Edge watched with barely concealed hatred from his spot on the bed, back against the headboard and a book open in his lap. Not that he really had any idea what book it even was; he'd grabbed it from Christian's bag. So far it seemed like the same goofy science fiction junk Christian had been reading since they were children. Well, in his defense, the words had gotten bigger and the clothes of the alien women on the cover had gotten racier, so maybe they weren't *exactly* the same. Nevertheless, Edge feigned interest in the book and tried his best to ignore Gangrel and Christian's conversation about, of all things, hockey. Actually, Gangrel was pretending to pay attention while Christian wanted someone to rant to because his beloved Mapleleafs had just suffered a humiliating defeat.
He would not listen. He would not let his conscience get to him. He would read the book and listen to his headphones and let Gangrel do whatever the hell it was he wanted with Christian, and then it would all be over. Of course, that all sounded good on paper. Sitting there watching Gangrel eying Christian like a piece of meat, though, made Edge seriously begin to doubt his foolproof scheme.
"So the goalie missed a shot he *so* should've caught, and then --"
"Chris, please," Gangrel pleaded, holding his hand up palm out. "I've never watched hockey in my life and I really have no interest in it. Would you mind finding something else to talk about?"
Christian poked his chin out. "What's wrong with hockey?" Noticing Gangrel's scowl, Christian huffed indignantly and walked to the doors leading out to the balcony. He parted the curtains enough to look out at the landscape, at the bright lights and the bustling city life at ground level, and said the first thing that came to mind.
"I hate Boston."
"Why?"
Christian shrugged while opening the doors and walking out onto the balcony. "I think it's the accent."
"As opposed to 'aboot'?" Gangrel teased, getting to his feet and joining Christian on the balcony. Christian shot a disdainful look over his shoulder.
"When did you get a sense of humor?"
Gangrel offered an unsettling smile in return. "I've always had one, Chris. You just need to pay more attention."
Oh God, Edge whimpered inwardly, masochistic curiosity making him watch the pair on the balcony rather than the book. He'd turned the CD player down so as to listen in on their conversation, though what purpose he really thought that would serve in the end was far beyond him. Get away from him, Christian, get away, get away, get away . . . he repeated the mantra in his head over and over again as if by some miracle his brother would pick up on it and heed his advice.
Christian, naturally, was by no means telepathic, and so stayed on the balcony completely oblivious to the intentions of the man behind him. "There a reason why you just suddenly popped up all of a sudden?"
Gangrel didn't answer right away, taking the opportunity to walk to Christian's side and lean his elbows on the metal railing. The tongue ring in his mouth clicked restlessly against the back of his teeth, the tell-tale evidence he was deep in thought about something or other. Christian ground his own teeth together in annoyance.
"Okay, dude, stop it. That's freaky."
He complied, but not without a tiny smirk. "I got to thinking about you and Edge and I thought I'd check up on you. You've always been my favorites, you know."
By favorites, Christian noted to himself, Gangrel meant the untold number of vampires he'd encountered in his long life. That just made the statement that much more troublesome. "But I'm not . . ."
"A vampire?" Gangrel supplied when Christian trailed off. "I forget sometimes. You'll forgive me, of course." Though more of an order than request, Christian nodded anyway. "Well then. What have you been doing while I was away?"
"Burning bridges, throwing tantrums, being a loser scraping the bowels of sucktitude."
"So not much has changed."
"Asshole."
Gangrel grinned to himself. "You're too quick with your judgment, little one."
"Don't call me that!" Christian almost shrieked, loudly enough to make Edge pull his headphones off momentarily. He waited until his brother turned deaf ears to him again before continuing. "I've told you not to call me that."
"My apologies," Gangrel assured, hands out in a placating gesture. "I must be getting forgetful in my old age."
"Yeah," Christian agreed easily, flicking a shriveled cigarette butt off the railing and watching it as it fluttered down and out of sight. "What've you been up to?"
Gangrel shrugged careless shoulders. "Drinking the blood of sleeping infants, working for Satan, overrunning small civilizations . . ."
"Really?"
"No," Gangrel confessed with a sigh, "but when you've lived as long as I have, you have to make these things up to make life sound more interesting than it really is."
"Well, can't you, like, just change yourself back to a human or something?"
"There is no turning back, little one."
Christian wheeled around sharply on his heel to once again yell at the older man, but he stopped short at the expression on Gangrel's face. Sharp, pointed fangs with blood-stained tips stood out against his pale lips, the street lights nearby reflecting in the enamel.
"Okay, that's just really freaking disgusting."
Gangrel didn't respond, only came closer until he had Christian pinned against the banister. Christian watched him nervously as he reached over to push his long blond hair over his shoulder and away from his face -- his neck, Christian realized after a panicked moment.
"Whoa, hold on a minute, you Dracula-wannabe reekazoid. I'm not your dinner, alright?"
Edge looked up in time to see Gangrel move in for the proverbial kill, gripping Christian's hips tightly and keeping him from moving while he sank his teeth into the side of his throat. Christian jerked involuntarily, gripping the banister tightly, mouth working but making no sounds, stuck open in a perpetual silent scream. His eyes flicked over Gangrel's shoulder to meet Edge's, frightened and pleading.
"Gangrel, I..." Edge trailed off, knowing the other man wasn't listening to him. He twisted his hands, unsure of what his next move should be. He had, after all, promised his brother to Gangrel, and there really wasn't much he could do about that. But then again, it also wasn't much of an option to watch his baby brother suffer before his very eyes, rivalry or not.
"God, I hate my life," he groaned, smacking his forehead before taking off at a dead run for the balcony. He jumped and was in mid-flight when he hooked his arms underneath Christian's and sent them both hurtling over the side. Wrestling with his brother's weight and trying to concentrate enough to keep them from both hitting the street below them, as well as blocking out Gangrel's infuriated yelling, he turned Christian's head to the side and bit down on his tongue to send his own blood into the open wound, closing it instantly.
That was when Christian came to, and he began writhing wildly when he saw the cars and street lamps glittering beneath them.
"Holy shit!" he cried, clawing at Edge's arms and digging his nails into the flesh in his sudden fear. "You got me away from him to make me a road pancake? You idiot, put me down!"
"Shut up and stop moving, or I *will* drop you," Edge threatened through clenched teeth. It was taking all his concentration to keep them in the air and rack his brain for a good temporary hiding place, and that wasn't helped by his brother's terrified act. Minutes later he did a nosedive into a thickly wooded area just on the outskirts of the city, making them both plow into a pile of leaves and moss.
"This," Christian started, rubbing the back of his head, "this might be considered a step backward, asshole."
"Shh."
"Why, so you can drop me into a bottomless pit next time?"
"Shut up!" Edge ordered, clamping his hand down over Christian's mouth as he did so. He pointed up with his other hand to the hole in the canopy provided by the trees, and Christian shuddered slightly when a familiar silhouette went soaring overhead. It took several hour-long minutes before Christian found his voice again and was actually able to use it without Edge attempting to strangle him.
"What ... the hell ... is this all about?" He asked pointedly, making sure each word was emphasized with sharp anger. Edge leaned back onto his haunches, watching wordlessly as his brother stood and began brushing off his backside.
"You know how Gangrel switches loyalties."
"Yeah, but . . ." He trailed off, making a disgusted face when his hand encountered something wet and soggy clinging to his pants. "Ewwww."
Edge, having no interest in his little brother's problem, dropped his head into his hands and tried to figure out some sort of solution to the mess he had gotten them both neck-deep into.
"So," Christian broke the silence, hands on hips and restlessly kicking at a pile of leaves. "What now?" Not given an answer or even any indication at all that he had been heard, Christian kicked his brother lightly in the ribs.
"You prick, stop that!"
"Listen, dweeboid, your buddy just tried to eat me. I think I'm entitled to some answers, don't you?" Again greeted only with silence, he huffed and blew a strand of blond hair from his face. "This has been fun and everything. You try to kill me in my locker room, I hit on a chick I'll probably never see again, Gangrel goes all Hannibal Lector on me, we go on a nice flight and land in fucking Sherwood Forest, get chased by said Hannibal psycho...it's been a real riot. If you'll excuse me, I think I'm just gonna go lay down in the street or something and --"
"No."
"Excuse me?"
Edge dragged his eyes up to meet Christian's, appearing for all the world to be impossibly weary and depressed. "You're not leaving alone. I won't let you."
Christian snorted harshly, a shrill, short laugh that never failed to grate on Edge's nerves. "I'm sorry, you seem to be under the impression that I really give a damn about what you want. You can sit here and commune with nature or attack a little bunny and drink its blood for all I care. I've had enough adventure for one night, and I'm going back to my hotel room and drinking myself into a coma."
"Christian, he'll find you on your own. Hell, I'm not even promising I can keep him from finding you if we're together, but at least you stand a better chance."
"I'm not scared of him!" Christian shrieked, expression wild. "Yeah, he got a sneak attack in on me, but I'm ready for him this time."
"You're an idiot."
"And you're a self-centered egotistical bastard. What's your point?"
"Would you shut up and stop arguing and listen to me for once in your life?" Edge cried desperately, stunning Christian into silence with his outburst. "Look, Christian, he's after you, okay? We both know that, and he's not gonna stop until he gets you. If you go off by yourself, he'll find you -- and, if you're lucky, he'll kill you."
"I think you're a little confused."
"It's better than being turned into . . ." Edge stopped himself, shaking his head and refusing to complete his statement. "Anyway, we're going to have to figure out a way to throw him off your trail for a while. Maybe I can talk to him and change his mind."
Christian stared blankly at Edge before scratching behind his head, roughing his hair up even more than it already was. "He's going to find me, isn't he?"
Though he wanted with all he had inside of him to reassure Christian and fool him into taking false hope, Edge could only meet his gaze steadily and nod. "Yeah, he is. I'm just hoping I can talk to him before that happens."
"Well, shit," Christian grumbled, sinking back down onto the soft forest floor. "Story of my life. I can't call the girl of my dreams because I'm busy being stalked by a psychotic three-hundred-year old vampire. Why do these things always happen to me, huh?"
"Because you're related to me and there's a black cloud hanging over our heads?"
"Ah, that must be it." Christian sighed quietly, intently watching a moth flying nearby, illuminated by the moonlight. "What do we do now?"
"Are you religious?"
"Um . . . not really, no. Why?"
"Then I suggest you pick a god to start praying to."
He would not listen. He would not let his conscience get to him. He would read the book and listen to his headphones and let Gangrel do whatever the hell it was he wanted with Christian, and then it would all be over. Of course, that all sounded good on paper. Sitting there watching Gangrel eying Christian like a piece of meat, though, made Edge seriously begin to doubt his foolproof scheme.
"So the goalie missed a shot he *so* should've caught, and then --"
"Chris, please," Gangrel pleaded, holding his hand up palm out. "I've never watched hockey in my life and I really have no interest in it. Would you mind finding something else to talk about?"
Christian poked his chin out. "What's wrong with hockey?" Noticing Gangrel's scowl, Christian huffed indignantly and walked to the doors leading out to the balcony. He parted the curtains enough to look out at the landscape, at the bright lights and the bustling city life at ground level, and said the first thing that came to mind.
"I hate Boston."
"Why?"
Christian shrugged while opening the doors and walking out onto the balcony. "I think it's the accent."
"As opposed to 'aboot'?" Gangrel teased, getting to his feet and joining Christian on the balcony. Christian shot a disdainful look over his shoulder.
"When did you get a sense of humor?"
Gangrel offered an unsettling smile in return. "I've always had one, Chris. You just need to pay more attention."
Oh God, Edge whimpered inwardly, masochistic curiosity making him watch the pair on the balcony rather than the book. He'd turned the CD player down so as to listen in on their conversation, though what purpose he really thought that would serve in the end was far beyond him. Get away from him, Christian, get away, get away, get away . . . he repeated the mantra in his head over and over again as if by some miracle his brother would pick up on it and heed his advice.
Christian, naturally, was by no means telepathic, and so stayed on the balcony completely oblivious to the intentions of the man behind him. "There a reason why you just suddenly popped up all of a sudden?"
Gangrel didn't answer right away, taking the opportunity to walk to Christian's side and lean his elbows on the metal railing. The tongue ring in his mouth clicked restlessly against the back of his teeth, the tell-tale evidence he was deep in thought about something or other. Christian ground his own teeth together in annoyance.
"Okay, dude, stop it. That's freaky."
He complied, but not without a tiny smirk. "I got to thinking about you and Edge and I thought I'd check up on you. You've always been my favorites, you know."
By favorites, Christian noted to himself, Gangrel meant the untold number of vampires he'd encountered in his long life. That just made the statement that much more troublesome. "But I'm not . . ."
"A vampire?" Gangrel supplied when Christian trailed off. "I forget sometimes. You'll forgive me, of course." Though more of an order than request, Christian nodded anyway. "Well then. What have you been doing while I was away?"
"Burning bridges, throwing tantrums, being a loser scraping the bowels of sucktitude."
"So not much has changed."
"Asshole."
Gangrel grinned to himself. "You're too quick with your judgment, little one."
"Don't call me that!" Christian almost shrieked, loudly enough to make Edge pull his headphones off momentarily. He waited until his brother turned deaf ears to him again before continuing. "I've told you not to call me that."
"My apologies," Gangrel assured, hands out in a placating gesture. "I must be getting forgetful in my old age."
"Yeah," Christian agreed easily, flicking a shriveled cigarette butt off the railing and watching it as it fluttered down and out of sight. "What've you been up to?"
Gangrel shrugged careless shoulders. "Drinking the blood of sleeping infants, working for Satan, overrunning small civilizations . . ."
"Really?"
"No," Gangrel confessed with a sigh, "but when you've lived as long as I have, you have to make these things up to make life sound more interesting than it really is."
"Well, can't you, like, just change yourself back to a human or something?"
"There is no turning back, little one."
Christian wheeled around sharply on his heel to once again yell at the older man, but he stopped short at the expression on Gangrel's face. Sharp, pointed fangs with blood-stained tips stood out against his pale lips, the street lights nearby reflecting in the enamel.
"Okay, that's just really freaking disgusting."
Gangrel didn't respond, only came closer until he had Christian pinned against the banister. Christian watched him nervously as he reached over to push his long blond hair over his shoulder and away from his face -- his neck, Christian realized after a panicked moment.
"Whoa, hold on a minute, you Dracula-wannabe reekazoid. I'm not your dinner, alright?"
Edge looked up in time to see Gangrel move in for the proverbial kill, gripping Christian's hips tightly and keeping him from moving while he sank his teeth into the side of his throat. Christian jerked involuntarily, gripping the banister tightly, mouth working but making no sounds, stuck open in a perpetual silent scream. His eyes flicked over Gangrel's shoulder to meet Edge's, frightened and pleading.
"Gangrel, I..." Edge trailed off, knowing the other man wasn't listening to him. He twisted his hands, unsure of what his next move should be. He had, after all, promised his brother to Gangrel, and there really wasn't much he could do about that. But then again, it also wasn't much of an option to watch his baby brother suffer before his very eyes, rivalry or not.
"God, I hate my life," he groaned, smacking his forehead before taking off at a dead run for the balcony. He jumped and was in mid-flight when he hooked his arms underneath Christian's and sent them both hurtling over the side. Wrestling with his brother's weight and trying to concentrate enough to keep them from both hitting the street below them, as well as blocking out Gangrel's infuriated yelling, he turned Christian's head to the side and bit down on his tongue to send his own blood into the open wound, closing it instantly.
That was when Christian came to, and he began writhing wildly when he saw the cars and street lamps glittering beneath them.
"Holy shit!" he cried, clawing at Edge's arms and digging his nails into the flesh in his sudden fear. "You got me away from him to make me a road pancake? You idiot, put me down!"
"Shut up and stop moving, or I *will* drop you," Edge threatened through clenched teeth. It was taking all his concentration to keep them in the air and rack his brain for a good temporary hiding place, and that wasn't helped by his brother's terrified act. Minutes later he did a nosedive into a thickly wooded area just on the outskirts of the city, making them both plow into a pile of leaves and moss.
"This," Christian started, rubbing the back of his head, "this might be considered a step backward, asshole."
"Shh."
"Why, so you can drop me into a bottomless pit next time?"
"Shut up!" Edge ordered, clamping his hand down over Christian's mouth as he did so. He pointed up with his other hand to the hole in the canopy provided by the trees, and Christian shuddered slightly when a familiar silhouette went soaring overhead. It took several hour-long minutes before Christian found his voice again and was actually able to use it without Edge attempting to strangle him.
"What ... the hell ... is this all about?" He asked pointedly, making sure each word was emphasized with sharp anger. Edge leaned back onto his haunches, watching wordlessly as his brother stood and began brushing off his backside.
"You know how Gangrel switches loyalties."
"Yeah, but . . ." He trailed off, making a disgusted face when his hand encountered something wet and soggy clinging to his pants. "Ewwww."
Edge, having no interest in his little brother's problem, dropped his head into his hands and tried to figure out some sort of solution to the mess he had gotten them both neck-deep into.
"So," Christian broke the silence, hands on hips and restlessly kicking at a pile of leaves. "What now?" Not given an answer or even any indication at all that he had been heard, Christian kicked his brother lightly in the ribs.
"You prick, stop that!"
"Listen, dweeboid, your buddy just tried to eat me. I think I'm entitled to some answers, don't you?" Again greeted only with silence, he huffed and blew a strand of blond hair from his face. "This has been fun and everything. You try to kill me in my locker room, I hit on a chick I'll probably never see again, Gangrel goes all Hannibal Lector on me, we go on a nice flight and land in fucking Sherwood Forest, get chased by said Hannibal psycho...it's been a real riot. If you'll excuse me, I think I'm just gonna go lay down in the street or something and --"
"No."
"Excuse me?"
Edge dragged his eyes up to meet Christian's, appearing for all the world to be impossibly weary and depressed. "You're not leaving alone. I won't let you."
Christian snorted harshly, a shrill, short laugh that never failed to grate on Edge's nerves. "I'm sorry, you seem to be under the impression that I really give a damn about what you want. You can sit here and commune with nature or attack a little bunny and drink its blood for all I care. I've had enough adventure for one night, and I'm going back to my hotel room and drinking myself into a coma."
"Christian, he'll find you on your own. Hell, I'm not even promising I can keep him from finding you if we're together, but at least you stand a better chance."
"I'm not scared of him!" Christian shrieked, expression wild. "Yeah, he got a sneak attack in on me, but I'm ready for him this time."
"You're an idiot."
"And you're a self-centered egotistical bastard. What's your point?"
"Would you shut up and stop arguing and listen to me for once in your life?" Edge cried desperately, stunning Christian into silence with his outburst. "Look, Christian, he's after you, okay? We both know that, and he's not gonna stop until he gets you. If you go off by yourself, he'll find you -- and, if you're lucky, he'll kill you."
"I think you're a little confused."
"It's better than being turned into . . ." Edge stopped himself, shaking his head and refusing to complete his statement. "Anyway, we're going to have to figure out a way to throw him off your trail for a while. Maybe I can talk to him and change his mind."
Christian stared blankly at Edge before scratching behind his head, roughing his hair up even more than it already was. "He's going to find me, isn't he?"
Though he wanted with all he had inside of him to reassure Christian and fool him into taking false hope, Edge could only meet his gaze steadily and nod. "Yeah, he is. I'm just hoping I can talk to him before that happens."
"Well, shit," Christian grumbled, sinking back down onto the soft forest floor. "Story of my life. I can't call the girl of my dreams because I'm busy being stalked by a psychotic three-hundred-year old vampire. Why do these things always happen to me, huh?"
"Because you're related to me and there's a black cloud hanging over our heads?"
"Ah, that must be it." Christian sighed quietly, intently watching a moth flying nearby, illuminated by the moonlight. "What do we do now?"
"Are you religious?"
"Um . . . not really, no. Why?"
"Then I suggest you pick a god to start praying to."