Alone And Colder Chapter 2

[nothing_rhymes_with_ianto]

This chapter is pretty long. One more chapter is in the works, so this'll have 3 chapters to it. This chapter is in Debbie's POV.
 

It's Debbie who finds him. She's gone over to the loft to bring him some food, to make sure he's going to eat at least one meal after four days. She'd gone to the hospital, but he wasn't there, and Daphne told her he'd been thrown out when he went into Justin's room and started yelling at him to wake up.

So she decides to be the surrogate mother she's always been. She brings him his favorite diner food and some lemon bars, just so he'll eat, maybe. She's seen him in shock and pain before, though, after some particularly bad beatings from Jack. She's pretty sure he won't eat, but it doesn't hurt to have food on hand. She punches in the door code, holding all the food in her other hand. She wrenches open the heavy door without spilling the containers and heads up the stairs.

When she knocks on the door, there's no answer. She knocks again and when there's still silence, she realizes that Brian must have gone into survival mode, which mainly consists of drinking, so he must be passed out in bed or something. Briefly, she curses Jack Kinney for passing such a horrible habit and tradition down to someone like Brian, then she puts a comforting smile on her face and tries the door. It slides open easily, and she wonders if it was even shut all the way. She steps in and turns, closing it and making sure it's all the way shut this time. She spins around, checking her bra for the spliff she'd hidden earlier, it's still there.

"Brian?" She calls, stepping into the room. "Bri—"

She drops the Styrofoam containers of soup and sandwich. She feels the soup splash at her feet, burning her toes through her shoes and staining her bright blue slacks, it's hot and it hurts but she doesn't care. She doesn't register the burns, the slide and squeak of her shoes on the liquid. She steps on the sandwich as she takes a few steps forward, but then she can't move any further. She's frozen in place. She puts a hand to her mouth, her eyes sad.

"Oh, Brian." Her throat catches. It's low and sympathetic, with a tinge of nostalgia. She remembers days, midnights, years ago, when her boys were in high school, when Brian would lock himself in her bathroom. She remembers late night talks with him, after Michael had gone to sleep, when he would tell her and Vic of his solemn wish to die, tell them that he wasn't sure he could make it through this life, he didn't want to live, didn't want to face this shit every day, didn't want to face Jack's fist or protecting Mikey or the loneliness he felt, even with Michael doting at his side. She remembers when he would pull himself together in the morning, paste his 'don't fuck with me face' on over sleepless, haunted eyes for Michael, would put an arm around his friend's shoulders like he was the most badass thing in the world, and Michael would stare up at him with adoration, completely oblivious to the mental torment and anguish his idol was going through every night.

She remembers his pain. He owned it like he had the right to it, yet at the same time, it seemed to consume him, to take him over until he couldn't feel anything else. Until he didn't recognize anything else. Until he didn't want to let anything else in, lest it heal his agony or hurt him more than his current pain. Until this blond kid came along and wormed his way inside with persistence and trickery and kindness. And now…

She can't seem to stop staring. He's beautiful, even now. She thinks it's weird to think that, but it's true. Even his beauty is painful, and even his pain is beautiful. She realizes that this thought sounds like something out of some stupid women's book club novel. But he looks amazing. His skin is pearly, but still beautifully tanned. He looks like a wax figure, he looks preserved and fake and perfect. His chest is bare, his shirt open. Sweat still glistens on his neck. She can see the salty wet trail left by too many tears. His upper lip is smeared with blood; his hands are covered with it. But Debbie remembers what he looked like last night in the hospital, and she knows it isn't his.

The scarf around his neck— the one that implemented his death— she assumes it had once been beautiful, but the only time she'd seen it was in the hospital, marred with Justin's blood. She can practically feel the guilt that the silk carried for Brian. She has an absurd moment of wondering, if the scarf broke, would Justin die too? In the hospital it had seemed like a lifeline for Brian. It seems that maybe if this lost artifact, the marred piece of shrapnel that was once beautiful and flowing, if it stays whole, covered with Justin's life, the life that coats it will be uninterrupted.

The insistent honking of a car horn down on the street brings her back to reality. She trips over to Brian's computer desk, dials 911, tells them what happened. Then she sits heavily down on the couch and stares at the perfect body suspended beside the bed.

Debbie watches the paramedics as they ease Brian's body down to the floor. One of them asks her if she needs anything. She shakes her head and then picks up the phone again. The first person she calls is Vic. He comes over. The paramedics let him in when Debbie tells him that Vic is her brother. He hugs her tightly and sits down beside her on the couch. His eyes are full of tears. He and Brian were close and had a bond in the way that only late nights and too early mornings creates.

She tries to reach Michael next, but his cell phone is off and she doesn't know the number of Dr. Dave's house, so she leaves a message to him, trying to hold back tears. She wants to call Brian's mother, or his sister, but she knows that Brian wouldn't want them notified. She knows that it would be against his wishes to let them know. Instead, she calls Daphne's cell phone.

Daphne answers, breathless. "Yeah? Hello?"

"Daphne, sweetie?"

"Hey, Deb. I'm at the hospital with Justin. I had to walk out to the waiting room." Daphne seems to hear the heaviness over the phone. "Debbie? What's wrong?"

"Daphne, Brian….he…" For one of the few times in her life, Debbie cant find the words. Daphne seems to understand, anyway. The heavy silence on the other end seems to signify this. "Daphne?"

"I'll be there in a bit. I have to say goodbye to Justin."

Debbie sniffles, says goodbye, glad for Daphne's understanding of the situation. She's glad that at least Daphne believes that coma patients can hear the people talking to them. Daphne gets there as the cops are arriving. She walks in and goes straight to the couch, hugging Debbie, then Vic. She seems more adult than ever. Then she turns to the paramedics, who have just finished closing the black body bag that just makes it seem so goddamn final. She taps one of them on the shoulder.

"Can I see him?" Debbie begins to stand, to protest, but Vic's hand on her shoulder stops her. The paramedic frowns and looks to the two adults on the sofa. At Vic's small nod, he takes Daphne's arm in a gentle grip and steers her over to the gurney. She takes a deep breath and then looks into the paramedic's face. When he seems to have deemed her strong enough, he nods to his companion and the zipper slowly pulls back.

Debbie forces herself to watch Daphne's face and not the hand slowly pulling back the plastic-coated cloth. The girl's expression is sad but stoic, and she stares bravely down as the bag peels away. Her eyes get very, very wide, but they stay dry as her shoulders slump and her expression darkens. She reaches out as if to touch his still face, but pulls back in time when she doesn't feel his breath across her fingertips. Suddenly her face crumples and she trudges slowly back to Vic and Debbie.

"God." Her voice is full of pain. Her eyes do not move from the floor as she sits down. "He looks like he's sleeping." Debbie nods silently. Then Daphne looks up at her, eyes filling with tears. "What are we going to tell Justin?"

Debbie takes the bus to Jennifer's house, biting her nails the whole time, uncertainty filling her. She's not sure what she's going to say, she's not sure what she's going to do, she's not sure how Jennifer is going to react, she's not sure how to help. Finally she's at her stop and she gets off and walks the few blocks over to Jennifer's. She knocks on the door, still chewing her bottom lip.

She's actually kind of surprised when Jennifer answers, because she really would have expected her to be at the hospital with Justin. But Jennifer's hair is wet, and she's not wearing any makeup, so she must have come home to shower and eat.

"Debbie, hi." Jennifer lets her in. Debbie is suddenly very glad it's a school day, and Molly isn't here. Jennifer looks into her face, sees her expression, the darkness in her eyes. She frowns, her own expression dampening.

"Debbie? What's wrong?" Debbie bites her lip and wrings her hands, still unsure. This whole thing just seems so surreal, and she feels like she's living in a fog, going in slow motion while everything else is on fast forward around her.

"I came here to tell you…to tell you..." Jennifer leads Debbie to the sofa, which she sinks down into and covers her mouth with her fingers. Jennifer sits down beside her. "This morning I went to Brian's to make sure he'd eat something after four days. I found…I found…Shit." She hits her leg with an open palm, frustrated with her own hysteria. "Brian's dead, Jennifer. He-he killed himself. Hung himself with that goddamn scarf."

Now Jennifer is the one who is covering her mouth with her fingers. Debbie knows she never really liked Brian, but at least she has the decency to show some respect and sympathy.

"Oh my god!" She lowers her hand and in a soft voice asks, "But why?"

And this is where Debbie actually knows what's going on. She knows Brian. She knew even before he did that he loved Justin, and she knew his mind well after late night talks when he was young.

"I think he was convinced that Sunshine isn't going to wake up. He's-he's a complete pessimist, can't ever imagine anything good happening to him. He blamed himself. You know, for Justin getting hurt. I think he thought that we all blamed him, too. And he is- oh, god, was- so in love with Justin. I know, I know you didn't see it, and I know most everyone else couldn't see it either, but I've known that boy since he was fourteen, and I've learned how to see him. He can't fool me. They way he looks at Sunshine and talks to him and everything. Hell, he let him come live with him. That's huge for Brian. I just…I think he finally fell in love, felt vulnerable but safe around Justin. I think he finally let his guard down and when he went…to that dance…and-and saw what he saw…it hurt him."

"You're saying his death is Justin's fault."

"Oh, Jennifer, no! I'm saying that it's because of his, his love for Justin. I think that he got it in his head that Justin isn't going wake up. I think he didn't want to face that. He felt guilty for Sunshine getting hurt, and…" She doesn't want to voice her real thoughts, because she knows Jennifer doesn't want to hear them. And because she knows they're true. And he didn't want to live if Justin isn't going to. He didn't want to be without him.

Jennifer nods, she seems to hear what Debbie doesn't want to say, and her face softens a little. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Sweetie. Just…what are we going to tell Justin when he wakes up?"

Jennifer frowns and picks at the knit of her sweater, rolling the little pills of cotton between her fingers. "I…don't know. Let's just think about this all one thing at a time. First let's make sure Justin wakes up."

Debbie nods and pulls Jennifer into a hug. The two women hold each other, both sad and worried over a small blonde boy in the hospital.

They have to wait almost more than half a week for the autopsy to make sure it was suicide and not foul play, even though everyone knows it wasn't foul play. Brian's lawyer knocks on Debbie's door and tells her that Brian gave her the responsibility of funeral preparations and that he does not want his biological family involved. He tells her that his will stated that money be given to her and Michael, a fund started for Gus, that she has say of what happens to the loft and the items in it and any of the rest of his possessions. He also tells her that his personal effects will be given to her when the police are finished with them.

Michael is a blubbering mess, but Vic's strong support helps her and together she and her brother get the funeral preparations done. Debbie wants so badly to call Joan or Claire and tell them what happened, but she is going to honor Brian's wishes, because it's the least she can do. She tucks his personal effects away in a box under her bed so she can look at them later and figure out what to do with them.

They wait another week to hold the funeral, just in case Justin wakes up, because he's been showing signs of surfacing consciousness for days now. But he doesn't wake, and they don't want to wait too long.

The funeral is small and somber. Michael can only make it out for the day, because his new job in Oregon won't let him have more time. The group huddles together, as much for comfort as for warmth. It's springtime, but still everyone feels colder than usual. The service is very short, and not very religious. Debbie is pretty sure Brian is fucking some angel and laughing at them right now.

They don't really have a reception; they just go to Debbie's and get stoned. Sitting in her living room, sprawled out on the furniture, they tell stories about Brian, about the first time they met him, what they loved about him, what they hated, what they miss, secrets about him that the others don't know. They celebrate him with Jim Beam and lots of weed. There is laughter, but it's only surface, because a dark line of sadness is running beneath everything, permeating their thoughts and darkening the doorways.

It's another half week before Justin wakes up, and Jennifer tells everyone but Daphne to just stay away for a little while, until they figure out what to do. Daphne is good at hiding her sadness, apparently, so Justin suspects nothing. Jennifer says he always asks "Where's Brian?" and she doesn't know how to answer. Everyone knows that sooner or later he's going to have to know the truth.

Jennifer calls Debbie after a few weeks and tells her that she can come visit Justin, he needs some variety. But she warns her not to tell Justin about Brian; they still don't know how to break it to him. Debbie bakes Justin a whole plate of lasagna, because she knows he loves it.

She gets funny looks walking through the hospital dressed in bright colours with a pan of lasagna in her arms, but she ignores them. The walk down the hospital corridors just reminds her of Brian, and a sadness overcomes her. She pastes on a smile and tries to push away the depression.

Justin smiles when Debbie walks in the room, but it's not as bright as usual. She sets the pan down on a side table and shovels a heaping helping onto a paper plate for him.

"Thanks." He digs in, using his left hand, she notes.

"How's it going Sunshine? You look great."

"It's really fucking frustrating." He says to his lasagna, he's too busy scarfing down his lunch to look at her. "This is really good." He says around a mouthful. Debbie gives a small chuckle.

"I know. It's your favorite." Her breath hitches as she realizes that that's what she always says to Brian when she brought him tuna casserole and weed. She covers the sound with a cough, then pastes a smile on again. "Your mom says you're doing great."

"Yeah, except for my fucking gimp hand. Fucking Hobbes."

"Well, you just keep working at it, Sweetie."

Justin finally looks up at her. He frowns as he picks up on her false cheeriness as soon as he looks at her face. "Deb? What's wrong?"

She's caught. Her face falls. "Shit."

"Debbie?"

"Nothing, Sweetie, nothing's wrong."

"Deb, please. You're not very good at hiding it when you're upset. Please just tell me."

Debbie glances out the window towards the hallway, uncertain. She doesn't know what to say. Silently, she gets up and goes out to Jennifer.

"Jennifer…he knows I'm upset. He's asking what's wrong. Should I tell him?"

Jennifer chews on a fingernail. "I don't know. Yes, I suppose. He wont stop asking until someone tells him, anyway. You should tell him, though. You love them both. I don't know Brian."

Debbie nods and squeezes Jennifer's shoulder reassuringly, then makes her way back into the room. Justin looks up from the bed, where he's picking absently at the weave of the cloth. There is a deep frown on his face, and he chews his lip.

"Deb?"

Debbie sinks into a chair beside the bed and takes Justin's left hand, his good hand. "Sweetie, I have some bad news."

"It's about Brian, isn't it." It isn't a question. Debbie nods.

"He waited in the hospital until they told us that you were okay. But when he found out that you were in a coma, he was convinced you wouldn't wake up. He was certain you be there forever. He came into your room and yelled at you to wake up, and when you didn't, he went home and…" She swallows. "Brian is…is…Brian's dead, Honey. He killed himself." Debbie wishes to god there was a better way to say this. She wishes she didn't have to see Justin's face crumple.

"You're lying. No. It's not true."

"Baby, I'm sorry. I was the one who found him. It's true."

"No." Justin sits up very straight. "No. He's just at home, getting some rest. He'll come see me. I know he will."

"Justin…" Debbie reaches out to put a hand on his knee, but he knocks it away.

"It's not true!" Justin scrambles off the bed and stands there, panting, swaying. Debbie isn't sure what to do, so she moves to him, putting out her hand to touch his shoulder. "Don't touch me!" He shoves her, hard, and she's amazed at the strength he has despite his current condition. She stumbles a little and watches as Justin grabs a plastic jug of water off the tray and hurls it at the wall. Jennifer hears the noise and comes running in, but neither of them know what to do. They watch, frightened and appalled, as Justin continues to tear at and throw anything he can get his hands on, the sadness and fury rolling off him in waves.

"Sweetie—" But Justin ignores her.

"Sunshine—" And Justin whirls around, fiery eyes glaring at Debbie.

"No! Don't call me that. No. No." Suddenly, all the fight seems to drain out of him and he sinks to the floor, leaning his back against the wall and curling into a ball. "No." he whispers again, his body suddenly limp. As tears run unnoticed down his face, his eyes dull from bright, burning anger to an empty, unseeing grey. Jennifer starts towards him.

"Honey?" Justin turns dead eyes toward her, but seems to look right through her.

"Just leave me alone." He croaks, and buries his head in his arms. Debbie takes Jennifer's arm and leads her out to the hallway, closing the door to give Justin some privacy. Jennifer sinks into a chair. Debbie puts a hand on her shoulder.

"Listen, Jennifer, um…Brian made me responsible for all of his possessions and the loft and things. Once Justin calms down, I want to ask him if he wants anything."

Jennifer nods mutely. Debbie sits with her until her shift at the diner is about to start, then she takes the bus back to Liberty Avenue. When he shift is over, she goes to the loft. She enters slowly, glancing warily around as if Brian might be hiding in a corner or fucking a trick in the bed. But there's no one there, and she feels absurdly disappointed. She notices Brian's leather jacket draped almost carelessly on a kitchen chair, and she picks it up. She wanders around the loft, looking at the visible bits of Brian's life. On the small table behind the computer, she pauses. Various framed awards for ads he's done are scattered about the glass top. But so is a photo of the family one night at Debbie's eating dinner. Brian's not in the picture, so she assumes he's the one who took it. There's also a photograph of Brian and Gus, both half-asleep, lying together on Lindsay's couch. Debbie resists the urge to sigh at the sweetness. There's also a photograph, sitting behind the others, of Justin drawing at the living room table, grinning at the camera behind which Brian was obviously standing. There's love and adoration and happiness and teasing laughter behind his eyes. Tears well up in Debbie's eyes as she realizes that they may never see this carefree, happy look in Justin's eyes again.

She goes back to the hospital, the leather jacket and one of Justin's sketchpads under her arm. Jennifer is not there. Justin is silent when she hands him the jacket, but she watches through the window after she leaves, and sees him wrap himself in the jacket and clutch it to his face, breathing Brian's scent deep. Her heart breaks as she watches him shatter through the wired window, his muscles tightening and clenching until he's lying on his side in the fetal position, wrapped in Brian's jacket, tears falling, mouth working, silently crying out words of denial and please and no.

She's there when the doctor tells Jennifer that Justin's improvements are coming very slowly, and that Justin may have to be released from the hospital later than expected, because he hasn't been doing his exercises and he is not participating in therapy. Jennifer and Debbie look at each other; they both know it's because of Brian.

Debbie won't let anyone into the loft. She tells the cleaning lady to stop coming for now, makes Michael give her his key. She doesn't know what to do with the space, but she doesn't want other people's presences, other people's scents to destroy the place that is purely Brian.

Justin sleeps every night with the jacket wrapped around him, and Debbie notices that he's drowning in the too-big leather just as he's drowning in the hurt and anguish that is too large for an eighteen year old boy. It's a while before they discharge him from the hospital. When they wheel him out—stupid hospital policies, Debbie grumbles—Justin is dressed in tan cargo pants and a light blue t-shirt, his upper body swimming in the shining black. He's been unnaturally quiet the past few weeks, simply staring at nothing, retreating into his head. When they step out into the bright sunshine, Justin wraps the dark leather tighter around himself and puts his head down.

Justin stays with Jennifer, but after a few weeks he can't stand the tears and the mothering and the worrying and he sneaks out, calls Daphne and she drives him to Debbie's. They sit in her kitchen, eating cookies and milk, Daphne talking about something she and September did the other day. Justin listens quietly, his face blank, but his eyes dark and pained. He doesn't smile. Debbie calls Jennifer and leaves a message telling her where Justin is and that she doesn't think she should come over right away. After a while, Daphne needs to get home, so they bid her farewell and then it's just Debbie and Justin sitting at the table, with Vic dozing on the couch, a newspaper on his chest.

Debbie surveys Justin's face softly for a moment as he stares down at nothing, then reaches over and pats his hand.

"Stay here for a sec. I've got something to give you Sunsh—Justin." Justin nods once and continues to stare at the tabletop. Debbie pushes her chair back and heads upstairs. She pulls the box out from under her bed and puts on top, pushing off the lid for a moment to stare down inside it. She went through it a few days earlier, deciding what to do with everything. The personal effects aren't much: his dress pants and shirt, a burgundy tie, his wallet, the stained white scarf, a silver Zippo, a pack of cigarettes, a joint hidden in the lining of his shirt, a cowry shell bracelet with the initials B.K. inscribed in it.

She brings the box down and sets it on the table in front of Justin. He slowly pulls off the lid and looks down into it. He picks up Brian's dress pants and shirt, brings them to his face and inhales deeply, but the smell of Brian on them has already been mostly replaced by the smell of latex police gloves and disinfectant. He sets them aside. He flips open Brian's wallet, stares at it, takes out the drivers license and puts it on the table, then places the wallet very neatly on top of the folded clothes. He smirks a little, just barely a lip crick, when he sees the joint, but he flicks the Zippo with his left hand and lights it, takes a drag and hands it to Debbie. They pass it back and forth. Justin turns his attention back to the box and stops. His fingers delicately pull the soiled scarf from the bottom of the box and settle it on the table. He touches it lightly, avoiding the blood-hardened splotches, feeling the still-pure white bits.

"I think I remember this." He whispers. "But I'm not sure." He can't seem to stop staring at his own blood until Debbie slowly pulls the cloth away, folds it, and puts it neatly on the pile.

The last thing in the cardboard box is the cowry shell bracelet. Justin holds it in both hands, reverently, as if it holds Brian's soul itself. Debbie wonders if maybe it does.

"Where did he get it?" Justin rubs his fingertips over Brian's initials. He's never seen Brian without the bracelet, besides in the shower, Debbie realizes. He doesn't know its history. Well, neither does Michael, really.

"Mexico. Right after he graduated from college, his dad really laid into him. Didn't hit him at all, Brian was big enough to fight back, but he yelled at him about not takin' care of family, all this bullshit about staying where he oughta. By that time, you know, he was already a fucking genius, he was making okay money. He bought a ticket to Mexico. He told me, 'I'll show him leaving. Fuck him, I can do what I want. He's not my family.' He went and, presumably, fucked his brains out. He came back with this. Lindsay told me that cowry shells are supposed to represent prosperity and sexual power, and maybe that's why he bought it. I think he wore them in order to remember that family isn't always blood."

Justin stares down at the shells. "No, Deb, it's not." He wraps the bracelet around his right wrist, attempting to tie it off one-handed, until Debbie reaches across and ties it for him, securing Brian's keepsake to his arm.

She sits back and regards him for a moment. "Listen, Sweetheart, Brian gave me the responsibility of dealing with his possessions and deciding what goes where and to whom and all that shit." Justin nods to signal that he is listening. "I'd like you to come with me to the loft and help me sort out his things. The loft is all paid for, and I need to decide what to do with it, too."

"But what about Michael?"

Debbie grimaces. "Michael cant leave his new job. And, Brian loved you, really truly, he did. I want you to be with me for this. I know Brian loved my son, but never in the way that he adores you. He never meant as much to him as you do."

Justin nods, fingering the bracelet around his wrist.

The next day, Justin meets Debbie at the door to the loft, suddenly glad that they are now the only two with keys. When they unlock the door, he's met head-on with the scent of Brian. Debbie watches as he steps slowly into the loft, almost gliding up the stairs to the bedroom. He lies down on Brian's side of the bed, tugging the sheet over him and burying his face in the pillow. Debbie feels her heart break for the poor kid; how much pain can one person take? She stands for a moment and observes as Justin clutches at the pillow, taking in the scent of Brian in large, shuddering gasps. He turns for just a moment and she can see the pain in his eyes, deeper than she could ever imagine. It's as if something black has grown inside him, a pit so deep and wide that you can look into it through his eyes and never see the bottom, because maybe, she thinks, there isn't one. It hurts her to see someone so young, so incredibly lost and broken, and there's absolutely nothing anyone can do to help.

She makes her way out to the kitchen and potters around, making noise to give Justin some privacy, but even so, she hears a sound like wounded animal over her clanging. It's harsh and agonizing and makes her want to cry. She puts down her kitchen utensils and slowly approaches the bedroom. Justin is lying on his side, rocking ever so slightly. His left arm is wrapped around the pillow, his right hand pulled protectively against his body. She can see his right hand shaking and twitching. He makes a strangled noise and clenches his teeth as if holding back screams.

Debbie sits down beside him on the bed, not touching him. "Honey, we can do this later, if you want?"

Justin takes a few gulping breaths and wipes his eyes. He shakes his head. "No," he says in a broken voice. "I want to do this."

Together they go through Brian's clothes, only they're not sure what to do with them. Justin takes off the leather jacket for a moment in order to slide on one of Brian's white V-necked shirts. Debbie watches as he sits on the bed, fingers plucking at the sheet.

"Debbie…" he starts, and he sounds uncertain and sad and unbelievably tired. "What are you going to do with the loft?"

"I don't know, Hon."

He looks up at her, blue eyes dulled to a grey and face too lined for a kid his age. "Can I stay here?"

Debbie looks at him. She hadn't thought about that. She realizes that Justin probably doesn't want to stay with his mother, and also probably doesn't want to stay with her, because she is as much his mother as Jennifer. Brian seems to have been Justin's comfort zone, and he had mostly been living at the loft before then. It makes sense for him to have it, to live in it.

"Yeah, honey, if you'd like."

"I'd like that. Please." She nods and at least a bit of the shadow seems to lighten from Justin's face.

Together they sort through the various things that Brian doesn't need. In a drawer, Justin finds his drawing from the GLC art show. He stares at it for a long time, before whispering "Fuck" in a voice that sounds like it has torn and clawed its way out of his throat. He drops the drawing on the bed and goes into the bathroom, sliding the door shut behind him. Debbie hears the water start, a muffled sound that starts like a scream and turns into a sob. Justin doesn't come out for a long time.

When it's time to choose a stone for the grave, everyone in the family contributes their ideas as to the epitaph. Most agree on one thing that should be there, Brian's motto: No excuses, no apologies, no regrets. Justin agrees.

But before Debbie goes in to finalize the words, Justin adds his own line. Debbie's eyes fill with tears and she nods, scribbling it down. When the family goes to visit Brian's grave, everyone but Debbie and Justin are surprised by the extra line below Brian's manifesto. But everyone agrees as they read it: He loved.


 

UPDATE 8/10/10: Chapter 3 is in the works! My muse for this story decided to run off to help me finish Boys Keep Swinging, and then decided it was going to make me write a bunch of oneshots and gapfillers. But I reread a couple of amazing deathfics like   Valediction by q_dicted  and now my muse is back and I'm working on it. It might take just a little bit longer because the end of this chapter is not planned out. Thank you for being so patient!