Slipknot short stories

Storms [ all ]

No reader just the guys and it's all platonic
This is a long one

Made by
Hgp

————————————————————————————

Joey's fingertips brushed against the hard edges of a cassette case inside his pocket.

He dug his hands further in, feet scuffing along the ground. He hardly needed a jacket in the early warmth of summer that was leaking into Des Moines, but still he hunched into it, making himself small and eyes not leaving the ground where he kicked at stones on his way.

A backpack hung off one shoulder. All he really needed it for was his drumsticks, which poked out of the zip at the top. He had slung his phone in there too.

Inside his pockets, his fingers brushed over the one thing he hadn't thrown in his bag: the tape. Shawn had lent it to him last week under pain of death to bring it back safe: he had been non-stop talking about this record and the new ideas it had given him for the band, and Joey needed to listen to it if he was going to have any hope of following Shawn's enthusiasm – or telling him to pipe the fuck down if it turned out to be crap.

But it was Shawn's latest favourite thing, so he tried his best. He could now finally understand what the other drummer had been on about, armed with some ideas of his own for rehearsal today.

He cursed the walk he had to take to get there. Afterwards, he would wheedle a ride back with someone, but for now he was coming from his job out of town. After his mum's car had refused to start that morning, she had had to take his and the walk wasn't really bad enough for him to bother one of the guys to come and get him.

Now, he was beginning to wish he had. Not because he was too tired or anything – he was just fucking bored.

The whole way, he kept his head downturned, dark hair falling beside it. That was his go-to strategy to stay out of people's way at school, and it became a habit. He thought maybe if he never caught their eyes, they wouldn't notice him.

The theory's success in practise was questionable at best.

It didn't work at all, really. It wasn't usually his eyes that caught the attention of others. The long dark hair hiding them was probably something that made them wrinkle their noses in itself.

Humming half-formed riffs and tapping his fingers inside his pockets, he wasn't even tempted to look around. There was fucking nothing here, he already knew that. A dirt track running behind some houses, nothing more to it.

It was empty enough that the group could count on being left alone when they decided to get drunk in a field, one of the few choices of entertainment around here. Joey remembered Sid cursing out the people that lived in the houses here.

"Think they're better than the rest of the nobodies in this town because they live in a bigger fucking field..."

Sounded about right. Joey snorted at the memory.

He booted another stone, watching the rock bounce away-

And stop, right underneath someone else's foot.

If his step faltered for a second, he hoped it didn't show. Instinctively, he forced his eyes away from the white trainers and back ahead of him as he kept walking.

But he should have known from their choice of footwear, this was not someone who understood him. And that meant trouble.

"Jordison??"

He rolled his eyes at the smirking voice, but didn't stop walking. Even when he heard footsteps on the dusty path following him. Especially then. Didn't sound like just one person. He hoped they would get bored and fuck off. Couldn't they find another hobby?