AN: It's suicide prevention week, so after thinking about the episode "Brian and Stewie" and how Brian thought about taking his life, and thinking back on Quagmire's hatred of my favourite canine I came up with this. I've tried keeping the characters in character, but when writing on such a serious topic you tend to stray. I really hope at least someone gets the message from reading this. Suicide is such a serious topic and must be dealt with, too many lives are taken because of it.
Disclaimer: I don't own Family Guy
It takes a million compliments to build you up, and one insult to send it all crashing down.
With a bitter sigh Brian slammed his glass down on top of the bar with a trembling paw. He wasn't sure how many martinis he had ingested, maybe twenty?. His vision was fuzzy and blurry; he could barely make out his own two paws in front of his face. His head hurt like hell; it felt a thousand hammers were pounding against his skull, and cracking it open. His paws shook, and he could feel his entire body quake uncontrollably. He tried to regain control of it, but his attempt was fruitless.
"Barkeep, another martini" he ordered, his voice slurred and quivering.
Jerome wiped the glass in his hands with a bar towel, he looked up at him over the large beer mug with a concerned expression. "Brian, are you sure you want another? I think you've had enough".
He shook his head and groaned from the pain it caused, hunching over and resting his throbbing cranium on his paws. The day had started off so well; he awoke to a call about his latest book, saying that they actually wanted to publish it. Finally after all of those years of misery, failure, and despair he had made it. The family was proud of him, he was proud of himself. All of that went out the window when he stepped outside to see the neighbour across the street; the one that despised, and loathed him, Quagmire. Naturally he had tried to be friendly like he always had on their meetings. However the man would always put him down, and this time was no different.
The words he had spoke to him that morning whirled around in his head, and he quickly found himself gulping down another glass of alcohol. "Oh, so you wrote another book, is that right?. Well, I bet it's going to be a load of crap like your other ones. You're a terrible writer, Brian. I wouldn't wipe my ass with one of your books. Get out of my sight, you bastard".
Brian sighed and reached for another glass, he just couldn't wrap his brain around why Peter's friend hated him. He saw himself as a good person; he tried to stand up for animal rights, he took care of Pearl in her time of need, and even convinced her that the world isn't as bad as it's made out to be. He legalized weed- well, okay maybe that was bad, but it strangely did cut down crime. In his eyes he had done nothing wrong, nothing to deserve the disrespect and abuse constantly thrown at him.
"I think what I hate most about you is your textbook liberal agenda, how we should "legalize pot, man," how big business is crushing the underclass, how homelessness is the biggest tragedy in America. Well, what have you done to help? I work down at the soup kitchen, Brian. Never seen you down there! You wanna help? Grab a ladle!".
It was all too much, he couldn't even go a day without being put down, wether by Quagmire or his family. So, he would often find himself drinking away his troubles at the Drunken Clam; alcohol was the only thing that made the pain go away. He considered taking his life, and even kept a gun in the bank vault just in case he ever did, but Stewie convinced him otherwise. Stewie, his only true friend, he needed him, so he had to stay strong for the infant's sake. However with each passing day it was getting more difficult.
Jerome took the glass he set down on the coaster, and briskly wiped it clean. "Brian, go home to your family. I'm sure they miss you".
This earned a snort from the ivory furred canine "yeah, right".
His family didn't even notice his absence; they were too caught up in their own lives to care about him and his struggle to live another day. Honestly he was so sick of life, there was nothing to look forward to; he was a troubled alcoholic, he couldn't keep a girlfriend. The only one he had truly cared for was Jillian, and he blew it. He gave up the best thing he had ever had, and when he had realized his mistake it was too late; she married another. Even now that her husband Derek was dead and she was left a grieving widow he couldn't muster the courage to talk to her and set things right. Even if he had she wouldn't take him back, he didn't blame her either. Who would ever want to be with a waste of a life form?, nobody.
"What really bothers me is you pretend you're this deep guy who loves women for their souls when all you do is date bimbos. Yeah, I date women for their bodies, but at least I'm honest about it. I don't buy them a copy of Catcher in the Rye and then lecture them with some seventh grade interpretation of how Holden Caulfield is some profound, intellectual. He wasn't! He was a spoiled brat! And that's why you like him so much...he's you!".
Even his own mother couldn't stand his presence and gave him away. Tears burned in his eyes and he quickly rubbed at them, feeling the dampness on his paws. He could deal with all of that, but the worst was the words constantly thrown at him. He at first brushed it off with his head held high, words can't hurt you.
Soon they began to worsen and increase in insults. It hurt more than any blow to the body could, worse than any knife. He should know, after putting up with it for so long he had followed Meg's act of coping; cutting. He knew he shouldn't have, but it had all become too much, and surprisingly hurting himself relieved the pain and made him feel better. He was ashamed of it; the older Brian would have never resorted to the sorry state he was in now. Thankfully he had his fur to cover it up, but it didn't mask the guilt and shame he felt inside.
God, how had he come to this?. He was once a happy canine in a loving home, who loved life and the occasional drink. What went wrong? He went back through every event and memory stored in his mind, it all came back to one person, Quagmire. Ever since he had found out that he didn't like him his whole world came crashing down around him. Yes, he had to admit he was one of those people who couldn't deal with someone not liking them. He could put up with that, but it just got worse; dislike turned to hatred, insults, and beating.
Why didn't he like him?!, why was he doing this to him?. Did he just not care about his feelings and stepping all over them?. Did he not care that he was suicidal because of him?. What the hell was the man's problem?!.
He wished he knew the answer.
"Brian", Jerome's gruff voice brought him out of his reverie.
He looked up at him, lost "what?".
"I'm closing up the bar now, you should go home" the bartender told him.
"Oh, yeah" he shakily slid off of his seat, and felt his numb feet make contact with the cool floor. Jerome watched with a raised eyebrow as he staggered across the room, reaching for something to hold onto to keep steady.
"Are you going to be okay?".
Brian nodded, though he wished he hadn't. It felt like his head was going to explode, he clutched a paw to it "y-yeah, yeah, I'll be fine" he slurred.
"Do you want me to call you a cab?" Jerome asked, eyeing his movements carefully.
He coiled an arm around his stomach; it was churning, bringing this queasy feeling over him. He felt he was going to be sick "n-no, no, I can drive".
Jerome arched an eyebrow "are you sure? You've had an awful lot".
"Yeah".
He wished he would leave him alone, he just needed to make it to the door, the fresh air would help. He just needed to reach out and grasp the handle. His vision was fuzzy, and he felt light headed, he reached a paw out and tried to grab the handle, it was out of focus. After a few failed attempts he succeeded and swung the door open, and stepped out into the night. The warm wind blew across his face and made him feel even more sick. He tried to move and walk to his prius, as soon as he did he doubled over and released his stomach contents across the ground.
He was vomiting so violently that he fell onto his paws and knees gasping, his chest heaving as the spew continued. His throat was raw and sore by the time it ended; burning from the bodily fluid that came bubbling up through in waves. Brian panted and wiped his mouth with his arm, and shakily rose to his feet with the aid of a street light. He stared at his reflection in a puddle. God, he was a mess; he was trembling, his fur was an even paler white and was disheveled, shaggy and stuck off in all directions.
"You're just a bore, a big, sad alcoholic bore".
With another sigh he wobbled to his vehicle, pushed the keys into the lock and threw the door open, and seated himself on the seat.
"And by the way, driving a Prius doesn't make you Jesus Christ! Oh, wait! You don't believe in Jesus Christ or any religion for that matter, because "religion is for idiots!".
He quickly turned on the air conditioning and relished in the cool air blowing into his face, trying to drown out the voice playing in his head.
"Alright, you made it this far. Now, you just have to get home".
He stared down at the dashboard; everything was a blur, he couldn't tell what was what. Brian blinked a couple times and looked again; the fog had cleared, and he could see a little more clearly. He put the keys in the lock and started the engine, then put it in drive. Turning an illegal U turn he drove down the street. His vision was fading in and out, as his eyelids became heavy the road became darker and fuzzier. He quickly snapped them open and focused on the view in front of him, flicking on the radio.
"You are the worst person I know".
Brian jerked the steering wheel to the right and growled. Get out of my head, Quagmire. He adverted his gaze from the street to his arms, brushing back the fur he stared down at the words carved into his flesh.
Bitter failure.
With another sigh he covered it back over, and turned his attention to the road.
He actually just wanted to lose control of the vehicle and smash into another, or maybe a tree, anything to end his miserable existence. But of course the universe wouldn't allow him the satisfaction, and for a drunk driver he was actually driving decently. He cursed his driving skills and inability to die.
"God, you're pretentious! And you delude yourself by thinking you're some great writer, even though you're terrible!".
Brian amped up the volume of the song blasting through the speakers and tried to focus on the lyrics; anything to be rid of the incessant insults barraging him.
"You constantly hit on your best friend's wife. The man pays for your food and rescued you from certain death, and this is how you repay him? And to add insult to injury, you defecate all over his yard".
He grit his teeth together and slammed on the brakes, bringing the vehicle to an abrupt stop. Without another thought he threw the door open, and stumbled out onto the grass; damp from the night dew. He dashed down the remainder of the block as fast as his sore legs could carry him. Finally he stopped in front of the Griffin house, doubled over and gasping for breath. He looked over his shoulder; staring back at him was Quagmire's house.
"If I ever see you anywhere near my house, I'll blow your head off!. Now lay there and die, you piece of crap!".
God, he wished he would just stand up for himself and give the man what he clearly deserves. But he couldn't do it, he just wasn't that type of person, and no matter how many blows to the body he received he would just lie there and take it. Just as he thought they would finally set aside their differences and become friends he hit him with the back of his car. He had a feeling that if he died Quagmire would just sit through the service on his phone. That's how much he despised him.
He shook his head and turned the doorknob of the Griffin house, the door swung open and he was met with Stewie's angered expression. "Well, it's about time you got home. Do you know how long I was up waiting for you?. I thought something happened, you're never out this late".
Brian groaned and clutched his head "Stewie, not now. I feel like hell". He took a step forward, and collapsed like a brick of lead on the floor.
Stewie rolled his eyes "oh, for God's sake" he grabbed hold of his red collar and pulled him over to the couch and sat him down. The infant padded out of the room and returned moments later with a glass of water.
"You can't keep doing this to yourself, you're drinking yourself into extinction".
Brian accepted the glass and gulped it down "who cares? No one does. I'm just an expendable punching bag". He curled into a ball and breathed an exasperated sigh.
Stewie seated himself beside him, and stroked his matted fur comfortingly. "Have you learned nothing from all of our time together? I care. It doesn't matter what others think of you, don't you remember our talk back in the bank vault?.
"Vaguely" he admitted "it's all a blur".
"This is about that bastard Quagmire again, isn't it?" Stewie asked with venom oozing through his calm voice.
Brian remained silent.
"Who cares what that douche thinks?. He's no better" he told him.
The canine hid his face in his paws "you don't understand, Stewie. You're a baby, of course everyone likes you.
Stewie shook his football shaped head "not everyone, but that doesn't bother me. They can all go to hell for all I care".
"It didn't bother me at first" he confessed "I tried to be mature about it and except the fact that that man simply doesn't like me. But then it got worse; he just wouldn't stop, every time I spoke to him he treated me like dirt. He's like a bully that just won't go away no matter what you do, he always puts me down and makes me hate myself". He massaged his aching temples and hid his muzzle in his ivory fur.
The room fell into silence, something quite strange for the Griffin house. Finally Stewie spoke up ending the silence and the tension "it's because of Quagmire that you thought about committing suicide, isn't it?" he asked quietly.
Brian lowered his paws and turned to look at him "to be honest...yeah. He's made me see all of the mistakes I've made in my life that I just can not fix no matter how hard I try. Let's face it Stewie, he's right; I'm a failure, I don't deserve to live. Everyone would be better off without me". He lowered his head in shame.
Stewie gaped at him "that's not true, and I'll kill him for saying much things!".
He shook his head "no, it is".
"You know, I can tear out his intestines and tie them to a bus, if it'll make you feel better. Will that make you feel better, Bri?" Stewie suggested hopefully.
Brian shook his head again "no".
Stewie's small hands balled into fists "Brian, you've got to stand up for yourself. You can't just let him treat you like crap, come on man, fight back".
"Just stay out of it, Stewie" he told him tiredly "it's not your fight".
Stewie placed his hands on his hips "I will most certainly not. I'm not going to stand here and watch as my best friend slowly kills himself. You've got to at least do something. Bite him, you had no trouble biting the fat man" he urged.
"I said stay out of it!" Brian snapped, he leapt off of the couch and stormed off; running up the stairs and slamming a door shut.
Stewie stood up and followed, worried about his only friend. He padded down the hallway searching for the room the canine had barricaded himself in. A noise swarmed into his ears, he followed it bringing him to the bathroom. He pressed his ear against the door; soul crushing sobs were coming from behind it.
He slowly turned the handle, and pushed the door open; Brian was curled up on the floor clutching onto the toilet, his body was convulsing violently from the sobs racking it, tears were running down his face.
"I want to die, Stewie" he chocked out through his sobs "why won't you let me?".
The infant sat beside him "you don't mean that" he spoke.
"Yes, I do" he sobbed "look at me, I'm a mess".
"Brian, you're drunk and upset. You don't know what you're saying" Stewie said. He rubbed his back as he dunked his head into the toilet and threw up.
"Just leave me alone" Brian hiccuped "let me drown in a pool of my own tears, and vomit".
"Don't talk like that" Stewie spoke, his upper lip quivering "you're gonna make me cry".
"I just want to die" he whimpered, over and over with each sniffle and tear.
Stewie pulled him out of the toilet bowl and hugged him, tears rolling down his small face. Brian held him tightly as he cried and hiccuped through the tears. The two stayed like that for a long time, Stewie continuing to rub small circles in his back as he sniffled, and gradually began to calm down.
Stewie handed him a towel, and watched as he wiped his face clean of the vomit and tears that had blended together, and curled up on the floor; his body still trembling uncontrollably. The infant had never been so petrified in his short life. He feared he was going to lose Brian, and didn't know what to do to stop it. For once the evil genius didn't know what to do. He felt helpless, all he could do was watch as his best friend cried and pleaded for death.
He didn't know it was so serious, Brian had always had curveballs thrown at him, but he was always able to walk out of a bad situation with his head held high. Now all of them had come together and destroyed him, reducing him to the pitiful sight young Stewie saw before him. He didn't know what to say, sure Brian had told him about the idea of committing suicide, but he never expected to see him so close to it. He always thought that his life would turn around for the better, sadly it only went more downhill.
For the first time Stewie actually needed his mother. Lois would know what to do, she was a grown up. Surely she could talk Brian out of it. With his mind set he hurried out of the bathroom, after taking one last worried glance at Brian he dashed downstairs and into the kitchen, finding the woman he despised chatting away on the phone.
"I know, Bonnie" the red head spoke "just give it time, I'm sure Joe will be fine".
He quickly rushed to her side and tugged at her pant leg "Lois, Lois!".
She looked down at him "not now, Stewie. Mommy's talking on the phone". She turned her attention back to the conversation.
He tugged her pants as urgently as he could "Lois!".
What could possibly be so important to the vile woman that she would ignore her own baby?. Why couldn't she get off the phone and listen to him? He didn't have much time. For all he knew Brian could be ending it as he tried to get his neglectful mother's attention.
He couldn't bare the thought of losing his best friend, Brian completed him. He was the only one who listened and understood him, the only one he cared for. He couldn't imagine life without him, tears burned at his eyes and dribbled down his cheeks.
"Lois" he wailed, "Lois!".
She turned her attention from the phone and to him "I got to go, Bonnie". Lois placed the phone down on the receiver, and knelt beside the weeping infant.
"What's wrong, Stewie?" she cooed.
Stewie sniffled and looked up into her eyes, he brushed away the tears trailing down his face. "It's Brian, he's thinking of killing himself because of that bastard, Quagmire" he wailed.
Her eyes widened "what?".
"I-I don't k-know what to do" he continued through his sobbing "he won't listen to me. I'm scared, Lois. I can't lose my best friend, I just can't".
She wiped away his tears with her thumb "it's okay, Stewie".
He shook his head, and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his coveralls "no, it's not. You have to do something!". He pressed his fists into his eyes and cried.
Lois scooped him into her arms, she set him down on the couch in the living room and flicked on the television. "Alright, you sit here and watch Jolly Farm, and I'll go talk to Glenn".
"Hurry" he called after her "there isn't much time!".
Lois hurried out the door and across the street, she hastily banged on Quagmire's door and waited impatiently. Footsteps shuffled behind the door and it swung open.
Lois glared at the man standing before her, he smiled suavely and slicked back his jet black hair with his hand. "Well, hello Lois. What can I do for you?".
She grit her teeth together, and pushed her way inside "now is not the time, Glenn".
He frowned "what's wrong?".
Lois swiftly faced him, her eyebrows pulled together "you know what's wrong, it's about Brian and the way you treat him. You know how sensitive he is".
He waved a dismissive hand "oh, big deal, Lois. He's a dog, he'll get over it and go chase some car".
Her expression hardened "he's thinking about committing suicide, Glen. Stewie is over there in hysterics, afraid he's going to lose his best friend".
His smug demeanour faltered "what?".
She folded her arms over her chest "you heard me".
"Oh, come on. The guy's all talk, surely he wouldn't actually do it" Quagmire scoffed.
"My babt is crying" she growled through her teeth "because of you".
"Are you sure he doesn't want his bottle, or something?" he asked with skepticism.
Her glare intensified "Glenn, you have been my neighbour for years, you're a womanizer and I've put up with that. But this is going too far, for God sakes Glenn, he's a dog. You know I could have you arrested for animal abuse, but I didn't. You're Peter's best friend, and I could never do that to him. You owe me, Glenn, so I suggest you get over there and talk to Brian before it's too late, or I swear to God I'll put your ass behind bars as fast as you can say giggity".
Quagmire backed away from her and held his hands up, palms facing outward "okay, okay, I'll go talk to him. You know you're hot when you're angry" he wiggled his eyebrows flirtatiously.
Lois scowled and pointed out the door "go!".
He hastily ran out in the direction she pointed, afraid to invoke her rage.
Brian picked himself off of the floor, with a sniffle he headed towards Peter and Lois's bedroom. He found his novel "Faster than the Speed of Love" under the bed and tore a page out. Finding a pen on the dresser, with trembling paws he fumbled with the writing utensil as he scribbled down a note and left it on the comforter. He pushed back the dresser, and pulled out a box hidden in the hole through the back of it.
"You son of a Bitch!"
With a sigh he took the lid off, and pulled out the object inside.
Quagmire threw open the front door and dashed inside, passing Stewie who was still seated on the couch watching Jolly Farm.
"Hey, Stewie" he greeted frantically.
Stewie glared at him "yeah. You better run, you bastard".
He bolted up the stairs, nearly losing his footing and threw open the door to Lois and Peter's bedroom. Brian turned around clutching a gun in his shaking paws, his red eyes narrowed upon seeing him.
Quagmire held his palms up passively and took a step backwards "whoa, hey. Take it easy with that thing".
His frown deepened, and he pressed the barrel against the side of his head. Quagmire heaved a sigh of relief, he wasn't going to shoot him. He slowly stepped inside, Brian's hateful glare following his every movement.
"Brian, put the gun down" he ordered calmly.
Brian's glare intensified, his grasp tightened around the handle "oh, so now you care" he spat. "Where were you when I was lying near dead in a gutter because you hit me with your car?".
"Okay, I get you're angry. Don't do anything drastic, just put the gun down".
His eyebrows furrowed "you'd like that wouldn't you?. You want me alive so you can constantly berate me, you're sick you know that?".
"You're the one holding a gun to your head" Quagmire countered "you're not in your right mind, you need help".
"This is exactly what I need" Brian growled "you drove me to this, Glenn Quagmire. And You know what? I've tried to forget it and move on with my life, but you just wouldn't stop. You wouldn't stop until my whole word came crashing down around me, is that what you wanted? Because congratulations, you got it".
Quagmire slowly inched closer, waiting for the right moment to go for the gun. "look, I may hate you, but I don't want you to kill yourself. So, just put the gun down and we'll talk about this".
Brian's eyes narrowed into slits "no, you're gonna have to live with my blood on your hands, like I've had to with your insults". He tightened his grip even more in his sweaty paw. "You're going to know exactly what I felt every day because of you".
"Alright, I'll admit I went a bit far. Are you willing to give up everything you have because of a few words?" Quagmire questioned.
"They were more than just words, each time you spoke it cut me, it cut right down and left a scar on my soul. You don't know what that's like because you never experienced it" Brian spat venomously. "It hurts more than anything else, Quagmire. And part of me just wants to find the right words to hurt you, the same way you hurt me. But I won't Glen, because despite what you may believe I'm better than that, and I won't stoop to your level".
"Brian, I'm sorry" Quagmire finally uttered "I truly am, despite my feelings about you I shouldn't have said and done what I did".
Brian glared back at him, before he pulled the trigger he uttered five words that would forever be engraved in his memory and upon his soul.
"It's too late to apologize".
The gunshot rang throughout all of Quahog. Stewie turned off his program and quickly hurried upstairs, Lois behind him. He walked into the room; Quagmire was as still as a board of wood, his eyes wide. They followed his gaze and gasped, Brian's crumpled body lay in a heap on the floor. Lois rushed to his side, and frantically searched for a pulse from his unmoving body; there was none. All she found was a hole in his head leaking out blood from where the bullet went through. She cupped her hand around her mouth and staggered backwards, her face draining of all colour.
Stewie remained still in the doorway, he was too late. Tears spilled from his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. He watched as Lois frantically called the rest of the family who had all been out doing their own things. His eyes fell on a slip of paper beside her on the bed. He slowly stepped toward it, trying to keep his gaze off of the corpse of his best friend. He lifted the paper from the bed and stared at it, it was a note.
Dear Stewie,
I know times will be tough without me around, but I know you can get through it. You have brains, so use them well.
I know your fear of not being able to live with me forever has come true. But I'm not gone. I am still here, beside you. I am standing right here as you read this. And I always will be. There is no reason to be afraid of death. It's another way of life. I loved the time we spent together. All our crazy road trips, our insane stunts, and most of all, our friendship. Promise me you'll never let go of the memories that I left. Just don't let go.
And I always want you to remember these words, even though I never did believe in God and Heaven:
Don't you worry, child. Heaven's got a place for you.
Tears burned in his eyes and plopped onto the page, he held it to his chest holding back a sob. "Oh, Brian. Why? Why couldn't you hang in there a little longer?". Stewie pulled back the note and stared at it with an expression of sorrow "I won't let go" he sniffled "I'll never let go".
Words hurt more than anything else can, because they last sometimes forever.
AN: Thank you to Roses at my side for giving me the idea of the death note. I wasn't able to use it in my previous fic, so I used it here.