Blood Brothers

I.

Caesar Vallarta was never more in his element than dictating which fabrics made it to the dressing room with his victim. Shrewd, but with an extreme eye for detail perhaps his best gift to the world was being wasted poking around in people's mouths for a living. His usual fast clip speed seemed slowed and distracted today, however, as he selected a few items by hand and returned to the dressing room with two sharp knocks on the door.

"I don't like the shirt I sent you in with," he announced. "I've selected two others, open the door."

Brandon obeyed and the bolt latch was thrown open but rather than his friend stepping into the room, the shirts were thrust toward him with a kind of impatience. He took the clothes and latched the door again to unbutton the cream colored shirt for one that had a slightly more yellow hue. Brandon couldn't really tell the difference, but undoubtedly Caesar would know so he switched it out while the muzak softly transitioned to another song he didn't immediately recognize.

Fully dressed with the suit jacket left unbuttoned, he opened the door to the wide mouth of Caesar's yawn. He lifted his brows and Caesar motioned for him to turn around.

"Button it," Caesar directed and Brandon did as he asked. Upon his turn back around, Caesar lifted his hand in a wave. "I don't like it."

"I'll try the other shirt," Brandon replied.

"It's not the shirt, I don't like the suit. Try the other one."

"This is the last suit you brought back here," Brandon announced. "Maybe it needs a tie?"

"Nothing is going to save it. The cut is all wrong. You look like a gorilla in a burlap sack." Caesar sighed. "Take it off and I'll find something else."

"C," Brandon began. "I've tried on at least a hundred suits here."

"And you'll try on a hundred more until I'm satisfied." The look he gave Brandon was sharp enough to cut through diamonds. "I'll be back in a minute."

Brandon returned back to the fitting room stall and undressed. For almost fifteen years they'd had this ritual on the day before he passed his final point of rotation around the sun. As he hung the suit back up, there was a knock at the door and he traded it for another in a similar earth tone. As he was about to close the door a second, much darker suit was handed over.

"The first with the shirt you had on prior, the second with the shirt provided," Caesar instructed.

Brandon did as he was told and appeared for judgment another time in the earth tone suit. Caesar seemed to like it better than the other even though to Brandon, it looked like it fit the same.

"It's a little snug in the shoulders when you button it, but I'll have that fixed," Caesar announced. "Try on the other."

Brandon didn't protest even though he felt like the suit was far too tailored for his tastes but Caesar had an eye for these things where Brandon didn't. So, he traded out the suit for the other. Its patterned sheen looked almost reptilian in the light when he shifted the jacket over his shoulders. Black with a deep green, it reminded him of the forest in Germany and he almost forgot about opening the door until an exaggerated cough pulled him out of his memory.

"For putting on a hundred suits, you sure are taking your sweet time," Caesar quipped as the door opened. "You need a tie."

Brandon was about to protest when Caesar looped the dark silk around Brandon's throat and began the elaborate process of a showy knot.

"Do you even know any Italian?" He asked as he adjusted the knot just under Brandon's Adam's apple.

"Only the inappropriate stuff."

"You should probably study then." Caesar stepped back to examine the suit. "Button it."

"I've got an app on my phone," Brandon replied as he buttoned the suit.

"You remember Giancarlo right?"

"Was he a Growlr or a Grindr guy?"

"He was Italian. Thanks to him I'm nearly fluent."

"So are you offering to give me a crash course in the next month?"

"I'm saying that you should've extended your plus one to me," Caesar said as he stepped forward to begin to loosen the knot on the tie. Too long and the silk would wrinkle in that pattern.

"It's not like that," Brandon replied.

"What's it like then?"

"It's just for family, something--"

"Am I not family?" Caesar's undoing of the knot pulled the fabric sharply from arouns Brandon's neck. "I could be."

"I'm not going to get into the incestuous connotation that has but--"

"No, I get it. You're both selfish."

"C'mon, I don't think he meant it as a slight, honestly."

"Then why do you get to go? You're not his blood."

"I'm the best man." Brandon regretted it the moment that it came out of his mouth and it showed on his face as Caesar gave a tight lipped nod.

"Take that off and I'll pay for it."

"Caesar."

"Do what I said."

Brandon eased back into the stall and undressed, grinding his teeth as he searched for a way to make things right. It hadn't been meant as a slight so much as a spur of the moment idea. A small wedding, one that didn't require a lot of fuss. An invitation extended without thought. Maybe Caesar had a point.

"You both could've saved me a lot of wasted time on those Pinterest boards I was making for his wedding at least," Caesar said to the door as he examined his nails.

"Like I said," Brandon offered as he shoved the faded t-shirt he'd come in wearing back over his head. "It wasn't like that."

"The brown suit is for the wedding so please try not to ruin it before then. If you'd like, I'll keep it at my apartment until you're ready to leave."

"I'll just leave it in the bag. It'll be fine," Brandon replied as he opened the door. "Besides, how could he trust you not to object to the union? He was your first love and you know how emotional you get at weddings."

"So now you're saying I'm a hysteric?" Caesar arched a brow.

"Listen, I'm sorry."

"No," Caesar said with a small smile. "You're not, but I will tell you this one thing. If you decide you want to elope and pull this shit, I'll murder you both on your wedding night. I might not be your blood, Blanco but you were mine first."

"Who else could I possibly get for the flower girl?"


II.

He felt sick the minute he'd seen his brother holding his sister's infant. The niece that was named after him. The niece that he'd put to sleep when no one else could. His rage built like a gas leak while he tried to wade through the conversation of blissful oblivion. When Elliot caught his eye in the glass of his own, there was enough of a smirk to trigger that spark.

He tasted wet Philadelphian concrete while he disengaged from his family, claiming car trouble just to get his brother outside. Kate had done her part; lifting her daughter from her brother's arms and entrusting her to their mother but that distraction only went so far. As the two men exited the house, she felt a knot start to form into her stomach and turned to wine and the porch.

"I thought I was clear," Brandon started from behind as he pulled the keys to the Expedition out of his pocket. The doors were unlocked and he pulled the hood release.

"On what?" Elliot asked as he stood just shy of the vehicle.

"This isn't your family anymore," Brandon said as he raised the hood of the truck. "Put your hands on the lip."

"Oh please Bran," Elliot started with a laugh. "You don't fucking own me."

"I own forty-two thousand dollars' worth. Don't make me repeat myself."

"I'm sorry Officer but your jurisdiction doesn't cross state lines." Elliot folded his arms over his chest. "It's got to be real painful for you not to be in control."

"How much did you take before you walked in?" Brandon asked him as he put the hood rest up.

"Look at you. Still trying to steer the conversation like you have any fucking control. You don't. You never have--"

"I don't have time to listen to your coked out bullshit right now, El. Just put your hands on the fucking lip so we can get this over with," Brandon interjected in a calm voice that suggested his rage had boiled over to that point of no return.

"I made you." Elliot smirked and unfolded his arms to reach out for a light tap against Brandon's cheek.

"Don't," Brandon warned.

"I made you," Elliot repeated. "You think you'd be half as good at that fucking job if it weren't for me? I gave you purpose."

"Elliot."

"You've always had to fix shit that wasn't yours to fix, you know that? You think you're doing someone a favor when all you're doing is fucking shit up worse. But I fixed that for you, didn't I? Now you can be the goddamn martyr you've always wanted to be."

Brandon reached forward and grabbed one of Elliot's wrists to try and set his hand out as he'd said prior. Elliot resisted and sent his free hand into the side of Brandon's head. The connection made the ringing in his ear that had been persistent since December almost deafen him again. He let Elliot's wrist go, but the second round never connected. Brandon had anticipated the physicality and blocked the cheap shot. They grappled with one another until they were both on the ground and Elliot found himself pinioned under Brandon who sent one unrepentant fist after another into his brother's face.

"Feel better?" Elliot choked out a bloody smile.

"Not yet," Brandon shot back.

Acutely aware of the creaks that came with his parents' house, he heard the door even before he saw anyone coming out of it. Knelt on top of his brother's chest with hands poised to strike a deathblow, he knew this was how myths took root. In his history, he'd always be known as the lamb who wandered through soot. Even when he was at fault, his brother wouldn't be tarnished in name or reputation and Brandon had seen to that. Every action he'd taken in his life to protect him had made sure that he'd always be the villain in any scenario. Even if it were him on his back, Elliot would claim self defense. After all, Brandon's predilection for fraternal violence was well documented.

Kate stopped in the drive just short of following through in her initial sprint outside. She'd come to break them apart but something held her back. Maybe it was the way that Brandon looked up at her -- like someone she didn't recognize -- but it sent a chill to her very core and kept her body locked in paralysis. The second body swathed in pink forced his eyes downward as Brandon cradled his brother's head in both hands. Swollen and split open, mirror glacial eyes struggled to focus on his brother's silhouette.

"When you get out of the hospital, pay me the rest of the money in full or I'll put you back in it." Brandon was slow to rise at the call to come back in the house, his brother's right hand slid into his grip and twisted with a swift crackle of bone. Elliot yelped like a wounded animal and Brandon spat a mixture of blood and saliva against the asphalt.

His brother may have made him, but he had no hand in designing the monster he'd become.