Work Text:
Horus is sorely disappointed during his first meeting with Angron. The other has just been found and though the circumstances of his recovery have been noted, he still thinks to himself: this is my brother, our father's blood runs through his veins. In him, I will be able to see something of myself.
None of these thoughts are incorrect. It's just what he sees in Angron that makes his insides twist. The other is scabbed and scarred all over, with a grin that is more a mutation of the face than an actual smile. And the nails -- the Butcher's Nails. The Emperor himself can do nothing about them, Horus knows, but he cannot feel pity, only disappointment and disgust.
These two emotions would have bled into outright disinterest if Angron had accepted them. Horus has been expecting that. But Angron looks at him and laughs.
"There's not much so much distance between you and I," his newest brother rasps, "I've read of Cthonia. I know what your gangs are like."
Such insolence would be cause for death, coming from anyone but a brother. But Horus stops himself from rising to the challenge, looking the other up and down through new lenses. Angron is ugly, yes, and not just because of the nails dug into his skull, but there is something else, something larger than life sizzling beneath his scarred and knotted flesh. Horus digs through his own knowledge of the other and recalls: this brother, Angron of Nuceria, is the only one amongst them to reject the Emperor's offer.
"Yes," he concedes at last, "We are not so different, my brother, you and I."
Angron's mouth moves, as if to smile, before a shock from the nails jolts him and his body spasms as if stabbed. Horus watches, stricken with fascinated disgust, as the impulses from the nails eventually subside. Angron looks at him anew, after the attack, pressing his mouth into a sullen line.
"Have you seen your fill, O Favoured Son? Are you satisfied, that I pose no threat to your standing?"
"Quite," Horus admits.
His brother laughs again, louder, but with less humour. "Away with you then," he snarls, "Keep me away from your glories and I will not hound you with mine." I want nothing to do with you, Horus hears. Despite this, he does not leave the other.
"I did not come to pay my respects."
"Oh?"
He is the foremost son. The first to be found, the first among equals. While his father is out finding the rest of them, he has taken it upon himself to bind his brothers to him. Angron will not be plied with jewels or drink or women. Horus suspects that not even besting him in a spar would bring him to heel. Thankfully, his options are not limited to cage matches and tavern visits.
"I would like to invite you aboard my cruiser," he says instead, "A hunting trip of sorts."
"I must respectfully decline," Angron answers, "I want nothing to do the Emperor and I want nothing to do with you."
Horus smiles, having expected such a response. "That's quite alright," he replies, reaching out to touch his brother's cheek, "For you see -- " Angron is fast; he is faster. Angron is strong; he is stronger. "You don't have a choice in the matter."
The captain of the Eighth Company watches on, slack-jawed, as Horus Lupercal grabs the Primarch of the War Hounds and heaves him up and over. Angron gives a roar of anger at having been caught off guard, raking his claws down the back of Horus' armour.
"Don't look at me like that," Horus tells the captain, "I'm only borrowing my brother for a short while. I'll have him back within the week, alright?" And then, figuring Angron would never forgive him for dragging him through the ship like this, Horus activates the teleportation link, transporting them from The First Fang to his own ship, The Glory of Terra.
-
Angron is still kicking and screaming. He is still livid with rage when Horus sets him down in his own private quarters.
"Now see here," Horus starts and stops. His entirely reasonable explanation goes out the window when Angron starts throwing himself against the furniture, totaling the bed with a single blow before smashing his fists against the walls, the tables, the bookshelves, and so forth. The trinkets which Horus had painstakingly accumulated -- many of which were gifts from the Emperor himself -- rip, crack, and shatter. Horus lets loose a furious bellow of his own, flying towards the other, and he catches Angron grinning.
"Now you understand me," his brother says as they begin to wrestle.
Horus wins. He doesn't do so by fighting fairly, but it's not as if he could permanently incapacitate the other. He's reasonably certain his father would not be pleased, regardless of how much favour he held.
"Now see here," he starts again, when Angron is restrained in the same way one might transport a lion or bear, "As you already know, I am your oldest brother. Now, ordinarily I would ask for a pledge of fealty or at least a show of respect, but from you? I just want to get to know you."
"And I don't want to know anything about you!" Angron spits, gnashing his teeth and trying against his bonds.
"That's fine," Horus shrugs. He double-checks that the bonds are secure -- that the other is unable to move his limbs nor remove the guard on his mouth -- before walking over to the communications center. It still works, despite the damage sustained to the screen.
"This is Lupercal," he tells the ship captain, "My brother is here, please proceed as planned."
"Yes sir," the captain answers.
Horus terminates the connection and then walks back. Angron is in the middle of another attack; his whole body is seized up, frozen in a terribly uncomfortable position, and his eyes are squeezed shut from the damning pain. They fly open when Horus brushes his fingers against his knuckles, and then crease at the edges when he begins to apply pressure.
"What are you doing?" Angron snarls.
"Massaging certain pressure points," Horus replies, "It's a Terran practice. Quite useful, I find."
"Stop it!"
"But it's effective."
"You're mistaken," Angron tosses his head to the side, forcing Horus' hands away, "I like the pain. It makes me feel alive."
"I can't argue with that," Horus admits, "But as I've so cruelly kidnapped you, you must allow me to give you a measure of comfort." And with that said, he returns his hands to the their previous task. Angron yanks his head forward, then crashes it back, intent on not being relieved.
"I told you," he says again, "I don't want or need your help!"
"You have it regardless," Horus blithely says, attaching his fingers to the edges of Angron's scalp. "Humour me, my dear brother, won't you?"
"No," Angron insists, though he stops his manic rocking.
"Hmm," Horus closes his eyes, concentrating on massaging the correct spots. In time, something like a rumble escapes his brother's throat. He makes no mention of it and in doing so, manages to elicit the same sound a second time.
And so it is that they pass two days in the Warp. Angron is talkative, or at least honest, enough to tell him that if he unbinds him, he will fly at everything in a rage and perhaps destroy the ship from inside-out. And so Horus keeps him chained. Upon exiting the Warp, a couple jumps away from the five hundred worlds of Ultramar, Horus draws the curtains back, allowing Angron to see the destination at last.
"What are we doing here?" the other demands.
"Like I said," Horus smiles, "We're going hunting."
-
Hunting translates to stalking down each of the four great slave trading families and slaughtering them all. Angron takes the lead and Horus lets him, though he does not hesitate from shooting a handful of stragglers himself.
It is greatly cathartic, he imagines, being able to bleed out the devils responsible for the nails in your head. What surprises him, though, is how meticulous Angron is about this. He leaves no door unopened, no stone unturned. No one is spared; not a woman, nor child, nor slave.
The two of them are at the mansion of the last family, with the targetted individuals scattered about them, when Angron at last thinks to ask why.
"Our father was most disconcerted with your initial reaction," he answers, "I sought to bring you into our fold."
"Was this his doing, then?" Angron asks, sheathing his twin blades.
"All that I do is in accordance with the Emperor's will."
Angron laughs, walking towards him and taking Horus' wrist with a bloodstained hand. Horus stares, unblinking, as the other lifts his hand and licks a wet stripe from knuckle to wrist. It's a Nucerian show of fealty, he learns later, much like the custom of kissing the king's ring on Terra.
"You are a bad liar, my brother," he says, letting go of Horus' hand and running his tongue against the corners of his lips. "I know the Emperor had nothing to do with this. He cares as little for me as I care for him."
"You must never doubt our father's love for you," Horus replies. "Were it not for him, we would not be brothers."
Angron mulls over this for a while and in that while, Horus gives his own gesture of fraternity, taking his brother's chin and ghosting his lips over Angron's temple.
"Take me back to my hounds," Angron commands of him at the end of it, "And I've no need for chains this time."
"Of course," Horus smiles, pleased at the seeds of brotherhood having been sown.