Chapter Text
'..brother..?'
Oh, no.
No, no, no.
The look of hesitation in her eyes simply won't do.
She's stronger than that.
'Go ahead.' This comes low in challenge and cruelly taunting.
Then there's a pause.
...and anger quickly replaces hesitation...
Good.
'You don't think I'll do it?!'
Oh...
...now that's funny...
So funny-in fact-that he laughs.
He actually laughs.
Because that's so far from what he's thinking right now.
He even says as much.
'On the contrary, sister.' This falls from his lips in cold apathy through a wicked smile. 'I know that you will.'
...and...
...he does...
...he knows it...
And he feels the need to prove it to her.
To prove to her just how strong she really is.
How strong the monster-the killer-inside of her is, he silently corrects himself.
And he keeps smiling at her as he takes a step forward.
The ending is always the same.
In the end, one monster consumes the other.
And the two of them are just actors, playing out this final scene.
'Tell me-' She hisses through grit teeth and wide eyes on the verge of crying. 'You tell me!'
Panic enters her voice, now.
'Who am I..?' She demands as he takes another step forward, and her hands that grip the gun so tightly begin to tremble.
He smiles.
Yes...this is all just a grand, glorious play.
A tragedy, really. Though he finds himself still smiling as he answers her.
'You are me.' He answers. 'And I am you.'
He watches her brows lift up and knit together in confusion.
'I don't understand.' She whimpers out.
Oh.
But he knows that she does.
And he smirks at her in such a cruel way.
Because she does understand, and that's precisely what makes it so awful.
He takes another step closer, expecting that she's going to back away.
But she doesn't.
And he feels the cruel, wicked smirk along his lips fall away into a softer smile, for just a moment.
Only a moment.
Because when she stands her ground against him, in spite of her fear, he finds himself so proud of her.
'You stay away from me!' She snarls at him when she sees how close he's getting to her.
But he doesn't think that he will.
Oh no...
He thinks he'll come even closer.
Because the awful truth is...
That he can't stay away from her.
Even if that's what he really should do.
...even if he wants to...
He can't.
'You are me.' He softly whispers to her this time, feeling how this sets her on edge. 'And I am you.'
'No!' She screams at him. 'I'm not you!' The tears that were once merely threatening to spill over now roll down her cheeks in a steady stream. 'I'm nothing like you!' She sobs, her hands trembling as she fights to hold the gun steady. 'You're a monster!'
Ever-so-slowly, he raises his hands and stretches them towards her. And he relishes the sensation of her smooth skin underneath the tips of his fingers as he brushed them down the length of her arms. The way he seems to be able to set her whole body in flames with such a simple touch.
Her skin-the oil.
His fingertips-the match-as he steadies her shaking hands.
'You're right.' He softly purrs to her. 'I am a monster.' That same little malicious smirk attractively curves along his lips as he holds her horrified, tear-filled gaze. '...and so are you...' These words fall in a featherlight whisper that must feel like a slap to the face-he thinks-given the look on her face.
'I'm not the monster.' She cries before gritting her teeth in rage as she screams at him. 'You are!'
Her monster screams.
His monster just smiles.
Because she's so beautiful when she looks at him this way.
With such hate.
'...then prove it...'
These words fall past the tip of his tongue in an undaunted challenge.
'If I'm the monster, then prove it, sister.' He says. 'I dare you.'
Silence meets this challenge.
Silence as cold and merciless as his heart-if he even has one.
He knows that he doesn't.
Which is why it's so easy for him to say the very thing to push her over the edge.
'Prove it, and shoot me...'
These recurring dreams he had. They were always the same. Of course, some of the details changed from night-to-night. Dream to dream.
Sometimes, they were children again.
Sometimes they weren't.
But the ending to these dreams was always the same. Always.
They died.
Most times, the dreams would end with her killing him. This ending made him the happiest. Because-sometimes-in the dream, he would live just long enough to see the look on her face as she stood over him, watching him die.
...it was so beautiful...
Other times in these dreams, he would become irritated and-growing impatient with her hesitation-he would take the gun from her and shoot her instead. But he would still die, always pulling the trigger on himself after killing her. This ending made him less happy. But he would still wake up with a little smile.
And on rare nights. Very special nights. He would dream of fire. And they would die together-consumed in flames-as they held each other's hands, their fingers entwined.
But this wasn't part of the nightmare narrative.
...this was just his wishful thinking...
A fantasy, and dark wish-fulfillment.
And oh, how the thing deep down inside of him loved fire. Almost as much as Johan did.
…almost...
“Johan.” The call of his name caused his brows to furrow along his own reflection in the cup of tea he'd ordered, but hadn't taken a single sip of. “Johan, look.” This voice continued to intrude along his thoughts as he let out an almost inaudible sigh. “You said you wanted me to come here so we could talk, and you haven't said a single word.” And this caused the faintest flicker of a little smirk to lift the corner of his lips.
“Actually-” Johan paused, still contemplating his own reflection as he slowly spoke. “I said that I needed to show you something.” He corrected in a flippant tone. “Not that I wanted to talk.” He said as that little smirk grew into something just a bit more menacing. “But if you insist.” Johan spoke, continuing to gaze into his tea cup with an almost aloof expression. “My sister's nightmares.” He hummed lightly with the small crease of his brows. “They're getting worse, aren't they. More-violent.” This came a definitive statement that caused the man sitting across the table to balk in surprise.
“How did you-”
“So are mine.” Johan uttered lowly in a flat tone as those cold ocean eyes swiftly flit up from the table to meet Bastian's startled gaze, causing the man to choke on his words.
The look on Johan's face must have startled the man just as much as his ominous words. And Johan found himself wishing he had more time to relish the small joy of having made his sister's boyfriend so uncomfortable. But there simply wasn't time for that.
Because Johan had been telling the truth about his own dreams.
They were steadily growing darker. More-prophetic. And far more violent. Much more violent than his typical dreams. Ever since he'd lost consciousness in Munich. And Nina was no longer in any of them.
At first, he'd wanted to believe that what had happened in the library was just a singular, localized event. A single, painful traumatic moment that had quite literally leveled him to the ground. But one that he had believed-up until now-that he'd shared in all on his own, which made it bearable. But with his sister's headaches and nightmares, this seemed less and less likely.
It just seemed too deeply connected to be a mere coincidence, and Johan began to fear that these things weren't as disconnected from each other as he had hoped.
Johan sighed through his nose, his daunting gaze drifting back down to his untouched tea as he continued to speak in a passive tone.
“Though, unlike my sister,” He softly hummed in a delicate, detached voice. “I have the good sense not to burden anyone else with these nightmares by sharing my bed with them.”
Johan's words must have sounded condescending and unkind towards his sister, because when Bastian responded to this, his voice was filled with protective anger.
“What's that suppose to mean?!” He demanded, and this time Johan couldn't hide the hint of amusement along his lips towards this man's misguided attempt to defend Nina.
Pale blue eyes slowly lifted back up from the table again as they narrowed on the man across the table and Johan deigned to spare him a critical glance.
“It means-” Johan slowly murmured as his eyes darted along the man's face. “that you look dreadfully exhausted, Bastian.” He finished, his eyes lingering a moment on the faint red marks along the man's neck before flitting back up to meet Bastian's gaze with a little smirk at the man's expense.
“Look.” The man groused with a furrowed scowl at Johan. “I have no idea what your problem with me is.”
“Please-” Johan lightly scoffed, seeming bored with the man's complaint. “if I had a problem with you, Bastian, believe me-” He said, looking the man in the eye. “you'd know it.” A delicate sigh pushed through his nose with the faint twitch of his head as those ocean eyes drifted back to his cup. “No. I don't have a problem with you, per say.” Johan quietly murmured. “It's nothing personal against you. I just don't understand what my sister sees in you.” He admitted through a strange level of raw honesty.
Johan supposed it would always be this way.
...perhaps this part of his sister would always remain a mystery to him, no matter how close they became...
“It's sad.” Johan heard this practically spat at him from across the table. “Nina loves you so much,” Bastian said through a level of baffled disbelief. “and she doesn't even know who you really are-” Bastian quipped sharply. “does she.”
“Neither do you, Bastian.” Johan lightly countered through a sigh. “And it's better that way. Believe me.” He said. “No need to make things more complicated than they already are.”
“Really?!” Johan heard this snapped from across the table. “Because it seems like you're the only one making things complicated.”
“Well, I can't argue with you there, Bastian.” This fell from the tip of Johan's tongue with some amusement.
Because the man wasn't wrong.
And Johan heard-what he supposed-was the dying down of Bastian's anger at him as the man spoke again.
“I just don't understand why, Johan.” This came in a faint hiss from the man's lips. “Why you insist on keeping secrets from Nina-” Bastian breathed through a whisper. “when you know telling her the truth is the right thing to do.”
“...'the right thing to do' hm..?” Johan echoed in an empty voice as he avoided the man's gaze. “Tell me, Bastian...” This came a haunting whisper through his perfect lips as he didn't even so much as look at the man. “have you ever considered doing the wrong thing for the right reasons..?”
“No.” Bastian answered, ever the saint and idealist as Johan fought against rolling his eyes at the man. “Never.”
Of course...
But then...
Maybe Bastian had never been given a good enough reason to compromise his morals...
...until now...
Johan sighed through his nose-again-before placing a confidential-looking file on the table and subtly pushing it towards the man.
Maybe this would make him question his morals...