content warnings: non-explicit character death and domestic abuse
He's walking home from work when he hears it. Footsteps in the darkness behind him, soft and even and unhurried. Ivan spins around and sees no one—just amber lamplight glinting on rain-soaked asphalt.
He pulls his jacket close around himself and decides to keep a closer eye on his sister.
The crunch of bones under his tires and a strange sick feeling in his stomach.
He's lucky to have kept his job; lucky to have only lost his license, and not to have gone to jail. That's what his parents told him. Ivan thinks privately that the fact his father is just under the millionaire mark and his mother has a law degree from Yale and the family of the boy he'd run over consists of a single mother on welfare and five other children had had a lot more to do with the whole thing than just luck. They couldn't quite keep the manslaughter charge off his record, but the out-of-court settlement had appeased just enough people.
Irina says it's blatant corruption and she'd rather Ivan take the prison sentence and she didn't join the military to enable this kind of abuse of justice. His parents tell her how is it fair for one careless mistake to ruin his life?
At least he still has a life to ruin, snaps Irina, who's seen her share of death. Tolys Laurinaitis doesn't even have that anymore. (Ivan's hands tighten on his jeans, remembering.)
Natasha doesn't say anything. She'd never say anything against her big brother.
Sitting with Tolys on the couch, legs and mouths twined together. He slid his hand under Tolys's sweater, feeling the coolness of bare soft skin.
He's walking home from work and the sun has set and he hears footsteps behind him. They're soft and deliberate, matching his own just inexactly enough that he can hear them—an echo behind him, but when he stops they keep sounding, gentle and slow. He pulls his jacket close around himself and hurries onward. Gets to his house and locks the door.
"Are you okay?" Tasha asks. Her voice is tight, infected with his own uneasiness.
"Yes," Ivan says shortly.
She wraps her arms around her chest, pulling her hands into the sleeves of her sweater until only the chipped lacquer on her fingertips shows.
He walked into the living room and saw Tolys with his hand on Natasha's arm, saw her wincing from the pressure of his fingers on the inside of her wrist.
"I told you to leave my sister alone!"
"I—"
He grabbed Tolys's shoulders and shoved him away.
Natasha's eyes were full of fear.
They're walking together, because Natasha isn't allowed to go out by herself. He wants to protect his little sister. There are bad people out there who could hurt her, if she walked alone in the dark.
"Do you hear that?"
His nerves are all keyed up and he can't think why. There are only two sets of footsteps. Count them. His, Natasha's, echoing off the trees that line the street. The lamps make pools of amber light on the asphalt.
"Hear what?"
He knows she's lying. Her eyes dart back and forth. He grabs her shoulder and pulls her in tight against his side.
Bone crunching under his tires and sick triumphant exhilaration in his stomach.
He's called in sick to work and he's pacing up and down in front of his window. The shadows under the lamppost are darker than usual.
Ivan raked his fingers through his hair. It pulls an ash-coloured clump out. He stares at it.
Sitting with Tolys on the couch or on the bed, feeling the bruises soft under his fingers: You know I didn't mean to hurt you, love, and Tolys nodded and wouldn't look him in the eye—
They're walking together, because he doesn't allow Natasha to go out by herself. He wants to protect his little sister. There are bad people out there who could hurt her, if she walked alone in the dark.
The dark is echoing with the too-black shadows and his heartbeat pounding in his lungs like footsteps. His nerves are stretched to breaking and he can't think.
"Did you see that?"
Natasha shakes her head. She glances behind her, rubbing her arm.
(Earlier this morning Ivan grabbed her forearm and she flinched away, glanced behind her like she expected someone to come up and snatch her away. He could feel his fingers digging into her skin. Green and red and purple bloomed across her bony wrist.)
Tolys stood in the living room with a gentle hand on her arm, testing the bruises with a light finger and whispering comfort, until Ivan threw himself between them and shoved his boyfriend away and Natasha reached out for Tolys involuntarily like she wanted to help him, like she wanted to be helped.
He's walking home from work and it's dark and a light rain falling and the streetlamp flickers and fizzles out.
Shaggy hair falls over a white face, tilted to the side. In the moonlight there's the barest hint of shadows slashing out a dark mouth and above it nothing, just white, and two green-ringed pits gouged under the rough-cut bangs.
Standing sudden before him, head tilted, waiting.
Silent.
"I told you not to talk to my sister" and Natasha's eyes were full of fear and the gag was made of silk because Tolys deserved only the best. Panicking against the ropes. The streetlamp made a splash of dull yellow across the wet asphalt.
"Tolys—"
The cry wrenches from his stomach and clatters heavy to the sidewalk.
He can't move.
He can't think.
Bone crunching under Ivan's tires and the whimpering sob-screams forced from pulverized lungs. The triumphant exhilaration. He backed up and rolled forward again, each a tiny bump, it'll ruin his suspension for sure but it was worth it—
The dark mouth is open impossibly wide and it covers his mouth gently and the cold-bone fleshless fingers slide up to Ivan's throat.