multifandom oneshots/preferences

xxii. far away--joey jordison (slipknot) part i

a/n: so the time period here is a bit off, i know slipknot hadn't actually formed until way after joey got out of high school, but go with it because a ton of other slipknot fanfics do it and i want to hop on that bandwagon.

also, molchat doma now exists in the 90s so we are really throwing away the concept of time here

wait hold on, i actually looked up when czechoslovakia split for this, can I get bonus time points for that?

Joey is not very pleased with the new arrangement of having a foreign exchange student. His mom said they needed the money and refused to let Joey take on more shifts...so now there's a kid from Eastern Europe coming to stay with them. They're just another mouth Joey has to help feed to him, honestly, but he puts up an optimistic front for his mom. 

The day the bastard got there, all they did was sleep. All day. They came out once for dinner, then promptly returned to bed. 

A few days later, Joey's mom notifies him that he will be driving you to and from school, which may or may not interfere with being in a band.

...

The next day, Joey drives you to school and reluctantly gives you a rundown of how things operate. You try to keep up, but with the music playing in the background and your anxiety making it hard to breathe, it's a bit difficult. 

Soon enough, you grab your schedule from the office (Joey having abandoned you) and begin to trail quietly behind the familiar long hair. 

Oh, you have the same first class. That's convenient. 

"Holy shit, that's the person staying with you?" a guy next to Joey asks as you walk in the room. You glance over at them and raise an eyebrow as you start toward the back right side of the room. 

"Yeah," Joey replies flatly. 

"Hey there, I'm Corey," the guy smiles at you and holds his hand out. 

"Y/n," you take his hand. "Can I sit?"

"Of course," Corey pulls the chair out next to him. 

Throughout the rest of the day, Corey introduces you to the rest of his and Joey's band. They call themselves Slipknot. Everyone in the group, including some of the member's girlfriends, are quite nice to you, save Joey. 

"Hey, Corey," you lightly grip Corey's arm as the last bell rings. 

"Yeah?" he looks over his shoulder. 

"Do you know, uh, why Joey does not like me?" you ask. 

"I don't really think I'm allowed to tell you," Corey chuckles. "This is just a lot for him."

You want to ask more questions, but Joey is yelling at you to hurry up.

...

It's been a week, and you need a lot of help with whatever's going on in English class. People in Des Moines speak with a weird inflection, and Joey has warmed up to you a bit. 

You tap on Joey's door. 

"Hm?" he replies. 

"Hey, can I come in? I...I need some help," you admit. 

The door opens to reveal a slightly messy room covered in posters from movies and bands, with CDs scattered about.

"People don't usually come in here," Joey shrugs, grabbing his guitar off the bed and putting it on a stand in a corner. "What's up?"

It takes you a few seconds to process the scene as you're overwhelmed with a sudden feeling of being at home again. "Uh...just homework."

"Yeah, you're gonna need to say more," Joey sits on his bed.

"Okay, what the hell is English class even?" you huff, tossing your books on the bed before you sit across from Joey.

"Good question, and to that I raise you I don't know."

"вие сте безполезни," you mutter to yourself, shaking your head as you study the poem in front of you. (You are useless.)

"What was that?" Joey raises an eyebrow. 

You stay silent for a second before you look down again to the poem. "It was a joke."

"Hm. Well I didn't really get this either, so you can look at what I've written so far."

"Ah, okay," you nod as Joey reaches down into the backpack by his bed and gives you his own sheet of paper. 

After a few minutes of doing a bit of translation on the poem and reading what you can of Joey's answers, you finally say, "I cannot read your script, can you help me?"

"'Script'?" Joey chuckles. 

"That's the word, no?"

"I think you mean handwriting, and I know it's bad."

"Fix it, then," you say without thinking.

"Ouch, okay," Joey rolls his eyes as he takes his paper back and studies it himself. 

"I need 3 and 4," you clarify.

"Okay, uh, so basically Whitman is saying that America is special because it's a free country and provides equal opportunity for everyone," Joey starts. You write down whatever you catch from that before giving an "mh-hm" to signal you're ready for the next one. Your host begins to read off the next one, but a poster of a Belarusian band catches your eye. 

"Molchat Doma?" you mutter to yourself. 

"Hm?" Joey pauses. "Oh, them? I love Molchat Doma."

"Really?" you look up at him. "I, I did not know American knew them."

"I have some CDs of theirs. You Russians make damn good music," your companion flashes a smile. 

"I am not Russian, but thank you," you feel a smile develop on your face. "Can we listen to them? They are my, uh, favorite."

Joey shrugs and nods as he steps off the bed and over to a stack of CDs by a player. Soon, you hear the opening of "Tancevat" and suddenly you're back in Czechoslovakia, in your room, looking out the window at the bitterly cold winter snow while the solemn music plays. You hear your parents talking and your grandmother complaining about the state of affairs in the back of your head. 

You swallow harshly and shake your head to ground yourself in the moment again. 

"Are you okay?" Joey leans over. "You're not asleep are you?"

"Heh, no," you shrug. "Just...just homesick."

...

part ii is up

thanks for reading <3