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Pain.

Justin!

Throbbing, pounding agony.

I can't believe you came.

A body beneath his, legs bracing his weight. A voice.

Brian.

You wanted me here.

"He...I think he hit his head. I can't see any blood. No, he's not fucking moving!"

Brian?

That didn't sound good. "Bri-a..."

"Justin?! Fuck, he just spoke. Yeah, yeah, I'll ask. I'm not a fucking imbecile." Definitely Brian. "How's your head feel?"

Fuck, was that a trick question? "Hurts, yafucker. Whaddya think?"

Might have been a snort. "Are you dizzy, asshole? Nauseous?"

Talking seriously sapped his energy. "Um. Thingsa' weird. Where am I?"

"At the hotel, remember? For prom."

Prom? But he didn't have a date. Daph was dating that...guy. "Tired."

"Justin, stay conscious."

Maybe if he went back to sleep, the pain would go away. "Tired..."

It was the best night of my life.

"Justin, you *have* to stay conscious."

Sleep *good*.

"Stay awake you little fuck!"

I'm going with him.

*

Who the fuck was shining that light in his eyes? God, it *hurt*.

"Pupils look good!"

Justin groaned his disapproval.

"And the patient is definitely responsive. Justin? Justin, can you open your eyes for me?"

It wasn't easy and Justin really didn't want to, but they seemed determined not to leave him the fuck alone. Eventually he managed to get his eyelids open all by himself.

Things were kind of blurry and painful, and he was definitely fucking dizzy and he couldn't move his head. "Can't move."

"That's right, Justin - it's okay. We're keeping your neck immobile just as a precaution. Seems you hit your head pretty hard, huh? Can you tell me what day it is?"

He hit his head? "Friday. What happen-?"

Brian. Turning. Chris. Fighting. Falling. Brian.

"Brian," The word came out in a gasp, thoughts of what Chris could've done later flashing through his confused mind. "Brian!"

But then he was there, grasping Justin's hand, smiling - really *smiling* - down at him. He looked like shit, but he was smiling.

Panic easing, Justin managed a wobbly smile of his own. "Brian..."

The hand squeezed tighter. "Haven't thrown your sizeable ass out on itself so far. Think I'd abandon you now?" Justin thought that was nice but wasn't sure *why* it was nice, but that didn't matter anyway because Brian was talking to the paramedic guy. "Are we taking him to the fucking hospital or are you waiting until he reaches retirement age first?"

Under other circumstances, riding in the back of an ambulance might've been fun. But it was too loud and he couldn't move his head, and they were keeping him awake, poking him with something sharp whenever he closed his eyes. "Leave me alooooone," he complained more than once, but they always ignored him.

At least Brian was there. Brian, who told them about his allergies and held his hand and kept telling him that everything was going to be fine.

Brian never lied.

They were separated at the hospital - which totally sucked ass in a bad way - and there were more lights, and more questions and x-rays and a MRI because - as the doctor explained - although he hadn't been unconscious for long, being unconscious at all was potentially very serious and they had to take every precaution.

Being in the MRI machine was fucking creepy, and they still wouldn't let him sleep.

Though his head still hurt like fuck and he was dizzy as hell, he did feel a little more like himself. Or at least he knew exactly what was going on now, and the neck brace had finally been removed.

Mom arrived at some point, tears staining her face and Brian standing by her side. Justin didn't know if Brian was actually allowed to be there or not, but he didn't fucking care.

Mom sobbed through her shock at what 'that animal' had done, and while it did fucking suck, Justin knew how close it'd come to being much worse.

"Mom, it's just a concussion."

That statement didn't seem to make her any happier.

Gently fussing over him, she carefully kissed the side of his face and barely touched the dressing around his head - he wasn't sure it was actually doing much, considering the fact that there was no blood - as she told him how much she loved him.

Brian was a lot calmer in comparison and, frankly, easier to deal with. Sitting on the opposite side of the bed, he'd taken Justin's hand again. "How's the head feeling now?"

Still hurt. Like, a lot. "Someone's playing bongos in there," he joked quietly. "And they still won't let me sleep." That part was starting to piss him off. Surely if he slept, he wouldn't feel the pain anymore. They were still trying to find some stronger meds that wouldn't set his allergies off.

"They don't want to take any-"

"Chances, I know," Justin sighed. Even though the MRI didn't show anything, apparently it was common practise to keep the patient awake as much as possible following the initial head injury (Justin had been paying a lot more attention to the doctor at the time than he'd been capable of showing). Something to do with identifying symptoms of worse head injuries faster.

The whole evening had been pretty fucking weird. Brian turning up at his prom, Chris attacking him, and now - despite the raging headache and dizziness - things felt almost back to normal. He knew they wouldn't be for a while, that he'd have to take it easy (which'd be really fucking irritating), but despite that things felt normal, or as normal as they could be. It was almost like he'd been expecting more drama or something.

They told him what'd happened to Hobbs, that Brian had managed to 'persuade' him not to run off after attacking Justin (they hadn't given him any details, but like he couldn't guess) and now he was in police custody. There'd been witnesses who'd seen the whole thing, thank God.

The doctor came back in, asked him some more questions just to be on the safe side, then re-iterated what they already knew - all signs pointed to a full and relatively fast recovery. Justin just needed a lot of rest.

He was definitely looking forward to that, but he was kind of sick of being in hospital already. "Do I have to stay here?"

"That's really your choice," Dr Allen admitted, "but if you do leave, I *cannot* stress enough how important it is that you take it easy. Do not over-exert yourself with any kind of physical activity. In fact, I'd recommend that you leave your bed only when it's absolutely necessary. And while you are allowed to sleep, someone will have to wake you every two hours to make sure your condition hasn't worsened. If you haven't deteriorated after twenty-four hours, then you can sleep normally. If there's no one who can do that for you, I highly recommend that you stay in hospital where we can-"

"I'll do it," Brian interrupted.

Mom looked at him. "We'll *both* do it."

Brian nodded.

Justin just wanted to get the fuck out of there.

Of course, it wasn't as easy as that. Dr Allen made sure Mom and Brian knew exactly what to do and exactly what to look out for, and then someone wanted to speak to Brian outside.

When the door opened again about ten minutes later, it wasn't Brian but two men from the Pittsburgh PD, there to take Justin's statement. The one who identified himself as Detective Horvath spoke the most, and he got on Mom's good side immediately by apologising for having to do this while they knew Justin was in pain, but it really was important.

So Justin told them everything he could. Dancing at the prom with Brian, leaving together, walking away in the parking garage. Hearing Brian's voice, *knowing* from the tone that something was wrong and taking a step to the left as he turned around.

The bat missing his head by millimetres.

Trying to wrestle it away from Hobbs before being pushed roughly to the ground.

That was the last thing he remembered before waking up.

"I don't remember hitting my head," he confessed. "Chris pushed, I fell...and then I was waking up on the floor. Apparently I wasn't out for long." Quite ironic, really. Chris had been trying to hit him in the head, and that'd ended up happening when he fell anyway. "I was pretty groggy when I woke up, couldn't quite remember anything, but Dr Allen said that kind of temporary amnesia isn't unusual."

Nodding, Detective Horvath made a few more notes, asked a few more questions, and then thanked him for his time.

Justin couldn't help but be glad. If Mom's grip on his hand got any tighter, he'd lose all blood flow. "Can I get out of here now?"

Smiling, she stood up and kissed his forehead. "I'll go and speak to Dr Allen, see what needs to be done before we can leave."

She'd been gone mere seconds when Brian appeared again, sitting in the chair she'd just left.

"They take your statement?" Justin asked.

"Yeah."

Biting his lip, Justin's gaze fell to Brian's obviously bruised knuckles. He'd noticed them earlier, but had been too out of it to really *know*. "Are you gonna be charged with anything?"

Leaning forward, Brian stared at him intently with dark eyes. "No."

Thank God. "Good." His head may have been fucking hurting, but that deserved a smile. "Thank you for coming tonight. Even with...what happened, being there with you still made it the best night of my life."

Sighing, Brian shook his head and touched Justin's arm. "You're really fucking sappy sometimes."

"Yeah," he closed his eyes, just to relax for a moment, "I know."

"Hey!" Brian poked him in the side with a finger. "No sleeping until we get home."

Christ. *Brian* in charge of his medical status. That was gonna be a nightmare - Brian wouldn't let him get away with anything. "You're really going to wake me every two hours, aren't you?"

"You bet your fucking ass I am," he agreed. "You scared the fucking shit out of me, and I'm not letting that happen again. Besides, the sooner you're better, the sooner I can fuck the shit out of you."

Oh, fuck. Restricted physical activity...no sex?

Truly, there was no punishment large enough for a crime of such enormity.

*

Justin started regretting the decision to go home about the same time he started getting ready to leave.

Now that his head was a lot clearer, he was far more aware of just how bad the dizziness was. He had intended to get dressed in his own clothes, but even with Brian supporting him the idea of moving around that much was seriously unappealing. Plus, the nausea wasn't a good thing, and he suspected Brian wouldn't want him to throw up all over his shoes.

Leaving the room - with Mom helping Justin stand upright - Brian returned after just a few minutes with a robe. It was white and probably the hospital's, and Justin so wasn't asking where it came from.

Brian was apparently expecting an argument. "Just put the fucking thing on. The less your head moves around, the better."

But Justin wasn't about to complain. He got changed into the robe, and was helped into the wheelchair. Fuck, they could wheel him all the way home for all he cared.

Sadly they only took him as far as the exit, and then he had to get up and walk again. At least he was being supported on both sides. This was one of those times where he really didn't mind relying on someone else, and he was especially grateful they let him set the pace. He wouldn't be walking quickly anywhere for a while, never mind running.

He guessed they were going to the car, but when they reached a particular point Brian stopped them and told them to wait there.

When they were alone, Mom asked the same question she'd been asking all night. "How are you feeling?"

His head hurt, his sense of balance was shot, and he couldn't wait until he could lie down again. "Actually, I'm kind of enjoying being outside." Partially true. The fresh air somehow made things a little more bearable.

A few minutes later the Jeep pulled up, and Brian left the engine running as he got out of his side and ran around the front of the Jeep, opening the passenger door for Justin.

Later on, when he was feeling a whole lot better, Justin would have to mock him for that.

Instead, with their help he slowly settled into the passenger seat, both of them putting a hand over his head to make sure he didn't accidentally bump it on the car. Carefully swivelling his legs up into the Jeep and leaning back, Justin let out a sigh of relief at the fact that he wouldn't have to be doing any moving for a while.

He'd been prepared for the door to shut - had been bracing himself for the noise - but suddenly Brian was leaning in and across him, buckling Justin's seat belt for him.

He was smiling by the time Brian started leaning back away from him. "My arms work perfectly fine, you know."

Brian didn't say anything; just smirked and then closed the door as slowly and quietly as he could.

Justin didn't know if Mom and Brian had already discussed it or not, but it seemed obvious he was going to the loft. Frankly, it was probably where he'd feel most comfortable and find it easiest to relax.

Smiling a little tearfully and then telling him through the glass how much she loved him - again - Mom quickly walked off towards her own car, the plastic bag carrying Justin's clothes clutched tightly in her hand.

The drive home was a new experience in nausea. Winding down the window helped, and Justin closed his eyes as the cool air blew into the Jeep. Brian talked a lot for once - probably trying to distract him so he wouldn't throw up inside his beloved Jeep - explaining that no one else had been at the hospital because they'd decided not to tell anyone yet. When they'd realised it wasn't life-threatening and Justin would 'just' have a really bad headache for a while, they figured they'd give him as much peace as they could for as long as they could.

Justin loved that decision. He loved the rest of the gang too, but there was no way in hell he could cope if Deb suddenly turned up now. His head would probably explode.

Apparently Mom was going to tell them tomorrow, but was also giving them strict instructions to stay away. No phones would be answered - in fact, all ringers were going to be turned off - and no one was to turn up at the loft uninvited unless there was an emergency.

Daph knew, of course - she could hardly miss it - but when she'd made the mistake of calling her parents to let them know what was going on, they'd freaked out. All they'd heard was that a student had been attacked at the prom and they insisted she come home immediately. Daph had been majorly pissed - Justin couldn't blame her, but couldn't exactly blame her parents either - and was due to be his first visitor when he was feeling up to it.

By the time they reached the loft, Justin had never been more grateful to get out of a car in his life. Brian supported him along the sidewalk and into the building, and then he had to endure the clunking of the elevator (there was no way in hell he was climbing all those stairs).

He was all but ready to fall over when they actually entered the loft, and they reached the bed only because of Brian's determination. Under normal circumstances Justin would've been asleep hours ago, so he had exhaustion on top of his head injury. Part of him wanted to sleep and never wake up.

Lowered onto the pillows, Justin closed his eyes gratefully as he felt Brian pull the covers over him. "Don't wake me up," he pleaded quietly. "I don't need it. I'm fine."

"Not a chance, Sunshine," Brian replied. "Now shut up and sleep while you can."

Justin tried. He closed his eyes and stopped fighting the exhaustion he'd had to hold back for hours, but he couldn't quite drop off. After a while he heard voices talking - Mom and Brian.

"If you want to get some sleep, help yourself to the sofa. I'm used to staying up at night."

"Do you honestly believe I could sleep right now?"

"Point," Brian said. "Where's Molly?"

"With a friend. I called them and spoke to her - they don't mind keeping her for longer. We're fortunate it's the weekend."

"Oh yeah," he snarked. "That's what we are. 'Fortunate'."

Mom sighed. "I didn't mean...you know I-"

"I was an ass," he interrupted. "Forget it."

"You know I don't blame you, Brian. It's not your fault."

"Yeah. Sure." Brian clunked something around and Justin wanted to say something, but his mouth couldn't seem to move. "Listen, you should at least try to get some rest, so one of us isn't sleep-deprived."

He wanted to listen to more, but he finally got his wish and fell asleep.

*

"Wakey, wakey."

Brian *had* to go away. "Urf." His head hurt.

"Rise and shine, Sunshine."

"Go 'way."

"Question first. What's your name?"

What was he, five? "Justin Taylor."

"Good. What's my name?"

"Evil fucker."

"Even better. Let me see your eyes."

That'd mean, like, *opening* them. "You're evil."

"We've established that. Come on, the sooner you open them, the sooner I can leave you the fuck alone and you can go back to sleep."

That did it - his eyes pried open, wincing for a few seconds. Brian carefully examined him for what felt like forever before sitting back, apparently satisfied. "Okay. Go back to sleep."

Justin did.

It continued. Every two hours, without fail, Brian would wake him up. Sometimes it felt like he'd barely fallen asleep when Brian was prodding him awake again. The questions, at least, got more and more interesting.

"What's your sister's name?"

"How did we meet?"

"How big's my dick?"

"In what position did we first fuck?"

"What's your favourite porn movie?"

Eventually Justin was woken up to find both Brian and Mom standing over him.

Brian gestured towards her. "Who's this woman?"

"Hilary Clinton."

Brian drew back. "Ouch. That's *cold*, Sunshine."

Justin just smiled.

Declaring a need to pi...ah, use the can, Brian left them alone and Mom immediately asked Justin how he was feeling.

"Okay," he replied, just as his head decided to treat him to a particularly big throb. Shit. "Can I have another pill? It's been enough time, right?" They'd eventually found something that'd work at the hospital, but it was pretty strong and he couldn't have them very often.

After Mom had brought him a pill and a bottle of water, Justin glanced towards the bathroom. "How's he doing?"

"He's..." she shrugged, "Brian." Seemed she was finally getting to know him. Leaning closer as if to confess something, her voice lowered as she glanced towards the bathroom door. "When I got to the hospital and made it clear to the staff that he was coming in with me, he didn't want to."

What with the head injury and generally feeling like shit, Justin hadn't had much time to think about Brian's reactions. It made so much sense. Fucking guilt. "He didn't do anything wrong."

"I know," she nodded. "I told him to get the fuck over himself, and that your mental health was more important than his guilt." The bathroom door slid open then, and Mom suddenly straightened her back and continued being cool. "Brian, you really should get some sleep."

"I'm fine," he insisted, lowering himself down to sit on the other side of the bed. "I told you, I'm used to-"

"You've been awake for God knows how many hours," she insisted. "And I believe *you* were the one who mentioned something about not suffering from sleep-deprivation? Practise what you preach, Brian, and get some sleep." He still wasn't convinced, and that must've been clear to Mom, too, because she kept talking. "Look, I know I haven't always been in the running for Mother of the Year," she stood up, "but you're not the only one who knows how to look after him. He's my son, and he'll still be here when you wake up."

Mom definitely rocked.

Brian was stubborn in his own way, though. When he couldn't argue with her anymore, he stood up and started taking off his clothes.

All his clothes.

Every single piece, before climbing under the covers next to Justin.

Mom hadn't cowered, hadn't budged, just stood there with her arms folded across her chest. Only when she was apparently convinced that Brian was serious about getting some sleep did she walk away.

"You showed her," Justin teased quietly. "In fact, you showed her everything."

"Shut up and get some rest," Brian answered. "You need it." He was lying next to him, but carefully not touching. There was something so wrong about that.

Justin couldn't really lie on his side - it hurt less right now if he stayed on his back - so they couldn't really touch properly, but... "Brian? Could you-?"

"Go to sleep," Brian said quietly, rolling closer until he was lying mostly on his front, resting an arm across Justin's stomach.

It was enough.

*

Justin was in a really bad fucking mood.

He was sick and tired of being woken up every two fucking hours. He'd been awake for ages before they'd finally started letting him sleep, and the two hours at a time that he was actually uninterrupted now didn't feel like they were doing any good at all. Sometimes it felt like he'd barely closed his eyes before Mom was waking him up again. Every time he woke up, he got angrier. The angrier he got, the less he slept.

His own frustration was keeping him awake, he knew that, but he just wanted to sleep without being fucking interrupted. Why couldn't they let him *sleep*?

It was after they'd swapped back to Brian waking him up that he cracked.

"Brian," he said, after being asked how many times Brian had sucked his cock. "Just let me sleep now, okay? You don't have to wake me up anymore."

He wasn't giving in. "Don't disappoint me, Sunshine. We're closing in on the twenty-four hour mark. Just a few more-"

"I don't *want* a few more," he bit out, frustration filling his chest, trying to pour out of him. "I don't want to close my eyes and get almost no fucking rest because I *know* you'll be waking me up again soon, and my head fucking hurts all the time and I'm dizzy and exhausted and Chris Hobbs fucking tried to *kill* me! I deserve to fucking sleep!"

Great. Great, he was a fucking idiot. Ranting like that had only made his head feel worse and now his eyes were stinging and the more Brian looked at him like he'd grown another head, the more ridiculous Justin felt.

"Umm," he sniffed. "I'm blaming that on the head injury."

Brian nodded slowly, sitting on the edge of the bed and staring at him intently. "That's probably a good idea."

Letting out a big breath, Justin closed his eyes. He could feel a few tears escaping and running down the side of his face, but fuck it. He'd defy anyone to feel good in this situation. "I'm just so fucking tired," he whispered.

Brian's thumb carefully pressed along his face, wiping the tears. "I noticed. But I'm not going to stop."

"I know," Justin sighed, opening his eyes and blinking the moistness away until Brian stopped being blurry. "Doesn't mean it doesn't suck."

"It's fucking shitty," Brian agreed. "But it is what it is, and we have to deal with it." He pulled his hand away. "You should try to-"

"Brian," he said quietly, because while they were actually talking about it he should mention it. "Thanks for saving..." Brian's expression started to close off, so Justin tried again. "Thanks for being there. Fuck knows what he would've done to me after I hit my head if you hadn't been there. I know it makes you uncomfortable, but I have to say it anyway. Thank you."

Uncomfortable was a good description for how Brian looked just then, mouth pulled tight as he glanced off to one side. "You don't ever need to thank me for shit like that. That's like...thanking me for breathing. Stupid. Now get some fucking sleep." Pushing himself up, he stomped out of the bedroom.

Sniffing some more, Justin wiped the last of his tears away. God, Brian was such a big baby.

*

Slowly cracking open his eyelids, Justin realised that he finally felt not entirely crappy. His head was sore, of course, but now he was only vaguely tired instead of feeling bone-deep exhaustion, and he didn't want to immediately go back to sleep again.

Brian had woken him several more times after his queen out, before finally telling him he could sleep normally. Justin had mentally thanked every God he could think off - even though he didn't consider himself religious - and probably would've cried with relief if he hadn't closed his eyes and promptly fallen asleep. Without the prospect of anyone waking him up to ask what his favourite cartoon was or what clothes they fucked in after David's party for Senator Baxter, Justin slept deeper and harder than he ever had.

Yawning, he blinked a few times and slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position. It was obviously daytime, and though he couldn't see anyone he could hear occasional sounds of movement in the loft. Throwing back the covers, he carefully climbed out of bed - making sure his robe was secured tightly in case Mom was still around - and paused, taking a moment. He was still feeling dizzy, but it was a lot better than before.

Shuffling slowly around the bed, Justin made it into the bathroom and slid the door shut.

When he emerged a few minutes later, Brian was standing just outside.

Justin didn't even jump. "Hi."

Tipping his head to one side, Brian arched an eyebrow, asking a silent question. So?

Frowning, Justin thought about it. He was still kinda dizzy and his head definitely hurt, but there wasn't much either one of them could do about that. Mostly, he just felt... "I'm hungry."

Brian smirked and turned away, walking towards the kitchen.

Slowly following after him, Justin decided that was enough effort for now and sat down at the dinner table. They rarely actually used it for dinner, and there were papers and folders spread out across it now. Brian had obviously been working there.

Justin frowned. "What day is it?"

"Monday."

Wow. "Wow." How long had he been asleep? And he was totally missing school - not that he would've been able to go anyway.

"Yeah, Rip Van Winkle has nothing on you," Brian teased, before carrying over a bowl of cereal and a glass of orange juice. "Eat," he said, putting them down in front of him, then walked away from the table.

Shrugging, Justin started eating, but watched as Brian picked up the phone and made a call.

When whoever he was calling picked up, Brian said, "He's awake," and brought the phone over to Justin, holding it out. "Your mother."

Oh! That made sense. Smiling, Justin took the phone from him and swallowed his latest mouthful of cereal. "Hey, Mom."

She wasn't too bad. She apologised for not being there right now but she'd had to take care of Molly and run some important errands - whatever they were. "And I promise I'll be back as soon as I can. How are you feeling?"

Still, he was kind of glad when the conversation ended. Handing the phone back to Brian, he continued eating as Brian shared a few monosyllabic words with Mom before hanging up.

Finishing up the cereal and draining the glass, Justin sat back in his chair with a sigh. He definitely felt better with something in his stomach.

Brian peered down at him. "You up to seeing Daphne later today?"

He so wouldn't be able to handle a lot of noise, but he *did* want to see her. "As long as she knows no squealing is allowed, definitely." Glancing down at his body, he frowned. "I should probably shower, too." He was probably pretty rank by now, but didn't relish the idea of trying to keep his balance in the shower.

"Come on," Brian said, tugging him to his feet and leading him slowly into the bathroom.

Smiling, Justin made Brian pause only when they passed the sink. "Need to brush my teeth," he pointed out, and carefully went about that while Brian got undressed.

Brushing his teeth was interesting. He was worried about tipping his head too far in any particular direction so they probably didn't get as clean as usual, but the fresh, minty feeling - shit, he could work for their PR - helped revive him a little. Rinsing out his mouth, Justin had to lean over the sink to spit out the water. When he straightened carefully back up and turned off the water Brian was standing just behind him, staring at him in the mirror.

He hadn't really noticed before, but now it was unmistakable. "Did *you* sleep?" Justin asked.

Both eyebrows went up. "Your mom would've had my ass if I didn't."

Good point.

In the shower, Justin didn't actually take a shower so much as lean against Brian and let the water hit his body. Brian kept him safe, upright, and made sure the spray wasn't aimed directly at his head.

"Mmmmm." Justin leaned against him harder as Brian cautiously massaged shampoo through Justin's hair. Instead of just rinsing it out directly with the shower head, he went through the slow process of cupping water in his hands and letting that fall on to Justin's head instead.

Fuck, Justin loved him. Clutching onto him, Justin had his eyes closed as he spoke into Brian's shoulder. "You know what?"

"What?" A large hand ran down his back.

"You make even the bad days good."

The hand froze. "That has to be the most-"

"Sappy, ridiculous, romantic, hetero thing you've ever heard. And I don't give a fuck. It's true. Now rub my back some more."

A breath huffed out across his ear, but the hand kept moving.

At some point, Brian stopped rubbing. In fact, they both stopped moving at all. They just held on to each other in the shower, letting the water flow over them.

Brian's arms started holding him tighter and tighter, until it was almost hurting, but Justin couldn't complain because Brian's breath was shaking by his ear, barely audible over the sound of the water.

They stayed that way until the water ran cold.

*

Brian had been surprisingly non-assholey afterwards, considering. He'd helped Justin dry off and get dressed in sweat pants and a shirt, and then had gone back to his work at the table, pretty much leaving Justin to his own devices.

Showering and getting dressed had been more effort that Justin would've liked to admit, so he climbed back into bed just to rest for a while with the intention of seeing if he was capable of reading something.

It took him about five minutes to fall asleep.

When Daph arrived, there was no possible way he could stay asleep - especially as she had company. Mom and Molly had come with her.

"She insisted on seeing you were okay," Mom explained as Molly ran towards him, and Justin braced himself against the back of the sofa, ready for a sudden and painful hug.

Molly stopped just inches away from him. "Mom said I have to be careful. You got hit in the head?"

"Yeah, I did."

"Because you like guys?"

"Yeah."

Shaking her head petulantly, she hugged him gently. "Mom told me about the butt thing. Sounds gross, but I don't see why anyone should wanna kill you over it."

Somewhere in the bedroom, Brian laughed.

Mom guided Molly away. "Molly, remember when we talked about thinking before speaking?"

That left Justin and Daphne alone. They smiled at each other - Daph somewhat shakily - and then they were hugging.

"I'm so glad you're okay," she said emotionally. "We heard something had happened and a bunch of us ran out to the garage. When I saw you lying there..." she sniffed.

"You were in the garage?" he asked, pulling back but holding her arms. "I don't remember that."

"I was trying not to get in anyone's way," she confessed. "Plus..." her voice lowered. "Brian was totally freaking out. He was like...majorly protective, scaring everyone away until the paramedics arrived." When Justin's head was all better, Brian was getting the fuck of his life. "September and I sat on Chris until they came to take him away." And Daph was getting...well, not sex, but definitely something good. "Of course then I made the mistake of calling my parents..." she glowered at the memory. "Luckily Brian kept calling me to let me know what was going on."

There was no doubt about it. He had the two best friends in the whole fucking world.

Sometime later, he, Daph and Molly were all sitting on the sofa, talking. It was turning out to be more tiring than he'd expected, but he was glad he was around to talk to them at all.

"You know," Daph said coyly, "you're kind of...famous now."

What? "Famous? Why?"

"*Why*?" she asked. "We didn't really start to hear anything about it until Sunday, but come on! You were attacked at your prom by another student, after dancing in front of everyone with your much older male lover."

Brian strolled by Justin's end of the sofa. "Not so much of the 'much older', if you please."

Justin stared at him. "Is it true?"

He paused, pursing his lips together. "It's been in the local news."

"You mean like the local papers?"

"And local TV news!" Daph told him. "Someone got hold of this really hot picture of the two of you kissing in the diner. I've even had a couple of people call me, asking for interviews, because I was your date for the prom." She paused. "I totally said no. Actually, I said something else, but, you know," she shrugged and let that line of thinking drop. "I bet tons of people have been trying to call the loft. Oh. And there are a couple of photographers outside."

Holy shit. Justin sat back, trying to absorb everything. "Wasn't much chance of telling the gang ourselves, huh?"

"You could say that," Brian smirked. "Deb was...not pleased. But your Mom managed to intercept her before she reached the loft."

God, he could only imagine. This was...this was *nuts*. "This is crazy."

"It'll blow over," Brian told him. "It'll intrigue them for a few days, and then some bulimic actress will flash her-" he looked at Molly, "-skills, and they'll forget all about it."

Right, right. Justin had to admit, the story was kind of unusual, but then other stories would break and they'd lose interest. Still, he couldn't help but wonder...

Slowly pushing himself up from the sofa, he walked towards the answer machine sitting on the computer table. The message light was flashing, and the sound was still turned off. Turning it back on, he pressed play.

"You have twenty-eight new messages. No more messages can be recorded at this time. Message one..."

 

*

A lot of the messages were from the gang, mostly to wish Justin a speedy recovery (and to call Chris pretty much every name they could think of). Debbie alone called five times. Quite a few, however, were from local newspapers and journalists asking him to return their calls. There was even one from Senator Baxter, expressing her concern over what'd happened and asking if they could talk soon.

Justin couldn't help but think about what Brian had said the night after the Senator's party.

"Don't kid yourself. She's using you for money and votes. Then she'll move on to her next cause, the next fundraiser. Then where will you be?"

Maybe he was getting cynical - or maybe he was just reacting to the fact that someone had tried to kill him a couple of days ago - but he couldn't help wondering exactly what she wanted to talk about.

Shit, thinking like that couldn't be good for him. He'd end up just like Brian, and though he loved him, they really didn't need two Brian's in their relationship.

Still, he did want to keep thinking about everything, and it was hard to concentrate when he had a head injury and so many visitors.

"I'm tired."

It was kind of impressive. Two words was all it took for everyone to suddenly herd out of the loft - after more hugs, and Daph promising to let him know if they did anything but study for their finals at school. St James was well aware of his situation, and hopefully in a couple of days Justin would feel up to studying at home. His reading experiment earlier hadn't gone too well.

Grateful for the lack of noise - they hadn't been too bad, but it'd seemed worse with the head injury - Justin sprawled out on the bed and closed his eyes. Tiring easily was getting really annoying.

Sighing, he thought about the messages. Strangers wanting to poke around and investigate his life - or at least this story. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. When they'd been protesting at school and that news crew had turned up, Justin had loved it. It'd made things seems even more important, like maybe someone who could make a difference would start listening.

Now the press were around again, but it was much more personal. It felt like it was all about him instead of what really mattered. The news crew at school hadn't even wanted to interview him and now everyone wanted to.

"What have they been saying?" he asked, the acoustics of the loft ensuring Brian would hear him if he spoke loud enough. "In the news."

Hearing a noise, Justin opened his eyes and saw Brian stepping up into the bedroom before pausing by the side of the bed. He was wearing an expression of carefully studied indifference "What makes you assume that I care what any reporter has to say?"

Justin didn't entirely buy it, but if Brian really hadn't looked Mom definitely would have. "Mom must've talked about it."

Shrugging, Brian sighed. "Most are just reporting the facts. There's been the odd editorial or opinion. Some think we were 'flaunting' ourselves so we should've expected it," he rolled his eyes, "some think Hobbs was a homophobic prick. Just like every other gay bashing."

It was only after hearing Brian say that phrase that Justin realised that was exactly what it was. He'd been bashed. The victim of a hate crime. It was a weird fucking idea because despite the throbbing in his head, he felt monumentally *normal*. Almost disconnected, like nothing had happened to him at all.

And he lay there some more, wondering if his 'fame' would have any ramifications, and then he thought about the fact that Brian was working from home on a weekday. Sure, he knew Brian wouldn't have just left him alone for the first couple of days, but he couldn't help but wonder...

"Are you in any trouble at work? With the publicity? I mean, I figure your name's been mentioned." Maybe he should see for himself exactly what had been reported.

By then, Brian had moved until he was lying next to him, although he was still dressed. "Ryder knows I'm queer, and he's encouraged me to play on that fact in the past to get accounts. Would be pretty fucking stupid of him to turn away from me now. Besides, he knows I'm the best the agency has."

Modest as ever.

But he was glad Brian's job wasn't at risk over this, regardless. It was hard to tell what some homophobic idiots were going to do sometimes.

He was still have trouble trying to take in the scope of the whole thing. Dancing with Brian at the prom, getting attacked, the concussion, turning up in the local news...definitely not something he ever would've predicted. He was sure Brian never fucking saw it coming, either. "Not what you expected when you turned up at the prom, huh?"

"You could say that," he snarked. "Giggling, annoying girls and macho, repressed jocks? Undoubtedly. Psychopaths wielding baseball bats? Not exactly." He paused before going off on a tangent Justin definitely hadn't seen coming. "The police will probably want to talk to you again. If this is gonna go to court..."

Justin tipped his head towards him. "You think it'll go that far?"

Brian stared back at him. "He tried to kill you."

Something that definitely hadn't slipped Justin's mind. Shit, this whole thing was so fucked up. All he'd wanted to do was dance with his boyfriend at his prom. "Do you regret coming?"

"I don't do regrets."

That line was so full of shit that Justin could practically smell it, and he said as much.

Exercising his mouth, Brian stared up at the ceiling. "You got hurt. That's generally not something I think should happen."

"But it wasn't your fault - it wasn't something *you* did," he said. "You've told me before that no one's responsible for your actions except you. If that's true, doesn't that stand for everyone else? You're not responsible for Chris' actions - he is."

"Christ," Brian muttered, "you'd think a head injury would make you shut up for once."

Not likely. He'd 'debated' with Brian so much by now... "I could argue with you in my sleep."

"And *that* sounds like an excellent plan," Brian said dramatically, pushing himself up from the mattress and off of the bed. "Go to sleep, where you can argue with me as much as you fucking want."

"Brian-"

The bathroom door slid shut, cutting him off.

Shit.

This was probably one of those times when he should've kept his mouth shut.

*

Inevitably, Justin ended up falling asleep and he didn't wake up again until early the next morning. Blinking the post-sleep fuzziness out of his eyes, he decided to risk resting on one side and turned his body towards Brian, carefully moving his head around on the pillow. Deciding it wasn't too bad, Justin took the opportunity to study Brian while he slept.

He was frowning, which was kinda weird, but maybe he was dreaming about something.

Although not for much longer, because Justin's stomach chose that moment to growl loudly.

Eyes snapping open immediately, it took Brian a few moments to focus on him properly, but he couldn't have been fully asleep if he'd woken up so quickly. "Your stomach could wake the dead."

Justin couldn't deny it, although he kept watching Brian. "I should probably do something about that." He really hadn't eaten much the previous day - for once - but frankly the dizziness was making him wary about eating too much. The idea of eating something just to end up throwing it up later if he got too dizzy wasn't a fun one.

They stared at each other for a while longer, before slowly getting out of bed and arranging some food. It was after Justin had sat down to eat some toast that Brian pulled a complete 180 on him again.

"So," he said casually, holding a mug of coffee, "we should get the rest of your shit moved in soon." Justin froze mid-bite. Brian kept talking. "You don't have that much shit left anyway, right? The main thing'll be the easel, but if we reorganise the TV area..." Brian kept talking, while Justin calmly removed his teeth from the toast and cleared his throat.

"Are you asking me to move in, or telling me?"

Brian looked suspiciously not-surprised. "I need to do either?"

Well...*no*, of course Justin was moving in with him, but it was the principle of the thing. "It'd still be nice to be consulted before you make decisions for me." They'd had more than one conversation about this - Brian unilaterally deciding things. He'd gotten better, but sometimes... "Like...why now? Is it just because I got hurt? Or-"

"That's not a good enough reason?"

Brian's eyes were very, very dark.

Justin frowned. "If you're absolutely sure it's what you want, I'll move in properly."

Brian scowled, and Justin knew why. He didn't like that the 'burden' of Justin moving in had been placed on him. If Brian told him to move in, that'd mean admitting he wanted him to. If he told him to fuck off, *that'd* mean admitting that he didn't really care.

Of course, that was exactly what Justin had intended, and he continued munching on his toast.

*

When Deb came to visit later that day, she brought a box of Justin's stuff, as requested.

Justin tried not to look smug, but was pretty sure he was failing.

They'd decided it was best to see everyone one at a time - especially Deb. Justin hadn't been entirely sure he was ready, but he wanted to get it over with, too.

As it turned out, she wasn't too bad. She hugged him more delicately than he would've expected, and though she ranted loudly about Hobbs and sometimes her eyes watered, there were worse things than knowing that someone cared about you.

Brian, of course, looked ready to jump out the window about three minutes after she arrived, but that was mostly because she kept sending him you're a big, romantic fool, and you're fucking kidding yourself if you think anyone doubts for a second just how much you love that boy looks.

Okay, so Justin *may* have been reading something into it, but it certainly looked that way to him.

Deb told him all about the articles and news reports she'd seen, ranting about the ones that'd said it was their own fault and praising those that insisted they were just being themselves. "I've been keeping clippings," she told him, which explained the papers he'd seen sticking out of the box. "I figured you might be interested in reading some of the stuff they wrote."

"Thanks, Deb." He definitely was. It hadn't escaped his notice that there was a distinct derth of newspapers around the loft. It wasn't all that unusual, but he hadn't noticed a single one lying around anywhere since waking up the first time on Monday. He at least wanted the option of being able to see what people were saying about him.

Deb started getting all mother-hennish after that, insisting on cooking something for them. Justin insisted she didn't have to, Brian *really* insisted she didn't have to, but Deb would not be denied and Justin figured they could always freeze it for later.

Telling Justin to stay and rest on the sofa - he was kind of grateful for that - she started working in the kitchen and maintained a conversation across the loft. Flopping down next to him on the sofa, Brian closed his eyes and quietly pretended to snore.

"Stop it!" Justin hissed, trying not to laugh but loving it when Brian acted like a big dork anyway.

The door buzzing came as something of a relief, and Brian got up from the sofa to answer it quickly. "Who is it?"

"Jennifer. I need to see you."

Buzzing her in, Brian frowned and slid the door open.

Frowning himself, Justin peered over the top of the sofa, hearing Mom's shoes - heels, probably - moving quickly up the stairs and then she was almost rushing into the loft.

"You will not *believe* what that asshole has done," she announced, thrusting a newspaper into Brian's hands.

Wow. Justin didn't think he'd ever seen Mom so out of control before. She looked *pissed*.

Deb came over, and it was only then that Mom realised she was even there. As they greeted each other Brian kept staring at the paper, his familiar scowl getting deeper and deeper.

"Fucking piece of shit," he muttered.

By now Justin had almost reached them. "What? What the fuck is it?"

Deb had snatched the paper out of Brian's hands, and was staring at it in shock. "That fucking asshole!"

Snatching it back, Brian handed it to Justin who immediately started scanning the paper for whatever they'd been reading.

"I'm so sorry, honey," Mom told him. "We were trying to keep a lot of the news stuff away from you so you could focus on getting better...but, well, he is your father. And you have a right to know."

Justin's feeling of impending bad news was confirmed when he finally spied a familiar name in the letters section.

'He didn't used to be gay.'
(Editor's Note: The following letter was sent in by Craig Taylor, father of Justin Taylor, the 18-year-old high school student who was recently attacked at his prom after dancing with his 30 year-old boyfriend)

*

Deciding that a good mope was in order, Justin assured everyone he was fine before asking Mom and Deb to leave. He knew it was rude, but screw it. In order to have a good mope, he needed as few people around him as possible so they wouldn't attempt to cheer him up. The point of a good mope was that you *didn't* feel better, you just wallowed around in misery for a while.

Besides, that way Mom and Deb could rant to each other as much as they liked about Dad, and Justin wouldn't have to listen to it.

He knew he shouldn't have been shocked, he knew how dad felt about him; knew he wouldn't accept him. And Christ, not only had Dad physically attacked Brian, they were pretty damn sure he'd even gone as far as ramming Brian's old Jeep with his car. Shit, if something had gone wrong, Brian could've been killed. Nothing should've been beneath him.

But this...right or wrong, it felt so much more *personal*, like Dad was doing it just to be spiteful. Justin could've been killed, and his father was using it as a platform to rant about the 'evils' of homosexuality. Shit, he remembered so many good things about his childhood - Dad teaching him to ride a bike, family vacations, Dad telling him how proud he was of him.

None of it meant anything.

Brian didn't ask him if he was okay which was just as well, because if he had Justin probably would've said something he'd regret later. In fact, Brian didn't say anything, just stayed there looking as angry as Justin felt.

He wanted...God, what? Revenge? But how? And wouldn't that make him as bad as his father? But then if Justin had sent in a letter, he never would've...

That was it.

But not just a letter. Something else.

Inspired, he sat up quickly - then instantly regretted it and winced, bringing a hand up to his head.

Brian followed suit, sitting up too. "You thought of something." It wasn't a question.

It was the truth. "I'm giving an interview."

Clearly not happy at the prospect, Brian pursed his lips. "I wouldn't-"

"I'm doing it, Brian," he insisted, because he'd made up his mind and knew exactly what he wanted to do. He just wasn't exactly sure of the how. Climbing off the bed, he made his way over to the computer and picked up the notepad by the monitor. He'd made a list of all the people that had contacted him, mostly out of morbid curiousity, but now he had to decide which one to call back. He should probably see how each of them had handled the news and-

The notepad was snatched out of the hand.

"Hey!" he objected, turning to confront Brian.

Unimpressed, Brian started talking. "If we do this, we do this right. For one we do it in print, not on television. And we sure as fuck don't go with any of the papers that left a message," he gestured with the notepad. "They contacted us first, so that shifts the balance of power towards them. If it's not just a phone interview, then it's done here - it's an area we know and control - but only after the rest of your shit is moved in. This has to look like your home, too, not just a place where we fuck. If there's anything you *don't* want to talk about you make that clear up front, before you agree to talk to anyone. And you have to be absolutely fucking sure that you want to do this because while I'll control as much as I can, and I know someone you can probably talk to, there's nothing I can do to stop some people from ripping you apart if they want to."

Justin was sure, but he was also kind of impressed. He could imagine Brian being like this at work, and it was probably a good thing he didn't visit the office more because all he'd want to do was jump him.

"I want to do this." He needed to show his dad - hell, everyone - that this particular fag wasn't gonna lie down and take it. He wasn't going to lower himself to their level - call them names, physically attack them - but he wasn't gonna stand by and do nothing, either.

"Fine," Brian said shortly. "Then we will. But we should also talk to the police about this. We don't want to take the chance that the interview could screw up the chances of Hobbs getting put away."

Justin hadn't even thought about that.

When they finally got through to Horvath, the detective hadn't been pleased. He told them quite frankly that he thought it was a bad idea but that he couldn't actually stop them - they just had to be careful about what they said.

Truthfully, Justin wasn't so interested in talking about Chris, anyway. The axe he wanted to grind right now was aimed squarely at his father.

*

Somehow it came as no surprise that Brian had an in at The Advocate. Justin didn't know if Brian knew the guy because of business or because they'd fucked, but there was no denying that Andrew was pleased to hear from him. The two of them talked on the phone for a long time, which was actually kind of irritating because it meant Justin had to sit around doing nothing. So he sighed heavily a lot and generally tried to get Brian's attention, but kept being ignored until finally Brian stood by the sofa and held out the phone towards him.

"Andrew wants a word."

Surprised but pleased, Justin put the phone against his ear and leant back on the sofa. "Hello?"

"Justin? Andrew McCarthy. We'd love to interview you, but I thought I'd give you some basic facts first. Is that okay?"

Justin had no idea what the fuck he was doing, so he shrugged. "Sure."

"Okay, good. We're a bi-weekly publication, and generally most issues are planned out well in advance. Truthfully, a lot of completed articles don't get published for months. There's no way the story will be in the next issue. That said, when we get our hands on something this topical we do like to print it as soon as possible - because it's topical, it's news that people are interested in buying. We might be able to squeeze it into the issue after the next one, but for that to happen I need the interview ASAP, so we can see how much space we need - and also because Brian has insisted you be allowed to have a lawyer look over the article to make sure we're not about to ruin any case against Hobbs. That takes more time, so the fastest way would be a phone interview. Also, we'd like a recent photograph. Normally we'd send a photographer but Brian's in the business and knows how to take what we need, and that'll work out faster for everyone, too. You have any objections?"

His head was spinning. "No."

"Great. Okay, I know the basics of the story but I don't like to interview blind. I'm going to do some research and pull some information together, so I'll give you a call back in a couple of hours and we'll do the interview then."

Wow. Today? He hadn't expected it to be that fast. That couldn't be how it usually worked. "Sounds good."

"You should also know that there's a nominal fee you'd usually be paid, but Brian told me you'd probably want to donate that to charity. Is that the case?"

Glancing up, Justin smiled towards Brian. "Yeah."

"Okay. Well, if you don't have any questions right now, I'll talk to you again in a few hours."

He was seriously starting to get excited by the whole idea. "Sure, talk to you later."

"Say thanks to Brian for me. 'Bye."

"'Bye." Ending the call, Justin blinked and lowered the phone. This was weird, and exciting, and his head was throbbing and what the fuck was he doing? Vaguely aware of Brian moving somewhere, he only really noticed him when he sat down next to him, holding out one of the pills and a bottle of water.

Taking them gratefully, Justin swallowed the pill down.

"So," Brian announced. "Time for lesson one."

Distracted, Justin worked to focus on him, frowning. "Lesson one?"

"How to deal with interviews," he smirked, "by Brian A Kinney."

*

When the phone rang nearly three hours later, Justin was ready.

It didn't go badly, but then he hadn't expected it to. It was for a gay magazine - they weren't about to side with homophobes or gay bashers. Andrew asked him a lot about St James, about the Gay-Straight Alliance (he *had* done his homework), and then all kinds of questions about his upbringing, his dad, and the letter he'd written. Justin gave him lots of choice quotes, and when Andrew occasionally tried to get something out of him about Brian, Justin tried not to let on to Brian that he was talking about him.

As it drew to the end, Andrew asked if there was anyone else he could talk to who might be willing to offer a perspective. Shrugging, Justin told him how to contact Vic and Emmett.

When it was over, Justin really felt like he'd accomplished something.

"Don't get all smug," Brian warned, "wait and see how it reads, first."

Yeah, he probably shouldn't get too excited, but he was pleased and wanted to do something to celebrate. They still couldn't fucking have sex but Brian apparently recognised the look and was willing to suck him off - but only after Justin laid down on the bed, and they did everything they could to make sure he wouldn't get hurt.

It was a long, almost careful blowjob, and though Justin didn't come screaming anyone's name, the fact that he came at all was enough. His head pounded slightly harder than usual afterwards and he claimed exhaustion, closing his eyes and sinking further into the pillows.

Not buying it, Brian warned him he wasn't getting any more blowjobs until he was better.

Justin opened his eyes again. "Are you trying to kill me?"

Brian rolled off the side of the bed. "How the fuck do you think I feel?"

He hadn't even considered that. With him being out of action and the fact that Brian hadn't left the loft in days...

That couldn't be fun for someone with Brian's sex drive.

"You could jerk off and I could watch," Justin encouraged, because he'd jerked off for Brian enough times and it'd been *so* hot (and embarrassing. At first).

Pausing at the top of the steps, Brian swivelled around. "You wanna watch me jerk off, little boy?"

Raking his eyes over Brian's body - he was wearing entirely too many clothes - Justin's head suddenly wasn't hurting as much. "Oh, yeah."

Moving suddenly, Brian quickly took his wifebeater off, letting it drop to the floor. Unbuttoning his jeans, he pushed them down and then let them pool around his feet, stepping out of them.

No underwear.

Justin licked his lips.

Soon enough Brian was lying on his back, slowly jerking himself off with a lubed hand. Justin's body ached. This time it wasn't because of the concussion, and he rolled onto his side to get a better view.

Brian was so fucking beautiful; knees bent, feet planted into the mattress, head turned towards Justin as he stared at him with half-slitted eyes.

Justin wanted to be the one jerking him off, be the one making him feel that good, but knew that if he leaned over and tried to take over Brian would stop, worried about Justin over-exerting himself.

It was frustrating, but he tried to enjoy what he could. At least he was in the enviable position of watching Brian jerk off just for him. Hearing him groan quietly in his chest, watching his thighs shake as he got closer. In-fucking-credible, really.

Shifting his left arm, Brian rested his hand palm-side up by the side of his head. Moving his own left hand to cover Brian's, their fingers threaded together and they were still watching each other when Brian came.

Sometimes Justin thought they could do anything together.

*

Life became seriously mundane after the interview. Justin could acknowledge that that probably wasn't actually true, that the excitement of something so unusual just made everything else feel boring in comparison, but...well, everything else *did* feel boring in comparison.

The rest of the gang came to see him - alone or in pairs - and he was glad to see them, he really was, but he'd almost been killed and he'd been interviewed for a magazine and now he was mostly studying for his upcoming exams.

Something just didn't seem right about that.

Frustrated, Justin seriously started feeling the urge to create, but sketching wasn't cutting it. After putting up with Justin constantly sighing and shifting around when he was allegedly studying in bed - but was instead frantically scribbling into a sketch pad - Brian told him to calm the fuck down and left the loft.

When he came back half an hour later, he had the easel with him.

Not capable of flying across the loft and flinging himself at Brian the way he normally would, Justin walked up to him and hugged him instead, until Brian told him to let the fuck go because he was still trying to lug the easel across the loft. Placing it near the Naked Ugly Guy painting, Brian left again, and this time when he returned just a few minutes later, he was carrying a box.

"Here's your painting shit," he announced, placing the box on the kitchen counter before turning back to slide the loft door shut. "Or at least what I could find."

Digging through the contents, Justin saw that Brian had found nearly everything, and he started putting the dropcloth down. It wasn't very big - there hadn't been much room at Deb's - and though he was going to have to get a bigger one if he continued to paint at the loft, it'd do for now.

Getting everything ready, he put one of his old shirts on. Truthfully, he really didn't paint all that much. If it was something for a school project, sure, but his focus most of the time out of school was sketching. Occasionally he'd get inspired to paint something, but he often didn't have a lot of free time.

"Hey," Brian warned as Justin pondered over colours. "Half an hour. You work for half an hour, and see how you feel."

Half an hour? Thirty minutes? That was no time at all. "But that's-"

"Non-negotiable," Brian finished. "You get tired easier than usual right now. Half an hour, then rest for five minutes. If you feel okay after that, you get another half an hour. If not, you lie down - and I'll know if you're lying. The doctor recommended you stay in bed the whole time - just be glad I'm fucking letting you have this much."

Bristling at the implication that Brian was 'letting him' do anything, Justin glared.

"Christ," Brian rolled his eyes, obviously noticing. "Get the fuck over yourself. If I ever had any hope of seriously controlling you, I gave that idea up months ago." Grabbing Justin's shoulders, he turned him towards the canvas. "Now, paint."

Justin did.

*

Justin didn't do too badly, considering - he painted for almost three hours before he needed a serious break. Brian had been watching to make sure he wasn't working too hard without making it look like he was watching. Despite feeling dizzier than he had in a while, Justin couldn't help but smile slightly after he stretched out on the bed and saw a bottle of water and a pill already resting on the bedside table. Taking the pill and swallowing it down, Justin leant back onto the mattress and snuggled under the covers.

"Next time," Brian said, "you fucking stop earlier."

Grunting, Justin fell asleep.

*

When he woke up however many hours later, Brian was waving a wad of paper at him, looking severely pissed off. Confused and sleepy, Justin rubbed his eyes as he wondered what could've pissed Brian off so much since he'd fallen asleep. "What-?"

"Your interview," Brian declared, throwing the paper onto the bed. "It's already been forwarded to the lawyer. I'm taking a fucking shower."

As Brian stomped off, Justin scrambled for the papers and immediately began reading. It was so fucking weird - and so fucking cool - to see something he'd said in print. It wasn't in the magazine format - Brian had probably just printed it off from a Word file or something - but that didn't negate the coolness. He decided that sometimes he sounded educated and thoughtful, and sometimes he sounded like some fucking seventeen-year-old twink. Flushing, he nonetheless decided he was pretty happy with it so far. It focused more on Hobbs and the bashing than he would've liked, but he'd been expecting that. When they'd started the interview Andrew had said up-front that Hobbs was the big news item, but he worked in all the important information about Craig, too.

And then he reached the part that'd made Brian flip-out.

Understanding immediately, Justin groaned internally at Emmett even as he started stripping off his clothes. Damage control was in order and besides, he really did need a shower.

Beneath the water Brian was washing his arms intently, and he only turned around when Justin placed a hand on his back.

"You know," Justin spoke over the water, "it's only one person's opinion."

"One person's opinion that's gonna be read by fuck knows how many people," Brian argued, having no idea how adorable he looked when he was pissed and wet. "Fucking Emmett."

"We don't actually know it was Emmett." Although he had to admit, the evidence was pretty fucking compelling.

"Right," Brian said sarcastically, "as if anyone else we know would describe our...would describe *us* as 'fabulous'. Fucking 'anonymous friend' my ass."

It was impossible not to concede the truth - there was no way the 'friend' wasn't Emmett. His own particular style was all over the quote. "Maybe we could ask Andrew to remove it."

"No," he answered immediately. "The deal was that shit gets changed only if the lawyer says it's essential. Not for any other reason." Tugging Justin closer, Brian kept him away from the direct flow of water, putting his own back to the shower head. "I just have to adjust to the fact that tens of thousands of people are going to see me as a huge fucking dyke."

"You're certainly a huge *something*," Justin teased, trying to make him feel better. "Besides, you don't come across as a dyke."

"Right," Brian retorted, fixing him with a patently disbelieving stare.

"Seriously!" Justin argued. "I mean, you're really not in the article all that much and when you are you come across as..." here it went, "someone who's totally and madly in love with me, and would do anything for me, including coming to my prom."

Brian closed his eyes tightly. "Christ."

"You soooo love me," he grinned. "In fact, you want to have my babies! And we'll name the first one Sunshine - no!" he gasped, grabbing Brian's arm as another idea came to mind. "Justina!"

Staring at him with a frankly bewildered expression, Brian's face slowly began transforming into a smirk. "Justina, huh?"

"Yeah," Justin nodded, still grinning. "And we'll have a Brian Junior and a little Mikey and I think a-"

Swooping in to kiss him Brian cut off his words, but Justin really didn't care. His point was made - life could've been a lot worse in the Brian scheme of things.

The downside of the really hot kiss was that it made him really fucking horny, and Brian seemed to feel much the same way.

"Fuck," he muttered when he pulled away, "I can't fucking wait until Monday."

Monday was his appointment with the doctor. If he was given the all clear, he could get back to a mostly normal life.

With sex.

Lots and lots of sex.

Unconciously rubbing himself against Brian, Justin just wanted to be turned around and fucked against the glass, but Brian seemed to have a willpower heretofor unknown to anyone because he settled for slowly jerking Justin off.

After he'd come, and Brian had to hold him up for a minute because his legs weren't working quite right, Justin leant closer. "Brian," he said, "we know what's real and what's not. Who gives a fuck what anyone else thinks?"

*

The week continued to pass and Justin continued to feel better. When he wasn't painting or resting or studying, he had visitors. Mom was there the most, with Emmett and Vic close runner-ups. With Deb working so many hours at the diner she didn't get the chance to come over often, but she did whenever she could. With the doctor's appointment approaching and the spectre of school looming - Justin really wasn't expecting anything but an acceptable bill of health - he found himself getting more and more anxious, and he had no fucking clue why. His sleeping patterns fell apart - even though they'd been irregular lately, now they were even more so - and when he did sleep he had weird dreams. He wouldn't really call them nightmares, he never woke up screaming or gasping; they just filled him with a slowly growing sense of dread.

It was getting fucking frustrating. It wasn't like Chris was going to be at school when he went back. He just wanted to be *normal*. Or whatever normal was for him.

Still, he tried to focus on the positive. Monday came, and with it came the news that he was well enough to go back to school. His life could continue pretty much as it had, although he had to avoid sports for a while yet, or any particularly heavy physical activity.

He asked straight out if sex was on the cards. The doctor assured him it was, although for now they should resist getting 'too enthusiastic' until Justin thought he was well enough for it.

Brian started breaking nearly every traffic law there was on the way back to the loft, until Justin pointed out that both of them dying in a car crash would render his whole recovery moot. Still, Justin was most definitely as enthusiastic as Brian was, and they pawed each other restlessly in the elevator and then he didn't remember quite how it happened but suddenly he was on his back in the bedroom, and Brian was stripping off his clothes and there was a finger inside him, then two, and then Brian was fucking him.

For all that getting to the fucking had been a blur, the actual sex went at a much slower pace. Brian was moving inside him slowly and fuck, Justin wanted *morefasterharder* but God, this was good too as Brian brushed against his prostate. Justin came in a ridiculously short amount of time but Brian did too, and neither one of them really fucking cared.

Justin lay there with Brian still inside him, Brian pressed against him, Brian's warm breath on his face, and wondered how anyone could hate him for this. Could despise him so much for being what was natural for him that they'd try to kill him. That they'd swing a baseball bat at his head to try and get rid of him, just because he was gay.

"Hey," Brian said quietly but firmly, and Justin realised he'd lifted his head to look down at him. "You okay? You need to rest for a while?"

And that was when Justin started crying.

He tried to apologise almost immediately - he didn't know what was going on, why the fuck he was crying - but Brian just told him to shut the fuck up and held him.

He cried for what felt like hours, clinging to Brian like some pathetic little pussy until his face was a reddened mess, until he could barely breathe, and the words just tumbled out of him. "He tried to kill me."

"I know," Brian whispered. "I know."

"He tried to fucking *kill* me!"

"I know."

He didn't want to fucking die, he wanted to always see Brian and his Mom and all of his friends, and live his life without shame or fear. He just wanted to be alive, and happy, and fuck anyone who tried to make him believe he couldn't be either. "Not going," he choked out, "not going fucking *anywhere*."

"Good boy," Brian encouraged, and kept holding on until Justin fell asleep.

*

What about the future? What does that hold in store for Justin Taylor?

'College!' he replies, obviously excited. 'I got into the Pittsburgh Institute of Fine Arts, something I always dreamed of. I can hardly believe I'm going, to be honest. It's like some big fairy tale. Well, I guess this whole thing is some kind of Fairy Tale,' he laughs.

And what about Brian? It hasn't escaped this writer's notice that Justin tries not to talk about him when the subject comes up. He insists it's just because the story isn't about Brian, but does go so far as to say that things between them are good, and he doesn't see that changing. A joint friend of theirs - who wishes to remain anonymous - describes that as 'the understatement of the century! Let me tell you - I've seen that relationship develop since the very beginning and they both have issues like you wouldn't believe. Even before this nightmare it was an unbelievably bad year for them, but - and I can't quite believe that I'm saying this - Brian would do anything for that boy. Crawling-across-broken-glass-with-his-flies-unzipped anything. He's just quiet about it. It's fabulous!'

Whatever does happen from now on in the life of Justin Taylor, it's clear that he's not going to let the likes of his attacker - or his father - hold him back.

What about the prom? Was it worth it? Given the chance, would he do it again?

'In a heartbeat,' he replies. 'Otherwise, what's the point?"

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