The Brothers Rayne

By the time the last rays of sunset retired below the tree line, the monster house was crawling with activity. While Jesse was eternally grateful to Louis for putting him in contact with a construction crew of exclusively supernatural creatures, seeing all the work trucks pulling up to the house put a pit of unease in his stomach. All these strangers, their hands—or claws, in some cases—picking apart his family home, trampling through the rooms that used to hold so much love and joy, desecrating the place where they had died...

No, it was not the time to be sentimental, he reminded himself firmly. He had already put this off for far too long, allowing things to get this bad as a result of his own neglect. Rayne Manor was his responsibility, and probably the last safe place he could turn to after everything that went down with Maggie before...well, he wasn't running any longer. The house was the last piece of his history still standing, and whether he kept it or sold it or burned it to the ground, he would be damned if he let it be called something so degrading as the monster house for a single day more.

While the crew got started, filling the property with the sounds of raised voices shouting orders back and forth and all sorts of mechanical racket, Jesse soothed his worries by going over the new blueprints he had commissioned. It was a comfort to see that the basic skeleton of the house would look the same, just a bit stronger in some places, a few more vampire-specific conveniences in others.

This is a good thing, he reminded himself for the millionth time, even as the walls around him seemed to sag with reluctance. This is going to be just fine.

It was still fairly early in the night when he was found by that strange creature he still referred to as Creep. He hadn't yet put any thought toward a new name for him with how busy things had been these past few nights, but the little monster seemed happy enough just having someone check on him regularly and bringing fresh food to eat.

"He here!" Creep croaked as he scuttled through the house like his hide was on fire. The knee-high mass of tattered sweater and stench came to a sliding halt in the main sitting room where Jesse stood with his blueprints, mangled claws grasping at the leg of his jeans. "He here! He here!"

"Who's here?" Jesse asked, a little skeptical to believe the creature's distress. Not two nights ago, a surveyor had stopped by to inspect the house and Creep had come to him in an absolute panic thinking he was another hunter come to slay them.

"Master," Creep said with focused intent to convey his meaning, his beady little eyes begging Jesse to understand.

"Master...your master? You mean Luther?" he asked, finally realizing the cause for alarm. Creep nodded vigorously, the tattered hood over his head barely clinging to the leathery green and brown skin of his scalp.

Jesse hurried over to the window of the sitting room where he had the best view of the drive preceding his gate, and sure enough, headlights were approaching. Down the road came a sleek, black town car with a polished hood ornament, every window blacked out.

"Take the back door; go to the woods and hide yourself," Jesse instructed Creep, not taking his eyes off the car as it drove a careful path around the work trucks to reach the front of the house. "Don't come back until he's gone, understand? Not until it's safe."

Creep needed no telling twice, quickly disappearing into the house in the direction of the back door. Jesse had never seen the poor thing so frightened, even when he had first chained him down in the basement. He could hardly blame him; Luther made him want to run and hide in the woods sometimes, too.

He walked out to meet the car at the top of the driveway, nervously patting the plaster off his hands and tucking the hem of his shirt into his jeans. He already felt himself sinking into the pleasant, non-threatening demeanor he always wore for his brother, a loose smile on his face while mentally bracing for the impact of Luther's compulsion. A foreboding wind sent a dirt cloud billowing across that nice, shiny car, and as it finally pulled to a stop, Jesse could have sworn he smelled rain on the horizon.

"Evening, Luther," Jesse greeted as his brother stepped out of the back passenger door. Luther's pressed suit and styled hair under the construction lights contrasted Jesse's dirt-smudged jeans and tee shirt as they stood across from each other, each waiting for the other to speak. A tense silence fell between them when the driver turned off the car, remaining safely in the vehicle to wait.

Luther didn't try to bring him into a hug, or even to shake his hand—none of his usual pleasantries that mimicked familial warmth while invading Jesse's personal space. He merely stared up at their old family home with a look on his face like he could smell the wood rot.

"Came to see the renovations?" Jesse guessed halfheartedly, turning to look back on the house. He already knew that wasn't the reason, but it seemed more civil than assuming Luther had come with some ill purpose.

"Not likely," Luther bit out, his lip curling up in a sneer directed at the whole property in general. He shook his head once, wiping away the sour wrinkle in his otherwise smooth features. "No, I've actually come to extend the olive branch."

In his surprise, Jesse froze, watching his brother with unabashed suspicion. The reaction made Luther laugh, and he folded his hands behind his back in a casual sort of way, but the effect only made him seem more like a circling predator, slinking in closer before the pounce.

"I have a proposition for you, a one-time-only sort of offer," Luther continued, his gaze falling on Jesse in that thoughtful way that said he was taking care not to speak with a direct order. "I want you to leave this place, to burn it to the ground and let it never haunt our thoughts again. If you can do this for me, I'll leave my position as master of the Redwood territory, and we can go somewhere else, anywhere you want. Let's start over, Jesse. Let's be a family again."

Jesse's eyes narrowed, searching Luther's face for any sign of deception, or maybe some clue hinting at a mental breakdown. There was nothing to find there, nothing but an expression of sincere hope, and for a moment he looked so much like the man he used to be. Beneath the pretense of finery he'd built around himself, behind that supernatural prowess, Luther appeared truly disarmed, the red of his eyes dulled by true vulnerability.

"You're serious, aren't you? You would actually leave it all behind..." Something in him ached sorely to just give in, to trust in his brother again, to believe that this impossible dream of his could mend the rift between them at last. It was only the memory of a dead girl's blood on his hands, and of the girl he wanted to spare the same fate, that helped Jesse to remember why they could never go back to the brothers they used to be. "But I know you, and this is not for nothing. Why now? What's changed?"

"As ever, I'm worried about my little brother's wellbeing," Luther explained, adding just the right amount of defensive sting for the insult of Jesse's assumption. "I've been hearing some concerning rumors about your recent activities...and acquaintances."

There it was. Jesse could have laughed at his own gullibility; even as that brief moment of elation came crashing down on him like an icy blast of water. For just a second there, he had almost believed it.

"So, you've been talking to Chelle?" he guessed, grinding her name out through clenched teeth. He had no doubt that it was the elf who betrayed him; the only other person privy to their situation was Louis, and his loyalty was without question.

"Yes, and she's been irritatingly discreet on your behalf," Luther said, quick to defend his own friend's honor. "But the fact that you sought her out was evidence enough. You're involving yourself in other people's problems, Jesse, not a care in the world for your own safety, so it falls on big brother to step in and be your voice of reason yet again."

"Reason?" Jesse echoed with shrill disbelief. He knew it was unwise to challenge Luther so openly like this, loose canon that he was, but it was like all the venomous thoughts that had been building in him had finally found a crack to slip through, demanding to be heard. "Was it reason that made you kill Maggie Jameson? The daughter of a True Hunter, who wasn't even on the job, outside the rules of fair play? You could have just started an all-out war with the Jamesons, and for what?"

"For my family," Luther answered, his valiant tone painting him the righteous martyr. "That may mean nothing to you, but I saw my little brother being chased across the country by a rabid dog, so yes, I put her down. I did what I had to do to save you!"

"I never asked you to save me!" Jesse roared back at him, loosing the floodgates of his fury, letting it burn hot through his veins. "You kill and you take and you destroy anything that gets in your way of having complete control of my life, all while I endure and I suffer, clawing and grasping for every ounce of freedom. You would have me isolated, chained to your will, force fed—"

"Oh spare me this tired old argument!" Luther seethed, barely refraining from an eye roll. "I will not be villainized for keeping you alive, just because you were determined to throw your life away over some temporary mood swing. What would you have me do, sit back and twiddle my thumbs while you chase death again and again like some madman?"

"Would that it had taken the first time," Jesse hissed in reply, aiming his sharpest words right at his heart, and just as intended, they struck true.

Luther backed away a step, finally lost for words. His eyes were suddenly far away, transported back in time, as he looked up at the open doorway of the house they used to share as brothers. As a family. Jesse knew precisely what he was thinking, and the memory haunted him with just as much pain and horror. Luther standing over him, his Sunday suit drenched in fresh blood, sobbed words of apology spilling in time with the dribble on his chin. He, desperately crawling for the door, his slicked hands slipping across the hardwood floors, unable to find purchase. The only word left in his mind was no, chanted over and over like a prayer.

"That isn't my brother speaking," Luther said, shaking his head as he paced a few steps, seeking more distance as if he could no longer take the weight of Jesse's accusing eyes. "That's her talking, isn't it? This human who spoils your mind with romantic notions of a tortured soul. Don't I always tell you not to associate with their kind? Haven't I always said nothing good can come from playing with your food?"

Recovered from Jesse's blow, Luther returned to face him, jabbing a finger in his direction like a scolding teacher.

"All I have ever wanted was for you to be safe and happy," he ranted, staring Jesse down, eyes devoid of all empathy. "Have I not done just that? Have I not proven that I care only for your best interest? You say you would rather have joined our family in the dirt, but what about the family standing right here in front of you? Instead of this self-sacrificial loathing, cursing the one person who stood by your side for two centuries, try a little gratitude!"

Gratitude. The word rang in Jesse's ears, seared through his blood with a vengeance. Gratitude. The nerve, the gall, the complete self-absorbed audacity of him! With the fire of rage ignited in his lifeless heart, the rest of Jesse's body stilled with deadly calm, and when he spoke, he took the kill shot.

"Luther, hear me now because this is my final word on the matter." Whether it was the cold severity of his tone, or Luther's own curiosity, the other man paused his tirade, waiting. "I do not love you. I do not need you, and I do not wish to know you. Every night that I awake with your blood in my veins brings me hell. You say you want me to be happy? Then turn around, leave this place, and don't you ever come back."

Luther took an involuntary step back as if the words themselves had propelled him, but that was the only weakness he would allow. His face smoothed over like impassive stone, betraying nothing of his thoughts, but Jesse could feel him teeming with dark potential.

"If that is your wish," was all Luther said, his voice refusing to betray the direction of his thoughts. Without another word or lingering glance, he turned and marched back to his car. The engine started just as he reached for the handle, and it was pulling away before the door was fully closed.

Jesse watched him leave, practically vibrating from nerves. Those words he'd been holding in for nearly two hundred years left quite a crater in him, and he couldn't truly comprehend that they were out in the open. More than that, he couldn't accept that this would be the end of it. Only a fool would think that Luther Rayne would take such a sleight lying down.

Jesse turned over his shoulder to look back at the house where a long night of work lay ahead of him, and as the gaping windows and downturned porch railings stared back at him, he saw his mother's face looking back at him. He still couldn't quite recall the details of her, not the shape of her nose nor the color of her eyes, but he remembered vividly the way she would shake her head when she was disappointed with him, as he knew she would have been disappointed on this day. To see her sons, the last surviving members of her family, practically at each other's throats...he could picture her shaking her head now, and the guilt was so oppressive that he had to look away.