Blood Ties

The last chapter will be here in a few more days. Enjoy!

Title: Granite Lullabies 4/5
Summary: Vengence
Impliments: None
Archive: Not without my permission
Feedback: PLEASE!!!!
Warnings: This is YAOI!!! This one is
full of angst and will require tissues in ALL installments!

..... and you thought the LAST one made you cry?!

Blood Ties

Granite Lullabies: Part 4


It had taken a third police officer to hold him as the body was placed into the ambulance before it drove away with its sad burden. Another half hour went by before Armand stopped screaming his baby brother’s name and was only sobbing weakly. An hour after he had arrived, he was back to having only one officer holding him, but it was as much in an attempt to comfort as to restrain. Later he would remember the tear tracks that had stained that young man’s face. Another paramedic finally came and looked at him, but he just couldn’t bring himself to respond. Distantly he heard her murmuring something about shock.

He came too almost an hour later, gripping the edges of a blanket that had been draped across his shoulders. For a moment, he wondered what had gained his attention, and then he noticed movement on the porch of the small townhome and the voices he had been listening to for almost five minutes finally began to come into focus.

It was really only snippets of information, but it was more than enough. “Running…. .always was warning him…..” He could hardly believe the words he heard his father telling the detective dutifully taking notes. “Fell down the stairs….. hit his head…..” His mother looked to be in shock herself, but she stood behind her husband, nodding her gaunt and drug wrecked face dutifully where it seemed appropriate. “Don’t know how….. marked….. always playing rough.”

Even from where he sat, the purple eyed boy could see the bruises on the knuckles of the man’s left hand. He was gesturing with his right, drawing attention there instead. Armand knew all too well just which hand he liked to hit with the most.

Without even realizing it, he suddenly found himself standing just a few feet away from the little group. They had fallen silent when they noticed him and now were looking at him. The detective looked at him inquiringly, wondering if maybe he might have something to add, even though he hadn’t been there. His father’s look was definitely more along the lines of suspicious and was full of warning. But Armand didn’t care anymore. The only thing of worth that there had been in his life had gone to the morgue two hours before.

“You bastard.” The words were said quietly, but they immediately got everyone’s attention. “You murdering bastard,” he said again, this time louder. “How could you? How could you kill your own son?! You killed him!” Everyone seemed stunned at the accusations pouring from the youth, each one getting louder until he was again screaming as loud as his hoarse and seriously abused vocal chords would allow him to. “How dare you stand there and lie about what you did?! You killed him! You killed my baby brother! YOU BASTARD, YOU KILLED MY BABY!!!”

He launched himself towards the monster that had given him life, but was brought up short yet again by the same caring police officer as the first time, his eyes now fixed suspiciously on the man heretofore thought innocent. Said man immediately began yelling angry denials and many noticed the way his so far supportive wife pulled back in fear from his rage. Armand noticed this only dimly. The last thing had been seen too, now that suspicion was where it rightly belonged, and the boy felt himself begin to shutdown, and he fell gratefully into blessed darkness.

* * *

Armand remembered nothing of the next three days. They had taken him to the hospital to be treated for shock and because they needed to put him somewhere until the allegations could be investigated. They were also worried about the very real possibility of a suicide attempt. The nurses told him later that he had walked around and gone to the bathroom, even showered, but he didn’t remember any of it.

He was in the hospital for another full day before it was decided he was recovered enough to be released into his families care. His parents had been investigated, as had the circumstances leading to his brother’s death, but only half-heartedly. Nobody wanted to believe that someone was capable of doing that to their own child.

The day he was released, he had a visitor. A woman in her mid thirties arrived at his door with some information she thought would interest him. An unknown benefactor had gifted a burial plot in the largest and most beautiful cemetery in the area for little Marc to be buried in. The same benefactor had also donated a beautiful granite headstone. The woman also told Armand that there had been no funeral. The toddler’s body had already been interred into his final resting place at his parents’ request with no fanfare at all. The young man only nodded silently at this news.

As the sun set, he found himself in the back of a police car and on his way home. His family hadn’t had a car for the last two years or so, but they had managed up until now. Given the situation, the police force of the city was kind enough to offer transport.
Armand got silently out of the car when the door was opened. He tried to feel something, anything, at the sight of what had once been ‘home’ to him, but if felt as if some part of himself had died along with Marc. He seemed to have only one emotion left. His parents, pretending dutiful worry, came out of the house to greet him. His father came up to thank the nice policeman and then reached a hand out to lay on his remaining son’s shoulder. He stiffened as he met rage filled lavender eyes. He had often teased the boy for having ‘girlie eyes’ but now he saw just how cold they could be. Cold with hate. Looking into those eyes, he saw his own death looking back at him.

He didn’t touch the boy, instead motioning for him to lead the way into the house. If he thought they would have, he would have asked the officer to take the suddenly dangerous boy somewhere else. As it was, there was no way in hell he was letting the kid be at his back. The victim had suddenly morphed into a predator, and the man knew who the prey was.

As soon as the door closed behind them, the man cuffed Armand on the back of the head, trying to reassert his dominance and attempting to put some fear back into the purple eyes. “Get to your room,” he said. Hate filled eyes glanced at him, but the youth headed up the stairs without a word. He could wait.

When they had been walking up the drive, Armand had seen something that renewed his hope for vengeance. A dark but familiar figure was waiting in the night; hair as dark as his own pulled back into a tail and eyes that he swore had glowed just the faintest red, but he thought it must be his imagination. And he hadn’t been alone. Armand didn’t know how he knew that the other shadowy figures waiting with him were friends, nor why he felt no fear of them at all, but he didn’t question it. He knew they were there to help.

He sat silently on the bed in his darkened room, watching the hours tick away. Biding his time until precisely the right moment. It was midnight before he moved again. Moving to the window, he pushed aside the curtain and looked down at the front lawn. He was somehow unsurprised to see the stranger standing in the light cast by the street lamp. They exchanged nods and Armand dropped the curtain and began making his way downstairs.

The stairs ended at the front door where Armand paused to look down the small entry hall into the living room. The eerie bluish light cast by the t.v. lit the room as it blared out it’s the booming loud music from the movie his father was watching. From the sounds, it was apparently one of the war movies he favored so much. How appropriate, the boy couldn’t help but think.

He couldn’t see the television from where he stood, or his parents, but he had seen the room enough times to know exactly what was happening. His father would be sitting on the threadbare couch in his usual spot directly in front of the t.v. with a beer in one hand and the remote in the other, lording it over his domain. His sick mother would be sitting dutifully beside him in her nightgown, exhaustedly trying to keep her eyes open lest he think she wasn’t paying attention to something. She hadn’t deserved the treatment she had received from her husband, but she also had never made any attempt to leave the man, nor protect her children, for love of the drugs he provided for her.

Armand turned mechanically to the door, quietly unlocking it and pulling it open. He looked up into the eyes of the handsome stranger and for a moment felt fear. His eyes WERE glowing red. But then the man crouched down to be at the same level as the eleven year old boy, and they were the same stunning emerald green he had looked into the first time they had met. “Who are you,” he asked.

“My name is Paulos,” the man said. He had an accent that the boy had never heard before, but it gave his voice a purring sound. “I’ve been watching you,” he added.

The lavender-eyed boy nodded. “I know.” He looked calmly at this man, Paulos, for a few more seconds before asking another question, “What are you,” for he had no doubt that this being was far from what he appeared.

Paulos smiled at the astute observation of such a young child. “I am the stuff of nightmares, but also of dreams. But no matter what you may see or hear, you will never have need to fear me.” For just a moment he allowed the tips of his elongated fangs to shine in the light. He was glad to see that the boy’s eyes widened for a moment in amazement, but he didn’t make any other sign of distress. “I have come to offer my assistance to you in the removal of a particularly depraved bit of offal.”

The boy leaned around him and looked at the other four shadowy figures that waited in the darkness. “What about them,” he asked.

“They are here only to bear witness and to ensure that there are no interruptions. As well as to make sure there are no successful escape attempts, unlikely as that may be.”

Armand nodded again but had just opened his mouth to make a response when he was rudely interrupted. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, punk?!” The boy turned to see his obviously drunk father standing in the living room doorway. “Who do you think you are opening the door to just anyone? You’re almost as stupid as your brother was!”

Lavender eyes blazed and Armand launched himself at the man but was stopped by a firm hand on his arm. “Oh, please,” the vampire said grimly, “allow me.”

The boy looked at him before nodded decisively. “But his death is mine.”

Paulos looked at the child, startled at his vehemence. “As you wish,” he said. “You deserve it.” As he moved towards his prey he heard a small voice behind him.

“No. But Marc does.”

The drunk man looked at the stranger in his house in angry confusion. “What do you think y-“ His words were cut off when the man backhanded him across the face. Through the pain, he dimly realized that his feet had left the ground, but that was only an instant before his back slammed into the opposite wall of the living room.

Seeing that the murderer was incapacitated for the moment, Paulos turned his attention to the woman screaming weakly on the couch. He approached her while making shushing noises. As soon as his eyes made contact with hers, she quieted as his gaze provided just enough hypnotic suggestion for her to feel safe, something that only the strongest vampires could do. When he got close enough he pulled her into his arms and pushed her mind into a deep sleep.

She deserved to die, without doubt, for the things she had allowed the father of her children to do to them. No matter what the reason for her faithfulness, she had no right to keep her children in such a situation, much less when the reason was her own self-gratification. But she still bore an odd love for her children, no matter her inability to express it, and Paulos recognized it.

Deciding to make her death as painless as possible, he left her in her imposed sleep and pressed his face to her neck. Sharp fangs punctured her skin almost delicately, and allowed the thin red river to flow. Her blood was bitter with sickness and there was some residual tang from the few drugs in her system, but the sod she lived with had been cutting back on what he was giving her for some time, so there wasn’t much. Slowly she sank into a much deeper sleep. This time it was one from which she would never wake.

The vampire gently lay the corpse back onto the couch, the two tiny punctures looking like little more than a bruise. Looking up he saw the child he had come to rescue watching him. For a moment he feared to see rejection in those eyes, but instead saw only acceptance and maybe a bit of gratitude for finally bringing his mother peace.

A curse filled groan brought their attention back to the focus of their rage. Fear was quickly burning the alcohol from his blood and clearing his head, but the man still couldn’t quiet comprehend what was happening. Using a nearby table he pulled himself to his feet, almost sending the rickety piece of tumbling itself. “What do you think your doing in my house,” he groused. “What did you do to my woman? Do you know who I am?”

The vampire stalked closer to his chosen prey, but the man was bolstered by being on familiar ground and didn’t recognized just how much danger he was in. “Yes,” Paulos said in a menacing voice, “I know EXACTLY who you are. You are a user, and an abuser, and a murderer of children.” His steps had taken him directly in front of the man who was suddenly beginning to realize that he might be in danger.

“I-I didn’t mean to kill the brat. I only-“ His voice was cut off again by a scream as the vampire raked a hand across his chest. Where only moments before had been a shapely hand with well-manicured nails was suddenly razor sharp projections that could be labeled as nothing less than claws.

“You seem to enjoy hurting others that are weaker than you. Now you’ll get to see how it feels to be at someone else’s mercy!” Methodically, Paulos began slicing open the man’s face, torso and groin. Each cut sprayed blood across the wall as the man screamed in agony interspersed with barely coherent pleas for his life. Both were summarily ignored, just as he had ignored the cries and pleas of his own victims. The vampire was careful not to do anything that would push the man’s body over into shock or allow him to pass out and escape the pain.

After a few moment, there wasn’t much left except blood and gaping wounds, some with unknown bits of viscera pushing out of them. Paulos knew that the man didn’t have much life left in him. He reached a hand back to deliver the final stroke, but felt a singe restraining hand on his arm. Looking down, his full vampire nature revealed in all of its deadly and animalistic glory, he looked into determined lavender eyes.

“His death is MINE,” said the boy. Armand refused to be frightened of the strange visage before him, because he refused to have the death of the man who murdered his brother taken from him. The vampire looked at him for a moment, as if assuring himself of his resolve, before stepping back and looking away. When he looked back, Paulos looked human again. Or at least as human as a vampire COULD look who was covered in blood.

Silently the vampire reached into a pocket and withdrew a very sharp knife and offered it to the child. Some people needed to be rescued. Others needed to rescue themselves. It was obvious that Armand was of the latter group. Leaning over the barely conscious man, he showed the boy exactly where the jugular vein was that ran along the neck. After placing a hand on a blood soaked shoulder for balance, the eleven-year-old boy took his first life with one deep stroke of the blade. A last arc of blood landed across his face but he ignored it to look into his father’s eyes as the light faded from them.

He turned to the vampire and offered him the hilt of the blood soaked knife. “Keep it,” said Paulos. “You’ve earned it.”

“What happens now,” asked Armand with some confusion. He had never yet looked past this moment in his mind, and simply didn’t know what to do.

The dark haired man looked carefully at the boy, measuring something only he seemed able to see. Finally he nodded as he made a decision. “I’ll never harm you,” he said. “I won’t promise that I’ll never bring you pain, but I swear that I’ll never bring you harm. I’ll not make your choices for you,” he continued. “If you wish to forget this night and all that you’ve seen, I can make it happen.” Holding out his hand he said, “Or you can let me show you more of my world and if at any time you change your mind, you can back out with no consequences. But know that if you come with me, I’ll do all in my power to protect you and destroy anything or anyone that seeks to bring you harm.”

For the first time in his life, Armand trusted. Somehow he knew that this man, this being, was speaking the truth. Wordlessly he placed a blood-stained hand into the vampire’s and was pulled into a hug of warmth and safety. Not letting go of the vampire he spoke into the broad chest. “Would you take me to my brother now please?”

“Of course.”

He lifted the boy into his arms and carried him towards the front door. Suddenly his slim burden began to struggle to be put down.

“Wait! I forgot something!” As soon as the boy’s feet hit the floor he ran up the stairs. Only a moment later he came back with something clutched in his arms. Strong arms once again lifted him without a word and bore him outside where the yet nameless others waited.

“Hold on,” his bearer murmured. The next ten minutes were a blur, literally, as the group traveled to the north by, impossible as it seemed, jumping and leaping incredible distances that almost felt like flight. In Paulos’ case, he would find out later, he wouldn’t be far wrong. Finally they came to rest in a very large cemetery. The boy looked at Paulos in confusion for a moment before he was pointed towards a large headstone.

Armand walked forward until he could see the stone clearly in the light of a nearby light, and then fell to his knees before it. It didn’t say Marius, as he had expected, but ‘Marc’ and there was no last name given at all. He placed his hands on each side of that loved name when he saw the inscription underneath it. ‘Beloved brother.’ Before the stone he set the blood stained teddy bear that was to be a gift and was the only thing he had taken with him from the place he had called home.

He felt his body beginning to tremble with pent up emotion. Concerned and loving arms pulled him into an embrace. Paulos as well as the four men that had come with him that he didn’t even know held him in their arms as tears began to run down his face. He didn’t even know their names, but already these people were more family to him than his parents had ever been.

Looking through their bodies at the marker of Marc’s final resting place, he saw the two bloody handprints that he had left on the stone. The blood of his murderer. It was a fitting tribute.

“Happy birthday, little brother.”

The arms held him closer as he began to cry in earnest and red tinged tears mingled with his. The night was broken by a child’s pain filled sobs, and the broken words of one last lullaby.