lovebashed
in
bjfic
No More Good Guys
Title: No More Good Guys
Author Name: lovebashed
Rating: PG
Summary: 122 gapfiller. Post-bashing.
Disclaimer: Don't own them. Never have, never will.
Notes: This is not my first fic ever, but it's certainly the first I shared with more than one person. It's surprisingly hard to post a piece of writing. I probably wouldn't have, if sugardares hadn't pestered me. Many thanks to her for betaing!
I
He sees white when the strike lands, and he must have bit his tongue, or the inside of his cheek, because his eyes water. The thump of thick wood dashing against skin, bone, soft tissue and a sickening sound that escapes Justin’s throat when he falls are too loud in his ears. Makes something inside Brian break loose. Makes him feel like everything he does is in slow motion, because no matter how hard he tries, he’s not fast enough. But it only lasts for that one crucial moment; the one where he feels he could make a difference. Then he’s running and wantonly hitting Christopher and the next moment, rushing to Justin’s side.
Justin lies motionless on the black cement that looks even blacker in contrast to pale skin and red, blood soaking Brian’s knees as he supports the dirty blond head. Then lights come and they look blurred to Brian when he raises his head and watches as the ambulance and police stop near by. He doesn’t remember dialling 911, but his cell phone is lying next to him, so he must have.
The drive to the hospital takes too long, and Brian tells the paramedics to hurry the fuck up because there’s so much blood. So much blood everywhere he looks, and he loosens his grip from Justin’s hand when it turns a shade too pale.
Brian watches the doctors do their thing behind glass doors, stuff Justin’s brain back inside his skull and patch him up. His long fingers absently slide against the blotchy, white, silken scarf that was supposed to be his shortcut to, what, history? But then again, he isn’t quite a Cobain, or a James Dean, not even a Hendrix.
Still so much blood.
Then Michael appears by his side, gently pulling him away from the doors, pushing him down onto a chair. Michael speaks softly, hands touching Brian’s sad, flattened, hair and upper arms, but Brian doesn’t hear him; doesn’t feel anything but a dull pain in his throat that’s seeping down to his stomach. Doesn’t feel his tears softly streaming down, wetting his face.
They sit there for what feels like hours, but probably isn’t, Brian then suddenly stands up and walks down the hall, Michael’s shouts oddly muted. He stops a young nurse, doing her rounds, and grips her wrist a little too hard.
“He has allergies.” Brian says, his voice strange in his ears. “He’s allergic to ridiculous amounts of different drugs. They need to be careful what shit they give him.”
The nurse tries to free her hand from his grip, but he tightens it in response. Then he’s rambling about the allergy list Justin taped on the inside of one of the cupboards in the kitchen, took Brian’s hand, and carefully made him look where it was, and that it’s fucking stupid to tape something of so much importance on a cupboard in the first place. Then he’s yelling at Michael to get the fucking list, but stops when he feels the nurse place her hand on his arm and tell him that it won’t be necessary. That Justin is getting the best treatment possible, and that his medical charts have already been given to the doctor.
Brian returns to where Michael is now standing and defeatedly flops back onto the chair.
II
A paper cup of coffee appears in front of Jennifer. She smiles weakly and reaches for the cup that Michael is offering. Rests her right hand on Molly’s knee, and studies Brian who sits on the opposite side of Justin’s too hard hospital bed. Jennifer and Molly had come running down the long hallway soon after the breakdown over Justin’s allergies.
“The doctor said he’ll be alright.” Brian hears Jennifer say to him and he nods.
“’Course he will. He’s the toughest, bravest, strongest little shit I’ve met.” Brian says affectionately, eyes on the unconscious boy. They fall silent after that.
Silence. Silence is what finally brings Brian back from his thoughts. The hospital is too silent and it makes his ears ring. He watches Jennifer who is watching her daughter sleep, running her hand through Molly’s silky hair. Brian tells her to take Molly back home and that they can visit Justin in the morning. He tells her that he will stay with her son. He will stay for the night. Jennifer protests, but eventually thanks Brian and leaves the hospital, Molly sleeping soundly in her arms.
III
Beautiful, Brian thinks. Even when dried, cloggy blood covers Justin’s flaxen head, gluing soft strands together making his hair stick up awkwardly, he’s beautiful. Even now when machines are everywhere around him, helping him to breathe.
Machines keep Justin alive, and he’s beautiful.
Brian remains long after visiting hours are over and the halls have quieted down. Glares at the night nurse who tells him to go home, get rest, glares at Michael who is telling him the same.
“I’m not going anywhere, so drop it.”
Eventually they’re alone in the white room. A regular bleep the only sound as it echoes loudly throughout the room. Makes Brian feel peaceful for the first time after the incident. The stable rhythm of Justin’s chest as it rises and falls a promise that the boy will be okay, that he’s not in pain anymore. Brian never rises from his white plastic chair, doesn’t trust that Justin is safe if he doesn’t stay.
Brian Kinney doesn’t do irrational fear.
Brian’s palm feels sticky against Justin’s smooth cheek and chin, his thumb softly feeling the roughness of Justin’s too big lower lip. Brian frowns and thinks he must have hit it when he collapsed to the ground. He quickly draws his hand back and heaves a sigh, a familiar burn in his eyes. Tries to focus on the bleep, tries to focus on the rise and fall of hospital-gown clad chest. Focuses on the calm in the room.
The quiescent atmosphere makes his eyes droop and his head feel heavy, but he won’t sleep. Doesn’t trust his eyes to close for more than a second. He made a promise to Jennifer, and he owes this to Justin. Owes him to stay there, watch over him. It’s the least he can do. The least he can do after everything.
He couldn’t prevent this from happening, and he can’t promise that it never happens again.
He couldn’t stop him.
The night feels like it lasts forever, but it doesn’t. When morning comes Brian rises from his chair; touches Justin’s lip a second time and leaves. Passes Jennifer in the hallway, gives her a weak smile and a quick awkward hug, walks out the door and squints at the sunlight.
Author Name: lovebashed
Rating: PG
Summary: 122 gapfiller. Post-bashing.
Disclaimer: Don't own them. Never have, never will.
Notes: This is not my first fic ever, but it's certainly the first I shared with more than one person. It's surprisingly hard to post a piece of writing. I probably wouldn't have, if sugardares hadn't pestered me. Many thanks to her for betaing!
I
He sees white when the strike lands, and he must have bit his tongue, or the inside of his cheek, because his eyes water. The thump of thick wood dashing against skin, bone, soft tissue and a sickening sound that escapes Justin’s throat when he falls are too loud in his ears. Makes something inside Brian break loose. Makes him feel like everything he does is in slow motion, because no matter how hard he tries, he’s not fast enough. But it only lasts for that one crucial moment; the one where he feels he could make a difference. Then he’s running and wantonly hitting Christopher and the next moment, rushing to Justin’s side.
Justin lies motionless on the black cement that looks even blacker in contrast to pale skin and red, blood soaking Brian’s knees as he supports the dirty blond head. Then lights come and they look blurred to Brian when he raises his head and watches as the ambulance and police stop near by. He doesn’t remember dialling 911, but his cell phone is lying next to him, so he must have.
The drive to the hospital takes too long, and Brian tells the paramedics to hurry the fuck up because there’s so much blood. So much blood everywhere he looks, and he loosens his grip from Justin’s hand when it turns a shade too pale.
Brian watches the doctors do their thing behind glass doors, stuff Justin’s brain back inside his skull and patch him up. His long fingers absently slide against the blotchy, white, silken scarf that was supposed to be his shortcut to, what, history? But then again, he isn’t quite a Cobain, or a James Dean, not even a Hendrix.
Still so much blood.
Then Michael appears by his side, gently pulling him away from the doors, pushing him down onto a chair. Michael speaks softly, hands touching Brian’s sad, flattened, hair and upper arms, but Brian doesn’t hear him; doesn’t feel anything but a dull pain in his throat that’s seeping down to his stomach. Doesn’t feel his tears softly streaming down, wetting his face.
They sit there for what feels like hours, but probably isn’t, Brian then suddenly stands up and walks down the hall, Michael’s shouts oddly muted. He stops a young nurse, doing her rounds, and grips her wrist a little too hard.
“He has allergies.” Brian says, his voice strange in his ears. “He’s allergic to ridiculous amounts of different drugs. They need to be careful what shit they give him.”
The nurse tries to free her hand from his grip, but he tightens it in response. Then he’s rambling about the allergy list Justin taped on the inside of one of the cupboards in the kitchen, took Brian’s hand, and carefully made him look where it was, and that it’s fucking stupid to tape something of so much importance on a cupboard in the first place. Then he’s yelling at Michael to get the fucking list, but stops when he feels the nurse place her hand on his arm and tell him that it won’t be necessary. That Justin is getting the best treatment possible, and that his medical charts have already been given to the doctor.
Brian returns to where Michael is now standing and defeatedly flops back onto the chair.
II
A paper cup of coffee appears in front of Jennifer. She smiles weakly and reaches for the cup that Michael is offering. Rests her right hand on Molly’s knee, and studies Brian who sits on the opposite side of Justin’s too hard hospital bed. Jennifer and Molly had come running down the long hallway soon after the breakdown over Justin’s allergies.
“The doctor said he’ll be alright.” Brian hears Jennifer say to him and he nods.
“’Course he will. He’s the toughest, bravest, strongest little shit I’ve met.” Brian says affectionately, eyes on the unconscious boy. They fall silent after that.
Silence. Silence is what finally brings Brian back from his thoughts. The hospital is too silent and it makes his ears ring. He watches Jennifer who is watching her daughter sleep, running her hand through Molly’s silky hair. Brian tells her to take Molly back home and that they can visit Justin in the morning. He tells her that he will stay with her son. He will stay for the night. Jennifer protests, but eventually thanks Brian and leaves the hospital, Molly sleeping soundly in her arms.
III
Beautiful, Brian thinks. Even when dried, cloggy blood covers Justin’s flaxen head, gluing soft strands together making his hair stick up awkwardly, he’s beautiful. Even now when machines are everywhere around him, helping him to breathe.
Machines keep Justin alive, and he’s beautiful.
Brian remains long after visiting hours are over and the halls have quieted down. Glares at the night nurse who tells him to go home, get rest, glares at Michael who is telling him the same.
“I’m not going anywhere, so drop it.”
Eventually they’re alone in the white room. A regular bleep the only sound as it echoes loudly throughout the room. Makes Brian feel peaceful for the first time after the incident. The stable rhythm of Justin’s chest as it rises and falls a promise that the boy will be okay, that he’s not in pain anymore. Brian never rises from his white plastic chair, doesn’t trust that Justin is safe if he doesn’t stay.
Brian Kinney doesn’t do irrational fear.
Brian’s palm feels sticky against Justin’s smooth cheek and chin, his thumb softly feeling the roughness of Justin’s too big lower lip. Brian frowns and thinks he must have hit it when he collapsed to the ground. He quickly draws his hand back and heaves a sigh, a familiar burn in his eyes. Tries to focus on the bleep, tries to focus on the rise and fall of hospital-gown clad chest. Focuses on the calm in the room.
The quiescent atmosphere makes his eyes droop and his head feel heavy, but he won’t sleep. Doesn’t trust his eyes to close for more than a second. He made a promise to Jennifer, and he owes this to Justin. Owes him to stay there, watch over him. It’s the least he can do. The least he can do after everything.
He couldn’t prevent this from happening, and he can’t promise that it never happens again.
He couldn’t stop him.
The night feels like it lasts forever, but it doesn’t. When morning comes Brian rises from his chair; touches Justin’s lip a second time and leaves. Passes Jennifer in the hallway, gives her a weak smile and a quick awkward hug, walks out the door and squints at the sunlight.