Boys workin' on empty

@Adonis

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He fell.

He fucking fell. One moment he was standing, the next he was falling. From the sky. What kind of sorcery was this? Cain hadn't been subject to such...such...aerodynamics before. But yet here he was, wind in his face, plummeting to the snowscape below.

He hit the ground with a thunderous boom.

Cain hallowed out the snow. It was at least a few feet deep. With a growl, he rose, wondering where the fuck he was.

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He'd been walking, nose pressed lowly to the soft snowfall. It was fresh, undisturbed. He waded through it with ease, legs shoving it aside in bunches of blankets, trudging onwards. There was no destination in mind, he only roamed the territory in which he intended to claim, to restore, to rise from the ashes it had been crestfallen to. 

Adonis' eyes pivoted like a dutiful sentry, never straying too far from his own surroundings. He hadn't a clue of his own intentions until his attention was violently pulled elsewhere. Suddenly, there was an objective in sight. From the sky, a form fell, a meteor streaking across the lilac night sky. In the distance, Adonis watched as the body plummeted into the snowfall below, sending a plume of dust upwards in it's wake. 

The wolf moved forwards with a sudden urgency, tail flagging high. As he neared, the body rose suddenly, and unveiled a figure Adonis had not expected he would ever see again. A silence grew like moss upon stone over the giant, bringing sapphire eyes to swim with disbelief. 

“Cain?” Adonis questioned, blinking through the fog, through the haze. He stepped towards the wolf. "Þetta er nýtt afrek... að falla af himnum." — This is a new feat... falling from the heavens. His words did not betray the elation he felt in seeing his little brother, no matter how strongly he felt it. 

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Snow covered his fur. It clung to him, stuck to the ridges of the coarse material. He shook himself off, revealing his nightmarish stature. Against the snow, he stood out. Ash against brittle ice. But he was built for this. Bred for it.

He had no other option.

When he heard a voice call out to him, familiar enough, Cain's head rose. Squinting, caught heavily in the haze of hitting his fucking head, he'd rumble.

"Adonis?"

He almost couldn't believe it. His brother. Bróðir. A figure he hadn't seen since...since. The scar across his face, a coordinated 'x'. It made him shift, his own barren neck scar brushing against his furred shoulder. "Helvítis himinninn." — The fucking sky.

The reaper approached his brother, cautiously, wondering if what happened years ago might happen once more. "Hvar í fjandanum erum við?" — Where the fuck are we?

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His head lifted, his tall ears perked, rounded ears leering quietly upon his brother. It did not feel possible, in fact, it felt impossible, for his brother to be here. Yet, in all that the wolf had seen and heard since his arrival upon this foreign plane, it made it all the more possible. The raven did not move nor flinch as his brother stepped nearer, tone and voice as gruff and rusted as it always had been. He was crass, he was vulgar; he was Vargrheim bred, just as Adonis. 

Adonis huffed, frigid air billowing from his blackened snout. ”Heimur sem heitir Canis.” — A world called Canis. His tongue pulled across his snout, wetted his frosted charcoal nose. 

His eyes wandered the form of Cain, observing the tattered pelt he wore, tinged by frost and snow. They were shadows of one another, in both stature and in blood, both bearing the marks of one another's wrath. ”Við rísum Winterhelm upp á ný. Börnin... Þeir eru ekki hér.” — We are rising Winterhelm anew. The children... they are not here. Though his words spoke of a father's tragedy, his tone did not falter. Did not waver. He was stoic in the face of the grief of his offspring's disappearance. 

Something flickered across his face. Something hopeful, something ambitious. ”En Khione á von á sér.” — But Khione is expecting.

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Canis.

What a dumb name.

With a scoff, he'd listen to his brother. He always did. Cain guessed that some things never did change. He couldn't miss the way that Adonis grumbled out his words, spoke them with utter confidence. Something that Cain had to mask for his own self. He always had it easier.

Children. The children. The little rats that he saw curled against his white dove's side. It was the last time he had seen them. The only time, in fact. But Cain had been fine with that. No complaints. He didn't seek them out. Not after last time. Adonis didn't want to see him. Right?

And when his expression changed, Cain felt something shift in his heart. A playful, boyish giddyness he hadn't felt for a long time. He thought his brother might say he missed him. Wished for him to be at his side.

But it wasn't.

Expecting.

"Meira...börn?" — More...children?

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Adonis could read his little brother like the back of his own paw. He had been there when Cain was born, had been there as he grew. He'd ran with his brother through the open fields of Vargrheim, had taught him the ways of the sword. But something had broken their bond, severed the ties of their brotherhood. But not for good, that would be impossible. 

It had been so long, too long perhaps, since he had seen Cain. He had not seen his brother since his eldest children were mere newborns, swaddled at Khione's silver underbelly. Before them, their interaction had been one of violence, of gnashing teeth and clashing steel. 

"Já, erfingjar." — Yes, heirs. Adonis would say. But then he swallowed, nares flaring. He breathed in his brother's scent, cherished it. It was warm, it was familiar. It was of home, his first home. He knew Cain was not fond of touch, but the wolf reached out even still, pressing a paw to his brother's chest. It was an anchoring touch, one that spoke of the brotherhood they once possessed. 

"Fjölskylda. Það er pláss fyrir þig hér, Cain." — Family. There is a place for you here, Cain. 

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Yes.

Cain's heart caught in his chest. It stopped beating.

Heirs.

He didn't move.

The reaper bathed in shadow. Once fearsome, revered, some may say, now reduced to one moment. One sentence that shifted the path of his life. Again he was cast aside. Again was he left behind for that scarred bitch. He couldn't— he couldn't do—

His heaving breaths stopped when he felt Adonis' paw on his chest. Flinching, he pulled away, shock blanketing his eyes. What are you doing? He wished to say, to hiss at the man, but there were no words caught in his throat. No breaths that released.

A place for you. You.

"Ekki..." — Don't... he finally breathed. "Ekki ljúga að mér." — Don't lie to me.

Cain didn't say much as he looked to his brother. His eyes spoke for him. Woven with layers of emotion, and distrust, things that he was unable to forget. He left you, his mind roared, but the part of him that craved his touch lingered. Treat me as you once did, but that voice was easily fought away, replaced by the anger that once coiled in his throat. Don't leave.

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His brother, Cain, shied away from his touch. Adonis had been expecting no different. The wolf could not hide the sigh that pulled from his lips, tugged at his mouth, bringing it into a deep seated frown. He looked upon his little brother through sapphire eyes watery with a newfound emotion, one he wished was not present, but age had softened the barbarian. Only just enough that he might appreciate Cain more, look upon his past actions with regret. 

I should have been there for you. He couldn't voice the words, couldn't bring them to be uttered. But it was visible within his eyes. 

Adonis would not try to touch his brother again, retracting his paw that had still been floating where Cain had shied away from him. Adonis inhaled heavily before he spoke next. 

”Við verðum að gleyma hinu liðna, Kain. Það eitrar fyrir okkur. Brennir okkur eins og dreka.” — We must forget the past, Cain. It poisons us. Burns us like a dragon's wrath. Adonis stepped towards his brother, matched his gaze. 

”Ég myndi hafa þig hér við hlið mér. Hendin mín.” — I would have you here, by my side. My hand. 

Please. He wanted to beg. Be my brother again.

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Adonis looked disappointed when Cain retracted from him. Surprised. A snarl wanted to tug at his lip. You made it be this way, he wanted to snap at him. It was never like this until she came around.

His next words set the reaper off. "Auðvelt fyrir þig að segja." — Easy for you to say.

Adonis had the nerve to stand there and wish to put their bad blood aside as if he was the one to suffer. As if he didn't have such a luxurious life in the palm of his hands. Whereas Cain battled ruthlessly, didn't sleep, barely kept himself afloat while fighting for the title worthy of a dragon-heart. His brother had turned into a pussy.

Cain didn't know what to say.

Truly at a loss for words.

There was only one question he could ask. He needed to hear the words. Needed to see him crumble beneath his cold, dead gaze. What riddled his mind was the taste for revenge. Need me just as much as I needed you. To bring such a haughty king to his knees. He needed it. "Hvers vegna?" — Why?

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He was unflinching in the face of Cain's anger. He deserved it. His brother's rage was well placed, it was righteous, it was earned. The Hilmar could only stand and take it, though in his heart, he felt like he'd been reduced to a whelp forced to suffer his father's punishments. Pathetic. Adonis' shoulders rolled just slightly, his posture straightened. 

Stoic.

He was a King. 

He acted like one. 

It was unfair. The way Adonis blamed himself, though he had only been but a mere man himself. Sent away by his Father with the task of uprooting an entire Kingdom, to manipulate and to lie. To scheme. Adonis was not a schemer. He was a Warrior, he was the heart of the dragon. He had slayed wyverns and bested the foulest wolves in battle. He had been but a boy turned man. 

“Cain,” He pleaded, “Brother.” He said. "Það var ekki okkur að kenna." — It was not our faults. His voice raised to a snarl, but it was short lived, and merely one of emotion. It did not rise from anger.

Why? Adonis faltered. Why? He questioned himself. The answer was simple.

"Til að leiðrétta mistök mín að hafa ekki spurt þig fyrir löngu. Það er enginn úlfur sem ég myndi treysta betur en blóði mínu, en bróður mínum. Þú ert blóðið mitt, Cain." — To correct my mistake in not asking you long ago. There is no wolf I would trust more than my blood, than my brother. You are my blood, Cain. He swallowed bitterly.

"Blóð drekans rennur þykkt." — The blood of the dragon runs thick.

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Adonis pulled that card on him. It wasn't your fault. His mind skewed his words. Took them with resentment. Cain sneered, lowering his head closer to the ground. He looked just about ready to pounce on his brother.

"Ekki gefa mér þetta skítkast." — Don't give me that shit. What could Adonis really know? He left Cain there alone. Four years by himself. Four years with the reapers of dragon hearts. Barbarians. Hooligans. Is that what Adonis thought of him? Did he believe that he belonged there, had a place with such hellhounds?

If he thought that way...then so be it. Then so be it.

Cain is no better than a hellhound of Vargrgrheim.

Adonis almost sounded pained when he spat his words towards the reaper. Good. Feel the pain that he had. Feel the uncomfortable bitter of Cain's words. Bathe in the ire of his stare.

He wasn't surprised that his brother wanted him at his side. Cain scoffed, his head rising once more to unveil a 'are you serious?' expression. His eyes rolled, shaking his head with a nonchalance. "Þú sonur a—" — You son of a...

Cain froze.

'The blood of the dragon runs thick.'

...

"Af hverju skerðu mig þá svona djúpt?" — Then why do you cut me so deeply?

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He stilled as Cain snapped back in reply, words that brandished like cold steel. Pressed to his throat, threatening to slice his jugular, to bleed him dry. The wolf's expression turned from one of hope to that of a dark cloud, a storm circling within the midnight sky, threatening a down pour of sleet. He knew not how to reply, but found his jaws moving even still, mustering the strength to reply. 

He found it in his heart to continue. 

"Ég biðst ekki fyrirgefningar. Það er þitt að gefa þegar þú ákveður það. Ég bið þig aðeins um að vera." — I do not ask forgiveness. That is yours to give when you decide to. I only ask you stay. His voice was strong, unrelenting. He did not back away from Cain and his sapphire eyes were unblinking. His little brother would not bring him to his knees; Cain would see this soon.

"Það er þín ákvörðun, bróðir. Hvað skal það vera?" — It is your decision to make, brother. What shall it be? 

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The problem was is that Cain had already forgiven his brother. Adonis had never done anything wrong to begin with. He was shoved in a shitty situation and turned against his own family by that white witch of a woman. His chest heaved with heavy intakes of air, and his head lowered to the ground as Adonis offered him a home.

A chance to escape, his mind cooed. A chance to forge a new life away from the horrors he endured. Perhaps this could be the salvation that he prayed for.

And yet somehow it landed within the qualms of his older brother. What fucking irony.

"Ég verð áfram." — I will stay. He'd answer, finally, after the drawled-out beats of silence. His voice sounded embarrassed, quiet as he said it below his breath. "Ég vil ekki vera í sundur með þessu „pakkaskít“. Ég verð á landamærunum." — I don't want to be apart any of this 'pack shit.' I'll stay on the borders.

Cain knew it would be best that way.

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He could have exhaled a sigh of relief as the verdict was revealed, the heavy toll of a finite bell. So it would be. Something warm, something familiar, swam through the chest of the giant. He peered warmly upon his younger brother, watching the way in which his head lowered; almost as if he were ashamed. Embarrassment unveiled itself within his voice as he spoke, and Adonis' brows knitted together. 

Time had changed Cain. Life experiences as a Vargrheim wolf had bended him, tried to crack him. Yet, from what Adonis could see, it hadn't succeeded. Maybe Cain did not realize it, but he hadn't needed Adonis -- not truly. 

The Hilmar was not pleased with what Cain said next, but he was turning, moving all the same. His tail neutral against his hocks, as there was no need to exert some arrogant dominance over his brother. If Adonis had it his way, they would be equals; what he possessed, Cain would too. Strength, power, infamy, a wife, offspring. Adonis' jaws parted to speak. 

"Ég bað að þú værir hönd mín, Cain. Ekki minn skuggi." — I asked that you be my hand, Cain. Not my shadow. He grunted. "Það krefst þess að þú sért, að þú heyrir. Það sem þú kallar... 'pakka skít' er arfleifð. Heimsveldi. Einn sem ég myndi láta bróðir minn vera hluti af." — That requires you to be seen, to be heard. What you call... 'pack shit' is a legacy. An empire. One I would have my brother be part of.

Adonis sighed, turning his eyes onward to the path ahead. "Ég hvet þig til að endurskoða." — I urge you to reconsider. 

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Cain thought that he heard his brother funny. Thought that asking for him to be his hand was a joke. A ploy to make Cain feel important, to make him want to come crawling back into the warm arms of Adonis. It wasn't going to work until he saw the sincerity ebbed into his face.

"Ertu viss?" — You're certain? Cain would need him to confirm it. To hear it with his own ears. To be important was one thing, but to be desired by his brother, his mentor, was just another. "Ég, við hlið þér?" — Me, by your side?

Cain let out a brash, sarcasm riddled laugh.

"Og hvað myndi konan þín halda? — And what would your wife think?

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Adonis walked, continuing onwards, pushing through the winding trails he had established over the reigning summits. Cain questioned him, and the wolf cut his eyes towards his brother, nose twitching in silence as he waited to speak.

Silence passed between them, as if he were lost in thought.

"Ég myndi ekki spyrja að því ef ég væri það ekki." — I would not ask it if I was not.

At the mention of Khione, Adonis’ fur momentarily bristled. It brought back memories, reminders, of his wife’s bitter disdain for his brother.

Adonis’ molars grinded. He tsked.

"Khione velur bandamenn sína, ég vel mína. Hún verður bara að sætta sig við það." — Khione chooses her allies, I choose mine. She will just have to accept it.

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This time there had been visible shock on his face. How could there not be? All this time Cain came to understand that whatever that bitch's opinion was mattered more to Adonis that Can ever could. So yes, his mouth hung slightly agape, eyes hanging loosely as he stared at his elder.

"Þá já." — Then yes. Cain said, his expression almost...dissipating entirely. It molded from something harsh, stoic, something crafted from his home. Old home, he now supposed.

It turned into something boyish. Happy, one might say. "Það væri heiður að vera við hlið þér," — It would be an honor to be alongside you, Cain breathed his words.

"Bróðir." — Brother.

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It would have been impossible to miss the way in which Cain’s face lit up, morphing from shock to that of a boyish joy. Something proud, something foreign bubbled into Adonis’ chest. It squeezed around his heart.

When he spoke again, his voice blossomed with pride.

 "Nei, Cain. Það er heiður minn." — No, Cain. It is my honor.

For a moment, he stopped. He gazed upon Cain, nodding his head slowly.

Bróðir.

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