“God, Brian! You really messed up this time, didn’t you?”

Although Michael could not possibly have meant what it sounded like, given the circumstances, Justin swore he saw Brian visibly flinch at the remark. He knew he himself did.

“I’m fine, Michael.”

“At least there were no angry dads coming after you, though, huh?” Michael continued, taking the seat that Justin had been practically living in for the last few days. “So, seriously. How are you?”

“I’m fine.”

Brian did not seem much better, Justin thought. The marks on him hadn’t faded much, and he seemed to be floating under the pain medications, somehow under the radar, lucid but, well, off. Since Justin’s arrival that morning, he had asked Justin only to keep the television on; Justin had turned it not to the news, but to mindless crap TV, and Brian had been surprisingly listless, not insisting on CNN. He had actually said nothing when Justin had turned the channel to Judge Judy. Brian thought she was funny.

“Aren’t there any movies on?” Brian asked, after ten minutes of the judge yelling at a woman who looked both malnourished and overweight at once.

“Uh, no, there’s no movie channel, but there’s a video player on the TV, I could go get something?”

“Go home.”

“You want something from the loft?”

Brian continued to stare at the wall beneath the television.

Justin tried again. “I can go pick up some of our movies there.”

“No Yellow Submarine.”

Justin had smiled, but realized Brian had not been kidding. Or maybe he was. His affect hadn’t changed; it was just flat. Justin couldn’t tell what Brian was thinking.

“Go home. Go to the diner. Go do what you do.”

“I’ll go to the loft, but I’m coming back. I’ll get some movies. Any preferences?”

“I don’t care.” Brian hadn’t looked at him; his gaze pointed toward the television now. The pasty fat woman was crying. “I prefer that you sleep in a bed.”

“Oh.”

“At the loft, if you want. I’m obviously not using it.”

That listless voice. Justin had not stopped watching Brian, but Brian had not met his eyes, not since this had all started, it seemed. “Brian.”

Nothing.

“Brian, look at me.”

Brian turned his head. Justin looked into his eyes, dark green and clouded. Justin had the impression he was studying the flat of Brian’s irises, the pupils’ endless blackness, but not seeing past the glistening surfaces. He said, emphatically, pushing his voice into that vacant stare, “I’m coming back.” God, please let that flatness be the pain meds.

“Bring Brando. And some whiskey.”

Justin came back with On The Waterfront. No whiskey. Brian didn’t comment.

***

The conversation in which Justin had broken the news to Michael had gone something like this:

“Michael, it’s Justin.”

“Hey, Boy Wonder! What’s up?”

“It’s Brian, actually…”

“What happened?” Michael’s tone switched from casual banter to earnest concern, in no time at all. How’d he know?

“He was in an accident.”

“What kind of accident? Car accident?”

“Yeah, after he left Babylon the other night…”

“I told him he would get in trouble, drinking all that, I told him!”

“Michael, he’s in pretty bad shape, it might be better if you didn’t lecture.”

“I’m not going to lecture, of course I won’t! Where is he? He’s all right, isn’t he?”

Pause.

“Justin! Is he all right!”

“He’s going to be.”

“Where is he?”

“We’re at Allegheny General. He can’t have visitors until tomorrow, though, and he’s undergoing some special tests…” Lie, lie, lie. Actually, visiting hours were 7am to 4pm, and then 7pm to 10pm. Justin knew exactly what the visiting hours were. He hadn’t even had to ask. “So come by around eleven, tomorrow. He really needs to rest right now.”

“How bad is it?”

“His liver had to be operated on, and he broke a couple ribs. He’s kind of beat-up looking, but other than that, he’s fine. The car’s totally trashed.” Justin felt his mouth fit itself around all those lies. They piled up like dust. Justin had no real idea of how Brian actually was, but fine? No. Brian was pretty fucking far from fine.

Michael promised to come by the next day, and Justin had gone to spend the night at the loft. Huddled up under the blankets, he buried his face in Brian’s pillow, breathed in the lingering scent, and cried. It was a long time before he slept.

He had gotten back to the hospital at 7:00 a.m. after lying awake from 4:47 onward, and it was a good thing he had because Michael showed up at 9 o’clock.

“So this is where you’ve been,” Michael said, picking up the remote and turning the television onto the Cartoon Network. “You should watch this, Justin, it’s great animation.” He had turned the volume up too loud, and Justin waited a moment before he moved to pick up the remote, switched the station to CNBC Market Watch, and turned the volume down.

“Ted was wondering where you were when you didn’t shown up at Babylon the last couple of nights. When I saw him at the diner yesterday, he asked me,” Michael continued.

“Ted knows to hold the fort down when I’m not around,” Brian replied.

“I called Cynthia,” Justin added. “She knows you won’t be in.”

“Yeah, Ted said things were under control, wherever you were… man, you really look awful,” Michael observed, studying Brian closely. “Hunter nearly shit when I told him you’d been in an accident, saying that it would be sacrilege to scar that pretty face…” Michael’s voice assumed a high-pitched tone, imitating Hunter, presumably.

“I thought he was over that,” Justin interrupted, noting how Brian tensed.

“Ted…” Brian repeated, ignoring Hunter’s remarks. “Mikey, can you go to the loft and get my phone for me? Someone’s trying to protect me from the stress of the outside world.” He hadn’t looked over at Justin. “I think it would help if I could make a few calls…”

“Actually, Michael, besides Cynthia, you’re the only one I did call,” Justin told him. He hoped Michael would feel the sense of privilege in exclusive access, and that this sense would close the circle around the three of them, and keep everyone else away. Of course, that might work if the clique was just Michael and Brian, and Michael had decided everyone else needed to be shut out. Justin didn’t know if he was finessing his argument well enough to get Michael on his side. On the other hand, how fair was it that Michael didn’t know just what was going on? His cavalier attitude was grating on Justin’s nerves, but who could Justin blame for that, really? Certainly not Brian. Only himself.

“Well, Ma knew all about it when I freaked out after you called … I was over there when you called me,” Michael explained.

Justin felt the heat creep into his cheeks. Fuck! “Um, yeah. I told her, just in case, when I was looking for you earlier, but she said she’d stay away from visiting until the weekend. When Brian’s feeling better.” In case? In case of what? But neither of the other men questioned that; Brian was too busy turning his head back toward Michael, and Justin thought his glance seemed apprehension. He didn’t know whether to be relieved that the attention was off of him, or if his stomach was too busy plummeting to care.

The two old friends stared at each other for a long moment. Finally, Michael broke the silence. “Yeah, well, I think Justin might be right, Brian, in this case. You are pretty beat up. You seem so out of it. How do you feel? Is there anything I can do?”

“It was just a car accident, Mikey,” Brian answered, an edge creeping into his voice. “I’m fine.”

“Hmph.” Michael’s look was sharp, but he said nothing. Justin’s head ached.

“How’s the comic business going?”

The complete change of subject was not subtle, but served to effectively launch Michael into a long story about the previous afternoon and a potential shoplifting case that was turning into a sob story about some abused kid (great, abuse again, what was it with that subject? Was it everywhere?), who might become a possible new assistant at the store.

Justin spent this time thinking about how he could get rid of Michael, lock the door, and then shut the whole world out. He hadn’t realized that Michael had stopped talking until the silence became pronounced.

“Hey,” Michael cut into the quiet in the room, “Hey! Come back, both of you! Where are you? Unless my story was that boring…” He trailed off. “As if I need an answer to that, huh?” No one replied. “I’m sorry, you’re really totally out of it. I guess trauma can drain you pretty bad. Well, and the pain meds, apparently.” Michael chuffed a half-laugh.

“It’s the only good part of being in the hospital,” Brian answered. “Lots of drugs.”

“Brian’s on a lot of pain killers,” Justin put in.

Michael looked embarrassed. “Oh… right. Sorry, I forgot… Seriously, Brian, and don’t tell me you’re fine, how are you feeling?”

“LIKE SHIT!!!” Brian exploded, and Justin jumped. So did Michael, whose mouth dropped open as he stared at his friend, who had closed his eyes, and put his hand over his face. He spoke, his hand covering his eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

Michael looked over at Justin, and mouthed, “sorry?” toward him, frowning the question in his direction. He didn’t wait for Justin’s reaction before turning back to the man in the bed. Brian continued, “It’s fine, Mikey, I’m fine, really, it’s going to be just fine, but right now I feel like shit. Okay?” He took his hand away so that he could meet Michael’s startled gaze. “Okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Michael answered. There was an awkward pause. “I’ll get your phone for you…”

“No, it’s fine, Justin’ll get it, he needs to get the fuck out of here anyway. Why don’t you tell Ted where I am and tell him to come by on… what the fuck day is it?”

“It’s Monday,” Justin said softly.

“Monday…” Brian repeated. “Okay.” And then, more firmly, “Okay. You need to call Cynthia.” His attention rested on Justin.

“I did already,” Justin reminded him.

Michael glanced swiftly over, his eyes narrowing at Justin’s patient response. “Uh, I guess I can’t really help you out. But if you need anything, you know to call me right away, right?” Brian ignored him, while Justin nodded along. Michael sighed. “Okay, then. Brian.”

Brian turned his attention to Michael, still frowning.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Not really, Mikey. Unless you can get me out of here?”

“Not until the end of the week,” Justin said firmly.

“The master has spoken,” Michael declared, only half-kidding. He watched Brian for his response to that, but there was none. “Okay, well. I’ll come back to see you later tonight, so if you need anything, just call me. I’ll let the guys know what happened, and that you’re doing fine. If that’s okay?” The edge in his voice was evident, and he watched Justin through this last. Justin wished he would just leave already.

“All right,” Brian answered. Michael leaned over to kiss his friend’s cheek, before saying a quick “goodbye” and leaving.

Justin followed Michael out.

“Michael,” he began, as the door shut behind them.

Michael whirled around, his expression fierce, and deeply hurt. “I know, okay Justin? I know. So cut the shit about a car accident, Ma told me.”

Justin gaped at him, his stomach falling, falling. “Michael, you can’t…” Shit. Shit! His voice faltered, and he cleared his throat. “You can’t tell anyone.”

“He’s really hurt. We can’t just sweep this under the rug. Do you think it’s doing him any good to keep all this from his friends? God, he practically lost it when I pushed him, but what else are we supposed to do? Sit here and watch him pretend nothing’s wrong?”

“Michael,” Justin replied, teeth gritting, “He’s in no shape to be approached at all, he’s just been through major trauma. Surgery. And…” And.

“You think I don’t know this is a major trauma? Do you really think this is something he should deal with on his own? Or, you know, just with you?” Michael’s voice raised, and he was close to shouting. Wow, that hurt; Justin was surprised how much. He grabbed Michael by the arm and steered him down the hall, to a sitting area out of the main hallway.

“Be quiet!” he commanded, as Michael’s face morphed into its mutinous look. God, what he must have done to hold the know-nothing demeanor while talking to Brian. Michael was not known for duplicity. But how do you bring up this subject? Especially with Brian so unwilling to speak about it?

Here, though, outside of Brian’s room, Michael’s mask had dropped, and he whispered fiercely at Justin, “He is going to need his family’s support. No not them,” Michael added when he saw Justin’s face. “Us. ALL of us.”

Justin quickly retorted, “But think about how this is going to affect Brian, if everyone knows. Can you blame him for wanting to keep this quiet? For now, for now,” Justin emphasized. “Maybe you’re right. But can we please just get on the same page here now and respect what Brian wants?”

His arms firmly crossed over his chest, Michael frowned as he considered this. “Yeah, okay, I get your point. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’ve known him a lot longer than you, and sometimes Brian needs help in making choices that don’t cause him more pain. Obviously, this isn’t something that Brian would want talked about, and I wouldn’t do that. You should trust me.” Michael snorted. “He should trust me.”

Justin chuffed out an exasperated breath.“Well, he doesn’t even trust me. But he didn’t exactly have a choice; I was right there. He can barely look at me.”

Michael nodded his head. “I believe that. Seriously, how is he?”

Justin could scream, in part because he could not answer the question, and really, what did Michael think? Instead of venting his frustration, he only said, “I don’t know. But I’ll let you know if I figure it out.” Justin knew that wouldn’t be good enough for Michael, but it would hold him for now. And god knew, the last thing Brian needed was to worry about what his friends were thinking, on top of everything else. Goddammit, just a week, a month, time for Brian to recover and make his own decisions about how to handle all this. Justin had not thought he’d asked for too much.

* * * * * * *

“Justin?”

“Yeah, Brian?”

“Seriously. Nobody needs to know the details.”

Silence.

“Okay?”

“Sure, okay.”

* * * * * * *

Justin entered Debbie’s house, the door flying open in front of him, slamming in his wake. He barely registered the smell of lasagna, despite the fact that he more or less had not eaten since this whole nightmare had began.

“Debbie!” he hissed on entering the kitchen.

She stared over at him, the magazine she’d been thumbing through forgotten on the kitchen table. “Sunshine? How’s Brian doing?”

“He’s for shit, obviously. Why did you tell Michael?” The table shifted as Justin leaned on it, bracing his weight on his forearms.

Debbie pursed her lips, then shoved the chair back and flipped the magazine closed as she stood. “You look like crap, you need to eat. Here.” She turned around and moved toward the pan of lasagna that was cooling on the stove.

“I’m not hungry!” Justin practically shouted. And he wasn’t, except for that gnawing sensation that registered vaguely from a distance. He had been living on coffee and cigarettes for three days. His body had begun to protest, but right now he just wanted to throw up. “I thought we agreed…”

The lasagna landed on the plate with a soft ‘splat!’ Debbie walked over and placed the dish on the table, right next to his hands. Justin didn’t so much as look at it, but continued to stare at Debbie’s back as she moved to pick up silverware.

“You want some milk?”

“Will you just answer my question!” He did not think he could feel more helpless than he did at that moment. Everything was spinning out of control. He’d needed Carl, not Debbie that night, but damn, he shouldn’t have, he really shouldn’t have. Still, when he’d called this house, the crisis that threatened his ability to stay with Brian had felt real. He had not thought of the long-term consequences while he tried to stabilize his situation any way he could. And so now here he was, Brian asking him for one fucking thing, the man who never asked for anything, and Justin was unable to deliver, because he had reached out to help himself in a moment of weakness. He should have kept his mouth shut, he KNEW he should have kept his mouth shut.

“Listen, Justin, this isn’t about just Brian. Or you,” she followed up, after slapping the silverware onto the table. “Carl told me that Brian’s attacker has done this before. Brian’s actually the latest in a series of attacks, three that they know of. It’s not just him, it’s the whole gay community that’s threatened here.”

Justin paled, slumping slightly. “Carl told you that?” But not Justin. Justin had had no idea.

“Brian’s attack is the third serious attack on a gay man in the Pittsburgh club scene in the last month and a half.”

He stared at her, at a loss for what to say.

“So, you may want to rethink keeping what happened to Brian quiet; this isn’t just about him. I’ll be damned if my son is going to clubs and living in a community where there’s a danger he doesn’t know about.” Debbie’s voice was low, and perfectly even, brooking absolutely no argument. “This is bigger than Brian’s ego. Or yours.”

What the hell did that mean? Justin felt the blood draining from his face as Debbie spoke. He stood abruptly and staggered out of Debbie’s house, lasagna untouched.

***

He found himself at the police precinct, sitting in a chair in the waiting area. A woman wept across from him.

“Justin? You called?”

He looked up to see Kim staring down at him, and he stood up. “Why didn’t you tell me?” The anger that had been boiling since his talk with Michael and raging since he had left Deb’s house had not abated.

“Tell you…”

“That there had been other attacks.”

“Oh. Let’s go somewhere quiet.”

She led him into an interrogation room, but Justin refused to sit in the proffered chair. Kim, however, sat down calmly, and watched him pace. She folded her hands on the table. “What do you want to know?”

“Who is he? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“We have no idea who’s behind the assaults,” Kim replied. “All we know is that he probably began as a peeping tom. There were reports of a concentration of this activity a couple of years ago, but the perp was never caught, and frankly, it was not considered an urgent matter. But the physical description matches. More recently, we were getting reports of men being picked up and driven around by a man who wouldn’t let them out of his car. The car turned out to be stolen, so we couldn’t identify anyone. Officially, of course, that’s kidnapping, but the police department felt it was nothing to concern themselves with. No one was badly injured, just frightened.”

“Of course not,” Justin fumed. “And, of course, what could they expect, right? So how do you know about all this?”

“You should talk to Richard in the Gay Men’s Health Alliance. He’s been there eight years, and he’s been following these reports all along. Unfortunately, Richard is not a criminal investigator; he’s not a member of the police force. I tried my best, but until the problem accelerated to actual assaults, the department had more urgent matters to attend to. It wasn’t until the suspect began acting out violently that the case has shifted into full gear. The last three instances, that we know of, he’s graduated to sexual assault. If the progression continues, he may move to murder. We want to catch him before then.” She hesitated, then said, softly, “Justin, there’s speculation that he planned to kill Brian. Your partner was very lucky to escape.”

This latest blow hit Justin hard, and he just managed to pull the chair from the table before he collapsed into it. Brian… murdered? “Why haven’t you caught him?” Stupid question, but he could think of nothing else. His voice cracked at the end.

Kim seemed unaffected by Justin’s anger, his horror. “We think maybe he lives in New York. Or maybe he’s just moved on, especially since he took Brian’s car there. There is no chronological pattern in the Pittsburgh attacks; they’re so sporadic that we can’t predict them. The New York police are looking into similar cases. There’s no detectable pattern that we’ve identified, but of course it’s a much bigger city. The investigation is taking time.”

“Why Pittsburgh? Why not, I don’t know, Newark?”

“We don’t know.” Kim waited for the next question.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s an ongoing investigation, and we’re only interested in information that will help forward it. And we thought that you would only interfere.”

Justin wondered if she was thinking of Brian’s work on the Rikert case when he had been unemployed and going after Stockwell. It was likely. The case had never been solved, and Brian’s exposure of the sordid details was still an embarrassment, especially since no one had done anything about it. Of course, with Rikert dead, there didn’t seem much point, unless the police wanted to expose their own dirty laundry. And somehow, Justin did not feel that was likely.

He sat, absorbing the information. Finally, Kim said, “Gonzalez and Clark are doing good work on the case. I obviously can’t really say a lot about an ongoing investigation. Talk to Richard at the GMHA.”

Justin nodded, and stood to leave.

“And, Justin,” Kim continued, standing as well. “I’d say the best you can do in all this is stand by Brian, just be there. Don’t interfere with the police.”

“Is that what the fuck I’m supposed to do? Of course I’m going to be there for Brian, but what am I supposed to do?” Justin muttered to himself as he walked down the steps leading out of the precinct. He forcibly calmed himself as he walked down the street, but his thoughts were by no means as disciplined. How did he respect Brian’s wishes for privacy, when the community so obviously needed to be far more alarmed? Was he being selfish, as Debbie implied? What was the best thing to do, and for whom?

* * * * * * *

“You’re back. Did you bring my whiskey?”

It had been two days since Michael’s visit, and Brian’s recovery had been declared excellent by the medical staff. He certainly seemed much more lucid, and Justin had finally brought him his Blackberry and spare cell phone. They had compromised; the laptop would wait until Brian’s discharge this weekend.

“I’m back,” Justin echoed, foregoing the chair and sitting down on the side of the bed. “Do you need more pain meds?”

“I always can use more pain medications,” Brian returned, quirking an eyebrow up. Not anywhere near as high as it normally arched, but the function seemed to have returned. “And I really do want a drink.”

Justin took his hand, and laced his fingers in around Brian’s. Brian’s hand hung, limp, but Justin squeezed. “I mean…” he hesitated. Brian watched him intently. “I know Dr. Hom said you’re healing well and all, but…”

“Jesus Christ!” Brian huffed. “Spit it out.”

“Can you sit okay?”

Brian stilled. He had not spoken to Justin of that particular issue at all, although Justin knew this had been closely monitored, somewhat painfully, along with all his other injuries. “It’s fine, Sunshine, the good doctor gave me the all clear.”

“It’s just…”

“I know what it’s just,” Brian interrupted, yanking his hand away. “I had a club shoved up my ass and I was practically beaten unconscious, I know that. You know that, we both know that. It happened, it could have happened and it did. What do you want? You want me to weep my brains out because some asshole did this to me?”

“Brian…” Justin leaned forward, reached out to touch Brian’s arm.

“DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME!” Brian roared, and Justin jumped back, his stomach leaping upwards with him. Brian yanked his arm back, and then hissed as he moved too quickly. “Goddamn it…” He touched his side carefully, but nothing seemed to have been affected, and then he looked up at Justin, who appeared the proverbial deer in the headlights, his eyes large as they ever had been, and terribly liquid. “Don’t,” Brian commanded, his voice not as firm as he’d like, but still loud, certainly loud. “Justin, don’t you fucking cry on me. It’s nothing to cry about. Come on, brat, let me give you a blow job and make it all better.” He smirked, but the expression was all wrong, horrible.

Justin took a deep breath, and then let it out. He would not look at Brian as he fought to get himself under control. Later, he thought, he’d tell Brian about what he’d learned later. He just couldn’t right now. Not when he was still so confused himself, and now, dealing with Brian’s outburst. “I’m fine, Brian,” he answered. “Really.” He completely ignored the offer of the blow job. It didn’t bear acknowledging.

“Good,” Brian replied.

***

Brian knew he was asleep, but that knowledge didn’t change how he felt. He was drifting at the point between sleep and wakefulness, the brain seemingly awake, but the body asleep. He could not move, and he could not open his eyes. He sensed a presence in the room, coming closer to him, closer. A large, dark presence.

It approached inexorably, closer to where Brian lay paralyzed in bed. He twitched, a bare spasming of muscles that would not respond to his command. Panic built under his skin, even as his stupid body just lay there, not responding to the mental scream building in his brain. Nothing, barely a twitch. Screaming, screaming through his brain, disconnecting before reaching his vocal chords. “I’M AWAKE!!” Nothing.

The thing was closer. Almost on top of him. It leaned over Brian’s body, and began to move closer in and onto him; then, with an enormous effort that felt as if he were lifting a ton-weight from his brain, Brian pulled himself into consciousness, straining toward reality, a painful, merciless wrench that propelled him up into lucidity, and he came screaming out into the night, his arms spasming outward, his legs jumping with release. His body was covered in sweat, and he heard the echoes of his scream, the whimpers that followed in the nightmare’s aftermath. Blessed relief! Just darkness scattered by the flickering blue light of the television, and the wild beating of his heart. Brian stared frantically around, but no one was there except Justin who had shaken awake at the noise and was leaping to his feet.

“Brian!” No one else, just Justin coming toward his bed. Brian looked at him, gasping for air, sucking in the breath to calm his terrified body. “Brian…” Justin reached for him, but Brian yanked back, still unable to form coherent words, just knowing he did not want anyone to touch him, no one, nope, uh uh.

The gasps slowed down, and Justin stood, helpless, his hands clasping and unclasping, wringing together. As Brian continued to tremble and gasp, Justin hit the call button over the bed, and not a minute later, Janice entered the room.

“Justin?” she asked, coming in and taking a quick look at Brian.

“He had a nightmare,” Justin explained, backing a few feet from where Brian lay so Janice could approach. Brian was still shaking; he had flung the sheets off. “He woke up screaming.”

“It’s just a nightmare,” Brian said, the shakiness of his voice undermining any attempt to assert himself.

“It’s to be expected,” Janice put in, moving briskly to Brian’s bedside and snapping on the small wall-mounted lamp just over the bed. Justin squinted in the sudden light as Janice picked up Brian’s wrist firmly, resisting his attempt to draw away. She felt his pulse for a few seconds. “I’ll give him a little extra to help him sleep.” She looked down at Brian, huddled up into himself. “This will help you, honey.” She pulled the sheet back up over him.

“Fine,” Brian said, having no energy to argue, not even the “honey” thing.

He glanced over at Justin as Janice left the room to retrieve more meds. “I’m okay,” he said.

“You’re not okay,” Justin answered, his voice as shaky as Brian’s.

“Go home.”

“No.”

They looked at each other, and in the dim light, their eyes finally met fully. “You need sleep,” Brian told him, his voice back to somewhat normal register.

“So do you.”

“I’ll be able to sleep better if you stop hovering over me.”

Justin hesitated, and at that moment, Janice bustled back in. “Here you go, just a little stick, honey.” She picked up Brian’s arm, wiped the skin with antiseptic, and efficiently administered the shot. “If you need anything else, let me know, both of you.”

After she left, Justin sat back on the edge of his chair.

“Justin…” Brian began.

“I’ll go, after you fall asleep completely, okay?”

Brian looked at him, at the dark circles smudging beneath his eyes, the drawn skin around his mouth. “Go to the loft. It’s quiet there.”

“I will,” Justin promised.

“And eat something. I’m not going to fuck a stick.”

“I will.”

Good enough for Brian, who could not keep his exhaustion at bay any longer. His eyes drifted shut; the drugs obliterated his apprehension at the initial slide into darkness as he plunged down into unconsciousness.