The Lucky One

[Niall Gallagher]

Swaying idly back and forth in time to the music playing nearby, Niall perused the various art pieces on display. It was some kind of art in the park deal that they held near the end of the month every month. Niall was sort of a regular. Before he decided to stop working with his dad, his favored hobby had been this: painting. Sketching. Drawing. Photography. Hell, he even tried pottery and he liked it. He loved creation. But lately, all he had a hand in was destruction. Kinda poetic, actually, if he thought about it.

He didn't like to, though.

Instead, he swayed to some hipster's rendition of a Mumford and Sons song, knuckles pressed delicately to his lips while his eyes darted from one image to the next. The work was pooled together so there was no cohesion. One was a violently stricken piece in harsh, bright colors and then one next to it was softly touched pastels of a little girl. Niall liked that one. It sang innocence. He closed his eyes. Then he snapped his fingers and opened his eyes, grinning widely.

The closest person in the vicinity was grabbed by the shoulders and Niall leaned in. "Which one?" he asked, trying to bring his head down so that their eyes were level and he was seeing whatever his hapless victim was seeing before them.

"Which one?" he asked again, more insistently.

[Cain Plunkett]

One of them was here.

One of the brothers, masquerading as a human, mingling with the crowd slowly eddying in and out of the park. Cain hunched his shoulders against a light wind and clutched the thin jacket to his body. A wisp of hair floated across his eyes and he flicked his head to get rid of it, though his gaze remained on the crowd, scanning it to and fro.

He was here. And Cain was going to catch him.

Being out in the crowd alone made his very soul shrink into itself but he persevered, because he had to do this all by himself. God told it to him in a vision and it had to be so. Not even his brother, his ever-present guardian, knew he was here. This was Cain's mission; this was his own special test of bravery. Just as God tested Adam, so was He testing Cain now.

He shrank away from a tent playing loud music, the sound jarring to his ears. Cain preferred quiet. Solitude. This was far from the environment that he enjoyed and he found his doubts growing, but... He couldn't quit now. Not now. Not when he had finally followed the Unclean creature to this place.

Someone grabbed his shoulder suddenly as he sidled past and, startled, Cain made to pull away. Which one? He stared at the man in silence, refusing to answer his question even as he asked again. Cain's gaze flickered to the tent, to the paintings. He looked back at the man again, his gaze a little more shrewd than his timid expression belied.

"..."

[Niall Gallagher]

"Come oN!" Niall insisted again. The person he'd caught looked like a kid, a quiet kid. Quiet kids always puzzled Niall; he was the opposite growing up. He was the kid who slid down railings and sat cross legged in the middle of the mall to count pokemon cards. He even rode on the kid toys way past his prime. (He might even have done it last week, much to the chagrin of a screaming three year old who didn't have enough coins.)

"Just tell me," Niall said, "which one says something. Because when I look at them, they all kinda say something but sometimes it's just, like..." He mimicked a high pitched voice, "'Buy me because I'm conventional, look at this lakeside image anybody could create!'"

He placed both hands on either side of the kid's head and turned it toward an image that depicted a violent slash of yellow through a field of splashes of blues and reds and purples.

"But that... that says something else, doesn't it? It's like, like... in your soul."

[Cain Plunkett]

Cain didn't flinch when his head was rudely grabbed but a soft gasp left him. He... He wasn't usually touched like this. In fact, no one touched him without his permission and even then, it was only Isaiah. Only his brother, who was cleansed and whose heart was pure—who had let God in so completely and utterly.

Normally, Isaiah prevented people from touching Cain or even getting near him. Normally he was the one putting out a hard hand, shoving them back and away with that dangerous look in his eyes. Normally, Cain stood back and watched in that silent way of his—the way that others called 'creepy' and 'unnatural.'

Isaiah wasn't here now, though, and Cain was alone. He didn't push the man away but inside the pocket of his jacket, his fingers tightened around the rosary. God wouldn't put him in harm's way. This was just a little setback—or maybe another test. He didn't want to attract too much attention for fear of being discovered, so perhaps he would play along now, and slip away later. His prey hadn't moved from this area; he had a little time to indulge the whims of a manic stranger.

Cain studied the painting that he was forced to look at. Yellow on blue, red, purple, orange. The colors clashed horribly, drawing the eye in every direction. One hardly knew where to look, but Cain—who was blessed with the Sight—spotted it immediately. Beyond the garish yellow and underneath the other bright colors, the truth of the piece.

Slowly he lifted a hand, the index outstretched, and he pointed to the near-invisible shape made by the absence of color. It was as if the artist painted around it deliberately, leaving the canvas blank to accentuate his piece.

"...a camillia..."

[Niall Gallagher]

Silence fell while the boy studied the painting. Niall looked at it, too, squinting his kohl-darkened eyes at the colors as if they blinded him in their garishness. The colors had meaning but the lack of color had meaning, too. It took Niall a second to see it, to zoom in on that camellia the kid said he saw. The way the kid said it, Niall thought it sounded like Absolute Truth. Like it couldn't be anything else. It wasn't just some feathery answer plucked out of the air.

"See?!" Niall turned the kid toward him, letting out a laugh and then pulling the kid in close for a half shoulder hug. Dramatically, he kissed him on the forehead. "Muah~! Smart kid. And clever, too. Hard to see the magic in the world because of the... the distractions. The colors and the lines, they get in the way sometimes."

He lifted his free hand up to his forehead and then ran two fingers down his nose, eyes closed. But some people could see more than the human eye.

"Hey, are you hungry? I'm hungry."

[Cain Plunkett]

He felt it then, as lips brushed against his forehead. Maybe it was a frivolous gesture—an obscene gesture—on the stranger's part, but it gave away his true identity. Cain's eyes widened, then narrowed. His breath stalled in his lungs and he gripped his rosary so tightly that the edges cut into his palm.

Sometimes, the sin was hard to see. Just like the delicate flower within the chaos of colors, the seed of the devil could deceive the senses. Cain thought that this stranger was human—albeit a highly strange human—but he was wrong. He felt it: this man was unclean. Tainted. Death trailed him and surrounded him. It had touched him and it made him unfit to live on this Earth, surrounded by the miracles of God.

Cain relaxed, however, into the stranger's half-hug. He didn't smile but he felt lighter. He was glad. This was the reason that God led him here, now he was sure. This man was the next target. Everything leading up to this moment, even Cain's original target, was a carefully orchestrated divine act.

He looked up at the stranger, into his eyes. He didn't speak for a long while, but he appraised him. Then, Cain nodded only once. "Yes." His voice was barely above a murmur but he was sure the man heard him. "Can we go away from here?"

[Niall Gallagher]

The kid stared up at him and Niall stared back, nothing but friendly enthusiasm in his gaze. Maybe hunger, too, because he was hungry. But the kid was a cutie and Niall wanted to pat him on the head, so he did exactly that. Nobody said he had a strong sense of self control. Self indulgence, though? King of that whole mess. That was probably why he was where he was and why he was who he was. The kid wasn't smiling but he nodded so Niall took the inch for a mile and grinned.

"Yeah, there's this diner down the street where they have the best french toast. Thick, thick toast, soaked in all the stuff they say is bad for you. Syrup and butter and all that pretty powdered sugar..." He trailed off as his mind wandered off for a moment. It was probably bad juju to walk off with a kid like ten years his junior (maybe more? Less? Niall wasn't a good judge of kid ages). But Niall wasn't really thinking about that. Kid was a kid. Nothing weird was going to happen.

"Food's an art, too, isn't it?" he realized. "I guess anything can be art if you say it is."

[Cain Plunkett]

As galling as it was to continuously be petted and touched and treated like a... a pet, Cain bore with it. Patience was as much of a virtue as anything and having gotten this far, Cain wasn't blowing his chances now. Not that the man was making it exactly difficult. If anything, he was throwing himself at Cain.

"...okay," was all he said in response to the garrulous volley of words slung his way, as he turned to follow the man out of the makeshift open market. They passed by stalls and tents hawking everything from wooden carvings to paintings to hand-made jewelry. Cain briefly eyed all of them in passing and then abruptly stopped.

"Wait a minute. Please." He tugged on the stranger's sleeve to halt him, and then turned to the kind-faced woman in the tent. Cain pointed to a beautifully carved wooden cross, sleek and shining, almost like a globule of honey in its lustre. It was simple, but cleverly made. "How much?" He asked quietly, and the woman smiled at him.

"Ten dollars, honey." Her eyes flicked up to the stranger and something like suspicion crossed her expression. Maybe they looked like a strange pair. The stranger was noticeable, ostentatious, flamboyant. And Cain... Well, almost all of their money went towards cleansing their sacrifices, and clothing wasn't exactly their top priority most of the time.

He handed over ten dollars and received the cross, which he tenderly tucked into the bag by his hip.

[Niall Gallagher]

"Hm?" He raised a brow and stumbled to a stop, half turning to see what caught the boy's eye. It looked like a religious booth which was basically Niall's worst enemy. Hunters, a lot of them, were religious types. The kind that got blessed water to throw in evil's eyes. It was pretty intense. Some of their weapons were even shaped just like that, like the cross. Niall's older brother, Padraig had one that had wicked blades that came out. It was so stupid and impractical but he swore by that thing like it was a god itself.

"Religious, huh?" Niall said after the kid paid for his trinket. "My family really pushed that Catholic stuff. You know, the hail marys and the self flagellation. Maybe not so much actual self flagellation but we had to really think about what we did and why we did it. The darkness doesn't sleep, my old dad used to say. Probably still says it, actually. I used to think he meant himself. Old bastard never seems to sleep."

[Cain Plunkett]

"For my brother."

Cain didn't have to explain himself but he didn't want this man to get the wrong idea. He wasn't buying it just because it was 'pretty' or anything like that. Cain had a good feeling about it. It caught his eye among all of the shiny trinkets and baubles, and he just knew that Isaiah would like it, especially since his was so worn. Ten dollars wouldn't make too much of a difference in their account.

"Ah." Religious. But he didn't know that Cain was destined. He was so painfully unaware that his blasphemy touched so close to the truth. This time, Cain did smile—a little one, but it softened his features.

"...sounds like my father." His father never seemed to sleep, either, but then... it was probably because he was so suspicious of what went on under his own roof. Cain couldn't count how many times his father would burst into the room that he shared with Isaiah, as though he expected them to be fornicating out in the open.

"You've lost your way, haven't you?" Not quite the lost sheep that had already captured Cain's heart, but close to it. Cain almost felt sorry for him.

[Niall Gallagher]

Ohhh. Okay. Religious brother then. Niall wrapped his arms around his body as they walked, head lowered. He wished his brothers were so inclined but things got pretty ugly between them before Niall left. Everybody blamed Niall for what happened to their youngest sibling and honestly, Niall was there with them.

"Yeah..." He looked over at the kid with a smile, too. "Fathers, eh?"

The kid looked a lot nicer with a smile on his face. Less like a little robot kid and more like a real one. Plus they were bonding over shitty dads. Poor kid could probably use a better dad. How old was he again? Not that Niall was in any position to play daddy to some lost kid but he could be like, a cool uncle, maybe.

"Huh?" Speaking of lost... Seemed like they were both on that wavelength, too. Weird. "Lost my way from where? I prefer to think of it as wandering without a map. Or guide. Or, you know, anything else that marks the way and says 'this is where you go next'!"

Niall appraised the kid. "Are you lost? I mean, you look old enough to be out alone but..." The clothes. The clothes kinda made him look homeless, maybe. Lost.

[Cain Plunkett]

Hm. Fathers indeed. Cain wondered if his father was the one who had doomed him to this life of sin. Or his mother? It was difficult to tell what type this man was, but he didn't feel right to Cain. Vampire, demon, incubus, werebeast, they all felt the same.

Off.

But even so... his smile was nice. Cain had seen all kinds of smiles and this man's was still a little childish. Gentle, though, if a bit wry. There was no intent behind it, at least none that Cain could make out. Then again, a grown man taking a young kid out to lunch...

"Did you ever believe?" Cain was ignoring the string of words and focusing in on what he wanted to know. "God." He had to elaborate; it seemed that this man needed to be walked through certain things.

[Niall Gallagher]

"Believe?"

Oh. God. Of course. The cross and the belief thing--he should have connected those dots right away! But his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts on a good day. Was today a good day? He thought so. So far, anyway. Hopefully nobody would cuff him for walking off with a kid or anything. Maybe he shouldn't touch him. Was that wayward? God, he didn't know anymore. It wasn't like he was doing anything gross and he certainly didn't intend to.

And. There went his thoughts.

"Believe in God," he said again, mostly to bring himself back on track. "I don't know. I think so? When I was little. When I was a little kid, I think I did. Because my parents were supremely Catholic, you see, we had to say our prayers and the little ditties before meals, thanking him for it. But it was mostly out of fear, I'd say. My dad made us afraid of a lot of things..."

His voice went soft and distant, his gaze soon following. He had to wonder if it affected his elder brothers in the same way. He knew what it was like for himself and his younger brother because they were close. But there was a distance between himself and the others. Maybe they believed with all their heart. Niall had a hard time with that because there were beatings and shoutings and it was so hard for him to reconcile this good and loving being with the same one that would send him into hellfire for kissing another boy or forgetting the passage to some relic of a book that put kids like him to sleep.

"I don't know." He shook his head, as if it could shake off the memories. "But I can't anymore. God is supposed to be good but there's too much evil in the world for him to exist. I mean, if he loves us so much, why would he put us through this? Why would he even test us?"

He turned toward the kid. "I mean think about it, if I loved you, really, truly loved you, wouldn't I want to protect you? Wouldn't I want to make sure nothing bad happens to you? Why would I want to test your loyalty to me? Why would that even matter? Love's supposed to be unconditional but if you want God to love you, you have to meet all these conditions that aren't humanly impossible. It's like... like he set us up to fail from the start. And I just can't believe in that. I can't."

[Cain Plunkett]

Unlike some of the other devout believers, Cain enjoyed listening to others explain their faith--or lack thereof. He was genuinely curious and he wanted to know why and how those others lost their faith. Something made them believe but a greater force--or temptation--made them walk down the wrong path.

He listened carefully to the stranger's every word, realizing mid-way that he didn't even know his name. Their acquaintance--for lack of a better word--was struck suddenly and without warning. But God had led Cain to this man, and He had delivered this man into Cain's hands to save. Above all, Cain was here to save souls. That was his true calling.

"That sounds like us." Was his only contribution, as the stranger's gaze seemed to focus on something in the distance. Somewhere not in the present. "Our father was like that, too."

The beatings. The fear. The rituals.

Cain lowered his head as talk turned to sacrifices. The argument that the stranger made wasn't new to him but even so, he was silent for a long while. Then, when he spoke, it was in a quieter voice still. "God tests us because He needs to know that we would put our love and faith in him over our love of any Earthly being. Only then can we truly claim to be His children. Our bodies here, on Earth, are fleeting but our faith must be eternal."

The shovel that Isaiah held scooped the dull earth with a monotonous clunk. Cain watched the bend of his back as he toiled, digging a hole large enough to hold two bodies. They laid silent and still on the cold, hard ground, covered by bed sheets.

Idly, Cain looked past Isaiah to the camillia bushes that flourished just beside the newly dug grave. Those used to be his mother's pride and joy. She tended them lovingly, almost obsessively, and Cain could remember how she took a stick to his back when he broke off a branch by accident. A bitter smile twisted his lips. Now there was no one to take care of them.

A few more scoops of earth and the shovel was thrown down by Cain's feet. He stood with almost detached calm and watched his brother heaving the bodies into the ditch. His eyes fell to the shovel. A voice spoke in his ear, a quiet whisper that he knew Isaiah couldn't hear.

Only Cain could hear God.

For the first time that night, his expression trembled. His lips parted, then flattened into a hard line. "No, God..." he whispered--or thought he did. But his lips didn't move so maybe the noise was only in his head. "Not Izzy. Please, not Izzy."

The shovel was there. He could take it. Swing. Another body to the pile. A sacrifice to God to prove his loyalty and faith. Isaiah was unclean. He had sinned. Cain's hand twitched by his sides but he didn't move. His throat worked, convulsed.

"I can save him. Let me save him, God."

[Niall Gallagher]

"I think it's a Catholic thing. Or religious thing. Sorry. Didn't mean to assume your religion."

Crosses indicated Catholicism but not always. It could be another branch from the long branches that stemmed from Christianity. For all Niall knew, it was something new connected to the whole mythology. And yes, he considered it just that--mythology. He still had a hard time believing in anything that was made to force him into doing things out of fear. He would much rather do things out of love or just wanting to do something for people. Being told he'd take a switch to the ass if he didn't do something... it was just counterintuitive.

The kid seemed pretty devout, despite saying that the cross was for his brother. Huh. Well, maybe his brother needed it more. He could be going through a tough time right now. Niall reached out and lightly ruffled the kid's hair the way he used to ruffle his kid brother's.

"I can't. I love earthly things way too much. Like my little brother. I love him way more than any deity." And look what it turned him into. He didn't voice that part; at least he could be somewhat prudent at times.