This is the twenty-sixth story in the Rewriting History series, and it follows Wasted and Sunk. This is my attempt to break some of the overwhelming tension inherent in this kind of storyline. I hope it works. It's okay to laugh. Really. I just hope I didn't cross the line into satire. ;)

Warnings: m/m, AU, angst, occasional bad language. No spoilers. This totally deviates from canon. ;) Lots of Jack for Jack-lovers here. :)

~Silk

*****

I'm Afraid of Americans

By Silk

I'm afraid of Americans
I'm afraid of the world
I'm afraid I can't help it
I'm afraid I can't

I'm Afraid of Americans--David Bowie


Jack tried to stay neutral, but it wasn't easy. His allegiance lay with Curt in every way that counted, and he became fiercely protective whenever he imagined anyone mistreating him. But...

...Curt was a big boy. He was capable of making his own decisions, read mistakes, and he had.

Jack's initial impulse was to rush in and fix things. If Curt wanted Brian, then dammit, he would make Brian see the error of his ways. But that would be interfering, and if there was anything that Jack prided himself on, it was his policy of *non*-interference.

"I'm Switzerland," Jack chanted under his breath, willing himself not to take sides. It would be so simple to *hate* Brian. But he couldn't. Curt loved him, and Curt might be many things, but stupid wasn't one of them. If he saw something, *anything*, in Brian to love...it had to be there.

He couldn't take sides. It wouldn't be fair. But maybe there *was* something he could do.

He just had to be damned careful doing it.

Switzerland, Jack. Remember?

*****

"Wha-?" Brian queried sleepily. He lay sprawled on his stomach on top of the stripped bed. There were no more sheets. Shannon refused to do laundry. It wasn't in her job description, she snapped, wishing that Brian would come to his senses.

In fact, she was so damned tired of the way he was acting, she would rather see him go back to that fucking animal *Curt* before she would wash his soiled bed linens.

"Rise and shine, sunshine," said Jack, slapping Brian on the ass.

Brian stiffened and scrambled to the other side of the bed. "Who? What the hell are *you* doing here? Who let you in?"

"Think of me as your fairy godfather," Jack said dryly.

"You look like fucking *Tinkerbell* to me," Brian growled back.

Jack merely smiled. "Get it all out of your system, Brian. I'm here to help."

"Why?"

"I know what you want me to say, Brian. But I won't say it. I'm not taking sides here. You and Curt have to work out your own problems. But it's time to cut the crap."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You. Look at you. You're so fucked up, you don't know whether you're coming or going."

"I always know when I'm *coming*," Brian said slyly.

"With that much dope in you, how the hell can you tell?" Jack retorted.

"What do you want, Jack?" Brian groped for the sheet to cover his nakedness, but there was none. He sighed and tried not to think the obvious: Jack *was* right. He was fucked up.

"To help you get off the coke."

"Why? I thought you said you couldn't take sides. Doesn't that violate your fucking code?"

"I didn't say I would help you get Curt back. You have to do that yourself, and frankly, there's so much bad blood between you, I wouldn't give much for your chances."

"Then what are you doing here?"

"I told you. You have to get off the drugs."

"Why?" Brian rolled over again and buried his face in his pillow. "What's the fucking point?"

"There's always a point to living, Brian. You used to have one. Don't you remember?"

"Curt," Brian mumbled, his voice muffled by the pillow.

"Right. You've got a one-track mind when it comes to Curt, you know that?" Jack leaned over and yanked the pillow away from Brian, exposing his red-rimmed eyes and his stubbled cheeks. It had been so long since Brian shaved or took care of himself that he really shouldn't have looked even *remotely* beautiful.

But he did. Jack told himself that Switzerland couldn't grow fond of anything, much less a slender young man with more good looks than common sense.

"Leave me alone," Brian groaned, swiping a hand over his face.

"You've tried that, Brian. It's not working. If you were clean, you'd know that. But you're not. So the first thing we're going to do...is get you clean."

"Are you for real?" Brian peered blearily through his fingers at his would-be savior.

"Very much so. I just *look* fabulous. But I am brutally *real*, Brian. Now get up."

Brian stared at the older man in disbelief. "What?"

"Is there something wrong with your hearing as well? I said, Get up."

"Out of bed?"

"That would be a good start."

Brian lost his balance and almost fell out of bed. "Did Shannon call you? That woman fucking *hates* me."

"I'm sure the feeling's mutual."

"You have no bloody idea, Jack."

"Good," Jack brightened. "You remembered my name."

Brian stood unsteadily, looking for all the world like a newborn colt finding its legs for the first time. "Man, I don't feel too good."

"You will."

Brian visibly shook, the ripple of his painfully lean muscles making its way through his entire body. "I need something," he said, mortified to find himself near tears.

"No more," Jack said firmly.

"Please," Brian pleaded huskily.

The appeal in Brian's eyes was so clear, so unmistakable that Jack almost gave in. Now he understood how someone like this could get under Curt's skin. He was not only beautiful, but he was every bit as emotionally intense as Curt. He just didn't show it. Until he was brought right down to his knees by drugs. The great equalizer struck again.

"Brian." Jack pondered what he could do to motivate the younger man without being disloyal to Curt. Neutral. He could still be neutral.

"Do you love Curt?"

Brian closed his eyes and swayed on his feet. He didn't have to say anything. His body language was that of a wounded sparrow, fluttering its wings in vain, in an effort to fly away from its own pain.

Steeling himself not to be gentle, Jack declared, "Well, you can't have him."

Brian's light blue eyes flew open, unguarded at last. "Why?" he whispered in the most anguished tone Jack had ever heard.

"You're using drugs. Just like Curt did. Only Curt can't do that anymore, Brian. If he hooks up with *you*...he's as good as dead."

Brian's mouth jerked as if he'd been struck. "I don't...want that."

"I know, kid. You're not good enough for my Curt, Brian Slade," Jack said sadly. "But you *could* be. If you *really* tried."

"I'm afraid..." Brian said, his eyes suspiciously bright.

"What have you got to lose?"

"Everything," Brian said almost inaudibly.

"You've already lost that." Jack tried to harden his heart, but Switzerland wasn't entirely immune to the appeal of heartbroken young outcasts crossing its borders.

"What if I can't do it?" Brian lamented softly.

"What if you *can*?"

Brian pulled off the ever-present blue wig and threw it across the room. "I'm afraid of hurting him again. I should stay away," he cried angrily, bitter tears streaking down both cheeks.

"It's killing you, Brian," Jack said, realizing abruptly that it was true. Brian had given up. And without hope, there was literally nothing but fear and grief and, ultimately, death.

"I'm not the one who matters," Brian murmured, plucking at his shorn light brown hair.

"To Curt, you are," Jack said without thinking. Cursing himself for breaking his hard and fast policy of non-interference, Jack sighed. Maybe Brian wouldn't notice.

"He still...cares? A little?" Brian managed to ask. He bit his bottom lip while he waited for Jack to answer.

"A *lot*." Jack smiled at his own foolishness. He wasn't Switzerland at all. But he still wasn't taking sides. He didn't have to. Brian and Curt were on the same side. They just didn't know it yet.

End