Come Scientist Destroy

His attention went back to his brother - Famine frowned. Anything to happen to him. Really, what had happened here? Things that he had not been around for, perhaps things would have gone differently if he would have arrived sooner rather than later. And, better than all of this? Pestilence and him had always had a bit of a sibling rivalry. Pest was acting different - this was all different. Appreciative, affectionate, and afraid. These were things that he had not known Pestilence to be before now.

The smile though, and the brush of hand at his wrist made him falter - his thoughts stopping. Famine sighs, He takes Pestilence’s wrist gently in his hand - pulling him over the table slightly. Gently. Just so they are inches away from one another. “You’ve changed.” He voices to the other, blinking as his eyes flit away before looking back at him. He let’s go - leaning back a bit, but they are still close.

Shameful, stupid little Pest.

Famine made a heroically-sized breakfast, quick as you like, and Pestilence ate contently with his brother. Famine, of course, took the lion's share, but left more than enough to satisfy his older brother. Pestilence smiled with him and laughed quietly as they talked of untroubling things, and perhaps once or twice Pestilence felt his foot brush the younger's.

It was nice.

He cleaned the dishes. He was good at it. It barely took a thought and all the filth was gone, leaving them to only be replaced in their cupboards. He did that too, seeing as Famine was quite a bit shorter now (the difference in height was refreshing and endearing. Famine had to look up to meet his eyes now.)

Then he realized. Perhaps War really has broken Pestilence. He had assumed that no matter how bad things were, the other would at least have some sort of hope. It really does sicken him to know that one of his brothers could do this to another. He doesn’t get from it that he should leave War alone. No, his own destructive force can be just as much as his brothers. He has not utilized the true potential in what seems like forever - but he is itching to have at it now. His own true form, so to speak, by now, had to be huge. Beyond huge. It grew with each soul he had eaten. Stored away in his unearthly form. And oh, how he had eaten in the past centuries. Desperate to be whole once again.

The fact that Pestilence is happy that he is there is something he hears - eyes flickering toward him for a moment as he had lowered himself so he could get the eggs at the bottom of the fridge. He ponders it - nose wrinkling at the smell of the fridge before it’s all gone - all good as new. He doesn’t smile, but he does hum in satisfaction for a short moment.

He is grabbing a griddle from a bottom cabinet and then a couple of frying pans - setting to work on eggs and bacon and pancakes. Famine hears Pestilence. He does. “I hope that you’re defending your own decision instead of attempting to influence mine.” It’s not as sharp as it should be and he is staring at the eggs sizzling in the frying pan. “Hunger is stubborn and persistant.” His eyes finally go to Pestilence - and they are the dark and bottomless depths of what they used to be. “You know why I look like this?” He asks suddenly.

Regret flooded his chest. How many time would he set himself up for failure?

In his reverie, he didn't notice his brother's rambling had come to a stop and the younger was standing before him, far too close inside his personal space. But most people within a 10 foot radius were inside his personal space, so Pest gave him leniency and grunted to signal his notice.

"I just don't want anything to happen to you," Pestilence tried groping for his original point in the conversation, before the derailment into moping about his current situation, "You're better than all of this. Seriously."

His green eyes caught Famine's black ones for a brief second and he saw the flare of rebellion in them. As it was the youngest's way, in all things. Pestilence smiled lightly for a second, fondness for his brother overcoming his previous worry and shame. He reached out hesitantly and brushed his wrist; the best he could do for a fond gesture.

"I'm happy you're here," he says quietly as they wander through the kitchen. He leans against the counter and watches Famine gather the supplies to make breakfast. Pestilence clears the food of spoils and infestation. It das been a while since anyone went shopping. He smiles to himself as the mold dies away and the food is as fresh as grocery-bought can provide.

"Families have to stick together," He continues, feeling it's something like his duty to say so, "We're stuck with each other for eternity, might as well try to get along."

He pauses, fingering at his scar, "Sometimes it means making sacrifices to keep the peace. Especially when the other one won't back down."

War watches him. Watches him sob and beg for forgiveness. It’s always thrilling to watch his sibling break before him. As for Death, he considered the older Horseman to be down and out for the count. It’s not as if Death could hurt him, he knows very well the consequences of his actions. Two down, one more to go. If that one more ever shows up, of course, or has the stupidity to challenge him. War hopes Famine makes the correct decision. 

The Horseman snorts at hearing that term again. That confession. Profession. A hand reaches out to curl into Pestilence’s hair, yanking him back onto his feet, fingers pulling on that hair so neck is bared before him. War leans forward and presses a platonic kiss on Pestilence’s jugular, brief and gentle. “I’m confused, Pest, than why did you fight me? Disobey me if you love me?” he questions maliciously, feigning interest. “Why do you continue to fight me?” 

Gradually those long fingers uncurl from Pestilence’s hair, a lone finger dragged down across a dirty cheek. There it taps Pestilence on his cheekbone, tutting and scolding. It’s a pleasure yanking and burning Pestilence, always enjoying causing harm to his sibling. It’s his nature. When the opportunity presents himself, he takes it. Caring little of others and other forms of prosocial behavior escaped War and it only made the brutal breaking down of others all the more pleasurable. But Pestilence was a treat. Something he can come back to time and time again and get that same tune out of him if he squeezed and choked hard enough.

"I won't," he rasps in promise, tears rolling down his cheeks, "I'll be good, I promise, I love you...!"

He never meant to hurt him.

The thought twists in his brain like a knife. Deeper, deeper. Pestilence chokes, drowning in his own tears.

He is released, knees week, body swaying. He feels like he's full of water, ready to tip and splash on the ground. Dull, dying green eyes regard his older brother. Why does he fight? Why does he hurt War like this? He tries to apologize, though the words just sound like sounds now.

He is exposed. Pestilence whimpers, bowing his head. His hands are quick to react, greedy to please his brother. He sheds his jacket and shirt, leaving him naked from the waist up–more clothed than War but more exposed than words can say. He is on display for War now. The scar in his neck is fresh and bleeding. The blood slides down his chest slowly. The cut is deep. It feels like a molten knife carved its way into the base of his neck.

It is a collar.

Pestilence knows he will bear this mark for the rest of his life, healing powers useless against it. His form will change over the eons, but that scar, that brand will forever mark him. Something small inside him finds comfort in the idea. He is owned now. Protected.

Too bad his protector is also his abuser.

He wants to make some smart comment - but he doesn’t as his eyelids lower slightly. It’s an odd look - debating almost. “Like I said - I’m not suicidal.” Some small part of him wants to lean forward and run his tongue along that mark - just to see what sound the other makes. He chuckles at the thought - before turning his head to look at the ceiling again.

He hopes so, anyway. Pestilence draws his knees up and rubs at his face.

His stomach growls, no doubt affected by his little brother's presence. Normally he skips breakfast in favor of trying to sleep in but with the sun slowly spilling through the curtains and another day beginning, Pestilence knows to give up on sleep. The heaviness of exhaustion pulls him back down to the mattress with a thump and a sigh.

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse

“Ah. So you're a pessimist now too? Well, I suppose you’ve always been one of those.” He doesn’t like all of this talk - it’s not about the world ending - he is allied with Lucifer after all. But it’s the fact that Pestilence is so obviously falling into a spiraling pit of despair. “Why are you torturing yourself like this? You are chained - I understand - you think there is no hope. There is always at least a light at the end of the tunnel - there has to be something good about this situation that allows you to look at it from a different angle.” He says - heatedly - frowning.

"The bright side is that it'll finally be over. All the squabbling and biting at each other..." Death will reap them all in War's wake and finally, finally, some quiet. The thought sounds unbearably tempting to Pestilence's exhausted mind. Finally, sleep.

He leans against Famine a bit, mind quietly working over the situation. He's done all he really can, he thinks. Time to lie back and accept what happens as consequence. He's too tired for anything else. Too tired to keep fighting. He's a beaten dog now, curled up in his doghouse, tethered to the ground and impotently snapping his jaws.

Pestilence regards his brother.

He should argue that Pestilence isn’t an idiot. He’s been going around insulting him and calling him a crybaby this whole time - this attests to this - but he obviously isn’t going to say anything. He doesn’t mind this - being nice to Pestilence. And the poor thing has been through so much.

Pest invites him over - Famine is hesitant but he slowly moves over there - moving like he has muscles in places he shouldn’t before laying there beside him. At first he is tense - Pest’s arm going around his waist. Seems more than - Famine sighs and relaxes even though it goes against his own thoughts and what he is normally like. He wants to scoff - despite tending to not have anything really bad against War - he isn’t afraid of him at all. Hungry is what War is. Famine is used to it - not intimidated by the greed and want for power.

"This world. Why even bother anymore? These little petri dishes are trying for all they're worth to destroy it and each other. Why not let them? Why not bring on the apocalypse and end all this stupid dancing around?"

It's not what Daddy had in mind when he created them. But it's an end they were made for and the inevitability weighs heavily on all their shoulders. Pestilence's ache with it. Some days he wished War would really engulf the world once and for all and they could all just rest.

"That's giving up. Not that - I realize that by now he has put you through a lot." Famine reaches forward - a hand on Pestilence's cheek - pulling it away slowly so it is like he is stroking the skin there. He doesn't know what else to say. Curiosity prods him to ask to see the thing. But that seems like it would be a bad idea. whole

"I'm an idiot," Pestilence admits quietly, "I really. Truly am."

He smooths over the covers beside him, inviting Famine to take a closer place by his side. He does and he fits his arm around his waist; it's an intimate hold and they've never embraced like this before, but Pestilence is actually craving the comfort now and Famine is the right size.

"I did it for us," he's wistful now, remembering the initial intentions that brought him down this path, "For our family. They were fighting... War was going to destroy the world. He still might."

The futility is not lost on him. Pestilence sighs and the wood in the room decays slightly. It's how he feels. He regards Famine.