Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ It's All Relative ❯ Chapter 24 ( Chapter 24 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: LilyMoonsAlias 
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Psychological / Hentai | Type: Yaoi | Uploaded On: 10.06.2006 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.6K | Visits: 568 | Status: Work In Progress
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Psychological / Hentai | Type: Yaoi | Uploaded On: 10.06.2006 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.6K | Visits: 568 | Status: Work In Progress
When consciousness returned Aya couldn't place his surroundings. Not surprising, really, considering that even though he was sure his eyes were open he could see nothing but blackness. He rolled to his side and then to a sitting position. Wary fingers patted the floor around him and came into contact with nothing but concrete, cold and damp. Both his weapons and his leather coat were gone. Aya wrapped his arms around his legs and ground his eyes into his knees to stem frustrated tears.
They had betrayed him, all of them. His teammates, his friends, and his lover had all abandoned him to save themselves. His sister. Aya couldn't even think of her now. Was she dead, alive? He couldn't bear to speculate and focused on his anger instead. Yes. Anger, hate, they stiffened his spine and he stood finally, holding his hands in front to explore his prison. It was a short journey. Roughly six feet by six feet, it was just big enough to lay him flat and small enough to give rise to claustrophobia.
Aya found the door, more cold steel with no handle on the inside. His fury rushed through him and he pounded on the door with both fists until he could feel the slickness of blood flowing from torn, abused skin. He screamed his rage until his voice failed to produce anything but shrill, brittle gasps. Exhausted by the storm, Aya slid down the door to huddle against it, only occasionally smacking his palm on the surface. Damn you, his mind continued the litany. Damn you all to hell if I get free.
Time lost meaning. Aya only knew of its passage from the needs of his body. Fierce thirst strangled him. His stomach knotted with emptiness, but that he could endure. He had often gone days without eating in the past anyway, but the thirst was weakening him. To distract himself Aya brought to mind images of the traitors. Yohji, green eyes dull and milky like flawed jade, turning away from him. Schuldig, cool and insolent, letting go as easily as he had grasped. And Brad. Memory after memory of Brad danced behind his eyes, but in each what he thought he remembered twisted and warped into something different and hateful. Eyes that Aya had thought were warm and expressive he now saw as cold and calculating . Every touch planned and mapped to deceive. Even as his throat burned for water, his ravaged heart burned for revenge against the man who had used him, taken his trust and made it a leash to hand to Pollock.
Schuldig lurched upright from where he had been sleeping fitfully next to Yohji and stumbled to the lavatory to retch miserably. Cool, gentle fingers kept his hair from sliding forward into the bile. Haggard and pale, the telepath slumped against the blonde. Schuldig was worn from using all his strength to maintain his shields against Pollock. The constant bombardment of Aya's thoughts weren't helping, but he couldn't bring himself to sever the link. He had done this to Aya and he would stay open to him.
"Yohji, I think he's going insane."
The fingers in Schuldig's hair trembled and tightened painfully on the long strands. Yohji bowed his head and almost shoved the telepath away.
"No," Yohji said. "Aya's stronger than that."
"He hasn't slept. It's been three days now without food or water. He's locked up in a cell and he hasn't slept."
"Shut up," Yohji mumbled.
"I can hear him, all the time. Everything's twisted and wrong in his head and he believes it."
"I said to shut up!" This time Yohji did pull back from Schuldig, leaving the telepath to clean himself up and eventually return to his side.
In those three days they had been given a room in the complex and left to roam as they would, all the while fully aware they were being watched. Crawford they never saw. Schuldig knew he was alive. The link between them all would have told him otherwise, but his resources were stretching to the limit. His head constantly ached from effort and he dared only to sleep in short snatches when Yohji was awake in case he slipped.
Schwarz was still mostly intact, but not trusted at all. Schuldig felt minds of varying strength poking at him, Pollock the most frequent. It was only Pollock's restraint in not wasting his resources that Schuldig could fend off his mental attacks. Pollock's use of his gift invariably proved fatal for his, ah, donors.
"I wonder where Crawford is?" Schuldig asked, not really expecting an answer from Yohji but wanting some response from him. He didn't get it, but Yohji sighed and relented to pull the telepath into his arms and rubs soothing hands down his back.
Crawford was figuratively, if not literally, in hell. He was forced to endure Pollock's almost constant company and definitely constant gloating. The Oracle had voluntarily bent his knee to the man and the consequences were nearly costing him the enamel on his teeth from grinding. Worse was the knowledge of Pollock's breaking tactics on Aya. Aya could withstand a great deal of physical punishment, but Crawford knew that Pollock was also messing with his mind. Frequently Pollock would comment on some tidbit of memory he had gleaned from Aya's memory and crow over how he had twisted it.
"I never thought of you as being so vanilla, Crawford," Pollock smirked. "Such seemingly touching and gentle scenes I've seen. You've really not made much use of that pretty morsel."
"It worked, did it not?" Crawford asked blandly, inwardly seething at the invasion.
"Effective, yes. Satisfying? Not to me. No matter. I've changed just about everything. Since he seems to find your betrayal very nearly as devastating as his sister's fate, it's easy to use your time together to weaken him more." Pollock watched Crawford carefully for his reaction. "I suppose you really are to be congratulated for deceiving Abyssinian so well. He's almost broken, you know. Another day at most and he'll be nearly mindless with pain, all mental, and all linked to you."
"Then you will begin?"
"Perhaps. I think, first, I would get some pleasure from him myself. I'm not one to waste an opportunity and Fujimiya intrigues me. I can see why you found it no hardship to seduce him."
Crawford fought and won to keep his face smooth and his voice controlled. His nearly indestructible mental shields kept Pollock from the truth.
"The sister is dead?" he asked to bring the subject back to something he could handle better.
Pollock slid his calculating gaze over him and gauged him. Finally, he said, "Presumed dead. We blew that tacky flower shop to dust molecules hoping to destroy Weiss. It was later I found out the sister was working there." And the failed agents had paid with their lives.
"So you don't know."
"Careful, Oracle," Pollock warned. "Your tone suggests something you might not want to be implying to me. Your team is still under my protection, and I still haven't decided on the fate of the Weiss and Schuldig. Your telepath is fighting hard to hide something from me."
"He hides his fear of you," Crawford answered. "Schuldig is no threat to you and Kudou..." Crawford flicked his fingers negligently. "Kudou is Schuldig's and Schuldig answers to me."
"And you will answer to me." Pollock stepped close to Crawford and leered in his face.
Crawford concealed his disgust. "As you wish."
Pollock's face settled into satisfied lines. He stayed close enough that Crawford could feel the heat of his body.
"Join your team, Oracle. We'll conduct the ritual tomorrow. You may be a bigger prize than Fujimiya. You should be grateful for my continued good graces."
Crawford caught a flash of...something, too quick for him to interpret. It came and went and left an ache in his soul. Rocked to his core, Crawford left Pollock and made his way to the rooms assigned Schwarz. He found Yohji and Schuldig sitting together. Schuldig lifted his head from Yohji's shoulder at Crawford's entrance and wiped away another trickle of blood from his nose.
/Well?/ Schuldig's mental voice was a mere whisper of his usual self.
/Tomorrow./
/Good./ Schuldig rested against Yohji again. Dark circles now smudged the skin under his eyes. /I want Aya back and I want to go home./ He sounded young and fragile.
Crawford kept silent, his nails digging into his palms.
/Crawford?/ Schuldig asked in rising alarm.
/I can't see it./ Crawford admitted. /It's up to Aya now./
Down in the concrete vault, Aya's mind was a blaze of static and pain. His thoughts had narrowed down to one, and Schuldig could no longer hear him. Vengeance.
They had betrayed him, all of them. His teammates, his friends, and his lover had all abandoned him to save themselves. His sister. Aya couldn't even think of her now. Was she dead, alive? He couldn't bear to speculate and focused on his anger instead. Yes. Anger, hate, they stiffened his spine and he stood finally, holding his hands in front to explore his prison. It was a short journey. Roughly six feet by six feet, it was just big enough to lay him flat and small enough to give rise to claustrophobia.
Aya found the door, more cold steel with no handle on the inside. His fury rushed through him and he pounded on the door with both fists until he could feel the slickness of blood flowing from torn, abused skin. He screamed his rage until his voice failed to produce anything but shrill, brittle gasps. Exhausted by the storm, Aya slid down the door to huddle against it, only occasionally smacking his palm on the surface. Damn you, his mind continued the litany. Damn you all to hell if I get free.
Time lost meaning. Aya only knew of its passage from the needs of his body. Fierce thirst strangled him. His stomach knotted with emptiness, but that he could endure. He had often gone days without eating in the past anyway, but the thirst was weakening him. To distract himself Aya brought to mind images of the traitors. Yohji, green eyes dull and milky like flawed jade, turning away from him. Schuldig, cool and insolent, letting go as easily as he had grasped. And Brad. Memory after memory of Brad danced behind his eyes, but in each what he thought he remembered twisted and warped into something different and hateful. Eyes that Aya had thought were warm and expressive he now saw as cold and calculating . Every touch planned and mapped to deceive. Even as his throat burned for water, his ravaged heart burned for revenge against the man who had used him, taken his trust and made it a leash to hand to Pollock.
Schuldig lurched upright from where he had been sleeping fitfully next to Yohji and stumbled to the lavatory to retch miserably. Cool, gentle fingers kept his hair from sliding forward into the bile. Haggard and pale, the telepath slumped against the blonde. Schuldig was worn from using all his strength to maintain his shields against Pollock. The constant bombardment of Aya's thoughts weren't helping, but he couldn't bring himself to sever the link. He had done this to Aya and he would stay open to him.
"Yohji, I think he's going insane."
The fingers in Schuldig's hair trembled and tightened painfully on the long strands. Yohji bowed his head and almost shoved the telepath away.
"No," Yohji said. "Aya's stronger than that."
"He hasn't slept. It's been three days now without food or water. He's locked up in a cell and he hasn't slept."
"Shut up," Yohji mumbled.
"I can hear him, all the time. Everything's twisted and wrong in his head and he believes it."
"I said to shut up!" This time Yohji did pull back from Schuldig, leaving the telepath to clean himself up and eventually return to his side.
In those three days they had been given a room in the complex and left to roam as they would, all the while fully aware they were being watched. Crawford they never saw. Schuldig knew he was alive. The link between them all would have told him otherwise, but his resources were stretching to the limit. His head constantly ached from effort and he dared only to sleep in short snatches when Yohji was awake in case he slipped.
Schwarz was still mostly intact, but not trusted at all. Schuldig felt minds of varying strength poking at him, Pollock the most frequent. It was only Pollock's restraint in not wasting his resources that Schuldig could fend off his mental attacks. Pollock's use of his gift invariably proved fatal for his, ah, donors.
"I wonder where Crawford is?" Schuldig asked, not really expecting an answer from Yohji but wanting some response from him. He didn't get it, but Yohji sighed and relented to pull the telepath into his arms and rubs soothing hands down his back.
Crawford was figuratively, if not literally, in hell. He was forced to endure Pollock's almost constant company and definitely constant gloating. The Oracle had voluntarily bent his knee to the man and the consequences were nearly costing him the enamel on his teeth from grinding. Worse was the knowledge of Pollock's breaking tactics on Aya. Aya could withstand a great deal of physical punishment, but Crawford knew that Pollock was also messing with his mind. Frequently Pollock would comment on some tidbit of memory he had gleaned from Aya's memory and crow over how he had twisted it.
"I never thought of you as being so vanilla, Crawford," Pollock smirked. "Such seemingly touching and gentle scenes I've seen. You've really not made much use of that pretty morsel."
"It worked, did it not?" Crawford asked blandly, inwardly seething at the invasion.
"Effective, yes. Satisfying? Not to me. No matter. I've changed just about everything. Since he seems to find your betrayal very nearly as devastating as his sister's fate, it's easy to use your time together to weaken him more." Pollock watched Crawford carefully for his reaction. "I suppose you really are to be congratulated for deceiving Abyssinian so well. He's almost broken, you know. Another day at most and he'll be nearly mindless with pain, all mental, and all linked to you."
"Then you will begin?"
"Perhaps. I think, first, I would get some pleasure from him myself. I'm not one to waste an opportunity and Fujimiya intrigues me. I can see why you found it no hardship to seduce him."
Crawford fought and won to keep his face smooth and his voice controlled. His nearly indestructible mental shields kept Pollock from the truth.
"The sister is dead?" he asked to bring the subject back to something he could handle better.
Pollock slid his calculating gaze over him and gauged him. Finally, he said, "Presumed dead. We blew that tacky flower shop to dust molecules hoping to destroy Weiss. It was later I found out the sister was working there." And the failed agents had paid with their lives.
"So you don't know."
"Careful, Oracle," Pollock warned. "Your tone suggests something you might not want to be implying to me. Your team is still under my protection, and I still haven't decided on the fate of the Weiss and Schuldig. Your telepath is fighting hard to hide something from me."
"He hides his fear of you," Crawford answered. "Schuldig is no threat to you and Kudou..." Crawford flicked his fingers negligently. "Kudou is Schuldig's and Schuldig answers to me."
"And you will answer to me." Pollock stepped close to Crawford and leered in his face.
Crawford concealed his disgust. "As you wish."
Pollock's face settled into satisfied lines. He stayed close enough that Crawford could feel the heat of his body.
"Join your team, Oracle. We'll conduct the ritual tomorrow. You may be a bigger prize than Fujimiya. You should be grateful for my continued good graces."
Crawford caught a flash of...something, too quick for him to interpret. It came and went and left an ache in his soul. Rocked to his core, Crawford left Pollock and made his way to the rooms assigned Schwarz. He found Yohji and Schuldig sitting together. Schuldig lifted his head from Yohji's shoulder at Crawford's entrance and wiped away another trickle of blood from his nose.
/Well?/ Schuldig's mental voice was a mere whisper of his usual self.
/Tomorrow./
/Good./ Schuldig rested against Yohji again. Dark circles now smudged the skin under his eyes. /I want Aya back and I want to go home./ He sounded young and fragile.
Crawford kept silent, his nails digging into his palms.
/Crawford?/ Schuldig asked in rising alarm.
/I can't see it./ Crawford admitted. /It's up to Aya now./
Down in the concrete vault, Aya's mind was a blaze of static and pain. His thoughts had narrowed down to one, and Schuldig could no longer hear him. Vengeance.