If you had asked him yesterday who he idolized, Brian Kinney would have readily said James Dean. A man that lived hard and died fast and young. Quite literally went out in a blaze of glory. 'The poor bastard.'
Ask him that question today however, and he would answer that he idolized no one. That he believed in nothing.
He recalled the fear and dread with which he had approached his thirtieth birthday. He had known unequivocally that that was the end of his life. He in all actuality knew not a goddamn thing. Now, at nearly thirty seven, he felt very much like a newborn by way of life experience and fulfillment.
'No. He wasn't ready.' He had just begun to get this whole 'life' shit down, when the burden of death had been so rudely forced upon him. 'Fucking figures.'
Through weakened eyes and disconcerting thoughts, he watched the snow dance down from the sky. A delicious memory assaulted his mind and he embraced the attack. With tremendous ease he could envision the scene.
The glitter of Babylon raining down , but ironically unable to wash his sunshine away. His swaying form and porcelain skin seemingly radiated with every fluid motion. What he wouldn't give for one more dance with him. His body ached with longing as it remembered the effortless way they had always molded together.
Brian Kinney would easily argue that Justin Taylor was designed specifically for the purpose of interlocking with him. The missing piece, two halves of a whole soul and all of that lesbionic nonsense.
Nonsense that had become sensible the moment he'd let himself love him.
An intense pain surged through him. This one having nothing to do with the bacterial Pneumonia drowning his lungs or the sepsis currently poisoning his blood stream. Both of these fuckers were viciously fighting against him.
Today marked day fourteen he had been trapped within a vast room of the unpredictable. For the first few days he had tried desperately to rejuvenate the campaign of Brian Kinney's mortality. He twisted, shaped, prettily lied. 'Hell that's what he did right?' Too quickly however, he had found that no amount of exterior overhauled excuses could cover the hideous truth.
The Doctor's hand ostensibly itched to sign his death certificate. Eight months previously he had been presented with news he hadn't cared to believe.
He had been diagnosed with lymphoma. 'Fucking blood cancer. He knows right? Some shit.' Two years ago he'd faced testicular cancer in the ring and knocked it's ass out. Now this.
For a sliver of a moment he had cursed Ol' Jack. The irony of the fluid swimming in his lungs was not lost on him. He was literally drowning in his diseased tainted gene pool.
Years ago when he'd first begun radiation he had (like with most things) excelled at it. The sickness had dissipated, life had continued, the world spun on.
This time however had been slightly different. For months the radiation had been unsuccessful. He'd feared too soon the world would come to a complete stop. For now it was still in motion, albeit slow.
Two weeks ago he had been granted the gift of more tomorrows. The treatment had worked, destroying the tumor.
One week ago he had been in the recovery wing as his weakened (but still gorgeous) body graciously accepted the loss of the life devouring intruder.
Forty eight hours ago he had been moved to the Intensive care unit and placed in a sterile room as his non existent T-cells murdered his immune system and he had contracted pneumonia.
Nearly fifteen minutes ago he had gone into septic shock. With a fifty percent survival rate, and only a vast array of experimental drugs to prevent further organ damage. 'Lucky him.'
He had just asked the Doctor to inform Justin and the Novotnys about this newly formed obstacle. He was fairly certain he hadn't the strength to surpass it. The reactions of his family pressed profoundly on his heart.
In less than twenty minutes, everything had turned to heavy stone and was too quickly sinking to the bottom of his freshly hollowed soul.
The crystallized frost gracing the window pane was downright hypnotic. A heavy weight found his eyelids. He was exhausted. He was also too afraid to close his eyes.
Was this drab room destined to be it? Would broken furniture, an ugly nurse and this uninspired view from room 214 be the last things he'd ever see? 'No way in hell.'
Sunshine had Sonny boy this morning, and he was expecting them soon. The two most beautiful smiles in the world. 'That goddamn it, was going to be the last vision that hazel took with him. Wherever-the-fuck he was destined to go.'
He'd use every ounce of his precipitously deteriorating strength to remain awake. To wait.
He hated waiting. He hated the loss of control. He hated not knowing when the end would coincide with the beginning. Justin and Gus, that was where Brian Kinney's life had truly begun on that fateful night nearly seven years ago.
So much had changed since then, lessons learned and all of that. The two boys had radically changed everything Brian Kinney had thought he knew about anything. Mostly about himself.
He'd finally told Justin Taylor those three (not so fucking little) words, lighting up his pretty blond life. Admittedly, that year and ever since, the whispered declaration illuminated Brian as well.
A fact for which he was grateful for now, as he lingered just above eternal darkness. He desperately needed that light right now. 'Brian Kinney does desperate. Brian Kinney does love.'
He shivered, a chill to rival the winter snow found it's way to Brian's bones. He needed the warmth of his Sunshine. The brunet had learned long ago that there was nothing hotter than the heat of Justin's smile. Except perhaps Justin's ass.
He sighed heavily, swallowed and resisted the necessary release of a scream. The pain was just too fucking real. Every rapid breath sliced through his raw lungs with delicate torment.
'Christ.' He cursed his body for it's weakness. 'Didn't it know who he was? Brian-fucking-Kinney, strong son of a bitch.'
He allowed himself a smile (no one was looking) as he thought about Gus. At least his Sonny boy still thought that Brian was strong. Stronger in fact than any of Mikey's superheroes. Gus looked up to his Daddy, though, not nearly as much as Brian admired the kid.
'OK. Ask him again who he idolized, he'd answer Gus Peterson and he believed in Justin Taylor.'
He winced as he inhaled deeply. The air fought against the sudden intake and transformed itself into sporadically painful coughing. Each spasm seemingly seared his organs to the core. Crimson iron glazed his tongue, the taste of 'giving up.'
'He wouldn't cry. Even though he'd never wanted to do anything more. Not even one delicious Mr. Taylor.'
He didn't want to lie here and continually think about reality. 'No.' He wanted to dream. He wanted to hope. He wanted to wish. He wanted to kiss, suck, fuck, he wanted to love. To live.'
For the time being, he'd been forced to remain in the constricting confines of this ever enclosing room; forever determined to stay conscious (a task that was proving much too difficult).
He focused his eyes on the multitude of wires and tubes and pondered the way in which they both connected him to, and kept him prisoner from…life. His claustrophobia was in full effect. The pure oxygen pouring into his airways was doing nothing to reduce the suffocation of his soul.
An aggressive break in his breath induced yet another bought of uncontrollable, unbearable coughing.
"Oh Honey!" Deb's exclaim had startled Brian but her soft tone was comforting. He was thankful for the intrusion to his inner wallowing.
He fervently fought against the invisible rope of mortality mercilessly strangling him. He won, this round. As he struggled to sit up, four eager hands found his fatigued form. He wanted to protest, wanted to shout 'Brian Kinney doesn't need any help!' but he knew that was bullshit.
"Christ." was all he'd managed to choke aloud. He had been uncertain as to what exactly he was cursing. 'Their coddling him? His weakness? The incessant itching of this tacky gown? The tackiness alone? This coughing? The ugly nurse? The snow? This goddamn situation as a whole?'
"Christ." he said again, to all of the above.
"Have you eaten?" Deb asked (more out of habit than actual expectation) emptying the bag she'd brought with her.
Brian didn't need to look to know it's contents. Chicken soup. Fourteen days. Fourteen bowls of chicken soup. He'd eaten a grand total of three.
"I know, I know," she countered the look of protest Brian was wearing "but Honey you should try to put something on your stomach." she finished.
The brunet had half expected her to say 'tummy' with the childlike manner with which she was speaking. He wanted to feel annoyed. He didn't. He couldn't.
"Yes Mother." he struggled to rasp out playfully. He felt a lot of things at the moment. Playful was not one of them.
For a brief moment he wished he could go back to a time where he hadn't invested so much into feelings. Then, with the realization that that time was the day before Justin, he embraced his emotions. Every. Fucking. One.
Glistening wetness flooded Deb's eyes before she could halt it. She knew Brian did not want anyone's sympathy or heaven forbid, anyone's pity.
'Well, too damn bad you stubborn asshole. I'm sad you son of a bitch. I love you and I'm gonna have a fucking cry about it.' she attempted to tell Brian telepathically.
She was fairly convinced he'd heard her, for he hadn't yet acknowledged her offending tears.
She caught Michael's eyes and noticed that his too were shimmering beneath a sea of incredulity.
They didn't want to believe the unbelievable. Yet, they couldn't avoid the unavoidable.
Every passing second was viciously consuming Brian Kinney's precious time. Every moment lived, cruelly becoming a moment closer to his final breath.
This poor kid had been through so fucking much. For the first time in too many years, Deborah Novotny was questioning the existence God.
The 'Almighty fag hater' as Joan Kinney would have anyone who would listen to believe. At the thought of 'Saint Joan' (as she always imagined a fourteen year old Brian jokingly call the woman) Debbie felt an overwhelming sense of dominance. 'Joan was not his mother. She was.' A fact she had had no problem telling the devout hypocrite a week ago.
She'd finally gotten around to visiting her son in the hospital one week after he'd been admitted. 'Mother of the goddamn year.' Brian hadn't needed her. Hadn't wanted her and he'd graciously allowed Debbie to deliver the message.
Looking at Michael was almost as hard for her as looking at a broken and increasingly weakening Brian Kinney. She wasn't sure that it was not in fact possible to hear a heart breaking. She bit back a sob and excused herself to the ladies' room. In actuality she was giving her sons a moment to (she couldn't process the thought) 'Say Goodbye'.
They were all sharing the same fucking nightmare. However, deep seeded denial couldn't help itself from waiting to awaken.
She was hopelessly hopeful.
"Stop all the weeping there drama princess, your mascara will start to run." Brian instructed.
Michael sniffled and wiped his eyes. "Fuck you." he said through a laugh.
"Sorry Mikey, no can do. I's already done spoken for." he drawled in a southern accent, as an image of his blond 'speaker' flashed in his mind. 'He hoped Justin would get there soon.'
"I keep waiting to wake up." Michael practically whispered.
'He knew Brian wasn't wanting to hear this mushy shit, but what could he do?' His entire insides felt as if they had melted. Melted just like his rationale and sense of reality. For all intents and purposes, all Michael Novotny was, was 'mushy stuff'. Said stuff was beginning to ooze from the Brian sized gap inside him that would never again rejoin.
Hazel eyes observed his best friend attentively, he was adamantly searching for lost words that could never be found.
"What can I say Mikey?" he asked honestly. His question was met with seemingly never ending silence. He tried again. "I think I'll go with Deb instead of Joan on this one. I'm kind of excited to receive some angelic blow jobs, maybe fuck a saint or two." he tried to joke. It hadn't worked. Michael looked sadder now than before.
Michael felt as if his feet too were melting. Melting all the way into the fucking floor. He couldn't move. The world was folding down around him…crease by crease. Tattered and broken it rained to the floor…piece by piece.
'This wasn't fair. Despite his relentless arguments to the contrary, Brian Kinney was too young. Too good. Too necessary in life. In his life. In Justin's life, in Gus's.'
"God's a son of a bitch." Michael announced. Brian smiled weakly and nodded. It hurt him to do so. He held his hand out and directed his friend to join him on the bed.
It took everything thing he had to move, but he'd done it. Michael placed himself into Brian's arms. 'So many times he'd been here. So many times he'd felt protected, loved.' He silently cursed himself for wanting to be here now, for letting Brian console him. He felt selfish and cowardly. But he still felt loved. He'd only wished he could protect Brian now.
'This isn't the end of Brian and Mikey's Excellent Adventure you know," he whispered into the top of the latter's hair. "we're just taking a little detour, seeing separate sights."
"How profound." Michael chuckled and hated himself for it. 'How could he be smiling at a time like this?' He glanced up at the beautiful face of the other man and answered his own question. 'Brian always made him smile.'
"We can only pray there'll be a mix up in paper work, and some misinformed angel with give you wings." he said.
"Ah, yes, then I can fly like RAGE," Michael could feel Brian's smile and met his eyes, Brian continued "then I may actually be able to fuck in midair." he nodded his head approvingly.
Noting the unshed tears in hazel, Michael was forced to look away. His own salty broken dreams, and undiscovered adventures crashed down.
"I love you Brian." his heart and lips whispered.
He felt Brian's arms tighten, weakened but still him. "Me too Mikey. Me too. Always have, always will."
Both men embraced the silence and let their friendship encase the room.
As the snow fell harder, Justin's heart sank further. He was supposed to be bringing Gus to visit his 'soon to be released ,tumor free, going to be perfectly fucking fine' father. Instead, the February cold was finding his veins as he thought that this may be the very last time either he or Gus saw him.
His mind was trying it's damnedest to process the Doctor's morning phone call. 'We're terribly sorry, there's been a drastic turn for the worse. Septic shock. Keeping him comfortable. May need to start making arrangements.' the words swirled in a fragmented haze of astonishment.
For the last thirty minutes his mind was replaying 'How? How? How?' repetitiously followed by 'Why? Why? Why?'.
He had been awake for what felt like an eternity. He had spent most nights at Brian's bedside. However, Lindsay and Mel had sent Gus on a plane last night. He had been so proud that he'd flown by himself like a big boy.
Justin had spent last night watching his son sleep. Wishing he himself would actually awaken from this endless nightmare. He hadn't wanted to fall asleep in his own bed, in their bed without Brian. He knew he'd only have another dreamless night without the man who spawned those dreams beside him. No, he wouldn't allow himself to sleep when he knew he'd awaken alone.
Last night however, he had something he no longer possessed. He had had Hope. Today his soul was merely surviving. It had been ripped to shreds, leaving only ribbons of defeat.
Thinking of Gus, he knew he owed it to the kid to be strong. He would draw strength directly from the child's love. He'd have to try to find a light among the shadows.
Saltwater churned in the sea of his eyes but he hadn't granted it permission to fall. He had already cried enough to water the world. Too many tears had soaked him to the bone. 'What happens after the tears run dry and only empty hope rains down?' That would be the storm of the goddamn century.
'Was it possible to live with only half of a heart?' It was a question he had hoped he'd never have had to answer. Justin didn't want to live in a world where Brian Kinney no longer existed. Hell, they were finally together. Fully unconditionally, monogamously joined, minimal bullshit.
Though, they'd never married, Brian had promised him forever. He felt slighted. 'Damn it, why did forever have to arrive so fucking soon? Eternities weren't as long as they'd used to be.'
As he pulled the 'Vette into the hospital parking lot, he allowed himself a glance at the boy riding shotgun. 'How were they going to explain all of this to his six year old mind, his six year old heart?'
He wondered selfishly how he himself would handle Brian leaving his look on Gus's face.
"Ready to go see Daddy?" he asked with his best faux plastered on sunshiny smile. It more resembled a sunset that hadn't the strength to shine.
"Yep. I can't wait to give Daddy the greatest most gigantic hug he's ever got!" Gus beamed.
"He'll love that." Justin confirmed. 'Please never let him go Gus.' he thought as he followed the child into the lobby and felt envious of his innocence.
Daddy sure did look different than he did when he last saw him on Christmas. He was skinnier, and a whole lot whiter. He recalled when he'd had the flu last year, yeah Daddy looked a lot like that.
He knew he was real sick. Mommy and Mama had told him that, but Gus was still a little perturbed by the drastic change in Brian's appearance. Especially so, since the nice nurse lady had made everyone wear silly white masks over their mouths. 'How was he supposed to talk to, smile at and kiss Daddy?'
He scooted up as close as he could get in the bed and delivered the greatest most gigantic hug his Daddy had ever recieved, as promised.
Brian explained all of the various machines that surrounded them and Gus noted that his voice sounded a little different too. He'd didn't mind however, 'cause he was still the best Daddy in the whole wide world.
Gus didn't remember the last time he had been in a hospital. Probably the day he was born but of course he didn't remember that. His best friend Ryan had told him once that his grandma was in the hospital and she died and went to heaven. He knew his uncle Vic was in heaven too.
Gus thought it sounded like a pretty wonderful place, and it was really cool that you got wings when you got there. The thought reminded him of his plane ride and he perched himself up to look his Daddy in the eyes.
"Look!" he smiled, and pointed to the pin on his shirt "I flew on the plane all by myself and I got wings." he paused for a moment and took in Brian's smile. 'Yep. Daddy's smile at least hadn't changed at all.'
"That's awesome Sonny boy. When did you get so grown up?"
"My last birthday." he replied matter-of-factly, then said something that spurred tears from every eye in room 214. "If you go to heaven, you'll get wings too. Only yours will be real life." he smiled with a self approving head nod.
Ryan had said when his Grandma went to heaven he still loved her but always missed her. This thought made him sad. He already missed his Daddy when he was in Canada but this would be different. He wasn't sure but he was fairly positive that once you went to heaven it might be a long while before you see your family again.
He softened his voice and barely raised his eyes to Brian's face. "Daddy?" he inquired softly, though didn't wait for a response before continuing "Am I going to have to be missing you for a long time tomorrow?"
Brian's answer refused to fall from his lips. His only child's vulnerability had frozen his mind to mouth function.
"I honestly don't know Sonny boy." he finally managed to reply with so much truth it physically hurt. Then again, his body was beginning to hurt worse on it's own.
Gus hugged his Daddy tighter, "Just in case it's a long while again." he explained his embrace.
Of all of the adults present, it was the six year old who had confronted the situation. Everyone had been telling themselves fractured versions of the truth. Honesty, though remained ever present, coiled within in the air. The inevitable settled into a heavy fog of unfaced reality. 'Life. No one makes it out alive.'
"Hey Gus, what do you say you and I go raid the vending machine?" Deb said removing her face mask and smiling as brightly as she could mange. It wasn't much. She noted the gracious 'thank you' protruding from both of the boys' Daddies. All of this emotion was suffocating the fuck out of her, she could only imagine the difficulties that Brian and Justin were having.
"OK!" Gus exclaimed and leaned over and giggled a little at the funny tubes in his Daddy's nose before kissing it's tip through his mask. "I'll be back." he said reassuringly then began relentlessly cataloging all of the yummy snacks he wanted to get.
After they'd finished their goodies, Nanny Deb had wanted to come here, to the Chapel. It looked to Gus like a miniature doll house version of the churches he'd seen on TV. Though he wasn't really familiar with such places, Nanny Deb had really wanted to sit here.
Gus felt uncomfortable. The hard seats didn't even have any cushions. He'd figured God's house to have been better furnished. He was also uncomfortable because it was just too quiet. Gus liked noise. Liked making it. Liked hearing it.
"What do we do?" he whispered though he wasn't sure why. They were the only ones in there. Uncle Mikey was outside calling Auntie Em and Uncle Ted. He'd guessed so he could tell them that they might have to miss Daddy for a little while. 'Great. Now he was sad again.'
He sure didn't want his Daddy to have to leave his house and move to heaven. He was at his house last night, he hadn't packed anything yet.
Deb smiled, "We pray honey. Talk to God."
"Oh." Gus responded although he wasn't sure how God was going to hear them all the way in the sky.
"What do we pray for?" he inquired, with heightened interest.
Deb opened her arm invitingly, and though Gus thought he was way too big, he climbed into her lap. She kissed the top of his head. "A miracle Gus. Your Daddy needs a miracle."
Gus took her words as seriously as anything he'd ever heard. 'If Daddy needed a miracle, then a miracle he would have.'
"OK. Let's go get him one. There's that real neat gift shop we passed. I bet they'd have one!" he exclaimed excitedly pulling his Grandma towards the door.
Debbie simultaneously choked back a sigh, a laugh and a cry. 'How could she help the boy to understand?'
"Oh no Honey," she began "I'm afraid we can't just buy a miracle. You see, it's something you need to find, or be given by an Angel. It's pretty hard though, because you can't always see them." she finished.
'Christ. (pardon) She was sure she was just confusing the kid further.'
Gus disagreed. In fact, he'd already had a plan.
"Uncle Vic's an Angel." he stated simply and met Deb's eyes. "Can we please go to that yard where he slept a long time before Heaven?" he asked.
This time the sigh and cry had manged to escape. She bent down and wrapped her arms tightly around her grandson. "Of course we can." she confirmed before planting a huge kiss on his cheek.
Gus's hand quickly moved to remove the excessive wetness from his face, and he set out on his quest for the best miracle anyone had ever found.