"We're going to die, you know."
Wisely looks up, give Fourteenth a look before smirking and looking back down at the ground. There is a wide expanse of humans, too many to count, children and women and men. They are of different colors, different shapes and sizes, bulbous and pole-thin and dark and pale and as bright as the sun. Their thoughts are not as colorful, too many shades of gray and blue and black.
What a waste of space.
"You didn't know that already?" he mocks, calm as you please. "What do you think we were made for, Fourteenth?"
His brother's brows are furrowed, a change from his usually cheery self. For once, Wisely feels a pang of discomfort, concern even. "Hey," he says, moving so that he faces his brother head on. Well, almost. His brother is too tall for his own good and Wisely is—well, he's short. Tiny, even, for a boy his age. It's truly terrible. "Why so depressed?"
Fourteenth gives him a look right back, sharp as needles. It makes Wisely flinch back slightly, but he doesn't search his brother's mind for the details. He knows that he'd probably get a smack so hard that he'd fly into the crowd if he even tried to rummage in Fourteenth's skull.
"I'm not depressed," the elder grumbles, shifting and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. "Just thinking."
"That's a first." Wisely dodges a swipe from his brother, grinning. "Hey, I would know."
"True." And then his brother is silent, a perturbed look on his face.
For the rest of the week, Fourteenth makes a point in avoiding Wisely whenever he can.
Wisely does not pry.
"Why?" he chokes out, clutching his demon eyes as they pulsate, blood spilling over their edges and over his brow, onto the floor along with the tears. Fourteenth stands over him, Wisely and their brothers and sisters, piled in corpses. It is a stupid, horrible question that Wisely hates because he usually never has to ask why, but God, this—
"Why?" Fourteenth repeats slowly, a calm, debating look on his face, even as the tears run down his face. He sits down in front of Wisely, takes his brother's hand even as the younger struggles. He presses the hand to his skull—
And Wisely sees. He sees the bloodshed, the planning, Mana and Fourteenth plotting together the downfall of the Duke, how Fourteenth is going to go after him next. He sees the music notes, flying past him, indecipherable, the laughter, the sheer noise until he feels as though his head is going to split.
"Stop!" He wrenches his hand away and everything is blissfully quiet. Quiet in his head for a change, because everyone surrounding them is dead. Dead, dead, dead, and Wisely cannot hear the thoughts of the dead.
"You bastard," he snarls, because Wisely is angry. He is so angry right now that he can feel the rage welling up amongst the blood spilling from his demon eyes. "You fucking bastard, what the hell does family mean to you?"
The Fourteenth tilts his head to the side. Smiles that stupid smile, that stupid charming smile and reaches forward and touches Wisely's bloody forehead.
"And what does it mean to you?"
And Wisely cannot answer, because his head is screaming, screaming so hard and he can't hear with the sound of that lullaby spinning in circles in his brain. He clutches the floor, breathing harshly as Fourteenth just smiles.
Just. Smiles.
"I'll always love you, brother," he says quietly.
Wisely can feel it. Feel the pain, the sadness, true and bloody and twisted in Fourteenth's skull, spilling into his own. The love.
He wants to split Fourteenth's head open.
"Never as much as Mana, true," Fourteenth says after another moment's pause. "But it'll always be more than I've had for the others."
Wisely chokes out a laugh, snarling laughter as he tries to concentrate. Tries to concentrate his spinning vision on Fourteenth's god damn skull so he can split it open, split it in two and watch his brother bleed all over the floor. "And I—hate—you."
This is not the first lie he has told.
But it is the first that Fourteenth ever falls for.
Wrapping his fingers around Wisely's eyes, Fourteenth gives Wisely one last sad smile. "I know."
And then, with an explosion of music and screaming, Fourteenth breaks Wisely in two.
Thirty-five years later, with far too much pain and hunger and blood, Wisely is dying again. He is on the floor of the Order, staring at the ceiling as Fourteenth's new vessel walks over, crouches down on the floor. His skin is too pale, too scarred, his face too kind.
But when Allen Walker's face twists into an expression of sadness, Wisely sees Fourteenth.
"I still haven't forgiven you," he says, quiet for a change. His head is bleeding again, and he hates how it feels running down his temples and into his hair. "I will never forgive you."
Fourteenth smiles, white hair so unlike his old black. "I know."
"You must hate me."
"I could never."
Wisely barks out a laugh. And then he is shaking, laughing without a sound, staring at the ceiling as blood comes up in his throat and makes him choke, hack. "You're a fool, Fourteenth."
He smiles sadly, brushing an unfamiliar hand over Wisely's bloody forehead, his eyes soaked in blood. "I know."
Wisely turns his head. Looks Walker in the face as his vision blurs again. God damn it, he hates dying. He is going to die again, and this time, it will be for forever. "You're going to kill me, aren't you?"
Fourteenth just smiles. Reaches over. Puts his hand over Wisely's eyes. Through the cracks and through the blood, Wisely can see the sword rising up, up until it is pointed straight for Wisely's heart.
"I love you, brother," Fourteenth whispers.
And then it is black.
Because I am also sad at the lack of Wisely fic out there, and I am trying to get finished as many drabbles as I can before my school starts and I will be too busy to write anymore. sob AP.
And I really need to learn how to write him better, because at this moment I don't think I can write him at all. Seriously, dudes. D: Fourteenth was significantly easier because. Uh. Well, I don't know why, but he was a bit easier for me. I guess I'm better at writing twisted characters from DGM?