piece of a wip fanfic

i just got back into writing after a while, and god, it is soooooooo fun but my work is always not really good or do i necessarily feel proud T_T Either way you guys can have this super INCOMPLETE because its been a good distraction to me and idk, i dont have a beta reader or anyone to give me any form of criticism.

bit of an update: ive revised this a buncha times and updated it a lil so its more bearable to read! Thank you!

not written to be a ship + uhhh warning for blood and gore and various emetaphobia stuff. is there? idk im just putting that just incase. its not even done or finished so like hahaha

so heres vincent nightray and his bro gilbert ^_^ vague spoilers for pandora hearts i guess? though i guess it wouldn't really make sense to anyone reading with no knowledge of it. also i swear him calling gil nii-san is crucial to his character its in all the translations im not trying to be cringe im sorry im sorry dont shoot me 

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Fire, screams, and carnage.

Bodies laid all over the floor, painting the floor red and drenching the carpet. It seemed like none of them put up a fight, simply froze in fear and died, all in rapid succession. None were alive, some were starting to pale, and still, the screams were endless. In fact, there was even more commotion from outside the walls. Everyone in this place was in the process of being slaughtered. Vincent knows this scene well. Rising smoke, lights of gold and orange. Blood pools the room, pillars soaked in splatters of red and viscera. Men, women, and children reduced to mangled bodies on the floor. Some are on their last breath, some screaming, some rattling. The same fate is set for all of them.  

Feeble and sluggish, a strange compulsion wills Vincent to move. The carpet is damp, soaked with blood and death that splashes onto his boots. Bile rises up his throat, burning as it almost makes it through his mouth. Such a vile, disgusting scene. He keeps himself from slipping on the arm of a man whose eyes are still open, stuck in shock. His ghastly eyes follow Vincent as he makes his trudging away from the scene, away from the mess he knows he created. This was all his fault, where his efforts "saving his brother" got everyone to. It gets harder and harder to move with every step, as if the hundreds, if not thousands of spirits were holding him back. Rough, rugged hands, crawl over to find his legs. They all grasp for his legs, angry, desperate, and begging for their killer to acknowledge them. Perhaps that part is in his head, but it torments him the same.

His knees buckle and hit the carpet way before he knows it, and as disgusting as it is, he can't stop himself from kneeling over. Horrifyingly damp, the carpet envelopes him partially in crimson. It's nothing new; all his life, he has been stained, a horrid being of tragedy, all foretold from his right eye. The color of pain and suffering. It was inevitable, of course, everyone was right about the Children of Ill Omen. Harbringers of chaos, of death, and suffering- that was no lie from anyone. Gilbert, Jack, and everyone who had thought otherwise were all fools, all ignorant fools to have trusted and loved Vincent. The thought tears open his body, a pain that spreads overarching his very soul. A hot, searing fire that burns through his core and across his cursed existence. Strings of muscle unravelling the fabric of his being. Even his ribs closes in on him. And he can't do anything to stop it, but tremble and gag and whimper. Hopeless, pathetic and dying. This surely is the vengeance of those he killed in exchange of his brother. They want to damn him to a fate worse than death, no, he shouldn't have ever simply existed in the first place. The coward that he is still wishes that death would come to him. Soon before worse happens, soon before his real damnation. His breath starts to falter, his body feels exhausted, and finally there is silence.

-

When Vincent comes to, he feels like a sack of bricks. The thinking part of him fails to process his environment, but what he's laying on is soft and comfortable. Perhaps too soon for how physically drained he is, he tries to sit up straight.. and smacks his skull against something rock hard. Before he can wonder if he just cracked his own skull against the wall, he hears a groan that scares him right out of his body. Already tense, Vincent's mind is back on full alert. Firstly, he is in his bed, in his bedroom, in the Nightray's Mansion, which somehow has changed to be cleaner than he left it. Secondly, the massive cloth that he covered his mirror with is gone, and a distressed mockery of his face stares back from it. Eyes wide and long hair in complete dishevel. Thirdly, Echo is not here, so she couldn't have been the one who moved him here, which brings his concern to the tall figure currently rubbing its temples.

He hardly contains his shock at the sight of Gilbert. Something ugly and vile rises up his throat and Vincent's terrified that it shows on his face. Gilbert's eyes, however, are shut, eyebrows furrowed on his face, hand on his head. It turns out he didn't smack his head against a thick wall. Instead, it was his brother's even thicker skull. Vincent holds back a sneer and lets out a strangled laugh instead. He can't tell how it came off in his current state, but Gilbert snaps and turns to him.

"Vince, you had me thinking you were dead or dying." Gilbert scrunches up his own hair. He's not wearing his hat, and his hair is in a similar state of dishevel, Vincent notes. "I asked Echo, I asked Elliot, and they all said that you collapsing on the floor and whimpering is apparently all normal?!" 

"Well, Nii-san, you certainly don't return here often to see that, do you?" Vincent collapses back on his bed. Exhausted, and truthfully, annoyed, but he wouldn't express that to his brother. "...how long was I out?"

"You know, Vince, I only came here because Elliot needed somebody to (That's really not answering his question..) ..and I just, well, I didn't wanna come here, admittedly, but, is it truly normal for you to be playing dead on the hallway floors coincidentally where I needed to (This bed is so comfy..) ...Drat, truly, I'm concerned, have you been ill for weeks and months and I didn't- Are you listening?"

"Mhm... that didn't really answer my question, though.."