[Shoreditch] after all, you were never kin to me [Darren]

At least it wasn't raining this time. It wasn't much of a silver lining to Alvin, though, as he climbed the concrete stairs up to Darren's flat. The nights were warm, muggy even, and he was sweating inside the hoodie that he refused to take off. If he took it off, Darren would see the bruises that covered his arms. His knuckles, too, were wrecked. Since his run in with Sarah he'd been out for blood - anyone's blood - and if there was no-one around, then punching walls was a half-decent substitute. He liked to wear the evidence of his fights. Even though he knew enough basic healing to take the edge off of most wounds, he refused to use them. The bruises and cuts were somewhere between a badge of honor and a reminder than he was still breathing. For good or for bad. He had a faint stench of lager about him and a burning fire behind his eyes more reminiscent of his younger years. Things had been going so well for the last couple of years, but now he'd fucked things up with the only person he really cared about. Well fuck her. Fuck that bitch. Fuck everyone.

He didn't even know why he'd thought he had a chance at getting back with her. He was a fun distraction for her when they were at school together, nothing more. They'd gotten each other through the dull times and the dark days. Of course it had broken down when she'd got out. She'd had the whole world to play in and he'd still been stuck at Hogwarts, only able to escape to Hogsmeade once or twice a month. He was a fool for thinking they'd survive that. But the most idiotic thing was letting himself start to hope again. Hadn't he already moved on? Hadn't he got used to her not being in his life? He'd been doing damn fine... and then he'd dared to think he had a chance at winning her back. He deserved this pain. It was his own stupid fault.

He hesitated as he reached Darren's door taking a breath to steady himself. The voice of wisdom quietly reminded him that he was here to give Darren the results of his stake-out on their sorry excuse for a father, that he wasn't here to pick a fight. He already knew how this was going to go down though. It felt like he was trying to cage in fire, or hold back a flood with paper. Everything was smouldering just beneath the surface. Honestly it was a wonder that he hadn't just switched back to his original plan of taking his beater's bat around Jack's place. There had been times, when he'd been watching him hitting on sleazy sluts over cheap beer, when he'd really wanted to. Wanted to kill him there and then. To hell with the consequences. Thankfully, he wasn't that much of an idiot. Darren was right, as much as he hated to ever admit that, they had to do this right. Do it carefully.

Curling his hand into a fist, he thumped three times on the door, avoiding his knuckles. And then, when Darren didn't answer the door immediately, he thumped three more times.

Darren was pretty sure working for Grisha was going to kill him, but he was 100 percent positive not working for him would be worse than death. He'd spent the afternoon "learning" things that he couldn't repeat and following orders but it wasn't like this was some basic temp gig. Darren had a lot to learn and most of it he couldn't learn by listening, he had to actually do things. Of course he'd never minded breaking rules or laws before and at least now he wasn't on his own. He was making some scratch, not much, but it was better than nothing. And he was managing to pay back the Bone Man little by little, enough that he wasn't at risk of losing a knee cap. The arrangement however had not come without its pit falls. The shape of a smiley face burned into his shoulder proved that. Although he'd used magic to speed up the healing process the burn was barely past the gooey scab stage. It was more than just a burn, it was a spell and that kind of dark magic didn't just fade away. Not only did it hurt but it itched worse than he'd imagined, serving as a constant reminder than he no longer worked for himself. He wasn't owned exactly... but his future wasn't his own either, he had a debt to pay and Grisha would see to it that he completed that.

The normal disgusting mess that was the common area in his tiny flat was different on this night. The coffee table where over flowing ash trays, empty beer bottles, and day old pizza boxes would usually reside was filled with notes and maps. They were preparing for something and even though it was dangerous to keep these things out in the open Darren was big of preparation. He wanted to get all the details right before they moved forward, before they risked going to Azkaban for the rest of their lives, so he took the risk. The brothers had been preparing for weeks, ever since Alvin had come to him with the news of their useless father's last visit to their mother's home. It was a long road but they were nearing the end, soon enough they'd have all the information they needed and then the real hard part would start. He'd actually cooked that night, not that it was anything fancy, but he was sick of pizza. Darren was a pretty simple guy though and even though he passed on pizza his meal was basically exactly the same. He stirred the pasta sauce in the old pot on his rickety stove as the water for the pasta boiled. He was starting to drift away, his mind leaving as he focused on what they were going to do in the times ahead. He had to think of every angle, that was his specialty, and this time it wasn't just his life on the line. The water boiled over before he realized it and he heard a heavy knock on the door. Stirring quickly he frowned at the smell of the frothy water as it hit the burner but once it was under control he moved to the door, wooden spoon still in hand.

He pulled it open quickly and stared harshly at the intruder. "You better have something important to tell me." He said, chin high as he looked down on his brother. "Get it here." He said, motioning with the spoon. He shut the door heavily behind him and clicked the locks, making sure they were secure before turning toward Vin. Dark eyes stared him down, waiting for whatever nugget of information Alvin had brought to him as the pasta sauce began to simmer, burning bits of it violently spitting out onto the stove top.

He scowled at Darren's 'warm welcome'. Seriously - he got to sit here while Vin was the one standing on a street corner in all weathers. When Vin had agreed to the plan, he'd foolishly thought they'd be splitting the workload. But no, Darren stayed here apparently 'planning' while Vin did the actual work. What was there to plan, seriously? They just had to pick a time, place and nab him. Did it really have to be this difficult. "Yeah, yeah, calm yer tits," he muttered, looking over to the spluttering pan on the stove as he flicked down the hood of his sweater, giving Darren a brief but clear view of his bruised knuckles as he did so. "You need to get that, Delia?" Normally he'd never be so obvious in his disrespect to his older brother... but tonight he honestly didn't care. To hell with it.

He waited for Darren to see to the pasta before starting to talk once more. "I've been watching him for weeks. I even know when he takes his morning shit." He pulled a scrappy notepad out of the back pocket of his jeans and dropped it onto the table. It was a list of times and places - Jack's routine. He'd been careful to write it in a way that wouldn't cause trouble if it fell into the wrong hands. To the unknowing eye, it may well have been Vin's personal schedule. "Are we ready to move on this yet? We're running out of time and I ain't leavin' this to you and Ry when I go back to Hogwarts."

"You found a place... or have you been... busy?" His eyes flicked over Darren's form, looking for evidence of the rumours he'd heard. He didn't frequent the Devil's Den himself, but he knew a couple of guys who did, and they'd mentioned that they'd been seeing Darren a lot there lately. That wasn't exactly big news, Vin had already guessed that Darren was trying to get his foot in the door in that kind of career, but what had been interesting was that one of his friends, Marco, had heard from some guy, who'd heard from someone else that Darren had gotten tangled up with a certain Grisha the Grim. Rumour had it that Grisha had roughed him up. Shit, Vin would have paid good money to have seen that. That kind of news was like Christmas morning. And if Darren was now the bitch of some Russian (well it sounded Russian anyway) hitman-type, then Vin was never gonna let Darren live it down. This was fucking Karma on a plate.

He'd heard the way that Vin seemed to completely disregard the hierarchy of this family, blatantly calling him Delia like he had nothing to fear, but Darren just added that the running tally of things he was going to correct shortly. Alvin had no respect these days and it was high time that the eldest brother put the boy back into his place. Darren was in no mood for his theatrics or rebellions, he had enough problems of his own. As the sauce came to a boil he turned his back to it and watched Alvin remove his hood, taking note of the bruised knuckles on Alvin's hands. He took each piece of information that Alvin offered but found himself left expecting much more than that. Darren was a detail oriented wizard, he didn't just want to know what places he frequented but also the reasoning behind his habits. Was this bar closer to home than that one? Did it have better services? So that when the night came they wouldn't be thrown for a loop if Jack decided to change the game and go some where else instead. What if he didn't like the crowd the bar brought in on dart night? They had to take every little thing into account if this was going to go off without a hitch.

"Let me see the page," He said, luring his brother to get closer as he turned around and faced the boiling pot of sauce again. He stirred the pot, watching as the seething sauce bubbled from the intense heat of the stove. When he sensed that Alvin had approached him he pulled the spoon from the pot swiftly and held it casually in front of him as he turned toward his baby brother. He held the spoon just high enough that it would drip onto Alvin's outstretched hand as he attempted to pass the parchment to him. Darren's black eyes locked with the youngest of the Hadditch boys, his stare cold and emotionless.  As he turned the spoon, letting a painful amount of still boiling liquid fall onto Alvin's already bruised hands, he smiled. He almost thought he could hear it sizzling as it splashed against the skin and the violence comforted him in a sinister way. His glare dared the other wizard to move his hand, as if doing so would be an act of weakness or submission as the last bit of the sauce dripped out.

Darren ignored all of his jibes - further proof that his older brother had gone soft. A few years ago Vin would have found himself flat on his back with broken bones by now for disrespecting Darren so blatantly, and yet Darren acted like he'd said nothing, just turning his attention back to the stove and the pasta. And since when did Darren actually cook?? Every other time Vin had been here, the place was a graveyard of empty chinese containers and pizza boxes. Vin was starting to think it wouldn't be long before his brother was cracking out the fine china and lace doilies.

He scowled as Darren asked for the page, even though he'd just seen Vin put it on the table. The younger Hadditch snatched the notepad up again, holding it out with the most unimpressed expression he could muster. As much as Darren was pissing him off, he had to remind himself that he did want Darren's help. He couldn't take their father out by himself. They had to work as a team.

He started to pass the notepad over as Darren turned... and then realised far too late what Darren's game was. The boiling liquid was dripping onto his already tender knuckles, burning the skin, and Darren was just fucking looking at him as he instinctively snatched his hand back. That was the wrong thing to do. Darren's reaction made it clear that he saw that as weakness. Everything was just a game to him.

"You're a fucking bastard," Alvin snarled, red haze rising and making it increasingly hard to not lash back at his brother. And he could no longer keep his cards to his chest. He should have kept his ace for a time when Darren was most vulnerable, but Vin went ahead and laid it on the table. "But I heard you ain't so tough. Heard Grisha the Grim put you on your knees... that you begged him like a fucking baby. They said he marked you too." Vin's other hand darted out to push against the shoulder where he'd heard the brand was hidden, hoping it was still painful. "That he made you his bitch. That true, huh, Daz? You someone's bitch now?"

Dark eyes glinted as he watched his brother flinching at the sudden pain. Alvin pulled his hand back reflexively and Darren's smirk grew tenfold. He might not of had much power over his own life any more but he still held some over Alvin's, he clung to that notion like some how controlling his brother with violence would be his lantern in this sea of blackness. "The first of many apparently." He said in response to Vin calling him a bastard, his head held high in the process, it had never bothered him before. Darren expected a bit more fight from his brother because time and time again they had confrontations like this. Alvin had to push the boundary, test the limit, and Darren had to put him back in his place. Darren would never say it out loud but he did admire the amount of fight Alvin had in him. Sure he respected Ryan for towing the line, knowing his place, and it pissed him off that Alvin never seemed to get that but his tenacity was also worth noting.

He let the ladle fall to his side, the last remnants of the cooling sauce dripping to the dirty floor as he did, and he waited for what would happen next. He knew his brother well enough and he assumed he'd have all kinds of heated street insults to spit out soon enough but what he heard shocked him.

And infuriated him.

It didn't happen often, really never, but in that moment Darren felt what it was like to be the victim. To be completely caught off guard, left vulnerable to attack, and two steps behind. His dark eyes widened and before he even had a moment to react Vin continued. Darren winced, it was barely noticeable but it was there, at the mention of the mark and before he knew it Alvin was pressing his hand into the shoulder that was still nursing a burn mark in the shape of a smiley face. It was tender and his grimace was far from stealthy as he pushed back at his brother. His mind was thrown into defensive over drive as he took two steps forward, his black eyes boring down on his brother. He still had a good five inches on the younger wizard and he used that to his advantage. His hand gripped the ladle so tight that his knuckles started to turn white as he raised it to Alvin's throat, just under his chin. He pushed it with enough force that it was likely to cut off a bit of circulation and leave a bruise.

"And you think this story is real? You think it changes anything for you boy?"

He glared at him, practically growling through his words and adding force to the spoon as he did. "Maybe if you weren't such a fucking idiot you could tell the difference between truth and gossip. You're a pathetic excuse for a wizard, nothing but a mess Ryan and I have to clean up after. Did you really think you were about to have the upper hand?" He laughed, his breath close enough to Alvin's face for him to smell the cigarette he'd only just finished smoking. His brother would pay for this and the punishment would be divine. And then he would find whoever told him about Grisha and fuck him up too.

Darren's reaction cemented the truth of the story. The way that his eyes widened and a mixture of shock and anger and pain crossed his face was nothing short of beautiful. Vin rarely got to see his brother react like that, rarely saw the mask of control shatter, even if it was only for a second it felt like a victory. This moment would not last, but Alvin would remember it forever. Remember the way that he'd gotten under Darren's skin, the way he'd broken the unbreakable. He'd look back on this moment when things went dark and cling to it like other people remembered birthdays and christmas. He had to find this Grisha guy and buy him a pint at some point.

Of course, Darren retaliated the only way that a Hadditch boy would - with anger and violence - and Alvin found himself quickly trapped between his angry older brother and the breakfast counter behind, which was digging painfully into his back as he pressed up against it. The ladle was up against his throat, its metal handle biting angrily into his flesh, hard against his windpipe. Even though the combination of these things hurt, and he was rapidly losing the ability to breathe, a wide, crazy grin settled on Alvin's features. Like the distorted face of a horror-movie clown, Vin's eyes were wide and shining, his smile spread from cheek to cheek. Oh the story was real all right. Darren should have played it off cool as a rumour, but his reaction gave him away.

"I'm pathetic?" Vin said after a pause, his voice strangely calm given his position. "I'm not the one taking orders from some sleazy Russian criminal." He was choking on the words as he physically fought the urge to gasp for air, but the knowledge that what he'd heard was true and that he'd shaken the unshakable was giving him more of a buzz than the adrenaline of Quidditch ever had. He was flying high on that knowledge. This was gold. Even the scent of smoke, which would usually strike fear into his heart, seemed irrelevant. Was this it? Had he finally broken the power that Darren had over him? Could he finally take Darren off of that damn pedestal he kept him on?

With anger that was collected and channeled, Vin pushed back, shoving Darren away enough to free up his neck. Even with the ladel gone, he could still feel it hard against his neck. It would likely bruise. Vin didn't care. "You've lost it, Daz," he said with a laugh, purposely using the nickname that he knew his brother hated. "Of course I have the upper hand. I ain't nobodies bitch." And with a malicious glint in his mud-brown eyes, he swung a punch.

It was like the world turned black again, shapes and shadows stuck out but the reality was that his world was coming crashing down around him. If he lost the fear he lost it all and he wasn't about to let this die without a fight. "You've lost it, Daz." Alvin's voice rang out in the dark and Darren's mind went into hyperdrive. Every second every movement calculated and he could feel the heat of his own blood boiling as rage came over him like a tidal wave. "I haven't lost shit." He barked back, standing tall before being pushed away by his surprisingly strong younger brother. And the games had begun. Darren may have lost it, that might of been true, but that didn't mean more than a decades worth of muscle memory was just going to disappear. Alvin had been trying to catch a hit on Darren since they were tiny boys and tonight wasn't going to be his night either.

Anticipating the way that Alvin was going to knock him away and swing fast from the outside Darren managed to duck before there was contact and he rushed at his younger brother. Both arms wrapped around his waist as he pushed them both over the back of the couch, hoping Alvin's head would hit every hard surface on the way down. When the descent was over he found himself half on top of the other Hadditch. Their boots up in the air, heads on the ash littered floor with the glass coffee table in front of the couch blocking any easy escape. Darren's arms were long and a full extension in these conditions were out of the question so he fought dirty. Pulling trash and full ash trays from the table he pushed them with his free arm until they began to waterfall off the table right on top of his brother before he pushed a hand on his brothers face, feeling dead cigarette butts grinding against his cheek and smiling. He put all of his weight on his hand crushing down on Alvin's skull, the effect added to greatly due how he was still on an unusual incline, feet above him, torso resting diagonally and down on the couch.

"Looks like your my bitch now." He demanded in his cold raspy voice devoid of feeling.