Chapter Text
The rent got hiked up again in May, when Pudgy-Peter the landlord was already beating down his door about the payment he missed in April.
By June there wasn’t much of a choice, Brian packed up what little he had and left.
He ended up on the outskirts of Echo Park, which in truth was probably still too close to Toretto's to be advisable. The two story apartment complex was battered, with a flickering sign out front that read Parkview one third of the time and P ew for the rest.
The concrete stairs that led to the second floor had sizable chunks taken out of them, the blue paint on his door was peeling, and the window facing the inner courtyard was decorated with two spiderweb cracks. It didn’t fare much better on the inside either. A plethora of questionable stains left the true color of the carpet a mystery, the linoleum in the tiny kitchen was chipped and discolored, the water pressure was pitiful, and the air conditioning unit emitted a horrific screeching noise in the miraculous event it actually turned on.
Brian set down the two boxes and duffle bag he’d managed to pack five years of his life into and observed the cramped space with a grim smile. It was a definite downgrade in comparison to his old place, but the rent was manageable and with his bank account sucked dry by fines and unemployment, functionality had to take precedence over luxury.
He unrolled his futon and covered it with a threadbare set of sheets before throwing a cup of ramen in the microwave for dinner. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.
He’d make it through somehow, he always did.
6 months later
Somewhere along the way he managed to find work changing oil and rotating tires for a garage that’s most exciting clientele swung from soccer moms irate about their busted down minivan to men in the midst of a midlife crisis who were trying to make up for lost time by throwing money at two door wannabe sports cars.
Just like everything else in his life since he handed those keys to Dom and earned himself a swift and brutal dismissal from the force, the job and the salary that came with it weren’t much, but it was enough to pay the bills and keep his stomach relatively full.
His coworkers tended to ignore him, whispers going around about how his background check had turned up multiple criminal offenses and a blacklisting that spanned every field of law enforcement down to even lowly mall cops. But luckily for Brian the shop’s manager had been more interested in his talent than his rap sheet. Besides, he wasn’t particularly looking to make friends, even if he take a bit of a shine to the kid normally working the counter.
Jimmy was kinda twitchy and spastic, in a way that reminded him entirely of Jesse, who by some grace of god had survived surgery and disappeared with the rest of Dom’s crew to Mexico or Tokyo or wherever it was they ended up.
They took their lunch breaks together when they could, Jimmy rambling about his community college classes, and Brian listening patiently while chewing on the same combination of white bread, bologna, and mustard, he’d been packing for months. The kid had a sweet tooth like only teenagers did and he was always willing to split his cupcake or twinky. Brian wanted to be too proud to mooch off the offering, but that kind of pride had left with the fifteen pounds of muscle he’d lost since leaving the force.
He’d just finished closing up shop, waving to Jimmy as he stalked out into the cool night air. L.A. never truly got cold, not even in the heart of December, but it was still cool enough to make Brian tuck his arms in close as he started his walk home. He’d gotten his holiday bonus that morning, an extra fifty bucks that felt like a lead weight in his pocket.
Tempted by the prospect of something other than ramen or mac and cheese, Brian ducked into the minimart around the corner. He stocked up on a carton of eggs, a fresh gallon of milk, the nice kind of canned soup, some bread, and because he could afford to splurge a bit he bought a box of ding-dongs for himself and a box to put in Jimmy’s stocking at work.
Brian made a bit of polite small talk with the cashier, carefully tucking the change she handed back to him into the safety of his wallet. With a smile and a good natured ‘happy holidays,’ thrown over his shoulder he walked back out into the world of flickering streetlights and shadowed alleys.
He was only three blocks from home when a beer bottle went hurdling past his head.
“Hey, Pig!”
Brian didn’t slow down or turn at the shouted insult. After he’d moved in it had become readily apparent that many of Echo Park’s residents recognized him from the media shitshow that had gone down after the truck jackings. He’d gotten into a few scraps with thugs and street racers who thought they’d had a bone to pick with him over Dom and there had been a rather disgusting incident in early August when some asshole had taken it upon himself to repaint his front door with pigs blood.
But once word got around that Brian gave just as good as he got, most were content to sneer and spit insults at him from afar.
This guy apparently hadn’t gotten the message.
A heavy hand landed on his shoulder and Brian tightened his grip on the grocery bags he’d been carrying before whipping around to face the guy.
He was definitely latino, thick set with a beer gut, sloppy tattoos scrawled over his arms and a white bandana tied around his forehead. The stench of stale alcohol radiated from him in nauseating waves, his yellow teeth twisted in a crooked smile.
“Can I help you, vato?” Brian demanded, feet planted and knees slightly bent, a phantom of the stance beat into him by a variety of law enforcement agencies. Weight loss aside, he could take the man in front of him and barely break a sweat doing it.
“Yeah pig, you can pay me your dues. This street is mine, you wanna use it you fucking joto, you gotta pay the toll.” The man held out his hand expectantly, when Brian didn’t do more than cock an unimpressed eyebrow, he got a sloppy right hook slammed into his gut. The blow would bruise, but he’d taken worse.
Dropping his groceries, Brian balled his fists and went to work. While his assailant had misplaced drunken rage in his favor, he lacked any sort of skill, throwing out punches and kicks like some squabbling teenager caught up in his first school yard brawl.
After letting the man got in a few cheap shots at his face and chest, Brian decided he’d had enough and dropped him with a hard sweep of his legs, bringing his head down against his knee and watching the asshole curl in on himself on the filthy pavement. Satisfied, he wiped the blood trickling from his nose and moved to collect his groceries, the sweet hum of adrenaline in his veins fading as quickly as it had come.
Glass shattered somewhere behind him, just as Brian turned toward the sound a blinding pain tore through his stomach. He lurched unsteadily, dropping the bags in his hands to clutch at his abdomen.
His blue eyes trailed down his body, fixated on the broken bottle shoved through his flesh. Falling back, Brian landed hard on his ass and eventually his back, fingers spasming over the wound that sent fire racing through his veins.
God it hurt, it hurt so fucking bad.
The asshole he’d beat down was hovering over him, grinning with sick satisfaction. In one deft movement he twisted the broken bottle, wrenching a scream from Brian’s throat as black dots danced in his vision, the pain threatening to pull him under.
Somewhere a store’s front light flickered on, sufficiently spooking his attacker into fleeing, though not before he’d picked through Brian’s wallet and cleaned it out of everything worth having.
Squeezing his eyes shut Brian grabbed hold of the blood slicked glass, pulling it out inch by agonizing inch until it finally came free with a wet squelching sound that made him want to gag.
He set aside the broken bottle, hastily trying to apply pressure to the wound. It didn’t seem to matter though, the blood kept welling up between his fingers, pooling beneath him and staining the filthy pavement a shade of vermillion so dark it almost seemed black.
God, there was so much blood.
There shouldn’t have been that much blood.
Brian found himself chuckling, the sound getting stuck in his throat as blood gurgled up in it, threatening to choke him.
It would choke him, he realized.
If the blood loss didn’t kill him, which it very well could, then he’d drown in what little was left.
God, he was going to die here.
He was going to die alone, in a pool of his own blood.
His thoughts trailed briefly to Tanner, wondering if he’d go to his funeral. Then they shifted to Dom, who he knew wouldn’t. Maybe Jimmy would though...
Slowly but surely the pain ebbed away and was replaced by a bone deep coldness that Brian knew was bad, really bad. His thoughts slowing with the dizzying blood loss and his weakening heart.
Whoever said that your life flashed before your eyes must have been on crack, his last thoughts had strayed to the carton of broken eggs laying beside him. The eggs he’d only allowed himself whenever there was a bit of money to spare were bleeding out on the filthy pavement just like he was.
Somehow he was pretty sure the world would mourn his shattered groceries more than they would mourn him.
After coming to that conclusion, it was easier for Brian to let go.
No one would even miss him.