THE UNBEARABLE
Title: The Unbearable
Written By: cindybaby
Timeline: Post 513
Rating: R for language
Warnings: Minor character death.
Summary: A sad turn in Justin’s life.
Author's Notes: The look on Justin's face can be taken as one of pain here too, so it seemed fitting.
Inspired By Icon:
You walk in. The place is practically pitch black save the lone stream of light invading the loft from a street lamp perched just outside your window.
You shrug off your jacket, tossing it aside with precise accuracy, confident it’ll land safely, then drop your briefcase by your feet.
At first you don’t see him, but then you hear him, your eyes catching sight of his golden hair shimmering in the dim light.
“Hey,” you announce, moving toward him.
“Hey,” he echoes softly.
“Couldn’t turn a fucking light on?”
“No.”
The bluntness of his reply has you bothered.
“Justin.”
You flick on a lamp across from where he’s sitting. Turning toward him you see his face clearly, noticing the puffiness of his bloodshot eyes and startle. “What the fuck happened?” You know you sound harsh, but the Justin before you is anything but the Justin you know, and it fucking scares you.
“They said she didn’t suffer.”
“What?” You bark.
Justin shakes his head, sniffing loudly as tears stream down his cheeks. He shrugs. “They said it was probably over quickly.”
“Justin, you’re scaring the shit outta me. What the fuck happened?”
He swallows hard. “Daphne’s dead.”
“Daphne?” You sound like a fuckwit, but you can’t seem to comprehend just what the hell he’s saying.
“She was mugged. Outside the hospital.” He laughs humorlessly. “She was becoming a fucking doctor. To help people. Save people. But who the hell helped her?”
“Justin…”
“They shot her in the head.”
You have no idea who the fuck they are, but right now you’d like to hunt every mother fucking one of them down.
“Justin…” you whisper, pulling him tight against you, your arms wrapped securely around him as he lets go.
“What am I gonna do without her?” he chokes out and you feel your gut twist in a way that you don’t think is ever gonna come undone.
***************
You sit beside him at the funeral, squeezing his hand occasionally to reassure him that you’re there.
It’s packed. Everyone loved Daphne.
“Justin,” you urge and he looks up at you blankly.
Mr. Chanders asks him if he’d like to say a few words. Best friend and all. He nods, makes his way up to the front.
You watch him center himself, smiling weakly to the room as he tries to breathe, leaning heavily against the dark wood podium.
“I remember the first time I met Daphne. I was six. We’d just moved into our new house and I was out in the backyard, inspecting things, when I heard this squeaky little voice. ‘Don’t touch that,’ it warned, and I looked around, not able to see anyone, so I got scared, thinking maybe it was a ghost.”
A soft chuckle echoes throughout the room.
Justin smiles, genuinely. “Then I saw her. Beautiful. She was so beautiful.” Stray tears roll down his cheeks and he brushes them away. “She told me again, ‘Don’t touch that,’ so I looked down and growing right in the middle of the backyard was a big patch of poison ivy. Even that first day she was looking out for me and she hasn’t…” He takes a deep breath and corrects himself. “She never stopped.”
Quiet sobs are heard from the front pew and Justin looks down, meeting Mrs. Chanders gaze. “I loved her. I’ll always love her. Nothing can change that.”
He steps down, joining you again, and you feel a surge of pride and overwhelming love for him, so you squeeze his hand once more, certain that he understands.
You stand beside him at the grave site and he shakes fiercely as her coffin descends into the ground.
“Justin,” you whisper, wrapping your arm tightly around his shoulder.
You both watch the dirt fall onto the coffin, a deep red rose, placed atop by her parents, fading from sight.
As the cold mounds of earth fall heavily against the polished wood you feel your heart beat loudly in fear, sympathy and loathing that some fucker took her away from all of you, especially from Justin.
You can’t help but place yourself in his position as Mikey’s face flashes before you. You close your eyes and shake your head sharply, banishing the thoughts before they flourish.
“Come on,” you urge, guiding him away from the grave site.
He looks up at you, wonder in his eyes as if he’s forgotten that you were even there.
“Brian,” he breathes.
He seems so lost. So small.
He looks around, noticing that everyone’s already gone and slowly follows you to the car. You help him in, like you would a child, leaning over him to fasten his seatbelt.
“Brian,” he gasps and you pull back to study his face, the tears falling hopelessly from his saddened eyes.
“I don’t know what to say,” you whisper, running the tips of your fingers along his wet cheeks.
He shrugs, shaking his head.
“I love you,” is all you can find, and he takes it, absorbs it, devours it, because it’s real. And it’s just what he needs.
***************
You make it up to the loft, your arm wrapped securely around his waist for comfort as well as support. You don’t think he’d make it without it.
“Hungry?” you try. He hasn’t eaten much since she d…since it happened.
“No. I’m gonna lie down.”
You nod, smiling lightly as he makes his way up to the bedroom. Each step he takes looks torturous as if his feet have suddenly been replaced by lead weights.
You can’t stand the sight of him suffering so you follow behind him, turning him around as he nears the bed, ridding him of his cumbersome clothes.
“I’ll get you some water,” you offer, needing a moment to breathe, his devastation sucking the air from your lungs.
When you return you find him deep under the covers, his blond head peeking out like a beacon, the rest of him having been swallowed by a sea of blue.
You shed your clothes and pull back the sheets, climbing in behind him, moving so that your chest is plastered against his back, not a single molecule of space left between you.
He reaches back, taking your arm and pulling it around him, pressing it against his stomach, his own hand resting atop of yours.
“I miss her.”
“I know.”
You feel debilitated, unable to say the right thing, unsure of what that is.
“Do you think she’s in heaven?” he asks, his voice tiny.
You feel the internal struggle. You’re not sure if you believe in heaven and hell, too many years of your mother’s religion having been shoved down your throat, but if it lessens his pain even slightly, you’re willing to concede. “I hope so.”
He nods.
“If anyone is, she is,” you add, genuinely.
You hear him sigh, wiggling back against you.
“I love you,” he whispers.
Your heart catches painfully in your chest and you strike a bargain with god or the devil or whoever the fuck will listen, begging them to never take him from you.
Because while you may be a selfish fucker you’re also honest, and you know you wouldn’t survive it. Wouldn’t want to.
“Love you, too,” you say, kissing the velvety softness of his neck so gently, “always.”
Written By: cindybaby
Timeline: Post 513
Rating: R for language
Warnings: Minor character death.
Summary: A sad turn in Justin’s life.
Author's Notes: The look on Justin's face can be taken as one of pain here too, so it seemed fitting.
Inspired By Icon:
You walk in. The place is practically pitch black save the lone stream of light invading the loft from a street lamp perched just outside your window.
You shrug off your jacket, tossing it aside with precise accuracy, confident it’ll land safely, then drop your briefcase by your feet.
At first you don’t see him, but then you hear him, your eyes catching sight of his golden hair shimmering in the dim light.
“Hey,” you announce, moving toward him.
“Hey,” he echoes softly.
“Couldn’t turn a fucking light on?”
“No.”
The bluntness of his reply has you bothered.
“Justin.”
You flick on a lamp across from where he’s sitting. Turning toward him you see his face clearly, noticing the puffiness of his bloodshot eyes and startle. “What the fuck happened?” You know you sound harsh, but the Justin before you is anything but the Justin you know, and it fucking scares you.
“They said she didn’t suffer.”
“What?” You bark.
Justin shakes his head, sniffing loudly as tears stream down his cheeks. He shrugs. “They said it was probably over quickly.”
“Justin, you’re scaring the shit outta me. What the fuck happened?”
He swallows hard. “Daphne’s dead.”
“Daphne?” You sound like a fuckwit, but you can’t seem to comprehend just what the hell he’s saying.
“She was mugged. Outside the hospital.” He laughs humorlessly. “She was becoming a fucking doctor. To help people. Save people. But who the hell helped her?”
“Justin…”
“They shot her in the head.”
You have no idea who the fuck they are, but right now you’d like to hunt every mother fucking one of them down.
“Justin…” you whisper, pulling him tight against you, your arms wrapped securely around him as he lets go.
“What am I gonna do without her?” he chokes out and you feel your gut twist in a way that you don’t think is ever gonna come undone.
***************
You sit beside him at the funeral, squeezing his hand occasionally to reassure him that you’re there.
It’s packed. Everyone loved Daphne.
“Justin,” you urge and he looks up at you blankly.
Mr. Chanders asks him if he’d like to say a few words. Best friend and all. He nods, makes his way up to the front.
You watch him center himself, smiling weakly to the room as he tries to breathe, leaning heavily against the dark wood podium.
“I remember the first time I met Daphne. I was six. We’d just moved into our new house and I was out in the backyard, inspecting things, when I heard this squeaky little voice. ‘Don’t touch that,’ it warned, and I looked around, not able to see anyone, so I got scared, thinking maybe it was a ghost.”
A soft chuckle echoes throughout the room.
Justin smiles, genuinely. “Then I saw her. Beautiful. She was so beautiful.” Stray tears roll down his cheeks and he brushes them away. “She told me again, ‘Don’t touch that,’ so I looked down and growing right in the middle of the backyard was a big patch of poison ivy. Even that first day she was looking out for me and she hasn’t…” He takes a deep breath and corrects himself. “She never stopped.”
Quiet sobs are heard from the front pew and Justin looks down, meeting Mrs. Chanders gaze. “I loved her. I’ll always love her. Nothing can change that.”
He steps down, joining you again, and you feel a surge of pride and overwhelming love for him, so you squeeze his hand once more, certain that he understands.
You stand beside him at the grave site and he shakes fiercely as her coffin descends into the ground.
“Justin,” you whisper, wrapping your arm tightly around his shoulder.
You both watch the dirt fall onto the coffin, a deep red rose, placed atop by her parents, fading from sight.
As the cold mounds of earth fall heavily against the polished wood you feel your heart beat loudly in fear, sympathy and loathing that some fucker took her away from all of you, especially from Justin.
You can’t help but place yourself in his position as Mikey’s face flashes before you. You close your eyes and shake your head sharply, banishing the thoughts before they flourish.
“Come on,” you urge, guiding him away from the grave site.
He looks up at you, wonder in his eyes as if he’s forgotten that you were even there.
“Brian,” he breathes.
He seems so lost. So small.
He looks around, noticing that everyone’s already gone and slowly follows you to the car. You help him in, like you would a child, leaning over him to fasten his seatbelt.
“Brian,” he gasps and you pull back to study his face, the tears falling hopelessly from his saddened eyes.
“I don’t know what to say,” you whisper, running the tips of your fingers along his wet cheeks.
He shrugs, shaking his head.
“I love you,” is all you can find, and he takes it, absorbs it, devours it, because it’s real. And it’s just what he needs.
***************
You make it up to the loft, your arm wrapped securely around his waist for comfort as well as support. You don’t think he’d make it without it.
“Hungry?” you try. He hasn’t eaten much since she d…since it happened.
“No. I’m gonna lie down.”
You nod, smiling lightly as he makes his way up to the bedroom. Each step he takes looks torturous as if his feet have suddenly been replaced by lead weights.
You can’t stand the sight of him suffering so you follow behind him, turning him around as he nears the bed, ridding him of his cumbersome clothes.
“I’ll get you some water,” you offer, needing a moment to breathe, his devastation sucking the air from your lungs.
When you return you find him deep under the covers, his blond head peeking out like a beacon, the rest of him having been swallowed by a sea of blue.
You shed your clothes and pull back the sheets, climbing in behind him, moving so that your chest is plastered against his back, not a single molecule of space left between you.
He reaches back, taking your arm and pulling it around him, pressing it against his stomach, his own hand resting atop of yours.
“I miss her.”
“I know.”
You feel debilitated, unable to say the right thing, unsure of what that is.
“Do you think she’s in heaven?” he asks, his voice tiny.
You feel the internal struggle. You’re not sure if you believe in heaven and hell, too many years of your mother’s religion having been shoved down your throat, but if it lessens his pain even slightly, you’re willing to concede. “I hope so.”
He nods.
“If anyone is, she is,” you add, genuinely.
You hear him sigh, wiggling back against you.
“I love you,” he whispers.
Your heart catches painfully in your chest and you strike a bargain with god or the devil or whoever the fuck will listen, begging them to never take him from you.
Because while you may be a selfish fucker you’re also honest, and you know you wouldn’t survive it. Wouldn’t want to.
“Love you, too,” you say, kissing the velvety softness of his neck so gently, “always.”