Chapter 5: Life Could Be A Dream

~CHRISTIAN~

Grandma Edna's house was comfortable, as always. Every piece of furniture, every decoration, had it's place and seldom changed since Christian has been alive. New family pictures would be added as years passed; some tech had been updated to accommodate him and Edge as they grew up. Otherwise, it was largely the same. There was safety in that familiarity.

So why did something feel off?

"He's supposed to be back by now," Christian spoke matter-of-factly. It registered to him then that he was seated at the dining table across from Grandma Edna, who didnt appear to have heard him. Her head was turned away from Christian, staring unblinking at something through furry shades worn over thick prescription glasses. The wrinkles on her face were creased deep with a frown; her once-golden hair was frayed and disheveled.

Despite his concern at her appearance, the younger Cage didn't bother to follow her gaze. Poked at his breakfast instead.

"I have another game coming up tomorrow. Think he'll show up for that one this time?" No response. Christian sighed. "I dunno... maybe he has the right idea. Maybe I'm just not worth watching."

Silence. Christian stabbed his toast in frustration. Then he stretched over the table to wave a hand in front of Grandma Edna's face.

She didn't see him.

She didn't see him.

"She doesn't see me..." Was this a thought, or spoken aloud? Irritated, Christian at last spun around to see what Grandma Edna was so fixated on, so perturbed by.

That particular side of the dining room was always organized so that Grandma Ednas old record cabinet and player were set underneath the window looking out into the backyard. It's probably the only piece of old tech she's refused to store away or update; he liked to think it's been there since even Dad was growing up.

As usual during dinners, it was playing. Though... it sounded more distant than it should, considering they were mere feet away. There was an echo to it now - not to mention it was skipping, scratching unpleasantly.

"Paradise - but a dream ~"

That must've been what was off.

Despite its age, it's had little to no issues.

As Christian went over to fix it - how exactly he would, he didn't have in mind - he became aware of a few other oddities. The calender that was always hung between the window and a picture of Dad read:

1978.

That's not right.

He was five in '78...

"Grandma Edna? Isn't it '89?" It was a rhetorical question he was undeniably right in. Right?

Grandma Edna didn't reply. Christian scowled, "Sometimes I wonder why I talk..."

Although in front of the phonograph now, Christian let it play its broken tune while he peeked out the window. Ah, the backyard! The venue of many child-sized wrestling shows between him, Edge, and Rhyno no matter if it was a sweltering summer or brutal winter. A few yards afar from a homemade tire swing, a dense treeline marked the border between the security of Grandma Ednas property and the miles of woods beyond.

... The woods...

This late in the night was when the moon cast the thickets in a silhouette that was some parts beautiful and all parts foreboding. Shadows stretched endlessly underneath a canopy of glimmering oak leaves and pine needles; there was no guessing what was hiding within its depths, among the foliage. Yet Christian found himself focusing in on a particularly open spot in the grove, where a rotted old trunk hang sharp and heavy and protruding, suspended by its neighbors' branches. A widowmaker. Just one of many reminders that the forest could be as fatal as it was stunning.

The scratchy record music began to mix with the hum-buzz drone of a television. Now Christian was viewing this spot in the woods through the static, imperfect filter of a VHS. A home video? Christian's mind leaned more towards the memory of one if those educational programs or PSAs he'd encounter while flipping through channels on an early weekend morning. He wasn't sure he was actually watching tv; his eyes haven't torn away from the forest.

But he must be. The lens of reality can't just be flipped into a film like that - subtitles couldn't feasibly pop up in his vision as it was now.

Ontario's boreal forest is the largest forest region in the province, containing two-thirds of Ontario's forests.

It is crucial to read regulations and to follow safety guidelines provided, in order to best enjoy Northern Ontario's stunning wildscape; otherwise it is easy to get lost.

We will not be able to locate you.

Are you lost?

You are lost.

You are lost, and scared.

You don't even know who you are.

You're just a puppet.

Christian awoke into complete darkness. The feeling of soft and silky fabric accompanied it, a pleasant contrast, yet it did little to ease him back into reality from the mounting dread of his dream. Nor did it suppress his swiftly realized headache. His flopping stomach. Did he dare move a muscle? Sounds of a crackling fire mingling with the light tapping of rain against glass could have convinced him to stay under the covers in spite of the gloom.

If only a discordant record wasn't reverberating over them both.

"- do what I want you to ~"

A hurried effort to toss the blankets off himself resulted in Christian nearly toppling from the couch. The blonde lifted his head with a groan and -

"Jesus - jumped up - Christ!"

He came face-to-face with two marble eyes of a dead squirrel. On impulse he scampered through the covers to the other side of the couch - his stomach lurched as he slammed his back against the arm - and sat there for a solid minute staring it down, as though expecting the rodent to jump from its pedestal at any moment.

It didn't.

Christian evened his breathing, cursing again for acting like a wuss. It was a squirrel - as if it would be of much harm even if it were alive.

... Damn dream... the one time he remembers one...

"- could be a dream - my precious plans - come true ~"

A quiet sigh had Christian shifting somewhat in order to peer across the room. Past his curtain of hair, he could glean walls and flooring of lacquered oak, composing a space so large the warm gleam flickering from the stone fireplace at the center of it all - complete with a deer head mantled above it, overlooking all - could barely wash across it entirely. The windows weren't filtering in any significant light itself - either it was too stormy, early in the morning, or late at night. The atmosphere could have been pleasant to any other person. Not Christian...

His gaze soon settled upon the lounge chair in front of the fire, its back facing him. Beside it, an end table - and a record player. The music was paused while a white ruffle-sleeved hand reached over to lazily tinker with it.

"Christian. No need to be so distraught... I can practically smell your fear."

Gangrel. The younger blonde felt he should be relieved. He wasn't. Not with so many questions: where was he? Where was Edge? He scrambled to recollect the moments last night that could have led to this. It was fuzzy after the half-dozenth shot. Ugh. That's what happens when you can't afford to drink often and overestimate your alcohol tolerance. He doubted the pot helped matters either.

Gangrel answered his queries as if he picked them out of his mind - or were simply too obvious to go unanswered. "You're in my home. Safer for you two in the state you were in last night, than dropping you off at some trashy motel. Edge is upstairs in the guest room; I would have placed you with him but you favored the couch instead."

It took a minute for his splitting head to process that information. His voice came out weaker than he'd like it to, "Okay. I... thanks... but. Where exactly is your home?..."

"Oh, just a few miles from town, coincidentally. It's a secluded area in the forest - lovely inheritance, I'd say..."

The forest.

Try as Christian might, he couldn't stop from tensing up, heart hammering in rhythm with his head now - growing worse as he swiveled around to glance out the windows, despite knowing now it was only miles of wilderness surrounding them. Deja vu swept over him.

You are lost, and scared...

A sharp creaking. Christian faced Gangrel once more, who was suddenly leaning over a chair arm, side-eyeing him.

"You're disquieted by that, aren't you?" Asked the older man.

Christian won't admit it. Nope. He was just being an idiot for no particular reason than being weirded out by a dream.

Gangrel didn't wait for his permission to continue, however. "It's the idea of being lost isn't it? That something so beautifully immense could swallow someone whole."

"- Stop." Dammit! Work, voice! Edge's voice reiterated in his head: crybaby.

What was Gangrel doing? Psycho-analazing him first thing when he woke up? Apparently he'd gotten too comfortable with the Gangrel from the club last night and needed to be reminded he was a probing creepazoid. And how was he so... right on the money?...

"Fear of being lost... or being abandoned? My dear Christian, is that why you cry when you see your brother running away without warning? Why you turn your head away from pictures of those who are long lost?"

This remark stunned Christian. His stomach quivered as he sat there in silence, and thinking that looking at Gangrel might make it verge on exorcising itself, he stared up at the massive bucks head above the fireplace. Hardly a good tradeoff. Even that seemed to be staring back, awaiting an answer.

... Fuck this. He couldn't be that easy to read. Can't the two of them just go back to dancing like no one was watching?...

"... You noticed that, huh."

"Yes. I have a feeling there's something you should get off your chest." Gangrel said. "Go ahead."

Okay. Alternate scenario: maybe he hasn't awoken yet and his dream just decided to become lucid and a little too real. If this was Gangrels way of trying to ease his somehow apparent discomfort, he was succeeding with the exact opposite.

If that was true, then there couldn't be harm in answering...

... But...

Christian continued locking eyes with the trophy deer. A thought came to him that made him smile at it,

'Wait till Edge sees that thing... sees all of this, actually... bet he'd agree Dad would have gotten off on something like this...'

...

...

"Try being five years old and seeing your fathers face on one of those posters. Bet you'd act the same way."

Christian couldn't be bothered to gauge Gangrels reaction to this; the stark silence that followed this statement was indicative on its own. Even the phonograph had ceased playing altogether, leaving only the fire and rain to listen to while the younger blonde buried his face into his palms.

He shouldn't have said it. Fact as it was, uttering it aloud somehow made it more definitive. Irreversible - as if it wasn't already.

Yet a small piece of Christian also felt... relieved. He couldn't remember the last time he was able to say that freely. He knew Edges own feelings on the matter; and it could simply be too difficult at times to bring it up in front of Mom or Grandma Edna.

Not that it made it hurt any less.

"Happy now, Gangrel?" Christian said. "Got a nice little poke into my brain for whatever reason? Good morning, by the way..."

The younger man did not peek over even as the weight of the cushion shifted. He was subsequently surprised by the arm that draped across his shoulders, though did not protest nor reciprociate, allowing Gangrel to pull him into a side-hug. He wasn't sure how to react. It was a touch awkward.

"Remember, Christian... silent rage."

Exasperated, Christian sighed, "What does that even mean?"

"You would already know."

Apparently Gangrel was content to leave Christian with this cryptic remark, as with a shake of the younger blondes shoulders the fanged man released his grip and stood up. Christian at last lifted his head from his hands.

"You're confusing, you know that?"

Gangrel was looking down with a smile, "I revel in it."

~EDGE~

Edge had two things both going for and against him from the moment he peeled his eyes awake. The cons? He felt like dank garbage, and a sneaking suspicion he wasn't at his and Christians choice of dumpster motel tickled his brain as soon as his vision adjusted to view tree, trees, and surprisingly more trees from the single rain-spattered window across the room. If Edge could hazard a guess - he was now in the middle of nowhere.

Pros? He wasn't tied up. Nor in a basement. Simple things like that were all you could hope for when one got blackout drunk.

If anything, the plush bed he found himself on was dangerous in its own, too-comfy-to-leave kind of way. Only his parched mouth and bemusement urged him to move. Slowly. Lest his stomach stage a mutiny...

"- Gah - ahdamn!"

Turning onto his side granted him the sight of a snake. It was draped lazily across the branches glued to a pedestal. A statue. Edge would have facepalmed if his head didn't already hurt.

"Taxidermy..." He groaned.

On the other side of the nightstand was a second bed; with an initial sigh of relief, Edge was forced to duck around the snake in order to properly see the lazy lump that was Christian hibernating underneath the sheets.

There was no Christian. The duvet was pristine; the bed long undisturbed. Concern and panic fought for authority in Edges mind, soon racing enough to further aggrivate his headache. Shit. Of course. Go have fun, get drunk, get high! Then wake up with no clue where you're at and no idea where your brother is. Just seconds away from calling out like a good dumb horror movie character, Edge found his question already answered when two sets of voice echoed back from a lower floor, barely auidible above the downpour outside.

"... You're confusing, you know that?..." Christian. He didn't sound distressed; just exhausted.

"I revel in it..." Gangrel. Edge released the breath he was holding. Good. As conflicted he's been feeling about Grel - better the devil you know than the one you don't, as they say. Feeling safer in this knowledge, Edge took in his surroundings as he crawled out of bed.

Boxes and totes stacked into the corners told Edge that not enough use for this bedroom had converted it into a designated storage closet. Its decor reminded him of an odd mix between Addams Family and Grandpa's house from the Lost Boys: more stuffed wildlife mingled with the most classic - and corny - qothique iconography. A crow caught in a perpetual screaming match with a skull held aloft by a skeletal arm. A family of rats, frozen in their travel across intricately carved wall scones. This seemed to triple as a showroom for a macabre and very bored mind.

Edge chose to steal a peek at the open boxes. Call it an invasion of privacy - but would the home's host drop him off here and not expect him to risk a brief glance?

One of the cases crowning a tower of totes were neatly composed of vinyls, cassettes, and CDs. A quick thumb through revealed nothing significant besides an impressive, varied music collection. Classic rock; the essentials of rap and hip-hop; enough metal to make Edge's teenage self jealous; and vintage artists he recognized from Grandma Edna's record cabinet.

The contents of the box beside it were more exciting. The faces of Jake Roberts, Tully Blanchard, the Freebirds, and many others stared up at him through photos, flyers, and newspaper clippings, preserved in their protective sleeves. Other unopened merch of all kinds were piled alongside it.

Then onto the Nike shoe box tucked into a lonesome corner. Its only attribute grabbing Edge's attention was that it was packed beyond the point of closing with... whatever. Obviously not Nikes.

'Whatever' was an apt word indeed. It was miscellaneous crap. Crumpled papers and spare change, screws and hair ties, the kind of items you simply toss anywhere when you're too lazy to care.

Until Edge pawed his way to the bottom and found himself staring down at his own face. A dopey smile paired with a fluffy mullet, Slayer t-shirt, and 'Hulkamania!' headband.

Edges' face scrunched up into a wince. Oh yeah - that was eighteen-year-old him alright! How did he get girls looking like that? Curious and alarmed as to why this photo was here, he slipped it out from underneath the junk to view in its entirety, his memory jogging only once Gangrels countenance poked out from beside Edges', the Vampire Warrior himself trying his best to look like he'd just stepped off the set of the Lost Boys.

Ah. Right. He recalled this moment in near picture - perfect detail now that it's resurfaced. The motorcycle they'd both been leaning on - a new Harley-Davidson model at the time, which Edge would proceed to crash not long after this photo was taken. Oh well. Gangrels fault for permitting him to drive in the first place. Those subsequent bruises were fun to explain to Mom. The sparsely populated waterfront they had stopped at to take this photo, under the dim lamplight and in the forefront of the gorgeous Toronto skyline, was not included in that explanation; nor was the motorcycle. Or Gangrel for that matter.

As far as anybody knew, he'd fallen while trying to climb into his girlfriend's window. Which earned him a tongue-lashing nonetheless - just not about the blatant red flags he'd been hurtling past.

Now here they were, years later...

Growing more frustrated the deeper he dove into his own thoughts, Edge flipped the image over as to not see it. He was surprised to find writing.

1989

The mysteries of this life unfold when you embrace the Edge - then let go.

"... What?..." Edge rubbed his eyes. Blinked the blur away. Nope - still says that. Whatever that is. Poetic, though ominous. Song lyrics he did not know, maybe?

Whatever. Ponder it when he's less hungover; add it onto the list of questions for Gangrel... Edge replaced the photo at the bottom of the box before heaving the rest of the junk back in.

"Now, do you wonder if to let go means to free yourself from the fury - or to free the fury from its cage?"

For the second time within fifteen minutes, Edge jumped. This shock sent him scrambling to the floor from his crouched position. Regaining his composure, he lifted his head towards the voice.

Gangrel was sitting on the bed, shadowing over him. Chuckling.

"Dude! Cough or something! Good morning?!" Exclaimed the younger blonde. How did he get so close without making a sound?

Because Christian's footsteps were sure as hell apparent, his brother having plodded into the room not a minute afterwards. From the floor, Edge could merely see his head poking above Gangrel's shoulder like a curious child peeking out from behind his mother.

"Is he spouting weird shit again? He did that to me too."

"Yes, yes. Morning. Greetings. Bon jour," Gangrel droned, pausing for a pull off... a black mug of coffee. Tastefully decorated with one simple word in a sleek font: arsenic. "And welcome to my lair. I hope the unknowing change of setting didn't put you off terribly. How are you feeling?"

Edge waited to answer, rose to his feet, cracked his back. Earnestly he said, "All things considered?... not bad. Slept like a baby, actually. I took a guess it was alright once I heard you two. Wherever in the willywacks we are."

Christian opened his mouth, a look of concerned curiosity gracing his face. Edge wondered what kind of question he was about to ask. He wouldn't know - his sibling pressed his lips back into a hard line. Snorted. Edge barely picked up him grumbling, "Lucky you..."

"What do you remember of last night?" Gangrel asked.

... That had been nagging him too, in the back of his mind, since waking up. And not just who, how, what, why, and where. Maybe it's that a significant chunk of his memory was missing - yet he felt something significant was eluding him. A sigh escaped Edge. He passively brushed his thumb across the smooth surface of his pendant. Just the story of his life the past few days...

"Last I remember was doing shots and smoking pot."

Eyes fluttered shut, Gangrel gave a solemn nod. "Ah."

Edge tilted his head. "Something important we missed?"

The Vampire Warrior pleasantly hummed. It sounded awfully like the beat to Sister Christian. There was a chipper note underneath his groggy reply, "You two being bumbling buffoons, for one. Then you passed out before we left town. Which doesn't matter. You're in my domain now... so how about we wait out the storm with a little tour and a nice hangover breakfast?"

The rest of Gangrels house held a similar aesthetic to the guest room, only more coordinated. An old woodland hunters lodge meets a victorian manor; Dads wet dream hijacked by Gangrels overblown goth persona. Candlelights scintillating along the halls, the gloomy morning outside made the casted shadows even more pronounced. The eyes of a mounted animal or uncanny sepia portrait seeming to follow them as the trio passed... Edge couldn't help but wonder if this was the only source of lighting - or played for show. While he usually would've loved to joke around with Christian about all this, there was an air surrounding them that told him they were both a bit too out of it for that.

"Most of the taxidermy came with the inheritance," Gangrel explained, "But many of the smaller ones were made by Luna. It's a hobby of hers'."

"Oh. Err, nice," Edge heard Christian mutter. He was staring at a bat, wings unfurled, serving as a menacing sentry above the stairwell. His features were set in that same look from earlier. "Hey, Edge. You think?..."

... Only to purse his lips.

"Think what?"

"Nevermind. Stupid thought."

In an attempt to ease Christian's tension, Edge offered a shiny smile. Elbowed him in the side. "Since when did you get a filter for stupid thoughts?"

Christian snorted again, gaze averting to the floor. The older Cage then frowned.

"What's wrong?"

"Just the hangover. Still feel like crap."

"Same..."

Gangrel didn't appear perturbed by their exchange. He continued to guide them throughout the house with a surprising excitement that told the brothers he enjoyed visitors - and had not had any in awhile. A question popped in Edges mind at this observation - if this was an inheritance, where was Gangrels family? Was it those people in the potraits? He's seen a couple photos of Luna's: such as a framed photoset of her 'Uncle Mad Dog' and Aunt Vivian, situated among a cluster of candles on a dresser in the downstairs hall as though a centerpiece to a shrine, or a previously crumpled photo of Paul lying on the dining table like a piece of junk mail. The only true picture of Gangrel hanging out in the open was his' and Luna's wedding photo.

Maybe there were others in his bedroom. Or the basement. Neither of which Gangrel allowed them to peek into. So much for finding out if he slept in a coffin. Or was hiding bodies.

"This looks so much better when all the lights are on," Christian commented. They'd arrived at their final destination, the living room, which could've better been described as a wooden cavern in all its impressive space. Their footsteps echoed through the room before they settled down on the couch with the helping of burnt toast and coffee Gangrel generously provided. The fanged man himself sat across from them on a lounge chair in front of a dwindling fireplace; it seemed he was content to let them relax and eat with all the grace of ravenous beasts while he fiddled with the record player beside him.

But the scratchy song soon became unsettling. Edge sought an opportunity to break the ice between mouthfuls, "Ehm... thanks, Grel."

"For?"

Christian shrugged. "For bringing us to your place. And food."

"And not killing us." Edge meant it as a joke. His tone did not convey that well.

"Oh no no! Of course not," Gangrel placed his hand on his heart in feigned offense. "I need to feed you boys first before I put you in the oven! That's just good etiquette. I at least fancy myself as a polite vampire."

This was the first time all morning Edge saw Christian in good humor, as he cracked up in a full body laugh.

"Awesome! We're gonna get totally Hanseled and Greteled!"

"Gotta make sure we're good and sucktacular for Dracula here! Hope you like authentic canuck blood."

Leaning back in his chair, Gangrel folded his fingers and closed his eyes in ponderance. He spoke as though describing an exemplary wine, "Mmm, yess. Pleasantly rustic and smooth, best enjoyed when chilled during the harsh winter months..."

Ahh, this is better. A little jesting to make Edge and Christian feel more in their element. Even if Gangrel sounded a little too authentic. His gimmick work was still annoyingly good. Maybe that was the point - just like his house. Living the gimmick...

"Oof. Sounds like you have experience."

"Why do you think I keep this house here in Canada, Edge?" Gangrel remarked with a throaty chuckle. He went back to the record, rewinding the needle some.

"- tell me I'm the only one that you love -"

"... Tell me. For how much longer can you two stand picking up scraps and sleeping in your car?"

"- However long it takes -"

"- As long as we need -"

Impulsive answers by Edge and Christian, exclaimed in sync. If Gangrel's snicker was any guess - it didn't convince him.

"Please. Be honest. Anyone could tell you're worn out. Too tired to be your typical selves."

"So? That's life."

"Humble beginnings! So what if we have to split a burger for dinner and sleep in an over twenty-year-old station wagon a lot of the time?"

"I hear some resentment in that statement, Edge."

"It's not resentment! It's exhaustion."

"... And an admittance all the same. Then how come you don't stay at your Grandma Edna's? Pool together funds with any of the other guys?"

A second awkward silence followed. Dammit. How'd he manage to do that? Funny of you to care now after six years... Edge caught himself before he put voice to the thought. Not with Christian here. While he stewed, his younger sibling replied,

"Well... Grandma Edna lives too out of the way from where Paul makes his rounds for it to be reasonable. Same with Mom. Even if... well, it wouldn't be fair to them for us to mooch off them. Or for anyone else, too."

"So it's pride. Or stubbornness. You two think you should be able to do everything by yourselves." Stated Gangrel.

Okay. There was something more to this. "What are you getting at, Grel?" Because I think I know you enough to know when you're leading up to something, Edge desperately wanted to add. The smirk that was directed at him told him Gangrel might've guessed that. Which annoyed him. Again.

"Simple: I want to offer you two a place to stay here."

- Which, even if that guess was tickling some part of his brain, having the proposition laid out stunned Edge. Same with Christian, if his wide-eyed glance over was any indication. Without a need for a private debate, another synonymous answer came to both blondes:

"Nope - we can't."

A roll of the eyes, "Twins, two years separated... and why not?"

"You've already done stuff for us and - and a whole house to stay in now? That's too much. We can't accept that." Christian said.

"I'm not asking you to stay for free. If you'd like, there's a whole slew of tasks around here I could put you boys to - repairs, preparations for winter, housesitting while I'm away on bookings... enough work to pay your previous debts and rent and even more, if that sounds better to you?" Clarified Gangrel. Lifting his head, he stared up at the bucks head above him. After what seemed to be a pause to work over the words, the fanged man then sighed. "Besides, it'd be nice to have more people here to make this house feel lived in. Ironically Luna only comes around once in a blue moon; and when I'm not traveling it tends to be just me, myself, and that fellow up there. Heheh..."

... Oh. Well, that was a cause for pity, huh? Edge and Christian might not have much, but they at least have each other; Edge couldn't imagine sitting in this lodge, grandly cozy as it was, alone.

He should have thought of that before he left...

Christian turned to Edge, as if it was the older brothers turn to speak. Edge did not; too busy in his own head.

"Why us, though? I get you like our work, but..."

"But I also know what you two are going through," Gangrel interjected, "I've had stints in ECW, WCW, Puerto Rico, Europe, Japan... none have been easy. Our business is taxing. So if I can at least give you boys a stable roof to sleep under, some nights to unwind, perhaps even some sage advice?... I'd feel accomplished."

Somewhere amid Gangrel's explanation, the gravity of this situation settled into the pit of Edge's stomach, memories and emotions of years past stirring to the surface. It was enough to make him lightheaded.

"You have that weird look again." Christian observed. Edge could just feel his stare. Gangrel's, as well. The lingering woodfire heat felt oppressive now. Edge swallowed thickly before standing.

"I'm gonna go outside for a minute."

"To think about it? Sure. There's an umbrella by the door."

Christian's bemused mumbling and the verse of 'life could be a dream, sweetheart~' faded into the background by the time Edge approached the entryway. He popped open an umbrella hanging on the coat rack.

It was hot pink, with floral patterns.

Oh yeah. He needed that laugh.

The puddles and mud weren't a concern for Edge's ragged shoes, but the wall of cold that met him at the door was enough to make him consider turning back around. Damn. To think that warmth inside was already inviting... as he crossed the yard towards Bessy it made him dread the idea of bundling up and braving a winter night in her. Salt to the wound when wading through knee-deep snow, driving across frozen lakes...

Edge was halfway laying in the backseat, pawing through his duffel bag for no real purpose, when he heard another set of feet plodding through the mud. Cage didn't know who to expect when he glanced over his shoulder. Gangrel. Huh. Well, he wasn't making an effort of sneaking up on him this time. Nor did he have some odd quip prepared when he leaned against the rear door, sheltered under his own more Victorian umbrella, peering down at Edge.

In fact, the Vampire Warrior remained entirely silent. Edge ceased his frisking. Among the clutter of questions he had for the older man - a single word prevailed.

"Why?"

"You'll have to be more specific, dear."

Edge bit back a growl with gritted teeth. "You know why. Why did you leave?"

"Did I not tell you when I left? I had some unexpected business to tend to, which I would not have wanted to drag you into."

"Uh-huh. And enough 'unexpected business' for you to travel to a couple new countries? Get married? And only six years later do we just magically meet again at a fair?"

Gangrel was thinking hard on this. A fang pressed against his bottom lip, threatening to break the skin; his brows knitted together above his raybans.

After a painful minute of patience, that damn smile creeped across Gangrel's face, tick by tick.

"You thought I abandoned you."

That was enough for Edge to chance a swing at him. From his twisted position half-off the backseat it was bound to be ineffective. Gangrel's almost casual deflection - raising a hand to vice the wrist of Edge's offending fist an inch before connecting with his face - proved this calculation.

Both men were frozen in this position. A stalemate. Edge glanced between Gangrel's placcid expression and his trapped arm. He suddenly felt drained. Writhing his arm in a silent plea to be released, Edge never took his eyes off Gangrel when the older man released his grip.

"... You know how I feel about that shit, Grel." Edge said. He hated how he sounded like a defeated kid with that remark. Eighteen all over again...

Gangrel sighed. "I do. I'm sorry I left you in the dark so long. But I'm here now, aren't I? A second chance to make good on my promise. And you have your brother with you this time."

Automatically both of them took a gander at the front door, almost expecting Christian to have walked onto the scene by now.

"If I could pose you a question now? Why keep me a secret from Christian all this time?"

"Good question." Because it started to seem stupid since the events of these past few days have come to fruition. Leave it to Edge. "... I don't know. At the time it seemed like it'd open up more of a can of worms than it's worth - I didn't know if you were ever coming back so it was easier to cover it up and brush over it. Act like it never happened. Besides..."

... No. He shouldn't say it.

"Besides?" Gangrel pressed. Edge looked up from his feet. Something in the older man's expression compelled Edge.

"Besides. I... don't want Christian to hate me. I'd do anything for that little brat. I love him; I remembered that after you left."

"I see. Perhaps it was for the better that I left, then, wouldn't you say?" Said Gangrel. "And you don't have to give that up. I'm already liking Christian! It could be the three of us - a trio - a -"

The older man trailed off. He took a deep breath to ground his rising excitement. Closed his eyes.

"Let me make it up to you, Edge. All this? My offer? Take it as... an apology. If you'll have it - I won't leave again for an eternity... and eternity, is forever."

A rumble of thunder in the distance punctuated Gangrel's statement. In contrast, Edge erupted into a fit of exasperated chuckling, "We were doing so good! Then you just - say crap like that!"

Gangrel shrugged, "What can I say? I like invoking reactions."

"You sure do..."

Never answered my question either... Could Edge trust being in the same house with this man when he can't give him a straight answer? What was Gangrel hiding there?

Psh. Should've developed these trust issues when he started hanging out with him in the first place. Looks like Edge will just have to keep his head on a swivel and his senses sharp around Gangrel - for Christian's sake if nothing else.

Because loathe to admit it, there was still a lingering itch in Edge's mind that urged him to say yes, anything Gangrel wanted.

No matter his grudge; no matter the doubts.

A/N: This took an embarrassingly long time. Granted, I did take a hiatus not long after posting chapter 4, but the rest of it was spent struggling ,) It's a slow chapter in terms of things happening, but there's also a lot of little breadcrumbs and character details to keep an eye on for future reference.

The throwaway line about taxidermy being a hobby of Luna's? Has somewhat of a base in canon! It was RAW 11/15/1999 during the Stephanie/Test wedding angle, where Luna congratulates Stephanie and Test on their engagement and gifts them a stuffed squirrel.

I also have an overdue announcement! I have a wrestling Tumblr now: y2jsquestionablefashionchoices

And along with posting regular stuff I'm also hoping to post some extra content for Blood Brothers - status updates for chapters, sneak peeks, maybe even cut scenes or more in-depth looks into my process for the fic.

Or maybe just memes. I haven't decided yet.

I'll also happily answer any questions you have for me over there! Just search fic: Blood Brothers if you choose to check it out. Until next time!