A/N: Once again, I've decided to contribute to the unfortunately small collection of KiraxSetsuna fics. This has been sitting on my hard drive for quite some time, because I've been waiting for my beta to read it. Which she still hasn't. So sorry for any mistakes you might find, and as soon as Nat decides to check her email (-pokes Natters-) I'll post the beta'd version for you.

And yes, I'm taking a "break" from my NaNoWriMo sitdown in order to post this. Because I've gone a week and a half without writing two words for it and need something to do whilst I procrastinate. I am so ashamed... -cries- But whatev. I'll manage it somehow... Because my friends are evil and decided that if I don't make 50k words by March 2, then I lose all Angel Sanctuary rights for the rest of the year. Which is just the worst abuse ever, because our cult leader - um, I mean, book-holder - is moving to Arizona after graduation. So I'll be left AS-less. -cries even more-

Rating: T

Warnings: Violence, abuse, cutting, mentions of one-sided incest (come on, it's Angel Sanctuary) and, of course, yaoi. More like shonen-ai, but whatever. Yayz. x3

And, now that I've thoroughly bored you, on to the fic!!

No… Those can't be…No! They can't find out!

Setsuna grasped frantically at the hundreds of colorful flyers fluttering through the air, desperately hoping and praying that they weren't what he thought they were, that maybe no one else would notice the paper rain. He tried to snatch them out of the air before they hit the ground, clinging to the delusion that he could collect them all before anyone saw them.

His hopes were in vain, for there were obviously far too many. As soon as the first one touched the concrete, the whispers started.

That boy… His sister… Incestuous, despicable…

They tried to invade his mind, the mutterings and the stares, but he pushed back at them, ignoring the disgusted looks and mocking jeers. He forced himself to keep his eyes on the ground, trying hopelessly to gather the muddy leaflets. They couldn't get to him if he didn't acknowledge their presence.

The comments became louder, more hurtful and repulsed, when more people started to recognize him as the boy from the picture. Setsuna fumbled on the ground, his mental wall beginning to crack. Not much longer and he would break. There was nothing he could do about it.

As the situation became more desperate, an impossible amount of the flyers filling the sky, Setsuna felt the first wall collapse. A tear slid down his cheek and fell off to mix with the mud he knelt in.

He cringed as someone yelled at him, the insult unclear but scalding nonetheless. The second wall fell. Setsuna's hands began to shake.

He no longer chased after the objects causing his pain. There was no point, nothing he could do. His mental restraint was dwindling, and a blinding light filled his head, blocking out the reality of the moment, keeping him from screaming from the sheer unfairness of it all.

Just as another wall was tumbling, the light growing brighter, and he was a hair's breadth away from snapping completely, something brought him back. A liferaft in the form of a sharp slap, clearing away the haze and bringing him back from the brink of nothingness.

Setsuna stared up at Kira, whose hand was still poised in the air. He stared calmly down at his friend groveling in the dirt, dark eyes unreadable.

Words were spoken, hard yet reassuring, but Setsuna heard none of it. His mind was fixed on the moment, that damned picture on front display in his head, running over the situation again and again. He didn't realize that Kira had stopped mid-word. He didn't notice that most everyone else had quieted down and disappeared at Kira's appearance. All he did notice was the image in his head and the papers on the ground and the sheer, unreal reality of what had happened, what he had realized.

He could never love her.

He was crazy to have even let himself think it. There was no way they could ever be together, no way to ever be happy. They would both have to suffer if this continued, and that was the last thing he wanted to happen to her. He would willingly die before causing her so much pain.

"Setsuna?"

A hand on his shoulder brought him out of his daze, and he snapped. With a strangled yell he tore away from his concerned friend and leapt to his feet, his mind running faster than he could follow.

He needed to leave, to get away from here. He had to leave her in peace, rid her of his tainted presence, the stain on that beautiful, shining soul.

Ignoring the shouts of the boy left behind, Setsuna ran. He ran so hard and fast he thought his legs would give out and his lungs would collapse. But still he kept going, the images in his head not allowing him to slow, to rest. Nothing could change his mind.

He had to leave.

Reaching the home of the mother who despised him, there was no pause as Setsuna flew into his room and immediately dragged out the vacation suitcase from under his bed, and began throwing everything he could reach into it. Clothes, objects, books, they all went into the worn leather shell.

When his room was almost bare, the giant suitcase bulging with its contents, Setsuna's mind finally woke up. It was hazy, yes, but no longer clouded by frantic actions or muted abuse. He stopped for the first time since he started running, and could finally hear his heart racing in his chest, feeling as though it would burst any second, though whether from the run or the incident he didn't know. He felt tears running down his numb face, but couldn't recall when he'd started to cry.

But most of all, there was the pain. The burning, aching sadness and sense of inevitable loss, stabbing his heart and wreaking havoc on his insides. A fire was lit in his ribs, and he almost screamed from the hurt. It was worse than anything he'd ever felt before – not the hate and abuse inflicted by his mother, nor the forbidden feelings for his sister. He flinched and pressed a hand to his chest, trying to breathe slowly, wishing away the blazing sting that pierced his heart.

He knew what he had to do, what always took the pain away, if only for a little while. But then again, he only needed a little while – time to think, time to plan, time to pack. He sauntered into the kitchen, slid a small, sharp knife out of its block, and retreated to the bathroom. Sleeves rolled up, exposing the soft, pale flesh of his wrist. And there, barely noticeable, were the scars.

They were tiny and thin, scraggly and easily overlooked. Setsuna himself often forgot they were there, until the agony started again. Then they became painfully obvious, and he hid them with long sleeves and mumbled excuses, but no one ever noticed the bandages or the blood. Just another reason for them to keep coming back, then.

He pressed the tip of the knife to the skin, just above the pulsing blue vein. One quick slash, that's all it took. He would close his eyes, so as to not see the red life-force draining from him, making him weak. If he didn't look, he couldn't see. Then everything would be okay, and he could think. There was much to be done.

He put a little more pressure, drawing the tiniest bit of blood. The door to the house swung open, but Setsuna's head was too fogged to notice anything but the minute drop of blood sliding down his wrist.

Then the hands were upon him, taking his wrists gently, slipping the blade out of his weak grip. It clattered on the sink and was left, unwanted. Setsuna barely noticed. It was getting darker, now. Like twilight.

He didn't know who it was that had saved him, who brought back his barely-there consciousness, who held him so tightly in strong, steady arms. He simply sighed and leaned back into the enticing warmth, nothing really registering in his mind now, both the knife and the suitcase completely forgotten.

One word wiggled its way out of his brain, though. One that always emerged when something went wrong, when agony and abuse made him dizzy with hurt and it was the only thing that ever cared, that ever really gave a damn about him.

Kira...

Long arms wrapped around thin shoulders, the blade gently removed from a frail hand. No words were exchanged, for none were needed. Voices were not trustworthy.

Kira would never admit it, but he'd been scared when he came in the door, seeing Setsuna with that knife. He'd known Setsuna cut himself, and had called him out on it a few times, but the boy always managed to evade his scolding gaze and scurry away at the first chance.

The incident at school was enough to send him over the edge, Kira knew that for sure. If he hadn't intervened, there was no way he could be sure that the cut wouldn't have been fatal, that Alexiel wouldn't have met yet another grisly end in the skinny body of an abused seventeen-year-old boy.

Setsuna started to tremble, and Kira tightened his grip, burying his face in the boy's sandy-blond hair and breathing deeply. He tried to convince himself that he was doing this for Alexiel, his Alexiel, the only one he loved, the beautiful angel he'd sworn to protect. He pushed away the knowledge that Setsuna was the first one in ages to have a separate soul from Alexiel, a completely different personality, and he blocked it from his mind. It was for Alexiel, no one else. Certainly not the beaten, depressed shell of a boy he was currently clutching to his chest.

He felt Setsuna falter, legs growing weak, and thought the boy might be going into shock. It was quite a lot to handle in such a short amount of time, and his body couldn't take it. But the arms around him just tightened even more, drawing him closer with every shuddering breath he took.

It was only the work of another minute for Kira to get his arms around Setsuna and guide him out of the bathroom, into the living room – impossible to call it a "family" room, Kira thought wryly – and onto the threadbare couch. He pretended to not notice as Setsuna leaned heavily on him, practically sitting on his lap, head tucked under his chin. Kira once again wrapped his arms around the broken angel, only allowing himself to relax once Setsuna's breathing slowed to normal, the sobs no longer choking.

Setsuna stirred once, moving feebly. Kira held on tight and whispered comforts and reassurances under his breath, softly stroking the dirty blond hair. So different from Alexiel's dark chocolate locks. When his taut, slender body went limp against Kira's chest, spent, exhausted at last, tears finally coming to a halt, Kira's grip loosened and he allowed himself to close his eyes.

Setsuna's body against his, the almost uncomfortable warmth, the scent of the salty tears on his pale face – they all burned into Kira's consciousness. Alexiel, he reminded himself. It was for Alexiel. This had nothing to do with Setsuna Mudou. His was a frail, mortal body; simply a vessel for the warrior angel that lived within, the one Kira truly cared for.

But then why was it he felt so comfortable sitting here, that fragile, delicate existence nestled in his lap, his arms wrapped protectively around him. Being with Setsuna, holding him in his arms, pressing against him, why did it strike him as feeling so… right? And when did their fingers become laced together? Kira absentmindedly stroked Setsuna's scarred wrist with his thumb, dozing lightly.

He decided he would think about it later. Setsuna wouldn't be waking anytime soon, and Kira had no desire to move and rouse the boy from his much-needed break from reality. The time would come soon enough where he had to face more desperate situations than this. Kira could only hope that someone would be there to keep the boy from breaking. He didn't want to admit to himself that he'd rather it were him. He kept telling himself it was for Alexiel. His brain kept accepting it. His heart did not. Kira ignored that response.

Reassuring himself for the last time that Setsuna was okay, Kira allowed himself to bask in the warmth and closeness, and let sleep engulf him.

A/N: Well, that's it for part one. Now I've got to get back to my "novel", which is totally failing by the way, so I won't post the next part for quite some time. Unless I get reviews, that is. They remind me why I write in the first place, and also that I still have a story to post. Because I might forget that I have the next part here...

So, you know what to do! Press that little button and drop me a note saying you liked it, hated it, can't wait for the next part, wish I'd burn in hell, whatever. But be nice-ish. Critique is encouraged, random flaming is not. And please, try to spell correctly. Chatspeak irks me to no end...

Until next time!

--Axel--