This Time Written By: [info]suzvoy Timeline: Set after 401. Could be considered AUish. Rating: R, for language. Warnings: Well, it's hurt/comfort, so there's some angst. Nothing too heavy. Summary: Not again. Author's Notes: Thank you to my wonderful beta! * Phone's ringing at the ass-crack of dawn - okay, Brian conceded as he glanced at the alarm clock, 7:02am - were never an auspicious start to the day. Muttering, Brian blindly fumbled around for the phone before finally locating it, thumbing the talk button, and pressing it to the side of his face. "What?" Predictably, Justin mumbled something next to him and rolled his lazy ass further away. "Brian!" His tired brain nonetheless quickly deciphered the voice on the phone - Debbie, worried, calling at the ass-crack of dawn. He sat up. "What happened?" "There..." she sniffed, although it sounded less like tears and more like anger." There was a bashing last night." He closed his eyes. Fuck. "Justin!" "Who and how bad?" he bit out. It was probably someone they knew if Deb'd seen fit to call him, but if it'd been someone they knew well like Mikey or Emmett, she would've called at 2am. "Darren," Deb continued. "Shanda. After he left the benefit last night...someone..." She took a breath. "Not dead, thank fuck, but one of his legs is fucked, his right arm, his face looks like someone's been using it for a pinata. Fuck knows how long it'll be until he can get back up on stage again." Brian barely knew the guy, but Darren and Justin were more than passing acquaintances - and he had worked for free at that fucking benefit for Concerned Citizens for the Truth. Fuck was worth repeating. Running his free hand over his face, Brian sighed. "They know who did it?" "No," she replied, huffing her frustration. "He's been resting a lot, of course, but he gave the police a description. It's just fucking unbelievable. Right on Liberty Avenue - the one place we're supposed to be fucking safe!" Brian smiled faintly, despite himself. Deb would always see herself first and foremost as an honorary queer. "I just..." she sighed, before continuing. "I didn't want Justin just...hearing. Being caught off guard." Her voice changed; quieter. Knowing. Things had changed in the last couple of years. "The same goes for you." Deb had all the subtlety of a stampeding elephant, but he figured it probably had been better to hear it from her rather than seeing it in the paper or overhearing it somewhere else. And fuck knew he didn't want Justin hearing it from anyone else but him - not that he was looking forward to that conversation, either. "Yeah. Okay." Was he supposed to say thank you? "I'll let him know." She shared a few more details before hanging up, and Brian ran a hand over his face again as he put the phone back. Fuck, fuck, fuck. "Justin!" Christ, he needed a drink, but even Brian didn't drink alcohol this early in the day. Caffeine and cigarettes would have to suffice. Climbing out of bed, he didn't bother getting dressed, heading straight for the coffee maker. Within a matter of minutes he had a large mug of coffee sitting on the counter and was part way through his second cigarette. Ignoring the freshly brewed coffee entirely, Brian smoked and played with his lighter and leant against the counter, staring at the bedroom. Fuck. * The smell of coffee and cigarette smoke greeted Justin when he woke up. They were an oddly welcoming part of his life - they meant Brian was awake - and he smiled before he even opened his eyes. Taking a few minutes to really wake up - fuck, he loved days when he didn't have the early shift - he yawned and stretched out in bed before rolling over. Last night had been a particularly good night. Brian actually accepting their help; celebrating the fact that he didn't have to sell the loft. Realistically, Justin knew it could still come to that at some point, but that point sure as hell wasn't now. Shit, things'd been good, really good, between them for a while now. Brian may have lost his job and Justin may have been kicked out of school, but right now none of it really seemed to matter. They were more together than they'd ever been. Amusing himself with the image of Brian's face if he happened to voice those thoughts, Justin pushed himself up until he was sitting in bed - and it was only then that his brain really noticed and analysed the familiar sound it'd been hearing ever since he'd woken up. The chink of metal again metal. Brian fiddling with his lighter. Something he only ever did when something was bothering him. Smile quickly replaced with a frown, Justin threw back the covers and got out of bed. After finding some underwear and pulling them on, he left the bedroom and stepped down towards the kitchen. Justin would never say as much to Brian, but every time he walked into the loft or left the bedroom, he was still shocked by the distinct feeling of emptiness. He'd had years to get used to Brian's expensive taste in furniture, and a little over a week really wasn't about to erase those memories. When he saw Brian on the other side of the free-standing counter, all thought of furniture fled. It was something bad. "What happened?" Brian stared right back at him, and didn't hold anything back. Justin loved him for it. "There was a bashing last night," he said, and even as Justin's shocked thoughts spun off in a thousand different directions - who? where? how bad? - Brian was already answering. "It was Darren. Shanda Lear. He'll live, but it seems a leg and an arm are fucked. They don't know if he'll be able to perform again." Finished, he started playing with his lighter again, staring at it intently. Dumbstruck, Justin sat down heavily on a stool, mind racing. He hadn't really had time to think of what the bad news could've been, but a bashing would have never crossed his mind. Car accident, heart attack, shit, a fucking fire - all of that would've come first. He never would've expected a bashing, which was really fucking ironic but the truth just the same. "How'd you find out?" he asked inanely, because that really wasn't important but it gave him something to do. "Deb called," Brian answered, stubbing out his cigarette and picking up another one. "You slept through it, as per usual." Justin's ability to sleep through just about anything had been a bone of contention from time to time - Brian had never let him forget about the night they'd been about to fuck and Justin had nodded off. Not knowing what the fuck to think or say or do, Justin stood up as quickly as he'd sat down. "I'm taking a shower," he announced decisively because at least it was something, but it was only when he turned the water on that he realised he hadn't taken his underwear off. Cursing silently, he stripped off the soggy material before opening the shower door and throwing it onto the bathroom floor with a wet splat. Brian could bitch at him about it later if he really wanted to. Turning the water temperature up higher, hotter than was comfortable but not enough to scald, Justin started scrubbing at his body even as he fought the ridiculous urge to cry. And it was ridiculous because yeah, he'd been bashed himself, but it wasn't like this bashing had happened to a close friend. He knew Darren to talk to him but it wasn't like they hung out together. Shit, who the fuck did he think he was kidding? He'd never dealt with the bashing, just tried to forget about it. A few years ago he might have called himself a pathetic little faggot for wanting to cry, but he knew better now. Of course, right now, that really didn't make him feel better. When Brian's hand touched his shoulder he jumped, and Justin hated it, he fucking hated it because he hadn't been jumpy in over a year. But Brian didn't look at him strangely or act like he was some freak; he just held tighter and gently pushed him backwards until Justin was pressed against the wall. Closing his eyes and letting out a deep breath, Justin slumped forward, wrapping both arms around Brian. The water sluiced down as they held on silently, and Justin realised just how tightly Brian was holding on. "I'm okay," he said over the rush of water, and Brian's arms tightened imperceptibly. "I'm okay." It wasn't a lie. He wasn't good and he'd probably cry or queen out at some point, but he was okay. They ended up not fucking. Eventually they got out of the shower, dried off, and got dressed. Without saying a word, Brian drove him to the hospital. * Brian didn't stay at the hospital himself. Dropping Justin off, he told him to call when he wanted to be picked up. He tried to enjoy driving for the sake of driving - despite the fact that he'd given it up willingly, Brian'd missed the 'vette a surprising amount when he no longer had it - but his thoughts kept returning to Justin and Darren and that night nearly three years ago. Instead, he sequestered himself away in the loft, working on and outlining a business plan to get Kinnetik off the ground. Soon he'd have to go out and start selling himself but doing it properly meant having a realistic plan in place. It'd need room for surprises of course, but more than anything it needed a strong backbone. Something to fall back on if things fell apart. Brian locked the door and ignored every phone call - four from Mikey, two from Linds - until Jennifer called. Snatching the phone up immediately, he spoke as soon as it was pressed against his ear. At least he could pay the fucking phone bill. "He's fine. He's at the hospital." "I know," Jennifer replied firmly, and it surprised Brian how hesitant she wasn't. When had that changed? "He called from the hospital to check in. That really wasn't the kind of news I was expecting to hear this morning. I can't believe something like this could happen again," she conti...
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