Bound by Blood ****SOON TO BE PUBLISHED!!!!*****

Chapter Ten

"Wow...you look much better already, brother.... the hipster zombie look really suits you."

Hatchet winced at the loudness attacking his eardrums from September's voice. Everything overwhelmed him, from the light to every clip of the scissors August had in his hands.

It had been so long since he'd been around either. Seven years if his brothers could be believed.

As relieved as he was they were alive and well he still narrowed his red-flinted gaze at September who was lounging in Hatchet's black high-backed chair, his irritation burning through him at both his antagonizing and the fact his dirty sneakers were propped up on the couch. His couch. "I see you're still as charming as you were when we were kids."

September flashed him a boyish grin, unbothered by the sarcastic remark. Hatchet was still trying to process the changes in September as he countered, "and still much more attractive than you will ever hope to be."

Hatchet glared. There's no doubt about it. That is definitely September.

August muttered behind him, cutting dead hair away from Hatchet's scalp. "You think he was bad when we were young... just wait."

This made Hatchet snort, "Fantastic." Every time he spoke it caused an ache to run down his throat. Not the ache that came from thirst but like he'd screamed and screamed for hours and had lost his voice. That was what had happened to Hatchet when he'd come to in the pitch black room, lying on his stomach with nothing but the stored treasures his father had kept. He'd screamed for minutes. Hours. Days.

Yet no one had come for him. No one had heard. His bony hands trembled, so he gripped the arm rests of the office chair. How long was I in there after I woke up?

Tufts of scraggly greyish black hair fell onto the navy blue sweatpants and broke his thoughts. "Almost done," said August, his voice much deeper than when Hatchet had last spoken to him. His hand swept through Hatchet's scalp with gentle fingers, and it unnerved him. Their relationship had been anything but affectionate, thanks to their father, and after their last conversation before the raid they hadn't left on good terms. But there August was, carefully cutting his hair as if he was Hatchet's mother. Treating him like a child. Like he was fragile.

It angered him.

He slapped August's hands away, growling. "Are you done yet?"

September pouted. "Aw, brother, he doesn't like your haircut. Perhaps you should bring the scissors down just a little lower...." he fell off and ran a finger across his neck, making a sound like he was dying.

The gesture sparked the reminder of coming so close to death that he tried to lunge at September, stopped by August sensing the attack and holding him back. September lifted his boyish face and laughed in delight, wrapping his arms draped in a black baggy sweater that fell around his lean waist.

"I forgot how amusing you are, brother! And here I thought having you back would be such a bore."

"September," warned August. "Please leave him alone."

Hatchet shook all over. "I'll show you death-" and how lonely it is. He gave a violent shrug of his shoulder, but couldn't budge August's hand. Gritting his teeth he felt the plastic arms of the chair slowly strain and crack under his pressure. But they didn't break.

He'd become too weak. So weak August had to defend him against September. "Move your hand from my body before I tear it off." He wasn't sure if he could actually do it in his condition, nor was he sure he would even if he could.