Forsaken

NOTES: I was listening to the vocal version of VNV Nation's "Forsaken" and the lyrics punched me in the gut. The lyrics follow this piece.

WARNING: Death, Angst, Supernatural .I knew I just HAD to write this. The death bunny paid me a visit, unfortunately. Death fics are usually not my thing, nor are they something I normally write; however, VNV Nation's music has a way of pulling things out of me I wouldn't normally mess with. So blame them...LOL

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I wept in my mother's arms as the glossy black coffin descended. No matter how much you prepare yourself for such an event, there isn't enough preparation. My heart and soul wept with me, as Brian made his final elevator ride.

Five years - five fucking years, and he's dead.

Although we never made that trip to Vermont, we forged a bond nothing could break. When I moved back into the loft following our grand reunion at Vanguard, things appeared to be the same between us. Brian continued to trick, and I continued to let him. Gradually, he tricked increasingly less over time.  Within three years, Brian stopped entirely. I believe it was because I let him stop at his own pace, that we succeeded this time. Brian's commitment to me was stronger than anything platinum or gold rings could make.

The car crash came as a complete shock. Brian was on his way home from work late one night, and a drunk driver hit his Corvette head on. Brian didn't stand a chance. He was on life support for nine days, and then I pulled the plug.

I'll never forget the day the doctor told me there was nothing more he could do, that the extent of Brian's injuries would prove fatal. That's when the numbness settled in. I felt like my heartbeat was getting slower, trying to match Brian's weaker one.

Brian had given me the rights to pull the plug years ago, and I'd always hoped I'd never have to exercise that power. A drunken asshole in a Hummer forced me to do so.

My mother rubbed soothing circles on my back as I sobbed, and began to weep with me. She'd finally accepted Brian as her son-in-law two years ago, and they got along beautifully. She treated Brian like a second son, and I thanked the powers that be every day. Even my father finally came around late last year. When Brian and I left Vanguard and opened our own firm, Dad came to celebrate. Despite all my hard work to not follow in my dad's footsteps, I ended up becoming a businessman - but in my way. My art will always come first. Seeing my father look at me with pride and love in his eyes after seven years made me happier than I could ever dream.

I felt someone's hand squeezing my shoulder, and I looked up to see my father gaze down at me in sympathy. He told me he would be late, perhaps too late for the funeral, but would definitely show up for the burial. In spite of their disagreements and fights over the years, my father grew to respect Brian, and vice versa. He knew he had to say goodbye.

I composed myself enough to grab a handful of earth and toss it on Brian's coffin, and said, "Later."

I looked off into the distance, and saw a slight figure approach me. As the figure drew closer, I knew it was Brian's mother. Sadly, unlike my father, she never accepted Brian's sexuality nor me. Brian told me he'd had a falling out with her months before we reunited. When Brian's nephew John stole his bracelet, then accused Brian of molesting him, Joan took John's side, and Brian never forgave her. They barely spoke over the past five years. It was one of the things Brian and I fought about, but when he sat me down and told me everything about his past, I finally understood.

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"But she's your mother!"

"She's my mother insofar as she gave birth to me, but that's all."

"Maybe if you talked to her, tried to make her understand?"

"I think you'd have a better chance of making your father accept me than my goddamn mother."

"What did she do to you, besides everything I saw?"

"Let me tell you all about it."

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I let it go after that conversation.

"You're Brian's friend, right?" she asked me as she watched Brian's real family sprinkle earth over my lover - screw that - husband. He was my lover off and on for five years, and my spouse for the last two.  Joan can call me what she wants, but I know what we were.

"I probably don't have any right to be here, but I wanted to give you this. I found it at the house when I was getting ready for the funeral. I think you'd have more of a use for it than me," she said. She gave me a black hardbound sketchbook, then quietly grabbed a handful of dirt to toss on Brian's grave.  She crossed herself, then walked away.

As everyone finished saying goodbye, the men began to shovel more dirt over Brian. I couldn't watch - it was painful enough to watch the coffin descend, and then send him off. I headed home.

Sitting on the Le Courbousier chaise on which we'd shared many memorable moments, I opened the sketchbook Joan gave me, and nearly fainted. There were sketches in there which rivaled my own work. Brian had never let on he had any artistic talent at all, other than his brilliance in putting together kick-ass ads.

Accompanying the sketches were journal entries that made me cry through the night. It was one thing to have Brian tell me about his horrible childhood - it was entirely another to see it in black and white in a journal. The entries began when Brian was thirteen, and ended when he was eighteen. I presume that was when he finally moved out.

Reading Brian's journal and viewing his sketches provided a necessary catharsis for me. I felt cleansed, and better able to get through the reality of being a widower. I looked out the window, and saw that it was twilight. I was so tired - the guys wanted to take me out to take my mind off of things, but I told them I needed to be alone.

I sat the sketchbook on the chaise, and quickly undressed, tossing my clothes in the hamper. I grabbed the duvet and curled up on the sofa - I wasn't quite up to sleeping in that huge, empty bed yet. As soon as my head hit the arm of the sofa I was out.

I woke up the next morning feeling a little better, but still missing Brian terribly. Wherever he is, I hope he misses me too.

I went to the office for a few hours, and returned home to find the sketchbook laying open on the chaise.  I distinctly remembered closing the sketchbook before going to bed, but there it lay, open to the last page.  I figured I may have spaced out before going to bed.  I picked it up, and nearly dropped it.

On that page, in red, was Brian's distinctive handwriting with a new sketch of the two of us embracing in clouds. Written below the sketch were the words,

"You did the right thing. I'll always love you,

Sunshine - B."

A few lines of the sketch began to smear as my teardrops hit the page. My man paid me a visit - even in death, he couldn't stay away.

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Two weeks later, I wore a sleeveless shirt to Woody's, showing off a brand new tattoo. I had the artist create an exact replica of Brian's sketch, with "Brian Kinney, 1971-2008" below it. The boys actually teared up when they saw it - of course, Emmett wept openly - that's Em for ya. But it comforts me to have something of Brian on me forever.

FIN

When I have nothing left to feel

When I have nothing left to say

I'll just let this slip away

I feel these engines power down

I feel this heart begin to bleed

as I turn this burning page

Please forgive me if I bleed

Please forgive me if I breathe

I have words i need to say

Oh so very much to say

And whose life do I lead?

And whose blood do I bleed?

Whose air do I now breathe?

With whose skin now do I feel?

I'm supposed to walk away from here

I'm supposed to walk away from here

And whose life do I lead?

Whose blood do I bleed?

Whose air do I now breathe?

I'm convinced there's nothing more

The day you died I lost my way

The day you died I lost my mind

What am I supposed to do?

Is there something more?

The engines power down

Like a soldier to his end I go

Because I'm convinced

That there is nothing more

And whose life do I lead?

And whose air do I breathe?

With whose skin and whose blood do I feel?

What happens now?

Have I done something wrong?

Forgive my need to bleed right now

Please forgive my need to breathe

But I've so much to say

And it wouldn't matter anyway

You're not here to hear these words that I must say

And I'm convinced inside

That there is nothing more

Whose life do I lead?

Whose air do I breathe

Whose blood do I now bleed?

With whose skin now do I feel?

I have nothing left to say

I have nothing left to feel

Am I supposed to let this go now

Let darkness come and take you away?

---Written by Ronin Harris, 1998

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