Few things in life never change. Michael hated that. He liked things that remained the same. With so many horrible things going on in the world all the time, it was a comforting knowledge that some things remained the same, even if they were rare. So when Michael found something that never altered, never changed, never went away, he clung to it for dear life. That probably explained a few things about him, including his love of comic books, and his love of Brian Kinney.

But sometimes a comic gets picked up by a new writer, and suddenly Batman is being written by Frank Miller, and Robin is a girl, and all of that homoerotic subtext that you treasured growing up was gone. Luckily, those situations were always ‘What If’ issues, or mini-series, or spin-offs that were eventually collected into their own, separate graphic novel that you could avoid if you wanted to. (Not that Michael didn’t like Frank Miller. Sin City was pretty cool, and 300 did have a lot of sexy naked men in it.)

The problem was, when Justin Taylor picked up Brian Kinney, it wasn’t for a ‘What If’ or a one-shot. Hell, it wasn’t even a mini-series or an alternate universe timeline. No, the Justin Taylor arc had taken over the canon of Michael’s favorite character, and suddenly things had changed.

So, like any true fan, Michael had adjusted. Sure, he’d had his fits, his rages, his rants about how out-of-character this was, and how Taylor would never understand the true plight of Michael’s favorite superhero.

But in time, Michael came to realize that the Taylor arc might have been the best one of all, because it was the first one where Brian Kinney had a love interest. Michael had always been a sap for superhero romance.

The problem was, Taylor had suddenly dropped the project, canceled the highly anticipated ‘wedding issue’, and quit working for the publisher altogether! Michael had been shocked. After all that effort, getting used to the new look of Brian Kinney, it was over? Just like that?!

So yes, he was upset. But part of him sort of wondered… would things go back to the way they were? He had to admit that it had a certain amount of charm. There could be a retro issue, where Brian only hung out with his best friend, acted like a jerk, and turned down fifty people in a row before finding the perfect guy to let suck him off. Yes, part of Michael had wished for that. But the rest of him knew it wasn’t possible, and he was actually glad of it. Retro issues were never as good as the originals anyway, so what was the point? It was better to move ahead. Besides, Brian Kinney was his favorite character, and he was glad that he’d learned to love, and softened a bit. He didn’t really want to see all of that disappear over night.

All of this ran through Michael’s mind as he stood in the doorway to Brian’s loft, staring at the incredible mess that surrounded him. Yes, the Taylor arc had changed things. The old Brian Kinney would never have a messy lair.

“What the fuck, Brian?!” Michael said loudly, sliding the heavy metal door shut behind himself and entering. “It looks worse than my old room in here!”

There was no response, and Michael sighed, walking carefully towards Brian’s bedroom. “You know, having this much crap everywhere is dangerous. You’re going to get ants, or mice, or something.” Stepping over and around the empty bottles and half-empty pizza boxes, trying to ignore the smell coming from the old Chinese takeout boxes strewn around the sofa, and kicking aside the empty potato chip bags, Michael slowly made his way across the loft.

“It stinks in here,” Michael mumbled, making a face. Finally, he reached the raised platform that Brian used as a bedroom, and pushed open the glass doors to enter.

Brian was strewn across the bed, only one leg under the covers, completely clothed. It wasn’t like him to go to bed wearing Armani (clothes that expensive wrinkle just as much as cheap ones), but it looked like he’d just collapsed as soon as he’d gotten home.

Kneeling at the edge of the mattress, Michael placed a hand on Brian’s shoulder and shook him gently. “Hey, wake up.”

Brian’s forehead wrinkled, and he leaned into Michael’s hand a little. Michael smiled and shook him a little harder. “Wake up! It’s only six now, and you can’t sleep like that.”

A small grin tugged at the corners of Brian’s mouth.

Michael flopped down onto the bed next to him and kissed his forehead. Brian was adorable when he was sleeping, even if Michael knew better than to tell him that. “Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey!” he said softly.

“Mm,” Brian mumbled, his lips parting slightly. “Sunshine…” His grin widened, and he threw an arm over Michael’s body, pulling him close.

Suddenly Michael felt extremely guilty. He tensed, shut his eyes, and sighed heavily, before pulling away and sitting back up. “Wake up, Brian,” he said again, but this time his voice was flat.

Brian’s eyes opened and he sat up abruptly, suddenly breathing heavily. He looked around quickly, as if he wasn’t sure where he was, and then slowly relaxed. “Mikey. To what do I owe the pleasure?” He reached over to the side of the bed, where a joint was ready and waiting.

Michael watched as Brian lit up and inhaled deeply. “I wanted to see if you’d come to Woody’s with us. Ted feels bad for pissing you off, and he said he’d pay for the first round of drinks!”

“Mm, love to, but I have a busy evening planned.” Brian wasn’t making eye contact with his friend, which meant that he was bullshitting him.

“Yeah, right, I hope it’s because you’re planning to clean,” Michael grumbled, looking back at the mess. “What the hell happened?”

Suddenly Brian’s gaze was on him, and his expression said one thing, ‘What the fuck do you think happened?’

“Um… sorry,” Michael mumbled, standing up. Brian stood as well, and suddenly Michael realized how much weight his friend had lost. His shirt hung almost loosely off his body, and his pants didn’t grip his ass the way they once had. “You know, you could at least get dinner with us,” he tried.

“I’ve got food here,” Brian mumbled around the joint between his lips.

“Yeah, all over the floor,” Michael snapped. “Jesus, Brian, you’re a mess. The loft stinks, you’re avoiding your friends, and you look like shit.”

“Gee, thanks, Mikey. That really cheers me up,” Brian replied, sounding venomous. “Now fuck off and go play with your little friends.” He walked into the main room and sat heavily onto the sofa, picking up the remote control.

“Come on, Brian, you’ve got to get out. At least come and eat something,” Michael said, walking over to stand in front of the TV.

“Oh, because the food is so great at Woody’s? I’d probably get constipated and die if I tried to eat that shit.” Brian exhaled a cloud of smoke.

“Well, we can go to the diner, and-“ Michael began.

“What, and deal with Debbie? Fuck that. I don’t need her shit right now.” Brian wasn’t making eye contact with him again.

“She’s just worried about you,” Michael said, and he sat down next to Brian on the couch. “We all are.”

Brian’s expression softened. “Yeah. Well, there’s no reason to be. I’m fine.”

“Of course there is! That little shit up and left, when-“

Suddenly Brian had the front of Michael’s shirt in his fist, and their faces were inches apart. “What was that?” he practically growled.

“I just…” Michael wriggled, trying to pull away from Brian’s grip. His heart was racing. “Nothing.”

Releasing him and settling back against the arm of the couch again, Brian nodded. “That’s what I thought.”

‘God,’ Michael thought. ‘He really does love him.’ “You need to eat better, Brian. And you can’t live in filth.”

Brian’s laugh was bitter, and he shifted his position on the sofa so that he was leaning back against the arm so that he could look Michael in the eye. “Hey, like father like son.”

Pursing his lips, Michael waited a moment before replying. Whenever Brian’s father came up, it was hard to know what to say. It always had been, and just because the man had been dead a few years didn’t change that. “You’re not your father, Brian.”

Brian snorted in reply and grabbed an open bottle of whiskey from the floor. “Right.”

“You’re not.” Michael reached over and grabbed the bottle from Brian’s hand, setting it back onto the floor. “And just because Justin left-“

“Shut up,” Brian snapped, his eyes betraying him. He was scared. He was scared of even hearing the boy’s name.

“He’ll be back,” Michael said gently. “His family is all here, and even if they weren’t, he’d come just to see you.”

The pained look on Brian’s face was nothing short of tragic. Suddenly Michael could see small wrinkles developing around his friend’s eyes. Had those been there before? Had they been from Justin leaving this time, or the time before that? Or were they from the explosion? Or the bashing, even? Michael realized he hadn’t been paying that much attention. It was hard to see little imperfections on someone’s face when they were confident and cocky. This new, vulnerable, broken Brian was something different, and you could see his wrinkles.

“He’s not coming back,” Brian said, turning away again, and finishing off his joint. “Not to me, anyway.”

Michael felt sort of like crying. He had no idea what to do, what would fix this. “Brian,” he said softly, reaching over to place a hand on his best friend’s shoulder. “Why don’t you call him?”

“Because he’s better off,” Brian said, his voice hard again. “He’ll find some little twink his own age, and become a famous artist, and move to Rome or some shit.”

“I don’t think Justin wants to move to Rome,” Michael mumbled. “He’d have to ride a moped and eat gelato all the time.”

Michael could see a tiny grin form on Brian’s face. “Isn’t that just really shitty ice cream?”

Michael smiled. “Yeah. They put eggs in it.”

Brian snorted again, and turned back to face his friend. “Go out,” he said. “Go have fun. I’ll be fine.”

Michael wanted to push more, but he knew that it was already a huge amount of progress that Justin’s name had been mentioned and Brian hadn’t punched him in the face. “I’m coming back tomorrow, and I’m bringing trash bags and insect killer. This place is disgusting.”

Brian shrugged and stretched out on the sofa, reaching for the bottle that Michael had taken from him. “Sure thing, boss.”

Michael kissed the top of Brian’s head before turning to leave. He wanted to say something insightful, but he couldn’t think of anything.

The door to the loft shut loudly behind him, and he rode the rickety old elevator down. He thought of Brian Kinney, the superhero, and wondered. He’d wanted to make Rage because he’d always thought of Brian as a superhero. Brian had been his hero, and Michael had wanted to do something in return. So Michael and Justin had created Rage, and Brian had never known the truth. Hell, Michael was pretty sure that Justin didn’t know either.

Superheroes never die. Or, if they do, they come back. Michael had always feared that Brian would die. He wouldn’t get shot, he wouldn’t get run over, and he’d never die of something as dramatic as AIDS or cancer. No, he knew how it would happen. He’d thought about it, pictured it, since they were kids.

Brian would go suddenly, and quietly. He’d stop eating, or sleeping, or just taking care of himself. He’d stop giving a damn. Brian thought he didn’t give a damn already, but Michael knew the truth. Brian gave a damn. Brian had always given a damn. He’d had to. His parents had been useless, and no one had ever looked out for him or loved him. So Michael knew that if he didn’t find someone to love him, someone he could love back, he’d eventually just stop trying. It was like a pathetic, slow little suicide. One day, Michael would walk into Brian’s loft and Brian would just be there, not breathing, surrounded by empty bottles and half-smoked joints. Hell, he’d come close a few times already. The most recent close brush with death involved that damned scarf, but Michael knew it wouldn’t be the last one.

Justin had changed that. Justin had loved Brian in a way that Michael hadn’t ever known how to. Brian had loved Justin back, in a way he’d never loved anyone. And Michael had been jealous. And Michael had been relieved. Brian wasn’t going to die. Brian was going to live forever. And just to make sure, there had been Rage. Now Brian really couldn’t die. He was a comic book character.

But now Justin was gone, and the images of Brian’s dead body were appearing in Michael’s mind again. Sure, he was a drama queen. Sure, it would probably take years before it happened, but Michael felt certain that it eventually would. No one, not even Brian Kinney, could live forever without love. Michael’s love wasn’t enough to make up for a lifetime of going without. Justin had been the one person who could give Brian what he needed.

Getting into his car, Michael picked up his cel phone and dialed. He was going to be late to Woody’s, but Ted and Emmet would understand.

Justin needed someone to call him up and bitch, and Michael was the best candidate. Debbie was his mother, after all, and that meant that he was one hell of a good guilt-tripper.