"AHHHHHHHHHHHH! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Justin sat straight up in bed, drenched in sweat. But he didn't know where he was. He was staring at his hands in horror. To him, they appeared to be covered in blood. They were also bruised. That last part was "true" the place where nightmare coincided with reality. Justin believed he was in the parking lot outside the porn site owner's office, straddling a now-dead man. Justin had hit the man so many times and so hard, he had crushed the man's skull.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHH! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Brian had woken up at the first scream and was now holding Justin in his arms. But Justin was unaware of that fact. Brian knew. He just held him tighter. And started whispering, "It's Brian. We're in the loft. He's okay. He's okay. He's okay. He's okay."

Brian had done this twice already in the past four hours. At this rate, neither would manage any kind of quality sleep. Brian started to rub Justin's back.

A sleepy, confused-sounding Justin asked abruptly then, "Brian?"

Brian murmured in Justin's ear, "I'm here."

Justin stammered, "I … I did…n't…"

Brian replied with a firm "No." He added, "The reporter's fine. Black eyes and a broken nose, but fine."

Justin heaved a sigh of relief and buried his face in Brian's chest. He wished he would wake up and realize that even that was a nightmare. Not real. Justin still couldn't believe he was capable of such brutality, under any circumstances.

The whole ride home Justin had remained lost in his head.

He had asked himself over and over, "Breakthrough or breakdown?" Was the attack a step forward or back. Justin still did not know. Although it seemed his unconscious cast a vote every time his eyes drooped. He'd dreamed he'd murdered the young man three times already.

Brian decided it was shower time. At this point, Justin had sweat so much that the satin sheets and Justin's hair were dripping wet. Brian stood, pulled Justin to his feet, and led Justin into the bathroom. Justin was largely unaware of what was happening.

Breakthrough or breakdown? Justin wondered again. An outburst of violence denotes an inability to speak, or so Slavoj Zizek had claimed (Justin had recently rewatched A Pervert's Guide to Ideology). What was it Justin couldn't articulate?

Perhaps Justin had simply projected onto the figure lurking in the dark all of his fears: his fear that no one would ever love him or like him, his fear of homophobic men who would beat him to death if given the chance, his fear that he had been born wrong – broken, his fear that everyone could see that wrongness with every glance. Such projecting simplified, rendered the world overall less terrifying. If Justin could point to just one person as the embodiment of all that terrified him, if he could focus all his energy on confronting and defeating that one person, Justin would be free. He would no longer be surrounded by thousands of unknown quantities, specters threatening harm, wandering toward him from every direction, crowding him the second foot hit pavement, suffocating him. He would be able to breathe again.

This calculus Justin had done unconsciously. Quickly. In the space between two heartbeats. But of course, this calculus had been wrong. The man was creepy and showed little respect for boundaries. But he was not Justin's enemy. He was not a threat. Justin had encountered something frightening, and he had fought back, but he'd missed. He'd beaten an innocent man until he was bruised and bloody. Justin wasn't sure he could ever forgive himself for that.

Justin experienced shame (in fact, the shame had started to haunt him, and Justin felt sure that state would persist for some time), but, oddly, he also felt empowered. Faced with an unknown quantity in the dark, Justin had vigorously asserted his right to exist. He wasn't weak. Helpless. Not anymore.

Slavoj Zizek had also argued that authority came from others 'reading' the power between the lines, from their perceiving the potential for violence beneath a very civil exterior. Maybe this potential inside was something Justin also needed to perceive. To make him feel like less of a victim. To make him feel strong.

The nightmares were what they were, manifestations of a new fear … but they were also likely manifestations of old fears. Today was the day of reckoning. Soon Daphne would realize that Justin had lied to her, using the two days he'd begged for to locate the remaining sex tapes. She would tell Kenneth. And he would learn that he had one fewer weapon in his arsenal. So he would deploy the lawyers. And all hell would break loose. The very thought made Justin queasy. He and Brian had recruited an ally, the reporter, and Justin hoped to prevail on what was left of Daphne's humanity, but things were about to get ugly. Seriously ugly.

Brian sighed. Despite their being naked together in the shower and Brian's running his hands all over Justin's body, Justin had retreated back into his head. Justin's dick wasn't even hard. Brian set the soap down and guided Justin back under the spray. Brian decided he was done trying to sleep. It was nearly dawn anyway. He should invite Gus over (he normally did on Sundays, but Brian had planned to make an exception). Gus could be just the thing, the perfect palate cleanser for the events of the previous day.

Brian was sitting at his desk trying to concentrate on work, but he was distracted. Justin had swung like a pendulum, from one extreme to the other, from zombie to tweaker. Barely two hours had passed since the shower, and yet Justin had managed to change the sheets, mix and start baking chocolate chip cookies AND set out pencils – colored and graphite – and paper on the coffee table (for Gus), sweep and mop the floor (all of it), drink two pots of coffee (with a little help from Brian, of course), shower a second time (since he was sweaty from the cleaning), and try on and discard four different outfits before settling on a plum turtleneck and black pants, all the while periodically walking over to his laptop and typing for a few minutes before jumping back up and rushing off to do something else.

Needless to say, Brian was relieved when Gus arrived an hour later. Only then did Justin come down from his 'crystal high.' Gus, rather than Lindsay, knocked. Pounded was more accurate a term. Bang. Bang. "Daddy, let me in! Daddy! Daddy!" The second Brian pulled open the loft door, Gus spotted Justin and made a beeline for him. He opened his arms and squealed, "Justin!" Justin smiled more brightly than he had in almost 24 hours then and opened his arms to receive the boy. He actually picked him up and gave him a tight squeeze. Then he set him down, took his hand, led him into the kitchen, and whispered conspiratorially in his ear, Brian assumed something about cookies for breakfast.

Brian turned to find a very annoyed Lindsay standing in the hallway, arms crossed, glaring daggers at Justin's retreating form. Brian was relieved Justin had taken the precaution to whisper about the cookies. Brian didn't need her to hate Justin any more than she probably already did, well, since Justin had read her the riot act – telling her in no uncertain terms that Mel wouldn't be as much of a battleax if she (Lindsay) demonstrated more confidence in Brian's ability to parent.

Still glaring at Justin, Lindsay huffed, "Do you think that's healthy?"

Brian asked, "Healthy?"

Lindsay uncrossed her arms and gestured toward Justin and Gus. "Gus BARELY knows Justin and he's so attached already. YOU barely know Justin. I don't want Gus to get hurt…"

Brian sighed. "By…?"

Lindsay turned to look at Brian. She narrowed her eyes. "I think that's OBVIOUS."

Brian held her eyes, his own a little wider and unblinking, simply waiting for her to continue.

"Well … whatever you say, I doubt he'll be around long."

Brian nodded slowly. Then he said, "See you in a few hours" and slid the door shut. He even waved a cutesy wave at her right before she disappeared from view. She was gaping and red in the face. Brian knew he shouldn't have poked the bear … but sometimes he just couldn't stop himself.

He turned around and scanned the loft. Brian was actually taken aback by what he saw. Gus was in the bed under the covers, though his head poked out. His mouth was covered in chocolate and he held a cookie in each hand. Brian walked into the bedroom and asked, "Whatcha doing, Sonny boy? It's not time for bed." He decided he'd give Gus a pass on the eating in bed. This time.

Justin jumped a little when he heard Brian's voice. He was sitting on the bed facing away from the door and hadn't seen Lindsay depart or Brian enter. He placed his hand on his chest and laughed. "Brian …"

Justin had his mouth open (ready to explain), but Gus beat him to the punch, crying out, "Story, Daddy! Tell me a story!"

Justin shot Brian a helpless glance. Apparently, Justin had tried to talk him out of this.

Brian sat behind Justin on the bed. He didn't pull him back into his arms, but he did slide his hand over Justin's, which was lying flat on the comforter. He smiled softly when Justin threaded their fingers together.

"What kind of story do you want to hear?"

"About Prince Buttercup and Enigma. What happened after they escaped from the trolls?"

Brian could actually see (quite literally) Justin's body tense up. So Brian slid his free hand to Justin's waist.

Brian pretended to contemplate. "Hmmm …. Let's see … Prince Buttercup and the knight Enigma wandered through the forest until they reached a beautiful land full of hills and meadows."

Gus stopped munching on the cookie in his right hand long enough to ask, spilling crumbs onto the comforter in the process, "Did they roll down the hills?"

"Did they what?"

Gus shook his head. His daddy needed to go outside more often. There was a world of experience he was missing, always sitting at his desk in the loft or at the office. "Roll down the hills. You lie down like a hot dog, side to side, and someone gives you a push. Then you roll like a … a … barrel through the grass until you get to the bottom. It's my favorite!"

"Ah." Brian cleared his throat. "Uh … yes. They did. Every day at noon."

Gus nodded in approval.

"In this land of hills and meadows, they found an abandoned castle. It had towers and turrets and lots of rooms …"

"What's a turret?"

Brian shrugged. "Kind of a balcony …"

Gus nodded. "How many?"

"Five towers, five turrets, and twenty-five rooms."

Gus's eyes widened. "Wow! Were there any princes locked in the towers like Prince Buttercup was before Enigma saved him?"

Brian shook his head. "Nope. Not a single one."

Gus smiled and started in on the cookie in his left hand.

"Since no one lived in the castle, they moved in. Later that day, lots of people came over to welcome them. They brought over lasagna and cake."

Gus looked doubtful. "People?"

"Okay … beings … There was a red bear … a baby black bear … an opossum … a peacock ... a fancy lady … maybe a Countess … and a warrior. But they could all talk. Well, the warrior mostly grunted."

Gus ooooed.

"They all lived in peace and harmony until one day the dark clouds and the rains came."

"Uh oh!"

"Yeah. It was dark for three days, no sunshine at all, and it thunderstormed the whole time."

Gus shivered. "Thunder's scary!"

Brian nodded. "Then on the third day, there was a pounding on the castle door. When Prince Buttercup answered it … it was …"

Gus had by now finished both cookies and had his hands around the comforter. He'd pulled it up to his chin. "Who was it?"

"The dark queen and her consort …"

"Dark queen?"

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Gus screamed. Then he cried, "Oh no! The dark queen!"