"It's been five days, Gangrel."
Startled by the voice interrupting the blissful silence, Gangrel looked up from where he sat at the table looking over, of all things, a Lowe's catalog. Edge stood in the doorway, appearing remarkably more vulnerable than Gangrel could ever recall seeing him before.
Edge huffed, blowing a stray strand of hair from his face and collapsing into the chair across the table from Gangrel, straddling it backwards to rest his arms over the back of it. He opened his mouth to continue his rant, noticed what Gangrel was looking at, and frowned.
"What are you doing?"
"Thinking of remodeling the upstairs bathroom. It's . . . drab."
"Are you going into interior decorating or something?"
"I'm three hundred and eleven years old, Edge. I have to be open to change." He closed the catalog and pushed it to the side of the table, then took a slow sip from the cup of coffee beside him. "Okay, so . . . five days . . ."
Edge wasn't entirely certain how to get back on his train of thought. It'd been pretty much shattered by the image of Gangrel pretending to be the perfectly domestic fashion mogul. He shook his head and dropped it to rest atop his folded arms. "It's been five days since you . . . I . . ." He kicked the table leg in frustration. "Since we changed Christian."
"I'm aware of that. And please don't kick my table, Edge. It predates the Civil War. You can imagine how hard it would be to replace."
Edge, not having anything to say in response, wisely ignored him. "He hasn't done anything, Grel. He won't eat, he won't drink, the only time I've seen him go to the bathroom is to try to slit his wrist, he . . . I can't get him to feed . . . He's hellbent on killing himself and I don't know what to do."
"If he wants to throw it all away, let him." Gangrel shrugged at the angry look Edge shot him. "What? I'm growing very tired of babysitting the both of you. My life was rather uneventful until you two decided to move into my home."
"You chased us down!"
"...I did, didn't I? My mistake." Gangrel sighed quietly and moved across the kitchen to the coffee pot, holding it out to Edge. "Coffee?"
"Gangrel, c'mon. I don't want to lose him again."
"Do you intend on forcing him to feed?" Gangrel set his coffee mug on the counter, turning to see Edge watching him. "It's my understanding that you've made the decisions for both of you for quite some time. I think he would appreciate being able to do at least one thing on his own."
"He's dying!"
Gangrel groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose and glaring at Edge. "You're not going to let me out of this easily, are you?" Given only a shaking head in response, Gangrel threw his hands up in defeat. "Fine, fine. Let's go try to talk to him. I need to see if the bathroom would look better with burgundy or emerald green tiling anyway."
Moments later they stood together in the guest bedroom that Christian seemed to have claimed as his own. Heavy drapes had been pulled tight across the windows, submerging the room in complete darkness that was broken only by the light on in the bathroom. The bed sheets and covers were in a messy pile on the floor, while Christian lay shivering slightly on the mattress.
"If you're trying to gain sympathy from me, little one, it's not exactly working," Gangrel pointed out, arms folded over his chest. Christian lazily turned his eyes up to meet his. "I understand that you're having some . . . troubles with adjusting, but what's done is done and I can't change that. No one can. Now you can lay here and pity yourself until the end of time, it really makes no difference to me, but your brother has quite an affection for you." Realizing that Christian was making no attempt to answer or even pay much attention, Gangrel nudged Edge and pointed to the bed. "I'll hold him if you want to --"
"No," Edge interrupted, shaking his head and sending long hair tumbling into his face. "I've taken every choice away from him for so long . . . if he wants to die, I'll let him. I don't have to like it, though."
Gangrel blinked. Twice. Three times. "You brought me all the way up here to change your mind and let him die? Honestly, boy, I wonder sometimes why what deity I've pissed off to deserve you." Muttering under his breath, he turned on his heel and left the room, leaving the brothers in stifling quiet. Edge walked to the bed and settled himself at the headboard, pulling a greatly weakened Christian into his arms and resting his own head atop Christian's.
"Don't do this, Chris, please," he begged, feeling the unsteady rising and falling of his brother's chest because he refused to accept the fact his lungs no longer worked on their own. "Christian, I . . . Look. I know I've really fucked things up, okay? We both know that. I can't change anything that's happened with us, no matter how much I wish I could. But you're my little brother, man. We've fought together, laughed together, cried together, gotten drunk together . . . Everyone always thinks you're the follower, but we both know you're what holds me together most of the time. I don't know what I'd do without you, Chris, I really don't. I-I don't want you to leave me."
"I didn't want this," Christian choked out hoarsely.
"I know you didn't. I didn't either, but like Grel said -- what's done is done. I can't make up for all the things I've screwed up up to this point, but I promise, Chris . . . I promise, I can start trying to make things right." He paused, pressing a kiss to the top of Christian's head and forcing his tears back. "I know I haven't given you any reason to do so before, but I'm asking you to trust me. I'm not lying or hiding anything now, and I don't have any reason to mislead you. Please, Christian . . . don't do this. One more chance, man, that's all I want. Just one more."
Christian turned the plea over and over again in his mind, examining it for the smallest hint of betrayal in it and disappointed to find none. He needed a reason to not let Edge's seemingly heartfelt speech get to him. Left without one, though, he was helpless to resisting; he nodded slowly, groaning when he felt himself being pulled further up his brother's body, his head being tilted to the side just enough to fit into the crook of Edge's neck.
"Drink."
"I don't know what to do . . ."
"Yes, you do." For proof, Edge brought a hand around to tap at the long vein running along the side of the throat. "You know."
Instincts he didn't even know he had kicking in, Christian winced in pain as the new fangs in his mouth elongated just enough to pierce the skin beneath his mouth. The rush of blood on his tongue was an immediate shock, almost enough to make him jump back in horror, but once it was swallowed it sparked a fire raging out of control within him. He latched onto the wound, sucking from it quicker than his throat could handle; blood trickled in thin trails from the corners of his mouth, dripping down Edge's shoulder and embedding themselves into the fibers of his shirt. All too soon he felt Edge's hands on his shoulders, pushing him away and indicating that he'd had enough.
Christian watched in barely concealed fascination as Edge pricked an index finger on one of his sharp fangs, then reached back to close the wound. Picking up the excess blood from his mouth and licking it from his fingertips, he smirked to himself as Edge swooned uneasily back and forth and blinked rapidly up at the ceiling. "You okay?"
"Y-Yeah. I'm a l'il dizzy, but I'm fine." He opened his eyes hesitantly. "You look a lot better already."
"So you're okay?"
"Yeah."
"Good."
Edge didn't have time to respond before Christian punched him hard in the jaw. He checked to make certain his head hadn't spun completely around, then turned incredulous eyes to his brother.
"What the fuck! Christian, what's --"
"That's for getting me into this whole mess." He crawled up the bed, close enough to ram his knee harshly into Edge's crotch, making him scream in a laughably higher voice than normal. "That's for lying to me." To finish, Christian reached up and grabbed a handful of Edge's hair, slamming his head back into the headboard a couple times. "And that's just for being an asshole." Another slam. "And for setting my English term paper on fire in eleventh grade." Another slam. "And for being older." Another slam. "And for stealing my girlfriend in twelfth grade."
"Alright, Christian, I think he's clear on why you're upset," Gangrel noted from the doorway. Christian reluctantly let go of Edge's hair, backing up and clenching his fists angrily at his sides. He shot a wary look at Gangrel, admittedly a bit startled to see the other man trying unsuccessfully to hide his grin. He walked to the bed and loomed over Edge's face, holding up three fingers. "How many?"
Edge grumbled something unintelligible under his breath and reached behind him to clutch his head. "Fuck you. Both of you."
"Well. Assuming he doesn't have any brain damage, I think he'll live."
"He'd damn well better live. I've still got a whole list of things to pay him back for," Christian muttered sorely. Gangrel laughed, something Edge didn't appreciate in the least.
"You're both vampires now, lad. You've got the rest of eternity to beat each other up if that's really what you want." He shook his head in amusement. "Times like these, I'm quite thankful I was an only child."
******
Christian was faintly aware of someone talking to themselves nearby, but he'd be damned before he got up to see what was going on. It was . . . he rolled over to look at the alarm clock on the bedside table. It was just past two a.m. and some idiot was in his bathroom, making all sorts of ungodly noises and it was really beginning to irritate him.
When he finally reached his breaking point, he threw the cover back and stormed into the bathroom, wincing when the harsh yellow light hit his eyes as soon as he opened the door. To his credit, he couldn't have been expecting Gangrel to be sitting in the floor, two small portions of porcelain in either hand and a serious expression on his face.
"It's two in the fucking morning, you nutjob. Why are you bein' so loud and what the hell are you doing?" Christian asked angrily, still blinking the sleep from his eyes. Gangrel didn't even so much as look up.
"I know you're new to this and all, but typically the night hours are when we're supposed to be up and about. I'm not being loud, you're just starting to let your senses increase like they should. And incase it wasn't obvious, I'm comparing tiling samples. Do you think I should go with burgundy or dark green?" He held them up for inspection, frowning when Christian blinked and then let out a disgusted snort, heading back into the bedroom. "You're as useful as your brother. You know, immortality isn't just about living off blood! You need to be open to change as well!"
Christian, however, wasn't even in the room to keep listening. He was instead slipping quietly down the stairs, unnoticed as he stepped into the rec room and noticed his brother on one end of the couch, a can of Mountain Dew in one hand and the other hand rifling through an open bag of chips. He moved his hand from the chips to grab the remote, flipping through endless infomercials and late night Discovery Channel programming, pausing when he happened across a sex hotline ad. Seeing a group of singing blondes in their lingerie was too much; Christian snorted. Loudly.
"It's the most action I've seen in weeks, so either go back to bed or shut up and sit down."
Christian sighed and sat down on the other end of the couch, tucking his legs beneath him. "Gangrel's driving me nuts."
"Still remodeling?"
"He went from vampire badass to Martha Stewart when I wasn't watching."
Edge chuckled, offering the bag of chips to Christian. "Want some? They're ruffled."
"Huh uh."
"'Kay." Edge shrugged carelessly and munched not so quietly on a handful. A number flashed across the screen, and he flashed an equally as bright grin across at his brother. "I dare you to call."
"Hey, you're the one in here whacking off to commercials. I'm staying out of all this."
"I am not, you pervert." Edge kicked Christian in the side just for good measure. "Freak."
"Blood-sucker."
"Bimbo."
"Strung-out junkie fag."
Edge tilted his head and offered a crooked smile. "You win."
"Like always."
"Well, I knew you wouldn't do it anyway."
"Damn straight. I'd hate having to explain to Grel how 1-800-HOT-LADY showed up on his phone bill."
Edge let out a laugh at that, flipping the channel once the commercial ended and stopping when he found an old episode of Bewitched on Nick at Nite. "We could probably convince him he got drunk and called."
Christian nodded, falling silent except for the occasional short laugh when Samantha caused more mischief on the television screen. He risked a glance to his left, finding Edge completely engrossed in the show. "No hard feelings about what happened earlier, right?"
"Oh, sure, right. You just kicked my ass after I donated blood. No hard feelings." Though his words were hard, his voice was lighthearted and obviously carefree. "You couldn't hurt me if you tried to, dweeboid."
"Hey! Don't steal my phrases." A thoughtful pause. "Dyed blond cocksucker."
"Hey now, I don't dye my hair. I already told you that," Edge shot back defensively. "Y'know, this is how it should be."
"What's that?"
"Us just sitting here insulting each other like two dumbass teenagers. I've missed this." They fell into silence again, and when Edge spoke his voice held a much more serious tone than before. "Chris, um . . . how do you feel?"
"Like hurting something."
"No, I mean . . . with what happened a few days ago," Edge corrected, glancing up through long lashes to see Christian staring blankly at him. "With Thomas and --"
"I don't wanna talk about that," Christian interrupted sharply. He huffed and fell back against the couch cushions. "Far as I'm concerned, it's over and done with."
"Chris --"
"Just drop it, okay?" He waited until Edge nodded before he spoke again. "You know, we're going to have to go back to work eventually."
"Yeah, I know. I don't want to, though. I mean, I like it," he clarified at the odd look Christian gave him, "but I don't feel right letting you fend for yourself yet. You don't know how to hunt, you don't know how to fly or use your senses right or anything. . . it's like leaving a little baby on the street."
"Gee, thanks. It's good to see you still have faith in me."
"You know what I mean."
Christian rolled his eyes and propped his feet up on the coffee table in front of them. "Please. How hard can it be? I just go to a steakhouse and order something rare."
"And what about when there's not a Texas Roadhouse nearby?"
"Then I'll go hungry."
"Moron."
"Stupid poo-licker." Christian grinned innocently. "See? That's why our team was awesome -- I had the best insults."
"Whatever."
"See?" He fell silent, drumming his fingers restlessly along the arm of the couch. When he turned back around, he saw Edge's eyes fixed curiously on him, waiting for him to make the next move. "Fine. Let's go hunting."
"You really want to?"
"Yeah. I really want to."
There was a moment of silence given to careful thought, then Edge nodded and set the can of Mountain Dew on the table. "Great. Get your shoes on, assmunch."
"Did you just call me --"
"I'm not waiting all night."
Christian looked down at the ground, to his feet with the faded gray socks, and then back up to Edge. "I...I've missed you, man."
Face softening somewhat, Edge checked a beaming smile and settled instead for a small grin. "I've missed you, too. Now go get your shoes. I'm hungry."
Startled by the voice interrupting the blissful silence, Gangrel looked up from where he sat at the table looking over, of all things, a Lowe's catalog. Edge stood in the doorway, appearing remarkably more vulnerable than Gangrel could ever recall seeing him before.
Edge huffed, blowing a stray strand of hair from his face and collapsing into the chair across the table from Gangrel, straddling it backwards to rest his arms over the back of it. He opened his mouth to continue his rant, noticed what Gangrel was looking at, and frowned.
"What are you doing?"
"Thinking of remodeling the upstairs bathroom. It's . . . drab."
"Are you going into interior decorating or something?"
"I'm three hundred and eleven years old, Edge. I have to be open to change." He closed the catalog and pushed it to the side of the table, then took a slow sip from the cup of coffee beside him. "Okay, so . . . five days . . ."
Edge wasn't entirely certain how to get back on his train of thought. It'd been pretty much shattered by the image of Gangrel pretending to be the perfectly domestic fashion mogul. He shook his head and dropped it to rest atop his folded arms. "It's been five days since you . . . I . . ." He kicked the table leg in frustration. "Since we changed Christian."
"I'm aware of that. And please don't kick my table, Edge. It predates the Civil War. You can imagine how hard it would be to replace."
Edge, not having anything to say in response, wisely ignored him. "He hasn't done anything, Grel. He won't eat, he won't drink, the only time I've seen him go to the bathroom is to try to slit his wrist, he . . . I can't get him to feed . . . He's hellbent on killing himself and I don't know what to do."
"If he wants to throw it all away, let him." Gangrel shrugged at the angry look Edge shot him. "What? I'm growing very tired of babysitting the both of you. My life was rather uneventful until you two decided to move into my home."
"You chased us down!"
"...I did, didn't I? My mistake." Gangrel sighed quietly and moved across the kitchen to the coffee pot, holding it out to Edge. "Coffee?"
"Gangrel, c'mon. I don't want to lose him again."
"Do you intend on forcing him to feed?" Gangrel set his coffee mug on the counter, turning to see Edge watching him. "It's my understanding that you've made the decisions for both of you for quite some time. I think he would appreciate being able to do at least one thing on his own."
"He's dying!"
Gangrel groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose and glaring at Edge. "You're not going to let me out of this easily, are you?" Given only a shaking head in response, Gangrel threw his hands up in defeat. "Fine, fine. Let's go try to talk to him. I need to see if the bathroom would look better with burgundy or emerald green tiling anyway."
Moments later they stood together in the guest bedroom that Christian seemed to have claimed as his own. Heavy drapes had been pulled tight across the windows, submerging the room in complete darkness that was broken only by the light on in the bathroom. The bed sheets and covers were in a messy pile on the floor, while Christian lay shivering slightly on the mattress.
"If you're trying to gain sympathy from me, little one, it's not exactly working," Gangrel pointed out, arms folded over his chest. Christian lazily turned his eyes up to meet his. "I understand that you're having some . . . troubles with adjusting, but what's done is done and I can't change that. No one can. Now you can lay here and pity yourself until the end of time, it really makes no difference to me, but your brother has quite an affection for you." Realizing that Christian was making no attempt to answer or even pay much attention, Gangrel nudged Edge and pointed to the bed. "I'll hold him if you want to --"
"No," Edge interrupted, shaking his head and sending long hair tumbling into his face. "I've taken every choice away from him for so long . . . if he wants to die, I'll let him. I don't have to like it, though."
Gangrel blinked. Twice. Three times. "You brought me all the way up here to change your mind and let him die? Honestly, boy, I wonder sometimes why what deity I've pissed off to deserve you." Muttering under his breath, he turned on his heel and left the room, leaving the brothers in stifling quiet. Edge walked to the bed and settled himself at the headboard, pulling a greatly weakened Christian into his arms and resting his own head atop Christian's.
"Don't do this, Chris, please," he begged, feeling the unsteady rising and falling of his brother's chest because he refused to accept the fact his lungs no longer worked on their own. "Christian, I . . . Look. I know I've really fucked things up, okay? We both know that. I can't change anything that's happened with us, no matter how much I wish I could. But you're my little brother, man. We've fought together, laughed together, cried together, gotten drunk together . . . Everyone always thinks you're the follower, but we both know you're what holds me together most of the time. I don't know what I'd do without you, Chris, I really don't. I-I don't want you to leave me."
"I didn't want this," Christian choked out hoarsely.
"I know you didn't. I didn't either, but like Grel said -- what's done is done. I can't make up for all the things I've screwed up up to this point, but I promise, Chris . . . I promise, I can start trying to make things right." He paused, pressing a kiss to the top of Christian's head and forcing his tears back. "I know I haven't given you any reason to do so before, but I'm asking you to trust me. I'm not lying or hiding anything now, and I don't have any reason to mislead you. Please, Christian . . . don't do this. One more chance, man, that's all I want. Just one more."
Christian turned the plea over and over again in his mind, examining it for the smallest hint of betrayal in it and disappointed to find none. He needed a reason to not let Edge's seemingly heartfelt speech get to him. Left without one, though, he was helpless to resisting; he nodded slowly, groaning when he felt himself being pulled further up his brother's body, his head being tilted to the side just enough to fit into the crook of Edge's neck.
"Drink."
"I don't know what to do . . ."
"Yes, you do." For proof, Edge brought a hand around to tap at the long vein running along the side of the throat. "You know."
Instincts he didn't even know he had kicking in, Christian winced in pain as the new fangs in his mouth elongated just enough to pierce the skin beneath his mouth. The rush of blood on his tongue was an immediate shock, almost enough to make him jump back in horror, but once it was swallowed it sparked a fire raging out of control within him. He latched onto the wound, sucking from it quicker than his throat could handle; blood trickled in thin trails from the corners of his mouth, dripping down Edge's shoulder and embedding themselves into the fibers of his shirt. All too soon he felt Edge's hands on his shoulders, pushing him away and indicating that he'd had enough.
Christian watched in barely concealed fascination as Edge pricked an index finger on one of his sharp fangs, then reached back to close the wound. Picking up the excess blood from his mouth and licking it from his fingertips, he smirked to himself as Edge swooned uneasily back and forth and blinked rapidly up at the ceiling. "You okay?"
"Y-Yeah. I'm a l'il dizzy, but I'm fine." He opened his eyes hesitantly. "You look a lot better already."
"So you're okay?"
"Yeah."
"Good."
Edge didn't have time to respond before Christian punched him hard in the jaw. He checked to make certain his head hadn't spun completely around, then turned incredulous eyes to his brother.
"What the fuck! Christian, what's --"
"That's for getting me into this whole mess." He crawled up the bed, close enough to ram his knee harshly into Edge's crotch, making him scream in a laughably higher voice than normal. "That's for lying to me." To finish, Christian reached up and grabbed a handful of Edge's hair, slamming his head back into the headboard a couple times. "And that's just for being an asshole." Another slam. "And for setting my English term paper on fire in eleventh grade." Another slam. "And for being older." Another slam. "And for stealing my girlfriend in twelfth grade."
"Alright, Christian, I think he's clear on why you're upset," Gangrel noted from the doorway. Christian reluctantly let go of Edge's hair, backing up and clenching his fists angrily at his sides. He shot a wary look at Gangrel, admittedly a bit startled to see the other man trying unsuccessfully to hide his grin. He walked to the bed and loomed over Edge's face, holding up three fingers. "How many?"
Edge grumbled something unintelligible under his breath and reached behind him to clutch his head. "Fuck you. Both of you."
"Well. Assuming he doesn't have any brain damage, I think he'll live."
"He'd damn well better live. I've still got a whole list of things to pay him back for," Christian muttered sorely. Gangrel laughed, something Edge didn't appreciate in the least.
"You're both vampires now, lad. You've got the rest of eternity to beat each other up if that's really what you want." He shook his head in amusement. "Times like these, I'm quite thankful I was an only child."
******
Christian was faintly aware of someone talking to themselves nearby, but he'd be damned before he got up to see what was going on. It was . . . he rolled over to look at the alarm clock on the bedside table. It was just past two a.m. and some idiot was in his bathroom, making all sorts of ungodly noises and it was really beginning to irritate him.
When he finally reached his breaking point, he threw the cover back and stormed into the bathroom, wincing when the harsh yellow light hit his eyes as soon as he opened the door. To his credit, he couldn't have been expecting Gangrel to be sitting in the floor, two small portions of porcelain in either hand and a serious expression on his face.
"It's two in the fucking morning, you nutjob. Why are you bein' so loud and what the hell are you doing?" Christian asked angrily, still blinking the sleep from his eyes. Gangrel didn't even so much as look up.
"I know you're new to this and all, but typically the night hours are when we're supposed to be up and about. I'm not being loud, you're just starting to let your senses increase like they should. And incase it wasn't obvious, I'm comparing tiling samples. Do you think I should go with burgundy or dark green?" He held them up for inspection, frowning when Christian blinked and then let out a disgusted snort, heading back into the bedroom. "You're as useful as your brother. You know, immortality isn't just about living off blood! You need to be open to change as well!"
Christian, however, wasn't even in the room to keep listening. He was instead slipping quietly down the stairs, unnoticed as he stepped into the rec room and noticed his brother on one end of the couch, a can of Mountain Dew in one hand and the other hand rifling through an open bag of chips. He moved his hand from the chips to grab the remote, flipping through endless infomercials and late night Discovery Channel programming, pausing when he happened across a sex hotline ad. Seeing a group of singing blondes in their lingerie was too much; Christian snorted. Loudly.
"It's the most action I've seen in weeks, so either go back to bed or shut up and sit down."
Christian sighed and sat down on the other end of the couch, tucking his legs beneath him. "Gangrel's driving me nuts."
"Still remodeling?"
"He went from vampire badass to Martha Stewart when I wasn't watching."
Edge chuckled, offering the bag of chips to Christian. "Want some? They're ruffled."
"Huh uh."
"'Kay." Edge shrugged carelessly and munched not so quietly on a handful. A number flashed across the screen, and he flashed an equally as bright grin across at his brother. "I dare you to call."
"Hey, you're the one in here whacking off to commercials. I'm staying out of all this."
"I am not, you pervert." Edge kicked Christian in the side just for good measure. "Freak."
"Blood-sucker."
"Bimbo."
"Strung-out junkie fag."
Edge tilted his head and offered a crooked smile. "You win."
"Like always."
"Well, I knew you wouldn't do it anyway."
"Damn straight. I'd hate having to explain to Grel how 1-800-HOT-LADY showed up on his phone bill."
Edge let out a laugh at that, flipping the channel once the commercial ended and stopping when he found an old episode of Bewitched on Nick at Nite. "We could probably convince him he got drunk and called."
Christian nodded, falling silent except for the occasional short laugh when Samantha caused more mischief on the television screen. He risked a glance to his left, finding Edge completely engrossed in the show. "No hard feelings about what happened earlier, right?"
"Oh, sure, right. You just kicked my ass after I donated blood. No hard feelings." Though his words were hard, his voice was lighthearted and obviously carefree. "You couldn't hurt me if you tried to, dweeboid."
"Hey! Don't steal my phrases." A thoughtful pause. "Dyed blond cocksucker."
"Hey now, I don't dye my hair. I already told you that," Edge shot back defensively. "Y'know, this is how it should be."
"What's that?"
"Us just sitting here insulting each other like two dumbass teenagers. I've missed this." They fell into silence again, and when Edge spoke his voice held a much more serious tone than before. "Chris, um . . . how do you feel?"
"Like hurting something."
"No, I mean . . . with what happened a few days ago," Edge corrected, glancing up through long lashes to see Christian staring blankly at him. "With Thomas and --"
"I don't wanna talk about that," Christian interrupted sharply. He huffed and fell back against the couch cushions. "Far as I'm concerned, it's over and done with."
"Chris --"
"Just drop it, okay?" He waited until Edge nodded before he spoke again. "You know, we're going to have to go back to work eventually."
"Yeah, I know. I don't want to, though. I mean, I like it," he clarified at the odd look Christian gave him, "but I don't feel right letting you fend for yourself yet. You don't know how to hunt, you don't know how to fly or use your senses right or anything. . . it's like leaving a little baby on the street."
"Gee, thanks. It's good to see you still have faith in me."
"You know what I mean."
Christian rolled his eyes and propped his feet up on the coffee table in front of them. "Please. How hard can it be? I just go to a steakhouse and order something rare."
"And what about when there's not a Texas Roadhouse nearby?"
"Then I'll go hungry."
"Moron."
"Stupid poo-licker." Christian grinned innocently. "See? That's why our team was awesome -- I had the best insults."
"Whatever."
"See?" He fell silent, drumming his fingers restlessly along the arm of the couch. When he turned back around, he saw Edge's eyes fixed curiously on him, waiting for him to make the next move. "Fine. Let's go hunting."
"You really want to?"
"Yeah. I really want to."
There was a moment of silence given to careful thought, then Edge nodded and set the can of Mountain Dew on the table. "Great. Get your shoes on, assmunch."
"Did you just call me --"
"I'm not waiting all night."
Christian looked down at the ground, to his feet with the faded gray socks, and then back up to Edge. "I...I've missed you, man."
Face softening somewhat, Edge checked a beaming smile and settled instead for a small grin. "I've missed you, too. Now go get your shoes. I'm hungry."