Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Surrender ❯ Surrender ( Chapter 1 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

A strong hand is holding the bottle down.

"That's enough." Bland and emotionless.

"It's never enough!" Snarled and seething.

"Even more reason to stop now. It's not going to help anyway."

"Piss off!"

"Schuldig."

"Piss off, Crawford. Go away! I don't want to hear what will and won't be. I hear enough of the now and I definitely don't want to fucking hear you!"

The bottle is tossed to shatter in the mud sink, raining glass covering the sound of the outraged, strangled shriek of anger. Fists fly and are pinned before making contact. The taller American shoves the telepath to the wall, pinning him to the concrete. He rides out the bucking and thrashing, the writhing and the wailing of the demon under him.

"Fuck you! Let me leave! God damn you, Crawford, let me go before my head explodes."

"You're of no use to me dead and there is no place you can go, no place high enough, no place deep enough that you can escape."

More writhing and wailing, slipping into the mother tongue to deny.

"Nein,nein! You can't know everything. You have to be wrong, because if you're not, then...then..."

"You know I'm right. I watch. I see. I know. That's why you've tried everything from alcohol to stronger and even more strong pain killers. That's why you've tried illegals that only made it worse, didn't it? The sleeping pills either. You only become more helpless in your sleep and your screams wake us all."

"Sorry to fucking disturb you!" Spat out and throbbing with more pain.

"Schuldig, you're being childish."

"Let me go." Softer and pleading.

"I can make it stop for a while."

"By blowing my head off? Thank you, no."

"I said you were of no use to me dead."

"Why?" More desperate now, the struggles weaker.

"I need you strong."

"So I can be more useful? Just another tool?"

"You know better. You belong to Schwarz, therefore you belong to me."

"I belong to no one!" Low and hissed.

"You know better and you're being childish again."

"No." A gasped denial.

"I take care of what is mine."

"Then why don't you?"

"You've never asked." Cool and uncompromising.

"Beg? Go to hell!"

No more words, enough time for the cacophony to rise up again, louder and more demanding this time to deafen, smother, burn.

"Nghnn, Crawford!"

"Ask."

Schuldig hangs from his pinned wrists to slump with his forehead against Crawford's chest. He can't see anymore. He can hardly breathe.

"Please." Whispered, reluctant surrender. It's enough.

Crawford thread his hands through thick, smooth textured hair to hold his head still and strokes his thumbs down the throbbing temples. He covers the mouth panting in pain and plunders the depths like a conqueror, laying siege and erasing thoughts, wrapping the tortured mind in a blanket of silent peace. Pained groans dissolve into near whimpers of humiliation. Another failure. Another surrender. Another admittance of dependence.

Crawford picks up the lax body and carries it back up from the basement to lay it on the bed in a darkened room. He strips them both with efficiency and maintains skin to skin contact, every stroke lessening the roar and the pain. For Schuldig, there's no pleasure, only relief and self-loathing, but what can he do? Nowhere else, no one else, no substance natural or manufactured can quiet the voices.

Afterwards he turns his back and curls into a fetal ball, rejecting further contact. Hollow inside with bitter knowledge.

"I hate you." Grates out from swollen lips and a bruised throat.

"I know you do." Still calm, still in control. "But you're still here, you're mine to keep sane, and you'll stay."

"Maybe not." Slurred with exhaustion.

"You're wrong again. I know. You know I always know."

"I hate you." Repeated over and over until an overtaxed mind slips into sleep.

Crawford pulls a light sheet over them both.

"Perhaps, but you're still mine."