There's No Place Like Home
Title: There’s No Place Like Home
Author: Kinwad
Pairing: Brian and Justin
Rating: R
Summary: GF 301 & Brian’s backstory
Warnings: Child Abuse
Disclaimer: I own nothing w/QAF!
Brian opens the loft door hesitantly. Berating himself for the secret hope that spawns the butterflies in his stomach, he hates himself for the weakness. Forcing his unsteady legs to move, he reluctantly steps inside, greeted by a silence so deafening it threatens to destroy whatever self-control he has left. He stands his ground as waves of emotion crash over and through him. Before the next threatening swell approaches, he grimly sets his lips and slams the door shut with a despised sweaty hand.
He takes a deep breath-he’s back in control. Measured footsteps carry him toward the bedroom, and he feels a sudden surge of fury when the open drawers mock him with their nakedness and the closet hangers ridicule him with their emptiness.
Tossing his briefcase on the bed, he clumsily undoes his tie and flings the Prada suit jacket on the floor. He feels weighted down by his clothes and can’t undress fast enough, anxious to rid himself of their burden. But when he slips into the casual freedom of jeans, he realizes it wasn’t the clothing suffocating him.
With the bottle of Beam targeted in his sight, he pads toward the bar, the shuffle of his bare feet sending tiny specks of dust swirling in the air. On the way to the sofa, he takes a couple of deep gulps, swiping the dribbles on his chin with the back of his hand. He sinks his weary frame into the designer cushions, the supple leather a perfect foil for the tension in his body, and knocks back a few more swigs, scowling at the bitter taste. Fueled by a zealous determination to empty the bottle in record time, he leans back and closes his eyes, surrendering to the magic of the burning liquid. Disjointed memories chaotically whirl in his head as thoughts drift aimlessly down roads he never again wanted to travel.
What you did was stupid, Kinney, or rather, what you didn’t do! It wouldn’t have taken much because he wasn’t asking for much. He never did. He wasn’t asking for all of you, just a small part, the part that would let him know you cared and that he mattered.
A long time ago, he learned that success was all about control. If you could control yourself, you could control others, and then you wouldn’t be hurt. He was a selfish shit and heartless bastard. He always knew it. In his adult life, friends and family took perverse satisfaction reminding him, but it was nothing new. He’d heard it all before. It was just a more mature spin on the repetitive mantra of his childhood.
After two years, after all you went through, you still froze, couldn’t tell him not to go, couldn’t ask him not to give up.
Another swallow, another grimace and an uncontrollable snicker escapes. He raises the bottle in salute and mutters to the empty loft, “Well, Brian ole boy, if nothing else, you’re a consistent fuck! You haven’t changed since you were a kid. Still a fucking coward!”
He startles when his inebriated thoughts don’t concentrate solely on Justin and his leaving, on his defection to Stepfordville, but instead, oddly stray to his childhood. He promised himself he would never revisit that time of his life, never revisit the hurt, but for so many years, hurt was all he knew. It defined him, making him the man he was today. He remembers every image of that past with extraordinary clarity, a series of damaged and broken frames that form the movie of his life.
He can still feel it, all of it-the sting of the belt cracking against his skin, the liquor-laden slaps across his face, the wrenching twists of his arm, the violent slams against the door frames-all the excruciating pain that reduced him to tearful pleas, forcing him to utter nonsensical promises for imaginary crimes in order to make it stop-but it never did. Why? Because the people who were supposed to love and protect him didn’t.
He grew up in a modest house in a working class neighborhood. The slab dwelling, purchased with hard work and sacrifice, consisted of small, nondescript rooms and had a faded plaque over the front door, Home Is Where the Heart Is. Painted a sunshine yellow with immaculate white trim, the cookie-cutter house was accented by a well-manicured lawn and carefully maintained shrubs that bloomed heartily in the spring and summer. Neighbors would often drive by on their way to work or church and admire its welcoming facade, commenting on what a happy house it was. Brian hates the color yellow.
The car in the driveway echoed the gleam, another testament to determination and sweat. Every Thursday, when Jack Kinney got home from work, he not only washed the car but also ran the hose over the exterior of the house. He had been taught to take care of his possessions, and he did that by keeping them clean, free from dirt and filth.
Joan Kinney was a tall woman with tight lips and anxious eyes who always had dinner on the table at 5 o'clock sharp because that was when her husband wanted it. He got up early every day, worked hard to provide for his family, and he wanted dinner when he wanted it. Was that too much to ask? After dinner, he would drink himself to sleep, disappear to the local gin mill for a poker game, or bowl a few rounds with the guys.
Brian vividly remembers the screaming and the yelling, clutching the pillow tightly over his head to drown out the sound, but they’re etched into his brain. He can’t forget them. Just like he can’t forget the night of the prom. Depending on how bad the situation was, he would escape to Michael’s, relieved to find a momentary safe haven, but only after extracting promises from Debbie that she wouldn’t do or say anything about his bruises, or his slight limp, or the odd angle of his arm.
On this particular day in his memory, he huddled behind the old oak tree at the edge of the yard, his slim form hidden by its wide girth. With a clear view of the front door, he saw his mother come out and heard her call from the porch, “Brian, it’s time for dinner. We’re eating in five minutes. Get in here.” When she didn’t receive an answer, she called again, her voice becoming more agitated and impatient. “Brian! Get in the house now!”
Even before she finished and returned inside, he could feel the fear spreading through his body. He wondered if maybe tonight would be different, if maybe nothing would happen, but he couldn’t count on it, knowing it was wishful thinking. For that reason, he stayed hidden behind the old oak tree, waiting.
Through unfortunate trial and error he learned never to go in as soon as she called. When he got home from school, he made it a point to disappear immediately and stay away as long as possible, until the very last moment. He learned at an early age about self-preservation.
When she reappeared again, it wasn’t just the pinched lips and furrowed brow that signaled his time was up, it was the tone in her voice. “Brian, I’m warning you. Don’t make us wait! Get in here now! It’s dinner time!”
He only reluctantly emerged from his hiding place when his mother stomped back into the house. As soon as he opened the door, he could smell the liquor, its familiar stench making his stomach clench even tighter.
Jack Kinney was sitting at the kitchen table reading the daily newspaper, his customary glass of straight whiskey prominently displayed, when his son entered the room. He watched the boy’s movements carefully, making sure to down the last of his drink. With a raised hand, he jiggled the glass in Brian’s direction, the unspoken signal for him to replenish his liquor. That was, after all, his all-important household job... at twelve years old.
Brian could tell by the abnormally flushed face and bloodshot eyes that Jack had started his daily routine earlier than usual. He nervously wondered if tonight was going to be one of those nights. He retrieved the bottle from the sideboard and poured a small amount into the glass, earning a scowl from his father. “That’s not even a proper swallow, boy! You pour a drink like that and they’ll laugh you out of the bar!” With an imperceptible sigh and eyes cast downward, Brian continued to pour, stopping only when he received a grunt of approval. He was replacing the bottle when an out of breath Claire rushed in.
“Sorry I’m late. I’ll be down in a minute. Just let me wash up.” She was already halfway up the stairs when her father’s voice called her back down.
“Can’t you even spare a minute to say hello to your father, Claire? Christ! A little respect around here would be nice for a change. A man comes home after working hard all day and it sure would be all family-like to at least acknowledge him!”
“Hi, Dad!” Claire dutifully recited, her eyes locked with Brian’s.
“That’s more like it! Now go wash up and get yourself back down here. I have better things to do than wait for dinner because of you.”
“Yes, Dad.”
Brian watched his mother out of the corner of his eye during the verbal exchange, noticing she was well on her way to a second drink and smoking a cigarette while she waited for Claire. On the rare occasions when he worked up the courage to ask about her drinking, she would give an enigmatic answer, “Your father’s not an easy man to live with, Brian,” and go back to her crossword puzzle.
They were seated around the kitchen table, having just asked the Lord for his blessing on their meal. As platters of roast beef, potatoes and vegetables were passed around, Jack loudly related the latest piece of gossip he’d overheard at the IGE lodge the night before. Claire and Brian tuned him out, both singularly focused on working the edges of their mashed potatoes so the gravy would stay in the center indentation.
Jack paused long enough in his story telling to take his first forkful, chewing with relish. A strange expression came over his face, and a wary Brian could see the dark glance aimed at his mother, feeling her stiffen under the glare. He gave a warning kick to Claire under the table. She was engrossed in creating a vegetable face on her plate and raised her head in annoyance at the sharp nudge. Before the ow left her mouth, she felt it. The tension covered the table like a shroud, sucking the air out of the room. She was never the first one to feel it. Brian did, every time, like a sixth sense, as if a freight train suddenly accelerated, hurtling toward him at top speed. And he could do nothing other than wait for the wreck.
His father spit the food out, throwing down his napkin in disgust. “Jesus Christ! What the fuck did you do to the meat?”
If Brian didn’t know better, he could swear he saw a fleeting glint of satisfaction on his mother’s face, but of course, it couldn’t be. She would never do something purposefully to encourage Jack’s anger. That would be sick.
Claire whispered in a timid voice,, “Dad, the meat’s fine-” but immediately held her tongue when he yelled, “Shut up! I’ll say if it’s fine or not!”
Joan Kinney stared at her husband and answered in an evenly modulated tone, “It’s a new recipe, Jack. I cut it out from Sunday’s paper.” She dabbed the corners of her mouth with a napkin and carefully replaced it on her lap.
Brian and Claire looked at each other in fear. One of Jack’s many trigger points, in addition to them-and particularly Brian-was his wife’s attention to proper decorum. He often ridiculed what he called her uppity, stuck-up behavior that made him feel he wasn’t good enough, embarrassing him in front of the neighbors.
“Well, you fucking ruined it, you witch! You and your fancy pants recipe! You think we have money to throw away? You think I break my back every day so that you can pretend you’re so high and mighty?”
Brian yelled for them to stop, trying to keep the situation from escalating the way it normally did, but his father shoved him hard against a cabinet with a violent punch and snarled, “Stay the fuck out of this, you piece of trash, or you’ll wish you’d never been born just like I do!”
Shrinking against the wall in sobs, Brian covered his ears as his mother raised her voice. Not shirking from the battle, baiting her husband with equally vicious taunts, as if she wanted to set him off even more. As usual, Claire had already escaped to her room, leaving Brian to witness the verbal and withstand the possible physical assaults.
The veins in his father’s neck bulged as he ranted and raved. His face an abnormal shade of purple, he upped the hatefulness by pushing his wife against the refrigerator. Rage overtaking all reason, he threw open the back door, flinging dish after dish outside.
Self-preservation kicking in, Brian seized his opportunity and fled through the opening, running as fast as his legs would carry him. Low hanging tree branches whipped across his face, feeling eerily similar to the back of Jack’s hand but he didn’t care. He ran until he couldn’t hear the shouts and screams, until he was unable to breathe. With mucus from his tears clogging his nose and throat, he collapsed against a tree, muscles burning, and wept.
Uncertain how much time had passed, he sniffled and reflexively coughed, choking on his snot. He raised his head and heard nothing, the welcomed silence a curse and a blessing. It calmed his body and mind, the quiet a soothing balm on his tear-stained face. And yet, it fostered his shame at leaving his mother and sister alone with Jack and the weakness he felt when confronted by his father’s strength and rage.
No more, he told himself. NO MORE!
On that summer day, Brian Kinney, the carefree twelve-year-old boy, died. He took the fear and pain, the hurt and shame and locked it away with a special key, burying it deep within himself.
On that summer day, Brian Kinney, the selfish, uncaring bastard, was born with a mental and emotional vow-never to be hurt again.
Brian wakes from his self-induced alcoholic coma with tears streaming down his face, tears he never allowed anyone to see, not even Mikey or Justin. When the mental picture of his blond, blue-eyed lover, ex-lover, crosses his mind, he squeezes his eyes against the pain, but the wet creeps from beneath the lids, leaving a trail of bitter memories. When the tears stop, he opens his swollen eyes, wipes away the salty residue and sits up, his body aching and his head spinning.
Control. He is in control.
# # # #
On July 9th, 2009 09:39 am (local), spike7451 commented:
Oh my, so heartbreaking but so absolutely wonderfully written. I feel like crying for that scared, hurt little boy still locked away inside the adult Brian.
On July 9th, 2009 11:34 am (local), kinwad replied:
I've had this on the back burner for a while, returning to it every now and then when I felt strong enough to revisit it. I finally bit the proverbial bullet and rewatched all the scenes that involved any of Brian's family. I had read a few fics that dealt w/his childhood, but I wanted to explore and dig deeper, to try and understand exactly why he turned out the way he did. *shrugs* This is what I came up with and why the warning label...because if it was painful for me to write, I can't begin to imagine what it would be like to read it w/o a warning, particularly if someone had similar experiences. Anyway, *g* Thanks so very much, Lyn, for reading and taking the time to comment. I'm so pleased you liked it.
On July 9th, 2009 10:10 am (local), petulant2u commented:
OMG. You're stories always move me, but this one nearly killed me. I grew up in a very similiar situation. My father was like Jack in so many ways, and my mother responed to his rage just as you described Joan in this story! I remember from a very young age how I would resent my mother for what I felt was 'instigating' my farthers rage. she'd purposed push him, instead of just backing down. As a child, I, like Brian, was too afraid to stand up to my father, much less push him! But my mother did which only caused him to move to violence, and I was always caught in the middle.
This story hit home hard with me. I totally understand where Brian is coming from, and what he went through. Thank you for posting this.
On July 9th, 2009 01:00 pm (local), kinwad replied:
Gina, the fact that you commented so truthfully and honestly and still managed to enjoy the fic, leaves me speechless. I feel truly privileged. Thank you so very much!
On July 9th, 2009 04:32 pm (local), petulant2u replied:
Good writing is suppose to evoke strong emotions. Your's always does. It's truly my pleasure to read your stories. You have an amazing talent and a gift with words. I especially liked this story precisely because I could relate to it. This one is personal for me, and I'm puttin it in my memories. *hugs*
On July 9th, 2009 04:36 pm (local), kinwad replied:
There are no words that would express my feelings at your comments. All I can simply say is, "Thank you."
On July 9th, 2009 10:11 am (local), buzziecat commented:
Beautifully written. And so real. There is just too much pain and cruelty in this world and you make what Brian experienced and continues to experience speak to that reality. This chapter is a sorrowful glimpse into the part of Brian that so rarely gets exposed.
*sigh* I need some of that Beam now.
On July 9th, 2009 11:46 am (local), kinwad replied:
"I need some of that Beam now." Join the club! That's how I felt after I finished writing it. Although, in a way, I consider myself to be lucky because I had the chance to distance myself from it for the past couple of days as I struggled with the stupid html coding for whiting out the warning. No matter what I did, I couldn't get it to work (either on a mac or pc) and when I finally did it this morning, I was just so relieved to be able to post the damn thing!
I revisited all the scenes that involved Brian and his family, read a couple of "childhood" fics, did some other research, and then started writing a little at a time, to try and find out exactly what made Brian "tick."
There is way too much pain and cruelty in the world and unfortunately, situations like Brian's are occurring every day, in one degree or another, maybe some not as severe, maybe some less severe, but end is always the same, people get hurt.
Thanks so much, my dear, for reading. I am trying to get my head into a "happy place" for you, so that I can write something cheerful. I'm working on a couple of ideas that just might do the trick (fingers crossed). I truly appreciate your comment!
On July 9th, 2009 11:57 am (local), buzziecat replied:
Thank you. I look forward to whatever you write - cheerful and otherwise. I'm a 'Kinwad fangirl' :).
On July 9th, 2009 04:39 pm (local), kinwad replied:
*blushes* Thank you so very much!
On July 9th, 2009 11:31 am (local), fancypantsdylan commented:
that was so heart wrenching, although I never thought Brian was a heartless bastard, he also did something for a reason, very powerful read.
On July 9th, 2009 11:55 am (local), kinwad replied:
Thank you so much for not only reading, but taking the time to comment. I'm pleased that the emotion came across. I also never felt he was heartless. Self-centered, egocentric and narcissistic, most definitely. I always felt that his public face hid a multitude of inner harsh opinions about how he felt about himself. The constant belittling by his friends and family didn't help either.
On July 9th, 2009 07:47 pm (local), lucsmom commented:
This was amazing! I really wish Brian's childhood had been focused on more in the show. We only got little hints. You took those and wrote something that very well could have happened. It explains very well why Brian turned out the way he was. No one could have lived that life and escaped unharmed. My heart broke for the little boy who had to endure that and for the man who lost the one person who meant the most to him.
On July 10th, 2009 05:24 am (local), kinwad replied:
Thank you, Kim, so very much for your lovely comment. I agree w/you. We were teased w/snippets here and there of Brian's childhood. Just enough to get a vague idea that he obviously didn't grow up in a happy home, to say the least.
I'd read a few childhood fics, but after re-watching episodes, I wanted to delve into it a little bit, not just a general overview. It was a difficult fic to write, definitely out of my comfort zone! I'm so glad you liked it.
"My heart broke for the little boy who had to endure that and for the man who lost the one person who meant the most to him." Wonderful sentence!
On July 9th, 2009 08:01 pm (local), randysgirl_645 commented:
wonderfully done :)
On July 10th, 2009 05:19 am (local), kinwad replied:
Thank you so very much! I'm so flattered that you enjoyed it, considering the subject matter!
On July 10th, 2009 02:11 pm (local), cherub68 commented:
Wow, the depth of anguish is breath takeing.
On July 10th, 2009 02:56 pm (local), kinwad replied:
I'm glad you felt the emotion! Thank you so much for reading and taking the time to comment!
On July 10th, 2009 12:46 am (local), sandra_qaf commented:
I am speechless. So very sad...excellent writing!
later x
On July 10th, 2009 05:18 am (local), kinwad replied:
*blows kisses* Thank you so very much, hon! I'm glad you liked it!
On July 10th, 2009 07:00 pm (local), u223501 commented:
Wow! Reading this, one can really understand, well, Brian. I always wanted to reach out to him (thru the tv screen of course) and just hug him, to try and make it better. This story has succeeded in making that response even stronger. Poor thing, I can't even imagine going through this once, let alone on a daily basis. Thanks for such an open and honest glimpse of Brian's past.
On July 11th, 2009 05:35 am (local), kinwad replied:
"I always wanted to reach out to him (thru the tv screen of course) and just hug him, to try and make it better." *g* I definitely understand! The way Gale portrayed him in certain scenes, with such pathos, my heart ached. From the glimpses of his past the writers gave us on the show,this was my interpretation of his childhood and how it definitely made him who he was. I'm so glad you liked the fic. Thanks for taking the time to leave a comment!
On July 10th, 2009 09:34 pm (local), bibi22k commented:
I just ache for Brian. This is so powerful and beautifully written. I always love your stories. Thank you for sharing your work.
On July 11th, 2009 05:31 am (local), kinwad replied:
Thank you so much for your lovely compliment! I'd been wanting to write this for a while but kept putting it off because I knew it would be painful to write. But I finally gathered all my bits and pieces of randomness and decided to just do it. I'm so glad you liked it. His past was only briefly touched on in the series, just enough for the generalized background of the character, but I really wanted to delve a little further. Thanks for taking the time to leave feedback. I really appreciate it.
On July 12th, 2009 05:37 pm (local), snowmore commented:
*wipes eye* :) We can only imagine what Brian's young life was like. You have imagined it very well. Brian is a multi-dimensional character. He wasn't an uncaring ass (or so he thought he came across as) just for the sake of the character. The character was driven by a childhood of sadness and how he trained himself to be strong. Justin had a way to get through the strength and hurt him because of love and pain and not because of hate and anger. Wonderful piece, Kin. :)
On July 12th, 2009 06:11 pm (local), kinwad replied:
"Brian is a multi-dimensional character." That's for sure! So much of whom he was, who the writers (and Gale, most importantly) portrayed him to be through snippets of scenes throughout the series, was a direct "cause and effect" affect because of his childhood experiences. After going through all the episodes w/members of Brian's family and doing my own research, the picture I had in my head of what he went through when he was young, just wouldn't leave me alone. He truly was a product of his environment and regardless of how his and Justin's future turned out, (hopefully together *g*) Justin was the only one who broke through.
*g* Thanks, Robin, so much, for your wonderful compliment! I'm so glad yo liked it. It was a difficult piece to write and I had it on the back burner for a while until I felt I could tackle it adequately. *hugs*