Plastic Echoes

“-won’t know anything for a while. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Brian had wanted to laugh. His eyes stung with fresh tears, and he blinked hard, staring down at his hands. So familiar. All of it was so familiar.

“Brian, come on,” Michael said.

He hadn’t heard him say those words in so long, not in that tone, not in that voice.

So fucking familiar.

Brian felt his chest tighten and he let out a short laugh.

So why did it sound like a sob?

It was funny. All of it was so fucking funny. He should laugh.

Mikey, Mikey, Mikey, don’t cry, Mikey, it’s all okay, because this happened before, remember? We’ve been to the hospital so many times before and it was all okay. So it’ll be okay. It’ll all be okay.

“Brian!”

Look up. Look up and see Michael’s face. No, no, that’s bad. Michael looked too sad. Michael looked too familiar. He didn’t want to look at Michael. Michael made his stomach hurt when he was sad. Look past Michael.

Jennifer.

Jennifer was angry.

Jennifer was angry at him.

A mother’s angry eyes… that’s familiar, too, right?

Only Brian’s mother’s eyes aren’t blue.

Justin’s eyes are blue.

Fuck.

“He still isn’t talking, huh?”

Debbie. That’s Debbie’s voice.

Brian looked to his left to see Debbie walking down the long white hallway towards them, carrying a huge paper bag. It was probably full of burgers and lemon bars.

“No,” Michael said.

Brian looked back down at his hands.

“Have they said anything yet?” Debbie asked.

“Nothing,” Jennifer’s voice replied.

Brian could feel her eyes, her blue eyes boring into him. He didn’t look up. He had to keep looking at his hands. At what he was holding.

“Brian, come on.”

Mikey wasn’t giving up.

“Make him go change!” Jennifer finally shouted. Her voice echoed down the hallway. “I don’t want to see him… he’s covered in…”

“Brian,” Michael said again. “You can’t just… I brought clothes, okay? You have to change. You have to wash up.”

A hand, Michael’s hand, gripped the scarf and tried to pull it away.

Brian watched as his own hands tightened in a white-knuckle grip, holding the scarf as tightly as he could. Distantly, he heard a threatening growl, like a dog, like a huge cat, like a fucking mountain lion.

“Shit,” Michael whispered. “Did you hear that?”

“Well, he’s never been one for words,” Debbie said weakly.

Oh. It had been Brian growling. That was funny, too.

Debbie sat heavily next to him in one of the tiny plastic chairs and her weight made it squeak. She put a hand on the side of Brian’s face.

He flinched. Her nails were bright red and long and her hand was cold. He growled again. He didn’t want to be touched. Not by her. Not by anyone.

Except Justin.

Justin had touched him. Justin had touched him in ways no one had ever touched him before. He could still feel his hands…

“Brian, I know you’re scared. I know you’re angry. I know you’re fuckin’ barely holding on. But sweety, you have to go wash up. I promise nothing’s going to happen. The bathroom is right around the corner.”

Brian slowly raized his eyes without moving his head, and looked at Debbie from under his bangs.

“If anything happens we’ll get you right away.”

Brian looked back down at the scarf. They wanted to take it. They wanted to take it away from him. But it wasn’t theirs. It was his. He’d bought it, he’d paid for it, and it was fucking expensive, and it was his.

“You can keep the scarf, honey. Just go change.”

“Brian,” Michael said softly, putting a hand on Brian’s shoulder.

They wanted him to wash up. Change.

Maybe he should. His face itched. His hands itched. He was itchy. Washing up would be good.

When Justin woke up, he’d want to look good. It was no good looking a mess. No. He had to look good. Just like when his mother had been in the hospital.

Dress nice and act like you’re not worried, Jack had said. Sick people need that.

But it was Brian’s fault mom was sick.

It was his fault Justin was sick, too.

Maybe right now, though, he should clean himself up. Justin wouldn’t want to see him like this. Justin liked when Brian was freshly washed. He’d kiss him a lot more, then. He said he liked the smell of wet-Brian.

Brian stood abruptly, and everyone tensed. He could feel it. He took the bag Michael was holding and walked to the bathroom.

Every step felt light. Every step felt uneven, like the world was spinning just a little faster than normal.

Michael followed him to the bathroom, but Brian shut the door in his face, letting out another growl. He didn’t need help. He could fucking wash his face on his own. He wasn’t five anymore.

Five. That’s how old he’d been, the first time he could remember being in a hospital.

Brian stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom, under the too-bright, too-white light, and stared at himself.

No wonder he was itchy. There was dried blood all over him.

He looked down and stared at his hands again, still clutching the scarf and felt his chest shake. Was he laughing?

No. Those were tears. He was crying.

Why was he crying? He didn’t feel sad. He didn’t feel anything.

Brian wrapped the scarf around his neck carefully and turned the knobs on the sink, watching the clean water pour out.

It was all so fucking familiar.

“Mama’s gonna be okay, right?”

“Your mother is fine,” daddy had replied.

“So why is mama in the hospital?”

“She had an accident.”

Brian remembered the accident. It was one of the worst accidents mama had had, and she had them all the time, usually when daddy was drunk. But she’d never ended up in the hospital before. It was scary.

“Remember to behave,” Jack said. “The last thing your mother needs is a screaming brat.”

Brian nodded. He knew mama didn’t like him to act up when she’d had an accident. It made her angry.

Daddy pushed the door to mama’s room open, and they walked in. Mama was in a strange bed, and there were monitors around her, and weird tubes sticking into her, and she was pale, pale white, pale like a ghost.

It was sort of scary.

“Mama!” Brian had said, and run to her side. “Mama, do you feel better?”

Daddy put a hand on mama’s shoulder. Their eyes met, but they didn’t smile. “Do you need anything?” daddy asked.

“The nurse was supposed to bring me lunch an hour ago,” mama said.

“I’ll go check on it,” daddy replied. He gave Brian a sharp look. “Behave.” Then he left the room.

Brian stared, wide-eyed, at the machines in the room. “Mama, are you coming home soon?”

“Where’s your sister?” mama asked.

“At grandma’s,” Brian said.

“Why aren’t you?” mama asked.

Brian smiled. “I wanted to see you!” Brian reached out and put a hand on the bruise on his mother’s face. He could just reach if he went up on tippy-toes. “Does it hurt, mama?”

Mama flinched and pulled away from him. “This is the last time.”

“What?” Brian asked, cocking his head.

“I’m not going to do it again,” mama said.

“Good,” Brian said. “You shouldn’t get hurt so much.”

Mama’s eyes narrowed and she sat forward in her bed, and glared down at Brian.

Suddenly, Brian felt very, very small. “Mama?” he asked softly.

“This is the last time I’m doing this. If you misbehave, if you make your father angry… I’m not standing up for you again.”

Brian felt very heavy suddenly. “What?”

“I’m not going to get hurt again because of you.”

Mama’s words were cold and sharp, and Brian felt like the air had been knocked out of him. “Mama… mama, what do you mean?” He felt his eyes sting. He was going to cry.

“He did this because of you, and I’m not going to stand up to him again. Next time you act out, you can accept the punishment. You’re old enough to know better.”

Brian started to cry, then. It had been his fault. It was his fault mama was hurt. Daddy was mad because of him. Mama was hurt because of him.

“I’m sorry,” he’d said, sobbing and rubbing his eyes with his fists.

Brian stuck his hands under the water and watched as the blood was washed away. The water was icy cold, and brought him back to the present, but everything still felt fake. Everything in the hospital was white, and metal, and plastic. There was so much fucking plastic that it felt like he’d been shrunk and put in some kind of sick doll house, and was being played with by some kind of sadistic child who wanted to see him suffer.

Maybe that’s what God was.

Justin would have made fun of him for thinking that.

Justin.

For a moment Brian’s vision blurred, making him laugh/sob again, and then his entire body began to feel fuzzy. Tingly. More, and more, and more unreal, until the floaty feeling was taking over, and he felt high. High like when you mixed E with pot. Only when you did that, you felt happy. This was numbness. Numbness like when you sit on the floor too long and your feet go to sleep. Except this went all the way through him. Everything was numb. His body. His mind. His… did he have a soul?

He was really in shock now.

It was familiar.

Brian had been in shock many times before, but not in years. Not in many, many, many years. Not since he was a teenager.

It was like seeing someone that you used to know after a long time. It was… comfortable.

The blood was washing away, and the brown and red stains on his hands were mostly gone. Brian reached for the soap, and then changed his mind. He’d rinse off the red and brown but he wasn’t going to wash it away. He wasn’t going to wash him away.

Justin would be impressed when he woke up. Brian would show him all the stains on his skin from Justin’s blood, and Justin would kiss him and tell him he saved him.

Justin would be wrong, but that’s what Justin would say.

Any minute now. Any time now. He was going to wake up. Surgery would be over and he would wake up and he’d smile and tell Brian…

Right?

Brian looked back up and saw his face in the mirror, but it didn’t look like him. A stranger was staring back. The stranger had the tiniest wrinkles around his dark eyes, and bags under them, and blood, so much blood, so much fucking blood on his face.

Brian lifted his hands and wiped his face off slowly, watching with fascination as the dried blood became liquid again when the water hit it, and smeared over him.

It was like war paint. Like war paint on the Indians in the cowboy movies he used to watch.

Well, he felt like he’d been to war.

There had been enough blood for it on the pavement, on Brian, on Justin…

Justin would probably need to eat when he woke up. You needed to eat after you gave blood, right? They should get Oreos. They should get that pineapple orange juice he liked. He would need something to eat.

Brian stared into the mirror, at the war paint on his face, and tried to smile. It was funny. He looked funny.

“Didn’t I tell you to turn the fucking TV down already?!”

Brian jumped up from his place on the sofa and went to the TV quickly, turning down the volume more. He had already turned it down, but apparently not enough. Sometimes the Cowboy and Indian movies were really loud, even after he turned the volume down, and daddy was in a bad mood.

“Turn it down!” daddy yelled, walking into the living room. He smelled like the stuff he drank that made him angry.

Brian froze, his hand on the volume button. “I am,” he said weakly.

“Are you fucking talking back to me, sonnyboy?!”

“N-no,” Brian whimpered. Daddy was scary when he was mad.

Daddy crossed the room and grabbed Brian’s arm tightly. “What did you say?!”

“No! No, I- I didn’t-“ Brian yelled. He wanted to tell him he’d turned it down. He wanted to explain. But he couldn’t. Daddy smelled so strong, and his eyes were angry looking, and he was holding Brian’s arm so tightly.

Daddy grabbed Brian’s other arm and picked him off the floor. “Don’t you ever fucking talk back to me!”

“Y-yes, yes sir!” Brian sobbed. He was crying. He couldn’t help it.

“Do you understand me?!” Daddy yelled in Brian’s face, shaking him hard.

Everything vibrated. Brian’s head swung back, and then snapped forward, and the air was knocked out of him, and his tears poured down his face as his father shook him.

“DO YOU?!”

“Y-y-yes!” Brian sobbed, wriggling hard.

His father shook him again, hard and fast, and Brian felt the blood rush to his head. He was dizzy and scared and-

Then he felt something pop and blood trickled down his face. His lower lip had burst in one spot and it was bleeding.

“Fucking fairy,” Jack growled, and he let go.

Brian sucked in a deep breath and tried to grab onto his father’s arms, but it was too late. He fell to the floor suddenly, and landed on his feet wrong, and there was a loud crack.

Blinding pain. Blinding, stunning pain. Then there was screaming, and wailing, and mommy had slowly come into the living room. Claire followed her, and started babbling.

“Is he okay?! Brian, are you okay?! Brian!” Clair had asked, crouching in front of him. She was in her nightgown with the pink ponies on it, and Brian clutched it, sobbing loudly. His leg hurt. His leg hurt so much.

“I think his leg is broken!” Claire said. “Mom!”

Mama stared at him with a cold expression for a long time, and then set down the glass she was holding.

The pain began to ebb away and suddenly Brian felt very light. He kept crying, he kept screaming, but he didn’t know why. He was all light, and tingly, and why was he crying if he didn’t feel any more pain?

His eyes focused on the class of champagne and watched as the bubbles rose.

“We’d better take him to the hospital,” mama had said.

Everything after that was a blur. Brian didn’t remember anything until he woke up the next day at home, with a cast on his leg, except white rooms, and fuzziness all over, and the angry quiet that had come over the house.

The blood on Brian’s face dripped down into the sink. Taking a deep breath, Brian cupped the icy water into his hands and splashed it onto his face and rubbed hard.

Tears and blood washed away.

When he looked up and it was all gone, all he could see were the bags under his eyes, and how messy his hair was. He wondered if Michael had thought to put any hairspray or product in the bag of clean clothes. Usually he didn’t need it, but… right now he could use all the help he could get.

He’d want to look good when Justin woke up, after all.

Inside the bag were a pair of jeans and a short sleeved shirt, but no product. They were comfortable things that Brian normally wore around the house. He undressed and carefully folded the clothes he’d been wearing, and put them in the bag, before pulling the new clothes on.

But the scarf he kept. He put it around his neck before he pulled on the shirt, and it couldn’t be seen. But he felt it. He knew it was there.

Now no one could try to take it away.

He hoped Justin would wake up soon. Then he could go get him those cookies. Then he could go get him the juice he liked. Then they could sit and talk about the dance, and how everyone had stared.

As Brian exited the bathroom, he realized he was crying again. But he didn’t know why.

Because everything was going to be okay. He’d been to the hospital more times than he could count, and everything always ended up okay.

Broken legs, broken ribs, broken arm, sprained ankle, bruises, concussions…

Sometimes Mikey and Debbie were even there. Sometimes they took him themselves. Brian turned the corner and walked back to his chair. He saw Debbie and Michael look over to see him approaching. Being here, in the hospital with Mikey and Debbie… that was comfortable. That was familiar. It was as familiar as the pleasant numb, light, floaty, fuzzy feeling he had all over.

“What the fuck happened to you?” Debbie asked, staring at him as he stood in the front doorway.

“Nothing,” he’d said. “I just wanna see Michael.”

“It’s fuckin’ midnight, kid, and a school night. You can’t just come over here whenever you please, even if you are his best friend,” Debbie said, a hand on one hip.

Brian shook his head and tried to push past her, but she grabbed his arm.

“Hey, are you listening?”

Brian let out a short shout and jerked away. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt… “Don’t touch me!” He’d backed into a corner of the room and cradled his sore arm, glaring at the large red-headed woman he’d only recently begun to know.

“Shit,” Debbie said. She walked over to him and gently rolled the sleeve up on his arm. Her eyes darkened in anger and Brian winced.

“Ma’, what’s wrong?” Michael shouted, running down the stairs. He froze when he saw Brian, looking like a frightened animal.

Debbie sighed and shook her head, looking Brian in the eyes. “Looks like we’d better go to the hospital. Do you wanna call your parents?”

“NO!” Brian shouted. He hadn’t meant to shout. It just came out that way. That happened to him sometimes.

He expected Debbie to slap him and tell him to shut up, but instead she just nodded and went to the door, grabbing her coat off the wall.

“Well?” she asked. “I don’t got all night. Come on.”

“Where are we going?” Michael asked, finally walking towards Brian with a look of concern.

“The hospital. Your friend here looks like someone kicked the shit out of him.”

Brian shook his head rapidly. “It was an accident,” he said.

Jennifer was still glaring at him when he sat back down in his chair.

“I was going to come after you. You were in there a long time,” Michael said softly.

Had he been? It had only felt like a few minutes. But time passed differently when you were in shock. He remembered his doctor explaining that to his parents after that first visit. It was normal. It was the mind’s way of coping.

Justin would be in shock when he woke up.

But he’d be okay, because Brian was going to get him Oreos. Justin loved Oreos. And juice. He’d be okay.

He’d be okay.

He was going to be fine.

Every time he came to the hospital, no matter how bad, it was okay. It was fine. It was always fine. It was always okay.

Justin would be fine.

Justin.

He’d been so beautiful. He’d been breathtaking. Brian had come because Michael had somehow convinced him that life was worth another try. He’d always be young and beautiful, Michael had said. It wasn’t true, but he knew that in a way it was. To Michael it was true. Michael would always see him as a beautiful young man. But Michael wasn’t enough. And then Brian had wondered… would Justin always see him that way? Would Justin always think he was beautiful, even after he got wrinkles? Even after his hair turned gray? Even after he was thirty, or forty, or… even older?

So he’d gotten off the floor. So he’d gone to the prom. He’d decided that if his indirect suicide attempt had failed, he might as well give life another go. He might as well try forgetting his rules, even for one evening.

After all, if things went badly, he could always just try scarfing again.

But Justin had been so beautiful. Justin had been so gorgeous. And they’d danced. They’d danced, and spun, and laughed, and smiled, and the small ember of warmth that Justin had built in Brian had suddenly grown into real flames, and he’d felt so… warm. And safe. And… happy.

Brian had been happy. Really, truly happy, for the length of one song.

Then the bat hit Justin’s head.

Brian felt his stomach jerk at the memory and he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, breathing hard.

Blood, blood, blood everywhere. Justin’s blood. Justin. Justin. JUSTIN.

Brian took a few deep breaths and forced the images from his mind, watching as tears dropped from his face and onto the floor. He didn’t care that everyone saw him crying. None of this was really real, anyway. Because Justin was going to be fine. And then none of this would matter.

The door in front of them swung open and Brian’s head jerked up, and his heart began to race.

“Well, we’ve managed to stop the bleeding,” the surgeon said, approaching them. “But there are complications.”

Brian tried to focus. He tried to hear everything the doctor said. He wanted to know every detail. But he could only absorb certain words.

Complications… brain damage… uncertain… low blood pressure…

And then it happened. One word was spoken, and Brian felt it like a punch in the gut.

Coma.

Jennifer let out a horrified scream and covered her face. Debbie hugged her, and let out a muffled sob. Michael just sat next to Brian, his breathing ragged.

And suddenly the pleasant fuzzy numbness was gone. Suddenly it was all too real.

“What?” Brian asked, staring at the doctor.

Everyone turned to look at him, as if they’d forgotten he could speak.

“He’s in a coma. There’s minimal brain activity. We’ve done everything we can, but… with the type of damage that’s been done… we really can’t say what will happen.”

Brian slowly stood, and felt the weight of gravity on his body again. It was as if he was moving through water, slow and awkwardly he approached the doctor.

“What?” Brian asked, his voice hoarse. “When…”

“We don’t know,” the doctor said. “He could wake up in a few hours. Or…”

The rest of the sentence hung in the air and everyone knew what it meant.

Or never at all.

“This is your fault!” Jennifer screamed, reaching for Brian with a wild, desperate look in her eyes. “You went there! You took him! You-“

“Jennifer, honey, calm down,” Debbie said, holding her back. “It’s going to be okay. He’s going to wake up. Sunshine’s too strong to slip away like that.

“You… it’s your fault!”

Brian felt his entire body begin to tremble. Michael put his hand on Brian’s shoulder, but Brian shrugged it off.

“Can I see him?” Brian asked the doctor.

“Not until tomorrow, I’m afraid. We’re still monitoring his vitals, and keeping a close eye on him. Tomorrow we’ll allow family members… one at a time.”

“He- he’s not family,” Jennifer said, pulling out of Debbie’s arms.

Brian grunted a little, feeling like he’d just been punched in the gut again.

“What time? What time can I see him?” Jennifer asked the doctor. Tears were streaming down her face. “What time?”

The doctor looked at the clock above their heads and nodded. “As long as nothing happens in the night, you can see him at 8 AM.”

Jennifer continued talking to the doctor, wiping her eyes, and making half-sobbed responses. Debbie had an arm around her as they talked. Michael joined his mother.

And Brian turned to leave.

His fault. Justin was in a coma. His fault.

If he hadn’t gone… if he hadn’t shown up and showed off… if he hadn’t told Justin to be proud, to stick out… if he hadn’t encouraged him to stand up to people… if he had told him to be more careful.. if he’d never let him come back…

He never should have let him come back to the loft. Once was enough. Once was all anyone else got. So why, why, why had he let this fucking beautiful boy come back time and time again?

Hadn’t he known already? Being near him got people hurt. Loving him got people hurt.

He’d been selfish.

And now Justin might never wake up. He might never smile. He might never kiss anyone again. He might never moan and arch his back and stick the tip of his tongue out of his mouth like he did when he was being fucked just right. He might never…

Brian made it as far as the curb outside the building before he doubled over and threw up the contents of everything in his stomach.

The shock was over. Now came the pain.

He remembered this part.

“Brian,” Michael said softly from behind him. “Come on. You have to come inside.”

Brian shook his head hard, straightening back up. “Jennifer,” he said in a raw voice.

“Fuck her,” Michael said harshly. “She’s upset. She’s got every right to be upset, but so do you. Now get your ass back inside.”

“Have to go home. Have to work…”

“FUCK that!” Michael yelled. “I know you! If you leave now you won’t eat or sleep or get any work done anyway, so get your ass BACK in there and sit down and I’ll get you something to drink and we’ll wait!”

Brian turned slowly and stared into his friend’s eyes. “They don’t know-“

“He’ll wake up,” Michael said.

Brian opened his mouth to reply. He wanted to agree. He wanted to agree so fucking badly.

Michael’s voice went soft and he walked to Brian’s side and put a hand on the side of his face. He smiled, a sad smile, and spoke softly. “Anyone who can make Brian Fucking Kinney fall in love is too strong to die from something like this.”

Brian swallowed hard.

Love?

He was in love?

“His powers are too great,” Michael said softly. “He may be stuck in super sleep right now, but he’ll wake up with even greater abilities. That’s how it works.”

Somehow that made sense. Maybe it was just because Brian wanted it to.

“I don’t-“

“Yes, you do,” Michael said.

Brian shut his eyes and breathed deeply.

Yeah. He did. He’d known that the minute he’d seen Justin in that tux. He’d known that the minute he’d dipped him and Justin had let out that excited giggle. He’d known that the minute the bat hit his head.

“Come on, I’ll stay with you,” Michael said, taking Brian’s arm and leading him back into the hospital.

“Until he wakes up?” Brian asked, voice raw.

“Until he wakes up,” Michael replied.

“What about the doc?” Brian asked.

Michael shook his head. “He can wait.”

Brian’s images of Oreos and juice and smiles and kissing and holding Justin again disappeared quickly as they settled back into the plastic chairs they’d already spent most of the night in. Plastic. More fucking plastic.

Justin would wake up.

And when he did, Brian would do what he should have done months ago. He’d disappear.

But until then, like the selfish bastard he was, he’d wait. He’d sit here and wait. Because he needed to. Because he had to. Because even though it was the reason Justin had been hurt, had bled, had gone through so much pain, had gone into a coma…

He loved Justin.

He’d just make sure Justin never, ever found out, after he woke up.

Now he just had to wait.