Oh dear god...I...am...SO...SORRY! -dives under the couch-

Seriously, I really am. I hadn't meant for there to be such a gap. This last month has been CRAZY with schoolwork, a couple of exams, and then on top of that I was trying to scrape up cash for Christmas and then had to go shopping in my extra time to get gifts! I did most of it on the eve of Christmas Eve!

But still, I figured I should write a chapter or two to give to you guys cuz it's Christmas. Again I'm sorry. I'm also sorry this chapter is so short...

I hope you guys all got what you wanted from Santa. I did! ^w^

-strikes a G chord on my new black electric guitar that I named Edgar, that is hooked up to my new spider amp that I named Alan-

Edgar rolled onto his side and pressed himself as close to the bedroom wall as he could. He shut his eyes tightly. He sunk his teeth into his lip to quiet the threatening sob. He dug his fingertips into the wall and then fisted his hair, anything to keep from reaching down to touch the arousal that was conjured for a so morally wrong reason.

It ached, whining for attention.

He laid there, begging the meds that his brother had given him to kick in and put him to sleep.

Edgar felt a tear roll from the edge of his eye and down to wet his earlobe. He couldn't believe how his body was acting. He couldn't believe how he was feeling. He was ashamed at what he felt. Rather, he was ashamed that he didn't feel ashamed. There was definitely a piece of him tugging; telling him that what he had dreamed and how he reacted to Alan's caring touch was wrong.

But then there was that…feeling. That sinful feeling.

He covered his mouth firmly with his palms to muffle the sudden wave of cries and sobs. He pressed his forehead against the cool wall. Tears rained from his eyes. He reminded himself of the promise he'd made to himself.

Never let it change things…Never let it change things…Never tell him…It would be…

Edgar sucked in a desperate breath and coughed hard. He rolled over and spit into the bucket on the floor beside his bed. For a moment he hung his head over the side of the bed. His ears pricked when he heard the shower turn on. The muffled, distant sound of the water hitting the floor of the shower sparked his remembrance.

He quickly rolled back over, shoving his body against the wall. He tried so hard to shut it out. He tried. But an unwanted thought always manages to snake its way into one's mind. It came violently into his head.

The feel of his brother's hand around his arousal.

The feel of his brother's skin grinding against his.

The feel of his brother's…

Edgar curled his lips inward, and placed a hand over his mouth as the other hand slipped slowly downward. Shame encircled his mind as he cupped himself. He shut his eyes, forcing another tear to trail down the tendrils that ran down the side of his face.

Alan tilted his head back, letting the hot water wash the suds from his hair. He reached up and ran his fingers through his soaked dark locks, pushing the lather out of it. He furrowed his eyebrows.

Something about the bathroom…Sweat…C'mon what the hell?

He glanced around the shower, studying the walls, and the shower curtain and the suds circling the drain. Shower?

Most of the time looking at things helped Alan remember things he'd forgotten. Looking at things that reminded him of the forgotten. Usually it was a long battle but Alan would eventually come out the victor. This time, Alan was having an extremely hard time, no matter what random word or thought he brought into his head, he couldn't remember.

He shook his head, "Ah hell." Maybe it was from a dream…

Alan frowned, and turned off the water. Well…good luck ever figuring that out then! He bid himself. Dreams rarely made sense to Alan.

He tossed back the shower curtain and stepped from the tub, immediately draping his towel over his head. He ruffled his hair. He twisted it in one of his ears to get the water out and dried himself off. He glanced around the bathroom. The mirror was covered in a layer of mist. Steam…and…back to sweat. He picked up his dog tags from the counter and looped them around his neck.

Alan wrapped the towel around his waist and opened the bathroom door, letting out all of the steam. He paused and looked over his shoulder into the bathroom. He leaned down and picked up his boots. He cast another look around the bathroom before turning off the light.

He walked down the hallway and into the living room. He heard the door knock lightly against the doorframe as it slid almost shut like it always did. Alan dropped his boots on the floor beside the coffee table and brushed a wet lock of hair from his eye.

Then it dawned on him.

Ohhh…

He shrugged in a bit of relief, finally realizing what he was remembering, and he felt a sense of triumph at conquering the enigma that was his mind and memory.

He was just remembering what happened when he passed out in the shower. Alan filled in the missing gaps with what his brother had told him. Alan was taking a shower; took a fall out of said shower; hit the floor loudly; then came running Edgar to the rescue; dried him off; dressed him; then dragged him to bed.

He was roughly satisfied, knowing he had at least an idea of what had happened. A craggy idea, but an idea nevertheless. But he rested assured that the gaps would become clearer as he continued to remember throughout the span of time he would spend thinking about it.

Edgar's eyelids drooped heavily downward. His tight fist slackened around the tissues he'd used to clean himself up. He leaned his warm forehead against the cool wall and closed his eyes. The drowsiness from the pills, and the effort he'd put into taking care of his arousal pushed him toward unconsciousness. He was too tired to feel shame for the reason he'd had an erection in the first place. Edgar appreciated the numbness of feeling.

His lungs expanded more slowly and calmly as he started to fall asleep.

The bedroom door opened.

Alan stepped quietly inside, wrapped in his towel.

He went to the dresser and pulled out a drawer. He scowled at his last clean pair of boxers. Gonna have to hit the Laundromat.

Alan tossed his towel onto the floor and slipped into his last pair of boxers. He looked over his shoulder when he heard a rough sniffle. He looked at his brother.

Edgar was vaguely aware as he felt the space on the mattress behind him dip downward slightly as his brother set a knee onto it. He heard the clinking of his dog tags. Edgar was hardly awake, but hardly asleep; caught in a lucid dream. In his head he was seeing his mom yell "SIC'EM FIDO!" and then he saw Alan running across the comic shop barking like a real dog.

Stuck in the phase between consciousness and unconsciousness, Edgar felt the real Alan hovering over him. He felt his warm presence and could smell the soap from his shower. Edgar felt Alan take his wrist into his grasp.

He muttered, his lips hardly able to move, "No…"

"Easy, Bro. Just go to sleep." He heard Alan replied huskily, still seeing the non-talking but barking Alan in his lucid dream. Edgar felt Alan take the bundle of tissues from his hand. And then the touch was gone. The warmth from his brother simply disappeared as Edgar finally fell entirely asleep.

Alan slid back off of the bed, dropping the tissues he'd taken from his brother into the garbage bag. Then he pulled the blanket up to Edgar's neck, taking care to cover as much of his brother as he could, for he remembered the coldness of whatever the hell the sickness had been when he'd had it.

He sighed quietly through his nose, looking down at the back of his brother. Then he cast a glance around the room at the dirty laundry littering the floor, among other things. He heaved a sigh and left the room to go into the bathroom where he pulled on the pants he'd left on the floor. He picked up the shirt he'd worn and pulled it over his head and dragged down the hem to his waist. Then he went looking for the usual old flour sacks that he and his brother would usually use to haul dirty laundry. He shuffled through the mess in the living room and started going through the cupboard in the living room.

Where the hell did we toss those damn…?

Every article of clothing he and his brother had to be worn about three times before it was deemed dirty. His parents…well, their appearance could speak for themselves. The smell of cannabis usually overpowered the odor of their lack of showers or baths or anything remote to positive hygiene. Sure maybe they washed their hands after going to the bathroom, but Alan didn't keep track of that.

Due to their tight money situation, Alan and Edgar didn't visit the Laundromat any more than they had to.

Alan paused and closed his eyes. Money. He let out a long sigh upward, his bangs lifting with his breath. After his thorough beating and mugging the night before, he'd have to go back to the comic shop to get some more. Sure he was lucky that he hadn't taken more than he had from the cash register. He'd only been carrying about seventeen dollars and a few coins.

Thinking that, Alan leaned back against the kitchen counter. Those guys from the night before knew him now. They knew he hung around the comic shop and had probably already worked out that he worked there. He hung his head back with an aggravated groan up at the ceiling. That probably meant that he could become a regular for them.

He let out a sigh and thought of the wooden stake he'd stabbed the big one in the thigh with. He'd never used a wooden stake on a human before. Well…Hell he'd never used one on a vampire either but still…The wooden stake had proven effective for a fleeting moment.

Alan went into the living room and pulled on his boots, and laced them up, slipped a stake into each one, and then another one in his waistband.

When he stood he rolled his eyes. Sure, you can find a wooden stake around here with ease…can never find anything else! He gave a water gun at his feet a fervent kick before heading out the front door, locking it behind him.