The only warning Brian gets is Rome's eyes widening before he feels something warm and solid clamp down on the back of his neck, and the next thing he knows, he's sliding across the poured concrete on his side for a good two, three feet.
Surprise, more than pain – shit, though, that's there in fucking spades, too – knocks loose a grunt from the back of his throat. Soon as he remembers how to breathe properly again, though, he's rolling over onto his front to push himself up.
He hears the skud of plastic scooting quickly across the floor, and as he's scrambling to his feet, he catches Rome coming around the table.
"No!" he says quickly. "Stay out of this, Rome." Because the last thing he needs is Rome and his broke ass arm getting involved in his fight.
If you could call it that. "Fight" makes it sound like there are two sides going at each other. Brian hasn't even gotten his balance back when Dom's hand grabs his shoulder and jerks him around, and Brian doesn't see the right hook heading for his face until it's already there.
It's the hardest punch Brian thinks he's ever taken; at least, that's how he remembers it after the fact. Right now, he's too busy stumbling back into one of the half-stack standing tool boxes, and he guesses this is what happens when a guy like Dom lets loose two years of pent-up fury.
"Brian!" It's Rome, and when Brian's vision clears enough – his eyes have welled up from the beating his nose just took, and there's something wet on his face, but he's not really sure the two are related – he realizes Rome's moving towards him.
Problem is, so's Dom. He thinks he might manage to shout at Rome to back off, but he can't really be sure. Not with two-hundred-plus pounds of muscle and righteous fury coming at him. And fuck, when Dom grabs him, his feet actually leave the ground. His back finds it pretty quick right after.
Any air Brian's managed to suck in during this whole shitfest leaves his lungs in a mix between a grunt and a groan. He sees stars for a second, and it's only training and years of people trying to kick the shit out of him that give him the presence of mind to get his legs around Dom's waist and pull him down to his level. He can't beat Dom throwing punches – he's not trying to, really, but instinct can only be ignored so much – but if he can get inside those freakishly strong punches, and hold him there, he might get out of this with his face in one piece.
For a second, he actually thinks about calling out to Rome, who he can see standing just off to the side with a freaked-out look on his face, but Dom's next words kill the words on his lips.
"—came into my house," he's grinding through his teeth like oil through gears as he fights to get Brian off him, and Brian fights just as hard to hold on. "You lied to me!"
Suddenly, Brian's back lifts off the ground. Dom's got him by a bruising grip on his upper arms, and with Brian's legs around his waist, he actually gets him a good few feet up before he slams him right back down.
Brian actually thinks he blacks out for a second. Just a second, but fuck, he thinks, if Dom gives him another slam like that, it'll be a toss-up on what breaks first: his spine or his skull. And Brian's not scared of a whole hell of a lot, but a sudden flash of panic stabs his chest, because there's a difference between getting beat up and getting broken, and this is getting too fucking close to that line.
It's like a shot of NOS in his veins. In an instant, he's jerking forward, throwing his body to one side and hooking his arm around the back of Dom's neck. And holy shit, he's thick, but Brian manages to get his arm all the war around and get his wrist in a bar. If it's between getting his skull cracked open on the concrete and choking Dom out, he's gonna choke him out. Settling a score's one thing; it's kind of hard to apologize when his brain's on the fucking floor.
Dom's not going down easy, though. He shoves his hands flat into Brian's already-bruised ribs, and Brian realizes with another stab of alarm that it's actually getting kind of hard to breathe. The pressure, the searing pain in his chest…his head's starting to swim.
"You sold us out!" Dom growls, and his voice sounds too loud and too quiet at the same time. It's all muffled, and Brian's really not sure how much of it's how he's holding him and how much of it's the pounding between his ears. It doesn't help that he punctuates it with a fist into Brian's side, and if he does that again, Brian knows something's breaking.
He doesn't let go, though. If anything, he holds tighter, with this desperate sort of energy that's nothing but adrenaline and freakish, irrational panic. "I didn't sell you out!" he shouts as much as he can. And that's true, because he never once set anyone on Dom or his team. Never. That doesn't make up for everything else he did do, but at least his conscience has that.
Not that Dom's gonna see it that way.
"You used Mia!"
"That's bullshit!" Which probably isn't the best defense, but it's the first one Brian's addled brain can come up with. Because it's true. He loved Mia. Still does, even if it's not what it was. He loves all of them, and the thought that he used any of them—
Brian realizes his mistake too late. He got distracted, his grip loosened, and before Brian can react, Dom breaks loose of the hold and gets him by the front of the shirt, tugging him up until his shoulders leave the ground.
"Bullshit?" Dom thunders. "You destroyed my family for a job, O'Conner!" And he draws back his fist and swings it straight at Brian's—
"I gave it up!" The words tumble out of Brian's mouth without his consent, just as he's steeling himself for the punch that he's pretty sure's gonna put his lights out.
It never comes.
Dom's stopped. His fist is still raised, and Brian knows it'd be too fucking easy for him to go through with it. Part of Brian wishes he would; anything would be better than that look Dom's giving him: nose flared, lips downturned into a grimace that looks almost…pained, and his eyes burning with something Brian can't really place. In his defense, though, he's not really firing on all cylinders.
"Get up," Dom says finally.
Brian can barely swallow past the lump in his throat, but he manages a breathless, "What?"
Dom's face hardens. Instead of repeating himself, though, he stands, and thanks to his grip on Brian's shirt, Brian doesn't have much choice but to come up with him. That same grip ends up being the only thing keeping Brian on his feet when all the blood rushes out of his head and the garage suddenly tips on its side. The edges of his vision darken for a second, and blood roars in his ears, and he feels a hand close over his upper arm again.
Maybe its wishful thinking, but it feels a little less bruising this time, and he kind of hopes it's intentional.
When his vision clears, though, Dom's still looking at him with that same steely look as before. "Think it's time you and I had a talk," he says, and his voice is dead even.
It's scary, Brian thinks, how quick he went from shouting to this. He thinks he might almost prefer the shouting.
Part of him wants to tell Dom to fuck off. He's had a long ass day, and his everything hurts, and he kind of just wants to crawl back to his boat and pretend the world outside doesn't exist for a few weeks. Besides, he realizes, when he feels something tickle his upper lip and drags the back of his arm across it, that his nose is bleeding. Gushing, maybe's a better word. It's all down the front of his shirt, and he can taste it on his tongue. He doesn't think it's broken, but he's not looking forward to the morning.
"Brian." The grip on his arm tightens, and Brian kind of snaps out of whatever daze he's in – like he said, not on all cylinders – to see Dom watching him intently. It's probably the concussion talking, but he thinks, buried there somewhere in those dark eyes that are suddenly a hell of a lot closer than he remembers them being, there might be something that looks a hell of a lot like worry.
Logically, he tells himself that doesn't make sense. Dom's the one that was just wailing on him; he wouldn't be worried about him. But he decides, just this once, to let himself go with it. After the day he's had, he thinks he deserves at least that tiny bit of comfort, even if it's just a lie.
"Brian."
Shit, he did it again.
"Yo, man, why don't you lay off him?"
Brian shoots Rome a look that he hopes shows his gratitude. He's not sure whether or not it works, but Rome looks ruffled, so he's thinking probably not as well as he wants it to.
Dom slow-glances back at him – that thing he does with his eyebrow and a slight tilt…yeah, that's the one – and Brian suddenly wishes he had a facial expression for 'please, bro, don't go picking a fight.' He knows Rome could probably hold his own, even with his broke ass arm, but he really doesn't feel like trying to break up a fight. Especially not one on his account.
He figures the best thing to do, then, is to get them as far away as possible as quick as possible. "You wanna talk?" he says, and he mentally claps himself on the back when he gets Dom's attention back on him. "We'll talk. Come on; my boat's out back." He sounds a lot more confident than he feels, and he thinks he walks a lot more steadily than he is.
"What the hell are you doing, Brian?" Rome's voice sounds an awful lot like a snarl as he jogs to catch up with Brian. Dom's let go of Brian's arm, thank God, and he's walking a few feet back.
It doesn't escape Brian's notice how much easier it is to breathe, now.
"I got it, bro," Brian tells him, his voice low.
Rome scowls even deeper. "That mother tried to kill you two minutes ago," Rome hisses.
Brian actually chuckles a little bit at that. Rome doesn't know Dom. Obviously, or else he'd know that if Dom was trying to kill Brian, he'd at least have come a hell of a lot closer. Brian sure as hell wouldn't be walking away on his own power.
"Just trust me, would you?"
"Oh, I trust you. I trust you to do something stupid." Which is probably fair, Brian thinks, but he's going to argue anyway when Rome beats him to the punch. "This is the guy from LA, isn't it?" He asks like he already knows, like it's just hit him.
Brian nods. "Yeah," he says. "It's him."
It's always been him.
