Hide Your Knives

*Two brothers never knew that one insane woman would be able to drive them apart so instantly*

Dawson rubbed his large hand across his jaw, trailing his fingertips over rough stubble and wincing as they brushed against the fresh red welt. He groaned and narrowed his eyes at Greg, whose smirk was as wide as the black, looping river outside, whose missing teeth were grey gaps that could be the rocks dotting the rushing water.

"Bastard," he grumbled, fingers lingering before they danced away.

A flicker of movement, reminiscent of candlelight, came from Gregory as his stance shifted. His left foot was pulled behind the right ankle, knee cocked, all weight balanced on his hip.

"You deserved it." Gregory smiled a snake's grin, a sneer foul enough that Dawson could almost see his fangs. He flipped his dusty hair over his brow, mouth turning grim, and Dawson almost growled.

Dawson tried again, lightly touching his knuckles to his lower lip, and they pulled away with a drop of red. There was a mirror above the mantlepiece over Gregory's shoulder, and Dawson squinted and turned his head, studying the pale carnation of red, darker in the center, blooming just under and just to the side of his mouth.

Gregory sidestepped into his way, shrugging and looking less guilty than when he threw the punch.

"Bastard!" he repeated, harsher now, glaring at Gregory straight in his calculating grey eyes.

"Shut up, Daws. I didn't mean to," he said, but his eyes held less of an apology. He stretched, looking like a puppet about to be tugged into the sky- arms vertical above his head, shoulders up, usung his toes rather than the balls of his feet, lifting.

Dawson rolled his eyes. "Of course you didn't," he said.

Both of them stopped as a noise drifted through the house. Gregory's eyes flashed to Dawson, and they stayed this way for what felt like a long while.

The door creaked at the front of the house and three lazy knocks pounded on the wood. Dawson's heart snapped like a flag in the wind, once, twice. He peeked at his brother and realized that Gregory looked nauseous as well.

Neither of them moved for a long time, and just as they were ready to dismiss the noises as ghosts, six brisk raps rang out as loud as gunshots in the silence. The hum of impatience from outside seeped into the room slowly. Dawson only picked up on it when Gregory began figeting with his hands, only to look down and see himself doing the same.

When did I- but then a voice sheared through the door.

"Is anybody ho-ome?"