Midnight Whispers
QAF Brian and Justin Fanfiction
Author's Chapter Notes:

* a huge shout out and hug to my beta Karynn. I hope you feel better soon <3 *

 

 

Pittsburgh, Wednesday, August 5th, 1:10 p.m.

 

A banner which reads ‘breaking news’ flashes across the bottom of the TV screen. At first no one pays attention to it. The guys sitting in the booths keep gossiping, waiting for their food and sipping at their drinks, while Debbie is busy wiping off clean coffee cups.

 

Emmett is at the counter, swirling his spoon around in his iced tea and observing Debbie’s incessant activity. Michael is sitting next to him, sipping his Diet Coke as they wait for their meals to be served, and watching his mom with a frown.

 

“Ma has been in a mood since her favorite cop was a no-show last Friday,” he murmurs, leaning closer to Emmett.

 

Having overheard her son’s observation, Debbie refutes, “I’m not in a mood,” and wipes off the counter right in front of them, effectively forcing the two men to pick up their drinks, placemats, and silverware. “I’m worried, that’s all. Horvath hasn’t missed a single Friday in almost six years.”

 

“I’m sure he’s fine. He probably took a few days off is all,” Michael suggests, placing the Coke back on the counter and catching the straw between his lips.

 

“You don’t know that!” Debbie retorts, throwing  the rag over her shoulder, looking incensed. “What if he’s sick, huh? He has nobody at home.”

 

“Why don’t you call him already? Don’t you have his number?” Michael inquires, peeved by his mother’s over-the-top behavior.

 

“Michael…” Emmett calls out, interrupting their exchange by placing a hand on his arm.

 

Michael looks over at his friend, noticing his gaze is fixed on the TV playing above their heads.

 

“What…” he begins to ask, but the sudden constriction in his throat prevents him from continuing as his eyes fall on a picture of his deceased best friend on the TV screen. Brian looks the same as he always did, young and beautiful with that slight smirk on his face. Vaguely, he hears his mom shouting, “Turn the volume up!” while memories of the brunet overwhelm him.

 

“... learned today that eighty arrests have been made, making it the largest bust in FBI history since the Arnold Heinstein affair back in 1996. Among those arrested are a few prominent citizens from Pittsburgh. They have been accused of complicity in a large organ trafficking network. We have also just been informed that a man who was supposedly shot and killed in 2003, and whose murder remained unsolved, helped the FBI to apprehend the head of the network, a man responsible for more than a hundred murders in the last decade.” Another photo joins Brian’s picture on the screen. “Harry Malone, an apparently reputable businessman, was killed last week in Lakevallée, Montana. For years, the authorities have suspected Mr. Malone of orchestrating various criminal activities, including - in addition to organ trafficking - art and drug trafficking, fraud...”

 

Michael doesn’t even realize that he has stood up, or that his stool has fallen to the floor. The only thing he is aware of is his face. The reporter keeps talking, the picture of Brian morphing into a video of a man heading toward a hospital entrance - the scrolling text at the bottom of the TV screen indicates it’s Harborview Medical Center in Seattle - and zooming in on four people. Michael’s throat closes even more as he recognizes three of them. Horvath is talking to FBI Agent Bennett, who helped Michael that night, and Justin is standing with his hand on a man’s back, talking to another blond man.

 

“Holy shit...” His mom’s voice resonates in Michael’s ear. The newscaster continues speaking, the camera panning in for a close-up of the man’s face, which sports a bushy beard shot through with a few strands of gray, thick-framed glasses, and an Aston-style cap pulled down over his forehead. He immediately moves, using his hand to shield his face from the camera as he enters the hospital with Justin.

 

“...Detective Carl Horvath of the Pittsburgh P.D. has revealed that thirty-eight-year-old Brian Kinney was actually shot in 2003, but survived the assault and entered the witness protection program so he could elude Malone’s notice. During Malone’s confrontation with Kinney, which ultimately led to the felon’s death, Connor Decunn, an artist from Lakevallée, was severely injured and is still in critical...”

 

“No…” Michael breathes out, feeling like his world is crashing down as he tries to comprehend what he’s just heard, but fails. Brian can’t be alive. He knows he can’t, because he was there. He was the one who killed him, who shot him dead in that parking garage.

 

Five years. Five years, ten months, and eight days of carrying the guilt of Brian’s death, of trying to redeem himself even though he has always known he will never be able to forgive himself. He wanted to die back then. A month after that night at the precinct, he almost did, Ben finding him on the bathroom floor after he’d swallowed too many pills. He was institutionalized for weeks as a result, refusing to talk to anyone - including his partner - taking advantage of the fact that everybody thought he was having a breakdown because Brian had been murdered. Only two people knew the truth.

 

One of them showed up at the psych yard, almost two months after his suicide attempt.

 

“You shouldn’t be here,” Michael groused when Carl entered his room on a snowy Monday afternoon. The comic store owner didn’t want to talk, especially to the detective who’d found him, bent over his friend’s body and refusing to let go.

 

“Son,” Carl said when Michael averted his eyes, walking to the window so that he could look outside and pretend the detective wasn’t there, “you can’t do this to him.”

 

Michael shook his head, hating that his eyes moistened so easily.

 

“You can’t do this to Brian.” Carl repeated, coming to stand next to him and gazing at him with a kindness Michael couldn’t abide.

 

“Brian is dead,” Michael retorted, “because of me.”

 

“No,” Carl denied, reaching out to touch his arm compassionately. “You never wanted this to happen. They didn’t leave you any choice. Brian… didn’t leave you any choice.”

 

“How do you know that?” Michael resisted the sympathy, wiping the tears off his face.

 

“I saw you on the video surveillance, Michael, both of you. I know he begged you to kill him. Why do you think Agent Bennett let you go after we found you with him?” Carl questioned deliberately. “If anyone is to blame, it’s me. I should have known something was wrong when Brian didn’t come back from his smoke break. By the time I checked the security footage to locate him, it was too late.”

 

Michael heard the hint of regret in Carl’s voice. Frowning, he peered over at the detective, murmuring, “But…”

 

“Michael,” Carl interrupted him, capturing his gaze before enunciating, “you have a partner. You have a life. Brian gave his life for you - for your family. He would be so angry if he knew you were thinking of throwing everything away because of what happened to him, letting them win.” he concluded, emphasizing the last part so Michael would understand that fighting to keep that from happening was the best way to honor Brian’s memory. “I promise you I’ll do everything I can to catch the guys responsible for his death, if you promise me you’ll let him go.”

 

“I… I shot my best friend,” Michael responded, stating out loud the horror of what he had done, because he didn’t know how to live with that truth.

 

“That was not your fault.” Horvath stated firmly. “Don’t let his death be for nothing, Michael. Don’t let them take more from your family than they already have.”

 

Retrospectively, Michael knows that without Carl’s intervention, he would have given up the fight to keep living. He may never have wanted Brian to die, may have begged his friend to spare him the burden of being the one to survive, but in the end, he was the one who pulled the trigger. He was there, hearing the shot, seeing his friend fall to the cold cement, watching him bleed. He was the one who screamed, who fell apart because he’d killed the man he worshipped for so many years, the brother he never had. The pain he felt, the guilt, crushed him for months, driving him mad with grief.

 

Horvath’s intervention saved him. Shortly after his visit, Michael left the psych ward and agreed to go with Emmett to a fairy camp. He still doesn’t know exactly what happened there. All he remembers is eating a mushroom and talking to Brian.

 

He begged for his forgiveness. He saw the brunet smiling at him. He cried, holding onto the ghost of his friend until exhaustion caught up with him, and he woke up alone, in the middle of the camp, next to a dying fire.

 

He decided to move on that day, to do all he could to honor Brian’s life, to make him proud. He talked to him every day, sometimes when he did foolish things and thought that Brian would have teased him unmercifully if he was still there, and sometimes when he was scared and needed his best friend.

 

And one day, Hunter entered his life. Occasionally, Michael wonders if Brian somehow led the kid to him and Ben, because from the day he met the hustler, his life began to fix itself.

 

Though now, as he hyperventilates in the middle of the diner, he isn’t sure of anything anymore.

 

***

 

Thirty minutes later, Renaissance Hotel, Pittsburgh...

 

Brian stares at his reflection in the mirror, at his shorter hair which has just returned to its natural color. He leans in, tracing the fading bruises on his face, sensing a small cut beneath his fingers. He barely detaches his gaze from hazel eyes, still hidden behind large glasses.

 

He takes them off and stares again. Passing his hand through his beard, he then stays still for a long moment. He hesitates before picking up the scissors from the counter next to the sink, halting as he realizes his hand is trembling. He finally grabs them and begins to clip at the hair, although he can only use one hand since he’s still wearing the sling. When he closes his eyes for some reason, the scissors slice into his skin, making him wince.

 

There are drops of blood in the sink when he opens his eyes. Brian swallows, turning on the tap and watching the blood and facial hair vanish down the drain. He lets the water run, the sound strangely too loud.

 

He reaches for the shaving cream, frowning when he realizes he can’t depress the nozzle and collect the foam at the same time.

 

“Let me,” Justin says as he walks into the bathroom, applying the shaving cream to Brian’s cheeks and chin. The blond grabs the razor and begins to slide the blade across his skin, not stopping until all the facial hair is gone.

 

Justin hands him a towel. Brian splashes some water on his face, several times, and turns the tap off. He dries his face and lets the towel drop to the floor. Bracing one hand on the edge of the sink, his heart thumping in his chest, he forces himself to breathe as slowly as he can, and look up. Once he does, he is unable to remove his gaze from a visage he barely recognizes.

 

“Brian…”

 

The sound of his lover’s voice startles him. Justin’s arms slide across his shoulders and roam over his uninjured arm from behind, his breath tickling his skin.

 

He meets the blond’s gaze in the mirror. Justin tightens his hold around his waist and kisses the side of his neck.

 

“You’re beautiful,” the blond says quietly.

 

Brian lets out a nervous laugh, thinking that six years ago, the man he sees in the mirror - a man who is supposed to officially come back to life in a few hours - would have responded with a smug, ‘I know.’

 

“I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing,” he replies instead, disengaging himself from Justin’s embrace as he pivots on his heel to face his lover, although he avoids his gaze.

 

“What do you mean?” Justin asks gently.

 

“I don’t…” Brian tries to explain, but stops. Inhaling deeply, he shares simply, gazing down, “I’m scared shitless, Justin.”

 

“Hey... look at me.” Justin demands, trying to get Brian to return his gaze. When the brunet closes his eyes instead, fighting to get a grip on his emotions, he insists, almost begging, “Brian, look at me.”

 

Brian caves. He glances up at Justin, struck by the compassion and love in those blue eyes.

 

“You’re a survivor.” Justin claims. “Against all odds, you’ve managed to live through a nightmare and, most of all, you never gave up. You sacrificed yourself for us.”

 

“No, I…” Brian attempts to deny Justin’s statement, but the blond refuses to listen.

 

“Maybe you don’t realize it,” he continues, “but it took courage, and it took strength. Sure, you’re afraid that your friends won’t forgive you, but they will.”

 

Brian shakes his head. “You don’t know that.” He tries to move away from Justin, but the blond doesn’t let him, grabbing his arm.

 

“They will.” he repeats emphatically. “It might take time, but how could they not? And yes, the news that you’re alive will probably come as a shock. Maybe Michael will…” Justin trails off and touches the brunet’s waist, letting his arm fall to his side when Brian doesn’t move. “It’s going to be tough. But I know, I know, how they felt when you were gone, and believe me, you being alive is the greatest gift you can give them.”

 

Brian stares at Justin because his voice isn’t steady anymore.

 

“You can’t…” the blond pauses before adding, “...you can’t imagine how it feels to live in a world... where you’re buried in the cold earth. To wake up from a dream where we made love only to realize that you’re no longer here. That you’re no longer anywhere, no longer breathing… Do you have the slightest idea, Brian…”

 

“Justin,” the brunet whispers his name.

 

Justin ignores him. “... of the man I became after you died? The pathetic addict I turned into, because I needed to stop feeling that fucking pain?”

 

Brian can’t speak as he listens to his lover opening up.

 

“Once I started using, I yearned for the numbness the drugs provided more than anything in the world. Nothing else mattered. I needed…” Justin shakes his head, clarifying, “I craved the feeling the next fix would give me. I didn’t give a shit about overdosing. I probably wanted to at first, but after a while I was too far gone to care one way or another. I didn’t even think about you anymore, Brian. I just… spent my days trying to find the money to buy more. Always more. You’d become an excuse for my pathetic, miserable addiction. If not for Ben and Michael...”

 

Brian pulls the blond against his chest. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

 

Justin shakes his head, enunciating, “No.” Leaning back, he wipes the tears off his face, blinking a couple of times. “Never apologize for what that psycho did, you hear me? Never apologize again.”

 

Brian doesn’t respond verbally, simply pulling Justin back into a hug.

 

***

 

He doesn’t know how much time passes with the two of them standing still, not moving and barely breathing, before he hears his phone ringing.

 

Reluctantly breaking their embrace, Brian covers Justin’s lips, certain the blond knows what he means with that kiss, before stepping back and heading to the bedroom.

 

Picking up his phone from the bed, he answers tiredly, “Kinney,” and plops down onto the mattress.

 

“Brian. It’s Carl.” the detective greets him. “We have a situation.”

 

“What?” Brian inquires nervously, observing Justin as he walks out of the bathroom and comes to stand in front of him, a questioning look on his face.

 

“Unfortunately, the news of you being alive was announced on TV earlier than we anticipated.” Horvath drops the bomb. “I’ve just received a call from Debbie, and...”

 

“And what?” Brian pushes, his anxiety rising tenfold, as Justin kneels in front of him, placing his hands on his lap.

 

“She knows.” Carl confirms Brian’s fear. “Emmett Honeycutt, too.”

 

“Okay,” the brunet breathes out, his brow furrowing. If both Debbie and Emmett are aware that he is alive, it’s only a matter of minutes before the rest of the gang hears about it. “Where are they?”

 

Horvath hesitates, but eventually answers, “At the E.R.”

 

A rush of adrenaline runs through Brian’s body as he echoes incredulously, “The E.R.?”

 

“Michael was with them at the diner,” Horvath explains, before clarifying, “He… he had a panic attack.”

 

Brian sighs deeply, squinting his eyes shut. Horvath was supposed to prep Michael to receive the news about his being alive this afternoon. They stayed in Seattle with Gabriel and Connor’s mother until a few hours ago, the FBI not allowing any of them to return to the Pitts sooner. It shouldn't have been a problem since the press was supposed to release the news of Brian’s ‘resurrection’ in the evening, but the FBI obviously failed to contain a leak. The brunet can’t begin to imagine what his former best friend must have felt like, learning from a random news report that the man he thought he’d killed was alive.

 

“Where?” Brian asks curtly, “Where is he?”

 

“Allegheny.” Horvath responds. “I’m on my way. I’ll fill everyone in as soon as I get there.”

 

“I’ll see you there.” Brian replies, before ending the call. “Fuck!” he curses loudly, rubbing his face.

 

“What?” Justin probes, standing up to allow Brian to move.

 

“Michael knows. He’s at Allegheny.” Brian relates, as he strides over to the desk and snatches the key card and his wallet from it. “We need to go.”

 

Justin immediately follows him, the two men hastily leaving the suite. Brian disregards the elevator and runs down the stairs leading to the reception, the blond’s steps echoing behind him.

 

***

 

Justin watches Brian hailing a cab on the sidewalk, cursing when the first one doesn’t pull over, his eyes immediately searching for the next one.

 

In the cab a few minutes later, Brian gazes out the window. It’s like he’s not even there anymore. Justin covers his hand and intertwines their fingers, relieved when Brian pulls him closer and kisses his temple.

 

“Michael is going to be okay.”

 

“You don’t know that.” Brian breathes out against his skin. “Horvath was supposed to talk to him.”

 

Justin squeezes Brian’s hand in support.

 

They arrive at Allegheny General Hospital twenty minutes later, though Brian stills after sliding out of the vehicle. Motionless in the parking lot, he stares at the building in front of them. Justin gazes at it too, his anxiety rising since he knows this is going to be a turning point for both of them.

 

He then returns his gaze to Brian and waits for his lover to look at him. He gives him a slight nod of encouragement when he does. Brian takes a deep breath and raises his hand, waiting for Justin to clasp it.

 

Right after they enter the hospital, Brian asks at the front desk for an update on Michael Novotny, and is informed his friend has been moved to the third floor, room 319. Absentmindedly thanking the receptionist, Brian tugs on the blond’s hand and strides toward the elevator. Once inside, he releases Justin, leaning against the support rail. The sound of the door sliding closed behind him and Justin and the motor whirring are the only things to disturb the deafening silence.

 

Justin’s heart is thumping as the elevator halts with a slight bounce. The doors open onto a large space leading into the medical ward, a nurse walking by with a cart barely glancing at them. The blond instinctively places a reassuring hand on Brian’s arm.

 

They advance down the corridor to the waiting area. Brian’s steps slow down as they near it, and Justin can tell he wants to stop, to step back and run away. He won’t, though, since it would only delay the inevitable and make things more difficult - Brian would never be able to leave without knowing Michael is okay.

 

When Brian halts right before they reach the waiting area, Justin takes a couple more steps, looking through one of the decorative panels before immobilizing in front of the six people in the room.

 

Horvath is already there - and must have confirmed the rumor regarding Brian being alive. He is holding Debbie in his arms. Glancing past him, Justin notices Emmett talking in hushed tones to Blake and Ted, who is himself casting worried looks at Lindsay. She is leaning against the wall a few feet away, obviously upset.

 

“Lindsay,” Justin calls out mindlessly. He gazes at his lover, who’s still standing further back in the corridor, and then back at the mother of Brian’s only child.

 

She stares at him in surprise when he says her name. Justin isn’t sure what he sees on her face. She looks sad, and angry, and probably hopeful and scared, though it’s hard to discern what she’s thinking. Tears run down her cheeks as soon as she looks at him, and for a moment, Justin fails to realize all eyes in the room are on him.

 

“Sunshine?” It’s Debbie who addresses him, detaching herself from Horvath’s embrace and wiping the moisture from her eyes, her wig in disarray. Justin directs his gaze at her, and again, feels that rush of restlessness. “What are you…” she asks, taking a couple of steps in his direction.

 

She gasps as she glances past him, the astounded look on her face revealing that Brian is now standing right behind him.

 

“Oh my God,” Lindsay exclaims, scooting closer to Emmett, who claps his hand to his mouth. Even Ted looks stunned, seeking comfort in his partner’s touch.

 

Justin moves back to grab Brian’s hand, the brunet immediately squeezing hard.

 

Time stands still. The blond doesn’t know how many seconds elapse with all of them staring in astonishment at the man they thought they would never see again. As for Brian, he avoids their gaze, crushing Justin’s hand like he would crumble if he wasn’t there.

 

Debbie is the first one to approach them, stopping in front of Brian. He refuses to meet her gaze, but she raises her hand to grab his chin, forcing him to look up at her. When he does, locking eyes with her, she can't refrain and lets out a sob.

 

He closes his eyes, overwhelmed. She cups his cheeks, smiling bashfully, a type of smile Justin has never seen on her face.

 

“You asshole,” she says fondly.

 

Brian laughs dryly, opening his eyes to look at her.

 

She stares at his face, at the fading bruises, the sling, fresh tears running down her cheeks. She swallows hard and tentatively embraces him, careful not to hurt him, but also as if she’s afraid he isn’t really there.

 

Once she feels him in her arms, she loses her composure and tightens her embrace, whispering, “I can’t believe this is real. We’ve missed you so much.” She is shaking. “I’ve missed you so much, kiddo… so fucking much...”

 

Justin feels a squeezing in his chest, watching Brian wrap his good arm around her.

 

“Hey…” the brunet whispers, “Careful, Ma. I didn’t come back only for you to smother me so soon.”

 

Debbie laughs, and hugs him some more. After several seconds, she steps back, still holding his hand. Her eyes travel along his injured arm. Her breathing quickens and she looks up at Brian, placing the palm of her hand on his cheek, as if needing to keep touching him to ensure he is really alive.

 

“It’s a miracle,” she declares. Glancing over at Justin, she demands, “Come here, you little shit,” and pulls the blond to her, without letting go of Brian’s hand.

 

The brunet directs his gaze at Ted, Emmett, and Blake. Looking beyond them, his eyes fall on Lindsay, who has remained a few yards away. She is staring right at him, silently wiping the tears off her face, though they keep falling.

 

“Hey, Wendy.” The edge in Brian’s voice is unmistakable.

 

Lindsay shakes her head before covering the small space separating them, throwing herself against Brian’s chest.

 

 

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