Work Text:
Jacob and Staci arrive at the church late, still kissing giggles against each other's lips as they pass through the doors as silently as they can, fingers intertwined and wedding rings making the most delightful clinking noise. It was a lovely morning, just as every morning is with Staci as his husband. He woke up with a smile on his face, showered with a smile on his face, fucked Staci against the wall with a smile on his face, showered again with a smile on his face. They were disgustingly in love. Jacob was still waiting for the honeymoon phase to fade, but he had an inkling that it was never going to.
Only a few people turned heads to see who was arriving late, the others already guessing and not wanting to bear witness to the two try to separate from one another - certainly not on God's day. Jacob tugs Staci to the very first pew to the left and slides onto the bench, offering John and Rook warm smiles as a greeting, not wishing to interrupt their brother. John and Rook give... strained smiles in return.
Confused, Jacob takes his seat quickly and finally tunes in to what Joseph is saying: "-My father had leapt up in rage like a drunken jack-in-the-box, and before stunned teachers and students, launched into a rambling sermon condemning the sins of Hollywood-" Those were all too familiar words. Joseph was reading his book, the book Jacob hadn't even been able to stomach finishing. His lips immediately turn down and he hears John sigh, already expecting this.
His fingers slip out of Staci's and curl into tight fists. He said nothing when Joseph spoke to him about wanting to write the damn thing, said nothing when Joseph handed him a copy and expected him to read it, even stayed silent when Joseph started passing other copies around to complete strangers, but he can't honestly be expected to sit there and hear the trauma spoken about him while in a room full of people.
He feels nauseous, knee bouncing anxiously. It doesn't get to him anymore when he's alone in his home, but this is different. This is Joseph making Jacob relive it all with thirty pairs of eyes boring into the back of his head. As if John can tell he's about to snap, he lays a hand on Jacob's knee, stilling it. "Let him have this. You don't have to come back next week, he'll understand." The words are a whispered plea that Jacob doesn't intend to obey. His head shakes and with it goes the last of his patience, "He doesn't get to do this, John."
"-This time, when we arrived home, he beat Jacob only, because he was the eldest and thus responsible for me. At least we had had time to see Atlanta burn.-" Joseph's voice rings out, bouncing off the pure white walls and echoing in Jacob's ears. He clenches his jaw and rises from the pew, his tunnel vision so focused on Joseph and that cursed book that he forgets Staci exists for a moment. "Stop it, Joe." He announces, the people behind him seeming to go even more silent.
And Joseph, his beloved brother, continues without looking away from the pages,"Thus, when Old Man Seed stood on the porch and began sliding off his belt, the child simply removed his T-shirt, folded it carefully, and bent over to offer his pale, delicate back to the worn out strap of the father." He's storming down the aisle before Joseph finishes, shame causing his face to heat and eyes to water.
Your brother is sick. Your brother is sick. Your brother is sick.
It's a mantra, begging him to calm down and not do something stupid like go back inside and tear the book to pieces. He pushes through the main doors with a frown on his face, hulks to his truck with a frown on his face, grips the steering wheel with a frown on his face, but he doesn't start the engine. He already feels guilty for leaving the service, feels it scratching it's way up his throat. If he were to leave altogether he'd never forgive himself... but doesn't he deserve to get away from the pity he knows he'll see in their eyes?
No, he won't leave. Someone has to get Joseph home and he's the eldest... always responsible for his younger brother.