Perfection

A/N: Written in fifteen minutes as a shitty form of self therapy. I almost wish I didn't write this. I'm not forcing anyone to read this, so no bitching about the subject matter.
Fandom: Bleach.
Pairing: Szayel/IlForte
Warnings: Post mpreg, AU, incest, self-mutilation, infant death, darkfic, comfort. Weird views on a pairing. Unbetaed.
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, and I am not being paid for writing.

“Brother...”

Szayel really wasn't sure what to do at this point.

He was sick to his stomach, depressed, and confused. All he could smell was blood and antiseptic, and he could hear nothing over the sound of Ilforte's sobbing. Just a few hours ago everything had been nearly perfect, his plans set into place, the game afoot.

Everything had been going just wonderfully.

But now...

He looked at Ilforte, who was huddle up in fetal position, shaking, and he wished that he could vomit now, just to get rid of that horrible feeling in his gut. The worse part, even worse than his and Ilforte's suffering, was the awful knowledge that his own actions had done this to him, to them.

It was all his fault that Ilforte cried.

All his fucking fault.

His poor, poor Ilforte...

Ilforte shifted slightly, and Szayel could see the blood that still ran from between his legs. He had struggled to deliver the child, even with the small size of it, and the alterations that he had been given for this purpose alone. Szayel wondered briefly if Ilforte would return to be completely male soon, or of his body had adjusted enough for it to be permanent. Could he bear another child?

It didn't matter really either way.

Szayel finally stood, and scooped up his brother. He had expected to see hate reflected in those eyes, or at least anger, but there was nothing more than sorrow. He would have almost preferred hate or anger, at least then he'd know what to do. He was useless at comforting someone, but he had to try.

He filled a bath for Ilforte, and carefully placed him into it, washing the blood and sweat off of him carefully. He wasn't wailing loudly anymore, just shaking and crying in silence. He looked so sick and broken, all bruised and weak. It was like his inner fire had died with the infant, leaving an empty corpse in it's place. His beautiful Ilforte had been ruined.

Szayel kept bathing him, almost without thought, until Ilforte finally spoke.

“I am so sorry brother... I was useless... I really did want the baby... I did. He died because I said I didn't want him. I killed him.”

Oh please, not this. Anything but this. Szayel thought that he could deal with anything, but this was horrible, even to him.

The pregnancy, making Ilforte hermaphroditic, even their relationship, all of this was by Szayel's choice. Ilforte had not been given a choice in the matter. He never argued with the sex, never with the abuse, he simply obeyed, because he loved his brother. It didn't matter that Szayel denied the relationship publicly, or would insult him to his face, Ilforte still loved him without question.

His devotion was beautiful.

And that devotion inspired the will to breed in Szayel. Ilforte was beautiful, blond and elegant, and the shared the same superior genetics. Who else would be worthy to play the brood mare to Szayel's perfect offspring? It didn't matter that, as hollows, they weren't supposed to be able to breed. He was better than the rules of their existence, and he had found a way. Once the process had been perfected, he had used it on his beautiful brother, and it had been an instant success. He immediately announced the situation, and celebrated gleefully.

Ilforte hadn't been to excited about it though. He had whined and bitched about how ill he was on a consistent basis, about how he hated how often he vomited. He said that he didn't want the brat, and how he hated how it was making him fat and ugly. He didn't really attach to the child at all until he was close to the seven month mark. Szayel had come in to check on him, only to find him singing to the fetus, and telling it sweet things about how much it was loved. Szayel was entirely pleased, now that Ilforte finally wanted the child, all would be well.

That was just over a week ago.

It was so fucking unfair, the child had died just after Ilforte had fallen in love with it. Fate was cruel, life was cruel, and at this moment, Szayel hated everything but himself and his broken brother. He bit the inside of his mouth until he tasted blood, just so he wouldn't cry. Then he turned to face his brother.

“It wasn't your fault. He was born too young, he was sick.”

“But...”

“Hush Ilforte.”

Silence followed for a bit, and then Szayel pulled Ilforte from the bath, dried him off, and dressed him, before tucking him into bed. He was silent now, the crying had finally ceased, but Szayel could still see the pained expression. They would not recover from this loss anytime soon. As Szayel turned to go and tend to the corpse, Ilforte grabbed at his sleeve, stopping him.

“I failed you brother... I'll have another if you want.”

Szayel didn't think that he could handle much more of this...

“Hush. You need to rest.”

“Yes brother.”

Ilforte obediently laid back down, and Szayel stood, and left.

The child was still in the lab, where he had left it for dissection. It had been born dead. It had never had a chance. Even so, he still blamed himself, wondering if there was something that could have been done to save it.

It was so small, even for it's gestational age. No, he was so small. His son.

He picked it up, and examined the tiny fingers and toes. Even with how thin it was, he could still make out some of Ilforte's features. He wondered what it would have looked like if it had lived and grown. Would he have taken after him? Would it have had his mind? Or maybe Ilforte's beauty?

He prepped for the autopsy, but every time he raised the scalpel, he shook. This wasn't just some worthless, meaningless specimen, this was his firstborn child. No matter how he tried, he could not bring himself to cut into him.

He finally vomited, and slid down, leaning against the table. It wasn't fair. He really didn't care about the experiment anymore, he just wanted his son alive, and his brother to be happy. He wanted things to be better, but these were things he knew that he couldn't have.

If he couldn't make things right, he'd make himself suffer more. He picked up the scalpel again, digging it into his hand, carving his suffering and devotion into three of his fingers.

Into his index finger, he carved his own name.

Into the ring finger, he carved Ilforte's name.

Into the the finger between, he carved the name Anastasio. His son now had a name, a promise if nothing else, and that promise he took to his heart. He would not simply let this go. He would find a way, somehow.

This was not over yet...

Death would not win.

He poured a burning, scarring liquid onto the wounds to set them, and wrapped his hand carefully. It wouldn't do to worry poor Ilforte more today, he was delicate enough as is. He covered Anastasio's tiny body, and he carefully stored it. He had so much to do, but for now, he needed to keep the child clean and preserved while he planned. He wasn't sure what possessed him to look back, but as he stood at the door way, ready to leave, he looked back, and spoke.

“Goodbye Anastasio. Papa will be back later, he needs to check on Mama. I'll be back soon.”

With that done, he returned to his brother. He curled up in the bed with him, and simply held onto Ilforte as he cried again. After what seemed like hours of comforting, Ilforte finally calmed, and leaned his head on Szayel's shoulder as he spoke.

“Was he beautiful brother?”

Szayel didn't even have to pause, the answer was already on the the tip of his tongue.

“He was perfection.”

And with that, Ilforte fell asleep, and Szayel returned to the labs to plan a resurrection.

A/N part 2: Anastasio means resurrected.