Warnings: Violence, monsters, death, and incest.

Pairings: Cesare/Petruccio, Lucrezia/Cesare, Federico/Vieri.

A/N: As a reminder: If Petruccio had lived, he would have been 13 years older than Cesare. Therefore, when Cesare is 33 in this, Petruccio is already 45.

IIIIIIIIIIIII

It had been late – late enough that the sun had just started to rise. It was cloudy; what little light was present filtered through the clouds, leaving the room of his apartment dim, vague shapes and silhouettes of furniture dotted around the room. The coffee table was covered in empty cans and bottles, with a few plates dotted over the top, breaking up the forest of debris.

The apartment was small, but big enough for two people, big enough for a pair of lovers that had been occupying it for the last seven years. While filthy, the room was otherwise peaceful – until a sharp crack of flesh meeting flesh rang through the silence, followed by a choked cry of pain, a taller figure stumbling back, cupping the side of his face where he'd been struck. His movements caused a few bottles to topple over, clanking together on the floor, a bit of fluid still left in them. They formed puddles on the ground around the man's feet. The bottle of beer he'd just been holding had been knocked from his hands, unopened, bubbles rising within it due to it's recent disturbance.

"I'm sick and tired of your crap, Petruccio!" Cesare growled, roughly wiping away a dot of blood from the corner of his mouth. Petruccio's hand was still slightly raised from just having struck him, his body trembling with anger. "You can't tell me how to live me life!" The policeman snapped, watching Petruccio's eyes narrow further in his fury.

They stood poised; both tense, staring at each other as though they might assault one each other with their eyes alone. Petruccio's brows were knit, sweat forming on his brow, his jaw clenched, throat tight as he tried not to scream at his lover. Receiving no response, Cesare bent and picked up his drink, twisting it open with a flick of his hand. Defiant to his lover's wishes, Cesare knocked it back, taking a few deep swallows from the alcoholic beverage.

Livid, Petruccio found himself clenching his fists, knuckles gone white and bloodless, nails digging into his palms until they cut into his skin. He grit his teeth until his jaw ached from the strain. Hazel eyes appeared to have a red tinge to them as he stared down at the dozens of empty bottles of alcohol littering the floor. His upper lip curled in a semblance of a snarl as he raised his hand again, ready to strike him a second time. He seemed to think better of it when Cesare flinched, slowly lowering his hand and clenching it at his side once more. "You know what? Fine. If you want to drink yourself to death, be my guest. But don't expect me to stick around and watch you let yourself rot!" He snapped, turning away from his lover and storming towards the door.

"Why are you so obsessed with this idea, Petruccio? You think I'm hurting myself? This is how I relax and you know it!" Cesare barked, storming after Petruccio and grabbing him by the wrist, yanking him back against him. His chest pressed against his lover's back; the gesture was possessive, and far from intimate. "You can't just leave."

Twisting in Cesare's grip, Petruccio gripped the short hairs at the base of his lover's neck, tightening to the point of pain and yanking backwards sharply. He treated Cesare as though he were an unruly animal, forcing him to step back with a gasp of pain. His grip was tight, proving he had more strength than he let on. Despite the fragile look of his body, he knew how to subdue his lover.

"Is this what you want?" He demanded, forcing Cesare to his knees through sheer force, his hand shaking as he held his lover down. Cesare reached up, clawing at Petruccio's hand, but his grip did not slacken in the slightest. "Is this what you want, Cesare! Do you want me to force you to stop?" He yelled, voice breaking on the last word as tears welled in his eyes.

Cesare's blunt nails dug into Petruccio's arm, just barely drawing blood as he tried to free himself. The booze had disoriented him. "I w-won't stop." Cesare gasped, staring up at Petruccio with a mix of fear and anger. "Y-You can't make me." He challenged, growling up at him.

His words only caused Petruccio to start shaking, his breathing picking up, sounding wet and unsteady. He watched Cesare with a mixed look of anger, hunger, and something else. His grip loosened suddenly as a tear slipped down his cheek, following the curve of his neck and disappearing under his shirt. A few more tears fell, though they were lost within the darkness of their apartment. No; Cesare's apartment. Petruccio felt hallow thinking of it that way, but it was true.

Pulling away from Cesare completely, Petruccio moved to the door, unlocking it with shaking hands. Casting a glance back over his shoulder at Cesare. His lover had crumpled to the floor, panting, holding the back of his neck and glaring at Petruccio with anger, gripping the bottle of alcohol tightly in one hand. Anger spiking again, Petruccio tensed, turning his gaze away.

There were so many things he wanted to say, but none of it would reach his mouth. Bile rose in his throat. Yelling at Cesare, regardless of the reason, always left a bitter taste in his mouth. He didn't want to fight with him. He didn't want Cesare killing himself like this.

Resolve hardening, Petruccio slammed the door behind him, the frame shaking with the force of the blow. A picture frame fell from the wall and hit the floor with a loud crack, the glass tipping lopsided out of the frame. The picture was of the two of them; they stood by a lake, smiling into the camera, their fingers laced together. Petruccio looked younger in the picture, with a bit less stubble on his face. Cesare's beard was almost non-existent back then. The picture was warped from the blow, edges curling out of the frame.

Slowly rising to his feet, Cesare continued to rub the aching spot at the back of his neck, pulling his hand away briefly to peer at the red under his nails. Guilt sunk in, and he felt a pang of regret for what he'd said, what he'd done. Moving to the kitchen, he tipped the beer back and finished it, tossing the bottle into the trash. He washed away the blood under his nails, glancing briefly at the picture that had been left on the floor. With a sigh, he walked past it and into the bedroom, falling onto his stomach on the bed, pulling a pillow close to his chest, breathing in the scent of his lover that clung to the fabric. Cesare didn't bother picking the picture up. When Petruccio returned to mend the broken pieces of their relationship, he would take care of the frame and the glass. The gesture was meaningless otherwise.

IIIIIIIIIIIII

It was cold; his breath forming clouds of fog with each slow exhale. Cesare slipped a cigarette between his lips, flicking his lighter twice before it caught. He lit the cigarette and took a deep inhale of nicotine-filled smoke, disappointed that it still failed to calm the panic within him. He blew the smoke off to the side as he squinted in the fog, stopping his car and getting out, closing the door behind him. A sign read "Welcome to Silent Hill". Silent Hill… Eight years ago, he had met Petruccio here while on vacation.

It had been his sister's idea. Silent Hill had been a popular resort back then, and Lucrezia had been begging him for months to go. She had insisted it would be fun. Looking back, he hadn't been too enthused – he had work to do, and he didn't usually take vacations. His idea of vacation was sitting on the couch, turning on the TV, and knocking back beers until he passed out. Lucrezia wanted to go sight seeing. So, reluctantly, he had agreed.

The drive had been hellish. Traffic was terrible, and the drivers had set Cesare's blood aboil. He was sure he had smoked at least four packs of cigarettes by the time they had arrived. The coupled stress of being in the car, drivers all around, and Lucrezia whispering bittersweet things in his ear had nearly driven him mad. He'd thought he would regret going. But he hadn't; not after he met Petruccio.

He had spent two blissful weeks here, gotten to know the older man, and gotten along with him rather well. What had originally been a one-night stand became something more. They had kissed, touched, made love… he had never felt so connected to another person that wasn't family. After spending nearly every waking moment with Petruccio, he had decided he didn't want to have to leave him when he went home. So instead, he when he went home, he took Petruccio with him; and they had lived together ever since. He truly thought Petruccio was the love of his life. He still thought that.

Seven years they had lived together. He hadn't known Petruccio was sick for seven years. How couldn't he have known? Petruccio liked his alone time well enough, enough that he had started looking for jobs within the first month of living with Cesare. Despite Cesare's insistence that he could support them both, Petruccio had insisted. He sometimes worked long hours at night, just to fill the time, or so he said. Petruccio was constantly gone, sometimes disappearing for days on end, and shushing his worries with sweet words and warm kisses. His job demanded he travel, or so he said.

"It's boring." He would say, his eyes seeming to laugh as he kissed Cesare on the lips, his stubble scraping against Cesare's chin. "You wouldn't like it, love. But it gives me enough pocket change to take you out to dinner once a week." He'd say, and they would fall into bed together, limbs tangled, the heat of their passion washing away his apprehension for yet another night.

He had however, heard Petruccio cough badly more than once. His lover had confessed to having a weak immune system early on in their relationship, the fifth or sixth time he'd fallen ill. He would sometimes miss work, explaining to his superiors that Petruccio needed to be taken care of; there was no one else he would trust to comfort him. Petruccio would sometimes spend days in bed, curled up, all lights cut off, windows covered. The light seemed to bother him during those times, and he would beg Cesare to block out the light, to let him rest in total darkness.

Petruccio needed him so badly during those times. They would lay in bed together, his love protesting that he would make Cesare sick – though he never did. "Cesare, please…." He'd gasp, curling his fingers in the fabric of his lover's shirt. "You don't….h-have to stay here. You need to work…I-I could g-get you sick…" But Cesare would never agree. Using the same technique often employed on him, he would softly kiss and quiet Petruccio's protests until he settled into bed, his face pressed in the crook of his neck, hiding away from the painful glow of light from under their bedroom door.

He should have seen the signs. They were there; they had been present, seemingly obvious due to his frequent sickness. But Petruccio insisted it was just his weak immune system. He had never gone to the doctor; not once in the seven years they lived together.

Leukemia. He had found out about it three days after their fight, a year ago. His sister had informed him that Petruccio had passed away, her eyes glistening with tears, a crumpled message clutched in her hand.

"Cesare….I'm so sorry…" Those words still haunted him to this day. He would hear them constantly, every time Petruccio's name was uttered.

He was in shock at first. He hadn't expected that terrible fight to be the last time he would see his beloved. Harsh words, things he'd said after a few too many drinks – he never meant them. They had had fights before, ones that were always resolved within a few days. Though that fight had been worse than most…he had thought nothing of it. They always made up. Cesare would call Petruccio, or Petruccio would come home, and they would talk. They would work out the issue, make up, and Cesare would promise to try and get better. And he did, even if he slipped up at times. By the end of the week, any argument they had would be resolved and they would be happy again. That was how it always worked. Always.

When Lucrezia informed him of the news, he was distraught, fraught with grief that threatened to overwhelm him. He could think of nothing but Petruccio – lying in their bed for days on end, drinking himself into a stupor. He couldn't remember how many drinks he'd had; he only knew that he was drunk all the time, since Petruccio had died. He had taken time off work and simply drank his sorrows away – or tried to. There was only so much he could drink before it made it worse, and he found himself emptying the contents of his stomach into the nearest toilet.

Cesare had never felt so much pain in his life. It was like he was being crushed by an invisible weight, hands ripping into his flesh and tearing his heart apart over and over again. He felt hallow. He ached so badly that he often checked himself in a mirror, to make sure there wasn't a bleeding, gaping hole where his heart should have been. When he found his body did not reflect his inner pain, he found it even more distressing. There were times he had considered ending his life right there. If not for Lucrezia, he would have gladly followed Petruccio into the afterlife. He couldn't think of how to live without him.

He vaguely remembered Lucrezia there, for a while. He remembered her hands in his hair, gently stroking, cooing his name and soothing him when he cried. She even held back his hair when he ran to the bathroom – which he was grateful for – and he knew she had helped him bathe at least once. She was his sister, and he loved her for what she did for him. He wasn't sure how he would get through the pain without her there.

Those few weeks were a blur to him afterwards, filled with alcohol and suffering. He barely remembered anything at all, save for falling asleep in Lucrezia's lap a dozen times. She didn't seem to mind, and never complained. By the time he finally managed to drag himself from his depression, Lucrezia informed him that he had taken too long to mourn; he had missed Petruccio's funeral.

"His family came to get him." She said, wiping away wetness from the corners of her blue eyes. "They haven't seen him since he left with you. They were devastated to know he had died before they got to see him again" Guilt. He hadn't been able to help but feel guilty. "They kept asking me why, why did you steal him away from them…" He hadn't meant to steal Petruccio away – he only wanted to live his life happily with him… "You were so sad, I didn't think you'd want to go all the way to Silent Hill to attend his funeral…" But he would have. If only he had known, he would have gone to the funeral.

After that, he almost felt as though he didn't deserve to see Petruccio's grave. Why should he? He had taken him away from his family, not knowing about his sickness, kept him close for over seven years. He had stolen Petruccio from Silent Hill on a whim. They had lived happily; but at what cost? He was sure the Auditore family must hate him, and would want nothing to do with him. It didn't matter that they had been lovers.

Cesare was unsure of whether or not he would have been able to force himself to visit at all. He would just end up drowning himself in booze again. Silent Hill was miles away from where he lived, and he felt it might be a lost cause to make the journey to visit if he would only be turned away. Time passed, and the pain lessened enough for him to return to work, trying to get his life back together, to fill the hole that Petruccio had left when he passed.

He had never truly recovered from the fact Petruccio was dead. Twice Cesare had gone to a bar to try and meet with someone. Both times, he had spoken with multiple people. He had given them a chance to open up his heart. But he had been able to do nothing but speak coldly to them. Both instances had ended in him drinking alone, cold demeanor making them back off almost immediately.

So he had tried, tried so very hard to distract himself. He had become almost obsessed with working, with bettering himself in his career. He had longer hours, took more risks. He had killed more criminals than he cared to count in that year. Working made time pass faster, even if the pain was no less present now that it had been twelve months ago.

On the anniversary of his death, he had planned to drown his emotions in alcohol again, to try and dull the pain he was beginning to feel all over again. He had just popped open a can of beer when his cell phone rang, and he grunted in annoyance, flipping it open and pressing it to his ear as he lifted the can to his lips. "Hello?" He answered gruffly, not in the mood to speak with anyone. No one he knew would bother him now, save his sister. She had been bitter about hearing he planned to seclude himself, thinking it useless to honor a dead man's memory.

There was a bit of faint static at first, and Cesare frowned. It was like nails on a chalk board – like a static on a radio, deafening and painful. Cesare couldn't stop cringing, and pulled the phone away from his ear, staring at the number before lifting it back up again, tapping his nails on the nearest counter. Nearly thirty seconds of silence went by and he huffed air out, about to hang up the phone when he heard a familiar voice. The voice sent chills down his spine, his heart leaping into his throat.

"Hey Ces." Petruccio said quietly, his voice rough, like he had a throat full of gravel. Cesare was so shocked he could barely breathe, the beer can falling from his fingers and onto the floor, liquid bubbling up onto the carpet. He opened and closed his mouth soundlessly, trying to speak. "You're not drinking again, are you?" his lover asked knowingly, sounding tired, but affectionate.

Snapping back to reality, Cesare cleared his throat once before he finally managed to speak. "P-Petruccio…?" He breathed, his throat gone dry as he spoke, heart pounding in his ribs, as though it wanted to escape his chest in his excitement. He heard his lover chuckle softly, letting out a quiet sigh.

"Yeah, babe. Its me." He murmured, grunting softly, as though in pain. Cesare couldn't stop shaking. "Look, I don't have much t-time." His voice faltered, a low, wet noise could be heard in the background, followed by a scream and two gunshots. The noise made Cesare's blood run cold.

"P-Petruccio! What the h-hell—"

"I need your help, Ces…" Petruccio breathed, cutting off Cesare's worried outcry. He fell into a coughing fit, the noise wet and sickly before he choked and spat away from the phone. "Can't hold it much l-longer, babe…So…please…" Petruccio coughed out, pleading with his lover. "C-come find me…in Silent Hill." He begged, his voice rough with pain.

"P-Petruccio…fuck, I will, I'll be there as soon as I can!" He cried, his voice louder than he meant it to be. He was already getting dressed now, stumbling to his feet, kicking the can across the room in his haste as he grabbed a pair of pants and a jacket.

"Thank you…" Petruccio sighed, his voice full of quiet relief. "Hey, Ces…" he began, his voice shaky again, as though he were fighting off tears. The tone in his voice caused Cesare to halt once again. "I just wanted to s-say…I love you. And…I'm s-sorry." There was another otherworldly screech in the background after that, followed by a low click and the dial tone.

Cesare had never thought his blood would run so cold. The dial tone was the single worst thing he'd ever heard right then. Pulling his face away from the phone, he clicked 'end', staring at the time, the date. The area code was that of Silent Hill. He remembered it. It was the number from Petruccio's apartment.

It took him a moment to pull himself from his shocked stupor, his heart beginning to hammer in his chest. Shocked and terrified, worried for his lover's safety, Cesare screamed his name into the silence, staring at his phone with tearful eyes. The wetness trailed down his cheeks. Roughly wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his jacket, he grabbed his gun, strapping his holster to his hip. Opening his closet, he stuffed a few supplies into a bag and hurried into his car. It couldn't start fast enough. When the engine finally started, he quickly backed up; it was only moments before he was plowing down the street, his foot pressing hard on the gas.

A thousand questions ran through his head. Was Petruccio okay? What had happened? Was he hurt? Why was he in Silent Hill? It had been so long; he might have been happy to hear Petruccio's voice, if not for the fact that he was scared shitless for him right now.

He had been so afraid; he'd smoked two packs of cigarettes during his six-hour drive to Silent Hill. He could only hope, pray that Petruccio would be all right. He came to a stop just outside the town, thinking it best to search for him on foot. He pulled to the side of the road, putting his car into park before getting out. He grabbed his bag, pulling it up on his shoulder. Drawing in a deep breath to calm himself, he let it out in a sigh, running his fingers through his hair, the strands untamed and poking out in odd directions.

So here he was. Walking on the only road into Silent Hill. He knew what brought him here, but not why. Still in disbelief, he looked at his phone, flipping it open. The number wasn't logged into his phone, though he remembered it by heart. Call time, 6:00 PM. Call duration, two minutes and seven seconds. Area code belonged to Silent Hill. The call was real. There was no other explanation. The only problem was that Petruccio was dead.