Speed.

"Fuck you, Vince."

He could hear the words below the surface, the anger as deep as Vince had ever heard from his best friend. He was trying his best to come back up from the deep fog that had been weighing him down for as long as his short memory would allow him to remember, but every time he neared the edge of consciousness, the overwhelming undertow would bring him back under again. So instead of biting back his usual sarcastic reply, Vince had to concentrate all his efforts on barely twitching his fingers so that Eric would know that he was there. He was pretty sure that none of this was making sense, but then again, he wasn't really used to making sense of being in a coma.

The day had started off badly. He should have known better than to get behind the wheel. He was a bad driver on the best day, but after fighting with Eric over some movie he had thought he had wanted but hadn't gotten, Vince had stalked out of the house and headed down the PCH like a child throwing a fit. He'd lost control just a few miles from the house, tears blinding his gray eyes as he tried to navigate the dark SUV in the rain. Vince only had a few seconds to think before the car careened head on into the truck, and Eric Murphy monopolized his every thought.

Vince had played a guy in a coma once, the year before Head On came out when he had a non-speaking part on that soap for a few days. It was basically a glorified extra role. It had seemed easy to lie there in silence then, but now, he wanted nothing more to come out of this and scream at his best friend just how sorry he was. He'd always heard how your whole life supposedly flashed before your eyes right before you died, but he hadn't been prepared for how that life would look upon reflection. Eric had always been there for Vince, no matter what horribly ugly things he had said to him, and now he was listening to Eric cry while he just waited for his best friend to wake up again.

He could still remember Eric at eight years old, all elbows and knees, in a scruffy uniform after he hit his first home run in Little League. Vince had been his biggest fan, even then, riding his bike a half-mile each way for all of Eric's games. He'd sit on the top bleacher where Eric could see him. He was forever looking over his shoulder before every at-bat just to make sure that Vince was watching him. They'd been trying to impress each other even in those days, and Vince had been in awe of Eric that day. Later on, when they were walking home and making all these plans for E's major league career, Vince could remember stopping at the corner of Queens Boulevard and Grand Ave. and thinking about how his best friend was going to be a star.

Eric wasn't always the star, though. Sometimes, he was a fragile kid who had to fight for everything he had. They still didn't really talk about that night junior year when E had shown up at his door, his lip split and bloody after his pop had a few too many down at Callahan's. Rita hadn't said a word as she sent him upstairs to find Vince. The Chase house had been unusually quiet that night. Eric hadn't cried until Vince had held the ice to his lip. It was the last time they'd slept in the same bed, E wrapped in Vince's arms while he sobbed like a baby. It was the worst night of Vince's life to this day, harder than all the Hollywood failures combined.

However, Eric had the same strength that his mother possessed, and that's how he got through all those long nights at Sbarro's when they were twenty-two. He was determined to make something out of his life, and working at the chain pizza place was the only way he could afford classes at the community college. Vince would come by after acting class to eat whatever leftovers Eric had saved for him. E would always be completely exhausted, his shirt stained with mediocre sauce and his feet aching. However, his face would light up the minute Vince walked in the door. Vince wasn't sure if it was a brave face or if E was always just that happy to see him, but it was kind of nice to have someone to always end the day with after the city had kicked your ass.

That was something he came to really depend on in Los Angeles, especially that first year after Eric came out and things really started to happen for Vince. He couldn't count the nights that had ended sprawled out next to Eric on Johnny's roof. It was all sun-kissed skin and cheap beer and crappy takeout while recounting bad auditions. Eric had worked at that little restaurant doing things Vince still didn't have the heart to ask about because there were some things E just didn't want him to know. He would always just promise Vince that it was worth it and someday he would take care of E in their old age and Vince seemed to believe it because Eric did.

For the most part, that belief was enough to keep Vince going for the next five years. It was only after Gus Van Sant had refused to let him audition that there was really a chink in their armor. They'd fought before – they'd fought a lot – but it was never like it was that day at Vince's childhood home. Vince had said awful things that day and Eric had met him blow for blow. Of course, the difference was that Eric had been right; he had given Vince everything. The fire in his eyes that day still sent shivers down Vince's spine. Kara was the only one who knew he'd thrown up after the fight, and she hadn't told anyone when he had cried out for Eric in his sleep.

Now, here they were at 32, and Eric was crying out for Vince. He was begging him to come back to him. It was only by looking back that Vince could see clearly. He could see where they had been and where they were now and where they were going. He could see what it was like to watch them together, how Eric looked at him like he was the only one in the world and how Vince thrived on being in E's limelight. He could see Eric now, so scared that he was going to lose his entire life if he lost Vince and clinging onto him tightly in hopes that it will be enough to keep him here.

"Fuck you, Vince," Eric said again, not meaning the words but unable to come up with anything even close to how he was feeling.

"Maybe later," Vince managed with a scratchy voice. Eric's face lit up with a brilliant smile as Vince blinked sleepily from behind dark curls. "I think we need to talk."

I know we do, and we will."

"You'll be here?"

Eric nodded and squeezed Vince's hand. Apparently he wasn't the only one who had been doing some looking back. "I'll be here," Eric promised, as if he would be anywhere else.