Rook rolls his eyes at the mention of his body washing up somewhere. "You think you need to hold my hand so I don't kill myself?" This is asked with a monotone, quiet voice. He's not the type to slit his wrists, he's also not the type to give up. He'll fight to the bitter end, cling to life, if for nothing else, then out of spite.
It doesn't even occur to him that Jay might have wanted to offer him some comfort because he doesn't need that and he doesn't deserve it.
The blip blip sound that comes out of the traffic lights goes off several times before he answers the question about what he's doing here, though.
"It's work. The hell do you care what I do? They don't care what my work history is and salary comes in cash every fucking Friday." He has no intentions of leaving a record mark of himself anywhere, so being paid off the books is what he wants.
"Because if you're gonna stick with this sort of labour, it'll drive you mad with boredom."
And Jay's not using that as a turn of phrase, he genuinely does think Rook will snap some day if he continues with this sort of work.
"You don't do well with mundane work. Besides, it's a waste of your talent, especially after all these years you put into training yourself to be who you are," Jay huffs. "But here you are, throwing all that away over an accident."
"So you think I should just wish away the competing ban?" Rook asks with a nasty little smile that he directs at his brother's profile. "Light a fucking candle, positive thoughts? What?"
He rolls his lip between his teeth, amusement draining off his features like oil from waves.
Blip, blip. Go. He's steps forward before Jay does, doggedly, leading with his forehead, annoyance clear in his steps. This is why he'd rather not hang out with Jay or anyone else for that matter. Everyone has a fucking opinion about what he's doing and how he's doing something wrong.
There's something wrong, sure, in him. And that something wrong is going to get people hurt. He'd rather those people not be the ones he likes and cares about.
"Hey-" Jay grabs for Rook's arm, consequences be damned, as soon as they've crossed the street, not caring that the passerby have to stumble out of their way. The normally sleepy eyes are narrowed, seeming pissed but with a very obvious undercurrent of worry.
"I didn't say it'd be easy, did I?" His hand tightens around Rook's bicep, all but daring his brother to break his fingers to get loose, because Jay's not letting go. "But you're wallowing and I can see you digging yourself into a pit."
And given their experiences, they've both seen how dangerous that can be. How many poor suckers had ended up more or less committing suicide by proxy from destructive habits. While Rook's tougher than them, Jay can see the beginnings of those same troubling signs starting to crop up in the tough bastard. Like hell is he going to lose his brother in such a piss poor way.
Pale eyes narrow at Jay, they're standing right in the middle of the walkway and he doesn't care. Jay can hang onto his arm, though, because the last time Rook twisted his arm was when they were kids and never since then. He has never lifted a hand against his brother and will never do so, Jay is free to slap him in the face and it will not result with violence.
However, irritation and sharp words are a completely different ball game.
"I'm wallowing, am I?" he says in a low, dangerous rumble of a voice. "What the fuck would you have me do? I'm not drunk, I'm working, I'm eating, I'm pissing and I'm even sleeping. I'm not looking anyone to hold my bloody hand, Jay."
He's not going back to fighting. That life has been seen. No, he has no fucking idea what he's going to do now or if any of it will be worth his while. But he sure as hell isn't going to drag his brother down this fast spiral down that he feels under his feet now.
"Tough, you've got me holding it anyway," Jay returns, cool and calm in tone even if the look in his eyes is anything but. "I missed the signs once. I'm not making that mistake again."
Sure, it had nearly killed him, too, when their mother had tried to gas them both to death during the night, but he'd learned his lesson. Breaking his hand to escape the cuffs hadn't been fun, but if there's on thing both boys learned from their mother early on, it's to fight tooth and nail to survive.
And while he knows Rook would never hurt him, he knows the same courtesy might not always extend to the man himself. Losing Rook is not something Jay's willing to entertain.
"You're not working through this. At all. You know that's dangerous."
"I'm not her," comes the predictable, angry reply, pale eyes burning with a frozen flame, lip curling back from chipped teeth. "That bitch can rot in hell and I'm nothing like her." Even the idea that Jay would liken him to her makes him actually mad.
Even if there is a tiny voice inside him that says 'but aren't you very similar though?' No, he's not. Fuck that, and fuck anyone who says so.
Maybe though, that wasn't an accident in the ring?
Maybe he's not quite so in control of himself as he would like to think.
Maybe...
"Obviously we're not going to eat. So, I'll say goodbye to you here. Go home, Jay. I'm not going to kill myself."
Jay's eyes narrow and his jaw tightens for a moment as they stare at each other, completely ignoring the people moving around them. He could hang onto Rook and force him to talk, but what good would that do? His brother's prickly at the best of times when annoyed, and this isn't even remotely in the same realm.
No, best he withdraw for now.
But first, "I want weekly check-ins from you. Call if you want, but at the very least a voicemail with the title of that day's paper headline. Do that, and I won't come stalking you like this."
"Fuck you," Rook mutters as he wrenches his arm free finally. He might call Jay, might. But right now he's not going to agree to any terms that seem both infuriating and ridiculous.
That small voice inside him says if the situation was reversed he would pack Jay into the trunk of his car and hold him against his will until the crazy would seep out of him. But he's not in any mood to do any self-reflection here, not now.
Just let him be.
He turns on his heels and heads back towards the construction site without another word said to his brother.
Jay lets him go and doesn't bother to yell at him to do as he says. Rook knows he's not joking and he will do exactly as he's threatened if he doesn't get that first call in a week's time. But that's just how it's going to go - the boys limping along with their broken family dynamic until it eventually repairs itself again.
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no subject
It doesn't even occur to him that Jay might have wanted to offer him some comfort because he doesn't need that and he doesn't deserve it.
The blip blip sound that comes out of the traffic lights goes off several times before he answers the question about what he's doing here, though.
"It's work. The hell do you care what I do? They don't care what my work history is and salary comes in cash every fucking Friday." He has no intentions of leaving a record mark of himself anywhere, so being paid off the books is what he wants.
no subject
"Because if you're gonna stick with this sort of labour, it'll drive you mad with boredom."
And Jay's not using that as a turn of phrase, he genuinely does think Rook will snap some day if he continues with this sort of work.
"You don't do well with mundane work. Besides, it's a waste of your talent, especially after all these years you put into training yourself to be who you are," Jay huffs. "But here you are, throwing all that away over an accident."
no subject
He rolls his lip between his teeth, amusement draining off his features like oil from waves.
Blip, blip. Go. He's steps forward before Jay does, doggedly, leading with his forehead, annoyance clear in his steps. This is why he'd rather not hang out with Jay or anyone else for that matter. Everyone has a fucking opinion about what he's doing and how he's doing something wrong.
There's something wrong, sure, in him. And that something wrong is going to get people hurt. He'd rather those people not be the ones he likes and cares about.
no subject
"Hey-" Jay grabs for Rook's arm, consequences be damned, as soon as they've crossed the street, not caring that the passerby have to stumble out of their way. The normally sleepy eyes are narrowed, seeming pissed but with a very obvious undercurrent of worry.
"I didn't say it'd be easy, did I?" His hand tightens around Rook's bicep, all but daring his brother to break his fingers to get loose, because Jay's not letting go. "But you're wallowing and I can see you digging yourself into a pit."
And given their experiences, they've both seen how dangerous that can be. How many poor suckers had ended up more or less committing suicide by proxy from destructive habits. While Rook's tougher than them, Jay can see the beginnings of those same troubling signs starting to crop up in the tough bastard. Like hell is he going to lose his brother in such a piss poor way.
no subject
However, irritation and sharp words are a completely different ball game.
"I'm wallowing, am I?" he says in a low, dangerous rumble of a voice. "What the fuck would you have me do? I'm not drunk, I'm working, I'm eating, I'm pissing and I'm even sleeping. I'm not looking anyone to hold my bloody hand, Jay."
He's not going back to fighting. That life has been seen. No, he has no fucking idea what he's going to do now or if any of it will be worth his while. But he sure as hell isn't going to drag his brother down this fast spiral down that he feels under his feet now.
no subject
"Tough, you've got me holding it anyway," Jay returns, cool and calm in tone even if the look in his eyes is anything but. "I missed the signs once. I'm not making that mistake again."
Sure, it had nearly killed him, too, when their mother had tried to gas them both to death during the night, but he'd learned his lesson. Breaking his hand to escape the cuffs hadn't been fun, but if there's on thing both boys learned from their mother early on, it's to fight tooth and nail to survive.
And while he knows Rook would never hurt him, he knows the same courtesy might not always extend to the man himself. Losing Rook is not something Jay's willing to entertain.
"You're not working through this. At all. You know that's dangerous."
no subject
Even if there is a tiny voice inside him that says 'but aren't you very similar though?' No, he's not. Fuck that, and fuck anyone who says so.
Maybe though, that wasn't an accident in the ring?
Maybe he's not quite so in control of himself as he would like to think.
Maybe...
"Obviously we're not going to eat. So, I'll say goodbye to you here. Go home, Jay. I'm not going to kill myself."
no subject
Jay's eyes narrow and his jaw tightens for a moment as they stare at each other, completely ignoring the people moving around them. He could hang onto Rook and force him to talk, but what good would that do? His brother's prickly at the best of times when annoyed, and this isn't even remotely in the same realm.
No, best he withdraw for now.
But first, "I want weekly check-ins from you. Call if you want, but at the very least a voicemail with the title of that day's paper headline. Do that, and I won't come stalking you like this."
no subject
That small voice inside him says if the situation was reversed he would pack Jay into the trunk of his car and hold him against his will until the crazy would seep out of him. But he's not in any mood to do any self-reflection here, not now.
Just let him be.
He turns on his heels and heads back towards the construction site without another word said to his brother.
no subject
Jay lets him go and doesn't bother to yell at him to do as he says. Rook knows he's not joking and he will do exactly as he's threatened if he doesn't get that first call in a week's time. But that's just how it's going to go - the boys limping along with their broken family dynamic until it eventually repairs itself again.