Big Brother is Watching ((Joel))

[FRANKIE VULPINI]

It wouldn’t have been a lie, to say he’d been looking forward to this. An entirely truthful statement, in fact, would have said that not only was he looking forward to this, but he was planning it and had already played through several possible scenarios in his head, all of which ended in his laughter. You know, for old times’ sake. Maybe he was immature. Maybe he was caught up in the past. Maybe he just really hated his brother and wanted him to come home again, just so he could see the look of shock on his face when he saw just who was sitting at his kitchen table. Oh, what he wouldn’t do to speed up time until that moment.

They’d never gotten along, Joel and Frankie. Or, more accurately, Frankie had never felt the need to get along with Joel. And why would he have? He was a freak. Sickly on the best days and downright useless on the worst, good only for practicing punches and insults from sun up to sun down. His own father didn’t even like him, so that really had to be saying something. Frankie didn’t care what his mother thought. He made a point not to care what his mother thought. That she thought highly of Joel was of no concern to him, he insisted, and he cared even less that it was always he whom Hannah had favored.

No, he hated Joel on principle. Still did. Still would, when he finally saw him again.
For now, he was waiting.

A bowl of dry cereal sat in front of Frankie at the table where he sat, one foot already propped up on another chair like he’d lived in the place for months. He was watching the door. Eating a few squares of Cinnamon Toast Crunch every twenty seconds or so. Chew, chew, chew, swallow. Watch. Clean his teeth with his tongue. Chew, chew, repeat until a swig of water was desired.

Hannah was gone. Out buying groceries with someone she hadn’t mentioned the name of but he had a feeling he was strongly going to dislike, whenever said name was mentioned. He was trying not to think about it. Doing a remarkably good job of it, too, all things considered.

It was then that he heard the knob begin to twist. Couldn’t be Hannah—she’d only just left a half hour ago, and she said she’d take at least two—so then, by process of elimination, that left one person and one person only: a rodent. Frankie grinned as he sat up straighter, turning his chair so as to face the door head on. He was still munching his snack when it opened, still grinning when it shut, and offered the newcomer-he-already knew a little wave paired with an utterly mirthful “How’s it going, Ratty? Haven’t seen you in a while.”

[JOEL VULPINI]

There were so many things wrong about living with Hannah.

He was imposing, first of all. He knew that he was, and no matter how many times Hannah hushed him or swatted at him or told him it was no trouble, he would believe it. He was living in her space and eating her food and he wasn't contributing anything. Parasite by definition. It was fortunate that he was a beloved one, to Hannah.

But Joel found that, now that he had been living there for nearly a month, he was comfortable. He didn't want to leave. And the more he tried to rationalize his staying, the more reasons he found: Hannah didn't cook or clean, so he could do that. He made her dinner so she would no longer subsist on instant ramen and Hot Pockets still cold in the center. He dusted and vacuumed and washed dishes. Joel ran a very neat household, for all his mental illness. He liked things to be in their proper places.

And living with Hannah had its benefits for Joel, as well. Seeing her every day again, knowing that she was never more than perhaps twenty minutes away, was reassuring. It was like a security blanket -- so much so that even Joel's persistent paranoia had sort of eased up from hysterical to acceptably frantic. Being around Hannah, being in her presence, knowing he was connected to her, was like feeling someone's hand in your own. Inherently comforting.

He hadn't thought about his brother in...God, it had to be months, maybe a year. Joel so despised him, after all, so loathed every possible piece of him so extremely, that he'd found it was really just better (for the sake of his own self-control) to forget about Frankie, to erase him from his mind. And he had, and he did. Happy with Hannah, something bordering on content, he had freed himself from the oppressive memory of his hideous older brother.

Joel had been out of the house for several hours by the time he returned that afternoon. He was exhausted. He'd been on the hunt for jobs all day long, checking out ads in the newspaper, making calls (something he was horrible at), checking in at different locations... Alas, so many of the jobs he looked at that day required skills that he did not have in the department of human interaction. Joel was smart and handy and nimble-fingered and strong, but he was not social. And frankly, his ineptitude in that department seemed to overcome all the benefits that would come with hiring him.

The day had left an uncomfortable ache in his stomach.

He'd gotten a text from Hannah telling him that she'd be out grocery shopping for a few hours, so he expected to be alone when he returned to the apartment -- not something that was necessarily troublesome, though he did rather wish Hannah could be there to hug him when he came through the door. He wouldn't complain to her, of course -- he never complained -- but talking over the day's events with her would help. Talking to Hannah almost always did.

Still, beggars couldn't be choosers.

He unlocked the door to the apartment and stepped inside, unwinding the scarf Hannah had knit him from his neck and hanging it up. He shrugged his leather jacket and hoodie, hung those up, picked up one of Hannah's sweaters that had fallen, and--...

...whose coat was that?

It was at that moment that he heard the most undesirable sound he could ever imagine hearing.

His brother's voice.

He turned, very slowly, faced Frankie, sitting at the table with his feet on a chair like he lived there, oh, God, oh God what was he doing here, why was he here, why was he here, how could--how--

After a moment, the surprise wore off. His dark eyes narrowed, and he was abruptly not the skinny, sickly child his brother had pushed around; he was a strong and very pissed off grown man.

"What are you doing here?" he hissed, raising his chin defiantly. He would not let his brother ruin what he had. Not again.

[FRANKIE VULPINI]

Joel looked different. He couldn’t deny it, though he might have liked to. It was in his eyes, Frankie supposed. Or the way he’d filled out just a little bit and didn’t turn tail and run the moment they locked eyes across the room. It was, for a moment, unsettling. But this was Joel and he was Frankie and Joel was also a Rat who Frankie had never found much reason to like at all. So he grinned, utterly confident in his superiority as only lifelong bullies born wearing gilded diapers could possibly be, and tossed a few pieces of cereal up in the air, caught them in his mouth, and laughed cheerily.

“You miss me?”

He knew he hadn’t, of course. Frankie had spent the better half of twenty years making his brother’s life hell on earth. It had been fun. Hannah had tried to tell him it was because he was jealous, on the occasions where he got particularly rough with his younger brother, but Frankie found the idea to be just as ridiculous now as he had then. What did he care who Hannah liked best? Or his mother? It didn’t matter, didn’t affect him in the slightest. People tried to analyze, to read into him and see some deeper, somehow tragic motivation for it all, and he’d given up by now on trying to tell people they simply wouldn’t find anything. It wasn’t there. He refused to believe it. Or admit it. Or acknowledge it. Because it was all a lie, obviously.

His childhood relationship with Joel all boiled down to one fact, and one fact alone: playing Interrogation Chamber had been fun. Cops and Robbers, Death Penalty 101, “Let’s see how long Joel can hold his breath underwater if he has his head stuck down there by a foot,” that sort of thing. All fun and games. No one else had ever found them particularly funny.

He got up then, sliding the half eaten bowl of cereal across the table and away from him, probably to remain uneaten. He shrugged, grinning. “What kinda question is that, man? You haven’t seen me in years. You know, I thought you were dead, for a while there…” by the glint in his eye, it was fairly obvious that he’d shamelessly wished for it, too. Or perhaps not. Either way, he’d sure as hell thought about the funeral.

“But, you know, since you asked…” he shrugged, casual, glancing at the floor before walking his way over to Joel, passing just out of arm’s reach before he hopped up to sit on the counter. “I live here now. Recovering addict, tragic stuff,” he nodded several times for obvious emphasis, slouching his shoulders a little and throwing Joel the sort of puppy eyes that clearly meant he had no intention of quitting anything. “Princess was nice enough to take me in. Not that—I mean, don’t worry—“ he waved his hand, eyes growing wide and mockingly earnest as his tone snapped to condescending “All your stuff’s safe. I haven’t touched any of it, planted any bugs, anything. You’re okay. I promise, I’m not a spy.”

He knew he was being cruel. With Joel, that was pretty much all he ever was. And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it, never mind the fact that they certainly weren’t children anymore.

[JOEL VULPINI]

No no no no no no no no no no no. No. No no, no, this wasn't happening, no. He wasn't here. This was just some kind of awful nightmare and Joel was going to wake up any second to Hannah shaking his shoulders and saying he'd been whimpering in his sleep. Frankie couldn't be here. He couldn't interrupt Joel's happiness -- his first real content feeling in years -- so soon after it had begun. That just wasn't fair.

And then something occurred to him.

The Lord is testing me.

This was a test, not a dream. God had set this trial before him to prove his faith and his patience. He had to be strong in the face of this adversary as he was strong in the face of sin. Here was a chance to make up for his past weakness, to show his brother that he was not the sad and neglected and eager-to-please little boy he had been so many years ago.

This was not a setback. It was an opportunity.

Thank you, Lord.

Sending up a silent prayer, he held his head high and looked Frankie right in the eyes, as much as he despised eye contact. He would not back down. Not now. Not ever. He had established himself here and he wasn't leaving until he had to.

"What do you think?" he hissed, standing his ground as his brother stood. His lip curled slightly as his brother spoke. Recovering addict? Seriously? And Hannah bought that crap? The Lord really was testing him.

Of course, when it occurred to him that Hannah had just...let him in, just allowed him passage back into her home, the home she shared with Joel, he couldn't help but be a little...upset. Of course, he couldn't imagine Hannah ever betraying him -- she was his safe person, she would never, he was sure, not on purpose -- but that she had so easily allowed Frankie into her life, into Joel's life, made him bristle with frustration. Not at Hannah, but at Frankie. For whatever he had said to persuade her, to take advantage of her goodness.

Bastard.

"Why would I miss you?" he growled, voice low and dangerous. "You may have duped Hannah with that sob story, but you're not about to fool me." His eyes narrowed with suspicion and hatred.

He couldn't deny, he felt a small rush of terror at the idea that Frankie could have gone through his stuff. Within seconds, he predicted at least thirty different things Frankie could have done, from stealing his wallet to throwing out his sketchbooks to planting various kinds of bugs around his room. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

"Get out."

It was not a request.

[FRANKIE VULPINI]

What did he think?

Well, to be honest, Frankie thought a whole fucking lot of things, particularly about this situation. He thought that Joel looked a lot different from when he’d last seen him, and he thought that maybe he didn’t like that all too much. He also thought that if he could find some way to get away with it, he’d gladly kick his brother out of the apartment right here and now and be done with him for good. But then he thought about Hannah. And how she wouldn’t believe him, he didn’t think, if he said her dear little Jolly left all of his own accord. He didn’t think he wanted to be on Hannah’s bad side. Not if he wanted things to turn out how he’d always thought they might. Hoped, maybe was a better word there. But Frankie didn’t hope for things. Bullshit word, that.

“Aw, come on Jolly—” Frankie turned his lips down into a spectacular pout. “Don’t be rude. You’ll hurt my feelings, saying things like that…” he sat with his hands under his knees, feet kicking at the cabinets as he stared at the ground, playing the part of a horribly smug third grader quite well. Maybe he’d never quite grown out of that stage. Not while Joel was around, at least. There was a constant need to prove he was better than him, worth more, something—no, no there wasn’t. He didn’t need to prove anything. He knew it. Hannah just didn’t see it, was all. It was for her. Or it would have been, if he cared what she thought, either. She was bad enough with her teasing.

He grinned then, however, and looked back up at his little brother, shrugging as though they’d been speaking of the weather. Casual, alarmingly so. That was the way to keep it with Joel. Sometimes, maybe he’d be nice. But usually not. “You’re so smart, Jolly. Like a…a Rat, or something. God damn, I wish I saw right through people like you do.” He stared at his brother for a moment longer, flat faced, before breaking into a large grin. He put his finger to his lips then and winked, Don’t tell Hannah.

He’d kill him, if he did.
But he wouldn’t. And if he did, Frankie was fairly certain Hannah wouldn’t believe him. She had more faith in Frankie than most. He liked her, he felt, because of that. Not that he really cared.

Blinking very slowly, genuine surprise slid over Frankie’s face at Joel’s words, and his brows raised high in momentary skepticism. He recovered soon enough, however. Casual. Just stay Casual. Casual with the edge of a threat. That was always the worst, when he came from Frankie.

“What’d you just say to me?” Piece of shit. Rat. Dumbfuck. Rat. Cocksucker. Rat. Pussy. Rat. All tacked on wonderfully unspoken to the end of the question, all at once and one at a time. There really wasn’t another rway to talk to rodents, though. You had to be forceful in case they bit.