Ten Turns to Trust (Brian/Justin; NC-17)
Title: Ten Turns to Trust
Author: Etharei
Timeline: Early S2 and late S4
Rating: NC-17, to be safe
Warning: very mild canon angst
Beta:This fic has not been blessed by a beta, so I apologize for all remaining mistakes.
Disclaimer: Queer as Folk and all the characters and situations featured therein are the property of Showtime, Cowlip Productions and their affiliates. I’m only borrowing them for purely non-profit, recreational purposes, and promise to replenish the condom and lube supply when I’m done.
Summary: what Michael eventually says, under Brian’s expectant gaze, is, “Have you ever wondered, you know, how things might have turned out if you hadn’t seen Justin that night after Babylon?” “No.” Michael’s eyes dart back to him. Brian looks at the keys in his hand. “No, I’ve never wondered. Never thought about it.”
Author’s Notes: Written for the 'In Cars' challenge at qaf-challenges. In case it’s not clear, the narrative jumps back and forth between early S2 and late S4. The beginning and end are purposefully ambiguous. Original challenge post is here.
TEN TURNS TO TRUST
“Living with a conscience is like driving a car with the brakes on.” - Budd Schulberg
A PROLOGUE
Cold is the enemy.
The chill of bright, antiseptic rooms and echoing hallways. Electronic beeps representing the rhythmic constriction of muscle, the rush of blood, the confirmation of life.
Empty beds and silent sheets. Lone dances on raised podiums, with feathered wings or laser beams. Lies lying in the dark.
Sweat stealing heat from skin. Fast, frantic breathing- from fear or pain, it sounds the same.
1.
Waiting for Michael to get into the Jeep, Brian runs fingers through his hair, feeling the dampness at the ends. The shower he’d taken had been hot, as hot as he could handle, which may be why he feels strangely cold right now.
Or perhaps a month and a half of constant drinking and drugging is finally catching up to him.
He can sense the uneasiness rolling off Michael as his friend closes the door to the passenger’s side and buckles himself in. Brian waits, because he’s known Michael since they were 14, and Michael had been lying when he’d talked about coming to Pittsburgh because it’s his home.
But what Michael eventually says, under Brian’s expectant gaze, is, “Have you ever wondered, you know, how things might have turned out if you hadn’t seen Justin that night after Babylon?”
Something seizes up inside Brian at the name, always at the name, while Michael blithely carries on. “I mean, there’s so many ways you could have missed seeing him, if you think about it. Like, your cell phone could have been on and you caught Mel’s call when Lindsay went into labour. Or if you hadn’t taken that last trick, or you’d taken him home to fuck him instead of just a blow job in the back room.” Perhaps becoming aware of Brian’s silence, Michael glances at him. Fidgets, emits a forced chuckle. “It’s just weird, you know. So many ways you two could have not met.”
A memory rises out of the cold: It’s not lying if they make you lie. If the only truth they can accept is their own. It had been a rainy night, he remembers, and they had been standing outside the diner. Brian the outsider, looking in.
“No.” Michael’s eyes dart back to him. Brian looks at the keys in his hand. “No, I’ve never wondered. Never thought about it.”
2.
Hard soles resound against concrete in solid beats that are audible from the other end of the mostly empty space. Solid, but with a very slight irregularity. Justin closes his eyes, not turning around right away. The Corvette is finally warm where his butt has been resting on it for the past hour, so he takes his time drawing out the last of his cigarette. He knows when Brian finally notices him, because the footsteps stop cold.
Brian looks frozen, literally. He looks like he can use a few days in the sun, he’s so pale. Cold. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Releasing a breath that mists in the dead air, Justin throws down the cigarette, his worn sneaker grinding down on it, perhaps with more force than necessary. “I’m waiting for you.”
Brian huffs, eyebrows coming together. “I said I don’t want you here.”
Justin shrugs. Moves away from the Corvette, and towards Brian. Steps right up to him, close enough for Brian’s breath to hit his skin on the descent. Looks down at the stained cement; when he looks up again, there’s a confident little smile on his face. “I guess I’ve never been very good at doing what people tell me to do.”
Brian glances to the side, where in the gap between the white half-wall and the ceiling is a view of the city, partially obscured by a neighbouring office building. Everything is tinted white by the mid-morning mist. But Justin’s gaze doesn’t waver from Brian’s face - and sure enough, one corner of Brian’s lips is twitching despite the fervent efforts of the muscles above it.
Brian has always had a weak spot for Justin’s arrogance.
He’d meant to just wait for Brian to get into the car, but standing so close… He finds his hands grasping Brian’s arms, and when Brian doesn’t move away he winds them around that too-thin waist, deliberately not thinking about the bones he can feel under his hands. After a few seconds, Brian’s hands follow the line of Justin’s arms and slides over his shoulders, pulling him close.
“What did the doctor say?” Justin breathes into Brian’s neck, lightly kissing the bump of his Adam’s apple.
“Everything looks good.” Soft vibrations from Brian’s chest as he speaks, and Justin presses himself closer so he can feel it even more. “Trying out some new drugs to help with the vomiting.”
Justin shivers from the chill in the unmoving air. Brian’s arms tighten around him, and he squeezes back. Brian feels as cold as he looks; it’s all Justin can do to not succumb to the sharp, breath-stealing shard of fear that’s working through his insides. He keeps his mind on Brian’s breathing, Brian’s hands pressing down on his back, imagines he can feel the faint beating from Brian’s chest under his cheek.
He holds on, almost forcing his own bodily heat into Brian, and doesn’t let go until he feels a fledgling warmth.
3.
Brian ignores the honking cars behind the Jeep and the protests of the people he’d had to push aside. Fat droplets of rain register on the periphery of his consciousness. The rest of him can only think about the figure huddling against the wall. When he’s standing beside Brian, Justin’s shorter stature often makes Justin appear smaller, but the kid’s actually pretty stocky.
But weeks of little appetite and hospital confinement have left his body bony, frail. And right now he looks especially small, with the way he’s trying to flatten himself against the wall. He looks like he can’t quite decide between remaining upright and crouching down into a ball.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Brian grabs Justin by the shoulder. Pulls the shaking, sodden frame into the warmth of his own body.
“Thought I could go to the store and restock a bit,” Justin mumbles into his chest. His breathing is fast, stuttered, like it does when he’s cold or crying. Or, having ‘random outbreaks of goosebumps’ and ‘allergic reactions’. “We’re low on eggs and fresh milk.”
“You stupid fuck. You could have just told me.”
“You were working. And I wanted to do it myself.”
Obviously. Brian remembers that the Jeep is parked illegally, and while right now he doesn’t really care about getting a ticket, it’s probably a good idea anyway for both of them to get out of the rain. He half-drags Justin to the Jeep, shoves him into the passenger’s side and jogs around to the driver’s.
Once they’re both inside, Brian exhales in relief, and pulls out of parking. He doesn’t look at Justin, but out of the corner of one eye he can see the kid huddling against the door. “I could have stopped working for twenty minutes. And I would have driven you there, if you’re so determined to go grocery shopping.”
“You would have told me I wasn’t ready, and gone to get them yourself.”
“And I would have been right.” He ignores Justin’s annoyed muttering. “But no, I would have let you go. Do I look like your mother to you?”
“Why did you follow me in the Jeep, then?”
Red light reflects off the front of the Jeep as it slows to a stop. “Because you’re not ready.”
“I would have dealt with it. The panic goes away, if I give it enough time.”
Brian makes a skyward gesture. “It’s raining. By the time you’d have gotten it under control, you’d probably have pneumonia.”
His eyes flicker sideways, out of habit. Light changes to green on Justin’s shining grin. “I bet you were already in the Jeep before the rain even started.”
4.
Justin’s pretty sure that there are better places to have a contest of wills in than the freezing street.
“You are not fucking driving my car.” He can see that Brian is cold, and fuck, he has no doubt that the stubborn man will subject himself to pneumonia just to win this argument. Especially since Justin has monopolized the loft, as well as Brian while he’s in it.
“Fine.” He holds up his hands in defeat. “We’ll take a cab.”
Brian scowls at him. “I can take my own fucking cab. Go to school.”
Justin doesn’t say anything until the cab arrives. After Brian tells the driver to head first for the hospital, then PIFA, Justin casually says, “I’ll go to the hospital after class. I only have one today.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t want you there.”
“When have I ever listened to you?”
“I’ll see you at the loft.”
“I’ll see you at the hospital.”
“Fuck off.”
“You’ve been telling me that for, what, three years?”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Hey.” The driver looks at them through the rearview mirror. “Why don’t you guys just start making out already?”
“Stay out of this.”
5.
Pain is an old friend to Brian. He’d grown up with it, lived with it, sometimes he suspects that he only lives because of it. That’s not to say that he likes pain; there’s a fine line between using pain to know you’re alive and dropping dead from the substances you use to get away from it.
But that night in the parking garage… he realized that he didn’t quite know as much about his old friend Pain as he thought he did, because that was something new. Perhaps that is what brought him back to hospital, night after night, never missing a single one.
Now he discovers yet another kind of unique torture: being within arm’s reach of Justin, a breathing, talking, walking Justin, and not being able to touch him. That is, not daring to, even though Justin doesn’t jump away from his touch like he does with everyone else’s.
It’s something he’s still trying to wrap his mind around, this overwhelming, unquestioning trust Justin still has in him. Him, of all people. It boggles the mind.
“Are you sure about this?”
Justin plays with the ribbon of the wrapped gift, twisting the curl around his finger. “Yeah,” he nods. “There’s no way I’m missing Gus’ birthday.” He says it fervently enough, but it doesn’t escape Brian’s notice how he’s practically vibrating out of nervousness.
“All right.” Brian grabs his keys. Close behind, Justin picks up the two gifts from the counter, carrying them under one arm. They ride the elevator down in silence.
Brian hates this, hates this confounding awkwardness between them with every fiber of his being. But they’d tried, hadn’t they? They’d done all that they could, short of getting Justin and Daphne’s class to re-enact the entire prom again, but Brian’s pretty sure that not even that would help, if what they’d tried in the loft hadn’t, because he’s pretty sure that Justin had stopped noticing anybody else in the room the second he had laid eyes on Brian. That night.
Shit. The things he does for that kid. He’d raked himself over burning coals, broken glass, fucking fields of thorns. And the only result is that now it’s like they’re not quite sure of what to do with one another, because Brian is still simmering in helpless rage and Justin is burning frustration about having put Brian through it all again for nothing.
What Brian is at a loss to communicate to Justin is that he’d do it, he’d relive the whole fucking thing over and over again, every fucking day, for as long as it takes, if it would make Justin better.
They get into the Jeep, Justin fidgeting in his uneasiness.
“Look.” Brian picks up his designer shades, turns them in his hand. “Maybe I can go and bring Gus by later, after the party. I’m sure you don’t want to miss that PowderPuff Girls marathon today.”
The corner of Justin’s lips twitches. “PowerPuff Girls.” He expels a long breath. “No, I want to go. I want to see what Lindsay and Melanie have done to the house, I want to be outside, I want to see Gus turn a year old.” Justin rubs his face, looks out of the window. “Brian, I just can’t spend another day thinking about what happened to me.”
Brian nods, putting his shades on. “But we’re staying inside.” He bites his lips. Slots in the ignition key and turns. “I refuse to be trampled by a bunch of screaming kids stampeding for the cake.”
He doesn’t turn to look. Nevertheless, he can feel Justin’s smile, warm on the side of his face.
6.
By now, Justin knows the signs. Brian’s shoulders are slouched, his head’s bent down, and he’s taking deep, slow breaths. His skin is clammy. Hand gliding up and down the length of Brian’s back, Justin can almost feel the internal struggle to keep breakfast down.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, anyway.
Brian grunts out a tense, “Fine.”
Justin pokes his head between the front seats. “What’s the hold up?”
“Probably an accident,” the cab driver answers, putting the stick into ‘park’. Unlike the driver earlier, this one has been acting rather cool towards them since Justin started stroking Brian’s hair. “We’re probably going to be a while.”
It’s sheer luck that Justin’s carrying his school bag, and there’s a plastic bag for the half a dozen new brushes he’d bought yesterday. The first wave hits Brian before Justin can dump the brushes out, but he doesn’t care, just rubs between Brian’s shoulder blades and urges him to let it all come up.
“Hey, I don’t want whatever you fags pick up spewed all over my car,” the cab driver grumbles. Probably thinks that, with Brian out of commission, Justin is a soft option.
Justin goes from slightly cold to boiling in approximately .5 seconds. “My partner is going through radiation treatment for his cancer, and it’s fucking freezing outside, you inconsiderate prick, so if you throw us out and he gets sicker I’m going to fucking kill you.”
And that’s the end of the cab issue.
7.
“FUCKING SHUT UP!”
Shit. “Justin!”
Stares from all around the room, patients and their therapists getting to their feet and moving away from the overturned table. Brian, suddenly deaf to the protests of Justin’s doctor and mother, rushes into the room, moves towards the red-faced figure shouting at the frightened young woman staring at him with wide eyes. Justin narrowly misses punching an orderly who tries to approach him.
“Justin.” Without thinking, Brian wraps his arms around Justin, tensing for the struggle that doesn’t come.
“That’s enough for today,” he tells the shock-faced therapist, who quickly nods. He looks around. “Everyone, please, go back to what you were doing.” Maybe it’s his voice, or the look on his face, but the other occupants of the room return to their tables with surprising speed. Justin has covered his face with his hands, turning so that he’s facing Brian. Brian waits for his breathing to calm, for his body to relax, gently rubbing Justin’s back.
He gets Justin out of there as quickly as he can, cutting off any words from Jennifer or the doctor with a sharp look. By the time they climb into the Jeep, Justin appears to have calmed down. Though Brian can still feel the rage, like it’s roaring just under the flushed skin.
“Are you-“ He sees the muscle working in Justin’s jaw, and catches himself. “Where to next? The loft, or are you hungry?”
“Loft.”
He licks his lips, breathing out. “Justin.”
But what can he say? Really?
“I’m sorry about that,” Justin quietly says, his fingers pulling on the loose hem of his shirt. “It’s just… You don’t know what it feels like, not being able to control your body.” His voice is thick, blocked, and Brian pointedly ignores the rapid up-down movement of his eyelids. “You tell your hand to pick up a pencil, or a paper clip, easy stuff you’ve done a million times before without even thinking about it. But you can’t.” Justin passes a hand over his eyes. “I hate that I get so happy when I can pick up a fucking paper clip.”
For a while, they listen to the distant noises of traffic and chattering of the city public. Brian knows he should say something. But Justin’s clearly had enough of meaningless comfort words - Brian had known, five minutes into the session, that today was going to be a difficult one, because Justin’s hand had been tense that morning and he was already frustrated from dropping his mug of milk at the loft and his therapist’s new assistant couldn’t seem to get it through her head that her practiced prattle of encouragement was only pissing him off - and, in any case, Brian’s all out of words.
Justin stares at his hands. “I should call later. Apologize.”
“You should,” Brian agrees. Sees Justin flexing his right hand. Wordlessly he takes it, fingers making familiar movements, easing out the remaining tension in the muscles.
Sighing, Justin combs his other hand through his hair, his features arranged in wretched frustration. “I can’t help it, you know. I try, but it just…” His other hand makes helpless gestures.
“Yeah.” Once Justin’s hand feels as relax as it’s going to be for now, Brian starts the Jeep. “If it makes you feel any better, I found your therapist fucking annoying, too.”
That gets a rueful chuckle. “People who are perpetually cheerful should not be allowed to become PTs. She kept going on and on about how great I’m doing and how I shouldn’t push myself. She should be, like, a stewardess or something.”
“I believe the PC term for it now is ‘air hostess’.” Brian gets a light slap on the arm. “Hey, I’m driving here.”
They settle into a comfortable silence. And if he were honest with himself, while things are still far from the way they used to be- and maybe they’ll never go all the way back, that a shadow of this huge, life-altering event will always be there- Brian can feel normalcy returning. Can sense the wings of it flying by, ahead of them, a destination rather than a dream.
It’s good enough.
8.
Of course, Brian is nothing if not the poster boy for Stubborn and Going Down Fighting.
“Brian, you are not driving.” Justin’s really starting to feel like the nagging wife, lately, but fuck that man is stubborn. But unlike certain people, Justin is quite willing to put up with ridicule rather than have a sick or injured Brian. “What if you need to puke?”
“I’ll pull over, dear.” Brian slams the door of the Corvette shut. The engine starts, so Justin just groans and runs around to the passenger’s side, clutching his school bag to himself.
Three hours later, Brian walks into the parking complex. Glares at Justin, though he looks more resigned than anything to see him leaning on the Corvette. “Don’t you have class now?”
“Cancelled.” Which is a total lie, and Justin has no doubt Brian can tell. But either Brian actually trusts him to know which classes he can skip (hah!) or he’s already feeling sick. In any case, no more is said as they both get into the car.
Barely ten minutes later, Justin notices that Brian’s knuckles are white over the steering wheel. They’re in a part of the city crowded at this time of day, so there’s available parking space in sight. Brian manages to keep the Corvette straight and steady, though he’s swallowing hard, head nodding forward.
BEEP!
So focused is he on Brian, Justin doesn’t even see the truck entering their street at a small intersection. At the horn Brian jerks the Corvette to one side. The truck barely misses, its bumper probably an inch from grazing the passenger side of the car, so close that Justin would have been able to see his reflection if his mind hadn’t gone blank from numb terror.
The next thing Justin knows, the car has stopped. Brian throws his door open and pukes noisily for a good minute, while Justin tries to get his breath back and maybe pry his fingers from the inside handle of the door. He’s pinching the bridge of his nose when he’s suddenly being crushed within Brian’s arms, Brian’s breath smelling of vomit and fear.
“Are you all right?” Brian groans, and Justin can feel the muscles moving in Brian’s throat, Brian’s upper body, keeping the next wave down.
“Yeah.”
“Call Ted. I’ll get Mikey to drive this back to the loft.”
“Okay.”
Justin knows that next time, Brian will let him drive the fucking Corvette.
9.
A soft breeze wafts lazily through the half-filled lot, winding between the rows of vehicles bathed by reflected light from the screen.
Its touch is cool, but this is hardly noticed by the occupants of a black Jeep, who, like most of their neighbors, are rather busy with more important business. The exploring tendril of wind, on the other hand, exits the vehicle a touch warmer than the temperature it’d been going in.
Alarm bells had started sounding the moment Brian heard the words “this nice little place” come out of Justin’s mouth. Not even an enthusiastic romp around the loft had made him forget, and really Brian should have just saved time by conceding defeat from the start rather than endure a week of not-so-subtle hints and flyers on his desk and website links being emailed to him at work. He’s still not sure how he could have given in, though at the present moment he’s thoroughly distracting himself from the agony of disbelief.
Then again… Justin is still not up for the noisy crowds at the mall and the enclosed darkness of cinemas. And maybe it’s something Brian has always kind of wanted to do but never had a chance to, between being young and broke and then too old and set in his asshole image. Luckily, Justin is still a teenager, albeit barely, and maybe Brian still has a distinctly Justin-shaped hole in his defenses right now.
Quite possibly he should let the kid actually watch the movie, but it’s not like Justin is resisting him. And making out is what drive-in theatres are for.
“You know,” Justin whispers, voice hoarse, biting Brian’s earlobe while Brian nibbles on his neck. “If we’re just going to fuck, we might as well have stayed at the loft.”
“Hmmm.” Brian shudders at what Justin’s tongue is doing to his ear. “That’s why you chose the most boring hetero romance flick for us to watch.”
Justin chuckles, the sound changing into a breathy groan when Brian’s hand slips under his shirt to play with a nipple. A daylight scene on the screen casts bright light into the Jeep’s interior. The sight of Justin, face flushed, hair disheveled, young and debauched, sends a spike of lust through Brian; he attacks Justin’s lips again, not caring that he’s almost draped over the front seats, the shift digging into his side.
Lips and tongue, teeth and spit and hot, hungry noises. So easy to get lost in it, hopelessly, especially when Justin is making those noises and giving as good as he gets and, through frantic hands and needy moans, begs for more, harder, fuck me please.
Eventually it’s not enough, and Brian’s arms and back are straining from leaning over so much. “Backseat,” he growls into Justin’s ear.
As Justin moans a “Yes” and scrambles through between the front seats, Brian experiences a conscientious minute. But the interior of the Jeep is more protected from view than the other cars around them, at the late hour and the rating of the show it’s not like there are going to be kids or shocked parents about, and the sounds coming from the old Mazda Sedan next to them indicate that its occupants are well on their way to a third coming. Really, Brian’s been restraining himself rather well.
He bumps his head on the way to the back. He’s too tall for any kind of comfort, but he’s past caring. All that matters is Justin writhing under him, Justin’s legs wrapped around him, Justin’s mouth opening eagerly for his tongue. Brian pushes, dives in, reaching as far as he can, while hands roam and push off clothing and grasp bare, heated skin.
It’s like this a lot, now, frenzy and wild and almost desperate, because Brian still remembers too well when he’d thought that he’d never have this again. Time will temper it, he knows, but for now he needs.
He returns a little to himself when he feels Justin rolling a condom down his hard dick. Nearly loses control again when Justin brings his hand to his mouth and licks off the drops of pre-come from where his fingers had brushed the head. The first, exquisite thrust draws out twin groans that reverberate through the Jeep. Justin gasps, groans at Brian to move, fingers digging into the skin of Brian’s arms, Justin’s foot urgently kicking the ceiling above them.
So Brian does, slowly at first, but the wild desperation overtakes him again, and all he can think about is pulling back and driving his hips forward as hard as he can, over and over again until he’s sure that the Jeep must be rocking from the force of it. He worries about Justin hitting his head on the side, but Justin brings his arms up, palms flat on the Jeep’s interior, and pushes down, meeting Brian’s thrusts, his biceps flexing.
Orgasm crashes over Brian without a warning, in a flush of heat and sweat and sweet pleasure so intense that he’d have shouted what they were doing to the entire parking the lot if Justin hadn’t pulled his head down and swallowed his tongue. Still suspended on the froth, he wraps his fingers around Justin’s cock, working it feverishly, and then it’s Justin shouting into his mouth, hips thrusting up to ride out the tail end of the wave.
They lay there, breathing hard into each other’s faces. Once all the spots in his vision have gone away, Brian sees that Justin is looking at him with a strange expression. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” Justin brushes away strands of hair stuck to the sweat on Brian’s face. “Just remembering something from therapy.”
Brian gives him a look dominated by one raised eyebrow. “You wouldn’t have brought it up if you didn’t want to say it.”
“It’s nothing.” Justin shakes his head, but Brian doesn’t back down. “Just... There’s a woman whose husband is divorcing her, even though he visits every day and they’re still close. But he can’t... some people get turned off, once they see someone they care about fall to pieces. Can’t fuck someone they’ve had to talk down from a panic attack, or have to clean up after ‘cause they cant do it themselves.”
The silent moment stretches over the inside of the Jeep, blocking out the soundtrack from the movie still in progress outside. In the shadow, Justin’s eyes look nearly black.
Then Brian lunges down, kissing Justin hard. Plies swollen lips apart with his mouth, plunges his tongue into the silky heat, pushes down deep, deep. Sucks Justin in, swallows him, eats him up.
This is it. It’s still too soon to feel it, but there’s a clear sense of time moving, moving away from the frozen nightmare of the last few months. It’s the feeling of engines starting, gears clicking into place, wheels beginning to move. Can’t see yet where it’s going, much less where it’ll end up, but the horrific stasis is over. Over.
There’s no going back.
Soon enough Brian will feel the fear, feel the panic of not being in control, and even more, the fear that he’s leaving familiar grounds. Not because he doesn’t want to leave, though it’s in there somewhere, it’s human nature. But because he knows that wherever he goes, wherever Justin - fucking trusting Justin who still wants to be with him despite everything - wherever Justin takes him, he’ll fuck it up. He’ll be the nastiest asshole he can be, he’ll mess things up, he’ll chase away everybody who dares to care about him. It’s who he is.
But he can take bad bits and drag them out into the light of day, for eyes to see that can, revealing the very worst of him.
And maybe, afterwards, in the wake of the destruction, through the dust of the rubble, Justin will still be there.
10.
“Shut up, Brian, I know how to drive, all right?”
“You turn the wheel too hard.”
“I’m still getting the hang of it, asshole. Now, shut up and lean back, or we’re going right back to the loft.”
It’s the weekend, so Justin is using Brian’s break from the radiation sessions to reassure him that he can handle the Corvette.
After a few short minutes of intensely watching Justin drive, Brian finally takes note of their surroundings. “Hey, where are we going?”
“You’ll remember.”
When the huge sign comes into view, Brian breaks out into a laugh, loud and genuine. A rare sound, these days. They decide on a movie with minimal argument (for them), Brian doesn’t say anything when Justin buys buttered popcorn, even holds the overflowing tub as Justin finds a parking space. It’s early, so there are kids around, but they actually are here to watch a movie this time.
“You know,” says Justin around a mouthful of popcorn. “This is the first time in over three years you’ve let me drive.” His tone is light, but he knows that Brian will have no problem picking up the words beyond the ones being said.
Brian’s eyes are dark and directed at the pictures of light moving across the screen. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
AN EPILOGUE
You open your eyes. For days, endless stretches of time neatly divided by the tick-tick from the wall, from your wrist, from under your ribs, you’ve woken to the cold, to the empty space, to the white blankness of an uncertain future.
But today you hear louder the even breathing of a body other than yours, movement on the mattress and sheets, white light tinged with golden morning. The pain is still there, the reminder that something went horrifically wrong for you, but right now, like this, you don’t care about what had happened before.
Though what will happen next does hold some interest.
“Hey,” you say.
“Hey.”
There’s warmth, because there’s him.
Author: Etharei
Timeline: Early S2 and late S4
Rating: NC-17, to be safe
Warning: very mild canon angst
Beta:This fic has not been blessed by a beta, so I apologize for all remaining mistakes.
Disclaimer: Queer as Folk and all the characters and situations featured therein are the property of Showtime, Cowlip Productions and their affiliates. I’m only borrowing them for purely non-profit, recreational purposes, and promise to replenish the condom and lube supply when I’m done.
Summary: what Michael eventually says, under Brian’s expectant gaze, is, “Have you ever wondered, you know, how things might have turned out if you hadn’t seen Justin that night after Babylon?” “No.” Michael’s eyes dart back to him. Brian looks at the keys in his hand. “No, I’ve never wondered. Never thought about it.”
Author’s Notes: Written for the 'In Cars' challenge at qaf-challenges. In case it’s not clear, the narrative jumps back and forth between early S2 and late S4. The beginning and end are purposefully ambiguous. Original challenge post is here.
TEN TURNS TO TRUST
“Living with a conscience is like driving a car with the brakes on.” - Budd Schulberg
A PROLOGUE
Cold is the enemy.
The chill of bright, antiseptic rooms and echoing hallways. Electronic beeps representing the rhythmic constriction of muscle, the rush of blood, the confirmation of life.
Empty beds and silent sheets. Lone dances on raised podiums, with feathered wings or laser beams. Lies lying in the dark.
Sweat stealing heat from skin. Fast, frantic breathing- from fear or pain, it sounds the same.
1.
Waiting for Michael to get into the Jeep, Brian runs fingers through his hair, feeling the dampness at the ends. The shower he’d taken had been hot, as hot as he could handle, which may be why he feels strangely cold right now.
Or perhaps a month and a half of constant drinking and drugging is finally catching up to him.
He can sense the uneasiness rolling off Michael as his friend closes the door to the passenger’s side and buckles himself in. Brian waits, because he’s known Michael since they were 14, and Michael had been lying when he’d talked about coming to Pittsburgh because it’s his home.
But what Michael eventually says, under Brian’s expectant gaze, is, “Have you ever wondered, you know, how things might have turned out if you hadn’t seen Justin that night after Babylon?”
Something seizes up inside Brian at the name, always at the name, while Michael blithely carries on. “I mean, there’s so many ways you could have missed seeing him, if you think about it. Like, your cell phone could have been on and you caught Mel’s call when Lindsay went into labour. Or if you hadn’t taken that last trick, or you’d taken him home to fuck him instead of just a blow job in the back room.” Perhaps becoming aware of Brian’s silence, Michael glances at him. Fidgets, emits a forced chuckle. “It’s just weird, you know. So many ways you two could have not met.”
A memory rises out of the cold: It’s not lying if they make you lie. If the only truth they can accept is their own. It had been a rainy night, he remembers, and they had been standing outside the diner. Brian the outsider, looking in.
“No.” Michael’s eyes dart back to him. Brian looks at the keys in his hand. “No, I’ve never wondered. Never thought about it.”
2.
Hard soles resound against concrete in solid beats that are audible from the other end of the mostly empty space. Solid, but with a very slight irregularity. Justin closes his eyes, not turning around right away. The Corvette is finally warm where his butt has been resting on it for the past hour, so he takes his time drawing out the last of his cigarette. He knows when Brian finally notices him, because the footsteps stop cold.
Brian looks frozen, literally. He looks like he can use a few days in the sun, he’s so pale. Cold. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Releasing a breath that mists in the dead air, Justin throws down the cigarette, his worn sneaker grinding down on it, perhaps with more force than necessary. “I’m waiting for you.”
Brian huffs, eyebrows coming together. “I said I don’t want you here.”
Justin shrugs. Moves away from the Corvette, and towards Brian. Steps right up to him, close enough for Brian’s breath to hit his skin on the descent. Looks down at the stained cement; when he looks up again, there’s a confident little smile on his face. “I guess I’ve never been very good at doing what people tell me to do.”
Brian glances to the side, where in the gap between the white half-wall and the ceiling is a view of the city, partially obscured by a neighbouring office building. Everything is tinted white by the mid-morning mist. But Justin’s gaze doesn’t waver from Brian’s face - and sure enough, one corner of Brian’s lips is twitching despite the fervent efforts of the muscles above it.
Brian has always had a weak spot for Justin’s arrogance.
He’d meant to just wait for Brian to get into the car, but standing so close… He finds his hands grasping Brian’s arms, and when Brian doesn’t move away he winds them around that too-thin waist, deliberately not thinking about the bones he can feel under his hands. After a few seconds, Brian’s hands follow the line of Justin’s arms and slides over his shoulders, pulling him close.
“What did the doctor say?” Justin breathes into Brian’s neck, lightly kissing the bump of his Adam’s apple.
“Everything looks good.” Soft vibrations from Brian’s chest as he speaks, and Justin presses himself closer so he can feel it even more. “Trying out some new drugs to help with the vomiting.”
Justin shivers from the chill in the unmoving air. Brian’s arms tighten around him, and he squeezes back. Brian feels as cold as he looks; it’s all Justin can do to not succumb to the sharp, breath-stealing shard of fear that’s working through his insides. He keeps his mind on Brian’s breathing, Brian’s hands pressing down on his back, imagines he can feel the faint beating from Brian’s chest under his cheek.
He holds on, almost forcing his own bodily heat into Brian, and doesn’t let go until he feels a fledgling warmth.
3.
Brian ignores the honking cars behind the Jeep and the protests of the people he’d had to push aside. Fat droplets of rain register on the periphery of his consciousness. The rest of him can only think about the figure huddling against the wall. When he’s standing beside Brian, Justin’s shorter stature often makes Justin appear smaller, but the kid’s actually pretty stocky.
But weeks of little appetite and hospital confinement have left his body bony, frail. And right now he looks especially small, with the way he’s trying to flatten himself against the wall. He looks like he can’t quite decide between remaining upright and crouching down into a ball.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Brian grabs Justin by the shoulder. Pulls the shaking, sodden frame into the warmth of his own body.
“Thought I could go to the store and restock a bit,” Justin mumbles into his chest. His breathing is fast, stuttered, like it does when he’s cold or crying. Or, having ‘random outbreaks of goosebumps’ and ‘allergic reactions’. “We’re low on eggs and fresh milk.”
“You stupid fuck. You could have just told me.”
“You were working. And I wanted to do it myself.”
Obviously. Brian remembers that the Jeep is parked illegally, and while right now he doesn’t really care about getting a ticket, it’s probably a good idea anyway for both of them to get out of the rain. He half-drags Justin to the Jeep, shoves him into the passenger’s side and jogs around to the driver’s.
Once they’re both inside, Brian exhales in relief, and pulls out of parking. He doesn’t look at Justin, but out of the corner of one eye he can see the kid huddling against the door. “I could have stopped working for twenty minutes. And I would have driven you there, if you’re so determined to go grocery shopping.”
“You would have told me I wasn’t ready, and gone to get them yourself.”
“And I would have been right.” He ignores Justin’s annoyed muttering. “But no, I would have let you go. Do I look like your mother to you?”
“Why did you follow me in the Jeep, then?”
Red light reflects off the front of the Jeep as it slows to a stop. “Because you’re not ready.”
“I would have dealt with it. The panic goes away, if I give it enough time.”
Brian makes a skyward gesture. “It’s raining. By the time you’d have gotten it under control, you’d probably have pneumonia.”
His eyes flicker sideways, out of habit. Light changes to green on Justin’s shining grin. “I bet you were already in the Jeep before the rain even started.”
4.
Justin’s pretty sure that there are better places to have a contest of wills in than the freezing street.
“You are not fucking driving my car.” He can see that Brian is cold, and fuck, he has no doubt that the stubborn man will subject himself to pneumonia just to win this argument. Especially since Justin has monopolized the loft, as well as Brian while he’s in it.
“Fine.” He holds up his hands in defeat. “We’ll take a cab.”
Brian scowls at him. “I can take my own fucking cab. Go to school.”
Justin doesn’t say anything until the cab arrives. After Brian tells the driver to head first for the hospital, then PIFA, Justin casually says, “I’ll go to the hospital after class. I only have one today.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t want you there.”
“When have I ever listened to you?”
“I’ll see you at the loft.”
“I’ll see you at the hospital.”
“Fuck off.”
“You’ve been telling me that for, what, three years?”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Hey.” The driver looks at them through the rearview mirror. “Why don’t you guys just start making out already?”
“Stay out of this.”
5.
Pain is an old friend to Brian. He’d grown up with it, lived with it, sometimes he suspects that he only lives because of it. That’s not to say that he likes pain; there’s a fine line between using pain to know you’re alive and dropping dead from the substances you use to get away from it.
But that night in the parking garage… he realized that he didn’t quite know as much about his old friend Pain as he thought he did, because that was something new. Perhaps that is what brought him back to hospital, night after night, never missing a single one.
Now he discovers yet another kind of unique torture: being within arm’s reach of Justin, a breathing, talking, walking Justin, and not being able to touch him. That is, not daring to, even though Justin doesn’t jump away from his touch like he does with everyone else’s.
It’s something he’s still trying to wrap his mind around, this overwhelming, unquestioning trust Justin still has in him. Him, of all people. It boggles the mind.
“Are you sure about this?”
Justin plays with the ribbon of the wrapped gift, twisting the curl around his finger. “Yeah,” he nods. “There’s no way I’m missing Gus’ birthday.” He says it fervently enough, but it doesn’t escape Brian’s notice how he’s practically vibrating out of nervousness.
“All right.” Brian grabs his keys. Close behind, Justin picks up the two gifts from the counter, carrying them under one arm. They ride the elevator down in silence.
Brian hates this, hates this confounding awkwardness between them with every fiber of his being. But they’d tried, hadn’t they? They’d done all that they could, short of getting Justin and Daphne’s class to re-enact the entire prom again, but Brian’s pretty sure that not even that would help, if what they’d tried in the loft hadn’t, because he’s pretty sure that Justin had stopped noticing anybody else in the room the second he had laid eyes on Brian. That night.
Shit. The things he does for that kid. He’d raked himself over burning coals, broken glass, fucking fields of thorns. And the only result is that now it’s like they’re not quite sure of what to do with one another, because Brian is still simmering in helpless rage and Justin is burning frustration about having put Brian through it all again for nothing.
What Brian is at a loss to communicate to Justin is that he’d do it, he’d relive the whole fucking thing over and over again, every fucking day, for as long as it takes, if it would make Justin better.
They get into the Jeep, Justin fidgeting in his uneasiness.
“Look.” Brian picks up his designer shades, turns them in his hand. “Maybe I can go and bring Gus by later, after the party. I’m sure you don’t want to miss that PowderPuff Girls marathon today.”
The corner of Justin’s lips twitches. “PowerPuff Girls.” He expels a long breath. “No, I want to go. I want to see what Lindsay and Melanie have done to the house, I want to be outside, I want to see Gus turn a year old.” Justin rubs his face, looks out of the window. “Brian, I just can’t spend another day thinking about what happened to me.”
Brian nods, putting his shades on. “But we’re staying inside.” He bites his lips. Slots in the ignition key and turns. “I refuse to be trampled by a bunch of screaming kids stampeding for the cake.”
He doesn’t turn to look. Nevertheless, he can feel Justin’s smile, warm on the side of his face.
6.
By now, Justin knows the signs. Brian’s shoulders are slouched, his head’s bent down, and he’s taking deep, slow breaths. His skin is clammy. Hand gliding up and down the length of Brian’s back, Justin can almost feel the internal struggle to keep breakfast down.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, anyway.
Brian grunts out a tense, “Fine.”
Justin pokes his head between the front seats. “What’s the hold up?”
“Probably an accident,” the cab driver answers, putting the stick into ‘park’. Unlike the driver earlier, this one has been acting rather cool towards them since Justin started stroking Brian’s hair. “We’re probably going to be a while.”
It’s sheer luck that Justin’s carrying his school bag, and there’s a plastic bag for the half a dozen new brushes he’d bought yesterday. The first wave hits Brian before Justin can dump the brushes out, but he doesn’t care, just rubs between Brian’s shoulder blades and urges him to let it all come up.
“Hey, I don’t want whatever you fags pick up spewed all over my car,” the cab driver grumbles. Probably thinks that, with Brian out of commission, Justin is a soft option.
Justin goes from slightly cold to boiling in approximately .5 seconds. “My partner is going through radiation treatment for his cancer, and it’s fucking freezing outside, you inconsiderate prick, so if you throw us out and he gets sicker I’m going to fucking kill you.”
And that’s the end of the cab issue.
7.
“FUCKING SHUT UP!”
Shit. “Justin!”
Stares from all around the room, patients and their therapists getting to their feet and moving away from the overturned table. Brian, suddenly deaf to the protests of Justin’s doctor and mother, rushes into the room, moves towards the red-faced figure shouting at the frightened young woman staring at him with wide eyes. Justin narrowly misses punching an orderly who tries to approach him.
“Justin.” Without thinking, Brian wraps his arms around Justin, tensing for the struggle that doesn’t come.
“That’s enough for today,” he tells the shock-faced therapist, who quickly nods. He looks around. “Everyone, please, go back to what you were doing.” Maybe it’s his voice, or the look on his face, but the other occupants of the room return to their tables with surprising speed. Justin has covered his face with his hands, turning so that he’s facing Brian. Brian waits for his breathing to calm, for his body to relax, gently rubbing Justin’s back.
He gets Justin out of there as quickly as he can, cutting off any words from Jennifer or the doctor with a sharp look. By the time they climb into the Jeep, Justin appears to have calmed down. Though Brian can still feel the rage, like it’s roaring just under the flushed skin.
“Are you-“ He sees the muscle working in Justin’s jaw, and catches himself. “Where to next? The loft, or are you hungry?”
“Loft.”
He licks his lips, breathing out. “Justin.”
But what can he say? Really?
“I’m sorry about that,” Justin quietly says, his fingers pulling on the loose hem of his shirt. “It’s just… You don’t know what it feels like, not being able to control your body.” His voice is thick, blocked, and Brian pointedly ignores the rapid up-down movement of his eyelids. “You tell your hand to pick up a pencil, or a paper clip, easy stuff you’ve done a million times before without even thinking about it. But you can’t.” Justin passes a hand over his eyes. “I hate that I get so happy when I can pick up a fucking paper clip.”
For a while, they listen to the distant noises of traffic and chattering of the city public. Brian knows he should say something. But Justin’s clearly had enough of meaningless comfort words - Brian had known, five minutes into the session, that today was going to be a difficult one, because Justin’s hand had been tense that morning and he was already frustrated from dropping his mug of milk at the loft and his therapist’s new assistant couldn’t seem to get it through her head that her practiced prattle of encouragement was only pissing him off - and, in any case, Brian’s all out of words.
Justin stares at his hands. “I should call later. Apologize.”
“You should,” Brian agrees. Sees Justin flexing his right hand. Wordlessly he takes it, fingers making familiar movements, easing out the remaining tension in the muscles.
Sighing, Justin combs his other hand through his hair, his features arranged in wretched frustration. “I can’t help it, you know. I try, but it just…” His other hand makes helpless gestures.
“Yeah.” Once Justin’s hand feels as relax as it’s going to be for now, Brian starts the Jeep. “If it makes you feel any better, I found your therapist fucking annoying, too.”
That gets a rueful chuckle. “People who are perpetually cheerful should not be allowed to become PTs. She kept going on and on about how great I’m doing and how I shouldn’t push myself. She should be, like, a stewardess or something.”
“I believe the PC term for it now is ‘air hostess’.” Brian gets a light slap on the arm. “Hey, I’m driving here.”
They settle into a comfortable silence. And if he were honest with himself, while things are still far from the way they used to be- and maybe they’ll never go all the way back, that a shadow of this huge, life-altering event will always be there- Brian can feel normalcy returning. Can sense the wings of it flying by, ahead of them, a destination rather than a dream.
It’s good enough.
8.
Of course, Brian is nothing if not the poster boy for Stubborn and Going Down Fighting.
“Brian, you are not driving.” Justin’s really starting to feel like the nagging wife, lately, but fuck that man is stubborn. But unlike certain people, Justin is quite willing to put up with ridicule rather than have a sick or injured Brian. “What if you need to puke?”
“I’ll pull over, dear.” Brian slams the door of the Corvette shut. The engine starts, so Justin just groans and runs around to the passenger’s side, clutching his school bag to himself.
Three hours later, Brian walks into the parking complex. Glares at Justin, though he looks more resigned than anything to see him leaning on the Corvette. “Don’t you have class now?”
“Cancelled.” Which is a total lie, and Justin has no doubt Brian can tell. But either Brian actually trusts him to know which classes he can skip (hah!) or he’s already feeling sick. In any case, no more is said as they both get into the car.
Barely ten minutes later, Justin notices that Brian’s knuckles are white over the steering wheel. They’re in a part of the city crowded at this time of day, so there’s available parking space in sight. Brian manages to keep the Corvette straight and steady, though he’s swallowing hard, head nodding forward.
BEEP!
So focused is he on Brian, Justin doesn’t even see the truck entering their street at a small intersection. At the horn Brian jerks the Corvette to one side. The truck barely misses, its bumper probably an inch from grazing the passenger side of the car, so close that Justin would have been able to see his reflection if his mind hadn’t gone blank from numb terror.
The next thing Justin knows, the car has stopped. Brian throws his door open and pukes noisily for a good minute, while Justin tries to get his breath back and maybe pry his fingers from the inside handle of the door. He’s pinching the bridge of his nose when he’s suddenly being crushed within Brian’s arms, Brian’s breath smelling of vomit and fear.
“Are you all right?” Brian groans, and Justin can feel the muscles moving in Brian’s throat, Brian’s upper body, keeping the next wave down.
“Yeah.”
“Call Ted. I’ll get Mikey to drive this back to the loft.”
“Okay.”
Justin knows that next time, Brian will let him drive the fucking Corvette.
9.
A soft breeze wafts lazily through the half-filled lot, winding between the rows of vehicles bathed by reflected light from the screen.
Its touch is cool, but this is hardly noticed by the occupants of a black Jeep, who, like most of their neighbors, are rather busy with more important business. The exploring tendril of wind, on the other hand, exits the vehicle a touch warmer than the temperature it’d been going in.
Alarm bells had started sounding the moment Brian heard the words “this nice little place” come out of Justin’s mouth. Not even an enthusiastic romp around the loft had made him forget, and really Brian should have just saved time by conceding defeat from the start rather than endure a week of not-so-subtle hints and flyers on his desk and website links being emailed to him at work. He’s still not sure how he could have given in, though at the present moment he’s thoroughly distracting himself from the agony of disbelief.
Then again… Justin is still not up for the noisy crowds at the mall and the enclosed darkness of cinemas. And maybe it’s something Brian has always kind of wanted to do but never had a chance to, between being young and broke and then too old and set in his asshole image. Luckily, Justin is still a teenager, albeit barely, and maybe Brian still has a distinctly Justin-shaped hole in his defenses right now.
Quite possibly he should let the kid actually watch the movie, but it’s not like Justin is resisting him. And making out is what drive-in theatres are for.
“You know,” Justin whispers, voice hoarse, biting Brian’s earlobe while Brian nibbles on his neck. “If we’re just going to fuck, we might as well have stayed at the loft.”
“Hmmm.” Brian shudders at what Justin’s tongue is doing to his ear. “That’s why you chose the most boring hetero romance flick for us to watch.”
Justin chuckles, the sound changing into a breathy groan when Brian’s hand slips under his shirt to play with a nipple. A daylight scene on the screen casts bright light into the Jeep’s interior. The sight of Justin, face flushed, hair disheveled, young and debauched, sends a spike of lust through Brian; he attacks Justin’s lips again, not caring that he’s almost draped over the front seats, the shift digging into his side.
Lips and tongue, teeth and spit and hot, hungry noises. So easy to get lost in it, hopelessly, especially when Justin is making those noises and giving as good as he gets and, through frantic hands and needy moans, begs for more, harder, fuck me please.
Eventually it’s not enough, and Brian’s arms and back are straining from leaning over so much. “Backseat,” he growls into Justin’s ear.
As Justin moans a “Yes” and scrambles through between the front seats, Brian experiences a conscientious minute. But the interior of the Jeep is more protected from view than the other cars around them, at the late hour and the rating of the show it’s not like there are going to be kids or shocked parents about, and the sounds coming from the old Mazda Sedan next to them indicate that its occupants are well on their way to a third coming. Really, Brian’s been restraining himself rather well.
He bumps his head on the way to the back. He’s too tall for any kind of comfort, but he’s past caring. All that matters is Justin writhing under him, Justin’s legs wrapped around him, Justin’s mouth opening eagerly for his tongue. Brian pushes, dives in, reaching as far as he can, while hands roam and push off clothing and grasp bare, heated skin.
It’s like this a lot, now, frenzy and wild and almost desperate, because Brian still remembers too well when he’d thought that he’d never have this again. Time will temper it, he knows, but for now he needs.
He returns a little to himself when he feels Justin rolling a condom down his hard dick. Nearly loses control again when Justin brings his hand to his mouth and licks off the drops of pre-come from where his fingers had brushed the head. The first, exquisite thrust draws out twin groans that reverberate through the Jeep. Justin gasps, groans at Brian to move, fingers digging into the skin of Brian’s arms, Justin’s foot urgently kicking the ceiling above them.
So Brian does, slowly at first, but the wild desperation overtakes him again, and all he can think about is pulling back and driving his hips forward as hard as he can, over and over again until he’s sure that the Jeep must be rocking from the force of it. He worries about Justin hitting his head on the side, but Justin brings his arms up, palms flat on the Jeep’s interior, and pushes down, meeting Brian’s thrusts, his biceps flexing.
Orgasm crashes over Brian without a warning, in a flush of heat and sweat and sweet pleasure so intense that he’d have shouted what they were doing to the entire parking the lot if Justin hadn’t pulled his head down and swallowed his tongue. Still suspended on the froth, he wraps his fingers around Justin’s cock, working it feverishly, and then it’s Justin shouting into his mouth, hips thrusting up to ride out the tail end of the wave.
They lay there, breathing hard into each other’s faces. Once all the spots in his vision have gone away, Brian sees that Justin is looking at him with a strange expression. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” Justin brushes away strands of hair stuck to the sweat on Brian’s face. “Just remembering something from therapy.”
Brian gives him a look dominated by one raised eyebrow. “You wouldn’t have brought it up if you didn’t want to say it.”
“It’s nothing.” Justin shakes his head, but Brian doesn’t back down. “Just... There’s a woman whose husband is divorcing her, even though he visits every day and they’re still close. But he can’t... some people get turned off, once they see someone they care about fall to pieces. Can’t fuck someone they’ve had to talk down from a panic attack, or have to clean up after ‘cause they cant do it themselves.”
The silent moment stretches over the inside of the Jeep, blocking out the soundtrack from the movie still in progress outside. In the shadow, Justin’s eyes look nearly black.
Then Brian lunges down, kissing Justin hard. Plies swollen lips apart with his mouth, plunges his tongue into the silky heat, pushes down deep, deep. Sucks Justin in, swallows him, eats him up.
This is it. It’s still too soon to feel it, but there’s a clear sense of time moving, moving away from the frozen nightmare of the last few months. It’s the feeling of engines starting, gears clicking into place, wheels beginning to move. Can’t see yet where it’s going, much less where it’ll end up, but the horrific stasis is over. Over.
There’s no going back.
Soon enough Brian will feel the fear, feel the panic of not being in control, and even more, the fear that he’s leaving familiar grounds. Not because he doesn’t want to leave, though it’s in there somewhere, it’s human nature. But because he knows that wherever he goes, wherever Justin - fucking trusting Justin who still wants to be with him despite everything - wherever Justin takes him, he’ll fuck it up. He’ll be the nastiest asshole he can be, he’ll mess things up, he’ll chase away everybody who dares to care about him. It’s who he is.
But he can take bad bits and drag them out into the light of day, for eyes to see that can, revealing the very worst of him.
And maybe, afterwards, in the wake of the destruction, through the dust of the rubble, Justin will still be there.
10.
“Shut up, Brian, I know how to drive, all right?”
“You turn the wheel too hard.”
“I’m still getting the hang of it, asshole. Now, shut up and lean back, or we’re going right back to the loft.”
It’s the weekend, so Justin is using Brian’s break from the radiation sessions to reassure him that he can handle the Corvette.
After a few short minutes of intensely watching Justin drive, Brian finally takes note of their surroundings. “Hey, where are we going?”
“You’ll remember.”
When the huge sign comes into view, Brian breaks out into a laugh, loud and genuine. A rare sound, these days. They decide on a movie with minimal argument (for them), Brian doesn’t say anything when Justin buys buttered popcorn, even holds the overflowing tub as Justin finds a parking space. It’s early, so there are kids around, but they actually are here to watch a movie this time.
“You know,” says Justin around a mouthful of popcorn. “This is the first time in over three years you’ve let me drive.” His tone is light, but he knows that Brian will have no problem picking up the words beyond the ones being said.
Brian’s eyes are dark and directed at the pictures of light moving across the screen. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
AN EPILOGUE
You open your eyes. For days, endless stretches of time neatly divided by the tick-tick from the wall, from your wrist, from under your ribs, you’ve woken to the cold, to the empty space, to the white blankness of an uncertain future.
But today you hear louder the even breathing of a body other than yours, movement on the mattress and sheets, white light tinged with golden morning. The pain is still there, the reminder that something went horrifically wrong for you, but right now, like this, you don’t care about what had happened before.
Though what will happen next does hold some interest.
“Hey,” you say.
“Hey.”
There’s warmth, because there’s him.