Our Darker Angels - Kill Switch

"You okay with me borrowing it for a while?"

"It's a DVD player, Daphne, not a kidney," Justin laughed. "I think I'll survive."  

"You... doing okay?"

Justin nodded. He had no idea where he'd be without Daphne. They'd shared everything from sandboxes to boxes of condoms during the course of their friendship, and, for the most part, had avoided the obstacles that seemed to haunt some of the other long-term friendships they knew. They were part of each other, but they worked hard at being the best part of each other.

"Bruce is helping," he admitted. "Thanks for the push in that direction, by the way."

"Thank god you got over that bullshit. You were starting to piss me off."  Justin just rolled his eyes. He'd heard it before. "So," Daphne asked, "not all therapists are a complete waste of time?"

"There might be one or two worth the money."

"It's a student clinic, idiot. You don't pay anything."

"At least no one can say I'm not getting my money's worth." This time it was Daphne who rolled her eyes. "But, yeah, it's going okay. I'm finally dealing with some of the shit from the bashing... and a lot of other shit."

"About Brian."

"About me."

::

Justin had learned a lot about himself this past year: that he liked not being at the mercy of the owner of the roof he slept under; that he could actually live on the shoestring he'd been afforded by student aid and a part-time job; that sex could simply be an enhancement to his life and not a reason for being in and of itself; that Brian Kinney was wrong - Justin was not the only one he could depend on in his own life; and that the bashing had fucked him up in more ways than he cared to admit.

He applied for financial aid and, when it finally came through, his mom found him a little place near the school, and far enough from Liberty Avenue to let him feel comfortable. The distance had been his idea, his choice, and now that some time had passed, he knew it had been the right one. Fewer ghosts that way. 

Justin had also learned a few things about preconceptions. Therapy wasn't the grand evil he'd conditioned himself to believe. He'd signed up with the counseling service at school after a particularly difficult week and a few bouts of binge drinking. And a hard push from Daphne. She had already begun her third year as a psychology major at CM and, she argued loudly, was tired of his continual, lame-assed insults to the profession based on one regrettable session arranged by his mother when he was seventeen, and a load of bullshit arm-chair Randian theory from Brian. When she'd finally had enough of his funk, she'd punched him in the arm, poured out all the liquor in his apartment, and confronted him. "Get the fuck over yourself and get some fucking therapy, Justin."

Daphne pretty much held the copyright on shaming Justin into doing the hard things.

::

"How's the week been going?" Justin flipped the man off. Bruce nodded his head. "So...that good, eh?" He lobbed a nerf ball at a basket on the wall behind Justin's head and missed.

"You're aware you're terrible at that, right?"

"And damn proud to own up to my gross ineptitude, Mr. Taylor."

Justin picked up the orange ball and squeezed it tightly, over and over, in his right hand. "I had the dream again last night," he said minutes later.

"Same as last time?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Pretty much? What was different?"

Justin closed his eyes and laid his head back, the skin of his arms clammy and sticky on the cracked Naugahyde of the old chair, his mouth filling with the sour taste of his own saliva. Every cell in his body resisted the memory of the dream he'd had the night before. The dreams no longer really frightened him, not like they did right after the bashing. Bruce had helped him understand the part they played in his PTSD and vice versa. But this... this got him.

"Justin," Bruce asked again, quietly, "what was different about this dream?" They sat silently as Justin worked out the words to answer.

"Brian was swinging the bat."

Bruce sighed and thought to himself that it was about damn time. They'd discussed the bashing and its fallout, the PTSD, the loss of memory, the loss of self-confidence, the unresolved anger at the betrayal by a classmate and the justice system. Now, finally, after all these weeks, maybe Justin was ready to tackle the harshest fallout yet, the betrayal he felt Brian Kinney had dealt him, collaterally related as it seemingly was to the bashing.

"So, how do you feel about that?"

Justin ran a hand across his face and blew out a gust of breath. "Don't know yet."

"You sure?" Justin sat silently, his jaw tense as Bruce continued. "He's pretty much been your protector in your dreams, hasn't he? Your savior?"

"I know what he is, Bruce. I know what he did. I know I'm over-reacting, but -"

"Bullshit. There is no right or wrong way to feel about things, no indelible ‘you should or shouldn't feel this' list on the wall. You know that." Bruce leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees. "How do you feel about the dream, Justin?"

Justin squeezed the ball once more and squirmed in his chair. "I'm fucking pissed," he finally gritted out. "He betrayed everything about me."

It was little more than a whisper, but for the counselor, it was a real start.

::

Justin plopped down into the overstuffed chair he'd picked up second-hand at some local thrift store and settled himself into the comfort of the absurdly colorful cushions. It was as far from the tastes of either the demurely suburban Taylor décor or the stark upscale minimalism of the Kinney loft as it could be, but it was him. Right now, he needed things in his life that were comfortable and soft and colorful. Things that held no hint of either blind certainty or absolutism. Things that were Justin.

He rested his head back against the damask, forked another mouthful of his microwave mac and cheese, and worked on the emotional homework Bruce had given him to do before their next session.  Feel the feelings. Don't judge them. Don't censor them. Don't slap a tag on them. Just accept that they're there and don't rationalize them. Feel them. Justin had avoided feeling for a long time, he'd realized. He wasn't sure if it was an adoption of Brian's MO or if it was simply part and parcel of the baggage from Hobbs.

He was working on it.

::

His hand was cramping, his phone was ringing, and there was a knock at the door. Justin wished Hobbs to hell again and sighed as he dropped the drafting pen onto his workspace and shook out his hand. He flexed his fingers painfully and, glancing down at Brian's name on his caller ID, immediately rejected the call with a languid "fucking asshole" and shut the phone down. When he opened the door, he wouldn't have been at all surprised to find Michael or his dad there. It was the way his morning had gone.

"Emmett. Hey." This, at least, was a bit of a welcome distraction.

"Hey, Baby." Emmett frowned slightly at the disheveled man standing in the doorway. Faded and ink-stained shirt. Jeans that had certainly seen better days. Hair a tad too unkempt and lifeless for his young friend. He should have called before dropping by, but it was a spur of the moment decision and he'd, yet again, lost track of his phone. "Seems I arrived just in time. You are certainly looking ... um... not so perky."

"Yeah, it's already been one of those days," Justin agreed. "Or, should I say, series of days."

"Then I say we change the tone of this series of days, sweetie, beginning with a shower and a change of clothes." Emmett wrinkled his nose and waved a shopping bag in front of him. Justin laughed when he looked inside and saw the contents. "Like I always say, there is never a day so dreary that it can't be brightened by a bag of M&M's and a few hours with the ‘The Golden Girls'."

"Why don't we just get hopped up on sugar and talk about The Golden Girls," Justin asked. "Daphne has my DVD player." He shrugged at Emmett's fallen look and opened the M&M's. "Of course, you could play the southern Rose Nylund and regale me with your tales of Hazelhurst."

Emmett's face brightened and he looped his arm around Justin's shoulder, leading him back into the small apartment. "You, Baby, have just made my Aunt Lulah a very happy girl." 

::

This had been a difficult few months for Justin and it broke Emmet's heart. He knew nightmares were haunting the young man, and sporadic panic attacks. The least he could do now was bring a little light into his friend's home. So, once the boy was showered and presentable again, he told tales of growing up in the rural south and relished the chuckles and laughter of his new next-to-best-friend. Lord, how his Aunt Lulah would have loved this little human Timex watch. She always did appreciate a survivor. And there was no other word more appropriate for his friend. He survived everything and kept going, no matter the hurt he carried around inside him.

Emmett didn't regret telling, really he didn't; just wished it hadn't caused so much pain all around. He hadn't been that close to Justin before all this shit happened, and he hated that missed opportunity more than anyone would ever know. He'd always assumed him to be just another Kinney acolyte, another boy trying on a man's shoes - even after that horrible bashing. Oh, he'd liked him well enough, even felt sorry for him much of the time, but he hadn't looked much past his tender age to realize that Justin Taylor was one hell of a man. When he heard those words come out of Michael's mouth, he knew Justin deserved to know what a member of his supposed family had said about him. So, he told him, over a latte and a muffin, and piled yet one more betrayal on the young shoulders.

In the fallout, Brian and Justin were no longer speaking to each other at all, not that they were talking much before all the crap hit the fan. But now they weren't even seeing each other in passing. Part of the fallout from a truth that needed to be told. The once strong friendship between Deb and Jennifer Taylor ended and they were now going to almost comical extremes to avoid each other. Emmett's friendship with Michael was pretty much history and he didn't know of anything Michael could do that would heal that particular rift, even though he knew he himself was partly to blame. Everyone in the family had overlooked all the impulsive, unthinking shit that flew out of Michael's mouth for years because that was "just Michael being Michael." They patted him on the back and nodded their heads in understanding when Michael pouted "I didn't mean it that way!" But things had changed, and Emmett now saw that there are just some things that can only really be meant one way.

Thank goodness Emmett still had his friendship with Teddy. Although Teddy had been appalled by Michael's words when they were pointed out to him, he simply distanced himself from the situation, saying it was something for Justin, Brian, and Michael to figure out among themselves. It was the only way he could see saving the relationship he had with Michael. Ever the analyst, his Teddy.

Then there was Brian and Michael. And that relationship defied analysis, as far as Emmett was concerned. Maybe it would have been better for everyone if they had just fucked and gotten it over with years ago.

Emmett sometimes wished he could be as unaffected as Teddy. Or at least pretend to be. But he had heard what Michael said. Brian should have hit him again. Instead, he forgave him, and that was a bridge just a tiny bit too far.

"Earth to Emmett."

"Sorry, Baby. Did you say something?"

"You zoned out there for a minute."

"Oh, just thinking about my next exciting trip down to good ol' Hazelhurst!" Of course, he was lying. He wasn't about to admit to Justin just where his thoughts had wandered. No need to add another log to the fire. "Now, did I ever tell you about my cousin Alma's chicken-foot pie?"

::

Brian stood in front of the weather-worn door, his hand suspended and ready to knock. He'd spent five minutes he couldn't spare sitting in the parked Jeep outside Justin's apartment, talking himself into walking to this same door. It would be the first time he'd seen him in months and Brian honestly wasn't sure he wanted to go down that road again. It had been hard enough the last time. Standing here now he could hear Justin's laugh on the other side of the barrier and, as he finally knocked, he knew he was about to bust the kid's happy day all to shit. Fuck it, he thought. Seems I'm an expert at that.

"...and I swear, the look on everyone's face as they sat around the table just praying that they didn't get the serving with the chicken's foot!" Emmett's voice rolled out dramatically, his back to the door as he pulled it open. Wiping the laughter from his eyes, he didn't see who was there at first as he chirped, "Taylor's House of Fun! What can we do for you this fi-"

"It's Theodore," Brian interrupted.

::

It was the last place he wanted to be today. Any day. Too fucking many memories here. He'd already had to move once when he realized exactly which chair he'd sat down in, which wall he was staring at. He could almost taste the blood that had coated his lips, could almost smell the odors of gasoline and oil that had lingered on his clothing from the floor of the parking garage.

When Honeycutt and Justin disappeared, most likely, he thought, into the chapel to pray for some divine intervention into this shit situation, Brian snuck outside for a smoke. As he lit up and inhaled, then watched the thin, white curls of his exhale fade out into the early evening air, he wished he had something stronger than a Marlboro.

"Thanks for coming and telling Emmett."

The voice startled Brian for a moment. It had been months since they'd seen each other, much longer since they'd shared words, and the voice sounded out of place now. He'd missed it.  

"Figured you were with Emmett in the chapel, genuflecting and offering up empty foxhole promises."

"Not really a big believer," Justin shrugged and drew on his own cigarette. "Emmett thought it was worth a try, though."

"Yeah, he always was the more spiritually inclined of the group." He watched, fascinated, as Justin licked at his lips and spit out the tiny piece of filter paper that had been clinging to the lower one.

"Mel and Lindz on their way?"

"Mel's in Cincinnati at a legal conference. Flying in tonight. Lindsay's staying home with Gus and J.R."

"Right." Sadness flickered over Justin's face at the mention of Gus. Brian didn't miss it.

"You, ah... you going to hang around until the doctor has something to tell us?"

Justin snorted incredulously. "As vacuous as you may think my loyalty is, Brian, Ted's my friend and Emmett's falling apart. Of course I'm going to hang around."

"That's not what I meant, Justin."

"What exactly did you mean, then?"

"That." Brian's head inclined toward the ER entrance where Deb and Michael were entering the hospital.

Justin stared for a moment then wrinkled his nose as if smelling something nasty, leaned back against the low wall around the ambulance lane. "I'm glad they're here for Ted."

"They're family, Justin."

"Not mine."

"That was your choice. Deb was always there for you when you needed her. I think she's a little hurt that you've pulled away."

 "My choice." Justin huffed out a little laugh and nodded. "Yeah, well, I guess we all make choices, right, Brian?"

"When did you become such a cynical bastard?"

Justin focused his gaze on the red neon of the ER sign for a few long moments, took another hit from his Marlboro before answering. "Dunno. Must've been the company I kept."

Brian mumbled something unintelligible and rolled his eyes. "Fine then. But there's no need to avoid Deb because you're pissed at me or Michael."

"Much as you want to make it sound like some school yard spat between buds, I'm not just having a tantrum."

Brian tossed out the last of his cigarette and turned to fully face Justin. "Aren't you?"

Justin nodded his head slightly in the affirmative, but then answered, "No." He didn't feel the need to explain further.

"Certainly seems like that from here."

"Well, then," Justin responded, "I guess it's a good thing your opinion doesn't hold the place of importance in my life that it once did." With that he stubbed out his own cigarette and walked back in to sit with Emmett.

Brian watched him go, walking with his shoulders back and his head high, not an ounce of regret in his posture for leaving them behind. Brian wanted to be proud of him for that, for not falling into the regret trap, but all he felt was a void. Loss. It was true that Justin had already left him for that fiddler, and it was doubly true that that act had torn a hole in Brian's world that he didn't think would ever be completely filled again, but he'd hoped they could at least still communicate, still stay in each other's lives. "Apparently not," he whispered into the dark as he followed Justin through the automatic doors. 

::

It was another hour and a half before the doctor let them know anything. An uncomfortable hour and a half filled with every eye avoiding pretty much every other eye in the room. The only ones seeing each other, talking to each other were Emmett and Justin, and that in soft, low words only they were privy to. The tension was so thick it almost choked the worry out of the room. Even Deb was subdued - something akin to a miracle when one thought about it. Brian had almost caught Michael's eyes on one or two occasions, but any connection made didn't last and no friendly words were spoken. It had been a while since they'd acted like best friends but, even with all the problems that friendship had caused, Brian wouldn't give it up. It was Mikey.

Fucking Michael.

Fucking insecure childish fucking loudmouth impulsive Michael.

::

For Brian, sitting in this room was déjà vu all over again. It wasn't a bat this time and he hadn't been witness to the carnage, hadn't felt his heart start beating so fast he couldn't tell if it was still beating at all, hadn't cradled the blood-soaked body that mere minutes before had been dancing in his arms. No. But he could still hear the hiss of flickering overhead lights, smell the months old gasoline that was soaked inches deep into filthy concrete, taste the blood his lips had lifted from the pale skin of Justin's forehead.

Fuck.    

It wasn't a baseball bat that hit Theodore. It was a car. It hit at just the right angle to do little damage, except potentially to his brain, and then sped off down a side street. He lay on the pavement for untold minutes in the somewhat remote area before help arrived and there were no known witnesses. Dr. Mitchell had just explained that surgery released the pressure building up in his head, that his brain activity was ‘within normal parameters', that there were no other obvious serious injuries, and that nothing else could really be known about his condition until he woke up -  if  he woke up -  and Brian wondered what the hell he'd done in his life that perpetually condemned him to sitting watch while those he cared about clung to some half-life somewhere between living and dead.

They sat silently after the doctor promised to keep them updated, to let them know when Ted was settled in a post-surgical bed in ICU. They would be allowed to see him, one at a time, for a total of ten minutes each hour until otherwise notified. Deb began to protest the strict visitation, but the doctor was adamant. ICU rooms were small, filled with necessary equipment, and bustling with sometimes constant nursing activity, he reminded them, and it just wasn't conducive to quality patient care for the staff to have to work around visitors, however well-meaning they were.

Emmett was the first to visit when the doctor allowed. He stayed for about five minutes, returning with a tear-stained face and nodded to Deb. "Why don't you go next, Deb, and everyone else can wait their turn for next hour. I...I'm going to go home now and come back tomorrow."  

Deb nodded and walked toward the double doors of the ICU. Emmett took Justin's hand and squeezed. "Take me home, Baby. I need to be alone for a bit."

::

"I can't believe they just left him there on the concrete to die!"

As soon as he heard the words, Brian's eyes jerked up from the coffee cup he'd been staring into for the last ten minutes. They'd stuck to their routine. It had been fifteen years in the making, after all. Now, though, with Theodore in the hospital and Emmett having long since called done to their friendships, it was just the two of them - Brian and Michael. Brian had quickly tamped down the part of his psyche that knew just how happy Michael was with that turn of events.  It had already been strained by Michael's comments at the girls' party, although Brian had tried to make amends for actually hitting the man that day. He'd apologized, in his own bloody way, and hoped that would be enough to keep a decades long friendship together. Unfortunately, he'd discovered that single non-apology was more expensive than he'd realized. Whatever difficulties he and Justin had weathered, even while Justin was living with someone else, they'd remained friends. Of a sort. Not so much anymore. Justin hadn't only felt betrayed by Michael with his comments, but by Brian's seemingly easy forgiveness of Michael. Brian had merely tried to keep his longest friendship from crashing on the rocks and, in doing so, had deeply hurt someone else he cared for. Some days you couldn't win, it seemed.

"Deb, I wanted to let you know Teddy's going to be fine. He woke up earlier and there doesn't seem to be any permanent damage." Emmett tapped an unwrapped straw on the countertop a bit nervously, trying with all his might to ignore Michael yapping at his elbow. Much like Brian, he wasn't comfortable in this place anymore and hadn't been for months. He could hardly remember now when the diner had been like a second home to him.  But a promise was a promise, and he'd promised Teddy he'd let everyone know everything was going to be okay. "The police said they are doing everything they can to find out who hit him, but they don't really expect the investigation to go anywhere."

"Well, they need to be doing more." Michael tossed his newspaper down in the middle of the counter, halting Emmett's nervous tapping. "He's our friend. You don't just leave someone laying there dying on the ground, for fuck's sake!"

Emmett screwed his face up as if he'd been slapped by Michael's words. Then he got angry. Very angry. Of all the things this man could have said. Of all the damned things!

"Unless it's Justin. Right, Michael?"

::

It's funny how history almost repeats itself at times.

Emmett's jaw clenched as he shook the pain out of his hand and hovered over the man now crumpled on the floor. "Get your ignorant ass up so I can knock it down again, you stupid, stupid man!"

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Emmett?" The shock of the moment had only silenced Deb for an instant before she skittered to her son's side. "Michael, are you hurt, baby?" Michael held up a hand to fend off his mother, his other hand rubbing his jaw and his eyes locked on Brian's, who had halted halfway between the booth he'd been sitting in and the counter. "I'm okay, Ma. I'm okay."

Brian had just stopped in for coffee. That's it - just a cup of coffee. He should have waited. Now every eye in the diner was fixed on him as he walked with deliberation toward the counter, sat the still nearly full cup next to the register and placed his hand on Emmett's shoulder. "Make sure you ice that," he said simply and, without another word or a glance toward Michael huddling on the floor, turned and left the diner for what he was pretty sure would be the last time for a while.

::

Brian never made it to the office. Hours later his jacket and tie were still tossed carelessly over the back of his sofa and he was still leaning back against them, crushing them in a way he would have yelled at Justin for doing, drowning his seemingly never-ending sorrows in another shot of whisky. The loft door had slid open shortly after he got home, after the walk that was supposed to clear his head but didn't. He reminded himself, again, that he really needed a door that locked automatically when it closed. For a moment he'd stiffened, expecting to find Michael nursing his bruised jaw and whining about how unfair everything was in his fucking life. He wasn't sure whether or not Emmett Honeycutt was any better option.

"Tried the office and they said you were taking a personal day." The words were almost whispered but they still echoed through the silence of the loft. "Tell me this is a bad time and I'll leave."

"How's the hand?"

Emmett stretched his fingers and grimaced. They were a little tender, but he'd had worse in his life. "Still attached. Not sure I can say the same for my ass, however, after the reaming out Deb will give me for knocking the shit out of her precious son."

Brian nodded but he didn't say anything. He'd been there and was still trying to put the pieces of his world back together from the fallout. Emmett poured himself two fingers of whisky and downed it with one swallow and a shudder. "As I live and breathe, I'll never understand how you can drink this stuff all the time."

"Practice," Brian responded flatly. "Helps if you start young."

"Yeah, well," Emmet said, eyeing the now-empty glass, "maybe if I stick an umbrella in it, I could pretend it's drinkable."

Emmett lowered himself on the opposite end of the sofa, pulled one foot beneath him and tapped Brian's foot repeatedly with the other. Brian didn't need to be a mind-reader to know he wasn't really going to appreciate this visit. "Why, Brian? Why did you go out of your way to forgive Michael when he'd said something so unforgivable about Justin?"

Brian shrugged, giving himself time to deflect, to go on the offensive. All these months and they'd never really talked about it. "You certainly went out of your way to make sure Justin knew all about it, Honeycutt." Brian poured himself another whisky. "He should never have had to know what Michael said."

"I thought Justin deserved to know what Michael actually said at that party from someone who cared about him before it went through the grapevine and changed into something even worse. And he should have heard it from you."

Although he'd never admit it out loud, Brian knew Emmett was right. He should have told Justin what Michael said. Too many people heard it for it to remain much of a secret. But he knew it was a throw-away comment coming from Michael's irrational jealousy, knew he didn't really mean it. Yeah, it had shocked him when it was said, resulting in the punch heard ‘round the fucking world, but Mikey couldn't have meant it. His entire friendship would have been a goddamn lie if he'd meant that.

"And I didn't even know you'd forgiven Michael then. Michael's the one who made sure Justin knew that tasty little tid-bit."

"You didn't tell him?"

"Oh, believe you me, Mr. Kinney, I didn't have to. When Justin decided to confront Michael about that ugly comment, Michael made sure to point out that you couldn't have thought it was so bad if you forgave him so quickly."

Fucking hell.

"Justin tell you that?"

Emmett tilted his head quizzically. "If you're implying that Justin lied to me or exaggerated about what Michael said, you're more of an idiot than I ever had you pegged for," he angrily replied. "And believe me, I've often pegged you for an idiot."

"They've never gotten along much, Honeycutt. That's no secret. It is possible that our little Sunshine took offense at something he misunderstood. He's not a fucking saint."

"You know, you must be limber as hell in bed, Brian, considering the amount of contortion practice you get in justifying every word Michael Novotny has ever uttered. Justin didn't have to tell me a thing - I was there, in the shop, when Justin confronted him." Emmett stood to leave, shouldering his bag and meticulously patting out the wrinkles from the front of his shirt. "You may want to consider your choice of best friends, Mr. Kinney. Seems Justin isn't the only one Michael betrayed in all of this, is he?"

"Fuck that! Justin didn't have the balls to confront me so he cornered Michael. If he'd wanted the truth, he should have asked me!"

As he slid the loft door open to leave, Emmett paused and turned toward Brian, his own anger and feelings of betrayal for his friend pulling at his gut. "Why? If Michael was the one who said it, why should he have asked you? So you could tell him his feelings of betrayal and anger and hurt and humiliation at the hands of your best friend was just him being a ‘fucking twat' or a ‘drama princess' once more for old time's sake? So you could hold on to your delusion that Michael Novotny actually knows what being a friend is all about? So Justin could be reminded that betrayal by one's father and the justice system when he was almost murdered wasn't quite bad enough? Michael wished him dead, Brian! You can justify it as Michael being Michael all you want but he... wished him dead." The last few words were more of a whisper, the anger spent. Tears lit up Emmett's eyes, making them shine even in the darkness of the loft. "And you forgave him for that."

::

"I'm glad you came with me tonight, Baby."

"You saved me from a torturous night of studying man as anti-hero in the work of Brueghel the Elder. It's a win-win," Justin laughed. He didn't spend much time on the Avenue anymore, but he needed to unwind after all the shit with work and school and Ted this week. It felt good to be out for a change.

"Well, if I knew what that meant, I might actually be impressed with myself for saving you from such a fate," Emmett chuckled. Then he saw Michael sitting at the bar, fast approaching three sheets to the wind. In his head, he imagined the train wreck about to happen, and not a kill switch in sight. "Uh, sweetie, maybe we should try something a little different tonight. Head over to that new place on Calumet, maybe? Give it a little look-see?"

"This is fine and we're already here." Justin pulled a pool cue from one of the racks, pretending a fascination with its scarred wood. He'd seen Michael sitting at the bar, too. "You don't need to save me from Michael, Em." He wondered, though, if he really did need that salvation.

"I just thought that -"

"That I'd need saving from Michael," Justin repeated with a small grin.

"Well, just the protector gene poking up its ornery little head, I suppose."

"It's Woody's. We're surrounded by pokey little heads."

"And a few that aren't so little." Emmett pursed his lips as he eyed a particularly tasty looking morsel.

"And that," Justin laughed. "You get us a beer and I'll get us a table."

They'd played and joked for almost half an hour before Michael had enough. He'd been watching them as the alcohol soaked deeper into his brain, disabling what few remaining inhibitions he possessed. He watched as Emmett hugged Justin after a particularly good shot, as some good-looking guy ogled Justin as he passed by, as Justin racked up for another game. It pissed him off. Pissed him off that Justin was here with Emmett when Emmett wouldn't even give him the damn time of day anymore. Pissed him off that Justin was here, laughing and smiling and having a good time. Just pissed him off that Justin was here. And that Brian wasn't. Fuck it.

Michael tossed back the dregs of his last beer and slid off the barstool. The bartender watched him stagger just a bit, then head toward the back of the bar. "Hey, you owe me for those last two beers, man," he called across the room. Michael tossed money on the counter, never taking his eyes off his goal as he stopped right next to Justin at the pool table.

"Thought we got rid of you, Boy Wonder."

Justin tensed up for a moment at the words, but simply shook off the hand Michael had placed on his arm and started to take his shot. He was not about to get drawn into a bar brawl with a drunken idiot.

"Answer me!" Michael grabbed Justin's arm once again, causing Justin to send a ball cracking onto the floor.

"You're drunk."

"That may be. Least I'm not a lying, cheating bastard."

Justin took a deep breath, then another. He'd promised Bruce, Daphne, his mom - hell, he'd promised himself - that he wouldn't beat the living shit out of The Idiot if confronted. He'd promised he wouldn't sink to Michael's level. He knew Michael wasn't worth it. But - Justin knew that he was worth it, worth standing up for himself, and fuck if he was going to back off again. Enough was fucking enough. He threw his pool cue on the table and faced The Idiot.

"You sure about that, Michael?" Justin asked. "You really sure?" He advanced on Michael another step with every word, his voice even, cold. "I would argue that you became a liar every time you claimed to be Brian's friend, or Emmett's, because you don't know the meaning of the word. You even claimed to be my friend at one time! And I would argue that you became a cheater every time you put aside your relationship to run after Brian. You think that didn't kill Ben a little every single time you did it?" Michael was pretty much cornered against the back of the bar. "And face it, Michael Novotny. We all know you technically are a bastard, don't we?" Emmett's eyes grew wide as he listened to Justin and watched his friend circling and herding Michael like a sheepdog. "I think that makes you very much a lying, cheating bastard." Justin cocked his head a bit, his eyes narrowed and his hands on either side of Michael against the bar.  He leaned in, wiping out any remnant of comfort zone Michael may still have had. "And just so you know, Mikey, no matter how many times you wish me dead, no matter how many times your best friend apologizes to you after you tell him Hobbs should have finished the job... I. Am. Still. Here. And if you don't leave my life the fuck alone, I will damn well fuck up yours!"

The only sound in the room for long minutes after that was the door closing as Michael staggered out.

"Baby?" Emmett's voice held more than a bit of awe as Justin calmly replaced their pool cues onto the rack. "You were right. You don't need saving from the Michaels of the world."

::

It didn't take long for word of the confrontation to make its way through the grapevine and fall at Brian's doorstep. He was surprised that Michael himself hadn't burned up his phone line by now. But it was the bartender at Woody's that related the confrontation.

"Novotny got what he deserved, if you ask me. Not fit to shine the kid's shoes. You fucked up big time letting that one go, Kinney."

After the third person canonized Justin, Brian figured he'd had enough. Time to straighten out this shit before Michael got himself really hurt.

::

"Your balls are pretty big, apparently." Bruce held up the Nerf ball as a visual aid. He couldn't help smirking a little at the image Justin had painted of the now infamous Woody's encounter.

"It was stupid. Impulsive and stupid."

"Standing up for yourself? If you want to get technical, when he put his hand on you, he accosted you. You had every right to stand up to that."

"He was drunk. He's an idiot. I'm better than that."

"Bullies often act out with the aid of alcohol. It's when they feel most powerful, artificial as it is."

"He's a pathetic, powerless whiner."

"Again, bullies often are. And, from what you've told me these past few months, his bullying has been ‘family approved'. By his mother, by Brian. By you. He's been validated or given a pass every time." Bruce leaned toward Justin and continued softly. "Even when he said you should have died."

"That's what it feels like Brian did, validated him. Agreed with him. How could he have forgiven him, if he didn't?"

"Do you think Brian agreed with Michael? That Brian believes he should have left you there after the bashing?"

"No. No, I don't. But it still feels like it."

"Why do you think you feel that way if you know differently?"

"I don't know, but all the shit in the weeks before I left..."

A ragged silence filled the room as Bruce gave Justin time to formulate his thoughts. Those pivotal weeks in a relationship fraught with other pivotal weeks, with completely unaddressed trauma from unspeakable violence, with a skewed power dynamic from the outset... a period almost as impactful on Justin's perception of his own self-worth as the bashing itself had been.

Although many in Justin's life at the time would, perhaps, have seen him as extremely self-confident - brashly so at times - like most young people struggling with issues like their sexuality, broken homes, and school bullies, much of that confident presentation was simply bravado. Throw into that mixture a relationship with an extremely sexually experienced, much older man, an emotionally repressed man with a library filled with unresolved anger issues from his own childhood, and it was a situation almost destined to implode. Justin was now trying to find his place in the world, to learn how to navigate on steady ground as opposed to the eggshells he had walked on for two years.

"I was floundering, Bruce. And Brian watched me... watched me wandering around, approaching the edge of this cliff for weeks. Months. He watched me, and when I got there, right at the edge of the precipice, teetering and swinging my arms to get my balance, literally begging him to pull me back, to give me one - just one - reason to stay, to give me some kind of lifeline... to just let me know I mattered... he started pushing instead. A hustler for my 19th birthday." Justin let out a tired sigh. "Brian always said he didn't do birthdays. The only thing worth celebrating are accomplishments, according to him. But he literally pissed on my accomplishment! Pissed on my artwork, knowing what it physically cost me draw that...and then the..."

"Assault?" Bruce spoke softly. When Justin didn't respond, Bruce continued, still quietly. "It was assault, Justin."

He watched his young client shake his head, struggling to accept that the man he had loved, even with everything else he had done, could assault him that way. "Men often think of assault in vastly different terms for themselves than they do for women. We have this misguided and completely illogical idea that, as men, we are somehow immune to being domestically assaulted."

The counselor waited again, giving time for his words to connect, for Justin to process before he continued. "Brian was angry. Hurt. Embarrassed. He channeled all that into initiating a situation between you - a sexually charged situation - a familiar one. He drew on the dynamic attraction and energy you'd shared a hundred times and led you to believe that it was just that, a familiar sexually charged, intimate moment between the two of you. A lot of us have had angry sex at some point, and that could have been just what it became. But then he plunged the psychological dagger in, and it became something else. It doesn't matter that there was no penetration. He touched you, kissed you, aroused you intentionally to use that arousal against you. He used something you valued immensely in your relationship - intentionally - to hurt you emotionally."

Justin tried not to react to what he knew was true. Brian used sex to virtually gut him. But he'd been gutting him for weeks, hadn't he? He'd been shoving the knife in for weeks, long before Ethan entered the equation. Brian had been chipping away at their connection for weeks, always making sure Justin was just a little bit off kilter, just uncertain enough of his place in Brian's life to keep him unstable. On eggshells. And when Justin predictably didn't have the age or maturity to deal with it, when he predictably turned to someone else, for comfort, to feel valued... whatever... "...he pushed harder...slung his arm around the shoulders of the man who wished me dead, gave him a bloody kiss on the lips, and laughed at my fall..." Justin's voice faded to a near whisper. "There's really not much coming back from that."

::

Brian stood outside Justin's door for the second time in as many weeks. He really hadn't taken the opportunity to look around the first time he was here, and the layout of the small courtyard area surprised him. Not a lot of room but it was used wisely. There was even a small firepit and seating area, which Justin would no doubt put to good use in cool weather. He realized he'd been standing there too long when the door opened and a husky voice asked, "What are you doing here, Brian?"

"Just admiring the landscaping, Sunshine."

"Fine then," Justin said as he turned and shut the door on Brian.

Brian's eyes widened and he let out an exasperated huff as he found himself again on the outside of Justin's closed door. "The little shit." He hit the door repeatedly with the side of his fist, frustration echoing through him with every strike. "Justin! Open the door, you little shit!"

The door flew open and Brian nearly tumbled inside, Justin's hand in the middle of his chest the only thing preventing it. "What the fuck, Brian? I always knew you and Michael shared a special bond, but I didn't know you were the same goddamned person!"

"We need to talk."

"No, we do not need to talk. You may want to talk, but that does not translate to any kind of necessity on my part. And, if memory serves me right, talking with someone is not your forte, so I assume you meant to say you want to talk at me."

"Your therapist tell you that shit?"

"And we are done. Goodbye, Brian." Once again, Justin closed the door.

::

Justin groaned when he heard the knock on his door the next morning. Brian's car had still been parked on the street when Justin finally shut off the lights and called it a night, and he had more than a sneaking suspicion that he knew exactly who was knocking now. When he opened the door, his suspicion was confirmed. Brian was there, looking much worse for wear in the same clothes he was wearing yesterday.

"Lucky you weren't picked up for loitering."

"Wouldn't have been my first night in jail," Brian replied. "Can we talk?"

 "Why not," Justin thought to himself. "He's obviously not going to go away until this talk happens." So, he stepped back and waved Brian inside. "Have a seat. I'll make coffee."

Brian chose a corner of the love seat that served as a sofa in the small room and Justin couldn't help wondering if Brian really thought he'd sit next to him. Justin chose the overstuffed chair instead, pulled his feet under him, sipped his coffee, and made sure he looked directly at Brian. He'd grown a lot this year and refused to let Brian intimidate him. "So? Talk."

Brian ran a hand through his hair and stared into his cup of coffee. "I talked to Michael."

Of fucking course. Justin gave a small nod, lit a cigarette, and sipped his coffee. "So, Rage waited outside, all night long, to defend the ever-hapless Zephyr."

"You did kind of threaten him, JT, no matter how many of your praises the Avenue sings."

And - again - he chose the Idiot. "Not exactly a surprise to hear you say that, Brian." The young man blew out a series of smoke rings. Getting good at that, he thought as he watched them expand, eventually thinning to nothing as they rose. He chuckled lightly, thinking there had to be a metaphor in there somewhere.

"Was something I said particularly amusing?" He couldn't figure Justin out anymore. A few months ago, he would have known what every chuckle, grunt, groan, and eyeroll meant. But... that was in the ‘before days' - before the party, before the fiddler, before Mikey and his fucking mouth. Before bloody steaks. This? This was the aftermath and he no longer had a clue. He wondered if he'd ever really had one in the first place.

"Just thinking about metaphors," Justin replied offhandedly as he crushed out his cigarette.

"Justin, Michael is... Michael. He acts on impulse. You know that. He doesn't mean half the bullshit that he spits out."

"You can't be serious with this shit. He wishes me dead and you apologize to him. I stand up for myself when he drunkenly accosts me in a public place, and you come here pleading his case? You are certifiable." He sat back, folding his hands in his lap in that way Bruce had done so often. "What are you really doing here, Brian? If this is honestly about defending the virtue of some callow, 33-year-old man-child, you might as well leave now."

He took in the kid - the man - that he'd taken to bed more than any other man. The one who had him breaking long-standing rules left and right for three years. The one who had always - always - given in eventually when Brian had fucked up yet again. But now? There was a wariness and laser-sharp focus about Justin now that gave Brian the chills, and Brian suddenly understood how any number of errant employees felt being on the receiving end of the Kinney rage. He'd lost the upper hand, lost the power seat.

He didn't like it one fucking bit.

"You need to get over your problem with Michael. This is the real fucking world, Sunshine, and you and I both know life is seldom fucking fair. Michael may be a shit sometimes, but you had a good thing going with the comic and the family and you toss it all aside."

"No."

"That's it? Just no?"                                                                                

"Just no," he answered quickly. "Jesus! Is there some requirement to play nice with people who circle the wagons to protect someone who had a death wish for me?" Justin lit another cigarette and took a calming breath. "We're allowed to draw lines in our lives. God knows you have. You just don't like the lines I've drawn."

"The family loves you, Justin. They miss you and this does nothing but hurt them. Deb, Vic..."

"If Deb was cooking dinner every week for your mother, going to church with your mother, talking to your mother every day on the phone, kissing her hello and goodbye on the cheek, telling you every day that your mother didn't mean it, that it's just your mother being your mother... How would you feel about being around Deb? That's what I would be dealing with every time I saw her. Or Vic. Lindsay would be telling me of your goodness, telling me how you forgiving the man who wished me dead is some hidden message of your undying love for me." He blew out another smoke ring - studied it as it dissipated as it rose in the air. "You can just go just tell them that this is simply Justin being Justin. By your logic, they should just roll over and accept it, right?"

"They've done a lot for you, Sunshine."

"So, I repay them with my soul? Is that what you do, Brian?"

"I'm not the subject here -"

"That's right. Betrayal is the subject here," Justin said. "Offhanded as it may have seemed to you, forgivable as it may have been for you, he wished me dead. Maybe if he'd said I should have been aborted you'd understand it a little better. I seem to remember you thinking that shit was unforgivable when it was about you." Justin got up and walked to the door and opened it for Brian to leave. He was done. Just done with this talk. "I will always love you, Brian, always be thankful for the things you've done for me. I will always have a special love for the family. But I have no illusion that I'd be so easily forgiven if I said something like that about Michael, or Lindsay, or Deb. It was hideous and more hurtful than you can imagine. Unforgivable."

Brian made no move to get up, but he finally began to understand. As disparate as the analogies with his mother were, Brian's forgiveness of Michael's words is the thing that had broken something necessary in the connection Justin had with the family - with him. And Brian had personally handed him the kill switch. And could he honestly say he wouldn't do it again?

"Go, Brian. Just go. As much pain as Michael has caused me, I can deal with that. What I refuse to deal with is you, a man who was my... lover, for lack of a better term. A lover who could so easily dismissed the impact of what Michael said."

Justin called Daphne and Emmett later that day. He needed his friends right now. They downed a few pints of ice cream and Daphne convinced them to go bowling. His friends jumped up and hugged him and Justin raised his fist in victory as he made his first strike ever that night. Somehow, he didn't think it would be his last.

Brian sat on the end of his bed, feet crossed at the ankles, smoking a cigarette, watching the rings dissipate as they rose toward the ceiling. He'd come home early from Babylon, unable to take Michael's continued diatribe about someone leaving Theodore on the side of the road to die. It hit a little too close to home with the encounter he'd had with Justin earlier in the day. But not close enough to call Michael out on it again. It was just Mikey being Mikey, right?

*Title is taken from Abraham Lincoln's First Inaugural Address.