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Coming Home	By : katami Category: Weiß Kreuz > General Views: 2558 -:- 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
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The alleyway was cramped and dark, stinking of urine and unwashed bodies and a few other things better not thought of. It was framed by two high apartment buildings made of white brick that blocked the light and allowed only a tiny sliver of the sky to be seen. None of that mattered to its sole occupant who was huddled between two dumpsters. In fact, he barely even saw the alleyway, it was just one of hundreds that he had hidden in over the years. It blended easily with those earlier alleyways in his mind, getting lost in the chaotic swirl of memories - his own and other people’s.

He didn’t care about the alley. Didn’t care about anything. He was lost. Frightened. He didn’t know where he was or who he was. All he knew was that he was frightened and he wanted the badness to go away. There were voices all around, screaming at him, not leaving him alone, not giving him a chance to catch his balance or recover. Some part of him knew that if he could just get a few moments of silence, a minute or two to breathe without the voices, that he would be able to find himself. He would be able to remember who he was and what to do about the voices. He would be safe.

Laughter. High and biting cut across his senses reminding him of another time and another laugh. A laugh that was lower but just as biting. He hated that laugh. Hated the man who had laughed at him and stood over him smirking. The man who had brought him to Rosenkreuz.

A sharp pain flashed across his mind…the dog in the street who’d just been hit? A blow from Kiedel? Something else? He couldn’t tell; couldn’t sort out where the pain was coming from and who it was that was really hurt. Past blurred with present and neither seemed real, then both seemed real, and then they were one and the same.

The laughter again, jarring his nerves and frightening him. Pain and that laughter meant Kiedel, and Kiedel always meant worse pain was coming. “He’s dead. He’s dead. I killed him,” he murmured to himself in an almost frantic litany, drawing his knees up to his chest and huddling deeper into the shadows of the alley. He couldn’t quite convince himself that the nightmare from his youth was truly gone though. Not with that laughter echoing in his ears and pain lancing through his body.

A blast of horns and shouting startled him and he glanced around the alley, not seeing the Tokyo alleyway but instead seeing the rough walls of one of Rosenkreuz’s cells. He had seen the cells dozens of times. Sometimes he even liked the cells. There was something soothing about being locked in a dark room with nothing but the voices in his head for company - it was easy to tell what was him and what was them that way. Other telepaths hated the cells, sat huddling trying to keep everyone else out; but he had never done that. He had always let the wash of noise in and then floated along on it.

A small part of him wondered about doing so again. If he was back in a cell then he should have been trying to float, that small part suggested. The rest of him simply shouted that the voices were too loud, too many; they would swallow him if he tried to float on them.

“They’ll swallow you anyway,” taunted Kiedel’s voice from the recesses of his memory. Kiedel had never liked his floating, never thought it feasible. “It’s dangerous and stupid, just like you,” he would always snarl, striking him across the face.

He snarled at the memory, fingers digging into his matted hair to cover his ears and try and block out that hated voice. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!” he screamed, sobbing brokenly as Kiedel’s shade laughed at him and the voices pressed insistently against him. A few of them thought nasty things about him and he swatted at them, hating them for being so mean. Kiedel continued to laugh, taunting him and whispering his own special venom into his ear, as he sunk deeper into the shadows and in upon himself, sobbing softly.

He wasn’t sure when he first noticed the ghost. One minute the mouth of the alley had been empty and the next it had been filled by a tall, silent figure peering into the alleyway. He had never seen a ghost before, but he knew the tall man was a ghost because of how quiet he was. Real people weren’t that quiet. Even Kiedel, who was the strongest telepath Rosenkreuz had ever found, until him, wasn’t that quiet. This man was silent, no thoughts, no feelings, only the absolute quiet of the grave. So he had to be a ghost.

Kiedel flickered in his vision and the mouth of the alley became a doorway. Home sweet hell - dear old Rosenkreuz and their isolation cells - the cell draped in darkness and beyond that door light and life and the world - he just had to make it past the gatekeeper. He shot Kiedel an annoyed look, as if he didn’t care whether he got out and sank deeper into the darkness. Nothing pissed Kiedel off more than when his punishments didn’t elicit a response.

The ghost was frowning into the alley, as if debating whether to enter. Then it was Kiedel frowning in at him from the doorway of the cell waiting for him to get off his ass. Both the ghost and Kiedel lost patience and marched toward him. He slunk back deeper into the shadows and frowned as the scene kept flicking between a dirty alleyway with the ghost looking down at him and the white walls of the cells at Rosenkreuz with Herr Kiedel. Both men stared down at him with contempt and he felt his lips pull back, snarling at the shifting figure of the ghost and Kiedel, lashing out weakly at them with his mind. The ghost frowned at him and said something but he couldn’t hear it. Kiedel just laughed at him, making him lash out again. Both Kiedel and the ghost hit him, one telepathically and one physically. Rough stone met his cheek in the alley blending with the memory of feeling the concrete blocks of the cell and the feel of Kiedel storming his mind.

Icy, razor sharp, tendrils of darkness sank into his brain, ripping at him, savoring his pain and the desperate struggles he made to force them out.

"I'll kill you!" he screamed at Kiedel, the ghost forgotten. "I'll tear your fucking head apart!" he screamed, lashing out again, letting more of his power slip into the blow. It was the ghost who staggered back, and for a moment and he caught a glimpse of brown eyes widened in surprise. He knew those eyes...or thought he did...Yes, he finally decided, he knew them and those eyes were important somehow. He just couldn't remember how, there were too many people in his head and Kiedel's laughter was ringing in his ears.

The ghost was creeping toward him this time, crouched down low and reaching out cautiously for him. "Schuldig. Schu, it's me, it's Brad," whispered the ghost, its voice soft and soothing, as a seemingly solid hand crept nearer and nearer to him. He stared at the hand, baffled by the gesture that seemed so hesitant and full of concern. He cocked his head and studied the hand for a moment before Rosenkreuz and Herr Kiedel reasserted themselves.

Kiedel slapped him hard across the face, wiping away the puzzlement over the hand and leaving only his hatred for the man who'd trained him. "I killed you, arschloch," he snarled maliciously at Kiedel.

“But I killed you first, Schuldig, so I win.”

"You fucking bastard! I killed you! I killed you! I won! Not you!" he screamed launching himself at the man. Suddenly the memory was gone and he was back in the alley, falling towards the ground. It was the ghost who caught him and cradled him gently. Tears were spilling over his cheeks and he found himself shaking as voices began to fill his head again. "Make it stop," he pleaded to the ghost, looking lost and afraid, years younger and almost sweet. "Make them be quiet. Make him go away."

"Is that what it was? The city‘s too loud?“ asked the ghost, making him frown as he didn’t understand what the ghost was talking about.

“What what was? Never quiet. It's never quiet," he told the ghost, sniffling and beginning to shake as the voices pressed in on him hard. "I won't let them take me! I won’t die like them! I won't! I won‘t let that bastard win! I killed him! I won! I won!" he screamed, trying to struggle to his feet, to get away from the voices.

“Shhh...We'll make them be quiet, Schuldig. We will. Calm down, Schu. Calm down. Everything will be fine," soothed the ghost keeping an iron hold on him but not hurting him, just holding him. He shuddered gently and bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, trying to focus on only the ghost.

His vision blacked for a moment and when it returned warm hands were petting his hair, carefully brushing it back from his face and a handkerchief was gently dabbing up the blood from yet another bloody nose. He liked that, it was like he was important. The old him, the boy who wasn't Schuldig, remembered a time before all the voices when there had been people to take care of him and think he was important. Schuldig snarled quietly at the boy, those people were dead and the ghost thought he was important - not the old him.

"Shh, just rest, Schuldig. I‘ll handle it,” soothed the ghost. He thought he heard the ghost muttering about idiots and should have known, but he couldn‘t concentrate anymore and his head hurt. The ghost lifted him, carrying him from the alley and gently depositing him in the back seat of a car. A needle slid into his arm and as darkness started to claim him a blanket was draped over him
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