Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Shadows And Blades ❯ One-Shot

Author's Notes: I can't help but think I've already written a fic similar to this. o_O *has a hard time remembering what all her fics are about and what issues she's already covered in her writings* Yes, yes, I know I'm supposed to be writing the next chapter to Faded. Shh... <_< Don't remind me. *easily gets side-tracked at the drop of a hat...or in this case-- at the hint of a new fic idea* >_> My muses decided to bombard me with several different fanfic ideas in the past week, this one-shot being one of them. I don't really like it that much...a fic like this is kinda been overdone. Anyway, please enjoy reading.

Disclaimer: These bishounen do not belong to me. *sobs* They belong to Takehito Koyasu *swoons* and Project Weiss and whoever owns them that I didn't list here. Speaking of which, I'm sure someone has written something similar to this (like someone hasn't conceived this idea). I don't plagiarize fics. I didn't copy this from someone else's work, so if it looks similar, don't email me with a 'You %#^%$&%*-ing copycat' message or something.

Key:

>thoughts<

<Schuldig speaking in people's minds>

emphasis

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Shadows and Blades

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Schuldig silently watched as Brad worked. He couldn't really decided which hurt more-- his right wrist that Brad had painfully twisted in order to make him drop the knife, or his left arm that the American was currently bandaging up. The cut wound on his left wrist wasn't that bad. Just a thin slice, not even over his entire wrist because Brad had stopped him before he could do more damage.

He'd been surprised actually, maybe even a little bit relieved that Brad had kicked down the bathroom door in order to stop Schuldig. What he wasn't happy about was the bruise he now sported on his cheek from Brad punching him upon entering the room. He also wasn't too thrilled that his right wrist was turning a slight shade of black and blue.

The older man hadn't spoken a word since entering the bathroom where Schuldig had been slicing himself. Slicing, not exactly trying to kill himself. He could control the blade. Apparently it seemed that Brad had foresaw him doing more damage than he'd meant to if he'd intervened. He hadn't all those other times before when Schuldig played with a knife upon his skin, so he supposed he might've actually done himself in tonight then.

Not exactly a victory, but not a loss either. Probably why he hadn't fought against Brad. That, and anyone who fought against Brad certainly had a death wish.

>No comment on that.< Schuldig thought.

He glanced over at the sink that was stained with blood from other cuts along his arm that he had made before he'd moved the blade to focus on his wrist. Surprisingly, now they were starting to sort of go numb with pain. Some of them would probably even leave scars. Nothing new, as he noted some scars that were already on his arm from this nasty habit he had yet to kick.

He wondered what would happen now that the American knew of it. Or maybe he had already known before and just hadn't cared or seen any life-threatening danger in it like he must've seen tonight. What ever the case, he had a feeling that Brad was going to keep a close eye on him for awhile. Something he didn't like the older man doing at all...

He sighed, growing weary of sitting on the bathroom counter while Brad played doctor to his wounds. He wondered when the man would speak up and lecture him about this not exactly being a good thing to do, or even suggest putting a bullet in Schuldig's head if he wanted to die so badly. So far. Brad had done neither, and the older man's silence was beginning to unnerve him.

He wanted to push the American away, tell him to mind his own business and let Schuldig slice himself up as he pleased. However, Brad had made it quite clear that what ever would affect the team's balance was also his business to intervene upon and put a stop to. He'd demonstrated this several times to each of the members of Schwarz.

After he'd finished bandaging the wounds on Schuldig's arm, Brad remained standing there in silence with Schuldig's hand in his. The redhead could be crazy sometimes, but tonight he'd been undoubtedly stupid. The German was lucky that all he'd received from Brad was a punch to the face and a bruised wrist. Had Brad not been controlling his anger, he'd probably be bandaging an unconscious Schuldig who would later wake up with a lot more bruises than there were cuts on his arm tonight.

His fingers ran over the bandage, tracing wounds that he remembered to be there before he'd wrapped them up. How long had Schuldig been doing this to himself? How long did he intend to do this before the knife cut too deep, the slice cut too long? Tonight had been close enough. He'd had no intention of rushing Schuldig to the hospital or attempting to give the man stitches himself in order to close the large gash that was otherwise not too large of a wound now that Brad had stopped him.

He wanted to yell at the German, smack him around, tell him what a selfish idiot he was, but he dared not open his mouth in case of saying something he intended for the German not to hear. The redhead didn't need any sort of little confessions of Brad's growing affection for him after what had happened tonight. He doubted he'd tell the younger man at all anyway.

So instead he had remained silent, letting Schuldig watch him and not making eye contact with those emerald-blue eyes that held such emptiness. He wanted to leave the bathroom, now that he was had successfully stopped the German from nearly killing himself and now that he had finished bandaging the wounds created. His legs would not respond to his desire to walk out of the room though.

He would stand here until he could trust the words coming out of his mouth, until he could find out the reason behind Schuldig's actions. That, he guessed would not be for awhile yet. He released the German's hand but did not move away to let Schuldig slide off the counter and walk out of the bathroom, a silent indication that their conversation that had yet to start was not over.

He reached over and turned the sink faucet on, momentarily pausing before putting his hands under the rush of water and running them along the bowl of the sink, rinsing away the now dried blood that had been spilt from the wounds that Schuldig has inflicted upon himself.

When he was done with that, he glanced to the floor, his eyes searching for the small knife that the redhead had used. Spotting it, he bent down and picked it up, turning the blade over in his hand before rinsing that as well and setting it on the counter, as far from the German as it could get.

Once again, his hand found Schuldig's and his eyes focused on the thin fingers that the German hadn't touched with the blade. He supposed the only way to get any answers out of the younger man would be to start asking the questions now. He could already sense the redhead's tension at him not having yet spoken.

"What did you hope to accomplish tonight?" Brad asked, finally looking up at the eyes that had been watching him almost the entire time.

It was Schuldig's turn to avoid his gaze, but the American would have none of that. The hand that wasn't holding Schuldig's, grabbed the man's chin and forced his head to turn and face him. However, that didn't stop his eyes from focusing elsewhere. Schuldig just smiled at him. A false smile it was, but even still, the expression did not quite fit the situation.

"I was just having a little fun, nothing harmful."

Brad remembered the blood-stained sink and his eyes narrowed. No, nothing harmful at all, he sarcastically agreed. So harmless that if the American were not in the room at the moment and had never had stopped him, the German would probably be laying unconscious in a puddle of his own blood. All these 'what-ifs' dancing through Brad's head were really beginning to annoy him.

"I take it you know what you might have accomplished, had I not intervened?"

Schuldig shrugged, "I have a vague idea. The floor would have been stained and you would've had to go find yourself a new telepath or other replacement for me."

His hand twitched, squeezing Schuldig's lightly. He'd always threatened the members of Schwarz that if any of them screwed up, he could always find replacements for them. And he could, he knew. He could find replacement for the talent lost, but not for the person that would no longer be there. He couldn't quite explain that to Schuldig, couldn't exactly find the right words to explain it.

Brad sighed, "You're not...content with yourself, are you? Is that why you did this? Is that why you have been doing this?"

"I've been doing this for quite some time, Brad," Schuldig answered, "It's a wonder you hadn't noticed before. You tend to keep close tabs on all of us."

For a split second he wondered if the other members of Schwarz were slicing themselves, then he remembered that --duh-- the Irishman with a fetish for knives and blood frequently did slice himself. He also recalled that Nagi, whether the boy liked to admit it or not, would occasionally get a bit uneasy at the sight of blood and would most-likely not be hurting himself like that.

Had Schuldig been trying to tell him something all along, that Brad had not noticed simply because of the fact that he didn't know that the German did this to himself every now and then? Brad tried to recall all the times that Schuldig had been in the mood he was in tonight, and wondered if those times he'd taken a blade to his skin as well. Brad shook his head, trying to push away the pictures his imagination conjured up.

"You didn't answer my question," Brad said, "Why have you been doing this to yourself?"

"Because I want to. Because I can," the German answered in a tone of voice that clearly said this would not be the last time he sliced himself.

"Whether you can or want to, I want you to stop," Brad told him.

"Oh?" Schuldig raised an eyebrow, "And why is that?"

Brad glared at him, his mocha brown eyes darkening with anger, "Because I said so. That's an order."

"I don't see why it matters, if it won't affect the team. I'm not the only telepath in the world. There are several replacements and some I'm sure that don't slice themselves, so you wouldn't have to deal with that," the redhead said dismissively.

"It's because I can't find a replacement for you," Brad said angrily, really wanting to bite down on his tongue if that would keep him from slipping up, like he had just now.

The German looked at him, an expression of confusion on his face.

The dark-haired man scowled and looked away, "Why didn't you just kill yourself sooner, if you hate yourself and your life so much?"

>Preferably when I wouldn't have cared, like I do now<, Brad added, not voicing those thoughts.

Schuldig tried to look away, but Brad's hold on his chin kept him from turning his head to the side, "Because..."

Brad raised an eyebrow. He wouldn't let the German leave it at that, "Because?"

The redhead chuckled softly, closing his eyes, "I'm...I'm afraid to die."

"Then why did you try to kill yourself?" Brad asked, "And yes, you would have succeeded had I not come in here."

"...I don't want to live," Schuldig admitted.

"You're only running away, you know. Trying to find the easy way out."

"Like you care," Schuldig grumbled.

>Say it. No, but I couldn't say that. No matter how much part of me wants to tell him...I can't. But if it will make him stop, I should just say something. Yet, there's no guarantee that he will stop if I say anything.<

Brad sighed. Sometimes he really hated fighting with his conscience, especially when it would nearly turn into a conversation within his head.

"...I do care."

"Heh, nice try," Schuldig smirked at him, and tried to push Brad away so that he could get off the bathroom counter and leave the room.

The American stiffened and refused to be pushed aside, "If I didn't care, I wouldn't have stopped you. I can find a replacement for your level of telepathy eventually, but like I said earlier, I cannot find a replacement for you."

Schuldig scowled, "Oh yeah? Well if you've been thinking that all along, why didn't you say anything --think anything-- until now?"

"I suppose it had to take a life threatening 'what-if' to make me realize that I don't want to lose you, that I really would care if you died," Brad said flatly, looking down at Schuldig's hand in his.

The German scowled again, but didn't say anything.

"Will you...start to care more about yourself, now that you know someone cares for you?" Brad asked, softly.

"In other words 'Schuldig, you try to slice yourself again and I will bitch-slap some sense back into you'?" the redhead smiled a bit wryly.

"That too."

Schuldig shrugged, "No promises."

It was Brad's turn to scowl and he looked up at the German.

"But I will work at it," Schuldig told him, "Avoiding sharp objects, I mean."

"Aa," Brad nodded, giving Schuldig's hand a gentle squeeze, "Thank you."

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Author's Notes: *snorts* 'Thank you?' ...Brad what the hell was that?

Brad: Shut up. >_< You wrote it.

*sighs* I suppose I did. And look, look~ I chose the better ending, rather than the "let's-remain-unresolved-and-still-angsty" ending. Er...at least I like to think this one was a bit resolved and will leave my readers (and Brad) hopeful that Schuldig won't slice himself anymore. *looks at her readers* Review, please? I'd really appreciate it. ^_^