17-Apr-2003
Breakdown: An Alternate Universe Weiss Kreutz Fanfic
by Nixerchan and bonnejeanne
Contact: nixerchan@aol.com and bonnejeanne@yahoo.com
Category: AU
Pairings: Various, or to put it another way, most of them ^__^;;
Warnings: Lime this section. Weird premise, weird psychic powers, probably confusing plot, um, possibly some OOC, some violence, probably gratuitous use of pointless Japanese and German, what else... oh yeah, LEMON from time to time... poor Nixers, I'm such a corrupting influence... ^__~
Rating: NC-17
SUMMARY/PREMISE: What if the Weiss boys actually possessed psychic powers similar to Schwartz, which had been suppressed or erased from their memories?
AU TIMELINE: Picks up *almost* at the end of the OAV, just after the death of Gen. Norman Powell.
/something/ - may indicate thoughts, telepathy or other psychic contact.
'something' - indicates just thoughts.
Chapter 18: Territories
It had been instinctive, immediate for Schuldig to leap for the first voice to penetrate the silence. As the feeling that had been pulling him down released him he was more in the other mind than in his own any more. It wasn't an attack or even there with any force at all, just there in some irrational hope of survival. Seeing the floor when he'd opened his eyes again both was and wasn't a surprise.
A pair of hands lifted him. /Come back./
There was a denial, eagerness, and a vague translation of cold. It was so close to his childhood, those sporadic moments where it sounded like the world was shouting a million things at him at once... it was the same paralysis in the absence of the same noise.
Hands became arms, the lifting became an embrace and a carry to his room.
It couldn't quite be called focus, just a simple growing awareness at movement, touch and presence. The telepath's hands finding some blind purchase before exactly to whom it was really began to register. His fingers curled into the expensive fabric, sending relief when thoughts wouldn't come together like they should have.
A hand stroked hair back.
There was a quiet knock.
"Come in."
A door opening. Soft footsteps.
"Go ahead."
A light, hesitating touch that retreated to just above skin. Then another presence. Not contact with thoughts, not at first, but a direct experience of another mind. Slowly, a sense of other presences, not intruding, just there, a little distant, and a sense of reassurance.
Whatever instinct or consciousness had been there pulling the edges back together paused, a cautious, almost young regard before the other presence was accepted. In that and the reassurance that the returning press, a madness all in itself, wouldn't disappear. An odd sense of one insanity preferred vastly over the other, simply for its familiarity. Something that had been solidifying already quickened, bringing with it recognition, and a simple fundamental question of why.
The answer was more emotional, but the time with Nagi had given Omi practice in focusing his thoughts. /I was wrong/made a mistake. I shouldn't have interfered. Hontou-ni moushiwake-arimasen./
There was no answer, not even a stir for a while, before Omi felt himself being pulled to the surface, not harshly but firm, and a vague self-image of a younger version of the telepath, who couldn't be much older than himself. /I understand how you did it to him now./ The thought came with a flash of Prodigy, and perhaps a hundred memories and emotional associations with the boy, all too fast to register more than recognition.
There wasn't any answer, but the empath accepted the impressions. He simply waited, prepared to do so until pushed away.
Schuldig had paused himself, staying motionless again, giving the empath another scrutiny, both to reinforce he wasn't deaf anymore and a simple honest curiosity. There was the odd feeling of the telepath turning away. /I wasn't going to.../ Something was held out to Omi with the sensation of a truce in its offering.
It was accepted. He didn't even attempt to cover his own half impulse that it could be dangerous, just laid it aside and took what was given.
/Good./ It had a more familiar tone, wanting for nothing but confidence. /Now go. I'm fine./ It was both a lie and true, but the German's attention had already turned. Outside, there really wasn't any easy change to identify in Schuldig, just something was there that was missing before.
It was with a rare surprised/sheepish look that he let go of Crawford's shirt, eyes darting between the American and the Japanese boy.
Omi bowed slightly and left the room, his presence fading naturally with distance.
Once the door closed, Crawford threaded a hand almost idly through Schuldig's hair.
The German's eyes closed, then opened almost as quickly, finding some comparison with what was behind his eyelids to what he'd just been pulled out of. "Fucked up," he said, forcing the admittance out.
"Poor impulse control," Crawford agreed. "Need anything?"
"Some wide open time at an amusement park... or maybe a subway at rush hour," he said, working up a faint smirk at that, having a good idea how much damage either would do. "Failing that, some time."
"As much as there is," the answer wasn't unqualified, just a restatement of what they were both all too familiar with - survival had its own timetable.
"You weren't kidding about codependence," the German said, eyes narrowing a little bit as he reconstructed what had scattered. "Figured I had Bombay covered. Hmph... I'm not sure who's dragging who down with those two."
"Wild talent and intractable talent," Crawford said. "Explosive and dangerous." He smiled. "My favorite. If we can keep from crippling each other, it will be a more powerful team than they could possibly imagine."
The telepath's eyes stayed closed longer this time, a smile playing briefly across his face. "You're planning on going all the way with this."
/It's that or a dead end. You think I'll give up now?/ the question was mild, rhetorical. /You wanted an amusement park... subway at rush hour... this should fit the bill quite nicely, don't you think?/
/A better substitute than I had planned./ The telepath replied, returning with direct sensation, still feeling a bit shaky, but long practiced - primarily a weariness of running, the indirect sensation of the fight Weiss had been through, the stolen memory of the interrogation, and a feral anticipation of more.
It was a more coherent, more familiar gesture of thanks then had been able to translate immediately after the rescue.
The hands returned, massaging temples, one leaving to pull a blanket from somewhere. "Rest, schatze, rest and sleep. I'll stay here tonight. The other emergencies can sort themselves out."
The door closed behind Omi and he wandered almost blindly back to his and Nagi's room, coming in and seeking out the other boy, not pausing until he could find a place next to him. Sliding down, he burrowed against the warm body.
He didn't need to explain, because he hadn't closed anything off from Nagi, in fact had kept the connection as open as he could manage, barring a withdrawal on the other boy's side.
Nagi didn't say anything, setting his chin on top of Omi's head and returning the embrace. He offered a simple unbiased acceptance, and quiet understanding. The relief and ease were far more guarded, until he could figure out the wheres and whys of them.
The offering that Schuldig had given was present, a collection of information/thoughts/memories/feeling from Manx's mind, but the empath was too exhausted by what had transpired to be able to bear looking at it. There was a brief habit of thought that he needed to stay awake, needed to open the laptop and check the net for current information, but the resources simply weren't there. A stronger impulse had Omi checking Nagi over thoroughly, both physically and emotionally. Finding no serious hurts, his consciousness began to loose its grip, a finger at a time, until he was asleep, shoes still on, one hand fisted in Nagi's shirt.
Neither of Nagi's hands left Omi's back, instead using a frivolous amount of energy to make the other more comfortable without disturbing him. They only shifted slightly to help move him to the low bed without disentangling. He let an irrational fear disappear when he'd watched Omi fix the break, pulling a blanket around both of them. /Only mine./
Youji found himself on the highest deck on the yacht, with a sky full of stars overhead and a glass next to him that seemed to refill itself automatically. The Irishman with the bottle helping it lounged not far away, but oddly without intruding on Youji's consciousness overtly.
The portion of the bottle he'd worked through was meeting a formidable tolerance, but it was still blurring the edges on his thoughts quite nicely. "No more... that's it," Youji said, though if he was talking about the alcohol he wasn't following through very well. The sentence was punctuated by another hard gulp of the liquor. "Never touching 'nother one again. Well, touch okay, but not thinking like that again." He sighed and held out the glass again, mood swinging back from the burst of anger into complacency. "Not jinxed my ass."
The bottle tipped and his refill appeared. Farfarello tipped the bottle over his mouth afterwards, catching the last of it. The empty bottle was tossed overboard carelessly and a new one appeared from its nest in a coil of rope.
Youji sighed again, taking another thought with a careful sip. He wasn't so much aware that he was thinking out loud as having a fuzzy sense of his train of thought having a weird echo to it. "So then what? 'Sa Bishounen... guy'd be pretty immune to it.. but I like him, but it'd just be too weird. S'a good friend but whatsisname? Nagi? Um... no."
He hardly noticed as the Irishman moved behind him and began peeling off his coat. He was warm enough that the night breeze felt good. Noting something under the edge of the short sleeves of Youji's shirt, Farf pushed the material up with a finger, examing the tattoo.
The smile that stretched Farfarello's lips as he read the inked letters was wider that anything he'd shown in a while. "S-I-N..."
The answer waited until the glass was emptied again. "Mmhmm, so I dun forget," Youji looked oddly proud of it. "So anyone can see what I am. Fair warning, y'know?" Blinking, he glanced around for his overcoat, the lack of it just now striking him.
He found the missing garment looking oddly good on the white-haired young man sitting half beside, half behind him. A pair of arms pulled him over and back, the Irishman turning himself into a backrest for the blond assassin. And the glass was refilled.
Youji had a vague notion that there was something he really *should* protest, but the idea all but disappeared at the accommodating gesture with the whiskey. He squinted, something else focusing just long enough to be voiced. "Wearing that?" The crosses on the arms were still distinct in his mind... the black and white looked rather good against pale skin. "I thought you had a... an... a thing, you know, aversion thing..." He sighed. "I unnerstood you better before you got all confusing."
"Aversion to what, kitty kitty?" The bottle was lifted to a mouth that was really a little too pretty in spite of the scars. Farf would have been a beauty without them, without the patch, almost the face of an angel, perhaps.
"Church stuff," Youji elaborated, nose crinkling a little bit as he fished for details. "Had Ken all riled up... okay, he does that alot, but really that time."
"The crosses?" there was a grin for that. "Think it pisses Him off, me wearing them?"
Youji shrugged, the position a little hampered by his position. There was that protest thing again. He took another gulp to chase it off. "Who knows, always wondered... Use that coat every time I off someone.. betcha 'E didn't even notice its on someone else..." He frowned again, loosing the vaguely owlish look he'd acquired. "Wrong blood's on it this time..."
A pair of hands moved around Youji's waist from behind. "He likes blood... seen his bloody Son? Drinking blood, eating flesh... making the apostles vampires..." The words were almost singsong in delivery, the voice low but close, breath warm against Youji's neck.
"Don't remember vampires..." Youji murmured lifting the glass again... it didn't quite make it this time. He frowned at the rebellious cup. "Different version I guess... King James or something..." he brightened slightly. "Saw that in a movie once... had this guy in a corset.. not the corset, the eating flesh part... makes you wonder bout the wine too..."
"Take, eat... this is my body... drink, this is my blood," the lilting choir boy tones were followed by lips whispering along Youji's neck, then a hot, wet tongue.
Farfarello could feel a faint shiver through the body against his, though whether it was at the words, tone or touch it wasn't entirely obvious.
"S' not right... is it?" Youji asked, more than a little off guard, and subdued.
There wasn't an audible answer, just a deeper fastening of the mouth on his flesh, the feel of strong teeth but no bite. The hands around his waist moved under the edge of his shirt to slide along skin. Then the possessive mouth lifted and lips brushed his ear. "He doesn't care... no matter what you do, He doesn't. Couldn't He stop it? But He doesn't. His fault after all, see?"
The glass had fallen sometime during the kiss, spilling its contents widely before it came to a rest on its side. The same semi-sober part of Youji's mind that was protesting earlier was warning now, but made no further progress than it had against a side that had leaned a little further back, had lifted his chin for the lips and teeth. The words however stilled him, adding a little cold to two different warmths. "Nothing could have stopped it... not even.. right? None of the times, no one could have known..." The blond sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than the Irishman.
"He knows... that's what they teach, but He does nothing... lets the boy's rage come, lets his hands overpower the strong and the weak." There was a brush of softness as the Irishman's head dropped, hair sliding along Youji's neck. Then a low chuckle.
There was a shift in the world as the white haired boy stood and lifted a body bigger than his own, muscles hard with the effort but managing quite well somehow. A confused impression of blankets, an odd nest, still outside on the deck. Something tucked around Youji, an arm to steady, another snaking around to slide fingers halfway down the front of his pants, but no further. A soothing croon in an unfamiliar language. Then a few words he understood, whether he made sense of them or not. "Sleep, kitty."
Aya stepped out into the narrow passage, or was about to. However he saw movement and for some reason, stepped back into the doorway but not all the way. He saw Schuldig pulling Nagi further into the passage, heard a low exchange of threats, then saw the telepath's face go blank, eyes widening, an expression suddenly seeming very young.
When the redhead slid to his knees, Aya saw Omi behind him. And the expression on the blond assassin's face was something that he'd never seen before. It reminded him of someone else.
Just beyond, Crawford. Omi said something, grabbed Nagi's hand and pulled him down the corridor and into their room, shutting the door quickly. Aya watched Crawford gather the telepath in his arms. The American looked up once, as if he knew Aya was there. In a few moments they were gone and the passage was empty.
"Hn." He leaned in the doorway for a minute, the reason for which he'd been going out stalled. Then he glanced back at his room mate. "Going to go check on Youji. Back in a bit."
"If Manx comes up..." Ken asked carefully. There was always that hope for information without stirring the waters further than they probably already were. "Let me know how she is, if he knows." The telepath's statement had been vague enough to leave some hope.
Aya nodded. He left the cabin and checked Youji's room first, not surprised to find it unoccupied. Then he made his way up to the deck, hesitating briefly in front of Schuldig's door. A sound of movement behind him propelled his steps forward. A glance backwards on the way up gave him a glimpse of Omi going into the room.
An odd series of thoughts revolved through his mind. Making a methodical search of the decks, he discovered Youji, glass in hand and attended by the least likely of bartenders. Keeping his distance, he watched them for a while. At least once he had an impulse to intervene, something about the attention of the white-haired Irishman making him mildly uneasy for the blond. But the oddest thing was, Youji was talking. He was also drinking himself blind, but he was talking after a fashion. If he had been the one sitting with the tall assassin, Aya knew there would have been uncomfortable silence at best.
So he stayed where he was, watching for a while and letting his thoughts attempt to unwind in the night air.
Aya-chan missing. The mental duel with Birman. News of Manx getting hurt? Killed? Schuldig...
The scene in the passageway... Omi..
He'd thought, somehow, that the headlong rush of change would let up at some point. Or that it would be more in the nature of something he understood and was used to. Violence, conflict, hiding, hunting. The reckless blessing of his new relationship with Ken had become his anchor in the chaos, but he sensed that both of them were attempting to find traction on shifting sands. He found himself shaking his head to get the German out of it.
Finally deciding that Youji was in some way being cared for, as unlikely as that was, he turned and went back below deck. The passage was very quiet, no sound from any of the rooms. Not sure if there would be any answer, or if there was, from whom, he stopped outside Omi's door and tapped lightly, but loud enough to be heard from within.
Silence stretched out long enough that it was uncertain whether there was going to be any answer at all. Before Aya turned away, the doorknob turned and the door swung open just an inch, enough to be an invitation.
Aya slipped in, closing the door silently. He saw the two boys, one curled up dead asleep, the other regarding him warily, face blurred with his own exhaustion.
"Sumimasen. Can you tell me what happened with Manx? Is she alive?" Aya kept his voice low.
Nagi nodded once, quietly. Rubbing his fist across his eyes, he moved to disentangle himself, but paused, a slightly wider expression when he didn't get far. His hand unconsciously stroked the blond boy's hair to sooth the disturbance. There was a slight sigh from the kinetic when leaving wasn't an available option. "She's stabilized. There was an expected ambush, but wasn't avoided well," the dark boy's voice was low, the whisper barely carrying. "She was shot in the back. She's under anonymous care with someone we know."
Aya nodded impassively. He felt a certain amount of regret for it. In a professional sense, he respected her, admired her abilities. On a personal level, he'd been aware of the fact that she was capable of betrayal if that same professional loyalty called for it. He had a flash of Youji and the glass in his hand above.
Before leaving, he paused, another question tickling at him. His eyes rested on Omi for a moment. Then he looked again at Nagi. "Is this... about Manx or something else?"
The caution on the boy's face slipped from reserved into a much more familiar expression for the telekinetic. "Started with Manx, ended with something else."
Aya was probably the last person to be deterred by such an expression. "What?"
The chill didn't so much waver as something flickered behind it. He glanced down at Omi, trying to put some words to it to his own satisfaction. "He cares too much," he said, "About people he shouldn't."
Aya watched the dark-haired boy for a moment, then gave him a slight nod. Turning, he slipped out of the room silently, closing the door, half expecting to hear it lock behind him.
He glanced down the passage at another door, took a few steps towards his own, stopped, then resumed, tapping once lightly to let Ken know who was coming in.
Closing and locking the door, he slipped into a chair. "She's alive. Took a bullet in the back. Being looked after somewhere anonymous."
"Yokatta," Ken said, turning from small port window. A moment's consideration and a few silent steps brought him behind the chair. "I mean not great, but better than what he said." He sighed and shook his head. It was becoming familiar to touch, taking some reassurance in solidity. As it was, his hands felt on the other's shoulders, a first a light touch, then work into the tension that was built, almost rock hard there.
The soft exhale of breath qualified for a groan. The touch was almost painful, but in a good way. Ran's head dropped forward. As his tension yielded tiny bit by bit, it occurred to him almost idly that he'd have known that set of hands no matter where he was, or what was happening.
The hands worked up the neck and down the back, paying attention to the areas around and between the shoulder blades. Ken put most of his concentration into it, exerting an unusual patience with some of the more difficult areas, the other part shifting through the day. "If she's with Momoe-san, she'll be okay," Ken said, trying to give some reassurance.
"The timing sucks," Ran said shortly, his voice blurred in reaction to the massage. It felt... really too good.
"Or is really lucky," the other pointed out. The first did seem the most likely to Ken, but he was determined to hold onto some optimism. He shook his head, smiling slightly at the physical reactions. "When was the last time anyone..." he cut himself off, as a good idea of what the answer was occurred to him. With a contrite, "Nevermind," he simply put himself back into it, working out the strain in the sword arm.
Mumbled response, "What...?"
"Last time anyone did this to you," Ken replied mildly. "Last couple days aside, it feels like you've got a century of tension."
Aya was trying, not very hard, not to slide out of the chair onto the floor. His eyes were closed. The mumbles were barely audible. "This? Never...uh... massage... two... two years? Mmmnnnnhh..."
The hands on him paused, circling to pull Aya to his feet, and a coaxing of direction. "Come on. Bed," the voice was fond. "I'll finish it there."
The redhead moved obediently, eyes opening to rest on Ken with an expression combined from gratitude and more than a little heat. "Sounds promising..."
Ken grinned and motioned Aya to lay down face first before kneeling beside him on the bed. "If you manage to stay awake..." It was something of a promise, a challenge and a little ribbing all at the same time.
Turning his head to the side Ken was on, lavender eyes fastened on the dark haired boy. "If I don't, I'll make up for it. Promise."
Able to get to areas blocked by the chair earlier, the length stretched out as the technique shifted, a flat palm running an even pressure up the back. "Sounds like I win either way," Ken said, a turn of a smile even as the quiet statement invoked its own heat in the former goalie.
The eyes began to close again, another soft groan wrung out by the touch of strong hands on severely tense muscles. Another low mumble before silence. " 'T's just about worth all the," something inaudible, "...f'can have you...'
Ken's hand's never paused, but Aya could feel the weight on the bed shifting, the faint electricity of shared heat in close proximity, and then the faint brush of lips along the side of his neck before slipping back away, leaving the man's response as non-verbal.
Ran's eyes opened again, like a cat, looking for a few moments, seeing something that only he fully understood. Slowly they closed again. Only another soft groan or two gave any indication he was still conscious.
It was a familiar exercise, even if he'd hadn't really had anyone to practice on for a couple of years, it was still pleasing to know that his hands still didn't tire easily. The only minor distraction in the simple rhythms and familiar patterns was in getting Ran's boots off and following the pads of the feet, a more than difficult area on the calves.
Drifting was easy, taking thoughts in no particular order or organization, just watching his partner's expression for reactions and letting them settle where they would. There was too much to take in all at once, but too little to even hope for a full picture yet.
It was easier to divide it by people, and even then... Manx was the easiest, there was worry, relief, and something that was easing, finding this easier to believe in Youji's notion that she wasn't entirely one of their enemies, if one at all. It wasn't always an easy relationship with her, he knew that quite a good deal of his actions weren't approved of by her and sometimes it went in reverse, but... She'd never given him a reason to really dislike her.
Omi was easy, it was Prodigy that was the problem. Aya was easier than it had ever been, not simple, but it was more than worth working through, a welcome complication in a tangled knot. There was no fickleness in Aya's nature, no ability to betray, since all he'd ever seen Aya approach anything with was a brutal honesty. This, he was willing to sink into.
Crawford... He could feel purpose in the man's every move, a canniness that demanded something. It was more of an impression than he'd had of the man who would simply smirk as he stepped out of the way of his claws like he was fighting with a child... he still wasn't sure if it was better or not.
Schuldig was another matter. He'd never been under the telepath's regard before... he'd had no problems with being below notice, or whatever the hell the man thought of him. There was more than once he'd wished he could pull that attention away from Omi... the blond never deserved it and shouldn't have gone through any of that, in his opinion. But, the memory of the brief touch in the car stilled his attention on Aya. That touch had been far different than the simple instructions and distant communications of the telepath to that point.
"We're pretty transparent I suppose," he murmured, putting some hope into the idea that this was the only problem. Being obvious was fine, he was used to that. His reserve was mostly for Aya's benefit in public. "Don't know why Schuldig knowing bothers me.."
The body under his stilled hands shifted, taking a deeper breath. Ran slowly slid his arms up and turned slightly, his eyes opening. "Everyone is transparent to him." It wasn't completely true but close enough.
"He doesn't have to be so happy about it," Ken muttered, his hands simply skimmed this time, barely noticeable over the barrier of clothing. He stretched out beside Aya. "I can deal with a lot of shit, would even be fine with him leering at you, as long as he kept his hands off." He shrugged. It was more the sensation, a suspicion as to why. Where the emphasis, an undertone of lust wasn't on the word lover in Schuldig's thought to him.
Ran reached up and slipped long fingers through Ken's hair. His own expression was still, with a touch of something pensive in it. "He's happy about all sorts of weird shit. As for hands... if he has any interest in me, it's because he felt me kill that woman and got off on it. He wants more of that, maybe."
"That's probably it," Ken said, not entirely convinced. His eyes closed automatically at the petting, a slight, contented upturn to his lips.
The hand curved around to slide along Ken's jaw, tilting his head up. "Possessive... I think I like it." He leaned forward and kissed the other boy.
Ken deepened it leisurely, taking his time tasting Aya. There wasn't often time enough for just that. As he pulled away, he opened his eyes, just enough to make out violet across from him. "You knew that about me before we started."
Ran leaned forward again, just taking a moment to nibble and suck on Ken's lower lip, before leaning back. The look in his eyes was caressing. "Yes... I guess I did. I just never thought of it applying to me... because I never thought we would," he kissed the underside of Ken's chin.
Ken's hand slid down Aya's side even as he exposed more of the line of his neck. "Mmmm," he commented, "You have no idea how long I've wanted this." The laugh wasn't entirely audible, he ducked to capture Aya's mouth quickly, just as possessive as Aya had claimed. "I'd thought Sakura-chan was going to be it before I saw Aya-chan..."
Ran took advantage of the exposed skin to trail a line of slow kisses along the underside of Ken's chin and down to his throat all the way to the collarbone. The response to the quick kiss was an increasing passion, rising from the lethargy of the massage. "Never a possibility," he murmured to Ken's remark.
"Would have wondered," Ken agreed, a distracted humor to it. One of his hands made a slow drag up the inside of one of Aya's legs and across the front of his pants. The gesture was the same as earlier, if the pressure and intent had changed. "Never did get to the front..."
A soft groan answered the gesture, as Ran felt his body responding, causing the material to strain a little. Losing even more of the lethargy, he began pulling Ken's shirt up and off of the other boy.
TBC