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Taking Charge

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Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

Commissioned by Mirath

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"Of all the times... Ridiculous. Jesus fucking Christ, those fucking assholes... What the fuck were they thinking?"

Donnie didn't care that he was swearing, although it was not as if he shied away from strong language when the need called for it. It was more that any swearing he did care to undertake from time to time was so very often overshadowed by his brother, so much louder and brasher and in control than he was. The elder brother, John had risen to the top of the drug empire of the city, driving city law enforcement mad searching for them and, ultimately, failing dismally, although Donnie was always there beside him, lurking in the shadows. He didn't want to be in the limelight and even on the darkness of the rain-dampened street at night, he dodged between pools of street lights, although he could not avoid the luminous glow of the city in its entirety.

No, being out of the spotlight suited him. He'd rather run things in the background, make sure John was okay, his needs met, everything running under the radar. Of course, he needed to pull John back too from time to time, for he was one apt to going too far, but that went a little better than it otherwise may have considering they were involved in a relationship that was more than brother to brother. Strange... Very strange. But it worked, somehow. They didn't really question that one but something about their relationship had changed after that bad trip their fresh stock had sent Donnie on.

They didn't talk about the bad trip but the pristine condition of John's home when he came around spoke of tales left untold and, well, it hadn't taken Donnie exactly a long time at all to hack into the security system. The poor man that John was had thought that he could stop him from getting a good look at what had went on before it was archived, although Donnie was mildly impressed that he had made it altogether more difficult to acquire, solely from his own implemented security measures. And the fact that John was hiding something from him, well... That spoke volumes even in the strain of silence. He had to know what had happened during that bad trip.

He'd seen it all, every last bit of it, but he didn't understand what had happened even if it now made sense just why he ached all over when he'd finally come around. The recording had cut out before John had, undoubtedly, given him the sleeping pills to get him through the worst of it but the destruction, clawing at the windows, fighting to get out... Just what had been going on in his head? He wished he could remember but the mentality of it seemed to be something that he simply wasn't going to find out. He wasn't even all that sure that he wanted to.

And the real world called - oh, how it called. There was always something to do whether he was improving their supply channels or ensuring that they had enough people on the ground to continue distributing and increasing the sheer volume of drugs that they spread. They were even going beyond the city now, sending people out to other locations, all in the name of spreading and growing their empire, all coming together just as John had envisioned. Without Donnie's influence, however, it had been a rather sloppy kind of vision and it had been his brother that had tamed it into something viable and manageable, even if things sometimes felt as if they were forever on the edge of tipping out of control.

But there were problems to solve too and, well, Donnie was not always best equipped to deal with that side as he made his way to John's apartment in the city - one of several that he flitted between. Donnie, of course, was the only one that knew where he was at any time, although even he doubted that John was being completely honest with him at all times. He didn't need to inform his brother and lover of his whereabouts at all times but, well, sometimes it felt as if it was needed with everything that went on in a life that bounced between surreal highs and clinging, despairing, lows.

"Idiots... No one gets anything done, no one."

It made him feel good to mutter his woes to the empty street, not even a single hooded figure out in the rain. There was something on, some event that the world was screaming for, but it would only affect his trade in the sense that things would be quiet for a day or two. When people came down from those highs, they'd want drugs all the more, screaming and hankering for them, desperate for their next fix. He understood that - a little too much, some would say.

Yet rival gangs trying to rise up and taking his men off the street, his people... That would not do. That in itself was a thought that John rather than Donnie was more likely to have but he too had the capacity to be overly protective of those that he considered 'his' and that was fine too. He just needed to make sure that those there remained loyal to them with enough incentives that they would not dare to allow in a mole, a leak of any sort that could cause them far more trouble than any of them would be worth.

It was hard not to step back and not see them as people, however, when they had blood running down their faces, crying for help, beaten and broken and left snarling through broken teeth for respite that he could not allow them. Sure, he had connections with hospitals and doctors and the like who would turn a blind eye to just where they'd gotten their injuries and that part of taking care of business had been as easy as it could have been. It was what came after that proved to be the difficult part, because it was not as if he could just let people get away with it. It would be the beginning of the end, even if he was perhaps not the savviest person on that count.

Pressing his lips together, he clenched his teeth, an ache like no other running down the line of his jaw. Damn it, damn it all to hell. That wasn't what he wanted to be doing. He had other plans for the night - not friends to see but, hell, he'd rather do anything else than face what drew on a curling ball of anxiety in his gut. Despite the weeks that had passed too since that bad trip, it would have been impossible for him to deny what an effect on him that it had had, times coming together in illicit crudity, driving him to believe that things were not at all as they should have been.

No, it needed to be dealt with, even if he never had been the man to deal with it in the past.

And just where the hell was John with all of this going down? Those idiots didn't know what they were doing, getting beaten up on the street and their stock taken. Did they know how fucking much that crystal was worth? Of course, not truly, just being lackeys, but he could not deny that there was an element of monetary loss at play regardless of the people that he tried so very often to not think of as people. Technology was easier and that was just why charismatic John was the one to so very often deal with the people side of the equation, proving his worth time after time again in that regard. Things would not have worked out so well without him or even have started, Donnie wagered.

Yet the John he found on entering his top floor apartment, a lavish affair that looked out over the city with, of course, bullet-proof glass mildly hampering that otherwise perfect view, was not the John he needed. His brother sprawled half-on half-off the sofa with a bottle of tequila in hand (interesting choice for him when it wasn't mixed with something else) although the bottle in question was empty bar a drop or two swirling about the bottom and that was a push to note. Groaning, he rolled his head to the side, slack-jawed and drooling, not quite out of it but not quite awake either, floating in the in-between that seemed to encompass so much of his life now.

Donnie cursed, running his fingers back through his brown hair, strands coming away in his fingers: a nervous tick that only further served to highlight his stress. John would have a field day taking the piss if he found out that it was coming out again, he had to get it together. But he couldn't deal with the immediate situation either, poking John lightly with the toe of his shoe to tentatively judge just how far gone his brother was. He could hardly believe he slept with the guy sometimes but he supposed that that was simply how relationships were and how they worked, one forgiving the times when a partner looked less than desirable.

John mumbled something, allowing Donnie to sit him at least somewhat upright, back against the cushions and eyes half-focused.

"Whuh... Whuh...happen? Don...ee?"

That might have been John asking him what had happened but it was more than merely difficult to make out a single word amongst the slurred others, spittle drooling from his lips as Donnie pursed his own. Ignoring the panic fluttering in his chest, he tried to only focus on John and John alone. It was easier than thinking what he had to do otherwise, trying to get his brother firmly back in the world of the living, groaning under his breath.

"John? Fuck, what've you been on, John, you've got to snap out of it right now, come on."

But John could barely hold his own head up, completely and utterly sapped of all energy, heavy and lethargic. Even so, it appeared that his senses were dulled too as his eyes barely flicked back and forth, following Donnie across his line of sight, and he did not react either to the brush of his brother's fingers on his hand.

"Damn it, John, this isn't any time to be out of it! Wake up, god fucking damn you!"

He didn't react to the slap either, although Donnie was quite sure in the aftermath of it that he would pay dearly for that one later and he would most likely enjoy it too. John had a particular way of exacting his revenge, which didn't very often feel like he was getting payback in the slightest. He supposed it was only so that John felt like he was in the upper position at all times but, well, he could enjoy what he liked of it too. But he didn't like the way that things were going with his brother slumped over, a weakened man coming around from a drug-induced stupor or the like that left him useless for anything else.

"John... Fucking hell, John..."

He tried everything. Water. Food that he didn't eat. Getting him up. Lying him down. Blasting music. The TV show he loathed. Saying that there was no more alcohol left in the world. Accidentally on purpose pushing him off the sofa with a dull, bodily thunk. More alcohol. None of it worked.

If John was so out of it, he wasn't going to be able to take care of things. And he knew for himself that there was a time limit on settling scores with other gangs, the small ones that thought they could get the upper hand so very quickly, taking control and then spreading word that they were the ones in charge. Of course, they would be smacked down again soon enough but it was not worth the loss of life, loss of stock, loss of reputation. And John was the one who, above all else, could not stand for a loss of reputation in the big boys' game.

What was he going to do? There seemed to be nothing that he needed to do, swallowing hard and fighting against panic, a fluttering, driving sensation that sought to force him into action, fighting against the matter of fight or flight. It had to come, it had to be done, there was nothing at all that he could do to hold things back, fear rising. Why did everything have to go wrong all at once? It was the way of it, he couldn't do anything without John, John had to be the one to take care of that side of things, he had to take the lead!

One more try.

"John? John, there's some serious shit going on now, you've got to get it together?"

Crouching down lower to the ground, he tipped his brother's chin towards him, dark with a shadow from lack of shaving. Had he looked that bad last time he'd seen him? Somehow, the dark curves beneath his eyes were deeper and more stringent, drawing the eye. He didn't usually look like that; shit, he must have really gone and done something to himself. He wasn't going to be able to help, to do it, there was no way, no way at all any of it was going to work.

Donnie froze, chest vibrating but not breathing. What the fuck was he going to do?

"Go..."

Donnie shot in close, grabbing John's shoulder, latching onto anything he could in the heat of the moment.

"What? What was that?"

Moving slowly without sound, John's lips worked and yet Donnie knew what he meant, the man slow and sluggish and far from himself, the man that he once had been. Of course, he could be that man again but not until he was healthy and sober again, getting whatever it was that he needed to force out of his system out of his body again.

"Go... You... Go..."

Did John know what he was saying? Donnie's eyes grew wide and yet he did not see, breathing shortly and shallowly. Did he mean that? What was that supposed to mean? Oh, it could not be mistaken for anything else at all but he still had to think it over, mind working too quickly even as his dull and heavy limbs sought to slow him down, saying that he needed to draw himself back, to let John deal with it. Sure, John would be disappointed in it when he came back around again but that was nothing new, everyone was disappointed in him, holding everyone around him back when they should have been soaring ahead at due pace.

"I will."

He had no choice. The words were past the barrier of Donnie's lips before he could do anything about them, calling them back, and he would not go back on a promise, as was his way. There was nothing else for it and he breathed shortly and shallowly, shaking his head slowly, focusing on the action of swinging his chin from one side to the other as if that was the part of his body that he led from.

There was nothing for it, noting that could save him from having to do the deed that surely needed to be done. He would have to do it and, instead of fear, a scene played before his eyes. Standing slowly, he brushed off his jeans, wishing belatedly that he'd not worn something that he could move a little better in. What did people usually wear for these things? He could not have said that the fear fell away and it most certainly was not like water off a duck's back as he saw the security tapes all over again.

They may have juddered and they may have stuttered as he watched, set back from the scene at hand, but he saw just how he shattered bottle after bottle, hurling them across John's living quarters. The glass shattered, the window breaking on the interior, although it would have been a far cry indeed to suggest that a man could possibly be capable of breaking bullet-proof glass. John fighting, struggling to control him, holding his arms down as he twisted and writhed, spittle flying, the battle of a madman.

That had been a different Donnie then and he would do well to remember it as he pushed his hair back from his face, trembling as he faced down the fears that had always been waiting in the wings despite his best efforts. But those fears had no place in the face of a monster, a man that could become one in the blink of an eye, holding strength that he had not even known prior that he could even be capable of possessing.

No, this time... This time, he had to be strong. Not even that - he was strong. He just hadn't realised it yet, put it into play in a world and a time where he could control his actions, what he was doing and all that encompassed too. On the sofa, John moaned and slumped to the side but Donnie had the sense of mind to layer a blanket over him, tucking it foolishly in around his elbows and knees like a grandmother even though it would undoubtedly slip and shift as soon as he was once again gone and out the door, such were the way of things.

"Mmm... Don..."

John couldn't even get out his brother's name but it didn't matter anymore as Donnie straightened, taking the control that he perhaps should have done so long ago. It had always been there, his to take if he wanted it, and never had he once closed that power in his hand.

"I got this, John."

"Mm...kay..."

John didn't understand what was going on or even what he had endorsed, mumbling something even as Donnie kissed his cheek. Not that he thought he would not be returning but he knew too that he held a position that he never had done before, growling in the face of a beast that was well and truly bigger and greater than he was, a demon of sorts that threatened to gulp him down whole without even grazing the sides of a massive, swallowing maw.

And yet the beast was not one that would prove to drive Donnie ten feet under, pushing up daisies before his time, snarling and hunkering down on the end of a chain. There was no telling, of course, whether or not that chain would break as he hammered his way back down the stairs of the apartment, too frazzled and wound up to even consider waiting for the elevator. No, no, no... No, it would have to be the stairs, the pounding slam of his sneakers slapping the metal steps. They all had those steps those days, easier to clean, yet no one probably considered the sort of things that they'd have to clean up from a guy like John, their prime client, if he ever thought to bring 'work' home with him.

The penthouse apartment was locked up, the security system activated so that John would not be disturbed. Every precaution was taken in Donnie's absence and he would not see his brother fall ill to anything when he was away, although he could not help but think in the back of his mind that he was not quite sure that he would return, whether or not he would be successful stepping so far out of his comfort zone.

Don't think. Just do.

_ _

Down and down and down and yet he was only descending back to ground level out of the clouds, chest heaving and hair bedraggled, almost as black as John's in the late night, slinking into the underbelly of the block where the parking garage lingered. It was not the most accessible but it was the typical spot for one in a city that was short on space and he swiped John's pass - really, was that all the security they had? - to get in, no one else there but him as the cloying heat of summer clung to his skin like a second layer of clothing.

John hadn't said that he'd gotten a new car but Donnie thought it was just as well, this time, that he'd bought it (with illegally gained money) and not stolen it, although there was no telling where it had come from originally. Probably had been stolen, now that he thought about it, but a GTR was a new drive for him and he paused before it, offering the shiny vehicle the due reverence that it deserved, gleaming as if it had never before borne the touch of a smudged and dirtied human hand.

He took a breath. And then another when the first did not ease the tension searing through his lungs.

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Don't try. Just do.

_ _

Purple. Ostentatious but the joker always did have a sweet ride. Wrong make, wrong model, but the reference was still there, John playing the smiling part of the joker where there was no scarred beast to sour down the city. Maybe that was the part, however, that John had always been meant to play.

Do it.

_ _

He was in the car and roaring out of the parking lot before he could reconsider things, teeth clenched and jaw aching, fighting the desire to turn around, to go back the way he came. The cowardly part of him (or maybe the part of him that better knew his limits than what of his mind that was commanding his body at that moment in time) whimpered that it was all a big mistake, that he should let John deal with it, that they would have to implement better measures, more stringent measures, to ensure that nothing like that at all ever happened again.

And yet... He could not go back. He was too far gone as he laughed, a crazed look in his eye. Was he crazy? The rear-view mirror had been adjusted (by John, of course) so that he could see himself and the man that he caught in the reflection before his eyes, once more, slid away, was by no means one that he recognised. Oh no, he was someone else indeed, someone stronger, someone with power, someone who was actually capable of ruling the city and bending it right down to its ever-loving, beaten and broken knees.

He could be that man, if he tried. Or maybe that was what he was already, even if he had not realised it. It didn't matter as long as what needed to be done got done.

His foot inched down on the gas pedal, forcing the far into higher and higher gears. Sports mode on such a drive was a cinch to work and he shot through the city, neon in full swing for a nightlife that didn't know what such a thing truly was. No, to have and live a nightlife, one had to be the night, slink through the night, draw the seedy undertone out from that night. It wasn't about partying and getting high but something more, something deeper, something that could shake the foundations of a city, dredge it up and build it all anew. And that was just what he and John had done.

The city pulsed around him, a driving vibe that flashed by. Was he high? He should have been, for what he was about to do was fucking crazy.

"Our turf."

That was what one of his men had repeated, word for word, when they'd been back at one of the 'stock distribution centres' (ah, what a fancy, smart name for something that was no more than sending potent drugs out into the city!). He'd barely been able to speak through a mouthful of broken teeth but Donnie had pressed his lips together and listened to him calmly, the voice of reason and sensibility as he had others patch them up, get them on their way to due treatment, something that was better needed at that time than dragging out every last detail of the sordid ordeal out of them.

But they hadn't been too beaten-up to not tell him where the gang was hanging out and, well, they weren't' all that unpredictable either. In fact, their whereabouts had been eye-roll worthy, working out of the shipyard where storage containers, for shipping (who'd have guessed?), allowed for an easily changing base. For a small operation, they could have mooched along fairly enough if they hadn't done so much as to call attention to themselves but things couldn't be changed now that they had decided that they were the big fish.

From what he heard too, their shit wasn't that good either. Fucking amateurs.

If they were going to do it, they should have gone and done it right, but that wasn't his call to make, only his mess, at the end of the day, to clean up. They'd have to cut what they were doing sooner or later and Donnie, not John, was going to be the one to lay down the law...on very much the wrong side of the law, ironically.

They'd feel it. They'd know they'd done wrong. And they'd never bother him or John or any of his men ever again. Donnie's fingers clenched on the steering wheel, lights blurring, eyes narrowed with a ferocity that he did not even know he was capable of. Faster and faster, there was no end to it as the city ripped by, heading for the dockyard, the site of so many shady dealings that one more that night would not make any difference at all in the true grand scheme of the world and heartbeat of the city. But it would make a difference to their operation, something that could not be threatened at any costs.

The shipping containers loomed, jagged shadows slicing across them, shattered into life by his headlights and then dissipating again just as quickly. Life and death in shadows - who would have thought that something like that could be so poetic? There was no intimacy to the dockyard as he had never really spent much time down there himself. John, on the other hand, had had a penchant for underage drinking with a gang that had led him into worse times when he was younger. Those times were gone, however, and there was no part of the city where he would not have felt safe, knowing that, truly, they owned it.

It was himself that he was not safe from.

It would take some time and the GTR, well...it was an obvious sign, a ride with class and money that could only be looking for one thing down there. All he had to do was wait, a cigarette hanging out the corner of his mouth even though he didn't smoke. A nervous tick, he needed something in his mouth (oh, what jokes would John have made about that?) just to chew, to ground himself in the moment as his heart went wild. His expression in the mirror did not convey his sense of madness, however, at least not in that moment. He was strong, he was powerful... He looked completely and utterly fucking insane.

Perfect.

The security light (how droll) snapped on, bathing him in an artificially white glow, although the headlights remained in twin beams, the engine purring away like a lion lying in wait, rumbling for the kill. But he was patient, oh so very patient, and the man that approached did not turn his head until the last possible moment, so cool was his confidence, heart in his mouth. They didn't need to know that.

"What do you want?"

Ah, so they'd sent the thug out first, a meaty hunk of a man that could have stopped the heart of many a twink under the right set of circumstances. Flicking the cigarette away, Donnie leaned out the window of the car, one hand on the wheel and a foot on the gas still, ready to peel off at a moment's notice. If he wasn't anything, well...he wasn't stupid, that was for sure.

"Heard you got the good stuff down here," he drawled, an eyebrow raised, channelling his inner John, or just how he imagined a more suave version of john could have the potential to act under the right set of circumstances. "Or are my sources wrong?"

Confusion flickered in his eyes, although Donnie doubted that that was hardly something all that difficult to do to a man like that. His hair was shaven down to his skull (easier to maintain than long hair, at least) and he had a blockish, ugly jaw line that did not please the eye in the slightest. But Donnie continued right on smiling pleasantly with that hint of superiority lacing his expression too, one eyebrow oh so very carefully cocked.

He had to play it cool.

"Maybe..."

God, were they that dull, really? He fought not to roll his eyes and barely succeeded, the thug of a man turning his back on him, jeans sagging too low for the comfort of anyone's eyes.

"Keenan! Get out here! He's looking to buy!"

Oh, you sad, sorry fool...

_ _

Yet a fool would get him what he wanted and right where he wanted to be too, smiling and getting out of the car, his clothes primed and poised perfectly for what he needed them to convey. Power, rich, able to afford the luxuries of what did not lie within the realm of the law. He had to ooze that, overload those around him with it, his smile fixed and not giving away a single scrap more than he was willing to divulge.

His suit was fitted but with a free range of movement, the shoes designed to look like he could walk into an office with them but hiding a secret. There was nothing there to hold him back with his hair primed into a bun, as much as he loathed the style on other guys (being gay, well, he couldn't be held at all at fault for looking from time to time, regardless of what he had going on with his brother). It was what the young, up and coming guys in busy fields were wearing and, so, to complete the look, that was what he had to swiftly scrape his hair up into. The clothes, however, had already been on stand-by in John's closet, though he didn't want to know why John had such attire set aside for him in a dry-cleaning bag with his name on it.

That tale was for another time.

He waited. He waited too long, heart pounding, for the trio to emerge again: the thug, the lackey and the one behind it all. So close to the front lines too - Donnie would have scorned him if that was not what he was doing at that very moment, taking matters into his own hands when he could have, in hindsight, sent someone else out in his stead. A group of 'someones', in fact, but he had to make sure the matter was good and done with, making a statement, a stand against all that may have sought to bring him and John down.

He didn't have to work in the background anymore, facing off against a tall man, taller than him, with a darkly beady look in his eye. He reminded Donnie of a rat, if one had been overly skinny and standing on its hind legs, hair scrappy and piecemeal as if he had had a hack-job of a haircut that had never quite grown back right. Crudely blotchy, his face denoted his state of intoxication, although he held himself steadily without a stumble, breath reeking of liquor fumes and cigarette smoke. Yet Donnie did not even flinch.

_ _

"Keenan, is it?" He said smoothly, offering his hand in the beam of the security light. "The pleasure is all mine."

Scratching behind his ear (maybe the weed-rat had fleas?), Keenan chewed the chopstick some more, although Donnie would not have chanced to say that there was anything at all thoughtful about the action.

"What's it to you?"

"Nothing, nothing at all," he said, dropping his hand when it was not shaking, yet careful to offer a smile too as if he had expected nothing less. "There is work to be done... I want to buy your stock out. All of it."

Keenan rocked back on his heels, thin eyebrows raised, although he had no substantial hairline for them to retreat into.

"All of the shit? Man, that's just not gonna fucking happen. Can do you an ounce, if you want a cut? Crystal? White blow? What's your fucking poison here? I got you covered."

"Oh... That won't be enough."

Donnie half-shrugged, turning as if to leave, although he had no intention of leaving until he had all that needed to be done accomplished, the tension ramping up more and more with every moment that so very tenaciously dared to slip by. Closer... He just needed the bastard a little closer. He didn't need John to take them out for him, not as they were. All in all, they were the perfect kind of first target.

"Then how much you wanting? C'mon, get it outta ya, I ain't got all fucking night to stand around 'ere gassing with ya!"

Keenan's accent came out more strongly as his frustration grew and yet Donnie only smiled, glancing back over his shoulder.

"I'll have it all, thank you, for what you've done to mine."

And then the gun was drawn and in his hand, the revolver sitting there as comfortably as it had the first time John had taken him to the shooting range. An indoor one, he still had fond memories of learning how to use the weapon on targets but never before had he actually taken it in hand against another human being, a person that could be snuffed out as quick as anyone could have liked with one, well-timed shot.

The effect on the trio was instantaneous, leaping into fight or flight mode, though their hands were up, curses flying, adrenaline slowing everything down even as it sped up, hearts pounding.

"Fucking hell!"

"What the fuck?"

And more expletives still flew as Donnie stared down the short barrel of the gun, although he could not hope to miss even if that had been any kind of option. He'd always been a better shot than John anyway. Maybe he was the deadlier one, after all.

"You had my men," he said quietly, not needing to raise his voice for any kind of attention when all eyes were already on him. "You thought you could take us down. I'm not sorry to say that you are very much mistaken. Although I would not become accustomed to the, ah, personal visit... It won't happen a second time."

The thug froze, looking from one 'master' to the other, though the third in the ensemble was nothing special, quivering with a slack-jaw, just a kid, a guy in his twenties or whatever. He probably didn't know what he was getting into when he'd started in with them. Maybe he was even the one who made the drugs. Who knew? Donnie didn't care.

"You fucking sadistic asshole," Keenan hissed, hands balled-up, a vein pulsing at his temple. "I'll fucking rip you apart for this!"

Donnie cocked an eyebrow, cooler in appearance than he was inside, sweating into the lining of his suit. The security light snapped off, pooling them into darkness with only the headlights left for some glimmer of illumination, the lines to dance between.

"Don't fucking move."

Of course, they moved, and the shot fired jolted into Keenan's shoulder as he howled and swore, men lunging for weapons. The thug only had his fists at his disposal but seemed to know enough to use them, launching himself at Donnie with a feral cry that may have been better suited to some kind of wild animal. Side-stepping, Donnie didn't think, only acted, the spreading blood staining Keenan's shirt before him, power searing through.

And, still, he smiled, forcing them back with the gun. A shot through the thug's foot did the job nicely and he fell, howling like a child, to the floor, clutching at his knee rather than the foot that would, surely, need medical treatment. It was strange how he thought of something like that still even as he moved, levelling the gun, turning and stepping over one body even as he aimed to fell another.

Easy. Too easy. Well, not actually easy at all when one thought about it but he wasn't thinking about it as he simply moved, flowing through one motion and into the next, heart pounding. It was the dull beat of it that forced him on through the deadly dance, shots fired, every moment slowing down more and more even though he felt too as if he was moving at a breakneck speed.

"You -"

Nothing Keenan had to say would have any effect on Donnie as he launched himself around, the revolver out of bullets but only two threats remaining before him, slashing shadows through the headlights of a car that he had only so far driven for a short while. An hour? Less? Ah, it was no matter and Donnie smirked as if he had taken on the spirit of John himself as he advanced, cracking out his knuckles, one after the other. In hindsight, it would surprise him just how easily the methods of intimidation would come to him but maybe he had simply seen and heard enough about them to mimic and draw on a strength that he had not known he'd possessed.

"Oh, Keenan... If only you'd had the good sense to not get caught up in this side of life, maybe we wouldn't be having this conversation right now. It's funny how things like that work out now, isn't it?"

"Fuck you!"

His skinny, wispy friend may have scarpered but Donnie wasn't about to be put off by the fact that he was up against the so-called boss of it all - hah! Did Keenan really think their drugs had a patch on theirs? What they'd spent years perfecting when there was still so much more that could be improved on, perfected further, never an end in sight? It wasn't about getting shit out on the streets but what he ran for himself in the background of it all, supply chains and logistics, security systems and strategies - there was so much fucking more to it all!

And he was the one who made it all happen.

Keenan connected with him - damn, the fucker was fast! But not fast enough as Donnie laughed and swore, relishing, somehow, in a fight that he had not even known before was coming his way. His fist connected with something solid but he barely even registered just what the other man was doing to him as hands flew, scrambling and striving, fighting to wrap around his throat. Yet that was a move that, at least, he knew very well how to get out of and did not faze him in the slightest as he dodged, laughing recklessly, throwing all manner of caution to a wind that licked hungrily at the bare skin of his neck.

He had not thought that he possessed that agility, that lightness of foot, that he was a computer guy who could only do things at a desk and a keyboard. But that was wrong, very wrong, and he'd known that it was wrong when he'd seen the security cameras, the footage that showed him running rings (quite literally) around John when all his brother had been trying to do was to help. Slipping away like water through his fingers, Donnie threw him a condescending look, although it was most likely lost in the moment of them coming together, a fist sinking into Keenan's stomach while he gasped and purpled, a fish out of water.

Strike!

_ _

He didn't know what that meant but the thought filled him with energy, on and on, moving like the lash of a whip. The thug tried to get up, hobbling with a gun in hand, but that was easily swiped from his hands as Donnie bodily launched himself at him, a raw cry tearing itself from his throat as if he had become a creature of the underworld, a demon risen from hell to take back what had been denied to him in the futile sanctity of life lost.

But that could not be. He didn't believe in an afterlife. That was why it had scared him for so long.

The thug's mouth opened and closed but, blood roaring in his ears, Donnie could hear no more and neither did he need to. Finally, his eyes were open to the light of a world around him and he snarled soundlessly, teeth bared, slamming him into the ground over and over again. He knew he could do it, even if he had never before done it in his 'waking' mind in any way, shape or form: the security footage could not, would not, lie. Yet when had he ended up down on the ground, pounding the man that he didn't know with punch after punch, knuckles raw and breaking and, slowly, bloodied?

Time shifted, lacking a meaning that he could understand. Caught between a world of seeing and unseeing, he lunged between the headlights, spitting blood. Of course, a blow had caught him but he could deal with an ache in his jaw, letting the pain sink into him, fuelling the rage that someone could dare to impinge on what he had devoted himself to - even if getting involved in John's shit all over again was unintentional when it had all started! Who the hell did they think they were to take charge, to take the control that was his?

And it was true that he had the strength and the coordination to do it all, yet the hand curling around his shoulder, yanking him back with the ferocity of a man who knew his time, the gig that he'd been working for, was up. Keenan lunged for him at close quarters, face contorted, grabbing his collar.

"You're going to pay for this, pretty-boy..."

Donnie smirked, yet it didn't quite hold the effect he wanted it to, held up and pushed onto the toes of his dress shoes as he was.

"Oh... I hardly think so."

His weight dropped, forcing Keenan down with him, and they rolled, yanking and slamming and fists flying, neither one gaining the upper hand for a moment. Donnie hissed through his teeth, tasting blood, nails clawing at his throat and shoulder, ripping and tearing through with desperate, unyielding need. Yet he could not give up, would not give up, for the end was in sight with the thug felled, the other man gone like a weasel into a hole and Keenan himself failing in strength before him.

Keenan fell limp.

It took Donnie a moment to realise what had happened, the stillness of the night wrapping itself around him like a cloak as he heaved for breath, the quiet of it all clinging and deafening in equal measures. Everything fell there, leaving him in a pool of light that was really a beam, hardly able to believe that it was over, hands lifting from Keenan with the bruises on the neck of the other man laid out there before him as clear as day. Even if, truly, it was night. Ironically so.

Donnie laughed shallowly. What strange things came to the mind when all was said and done but he could not pause there, Keenan merely unconscious. He would live but he would have to move quickly in the meantime, dragging two lifeless bodies away from the shipping containers for what he had to do. For he needed them to go forth and tell that they had not been able to be bested, their operation something with a long life, a futile endeavour to bring down and absolutely one that would retaliate to even the slightest interlude or provocation.

"Don't mess with my men."

Not the most badass thing he had ever said but it would have to do as he ran a hand back over his hair, stiff and unnatural as tightly back as it was pulled, petroleum in hand as he sloshed gallon after gallon all over first one shipping container interior and the next one too. Two, that was all they had, and what a folly to think that that would have been enough to fell what was bringing in billions... Donnie hadn't run the numbers actively in a while, letting the automated system let him know when there was something (or not) that he needed to interfere in on that side. Automation, truly, was one of the beauties of invention, allowing him to forget what he did not need to think about and free his mind up for more innovative means.

The lighter clicked and the containers burned, smouldering as the flames leapt and danced, crackling in their joy of destruction. And there was a pleasure to be taken from it too as the drugs burned, everything that the trio and more too, he imagined, held dear to them burning, all of it going down, down, down. But he wouldn't have had to do it if they had just stayed out of his way to begin with, left him and John well enough alone and not interfered with those too that had made their operation what it was.

"Maybe you'll learn."

A part of him hoped they didn't, for the simple fact that he could do it all again, exploring the limits of his strength and his body, what he had never before, not even the once, considered that he could do before he'd seen the evidence right there before his eyes, all for himself. Of course, there was more he could do and there were bruises and cuts and scars that would only come to light under the burning, searing heat of a hot shower later that night (or morning, by that point) but he had everything in hand, flames snarling and snapping as if the beast inside him had been released into a fiery inferno and the essence that it took for itself regardless of the thoughts and feelings of anyone else. He could be more like that too, only a little but enough to change and learn. Donnie pressed his lips together in a tight yet manic smile. It would do him good to expand his horizons again.

The operation felled, well and truly up in smoke, Donnie smirked and adjusted the collar of his shirt, more dishevelled than he would have liked. But he still looked suave, he was sure, a man that John would be proud to call his brother and, maybe still, more than that too. That was between the two of them, however, and no one else. He could be who he was in the moment and nothing else would matter, calming down from the fight at least somewhat, his heart rate returning to something that could, at the very least, be considered normal.

Throwing his head back, Donnie cast his hair free of that obnoxious bun, hanging as it should always have had. He shed the jacket part of his suit and cast it over his arm, rendering his adjustment of it and more only a moment ago pointless. But what did he care about that? He'd only just gone and fucking done it! And whoever had said he couldn't besides himself?

The flames crackled, leaping and dancing, striving to break into the sky, and yet there would be no one there in time to call halt to the blaze as he made good his departure, the lights of the GTR slanting across the dockyard and many, many shipping containers before the police even got near the scene.

*

"So," John said, tipping his chair back onto two legs, the cocktail bar empty bar for them, although it had been a tall order to hire out the entire bar at peak hour on a Saturday evening. "What was that about the other night? Or was I so fucked up that I dreamed that you were in my apartment or something?"

The sunset was glorious, gleaming in striking shades of orange and red, painted across the cityscape and clear sky as if by an artist's brush. So beautiful was the closure of the day that Donnie did not immediately want to answer, to break the moment between them, a rare sort of date that only became possible when they were, at least in part, posing as other people. John's attitude had not changed but the hair dye that Donnie had coaxed him to don, so they could at least be somewhat in public, turned him into a brunette, his hair drawn back like Charles usually wore his own. The resemblance between them in the strong lines of his cheekbones was uncanny but only one of them made Donnie's heart turn over in that manner.

Donnie, of course, was not without his own manner of disguise too, dressed too casually for his liking in designer, ripped jeans (he would never have normally picked those up for himself), posing as someone who maybe ran a big tech company, which was an irony, considering recent events, in itself. John had already taken the piss on that one so it was hardly something that he at all wanted to spare the brainpower thinking about any further, coloured contacts and all.

"Donnie? Earth to the alien?"

Grinning, John made as if to tap him upside the head but Donnie dodged in the nick of time, less amused than his smirking brother was. Despite all that, the tomfoolery, it was nice too to see a lighter side to his brother, the part that had made his infatuation with him, so very long ago, turn into love.

Not that they would say that out loud, of course. Never. Not even once. It wasn't the done thing.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm with you, just not sure how to break the news to you, dear, that you were off your head on god knows what that night. Don't you even remember what you took? I had to wipe up your drool!"

It made have been something more disgusting in practice but they had very well done far more than that to and for one another in due course and time. That was what brothers like them were for, their lives coming together in gross times and exulting times, times that made the bad look like nothing and other times that made the good appear to be entirely non-existent. John clicked his tongue disparagingly against the roof of his mouth, the late evening sunset colouring his cheeks a rosier, healthier hue than he may otherwise have boasted.

"Well, that's nothing new," he admitted, taking a long drink from his glass, a fancy shape to it that he never would have usually had. "I don't know what I took but I wish I did, that shit would be great, don't you agree?"

He smiled charmingly and Donnie knew the only right answer to such a situation was to nod and to smile in turn, to allow himself to be disarmed of any response that could say otherwise. If John was infatuated by some new strain of what they spread through the city then let him be; it would only come back to line their pockets in time. It was better for things to be lighter between them, the good times allowing for more respites just like that one, times where they could go out and, for a little while, pretend that their lives were the normal that they loathed.

Donnie could have done with a little more of the normal.

"Well, that's fine, you'll have to tell me when you want to get it out to the usual guys," Donnie said. "It's not a big deal and, you know...things like that have happened before."

"Not like that."

Donnie raised an eyebrow but if John had meant anything by that remark, he most certainly was not going to get an explanation while his brother so very smoothly changed the subject to one that he had been hoping he could avoid entirely. And yet the truth had to come out sooner or later even as he sipped top shelf vodka, not knowing or caring what the brand was, only that it slid down smoothly, the after taste one that made him crave more, not a burn but a bite. After all he'd been through, Donnie could only say that he was a sucker for pain.

Just the right kind of pain.

"But what did you come to my apartment for that night?" John pressed, although he was not usually one to have his curiosity raised so, Donnie's back up, shoulders tense. "You came for something... Alright, there was a blanket over me but you weren't a dick like that time I got fucked up at your place, so you didn't do that this time, clearly. So, what gives? You gonna give up the secret on this one or not?"

Swallowing, Donnie sheepishly leaned back and rubbed the back of his neck. There was a little more hair there than he would have liked, needing shaving down again, and he scratched through it, the sound that it made drawing an aching shiver to his psyche. The sound simply was grating.

"Don't do that if it bothers you so much."

John's eyes bored into him and Donnie shuffled under the intensity of him, loathing how his own breath came so shortly and shallowly. Why did John make it so hard?

That's what she said...

_ _

He grimaced.

Shut it.

_ _

"There was a...problem," he said, as delicately as it was possible to me. "Our guys were getting beaten up, lost a few of them. Some gang calling themselves the Beats, they were trying to move in on our turf. I expect they thought our operation was, ah, smaller than it was. We do have that thing going where our guys are all split up so that no one knows really how big we are. It works in some ways but not other ways, as we've seen..."

John blinked.

"Fuckers. So, what happened? I heard that it had been taken care of, why'd it come up to our level then?"

He eyed his brother, eyebrows raised.

"Donnie... What aren't you telling me?"

Swallowing, Donnie waved a hand in the air, stalling for time as much as he sweated to have the whole ordeal over and done with. No kind of confrontation was his strong point, even if he had indeed found that he was a more capable sort of man than he had originally thought. That wasn't a bad thing but it did not change who he was at heart.

John sighed, running his fingers back through his hair, dye sticking. It was only temporary, after all, and would wash out. Not his usual style but Donnie smiled to think that his brother did look good with lighter hair too. But Donnie was not forthcoming and he shook his head at his brother, waiting on the revelation that surely had to be coming, as excruciating and drawn-out as it seemed to be.

"Spit it out."

"You don't usually say that."

"Fuck_off_ and tell me what went down."

He could have told John that he couldn't do both of those things so he'd have to choose one or the other but the story had to come out sooner or later and Donnie sheepishly allowed the words to flow out with the slickness of liquor to help them along. John sat back to listen, the lights coming on in the sky-high bar even as the bartenders left them discreetly be, the place already swept for bugs. He had no fear of being overheard by anyone else and yet it was revealing what had been done in the absence of John that made his heart pound all the more viciously, another darker and deeper part of his soul demanding that he take pride in the bloody nature of his accomplishment.

They hadn't died. He wouldn't have cared much at all though if they had.

"So..." John said at last, the tips of his fingers pressed together as he digested everything, a shade too calm for his brother's liking. "That was what you did, was it?"

His lips turned down and Donnie suppressed a flinch, rushing to his own defence.

"It stopped things from escalating and that's that," he said firmly and finally. "It's not my fault that you were out for the count and you are lucky that I was able to take care of it. Maybe it's time you had a little faith in me too."

He hadn't meant to say the last bit but the words just kept right on coming out once he'd begun talking, a slew that could have been either a poison or a tonic in the tense heat of the moment. And John was absolutely no help either, sitting back with his long legs parted before him, that masculine gesture of sitting as if he owned the place oozing from him in heady doses, enough to make his head spin. He couldn't let such appearances sway him, however, and kept his eyes focused regardless of how hard his heart was beating, a sickening pound against his eardrums that demanded attention.

"Thanks."

Donnie stared.

"What?"

"Are you going deaf or something?" John smirked and raised his glass to him, although it was almost empty. "Not bad going, Small Donnie, not bad at all. And to think you sorted this shit out on your own - I'll drink to that!"

He rapped twice on the table, as small and nonsensical as it was in such a cocktail bar, without even sparing a glance in the direction of the bartender or the 'mixologist' or whatever the hell it was that they called themselves these days. The drinks appeared just like clockwork, the old glasses taken away and table swiped clean with a damp rag that left no residue in its wake, everything as clean and pristine and unduly perfect as it had been when they had first sat (rather, perched) in the bar.

It was not relief but something else that flooded Donnie, coolness seeping through him as he met John's grin with his own and tapped his glass against his brother's, the meeting of their eyes saying all that their words could not. There was a true thanks in there, of course, but a respect too, a glint in John's expression and sultry quirk of his lips that told of another kind of respect there too. And Donnie's heart swelled to see it plastered there so plainly - at least to one who knew his brother as intimately as he did.

Donnie's grin faded to a smile, but it was a more genuine one than any grin could have produced for any span of true time. Nodding to his brother's glass, it was time to move the conversation on, the matter done and dusted and coming to no ill end, just as he'd wanted it all to play out.

"What are you drinking?"

John shrugged.

"Fucked if I know."

Donnie laughed, the sound breaking the barrier of his lips more easily than it ever had before. That was strange in itself but for once, he did not question it, did not dig into it, did not pull up the ifs, ands, whys and buts of what it all could be, what it could mean. He didn't need to get trapped inside his head all over again. Truth be told, he'd spent more than enough of his life there in due course.

And it was time enough to get out of his head and trust in himself. One bad trip, after all, could lead to him taking charge, as he'd seen, and he could take that power forward, learning more about himself that he had thought wasn't even there to uncover. With the sunset dipping, slanting shadows across the city, Donnie leaned back in his seat as much as he could with the low support there and revelled softly in the moment, content for things to be simply as they were.

He wasn't just the second brother anymore.

And that was enough.