Yami No Matsuei Fan Fiction / Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Monozuki ❯ Omi and Mint ( Chapter 12 )

Monozuki - An Idle Curiosity

A Weiss Kreuz/Yami no Matsuei crossover.

 

Monozuki 12 - Omi and Mint

 

By Lisa and Kelly (but mostly Lisa)

 

 

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Ow. . .It hurts. . .Omi pressed a hand to the bandage that Ken had slapped over the gash across his belly and hissed shakily. Another bump like that last one, and he might lose the battle to remain conscious.

 

How could such a shallow cut bleed so badly?

 

"Ken-kun. . ." he groaned. "Drive. . .slower!"

 

Omi could feel a thin trail of sticky wetness following the line of his waistband, soaking into the rear of his shirt and from there into the upholstery. Aya was going to be absolutely livid, and with good reason: they couldn't afford to have anyone connect the dots between their daytime lives, and what they did at night. Another trembling inhalation, and pain stitched brightly from his navel to the spot on the bridge of his nose, right between his eyebrows, and involuntarily the boy whimpered. Ken nearly stood on the brakes in his haste to slow down and check on his younger companion.

 

"Oh god, Omi! Are you okay?" came his frantic cry. Only the fact that they were still moving kept the former soccer star from completely letting go of the steering wheel. Even so, they were starting to weave dangerously all over the road, a bad idea when the Koneko, a few blocks away, was situated in a mostly residential neighborhood. They did not need to be pulled over by the cops.

 

"Ken!" he gasped. "Just. . .pay attention. . .to the road!"

 

"Road," Ken repeated numbly. "Right." And he did so with an intensity that would not have been amiss on the soccer field. Omi, despite the pain he was in, was worried about Ken. Why was his fellow Hunter falling apart at the seams like this? Getting hurt was standard procedure in their line of work, no matter the reason why. But there was a wild light in Ken's eyes that hinted at something more, something he did not know.

 

“Shit. . .knew he was gonna be trouble. . .But goddammit, why Omi?” the brunet was muttering. But at least he was back to paying attention to where the van was headed. Omi glanced out the window, mentally counting how many blocks they had left to go. Surely, with him wounded, Ken would go around to the back instead of parking the delivery vehicle in its usual daytime spot out front. . .that meant three more turns that he had to brace himself against, plus the bump-and-dip that marked the entrance to the alley itself.

 

The question was whether he could, or not. Ken had left off the seatbelt, not wanting to bring the black nylon strap across the smaller boy's injuries, but now Omi almost wished he had. There was a growing coldness spreading out from his middle, and it was sapping his strength, bleeding it away together with the darker red that now shone through the white gauze packed against his wound. Omi reached out, clumsily bracing his bloodied hand against the dash as they swerved around the first corner. His partner was still going way too fast, but it would take too much effort to argue about it any more.

 

The van's wheels left the ground when they reached the alley, Ken gunning the engine as home and safety came into view. They narrowly missed the dumpster, and thankfully, their neat-freak neighbor wasn't out picking up trash. In fact, the alley was blessedly clear.

 

Or. . .was it?

 

A shimmer of light caught Omi's eye, and owlishly, he blinked.

 

Hallucinations, he decided firmly. Definitely hallucinations. It had to be because of the strangely debilitating wound, one which, despite its appearance of being merely superficial, hurt like a bitch. Delusions brought about by blood loss and pain were the only answer as to why he had just witnessed two young men materializing behind the dumpster, faces half-hidden in the gloom cast by the neighboring building. So intent was he on convincing himself of his unreliable mind, he missed the fact that the van was parked, engine shut down and that Ken was already trying to drag him out as gently as possible, yet with the haste of someone being chased by the hounds of hell.

 

Reality came back with a vengeance and the red-hot knife someone was dragging from his belly to his brain, poking holes in the gray matter and thoughtfully mashing his eyeballs into gooey mush. He fell/stumbled into Ken's arms, his friend's squawk of surprise and panic was almost deafening, and it took a moment to register that the same two strangers who had appeared out of thin air (damn those hallucinations!) were approaching them. The taller of the two, dark auburn hair falling into his eyes, wore a kindly, yet worried face.

 

Omi did the only sensible thing left him under the circumstances; he buried his face in the front of Ken's soccer jersey.

 

A hand, warm and shaking with barely controlled tension cradled the back of his head, joining the arm locked protectively around Omi's thin middle. Ken's voice, cracking and going nearly falsetto on him, vibrated under the younger boy's cheek with false bravado. “Hey! Who the fuck are you?!”

 

“Your friend's hurt. What happened to him?” The persuasive, low reply slid along Omi's nerves, promising help and comfort, even while another layer beneath made the tiny hairs on the nape of his neck stand at attention.

 

Without meaning to, Ken jostled him as they took a step back, and Omi whimpered again as that same burning agony raced along his nerves. His knees gave way and only Ken's reflexes caught him.

 

"He's bleeding badly," the man went on. Omi wondered vaguely what the other one was doing, keeping quiet all this while. And of course he knew he was bleeding badly. It was his blood after all. "I am a doctor. I can help."

 

Torn by indecision, Ken was shaking himself to pieces; Omi recognized the symptoms from past situations. Part of the hot tempered young man wanted to fight off the interlopers, and a part of him wanted to drop everything and take care of an injured teammate. Which meant that it was up to him to play the mediator, as usual. Clumsily, he tugged at a wadded up handful of shirt to get his friend's attention, and whispered, “Ken, say `yes.' It was only a mugging. Right?”

 

Ken's embrace tightened. “You didn't say `Ken-kun.' It's really, really bad, isn't it?”

 

“Yeah. . .I think so. Gomen, Ken-kun, but I think there was a toxin on that knife.” A weird numbness that left every muscle flaccid, yet the pain intact, had reached Omi's legs, and he sagged, entirely dependent on his partner's greater strength.

 

He heard the sharp intake of breath, and without warning, he was lifted off his feet, cradled in arms that did not feel like Ken's, against a chest broader than the Hunter's. The deeper rumble within corresponded with the comforting, yet still unnerving voice, laced with what seemed to be genuine concern. "This looks more serious than I thought. Is there a place where I can properly examine him?"

 

Omi turned his head slightly, just enough to bring that face into his line of vision, and he was greeted by hazel-green eyes, with the faintest hint of crow's feet at the corners, and a gently smiling mouth. The man was quite. . .beautiful.

 

He tore his eyes away, disconcerted. Ken was practically vibrating with indecision, no matter that Omi had decided to trust these strangers, rocking nervously on the balls of his feet. Mind made up, Omi caught the stranger's eyes again, opening his mouth when a thought, wild and unconnected, struck him. "Are you a friend of Tsuzuki-san?" Yes, that sounded right. The both of them felt. . .the same. It was hard to describe but it felt something like a warm summer's day, gentle and peaceful yet at the same time, with dark clouds threatening on the horizon.

 

The hazel eyes widened in surprise, and the petit Weiss Hunter was treated to a rapid progression from normal, warm golden skin tones, to blanched pale, to a wildly embarrassed flush of red. It spread across the man's cheekbones, and the bridge of his nose, and Omi had a sudden, hair-brained urge to tell him that it looked adorable.

 

Just where had his mind gone to, anyway?

 

“Y- you know Asato?” the man stammered. From somewhere behind the handsome man's back came a snicker that rapidly turned into an all-out guffaw. A boy's face, graced by the brightest, palest blue eyes that Omi had ever seen appeared by his savior's shoulder, peeking over at him.

 

“Taka!” the apparition crowed, “They've meet Tsuzuki!”

 

Which this 'Taka' responded to with a "Dear Enma, Tatsumi is going to kill him!"

 

The owner of the pale, pale blue eyes pouted cutely. "Nah, he won't. Not when he said we could continue. Anyway, you're not looking too good. He's not looking too good, ne, Taka? He looks poisoned. Uh-huh. You can tell, judging by the clamminess of his skin and the color of the blood." The young, decidedly strange man nodded emphatically to prove his point. 'Taka' sighed.

 

"You can't tell if someone's poisoned by the blood color, Kyo," he replied patiently. "But we're wasting time. If you would kindly lead the way. . ."

 

Strangely enough, Omi felt a surge of sympathy for the odd boy. With his fine, black silk hair and soft, beardless jaw, he couldn't be all that much older… eighteen at most, which would put him in between the two youngest Weiss in age. Maybe that was what made Omi speak out in defense? His own nature as a researcher suggested helpfully that the brightness of the blood, and its refusal to clot did indicate a foreign substance, most likely a poison. Either way, he opened his mouth, and said hesitantly, “But… he might be right. Progressive paralysis, loss of muscle tension, and I'm having some trouble getting a deep breath now. Except for the excessive bleeding, it's consistent with alkaloids like Tubocurarine. . . But that's injected, and this was a knife, so maybe…” His voice died away into a faint cough as Taka stared down at him. If there had been confusion in that steady gaze, it would have been okay, but the older man didn't seem at all alarmed by what Omi was saying.

 

Ken gleeped and hastily cut his partner off. "This way. You can bring him into the shop's kitchen. We, uh, live at the flower shop. . .Oh, crap."

 

“Crap?" the odd boy parroted, a quirky smile on his face. "You better get a move on. Your friend will die soon if you don't," he pointed out helpfully.

 

"No, he won't," was 'Taka's certain reply, which warmed Omi somewhat. It was mildly unnerving, how easily this Kyo pronounced his imminent death.

 

But teasing or not, just the prospect of losing a team member dispelled the last of Ken's reluctance. He ushered them to the Koneko's back door, fumbling for the keys with shaky fingers, constantly shooting glances back over his shoulder to make sure that they hadn't disappeared with their burden while he wasn't looking. Omi concentrated on keeping his mind focused on the here and now. His early morning encounter with the elusive Hisoka and the enigmatic Tsuzuki had left him with more questions than answers, and he was determined to glean more information from these two new arrivals. Sensing his scrutiny, the man carrying him looked down, still smiling gently. "My name is Takashi, and this here is my partner, Kyo. And you are. . .?"

 

"Omi," he rasped, and winced.

 

The door knob was wrenched out of the Ken's hand, and the athlete staggered back a couple of steps, nearly colliding with Takashi and his encumbrance. An uncharacteristically grim Yohji, autumn gold hair disheveled, was framed in the opening. His sunglasses were nowhere to be found, and the hard green eyes so revealed slid from one to another of the shocked tableau.

 

They froze when they lit on his smallest teammate, cradled in a stranger's embrace, then Yohji was past Ken, long fingered hands running with quick grace over the boy's features as he exclaimed, “Shit! Omi, what happened?”

 

Before the younger Hunter could answer, Ken managed to garble out, “M- mugger. At the mall. B- but-- ” Yohji's attention flickered rapidly between his teammates, assessing the situation. A rueful, open smile snapped into place on his face and he was reaching out.

 

“Ah, so sorry. Here, let me take him from you. It's good of you to see him home, but-- ”

 

Omi grabbed hold of the older blond's hand, blood slicking his grip. When he had the man's attention, he shook his head firmly. He wasn't about to let these two get away, not now. Not until he had some satisfactory answers. "He can help," Omi said in reply to Yohji's wary look. "He's a doctor. I've been poisoned as well."

 

At the word 'poisoned', Yohji flinched imperceptibly, but even before he could open his mouth to argue, that strange boy, Kyo, peered over Takashi's shoulder, grinning brightly.

 

"Hi!"

 

It was a lucky thing Omi kept his eyes trained on the former P.I. or he would have missed the show. Instead, he saw firsthand the way the man's face drained of color, brilliant green eyes widening to show white all around, and his mouth falling open quite unattractively; a rare occurrence for the playboy. Puzzled, Omi frowned at the other boy's cheery features. There was a certain sense that he ought to recognize that face from somewhere, but with everything beginning to tilt sideways, the connection escaped him.

 

"B-bishounen!" Yohji stammered. Obviously, remembering wasn't a problem for the team's most sociable member. And then, as the identity of the one carrying Omi sank in, the older Hunter underwent yet another metamorphosis, this one turning his body language still and dangerous. “How did you two get here?”

 

The low timbre of the tall blond's last question snapped Ken around on instant alert. Omi's sluggish heartbeat tried to leap into the same heightened state, but it faltered and he wheezed painfully. The drug coursing through him had progressed from disabling his voluntary muscle systems, and was moving on to those that he had less control over, but that were even more vital to the slight boy's continued existence. While Yohji and Ken wasted time facing off against Takashi and Kyo, his ability to drag air into his tortured lungs would be the next thing to go. He had to at least try to stop them, whatever their differences might be. “Y-Yohji. . .a. . .asphyxi. . .” he gasped, even that small effort making dark spots dance before his eyes.

 

Takashi's attention shifted from the senior Hunter to the increasingly limp weight in his arms. “ `Asphyxiation?' ” he demanded urgently. Omi managed a faint movement that would have to pass for a nod of agreement, and the stranger focused on Yohji. “Yes, that was us at the club the other night. We can explain, but not right now. Do you know how to do artificial respiration? If what he's been hit with is a neuromuscular blocker, like Tubocurarine, an overdose causes heart arrhythmia and also requires the patient to be ventilated because the muscles around the chest wall cease to be able to move.”

 

Kyo's odd sing-song voice chimed in with “Water, water, every where, and not a drop to drink. . .Oops, I mean air.”

 

Frankly, Omi figured he could have done with out that visual, thank you very much, but it served to make Yohji's mind up and to spur the older Hunter into action. The wire man shot the indecisive soccer player a sharp glance, waving him toward the half-open hallway door. “Hey, Kenken. Go tell Aya that the two guys I told him about Saturday night have come to pay us a visit.” Turning a crooked smile with the vestiges of his normal charm on Takashi, he gestured gallantly for the supposed doctor to precede him.

 

As the growing darkness claimed him, Omi had just enough time left to think, Oh, kuso. . . Somebody else's found out who we are. . .

 

 

***************

 

Mint - Protection from illness; warmth of feeling; virtue

 

Neuromuscular Blocking Agents

This best known member of this family of alkoloid drugs is curare, but there are many modern variants in every day use as a surgical aide in situations where it is important that the patient not move (such as during a tracheotomy), or when a fractured bone must be set. They are also used to prevent muscular convulsions.

 

For your reading pleasure:

www . crnasomeday. com/pharmpages /chapseventeenpharm. htm

www . healthdigest.org/drugs/ tubocurarinechloride. html

www . botgard.ucla. edu/html/botanytextbooks /economicbotany/ Curare/

 

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