Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Everything That's New is Old Again ❯ Falling Down ( Chapter 1 )

Everything That's Old is New Again

Arvanah Modray

If you really don't like Brad Crawford, DO NOT READ THIS! I do not want to deal with people who read it knowing they won't like it. I had to remove this story and repost because of such problems. The bottom line in fanfiction is if you don't like it, don't read it. They aren't our characters, and it's all just opinion and imagination. Enough said.

[insert standard disclaimer: not my characters, not my names, not making money]

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The rain didn't show any signs of letting up, but he didn't have any choice. With the oldest member of their group hung over, he was stuck running the errands for the day, and on this particular morning that meant lugging the heavy box of paperwork to Kritaker's office complex five blocks away.

The young assassin sighed and pulled his hood up over his short dark brown hair, readjusting the box once more before stepping out into the pouring rain. The wind was chilly, and a crack of thunder every now and then reminded him that the storm had interrupted an otherwise very pleasant warm spell in late autumn. He muttered under his breath as he crossed the street, the water already soaking into his sneakers and making his feet cold.

"Stupid Yoji," he grumbled, picturing the older man as he had been when he found him, tangled up in his bed sheets and groaning about his headache. It was hardly the first time it had happened, but this morning he'd been having a very pleasant dream of Aya and being woken up to trudge through the miserable weather had ruined it all too quickly.

Fortunately for Hidaka Ken, he was so lost in his own brooding that when he arrived at the entrance to the fourteen-floor office building in downtown Kyoto it seemed as though the walk had only taken a few minutes. Grateful to be rid of the box, and having had to apologize several times to Manx for letting the cardboard get wet, Ken hurried back out of the complex and onto the streets. It was getting even darker, and the rain was falling down in heavy drops, splashing up onto his pants. By the time he'd reach the end of the first block he was already soaked.

<Well look what the storm brought in!>

Ken stopped dead in his tracks. He knew that voice, and he knew he hadn't *heard* it in the true sense of the word. The cool tone echoed through his mind, never reaching the ears of any human. The young assassin gritted his teeth. He was not in the mood for this, and he didn't even have his bugnuks. He was seriously contemplating trying to make a run for it.

<Ah, what's the matter little kitty? Don't have your friends here to save you?>

~Shit!~ Ken cursed his luck. Due to the storm the streets were pretty much deserted.

"Haahhaaa!!!" Faster than light his familiar enemy appeared in front of him. "Well it seems I've made quite a catch!" he cooed.

Ken stepped back just a bit, glancing down the alleyway that would lead back to the Koneko, albeit in a round about way. He imagined that he knew these streets and back alleys better than the German. At this point, he thought it was worth the risk. He dashed forward, pushing past the older man and racing down the alley, his heartbeat already pounding in his ears. There was no way he could handle the telepath by himself and unarmed, and he knew it.

<Oh, so you want to play tag?>

He didn't have to look back over his shoulder to know that the redhead was right on his heels. Unfortunately, he'd forgotten just how fast his enemy was. Just as he'd rounded a corner and was about to hop the short fence at the end of the alley, Schuldig jumped down in front of him, his cold blue eyes glinting with wicked amusement.

"Hahaa! Cat's been declawed!!" he roared, fully aware that the young assassin was defenseless.

Ken clenched his teeth, his eyes darting about frantically for some sort of escape. Before he could find one the telepath lunged forward, punching him in the gut and sending him cringing to the ground. He choked, clutching his stomach and trying to edge away. This was very bad.

Schuldig stepped over him, flashing perfect white teeth. "Tough luck today, eh kid?" He crouched down and grabbed the collar of Ken's shirt, lifting his face close to his own. "I suggest that you start begging now, cause it's gonna be a while before I get sick of it," he hissed.

Ken brought up his fists, meaning to sock the German square in the jaw, but he was ready for it. Schuldig threw him back, forcing him to the ground again with a strong arm. Ken felt his body slamming down against the concrete floor and a painful shock in the back of his head. Dizziness and a sickening ache in his skull kept him from moving now. He was slipping away from consciousness even as the blow to his ribs knocked the air from his lungs. A few more hits to his side and stomach had him reeling, and he was vaguely aware of the fact that he was coughing up blood now. Another kick to his shoulder as he tried to roll away threw him across the alley.

"Schuldig! Enough!" commanded a young, smooth voice.

"Enh? Ah what the hell! I'm just havin' some fun with the kitten!"

Ken's head was spinning, but he heard the last words that the young man spoke before the darkness claimed him.

"We can use him to get the others."

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

He awoke cold and shivering, his head throbbing fiercely. He couldn't move he hurt so much. The vicious ache in his legs was overwhelming, and coupled with the burning pain in his shoulder, he was unable to even lift himself up enough to get an idea of his surroundings. He could only tell that he was still soaked and that the water from his clothes had made the sheets of the futon beneath him damp. Ken considered that last part. He was lying on a futon, not on some cold concrete floor. And he was alive.

He grunted as he forced himself to roll over, his body screaming in protest. He hadn't been bound in any way, and he wondered if the others had found him. But he didn't recognize this room, and so he knew it wasn't his friends who'd brought him here. They had regular beds in their apartment. This house was traditional Japanese, and too nice to be owned. Ken tried to lift himself up onto one elbow, but his muscles wouldn't respond. Groaning he flopped over on his back. His stomach was bruised and he felt very nauseous. He reached up to touch his shoulder, and found that it was swollen badly. Cursing, he closed his eyes, wondering if he was going to survive.

Footsteps from outside the room startled him. His heart skipped beats as he listened, recognizing right away the telepath's voice.

"Damn it to hell! Why don't you take him to the fucking hospital while you're at it!?"

"Don't get sarcastic with me!" snapped a deeper, very masculine voice. "We haven't had any trouble with Weiß in months, but you had to dredge up old battles again!"

"I thought we'd agreed they were to be finished!" growled the German, his normally smooth tone grating with anger.

"We have other things to be taking care of right now! We don't need them in our way!"

There was a loud thump, presumably the telepath punching the wall. "Fucking hell, Brad! This is our chance to get rid of them! To *keep* Weiß out of our way for good!"

"I *said* to drop it! I don't want to discuss it right now!" The American's voice was harsh and commanding, and there was no room to argue with the authority in his tone.

Ken heard the telepath hiss something in German angrily and then heavy footsteps fading away. He swallowed hard as the door slid open and the leader of his captors stepped in. His tall figure was mostly in shadow, the light from the rest of the house framing a silhouette around him. Ken's fists clenched instinctively. He'd never felt so helpless in his entire life, and he knew all too well he was at the older man's mercy. Crawford reached out and pressed the light switch, flooding the room in light. Ken squeezed his eyes shut, the sudden brightness causing his head to throb more. He heard the faint rustle of clothes and was keenly aware of the American as he knelt down beside him. His throat was getting so tight he could barely breath.

~Shit, shit, shit!~ He knew this feeling. It was fear, and the assassin hated it more than anything.

A heavy sigh from the older man shook him from his frozen state, and he opened his eyes again, squinting up at him.

"Well now what am I supposed to do? You guys haven't caused us any trouble for a while. I wasn't planning on having to kill you, but…." Crawford let his sentence trail off, a dark and unreadable expression on his face. Ken tensed as he reached over him, placing a firm hand on his forehead he turned his head towards him. "Well Schuldig gave you some handsome colors, didn't he?" he commented dryly, a hint of a smile on his lips as he pulled Ken's shirt back from his shoulder.

Ken gritted his teeth. "Just get it over with!" he hissed, trying not to cry out as the other hand grasped his shoulder.

Crawford chuckled coldly, but he released his hold on the young assassin. "I will when I make my decision," he said calmly, his gold eyes sending a chill down Ken's spine as they met his own. He stood again, stepping towards the door. "Your shoulder is dislocated. I'll fix it if you want, but it's going to hurt like hell."

"Like I have a choice," Ken snapped, trying to sound stronger than he felt.

The American just shrugged. "In any case, you should get into some dry clothes." He turned to the door and slid it open, leaving Ken alone again.

Ken felt his shoulder again, forcing himself to tolerate the pain long enough to tell if the older man was right. It seemed to be, and if it were dislocated that would explain why he couldn't move it. He sighed. At least they weren't planning on killing him yet. For whatever reasons, Crawford actually seemed concerned with keeping him alive, if not with his complete recovery. He didn't really trust it, but right now he had no other options, and there was nothing he could do but accept that. The others would come looking for him, and they'd be smart enough to bring their weapons. He cursed himself again for not having brought his bugnuks with him, but he'd never needed them when he wasn't on a mission before.

Sometime while he was thinking over his situation the American returned with some bandages, dry clothes, and an ice pack. Ken grimaced. The thought of being nursed by his enemy was unnerving to say the least, but Crawford was reserved about all of it, quietly bandaging his arm and the cut on his brow. What he was dreading came soon enough though. Too weak to even sit up his own, Ken had to be lifted and lean against the older man for support. At that point his pride was in shambles, so when Crawford started to remove his shirt his temper broke free. He swung his arm up, ignoring the stabbing pain, and pushed the older man away.

Ken's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I'm not a child," he growled.

Crawford glared at him. "You're acting like one." It was only then that the assassin realized the only reason he hadn't collapsed back to the futon was because the American was holding onto his arm. "Maybe you don't like this but you were right. You don't have a choice. So deal with it."

He didn't argue after that, and allowed his enemy to help him remove the cold, soaked shirt. Looking down, he saw that even his stomach had started to bruise, and he was more than a little surprised. Crawford didn't say anything about it as he wrapped the bandage around his torso carefully. "Now for the part you'll hate the most," he said flatly, turning Ken so that he had to lie back down onto the futon. "Want something to bite down on?"

Ken looked up at him warily, trying to read the stern gold eyes. "I'll survive," he managed, wondering how convincing he sounded.

Crawford grinned. "So, you're going to play the tough guy, eh? Well don't say I didn't offer," he said. Without even a warning, he took Ken's aching shoulder firmly in his hands.

Ken winced a bit, looking away. He was not going to make a scene of this. It would probably amuse the American, and that would be the end of his pride.

"Here goes," he said coolly.

Pain wracked all the way through his arm and shoulder, and even into his chest as the American snapped his joint back into place with one swift jerk. Ken cried out, feeling the tears well involuntarily in his eyes. His whole body tensed and he arched his back. After the initial shock wore off he slumped back to the sheets gasping for air. He slowly became aware that he was crying, and that he had failed to hide it. He gummed the last of his tears, waiting for the cynical comment he was sure Crawford would make.

But it never came. Instead the older man lifted him back up, and he was too exhausted to do anything but lean against him as he wrapped the ice pack to his shoulder with the last of the bandaging. Crawford then produced a small bottle from his jacket and pulled out a couple tiny white pills. Ken took them without even asking what they were.

"It'll be a few days before that starts to feel any better," he heard him saying.

"I figured," he said, his voice barely a whisper. Without really realizing what he was doing, he rested his head against the American's shoulder, already half-asleep.

In his dazed weariness he'd forgotten whom it was he was leaning on. He was cold and in pain, and the warmth of another body was enough to help him calm down. He noted now things that he would never have allowed himself to think in a more guarded state of mind. He'd never really given it any thought, but Crawford was actually a very handsome man, and despite the reality of their relationship, Ken felt quite safe with his strong arm wrapped around him. Whatever it was, after-shave or cologne, he had a pleasantly manly smell that was relaxing and settling. Some little part of his consciousness was still active, telling him he was crazy, and trying to remind him that he was with a cold-blooded killer, an enemy to him and his friends. But the sense of peace that was washing over him, and the soothing way his senses were responding to the older man, was fast dismissing that more rational side of him.

He was only somewhat aware of being gently lowered back onto the futon, for as soon as his head touched the pillow he had drifted into a deep, much-needed sleep.

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

Well, I'd blame Pyrochan for this corruption, but the idea for a BradKen fic had already reached me long before we started discussing writing them on aim. I'd meant to dismiss the whole thing for my friend's sake, but after I read Pyro's BradKen the pairing was fresh in my mind all over. Not that I *minded* reading it of course >_> but then the little voices in my head started whispering "write it, write it" and so I had no choice but to write it. And now that I've started, I can't stop. So let me know what you think everyone, and rest assured I still love BradSchu the best.

Schu: You'll stop or I'll make you! Brad is MINE!

Arvanah: *sticks tongue out* Meh, quite whining or I won't get to the smut for Sinken Sie!!!

Schu: You wouldn't dare!!

Arvanah: Try me.

Schu: *shuts up*

Ken: How did this happen?

Brad: *looking at his script for chapter two* Do I really have to say this?

Pyrochan: *holds up the other side of Arvanah's `Brad x Anyone = Yum' sign*

Schu: *scowls at the sign*

Arvanah: Yay repost!! *runs off dancing and hopes for more reviews*