Warning: Language. Violence. Sexual Content. Horror or Psychological Thriller. Other fucked up shit that can't really be mentioned without giving things away but expect the worst.
Quick Note: Seventhswan is my wonderful beta on this one and I really couldn't do this without her! She's nominated for SKoW and her stories are awesome so check her out!
What's Found When The World Is Left Behind
Alabaster face once gorgeous and framed by thick black bangs and long wavy hair was now bloated. A thin, frail, body clothed in a soft pink summer dress swung slowly- left, right, left, right. Around her throat was a thin wire wrapped tightly several times around her once flawless neck. Red dyed the wire and the flesh it covered.
Big hazel-green eyes stared at the woman curiously. The boy knew death when he saw it. He was four years into his life but he knew death- the smell, the sound, the sight, the way it felt… he could identify the dying in an instant. His papa had taught him well in that regard.
His mother was dead.
She was hanging in front of him.
He held his teddy tightly to his chest and turned, eyes blinking and still so full of curiosity. He walked down a long hall and paused outside of a door, music filtering from the cracks. Without knocking he reached up, little hand grasping the handle and pushing the door open.
"Milo." He spoke, voice soft. Fragile.
Milo was on his bed, tongue shoved down the throat of a petite blond thing that didn't belong in their home. He was held between her soft bare thighs- her fingers laced with his beside her head.
The boy walked over to the bed, hand outstretched. "Milo." He tried again, touching Milo's arm.
The girl noticed him first and shrieked, her eyes growing wide and her knee catching Milo in his side.
"Fuck!" Was his anguished mutter before he sat up, hand going to his injured hip. He glanced at the boy, then the girl. "Go downstairs for a minute."
Her face contorted in confusion and slight irritation when her gaze shifted towards the beautiful child standing near the edge of the bed. "What?" She questioned as if she'd misheard.
"Go downstairs or go home." Milo's gaze narrowed and he watched as she quickly stood and left the room. She'd be waiting for him downstairs. His gaze softened, eyes growing fond as he stared at the toddler. "What's wrong, Dom?"
Dom held onto his teddy as he walked over to his brother, one arm lifting and indicating that he needed to be picked up. Once he was, he stared dead into forest green eyes. "Mommy died."
Milo frowned slightly. "Did you have a bad dream?"
The toddler shook his head, mouth opening, shutting, and opening again. "Mommy is dead." He corrected and pointed to the door.
Milo's frown deepened as he stood, Dom on his hip. They walked down the hall to their parent's room and Milo's grip on his brother tightened.
"Mommy is dead." Dom repeated slowly, softly.
Milo was torn, his face screwed up angrily. He felt the weight of being fourteen going on forty and that didn't sit well with him. At that point in time, he had to make a decision- one he'd never thought he'd have to make. But their dad was away on a job, their older sister was in Alaska for research, and Glen had been missing for a few days but that wasn't uncommon. None of those people could be contacted- the risks were far too high.
He couldn't call the cops. If they couldn't handle a job that would normally require a cop then they were better off dead. It was a motto their father had taught them since they were old enough to understand and process speech.
It was up to Milo to dispose of the body and explain the circumstances once everyone did return home. He sighed irritably and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Well… I'm sorry, Dom. I'm sorry she didn't love you enough to stick around."
There were no tears shed for their mother. There wouldn't be any. She succumbed to a coward's death and no one mourned for the weak.
Dom stared at Milo as if he understood. In Milo's mind he did and that was what counted the most. "I have Milo." He smiled softly, small hand touching his brother's cheek.
"Always." Milo muttered, face briefly nuzzling Dom's before he left the room. He stopped just outside of a room and sat his baby brother down. "Play in your room for a little bit and I'll come get you when I'm done."
"Okay." And Dom smiled as he stared at his toys.
Milo found himself smiling too. His baby brother was his world and if Dom was alright, then they'd be just fine.
The first time it happened, Dom initiated it. He could tell by the way that stagnant green gaze had shifted over the years. Knew even that they held more between them than platonic love, affection, and admiration. Something dark and yearning mixed in with all of the other emotions had begun to form in that gorgeous gaze and Dom couldn't un- see it. So he could tell that the other person felt something so much more and since Dom wasn't bound by one moral code as opposed to another it didn't bother him.
In their dark world, mainstream rules and regulations were thrown out the window.
Since he was the one who initiated everything as it was, no one could accuse anyone of being forced to do anything. No one could force Dom into something that he didn't want to do and only two people had the power to even sway his mind from one decision in lieu of another.
Despite the fact that he was a boy- just a curious, moral-less, sixteen year old boy with his whole life ahead of him- Dom knew what he wanted and liked to indulge in taking those things.
On a night when he was home alone and was positive that no one else would be returning, he'd made one call and waited patiently for his package to be delivered. The door had opened soundlessly as he'd sat on the couch. In the dark. Waiting.
"Dom? You here?"
A soft smile had his lips curled as he'd leaned into the couch, feet propped on the table. "In here!" He'd called.
Soon enough, the young man had entered the room, chocolate bangs sweeping over a smooth forehead and green eyes adjusting to the dark. "Why the fuck are you sitting in the dark?"
He could hear the smile in the strong voice and it only further amused him. He slinked off of the couch, crouched low to the ground and moving so quietly… "To attack you." He'd muttered low and rough. When next he stood, he was flank against a strong side. "You're getting rusty, Milo." He'd taunted. Breath ghosting feverish skin.
The accusation made Milo's hair stand on end as he shot out an arm and grabbed the front of his little brother's shirt. He pulled the boy around to face him, jade eyes glowing dully from the hall light. "I swear, you're crazier every time I see you." But his lips were tilted in a fond adoration that Dom was sure he wasn't meant to witness.
"You don't know the half of it." Dom was in no mood to waste time or play any more games. He tipped his head and leaned forward, mouth connecting with an angled chin.
Milo only sputtered for a moment, his grip loosening and giving Dom more leeway. "What the fuck are you doing?" His question sounded more like an accusation.
Dom just smiled, hands tugging and clawing at the front of Milo's shirt. "Isn't it obvious? I see the way you look at me." That wasn't meant to be an accusation, more like acceptance for their circumstances.
"You do, and I'm not dumb." Common knowledge. Dom was a genius and very rarely did anyone outsmart him.
Milo was no exception to that.
But Dom cut him off, finger pressed to dry lips. "If this is wrong then so is our line of work. If it bothers you, then you should've fixed this shit a long time ago. Now, you can fuck me, slake my curiosity and yours. Or, we can call it a night and go grab a pizza…" Because hunger was nipping at him like a bitch in heat and he wasn't sure what he was hungrier for: sex or food.
Milo swallowed, mouth seemingly dry and opening slowly. "Right here?"
"Right here." Dom confirmed, voice calm. Cold.
When Milo pushed him up against the wall, he was expecting it. Had waited for it to happen for years. But they both knew deep down that that particular bond never would've formed had Tristan been nearby.
There was one emotion that always wrenched and knotted Dom's stomach like a punch to the face. Jealousy. But he never regretted a thing. There wasn't any time or thought that could be devoted to regret. So Tristan would understand. Tristan would know that when he'd lied about that girl (blonde bimbo with doe-eyes), Dom had took that final leap and slept with his flesh and blood brother.
Tristan would know that Dom had enjoyed every minute of it and it was only just the start.
Yet, somehow, despite the bitterness and confusion, they would all know that Tristan would still come first in Dom's world.
There were things far darker and dinger than death or murder. Psychological things that were irreparable. Once a mental scar formed, there was no way to remove it, no way to heal it. Tristan knew this better than most in spite of his strong upbringing –which he attributed to Vic.
Beatings he could take. They were customary in his line of development. Being beaten, stabbed, shot, drugged, poisoned… all of those things were necessary in order to be a killer. A person had to know pain- had to know what hurt the most, what anguish was, why it bruised or blistered, and how much it pricked or pulled at the surface of everything that could bleed out in order to inflict that same pain upon someone else. In their line of work, they had to know how to be both the soldier and the victim caught in the crossfire so that neither outcome would ever surprise them.
The occasional drunken assault from his father no longer meant anything, not now. Not when he could out do his father and gained the man's respect in return.
His stepmother was a different matter entirely. She dished out the type of anguish that couldn't be overlooked. Couldn't be forgotten.
She was deceptive- not in a way reminiscent to Dom. Just deceptive in that she could smile in front of a whole room while wearing her true emotions on her face at the same time.
It had all started so small. He'd been four when they'd met and she'd been nice. Eager to make him and his father fall in love with her. When it happened, it was sudden. His father announcing that things were going to change.
Vic had married them -his parents.
It took a full month before she showed her true colors in the form of slamming him around a bit. Roughing him up. The names followed and the threats thereafter. When he was seven, she'd forced him to touch her for the first time.
Said she was a woman and women had needs that absent husbands with multiple whores couldn't fulfill.
The things she'd made him do… the threats she placed over his head… the weight of it all. It'd been too much for him to carry alone.
When he was fifteen they'd been careless.
It was during a Christmas gathering at Vic's home outside of Seattle. The house had been crowded to the brim and his father was nowhere in sight. His father always took jobs during the holidays because the holidays reminded him too much of his first love and Glen knew that Vic took better care of his boy than he himself.
So when Tristan's stepmother- when Elaine had dragged him outside to the shed he knew what to expect.
He hadn't wanted to go. Tristan loved spending his time with Dom during any holiday so he'd tried to deny her but she'd threatened him. Told him that she would tell his father –she would tell everyone that he'd been taking advantage of her.
He'd always believed that her word would win over his. Always. It'd been beaten into him.
When they got to the shed, their footprints creasing the fresh snowfall, her back hitting cold wood, he'd prayed to nothing in particular that no one saw. Most people were well into the spirit of things as it was. But still he'd prayed and hoped that no one noticed their absence.
A funny thing had happened, something he would never forget but it couldn't erase the years of previous trauma. Dom had opened the shed, eyes unblinking and indifferent. It wasn't an uncommon expression for his twelve year old face but it was one that didn't belong. It was a look he'd never directed at Tristan and when Tristan had noticed him he'd froze and cursed and the pain- god the pain had been near unbearable and unlike anything he'd felt before. Heart stopping and gut squeezing were words far too light to describe it.
Dom had raised his hand too quick to follow and a thin silver object cut through the crisp air, nicked Elaine's cheek, and lobbed off a small piece of lobe and hair. Then he'd spoken, voice sugary sweet, pliable. "He's mine you know. And I can kill you. I'd kill you and wouldn't even have to offer up an excuse as to why. In fact, the only reason you're still standing there… the only reason I'm allowing filth like you to still breathe the same air as me, is because I love my uncle Glen and it would crush him to know about this. But if I ever see you again- if I ever suspect you of so much as looking at Tris as though you want him, I will tie you up and gut you with less courtesy than butchers grant to a pig."
Tristan remembered being stunned, remembered falling even harder for Dom than he'd thought was possible. He recalled vividly feeling as though he would shatter because he knew with every fiber of his core that it was the end of anything he could have potentially had with Dom. Knew it more when Lidia, Dom's older sister made her appearance known. She'd smiled and beckoned for him. Once he was outside of the shed, she'd stepped in and shut the door behind her.
At age fifteen, the day after Christmas, it was decided that he'd just live with Vic and his family. His stepmother's idea. His father approved because they were never too far apart and Vic was a better father as it stood.
And Dom still ended up loving him. Loved him so hard that sometimes it hurt.
But Tristan knew that that particular stain upon his soul, the one his stepmother had unwittingly created… it would never fade.
To compensate for that- to cope with the overwhelming hatred for her and what she'd done, he took it out on women.
Always beautiful. Always at least a decade his senior. He would wine and dine them. He would treat them as if they mattered. As if they were his everything for just that one night. And all of them believed it. Believed him. Expected more and wanted the night to stretch into forever. But, come morning, they would no longer be breathing to speak of it.
It was Tristan's guilty pleasure, his form of release. Everybody had to cope somehow and he'd found his way. Dom didn't understand and wouldn't try because he was gorgeously selfish and rightfully so. Tristan didn't want to hurt his beloved, couldn't fathom doing half the things that he did to those women to Dom. So he took Dom's anger and sorrow and spent forever making up for it because they both hurt and loved one another.
It was an inescapable loop of pain, pleasure, longing, yearning, needing, wanting, passion, anguish… All that mattered at the end of the day was that they belonged to each other. The simple fact that they would choose each other first time and time again was enough to keep them going strong.
They both had their flaws.
A/N: I wasn't sure if I would continue posting here or just switch to LJ because this story gets dark and such. It makes me nervous to share it. But, as always, seventhswan has a way with getting me to post. So here it is. Sorry to those who are unsettled by the incest and there couldn't be a proper warning. I couldn't say it without giving it away to everyone. Not that it was that much of a surprise.
Well, I hope you enjoyed. Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing! To the unsigned reviews, thank you as well. All of your comments were greatly appreciated as well!
If you dug it, drop me a line. Thanks for reading.