IF YOU LEAD ME

Original poster: _alicesprings

Title: If You Lead Me
Written By: britfacexx
Timeline: The twelve days right after 122.
Rating: R for language
Summary: Brian's always been terrible at waiting.
Author Notes: This storyline is something I wish CL could've explored more, so I did it myself. ;)
Inspired By Icon:

 



Crack.

And then it begins.

i.

Brian's always been terrible at waiting.

The first time he ever went to Babylon, he nearly killed himself. He had been ready for over an hour; showered, shaved, groomed to perfection, and would Michael just hurry the fuck up and get dressed? Brian threw a pair of skin tight black leather pants at him, dragged him outside and shoved him into his Jeep.

"Would you fucking slow down, Brian?" Michael was clenching the side of the car as if he were about to be thrown right out, but Brian wouldn't let off the accelerator.

"No way, Mikey," he said as he continued to speed down the streets of Pittsburgh. "Don't you want to fly, Mikey? Let's fly."

Michael had to try hard not to smile. "I don't give a shit about flying. I just want to make it there alive."

Brian still didn't slow down. He could practically feel Babylon coursing through his veins. He had been waiting so long for this, but the timing was always wrong. Soccer practice or homework or college applications. That was all in the past. He was on his way, and nothing could stop him now.

Brian's always been terrible at waiting, so when on the first day after the incident (that's what everyone's been calling it) there's still no news, he can't quite deal. Everyone's here: Jennifer, Debbie, Vic, Daphne. Emmett even comes for a few hours. But Brian only lets Michael sit with him.

They don't say anything. There's nothing to say, so they just sit. Occasionally Michael will grab Brian's hand or rub his neck when he notices the tears again. And as much as they both want to, there's nothing either one of them can do. No one can turn back time. No one can take back that dance. No one can save Justin.

All they can do is wait. And so they do.

ii.

Another twenty-four hours have passed. Still... nothing. Brian hasn't moved in two days, and he's wound up to the point where he's afraid he might just start to hit things, so he leaves Michael behind in search of a vending machine. When he finds one, he stands there, motionless. It hurts to think, so he tosses in some quarters and pushes a random button. He fishes the cheap, half-melted candy bar that drops down out of the machine, and if it were any other day, he would throw it the fuck away, but not right now. Right now he's so hungry he feels like he hasn't eaten in weeks, but the second he takes a bite, he regrets it.

His stomach churns, and he closes his eyes, but that only makes it worse. Every time he does he can see it all happen again, the scene endlessly plays on a loop in his mind. Look in the rearview mirror, he's walking away. No, no, no, Justin! His eyes snap open, and he lurches forward, frantically searching for the nearest trash can. He heaves violently, every muscle in his body contracting into spasms.

It takes him a few minutes to regain his composure (what's left of it, anyway), to stop his body from rebelling against him. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and when he turns around, he wishes he didn't.

"You should try eating something else."

It's the first time Jennifer has spoken to him since... He doesn't know what to say, so he lamely manages a "yeah" and waits for her to make the next move.

But she doesn't say anything. She only stares at him, her eyes cold, sad, angry, scared. Brian can remember that exact look because growing up in the house he did, it was usually coming from him, but seeing it on someone else, well. He's never been big on shame until right this second when all he wants to do is run so fast that no one will be able to catch him, to find him, to save him.

He thinks she's going to tell him to get the hell out, that there's nothing left here for him to do so he might as well leave.

She doesn't. Instead she sighs sadly and walks away.

iii.

Brian's moving. He's moving, and he's not sure why. He swears that just a second ago he was perfectly still, laying in bed with Justin warm against his side, but when he opens his eyes, he's not in the loft.

Michael is shaking him and saying, "Didn't you just hear what I said? The doctor's here, Brian. Wake up."

He wants to bolt out of his cramped waiting room seat and interrogate the doctor, maybe even throw him up against the wall and yell at him for not having more information sooner. Brian can't play games anymore. He needs to know what's going to happen. If Justin's going to live or...

But he can't because Jennifer's already making her way over to him, hands shaking, and Brian remembers all the things she didn't say the day before (it's not your fault). So he decides to stay behind, suffering in silence beside his best friend.

A few minutes later, he hears Jennifer cry happily, "Oh, thank god," and next to him, Michael lets out a relieved breath. The worst is over, but Brian still can't seem to shake the feeling that they were all here for the same reason. Because of him.

Jennifer comes over to him, but he doesn't even notice. "He's going to live," she says sharply, and it snaps him out of his daze. "They still don't know though when..."

Her sentence remains unfinished, but Brian knows exactly what she was going to say. They don't know when he'll wake up, or even if he'll be the same Justin.

Michael clears his throat nervously before asking, "Do they know how much damage there is?"

"They're not sure." She smiles politely at him. "There doesn't appear to be any significant brain damage. They said just an inch to the left or the right and..." Her voice breaks, and she covers her hand with her mouth, desperately trying to stifle a sob.

He stands up and pulls her into a hug. "That's great news." She nods against his shoulder, taking in the comfort that the Novotny family has always offered her. A nurse calls for her, and she leaves.

Brian tries to remain calm when Mikey, ever the optimist, sits back down and asks him, "Did you hear that? He's going to be okay."

"He's not going to be okay, Michael."

"What are you talking about? Didn't you just hear what she—"

"Listen, Michael." He grips his best friend's arm like he's all there is in the world because even though things momentarily seem to be looking up, he's on the verge of falling apart. "Are you listening? You don't just get bashed in the head and then be okay."

Michael's silent and chewing on his bottom lip. "Yeah." He takes a deep breath, nervous, like he's about to share a secret that no one's supposed to know. "I have to go," he whispers, looking away.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

"No, Brian."

He catches Michael's eye questioningly.

"I'm leaving for Portland."

Brian turns his head and stares at the orderlies at the desk across the hall.

"I talked to David earlier today, and he wants me there as soon as possible. I figured, now that we know Justin's going to be o—now that we know he's going to live," he corrects himself, "that it would be okay if I left."

Brian wants to say, "Don't you know me better than that?" but doesn't because he's Brian Fucking Kinney, so he settles for, "Have a nice life, Mikey."

iv.

Brian checks his watch for the sixth time in two minutes. It's nearly eleven, but he figures the day's not over quite yet. He's still got a perfect record. He's still been here everyday since it happened. That's got to count for something, right?

He rushes down the hall, perversely eager to take his seat outside Justin's room. It's strange, but he can't figure out why being there makes him feel better, like he's sitting with Justin. As if that could slowly take away the pain and the guilt and the sickening feeling he gets that infects his body every time he closes his eyes.

He can't sleep, so he might as well be here.

But not everybody feels this way.

As he approaches his usual spot in the waiting room, he notices Jennifer's already there. "What are you doing here?"

Not knowing what how to respond, he stammers, "I—I thought I'd sit with him."

She crosses her hands over her chest, and Brian knows exactly what's coming next. He's dreading it so much he can practically feel it in every fiber of his being, but still it comes anyway. "Now that we know... I don't see any reason for you to be here."

Nothing.

"And I'd appreciate it if you left."

Brian opens his mouth to scream, to protest, to show her that he should be here, that this is where he belongs, but nothing comes out.

v.

Fuck what Jennifer says, Brian will see Justin. It takes more than just one speech to keep him away. He feels a little ridiculous sneaking into a hospital, but the Jack Daniels he had earlier is helping to forget shit like that.

As he gets near the corner to turn into Justin's wing, he sees Jennifer walking out. He waits until he's sure she's gone, then he goes to the window that looks into Justin's room. Inside, he seems to be asleep, only Brian knows better than that. He understands that being in a coma is like being trapped inside your own body when you're not sure how to get back out again.

It must be hell, he thinks, but Justin just looks so fucking peaceful. Unconsciously, Brian lifts his hand up and places it on the glass of the window, reaching out to Justin. One of the night nurses passes him, and she clears her throat, obviously trying to send a message to him.

He gets it. No one wants him there, but it doesn't really matter because at this point it would take a fucking cavalry to keep him out.

Readjusting the scarf underneath his shirt, Brian decides it's time to go.

vi.

"God, Justin, hurry up!" Daphne called, racing up the stairs to St. James Academy.

He sprinted to catch up with her, nearly dropping his backpack and the notebook he'd been carrying. "Sorry, Daph. I swear I thought I'd set my alarm last night. Thanks for coming to pick me up." They made their way through the front doors and down the empty hall to the left.

Slowing down, Daphne said, "You know what? I'm going to run to the bathroom real quick. I'll meet you there."

"Okay!" he told her as they parted ways. His teacher was going to kill him. This was the third time this quarter he'd been late, and the faculty at St. James wasn't exactly forgiving about punctuality.

As he got to the classroom, he ran his hands down his chest, trying hard to smooth out all the wrinkles on his shirt and jacket. He quickly thought up an apology and opened the door.

It took him all of two seconds to notice something was wrong. "What's going on?"

The entire class, Chris Hobbes and his homophobic cunt of a teacher included, stood in the middle of the room, each wielding their very own baseball bat. The door closed behind Justin, and he frantically tried to yank it open, only it was locked from the outside. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get the door to budge. He was trapped.

Brian helplessly looks on in horror through the window as Justin sobs uncontrollably in his sleep. It takes everything in his power not to burst into the room. He doesn't even know what he could do, he just needs to do something to make this all stop. He asks the night nurse if there's anything she can do, but she only tells him that night terrors are quite common and there's nothing anyone can do.

Brian's fucking sick of hearing that.

vii.

He's falling down drunk, had to stop to throw up twice on the way over to the hospital, but he's here. He's made it.

Tonight there's no Jennifer to avoid and no night nurses to interrogate. The hospital's practically empty and Brian wonders if maybe he missed something while he was downing that bottle of vodka. Maybe they all forgot that there are people still there that shouldn't be, people who need and deserve to be helped and cared for and looked after so that they could get better and leave and be whole again and leave this (awful mistake) all behind. But how could they forget?

Brian won't ever forget.

viii.

Every day that goes by means another night for Brian to wait outside Justin's room. Since last night, he decides to lay off the alcohol for once and takes a bump instead. There's something missing in the logic there, but he doesn't really give a shit.

Justin's night nurse offers to bring him a cup of coffee, and when he declines, she sits down next to him. "If you don't mind me asking, what exactly is your relationship with Mr. Taylor?"

Brian doesn't know how to answer that question.

"Well, you must care about him," she goes on. "I've seen you here everyday since he was first admitted." A pause, and then the words that hurt Brian most of all, "It's a shame seeing something so terrible like this happen to a kid so young."

He's starting to crack, starting to crumble. He's afraid that everything's going to start seeping in and that the wall he's trying to build up it going to be broken down in a matter of seconds.

So he excuses himself and wanders back out into the darkness.

ix.

"Sir, you can't be here."

It's been over a fucking week, and Brian's minding his own fucking business, and apparently the bitch temp nurse didn't get the fucking memo.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. You can't be here."

Without moving from his seat, Brian tells her in an even tone, "If you call me 'sir' one more time, I'll have your ass fired."

He can see she's a little intimidated by this, but she relentlessly keeps saying, "I'll call Security. There is a specific restriction here, and visitors are not permitted."

Maybe it's the fact that he hasn't slept in over a week, maybe it's because he hasn't had any that wasn't booze or drugs in the past three days, but Brian is getting really fucking sick of people telling him he can't be there.

Suddenly, he snaps. "Listen, asshole, I don't give a shit who you call! Get the fucking President on the phone. I don't care! But I am going to sit here, and you are going to leave me the fuck alone!" He's yelling so loud he's sure the next floor down can hear him, but it's worth it.

From down the hall, Justin's night nurse comes running up. She assures the temp that it's okay, Brian's allowed to be there. Oh, who is he? Family.

Brian's hands start to shake, but he thanks the night nurse and sits back down.

x.

Debbie's been knocking for almost a minute straight, and there's still no answer. Panicking that she'll find Brian hanging from the rafters (Michael let her know before he left), she throws open the door to the loft and sets her tuna casserole on the counter. The place looks like it's been ransacked: chairs are toppled over, clothes are strewn all over the bedroom, and in the middle of it all, Brian's passed out naked on the floor, his assortment of drugs and an empty bottle of Jim Bean next to him.

"Oh, shit," she mutters, the worried mother immediately shining through. Crouching down over him and tugging at him, she cries, "Brian! Brian, can you hear me? You have to get up." She's about to drag him into the shower when he starts to move slowly.

His head is throbbing, and he feels like he's gotten run over by a truck, but the first words out of his mouth are, "What time is it?"

"It's almost midnight," she tells him, standing up and offering him a hand. He takes it and grabs on tightly until his feet are steady under him. "I just finished my shift at the diner, and I know how hard all of this's been on you, so I thought I'd come bring you—"

"Fuck!" Brian massages his temples and then runs his hands through his hair. "Did you say midnight?"

"Yeah, sweetie, but I don't see what that has to do with anythi..."

She doesn't even finish her sentence before he's on his way to finding pants, mumbling, "Time to go. Have to make it."

"Don't think you're going anywhere tonight, mister."

Brian laughs as he pulls on a shirt. "You can't stop me. You're not my fucking mother."

"I may not be your mother by blood, but I know you damn well enough to say that there is no way you're going to make it anywhere in like that. You could've overdosed, you little shit, what the fuck were you thinking?"

He rushes to put on his watch. "It's almost midnight? No time to think. I almost missed him." He continues to senselessly babble until he's ready to go, but Debbie stands between him and the door. "Get the fuck out of my way," he says softly.

She smiles sadly, resting a hand on his face, and she steps aside.

xi.

Sometimes during the nights, when Brian feels so smothered that he can barely breathe, he comes up to the roof of the hospital. It's sort of a last resort since it reminds him too much of the night Gus was born, but at the same time, when he's up there he can think and smoke and pretend that things turned out differently.

He's startled when he hears the door to the rooftop open and close, not expecting to have any company. His body relaxes when he realizes it's only Justin's night nurse.

"It's beautiful up here, isn't it?"

Brian nods, taking a long drag of his cigarette.

She leans over and asks him, "Mind if I bum one off you?"

Holding out the pack to her, he raises an eyebrow. "I'm sure you've noticed the irony of a health care worker that smokes."

Accepting a light from Brian, she says, "Tell no one."

They both stand in silence, watching the cars on the streets below. He's not sure what makes him do it… probably nerves and the fact that he's scared (so fucking scared) and alone, but he blurts out, "He's not going to wake up, is he?"

It takes her a moment to respond as she puffs on her cigarette, thinking. "Never say never."

Optimism was never his thing. "But everyday he doesn't wake up…" He can't – won't – finish the sentence.

xii.

"You look great, Justin. Really." Daphne straightened his bowtie and turned him around to look in the mirror. "You clean up well."

He rolled his eyes but couldn't help smiling. "You don't look too bad yourself. If only you had a real date to the Prom..."

"Hey!" She punched him on the shoulder. "Fuck you. You're the one who decided we should go together." She looked down and said softly, "Sorry Brian turned you down."

Trying to play it off, he told her, "It's fine. It was a stupid idea anyway." That's a lie. They would have been fantastic together. But there's nothing that he could do about it now.

"Well, shall we?" Daphne held out her left arm for Justin to take, grinning.

"We shall."

They walked down the stairs at Debbie's house, and at the bottom stood Brian Kinney in a black tux, a white silk scarf hung from his neck.

After twelve days, he finally wakes up. Brian manages to remain unseen, watching from a distance as doctors and nurses crowd around him. They call Jennifer, and he gets that it's time leave.

He takes one last look at Justin before he slips out the door, knowing that he'll get to see him tomorrow.