Notes: So after Friday's E4 I had to write a tiny something to reconcile how brief the hospital scenes were because I was going slightly mad. This works as a standalone but by a completely happy coincidence it also works as a prequel to I Can't See Without Your Light ( - /s/8684394/1/I-Can-t-See-Without-Your-Light or you can find it on my profile).
Warnings: Serious angst and quite strong religious themes. Doug's here, kicking about a bit, but he's not central.
Title again from the song Breathe by Superchick.
"Brendan it's me, listen - there's been an accident at the wedding. It's Ste - he's in the hospital - "
He doesn't hear the rest of Cheryl's words because he's up and on his feet, keys in hand in the space of a heartbeat. He sees his journey in stages; broken down, manageable pieces because every step between him and Steven feels like a hundred miles and in his head he's already there except he isn't and it's hard to reconcile the two. Chair to door, door to car, car to car park, car park to hospital -
One bit at a time.
The last stage, hospital to Steven, is the hardest. He thinks he might be shouting his name at the staff because how could they not know who Steven was? How could they have missed him when Brendan can feel his presence all over this fucking building like a damn beacon. His light hasn't gone out yet, Brendan is sure of it.
"Steven - "
"Brendan don't go in there!"
It's too late, he's too late. If he'd been here five minutes earlier, if he'd been at that fucking wedding, if he'd just said something - what? What does he think he could have done?
He can't protect Steven like this - he's surrounded by doctors and nurses and machines and there's no place for Brendan and there's nothing he can do so he falls to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. He watches like a spectator, like a ghost in peripheral vision, as hazy and transparent and aimless.
The machines beep. Cheryl strokes his hair. Brendan watches as they push and pull and press and he doesn't do a God damn thing.
"I said get out of here, get out!"
Douglas shoves him, furious and devastated and then suddenly he's not. Suddenly he's seen what's really important and his attention couldn't be any more focused and Brendan's the one holding him back, trying to give him something firm to rail against and fight until he's slumped against the glass and begging Brendan to tell him everything's going to be okay.
"They can help him though, right?"
"Course they will - "
That and his hand on Doug's back is the only thing he can offer anyone right now and he gives it gladly.
The flat, monotone whine of the heart machine plays alongside of the fuzzing static of his thoughts and together they create an unbearable, agonising cacophony that physically hurts him. Time condenses down into a thick, stretchy forever that goes on and on relentlessly like an absolute manifestation of Hell on Earth. An eternal, ceaseless torment that cuts and flays and whips and pierces. One person can't survive that long without a heartbeat, it's been hours, days, years, Steven's dead and Brendan doesn't see why they're even trying to resuscitate him anymore when he's already suffered an entire lifetime without him.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The sound of life is like music to his ears and it hums through the fog of his grief like a melody that he wants to get stuck in his head.
Steven's died once, has felt the soft touch of whatever comes after and turned away from it and Brendan thinks that maybe today Heaven won't take him.
"I wanna be here when he wakes up."
"What if he doesn't?"
Douglas doesn't argue with him because Brendan knows he's thinking it too. One of them has faith in something greater and yet they both feel the exact same possibilities, they can both imagine the exact same outcome. Doug's faith lies firmly with Steven's strength and his doctor's skill and Brendan shares that, believes that Steven is the strongest person he knows and that his doctors are capable, but his faith is supposed to carry him further than that - it's supposed to tell him that whatever happens is God's plan and that thought is supposed to comfort him.
"Why do you wear that? Do you actually believe that there's a God that would let this happen to someone good like Ste?"
It's such a fragile thing, the last tenuous thread that connects him to the beliefs that he'd hoped would one day save him. The chain around his neck offers him no comfort now, though, just weighs on him like a burden and it's heavy pull stretches that thread until it's so thin he can hardly see it.
If God's plan is to take Steven then how can Brendan be okay with that? How is that supposed to be a comfort?
"I put his life in your hands and I put my faith - in a punchline."
He stands before the altar and makes his sacrifice. He offers up the last and greatest thing he has left to give - the strength of what he feels for Steven. The sacrifice has to be equal, the penance great enough, and this is the only way it ever will be. What Brendan's offering is a life for a life.
He stares up at the stained glass and remembers a similar setting as a boy. Back then he'd felt awe. He'd felt loved and safe and protected and then later he'd felt ashamed and dirty and unworthy. Now he hardly feels a thing. He's an empty shell, a black hole of yawning, sucking nothingness that rips apart everything it touches and turns it into darkness and dust. He'd hoped that his faith might one day be worth something, that it might redeem him, but he thinks, maybe, he was wrong about that. Seeing Steven in that hospital bed, small and fragile and broken, he'd felt his last chance at real redemption slipping away. If Steven lives he's ready and willing to give him up, to leave that one last chance behind forever.
If Steven dies, Brendan's life is forfeit anyway.
He waits in the corridor until Douglas leaves and slips into Steven's room without being noticed.
Ever since that first day he's felt like he and that bed are magnetically identical and he's been physically repelled by it so that now he has to fight against the force of it just to get close. He's watched Steven's face for long hours, tried to memorise every line and angle in case the last time he gets to look is truly the last time but when he's this close it's almost too hard. He's tarnished by bruises and torn flesh but it takes nothing away from how beautiful he is and looking at him is almost painful.
He looks cold and Brendan wishes he could cover him with a blanket. He looks naked and Brendan doesn't want other people to see.
"Okay - " he preps himself quietly, " - okay, we need to talk. I'm gonna need you to listen, Steven, I know it's hard, I know you like to butt in all the time and you never stop chattering on and on and frankly it's annoying as hell so just - "
His throat squeezes around the words and he chokes on them.
" - I just need you to hear me, okay? I need you to listen."
There's no reply, no affirmation except the steady beep of Steven's heart and the crunch and rattle of his breaths; just the sound of the machines that are keeping him alive. Brendan's legs feel weak and he half collapses to his knees and it's ironically appropriate and he can't help a dry, humourless laugh. He takes Steven's warm hand in both his own and presses the silver chain into his palm, wraps it around his fingers and places the cross carefully across the top.
"I'm giving you this to look after and I'm gonna want it back at some point. I'm gonna need you to give it back to me and tell me how ridiculous I was for giving it to you in the first place since you always lose stuff anyway and what was I thinking 'cause Lucas might get a hold of it and break it. I reme - I remember you sayin' - tellin' me that's all he seems to do these days, gettin' his hands into everything - " His voice shakes and cracks. He closes his eyes tightly and feels moisture on his face. "Lucas and Leah need their daddy to be strong for them, Steven. I need you to be strong for me. If you don't then I don't know what'll be left and I'm scared. I don't wanna find out, I don't want Cheryl to have to find out - she can't pick up the pieces, not again."
He pauses to catch his breath and slow his reeling thoughts. He strokes a thumb across Steven's wrist gently and it soothes him.
"It's not nice to emotionally blackmail a coma patient, is it?" he asks dryly, "but I'm kinda running out of options here, y'know? You used to be happy with a pint and a quick fumble in the office but - but now you'd probably want flowers and hand-holding and the whole nine yards, wouldn't you?"
He gazes at Steven's face, tries not to see the tube down his throat or the electrodes attached to his skin. Brendan tries to see him as he was days ago, sat on a barrel outside his club wearing that stubborn pout and sulky glare that he adores so much and talking about love like he was ready to throw in the towel.
"I would have done it, too. If you'd wanted it, I woulda' done all of it - just wanted you to know that."
He kneels for a while longer, silently soaking in Steven's presence and letting it wash over him until he feels like he can support his own weight again and shuffles to his feet; the doctors will be along soon and the last thing he wants to do is get caught so vulnerable. It's hard to leave the room, though. He feels opposite now, his polarities reversed, and he's fighting the pull to move clear of it. If he can see Steven then he can, somehow - no matter how ludicrous or illogical the idea, make sure that he's okay.
He pulls himself together and staggers to the door, doesn't intend to glance back but it's a compulsion that he can't resist; one last indulgence and that's it, he'll keep his promise he swears. The back of his neck tingles with loss like a phantom missing limb from an amputee and his eyes catch on the silver across Steven's hand. It looks perfect there against his skin like it settles and just fits.
It's Brendan's last thread of hope and it's fitting that he's handing it over to the person who made him believe in the first place.
"Leah!"
He's there in an instant, hands pressed into Steven's shoulders while he thrashes and calls out his daughters name. He shushes and soothes and touches warm, living flesh because Steven needs it and he can't seem to stop.
"She's fine, she's fine, Leah's absolutely fine, the bus didn't hit her, she's okay, Douglas and everyone else, they're okay - It hit you, you're in the hospital," he chokes out and Steven looks at him, raw and completely opened up, no barriers to hide a damn thing and he looks terrified and confused and Brendan's heart clenches painfully in his chest.
"Wha - that 'appened?" he asks in a small voice and Brendan explains it to him softly and calls for the doctors.
The room explodes into a rush of people and colours and sounds and Brendan finds himself jostled back, out of the way, back into the shadows, helpless and lost, but Steven's hand grabs out for him forcefully and drags him back into the light - just like always.
"Please, please don't go - " he pleads and Brendan collapses to his knees, again - he seems to be doing that a lot recently, and takes his hand.
"Hey, hey, shhh, it's okay," he murmurs, close and gentle. "I won't leave you, I promise."
It's a promise he can keep for now but later he'll have something bigger to answer to. For now, though, he just wants to feel the warm press of Steven's fingers tangled with his own, wants to look into the bright blue of the eyes that he hasn't seen in far too long, wants to soak in the voice that has left his life completely silent and unbearable.
He'll give himself a few days, a week at most, to shoulder as many memories as he can carry and then he'll leave. He'll hold up his end of the bargain because it means that Steven's alive and if that fact is true then everything else falls into place easily.
Steven grips him tightly like a lifeline and Brendan holds on for all he's worth.