A/N
JOE'S BACK!! I know it's not the longest chapter, so I'm sorry about that, but we're getting closer to the reunions and stuff!!

Also I'm actually curious as to what you guys thought happened to Joe/ where he's been, and I guess you'll find out in this chapter if you were close or not!! ❤️❤️❤️

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When Joe ventured into the night following his shuddering outburst, each footstep heavy from the cruel weight of his rucksack, he felt the sheer beast of the cold air nipping away at every possible patch of his exposed skin.

He still couldn't quite comprehend how he had gone from spitting flames of anger then, to a burden of stunned misconduct in the freezing cold now. That because of himself he had ended up alone, his belongings pitiful, a numbing heart of misery, a hole of cash to his name, and with no idea where his feet were taking him.

Home should have been the simple answer. Catch a ride, get on a plane and fly away from the consequences, but he couldn't do that when he felt so lost. Lost in himself, and the live wire of emotions that were threatening to break him.

The anger Joe had felt with Steven for making the countless mistakes, for his ignorance and his disregard for anything that he didn't want to deal with, was gradually cracking under the pressure in his mind. It made way for the hurt and the betrayal for reasons he couldn't begin to admit to, but nothing came close to contesting the disappointment he felt with himself for losing his way with Steven, and carelessly snapping in a way that he should never, ever be forgiven for.

The others knew what he'd done before he could even imagine it, and it was because he was so convinced that ratting out Steven and his fucked up life was the answer.

Joe knew it all, the broken man that was his brother, and he still had had his way, selfishly.

Each step into the unknown made him more accustomed to the tragedy he had left behind, and the glaze of his saddened eyes was knowing he should have helped and been there for Steven, and stopped it all before it was too late.

Joe couldn't change the past because it was done. What he said was said. What he'd done could not be undone. And going home was something he did not deserve.

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Joe didn't know how long he had been walking for, but when he stumbled upon a sign for a pub called The Greyhound, he stopped his tiresome journey to nowhere.

It was just he had forgotten that it was some unruly hour of the night, so there were no signs of life, and if he wanted to quench his thirst or deal with the rumble of his stomach, he'd have to find a twenty-four hour shop or a service station.

It posed an issue in itself because Joe had no phone to help him, and he'd be walking blindly along roads that looked the least dangerous, and taking turns from shadowed signs with hazy judgement.

He would have taken it on the chin and kept going to find somewhere that may have been miles away, but because his even strides had been broken, he didn't think he could walk any further without his legs giving way.

So, Joe crossed the empty parking spaces, squinted through the windows and checked down the side to the arrangement of outside benches, but the pub couldn't be more closed if it tried.

Spirits defeated, he slung the heavy weight from his shoulders, rolled them to ease his muscles, and settled down where there was a bit of shelter in front of the entrance. He may have worked up a bit of warmth from his trek, but he decided to slip on an extra layer underneath his jacket to help him achieve some rest.

A whoosh of cars in the distance, Joe closed his eyes.

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The ding of a bell interrupted Joe's attempted sleep; it couldn't have been that long after he had dozed off because it was still just as dark and his neck didn't have the expected ache.

Soft lights now lit some of the interior, and a gruff, middle aged man with a short, greying beard and greying hair, presumably the owner, stood above him.

"I don't tend to get such eager customers," the stranger remarked, expression caught between dry humour and wanting to kick him off his property.

Joe shuffled his tired legs, fingertips splayed on the bricks he had been resting on.

"Oh, um I'm sorry. I saw you weren't open and-"

"You're right- we're not open, but the cctv tells me you don't seem to think so." He pointed to the little camera hidden in the corner of the porch.

Joe followed timidly, then landed back on the serious frown lines.

"I-I'm sorry, I was just hopin' to get a little rest before morning."

The guy didn't seem convinced as he studied the fear from being in the wrong.

"It's not exactly going to look great if you're asleep on my doorstep like a homeless man come morning," he clarified further, which only made Joe feel worse for being somewhere he shouldn't. "Not the most welcoming gesture for my customers."

Figuring it was his time to leave, Joe grabbed his rucksack on the way up to his feet and ducked his head in shame.

"I'm really sorry sir, I never meant to be an inconvenience. I'll go."

"But," the guy raised his voice, before Joe could turn away fully. "It's cold out and you look like you could use a drink so, I'll make an exception."

Stunned, Joe was stuck deciphering the change in tone. His chapped lips parted under a confused frown.

"Well?" the stranger urged. It wasn't angry, but if he didn't get a reply soon, he might not be so considerate. "Do you want to come in? Or are you going to be homeless somewhere else?"

Joe hesitated, hand flexing on the single strap that slung over his shoulder.

"If you're sure it's alright?"

The guy stepped aside as a confirmation, and the offer of shelter and a drink was taken up gratefully.

"Thank you sir, this is really generous."

"Ah, you should thank my dad if you want to thank someone," came the bouncy reply, after the doors were locked up.

Joe followed the greying hair of the stranger, but lagged behind with the unfamiliarity as his eyes darted side to side.

It was warm, cosy, and reminiscent of cooked food from earlier in the day. Numbered tables and cushioned chairs appeared in little groups and a large fireplace with wooden logs protruding the wall made a statement in a small alcove. Decorative paintings of nature and wild animals hung on mood painted walls, and a deep crimson mahogany wood glossed the bar around the corner.

"Lucky we're still up," the guy said, pausing to flick off the lights in a small box that was tucked away.

It went dark behind them.

"The night is still young, dear boy." A new voice; another male, and easily the father, with completely white hair and matching stubble on his chin. The resemblance between them was uncanny.

"No dad, you just want free drinks," the guy deadpanned, taking his place behind the bar. It looked very natural to him, and he continued to clean out a few of the pumps like he had never been interrupted. "So...what can I get you?"

Joe blinked out of his daze, taking the vacant seat next to the father.

"Uh, a Jack on the rocks would be great. Thanks."

Favourite drink ordered, he fumbled for the folded sum of pathetic cash in his pocket. Realising it was the wrong one, Joe switched hands and delved into his other one, only to be tapped on the knee by the man next to him.

"It's on me," he said, with a kind smile and crinkling blue eyes from age.

"Oh," Joe managed, slowly retracting his hand. He returned the smile. "Thank you, sir."

"So I'll be paying for the drink then?" the son questioned, placing the iced glass of whisky on a coaster.

"Yes, you will," the older man scolded. "Don't be so grumpy."

Joe found himself amused by the situation. A little out of place, but he felt warm, and somewhat comfortable as he slipped off his jacket to hang on the back of his chair.

"What's your name, young man?" the father asked, resting his arm on the bar so he could angle himself politely. His jeans were scruffy and well worn, and his red and white chequered shirt was tucked in neatly, accompanied by slacks that were not over his shoulders.

"Joe."

"Frank- nice to meet you," the older man continued, with a welcoming nod. "This is my son, Paul, who I promise does smile from time to time."

Joe smiled at that familiar phrase, but it was hidden by him bringing the glass to his lips and taking a large, much needed, sip of alcohol.

"Where are you from, Joe?"

Usually small talk was something he liked to avoid, especially with strangers, but as he looked between the father and son duo, Joe couldn't help but feel grateful for their generosity.

He'd already been honest about his name and although he would be careful with what he disclosed, the company of two guys who knew nothing about him, was something that was quite appealing. Relaxing even, to know he could skip over details that he didn't want to share.

So, he set his attention on the crinkled eyes and silky white hair that clipped the tops of large ears of this old man who had saved him from a night in the cold, and decided to continue the light conversation.

"I'm from Boston," Joe supplied, temporarily setting his drink down.

"The US of A?" Frank asked, intrigued. "You're a long way from home."

"Well, I'm supposed to be goin' home. It's home, y'know? I miss it."

"But you don't want to?

Hand cradling his drink, sadness had Joe looking up at the old man.

"I do, that's the thing, but it just wouldn't be right if I went now."

Frank hummed and took a swig of his beer that had been next to a tweed flat cap. Joe did the same, but ended up downing the rest of his whisky in one gulp. The burn was soothing, but it didn't solve the heavy hurt in his heart, or the tingling crave for something stronger.

"Well, whatever sum of cash you have ain't gonna last you very long around here, but I can offer you a place to stay until you get your head sorted."

Joe was astonished. He shook his head at the absurd suggestion.

"That's extremely kind of you, but I couldn't. I'm sure I'll figure something out."

Frank smiled again. He seemed very wise with his old age.

"Alright young man. Do you know where you are?"

Wondering if it was a trick question, Joe frowned.

"A...pub?"

Frank laughed heartily, a sound that quickly turned into a wheezy cough. He touched his chest with a wrinkled hand, but he smiled through it.

"No, town, county. That kind of thing."

"Oh," Joe realised. "Well, no..."

"Then I insist you stay with me," the old man said cheerfully. "Can't have some yank wandering around causing trouble."

Joe didn't know what to say. He had been stunned with kindness in a way he least expected when the night had gone so horribly wrong.

"I promise I'm harmless," Frank added, noticing his silence.

"He really is," Paul chipped in, joining their conversation. He looked at his father knowingly, having paused his tinkering. "Too kind for his own good sometimes."

"But...how will I pay you?"

"I live on a farm with my wife not too far from here and you can help me out," Frank explained with ease, like he had already planned the conversation. "Paul runs this place and isn't there too often and well, old age gets to me sometimes. Can't do what I used to do thirty years ago."

When he coughed again into his fist, Joe wanted to ask the obvious. It sounded chesty, probably from smoking too much in his lifetime, but his son didn't seem concerned, so maybe he was used to it.

"It's hard work," Frank pursued, recovered. "But I'd appreciate it, and it would be your only payment to me."

Joe was left to consider it. He stared at his empty glass for an answer, and then raised his eyebrows as if to concede.

"I guess I could do with the distraction..."

"Good lad. I'll buy you another drink," the old man said firmly, dissolving the uncertainty that was in Joe's voice.

"Thank you, sir."

"And please, Frank is fine. I don't want none of this sir business- I haven't been knighted by the queen." Frank brought his beer up, resting at his chin in thought, "Yet, that is..."

Joe smiled, a real stretch of his mouth because he realised that this was his chance of redemption. A bit of luck and a bit of kindness had provided it to him, but now he had to repay it and convince himself that he deserved a second chance, and maybe then, he could go home.

With Paul's quiet laughter, another glass of whisky was poured.

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