Brian/Justin, accustomed
Prompt:
missyerable"Men become accustomed to poison by degrees." ~Victor Hugo
His family couldn't afford a moving truck so Brian and his old man spent the better part of the weekend loading his father's shitty truck down with all the furniture that Joan just had to fucking have.
It took way longer than he'd expected, and, by the time he was finished, Brian was sore, covered in sweat, and aching everywhere.
When the last drawer in Claire's shitty, too-heavy-to-not-be-made-of-solid-steel chifforobe slid into place, Brian double timed his steps down the staircase and into the back yard where he collapsed into the cool grass. The plan had been to disappear long enough to recover strength. However, Jack always had a way of finding him.
He appeared at Brian's side looking equally wrecked, and Brian had to suppress the gasp of surprise when Jack fucking laid on the grass beside him.
"Jesus Christ, I didn't believe the warden had so much shit," Jack said, handing his fourteen year old son a beer from the cooler he'd packed.
Brian snorted in response as his eyes studied the outline of their new home. The roof was worn and would need changing sooner rather than later and the porch's roof was concaved in the middle--a sure sign of rot and termite damage. Half the size of their old place and well on the other side of town, the inside had been crammed with Joan's too large furniture and too many crucifixes.
In short, it was a shithole, but, it was the only place his Pop could afford. After the mill closed, Jack had to take a demotion and a pay cut to find another job; it would seem that the industry here was filled with too many managers as it was.
Of course, they all learned from Jack's employment woes and the new, craptastic house.
Claire discovered that, if she stayed out all night fucking everything in sight, she could avoid her father's fist and find a sure fire way out of the house permanently--getting knocked up.
Jack found out how much liquor his new, substantially lower paycheck could purchase and pay most of the bills.
Joan was pleased to discover that the people in this neighborhood didn't ask questions about the too frequent fights nor did they call the police when a terrified, bloodied boy ran down the street to the Novotny's. It made it that much easier at church when she didn't have to lie about these things.
Brian learned whole new meanings to the word family and trust from Debbie. She treated his wounds, fed him, and gave him a place to stay when she could. But, for all the good deeds and advice she doled out to him, there was no way that she could change him that much because Brian Kinney was far too accustomed to the lifestyle he was leading.
That was, of course, until a blond twink appeared under a street lamp.
Justin came onto the scene with wide, trusting eyes and a tenacious attitude. The little fucker didn't take 'no' for an answer. He flew under the wire, and, before Brian even fucking realized it was happening, the kid had moved in.
Over the years that followed, there was drama and dances, Hollywood and New York, foiled wedding plans and finding a way to make everything work, but, Brian realized, if there was anyone worth changing for, it was Justin.
Craig/Justin, acceptance
When Craig offered up his ultimatum and Justin walked out of his childhood home for the last time, they both knew their relationship would never be the same.
Weekends spent building forts and nights spent curled up on the sofa watching Yellow Submarine for the thousandth time, hours spent helping with homework and teaching to tie shoestrings, were all forgotten because their perfect little bubble was popped. Justin would never become a businessman with 2.5 kids, a wife, a girlfriend, and a too big, too expensive white house.
Justin had tried to let his father back into his life a few times but words like 'disgusting lifestyle' and 'pressing charges' stamped out the last bit of hope he held.
It was almost laughable that it would be Craig that would hunt his son down years later at a swanky gallery opening. Justin took a sip of his wine and blinked slowly at the too familiar looking man that appeared in front of him.
"What the fuck are you doing here," he breathed.
Craig regarded his once-son with a look of shock. His boy would never use this kind of coarse language. Then again, Justin hadn't been his son in an era.
"I could hedge the issue. Fill the space with small talk about how amazing your work is or what a great kid Molly turned out to be, but you'd probably glare at me and wander off without a second thought," Craig said, sipping his wine, studying the portrait he was standing in front of.
"You're right," Justin confessed, offering an amused smile.
Craig released a puff of air that was somewhere between a laugh and a groan. He'd come this far; he might as well see it through.
"When you were born, I thought 'Please, God, let him be healthy and happy,'" Craig started. Justin stayed planted in space, raising an eyebrow in confusion at the non-sequitor, less than subtle transition his father used, but said nothing.
"You started school and just breezed through subjects...you were always so smart. All I saw was this big, bright future," he started, motioning with his hands. "And then you grew up, and you went off into this world that I couldn't follow you into...," Craig said, voice trailing off.
"Couldn't or wouldn't," Justin replied, eyes pinning his father in place.
"I didn't know what to make of it. One day you're my son and the next you're...you're--"
"Queer," Justin supplied.
"You're a man. A confident man that didn't need me to take care of him," Craig said, swallowing thickly. "And, yes, I said a lot of hurtful things. Things I had been programmed...taught to think, but I lost sight of the fact that you were my son and I still love you."
Justin's attention turned from the portrait on the wall in front of him to his father. His eyes were hot with anger, lips thin, fingers gripping his wineglass stem so hard he was amazed it didn't snap in two.
"You think that showing up here ten years later spouting off platitudes some shrink probably fed you and telling me that you loved me as a means of apologizing can make everything better," Justin replied, voice rising.
"No. I know that it won't, and I didn't come here to clear my conscious or to make myself feel better."
"Then why did you come?"
"Because you taught me a lesson that took me this long to get; you have to stand up and fight for what you believe in."
"And what? You believe in a family unit? Want to make us all the cover of your next Christmas card like some sort of blended family bullshit?"
"No. No...that's not going to happen, but I forgot that I used to believe in you...that I should have made sure you were healthy and happy. That I should have accepted you for who you'd become, but I was too fucking jealous that you had the balls to tell me what I never told my father--that I didn't want to be a fucking businessman."
Craig started to turn and leave the gallery and his son in peace when a familiar voice stopped him.
"What did you want to be?"
Craig turned, the ghost of a smile on his lips. "An architect."
Justin nodded.
"For what it's worth, I am happy and healthy." The 'and still with Brian' intentionally left off but heard all the same.
"I'm glad to hear that," Craig said, smiling in honest before turning and leaving the gallery.
To be honest, I'm not really happy with either of these, but I'm *so* blocked by Healing that I felt like I needed to write something.