Summary: A mission gone wrong and a rainy Halloween night under a bridge collide to bring Aya face-to-face with Death. (Cross-over with the Discworld.)

Author's Notes: Kind of a Halloween-ish sort of story. It seemed relevant to the season, so, after some internal debate, I decided to post this one, even though it's a bit … well, "crack-y". This one is for Kittyuehana, as her request that I write a cross-over fic for her led to this story. The story was also inspired, in part, by a fic prompt: "Rainy night under a bridge".

Warnings: Bad Language.

Legal Stuff: As always, this story is intended to express one fan's genuine appreciation of Weiss Kreuz and its characters. It is just for fun and not for profit. If you have any rights in the anime described here and find the posting of this fanfiction offensive or harmful, please contact me, and I will be happy to remove it.

Trick or Treat

It had been raining all day -- the kind of steady drizzle that was caught between mist and actual rain. It hung in the air in foggy sheets beneath a lead-gray sky -- not strong or steady enough to qualify as rain, but just enough to soak everything in its path and create a nuisance. The streets had been a slick, slippery mess, which had made the Koneko's regular deliveries more of a pain than usual; especially considering the "delivery truck" was a ridiculously pink scooter that was open to the elements. The shop had been overcrowded -- they hadn't been able to put any of the potted plants outside because of the chilly weather, which had caused them to lose a lot of square footage inside the store. It would have made sense for the rain and the cold wind to keep customers away, giving the four members of Weiss a relatively easy time with their day jobs, for once. But, today was Halloween, and, as luck would have it, the store had been more crowded than usual. They had ended up with bodies -- complete with dripping raincoats, muddy over-boots, and unwieldy umbrellas -- crammed into every inch of open space in the store. It seemed like everyone in Tokyo had decided to throw a Halloween party of some kind, and they had all chosen to visit the Koneko to purchase their centerpieces and floral decorations. A steady stream of costumed kids -- some looking to meet up with friends, and others looking for the free candy Omi had made a habit of handing out on Halloween -- had been interspersed among the adults. The result had been a hectic day that was both mentally and physically exhausting. And, after the last customer had exited the shop, the Weiss florists had been left with muddy, grimy floors puddled with water, walls dotted with finger and hand prints, candy wrappers strewn about the shop, overturned planters, and greasy countertops.

As night had approached, the rain had intensified, falling from the sky in sheets that seemed to writhe in the gusting wind. It wasn't the kind of night any sane person wanted to be out in; it wasn't the kind of night any insane person would want to be out in, for that matter. At least, that's how Yohji had felt, standing at the Koneko's big, plate-glass windows and watching the rain pelt down on the street and sidewalk in front of the shop. He had known, without a doubt, that he didn't want to be out in this kind of weather, and he had asked Aya to cancel the mission. He had practically begged, for what it had been worth.

It hadn't been worth much. Aya had turned a deaf ear to all of Yohji's begging and whining. He had shrugged, replying that Omi had determined tonight was the best night for the mission, even with the bad weather. As if that was the answer to everything. Yohji had known better than to argue. If Omi said the mission was a "go", it was a go. Still, Yohji -- not liking the prospect of a night spent in wet leather with stringy, soaked hair --had argued. At least, until Aya had told him to fuck off and leave him alone.

And that was why he was here right now, stumbling through the rain and looking for a relatively safe place where he and Aya could hole up for a little while -- just until the rain let up a bit or he figured out their next step, whichever came first.

Yohji cursed as he tripped over a crack in the cement and fell to his knees in a puddle. The feeling of his knees striking asphalt jolted through his body. He was tired and achy and in a bad mood, and this didn't help any of that. The water splashed up around him, further soaking his trench coat and pants, but Yohji didn't have the time or attention to spare for that. He was too busy trying to hang on to Aya. He had already dragged the younger man this far; he didn't want to drop him in a puddle now. Yohji couldn't help snickering a little, under his breath, as he thought about Aya drowning in the few inches of water the puddle contained. It shouldn't have been funny, and it wasn't. The thought of Aya dying, from any cause, filled Yohji with a cold, sick dread. But he was tired; his body ached; he didn't know if he could make it another two feet, much less the distance likely required to bring them to some kind of temporary safety; it had been one hell of an evening; and things that shouldn't be funny … just were, at the moment. Later, Yohji would berate himself for this, but, for now, he laughed, because it was all he could do to keep from crying out of frustration, anger, and fear.

He couldn't sit here in the rain all night. Yohji took a deep breath and tried to summon up the energy to drag himself back to his feet. He felt his leg muscles bunch beneath him. He tightened his grip on Aya's arm, which was resting across his shoulders, as well as on Aya's waist. He pushed off of the ground …

And nothing happened.

He was too tired. It had been a miserable night, in more ways than one. Yohji remembered Omi's words from yesterday, as he had described the mission: "Piece of cake. In and out. Really easy stuff; you could do it in your sleep." Yohji figured saying that had been the kiss of death. It was like spitting right in Fate's eye, daring her to jerk them around a bit. He frowned and resolved to beat the hell out of Omi at the first opportunity, because their "piece of cake" mission had turned out to be anything but. There had been more guards than they had expected, based on their research. They had gotten the target, but they had had a hell of a time getting away. And, they hadn't gotten away clean, Yohji reminded himself, glancing down at Aya's bowed head. Then, the crappy weather and incomplete building blueprints had conspired to prevent them from getting back to where he had stashed Seven. They hadn't had any choice but to do their best to get away on foot. Yohji didn't know how far he had already walked, but it felt like he had covered half of Tokyo -- in the pouring rain and half-carrying Aya, to boot.

And Aya …

Yohji turned his head to the side, leaning down enough to bury his face in his partner's hair. It was the kind of affectionate gesture that Aya might accept reluctantly, if at all -- trying to shy away from contact he deemed too personal. Now, though, he did nothing. He didn't try to move away; he didn't complain; he didn't even give any sign he was aware of Yohji's presence. Yohji didn't like it. He didn't like it one bit. Aya's hair smelled like blood and sweat and rain. Too much blood. It made Yohji's stomach turn over, and a sick, cold feeling twisted its way through his gut. Aya was hurt, no doubt about it. But, how badly? Yohji wasn't sure.

Everything had happened so quickly. He closed his eyes, trying to remember, but the images turned around in his mind -- a whirling jumble, like when a person lays puzzle pieces out on a table, all colors and funny shapes that don't look at all like they can come together to create a complete picture. He had seen the shot that had taken Aya down. He had been across the room, and he had watched it happen -- in slow motion and out of the corner of his eye. The bullet striking Aya; Aya falling; the kick Aya's attacker had aimed at him as he lay on the floor, bleeding, vulnerable, and helpless. Less than a minute later, that man had been dead, lying at Yohji's feet. Yohji felt a surge of savage satisfaction as he remembered that guard's death, and the way he had buried his boot in the man's face, knocking out most of his teeth. It was better than that guy had deserved, for what he had done to Aya. As far as Yohji was concerned, no one touched Aya -- or anyone else in his little, dysfunctional family -- without paying the price. No one.

Yohji's arms tightened again around Aya -- an unconscious gesture borne from his affection as much as from the worry eating its way through him. He wanted to know how badly Aya was hurt, but, at the same time, he didn't want to know. Sometimes, Yohji figured not knowing was better, even though he hated himself for feeling that way. At heart, maybe he really was a coward. But Yohji refused to let his mind dwell on that. Right now, it didn't matter. He hadn't had time to take stock of Aya's injuries. He had picked Aya up off the floor and run like hell to get away from those guards. Now, he figured they had managed to escape, but it was dark and raining. There was no way he could do any kind of decent triage; the best he had been able to manage was to pull off his t-shirt and stuff it into Aya's wound in the hopes of stopping the bleeding. In his heart, he knew it wasn't enough. And yet, it had to be enough. Yohji hated that. Aya deserved better.

Yohji realized he had been sitting there for too long. He had already been soaked through, but, now that he had stopped moving, he realized he was cold. He tried to control the shivering. He didn't want to jar Aya any more than necessary, and he felt bad enough already about dragging his injured partner all over the city in the pouring rain. But Yohji's body didn't seem willing to listen to his brain; it trembled and shook with one uncontrollable shudder after another. Water ran down his face and dripped off of his nose onto his sleeve and Aya's head. Yohji sneezed and shook his head, shedding droplets of water around him in an effort to get some of the rain out of his eyes. It didn't do much good. The rain continued to pour down on them, and there wasn't any escaping it. Yohji glanced up and felt his heartbeat quicken just a little when he saw a shape before him -- big, concrete, and hulking up out of the darkness. A bridge. It wasn't ideal, but Yohji figured it was better than nothing. At the very least, it would protect them from most of the rain. It wasn't much farther, and Yohji summoned up his strength to make it those last few yards to the only safety he could find at the moment.

"Come on, Aya," Yohji muttered, "You could help a little. Just a little, all right? I know you can do it. Come on."

His words were nearly lost under the sound of the rain, but Aya heard. He groaned and tried to get his feet under him as Yohji shoved himself and his partner up from the ground. Aya managed to stagger two or three steps, but his legs gave out beneath him. He started to fall, almost bringing Yohji to the ground with him. Yohji barely managed to catch them both, preventing them from sprawling on the wet ground again. With a resigned-sounding sigh, Yohji picked Aya up, gently shifting Aya's body over his shoulders in a reasonable approximation of a fireman's carry. Aya didn't resist or struggle; his body was limp and unresponsive, and Yohji felt the fear clenching around his heart intensify.

It took a lot longer than it should have to cross the small, open space between him and the bridge, but Yohji managed to do it without falling or stumbling. Several minutes later, he had reached the bridge's sheltering bulk. He sighed in relief as he slid down to a sitting position, his back braced against one of the pillars. He winced as he felt the scrape of wet concrete through his coat. One more ache to add to the ever-growing pile. At the moment, Yohji didn't much care. He was happy and relieved to be out of the rain. More or less, anyhow. It wasn't an ideal shelter; water seeped through the bridge's joints and dripped down on them, and the sound of the rain pounding against the road overhead was almost deafening. But, it kept most of the wet off, and it protected them from the wind. For now, that was enough.

Yohji settled Aya against him, cradling the younger man against his chest in an effort to keep him warm. He rested his chin on the top of Aya's head, trying to ignore the smell of blood that seemed to hang around both of them. It left a salty iron-tasting tang in the back of his throat and made him want to vomit. But Yohji held it in, trying to distract himself by concentrating on their next move. Seven should still be safely stashed where he had left her earlier that evening, but Yohji knew the car was impossibly out of reach. He had already carted Aya farther than he should have. It had been unavoidable, but Yohji didn't want to risk doing more damage by carrying him back to the car. Besides, he was tired -- too tired to make it back there. They had gotten separated from Omi and Ken, and Yohji had no idea where his two missing teammates might be. He had tried contacting them, but that had been impossible. Aya's comm. had shattered when he hit the floor after being shot, and, somehow, the rain had seeped into Yohji's communicator, causing it to short out. They still had the tracers, though -- one sewn into the hem of his coat, and one in the heel of Aya's boot. Those should still be working, which meant Omi and Ken would find them, but it would take time for Omi and Ken to figure out they were missing and, then, for Omi to trace their location. For now, it seemed like waiting was the only option. It wasn't a good solution, and it left Yohji feeling inadequate, angry, and cold with fear. At the same time, it was all they had. Yohji knew that, but knowing it didn't make him feel any better.

Aya cursed under his breath as he stumbled over debris someone had left under the bridge. He kicked it out of the way and turned around, intending to complain to Yohji about the "safe haven" the older man had chosen. Instead, what he saw caused the words to stick in his throat. A few feet away, Yohji sat huddled on the wet ground, near one of the bridge's pillars. He rocked slowly, back and forth, mumbling nonsensical words of comfort to the person cradled in his arms. Aya stepped forward to take a closer look: red hair … the familiar, purple-black trench coat, complete with buckles and straps … black leather pants and boots.

"But that's … me," Aya mumbled. "How …?"

Someone tapped him on the shoulder.

Aya spun around, automatically sinking into a defensive posture as he reached for his sword. And came up empty. He whirled around to look at Yohji and … himself … and saw the sword sitting on the ground next to them. He turned back again and stared, dumfounded, at his empty hand for a few moments before looking up to face whoever had touched him. Aya told himself it didn't matter. Sword or no sword, he could take this guy. Hand to hand combat wasn't his strongest skill, but he was no slouch. He was more than capable of defending himself.

"Get the fuck away from me, if you know what's good for you," Aya snapped, managing to put a bit of extra snarl into his voice.

He felt off-balance and unsure about the situation. He couldn't figure out how he could be over there, in Yohji's arms, and also standing here, about to face off with some bum who had the unfortunate luck to bug an assassin when he was having a very bad night. Even so, Aya had always believed the best defense was a good offense. For the moment, he decided to put all those other thoughts and questions out of his mind and just go with that impulse.

"THERE'S NO NEED TO BE SO NASTY ABOUT IT."

The voice came at him out of the darkness, as if the shadows themselves spoke to him. There was something terrible and frightening about it -- the sound of tons of boulders rolling down a mountainside and leveling the village that was unfortunate enough to be located at its foot. Aya fought the urge to take a step back in response to that voice. Instead, he glared at the darkness in front of him, staring at the spot from where he thought the voice came. Seconds ticked by as he stood there, staring at the swirling shadows and listening to the sound of the rain pounding overhead. In his mind, he knew it was only a few seconds, but it felt a lot longer than that to Aya -- as if those little ticks of time spun out and out until they encompassed an eternity of dread. Finally, Aya heard footsteps coming toward him -- the sound of chains rattling and dragging along the ground. He swallowed, hard, and, once more, steeled himself against taking a step backward, away from the terrible noise.

"I won't run away. I won't run away. I won't run away," Aya repeated to himself, under his breath.

"THAT WOULD BE … REFRESHING. MOST PEOPLE DO RUN AWAY, YOU KNOW. IT BECOMES RATHER TIRESOME, HAVING TO CHASE THEM DOWN," the voice replied, although there was no way the stranger could have heard Aya's words.

The shadows before him seemed to swirl and sway even more, until they parted and a figure stepped out from them. It was almost like the body, if it could be called that, melted right out of the shadows in front of his eyes. One moment, Aya was alone, except for that unnerving voice. The next, a tall figure stood before him. He was clothed in a black cloak that billowed and flowed around him, blown by some unseen, unfelt wind. The shadows moved around him, sometimes clinging to his cloak, sometimes trailing off of the cloak's long hem and sleeves. Aya looked up … and up, seeking the figure's face, but his efforts did little good. A deep hood darkened and obscured the stranger's facial features, although Aya caught a glimpse of white bone, a mouth set in a permanent, macabre grin, and empty eye sockets when the stranger nodded in greeting. Aya heard more footsteps, and he peered deeper into the shadows, watching as a great, white horse emerged from the darkness behind the cloaked stranger. The horse snorted, and sparks flew from its nostrils, lighting up the air around them before dissipating on the breeze.

Aya's brave front and resolve melted as the stranger and horse approached. He felt his throat go dry, and he took a step backward. He hated himself for the involuntary gesture. He told himself he wasn't afraid, but, even as the words formed in his mind, he knew it was a lie. He was afraid. He felt cold to the core of his being, and his heart stuttered and skipped a beat -- as if some giant fist had clenched around it and squeezed.

Behind him, Aya heard Yohji cry out, and he turned, alarmed at the raw fear he heard in Yohji's voice. Aya watched as Yohji doubled over, clutching at … well, his body. He heard Yohji begging him to stay, to hang on and not leave him alone, although he couldn't quite understand the words.

"OH. SORRY. FORCE OF HABIT," the hooded figure commented.

He waved his hand in Aya's general direction, giving him a glimpse of long, white fingers. Almost immediately, Aya's heart started to beat normally, as if in response to the stranger's command. Aya turned back toward Yohji and saw the older man relax, although he continued to hug Aya's body close to him. Apparently, the moment of crisis had passed.

Aya was confused. It was disconcerting to know he was standing over here, but, at the same time, lying over there in Yohji's arms. It wasn't possible, was it? How could he be in two places at one time? He couldn't be, and that was that. The terrifying cloaked stranger in front of him, the white horse, the skull face and bony fingers -- it was all too much for Aya to handle. They had to be figments of his imagination. A case of his mind playing tricks on him, nothing more. Either way, Aya didn't like it. He didn't like feeling helpless and confused. He didn't like hearing the terror in Yohji's voice. He didn't like any of this. And, with that thought, Aya's fear melted away, to be replaced with a burning, hate-filled anger. Now, that was an emotion with which Aya was intimately acquainted. That was an emotion he knew how to use.

"Who the fuck are you? Some kind of demented trick-or-treater or something? It's a helluva costume, I'll admit. But, you've taken one very wrong turn here. If you know what's good for you, you'll turn around right now and head the other way -- before I get really pissed," Aya snarled.

He cringed a little at the almost-whiny tone that wrapped itself around the edges of his words, but he ignored it. He took a deliberate step forward, challenging the cloaked stranger's personal space, and raised his chin in defiance as he speared the figure with the most hate-filled glare he could muster.

"TRICK OR TREAT?" the stranger asked.

Aya was taken aback. He stared at the shadowed hood for a couple of seconds before shrugging and replying, "Yeah, you know. Trick or treating. Like, you go door to door and people give you stuff. Candy. Whatever."

"I LIKE CANDY," the figure said. His voice still sounded like tons of gravel crashing to earth, but there was an almost wistful tone to it. "I CAN'T EAT IT. IT GOES RIGHT THROUGH ME. BINKY LIKES IT, THOUGH."

"Binky?" Aya asked, certain he didn't want to know the answer to his question.

The figure gestured behind him, toward the horse.

"IT'S NOT A COSTUME," he continued. "MORE LIKE A UNIFORM, REALLY. IT'S NOT WHAT I WOULD CHOOSE TO WEAR, BUT IT KIND OF CAME WITH THE JOB. IT IS COMFORTABLE, AND IT MAKES GETTING DRESSED EASY. NO NEED TO WORRY OVER WHAT TO WEAR EVERY DAY."

"It goes with the job?" Aya asked, even more certain now that he didn't want to know any more than he already did.

"YEAH. YOU KNOW," the figure said.

He nodded, gesturing toward the front of his robes, as if to encourage Aya to take his best guess. Before Aya could reply, the figure held up one long, bony finger, motioning him to be quiet. Aya felt the words die before they managed to slide from his throat. It wasn't that he didn't want to continue talking; it was that he couldn't continue talking. He had lost all control over his body, and it responded to the stranger's command. His throat closed up, and he fell silent, watching as the stranger cocked his head to one side, as if listening. After a moment, the cloaked figure stepped aside, moving out from beneath the bridge into the rain. As before, his footsteps pounded out against the night -- the ringing and clanking of miles of chains dragging across the ground. It filled Aya with fear-laced dread, and, in spite of resolving not to, he found he wanted nothing more than to turn and run as far away from this place as he could. Unfortunately, he couldn't act on the impulse, no matter how badly he wanted to. His body, like his voice, was frozen in place. He could do nothing but watch and wait.

The stranger stopped just beyond the bridge's sheltering overhang. The rain, which was still falling from the sky in heavy, wavy sheets of water, didn't touch him. It fell all around him, but the cloaked figure remained dry. He bent toward the ground, and Aya watched as he gestured toward a small, dark lump lying there. Skeletal fingers emerged from the cloak's trailing sleeve, stark white against the rainy black of the night. The figure straightened and returned to stand before Aya, as before, but he now held a small, gray tabby cat cradled in the crook of his arm.

"DROWNED. AND TOSSED OUT LIKE TRASH. POOR THING. PEOPLE ARE SO CRUEL," the stranger said, his gravel voice taking on a puzzled tone, as if he didn't understand why things had to be this way.

Aya found he could speak and move again. He cleared his throat, trying to swallow past the dry lump lodged there, and just barely managed to croak out, "You … You're him, aren't you? Death."

Death nodded, stroking the little cat under the chin. It rubbed its head against his robe and purred.

"IT WASN'T MY FIRST CAREER CHOICE, BUT THE WORK IS STEADY. I SUPPOSE YOU KNOW HOW THAT IS," Death commented, shrugging.

Aya watched the billowing robe rise and fall with the motion of Death's shoulders. The material made a swishing sound. Aya nodded. He did know how that was. His own night job hadn't exactly been something he had chosen. It was more like the job had chosen him. He felt the anger drain away from him. It might have been a case of Death controlling his body and emotions, but Aya didn't think so. Before, he had been angry and defensive, intent on protecting himself from a perceived threat. But now, he felt sad. It was an odd feeling, but the only way he could describe it. He had never thought of Death as having the same regret and pain that he felt over his own job as an assassin. Really, he had never given it much thought at all. But, he had heard the soft note of sadness beneath the terrible, gravel-hard tone of Death's voice. It was barely noticeable, but, to Aya's ears, it was unmistakable. It resonated with the feelings deep inside his own soul.

"So, then. You've come for me?" Aya asked. He turned slightly to the side, gesturing toward Yohji, who was still cradling his body and rocking back and forth. "You did that?"

"DID WHAT?" Death asked. He followed Aya's gaze, staring at Yohji for several long seconds, before shrugging and shaking his head. "NO. THAT'S YOUR OWN DOING."

"My own …?" Aya asked, his tone incredulous. "But, you're here. For me. Aren't you?"

Death managed to look puzzled. It wasn't so much an expression, as his face was permanently frozen in a skeletal grin, but, all the same, a definite air of confusion emanated from him.

"NO. TONIGHT IS MY NIGHT OFF," Death said, as if that explained everything.

"You get a night off?" Aya asked.

"EVERYONE GETS A NIGHT OFF," Death replied. "DON'T YOU?"

Aya thought about that. When was the last time he had had a night off? The last few months had been almost non-stop missions, particularly as Halloween had approached. It always seemed like Kritiker kicked everything into high gear during the Halloween season and the months surrounding it. Or, maybe it wasn't Kritiker, but the world, in general, going a little more crazy than usual. Whatever the case, Aya shrugged and shook his head in response to Death's question.

"TOO MUCH WORK ISN'T GOOD FOR YOU. IT'S TOO STRESSFUL," Death said, scratching behind the cat's ears. Before Aya could reply, Death continued, "I LIKE HALLOWEEN. I COME HERE EVERY YEAR. WELL, NOT "HERE" HERE. BUT, YOU KNOW … AROUND."

"So, if you're not here for me, then why …?" Aya asked. He gestured toward Yohji, as if to explain the unexplainable.

"OH," Death said, as if only just noticing that Aya stood before him and, also, lay cradled in Yohji's arms. "THAT IS … INCONVENIENT, ISN'T IT? I SUPPOSE YOU COULD COME WITH ME, IF THAT'S WHAT YOU WANT. IT IS MY NIGHT OFF, BUT … WELL, WHAT CAN I SAY? I AM MY WORK."

Aya stared at Death. Did he want to do this? Did he want to go with Death? There were a lot of times when life was too hard, when it seemed like too much effort to continue living. And, a lot of times when he believed he was ready for the whole thing to be done. But now, faced with the chance to end it all, he wasn't so sure. He turned to look at Yohji again. He couldn't hear the older man's words, but he knew Yohji was crying. Yohji was a tough bastard. Aya knew that. Yohji didn't cry. Not unless he was dying inside. It tore at Aya's heart. All he wanted to do was to go to Yohji and tell him everything was all right -- even if it meant living longer in this life that seemed to bear down on him from all sides. If Yohji was there … maybe, it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe, it would even be bearable. The thought frightened him. He had sworn he would never feel that way about anyone, ever again. When had that happened? When had he started thinking of Yohji as "home"?

"YOUR FRIEND SEEMS UPSET," Death said.

"He's not my friend," Aya muttered.

It was a knee-jerk reaction. They were the first words to come to his mind, and he spoke them without really thinking about it. But, even as they hung in the air between him and Death, Aya regretted it. He knew it was a lie. His heart screamed at him, accusing him of being a traitor for selling Yohji short like that. Yohji was his friend. His brother. A man he trusted with his life. And, maybe even more.

"THEN, YOU'VE DECIDED? YOU'LL COME WITH ME?" Death asked.

He stared at Aya, and Aya got the very uncomfortable feeling that Death's empty eyes looked right through him. It was as if they saw to the very core of his soul, and Aya knew Death had seen through his lie.

Aya watched Yohji for another moment or two, and, slowly, shook his head. He couldn't do it; there was no way he could leave Yohji like this.

"No," he said, turning back to look at Death, "No. I'll … I'll stay."

Death shrugged, as if it was of little importance. Which, in the grand scheme of things -- at least as far as he was concerned -- was probably true. After all, no one escaped Death forever.

"NO MATTER," Death said. "I'LL SEE YOU AGAIN, I'M SURE." He paused for a moment or two, before continuing, "I LIKE YOUR COAT. SO MANY BUCKLES." He reached out with one skeletal finger, lightly stroking one of the shiny, silver fasteners. "I SHOULD THINK ABOUT A WARDROBE CHANGE. I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU'D BE WILLING TO TRADE?"

Aya backed away, putting a few inches between him and Death. Death didn't take the hint. He leaned forward, continuing to prod at the buckles and straps on the sleeves of Aya's trench coat. Aya, irritated with the unwanted attention, swatted at Death's hand. It was an automatic gesture, and he regretted it almost as soon as he did it. Death wasn't someone he wanted to offend. Aya cleared his throat, trying to cover his discomfort and bluff his way through the situation.

"Um, th … thanks," Aya muttered, blushing and ducking his head. "But, um, no. I think I'll just keep the coat."

"AH, WELL. PITY," Death said, withdrawing his hand.

He scratched the cat's head as he stared at Aya for a few more seconds. Aya shifted his weight from one foot to the other, uncomfortable with the close scrutiny. He stared at the ground near his feet and wished that Death would find another friend for the evening.

"YES, YOU'RE RIGHT," Death said, replying to Aya's thoughts, although Aya was certain he hadn't spoken the words out loud. "IT IS MY ONLY NIGHT OFF, AFTER ALL. I SHOULD GET GOING." He paused, glancing over to where Yohji still sat, cradling Aya's limp body. "AND, REALLY, YOU SHOULD, TOO."

Death waved his hand in Aya's general direction. Aya felt a tug, like something pulling at the pit of his stomach, and everything faded out around him.

"Dammit, Aya, you are not going to do this to me," Yohji snapped. "If you die on me like this … I swear, I'll hunt you down in hell and fucking kill you."

His voice broke on the last syllable, and Yohji shook his head, trying to figure out how everything had turned to shit so quickly. Sure, Aya had been hurt. And, he hadn't known how badly. Plus, he had dragged Aya all over Tokyo in the pouring rain. But, still, he would have sworn Aya's wound wasn't life-threatening. Until they had reached the bridge, Aya had been, more or less, moving under his own power. Yohji had supported him, but Aya had managed to stay on his feet enough to stumble forward with Yohji's help. But once they had reached the bridge and Yohji had settled Aya against him, everything had changed. Aya's body had shuddered and, then, gone limp and heavy in Yohji's arms. He was breathing, but just barely. Yohji felt terror stab through his heart. It couldn't end like this. It just couldn't. He felt helpless. He was going to have to sit here and watch Aya die, without being able to do anything to stop it. He was terrified at the thought of it, and, more than that, he was pissed. At the world. At the stupid guard who had done this to Aya. At the ridiculous twist of fate that had allowed the man's lucky shot to find its mark. And, as twisted and ridiculous as it was, at Aya, for doing this to him.

Yohji choked back a sob. He hadn't realized it, but he was crying. He felt the tears slide down his face, beneath the frames of his sunglasses and down his cheeks, where they mingled with the wetness left by the rain. He didn't want this. He pulled Aya to him, bending over to rest his face in the crook of Aya's shoulder. He took a deep breath, trying to stifle the gasping sobs that shook his body, and almost choked on the smells that assaulted him: wet leather, sweat, death, and, over all of it, the tangy, iron-tasting scent of blood.

"Come on, Aya," Yohji pleaded.

His voice broke, but Yohji didn't care. He would do anything, say anything, if it would bring Aya back to him. He shook Aya, causing the younger man's head to snap back and forth and scattering droplets of rain and blood around them. It didn't matter. None of that mattered right now.

"AYA!" Yohji screamed.

His throat was raw with emotion, and the wind and rain seemed to catch his words, tossing them out into the air. Yohji didn't care about that, either. He pulled Aya to him as he shook from the effort of trying to hold back his tears. But it didn't do any good.

"You fucking shit," Yohji sobbed out against the soaked leather of Aya's coat. "I'm not letting go. I'm not." He pulled away from Aya, shouting out into the rain and howling wind, as if he could challenge Death itself, "I won't let this happen! You hear me? You can't have him! You can't!"

As if in response to Yohji's words, Aya took a gasping breath. He struggled to open his eyes and found Yohji leaning over him, fear and worry written in his green eyes.

"Oh, shit, Aya," Yohji breathed, his voice breaking. He pulled Aya closer and rocked back and forth, as if to comfort his injured partner. "I thought … I thought you were dead."

"He … didn't want … me," Aya mumbled, his words slurred.

"What?" Yohji asked. "What the fuck're you talking about?"

"Death," Aya said, his voice so soft Yohji had to lean forward to hear the words. "He … didn't want … me. Just … my … coat."

Yohji stared at Aya, unsure what to make of the odd statement. And then, Yohji snickered. He couldn't help it. Maybe it wasn't really that funny, but he couldn't hold the laughter in. He didn't even try. As the fear and dread seemed to melt away, leaving him with an exhausted, hollow feeling, Yohji laughed, throwing his head back to let the wind carry the sound of his relief away into the night.

"It's not … funny," Aya muttered. "I love this coat."

"Shit," Yohji laughed. "You're so fucking weird. And you scared the crap outta me."

"S … sorry," Aya sighed, snuggling closer to Yohji.

Yohji frowned. It wasn't like Aya to seek out physical comfort or companionship like that. Aya had to be feeling pretty awful if he let himself give in to those impulses. It was enough, combined with everything that had just happened, to clench at Yohji's heart. He forced the fears and thoughts aside, concentrating on the positive. Aya would be okay. He had to be, and that was that. There were no other options.

"Every … everything hurts," Aya complained, "I … need a night off."

As Aya's eyes slid closed, Yohji pulled his partner close, settling Aya more comfortably against him. He bowed his head, resting his forehead against Aya so that he could whisper into the younger man's ear.

"You hang on, OK? Just do that for me, and I'll make sure you get it. All the nights off that you need."

Yohji wasn't sure if Aya had heard him or not, but Aya smiled, so Yohji thought that, maybe, he had.

End