In the Dream I Refuse to Have

Thank you to Philflam for very helpful beta!

Brian doesn't believe in dreams. He has no desire to remember them, talk about them, or analyze them. He has no patience for people's endless fascination with their dreams. They are either about things you don't have that you want or things you have that you don't want. Dreams are about what will never happen no matter how much you want them to, and what you couldn't stop from happening. They are filled with things you can't face when you are awake. Dreams make you vulnerable, and Brian is never vulnerable.

Brian learned early that dreams were a waste of time. He could dream about happy families like the ones on television every night, but he still woke up in his own life. Jack and Joanie were still his parents. His life still sucked, and dreaming of what might have been only made things worse. No matter how many times he dreamed of fists coming out of nowhere, he still couldn't evade his drunken father. Living through it was bad enough; he didn't need to dream about it.

Michael used to dream about Captain Astro and comic book adventures. He dreamed of saving the world with his hero father. He loved those dreams. Michael was always a little disappointed when Brian told him he couldn't remember his dreams. Lindsay dreamed of love and babies and happily ever afters. Sometimes her dreams were filled with odd symbolism only a dyke could find deeper meaning in. By then, Brian was telling the truth when he said he never dreamed.

Emmett still dreamed about escaping Hazelhurst. His nights were filled with images of Paris and London, of crazy romantic fantasies he loved to share over breakfast. He'd come to expect Brian's sarcastic remarks about how far he'd actually gotten. God only knew what Ted dreamed of. Brian could care less, and even Ted had limits to the amount of mockery he'd open himself up for.

Justin no longer spoke of his dreams. He wakes up sweating and shaking and curls up into himself, never saying a word. But he always leans into Brian's touch and falls back to sleep listening to his heartbeat. The bitter part of Brian wonders if he shared his dreams with Ian. Did they stay up deep into the night talking about their fears? Brian knows this isn't the case. There are some things that can't be shared. Justin kept his nightmares to himself, turning away from Ian in the dark. Brian knows this.

Brian didn't have nightmares because he didn't dream. He controlled every aspect of his life, and his nights were no exception. Dreams were for people who believed in hope and regret, for people who actually wanted to explore the dark corners of their minds. Brian believed in reality and denial. When asked about his lack of dream, he always replied, "If you were living my life, you wouldn't need to dream either." To some extent, he believed that. He had no need for dreams so he didn't dream. Simple.

The truth was, not dreaming was a skill. One he'd taught himself long ago and had perfected over the years. It started as a matter of will power. He woke himself up every time he started to dream. As his control strengthened, he could stop a dream before it started.

As he got older, his demons intensified, and he needed new weapons. In typical fashion, he came upon them naturally - alcohol, drugs, and sex. From the age of sixteen, he never went to bed unless he was drunk, high, or well fucked. And sometimes all three. Sleep was nothing more than a brief break to recharge. There was no energy left for dreams.

Sometimes he gave up sleep altogether. Some nights it wasn't worth the fight for a few more hours of rest. So he'd pace the loft, stare out at the dark city, and have a few drinks. Justin caught him like this more nights than he cares to remember. No wonder he was convinced too much coffee caused insomnia. He'd tried to shut Justin out at first. He wasn't accustomed to sharing his dark nights, but eventually he accepted his presence. Justin learned when to simply sit quietly with him, and when to lure him back to bed for another round of sex that blocked everything else from his mind.

But some dreams are stronger and more stubborn than others. Some dreams demand attention. Brian learned to deal with these because he is stronger than any dream. Michael was his safety net after visits with his father opened the door to dreams of anger and violence. He'd drink along with his father just like the good son he'd never had any desire to be. Then he'd stumble over to Mikey's. He could always count on Mikey to be sympathetic and understanding. He'd help Brian ease into oblivion, away from the dreams and memories hovering around him.

Then came dreams of bats and blood, of helplessness and fear. These were dreams Brian could not and would not allow to exist. They threatened what little sanity he was hanging on to. And Michael was nowhere to be found. Brian was left alone to deal with dreams filled with images he'd give anything to forget. His days were haunted enough; he couldn't take anymore at night. Sometimes it seemed like he constantly heard the sound of the bat connecting, that all he could see was Justin's falling body. If he allowed himself to dream, he'd open the door to more things he couldn't face - Justin's face when he first walked in, a kiss that never should have happened, the limpness of Justin's hand in his. But no matter how much he drank, how high he got, or how much he fucked, the images remained. Finally, he fought them off with long silent vigils that left him too exhausted to see anything once he closed his eyes. Brian won again.

The dreams after the Rage party surprised him. He hadn't expected them, but there they were. Dreams of masks and loneliness. Visions of himself surrounding by nothing but white and a crushing emptiness all set to violin music. It was pathetic, and he was pissed at his subconscious for allowing such things. And then fucking Mikey had to stir up dreams of death that he'd finally put behind him. The solution was almost too easy. He just replaced what was gone. All his tricks became young, hot, blonds, by design or imagination, and the dreams were vanquished. His nights were quiet again.

Brian was more than a little shocked when the new dreams didn't respond to any of his usual pain management techniques. Suddenly his nights were filled with gunfire and confrontations gone wrong. It wasn't right, but he seemed powerless to stop it. Pacing the loft, downing drink after drink while trying not to listen for his footsteps on the stairs didn't help. Getting high and fucking the night away at Babylon was no defense even when he stayed late enough that he knew Justin would be back at the loft before he was. He tried ignoring the whole situation and living like he wasn't waiting for him to return in one piece. Nothing worked. He'd wake up with Chris Hobb's face haunting him again. Only this time he wasn't there to stop him, and this time Justin never woke up. Brian never expected to end up back here again.

But Brian didn't give up. He knew what was different about these dreams. They were still a threat. They weren't about the past, but about what could still happen. And right now there was nothing he could do to make them an impossibility. Only Justin could do that. All he could do was remind himself that they hadn't happened yet. So he waited until Justin fell asleep and then pulled him into his arms sleeping completely wrapped around him. In the mornings, Brian bitched at Justin for practically smothering him in his sleep. Justin smiled and pretended Brian didn't hold him so tight that he could hardly breathe. He knew there were things Brian didn't speak about, and that was all right. Brian was finally sleeping again. It was a deep and peaceful sleep because Brian didn't dream.

** Notes: Title and inspiration taken from the haunting Barenaked Ladies song War on Drugs.

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