Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Skeleton Jar ❯ Having Someone Else's Dream ( Chapter 1 )

Skeleton Jar

Part 1: Having Someone Else's Dream

Fan fic by: Omni-sama

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Rated: NC-17

Reasons: Swearing, violence, sexual situations

Disclaimer: I don't own them. But then, you knew that already, didn't you?

Notes: While this is not a song fic, it was inspired by listening to certain songs. Because of this, the main title and all chapter titles are taken either from the titles of those songs or from their lyrics. All songs alluded to in such a way are from the band Youth Group.

 

Also, this is partial AU. Meaning, there is Weiss, there is Schwarz, but it does not follow any particular official timeline from the series or related material.

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He had his reasons for not wanting to go to Tokyo. It was crowded, for one. For Schuldig, it was bad enough during the day when a thought would pop into his head and he couldn't be certain if it was actually his or not. But nights… Well, nights were worse. He couldn't really remember the last time he had his own dream. Or if he'd ever had his own dream, for that matter. The more densely populated the city, the worse it was. And Tokyo, as stated, was rather densely populated.

 

But Brad had given him a very good reason for going. Tokyo held the key to their freedom and eventual world domination. Schuldig could certainly put up with experiencing other people's thoughts and dreams for a while if it meant that he would eventually be free from Eszet and be one step closer to owning his own country or five.

 

At least, that's what he kept telling himself as he was pulled out of a businessman's nightmare of getting fired and into a schoolgirl's dream about visiting a shrine on New Year's. Couldn't these people dream more interesting dreams? Seriously… He'd only been in Tokyo for a week, and so far the worst nightmare he'd seen was when some boy dreamed he failed the entrance exam and went to throw himself in front of a train.

 

The dreamscape suddenly shifted again as he was caught in another person's dream. As was the case many times before, he was watching the dream through the eyes of the dreamer. It looked like it was going to be another boring dream, the dreamer just walking through a bar as people greeted him. But Schuldig was struck with the strangest of sensations. He felt sad and angry. There was even a touch of confusion, and it was confusion that was different from his own. The people at the bar all seemed happy to see the dreamer and greeted him warmly. The dreamer's responses all sounded just as jovial. Even so, as the man progressed through the bar, the feelings grew stronger until something hurt deep inside Schuldig. Eventually, the dreamer made it to the restrooms and moved to the sinks, gripping the edges of one tightly as he stared at himself in the mirror. At first Schuldig was struck by the man's good looks with dark blond hair that fell to his shoulders, a tall and well-toned body, and a smile that was so incredibly brilliant and charming it could be a model for toothpaste ads. But once he got to the eyes, Schuldig felt disturbed instead of turned on.

 

If the green eyes matched the man's smile, they would have been just as attractive as every other part of him. Unfortunately, the smile did not reach the eyes. They stared at their reflections with a dark expression that intrigued Schuldig and sent a chill through him at the same time. All the feelings he had been experiencing as the man walked through the bar were clear in those eyes. So much anger and grief, and a shimmer of confusion. Schuldig thought he understood now what the man was confused about—just how could no one else have noticed the look in those eyes?

 

The man opened his mouth as if he were about to say something, but his attention was stolen by someone pounding on the bathroom door. He looked toward the door and Schuldig mourned the loss of the man's image. “Yohji,” a voice called out from the other side of the door, the pounding growing louder. The name was repeated two more times until the dreamscape was suddenly gone. Figuring the man must have woken up, and not really wanting to experience anyone else's dreams at the moment, Schuldig awoke.

 

It was three days before he'd share a dream with that man again. It was a nightmare that held the taste of a memory. A girl that the man obviously cared for was shot and killed as he sat bleeding, unable to do anything to save her. Schuldig felt it all, the love, the pain of the bullet wounds in the other man's flesh, the terror at watching the woman be taken from him in a flurry of gunshots. It took his breath away and left him gasping when they were both thrown from the dream and into waking. So if that was based on a memory, then it was little wonder that the man's eyes looked so haunted in the other dream. But, Schuldig was certain that there was something else, too. Something even darker. He couldn't wait until he witnessed another of the blond's dreams.

 

This time it was a week before he experienced another of the man's dreams. But he didn't allow himself to naturally be pulled in this time. No, he focused until he found the man's dream and snuck his way in. As a result, he was outside of the dreamer, but still within the dream. It was like living in a movie. All the actors continue to play out the scenes in front of you without ever noticing you exist, and yet you're there.

 

Schuldig found himself in a bleach white room. On the far side of the room stood the blond man, bent over a grimy sink as he scrubbed at his hands. There was a small rectangular mirror on the wall above the sink, but it was covered with so much filth and cracks that any image it would attempt to reflect would be far too foggy and distorted. The sink and mirror were a stark contrast to the sterile appearance of the rest of the room. The blond was mumbling to himself as he scrubbed at his hands, seeming distressed over how the stains wouldn't come off. Suddenly Schuldig was struck by the image of Lady Macbeth as she scrubbed at the imaginary blood spots on her hands. Could that be what this man was doing? So his hands were covered in blood, were they? He was a murderer? Or, at the very least, he thought he was? Perhaps he was just blaming himself for that girl's death. Yes, perhaps that was all it was. But something inside Schuldig told him it wasn't.

 

He started slowly walking towards the man, intent on interacting with him this time. Something pressing into his throat stopped him short a couple of meters away, however. Something thin. Like wire. Stepping back, he squinted at the space in front of him until he could just barely make it out—a strand of fine wire stretched out in front of him, most likely from wall to wall. Then suddenly, as if a switch had been flipped, he could see more wires that he hadn't noticed before. They were stretched tightly between walls and floors in crisscross diagonals, weaving an intricate web around the man at the sink. Just as he was starting to think it strange that he could suddenly see the wires now, Schuldig noticed that it looked almost as if they were moving. They gleamed as if they were being pulled along, like laces in a shoe or thread in a wound. It wasn't until the first few drops of red fell that he realized what was happening.

 

Blood was flowing along the wires, which is what made them more visible and what caused the illusion of them moving. As more blood continued to trickle down the thin roads, more drops of red started plopping to the clean white floor. The man at the sink seemed oblivious to the wires or the blood, and continued to scrub away. Something told Schuldig that the wires were directly linked to the man believing he was a murderer. Whoever he killed, he did so with wire. But there were so many wires strung about the room… Did he kill that many people? No, surely not. It was just his guilt multiplying the severity of his deed. That was all.

 

As the blood dripped and pooled, it slowly started to eat away at the room, melting the walls and floors like strong acid. Alarmed, Schuldig stepped back and wondered if he should pull out of the dream before things got any worse. But suddenly a door that wasn't there before opened, flooding the room with a burst of light for a moment, and everything changed. Gone were the wires and the pools of acid blood. Gone was the sink and mirror. Instead, Schuldig found himself in someone's living room. The blond man sat on a comfortable looking couch, a blanket pulled around him as he stared sadly out a window. There were sounds of the sea in the distance, and of pans clanking nearby. Once again the dream tasted of memory, but something was off.

 

The girl from the other memory-dream entered holding a large mug of something, which she promptly handed to the man on the couch. “I made you some soup,” she explained with a smile before taking a seat next to him. “Drink it all up. It'll help you feel better.”

 

After staring blankly at the cup for a moment, the man looked to her with a smile. “Thanks, Asuka. What would I ever do without you, huh?”

 

Schuldig watched on from the side, his back leaning against the wall and his curiosity growing. The something off pecked more and more insistently at him, but he couldn't quite figure out how much was memory and how much was dream. And even though the scene appeared so mundane and boring, he felt a strange anxiousness, as if part of him knew something unexpected was going to happen.

 

The girl laughed then smiled warmly at the man. “You'd surely die, that's for certain. Who else would be there to take care of you like this?”

 

With a nod, the man blew gently at the soup before taking a cautious sip. “It's true. You're far too good to me.” He paused, glancing up at her through the fall of his dark blond hair. “I love you, you know.”

 

“I know. I love you, too. You're like the brother I never had.” She patted his head and stood from the couch. Suddenly the man was standing beside her, mug and blanket discarded. Schuldig watched in mild shock as the man instantly had his hands around her throat, lifting her from the ground as he choked her.

 

“No, I love you… Goddammit, don't you get it!?” His green eyes glared at her in anger and pain as his hands squeezed harder at her neck. All she could offer as a response were some gagging sounds and a feeble attempt to pry his hands off with her own.

 

“I'm confused,” Schuldig interrupted loudly as he stepped away from the wall, making certain that the man would acknowledge him as part of the dream, “I thought she died by gunfire. Is this how she really died?”

 

As if she were never there, the woman disappeared from the man's hands, and he turned to face the intruder with worried eyes. Schuldig was intrigued to watch the landscape shift again until it appeared as if they were in some sort of interrogation chamber. A table stood between them, a few chairs seated sloppily around it, and they were surrounded by three blank walls and a mirror.

 

“She died when we were investigating Riot. You people know that. That's where you found me!”

 

Schuldig silently stood there and studied the man, confused now as to who and what he was talking about. Evidently he had been assigned a role in the man's dream, but he suspected it related to something in the waking world as well. The blond seemed to take his silence as further doubt and accusation, and his anger and desperation grew as he started pacing.

 

“Check my file. It's all right there! Ask Manx!”

 

There was a file on the table that hadn't been there before, and Schuldig casually picked it up and opened it. The pages inside were either blank or covered in garbled text that made no sense. Of course. If the man had a file, he'd probably never get to see it, so of course he wouldn't know what was in it or what it looked like. He flipped to the first page and noticed that it actually made some sort of sense. It looked like a police file, the blond man's photo paper-clipped to the top. It had all his personal information, name, address, date of birth, and so forth. Schuldig memorized it all, smiling a little as he finally knew the man's name and even where he lived. Then he noticed the only word on the paper not written in Japanese. In big black letters at the top was the word “Kritiker.” His head snapped up from the file to look at the man with a start.

 

Sensing his shock, the blond—Kudou Yohji, the file said—stopped pacing and looked at him with concern. “What? What's wrong? What does it say?”

 

“You work for Kritiker.” So many different emotions were traveling through Schuldig's mind in that moment, that he couldn't decide exactly how he felt concerning this little revelation. The man worked for the “enemy” organization. More than that, going by what he had seen tonight, the man was probably an assassin agent. Garrote wire would make a perfect silent and deadly weapon for an assassin, he reasoned. He was worried that he would have to fight or even possibly kill this man in the future, when he found him so fascinating. At the same time, he was happy to find another like himself—a killer that he would be able to relate to. There was also a thrill of excitement running through him as he thought about the dangers that would be involved if he decided to get close to this man in the waking world as well. Danger always did give him such a fucking rush.

 

But now the blond was glaring suspiciously at him. “Of course I do. You do, too, don't you? That's why I'm here… Isn't this a Kritiker facility?”

 

“I'm not here to interrogate you,” Schuldig explained with a relaxed and casual air as he allowed the file to slip from his fingers and dissolve into nothing. Exerting a little of his power, he forced the dreamscape to shift yet again, this time taking on the look of a cozy little pub. The bar snaked its way beside Yohji, an empty glass standing near the man. “I'm here to buy you a drink, since it appears you've finished yours.” A quick little bit of prodding and prying and Schuldig was able to extract all he needed to know. Kudou Yohji's favorite drink was whisky on ice, his favorite music was R&B, jazz, and anything else slow and sultry, and he was most certainly bisexual.

 

“A drink, huh?” Yohji's mind seemed to ease into the new situation rather well, not even questioning the sudden shift. But why should it? That's how dreams work, after all. Schuldig wasn't able to hide his pleased smirk as he watched Yohji's clothes shift as well, until the man stood there wearing a deep red dress shirt that was partially undone and a very nice-fitting pair of black slacks. Oh how he hoped the man had that outfit in the waking world as well.

 

“Of course,” the German purred as he moved to lean against the bar beside Yohji, partially turned towards the man and supporting himself on his folded arm. “You look thirsty.” Without waiting for Yohji to respond, Schuldig waved down the faceless bartender. “Get my friend here your best whisky, on the rocks. Some Brora thirty year, if you have any on stock.”

 

After the bartender moved away to fill the order, Yohji shifted a little closer to Schuldig, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “What's Brora? I've never heard of that before.”

 

“The finest whisky to come out of the highlands.” He winked at the man, then sighed internally as he wished Yohji could truly try a taste. If the man was a whisky fan, he'd surely love a nice glass of Brora… Maybe he'd have a chance to take him out for a drink in the waking world, sometime. One could only hope.

 

Leonard Cohen's “Be for Real” started playing moments before Yohji's whisky was delivered. He did his best to transfer the memory of drinking Brora so that Yohji could experience it to some extent. The fine whisky combined with one of the blond's favorite songs worked like a charm. Schuldig stood and watched with smug satisfaction as Yohji nearly melted before his very eyes. There wasn't a human alive that he couldn't successfully seduce, if he so desired. Raking his eyes up and down along his companion's form, he confirmed that he most certainly desired.

 

As he reached out toward Yohji, the blond reached out towards him in return. They came together, hands buried in each other's hair, and kissed. Once again Schuldig mourned the fact that this wasn't real. He wanted to taste this man, but the dream didn't allow for that. He wanted to feel what it really felt like to run his hands over Yohji, but it was all too hazy, the sensations too blurred and weak. It created a craving deep inside of him that caused him to kiss with more hunger. But the more intense the kiss became, the greater the craving ached. Then suddenly Yohji was gone, and Schuldig was left momentarily off balance in the fading residue of the dream.

 

He awoke to see light seeping in through the curtains. His cock was so hard it hurt, but the pain was overshadowed by the strange ache in his chest that twisted and boiled but eventually simmered away. Once the chest pain was gone, and the other pain was taken in hand and alleviated, Schuldig pulled himself out of bed and started getting ready for the day. He knew that Brad didn't have any assignments for him that day, so he was free to use the information he had obtained last night in order to start his own little mission. Kudou Yohji was quickly becoming an addiction for him, and the dreams weren't enough for him anymore.

 

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To be continued…