttered in the slightest. Well, they'd done many a thing on that sofa too and he could attest to its comfort maybe more than anyone else – even John. And John was the one who had the most say, of course, in the workings and placing of his own home. It was the ideal spot for someone who wanted to do nothing at all that was productive with their time, which suited John just fine, fine just fine. After all, if you were John, you didn't much care about getting anything done anyway and that was just how things were when it came to living your best life.

Of course, things had changed since he'd roped in Donnie, winding him right up tight around his little finger as he always did, to take down Jaunt, none of them sure whether the tech giant slash super drug overlord of the city and beyond was dead, undercover, kidnapped – or what. There was no way to find out and not even Donnie's little network of bugs and birdies could tell that tale, although he kept his ear to the ground as he always did. John said there was nothing to worry about (of course, that was just what John would say) but just the name of the man himself stirred unease up in the pit of Donnie's stomach, worry twisting about what could come if he did not keep an eye on Jaunt at all times.

A little coping mechanism, if you will. If he monitored everything, they would be fine. If he kept updating his systems, they would be safe. If he expanded his networks, everything would be okay. If he performed multiple checks every single day, things would continue on as they were.

Swallowing hard, Donnie closed his eyes, his brother pressing a drink into his hands. He could feel John's frown even with his eyelids lowered, shielding his view of the room and the man that both lifted him up and thrust him down.

“What's gotten into you?"

He didn't know of his internal struggle, the strangling dilemma that plagued him day in and day out. But he didn't need to either.

“Nothing, don't worry about it."

If he kept tabs on everything, John was safe.

John, however, wasn't all that concerned about staying safe. Conversely, with his lust for fast cars and frequently overdosing (really, there was no other way to speak of the sheer volume of drugs that he consumed), John was living larger and louder than ever while Donnie retreated into his own sense of safety. It seemed to be the only way to carry on, to continue, to get through the day to day that sometimes seemed to be spiralling out of control.

Had they really taken over the city? Was he really second in command? Ah… No, no… He didn't have to think like that. He was only there to run everything that worked behind the scenes, delegate and manage, working harder in the world outside of technology too than he'd ever done in his life. Even John had, somehow, managed to come into his own, demonstrating shocking charm and charisma to woo over those who really shouldn't have been so quick to come over to his side and way of thinking.

“No… Look." Back to the topic at hand then, something a little less on the dark side, so to speak. “This isn't a good idea to keep testing crack like this, you know that. That's why we have people to do that. John, we don't have to do this shit when there's people to do it for us. You know that, right?"

“Yeah, yeah…" John waved a hand dismissively, black hair sweeping back over his shoulder, maybe a little longer still than he usually kept it. “But isn't it so much more entertaining, Donnie, to try it out ourselves? Aren't you bored just sitting around tap-tap-tapping away at your computer?"

John threw himself down on the sofa, crossed one leg over the other and sat up ramrod straight, fingers poised and dancing as if he was set before an invisible computer and desk. Of course, Donnie's set-up worked so that it was transportable and multi-functional (it most certainly did not only have a single screen) and was nothing at all like that but the comparison still made his lips turn down in a frown. As much as their relationship and work had brought them closer and closer together, there really was no other way to say that John could be a right dick at times.

“Sure, real funny…"

Turning away, Donnie pressed his lips tightly together. He didn't need words to ensure that John felt his displeasure, although whether or not his brother would act on it was another question. True to form, however, John's fingers curled around his chin with surprising gentleness, not truly needing all that much force or persuasion to turn Donnie back to him.

Oh, those eyes… He would do anything for those eyes, as much as he had, before, tried to tear himself away from them, John's electric allure that had drawn him in and in and in until he was lost to anything else. Maybe he'd done the same to John, considering that there was no one else that John had eyes for. At least in that, there was something that Donnie could trust.

“I was only joking…"

From someone else, it would have been a disparaging comment, intended to throw him off and turn the blame from the perpetrator to the victim of an ill-timed remark, but the sincerity was in the “sorry" that John breathed in the moment his lips touched his brothers.

A relationship that was wrong still had so very many elements of right in it too and Donnie swallowed the lump in his throat, kissing him back even as John drew him up against him, hands finding the small of his back. It was tender, more so than he usually was with him, and a small part of Donnie wondered just what John's game was that evening, the sun slowly turning to shades of slanting sunset, while the much larger part of his mind screamed that none of that fucking mattered. None of that mattered one single bit.

It wasn't romance, no… No, nothing like that. Not that he would admit to it, anyway, but it was all he could do to simply be in the moment, crackling tension snapping and jostling for attention between them. And maybe, just maybe, if things ramped up enough, all thought of testing yet more of the drugs in their arsenal, their newest stocks, would be wiped entirely from John's mind…

Of course, Donnie was not so lucky.

“Well, that's nice and all," John said, breaking the kiss, to Donnie's amusement, a little breathless. “But there's work to be done here, Donnie! No rest for the wicked. Isn't that what they say? We're busy men!"

Donnie winced.

“I don't think that line means quite what you think it does, John…"

But John wasn't listening and, so, Donnie merely sighed and sat back on the sofa, letting himself enjoy the little pleasure of watching John as he prepped a crack pipe: not their usual fare in way of taking, to be fair, but drugs were drugs in their line. They'd expanded into the harder kinds, even mixing LSD strips with further potent intoxicants to induce a feverish high that mere hallucinations could not encapsulate. A drug-hungry crowd, after all, wanted more and more bang for their buck, always chasing that next high, the next hit, the grand revelation that they'd found that thing that they were looking for, whether they were looking to forget, to live or simply experience something that the harsh hand of reality simply could not deliver. And it was their job now, supposedly, to feed them everything they'd ever wanted – all for the right price, of course.

The crack pipe was new. Donnie rolled his eyes, although that did somewhat slightly hamper his view of John, black jeans showing off what he was packing, at the very least. He had to take his own kind of hits and thrills, feeding his addiction, where he could get them. Sometimes he wondered just how long that was destined to last.

One last try…

“Seriously, John, this isn't a good idea, not when we haven't gotten others to test this shit first. Don't you remember the bullshit that happened before when you got into that batch from down south, whatever the fuck it was called? You were a mess when I found you that time, I don't know how I didn't wake up from it, it's like you just…appeared in the living room or something."

That gave John pause and Donnie pressed his point, although the implements of what would fuel the potent mix of cocaine into their systems were nearly all ready to go. Like with everything else in life, there simply wasn't time to cut in and take away what had already been begun. That was something that Donnie should have understood for himself too long ago.

“That was…different…Donnie…"

Ah, as evasive as ever, it seemed.

“And just how was it different?" Donnie scowled, lips turning down as if he had suddenly reverted to a sulky teenager and yet he knew all the while that there was little hope that John would turn back from what he had begun. “You didn't know anything about that day, anyone could have found you on the street. You didn't even know how fucking long you'd been high on it for!"

“Like that matters. I would have been fine."

He said it with such an air of finality that the door slammed closed on his heels, tumbleweed blowing in the absence of any further discussion at all on that matter. Even Donnie had to hold back his sigh; it would do no good, not really. He'd just annoy John and then Donnie would be pissed off too and it would all be a right mess for nothing. Maybe he'd just go behind John's back and have new products tested further down the line of expendable souls going forward. It was hardly as if John would find out, if he kept his head on straight about it. John was not quite as invincible as he thought he was.

Yet the memory of that incident lingered in his mind, the scene of finding John in his living room playing out before his eyes, although the majority of the discovery, to be fair, was static. John had been half-on and half-off the sofa with his torso dangling over the side, legs kicked up over the cushions. Strangely, his back was poised at a strange angle and he'd groaned and slumped down against the floor as Donnie had approached, shaking his head even as his steps quickened in more than simple brotherly concern. John had not been with it at all, slurring his speech and rolling his head as if the merest simplest of control had evaded his grasp. And yet his eyes were open all the while, wide and staring and shining as he stared off into the distance over Donnie's shoulder, looking at something that only he could see, coming down from his high.

Donnie shuddered. That wasn't the most pleasant experience, he had to admit. John had been in a smart suit there, something that wasn't at all his usual attire, even if he did like looking and playing the part, although there had been one stand-out to the scene that had never again reappeared since in his extensively elaborate and ever-changing wardrobe. It must not have been that important.

“And just what the fuck was that cane about," Donnie muttered, folding his arms and rolling his head back against the back of the sofa, exhaling a breath through pursed lips. “You with a fucking cane… Alright, well, that was kind of funny but even knocking you over the head with the damn thing wouldn't bang any sense into you."

“If you don't shut up, I'm going to bang you."

“Promises, promises."

And, just like that, the banter was back, tension melting from John's face that Donnie had not even taken note of until it disappeared. It was not even something that he could make a mental note of, filing away for later perusal, as John pressed the neck of the pipe to his lips, inciting him to take a long, drawn-out drag, as if that would speed up the process any. He coughed and made a face, but it was hardly the first thing he'd had forced into his mouth (not even only in John's presence either), the rancid aroma of burned rubber mixed with something darker, more oaken, filling his nose, clinging sadistically to the back of his mouth.

“Fuck…" Donnie shoved him away, lips twisting, yet he could not get the taste of the smell to vanish so swiftly. “What is this shit? Didn't you get the good stuff?"

“Not the most palatable of blends but I'm told there's a certain kick to this one. Besides, it's needed to go with something else so force it down, would you?"

Donnie rolled his eyes. Better than injecting himself, he was sure, although snorting lines of powder seemed more apt and palatable than letting the foul rock burn, a different class of cocaine altogether. It should not have fascinated him so how much variety there was in each drug and, if he had not been devoted to the future of technology and intricate hacking programs, he would have seen just what he could cook up for himself as a chemist. Donnie, however, was more of a person that devoted himself to one cause and one cause alone, specialising avidly to the exclusion of all else. Maybe that was just why he'd stuck with John for so long but it had always been his decision to do so and that was okay too.

Still, the familiar taste and smell worked its toxic magic and John took a hit too, skilfully manipulating the pipe, rock burning away merrily. It could have been cheery, perhaps, if it had been at a different time of year, but it was not quite so in the height of summer, the two of them only rendered comfortable within his home due to the quiet air conditioning system running throughout the entire building. A man could have lived there for months on end in just the same climate as he woke up in and be perfectly happy with it, not alternating between sweating and freezing as the months ticked by out on the streets where, conversely, they still had their goods peddled. That wasn't something that Donnie was interested in anymore, choosing to spend the majority of his time inside or, at the very least, moving between locations in his car. And even then he was considered converting to an electric one, even if it would need a few more technological modifications to suit his needs for longevity and, of course, security. That was just something he was toying with though and another nod to his self-imposed solitude, choosing what he hoped was a quiet life over the madness that his brother immersed himself in. His way of life wasn't all that bad but John had never seen it that way.

“Erff…" John matched his expression, lips twisted. “Alright, not the best, I'll give you that, but wait for it."

What else was he supposed to do? Passing the pipe between them, fingers brushing with that ever-present electric tingle, the brothers waited on the high, only one of them admiring the sunset playing out across the garden. One of their people who didn't want to work on the drug side took care of it, choosing safer if still well-paying work. There were few, after all, that would take out a mere gardener unless the stakes were particularly high and such a gardener could neither truly be held accountable in the eyes of the law for merely doing their job. It was a clever ploy for those who wanted to milk the criminal side of life while still getting a fair bit of money set aside in their name.

Slowly, slowly… There was no rush as the drug infiltrated their systems, tongues-wagging and laughter bubbling up as if they were just holding it back all the while. Where was the sense in letting things be so tense when they could be enjoying each other's company? No, no… No, there was no sense in that, none at all, and Donnie rabbited on, standing shakily to fling his arms about, telling a story that would have had more influence and meaning to one of his hacker friends than John.

And yet John was still there listening to him, nodding frequently with a small smile on his lips, head tilted a little to one side. He always listened to him, his Donnie, like no one else would. Not that Donnie was usually all that much of a chatterbox, holding his words back and in store until he felt that he had due need of them, the words needing to be out and spilt without cause or reason under the influence. It was too much, a continuous stream of consciousness, and yet there was nothing in the whole wide world that would have stopped John from smiling and encouraging him in, needing only a little gesture of his hand to reassure his sweet lover that he was listening and, in fact too, to every word he had to say.

How could he have doubted John? Really? Laughing, Donnie found himself back on the sofa all of a sudden, flopping down beside his brother with a bounce and a grunt from the impact, John's arm around his shoulders, drawing him in close. It felt right there, like slipping into a familiar jacket after some time away, and he leaned instinctively into him, although they were, really, just about the same size. There was still something about John that made him feel smaller in a sense, although that was, most likely, partly due to the fact that it had always been very clear between them just who was top and who was bottom in their relationship. But that was okay, it was the status quo and the way things were all for the best. Donnie had experimented with others, other things, other ways of having a relationship, and it was the one he held with his older brother that felt the most natural at the end of the day, making what should have been a convoluted, twisted sort of decision all too simple and easy. And wasn't that just what 'it' was meant to be?

Donnie's skin crawled with heat and yet he could not pull himself away from John, his brother's fingers curling softly around his chin and drawing him to him, wide awake and bubbling up with euphoria.

“You're so cute when you talk like that."

If he blushed, the warmth in his body, flushed in hot patches already, hid it well enough for him, yet he still grinned like a fool, nervous energy twisting and snapping through him like an otherworldly force, something that could never have hoped to be contained by a human body, a form that was never designed for such sick thrills. Everything was simple! Everything was easy! Just what had he been so worried about with that batch of crack anyway? Stupid, so stupid, surely, to be so overly cautious when everything was so bright and so wonderful and just so, so, so…

John's lips on his cut off any further thoughts and Donnie could not help but moan into his mouth, pressing up against his brother. Where things were going, he would not have presumed to tell, heart pounding too hard and too viciously in his chest, a death-match going on within the cage of his ribs. Whether it was the drugs or his John, however, that rendered the light twist of nausea in his stomach was another question and not one that he really wanted to answer right then and there as their tongues battled between their mouths, John not taking full dominance immediately, which allowed his brother just a little bit more fun than he may have usually have had in being beaten back into sweet submission.

And yet…things were changing, shifting beneath his feet. Donnie's head spun, temples throbbing, and his hands shakily rose to them, breaking the kiss in the turn of his head and a moan that was not wrapped up in any manner of silken lust. But John wasn't done yet and, holding something in the rounded curve of his devilishly handsome cheek, he kissed his brother fiercely, forcing his head in place as he passed something into Donnie's mouth before he could even react, fighting against the vile urge to lose his guts all at once, lungs burning and tight where they really shouldn't have been.

“What…" Words stuck in his throat, eyes wide and bulging. “What the fuck…was that? John!"

He laughed and yet there was no humour in it, something darker sinking its claws into his intestines and twisting them up, churning his guts into a mess that made him want to hunch over and moan. The pain… Yes, there was pain, some of it, but just how did that mesh with the thrill coursing through him, each pulse and pound of his heart seeming to make the drive of it all the more potent, cursing him with the flow of blood that his body needed to live.

“Something to spice it up a little," John breathed, eyes seeming to dance, face close to Donnie's as he held his brother's between two hands. “Trust me… This is going to be fucking epic!"

Not words that John would have usually have used but Donnie was too far gone to complain as it seemed so much easier to be compliant, every nerve-ending in his body firing off rapid pulses of energy over and over, like the pounding drive of something that he would rather be doing over getting high. But didn't it make sense that people, people like him and John, wanted to get high to feel so alive, vibrant, like the world had finally been painted in its full, fresh colours? The world without something in his system was either moving too fast, slowing it down with liquor, or dulled into abject greyness, which the life and light of drugs brought something back for him. Not so much a coping mechanism but something for the thrill of it.

“It's really fucking amazing, isn't it, all we've done? Don't you think?"

But Donnie was not with his senses, sweating and staring at his hands, lower jaw slack with a glisten of drool in the corner.

“What if... No, John, no…"

His brother lifted his head from the sofa, blinking blearily as if he was waking up from a particularly good dream, although it was merely the effect of the hallucinogenic working her sweet, sweet magic on a man who was particularly susceptible to that manner of corruption. A strand of hair clung to his forehead in an unpolished fashion and, if he'd been with his senses, Donnie would have laughed. As it was, the sofa and the very image of his brother sat upon it shifted and blurred before his eyes, lines wavering even as he snatched and grabbed for them with a whimper that should never have arisen from his throat. He had to keep them still! They had to be still!

“What? What's gotten into you? You're fucking hopping like a rabbit over there!"

And maybe he was, maybe he wasn't, there was no way for Donnie to know or not as he blinked and found himself on the other side of the room, chest heaving and pulse pounding. How had he gotten there? What was happening? Had he jumped? Had he walked? What? How would he know? Would it be obvious? What had John made him take? Did he know how he was feeling? The effect it had on him?

No… No… Donnie clawed at his hair, falling to his knees with a low moan that could not, surely, have come from human lips, rising up as if from the depths of the underworld itself. Not that Donnie believed in hell or heaven or anything at all after death – it just was what it was and life would take him to the end either way. It didn't matter, none of it mattered, and he swatted away John's hands as they tried to grab onto his shoulders, rooting him there even as they flew out and away, disembodied entirely from John's body, which, funnily enough, still had its hands too.

“Donnie!"

But he was gone, up and whipping around, fighting something invisible – invisible even to him. His mouth throbbed with dryness and he licked his lips over and over again, trying anything at all that he could possibly think of to dredge up something of a hint of moisture for them. Nothing was right, nothing was natural, nothing was normal. Maybe it never had been, maybe it was all a lie! How would he know that things were real when they could be anything? Was he even real?

“They're coming!"

Who was coming, not even Donnie could answer to, someone screaming as he ran to the windows and beat his fists on them, fighting for the escape that some little survivalist corner of his brain told him that he had to take. He had to keep on going, had to keep fighting, get out, out, out, out, out! Anything was better to being trapped, them coming back for him, hell to pay at the devil's gate. Pain throbbed through his closed fists, reverberating up his arms, but even the euphoria had died, leaving nothing but panic in its wake, deathly, clawing anxiety that ripped through him, leaving no sense of mercy in its wake and most certainly taking no prisoners.

He was just an animal. An animal in a cage. Maybe there were even people out there, lurking on the outside, watching him, smirking at him, taking photos of him. He'd become nothing more than an exhibit to the voices whispering in his head, bouncing off the insides of his skull, a resounding cacophony from which there was no escape, just going around and around and around. They wanted something from him but no amount of shouting was going to get it out of him, oh no. No, no, no, no, no. He was smarter than that, cleverer than that, wise to that. And it wasn't going to happen, not again, not again.

Again?

“Donnie… Donnie, you've got to get it together, this isn't you."

But Donnie was present in his own body anymore, slithering down against the glass windows, which, conveniently, went down to the floor. Paving slabs outside came right up to the window, although he doubted that he had set foot on them even once. Maybe that meant that they didn't exist either.

Outside, the gardener waved at him, moustache quivering.

“Hello!"

Distantly, he lifted a hand in greeting, although he was so far set back and away from the scene at hand that he could not be sure. Why did he hurt so much? What had happened? John was there beside him but he couldn't see his face, a blank mask that held no emotion, not even his usual cockiness and arrogance, the mask that he put on for himself each and every day, hiding his true self behind it. Was this another kind of mask that he was putting out and on show for a while?

“No…"

He repeated the word over and over again to himself, not thinking or feeling, body shaking. It was not natural or normal to shake so violently, fingers twitching and jerking so that they no longer at all looked like fingers any more. Maybe something more arachnid, something inhuman, something insane. It would have made sense for him, better sense than thinking he was completely and utterly losing his mind, and Donnie's mouth opened and closed over and over again, although no sound came out that he could make sense of.

His head swung back and forth, a human shape looming in his vision. So big… He must have been a giant, leaving Donnie nothing more than a little mouse before the predator, all there and ready to be snapped up and eaten up, broken and screwed up. A screw up, they were all saying that, weren't they? Ever since the security breach, however small it had been. There was no grace for the wicked either and he'd heard their talk through his bugs, microphones picking up what human ears were not privy to.

And they talked. Oh, how they talked, every last muscle in Donnie's body seeming to twitch and tense, the minor release nothing in comparison to the contraction that immediately followed. His body was at the ready – yet for what?

They were there… In the dimming, plain living room, they were there. It wasn't John's house anymore but a slack and limp slum home, a sagging sofa and a chair that had no place to be. The table was stacked with unopened letters and envelopes, junk mail that no one paid any attention to. There'd been a trash collection service that came around the apartments at the ground floor level but no one who was so lazy that they wouldn't walk down a flight of stairs or four wasn't going to have anyone come up to do it for them. In that neighbourhood, there was unlikely to even be someone to do it for the elderly, the decrepit, sordid part of the city. And that was most likely where most of their drugs were going. Fitting, was it not, to feed back to the beast itself?

There was no beast for Donnie though, just a demon, a sickening snake tightening around his throat, choking him, cutting off any attempt at breath he may have made. He forgot to breathe as the voices from times gone by pressed in, intermingled with the ones from his present, the ones that he should not have saved and did so anyway, sealing his fate well and truly. Things would have been much easier still if he had at all had it in himself to just delete things but, alas, that wasn't all that easy anymore in a digital age.

“Such a farce."

“A show for the ages."

“Who does he think he is?"

“What, with him?"

“Nooo…"

The last voice came from his lips but the others were still there, crowding in around him as he backed off from the windows, slack-jawed and drool gleaming at the corner of his lips. His mouth was no longer dry and barren but that no longer seemed like a good thing, nothing was a good thing. Maybe there'd never been a good thing, one thought after the other crowding in against his mind, each one demanding the most attention – no! More attention than the one that went before it! And he only had so much attention to give, energy finite and limited as he whimpered and pulled back and away, heart tightening and pounding in his throat, choking him, breath unable to slip through freely as it so blissfully once had.

Was it John? Was John choking him again? And yet there was no edge of sexual arousal in it – at least if there was, it wasn't evident to him. His legs shook and he scrambled, a warm body against his as John tried to stop him. He knew that much, that the body belonged to John, but he couldn't see, could hardly breathe, moaning out his brother's name over and over again even if he couldn't hear the words coming from his lips.

“Donnie! Come on now!"

Yet he was not there, blinking as he staggered upright – at least, he thought he was upright. He couldn't see the room that he thought he'd been in with John or anywhere else for that matter either, hissing filling his ears, a beast snarling and griping, hunkering down in the very cage that had now become Donnie's home.

No more old apartment, the seedy smell of must and rotten food for those who didn't know how to look after themselves at such a young age. Not yet anyway. They got there, in the end. He blinked and was in a park, all dark, his brother, Charles, standing in a pool of light from an overhead street lamp. It must have been one of the older parks then, but what on earth was he doing there? It was startling enough to shock him back from his inner turmoil, although the jitters and tightness in his chest remained, roiling and coiling beneath the surface, once again waiting their times to come forth into the spotlight.

The Charles in the puddle of light, shimmering and flickering as if it could drift away at any moment, turned to him sadly, his long hair, tied back away from his face, damp with rain. What was he doing out in the rain? And not in some fast car that he'd stolen, as was his way?

“It wasn't your fault, Donnie."

What wasn't his fault? What had he done wrong now? Had something else gone amiss under his direction? It was always like that, always his fault. Always, always, always, always.

Charles faded; he'd never been there anyway. Did that mean that there was no real Charles either? The lines had blurred and someone clutched him tight as he fought against their grip, heaving and gasping and snarling like a wild animal himself. Out! Free! He had to get loose, scream and growl like a beast, a creature that could not be controlled, not be tamed. That was the only way he could do it, escaping the grasp of all that had ever served to hold him back, chain him in place, drag him down.

It was time to go.

“Donnie… Donnie… Donnie…"

Underwater, he swam to the surface, nervous energy intermingling with something that could have been excitement. Although he was not truly in any kind of water, his hair and clothes still floated around him and he laughed for the sheer hell of it, bubbles streaming from his lips and nostrils in hastily expended breath. It was just another expendable thing in a life and a world where everything, absolutely everything, was expendable.

Breaking the surface, he was him again – Donnie! The real Donnie too, right there and in the flesh, bold and ready for anything. He blinked rapidly, swinging his head from one side to the other as if he had by chance forgotten that he could just move his gaze, standing by the bar.

“What…"

The room was hardly as he'd left it and yet he could not do anything but laugh at the mess, the table that had held their drinks before on its side, bottles shattered around the bar, smears of blood on the window. Shapes and colours flowed before him, around him, the whispers that had scorned him so turning to singing – and such beautiful singing too! It was like nothing he'd ever heard before and he giggled, cupping his fingers to his ears as his feet jigged in place, yet he could not move away, as much as he wanted to just, well…

“Dance!"

“Donnie, are you alright?"

John stood before him, blocking out the bar, a hand very firmly on either one of his biceps. His face shivered and blurred and yet it was still the face that Donnie loved so much, even if he had not said the words. They never would, of course, as it wasn't the done thing for them but that was already set in stone, what they knew to be the thing, their thing. He laughed and tried to lift his hands but while his legs were light and airy, he could not control his hands, his motor control off and jerky with the cocktail of influences all fighting for precedence within him.

“Donnie, listen to me."

Why did he sound so serious? That wasn't like John at all. That really wasn't like John. It was kind of funny, actually. Really funny. Hysterically funny.

He might have said something then or he might not have, all he knew was that his lips were moving and his heart was pounding so viciously that it may very well have been trying to leap its way right out of his chest, bursting and bleeding in a gory heap and a puddle on the floor. Hot and cold, he couldn't decide how he felt, but John was not there anymore as he skipped and danced behind the bar, flailing amongst the drinks as he lunged for a glass.

“You need to relax," he practically shouted, bouncing on the balls of his feet, unable to quiet his motions at all. “Let me get you a drink!"

Abrasive and obnoxious was hardly Donnie's style but John was no longer in much of a place to stop him, although John could only be grateful then and in hindsight that he had not taken in as much of the drug as his brother evidently had. And the LSD that had been a joke and a prank, something funny to twist the cocktail together, had gone terribly, terribly wrong, the one who was meant to be in control having lost control of everything that he'd thought he had a claim to, the world spinning out of his grasp and grip with shocking speed.

Donnie spun to face him, sliding a drink – god knows what was in it – across the bar to him, liquid sloshing.

“Order up!"

“Donnie!"

But he wasn't quick enough and the drink flew straight off the bar as John grabbed for it, sweating as he tried not to grin but it should have been so easy to grab that drink. He'd not been ready for it and it had snuck its way past him while Donnie broke into relishing peals of laughter, doubling over as tears prickled into ridiculously joyous life in the corners of his eyes.

“Oh…. God! You missed!"

Like it had to be said. Collapsing in wavering tremors of laughter that really didn't fit with the situation at hand, Donnie slumped to the floor, a hand pressed to his forehead and hair hanging down over his face. But he was hardly taken by any kind of fit of shyness, shaking so violently that it was a wonder that he could see anything at all, energy coursing through him as if at the peak of orgasm. And yet it did not expend any measure of his energy but added to it instead, limbs twitching so violently that he could not even get back to his feet.

“Fuck… Donnie, okay, get over here, come on, away from the glass…"

John's voice came to him as if from a great distance away, pulsing through the water through which he swam, although he was sinking rather than floating. But that was okay too as he twisted and spun, silvery bubbles streaming and the fish of his thoughts sweeping around and around, flitting through the darkness. Colours and sounds flowed around him and he laughed recklessly in the face of the abyss, the monsters that lurked there holding no fear for him. Just what did voices have to hold him back anyway?

No… He was Donnie and he was free, able to do everything and anything, soaring, flying. He had everything he needed and he didn't need anyone else either, he was sure of it. What could a man like him possibly need when the world spun to his whim, able to dip his fingers into what the true make-up of time was as he would lines of code, the endless symphony of technological destruction?

“Donnie? Can you hear me?"

And that was good… He was free. And freedom was what he had needed for so long, the freedom to be who he truly was, which was a prize and a trophy to be had indeed. Strange, wasn't it, that a man could not be who he was unless society said that that was all well and good? Culture and the influence of said society had much to answer for and that in itself was a fair enough reason as to why Donnie had diverged from it at such an early age, shifting from what was sane and normal and making his own insane version of the world. There hadn't even been any drugs involved then.

Blinking, the water fell away, if it could even have been called water, leaving him dry and gasping, sweating profusely, in the middle of John's living room. A tall lamp had been tilted askew and he stepped back from it warily as if something about its very change in being struck him as strange, unnerving.

Maybe it was so. Maybe it was a sign. Maybe it was a warning.

He should heed it.

John gritted his teeth before him, pupils only a little dilated, although his shirt was torn on the sleeve, blood trickling down his forearm. Donnie quirked an eyebrow, although a laugh did not rise to his lips that time. Just what was John doing to get all roughed up like that? That was going to be a laugh and a half surely…

Cautiously touching his brother's face as if he was not sure that they were making eye-contact, John's lips pressed together in concern that Donnie could not understand. What was his brother so worried about?

“Donnie, this hasn't gone right, I really think you need to get something else in you…"

“What, you're asking for that again?"

It was meant to be a snarky comment but, well, the prospect of 'that' didn't seem so bad anymore as he grinned and hung off John like a coat, arms around his neck and draped up against the slightly taller man. John tried to pick him off, pry him away, but Donnie was relentless, pressing up against him even as John swayed, off-balance and fighting for control himself.

“No, no… Not what I meant."

No, he couldn't be turning it down. That wasn't John. That wasn't like John at all. No… No, not at all!

Stepping back, Donnie gasped and stood there with his mouth open, arms limp at his sides as if they were weighed down too heavily to call back any measure of control to them.

“It's…not you?"

John, or the image that claimed to be John, blinked at him.

“What? What are you talking about now?"

And then Donnie was gone again, the voices screaming, nerves roaring, skin tingling and throbbing as if he was under attack from every side. He may have shouted in turn but the room turned dark and foreign, a scene from a video game where he had to get out – out, out, out, any way to get out. The doors and windows slammed shut as he clawed at them, the kitchen whipping into view through the wide, open archway and, desperation searing through his heart, he lunged for the knives.

“No!"

That voice was not his but it was not theirs either as the wooden block holding the knives, such slick and silvery instruments of destruction that could pierce and slice and rip away everything that he knew. Maybe that was what he needed, something, anything, gaze slithering away, kitchen counters rising above him in a looming tower of a maze wall as if he had suddenly become a tiny mouse feeding on the crumbs that humanity left behind.

On the floor? Bearings, bearings… His thoughts slithered through his grasp, those silverfish with laughing faces, fins carrying them away through the water as if they needed to expend no effort at all, one scene after the other flashing through his head. Charles. The dark of the old apartment. Walking on the streets with the city lights illuminating the sky as if day. Screaming, shouting, so loud… Playing poker. The park. John holding him. The radio he'd once thrown…

An old memory. Not a good one. He sucked in a breath but something held him so tight that he could barely breathe, thrashing perhaps a little reduced, wracked in the heaving of sobs that only another could seal away for him. He thought he was crawling but he could merely have been flailing in place, fear controlling his body, paranoia screaming, howling, in his ear that it was all too late, that everything had come to be just as he'd thought it would. And it was all for the worse.

Do it…

_ _

But do what? His feet skittered and he was hauled back and off them, his route of exit (wherever he thought that may have been) receding from him as he howled and twisted, face red and tears streaming, wetting his face. If he'd been at all with his senses, he would have, of course, been embarrassed to cry so but there was no logic in a bad trip and no way to come back except in the arms of the only one who had always been there for him without fail – even though he pretended to not be there when he was needed.

“It's okay, it's really okay… I've got you, I've got you."

He always came through.

“Shush… Quiet now. It's okay. Breathe. Breathe with me."

Subduing anyone at all who found themselves under the influence was a task enough but Donnie's thin arms and legs struck out randomly, sometimes hitting home and other times missing their mark, thankfully so. Still, John would find the bruises on his body the next day and make no comment on them as he pulled Donnie back into his chest, arms tight in a cocoon that would hold him safe and warm until the storm had blown itself out. A high, even a bad one, could not possibly last forever, after all.

It was slow, very slow, in fact. And John could not have said that he had a particularly high level of experience in dealing with people on bad trips, beyond restraining them. Sure, he'd had a few buddies that tended to go too far and react badly from time to time – especially when they'd mixed drugs like intoxicants – but nothing came close to the wailing mess of a man in his arms, mentality shattered in the chemical burst and reaction that had only been supposed to bring good things.

As Donnie heaved for breath, eyes wide and shockingly staring, he murmured to him over and over again, tucked into the corner of the kitchen near the floor-length windows, the dark of the night shining through at them. Or, more accurately, it was the reflection of them that he saw as the air conditioning whirred a little more loudly in the dead of the night, an ill-fitting backdrop to a time that should have been filled with softness and light – pretty much all of the things that John shunned and scorned under normal circumstances. But, as Donnie's breathing finally evened out and cane back to something resembling normal, his pupils looked normal again, eyes pried open with a cautious, wary thumb and forefinger of John's.

“Do you know where you are, Donnie?" He asked, hating the waver in his own voice, although it could not be helped or even remembered in the aftermath. “How… How many fingers am I holding up?"

Of course, that one was an old joke and Donnie blinked slowly at him as if the mere act of blinking took far too much energy from him, the effort it required beyond his capabilities at that moment in time. And yet he was still floating on a sluggish high, needing time to come back around, but John had been there himself time after time again and there were certainly things that he could do for the only one that he wouldn't just leave in a dark, quiet room to sleep it all off.

“Alright, come on now, up you get. You can do this, just one step at a time."

No one would have believed that it was him speaking in such a gentle tone, guiding his brother and leading him through the house, which could have been ransacked for how it appeared in that moment. Most of the bottles behind the bar had been smashed and it had only been John's quick-acting even while high himself – he, however, had not mixed that strain of crack with the tabs – that had gotten Donnie out of harm's way in time, the bottles shattering down in a crystalline deluge of aromatic, occasionally sharp, liquid. If his concern for his brother had not been so steep, he would have lamented their loss far more than he did.

The stairs were more difficult but, somehow, John got Donnie up them, an arm slung over his shoulders as he half-dragged and half-lifted him up each and every step. A shower would help. Maybe the drugs didn't have so much of an effect on him anymore but he came around more swiftly than Donnie and made full use of that as he stripped him down – nothing sexual this time, not when he had to take care of his brother – and got him, loose-limbed and groaning, under the rainfall showerhead.

“There you go… Alright now? Better?"

But maybe he was just saying that to make himself feel like things were better for Donnie was in no sense or state of mind to reply. It was all he could do to help Donnie feel something that may have been approaching normal, sitting under the hot, pelting stream of water, the pressure turned up a little too high in an effort to bring him back to sordid reality. It wasn't much of a reality, unfortunately, but there was only so much that he could do and there was only one reality that the both of them, so far, could exist in, something that John was overly committed to maintaining.

There were clothes left there of Donnie's that John awkwardly helped him dress in, somewhat conscious of himself and aware of his surroundings, although John's throat ached with thirst, ringing raw and dry. He needed to drink, to look after himself too, but that was not something that he would have been bearing in mind at the best of times. No… It was much easier to look after Donnie, when it came right down to it, his brother the only thing, truly, that mattered to him. Not that he would let anyone else know that, of course, one more little broken, fragmented secret that he held close to his heart where no one would be able to snatch it away from him.

No one would take his Donnie away.

Back downstairs came more easily but, with sobriety, then came the tiredness and Donnie yawned and slumped against him, staggering and barely able to keep himself upright in the swamp of exhaustion. Belatedly as they paced into the living room, the majority of which was not dangerously wrecked at least, John realised that the awkward bandage he'd wound around his arm had soaked through with blood in the dampening of the shower.

Damn it…

“John?"

“Yeah, Donnie?"

“Can you sit with me for a while?"

It seemed to be more of a request in line with Donnie not being able to take another step, slithering down to the floor as his knees connected with a resounding and unbearably solid 'thump'. John went with him in an attempt to ease his fall but it did not do too much good as they came down close to the sofa, a long sigh rasping from both of them in turn. All in all, it had been an awfully long night.

“Sure thing, Donnie, don't worry about it."

But Donnie had already slipped away, his head against his chest as John drew his slightly damp body in against him, long hair retaining the most moisture from the sobering and refreshing shower that he'd managed to get him into. There was nothing more to do than to recover from the trip that had been supposed to be good and had turned out to be so very much worse, chewing up Donnie and spitting him out, the very beast that he sought to tame in the course of every demonic high that he summoned for himself running amok over Donnie.

John pressed his lips together, although there would be no blame even in his mind. It was what it was. And it was clear that what 'worked' for him didn't work for Donnie. Interesting… That meant that it was not the drugs that forced the change through in him, that shift in mentality and so much more, but something in him, something else. And he couldn't say quite what that was without further experimentation, although that was becoming increasingly difficult to do while he was on his own without anyone else there to record just what happened for him.

No matter… It would have to wait. Possibly for a long time. Donnie was the only one that mattered then, his chest rising and falling in fitful sleep. He doubted it would be dreamless for a long while, after how much he had inhaled and ingested respectfully. Maybe things wouldn't have been so bad if he hadn't gotten his hands on the colourful tabs after he was already far gone, his fits and otherworldly hallucinations ramping up after that point. Still, John could not help but wonder just what it was that his brother had seen and where he had gone. Maybe he would remember when he was awake. Or maybe not.

Sighing, John leaned back against the sofa and dimmed the lights using his phone, not even daring to speak as Donnie slipped into a more blessed kind of unconsciousness in his arms, bundled up in the old blanket that held too many memories. Donnie had been the only reason that he'd kept the damn thing but something new and pristine, stiff with starch, may not have been suited to the moment. And there were so many of those moments between them too, reminiscent of so very many times gone by that weren't always due remembering in any form. There was only so much that two brothers could go through and those memories had the capacity to either make or break them… As a couple too, if one wanted to go down that route.

“Don't worry, Donnie," John said, although his words fell softly on sleeping ears. “I won't let anything happen to you."

He'd have someone else test the new batches first. Donnie could join him for the fun bit when they knew what they were putting into their systems, whether it was the good stuff or something more…feral. It would be a shame to miss out on the fun that he had in the unknown, the risk and the edge, but it would be worth it to know that Donnie would no longer be at risk from it. Not that he had been all that persuaded or convinced to do it on that particular day, but even John was aware that there was a kind of expectation that went along with it. If he was doing it, it went without saying that Donnie would do it, at some point, too. He might grumble and roll his eyes but he would go along, just because it was him. In a sense, it was his one biggest failing in wanting to please him.

He knew that. He knew that in the surprisingly fragile jut of his shoulders against his chest, his brother seeming bonier and more fragmented than before, like all of his parts didn't go together. John shuddered. What was his head doing, giving him thoughts like that? Maybe it was a bad batch of crack too, something that didn't agree with either of them? He'd have to have someone look into that, although no harm had been done in the end, for which he was quietly thankful for.

It took a lot for him to be thankful. Quite a lot, in fact, but it was a sort of thankful that day that no one else would ever be privy to and he was quite alright with that. Better than alright, in fact. It was best that no one besides Donnie saw this side of him. Who knew what would happen if his weakness was revealed to be the exact same as Donnie's?

The night wore on and, still, John sat up with Donnie in his arms, holding him close and tight. The air conditioning hummed lightly in the background with such quiet in the room but he did not dare turn on anything else for fear of waking his brother, chests rising and falling in unison as their rate of breathing matched. It would have been so easy too to slip into sleep himself as his eyelids grew heavy, weighing him down and sinking back and back into the too comfortable sofa as if he was going to give in to it entirely. But, no, he had to stay awake in case something happened to Donnie, in case he needed him. At the very least, after everything that had gone down, he owed his brother that much.

In his arms, Donnie shifted, clad in the draping of sleep. And John would not wish himself there too, leaning down to press his forehead, very lightly, to that of Donnie's.

One moment shared and not a moment lost.

“I'll always watch over you."