Note: Originally this story was our very first one in the Slipknot fandom, but it had to wait to be published for a while as we focused on other stories first and because this is a heavy and dark piece to digest. Either way it’s also one of my personal favorites.

Note 2: This is more or less an Alternate Universe (AU) fanfiction because we don’t follow the dates so strictly and left people out from the boys’ life. We’d also like to emphasize that we wrote this with all the love and respect for the amazing Paul in our minds.

Note 3: The quotations are from Slipknot’s “Gehenna” and Stone Sour’s “Sadist”.

About Gehenna: Gehenna in occult mythology is the gathering place of the souls after they died. One's soul will stay there until it cleanses from the previous life's burden and mistakes to revive again on a higher level back on Earth. Until the soul cannot purify the past life's events, it’ll keep haunting it until it gets over it and learns from it before closing that life off. Until then it will burn in Gehenna.

Fandom/characters/rating/category: Slipknot, Corey Taylor/Jim Root, Paul Gray/Corey Taylor/Jim Root (mentioned), other members of Slipknot, Cristina Scabbia, R, slash, M/M, past threesome, emotional drama, romance, hurt/comfort, dark, suicidal tendencies, cutting, drug and alcohol abuse, Dom/sub, S&M, hardcore BDSM.

Summary: After a great loss in Slipknot’s life all the band members are going through a very rough time. This story follows how they – but most of all Corey and Jim – are trying to find their way in their lives after such a dark event. In the end will they be able to find comfort and peace in each other?

Disclaimer: This is a product of our imagination and was written only for entertainment and fun. We don’t profit from this fanfiction and we mean no harm or disrespect against any real person, culture or custom that might appear in the story.

Full-sized illustration by Useless-girl

Gehenna
By S.M.A. & Useless-girl

Chapter 1

“Do you believe? Do you fade like a dream?
Let me hear you BREATHE
Let me watch as you sleep…”

This was probably the hardest thing any of them had to do during their career.

Yesterday they’d lost one of their brothers. None of them could really comprehend it yet because it was so fucking unexpected. It was going to take some time to sink in that Paul wasn’t with them anymore. It was a horrible loss on so many levels. Not just for the band and the fans, but for them as a group of people who considered each other more as brothers than close friends.

Every one of them was fighting with their tears during the conference while the journalists and reporters were – for a change – sitting quietly without shouting their questions. Only the blinding flashes of the cameras went off every now and then. Not that they would notice it or care about it. Fuck them. Fuck the world!

The heavy and fucking ugly monster of grief was sitting on all of their shoulders as they were sitting behind that long table, reminiscing and thanking Paul for making their lives better. It was unbelievable that he wasn’t going to lighten the mood with his laughter or awesome hugs anymore. He was a truly amazing person despite all his flaws. No one is perfect, of course, but all in all, he was one of the best dudes they’ve ever met. Facing death and the fact how fleeting human lives are is never easy, but an untimely death like Paul’s was always harder on everyone.

It was even harder on some people. Like on Corey.

Jim leaned back in his chair and glimpsed at their singer as he was struggling with his words when he was trying to talk. His voice failed him a few times and his deep pain was rolling off him in suffocating waves. Jim – and probably everyone else – could clearly feel it. The difference was that the guitarist knew the exact reason why Paul’s death affected Corey so much more.

He was sure all of them wanted this fucking press conference to end as soon as possible. Jim himself was counting back the minutes. He couldn’t even say anything into that bloody microphone. The others told everything he thought and felt anyway. All he wanted to do was leave this damned room and coop up in his practice room with his guitar and a few bottles of Jack or something strong. He wanted to play, drink, cry or just stare into nothing while trying to comprehend what’d happened.

He was hurting just as much as the others, but probably not as much as Corey. Corey, who was always so strong and confident-looking on the outside, goofing around like a big kid or spreading his wise words, trying to teach, to help those who took the effort to look behind his words. Very few knew that on the inside he was very emotional and sensitive. The first time he faced that fact Jim was surprised about it too. He’d realized that Corey had a soft side back in the ‘90s when he’d first joined Stone Sour. Until then he got used to Corey’s harder side, which was like a nuclear reactor set loose on stage. But with Stone Sour Corey became nearly a completely different person.

Of course this band was very different from Slipknot. Not just musically but the topics and lyrics of the songs too. Not that the Slipknot songs lacked depth, but the Stone Sour ones were less frantic, less angry – at least in the performance. They were songs with deeply soul-searching lyrics, freer than in their other band, because here they could draw inspiration from whatever they wanted to. As Jim saw it, Corey poured all his frustrations, disappointments, hopes, failures and self-hatred into them on a different level. With Stone Sour they weren’t raging demons on stage. This stuff was heavy too, but despite that they could smile a lot on stage. It was less physically and mentally exhausting to write, record and perform these songs.

Somehow – after the first shock – Jim started to like this more sensitive side of Corey. He liked to spend most of his days close to the singer. Not just trying to figure out some guitar riffs, bridges or whatever to the songs, but just being around him, watching Corey work on the lyrics or the sound of a song. He clearly wanted them to be perfect and couldn’t rest until he was more or less satisfied with the result. The “Mad Genius”. That’s how people started calling Corey. It was true. Jim rarely had seen him not doing something or being on the move.

It’s as if Corey couldn’t stop. The guitarist had no idea from where that seemingly unlimited energy was coming from. Okay, well, he had an idea, but that was beside the point. So seeing Corey so… frozen and motionless was more than disturbing to Jim. And he wasn’t talking about physical motionlessness. No, Corey was moving in his seat, communicating and all. It was a kind of motionlessness that affected his very core. Only people close enough to the singer could see it. Like Jim.

Corey looked completely… broken. But what would someone expect after loosing his best friend, lover and soulmate?

It made Jim’s protectiveness – which Corey had triggered not long after showing his more sensitive side in Stone Sour – kick into full gear. But Jim wasn’t sure what was going to happen to the two of them. Would Corey push him away too in his grief? Or would he let Jim offer as much comfort as he could give him? Probably time would tell, right?

The last of these thoughts ran through the guitarist’s head while walking off the stage once the press conference was over. He pushed a cigarette between his lips and lit it as soon as they were outside and done with the multiply hugs and quiet comments. He himself felt frozen and kind of empty too. The shock probably didn’t wear off yet. He needed some fresh air, so he found his way out of the building, puffing smoke into the air as he looked up at the sky, squinting behind his glasses because of the bright sunlight.

What a fucked up day – and situation.

 ***

Four days. It's been four long painfully silent days since Paul had died and Corey vanished from the face of Earth. The other members were keeping in touch and keeping each other on the surface in the numbing pain.

No matter how many times Jim tried to call the singer, the line was dead. Corey isolated himself in the old van no one really knew about. It was their hideout. His and Paul's. Ever since they where teens they had their secret life in that old van. Sometimes there were girls or in Corey’s case other boys, but it was always their sanctuary.

And now, looking over the surprisingly neat interior he felt it so cold and empty. Even so, he just couldn't get out. He did of course for more bottles of booze and some crap to eat, but for the last four days Corey has been deeply basking in the pain that didn't seem to ease. He was cold and numb. The first day's heartbroken tears were nowhere. The bottles were piling up as anyone could see through the London fog-like smoke that settled thickly inside. The bed sheets were all messed up, soaked with his blood as the broken man gave into his demons again and again in the past days. He just couldn't see a way out. It was more than pain, something much deeper and dangerous was eating him up fast.

Little did he know that their secret was not safe from Jim.

The last four days was torture for everyone – as it was expected while trying to deal with this shitty situation. After the first shock – and the night spent drinking and smoking himself silly until he passed out, Jim tried to keep in touch with the others to stop himself from falling into the deep dark abyss on which’s edge he felt he was standing on unsteady legs. He realized that someone had to keep the band together. That role fell on Jim and Shawn. Some of them got together or just talked on the phone. Those conversations were fucking hard too and at times, no matter how he seemed like one of the most balanced of their group on the outside, even Jim thought he couldn’t take it anymore.

Strangely what gave him strength was that he had to find Corey. It drove him to not give up and completely fall apart. He was scared and worried shitless, of course, but he kinda expected for their singer to vanish as if the Earth had swallowed him in whole. He probably wished that for himself so that he could be with Paul again. And that’s what really worried Jim. He knew about Corey’s previous suicide attempts and he hoped that it wouldn’t get to that again. He hoped that he’d find him before Corey did something really stupid.

He kept calling his friend, but Jim wasn’t surprised that he never picked it up. It took him nearly two days and a lot of favors from several people to track down Corey’s whereabouts. He didn’t even want to think about what people would’ve thought about his methods, but he didn’t really care either. What mattered was that he was now nearing to a van parked in a less frequented – some would say dangerous – part of town. Jim hoped as fuck that this was the right one, because getting gutted by some drug dealer or psycho for interrupting their day wasn’t on top of his list…

The only sign of life from the van was the discreetly seeping smoke that clearly came from some good weed. Sighing Jim took the last drag from his cigarette and flicked the butt into a nearby puddle. Looking around one more time Jim concluded that this was definitely the kind of neighborhood to get shitfaced and lost in one’s sorrow. Shaking his head he ran his hand through his wavy hair then tried the handle. It was locked.

“Shit…” he cursed under his nose then started banging on the door, wishing as hell that he wasn’t too late. “Corey! Corey, you in there? It’s me, Jim. Open up, man! Corey!”

Someone is banging on the door. What. The. Fuck. He is not even home... Corey thought in his foggy mind as he moved his sweat-covered face towards the sound that came to him muffled through all the shit in his system. They will fuck off. He couldn't be bothered.

The crimson trails zigzagging over his pulled up leg as he was sitting with his back towards the van's wall, as they hurried to get out of the way of the pieces of red hair on his thigh was mesmerizing. He was totally out. Not just being drunk and doped, but his wrecked brain has already swallowed up his being and dragged him away from reality. 

It cannot be true. It didn't happen. Paul left him alone. How can it be real??? The pain was real. And the blood. He didn't even realize Jim has found the side door and was practically tearing it open.

Jim waited for a minute or two but no answer came no matter how loud he was banging on the door. This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all! As worry gripped his heart tighter, making it harder for him to breathe, he started sizing up the van that looked similar to a mobile home now that he took a better look at it. There had to be a way in, but he had no doubt that he’d tear the door off its hinges if he had to. A few broken bones or strained muscles were nothing compared to losing another friend. And that was a big thing to say from a guitarist whose everything was his hands.

Quickly walking around the van Jim soon found another entrance and as he was fighting to keep calm and stop the panic from taking over his mind, he practically tore the side-door open. Luckily it wasn’t locked and in the next moment he was inside, inhaling the stuffy air that was more smoke than air. Waving with his hand in front of his face he strained his eyes to see better in the half-lit interior. It wasn’t easy and he stumbled a few times, kicking empty bottles and whatnot along the way, but his focus was on finding one messed up man.

When he did, the sight wasn’t pretty. It was shocking even to him. He’d seen some shitty things in his life, but this definitely topped it all. “Holy fucking shit…” he hissed as he neared his friend and knelt down next to him. “Corey…” he murmured much softer than he thought he would as his hand cradled the sweaty face to check on his eyes, for now ignoring the bleeding and nearly flayed thigh. “Hey man, can you hear me? It’s me, Jim. You with me?”

“Jimmy...?” the singer mumbled as his blurry vision focused on the figure moving his face. His heart sped up and the razor dropped from between his fingers. The pain from his chest ripped through him with a brand new force and curled his shaking body into a ball. Head down and roaring from the depths of his soul, making a sound as he was choking on his own blood, leaving his savior in utter shock. At least he was feeling again....

Shitshitshit… Jim thought as he tried to keep his cool. He wrapped an arm around Corey’s curled up body, moving him so that he wouldn’t actually choke on his blood. There was so much blood. Like a fucking slaughterhouse... Help, they needed help… That thought put Jim’s mind back on track and with his other hand he fished out his cell from his jeans’ pocket. He hit speed dial to call the only person who could help them at the moment. Luckily he picked up on the third ring while Jim was keeping Corey’s airwaves clear and his body locked in that position so that he couldn’t hurt himself more.

“Shawn, I need your help fucking fast! I found Corey. He is in a very bad shape. Maybe even skirting on the edge of catatonic. Bring all your med stuff. We have to move him,” he rushed through his words, not caring if he made sense or not. The urge to help and protect Corey was stronger than ever, cutting into his very being as if his own life depended on it. He quickly gave Shawn the address and then prayed that he’d get there quickly enough.

“I’m here, Corey. We’ll get through this. I promise. I’m here, man. I’m here…” he kept mumbling as he was holding the singer, not caring about the blood or anything else.

It was all darkness. Corey couldn't see anything else as his conscience started to leave him. He felt the taller man curving over him and it made his raw screams turn into sobbing whimpering. He felt so tired. The last days of drinking and blood-loss and mental struggle with his sanity caught up with him as he fainted while Clown arrived and the two bigger men moved him around. He gave into the darkness with a sigh. Rest. Nothingness. Finally.

It felt like ages until Shawn got there. Jim saw and felt when Corey finally fainted, but at least he was breathing steadily and wasn’t choking anymore. He exchanged a look with the other worried man then he let Shawn take a look at Corey’s injuries. He did everything he could to keep the wounds from getting worse during the transportation then he helped Jim carry the unconscious man out of that shithole.

In Shawn’s SUV Jim slid under the otherwise lying singer’s body so he could keep him upright at least half-way. It not just made it easier for Corey to breathe but it gave Jim the opportunity to hold him close while Shawn was navigating through traffic on their way to his place which they deemed to be the safest to go. But sitting with Corey like that was something Jim simply had to… needed to do after how he’d found him. Time after time he felt Shawn’s worried glimpses through the rearview mirror. He was probably checking not just on their friend but on Jim too. Maybe he was right, maybe Jim was going into shock too. But who could blame him after this?

He ignored everything else and just kept his eyes glued to Corey’s worn out face, his arm hugging him protectively while one big hand was stroking the short red hair until they got to Shawn’s place and they managed to take Corey to one of the guest rooms. Jim followed every instruction to help Shawn the best he could then he let the more experienced man take care of their singer.

As Jim was standing there in his bloody clothes next to the bed where Corey’s cuts were being cleaned and some stitched together, he felt helpless. Although they probably saved his life, Jim still felt as if he didn’t give enough. Or that he wasn’t enough. Just like before…

 ***

Light. The orange shine of the setting sun coming through the half-closed curtains. That was the first sense of thought or feeling after the emptiness where he was for seemingly ages. The sun is dying for today. There... A whole full sentence for a thought. The smell of sterilizer in the air and on his body. Stretching painful stitches on his upper thigh. Clown's ugly brown wallpaper. Corey Taylor was getting slowly back into the earthly life as his surroundings reached his senses. 

He went to the van. And lost it. Jim was there. Probably he and Shawn got him out of there. From whatever state he was in. Probably a not so pretty one. He sighed closing his eyes again. 

Jim... His hand moved to his chest unwillingly and grabbed the sheet strongly. As if he had to hold on to something there to keep it. Or keep it deep inside before it gets free and overtakes him. Just as the room started to spin he heard the door open and Clown came in with a worried look over his glasses.

“Good, you're awake. Stay in bed till tomorrow, man. You are safe here. Take these,” Shawn offered two pills to him and helped his head up as he drank and mumbled out a weak sorry.

“We love you, kid. Just rest now and heal,” the other told him softly with deep worry in his voice and peeked quickly at the wounds before leaving Corey alone to rest. Or to be with his thoughts. 

Yeah, he will rest and will heal up too in no time. But how will he face these guys after this…? And Jim... What are they now anyway... They were lovers before Pauly died. It all started ‘cause of Paul. Or at least the physical part of it, because before that Jim had issues with a gay public relationship in front of his parents. But Corey wanted Paul jealous, wanted to be angry at him, to feel really wanted by the big guy. But Jim became much more. And now...? The weakened man felt his thoughts drift back to where they’d started with the tall guitarist. After the first bigger gig Stone Sour had. Backstage in their shared dressing room. They were way too overwhelmed and started to drink some. He just had to tease him... And they couldn’t hold back anymore…

 ***

After Corey was taken care of by Shawn, they left the room, a supporting hand of his friend on Jim’s shoulder led him out of the now dark room. Jim didn’t protest. He couldn’t remember what they talked about afterwards. All that stuck in his fried brain was that Corey would be okay, that he just needed some much needed mental and physical rest.

Then Shawn pushed some clothes into Jim’s hand and sent him to take a shower and toss the bloody clothes wherever. That’s exactly what Jim did. His moves were automatic as he stripped and scrubbed his body down. While getting dressed water was dripping from his beard and long hair. He was standing barefooted in the bathroom as he tied the drawstrings of the slightly short black tracksuit and the surprisingly loose white wife-beater Shawn gave him.

He looked like hell and he really fucking needed a drink or two. Luckily Shawn was a step ahead of him and pointed towards the fridge before retreating for the night. That gave Jim room to take a six-pack of beer to the living room’s couch where he set up base with his pack of cigarette. He put on some shitty channel on the TV just to have some background noise aside from his rattling thoughts that kept running in circles, always going back to Corey.

What was it in this guy? That was the million dollar question and Jim laughed bitterly as he cracked a beer open and downed more than half of it, holding his burning cigarette in his other hand. Leaning back on the couch he looked up at the ceiling and thought back on how everything had really started between him and the singer.

That damned backstage room after the Stone Sour gig and that teasing bastard… whom Jim could never hate, no matter what he did. Fuck… why was he even thinking about that in such a situation? Paul was dead and he just literally scraped Corey off the floor. Jim should get shitfaced or pass out. Or both. Probably both would solve his problem. For now.

Yet the pictures of that teasing “kid” kept coming back, no matter how fast he was drinking his beers.

Jim got so close to Corey as they worked a lot on the Stone Sour songs. Somehow they had a basic understanding between them that had drawn them towards each other from the very start. He even knew about how the singer and Paul were. And yet Corey had to make a move to try and manipulate Pauly. He always wanted more. More love and care. Rougher sex and more raw passion. He was such a fool. And now he lost his soulmate. And he had no idea what to do with the feelings he had for Jim.

That gig. It was their first bigger success. They were high on the feelings and before that day Corey already was flirting with the tall guitarist whenever he could. Mostly in front of Paul. But to his surprise he found his match in Jim who returned his antics with natural ease. And the "joking" touches and hints started to turn on Corey more and more.

There, in the dressing room, only with a loose towel around his body he had to move closer to Jim. Double-talking all day had its effect on them. He hugged the taller man's neck, sliding close to his lean sweaty body, smiling mischievously. And Jim wrapped his long arms around him and leaned down to kiss his lips.

They both knew that the teasing that has been going on between them would sooner or later lead to that kiss and despite knowing how Corey and Paul were, Jim didn’t think in that moment just let their lips touch. His arms tightened around the much smaller body as if to make sure that the moment was real. Corey tasted real. Musky, raw, hot and very much like Jim had imagined. If not better.

He’s been on edge all day and not just because of the gig. Corey’s been friskier than ever. Or maybe they were just finally getting to the point where one of them had to make their move. Jim was trying to respect his friends’ relationship, although they never really talked about it. He just knew. It was kinda an open secret in the group. Jim never addressed it that was for sure. He didn’t know about the others. But he had eyes: he’d noticed the hints, the subtle touches and looks, the teasing and joking. From these he himself has been getting quite a lot lately and he couldn’t stop himself from shooting back just as good. It was fun being around Corey, just fooling around and pulling his leg right back. The whole thing just seemed to accelerate and without really thinking into Corey’s motives, Jim simply went with the flow, living in the moment.

His tongue in the other man’s mouth was surprisingly arousing. Not that it was the first time someone from his own sex would make him react. But he didn’t expect his body to do it so instantly only from such a simple yet intense physical contact. Their kiss was far from the slow romantic kind. It was rough and demanding, wiping out every coherent thought from their minds.

Jim had no idea how he’d ended up pushing Corey down on the worn out couch in one of the corners, but there he was. His much bigger body covering the singer’s as they were moving purely on instincts. Giving and taking. Teeth clashing, hands grabbing, nails scratching skin and hair and groins rubbing together in a burning urgency.

That first time was something perfect and raw. The kind of action that comes from sudden instinct and leaves a memory for a lifetime and a longing after that rush of passion it was made of, wiping away everything else. They had sex right then and there. But it was much more, even if neither of them wanted to admit it.

They never talked about it. Both of them were living in the moment and even if they continued like before, more and more times the flirting and joking ended up in hot raw lovemaking. It was not just sex and Corey was afraid of what has been awaking – or maybe deepening – inside him toward Jim.

Jim expected things to become more complicated or awkward between them afterwards. Okay, there was a little bit of awkwardness at first but they quickly got over that and the joking and teasing continued. As well as this new arrangement. Though they never talked about it and Jim never asked Corey about Paul or their relationship either. After all he more or less had Cristina too, but she was more like a friend. It was maybe something… special between Corey and Jim, but the guitarist also refused to examine it from closer, because as time was passing, he got kinda afraid to see what he’d find there.

Sighing, the present Jim crushed the last beer can in his hand and tossed it on the coffee table next to the others. Fighting with the lighter a bit to light the cigarette hanging from the corner of his lips, he cursed under his breath then took a triumphant drag, enjoying the burning of the smoke in his lungs. Dropping his buzzing head on the back of the couch again he exhaled the smoke and watched it curling towards the ceiling before it dissolved in the air.

Of course he was aware of the fact that Corey was using him to sometimes make Paul jealous, but Jim figured it came with the package. Besides touring was a different kind of animal. They were living in each other’s pockets while being on the road with Stone Sour and afterwards they went their separate ways for a while before meeting again. So Jim didn’t care. Or rather, he wanted to be at least a little bit selfish. Just for once. He left the rest for Corey to deal with.

Inside the guest room the messed up singer dozed off fast from the strong meds, waking up at early dawn feeling as if he just closed his eyes for a second. His head was spinning and his bladder was urging him to move. Which was not so easy. The stitched up skin was stiff and hardened on his thigh, making the smallest move painful, and leaving him with the feeling like there’s been a few inches cut off from his right leg. So his hissing-growling-stumbling was anything but decent or quiet. Especially when the sight of the passed out guitarist on the couch in the living room made him bump hard into a table by the wall, causing some painful curses to escape him.

Jim didn’t know when he managed to pass out from the additional beers he’d consumed after the first six. He had a restless drunken sleep filled with disturbing pictures mixed with the happenings of the recent days, his grief, the past and some idiotic nonsense his exhausted brain cooked up just to fuck with his “rest”. One moment he was watching some idiotic shit on TV, the next he was out cold.

What made him slightly jump on the couch where he was half-lying, half-sitting was a loud noise and not so muted curses. Looking towards the source of it he quickly forgot about feeling sleepy and like shit and he scrambled to his feet. Thank god he was mostly sober by then.

“Hey man, don’t force it. Lemme help you,” Jim grumbled flicking his messy hair out of his face as he was walking towards Corey, but he didn’t meet his eyes yet since he was checking if the bandage was bled through or not. It wasn’t yet so he quickly slid the singer’s right arm over his shoulder and took most of his weight off the injured leg as he helped him towards the bathroom.

While Corey took care of his business, Jim washed his face, running his wet fingers through his hair then toweled off while waiting for Corey to finish. “Coffee?” he turned around to meet his eyes. There was nothing in his gaze that would’ve blamed Corey for what he’d done.

“Yeah… Coffee sounds great... And... Thank you,” the singer mumbled avoiding the gaze of the taller man and started to hop towards the door to get said coffee. It was just too much now being so close to Jim while feeling so vulnerable.

“You’re welcome…” the guitarist murmured while watching his friend hopping out of the bathroom. Sometimes he could read Corey better than anyone. Other times he had no idea what was going on in his restless mind. Now Jim was kinda in the middle. He understood that Corey probably needed some space, so he gave him a head start. But on the other hand he was wondering what exactly he might be thinking.

Either way Jim stayed silent as he tossed the used towel onto the counter and followed him. He wanted to tell Corey to get back into bed or put his ass down somewhere to rest, but the short man could be one stubborn asshole at times so he let him be, seeing that the hopping was going better now and that the singer probably wasn’t going to fall.

Jim got lost in his own thoughts while making a lot of coffee and also preparing some scrambled eggs and toast for three (thinking of Shawn who might later eat too). The house was silent aside from the sounds Jim was making while working. The familiar moves were kinda grounding for him in a situation where he had no idea what to expect.

Corey just sat there at the table cradling his coffee mug, glimpsing from time to time at the tall man working. They both remained silent even when Jim placed the plate full of food in front of him and sat opposite him. The tension was growing. And they could both breathe it in more and more. He just had to spit out the question he knew none of them dared to think of in the last few days. Since they’d lost Paul. 

“Jim.... What now?”

The guitarist didn’t expect Corey to talk, or at least not so soon, so he had to pause for a second with his empty fork in his hand, the smell of food filling his nose. It was nice but he wasn’t really hungry, although they both had to eat. He swore to himself he’d force it down Corey’s throat if needed.

Looking up Jim didn’t answer until their eyes finally met for the first time since Corey woke up. “Now we eat.” Of course he knew this wasn’t what Corey meant, but ‘one step at a time’ as they say. His voice was calm and quiet, but there was a kind of authority in it that didn’t leave room for any objections. They can talk afterwards. To emphasize his point he stabbed his scrambled egg and started eating.

Corey saw the clear stubbornness in the pair of tired eyes, so he just nodded and started to eat as well.

What will they all do now? The tour dates were booked. But Paul was gone. Not like the places where they should appear, or not like the record company wouldn't sue them without a second thought. He knew the music business too well by then to have illusions about that. What will be with Jim and him? Stone Sour... Right now he couldn't even bear the thought of holding a microphone without Pauly being there saying his opinion.

All the thoughts started to catch up on him and grip his throat and heart strong, making his whole body beginning with the nervous shaking again as he was just staring at the plate with a mouthful of food he couldn't swallow.

Needless to say Jim kept glimpsing up from his food and coffee to check on Corey and with each time the singer looked worse. He’d seen this expression on him before. He was letting his worries and panic taking over. Jim had to somehow put a halt to that.

Pushing the remnants of his food aside he reached into the pocket of his borrowed tracksuit and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and his lighter. Presenting a joint he lit it up and took a deep drag before offering it to his friend.

“We’ll figure it out, Corey. I promise,” he said after exhaling the smoke. “After a little time we’ll sit down with the guys and talk things over. The rest of the world can fuck off. We’ve got each other’s backs. Always will.”

Taking a deep drag from the joint like it was water in the Sahara, Corey just nodded. He wanted to believe Jim. He still couldn't fully though. The fact that his old alcohol issues escalated in the past days didn’t help on his mind and nerves at all. He rather just kept quiet, hoping Jim wouldn't near the topic of the personal side of the two of them or him and Paul.

There was a pause in the conversation while they finished off the smoke. Jim could see the signs. Corey’s hands were trembling and he thought he saw that certain look in his eyes he was familiar with from the past. “It’s always hard to lose someone so close to the heart. Especially someone as close as Paul was to you,” the guitarist finally said leaning back in his chair.

“But I’m here for you, Corey. I mean it…” he emphasized then paused for a moment, his eyes drifting down to the singer’s trembling hands. Alcohol withdrawal symptoms. “I can help with that too. I know Paul helped you in the past,” he nodded towards said hands then stroked his beard absently. The pot was good stuff and made his thoughts run fast yet drag sluggishly. A paradox he could never understand but didn’t really care either. The offer was on the table. It was up to Corey if he took it or not. Jim would probably find a way to help him anyway. He wasn’t the kind of man who’d leave a friend in trouble.

The singer’s mind was speeding up still with all the thoughts triggered by Jim. Looking down at his hands he felt ashamed. Not because of his friend seeing him like that, more like in front of his own self, and the memory of Paul. He was relapsing fast and hard. Paul wasn't working with him so much for this. And yet he wasn't there for his lover and friend when he was getting worse again.

“Thanks, man. I just don't know how to handle this all. As you can see. And have no idea how to go on with the bands and all now,” he said avoiding the taller man's eyes and the topic about their personal relationship. “What did the others say? And the management?”

“The others are still shocked and devastated. This is a huge blow for all of us too. We’re trying to hang on as we can. For a change the management isn’t an ass about this, but soon they’ll need an answer about what we want to do. We have time to figure it out though. Together with the others. No one is alone in this. We need to talk this out,” Jim sighed. “The management will have to wait as long as they have to. What we need now is time to process this as much as possible… It’s still too fresh to make any decisions,” he ruffled up his hair while closing his eyes for a long moment.

“You don’t have to decide about anything, Corey. Not now. This is the time to mourn. Just… don’t make me find you in a state like I did yesterday, okay?” he reached over the table and put his big hand on Corey’s wrist. “I was scared shitless, man. I can stick around you for a while. You can hang out at my place, if you want. I… don’t want to lose you too,” his voice failed him at the end and he had to swallow hard and look away to get his emotions under control, but he left his hand where it was. This was the first time since yesterday that the cracks caused by the recent events were showing on him. For some he might come off as a calm rock at the raging sea, but life has been leaving his marks on Jim too.

Corey had to swallow also feeling and seeing the seemingly always calm and collected guitarist this way. The guilt that already was eating him up for Paul got stronger now because of Jim too. He really was just messing up everything more and more.

“I'm sorry, man. I lost track and couldn't find my way back. Thank you for coming after me,” he said placing his one hand over Jim's on his wrist, swallowing hard to keep his voice in order but his tears already blurred his blue eyes. “It would be good if you could stay with me a little,” he added silently and in fear even from himself as he looked up at Jim. “Can you help me back to bed, please?”

“It’s cool, man,” he shrugged with the hint of the faintest (and saddest) smile on his face as he looked at Corey’s smaller hand resting on his. It felt good. Not because of their history together, but because some comforting never hurt anyone. He knew that he had to stay stronger than ever if he was going to help Corey. That was something Jim’d decided right then and there. He was going to help the singer, no matter what. Lightly nodding to himself he looked up at his friend, seeing the unshed tears in the saddest eyes he’d ever seen. Another thing was left unsaid: that Jim would always go after Corey. Maybe he could read that from his eyes, maybe not. It was true, nonetheless.

“I’ll stay as long as you need me,” he added already standing up to go around the table. “Yeah, come on. You need to rest up that leg. Once in bed I’ll clean it up. Shawn had shown me how to do it.”

With that the tall man bent down to slide Corey’s arm around his shoulder and his own around the other’s waist to help him up and once again take most of his weight off the injured leg. They could get to the bedroom relatively quickly this way. There Jim helped Corey sit down then he sat on the edge of the bed, all the medical stuff in arm’s reach. He was working on the wounds quietly and as gently as he could. The pot was a bit still working in his system, and while thinking that some of the cuts would probably scar, it was projecting scary pictures in his mind about finding Corey in a much worse condition. (What a shitty trip, huh?) He could only hope none of those scenarios would ever come true… But he was going to try his best not to let them.

Once he was finished and changed the bandage too, he threw everything in the trash and washed his hands before padding back barefooted and determined to the bed. He didn’t ask permission or Corey’s opinion, he simply slid in on the other side and put an arm around his friend. They were close to each other (and had a history) and he was hoping that simply his silent presence would be at least a bit comforting to Corey.

After the first tense reaction it all felt good. Jim’s closeness and warmth made those piled up tears escape and it all left him in a silent shaking sob as he soon drifted into a restless sleep. In his dream he was standing on stage in the middle of a show with Slipknot then suddenly Paul vanished. Then Jim too. His voice also went mute and his panic was unbearable. The stage and everything fell apart and buried him making him choke on his tears. Everything was lost.

 ***

Jim wasn’t sleeping now. He was trying to guard Corey’s restless sleep once he cried himself into it. It was pure torture to see him suffering so much, but at the same time he knew it was good that the singer was starting to get some of it out of his system by crying and showing some of his pain too. But it didn’t make the guitarist’s heart ache less each time Corey started tossing, whining or crying in his sleep.

It only encouraged his protector to try finding possible ways to help on him. So after he managed to calm his friend down with some deep murmuring and caressing his back, he started racking his brain.

Music. Sticking around. Staying physically close. Maybe later meeting up with the guys or some close friends who can understand what they’re going through… These might all help…

As he looked down at the bandage on Corey’s thigh, another injury popped up from his memory. Marks caused by ropes on Corey’s wrists or bruises on different parts of his body. Jim remembered how shocked he was when he first saw them. Not that anything could be read from his poker face, but on the inside he got worried about the then long-haired singer.

By then he knew about him and Paul and knowing how their bassist was on and off drugs, the protective strike got stronger in Jim. Was Corey in danger? Was Paul hurting him while high and Corey didn’t dare to say anything about it? Jim had heard enough stories about domestic abuse within a relationship. How the abused half had no idea about being in one of those relationships until it was too late. Jim didn’t want to witness the “too late” stage in Corey’s case so he’d decided to investigate the matter first. After all, accusing his dear friend with hurting another without having hard evidence would be a very stupid idea.

One time the perfect opportunity presented itself. They were in a hotel somewhere he couldn’t even remember and all the guys gathered in Corey’s room for an after party. Needless to say there was lots of booze, pot and girls. Most of the guys got shitfaced and took some chicks to their rooms, but Jim wasn’t in the mood. He drank his fair share but he just had a nice buzz going on. After the party he managed to sneak back, but what he witnessed through the other room’s door that was left ajar, was something he didn’t expect.

Corey was kneeling before Paul, his belt tight over his thick neck, his hands held behind his back, the blue eyes shining with honest adoration as he looked up at the almost black ones of Paul, who pulled roughly on the "leash" to get his pet closer to his body. Jim had heard of such things, in fact the BDSM world was very close to the lyrical world of the band. Still as he understood the motives of it, it was far from his own personality. (Or so he thought back then.) He felt mesmerized as he watched Corey moan low from the rough pull on his hair as he was guided to the bed to kneel and wait while the bassist took their clothes off.

Now that Jim knew the reason behind those injuries and realized that Corey wasn't in danger (because one just had to look at his blissed out face to realize that), he should've left. Sure, he liked it rough sometimes, but this wasn't really his kind of thing, but at the same time he was curious too and like always: open to learn about new things. So no matter how indecent it was, he stayed a little while longer to learn more about another side of his friends.

The eagerness to please Paul was rolling off Corey in thick waves as he was kneeling there naked, waiting for an order or a non-verbal gesture to know how he could do exactly that. Jim didn't even find it strange watching his friend nuzzle Paul's leg then groin when the permission was given to him. Nor the sight of burying his face in the latter to pleasure the other man until another hard jerk of the belt nearly choked Corey – which clearly gave him more pleasure than one would expect.

The tougher the handling was, the more and more aroused the small man got, as it was clearly visible. His long reddish hair curled more from his sweat, framing his flushed face. Jim thought he looked gorgeous. So eager like a happy puppy to please and get pleasure in return. And the way Paul was in perfect control and in sync with his needs amazed and turned on Jim more than he thought that such things ever would.

The guitarist doubted that he would ever be able to be so much in control and the fact that Paul could only added to his amazement although most of his attention was on Corey while watching them getting into it more and more. Yes, it turned his body on, but his mind somehow managed to stay quite clear despite the alcohol still sloshing around in his veins. He felt like a curious observer of a psychological experiment. He focused less on the sex part and more on how the boys affected each other with a few words, moves, looks or gestures.

He could understand the appeal of this lifestyle even if he didn’t fully understand why one would need to be treated like this and treat someone like this. But then again, he only knew the basic idea of BDSM. Either way he wasn’t judging his friends. If someone needed this then they needed it, he knew. And there was nothing wrong with that. Everyone had their thing. Apparently his friends had this. He was just kinda sorry that he… wouldn’t be able to give this to Corey. Apparently it was another so far unknown reason why Jim’s decision of not starting anything with him was right.

He left around the time Corey was being fucked through the mattress, and after taking care of his arousal in his own bed, Jim was staring into the darkness, his mind trying to process what he’d just learned.

He looked pretty much the same as now, but this time he had a broken Corey plastered against his side and clinging to him in his sleep as if Jim was his last hope. Would he be able to give this to the singer? Only one way to find out, right? Since there was very little he wouldn’t do for such a close… friend, he already knew that a lot of research was ahead of him, because the last thing he wanted was fucking this up. Things were fucked up enough already.

Corey woke up still clinging to Jim, half-lying on his chest. That fact made the singer's heart speed up in a tingling way. He was in deep shit. How could he do all this crap to these people who felt so close to him? He doesn’t deserve them at all. All his demons had their grips on his mind and soul again; the darkness he gained so much and held mostly in balance was still eating him, only now not as fast as during the days spent in the hideout-van. He should clear his mind and think over all this stuff. But his mind was shouting his guilt and worthlessness at him, which made him close up inside even more. He can't let Jim and Shawn worry more about him. He just cannot let them know and be pulled down by it to his own personal abyss.

He just wanted to stop thinking. Or rather existing. As he could always let the pressure out with writing and get it all out of his system through the songs, right then and there he just didn't even dare to think about anything at all. Just the heavy need to be numb lingered on.

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