Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Silence ❯ Homecoming Day ( Chapter 2 )

Notes/Warnings: Schu torture/rape, and of course lots of angst. This is a fairly AU fic. Probably before the series started. Don't blame me, I just write what they tell me to.

Disclaimers: I don't own em. Too bad, really.

Silence

Chapter 2: Homecoming Day

It was well over a month before Schuldig was returned to his teammates. For the duration of his stay with Este he had been confined to his bed, chained hand and foot to the railing after his first, and only, attempt to rip the stitches out of his throat. The stitches had only been there for a couple of weeks, but the doctors and nurses were too busy to bother dealing with a suicidal mute.

The first week had been very hard, and quite embarrassing. He'd wet the bed on a number of occasions because he couldn't convey what he needed. It was easier when a telepath was around, which is probably why there wasn't one around very often, just to punish him further. Near the end though, he'd managed to come up with a few hand signals to indicated what he needed. Three to be precise. One for food, one for drink, and one for bathroom. The bathroom was the only one that was really heeded, more because the nurses were tired of changing his soiled sheets than anything. He would have kept pissing in the bed just to spite them, but laying in a puddle of his own waste for hours, perhaps days, wasn't all the appealing.

It was a bit hard to make his legs cooperate after laying in bed for a month, but he regained control in a hurry as the Este agents dragged him out to the waiting limousine, his hands cuffed behind his back. The door opened and he was shoved inside, barely having time to pull his legs in before the door was slammed closed again. The agents got in on the other side, one sitting beside him, and other across from him. The one across from him knocked on the glass separating them from the driver, and the car lurched forward.

Schuldig gave an inaudible sigh as despair dulled eyes looked out the tinted window at the passing urban landscape that was Tokyo. All he wanted right now was to go home, although he didn't know why. He wasn't expecting any kind of sympathy from any of his teammates. All he would be to them now was a burden; a punishment for the team's failure. He almost wished the limousine would careen into the nearest building and kill him, along with these Este bastards, but he knew that wouldn't happen. He wasn't that lucky. So he settled for staring blankly out the window, not caring who heard his thoughts.

He pressed his forehead against the cool window and gave another silent sigh as he saw the house pulling into view. He didn't want to face the rest of them now, mentally naked and helpless. The matter wasn't left in his hands though. The limousine stopped and the two agents got out, walking around and hauling Schuldig out and up to the door, one firm grip on either of the German's biceps.

The click of the door echoed in his ears as the door opened, red hair creating a veil over his face as he stared at the ground. Instinct and routine told him that it was Crawford who answered the door. Farfarello should be locked away and sleeping, and Nagi should be at school. Schuldig tried to shake the Este agents off of him as they informed the leader of Schwarz just what fate had befallen his German teammate. However the action just rewarded him with a stronger grip on his arms. Once they finished with the explanation, they handed the redhead over to the American, as well as the keys to the handcuffs, and left. Crawford sighed with a touch of irritation, letting Schuldig shake him off and walk away. He knew the other man would be fine alone for a few hours, he had Seen it. Not that he would care too terribly if the redhead killed himself. Now that he was powerless, he was useless. Just a lump of silent flesh laying around eating up resources.

Although, he did have to admit that seeing the usually loud, boisterous, insanely obnoxious German being so meek and quiet and submissive, well, it was quite a shock. A shock that seemed to be centered right in between the American's legs. A soft smirk crossed his features as he continued to his office. Perhaps there was a was Schuldig could repay him after all.

Hours had passed since Schuldig had returned. As soon as he had gotten to his room he'd laid down on the bed and cried like a child, sobbing and screaming his heart out. Of course not a sound passed his lips, which had made him cry even more. He'd only stopped after giving himself a headache and his eyes refused to give up any more tears, but the cold grip of anger and depression was still firm around his chest and he now found his mind turning down a darker path.

If only he hadn't been so impatient in shoving Crawford off. Having his hands free would be a big help if he were going to try killing himself.

As soon as the thought flittered through his mind, the door creaked opened. Schuldig didn't even move, keeping his back towards the door. Without a word, his hands were freed, and he immediately drew them against his chest, rubbing at the sore wrists a bit. The bed sagged under the weight of another body sitting on the edge, and he felt a hand touch his calf. He still didn't move, already knowing it was Crawford, and hoping he would go away. The hand started stroking in a light, comforting motion and Schuldig jerked his leg. He didn't want sympathy from any of them. He just wanted to be alone. When he jerked his leg, however, instead of escaping the hand, it grasped his ankle. That caused Schuldig to look up at the American, and the sight before was anything but comforting. Crawford was looking at him with a hungry, carnal glint in his eyes, Schuldig's leg lifted up ever so slightly.

With a silent growl, the German swung his free leg, only to have it caught in Crawford free hand. Before his brain could fully register what was going on, Crawford had Schuldig's legs pinned by straddling him, and had his hands recuffed, this time stretched out above him and connected to the headboard. Blue eyes widened with anger, and more than a little fear. Crawford, the uptight American... he was about too...

"If you don't want this, just say so." A wicked smirk played on the usually stoic face.

Any fear within the redhead vanished, which left only the anger. The fiery redhead started to scream at the calm American, thrashing his body to try and dislodge him. It didn't work though. The month of laying around and doing nothing didn't do much for his strength. It didn't take long for Schuldig to wear himself out, and it seemed his struggle only made his current captor even more aroused, judging by the shallow breathing and the flushed cheeks. The way Crawford was straddling him, Schuldig realized he'd probably just been grinding himself against the man, as opposed to his real intent.

"What was that? I didn't hear you." The raven haired man chuckled, loosening his tie, then slipping his hands under the sweatshirt Schuldig still wore from the hospital. The silent protests continued to leave his lips as he tried to get away, but he was ignored. It wasn't long before he found himself completely bare, save for the sweatshirt tangled around his arms. Panic caught in the German's chest as the hands withdrew, moving down to release the fly of his khaki slacks and slip on a condom onto the freed erection. Christ, he wasn't even going to bother with undressing.

With the grace of a skilled predator, Crawford shifted and Schuldig's legs were pushed up against his chest. White-hot starbursts of pain shot from his entrance, all the way up his spine and through his extremities, only the slight lubrication on the condom easing the invasion. A silent scream tore from Schuldig's throat as the American pounded hard and unforgiving into his body, blood flowing out to stain the sheets below him.

A steady stream of soft English was pouring from the American's lips, only a few of which the German understood. Slut, whore, bitch, worthless, all said with a sadistic grin as cruel brown eyes pierced tormented blue. Schuldig closed his eyes to try to escape, but only earned a blow to the face for the action.

Finally, blessedly, Crawford grunted with his release, shuddering as he spent himself into the latex sheath. Schuldig lay beneath him lax and shivering with pain. The American withdrew from him, tossing the bloody, semen filled piece of now trash onto the German's stomach, then tucked himself back into his slacks, zipped up, and left as if nothing had happened.

Once the door was closed Schuldig curled up tight on his side in a near fetal position, tears once again streaming down his face.

Why couldn't Este have just killed him?