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Author's Chapter Notes:
This is so full of feels, drama and fluff, I can't even...
January 24th 2006

I jerk my head back up, pressing my palms into my eyes as I try to stay awake. It’s of no use though and with a sigh, I lean my elbow on the edge of the bed, planting my chin on my hand and closing my eyes. I try to remember the time when our lives had been fast paced as hell, flying from continent to continent in a matter of days and being dragged from hotels to busses to arenas to airports with no time at all to stand still by what we were doing.

That seems ages ago.

I squirm in my seat, trying to find a more comfortable position. Stupid hospital chairs. Cheap freaking plastic.

Would it be such a big investment to buy some comfortable seats, considering people need to spend a majority of their time in it? Giving up on trying to ease the ache in my back, I let my thoughts wander from hospital chairs, to terrifying seizures, to Howard Dorough, to little blond kids that can’t sit still, to black Donald Ducks, to…

I wake up with a shock when I hear a sharp intake of breath. Squinting my eyes in the brightly lit room, I carefully take in Brian’s face. His eyes are wide-open for the first time in sixteen hours and dart frantically about the room in naked fear. His erratic breathing suggests that no, he did not have the sweetest of dreams.

“You okay?” I quip, which is a very stupid question to ask in a hospital. I don’t really care about that as I launch myself out of my uncomfortable chair. Without thinking, I grab his arms, forcing his eyes on me. I conveniently assume he’d only have bone-crushing strength when he’s seizing. His eyes are glazed over and unfocused, like he’s still sleeping, and I frown deeply.

“Brian? Brian, can you hear me?” I ask helplessly. He starts writhing beneath me, clearly uncomfortable, but no sound passes from his mouth. Steeling myself for a second, I squeeze his arms tightly, looking directly into his eyes with a hopefully stern expression.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay,” I say, my voice unwavering, “Listen, it’s okay, it was just a dream.”

I don’t seem to get through to him all that much. His movements get more violent by the second, and for a split second, I think he’s going to have another seizure. I’m not going to let that happen though.

“Brian. Brian, look at me, keep your eyes on me, alright?” I speak slowly, “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Am I speaking another language or something? Instead of doing as I said, Brian squeezes his eyes shut, wildly shaking his head. A fear-filled moan escapes his lips as he trashes in the bed, completely freaking out now. I haven’t seen him with this much energy since… well, I really don’t remember. I look around in confusion, when suddenly; a bright moment of clarity hits me. In a flash, I remove my hands from his arms, staring at them in shock and guilt. The scars have only just healed and are still clearly visible, but that’s not the problem.

“Oh my God,” I whimper, “Oh God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Finally freed, Brian scrambles away from me clumsily, to the other edge of the bed. He watches me with wide eyes, like a dog does when you’ve just reprimanded it. His eyes never leave me when I take a few hesitant steps back, faltering slightly. I spend the majority of yesterday evening being pissed at Howie for making Brian freak out that badly, but haven’t I just done the same?

Whatever did or didn’t happen in that hotel more than two months ago, it left Brian heavily traumatized, no matter how little he actually remembers from it. And apparently touching his arms was a big no-go.

Duly noted.

“Look, I didn’t… I didn’t wanna hurt you… I just… I won’t touch you again, alright?” I stammer in a pathetic attempt to explain myself, as I slowly stagger back to the door, “I’m just gonna… I’m very sorry.”

I feel my fingers touch the handle as my back connects with the door. Brian haunting stare bores right through me. He still seems scared out of his mind and a stab of guilt travels through my stomach. I turn around, finally breaking eye contact and fumble with the door-handle.

“Don’ leave,” I hear behind me and I whirl around, astonished. His voice didn’t sound like it is supposed to for someone his age. He sounded young, childish almost. He still watches me with big eyes, but he doesn’t look like he’s afraid of me anymore. He looks like he needs a hug.

Setting out to fulfil that mission, I resolutely march to the bed. He doesn’t move at first as my long arms envelope him into a tight embrace. He doesn’t try to break free or to return the hug. He just sits there, limply leaning against me. My promise to not touch him again is long forgotten between the two of us. People used to think the two of us were gay, because we used to hug all the time.

And for some odd reason I’m sure he remembers that when I finally feel his arms return the embrace.

We sit there for a while, neither of us moving or saying a word. Something happens in that long moment. I’m not entirely sure what it is exactly, or what caused it, but something’s changed. Something makes the immense walls around Brian crumble down and turn the empty shell of a man, into a frail, terrified little boy. I can’t do much of anything but pull him closer, feeling his shoulders start to shake as he desperately clings to my shirt for support.

We’ve all broken down at some point in our career, maybe even before it as well. We might have felt embarrassed about it afterwards; after all, a guy crying in front of other guys is embarrassing as hell.

This was so much different than all those times though. I can hear, almost feel the agony pouring out of my friend.

His raw sobs are loud, animalistic, and although I’m only a bystander at best, they tear through my very soul. I feel my own tears sliding down as I hold him tightly, not letting go even if the room was burning down around us.

I don’t care how much Howie’s question earlier has made him remember, and frankly, I don’t think I really care about what happened anymore. I only care about the bastard that did this to him. The giant son-of-a-bitch that tried to kill my friend, and has been successful at that for a major part. I used to feel bad for Peter. I used to think it was my fault that Brian kicked him out. But I don’t anymore. The only thing I know for sure is, that whatever he did to Brian, was terrible, horrifying in every sense of the word.

I hope Howie finds him, and I hope I get to destroy his life, like he destroyed ours.