When the third pyro blast of the first full rehearsal for the new tour went off, Brian instinctively knew it was wrong. Before he glanced over to that side of the stage, before he saw Nick wobble on his feet, before his own feet started moving without volition, he knew.

Then AJ was cursing and calling for a doctor, Kevin was yelling at a lighting tech and Howie was on top of Nick, shirt off, smothering the flames. Brian knelt by his friend, reaching for the one flailing hand, holding it in a death grip between both his own as he murmured Nick's name over and over, waiting for a reply.

It was the silence that frightened him the most. As the world went crazy around him, in creaks and clanks, yells and sobs, at the centre of it all, Nick lay in silence. No whimper of pain, no word of protest. Only the soft, rapid pulse that ran under his fingers let him know that Nick was still with him.

And so he refused to let it go, ignoring the meaningless words directed at him, standing as Nick was lifted onto a stretcher, walking with it to the ambulance, making room for himself in the back one-handed, holding firm with the other as if Nick's life depended on it. He wasn't sure that his didn't.

When they finally tore him away, swinging the O.R. doors shut in his face, Kevin was there to keep him from falling to the ground, but he barely felt the arms around him, the pinprick of the sedative they gave him. He slid into unconsciousness, having already begun his slide into darkness.

He woke with Leighanne and Kevin standing over him. But the room was empty. He licked his lips, formed the question. They exchanged a look he didn't understand. It was Leighanne who answered.

"He's still asleep. Howie's with him."

And that made no sense at all. Why would Howie be allowed to be with Nick before Brian? That was his Frack in there, his Frack who needed him. Whom he needed. Why couldn't he see him?

"You're in shock hon," Leighanne said, her expression taut. "You need to rest."

But he couldn't rest. Not here, alone, not knowing. So they put him on a cot in Nick's room, where Howie sat by Nick's bed, head bowed, lips moving silently. Where Nick lay, his head wrapped in bandages, sightless, motionless, soundless. And for a few moments, the world was as it should be, Brian by Nick's side, ready to soothe, to answer, to cheer, to protect.

When Nick finally shifted on the bed, his hand searching, his voice rising in childlike panic, he called out for his protector.

"Howie? D? Howie?!"

It wasn't Brian's hand who caught Nick's, or Brian's voice who soothed his panic, but it was Brian's heart that broke, realizing finally that Nick had let him go a long time before.

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