Disorder Ch. 11

Taking Charge

"Of all the times... Ridiculous. Jesus fucking Christ, those fucking assholes... What the fuck were they thinking?"

Donnie didn't care that he was swearing, although it was not as if he shied away from strong language when the need called for it. It was more that any swearing he did care to undertake from time to time was so very often overshadowed by his brother, so much louder and brasher and in control than he was. The elder brother, John had risen to the top of the drug empire of the city, driving city law enforcement mad searching for them and, ultimately, failing dismally, although Donnie was always there beside him, lurking in the shadows. He didn't want to be in the limelight and even on the darkness of the rain-dampened street at night, he dodged between pools of street lights, although he could not avoid the luminous glow of the city in its entirety.

No, being out of the spotlight suited him. He'd rather run things in the background, make sure John was okay, his needs met, everything running under the radar. Of course, he needed to pull John back too from time to time, for he was one apt to going too far, but that went a little better than it otherwise may have considering they were involved in a relationship that was more than brother to brother. Strange... Very strange. But it worked, somehow. They didn't really question that one but something about their relationship had changed after that bad trip their fresh stock had sent Donnie on.

They didn't talk about the bad trip but the pristine condition of John's home when he came around spoke of tales left untold and, well, it hadn't taken Donnie exactly a long time at all to hack into the security system. The poor man that John was had thought that he could stop him from getting a good look at what had went on before it was archived, although Donnie was mildly impressed that he had made it altogether more difficult to acquire, solely from his own implemented security measures. And the fact that John was hiding something from him, well... That spoke volumes even in the strain of silence. He had to know what had happened during that bad trip.

He'd seen it all, every last bit of it, but he didn't understand what had happened even if it now made sense just why he ached all over when he'd finally come around. The recording had cut out before John had, undoubtedly, given him the sleeping pills to get him through the worst of it but the destruction, clawing at the windows, fighting to get out... Just what had been going on in his head? He wished he could remember but the mentality of it seemed to be something that he simply wasn't going to find out. He wasn't even all that sure that he wanted to.

And the real world called -- oh, how it called. There was always something to do whether he was improving their supply channels or ensuring that they had enough people on the ground to continue distributing and increasing the sheer volume of drugs that they spread. They were even going beyond the city now, sending people out to other locations, all in the name of spreading and growing their empire, all coming together just as John had envisioned. Without Donnie's influence, however, it had been a rather sloppy kind of vision and it had been his brother that had tamed it into something viable and manageable, even if things sometimes felt as if they were forever on the edge of tipping out of control.

But there were problems to solve too and, well, Donnie was not always best equipped to deal with that side as he made his way to John's apartment in the city -- one of several that he flitted between. Donnie, of course, was the only one that knew where he was at any time, although even he doubted that John was being completely honest with him at all times. He didn't need to inform his brother and lover of his whereabouts at all times but, well, sometimes it felt as if it was needed with everything that went on in a life that bounced between surreal highs and clinging, despairing, lows.

"Idiots... No one gets anything done, no one."

It made him feel good to mutter his woes to the empty street, not even a single hooded figure out in the rain. There was something on, some event that the world was screaming for, but it would only affect his trade in the sense that things would be quiet for a day or two. When people came down from those highs, they'd want drugs all the more, screaming and hankering for them, desperate for their next fix. He understood that -- a little too much, some would say.

Yet rival gangs trying to rise up and taking his men off the street, his people... That would not do. That in itself was a thought that John rather than Donnie was more likely to have but he too had the capacity to be overly protective of those that he considered 'his' and that was fine too. He just needed to make sure that those there remained loyal to them with enough incentives that they would not dare to allow in a mole, a leak of any sort that could cause them far more trouble than any of them would be worth.

It was hard not to step back and not see them as people, however, when they had blood running down their faces, crying for help, beaten and broken and left snarling through broken teeth for respite that he could not allow them. Sure, he had connections with hospitals and doctors and the like who would turn a blind eye to just where they'd gotten their injuries and that part of taking care of business had been as easy as it could have been. It was what came after that proved to be the difficult part, because it was not as if he could just let people get away with it. It would be the beginning of the end, even if he was perhaps not the savviest person on that count.

Pressing his lips together, he clenched his teeth, an ache like no other running down the line of his jaw. Damn it, damn it all to hell. That wasn't what he wanted to be doing. He had other plans for the night -- not friends to see but, hell, he'd rather do anything else than face what drew on a curling ball of anxiety in his gut. Despite the weeks that had passed too since that bad trip, it would have been impossible for him to deny what an effect on him that it had had, times coming together in illicit crudity, driving him to believe that things were not at all as they should have been.

No, it needed to be dealt with, even if he never had been the man to deal with it in the past.

And just where the hell was John with all of this going down? Those idiots didn't know what they were doing, getting beaten up on the street and their stock taken. Did they know how fucking much that crystal was worth? Of course, not truly, just being lackeys, but he could not deny that there was an element of monetary loss at play regardless of the people that he tried so very often to not think of as people. Technology was easier and that was just why charismatic John was the one to so very often deal with the people side of the equation, proving his worth time after time again in that regard. Things would not have worked out so well without him or even have started, Donnie wagered.

Yet the John he found on entering his top floor apartment, a lavish affair that looked out over the city with, of course, bullet-proof glass mildly hampering that otherwise perfect view, was not the John he needed. His brother sprawled half-on half-off the sofa with a bottle of tequila in hand (interesting choice for him when it wasn't mixed with something else) although the bottle in question was empty bar a drop or two swirling about the bottom and that was a push to note. Groaning, he rolled his head to the side, slack-jawed and drooling, not quite out of it but not quite awake either, floating in the in-between that seemed to encompass so much of his life now.

Donnie cursed, running his fingers back through his brown hair, strands coming away in his fingers: a nervous tick that only further served to highlight his stress. John would have a field day taking the piss if he found out that it was coming out again, he had to get it together. But he couldn't deal with the immediate situation either, poking John lightly with the toe of his shoe to tentatively judge just how far gone his brother was. He could hardly believe he slept with the guy sometimes but he supposed that that was simply how relationships were and how they worked, one forgiving the times when a partner looked less than desirable.

John mumbled something, allowing Donnie to sit him at least somewhat upright, back against the cushions and eyes half-focused.

"Whuh... Whuh...happen? Don...ee?"

That might have been John asking him what had happened but it was more than merely difficult to make out a single word amongst the slurred others, spittle drooling from his lips as Donnie pursed his own. Ignoring the panic fluttering in his chest, he tried to only focus on John and John alone. It was easier than thinking what he had to do otherwise, trying to get his brother firmly back in the world of the living, groaning under his breath.

"John? Fuck, what've you been on, John, you've got to snap out of it right now, come on."

But John could barely hold his own head up, completely and utterly sapped of all energy, heavy and lethargic. Even so, it appeared that his senses were dulled too as his eyes barely flicked back and forth, following Donnie across his line of sight, and he did not react either to the brush of his brother's fingers on his hand.

"Damn it, John, this isn't any time to be out of it! Wake up, god fucking damn you!"

He didn't react to the slap either, although Donnie was quite sure in the aftermath of it that he would pay dearly for that one later and he would most likely enjoy it too. John had a particular way of exacting his revenge, which didn't very often feel like he was getting payback in the slightest. He supposed it was only so that John felt like he was in the upper position at all times but, well, he could enjoy what he liked of it too. But he didn't like the way that things were going with his brother slumped over, a weakened man coming around from a drug-induced stupor or the like that left him useless for anything else.

"John... Fucking hell, John..."

He tried everything. Water. Food that he didn't eat. Getting him up. Lying him down. Blasting music. The TV show he loathed. Saying that there was no more alcohol left in the world. Accidentally on purpose pushing him off the sofa with a dull, bodily thunk. More alcohol. None of it worked.

If John was so out of it, he wasn't going to be able to take care of things. And he knew for himself that there was a time limit on settling scores with other gangs, the small ones that thought they could get the upper hand so very quickly, taking control and then spreading word that they were the ones in charge. Of course, they would be smacked down again soon enough but it was not worth the loss of life, loss of stock, loss of reputation. And John was the one who, above all else, could not stand for a loss of reputation in the big boys' game.

What was he going to do? There seemed to be nothing that he needed to do, swallowing hard and fighting against panic, a fluttering, driving sensation that sought to force him into action, fighting against the matter of fight or flight. It had to come, it had to be done, there was nothing at all that he could do to hold things back, fear rising. Why did everything have to go wrong all at once? It was the way of it, he couldn't do anything without John, John had to be the one to take care of that side of things, he had to take the lead!

One more try.

"John? John, there's some serious shit going on now, you've got to get it together?"

Crouching down lower to the ground, he tipped his brother's chin towards him, dark with a shadow from lack of shaving. Had he looked that bad last time he'd seen him? Somehow, the dark curves beneath his eyes were deeper and more stringent, drawing the eye. He didn't usually look like that; shit, he must have really gone and done something to himself. He wasn't going to be able to help, to do it, there was no way, no way at all any of it was going to work.

Donnie froze, chest vibrating but not breathing. What the fuck was he going to do?

"Go..."

Donnie shot in close, grabbing John's shoulder, latching onto anything he could in the heat of the moment.

"What? What was that?"

Moving slowly without sound, John's lips worked and yet Donnie knew what he meant, the man slow and sluggish and far from himself, the man that he once had been. Of course, he could be that man again but not until he was healthy and sober again, getting whatever it was that he needed to force out of his system out of his body again.

"Go... You... Go..."

Did John know what he was saying? Donnie's eyes grew wide and yet he did not see, breathing shortly and shallowly. Did he mean that? What was that supposed to mean? Oh, it could not be mistaken for anything else at all but he still had to think it over, mind working too quickly even as his dull and heavy limbs sought to slow him down, saying that he needed to draw himself back, to let John deal with it. Sure, John would be disappointed in it when he came back around again but that was nothing new, everyone was disappointed in him, holding everyone around him back when they should have been soaring ahead at due pace.

"I will."

He had no choice. The words were past the barrier of Donnie's lips before he could do anything about them, calling them back, and he would not go back on a promise, as was his way. There was nothing else for it and he breathed shortly and shallowly, shaking his head slowly, focusing on the action of swinging his chin from one side to the other as if that was the part of his body that he led from.

There was nothing for it, noting that could save him from having to do the deed that surely needed to be done. He would have to do it and, instead of fear, a scene played before his eyes. Standing slowly, he brushed off his jeans, wishing belatedly that he'd not worn something that he could move a little better in. What did people usually wear for these things? He could not have said that the fear fell away and it most certainly was not like water off a duck's back as he saw the security tapes all over again.

They may have juddered and they may have stuttered as he watched, set back from the scene at hand, but he saw just how he shattered bottle after bottle, hurling them across John's living quarters. The glass shattered, the window breaking on the interior, although it would have been a far cry indeed to suggest that a man could possibly be capable of breaking bullet-proof glass. John fighting, struggling to control him, holding his arms down as he twisted and writhed, spittle flying, the battle of a madman.

That had been a different Donnie then and he would do well to remember it as he pushed his hair back from his face, trembling as he faced down the fears that had always been waiting in the wings despite his best efforts. But those fears had no place in the face of a monster, a man that could become one in the blink of an eye, holding strength that he had not even known prior that he could even be capable of possessing.

No, this time... This time, he had to be strong. Not even that -- he was strong. He just hadn't realised it yet, put it into play in a world and a time where he could control his actions, what he was doing and all that encompassed too. On the sofa, John moaned and slumped to the side but Donnie had the sense of mind to layer a blanket over him, tucking it foolishly in around his elbows and knees like a grandmother even though it would undoubtedly slip and shift as soon as he was once again gone and out the door, such were the way of things.

"Mmm... Don..."

John couldn't even get out his brother's name but it didn't matter anymore as Donnie straightened, taking the control that he perhaps should have done so long ago. It had always been there, his to take if he wanted it, and never had he once closed that power in his hand.

"I got this, John."

"Mm...kay..."

John didn't understand what was going on or even what he had endorsed, mumbling something even as Donnie kissed his cheek. Not that he thought he would not be returning but he knew too that he held a position that he never had done before, growling in the face of a beast that was well and truly bigger and greater than he was, a demon of sorts that threatened to gulp him down whole without even grazing the sides of a massive, swallowing maw.

And yet the beast was not one that would prove to drive Donnie ten feet under, pushing up daisies before his time, snarling and hunkering down on the end of a chain. There was no telling, of course, whether or not that chain would break as he hammered his way back down the stairs of the apartment, too frazzled and wound up to even consider waiting for the elevator. No, no, no... No, it would have to be the stairs, the pounding slam of his sneakers slapping the metal steps. They all had those steps those days, easier to clean, yet no one probably considered the sort of things that they'd have to clean up from a guy like John, their prime client, if he ever thought to bring 'work' home with him.

The penthouse apartment was locked up, the security system activated so that John would not be disturbed. Every precaution was taken in Donnie's absence and he would not see his brother fall ill to anything when he was away, although he could not help but think in the back of his mind that he was not quite sure that he would return, whether or not he would be successful stepping so far out of his comfort zone.

Don't think. Just do.

Down and down and down and yet he was only descending back to ground level out of the clouds, chest heaving and hair bedraggled, almost as black as John's in the late night, slinking into the underbelly of the block where the parking garage lingered. It was not the most accessible but it was the typical spot for one in a city that was short on space and he swiped John's pass -- really, was that all the security they had? -- to get in, no one else there but him as the cloying heat of summer clung to his skin like a second layer of clothing.

John hadn't said that he'd gotten a new car but Donnie thought it was just as well, this time, that he'd bought it (with illegally gained money) and not stolen it, although there was no telling where it had come from originally. Probably had been stolen, now that he thought about it, but a GTR was a new drive for him and he paused before it, offering the shiny vehicle the due reverence that it deserved, gleaming as if it had never before borne the touch of a smudged and dirtied human hand.

He took a breath. And then another when the first did not ease the tension searing through his lungs.

Don't try. Just do.

Purple. Ostentatious but the joker always did have a sweet ride. Wrong make, wrong model, but the reference was still there, John playing the smiling part of the joker where there was no scarred beast to sour down the city. Maybe that was the part, however, that John had always been meant to play.

Do it.

He was in the car and roaring out of the parking lot before he could reconsider things, teeth clenched and jaw aching, fighting the desire to turn around, to go back the way he came. The cowardly part of him (or maybe the part of him that better knew his limits than what of his mind that was commanding his body at that moment in time) whimpered that it was all a big mistake, that he should let John deal with it, that they would have to implement better measures, more stringent measures, to ensure that nothing like that at all ever happened again.

And yet... He could not go back. He was too far gone as he laughed, a crazed look in his eye. Was he crazy? The rear-view mirror had been adjusted (by John, of course) so that he could see himself and the man that he caught in the reflection before his eyes, once more, slid away, was by no means one that he recognised. Oh no, he was someone else indeed, someone stronger, someone with power, someone who was actually capable of ruling the city and bending it right down to its ever-loving, beaten and broken knees.