Chapter Text
“Frankie?” Donnie’s voice came out timid as he stared at their bedroom ceiling, the neon sign outside their window casting shapes onto the cracked plaster above them, Donnie’s tired brain making it out to be moving, despite the reflections remaining stagnant. His chest felt heavy, like in the way you would feel after crying for an hour about everything you had bottled up, but he hadn’t cried. Honestly, he couldn’t remember the last time he did cry. Maybe it was when he cut his hand open on the barbed wire fence he and Frankie hopped over two years ago, trying to run from Micheal Elliott, the old man who watched over the now abandoned farm like a hawk. Frankie had berated Donnie that entire night, going on and on about how reckless Donnie was, but Donnie just brushed it off and moved on, or at least he tried to convince himself he did. Maybe the last time he cried was when he and Frankie got into that massive fight on Donnie’s 21st birthday, Donnie storming out and driving the truck two hours out before running out of gas and needing to call Frankie to pick him up. Donnie couldn’t even remember what they were originally fighting about, but he remembered how embarrassed he was, sitting in the cab of the truck next to Frankie, silence and the road being the only sound as they drove back to Reggie’s. “Frankie,” Donnie repeated, flopping his hand out to land on Frankie’s chest, the small worn-out bed they shared feeling smaller than it actually was.
“What do you want?” Frankie groaned, rolling onto his back and rubbing his half-closed eyes, a yawn escaping from his chapped lips.
“Do you know where the notebook is? The one we use to write down what trees we have and shit?” Donnie sat up, the bed rocking as he picked at the skin on his cuticles, his restless mind racing more than usual. Frankie let out a heavy sigh, rolling onto his side to check the alarm clock which rested on a precariously balanced set of milkcrates they had found in the back alley of the bakery two blocks over, some of the many things they collected when they first moved into the room above Reggie’s strip-club.
“Donnie, it’s 3:26. Go back to sleep,” Frankie muttered, his voice hoarse with exhaustion.
“I can’t,” Donnie insisted, shaking Frankie’s shoulder like he was a kid again, “I just wanna check something in the notebook.”
“It’s in the cabinet with the hot plate you annoying little shit,” Frankie imparted, swinging his arm back blindly to knock Donnie’s hand off of his shoulder.
“Got it,” Donnie noted, tossing the blankets off of himself and hopping out of bed, the floorboards creaking as he padded over to the cabinet, his knees cracking as he bent down to pull open the squeaking door, shuffling through the mess within, the clank of the hot plate and other materials echoing into the rest of the room as he searched. “Damn thing always has to be at the bottom,” Donnie muttered to himself, grabbing the leather-bound journal and brushing off the spiderwebs it had picked up from the cabinet.
“Why do you even want it?” Frankie questioned as he pushed himself up onto his elbows, his eyebrows furrowed as he watched his younger brother’s movements.
“I just want to check something.”
“What are you checking?” The bed creaked as Frankie fully sat up, something in his gut telling him that Donnie wasn’t just simply looking over the notebook.
“Why are you being so pushy?” Donnie spat, closing the notebook with a bang as he glared over at Frankie.
“Why are you being so secretive?” Frankie retorted, shoving the blanket off of him as he got up, his height looming over Donnie as he walked over to the shorter man.
“I’m not being secretive!” Donnie retorted, standing up and shoving past Frankie, nearly knocking him over. The room settled into an uneasy silence, Donnie’s strained pants filling the quiet as he tossed the notebook onto the bed, snatching up his muddied boots and pulling them on. Frankie let out an exacerbated sigh, turning to face Donnie as he crossed his arms over his chest.
“Donnie, don’t be a child. Remember how this went last time you stormed out?”
“Of course, I fucking remember. You remind me of it every damn day,” the neon lights glinted as Donnie didn’t bother to spare Frankie a passing glance, the leather of his jacket ruffling as he stormed out of their room, the door slamming shut behind him, most likely going to cause Reggie to yell at them again in the morning for the noise.
“Damn kid,” Frankie muttered, grabbing the notebook from off of the bed and placing it back in the cabinet under the several random cooking supplies they had cramped inside.
The air was frigid as Donnie stomped down the sidewalk, his already bright hair glowing a brighter blond under the streetlights he passed. Lightning crackled in the distance, barely visible past all of the towering buildings and smog in the air. Even as he pulled his jacket tighter around himself, the air bit into his skin, turning his cheeks peachy and his fingers numb. Snow littered the sidewalks, piling up onto the edges of the pavement and the paths between businesses. The only part that was even remotely shoveled was the entrances to shops and houses because in this city, people truly only cared about themselves, even when it came to something as purposeless as snow. Donnie tried to believe Frankie cared about him. Even through all the insults and judgement, they only had each other, so Frankie had to care about him, and Donnie cared about Frankie. At this point, Donnie wasn’t even paying attention to where he was going, his chest starting to feel heavy again as his boots stomped through the slush and snow.
“Hey kid, you have a dollar?” a man called from in the recesses of an alley, his hands stained with filth and his face scarred from who knows what.
“Uh, no. Sorry,” Donnie replied sheepishly, scratching the back of his head as his other hand drifted into his pocket, trying to walk past without making eye contact. Donnie had seen his fair share of the big city since he and Frankie moved here. He had seen up town, women with frilly skirts and men with suits straight out of the catalog. However, he had seen more in the lower part of town than he cared to admit. He had seen men in alleys, coughing up blood and passing out from shitty self-done stitches. He had seen women faint from dehydration and lightheadedness. He had seen a teen take a knife to his own-. Donnie shook his head and focused on walking, taking it pace by pace while trying to keep his mind from drifting off into memories he didn’t care to bring back up. “Just keep walking,” Donnie whispered to himself, his eyes drifting up to the brightly lit 24 hour diner he had passed by a million times before. It had become ritual at this point, as they always drove past it when heading out to get trees and Donnie would beg Frankie to stop so they could get something to eat. Frankie always said no. He had insisted that the food there was too expensive, and while Donnie had never actually gone in to check, or let alone see Frankie go in to check the prices, he just took his brother’s word for it. Donnie took Frankie’s word for a lot of things. He had trusted his brother’s judgement since they were young. After all, Frankie was the older brother. He knew more than Donnie did. Donnie would follow Frankie through hell and back if he said so much as “trust me.”
Despite knowing the answer, Donnie still checked his pockets, hoping against hope that he had at least two dollars. As expected, his pockets were empty, apart from some lint and a half-crushed gum wrapper from when he had attempted to drop his smoking habits, something that hadn’t even lasted three days. He could always feel the judgement radiating off of Frankie whenever Donnie walked in with a new pack of cigarettes. Even if they weren’t all that expensive, it still chipped away at the tree money more than Donnie cared to admit. Donnie let out a soft huff and pulled his jacket around him again, walking past the diner without letting his eyes lift from the ground, following the cracks tracing through the sidewalk.
Was Donnie being an idiot for storming off again? Yeah, probably. Or at least Frankie thought he was. Hell, if Donnie even breathed wrong around Frankie, the older man would think Donnie was being stupid. Each insult or cursed breath from Frankie had been digging through Donnie’s denial, and it was getting harder and harder to pretend that it didn’t hurt. Maybe that’s why Donnie had stormed out. Maybe that’s why he had planned to throw out the notebook. Maybe that’s why he had ended up at the dock tonight, staring at the water like it was the only thing that would give him the escape he’d been looking for, like it was the only thing that would stop the damned ache in his chest that wouldn’t stay away, like it was the only option he had left.