Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Blood Ties ❯ Blood Ties ( Chapter 1 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

“What happened? Where is he, Omi? Tell me what happened!”

Those three, simple questions, spoken with a force that was so unlike Yohji Kodou, set Omi into tears. The accompanying shake, meant to stimulate the youth from the sudden onslaught of paralytic vocal cords, only served to rack a choked sob from the Weiss hacker, unable to do more than shake his head as the cold rain surged down from the hazy clouds to mingle with his tears. A mental state that could only be described as a spinning top on an already uneven surface could not vocalize the answers that the man standing before him so desperately wanted to hear.

Or needed to hear.

But, didn’t they all need to hear it, at the end of a mission? Whether they were banged up or coming home without a scratch on them; they had to know. Had to know that, side by side, they’d live to fight another day because, for the moment, they were safe. After all, wasn’t that 99% of the job? Fight to keep yourself alive, but moreover, fight to keep them alive.

Irony at its best, considering their form of employment.

Was it alright to put on a happy face and say that everything was alright, when it reality it was the farthest thing from the truth? To keep the other members in control, to finish the job they’d started as a team and hoped to end the same way, was it alright to put on a show that said everything was just as it should be?

Not that Omi had that privilege. He wore his emotions on his sleeve, an ironic twist considering the black uniform was soaked. Did the heavens feel sorry for him? Pity, perhaps? Clear blue eyes that had grown in maturity far too quickly shut tighter than the flower shop’s safe. The one thing he wanted right then was to be held, to be the one in the dark as Yohji was now, but it was hard to be such a thing when the blame lay solely on his own shoulders.

Aya... Aya, I’m so sorry!

“Omi! Snap out of it, kid!”

This time, instead of the jarring shake of a worried partner, Yohji’s hand connected painfully to Omi’s cheek. The crack coincided with a burst of lightening, deafening the pair with an offset yin and yang.
The youngest Weiss member held a soothing hand to the point of impact, mouth slightly ajar as Yohji lifted his own hand in inspection. The concern written plainly over the handsome features told Omi that he hadn’t meant to do it.

“You’re scaring me, kid.”

It had to be a dream. Right? This couldn’t be happening; not here, not now, not to him! Omi didn’t like being the harbinger of bad news. It didn’t fit him, not by a long shot. He’d had his troubles, but this... what was this? What he wouldn’t give to hear Aya tell him to shut up and stop whimpering, or Yohji’s boisterous voice taunting him about sobs being the furthest thing a woman wanted to hear. To see Ken knee his soccer ball to work out the kinks of a nights raid.

To wake up from this nightmare and go back to the way things should have been at the end of a mission.

Why couldn’t it be done?

“Goddamn it! Aya, Omi... Where is he? Where’s...”

The sudden hitch in Yohji’s voice spoke louder than the ensuing silence. Blood-soaked hands and clothing tended to do such things. Only a fool would’ve thought the rain could’ve washed all traces of it away.

“He’s gone,” the tired, strained voice scared Yohji more than the content of his words. The usually energetic kid, finally finding the long path to short speech, scared him. That in and of itself was a thing to be remembered.

“What do you mean, ‘gone’? What happened out there? Why’d he turn off his comm? What is this? Are you ok?” the quick fire questions coupled with a raising of Omi’s hands for inspection. He was glad for it, letting the rain wash away the last vestiges of crimson pain.

“His comm unit went wonky. Lots of interference, probably from the storm. He couldn’t concentrate, he said. Farfarello showed up... outta no where, I never saw him and neither did Aya,” his voice was as monotonous as his computer’s speech patterns, the guilt written across his features read as easily as bolded font.

“What? That’s not possible. We were here after Esset, not Schwartz!”

“I don’t... I don’t know what happened after that. Things went a little blurry, and the next thing I know...”

“Where is he?” Noticing Omi’s inability to continue speaking, Yohji asked once more. The kid finally lifted a hand to point to the parking ramp. “Good, now get Ken from outta the truck and meet me there, got it? Everything will be ok... you listening to me?”

A simple nod.

What else could he do? Yohji had obviously noticed the blood staining his hands wasn’t from any cuts he’d received. The man had to know what he’d find on the ramp.

Ken. He had to go get Ken.


With thoughts of everything and, at the same time, nothing, flittering about in his brain in which no sane person could make sense of, the walk to the truck seemed extremely short. In no time at all, Ken, who had gotten wounded enough to take him out of the game, threw open the truck door to allow Omi admittance.

“Omi? Are you ok? Where are the others?”

Unusual cloudy blue eyes blinked up at the dark haired man. “We have to go.”

“Omi?” Ken repeated, staring worriedly at his partner. They were assassins... and Omi was usually the leader of the group. He took charge, was good at it. What had the kid so shaken?

“We have to go.”

“Lead the way.”

Without much thought to the already bandaged wounds, Ken jumped from the truck and walked along side Omi. The kid was scaring him, that much was sure.

What did it matter? Nothing would be the same again.

Weiss was dead without Aya.

He was dead without Aya.

They may have managed it well before meeting him, but once something was added, it could never be taken away without royally screwing up the finished product.

“What the...?” Ken’s voice shook from much more than the pain of a wounded stomach. They were almost upon the ramp when the Siberian finally noticed their predicament. “Aya! Yohji!” The call, usually a talisman for the end of a mission to check on status’ and calm nerves, sounded thin in the dark. One of the two wouldn’t answer. Never would answer again, no matter how many times one called out to him.

“Didn’t think the kid would... no, could tell you. Ken, he’s gone,” Yohji’s normally vibrant voice sounded shallow as he looked up from his place at Aya’s feet.

The red-head, although those who hadn’t known him in life wouldn’t have been able to determine if the red was natural or blood-soaked, lay in a puddle of the life-liquid. Omi turned his eyes away, unable to look or see past the guilt that Aya’s body held for him.

A shimmer of light caught his eye and made Omi shiver.

Aya’s katana, hardly unsheathed.

Farfarello’s blade had had the same polished look before it dove into Aya’s chest, covering itself in the fresh blood it so craved. The madman had actually licked the knife clean, savoring the taste that it’d been unable to serve up before.

A delicacy for a sick freak.

Omi felt an arm wrap comfortingly around his shoulders, not needing to look to know that it was Ken. Other than the athletic build of the soccer player, only Ken could shake so furiously with controlled anger. Of course, the control lasted for only a few seconds before he totally lost it, and even in his mild stupor, Omi managed to catch the hand and hug it tightly to his chest. He looked up at the athlete, shaking his head as if to say, ‘don’t leave us.’

“How the hell did this happen? I thought we finished the mission... We got Fludd! Who did this?!”

“Farfarello.”

The brown-haired youth answered against the lump in his throat, knowing Yohji would just shake his head. It wasn’t an answer, he knew, but no answer would ever be the right one. Ken would hunt down the sadistic bastard and only end up with his own heart skewered.

No, he couldn’t lose another one.

“Calm down man,” Yohji’s voice seemed to emanate a radiance of self-control, something the last two Weiss members couldn’t quite grasp. “Man, and here I thought being stiff was a good thing.”

Black humor, once again. Yohji’s trademark when things got nasty. Why did he have to say things like that?

“Shut up Yohji,” Ken bit down hard on the comment, the sting of his words having no effect on the ladies man. It was a way of dealing, they knew.

The man really needed a new way of doing that.

“I guess we take ‘em to the shop, deal in the morning. Persia will bite our asses off for not telling him tonight, but who really cares.”

With as much genteel coercion as if he were seducing a pretty lady, Yohji slid the limp body of their comrade onto his shoulder and began carrying him to the truck. He knew the others would follow, depending on Omi to keep Ken from doing anything stupid.

Slowly, the intelligence-man of Weiss grabbed for Aya’s katana, caressing the hilt before tying it to a belt buckle at his hip.

Aya would never forgive him if it were to rust.

“C’mon Omi.”

Ken’s voice, beckoning him not to get lost in fear, guilt, doubt or whatever it was that plagued the young man at that moment. Omi complied, moving to Ken’s side once more while the larger man put his arm around weary shoulders. Sooner rather than later, Ken would find out that it had been Omi’s fault.

If he’d just seen the flash of blade just a second sooner, he could’ve darted the man.

If he’d known that Esset wasn’t the only dark thing in a spotlight that night, he could’ve called for Yohji.

If he’d figured out sooner that, for some reason, Crawford no longer wanted Weiss for the games, maybe, just maybe, Aya would’ve been able to walk back to the truck on his own two feet.

So he’d take the comfort from Ken, for as long as the man wanted to give it.

He’d move, for now.

After all, there was plenty of time to relive the moment where he could’ve saved his hero once the remaining members of Weiss saw the nights’ mistake through his eyes, leaving him alone to wallow in festering guilt.

**~~**~~**~~**

~Fin~