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A small sound vibrated between the two of them, and it took a moment before it became identifiable as Lightning laughing, a low laugh neither bitter or delighted. The long sword he had been holding clattered to the floor. He had carried it unsheathed over the rooftops home, reeking with the thick warmth of red blood, but he didn't need it now. He was home.

There were other things to be disposed of too, later, things which Earth could probably feel pressing against him, concealed under the folds of Lightning's clothing. They ridged his body with unexpected sharpness. He carried a lot of weapons, some deadly apparent in their purpose, others seeming innocent. None of them were innocent, or if they were, it was only as much as their owner. His brothers didn't need to carry as many as he did, because there were far more ideas abotu what to do with them, dreamily drifting, stored in his mind.

"I've made you dirty," he said. He looked up, and his blue eyes were as guileless as a summer sky. Then he started to laugh again. "What did you do this evening, nii-chan?" he asked, pointlessly, and collapsed into helpless, stuttering giggles against Earth's broad chest.

Lightning trailed behind Earth obediently enough, knowing that his brother would calmly deal with things the way he always did, scouring the blood away as though it had never been there, cleaning him, feeding him and taking care of him, petting him like a child if need be; doing everything he could, in short to remove the memory of the night from both of their minds. His brother always cast himself in the role of his protector, but sometimes Lightning thought that he felt the things they did far more keenly. Earth, after all, was almost anxious in his need to wash away the evidence of the bloody work which had taken place. Lightning submitted, but he knew that some stains didn't wash out.

He was in a different state, as though he were a mage having an out-of-body experience, or a medium communing with the spirits in a trance state. His usual self - playful, with a veneer of innocence almost more startling than the splattering of blood he wore at the moment - had been put away, for the present time. He would return to it later, but not now, with the fresh stench hanging on him and the flashes of silver bright and recent in hs mind.

"He struggled," he said. "It was almost a fair fight. I had to hold him down and cut all the tendons to stop him fighting back. He crawled after me across the floor, trying to say something. So I cut out his tongue. It was an artery. It went everywhere. He made me angry. There's not very much left. The newspaper will probably say that he was butchered beyond recognition."

It was pointless to say any of it, pointless and mean-spirited. Some part of him knew that Earth hated talk of blood, of death, of the things they did, and hated it especially coming from him. It was almost that which made him speak of it in such brutal details, talking relentlessly in those short, toneless sentences. Children can be very cruel.

And Earth would say nothing about it, would undress him and put him in the bath, would keep looking after him, nurturing him like one of his plants. Lightning wanted a reaction he would never get, sometimes. Their training had taken away their individuality, their personalities, their sense of right and wrong - perhaps the fight had been burned out of Earth. He had never seen him angry.

"Mmm," Lightning responded dreamily, beginning to slip his clothes off. It had failed, as it always did. It was impossible to get Earth to even bat an eyelid. Earth didn't cut off limbs. He didn't stab people again and again as though his sword were a ravening wolf hungry for blood. He didn't do screams. Nobody who Earth killed ever screamed.

He discarded his clothes in a dishevelled, bloodstained heap and got into the bath naked, where he stood calf-deep, not lying down. His hair and hands were red, but his body surprisingly pale and clean.

"Do you know, I'm always amazed by how much blood they have in them?" he said. His voice was clear, the inquisitve tone of a precocious child. "It just keeps coming, buckets of it." He looked at his arm, as if trying to envision all the veins running like a hidden network under his skin. "So much..."

"It doesn't do them much good when we've come along, does it?" Lightning said, but the need to be unpleasant to his brother - unexplained and unnecessary, when he loved him so much - was passing, and he spoke softly. Slipping lower into the water, he let it close over him, dipping his head under briefly. When he surfaced again, the water was pink and his eyes were clear and bright, all traces of the killer who had entered the room vanished. Now he was just Lightning, in the bath, wanting attention.

"Nii-chan," he whined, fixing huge blue eyes on Earth, who had removed his clothes and the last memories of the evening. "Wash my back..?" He knew the expression and the tone of voice would work. He always got his way with Earth like that. Earth would wash his back, and probably his hair too, if Lightning was really lucky.

Already, the prospect of an evening being coddled unfolded in front of him, like the unrolling of a long luxurious carpet. First the bath, then clean clothes, some of Earth's cooking - and Earth always cooked exactly what he liked, having long learned his fussy ways. Then into Earth's bed, or Water if he was home and if Earth had had enough of him by then, to chatter the night away, safe in the knowledge they wouldn't let him fall asleep.

He gave a little groan of pleasure and bent forward to give Earth better access to his back. It was important to properly relax the muscles after exerting effort, he knew. He had read that somewhere, or been told it by someone, a long time ago. He couldn't - or didn't want to - remember who, but he thought that it was probably important. And if it meant Earth washing his back, working his strong fingers into the knots all the way down Lightning's bony spine, then so much the better.

Earth was asking about tomorrow. Lightning frowned, considering, damp strands of pink-blonde hair falling forward and sticking to his face. "Puddle-nii-chan," he said, finally. "I haven't seen him in ages. I want to play with him tomorrow." Whether or not Puddle would agree to that was quite another matter, although Lightning didn't really care if he agreed or not. Puddle seemed perpetually furious with everything, especially the Batsu, which was incomprehensible to Lightning. He remembered how he had thought, at first, that Puddle might not actually like the rest of them.

Now of course, he knew he must have been mistaken. After all, it was completely unnatural not to love your brothers.