haha I hope you're ready to be UPSET!
November 1888 London, England
At some point he knew he'd find him. For a man who claimed to never stay stagnant Cain had the same habits he'd had four centuries ago. Liked apartments above bakeries and florists, but not restaurants and the place had to have as many windows as the walls were capable of holding. Altair had scouted four such apartments so far. In a bobby's uniform all sorts of doors opened and he knew how to look sympathetic. The first four had been a family of six crammed into two rooms who ran the bakery; a young composer who lived in a cupboard of an apartment; a young couple, the man who worked in the florist shop downstairs; and the last had been an old woman with six cats who's children ran the bakery and lived several blocks down and insisted Altair come in for tea. He was on apartment five now and didn't know what to expect.
The owners of the bakery had let Altair right in through the back, saying their tenant was nice, quiet, and enjoyed toast and jam for breakfast in the morning. That could have been anyone though. Altair climbed the stairs to the apartment and went into Eagle Vision, but his surroundings were nothing but washed out and grey. No lightness, no hint of color. He held his left arm back a bit, flicking the hidden blade out silently in case it was Cain, and knocked, calling, "Scotland Yard, open up under the order of her majesty Queen Victoria."
He waited, then he heard the locks coming undone. Three locks. Cain used three locks. He prepared himself. The door opened widely. The man standing in the doorway was a find Englishman with a waistcoat, finely manicured mustache, and ice blue eyes. Altair would recognize him anywhere. He didn't think and just flew at him, hidden blade ready.
Cain caught him in a great bear hug, "Hello brother," he said with all the mad joy he'd expected. "Knew you'd get my message."
Altair stabbed his flank, Cain released him and though blood flowed Cain didn't seem to notice. "I knew this day would come," Altair growled.
"Yeah, fancy that. So did I," Cain stepped deeper into his apartment, Altair followed, kicking the door closed behind him. "I mean, you told me," and he grinned.
"I should have killed you then," Altair said and lunged at him. Cain pushed him past him, smacking his back on the way into the wall.
"Trouble with that kid; we don't die, or you forget that bit?" Cain asked, his side was red with blood. "Wouldn't be surprised if you did, was always so troublesome getting any information into that thick skull of yours. Its like you like being wrong all the time—!" Cain had to jump out of the way when Altair nearly managed to get another hit on him.
"Why Cain?" Altair growled, "Why do this?"
"Bored?" Cain asked glibly. "And had to get you to pay attention to me somehow kid," and Altair missed the longing in his voice. "This proved to be one of my fruitful attempts to get you to come find me at least."
"… One of?" Altair asked.
"Oh yes. Been waiting for this year. The year I'd kill all those whores you pretended were good enough for you-
"Shut up!" Altair yelled and attacked again. Cain fended him off with his bare hands and that just infuriated him all the more.
"Been waiting so long for this year," Cain said even as he deflected each of Altair's attacks. "And I know you have been too-
"No!" Altair cried.
"Oh yes," Cain was suddenly in his face, grabbing his wrists, looming above him because despite being centuries older was over a head taller than Altair. "You've been waiting for this," he basically whispered, "because that means you were right. For once you were right."
Altair wrestled his wrists away and stabbed Cain in the chest. He didn't know what he was doing and did it again and again, stabbing at Cain until he was dead. Altair stood above the body, breathing hard, covered in blood, eyes wide and wild. He'd just put Cain Under. But for how long?
Altair felt sick doing this but he crouched by Cain he cut open his nice waist coat and then dug his knife into his chest. He cursed when he snapped his knife off between Cain's ribs. He was gentler with his other one. Altair might have been okay with death and gore but there was something so vile about how personal this was, how far he had to go to make sure Cain didn't Wake until he was locked up, until he was dead. The only way you could kill people like them was to lock them away forever, make them irrelevant. He coughed a little, gagging, as he ripped open Cain's chest and keeping bile back cut out his heart. The threw it away from him but knew he wasn't done. He cut out his lungs too.
That done Altair went to the kitchen and threw up. He hadn't thrown up at the sight of a dead body in centuries. But this one made him throw up until he had nothing left and his chest heaved and hurt and his throat was aflame. He ended up sliding to the ground in a heaving, shivering mass, trying to control himself. It took him several minutes before he could get to his feet and wash his hands and clean himself and his uniform as best he could.
Once he was presentable he adjusted his hat and went downstairs, saying goodbye to the bakery owners. He'd have to wait till it was dark to go get Cain and take him someplace he'd never escape from. His hands shook the rest of the day until he finally loaded Cain's body into a cart, making sure he hadn't started to regenerate, and left London.