Yes, that conversation in the vault really made a difference. For three months, then Brian went back and shot himself. On a Saturday near closing time, just like last time. The security camera again wasn't being watched so we didn't find him until Monday.

I knew there was something wrong when he didn't come home. Saturdays he usually went to the bar or his book club, but he always came back to me, always before eleven. It just didn't happen. Saturday night approached and turned the corner and I was left alone to my thoughts in the early hours of Sunday. And the fat man wouldn't listen, nor would mother, when I expressed my concern the following morning. That damn dog did something and I hoped it was a random road trip to Vegas to marry some bimbo he met at the pub. Except there was no call, and no one would listen to me, no one. It hurt knowing that I was practically the only one that loved Brian, the only one concerned about him. So when Monday rolled around, that damned family of mine finally listened to me. They found his car still in the parking lot, keys inside. The manager opened the door and I ran inside, straight to the vault. It was there I found him, gun in hand, and blood all around. I nearly puked when I saw him like that. It wasn't until a few moments after that I saw the folded piece of paper beside him, on top on that Charles Dickens book. I grabbed it before Lois could grab me. I tucked in my coveralls and let her take me away. Away from the one person that gave me any happiness in life. Damn you Brian! It was supposed to get better from then on! How dare you leave me like this! Did you think I was joking about what I said? You're such an idiot!

…Yelling at a dead man isn't going to help, but I don't know what else to do. Well, I'll tell you what the note said. But first I must leave this ungrateful family and gain the solitude of my room. How can they stand there and say how selfish it was of Brian to do something like that? I mean, normally, I would agree, but this isn't a normal situation and after the shitty month he's been having, it's kind of hard to blame him. Alright, I'm upstairs. I grab the note from my clothes and sit on my bed.

"Dear Stewie, because I know you're the first to run in here. I'm sorry. I still liked having a way out. And I hope you never understand. You're just a kid and I'm sorry for doing this to you. But my life still had no purpose and I couldn't take it after everything that happened. I know you don't like it when I talk like this, but… I owe it to you, even from the grave, not to leave you in the dark. I couldn't find the purpose, but you made it better. Thank you. For everything, for listening and for saying the right thing at the right time. I love you Stewie, and trust me, you will be okay. And I apologize for nearly killing you. I shouldn't have shot the gun while you were there. Sorry. If you are reading this, then I selfishly took my life. Hope I don't see you soon. Brian."

I put the note down after reading it and wipe the tears away. The deranged memories from the vault come flooding back. Damn you security camera! Cursed be thy vault and everything it took. I sigh and slump against the wall. From my closet, that black $3000 sweater peeks out.

"Oh Rupert, how I regret that purchase," I mumble to my bear. He just stares at me. Usually my imagination swallows me into the world where Rupert is alive, but it doesn't do anything now. Maybe because I'm broken. Am I broken? I don't know. I hear the fat man in the shower, vulnerable to attack, but the knife that sits so invitingly inside my toy chest is greeted by a face full of Rupert's fur. I glare at it before looking at my hands. I threw Rupert, at a knife, which could have been used to solve one of my problems. Yep, there's something wrong with me. But what would you expect? My best friend, the one who makes my life bearable, returns my love, takes care of me when I'm sick, puts me down when I get taken away with my world domination plans, is the only one truly crazy enough to join me on my wild schemes, and actually sees me as more than just a baby, is gone. Now what am I to do? I told him I would be lost without him, which is true, but now I'm actually seeing just how true that statement was. And it scares me.

The funeral is scheduled already and seeing as how he's a dog, it will be fast and easy, also cheap, which Peter likes. Well, they can all go to hell! …Can I tell you a secret? I don't want to go. If I do then I'll acknowledge the fact he's really dead and I don't want to. I wish I could keep pretending that he's off on vacation with a hot babe on some very remote island. But every time I think that I get angry he took her instead of me, leaving me here with the morons. And then I feel guilty about being angry at him and I remember why I feel guilty. It's because he's dead. And I can't change it or run from it, even though I want to. Which leads me back to that God awful scenario where's he's on some island. And the anger sets in, followed by the guilt. It's a vicious cycle.

Anyway, the funeral. It's next Thursday, one of Brian's most hated days, outside when the forecast says a thunderstorm is to occur. Inconsiderate apes, I shall have your heads! I shall destroy the earth with my sonic gun! But alas, it won't bring him back. I do wish to have him back. He's become more of a friend since that day and I fear my feelings have changed towards him. Do you think if I told him he might have stayed? Not killed himself because I love him, really love him. I may be a toddler but I'm very mature for my age. You don't have this brain and not be.

When we were stuck in that vault together, I told him he was the best of a bad situation, and, in a way, it's a compliment that's completely true. The best person I know in the bad situation of my life. Because I love him, even more afterwards than I ever did.

Brian, come back to me. And of course his death has made my brain useless so I can't think of a way to bring him back.

God, as I sit here, the entire conversation about the gun and Brian's plan comes flooding back and I don't know how to stop it.

I stop eating my candy bar and look at my furry white friend. "Hey Bri?" I ask, concern in my voice. Brian stops eating and puts the Jenny Craig bar down. His expression is unreadable.

"Ya?" he replies. I look at the floor before asking my question.

"How come you have a gun?" Brian glances at me and then back at the wall.

"I dunno." I glare at him.

"What do you mean you don't know? You're all- You- You- What about all that liberal crap? You're always spewing about stricter gun regulations. You even cried after Columbine."

"Because that was a national tragedy," Brian protested.

"Oh, it's kind of a regional tragedy," I counter.

"Whatever," Brian says, before shoving the rest of his candy bar into his mouth.

I place mine on the floor. "It's just weird you know. You're the last person anybody would expect to have a gun."

Brian turns to me. "Well, that's why I keep here, where it's safe," he states. I look at him like he's an idiot.

"That doesn't make any sense. Why have it if you're not going to use it?" I look at the floor before a nasty thought occurred. I gasp at the thought. "Is it like a sexual thing?" I ask.

Brian looks at me with disgust. " No."

I place a hand to my chest. "Oh, that's a relief. I hate the idea of you getting a thrill pressing a gun up against your crotch." I hold myself in disgust and make one of those weird sounds of disgust. "Just picturing it gives me the willies." Then again, why was I picturing it?

"Ya- You know, I really don't wanna talk about this with you Stewie," Brian says.

I hold up my hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. I respect that," I hurriedly say, so that he doesn't get mad.

Brian crosses his arms and says, "Thank you." We sit in silence for a moment before I look at him and smile. Why am I smiling? I shouldn't be thinking this! I ask again.

"Are you sure it's not a sexual thing?"

"I'm sure," Brian replies immediately and irritatedly, looking at me from the corner of his eye. I, however, keep watching him.

"Oh good because that would be strange if you had fantasies about pressing a gun up against your crotch and feeling your heart beat through your balls." Silence falls between us again and I watch Brian. "Please tell me why you have it."

Brian looks at me annoyed. "I said I don't want to talk about it."

"But I want to know," I state, curious and concerned. "Just tell me, come on."

"No."

"Come on, please." Brian sighs.

"I keep it in case I ever want to commit suicide, okay?" Brian looks at me for a split second before returning to the wall. My eyes widen at this statement.

"Wow." I still watch my best friend, but he doesn't look back at me and I realize he's telling the God-to-honest truth. But Brian, I love you. Why would you do that and leave me like this? Since Brian doesn't look at me, I search the side of his face I'm objected to. "Oh… Oh my God, you're- You're serious. But why Brian?"

Brian looks at the floor. "You wouldn't understand, you're just a kid," he says.

I scoot closer. "Well, I could try," I offer.

Brian surrenders. "I don't know, sometimes it's all too much." I'm confused.

"What is?" I ask.

"Life," he responds, "Everything… Just having the gun here, knowing there's a way out, it- it helps."

"Yes, but a gun," I say, trying not to think of him blowing his brains out, "Uh, it- it's so messy," I stutter. "What about pills? Even hanging yourself is better. At least then you might grow an inch or two while you're hanging there. Of course, when they find you you might have those Indiana Douglas eyes."

Brian nods and says "Hm". I swivel my body so I'm facing him and he watches me.

"So, um, why the gun?" Brian looks away. Oh I wish he wouldn't do that. But I see a sad expression flood his features. I gaze at him softly.

"It just seemed...the quickest way I guess," he shrugs.

"Uh, I suppose." I frown and my eyes narrow. "But I-I don't quite understand why you're so unhappy," I utter. He still has the downcast look and it's starting to make me nervous.

"Yesterday, when you said I don't live with purpose," Brian abruptly looks at me, "You were right. I don't. Wha-what purpose does my life have?" I curl tighter into a ball and glare worriedly at Brian.

"I don't like when you talk like this."

"No it's true Stewie. Buh-eh- Dogs are supposed to be able to instinctively live with purpose, not even have ta-have to think about it, just born like that, but I wasn't. You know, I tried to find meaning in my life and I just-I just can't." Brian finishes and looks back at the wall and I look at the floor thinking of something to say. Finally, I do.

"And that bottle of scotch?" I ask, looking up at him. Brian meets my gaze.

"I was saving it for my last drink," he answers.

"Whoa, heavy," I comment.

"And you know I'm not talking about purpose in the shallow, Rick Warren, over-the-counter self-help variety because that's- that's just delusion. That's not real. I mean, is there ever a time when we're truly in the present moment and not looking to the past or the future, I mean right there, in the moment?"

"I get that way when I watch Handy Manny." I look back at the floor for a moment. "So, is that why we came here? Were you going to end it?"

Brian looks at me. "No, I was just putting money in my Christmas club."

"God," I say dramatically. "I have to get one of those." I look up at Brian. "You know, last year I only had thirty dollars saved when the holidays came around. I was so embarrassed." I pondered a moment. "I think I gave Meg tape."

Brian breathed out. "You're the only person I've ever told this to." His eyes shifted. "Aren't you going to say anything?" he asks me.

I look at him in minor shock and confusion. "I don't know what to say. Wanting to kill yourself, I- Well I think that's pretty selfish of you," I say angrily.

Brian looks at me crossly. "Wha- How is that selfish?"

"What would I do if you weren't here, hm? You're the only who makes my life bearable."

"I thought you said I was 'the best of a bad situation'," Brian says numbly.

I hold my hands together and look guiltily at him. "I was just trying to hurt you cause you hurt me," I confess. "The truth is you're my only friend Brian. If I didn't have you I'd be lost."

"Ah, you'll be okay," Brian said with a wave of his hand, trying to shake it off.

"No I wouldn't. I don't really care for anyone else, just you. You're the only one I like."

Brian looks at me fondly. "Well, thanks," he says.

"I like you a lot." I look away. "I guess you could say," I turn my gaze back to him and slide a bit closer. "I really like you." With every sentence, I slide a bit closer to Brian, who stared affectionately at me the whole time. "I would even dare to go a little further perhaps. I care a great deal about you. A very great deal. Maybe even deeper than that. I-I-I love you," I say quietly and embarrassedly, which causes my voice to sound funny. I look back at my best friend quickly. "You know, not in like a 'Hey, let's- you know- Let's have an underpants party' or- or whatever grownups do when they're in love, but I mean- I mean, I love you as one loves another person whom one simply cannot do without," I affirm.

Brian keeps staring at me with those eyes. "Well I- I love you too Stewie," he responds. My heart flutters at the words. But I'm not finished quite yet.

"You give my life purpose. And maybe- maybe that's enough because that's just about the greatest gift one friend can give another." Brian's face splits into a smile.

"Thank you," he whispers.

After that he read to me at my request, words from that tatty book, but it was nice, the parts I heard before falling asleep. Next thing I knew I was being taken out of the car and into the house, with everyone still asleep. It was amazing, waking up to the snores of my family. Some of the first thoughts that went through my mind were "Why didn't anyone come looking for us?" and "Didn't anyone miss us?"

Apparently not, as Brian and I found out that morning. We were downstairs eating when Lois and the Fatman walked in, followed by the children. Brian asked if anything happened yesterday. Lois said no, but Fatman said he went to a comic convention and met a few of his heroes there. Meg and Chris had their stories too, but no one mentioned we were gone. I raised an eyebrow to my furry friend, and he shrugged. Then he asked if anyone noticed they weren't around Saturday night as well as all day yesterday. Nobody did. Their excuse? They thought we went on another adventure, so they didn't worry.

Looking back I can see why they would think that. I mean, we did it often enough. But the fact they didn't worry worried me and Brian. So when Brian didn't come home, they thought exactly the same thing, until they found out I was still home. Then they assumed he was out on the town. Bastards. They really didn't know him.

But I can't blame everything on them. Brian had his faults too. His drinking, partying, stupid ideas, surplus of women… He was like the Charlie Harper of the Family Guy universe. It was pathetic to watch and a hassle to take care of when he got too drunk. Which happened more often than not.

My only regret is not telling him how I felt. Well, better late than never. Goodbye Brian. I love you…