Alone And Colder

[nothing_rhymes_with_ianto]

In 2.17, when Ben is in the hospital and Brian leaves Vanguard to go support Michael, there's a conversation in the hospital hallway. Brian says "Remember when Justin was bashed, and you were about to get on a plane, and you came here and you sat with me for three days, waiting to see if he was gonna live or die. If it wasnt for you, I never would have made it. It was because of you. You're strong enough for both of us." So I thought, What if Michael was already on the plane when Brian called, so his cell was off, so he never went back to the hospital to sit with and support Brian? This fic came out of that. I'm not incredibly happy with some parts of it, but enjoy.


PS. I halfway started a second chapter. Let me know if you want me to finish it! (Edit: Chapter 2 is up. Link to it at the end of this chapter)
 

Brian's shaking fingers pull his phone out of his suit pocket. One hand in Justin's limp grasp, his eyes never leaving Justin's face, he blindly punches at numbers until he glances at the screen and realizes he's actually gotten them right. He presses Send and puts the phone to his ear. It seems to ring for an eternity; each trill seems longer than the last. He hears Michael's cheerful "Michael Novotny, please leave a message" and snaps the phone closed. He must already be on the plane. He shakes his head and presses redial. Same message. Fuck. He snaps the phone closed again and puts it away. He is distracted again by red—more red—blooming on the bandages around Justin's head. They keep redressing the wound. It won't stop bleeding. It won't stop bleeding.

He stares at the face, too still, to solemn, marred with red. The cold feeling is still in his gut, he can still feel the freezing concrete hard against his knees. He can still feel the warm red life trickling over his hands. The smell of blood and fear flood his nostrils. His ears echo over and over with the crack of wooden bat on bone. He realizes that someone is asking him questions. Is he allergic to anything? Where are his parents? How old is he? Does he have medical insurance? Brian rattles off the list of Justin's allergies that he had memorized long ago. Then he focuses on the second question. In a daze he tells the paramedic Jennifer Taylor's name and address. He's eighteen. He has medical insurance.

By the time they get to the hospital, the knot in Brian's stomach is cold and aching, constricting in time with his heartbeat—or is it Justin's? He keeps his eyes open wide, fighting back tears in order to keep Justin in his line of sight as he leaps out of the ambulance and follows the paramedics' long strides through double doors. Suddenly someone's hand is at his chest and he's being led to the hallway. He stands there, uncertain of what to do—what is he supposed to do with a hallway?—until someone pushes him down in a chair and leaves him to himself.

For a moment he just stares down the hallway. He remembers randomly the last time he was here; it was the first night he'd met Justin, the night Gus had come into the world. He remembers himself and Mikey and Justin racing through the maze of hallways, laughing and shoving each other, bumping into nurses and stumbling around patients. He wonders why things always have to begin and end in hospitals, why they always have to start and stop in the same place, the finish has to be the starting point as well.

He glances down at his hands, blinking them into focus, wondering what's in his grasp. They're covered in blood. Justin's blood. His fault. His hands go out of focus again and he doesn't even really notice as tears begin to slide down his cheeks. His fingers twitch and he feels the damp silk against his skin. He looks to see the pure white but sees only red marring everything. He twists the scarf in his fingers. Justin was wearing it. If he keeps a hold of it now, maybe Justin will live.

Justin will live. He shakes his head. Justin can't die. He can't. He's only eighteen, he's just a kid. He's just a kid and he's hot and innocent and Brian's loves him, dammit!

That thought makes Brian flinch, and he stops. He just stops. He stops moving, stops thinking, stops seeing. He practically stops breathing. He doesn't notice when Jennifer joins him in the hallway, looking strained and frantic, or when Debbie and Vic show up. Debbie goes straight to Jennifer, sitting beside her and taking her hand. She lets Jennifer sob into her blouse. Vic sits beside Brian, a few seats away, and casts worried glances at the still man.

Emmett and Ted come in as well, even though they didn't know Justin as well, followed by Daphne. The entourage is here. They huddle by Jennifer and Debbie, offering comfort. Every so often, one throws a furtive, concerned look Brian's way. Brian is staring at the wall. He hasn't bothered to rub away the tracks of tears, and every so often a new one trails its way down his face. The taste of blood is in his mouth, and he isn't sure why. He thinks he remembers kissing Justin's head and face, asking him to wake up, but he's not certain.

Daphne reaches a hand out to touch him gently, but she pulls away, eyes wide, when he doesn't seem to see her. Vic pats her shoulder gently. She says something to him, but Brian doesn't hear it, doesn't hear anything. It's as if someone has pressed mute on the world. On the blank wall in front of him, a movie seems to be playing. It's every one of his moments with Justin, but the one that keeps repeating is that kiss by the car.

"We gave them a prom they'll never forget."

"Me neither. It's the best night of my life."

And Justin's smile as he walked away, the hopeful look in his eyes as he turned…Brian doesn't think he'll ever forget this night either.

He's not sure how long he's been watching the films over and over on the wall, but eventually someone, maybe Ted, he thinks, approaches him. The person puts their hand lightly on his knee and he doesn't move. He doesn't think he can. He can barely even feel their touch, he only knows it's there because he can see the hand on his leg out of the corner of his eye.

"Brian?" The person asks. The sentence ends with an upward inflection, like a question, but Brian's not sure what they're asking. He can't answer, anyway. His mouth wont work. He's not sure he wants it to.

The hand inches forward a little, pinches a small still-pale edge of the scarf. "Brian, why don't I take this from you? It's ruined and—"

Fingers pull at the scarf and Brian is suddenly moving, yanking the cloth back to him, teeth bared, snarling, body tense and poised to strike. The hand releases and retreats. "Holy shit. Fuck. Okay."

No one tries to touch him after that. No one tries to comfort him. He goes back to staring at the wall. Someone seems to have un-muted the world now, because he can hear everyone again. He listens to the gentle whispers of the crowd around Jennifer, the little wheeze of Vic's breathing from a few seats away. He can hear someone down the hall whimpering, loudly, on the edge of screaming. He knows what that feels like. He wonders fleetingly how long he's been sitting there, but then he doesn't want to know. He doesn't want to have an indicator of time, some way of knowing that Justin has been in there for longer than he should. He doesn't want to know how long this will take.

The wall of people parts and he can feel Debbie's eyes peering at him, examining him from across the room, as if she's willing him to look at her. He doesn't. He goes back to the movie.

"What's wrong with him?" Even gentle and soft, her voice seems too loud. He fights the urge to wince.

"I-I think he's gone catatonic." That's Emmett's voice, he suspects. "It's a common reaction to trauma."

"Where's Michael?" Daphne, she's beside him. Why isn't she with Jennifer?

Vic answers on his other side. "He's on a plane. To Portland. We can't reach him."

There's a silence. No one knows what to say. Brian can feel eyes on him. He's pretty sure everyone is staring at him. But he can't look away from the movie on the wall, he cant move and he doesn't want to do anything. The white noise in his brain is making it difficult to understand what others are saying. He knows it English, he knows the words, but he's not really registering anything.

They leave him alone. Some time passes; he isn't sure how much.

"I called Michael." Emmett is entering the room again. "He wishes he could fly back. But he's already in Portland and he doesn't have the money." Brian can feel eyes flit towards him.

Someone sighs. "How long has it been?" Brian wants to the mute to come back on, doesn't want to hear the answer to this question. A voice from the corner replies.

"Almost half a day." The owner of the voice is obviously looking at him. "Is he ever going to move?"

A doctor appears in the hall. Brian pries his gaze away from the movie on the wall and looks at the guy. Everyone's expectant gazes are the same. Jennifer stands, sniffling a little.

"Well?" Debbie is impatient.

The doctor looks frightened, shifts a little. "We still don't know. He's lost a lot of blood. There's damage to his brain, and he is bleeding profusely. We cant give him the normal medication because he is allergic to it, so in the meantime we need to find an alternative so they can complete the surgery."

Jennifer sinks into a chair. "How-how long until you know if he'll be okay?"

"That's not determined yet. We don't know."

That's when Brian begins to freak out.

The doctor has already turned on his heel and retreated back into the room. Everyone crowds around Jennifer again. White noise fills his brain, his stomach clenches coldly, his vision whites out and all he can smell is blood, all he can hear is static and the crack of a bat. Brian bites the inside of his cheek, hard. Maybe he'll wake up. He does it again. His teeth grind against each other, grind into his cheek. He wants to scream. It wont push past his throat.

Suddenly someone's hands are holding his arms away from him. Daphne is looking into his face, eyes wide with fear. Her hands are around his wrists. He looks at his own fingers. Tufts of short brown hair are clutched in his fists. He's shaking.

"Brian. Brian, stop." He puts his hands down, clutching the scarf to him again and biting hard at the inside of his cheek. The pain feels good. Sort of. He'd rather be numb, really, but he has to stay alert for Justin. The shaking wont stop.

"Why don't you all go home?" Jennifer's voice is stronger than it should be. "It's been nearly an entire day. I'll call Debbie if anything changes."

He can feel people nodding. A couple of people leave the room. In his peripheral vision, he can see Debbie hug and kiss Jennifer, Vic squeeze her shoulder. Debbie moves over to him. Her hand moves to touch his face, to kiss him, and he flinches back, growling like a wounded animal. She blinks and backs away.

"Brian, you should go too. Get some rest." Brian doesn't move. He doesn't even look towards Jennifer. He continues to stare. "Brian. Brian." Her voice is harder, more insistent. He doesn't respond.

"He's not going to leave, Mrs. Taylor." Daphne's voice is gentle.

"He needs to leave."

"He wont. He loves Justin. He's not going to leave."

Jennifer nods once. Daphne kisses her cheek. She approaches Brian, but does not touch him. Instead, she bends down to his eye level and waits until his eyes focus a little more on her than the wall.

"It's not your fault. And he knows both of those things." And then she's gone, and Brian can feel Jennifer's angry eyes boring into him as he goes back to the images on the wall, in his head.

Jennifer wont sit still. She fidgets, wringing her hands, playing with the straps on her purse, with the edges of her coat. Then she gets up and paces, stepping back and forth before leaning her head against the wall and breathing deeply. Repeat. Finally she tires and sits down. It's hours before Jennifer dozes off, drifting in and out of sleep. Brian can tell from her little snore, the way her breathing slows. He does not sleep. He can't. He doesn't even think he can close his eyes, not really. If he closes them he sees Justin's smile replaced with the image of his body lying motionless on the cold floor of the parking garage.

At some point during the night a doctor comes in and wakes Jennifer to tell them that Justin is still in critical condition and they still don't know if he's going to make it. Jennifer starts to cry again.

Brian gets up, ignoring the doctor's stare. He wanders around for a few moments, mind blank. He finally finds the sign pointing towards bathroom and goes in. He locks the door behind him and stands in front of the mirror. He's covered in blood. Justin's blood. He cant wash it away. He stares at himself in the mirror, but superimposed over his reflection is the damn movie of Justin, cold on the cement floor, blood seeping out and surrounding his head like a dark, painful halo. Brian rams his fist into the mirror. It cracks. He does it again. The sound of shattering glass is satisfying. Now some of the red is his as well. His heartbeat is thundering in his ears, and he thinks about the day before, in the ambulance, when Justin's heart had stopped beating, and Brian had desperately wanted to be the one lying there on the stretcher.

This time he does scream, stuffing his fists in his mouth and letting the sound wrench from his gut and rattle around his fingers. For a moment, he sinks to the dirty floor, but then rage is taking over the utter despair and he's up again, punching and slashing blindly at the tiled wall with both fists the way he'd wanted to do to Hobbes's face. He only stops when he hears the rattling of the doorknob.

"Sir? Is everything all right in there?"

He's panting, sweat rolling down his face, mingling with tears. His knuckles are cut up, blood dripping between his fingers. Bruises are already forming. He glances into the cracked mirror. He looks a mess. He's suddenly not sure if he'll survive this wait, this pain, these visions flashing through his mind. He looks at himself in the mirror, then at the sink. But there's a sudden realization that if he washes the blood off his hands, the life off his hands, Justin might slip away. He might never see him again. He tries to breathe, to calm himself. And then he answers.

"Fine." He's amazed at how certain he sounds. He hears footsteps recede. He steps out of the bathroom and goes back to his seat. Jennifer frowns when she sees his hands but says nothing. He spends the rest of the night staring at the wall again. When Jennifer falls asleep he lets the tears fall.

In the morning—he thinks it's the morning, there are no windows or clocks to be seen—Debbie, Vic and Daphne come back. Daphne sits beside him and tells him softly that her parents ungrounded her so she could go and visit Justin as much as she wanted. She asks him what happened to his hands but he says nothing.

"He hasn't said a word." Jennifer says to her. "Absolutely nothing. He got up once last night. I don't know where he went. He won't move otherwise." She seems confused, almost awed at his lack of movement. He wants to tell that he's not going anywhere, he can't.

The rest of the day is spent the same way as the last. Everyone is crowded around Jennifer, who has Debbie seated beside her, arm around her shoulder. Every so often, Brian feels a concerned glance thrown his way. Daphne and Vic sit on either side of him, at least a seat away. Somehow everyone knows not to touch him.

On the third day a doctor comes in and tells them that Justin is going to live, but he's in a coma and they're not sure when he's going to wake up. The group lets out a collective breath, and Jennifer asks if she can see him. The doctor nods and gives her the room number. Brian hears everything, but he does not react. Jennifer glances nervously at him as she passes to go see her son. Brian can breathe a little easier, but it still feels like he's wheezing through gauze.

When Jennifer comes from the room, she looks at once comforted and shaken. Debbie takes her hands.

"He looks like he's sleeping. He looks awful. He…" She peters off. Debbie puts an arm around her shoulders and begins to lead her down the hallway.

"Let's go down to the cafeteria. You need to get some food in you. Come on." Jennifer nods and lets Debbie guide her away. Vic stands to follow. Daphne touches his shoulder lightly, pulling away as if he might bite.

"Brian? Do you want me to get you some food." He realizes that he hasn't eaten in three days, but he isn't hungry. He shakes his head. It's hardly there, but she sees it. She sits back down. Vic follows Debbie and Jennifer down the hallway.

Brian sits there, in the hard plastic chair, an anger at himself, at Justin, at the world, boiling away in his belly, growing and oozing it's way around his other organs, until he cant sit still any longer. He bursts into action, and Daphne is helpless to stop him because his anger is propelling him, and it wont stop no matter how much she tugs at his arm or calls his name. She has to run to keep up with his immense strides as he paces down the hall to the room where Justin is.

He shoves the door open and some part of his brain is shocked at the juxtaposition of Justin, that he looks so peaceful and yet his face is bloody and his head is wrapped in bandages. But he doesn't stop, he just bends down right in Justin's face, near his ear.

"Wake up, you little twat. You have to fucking wake up. Your mother is bawling her eyes out and it's annoying as hell, Deb won't leave me alone and if you don't wake up I'm going to kill someone. Come on, Sunshine, wake up so you can yell at me and tell me it's my fucking fault you're here in the first place, because if I hadn't come to your stupid prom, that kid wouldn't have…." The image of the swinging bat flashes in front of his eyes. "Wake up so you can hit me and tell me to leave you the fuck alone because it's all my fault and I got you hurt. Wake up so I can leave you to live your life, so I don't have to worry about getting you hurt. Wake up, you little fucker, because I-I…" He's not sure what he's about to say, but his throat closes shut and he hits his thigh with his fist. His voice raises in volume, in anger. "Fuck! Wake the hell up, you asshole! You cant just keep us fucking waiting here! I know you're a stupid selfish little kid, but your fucking family's out there waiting for you to wake up and you're lying here in a fucking coma. Don't you have anything else better to fucking do? Shouldn't you be with Daphne, working on some ridiculous summer project? Shouldn't you be helping Lindsay with the GLC? Shouldn't you be in the loft, sketching me naked? Why wont you fucking wake up! Goddamit! Wake the fuck up!"

He feels hands tugging him back, Daphne's and someone else's. He looks and sees the doctor he fucked when Ted was in a coma, too. But the doctor's face is angry, not at all gentle and fearful like Daphne's and he tugs Brian out of the room and shoves him out and down the hallway.

"He's not going to wake up, Brian. Not if you yell at him." Daphne's voice is gentle but full of tears and something else.

"Go home, Mr. Kinney." Brian wheels, fist raised, but turns and punches the wall, splitting open his cut knuckles again, and marches outside. He hails a cab. The guy lets him get in and Brian gives his address.

"Uh, Mister, you have….you're….do you know you're bleeding?" The cabbie is staring at him as he pulls into traffic.

"It's not my blood." Is all Brian will say. Then he stares out the window with no expression. When the cabbie drops him off, he tosses some random amount of money at the driver, not even caring if it's too much.

He punches in the code and goes into his loft. Then he sits down on the couch and stares at nothing. He gets up and strips off his jacket, unbuttons his shirt, lies down on Justin's side of the bed. How many nights has Justin spent here? What if he never spends another night? He turns into the pillow, trying to catch Justin's scent. It's barely there, as if it's in a coma too, as if it's leaving him too. Brian closes his eyes, but the sound of the bat, of the flatline in the ambulance, the vision of all that fucking blood, invades his senses and he can't. He can't stay awake, but he can't sleep. Justin's not going to wake up. He can fucking feel it. If Justin won't wake up, neither will he. He stares at the scarf in his hands.

The next chapter is here: Chapter 2

Comments

[a-life-defiant.livejournal.com]

Yes!!! I so need another chapter!


This is really powerful angst, and incredibly belivable.

[pastrychef4.livejournal.com]

WOW! This was fantastic! I hope you write more - I would really like to see what happens next.

[livingbeauty91.livejournal.com]

Wow! I definitely vote for another chapter. Well done!

I usually hate angst, although the kind that I hate is usually more down the road of Brian and Justin dating other people (unless it's set during the time of Ethan), but this angst is incredible.

[extexchigal.livejournal.com]

OMG! ...just OMG! I can't stop the tears!! That was unbelievable. I saw you post this over on GIH so I thought I knew what I was getting myself into but, I was not prepared for this at all!!! I generally try to stay away from one-shots and WIPS because I always want more and am impatient but I am hooked! I need more, not want or desire but need more to your story!!!!

Now I need to check the rest of your writing because this was so heart-wrenching and addictive and just wonderful in a sad, sad way. I can't just go to a different site.

[wouldbedorothy.livejournal.com]

:-O

This is really, really good.

[greendaycarry.livejournal.com]

:) so beautiful
are you gonna writte others chapters?????

[marny1.livejournal.com]

Wowww heartbreaking beautiful
Wanna hug Brian so badly.

Keep writing or is the next chapter already finished * giving you a sunshine smile *

[darkangel40.livejournal.com]

Great story. I definitely would love to read more

[denvercatmom.livejournal.com]

What a great beginning. You have to keep writing or I will be forced to hunt you down and make you write the rest of the story!

[rulisteningbj.livejournal.com]

Oh course we need more. This is fantastic. More Please!

Dee Dee

[anno53.livejournal.com]

*scurries around looking for chapter 3*

Please finish this story, it is absolutely fantastic! Such a twist to the usual prom stories.