Chapter Text
Bloody was proud of his name. He named himself after his favorite thing, of course, and there wasn’t a hint of shame in it for him. It was straightforward and violent, just like he was. Pooling crimson, a fresh kill.
Harvest liked his own name too, he knew. They both adored blood, but for the sake of some own personal preferences as well as differentiation, Harvest had chosen his name to be something a bit more subtle. It could give connotations of crops, of open fields and quiet fall nights. But Bloody knew better. It was harvest in a way that brought the moon to a shade of red, a way that promised the collection of a feast. The Harvest of life, if he got poetical, which was rare.
They each knew their names, knew each other well. And they may be two, a Bloody Harvest, but together they were so much more
A Bloodmoon.
The lanky child in front of Bloody didn’t look very strong. He estimated they were both about the same age, if height and build were anything to go by. The person was wearing dark jeans and a darker jacket, leaned over in what was probably an exhausted gesture. The twin himself was dressed in a simple black shirt and loose ripped jeans. Red tennis shoes, scribbled over in unintelligible handwriting. Not the best for fighting, but he took what he could.
The sparse orange street lighting did little but cast shadows, but Bloody could see something familiar in them. He turns halfway to ask his brother a question, but nobody is there. Oh, right.
Harvest had insisted they split up after they got chased off and away from the car by Him so their chances of both getting caught diminished. Bloody wasn’t used to being completely alone. It was…well, not unnerving, but there was something just so inherently wrong about it that it prompted him to hurry up so he could see his twin again. He remembers the myth about twin telepathy, and sorely wishes it were true. He would more prefer if the twins were apprehended together, to avoid separation at least for an hour or two. He shifts his grip on the kitchen knife in his palm.
He lets a laugh escape him, smiling wider as the stranger’s body snaps upwards, eyes wide. He seems to squint at Bloody, shifting his weight away from the tree.
He breaks into a run, right for the stranger. Bloody always prided himself in his swiftness, tackling the fellow teen to the grass, just missing falling off the curb by an inch. He was above the stranger. Bloody stabbed wildly downwards with the knife, aggravated to find it did not pierce his adversary. The stranger had grabbed his arm, trying to twist it and the knife away.
Bloody used his other hand to punch, connecting with his jaw. He used this moment of advantage to grab the top of the stranger’s head by their hair, raising and slamming it into the ground repeatedly. It didn’t quite do the damage Bloody wanted, seeing as they were fighting on the grass and not the street, but he wasn’t very picky about violence. As long as it ended up with blood.
The slightly taller teenager released Bloody’s arm, using both hands to try and pry the grip he had on their hair in a moment of pure adrenaline. Bloody laughed, the sound manic and shaky. He tried to plunge the now unrestrained knife into his foe’s neck, but suddenly they brought their hand up to block the blade’s path. It went right through. For a moment, the world was still.
A scream cut through the night as Bloody wretched the knife free, pausing for just a second to stare at the blood quickly leaving the wound as well as the stranger’s face. He gets up, staring down at the bleeding person. His smile gets even wider, somehow. It wasn’t a very large wound, but it bled. The dark-haired boy scrambles to his feet, or at least tries too before Bloody surges forward and drives a kick into his stomach.
Harvest ran behind one of the larger houses in the neighborhood, oddly out of place all things considered. Usually he didn’t like the open ground out here, the lack of makeshift weapons aside from maybe a shattered beer bottle making him anxious to get back into the more urban areas he and his twin normally inhabited. But they just couldn’t resist this time. It’s been enough waiting, and Harvest was intent on his and Bloody’s plan of revenge.
He heard the police nearby, shouting. Harvest was thankful they didn’t have any dogs. He could hold his own without a knife just fine, since he’d let Bloody take it, but he was at a disadvantage all things considered. Outnumbered, adrenaline-fueled yet getting tired. Usually he and his twin had near unlimited energy, but tonight was very…emotional. Seeing Him, after all this time. His traitorous, backstabbing, pathetic face. The mere memory threatened Harvest with sickness.
He hides behind the house for around ten minutes before he hears the noise die down. They must be going somewhere else to look. Unless they were being drawn away…
His heart lurched with an uncomfortable emotion. Dread.
He cursed loudly, running out from behind the home to sprint towards the direction Bloody went. It also happened to be where a cop car was heading. Not a good sign.
He kept to the shadows of course, waiting for an opening where he wouldn’t be seen to follow the car. It drove much faster than he could run of course, following some mildly distant screams. They didn’t sound like Bloody, so Harvest smiled.
He hid behind a cluster of trees by the road, controlling his breathing in a well practiced manner.
His twin was standing above the victim, one hand grabbing securely at the front of their shirt while the other held the knife up to the stranger’s neck. Something about said stranger was…familiar. The whole scene erupted into chaos when the police car pulled up, a single officer getting out, gun pointed at Harvest’s brother. The stranger was…smiling? He saw red, losing his reasoning for the moment as he rushed up behind the cop, practically jumping on him from behind and latching his legs around the cop’s midsection in a crude attack somewhere akin to a piggyback ride.
The weight pitched the officer forwards, but the larger adult managed to keep balance. In the confusion and panic, Harvest grabbed them by the face, hitting and pulling and jabbing at their eyes. The officer screamed, trying to reach for their radio while simultaneously trying to spin to get Harvest off. Harvest wrestled the radio from the vest, raising it above his head and slamming it down with all the strength he could. The cop dropped the firearm.
Bloody was there now, just a blur of shadowed red as he went behind the cop, plunging the knife into the back of their knee. They shrieked, immediately beginning to topple over backwards. Harvest basically clinging to them didn’t help. He jumped off before he went down with the wounded officer, radio still in hand and attached to their vest by a curling wire. How stupid were these people? He glances at Bloody, teeth bared in a threatening yet cheerful sort of smile. Bloody returns it, tossing him the knife. He catches it with ease, passing him the bloodied radio.
Not a word was spoken in the mere seconds this transpired. Harvest let his brother enjoy killing the officer with the wire, turning away and stalking towards the teenager. He was on his feet, looking like he wanted to bolt, but frozen by his horror. Bloody had done a decent job of wounding him, judging by the blood leaking from his hand along with some moderate cuts on his face. His eyes were wide. Harvest chuckled, pushing the dyed red hair out of his own eyes with a hand mildly splattered with the cop’s blood.
“Helpless, helpless, you are but one, Your bloody death, it will be fun!” Harvest chanted, gripping the knife tighter. They tilt their head at the stranger, waiting for his next move. He takes a glance at something behind Harvest, probably the dead body, and bolts off. The stranger didn’t even bother trying to get in the police car, seeing as he’d have to get through Harvest and Bloody first. Bloody howls with laughter, dropping the corpse and beginning to bounce up and down slightly. He looks at Harvest, eyes wild and excited. Harvest weighed the merits of giving chase, honestly wishing the stranger would have tried to fight rather than flee, before shaking his head slightly. Bloody deflated, voice almost at a pout as he spoke. “I wanted to chase!”
“We must be gone of this place, brother. They outnumber us.” “But-“ Bloody protested briefly, growing agitated quickly but not directly at Harvest. His hands fidgeted, held in front of himself like he was strangling an invisible foe. “I know, Bloody. But the coward, we’ll be back for him. All of them.” Harvest said, tone gentle. “Now we have this vehicle, and a shooty thing.” Bloody smiled at this, going over to the cadaver to pick up the gun. “Yes! Bullets of terror!” He cackled, mood changing suddenly. Usually the twins preferred close range weapons, usually blades or their bare hands (Or teeth, in Bloody’s case), but having some more threatening means of protection/attack was always a plus.
Harvest realized neither of them actually knew how to use a gun. Not beyond pulling the trigger, of course. Eh, it could still be used as a blunt weapon. At least it seemed loaded.
Harvest walks over to the body, searching for anything else useful. “What is that?” Bloody pointed to the small, plastic-looking tube Harvest was inspecting. He gestured with the gun, and Harvest did trust his brother with the weapon, but it wasn’t exactly the most calming thing to have a gun pointed at you. But, again, he trusted Bloody, so he just held up the object. “Some sort of pain spray. I saw it used, once.”
“When?” His twin asked, confused. They were almost always together. “Many months ago, homeless man attacked by cop.” Bloody nods like it explains everything, crouching down on the other side of the body. “Aha!” Harvest exclaims, wrenching the taser free from the confusing vest. Bloody was too enamored by the red liquid pooling around the officer’s head to care, putting his free hand in it.
“Brother, I found another weapon.” Harvest says, smiling as Bloody turns to look. “I don’t think this one makes people bleed, but it causes pain, which we’ll use indeed!” Harvest declares proudly, standing. Bloody joins him as he walks towards the open-doored car. Harvest climbs into the driver’s seat, immediately confused by the array of mechanisms. He totally knew how to drive.
“Onward, brother, onward!” Bloody laughs, gun held up near his shoulder. Harvest closes the door, trying to work out which pedal made the stupid thing move.
After a few seconds of trial and error, Harvest saw a few more police cars approaching. He cursed their mothers before slamming his foot on the gas, running over the body and down the road. They were being chased now. Harvest felt the adrenaline creep back in, laughter filling the cab as he sped down the street. At some point Bloody rolled down the window, firing at the pursuing cops. There were just two in pursuit, and they fell back a little at the gunfire. Harvest slammed the wheel sideways around a turn, causing them both to very nearly flip. But somehow they didn’t, and Harvest drove further into the city. There wasn’t a lot of traffic at midnight, but he did have to maneuver around an odd truck or two. Bloody was screaming something out the window, leaning out of it like a dog as he fired. Harvest let out a a high-pitched giggle, all sense of his usual self preservation and level-headedness lost in the wind. Harvest and Bloody were by no means the same person, but its moments like this they shared that made them dangerously similar. With no voice of reason, Bloody would get himself killed. With no motivation or support, Harvest would do much the same. That’s not even mentioning their emotional attachment to the other. It’s just how things were.
Bloody leans further out the window, bracing himself on the frame with his free hand, using his left (and dominate) hand to fire at the opponents. One began to fire back, causing Bloody to promptly duck back into the cab. “Drive faster!” He yelled, only to be heard above the wind and the sirens. Harvest said something in reply, but Bloody was already halfway back out the window before he heard it. Eventually the ammo ran out, and Bloody had to fight the impulse to just throw the cursed thing. He leans back inside, dropping the gun in his lap. “No more bullets!” He says, punching the dash. Ow. “I have an idea! Great idea!” Harvest says between laughter and colorful cursing as he tries to swerve and shake the cops. There was only so much city to be chased through. Now they were near the main roads.
“Do it!” Bloody yells, not even questioning what it was. Suddenly Harvest yanks the wheel, sending them both hurtling towards the closest building. It was the homeless shelter. How ironic.