Title: When In Dreams
Author: Ret.
Rating: R. Not for the kids.
Disclaimer: I don't own Weiss or anything related to Weiss. Free, non-profit.
Chapter One
Tired, searching for more sleep
It's been nights since I've gotten any sleep.
Any sleep that isn't plagued by screaming, rage, and blood, anyway. By pain. By memories. By death.
I'm watching him now, watching him sneak up the stairs, hugging the wall. He's got a hood over his head, all black. Everything's in shadow, so it wouldn't matter, really. He thinks he's so smart. Thinks he's so silent. Heh. I've got him covered.
I follow him. Silent. Cat-like. Where d'you think you're going, kid?
Up the stairs. Into the hall where all our rooms are. Checks my room first, since it's nearest the staircase. Empty, of course. I'm watching you. Is he a thief, or .. something more? Probably just small-time. Too obvious to be someone really professional.
He moves on. Just next door, to Ken's room. Opens the door and heads inside. It's definitely a pain for me to sneak in while he's about to close the door, but somehow .. somehow, I manage it. I watch. He isn't looking at anything in Ken's room. Not the stereo, not the computer. He's heading straight for Ken's bed. For ...
Ken's bed ... ?
Ken's still asleep. Eyes closed, of course. Hair strewn out all over the pillow, covers bunched up around him. Looks comfortable. Warm. Wish I could be happily asleep in bed ... but ... I have a job to do. I don't like people sneaking around my house. Not strangers, anyway.
Before I can react, he grabs Ken's mouth, producing a knife. The blade has an odd sheen to it. The silver ... shines in the dark unnaturally, like something inside it were making it glow. It's never been used, I can tell that much.
The blade descends. I freeze, mouth opening to say something ... to scream ...
It slits his throat. Quickly, but delicately. At first all it leaves is a narrow red line...
... maybe Ken's okay. Still alive. Maybe it's just a cut. Maybe ...
He doesn't open his eyes, or wake. The blood starts spurting. A crimson fountain ... His blood ... spilling all over the covers, the bed ... his eyes are still closed, mercifully closed and he's silent, and the killer is silent, and ... No! Stop him, now! I try to jerk myself into action. Try to reach my watch for the wire.
I can't.
I can't move.
A spectator. I'm just on the sidelines, watching, watching this gruesome game. I can't force myself to move. My limbs won't respond, all they'll do is ... follow the murderer. Follow him and not do what I want them to do.
Omi's room now. A tuft of blonde hair sticks out from under a mound of fluffy covers. He's asleep. How ...
No. No, get away from him. MURDERER! My mind screams, but I can't get my throat to work, either. No .. not Omi ... not pure, precious little Omi ...
His death is even faster than Ken's. The shadowed figure is more vicious this time, though ... taking a few moments to stab the boy in the neck. Stab. Stab. Stab. Blood spurts violently, staining the cloth, dripping onto the floor ... I try to tear my eyes away, I can't watch, can't bear to watch, not Omi, not Omi ...
Aya's room. There's no end to this. No end. Just infinite torture.
Blood-red hair fans out over the pillow. Ironic. He's asleep, pale face illuminated by moonlight filtered through the window. Angelic-looking, but when you know about the death on his hands, nothing seems quite so beautiful anymore...
Docile. Too docile. The murderer lifts his head, pulling out ... the knife? The knife covered in blood? The one with ... with Ken and Omi's ... blood ...
No. A gun. A handgun. He puts the barrel against Aya's temple, just lightly. Perhaps not even touching.
And pulls back the trigger.
I can't hear the bang. Can't hear the gunshot that should've been an explosion in my ears. All I see ... is the blood. More blood. Spurting from Aya's eyes, trickling down the side of his head. Just like Ken. Just like Omi. He's bleeding and he's dead, and I'm alone ... I'm ...
My muscles contract suddenly, and I stumble forward. My stomach churns as well. I feel bile rising in my throat, sending my head spinning. The blood ... so much ... blood ... I try to reach down to my wristwatch, try to call out the wire, kill him, kill him, I have to kill him ... what he's done ... what ...
He stretches to pull off the hood. Hair the color of dark honey tumbles down. He's smiling now. Laughing.
I could never mistake those eyes.
Forest green. My reflection. He turns towards me, almost as if he'd only just noticed me. Brings the gun up, points the barrel right at my head. Cocks the gun.
"Hello, Youji."
It's me.
Hello, Youji.
He pulls the trigger.
"You~ji-kun!"
What? I'm dead.
"You~ji-kun, wake up! Breakfast time."
I open my eyes. It's ... Omi. That familiar fluffy blonde hair. Sweet smile. Bright, robin-blue eyes that could cheer anyone up. He's ... alive. Not blood-stained, not gushing from gaping wounds in his neck.
Alive.
"... Ohayo, Omi," I find myself saying, sleepily. He beams, and then bounces back out of my room. The kid is too cheerful for mornings. Mornings like when I wake up, grouchy and in desperate need of a lay. But not this night. Not exactly a wet dream I just had.
I rub my sleep gunk-encrusted eyes wearily, and then lightly massage the back of my neck. My room seems fake. The light seems fake. Everything is wrong today.
... but we're all alive.
I swing my feet out of bed, to stand upright. The pajama pants hang loose and low on my hips, the last clean item of clothing I had. My shoulders slump involuntarily. I'm ... tired. Another sleepless night. Nightmare after nightmare. I can't take it. I ...
...
When will it ever stop...?
... to be continued
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