Title: Guided By

Author: Edana setsuna84

Rating: PG-13 (for violence, possibly strong, non-explicit sexual situations in later chapters)

Summary: Because of his psychic ability, Laine unwillingly offered himself to a dark creature that won't stop until it claims him. Can Brennan, a descendant of higher beings, protect the boy from the darkness and his own powers?

Disclaimer: All owned by me

Warnings: Shounen ai, yaoi, male/male relationships but also male/female

A/N: I'm just mentioning this again – I combined the first two chapters so please make sure that you've read the last chapter and not just think that you have. I don't want people to get confused ^_^;;

Guided By

Chapter Three – Little Raven

The darkness was thick and heavy, not even the moonlight penetrating the relentless blackness that clung to him like a shroud. Tarin O'Braonáin shivered at the thought, unconsciously brought up his arms and weaved them around his body to comfort himself from the bleakness of those words. A shroud of all things – it was like an unconscious premonition that left him more than a little uneasy, something gnawing away inside of him.

There was no reassurance in his life that everything would turn out all right in the end. There was no guarantee that his acts of selflessness and occasional show of heroics would provide him with the kind of happy ending that every living person craved deep down. He lived in the darkness, and in the darkness he pondered his own death, and that was the only ending he could ever expect.

Tarin was a nineteen-year-old man, though looking at him it was impossible to determine his age. There was something a little youthful and carefree in his eyes, but mostly there was a strange, invisible aura of age radiating from his young body, something that spoke of a lifetime already lived. Tarin smiled at the thought as he made his way down the pitch-black alleyway, melting into the shadows as if he was nothing but a wisp of dark light. He was wearing a thick polo neck sweater, a pair of old jeans and heavy hiking boots, not a shred of colour but black clinging to his skin, hiding him away from sight. Beneath a mop of unruly dark hair was the only ray of light in the darkness – red-brown eyes, bright and strangely beautiful like the colour of rust flecked with gold, burning and luminescent. Otherworldly.

They were the eyes of a descendant of higher beings.

The silence around Tarin was deafening; it crept into his senses and with every step he was constantly aware, listening and looking with his heart in his throat but his mind perfectly clear. He'd been doing this for a long time, too long, and every instinct was well practiced. It was clear from his soft movements, his darting eyes and the near-silence of his breaths that Tarin was a hunter.

He continued on in the darkness, unable to see but sensing his path with his power. As if using radar he slipped past the black rubbish bags, over the shards of broken glass and ducked beneath the overhanging tree branch, long fingers slipping across the wood in a soft embrace. He was probably overusing his sixth sense, but it was a drawn out use of low power that wouldn't affect him for a while and would hopefully leave only a headache in its wake. It was the sudden bursts of intense power that smashed his body to pieces and usually took away one of his senses to make the balance.

Tarin froze the instant he heard the sound. It was only quiet but it was enough to alert him. And then, slowly, cautiously, he placed a hand on the sheath that hung at his waist and felt the cold metal there, and it was reassuring. As long as he had a weapon there was always a chance. Always.

The wind was howling quietly in his ears, the darkness was unbelievably smothering and the adrenaline had exploded inside, but Tarin ignored it all. He could sense that something was near, something dark: his prey. Lips pressed together, brow furrowed as he concentrated, the teenage boy found himself at the end of the dark tunnel and once again shivered at his choice of words. A shroud and a dark tunnel . . . maybe tonight really was the end for him.

Burning eyes peered into the dimness and he saw it, some kind of creature in human shape, one of the living, rotting, and nameless things more dead than alive that plagued his life and his dreams. Tarin inhaled very softly, pulling oxygen into burning lungs. The creature was squatting down on the ground, leaning over something with her head and shoulders bobbing, a vulture devouring its prey. Tarin wrinkled his nose at the thought of what exactly this thing was doing to the helpless victim, probably already dead.

Every thought and instinct that followed was programmed into him, some from the memories of his past lives and others from his own experience and training. Tarin never let his eyes leave his target, never gave the creature any chance to slip away from him. Fingers fell to the dagger at his waist again and a moment later the chain was wrapped around his wrist and the hilt was cool against his palm. Tarin stepped away from the relative safety of the alleyway and into the sea of shadows and blurry vision, still concentrating on the movement before him, keeping as silent as a shadow.

The moment that he raised the dagger above his head, the creature turned and time seemed to freeze. Eyes met, realisation and perhaps even fear and panic burning between them, and then Tarin realised that he had hesitated and for much too long. All it took was a fraction of a second – with an animalistic growl the woman on the ground lunged up and grasped the boy's arms with all her strength, pushing them back and keeping the blade away from her. Tarin grit his teeth together and fought with all his strength to keep the woman from dislocating both of his arms. Quickly he gathered a little of the power that flowed through him and pushed it out towards her.

The creature screamed and scuttled away like a frightened animal, but Tarin's calm had flowed away achingly quickly. Heart racing, the adrenaline making him feel a little dizzy, he quickly lowered his arms and held onto the hilt desperately despite the sudden dampness of his palm. What followed was a timeless dance of survival – surrounded by shadows and silence they moved together, throwing blows and kicks, ducking away, defending and attacking and smashing fists into skin, bruising and breaking. Instinct filled them both, pumping like blood, and the woman snarled as she lunged forward and delivered a blow to Tarin's head. He found himself knocked to the ground, breathless and aching, but without a thought tumbled into a forward roll and brought himself to his feet quickly, slashing sharply with the dagger.

Metal sliced into flesh; he heard the ripping and the soft explosion of blood. The cut across her chest and throat was shallow but the beautiful creature was dying and she wasn't about to go down alone. Tarin didn't have enough time to duck as she brought her hand back and slammed the bottom of her palm into his face, shattering his nose. All he could do was inhale sharply as the pain, the burning fire exploded and his fingers loosened, the dagger falling through the air and clattering as it hit the ground.

That moment, the gentle clatter of metal against concrete, sealed Tarin O'Braonáin's fate. The woman grasped the dagger with wet, blood stained fingers and screamed as she plunged it into his stomach, pushing hard with all the strength she had left. Tarin's eyes widened as the confusion and numbness exploded inside, some part of him knowing what had happened while the rest of him simply screamed in the horror that he denied himself. The woman crumpled instantly, sunk to the ground as consciousness and life slipped away, and Tarin simply remained standing with the dagger embedded inside of him, lips parted and sweat breaking out across his skin, eyes wide in horror.

"Hello, sweet." The voice was unexpected, and Tarin turned quickly and saw the shadowy figure that watched him from the sidelines.

"Who . . . who are you?" he managed, the words escaping his lips even as the metallic taste of blood touched his tongue. Tarin almost heard the smirk on the other man's face, and that was a disturbing thought. Without a word the figure revealed itself, a man his own age, darkly beautiful but not so innocent anymore. No, whatever purity this dark man used to have was long gone now.

"Haden?" Tarin whimpered questioningly, hurt in his voice. Haden, his best friend for so long, the only person he had in his life that was worth anything. The person he'd tried desperately to keep away from the darkness that existed in the world, from them. And yet Tarin's life as a descendant had only drawn Haden into that very darkness in the end, and this was the result. His life had tainted that of his best friend. "Haden, where have you been? You . . . you disappeared for days."

"Little raven," Haden purred, stepping closer to Tarin. "Why do you keep fighting the inevitable? If you only succumbed you could enjoy the sweetness of immortality."

Tarin choked, felt the blood slowly trickling down his chin. Lowering his eyes he braced himself and pulled the dagger quickly from his stomach, letting it fall to the ground again as he pressed his palm hard against the wound. His body was growing weak but his mind wouldn't let this end when Haden was standing before him, his Haden, the lightness in his life that kept the sanity away. How could someone like him have become tainted? "Immortality isn't sweet, Haden," he whispered. "It's poison. It's living death."

"So you prefer to simply die?" Haden shouted, anger burning in his eyes. "You're going to just stand before me and die like a hunted animal? Like a pitiful little creature?"

Tarin felt the unconsciousness trying to claim him, darkness creeping into his vision. And the next thing he knew he was on his knees, his legs giving way beneath him, dark jeans stained by blood and his hands pressed uselessly against the open wound. "What happened to you, Haden? You, of all people; I never wanted this to happen. Not . . . not to you."

Suddenly the anger inside of Haden exploded, and it was achingly obvious. His grey eyes were burning, furious, and he took the final steps and closed the distance between them. Sinking to the ground, Haden saw the blood that stained his friend's face, marring that perfection that haunted him, the beauty and the darkness that had always been a part of him deep down. It twisted his heart. "You're so stupid!" he shouted, looking into those red-brown eyes. "How could you be so stupid? I knew this would happen, I knew that you'd get yourself killed, raven. That's why I did this! That's why I sacrificed it all!"

"I hope that's true," Tarin choked. "I really do, because I can't become something that I hate, I just . . . can't. Haden . . ." He paused, felt the tears burning his eyes and the unbearable pain that spread like fire through his body. The last of his power was draining away and then he would be nothing but a corpse. "I . . . I love you, Haden."

Those were the words that killed him. The darkness inside of Haden was quickly consuming him, his body was dying inside and the truth of his power and immortality fuelled the bloodlust that was forming. He wasn't himself anymore even if he didn't realise how much he had changed, and quickly Haden picked up the dagger that rested beside him and without a word he slammed the blade into Tarin's body, into his chest and his stomach and his neck again and again until the blood coated everything and all life had ebbed away. He heard the whimpers of pain and confusion and the horrific wet slicing, but all Haden was aware of was the feel of the knife slipping into flesh and destroying the one and only thing that he could ever truly love. When it was over, when Tarin's gold-rust eyes were nothing but glassy orbs, he licked the blade and revelled in the metallic taste of Tarin's blood.

"Immortality, little raven," he whispered against the dead but still warm skin. "I can wait forever. I can wait for you." Tarin O'Braonáin was a descendant, he would be re-born, and Haden would be waiting. He cradled the body in his arms and kissed that bloodied mouth deeply, and the last of his sanity slipped away.

Without a word or a thought, Laine left the room and crept silently down the stairs, his pounding heart the only sound in his mind. Slipping past the doorway like a shadow, he opened the door and stepped out into the street, away from the protection of the house, entering Haden's lair.

The door closed behind him, and there was silence.

He'd suffered a year of this, a year of this unnatural power that even now was calling to him. Laine reacted to it, some part of him screamed for whatever darkness his soul was craving – he was running towards the power like a fish being reeled in. There was no escape, no hope but that soon the strange trance would be broken. Until then he was pulled against his will towards Haden, the dark figure waiting silently for him, standing across the road and always waiting.

He stepped closer, heart racing and adrenaline flooding his body. He trembled from the sheer nervousness inside of him, wondering if Haden would be the one to finally claim him.

"I knew that you'd come," the dark man said quietly, emotionlessly, flicking the ash from his cigarette. There was something sombre about him, as if he'd been thinking quietly about something in the past that left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Laine came to a stop before the creature he'd unwillingly offered himself to. The sky was painted grey and it was still cold, the wind strong and icy as it captured them both in its embrace, and without the coat and scarf Laine felt the chilliness creeping beneath his skin and making him tremble, soft hairs rising. Winter was all around them, and Haden and Laine were two opposites in appearance, dark and light facing each other and something powerful and ancient vibrating in the air around them, binding them together.

He remembered seeing that woman pressed hard against the wall, her body flung mercilessly, shattered and abandoned, and yet somehow Laine managed to speak. "What do you want with me?" he asked. His body was Haden's; his soul and his power and his life were Haden's. In that moment the boy would give the man, the creature absolutely anything that he desired – they were bound. And yet some part of him still managed weak defiance. Maybe it was his heart.

The dark haired man simply took a long drag of his cigarette as the wind ran cold fingers down his spine. He stared off into the distance, thinking. "You're mine," he said. "You'll always be mine. You ran but I caught you."

"You didn't catch me."

Haden turned his gaze to Laine, his mouth forming a smile of amusement. "Not this time," he said. "The first time we met, you ran and I caught you. I had you; you were mine." He laughed at the pure confusion on the boy's face. "Don't you remember me? Can you honestly not remember that night?"

Laine shook his head in disbelief. What was Haden talking about? Why did his words burrow into his skin and grip his heart so tightly, squeezing the very breath out of his throat? Why was his head suddenly aching?

One moment Laine was alone in the silence but for the running water, and the next he was running fast, breathing painfully, lungs and muscles burning and his throat clogged by primitive terror. He was running again, always running, trying to escape the predator that haunted not only his dreams but his real life too.

"You belong to me," Haden said, looking at him with possessiveness burning in his eyes. How many people had seen that same look before everything ended? It made something inside of Laine, perhaps the last of his fragile hope, wither away and die.

He felt a hand grab his shoulder hard and the blurriness gave way to darkness and a dreadful wave of pain smashed into his body, choking him, pushing him down under the surface until it felt his heart would burst, long fingers ripping something out of him.

The truth was gnawing away inside of him: his dream. The images and sounds and feelings that suddenly engulfed his body were from his recurring dream, and Laine shook his head in disbelief. This couldn't be happening, it couldn't. Why did Haden's words, on some deeper level, make so much sense to him? They'd never met before, never, and yet Laine was undeniably drawn to him.

"You know me, don't you?" Haden whispered, grinning. He dropped his cigarette to the ground and the grey smoke faded into cold air. "You can hide behind denial and refusal all you want, but something inside of you knows me. I remember you, sweetness. I remember you very well."

"No," Laine whispered harshly. "No, you're lying! You're making this up – I don't know you and I don't belong to you. I hate you!" And then, in that moment, the spell broke. It was like being released, a puppet having its strings cut; one moment Laine was tied up in the confusing web of power and attraction and the memories that burnt inside, and the next he was freefalling and all thought was lost but the knowledge that the hold was broken. He inhaled sharply and he saw the knowledge in Haden's eyes, but every instinct was to escape so without a word he turned and ran.

Oh God, oh God, oh God, shot through Laine's mind as he ran, heart pounding and the adrenaline making him dizzy. Some strange power inside of him had drawn him to Haden, and now that it was broken he needed only to get away; everything else was forgotten. His bare feet slapped against the concrete painfully and he heard Haden running after him, heard his own breaths and the desperate thumping of his heart. He wished there was something he could do other than run, but what? He was weak in a world of the powerful.

"Keep running," Haden called, his voice achingly loud in the stillness. "Keep running, little boy, you know I'll catch you. I always do!"

Laine didn't know where to go, what to do; all he knew was the desperateness that clutched him inside. But only a second later everything changed because something slammed into him, something that felt real but wasn't at all physical. It was power, shooting across his skin and sinking into his body, tensing his muscles and slowing him down, and Laine was gasping for breath as his whole body began to spasm in unbelievable pain. Mouth open, eyes squeezed shut, Laine felt himself sinking to the ground as he fought away the agony.

"That's better," Haden said as he stepped beside the fallen boy. "You're just where I want you."

"Stop it!" Laine gasped, groaning as his own body turned against him.

"Sssh, sweetness, don't fight me." Haden sunk to his knees before the suffering boy and a wide smile graced his face. "Let's finish what we started a year ago, hmm?" And then Haden cupped Laine's jaw and pushed the boy's head back, exposing him and seeing the trembling of muscles beneath the skin. How enthralling. He traced a pattern across the pale skin, but something leapt against him, exploding against his flesh. Haden grinned at the psychic power that burnt his hand and left behind a pale red mark and a dreadful sting. So the boy had some power, interesting. "I'm not going to let you go, don't you realise that? I'm never going to give up."

"You might want to reconsider that."

Haden heard the voice, and for just a second it was eerily familiar. Fingers still wrapped around Laine's throat, he turned and saw a man standing there, the man from the window with impossibly dark hair and undeniable anger on his face, in those red-brown eyes. Those eyes . . .

"Who are you?" Haden asked, curiosity clear in his voice.

Brennan raised an eyebrow, one hand resting on his hip where he kept his gold and silver dagger. "You know who I am."

It couldn't be. It just couldn't. Haden studied the man again, this time with new eyes. That hair, the expression on his face, the way he stood, the beautiful gold-rust colour of orbs beneath thick, dark lashes. Without realising what he had done, Haden let his grip fall away from Laine, let his power drop. The pale boy choked lightly before scrambling away and watching the strange scene in confusion. Haden pulled himself to his feet, the cold winter wind smashing into his body and blowing dark hair across his eyes. "It can't be . . ." he murmured, remembering the feeling of the knife in his hand, Tarin's body in his arms, their first and last kiss and the taste of blood. "It can't be you, raven."

"What did you call me?" Brennan whispered harshly, almost desperately. Something unfamiliar inside of him was stirring.

Haden smile was wide and deadly, and it made Brennan uneasy all of a sudden. "You're a descendant, aren't you?" the creature asked. "Are you here to rescue the poor helpless little boy? God, you haven't changed one bit you stupid noble bastard. Won't you ever learn that this is the only way?" He gestured to himself, to the body that had lived longer than it should, and smiled almost sweetly. "I did this for you." And then, sadness in his voice, "I waited for you."

Minutes ago Brennan had been inside the house completely unaware that anything was wrong, oblivious to the fact that Laine had crept away in search of Haden. And then something had slammed into him, a power burning deep down inside, a sixth sense feeling that outside something bad was happening, and that feeling had led to this. He didn't understand what was happening. Standing before Haden, one hand still resting lightly on the dagger at his waist, Brennan took a deep breath as Haden's words settled inside of him. He was talking like they knew each other, like they loved each other, and worse . . .

How did Haden know that Brennan meant 'little raven'?

"You . . . you're insane," Brennan said. "You're completely insane."

"You don't remember me, but you will. Soon enough, you will." Haden tilted his head to the side and looked at Brennan with pure adoration on his face, and it was passionate but twisted and completely limitless, and unease was blooming inside.

"Leave now, Haden, unless you want to fight me."

Haden grinned again, raised a hand to his mouth where he gently traced his bottom lip with his finger as if remembering a taste. "I'll fight you, raven, but not now. Not until you remember. It won't be any fun until then."

And he was gone, vanished completely, faded into the wind and leaving behind nothing but a web of confusion. For a long moment Brennan simply looked into the nothingness where Haden had been and tried to fight back the wave of nausea that was tearing him inside. It was all so familiar and yet completely foreign to him, and Haden's words made his head spin.

He let his hand drop away from the dagger as reality came crashing down. Brennan saw Laine huddled on the ground with his head lowered, biting his bottom lip and looking completely lost in his own world. Everything was changing so quickly but there was one thing Brennan found that he could hold onto; smiling gently he approached the boy, knelt down beside him and said, "Laine, are you all right?"

What Brennan didn't expect was for Laine to stand quickly and walk past him without a word, leaving him alone in the cold and the stillness, watching Laine's back as the boy disappeared, wondering what had happened.

"Keep running. Keep running, little boy, you know I'll catch you. I always do!"

Laine squeezed his eyes shut and fought back the pain that was smothering his chest, as if someone was sitting there and crushing his throat and lungs. He couldn't really describe the grief that had gripped him, but he knew that it was overwhelming. There was no peace of mind when Haden's words and his taunts kept haunting him, and now Laine fought hard to keep himself numb inside; it was all that he needed.

He knew that he was being rude; he knew that Brennan cared in some way, but the last thing Laine wanted was the contact of another person. So he was lying stretched out on the bed in the spare bedroom with the door closed, turned towards the window and seeing the dark sky outside, knowing that the others were downstairs and probably wondering what was wrong. He buried his face in the pillow suddenly in a weak attempt to smother himself, fingers gripping the covers beneath him so hard that his knuckles turned white. Why did everything have to be so screwed up all the time? Couldn't anything go right for once?

It was a mild depression that gripped him, caused by the sheer hopelessness and confusion of his life. And all Laine could do was lay on the bed and stare at the sky, silent and motionless, and let the words echo in his mind.

Downstairs Brennan sighed in frustration and buried his face behind his hands, growling against his fingers. Standing behind him Arella said, "Problem?"

"Problem?" Brennan echoed miserably. "That's a nice way of putting it."

"So how would you put it?"

Sitting at the kitchen table he sighed again and crossed his arms, lowered his chin and rested it against his fist. For a long moment he simply stared at nothing until his vision blurred, remembering the strange encounter; inside he was hurt and confused and ready to take it out on something. Shame that Kyrie had enough sense to realise that and disappear quickly. "I'd say my life just decided to flip upside down and send me crashing, and now it's giving me the finger."

Arella bit her bottom lip to stop from laughing. "It can't be that bad."

Brennan simply scowled at her. "How would you know?"

Seeing her brother with his slumped shoulders and the miserable expression on his face, Arella suddenly realised the truth; it was achingly obvious. Trying to hold back a grin she leant against the kitchen counter with her arms crossed and nonchalantly said, "You're sulking because of Laine."

Brennan raised his head quickly, caught. "What?"

"You're sulking because he's sulking, or because he snubbed you or something, aren't you? Oh Bren, you're so funny."

"Shut up," he murmured, exhaling as he ran a hand through his hair, obviously still deep in thought. "I just don't get him. One minute he practically throws himself at Haden and the next he's completely ignoring me, locking himself away in his room like a . . . like a . . ."

"Like a teenager?" Arella offered, smiling softly.

Brennan smiled back in realisation. "Yeah, like a teenager." And with those words he understood; Laine was sixteen years old, young and lost and far from home, depending only on himself and the people he thought he could trust. Now he was going through something that he couldn't even understand, and Brennan suddenly felt foolish for thinking that the boy's need for isolation had anything to do with him. "He probably needs some space to think."

"This is good," Arella said. "I can plant the ideas in your head now instead of having to just tell you the answer."

Brennan rolled his eyes. "I bow to your great wisdom."

"And so you should. Anyway, I'd better go find Ky and work on some new protection charms. I have the feeling that we're going to need them soon."

Brennan watched his sister leave the room, his heart growing heavy at her words. He knew that she wasn't blaming him or Laine, but Brennan always felt guilty knowing that what he was put Arella in danger. She was his sister but blood was the only thing that shared – she wasn't a descendant like him. She had a little psychic ability, but he was truly alone when it came to the suffering of his birthright. Well, maybe not alone, not anymore.

"You don't remember me, but you will. Soon enough, you will."

Frowning, Brennan moved into the living room and turned on the laptop. He couldn't stand not knowing what Haden was talking about, and some part of him seemed to truly know and yet refused to surface. The endearment 'raven', the memories of a descendant . . .

"I did this for you. I waited for you."

He spent what felt like hours looking through his files; all of them written after he awoke from his dreams, recorded while the images were still fresh. Brennan had so many past lives and sometimes flashes of memory came through, and everything he ever saw or felt or heard was stored away on the laptop. There was no way he remembered even a fraction of those lives, but if there were any answers to Haden's riddle then they were here.

Finally, when his eyes were sore and he was about to give up, Brennan found something that made his heart leap into his throat in pure exhilaration. He brought the screen all the closer and read over the words desperately:

Haden standing before me: my Haden, the lightness in my life. How could someone like him have become tainted? Not so innocent anymore. Tears burning my eyes and unbearable pain that spreads like fire through my body – blood, blood everywhere. All I can feel is pain in my heart and my body. So much blood! Little raven. Love you, Haden. Don't hate me. A dagger slamming into my body, chest, throat, and stomach, so much pain. So much blood, ending it all: killing me.

Brennan swallowed hard as he read and re-read the small paragraph. Some of his dreams were pages long; this was so small, so disjointed and confused and yet so strong and sickening. He didn't remember this dream at all and yet for some reason he knew that he should. Perhaps some part of him had buried the memory because of how much pain it had brought back with it.

So Haden had been right all along, he wasn't insane. That dark creature had been in love with one of Brennan's past incarnations and it had all ended in tragedy. And now his eyes were burning with tears, as if some part of the man was still within him and the truth was exposed. Brennan scanned the paragraph again and for the first time noticed the name beneath it: Tarin O'Braonáin.

He started. O'Braonáin – that was his name. Brennan was the modern form of O'Braonáin, the same name, and by now his head was rushing and his mouth was unbearably dry. This was some kind of sick coincidence; it had to be. He ran a hand through his hair nervously and took a deep breath. That was how Haden had known the meaning of his name. Little raven: the sweet endearment he gave to a young Irish boy he was secretly in love with, the same name that Haden had now given to him, the newest form of his love in a way.

"This isn't happening," Brennan murmured. "No way, this isn't happening."

Quickly he searched on the Internet under Tarin's name, never before feeling such a desperate need to know the truth. Nothing like this had happened before and he wasn't sure if he could handle it. And then the name appeared on the screen and he held his breath as he read. Tarin O'Braonáin, died twenty-two years ago aged nineteen, found stabbed to death. His murder had never be solved, his killer never caught.

Brennan knew that things were going to be a lot different from now on.

Laine didn't realise that he had been dozing until a sudden noise made his eyes shoot open quickly, instantly alert. Heart racing in confusion, he sat up on the bed and pushed strands of pale hair from his eyes and everything began to make a little more sense. Someone was knocking lightly on the door, and even though Laine still wasn't entirely sure where he was or what was going on, he turned expectantly as the door slowly opened.

"Hey," Brennan said quietly. "Is it okay for me to come in?"

Laine smiled softly, sleepily. "Of course. It is your house after all." Why would Brennan be so hesitant to come into the room? And then the memories came flooding back and Laine groaned lightly. He hadn't meant to give the older man the silent treatment; he'd just been confused and overwhelmed.

Brennan settled on the end of the bed with a smile on his face. "I bring a peace offering: chocolate cake, guaranteed to increase your . . . something or the other. Okay, I forgot what it does, but it'll make you feel better."

Laine laughed lightly and took the plate from Brennan, placing it on his lap. "Thanks," he murmured, head lowered and lost in thought. "And I . . . I'm sorry about before. You know . . . I didn't mean to snub you or anything." He could manage to apologise, but Laine couldn't bring himself to look Brennan in the eye. Maybe he was fearful of rejection when he finally felt safe.

Brennan noticed Laine's nervousness, and it only made his smile all the brighter. "It's okay, I understand. When you go through this kind of crap everyday, you're going to feel down sometimes."

"He just said some strange things to me."

Brennan bit his bottom lip and the smile died. "Yeah, same here."

Laine sensed the melancholy and maybe even grief in his friend's voice and he looked up quickly. It was strange seeing Brennan of all people with that unexpected pain in his eyes – it didn't seem right. Slowly he removed the plate from his lap and placed it carefully on the bed, moved across the covers towards Brennan and found himself wrapping his arm almost hesitantly around the man's shoulders. For a moment it was an awkward kind of embrace, but then silently Brennan turned and moved into it, accepting Laine's comfort, and the boy wrapped his second arm around Brennan's shoulders and slipped his fingers into that impossibly dark hair. It was how his mother used to hold him. "It's okay, Bren," he said. "It'll be okay."

Brennan let himself remain in the comforting embrace for only a moment longer. He'd come upstairs to help Laine, not the other way around, and yet he couldn't find himself caring all that much as his body sunk uncomplainingly into the boy's warmth. His chin on Laine's shoulder, Brennan could feel the slender body pressed against him, the fingers in his hair, and it was almost accepting. There was a paleness to the boy that he couldn't name; he even had a light scent, airy and sweet like the wind.

His life was hard and sometimes everything came crashing down, but he'd just have to take a deep breath and start building it up again. "Thanks," he murmured, moving out of the embrace. And then, "Okay, please don't tell me that I just sat on that damn cake."

Kyrie saw the illuminated screen, and his mind was instantly made up. He'd never trusted Laine and he still couldn't, no matter how strongly Brennan believed that the boy was innocent. Every time he looked at Laine he felt that same strange darkness inside eating away at him. Something simply wasn't right and Kyrie had to know that his feelings were true, that he wasn't going mad. He didn't want Brennan to end up being hurt by a sweet and innocent face.

Glancing around to make sure that no one was watching, Kyrie sat down before the computer screen and quickly typed in Laine's name. He didn't have the boy's surname, or perhaps Laine was his surname, but he had to try nonetheless. He spent the next few moments scanning the results before a strange tingling in his stomach made him bite his lip. He had it, the truth was one little click away, and with his heart in his throat Kyrie opened the file and read through it.

And then he knew that letting Laine into their home had been a big, big mistake.

~TBC~

A/N: Thanks to Tsuyuno, AikoShrek, centi the yaoi hime and Laughing Cat for reading and reviewing the last chapter! Please, please R&R!