Chapter Text
Brian had his bag ready three days before he was due to be released.
To say he can barely contain his excitement is an understatement. He can't wait to see his friends, go back home and spend hours sprawled on their couch playing Scrabble and chatting. He can't wait for the moment when he gets to share the songs he has written with his friends, can't wait to go to bed pleasantly cuddled by three other people.
A month and a half in the hospital has gone both incredibly fast and torturously slow.
He has listened as their album slowly rose to the top of British charts, Killer Queen playing every so often in the old battered radio of his room, and his roommates have a field day every time it does. They dance and sing at the top of their lungs, making Brian cry with laughter at the ridiculousness of it all. By their side, the hectic hospital wing doesn't seem nearly as daunting.
Brian knows he is going to miss them, Sebastian, with his too bright smile and too thin arms, and Phil, with his curly hair and ever-changing moods.
He keeps the letters that Freddie, Roger, and John had written to him before he left. He treasures them, following their instructions and opening one of the forty-five letter pack they gave him each day, and all but cries every time he finishes reading one. By the time three letters remain Brian finally realises how much he misses his boys. He wishes he had his phone with him, or maybe even access to a computer to make sure that the press hasn't eaten them alive in his absence.
Yeah, a month and a half have been torturous.
He enters his psychiatrist's office with a smile in his face, the warm sun is streaming through the windows, the room smells pleasantly of incense, and the young woman is sitting in her reclinable chair, smiling at Brian. He walks over to the board and places one blue sticker on the box marked with March 23rd. The woman smiles, "Two months clean, eh?"
Brian's smile widens, "Two months clean."
It is almost frightening how the thing that you have been waiting for the most might sometimes scare the crap out of you. To Brian, the scarcely decorated psych ward, and the homey like office of his psychiatrist had been his home for a long time. And sure, he couldn't wait for the day in which he was released, but now that he was signing the papers and being handed everything that they took away from him before he entered the hospital, well Brian couldn't help but feel nervous.
It had been a month and a half since he had last seen his boys. Forty-five days, sixteen hours, and twenty-three minutes. After all, only next of kin were allowed to visit Brian during his stay.
The doors to the hospital opened after a long beep, and once the air came inside Brian felt tears prickle at the corner of his eyes. Not for anything else but for the image of his mother standing right outside the hospital. Arms crossed over her chest and a sweet smile on her features. He walked over, letting his suitcase flop on the ground as he wrapped his arms around her and spun her around.
Ruth laughed gleefully at her son's bright mood, tangling her hands into his hair and smacking a wet kiss on his cheek. His father came out of the car then and gave Brian a hug as well. And once they were all seated into the car, and his father turned the ignition key, the radio crackled to life and 'Killer Queen' blasted through the speakers.
His parents laughed, and his mother even let herself hum along to Freddie's voice, but instead of feeling the same glee he always did, Brian could only wonder about two things. One, if Sebastian and Phil were rocking away like they usually did, and two if he still had the same place in the band he had left behind.
After all, in one of his long reading session at Saint Mary's Hospital, he had read that it only takes twenty-one days to make or take something out of your routine. And Brian... well Brian hadn't been a part of Queen for forty-five days.
Even after his mother's insistence, they ended up taking Brian from the hospital directly to the flat he shared with the rest of Queen. He was tired, to be honest, and just wanted to lay in his semi-uncomfortable mattress while listening to Roger's nonsense, Freddie's laughter, and John's scoldings. He wanted to be back home, even if it was for only a few days, before going out of the house again.
He bid his parent farewell and climbed the stairs into his building. There was no one around the place as he hiked up the stairs lugging his bag and grunting when the exercise became too much for his exhausted limbs. His hands were shaking terribly as he unlocked the door and toed his shoes off. A part of him expected a warm reception, but the other half of his brain, the one used solely to think about his bandmates, reminded him that they were all bound to be either working or studying at the moment.
He wandered into the kitchen, marvelling at the state of near perfection in which everything was placed. Just like Brian liked everything to be. The house smelled clean, almost like someone had taken the time to scrub every surface clean. Which is surprising given that Brian is the one to do that for them, always. For one second Brian wonders if they hired someone to do that for them with the extra money coming from both the record and having one less mouth to feed and one set less of guitar strings to buy.
He padded over to his room, turning the knob of his door and letting it swing open.
The room is covered in flowers. Literally. Every available surface has at least one vase filled with the most beautiful arrange of flowers Brian has ever seen, and seated in the room between his and Roger's bed, holding a bouquet of flowers each, are his boys. They are dressed in plain, comfortable, clothes, looking like they have barely slept a wink in at least a week, but smiling so brightly that Brian swears he has never seen anything so beautiful.
Freddie is the first one up. He throws himself into Brian's arms and nearly makes him topple over. Brian buries his face into Freddie's neck, taking in the sweet smell of Freddie's jasmine perfume. Someone pries one of Brian's hand away from Freddie's waist and tucks themselves into the embrace. John smells of cinnamon, as he always does, and his soft hair tickles Brian's nose as he hugs them both to their chest. Promising himself never to let go.
Roger is the last one to join the hug, he makes Brian look up and wipes the tears of joy streaming down his face with his thumb. Then stands on his tiptoes to give Brian one kiss on his forehead, followed by two more kisses on his cheeks, one on the tip of his nose, and finally brushing his lips against Brian's chapped ones.
The guitarist's heart nearly beats out of his chest then, and Roger just smiles, "We've missed you, you know? Could barely sleep without you here."
It takes all of Brian's strength not to crumble to the floor, dragging his boys down with him. There are butterflies in his stomach, and the strange urge to have them all lay on top of his, crushing him under their weight and reassuring him that they are here. That this is not a dream like one of the thousands he had during his stay at the hospital, where they would all come talk to him, or kiss him senseless, or cuddle with him, and he would wake up alone in the uncomfortable bed.
He is sure he can ask for that later on, for now, he is just content to tighten his grip around John and Freddie's bodies, and lean down to kiss Roger, "Not half as much as I missed you, that's for sure."
He isn't sure who whispers, 'we are so proud of you, Brian' and who whispers, 'welcome home, baby.'
He only knows that, yeah, Brian is proud of himself too.