I bleach the sky every night
Loaded on wrong and further from right.
Spinning around, two howling moons
'Cause they're always there whatever I do.
I'd die in your arms if you were dead, too.
Here comes a lie - we will always be true.
Going up when coming down
Scratch away, it's the little things that kill.
Tearing at my brains again.
The little things that kill.
Bigger you give, bigger you get.
We're boss at denial but best at forget.
I kill you once, I kill you again.
We're starving and crude.
Welcome, my friends, to the little things that kill.
-- Amended version of "Little Things" by Bush
It should have startled him more than it actually did that he remembered the exact route back to the plain little wooden lodge in northern Ohio where Gangrel stayed. Edge figured he should have been more scared than he was as his feet touched the ground again and he began the slow walk towards the front of the house. It looked innocent enough from the outside, just like every other secluded cabin stuck in the middle of the woods with nothing but trees around it for as far as the eye could see. It boasted only two stories and a wrap-around veranda with a banister, but it always came across as being another boring place to spend a weekend camping out.
Edge shivered though no wind blew and his heavy trenchcoat would have shielded him from it anyway. Lead seemed to come from nowhere and fill his boots, making his steps grow slower and closer together until he finally came to a stop at the foot of the porch steps, staring up at the ornate French doors, staring at the stained glass and carved wood surface but making no attempt to get closer. He shoved his hands into his coat pockets and bowed his head, wincing when the sun caught the silver cross he kept around his neck, sending a sliver of blinding light right back up at him.
"Well, that's irony for ya," he muttered to himself, pulling at his shirt collar and letting the necklace drop behind it. Another glance back up at the doors, still closed, still taunting him with their innocent, elegant charm. Choking down his fear and refusing to let himself be deterred, he forced himself up the steps and to the doors, not expecting it to be locked and not in the least surprised when it came open easily under his hand. He did, however, almost trip over his own feet due to the stark contrast in light -- it was bright and sunny outside, but he'd obviously forgotten how Gangrel loved to keep his house dark to the point of blackness.
After giving his eyes enough time to adjust to the change, Edge blinked and took inventory of his surroundings, stomach churning when he heard the shouting from somewhere far off in the house, recognizing it immediately as Christian. He walked with mock determination across the hardwood floor, trying his best to ignore the expensive cherry wood surface and the bits of red reflected in it from the stray sunlight coming in from the windows. It was far too close to resembling spilt blood, but Edge realized quickly that was more than likely intentional, another bit of evidence of Gangrel's twisted sense of humor.
He moved from one room to another, barely pausing to take in the extravagant decorations -- Gangrel had never been one to openly show his love for all things pricey and rare, but in the privacy of his home he was prone to indulging himself with seventeenth century furniture, Victorian paintings, elaborate hand-sewn drapes and carpet that probably cost an early settler a vast fortune. Money was trifling to Gangrel, and so he felt free to throw it away on anything that caught his eye at a moment's notice.
Edge drew in a sharp breath when he came to the last room on the first floor, the largest and, currently, brightest. An antique oil lamp was strategically placed on a table beside a mirror, which reflected off a mirror across the room, which in turn turned the light upward to the mirrored ceiling overhead.
"Creative lighting system," Edge noted, blinking from having been temporarily blinded. "Nice way to save on the electricity bill, too."
"Nice of you to join us," Gangrel greeted from somewhere deeper in the room. Once Edge was able to see correctly again, he almost fell to his knees. Christian had already done so, his head tilted at an odd angle so that Gangrel could rest his chin on his shoulder. The thin hand in his hair assurred that his head would stay that way -- and, if that didn't do it, the sharp dagger at his stomach certainly would. "He and I have been having a nice discussion while waiting for you to make your grand appearance. Well, to be honest, I've been having a nice one sided discussion. He, on the other hand, has mostly been listening."
Edge took a hesitant step into the room, very nearly breaking down when he got his first good glimpse of the terrified look in Christian's eyes, mimicking the look he usually had after a nightmare but magnified tenfold. His face was contorted into something meant to come off as resentful and undaunted, but all Edge could see was fear and confusion, and once accompanied with the guilt, it all threatened to eat away the rest of his sanity.
"You know," Gangrel went on to break the deafening silence, "it really was quite considerate of you to lead me right to him."
"I didn't --"
"You did, boy. You don't realize it yet, but you did." Gangrel brought the knife up and tapped it lightly against Christian's cheek. "I don't suppose you ever told him the truth, did you?"
"Gangrel, don't."
"Don't what? You don't think he deserves the truth?"
Edge ran a helpless hand through his hair, wanting to turn and run the other way but caught by Christian's demanding, horrified blue-gray eyes. "I didn't mean . . ."
"I take it you've never told him."
"Told me what?" Christian croaked out hoarsely, voice strained from the pressure against his throat. He turned his attention up to Edge, startled to see his brother watching him like a frightened animal. "Edge? What . . ."
"I didn't mean . . ." was the most intelligent thing Edge could force out his mouth, hands scrabbling through his hair and somehow restraining themselves from pulling back clumps of it in frustration.
Gangrel, naturally, had no such conscience to concern himself with and used that to his advantage. "He never told you the whole story about our first meeting, did he?" Gangrel smirked to himself, stroking Christian's cheek with his index finger in something that might have been genuine affection. "He all but delivered you to me, little one. And now he's trying to back out on our deal. Odd, because I've always known him to be a man of his word up to this point."
"Edge . . ." Christian looked up at his brother, silently begging him to say it was all a lie and that not a single word of it was true; he choked when Edge turned his head away from him. "Edge, why?"
"I didn't mean to!" he screamed, voice echoing off the wood-panelled walls. "Christian, I didn't . . . I was dying! I didn't even know what I was doing! I wasn't thinking straight and I-I..."
"You saved your own ass," Christian hissed bitterly, eyes narrowing accordingly. Edge shook his head but couldn't think of a decent response.
"Edge," Gangrel interrupted the argument forming, "I want you to take a good look at him. He's young, with his whole life ahead of him . . . I'd hate to cut it short. He still has a beating heart, blood that moves through his veins . . .but one day, that's all going to end and he'll just be put in the ground and turned into dust."
"No..."
"Or," Gangrel shrugged carelessly, "you could make sure that never happens. You could give him what some people spend their whole lives trying to attain -- you can let him live forever."
"Don't, Gangrel, please."
"I'm giving you a choice, boy. Death or eternal life?"
"You never gave me that choice!"
"I did, Edge, and you know it," Gangrel almost growled, good humor quickly vanishing. "I offered you immortality or death and I let you have your pick of either."
"I should have chosen death."
"Well, life is full of should have's," Gangrel noted with a shrug, bringing the blade back down to Christian's stomach. "Let's add one more to the list."
Before Edge had time to react, Gangrel had pushed the knife into Christian's gut until the hilt of it prevented it from going any deeper. He twisted it, carefully avoiding the immediate urge to lap up the blood pouring from the wound, and pulled the dagger out, rising to his feet and watching wordlessly as Edge slid across the floor, gathering his brother up into his arms.
"You son of a bitch!" Edge cried, tears streaming down his face. "What -- why --"
"I hate to sound pushy, lad, but you're going to have to make your choice quickly."
Ignoring the older man, Edge pulled the hair out of Christian's face and pressed a hand to the deep wound, repulsed by the blood soaking through the cracks between his fingers and sliding over his knuckles. "Oh, God, oh Christ...Christian, please...don't...what do you want me to do? Oh, fucking hell, Christian, what do you want me to do?" Met only with a wide-eyed stare and a mouth working in silent horror, Edge shook his little brother harshly. "Answer me!"
"I do believe he's a bit preoccupied right now with taking his last breaths."
"Shut up! Just-Just shut up and get the fuck away from me!" Edge turned hysterical, almost hyperventilating for not knowing what to do. He bent, pressing his hand into Christian's and gripping it tightly, though whether to give or receive strength he wasn't entirely certain. Christian's breath became noticeably more ragged, more struggling, and in turn Edge's tears came faster and harder. "I'm not . . . I don't know what to do . . . God, don't make me do this to him . . ." The hand he clutched fell slack, dropping heavily to the floor, and Edge choked back a loud sob. "Oh, Jesus, forgive me. Ch-Christian...Christian, forgive me," he pleaded, bending and seeking with blurried vision the vein he knew ran along the side of Christian's neck, sinking his teeth into it and whimpering when the boy in his arms jumped impulsively, then immediately went motionless. Moments later he pulled back to see Christian's lifeless stare focused on a far wall, looking but not really seeing anything, and he waited breathlessly until the younger man blinked and sputtered, rolling onto his side and yelling from the light attacking his newly-sensitive eyes.
Oblivious to the small amount of pain it would cause, Edge brought his wrist to his mouth and bit into it, then pushed it against his brother's mouth. "Drink, Christian." It was the only bit of encouragement he needed to give, as Christian latched onto the arm like a lifeline and drank with a thirst never before known to him. The sound of boots clicking against the floor made him look up into coal black eyes and a grinning face, silver stud pierced into his tongue standing out vividly.
"Welcome to our family, Christian."
"Go to sleep, Chris," Edge urged, pulling his hair back and kissing the top of his head. "I'll explain everything when you wake up, I promise." After several minutes of absentminded kisses and gentle stroking of his hair, Edge felt Christian go limp in his arms and drift into a fitful sleep, and he looked up at Gangrel with venom in his eyes. "You ... you heartless bastard."
"Oh, please, Edge. It really isn't as bad as it seems."
"You made me kill my own brother!"
Gangrel shrugged, pushing his shirt sleeves up and toying idly with the hem of one of them. "Whatever. You'll thank me some day." He bent and reached for Christian, stunned by the quickness with which Edge drew away from him, taking his brother with him. "I was only --"
"Don't touch him!" Edge screamed, voice cracking with his tears. He held Christian against him with his right arm, his left holding Christian's head against his shoulder as if that would protect him from all the evil in the world and that which was five feet away. "You've got your damn payment now. I swear to fucking God above, Gangrel, if you ever touch him, I will snap your neck and drain your entire goddamned body before you hit the floor, and don't think that I'd be too scared to try it."
"Hell hath no fury like a brother scorned, evidently," Gangrel quipped, holding his hands up in what he hoped was a placating gesture. "Perhaps you should have adopted such an attitude earlier . . .?" He dropped the argument, shaking his head to show he wished not to continue with it. "Look, Edge, I was only going to tell you that there's an empty bedroom upstairs if you'd like to let him get some rest. Of course, if you'd rather sit here in the floor and hold him and pretend like everything's right with the world, that's perfectly fine. It makes little difference to me."
"Go to Hell."
Gangrel's infuriating smirk fell. "I already have, boy. I'm already there. I'm just gathering my house guests now." He rose to his feet, brushing his knees off and then his hands. "Anyway, just be sure to mop the floor up when you're done playing self-important hero. It's impossible to get blood out of wood floors once it's set."
Loaded on wrong and further from right.
Spinning around, two howling moons
'Cause they're always there whatever I do.
I'd die in your arms if you were dead, too.
Here comes a lie - we will always be true.
Going up when coming down
Scratch away, it's the little things that kill.
Tearing at my brains again.
The little things that kill.
Bigger you give, bigger you get.
We're boss at denial but best at forget.
I kill you once, I kill you again.
We're starving and crude.
Welcome, my friends, to the little things that kill.
-- Amended version of "Little Things" by Bush
It should have startled him more than it actually did that he remembered the exact route back to the plain little wooden lodge in northern Ohio where Gangrel stayed. Edge figured he should have been more scared than he was as his feet touched the ground again and he began the slow walk towards the front of the house. It looked innocent enough from the outside, just like every other secluded cabin stuck in the middle of the woods with nothing but trees around it for as far as the eye could see. It boasted only two stories and a wrap-around veranda with a banister, but it always came across as being another boring place to spend a weekend camping out.
Edge shivered though no wind blew and his heavy trenchcoat would have shielded him from it anyway. Lead seemed to come from nowhere and fill his boots, making his steps grow slower and closer together until he finally came to a stop at the foot of the porch steps, staring up at the ornate French doors, staring at the stained glass and carved wood surface but making no attempt to get closer. He shoved his hands into his coat pockets and bowed his head, wincing when the sun caught the silver cross he kept around his neck, sending a sliver of blinding light right back up at him.
"Well, that's irony for ya," he muttered to himself, pulling at his shirt collar and letting the necklace drop behind it. Another glance back up at the doors, still closed, still taunting him with their innocent, elegant charm. Choking down his fear and refusing to let himself be deterred, he forced himself up the steps and to the doors, not expecting it to be locked and not in the least surprised when it came open easily under his hand. He did, however, almost trip over his own feet due to the stark contrast in light -- it was bright and sunny outside, but he'd obviously forgotten how Gangrel loved to keep his house dark to the point of blackness.
After giving his eyes enough time to adjust to the change, Edge blinked and took inventory of his surroundings, stomach churning when he heard the shouting from somewhere far off in the house, recognizing it immediately as Christian. He walked with mock determination across the hardwood floor, trying his best to ignore the expensive cherry wood surface and the bits of red reflected in it from the stray sunlight coming in from the windows. It was far too close to resembling spilt blood, but Edge realized quickly that was more than likely intentional, another bit of evidence of Gangrel's twisted sense of humor.
He moved from one room to another, barely pausing to take in the extravagant decorations -- Gangrel had never been one to openly show his love for all things pricey and rare, but in the privacy of his home he was prone to indulging himself with seventeenth century furniture, Victorian paintings, elaborate hand-sewn drapes and carpet that probably cost an early settler a vast fortune. Money was trifling to Gangrel, and so he felt free to throw it away on anything that caught his eye at a moment's notice.
Edge drew in a sharp breath when he came to the last room on the first floor, the largest and, currently, brightest. An antique oil lamp was strategically placed on a table beside a mirror, which reflected off a mirror across the room, which in turn turned the light upward to the mirrored ceiling overhead.
"Creative lighting system," Edge noted, blinking from having been temporarily blinded. "Nice way to save on the electricity bill, too."
"Nice of you to join us," Gangrel greeted from somewhere deeper in the room. Once Edge was able to see correctly again, he almost fell to his knees. Christian had already done so, his head tilted at an odd angle so that Gangrel could rest his chin on his shoulder. The thin hand in his hair assurred that his head would stay that way -- and, if that didn't do it, the sharp dagger at his stomach certainly would. "He and I have been having a nice discussion while waiting for you to make your grand appearance. Well, to be honest, I've been having a nice one sided discussion. He, on the other hand, has mostly been listening."
Edge took a hesitant step into the room, very nearly breaking down when he got his first good glimpse of the terrified look in Christian's eyes, mimicking the look he usually had after a nightmare but magnified tenfold. His face was contorted into something meant to come off as resentful and undaunted, but all Edge could see was fear and confusion, and once accompanied with the guilt, it all threatened to eat away the rest of his sanity.
"You know," Gangrel went on to break the deafening silence, "it really was quite considerate of you to lead me right to him."
"I didn't --"
"You did, boy. You don't realize it yet, but you did." Gangrel brought the knife up and tapped it lightly against Christian's cheek. "I don't suppose you ever told him the truth, did you?"
"Gangrel, don't."
"Don't what? You don't think he deserves the truth?"
Edge ran a helpless hand through his hair, wanting to turn and run the other way but caught by Christian's demanding, horrified blue-gray eyes. "I didn't mean . . ."
"I take it you've never told him."
"Told me what?" Christian croaked out hoarsely, voice strained from the pressure against his throat. He turned his attention up to Edge, startled to see his brother watching him like a frightened animal. "Edge? What . . ."
"I didn't mean . . ." was the most intelligent thing Edge could force out his mouth, hands scrabbling through his hair and somehow restraining themselves from pulling back clumps of it in frustration.
Gangrel, naturally, had no such conscience to concern himself with and used that to his advantage. "He never told you the whole story about our first meeting, did he?" Gangrel smirked to himself, stroking Christian's cheek with his index finger in something that might have been genuine affection. "He all but delivered you to me, little one. And now he's trying to back out on our deal. Odd, because I've always known him to be a man of his word up to this point."
"Edge . . ." Christian looked up at his brother, silently begging him to say it was all a lie and that not a single word of it was true; he choked when Edge turned his head away from him. "Edge, why?"
"I didn't mean to!" he screamed, voice echoing off the wood-panelled walls. "Christian, I didn't . . . I was dying! I didn't even know what I was doing! I wasn't thinking straight and I-I..."
"You saved your own ass," Christian hissed bitterly, eyes narrowing accordingly. Edge shook his head but couldn't think of a decent response.
"Edge," Gangrel interrupted the argument forming, "I want you to take a good look at him. He's young, with his whole life ahead of him . . . I'd hate to cut it short. He still has a beating heart, blood that moves through his veins . . .but one day, that's all going to end and he'll just be put in the ground and turned into dust."
"No..."
"Or," Gangrel shrugged carelessly, "you could make sure that never happens. You could give him what some people spend their whole lives trying to attain -- you can let him live forever."
"Don't, Gangrel, please."
"I'm giving you a choice, boy. Death or eternal life?"
"You never gave me that choice!"
"I did, Edge, and you know it," Gangrel almost growled, good humor quickly vanishing. "I offered you immortality or death and I let you have your pick of either."
"I should have chosen death."
"Well, life is full of should have's," Gangrel noted with a shrug, bringing the blade back down to Christian's stomach. "Let's add one more to the list."
Before Edge had time to react, Gangrel had pushed the knife into Christian's gut until the hilt of it prevented it from going any deeper. He twisted it, carefully avoiding the immediate urge to lap up the blood pouring from the wound, and pulled the dagger out, rising to his feet and watching wordlessly as Edge slid across the floor, gathering his brother up into his arms.
"You son of a bitch!" Edge cried, tears streaming down his face. "What -- why --"
"I hate to sound pushy, lad, but you're going to have to make your choice quickly."
Ignoring the older man, Edge pulled the hair out of Christian's face and pressed a hand to the deep wound, repulsed by the blood soaking through the cracks between his fingers and sliding over his knuckles. "Oh, God, oh Christ...Christian, please...don't...what do you want me to do? Oh, fucking hell, Christian, what do you want me to do?" Met only with a wide-eyed stare and a mouth working in silent horror, Edge shook his little brother harshly. "Answer me!"
"I do believe he's a bit preoccupied right now with taking his last breaths."
"Shut up! Just-Just shut up and get the fuck away from me!" Edge turned hysterical, almost hyperventilating for not knowing what to do. He bent, pressing his hand into Christian's and gripping it tightly, though whether to give or receive strength he wasn't entirely certain. Christian's breath became noticeably more ragged, more struggling, and in turn Edge's tears came faster and harder. "I'm not . . . I don't know what to do . . . God, don't make me do this to him . . ." The hand he clutched fell slack, dropping heavily to the floor, and Edge choked back a loud sob. "Oh, Jesus, forgive me. Ch-Christian...Christian, forgive me," he pleaded, bending and seeking with blurried vision the vein he knew ran along the side of Christian's neck, sinking his teeth into it and whimpering when the boy in his arms jumped impulsively, then immediately went motionless. Moments later he pulled back to see Christian's lifeless stare focused on a far wall, looking but not really seeing anything, and he waited breathlessly until the younger man blinked and sputtered, rolling onto his side and yelling from the light attacking his newly-sensitive eyes.
Oblivious to the small amount of pain it would cause, Edge brought his wrist to his mouth and bit into it, then pushed it against his brother's mouth. "Drink, Christian." It was the only bit of encouragement he needed to give, as Christian latched onto the arm like a lifeline and drank with a thirst never before known to him. The sound of boots clicking against the floor made him look up into coal black eyes and a grinning face, silver stud pierced into his tongue standing out vividly.
"Welcome to our family, Christian."
"Go to sleep, Chris," Edge urged, pulling his hair back and kissing the top of his head. "I'll explain everything when you wake up, I promise." After several minutes of absentminded kisses and gentle stroking of his hair, Edge felt Christian go limp in his arms and drift into a fitful sleep, and he looked up at Gangrel with venom in his eyes. "You ... you heartless bastard."
"Oh, please, Edge. It really isn't as bad as it seems."
"You made me kill my own brother!"
Gangrel shrugged, pushing his shirt sleeves up and toying idly with the hem of one of them. "Whatever. You'll thank me some day." He bent and reached for Christian, stunned by the quickness with which Edge drew away from him, taking his brother with him. "I was only --"
"Don't touch him!" Edge screamed, voice cracking with his tears. He held Christian against him with his right arm, his left holding Christian's head against his shoulder as if that would protect him from all the evil in the world and that which was five feet away. "You've got your damn payment now. I swear to fucking God above, Gangrel, if you ever touch him, I will snap your neck and drain your entire goddamned body before you hit the floor, and don't think that I'd be too scared to try it."
"Hell hath no fury like a brother scorned, evidently," Gangrel quipped, holding his hands up in what he hoped was a placating gesture. "Perhaps you should have adopted such an attitude earlier . . .?" He dropped the argument, shaking his head to show he wished not to continue with it. "Look, Edge, I was only going to tell you that there's an empty bedroom upstairs if you'd like to let him get some rest. Of course, if you'd rather sit here in the floor and hold him and pretend like everything's right with the world, that's perfectly fine. It makes little difference to me."
"Go to Hell."
Gangrel's infuriating smirk fell. "I already have, boy. I'm already there. I'm just gathering my house guests now." He rose to his feet, brushing his knees off and then his hands. "Anyway, just be sure to mop the floor up when you're done playing self-important hero. It's impossible to get blood out of wood floors once it's set."