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John couldn’t stop throwing up. He knew the withdrawal would be horrible but he didn't know it would be this bad.
Jacob leans against the sink watching and holding a glass of water for when John finally stops.
John leans back and rests on the tub, looking green and pale all at the same time.
“John. Drink this.” Jacob crouches down pushing his brother's hair out of his eyes, passing him the water. If John didn't know better he would say Jacob was pitying him.
John drains the glass, hand shaking hard enough that Jacob decides to keep a hand on the glass to prevent it from dropping.
John starts to cry. God does Jacob wish he could make sure his youngest brother never cries again. John is begging for it again, weak whispers Jacob's mind.
No.
He shuts that train of thought down.
John isn't weak.
He can't be.
Jacob won't let him be.
He despises this motel room they are in. Joseph's decision. Make John look holy before making him into a shepherd.
That means no more coke. No more drinking. No more Xanax.
Jacob honestly didn't know if it was possible that first night. John was so angry. Not only had they taken his vice, but they had also removed Aleks. John sobbed for the first three hours of the drive to Montana begging Jacob to turn around and go back for Aleks.
Joseph had refused. It wasn't God's will at the time he said.
Jacob knows isolation tactics when he sees them.
John who is now pacing the motel room again, looks the most sober he's been in years.
Jacob doesn't know everything yet but he knows John's adoptive parents were murdered when John was 26. He thinks John has something more to do with it, maybe even Aleks helped. But the way John reacted last night to being asked a simple yes question makes Jacob worried and feel guilty about things he doesn't even know. But truly only God knows, John has only been saying things in a manic-induced rage at this point.
Jacob watches as John collapses down onto the bed. “John. Eat something.”
John throws an arm across his eyes, almost pouting like the small boy Jacob remembers before their father beat it out of him.
“Why eat when all things taste like ash.”
“That is fucking dramatic.”
“Jake please.”
Jacob softens, he hasn't heard that nickname in years. He sits down on John’s bed and cards a hand through his brother's slightly greasy tangled hair.
Jacob sighs. He leans back against the headboard slouching and pulling his leg up to stretch out. John rolls forward and shoves his face into Jacob’s ribs.
Jacob hesitates before putting a hand on John’s back.
W e a k
Jacob shakes the voice off again. There is no time to listen to it now.
John needs him. His little brother needs him.
He won't fail to protect him this time.
He can't.