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baptism
Dad tells the story, laughs about it--he was never a praying man, only got them baptized to make Grandma and Grandpa happy. It's not a big deal for him, talking about the way Daniel screamed like a little teapot the moment his soft baby head touched the water.
Your brother wouldn't stand for that, he says, ruffling Sean's hair. Sean groans and ducks into his seat, folding his long scraggly limbs in tight. Jumped on the poor Father like a little security guard, almost knocked him clean over. 'Stop it, stop it! He doesn't like it!' That's when I knew he'd look after you forever, isn't that right, mijo?
Sean groans and Dad chuckles, and Dad laughs, so Daniel laughs too, because it's something that embarrasses Sean, something that Dad finds funny. Because he hasn't done much thinking yet on God, and demons, and the kind of creatures that can't stand holy water, the kind of creatures that scream at its touch.
He has more time to think of it later, after he sees Sean lying on that office floor, face bloodied, smeared red with another kind of baptism. When Daniel finds the Mark of Cain in the Bible sentences Lisbeth has him copy, he stares at it for a while, then goes into the bathroom and watches the glass shatter, sharp edges slice across his forehead.
Lisbeth tapes him up, scolding him, her hands and words a blur; a blessed child should know better, be more sensible. He has a congregation to think about, after all, he can't keep messing around with his divine gifts.
Daniel chews his lip and doesn't tell her it wasn't fair that Sean should be marked when it wasn't his sin, doesn't tell her that people should know the god they're praying to is a devil in disguise, an unholy thing, damned from the beginning. It would just make her sad, and she wouldn't understand.
After his cut heals, Lisbeth decides he needs his faith strengthened, so she holds his head under freezing water in the bathtub until his thoughts grow fuzzy and his lungs twist in on themselves, fire eating up his ribcage. Burning in the holy water, just like he always does.
But he doesn't use the power on her, and he tries to take comfort in that. She can fix him, she can make him good, she can.
Afterwards she wrings out his dripping hair, muttering about needing to cut it some time. Her hands slide over his cool, slick skin, and Daniel closes his eyes, letting his thoughts bubble away into nothing.
eucharist
Daniel celebrates his birthday with kids he doesn't know, strange pale faces that whisper behind his back. He smiles for the camera and eats cake until he's sick, vomiting in Lisbeth's bathroom for what feels like hours. Thinks of that time they dug bad food out of the dumpster and Daniel ended up puking his guts out while Sean rubbed his back, cooing Dad's old lullabies, fingers warm in Daniel's hair.
He thinks of the ways Sean got them other food, better food. Thinks of that time Sean left him at a library to follow a strange guy out the door, sneaking out after them, seeing his brother on his knees in an alleyway, mouth slack, a stranger's hands petting his hair.
They never talked about it. If they didn't talk about it, it wasn't real, same way Daniel's doubts at their camping trip didn't have to be real until he saw the news.
He can pretend that it was someone else in that alley, that Sean was helping the guy look for his keys or something, that Sean didn't pause to rinse his mouth at every single fountain they passed for hours afterward. He can pretend there's nothing wrong with the crumpled roll of bills Sean uses to pay for his next meal, he can snuggle up under his brother's arm in the diner and think safe, think mine.
In his dreams Daniel gives Sean communion the way Lisbeth does for everyone, only instead of communion it's a chock-o-crisp, pushed into Sean's open mouth. Sean peers dully up at him, hands resting lightly on Daniel's hips, lapping and sucking at Daniel's hand like it's something else entirely.
Daniel pulls his hand away slowly, reluctantly, and says, "Peace be with you." He thinks he might be mixing up the rituals, but he isn't sure. It's hard to remember things when his brother's looking at him like that.
Sean licks his lips and says, "Amen." He closes his eyes as if in prayer, opens them to reveal empty red holes. Blood drips down his face like wine and drops off his chin, staining Daniel's feet. A slice, dark lake growing around them, ready to swallow them both whole.
Later on, he kneels in front of Lisbeth as she prays, her fingers sliding through his hair, pulling his head close. Daniel closes his eyes and focuses on keeping the candles spinning, focusing on the shadow of Sean kneeling in front of him, their lips sliding around the squishy warm wafer, a dark eyeball split between their teeth.
confirmation
His brother gets up again, again, again and Daniel wants to scream at him to fucking stay down, let them throw him out, leave Daniel alone. He doesn't want to look at Sean, doesn't want to see his missing eye or too-thin face or the million other ways Daniel has fucked his life up, fucked up everything for everyone.
I'm the one who deserves the mark, he wants to howl. It's my sin. I'm supposed to wander alone. Hasn't Sean figured it out yet? How many times does Daniel have to let Nicholas hit him for it to fucking get through?
Lisbeth's hand is on his back, weighing him down like a cross. Sean staggers close enough that Daniel to breathe in his sweat, his smoke, his blood, a hint of perfume--same perfume he can smell on the lady who's supposed to be their mom. Bile rises on his throat and he thinks of Sean's shadow in an alleyway again, the man's hand in his hair.
Nicholas hits Sean again. Stands there looking down at him with hunger in his eyes, the way Big Joe used to look when he thought Sean wasn't looking, the way Brett used to watch Sean before his face twisted up into a glare. The way Daniel sometimes dreams about Sean looking at him.
Daniel wants to rip Nicholas's eyes out of his head, rip out his own for good measure. An eye for the eye makes the world blind, they learned that at school, but maybe blind is the best thing, the safest, because he can't look away from his brother and he has to, he has to be strong, he needs...he needs...
Sean rises to his feet on shaky legs and talks about love, makes his promises, goes on about all the stuff that already fell apart for their family a long time ago. He staggers towards Daniel the way people sometimes do when they come to see his miracles, that zombie walk of adoration.
But the people are always looking at Daniel's hands, the moving cross, the dancing candles, and Sean looks at him. Bruised lips moving around those stupid, babyish nicknames: enano, little cub, like prayer, like worship, like Daniel's truly divine, not just a clever demon who looks the part enough that people don't care anymore.
He's wrong, he's wrong. But he believes enough that Daniel wants to believe, too. To fall down on his knees and worship like he's been doing for months, only now he isn't just be chasing faith, now it's real.
penance
With Lisbeth, it was simple. If he messed up during a service, forgot his chores, didn't finish his lines on time, raised his voice at her like he got too used to doing with Sean--there were penalties, responsibilities. A skipped meal, a few hours in the prayer closet, her fingers stabbing up into him or squeezing his cock until he cried.
Dad wasn't...wasn't as strict as Lisbeth, but there were still limits, still rules, ways to make things simple. No Playbox for a day or a week, no Minecraft, no dessert, extra hours spent helping him in the garage. Daniel would groan and roll his eyes, but he understood that stuff, it made sense.
Sean isn't simple. Karen--Mom--isn't simple either, but Daniel doesn't care as much about her ideas of right or wrong, what she thinks about Lisbeth's body lying on the ground or Daniel's power ripping through the door.
If Sean is what he believes in now, as much as he believes in anything, than Daniel should know how to make it up to him, how to say sorry sorry sorry with more than just words. But Sean would never hit him, and Sean doesn't have anything to take away, and when Daniel breaks down and asks how he can make this better Sean just says don't do it again, little wolf, okay?
But that isn't enough, so Daniel gets on his knees, like prayer except not, and Sean panics. Scrambles away like he's been burned, shaking his head, no no enano god no, oh god. He's making choked noises and shaking all over and Daniel wonders if he thinks this is his fault, a side effect of alleyways and men and filthy crumpled bills.
So Daniel tries to explain about Lisbeth and Sean's face goes white, arms wrapped around Daniel like a straitjacket, whispering apologies into his skin. And it's just Sean being a worrywart again, it doesn't mean anything, so Daniel doesn't know why he starts shaking, too, why he starts crying.
If he could, he'd explain that what they have different from Lisbeth, because Lisbeth numbed him, made him feel useful, like maybe he wasn't a devil at all. But Sean makes him feel real, feel loved, like maybe it doesn't matter if he's a devil because they're the wolf pack, and together they're limitless.
But none of the words are coming out right, and the windows tremble around them, fracture, glass raining down the sides of Mom's house. Sean strokes his hair through it all, humming in his ear like a hymn, like angel song, and Daniel throws his arms around his brother's neck and presses his lips to his brother's skin, letting Sean breathe for him until he remembers how.
matrimony
Sean goes to bed after fixing Daniel's messed-up hair and trying to fixed Daniel's messed up mind. Daniel goes with him, mumbles something about nightmares that his brother caves to at lightning speed. He's pretty sure Sean doesn't want to sleep by himself, either, not after he woke up all alone in that hospital bed, not after going so long without knowing if they'd ever see each other again.
His brother holds him in a way that feels like motel rooms and bus seats, like the spare room at their grandparents' and the shadows of the shelter and the heat of their test pressing in around them, like the photo of him holding Daniel as a baby. Like Lisbeth's arms, except she never let him spend the night, like Mom and Dad in wedding photos, except Daniel will never leave.
Sean's skinnier now, more sharp edges. He smells of fire and blood and Mom's perfume, of secrets, of people he's talked to that Daniel that never will, of a life he's lived that Daniel didn't get to see--and that feels wrong, wrong enough to make Daniel feel a little sick.
He thinks of them standing in that church together, reaching for each other, choosing each other. Leaving the chapel together, with Lisbeth's body burning in their wake. Nicholas looking on with wide, stunned eyes; you need witnesses at a wedding, don't you? Someone to see, to remember?
The door opens and Karen peers in at them, expression unreadable behind the flare of her cigarette. Sean stirs without waking, mumbling something in his sleep. Daniel sits up slightly, staring at their mother with hard, firm eyes, willing them to glow gold like a predator's in the dark, a wolf on the prowl.
She closes the door. Daniel lies back down and snuggles up into Sean's arms, propping his chin on Sean's chest, letting Sean's heartbeat buzz through his bones.
When he finally gets to sleep, he dreams of wearing a dress made of fire, Dad walking him down the aisle, Sean standing at the altar in a suit. There are gold rings glinting in his eye sockets, blood dripping from his hands, but he's smiling so brightly that Daniel can't help smiling back.
Daniel wakes up early the next morning, slips out to find Karen outside. She's sitting at the table, staring out over Away, smoking, a full ashtray next to her like she's been up all night.
"You could leave," Daniel murmurs, coming up behind her. She stiffens a little, eyes twitching his way--she didn't hear him coming. It makes him want to smile, even though that's mean.
"I don't..." She puts out her cigarette firmly, shaking her head. "I don't want to leave you two, not again."
"I know," Daniel says flatly. "But you could leave. Or you could just...not be here anymore, and Sean would think you left. He'd think that you gave us this place because you felt bad and ran away again. It'd make him sad, and mad, but he'd believe it."
Her face works. "Daniel--"
But he's already walking away, back into the room where Sean still sleeps, climbing back into his brother's arms and holding on tight. He'd missed his mom, but he'd missed Sean a whole lot more.
holy orders
He remembers reading a story about Daniel, the Bible Daniel, the one who got thrown to the lions and saved by his faith. See, that Daniel, he had a king, and the king had a dream, a dream with a statue made from silver and gold and brass and iron and clay, a statue that got smashed up by a rock which turned into a mountain.
Daniel, the Bible Daniel, told the king that the statue stood for four successive kingdoms that would get more and more lame until God broke them apart for good. Then God would establish His kingdom, a pure and beautiful one that would last forever, for everyone.
Lisbeth told Daniel, now-Daniel, that this was a message. That now-Daniel was put on this Earth because the rulers of the world had slowly grown more decadent and corrupt, less willing to stamp out sin with prayer, and she and Daniel were going to work together to put things right, tear the blasphemers down and build a new kingdom from their ashes.
Daniel could never figure out what she meant by that, exactly, but he thought it must be a good, righteous thing, because Lisbeth only did good, righteous things. He could help her build this new kingdom, a kingdom where no one got sick like Sarah Lee or killed like Dad or hurt like--like--
(Sean the broken statue, lying on the ground)
--and then maybe he could make up for all the bad things he did before Lisbeth saved him. He wouldn't be a demon anymore, or a monster, he'd be here for a reason, a good reason.
Bullshit, of course. He thinks he was starting to figure that out before Lisbeth burned up into her own church, starting to see the iron rusting behind gold paint, the cracks forming in the clay. There would be no new kingdom here.
But Sean...Sean is a kingdom, laid out before him, precious and beautiful and perfect. Mom, Dad, Finn, Lisbeth, Chris, Grandma and Grandma--Daniel had lost them all, one way or another, his kingdoms crumbling endlessly through his hands. All except for Sean.
Is that why he's here? To look after Sean, protect him, make the world right for him and the kingdom they could build together? It feels silly and crazy and true, somehow, as true as anything feels anymore. He wants to hold on to that, because he's not sure he's got anything left.
last rites
Daniel dies outside his house in Seattle, standing next to his father's torn-open corpse, feeling a tidal wave of power rip from his bones as the world goes black. Daniel dies in an office, standing over his brother's still, bloodied body, a ringing in his ears growing louder and louder until something in him shreds for good. He dies under Lisbeth's hands, her fingers picking him apart as her breath rasps in his ear.
When he dies in the church, dies with the wet thump of Lisbeth falling to the ground, it feels familiar. It doesn't hurt any less, of course, to lead the old self behind, the old dreams, the stupid little thoughts of the stupid little kid, because no matter how grownup he feels he always turns out to be a stupid little kid.
It cuts him deep, it leaves him breathless, but dead things don't have to worry about breathing and so he has to keep going. Has to walk away from the fire, not letting himself think about whether it's going to feel like this when he dies and goes to the place where all demons go.
(Sean says you're not a demon, not a monster, not a toy, not a weapon, not not not--and sometimes Daniel thinks the only way to make sure he's really not any of those things is to open himself up and pour himself out, leave a mold that Sean can fill with something better, something safer)
There's nothing to do now, but leave Daniel the Prophet behind, a crisply dressed corpse tangled up with Lisbeth's body like knotted threads. The flames consume him, fast and greedy, orange fingers raking over his skin.
In the back of the car he laces his fingers across Sean's chest, his tender new hands digging into his brother's skin. The smoke from the burning church paints drags wolves in the sky above their heads, all soft grey fur and ember-bright teeth.
He dies, and he lives again, because his brother came back to show him how. He reaches up to stroke a hand across Sean's face, the fragile line of his eyepatch, and thinks that it would be so, so easy to blow out the other eye, that Sean would still love him if he did. And if Sean wanted to turn around and rip out one of Daniel's eyes, Daniel would let him, and he would still love Sean after.
Sean reaches up and takes Daniel's hand in his, rubbing his thumb along Daniel's palm. His touch is a flame sparked across Daniel's skin, electricity buzzing through Daniel's veins, slowly but surely bringing them both back to life.