Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Kingdom Come ❯ Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Weiß or any characters related to it. I only claim the insanity.

 

Author's Note: Poetic License. That's all I can say for this story. It's weird. It's strange. It'll make you think 'wtf?' in the end. I hope you enjoy it anyway.

 

Dedicated to Hota (because no one ever wrote her anything)!

 

 

Kingdom Come

 

Hidaka Ken awoke as he usually did every morning -alone and just a bit sore. Brown eyes blinked open, wary of the sunlight pouring into the room as if he hadn't seen it in ages. A slight sting in his wrists made him stare at them, the gauze wrapping them a slight pink.

 

Last night's mission had stretched the team's endurance a little more than they'd been used to in quite some time, and the fact that he'd been too careless with his bugnuks didn't make his predicament any better. He glanced at the wounds again, touching the one on his right arm with careful fingers before sighing.

 

He really was a klutz.

 

Ever so stealthily, the nineteen-year-old assassin slipped out of bed, wary of the thin walls separating his room from his companions' rooms. It was likely that Aya was still sleeping because Omi and Yohji were scheduled to open the Koneko no Sumu Ie, and he didn't want to risk waking the redhead for fear of suffering the Apocalypse. Ken snickered at the thought before catching sight of his apartment and going quiet.

 

It was a mess.

 

Clothes were strewn across the floor in a chaotic jumble, covering the small coffee table and the couch to create a carpet of ripped material. Smears of a dark, syrup-like substance splashed the places not littered in clothing, staining the cushions of the sofa in handprints the size of his own. It was like a nightmare, and he stumbled toward it in a daze, confused, off-balance. As if remembering, he grabbed his head, sinking into the cluttered pile with a sharp thud the moment images flashed past him, rapid, out of order, and perplexing.

 

Screams…

 

Gunshots…

 

Blood…

 

Hands steadied him as he tilted sideways, loosing the ability to sustain his balance, and his fingers wrapped around something soft and heavy, instinctively pulling it to his face to hide behind it. He wanted to smother the strange memories, the odd sensations he could not place, but the small -cigarette smoke and a light cologne- slapped his breath away, choking him with thoughts and feelings and things he had difficulty recognizing.

 

Were they his? Did they…belong to him?

 

A laugh, a smile, orange hair beneath the sun…

 

Ken pulled the material away and screamed when he saw what it was.

 

The jacket…was green.

 

- - - - -

 

“Heh. There he is, Omittchi.” Kudou's loud, familiar voice stunned Ken into reality as he wandered down the steps into the flower shop, dressed relatively close to what he normally wore on a day off. He'd somehow managed to pull himself together after almost scaring himself to death. The ex-professional soccer player hadn't known what to think, anyway, and he'd only been able to push the flashbacks -if that's what he could call them- aside to be forgotten.

 

“W-what is it?” His voice seemed a little shaky, but other than that, he seemed fine. Ken silently repeated that to himself as the younger Wei --> [Author:dt] ß member came bouncing at him, apron around his waist and a huge smile on his lips.

 

“Ken-kun! Are you feeling better? How are your wrists?” Ken stared down at the still rosy gauze.

 

“I'm…fine.”

 

“Good. Take as long as you need, ne? Yotan and I can take care of the shop!”

 

Ken blinked, staring at him as if he'd grown an arm out of his head. He had no idea what he was talking about.

 

“Oi, Omi, where's Aya? I need to-”

 

“He's busy,” Yohji interjected rather harshly, his face stoic. The playboy dug a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and walked past Ken, throwing over his shoulder, “watch the place, ne, Omittchi?” The grind was still there, and Ken looked at Omi, utterly lost.

 

“What did I say?”

 

“Nothing, Ken-kun. Yotan is just a little…distracted right now.”

 

Ken had difficulty believing him despite the innocent expression on his chibi face.

 

- - - - -

 

The wind blew soft and cool against his skin, a heavy contrast to what he felt on the inside. His thoughts ragged in a torrent, fuzzy and hot through his brain, one indefinable from the last, and for the first time in his life, he seemed…lost. Truly lost. He couldn't decide where to go from where he'd stopped, and his teammates did not help him at all…especially him.

 

At first, he'd thought it had been an attraction. He couldn't help it. He was there all the time, and he looked cute…all the time. Fujimiya Aya was damn sexy. No one could deny it; even Yohji, the straight womanizer he was, had mentioned something about it, and he'd had difficulty resisting the temptation to notice. Yet, for some reason, over time, he realized something. Yes, Aya was attractive, and yes, Aya was with him all the time, but…it was a different type of attraction than he'd originally thought.

 

He leaned against a tree as he contemplated it, arms crossed and mind wandering. Aya was like a brother to him, not some object to lust after.

 

“And what's wrong with that?” a soft, somewhat accented voice whispered, sending a chill up his spine. Lust is as lust does.

 

The words were in his head, and he blinked. Who in the world said that?

 

“I did,” came the smug reply, drawing his attention to a tall, slender man standing aloof in a pair of cool jeans and an atrocious green jacket. He was licking at a plastic spoon that had been previously shoved into a small cup in his hand.

 

“W-who are you?” Chocolate eyes continued to stare, almost mesmerized. The sun seemed to set him on fire, and a ghostly smiled wavered at him as he lapped at the utensil in hand.

 

“What you've been waiting for.”

 

- - - - -

 

Ken stood in front of the mirror, his reflection slightly distorted from the steam clinging to its surface from his shower. His brown hair lay matted against his forehead, the thought of using a brush completely gone from his mind as he stared at the lines carved into his skin.

 

It was the first time he'd looked at them since he'd woken up, and somehow, a sense of time loss poked the depths of his memory relentlessly, begging him to think. Yet, he couldn't because it hurt, and he could only look at the ugly red welts with curiosity and just a bit of worry. The wounds didn't look like something his bugnuks were capable of. There was a single diagonal slice across each wrist instead of three, the number of claws on his unsheathed weapon. In fact, they looked like…

 

No.

 

Ken shook his head and reached for the gauze resting on the sink, carefully beginning to wrap his wrists in clean bandages, muttering to himself.

 

That couldn't be the answer. There was just no way. A suicide attempt? Who was he trying to fool? Besides, why would he do that?

 

He glanced back at the mirror, observing his reflection once more, wondering how much damage he'd really taken after the last mission. His face seemed paler than normal, almost a ghost white compared to the usual tan gracing his cheeks, and he appeared…thinner. The assassin sighed heavily and continued to swathe his injuries, unable to focus his thoughts and remember the thing he was forgetting.

 

Ken could taste its importance, but he couldn't figure it out. And it was driving him mad. Omi wouldn't talk to him, and Yohji seemed eternally angry. Even Aya…The assassin paused in his actions, closing his eyes at the thought.

 

Aya seemed to be ignoring him all together. He hadn't seen him around the Koneko at all, and he hadn't emerged from his room, either. Ken briefly wondered where the redhead was. Maybe he was hiding out because…Well, he really couldn't venture to guess why. Had he done something to make him unbelievably furious and had forgotten about it?

 

Ken bit his lip as he continued with his wrists, hissing as the gauze clung to his flesh, almost stinging. He didn't think that was it, either. Aya wouldn't hold a grudge against him, especially since they were around each other every day. Plus, Ken knew Aya was particularly picky about who he chose to fight with and why because of their other profession. Allowing such emotions to guide him while hunting a target wasn't Abyssinian's style.

 

He really needed to talk to someone who would listen and wouldn't punch him for unknown reasons. Where was Aya?

 

“Dammit!” Ken slammed his hands against the sink, sending a jolt of pain to his brain from the throbbing in his lower arms, and he clutched at his face, unable to stop the sob working its way free.

 

What was going on?

 

- - - - -

 

“W-what are you doing?” A hand was brushing down his side and wiggling under his shirt, carefully stroking at exposed skin to elicit a soft keening sound from the torturee. Warm breath blew across the lobe of his ear, successfully earning a gentle shiver.

 

"Don't you like it?" Finger slid further upward, drawing a lingering path along the underside of his pectoral before skimming off course to rub at a semi-erected nipple. The dark haired man tried to suppress a moan but failed.

 

"A-aa..." He arched into the touch, rubbing himself against those teasing digits, wanting more but not knowing how to ask for what he craved from this still mysterious enigma, and he tossed his head back, silently begging for a kiss. The other man obliged, slipping a skilled tongue between no-longer-virgin lips, his free hand carding through silken strands of mahogony, tugging at them, twisting them around his fingers. The smaller man squirmed relentlessly, torn between taking more and pushing him away.

 

Don't fight me, came a murumured whisper in his head, stroking his brain in a strong caress that sent a chill through him. He'd always been able to do that, ever since they'd gotten to know one another. It had been a reprieve for him and a game for the telepath.

 

Now, they didn't know what it was.

 

A moment's distraction, was the mental answer, and it was always the same. The younger man sighed softly and pulled him closer, wrapping his arms around his neck, opening his mouth wider.

 

Kiss me, he thought, knowing it could be heard without actually concentrating too heavily towards the other. Hold me. Love… He trailed off and whimpered as his tongue was suckled greedily, almost possessively.

 

He'd fallen into this trap. Willingly. He could never forget that. Every step he took, every intake of breath, he was there with him, the telepath, surrounding him, and it was the enemy who watched him with such compassion, with intensity. Not those he knew, confided in. The enemy. A man. He couldn't decide which was worse. The enemy was a sadistic bastard, capable of murder without remorse, of a smile harboring nothing, and the man… The man was something else entirely. He liked being here, in his embrace, wherever he was, because he altered into a person he could actually be with. He was no longer the sadistic killer who possessed the tendency to torment mercilessly. He somehow changed into the charming one, the utterly naïve one at times. His humor was tainted with sarcasm but only enough to mask disdain for his soul cried out in grief, pleaded for an understanding he'd never really had.

 

He wanted to be his savior, rescue him from the hell of an assassin life, but he struggled under the same weight, though different circumstances.

 

“Don't think,” that lilted voice chided quietly, fondling his butt with determination. “Just-”

 

There was a moan.

 

“Will we get caught?” he asked, grinding against the light thrust of the other's pelvis. “Will we-” A kiss silenced him.

 

Hush. You worry too much, liebe.

 

He shuddered into the tender contact, falling with him onto the mattress below, a single thought eating at the back of his mind even as he surrendered to the telepath.

 

But you worry too little…Schu-

 

- - - - -

 

“Schu-” Ken moaned, jerking from the light doze he'd fallen into with a sudden ache in his temples, his wrists, and between his thighs. At first, he couldn't recognize the interior of his bedroom, his brain slightly fuzzy, but his vision cleared momentarily afterwards, drawing a groan from him. His head pounded with images of a face he didn't know, and the dream…

 

He grimaced when he looked down, feeling the pounding of his erection as it begged for attention. Ken chewed on his lip, his cheeks turning a dark pink when he deducted that there was no way to rid himself of it but touch himself, and he bit harder into his lip, tasting the familiar tang of blood as he reached into his shorts, his hips already eagerly bucking up into encasing fingers. He moaned with the contact, shivering uncontrollably at the sensation, and he set an easy pace, closing his eyes, his mouth opening in a pant.

 

Orange hair, blue eyes…

 

He choked on air and shuddered violently this time, unable to suppress a surprised cry of desire. His mind couldn't recognize those features, no matter what he tried to remember, but his body did, and his body wanted more of it, practically demanding it with an earth-shattering quiver of need. Ken's hand refused to move fast enough once he increased the rhythm on his most sensitive flesh, and though he kept his eyes open, afraid to see a blur of fire and sapphire, that ghost haunted him with such force that Ken almost fainted.

 

He was almost…

 

Blazing, hot.

 

Almost…

 

Frigid, empty.

 

Almost…

 

He climaxed as the room shook around him, vibrating with a deafening sound that sent him falling off the edge of his bed with a sharp wail of shock. He collapsed on his knees, his fingers sticky and his wrists burning. His breath refused to return, and Ken shook with alarm as well as the aftermath of orgasm, trying to control the pounding of his heart. The pain he suffered from landing so hard on the wooden floor flushed away all lingering streaks of ecstasy, wiping his mind clean of anything but orange and blue and the eternal loneliness accompanying them, and he found himself crying, weeping like a child against the raised curve of his shoulder. The tears burnt hot against his cheeks, never ceasing, never slowing even as he tried regaining his composure, if but a little. Ken only managed to sit with his legs spread before him and his back to the bed he'd tumbled from, his clothes caking to his skin, his body entirely numb.

 

He couldn't think, couldn't…remember. He wanted desperately to understand what his clouded memory beggingly showed him; his skin tingled with the knowledge. Yet, it lay paved over, heavy and thick, solid and unmoving in the deepest reaches of his mind, aimlessly wandering farther and farther away from his grasp. It slipped through metaphorical fingers, drowning in a pool of non-existent thought.

 

Who was this person? Why did he plague him with such relentlessness? Where was…Aya?

 

Ken hid his eyes against his palms, resting his wrists against his cheekbones as he trembled. He was exhausted to the point he just didn't want to try anymore. It hurt…more than it was supposed to. He made a better killer than a florist because it was all he knew, all he'd taught himself to know, but his assassin blood poisoned the morals he'd once possessed, raping his brain until utter emptiness remained. He needed answers, but there was nothing. Absolutely nothing.

 

Schu…

 

The word rolled into his head, pounding and torturous. He knew that, but…how? Where had it come from? He couldn't-

 

“What's wrong with me?” he moaned, pressing his hands into his eyes hard enough to cause a slight ebb of pain into his brain. “Why can't I-” Ken gasped as something trickled down his face and arms, warm, slow, and incredibly thick, and he lurched forward, brown orbs searching his body for injury, knowing that it could not have been tears.

 

A deep crimson oozed from the wounds on his wrists, bleeding through the gauze and staining it a dark red, the excess of it welling up and overflowing to leak towards his elbows. Frantically, he scrambled unsteadily to his feet, stumbling side to side as he regained his balance, walking as fast as he could to find more bandages to staunch the bleeding. Ken made it to the bathroom before collapsing against the sink, his breathing ragged and vision blurry from blood loss, and he rummaged through the clutter he'd left there, tossing away bottles and boxes of random size, cursing as he went. Another loud crack shook the entire apartment, sending his motor skills spinning out of control, and he clutched at the porcelain basin in front of him, his knees shaking as they gave out.

 

Thunder…

 

Ken briefly recognized the rumbling for what it was, the sound of rain gently pattering on the roof echoing in his ears. He reached for the frame of the bathroom door with now bloody hands, ignorant of all other surroundings, smearing his life fluid onto the walls as he pitched forward, tripping over his own feet. The floor tilted left to right, up and down in shaky intervals, reeling without his permission, and he bumped into the couch, wobbling to the entrance of his apartment.

 

Must…Omi…

 

He had to get to Omi's room, have him help because Yohji would not.

 

Ken fumbled with the knob of the door several times, slick fingers easily slipping from the glossy handle, and he cried in dazed frustration, yanking at it, endlessly pulling. Somewhere in his irrational mind, he remembered locking it, wanting to distance himself from those he'd once called friends, and Ken fought with the chained latches, sliding them free and throwing the door open in triumph. It was a short lived victory for a shadowed face stared at him, huge eyes blinking a curious sapphire highlighted by the flashlight igniting the dark hallway.

 

“Ken-kun?”

 

Omi.

 

Omi, Omi, Omi…

 

Ken heard a laugh, stretched, somewhat desperate, and it took him a couple of minutes to realize that he was the one making such a noise. The sound was ugly, the battle cry of a mad man, and the younger boy looked at him with grave worry.

 

“K-Ken-kun?”

 

The dark haired assassin suddenly sobered at the waver in the way the other said his name, raising his arms up on either side of him as if in surrender. He heard Omi inhale sharply, heard the flashlight clattering to the floor, breaking with a loud crack and going dead, and felt the gentle hand on his upper arm as he was pulled forward through the obscure web of hallways into the comforting embrace of a room he identified without seeing. Everything flew by him in a blur, vacant of thought and feeling until Omi treated the lacerations on his wrists, and Ken screamed, wrenching his arms in an attempt to get free.

 

Hurt…

 

Schu…

 

Want Aya…

 

“Ken-kun, hold still,” Omi ordered, rather harsh in his command as he held firmly to the wiggling Ken, peeling off bloody bandages and dumping liquid antiseptic on to raw flesh. It bubbled, and Ken tried even harder to release himself from Omi's grasp.

 

“No! Omi,” Ken whined, the delusion so much more real than it had ever been. “Y-You're hurting-”

 

“I knew you should have had these stitched,” the other muttered to himself, wrestling to press cloth against them in order to staunch the bleeding. Ken eventually stopped struggling, his face washing with tears as Omi bound his injuries, his thoughts skewed.

 

“O-Omi…”

 

“What happened, Ken-kun?” It was the first time the younger assassin had been able to examine him since the frightening trip to his apartment, and the older man was, in short, a mess. His chestnut hair was mussed, his face smudged with tears, and his clothes… Omi blushed when he realized… He shifted his stance and glanced at the floor, his face burning a soft pink at the thought. There was silence for a moment, so heavy Omi could hear the thundering of his own heart in his chest -or was it Ken's?- until…

 

“Dream about…w-where's Aya? Where's Aya, Omi?” He questioned him with innocence, with honest naivete, and the blue-eyed youth choked on his tongue, his eyes burning with the sudden pain of threatening tears.

 

“I-I can't…Ken-kun…they promised me not to tell you,” he whispered, seemingly ashamed of what he said, and Ken gazed at him in confusion.

 

“Tell me what? Who? Omi…”

 

He shook his head, tendrils of light brown quivering through the air.

 

“I can't. Ken-kun, I promised. I can't.” Omi bit his lip. “T-they said you had figure it out on your own.”

 

“Figure what out? Who's they? Dammit! Tell me!” Ken grabbed his left wrist and squeezed it, blood that had stopped flowing instantly rushing into the guaze and dying it a deep, deep rose. “W-why can't I remember things? Why isn't…why does Yohji hate me, and why is Aya ignoring me? W-why…” He trailed off, choking on a sob at all the questions bubbling in his brain demanding to fly free on the tip of his tongue. “Do-do you know who Schu is? I…I can't figure it out. I can't…” Ken fell to his knees, cradling his once again seeping wrist to his chest as he wept, the action unsettling his entire body.

 

Omi watched him, hurting because he was hurting, wanting to cry because he was crying. They'd been the best of friends the longest out of all of Weiß, drawn to one another by their carefree personalities and the fact that they were the youngest. When Omi had needed him, Ken had been by his side, comforting him, wiping away his tears, convincing him that everything would turn out for the better, and in return, Omi had done the same for Ken. Yet…Yet, now, when Ken, his companion, his teammate, his brother, needed him the most…

 

He couldn't do anything.

 

“Ken…”

 

“Please. Please, Omi. Where's Aya? Why's Yohji so-so mad?” Ken looked up at him from his position on his knees, his face titled back so that the lightning striking outside the window accented the shimmering tears on his cheeks with each flash.

 

A fallen angel. Ken had plunged from grace, and he didn't know why.

 

“I…Ken-kun…”

 

“W-what did I do, Omi? Why can't I…who's Schu? Where's Aya?”

 

That look and those broken brown eyes…

 

Omi swallowed, his chest tightening with rampant emotions he couldn't handle. Ken regarded him in obtuse tranquility, whimpering in his silence to be told the truth, and Omi opened his mouth, the words thick, slow…heartbreaking as they fell from his trembling lips.

 

“Aya's…Aya's dead.”

 

- - - - -

 

They'd done well to conceal the fact that they were lovers, as odd and out of place as it was. The telepath's team, Schwarz, knew. It was impossible for those walking the dirtier path Weiß refused to venture towards not to realize what was going on. Yet, his companions knew nothing. They wandered aimlessly in the dark when it came to what he did on his days off, whose bed he fell asleep in when he was too tired to move. Sometimes, he wondered why it had happened, how two people with completely different personalities and traits could end up in such a tangled love affair, but eventually, he'd stopped questioning it. That didn't matter to either of them. They were happy. And despite their relationship, its secrets, its lies, its joys, the unbearable burden of it all, it never interfered with their other lives. The killing. The murder.

 

Most of the time.

 

This was one of those rare moments.

It had been an easy `search and kill' mission, one of the simpler things Kritiker had them do, and somehow, Schwarz had gotten involved. Find the target, eliminate it, and ignore an unnecessary fray with the enemy. In and out. Yet, he had wanted to play, and Ken hadn't the will to deny him.

 

Ken found himself laughing as he slipped through the shadows, agilely ducking pipes and other random objects threatening to cause him to trip, and he glanced behind him, watching the body chase after him in amusement. His long hair glinted orange in the patches of light filtering through the abandoned warehouse, the twinkle in those mischievous azure eyes unseen by the distance he kept between them.

 

It was only a simple game of cat and mouse, lover and lovee.

 

You can do better than that, Ken teased quietly, his thoughts loud and easy for the telepath to pick up. There was a mental chuckle.

 

I know. Just admiring the view, was the reply, haughty and so very typical.

 

Pervert.

 

I do what I can, he answered, giving Ken the image of what he saw, and the assassin felt himself blushing. Ridiculous, he knew, but he couldn't help it. Now, go hide in one of these rooms so I can find you and have my way with you.

 

If you can catch me, Ken taunted, exhaling air and picking up speed. He narrowly dodged a broken board and slid silently into a shadowed doorway, flattening himself against the wall so he could surprise his lover and catch him unawares with a kiss. There was a soft rustling of footsteps as he approached.

 

“Here, kitty kitty. I've-”

 

Ken blinked at the sound he immediately heard as the other went quiet, a yielding of plaint flesh giving, a mild choking of the tongue, and he was instantly curious as to what it was. Then, suddenly, his voice, strained, gasping, spoke to him. “Ken…”

 

He emerged from the silhouettes he was concealed against, his fingers tingling from an unknown sensation, and Ken felt a silent cry catching in his throat when he spotted the orange haired telepath. Though there wasn't much light, he knew the shape of the person standing behind his lover, knew the shape of the object protruding through his lover at an odd angle. Ken stared with wide eyes as the sword was withdrawn from that narrow chest he'd come to recognize, cherish with certain respect, and the gaze given him as the telepath sunk to the ground, slender fingers pressed against the gushing wound through his chest, furnished him with breath.

 

He shrieked.

 

“Ken?” The litany of syllables that formed his name sounded foreign in the familiar tone of the redhead of Weiß as he forced his legs to move, to stagger forward towards the unnaturally limp body at his feet, and he toppled to the floor, a violently shaking hand reaching out to-

 

“Schuldig?” His lips trembled. His heart skipped a beat. “Schuldig?”

 

Liebe…His mental voice sounded terribly weak, out of focus.

 

Aya stood in the background of it all, the tip of his katana dripping with the blood of the telepathic bastard that had been chasing Ken down like an animal, and he observed the scene with remote concern, shocked by such a strange turn of events. He'd thought Ken would have been happy with him for such a “heroic” rescue. He'd thought… He really didn't know what he actually thought, but it was nothing like this. The always-energetic KenKen was touching the telepath's face with an expression of shock and horror and utter disbelief reigning his dulling eyes, his entire body shivering with the trauma of witnessing yet another death of someone he…knew? Aya choked on his tongue, understanding soaking into his brain with force, and his sword clattered to the ground, echoing in his heart with the faint whisper torturing his eardrums.

 

Ken…

 

Ken and…

 

Schuldig?

 

“Oh, God, Schu!” Ken wailed helplessly, giving up on pretending and throwing his arms around the lax telepath, gathering him close, bloodying his clothes and hair and lips as he kissed pale lips, sobbing uncontrollably. “Schu…no…no…”

 

Aya closed his eyes, trying to block out what he saw. At first, there was anger. Anger for not knowing. Anger for Ken lying. Anger for…everything he couldn't explain with words. Then, overwhelming jealousy. Jealousy for what Ken had. Jealousy for…not getting Ken first. Remorse and guilt were the last to come but the most powerful, the most unforgettable. The redhead found himself walking towards the entangled bodies before he realized what he was doing. He was on his knees beside his teammate, reaching out with a hand…

 

“Ken-”

 

The look of complete rage and turmoil on his face sent Aya speechless.

 

“It's…it's your-your fault!” he accused, squeezing his lover against him, fighting hard not to cry anymore as he sniffed. “You…you…”

 

“Ken, I-”

 

He lashed out with his fist, slamming into the other's chest with force that could have shattered brick. Aya gagged.

 

“NO! I don't want any excuses! I don't…oh, god, Aya, you-you killed…” Ken couldn't find the words to explain anything, and glancing at his teammate when he said nothing didn't help, either. It made things worse, and broke Ken's already shattered heart.

 

Aya sat breathing raggedly, a hand pressed to the lower part of his throat where Ken's bugnuks had accidentally sliced through flesh when he'd punched him, blood painting his pale skin the color of his hair. He caught Ken's startled eyes, smiling softly, and his lips moved, almost in a final whisper before…

 

“AYA!!” His chest heaved as he looked at the weapon in his hand, its edges withdrawn, glistening with blood. Aya's blood.

 

How could he have…?

 

Hadn't he realized…?

 

“A-Aya?” Ken's voice shook even more, his throat so dry it hurt. Aya did not move. “Schuldig?” His lover did not answer. “N-no…n-n-n…”

 

Ken didn't think. He allowed Schuldig to slip from his arms as he moved, his hands reaching for fallen katana of Fujimiya Aya, Abyssinian. Just a little further. He stretched, his fingertips grazing it, drawing it an inch closer each time he wiggled a little more, and finally, he was grasping the shining metal by the sharp side of the blade. He looked at it. He looked at Aya, his slack form lying motionlessly next to… He looked at Schuldig. His beloved it. His Schuldig.

 

With one rapid slice, he cut through his wrist. Blood welled. He slashed at the other, crying, sobbing, silently screaming. Blood poured, mingling with the tears and the blood of those around him.

 

It hurt. Too much.

 

Ken watched the fountain trickle down his hands and onto the floor, completely numb. Completely blank of everything, but…

 

Oh, god.

 

Oh, god.

 

What had he done?!

 

“NOOO!!”

 

- - - - -

 

“No,” he moaned, rolling back and forth upon the softness beneath him. “No!” Ken lurched up, shivering, covered in sweat and sticky tears that had just begun to dry on his cheeks. He panted heavily, trying to shake away the most terrible nightmare he had ever concocted and moved to wipe at the wetness on his face.

 

His hand didn't move. He blinked and tried to move the other. It didn't budge, either.

 

What-

 

“I would have untied you, but it looked like you were going to bite me,” a familiar voice purred somewhere to his left, and Ken blinked, forcing his vision to focus. He was in a small room, the window on the right side of the bed he was strapped to nearly blinding him. He winced.

 

“W-where-”

“Leave it to you to fall and lose your memory, Liebe.”

 

“W-what?” Someone shifted, and Ken felt the surface beneath him dip down before fingers worked at loosening the knots binding his wrists to the bed frame. He turned his head and sucked in his hair. Orange hair... Blue eyes... "S-Schuldig?!" "The one and only," he murmured, winking quickly before leaning in and kissing him gently on the tip of his nose. Glad you didn't forget everything. The brush of fingertips across his brain sent Ken into a spasmodic fit.

 

“F-forget everything? B-but I did! You…I…everyone was mad at me, especially Yohji, and Omi…oh, god, and I thought I'd killed Aya because he'd killed you, and-”

 

“What are you talking about, Liebe? Why are you referring to the Weiß kittens like you know them?”

 

“B-but I do!”

 

Schuldig made a soft clicking sound with his tongue and patted him.

 

“You must have really bumped your head, Liebe. You hate the Weiß kittens. We all do.” There was a dark taint to his voice, and Ken stared at him, completely confused.

 

“What?”

 

“Brainwashing fucks,” the telepath muttered before shaking his head and grinning. It was an actual smile. Not a ridiculed leer. “Liebe…you're not part of Weiß. We were ordered to hunt them down. Little red decided it was funny to chase you, and you tripped.” He touched Ken's forehead with deft fingers, and the brown haired man found himself wincing. “Put a bump on you, too. A nasty one.”

 

Ken tossed his head in bewilderment. This was…not funny. Whatever joke was being played did not deserve to be laughed at. Schuldig's personality seemed…off, too.

 

“Dammit! This is what I get for being nice to you,” the telepath abruptly hissed, scowling. “You wake up delusional as hell, I try to comfort you, and what do I get? Fuck this!" Schuldig dramatically got to his feet and walked out of the room, leaving the door wide open as he turned down the hallway and disappeared. Ken blinked.

 

What in the-

 

“Are you fighting again?” a quiet voice asked him, drawing his attention back to the door. A skinny youth with neatly combed dark hair and blue eyes stared at him, a book under his arm. Ken couldn't say a word and shook his head instead. “How's your head?”

 

At the words, he touched the spot Schuldig had, whimpering at the feel of a rather distinguished knot protruding from his skin.

 

“Been better,” he muttered, unable to comprehend what this was.

 

All of it had been a dream? What? That didn't make any sense.

 

He allowed his fingers to trace across his wrists and felt nothing.

 

He blinked again, staring at the boy before closing his eyes and flopping back onto the mattress.

 

Part of Schwarz? Hated…Weiß?

 

This was Hell. He just knew it.

 

Ken lay there for a long time before rolling onto his stomach and screaming into the pillow.

 

~End~

 

A/N: A possible arc may come from this. Ideas anyone?