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Come As You Are	By : animegher Category: Weiß Kreuz > General Views: 6971 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Weiß Kreuz, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
Disclaimer: The following characters belong to Weiss Kreuz, Koyasu Takehito, and the Japanese employees they have chained to desks so they won’t run away in pure disgust at the second season redesigns. Enjoy!

This was utter hell.

Nagi tapped his pencil down repeatedly on the paper, staring down at his open English textbook and not understanding a single word of it. It wasn’t just that the book was in a foreign language, or that Nagi already had another headache from trying to make sense of the words. He was terribly distracted, his emotions clamoring for attention; for Nagi to actually stop and examine the upsetting tightness forming at the bottom of his stomach. He kept thinking back to lectures, how he had nervously glanced at Abyssinian’s back every few minutes just to make sure he was still safe. He had been so afraid of being discovered in that class that it was a sick irony that Abyssinian had been first to be captured. Nagi didn’t know if the man knew who was in the class or not when he took such furious notes and stared forward in rapt attention at the slightly eccentric and babbling old professor. He would have never guessed that the swordsman would listen to what anyone else had to say with such fervor. It was obvious that Omi’s former team leader enjoyed this class… but he had been absent the past week.

It was just tonight that Nagi started to hear him scream downstairs.

Being on the first floor, sometimes Farfarello’s cries would reach up through the floorboards despite the thick soundproofing Crawford had installed. Now, they were coming from their newest guest, each painful yell stabbing right through him. Nagi could only imagine what Farfarello and Schuldig were doing to Abyssinian down there; but he had a pretty good idea of the possibilities. He had seen the bodies they threw out from the night before because Farfarello had wanted to play a little bit longer. Nagi tried not to think back to the hospital and how helpless Abyssinian had been, the tears that streaked down his face when Schuldig had laughed in his face. He had been in no state to fight then, and being stuck in the basement with an insane man and… and a more insane man, Nagi corrected as he thought about his fellow teammates. It was hard to decide who was the worst when it came to Schuldig and Farfarello.

Nagi wiped at his eyes, too tired and frustrated to concentrate. He really couldn’t care about Abyssinian one way or the other. It was how Omi would feel if the man died. He had been crying in the middle of class because of Abyssinian being in the hospital. Nagi felt guilty for causing Omi any sort of pain. The other boy was just so damn happy and nice that he couldn’t do anything else other than like him. Nobody had ever been so friendly and warm to him before, and Nagi didn’t want Omi to end up hating him for having a part in Abyssinian’s kidnapping and impending murder. He had just miscalculated how crazy Schuldig could be in the end, striking much faster than Nagi had predicted. Now Abyssinian was being tortured downstairs while Omi was no doubt crying over him. Nagi had already done all he could; sending one quick email to Kritiker that he hoped would reach Omi soon. He couldn’t risk direct contact, certain that he wouldn’t be able to hide it from Schuldig.

Homework was officially a lost cause. Nagi began staring out the window, feeling as depressed and lonely as the dark night that had settled over the city. There were a few streetlights glowing through the trees, no stars or moon to be seen from the yellow haze of further off lights and buildings. A car’s headlights flashed as they rolled slowly past the front gate… and then flicked off. Another, plain and nondescript van followed, pulling up behind the first car and parking like they were actually being inconspicuous. Nagi’s jaw slowly dropped as he realized there was only one group stupid enough to come straight to Crawford’s own mansion.

Weiss.

* * *

"Did I tell you how beautiful you look already?" Yohji drawled into the outer curve of Aya’s ear, lips brushing against skin every so often. It gave Aya goosebumps despite the sweaty heat of the dark and smoke-filled club, even though it really was the only way to talk and be heard over the loud rock band performing without screaming your lungs out. It was ridiculous to see so many people shoved inside one building, the fire code being broken, along with several other serious laws no doubt. Aya disliked the atmosphere; the crowd dressed up in leather and plastic, yet most of the women and men out on the dance floor seemed to be wearing barely anything at all. He didn’t like the music being played with the overwhelming bass and guitar that sounded like the musician was wearing oven mitts while he played. Above all, he despised the crowd and social life buzzing around them, but this was the kind of place Yohji loved. Aya couldn’t understand it, but he had agreed to go to make the man happy… and because Yohji had done some wonderful things with his mouth that one couldn’t help but feel obligated for later. Even so, Aya couldn’t do anything about his own personal abhorrence for being in an enclosed space with so many strangers, uncomfortable no matter how much he wanted to have a good time for Yohji’s sake. At least the blonde let him hang out by the bar, better with a wall at his back and a stiff drink in his hand.

"Only about fifty times. Now, back off, Mister Hot Shit," Aya demanded playfully, pushing at the chest pressing into his shoulder. Yohji had a habit of standing so closely and intimately that it didn’t seem appropriate for public, a very familiar hardness digging into the side of Aya’s hip more impatiently the longer he let the older man hang off of him. If it had been anyone else, Aya would have killed them for the offense. Since it was Yohji, he just shook his head and grinned slightly at the antics.

"Mm, glad you think so, love," Yohji leaned back into the bar, stretching out in a languid way that showed off every inch of that lean and long body. Yohji was one of those rare people who looked good and knew it, completely confident and irresistible for it. A pair of almost-loose, elegantly ripped and shredded jeans hung low enough for Aya to see the curve of Yohji’s ass; to be certain that the man wasn’t wearing any underwear. The studded belt was doing little to hold Yohji’s pants up, but it matched the large silver hoops dangling from his ears and the rings on his fingers. His hair was loose and flowing, the golden curls catching the light from the neon signs above the bar, a wretched angel that Aya had all to himself. Yohji was wearing a thin, colorful and patterned shirt that he could see right through, hanging off of bony but muscular shoulders with only one button done. It made Aya want to rip the thing right off so he could enjoy the full view of Yohji’s taut ribs and stomach muscles. He had caught a few other people staring at the flesh that was being revealed, and had been using his best glares to drive them off from his lover all night long. Aya was fiercely protective, even if Yohji couldn’t help but ooze sex and charisma. Yohji had dressing down to a sinful level, somehow able to always wear an outfit that Aya couldn’t wait to get him out of; using clothes to enunciate his own natural sexuality.

Aya, however, was doing the complete reverse. He didn’t like to dress like this, didn’t even like to go out, but Yohji had whined until Aya agreed; which had taken a pathetically short amount of time. He could be very, very convincing when he tried. Yohji had even gotten to dig into the boxes Aya had purposefully hidden up in the crawl space above the flower shop, picking out the clothes he wanted Aya to wear. It had only taken a little bit more begging on Yohji’s part, with a dramatic drop to his knees and wailing loud enough to bring the neighbors. Aya had quickly conceded just to shut the blonde up, and he was already regretting ever stepping outside of the house. He knew he was getting far more looks than Yohji, but they were full of confusion and outright aversion when Aya caught them and scowled twice as hard. He would have felt like a whore, if Yohji didn’t have one hand tucked into the back pocket of the pair of shorts Aya had glued to his ass. They were just long enough to decently cover his groin before ending, straining fabric as he tried to keep himself riding inside the garment, so to speak. His usually hidden rose tattoo on the inside of his hip bared for all to see, even though he really only wanted Yohji to look, more than slightly embarrassed after having been so long since he had worn a getup like this. Fishnet stockings and a pair of knee-high, lace-up boots completed the lower half, Aya refusing to wear high heels no matter what whimpering noises his lover had made. The funny thing was, the shirt was Yohji’s; a slinky, purple tube-top that was so tight there were no worries of the material falling down. Aya was too self conscious to let that much skin show, worried over old scars and blemish to have his shoulders and arms bare, so a pair of thick, black mesh covered him from wrists to upper biceps. A leather collar went around his neck, heavy enough to be for a dog, but wide enough to hide some of the more humiliating and personal scars. He also liked the way Yohji’s eyes would drop down to below his chin and linger, obviously contemplating doing something terribly scandalous… and Aya couldn’t wait for it. If he behaved all night in this overstuffed club, with the music speakers cranked so loud the floorboards were shaking; Yohji would reward him well.

The problem was getting Yohji to finally want to go home.

Yohji liked crowds, loved dancing and making a scene of himself. Aya was happier in the shadows, hanging out on the sidelines, instead of risking himself amidst a bunch of strangers- but, Yohji would never allow him to cling to the wall all night long. They would have to dance through at least one song, and Yohji would make sure that they both got thoroughly wasted before leaving the club for the night. Of course, Aya could always turn on the charm. He wasn’t as good at flirting as Yohji was, didn’t have the smart lines or the easy body language; but he had long since come to terms with the fact that he’d been born with a woman’s face. No matter how tough or pissed he tried to look, people only saw the long eyelashes, full lips, and delicate bone structures he’d inherited from his mother. Now that his hair had grown out under Yohji’s insistence, even Aya admitted that it was pretty. He had most of it down now; playing over his shoulders while the upper half was smoothly drawn back into a hair tie. He knew he looked particularly gorgeous tonight, since Yohji had been the one to do his hair in the first place tonight. He had also applied make-up in the bathroom mirror while Yohji watched in obvious delight from the throne he’d made out of the toilet, able to look like spoiled royalty in any setting. It was no different now as the blonde pulled away to light himself a cigarette and signal for the bartender’s attention. He ordered even more drinks, gesturing down to Aya’s own forgotten glass, left half-empty on the counter.

He couldn’t help smiling and shaking his head, picking up the watered-down concoction of hard liquor and finishing it all off in one shot. Aya had always considered himself somewhat of a dignified drinker, able to hold his own share of alcohol… but he had definitely honed those skills trying to keep up with Yohji’s own drinking habits. There was already an impressive pile of empty glasses in front of them that had yet to be cleared. It was understandable with this many people in the place, a slight throng of people still waiting to even get to the bar glaring in jealousy. Aya had watched once before as Yohji drank one small, private bar close to their home completely dry- the owner unable to understand how the thin blonde wasn’t dropping dead from alcohol poisoning. Aya had just smiled in pride next to the man, doing the same now as he leaned over and rubbed their hips together.

Yohji understood immediately, words not always a necessity between them. Immediately his arm was lazily draped over Aya’s shoulder, somehow able to put up a wall between them and the rest of the club with that simple movement. The music was now bearable, and Aya didn’t mind the appreciate glances being sent at their backsides. He drew out a cigarette for himself, placing the stick between his lips and twisting his head around to meet the burning end of Yohji’s own. He was close enough to truly appreciate the shocked widening of Yohji’s eyes as Aya lit his cigarette off of his; the bartender frozen in the middle of delivering their drinks with his jaw hanging open. Yohji recovered quickly, grinning and raising an eyebrow up at the bartender cockily. The arm around his shoulder tightened, turning into a hand on his chest as Yohji drew him up hard against his side. Aya didn’t mind the possessive treatment, more than happy to let everyone know that he was already taken. He could sense the bitter gazes being directed at him for catching such an undeniably handsome and charismatic man like Yohji; completely missing the other looks for his sake.

Slightly icy fingers slipping underneath the stretchy material of the top startled Aya out of the romantic little world they had managed to create in this club. He hissed out Yohji’s name in warning as the man ignored him and began digging around underneath the shirt. Aya wasn’t comfortable anymore; ready to elbow Yohji in the side when the man finally found his nipple and pinched hard. A flash of white sensation went through him and Aya’s knees pressed together despite himself, glad that they were facing the bar and not the open dance floor of this club. The cigarette fell out of his mouth, landing on the counter and smoking there as Aya struggled to regain himself.

"What the fuck-…" Aya started, still not comfortable with getting felt up in public. Yohji had full right to do it in the car, maybe even in the alleyway if Aya had a few more drinks, but not right in the middle of this very loud and public club. Aya didn’t like the thought of there being this many people watching. He fucking hated it, squirming against the arm locked over his shoulder. Yohji put his own cigarette out in the ashtray in front of him, turning back with a devil’s smile on his face before kissing Aya hard. Why did the bastard have to wear vanilla flavored chapstick? It was an offensive, disgusting mix between sweet candy and acidic poison from the nicotine that always lingered inside Yohji’s mouth- one that Aya had become addicted to as he opened up his lips for more. He knew he’d been trying to make a very good point, but it was distant and hazy now. Yohji was already working the collar off, yanking the leather away and immediately shifting his mouth down. He started sucking and licking at the sloped flesh, planting his teeth over old scar tissue and adding a mark of his own.

Aya yelped at that, suddenly realizing how fast and aggressive this was. He opened his eyes to the same horrified bartender, staring as Yohji made indecently wet sounds against his neck. There was a verifiable crowd around them already, a half-circle of faceless strangers watching with bright, eager eyes that burned right into him. Aya was definitely no longer comfortable, hating Yohji for doing this to him when he knew damn well just how much Aya abhorred going out in the first fucking place! He couldn’t handle crowds, where he was being watched and judged by people he would never meet again. Strangers, each and every one of them. He wouldn’t let Yohji go this far even in the comfort of their own home- without certain knowledge that Ken and Omi wouldn’t walk in on them. He couldn’t handle this in front of others, spinning around violently and slipping out from Yohji’s hold. He wasn’t thinking about the fact they had driven here in Yohji’s Seven, that he was dressed far too ridiculously to attempt walking around the city alone at night, or that the tube-top was now hanging down after Yohji had played with him. Aya didn’t have a clue to what he was doing, just wanted to get away as quickly as possible.

"Hey, what’s the problem, babe?" Yohji demanded, catching his wrist before Aya could storm off. He dared to keep on smiling like he’d done nothing wrong, was innocent from whatever crime Aya laid at his feet. Something was so familiar about this, yet not… Aya’s head was pounding all of a sudden, nothing to do but concentrate on his own wounded pride and the humiliation of being watched by so many people right now.

"You are. You’re acting like a complete asshole," Aya didn’t want to have to yell it, already attracting a big enough crowd as it was, but there was no other way to make sure that Yohji heard him as the band broke out into a even heavier, fast-paced song. That made something in Yohji’s face twitch, his lower jaw muscle jumping around as he ground his teeth together. Aya knew that sign; recognized it from the very rare times his carefree and easygoing lover actually got pissed off. He was hauled forward by his wrist and Aya threw his free arm up to keep himself from being yanked to Yohji’s chest. He wouldn’t be able to stand being that close to the blonde right now… and realized his mistake far too late as Yohji captured his other hand as well, fingers bruising skin and muscles as the man tightened his hold.

"You stupid, spoiled fucking whore, you think you can tell me how to act?" Yohji roared out angrily over the music, spinning them around until Aya’s back slammed into the metal curve of the bar’s counter. Yohji pressed in harder, overwhelming him with a taller body and such awful, hurtful words.

"Wh- what?" Aya could hardly speak, left staring with his mouth hanging open in shock. He couldn’t believe Yohji had really just called him that. He couldn’t have imagined worse. He must have gotten it mixed up the music. Yohji just would not say something like to him. The older blonde had shown him more respect and consideration than the whole world had ever chosen to spare on a guilty sinner such as himself. Yohji had been one of the few people to actually treat him like a person; to give him compliments like they were equals. Aya had never thought he did anything worthy of praise, other than killing a man quickly, but Yohji flattered him about everything, from excellent cooking to how he got a wrinkle in his brow when he was yelling too loudly. Aya had never been able to do wrong in Yohji’s eyes, despite anything he’d done in his past. It had never been an issue with Yohji, who simply loved unconditionally. Yohji just…simply knew better than to use that word around him. Even during their worst arguments, Yohji would never dare insult him like that, knowing just how deeply it would cut. Why did they always fight like this when Aya adored Yohji, cared so much that it hurt sometimes? Why couldn’t Yohji just silently understand that as well? Aya desperately tried to see the blonde’s face, sure that it had to be someone wearing a Yohji mask. There was no other explanation for why this would be happening.

He was so lost in struggling to find some kind of compassion in Yohji’s deep green eyes, some kind of reason for why he would act like this, that Aya didn’t even fight when Yohji pressed his wrists together and looped the collar around them. He already had them tightened by the time Aya absorbed the fact Yohji was restraining him. It shouldn’t have worked as well as it did, Aya immediately working his arms in attempt to free himself. He should have been able to break the former accessory, but lighting agony exploded from his fingertips to his shoulder. Aya thought he saw blood. Illusion or not, having that collar binding his wrists like this made Aya feel like his arms were being torn apart. Yohji grinned like he had something to do with this pain, using his now idle hands to cup Aya’s chin and grab a fistful of his hair. His head was jerked back and Yohji immediately attacked his exposed neck, teeth and tongue no longer trying to bring pleasure. Aya felt like he was being eaten alive.

"Stop it!" Aya’s voice was shriller than he would have liked, but he screamed loud enough for the whole club to hear. Even Yohji froze up at his protest, teeth stuck as they dug into sensitive skin. Aya used that moment to swing his arms up and slam the bound weight of his wrists into the side of Yohji’s head. The blonde staggered back, obviously not expecting Aya to fight back. For some reason, it felt like he had hit himself as the whole world tilted in disorientation. His arms and back were screaming at him, a red-hot pain racing up every vein and nerve until it hit his brain. A hand clamped around the back of his neck and smashed Aya’s face down to the counter. Aya’s hands were effectively trapped under his own body as Yohji shoved a knee in between his legs, pressing his groin against Aya’s rear in a clear threat.

Little bright sparks of light went off behind Aya’s eyes. He would not be able to handle this, not with people watching, not Yohji. Nobody was stopping this as a shadowy and shapeless crowd closed around them; in fact, a few had their cell phones out to take pictures. Aya couldn’t breathe, throat swollen and constricted. He was too panicked to even scream for help, apathetic crowd or not. Yohji leaned over him; his warm chest weighing down heavy on his back as the older man licked the back of Aya’s ear. He could only shudder, disgusted beyond reaction. Yohji wasn’t going to do this to him. This was some kind of game, Yohji’s way of teasing him and Aya just hadn’t caught onto the joke yet. That’s what he told himself as he felt Yohji yank the shorts down off of his hips, catching on his knees as Aya’s legs went watery with shock. He was being exposed in front of all these strangers when there were some days that he could barely stand to be naked with Yohji alone in their bedroom.

"Shit, please… Yohji, stop," Aya was no longer above begging. He tried to twist his head around so that he could see his lover; sure that if he could make eye contact with Yohji again, the blonde would be able to tell how much this was upsetting him and back off. Fingers wound up in his hair, tearing out the tie Yohji had been so careful about putting on in the first place. Aya’s lips and nose were ground into the sticky metal, smelling alcohol and tasting fear. Yohji was choosing to ignore him instead, a hard length digging into the back of his thigh. It had never felt more abhorrent to be touched by Yohji than now as Aya struggled underneath his weight.

"Why should I? I think everyone wants to see this," Yohji laughed cruelly as a terrible ripping noise followed and his trim underwear fell away. Aya’s buttocks clenched together in self-preservation, feeling bared and ashamed as the fishnet were simply torn aside and left to hang around his legs. It even earned a few cheers from the onlookers. Aya thought he might die just from willing it so much. His legs were attempting to close around Yohji’s knee, his hands clenching and fighting the simple leather strap around his wrists. It burned like hell, his arms protesting loudly at the simplest movement, but Aya only took that pain and used it to struggle harder. Yohji put a steadying hand on the small of his back, keeping him pinned as the blonde began kneading Aya’s trembling ass. He couldn’t understand why his heart simply wouldn’t give up on keeping his body alive. It felt so broken right now, a big aching sensation in his chest as he realized Yohji wasn’t going to stop. Someone had eagerly taken a seat two down from Aya, not about to get close enough to be involved, but have a good view as he pulled out an erection and began working it. Aya clenched his eyes shut, trying to push out the sight of this nightmare but still able to hear that horrible music and the jeers coming from the audience they had pulled.

"Besides, I think you like it," Yohji said it a little bit quieter, leaning in so the words would be just between them. It was a sickening parody of romance, nothing like the way Yohji usually behaved- the way Aya had fallen in love with. He couldn’t even think of the reason why Yohji’s behavior had suddenly changed so drastically, just was terrified of the man behind him. It was worse than a complete stranger, though there were plenty of them watching. Aya couldn’t open his eyes, was too damn scared to see everyone watching and laughing at his torture. Nobody was going to move to help him, but it was hard to maintain his pride and not cry out for someone to save him. It was supposed to be Yohji coming to his rescue, not unzipping his own pants eagerly.

"Don’t do this to me," Aya begged, wondering if Yohji would even listen to him if he could hear Aya’s wretchedly panicked voice over the sound system blaring. Aya could take little solace in the fact that there was a live band distracting some of the people in this club, sure that there was already more than enough individuals gathered around now from the cheering he could make out from the overwhelming hum of the bass guitar.

"You don’t think this is exciting? Me, fucking you where everyone can see?" Yohji demanded loudly, his hand reaching underneath the counter of the bar to grab at Aya’s shriveled and hiding genitals. Yohji began tugging hard at the length of his penis with a dry and rough palm, fingernails digging into soft and loose skin. Aya let out a wordless gasp, his hips convulsing away from the harsh treatment instinctively. Yohji didn’t let him go, stretching out the organ like he meant to tear it all right off. Aya ground his face into the sticky counter, unable to decide if the humiliation or the pain was worse. No matter how brutal and graceless it was, his body would still respond to stimulus… He couldn’t tell his dick to hate Yohji for this, indifferent as it hardened into a fledging erection underneath the blonde’s hand. He had been with Yohji for too long, had done it with the man so many times, that his body was ready to react no matter how much he didn’t want it.

"Please, stop," Aya wasn’t sure if he even gave voice to that plea or just mouthed it, certain Yohji wouldn’t pay attention it either way. The older man dug his thumb into the sensitive tip, forcing out a little dribble of precum. Aya could already feel Yohji’s own heated erection resting between his butt cheeks, ready to be put to use. He bruised his knees on the counter Yohji had him bent over in a desperate attempt to buck the blonde off. The shorts and underwear caught him up, falling down to his ankles and trapping Aya further. He couldn’t kick the offensive clothing off over his boots, sparks of white light going off behind his closed eyelids. His stomach was clenching and lurching around inside, like it was going to try to crawl out his mouth and escape the agony Aya knew was coming. Yohji seemed satisfied with the amount of semen he could milk from Aya; nothing affectionate or caring in his motions as he prodded a slightly lubricated finger into Aya’s contracted anus. There was little give in his muscles; Aya too panicked to relax if only to make this go quicker and easier. Yohji made a disapproving sound at his stubbornness, clearly not pleased with Aya’s choice of refusing to be raped in public. He bent over and picked up one of their forgotten drinks, hefting it up theatrically for Aya’s sake before pouring the stinging liquor down the cleft of Aya’s ass. His hissed his own appreciation for what spilt on in his erection while Aya did his best not to cry out at the liquor burning past soft, exposed skin to inside him, inescapable agony. Aya renewed his efforts to get away, feeling his arms go distantly numb as they were smashed between his whole body and the bar counter. What Yohji was doing to him hurt worse.

"Don’t try and pretend. You love being treated like this," Yohji’s voice seemed to ring through the noise surrounding them. Poisonous and sexy, Aya hated himself for listening. This wasn’t his choice. He didn’t want to be raped in front of a live audience that was cheering for it to happen. He wanted Yohji to be gentle and passionate, not this stranger that was just going to use him as a hole to fuck. Aya shook his head, ignoring the heavy weight of his unattended erection between his legs as Yohji thrust his finger in and out. It felt like he was trying to pop out his lower intestine, Aya unable to help the tears that began flowing out. He couldn’t stop them, just like he couldn’t stop Yohji. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He was going to protect the man…

Yohji’s finger left him, giving Aya one deadly moment of relief, before he set the tip of his cock against his forcibly stretched anus. Yohji tried to take him in one blow, like he was trying to cram a baseball bat up his ass. Aya screamed, kicking and thrashing as Yohji grabbed him by the hair and hip to steady him. He was slammed back down to the bar as Yohji slowly worked his way in, only able to get halfway in that first thrust. Maybe at one time, he could have been able to bear with this silently, but Aya had gotten used to Yohji taking the time to prepare him, with endless flirting and make-out sessions that didn’t always have to end in sex. Yohji had always been sure that Aya was okay with everything before he would attempt anything like this. Yohji typically used a generous amount of lubrication, in some form. He had been so understanding about how fucking hard it was to get out of the house… and now Yohji was raping him the middle of this dirty club. Aya couldn’t even figure out what he’d done wrong to piss Yohji off enough to behave like this. He was jerking his hips around and grinding into Aya like it was a physical battle. He couldn’t understand how this wasn’t hurting Yohji in turn, skin tearing and burning as alcohol was rubbed into it.

Aya bit his tongue, not about to scream aloud and give everyone watching something more to laugh about. This was nothing but pure agony, Aya unable to even adjust his legs so Yohji’s erection wouldn’t jab painfully at his insides, to just make it quicker and easier for the both of them. Yohji obviously didn’t care if he got off or not, testicles and pubic hair finally flattened against Aya’s ass as the blonde finally got in all the way. Yohji shuddered over him, fingers tightening up painfully in Aya’s hair as he began to move. Yohji wasn’t bothered by the fact that there were people watching, that there was someone jerking off right next to them- in fact, he seemed even more turned on than usual. The crowd was cheering for him louder than they did for the band; Yohji sliding in and out spasmodically instead of working out a rhythm he knew Aya would take pleasure from, only concerned with his own orgasm. Aya was sure Yohji ruptured an organ and he was bleeding to death inside.

A man could always have dreams.

"Tell me how much you enjoy it when I don’t give you a choice," Yohji hissed, slamming Aya into the counter over and over. Aya only wanted to scream, thrashing around until he accidentally fell at the right angle. The crowd disappeared, the burning pain dulled, and Aya’s thighs couldn’t stop trembling. Yohji sensed it too, bracing his legs on the ground and driving home to that spot where it would feel good. Aya gagged, seeing white and unable to think anymore. Maybe it was because he’d been in so much pain that a little shock of pleasure was a hundred times better than usual. Even though Yohji had tied him with the collar, his hands were still free and instinctively moving to his own sobbing erection. He wasn’t coherent enough to do more than use the friction of his palms to get off on, needing something in front to help relieve the building pressure in back.

"You like this, don’t you?" Yohji laughed, his voice going high and squeaky as he started to find his own orgasm. The pace picked up; relentless, unforgiving, crushing down his nerve system. Why did it feel so pleasurable while he was near mindless with pain, trembling as the sensations looped around, falling on top of each other until he couldn’t tell the difference? Aya didn’t so much care, was aware of an erection filling him up completely at this awkward angle. It hurt so much it was bliss. He was being overwhelmed, didn’t know what he really wanted or not. Didn’t know what it meant to want something. His hands were still moving over his own heated length while Yohji rocked him hard from behind, waiting for an answer before giving him release.

"Oh, God… YES," Aya couldn’t keep silent any longer, unable to hold it in. The only certainty was his body, needing release before he exploded. The pain was fading; his mind was fading, eaten up by his own desires. He came so hard that the recoil had him arched over Yohji’s shoulder despite the fist in his hair, blackness swallowing all.

…

Schuldig suddenly fell through Ran’s consciousness, like the man had gone transparent for a moment and simply disappeared.

He choked and stumbled back, the whiplash so great that he couldn’t remain standing. He had been expending too much effort on Ran to gracefully handle being cut off so abruptly. Schuldig landed flat on his ass, legs spread out in front of him in shock. In his swimming vision he could still see Ran crucified on the table, arms nothing but a bright red blur. The restraints on his lower body were gone so that Farfarello could finally fuck the little bitch with ease, his animalistic grunting and wheezing filling up the room. Ran had struggled to keep his mind his own, to refuse to listen to the whispers Schuldig tried to put into his head, but eventually his body had just bled out. Schuldig had hooked up another IV long ago, wanting to prolong this as much as possible, but Ran’s beautiful white skin continued to turn blue and blanched, all the red gone to his hair and the blood pumping out from the wings in his back. It was like Ran was trying to fly away even now, the barbwire had already torn off most of the flesh on his arms and neck as it kept him pinned down.

This truly was the kind of simplistic genius that one could only expect from a man like Farfarello. Such a common idea, and yet Schuldig would have never thought of it himself. He had to admit that when Farfie had finally climbed off the table, soaked up to his knees and elbows in blood, he had experienced a moment of fatherly pride. The Irishman had carved the outline of two wings over Ran’s shoulder blades, taking the time to widen the curves of the feathers and give the piece real weight. Schuldig half wanted to take a blowtorch and cauterize the wounds quickly, so he could wash off the blood and see how it really looked on Ran’s back, but that would requiring leaving the basement. He didn’t think little Abyssinian had much time left, so weak and quick to break underneath him. Schuldig hadn’t expected the same trick to work twice, but Ran was so ready to believe that Yohji would actually try to hurt him. Schuldig supposed it was easy to work on such an outrageous fear that was already buried inside Ran’s subconsciousness. He didn’t care for the details, and long as it worked… he just hadn’t anticipated that Ran would be so damn weak. He had spent all that effort to take a precious memory Abyssinian had been holding onto tightly with his broken and splintered claws and twist it into his worst nightmare. Except, Ran wasn’t the toy Schuldig had made him into before, his psyche crumbling before Schuldig could even have the chance to enjoy it.

This was all Yohji’s fault. He had softened Abyssinian up; able to give the affection and understanding that Ran had been whining for all his life. It made Schuldig ill. How could Balinese love something as damaged as Ran? He had been a notorious slut, so bad that it had been marked up in the file Esset had on one Yohji Kudoh. Now that Schuldig had gotten close to the half-American, he knew why women and Ran would fall over themselves for this man. He was confident, handsome, charismatic and sarcastic; qualities Schuldig found in himself as well. Yohji and he could get along very well, if the bastard would stop resisting. There was no reason for him to respect someone as worthless as Ran, to stay loyal to him when Schuldig wanted Yohji. He had so much more to offer that it was ridiculous there should be any sort of question over this. Now, if only his little toy would do him the favor of dying quickly.

Schuldig cursed as he slowly climbed to his feet. Ran was like a piece of glass- once shattered; it could never be repaired. Schuldig was slightly numb to it, just frustrated that Ran had been able to escape him in the end. He had already assumed that the man was dead years ago, along with the rest of Weiss in their so-called final battle. They had spent their nights hunting down Kritiker agents and never heard a word about the only team that had ever managed to give them trouble. He had already spared a few moments of regret over the fact that he would never be able to play with his special Kätzchen again. Ran had always been his favorite toy; still able to feel no matter how many times Schuldig entered his dreams and tortured him to the brink of insanity. Ran was surprising resilient and strong-willed, for someone with such a pretty face and flesh that bruised so nicely. Give him a few nights to recover from his nightmares and Ran was like brand new, ready to cry and beg for him to stop. Schuldig should have taken into account that it had been a couple of years now, should have thought back to how frightened and panicked Ran had been in that bathroom. There wasn’t a trace of an assassin in him, nothing but a pale and shaky thing that winced away from violence. It was better that they put Ran out of his misery, kill him before he could embarrass himself further. Yohji would be freed from the man as well and Schuldig could move right in. He realized now that they were meant to be lovers.

He became aware of a harsh, dry sound echoing underneath Farfarello’s sweating and naked body. Schuldig wasn’t sure he could believe his ears, stepping in closer to Ran’s restrained and bleeding figure. His whole body was rocking with Farfarello’s pace as the Irishman rode him to his own completion- Schuldig noticing a smear of milky semen on the top of Ran’s thigh and hip that couldn’t have come from Farfarello. He looked back at the face of their victim, hidden by hair darkened and clotting with blood… from arms that were straining against the barbwire.

He was jerking the limbs around; a low and dangerous laughter filling the room as Ran began struggling like a rabid dog. It seemed that was all Farfarello needed to orgasm, arching back and howling offensively. Schuldig couldn’t care less as he tried to focus his still-jumbled mind and extend his senses out. He ignored the chaotic, aggressive presence that was Farfarello, looking for where his Ran had managed to escape to. He could see the man’s mind, could almost touch it like before; except now instead of being able to dip his psychic fingers into Ran’s consciousness like water, he stubbed his perception on the hard mental shields that were now erected. There were no weaknesses, no distractions, nothing but a cold determination that refused to be tampered with.

"It doesn’t hurt, you fuck," Ran hissed, shaking hair out from his eyes so he could glare solidly at Schuldig. Icy violet seemed to soak up all the dim light in this basement, Ran sending so much hatred out that Schuldig had no other choice but to back off.

He recognized this gaze, that expression.

Ran hadn’t broken at all. He’d returned.

Schuldig was looking at Abyssinian, the same personality that had managed to survive through many encounters with Schwarz. Things were suddenly beginning to make sense. He’d never been able to understand how someone who was so strong could cry so easily; the difference in the cold-hearted assassin and the sensitive, young man he’d become in his dreams too great to understand. So, Schuldig never had, ignoring that along with thousands of other little details he didn’t give a shit about. Ran’s astounding resistance to mental commands, the burning hatred and determination he’d once carried, the hard wall he’d built up around himself to keep the fractured pieces of his heart safe; it was all back. This was the creature Schuldig had chosen to torture so many years ago. His Kätzchen, the one that looked so good covered in blood and was always ready to fight him. This was no different, Farfarello staggering back without any concern for his own nudity, his good eye widening up as an expression almost came over the albino’s face and then passed. Schuldig could sense a hazy bit of fear coming from their resident psycho as Farfarello noticed his victim’s change in attitude, standing away at what the Irishman must have thought was a safe distance, even though Abyssinian was the one tied down for the slaughter.

Schuldig couldn’t help his own laughter, joining in with the man still trying to free up his arms on the table, new blood squirting and flowing as the wire dug in further.

* * *

Ken frowned at the looming building in the tinted windows of the car, wondering why the bad guys only hung out in abandoned warehouses or the most fucking extravagant mansions he’d ever seen. It was hard to imagine that Schwarz’s secret base of command was in the ritzy neighborhood of upper Tokyo. There were only four of them; just how much fucking space did each of them need? The poor boy in him that only got through in life with his incredible talent for soccer earning him scholarships and professional league membership until it had all gone to hell whined at the injustice. How come the villains got to be so rich? Ken wouldn’t mind messing up the place on principle alone- after they made sure to get Aya out safely.

There was a Kritiker ambulance waiting behind them, though it looked like nothing more than a gray, windowless and unmarked van. They had a medical team on stand-by, which Ken, Yohji, and Omi were apparently going to lead around the place until they found Aya. Nobody had any clue as to Aya’s state of being right now, if it would even be possibly to move him, but he was sure that Yohji had already imagined every possible situation. The blonde had gone silent the moment they got into this small limo along with dear old Gramps and his whore of a secretary. She had printed out itineraries on light purple paper for them to read over until they reached Schwarz’s base. Yohji had refused to acknowledge anyone else was alive while Ken honestly announced he didn’t give a shit. Omi, of course, had been the only one to actually look at the documents. He had a slight frown stuck in his face now, his smile gone as he went over the details with his grandfather while Ken and Yohji moodily sat in the back.

Ken really had nothing to say. He couldn’t believe that he was wearing these clothes again, that he had the familiar weight of the bugnuks on his hand. This was everything he’d been trying to break free of, but he’d do it for Aya. He knew that Omi felt the same about their friend, but he didn’t have to do this. Omi wouldn’t give Ken a chance to yell at him, to drag the blonde off and explain exactly why he couldn’t agree to this deal. It wasn’t like he could just be Persia long enough to give his two-week notice and quit. It would be forever. Omi would die a member of an underground association that could barely be considered different from organized crime. He would be the man that picked who lived and who died on the hit list of really bad guys. Could Omi even understand the situation right now? Ken wanted to take him away from this dirty old man and his bitch and just hide out in another country for the rest of their lives; but he couldn’t leave Aya behind. None of them could.

Yohji had gone silent long ago, staring out the window as his heels shook, tapping the carpet over and over as he waited for them to finally get the okay to storm Schwarz’s place. He kept wiping at his nose or straightening his sunglasses, clearly going a little crazier with every passing second. He couldn’t believe Yohji had cut his hair… not just cut it, but shaved it all off. Ken had spent countless mornings pounding on the bathroom door because Yohji was still in there, styling and blow-drying his precious hair. Ken didn’t know how many years it had taken the man to grow it all out, but now all he had was a glistening fuzz covering his skull. Ken was happy that Yohji had chosen to cover it with a beaten, leather cowboy hat; barely able to recognize his best friend when he kept staring at where there should be ridiculously curly, golden hair.

Ken didn’t know how the former blonde was even staying awake; the swelling on his face worsening and turning a deeper red as time went on. Omi would glance over at Yohji every now and then, clearly beginning to wonder about their friend’s stability right now. Ken couldn’t blame him when Yohji had to sit there and wonder if he was really going to lose his lover. Ken was feeling the same way now with Omi, wishing that the boy would just change his mind right now. They could jump out of the car together and save Aya by themselves. There was no reason for Omi to be sitting next to that stupid bitch as they went over files and paperwork. His grandfather was staying back from it all; the Takatori grinning underneath his smoked glasses in a way that made Ken just want to hit him. He knew he had them stuck, left with no other option than to beg for a Takatori to help. It made him sick to his ass.

There was sharp rapping on the window next to Ken. He yelped and jumped into Yohji, startled and not in ‘mission mode’ yet. The secretary cried out as well, shocked at Ken’s outburst, while Omi just raised an eyebrow up at Ken in a silent question of what was wrong. Yohji just pushed at his forehead, mumbling out a few curses that made Ken smile. At least he got Yohji to talk…sort of. The elder Takatori coughed irritably, pressing a button by his seat before the window rolled down slowly to reveal Prodigy standing outside their car. It was amazing how goddamn average the telekinetic brat could look while everyone else inside the limo respectively gasped or froze up at the interruption by a Schwarz agent. The secretary was reaching inside her dress jacket; Ken surprised that she had managed to conceal a weapon in such tight clothing. He braced himself, waiting for the familiar, inexplicable thickening of the air that happened when the brat used his powers. He could summon up enough force to break bones, Ken having been the victim of such attacks before. He was already trying to move to cover Omi as inconspicuously as possible. It was just their fucking luck to be discovered so quickly.

"Would you please go around to the back, at least?" Nagi demanded politely, as if he was dealing with a bunch of unruly students. He wasn’t trying to kill him, just looked irritated and cold as he pulled his coat up against the night air. Yohji didn’t seem so inclined; his hand hovering over his watch and his eyes fixed on the boy outside the limo.

"Nagi-kun!" Omi greeted warmly, waving to catch his attention. Prodigy leaned in slightly to the window, glancing around in the interior and lips twitching into something that could be called a smile when he saw Omi. Everyone else in the car seemed shell-shocked all over again, Ken becoming aware of the fact he was growling. Just why the fuck were Omi and he so damn friendly? The last time they had seen Schwarz, Nagi had been trying to crush their bones into dust. He had no right to be happy over the fact that Omi remembered his real name and was being polite. Omi was always nice, the simple idiot. He was still in the five-year-old mindset that nobody would lie to him or try to trick him.

"What the hell is Prodigy doing here?" Grandpa Takatori demanded in outraged tones, as if this was a no-Schwarz club. Ken was siding with the old man for once, not liking the eyes Nagi was making at Omi right now. And Omi, being the typically oblivious and naïve fool that he was, just smiled in the face of everyone’s paranoid expressions.

"Don’t worry, Grandfather, he’s my friend," Omi insisted, earning several disbelieving snorts throughout the car, Ken’s being one of them. Nagi frowned at the reactions; standing away from the window when he realized the rest of them weren’t as trusting as Omi. Ken couldn’t figure out why the brat wasn’t crushing the limo around them, why he had even come out in the first place. Shouldn’t there be hundreds of men in black suits surrounding them by now, since Schwarz obviously knew they’d already arrived? Was Nagi just stalling for time while his friends finished Aya off? As if things weren’t already insane enough, Omi had somehow had made-up with the Esset agent and trusted him enough to start moving across the car to the rear door.

"Omi, get back here," the older Takatori’s voice boomed out, but Omi was already outside the car and walking off with Prodigy alone down the darkened sidewalk. Just how stupid was he going to get? Ken was already following out the open door, leaving Yohji behind and he quickly followed. Omi glanced back around his shoulder at Ken’s clumsy exit from the limo, not looking like he was pleased with him but not saying anything. Instead, Omi was turning back to the other boy like this was some friendly, coincidental meeting.

"I knew you didn’t have anything to do with Aya-kun! I’m so happy to see you, Nagi-kun," Omi laughed aloud, no doubt smiling warmly at the Esset agent. Ken didn’t know what was going on, how Omi had even been able to come to that conclusion. Nagi just winced and seemed to grow smaller inside his coat, even though he had the power to flatten them both like flies without even blinking an eye. Ken stared at the two youngest members of opposite assassin teams stood in front of each other. Despite Omi having several final growth spurts, they were still the same height. They had the same length of shaggy but soft hair despite being different colors. They had the same big, wide puppy-dog eyes, though Nagi’s were dulled and hardened. They could have easily of been twin brothers, certainly friends in another life. Ken wanted Omi to get the fuck away from someone he shared so much in common with. Omi wasn’t going to become Persia until they completed this mission, so Ken could be as jealous and possessive as he damn well pleased. It would probably be his last opportunity to do so.

"This really isn’t the time. You shouldn’t be here," Nagi hissed, the irritation draining out of his voice when Ken stood next to Omi, leaning in past the personal space and making it clear who was with who. Even if Omi did become Persia, he was still going to be a part of Kritiker. Nagi was Esset. Was he going to have to draw a line on the ground? At least from here he could concentrating on glaring just at Prodigy, instead of seeing him stand close enough to Omi to force comparison. His sweet, stupid lover was nothing at all like this freak.

"And it’s okay for you to be out here with us?" Omi asked with a smirk, crossing his arms and standing back playfully. If Ken didn’t know any better, he’d say that the blonde was flirting right now; just how most people mistook Omi’s over-friendly nature. Aya was probably dying inside that house and Omi was joking with the enemy.

"Excuse me here, but what the hell is going on? Are you here to help or what?" Ken snapped, wanting this conversation to end as quickly as possible.

"Ken-kun, don’t be rude," Omi admonished quickly, tossing a quick frown his way. Ken couldn’t help but stare, his breath steaming out in the cold air as he was left without words. Why hadn’t Omi told him anything about this?

"Oh, goddamn it, Omi! Since when the fuck did we get buddy-buddy with Schwarz?" Ken demanded. Had Omi forgotten just who had stolen Aya out of the hospital when he had been in critical condition? Ken didn’t have any proof for it, but he would bet money that Schwarz had something to do with Aya flipping out like that in the first place. They probably had a hand with Yohji as well. The reasons to kill the whole lot of them were just piling up. Ken’s body language must have given him away, because Omi sighed and put a hand on his arm, squeezing it once with a horribly sad look in his eyes that made Ken shut up. Sometimes even he knew when to shut up, no matter how unhappy he was about it.

"Ken-kun, he’s in my computer class. This is the friend I was telling you about," Omi explained softly, obviously expecting Ken to get pissed off. And why the fuck wouldn’t he?! What else was he supposed to do when he realized why Omi had never given him a name for the boy he’d met at his college course, why nobody had come home for a joint study session. Just how did Omi expect them to react to hearing that he and Nagi were getting along splendidly? This was going to truly drive him insane. Ken didn’t know why the hell Schwarz would be attending a college, but it damn well wasn’t why Omi and Aya had been trying to graduate… at least, they had been. Ken felt sick, wishing that there were some other way to go about this all. Why couldn’t Schwarz just be reasonable and give Aya back? Why would they want such an anal, detail-orientated pain in the ass anyway? Aya belonged to them, since the three of them had actually managed to gain the patience it took to live with the man. He wasn’t going to do anything stupid like suicide or getting himself killed ever again; Ken was going to see to that. They didn’t have the time to stand here and chat pleasantly with Nagi; they had to rescue their leader and friend before it was too late.

"You’re telling me you don’t think he had anything to do with Aya? That there's nothing wrong with him standing in front of the house we’re about to ambush?" Ken surprised himself with how calm his voice came out, watching Omi for his answer. The blonde sucked in a sharp breath, looking like he might be at the end of his patience as well. They faced off with each other, not quite sure who was going to make the next move but sure it was going to be dirty.

"It’s not much of an ‘ambush’ if you hang out at the front gate," Nagi mumbled out quietly, the slightest bit of attitude carrying across the air. It made Ken feel like an idiot for using the word instead of just making a demonstration out of it. He started growling and Omi promptly shushed him, gracefully sliding between him and Prodigy before Ken could launch forward to show Prodigy exactly what a broken nose felt like. The brat only made a frightened noise as if he was any other normal teenager, moving squarely behind Omi like he was the one being threatened here. Ken felt like he was going to explode.

"I didn’t say that, but I do believe Nagi-kun," Omi announced coolly, taking the high road in this little argument before Ken could attempt to throw a punch. He shook his head, shocked that Omi could so easily take sides- and the wrong one, at that. Just a few classes a week had convinced him that he could take Nagi’s word without a second thought? Ken had been with Omi for years now, had taken care of him when the usually energetic kid got so sick he couldn’t even walk, had held him close whenever Omi started to cry. Why didn’t that mean more to him right now?

"Are you serious?" Ken had to know, even if the answer already seemed clear as day. Omi had already been tricked by Schwarz and Prodigy’s ploy, whatever little scheme was going on. Nagi wasn’t out here because he wanted to have a quick chat with Omi and exchange notes from their class. He was probably picking out the best time to kill them. If that psychic shit dared to touch Omi, he would test out his rusty skills on Prodigy first, clenching his fist and feeling the claws tighten across the back of his hand as well.

"Ken," Omi used only his name, tiredly catching his attention. "I’m trying to talk with Nagi-kun here."

Dismissed. Told in a very clear manner to go away. Omi was pulling up his own jacket around his shoulders; his familiar shorts traded in for a pair of loose jeans. It was too cold for Omi to be wearing anything other than pants, but Ken hated it. It was Omi growing up, growing out of him. Omi didn’t want or need him any more. He was going to become Persia and never talk to him again. Omi was the biggest fucking hypocrite of them all, turning his back on all those years they had lived together peacefully, just like he’d always wanted. Ken would have been happy with just Omi, and now he couldn’t even have that.

"WHY? He’s the enemy! They have Aya!" Ken was yelling before he even knew it, ready to cry. Did Omi even care how much this was hurting him, or was he just trying to see how much Ken could take before he couldn’t handle it either. Just because everyone else was breaking down didn’t mean that he had to. Somebody had to make sure that it all turned out okay in the end, because the other three seemed determined to make their lives living hell.

"Shut up!" Yohji didn’t even have to yell it, his voice demanding everyone’s attention as his lanky figure straightened out of the car. He stalked around the side of the limo and got up in Ken’s face so fast that he took a step back just to be safe. Nobody was sure just how stable Yohji was right now, Omi tossing up an arm in a ridiculous gesture to push Nagi out of harm’s way. Prodigy could have broken all of their bones just as easily as he hide behind Omi, putting on such an obvious act that Ken didn’t understand how Omi couldn’t see it as well. Yohji saw his eyes drift back to them and grabbed Ken by his collar, hauling him up to the tip of his toes. Yohji couldn’t quite get Ken off the ground, but that was because he wasn’t really pissed yet. Yohji was saving that all for Schuldig.

"You’re all wasting time. I’m getting Aya now, so you either follow or stay behind and fight some more," Yohji reminded him exactly what they were there for. It didn’t really matter if Omi and he were falling apart. Their relationship didn’t mean as much as Aya’s life. This could be sorted out later; was going to have to be, because right now they only had one reason for being here. Ken felt like an asshole for already wasting so much time getting jealous over something that probably wasn’t even there. He was just so upset over Omi he couldn’t even think straight- but when Yohji looked him dead in the eyes, he remembered what was most important. He had to tear his gaze away, too ashamed to meet Yohji’s eyes. The fist in his collar dropped as Yohji seemed to recognize that Ken had come to his senses. They went quiet after that, neither of them having anything to say to the other. Even Omi had a hand raised up to warn Prodigy that he should just be silent.

Yohji cursed, miraculously producing a packet of cigarettes from his coat. He didn’t perform his usual show of tapping out a stick, just lit up and took one steady drag while he stared at the iron-gated fence and paved drive leading up the three-story manor. Yohji adjusted his hat once, and then just like some deranged cowboy started up the road before anyone could stop him.

"Through the front door? Were you people always this stupid or has it just been that long?" Nagi demanded in outraged but hushed tones.

Yohji didn’t even answer. He was just trying to walk forward as his heels slid on the pavement, as if he was running straight into an invisible wall. Yohji figured it out soon enough and turned around on Prodigy along with Ken, dropping into a loose fighting stance. Omi let out a quiet ‘Nagi-kun’ as the slightly thinner brunette finally got out from behind him. This was what an Esset agent was supposed to look like, his body language enough to keep Ken and Yohji at bay. He had a more serious expression on, eyes trained on Yohji since the man was no doubt going to make a threat of himself. Ken was ready to give him back up too, not caring if they had to fight every step of the way in. They were going to get their friend back.

"I know where Aby-… Aya is. Just follow me," Nagi corrected himself, smoothing out his clothes and assuming that docile, dumb and innocent look again. He must be copying it from Omi, who only smiled proudly as if he had known this would happen all along. Ken definitely was going insane.

* * *

Crawford sighed in relief when he finally turned the computer off. Work was done, at least for today. He was sure new mission requests would be coming in tomorrow and they would be busy again, but at least he would be able to sleep comfortably tonight. Bradley pulled off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, scratched his head and loosened up his tie. He leaned back in his chair, sighing as shoulders that had been tensed all day long finally relaxed. He stretched his legs out underneath the desk, for once as sloppy as a human being could be. Within his own quiet, dark office, it was such a simple pleasure to relax. His arms were actually tingling in relief, worn out from typing and filling reports out by hand. Nagi wasn’t fidgeting in a corner waiting to get in trouble, Farfarello wasn’t trying to stab someone’s eyes out, and Schuldig was gone in whatever cheap entertainment he’d found for the night. Peace and quiet at last. Crawford didn’t practice any kind of meditation, but he could appreciate a tranquil moment to collect his thoughts…especially when he had such insolent subordinates.

Ever since Schuldig’s mistake with letting his face get plastered on an Internet home page, he’d been on severe probation. Bradley couldn’t deal with his shit day in and out. Even though there was now a strict curfew in effect, Schuldig was nowhere to be found. Crawford could only hope that the German wasn’t downstairs with Farfarello instead. It didn’t seem possible, but the two actually got worse when they were put together, like schoolyard rivals who fed off each other’s accomplishments. This was no team. He needed agents he could rely on to efficiently eliminate a target, not go on a killing spree with whatever was stupid enough to cross their path. Killers were worthless without focus and constraint. That was what made them assassins. Schuldig didn’t have any respect for that, just delighted in killing. Crawford knew his punishments weren’t changing anything, noticed they had stopped taking effect years ago. The only thing that could still bother Schuldig was sex, but Crawford tried to avoid it whenever possible. He didn’t want Mastermind to start jading to that as well. At least the occasional slap still got through to Nagi, who was his only hope at a rational Schwarz team member. Farfarello, on the other hand, was long gone. The ability to understand that this action would result in this punishment or reward was completely absent. Crawford didn’t know how much of it was because Farfarello had gone truly insane, or because he simply didn’t care any more. It wasn’t like anything could hurt Farfarello now, his nervous system shot to hell and no real desires other than murder. The only thing that could actually upset the Irishman was if Crawford read a passage from the Bible aloud, but he might as well just give the man a knife and stretch his neck out. Religion was a touchy subject with Berserker, and Bradley didn’t dare breech it without Farfarello being securely restrained and caged.

Crawford tossed his head over the back of the chair, pinching the bridge of his nose in attempt to drive off the headache starting to form. His first chance to actually relax in quite a while, and he couldn’t stop thinking about his problematic team. He had the urge to leave this place, perhaps go to one of the few private restaurants he chose to frequent and get a drink. He certainly wasn’t going to be able to rest here, his own home full of unpleasant memories. Schuldig had given him blowjobs underneath the desk many times before, and the thought of it shouldn’t disturb him so. Perhaps he’d be able to find a real woman for a change.

A bit heartened at the prospect, Crawford stood up from his chair to leave this dismal place for the night; and immediately suffered a horrendous head rush. To anyone else, it would have been sufferable. Perhaps a normal person would have been able to go on and walk through the pain. Crawford, however, felt a strain at his eyes and nauseating pressure of a prophetic vision slamming down on top of him. He was aware of falling to his knees, but was already unconscious before his face hit the floor.

* * *

Omi didn’t feel right with a gun in his hand. Grandfather had insisted that they all go in armed with more than their usual weapons… him especially. His Grandfather didn’t want Omi to go in with just a crossbow, and for a moment he thought it was out of real concern for his safety and fear of the opponents they were going up against. And then, he realized that it was just because the elder Takatori didn’t want his only heir walking off into an early death. He couldn’t let himself be fooled. If he became Persia, lies were going to be what his entire life was about. He knew Ken was angry with him, that he was angry with himself for getting underneath his Grandfather’s thumb so quickly, but there was little choice. They didn’t have any time left. He would do anything to get Aya back, and Ken understood. That was why they were following Nagi through an underground maintenance tunnel that would apparently lead straight to where Aya was being held. Omi didn’t have any reason to doubt him. He didn’t want to, remembering how happy Nagi had looked when they had eaten together, smiled slightly at the jokes he had made. They would have been great friends, if they weren’t working for opposite teams. He truly hoped that Aya’s kidnapping hadn’t been because he had told Nagi he was in the hospital. Schuldig was a mind reader; perhaps he had forced the information out of Nagi. Even so, the reasons why it had happened mattered little. Right now, Nagi was helping them to rescue Aya.

It made an odd procession of him trailing closely behind Nagi, Yohji and Ken breathing down his neck in a very similar manner, along with two Kritiker field doctors carrying a stretcher between them. They didn’t know what kind of state they could expect to find Aya in. Right now, Omi was hoping for alive. They could treat injuries later. Aya had always been able to recover from the worst a human being could possibly go through. Omi had faith that this would be no different. Aya would stay safe until they could get to him. Until then, it was a slow crawl through the cement hallway, water pipes running overhead and flickering, blue lights on the wall providing the bare minimum of illumination. It would have been creepy either way, since they were walking straight toward their greatest enemy, who had taken these years to just get better at their job. They hadn’t even kept up with regular self-defense exercises, besides Aya, just geared up and hit the door. Now, Omi wished he had practiced throwing a few darts just to make sure he still had the knack for it.

"Hey, kid, how much longer?" Ken demanded rudely from over his shoulder. He’d been acting like this ever since Nagi had shown up, determined not to trust him. Ken had been doing everything but outright tossing Omi over his shoulder and carrying him off, acting like a jealous boyfriend when Aya could be hurt and alone and need their help. They were lucky that Nagi had shown them this entrance from a sewer tunnel across the street. He had a key for the door and left it wide open with Grandfather’s men guarding their rear. Omi was sure this couldn’t be a trap, and he didn’t know why everyone else couldn’t see that as well.

"Just a little bit. Try to be quiet," Nagi ordered softly, obviously approaching their hideout. Ken cursed at the other boy but went grudgingly silent, thankfully listening for once. It was only what he deserved for being so unreasonable. They needed teamwork now more than ever, for Aya’s sake. As much as Yohji wanted to just run in blindly and save him, that kind of rash action could likely get Aya killed. Omi shuddered having to calculate how much worth Aya had as a hostage, but they were dealing with top-class professionals. They had to respond in kind.

"Thank you for doing this, Nagi-kun," Omi whispered to Nagi’s back, reminded again just how lucky they were to have him helping them. They would probably still be trying to break in through the front entrance if Yohji had his way. At least now there was a secure and discrete exit, which he had no doubt Schwarz used on many occasions as well. It was so strangely easy to fall back into pace, even if it had been several years since the last time he had tried to sneak into a well-guarded mansion. Crawford’s was likely no exception, but they only had to get Aya and run. Simple enough plan.

"I’m just leading you there. I can’t do any more than that; you understand, right?" Nagi asked in determinedly guilty tones. He looked back over his shoulder at Omi, deep sadness inside those dark eyes that he wished he could do something about. Nagi didn’t belong in Schwarz. He wasn’t that bad of a person inside. Omi could tell that Nagi didn’t want his own teammates to hurt Aya, because he could tell just how much the older man meant to Omi. How could someone that could sympathize with him be a part of a villainous assassination group? It wasn’t like Schwarz had to feel guilty for all the deaths they had caused like each member of Weiss seemed to do in their own; but they enjoyed killing, made it grotesque and unnecessary. Schwarz wound up killing half a dozen innocent bystanders just to get one target, because they simply didn’t place any value on human life... except for Nagi.

"Of course. You’re already doing enough," Omi assured him, earning an explosive and derivative snort from Ken. Yohji, Omi, and Nagi ‘shh’ed him simultaneously, though Yohji added in a ‘fucking retard’ and a slap to the back of the head. Ken wasn’t up to taking that sort of abuse right now, returning it with a punch to the arm that made a louder impact than all the arguing combined. They both glared at each other for a moment as if they were getting ready to truly fight, Omi and Nagi frozen up on one side while the paramedics stared in horror on the other… and that was it. No more bickering, no more poignant looks; just Ken and Yohji nodding to each other as they suddenly, inexplicably snapped back together. That little spat had removed both of their pre-mission tension, gone like a bad air had cleared. There was cooperation in their body language now instead of fight, Yohji motioning with his hand for Nagi and Omi to start moving again while Ken signaled to the paramedics. Nagi didn’t ask for an explanation, just resumed his careful guiding through the tunnel.

Omi had no hope of understanding the sort of friendship that Ken and Yohji shared; sometimes getting along so well they seemed more like brothers. It was enough to make Omi envious when he watched the older blonde joke around with Ken in a way he couldn’t… but, usually he could just go find Aya and start something of their own. Omi and Aya had always gotten along well for some reason, perhaps because they were the only two mindful and respectful people in the house. Even still, Aya was much easier to get along with after he and Yohji finally hooked up; the cold and overbearing silence fading away into shy, welcoming smiles, outrageous mood swings settling down into what resembled a normal human being. There were still some days when Yohji was the only one who could approach Aya-or even dared too when Aya was upset and ready to do violence. Omi wouldn’t mind being the victim of the older man’s panic attacks again, didn’t care how many times he got pushed or yelled at unfairly; it was all a part of what made up his friend. For Aya to be any different, to suddenly become nothing but laughter and hugs, would just be wrong. He just wanted back the man that screamed at them all to wake up in the morning to open shop like a slave-driver, but would always have coffee and hot water for tea ready for when the rest of house was actually ready to roll out of their beds. It suddenly hit Omi just how much he missed Aya, ready to cry when he should be releasing the safety on the gun and aiming in front of him.

"We’re here. You go straight through that door," Omi pointed down to the dead end of the service tunnel. ‘Maintenance employees only’ in large, solid red print was written across the door in some sort of tasteless irony. As if anyone was going to sneak down into Schwarz’s hideout and be held off by a warning on the wall.

"And just what about you, huh?" Ken demanded in a quiet hiss, at least being careful enough this time not to let his voice travel. Nagi winced, frowning and looking away with a guilty twist in his mouth. Yohji tilted his neck back, staring coldly underneath the brim, interested in what Nagi’s excuse would be. His eyes went to Omi, obviously finding him the only one worth giving an answer to. His face was sad in the dim blue lighting, looking at Omi like he wasn’t expecting to see him again.

"I can’t let them know I led you here. You’re all on your own now," Nagi made it sound like he was talking to the rest of the group, but the way he was staring intently at Omi told him just who he was addressing. I’m sorry I can’t do anything more for you. It was so clear that Omi wondered if Nagi was using telepathy to send him that message. He too wished there were something more he could do to thank Nagi than just reaching forward and squeezing his hand in gratitude. So much was being left unsaid, so much was passing by, and they didn’t have a chance to stop. Nagi was already tugging his hand free before Omi even got to say another word, a mask slamming down into place. He had to go back to Schwarz. There wasn’t anything left to do but part ways as Nagi sidestepped around a softly growling Ken, nodded to the paramedics in passing, before he faded into the darkness at the end of the tunnel.

"Omi, you take the doctors and get Aya out of here. Ken and I will cover you," Yohji ordered out in a hoarse voice, snapping out the old wire from his watch once to check it before turning around to make sure that everyone had gotten the message. Omi released the safety on the gun finally, taking a deep breath, and preparing himself for the worst as he sunk back toward the doctors. Ken quickly took up his own position behind Yohji, metal claws flashing in the dull light as he tightened his grip on the weapon.

Yohji was the first to push open the door, straight into a plain, well-lit chamber that could have belonged to any hospital. It had a nice and clean tile floor. He turned his head around to see a wall of metal bars making a prison out of the far end of the room. Two men were there, one standing while the other hunched over what looked like a large, red wooden cross. Yohji narrowed his eyes to make out Schuldig watching as Farfarello shoved his face into the bloody and limp ass of the victim secured down to a table by barbwire. It took a moment to distinguish between all the blood and what was still untouched flesh… Yohji slowly recognizing his Aya’s backside, face turned down.

Yohji couldn’t tell if he was breathing.

It was just like that bathroom all over again… too much blood and gore… too much for him to handle. Tears burned and blurred his vision, the relief at seeing his lover once again overpowered by the horrible torture they had walked in on. He became instantly aware of the vulgar, wet noises Farfarello was making between Aya’s thighs. Yohji screamed aloud, unable to think of anything to say but needing to stop this now. Berserker glanced up at that, his mouth was bright pink from whatever he had been doing to Aya; his teeth reddened as well like some rabid animal and his golden eye flashing in excitement as he spotted loose prey. He stood back from the table; the sound of the zipper being pulled up horribly loud in the middle of Yohji’s shocked silence. Schuldig peered around at him through the bars, his left eye a little swollen from their earlier fight as he smirked back at him in amusement. Like he’d been expecting Yohji to come all along. He abhorred the man for standing there in clean clothes and well-combed hair, looking more ready for a hot date than watching as Farfarello tortured an unconscious victim.

Aya.

A gunshot ripped through the quiet horror. Schuldig had already moved his head, a bullet glinting off metal bars and ringing as it fell to the floor without hitting its target. Omi was behind him, smoking gun in hand like he had signaled the fight to begin. Ken was already rushing forward in time with Farfarello, who had managed to snatch up a discarded knife along the way. They met immediately, just like old friends, as there was a loud clang of steel and two men growling at each other. Omi yelled out for his lover, code names long forgotten. Farfarello managed to shove Ken back, a red gash down his uncovered forearm as the Irishman giggled at drawing first blood. Ken didn’t have a chance with catching up as Farfarello darted around him, heading straight for Yohji. He didn’t have time to get into a guard position, Yohji sidestepping the thrust for his heart. He dodged the knife and grabbed the wrist following it, using all that forward motion to flip Farfarello over his shoulder by his arm.

Farfarello landed hard on his back, miraculously keeping his grip on the knife. He was already rolling up into a dangerous crouch, not stunned at all. Yohji was shocked that his body still remembered how to fight, his hand going for the wire in his watch without actually thinking about it. He was ready to toss a line, except Ken was already blowing past him to meet Farfarello head on. Yohji saw the glinting afterimage of claws raking through the space where the Irishman had been, Farfarello impossibly dodging at the last moment. Ken whirled around, both of them trembling as they waited for the other to move next. Yohji almost couldn’t look away from the bizarre and terrible dance they were performing, almost. Schuldig was already walking over to greet him, as casual as a good friend even though his shirt and arms were smeared red with Aya’s blood.

"Guten Abend, mein Lieber. I didn’t expect you to come so soon," Schuldig smiled, flipping his hair back with one hand as if to show off the purpling bruise Yohji had put on his cheek. He was going to do a lot worse this time, for Schuldig daring to touch his Aya… and him. Yohji tossed out his wire then, the silver line sparkling in the light as Schuldig avoided it by a few steps. Yohji supposed it was easy enough for him, being mother fucking telepathic and all. Yohji snapped his arm out, retracting the wire quickly as he ran forward. Schuldig didn’t even bother trying to dodge him, just smiled like Yohji wasn’t worth the fucking effort. He slung his fist back and punched Schuldig as hard as he could square underneath his jaw, not giving a damn if this was a freebie shot or not. He would never forgive anyone who hurt Aya.

It was good enough to send the German flying back, landing in a loose sprawl with his legs twitching and his eyes wide. Just because Schuldig had gotten lucky in their fight before didn’t mean that Yohji would let it happen a second time. He could depend on Omi to get Aya out safely- but as for right now, it was about making Schuldig pay for what he had done. The German was starting to pick himself off of the floor, shaking out his head as he fought off the damage. Yohji used the momentary advantage to go for another blow, but Schuldig somehow managed to read the move when Yohji wasn’t even consciously thinking about it. Schuldig got out of the way so quickly Yohji couldn’t see where he went, until he heard another gunshot and a painful grunt to his side.

For as much as Mastermind could know and predict about what was going on inside Yohji’s head, he still hadn’t sensed Omi’s second, better-aimed shot as blood blossomed across fabric from the top of Schuldig’s thigh. Farfarello let out a louder, maddened cry as Ken scored a long and deep gash across his chest, more pissed off at the athlete being able to injure him than any physical hurt. Yohji could only trust Ken to take care of the crazy Irishman, unable to spare any more attention. He was determined to keep Schuldig from so much as fucking glancing over at Aya while he cursed in his native German and bled out on the floor. Omi quickly darted around to the opposite side of the room, snapping his gun up and training it between Schuldig and Farfarello for whomever became the biggest threat first, with ice-cold blue eyes that would have made Aya proud. The paramedics were already moving behind Omi to retrieve their former leader who had yet to be confirmed as dead or alive as Ken and Farfarello grappled in the background. Yohji didn’t care; he wouldn’t even leave Aya’s corpse down here for them to desecrate. He’d get his lover home, one way or another.

"Verdammt! Why do you two care for each other? Don’t you see he’s nothing and you’re mine?!" Schuldig screamed out his own deranged logic, forcing Yohji to turn back to him. He couldn’t do anything other than stare for a moment; struck dumb by Schuldig’s words. Wasn’t he supposed to be able to read minds? Schuldig spat at the ground, one hand clamped over the bullet wound as he staggered up to his feet and nothing but pure hate in his eyes. Yohji dimly heard Ken and Farfarello screaming at each other underneath the terrible pounding of his own heartbeat. He could catch their motions in the corner of his eyes, too wild and violent to be completely ignored.

"You’re just like me. Shouldn’t we be together, Hübscher?" Schuldig used a strange voice, almost pleading with Yohji to understand. It made him sick. He almost couldn’t believe the words that were echoing in his ears, wondering how Schuldig could have ever possibly come up with that conclusion. Aya had been kidnapped and nearly killed because Schuldig thought they had something in common? Because somehow the German had managed to mix it around in his head to the point where he had gotten jealous of what Yohji and Aya had? Last week neither team had known the other was alive, and now they were all fighting for their lives.

"I am nothing like you! You fucking psycho bastard, I’m going to kill you for this," Yohji hissed out, drawing his wire out once again as he readied himself to fulfill that promise. He was so angry that it was like his emotions had flat-lined, crashing and exploding into a wretched numbness. He loathed Schuldig more than he thought was possible. He’d foolishly assumed that the German couldn’t do any worse... and he’d been so fucking wrong.

"You keep trying, Kätzchen," Schuldig grinned, licking his lips and caressing the side of his own neck invitingly. Immediately Yohji slung out his wire, meaning to decapitate Schuldig there on the spot. The German threw his arm up, catching the line around his wrist and hauling it over his shoulder with inhuman strength. Yohji found himself jerked off of his feet and dragged closer to Schuldig; his own weapon being used against him. He was off-balance and Schuldig was already up in his face, one quick blow to the stomach stealing his air and sending him to the floor instead. Yohji was so used to it that the choking pain was no longer completely overwhelming. He saw the boot headed for his own exposed side, Schuldig meaning to kick the remaining breath out of him. Yohji twisted and caught the leg, finding pants slick and warm with blood from the earlier bullet wound. It was easy to launch up, physically tossing Schuldig onto his ass. He stood over the German in victory- just like a fool as Schuldig kicked his legs right out from under him. Yohji hit head hard against the floor, the rest of his body landing at a bruising angle, dazed enough for Schuldig to take the time to pull out a much larger knife than the one Farfarello had. It looked more like it was meant for sawing through trees and it was heading straight for his exposed throat. Yohji snapped his head away, barely quick enough to avoid getting nicked on the ear. Instead, the hat was skewered and caught around the blade while Yohji rolled to the side. Schuldig’s eyes widened in shock, obviously more surprised at the haircut than Yohji being able to avoid his attack.

"What the fuck did you do?" Schuldig demanded in a low, shaky tone. Yohji smirked at the horror in the German’s voice. He had meant to get it all out of the way once and for all by shaving his head, but if it pissed Schuldig off too, all the better. The German ripped the hat off of the knife with a jerky violence, whatever superior dementia that had been in his eyes before completely gone. Now, he looked just as crazed as Farfarello had; charging Yohji again with bared steel glinting between his hands. The first stab was easy to avoid; Yohji able to read it and dodge to the side. After that, he might as well of not moved at all for how much space it put between him and the German. Schuldig was too damned fast, the knife slashing a crisp arch through the air that was too quick for Yohji to even see. It made sense when the next cut with the blade actually scored a heavy line across his chest. They both stared at the new bloodshed; Yohji bewildered by the strange detachment of his mind from the physical pain that should be taking over his body. This wasn’t a light cut; it was a deep rend that had went through the leather of his coat, his shirt, to the soft skin and muscle beneath. Yohji was already bleeding an impressive amount while Schuldig stared, obviously not meaning to cause such a serious wound.

It was Mastermind’s turn to make a stupid mistake as the knife fell from lifeless fingers. It clattered to down to the tile, forgotten as Schuldig’s mouth opened to spew out something in that horrible German of his. Yohji didn’t give him the chance, going into action before his nerves could register the pain. He may be skinny and already too injured to put up much more of a fight, but he was taller and could be gangly as all hell when he wanted to. He fell down awkwardly on top of the German, forcibly sending them both down in a tumble. Yohji didn’t have the room to use his wire or get in a proper punch, but neither did Schuldig. They could only wrestle on floor, all that assassin training useless when it came down to a messy brawl. It was the only chance Yohji had to win.

"Come on. Come on!" Schuldig urged out between his own strained breathing; teeth clacking as he even tried to bite Yohji. He got an elbow to the nose that jarred his head, returned it with a knee to the balls that made Schuldig cry out, then they bashed their foreheads together in an attempt to knock the other out. Yohji’s own wire was beginning to cut into his hand from holding onto it so tightly, but he was sure that he was permanently mangling Schuldig’s arm as more blood began to flow. They were both liberally smeared with it, Yohji sure that some of his own was mixing in with Schuldig’s but not sure where he was hurt. It didn’t matter as he fought to get on top of the German, finally finding the chance to punch him in the jaw again… and again… and again…

Yohji got lost in the motion, just knew that it was working and he didn’t dare stop. Skin split and a new fountain of bright red blood came to life. Schuldig’s struggles lessened, dying down into limp jerking and malleable, doughy noises each time Yohji struck him. He didn’t have a chance to use telepathy when Yohji simply beat the living shit out of him.

"Schuldig!" Farfarello’s cry gave him enough warning to look up before the Irishman tackled him right off of the motionless redhead. Yohji kept rolling with the fall, managing to avoid getting caught underneath Farfarello and end up in a balanced crouch beside the two madmen. Ken wasn't that far away either, staring in horror at Farfarello as the albino hunched over Schuldig protectively and hissed at them both. The handle of the pocketknife he’d been wielding before was sticking out from the Irishman’s chest, waving around with each breath he took. There were new, bright and wet wounds from Farfarello using his own arms to block Ken’s claws; white skin decorated in red ribbons from playing too hard with the brunette. It was more amazing that the Irishman could even move right now, much less look threatening as he growled at them. Schuldig made a weak, coughing noise underneath him, one hand trying to shove Farfarello off so he could get at Yohji again.

He didn’t care, panting hard and bleeding badly, but those were all the least of his concerns. He glanced back to the table where Aya had been and saw it was empty… the paramedics were gone as well. He tore his eyes away, desperately looking around for Omi and finally spotting the smaller blonde back at the door they had come in through, his mouth moving as he yelled something at him over the sight of his gun. Yohji couldn’t hear him, becoming more and more aware of the burning itch across chest that wanted to explode into unbearable pain. It was nothing compared to what Schuldig had put Aya through.

"Yohji, let’s go!" Ken’s voice was audible, but perhaps that was because he was right there next to him, dragging on his arm as the shorter man tried to haul him toward the door. Yohji couldn’t believe that they had actually managed to get Aya back that easily. It couldn’t be over just like that, so simply and without resolution. He didn’t want to leave yet. He wanted to stay and make sure that Schuldig and Farfarello died. Yohji wasn’t going to let them hurt Aya ever again, and there was only one way to be certain of it.

"Omi’s got Aya, so let’s go," Ken screamed out louder this time, his fingers digging in hard to Yohji’s arms when he tried to turn back. He was jerked hard again, the cut tearing further as Ken refused to let him go. He wouldn’t let him stay here when they had already gotten what they came for. Yohji realized he could either stay here and die trying to get revenge for Aya, or he could follow his friends and see if his lover was even alive or not. If it had all been actually worth it. Yohji didn’t know how it would, feeling hollow and defeated as he allowed Ken to tug him away from the carnage. Schuldig screamed at him to come back before the metal door clanged shut behind them. It only muffled the noise a bit, Schuldig continuing to scream and howl for them despite his own injuries.

Farfarello wouldn’t let him up.

He’d seen Schuldig get shot but hadn’t been able to come any sooner. The only kitten he had been playing with was still fierce, getting faster and stronger the longer the fight had gone on. Farfarello could smell his own kind, had begun to get excited himself. There was a still a shivering thrill left over from being able to play with someone who had actually been able to keep up with him, resonating from the knife stuck in his chest all the way up to the hilt.

Amazing that he had lost his grip on it.

It was because of that angel bleeding all over the hilt, giving his friend a chance to wrestle the blade away and turn it around on Farfarello. Such wounds didn’t matter to him, but Schuldig had yelled at Farfarello before that he should just keep anything stuck inside his body alone. He didn’t feel pain, but he could still bleed out. Just like that angel. Who would have thought such a creature would have friends that would come to his rescue? Farfarello didn’t care if he’d been wounded, remembering worse injuries and the few times he’d actually been able to feel pain.

It was Schuldig that could be hurt. Farfarello had seen the man start to bleed and immediately moved to cover him. His life didn’t have as much meaning as Schuldig’s. Farfarello was very aware of his own damage and deficiencies. His only worth was protecting Schuldig. He wouldn’t move until he was sure Weiss was gone. He was glad they had come back for their bleeding angel. Put to death in the flesh, but made alive in the spirit. Abyssinian had become something else in the last few moments he’d been aware enough to struggle. He transcended beyond the pain, just like Farfarello could. He was still shaking from the excitement of meeting with someone else who was like him. He wasn’t insane. It was everyone else, refusing to give into their instincts. Weiss was always teetering on the edge, but Farfarello had been able to push at least two of them over the edge. Abyssinian had been laughing with joy as he bled to death, Siberian grinning in satisfaction as he planted the knife into Farfarello’s ribcage. He had been able to make everyone so happy.

"Get off me, du dämlicher Idiot!" Schuldig roared, a loose arm jolting the hilt stuck in Farfarello’s heart.

He didn’t actually feel anything, but his body lost its strength immediately. Schuldig actually managed to push Farfarello off and toss him to the side; cursing and struggling up to his knees before he noticed Farfarello was having trouble moving. He couldn’t really understand it, a strange heaviness filling up the bottom of his lungs and making it harder to breathe. Farfarello had never been so aware of bodily discomfort, not with his mutilated nervous system and defective pain/pleasure center. It was alarming, his own fingers shaking as they hovered around the knife stuck in him. Could it possibly be that this wound was serious? Farfarello didn’t like the weakness that was taking over his limbs or the coldness spreading through his body. He usually reveled in the few moments when he actually had sensations, but these ones were… frightening.

"Scheisse, what the hell is this?!" Schuldig demanded when he finally noticed the injury he’d taken. Farfarello didn’t like the expression the German was making underneath the new bruising coming to life on his skin. His eyes were worried. That meant bad things for him, even if Farfarello couldn’t actually tell what was going on. He poked the knife experimentally, hissing reflexively and becoming afraid at the sight of more blood welling out from his chest. It was getting much, much harder to breathe now. Even his vision was beginning to go, Schuldig’s battered face rippling and beginning to fade into the background. Farfarello forced himself to stay there, to keep from giving into that desire to simply melt away.

"Schuldig… What’s happening to me?" Farfarello demanded an answer. He had never been in this sort of distress before. Schuldig wouldn’t even look him in the face, hunching back down over him without any sign of chasing after Weiss. Why wasn’t Schuldig finishing off their prey? He wouldn’t let them get away unless something was seriously wrong with him. Farfarello grabbed Schuldig’s arm, not caring about the torn and bloody flesh as he tightened fingers up hard enough to break bones. He would force an answer out of the fucking ass if he had too, whether his body wanted to obey him or not. Schuldig ignored him, touching the buried blade once to examine the damage. It seemed like he was toggling a switch inside him. Farfarello couldn’t help crying out in a panic.

"Fuck! How could you let them get you this badly?!" Schuldig shook out a hand that was quickly soaked in blood, using it to slap Farfarello across the face when he tried to pass out. Just what had made their luck foul so quickly? Was it because he had cut up that angel? Was God finally trying to do him in for killing what was His? That omniscient bastard had never seen fit to intervene before. How could all the similar sins Farfarello had committed before never earn this sort of punishment? It wasn’t fair that it should only matter when Farfarello had managed to actually hurt one of those holy creatures that wandered around blindly in the night, getting in their way over and over and over again. Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints. Farfarello had managed to do just that, send it right back to heaven so God could see what sort of mistake He’d made by letting Farfarello live for so long. He hadn’t ever expected the almighty creator to do something about it for once. How even more humiliating that Weiss were the ones to carry out His duty. Farfarello would have never guessed it would end this way.

"I don’t want to die. What if He’s waiting for me?" Schuldig knew whom he was talking about. Dying didn’t frighten him. Farfarello had stopped enjoying life long ago. It was what waited him after that final breath. To be resurrected in the flesh, to come back to this horrible life would be even worse. He didn’t believe in a Heaven, only hoped for a Hell. He wanted to spend his eternity in burning agony with devils of his own kind. Farfarello was sure Satan would have him as a servant. He didn’t want to see a blinding whiteness or the soft puffy clouds some of their victims had babbled on about before dying. Flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God, nor does the perishable inherit the imperishable. Farfarello had understood that at one time, but now the words only confused him further. He didn’t want to be trapped up there with other peaceful souls. They would most likely be ones he had killed before. He almost hoped Abyssinian would be up there waiting, with the bloody wings Farfarello had given him. At least the man had been an assassin, had killed as much as him. Farfarello would want to know there was someone else who had done such offensive crimes there with him. He didn’t want to face Him alone.

"Oh, Farfie, you know there’s no such thing as God," Schuldig used his nickname. He was probably trying to soothe Farfarello’s terror, but it only made it worse. He knew then that he was truly going to die. Schuldig wouldn’t be wiping the blood off of his face otherwise, able to be surprisingly gentle. Schuldig knew that Farfarello shouldn’t go off dying to meet whichever Lord was awaiting him in the afterlife with an untidy appearance. Schuldig was the type to think about these things and make sure Farfarello was following along. Who was going to take care of him when he was dead? The Lord has made everything for his own ends, even the wicked for the evil day, and yet he had chosen to forsake him. Farfarello had never been loved by anyone, had never had anyone even try to understand him. Schuldig was the only person who had come somewhat close. They both shared the same bloodlust, the same anger and hatred for the world, though Schuldig could express it so much better. Farfarello didn’t care for words. He didn’t care for anything other than seeing some beautiful red blood flowing… except too much of it was his own.

"Schuldig," Farfarello couldn’t help the whine. He was scared for the first time in his life and he didn’t like it at all. Now that Farfarello knew he was going to die, he had enough time to become fearful of what might happen next. Why did it have to be a knife to the heart? Was this God’s sense of irony? Farfarello hated Him even more in his final moments. Why was this taking so damn long? His body was limp and numb; beyond his senses and control as Schuldig awkwardly cradled him with his own injured arms. At least he was being nice to Farfarello at the end. He had just needed to be patient, wait his whole life out until he was stabbed in the chest, and Schuldig would finally show him some affection. Funny that he would only get to enjoy for a few seconds, his vision already gone and his sense of touch fading. All that was left was the sound of Schuldig softly crying in frustration. Farfarello could dream, believing that the tears were meant for him as he drifted off against his will, into a blackness that seemed to stretch on forever.

* * *

The phone’s shrill ringing cut through the warm unawareness Crawford had reached. He began taking note of things, how his glasses were missing and he was lying face down on the carpet… his head was pounding so badly he couldn’t even move. He just lay there, sick and caught up in the premonition he’d just been a victim of. Through a massive effort of will, he managed to roll onto his back and lay there panting for air. He was thankful that the office door had a lock, not caring if he could have died during that blackout or not. He didn’t want anyone to see him in such a state; too weak and disorientated to do anything other than stare up at the ceiling for a moment. Being a prophet had its drawbacks as well, especially when Crawford had such a powerful vision.

Farfarello was dead.

Schuldig was calling him with some lame ass excuse.

He would like to say that he had been expecting it, but certainly not so soon. The phone rang again and Crawford glared at it, knowing that it was Schuldig. That stupid, selfish, insane bastard had ended up getting Farfarello killed for his own selfish pursuits. Crawford should have just walked down there and put a bullet in Abyssinian’s head, neat and efficient. Now he had an agent and a top priority Esset experiment dead. Farfarello hadn’t even been scheduled for any missions this week. This horrible twist of fate just wasn’t rational. He knew he could blame it all on Schuldig for fucking around instead of just doing his job. Weiss had never been a group to mess around with; something about them always managed to make perfectly good plans go wrong. They didn’t follow a pattern and they certainly weren’t professionals, but for some reason they had still successful assassins. Not a word of activity from them in years, and then the team broke into his own home, killed one of his men, and left just as quickly. What a damn lovely way to greet them after all this time.

The phone stopped ringing. The silence that followed was so blissfully calming Crawford thought he might just pass out again. It was times like these he could truly appreciate the rich carpet he’d bought for the floor. He didn’t want to actually rise up, because then he would have to start thinking up an excellent reason for all this to give the higher-ups. Crawford honestly couldn’t remember the last time the shit had hit the fan so hard. He was going to have to put as much blame as possible on Schuldig, not that the German didn’t deserve it. Crawford had explicitly told him to keep Farfarello away from knives for a while, but somehow one had ended up dead center in Berserker’s chest. Schuldig wouldn’t be able to give Crawford a superb blowjob and some smart line to weasel his way out of trouble. This was probably going be the end of that insolent, disobedient son of a bitch. Crawford didn’t particularly care. He would miss the simple but psychotic Farfarello more than Schuldig’s aggravating and nasal voice. Why couldn’t Weiss have killed the real troublemaker? Farfarello’s only mistake was going along with Schuldig when the Irishman didn’t have any better sense. He hadn’t really been all that bad, just too submersed in his own dementia to consistently take orders. There could be no replacement for Farfarello, but Crawford didn’t doubt Esset would assign him an agent that was just as screwed up as the Irishman had been. He wouldn’t be rewarded with a semi-decent and normal teammate after getting one killed underneath his supervision.

The phone started ringing again, like Schuldig knew Crawford was trying to ignore him. He sighed heavily, clenching his eyes shutting in an attempt to faint again. It was in vain, and soon enough Crawford was moving his hands around on the carpet to find his glasses. His fingers finally brushed the metal frame, and they were promptly returned to in front of his face. Crawford managed to get to his knees and slide forward weakly, stronger enough to keep from using all fours. He would soon enough not move as humiliate himself so, finding the desk and hooking his arms over the edge. He took a moment to catch his breath and adjust his glasses once more before blearily seeking out that damn annoying phone. Crawford snatched it up and snarled a frustrated ‘What?!’ into the receiver.

There was a choked gasp on the other line… a squeaking, pained noise that was being muffled without success.

"Bradley… Th-They got Farfie. He’s dead," Schuldig got out in a stammering voice ready to breakdown into tears. Crawford could hear the grief and sorrow, coming to the delayed realization that Schuldig might have actually cared dearly for Farfarello. The German did spend a lot of time in the basement with him after all. Schuldig had been the only one Farfarello would listen to, like a cat that had taken to one master alone. Crawford had seen it as a troublesome relationship, always having to give orders through Schuldig, who would some times mess them up just for fun. Farfarello wouldn’t even give it a second thought, trusting Schuldig utterly and completely. Crawford had just never once suspected that Schuldig had felt anything more for Farfarello than passing entertainment.

"Schuldig," Crawford said simply without any idea how to console the man- only to hear the name echo inside his own head. Crawford froze up, struck dumb and silent as Mastermind began to sob softly over the telephone line.

"Is Schuldig okay?" Farfarello asked inside his mind, like he had shrunk down and taken up residence in the back of Crawford’s skull. He wanted to talk to Schuldig, that much was clear. Crawford was too shocked to panic yet, even though he was suddenly claustrophobic inside his own body. It physically wasn’t possible for Farfarello to be here, now, inside him. He had just had a vision of Farfarello dying. Schuldig was blubbering like an idiot over their teammate’s death. How could he possibly be hearing Farfarello’s voice now?

"What the hell is this?" Crawford demanded, forgetting in his confusion that it would be useless to ask an insane person. Though the same could be said for himself, listening to the voice of someone who was supposed to be dead.

"Crawford? I didn’t know you were God," Farfarello sounded truly confused but accepting of this fact. Crawford stared forward without seeing what was before him, not sure if he was getting ready to cry or laugh. This was absolutely ridiculous. It simply couldn’t be happening- except he could feel Farfarello impossibly taking up space inside his head.

"You’ve… got to be fucking kidding me," Crawford breathed out before promptly fainting again.

IT’S GERMAN! Thank you to Aubriel and Cattley for help with my German.

Du dämlicher Idiot- stupid idiot

Hübscher- handsome (male)

Guten Abend, mein Lieber- good evening, my love.

Kätzchen- kitty.

mein Lieber- lover (male)

Scheisse- shitty.

Verdammt- damn it

AUTHOR’S NOTES: and this chapter comes to a dribbling end. At this point I’m too tired to give credit where credit is due- so to those of you who reviewed, I love you sooooooo much. Thank you so much, you all provide the only inspiration that keeps me writing! Dear fucking lord, I exhausted myself… Which reminds me, do I need to put in reference notes for using quotes from the bible? Oh, well, religion is dead anyway.

Everyone offended yet?

No?

I guess that means we still have another chapter or so to go…

Sincerest thank you to Cutelikabu and Iie Nome for beta-ing. (snuggle)
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Come As You Are