Dark clouds and muggy air accompanied Joan Kinney's funeral. Whenever his dad wasn't looking, Gus kept yanking his tie away, desperately trying to let some air down his damp shirt. Brian had finally come home early in the morning, bearing a new suit for Gus to wear. With Justin, they had arrived at the funeral home by ten, and Gus lingered in the back while his father took his place by the coffin with his sister. Justin had offered to stand with Brian, but his father declined. The deep furrow between Justin's eyebrows hadn't disappeared since.

His Aunt Claire looked slightly more refined than she had two days ago, wearing a cheap polyester dress that dropped in a straight line to her knees. She made no effort to conceal her red-rimmed eyes, and a wrinkled handkerchief never left her hand. Apparently, she was single, since Gus saw no man with her. Two young men leaned on the wall near the casket, sneering at their dead grandmother whenever their mother wasn't watching. Considering how often she kept turning and glaring at them, Gus was certain she knew they were misbehaving. Gus had to remind himself they were his cousins, although they looked nothing like him or his dad. Overweight and unshaven, they regarded everyone with contempt, occasionally snickering at some shared joke. They reminded Gus of hoodlums hanging out at a bar. Not a pleasant image.

His moms had not been able to come, so the only people he knew here were his dad's "family." Michael and Ben had just arrived with JR, and she gave him a little wave when she saw him. Grandma Debbie had already drowned him in a bear hug, and Emmett and Ted had stopped by to say hello before taking a seat. After giving Brian a hug, JR approached Gus, plopping herself next to him.

"I didn't know you had a secret grandmother," she said.

"I didn't either." He and JR got along reasonably well. When she was little, she had followed him everywhere, crying whenever he refused to play with her. Proud to be the subject of her admiration, he had taught her how to play softball and soccer. Now that she was older, he found her more annoying, but often reflected that she really wasn't such a bad sister.

"My dad said she wasn't very nice," she said. "Maybe it was better you didn't meet her." She looked around, spotting Justin talking to Emmett. "So how do you like Justin?"

"I don't." He saw how Justin kept glancing at Brian, and it irritated him. What had he done to make his dad sleep in his office the past two nights? Had he said something hurtful?

"Why not? Ben says he's pretty nice."

"He left Dad all those years ago, J. Then suddenly he reappears? I wonder how he got Dad to take him back, and how long he will stay this time.?"

"Maybe he's back for good. Why do you think he'll leave again?"

"I don't know if he will, but I don't trust him. I just don't want Dad to get hurt."

They were interrupted by the minister, asking everyone to take a seat. Brian pulled him aside to say something, and the man smiled sadly, squeezing Brian's shoulder as he whispered back. Brian merely shrugged and took his seat at the front next to Justin. As Gus sat with them, he wondered what his dad had said. Brian had made his views on religion clear to Gus long ago. If God expected him to be straight, then he wanted nothing to do with Him. Gus had explained that more churches were becoming accepting of homosexuals, as well as gay marriage. It didn't change Brian's opinion. He scoffed at the congregations welcoming gays to church. According to him, the welcome was fake and merely a way to get more money.

The service was dull, the pastor's voice a steady drone that nearly put Gus to sleep. He spoke a great deal of Joan's dedication to God and her service to the church, but Gus noticed he said little about Joan as a mother or wife. When the minister asked if anyone wished to speak, only a few old ladies rose to sing Joan's praise in wavering voices that grated on the ear. Glancing to the side, Gus spotted his father rolling his eyes at their words. His Aunt Claire spent the service dabbing her eyes with the soaked handkerchief.

After the service concluded, everyone was invited to spend one more moment with Joan in her casket. No one stepped forward, so Gus, who hadn't yet seen his grandmother, decided that this would be his last chance to see his dad's mother. Curious, he approached the casket and stared down at the lifeless body within. He had never seen a dead person before. Truthfully, he didn't see why people wanted to see their loved ones like this. It was so obvious the person was long gone, leaving nothing but a shell.

"I suspect she's happier now than she ever was in life." His father appeared at his side, his expression inscrutable. "Come on, Sonny Boy. Trust me, you didn't miss anything."

He rode in a limousine with his dad, Justin, Aunt Claire, and her two sons. His cousins spent the ride exploring the limo's conveniences and even tried to sample the liquor. A sharp glare from Brian had them slouching back in their seats.

"You still gay?" asked one.

"You still a thief?" responded Brian.

Justin choked back a laugh, and Claire shot him a heated glare. Gus wondered what Brian meant.

The other young man nodded at Justin. "This your little faggot?"

Justin smiled benignly. "Maybe he's my faggot."

Brian grinned and deliberately leaned over to give Justin a lingering kiss that made even Gus blush.

"Brian!" Claire's face was beet red. "Keep your perverted actions away from my boys!"

"Well, dear sister, I wasn't the one using words like faggot."

"Our mother is about to be buried, and you would profane this occasion?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. You're actually sad about this?" Brian gave her an incredulous look. "Aren't you thrilled at the thought of no more Mommy embarrassing you with her alcoholic binges? I seem to recall you begging me to get her out of your hair. Well, now she's out of all of our hair."

"You're a monster." Spittle landed on Gus's face and he recoiled from his aunt, unintentionally leaning against Brian. Glancing up, he caught his dad's mischievous wink and couldn't resist grinning back.

The rest of the ride was silent, the two families refusing to look at each other. Gus was relieved when they reached the cemetery and took a seat by the graveside. Gus watched as others arrived, crowding in the space behind the family. Emmett stood directly behind Gus and gave his hair a playful ruffle, but Gus didn't mind. He and Emmett got along fabulously . . . as the old queen loved to say.

His dad had relapsed to his blank expression, the playfulness he displayed in the limo snuffed out. He saw Justin whisper something, but Brian didn't reply. The hole in the ground seemed to hold a morbid fascination for him, and his eyes never left it as the minister took his place by the coffin.

"We gathered earlier to celebrate the life of Joan Kinney, and now we gather to say goodbye. As we stand here before her final resting place, let us remember her as she was in life."

As the pastor began to extol his grandmother's virtues, Gus stole another look at his dad. The way he held himself, rigid as stone with hands clenched on his lap, was alarming compared to the usually relaxed father he knew. He saw Justin try to hold Brian's hand, but his dad jerked away.

"She spent her life following God's path, encouraging others to find God as well. This spiritual woman supported her husband and raised two children, passing her wisdom from her soul to theirs . . . ."

"Stop."

The minister froze, staring as Brian Kinney rose from his chair. Justin started to reach forward as if to yank Brian back, but abruptly dropped his hand, undoubtedly realizing there was no way to stop Brian when he had something to say.

Brian spread his arms wide and turned to the closed casket.

"This what you wanted, Mom? A glorious burial, angels singing your name, while your reverend waxes on about your heavenly virtues? Was this how you envisioned it all these years? Are you happy now?" Brian placed his right hand on the lid, and leaned his face close to the polished surface, dropping his voice to a harsh whisper. "Well, fuck that."

The collective gasp from the mourners echoed Gus's, but the minister oddly remained quiet, scrutinizing Brian with a face that strangely demonstrated understanding. Gus wondered if he was aware of Brian's true relationship with his mother.

"Brian, how could you!" Claire started to stand, but surprisingly, the minister waved her back. His eyes were sad, but he stepped back to let Brian speak.

"That's a good question, Claire. How could I? How could I sit here and listen to this drivel? You and I know the truth, but I'm the only one with the balls to tell it." Brian turned away from her and swept his gaze over the mourners. "You heard me right. I'm going to tell the truth!"

Brian bowed his head, raising a fist to his mouth. Gus was close enough to see his hands were trembling. Justin saw it too and tried to reach out to his partner, but Brian shook his head, pulling away. Spreading his arms wide, he gave the crowd a maniacal grin.

"Look at me! I'm gay. Joan Kinney has a gay son. I'm her shame and her curse! She must have worn out her knees praying for me after she found out. It gave her purpose! She had a new crusade . . . saving me." He lowered his arms, burning eyes sweeping the gathering. "And you may say, 'How righteous of her! How much she must have loved you to try to save you!'"

The laugh that followed had an edge of hysteria, and Gus could barely stand to hear it. He had seen his father angry, and he had seen his father drunk, but never had he seen this: Brian Kinney losing his shit.

"Well, guess what? You're wrong! You see, Mom never loved us to begin with, so how could she have prayed with love? We were her burden to bear, not to love. While our father beat us, she lifted not one finger!"

Claire was weeping, face buried in her handkerchief. Her sons sat like twin stones.

"She never gave us comfort, never gave us praise, never gave us a hug. What did she do, our Saint Joan? She buried herself in bottles, drowned herself in booze. Maybe you feel sorry for her? Well, I don't!"

He shot a glare at the pastor.

"And now you speak of her soul passing on wisdom! All she passed to me was hatred and fury, resentment of her deplorable marriage. She taught me that relationships were a one-way street to misery."

Brian paused, his eyes softening as he reached down to take Justin's hand, pulling him up to stand beside Brian.

"This is my partner, Justin. It wasn't my mother who taught me love. It was this man. He stood beside me no matter what. When I had cancer, my mother prayed that sickness would show me the error of my ways. Justin made me chicken soup, and rubbed my back when I vomited. He stood beside me while I tried to destroy myself and what we had. He forgave me while I struggled to unravel the mess Joan and Jack Kinney made of my head."

Silence cloaked the gathering. Gus glanced around, half-expecting to see people leaving, but no one moved. Emmett and Ted were standing with their arms around each other, smiling. Debbie was crying, but her face shone with pride. Michael and Ben held hands, looking concerned.

Brian turned back to the minister. "Thank you for letting me speak, Reverend. This mockery is once again all yours. Time for me to go."

Still holding Justin's hand, Brian turned to Gus. "Coming, Gus?"

The crowd parted as Brian led his partner and son away from the grave, followed closely by Brian's true family. The last thing Gus heard was not the minister's voice, but the broken sobs of his aunt.

Brian walked fast, his long legs propelling him to the limo ahead of the rest of them. Once there, he braced his arms against the trunk, bowing his head as if exhausted. The rest stood back awkwardly, unsure how to proceed and obviously worried that Brian might explode again.

"Michael, would it be too much trouble for Gus to stay with you guys tonight?" Speaking quietly, Justin tilted his head meaningfully toward Brian, who hadn't moved.

Gus opened his mouth to protest, but Michael gave his shoulder a sharp squeeze. "Sure! We can have a movie night with tons of popcorn. What do you say, Gus?"

He couldn't think of anything he wanted less, but both Michael and Ben were giving him hard stares.

"Fine." He jammed his hands into his pocket, walking away before his anger burst out and scorched the entire cemetery. JR ran after him, leading the way toward Michael's car.

"It won't be that bad. They have some pretty good movies."

"I'm getting kicked out of my own home for the night, J."

"Your dad's hurting, Gus. Justin probably wants some time alone to help him."

"Why can't I help him?"

She sighed, patting his back. "You're his child."

Gus turned around, glancing back. The others were returning to their cars, leaving his father and Justin alone by the limo. His father hadn't moved, and the sight of that strong back bent in weariness sent shivers along Gus's skin.

Wearing only a towel, Justin padded out to the kitchen, leaving a path of damp footprints leading back to the shower. He paused when he saw the empty bottle of vodka sitting on the bar. Shit. Brian was obviously intent on drinking himself into oblivion. Again. Grabbing two bottles of water from the fridge, he went in search of his lover.

The ride home had been silent. Justin knew better than to engage Brian in conversation too soon. Justin made a late lunch of sandwiches, but Brian declined to eat, grabbing a bottle of Chivas Regal and heading out to the patio. Deciding to give him some space, Justin retired to his studio and attempted to get some work done. Instead, he spent the afternoon staring out the window where he could see Brian lying on a lounge chair, motionless except for the occasional pull from his bottle. Justin couldn't remember the last time he had felt so helpless.

He remembered Jack Kinney's death, the way Brian blew it off as trivial, refusing to allow Justin to accompany him to the funeral. Michael had said Brian's relationship with his parents was tenuous at best, hinting that Brian had spent most of his teenage years at the Novotny house just to avoid home. Brian himself would not talk about them, but he dropped tiny pieces of information from time to time, enough for Justin to glean that Jack had been abusive and Joan was an alcoholic.

Since Justin had returned from New York, Brian had not mentioned his mother even once, and Justin had assumed they were still estranged. It was clear to him now that Gus had never met the Kinney family. It didn't surprise him that Brian would protect his son from the lack of love and acceptance he had been denied. Debbie had always been Brian's "mom," and his assorted friends were his family. When Justin came along, they became his family also.

After realizing he would get no work done, Justin went and took a long, hot shower. It cleared his head of the frustrated fog impeding his work, but didn't fill it with any ideas of how to help Brian. Something needed to be done, however. He wasn't going to allow Brian to go to bed drunk for the third night in a row.

He found Brian standing by the patio doors watching the sun set, a half empty glass in his hand. He had removed his jacket and tie, and his shirt was unbuttoned to his waist. His feet were bare. He didn't turn when Justin approached, instead raising his glass in salute to the rosy horizon.

"As the day turns to night, so life turns to death." Tilting the glass back, he finished the vodka in one swallow.

Justin sighed. "Not yours. Not yet."

Wincing as Brian swayed dangerously to one side, he took the glass from Brian's slack hand, pressing the water into its place.

"Drink some water, Brian, or you'll have the granddaddy of all headaches tomorrow."

"So? I'm immune to pain. I've had years to build a thick skin." Nevertheless, he obeyed, taking several sips.

"No one's immune. Sometimes, we can fool ourselves into thinking we don't feel it, but it's still there."

"Does the memory of the bashing still hurt? After all these years?"

Confused at the change of subject, Justin frowned. "You know it does. I've awakened you with my nightmares."

"Do you fool yourself into thinking you can't feel it?"

Oh.

"I did for a while, remember? Instead of acknowledging it, I tried not to face it. It didn't help . . . not until I dealt with it."

"With the Pink Posse." It wasn't a question.

"Yes."

Leaning his forehead against the glass, Brian closed his eyes.

"You never told me what happened that night. The one when you came home and said you were done with it. Done with Cody."

Justin hadn't. He hadn't wanted to talk about it, about how the gun felt in his hand, about the rush of power he felt as he stared down Chris Hobbs. He hadn't wanted to admit how close he came to solving his pain with death. He didn't want to now, either, but maybe Brian needed to hear it.

"We went to Chris Hobbs house, Cody and I. We had the gun. I wasn't going to kill him at first, but he was so callous, so uncaring of what he had done to me. He practically laughed in my face when I demanded an apology." Justin drew his hand over his face, letting the memory play on the inside of his closed eyelids. "All I saw was black. Just black. Cody gave me the gun, and I shoved it into Chris's face . . . that damn face that haunts every nightmare. All I could think was, 'Blow it away. Blow it away, and the nightmare will disappear. It will all disappear.'"

"But you didn't do it."

"I was so close. But then I saw more than black. I saw tears . . . not tears of regret but of fear. And I knew those tears. They were mine. Chris made me fear, and I did the same to him. That's why I stopped. Because I saw him in myself, and myself in him."

"And you didn't want to be him."

"No, I didn't."

Brian took a long gulp of water. "I didn't want to be my parents."

Now we're getting somewhere. This was as much as Brian had ever opened up about his parents to Justin.

"You're not."

"Aren't I? I soothe my anger with booze, just like Saint Joan. I run from the idea of marriage and family, just like Jack. How am I any different, Sunshine?"

Justin slid in between the patio door and Brian. When Brian refused to look at him, he placed his palm on his partner's cheek, turning his face toward Justin.

"You aren't them. They didn't see where they were wrong, and you do. You stopped yourself from going too far." Brian shook his head, trying to turn away, but Justin grabbed his shoulder. "You're still able to feel, Brian. I know how hard it is for you to acknowledge it, but you love Gus. You love me. You love Michael. You love."

Brian was shaking, his face buried in one hand. Justin pulled it away.

"Look at me, Brian, because this is important. You carry all of us with your love. You keep us together, when we would fall. You are not the product of Jack and Joan. You are Brian, and if they couldn't accept you, then that's on them. Because we love you. You are loved. You hear me? You are loved."

Justin was trembling as hard as Brian now and didn't resist when Brian pulled his hand back. The moment shimmered, wavering as Justin waited to see if Brian would run or face his demons. When Brian finally leaned forward to touch his forehead to his lover's, Justin placed his palm on Brian's chest. He could feel the heart beneath racing, hear Brian's ragged breath, smell the scent of sweat and grief.

And then Brian moved, and the moment exploded.

Blindingly fast, Brian had Justin pinned against the glass, wrists held in a firm grip above his head as their mouths came together. The towel slipped off, forgotten and unneeded. The glass, cold and smooth, held Justin firm against Brian's heat, as the kiss deepened and devoured. It was fury and sorrow come together, but Justin was strong enough to withstand it.

Hell, he was strong enough to embrace it.

When Brian pulled him to the floor, he tore at Brian's shirt, heard the sound of cloth tearing. He didn't even know who got Brian's pants off, and it didn't matter. Emotions like this weren't meant to be covered. They needed to bared, raw and broken as they were, and Justin knew of no one as raw and broken as Brian.

It was time to put him back together.

There was no lube handy and no time to worry about it. When Brian entered Justin, searing hot and slicked with saliva only, there was pain, but Justin pushed past it, drawing his lover as deep as he could. Brian curled over Justin, gripping his shoulders and pulling them both into a twisted knot, with Justin's legs wrapped tightly around Brian's waist. Neither could bear to pull away enough to thrust, so Brian rolled his hips, short jerks that kept him seated deep within his partner.

They rocked together, Justin arching helplessly as Brian drove harder, soft growls emanating from his throat as he nipped at Justin's throat. Barely able to move, Justin submitted, letting Brian control the rhythm while whispering desperately in Brian's ear.

"That's it . . . let it out, Brian. Come on, give it to me. Ah . . . yes . . . ."

Brian lost his pace, groaning into an open-mouthed kiss, as his hips jerked, violent and eager. Justin threw his head back.

So deep . . . God . . . .

He felt it then, Brian's release, scalding in its intensity. Overwhelmed, his lips parted in a silent scream, his body convulsing within Brian's firm grip. He could sense it, the pain pouring from his lover, and he accepted it, welcomed the necessary purge so that healing could come.

For a time, they floated in the gentle peace that comes after such a violent climax. When Justin finally opened his eyes, their sweat had cooled, but his chest was damp. Brian lay sprawled on top of him, partially turned to the side, his cheek resting between Justin's nipples. There were no sobs, just a quiet outflow of anguish turned tranquil.

They lay together as twilight turned to night, Justin's fingers tracing comforting patterns on Brian's back until he fell asleep. He knew Brian wouldn't heal overnight, but perhaps now he could take some first steps. Justin couldn't change Brian's past, but he would give his husband whatever support he needed. If Brian's family ever tried to hurt him again, Justin would fight them with all he had.

He was strong enough to handle it.

Thanks everyone for your kind reviews! Special hugs go to my beta, Zevgirl, for all her hard work :)