Disclaimer: I own the Fast and the Furious and am rich…wait, that was a dream. My bad.
Warnings: This is an AU story. Brian is sixteen years old (he graduated high school at 12) and Dom and Letty's son. The story line starts as the same.
Hey, Guys, this is a faster update than usual because I haven't had anything to do since I moved to Texas and it has taken four days for the internet to finally be set up!! Woohoo, I have internet once more!!!Thank God, I have no idea how people lived before they had internet, thank you, Dad!!Anywho, hope you like the chapter, Love, Brownie
Our Son
Chapter 12: Drink
""you know someone If who tries to drown their sorrows, you might tell them sorrows know how to swim." Quoted in P.S. I Love You
Pulling the door open, Brian entered and, then, ignored every good instinct that was telling him to turn tail and shut the door behind himself; after all he had a brother to get out of prison. He shut the door behind himself and slowly weaved his way through the drunk crowd, spotting Dom immediately in the corner engaged in, what seemed to be, a particularly heated argument. Brian almost sighed in relief when Dom turned away from Letty, Thank God; catastrophe averted, and barely refrained from laughing at the expression on Letty's face. He didn't have to restrain himself for long because as soon as Dom started walking, Vince looked at him and spotted Brian in the background.
Brian couldn't help, but think that the vein pulsing on Vince's forehead was in danger of popping, when he turned to Dom and growled, "Yo, Dom, why'd you bring the buster here?"
Dom didn't even blink, he just turned around and growled right back, his domineering personality giving Vince no room to fight back, "Cuz the buster kept me out of handcuffs! He didn't just run back to the fort!" He lowered his voice to normal decibels, "The buster brought me back," then turned back around and made a beeline for Brian. Holding out a beer in each hand in a way that would be inviting for most people, but wasn't for Brian, he announced, "You can have any brew you want, as long as it's a Corona."
Shit. Shit. Shit. Brian didn't even try to refrain from cussing and tried to think straight in the…ah….three to five seconds he had to decide on the course of action that he was going to take. He could either accept: moving a step farther in his mission and going against all his principles, or no: more than likely killing any chances he had of gaining Dom's trust because he obviously had a thing for Corona.
In the end, it wasn't even a decision: there was only one option, "Thanks, Man," said Brian as he used his left hand to accept the Corona in Dom's right.
"That's Vince's," Dom pointed at the beer bottle that was now in Brian's hand, "So enjoy it." With that he turned toward Vince and Brian, who'd figured out Dom's motivation for offering him a beer, mimicked the movement to see Vince, who had an incredulous, but hurt look on his face, disbelievingly point at Brian and emphasize, "You?..." before trailing off.
Brian kept himself from cussing up a storm, he'd been trying to stop thank you very much, and played the part of the nonchalant surfer-boy to the T, pulling up the corner of his shirt and using it to wipe off the top of the Corona. Now came the part that had him and his conscience up in knots, he'd promised himself a while back, back when most kids are too young to know what their parents are chugging out of a glass bottle, that he'd never go near, much less touch or drink, any type of alcohol, and now he was about to majorly break that covenant. But he lifted the bottle up to his lips, wrapped them around the round top, and, looking at Vince, tipped the bottle up, killing a piece of himself that he'd preserved throughout his trying lifetime as he did so.
He worked his throat muscles excessively as the foul liquid traveled down his throat, trying to control his gag reflex because this had to be the worst thing he'd ever drank – and he'd drunk prune juice – but it probably wouldn't make a very good impression if he threw up. He lowered the bottle, ignoring Vince's reaction to his previous actions, and addressed Dom, "Hey, Bro, you got a bathroom?"
Dom didn't even turn and look at him, instead he continued staring at Vince challengingly and answered, "Yeah, upstairs: first door on the right." Brian turned and hightailed it up the stairs, feeling the bile try to make its way up his throat, and into the bathroom. He placed the bottle precariously on the side of the sink and, swallowing heavily and repetitively, pushed the door shut, fumbling around for the lock until he found it.
Then he stumbled back to the sink, framing his wet hands on the sides, sweaty head bent over the sink and let go. He tried to ignore the memories this brought back knowing that they would only make the situation worse, but failed, then grimaced as more bile made its way up. It only got worse after he'd lost everything he'd eaten: a PB and J, and he started dry heaving, feeling the burning in his lungs that had started when the beer had made its way down increase threefold. It was a while before he was done and, once he was, he turned the tap water on, letting it drain away the result of his actions. Once the sink was clear, he stuck his hand out to test the water and, finding it cold, stuck his head in the sink, then tilted it up so that he could take a drink.
He let the cold water cool him down a little, then, moving his head back, framed his hands together to form a cup. He, then, placed them under the flow of water and, when they contained sufficient water, splashed said water onto his heated face. Once his face was feeling close to normal, he repeated the procedure with his hair, running his fingers through his hair to spread it and move his hair off of his face. Then, he went back to his original position at the sink: one hand framed on each side of the sink and looked up at the mirror to stare at his reflection.
He looked the same, but he sure as heck didn't feel it. He took in his features recalling these same features in the same position at various times in his sixteen years of life. At five, horrified, but fascinated by the flow of blood originating from his palm as he tried to stop and wash it out with water. At eight, afraid, but determinedly creeping closer to the prone figure of his foster father, Anthony, to take a look at the reason of his unplanned rest, which was lying in his limp hand, eyes flittering repetitively to Anthony to make sure he wasn't about to wake up even as he doggedly ignored his distorted black and blue reflection on the crisp white bottle and read the label, "Smirnoff Vodka."
At twelve, staring at his reflection in passing, the red-speckled shirt, the myriad of bruises covering his arms and face and picturing the ones scattered painfully across his torso, wondering how people could ignore what was right in front of them. Shaking his head to get it out of the past, Brian rinsed his mouth once more, then, after releasing a long breath, grabbed the abandoned bottle of beer and tipped it over the counter and emptied it more than halfway. Deeming himself ready, he righted the bottle and, opening the door, made his way down the stairs, stopping to make room for Dom and Letty when they met him on their way up.
"Yo," Dom's voice had him turning before his feet even touched the floor, "You know you owe me a ten second car, right?"
Brian just stared at Dom blankly, his mind going through the various ways he could play out that scenario, and it was then, with Dom's arm wrapped around her, that Brian spotted the first genuine smile he'd seen on Letty's face. "Ouch," she laughed, then continuing on her way up with Dom, "Oh, shit."
It was then, when he saw Leon and Vince making a beeline for him, that he realized that he'd been left to the wolves, but that had happened plenty of times before and Brian knew how to deal with it.
"Did you wipe the seat?" asked Vince callously with Leon and Vince backing him up and other people around to help if he needed them to. Brian saw the gun, but self preservation wasn't a strong-suit of his, so he opened his mouth to make a smartass comment like why do you have herpes? , but was stopped by Mia, who charged in yelling. "Oh Jesus Christ, would you cut this shit already?" she grabbing Vince by the arm and then shoved him away. "Come on!" she yelled, walking over to stand in front of Brian as if protecting him.
"Come on, let's go get me a drink," she addressed Brian while looking at Vince, and simultaneously they turned and walked toward the kitchen to Vince's glares, and Leon and Jesse's, respective ,comments of "Aw, come on, Man. We were just about to get along," and "Yeah."
A genuine grin covering his face – apparently Torettos had that effect on him – Brian followed Mia into the kitchen and asked, "So, what do you want?"
"Oh, anything, as long as it's cold."
Brian grabbed a Snapple and was about to pop the cover when Mia observed "You know, my brother likes you; he usually doesn't like anybody."
He recovered quickly from his surprise and, popping off the top, made his way toward Mia, "Yeah, he's a complicated guy."
"Yeah? What about you?"
Stopping in front of Mia, he waited for her to accept the proffered drink, and then answered, "I'm simpler."
"You're a shitty liar," commented Mia before taking a sip of her cold drink.
"Well, I'll take that as a compliment," Brian moved so that he too was leaning against the dresser and, placing his arm on the top of it to brace himself, allowed himself to slump down.
"There's a problem," informed Mia, confusing Brian.
"What's that?"
"You need to sleep and you definitely, definitely need a shower."
Brian was confused as to where she was going with this: was she trying to flirt or just saying, and it showed on his face before he covered it up with a weak smile. The smile turned more genuine when Mia tugged on the front of his cheap t-shit and ordered more than said, "Come on, I'll take you home." Glad that she hadn't been trying to flirt, he glared disdainfully at the bottle of Corona that was discarded on top of the cooler, and then obediently followed her out the room and then the house.
…TBC…
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