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Heaven is Wrapped in Chains	By : YamiBakura Category: Weiß Kreuz > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 1601 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Weiss Kreuz or any of the characters. I'm not making any money from the writing of this fiction.

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Why – why should we go deeper into this?

I don’t know

Try – I’m trying to find what’s in your secret

‘cause I don’t know

“Deeper and Deeper” – Cinema Bizarre

~*~

A week into his enforced stay as a guest with Schwarz, Omi was going crazy. For the most part, Schuldig lay around in his room, and every so often Omi would catch a drift of the pain he was going through. It was twofold; the pain of losing someone he was close to, which served to double Omi’s pain over his team, as well as the mental pain of having such a deeply rooted linkbond with the Irishman torn away. Over the last several days he’d pieced together the fact that the Irishman and the German were lovers, if not more. Crawford was the most open of them, which surprised Omi greatly. Nagi resented his presence, and stuck to his room. Schuldig spent most of his time in pain, laying around, so it fell to Crawford to explain how things worked, both with Schwarz as a unit and the powers that Farfarello had, beyond all reason or expectations, passed on to Omi.

“You are an empath, as he was. You are the other side of Schuldig’s gift; it is what made them such an efficient team. Empathy is like precognition, like telepathy, in that it is a mental gift. You cannot affect things physically as Nagi can. Nagi has a great deal of power in his gift; you saw this first hand when he tore down the building after Tot died, and you saw it when he managed to restart her heart and lungs and heal her body. That is unusual, and most telekinetics do not have that ability. The only thing he is lacking still is the precision, the control. You will not have to worry about being a powerhouse. That is not necessary to what you do. The control is what you will need, so that your gift will not tear you apart.”

“How do I use it?” Omi asked. Crawford looked a bit startled.

“Schuldig would probably be better to ask,” he began, but Omi interrupted.

“I don’t want to ask him.”

Crawford inclined his head. “Very well. You should be able to feel it like a weight in your mind. Imagine yourself reaching out mentally, and try to touch me with it.”

Omi tried. He struggled with it until he nearly gave himself a headache, and Crawford’s frown remained fixed on his face. Finally, he threw his hand out – inadvertently reminding himself of Nagi – and he felt a wash of power rush through his arm and connect – collide – with Crawford. A flood of emotions swamped him, everything Crawford was feeling: irritation, amusement, frustration, hunger, an underlying calm that was completely unruffled no matter the circumstances. Omi struggled with them, cataloguing them, and then pushed them back. Remembering one of Crawford’s lectures, he projected a warmth to the older man, something happier than his constant tranquility. For a moment nothing happened, but he could see lines form around Crawford’s eyes, and a moment later something happened that almost literally stopped his heart for a beat.

Crawford smiled.

It only lasted a second, but it was full of warmth and happiness and there was nothing Schwarz or Crawford-y about it. “Pull your power back,” Crawford said, and Omi had the impression that it might have been cold if not for his gift.

“I don’t know how,” Omi said, and started to feel panicked. What if he’d done something permanent? He had no idea what he was doing or how to do it and it was just so bizarre to see Crawford looking genuinely happy about something and –

“Just undo whatever you did.” Still calm, still pleasant, but there was a tightness around his eyes and at the corner of his lips that worried Omi.

Finally, he reached out, made a fist with his hand, and drew it back in towards his chest. He felt the power disengage and slither back up his arm, coiling somewhere at the back of his mind with a pleased chuckle. The frosty look returned to Crawford’s face, and Omi felt a rush of relief that he hadn’t done anything serious.

“Good work,” Crawford said. “This is just the beginning of what you will do.”

And Omi already had a splitting migraine. This was going to be more hellish than anything Weiß had ever asked him to do. To his surprise, the thought of his old team only caused the barest twinge of hurt. It was still there, but it was masked behind the walls Crawford had instructed him to build. And maybe one day, he’d be able to look past the walls and it wouldn’t hurt at all.

~*~

All of Schwarz had large beds, but Crawford had flatly refused to allow Omi entrance into his room, much less share his bed. Nagi gave such a look of horror when sharing with their newest teammate was mentioned that Schuldig didn’t stop laughing for five whole minutes. And knowing what sort of relationship the telepath had had with the previous owner of his newfound gift, Omi couldn’t even bring himself to consider sharing a bed with Schuldig, and so he found himself on the couch to sleep. It was large and comfortable, and he generally woke rested when he was able to sleep through the night, but about three weeks after his induction into the Schwarz household the nightmares began.

Sometimes he woke himself out of dreams of drowning in pools of blood, sometimes he dreamt that his clothes and even his hair and skin were made of blood, but the worst were the dreams in which he was Farfarello, and delighted in the blood he could draw, both from his victims and himself. These were the most common dreams, and he often woke screaming, dragging the rest of the house out of bed with him.

Once he woke up to Nagi straddling him, holding him down with both his hands and his gift, and shouting at him. He calmed once he was awake, and Nagi leaned back, looking exhausted.

“Maybe you should sleep with Schuldig,” he said, and Omi recoiled in horror before he could stop himself. He felt a wave of minute amusement from the telekinetic – unusual in and of itself, and he wondered vaguely if the other boy were broadcasting to help with Omi’s ‘training’ – and the younger man shook his head. “Not like that,” he clarified. “Sleep in his bed. If he’s touching you, he can help you deal with the nightmares. That’s how he and Farfarello got started.”

Thoroughly disgusted, Omi threw him off the couch. “I didn’t need to know that!”

Nagi looked so comically disgruntled that it was all Omi could do not to laugh at him. In the back of his mind, he realised that this was the first direct interaction the two of them had had since he first came to Schwarz, and on another level, he wondered when the telekinetic had graduated from “Naoe” or “That Boy” to his given name. It made him suspicious, but even as he was thinking, it didn’t occur to him that Nagi’s intervention had taken his mind completely off his nightmares.

“Well, if you’re done throwing me around and waking everyone up, I’m going back to bed,” Nagi announced with stiff dignity. He reminded Omi of a cat, and then he pictured Nagi with cat ears and a tail and had to hide his face before he gave himself away.

“I’m done,” he said, and shooed the younger man back to bed. He relaxed onto the couch and wondered again why and how things had changed so drastically in such a short time.

~*~

“We’re going on a little field trip. Think you can handle yourself for a day or two?” Schuldig was perched on the back of the couch Omi was lying on, making a general nuisance of himself. Omi abandoned the book he’d been reading to glance up at him.

“I don’t see why not.”

Crawford poked his head into the living room. “Schuldig, are you ready yet?”

“Ja, ja.” The telepath gathered himself off the couch and disappeared around the corner. Crawford stood in the door for a moment longer, studying Omi.

“There is a list of phone numbers on the kitchen table,” he said finally. “My cell phone, Schuldig’s, Nagi’s. If for any reason you need one of us and you cannot get ahold of Schuldig, do not hesitate to call.”

Omi eyed him silently. “Sure,” he said finally. “I don’t think I’ll need you, though. I’m a big boy, I can take care of myself.” Crawford watched him for a few minutes longer in silence, and then ducked out the door. Omi listened as the three of them bustled out the door and then returned to his reading.

~

He screamed as the mental weight in the back of his mind lurched forward, swamping him. It reached out and suddenly every heart in the building was open to him. Emotions swamped him, overwhelming him. It wrenched again, spreading further. It felt like half the city of Tokyo was pressing their feelings directly into his brain. Another wrench. The whole city. He was falling apart, being pulled into pieces by the weight. He screamed again.

Suddenly it was gone. The weight was still there, but the feelings were muted. Omi gasped for air, clutching at his head. He was on the floor, he realised, but he didn’t remember how he got there. One of the expensive-looking lamps was nearby, shattered into pieces. He must have knocked it over at some point.

/Unholy child. Broken angel, disgraced son of God./

The words came from nowhere, filling his mind. He gasped again, and a migraine swept over him. Schuldig’s bottle of aspirin was still uncapped on the side table, and he snatched it up, shaking several pills into his hand and swallowed them dry. His stomach was loudly proclaiming its emptiness, and he staggered into the kitchen. There was plenty of leftovers, but he wanted a sandwhich – it was normal and he had a feeling that it would help restore his mental footing if he could just concentrate on something mundane for a few minutes.

Why did this have to happen the night Schwarz left? He asked himself, and slathered condiments onto his bread. Cheese went on, then the lunch meat Crawford had brought home for him. He rooted around in the fridge for a moment until he found the tomato he was looking for. Taking a knife, he began slicing it, but an unfamiliar voice slipped through his thoughts again.

/It had to happen while Schwarz was away. Their shields protect you./

It startled him worse than before, and the knife slipped in his hand, gouging a two inch slice right into his palm. He swore and waited for the pain that never came. He watched the blood welling up and sliding down, dripping onto the floor, but there was no pain. Omi clenched his fist around the wound, feeling the skin pulling awkwardly but without hurting.

On a terrified impulse, he slid the knife over his forearm. More blood, but still no sensation. It tickled slightly as the knife gently parted his skin, and he was fascinated by how it looked when there was no pain distracting him. His sandwhich forgotten, he dragged the blade all across his arms, almost drawing with his own blood. His mind gave another wrench, but this time he recognized it for what it was and called out for Schuldig with his thoughts. ~Help me!~

The combined emotional weight of Tokyo pressed down on him, and blackness overtook his vision.
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Heaven is Wrapped in Chains