Water was pelting down from the onslaught of clouds.

It was typical weather for how summers went, the heat eventually leaving for a torrent of rain. Vaughan wasn't shocked, despite how suddenly the weather could change. The rain turned his mood inward to darker thoughts he'd rather not address.

The darkness was in is room, too. He hadn't turned on a lamp. The shadows where deep trenches between furniture, barely an outline defined in the darkness, the air cold-so cold from the weather just the day before.

It hit his bedroom window so constantly that no individual drop could be defined from its fallen brother.

"Are we like rain drops?" his breath fogged the window as he sat limply against the pane," propelling through life without pause, no control on our downfall until we meet our end, blurring who we are among the countless others preceding us-undefined in the end of our existence."

No one answered the question.

The room was quiet, dark in shadow.

He hadn't turned on the light, the rain gave no chance for sun. A flash of lighting gave detail to his unbrushed hair, hollowed cheeks. He caught sight of his eyes and didn't stray his gaze from where they dimly remained after the light had gone.

What was the point?

The rain fell harder.

Vaughan was distantly aware – something was wrong. The rain was coming down more than in sheets. It was a barrage like a river. He could see nothing in the window aside from the water streaming down, and the shadows of his eyes.

He stayed, sitting- staring at the echo of his gaze in the window as he tried to focus on his breathing. His heart was beating faster than he ever thought possible yet he still could not move.

In. And out.

He realized he was wet. His feet and legs growing soaked in the rising warmth.

In and out. That was all he had to remember.

In.

Out.

It wasn't water.

He couldn't tear his gaze from his distant eyes that were a malicious shadow.

In.

Out.

Thick. Warm.

He breathed deep, and found that his breath became slower, shallow. The smell came to him, sharp and familiar.

His arm was sticky.

The little voice at his door, a banging.

"Uncle! Uncle!"

How could he forget?

"Uncle? Are you awake?"

Vaughan tried to blink, to pull his gaze from the window. His eyes, though. His eyes seemed to grow in malice as he stared at them, and he felt as if he was held in place.

The rain was so loud on the windowpane.

No, he thought, Xavier needs me. I need to go. This is a mistake!

"Reko! Uncle isn't opening his door!"

He pulled at his gaze, worked to breathe, the ocean around him came to his chest now, squeezing the air from his lungs. His heart seemed to be slowing, its decreasing beat thumping in his ears over the sound of the rain and Xaviers receding voice.

The ominous creek of the door handle behind him gave him the final push to be able to wrench his head away from the horrible gaze in the window, whirling around, feeling blood, not water, soaking his arms, his chest, waist legs. It encased him, at first warm, now cold and unkind.

And there stood his brother.

His brother whose eyes that shared his own shade of blue. Eyes like their fathers. Body mangled, covered in blood, the left arm twisted in an unnatural angel,  the side of his head caved in, long hair matted to him in thick tangles.

The rain fell deafening his ears, clouding his senses.

Breath.

In.

Out.

A hand raised; finger pointed.

Dawsons mouth opened, working hard to raise a sound from his mangled chest. Tears ran in red rivets down marred cheeks. The movement of his mangled body created a popping sound as the bones and joins worked to move past their rigid state.

The blood was everywhere.

Jaw working, eyes red with spilled bloody tears, a strangled sound released. It could have been Vaughan's own, with how he wished to scream out- to cry. He couldn't, he was trapped by his brothers eyes.

If only someone would come. If only he could cry out- he did his best! He didn't mean to! He tried he tried he tried.

Vaughan opened his mouth to scream apologizes, to beg for help, for someone to come.

Somebody to help.

He was so alone.

His voice was useless, trapped in his throat.

Dawsons voice was rattled, obscured, broken. But despite the blood, the mangled form, Vaughan understood.

"Why!?!?"

***

Vaughan found himself shooting up, tense and sweating as he gripped the sheets around him.

After a few moments of trying to push the dream from his eyes and focusing on his breath, to forget the condemning stare his brother gave him, he raised a shaking hand to grab his glasses, to allow the room to focus, shadows deep with nights darkness.

It was not his bedroom he slept in, and Vaughan recalled that he was now at the Arya house.

In.

Out.

He turned his head to the window, and noted the rain fell hard, a break in the hot sunny weather that had been dominating the summer.

The dream still pulled at him, he stumbled when he stood, wavering a bit as his head swam and he forced himself to breathe. The light nearly toppled off the bedside table as he turned it on with trembling hands, aware that he was covered head to toe in sweat, his heart rabbiting in his chest as he focused on ensuring he inhaled slow and deep.

In.

Out.

Vaughan tried to ignore the smell of fresh air as the rain continued to hit the windowpane.

He refused to look outside.

"It's okay," his voice was strained to his own ears, but a gift in his wakefulness. The bonds muting his screams in his dream did not dissipate so soon after his waking, and he felt still heavy with the sea of blood he had swam in.

"Xavier is fine, he is here."

He was down the hall, sharing a bedroom with Elliot. 

Vaughan stood a moment longer, the tremors not quite so bad but still he shook. Looking about he clenched his hands at the writing desk, papers crumpled and bare.

Turning to the door he left, unable to bring himself to writing, and he was aware sleep would not find him again that night.

Pausing in the hall, he considered briefly checking on the children. Worry twisted his gut at the irrational fear something may have happened.

But the ghosts of his dreams where just that. Dreams. And that was the only place the ghosts remained.

Finding his footing more sturdy as he moved onward to the landing, he descended to the kitchen, glad that plenty of cookies remained, though the mess had been cleaned long before by the staff. The idea of setting a kettle this late at night didn't appeal to him, so he decided that some milk would suffice instead.

After eating several sweets and finding that he could hold the glass without the worry of spilling he meandered to the hall, distantly wondering if he would even be able to focus on a novel if he visited the library.

The television in the front room came to mind, and he resolved that mindless media was what he needed.

A flare of lightning struck and caused his heart to freeze at how the flash of light could cause shadows to grow in with menace.

As if a finger pointed at him from a weak arm.

Vaughan made his way down the hall, a shameful stack of chocolate chip cookies on a plate and glass of milk in his hand. Not even half way to the front room he became aware the noise of the television already on.

'I should leave whoever is there alone' but as he thought this he continued on, not wanting to think of the loneliness of his bed, the emptiness of the papers on the drawing desk, of his eyes reflected in the window.

There where two lamps lighting the front room, the furniture reflected the same aesthetic that he had come to know in the Arya family.

Predominantly white furniture, with deep blue and lavender accents, statues and family photos accenting every wall and table. Two dark blue lamps with lavender shades and white embroidery where already on, giving light to the room and the man on the couch laying across half the white cushions cheek resting on his fist as he watched with an expression Vaughan could only assume was pulled between boredom and exasperation, fingers drumming the armrest.

Myles jolted when Vaughan halted at the entrance, thick brows raising into his hairline.

Vaughan noticed he had neither shaved his face nor put his hair up, the beard and mustache thick as if Vaughan had attempted to grow his for the week. Unfair, that.

'Its not an unbecoming look' the thought came suddenly and before he could analyze what that odd observation meant Myles was straightening up.

"Couldn't sleep?" his voice was deeper, perhaps to reflect the depth of the hour. Perhaps he was more tired than he appeared.

Vaughan nodded and shrugged.

A pause, Myles seeming to take in his standing there, then.

"Would you like to join me?"

Vaughan hesitated before another flash from the windows, not as menacing than when he had been alone in the dark kitchen, but it still caused him to freeze and hold his breath. His eyes met Myles, who looked a bit curious but not damning, and he found himself nodding again pressing forward.

It was either to sit with the curious man through the late hour with the television and cookies as their distraction, or return to his room and solitude which he normally craved. And at the boom of thunder, and pelting rain, he knew that was something he couldn't manage.

Myles moved over a fraction, giving space between their thighs as he settled himself snuggling into where the other had obviously discarded the pillows, thankful Myles didn't seem to be the sort to cuddle into them as he was.

Setting his milk down he thought for a moment before holding out the plate of cookies, looking up to Myles and finally found his voice.

"I find myself in ownership of more than I should probably partake in. Care to indulge? "

Myles, why did he always have such a heavy gaze?!?took a cookie from the plate, and without breaking eye contact said," I find that some indulgence is necessary in life."

Before biting into it.

Vaughan's heart stuttered and he nearly dropped the plate, face hot. What was that?!?

Swallowing he set the cookies down on the coffee table and turned to the television, far more aware of any minor movement from Myles than the actors on the screen.

'what have I gotten myself into now?!?'