Hii! May I request a Brahms x reader in which she the reader just cares for Brahms in a non-romantic way? But then someone from here past came to the manor and manage to injure Brahms, reader seeks revenge and is actually scarier than Brahms when angry.

A/N: Sorry for this possibly taking so long!!! I was in the middle of some uni assignments so hopefully this does your request justice :D I'm a crap proofreader, so I'm sure there are some mistakes in here somewhere. I apologize in advance!!!

Brahms X AFAB!Reader Who cares for him & Is Overly Protective of him (Platonic Relationship)

⚠️Warnings!: Blood, extreme violence, angst, people getting the stab 🔪, people dying (duh), mentions of vomit, past trauma, abuse.

You and Brahms have been living together for two years now in relative seclusion. In all that time the two of you have become very close. Brahms didn't think he was capable of trusting anyone the way he trusts you after Greta abandoned him. Together you’d become like family, with him seeing your bond like that of siblings, something much more healthy then what he felt for Greta. He’d never had someone who looked at him like real family, not even his parents, who feared Brahms more than they loved him.

He loved that you’d tuck him in at night and kiss his knees when he’d scrape them from running around in the walls (doing wall zoomies???). You’d cook him meals while he’d try his best to help while also sneaking small bites of any sweets you’d make.

“Brahms your going to ruin your dinner,” you’d scold him. He’d merely giggle and dodge your playful smacks for him to get away from the oven.

Tonight it was cold outside and you’d been making some tomato soup from scratch for Brahms while he was lying prone on the sitting room couch staring out one of the large partially frosted windows into the night.

He’d been very sick for the past week with a nasty cold, which had him hacking, coughing and throwing up well into the night. He’d been shivering with the chills running through his frame, just this morning. This caused you to immediately bury him in several blankets on the sofa, only for him to protest that he was overheating. Your usually extremely protective of him under normal circumstances, but when he’s as vulnerable as this it really gets to something deep inside you. 

Caring for him seems to fill a void within you that wasn’t satisfied in early childhood when you were growing up. You were very lonely, your parents ignored you and your older brother found it more fun to torment you than to spend time with you. You could remember the way he’d kick you in the shins, break things and blame it on you, threaten you with the pocket knife he’d gotten for his fourteen birthday, but most of all, you remembered his eyes. Those eyes, glassy and empty behind there grey shine. You try to block those thoughts from your mind and focus on finishing the meal. It’s better not to dwell on the past. Better not to remember the time he pushed you down the stairs and told your parents you’d fell, or the time you’d awoken to find him standing at the end of your bed with a can of gasoline. Better to try and forget the past and leave it buried.

While Brahms is eating you put on some relaxing classical jazz on the record player before seating yourself beside him and picking up the book you'd been reading earlier. It was an old collection of poetry you'd brought with you hitchhiking across the country.

"Read to me?" Brahms asked tentatively, fixing you with an innocent gaze.

"Alright, let's start here then," you flip to another poem and begin to read to him while he takes shaky sips of soup.

Your mind begins to wander again to thoughts of the past, of cold nights sitting in the bed of trucks, trekking your way across the countryside, hoping for something better. The sleepless nights where you'd camp on the side of the highway, far enough away that no strangers would harass you, but close enough to not have to walk far to start hitching again. While the experience of escape was freeing, the loneliness of traveling like this had gotten to you.

By the time you'd made it to the Heelshire mansion you were emotionally beaten and drenched in rain. It was thundering outside and your camping gear had been abandoned when one of the drivers you were hitching with threatened you at knifepoint. You'd jumped from the vehicle and were lucky to only have a few nasty scrapes and no broken bones. At your wits end you'd pounded on the large front door begging to be let in.

Your cries must have melted something in Brahms recently broken heart, because the door suddenly came unlocked and you stumbled in. Though at first you were afraid, soon you came to love the place, and when Brahms finally revealed himself, it was much less strange and terrifying then what you had been running from on those long nights on the road.

Through Brahms you'd finally found the companionship you were looking for. You'd found family in the most unlikely of places.

You look up from reading to see that Brahms had finished his soup and fallen deeply asleep. Most likely in a food coma. You take this chance to tuck him in, and head upstairs to take a shower. It would help you reorient yourself and wash away those bad thoughts of the past.

Outside the wind had started to pick up, whistling through the trees and shaking the dead leaves from their branches. The lights in the mansion are the only thing cutting into the black void of the night. Something moves out there, breaking up the shadows, the sound of footsteps. There is a sound coming out of the woods, at first one might think its the scream of a fox followed by the howl of a wolf, but if you listen carefully you'd be able to tell that there is something more human to it.

You've stepped out of the shower and finished drying yourself off. You take the sleep clothes you've picked out from where you placed them on the toilet and get dressed. Your comfortable and ready to get to sleep. Your eyes feel heavy and you decide to check on Brahms one more time before going to sleep yourself.

As your leaving the bathroom still drying your hair, you hear a strange noise from downstairs. It's the sound of breaking glass, and you sigh heavily. Brahms probably knocked something over waking up. You'd probably left the soup bowl on the coffee table, that's definitely it.

The stairs are cold under your bare feet and you shiver slightly. You can't hear Brahms moving around in the sitting-room and thought perhaps he had gone back to sleep. You reach the landing and peek into the sitting-room to see that in fact Brahms is missing from the couch. Perhaps he's gone to his own bed, you think.

You see the bowl is still on the table, so it can't be what ended up breakin. You briefly debate whether or not to go looking for whatever broke or leaving it until the next day as you bring the bowl into the kitchen to place in the sink.

A cool breeze runs a shiver up your spine, and you turn to see the kitchen door leading outside standing ajar with the window broken. The first reaction you have is confusion, but as it sets in that someone is inside your house besides you and Brahms, the fear takes hold.

"Brahms?" You reach to grab a knife from the knife-block, but don't hear anything from him as you make your way slowly back into the sitting room. Your eyes rove slowly over every inch and corner of the room for anyone lurking. The fear you feel at the possibility of being attacked outways your desire to try calling out again.

You make your way into the front hall and the base of the stairs, looking around to make sure no one is behind you. A creak from the second floor alerts you to a presence above. Your hands are clammy with cold sweat, but you decide to ascend, knife held out in front of you.

You avoid stepping on the creaky steps as you make your way onto the second floor landing. The lights in the hall have been turned off, making the hall a black abyss which you have to squint to make anything out. There is a light switch next to the staircase somewhere. Desperately, you feel along the wall for it while keeping your eyes on the black chasm of the hall in front of you. Your fingers finally run over the light switch and you flick it on. No one is in the hall, giving you a split second to breathe.

Something digs into your arm you were using to flick the lightswitch and your pulled backwards off balance, landing hard face first onto the floor, your skull bouncing hard on the wooden floor making you see stars.

You spit out a tooth that's come out from the impact and taste the coppery tang of blood on your tongue. Struggling, you flip over onto your back, your vision still blurred as you try to make out the large black figure looming over you.

They're tall and you can hear their breath coming out in heavy exhalations. When you try to scramble away, they move quick like a whip, smashing their boot down into your kneecap before taking another kick into your ribs. It feels like something breaks inside you, and your not sure if its bones or something deeper.

The sudden presence of a weight on your body pushes you down. The air is taken out of your lungs as a knee if pushed into your chest and the leather of gloved fingers push deep into your neck. You choke and gasp for air, your eyes finally lasering in on the face of your attacker. All you can make out is the black balaclava and the eyes. Those grey dull eyes. You know those eyes.

You start to feel your consciousness slipping away while clawing at the attackers arms, trying to get him off. The pressure is suddenly lifted as the man is pulled from your body. It's Brahms, yanking him back and throwing him to the ground. The attacker scrambles to his feet and the two begin to wrestle with each other while you catch your breath.

Brahms manages to smash the attacker into the wall, knocking a picture to the floor and upsetting dust from the walls. The attacker kicks out catching Brahms leg and sending him of balance. In that split second your eyes make contact, before the attacker shoves him hard, sending him over the banister of the stairs and down onto the first floor landing.

The shock of this moment is enough to get your adrenaline running high, shooting you up into a standing position. You look from the attacker who is admiring his handiwork to the edge of the bannister where Brahms had fallen. He'd already been weak from the flu, but that fall... Had it killed him?

No, you didn't want to think about that. You didn't want to think about that at all. Something in the back of your head was buzzing, like your head was holding an angry hive of bees. Every breath you take feels weights are attached to your chest, and you slowly start to feel like something is closing in on you.

The attacker is looking at you now and you can feel that intense gaze. Those grey eyes. You can't feel anything now as he walks over to you slowly, a slight swagger to him.

He always takes everything from you. He's always ruined everything you've ever had.

He swings at you, but this time your ready and dodge out of the way past him. Your fingers wrap around the frame of the fallen picture and you whip it out catching him in the head before he has a time to react, blitzing him. He takes a little to long to react as your eyes quickly focus on a side table, and the sizable marble statue on it.

He reaches out to take the statue, but you beat him to it and snatch it away from his hand. You feel your breaths becoming ragged and almost animalistic as you move in close, staring grey eyes down. Staring your brother down.

"You shouldn't have followed me," you say before swinging at him, catching him in the elbow as he tries to back away from you quickly and run. He's fast but your faster. He runs to nursing his now injured elbow, while blood begins to soak his balaclava where you nailed him with the picture frame.

He reaches the end of the hall with you on his tail and tries to open the nearest doo, but it's locked. As he turns to confront you, the hard impact of marble on flesh sound of with a wet THWACK.

His teeth shatter in his mouth as it caves in slightly on first impact, shoving his head violently backwards into the door. He's dazed but your not done. Again you swing, as he raises his hand trying to protect you from damaging more of his face.

His wrist snaps under the impact and some part of you feels slightly satisfied with this. This doesn't stop you from keeping swinging. Fingers break, and his head caves in as you keep going. After a while you start to realize that the noise of something scratchy and raw is the sound of the keening growl coming from your throat.

It's only when a hand is felt on your shoulder that you snap out of this frenzy in some way. You lash out and swing to try and catch this new presence, but they catch your wrist. The grip doesn't feel oppressive, but firm in a gentle and grounding way.

Your eyes focus and you can see that it's Brahms. He's hunched over in pain, but alive, and looking at you with something akin to concern. Perhaps even fear. You don't know what to say to make this better, to make you standing there drenched in the fluids of the dead attacker, your dead brother, any better. You must look like a monster to Brahms.

He reaches out a long hand and his fingers brush your cheek and come away with something liquid. You hadn't even realized you'd been crying.

"Please..." You say in a broken voice. You start to crumble on that first word, your legs starting to give. He catches you and brings you into a hug.

How can he possibly be hugging you at a time like this? After seeing what you've done. But somehow he can, somehow this is okay.

"Pretty Y/N. You'll be okay," his grip is firm and comforting, and his words are sweet and earnest. You can't believe it, but your happiness at his acceptance of you brings on even more intense tears.

You pull away to wipe your eyes and look at Brahms.

"We should take a look at your injuries and see if they're serious," you say.

He nods and you take his hand, leading him to the bathroom where you have a first aid kit waiting in the cabinet.

After all this, he still sees you as family, as a protector and carer. If anything it feels like your bond has grown stronger.

How would Billy and Brahms react to their future s/o knowing that they are living in the walls/attic long before they get the chance to reveal themselves, maybe even going as far as to explore the walls/attic in an attempt to find them and confirm their suspicions.