Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Coming Home ❯ 15 ( Chapter 15 )

15

i am the voice inside your head and i control you

"Go through everything here, sort out what we take and what we leave. If it fits in these suitcases, it goes with us. Understood?" Brad gestured at the pile of things I had salvaged from our old apartment, and the four new suitcases standing along the wall. "There are new clothes for each of us, and other things we'll be needing. Everything in the suitcases stays in the suitcases. Anything else you can get to fit, you keep."

I nodded, nursing a cigarette and a headache.

"And get some goddamn batteries for your disc player, Schuldig. I don't want to come back and find you still wrecked out. You have four days to pull yourself together."

I saluted with my cigarette.

Brad scowled, and was gone.

Resting my head against the wall, I let out a slow breath and counted to ten. In Japanese. Tried to, anyway; I got stuck at hachi. Pushing off the wall, I stalked over to the pile of stuff and kicked one of the suitcases.

At least Far seemed okay today, I thought. Brad had driven back down the mountain after assuring me he'd be back in four days. Four more days. Shit.

I wandered back to our sleeping room and checked Nagi for the fifth time that morning. Unconscious, unresponsive, but almost the right temperature. I would get the matron to help me bathe him again that day, see if the warmth was maybe helping him. It was a thin hope, but a hope I was determined to cling to.

Farfarello was sitting outside in the garden, watching a mantis. Praying mantis, preying mantis - like Far, there wasn't much distinction. His God came in bloodshed, and angels sang with the voices of the dying.

I sat on the little chair and watched him through the window, just as he watched the slender murderous insect on its branch. My gun pressed against the small of my back. Brad had been right, back at that beach hut; Farf's injury had rendered him more unpredictable than usual, and that was saying something. It wasn't a good change.

I've never been good at waiting. Waiting for Brad to come back to his team, waiting for Nagi to wake the hell up, waiting for THEM to find us, all of it weighed on my mind and kept me too distracted to work on my shields.

I crushed out my cigarette and rested my head on the table. My logic was just as bent as Far's was unfailingly, unflinchingly solid. The things I waited for had no bearing on my healing; I knew I'd have to work on my shields, or I would not be any use to my team.

I got up and went in search of the matron of the house.

We got Nagi clean and dressed in boxers and a t-shirt that Brad had just purchased for him. Smart man, picking clothes that were easy for a third party to dress the boy in. As I smoothed the t-shirt down in back, my fingers brushed across the scar there. That scar was the reason for the gun in my waistband, the reason I hadn't slept well without Brad here.

The old woman left to make us some lunch, and I hooked the IV tube back to the little plastic thing sticking out of Nagi's arm. I didn't even know what the damn thing was called, I only knew that this was the only thing I could do for him, so I did it.

"Ah, kid," I murmured, ruffling his hair. It was getting a little nappy. Since it was hard to dry with him unconscious, I didn't wash it as often as I washed the rest of him; I didn't want him catching chill. "I'll get the hair next time. Promise."

Not having anything better to do, I sat there and talked to him, wondering if he could even hear me. "Farf had a seizure yesterday, but he's okay now. Brad went and bought us a bunch of crap. He left again, but he promised he'd be back soon. I'm chain-smoking and my shields are shit, but what else is new, right?" My voice trailed off. I kept thinking about that damn scar, and the man who had given it to him. I reached back and touched the butt of my gun, just to make sure it was still there.

Far, too Far, what is your fascination with this kid? I thought. From the start, he would watch Nagi the way a cat watches a bird: intent, focused, silent. Sometimes he'd follow the chibi, just follow him, watching every move.

Back when we worked for Takatori, it had turned from odd obsession to something darker. It was Easter. We knew Far could get violent around the major Christian holidays, but he'd seemed calm this time.

We should have known better. A snake is calm right before it strikes.

Farfarello had stalked right up to Nagi in the hallway of our apartment and grabbed him. Brad and I were in the office; Far was silent, and Nagi could make no sound. His power shut down, his mind shut down, and he just stood there, staring up at the knife blade held over him.

Brad had gotten a brief, urgent vision and dashed out of the office; I had followed, unable to pick up anything from his thoughts.

Farfarello had been holding Nagi close to him, the hand wielding the knife behind the boy, and he had murmured something about "now God will know you." There had been blood on the wall, and I could feel Nagi slide into unconsciousness.

Brad had pulled Farfarello away and punched him, stunning him enough that I could get Nagi into the nearest room, which happened to be the bathroom. I could sense Brad pulling the ever-present tranquilizer syringe from his pocket and dumping its payload into Farf's veins. Then he had knocked on the door, asking what Nagi's condition was.

Farfarello had carved a cross on Nagi's back, just above the tailbone. It was roughly the size of a child's hand, and bleeding freely. It wasn't deep, but it would scar. In my arms, Nagi had roused slowly as though waking from a nightmare. "It's okay, kiddo," I had lied to him, "he's tranked now. It won't happen again, I promise."

"I promise," I now whispered, fingering my gun. Far's words from the car came back to me - "And it worked, didn't it…God knew him, and kept him alive. He doesn't want a boy this powerful in his heaven, so he kept him here, with us."

Fuck, where the hell was Brad? If something like that happened again, I wasn't sure I could stop it in time.

Then again, I reminded myself, Far had never spoken an intention to kill the boy, only to mark him. Make him known to God, he'd said. This didn't make me feel any better, or safer. Only seeing Nagi awake and able to defend himself would do that.

I frowned. Actually, there was no reason for me to believe that Nagi could defend himself against Farfarello at all. Every time the Irishman came stalking at him, the kid shut down. He couldn't yell for help, he couldn't run, he couldn't even use his powers. He would shut down, like a bird waiting for the inevitable.

"Well, daydreaming and memories won't get us any better off, right, kid?" I muttered, patting his arm and rising painfully to my feet. Damn, but my knees hurt! "I'll make a deal with you. I'll get better if you wake up. Deal? Of course it's a deal. I'll even start first, in good faith." I went back to the other room and rummaged for my disc player and music. Dark stuff, mostly: industrial and goth. But that could be a good thing. I needed something that would insinuate itself into my mind and help me keep everything else out.

I scribbled down another short shopping list, including batteries and some elastic hair ties this time. The scarf they'd picked out for me was lovely, but not quite "me" - teal to match my eyes, the matron had said, but frankly the flowering tree motif just didn't work. Not today, anyway. I wanted something a little simple at the moment, but plain rubber bands hurt too damn much.

On sudden inspiration I added chocolate and cola to the list. Couldn't hurt to indulge a little. I handed the list to the matron and returned to our sleeping room.

Headphones on, disc selected, and I lay down on the futon and let the music pull me in. I'd used this method as a kid, before the "talent scouts" of Rosenkreuz had arranged for my higher education. Repetitive music with a strong beat, played over and over at moderate to high volume, and my mind wove a barrier around itself that was fairly easy to maintain. Not the accepted method at Rosenkreuz, of course: too easy, and too pleasant. I wasn't even sure it would still work.

But Crawford had suggested it, so I could only presume he knew it would work. I got up and moved over to sit by the outer door, the one Farfarello would return through when done with his walk. That way I wouldn't have to keep such an alert mind on the room, and could concentrate more on myself. I swore that I would do this, I would repair my own mind so I could help my teammates through whatever was in store. Crawford had dropped hints that it would be bad. I wasn't going to let them down.

I wasn't going to let him down.