Hellboy Cradle to the Grave

-1Title: Cradle to the Grave

Summary: He had loved her since the womb.

Rating: Mature

Notes: Because while nearly all of HB:II was phenomenal, the relationship between Nuada and Nuala was by far the most interesting. This fic attempts to dive a little deeper into that while running parallel to the film.

Warnings: Here there be **twincest**. Lots of it. And mildly **smutty **scenes. Read at your own risk.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Period.

Cradle to the Grave:

He had loved her since the womb. Since his life came into being, a shower of sparks, a bang of life encompassed into a cluster of cells multiplying--dividing, expanding, growing. Since he felt her with him, and she too became sentient, and she pressed against him, a mere echo of comfort ripping into an embrace of security. Practicality aside, he had loved her from the very moment of their conception, able to sense her simple emotions radiate through his own body, and feel her next to him with unmatched compatibility.

She was his sister, true, but so much more. She was his sister, his mother, his child, his wife, his everything. She was truly everything to him, so much it hurt, and of all the things they sensed of each other, it was the only one they did not. She hadn't a clue just how much he loved her.

As children he was far superior to her in the manner of perception. She recognized only that he was her brother, that he loved her, and when he bled, she bled. She was young, he understood, and she was wise in other ways, his counterbalance in everything.

She was lovely. He had known of and appreciated her beauty all his life, ever playing the dutiful brother and protecting her from those who would mean her harm, physical or otherwise. They were a race of beautiful creatures to begin with, but she out shone them all. He could spot her from a distance, her lithe, petite form practically glowing, her hair like strands of silk, her smile his sunshine. He took her in his arms and cherished her, stroking her back, carding his fingers through her hair, soothing her with words and promises of adventures away from their father's watchful eyes and their mother's anxieties. They were children, but to him, they were more.

Then they weren't children any more, still young by their culture's standards, but adult enough. Whispers whipped about the palace speaking of war with the humans. Their mother died, retreating back into the earth, and Nuala's room while had previously been in the female wing of the palace, exclusive to her and her handmaidens by law, suddenly moved next to his.

"I don't want to go to war," she whispered to him at night. She often came to his room well past curfew, despite the rules being broken. It was another side to the balance that they achieved effortlessly. She sought comfort from him in matters of brute physicality and violence, things she as an innocent could not bear to experience. In return he craved from her the kind of comfort that could only be given in the maternal sense, wherein he felt her love for him wash over and cleanse him, never failing to calm and pacify.

"The humans grow more bold with each passing moment," he replied, crossing the room her to side. "They will march on us soon, and father will have no choice but to meet them." Even in the darkness he could distinguish the fear in her pale yellow eyes.

She shuddered as he took her in his arms, pulling her to his chest. "We will be victorious. Have faith. Do not let the uncertainty frighten you so."

"You forget, brother." She touched his chest with pale, slim fingers, searching for a moment for the familiar thump of his heart. He tried not to shiver at her touch, but she elicited feelings of unmatched desire.

"Forget what?" He asked, voice borderline hoarse. "Forget what, my sister?"

Her hand dropped away and she rested her head over his heart instead. "I feel you. You need not be brave on my account. I feel your fear within my own body. And I have reason to be afraid. You will fight. You will fight the humans in father's name and they will attack you because of him."

That was the reason he loved her as he did, or at the very least one of the most important. She was open and honest-- bare, and still she managed to offer him comfort despite her own vulnerability. And when she spoke of the humans, the wretched beings that brought war and violence and destruction with them, it was with no malice, despite what they threatened to take from her. She was forgiving, perhaps too, and he loved her for it.

"It is my place to stand in for father," he told her, drawing her as close to him as possible. "Sister, Nuala, I will return to you. I give you my word."

She smiled faintly.

His hands slipped to the front of her robe, then in, delighting at the gasp of surprise she let loose from full lips. He fondled her gently, hot breath falling over her neck, relishing in the feeling of her capable hands clenching at his sleeping attire.

"Brother," she gasped out, arching up into his hold. "We must not."

But it was undeniable now. Their bond, forged at conception, was far too strong for even her to deny. She knew what he felt in that moment, and he felt for her love greater than the concept itself.

Despite her protest, though minimal at best, he took them upon his bed, laying her out below him, spreading her soft hair about. "You are beautiful," he told her, hands drawing her legs apart.

"I am your sister." The look on her face was hesitant and scared, though much different from what she had felt only a moment earlier. She tried again, "You will take a wife. You will fall in love with her and have many children."

"I will not," he denied. "And you are much more than my sister."

He was not an expressive man. He didn't know the words to speak to her to calm her and reassure her, and convey to her the rightness of their coming actions. Instead he took her hand and placed it back over his heart, even as he worked with a free hand to spread up and aside her bed dress.

"Feel," he urged her. "We are one. Conceived in the womb, born into this world, made to exist exclusively for each other. You know in your heart what I speak is the truth. You exist for none other, and I would die if not for you."

She cried out then, both in the rush of his swift entrance into her womanly folds, and the truth of which he spoke and she felt in her own bones. The pain and the pleasure that came after, a mixture which brought tears to her eyes and made her claps his shoulders tightly, nearly broke her.

"Nuada," she gasped, thrusting up to meet him despite her inexperience.

When it was done, him sated and her vibrating with nativity, he held her tightly in his embrace and stroked the side of her face. "Father seeks to keep you from me."

She breathed heavily, tentatively touching herself in wonder. When he tugged gently at her hair and repeated his words she nodded, replying, "He is scared. The men of this line fall prey to the darkness all to easily. He believes you will corrupt me before I have a chance to play my part."

"He does not know," he said venomously. "He cannot begin to imagine the connection we have. If he did, if he knew that we are two beings of one entity, he would believe differently."

Sore and unsure, but patient and confident, she turned in her brother's arms and drew closer to him. "Do not let his fears become the truth. Do not stray. I will protect you as best I am able, but if you fall, I will not be able to catch you. And then, my prince, I will be lost to you forever."

He kissed her, then made to take her again.

War came, a devastating loss that had his father desperate and willing to turn to a maker of destruction. And thus the golden army was born, and with them they brought peace, but at a cost which nearly broke his father's heart.

"They are human," he argued with his father when the last battle had been fought--won. His sister stood across the room, looking as regal as ever, but wary. "They will not honor this pact. It pains you to do so, but father, I urge you to wipe them out. In one hundred years we will still be young, they will have passed through many generations, and the pact that is strong now will be frail. It is human nature for them to betray."

"My son," King Balor said with a heavy heart, "you are young. In the time it takes for the humans to forget our pact and break it, I hope that you mature, so when the day comes that we are threatened with war again, you are able to make the same decision I did."

What matter to him at the moment, aside from the anxiety and tightening of his chest that indicated his sister was most unhappy, was that the humans bred like animals, and they bred the traits that flawed them into their offspring worse in each generation. If they waited a mere hundred years, the population of their enemy would be great, and despite their frailty, numbers often turned the tide in a war. They would have expendable troops.

"Father, would it not be best to sleep on this? We have had a most trying day and you look tired. Would you like me to call for a hot bath?"

Nuada look towards his sister, her thoughts echoing in his own mind, urging him to let their father rest and to take her away from the maddening situation.

"I agree," he relented.

"You frighten me," she told him later that night, the doors to his room blown open with a cool breeze that fanned her hair out around her as she sat atop his lying body on the bed. "The humans know they stand no chance against us. They would be slaughtered if father were a crueler man. There is no honor in killing your enemy if he has no chance of defending himself."

Rubbing her soft stomach in an attempt to quench his temper, he replied, "They would show no mercy to us. If given the chance, they would kill you without remorse, no matter your skill with the blade or lack thereof. And there is nothing fair about war."

She shook her head. "No, brother, there is nothing, but if we are not to show humility and mercy towards our enemies, how are we to live with ourselves? The leniency shown for the humans reflects on our souls."

"You do not understand," he told her, and even through their bond, she could not.

When they made love that night, his forcefulness in driving into her causing more pain than typical, she felt him slip away from her. The balance always so perfect, so complex and beautiful, began to over tip. He whispered his love for her and it lacked the strength to reach her heart.

He left for seclusion shortly after. He left her.

He thought of her nearly every day, training hard for the day he would return to her side, for the day when the humans brought war on them again. Far more than a hundred years passed. His love for her never wavered.

The distance between them strained him. He could no longer feel her emotions, and he couldn't hear her sweet voice in his mind. It nearly killed him. He wanted to go home, no matter his convictions. But still he remained, hidden away from both worlds, bidding his time.

He felt her before he saw her when he finally emerged from his seclusion. He felt her from the antechamber, the same familiar swirl of emotion that had defined her from her childhood. And the bright beacon of optimism gave him hope for the first time in a very long time. He reached out for her, trying to sense her location, receiving imagines fuzzy from their time apart, and in the end he let his hold on her go, anticipating entering the presence of his father and the council room--with the weapons that had become an extension of himself during his isolation.

And suddenly she was there, consuming his senses, completing him once again. She asked of him so little, wanted never enough for herself, and at her request he was compelled to do as she asked. He was a warrior with or without his weapons. He would do as she commanded, she needed to only ask.

It should have felt like a betray when she confirmed their father's sentence of death. It should have been, and it would have been in the instance of any other, but she was his sister, his Nuala, and he could feel the sorrow in her soul. She did not agree with the sentence, and not because she understood his death meant her own. He felt all too clearly in his own heart that she feared for him and him alone, she was still as selfless as he remembered.

But there was something else … and it wasn't until he'd taken their father's life that he sensed it. She feared for him, and she was fearful of him. Rage boiled up in him, the very rage that had been building while he'd been alone, burning his insides, making him furious.

He remembered a better time, when they had been kids, running through the palace without a care in the world. She held his hand tightly, tugging him along even has he protested in favor sword handling practice from the master. Back then they had often hidden themselves away from their protectors, preferring the company of only themselves, usually in a far corner of the gigantic library, or one of the endless spare guest rooms that could keep them cloistered.

"When we get older," he'd told her ever so often, making sure she never forgot, "I'm going to marry you."

At a young age she'd thought it was cute. She'd adored her equally innocent brother. She'd wanted to be his bride more than anything else, so they could be together always.

"Promise?" She'd asked, pressing her lips to his cheek chastely.

He'd promised on his life.

It was that promise and those memories that saw him through their separation, this time on the part of her fears and her unwillingness to trust him. She was confused, he sensed as much from her, and unhappy in his choice to raise the army. And more than anything else this felt like a betrayal, because he had never harmed her in the past, never done anything that would bring harm to her, and she had no reason to doubt him. He didn't understand. He was right, surely she could feel how truthfully he believed the humans needed to be extinguished.

It wasn't her. She hadn't changed on her own. _He _had made her different. That thing had taken his beautifully innocent sister and twisted her mind. He'd made her afraid of him. Nuala could still be saved, and as he whisked her away, having plunged his weapon into the red demon, he was determined to make her again his and his alone.

"What you are trying to do is wrong!"

He held her forearm tightly, bringing her along with him as he walked, nearing ever closer to the resting place of their deceased father's army. He ignored her for the moment in lieu of the coming battle. The demon would come, injured or not, and so would the other. He had to be ready for them.

"Nuada," she implored, stumbling along with his frantic place. "Please, brother!"

He paused midstep, and swung her closer to him. "A lesser being would have considered your actions towards him a betrayal to me. After all, my sister, you promised yourself to me."

Tears welled up in her eyes. "You mustn't release the army. You mustn't wake them. Please, do this for me. You will destroy this world, not only the humans."

He squeezed her arm harder, ignored the flare of pain in his own. "Do not ask of me anything at this time, sister, you are in no position. You have always be too naive for your own good. You do not see the larger picture. If we are to survive, this must be done. The humans will keep multiplying and before long they will overrun us. What do you believe they will do when they learn of our existence? They will try to kill us--kill you. I can't allow that to happen. I don't seek your approval on this matter."

He began walking again, forcing her along once more. "I will do this, and I'll kill _him_, and once he's gone you'll understand how misled you have been. In no time you will be my sister again, as everything should be."

"He is not the problem," she told him coldly. The tone of her words stopped him for a second time. He had never, in his entire life, heard such a cold tone from his sister who seemed to ooze warmth.

She continued, "I enjoy his company, and I am attracted to the kind of person he is predominantly because he reminds me of you, before you fell. When I am with him, he is gentle, and caring and never angry. He is as you once were. I miss that, and perhaps I am attempting to find it again through him, but it is you who is at fault here. I warned you what would happen if you fell. I am lost to you, I know you can feel our weakened connection. If you bleed, I bleed, but we are no longer one soul."

He swooped in suddenly, crushing his lips to her, pressing his length against her shorter one, and through their weakened bond he poured his devotion into her. He concentrated on the good memories he had kept his hope alive with, and of the things he wanted for the both of them--safety, stability, family, peace.

She reached up with her free hand when he pulled back, cupping his chin with her palm. "Father had hoped with time you would mature, I had as well." His eyes demanded an explanation. "We are royalty. Our kingdom is nearly fallen, our world in peril, but we remain as the representatives. It is our job, our sole purpose, to put others before us. Father understood that, it's why he made the pact with the humans so long ago. It's why he allowed you to kill him. You are king now, and kings place others before themselves, even if it means a course of action that they do not personally agree with. If you had matured at all, you would understand this."

He kissed her again, this time much softly. "Come along," he commanded. "There is still time. You must bathe and change before they arrive. One must look her best for a glorious event such as this."

When she cried visibly, he shuddered at the beautiful image she made.

The army rose masterfully, just as breathtaking as he remembered and while he'd wanted to kill the interlopers personally, he was in no mood to play. But events tumbled out of control and he found himself locked in combat with the red demon, fighting not only for control of his army, but his life and his sister's as well.

As he fought, he fell into a sort of daze, finding a rhythm in his footwork, lunges and jumps. It felt more like dancing than fighting, a brilliantly choreographed flow of time and space, punctuated by gasps of air.

He was beaten, but he could not admit defeat. His life had been spared, but it meant nothing to go on living if his sister strayed from him, his army was put to sleep once more, and the humans eventually destroyed his people. Life was worth nothing if the red demon did not pay for taking everything from him.

He heard her gasp an apology to him in his mind, and felt more sadness in a brief second than at any other time in his life. His gut wrenched and he almost faltered, then the decision was taken from him.

He did not feel his own pain, as was the nature of their bond, but hers instead. He hadn't needed to look to verify she had taken both of their lives, a pleading, apologetic look on her face as she crumpled to the ground. But no regret.

He had tried to make his way to her. He deserved to hold her as she lay dying, not _him_. He wanted to make sure she understood that he loved her, more than anyone else, and he realized only now how wrong he had been. She had asked him to choose, the army or her, and he had chosen wrong. He needed to repent before the both of them died. If he did, at least she could rest in peace, and that she deserved more than anything else.

It was fitting, he thought in his last moments, that they should have entered the world together, and were bound to leave at the same time.

He crashed forward, blackness quickly claiming him, and at the last possible moment he felt her love wash over him. It was pure, unadulterated and so very her. In that moment, she loved him, loved him as he loved her, and the balance that had tipped, settled back once more.

I love you, he returned, no words spoken, then died.

He had loved her since the womb. He had taken that love to the grave. After all, souls were intended to both be born and die whole.


End file.
