Disclaimer: I do not own American Horror Story or any other reference in the story (for the whole story)

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Chapter Title: A fleeting Memory

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He could hear someone yelling his name in the distance; it sounded like Grace. He hoped she was okay, but a large part of him was starting to doubt that. Maybe they'd run back to the asylum, but Kit needed to get out. He needed to escape that horrible place with their abuse and experimenting. Perhaps he was insane for not taking cover when the creatures attacked, but he'd already been scared off by them once, he wasn't going to do it again. He heard a growl to the left of him, but kept running, not looking at where the growl was coming from. Or who it was coming from. Was it just Kit, or did that creature resemble Shelley? A crude imitation of her perhaps; he'd never seen Shelley look like she did now. Shelley, while not having been the prettiest girl in the asylum, definitely wasn't ugly or grotesque looking. The thing that was staring at him now was crawling on the ground, legs chopped off and sown. Like she had just walked straight from a Frankenstein movie. Her blonde hair was missing; only strings covered her head. She was covered in mud, and Kit might have felt sorry for her, had he not known that she wanted to kill him. Or eat him.

The thought made him shiver, somehow he knew that Dr. Arden had created these monsters. It wasn't just Kit's biased thoughts on the man either; he knew it. The sick bastard had created these monstrosities. Was it some sort of security system to stop patients from escaping? Nevertheless, Kit wasn't going to let them stop him. He fell to the ground as a hand caught his ankle, effectively tripping him. Startled, and trying to kick the hand off, he started to crawl, much like Shelley had. The mud was making it hard for him to move, and more of the creatures were coming. Howls, almost like wolves, filled his ears as the other creatures filled in his line of vision.

"No…" he managed to rip his ankle free of the hand, but before he could get up, one of them landed heavily on his back. "NO!" the yell escaped past his lips as he was flipped over roughly. A twisted smile had taken over the face of the one who had managed to tackle him. "Get – stop – don't!" he held his hands up, as though to push off the creature, but it barely had any effect. The creature's breaths were coming in quick and excited, its whole chest bouncing up and down in rhythm with the fast panting. The teeth it showed him were rotten, and the tongue was black. It tightened its grip on his shoulders, the thick yellow fingernails digging painfully into his skin. "Please, don't –" he didn't even know what he was begging for at this point. Don't kill me? Don't eat me? Don't turn me into one of you? He didn't want it to end like this. The creature let out something that could only be described as a laugh, but it didn't sound human. It was too wild, too savage, to be human.

Kit twisted painfully in its grasp, but the creature was relentless as it shook him roughly. All thoughts of managing to somehow escape fled Kit's mind as more of them closed in on him. Their eyes glinted as they observed him, their newest prey. The looks made Kit shiver involuntarily, his heart beating wildly and painfully against his chest. This was it. He should have escaped back into the asylum with Grace and Lana. Hell, they should never have attempted to escape again at all. They knew what was out there, but they were desperate. It had only gotten worse inside the asylum. None of the other patients wanted anything to do with the trio, unless it involved painful physical activity. Dr. Arden was convinced that Kit was spying on him, and the experiments that he did only got worse as time went on. He never used painkillers or anything that would at least stop Kit from feeling every single incision and bone breaking; Kit had nobody to tell what was happening to him. He didn't want to worry Grace, Sister Jude would no doubt say he deserved it, he and Lana didn't talk much, and none of the other patients wanted anything to do with him.

The creature suddenly let go of his shoulder, causing Kit to tense up. What was it planning? He found out as the creature lunged its abnormally long nails into his chest, causing a scream to rip from his throat. His heart pounded, right underneath of the hand that was currently trying with all of its might to rip it out. He flailed violently, desperately, trying to escape, but the other creatures were on him now too. "NO!" he shouted, the only word that he could actually get out of his mouth. "NO!"

His thoughts were swimming in front of him, and memories flashed before his eyes. Memories of when he'd first met his wife, Alma. When they had gotten married. When they decided to keep it a secret. When they decided to move in together. When he heard her scream. When she got taken. When he got taken. When the aliens did the same experiments that Dr. Arden seemed so fond of. His arrival here. Meeting Grace. Insanity starting to seep into his brain. Trying to escape.

Now he was here. The pain was indescribable; it seemed that every time the fingernails would dig deeper, his nerves and bones would shake and jump around out of his control. Fire was burning through his whole system, and invisible, rusty nails were being driven into every pore in his entire body. His chest was seconds from exploding, the insides squirming around, unable to find the room that they needed, ready to escape at the first chance they got. Blood was flowing thick and fast as the hand dug even deeper. His vision swam like the thick raindrops that were pelting his body, which turned red, along with everything else. He hadn't stopped screaming, and just when he thought the pain couldn't get worse, intensified as he felt the skin and muscle being pulled from its rightful place. Nerves screamed in protest and blood drowned the ground around him, and when he gathered the courage to look down, he could see his heart. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to feel his heart as the creature grabbed it, but he knew without a doubt, that the second the creature ripped the delicate organ from his chest, he would be dead. The creature was giving him a victorious smile, which Kit barely saw, and then yanked with all of its might. Pain, worse than anything else, filled his whole being, then nothing. It was darkness.

…

Tate winced as the heart that never beat gave a sudden jump inside of him. Rubbing his chest, and wondering what had happened to start that new sensation, he stared out of the window. The scenery never changed; he wasn't sure if he liked it or not. The Old Tate would never have cared about such things, but the New Tate would give anything for change. He vowed to never become the Old Tate again, because the Old Tate was the one who hurt people. The Old Tate was the one who ruined the relationship with the only person that he's ever loved in his entire life – and death. The New Tate had managed to fix things up, patch them over slightly, but the pain was still there. Tate could see it every time he played a game of cards with her, or listened to music with her. They weren't the same as they used to be. Tate couldn't really blame her, he was just as furious as Violet was with him. He could see her suppressing rage she had built up over the seven years that she'd spent hating him. Tate had managed to make peace with most of the ghosts in the house by now – or at least the ones he killed. Chad and Patrick took a long time to come around, but eventually he managed to get in their – well, he wouldn't say that good graces was the word for it – but something like that. They were civil during the small times that they spoke to each other at least. A far cry different then when Chad had wanted to ram a burning fire poker up his ass for payback the first time Tate apologized.

Vivienne and Ben had been almost as hard. Tate had approached Ben first, who had flat out refused to speak with him. A few years later Tate tried again, but Ben was still reluctant. The next year Tate decided to face him again, a man-to-man conversation, Ben had started to open up to his pleas of forgiveness. Slowly but surely, they regained their old... well, it wasn't exactly a friendship… but he was the closest thing that Tate ever had to a father. He didn't think Ben felt the same way he did, but decided to pretend he did anyway. After all, it was better than not being loved at all. Vivienne had been just as hard to get forgiveness from. The first time he approached her she was cold and indifferent – not the Vivienne that he'd known. He rarely spoke to Vivienne when she was alive, but was trying to find time to do so now that she was dead. Eventually she, like her husband, found a place in her heart to listen to him. He talked to her now sometimes, found out about her life before the House, found out what raising Violet was like. She was a good cook, that was certain. She seemed to enjoy it too, as she would cook every night. Perhaps it was just her way of trying to keep as normal as possible for the sake of her family. Tate admired her for it though, he admired her strength. He told her so, but she didn't say anything back to him. He hoped that he hadn't said the wrong thing, but when he apologized she had simply given him a sad smile, and told him that he'd been apologizing a lot lately.

Tate wasn't sure if it had been an insult or not, but didn't bristle as he might have before. That was something the Old Tate would have done, and he was the New Tate. He wanted to redeem himself. Hayden talked to him a lot, and they had become friends. At first, they'd been driven together by the rejection of the Harmons, but after a very firm "No-I-Will-Not-Fuck-You" from Tate, Hayden learned to back off in her advances on him. He'd helped convince the Harmons to let Nora babysit the baby, because he felt that he owed her something. She had looked out for him ever since he was a young child, terrified of the ghosts in the house. He assured them that she would not harm the baby in any way, and that if she tried to take him, he himself would step in.

He was slightly surprised when the Harmons finally agreed; after all, he's the one who had raped Vivienne for a baby for Nora in the first place. Constance had yet to visit, something that Tate couldn't complain about. His mother had killed her own child, his brother, and abused Tate and Addie. Beau had been kept in chains, locked away, murdered on her own orders. As far as he was concerned, Constance wasn't his mother. There was one thing that he wished more than anything in the world – besides being forgiven by Violet – was to meet his brother. He knew that he had a brother, but he'd never grown up with him. He didn't even have a fleeting memory of him, but then again, he barely remembered himself as a child. He knew that he had a brother before, because Constance had mentioned him; Tate had been eavesdropping of course.

I wish I knew my brother.

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind, that a boy appeared in the lawn of the house. Tate blinked, sure that he had missed something in his daydreaming. As far as he was concerned, the boy had seemingly appeared out of thin air, but that was impossible unless he was a ghost. He didn't recognize the boy, and Tate knew every ghost that resided in this house. Straining his eyes to get a better glimpse of the boy, he gathered a few things about him:

One, he had dark hair

Two, he was very skinny

Three, he was wearing clothes that, if Tate wasn't mistaken, looked as though he'd been released from either a hospital or a loony bin

And four, he was still lying on the grass and shaking like a leaf

He narrowed his eyes. There hadn't been a flash of light, or anything to signify the boy's appearance. He just… appeared. Out of nowhere. Like a ghost would. Now even more curious, Tate raced from the room and down the stairs. Though he, as a ghost, had the ability to teleport, he preferred taking the long way. It made him feel more human.

Stopping just outside the door, he paused, wondering if he was making the right choice. Taking the illusion of a deep breath, Tate opened the door. The boy was still there, shivering violently. He took a cautious step out of the door, automatically feeling a very faint wave of nausea. Ignoring this, he took another step, and another, until finally he was standing just in front of the boy.

"Are you okay?"

The boy jumped a mile, causing Tate to take several steps back. The boy's head whipped around to face him, and Tate felt as though he'd just been plunged in cold water. The boy's face – his face – but it was impossible. He just… he looked like him… that was all… he took more steps back, his face stricken. The boy's mouth had dropped open, a look of pure surprise and suspicion plastered on his face. His body was still trembling, but his posture had turned rigid, as though not quite believing what he was seeing.

"W-Who are y-ya?" he sounded like he was from the South, though the accent wasn't extremely heavy, like most were. Actually, if Tate wasn't mistaken, he sounded just like he'd stepped out of one of the old movies he'd watched before.

"I could say the same to you," Tate's voice was colder then he'd intended it to come out, but this was just weird. Beyond weird. It wasn't every day you saw your doppelganger after all.

There was a gust of wind beside him, and Violet's dirty blonde hair was in his peripheral vision. "Holy shit!" she exclaimed, her eyes widening when she saw the boy. The boy stared at the two of them, looking like he was close to fainting.

"Tate, you never told me you had a twin," said Violet, her mouth open as she stared at the boy from head to toe.

"Because I don't," Tate snapped, trying to squash the jealousy he had when he spotted Violet checking the boy out.

"Who are ya people?" demanded the boy, his brows furrowing. "Where am I?"

"You're in Hell," said a new voice that Tate recognized to be Patrick. He almost smirked at the shocked and horrified look on the boy's face.

"H-Hell? I aint in Hell!"

"No, but the closest thing you'll get to it," said Patrick, giving the boy a once-over before turning away, as though the sight didn't interest him in the slightest.

The boy was looking terrified, and Tate might have felt bad had he not been posing as him. "What's your name?" another voice said softly, and Tate almost groaned. Why were all the ghosts deciding to come out and greet this… imposter!?

"Why should I tell you?"

Nora sighed, "it's just a simple question, young one."

The boy narrowed his eyes at them all, before saying in a strong voice, "The name's Kit. Kit Walker."

"Nice to meet you, Kit," said Nora politely, and Tate snorted. "Yeah, nice to meet you, Kit," he snarled. Kit didn't seem to notice this as he pulled himself off the ground, still shaky.

"Here, let me help you," Violet said automatically, running forward to help him up. Tate almost snatched her wrist so she couldn't get to him, but managed to hold himself back. He was supposed to be redeeming himself after all, and these thoughts of murdering Kit were not what the New Tate was supposed to be fantasizing about.

"How did you get here?" he heard Patrick ask, who was checking his nails.

Kit shrugged, "I dunno. I was runnin' away from… somethin'… and then…" he suddenly looked frozen. "My heart was ripped from my chest and now I'm here… wherever here is," he added.

There was a shocked silence, and then finally Violet laughed. "You expect us to believe that bullshit?"

"Believe whatever you want," Kit snapped at her, "I know what happened to me though."

"This guy is a loon," Tate muttered, hearing a murmur of agreement from Chad… why Chad was there was beyond Tate. Kit either didn't hear him or decided to ignore him, because he was looking around curiously. "Any of ya wanna tell me where I'm at?"

"The Murder House," Violet said, starting to get annoyed. "LA."

"LA?"

"Los Angeles."

Kit stared at her blankly. "I'm not supposed to be here."

"Well, that's obvious."

"You don't understand… I escaped I think… but I'm not supposed to be here…" Kit seemed to be talking more to himself then to the ghosts. Tate rose an eyebrow, the perfect picture of calm on his face. Mentally, he was freaking out. Why did this Kit Walker look like him? And how did he just randomly appear here… and… "Escaped?"

"What's it to you?" Kit said, with a suspicious look. Tate shrugged, "Oh I don't know, maybe the fact that you just appeared out of thin air onto our lawn and you seem to be crazy."

"Any more crazy then you, Tate?" he heard Chad say. Tate balled his hands into fists, but didn't respond back, in fear of what his reaction would be.

"Come inside," said Nora, cutting in the silence. "We seem to have a lot to talk about."

"How do I know you aint gonna jump me?" Kit asked cautiously, eyes narrowed.

"You don't," said Tate, a twisted smile making its way onto his features. Kit gulped, eyes wide. "You can't hurt me."

Unfortunately, though Tate sourly. "Just get inside the damn house," said Violet, sounding tired. "I feel sick to my stomach."

Kit seemed to hesitate, but after a while his curiosity won him over, and he followed the ghosts inside of the house. His mouth fell open as soon as they were inside, gaping at the interior. A soft "woah" escaped past his lips. "What the hell kinda house is this?"

"You don't want to know," Violet muttered, and Tate felt a pang in his chest at her words. It was all his fault.

"Oh great, now there's two of them."

Hayden appeared around the corner, a frown tugging at her lips. She looked especially pissed off.

"Were you on the rag when you died or something?" snapped Violet, "because your bitchiness seems to be permanent."

In any other case, Tate may have tried to keep the peace, but he was too baffled by Kit suddenly appearing. Hayden gave her a nasty look, "coming from Queen Bitch herself –"

"Cut it out," snapped Ben, appearing behind Hayden. His eyes widened considerably as he observed the newcomer. "Who are you?"

"Kit Walker."

Ben shot a suspicious glance at Tate, who shrugged. "I know about as much as you do about him," he said truthfully. Ben frowned, and looked back at Kit. "How did you get here?"

"His heart was ripped out," said Violet, a smile tugging at her lips. Kit glared at her, "is that funny to you? I'd like to see you have your heart ripped out of your chest, then maybe we could talk."

Violet didn't say anything, just rolled her eyes.

Ben was starting to look curious now. Tate recognized the look; Ben was in therapist-mode. "Kit, why don't we talk about what happened?"

"How about we don't?" Kit suggested, deadpan.

Ben sighed; from the corner of his eye Tate noticed a couple of the ghosts slinking away, already bored or wary of the newcomer. Maybe they'd finish Kit off for him.

Ben shot Tate a look, as though he knew exactly what Tate had been thinking. Tate adopted an innocent face, earning a snort from Violet. "Would you feel better if we talked alone?" Ben questioned Kit. "I have answers," he added, sensing Kit about to decline.

For a moment Kit looked as though he'd rather eat a cactus then associate himself with the ghosts, but then he sighed. "Only if they leave," as he said this he narrowed his eyes at Tate. Tate was taken aback by the hatred he saw in those dark eyes. Tate opened his mouth to say something – even he wasn't sure what he was going to say – but Violet cut in. "Tate, why don't we go play cards while we wait?"

Translation: Tate, let's go gossip about the new guy since he's not around to hear it.

Tate nodded, shot one last glance at Kit and Ben, and trailed out of the room with Violet.

…

I don't know if anybody has attempted this so far. You're probably wondering if I'm going to make Kit the unnamed brother, but I'm not giving anything away yet. I feel like I didn't get the imagery down enough, but I'll have to work on it in my later chapters. Yes, there will be more. I'm not sure about the opening chapter.

What do you guys think: Keep or toss?

Please leave a review and let me know what you think. I'm nervous about this story.