castiel vanderhart, district six

His mouth is riddled with filth - fuck you and fuck this and fuck that. His sharp tongue lashes like a whip and leaves marks just as swollen and red. But he harbors no shame for his sarcastic (and sometimes cruel) remarks and profuse swearing. There is not much he keeps locked in the shadows from the public eye.

Just one thing.

Incest.

Years before his adopted brother, Aeric, departed District Six for Peacekeeper training, they formed a bond beyond what is considered appropriate for siblings. The same blood does not run through their veins, the same flesh does not cover their skin, but they made their bones in the same house and are bound to the same last name. The bond of family is not born, it is made. It is the bond of brothers that they share, but they are bound to each other by more than just brotherhood.

Their parents always wondered why Aeric would be in his room for hours and hours past midnight. They must have made up their own reasons, their minds never daring to travel down the road of romance. It was a path forbidden to the brothers - but that did not stop them and they had no reins over their feelings.

He has fallen victim to the most deadly beast to walk this earth.

Love.

Aeric's kisses were full of poison, seeping straight to his heart. But he loved the way it burned, a searing flash of pain and guilt at first, and then subsiding to just a slight sting, as if he had pricked his finger on a needle. He hated to admit it, but he could not get enough of Aeric's tender kisses and his soft skin and the heat, like a great sun, that blazed between them. Aeric held - holds - his heart in his hands, and he hated this addiction it.

He hated it because he knows that once the heart is surrendered to someone, that when you give your love to them, you also give them the power to destroy you. (And he does not take kindly to others holding power over him like the ominous shadow of a giant.) If Aeric wanted to, he could hollow out his heart and rip him apart until he was remnants of the boy he was before. And he could not pretend that he would not let him.

He wished he could be free of Aeric's iron grip on him, but despite his brother's absence, he still had every piece of him. (Was Aeric even aware?) He had tried kissing other boys and girls, but all he could see in them was Aeric, in their face and behind their eyes. Written all over each kiss he stole from another was Aeric's name in bold. There was no escape. Aeric had rendered him a bird with broken wings.

The haunting ghost of Aeric seems to follow him everywhere he walks. It lingers in his home, at school, down the cobblestone streets, on the porch - where Aeric taught him first aid when he was younger. But most of all, the ghost is in his heart, singing a shrill, haunting melody of sadness that nearly blocks everything else out.

One of the few places where there is no trace of Aeric is mirrors. He cannot see Aeric when all he is can see is himself, his stunningly bright green eyes, burning with defiance that never seems to fade, staring back at him. Thick, white-blond hair sprouts from his scalp - though its original color, revealed at its roots, is light brown. He switches back and forth from white-blonde to dirty blonde to his natural light brown. He is not indecisive; drastic change comforts him. (And he is blessed with the money to afford such a luxury, as the Vanderhart family is a wealthy - and highly intelligent - collection of people.)

In his features, even when they are at rest, is hardened by a great shield of defiance, as cold and solid as a bold child locking eyes with their parents as they hit them with an onslaught of screams. (He was always that child - he still is.) But his face is not naturally ablaze with anger or insolence. It is an iron surface of pure, bold disobedience. He seems as if he will rebel against any force of power that attempts - feebly - to make him yield. (And his looks are not deceiving.)

Aeric always found this defiance that rested in his features and burned in his lovely pale green eyes endearing. (It is a thought that presses a crushing weight against his chest.) Aerics bouts of laughter as he watched him stare down their mother were moments that he treasured. They were moments that he missed, moments that left a hole in his heart, a void that grew wider with each passing day without Aeric's presence. Aeric was the final piece to the puzzle of his perfect life and now it had fallen away into an abyss, and he could not peer far enough into the darkness to fish it out.

But he wrote to Aeric as frequently as he could, and Aeric would write him back almost immediately. The letters were not love notes. His letters had a bitter tone, but Aeric's were more reminiscent of his old life in District Six. (Would he ever return to it?)

Aeric-

First of all, fuck you. Fuck you for running off to become a Peacekeeper and fuck you for writing me and asking me to tell you what's going on in my life - as if you actually care, you bastard. For the record, you're by far the worst brother I've got. But at least you're not blood-related to me, otherwise your stupid might be in the gene pool.

I'm not going to lie to you. Yeah, I'm stilled pissed about you leaving to become the Capitol's pet. I might never see you again; they might not ship you back to Six. Who knows, they could send you to District Twelve. That would suck. Why don't you add that to your growing list of reasons not to be a Peacekeeper? For once, Dad was right about something: you do have terrible judgement.

Now that I've got that off my chest, yeah, everything's pretty alright in Six. Everyone seems to be happy, despite your absence. They're trying to keep their head up. Our younger siblings are annoying as ever - running around the house screaming until they lose their voices.

Oh, and I got my ears pierced, twice, on my right ear. I did it myself by holding an apple slice to the back of my ear, kinda like a pin cushion, and sticking a needle through both my earlobe and the apple. Just so you don't freak out, yes, I did clean everything with alcohol, and yes, I was careful. And I haven't stopped changing my hair, but right now, it's white-blonde. Wasn't that color your favorite on me?

Nothing exciting has been happening since you left. There's the Games, but I'm sure you're up to date, but it's stupid anyways. There is one bright side - or at least in your eyes: I haven't gotten into a lot of trouble at school, since I'm missing my partner in crime. When you come back - if you come back - promise me we'll play more epic pranks together and make Mom scream like a banshee.

Whatever you do, Aeric, just try to come back to District Six. We're not a family without you.

With love hate,
Castiel AKA your main bitch

There were so many words he held back. I love you. I still love you - I'll never stop loving you. I think I'd die from despair if you never returned. But he could not bring himself to print them in ink. Perhaps he was too prideful - fine - to send such things. It was not that he wanted to be seen as vulnerable; Aeric had already discovered the softness beneath the sardonic remarks and harsh retorts. It was that he was terrified Aeric would write back that this, whatever it was, would have to end. (And if it ended, so would he.) It was the fear rejection that made his fingers freeze each time he tried to glide the pen across the paper to write the words I love you. They were three simple words, but they held so much power.

I love you.

Those three words were his greatest fear, his most hopeful wish, but most of all,

his downfall.