FicWad

AN: Sands from Once Upon a Time in Mexico is back again. So, part II in the Sands arc then. Sly bastard. This one's rated around R...

*


There was a package waiting for him on the kitchen table.

Plain, brown, untraceable. Worn around the edges but still sharp. It could have been anything from chocolates to a time bomb, but he was sure someone had checked it over before letting it in the house. Or, more likely, someone had decided to play a trick on him. One could never tell.

One way or another, Brett ignored the suspicious brown box in favor of grabbing an iced green tea, shoes trekking grime across the tiled floor. A few too many hours in a dirty alley, and there were dark smudges on his knees and elbows. Probably, the redhead thought with a grimace, the stains were from more than just mud and trash.

Sometimes, stake-outs really sucked.

With a tired sigh, Brett rubbed his eyes, wincing as blunt nails reopened a thin cut. New warmth beaded up and a fresh red smear was on his fingers as he drew them back. Just another day at the office.

"This is ridiculous," Brett said to the empty room, looking around expectantly. "I'm not even paid that well yet."

The kitchen seemed a bit sympathetic to his cause and that's when the redhead realized he could probably use a really long nap. Long enough that when he woke up, he could simply eat and return back to his bed. Like a bear, he thought. It seemed a good course of action.

With a nod and a general glance around his new favorite room, bloodshot eyes landed on a solitary post-it note that was serving its time on the refrigerator.

Brett

Take a one hour break then meet us in Ginza. New order to be issued.

B. Crawford

P.S. Schuldig says to bring food.

One more read-over to make sure the story was right and the note found itself meeting an untimely and painfully shredded death. It fell in strips of neon orange into the trashcan. Brown and blue flecked eyes glared at the now deceased note and let out a half-frustrated, half-disbelieving sound.

"At least I'm not laughing like Uncle Far," Brett pointed out to no one and looked around the room, already figuring out what to make for the family's on the go meal. His gaze stopped on the package, still waiting patiently to be opened, and in three steps he grabbed it. Two reckless tears and it was open, tissue paper and plastic pushed aside.

Brett peered inside and grinned. He knew who sent it then, just with one glance. And there was an offer there he was sorely tempted to take.

Hands curled into a fist and he tasted copper-salt on his tongue.

Turning away from the table, he was already at the refrigerator and peering into freezer within a matter of seconds. The clock ticked loudly in the room, one beat at a time and steady as it went, already a quarter of an hour gone.

The redhead was just trying to decide whether that was hamburger in the back or one of Uncle Far's souvenirs when the idea struck him.

No, not an idea. A /revelation/.

A slow smirk worked across his face, anxious and arrogant in the same move. "Well, no time like the present," Brett drawled and ignored the images flashing in his head for a change.

He was out of the room before the freezer door clicked shut.

On the table, a sugar skull sat grinning with his name on it.


*

"What do you mean he's gone?" Kirito was asking with a shrill note in his voice, hand clutching the doorframe like it was a lifeline. "He can't just be gone. We need him to not be gone!"

Tai made a face, half sympathetic and half annoyed, green eyes observing the stranger at his family's door like another character introduced for the first time. "Look, I don't know where he is. I already told you."

"You did, sure, but you have to have some idea. It's important, dammit."

"I don't. I wish I did, but I don't. There isn't exactly a way to keep tabs on him, now is there?"

"Well, actually...but he's gone too..."

Around the corner, hands stuffed into the pockets of an over-sized coat, Alex raised an eyebrow at that and snuck another glance. His cousin was glaring at anything that got in his way while Tai watched on with a stubborn set of his jaw. It could have been funny, the two Japanese boys all hassled-looking and determined. And over him, of all people. Alex was tempted to just stand where he was, a hidden observer, and see how the scene played out a bit more but...

he's gone too

And Alex had known that, somehow.

Heaving a sigh, the redhead pushed himself off the white-plaster wall and trudged over to the bickering boys. The pair didn't even notice him, too intent on their battle of wills, until he cleared his throat. Two sets of eyes-one green, one brown-swiveled about to land on him, widening by a fraction in surprise.

Alex smirked, tilting his head to the side. "What happened now?"

"This guy says he's your cousin," Tai started, taking a step forward and nudging past Kirito. "He's been bugging me for twenty-minutes." Are you okay? was in his eyes but he didn't say it, not with Kirito standing there watching, and something in Alex twisted.

Tai hadn't known about Schwarz for more than a couple months and he was already changing.

Shaking the feeling away, burning it up and swallowing it whole, Alex wondered when life would be simple. "Kirito can be a determined fellow. Especially where my brother's concerned."

"Well, the bastard can't keep out of trouble," the telekinetic huffed and crossed his arms. "And how do you know this is about Brett?"

"Isn't it?"

"It could have been about Cailin," Kirito pointed out.

"I doubt it. Uncle Far wouldn't let anything happen."

Green eyes narrowed, Tai turned to the other Japanese boy. "How did you know Alex was here?"

Alex raised an eyebrow, his own way of asking the same question.

"I looked in the phone book," Kirito snapped, running a hand through black hair. "Look, Uncle Schu nabbed it from Brett who grabbed it from Alex. He's the only one that knows you're here though. Well, sort of here."

"And where's Brett?" Alex questioned. The wind picked up for a moment, blowing long hair into his face and blinding him for a moment.

"He's not here." The voice sounded close to panic now, thin and rushed and confused. "He's just gone."

And that wasn't like his younger brother at all.

Alex sighed again, pushing his hair back so he could see again. Kirito was staring at the ground, hands clenched into fists. Cracks were appearing in the pavement, subtle spider webs branching out further and further every second.

"They told me to come get you. You parents want you to come home, everyone does, and the sent me."

A chunk of concrete snapped out of place.

"I think...I don't know. But can you just come with me? Please?" Kirito didn't beg, and the panic was gone. But now he looked like Nagi did when he was younger, solemn with a look too old for the body.

Alex almost ruffled his hair. "You're worried, huh? Fine. I'll come along quietly. Just give me a second to grab something."

Dark eyes blinked, disbelieving that it was that easy. "Okay, but I'm staying out here. You might slip out a bathroom window or something."

"The bathroom doesn't have a window," Tai said, figuring he should contribute something else before following the redhead into the house. When the door clicked shut, the Japanese boy punched Alex lightly on the arm. "You were there for a while, weren't you?"

Alex offered a small grin. "Pretty much."

"And you let that madman rant at me for that long? I didn't know you were so sadistic."

"I'm not, I promise. But Kirito's normally not all that bad; he's just worried, I guess," Alex explained as he dug into the space between the couch and the end table. He pulled back with an army-green bag. Standing up, Alex slung it over his shoulder and turned to the other boy. "I don't know exactly what's going on, and I don't know how long I'll be."

Frowning, Tai grabbed onto one coat sleeve and tugged Alex closer, wrapping an arm loosely around his waist. "I'm kind of glad your going to see them. But everything seems a bit odd."

"It'll be fine. I know how to handle my family."

"I just want you to come back," Tai said, tracing a high cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. Alex leaned into to, just like he leaned into that perfect kiss, all soft-chapped lips and quick nips and /Tai/, smelling like soap and air and boy.

I want you to come back. I want you to stay.

And Alex could understand that, felt it whispered against his mouth, and was so tempted to go with it for however long he could. But there was twist of something again, brilliant and red, something not be ignored. Enough to make him pull back and smile a goodbye before heading out the door. Harsh light broke in from outside, making the two boys blink hard.

"I'll come back, same as I always do," Alex said quietly.

Kirito was toeing the splintered ground, but looked up when Alex stepped out. He glanced over his cousin's shoulder to Tai, saw the worn expression and brightened a bit. "So you really are coming."

"You thought I was lying?"

The telekinetic shrugged. "You could have used the bedroom window."

With a parting look at Tai, Kirito waved for Alex to follow and started down the sidewalk. Alex shook his head and blew a kiss towards Tai to make him smile before starting after his cousin.

"So what did the brat do? Skip town with some young thing our father didn't approve of?" Alex wondered, easily catching up with the shorter boy.

Kirito rubbed the back of his head. "Well...actually..."



There were voices coming from the kitchen, as if that were the scene of some great and terrible crime. Which it probably was, to a certain degree, but Alex personally felt that things were being thrown out of proportion. Nevertheless, he resigned himself to either a headache or an hour's worth of entertainment and followed Kirito into the crowded room.

"It kind of looks like someone we know," Schuldig was saying, inspecting the sugar skull. He didn't look particularly concerned, slouched in a kitchen chair and holding the tiny white candy in front of his face.

"Alas, Horatio, I knew him well," Farfarello chimed in.

"I would never name a kid Horatio," Nagi said absently, staring into a coffee mug. "Think of the nicknames."

Brad was rubbing his forehead with a definite air of 'why am I surrounded by incompetents?'. "Can we save this conversation for later? We have new arrivals."

"Got him," Kirito said by way of making himself better known, pointing over his shoulder.

All eyes turned to Alex. It made him want to hunch his shoulders and keep walking until he was far, far away. In, say, Hawaii. Or possibly Tijuana.

"Funny you should mention that, kid," Schuldig said, smirking. The telepath set down his former object of attention and crossed his arms behind his head.

"Alex. Welcome back," was all Crawford said, gesturing for him to sit down.

Cailin smiled at him and Alex tried to smile back. It was easier to just focus on her, all curls and gold-eyes, and push the others back. "Akkichan, you can have my chair if you want."

"No, it's okay. I'll stand." Alex took a step forward, bumping shoulders with Kirito who groused and glared but shuffled to the side. "So, what's this about? I'd say a family reunion but we're missing someone annoying and redheaded."

"Funny how that could apply to a couple people in this family," Nagi mumbled. All this drama was killing his online life. "Crawford, should I explain or do you want to?"

"Why can't I?" Schuldig protested, sitting up straighter.

"Because you use bizarre extended metaphors and confuse more than actually explain," Cailin recited and earned a nod of approval from Farfarello.

"What are you talking about? I'm as clear as-"

"We have a situation," Crawford smoothly interrupted and Schuldig sent a look that meant he would be getting nothing tonight. Alex grimaced. "It seems that Brett has taken it upon himself to go on an extended vacation. Did Kirito tell you anything about this on the way here?"

Alex shrugged. "Just that the brat up and left with some guy. Probably to elope in Bangkok. Brett's clever. He can make anyone think he's a girl."

"I didn't say that," Kirito felt the need to add, though he snickered at that last bit.

"Actually, Brett's hooked up with an all-seeing blind gringo and took a flight West. I'm thinking we're the really good pork and Brett's the closest Sands will get to killing the cook," Schuldig said, stroking his chin in deep thought.

There was a deep, demonstrative silence.

"Oh, fine," the telepath snapped. "Brad, talk."

"I told him," Cailin whispered to her Da.

"He's a stubborn mare, yer Uncle Schu," Farfarello whispered back. "But no' as likely ta win at any faires."

"I'm sure, Alex, that you remember at least hearing about one ex-Agent Sands," Brad began. The firestarter nodded, thoughts and snippets of conversation running through his mind. "Sands was here not too long ago, for business and protection purposes. While he was here, Brett was first assigned to watching over the oracle. Needless to say, some connection was made."

"I'll say," Kirito grumbled, not looking happy.

"Sands was-is-a master when it comes to manipulating others. Feeling out weak spots and using them to his advantage or, at the least, enjoyment."

"Had things in common with him then, huh?" Alex interjected with a wry expression.

Behind gold-rims, Brad's eyes narrowed. "Quite the contrary. I greatly dislike the man."

"So why was he here again?"

"He can be useful," the American grudgingly admitted.

"Point to Alex," Schuldig noted. Farfarello grabbed a napkin and pen to keep count.

"That's beside the situation. The point is that Brett has likely been pondering for weeks over whatever Sands said to him. Then this...invitation came in the mail." Brad glared at the harmless confection as if it were the sole cause of his migraine. "I imagine your brother is currently in Mexico, entertaining the foolish idea of never coming back."

"See, tha' made sense," Farfarello said, pointing his pen at the Schwarz leader.

"Someday," Schuldig grit through his teeth. Then he seemed to brighten and cackle to himself.

"And you people wonder why I stay away," Alex said. "Why did you need me here? You seem to have everything figured out on your own."

Nagi looked over at him. "Well, partly because we thought you might want to know that Brett is gone."

Alex snorted. "Like he has the sense to stay away for any amount of time. He'll come back, like a cat. He likes cream too much to mind the collar."

"Okay, why doesn't anyone point out his similes?" Schuldig complained, looking around.

"Alex's sound good?" Nagi offered.

"Tch."

"While you make a good, if slightly insulting, point, I'm not willing to risk the chance of Brett developing a taste for Mexico," Brad said, looking directly at his oldest son. "I'm very much aware of your opinions of me and whatever you think I've brainwashed into your brother and cousin's minds. But I want you to go and bring Brett back."

The firestarter blinked, the palms of his hands growing hotter with every passing second. "Why me? Why not send Schuldig? Or anyone else, for that matter? Brett and Kirito are practically married. Let him go."

Nagi's eyebrow noticeably twitched. Farfarello looked at it, amused.

"He's promiscuous, our boy," Schuldig smirked. A knowing smirk and Alex chose to believe that it was in no way directed at his person.

"Right. Again I say, why me?"

Crawford sighed, running a hand through black hair. There were strands of silver peppering it now, which was somehow shocking to Alex. "Because Schuldig will have one too many Corona's and spend the whole time on a nude beach, forgetting his objective. And Brett won't listen to anyone else, in the end."

Fiery eyebrows arched. "Are you kidding me? Are you saying he won't listen to /you/?"

"Yeah, Brad. Why won't he listen to you?" Schuldig asked, like a kid that's trying to get someone else in trouble.

"I may," Crawford said with a pained expression, "have been more demanding than usual as of late."

Kirito gasped, looking astonished. "No."

"Sarcasm does not become you."

"You think?"

"Kirito..."

Ignore them, kid.

Alex shivered and stomped down on the urge to knock the voice out of his head. Instead, he looked at Schuldig, blue steadily meeting blue. Why? he asked back and knew the telepath would know what he meant.

Listen. Brett likes you. He might also want to punch you sometimes, but he likes you. And you're the same.

Alex almost protested but felt the mental equivalent of Schuldig holding up a hand.

Hush. Telepath and parent here. I know more than anyone wants to. Anyways, he'll listen to you and he'll go with the best choice of action. He'll listen because you don't really want any part of our world...

Besides, Brad will owe you one if you manage to bring the brat back.

That caught Alex's interest. Sometimes Schuldig had a better knack for talking than people gave him credit for. You said the best choice. You mean coming back here?

Schuldig raised an eyebrow, half-lidded eyes hiding any thoughts there. You think you can do it? It might resolve some things. Not to mention it would make Christmas dinner more interesting.

The firestarter shifted, uncrossing his arms so he could stuff his hands in his pockets. He noted that his father and Kirito had stopped their bickering. Now Cailin was admonishing Kirito for cheering over having a room to himself.

But coffee-brown eyes were staring at him, waiting. Not asking, or begging, or even desperate. But waiting, and that in itself was something new.

"Fine," Alex finally said. "I'll go."

Farfarello smirked. "And there was much rejoicing."


*

"Fuck," Brett groaned, pressing the back of his hand against his eyes. The sheets rubbed against his back and the heat was pressing down on him from everything side, from within, and it made everything seem that much more /there/.

"Fuck," he said again and heard his partner chuckle.

"You sound...surprised, pretty," Sands said, hands on either side of Brett's chest, black hair clinging to his face in sweaty tendrils. "Every fucking time."

"Was that supposed to be a-ah pun?" Brett gasped out, fingers finally clutching pale bone arms, legs wrapping around the older man's waist. "Just fucking.../faster/."

Hips drew back, back and away and too far for Brett's taste and he would have complained but Sands was pushing in again. Fast and fully, making every breath the redhead owned leave his lungs.

"Faster, c'mon...I want /more/."

Sands bit his lip, face scrunched up to fine points and planes. One hand moved too hold onto one sharp hip, fingernails leaving tiny crescent shapes. It would probably bruise later.

Brett moaned, shifting his hips higher to urge the precog on. Felt he pressure pool and build as Sands thrust into him with an increasingly unsteady pace. He gathered enough pins to fist his own cock, heat and hand stroking him until he finally snapped, choking back a name.

Sands followed a moment later with a growl, thrusting in deep as he came.

When he was done he pulled out and Brett stretched, wincing as muscles pulled. Propping himself up against the headboard, Sands lit one of his cigarillo's and blew out a puff of smoke.

"Your Schuldig didn't talk as much during sex," Sands drawled, sparing a moment to adjust his sunglasses.

Brett snorted and sat up. "That's because he was the one fucking you."

The blind man opened his mouth to retort, but nothing came out. It took a second for Brett to realize the other man was having a vision and he was just noisy enough to try and see it for himself.

Except there was a wall there, slammed up without the slightest notice. It must have taken years for Sands to learn how to make it.

Or maybe not, Brett amended. Sands was the type of person who would have kept their mind locked tight even before he found out that telepaths existed.

The redhead sighed and reached down to nab a shirt off the floor, shrugging into it despite the temperature. It was over-sized and missing buttons, but the linen was cool if slightly rumpled.

Another pause and he said, "See anything good?"

Sands grinned his shark-grin, glasses slipping down to show gaping black holes. Skeleton man, or an incubus that never went away. Brett frowned and shook his head.

"Well?"

"Oh yeah," Sands purred. "Very good."

"Sometimes," Brett said, "you're a very scary little man. I just thought you should know that."

Sands smirked. "Most of the time, gatito, you're an arrogant snappy little killer. But I like that in a person, so two thumbs way up for you."

"You make it sound like I run around the streets shooting anyone I feel like," Brett grumbled, scowling when a gun-calloused hand reached out and ruffled his already messy hair. He had a feeling pieces were sticking up all over the place.

"How many lives did you take again, when daddy ordered it?" Sands drawled, twirling his smoke between elegant fingers. "You'd be better off killing for your own benefit. Isn't that why you're here, gatito?

"Do you really want to stop altogether?"

"No." Hands clutched at the sheets, twisting them until something started to tear. "No, I don't."

"Poor little Red. All that power and all that ambition. Just waiting to be used, beyond what Captain America wants you to do." Cool hand ran down his back, counting the bumps and knobs of his spine, the ridges of his ribs. "Always telling you and ordering you about, setting up the dance without wanting to do any of it himself. Some grand maestro, huh?"

Brett smiled grimly. "He can't do what I can do. That's why they made me."

"It's alive, Herr Doctor shouted," the blind man said, nails scratching skin he couldn't see. Wouldn't see in this time frame. "Then he realized the monster could destroy the maker."

"Grr, argh," Brett said dryly before rolling off the bed, stopping only to pull his shirt down and grab a pair of boxers to pull on. He noted where his gun was-right where he left it on the bureau-and wandered out of the bedroom in search of food.

There were some enchiladas left over from the other night, with rice and some unidentifiable meat sitting in a container next to it.

If nothing else, the redhead really missed Japanese cuisine.

Sands, isn't there anything in this country that's not messy? he asked, only half-joking.

There's milk in there somewhere. Perfect for the little red gatito.

Brett wondered if he was doomed to being subjected to nickname after nickname for the rest of his life.

Padding back into the bedroom, dodging the sparse furniture that was placed here and there and was never to be moved, Brett raised an eyebrow to see Sands already dressed. Black, as usual. On anyone else it might have been a statement, but on the ex-CIA it just looked good.

"I'm going to go look for something edible. It's a tourist time of the month, so there must be something," Brett said, reaching for his gun. Sands had strict rules about always being armed.

Brett had quickly learned that blind or not, Sands always knew what was going on. It was unnerving sometimes, because the redhead was positive that not even half of the American's insight actually came from whatever vision's crept up on him.

"No, I want you to stay in. For a while anyway," Sands told him, running a comb through his hair before pulling half of it into a ponytail. "You'll thank me later, when you reach the enter new disc selection."

"What?" Brett asked, staring blankly.

"Oh, don't you worry, riding hood. I'm just watching out for that pert kiester of yours, savvy?" Sands smiled, a quick, harsh pull of lips, and patted the telepath on the cheek. "Good boy."

"Does everyone think I'm a dog?"

Sands stopped, considering. "No. Though Red can be one hell of a bitch. I'm going to go watch television. Do whatever you want but don't leave. Got it?"

"Affirmative, Captain," Brett drawled and saluted. "I'll pass on the shows though. All you can watch are crappy Spanish soap operas."

"Well," Sands clucked his tongue, "you'll just have to come save me from the drama of Esperanza and Juan's romance, now won't you?"

Normally, the redhead wouldn't have minded that suggestion at all. With the Day of the Dead here, Sands had been increasingly willing and thorough in their games. There wasn't much that Brett hadn't experienced in one form or another, second-hand so often that the redhead sometimes lost interest in it before he felt it for himself. But Mexico was a dizzy, dusty place with a flowing language and bright colors everywhere. There were dead things creeping and so many people really living that everything seemed magnified to a bizarre proportion.

It was enough to make him want to stay.

And he probably would, for a long time anyway, if no one came to...

Familiar thoughts in familiar patterns, like the back of his hand but better known.

"Oh. Irony. So that's what's good to eat around here."

Brett thought he heard Sands laugh in the other room, but it might have been some other spirit, simply passing by.

He didn't know whether he was starting to love or hate this holiday.

But then there was a knock on the door and the redhead didn't have a chance to decide.

"She'll get to you like that, grab you by the balls and twist just enough to make you give in," Sands said, low but growing louder as Brett passed him on the way to the door. "And she's a smart cunt, knows exactly what buttons to push. That's why I can't leave her. It would be too much like giving in."

"You just like the hard cases," the redhead snorted, one hand grabbing the door-handle and pulling back.

...better be here...

Brett sighed, rubbing his face with his free hand. "I am. Right behind door number one."

Alex blinked, raised an eyebrow, and tried to decide whether to kick his brother or not. "This isn't much of a prize. I feel cheated."

"But it gets great mileage," some shadow said from the corner.

"Sands?" Alex asked and the telepath nodded, opening the door wider. "You look decidedly not surprised, brat. Did you See me coming?"

"No. I Saw you traveling, I mean, but I didn't bother trying to figure out where to. Really didn't think it would be here of all places. Who blackmailed you into that one?" Brett smirked, hand on his hip and leaning against the door.

"I wasn't blackmailed. There's nothing they can blackmail me with, dumbass. I was just made an offer I couldn't refuse," Alex said, glancing at Brett's state of undress. "Can't you put pants on or something? I don't want to see your pasty white legs."

Brett bristled. "They're not pasty. And everyone likes me legs, dammit. Even you." He sniffed but turned back into the house, giving Alex the option of either standing there or following.

Alex followed, but paused in the living room. The man sitting in the corner was smaller than he'd expected, black with flecks of bone-white. He was armed, too, as if expecting a shoot-out to down any second in his own home. The firestarter couldn't connect Sands to the one he'd heard mentioned a few sparse times back in Japan as a kid.

It was disappointing, in a way, that this figure was the man behind the legend but at the same time it made the story that much more interesting.

Then that dark gaze turned and stared directly at him, though Alex was sure he hadn't made a sound; old habits and all. But Sands stared and then waggled his fingers at the redhead in greeting.

It was eerie.

"The calvary's arrived then. I thought you'd be taller," Sands drawled, waving his hand in way that immediately drew attention to it. "Let's hope you lose the war. I like my new German pony."

Brett, sitting on the worn couch as he pulled on a pair of faded jeans, rolled his eyes. "He's a dog, he's a horse. Is there anything this boy can't be?"

"You were a cat too," Alex added without looking over; he was too busy glaring at the blind man. He didn't know why, but the man irked him. "Brett, can we go somewhere else?"

The younger Crawford looked startled by the use of his actual name. "Sure. I was going to go out anyways. The festivals are going on until tomorrow morning. You're just in time for los dios de los muertos. We can see dead people...sort of."

Sands was grinning, chin resting on steepled fingers. "You two crazy lovebirds go on ahead and play with dead things. I'll just sit home and watch the telly. Make some popcorn. Plot the downfall of a nation. Make a sandwich. You know, the usual."

Brett snorted in amusement while Alex felt the profound urge to make the ex-CIA's cigarillo burst into flames. He almost snapped his fingers and made it happen, but Brett had brushed by and grabbed his wrist in the process, dragging him along.

The firestarter cursed when his leg bumped into a side table. "Why is it so dark in this dump anyways?"

One could just make out one raised eyebrow from beneath too-long bangs. "Light-bulbs burned out a long time ago, I guess. And it's not exactly like Sands needs a bunch of 50 watts to get around, right?"

The door banged shut behind them, pushing them out of the dark house and into the crowded streets. Neither of them were used to this type of crowd. Japan was one big traffic jam, sure, and the few times that Schwarz had ventured to America had involved much sitting in an unmoving car. But the city was bustling with people, all of them excited and talking in rapid Spanish as the day just started to fade.

And there were skeletons everywhere, sugar-coated or painted faces, some of them playing instruments while others posed as if about to be wed. And the flowers. They were everywhere, bright reds and burnished gold.

"For something that's oriented around the dead, it's pretty lively," Brett commented, hands crossed behind his head as he sauntered down the sidewalk.

"What are you, a mind reader?" Alex deadpanned, decided to let the younger boy lead. He seemed to know the area better. As they walked, the firestarter kept shoving long strands of copper out of his face, eventually giving up and pulling it into a ponytail. "It's almost night and still too hot."

"You get used to it. It'll be nice when they light all the candles," the telepath said. Amber-brown eyes stared blankly ahead for a moment then refocused. "The one at the edge of town won't be too busy. We should go there."

"What if I want to go to the busy one," Alex argued for the sake of being difficult. Everything was going to smoothly, especially with Sands momentarily out of the picture.

"You don't," Brett stated, knowing, and grinned up at his older brother. "I know these things. Very clever for my age, really. A genius, one might say."

The long-haired boy laughed, a short incredulous sound. "Yeah, right. You're just a brat with a lot of borrowed knowledge."

"And you're the ass that doesn't know what he wants," Brett snapped back, hands clenching into fists against his neck.

Alex bit his lip and almost retorted. But he waited too long and the silence had stretched on. They wouldn't talk again until they reached the cemetery, he knew, because that was the type of place where people like them could talk. Hallowed ground, safe from interference and anything that happened there could be passed off later. Things lurked near tombs and graves all the time, claws scratching and snatching moments away, waiting for midnight.

Always midnight, even in fairy tales.

The brother loitered in the crowds, a parade of undead traipsing by as tiny flames were lit. Alex helped with that, making candles glow and light the way for wandering souls, all of them trying to find a home.

There were stalls with tiny sugar skulls, like the one that been sitting on Schwarz's kitchen table. The one that started this whole mess. And there was bread too, lined with rainbow bone frostings and being gobbled up by laughing children that played and sang Dios Nunca Muere in high voices.

"God never dies?" Alex said to himself, watching a girl with pigtails push a taller boy. "I don't think Uncle Far would like this place."

"Oh, I don't know," Brett commented unexpectedly, peering over the other redhead's shoulder. "He might appreciate the enthusiasm. He's not so much with the hurting God thing anymore. Bread?" he offered, holding up a already bitten loaf.

Alex grimaced but tore a piece off the bottom. He tried to look over his shoulder and really see his brother, because sometimes Brett let things slip with his eyes without knowing it, but there was just a thousand tiny puffs of flame and a mess of fire licked strands.

"Brat, why did you-"

"Not here." Brett pulled back, mouth pulled into a tight line. "Come on, it's getting dark. We can go visit the graves. It'll be cool. I saw it once."

No you didn't... but the point would fall on selectively deaf ears anyway.


Brett was right, though, about the cemetery. It was busy but not crowded, singing and cleaning and pale stone angels watching from high perches. It was easy enough to forget that this was just one piece of land surrounded by land and houses and stores. It seemed too separate, too removed from the world with its candles and shrines.

Breathtaking, chilling. Everything and anything.

Alex lingered on the outside of a small group of Mexican women, watching them with interest and some fondness as Brett skirted and darted between mounds of offerings and prayerful people. He looked so serious as he did so, taking in all the stories and framed photographs. For a moment, Alex would have loved to of known what Brett was thinking.

Want to go sit? was sent his way. Alex searched for a familiar crop of night-dulled red. Brett was looking in the firestarter's direction, eyebrows raised in question. There's a bench a little ways away.

Shrugging, Alex squirmed and dodged his way through the crowd, not enjoying it as much as his brother apparently had. When the distance was closed enough, Brett grinned and started down one of the quieter paths. He figured he stood out enough that Alex would be able to find him.

There was a stone bench, turning green with moss and roofed by the branches of a single tree. Close enough to see the celebrations but still far enough away.

Brett sprawled onto the bench with a sigh, stretching his legs out and leaning back on his hands. There were stones, carved high or cut low, and the lights of candles reflected on the more polished grave markers.

Footsteps on the uneven dirt ground signaled Alex's arrival. The blue-eyed boy cast a glance around before taking a seat next to Brett, elbows resting on his knees.

"How'd he get to you?" Alex eventually asked, staring first at the ground and then at the cemetery around them. "Was it just pulling on your ego?"

Brett gave a low laugh, shoes scuffing the ground. "It was more than that. I just got tired and what Sands said made sense. Still makes sense. The bastard knows what he's talking about and who he's talking to. Not a bad screw either."

Alex's lip curled, a patch of weeds beginning to smoke dangerously. "He's just using you for something. Even Schuldig knows that. Even you know that."

"Yeah, yeah. It's all to get to the big cats and all that jazz. Doesn't make any of what he said less true," Brett said, eyes straying towards the smoke. "I'm tired of just following any and all orders."

The younger boy sat forward, bangs falling in front of his eyes. "You have to understand that. You left."

"The situation wasn't quite the same," Alex said dryly. He didn't really like to think of what his family did, what they took from other people, especially not now that he had seen who those people are.

But that's who they were-who Brett was and always had been, when it came down to it. And he wasn't anybody that could pass that sort of judgment on another.

So he looked at Brett instead, sitting there with shoulders tense but slumped, too big shirt sliding down to reveal a sharp collarbone. His hair was over his face but Alex thought he could see a glimpse of something in his eyes. Worry, confusion, anger. Probably more than anyone could rightly guess.

The firestarter realized, abruptly, that he /wanted/. Wanted to help, wanted to tell Brett how things would work out. As if he were the precog, gathering up simpler futures for a change.

Brett turned, just a fraction of a space, and looked up at his brother. Without thinking, Alex pushed the hair out of his face, feeling it soft and as vibrant as his own as between his fingers. There was a soft light coming from somewhere, and it made everything smoother around the edges, blurry and easier to grasp.

"You can do what you want, in the end. It's up to you. But if everyone at...home, misses me like you say they do, then imagine how much they're going to miss you when you're an ocean away. Pretty selfish move, in all honesty."

Brett glared for a moment, so much like their father's, but it broke within a heartbeat. He thought, strangely, that he could probably count the freckles on his brother's nose if he wanted.

If he could get that much closer.

"We're a pretty selfish bunch of bastards, Alex," Brett finally said.

Alex couldn't really disagree with that. His stomach knotted up, wondering if that was an answer even though he already knew what the answer would-had to-be. The firestarter ignored the feeling though, thoughts of maybes and lost chances drifting through his mind.

There was no one here but the dead, anyway.

Brett's lips were soft under his own, pliant and welcoming as if whispering finally/. Maybe it /was finally. It pulled Alex in deeper, making burning fingers twist in hair so much like his own as calloused hands gripped his shoulders, his neck, anywhere they could go. Wrapped around each other like the vines on some patient mausoleum, not supposed to be but unable not to.

"Fuck," Brett moaned, sweet and rough, as one hand ran a line from his hair to his waist, circling and refusing to let go. "Yes."

"You sound good," Alex said against pale skin, realizing that no matter how hot he grew he could never burn this body. "Feel good."

Nodding, not able to dig up the words, Brett twisted until he could kneel on the bench, punishing stonework bruising his knees. Mouths met again; hungrier, biting, fighting. Too many memories and trials to count up but everything decided as they stole each other's breath.

There were reasons why this was wrong. Why they should stop and why they were damned. It couldn't be that important though, even as curious eyes passed over two fire-topped demons, writhing on a bench as if hell were within them, not some deadly hand from beneath.

There were reasons, they both knew, and grappled to find them and stop, but only found more matching skin, waiting to be traced and mapped.

Why?

Why not?

There were only the dead here, after all, sleeping beneath the earth and watching from the shadows.

And the dead were good at keeping secrets.