Hours later, Vladimir wandered through the garage. He checked the work being done, making sure it was correct. Of course, his oversight of the work was distant, so, after a while, he left Sergei in charge and headed to his office-where he'd temporarily left Anatoly-sleeping on his couch.

Vladimir moved through the door at the edge of the garage, then through a hall and up a small flight of stairs. Once at the top, he followed another hall, and finally reached on last set of stairs and another hall. He walked past several doors, finding his, and walking in. He pushed the door open quietly, so as not to disturb Anatoly.

Closing the door, he paused, looking toward his older sibling. He couldn't count the times Anatoly had helped him-took care of him. Ever since they'd been children, Anatoly had always been there-and Vladimir had made it his job to do the same for his brother...

Vladimir's thoughts drifted to the past:

MEMORY_ _

Vladimir coughed, spitting out blood. Blurry vision saw only the concrete of the ground beneath him. He pulled his arms under himself and started to rise-just as his attacker kicked, landing a blow to his side. He fell again, rolling from the impact. The eighteen-year-old groaned, the sound pained.

It really wasn't fair-a four against one fight. He'd held his own... until the tazer. Vladimir really didn't appreciate when people cheated like that-but think what he did, he was still on the ground, being beaten by four angry men.

Two of the men hauled him up and held his arms to keep him from moving, while a third went about slamming his fists into Vladimir's face. Every blow stung and ached, one caught him in the eye-he knew it would be swollen tomorrow... if he lived to be bothered. Suddenly, he realized, this was not how he would die... on his knees... no.

The anger drove him to fight again. He kicked at the man before him. He was hit again, but it didn't stop him. Still, he wondered if maybe he WOULD die tonight...

"Suka!" The sudden exclamation was angry, loud, and not from anyone of the men beating Vladimir. Anatoly grabbed one of them by the shoulder, yanking them backwards with enough force to send them sprawling onto the ground.

The toe of his boot dug into the man's ribs as he kicked, a mad scowl on his face as he repeated the motion, fists balled tightly by his sides. Several of Vladimir's attackers tried to pull Anatoly off of the one on the ground. The twenty-seven-year-old twisted his upper body around, landing a hard blow on the face of the closest.

His lip was pulled back over his teeth in a feral snarl. His hands grabbed the hair of the now-closest person, bringing their head down to smash against his knee. Several times, until blood covered his pants *and* the guy's face.

"Idti! IDTI!" (Go!) His yell was obeyed by the beaten attackers.

"Vladimir?" Anatoly was running, although sideways as he moved around his brother. He crouched, one hand grabbing Vladimir's shoulder while the other was placed under his chin, turning his bloodied face to where the older sibling could see.

Vladimir coughed quietly. "Da..." The quiet groan was added to by a wheeze at the end. "YA byl v poryadke..." Vladimir added, pushing himself up from where he'd fallen-or at least, trying to. Vladimir ended up just letting his head drop back to the pavement with a hushed grunt.

(I was fine)

When Anatoly spoke again, it was in their native language. "There is a car waiting. Can you move?"

"Da..." Vladimir grasped his brother's shoulder, using it as something by which to pull himself up. His eyes screwed shut and he bit back a pained sound-he wouldn't let that be heard. He finally stood, hobbling on one foot. He kept one hand on Anatoly for balance. Finally, Vladimir took a deep breath, pulling air into his abused body.

Anatoly pulled Vladimir's arm over his shoulders. He was quietly grumbling curses beneath his breath, and as they passed the man on the ground - still groaning over the beating he'd taken, Anatoly sent one last kick in his direction. A very well aimed kick. An agonized, high-pitched groan escaped the former-attacker as he curled in on himself.

Vladimir laughed at his brother's antic. "Anatoly..." Vladimir clicked quietly as if to reprove his brother's actions, when actually, he quite approved.

Anatoly's briefly smirked. They made it to the awaiting car, and Anatoly helped his brother in, before sliding inside his self.

"Eezveeneete..." The apology was mumbled through tired coughing fits as Vladimir looked at Anatoly. He didn't mean to cause his brother any trouble, really he didn't. It just seemed to happen. Still, Anatoly was always there to keep him alive when he really needed help.

Anatoly hummed a reply and sniffed, distracted as he once more looked over the inflicted injuries. "We'll need ice."

Vladimir snorted. "Ice... just open the door." It was Russia, they were in no short supply of ice.

Anatoly looked disapproving despite biting his tongue and letting the car fall into silence again. The car drove, less than safely, to a warehouse not far from where they were. "Anything broken?"

Vlad poked at his side. "Rib-maybe two. I'll live." He took a deep breath and leaned back against the seat, closing his eyes and let out a long sigh, cringing at the pain it caused to pull in air. It wasn't agony-just annoying.

"Da... This is not how you die."

Vladimir blinked rapidly, the memory fading before his eyes. He'd always been the hothead. It was always Vladimir who got in fights without cause... yes, he'd grown up, he'd learned to be cautious-but that was because Anatoly had been a good example. Yet, there he was... so broken, and it was without cause. He deserved better.

Anatoly stirred slightly, and Vladimir moved forward. He rearranged everything on his desk a few hours ago-simply to give himself a reason to be near his brother...

Anatoly was drawn from the depths of darkness - the damp, cold emptiness that had been his sleeping mind and exhausted soul. His eyes cracked open, his one-eye looking at the blurry images of the roof. "6paT?"

"Da... YA zdes'." (Yeah, I'm here) He moved around his desk and pulled the rolling chair over, sliding it next to the couch and then sitting down.

Anatoly sighed. "How long?"

Vlad wondered exactly what Anatoly wanted to know. How long ago had he been attacked, or how long had he been home? Vladimir guessed. "Been back four hours..."

Anatoly looked as though he was desperately searching for a word that was right there, yet just out of reach. His unfocused eyes watched the roof. He asked a gibberish question, yet seemed to think it made perfect sense.

Vladimir's expression never changed. He'd been told to expect that, and so he answered. "Da, moi mysli tochno." (Yeah, my thoughts exactly.)

"It's hot." Anatoly shifted on the couch, limp hand pressing against the leather and an expression of discomfort crossing his face.

Vladimir nodded slowly, but reached forward and placed a hand on his brother, to make sure he wasn't feverish. Luckily, he wasn't. Actually, Anatoly was cold, only thinking it was hot, because the air temperature was warmer than he was. So, Vladimir pulled his jacket off, and set it over Anatoly. It would seem insane to his brother, but his actions would make sense in a few minutes.

Anatoly pushed the palm of his hand against his bruised face, and hissed in surprise, jerking back. He spoke another non-sense exclamation.

Vladimir quickly pulled Anatoly's hands down, and looking into his eyes. "bud'te ostorozhny," (Be careful.) Vladimir said, voice quiet.

Anatoly's jaw went slack before his teeth clacked back together. He made a muffled sound of pain and let his eyes close. He grew lax as unconsciousness took hold of him again.

God bless!