Brother: Paul Gray and Joey Jordison

Burn.

Ok, I'm sorry for the long wait everyone. Haven't really been well lately, and I've been trying to work on some stuff. This chapter alone took me like a few weeks. I haven't had motivation to write that much, but I've been making a bit of art if you want to go look at that. (prob not but whatever) Try to enjoy the chapter. Don't cry. I cried making it. Don't make fun of me it's so fucking painfull :(

Love you guys for actually looking at my stuff and supporting me even though I don't post too much. I'll try tho... :) <3

Joey Jordison

Today was the day. Today was the funeral. Paul Gray's funeral. His best friend's funeral. There was no way. The man swallowed hard, turning around to look at himself in the mirror. He wore a basic black suit with a white dress shirt under it. The fabric hung loosely around his body, he was a very short guy, and him being slightly thinner since Paul passed.

He wouldn't eat. He hadn't eaten since he found out the news. It had been a week. A whole fucking week of crying and starving himself and holding onto his cats for dear life. He didn't know how he could keep going on like this. Joey tried. He really tried. But he just shut down.

Suddenly someone slammed the door open. Joey looked down, wiping the tears that had been streaming down his face, trying to make it look like he wasn't just crying. But that didn't work, of course. He felt a large hand on his shoulder. "You're okay?" Shawn asked, Joey could tell who it was because of his voice. 

The small man nodded, deciding to stay quiet. It would be better not to talk in case his voice cracked. He couldn't even talk about Paul without his voice cracking embarrassingly. It was almost like he was a middle school boy again. Shawn nodded, patting his back a little more roughly than he would have liked and almost knocking the midget over.

"The guys are going to leave without us if you don't get in the car soon." The stout man said, walking out of the small room. Joey let out a shaky sigh. He could do this. He was going to do this. 

He turned to look in the mirror one last time, adjusting his long tie. He fixed his hair, running a random hairbrush through the long black strands. He was startled by a loud yell. "Joe! You get your fat fucking ass in this car before we leave you!" Someone yelled from downstairs. He rolled his eyes.

Joey put the hairbrush down and rushed down the stairs, grabbing onto the railing for support. He opened the front door and started walking towards the car. He stopped dead in his tracks, feeling the cold pavement under his feet. The man facepalmed, turning around abruptly and running inside the house. 

Joey was so distracted. He couldn't even think straight. He didn't want to go to Paul's funeral. But he knew if he didn't then he'd feel guilty for the rest of his life. He couldn't handle that. He wasn't even handling Paul's death well.

Once his shoes were on, he ran back outside, locking the door on the way out and then clambered into the back of the crowded car. "Nope!" Mick cried, rushing to the car and slamming the door open aggressively. "I'm not sitting in the middle. No way, bitch." He looked at Joey. 

The shorter man sighed, unbuckling his seatbelt and moving to the middle seat next to Craig. "This car is too damn tiny for all of us." Corey said from the front seat, . He was privileged to sit in the front, he should not be complaining. Joey thought, playing with his fingers and peeling off his nail polish. 

Shawn rolled his eyes, and chuckled. "My car is perfect. If you don't like it, you can jump out of the window. " He said, swerving on the road and causing everyone to scream, except for Craig, who stayed silent and clutched the car seat. "You guys are such pussies." Shawn said, letting out a loud chuckle, and starting to slow down the car and drive more safely, reliving all of his passengers.