Accelerate

Disclaimer - CowLip/Showtime own them. Waaaah.

Brian/Justin, angst. Set sometime after 513, so definite spoilers. Rated R for language. This was written for prompt .003 of au100, Endings. You can see my Big Damn Table of Brian/Justin AUs here (just to reassure people, it's not about Brian/Justin ending *g*).

An AU in which the Pink Posse arc never happened, but everything else did.

***

Justin loved New York. It was terrifying and vibrant and the spectacle of it kept him awake for nearly his entire first month.

But he was *himself* here. Justin. No parents with expectations leaning over his shoulder, no friends or lovers telling him what was best for him.

Time passed, and Justin worked hard. He had two different jobs - one at a diner, one at a bar - and when he wasn't working or too exhausted, he painted. Brian would call late at night and sometimes he flew to New York for the weekend. He never claimed it was for business, but then he never gave a reason for why he turned up at all.

It wasn't the future Justin ever expected to have with Brian, but it was working.

Life was working.

Until the day Justin saw *him*.

Chris Hobbs.

In New York.

He remembered clearly the last time he'd seen Hobbs; at the hospice, just a few months after the bashing. And though it'd been years the same sense of panic clawed at his throat, made him dizzy, and though Justin hated himself for it the terror pushed him back until he was pressed up against a building, hiding.

Hobbs didn't even notice him.

What the fuck was he doing here? In New York? Just a few blocks from where Justin fucking lived?

Pissed at himself for acting like a silly faggot, Justin pushed away from the building and started following Hobbs.

By the time he got home that night, there were several messages on his cell that had to be from his jobs, asking where he was.

When Brian called, Justin didn't pick up.

***

It became his routine. It was obvious pretty quickly that Hobbs wasn't there to harass him; he probably had no idea Justin was even in the city.

Justin'd heard something about Chris working construction in Pittsburgh, and that's what he found him doing in New York. There were probably more opportunities for that in New York, or maybe it just paid better - Justin didn't care.

Whatever the reason, every day Justin hid across the street from the construction site, and every night he followed Chris home.

He had to make sure Hobbs was never going to hurt anyone ever again.

***

"Justin, it's Paul at the bar. Look, we called your apartment and spoke to your roommate who assured us that you're not dead. If you don't call us by close of business today, we're going to have to let you go. I'm sorry."

***

Chris favoured a particular deli a block away from the construction site. Rather then bring his own lunch - which would've been much cheaper, Justin thought - Chris went to the same deli every day and, as far as Justin could tell, always ate the same thing.

Mostly he'd sit down and eat his sandwich somewhere, but occasionally he'd walk around people watching as he bit huge chunks out of his lunch.

When he was done, he'd scrunch the wrapper up and throw it into the trash.

Justin could never quite bring himself to pick it up.

***

"Justin? Lisa. Where the hell are you? Do you know how hard it is to run this place when I'm a man down? Now either you've caught some tropical disease or you've won the lottery. Whatever it is, I need to get a replacement for you ASAP. Call me. *pause* I hope everything's okay."

***

Sleep became a foreign concept. He was at Chris' place before Hobbs even woke up, and he came home after Hobbs fell asleep. He lost his appetite, and when he was at home he'd lie in bed awake, trying to remember more details of the best night of his life - before Hobbs turned it into the worst thing that'd ever happened to him.

Sometimes he'd pass out. When he woke up, it was always to the last notes of a vague tune he couldn't quite place.

***

"What's going on, man? I haven't seen you for weeks, now. I know you artistic types are temperamental, but Daph never mentioned anything like this. *sigh* We need to talk about your half of the rent, man. Like the fact that it doesn't exist."

***

It was a Thursday night which meant that on the way home from work, Chris would go grocery shopping. Justin sometimes found it entertaining, the idea that the guy who almost killed him could do something so mundane.

Except tonight, Chris didn't go shopping. He went straight home.

Justin followed, frowning the whole way, and about an hour after the door to the apartment building closed it opened again. Hobbs had changed clothes.

He walked for what seemed like a long time, but after about twenty minutes Justin realised he was pretty familiar with the area. There was a gay bar nearby that he sometimes-

No.

Fuck, *no*.

Justin didn't even think - he started running.

***

"I bought you that cell phone for a reason, you little shit. Use it."

***

He caught up with Hobbs just before he entered the bar. Grabbing Chris' arm with his left hand, Justin swung him around and with his other, pushed Hobbs up against the building.

"You have no right, no *fucking* right to go in there!"

Justin's mind was screaming stophimstophimstophimstophimstophimstophim even though he knew Hobbs wasn't there to hurt anyone. Just the opposite.

It wasn't *right*.

Hobbs, for his part, look stunned. "Taylor? What the fuck are you doing?"

"Stopping you from going in there," he breathed out heavily. "I don't care if you're curious, or if you've been in denial this entire time and finally came out - I don't. Fucking. Care. You have no right to go in there. Do you have *any* idea what you did?"

Angry now, Chris used his still-superior strength to break free and push Justin away. "Big fucking deal. At least you recovered. My folks played Happy Families until the press left us alone, and then they kicked me out. My girlfriend dumped me..."

Justin started laughing, though he could feel tears on his face. "And that's supposed to make me feel *sorry* for you? Oh, poor Chris, woe is Chris, his life is so fucking hard! Sorry, Hobbs, but you're not getting any sympathy from me." Fucker.

"At least you still have your friends!" Hobbs argued. "And that...Kinney guy. You guys are still...?" Justin didn't reply, but Chris must've figured it out. "And you still have your faggot boyfriend."

Jesus Christ. "Are you *demented*?" Justin asked. "You're trying to go into this bar - this *gay faggot* bar, by the way - and you're *still* saying shit like that?"

Chris ignored him. "There was nothing left for me in Pittsburgh! No one I cared about, no one who cared about me. Whatever I did, I was always the guy who hit that kid at his prom. Here, I'm...no one knows me. I can just be me. Chris."

Suddenly feeling like he was about to vomit, Justin backed away. Oh God, oh God, oh God...

Hobbs looked at him strangely. "What the fuck are you doing in New York, anyway?"

***

When Justin opened his bedroom door, Brian was asleep on his bed.

Relieved but not surprised, he stripped off his clothes and climbed in next to him, pulling Brian's arms around his body.

When Brian stirred, Justin started crying again and the arms tightened, pulling him closer. Murmuring things that didn't make any sense, Brian kissed the side of his head and rubbed his arms and didn't tell him everything was going to be all right.

Later, much later, Justin laced their fingers together. "Brian?"

A nose gently butted his shoulder. "Yeah, Sunshine?"

"I'm coming home."

~FINIS