"Brian Thomas Litrell, that is the ugliest lie I've ever heard out of your mouth." A.J. growled.
"Swear to God, Aje." Brian assured him softly but fervently. He sat on the edge of the bed where Nick had finally passed out, watching for any signs of trouble. "I'm sitting here looking at him. If I'm dreamin' y'all need to come pinch me, 'cause this ain't quite the happy homecoming I hoped for."
"What's wrong?" The suggestion that anything more might be wrong with Nick cut past A.J.'s disbelief to his automatic protective instinct.
"He's..." Brian sighed. The light sheet covered most of Nick's bruises and scars, but the brutal treatment he'd endured was still written plainly on his face. "He's messed up real bad. I didn't know whether to get him to a shower, a hospital, a restaurant or a bed first."
"God," was all A.J. could think of to say.
"He didn't give me much choice though - straight for bed. That's my Frack," Brian laughed bitterly. "He needs a doctor, but he's not... I don't think he'd let anyone else touch him right now. I figured the shower and food could come later."
Even someone without A.J.'s many years of friendship with Brian would have been able to see past his thin veneer of humour and practicality. He was a little scared of asking, but the words came out of his mouth anyway.
"Should I come over?"
"Please?" Brian abandoned all pretense at calm. "I can't handle this alone, Aje, I just can't. He needs more help than I can give."
Somehow knowing it would be futile, A.J. began to steel himself for everything that was about to happen. "Yeah. I'll be right there."
Waiting for A.J., Brian knew there were things he should be doing, people he should be calling. If nothing else he should see if there was food in the house - Nick would be starving when he woke. But he couldn't tear himself away. He sat staring at the shape of his long-lost best friend.
The "big-boned" argument was truer than they'd realised he mused absently. Nick still made quite a lump under the covers, but he was so malnourished Brian had been able to carry him inside from the lawn. Not up the stairs - thank goodness for this first-floor guestroom - but still, he hadn't even broken a sweat. He thought of all the times Nick had manhandled him without any trouble. He was too cried out to cry again.
Perhaps the worst hurt was this horrible inability to communicate. "Brian" seemed to be the only word Nick knew apart from his own name. What had they done to him to make him forget English? If it had been some sort of physical speech problem, at least Brian would have had the small satisfaction of knowing his words of love and comfort were understood.
For now, actions would have to be enough.