Chapter Text
Brian woke when the back of a hand slapped his forehead.
"Justin," he called softly, coaxing the blond from sleep. "It's just a dream, Sunshine. Wake up."
Justin moved from dream to reality quickly, his breath still too short and harsh. Brian gently stroked his arm and chest until his breathing regulated, and then he drew Justin into his arms. "I'm right here," he said, soft but firm.
Brian never told Justin to hush, or that everything was okay; it wasn't okay, Justin had nearly been murdered, and if he wanted to cry and hyperventilate, well that was his fucking right, and no one in their right mind would blame him. Instead, he held on, proving to Justin that he was safe now, that Hobbs wasn't there, that those moments were over. There was still a lot of shit to work through in the aftermath of the bashing, but the immediate danger was past.
They lay like that for a long while before Justin spoke. "Thank you," he offered quietly. Brian just kissed him softly over his cheeks and lips in response, holding Justin close until the blond's breathing finally evened out once more in sleep.
"Brian."
"What the fuck, Gardner? I thought we were going for high-end accounts. This isn't even low end," Brian complained, holding up the menu for Frawley's Open Fire steakhouse. "It's more like back end."
Vance gave Brian a miniature smirk. "They have twelve hundred locations in the midwest and the south. And in this economy, we don't turn down any business. Especially not a potentially three million dollar contract."
Brian knew that being assigned this account was Vance's way to earn some petty revenge against him for the stunt with the partnering clause in Brown Athletics' contract. Fuck, this sucked—and not in a positive, life-affirming way.
Fuck, thought Justin as the gang gathered in Michael and Emmett's apartment. This is fucking awful. Ben's sick, Michael must be a wreck, and this is all probably bringing back horrible memories for Brian.
Emmett's voice cut through Justin's musings. "Okay, well, there must be something I can do!"
A moment later, Michael came home. He filled everyone in on Ben's condition and then fled to the bedroom. Justin looked up when he felt Brian's hand gently squeeze his shoulder. Brian silently communicated that he was going to follow. Justin nodded in agreement.
Michael was far too closed-off for Brian's peace of mind. Softly and sincerely, he offered, "You don't have to be brave on account of me."
"On account of you? Who the hell's thinking about you? I'm thinking about Ben."
Brian gave Michael an unimpressed look. "You know that's not what I meant."
Michael closed his eyes for a moment, took two deep breaths, and then went back to frantically moving about his room in preparation for returning to the hospital.
The next day, Michael phoned Brian in a panic. He'd been crying and was having trouble even getting out the words, "Please come, Brian... need... my best friend."
Brian, naturally, ditched the big-wigs from Frawley's and went straight to Ben's room at the hospital. When he arrived, Michael was leaning with his forehead against the wall of the hallway, his hair in complete disarray. Brian laid a hand on Michael's shoulder to get his attention.
It was obvious how difficult a time Michael was having. Brian knew the feeling of helpless despair quite well. If he hadn't been so concerned for his friend, he probably would have thought to himself that he hoped he'd at least had better hair when he'd been in Michael's shoes.
Not long into explaining how Ben was faring, Michael broke down. Brian pulled him into his arms, providing what support he could while the man vented his pent-up worry and heartache. When he pulled back, Michael managed to choke out, "I don't want him to die."
"He's not gonna die," Brian promised quickly, softly. "He'snotgonnadiehe'snotgonnadie." He hoped like hell that was true.
Michael wiped away his tears and pulled back. "I need to be strong."
"You are strong."
"No, I'm not. My mom was right."
Angrily, Brian answered, "Your mom doesn't know shit." He took a deep breath. "Listen to me. Are you listening? The night"—Brian choked up a bit but continued on—"Justin was bashed, and I called you, you were about to get on a plane but you came here and you sat with me for three days"—his voice went strained again, tighter this time—"waiting to see if he was gonna live or die. If it hadn't been for you, I... I never would've made it. You are strong, Michael. You were strong enough for both of us then. It's just my turn. Alright?"
Michael nodded, let his tears flow again, and leaned into Brian for comfort and support.
"Honeycutt," Brian growled into the phone on his way home from the hospital. "You said you wanted a job? Talk some fucking sense into Deb, would you?"
Brian sighed again. Justin thought it must have been the tenth time in the last fifteen minutes. "Rough account?"
"Shit account," Brian corrected angrily. "Stupid fucking steak house." He gave his lover a hopeful look. "You feel like being helpful?"
Justin pulled a face. "I'd much rather eat your meat right now."
Brian laughed at that for a moment, but then he sat up straight. "That's fucking brilliant, Sunshine."
Cocking his head, Justin asked, "What was brilliant?"
Instead of answering, Brian got to work with his graphics program. Justin moved over to the desk to see what he had come up with. He gave a quick laugh and asked, "Eat the meat, seriously?"
"It's short and catchy, and it'll draw a younger crowd than most of their current customers, which is what they told us they're looking for. It's fucking genius. You're fucking genius."
"I'm fucking horny. Finish up and come to bed, stud, or I'll start and finish without you."
Brian smirked at him. "Yes, sir."
Emmett knocked on Debbie's front door, feeling a little nervous. This wasn't really his place. But if this would help Michael, and if it was something everyone else was willing to let him do, then he would do it.
"Em, honey, what brings you by?"
He smiled and kissed her cheek. "I was hoping for a bit of girl talk, if you're not busy."
"You know I'm never too busy for you, honey. Come on in."
They chatted for a while before Emmett finally got the courage to bring up the subject. "Actually, what I really wanted to talk to you about is Michael and Ben. Um... were you aware that Ben's in the hospital?"
Debbie's mouth pinched. "Yeah, Vic told me this afternoon."
Emmett nodded. "Have you gone to see them?"
"No, since apparently my own son doesn't want me there!"
"Deb," Emmett said, voice serious. "He would love to have you there with him. He needs all the support he can get right now. But he doesn't need an 'I told you so,' or more negativity. They've got enough to worry about right now. But if you could put aside your—very valid—concern for him being in a relationship with a man who is positive and be there for your son and his boyfriend while they deal with some health issues... I think you could make a lot of people in this family happy, including yourself."
Emmett let Deb digest that for a few minutes. Eventually, she asked, "You think I'm wrong to be worried about what Michael's future will look like with a positive partner."
It wasn't a question, but Emmett answered it like one. "No, I don't think you're wrong to worry. I think you're wrong to express your worry the way you've been doing it. Just because something might end badly, might cause you pain, or might turn out to be a bad idea, doesn't mean that you should avoid it altogether. If we all did that, no one would ever get out of their bed in the morning. Everything in life is a risk, Deb. It's up to each person what they pursue despite those risks. Michael chose Ben, and so far it's been paying off. They've hit a rough patch, but they both have friends and family who love them who will be their support and strength while they need it." Emmett sighed as he stood and headed for the door. Just before he left, he called back over his shoulder, "Go see Ben. Go support your son. Let them know that their happiness is the most important thing, because it is."
And with that, he left.
The next day, Debbie took Ben some homemade chicken broth and a heartfelt apology.