Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ No Restraint ❯ Blood Stained ( Chapter 3 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Disclaimer: WE STILL DON'T OWN IT!!!
Warnings: See previous chapters.
Notes: *thwaps DS* That was for putting a line that we nearly couldn't follow at the end of the last chapter. *thwaps DS again* That was just because I like you. Erm... Angst. Der. But lots of it in this chapter. More than the last few, if possible.

*Bounce bounce bounce.* ANGST IS GOOD FOR YOU!!! *Glomps Pi-chan.*

Soundtrack: The Fonz, Gonzo, both by Smashmouth, Darkest Days, Everything I Touch, Save Yourself, all by Stabbing Westward.

Nagi stood very, very gingerly, trying to bite back the swirls of pain in his body. Schuldich had quite effectively put him off his peak performance for weeks. He had to know that. Why was it that Crawford allowed what went on, then? But Nagi knew the answer to that, too. Schuldich was easier to control when he had his games to play. The American watched him from behind his polished hardwood desk, expression intimidating. "Since you have already been punished, you are spared from that, but starting today you'll have some new chores."

Nagi looked up into those icy amber eyes, hidden behind thick lenses. He could only guess how he managed to remained as impassive as he was while staring at someone he so hated. Schooling, he supposed. "What are they?" he asked, the simple task of forming words paining him. Due to the bruises on his face, he probably wouldn't be talking -- or eating -- very much for at least a week.

"Cleaning up after Hidaka, and the rest of us, as well as bathing and feeding him." Crawford smirked, knowing that Nagi loathed menial labour. He'd make sure that Farfarello was allowed to be particulary messy.

Nagi fought to hold back a scowl. For one, it would hurt. For two, it would probably earn him more unpleasantness for the day. "May I have a rest first?" he asked calmly. Crawford had to know that at the moment he was basically good for nothing. Feeling ready to collapse was not going to make for good work.

On the other hand, if he was allowed to rest, this punishment wouldn't be very useful. "No. You're to clean up the mess in Hidaka's cell first, then you can rest."

Nagi held inside all the words of frustration and anger and hate that were flooding to his tongue. He knew Crawford would order him punished again, or do it himself -- and that could be worse than Schuldich doing it. "So I now have the additional duties of attending Hidaka," Nagi said noncommittally. "Is that all?" wouldn't be particulary useful.

Crawford considered for a few moments. The voyeur and the sadist in him had both been excited at watching Nagi's punishment, watching him go from delicately beautiful to bruised and broken. It had… turned him on. But looking at Nagi's body, he realized that he couldn't handle anything else right now. Aside from that - it wasn't as though he took any especial care of the boy - bruised and bleeding as he was, he wasn't that pretty anymore. And when Crawford took his pleasure, he dearly appreciated the aesthetic beauty of his victims. It could wait, he decided. "No," he said aloud. "You are dismissed."

Nagi saluted mockingly, then spun on his heel and stalked out, passing the white haired Irishman in the hallway. "You got punished, didn't you? Want me to hurt the German bastard a bit for you?"

"Thanks, but no thanks. If you want to help, go clean Hidaka's cell. I need to rest or I won't be able to walk soon."

Farferello frowned, and shook his head. "Sorry, lad, but you know my specialty is making the messes, not cleaning them up. I wouldn't know the first thing to do."

Nagi sighed. "Just as well. You seem to scare him worse than Crawford, Schuldich, or me for some reason."

The blonde laughed, already moving down the hall. "Must be the scars."

Supressing a glare at Farfarello's back, Nagi limped down the hall in the opposite direction, muttering curses with every step. "Sooner or later, Farf and I'll kill them both..." He grabbed the mop and bucket out of the hall closet, and headed for Ken's room, stopping at the bathroom on the way to fill the bucket a third of the way. This was ridiculous. He'd just been raped, for godssakes, and now he got to clean up his own damned blood? He leaned over the sink, watching the hot water fill the plastic bucket and feeling the steam on his face. On impulse, he placed his hand under the stream, then winced at the heat, drawing back. The back of his hand was red, blood gathering below the surface of his skin in an ugly blister, reminding him of his own ugly existence. The scalding water felt good, though, cleansing, as it always did after an encounter with Schuldich like this afternoon. Being dirtied and humiliated like that brought with itself special difficulties, such as how to feel clean again, not just in his skin, but in his mind. Fuck cleaning the room. He needed a bath, needed to be rid of the filth on his body. Shutting off the sink, he stripped and turned the hot water for the shower on full, then added a bit of cold as an afterthought before stepping into the water.

He hissed as the water hit his body, burning him nearly enough to make him want to step out of the shower. Nearly. But he stood there, slowly letting the feeling of shame burn off of him. It wouldn't be gone completely -- it never would be. He knew it wouldn't. But this helped. This really made him feel... clean... in some way that Schuldich couldn't touch. It was as though the water was boiling away all the filth Schuldich had forced upon him.

Slim fingers wrapped around the bar of soap, then grabbed a washclothe and began to scrub, abrading skin made tender by the heat of the water. His touch became lighter on his face and the more sensitive areas of his body, however; the bruises were too painful to scrub at like that. His eyes widened when he drew the washcloth up from his groin and saw it stained red. That was a first. Trying to ignore it, he washed the other side of him as roughly as he could without passing out, attempting to rub off all trace of the bodily fluids Schuldich had abandoned inside his body. It wasn't enough. He could still feel the filth inside him, dirtying everything that he touched, everything around him. His breathing sped up as he panicked, going past the point of pain to scrape at his skin with his fingernails, drawing bloody runnels in his flesh. Fists pounded on the door, but besides the rush of the blood in his ears, and thud of water on his skin, Nagi didn't hear it. Almost blinded by the hysteria that had taken over, his hand fell on the razor that Crawford used, fingers curling around it and bringing it to his arm, scraping away skin in quick slices, blood welling up in the blade's wake.

Finally, he had found a way. He couldn't wash the filthiness away anymore; it had tainted him too much for that. But he could bleed it away, force it out of his body with his blood. He leaned against the wall, silently sobbing -- but not from pain; rather, a strange, unsettling joy caused his tears. He had found a way to make it go away, and he needed that. Several slashes later found him kneeling on the floor of the shower, razor poised over his wrist. He could make it all go away, if he did this. Purify himself, and make himself untouchable. The blade descended, bit into his skin, then deeper, parting tissue, veins, artery. Blood welled, then spurted as the blade continued on it's path, tracing a line of crimson-black up to his elbow.

Outside, a very frustrated Farferello who really needed to use the bathroom finally lost his patience, and simply barreled through the thin wooden door. He used the toilet first before realizing that the faint red spots on the shower curtain generally weren't supposed to be there. He jerked it back -- and saw Nagi, one arm cut from wrist to elbow, blood flowing from the wound to the drain, passed out. He swore, and called for the one whose fault it was. "Crawford! Get your ass in here now! If you don't fix this I swear seeing the future won't save you from what I'll do!" Crawford started from his position behind his desk, glaring up at the door for a second before a vision flashed before his eyes and goaded him out of the room and down the hall. Schuldich, even though he hadn't been called, was already approaching the steam clouded bathroom from the opposite direction, and several colorful curses greeted them. Farferello pointed at Nagi. "By Jesus, Mary, and ass-fucking Joseph, you'll do something now." It was a calm sort of madness rarely exercised by Farferello, and both were scared. Schuldich winced away from the madman's mind, and Crawford's brain had suddenly gone haywire from the different possibilities the Irishman was putting off. "You'll save him, damn you both. Look what you've done."

Seeing neither of them move to help, Farfarello bent to lift the teen from the blood stained tub, crimson liquid staining his skin. Either one of you call 911 right now, or I'll gut you both and hang you with your own intestines. Got that?" The Irshman's eyes were burning with rage, and both of the other men fumbled with cellphones, with he stalked out of the bathroom to find a first aid kit. "Dammit kid, I know I should have hurt them for you..."

He remembered, suddenly, that Nagi had been planning on "repairing" the new one as best he could. The first aid kit would probably be in there. He walked in there and found, surprisingly enough, that the kitten was awake. Generally Farferello would stay and play, but there were more important things than games at the moment. Without a word, he bent to grab the first aid kit.

"I heard all the shouting," Ken said, no longer regarding the Irishman as the monster he once had. "What's going on?"

So, in short, clipped words, Farferello told him. "Nagi's tried to kill himself. Those two could care less."

Ken's eyes widened. "But... I hadn't told him that I... don't hate him yet..."

"At this point you may never get your chance," the blonde returned, stalking from the room.

Ken's eyes were fixed on the limp hand trailing from Farfarello's arms, and the trail of blood he was leaving behind. "Matte! Is there... I know first aid. Maybe we can keep him alive until paramedics get here!"

Farfarello turned to look at him, eye narrowed, before he nodded, tossing the kit to Ken and walking back over, carefully settling Nagi's unconscious and bleeding body on the floor. Ken pulled at his chains frantically. He knew it would do no good to sew it up; he had no sterile equipment, nearly guaranteeing an infection, and he didn't know if they had the supplies anyway. He took the Ace bandage from the kit, wrapping it quickly and tightly about the wound instead. His next move, though, was rather odd.He took medical tape and bound the strip of cloth in place so that there was no way it could move. Within a matter of perhaps twenty seconds, the blood could be seen underneath the tape -- but it didn't seep through, or come out from underneath the edges of the odd makeshift bandage. The bleeding was slowing. Ken didn't sigh in relief. This was more because Nagi had already lost a good deal of blood than anything else. "Tear some of your shirt off," he instructed to Farferello. The Irishman complied, and Ken tied it tight about Nagi's upper arm. He checked for a pulse in Nagi's neck then -- and it was there. Very, very faint, but there. Finally, he kept an eye for a moment on the flesh below the strip of Farferello's shirt tight tightly around Nagi's arm. It turned purple from lack of circulation. Ken finally slumped back, closing his eyes. "I can't do anything else," he murmered. "It's up to how fast the paramedics get here, and how much he really wants to die."

Farfarello shook his head, half glaring at Ken. "If he dies, you'll be joining the other two in hell. It's your fault that he got punished." Farfarello sneered, then stalked from the room to wait for the ambulance outside.

Ken sighed, staring at the teen. "It is my fault, isn't it?"

"Ja, it is katschen." Ken's head jerked up, eyes meeting Schuldich's from across the room. "All. Your. Fault. You're useless, should have just stayed with the other kittens. But no, you had to come, and now Nagi's dying."

"But I..."

"No buts. You'll be lucky if Brad lets you live after this. Maybe he'll let me play a bit first." Schuldich licked his lips, eyeing Ken's naked body.

Ken began to reply angrily, but instead cast his head down. He saw the truth in Schuldich's words. He hated that it was true, but it was. It was his fault Nagi was dying. It was his fault Nagi had been punished badly enough to make him feel suicidal. It was his fault. He pulled Nagi to him, ignoring the fact that they were both nude. "If you make it," he promised, "I'll make it up to you." Even though Nagi couldn't hear him, he still felt better for having said it.

"You won't have a chance, litte Kenken. He's Schwarz, you're still Weiss for now. He still hates you."

At that, Ken did look up, murder blazing in his usually amiable brown eyes. "What do you think I was doing when you found me?" he hissed. "I was *running away*, Schuldich. I'm not Weiss anymore. And I can assure you my wish to kill you and Crawford is just as great as his. So don't lie to me. Maybe you can't lie to a telepath, but this telepath has a hard time lying to me."

"I never said he didn't hate us too, kitten.* Schuldich's smirk was mocking. "But he hates you too! Only person he does care about is probably Farfarello, and even then I'm not sure about that." The Germsn tilted his head, then crossed the room to pry Nagi from Ken's arms and carry him out. "Wouldn't be good for the paramedics to see you, now would it?" Ken raised a manacled hand and flipped him off, and promptly sunk back into worries about whether or not Nagi would be alright.