QAF: Brian Like Me (1/2)
Brian Like Me
by mlefay and eleveninches
Spoilers: All of Season Five. If Brian and Justin are in it, we've been spoiled.
Summary: Brian learns he has a destiny. He promptly rejects it.
The comingthengoing challenge says to write a perfect ending for the series. We decided the perfect ending was not an ending at all, but rather a beginning.
The visions start a week after Justin leaves. Brian isn’t sure what they are at first, because they start out simply as weird flashes of pain in his head. But when the mannequin in the front window of Torso starts talking to him (“Hey you, hey you -“) and the street gets bendy and starts to sparkle in the sunlight, Brian figures it out.
He has a brain tumor.
“A fucking brain tumor,” Brian mutters.
He shakes his head. First testicular cancer, then a broken collarbone, then syphilis - shit, maybe it’s the syphilis, he’s going crazy like King George now - and Michael pokes his arm.
“What did you say?” Michael asks. He looks amused, and for a second Brian wants to tell him about the visions, say it out loud and make it real.
“Nothing,” says Brian.
Brian looks one more time at the way the sun glints off the pavement in coruscating waves, and very carefully ignores the provocative gesturing of the mannequin in the window display. Then he puts on his sunglasses. “I’m starving. We still going to the diner?”
*
“I still can’t believe you and Justin broke up again.”
Brian glares at Michael over the top of his coffee mug. “We didn’t break up.”
Michael’s mouth twitches. “And after all the two of you have been through!” he adds.
“We’re not -“ Brian cuts himself off and looks at Michael’s face more closely. Michael seems to be trying desperately not to laugh. “Ha, ha. Shut the fuck up.”
“Your face,” wheezes Michael. “Oh god.” He collects himself and clears his throat. “So how long before you go after him?”
Brian inspects the menu. “Go after him?”
“Yeah.” Michael leans over the table. “When are you going to New York? I mean, you do love Justin. He knows it. Hell, everybody knows it.”
“Yeah, well, that still doesn’t mean I have to go wherever he goes,” says Brian. “Besides, I can’t leave Kinnetik in the hands of Ted. He’d probably hire an underage art supervisor and get Cynthia tragically addicted to -“ Brian stops mid-sentence and shudders.
“Crystal?” says Michael.
“Opera.” Brian shakes his head. “Not happening. So Justin and I are going to try that thing - what’s it called?”
Michael looks at him blankly.
“Where you live apart from each other, but you act like it doesn’t make any difference. That thing.” Brian furrows his brow and props his menu behind the napkin dispenser.
The saltshaker on the table perks up. “A long distance relationship?” it supplies helpfully.
“Yeah, that’s the one,” says Brian.
“What?” says Michael.
Brian looks at the saltshaker, then takes his sunglasses off and looks at it again. As far as he can tell, it’s an ordinary saltshaker. He puts his sunglasses back on.
“You should be paying more attention,” the saltshaker says cryptically. Its voice is high and raspy.
“Are you listening to me?” asks Michael. “Brian -“
“Yeah,” says Brian. “Yeah, what? I’m listening.”
“I was telling you about the new -“
“Hold on a second.” Brian picks up the saltshaker, and places it carefully on the empty table behind them. After a moment’s consideration, he puts the silent peppershaker next to it. They giggle quietly.
Brian turns back to Michael. “You were saying?”
*
The oddities continue. For a couple of days, the loft is a refuge. As soon as Brian steps across the threshold, his mind stops playing tricks on him. The floors stay level, and coffee mugs don’t twirl across his desk without provocation.
Brian supposes he should be more concerned about hearing voices and seeing things, but he’s still telling himself it’s an easily-operable brain tumor - or better yet, maybe he’s just getting an acid flashback. A flashback that’s lasted four days now. He wonders if that’s possible. Maybe he should look it up on Google.
Brian doesn’t notice anything different about the naked guy painting - to be honest, it’s been hanging on the wall so long he really doesn’t notice it at all anymore - until he’s already toed off his shoes and gotten a bottle of water from the fridge.
The painting shifts in the corner of his vision, and Brian stops breathing a little. He very carefully swallows his mouthful of water.
“You aren’t even curious?” asks the naked guy painting. One brushstroke-eyebrow rises skeptically.
Brian blinks at it, sees how the steady rise and fall of the naked guy’s breathing makes the paint blur around the edges. “Curious about what, exactly?” Brian asks.
“You’re supposed to be impressed,” says naked guy painting. “Inanimate objects have been speaking to you. You’re sensing auras. You’re seeing a layer of a world that few have seen before you. Do you realize how incredible this is?”
“Honestly, I would rather have just seen the image of the Virgin Mary in the shower steam today,” says Brian. “Or something I could sell tickets for. Have you got anything like that up your sleeve?”
Naked guy painting’s smile freezes, and it takes Brian a second to realize it’s not trying to be aggravating, it’s actually stopped moving altogether.
Brian hears the creak of someone stepping up behind him, and inhales sharply.
“It’s just me,” says Vic.
“Just you,” says Brian. He casts his gaze heavenward. “Just you. Right.”
“Thought it might be nice for you to see a familiar face.” Brian doesn’t look at him, but can tell Vic’s grinning from the tone of his voice.
“I would be glad to see you, Vic, but you’re dead. By the way, doesn’t that put even the slightest crimp on you butting into my business?”
“Not really, no.”
Brian turns around. Vic is dressed like a giant green leprechaun, and for a moment Brian considers forgoing medical treatment for his brain tumor and just shooting himself in the head.
Vic smiles at the way Brian’s eyebrows pinch. “Oh, the green? I think it sets off my eyes.”
“Okay,” says Brian. “This is... really fucking weird.”
“It’s good to see you, too,” says Vic with a laugh. “You’re looking better since the last time I saw you. When you had the -“ he gestures at Brian’s arm.
“No,” Brian says. “No, see, that was a dream. A fucked-up dream because I was high on painkillers.”
“And now?”
“And now you’re a figment of my imagination. But your green outfit makes me want to stab out my eyes with a fork, so maybe you should see about de-figmenting. You’re dead.”
Vic shakes his head kindly. “Look, Brian. They sent me because we had a history. I know you’ve been having visions. Or as the portrait stated so aptly, you’re seeing a new layer of the world - surely you’ve noticed?” He raises his eyebrows at Brian somewhat theatrically.
“Yeah, sure, but that’s just a brain tumor,” says Brian dismissively. He turns to pour himself a drink, and hopes absently that perhaps ghosts are allergic to the smell of alcohol, or maybe weird hallucinations go away when you’re really, really shitfaced, because he’s planning on becoming so.
“You know it isn’t.”
Brian fills the shot glass almost to overflowing, then ignores it in favor of taking a swig straight from the bottle. He swallows, warmth already starting to collect in his chest. “You seem awfully sure of what I do and don’t know,” he says finally.
“Listen, kiddo, you’ve been given these abilities for a reason.” Vic shrugs, but looks at Brian’s face intently. “God, the higher-up, the powers that be, whatever you want to call it - that’s what did this. You can use your skills to help people.”
“That’s nice,” says Brian.
“It’s your destiny.” And Vic sounds so utterly, earth-shatteringly serious.
Brian wants to laugh. He really does. He wants to laugh, and laugh, and wake up in the morning and not remember any of this.
He also wants not to believe any of it. But Brian went outside earlier and felt the sidewalk bend just a fraction under his feet, and his lunch had been way too interactive, and a bit pissed off at the prospect of its impending doom and digestion. Things are far from normal.
“What do you mean, it’s my destiny?” Brian says finally.
Vic moves a little closer, but doesn’t touch him. Brian wonders if Vic’s hand would just go right through.
“It’s an incredible calling,” says Vic. “Truly incredible. Although it can be a bitch to keep up with. I can be your guide, here for you every step of the way. Scout’s honor. What do you say?” He waggles his eyebrows.
“Oh, that’s reassuring, seeing as you were never a boy scout. Besides, I don’t want it.”
Vic blinks. “You’re joking.”
Brian grits his teeth. “I don’t want it. Find someone else.”
“Brian,” says Vic, “I’m sorry, but I don’t think you realize this isn’t something you can just turn down. That’s kind of what ‘destiny’ means, you know.”
“No, I think you don’t realize I’m just not fucking going to do it,” Brian says, with the slightly condescending tone of someone explaining the stock market to an idealistic child. “I have enough going on in my life, and trust me, you’d be better off with someone who actually gives a shit. I’m not going to do something just because something Almighty tells me to do it.”
Vic sighs. “Okay.”
“Okay?” Brian repeats.
“Okay, I’ll see what I can do,” Vic says, overly enunciating his words. “I do always look out for you, Brian. More than you apparently believe.”
Before Brian can even respond, Vic looks concerned; then he looks distracted. He glances at the far wall of Brian’s loft, but Brian gets the feeling that’s not what he’s looking at.
“I - have to go,” says Vic. “We’ll have to continue this conversation later.”
“I can’t wait.”
He lets out a breath once Vic has evaporated, and takes another swig.
*
Brian sets his coffee mug on the desk, and eyes it for a second to make sure it doesn’t twitch. It stays where it is, and Brian sits down with a sigh of relief.
It’s been a relatively ordinary morning. The streets were normal, not even the slightest bit sparkly, and Brian hadn’t even realized how used to that sparkle he’d become until he found himself overcorrecting his driving.
“Hey,” says Cynthia, sticking her head around the door. “A couple of accounts called, I left their messages on your desk for you. Also, Cohen’s Lollipop Company has a complaint about our proposed slogan. Apparently they think ‘Suck On This’ is too forward for their intended market.”
Brian finishes glowering at his mug, then looks up at her. “What market, five-year olds? I told them they’ve got to aim for the easy spending cash. That means teens. That means sex.”
“Their CEO showed the campaign mock-ups to his youngest daughter and she started crying. He wants to speak to you personally.”
Brian rubs his temples. “Right. I’ll give them a call.”
Cynthia smiles brightly. “Okay, boss. That’s all for now. You have a good morning!”
She bounces away, letting the door swing shut behind her, and Brian groans and leans back in his chair. He knows Cynthia’s only happy in order to annoy him.
He hears a faint rattle, and glances quickly at his coffee mug. It’s starting to vibrate, jittering against the glass surface of the desk.
“Shit,” mutters Brian.
A flash of green out of the corner of his eye, and Vic is standing next to him.
“I already told you I wasn’t interested,” Brian snarls. “Can’t you take a fucking no for an answer?”
Vic shakes his head, his expression sympathetic. “Sorry. It’s completely out of my hands now. Do you have any aspirin handy? Advil?”
“Why do I need asp -“ and Brian can’t get the rest of the question out, because suddenly it feels like a particularly pissed off sports utility vehicle is backing over his forehead, stabbing pain is radiating through his brain and everywhere else, and his stomach cramps, sending him curling forward, his face into his hands -
The image is blurred, almost indistinct at first, but the harder Brian concentrates the more it comes into focus. It’s Justin, standing on a sidewalk. He glances at Brian, smiles widely, then steps into the street to cross. He doesn’t see the car heading right for him, and Brian can’t move -
“Are you okay?” asks Vic, which seems like a spectacularly dumb question. Brian is shaking all over, and he clutches at his throbbing forehead only to find that he’s practically dripping in a cold sweat.
“No,” says Brian. “Not okay. What the fuck was that.”
Vic looks at him solemnly. “That’s your cue.”
Brian shakes his head, slowly, as if not to dislodge anything. “That was a vision? Like, of the future? That’s going to happen?”
“You’re being given a chance to stop it,” says Vic.
“You -“ Brian stares at him, wordless, and punches the intercom button. “Cynthia, can you get me on the soonest flight to New York?”
Vic nods at him. “You’re doing the right thing.”
“It’s Justin,” says Brian, and wills the trembling in his hands to stop. “If it’s real - I can’t not do something.”
“Yeah,” Vic says. “I know.”
*
Brian can’t get a full breath, and his hands are still shaking. He exits into the main terminal of the airport and looks around for signs. First he’ll get out of there, then he’ll grab a taxi and find Justin. He has the address for Justin’s apartment carefully folded in his wallet.
The floor squeaks under his heels. Brian looks down, and the tile starts to jitter beneath his feet. Shit. A glance to the side, and some woman’s purse gives him a flirty wink.
Trying to ignore all of it, Brian keeps his eyes straight-ahead, walks briskly, and ends up flinching when Vic suddenly appears beside him.
“It’s just me,” says Vic.
“Fuck off and die again,” says Brian pleasantly.
“There’s something you should know.”
Brian stops walking. “What now?”
Vic looks uneasy, brow furrowed. The green of his leprechaun outfit is more putrescent than usual. “You see... it’s like this. Justin’s not really in trouble. There’s no accident. There will be no accident. He’s gonna be fine.”
Something in Brian sags in relief, and all his nervous energy nearly drains away. Luckily, another part of him compensates for the sense of relief and gets really fucking pissed.
“What?” Brian’s teeth are clenched, his entire body vibrating along with the floor. He is calm. He is fucking zen.
“Technically, I shouldn’t be telling you this,” says Vic. “But I couldn’t stand to see you so...” he trails off.
Brian turns and keeps heading for the exit, his head throbbing. Vic has to scurry to keep up, or float, or whatever it is that ghosts do.
“It was the only way to get you here!” Vic says emphatically. “We knew you wouldn't stick your neck out for just anyone. And I’m really sorry that we used your caring for Justin against you, but I cannot stress enough how important -“
“No,” says Brian. “I’m not fucking doing whatever you want me to do.”
A planter full of blue fabric geraniums hisses at Brian, but Vic gives it a glare. “No, let me handle this,” he tells it.
Vic starts talking to him, but Brian tunes out his explanations. His brain is buzzing too loudly to hear them anyway. He has to find a cab. Justin’s address is in his wallet, and it’s time he did something about it.
*
Justin opens the door, and judging from his expression, is only moderately surprised to see Brian. He pushes past Justin into the apartment and dumps his briefcase and travel bag on the floor.
“Right. Hello to you too,” Justin says, but warmly. “You didn’t tell me you were coming.”
“No, I didn’t.” Brian turns around, and freezes for a moment, just staring. Justin is wearing a worn T-shirt and cargo pants that are baggy in all the wrong places. His hair is flattened down on one side like he’s been sleeping on it all wrong. From the vague squint Justin aims Brian’s way, he thinks maybe the sleeping was pretty recent.
Brian wonders first of all what time of day it is, because he has no earthly idea; and second of all, how can Justin look like shit and really fucking gorgeous at the same time?
Justin grins at him. “Is this one of those things?”
“Those things?” Brian says rather weakly. “What - what are you talking about?”
“You know, one of those crazy totally-not-romantic grand gestures that you make. Like - well, like showing up when you say you’re not coming. Or showing up when you don’t say you are coming. Grand. Gesturely.” Justin yawns and rubs at his eyes. “God, do you know what time it is?”
“No,” says Brian, “No, I really don’t.”
Justin blinks. “Oh. Me either. I think it’s afternoon, actually.”
“And you were asleep?”
“Yeah,” Justin shrugs. “You want some coffee?”
Brian takes a few steps forward and presses a kiss to Justin’s forehead. He meant it to be brief, but he lingers there a moment, just breathing in Justin’s space, smelling him. Justin tilts his head toward Brian’s mouth a little, and curls warm fingers over Brian’s wrist.
“Coffee sounds good,” Brian says quietly.
Justin nods, squeezes Brian’s wrist a little, then lets go. He walks over to the tiny kitchen counter and empties the old filter from the coffeemaker. Brian shuts his eyes for a second and exhales. Finally, their hellos have been said.
As Justin runs water into the pot, Brian looks around at Justin’s apartment. It’s warm and homey, and Justin’s added his own personal touch to the décor - and his own personal clothes are all over the floor and the back of the couch, which is the most hideous shade of blue Brian’s seen in his life. It’s probably from Justin’s mom.
Not one to judge a living space on a little clutter, Brian glances at the rest of it. He swears he sees cracks in the ceiling, maybe even some water damage. No question about it, the place is a shithole.
“This place is a shithole.” Brian sits down gingerly on the arm of the sofa.
“It isn’t,” Justin retorts. He flips the coffeemaker on, and leans against the counter to more comfortably stare at Brian. “Well, okay, but it’s my shithole. And no remarks. I’ll make you sleep on the couch.”
“I like your shithole,” says Brian with a raised eyebrow. “Just not your apartment.”
Justin covers his face, chuckling despite himself. “See, that's really awful. I didn’t want to make you sleep on the couch.”
"It'll never happen, that couch is the ugliest thing I’ve seen in my life. By the way, I thought you were dead,” and Brian thinks he got out that nugget of information without too much fanfare and unneeded drama. He congratulates himself, then notices Justin looks a little pale.
“What the fuck are you talking about, Brian?”
Brian shrugs carelessly. “Just thinking of some visions sent from a higher deity. Strange voices, objects coming to life, optical illusions, foreseeing horrible fates. That kind of thing.”
“Thank god. For a second I thought it was something serious,” says Justin.
“Nah. Besides, you’re not really going to make me sleep on the couch,” says Brian. “I’m pretty sure I would have foreseen that.”
Justin snorts, and then gives Brian a look rapidly approaching “sultry”. “If you do sleep in my bed, you have to do me a favor.”
“What?” Brian’s already moving toward him, can practically feel Justin’s skin beneath his fingertips just from his memories of their last night together.
“Fuck me first,” says Justin.
Brian can do that.
*
At least, he thought he could.
“What are you doing?” Justin asks for the sixth time.
“I’m...” Brian trails off, and gives a suspicious look to the tiny carved turtle on Justin’s dresser. “I just don’t want anything watching us.”
“Brian,” says Justin patiently. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You know I’m all for healthy exhibitionism,” Brian tells him, “But there are some lines that just shouldn’t be crossed.”
He picks up the turtle and shoves it in a drawer, where it joins his previous suspects: A couple of sketches, a picture frame, and a ratty old teddy bear. Surveying the room one last time, he turns to Justin, who’s looking increasingly concerned.
“Yeah,” Justin says faintly. “Right.” He blinks. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Brian ignores Justin’s question, and luckily Justin’s a smart, multi-tasking lad who can quiz Brian on his mental health and have sex at the same time. He strips off his shirt and starts unbuttoning his jeans, and Brian inhales.
“I’m good,” says Brian. “And now I’m even better,” and it’s such a corny line, he leans in and kisses Justin, wonders why he didn’t just take Justin off to bed the second he came in the door. He’d wasted time on coffee and niceties, when he could have already been far up Justin’s ass by now, could’ve already been here.
Justin’s mouth is wet and familiar, and Brian feels queasy at the thought of ever, ever losing this. He hears someone clear their throat behind him, and doesn’t know if it’s Vic or the sketchpad at the foot of the bed. Either way, Brian’s not listening. He’s busy.
“Missed you. Missed you,” Justin whispers it against Brian’s mouth, and it makes Brian tighten his grip, shove sloppily at Justin’s pants to get them all the way off.
“Yeah,” Brian mutters back, his heart seizing for a second like it always does. “Yeah, me too. Missed you.”
“Good,” says Justin, and winds his fingers through Brian’s hair. “You missed me. Yeah. Yeah, of course you did, you sonofabitch.”
Brian laughs softly. “Of course. You know that.”
He finally gets Justin’s pants off. And Brian’s not sure how he knows it, but he can tell that he and Justin are alone now, no annoyingly non-inanimate objects, no weird visions, no Vic lurking in the corner.
It’s just him and Justin. Brian makes the most of it.
*
Justin is curled around him, still catching his breath. Brian strokes his hair, smoothing back the sweaty blond tufts, and tries not to think about anything else but this.
“Tell me,” Justin says quietly.
Brian swallows. “It sounds insane.”
“Everything with you sounds insane, Brian. Tell me.”
He nods a little, rubbing his forehead against Justin’s. “Okay. I’ve started having these weird visions. Stuff talks to me - random stuff, like toothbrushes. And Vic, too. He’s started showing up and... telling me things. Things I need to do.”
“Vic?” Justin blinks again. “Well, that makes sense. That you would think of him, I mean. I know the two of you were closer than you ever let on, and to lose him so suddenly -“
“Justin.”
“- must have been really tough for you, especially since you were going through so many questions about your own mortality at the time, what with the cancer - it seems only natural that your unconscious mind would fixate on - Huh?”
“I’m starting to think it’s not in my head,” Brian says slowly.
Justin bites his lip a little, and nods warily. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you think it’s not in your head?”
“I can’t really explain it,” says Brian. “Only that I don’t think my subconscious is capable of being that infuriating.”
“I don’t know about that,” says Justin lightly, and kisses him, probably eager to change the subject back to fucking.
Brian doesn’t really have any objections to that.
*
After they fuck two more times, it’s pitch black in the room. It’s the middle of the night, and Justin apparently hasn’t caught on to Brian’s habit of installing light fixtures so you can always tell where the fuck you are. Brian hates being in the dark, and he feels weirdly discombobulated.
“So are you staying here?” Justin asks sleepily.
“Of course,” says Brian.
There’s a pause. “Really?”
“Well, I was kind of assuming that you wouldn’t just throw me out on the street.”
“Hmm,” says Justin. “Wow. Okay. We need to talk more about this, obviously. There’s a lot more to discuss.” He snuggles into Brian’s shoulder. “But this is a good beginning. I’m glad that we can...”
“Wait,” says Brian. “What are you talking about again?”
But Justin is already asleep.
*
“I don’t give a flying fuck about Cohen’s Lollipop Company, Cynthia.” Brian takes an angry half step, but realizes if he starts pacing now, he’ll never stop.
“We need a new catch-phrase,” Cynthia says. “Or they’re going to drop us. This contract is crucial, you said that yourself.”
Brian considers just hanging up the phone. Justin’s going to be back any minute with takeout, and he really doesn’t want to deal with imbeciles more than he has to.
Cynthia sighs over the line. “Brian, I really wish I didn’t have to bug you with this. But it’s important, and you’ve already been gone two days.”
“Two days? Really?” Brian squints at Justin’s ugly ‘Hang In There!’ kitten calendar. “Huh, I guess we really have been fucking for a while. Cynthia, tell Mr. Cohen Lollipop that he can eat me.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” says Cynthia primly, “But we’re already using ‘Eat Me’ for that new brand of sausages.”
“You know what I mean. You and Ted can handle this one all by your little lonesomes.”
“You really - me and Ted?” She sounds almost surprised. “You’re not going to go all control freak on us and come back here in a snit?”
“Yes. No. Forget it, just do what I tell you. It’s what I pay you for,” Brian snarls. He hears Justin’s key in the lock. “Now get to it. And don’t let Ted say anything to you about opera, I swear it’s a fucking disease.”
“There’s nothing wrong with a bit of refined culture,” says Cynthia.
Brian stiffens in alarm. “He’s already gotten to you, hasn’t he.”
Cynthia just laughs and hangs up on him.
“You really need to learn some manners,” mutters the phone.
“Fuck off,” says Brian, and punches the ‘END’ button viciously.
Justin comes up and dumps a couple of takeout bags on the kitchen counter. Looks like Chinese tonight. “I take it that went well?”
Brian leans into Justin, kissing him heavily. He runs his hands up the sides of Justin’s face, feeling the slight drag of near-invisible stubble, and angles Justin’s chin upward.
Justin makes an ‘mmm’ sound that makes Brian go hard. Justin presses a little closer to Brian, trying to get deeper into his mouth, and Brian lets him - wet and rough and sweet and Justin tastes a bit like eggroll, which makes Brian realize he’s hungrier than he thought he was.
“Hey,” says Justin when he breaks away. He raises an eyebrow. “What are you trying to tell me?”
“Nothing,” says Brian, “Nothing,” because he’s busy trying to convince himself that he can’t actually stay in the crappy apartment with Justin indefinitely.
Justin grips Brian’s shoulder and nuzzles against his neck for a moment. “We never talked more about it. Are you staying here?”
“I... I’m not living in this place,” says Brian, with a wary look at the ceiling. It looks less cracked and water damaged today, but he’s sure it’s just a trick of the light.
“That wasn’t my question. And hey, what’s wrong with this place?”
“Too many faults to list in one sitting.”
Justin raises an eyebrow. “I don’t see you apartment-hunting. Or are you still convinced you’ll be going back to Pittsburgh anytime soon?”
Brian really doesn’t want to think about it, so he shrugs, which has the added benefit of getting Justin more snugly situated in his arms. He wonders why he can’t seem to stop touching Justin lately. It’s like he’s a fucking newlywed or something.
“There’s something terribly ironic about it, isn’t there?” says Vic brightly.
Vic’s perched on the kitchen counter, giving him and Justin an insufferable grin. Brian flips him off.
*
The very next day, Brian gets the vision again. He’s on his way to meet Justin for lunch, and the abrupt vision and subsequent splitting headache of doom nearly send him tumbling into oncoming pedestrians. A couple of lesbians give him a death glare for bumping against them.
Finally, after evading a few more people, Brian collapses on a bus stop bench. “Fuck,” Brian pants. “Fuck.” The images whirl through his head, bouncing and spinning off the inside of his skull.
“You should tell Justin,” Vic says from behind him. “Don’t you think that would be best in the long run?”
“Yeah, what do you know,” Brian mutters, then gets up. Justin’s waiting.
“You have to save him,” Vic calls after him. “He’s only four months old! And he’s going to be the President of the United States someday!”
“It’s not my problem!” Brian shouts back. He walks more quickly.
*
Well, the diner’s cute, Brian will give it that. It’s not even too ragged looking, and that means maybe Justin’s finally getting over his “It’s a real authentic New York City dive, with actual filth!” phase.
“You’re late,” Justin says, leaning against the wall outside. It’s fairly busy in the area, actually. People keep walking by, on their way to or from someplace terribly important.
“But only fashionably so,” Brian replies. Then he glances across the street. “...Shit.”
“What?” Justin looks warily confused. “What is it?”
“That sign,” Brian says. “Bubbles and Go. I’ve seen it before.”
Justin is silent a second or two before Brian realizes he’s expected to explain further. And - hell. Okay. Brian’s not going to lie. And Vic has a point.
Here goes: “I thought you were dead because I saw it happen,” says Brian. “In my head. But it wasn’t you, they were lying so they could get me in New York. It was someone else, a kid. A baby.”
A pause. He’s not looking at Justin’s face, he realizes, and maybe that’s for the best.
“Brian,” says Justin, and his voice sounds weird and choked.
“No.” Brian shakes his head, “No, no, no, I am not joking. And I’m not making it up, that laundromat sign - that’s the one I saw in the vision. It’s going to happen here! Some woman’s baby carriage is going to roll out in the street when she’s not paying attention, and a car is going to come along and -“
“What kind of car?” Justin says.
“What?”
“Brian, you sound fucking nuts, you know that. I’m trying to not - I want to believe you. What kind of car?”
“I don’t know,” says Brian. “Black, smallish. Dented front bumper.”
He finally turns to Justin, but now Justin can’t look him in the face. Brian’s breath seizes in his throat. He - Justin doesn’t believe him. Not at all.
Justin’s eyes flick over Brian’s shoulder, seeking distraction, then widen. “Brian,” he says tightly. Urgently.
Brian doesn’t ask what, just whirls around, already knowing where to look. A woman is struggling with her car keys, and she’s left her infant son’s baby carriage parked on a slightly inclined part of the sidewalk.
“Fuck,” says Brian, and goddamnit.
For a split second he entertains the thought of doing nothing. Maybe the assholes Up There would finally listen to him and give the destiny to somebody else. Brian could go back to normal, and regain what amount of sanity he had left. It’s tempting. For a split second.
But Justin knows what Brian’s seen now, knows what’s coming, and there’s no way Brian would ever do something that fucking cowardly in front of Justin. Or himself.
Besides, Brian’s already moving, before he even began to think things through. He’s already breaking into a run.
*
Brian looks at the mangled remains of the baby carriage, and thinks he’s obviously not processing everything correctly. Aside from his heart hammering like hell, he’s fine, the baby in his arms is screaming its fucking head off, so it’s probably fine too, and damn it all to fuck, he just saved a baby from oncoming traffic. (Including one smallish black car, with a dent in the front bumper.)
Brian absently cards through the kid’s fine blonde hair with his fingers, and it - he - actually quiets down a little. A couple seconds later, his mother runs up, red-faced and hysterical, and yanks the kid from Brian.
“Shhh, shh,” she whispers urgently. “Mommy’s here. Are you okay, honey? Oh my god. Shh. It’s gonna be okay.” She spares Brian a quick glance, stammering “Thank -thank you,” then turns back to the baby.
Brian takes a faltering step away, then another, and jumps when someone touches his arm.
“Sorry! Sorry,” says Justin. “It’s just me. Let’s get out of here, okay?”
Brian nods mutely.
“I did totally see that, right?” Justin sounds awkward, and he’s gripping Brian’s elbow too hard while steering him away from the street.. “You just saved that baby’s life, and - and it happened exactly where you said it would -you knew. You really did.“
“I wasn’t lying to you,” Brian says tiredly. “And I’m not crazy. Apparently. Well, not much.”
“Wow,” says Justin. “I mean... god. Brian.”
He shakes his head, and his tight hold on Brian’s elbow loosens. They’re far enough away now that no reporters will think to come near them, and Brian won’t get his face in any newspapers. As Brian’s mind slowly catches up with the rest of him, he realizes that Justin was right in getting him away from there. He’d gotten more than his fill of media attention back when Justin was bashed.
“So is - are you okay? Is anything talking to you now?” Justin asks curiously.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a bit rattled. Let’s head home, shall we?” Brian summons a hazy smile, and ignores the other question Justin asked.
On his other side, Vic beams at him. “You did good, kiddo,” he says, and sounds almost exactly like Debbie at her proudest. Must be a family thing.
“Thanks,” Brian says quietly.
Vic just nods at Brian and disappears. The carefully planted street trees around them rustle for a moment, and seem to crystallize at the corners.
“You’re welcome,” says Justin.
*
End of part one.
( Part Two )
by mlefay and eleveninches
Spoilers: All of Season Five. If Brian and Justin are in it, we've been spoiled.
Summary: Brian learns he has a destiny. He promptly rejects it.
The comingthengoing challenge says to write a perfect ending for the series. We decided the perfect ending was not an ending at all, but rather a beginning.
The visions start a week after Justin leaves. Brian isn’t sure what they are at first, because they start out simply as weird flashes of pain in his head. But when the mannequin in the front window of Torso starts talking to him (“Hey you, hey you -“) and the street gets bendy and starts to sparkle in the sunlight, Brian figures it out.
He has a brain tumor.
“A fucking brain tumor,” Brian mutters.
He shakes his head. First testicular cancer, then a broken collarbone, then syphilis - shit, maybe it’s the syphilis, he’s going crazy like King George now - and Michael pokes his arm.
“What did you say?” Michael asks. He looks amused, and for a second Brian wants to tell him about the visions, say it out loud and make it real.
“Nothing,” says Brian.
Brian looks one more time at the way the sun glints off the pavement in coruscating waves, and very carefully ignores the provocative gesturing of the mannequin in the window display. Then he puts on his sunglasses. “I’m starving. We still going to the diner?”
*
“I still can’t believe you and Justin broke up again.”
Brian glares at Michael over the top of his coffee mug. “We didn’t break up.”
Michael’s mouth twitches. “And after all the two of you have been through!” he adds.
“We’re not -“ Brian cuts himself off and looks at Michael’s face more closely. Michael seems to be trying desperately not to laugh. “Ha, ha. Shut the fuck up.”
“Your face,” wheezes Michael. “Oh god.” He collects himself and clears his throat. “So how long before you go after him?”
Brian inspects the menu. “Go after him?”
“Yeah.” Michael leans over the table. “When are you going to New York? I mean, you do love Justin. He knows it. Hell, everybody knows it.”
“Yeah, well, that still doesn’t mean I have to go wherever he goes,” says Brian. “Besides, I can’t leave Kinnetik in the hands of Ted. He’d probably hire an underage art supervisor and get Cynthia tragically addicted to -“ Brian stops mid-sentence and shudders.
“Crystal?” says Michael.
“Opera.” Brian shakes his head. “Not happening. So Justin and I are going to try that thing - what’s it called?”
Michael looks at him blankly.
“Where you live apart from each other, but you act like it doesn’t make any difference. That thing.” Brian furrows his brow and props his menu behind the napkin dispenser.
The saltshaker on the table perks up. “A long distance relationship?” it supplies helpfully.
“Yeah, that’s the one,” says Brian.
“What?” says Michael.
Brian looks at the saltshaker, then takes his sunglasses off and looks at it again. As far as he can tell, it’s an ordinary saltshaker. He puts his sunglasses back on.
“You should be paying more attention,” the saltshaker says cryptically. Its voice is high and raspy.
“Are you listening to me?” asks Michael. “Brian -“
“Yeah,” says Brian. “Yeah, what? I’m listening.”
“I was telling you about the new -“
“Hold on a second.” Brian picks up the saltshaker, and places it carefully on the empty table behind them. After a moment’s consideration, he puts the silent peppershaker next to it. They giggle quietly.
Brian turns back to Michael. “You were saying?”
*
The oddities continue. For a couple of days, the loft is a refuge. As soon as Brian steps across the threshold, his mind stops playing tricks on him. The floors stay level, and coffee mugs don’t twirl across his desk without provocation.
Brian supposes he should be more concerned about hearing voices and seeing things, but he’s still telling himself it’s an easily-operable brain tumor - or better yet, maybe he’s just getting an acid flashback. A flashback that’s lasted four days now. He wonders if that’s possible. Maybe he should look it up on Google.
Brian doesn’t notice anything different about the naked guy painting - to be honest, it’s been hanging on the wall so long he really doesn’t notice it at all anymore - until he’s already toed off his shoes and gotten a bottle of water from the fridge.
The painting shifts in the corner of his vision, and Brian stops breathing a little. He very carefully swallows his mouthful of water.
“You aren’t even curious?” asks the naked guy painting. One brushstroke-eyebrow rises skeptically.
Brian blinks at it, sees how the steady rise and fall of the naked guy’s breathing makes the paint blur around the edges. “Curious about what, exactly?” Brian asks.
“You’re supposed to be impressed,” says naked guy painting. “Inanimate objects have been speaking to you. You’re sensing auras. You’re seeing a layer of a world that few have seen before you. Do you realize how incredible this is?”
“Honestly, I would rather have just seen the image of the Virgin Mary in the shower steam today,” says Brian. “Or something I could sell tickets for. Have you got anything like that up your sleeve?”
Naked guy painting’s smile freezes, and it takes Brian a second to realize it’s not trying to be aggravating, it’s actually stopped moving altogether.
Brian hears the creak of someone stepping up behind him, and inhales sharply.
“It’s just me,” says Vic.
“Just you,” says Brian. He casts his gaze heavenward. “Just you. Right.”
“Thought it might be nice for you to see a familiar face.” Brian doesn’t look at him, but can tell Vic’s grinning from the tone of his voice.
“I would be glad to see you, Vic, but you’re dead. By the way, doesn’t that put even the slightest crimp on you butting into my business?”
“Not really, no.”
Brian turns around. Vic is dressed like a giant green leprechaun, and for a moment Brian considers forgoing medical treatment for his brain tumor and just shooting himself in the head.
Vic smiles at the way Brian’s eyebrows pinch. “Oh, the green? I think it sets off my eyes.”
“Okay,” says Brian. “This is... really fucking weird.”
“It’s good to see you, too,” says Vic with a laugh. “You’re looking better since the last time I saw you. When you had the -“ he gestures at Brian’s arm.
“No,” Brian says. “No, see, that was a dream. A fucked-up dream because I was high on painkillers.”
“And now?”
“And now you’re a figment of my imagination. But your green outfit makes me want to stab out my eyes with a fork, so maybe you should see about de-figmenting. You’re dead.”
Vic shakes his head kindly. “Look, Brian. They sent me because we had a history. I know you’ve been having visions. Or as the portrait stated so aptly, you’re seeing a new layer of the world - surely you’ve noticed?” He raises his eyebrows at Brian somewhat theatrically.
“Yeah, sure, but that’s just a brain tumor,” says Brian dismissively. He turns to pour himself a drink, and hopes absently that perhaps ghosts are allergic to the smell of alcohol, or maybe weird hallucinations go away when you’re really, really shitfaced, because he’s planning on becoming so.
“You know it isn’t.”
Brian fills the shot glass almost to overflowing, then ignores it in favor of taking a swig straight from the bottle. He swallows, warmth already starting to collect in his chest. “You seem awfully sure of what I do and don’t know,” he says finally.
“Listen, kiddo, you’ve been given these abilities for a reason.” Vic shrugs, but looks at Brian’s face intently. “God, the higher-up, the powers that be, whatever you want to call it - that’s what did this. You can use your skills to help people.”
“That’s nice,” says Brian.
“It’s your destiny.” And Vic sounds so utterly, earth-shatteringly serious.
Brian wants to laugh. He really does. He wants to laugh, and laugh, and wake up in the morning and not remember any of this.
He also wants not to believe any of it. But Brian went outside earlier and felt the sidewalk bend just a fraction under his feet, and his lunch had been way too interactive, and a bit pissed off at the prospect of its impending doom and digestion. Things are far from normal.
“What do you mean, it’s my destiny?” Brian says finally.
Vic moves a little closer, but doesn’t touch him. Brian wonders if Vic’s hand would just go right through.
“It’s an incredible calling,” says Vic. “Truly incredible. Although it can be a bitch to keep up with. I can be your guide, here for you every step of the way. Scout’s honor. What do you say?” He waggles his eyebrows.
“Oh, that’s reassuring, seeing as you were never a boy scout. Besides, I don’t want it.”
Vic blinks. “You’re joking.”
Brian grits his teeth. “I don’t want it. Find someone else.”
“Brian,” says Vic, “I’m sorry, but I don’t think you realize this isn’t something you can just turn down. That’s kind of what ‘destiny’ means, you know.”
“No, I think you don’t realize I’m just not fucking going to do it,” Brian says, with the slightly condescending tone of someone explaining the stock market to an idealistic child. “I have enough going on in my life, and trust me, you’d be better off with someone who actually gives a shit. I’m not going to do something just because something Almighty tells me to do it.”
Vic sighs. “Okay.”
“Okay?” Brian repeats.
“Okay, I’ll see what I can do,” Vic says, overly enunciating his words. “I do always look out for you, Brian. More than you apparently believe.”
Before Brian can even respond, Vic looks concerned; then he looks distracted. He glances at the far wall of Brian’s loft, but Brian gets the feeling that’s not what he’s looking at.
“I - have to go,” says Vic. “We’ll have to continue this conversation later.”
“I can’t wait.”
He lets out a breath once Vic has evaporated, and takes another swig.
*
Brian sets his coffee mug on the desk, and eyes it for a second to make sure it doesn’t twitch. It stays where it is, and Brian sits down with a sigh of relief.
It’s been a relatively ordinary morning. The streets were normal, not even the slightest bit sparkly, and Brian hadn’t even realized how used to that sparkle he’d become until he found himself overcorrecting his driving.
“Hey,” says Cynthia, sticking her head around the door. “A couple of accounts called, I left their messages on your desk for you. Also, Cohen’s Lollipop Company has a complaint about our proposed slogan. Apparently they think ‘Suck On This’ is too forward for their intended market.”
Brian finishes glowering at his mug, then looks up at her. “What market, five-year olds? I told them they’ve got to aim for the easy spending cash. That means teens. That means sex.”
“Their CEO showed the campaign mock-ups to his youngest daughter and she started crying. He wants to speak to you personally.”
Brian rubs his temples. “Right. I’ll give them a call.”
Cynthia smiles brightly. “Okay, boss. That’s all for now. You have a good morning!”
She bounces away, letting the door swing shut behind her, and Brian groans and leans back in his chair. He knows Cynthia’s only happy in order to annoy him.
He hears a faint rattle, and glances quickly at his coffee mug. It’s starting to vibrate, jittering against the glass surface of the desk.
“Shit,” mutters Brian.
A flash of green out of the corner of his eye, and Vic is standing next to him.
“I already told you I wasn’t interested,” Brian snarls. “Can’t you take a fucking no for an answer?”
Vic shakes his head, his expression sympathetic. “Sorry. It’s completely out of my hands now. Do you have any aspirin handy? Advil?”
“Why do I need asp -“ and Brian can’t get the rest of the question out, because suddenly it feels like a particularly pissed off sports utility vehicle is backing over his forehead, stabbing pain is radiating through his brain and everywhere else, and his stomach cramps, sending him curling forward, his face into his hands -
The image is blurred, almost indistinct at first, but the harder Brian concentrates the more it comes into focus. It’s Justin, standing on a sidewalk. He glances at Brian, smiles widely, then steps into the street to cross. He doesn’t see the car heading right for him, and Brian can’t move -
“Are you okay?” asks Vic, which seems like a spectacularly dumb question. Brian is shaking all over, and he clutches at his throbbing forehead only to find that he’s practically dripping in a cold sweat.
“No,” says Brian. “Not okay. What the fuck was that.”
Vic looks at him solemnly. “That’s your cue.”
Brian shakes his head, slowly, as if not to dislodge anything. “That was a vision? Like, of the future? That’s going to happen?”
“You’re being given a chance to stop it,” says Vic.
“You -“ Brian stares at him, wordless, and punches the intercom button. “Cynthia, can you get me on the soonest flight to New York?”
Vic nods at him. “You’re doing the right thing.”
“It’s Justin,” says Brian, and wills the trembling in his hands to stop. “If it’s real - I can’t not do something.”
“Yeah,” Vic says. “I know.”
*
Brian can’t get a full breath, and his hands are still shaking. He exits into the main terminal of the airport and looks around for signs. First he’ll get out of there, then he’ll grab a taxi and find Justin. He has the address for Justin’s apartment carefully folded in his wallet.
The floor squeaks under his heels. Brian looks down, and the tile starts to jitter beneath his feet. Shit. A glance to the side, and some woman’s purse gives him a flirty wink.
Trying to ignore all of it, Brian keeps his eyes straight-ahead, walks briskly, and ends up flinching when Vic suddenly appears beside him.
“It’s just me,” says Vic.
“Fuck off and die again,” says Brian pleasantly.
“There’s something you should know.”
Brian stops walking. “What now?”
Vic looks uneasy, brow furrowed. The green of his leprechaun outfit is more putrescent than usual. “You see... it’s like this. Justin’s not really in trouble. There’s no accident. There will be no accident. He’s gonna be fine.”
Something in Brian sags in relief, and all his nervous energy nearly drains away. Luckily, another part of him compensates for the sense of relief and gets really fucking pissed.
“What?” Brian’s teeth are clenched, his entire body vibrating along with the floor. He is calm. He is fucking zen.
“Technically, I shouldn’t be telling you this,” says Vic. “But I couldn’t stand to see you so...” he trails off.
Brian turns and keeps heading for the exit, his head throbbing. Vic has to scurry to keep up, or float, or whatever it is that ghosts do.
“It was the only way to get you here!” Vic says emphatically. “We knew you wouldn't stick your neck out for just anyone. And I’m really sorry that we used your caring for Justin against you, but I cannot stress enough how important -“
“No,” says Brian. “I’m not fucking doing whatever you want me to do.”
A planter full of blue fabric geraniums hisses at Brian, but Vic gives it a glare. “No, let me handle this,” he tells it.
Vic starts talking to him, but Brian tunes out his explanations. His brain is buzzing too loudly to hear them anyway. He has to find a cab. Justin’s address is in his wallet, and it’s time he did something about it.
*
Justin opens the door, and judging from his expression, is only moderately surprised to see Brian. He pushes past Justin into the apartment and dumps his briefcase and travel bag on the floor.
“Right. Hello to you too,” Justin says, but warmly. “You didn’t tell me you were coming.”
“No, I didn’t.” Brian turns around, and freezes for a moment, just staring. Justin is wearing a worn T-shirt and cargo pants that are baggy in all the wrong places. His hair is flattened down on one side like he’s been sleeping on it all wrong. From the vague squint Justin aims Brian’s way, he thinks maybe the sleeping was pretty recent.
Brian wonders first of all what time of day it is, because he has no earthly idea; and second of all, how can Justin look like shit and really fucking gorgeous at the same time?
Justin grins at him. “Is this one of those things?”
“Those things?” Brian says rather weakly. “What - what are you talking about?”
“You know, one of those crazy totally-not-romantic grand gestures that you make. Like - well, like showing up when you say you’re not coming. Or showing up when you don’t say you are coming. Grand. Gesturely.” Justin yawns and rubs at his eyes. “God, do you know what time it is?”
“No,” says Brian, “No, I really don’t.”
Justin blinks. “Oh. Me either. I think it’s afternoon, actually.”
“And you were asleep?”
“Yeah,” Justin shrugs. “You want some coffee?”
Brian takes a few steps forward and presses a kiss to Justin’s forehead. He meant it to be brief, but he lingers there a moment, just breathing in Justin’s space, smelling him. Justin tilts his head toward Brian’s mouth a little, and curls warm fingers over Brian’s wrist.
“Coffee sounds good,” Brian says quietly.
Justin nods, squeezes Brian’s wrist a little, then lets go. He walks over to the tiny kitchen counter and empties the old filter from the coffeemaker. Brian shuts his eyes for a second and exhales. Finally, their hellos have been said.
As Justin runs water into the pot, Brian looks around at Justin’s apartment. It’s warm and homey, and Justin’s added his own personal touch to the décor - and his own personal clothes are all over the floor and the back of the couch, which is the most hideous shade of blue Brian’s seen in his life. It’s probably from Justin’s mom.
Not one to judge a living space on a little clutter, Brian glances at the rest of it. He swears he sees cracks in the ceiling, maybe even some water damage. No question about it, the place is a shithole.
“This place is a shithole.” Brian sits down gingerly on the arm of the sofa.
“It isn’t,” Justin retorts. He flips the coffeemaker on, and leans against the counter to more comfortably stare at Brian. “Well, okay, but it’s my shithole. And no remarks. I’ll make you sleep on the couch.”
“I like your shithole,” says Brian with a raised eyebrow. “Just not your apartment.”
Justin covers his face, chuckling despite himself. “See, that's really awful. I didn’t want to make you sleep on the couch.”
"It'll never happen, that couch is the ugliest thing I’ve seen in my life. By the way, I thought you were dead,” and Brian thinks he got out that nugget of information without too much fanfare and unneeded drama. He congratulates himself, then notices Justin looks a little pale.
“What the fuck are you talking about, Brian?”
Brian shrugs carelessly. “Just thinking of some visions sent from a higher deity. Strange voices, objects coming to life, optical illusions, foreseeing horrible fates. That kind of thing.”
“Thank god. For a second I thought it was something serious,” says Justin.
“Nah. Besides, you’re not really going to make me sleep on the couch,” says Brian. “I’m pretty sure I would have foreseen that.”
Justin snorts, and then gives Brian a look rapidly approaching “sultry”. “If you do sleep in my bed, you have to do me a favor.”
“What?” Brian’s already moving toward him, can practically feel Justin’s skin beneath his fingertips just from his memories of their last night together.
“Fuck me first,” says Justin.
Brian can do that.
*
At least, he thought he could.
“What are you doing?” Justin asks for the sixth time.
“I’m...” Brian trails off, and gives a suspicious look to the tiny carved turtle on Justin’s dresser. “I just don’t want anything watching us.”
“Brian,” says Justin patiently. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You know I’m all for healthy exhibitionism,” Brian tells him, “But there are some lines that just shouldn’t be crossed.”
He picks up the turtle and shoves it in a drawer, where it joins his previous suspects: A couple of sketches, a picture frame, and a ratty old teddy bear. Surveying the room one last time, he turns to Justin, who’s looking increasingly concerned.
“Yeah,” Justin says faintly. “Right.” He blinks. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Brian ignores Justin’s question, and luckily Justin’s a smart, multi-tasking lad who can quiz Brian on his mental health and have sex at the same time. He strips off his shirt and starts unbuttoning his jeans, and Brian inhales.
“I’m good,” says Brian. “And now I’m even better,” and it’s such a corny line, he leans in and kisses Justin, wonders why he didn’t just take Justin off to bed the second he came in the door. He’d wasted time on coffee and niceties, when he could have already been far up Justin’s ass by now, could’ve already been here.
Justin’s mouth is wet and familiar, and Brian feels queasy at the thought of ever, ever losing this. He hears someone clear their throat behind him, and doesn’t know if it’s Vic or the sketchpad at the foot of the bed. Either way, Brian’s not listening. He’s busy.
“Missed you. Missed you,” Justin whispers it against Brian’s mouth, and it makes Brian tighten his grip, shove sloppily at Justin’s pants to get them all the way off.
“Yeah,” Brian mutters back, his heart seizing for a second like it always does. “Yeah, me too. Missed you.”
“Good,” says Justin, and winds his fingers through Brian’s hair. “You missed me. Yeah. Yeah, of course you did, you sonofabitch.”
Brian laughs softly. “Of course. You know that.”
He finally gets Justin’s pants off. And Brian’s not sure how he knows it, but he can tell that he and Justin are alone now, no annoyingly non-inanimate objects, no weird visions, no Vic lurking in the corner.
It’s just him and Justin. Brian makes the most of it.
*
Justin is curled around him, still catching his breath. Brian strokes his hair, smoothing back the sweaty blond tufts, and tries not to think about anything else but this.
“Tell me,” Justin says quietly.
Brian swallows. “It sounds insane.”
“Everything with you sounds insane, Brian. Tell me.”
He nods a little, rubbing his forehead against Justin’s. “Okay. I’ve started having these weird visions. Stuff talks to me - random stuff, like toothbrushes. And Vic, too. He’s started showing up and... telling me things. Things I need to do.”
“Vic?” Justin blinks again. “Well, that makes sense. That you would think of him, I mean. I know the two of you were closer than you ever let on, and to lose him so suddenly -“
“Justin.”
“- must have been really tough for you, especially since you were going through so many questions about your own mortality at the time, what with the cancer - it seems only natural that your unconscious mind would fixate on - Huh?”
“I’m starting to think it’s not in my head,” Brian says slowly.
Justin bites his lip a little, and nods warily. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you think it’s not in your head?”
“I can’t really explain it,” says Brian. “Only that I don’t think my subconscious is capable of being that infuriating.”
“I don’t know about that,” says Justin lightly, and kisses him, probably eager to change the subject back to fucking.
Brian doesn’t really have any objections to that.
*
After they fuck two more times, it’s pitch black in the room. It’s the middle of the night, and Justin apparently hasn’t caught on to Brian’s habit of installing light fixtures so you can always tell where the fuck you are. Brian hates being in the dark, and he feels weirdly discombobulated.
“So are you staying here?” Justin asks sleepily.
“Of course,” says Brian.
There’s a pause. “Really?”
“Well, I was kind of assuming that you wouldn’t just throw me out on the street.”
“Hmm,” says Justin. “Wow. Okay. We need to talk more about this, obviously. There’s a lot more to discuss.” He snuggles into Brian’s shoulder. “But this is a good beginning. I’m glad that we can...”
“Wait,” says Brian. “What are you talking about again?”
But Justin is already asleep.
*
“I don’t give a flying fuck about Cohen’s Lollipop Company, Cynthia.” Brian takes an angry half step, but realizes if he starts pacing now, he’ll never stop.
“We need a new catch-phrase,” Cynthia says. “Or they’re going to drop us. This contract is crucial, you said that yourself.”
Brian considers just hanging up the phone. Justin’s going to be back any minute with takeout, and he really doesn’t want to deal with imbeciles more than he has to.
Cynthia sighs over the line. “Brian, I really wish I didn’t have to bug you with this. But it’s important, and you’ve already been gone two days.”
“Two days? Really?” Brian squints at Justin’s ugly ‘Hang In There!’ kitten calendar. “Huh, I guess we really have been fucking for a while. Cynthia, tell Mr. Cohen Lollipop that he can eat me.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” says Cynthia primly, “But we’re already using ‘Eat Me’ for that new brand of sausages.”
“You know what I mean. You and Ted can handle this one all by your little lonesomes.”
“You really - me and Ted?” She sounds almost surprised. “You’re not going to go all control freak on us and come back here in a snit?”
“Yes. No. Forget it, just do what I tell you. It’s what I pay you for,” Brian snarls. He hears Justin’s key in the lock. “Now get to it. And don’t let Ted say anything to you about opera, I swear it’s a fucking disease.”
“There’s nothing wrong with a bit of refined culture,” says Cynthia.
Brian stiffens in alarm. “He’s already gotten to you, hasn’t he.”
Cynthia just laughs and hangs up on him.
“You really need to learn some manners,” mutters the phone.
“Fuck off,” says Brian, and punches the ‘END’ button viciously.
Justin comes up and dumps a couple of takeout bags on the kitchen counter. Looks like Chinese tonight. “I take it that went well?”
Brian leans into Justin, kissing him heavily. He runs his hands up the sides of Justin’s face, feeling the slight drag of near-invisible stubble, and angles Justin’s chin upward.
Justin makes an ‘mmm’ sound that makes Brian go hard. Justin presses a little closer to Brian, trying to get deeper into his mouth, and Brian lets him - wet and rough and sweet and Justin tastes a bit like eggroll, which makes Brian realize he’s hungrier than he thought he was.
“Hey,” says Justin when he breaks away. He raises an eyebrow. “What are you trying to tell me?”
“Nothing,” says Brian, “Nothing,” because he’s busy trying to convince himself that he can’t actually stay in the crappy apartment with Justin indefinitely.
Justin grips Brian’s shoulder and nuzzles against his neck for a moment. “We never talked more about it. Are you staying here?”
“I... I’m not living in this place,” says Brian, with a wary look at the ceiling. It looks less cracked and water damaged today, but he’s sure it’s just a trick of the light.
“That wasn’t my question. And hey, what’s wrong with this place?”
“Too many faults to list in one sitting.”
Justin raises an eyebrow. “I don’t see you apartment-hunting. Or are you still convinced you’ll be going back to Pittsburgh anytime soon?”
Brian really doesn’t want to think about it, so he shrugs, which has the added benefit of getting Justin more snugly situated in his arms. He wonders why he can’t seem to stop touching Justin lately. It’s like he’s a fucking newlywed or something.
“There’s something terribly ironic about it, isn’t there?” says Vic brightly.
Vic’s perched on the kitchen counter, giving him and Justin an insufferable grin. Brian flips him off.
*
The very next day, Brian gets the vision again. He’s on his way to meet Justin for lunch, and the abrupt vision and subsequent splitting headache of doom nearly send him tumbling into oncoming pedestrians. A couple of lesbians give him a death glare for bumping against them.
Finally, after evading a few more people, Brian collapses on a bus stop bench. “Fuck,” Brian pants. “Fuck.” The images whirl through his head, bouncing and spinning off the inside of his skull.
“You should tell Justin,” Vic says from behind him. “Don’t you think that would be best in the long run?”
“Yeah, what do you know,” Brian mutters, then gets up. Justin’s waiting.
“You have to save him,” Vic calls after him. “He’s only four months old! And he’s going to be the President of the United States someday!”
“It’s not my problem!” Brian shouts back. He walks more quickly.
*
Well, the diner’s cute, Brian will give it that. It’s not even too ragged looking, and that means maybe Justin’s finally getting over his “It’s a real authentic New York City dive, with actual filth!” phase.
“You’re late,” Justin says, leaning against the wall outside. It’s fairly busy in the area, actually. People keep walking by, on their way to or from someplace terribly important.
“But only fashionably so,” Brian replies. Then he glances across the street. “...Shit.”
“What?” Justin looks warily confused. “What is it?”
“That sign,” Brian says. “Bubbles and Go. I’ve seen it before.”
Justin is silent a second or two before Brian realizes he’s expected to explain further. And - hell. Okay. Brian’s not going to lie. And Vic has a point.
Here goes: “I thought you were dead because I saw it happen,” says Brian. “In my head. But it wasn’t you, they were lying so they could get me in New York. It was someone else, a kid. A baby.”
A pause. He’s not looking at Justin’s face, he realizes, and maybe that’s for the best.
“Brian,” says Justin, and his voice sounds weird and choked.
“No.” Brian shakes his head, “No, no, no, I am not joking. And I’m not making it up, that laundromat sign - that’s the one I saw in the vision. It’s going to happen here! Some woman’s baby carriage is going to roll out in the street when she’s not paying attention, and a car is going to come along and -“
“What kind of car?” Justin says.
“What?”
“Brian, you sound fucking nuts, you know that. I’m trying to not - I want to believe you. What kind of car?”
“I don’t know,” says Brian. “Black, smallish. Dented front bumper.”
He finally turns to Justin, but now Justin can’t look him in the face. Brian’s breath seizes in his throat. He - Justin doesn’t believe him. Not at all.
Justin’s eyes flick over Brian’s shoulder, seeking distraction, then widen. “Brian,” he says tightly. Urgently.
Brian doesn’t ask what, just whirls around, already knowing where to look. A woman is struggling with her car keys, and she’s left her infant son’s baby carriage parked on a slightly inclined part of the sidewalk.
“Fuck,” says Brian, and goddamnit.
For a split second he entertains the thought of doing nothing. Maybe the assholes Up There would finally listen to him and give the destiny to somebody else. Brian could go back to normal, and regain what amount of sanity he had left. It’s tempting. For a split second.
But Justin knows what Brian’s seen now, knows what’s coming, and there’s no way Brian would ever do something that fucking cowardly in front of Justin. Or himself.
Besides, Brian’s already moving, before he even began to think things through. He’s already breaking into a run.
*
Brian looks at the mangled remains of the baby carriage, and thinks he’s obviously not processing everything correctly. Aside from his heart hammering like hell, he’s fine, the baby in his arms is screaming its fucking head off, so it’s probably fine too, and damn it all to fuck, he just saved a baby from oncoming traffic. (Including one smallish black car, with a dent in the front bumper.)
Brian absently cards through the kid’s fine blonde hair with his fingers, and it - he - actually quiets down a little. A couple seconds later, his mother runs up, red-faced and hysterical, and yanks the kid from Brian.
“Shhh, shh,” she whispers urgently. “Mommy’s here. Are you okay, honey? Oh my god. Shh. It’s gonna be okay.” She spares Brian a quick glance, stammering “Thank -thank you,” then turns back to the baby.
Brian takes a faltering step away, then another, and jumps when someone touches his arm.
“Sorry! Sorry,” says Justin. “It’s just me. Let’s get out of here, okay?”
Brian nods mutely.
“I did totally see that, right?” Justin sounds awkward, and he’s gripping Brian’s elbow too hard while steering him away from the street.. “You just saved that baby’s life, and - and it happened exactly where you said it would -you knew. You really did.“
“I wasn’t lying to you,” Brian says tiredly. “And I’m not crazy. Apparently. Well, not much.”
“Wow,” says Justin. “I mean... god. Brian.”
He shakes his head, and his tight hold on Brian’s elbow loosens. They’re far enough away now that no reporters will think to come near them, and Brian won’t get his face in any newspapers. As Brian’s mind slowly catches up with the rest of him, he realizes that Justin was right in getting him away from there. He’d gotten more than his fill of media attention back when Justin was bashed.
“So is - are you okay? Is anything talking to you now?” Justin asks curiously.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a bit rattled. Let’s head home, shall we?” Brian summons a hazy smile, and ignores the other question Justin asked.
On his other side, Vic beams at him. “You did good, kiddo,” he says, and sounds almost exactly like Debbie at her proudest. Must be a family thing.
“Thanks,” Brian says quietly.
Vic just nods at Brian and disappears. The carefully planted street trees around them rustle for a moment, and seem to crystallize at the corners.
“You’re welcome,” says Justin.
*
End of part one.
( Part Two )