The Third Time // Joick // PG
Normally, he loves fan attention, thrives on it even. It's flattering, boosts his ego (as if that needs to be any more inflated these days). It's what keeps him going, what makes him want to be himself.
But as he watches the mob of girls closing in on them, flailing and screaming his little brother's name, it's like a swirl of color and heat and arms, and he feels a little lost. He vaguely notices Big Rob trying to hold them off, tries to acknowledge their adoring shrieks. His self-assured smile is just starting to work its way across his face, because Big Rob seems to have them somewhat under control, when there's an unexpected surge of motion to his right.
"Joseph!" The yell comes loud, sharp, rings in his ear, and he feels a hand at his wrist, clutching tightly and slipping away.
It's a familiar yell, a well-known touch. Not the hand or voice of a nameless twelve year old, but one that actually matters to him. The only one that matters in this moment.
Because he watches helplessly as Nick goes down, feels the flash of panic through his body, white hot and horrible, and all of a sudden, he's seven years old, watching in horror as his baby brother is pushed to the ground by older bullies. He's ten years old and watching as Nick is teased for the first time at school. He's twelve and Nick has just been pinned on the playground, a girl demanding him to sing. Worse, he's sixteen and watching helplessly as his little brother asks him if he's going to die from the disease ravaging his body.
In that moment, Joe is scared. And it’s not the baby kind of scared, when you think you heard a noise downstairs that turned out to be your dog scratching himself, or like when you’re convinced there’s a monster hiding under your bed, sharp claws ready and waiting. It’s the adult kind of terrible, dry-mouthed, paralyzing panic, the kind that takes away his breath, causes his veins to pump adrenaline and his eyes to switch to tunnel vision.
He can’t hear their screams anymore, can’t see the mass of sweaty, swirling heat around them, can’t even tell that the young girls are being pryed from Nick’s curled up body. All he sees is his little brother on the ground, illuminated by flash bulbs, arms over his head, body curled into a tight ball as he tries to keep himself in tact.
He’s on his hands and knees by Nick’s side as soon as there’s a clear spot on the asphalt. His fingers go immediately to Nick’s hair, combing it off his forehead gently.
“Nicholas, Nicky, are you alright?” he mutters frantically, hoping there isn’t any serious harm done.
Immediately upon hearing Joe’s voice, Nick’s body relaxes, his limbs uncurling and his head resurfacing. Joe doesn’t care that they’re in public, doesn’t care that there are cameras and fans and the world watching. He reaches a hand out to stroke the curls off of Nick’s sweaty forehead and leans in, pressing a small kiss to his brother’s temple.
“Are you okay?” he asks again, softer this time, lingering at Nick’s ear to whisper the words.
Nicholas nods slowly, his hands fisted in the fabric of Joe’s hoodie, and Joe can practically see the shock beginning to set in. He tries to pry Nick’s fingers from his shirt, but they’re locked in place, just like Nick’s face is still has that wide-eyed, terrified expression plastered across it.
“Nicky, it’s over,” Joe tells him, trying to keep his little brother from really freaking out. “But we’ve got to get you out of here, baby boy. Can you stand?”
Nick’s eyes are still locked on Joe’s, his expression still frozen, and he shifts his legs into a more convenient position. He immediately winces, air hissing in pain, eyes squinting shut to keep himself from crying out.
Although Joe is glad that Nick’s trance seems to have broken, he’s now preoccupied with trying to figure out what’s wrong. How serious is it? Where does it hurt? Can you bend it? Is it broken? A hundred questions flash through his mind in a second, and he’s suddenly wondering how he’s going to avoid hitting something or, worse, someone.
Joe knows that this can’t turn into a public Jonas meltdown. They’ve made it this far without one, and he doesn’t want to cause controversy now, when Nick really needs someone, needs him, but as he watches his brother clutching at his injured ankle, there’s a dark, angry part of him that’s really tempted to start hitting the little girls who are still trying to get at them.
“Joey, I don’t think I can walk on it,” Nick says, his voice dry and a little cracked, but it’s the first time he’s spoken since he fell, and Joe feels a tiny bit of relief when he hears the voice.
It snaps him out of his furious downward spiral and back to reality, the reality where Nick is hurt and in trouble and in a parking lot in the middle of the night, unable to walk and too far away from the resort to get attention without physically going there. Joe looks around him, looks up at the people around them, and sees with another flash of livid anger that no one seems to be concerned about taking care of Nick. All the girls are still focusing their attention on getting to them; Big Rob and the other guards are only holding back girls; their mother and father are nowhere to be seen; even Kevin is just standing there, still signing autographs.
Joe makes a noise in frustration, looking back to Nick. The younger boy is looking him directly in the eye, one hand still clutching firmly at his hoodie, the other holding his ankle. Joe takes a deep breath, making up his mind in that instant.
He doesn’t know if it’s the raw panic written across Nick’s face or if it’s the tears in his little brother’s eyes, but he somehow manages to scoop Nick into his arms and bring himself to his feet. Nick’s bigger and stronger and taller and broader than Joe, but through the adrenaline in his body, Joe can’t tell. He doesn’t even struggle under the weight as he yells for Big Rob.
“He needs medical attention,” he says, his voice surprisingly steady through his sheer panic. “His ankle is hurt pretty badly. We need to get him back to the resort.”
Rob nods, turning back to the crowd of girls and shouting over their heads. “You guys need to make a path,” he says loudly. “We need to get him out of here.” Joe follows in the large man’s path, Nick still clinging to him desperately.
He can feel Nick’s hot breath on the side of his neck, steady and reassuring, and it’s really the only thing that keeps him from just screaming “GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY WAY!” at the top of his lungs. He knows that Nick knows how furious he is, because he feels his brother’s fingers threading through his hair, feels his lips placing closed-mouth kisses on his jaw line, trying to keep him calm, trying to keep him sane.
Once they’re away from the cloud of fans, away from the eyes of the public and finally seated in the back of the SUV on the way to the resort, Nick leans in, biting down lightly on Joe’s earlobe. Joe clutches tightly at his little brother’s body, not wanting to let him go, not wanting to let him be endangered anymore. He allows his eyes to slip closed as he feels Nick’s hands cup his cheeks gently, knows that Big Rob is watching nothing but the road as he feels the younger boy’s lips on his, smooth and perfect and soft as air.
When he opens his eyes again, Nick is staring right back at him, the fear gone from his expression, replaced by adoration.
“That’s the third time,” Nick whispers softly, a smile spreading across his face.
“Third time of what?” Joe questions, his hands resting on Nick’s hips lightly.
“The third time you’ve saved my life,” he says, and Joe can’t help himself.
He pulls Nick into another kiss, briefly but filled with meaning. “Don’t you ever do that to me again,” he whispers once they’ve parted. “I can’t handle it again.”
And although they both know that the injury probably isn’t nearly as grave as a diabetes diagnosis or an almost fatal car wreck, it’s still the same kind of relief that flows through their bodies as they realize that, yeah, they’re both fine. They’re both still in one piece. And they’re both still together.