AN: Hello!!! Once again not caught! But chapter twenty six is in production right now whereas before it… wasn't. *grin*

Just a warning. This is probably highly ooc. I don't care and I realize it as well. It wasn't on purpose it was just me being me. Ignore it. Plus half of it is him as a little kid so it's not like he would be all cold and icy back when he was seven or something…

Anyway… enjoy!!!

Disclaimer: I don't own it!

Finished

Yassen sat down in the red, comfy seat. The café was quiet, apart from him; no one else graced the small coffee place except an elderly couple.

He sighed and looked down at his plate, staring at the muffin and picking up the small teaspoon that rested in the middle of the table.

It had been a long week, and before that a long year; a pointless age of missions and assignments that meant nothing.

He was getting sick of all the killing, he was good at it sure, and it used to give him a sense of satisfaction… but now… now he was just tired. He was sick and tired. What a cliché.

He broke apart some of the hot, blueberry muffin with the tips of his slender fingers, becoming distracted as his eyes caught sight of one of the many small scars that nicked his skin.

He stared at the pale white line that curved around his pinky finger and down the side of his left hand. He didn't get injuries like this one anymore. He had become a better fighter. A better killer. He never gave his target the chance to see him, let alone hit him or fight back. No, this scar was old, from the times when he had still been in training. He had been clumsy, skilled in some ways but unable to break free from the cursed bindings inexperience shackled him with.

Back then, he couldn't wait until he made his first assassination, he had been giddy with glee and anticipation when he was finally given the chance a month after his eighteenth birthday.

It had not been his first kill. Not by a long shot, by the time he had hit eighteen he had murdered perhaps five people. All had been revenge hits but one. The first, the first had been in self defense. Against his father. Yassen's scarred hand clenched into a fist, crushing some of the still warm muffin in his fingers. The bastard.

Yassen looked up, gazing out of the slightly dusty café window. People rushed by in a blur of colors, faster and faster until there was nothing but brown, dirty brown sludge…

Yassen whimpered into his blanket, trying hard not to allow himself to cry out. There was something, someone in his room. Their shadow cast a menacing figure along one pale white wall, their heavy breathing loud in the quiet room. The silent house. But Yassen's mind was not quiet, not silent. It rang with screams, shrill and panicked. Angry and bewildered.

"What are you doing?! What are yo…?" There was a crash and a bang. The questioning voice grew louder, higher. "Don't! please! What are…"Another smash, closer to Yassen's room this time.

"You will obey me! I will not accept your insolence!" CRACK.

"I won't do it again! Please just leave him…" BANG.

Then the silence. The terrible, dreadful silence.

"Yassen? Come out, we're leaving." Yassen cringed at the melodious voice. It was pleasant and warm. It was a lie.

"Where's mother?"

Silence. Then, "She's not coming. Get up."

"But…"

"Don't question me boy. Get up."

Yassen pulled the blanket from over his face and looked up into the pale, skinny face of his father.

"Where are we going father?"

"We're going away."

"But, but I don't want to…"

"I said don't question me!" Yassen's father moved forward, gripping Yassen's upper arm tightly and hauling him to his feet. Yassen dangled in the air for a moment and then his father dropped him.

He landed in a crouch, the cool floorboards creaking slightly. "But…!" SMACK!

Yassen landed on his back, hand rushing up to press against his cheek. His father moved forward and another stinging hit graced his other cheek. "What did I SAY!" The last word was screamed as his father lunged at him.

"No! Where is mother!? I want mother!" Yassen scrambled back, sliding on his knees until his back hit the wall. His father followed, arms swinging and legs kicking, aiming to hit every inch of Yassen's small body.

"You will not disobey! You will not!" Pain, he was in pain and his father would not stop.

SMACK. His face. SMACK. His stomach. SMACK. His leg. SMACK. His arm. SMACK. His chest. SMACK. SMACK. SMACK.

"STOP!" Yassen pushed and shoved, looking for a gap, a space where he could get out. Get away. The hits kept coming, the odd kick and slap thrown in every now and then.

"GET OFF!" There! A gap! Yassen threw himself through it, rolling over and over until finally he came to a stop, behind his father and away from his angry, insane attack. Everything hurt, everything. He could taste blood, feel it seeping down his stomach, his legs, his face.

His father turned around and Yassen cringed. "Please! Father?" Cold blue eyes, usually so warm and happy glared back at him.

"You are just like her." He hissed, stalking towards Yassen. Her? "Just like her." His arm came around, heading towards Yassen's face; but Yassen ducked, somersaulting until he was once again behind his father.

"Father?!" Yassen was desperate. He was confused. What was happening? What was wrong with his father? "I haven't done anything! Please father!"

But he would not stop, the swings kept coming, faster and faster and faster. Yassen blocked them as best he could but he was tiring. The pain was intense; he could feel every centimeter of his body as if it had been set on fire.

He managed to stumble to his feet, swaying slightly and staggering away, out his room and down the hallway, slamming his door shut behind him as if the flimsy wood would keep him safe. Keep his father away.

Yassen heard his door fly open as he made it to the kitchen. The wood audibly cracking with the force the wood was slammed against the wall with.

But Yassen paid no attention. His eyes were staring fixedly at the red seeping across the dirty linoleum. The pale hand that lay limp in the puddle of blood, the arm that was attached to the hand and the crumpled body that was attached to the arm. Golden blonde hair was flung over some of the outstretched arm, long tendrils twisting and gleaming. The face was pale, feminine and tortured, mouth hanging open, purple bruises ruining the perfect complexion. Her body was smaller than he remembered. More… fragile. There was blood everywhere, coating the place. Yassen's mouth opened as if to scream but nothing came out, save a mangled choke. He fell to his knees at the body's side. "MOTHER!"

He clutched at his mother; she was cold and sticky, sticky with her own lifeblood. "MOTHER!" He howled in anguish.

There was the sound of thumping footsteps and Yassen's mind was drawn back to the fight. His father was approaching fast, growling low in his throat, the noise loud even over Yassen's screams.

He got to his feet, dropping his mother's hand and turning to face his father. He ran forward as the kitchen door was thrown open. He sunk his fist into his father's stomach. "How dare you! How dare you!" He shrieked, sinking fist after fist into his father's body.

He could feel the tears spilling down his face, dripping from his chin and landing on his chest, his stomach, the floor. They were tinged pink with his blood, and his mother's… he drew his hand back to hit his father once again, but suddenly the pain that was currently laying dormant in his jaw woke, rearing its head with a passion as his father landed another punch. Yassen went flying, crashing into the kitchen cabinets.

His father's attack renewed, fast and furious. As if Yassen's blows had done nothing more than irritate him. He tried to get out but his father had cornered him. There was no way out. No way out.

"You will obey!" His father repeated. Yassen could feel the blackness start to drift in, hazing his mind in a puddle of cloudy emptiness. He couldn't black out, he couldn't!

He struggled harder, pushing and shoving, shoving and pushing. But it was no use, no use…

Then one of Yassen's flailing feet caught his father in the groin. His father stumbled back, grunting in pain. Yassen used the moment to get up, shakily using the kitchen bench for support. His eyes fell onto his mother's fallen figure. "Mother…" He turned on the spot, frantically opening draws and cupboards, and then he made it to the utensil draw. His fingers flew over spoons and forks, butter knives and wooden spoons before finally landing on the smooth wooden handle of a steak knife. He gripped it tightly, turning around and bracing himself against the bench more securely. His father was lunging forward once more, eyes streaming in pain. Yassen met his attacks head on. The knife sunk deep into flesh and Yassen gasped, he dug deeper, hearing a crunch and a sick squelching sound. One more push and he released the knife, pushing his father off him so he slumped to the floor. Yassen stared at the knife, sticking out of his father's chest. Then he looked away. Gazing at his mother as his vision went grey and white and his legs gave way.

Yassen started as he realized he'd allowed himself to drift off into memories. He shook his head, looking down at his now crushed muffin. He picked up his cup of coffee and took a sip. Grimacing as the cold liquid slipped down his throat. He put the cup back down and got to his feet. Sliding some money down onto the table and walking out of the café. He had not thought about his father in years. There was no need to. The bastard was gone. Why waste his time on something that hurt so much?

He made it half way down the street before his stomach rumbled. Sighing he rolled his eyes mentally. He'd killed his muffin, not eaten it. Which meant he was still hungry. Stupid father. Even from beyond the grave he could annoy him.

He crossed the road, heading towards a Chinese place. He hadn't eaten in four days and he had been looking forward to that muffin. But he didn't feel like going back. He looked down at his hand. Glaring at the scar as it glinted in the sunlight. He had a meeting with his bosses soon but… but he didn't want to go, he didn't want to kill again. Maybe it was time to get out. Maybe he should finally get away. Be free. He sat down in one of the booths inside the Chinese restaurant. Yes. He had enough scars, he didn't need any more.

AN: Abrupt ending! Yes, yes I know it was kinda pathetic but I just read a book that really annoyed me because it was so awesome and it was sad!!!

Has anyone read Devil's Kiss? It is fantastic. I am reviewing it for work and the whole review was pretty much just 'it was awesome absolutely amazing, fantastic!!' it was quite hyper. :)

So anyway… did you like it? It was quite a stupid ending and ooc but I kinda had an idea that was only a half an idea… plus I was bored. I think you should all just be super happy I didn't start singing.

Til next time, lies. *walks off singing… hello hello hello said the pumpkin to the marshmallow…*