Lightweight combat boots fell almost inaudibly against the wooden floors, soundlessly moving up the stairs, down the hallway, and gradually coming to a halt outside a closed door. The inside of the room seemed to be just as quiet as out, save for the soft creaking of bedsprings and hushed whispers and muttering. Gangrel ignored all rights to privacy and pushed the door open, sharp eyes cutting through the dim lighting in the room to see two forms huddled on the bed, both their backs to the door. Edge cradled his sleeping brother in his arms, just barely rocking him back and forth and mumbling something to him that was impossible to understand thanks to how his mouth was pressed against Christian's hair.
"Has he woken yet?" Gangrel asked quietly just incase, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. To his surprise, Edge didn't try to jump out of bed and kill him. Rather, he just shook his head slightly and made no effort to turn to look at his new visitor. "Maybe you should wake him up and let him feed. He's probably rather weak."
"I will when he wakes up on his own."
Gangrel nodded to himself, sitting down on the edge of the bed and peering over Edge's shoulder, a tiny grin pulling at his mouth to see how utterly nauseatingly cute the two of them looked together. "Funny."
"What?"
"I was just talking to myself. I hadn't realized how close you two were."
"I used to have to hold him like this when we were kids," Edge started abruptly, voice choking with tears he was making every move to hide. "We . . . our father, he, uh, had some issues. He used to get his kicks b-by fooling around with me. As far I know he didn't do anything like that to Christian, but I think it's just 'cause I was older. Sometimes Chris would come in and try to help me, and Brad -- that was our father -- would turn on him and just . . . just start beating him . . ." Edge trailed off, eyes squeezing shut to the point he saw bright lights flashing and dying behind his eyelids. "And I never helped him. I wanted to, but . . . but I was so scared of . . . Fuck. I don't know what I was scared of, exactly. I just knew I didn't want Brad to even know I was still there. It hurt so bad . . ." He paused, tears leaking out from the corners of his eyes. "Oh, God, Grel...All I've ever done is hurt him."
Caught at a momentary loss for words, Gangrel gave into the urge to play a father figure to Edge, an urge he typically squashed and jumped on whenever it arose, and gave a few awkward pats to Edge's head. "I wish I could make you see what a gift you've given him, lad. I know you don't understand right now, but maybe some day you will. You've given him eternal life, Edge, and he'll never feel pain again -- ever."
"Maybe not, but he won't feel . . . anything," Edge whispered, throat raw and cracked from having cried so much that night. "He won't feel anything. He'll just be cold and dead inside . . . like me."
"You really don't understand how very few people get this blessing, Edge. You have to know that a little trivial thing like a soul is a very small price to pay for the chance to live forever."
"We're not *living*, Gangrel," Edge ground out through clenched teeth. "I haven't *lived* in years."
"You're too young to appreciate all of this. Tell me you feel the same way after you live through your first century." Gangrel sighed lightly, threading a stray strand of Edge's hair through his fingers. "You're a very unusual person, Edge. I've always said that soft heart and conscience of yours are going to be your eventual downfall, and they will be. Someone some day is going to take advantage of that and it will destroy you." He paused, dropping the piece of hair between his fingers. "I've lived too long, seen too much, to really have much empathy for anything. I've seen wars ravage countries and families, plagues and famine destroy entire civilizations. I've seen human triumphs and failures and all of humanity's darkest sides come to power. I lost the ability to become emotionally attached to anything long ago. It's rare that one of our kind can hold onto his human side for even as long as you have.
"Sometimes I see you when you think no one's watching, laughing at jokes that temporarily make you forget what you are, crying because you know you can't change that, and I think you're a better person for it."
"Thank you, Confucious," Edge grumbled sorely, reaching a hand to swipe at his eyes before returning to rocking Christian in his arms.
Gangrel chuckled to himself, knowing Edge wasn't really in the mood for a good parental lecture. He watched in silence while Edge went on with his incessant mumbling. "Why didn't your mother stop all of what happened?"
Edge sniffled loudly and rolled his eyes. "She killed herself right after Christian was born."
"Oh." Gangrel winced; his parental lecture was going worse than he'd anticipated. "Perhaps we should take a field trip to go find your father. It can be Christian's first hunting experience."
"Can't."
"Why not? I think you both would enjoy it. I'd imagine it would be very therapeutic."
"No, Gangrel. We can't because I killed him." Edge barely glanced over his shoulder, not surprised to see Gangrel's wide eyes fixed curiously on him. "He was hurting Christian. I laid in my bed and listened to it for a while, but I . . . h-he just kept screaming and . . . I knew where he kept his gun. I'd never fired one before," Edge added as something of an afterthought, "but I knew if I didn't kill him then either Christian or I was going to die that night. So I-I shot him. I kept shooting him until I ran out of bullets, and wh-when the cops showed up I was still just standing there pulling the trigger. They . . . they saw what he'd been doing to me an' Chris and I guess . . . I guess they just . . . felt sorry for us. A little creative dirty cop work and they just completely overlooked what I'd done.
"They managed to track down my mom's sister and talk her into taking us in, but I knew nothing was going to change, really. It was still going to just be me an' Christian. It was always just the two of us. He's all I've ever had. He's the last person I'd ever wanna hurt and . . . and he's the person I've hurt most in the world."
"You're much too hard on yourself, lad. You need to learn that mistakes happen and dwelling on them solves nothing."
"Not everyone's mistakes destroy someone else's life."
Having nothing else to say, Gangrel left the room as quietly as he entered, leaving Edge alone with his tears and insane babbling.
******
Christian turned and ran down a seemingly endless hallway, unshed tears clogging his vision and making him bounce from wall to wall. Behind him, two bedrooms away, Edge was curled in on himself atop his bed, mumbling incoherently and biting down on his knuckles to stifle his sobs. Their father had just left the room -- and now he was after the younger son.
Almost tripping over himself in his haste, Christian hurried to the stairs he could see at the end of the hallway. He stopped short with a strangled cry, panicking to see that only the top stair remained, the rest having rotted away years earlier. He clutched the banister for support, peering over the edge and making silent notes about how far the fall would be to the first floor and how he could manage to minimalize the damage done to his body.
He regretted looking over as soon as he did; there, waiting for him, was Edge, arms outstretched and grinning with the feral need that Christian had only seen from him while in withdrawal from his precious heroin. Behind him stood Gangrel, looking up and nodding in approval.
"Jump, Chrissy," Edge urged, the unnerving grin never slipping. "I'm here. I'll catch you. You'll be safe. I'll make sure no one hurts you."
The fantasy world flickered like the light from a dying candle, then vanished completely, replaced with the dull yellow light from a nearby lamp. Christian blinked several times, sleep disappearing rapidly but the nightmare still clinging to the back of his mind. A vague form could be made out against the far wall, huddled in a chair and just barely illuminated from the lamp.
"Edge?"
The figure stirred, and Christian noticed it was his brother watching over him. Oddly, the knowledge did nothing to soothe his nerves. "Good morning, Christian," Edge greeted, voice unusually low and disheartened even despite the sardonic half-grin on his lips. "Welcome to Hell."
"Wha . . ." He stilled, touching his chest tentatively and making a sour face. "Why's it so hard to breathe?"
Edge pulled himself out of the chair in a show of little more than long legs and messy hair, worn-out jeans hanging low on his narrow hips and excessively large sweatshirt pooling at the waistband. Christian noticed to himself with some small satisfaction that he looked as if he hadn't slept in a week.
Unaware of Christian's mental surveying of his appearance, Edge pushed his hair back and perched at the foot of the bed. Hundreds of thoughts raced through his head, all urging him to apologize profusely to his brother before Christian figured out his new self held certain advantages over his old, among them being incredible strength. Christian had a tendency to launch into a violent frenzy at a moment's notice; it disturbed Edge to no ends that Christian now had inhuman power to back that up.
"I'm sorry, Christian."
He hadn't been expecting Christian to reach out and kick him backwards off the bed. He landed on the floor with a thud, staring up at his brother with wide green eyes. Christian, meanwhile, just glared right back at him and made absolutely no move to help him to his feet. "Prick. Answer my question."
Reaching up to rub his chest that still ached from where Christian had kicked him none too gently, Edge turned his eyes to the ground he was still sitting on. "Because you don't need to." He risked a glance up at the bed to see Christian blinking stupidly back at him. "For all intents and purposes, Chris, you're . . . uh . . ."
"Dead?"
"As a doornail. Dead people don't have many uses for lungs." Thankfully, he added mentally, still massaging his sternum that very easily could have been crushed if Christian had realized his full potential yet.
"So . . . I don't need to breathe?"
"No. It takes some getting used to, I know."
Christian turned his head up to the ceiling, studying the wooden beams of the roof and praying for one of them to collapse on top of him. When that didn't happen, he went to the next obvious question -- "Buffy isn't going to attack us, is she?"
By then having finally gotten himself up off the floor, Edge stared incredulously at Christian, not completely sure of why he seemed to be taking the news of his transformation so easily. Then again, Edge really didn't want to set his brother's infamous temper off accidentally, so he kept his mouth shut except to answer questions. "Buffy's not real."
"Yeah, well, I didn't think vampires were, either." He paused long enough to scratch his nose. "So what can kill us?" Since Edge was caught off guard by the question and only stared back at him, confused, Christian rolled his eyes. "Holy water, silver bullets, wooden stakes, crosses, garlic, sunlight . . ."
Edge cautiously seated himself on the foot of the bed again, examining Christian's face to make sure he didn't plan on kicking him off again. "Most of that's just stories someone made up a long time ago."
"Like . . .?"
Edge shrugged, picking at the bare threads covering his knees where the jeans had fallen apart years earlier. "Honestly? As far as I know, stakes and sunlight are the only things that really do anything."
"You go out in the sun, though."
"I said it was true, Christian. I didn't say to what extent." He met Christian's curious blue eyes and forced himself to not run away to avoid the calm questioning that was completely unusual for Christian even under normal circumstances. "Direct sunlight for a long time will kill us. S'why I don't go out in daylight without looking like a friggin' eskimo."
"And the stakes?"
"Not much I can say about those. And don't ask me why that works and stuff like the holy water and shit doesn't, because I really don't know."
Christian nodded to himself. Then he kicked Edge off again, this time much more roughly. "Good. I'll make sure to go out at noon and throw myself onto a picket fence. Now get off my bed, asshole."
Well, even though he didn't seem in much of a good mood, he was still taking it better than Edge had anticipated. Of course, Edge noted to himself reluctantly, he was also still half-asleep and hadn't been given sufficient time to compose his argument. "Chris, look. I'm sorry about all this, okay? I just --"
"You're always sorry about something," Christian shot back with a scathing look in his eyes that stopped Edge cold. "You're sorry for dragging me into this, sorry for treating me like some fucking dog you can kick around that'll come begging back as soon as you pet it on the head," he went on, voice lowering dangerously and making his brother take an unconscious step backward. "Sometimes I think all this is just some sick game to you, like you're tryin' to see how much I can take before I snap."
"Christian, that's not --"
"Just shut up!" Christian shrieked wildly, voice hitching slightly; Edge backed off in response. "God. I can't . . . I don't even know where to begin this time, man. I don't know what to yell at you first about. Should I start with how you've kept this from me for, oh, about the past eight years or so?"
"It wasn't any of your business." Edge knew he was in trouble as soon as the words left his mouth. The way Christian sat up in bed and very nearly lunged for his throat was another indication of that.
"It wasn't? You fucking moron! Has all that hair dye soaked through to your brain or something?"
"I don't dye my hair . . ."
"Don't change the subject. Please, Edge, I'd love to hear your story this time about how it wasn't any of my business."
"I didn't mean it like that, Chris," Edge sighed quietly, knowing there was no way on Earth he was getting out of this easily. Christian just sat there staring at him, eyes hard and cold, and it was really starting to trouble him. "I didn't think there was any point in telling you because I didn't want you living your life in fear, never knowing if Gangrel was gonna be around the next corner waiting to steal you or something."
"Which wouldn't have happened at all if you wouldn't have mentioned me."
Edge shuffled his feet like a small child being reprimanded.
"You know," Christian started after a moment given to think the earlier statement over, a derisive smirk playing on his lips, "I *really* wish you wouldn't take it upon yourself to always be my savior and protector and everything. I'm twenty-six years old -- eternally so, thanks to you," he added bitterly, gratified to see Edge flinch and turn his attention to the floor, "so I think I'm capable of taking care of myself. You, on the other hand, seem convinced that I can't even tie my goddamned shoes without you being there to tell me you're sorry about something or other or give me that bullshit about trusting you."
"Chris --"
"Stop," Christian ordered, holding his hand up. That, normally, wouldn't have even warranted a pause for breath, but Edge knew better than to rile his brother up any worse than he already was. "Don't start with that speech about how you never meant to hurt me. I've heard that thing from you so many times I could recite it by heart. It'd probably mean more that way, too."
"Christian, please. Just listen to --"
"I'm so sick of listening to you! I've been listening to you my entire life, and where's that gotten me, huh? I'm sitting in some psycho's bedroom because you sold me out and didn't even have the balls to tell me about it!" Christian took a deep breath, unused lungs aching in response, but he ignored them and went on. "Jesus Christ. People always say I'm the clingy one."
"What?"
"You act like you need my approval for everything! You can't take a piss without apologizing to me for it!"
"Christian, you're rambling. Maybe you need to --"
"To trust you and you'll make everything better again, right?" Christian guessed caustically. Edge shook his head but wasn't given a chance to defend himself. "You know what? I bet my life would be a helluva lot easier if you would have just died with a little bit of dignity in that alley. But you took the coward's way out and now *I'm* paying for it. Where's the justice in that, Edge? Why should I trust you?"
"Because we're brothers..."
Christian shook his head vehemently, eyes still unusually dark and hateful. "No we're not. My brother died of a drug overdose in some back alley in Toronto." He fell back against the mattress and yanked the blanket up over his head, making it abundantly clear he had no intentions on continuing the argument.
Dejected and solemn, Edge made his way silently out of the room and climbed onto the ornate wooden railing along the staircase. His feet swung restlessly over the side, stopping suddenly when he heard a frustratingly familiar voice behind him.
"You're not planning on jumping, are you? Because if you do, it won't work. You'll just break some bones and probably leave a bad dent in the floor. And, with my luck, you'd break my new table as well."
"Fuck off, Gangrel. I'm not in the mood."
Gangrel chuckled to himself, adjusting the shirt sleeves at his wrists and leaning beside Edge against the banister. They stayed in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, broken by Gangrel's fingers tapping a rhythm out on the wood.
"Stop it."
Gangrel complied, but not without giving up the thoughts that drove him to do that in the first place. "He didn't murder you, so I'm assuming things went relatively well." He stopped with a crooked grin. "That, or you didn't see fit to tell him that he's much stronger now than before."
Though all sorts of angry replies came to mind, Edge dropped his head into his hands and let out a low groan. "He hates me, Grel. I've always been able to patch things up, but . . . this is different. I don't think I can fix it this time." He huffed lightly and rubbed at his eyes. "I think I've really fucked up this time."
"Hmm. I'm inclined to agree with you," Gangrel agreed, eyes glimmering at the desperate look Edge shot him. "You got yourself into this mess, boy. I can't always bail you out of every problem you make for yourself. Besides," he went on, "I've a dinner to attend. I'm leaving Michael and Thomas here," he announced in reference to the two other vampires who shared the house with him. "You boys play nice. I trust you and your brother won't burn my house down."
"Y'know, sometimes I don't know whether you really think you're funny or you act like this just to piss me off."
"Mysteries of life, such as it is. I left the phone number downstairs by the telephone incase you need to reach me for some reason -- but Christian waking up and deciding you deserve to have your ass handed to you is not a valid reason, sorry." Gangrel repositioned his shirt collar and then patted Edge on the cheek. "You boys take care and don't break too many valuables."
"Has he woken yet?" Gangrel asked quietly just incase, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. To his surprise, Edge didn't try to jump out of bed and kill him. Rather, he just shook his head slightly and made no effort to turn to look at his new visitor. "Maybe you should wake him up and let him feed. He's probably rather weak."
"I will when he wakes up on his own."
Gangrel nodded to himself, sitting down on the edge of the bed and peering over Edge's shoulder, a tiny grin pulling at his mouth to see how utterly nauseatingly cute the two of them looked together. "Funny."
"What?"
"I was just talking to myself. I hadn't realized how close you two were."
"I used to have to hold him like this when we were kids," Edge started abruptly, voice choking with tears he was making every move to hide. "We . . . our father, he, uh, had some issues. He used to get his kicks b-by fooling around with me. As far I know he didn't do anything like that to Christian, but I think it's just 'cause I was older. Sometimes Chris would come in and try to help me, and Brad -- that was our father -- would turn on him and just . . . just start beating him . . ." Edge trailed off, eyes squeezing shut to the point he saw bright lights flashing and dying behind his eyelids. "And I never helped him. I wanted to, but . . . but I was so scared of . . . Fuck. I don't know what I was scared of, exactly. I just knew I didn't want Brad to even know I was still there. It hurt so bad . . ." He paused, tears leaking out from the corners of his eyes. "Oh, God, Grel...All I've ever done is hurt him."
Caught at a momentary loss for words, Gangrel gave into the urge to play a father figure to Edge, an urge he typically squashed and jumped on whenever it arose, and gave a few awkward pats to Edge's head. "I wish I could make you see what a gift you've given him, lad. I know you don't understand right now, but maybe some day you will. You've given him eternal life, Edge, and he'll never feel pain again -- ever."
"Maybe not, but he won't feel . . . anything," Edge whispered, throat raw and cracked from having cried so much that night. "He won't feel anything. He'll just be cold and dead inside . . . like me."
"You really don't understand how very few people get this blessing, Edge. You have to know that a little trivial thing like a soul is a very small price to pay for the chance to live forever."
"We're not *living*, Gangrel," Edge ground out through clenched teeth. "I haven't *lived* in years."
"You're too young to appreciate all of this. Tell me you feel the same way after you live through your first century." Gangrel sighed lightly, threading a stray strand of Edge's hair through his fingers. "You're a very unusual person, Edge. I've always said that soft heart and conscience of yours are going to be your eventual downfall, and they will be. Someone some day is going to take advantage of that and it will destroy you." He paused, dropping the piece of hair between his fingers. "I've lived too long, seen too much, to really have much empathy for anything. I've seen wars ravage countries and families, plagues and famine destroy entire civilizations. I've seen human triumphs and failures and all of humanity's darkest sides come to power. I lost the ability to become emotionally attached to anything long ago. It's rare that one of our kind can hold onto his human side for even as long as you have.
"Sometimes I see you when you think no one's watching, laughing at jokes that temporarily make you forget what you are, crying because you know you can't change that, and I think you're a better person for it."
"Thank you, Confucious," Edge grumbled sorely, reaching a hand to swipe at his eyes before returning to rocking Christian in his arms.
Gangrel chuckled to himself, knowing Edge wasn't really in the mood for a good parental lecture. He watched in silence while Edge went on with his incessant mumbling. "Why didn't your mother stop all of what happened?"
Edge sniffled loudly and rolled his eyes. "She killed herself right after Christian was born."
"Oh." Gangrel winced; his parental lecture was going worse than he'd anticipated. "Perhaps we should take a field trip to go find your father. It can be Christian's first hunting experience."
"Can't."
"Why not? I think you both would enjoy it. I'd imagine it would be very therapeutic."
"No, Gangrel. We can't because I killed him." Edge barely glanced over his shoulder, not surprised to see Gangrel's wide eyes fixed curiously on him. "He was hurting Christian. I laid in my bed and listened to it for a while, but I . . . h-he just kept screaming and . . . I knew where he kept his gun. I'd never fired one before," Edge added as something of an afterthought, "but I knew if I didn't kill him then either Christian or I was going to die that night. So I-I shot him. I kept shooting him until I ran out of bullets, and wh-when the cops showed up I was still just standing there pulling the trigger. They . . . they saw what he'd been doing to me an' Chris and I guess . . . I guess they just . . . felt sorry for us. A little creative dirty cop work and they just completely overlooked what I'd done.
"They managed to track down my mom's sister and talk her into taking us in, but I knew nothing was going to change, really. It was still going to just be me an' Christian. It was always just the two of us. He's all I've ever had. He's the last person I'd ever wanna hurt and . . . and he's the person I've hurt most in the world."
"You're much too hard on yourself, lad. You need to learn that mistakes happen and dwelling on them solves nothing."
"Not everyone's mistakes destroy someone else's life."
Having nothing else to say, Gangrel left the room as quietly as he entered, leaving Edge alone with his tears and insane babbling.
******
Christian turned and ran down a seemingly endless hallway, unshed tears clogging his vision and making him bounce from wall to wall. Behind him, two bedrooms away, Edge was curled in on himself atop his bed, mumbling incoherently and biting down on his knuckles to stifle his sobs. Their father had just left the room -- and now he was after the younger son.
Almost tripping over himself in his haste, Christian hurried to the stairs he could see at the end of the hallway. He stopped short with a strangled cry, panicking to see that only the top stair remained, the rest having rotted away years earlier. He clutched the banister for support, peering over the edge and making silent notes about how far the fall would be to the first floor and how he could manage to minimalize the damage done to his body.
He regretted looking over as soon as he did; there, waiting for him, was Edge, arms outstretched and grinning with the feral need that Christian had only seen from him while in withdrawal from his precious heroin. Behind him stood Gangrel, looking up and nodding in approval.
"Jump, Chrissy," Edge urged, the unnerving grin never slipping. "I'm here. I'll catch you. You'll be safe. I'll make sure no one hurts you."
The fantasy world flickered like the light from a dying candle, then vanished completely, replaced with the dull yellow light from a nearby lamp. Christian blinked several times, sleep disappearing rapidly but the nightmare still clinging to the back of his mind. A vague form could be made out against the far wall, huddled in a chair and just barely illuminated from the lamp.
"Edge?"
The figure stirred, and Christian noticed it was his brother watching over him. Oddly, the knowledge did nothing to soothe his nerves. "Good morning, Christian," Edge greeted, voice unusually low and disheartened even despite the sardonic half-grin on his lips. "Welcome to Hell."
"Wha . . ." He stilled, touching his chest tentatively and making a sour face. "Why's it so hard to breathe?"
Edge pulled himself out of the chair in a show of little more than long legs and messy hair, worn-out jeans hanging low on his narrow hips and excessively large sweatshirt pooling at the waistband. Christian noticed to himself with some small satisfaction that he looked as if he hadn't slept in a week.
Unaware of Christian's mental surveying of his appearance, Edge pushed his hair back and perched at the foot of the bed. Hundreds of thoughts raced through his head, all urging him to apologize profusely to his brother before Christian figured out his new self held certain advantages over his old, among them being incredible strength. Christian had a tendency to launch into a violent frenzy at a moment's notice; it disturbed Edge to no ends that Christian now had inhuman power to back that up.
"I'm sorry, Christian."
He hadn't been expecting Christian to reach out and kick him backwards off the bed. He landed on the floor with a thud, staring up at his brother with wide green eyes. Christian, meanwhile, just glared right back at him and made absolutely no move to help him to his feet. "Prick. Answer my question."
Reaching up to rub his chest that still ached from where Christian had kicked him none too gently, Edge turned his eyes to the ground he was still sitting on. "Because you don't need to." He risked a glance up at the bed to see Christian blinking stupidly back at him. "For all intents and purposes, Chris, you're . . . uh . . ."
"Dead?"
"As a doornail. Dead people don't have many uses for lungs." Thankfully, he added mentally, still massaging his sternum that very easily could have been crushed if Christian had realized his full potential yet.
"So . . . I don't need to breathe?"
"No. It takes some getting used to, I know."
Christian turned his head up to the ceiling, studying the wooden beams of the roof and praying for one of them to collapse on top of him. When that didn't happen, he went to the next obvious question -- "Buffy isn't going to attack us, is she?"
By then having finally gotten himself up off the floor, Edge stared incredulously at Christian, not completely sure of why he seemed to be taking the news of his transformation so easily. Then again, Edge really didn't want to set his brother's infamous temper off accidentally, so he kept his mouth shut except to answer questions. "Buffy's not real."
"Yeah, well, I didn't think vampires were, either." He paused long enough to scratch his nose. "So what can kill us?" Since Edge was caught off guard by the question and only stared back at him, confused, Christian rolled his eyes. "Holy water, silver bullets, wooden stakes, crosses, garlic, sunlight . . ."
Edge cautiously seated himself on the foot of the bed again, examining Christian's face to make sure he didn't plan on kicking him off again. "Most of that's just stories someone made up a long time ago."
"Like . . .?"
Edge shrugged, picking at the bare threads covering his knees where the jeans had fallen apart years earlier. "Honestly? As far as I know, stakes and sunlight are the only things that really do anything."
"You go out in the sun, though."
"I said it was true, Christian. I didn't say to what extent." He met Christian's curious blue eyes and forced himself to not run away to avoid the calm questioning that was completely unusual for Christian even under normal circumstances. "Direct sunlight for a long time will kill us. S'why I don't go out in daylight without looking like a friggin' eskimo."
"And the stakes?"
"Not much I can say about those. And don't ask me why that works and stuff like the holy water and shit doesn't, because I really don't know."
Christian nodded to himself. Then he kicked Edge off again, this time much more roughly. "Good. I'll make sure to go out at noon and throw myself onto a picket fence. Now get off my bed, asshole."
Well, even though he didn't seem in much of a good mood, he was still taking it better than Edge had anticipated. Of course, Edge noted to himself reluctantly, he was also still half-asleep and hadn't been given sufficient time to compose his argument. "Chris, look. I'm sorry about all this, okay? I just --"
"You're always sorry about something," Christian shot back with a scathing look in his eyes that stopped Edge cold. "You're sorry for dragging me into this, sorry for treating me like some fucking dog you can kick around that'll come begging back as soon as you pet it on the head," he went on, voice lowering dangerously and making his brother take an unconscious step backward. "Sometimes I think all this is just some sick game to you, like you're tryin' to see how much I can take before I snap."
"Christian, that's not --"
"Just shut up!" Christian shrieked wildly, voice hitching slightly; Edge backed off in response. "God. I can't . . . I don't even know where to begin this time, man. I don't know what to yell at you first about. Should I start with how you've kept this from me for, oh, about the past eight years or so?"
"It wasn't any of your business." Edge knew he was in trouble as soon as the words left his mouth. The way Christian sat up in bed and very nearly lunged for his throat was another indication of that.
"It wasn't? You fucking moron! Has all that hair dye soaked through to your brain or something?"
"I don't dye my hair . . ."
"Don't change the subject. Please, Edge, I'd love to hear your story this time about how it wasn't any of my business."
"I didn't mean it like that, Chris," Edge sighed quietly, knowing there was no way on Earth he was getting out of this easily. Christian just sat there staring at him, eyes hard and cold, and it was really starting to trouble him. "I didn't think there was any point in telling you because I didn't want you living your life in fear, never knowing if Gangrel was gonna be around the next corner waiting to steal you or something."
"Which wouldn't have happened at all if you wouldn't have mentioned me."
Edge shuffled his feet like a small child being reprimanded.
"You know," Christian started after a moment given to think the earlier statement over, a derisive smirk playing on his lips, "I *really* wish you wouldn't take it upon yourself to always be my savior and protector and everything. I'm twenty-six years old -- eternally so, thanks to you," he added bitterly, gratified to see Edge flinch and turn his attention to the floor, "so I think I'm capable of taking care of myself. You, on the other hand, seem convinced that I can't even tie my goddamned shoes without you being there to tell me you're sorry about something or other or give me that bullshit about trusting you."
"Chris --"
"Stop," Christian ordered, holding his hand up. That, normally, wouldn't have even warranted a pause for breath, but Edge knew better than to rile his brother up any worse than he already was. "Don't start with that speech about how you never meant to hurt me. I've heard that thing from you so many times I could recite it by heart. It'd probably mean more that way, too."
"Christian, please. Just listen to --"
"I'm so sick of listening to you! I've been listening to you my entire life, and where's that gotten me, huh? I'm sitting in some psycho's bedroom because you sold me out and didn't even have the balls to tell me about it!" Christian took a deep breath, unused lungs aching in response, but he ignored them and went on. "Jesus Christ. People always say I'm the clingy one."
"What?"
"You act like you need my approval for everything! You can't take a piss without apologizing to me for it!"
"Christian, you're rambling. Maybe you need to --"
"To trust you and you'll make everything better again, right?" Christian guessed caustically. Edge shook his head but wasn't given a chance to defend himself. "You know what? I bet my life would be a helluva lot easier if you would have just died with a little bit of dignity in that alley. But you took the coward's way out and now *I'm* paying for it. Where's the justice in that, Edge? Why should I trust you?"
"Because we're brothers..."
Christian shook his head vehemently, eyes still unusually dark and hateful. "No we're not. My brother died of a drug overdose in some back alley in Toronto." He fell back against the mattress and yanked the blanket up over his head, making it abundantly clear he had no intentions on continuing the argument.
Dejected and solemn, Edge made his way silently out of the room and climbed onto the ornate wooden railing along the staircase. His feet swung restlessly over the side, stopping suddenly when he heard a frustratingly familiar voice behind him.
"You're not planning on jumping, are you? Because if you do, it won't work. You'll just break some bones and probably leave a bad dent in the floor. And, with my luck, you'd break my new table as well."
"Fuck off, Gangrel. I'm not in the mood."
Gangrel chuckled to himself, adjusting the shirt sleeves at his wrists and leaning beside Edge against the banister. They stayed in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, broken by Gangrel's fingers tapping a rhythm out on the wood.
"Stop it."
Gangrel complied, but not without giving up the thoughts that drove him to do that in the first place. "He didn't murder you, so I'm assuming things went relatively well." He stopped with a crooked grin. "That, or you didn't see fit to tell him that he's much stronger now than before."
Though all sorts of angry replies came to mind, Edge dropped his head into his hands and let out a low groan. "He hates me, Grel. I've always been able to patch things up, but . . . this is different. I don't think I can fix it this time." He huffed lightly and rubbed at his eyes. "I think I've really fucked up this time."
"Hmm. I'm inclined to agree with you," Gangrel agreed, eyes glimmering at the desperate look Edge shot him. "You got yourself into this mess, boy. I can't always bail you out of every problem you make for yourself. Besides," he went on, "I've a dinner to attend. I'm leaving Michael and Thomas here," he announced in reference to the two other vampires who shared the house with him. "You boys play nice. I trust you and your brother won't burn my house down."
"Y'know, sometimes I don't know whether you really think you're funny or you act like this just to piss me off."
"Mysteries of life, such as it is. I left the phone number downstairs by the telephone incase you need to reach me for some reason -- but Christian waking up and deciding you deserve to have your ass handed to you is not a valid reason, sorry." Gangrel repositioned his shirt collar and then patted Edge on the cheek. "You boys take care and don't break too many valuables."