In The Midst of Madness

A/N: More random writing. And of course, featuring my favorite characters to write about as of late.

***

He was thankful for the silence.

This windowless cell that held the barest of comforts was his home, his somewhat sanctuary, from the madness that threatened to choke him from all around. However, much as he delighted in insulting the guards that came for him each day, he did not have the power to keep himself permanently within the walls of his poor haven.

He was often dragged out, out into the hallways that rang with the soundless cacophony of choking -choking!- madness, dragged by hair or by arms into the starch white rooms that stank of copper, of cold metal and the ever lingering odor of sweat covered insanity.

He hated those rooms, hated the white that he came to associate with the facade of innocence. Hated the professional gazes that held a primal hunger that ignored any sense of morality in the name of playing God.

The darkness, he found it ironic, held him together more than the light ever could.

But with the doors closed behind him in his little haven, the madness became a little more bearable, his sanity given more footing to snarl and keep the worst of the pain at bay.

He didn’t know why. Why, with all the chances of something horrific to happen, it had to be this. Why it had to be one of the monsters that lurked in the darkness of the human society, and not one of those that so boldly flaunted its supposed grasp of power. If it had been the latter, he would have been able to sense it and prevented more than a superficial wound.

But no, it had to be the one that stole him away in the night at the height of his unguarded state. It had to be the one that made him flinch in surprise and prevented him from making sense of anything in the crucial moments that could have held his chance of escape.

His fists clenched tightly -painfully- at his sides until angry red grooves were lightly carved into his palms. Blood dotted the grooves, but did not seep out.

Kidnap for ransom? Jealousy? He didn’t think for a moment that any of the answers he could come up with would be close to the truth. Truth that so infuriatingly eluded his supreme logic. He may have been bested once, captured and treated no more better than a prisoner, but Hel fall upon those fools who thought it would wound his pride.

And why... why had things turned for the worse? Plans of destruction in the wake of his escape whispered to him each night. But those plans had to be shoved away, in the light of the prisoner they had dropped into his cell a month after his own capture.

His brother. His precious -how dare they hurt him!- other half had also been dragged into this mess that he knew not why it concerned him. Why? He was nothing of interest to the world. No notable achievements unless one would count the amazing streak of pranks he had in his acolyte days.

He was useful. His captors had saw fit to tell him at the least. Neither of them were useful without the other. But should they prove more than a handful to handle, they had threatened to dispose of his brother first. Sadistic, heartless bastards! He had screamed at them until his throat was raw and sore.

Why indeed? Everything screamed of madness that it hurt. The answers that were kept from him only served to agitate him more. He tried to keep his wits together to form his own observations to his questions whilst he was conscious and not screaming like a frenzied dog, a feat that was nigh impossible in the white rooms. He needed to know, he direly needed to know!

There. A gentle emotion, radiating a soft shade of red drifted to him from all the slowly retreating white madness. It brushed against his mind, calling out to him.

Aniki.

Instinctively, he pressed up against the wall, running a hand against it as if caressing someone. Closing his eyes, he let himself breath into a forced calmness.

Moments passed by in silence.

He bit his lip, his eyebrows furrowing until suddenly it disappeared, a mask of indifference resting on his face despite no other was inhabiting the room. Rest, otouto. I am fine. The words soundlessly escape his murmuring lips.

It was something he and his brother shared. A strange but not unpleasant link. Words were never needed with it, but sometimes it helped put focus on the feelings sent rather than let a jumble of emotions be thrown to the other end. Odin knows they had each done that too many times as children before they eventually learned to control it. To some extent.

No matter the distance, the link provided a faint -very faint- line to a pulsing heartbeat at the other end. It was their own secret security blanket throughout the years loneliness came to grip their souls.

You can lie to everyone else as you please, but you can’t lie to me.

The soundless emotion that threw itself at him retorted and he forced himself not to laugh lest he rattled his bruised ribs. Breathing was difficult as it was.

Amusement echoed from his side. As if you could tell whether I lie or not. Pain-laced exhaustion creeped into the unspoken conversation, and his brother’s end threw an empty threat of castration should he continue being a lying bull.

They continued to have a silent conversation. He knew his brother was fine, better off than him in fact. They had been together today, and went through a battery of experiments that left them weak and barely able to return to their rooms. They may have pursued different paths in life, but one thing they did share was a cunning mind. His brother had managed to save the energy to heal himself quietly, and him to a small extent during the brief moment they touched, before being roughly shoved into their rooms.

It wasn't enough for a full recovery, but at the least it promised that he would not die from internal wounds.

His body shook with barely restrained laughter at the last thing his brother said. The sharp pain made him hiss, but fortunately kept him from hurting himself further. Lifting his hands, he looked at the crimson broken half moons on his palms. The sensation of pain was a dull throb as opposed to the bruises marring his chest under his stained tunic. A groan escaped his mouth as he let his hands fall back to his sides.

The white madness had ebbed to the edges of his mind. The darkness filled the spaces, beckoning to him, whispering the promises of comfort and escape. Cold comfort, he knew, but he would not complain. There were certainties of nightmares prowling in that darkness, but he told himself that he was far above such fears of the mind. He was strong. He was above this pain. And certainly far above those fools that called themselves his captors.

They will not break him.

When his vision began to grow fuzzy and his senses dulled against his wishes, he knew then to give into sleep beckoning to him.

He did not have the strength to drag his body to bed, and so he laid as comfortably as he could on the cold stone floor. There would be sore consequences once he woke, but he found to not care for any at the moment.

As his eyes drooped and his breathing evened out, he felt a gentle nudge. A wordless utter, filled with affection that he would never exchange for anything else, an affection he wished to be freed from the shackles of the white rooms and cold, hungry gazes. He will find a way.

He must. He will.

END ENTRY.