The Coming Then Going 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.

Summary: Brian learns he has a destiny. He promptly rejects it. Contains spoilers for all of Season Five.

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.

*

Part Two

“What do they look like?” Justin asks.

Brian looks up from the computer screen, where he’s been studying apartment listings for the last half hour. Everything in Justin’s area is within his price range, but everything in Justin’s area is also crap. “What do what looks like?” he asks, although he already knows the answer.

Justin sort of creeps forward, as if worried Brian might crack any second. Brian’s pretty certain he’s already crazy, but it’s nice Justin’s giving him the benefit of a doubt. “The things that talk to you. Do they have mouths? Teeth?”

“What do they look like?” he repeats. Nothing’s moved for him since– the thing. With the baby. Earlier, he jumped when a pencil rolled across the desk, but that just turned out to be the fault of uneven legs. “They look annoying.”

“Oh,” Justin says, shoulders slumping in disappointment.

“Except for Vic,” he adds, checking the prices for two bedrooms on Park Avenue, “he looks like a giant leprechaun. But I’m pretty sure he just does it to piss me off.”

Justin shoots Brian a glance like he doesn’t know whether or not to believe him.

A few days later, Justin asks him to draw a picture of what he sees. “I’m not an artist,” Brian says, tentatively accepting the offered sketchpad. But when he puts pen to paper, the lines dance around on their own, and he ends up handing Justin a blank page.

*

Justin knocks over a potted plant while building a giant canvas.

Brian helps clean it up, touching the broken pot pieces gently, making sure to brush up every speck of dirt. “That was the only one I liked,” he says almost sadly.

*

When Brian starts sneaking out in the middle of the night, Justin isn’t really concerned. He supposes it was only a matter of time, and they haven’t really figured out where they stand yet, even though he knows Brian keeps their never-used wedding bands in the back of their sock drawer.

But there are little things, like Brian drinking a lot more coffee than usual, at all hours. The dark circles under his eyes. The way he can sit and stare off into space for hours if Justin doesn’t interrupt. Ted and Cynthia start calling a lot more, leaving angry messages on the machine when Brian misses video conferences and deadlines. Justin thinks Brian is using sex to distract himself from his new destiny, but when he tries to voice this, Brian just brushes him off.

One day, Justin comes home early from work to find Brian dead asleep on the couch. His face is smushed in the corner, and he’s clutching a throw pillow to his chest. An empty mug sits on the coffee table. Justin’s sudden rush of tenderness is shaken off by a realization: Brian hasn’t been slipping out to trick.

“Holy shit.” He grabs Brian’s arm and shakes.

Brian raises his head. His eyes are bloodshot. “Huh?”

“You– you’re saving people at night!” Justin nearly shouts.

“No, I’m not,” Brian growls, batting him away. “I’m out fucking anything with a dick.”

He says it in such a snide, cruel way, Justin knows he’s lying.

“You’re ashamed,” Justin concludes. He sits in the cushion space between Brian’s arm and torso. “Ashamed of being Batman.”

“I thought I was Rage,” Brian mutters, not meeting Justin’s eyes.

“No,” says Justin sweetly, “Rage would own up to rescuing people. Batman’s the one who does everything in the cover of darkness.”

“Isn’t Batman crazy?” Brian asks.

“If by ‘crazy’ you mean ’spends his entire life preparing for the day he’ll dress up as a bat and carry out revenge for his parents’ death,’ then yes.”

Brian lets out an exasperated gasp. Abruptly, he sits up and hurls a pillow at the bookshelf. Justin winces when a picture frame shatters on the floor. “Shut the fuck up!” he yells at the shaking books. He glances back at Justin, almost looking embarrassed, and says, “They were laughing at me.”

“For being Batman?” Justin asks.

“I’m not–” Brian pinches the bridge of his nose. “The visions are getting worse.” The lines around his mouth tighten, and for the millionth time, Justin wonders just what the world looks like to Brian now. “I try to ignore them, but it’s sort of hard to when your head feels like it’s about to crack open.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Justin asks. “You let me think you were out tricking.”

Brian looks down at the floor. “It just seemed easier that way.”

Justin’s not going to let him get away with this. They aren’t going to go back to being roommates who have a lot of sex. “Remember that time you had cancer and didn’t tell me? And we had that talk about what it means to be partners?”

“Remember that time inanimate objects started talking to me?” Brian counters sharply. “I think the rules changed the day my best friend’s dead uncle told me I have to save the world.”

He has a point. Wincing, Justin says, “I still wish you’d talk to me.”

Brian’s expression softens. “I just need some more time to figure things out. I told you everything when I came to New York, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” Justin says, “but I thought it was a delayed symptom of, you know, the syphilis.”

Brian snatches the coffee cup off the table, curling his fingers around the brim like one might cup a child’s ears. “I didn’t want them to know about that,” he hisses.

*

Brian weens himself off saving people. The first step is limiting the number of people he rescues. He gets better at doing it. He can do it on his lunch break; makes sure he keeps someone from crossing the street here, or getting into a cab there. Changes their fate without them ever realizing. He never has to get involved. It’s so easy, he can pretend it’s not even happening.

Once he stops helping completely, Vic shows up again. He walks with Brian down the street. They share cab rides. He goes to Brian’s meetings, critiques his mock-ups, leers at Justin. It’s like having his own personal undead stalker.

(He once tried to talking to Justin about Vic’s bright green attire.

“Maybe it’s your subconscious,” Justin said.

“So, subconsciously, I’ve always thought of him as a leprechaun?”

“Maybe it’s symbolic. Don’t leprecauns grant wishes or something?”

Brian raised an eyebrow. “No, they’re supposed to give you their gold if you capture them. Haven’t you seen Lucky Charms commercials? Magically delicious?”

“Oh.” Justin rubbed his chin. “Then I’ve got nothing.”)

He wakes to find Justin spooned against his back, one hand wrapped around Brian’s wrist, as if trying to keep him there. But Brian’s throat is as dry as a bone, so he carefully slides out of Justin’s grasp.

He’s walking quietly to the kitchen when it happens. Something hard and plastic screams when he steps on it — and the pain shoots up from his foot, through his leg, and zooms towards his head. He doubles over in agony as every muscle in his body clenches and a bright light flares behind his eyes and then–

A blur of colors come sharply into focus. A little girl cries as a robed man binds her hands behind her back. He finishes and steps back, pulling out a weapon. Brian sees stars.

When the vision fades, he’s looking up into Justin’s worried face. Somewhere between the stumble and the space monk, he must’ve fallen. Justin combs his fingers through Brian’s hair, and, as the ache in his head bleeds away, Brian decides he wouldn’t mind staying just like this. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, and this time when he opens them, Vic is there too.

“That must’ve hurt,” Vic says good-naturedly.

“Did you see something?” Justin asks.

Brian groans as he pushes himself up. “I’m always seeing something.” He looks directly at Vic. “Go the fuck away.”

Justin jumps, looking around worriedly.

“I’m just here to make sure you get it,” Vic says.

“This is going to sound crazy,” Brian says, turning back to Justin, who snorts. “But I saw a little girl being kidnapped by a monk. In space. He had this long, red glowing sword.”

Justin’s mouth opens and shuts a few times. “Oh my fucking God. She was kidnapped by a Jedi?”

“This is what happens when you spend too much time with Michael,” Vic cracks, while Brian looks around for something to draw with that costs less than fifty bucks. Nothing ever moves on its own when he really needs it to.

“But Jedi don’t kidnap people,” Justin says, sounding distressed. “They’re the good guys. Are you sure he wasn’t rescuing her? You know, I could deal when you told me random objects talk to you. I could handle being told Vic came back from the dead to be your spirit guide. But I don’t think I want to live in a world where the Jedi are evil.”

While Justin has an existential crisis, Brian manages a quick sketch. “This one’s the Jedi, or whatever,” he explains, pointing.

“You mean the stick figure?”

Brian glowers. “Do you want me to share or not?”

“Sorry. Go on.”

He points to the shooting star in the background. It has five sides and a tail that curls out to a point. “This is exactly how it looked. It’s not just my drawing skills.”

Justin sits at the computer and starts typing rapidly. “Did the monk guy look like this?”

Brian joins him. He’s pulled up some website, and even though Brian’s vision was blurry — “Yeah,” Brian says in surprise, “exactly like that.”

“Okay,” Justin says, biting his thumb, “we have a little girl, a Jedi, and a star. Are your visions usually this cryptic?”

Brian glances at Vic, who’s being unusually quiet. “Yes. Minus the Star Wars theme.”

“How are we going to stop this?”

Vic smiles. “Yes, how are you?”

Brian feels cold all over. “I’m not. We’re not.”

Justin frowns. “Huh? Why?”

“I haven’t acted on a vision in a month.”

“What?” Justin demands, as Vic says, “You were chosen to do this.”

Brian pushes himself away from them. “Which is exactly why I’m not. Pulling people out of the path of moving cars or making sure they don’t get mugged is one thing, but I’m not sticking my neck out for some bullshit vision about space invadors.”

“A kid could die,” Justin shouts.

He feels sick to his stomach. He can’t do this. A girl might die, but he can’t be the one to save her. “I’m not a hero,” he yells back. “I’m not Batman or Superman. I’m not even Rage. I’m just some random guy who can happen to see things he shouldn’t. We haven’t even figured out if I’m crazy or not.”

“You have to save this child,” Vic says, almost threateningly. The hunter green of his clothes seem to shrivel into something almost grey.

“Shut up,” Brian spits. “Shut up. I didn’t ask for this.”

The disappointment in Justin’s face stings. “Brian,” he says sadly, “you don’t have to be a hero to do the right thing.”

*

In some of the weirdest two days of Brian’s life, both Vic and Justin stop speaking to him. Plants, animals, and objects visibly recoil when he comes close. Brian enjoys the silence as much as anyone with an angry boyfriend and a bleeding ulcer can.

Sometimes he wonders why he couldn’t have gotten this power when it mattered. Maybe he could have stopped himself from some horribly scarring high school moments. Maybe he could have helped the people he loved, instead of strangers.

If he’s honest with himself, he knows he’d give up everything just to have been able to stop Chris Hobbs.

He sits on Justin’s building’s steps and smokes. Literally out of nowhere, Vic comes and sits beside him.

Brian blows out a stream of smoke. “You know, I don’t believe in God.”

“That’s okay,” Vic says, “I don’t either.”

*

Justin keeps the tv on the channel one news for two days, but there’s no mention of a kidnapping. That means, he concluded, the little girl hasn’t been grabbed yet. So maybe Brian’s vision wasn’t telling him to save her; it was telling him to prevent her from being taken.

Justin feels very clever for figuring this out, until he remembers he’s still not any closer to deciphering Brian’s vision.

They creep around each other with limited interaction. Their meals are silent; Justin hangs around the galleries as long as he possibly can, and Brian comes home late, reeking of liquor. They don’t touch in bed. The whole thing is ridiculous, because he knows Brian is better than this. He knows Brian is just saying fuck you to Vic and Fate and– God, or whoever. Gods, maybe. Justin’s not sure.

He’s busy making breakfast when he notices Brian’s been staring at the newspaper for at least ten minutes. “What is it?” he asks, half curious, half annoyed.

Brian turns the page sharply, lips pressed in a thin line. “Nothing,” he snaps.

After he leaves for a meeting with some airline company, Justin snatches the paper up, searching for whatever Brian was looking at. It turns out to be an image of a middle-aged man and his daughter. “Electronics billionare Adrien Groesbeck celebrates a merger between Beck, Inc. and–” He scans the article quickly. “The festivities will begin tonight at Groesbeck’s New York townhouse, where his family (daughter pictured right) will be in attendence.”

The hair on the back of his neck stands up. Feeling light-headed, he digs into the cheap cabinet where he keeps all the art supplies he isn’t using.

Under a pile of charcoal paper, he finds an old digital camera he bought with one his first diner paychecks.

He flips it over. Carved into the silver paneling is a five-pointed shooting star and the words ‘Beck, Inc.’

*

“Gimmie your sandwich,” a pigeon tells him.

Brian snorts. “No way.”

It coos menacingly. “Bitch, gimmie your sandwich!”

“What’re you going to do, peck me to death?” Brian scoffs.

When the pigeon opens its mouth and screeches, his cell rings. “Yeah?” he answers lazily.

“I know who’s being kidnapped,” Justin says.

Suddenly, Brian’s not hungry. He tosses his lunch over to where the bird is sulking. “How many times do I have to tell you I don’t care?”

“Until I believe it,” Justin tells him.

Brian hangs up.

*

For a billionare, it’s strangely easy to find Groesbeck’s townhouse on the internet. Unsurprisingly, it’s on the upper west side, and Justin only has to change subway stops twice. The sun’s already disappearing behind the skyscrapers. He just hopes he’s not too late.

Just be confident, Justin thinks, and approaches the big, beefy guy blocking the front door.

“Hey,” he says, hoping he sounds out of breath. He puts on his cute-college-kid face. “I’m a server. I’m totally late. I was at an audition and then my bus got held up in–”

The man waves his hand. “Downstairs, second left, then right.”

Three guys, dressed in identical long robes, stand on the street and smoke. Their costumes are pretty good; they look straight out of the movies. Justin remembers Michael bidding on similar ones, including the fake lightsabers, on Ebay. (He lost miserably.)

“Thanks.” Justin steps inside, then pauses. “Um, this is first time I’ve been to one of these. So, like, what’s with all the Luke Skywalkers?”

“He makes all his security guys dress up like that because if something happens, he wants to be saved by a Jedi.” Justin freezes, and the guy snorts. “Yeah. Crazy.”

*

Brian’s in a bad mood for the rest of the day. After Justin’s phone call, he tears his Pittsburgh staff a new one, screams at Lindsay over the phone, and bitches out the girl at Starbucks for not giving him enough foam (to which his styrofoam cup exclaimed, “It’s a latte, get over it!”).

He ends up at a gay bar near Justin’s place. There are so many hot men in New York, he notices from the bar counter; he wonders why he didn’t move here sooner. He decides to sample the goods as soon as possible.

At his elbow, the napkin dispenser tries to get his attention — “Psst! Tell the dude I’m empty again.” — until he shoves a dirty napkin in it. Over the music and low murmurs of the patrons, he can hear the posters on the wall exchanging conversation. There isn’t enough liquor in the world to deal with this. The room starts to sparkle, and Brian walks up to the first guy he sees alone, and asks, “Are you a mannequin?”

The man laughs nervously. “Um, no? Are you?”

“Backroom.” Brian doesn’t ask, he states, with a sexy lift of his brow.

For a second, it looks like the guy’s about to say no, but then his eyes flicker from Brian’s head to toes, and he nods, as if deciding Brian’s hotness outweighs his insanity.

*

The Groesbecks are so rich, they have a seperate stairwell for the help. It leads from the lowest floor to the first, and Justin finds it by diving into the first empty room he can find near the kitchen. Heart pounding in his chest, palms sweating, Justin sneaks upstairs. In middle and high school, before he decided he didn’t want to be such a pussy, all he wanted was to get through the day without getting beaten up. He used to dart through the mass of other students without being seen. He tries applying those same skills now, walking casually and avoiding going in any direction people exit, hoping he looks like he knows what he’s doing. He’s not sure what he’ll do if he gets caught.

Eventually, he makes it to an empty floor. The walls are trimmed in gold paint, and the carpet is a deep burgandy. What he assumes is the master stairwell is on the opposite side. There’s a series of doors, all shut.

Justin closes his eyes, does eeny-meany-minnie-moe, then opens the first door on the right.

“What the hell?”

When Brian said there was a little girl in trouble, Justin assumed she was seven or eight years old. Not fifteen. The tiny, back and white photo in the paper made her look a lot younger than she is in person. Said girl is wearing a simple black dress, and she was obviously brushing her hair, since she’s paused mid-stroke. Her mouth opens in a tiny “O.”

Justin says, “I thought you were– you know what, nevermind. I forget Brian’s old.”

Her brow furrows. “Who are you, and what’re you doing in my room?”

He puffs up. “I’m here to rescue you.”

*

There is no backroom. Brian doesn’t know what the hell kind of gay bar this is, but he isn’t going to let the lack of space get in the way of an anonymous blowjob.

The man follows him out the back door and into the alley. Brian leans against the wall and breathes deeply, pressing two fingers against the throbbing vein in his temple. The guy, on his knees, looks up and gives a reassuring smile. Brian wants to punch him in the face.

“You might want to give him some warning,” says Vic, to his right.

Brian jumps. “What–?”

The vision hits with its usual intensity. Justin and the kid from his latest vision are dead. Just like last time (oh God, what if this time it’s for real?), Brian’s gripped with an emotion almost too strong to handle. But if he can stop it, he needs to see– they’re in a bedroom–? That Jedi guy from before stands over them. Brian doubles over, and the guy ready to put Brian’s cock in his mouth falls backwards, catching himself on his hands.

Brian demands to Vic, “Is this really going to happen, or are you fucking with me?”

“Hey, man, I don’t want any problems.” The guy edges away slowly, looking over his shoulder towards the bar door.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Brian snaps, clenching his shaking hands.

“Would I trick you?” Vic asks sweetly. Brian doesn’t have time for this shit. The smile fades from Vic’s face. “Think about it. You didn’t think Justin would forget all about this, did you?”

Of course. Justin’s such a goddamned troublemaker; he can never leave these things alone. But Brian can’t deal with watching him die over and over. He has to stop this.

Brian pushes himself off the wall and heads towards the street.

“Whatever, psycho!” he hears from behind him.

There’s a flash of green out of the corner of his eye, and Vic is dashing along beside him. “Where are you going? You don’t even know where he is.”

Brian stops. “I…” He looks in the direction of their apartment. “I can find out.”

*

Brian sits at Justin’s desk. “I need to know where Justin is,” he tells the sketchbook.

“I haven’t seen a thing,” the sketchbook insists.

Eyes narrowing, Brian pulls a pair of scissors out of the drawer. The lamplight glints off them evilly. “I’m only going to say this once: Where. Is. Justin?”

*

They only made it through two flights of stairs before they were caught.

Michael was the one who first introduced him to Star Wars. Back in his early days of living with Debbie, Michael was horrified when, one night at dinner, Justin told him he’d never seen the movies. They’d both sighed over the rogue brashness of Han Solo and agreed it would be awesome to be able to use the Force. It was the first time he and Michael had ever really gotten along on their own.

Michael is going to die when Justin tells him he was almost killed by a Jedi. If he makes it out alive, that is.

“I can’t believe you knocked that guy out,” the girl says. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Justin nudges the unconscious security guard with his foot. “I used to be in a gang,” he murmurs, picking the gun off the floor, from when the guard dropped it. “Look–”

“Adrienne,” she supplies.

He grabs her hand. “Okay, Adrienne– Wait, your dad’s name’s Adrien, and your name’s Adrienne?”

“It’s unisex,” she says defensively.

“Frank?” calls a deep voice from the stairwell.

Justin grabs her hand and darts into a room.

*

Brian’s completely, one hundred percent ready for a knock down, drag out fight between him and some security guards when he arrives at the townhouse, but there’s no one watching the doors. He feels cheated, but relieved. Inside, the party’s in full swing.

“Where to now, cowboy?” Vic asks.

The large, ornate staircase darkens, curling inward. It looks creepy and gross, but Brian has a feeling he’s supposed to go that way.

Two stories up, Brian catches three of the Jedi guys poking what he hopes is an unconscious person. “They were here,” one of them says. They all pull out guns and head into the nearest room.

“They’re hiding on this floor,” a potted plant whispers to him.

Brian can’t take a bunch of big guys with guns and fake plastic swords, no matter how dorky they are. He bites his lip, thinking. He needs to get them away from Justin and give the cops time to get here…

He remembers seeing a bathroom on the floor below. If possible, Vic pales.

*

A loud boom rocks the entire townhouse. Brian presses himself against the wall right against the doorway. Sure enough, someone shouts, “What the fuck was that?” and four guys dressed in Star Wars outfits scurry out the room and down the stairs.

Brian exhales deeply, then calls into the room: “Justin?”

He hears a muffled, “Brian?” The wardrobe opens, and out step Justin and a young girl. The looks on Justin’s face is a combination of worry and elation. He beams up at Brian, going, “I knew you’d do the right thing, Brian, I just knew it. The bad guys are the security. We have to–”

“They took off as soon as the bomb exploded,” Brian interrupts. “They went down the other stairs.”

“The what?” Adrienne says.

He grabs Justin’s arm, feeling like he wants to vomit. “You’re such a little shit.”

“You made a bomb?” Justin asks. He squeezes Brian’s hand. “I’m sorry you were worried,” left unspoken between them.

“They practically give you the instructions right on the bottles,” Brian says. “Don’t change the subject.”

“I’m going to go find my dad and tell him he needs to have those guys arrested,” Adrienne says. She frowns. “Or something. Actually, I’m not too sure what just happened here.”

“Neither am I,” Brian and Justin say simultaneously.

“I had to do something,” Justin insists, as soon as Adrienne disappears down the master stairs. He crosses his arms over his chest defiantly.

Brian shakes his head. “No, you didn’t. It’s not your deal, it’s my deal.” Suddenly, Brian feels like he’s getting something. “There’s no one who can do this but me.”

Justin touches his face gently. “You know, it doesn’t matter if it’s actually your destiny. You might as well accept it, because there’s nothing else you can do — you really do have the chance to save the world. How many guys get to say that? Plus,” he adds, smirking, “it’s pretty hot.”

“‘With great power comes great responsibility’?” Brian asks wryly, but maybe, just maybe, Justin’s right.

Justin playfully socks in him in the arm. “I thought you fell asleep during that!”

He can hear sirens in the distance, growing louder. “We should get out of here before someone does a head count.”

“Hey,” Justin asks, as they descend down the back stairs, “does this make me Robin?”

Brian glances down at their joined hands. “If what I’ve heard about Batman is true, then yes.”

*

“Michael?”

“Hey!” Michael cries. “What’s going on? How’s New York? How’s Brian?”

Justin traps the phone between his jaw and shoulder, as his hands fly over the page. The images are coming with such clarity. He fleshes out the side of JT’s face, darkening the lines between the brow to show JT’s determination. Above JT’s head, he draws a speech bubble and scrawls, “I solved the mystery!“

Justin smiles. “I think I have some permenant changes to make to the comic. Rage has a new sidekick.”

*

It might be pollen weeping from the trees, but to Brian, it looks like spun gold. By now, he can barely remember how the world looked before he was given his “gift,” and he’s not entirely sure he can say things changed for the worst. Not many other people can say birds sing real songs to them, or appliances tell when they need to be fixed.

Like when he saved the baby, for a few days after the Groesbeck incident, Vic stays out of sight. Brian’s walking home — now when he thinks of home he thinks of Justin’s shitty apartment, not Pittsburgh — from the corner grocer when he feels familiar steps beside him.

“I’m glad you’ve decided to work with us,” Vic says.

Brian snorts, not looking at him. “Watch the ego. I’m not doing this for you.”

They walk in comfortable silence for a few minutes. The wind blows gently, and Brian thinks he can hear the trinkling sound of windchimes.

“By the way, we think you and Justin make a good team,” Vic says casually.

Brian glances at him. “Do you now.”

“But I guess you already knew that.” Vic rubs his hands together, and the sidewalk begins to glitter. “Are you ready?”

Brian slips on his sunglasses. “Hit me.”

*

In case it wasn’t obvious, this a crossover/fusion of Queer as Folk and Wonderfalls. The title comes from “Dead Like Me.”

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Cowlip Productions and the Showtime Network. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Written for ou_topos for the Cue the Pulse Challenge.

Summary: Theodore Schmidt: the guy you settle for when you’re dying from a pretzel. Independent of Season Five. Ted/Other, Ted/Emmett, other canon Pairings.

Emmett’s new penthouse was bright, open, and, for the first time, ghetto-free. It came with high ceilings and a stunning view of downtown.

Of course, Em couldn’t really see the view from where he was sitting on the floor, back against the kitchen cabinets.

“Gay Help Hotline, this is Tripp.”

He curled the phone cord around his finger. “Finally! I’ve only been on hold for thirty years. I mean–” He laughed nervously. “–Twenty years. I’m not old enough to have been– well, I am, but I don’t look a day over–”

“Sir? Is there anything we can help you with?”

“I need some advice,” he confessed. He bit his lip. “It’s very personal.”

“This is a confidential hotline.”

He began, “I just almost died–”

“Do you need us to call 911 for you?”

Oh, lordy. It was a good thing he’d lived, or else that would have been the most embarassing death. “No. I’m okay now, I think. I’d better tell you the whole story…”

Troy was the fourth boyfriend he’d moved out on in just as many years, after he’d made the unfortunate discovery of Troy’s affair with their upstairs neighbor. And Stephen’s immaturity. And Matthew’s weird goat fetish. And Ted’s crystal problem. While bawling his eyes out in the bathroom of their shared downtown apartment, Em had realized he just might never find the person he was meant to be with. The only person who’d even came close to being the love of his life had been Ted — which was pretty sad, considering how bad their relationship had been.

“I was busy unpacking a few of my things, and I thought I’d have a little snack.”

His friends had helped him bring in most of his important things earlier that day. Well, most of his friends; Brian had stood back and made sarcastic comments as Michael and Ted had struggled to get the four-poster canopy bed through the door, while Justin and Emmett had set up the HD-TV by themselves.

He had been looking forward to a nice, quiet evening planning what colors to paint the walls, when–

“It’s sort of embarassing.”

“Sir, the call before you had been a guy who couldn’t get a garage door opener out of his butt.”

Ten minutes before this phone call, Emmett had choked on a pretzel.

He had started coughing up a storm, but the pretzel hadn’t wanted to come loose. Panicking, blood rushing in his ears, he had looked around for something, anything, to lean over, but he hadn’t had a chance to go furniture shopping yet.

“I know this sounds very melodramatic, but I am a queen, after all. My life flashed before my eyes–”

Being pushed around by bullies in school– his first boyfriend– his parents’ disappointment in him– the first time he tried meth– the first time he met Michael– Ted’s brush with death– the first time he and Ted made love– Ted– Ted–

He had thought he going to die alone in the kitchen of his new apartment. He was never going to get married, or have kids, or even own a dog. He had thought he was never going to see Ted again.

“That’s when I threw myself against the counter, and the pretzel went flying across the room.”

He paused, wondering if Tripp the Hotline Guy was still listening.

“Go on,” Tripp said.

“It’s just– I was dying, and all I could think about was Teddy. Not my latest lover, not one of my lovers who had tragically died, not even one of the many men of Pittsburgh who I have crushes on. Just my best friend. What do you think that means?”

“Sir, please don’t abuse the help hotline. This is for people with real problems.”

“This is a real problem!” he exclaimed.

The phone was silent for a beat. “Okay. What do you think it means?”

Em closed his eyes and leaned his head back . “I think…” His heart pounded in his chest. He knew once he said the words he’d never be able to take them back. “I think it means I’m still in love with him.”

Emmett had never been afraid of being in love. Being in love was the greatest feeling in the world. But he also knew what was the worst: destroying everything with the person with whom he already had the perfect — platonic — relationship.

“What do you think I should do?”

Tripp said, “Mister, I don’t know you or your situation with your friend, but I think the best thing to do is tell him how you feel.”

“I was afraid of that,” he sighed. “So much for the Gay Help Hotline.”

*

Emmett Honeycutt may have been a queen, but he wasn’t a coward. Which is why he showed up at the usual time at the diner the next morning, preparing to face the world. And Ted. He made sure to dress fabulously; he didn’t want anyone to be able to guess he’d stayed up all night biting his nails and wondering what to do.

Ben and Michael were at one table, with Brian and Justin at another. Ted sat across from the latter pair (probably because Ben was so huge, and sitting next to him was really uncomfortable). Steeling himself, Em slid into the booth next to his ex.

Michael leaned over the seats. “You look like shit,” he told Em bluntly.

Emmett cringed. “I ran out of my super moisturizer,” he replied, trying to sound chipper. He hoped he wasn’t twitching.

“You should borrow Brian’s,” Justin said, pausing between bites, “he buys in bulk.”

Brian looked alarmed. “Liar. I don’t believe in bulk.”

“How can you not believe in bulk?” Michael demanded. “Bulk’s not a figment of our imagination.”

Emmett stopped listening. Instead he stared down at Ted’s hand, resting on the freckled tabletop. He’d always liked Ted’s fingers; most people would call them stubby; others, hideous; but Em just thought they were strong.

He then realized everyone was quiet and looking at him. “Huh?”

Michael’s brow knitted. “Are you okay? You seem out of it.”

“We’re talking about whether or not bulk exists at seven ‘o’ clock in the morning, sweetie,” Em pointed out.

Ted looked over at Emmett, a smile curling his lips. Em felt that familiar fluttering in his stomach. Quickly, he glanced across the table — and met Brian’s eyes.

Without turning his head, Brian’s gaze traveled from Em to Ted. Then he devilishly arched an eyebrow. Emmett broke out into a cold sweat.

“Are you sure you’re not sick?” Ted asked.

“I’m fantastic,” Em said, feeling anything but.

Ben and Michael were the first to leave, followed by Ted, and then by Justin, who gave Brian a quick kiss. “I’d better hurry up,” he said, shoveling the last of his pancakes into his mouth, “I have kids to fail.” In a move that had suprised even Brian, Justin had ended up the art teacher at a private arts and music high school.

(“I thought you hated high school,” Michael had asked.

“I did,” Justin had replied smugly, “but now I hold a position of authority over all the assholes who think they can pick on people like me.”

“Sounds hot,” Brian had said.)

As soon as they were alone, Brian stretched out over the whole seat, resting his back against the wall. Em scraped the eggs off his fork, watching the other patrons, and trying really, really hard to study anything but Brian’s faux innocent expression.

“Don’t you have some minions to order around?” he asked.

“I’m the boss,” Brian said airily. “I can be as late as I want.” He took a sip of coffee, as if making a point.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Em said. “I’m not telling you anything.”

“Good, because I don’t want to hear it,” Brian replied.

This was a burden he was just going to have to shoulder alone. He couldn’t tell anyone. Besides, Brian always gave the worst advice.

“I had a near-death experience with a pretzel,” he found himself saying. “It made me realize Teddy is my one true love.”

“How long was your brain deprived of oxygen?” Brian asked.

Em glared at him. “I’m in real pain here.”

“So am I.”

Em groaned and buried his face in his hands. “Of all the people to fall in love with, I had to pick the one I can’t have.” He raised his head. “Again, I mean.”

Brian gave him a quizzical look. “Why not?”

“We agreed we were better off as friends.”

“I don’t know why you’d think that,” Brian said.

He goggled. “What? Why?”

Brian shrugged. “You’d probably still be together if Ted hadn’t turned into a crystal queen.”

“I don’t know,” Em said thoughtfully. “We started having problems when Jerk at Work was shut down.”

Brian crumpled his napkin and stood up. Leaning over Em, he said, “You’re right. It wouldn’t've worked out. Ted’s not the same guy he was when you two were together, anyway. He’s still a pathetic loser, but he’s not the same pathetic loser whose self-confidence depended on a porn site.”

And Emmett wasn’t the same silly queen who thought true love could solve everything.

Brian tossed a couple of bucks on the table. “Who knows what would happen now.”

*

For a week, he held his breath every time he, Brian, and Ted were in the same room together. He bit his nails to the quick thinking about Brian and Ted working together every day. He nearly had a stroke when he found them eating breakfast at the diner alone one morning, talking quietly, but thankfully, they had just been talking about a new ad.

For some reason, aside from a few pointed looks and menacing grins, Brian didn’t appear to be doing anything. Emmett went back to ignoring his feelings — something he never liked to do — and after a week, he was beginning to wonder if the whole thing had just been a silly mistake.

*

Ted came back from lunch to find Brian sitting at his desk, playing Minesweeper on his laptop. Even while relaxing in Ted’s special orthopedic chair, Brian looked like he was lowering his standards.

“Theodore,” he said brightly, “just the man I wanted to see.”

“What is it and when do you need it done?” Ted asked, beginning to shrug off his coat.

“Dinner at eight, preferably Friday.”

Ted’s arm got stuck in the sleeve of his jacket. “What?”

“I have the perfect guy for you,” Brian replied, closing the laptop.

Ted froze. Brian raised his eyebrows. Ted sat down. Brian leaned back in his chair.

“I-I must be hearing things,” Ted said slowly. “I thought I heard you say you have a man for me.”

Propping his feet on the desk, Brian leered, “He’s six feet tall, dark hair, green eyes. Huge cock.” When he smirked, Ted felt a sense of dread. “You’d be great together.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. “Is he–? How do you–? What possible reason could you have for fixing me up?”

“I’m feeling generous,” Brian said smarmily.

And Ted was the pope. This guy was either a serial killer or… no, he had to be a serial killer.

“What’s wrong with him?” Ted asked suspiciously.

“He’s a doctor. His interests include reading, cooking, and the opera.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Ted repeated.

“Nothing’s wrong with him,” Brian sneered. “Do you want to see him or not?”

Something about this felt really wrong. Although it had been years since Brian had said anything about the stupidity of relationships, Ted couldn’t recall Brian ever doing anything like this. He’d helped Lindsay and Melanie reconcile more than once, before they’d split for good and Lindsay had remarried, and he’d helped Michael a few times, but Ted? Giving him a job was one thing. Finding him a boyfriend was another.

“I don’t know,” he said hesistantly.

There were some times when Brian did nice things for people, and he usually disguised them as something insignificant. Maybe this was one of those times; maybe Brian was actually looking out for him.

Brian rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’d just thought you’d like to stop feeling sorry for yourself and start dating again. I can find someone in the Art Department for him.”

“I thought you said he was perfect for me!” he sputtered.

“He’s perfect for a couple of people,” Brian said flippantly.

This was probably the biggest mistake of his life, but… “Okay,” Ted said, resigned. Brian looked smug. “I’ll go out with him.”

*

Every Wednesday, Emmett and Ted used Ted’s lunch break to go walking and shopping. Emmett liked to call it improv shopping, since they just jumped into whatever shops caught their fancy. Although, after so many years, they had made multiple stops in every store within walking distance of Kinnetik.

Emmett had the feeling Ted’s head wasn’t quite with him this afternoon, but that might have been contributed to his newly-heightened sense of paranoia. He jumped every time they brushed hands or shoulders, and it was getting to be a real struggle to not stare at Ted’s lips during conversation. Or during silence. Or anytime, really.

“Why is it that married people always have to fix up their single friends?” Ted mumbled. He flipped through the ties on the rack, frowning. “They never have anything I like in this place.”

Emmett tried on a pair of lavender sunglasses. He could so pull off this look if he had a few well-placed honey-toned highlights. “Hmm?”

“I have a date tomorrow,” Ted said.

Em’s head snapped up. He forced the smile to stay on his face. “Oh,” he said cheerfully, “lucky you. Who is it?”

“You won’t believe this, but Brian actually arranged the whole thing.”

“Brian?” Em nearly staggered from the pain of betrayal. “Brian set you up?” There must have been something in his voice, because Ted regarded him curiously, a line forming between his brows. “So what’s wrong with the guy?” Emmett continued quickly.

Shaking his head, Ted replied, “Brian tried to convince me he was doing this out of the kindness of his heart. Somehow I don’t believe him.”

Emmett barked out a laugh. “Mr Fabulous probably has three balls and crossed eyes.”

“Nah.” Ted shoved his hands in the pocket of his coat. “He’s a doctor.”

Emmett was going to kill Brian.

*

That evening, he stormed over to Brian and Justin’s place, intent on making a scene. A scene which no one would hear except, Brian, himself, and possibly Brian’s neighbors, although God knew they were good at ignoring everything else that went on in there.

Without bothering to knock, he threw open the door and marched inside. (Thankfully, neither Brian nor Justin had ever learned to lock their door when they were home. It would have completely ruined his entrance.) Brian was sitting on the couch, studying a notebook of what Em guessed were slides; when Em barged in, he stood up with an expression of surprise.

“Brian Kinney, you are the most–” Justin was sitting at the computer desk. Em glanced at him, then back at Brian. He gritted his teeth. “I need to talk to you in private about our… private thing.”

“Oh, you mean Ted?” Justin asked, without looking away from the screen.

Em glared at Brian, who at least had the decency to appear sheepish. “He guessed?”

“I can’t believe you fixed Ted up after I told you how I felt!” Em seethed.

Brian rolled his eyes like Em was the biggest moron on earth. “I don’t give a fuck about how you feel.”

“I trusted you, and you betrayed me! You stabbed me in the back! You– you– Judas!”

“Are you done?” Brian asked.

Em clenched his fists. “Don’t you feel the least bit bad?”

“No.” Stepping around the couch, he got right in Em’s face. He poked Em in the chest. “You’re the one who said you and Theodore wouldn’t work out. I’m just giving him a hand.”

“We’re no longer friends,” Emmett declared.

“Try explaining that to Ted,” Brian sneered. A perplexed expression fluttered across his face. “Wait, I’m not going to blackmail you into staying my friend.”

“Good, because I don’t need to be blackmailed!”

They glared at each other.

“What?” Brian asked after a moment.

Em frowned. “What?”

*

Doctor Robbie Long was strikingly handsome. He had a beautifully shaped jaw, and thick brown hair peppered with grey. His handshake was firm. One point for Brian, Ted decided. Better yet, Robbie didn’t look disappointed to be meeting Ted. He’d been on enough blind dates to know when people were unpleasantly surprised. Those dates usually ended in handshakes.

The problem was, other than looks, there didn’t seem to be a whole lot to the guy. After they exchanged nice-to-meet-you’s, they sat in a silence that was so thick it was almost palpable. It was the kind of silence that made Ted’s stomach turn over.

“So,” Ted said, trying to jump start the conversation. He chuckled nervously. “I was an accountant for many, many years, but now I’m in advertising. Brian hired me when I was down on my luck, and things just sort of evolved.”

Robbie didn’t say anything.

“Um, you’re a doctor?” Ted asked. “What sort of doctor?”

Robbie smiled. He had a very handsome smile. Two points for Brian. “I specialize in cardiac care.”

Ted waited for more of an explanation, but none came. “I bet that’s interesting,” he said awkwardly.

“Not really,” Robbie replied.

“I couldn’t be a doctor,” Ted babbled. “It’s too much stress. Not that my job isn’t stressful, but, um, I’m not dealing with someone’s life. The only life I have to really worry about ruining is my own. Is your work anything like ‘ER?’”

“No,” Robbie said.

An hour later, Ted had drunken nearly the entire bottle of wine by himself, and Dr Long had barely spoken a word. The uncomfortable silence from the beginning of their date carried over into dinner. Negative fifty points for Brian. The couple behind them were talking about the weather. Ted would have given his left arm to be sitting with them right now.

“Did you know a pea is a legume?” Robbie asked.

Ted finished his glass. “Brian said you liked opera,” he said quickly. “What’s your favorite work?”

“I like Banco de Gaia.”

Banco de Gaia was, in Ted’s opinion, the most boring opera in Western history. It was about a man who woke up, ate breakfast, went to work at a bank, did his job, and went home. Considering how their date was going, it was typical.

“Oh,” Ted said, trying to sound surprised.

“What’s yours?”

“I’ve always been partial to Wagner’s Die Walküre,” Ted replied.

He smiled at Robbie, but Robbie didn’t look happy.

“I don’t know quite how to say this,” Robbie said. He faltered. “I’m sorry, but I just can’t date someone who likes Wagner.”

“Is this because he was an anti-Semite?” Ted asked, startled.

“No,” Robbie replied.

Ted waited for the rest of the explanation, but Robbie just sat there.

“Okay then,” he said. He held up a hand. “Check!”

*

Ted Schmidt was a man on a mission. The very next morning, he advanced on Brian at the diner.

“You’re a fucking bastard,” he said, coming to a stop at Brian’s table.

Brian raised his head sleepily. “And good morning to you, Theodore. How did your date go?”

“How did it go?” Ted repeated angrily. He slipped into the booth; the others hadn’t arrived yet. “How did it go? I would have had more fun on a date with a brick wall. Not only was it beyond terrible, but he also told me we can’t see each other again because I prefer Wagner over Puccini!”

“I can’t believe I found someone more boring than you,” Brian said, sounding impressed.

“How could you think he was perfect for me?”

“I thought you two would have many similar interests,” Brian replied.

“Like unnerving silence?” Ted nearly shouted. “He was the most boring person I’ve ever met. And I was an accountant. I know boring. I used to be on a first-name basis with boring. I–”

“Had a circle jerk with boring?” Brian suggested.

“Yes. No. No! You’re such an asshole,” Ted snapped.

Brian sighed deeply, as if he was simply indulging Ted. “You want to know the truth? In my limited interaction with the man, there wasn’t a whole lot of talking.”

“You? Fuck someone you don’t even know? That’s not the Brian I know.”

“You’re pretty cocky for a guy who just got dumped by ‘the most boring person you’ve ever met.’”

Brian even did the air quotes. It was infuriating. Ted started to sputter a reply (he wasn’t sure what he was going to say, but he hoped it was something that did his rage justice), but then the bell over the door chimed, and someone walked in whistling a jaunty tune. He recognized it immediately and slid over to make room for Emmett.

“How was your date, Teddy?” Em asked, joining them.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Ted grumbled.

“Theodore here was just thanking me for being a good friend,” Brian said.

“We all know what kind of friend you are,” Em muttered bitterly.

Ted’s eyebrows shot up at that. He was going to have to hear this story. “What’s going on?”

Em looked away, face flushing. “Oh, nothing. I’m just joshing you.”

He opened his mouth to ask what was really going on, but Brian interjected: “I have someone you’ll like.”

He groaned. “Oh no, not again.”

“This one’s nothing like you. He’s not boring. You’ll love him.”

“Thanks,” Ted said sarcastically, as Em loudly snapped, “Brian, he said he didn’t want to. God, you’re so insensitive!”

Some of the tables in their section went quiet. Brian and Emmett glowered at each other.

“Is there something going on I should know about?” Ted asked slowly.

Calm as always, Brian stirred more sugar into his coffee. Em hid behind his menu, although Ted knew he had it memorized. “I’m calling this guy when I get to the office,” Brian warned, but Ted wasn’t sure if the comment was directed towards him or Emmett.

“Okay,” Ted said.

Em grunted, “Whatever,” and stood.

Debbie finally wandered over to them, popping her gum. She shook her pen at Ted. “What’ll it be, sweetie?”

“He’ll have an omlette with a side of backbone,” Em told her, eyes rolling behind his sunglasses. He slung his bag over his shoulder and gave them a little wave. “Bye-bye, boys.”

Ted watched Em walk off, and when he turned around, Brian was studying him oddly. “What?”

Brian just shook his head.

*

When Emmett managed to not have a nervous breakdown over the next few days, he took it as a sign that he was a strong person who didn’t need someone else, like Ted, to complete him. He was perfectly comfortable in the knowledge Ted would one day find the love of his life and settle down. Somewhat comfortable. Okay, he wasn’t comfortable in the least, and he would die old and alone, but he wasn’t going to let that get in the way of Ted’s happiness.

On his way to see what Michael was up to, his cell rang. The caller ID said: <3 TEDDY <3

“What’re you doing tomorrow night?”

“Oh, nothing much,” Em replied, lingering in the shade outside the comic shop. Despite the warmth of the afternoon, there wasn’t a great deal of pedestrians about. “I was thinking of having a spa night in. Why?”

“My date with Brian’s ‘acquaintance’ is tonight. Since the last one was so bad, would you keep your phone on just in case I need someone to bail me out?”

He forced himself to smile. He hoped his voice sounded cheery. “Of course, honey. We need a code phrase. Something you can say over the phone without sounding like you’re trying to bail.”

“I was just going to sneak off to the bathroom and call you from there.”

“Or that,” he replied.

“Em…” Ted hesitated. “Are you okay with me dating?”

Cold air hit him as he pushed open the door to Red Cape Comics. He waved at Michael, who was restocking Catman or Wondergirl or whatever. “Of course I’m okay,” he lied. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“You seemed pretty angry the other day.”

“I’m not,” he explained, “I’m just… I’m weirded out, I guess. It’s like when you were seeing Blake five seconds after we broke up. I hated it.”

Ted was quiet for a moment. “It was weird for me when you started dating again, too.”

That shouldn’t have made him feel better, but it did. Em was a horrible person and an even terrible friend.

“It’s okay to feel bad,” Ted continued, completely evaporating that warm feeling in Em’s chest. He wasn’t sure when this new and improved Ted had been born, just that he had appeared after they’d broken up. Normally, he liked hearing Ted like this, but not under these circumstances.

“Is that Dr Phil speaking?” he laughed.

“No, it’s my own experience.”

Michael was really obviously listening to their conversation, but trying to look like he was engrossed in the copy of the Flash he was reading. Upside down.

Em cleared his throat. “Baby, I have to go. Just call me if you need me.”

When he put away his cell, Michael lowered the comic with an exaggerated look of surprise. “Oh! I didn’t see you come in!”

“Uh huh,” Em said sarcastically. He sighed, feeling the energy whoosh out of him.

“Em,” said Michael, voice full of concern. “You’ve been acting weird lately.”

He might as well tell Michael. He’d just find out anyway, and it had been a while since they’d had a heart-to-heart talk about relationships. “I have to tell you something shocking. You might want to brace yourself.”

“Is this about you being in love with Ted?” Michael asked. “‘Cause I already knew.”

“Brian,” Em muttered.

The door opened, and in walked Justin, wearing his work clothes. The black leather laptop bag didn’t do anything to make him look older — it just made him look like a geeky high school kid, instead of a regular high school kid. How Justin was able to walk through the school without being asked for a hall pass was beyond him.

“Tell your husband he’s a prick,” Emmett called.

Justin snorted, setting his bag on the counter. “I tell him that every day. It’s lost its effect.” He studied Em very seriously. “Have you decided what you’re going to do about Ted?”

“He’s going to leave things alone,” Michael said. He looked at Em with wide eyes. “Right?”

“If he loves him, he needs to go for it,” Justin said.

“No, no.” Michael shook his head. “He doesn’t want to fuck up their friendship.”

With them flanking Em on either side, he wondered if this is what it felt like to have an angel and a devil arguing on his shoulders. Although he wasn’t really sure which one was which.

“He could be missing out on something amazing,” Justin argued.

“He already has something amazing,” Michael insisted.

“If you two are done projecting,” Emmett said. Both Michael and Justin shut up. “I’ve already decided not to do anything, and nothing you say can convince me otherwise.”

“But–” Justin began.

Em held up a hand. “No.”

“I–” Michael.

Em held up his other hand. “No.”

*

That Friday, Ted arrived at Monte Cristo, an upscale place downtown he’d only been to once or twice, back in his accounting days. He gave the hostess his name, and she led him towards the middle of the room, where an average-looking fellow sat at a table for two. He had on a nice designer suit Ted was sure Brian owned. Studying the man’s back, he had the sudden urge to bail; after the horror of his last date, he worried Brian had found someone equally — or even more! — boring.

In the end, the fear of Brian finding out he stood the guy up was more powerful than the fear of being bored to tears.

“Bill Smith?” Ted asked, approaching the table.

The man stood. “Theodore Schmidt?” He shook Ted’s hand enthusiastically. “It’s great to meet you. Kinney said you were a helluva a guy.”

Brian had said what? “Uh, thanks,” Ted replied, stunned. He took the empty seat. “So do you, um, do this often? Blind dates, I mean.”

“Sort of,” Bill confessed. “I guess I just haven’t met the person I want to spend my life with. What about you?”

Ted straightened his silverware. “I had someone, but it didn’t work out. I–”

“Can I get you gentlemen any drinks?” the waiter interrupted.

“Hey, pal, didn’t you see us talking?” Bill demanded angrily. The waiter started to sputter an apology, but Bill said, “I’ll have the chicken parmesan. And bring a bottle of your house wine.”

Ted hadn’t even glanced at the menu yet. “Uh, I’ll have the same thing.”

When the waiter hurried away, Bill scoffed, “Well, he won’t be getting a tip.”

Ted was beginning to understand why Bill had been on so many blind dates.

But they actually had a nice dinner. Despite not being very attractive, Bill was witty and energetic, and when he was involved in a story his eyes sparkled, almost making up for his previous outburst. They had similar taste in music, art, and books, and they talked long after they finished their matching plates of chicken parmesan. It was turning out to be a rather pleasant evening.

Until the waiter messed up the bill. Then everything went to hell.

“Goddamn it,” Bill shouted, getting to his feet. “You charged me for the wrong meal!”

“Sorry, sir,” the poor waiter stammered.

“You’d better be sorry!” People at the other tables were turning to see what was going on. “What’re you looking at?!”

“I’m sure it’s easy to correct,” Ted said quietly, horrified and embarrassed. Everyone was staring. The couple at the next table were shaking their heads at them in shame. Maybe, if he was lucky, the ground would open up and swallow him whole.

“He’d better hope it’s easy!”

“Sir, just calm down,” the waiter pleaded.

Ted laid a twenty on the table, then slowly backed towards the door. While Bill was busy screaming about the extra five bucks he’d been charged, Ted slipped out the restaurant, throwing the hostess an apologetic smile.

Outside, he pulled out his ticket for his car, but then he heard “Theodore, wait!” and felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Let’s go back to my place and have some coffee,” Bill offered.

Dear God. “Uh, no thanks. I have a, um, early day tomorrow.” He tried to smile, not wanting to upset the psycho, but he felt it was more like a grimace.

“It’s okay, I–” Bill stopped abruptly, glancing around. Then he burst into tears.

“What now?” Ted asked. That was the last straw.

Bawling, he wailed, “I can’t remember where I parked!”

*

Bachelor number three was named Sullivan MacDonald. Brian had remembered him because he was funny.

“‘Ha ha’ funny or ‘where are my pills’ funny?” Ted had questioned.

Sullivan was a lean redhead, which struck Ted as strange, because Brian wasn’t really interested in redheads. (Of course, at one point Brian hadn’t been into blonds, and look how that had turned out.) He wondered if they’d met in a more usual way. If they had, there was a greater chance this man was crazy, because Brian didn’t know nice, normal people. Except for himself, Michael and Emmett, of course.

When Brian had set the whole thing up, Ted had told him: “This is the last one, okay?” But when Brian had smirked, he’d had the feeling Brian hadn’t believed him.

The first thing Ted noticed about Sullivan was that he was good-looking, but not in a typical way. He looked like he might be a little shy, a little self-conscious. Ted didn’t drop his crazy theory, but maybe this was the kind of crazy he could relate to.

“Brian didn’t tell me much about you,” Sullivan said, after they’d ordered an excellent wine.

“Well, I was an accountant up until a few years ago. I left to start my own business.” Which wasn’t technically a lie. “Now I’m in advertising. I work at Kinnetik for Brian, actually.”

“Really.” Sullivan folded and refolded his hands on the table. He seemed nervous. “I’m in marketing. My firm works with Vanguard frequently. That’s how Brian and I–”

“Oh, right, right,” Ted said. Before he could stop himself, he started, “So you’ve never, um–”

Sullivan looked surprised. “With Brian? No. I don’t really do one-night stands. I’m looking for someone I can talk to about things like books and travel.”

He smiled at Ted, and Ted’s heart beat a little faster.

*

“–And he’s trying to start a firm in China. Apparently, in China they don’t have any statistics on what people like to buy, so what his company would do is–”

“Teddy, I’ll have to call you back,” Em said, gritting his teeth. “You’re breaking up.”

“I don’t hear–”

“Ta!” Em hung up.

Anger, jealousy, and sadness raged inside him. Without really paying attention to what he was doing, he pushed open the door to the diner, and shoved himself in the nearest empty booth. Just a few days ago, he told himself he’d deal when Ted found Mr Right, but he hated, hated this. That was the fifth time Ted had called him that day to talk about whoever that guy was– Bitchface McBitchpants was the name Em had given him.

The seat cushion sank, and he opened his eyes to see Brian and Justin joining him.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said gruffly.

“Em,” Justin started, completely ignoring what he’d said, “my students all agree you–”

“Your students?” Em demanded. “You talked about my–” He glanced around quickly and lowered his voice. “About my problem with Teddy?”

Justin shrugged. “Sure, I talk to them about everything. My best student is this guy all the jocks pick on, named Jason. He doesn’t have many friends, but he’s dating an older guy who’s apparently a total man-whore.”

They both glanced at Brian.

“And the circle of life continues,” Brian said, raising his coffee cup.

Emmett sighed. “Let me guess, Justin, your students said I should go for it?”

“Yeah.” Justin smiled apologetically, although Em doubted he was the least bit sorry.

He snorted. “Well, it’s too late now, isn’t it? Thanks to somebody who shall remain nameless, Brian, Teddy’s fallen madly in love with some amazing guy.”

“You don’t have to worry,” Brian drawled. “Ted’s not going to find the man of his dreams.”

Em frowned. “What?”

“Ted’s not going to find in some stranger whatever it is he can’t find in you.”

It wasn’t often Brian could knock him speechless, even when Brian was at his most horrible. And because the way Brian had said it was so casual, like it was something Em should have known, his eyes filled with tears. He choked back a sob.

“Oh, Em,” Justin said, reaching across the table to grab his hand.

He sniffed and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “I’ll be okay. I just need some time to get used to this. I’m glad Ted is happy. Really.” Suddenly, the diner seemed too crowded and suffocating. He climbed out of the booth. “I need to be alone for a while. I’ll see you guys later?”

“Sure,” Justin said, and Brian nodded.

As he walked off, he heard Justin say to Brian: “Well, I hope you’re happy.”

*

Not wanting to turn to alcohol, Emmett poured himself into his work. He made a new kind of dessert, called a Pathetic Pie, and a dinner dish, which he named the Bitter Breakup Burrito. He figured the Bitchface Burrito probably wouldn’t be well-received.

At the party he hosted the next evening, his client told him the new additions were by far the best dishes he’d created yet.

*

Six days later, Sullivan still hadn’t called. Nor was he responding to Ted’s messages.

Ted stood outside Brian’s office, waiting for Brian to show for work. Cynthia kept walking by, getting things together for Brian’s first meeting, he supposed, and she kept squinting at him like she wanted him to leave. He knew why: he could see his reflection in the glass, jittery and desperate. This was why he hated dating. He would never be suave like Emmett, or aloof like Brian, or even cute like Michael. He would always be a nervous wreck.

After a good twenty minutes, he heard Brian’s voice from the direction of the lobby, probably talking to Cynthia: “Have it on my desk and ready by noon.” When Brian caught sight of Ted, he faltered slightly — it was so slight Ted wouldn’t have caught it had he not been paying close attention. “Well, aren’t you an eager beaver,” he drawled.

Ted followed him into the office. “Can you do something for me?” Instead of answering, Brian set his briefcase on his desk and began taking out files. “Can you find out if Sullivan, well, likes me?”

“Yeah, I’ll pass him a note during Geometry,” Brian scoffed, shooting him a scathing look.

But this was too important to let the almighty wrath of Brian get in his way. “I’m serious. I really want to see him again, but he isn’t answering the phone. At least,” he added, grimacing, “not when I call.”

“I’m going to say something that might shock you,” Brian said. He clasped Ted’s shoulder. “You can do better.”

“No, I can’t,” he insisted. “You don’t understand. He’s amazing. I think he might really be the one.”

“Should I RVSP to the wedding now?” Brian asked sarcastically, turning back to his work.

“Can you you talk to him, or… whatever it is that you do?” Ted asked. He could hear a pleading tone creep into his voice, which was humiliating, but he couldn’t help himself. “Please?”

Brian wavered. “Why don’t I just find someone else for you?”

“Absolutely not. The gay dating scene is hell. Don’t you remember being single?”

“No,” Brian said.

“Please?” Ted begged.

Brian pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine,” he said tightly. “I’ll call him. Now get back to work before you find yourself unemployed.”

*

No matter what, Ted could rely on his best friend. As soon as he’d told Emmett about Sullivan’s blatant rejection, Em had rushed over with a plate of brownies and the Pretty Woman DVD. He wasn’t sure how Julia Roberts in short shorts was supposed to make him feel better, but Em had said it would make him “believe in love again, silly.”

“We can be single together,” Em said merrily, handing him an appletini. “Remember how much fun we used to have at Babylon?”

“You had fun, I went home alone,” Ted said bitterly.

Sliding an arm around Ted’s shoulders (which, frankly, made him feel weird, although it shouldn’t have), Em sighed, “Whoever thought we’d be the last two of our friend to be single?”

“You’re kidding, right?” he asked.

Julia Roberts was in the middle of being kicked out of a fancy store for looking like a whore. “Look at her, all smug, knowing Richard Gere’s going to be hers in an hour,” Ted grumbled. He drowned the rest of his drink. “I could really go for some crystal.” He was kidding. Sort of.

“Negative thinking,” Em practically squeaked. “Try to accentuate the positive. Look how fabulous her legs look in those boots!”

“I really hate this movie,” Ted said.

The phone rang. Without even glancing away from the tv screen — “God, those outfits were so 80’s,” Em groaned — Ted picked it up. “Hello?”

“Ted? It’s Sullivan. Sullivan MacDonald?”

His pulse quicked. Had hadn’t expected this; he hadn’t even prepared a speech. Mouth dry, he stammered, “H-hi. It’s great to hear from you.” He glanced at Em, who smiled crookedly. When he mouthed, “Sullivan,” Em’s face went blank.

“Yeah, um, Brian said you wanted to hear from me?” said Sullivan.

Ted couldn’t believe Brian had actually done what he’d asked. “Er, yeah. How are you?”

“I’m good,” Sullivan replied hesistantly.

Sullivan’s discomfort was pretty obvious. Ted had a bad feeling about this. Maybe it hadn’t been such a great idea to get Brian involved… Yet for some reason, his mouth kept going. “What are you doing this Friday?”

“I think I’m busy,” came the reply.

“Oh, um, what about Saturday?” Somehow, Ted’s mouth had completely disconnected from his brain.

Silence. “I’m going to be honest here, Ted. This isn’t going to happen.”

“Oh,” Ted replied weakly.

“I mean, it’s… What are you looking for? Really?”

“Really?” He breathed deeply. “A serious relationship,” he confessed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Em’s mouth twitch oddly.

“I don’t think you’re going to find it in me,” Sullivan said quietly. “You’re a nice guy, but I don’t think we’re right for each other.”

His chest tightened. “But–”

He didn’t know what he was going to say. But they’d had such a great time? But they both loved music and classical literature and fine dining? But Ted had really, really liked him? Stupid.

Later, he wouldn’t remember how the rest of the phone call went, just that it didn’t last long.

“It was nice meeting you,” was the last thing Sullivan said to him. “I hope you meet someone special.”

“What a stupid fuck,” Em exclaimed, before the phone was even back on the hook. He clamped a hand over his mouth, as if he’d spoken on accident. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have listened.”

Ted felt like such an idiot. “No, it’s okay. I don’t know why I’m even bothering,” he whispered.

“What?” Em asked, eyes widening. He cried, “Teddy, there’s someone out there for everyone!”

Emmett just didn’t understand. He was hot and sweet and fun. It was impossible not to fall for him. But Ted wasn’t like that; he was plain-looking and self-conscious and said stupid things. His only outstanding qualities were his intelligence and culture, but, well, a lot of people were smart. He wasn’t anything special.

“It’s obvious by now I’m never going to find anyone. I might as well give up.”

“Ted–” Em started to say.

“I guess there’s just something wrong with me. I should just buy five more cats and get it over with.”

Emmett grabbed him by the shoulders. “Ted! You’re smart and funny and sensitive and… you’re amazing, Teddy, and anyone who can’t see that isn’t worth it.”

Somehow, when Emmett said it, Ted believed it. He felt something both familiar and extraordinary bubbling up inside of him.

“Em, do you ever think about us?” he blurted.

Em recoiled. “I…”

He closed his eyes. “No, don’t say anything. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“Ted– Teddy, look at me.” Ted did. Em sucked in a deep breath through his nose. “I think about us every day. I know we agreed we’re only going to be friends, but I can’t help it. Last time we fucked things up–”

“I fucked things up,” he interrupted.

Em smiled crookedly. “You hurt me more than anyone had ever hurt me before. Hell,” he scoffed, “more than anyone else has since.”

Ted had already known that, but that didn’t stop him from feeing like shit.

Em looked away sadly. “Maybe we just weren’t meant to be.”

Suddenly, Ted knew just what he wanted. Just who he wanted. He hadn’t found what he needed in Blake, with their overly complicated relationship, or… well, he hadn’t really had a relationship with anyone since then, but maybe that was God’s way of telling him the person he was meant to be with was right in front of him. Again. For the second time.

“Maybe we were,” he said desperately. “Maybe we just needed time. Em, I’m not the person I was when I did that to you. And you’re not the person who would just take it.”

Em huffed. “I ‘took it’ because I wanted–”

“What I meant,” he cut in, “was that if we’re still in love after all these years, that means we’ve grown together, right?”

“If we were meant for each other, wouldn’t this be easier?”

“No,” Ted said with sudden clarity. He knew the answer to this; he was a recovering drug addict who had completely started his life over, and he was more stressed, more worn out, more happy than he had ever been in his entire life. “Nothing worthwhile is ever easy.”

Em’s eyes shone. “You think we’re worth it?”

“Yes,” he said hoarsely. “Absolutely.”

Em took his face in his hands and kissed him.

*

They walked to breakfast the next morning holding hands. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and Emmett was glowing. Ted was pretty sure he was too. Last night, right before falling asleep, Ted had been stricken with fear that the morning would bring nothing but panic and regret, but when he woke up he felt nothing but happiness. Even the whole humiliating Sullivan episode wasn’t important anymore.

Em had been sweetly shy all morning — just like he’d been the first time they’d been involved. Ted had never been more happy he and Em had once been together.

He couldn’t explain why, but somehow he knew this time it was going to work with them.

When they made it to their usual table, their friends made cat-calls. All except Ben, who just gave them a small grin.

Debbie beamed. “Well! Who would have guessed!”

Ted bit his lip, trying to stop smiling like a doofus.

“I guess we’re friends again,” Em told Brian, blushing.

“Yippie,” Brian said dryly.

“Yeah, what was that about?” Ted asked.

For some reason, both Justin and Michael looked embarrassed. Em ducked his head, grabbing Ted’s hand and lacing their fingers together once more. “Well, I guess I can tell you now,” he said. “I was mad at Brian for setting you up after I told him I was in love with you.”

The implicated dawned on Ted. His mind reeled. “Wait… Brian. Did you– did you set me up on those dates knowing they’d end terribly?”

Brian brush off his hands, looking very smug. “Now why would I do something like that?”

“What the fuck does that mean, smart ass?” Debbie cracked, smacking him on the back of the head.

“That’s hot,” Justin sighed, making eyes at Brian. “Caring about your friends is so hot.”

“It doesn’t take a whole lot with you, does it,” Michael said to him.

With their mouths still open in shock, Ted and Em exchanged glances. Ted couldn’t believe the whole thing was Brian’s plan. No, that was a lie; Brian was an evil control freak who occasionally did something good. It was just his luck he’d happened to be in Brian’s path.

He said seriously, “I find it really disturbing Brian was the only one who believed in our love.”

“You know what I find disturbing?” Em asked. “How unnecessarily complicated that whole plan was.”

Brian scowled. “I don’t do things half-assed, Honeycutt.”

*

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Cowlip Productions and the Showtime Network. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The title comes from a John Mellencamp song. The summary was written by my dear f1rrenze.

Thanks to Cait and BIBW for looking this over and telling me it didn’t suck.

Summary: When Brian and Justin break up over the whole gang issue, Brian finds himself in even more trouble than when he started. While he’s caught playing Maria to Justin’s Tony, bitter gang rivalries come to surface as Cody and Justin try to be the biggest hetero basher on the block. Brian/Justin, Alternate Season Four Timeline.

Justin had said Brian would be sorry when they broke up. Something about the heteros coming after them next — Brian had sort of stopped listening to Justin’s paranoid ranting once he had realised Justin was actually storming out again. It was only a matter of time before Justin realised running around the streets dressed in pink was the stupidest idea ever and came home, but it had been two weeks already, and he didn’t even know where Justin was staying. Since that night, he had figured Justin had meant he’d be sorry emotionally; it wasn’t like Brian hadn’t had the whole sad and angry thing down pat ever since he had first found out Justin was a member of the Pink Possums, or whatever they called themselves.

However, being held at gunpoint in his own parking garage at seven ‘o’ clock in the morning was a bit unexpected.

“Call for help and I’ll blow your head off.”

Sometimes Brian really hated his life.

Without turning around, Brian dropped his arms to his sides. “If you take my ‘vette I’ll hunt you down and shove that gun so far up your ass you’ll be shitting bullets for weeks.”

“Er,” the guy said. He had a whiny voice Brian didn’t recognise. “I… I don’t think you’re supposed to be threatening me.”
“Look, I have fifty bucks in my wallet,” Brian offered.

“Get in the fucking car,” the voice hissed, pushing the gun harder against the back of his neck. Biting back an irritated sigh, Brian started towards the driver’s door, but the man stopped him. “No, I’m driving. Get in the other side.”

“You’re not– Are you kidnapping me?”

“I said get in the fucking car.“

“Yeah, sure, getting in the car,” Brian replied, holding up his hands in defeat. He went to the passenger side and climbed in. He didn’t know what the hell was going on, but he didn’t like it. The other door opened, and he clenched his fists; he could probably get in a punch or two before the guy knew what hit him. If he made it back to his building he could lock the door behind him.

But the person sliding into the seat was just a scruffy-looking kid, with a short beard and short-cropped dark blond hair.

“Jesus,” Brian said, “are you skipping school to kidnap me?”

The guy looked at him blankly. Brian closed his eyes and sighed.

“Keys,” his kidnapper demanded. Cringing, Brian dropped them into his open hand.

“You’d better know how to drive a stick,” he muttered.

“Put your seatbelt on and lock the door.”

When the car jerked forward Brian cried, “Holy fuck!” The kid glanced at him sheepishly, then pulled out onto the street. Scrambling to get his seatbelt on, Brian snapped, “Well done, you little shit.”

He found himself with the pistol in his face. “Shut the fuck up,” the guy screamed. Brian stared at him until the gun lowered. “Fuck, no wonder Taylor dumped your ass.”

“You know Justin?” Brian asked sharply. He eyed the gun and the short hair. “Of course you do. What did he do now?”

There was no answer, only the kid’s face darkening with rage.

The gun worried Brian only long enough for them to make it to the highway. He held his breath as they easily slid into the morning rush hour traffic.

“So what’s up, Snoop Dog?” he asked, as the kid merged into the fast lane.

“What’s up is you’re going to shut your mouth.”

Of course Justin couldn’t have any connections to nice people. He was probably bleeding to death in some darkened alley somewhere. And worse yet, Brian was being kidnapped — kidnapped! — by someone who didn’t even know how to drive a stick. Brian had been in some pretty ridiculous situations in his life, but this was really taking the cake.

Brian bit the inside of his cheek. He started, “Listen, this whole kidnapping thing–”

“No, you listen,” the guy snapped. “Me: kidnapper. You: kidnappee. If anyone is asking questions around here, it’s me. You just sit there and think about how I could blow your head off at any second. You’re expendable. Remember that.”

“No, I’m not,” Brian pointed out calmly, “or else you wouldn’t have gone to trouble of kidnapping me.”

The kid frowned. “Yeah, well… shut up, or I’ll start mailing your fingers to Taylor. Or your toes. Or, like, something else important… like your nose!”

It was probably a good thing Justin didn’t have many friends.

As the car slowed due to traffic, his kidnapper struggled to get something from his jean pockets. Brian’s hand eased towards the door handle. Before he could do anything, the kid pulled out a set of handcuffs and tossed them in Brian’s lap. “Handcuff yourself to the door,” he ordered.

Brian winced. “I really don’t think of you in that way.”

The hand holding the gun twitched. Brian quickly cuffed himself.

“What’s your name?” Brian asked. The guy threw him an appalled look. “If we’re going to be spending a lot of time together I have to know what to call you.”

He seemed to accept this. “Alright, you can call me… Call me The Detonator.”

“I’m not calling you The fucking Detonator.”

“It’s all you’re gonna get,” he shouted.

“I’m just going to call you Tim until you give me a real name,” Brian scoffed. The kid let out a frustrated gasp. Brian crossed his arms over his chest and smirked. “So, Tim, where’re we headed?”

Tim gritted his teeth. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

*

Every morning since they split, Justin woke with the name “Brian” on his lips. If their last three-month break up had failed to keep Brian from his thoughts, then this breakup was killing him; two weeks into the single life and he felt like he was dying. He hadn’t seen Brian once since he had fled the loft in a fit of rage. At least last time Brian had still graced the diner with his presence; now it seemed like he had given up. Justin didn’t know whether to be pleased Brian seemed to be as devastated as he was, or guilty he had made Brian… whatever Brian was.
Justin had a new routine in the mornings that had nothing to do with long, luxurious showers, or mutual blowjobs. Every day he would wake, jerk off quickly in the shower while thinking of Brian, then get dressed in something comfortable. He would work for a few hours before dashing back to Daphne’s. After a fast run he would prepare for a grueling night of training and patrolling.

Tonight, Justin dug through a pile of semi-clean clothes, searching for a shirt. He found a tight white t-shirt and an old pair of jeans under what he hoped was clean boxers. He quickly changed and grabbed his new boots.

Lastly, he pulled on his black leather jacket. Daphne had sewn a ‘J’ onto the back for him last week.

He flexed his biceps. Now he was ready.

The Pink Posse used to meet in an old gym to work out. In the few weeks Cody had been in charge, Justin had loathed going there. Now they met at a warehouse a bit closer to Liberty Avenue. It wasn’t exactly the best working conditions, but at least it didn’t smell like old gym socks. There was loud laughter and chatter coming from the building when he entered, intermingled with the now-familiar sounds of boxing, but as soon as his men noticed his presence they quieted down.

“Word on the street is that the Pink Posse wants the block around Babylon,” he said loudly, crossing his arms behind his back. He smiled grimly. “But since we haven’t had any final word yet from their boss, I think it’s fair game. Once you’ve finished training, that is.”

“We’re ready,” someone yelled.

“The Pinks are just a bunch of pussies,” one guy cackled. Everyone started to guffaw.

Justin didn’t find it funny. None of these guys had any idea of what they’d gotten into; he knew hardly any of them had endured more than a few harsh words from straights. Yet they all thought the world owed them something. It made him sick. A handful of them had been with Justin in the Pink Posse before he split, and had eagerly followed him because they thought Cody was batshit insane. They preferred Justin’s planning and preparation to Cody’s complete lack of… well, sanity. But that didn’t mean he trusted any of them — especially with the responsibility of working as a team. He couldn’t take the chance they’d slip up and get themselves or anyone else in trouble. He didn’t want to be reckless like Cody.

“You’re not ready,” he shouted. The laughter died down. “You don’t know what it’s like out there on the streets. It’s dark, and it’s cold, and sometimes people have baseball bats. In here you may be a hotshot, but out there? Out there you’re the victim.”

He glared at them each one by one. Some shifted uncomfortably; others met his gaze head on.

One of the men in the back of the crowd loudly cleared his throat. “So… that’s a no-go on the beating people up, right? Because if we’re going to get in trouble, I definitely didn’t have anything to do with that attack on the Pink Posse last week. Oh, and neither did Bobby. We were definitely doing something else that night.”

Thankfully, before Justin ordered them to throw themselves into traffic, his cell phone rang. “Yeah?” he answered, turning away.

He recognised the loud thump-thump in the background as Babylon. “Justin? It’s Michael.”

That was someone he hadn’t expected to hear from. Since the breakup, Michael had chosen pretend Justin didn’t exist, even going so far as to sit in a different part of the diner during Justin’s shifts, despite the fact that Justin was certain Brian hadn’t told anyone why they had split. Although, to be fair, Justin hadn’t gone out of his way to contact any of his friends either. Seeing them only reminded him of Brian. Linoleum reminded him of Brian, really, but at least linoleum didn’t come with awkward silences. “Michael? What the fuck?”

“Listen, I wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t important, but–” Michael hesitated.

“Did something happen?” Justin asked, stomach dropping. “Is Brian alright?”

“I’m sure he’s okay. He was supposed to meet me for breakfast, and Cynthia says he didn’t show for work today, and he’s not at Babylon or Woodys. Maybe he just picked up a trick and lost track of time.”

“Maybe,” Justin muttered bitterly. He looked back over his shoulder and found his crew straining to hear their conversation. Scowling, he snapped, “Hey! Go shave the new guy’s head or something.”

“Where are you?” Michael asked.

“Church,” Justin replied.

“Don’t use that sarcastic tone with me, young man,” Michael scolded. Justin let out a surprised laugh. Michael added, “Uh, sorry. I’m slowly turning into my mother.”

“Call me if Brian shows up,” Justin said. He bit his lip. “Or if he doesn’t. Just call me, okay?” When he hung up, everyone looked away sharply, as if they hadn’t been eavesdropping.

It was probably nothing. Brian was always drinking too much, fucking too often, and staying out too late. Michael was probably right about it being a delayed trick. Even still, Justin dialed a familiar number. “Brian,” he said after the voice mail beep, “um, Michael was worried, so I’m just checking up on you. Give him a ring when you get this so he doesn’t have a heart attack.”

“There a problem, boss?” one of his men, Joseph, asked. “You want us lookin’ into it?”

“No,” Justin replied slowly. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

He left his cell on when he and a handful of core members went patrolling that night. They helped a couple of drunk teens home and watched a car of straight boys fuel up at a gas station, but Brian didn’t call.

*

After about four hours of driving south, Tim pulled onto an exit that led them eastwards on a thin, winding road. Soon they came to some stick town Brian had neither heard of nor ever wanted to see again. It was about four streets wide and two streets long. A lone Stop ‘n’ Shop marred the homogeny of small, shabby houses. It was a creepy place, almost a ghost town except for the bright lights of the gas station.

Brian raised an eyebrow at Tim, who just drove on in silence.

They parked in front of a tiny, green house. Tim stopped the engine and just sat there, staring out the windshield.

“Where the hell are we?” Brian asked.

“Home,” Tim said darkly.

Brian said, “I can see you need a minute alone. I could just–” Tim picked up the gun again. “Sit here until you’re ready to go.”

Tim aimed at his head. “I’m going to uncuff you, and then we’re going to walk into the house real quiet-like.”

As he stepped out of the car, Brian glanced around, blinking against the bright mid-day sun. The neighbourhood was empty. There were a few cars parked in driveways, but overall the whole street was silent. He had no idea where they were, only that it wasn’t Pennsylvania. There was no point in trying to run away; he’d get shot before he could make it as far as the next lawn. The other car door slammed shut, and Tim nodded at him, brandishing the gun despite broad daylight.

The inside of the house was poorly decorated and smelled like mothballs. Before Brian could get a good look at anything, Tim pushed him down a damp stairwell. Brian soon found himself in a basement. There was a tiny television, a moldy couch, and a few rotting chairs.

“Great club house,” Brian drawled.

“It’ll do,” Tim sniffed.

“Is your mom going to make us lunch?”

“Cody?” a woman’s voice called from upstairs.

Brian raised an eyebrow. “You’re Cody? Breeder-hating, pink-wearing Cody? I should have known.”

“Shit!” his kidnapper exclaimed. “Uh, down here, Mom.”

“Fuck,” Brian said, laughing, “I was kidding. We’re at your parents’?”

“I’ll kill–”

The door opened, bright light filling the basement. Brian squinted as a woman in her fifties slowly made her way down the steps. She had a pleasant, round face and greying blonde hair. Tim– no, Cody, Brian remind himself — quickly hid the gun behind his back.

“I thought I heard someone down here,” she said warmly. “Cody, you should have told me you were bringing a friend over. Can I get you boys anything to snack on?”

As she moved closer, Cody took a few steps backwards and tucked the gun into the pocket of his jeans.

“I would kill for some coffee,” Brian said. Behind his mother’s back, Cody startled, flashing the gun at Brian. “Um, not really kill kill. I-I would like some coffee. Or you know what? I’m actually good.”

“Mom, this is Brian,” Cody said hastily.

If she noticed Brian was in one of his best suits, or if he was at least ten years older than her son, she didn’t comment. She shook his hand, and Brian coolly muttered, “Nice to meet you,” keeping an eye on the psycho. So much for informing the woman he was being held there against his will.

“Any friend of Cody’s is welcome here,” she said. Her voice dropped. “It’s been a while since he’s had anyone over. We’ve been sort of worried about him.”

“Mom,” Cody moaned. “Can you go now? We have stuff to do.”

“Alright,” she said. “Nice to meet you, Brian.”

He winced. “Nice to meet you, er, Mrs– Cody’s mother.”

“Call me Mrs Bell, sweetie,” she replied.

Cody shouted, “We’re in the middle of something.”

Mrs Bell patted Brian’s arm. “We have plenty of juice in the fridge if you run out. Just help yourself, dear.”

Brian managed, “That sounds, uh, lovely.”

She trotted back up the cement steps. The door clicked shut, and Cody groaned loudly.

“Now you see why I have all this rage,” he hissed, hands clenching.

“Yeah, it really sucks having a nice mom,” Brian said. “All that love can really bring you down.”

Cody made an exasperated sound. “You’re really cocky for a hostage.”

“It’s part of my charm,” Brian said. He spread his arms. “So what now, Cody Bell?”

Cody sat on the faded brown couch. “We wait.”

Not seeing any other option, Brian slowly eased himself into a rickety chair. He really could have used that coffee.

About ten minutes of quiet passed before the curiosity got to the best of him. “And what exactly are we waiting for?”

Cody shot him a sour look. “For your fucking boyfriend to catch on you’re gone.”

“That might take a while,” Brian drawled, “considering we haven’t spoken in two weeks.”

“I’ll make sure he finds out.”

The way Cody said it made Brian go cold all over. “If you or any of your– posse touch him, I’ll kill you,” he warned.

Cody looked away. “No one’s going to get hurt,” he replied slowly. He glanced back at Brian quickly, lip curling. “Unless you make me. Don’t think I won’t shoot you just ’cause you’re hot.”

Brian laughed incredulously. “You think I’m–?”

“Because you’re my hostage, I mean,” Cody interrupted. He pushed himself to his feet and began to pace.

“Fabulous,” Brian muttered.

This was ridiculous; Brian wasn’t going to sit here in silence waiting for Cody to decide Justin needed an extra nudge and started slicing off appendages. From the first time Justin mentioned the Pink Posse, Brian had known it was a bad idea. Now he knew he had been right when he had told Justin to leave the group — even if Justin had left him instead.

“Are you at least going to tell me what this–” Brian gestured to both Cody and himself. “–Is about?”

“The Pink Posse,” Cody spat. “That’s all you have to know.”

Brian rolled his eyes. “Has anyone ever told you how fucking ridiculous that name is? If you really wanted to strike fear in the hearts of the heteros, you shoulda tried for something a little more intimidating.”

“Fuck you!” Cody screamed. Brian blinked at the outrage in Cody’s tone. “There’s hardly even a Pink Posse left anyway.”

Cody paced faster, waving the gun in the air. “Your fucking boyfriend stole most of my men.”

“For what?” Brian asked, confused.

Ignoring him, Cody continued, “The Pink Posse is hardly enough to even make a difference. The J Crew runs the streets now.”

Brian stared. “You’re saying Justin is the Godfather of the fucking gay mafia?” he demanded.

“They fucked up two of my guys last week,” Cody ranted, shaking his head. “Do you know how long it took me to get this shit set up? And Taylor took it away from me, like, overnight. Just because I wasn’t ‘organised’ enough for him.”

So Justin wasn’t just going around with some knuckleheads looking for trouble; he was leading them into trouble. A bunch of scrawny kids with guns and fists looking to beat up anyone in their way, even each other. Justin couldn’t handle that. Justin was an artist, for God’s sake. He could barely stand to watch violent movies. Brian put one hand over his mouth, imagining Justin waving a gun around. He wanted to go home now.

Brian looked at Cody, and at the look of rage on his face, and at the gun in his hand.

“If this is about Justin, why am I here?” Brian asked.

“When Taylor finds out I have you, he’ll know I mean business. I want him out of Pittsburgh. He can pull his mutiny bullshit in some other town.”

Brian held up a hand. “Wait,” he said, laughing in amazement, “you kidnapped me so Justin will leave Pittsburgh? You don’t know Justin at all, do you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Cody asked sharply.

*

Michael said quickly, “Don’t freak or anything, but no one knows where Brian is.”

“What?” Justin demanded. He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, pressing his phone against his ear to hear over the loud, “Hey!” and “Watch it!” coming from the patrons behind him. Pulling off the sidewalk to stand in front of a shop window, he repeated, “What?”

“He sort of didn’t go to work today either. I’m kinda worried. Brian wouldn’t skip work for some trick, especially since he just got Kinnetik up.”

“Shit,” Justin breathed. This was bad. This was very bad. “Did you try his cell?”

“Only, like, a million times. I was wondering if you could try some of his hang-outs I don’t know about.”

That caught Justin off-guard. “You think he’s shown me places to fuck that he hasn’t shown you?”

“Well, yeah.” Michael sounded sheepish. “You’re his boyfriend, aren’t you?”

Justin took a deep breath. “Michael,” he said tersely, “Brian and I aren’t together anymore. I don’t know anything. You have a better chance of getting in touch with him than I do.”

“Okay, fine,” Michael snapped. “I don’t know why you two broke up anyway, but I guess it must be your fault, since Brian didn’t say anything. Forget I even asked you. Go back to– to church, or whatever the hell you’ve been so secretive about.”

He hung up. Justin resisted the urge to throw his phone against the wall. He didn’t know what to do. Nothing good could come from Brian’s disappearance; for all they knew, Brian had overdosed in some club and no one had noticed. Maybe Justin and Daphne could start asking around at Babylon later. Or maybe he could get the J Crew to go searching. He could tell them it was a training exercise. A scavenger hunt, even. ‘Find the possibly comatose ex.’

He was still deep in thought when a familiar voice called, “Justin!”

Ben and Hunter were crossing the street. Ben looked as he usually did — smiley and calm — while Hunter just scowled.

“Justin,” Ben greeted, “it’s been a long time since we’ve seen you.”

“Not long enough,” Hunter scoffed. Ben gently shook Hunter’s shoulder.

“Feeling’s mutual,” Justin said dryly.

“What’s with the lame-o jacket?” Hunter asked.

“Did you manage to find Brian?” Ben cut in as Justin was about to snark back. “Everyone’s been pretty worried. Michael’s close to calling the police.”

“Yeah, I was just talking to him. I’m going to Babylon tonight–”

“Shit!” Hunter exclaimed. He tugged on Ben’s sleeve. “It’s those Pink Posse freaks again.”

Justin’s gaze snapped to where Hunter was looking, and sure enough, two men dressed in pink shirts and cargos were strolling on the opposite side of the street as if they owned the neighbourhood. Their matching scowls and smooth, muscular arms were impressive. If they caught Justin he was a dead man, but if he took off now Ben and Hunter would be suspicious, and the last thing he needed was his friends butting into his business. Telling Brian had been a costly mistake, and Justin wasn’t willing to repeat that.

“What has Liberty Avenue come to,” Ben sighed, shaking his head. “One minute we’re having parades, and the next, gangs.”

Hunter snorted. “Gay gangs. Have you ever heard of anything more stupid? Michael says there’s two of them now, too.”

Justin laughed nervously.

“I hope no one we know is involved in that mess,” Ben added.

“I have to go,” Justin said, taking a few steps back. “I’m looking for Brian. I’ll see you guys–” He stepped on his heel wrong, and a blade shot out of the front of his left boot.

The three of them stared at the weapon protruding from his foot.

“I had no idea that was in there,” Justin lied.

The knife he had strapped to his forearm slipped out of its brace and clattered to the ground.

Ben’s brow furrowed in concern. “Justin, are you in some sort of trouble?”

“Yeah,” Justin said, “someone put knives in all my clothes! What’s up with that?”

Hunter was looking at him oddly. Ben simply frowned. Feeling panic rising, Justin scooped up the knife and slipped it into the inner pocket of his jacket. He pushed the blade back into his boot. The two Pinks were rounding the corner now, heading towards a small bar Justin knew Cody liked.

“I should go,” Justin said. “You know, Brian being possibly dead and all…”

“Dead?” Hunter exclaimed.

Ben said, “No, no. Of course not. Well, maybe. Okay, probably yes.”

Justin left while Hunter was still wailing. He hurried down the same path the Pinks had gone. It wasn’t rare to see someone from his rival gang on Liberty Avenue (they all hung out there, after all), but if he could catch up he might be able to get some info on their next plan.

He turned the corner and–

Threw himself back against the wall. The same Pinks he had seen a few minutes ago were standing outside the bar, smoking. So much for getting to his sources; even if he could ditch the tell-tale leather jacket, his face could easily still be recognised. Cody had been pretty pissed off when Justin had left the Pink Posse. Justin didn’t doubt Cody had instilled the same anger in his own people.

“–he was having some problems with Kinney,” one of the Pinks was saying.

Justin stilled. Shocked, he strained to hear their conversation.

“Oh yeah?” the other asked. “I thought Kinney was supposed to fix everything. Cody better not fuck this up. I’m sick of those J Crew shitheads getting us at every turn.”

The first guy spat onto the ground. “Don’t worry, Cody said his plan’s gonna fix everything.”

Justin flattened himself against the wall once more. Brian and Cody? What the fuck? The Pinks went inside the building, but Justin couldn’t seem to move. This meant Cody knew where Brian was — and Cody was fucking nuts. Brian couldn’t know how absolutely off his rocker Cody was.

Justin fumbled for his cell phone. He called Joseph from the J Crew; like him, Joe had been in the Pink Posse, and he knew what Cody was like. “It’s Justin. Has anyone heard anything about Cody lately?”

“Uh,” Joe said. It sounded like he was flipping through papers. He must have been at work. Sometimes Justin forgot the other guys had lives too. Vaguely, he wondered if they had boyfriends or exes or family who worried about them running the streets. “Not since some of those Pinks got the shit beaten out of them last week. Why?”

“If you were Cody Bell, where you would be?” Justin muttered. He bit his thumb thoughtfully.

“That gross old gym we used to have to meet at?”

Cody worked full time at a bookstore. Cody had two stoner roommates. Cody had no real friends. Cody thought everyone was out to get him.

“His mom’s house,” Justin said slowly.

“I thought he said his parents disowned him?”

“He also said pink was a threatening colour used by moths in the Amazon,” Justin pointed out.

“Oh right,” Joe said. “Sometimes I forget he’s crazy.”

*

He had planned to stay up all night and sneak away when Cody fell asleep, but sometime in the night he had stopped to rest his eyes and ended up opening them several hours later. The excitement of being kidnapped and dragged across the state must have fatigued him. The first thing he found when he woke up was Cody standing before him, holding a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and a bagel in the other.

“For you,” Cody said.

Brian took them tentatively. He sniffed the coffee, but it smelled okay. He was munching on the bagel when Cody said, “By now Taylor knows I’ve got you.”

Suddenly Brian wasn’t hungry anymore. He wondered if Justin had told Michael. All of his friends were probably laughing over how he’d been captured by a Pink Possum. Especially Ted. That was so like Ted, making fun of his suffering. Mostly Brian wondered if there was any chance in hell this could end well.

Cody studied him. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“Yippie?” Brian replied sarcastically.

Cody sighed. He sat down on the couch next to Brian, who eyed him wearily.

“So what’s a good-looking guy like you doing with a spaz like Taylor?”

Brian snorted. “We’re not together anymore. He thought it was more important to keep the world safe from heteros.”

“Whatever,” Cody said airily. “When he joined up I thought he’d be our best member, but he has some issues, doesn’t he? He flat-out refused to see the guy who fucked him up, that Hobbes guy, you know him?”

Brian flinched, spilling coffee on the floor. “Chris Hobbes?” he asked in horror.

“He got really pissed off, saying I was forcing people to move too quickly. That we were jumping into situations without a plan.” Cody laughed bitterly. “My bad for not realising we’re the Marines. He kept saying we were going to get ourselves killed if we didn’t start organising. Fucking ridiculous, if you ask me. I function in the moment. He just didn’t get that.”

“Is there something seriously wrong with you?” Brian asked.

Cody looked at him in surprise. “Dude, don’t piss off the guy with the gun.”

Brian snapped, “Justin and I aren’t together because of your fucking anger management issues. You should’ve saved us the trouble and just gone to therapy instead of acting like you’re tough shit for being able to hit people. Straight people can hit too; it doesn’t make you fucking special.” He threw the remaining bagel. It bounced off Cody’s head and rolled on the cement floor. “And I don’t eat white bread, you retard.”

Cody stared at him. Abruptly, he bent and snatched up the bagel. He stalked up the stairs, and Brian heard the door open, close and lock.

“Christ,” he muttered. He was stuck here with a complete lunatic. What a moron, insisting Justin see Chris Hobbes. Justin had absolutely no sense of character. He couldn’t be normal and just become a crystal queen like Ted.

Just then Brian spotted a small, high window on the far wall of the basement.

Brian sighed. Cody was really fucking stupid.

He squeezed his shoulders through the window. Grabbing handfuls of grass and pulling, he slowly he managed to drag himself up to the ground. He slid the rest of his body out, then crawled to flatten himself against the house. It would be fucked up if Cody looked out the first floor window and spotted Brian sneaking away.

Now all he had to do was hitchhike his way back to Pittsburgh. That shouldn’t be that difficult.

He was still trying to remember which way led out of town when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder.

*

Carrying a newly-made turkey on wheat sandwich, Cody trekked back down to the basement. Stupid Kinney and his stupid eating habits and his stupid talking. Cody was getting really fucking sick of his questioning. People in the movies didn’t argue with their kidnappers. Normally, Cody would just blow off his kneecaps, but he figured Taylor would be less inclined to leave Pittsburgh if his boyfriend came back limping. Plus, as much as Cody hated to admit it, Kinney was too hot to permanently disfigure.

“I got you a sandwich,” he called to Brian.

There was no response.

The basement was empty.

Cody’s eyes narrowed.

*

“Brian Kinney?” an unfamiliar voice asked.

Brian’s heart hammered in his chest. He glanced over his shoulder and spotted a beefy guy about Justin’s age in camouflage. “Are you trying to give me an aneurysm? Where did you come from? Who the shit are you?”

The guy tilted his head. He had black streaks painted under his eyes like something from an army flick. “I’ve come to rescue you. Taylor’s orders.”

Great, Justin had sent one of minions. Brian shoved past the other man, sneering, “Thanks, but no thanks.”

“You don’t want to get out of here?” the guy asked flatly. He looked at Brian like Brian was the crazy one.

“I want to go home,” Brian snapped. “I don’t want to be your new currency. You can tell Justin to call me when he’s got his rage sorted out.”

“Dude, Cody’ll break your kneecaps,” the kid said.

Suddenly the J Crew guy’s eyes rolled back, and he crumpled to the ground. Standing in his place was Cody, holding a rock in his hand.

Brian goggled. “Oh shit.”

Cody grabbed Brian’s arm roughly and started to pull him towards the driveway. “Your boyfriend knows where we are. My plan is fucked!”

“W-what about him?” Brian asked, pointing to the collapsed J Crew boy.

“Either he’ll wake up or Mom’ll bury him in the backyard,” Cody replied. “Move.”

The next thing Brian knew he was handcuffed to the door as they sped down the highway.

“I thought you wanted Justin to find us,” Brian said, jiggling the handcuffs. His arm was falling asleep. He was never going to be able to appreciate bondage again.

“No,” Cody replied, sounding exasperated, “he’s supposed to figure out you’re kidnapped. Then he’s supposed to get in contact with my people and find out what the ransom is. Then he’s supposed to leave and never come back.”

“Yeah, I can’t figure out how that could’ve possibly gone wrong,” said Brian.

“Shut up!” Cody screamed. “I’m trying to think! Shut up!”

Brian leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the window, watching the countryside speed past. So Justin knew he was with Cody; he wasn’t sure if he was relieved or worried.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

Cody scowled. “Back to Pittsburgh. I have a hideout.”

Which turned out to be some skanky gym on a sidestreet off Liberty Avenue Brian would never have gone to in normal circumstances. In the centre was a huge boxing ring, used for God knew what purpose. Three teens in pink sat inside the ring, smoking a joint. One of them noticed Cody and jumped to his feet.

“I’ve been to bath houses cleaner than this,” Brian said in disgust.

“This is Brian Kinney,” he told them, patting Brian’s chest.

Brian looked at the hand, then at Cody. Cody quickly dropped it.

“I thought you weren’t coming back until Taylor was out,” the standing guy said.

“Change of plans,” Cody replied.

Unexpectedly, he pulled out the gun and aimed at his posse. The three kids stumbled to their feet, backing away. Brian tried to move away as well, but Cody’s other hand clamped down on his wrist.

“So which one of you told the J Crew where I was?” Cody asked calmly. His facial expression hadn’t changed in the slightest. If Brian had had any doubt Cody was insane before, this would have settled it.

“Shit,” one guy gasped. “Cody, man, we’re on your side.”

“We didn’t say anything,” another insisted.

Cody pointed the gun at Brian’s temple and smiled. “What do you think?”

“You shouldn’t play with that,” Brian said. “Someone could lose an eye.”

Cody took a deep breath, then put the pistol back in the waist of his jeans. “Someone go get something for Brian to sit on,” he barked. Two of the guys hurried away. Cody smiled. “Just think of this as your home away from home for the next few days.”

*

The day after Justin overheard the Pink Posse, he stationed members of the J Crew all along Liberty Avenue. It was most of the team’s first assignment. As Babylon’s usual hundreds of patrons walked from their cars to the club, they were awarded with the sight of leather jacket-clad teens manning their ground.

Other than the usual order to protect the innocent and help the needy, Justin had told them to be on the lookout for anyone with a shaved head and a pink shirt. It had been over a day since he’d sent Jed out to Cody’s parents’s place in West Virginia, and still no word from him on Brian. He had passed nervous about twenty hours ago and was definitely in the territory of frenzied.

Joe pulled him aside during workouts. “If the Pink Posse has your boyfriend it means they’re officially declaring war,” he said seriously.

“I know,” Justin said, biting his thumbnail. “They want the area around Babylon, what el–” His cell went off. Justin flipped over the phone; the display read ‘Private number.’ Maybe it was Brian calling from a pay phone.

“You know where Brian is,” someone said accusingly.

It took five heart-stopping seconds for Justin place the voice. “Hunter, how did you get this number?” he asked, waving Joe away.

“If you know where Brian is you need to tell Michael before he reports Brian as a missing person,” Hunter threatened. There was a strange echo behind his voice. “He’s already freaking out. Tonight Ben made meatloaf that isn’t meatloaf again, and Michael was all, ‘This was Brian’s favourite food to make fun of!’ and he got all emotional. It was weird.”

It wasn’t difficult to get Michael to have a panic attack, but that was overdoing it a little.

“What did you tell him?” Justin demanded.

“Okay, somehow Michael got the impression Brian was dead,” Hunter said.

Justin rubbed his temples. “Why would you tell him that? What’s wrong with you?”

“If Brian’s dead I want to take revenge.”

“Brian’s not dead,” Justin shouted.

“Then why are you assembling an army?”

“I’m not–” Suspicious, he asked, “Where are you?”

“I’m calling from inside the warehouse,” Hunter whispered.

Justin glanced over his shoulder. Against the right wall there was a shadow of someone kneeling behind a crate. Justin could feel a headache coming on. He covered the mouthpiece with his hand. “Trey, John,” he called, nodding to where Hunter was hiding, “we have an intruder.” To Hunter he said, “Oh no. You monster. What have you done.”

He heard a loud, “HEY! Let me go!” and Hunter was dragged before him.

“Should we take care of him, boss?” Trey asked.

Justin pretended to consider it. Hunter’s eyed went wide. “No,” he said finally, “he’s my ex’s best friend’s adopted kid. I’ll deal with him.”

“Family,” John said. “I get it.”

“Please,” Hunter scoffed, rolling his eyes.

At Justin’s nod, Trey and John dropped Hunter’s arms, and he rubbed his left shoulder, glaring at them.

“What’s going on here?” Hunter demanded.

“My friends and I are playing a big boy game,” Justin drawled. “You should go home before you get in trouble for being out late.”

“I want in,” Hunter said, flipping his bangs out of eyes. He stuck out his lower lip indigently.

“Give me one good reason,” Justin said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Hunter glared. “I’ll tell Ben you didn’t let me join your secret club,” he sneered, “and then he’ll tell Michael. And Michael’ll tell Debbie. After he calls the police on your gangsta ass.”

Justin winced at the mental image of Debbie stopping his team on patrol and scolding him. “I–”

“Taylor!”

Two of his guys were coming forward, each holding the arm of a struggling man dressed in pink. It was one of the guys Justin had seen on Liberty Avenue, the one who had been complaining about the J Crew. He didn’t look too impressive now, with a black eye and dried blood on the collar of his shirt.

“We caught this fucker lurking around the building. He says he has some info for you.”

“It’s important,” the Pink choked.

“Right, and we’re supposed to take the word of one of the Pinks?” Justin asked dryly, raising his eyebrows. He nodded at his men. “Just get rid of him.”

He was walking away when their captive called: “Your boyfriend’s missing, ain’t he?”

Justin froze.

*

No one suffered the way Brian did. First the incompetent Pink Posse couldn’t find any guava juice, and then someone gave him an issue of last month’s GQ. The gym smelled like piss. It was so hot he had to remove his coat and shirt, leaving him in just a tank top and his black trousers, and he kept feeling Cody’s eyes on him.

He was leisurely studying the new Fall line when Cody threw a pen and a notebook down at Brian’s feet. Brian raised an eyebrow. “What’s this?”

“You’re going to write Taylor a letter telling him if he doesn’t leave town in three days you’re going to die,” Cody said simply.

“Now why would I do that?” Brian asked.

“Because I will shoot you in the head,” Cody replied.

Brian really couldn’t argue with that. Sighing, he turned to a blank page of paper. There was no way in hell Justin would keep away because Cody wanted him too. If anything, it would make Justin do the opposite. ‘Justin,’ he wrote, ‘get the fuck out of the Pitts or our next family dinner will be at a funeral home. Brian. PS: I told you you’d get in trouble.’

Cody squinted. “What’s that?”

“My letter,” Brian said.

“This might be the last time you ever talk to him.” Cody obviously hadn’t considered telephones or email. “He’s your boyfriend. Aren’t you going to tell him you love him?”

“We don’t talk to each other like that,” Brian said. He frowned. “Not… directly, anyway. And we’re not boyfriends.”

“He said you were.” When Brian snorted Cody asked, “Oh yeah? Then what do you call it?”

“Partners.”

Cody laughed. “That sounds more serious than ‘boyfriends.’”

“It’s none of your fucking business, alright?” Brian snapped. He wasn’t going to talk to some teenage lunatic about his thing with Justin. It wasn’t like they were going to die; Justin would realise the gang thing was ridiculous, and he and Cody would reach a nice agreement that didn’t involve weapons, and everyone would go home happy. Or else Brian would make them. He hoped Michael wasn’t worrying about him; if Justin knew where he was he’d tell the others too.

When Cody walked away Brian quickly scribbled, ‘PPS: Don’t be a hero. Please.’

Cody returned a few minutes later with a sixpack and a pizza. He handed a beer to Brian.

“Where’s the posse?” Brian asked sarcastically.

Cody shrugged. “Went clubbing. It’s just you and me.”

Brian didn’t like the way Cody was looking at him.

“We could make out,” Cody suggested.

Brian rolled his eyes. “That’s the worst idea you’ve ever had. And yes, I’m including the kidnapping.”

“Well,” Cody said, clearly offended.

“Does Justin know where I am yet?” Brian asked.

Cody opened the pizza box. “Not yet. We’ll let it leak tomorrow that you’re with us, and by nightfall Taylor’ll know. We have, like, an underground network.”

*

Justin knew a guy who knew a guy who knew a guy, so he was able to procure five handguns for Operation: Save Brian within twenty four hours. “What do I get to do?” Hunter had asked as soon as Justin informed him guns were out of the question, as Michael was really whiny and Ben was really huge. Justin had put him in charge of the walkie-talkies, so Hunter fiddled with his new toys while Justin and five others loaded the guns.

The J Crew was excited and giddy. Justin seemed to be the only one who understood this was a life or death mission.

“Our goal is to get Brian out safely,” Justin said. “We don’t want anyone dead. But if you have to, aim for Cody. Any questions?”

“Which one’s Cody?” one of them asked.

Which is how Justin ended up instructing them to take position outside the old building, while he did the actual rescuing. However, when he stood on the lower roof of the building next door and peered through the dirty window, he couldn’t see anyone inside. Only an empty boxing ring like the one at Cody’s previous hideout. He wondered if this was a set-up, that Cody had sent that man to give them false information, but he couldn’t risk the chance that Brian was in there, suffering from one of Cody’s psychopathic rages.

“HQ, this is Nightrider,” he whispered into the walkie-talkie. “Charlie in the trees. Repeat, Charlie in the trees. Over.”

“Dude, speak English,” Hunter said.

“You’re supposed to say ‘over,’” Justin said. “Ugh, nevermind, I’m going in. Team, if you hear gunshots come running. Over.”

“If you get shot my mom’s gonna kill me,” Trey moaned. “Uh, over.”

Justin threw a rock through the window. He had expected it to shatter into tiny pieces like it did on tv, but there was just a large hole where the rock had gone through. Carefully, he kicked out the rest of the glass with his boot. He slid inside very, very gently, trying not to catch his coat on anything. This wasn’t the rescue mission he’d wanted; he was supposed to be bursting through the window suavely. Cody would cry and Brian would think he was hot and want to fuck him.

He dropped to the floor. When he had regained his balance he found Brian sitting on a mountain of pillows, flipping through what looked like Vogue.

Brian closed the magazine angrily. “Did you just crawl through the window? What the fuck are you doing here in the middle of the night?”

Justin blinked. “Um, rescuing you?”

Brian looked like he was about to say something vitriolic, but then he stopped and glanced at Justin from head to toe. “Wow, Fonzie, is your hog parked out back?”

“This is my uniform,” Justin said.

“Well, I see you didn’t listen to me,” Brian sneered. “As usual.”

Justin snapped, “What the fuck? You’re being held hostage. What was I supposed to do?”

“Uh, how about leaving town before your psycho ex-friends kill you?”

“What?”

Static erupted from the walkie-talkie. “Jus– I mean, Nightrider, can you wait until you’re safe before fighting?”

“Is that Hunter?” Brian demanded. “If Cody doesn’t kill you, Michael sure as hell will for getting his little hustler involved.”

One of the doors on the side slammed open, and out walked Cody, eating what looked like a burrito. He had another one in his hand. When he saw Justin, he froze.

“How did you find us?” Cody demanded.

Justin snorted. “It’s right next door to your headquarters. Duh. Oh, and one of your men ratted on you.”

“I knew it,” Cody seethed. “I’ll blow off their kneecaps!”

“Not to break up the reunion, but since Justin has the advantage here, G, I think he and I will be going now,” Brian said.

“What advantage?” Cody challenged. “It’s just us three.”

Justin pulled out his pistol and aimed at Cody’s face. “This one.”

“Justin!” Brian snapped. He gazed at the gun worriedly.

Cody rolled his eyes. “Whatever, you won’t shoot me. You wouldn’t even use it on fucking Chris Ho–”

Justin let off a warning shot over Cody’s head.

“The one day I don’t take Betty with me to the toilet,” Cody muttered, raising his hands. He dropped the burritos to the floor.

“You know,” Brian said to Cody, “only serial killers name their guns.”

“I’m a defender of the people,” Cody insisted.

Justin yelled, “HELLO! Guy with gun! Brian and I will be going now.”

Brian scoffed. He looked at Justin like he had grown a second head. “I’m not going with you when you’re carrying that. You– you’re very disturbed, Justin. I’m almost starting to wonder if your Mom had the right idea when she wanted you to go to therapy.”

“My mom wanted me to go to therapy?” Justin asked.

Cody stepped closer to Brian. Justin followed his movements with the gun. Cody said gently, “Brian and I will leave together. You can have Pittsburgh.”

Justin snapped, “Brian isn’t going anywhere with you.”

“He doesn’t want to leave.”

“For once I would like a teenage psycho to not fall in love with me,” Brian said. “Three is sort of pushing it.”

“Shut up,” both Cody and Justin shouted at him.

“Brian is coming with me,” Justin said.

“Let’s see what he wants to do,” Cody sneered, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I hate you,” Brian told Cody. Cody’s face fell.

“Ha!” said Justin. “Brian, let’s go.”

He and Brian stared at each other. Justin smiled expectantly.

“I… love you?” he added.

“It’s not that I don’t,” Brian finally managed, “it’s that you’re dressed like someone from Grease. It’s like I don’t know you anymore.”

“Patrick Swayze,” Justin said simply.

Brian scowled. “I choose Cody.”

Cody whooped. “See, Taylor, you’re just like every other weak, useless queer who can’t stand up for himself. Your fucking boyfriend can’t even stand to be around you. No wonder–”

“Shut the fuck up,” Brian snarled.

“No wonder Hobbes went after you. He probably knew you’d never be able to get him back.”

Justin aimed the gun at Cody’s temple.

“Fuck,” Cody whispered, going still.

“I’m going to kill you now,” Justin said.

“Justin, put the fucking gun down,” Brian shouted.

“Why?” Justin yelled. “So he can go back to patrolling the streets? He’ll just keep pushing people around until someone stops him. That’s what this whole thing is about, isn’t it? Getting to them before they can get to you.”

He was tired of people thinking he was just some weak little fag. It seemed like he had just been getting over feeling like that when Darren had been bashed, and he had realised how chickenshit he’d been for letting Hobbes get away scott free. Cody was no better than the queer-bashing heteros; he loved violence for the sake of violence. He didn’t realise there was more to keeping people safe than beating the shit out of random people.

“Killing Pink boy over here isn’t going to make you feel better,” Brian said calmly.

He laughed bitterly. “How do you know? Have you ever shot someone?”

“Because he’s not the person you’re mad at,” Brian said slowly.

“He sort of kidnapped you,” Justin said. “So yeah, I’m pretty pissed off at him specifically right now.”

A bead of sweat slid down Cody’s temple. Cody said to Justin, “Okay, man, I really wasn’t going to hurt him. Much.”

“That’s really reassuring,” Justin said dryly.

“You took my men, so I took your boyfriend,” Cody went on. “I think we’re pretty even now. So I’ll just go and–”

“I think you should shut up before he kills you,” Brian growled.

Cody snapped his jaw together with an audible clink. Justin took a step closer, the gun steady in his hand.

“Justin–” Brian began.

“Shut up,” Justin snapped.

“Fine,” Brian said. “If you’re going to kill him, then kill him.”

“What?” Cody squealed.

“Just don’t bullshit yourself into thinking this is some noble act, ’cause it’s not.”

Justin faltered. “I’m not a coward,” he said weakly.

Brian tentatively took a step closer, like he thought Justin wouldn’t notice. “No, you’re not. You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met.”

He couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t felt helpless — he’d even let Hobbes walk away from him a third time, that night when Cody had handed him a gun and told him to take revenge. Hobbes had taken so much from him. He wasn’t going to let anyone do that ever again. Justin backed away from Cody and Brian, still holding the gun at the same angle.

“I wasn’t brave when some asshole beat my head in with a bat. I wasn’t brave when he told me to get AIDS and die. Fucking Chris Hobbes– I felt like he was right, that I was just a stupid faggot. I can barely draw. I still have nightmares. I almost lost you. Some days when I walk down the street I start to panic, like there is something bad about to happen. It’s pathetic. I don’t want to be pathetic anymore, Brian.”

Above the blood rushing in his ears, he could hear his own voice, loud and trembling. Brian had the same look on his face from the time Justin had tried to open up to him after the bashing. Back then all he had read was fear and pain, but now he saw understanding.

“Okay,” Brian said nodding.

“What?” Cody screeched. “No ‘okay’! How is that okay?! He’s gonna fucking murder me!” He looked at Justin wildly. “I’m not Chris Hobbes, Taylor. I didn’t hit you in the head. I was trying to help you — I thought you were someone like me.”

Justin stared at him. Then, slowly, he lowered the gun.

“Get out of here,” he said. Cody seemed shocked; out of the corner of his eyes, Justin saw Brian’s shoulders sag with relief. “If you come near me or Brian or any of my friends again I’ll kill you.”

Cody nodded. He took a few steps back, then made a ‘call me’ gesture at Brian. When Brian growled he took off running.

Hunter’s voice exploded from the walkie-talkie. “Wow,” he cried, his voice bouncing off the empty gym walls. “That was fucking awesome!”

Justin switched it off quickly. He didn’t know what to do now. Somehow nearly killing Cody hadn’t been in the original plan. Not to mention in it Brian had been relieved Justin had come to the rescue, but that had been shot as soon as he’d walked through the door. He felt sick to his stomach.

Casually, Brian removed his linen shirt and jacket from a hook on the wall. He wasn’t looking at Justin.

Justin swallowed nervously. “Brian, are you…” He searched for the right word. “Disappointed in me?”

“Disappointed you didn’t kill Cody?” Brian asked dryly.

Disappointed he had fallen into Cody’s madness.

Brian smoothed out the wrinkles in his suit jacket, biting his lip. “You were– I’m–” He shook his head. “I’m glad you were able to do what you had to. Even if it was stupid. Next time you queen out can you make friends who are into nice, safe things, like basket-weaving?”

“Brian,” Justin whispered. He cleared his throat. “Why did we break up?”

“You brought a gun home and started terrorising the neighbourhood.”

“Oh, that,” Justin said flippantly. “I’m over it. Vigilante groups are so passe.”

The walkie-talkie crackled again. “Dude, I’m standing here in your secret lair holding a Colt .45. If you’re going to lie to your BF at least tell a convincing story.”

This time Justin made sure he turned it off. They stared at each other.

“Is this the part where we break out into song?” Brian asked.

Justin smiled. Brian smiled.

“I told you I knew what I was doing,” Justin said, closing the gap between them.

“Yeah,” said Brian, “you did.”

Justin took Brian’s face in his hands and kissed him.

*

Within a few days, both the J Crew and the Pink Posse were disbanded; Justin later said none of his lackeys had really put up much of a fuss. Brian had personally taken Justin’s leather jacket to a thrift shop, although he couldn’t get Hunter to give up his. (Somehow Justin managed to convince Michael and Ben he and Hunter had just been playing a war game.)

Brian’s and Justin’s non-relationshipy relationship picked up pretty much where it left off. Even though Justin was somewhat jittery — as if he was trying to keep himself calm — and Brian had sworn next time Justin made friends he was doing a complete background check.

A week later, checking his mail after work, Brian found a dead cat in a box addressed to him. ‘I would die 4 u,’ was spray-painted in white on the cat’s side.

“Ugh,” Brian muttered. He closed the box.

“Something smells good,” Justin called from the couch. “Is that dinner?”

“I’ll be right back,” Brian said.

Leaving the loft, he crossed the street, making sure to dump the box with the cat in the dumpster. He stopped before a large tree. Walking around the trunk, he bumped into Cody, dressed in a long black trench coat.

“You should know,” Brian said, “I can see you from my window.”

Cody choked, nearly spitting out his cigarette. “I wasn’t doing anything,” he sneered. “Just passing by. Is it illegal to stop and have a smoke?”

“It is when you’ve been doing it every night for the past week,” Brian replied. “Did you forget Justin said he’d kill you?”

Frowning, Cody stabbed his cigarette out on the tree. “God, here I am, minding my own business, and you have to start threatening me.”

Brian took a step foward. Cody leapt back. “Look,” Brian said, “fuck off. Stop sending me shit. I don’t think of you that way. In fact, I don’t think of you at all.”

“Lies,” Cody gasped.

Brian pinched the bridge of his nose. “Justin’s–.”

“I could break his kneecaps for you. For us.”

“No,” Brian replied, putting up his hands. “No. Psychopaths don’t turn me on, okay?” Cody just looked at him. “Justin’s getting better. He hasn’t had a rage blackout in three days. He’s done with the J Crew.”

Cody looked crushed. Brian almost felt bad.

“One day you’ll find a nice, gun-totting lunatic,” Brian told him. “And you’ll have a good time running from the law. But me and you isn’t happening. Ever.”

He watched Cody skulk off. By now he could probably write a book on how to reject interested teenagers. Nearly four years ago he had stood in front of his building and told Justin he didn’t believe in love; it was sort of funny how change had crept up on them. And back then he had thought Justin was crazy…

Brian went back to the loft. When he got inside Justin was holding a piece of paper and frowning.

“What?” Brian asked.

“Why did I get a letter from you saying you’re going to die in three days if I don’t leave town?”

He tried to lean across the bar to grab it, but Justin held the letter away from him. “Forget it,” Brian said. “Cody made me write it when I was his hostage.”

“Fucker! I’ll kill him!” Justin paused, looking down at the counter. “I mean, if I ever see Cody again we will have words.”

“Tomorrow,” Brian said, tearing up the letter, “I’m buying you a stress ball.”

*

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Cowlip Productions and the Showtime Network. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Huge thanks to Erinface, Cait, Rachel Anton, and Sam for all their encouragement, beta reading, and plotting. Without them this fic would never have been finished.

Warning: Implied sexual situations between an adult and a minor.

Summary: Michael plus huge mistake equals character growth. Or something.

Chapter One

There was a line to be drawn somewhere. Unfortunately, Michael had crossed that line about two blowjobs and a fuck ago, and the sight of Gus Peterson-Marcus curled up in his bed was like seeing his name signed on a death warrant.

“Oh my God,” he said. “I’m going to die.”

Gus stirred. Michael goggled for a second at the long, tan, naked leg slipping out from under the flannel sheets. He clutched his crumpled jeans to his chest; this was just like when Alex Summers slept with Jean Grey, except he and Brian were not brothers, and Gus wasn’t Brian’s boyfriend, and either way this was completely fucked up. There was that one time he had written Rage fucking Zephyr’s boyfriend, Ken, but obvious parallels aside, this really wasn’t the same thing.

By the time Gus’s eyes fluttered open Michael was dressed and scrambling to get all of Gus’s shit together.

“What time is it?” Gus asked, yawning. His hair was sticking straight up in a very Brianish manner.

“Time for you to go,” Michael said shrilly. He shoved Gus’s clothes into his arms.

The kid stood and, throwing him a sour look, dropped the sheets. Michael cringed and looked away, suddenly feeling embarrassed. Just bcause they had sex last night it didn’t mean he was comfortable with Gus stripping right in front of him. Especially since as his head was beginning to clear it was dawning on him he’d probably completely, utterly ruined Gus’s life. He was just as bad as any child molestor.

When he ushered Gus downstairs he caught sight of a long wool coat draped over a kitchen chair. A briefcase sat on the table. “Holy shit,” he hissed. Gus looked at him calmly, like this was no big deal. In one swift motion Michael grabbed Gus’s jacket, handed him his shoes, and started to push him towards the door.

“Hey!” Gus exclaimed. “You just can’t–”

“I can and I am,” he whispered angrily.

Gus clutched the doorframe. “When can I see you again?”

Michael slammed the door shut.

Hunter walked out of the kitchen, munching on a bagel. They should never have given him an extra key; Hunter, in some act of childhood regression, liked to come over on weekends and loudly watch tv until Mike woke up and yelled at him to shut up and go to work, and he had his own house and his own life partner and his own food, for Christ’s sake. Early Saturday morning fights were routine by now. “Was that Gus?” he asked.

“Uh, no,” Michael lied. “I was just getting the paper. W-Why would you think Gus would be here so early?”

“I dunno, I just thought I heard his voice,” Hunter replied, shrugging.

“Well, it wasn’t him, alright?”

Hunter’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Whatever, I was just–”

The door opened again, and Gus poked his head in. He looked very young and innocent then, with his wool cap and messy brown hair. Michael knew he was a very bad man. “Can I have some money for the bus, Uncle Mike?”

Michael buried his face in his hands, horrified. He heard Hunter snicker, and then a rustling of paper. “Here, kiddo,” Hunter said, “don’t spend it all at once.”

“Wow,” Gus drawled sarcastically, “ten whole dollars. Now I can afford that car I’ve been saving up for.”

“Fucking teenagers,” Hunter grumbled.

It wasn’t until the door closed that Michael lowered his hands. Hunter just stood there with raised eyebrows. “It’s not what you think,” Michael said hastily. “Okay, well, it is what you think, but I have a really good excuse.”

Hunter’s brow furrowed. “Huh?”

“If you say anything to Ben, you’re grounded,” Michael shrieked.

Hunter just stared at him. “First off,” he said, “I’m twenty-seven years old. You can’t ground me anymore. Second, what is there to tell? You’re acting like you fucked him or something.” He said it jokingly, but Michael’s stomach clenched. He must have had a horrible expression on his face, because Hunter sputtered, “Oh my God!”

“Shut up!” Michael yelled. “Shut up!”

“Isn’t he, like, twelve?” Hunter asked.

“Fourteen,” Michael said defensively. “But that’s not the point. The point is that you never saw anything, and I’m never going to do it again.”

“Is this what you do when Ben goes out of town?” Hunter demanded. He looked at Michael with disgust. “God, how could you do this to him? That’s a real assholish thing to do. He’s going to shit when he finds out.”

“He’s not going to find out,” Michael snapped.

Hunter’s head snapped up, his mouth dropping open. “So you’re not going to tell him?”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“There’s fourteen years and one hundred pounds to tell, Mike.” He goggled. “What about Brian?”

Brian would kill Michael and dump his body in the river. “Brian’s better off not knowing.”

Hunter’s jaw worked, but he didn’t say anything for a few beats. Then: “Let me get this straight.” Michael was instantly reminded of his boy as a teenager. Such a little bastard. “You wouldn’t let Brian fuck me when I was sixteen, but hey, it’s cool if you do it to his son.”

“Brian never wanted to fuck you,” Michael sputtered.

“My huge cock begs to differ.” He raised an eyebrow as if challenging Mike to argue.

“Okay, gross! And my fucking Gus was totally not planned. It sort of just… happened.”

“‘Oops, I slipped and fell on his dick’ happened, or, ‘Oops, I seem to have gotten him drunk and horny’ happened?’

“What? Neither!” He paused. This really wasn’t something he wanted to go in to. “I was in a really weird mood, alright?”

Hunter gave him a look. “Tell me you’re not blaming this on PMS.”

He glanced away, feeling his face grow hot. He couldn’t look at Hunter anymore. “We were watching Dirty Dancing,” he mumbled.

“What the shit does that mean?”

“And–” He stared down at his feet, clearing his throat. He was so fucked. “Gus really looks a lot like Brian.”

Silence.

“Oh. My. God. You fucked Gus while thinking of Brian and looking at Patrick Swayze.” Mike looked back in time to see Hunter throw his hands in the air. “Well done, Michael. You’re going to Hell. You’re just going to Hell.”

*

When Brian hit thirty-five he informed the group that Babylon was no longer available to them. After many long, loud arguments, they all came to the decision that Babylon was fine for Emmett and Justin, but not for Ted, Michael, Ben, or Brian, especially since Brian’s stance was basically that everyone would look down on them for behaving like they were in their twenties, and if he wanted to fuck a kid he’d go to the orphanage, and, wow, that was ironic now. So instead they just stuck to Woodys, where, as Brian put it, they were allowed to be old without shame. Justin didn’t hit the clubs as often as he had when all of them had gone together, although Em still spent a fair amount of time there. Times had changed, but they were all still best friends.

Until Michael ruined everything by fucking Brian’s son, of course.

Michael was starting his first beer when Hunter showed. “What the fuck are you doing here?” Michael hissed, glancing around quickly to make sure none of their friends could overhear. “I thought you and Francois had your fancy schmancy bar. Get the hell out!”

Hunter leaned against the bar, smiling innocently. “I just thought I’d recall the glorious days of yester-year, Pop.”

Michael’s throat tightened. “You’re going to try to tell Brian!”

Hunter smirked, but then Brian was there, passing Michael with a pat on the shoulder. “Tell me what?” he asked casually.

“Nothing,” Michael muttered.

“Gus said he had a good time last night,” Brian said, and Hunter choked loudly. “Why’d you make him take the bus?”

“Uh, I remembered I had some work to do at the store and didn’t want to waste time.”

“Oh, well, next time just drop him off at the diner.” Next time. Right. Brian rolled his eyes. “He said some old fag hit on him.”

For a horrifying split-second he thought Gus had told Brian, and Brian was only fucking with his head to get him to confess. But Brian’s nonchalance was genuine, as far as he could tell.

“Would you believe the number of pervs out there?” Hunter drawled.

“Fourteen was when the balding old man at the corner store started giving me ninety per cent discounts on booze if I wore my tightest jeans,” Brian replied wistfully.

“Just because you like being leered at by pervs doesn’t make me one, okay?” Michael cried, sweating.

Brian stared. Hunter grinned. Panicking, Michael slammed his empty bottle on the bar and marched off before he said anything else stupid. From behind him he heard Brian ask, “What the fuck is his problem?” and Hunter reply with, “Mid-life crisis. You know how it is,” to which Brian snapped, “I fucking well don’t.”

He was almost to the exit when Emmett grabbed him. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

“I’m heading home,” Michael said. “Long day.”

Emmett smiled sympathetically and patted his shoulder. “Missing your hunky professor?”

From his place at the bar Hunter looked right at Michael, scowling. If he didn’t know any better he’d swear the kid had super hearing. “Uh, he’ll be back Thursday,” Michael told Em.

“You should call him,” Emmett said brightly.

Yeah, that would go down well. He could imagine the conversation already: “Hey, Ben? You know Brian’s kid, the one who calls me Uncle Mikey and lets us buy him ice cream and comics? I fucked him last night. Isn’t that super?” Ben would leave him, Hunter would sell his story to the newspapers, and Brian would systematically destroy his life from the inside out — if he was lucky. And there was that whole prison thing too.

“I’ll… do that,” he replied slowly.

As soon as Emmett became distracted by something bright and shiny at the bar, Michael fled.

That night Ben’s framed bedside photo bore holes into his head. For half a second he almost got up and threw it across the room, but he already felt guilty enough for betraying Ben; throwing his photo wasn’t going to help things. Michael reminded himself of that as he fell asleep staring at Ben’s bright smile.

*

His mother always said the devil makes work for idle hands. Bright and early Sunday morning Michael went to the shop to take stock. He didn’t traditionally work on Sundays, but comics had been his escape from reality in the past. He figured it would keep his mind off the wrecking ball that was his life.

The phone rang about mid-day. Caught up in the latest issue of Wolverine, he answered it carelessly: “Red Cape Comics.”

It was the last person he wanted to hear from. “I want to see you again,” Gus said huskily. Well, as huskily as a fourteen year old just over the puberty line could go.

“No way,” Michael said.

“So you’re just going to fuck me and never speak to me again?” Gus demanded.

“It’s a cruel world, bucko,” Michael replied, and he hit the off button. Next Sunday’s family dinner was going to be a bitch. “Holden,” he called to the kid he had hired a few months back, “put the new Supergirl–”

The phone rang again.

Irritated, he grabbed it and snapped, “Gus, I fucking said no, alright?”

“Gus called you?” Brian’s voice.

He faltered. “He wanted me to take him to the zoo?”

“Get over here,” Brian said.

Michael nearly dropped the phone. Holden looked at him strangely. “I didn’t– He– What did I do?” Mike sputtered.

Brian paused. “I thought you should come over for dinner, since the professor’s away. All work and no play makes Mikey go crazy.”

He struggled to breathe again. “O-oh. Is it just going to be me and you?” he asked hopefully.

“Sure. And Justin and Gus and possibly Buffy, if Linds can convince Melanie I’m not going to poison her.”

Mel didn’t trust Brian with her daughter (Buffy Brianna Novotny Peterson-Marcus — named by Hunter, naturally, much to Mel’s chagrin) ever since that one time he went out of town in an emergency and left both her and Gus with Emmett, who dyed her hair pink in some sort of artistic endeavour. Even though it was Em who had directly applied the dye it was still Brian’s fault in Mel’s mind. Michael didn’t quite get it, but he wasn’t going to be the one to tell Mel to back off.

“Brian Kinney, the family man,” Michael said jokingly.

Brian sighed dramatically. “Get your ass over here by eight or I’m giving your plate to Gus.”

A weight lifted off his chest; perhaps things were going to be okay. If Gus hadn’t told Brian by now chances are he never would. After a few weeks the paranoia and discomfort would surely go away, and as long as Brian and Ben didn’t find out, he was in the green. Maybe he could convince Gus to tell Brian he was suicidal, or something, and then Michael could casually offer to pay for his therapy.

“Remember when you fucked Justin the first time?” Michael asked.

“No,” Brian replied.

“Haha, very funny,” he said. “Well, say there’s this guy who has a crush on me–”

“Does Mikey have a secret admirer? It’s Holden, isn’t it. I knew that kid wasn’t there for the comics.”

Michael glanced suspiciously at Holden. He was busy drooling over an old issues of X-Men. “I need to know what you said to Justin trying to get him to back off. That way I can do the exact opposite and get rid of this kid.”

Brian hung up.

Naturally, Hunter had to be at Brian’s when he arrived at 7:58. Hunter smiled at him evilly, and Michael wondered if punching your twenty-seven year-old kid was still considered child abuse.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Michael demanded.

“He brought Gus home from soccer practice,” Justin said dryly, accepting the cookies Michael had brought. “Lucky us. By the way, thanks for taking Gus this weekend, Michael.”

“Haha,” Michael said nervously.

Brian padded into the kitchen in jeans, t-shirt, and bare feet. “What do you want on your pizza?” he asked, waving his cell phone.

“You asshole, you said if I was late you’d give my dinner to Gus,” Michael said angrily. Brian shrugged.

When the pizza arrived Gus clamoured to get the chair beside Michael. Gus was starting to remind him less of Brian and more like Hunter, which only made the whole situation worse. Halfway through the meal, as Justin rambled on about a movie he recently saw starring some guy he had gone to PIFA with, Gus rose up and reached for a napkin, his ass dangerously close to Michael’s face. No one seemed to notice, but Michael sweated bullets anyway.

“Gus, there’s something different about you,” Hunter said sweetly as Justin’s story ended. “More… mature.”

Gus glanced at Michael briefly before smirking. “I got a haircut,” he said, equally saccharine.

Michael swallowed thickly. “Brian, pass the garlic sauce. Oh, and I fucked Gus last night.”

There was a long silence.

“Shit,” Michael muttered.

Hunter stood abruptly. “Well,” he said, and before Michael knew what was happening Hunter had fled, slamming the front door shut behind him.

Brian seemed frozen in place. Justin, looking horrified, put a hand on Gus’s shoulder, as if protecting him from the evil pervert sitting at their table. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Justin demanded.

“You don’t have any right to be complaining, Mr I’ve-Been-Going-to-Babylon-Since-I-Was-Seventeen,” he yelled in defense.

“I can’t believe you!”

Brian finally seemed to focus on them. He gazed around the table, blinking rapidly. “You’re going to have to repeat that, Michael.”

“He said he fucked your son,” Justin said.

Maybe it was the fact Justin had said it, or maybe he just needed to hear it a second time, because Brian’s face turned a rather frightening shade of red.

“Uh, I was kidding,” Michael said weakly.

Brian stood abruptly, shaking his head. “God, I need a drink.”

Michael sat at the table, unable to move, while Brian got up and made his way to the bar. He heard the clinking of glasses, and then Brian returned with two. One he kept, and the other he handed to a very disgusted Justin, who swallowed his in a few quick gulps. Michael smoothed down the front of the white tablecloth nervously.

“Did you enjoy it?” Brian asked Gus seriously.

“Brian!” Justin nearly shouted.

Gus tilted his head thoughtfully. “It was alright.”

Michael decided this child was evil. “Brian–”

But Brian was still looking at Gus. “You’re grounded,” he said flatly.

“For three months,” Justin snapped.

“God, my parents suck,” Gus grumbled.

“Although apparently not as well as Mikey,” Brian drawled.

This time Justin did shout, “BRIAN!” He turned to Michael quickly, and from the expression on his face Michael knew he had to run. “Get out.”

Brian raised his eyebrows and waved. “See you later, Mike.”

It wasn’t until the door shut that Michael realised Brian hadn’t actually gotten angry.

*

There was a large suitcase waiting on the front steps of their townhouse when he got home. He recognised it from that time Ben thought he was moving to Tibet. It was big enough to easily fit enough clothes for a month. Considering their neighbourhood Michael was surprised it hadn’t been stolen.

“That’s weird,” he said.

He tried the door, but it was locked, despite Ben’s bike in the rack.

“What the hell?” he muttered.

His key didn’t work either.

A tapping noise got his attention. Standing in their window was Hunter, who waved and then flipped him the bird. Ben walked up behind Hunter and roughly pulled the curtains closed.

“Fuck,” Michael groaned.

*

Chapter Two

The first thing Michael did was take his suitcase and high tail it out of there. The second thing he did, at the bus stop, was call Brian. Unfortunately, no one picked up, which left him only one option. Michael knew he’d hate himself forever for doing this, but he couldn’t very well live on the street. Or with Ted and Emmett, who still lived together despite not actually being together.

He banged on the front door until Debbie answered. She seemed pleasantly surprised to see him.

“Can I stay here for a while?” he asked.

“Oh sweetie,” she said, glancing at his suitcase, “of course you can.”

He was ushered into the kitchen. She took his suitcase and sat him down at the table. She probably realised his being there wasn’t a good sign, because she also set a plate of oatmeal cookies in front of him.

“I think Ben and I broke up,” he said sadly. He knew he shouldn’t be surprised, cheating with his best friend’s son and all, but that didn’t stop it from stinging. He loved Ben more than anything. Everything was so fucked up.

Debbie stroked his cheek. “Honey, I’m sure he’ll forgive you.”

He bristled. “Why do you automatically think it’s my fault?” She simply gave him a look. Sheepishly, he muttered, “This really isn’t something forgiveable, Ma.”

She looked alarmed. “Jesus, what did you do?”

He cringed and told her.

When it was over she just stared as if she didn’t recognise him.

“Ma?” he asked timidly.

“Jesus H. Christ on a cracker,” she murmured, shaking her head. She waved a finger in his face. “Out of all the dumb things you’ve done this is the worst. You go to your room and think about what you’ve done, young man.”

*

Brian was waiting for him outside the shop at seven o’ clock the next morning. He wore his black leather jacket and sunglasses, and the way he casually smoked a cigarette normally would have made Michael’s knees weak. But today he knew Brian wasn’t there to make a social call.

They were both silent as Michael unlocked the store. Brian followed him inside, stubbing his cigarette out on the brick wall. His enraged expression made Michael gulp; hopefully Holden would call the cops before he did any serious damage.

“Brian,” Michael squeaked.

“So I was talking to Justin,” Brian said calmly. A cool bead of sweat slipped down Michael’s back. “He was really mad I didn’t care you fucked my kid.”

“A-are you going to beat me up for Justin?” Michael asked, quickly glancing at the door. Holden was late again. He was a dead man.

Brian didn’t seem to hear. He slowly tucked his sunglasses into his coat pocket. “And I was, you know, trying to tell him you two were just pulling our legs, but he said you weren’t. And Gus was there, and he said you really did fuck. While watching Dirty Dancing.”

“Oh God,” Mike whimpered.

“Then Justin pointed out Gus looks a hell of a lot like me,” Brian added. His gaze hardened. Maybe he could shove past Brian and run. Mexico was supposed to be nice this time of year. “So I was thinking that maybe you really did fuck my son, possibly while thinking of something — or someone — you really shouldn’t have.”

“Brian, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Brian leaned in close. Once Michael would have said it was intimate; now it was simply frightening. “He’s fourteen,” Brian hissed.

“You slept with Justin when he was seventeen,” Michael countered shrilly.

“For one thing, Justin has always been very mature for his age,” Brian sniffed. “For another, he wasn’t my best friend’s son.”

“Oh,” Michael said. “Right.”

Brian raised his brows and sent him a look that said, “Well?”

“I didn’t mean to do it,” Michael explained. “And– and you fucked Ben!”

Brian blinked. “You did this because I fucked your husband fifteen years ago?”

“No, I just meant– I forgave you for fucking Ben. So you should forgive me for fucking Gus.” He tried to smile, but he suspected it was more like a wince.

Brain’s disbelieving stare was enough for Michael to realise that had been the wrong thing to say. “Do you hear the words coming out of your mouth?”

“Most of them,” Michael said.

Rather than punching him, Brian scrubbed his face with his hands. He hadn’t seen Brian this distressed since Ted had stolen his corvette and sold it for drug money. Seeing Brian hurt only made him feel even worse.

“You know, this is the worst thing you’ve ever done. I could deal with your– feelings–” Brian said the word like it was a vile, disgusting thing. “–When we were younger. Hell, I even liked it before–” Michael knew he stopped himself from saying Justin’s name. “But when you do this to my kid it’s just sick.”

“I know,” Michael said quietly. “I think Ben’s left me.”

“That bastard,” Brian said sarcastically.

“Look,” Michael said, irritated, “I’m sorry, alright?”

“‘Sorry’ doesn’t change a fucking thing,” Brian snapped. “I want you to stay away from Gus.”

Relieved, Michael said, “Can you keep him from calling me too? It’s getting really annoying.”

*

Lindsay knew Brian really hated confrontation, so she let him ply her and Mel with drinks and thinly veiled insults until Mel looked ready to scream. Something was wrong — this much was obvious from Brian’s pleasantries and Justin’s shifty behaviour — but she couldn’t put her finger on just what.

“Mel,” Brian said smarmily, practically batting his eyes at her, “have you lost weight?”

Clearly disgusted, Mel set down her drink. Linds hid her smile behind her hand. “Cut to the chase, Kinney. I know we’re not here because you were feeling sociable.”

Justin nudged Brian with his elbow.

“Alright,” Brian said soberly. “Justin has something to tell you.”

Justin goggled. “What? Me?”

“You expect me to tell them?”

“He’s your son!”

“They like you more than they like me.”

“Someone had better tell us now,” Mel growled.

Brian and Justin exchanged glances. “Michael fucked Gus,” they said simultaneously.

“Consensually,” Brian added, as if was an afterthought.

For a second Lindsay didn’t feel anything. Then her blood rushed to her ears, and she went cold all over.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Mel asked flatly.

“Would I kid about something like this?” Brian replied.

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

“H-has he done anything to Buffy?” Linds asked, her throat filling with tears. Michael, molesting her baby. It wasn’t possible.

“God, I hope not,” Brian muttered, sounding disgusted. Justin scowled at him. “I mean, no. I don’t think so.”

“Wait,” Mel said, voice rising, “you’re saying you’re serious about this?”

“I told him to stay away from Gus,” Brian replied. “And me.”

“Holy shit,” Mel gasped. She clutched Lindsay’s arm.

Linds wiped her eyes with her hands. Justin handed her a tissue, and Mel’s clinging became hugging. “What are we going to do?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

“We could have him arrested,” Mel said tersely.

Brian’s head snapped up. “That’s kind of harsh,” Justin said.

“A forty-three year old had sex with our fourteen year old son,” Mel snapped.

“Maybe they’re in love,” Justin protested.

The room fell silent.

Justin sighed. “Pretend I didn’t say that.”

“If Michael and Gus are in love I’m the one who’s going to need therapy,” Brian said.

“Okay,” Justin went on, “Michael’s your — our — friend. He did something really bad, but I don’t think he deserves prison for it. Look at all the times we’ve forgiven Ted. Sure, there are times I really miss my computer and the ‘vette, and I’m sure Em blames him for what’s-his-face’s death, but the important thing is–” He stopped. “Uh, I forgot what I was saying.”

“Michael’s our friend,” Brian reminded him.

“Right, he’s our friend, and, um, prison is bad.”

The four of them sat quietly. Lindsay wiped her eyes on a tissue, blotting away her mascara. Beside her Mel was tense, her body radiating rage. Even Brian was fidgety.

“I’m certain I could get a restraining order,” Mel said finally.

“I have no problem with that,” Linds replied.

*

It was probably suicide for Michael to be seen in Woodys right now, but being drunk considerably lessened the fear of imminent death. He had no friends, no lover, and no family, and, to top it off, his mother was barely speaking to him.

“My life is so incredibly fucked,” he moaned.

Justin snorted. “You do the kid you do the time, Michael. You should feel lucky no one called the cops.”

For some reason Justin had pulled a stool up to his table about half an hour ago. Initially Mike had been afraid Justin would punch him — he knew from past experiences Justin and pent up anger was a lethal combination, Justin being brain damaged and all — but then he decided he just didn’t have the energy to care. Besides, it didn’t make him an alcoholic if he drank with someone else.

“You’re the only one talking to me.” He narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

Justin studied his drink. “I’ve done some stupid things too, Michael, remember? Well, I never fucked Gus, but I did join a gang for a little while. Besides, I don’t want Brian to lose his best friend.”

“Maybe I should join a gang,” Michael mused. “I can learn to bust caps in people’s asses.”

“Poor, young, innocent, blind Gus,” Justin sighed.

“What about poor me?” Michael demanded. “It’s not like he wasn’t a willing participant. I was confused. He took advantage of me.”

Justin raised a cool blond brow. “How exactly did he take advantage of you?” Michael worked his mouth, trying to come up with an answer, but Justin asked, “By looking like Brian did at his age?”

Michael looked away. Justin sighed again. “That’s so–”

“Sick and wrong,” Michael snapped. “Yeah, I know. I’m a horrible person. I just want things to go back to the way they were before.”

“Did you ever think maybe you purposely sabotaged your relationship with Ben, and that’s why you slept with Gus?” Justin asked.

“Who do I look like, Brian?” Michael scoffed. Justin scowled, and Michael hastily added, “Just kidding, sheesh.”
“You can’t make things go back to the way they were.”

“What am I supposed to do?” he wailed.

“Well, you’re not going to fix anything by sitting here and getting shit-faced, Michael,” Justin said.

Justin was right. But there was no way Ben was going to see him. “How did you get Brian the first time? And the second time? And that time you–”

“What, you want my advice? This is a first.”

“Nevermind,” he seethed. “Just forget it. Forget it!”

Justin set his drink down and turned to him. “Listen, here’s what you have to do: you have to let Ben know you’re not going to let him cut you out of his life. You have to be aggressive. You have to put yourself out there. Don’t let him move on.”

“Are you telling me to stalk him?”

“Stalking is such an ugly word,” Justin said sombrely. “I prefer the term courting.”

“Courting,” Michael scoffed. He rested his head against the cool surface of the bar. “I must be losing my mind, ’cause I’m actually considering doing this.”

Justin smirked. “It worked for me.”

“But– but Ben isn’t like Brian. He’s not going to think me showing up everywhere he goes is ’sweet.’ He’s gonna think it’s fucking creepy!”

“Fine,” Justin said nonchalantly, “let him just kick you out of his life. You can spend the rest of your life waiting for a phone call from Hunter or a letter from Ben, until you die miserable and all alone.”

Justin snagged his drink and headed back to the bar.

Michael stared at the tabletop. “Shit,” he muttered.

*

Michael carefully placed his clothes in the tiny, cramped closet of his old room. It was his new room now, he supposed, frowning at the row of jeans and sweaters. He could hear his mother in the kitchen downstairs, putting away dishes; he knew soon she’d walk to her room for bed, not bothering to stop and say goodnight like she used to. His childhood home had never felt big and empty until now.

He returned to the comic shop early the next morning, nursing a vodka-induced headache. Trying to focus on the fine print in the classifieds section of the newspaper was nearly impossible. He was grateful when the phone rang.

“Red Cape Comics.”

“It’s me.”

“Ben,” he breathed.

“I’ve left some of your things with Emmett.”

Michael closed his eyes. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” he said quietly.

“You didn’t mean to fuck Gus or you didn’t mean for me to find out?” Ben asked sharply. Michael couldn’t reply. “Just tell me… why did you do it?”

“I really don’t know,” Michael confessed. The other end of the phone went quiet save for Ben’s steady breathing. “I don’t know, maybe it’s a midlife crisis or something. We were watching Dirty Dancing, and Gus looked so much like Brian, and I thought– I just thought, ‘I can pretend I did this when I was fourteen.’”

“If you want to be with Brian–”

“I don’t!” he interrupted. “And he doesn’t want to be with me. It was just a mistake.”

Ben sighed. Michael clutched the phone so hard his hands hurt.

“You’re not fourteen,” Ben said. “You can’t spend one night pretending your life is different, and then spend the rest of it pretending that night didn’t happen.”

“I know,” he whispered. He missed Ben so much it ached. “Believe me, I just want to take it back.”

“But you can’t. All you can do is fix what you did.”

*

Less than a week after he’d made the biggest mistake of his life Michael returned to the diner. As soon as he walked in he saw the usual gang at their usual table; Ben, who was facing the door, met his eyes briefly before looking away. Michael straightened his shoulders and pressed onwards.

Conversation went still as he approached.

“Well, if it isn’t Michael,” Ted drawled.
“Hey, guys,” he said.

Ben slid out of the booth, ignoring Michael completely. “I’ve got to run some errands. Later, everyone.” He left without even a glance back, which stung.

“Oh!” said Emmett, looking at his watch with a melodramatic cry of surprise. “Ted, honey, we’ve got to leave now or else you’ll be late for your group.”

At least Em sent him a sympathetic look as they walked out past. “Try not to fuck any teenagers while we’re gone,” Ted whispered loudly, patting Michael on the shoulder. That left him and Brian; Brian didn’t even acknowledge him as he took a seat.

They sat in a silence for a few minutes.

“Do you think stalking’s romantic?” Michael asked.

Brian looked at him sourly. “You’ve been talking to Justin.”

Michael started to deny it, but Brian pulled his newspaper over his face, dismissing him.

“Can I get a coffee?” he asked the passing waiter.

“Coffee for the perv at table seven,” the waiter called to the counter.

Michael buried his face in his hands.

*

Chapter Three

Michael quietly shut his bedroom door. It felt like he was sixteen again, trying to call the guy he liked without his mom finding out. Not that she would have minded him seeing someone; when he was young he had always hated her giving advice and being so open about everything. He used to like to sneak around just to pretend he came from a normal family, or more like Brian, who had to hide everything from his parents and sister. Now Michael pulled out his cell and dialed a familiar number: his own.

After a few rings the machine picked up. “Hi, this is Ben–” “And this is Mike!” “Leave your name and number after the beep–” “And we’ll get back to you!”

“Ben,” he started, “it’s me–”

The machine went dead. The dial tone rang in his ears.

“Dammit,” he muttered.

Something tapped on his window. He whipped around, part of him expecting it to be Debbie. But it was Gus, trying to climb through.

“Oh my God,” Michael groaned, opening the window. Gus clumsily struggled into the room. “What are you doing here? Do you know how much trouble I could get in?”

“I had to see you,” Gus gushed, straightening his clothes.

“I’m your uncle!” Michael hissed.

“Not really,” Gus pointed out. “Buffy and I aren’t blood related.”

Yeah, whose brilliant idea had that been? “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I’ve still known you since the day you were born. I used to give you baths and change your diapers. Doesn’t that gross you out?”

Gus frowned, looking very much like Brian. “You didn’t have a problem with it that night.”

Michael groaned. “That night was a mistake,” he admitted. Gus flinched. “It should never have happened. You’re fourteen! I’m lucky your moms and dads haven’t pressed charges!”

“I get it,” Gus snapped. He slammed his fist on the desk. Michael wondered if he’d just scarred the kid for life. Was he going to become another Brian, scorning love until it was almost too late, and then falling for some drama-prone underaged artist, just because Michael had turned him down? Was this how Brian had started out? And more important, did this mean Brian had slept with his uncle?

“You should find someone your own age,” Michael said. “One that has absolutely no interest in sex. Maybe someone religious.”

“Kids my age are morons,” Gus sneered.

Oh God. Gus wasn’t Brian, he was Justin. “I am so creeped out right now,” Michael said.

“Fuck you,” Gus shouted. He stormed to the window and loudly tried to scramble out.

“Could you be a little quieter?” Michael demanded. “My mom’s gonna hear.”

Gus slammed the window down so loudly the entire room shook. Michael waited for his mother to burst in asking what the hell was going on, but she never did.

*

“So my best friend’s a child molester,” Brian said. He swallowed his shot of scotch, barely wincing at the familiar burn.

“Remember when they used to call you that?” Justin asked thoughtfully, signaling the bartender.

Brian sighed. “Those were the days.”

Emmett, the only one of the three probably still sober, eyed them. “I’m the only one of us still sane, aren’t I.” It wasn’t a question.

“That depends,” Brian said. “Has Ted relapsed again?”

He glanced over Emmett’s shoulder. Sure enough, in the far corner Ted was bobbing away to the music in his own head. Groaning, Em went to go rescue him. Or lecture, whichever came first. In the past Brian had almost been amused by Ted the stoner, but after ten years it was just pathetic.

“I think you should forgive Michael,” Justin added. Brian rolled his eyes. “Gus doesn’t seem fucked up. Well, no more than any other teenage boy.”

“I lost my virginity when I was fourteen,” Brian muttered, frowning.

“Shit,” Justin said, sitting up straighter, “Gus needs therapy.”

*

Gus should have known something was up when both his father and Justin were home at three ‘o’ clock in the afternoon. “I’m just here to grab my stuff,” he called. “I’m going to Kiernon’s to do our science project.”

“Not so fast,” Dad said. “We’re going to have a little talk.”

Gus dropped his bookbag on the floor. “Uh, is this about Uncle Mike?” That was something he really didn’t want to get into with his parents. Especially since Uncle Mikey had dumped him last night like that. Like he didn’t even care.

“Yes,” Dad said, as Justin replied, “No.” “Sometimes,” Dad started loudly, “when two men really like each other–”

“Oh God,” Gus groaned.

“They want to fuck.”

“Make love,” Justin corrected.

“But you have to be prepared for the consequences of fucking. For instance, if you fuck at work, sometimes you get sued.”

“I don’t have a job,” Gus said.

“This is why you never mix sex and work,” Justin added.

“A lot of responsibility comes with fucking. Sometimes one night stands turn into fourteen years.” His father’s mouth dropped, and he looked away, blinking rapidly. “Oh my God, it’s been fourteen years.”

“Yeah, it’s been a real party for me too,” Justin said flatly.

Dad leaned closer, putting a hand on Gus’s shoulder. “You have to be prepared, because sometimes all you want is a one night of hot sex, and the next thing you know he’s showing up everywhere you go, and then you’re at a high school prom, and then suddenly he’s bashed in the head with a baseball bat, and then he’s moving in with you, and then he leaves you for some disgusting, pussy-faced fiddler with poor hygiene–”

“Uh, Dad?” Gus cut in, uncomfortable.

“–And then magically you’re back together before you realise what the fuck is going on, and then you lose your job, and then he joins a cult, and then you blink and you’re letting him move in with you and give your company some stupid name you’re too chicken shit to say you hate–”

“Hey,” Justin protested, “Kinnetic is a fucking brilliant name.”

“–And then you’re practically married, and he wants you to have a commitment ceremony in front of your friends and God, God of all people–”

“I make one suggestion in the shower five years ago…” Justin sighed.

“–Suddenly you stop fucking redheads, and then you feel personally offended by green eyes–”

“Oh. Oh!” Justin exclaimed. “Is that why–?”

“I’m not talking to you,” Gus’s father said. He turned back to Gus. “And then you find yourself painting the toenails of some chick you barely know while watching Powerpuff Girls reruns on the floor of the place you bought together, even though you don’t actually remember purchasing it, and you know you’re watching reruns because you’ve seen them all with him, all because you were horny fourteen years ago.”

The kitchen went silent, save for Justin loudly tapping his fingers on the counter.

“A-are you talking about Justin?” Gus asked. “‘Cause he’s right here, and, Dad, that’s not cool.”

Dad looked at Justin, who seemed annoyed. “You’re hot when you’re pissed off,” Dad told Justin sweetly. But then he looked right back at Gus and said, “Oh yeah, and sometimes you get AIDS and die.”

Justin buried his face in his hands. “Why do I bother?”

“I’m going to be late,” Gus announced loudly.

“You’re not fucking Kiernon are you?” Dad asked, brow furrowing.

Gus wrinkled his nose. “Ew, Dad, he’s, like, a kid! Besides,” he added bitterly, “Uncle Mike doesn’t want to see me again. Apparently I’m too ‘immature.’”

“What?” his dad demanded. “That shit!”

“Brian!” Justin hissed. “Don’t encourage it!”

Rage rose in him. “You know, I’m not a stupid kid,” he spat.

But his dad gently touched his arm. “No, sonny boy, you really are just a stupid kid. That’s the point.”

Gus was speechless.

*

The fifth time he rang Ben actually picked up the phone. “Michael,” he growled, “I haven’t been answering because I know it’s been you. We have caller ID, remember?”

“Oh,” Michael muttered.

Ben hung up.

*

Gus had just finished brushing his teeth when Ma peered into the bathroom. “Hey, kiddo, I hear you and your dads had a little talk today.”

“Yeah, it was stupid.”

She opened the door all the way. “They forgot to mention something,” she muttered.

He put his toothbrush back in the holder. This should be fun. “Yeah, what’s that? The part about sex leading to low self-esteem? I’ve had sex-ed, Ma, I’m not stupid.”

“No, just that if you have sex again before you’re married you’re a dead man.”

Somehow he believed her. “Oh. Um. Okay. Does this apply to Buffy too?”

She snorted. “Of course not. What do you think this is, the 50’s?” She was halfway out the door before she paused. “Unless Uncle Mike wants to have sex with her. No sex with Uncle Mike. For anyone. Ever.”

“Am I not allowed to see him anymore?” Not that Uncle Mikey wanted to see him again, but– Gus still really liked him. Even if Uncle Mikey didn’t see him in that way they could still hang out together. Mike was cooler than Dad, who paid too much attention to him, and Justin, who always had to turn something into some sort of after school special. “Now what did we learn from this experience?” Justin would ask. He was actually surprised the lecture had come from Dad.

“Not for a while,” Ma said. “Honey, do you know what child molestation is?”

“I’m fourteen, not four,” he replied angrily, throwing his toothbrush down.

She seemed surprised when he pushed past her.

*

Michael sent Ben a letter. Three days later it came back marked ‘Return to sender.’

Maybe he needed to rethink this.

*

The first two times Michael showed up at Ben’s lecture Ben had stared at him throughout the entire hour. The third time Ben had ignored him completely.

At the fourth lecture he was startled out of a daydream involving him, Captain Astro, and a spaceship by Ben standing over him. “Ben!” he exclaimed. Everyone around him was scribbling furiously.

Ben handed him a piece of paper, smiling.

“What’s this?” Michael asked.

Ben’s smile tightened. “Today’s pop quiz.”

*

Chapter Four

Patience had never been one of Michael’s strong points. Two days after the pop quiz — which he failed miserably — he was walking out of the grocery store when it hit him that he was just sick of it all. He was sick of waiting, sick of being alone, and, most of all, sick of feeling guilty. He knew the guilt would never fade entirely, but he didn’t think it should get in the way of his life. He’d make it up to Gus somehow.

Michael turned around, stalked back into the grocery store, and bought a bottle of wine Ben liked. Then he rode his bike all the way back to his old apartment.

He was relieved when Ben actually answered the door. He looked angry for a second, but before he could tell Michael to go away Michael blurted: “I love you. And I’m sorry.”

Ben’s expression softened slightly, but his voice remained firm. “What you did was inexcusable, Michael, to both me and to Gus.”

Michael combed his fingers through his hair nervously. His bravo was fading. “I know, I know. That was probably the worst thing I’ve done in my entire life.”

Ben sighed and shook his head. Michael’s chest tightened. “I need to be sure you don’t have any feelings for Brian.”

“I don’t,” he replied honestly. It seemed like he had been in love with Brian an eternity ago. Ben had changed him into someone better; someone he was proud to be. Michael didn’t want to lose him. “But I was for a long time, and I slipped. It doesn’t make what I did right. I love you,” he repeated.

He took a deep breath. Ben gazed at him evenly. “I don’t know if I can trust you,” Ben said bluntly.

That hurt. He hadn’t really expected Ben to take him back just because he showed up at his doorstep, but it still hurt. Michael nodded and studied his shoes. “Okay. I had to try though.”

He was already walking away when Ben called out: “I’m surprised Brian forgave you so easily, although I guess I shouldn’t be.”

Michael stopped to looked back. “Oh, I really haven’t talked to Brian since he practically murdered me for touching Gus. He was next on the list. I needed to talk to you first.”

“You came to me before Brian?” Ben asked, seeming shocked.

“Well, yeah,” Michael said. “You’re my life partner. We have a… we have Hunter together, and Buffy too. We’re family.”

This time he was at the end of the sidewalk when he heard, “Michael, wait.”

*

Brian had always liked Ben. Not only was he perfect for Mikey, who needed someone to take care of him, he was also a really great guy (steroid abuse notwithstanding), which wasn’t a quality Brian applied to many people. However, they didn’t tend to spend a lot of time together, so when Ben asked him over he couldn’t help but worry a little. Perhaps there was more to the Gus situation than Michael had let on.

Which is how he found himself on Ben’s couch with a cup of herbel tea.

“You wanted to talk?” Brian asked. He set his tea on the coffee table without drinking.

Ben held up a finger, signaling him to wait. Brian stared as he turned to the surround sound stereo and fiddled with some buttons. Immediately pipe music and moaning floated through out the room. The little Buddhas on the mantle trembled.

“We can chat now,” Ben said.

“What the shit is this?” Brian asked.

Another long moan pierced the woodwind melody.

“Whale songs,” Ben said casually.

“I see,” Brian said.

“I need to talk to you about Michael,” Ben started. He put his hand on Brian’s knee and sent him a very concerned look. The whales continued to sing. “I think you should forgive him.”

Brian wondered if Ben was trying to drive him insane. “And why should I?” he asked.

“He’s behaving very maturely about this.”

“If he had been behaving maturely this wouldn’t have happened,” Brian pointed out, raising his eyebrows.

“Brian,” Ben said, exasperated, “these last few weeks Michael’s been trying to get me to talk to him. Yesterday was the first time I listened to what he had to say. He told me he came to me first, because we’re a family– he came to me, Brian, not you.” Brian bit his lip thoughtfully. “I believe what he did was just a mistake, and I believe he won’t do it again.”

Brian looked around the room. Next to the little Buddhas were framed photos of Michael and Ben, Michael and Ben and Hunter, Michael and the whole family, and, on the very end, Michael and Brian. He did miss his best friend. Biting his lip, he said, “If I forgive him you have to promise me one thing.”

“What?” Ben asked.

“Burn this CD.”

The whales moaned.

*

No matter how many ups and downs Michael’s life went through, Liberty Avenue would never change. Michael hummed to himself as he walked through the busy street. He was going to get take away from the diner and head home — his real home with Ben, not his mom’s. Things were looking up; having Ben back in his life made his lack of friends a bit more bearable. As much as he wanted them for forgive him, he knew he’d be able to live if they didn’t.

Brian and Justin walked out of the diner just as Michael arrived. The three of them stood there looking at each other until Brian cleared his throat. “Going to Woodys tonight?”

“No,” Michael said slowly, “I need to spend some time with Ben.”

To his surprise, Brian smiled. “We’ll see you later then.”

He and Justin started to leave. Michael stared at Brian’s back, wondering if this meant their fight was over.

“Wait,” he called. “I need to say I’m sorry again.”

“Sorry’s bullshit,” Brian replied, but he didn’t sound mad.

“Are we friends again?” Michael asked. “You can sleep with Buffy when she gets older.”

“Okay then,” Brian said sarcastically.

“I’m really beginning to worry about your parental skills,” Justin said.

*

A week later he was invited to the weekly family lunch at the munchers’. His arrival prompted hugs from Emmett, Ted, and even Em’s new boyfriend John, who he’d actually never met before. Debbie had greeted him with her usual cheeriness, which made him think she’d been talking to Ben. He didn’t really care, as long as she wasn’t angry with him anymore. The whole lot of them sat at the table, and Michael was filled with a warmth at just how typical it all was.

“It’s nice to be together again,” Michael said cheerfully.

Mel nodded, tight-lipped. Lindsay played with her fork threateningly.

“Pass the mustard,” Hunter said.

Michael sat between Ben and Brian. Across from him, Gus avoided meeting his gaze. Buffy was distracted by Francois, Hunter’s boyfriend, making a puppet out of bread and olives, while Justin rolled his eyes. Michael felt ready to burst with joy.

“This is nice,” Debbie said. “Gus, how are you, honey?”

Gus muttered something inaudible.

“What was that?” Mel asked.

“I have a girlfriend,” Gus announced loudly. The whole room became silent. Brian dropped his fork. “Her name’s Meredith.”

“A girlfriend?” Brian demanded.

“A girlfriend!” Debbie cried. She beamed like this was the funniest thing she’d heard all year. “Isn’t that something?”

“Brian Kinney’s son a breeder,” Emmett mused.

“Who saw that one coming?” Michael said.

“Watch your filthy mouth,” Brian snapped at Em.

“She’d better be your age,” Mel warned Gus. Gus gulped.

“That’s it,” Brian said, slamming his hands on the table. “Justin, we’re not having any more kids.”

Justin’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh gosh, now what am I going to do with the booties I knitted?”

“Your next sperm donation’s coming from Em,” Brian told Lindsay.

Emmett beamed. “Really?”

“No,” Mel and Linds said quickly.

And they lived happily ever after.

*

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Cowlip Productions and the Showtime Network. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Kudos to Anna, Erinface, Cait, Sam, Tink, and Rachel Anton for their comments, suggestions, beta reading, and listening to my whinging.

Summary: After Stockwell’s defeat, Brian has to vanquish evil, survive mysterious hardships, and sort out his love life. It’s like Brian Kinney, Vampire Slayer, only without the vampires or the cool superpowers. Brian/Justin, Michael/Ben. Spoilers for Seasons One through Three.
One, Dreamt a Mile.

It all started the day Gardner Vance walked into the Liberty Diner wearing a long black trenchcoat and black sunglasses that Sydney Bristow would have killed for.

No, it had actually started the day Deekins won the election, but Brian didn’t know that. All he knew was that Stockwell had lost, that Deekins, the ungrateful bastard, had won, and that being unemployed sucked. There was no other word for it: it just sucked. Justin probably would have used the multi-syllabic vocabulary his brain had packed away for the SATs back in high school, but for Brian the word ’sucked’ worked nicely. Unable to find a job, he had settled on a daily routine that involved sleeping late, bugging Justin at work, smoking cheap pot, annoying Michael at work, avoiding Hunter the hustler, and sex. It was like someone had extended the two-day weekend to six long, boring, empty weeks.

He was trying to figure out if he could use his spoon as a slingshot and bombard Justin’s ass with peas when Vance slid into the booth across from him. He was so startled he dropped the spoon onto the table, and several of the patrons turned to look at them.

“Nothing to see here, folks,” Vance said loudly. “Just two, uh, homosexuals sitting together eating lunch. Go back to your business.”

“That was really smooth,” Brian said.

He noticed Justin set his serving tray down and look over at them worriedly. Brian shook his head slightly. It wasn’t like Vance could do anything to him in a public place, especially not in one that obviously rattled him.

“Can we talk? Alone? I need to speak with you about your job.” Vance pushed his sunglasses up onto his bald scalp and glanced around nervously.

“You couldn’t have called me?” Brian demanded.

“I can’t let anyone know we’re speaking,” Vance hissed, leaning forward. His face was very serious. “It’s important, Brian.”

With a sigh, Brian led him out onto the noisy street. He shielded his eyes from the sun, and Vance scrambled to pull his sunglasses down. Despite the crisp winter day the Avenue was still as crowded as ever, and people made their way down, shopping and laughing. Brian shoved his hands into his coat pockets as Vance cautiously studied the other pedestrians, as if making sure he didn’t recognise anyone. Somehow Brian doubted Vance’s social circle hung out on Liberty Avenue, but never let it be said he didn’t appreciate a good bout of paranoia.

Finally, Vance finished his examination and turned back to Brian, who coolly raised an eyebrow. “Okay,” Brian began, “what’s–?”

Vance reached out and plucked a hair from Brian’s head.

Brian startled. “What the fuck?”

Vance gingerly wrapped the hair in a tissue. “Well, I’ve got what I need. See you later.” He spun around and began walking down the sidewalk.

Brian stared. His mouth finally caught up with him, and he shouted at Vance’s back: “W-what about my job?”

Vance glanced over his shoulder, smirking. “Oh, right. You’re still fired.”

He wasn’t sure if he should chase after Vance and demand his hair back, or what; it wasn’t like this sort of thing had happened to him before. People had stolen his underwear, his socks, and some fucker had once even taken a loofa from his shower, but no one had ever taken something that was still attached to his body. But he lost his chance when Vance’s figure was swallowed by the crowd, leaving Brian alone on the sidewalk.

Dazed, he walked back into the diner and took his seat. Debbie bumbled over, eagerly waving her coffee pot. “What’s wrong, honey? Did he offer you your job back?”

“No, he took some of my hair,” Brian said.

Debbie popped her gum noisily, blinking. She finished pouring his coffee and pushed the mug in front of him. “Jesus, people’s kinks just keep getting weirder and weirder.”

*

“Did you hear me? He took some of my hair.”

Justin lowered the book he was reading. “Maybe he’s making a voodoo doll,” he said sarcastically.

It wasn’t until the afterglow of dinner (take-away Chinese) and sex (on the plastic lawn chair they had stolen from Ted) that Brian had mentioned Vance’s eerie visit. Justin didn’t seem particularly perturbed; Brian was beginning to suspect he was the only person weirded out by the whole situation. Maybe Vance just had very odd sexual habits. Who knew how straight men got off.

“Why the fuck are you reading?” he asked, nudging Justin with his elbow. It wasn’t like Justin to read in bed.

“I’m expanding my mind.” Cheeky little twat. Justin sighed. “I don’t want to be behind when they finally let me back into PIFA.”

Brian didn’t know quite what to say to that. Luckily, he was saved by the phone ringing. He snatched it up as Justin turned back to his book. “Yeah?”

“Brian.” It was Vance.

“What, do you want a sperm sample next?” Brian demanded.

There was a pause, and Brian thought he heard papers shuffling in the background. “Actually… Is Mr Taylor there?”

“You want to talk to Justin?” Brian asked, incredulous. Justin’s head snapped up.

“I was told by his flatmate to call you. He’s there, isn’t he?”

Justin looked at Brian, eyebrows raised, but Brian couldn’t do anything more than pass the phone to him. “Hello?” Justin asked Vance hesitantly. His expression became unreadable as he listened to Vance. Brian strained to hear what was being said. “If I recall correctly, I was fired for fucking the boss. Oh, and that whole Stockwell thing, but who’s keeping track?” There was another long silence, and finally Justin said coolly, “I’ll think about it,” and he hit the ‘off’ button.

“What did he want?” Brian asked.

Justin cringed. “He asked me back. To Vanguard. Full time.”

“Oh,” Brian said.

“I’m not going to take it,” Justin added quickly.

Brian placed the phone back in its cradle, grabbed the bottle of vodka on the nightstand, and sat heavily on the steps in front of the bedroom. He didn’t know whether to be proud Vance had liked Justin’s work enough to ask him back, or horrified at the idea of being passed over for his boyfriend at his own job.

“Maybe you should,” he said slowly.

Justin trotted down to the lower level, the sheet wrapped around his waist. “No, it’s obvious he only asked me back to hurt you.”

Brian took a swing of the vodka, wincing at the familiar burn. “It’s a job,” he choked.

Justin stubbornly shook his head. “It’s not what I want. I can work somewhere else. So can you,” he added.

A pessimistic, “Hmm,” was all Brian could manage.

*

The next morning his car was stolen.

Brian stood in the middle of the garage, staring at his now-empty parking space. Normally, he would have just assumed Justin had borrowed it without asking, walked to the diner and snuck the keys out of Justin’s pocket during a nice groping session, and driven the ‘vette home, waiting for Justin to get back and complain about having to walk five whole blocks. But since he had the keys in his hand, he was pretty sure it had been nicked, which was just fantastic.

Pissed off, he pulled out his cell phone and dialled a familiar number.

“It’s a bird, it’s a plane, it’s Red Cape Comics! We’re super, thanks for asking! How can I help you today, citizen?”

“Oh my God,” Brian said. “Did you come up with that on your own?”

“Hunter helped. We had this really cool idea between, like, Ohio and Iowa–”

That last thing he wanted to hear was another tale of Mikey and Hunter on the road. They all had suffered through enough of those when the two had arrived back from running from the law, and once more when Hunter had explained to the courts why living with Michael and Ben was better than living with his hell beast of a mother. “That’s great, but three guesses whose car’s been stolen, and the first two don’t count,” Brian cut in.

There was a burst of static, then a high-pitched, “Someone stole your car? You’re fucking kidding! Are you sure Justin didn’t take it again?”

He noisily dangled his keys in front of the mouthpiece. “It’s definitely stolen.”

“Are you going to go to the police?”

“I don’t really have much of a choice, do I,” he muttered. “Goddamn it, I have a fucking interview tomorrow.”

He managed to find enough change in his pockets to take the bus down to the police station. Naturally, some old perv leered at him and some teenager tried to pick his pockets. The second he stepped off the bus the clouds parted and it started pouring rain. Things weren’t looking up.

“My car was stolen,” he told the officer at the desk. “I need to file a report.”

The man reached under the desk and brought out a blank form on a clipboard. He uncapped his pen and shoved everything at Brian. “Fill this out and bring it back,” he said blandly.

It took Brian about ten minutes to complete, then he had to wait behind a wailing prostitute for an hour before the officer would see him again.

“Your name’s Kinney?” the cop asked sharply.

“Yeah,” Brian said slowly.

“Ah.”

He didn’t like that “ah.” That was definitely a bad “ah.” The officer met his gaze evenly. “You can go now. We’ll take care of it.”

Brian knew he’d never see his ‘vette again.

*

A man knows when to ask for help, he had told Justin last year. He stared at the phone, trying to work up the courage to pick it up and dial. This was absurd; he was an adult, and he needed help. He had no car, no money, and no furniture. His friends wouldn’t look down on him. They might mock him until the end of his days, but they’d never look down on him. Squaring his shoulders, he hit the speed dial before he changed his mind.

A chipper, “Hello!” answered.

“Emmett,” Brian said with some difficulty.

“Brian? Why… you never call me. Is something wrong?”

“Someone stole the ‘vette.”

Emmett gasped. “Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry. You loved that car.”

“Yeah, thanks for the reminder.” Irritated, Brian rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I have a job interview this afternoon. Can you drive me?”

“Of course I can, honey. I’ll be right over.”

That had proved to be a bad idea when Em decided to spend the entire trip lamenting on his failed relationship with Ted, and something about Ted’s new boyfriend, who happened to be his old boyfriend, and when Em got to the part about their sex lives Brian wanted to just throw himself from the car.

“So how are you and Justin?” Emmett asked him knowingly. Brian really should have asked Lindsey to drive him.

“Oh, look, we’re here,” Brian said, relieved.

The first interview Brian had in weeks was at an agency called Impressionist Pictures. It was a small business that did above average printing work, and while it wasn’t the first, second, or even third place Brian would have thought of, he was feeling somewhat desperate. Soon he would to start having to look for jobs outside of the Pitts. He left Emmett in front of the small office building and went inside, where he was ushered into an empty office.

When Craig Taylor walked into the room Brian decided in his past life he must have been a serial killer, because there was just no other explanation.

“I didn’t know you were in advertising,” Brian said weakly.

Craig looked at him sourly. “I recently changed fields.”

He sat down at the large desk, pulling out a heavy binder. Brian wasn’t sure if he should make a run for it. Craig flipped to a page at the back, and said, “So you’re here about the executive position?”

“You’re going to interview me?” Brian asked, shocked.

“We are going to conduct this as if it’s any normal job application,” Craig said stiffly. He folded his hands in front of him. Brian started to relax; he wouldn’t get the job, but he wasn’t in any danger. Justin would have probably been upset if either his father or his boyfriend died at the hands of the other. “First question, Mr Kinney: Are you still seeing my son?”

Well, so much for that. “Well, uh, yeah, but–”

“Second question: Is it true that from him you stole his virginity, his youth, his innocence, and his soul?”

“Don’t be silly,” Brian said. “I have no use for souls.”

Craig stared at him for a long moment. “I’m going to put that down as a ‘yes.’”

*

Justin was already at the loft when Brian arrived home from the interview from hell. He was just sitting on the floor, staring at the blank walls, as Brian tugged up his shirtsleeves and tossed his tie in the direction of the bedroom. He nudged Justin with his foot, and Justin tilted his head and glared fiercely.

“Get naked. You won’t believe what happened to me today.”

“I don’t care,” said Justin.

“Your father just interviewed me for a job,” he said anyway. He grabbed the last beer from the refrigerator. “For some odd reason he wanted details of our sex life. He also wanted to let me know that I’m the biggest shit who ever lived.”

“Maybe he’s right,” Justin muttered darkly.

Brian took a gulp of lager. “What’s your problem, Sunshine?”

Justin looked away hastily. “Nothing,” he grumbled.

The lights flickered and died.

“I-I should probably mention I couldn’t pay the bills this month,” Brian said dryly.

Justin threw his hands in the air. “That’s it. I have to get the fuck out of here.”

He marched into the bedroom. Brian could hear the wardrobe’s drawers slamming, and the sound of things being shoved into a bag. Worried, he peeked in. “Uh, what’re you doing?”

Even in the dim evening light he could tell Justin’s face was flushed with anger. “What does it look like I’m doing?” he snapped.

“It looks like you’re taking all your shit.”

He pulled a pair of shoes out from the under the bed Brian had never realised were there. It really bothered him to know that they had been. Shoes were meant for the closet. “Brilliant observation,” Justin sneered.

Brian tried to grab his arm, but he wrenched away frantically. “What the fuck? Justin?”

“You have no direction, Brian. You have no job, no money, no sense of responsibility, no nothing. You’re blaming all your own mistakes on bad luck, which is bullshit.” Brian opened and closed his mouth a few times, speechless. Justin pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes, hard. His voice was muffled. “I don’t know why I’m even here anymore. I just need to get out.”

But instead of moving, he just sat heavily on the bed, still rubbing his eyes. Instincts Brian had developed last year after the bashing kicked in, and he went to the kitchen and grabbed some pills and a glass of water. Justin took them easily. “My head hurts,” he muttered.

“Why don’t you take a nap?” Brian asked quietly. Blurry eyed, Justin nodded. A few minutes later, he was asleep, leaving Brian to sit there and wonder what the hell was going on.

*

Justin only dozed for about half an hour. Brian was still sitting on the bed when he turned and nuzzled his cheek against Brian’s thigh, smiling up at him like nothing had happened. If you want to leave me I’ll understand, he wanted to say. Except he couldn’t, because it was a lie, and he didn’t want to lose Justin like he had the last time. He had thought after the fiddler things were fine — no, better than fine, great — between them. He hadn’t expected Justin to completely lose it like he had. Of course, he also hadn’t expected Craig to be his interviewer, his car to be stolen, or Vance to offer his job to Justin, but Justin, at least, was not usually prone to irrational behaviour.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Justin asked, chuckling.

Brian’s eyebrows shot up. “You don’t remember?”

“No…” He raised his head. “What the hell happened to my stuff?” His eyes widened, and Brian knew he wasn’t feigning shock. “Are you… are you breaking up with me?”

Brian needed a cigarette. “No, you fucktard, you tried to break up with me.”

“I think I would remember… Hey, I haven’t seen those shoes in forever.”

“You said I had no direction,” Brian told him.

“Since when do I care about direction?” Justin asked, pushing himself up to a seated position. “No, really, where were those shoes? Because I could’ve sworn I lost them.”

“You found them. They were under the bed.”

“Did you hide them from me?”

“Why would you think I’d hide your clothes from you?” Brian scoffed.

Justin raised one blond brow. “Do I really have to answer that, Brian?”

“So about the dumping thing,” he said quickly.

“Well, we can’t break up if we’re not in a relationship,” Justin pointed out, batting his eyes.

Brian cringed. He patted his pockets for a cigarette, and scowled when he came up empty. He shuffled his feet. “We’re… in a… relationship,” he bit out. Justin beamed, as if this was some new revelation. “And… maybe you were right about my life going nowhere. Maybe I’m cursed. Maybe I just have bad karma. Maybe I really did steal your soul. But… My life might be shitty right now, but it would be a hundred times worse without you. So if you left now I’d be really…” He struggled for the right word. “Annoyed.” He studied his nails, not daring to look up. “And your dad says hi, by the way.”

Justin touched his shoulder gingerly. “Brian, that was very sweet, but what the fuck are you talking about?”

Brian scowled. He was trying to make a verbal declaration of his feelings and Justin was lost. Typical. “I’m trying to grow as a person here.”

“Oh. Continue then.”

“Now I don’t want to,” he said sullenly.

Justin’s eyes narrowed. Then he blinked and looked around the darkened loft. “Why are all the lights off?”

*

Woodys, as usual, hummed with chatter and techno music. Brian leered at the pool table, the toilets, and the usual tables, but no one even glanced in his direction. Which was strange, because he knew he looked very hot tonight.

He slid into the seat next to a hot guy at the bar. The man made an exaggerated eyeroll and looked away. Bemused, Brian started, “Hey, why don’t we–”

Before he could finish, the guy simply got up and walked away, leaving Brian gaping behind him. Confused, he spotted his friends drinking at their own table, and he pulled up a chair. “Am I invisible?” he asked them.

“Unfortunately not,” Emmett said cheerfully.

“Why, did someone just turn you down?” Ted asked dryly. When Brian didn’t answer, he exclaimed, “Someone did! Is the all-mighty Kinney losing his touch?”

Brian eyed him. “When the hell did you get out of rehab?”

“Last week, asshole,” Ted replied.

“Hmm,” Brian grunted. He grinned at Michael. “Where’s the professor?”

“Punishing Hunter for skipping class, and if you make that into a sex joke I swear to God I’ll kill you,” Michael said.

“Where’s Justin?” Em asked.

“He and Daphne are having a girl’s night,” Brian replied.

In the end, someone bought Emmett a drink, Michael spoke eagerly about the next chapter of Rage, Ted glowered into his gin and tonic, and no one hit on Brian. Naturally, he pretended like he wasn’t looking for a trick, but his friends probably knew better. After a few hours of nothing they decided to head home. Brian was ready to catch the bus over to Daphne’s and talk Justin into a quick fuck when Michael stopped them on the stairwell and pointed.

“Hey, isn’t that your car?”

Brian craned his neck, and, sure enough, it was his car parked on the street. A man was climbing–

“Holy shit,” Brian said, “I fucked that guy a few months ago. After the Carnival. He was admiring the ‘vette.”

“Mm, that’s sure ironic,” Emmett drawled, as Ted cackled.

“I’m going to kill that fucker,” Brian seethed.

Michael grabbed his shoulder before he could move. “Wait, did you fuck him at the loft?”

“No, I fucked him at– shit! He’s getting away.”

“Do you remember where he lives?”

Brian frowned, thinking. It had been some skeevy place near the end of the gay ghetto. Pretty close to Michael’s and Ben’s, actually. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “Yeah, I do.”

*

It was a good thing he owned a lot of black, or else the rescue mission could have ended horribly. It did end horribly, in fact, but at least his clothing wasn’t to blame.

Brian peered around the corner. The fucker had parked the Corvette on the side of the street, like it was some ordinary car. He might as well have spray painted ’steal me’ on the hood. If someone had to have stolen his car, it could have at least been someone who appreciated it. He checked to make sure the street was empty before jogging over, pulling from his coat a clothes hanger he had bent into a long hook.

He slipped the wire under the hood, popping it open successfully. He reached inside to cross the–

The alarm went off. Headlights began flashing. “STEP AWAY FROM THE VEHICLE,” a booming voice called.

“Shit!” Brian hissed. He shoved the wire under his coat and ran for his life.

*

Two, He Fed Me Fine Food.

“Maybe you’re cursed,” Justin said as they were walking back to the loft after a leisurely breakfast at the diner. Brian had spent an uncomfortable night on Michael’s and Ben’s couch after he had decided it took too much effort to walk all the way home, and instead of sleeping he had mostly worried about Hunter sneaking up on him. Four cups of coffee and an orange later, he still felt slightly ill.

“People don’t get cursed in real life, Justin,” he snapped tiredly.

“How do you explain Melanie’s and Lindsey’s wedding? Mercury was in retrograde, or whatever the fuck.”

“That was just bad luck,” Brian said.

“Well, I think it’s possible,” Justin muttered, pushing his hands into his pockets like a petulant child.

Brian sighed heavily. “You watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer and read Michael’s comics and talk about how cool it would be to be an Elf from Lord of the Rings.”

“Come on, they’re cool,” Justin insisted. “They’ve got, like, pointed ears and live forever. And you’re avoiding the subject. If this is just bad luck, how come it’s been one disaster after another? How come I don’t remember trying to break up with you?”

“Fine,” Brian said. He crossed his arms over his chest, glaring. “If I really am cursed, then Ian Gold–”

“Ethan” Justin amended.

“–Is going to walk around the corner.”

They both waited.

Ethan Gold came walking around the corner.

Brian closed his eyes, resigned. “Okay. Okay, I’m cursed. How do I become un-cursed?”

“Well, in Harry Potter you perform a counter-spell,” Justin offered. Brian opened his eyes and raised an eyebrow. Justin coughed. “Not that I would know.”

Ethan looked like he was going to head in their direction, so Brian shoved Justin into the comic shop. “I don’t even know how to lift this thing,” he admitted, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the store. “Do I just go the library and check out all the books on voodoo?”

Justin frowned thoughtfully. “Maybe we can find Mysterious Marilyn. She can do tarot, but I don’t know about witchcraft.”

“Did I hear someone say witchcraft?” Hunter asked from the counter. He held a duster in one hand and a Superman action figure in the other.

“No,” Brian replied, just as Justin said, “Someone put a curse on Brian.”

The kid’s face brightened. “Yeah? Dude, I can fix that.”

“You’ve been reading too many of Mikey’s comics,” Brian said.

“I’ve done some magic in my time,” Hunter sniffed.

Justin’s brow furrowed. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“Magic is nothing to joke about,” Hunter said seriously.

“You’re a sixteen year-old rentboy,” Justin said. “What the fuck do you know about magic?”

“Excuse you, I have a library card. And not fucking old pervs has totally freed up my evenings.”

“How exactly can you help me?” Brian cut in, rubbing his pounding forehead.

Hunter propped his chin up on one hand. “First I need to know what you can do for me,” he leered.

“I won’t fuck your shit up, that’s what,” Justin said prickily.

He was about as threatening as a kitten, but it seemed to work. Brian pretended not to be amused when Hunter backed down. “Fine,” Hunter said dejectedly. “You need to find out what kind of spell he’s doing. Then we can do a counter spell.”

“See, a counter spell,” Justin exclaimed. “And you doubted me.”

Down to his last option, Brian pulled out his phone.

*

With a few well-placed calls Brian eventually got an appointment with Gardner Vance, under an assumed name. Vance’s secretary had always thought he was hot, so she had been pleased to see him, and she even brought him a coffee. “I was so upset when I heard what happened,” she gushed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “I mean, who would believe you’d sabotage your own client?”

“I did,” Brian said, smiling thinly.

Her mouth dropped open. “Er. Um.” She tensely shuffled a few papers. “Mr Vance will see you now.”

“Oh, it’s you,” Vance acknowledged coldly as he stepped into the office.

“Hey, Gardner,” Brian said casually, shutting the door. “Remember that day you plucked a hair from my head?”

“Hmm, the day I plucked a hair from your head…” Vance rolled his eyes towards the ceiling, making a big show of thinking back. Brian gritted his teeth. “Why, yes, I vaguely recall that.”

“Do you mind telling me what the fuck you did with it?”

“I gave it to Jim Stockwell.”

Brian blinked. “To Stockwell. You gave my hair to Stockwell.”

“Yes. I daresay he hasn’t been taking this failure well. He promised to give me the names of his backers if I got a bit of your DNA, for some sort of experiment.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Brian questioned suspiciously.

Vance leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. It was a familiar scene, and for a second Brian’s chest ached. But Vance’s smirk was downright evil, and Brian wondered why he had never noticed that before. “Why not?” Vance said airily. “I’ve got his supporters, and by now Stockwell’s done whatever he was going to do to you. I think I came out pretty well, don’t you think?”

“If I live through this I am so going to turn you into a frog,” Brian hissed.

“You know,” said Vance thoughtfully, “I think this is the longest conversation we’ve ever had.”

*

Brian dramatically pushed open both doors and once and stepped into Stockwell’s office. Everything was still the same, from the encyclopaedias on the wall bookshelf to the sturdy oak desk to Stockwell in his bland blue suit and tie. The only thing new was the cloth doll sitting at Stockwell’s right hand. It had a note that said ‘Brian Kinney’ held to its chest with a long pin.

“Oh, you fucker,” Brian muttered.

Stockwell smiled. He reached over and petted the doll’s head. Brian felt like someone had just stuck a cap on him. He resisted the urge to scratch his own head. “Hello, Brian. How are you?”

“Cursed,” Brian drawled. “You?”

“Just peachy.”

“I wouldn’t have bet on you being the kind for magic,” said Brian. He gestured to the doll.

Still smiling, Stockwell replied, “It runs in the family. Actually, my uncle Marty — well, he’s actually now my aunt Marilyn — is a gypsy, and he– er, she–”

Brian’s head hurt. “Great. So I cost you the election and you decide to pull voodoo on me?”

“What?” Stockwell stared at him stonily. “No, no, this isn’t voodoo. I won’t touch that stuff. It’s much too powerful. This is just simple magic.”

“And yet my life is a living hell,” Brian said hotly.

Stockwell seemed pleased. He stood and sat on the corner of his desk. “It’s a great spell, isn’t it. It projects my hatred into a single, controlling force. In this case, the force is extremely bad luck.”

Rage bubbled up inside Brian, and he looked away, jaw working. It was because of this asshole he couldn’t get a job. It was because of Stockwell Justin had almost left again.

“Does anyone ever ask why you carry a doll around?” he managed.

“No, my staff pretty much thinks I’m insane,” Stockwell replied.

Brian smiled thinly. “I can’t imagine why.”

*

Brian slammed the comic shop’s door, scaring the three skinny geeks drooling over a Catwoman life-size cutout. Pushing his sunglasses up onto his forehead, he glared at them until they hurried out. Michael whined, “Brian! They were going to buy that!” Emmett and Ted were also behind the counter, and Ben and Justin were busy arranging the shelves.

“Why the fuck is everyone here?” He held up a hand. “No, no, on second thought, I don’t want to know.”

Hunter poked his head out from the storage room. “Brian?”

Brian spun on his heel. Hunter’s expression changed from earnest to uneasy in a matter of seconds. “Stockwell has a fucking doll of me,” he spat.

Justin gaped. “I so called it! Didn’t I tell you it was for a voodoo doll?”

“He has a doll of you?” Ted asked.

“He said it– it forces his hate into bad luck for me,” Brian continued. “That’s why everything’s been happening one after another.”

Hunter disappeared for a second, then came out with a huge hardback book. He slammed it on the counter and flipped to a marked page. “That’s what I thought it was,” he murmured. “It’s called a infelicitas spell. First there’s a series of events to break your spirit. Then the wizard, ah, ‘ascends to the next level,’ whatever the fuck that means, and then you die.”

There was a long silence. Brian felt cold.

“What’s going on?” Michael demanded shrilly.

“Stockwell’s put a curse on Brian,” Justin said briskly. He looked at Hunter like this was his fault. “How can we stop Brian from dying?”

“You’re a wizard?” Michael asked Hunter, incredulous.

“The term is warlock,” Hunter said curtly.

Everyone started talking at once. Ben and Michael yelled at Hunter, Justin shouted at Brian, Ted cracked a joke, and Emmett insisted he be told everything from the beginning.

“Does anyone have a cauldron?” Hunter asked loudly.

The room fell silent. Everyone just stopped and shuffled about nervously, glancing at each other. Finally, Michael timidly raised his hand. “Actually, I think I might.”

“You have a cauldron,” Brian repeatedly flatly.

“Why?” Ben asked. “Why would you have a cauldron?”

“In case of emergencies,” Michael admitted.

“What sort of emergency constitutes a cauldron?”

“I’m just a little bit cursed,” Brian pointed out.

Ben frowned. “Well– yes. But this sort of thing doesn’t usually happen.” He paused, then looked at them suspiciously. “It doesn’t usually happen to you guys, right?”

“All the time,” Ted said.

“It does not,” Michael snapped. “Ben, you haven’t been cursed once since you met me.”

Brian made a dramatic gesture in Hunter’s direction. Ben’s frown deepened.

“Hey,” Hunter scoffed, “I am wonderful.” He turned back to his book. “I need to make a potion and say some words, and then you need to get it on Stockwell somehow. Then, poof, the spell is broken and Stockwell’s magic is gone. The world is once more safe for ordinary citizens. Piece of cake.”

“This is not Buffy,” Brian growled.

Hunter glared. “Fuck you, of course this isn’t Buffy. I’m hotter than Angel, for one thing.”

“Whatever, no one’s hotter than Angel,” Justin piped up.

“Dude, he got fat.”

“He’s not fat, he just built more muscle,” Justin sputtered angrily.

“I actually prefer Xander,” Ben said from the corner. When the room fell silent, he asked, “What, I’m not allowed to have hobbies?”

“I’m still cursed,” Brian shouted.

*

He gave Hunter a day to find everything he needed and put it together. If he couldn’t, then Brian had claimed he would find a real wizard — not like he knew where to look for one, but it seemed to work on the kid, because the next morning Michael ushered everyone back to the shop, claiming Hunter was nearly there. If Brian didn’t know any better he’d swear Michael was actually proud of his hustler-cum-son’s new hobby.

“He knew all the right herbs and stuff,” Michael told him, clearly chuffed. “We had to go to all these natural food stores. Ben thinks maybe Hunter has a future as one of those natural herb doctors, or whatever.”

A bright light and a puff of smoke came from Hunter’s direction. The kid whooped. “Alright! Finished! Let’s go kick some bad guy ass!”

Relieved, Brian drawled, “Swell, now I can find a way to accidentally dump it on Stockwell.”

“There might be a problem with that,” Ted said. He smoothed out the newspaper and held it up for everyone to see. “Stockwell’s dead.”

“Dead?” Emmett asked, as Michael and Justin gasped.

The headline read, ‘Former Police Chief Stockwell Commits Suicide.’ Brian’s stomach dropped. He snatched the paper from Ted’s hands and read: ‘Chief Jim Stockwell was found in his garage last night at 8:03pm. His death is ruled a suicide, due to carbon monoxide poisoning. The note that accompanied him stated he could not handle his defeat in the recent local election…’

Blood thundered in his ears. Stockwell had done it last night, after they had spoken. Distantly, he heard Justin ask, “Does this mean the curse is lifted?”

“Maybe,” Hunter said. “But I might have to run some tests.”

Brian couldn’t be bothered to be disgusted by Hunter’s leer. “Hey,” Michael said, “are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said dully.

*

Three, He Gave Me Shiny Things.

The funeral announcement had been in the local papers. Justin had slipped the clipping over to him at breakfast, and that evening, before the actual event, they snuck in through the back doors.

Brian gazed down at Stockwell’s body, curling his fingers over the rim of the coffin. It didn’t seem right somehow, for him to be dead. He had a wife and kids and a career, and he liked to build bottle ships and play raquetball– Brian looked away, swallowing thickly.

Justin rubbed his arm. “It’s not your fault,” he said softly.

Reikert had killed himself too.

“He wasn’t a good person, but I’m sorry he’s dead,” Justin said.

“He wasn’t all bad,” said Brian slowly, remembering the way Stockwell had trusted him so implicitly. “He just got a little… lost somewhere.”

“He was a fag-bashing homophobe who put a curse on you and carried a doll of you around,” Justin reminded him.

He frowned. “Well, no man is perfect.”

The door rattled. Brian tapped Justin’s arm, and they crept back out into the hall. Brian tossed one last glance over his shoulder before he left, gazing at the unsettling stillness of Stockwell’s chest.

*

Eight days after Stockwell’s funeral the curse still hadn’t lifted. Since then Brian hadn’t been able to pick up a trick — some fucker had even thrown his drink in Brian’s face — and someone kept stealing his mail. He was still unemployed. At this rate he was going to be homeless and living on Lindsey’s and Mel’s couch, or worse, Michael’s. Perhaps he should just resign himself to being molested by Hunter. Even Justin had gotten tired of his depression; Stockwell’s death rested like a weight on his chest, and he couldn’t shake it off.

He was about to light a joint when the door slid open. Michael stood there, frowning at a piece of paper in his hand. “Um, Brian?”

“Mikey?” Brian asked sarcastically. He slouched in the plastic armchair.

Michael still seemed perplexed. “Hypothetically, if Justin was, say, kidnapped by someone we thought was dead, would you freak out?”

Brian stared at him. “Well, hypothetically, I’d have to say… huh?”

Michael walked over and handed him the paper. It was an ordinary blank page covered in a messy scrawl. ‘If you want Taylor back, meet me at 11pm in the Old Memorial Cemetery,’ it read. It was Stockwell’s handwriting; Brian recognised it from his advertising days. But instead of frightened or frantic, Brian just felt very, very pissed off.

“Can you go to the police?” Michael asked worriedly.

“A dead guy kidnapped my boyfriend,” Brian sneered. He grabbed Michael’s arm in one hand and his coat in another, dragging his friend out the door. “We’re making a call to your kid.”

*

“Maybe he’s a mutant,” Hunter said excitedly. “Like on Smallville.”

“Is this what you do instead of your homework, watch TV?” Ben asked, sitting on the arm of the couch.

“I also have cybersex.”

“After you defeat evil you are so grounded,” Ben said. He shook his head slowly, then turned away, muttering to himself, “That still sounds weird.”

“So Stockwell’s a zombie?” Michael asked.

“No, zombies eat brains,” Hunter said. “Duh.”

“Yeah, Michael, keep up,” Brian said.

The four of them conducted a pow-wow in Michael’s and Ben’s living room. Michael was starting to panic, which was, frankly, starting to eat away at Brian’s nerves. Justin had been taken by a dead guy, who was no doubt disgusting and starting to rot, and Justin had really bad allergies. Not to mention he would probably be scarred for life. Brian felt sick at the thought of Justin being alone and frightened in some underground crypt. If they made it out alive he swore not to yell at him for at least a week.

“So what do we do?” Ben asked hopefully.

Brian bit his lip. “I need to get the potion on Stockwell.”

“I’ll go with you,” Hunter offered.

“No,” the three adults said simultaneously.

“Why the hell not?” Hunter yelled. “I’ll be okay.”

“No, you won’t,” said Michael sternly. “Have you learned nothing? The kid sidekicks are always caught.”

“Plus it’s a school night,” Ben said.

*

That night Brian found himself walking through the freezing Old Memorial Cemetery, searching for an undead Stockwell and a hopefully unhurt Justin. This was the weirdest situation he had ever been in. His life had never been normal, but this was outrageous even for him. He could have been anywhere, getting a fabulous blowjob, but no, he was freezing his balls off in a cemetery in the dead of night.

“This could only happen to me,” he muttered.

Something cracked behind him: a branch being stepped on. He waited until the sounds came closer before whipping out his homemade stake and swinging around, arm poised. He had almost aimed for his target when he realised it was Hunter, dressed head to toe in black.

“Shit!” he exclaimed, staggering backwards.

“Dude, you’re carrying a stake,” Hunter said.

Brian tucked it back into the waistline of his jeans. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Helping you,” Hunter intoned. He tapped his forehead. “I’ve got the spell all up here.”

“I’m doomed,” Brian sighed.

Hunter looked like he was going to protest, but instead he nodded over Brian’s shoulder. “What’s that?”

When Brian turned he saw a fire against one of the sepulchres in the distance. His stomach tightened. “You stay here,” he warned.

“No fucking way,” Hunter sputtered.

He didn’t have time for this. “Then stay the fuck out of sight,” he hissed.

They both made their way silently to the tomb. Brian ducked behind a gravestone; it was definitely Stockwell standing here, gazing out into the blackened cemetery. He didn’t look dead, exactly, just odd; his skin was grey and rather shiny, and his cheekbones were more hollow than they had been two weeks ago. The suit he had been wearing at the funeral was torn in a few places. Vaguely, Brian wondered if he had climbed out of his grave.

“So, Jim,” Brian said, stepping out into the circle. “What’s it like being dead?”

He got a perverse glee when Stockwell startled. “Brian,” he called, spreading his hands. “Being dead is, well… I have ascended to a higher plane, you understand.”

“You’re dead.”

“Yes, a higher plane,” Stockwell said, as if it was obvious.

Brian took a good look around. Justin was sitting on the ground, wide-eyed, a long red scratch on his cheek. Brian bit his lip, then nodded. He’d have to kill Stockwell for that. Again. “This is a little elaborate for revenge,” he drawled.

“I’ve always been something of an over-achiever,” Stockwell admitted.

Then he did something Brian wasn’t prepared for: Stockwell punched him in the stomach.

He fell to the ground, the wind knocked out of him. Stockwell leaned over him, fists balled, but then he hesitated. Brian rolled onto his side, struggling to breathe. They always aimed for the ribs. He saw Stockwell slowly stand up tall, then peer over the grave behind him.

“Fuck,” Brian choked. He struggled to stand.

Before Brian could stop him, Stockwell reached out and dragged Hunter out by the collar of his jacket. “What do we have here?” he growled.

“Oh, shit,” Hunter moaned.

Brian launched himself at Stockwell, who raised an arm to block him. But Brian went underhand and aimed upwards, and then there was a sickening crunching noise, and he was shoved away.

Stockwell looked at the piece of wood sticking out of his chest. “You just staked me,” he said flatly.

Brian gasped, open-mouthed. “My bad?”

“The potion,” Hunter screeched.

Hands shaking, Brian pulled the test tube out of his pocket and tossed the formula in Stockwell’s face, who screamed and raised his hands to his eyes. Hunter squirmed out of his grasp and crawled backwards, chanting, “Discedat pestem, discedat pestem, discedat pestem…”

Without seeing what was happening to Stockwell, Brian ran over to Justin. He tugged the binds off Justin’s wrists and ripped the gag from his mouth. “You okay?” he whispered.

Justin clutched his arms and gazed up at him adoringly. “Oh Brian, you’re way cooler than Angel.”

“I’m throwing away all your DVDs,” Brian said seriously. Then he kissed him, hard.

“Whoa,” he heard Hunter say behind them, “Stockwell’s, like, goo. That’s so gross.”

*

Somehow Brian couldn’t make himself grieve for Stockwell’s real death. That might have had something to do with Justin’s broken arm (“I fell off my bike,” Justin had told the hospital) and his own bruised ribs. It might have had something to do with the fact Ben was no longer speaking to him, on account of Hunter being attacked. Or it might have just been that Brian really hadn’t been impressed with Stockwell trying to kill him. Whatever the case, he was just finally glad it was over. It meant he could get back to his usual life of sucking and fucking. After his ribs healed, of course.

At the Liberty Diner he cautiously eased himself into one of the booths, leaning against the cool wall.

“So what does it feel like to be a real superhero?” Michael asked, grinning. He slid into the seat across from Brian.

“Pretty much like regular Brian Kinney, only with a few more broken ribs,” Brian replied.

Debbie wandered over, popped her gum. “So what’s this I hear about you vanquishing evil?” she asked Brian, waggling her eyebrows.

He glared at Michael. “What?” Mike said. “It wasn’t me this time.”

Shaking her head, Debbie poured them both coffee. “Hunter and Sunshine seemed to be convinced you’re some sort of superhero. Those boys need to lay off the hard drugs.”

“Kids these days,” Brian said dryly. Debbie playfully slapped his cheek and moved onto the next table.

“So what happens now?” Michael asked. “You defeated a super villain. Does life just go back to normal for Rage?”

Brian slowly stirred his coffee, wondering the same thing. Getting rid of Stockwell hadn’t instantly improved his life, and he was pretty sure becoming a superhero involved a major lifestyle change that he just wasn’t prepared to undertake. But when his cell went off he honestly wasn’t surprised at the name on the display.

“Yeah?” he answered.

“Kinney,” said Vance. The man hesitated. “I was thinking… How would you like your old job back?”

Brian smiled.

*

Disclaimer: None of the magic in here is meant to be real. I made it all up in my own head. Also, this story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Cowlip Productions and the Showtime Network. Buffy, Smallville, Lord of the Rings, and anything else mentioned belongs to their respective owners. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Chapter titles from PJ Harvey’s ‘Paper Bag.’

Kudos to Tinkerbell for the beta, Anna for the encouragement, and my sister for the Latin.

Spoilers: Season Three.

Summary: “So we’re setting aside a day to revolve around Lord Kinney again. How is this news?” (Brian/Justin, Michael/Ben)

Chinese translation: here, by mori307

“We should get married,” Justin said one day out of the blue, causing Brian to briefly contemplate getting off the floor and either throttling him or moving to another country.

Perhaps the marriage question wasn’t entirely random. Mel’s and Linds’s anniversary was coming up again, and the two women had been filling Justin’s head with ridiculous, and, dare he say it, almost heterosexual tales of romance. The last time Justin had been in this mood the Fiddler had sauntered into the picture. But they had an unconventionally real relationship now, and he was certain Justin wouldn’t leave him again just because he didn’t want to become a lesbian. At least, he was pretty sure.

“No,” Brian replied shortly.

Justin sighed dramatically. Brian refused to budge. He heard Justin pad over to the kitchen, and he called accusingly, “You just like to piss me off, don’t you.”

“That’s right,” Justin said dryly. “You’ve discovered my evil plan.”

“I’m on to you, Sunshine,” Brian called in a mocking falsetto.

“But if we did get married,” Justin continued, in that voice that told Brian he had been thinking long and hard about this, “you could plan the entire thing. Every last detail, from the clothes to the food. It would be like… Brian Kinney Day.”

Brian reconsidered.

***

14 Days

Justin had decided several hours ago (“Phase one,” Brian had said seriously) that none of this was really happening. He wasn’t handing out beers to their friends in Brian’s furniture-less loft. They weren’t brimming with curiosity to see what was going on. And Brian was most definitely not going to announce their engagement. Their engagement. His engagement. To Brian. Either all his nagging had paid off, or the universe was laughing at him. He had a strong feeling this would end in disaster.

“What the fuck are we just sitting around here for?” Hunter asked.

Justin smiled and handed him a box of juice. Hunter scowled.

“You know Brian,” Ted said, “always has to make an entrance.”

Justin started, “That’s not–

But then the bedroom panels snapped open. Brian looked down at everyone as if they were lucky to be breathing the same oxygen as him. Justin subtly adjusted his pants.

Brian waited for the room to quiet down. Then, with a bored expression on his face, said, “We–”

“He,” Justin whispered loudly, pointing at Brian.

“We have something to announce.”

“Wait, wait,” Mel interrupted, smirking. She pulled out her wallet. “Give us a chance to guess first. Five bucks says their breaking up again.” Even Brian looked annoyed at that.

“Oh,” Emmet gasped, “I’ll put five on Brian moving into Justin’s flat on the wrong side the tracks. You know he wouldn’t last a day. I think even the drug addicts avoid his building.”

Ted slapped down a ten. “One — or both — has an STD. It was only a matter of time.”

“Join the club,” Hunter beamed. Ben looked concerned.

“You people suck,” Justin said. “My flat rules.”

“It’s none of the above,” Brian drawled. He gave Mel a particularly fierce look, and Justin tried not to gloat. Maybe things would be okay.

“Just tell us already!” Michael shouted.

“Justin and I are getting married,” Brian said calmly.

“Oh, thank God– WHAT?”

The room went horribly still. Most of them goggled at Brian, but both Hunter and Michael sent Justin withering glares, as if he had committed some terrible crime. But Brian was his, dammit, and if they wanted to do romantic shit it was entirely their own business.

“Who the fuck cares?” Hunter snarked.

“Married?” Debbie shrieked. She jumped up and pulled Brian into a hug. “My baby’s getting married!”

“Ma, I thought I was your baby,” Michael whined.

Debbie just smiled, patting Brian’s cheek. “Shush, honey, this is about Brian.”

Brian smirked. “That’s right. It’s all about me.”

“So we’re setting aside a day to revolve around Lord Kinney again,” Ted muttered. “How is this news?”

Ben put an arm over Justin’s shoulders. “Well, I, for one, think it’s great. I love weddings.”

Soon Lindsey, Emmet, and Vic were hugging them and chattering excitedly, and maybe Justin shouldn’t had felt so nervous after all, until Michael’s voice cut through: “You’re getting MARRIED? What the fuck, Brian? I thought you said it was some stupid breeder ritual!”

“Justin made some very good points,” Brian said.

“Like what? ‘Marry me or I’ll kill you in your sleep’?”

“That’s it,” Justin said. “You’ve just been downgraded to usher.”

“Can I be best man?” Ben asked. Michael goggled. “What? I told you I love weddings.”

Brian pushed past everyone and took a file from the bar counter. “I’ve already assigned everyone duties.” He passed around printed instructions and schedules. “I’ll be over-seeing the entire event.”

Everyone looked at Justin. Embarrassed, he murmured, “I sort of, uh, promised it would be his day.”

“Why does mine say, ‘Four PM, do not take drugs’?” Ted demanded.

“I’m only doing this once,” Brian warned, “so it’s going to be perfect.”

***

13 Days

“This is going to be a disaster. Brian should know better!” Michael wailed, loud enough for Justin to hear him across the diner. He noticed Michael alternating between glaring at him and staring at the schedule in horror.

“Either way, it provides entertainment for the unemployed, like me,” said Ted, cackling. “We don’t get cable at rehab.”

There was an uncomfortable pause.

Emmet cleared his throat and looked over at Justin for support. “Well, I think it’s sweet. He said he was only getting married once.”

“Probably because after this he’ll go back to his no-dating policy,” Michael sneered.

Justin calmly walked into the kitchen and spat in Michael’s breakfast.

Only, the first thing Justin saw when he arrived at Brian’s loft after work was Brian studying two identical heads of lettuce as if they held the secrets to the universe. Maybe he should have asked Brian to marry him when Brian was employed.

“Do I want to know?” Justin asked.

Brian didn’t even look up as Justin shed his coat and shoes. “I’m planning the dinner.”

“Why don’t we just ask Emmet?”

Brian simply looked at him in disgust.

A horrible realisation struck him. “Shit, does this mean we’re not having a cake?” Brian didn’t answer. Justin grabbed his shoulder and shook, hard. “Brian! We have to have a cake! It’s, like, the entire point!”

Brian’s eyes narrowed. “You’re marrying me for a cake?”

He threw up his hands in frustration. “Yes, Brian, it’s not you I love, it’s baked goods. I have been deceiving you all along.”

“You can have a small cake,” Brian said slowly. He bit the edge of his pen. “But no one else,” he added quickly. “I want a calorie-free event.”

He was completely, utterly serious.

“You know, you’re not going to have any friends after this,” Justin warned.

“Who needs friends when you have a husband?” Brian said in mock sweetness. But then he paled. “Husband. Christ. Next thing you know we’ll be exchanging rings.”

“Uh–“

“I-I need to lie down.”

***

8 Days

Brian was surveying wine prices when a former fuck tapped him on the shoulder.

“What?” he asked flatly.

The other guy sneered. “I just wanted to know if the rumours are true. Word on the street is that big, bad Brian Kinney is making an honest man out of his twink.”

“It’s true,” Brian said. The guy sniggered until Brian started checking him from head to toe. “You probably photograph well,” he observed.

“I– what?” the man stammered.

Brian pulled an invitation out of his coat pocket. “RSVP by the end of the week.”

He left the guy gaping behind him.

Brian: One, Pittsburgh: Zero.

***

Daphne decided Brian was her new best friend after he had picked out a sexy black dress for her to wear as ring-bearer. “I’m totally going to be the hottest one in the room,” she gushed, holding it up to the mirror for the fifth time in two days. “After Brian, of course.”

Justin sat on the edge of her bed. “You can marry him then,” he said tensely.

She was still admiring herself. “If only! Oh. Oh. What’s wrong?”

“It’s just…” He sighed. “Brian’s so fucking weird. Get this, for the reception dinner there is salad and booze. Lots and lots of booze. He made the guest list, and he invited random hot guys so the photos will be good. He’s picked out everyone’s clothes. I think he’s even doing the makeup. He won’t let Ted get near so much as a bottle of aspirin. He had to blackmail Michael into coming. And I can’t find any of my formal clothes.”

Daphne sat down next to him. “Wow. But… Come on, it’s Brian. How normal did you expect this to be?”

“I wanted my damn cake,” he muttered.

***

5 Days

Melanie gleefully handed them a huge stack of paper. “You just need to sign some forms,” she said sweetly.

“What the hell?” Justin sputtered. He flipped through the documents. “I don’t even know what this stuff means.”

“Insurance, power of attorney, ecetera, ecetera, ecetera,” she said. “By the way, are either of you planning on changing your name?”

“Does it involve more paperwork?” Brian asked.

She gestured to another high stack behind her.

“Then no.”

Justin grinned. “You should change your name. Brian Taylor.” Brian was unamused. “My dad would fucking freak.”

That alone was almost enough for Brian to do it, but his remaining dignity that held him back.

“How much life insurance does Brian have?” Justin asked eagerly.

Brian eyed him suspiciously.

***

1 Day

“So tomorrow,” Daphne said.

Justin pressed the phone against his shoulder as he grabbed the milk from the fridge. “Tomorrow,” he repeated nervously, “I’ll be a married man.”

“Oh my God! Are you scared? Everyone’s eyes are going to be on you…”

Justin’s mind filled with a white, blank panic. “Scared? Of course not.”

“I wonder what Brian’s doing,” she mused.

Justin snorted darkly. “Probably fucking as many guys as he possibly can.”

***

Brian shoved Justin’s light blue jumper into the incinerator. He’d be damned if Justin was going to try to wear that tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

“I’m not having a mental breakdown,” he said out loud.

***

Daphne sighed. “You know Brian. Cool as a cucumber.”

***

“I can’t believe you’re not having a bachelor party,” Michael called from the kitchen. He walked out carrying a huge bowl of butterless, saltless popcorn. “I can’t believe any of this is happening in the first place. I mean, who would have thought you would be getting married? And why aren’t you doing the usual Kinney thing and fucking everyone in sight?”

“Photos,” Brian replied, as Michael hopped on the couch next to him. “Going in an album. I need to be as hot as possible.”

Michael shook his head sadly. “Sometimes I forget how strange you are.”

***

0 Days

It was less than an hour until the ceremony and already Justin was freaking out. Brian hadn’t told him what to wear, so he was searching everywhere for his blue jumper, but it wasn’t anywhere around the loft. He was going to end up wearing a t-shirt, and then Brian would leave him at the alter and fuck an usher, and all their friends would hate them–

“What the fuck are you doing?” Brian’s voice asked from behind him.

Justin spun around. “What are you doing here?”

Brian wasn’t even dressed yet, which calmed Justin down a bit. His jeans were faded at the knees and something green stained his white wife-beater. “I just finished supervising the women’s makeup,” he explained. “Everyone’s ready but us.”

Justin swallowed thickly. “I– I have nothing to wear.”

“Sure you do,” Brian said. “Your tux is in the closet.”

“My tux?”

Sure enough, a white tuxedo in his size was there. A matching one, in Brian’s size, rested beside it.

“I was going for dramatic irony,” Brian said.

“I think I’m going to faint,” Justin replied.

Brian grabbed his elbow and directed him to the bed. “You can’t. It’s not on the schedule.”

Justin pressed his fingers against his temples. His head was spinning. Brian slipped an arm around his shoulders, and holy shit, they were getting married. “Why are you doing this?” he asked quietly.

“I’m actually trying to figure out if we can have a quick fuck and still make it to the hall in time.”

“I mean,” he whispered, “why are you marrying me?”

Brian simply smiled. “I like showing off what I have.”

***

“By the way,” Brian begun as they were pulling up to the reception hall, “I wrote your vows. They’re in my pocket. Stray so much as a word and I’m leaving you.”

***

“Do you, Brian Kinney, take this man as your husband?”

The entire audience held their breaths.

Brian shrugged. “I guess.”

Justin wondered what he ever did to deserve this.
.
***

The wedding was a surprising success. The decorations — all hand-picked by Brian — were minimalistic but beautiful. There were tears (mostly from Emmet) and laughter at all the right moments (although Justin suspected Brian had had someone hold up signs that said, ‘Cry Now’). Even their vows hadn’t been too appalling, although Justin felt his had mused on Brian’s beauty a bit too much.

Brian had, of course, videotaped the entire thing from various angles. Suddenly it all became clear why he had all the latest video-editing software. Maybe he would let Justin tinker with it later.

“I don’t think Ted and Hunter appreciate being stuck at the ‘ugly’ table,” Justin whispered between bites of the single slice of ice-cream cake Brian had gotten him.

“It’s not the ‘ugly’ table,” Brian countered. “It’s the– okay, it is the ‘ugly’ table.”

The ’senior citizen’ table consisted of Debbie, Vic, and Jennfier. Standing beside his mother was a life-size cut-out of Craig. Jennifer was holding her head and clutching a bottle of wine tightly.

By some insane but very skilled planning, Brian had put all the attractive men near the front, towards their table. That had meant splitting Ben and Michael up, but Justin was pretty sure Michael hadn’t noticed he was sitting with the lesbians while his boyfriend was surrounded by hot men. Daphne, incidentally, was also at that table, and she was obviously having too much fun pretending to be a lesbian.

Hunter appeared at Brian’s shoulder. Surprisingly, he looked straight at Justin. “When you’re done stuffing your face, you wanna dance?” He paused. “Asshole.”

Brian and Justin exchanged glances. “Uh, okay,” Justin replied slowly.

They moved to the dance floor. Brian had insisted on nothing but techno, and the couples were, naturally, mostly same-sex. Hunter was a frighteningly bad dancer; he put his hand on Justin’s shoulder, and for a terrifying moment he thought Hunter was going to hit on him. But instead the boy threatened, “I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but when you two break up, I’m so going to tap that ass.”

Justin cracked up. “Okay,” he managed to choke. “You do that.”

“What did he want?” Brian demanded as soon as Justin returned.

“Hunter just reminded me why I love you,” he said, snorting.

Just then the cardboard Craig caught on fire. Jennifer started to cry. Ted leaned over and lit up his pipe. Across the room, Ben got down to one knee and proposed to Michael.

“Hey!” Brian shouted. “That isn’t on the schedule! Which part of my day do you not get?”

Justin dug into his cake with renewed vigor.

“So Sunshine, what are you doing this time next year?” Brian whispered seductively.

“I don’t know, why?” Justin asked suspiciously.

“Good, then we’re renewing our vows.”

*

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Cowlip Productions and the Showtime Network. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Go West

Spoilers: Season 3 finale
Summary: Hunter, Michael and the long road ahead.

They stopped at a McDonald’s in some town called Muddy Ridge, Pennsylvania. Population: One-hundred forty-seven. Plus two, Michael added mentally, as Hunter slurped loudly on his Coke. Brian’s borrowed corvette caught the stares of many of locals, and Michael was pretty sure they were gazing inside and wondering about the two lunatics eating Big Macs in the parking lot in a car that probably cost more than these people made in their entire lives.

“You figure out where we’re going yet?” Hunter asked. His cheeks were still flushed from the quick dash to the car from the restaurant, and he had a smear of mayonaise on the tip of his nose. Brian was going to kill them both if his car got messy. The stench of fast food alone was enough to send Brian into heart palpatations; Michael could already hear the lecture: “What sort of drug were you on that made you go to MCDONALD’S in my ‘VETTE?” Well, it wasn’t like Brian really needed his boyfriend-replacement car any more, with the boyfriend being back and all, and besides, they’d probably be caught as soon as they crossed the border into — what state was next to Pennsylvania? he knew he should have paid more attention in high school — wherever it was they were going.

“We’re going…” Michael squinted back out at the highway. “West. We’ll keep going until–”

“Until we drive into the Great Lakes?” Hunter said dryly. He threw himself back against the seat, rattling the ice in his drink. “Great! Super! Fan-fucking-tastic!”

So that’s what bordered Pennsylvania. Michael needed a map, and he needed a plan even more. He glared at the kid. “Listen, smart ass, I’m keeping your sorry butt from getting stuck in a state home. Or worse, with your mother. Remember?” Hunter frowned sweetly, and Michael was reminded just why he was throwing his life away for some street kid, some hustler, he had almost given up on a few weeks ago. “If you’re so great at geography, you tell me where to drive.”

Hunter gaped. “I knew you didn’t know where we were going!”

“I know exactly where we’re going: we’re getting away from Pittsburgh.”

He snorted. “The devil is in the details, huh, Mikey?”

Michael stuffed his mouth full of fries before he smacked the boy. This had been a bad idea from step one; Ben had been right. Either they would be caught, or Michael would push Hunter out of the car while speeding down the highway, and he’d really didn’t want to explain to Ben why their kid was dead.

“We should’ve just hid at Brian’s until the cops went away,” Hunter muttered. He rolled down the window and threw his empty soda on the ground.

Michael blinked. They should’ve– fucking hell, they should have. “Oh my God,” he said loudly, and Hunter looked at him funny. He cleared his throat. “We’d have to hear Brian and Justin fucking though.”

“Mmm,” Hunter said. “I could live with that.”

Maybe, but Michael wasn’t quite sure he could. Brian naked, sure, but Justin? He had to draw the line at voyeurism somewhere. Not that Justin wasn’t a good-looking kid, but Michael already had enough Brian issues. “Brian never has any food.”

“Ben could bring us left-overs from dinner.”

Hunter smiled thoughtfully, and their eyes met.

“Where to, Flash?” Michael asked, putting the corvette into gear. He wanted to see Ben. He wanted to see Brian. He wanted to go home, to his comics and his DVDs and his warm bed, and Hunter did too, but they couldn’t. And Hunter knew it just as well as he did.

Hunter fastened his seatbelt and turned up the heater. He pointed to the highway. “West.”

*

Disclaimer: Not mine. Everything belongs to Cowlip.

Sidenote: There really is a Muddy Gap, Wyoming, and I’ve been there several times.