Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Control ❯ Control ( Chapter 1 )

Title: Control

Author: Tearis

Rating: R (because of violence)

Disclaimer: I don't own Weiss Kreuz or anything related to it.

Notes: No shounen-ai this time. It is a story about Schwarz. Well, I can't really summarize this one, sorry. Please read it. I hope you enjoy it.

A huge hug for my wonderful friend Rachael, who "betad" this story for me. ^_^

Control

"Damn you Schuldig, if it isn't important, I swear you'll rue this."

Reluctantly, Crawford followed his red haired teammate to their rooms. He had no idea what the other man was up to. Schuldig had suddenly burst through the door to his office, a little out of breath, shouting, "Nagi's ill. He- His power- MOVE!" It had sounded urgent, but now Crawford wasn't too sure. If the matter didn't turn out to be truly pressing, just one of Schuldig's miserable jokes, there would be consequences for the telepath. Now that Crawford was already here, he would find out what was so important.

Crawford followed Schuldig down the white, painted corridor. It looked empty, cold. The squeaking sounds of their steps on the plastic flooring echoed back from the walls. There was nothing inviting about anything in this corridor. It was a sterile passageway, not giving the faintest hint of the four eccentrics for whom it was a home.

Schuldig walked to Nagi's door and halted a moment, his hand resting on the doorknob. After checking to be sure Crawford was standing behind him, he turned the knob and walked in.

It was a small room with mist gray walls. A black carpet swallowed their steps. There was only enough room for a small dresser, a bed, desk, and a chair, that was turned on its side, making a sharp contrast to the orderly room. The furnishings were oak, except the computer chair that was dark blue matching the CPU housing of the computer. Nagi had never complained about the room being too small. The boy was lying peacefully on his bed. Nothing seemed to be wrong. Crawford turned to Schuldig with an evil glint in his eyes, promising pain.

Schuldig stood in the farthest corner from the bed and stared at Nagi, paying no attention to Crawford or his increasing annoyance.

"He's ill," was all that left his lips, while pointing shyly at the form on the bed.

Crawford raised his eyebrows. Till now, no member of Schwarz had ever been ill before. It was ridiculous, what Schuldig was saying. However, Schuldig was looking flustered as well.

"How should he have become ill, doctor?" Crawford asked in a mocking voice ready to turn and leave.

"I don't know, but when I checked on him earlier, he had a fever." Schuldig was still not looking at Crawford. His voice had become softer. Crawford could almost hear nervousness and alarm, a sharp contrast to his usual self-confident, ear-caressing tenor.

"Where's the problem? Why are you retreating to the farthest corner of the room? Don't tell me you're afraid of getting a fever yourself."

"No." Schuldig looked at Crawford, although he didn't want to let his eyes leave Nagi. "His telekinesis. Nagi was entirely out, but his power had worked on it's own." He let his eyes flit over to Nagi once in a while.

"You're sure that he didn't just want to mock you, cause you got on his nerves?"

"I am sure. Look." The German pointed at Nagi, who was lying, still fully dressed, on top of the bedcovers. Crawford turned to look at him, but didn't see anything unusual. "See the way he's trembling? That's not normal Crawford. And I didn't imagine that chair flying at me earlier."

Crawford wondered what he should think of this. How could Nagi have gotten sick? They all had very good health. A normal fever was nothing; none of them would even notice it. Why a simple ailment would have this kind of effect on Nagi's abilities was another question. Crawford's eyes lingered on the small frame, paying attention to the boy's every move.

After some time, Crawford stepped toward the bed and reached a hand out for Nagi to shake his shoulder and wake him. He stilled in his movement before touching Nagi and removed his hand from its close position to the boy's shoulder. Crawford's precognition saved him, illuminating the would be consequences had he proceeded to lay a hand on the boy. Nagi's telepathy would have lashed out at him.

Crawford looked over to Schuldig, who shrugged his shoulders. This was no joke. It was serious and he had no experience with this phenomenon. He turned his back to Schuldig, focusing all his attention on the youngest member of Schwarz.

Nagi lay calmly now; his body didn't tremble as it had before. A filmy layer of sweat covered his face and neck. Some of his dark bangs clung to his forehead. His breathing was growing harsher, until he was panting heavily. Still, his chest wasn't heaving too noticeably. His eyes opened slowly. It looked as if he was fighting to open them.

Nagi's eyes fell on Crawford, who was still standing close to the bed. His eyes focused and unfocused trying to see the figure before him clearly. Crawford's shape was so blurred. What was Crawford doing in his room anyway? He never came into his room. Crawford would call him, when he needed him, not bother to come to his room.

Nagi gave up on trying to make Crawford out more clearly. Nevertheless, he did notice that Crawford's face was turned away from him. Something in the corner diagonal from the bed seemed to have his attention at the moment. Nagi slowly followed Crawford's gaze. He felt so numb. Why couldn't he focus? Why was his body so slow to obey?

A light red flickered in the far corner, Schuldig?! Were they talking about something? Why couldn't he hear them? It was bad enough that he couldn't focus enough to see either of them clearly, but to not even be able to hear them?

A feeling of helplessness rushed through Nagi's mind. He wasn't used to not having the strength to control his body and senses. Had he been drugged? By them? Another rush flowed through his mind, this time it was pure horror. He had never thought of his team, Schwarz, being his enemy. Why? What had he done to incur their anger? Tot? He hadn't interfered when they had killed her. They couldn't be mad at him because of that, could they? He hadn't interfered. He hadn't. He hadn't taken a stand against them. He hadn't even argued.

Nagi tried to lift a hand to his now aching head, but to no avail, his hand didn't move an inch. A groan of pain and exhaustion escaped his lips. At least was he able to focus his eyes again. The two men looked at him, and he met Crawford's eyes. They were focused on him, however not narrowed, the way they would be if Crawford had meant to deliver him harm. There was something displayed in Crawford's auburn eyes Nagi had never seen there before, an uncharacteristic openness, confusion?!

"Do you hear me Nagi?"

Nagi was confused. Crawford's lips had moved, but he hadn't heard anything. It became harder to breathe. When he tried to concentrate on listening to the tall man, it didn't help. He still couldn't hear one word of what Crawford was saying to him.

Obviously, Crawford was trying his best to be heard. Nagi could see by the slow movement of his thin lips, that Crawford must be speaking very slowly. Maybe he had even begun talking louder than before, but Nagi couldn't make out one word. It felt like there was some kind of pressure on his ears, like he was deep, deep under water. Then he started coughing. He felt how his ribs pressed into him, his ribcage felt so small, too small. Nagi couldn't breathe, his hands reached for his neck in an attempt to free himself of whatever was choking him, but there was nothing to grasp. He grew desperate. What was going on? Why had he lost all control over his body? Why wasn't Crawford helping him?

Too late now, Nagi was coming to understand that it was his own power that had turned against him. He gestured to the two men to help him, but he knew better than to really hope for their help. How could they help him, when he had no control over his power? They were in danger themselves. The pressure on his lungs eased a bit. Relief was visible on his face. He took a deep breath before; suddenly his ribs were violently pressed into the organs they cradled. He screamed at the searing pain that shot through his small body.

Crawford heard several ribs breaking. He shuddered. They had to stop it. Nagi's power had to be controlled or they were all in danger. He turned his eyes to Schuldig, who only stared on as Nagi began spitting blood.

Crawford was astonished to see Schuldig letting slip his control, showing feelings. A deep frown played on Schuldig's forehead and his eyes held a hint of concern. Crawford had never thought Schuldig capable of caring for others. He quirked one eyebrow but remained silent for a moment. Why would any of them bother to be concerned for each other, it wasn't necessary to their business?

"So?"

Crawford had gone completely stone-faced when Schuldig tore his eyes away from Nagi to look at him. It was obvious to Crawford that Schuldig was thinking about what to do. Yet the questioning expression on Schuldig's face told the dark-haired man that thrown out Nagi's thoughts he didn't know what usefulness he could provide Crawford.

"What do you intend to do?"

Schuldig's jaw dropped literally. "ME?! Do you think I'd call you, if I knew what to do?"

Crawford casually shrugged his shoulders. Still he had known before that Schuldig was at a loss. He wasn't quite sure what to do either, but Crawford wasn't going to let that show. He crossed one arm over his chest, propping the other elbow up on the lower arm. His chin rested in one hand. He had to concentrate. What were the facts? Nagi's power was out of control. They neither knew why he had lost control over it, nor how he could regain it. The power was attacking Nagi, but not killing him. Had Nagi's telekinesis wanted to finish him; it would have been over by now. No it seemed to want him weakened but not completely unconscious. It seemed like the power needed Nagi conscious, barely, hazy, but aware. Perhaps the solution was simpler than it seemed: knock Nagi unconscious.

However, neither Crawford nor Schuldig could touch Nagi; his power would throw them both against the wall or worse. Really, they didn't even need to touch him. Schuldig could knock Nagi unconscious with his unique mental force. Through this technique there would be no bodily contact for Nagi's power to react to. It could work.

The lax, thoughtful expression on Crawford's face tightened into one of determination. His eyes came sharply into focus on Nagi, whose attack seemed to be easing up some.

The boy's small frame was still shaking. Blood ran down from one corner of his mouth. It mingled with the sweat that trailed in clear, damp, twisting veins over any exposed skin on his body. He was breathing heavily.

Nagi tried to control his breathing somehow, to ease the pain that accompanied it. He clutched his broken ribs to soothe the pain. The enormous pain he was feeling affected a dazed look in his eyes. Nevertheless, he watched Crawford and Schuldig tiredly.

"Schuldig, can you knock him unconscious?" It was more of an order than a question.

"Sure. Do you think that will help?" Schuldig's voice didn't give away any hint of the uneasiness that had gripped him when he'd entered the room with Crawford just a few moments earlier. It was his usual calm, deep tenor. He'd even managed to impart an impressive degree of casualness in his response, giving lie to the spark of concern Crawford had seen in his eyes just moments ago.

Crawford didn't answer the question. He just motioned for the telepath to do as he was told, jerking his chin in Nagi's direction.

Schuldig stepped closer to the bed. His eyes flicked from Crawford to Nagi and back. Not finding any of the reassurance he had wanted, he shrugged his shoulders and concentrated on Nagi.

Although the pain had lulled him into a numbness that felt like being wrapped in cotton wadding; even in this haziness, Nagi could still feel Schuldig's strong aura concentrating on him. It wasn't hard to figure out what they intended to do. Nagi gathered all the strength he had left, and weakly shook his head. Schuldig met his eyes, interpreting the pleading look in them entirely the wrong way.

"It's okay Nagi. It will help you." Schuldig said in his most soothing voice.

Nagi kept on shaking his head, unable to form any other warning at the moment. His attempts were fruitless. He felt the power of the slender man slip into his mind. In the next moment, a strong wave took Schuldig and threw him against the opposite wall. He fell limply to the ground.

"Schuldig-" Nagi's thin voice died away, as he was shaken by another attack. His eyes squeezed shut, under the punishment of his own power. He was too weak to struggle or even to try to regain control. His body and mind were too slow and didn't comply with his orders. He didn't even know why his power was fighting him, or how he could stop it. He was totally vulnerable, at the mercy of his own abilities.

Crawford watched how Nagi's slim form was shaken and thrown from side to side. His arms and legs moved spasmodically. Crawford wondered why the power battered Nagi so mercilessly, when it obviously needed him alive and conscious. Out of the corner of his eye, Crawford saw Schuldig slowly lifting himself, searching the wall for support.

Schuldig pressed one hand against his forehead, groaning in pain. He looked over to Crawford from his kneeling position and was taken aback, when he saw Farfarello walking past the tall man.

Crawford's attempts to keep Farfarello away from Nagi were being openly ignored. Finally Farfarello slapped Crawford's arm away and gave him a hard shove toward the door. Paying no heed to the fact that Crawford was approaching him, or to the hand that Schuldig was reaching out in his direction; Farfarello swiftly laid his body over the boy's.

"Don't!!" Crawford shouted just a moment too late.

Schuldig starred in shock. Farfarello had a strong hold on Nagi, his arms and legs were tightly rapped around him. Nagi's power attacked him brutally. However, he didn't look as if he was going to let go.

Nagi was not being spared from the attack either. He screamed at the top of his lungs in the onslaught of pain that crushed down on him. His voice cracked and a thin, whistling tone was all that was left of his screams. His body arched up, pressing hard against Farfarello in an attempt to throw the shorthaired man off.

In contrast to Nagi, Farfarello was silent. He concentrated on what he was doing: Holding onto Nagi with all his strength, to drive the boy's power and body to exhaustion.

Nagi's power had now manifested itself in whipping winds, pulling angrily at Farfarello, but not strong enough to make him let go of his prey.

The seams of Farfarello's shirt were ripped open. Nagi's shirt was torn completely to shreds. One strip of fabric that had formerly made up the boy's garment was whirred and batted about in the cutting winds, until it escaped their grip and dropped abruptly; landing in front of Schuldig, who numbly looked down on it.

Schuldig felt he was not far from Nagi's own state in a way, all churned up inside. He could still not understand what, exactly, was happening or why. He just knew that this was serious, damn serious. He bent down and picked the piece of clothing up, staring at it in awe, ignoring the pain that shot through his left side when he bent down.

When he looked up again he saw that Farfarello's skin was torn and cut in many places. Bruises already had begun to color, dark on pale skin. One of Nagi's arms hung loosely over the edge of the bed. Blood streamed down his arm, running into the inside of his small hand, only to trickle down from his fingertips onto the carpet in tiny droplets.

Farfarello's eye patch had been ripped away, revealing a scarred eye socket, colored in a pale rosé mocking the beauty of cherry blossoms shortly before they die. A thin white scar ran horizontally, where there once had been an eye. Obviously it hurt him most, when the power attacked him there; only then, did he groan in pain.

After what seemed to Schuldig to be an eternity, the attacks slowly became weaker. The power died away, finally giving up. Eventually, the room was silent except for Farfarello's harsh breathing. Nagi didn't move anymore, nor did he whimper. No sound emerged from him. His face was pale. Tears were running down his cheeks, mixing with the blood that ran from the corner of his mouth down his chin.

Farfarello slowly loosened his hold and propped himself up on his elbows. He leaned over Nagi, studying him. Nagi weakly, worn out from his injuries and the pain that ruled him, looked up into Farfarello's face. When their eyes met, a pair of unsteady black ones and one silent golden one, then Nagi passed out.

***************

When Nagi woke up, Crawford was standing next to his bed, towering over him like a harbinger.

"Do you feel better," Crawford asked in a voice devoid of all warmth?

Nagi, in contrast with his usual obeisant nature, didn't answer him. He looked away from Crawford.

In the corner directly across from Nagi's bed, sat Farfarello. He was busy cutting himself. His normally bandaged arms were naked, and with his knife, he took to tearing open the lace work of slashed, overlapping scars anew. Nagi couldn't stand to look and a small whimper escaped his throat, before he looked back up to Crawford.

//Hey Nagilein//

Nagi choked and whined at the sudden invasion of his mind, in spite of the caring, concerned tone of Schuldig's voice.

"Stop it Schuldig, don't strain him."

"I didn't do anything, I just-"

Schuldig sounded angry at being accused of hurting Nagi. It was odd. Usually the German man didn't care about others. You could accuse him of anything. He would just shrug his shoulders and go on.

Crawford wondered about Schuldig's interest in Nagi momentarily, but didn't really care. It didn't concern him what kind of relationship his team members had so long as they assembled themselves in proper, working order when he called on them.

"Yes, but he's too weak, even for that in his current state." was the calm remark Crawford gave Schuldig in explanation.

Schuldig didn't care to have "lessons" from Crawford right now. He didn't care for Crawford period, cold bastard that he was. However, granting Crawford the role of "leader" freed Schuldig from having to deal with extra work. Extra work he wasn't thrilled with the prospect of handling for himself. Schuldig needn't bother himself with the making of petty arrangements this way. He preferred having his free time to do with as he liked, not always agonizing over what would get his team ahead.

Schuldig's eyes swept over to the bed, where Farfarello leaned over Nagi once more. The Irish man had moved silently, swift, panther-like. Farfarello and Nagi had locked eyes on each other. Better to say Nagi stared as though hypnotized, into Farfarello's golden eye. The eye socket, where the mate to that golden eye should have been, was once again covered by Farfarello's customary eye-patch. Nagi lay there calmly, too weak to struggle or move, even if he had wanted to.

At the moment Nagi felt, somehow, comfortable being so close to Farfarello. He didn't know why. He had never had any kind of relationship with the older man. He had never wished to. They worked together; that didn't mean that they had to know or like each other.

Schuldig was the only member of Schwarz Nagi might sometimes pass his idle hours with occasionally, but even the bond between the two of them was nothing he would have called a "friendship," not really. He just couldn't make himself trust the German. The light of mischief so often glinting off Schuldig's eyes made Nagi wary.

However right now he wished he could snuggle closer to Farfarello, regardless of the fact that he usually wasn't too excited about being close to the man. Something was different about Farfarello. His aura was much stronger, but at the same time less frightening than usual.

Farfarello turned his attention away from Nagi's eyes and held up his left arm. A fresh wound marked it. Blood ran down the entire length of the cut and collecting at the wound's lowest end, without leaving the shallow well of the cut or touching unbroken skin. Farfarello carefully dipped two fingers into the blood. He painted a line from Nagi's forehead over his nose and lips down to his chin. His motions were very slow and careful, as if it was a holy liquid; he spread the blood over Nagi's skin.

Crawford wrinkled his nose in disgust, but didn't stop the man, nor did he look away.

Nagi didn't fight Farfarello. When the older man was done, he halted to meet Nagi's eyes again. Nagi drew in a deep breath, despite the pain that his injuries caused him. No tears stained his cheeks anymore and no more ran from his eyes, although the pain hadn't diminished.

"Shh. I will make you feel better. You're safe Naoe." The deep rumbling of Farfarello's voice echoed through Nagi's mind. Almost immediately after Farfarello had spoken, a warm presence started to spread out in Nagi's body. This previously unknown warmth filled him slowly, giving him a deep sense of safety. It felt so unfamiliar, this feeling Nagi would have called, "trust," or "caring," if he'd had to put a name to it. Those were the words he would have used. Although their meaning was not really clear to him. He had never felt either of these sensations in sincerity, but he imagined them to feel like this, like some warm cover that protected him. Nagi's eyes were still open, and he had fallen deep into this feeling already. He was paralyzed and hypnotized, no urge to fight it. He was feeling too comfortable to voluntarily leave this surrounding behind. Nagi did not register that Schuldig had moved closer or his fascination at the Irish man's doings. Crawford's expression had smoothed from his earlier distaste to his usual, indifferent mask.

Farfarello cut into his other arm. Scoring into a similar place as he had on the previous arm: the inner side of his lower arm. This time he didn't use his finger to wipe his blood over Nagi's body. He held his arm over Nagi's torso, parallel with the line of Nagi's body. Farfarello used his opposite hand to apply pressure to the unbroken skin surrounding the fresh wound, causing his blood to trickle down on Nagi's naked chest.

Nagi's shirt lay torn on the mattress, partly next to his slim frame, partly trapped beneath his slender body. Nagi was entirely uncovered from the waist up. The earlier attacks had shorn the shirt from his body thoroughly, as though it had been purposely cut away. Schuldig could now see what he had known already for some time: Nagi's body was slim, too slim. His ribs pressed through his skin. Schuldig could count them with out touching them. Nagi's collarbone stood out severely, causing the unhealthy white skin to strain to stretch over it. The bones of his shoulders could be seen as well, but these were, gratefully, less evident.

The line Farfarello painted this time was horizontal. It started close to Nagi's left shoulder and stopped at a roughly symmetrical spot on the right side. The bloodline didn't touch or run in any of Nagi's own wounds. The blood stayed where it dripped, onto unbroken skin. The blood on Nagi's chest and face didn't dry up, nor did it clot. It seemed to sink into Nagi's skin, mingling with Nagi's blood.

Schuldig didn't dare to read Nagi's mind, afraid he might cause Nagi's power to "wake up" again. Farfarello's mind was out of reach anyway, so he was cursed to watch in silence. He didn't understand what was going on. Brad didn't show it, but Schuldig could tell that his "boss" knew nothing more about what was happening than he did himself.

Nagi's eyes fluttered closed, leaving the real world behind to sink even deeper into this tingling, sweet feeling that he could almost taste. The last expression Schuldig could see in his eyes, before his eyelids fell closed, was a very calm, relaxed one. He seemed to trust Farfarello and what he was doing, or he just didn't care any more.

Nagi lifted his legs and bent them, so he could put his feet down flat on the mattress. The reason for this was unknown to the two watchers. Who with frowns on their faces came to realize that Farfarello seemed to know the reason. He softly pushed Nagi's legs back down on the mattress. He was unusually tender with the boy. His usual nature was rough, brutal. He didn't care if he hurt anyone around him. Now, Farfarello was controlled and concentrated, not traits normally associated with his character unless his aim was to maim or destroy.

Farfarello's face was calm, not contorted by the madman's grin he usually wore at the sight of blood, no matter if it was his own or the blood of others. There was no bloodlust glossing over his single eye either. He was carrying out a ceremony he hadn't practiced in a long time. It was as if he was back in a ritual he was used to, something from a lifetime before Schwarz. Farfarello was absorbed, had gone to some place sacred, and left the commonplace dwellings that surrounded him far behind.

"Open your eyes, Naoe."

Although the lids of his eyes felt as though someone had placed small stones over each of them, Nagi pried them open. He fought against the urge to close them.

Farfarello's blood on Nagi's face was almost gone. It looked as if thirsty earth had sucked up the rain. Nagi's skin absorbed Farfarello's blood, thirsty, greedy, as if it was as essential as water. A shiver ran down Schuldig's spine, when he saw how the last remains of the blood were absorbed without leaving any trace.

Farfarello started to move Nagi. He laid him parallel to the frame of the bed, his arms straight at his sides, palms down, flat on the mattress. Nagi's legs were placed parallel to each other as well, at a certain distance from each other. Softly as if he could break, Farfarello finally took Nagi's face in his hands and moved his head, so it lay in alignment with Nagi's whole body. Farfarello's hands remained on Nagi's soft cheeks, locking eyes with the boy one last time, before he let go.

"Look up at the ceiling."

After a moment of watching the boy like this, Farfarello seemed to be satisfied with his doings and his arrangements.

"Now close your eyes."

Nagi did as he was told and a warm, heavy sleep fell over him, giving him what he had yearned for; more of that wonderful, protected feeling Farfarello's blood had caused in him.

***************

After Farfarello had stood next to Nagi's bed for a few more moments, he strode back into the corner where he had been sitting before, when Nagi had woken up. He wrapped one bandage around the older wound, not caring if it bit into the injured skin. Once done with it he turned his attention to the second mark. His eye became glazed, a scary sparkle coming back to it. Farfarello bent his head and licked his tongue over the now dry wound. He looked at the wound in a confused disappointment. He took up the knife that he had laid down beside him and brought it up to his wound.

A hand stopped him in his tracks and he shot an angry glare at the stern, smug face with which Crawford looked down on him. The older man was unimpressed by the furious look he received for his interruption.

"What did you do?"

Crawford was not willing to let Farfarello revel in the taste of his blood, before he knew what had been going on. A sharp tug couldn't make him let go of Farfarello's wrist. Even the warning sound that left the Irish man's throat, a mixture of a hiss and a snarl, didn't make him flinch. His eyes were hard and somehow this seemed to cut a swath through the haze of Farfarello's bloodlust. With a disgusted look, making sure to make it evident to Crawford that he was at the end of his tether, Farfarello replied shortly:

"He will never lose control over his power again. I reinforced his strength. You won't be needing any replacement."

Crawford did not let go of Farfarello's wrist. He pondered on the explanation for a moment. Farfarello's insanity only ran so deep, in spite of what he might project to others. If he could trust the man to watch his back during assassinations, he should probably take him at his all too vague word now. Nagi would be tested as soon as he woke up, however.

Farfarello ripped his wrist free from Crawford's grip and turned his back to Crawford. He leaned over his arm, watching the fresh blood spill forth, as he cut the battered skin anew. Slowly, almost teasingly, his tongue flicked out and tasted his own blood.

Crawford had no more business to do here. He walked to the door, turning on the threshold to face Schuldig, who had rolled the computer chair up to the side of the bed. He was sitting now, watching Nagi in his sleep. The unaffected expression Schuldig wore now would have done Crawford himself proud.

"Tell me when he wakes up." The door closed with a soft >click<.