Brian Kinney Vs. The Well (And The Well Wins) Author:  yoursweater Pairing: Brian/Justin Fandom: Queer as Folk Rating: G Timeline: General Archive: Ridiculously Summary: Written for the Worst Case Scenario Challenge. Brian falls down a well. Author’s Note: This was written for the ‘Worst Case Scenario’ challenge (originally issued by slodwick). Basically, each participant was assigned one page from a worst case scenario handbook, and had to write a story that was at least five hundred words around it. Mine was ‘how to climb out of a well’, and you can read the book page here. “There is no way in hell that it’s possible.” Justin announces, setting his glass of beer on the table before he leans back in his chair, reclines and folds his hands over his stomach. Across from him, Michael makes a grand show of sighing and rolling his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest as he shakes his head. “They’re superheroes, Michael! It’s not a case of, ‘Oh my god! Timmy fell down the well! Again!’.” Michael widens his eyes at least two sizes and throws both of his hands into the air, manages to catch the attention of a group of drag queens that are crossing the floor of Woody’s as they make their way towards the crowded bar. He exclaims – read: whines – “I’m the writer, you’re the artist! I make the story lines!” “Zephyr is not falling down a well and getting Rage to save him!” Justin shouts, though he feels like he should actually be laughing, just because of the way that Michael’s face is falling as he stares daggers at Justin across the small table. “And hey, fuck you – we both think of the story lines.” “Oh yeah, I apologize. That issue where Rage and JT fucked for thirty pages was grand.” He deadpans, complaining as he uncrosses his arms and then crosses them back over his chest, which is donned by a ‘vintage’ Mighty Mouse t-shirt. “The well is completely plausible.” Justin shakes his head and then downs the last mouthful of beer from the bottom of his glass, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and points to the pad of paper that Michael’s been clutching all night like Joan Kinney clutches her bible on Sundays and her booze the other six days of the week. “No, scratch that out right now. I’m not fucking drawing a Timmy Falls Down the Well scene.” The blond says, gesturing at the lined paper again. There are misspelled words scattered all over the pages with tiny scribbled drawings of Rage floating in the margins. Michael shakes his head, states, “I think that we should get a second opinion.” Snorting, Justin leans back in his chair and mirrors Michael’s posture, crosses his arms over his own chest and looks around the bar with the half interest that he’s found himself completely submerged in lately. From across the table, Michael thinks that Justin’s turning into more of a Kinney than any of them ever thought possible. “I think that if you ask anyone for a second opinion on a character-down-the-well story line, they’ll laugh right in your face.” Justin shrugs, finally looking back over at Michael. Michael scowls and points the pen at Justin, though blue ball points aren’t very menacing. “Oh yeah?” He inquires, taps the tip of the pen against the pad of paper. “I bet they’ll love it.” Justin laughs and shrugs, finally gives into the argument and says, “Fine. Ask some old queen. But Ben doesn’t count.” “I wasn’t going to ask Ben!” Michael snaps, but the reason that Justin’s smirking is because he can clearly see the way that Michael’s eyes won’t meet his. “Even I know when you’re lying, Mikey. You’re terrible at it.” Michael sends him another glare loaded with daggers over the sticky table top, and then mumbles like some second grader being punished by his teacher for speaking too loudly during reading time, “Don’t call me Mikey.” Still bordering just laughing right in Michael’s face, Justin shrugs and feigns innocence, like he did when he was seventeen going on eighteen and sleeping in Michael’s old bedroom at Deb’s. He stays quiet for the fifty seconds that span the end of their argument and the arrival of Rage himself, who graces their two-person table with his presence and a grin already in place. “So. Who blew you on your way over?” Justin smirks, looking up and pointedly ignoring the scowl on Michael’s face – Michael, who is secretly still a lot bitter about the trick who never went away. Michael, who hates that Justin can draw because he wanted to, ever since he was three. Michael, who will win this argument and get his way this time, just for the Collector’s Edition fiftieth issue of Rage. Well. Maybe he’d consider changing his story line a little bit. But only if Justin ends up completely hating it, which would lead to him refusing to draw the panels for Mikey’s words. Michael decides he could lean slightly, maybe have JT fall down the well… Except also, maybe Rage would be too busy saving the other citizens of Gayopolis, so he wouldn’t hear JT calling… “Is he newly mute and I just don’t know it yet?” Is the first thing that Michael hears, after falling out of his day (technically night, so regular) dreams, and it’s Brian’s voice that does it. He looks down at Justin for an answer, who proceeds to shrug and mumble something about Michael always resembling a mute, and how he doesn’t see a difference. Silently, Michael seethes, but decides to take the high road out of the typical childish argument that he always finds himself submerged in with the dirty blond. “Hey, maybe Brian can help out.” Michael’s saying, gesturing to the notepad sitting in the middle of the table and only a grab away from his fingers. Rolling his eyes in a grandly dramatic gesture, Brian starts to shrug his jacket off of his shoulders, gives Justin a light knock in the arm before he steals an empty chair from the next table over. Justin shrugs – apparently it’s his favorite move so far in the night – and tips his head back so he can look at Brian, even if the visual he gets is upside down and from this angle he can see the double chin he never realized Brian had. He stores that away for later and explains, “Michael has this ridiculous idea for a comic, and I refuse to draw it.” “Ridiculous, you say?” Brian asks, raising his eyebrows in a show-me-how-it-works way as he looks between the two, who are silently dueling it out with their eyes. “Why, when has any part of your precious ‘graphic novel’ been ridiculous, pray tell?” “Fuck you.” Mikey shoots, and he already knows that he’s losing an uphill battle. Justin continues on as though the interruption was nothing more than a blip on his radar, “He wants Zephyr to fall down a fucking well, and have you – sorry, Rage – rescue him.” “What? Didn’t Timmy already do that?” Brian snickers, and Justin has to hide a well deserved grin behind the back of his hand when Michael starts getting riled up even more than he was before. It’s times like these when it’s plainly obvious that he’s Debbie’s son. “And what the fuck is Zephyr doing near a well, anyway?” “My fucking point exactly!” Is Justin’s triumphant reply, and he eggs the argument on by pointing a finger across the table at Michael. Brian disguises his laugh as a cough, and with a nicely placed arrogant sneer, he reaches across and steals Justin’s beer. He’s only a little disappointed when it’s completely empty. “You dykes duke this out.” He says, standing up and pushing his chair away from the table. He manages to miss the Michael Vs. Justin Verbal Showdown by a mere breath. “I’m getting another beer.”  … “I cannot believe that I’m doing this.” Justin sighs, tightening his jacket and exhaling a little louder than usual, just for show. The air around his mouth turns into a white cloud, and he remembers when he was like, eight, and used to empty his lungs just to pretend that he was smoking a cigarette. “Would you stop complaining?” Michael exclaims, leading the other two men through a winter-dead rose garden. Except Michael telling anyone to stop complaining is like Jesus telling God to stop being so holy. “I’m telling you, it’s completely possible!” “What, for someone to fall down a well by accident?” Shooting a glance over his shoulder, Justin looks back at Brian to back him up with some kind of sarcastic remark, but it’s in vain because all that Brian’s worried about is lighting up the joint between his lips. “Yes!” They all come to a stop when they reach the middle of the cheesy and bordering over the top public garden, the flowers and plants still frozen over with ice. In the middle of the dead daisies and ice laced rose plants, there’s an old well with some unreadable gold plaque on the front, commemorating someone’s death or someone’s birth – none of them really care enough to read it. “Where the fuck did you even find this place, anyway?” Justin asks, toeing the ground around the old rock. He smirks as he watches Brian kick the base of the ancient well, and then looks over his shoulder just in time to see Michael bouncing around a little from foot to foot, shining his flashlight over the object in front of them, because apparently it’s a fantastic idea to go well-hunting at one in the morning when you’ve just passed buzzed. “I asked Em. He knows every inch of this city.” Justin shrugs, just because he can’t argue there. “And what the fuck are we doing out here again, girls?” Brian complains through a question, and blows thick black smoke into the side of Michael’s face. Michael shoves him in the side immediately and Brian smirks before continuing, “Let’s get a move on, I want to fuck Sunshine while the night is still young.” “It’s the only thing that is.” Justin snickers, and then dodges the ash that Brian flicks from his joint. Despite himself, Michael laughs, even if he does kind of half hide it in the cuff of his jacket. “Would you be serious for a minute, please?” He asks, regaining the composure that he must’ve stole from Ben, considering that he technically never had it in the first place. “Just, seriously. Look.” He steps up to the side of the well, inches his way in-between Brian and Justin, and shines his flashlight in. The majority of the shaft (and the word manages to go without innuendo from Brian for once) lights up, glittering off the muddy water at least fifteen or sixteen feet down. Justin peers over the edge, and he’s silent for a minute before glancing over at Michael and asking, “And what the fuck am I looking for, again?” “Just look! See? We could have Zephyr like, fall in, right?” Michael starts to explain, using his flashlight as a laser pointer as he shines the weak light on each side of the well, and the walls are all grubby and stained. “And then Rage could come and jump down, and then carry him to safety.” Leaning his elbows against the lip of the hip height well, Justin looks down into what seems like a never ending black abyss, then smirks and glances over at Michael. Asks, “Well if you’re so into the down-the-well storyline, why can’t we have JT fall in and then Rage could save him?” “Because!” Michael exclaims, and for a second Justin thinks that he’s going to stomp his foot like Gus does when he wants another cookie, but that’s a total letdown because he doesn’t. And anyways, before either of them can get another word in, Brian’s interrupting. “Now, now, girls.” He sing-songs, slides one arm around Michael’s shoulders and the other around Justin’s, and in the dark night, the ash of his joint hovers around Justin’s ear, threatens to drop onto the shoulder of his jacket. “Why doesn’t JT jump down the well after Zephyr, and then I’d be rid of you both?” “Fuck you.” Justin laughs, pulls away and ducks out from underneath his arm, pushes him in the side with his cold hand. Brian smirks and lets go of Michael, meanders over to the well at his own Brian Kinney pace. Knocks the base with his shoe once more, and then looks over the ledge and wrinkles his nose. “I think it looks like a lesbian’s twat.” He says after a while, after apparently thinking hard about his overall review of the entire situation. Michael’s mouth drops open and Justin laughs, turns to Michael and pushes his shoulder lightly. “See? Lesbian’s twat.” Justin confirms, nodding his head, and Michael starts to scowl as he shoves Justin back. “I told you, the idea is shit. No well, no Rage, no JT-“ The sound of somebody tripping over something and then someone – no, not someone, fucking Brian, Rage his goddamned self – swearing, freefalling and a final fucking splash interrupts their argument, and at first, they both freeze. Justin’s eyebrows raise halfway into his hairline and Michael’s lips go all crooked, both in the middle of saying some big word he learned from listening to another one of Ben’s lectures. “Fuck!” Brian screams, and Justin’s mouth drops open when he hears the way Brian’s voice travels and then echoes off of something – most likely the inside of the well he’s just fallen down. “My fucking joint went out!” “Holy shit!” And then suddenly both Justin and Michael are hurrying towards the well, and Michael’s shining his shitty flashlight that he probably got from the front desk of a gas station into the aforementioned abyss. Brian peers back up at them with raised eyebrows – he’s definitely pissed, Justin thinks – and his mouth is in a line straighter than any of them have ever been in their lives, including the time Justin fucked Daphne and Mikey went on a date with that Big Q chick – Brian already forgot her name. “Are you okay?” Justin shouts, but he doesn’t really have to because it’s not like Brian’s standing on the other side of a canyon with a rushing train going through it, he’s down a fucking well of all things. “I’m dandy!” Is the terse reply, and JT and Zephyr – uh, Justin and Michael – look away from the well and to each other for one second, just to share a very well deserved what the fuck now? glance between them. But Brian’s still talking. “I just fell down a fucking well and landed on my ass. But don’t worry! The dead rats and bird shit broke my fall. And would you stop fucking shining that Mickey Mouse flashlight in my God damned eyes?” “Sorry.” Justin snatches the flashlight from Michael’s kiddy grip, gives him his best are you fucking kidding me? expression when it looks like he’s about to argue about that, too. “Would one of you two assholes call the cops or something?” Brian shouts, and secretly, Justin thinks that Brian would be at least bordering tolerant about falling down a well if his fucking joint hadn’t gone out. “Christ.” “Uh, do you have your cell?” Michael shakes his head at Justin’s quiet question immediately, both trying to keep the level of their voices below the current loud complaining that Brian is doing. “Fuck, mine was dead, so I left it. Fuck!” Michael looks like he’s about to cry, so Justin rolls his eyes and shoves him forward, motions for him with one hand to ask Brian about his cell, because Mikey’s not the one who might not get laid if a certain question pisses a certain person off. “Hey, uh… You wouldn’t manage to have your cell down there, would you?” Michael calls over the ledge of the wall, and peers down into the pitch black that currently has his best friend held captive. “What the fuck for?” Michael stutters for a couple of seconds before Justin hits his shoulder and he manages to regain his composition, carefully says, “We uh… We both seem to have forgotten ours?...” “Oh for fucks sake.” Is the aggravated mutter that drifts up from the bottom of the well. “I’m fucking soaked, covered in shit with a massive bruise forming on my ass, and you two assholes forgot your fucking phones?” “Seems like it.” Justin shrugs, leans against the side of the wall and squints, trying to see through the darkness. Doesn’t work until the number pad of Brian’s cell lights up, and even then Justin can only make out the outline of Brian’s face. He glances over at Michael, who’s chewing his thumbnail down to a nub and staring down into the well with wide eyes that look like they’re about to pop out of his head at any given moment. “How about we have Rage fall? Then we can say it’s based on a true story.” Michael scowls and goes to reply, but then Brian’s complaining again, “I can’t get a fucking signal down here. Fucking Telus assholes, I’ll sue them.” “You’ll sue them for throwing you down a well, and then proceeding to cut your service because you’re god knows how many feet under the ground?” Justin questions, just to make sure that he’s got the story straight. “Fuck you.” Brian snaps from his rabbit hole. “Here. I’m going to throw it up, and one of you catch it – you’re both good at that.” “You know, Michael.” Justin starts, making sure his voice is loud enough so Brian can hear him from where he’s two steps away from being abandoned. “I’m starting to get a little cold, perhaps we should go back to Woody’s and have a drink, just to warm ourselves up.” Michael starts to snicker and Justin smiles for a second, but then Brian’s throwing his cellphone up the well, and that definitely wasn’t a good idea from the beginning. Even if Brian turned out to be some magically undiscovered fabulous baseball player without having a joint and a half of pot inside his body, there’s no way he could’ve got enough air on the phone to have Mikey or Justin actually catch it. And that point is clearly proven when the sound of the phone scraping against the inside of the well echoes through the shaft, and then the splash that follows as it drops into the water Brian’s standing up to his thighs in. “Why didn’t you fucking catch it?” He yells, and now he’s definitely pissed off, Justin decides. “Why didn’t you?” Justin shouts back, and he almost has to bite the inside of his cheek because now he’s just egging Brian on. “It’s fucking pitch black down here, you asshole! And that was brand fucking new!” Brian shouts, and both Justin and Michael jump when The Irate One kicks at the water that he’s standing in. A huge splash of it and whatever it contains hits the side of the well before he continues, “I’m going to have to refucking program all my contacts!” “I think we have bigger problems than that right now…” Justin calls, and his voice trails off at the end as Michael nods, still leaning against the side of the well and shining his flashlight down. The battery’s quickly wearing out, and now it barely reaches halfway down before the light dies. They can’t even see Brian’s face anymore. “Get me the fuck out of here!” Brian screams, and that’s the last Justin and Michael hear of him, because after that, they just block his yelling out and try to make a plan up involving the two jackets they’re wearing, and the mostly dead batteries from the flashlight. The plan fails before they even begin to start it, and Brian’s still venting. Loudly. “Wait!” Michael shouts, after a twenty minute brainstorming session. Brian’s voice is starting to get all scratchy because he hasn’t stopped yelling for less than a second, and Justin’s wondering why the hell someone hasn’t heard all the commotion that’s been going on. Justin raises his eyebrows when Michael doesn’t continue, and is a second away from yelling like Brian is when Mikey finally says, “I read this thing once!” “Hallefuckinglujah!” Comes from down the well, and Justin’s no longer thinking of how to get Brian out of it. He’s wondering how many ways there are to throttle Brian for falling down a well in the first place. While he’s at it, he’ll probably kill Mikey too, just for fun. “He read something once!” That’s where they both ignore Brian some more, and then Michael’s talking way too quickly and Justin has to concentrate really hard just to follow along as he says, “I saw this show once about urban legends, right? And it had this thing about how some guy got stuck halfway down a chimney… I think he was trying to be Santa or something, and surprise his kids… I guess. Because why else would he be-“ “The point, Michael!” Justin interrupts, points to the well that his not-a-boyfriend is currently trapped in. Michael nods and scratches the back of his neck, apparently thinking or something. “…Anyways. It said that he had to get himself out, because… I don’t know why, maybe they didn’t have a phone or something. But anyways, he just pushed his hands against the-“ Justin’s already hurrying back over to the ledge of the wall, dragging Michael – who’s still carefully reciting safety moves from the show that he apparently watched – behind him by his jacket collar. He gets to the ledge and this time, manages to interrupt Brian’s constant string of complains with, “Tell him, Mikey.” “Don’t call me Mikey!” Mikey-but-not-to-Justin exclaims, pushes Justin’s hands off of his shoulders and leans over the well instead. Justin decides that if Michael falls in too, that he can get himself out. The superheroes can save themselves, Justin figures, JT can just go back to the loft and get some sleep. “Okay, I saw this show, right, and-“ “Michael!” It isn’t until Brian yells that Mikey actually stops talking and decides to look offended instead. From deep down inside the well, an aggravated sigh drifts up, usually reserved for Cynthia or Ted. Michael swallows hard, glances over at Justin, and then finally explains, “Okay, uh, stand with your back against one wall, and put your hands flat the side your standing against.” They both listen to the sound of Brian shuffling around, his shoes squelching water as he positions himself the wall and then sighs again, asks, “So are you gonna continue, or leave me here to rot?” “Fuck you!” Michael squawks, and after a stab in the ribs from Justin’s abnormally pointy elbow, he continues with his stuck-in-a-well-scenario instructions. “Okay, now, you’re supposed to pick up one of your feet, and press it against the wall that’s opposite you. Then do your other foot.” “You know.” Brian starts, his voice bordering a drone as he slowly follows Mikey’s instructions, “Cancer is sounding more promising than this.” Not knowing whether to laugh or frown, Justin opts for a half-snicker. Michael rolls his eyes and glances over at Justin, knots his eyebrows and then looks back to the well. “Okay, now, just, like… Move your feet up, and then your hands. You should be able to crawl up if you go one step at a time.” Justin chews on his bottom lip and watches the side of the well he’s standing in front of, and Michael’s actually utterly silent for once as they listen to Brian shuffle his way up the well, muttering the entire time. He falls once, when he’s about five feet up, but he’s more pissed off about the fact that he has to start over again than anything else. “You okay, Brian?” Justin calls, after a few minutes of silence have elapsed. Leans into the well a little more, and squints to see if Brian’s even visible yet. All he sees is the same darkness he’s been staring at the entire time, so he flicks on Mikey’s little flashlight. It lights up the first quarter of the well, and both Justin and Michael jump when they see Brian only six or so feet from the top. “Fuck! You’re halfway there, keep going.” “Would you shut. The fuck. Up?” Brian grinds out, his breathing heavy and eyebrows knotted. Justin nods and doesn’t say another word, just continues to shine the flashlight on the body slowly inching it’s way up the well. When he’s only an arms length away from them, Justin tosses the flashlight to the ground, so he and Michael can both pull Brian the rest of the way out. “I can’t believe you fucking did that.” Is the first thing that Justin says, slightly out of breath as his hands smooth over Brian’s wet jacket and slime slicked brown hair. Brian rolls his eyes and tries to even his breathing out, muscles obviously strained from the climb as he cringes at every move he makes. Michael leans over and gives Brian a half-hug, decides to look over him with more of a Jewish Mother Stare rather than revert to Pre-Justin and start feeling him up to make sure all the pieces are still there. Justin does that instead, and tries to keep the smirk off his face while Michael stands to the side and sighs, shifting his weight from foot to foot with his arms crossed over his chest. When they’re both content and a mere three movements away from groping at each other’s dicks, Michael picks his flashlight up off of the floor, and starts back towards the entrance of the park. “I told you it was possible.” He says, flicking the on button of the flashlight back and forth, so he spells out something or another in morse code. He figures he’s got to be saying something, because he read that book on hand signals and other stealth communication back in eighth grade. Justin scowls at the back of Mikey’s head, and Brian wonders how big the bruise on his ass will be in the morning.  … “I just don’t understand how the fuck you managed to fall in.” Justin murmurs, desperately trying not to laugh as he slicks Brian’s back with soap, rubs his fingers into the tight muscles there before he smoothes his palms over the water warmed skin. “Fuck you.” He mutters. “I just leaned over, and then I was falling.” Is his reasoning, and to go along with his words, he twists around quickly, gets both of Justin’s wrists in his hands. He pushes the blond back against the wall of the shower with his hips, grins down at him. “So. Did it hurt?” Then Justin’s wrists are wrestled out of Brian’s hands and his palms are back on Brian’s skin, moving over his hips and then sliding up his spine and to the egg on the back of his head, from when he fell the second time while trying to climb out. Brian snorts and says, “Of course it fucking hurt, I fell down a fifty foot concrete tube and broke the fall with my ass, for Christ’s sake.” He stops and thinks for a moment, slicks one hand through Justin’s hair and then decides, “At least I was high.” Justin smiles. “It totally wasn’t fifty feet deep.” He says, presses his stomach into Brian’s, except Brian’s definitely a good foot taller than he is, so it’s more stomach to dick contact. Justin might like that one a little more. Okay, a lot. “Try twenty, at the most.” “The fucking things I do for you two.” He scowls, and Justin starts laughing, slaps the side of Brian’s body and raises his eyebrows. Tries to match the haughty expression crawling across Brian’s already sour face. Brian reaches down and shuts the water off just as Justin’s saying, “Because I’m sure that was your intention for tonight – fall down a well, solve Justin and Michael’s never-ending argument.” He follows Brian out of the shower, and catches the towel Brian tosses him, wraps it around his waist and raises his eyebrows, “And just for the record, Zephyr is not falling down a fucking well.” “At least now you both know it’s completely possible.” Brian says, not bothering to finish drying himself off before he tosses the towel to the floor and then limps through the open doorway and into the bedroom. He calls back, “But then again, not everyone can do the things that Rage can.” “Funny how it’s always JT that saves the day in the end, though.” Justin muses, barely managing to catch the laughter that crawls into his voice before Brian notices. He knows that Brian did hear when a pillow comes flying through the air, toward his face. “Because I mean, you know. Considering he is the sidekick and all…” Brian rolls his eyes, an expression that he’s perfected over the years, and reaches over to grab another joint. Lights it up, and between his teeth asks, “And who are we talking about, again, Justin – or, sorry – JT?” JT (uh, Justin) decides to ignore the loaded question. Instead says, “I can’t believe that a man so into his elderly years as yourself didn’t break one of his hips after falling all that way.” Justin snickers, throwing his towel with a half assed effort into the doorway of the bathroom. Brian raises his eyebrows as Justin starts to climb onto the bed, takes a drag of his joint and rolls back onto the pillows half lodged under his shoulders. “I told you, already.” Brian explains, in-between exhaling the smoke and watching it curl through the air around his mouth. “We superheroes have super powers.” Justin snickers as he pulls the blankets up over his hips, mumbles an, “Oh yeah…” into the skin of Brian’s shoulder. He presses his hand flat against Brian’s stomach and accepts the drag of the joint that he’s offered, holds it for a second before he exhales and breathes, “How stupid of me to forget.”