Hm, don't really know where this came from. Is anyone even still reading anything from this section? If so, tell me what you think.

I don't know if this is just one piece or if I should continue this plot line ...

I have no plans for it, but it feels so - unfinished, don't know.

Unfortunately I still don't own "Brothers Grimm".

Can't stop

Hands and lips running wild, needy, in many a lonesome night on the road.

Fleeting moments of lust - everlasting scars.

It stops slowly and gradually, becomes a more and more rare occurence while Wilhelm seems to take ever more girls between his sheets - or maybe that is just Jake's imagination - and he himself stops to interact with women altogether.

Not that he doesn't try. He tries very hard for a while but then gives up, those girls are not what he aches for.

'There is nothing wrong with those girls.' whispers a malicious voice in his head, 'It is you who is wrong.'

'Voice,' he thinks 'you can stop with the drama and the whispering. I wouldn't dream of denying that.'

And he starts pushing things away.

Like people-things.

Like dearly beloved things.

Like brother-things.

Like a hand that is held out to help him.

Like a shoulder that tries to lean on him.

Like a leg that brushes against his own unthinkingly.

And he chokes on his own spit sometimes.

He becomes quieter, talking little, especially when it comes to personal things, avoids the inns, the crowds, the singing and dancing and the alcohol.

He retreats into his shell, often brooding, writing, working when his brother just wants to enjoy the sweet moments on the upwards curve of their con-life.

But it is so much less fun without a co-conspirator to share it with, to share the laughs and the secrets. Not like it used to be.

Jacob takes things to heart, his brother knows.

Ever since he was a kid he showed a high sensitivity, never able to distance himself.

Even to this day he has not forgotten the words Wilhelm spoke in anger, frustration, mourning, when their little sister died. Words that had been glowing, on fire by the heat of the moment, but that had withered and fallen to white, sad, helpless ashes in the morning.

Wilhelm has told him so a thousand times. "I didn't mean it like that." "It wasn't your fault." "I just said that out of grief and anger."

It doesn't matter.

Those words had already burned deep into his brother's bones, right down to the marrow. Even when he nods to the explanations, they will never leave, ailing him always, though they are not acute and infected any more.

So something new is bothering him now, probably something small, simple and unimportant that nevertheless keeps chewing on him and Wilhelm is determined to find out what it is and to dispose of it once and for all.

He wants his partner in crime and crime's gratifications back and he usually gets what he wants.

So the next time he finds Jacob sitting alome in an uncomely guest room, staring at the wall while downstairs the ale is flowing, he doesn't content himself with a simple "Don't you want to come down and have a drink with me?", but puts both hands down hard on the table in front of his brother, bringing his own face level with the other's to catch his full attention.

"Jake." Will's voice is strict and he is raising a stern eyebrow.

The addressed focuses on him as if coming out of a daze, looking confused to suddenly find his brother's nose inches from his own, but his brain is still to slow to react with a jolt of surprise.

"Will." he retorts mockingly, but also sounding tired.

Wilhelm is not thrown off his course: "What's eating you?"

Frowning a little the younger turns from the penetrating stare. "Why? I'm just not in the mood."

In response to this his brother stands up straight, arms akimbo: "It's not about you not going to the bar right now. Stop evading. You have been moping and sulking for weeks and I'm not going to watch this any longer. Just tell me what it is."

Jake doesn't look at the other man as he unconsciously starts kneading his fingers. "It's nothing. I'm just ... in a strange emotional state. I don't know ..."

Rolling his eyes at the ceiling for a moment his brother sighs and lets his arms fall down by his sides, leaving his demanding stance.

"Is it something I did?" he asks audibly nerved but still with sincere concern.

Jacob sags. "No." he starts, fondling the table top, "Not... I don't mean like... it's not... not really..."

The rest of this in any case barely coherent speech is lost in mumbling as he lowers his gaze to the wooden board.

Sighing one more time, the older Grimm squats in front of his brother'sd chair and places his hands on the other's knees.

The thighs flinch under his touch.

"I can't understand a word you're saying, you know that. Just tell me what it is, I swear I didn't mean to."

As he meets the blue-eyed gaze Jacob feels his defense crumbling. This is an unusual exercise in patience from Wilhelm and the fact that he bothers to undergo it at all proves that he really cares. He wants to understand, to aid and Jake can't help but feel that therefore he deserves honesty.

He tries to swallow the lump that starts building up in his throat but his voice still comes out small and raspy, lacking volume, when he confesses: "It's not about what you did. It's about what we did. You know, ... with each other ..."

And he bites his lip nervously hoping and fearing that this will suffice to give away the source of his turmoils.

It does.

Only for a second Will looks at him perplexed and then his eyes go wide with wonder as realization dawns.

"You don't mean-"

"Yes, exactly." the younger Grimm confirms quickly, not wanting to hear anything put in words.

His brother pulls away from him, giving him a cold and sceptical look. "What? You have a sudden fit of Christian morality or what?"

Jake doesn't answer, just starts massaging his forehead and eye-area with the left hand. One does not have to be overly perceptive to recognize that Wilhelm is annoyed. And he gets the distinct feeling that he made a mistake, that he set wheels in motion without considering the outcome and now the whole machine is going to crash down on him.

Obviously unsatisfied with his sibling's lack of reaction the older Grimm jumps to his feet. "Since when have you become so philistine? I was under the impression that we both helped each other out quite satisfactorily, no harm done."

"No, of course." Jacob starts, putting his hands up defensively but he is interrupted immediately.

"Or is it suddenly me who forced you to do things you never wanted to do?"

"Of course not, no." the younger man protests, alarmed and confused at where this discussion is going.

"I shouldn't think so." his brother emphasizes. And then he turns and after a moment's pondering shakes his head snorting: "So that's why you have been so distanced lately."

He faces Jake again who still hasn't moved from his chair and leans down scowling: "You won't touch me anymore, eh? Cause I'm a dirty sinner, a bad lot, but you, fine Sir, have risen above these wicked ways and now spend your days repenting. That it?"

Those last words are whispered right into Jake's ear, hot breath winding it's way over his skin and he shivers, under the spite and the intimacy alike.

"Well, let me tell you something, Mister Virtuous." Wilhelm grabs his brother's chin and forces the squirming man to look him straight in the eye, "You enjoyed it as much as I did. I remember you moaning and sucking like a cheap prostitute."

Releasing the younger one he stands upright again abruptly talking casual again: "So don't tell me you suddenly decided it's immoral. That is an insult to both my intelligence and yours."

Finally able to break from frozen immobility Jacob throws his brother a fierce look, bristling with anger: "Fuck you. I never said anything about morality."

"No?" Wilhelm quirks another eyebrow accusingly and then snorts: "Well, why are you fretting about it then?"

Just after drawing a deep breath to answer the other man stops silent. What can you say?

'Because I can't stop.' he thinks.

Like 'Can't stop remembering your hands all over my body.'

Like 'Can't stop thinking about you when I lie awake at night and can't stop you from haunting my dreams when I finally fall asleep from exhaustion.'

Like 'Can't stop prefering you to anyone else, can't stop comparing every woman I meet to you and can't stop to always find them lacking in this comparison.'

Like 'Can't stop watching how you take all those girls to bed, every night another one and sometimes more than one.'

Like 'Can't stop wanting to hit them and kick them and wishing them dead.'

Like 'Can't stop screaming in my head.'

What can you say?

Nothing.

Jacob falters, words dying, not on his lips but a long way from there, probably somewhere in his chest, judging by the stinging pain that breaks out just there and makes him hitch a breath.

"I" he starts, but then just shakes his head, tries to formulate a new declaration, but breaks and shakes his head again.

He so longs for his brother to put his arms around him now, to just say "It's ok." or nothing at all, doesn't matter. Just some comfort, something to hold on to, something to shield him off from the harsh reality just for a moment. He feels so lost at sea, so alone and cold and ... wrong. Like a piece that doesn't fit anywhere and is just left on the floor uncaringly.

Hopefully he lifts his gaze to the other man but the latter seems to be standing miles away and only looks at him irratetedly, shaking his blond curls in turn. "I don't get you, Jake. Sometimes I just don't get you." He breathes deeply. "All right. I'm going to get a drink. You can stay here and be gloomy if you must." And with that he leaves.

As the door falls shut Jacob gets the feeling that the room has just grown several degrees colder.