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Gilbert's steps seem to echo loudly in the estate's halls, the one place that never feels quite like home to him. Although this mansion was his rightful place, as a Nightray, he couldn't believe it, ever. With its disturbingly quiet halls and the tensed, cold stares of his adoptive 'father,' he honestly would rather be out in the middle of nowhere instead.
Nevertheless, since he still is technically part of the family, he can't avoid it entirely. Other times, concern (for the sanity of his siblings) drags him here, and today is one of those. The only reason he was here was because Elliot forgot to lock his bedroom's door before moving to Lutwidge. Maybe his neuroticism rubbed off on him…
If it wasn't for Elliot, he'd probably never willingly take a step in this place. It was empty, and at some point in the night, would almost seem haunted. He recalls a collective freak-out when Vincent would point out a moving shadow in the window. It didn't help that their 'yard' was so plain, besides the few trees and statues, so he couldn't convince his brother otherwise. And he himself did see some pretty weird things too, but mentioning that would only make it worse.
Just as he reaches Elliot's door and locks it, he's stopped in his tracks by a sense of foreboding. Something cold, dark crawls up his spine, and his head whips around. To the left; dark hallway with light shining through the windows. To the right; the same thing but with no windows. He shudders, locks it, and hurriedly moves on. He breaks into a nervous run stuck between a walk and a skip, and-
His boot connects with something, and parts away with a harsh clack. His gaze whips down, and shock drains his face of color. Entirely. He couldn't see it, but he's sure it is.
Laying on the floor, incapacitated, is his own brother collapsed in the middle of the hallway... who he just happened to kick right in the shin.
"Vince?!"
Internally, he panics and wonder if he can just run away- but Vincent doesn't seem to be waking up, even from the harsh kick, and it only fuels his concern and something between guilt and fear. Considering his superior strength, the metal plates in his boots, Vincent's already fragile health and the force of which he just rammed into his shin- It must hurt like a bitch. Drat, well, this isn't the first time he's injured Vincent by accident or not (like the time he knocked his brother unconscious,) but it will be really bad if his bones broke or something... The physician bills will definitely have to come from his own desolately empty pockets. He could almost faint.
Okay. He needs to calm down. He's not a physician, and has only ever dealt with bandaging scratches and cuts- but at the very least he knows not to move a potential broken leg. With as much gentleness as he can muster, he hooks his arms behind Vincent's arms and start to drag. It's atleast convenient for him that Vincent's bedroom is a couple rooms down. Still, from an outsiders' view, with how nervous he is, he almost looks like he just murdered Vincent. Opening the door to Vincent's room reveals another appalling problem.
The room is a complete mess. He sighs.
Fire, screams, and carnage.
Bodies lay all over the floor, painting the floor red and drenching the carpet. It seems like none of them put up a fight. Simply froze in fear and died, all in rapid succession. None are alive, and some are starting to pale. Still, the screams are endless. In fact, there is even more commotion from outside these walls. Everyone in this place, this city, are in the process of being slaughtered. Vincent knows this scene well. Rising smoke, lights of gold and orange. Blood pooling the room, pillars soaked in splatters of red and viscera. Men, women, and children reduced to mangled bodies on the floor. Some are on their last breath, some screaming, some rattling. The same fate is set for all of them.
Feeble and sluggish, a compulsion wills Vincent to move. The carpet is damp, soaked with blood and death that splashes onto his boots. Bile rises up his throat, burning as it almost makes it through his mouth. A vile, disgusting scene. He keeps himself from slipping on the arm of a man whose eyes are still open, stuck in shock. His ghastly eyes follow Vincent as he makes his trudging away from the scene, away from the mess he knows he created. This was all his fault, where his efforts "saving his brother" got everyone to. It gets harder and harder to move with every step, as if the hundreds, if not thousands, of spirits were holding him back. Rough, rugged hands, crawling over to find him. They all grasp for his legs, angry, desperate, and begging for their killer to acknowledge them. Maybe that part is in his head, but it torments him the same.
His knees buckle and hit the carpet way before he knows it, and as disgusting as it is, he can't stop himself from kneeling over. Horrifyingly damp, the carpet envelopes him in crimson. It's nothing new; all his life, he has been stained as a horrid being of tragedy. All foretold from his right eye: the color of pain and suffering. The thought tears open his body, a pain that spreads across his very soul. A hot, searing fire that burns through his core and arches over his cursed existence. Strings of muscle peeling back the fabric of his being. He can't do anything to stop it but tremble and gag and whimper. Hopeless, pathetic, and dying. This surely is the vengeance of those he killed in exchange for his brother. They want to damn him to a fate worse than death; no, he shouldn't have ever existed in the first place. The coward that he is still wishes that death would come to him. Soon before worse happens, soon before his real damnation. His breath starts to falter, his body exhausted, and finally there is silence.
When Vincent comes to, he feels like a sack of bricks. The thinking part of him fails to process his environment, but what he's laying on is soft and comfortable. Perhaps too soon for how physically drained he is, he tries to sit up straight.. and smacks his skull against something hard. Before he can wonder if he just cracked his own skull against the wall, he hears a groan that scares him right out of his body. Already tense, Vincent's mind is back on full alert. Firstly, he is in his bed, in his bedroom, in the Nightray's Mansion, which somehow has changed to be cleaner than he left it. Secondly, the massive cloth that he covered his mirror with is gone, and a distressed mockery of his face stares back from it. Eyes wide and hair in complete dishevel. Thirdly, Echo is not here, so she couldn't have been the one who moved him here, which brings his concern to the figure currently rubbing its temples.
He just about contains his shock at the sight of Gilbert. Something ugly and vile rises up his throat and Vincent's alarmed that it shows on his face. Gilbert's eyes, however, are shut, eyebrows furrowed on his face, hand on his head. It turns out he didn't smack his head against a thick wall. Instead, it was his brother's even thicker skull. Vincent holds back a sneer and lets out a strangled laugh instead. He can't quite tell how it came off in his current state, but Gilbert's gaze snaps to him.
"Vince, you had me thinking you were dead or dying." Gilbert scrunches up his own hair. He's not wearing his hat, and his hair is in a similar state of dishevel, Vincent notes. "I asked Echo, I asked Elliot, and they all said that you collapsing on the floor and whimpering is apparently normal?!"
"Well, Nii-san, you certainly don't return here often to see that, do you?" Vincent collapses back on his bed. Exhausted, and truthfully, annoyed, but he wouldn't express that to his brother. "...how long was I out?"
"You know, Vince, I only came here because Elliot needed somebody to (that's really not answering his question)...and I, well, I didn't want to come here, admittedly, but is it truly normal for you to be playing dead on the hallway floors coincidentally where I needed to (this bed is so comfy)...Drat, truly, I'm concerned. Have you been ill for weeks and months and I didn't-are you listening?"
"Mhm... that didn't really answer my question, though..." Vincent yawns, almost mockingly, as he tries to get his bearings back.
Gilbert continues to ramble on and on, something about the state of his bedroom and overall condition. It should catch him off-guard how lively and concerned Gil is today, but he really isn't in the mood for it. Out of pure habit, Vincent rolls over to get out of bed and falls onto the floor. The loud thud silences Gil immediately, and a sharp, pulsating pain runs through his shin and his entire leg. Vincent tenses, barely holding back a whimper. What the hell?
Looking back at Gilbert, his brother's face is entirely pale.
"Vince, you shouldn't move too much," His voice is panicked, with a clear tinge of guilt (for reasons unknown to Vincent,) "I.. well. I think.. your leg is broken."
"...Huh? What-"
"I-I don't know! I think you should go to a physician or something... I didn't do anything! I swear."