A story written by two people. nichts, at a href="; ; and myself, trucizna. Enjoy.
And here is our disclaimer!
We do not own the Weiss Kreuz characters, but we do own our story line. For the purposes of said story, some of the ages are changed and this is an alternative universe taking place in New York City. Shounen-ai and language abound. Ye be warned.
And Sleep in Spite of Thunder
Chapter One: Open Locks
Bradley Crawford stood at the window to his office, glasses dangling carelessly from one hand as he watched the sun set on the world below him. His expression was wrought with a kind grim seriousness that only he could possess as he replayed in his mind the glimpses his visions had shown him, trying to make sense of what he had seen. This time, the prophesies were brief yet vivid, calling to mind a world of terrible possibilities for the future. Crawford recalled images of a young man in a bathtub full of pink water, stripes of oozing red dripping nonchalantly down the porcelain edges from his still-bleeding wrists. A funeral entered Crawford's mind, somber and black. It was not the funeral of the boy, however, but of his father. Crawford recognized the lines in the old man's peaceful face. His eldest son- whose body Crawford Saw in the tub- was not among the grievers there. His youngest, tactlessly wearing a yellow baseball cap and blue jeans to his father's funeral, blew pink bubbles in a corner as a lawyer whispered possibilities in his ear. It was these possibilities, unheard by Crawford, which worried him.
He effortlessly recognized the young man as Ken Hidaka, who lived alone on the fifth floor of Crawford's apartment complex. The old man in the casket had to have been the esteemed James Hidaka, owner of an impressive multi-million dollar software company centered in Washington State-- a flourishing company that Crawford had invested quite a bit of money into. The boy in the yellow hat was Michael Hidaka, Ken's seventeen-year-old brother, who in Crawford's opinion was a lazy wart with no aspirations. If both James and Ken Hidaka were to die, the company would pass to Michael, and would slip shamelessly into the gutter. Crawford would lose everything. Of course, there was still time to sell his stock, still time to invest somewhere else… but Hidaka International had such potential, and he truly hated to see it wasted in a sniveling, yellow-headed whelp. There was nothing else for it, Crawford thought, tapping the earpiece rhythmically against his lower lip. The sun outside his seventh story office window bled into the horizon as he watched and pondered what exactly he was going to do with Ken Hidaka.
The boy in question pulled on his jacket, tugging the sleeves carefully down over his hands. Schuldig called out to him without taking his eyes off the talk show on television, "Where are you going?"
Ken glanced over to where his friend was sitting on the couch, "Just for a walk." He said. He peered down at his untied shoes but left them as they were. They always seemed to come untied, anyway.
"Do you want me to come with you?" Schuldig turned on the couch to look his friend in the eyes. On the screen behind him, a housewife ranted about color-safe bleach. Ken considered Schuldig's question before replying softy, "No, I think I'd like to go alone."
He offered his friend a weak smile before turning and unlatching the front door. "Come back soon!" Schuldig called before the door clicked shut behind him. The red-head watched the door shut with a slightly worried expression before turning his attention back to the television.
The brisk October air did nothing for Ken's mood, but he walked along diligently; his hands in his pockets, his eyes on the sidewalk. People seethed past him, and he paid no attention to them even as they bumped into him and jostled him around. In fact, he didn't lift his head until he heard the squealing tires, the blaring horn, and the startled scream of a woman standing nearby. He stopped moving and looked up at her. Her eyes were wide and horrified, and her gloved hands covered her mouth. Ken followed her frightened gaze to the street nearby where a small form lay bleeding, face up, on the pavement. A white firebird skidded to a halt several feet away, the driver's eyes wide in shock at what he had done. As ken, the screaming woman, and several onlookers ran to the boy, the middle-aged man in the car opened his door and stepped out shakily. He reeled at the sight of so much blood, and swiftly got back in his car and sped off with peeling tires. By this time, a small hoard of onlookers had gathered, pressing their bodies in on the scene. There was a yell for someone to call an ambulance as the pool of blood around him creeped steadily outward. Several people pulled out cell phones and began dialing, and one man had the nerve to come forward and, trembling slightly, take the boy's pulse. Ken couldn't take his eyes off the boy, the way his arm was pressed at such an odd angle, the way drops of blood clung to his still eyelashes. He looked so young; Ken wondered where his parents were. On closer inspection, Ken noticed the child's clothes were baggy, dirty and tattered, as well as covered in blood. He couldn't tell if they had been that way, or if his sudden intersection with metal and pavement had caused it. Whispers circulated around the gatherers, Ken caught snatches of, "did you get the license plate?" and, "Is he still alive?"
Ken had only seen so much blood once before. He wondered how much blood the boy had in him, it seemed hard to believe one person could bleed so much and still have anything left in them. It seemed like forever, and yet it couldn't have been more than ten minutes. The ambulance arrived in a flurry of red and blue lights and wailing sirens, and the paramedics, well-rehearsed, tumbled from the truck and leaned over the boy. "Stay back" a paramedic commanded, and the crowd obligingly moved backwards as one to let them through. Something seemed to have lodged in Ken's throat, he couldn't swallow, and he could hardly breathe. Panic seized him then. The four paramedics moved together, like a dance, and before Ken realized what was happening the boy was strapped to the gurney and they were settling him into the back of the ambulance. Would the child live or die? He simply had to know. Before he knew what he was doing, he was pushing through the crowd to the ambulance.
"Wait!" He called as the paramedics prepared to close the ambulance doors, "I wanna go, too!"
"I'm sorry kid, only family rides in the ambulance." The paramedic nodded to the other, and he jumped inside.
Desperate now, Ken practically shouted, "He's my brother!"
The paramedic gave him a skeptical look before reluctantly letting him climb in. The sirens restarted their cacophony and the ambulance took off at a reckless pace toward the hospital.
Ken had been sitting in the hospital for hours, watching the boy. He looked so tiny, so frail. It was a surprise to Ken that he was alive at all. Wires draped across the bed, monitoring his breathing and vital signs. The bleeping of the machines was the only noise in the room. The doctor had already explained the damage to Ken. Luckily, nothing was too serious. He had one broken arm and several deep lacerations; but could go home in a day or so. The question was, where was home? Ken studied the boy's uncasted arm, the scars there catching his attention. Unconsciously, he pulled his sleeves down to try and cover his hands. He stood up quickly and headed for the door to the hospital corridor. He needed some coffee. As he reached the door, he heard voices on the other side. He recognized one of them as the doctor who had delivered the news.
"Did you see those scars?" the female voice asked in a concerned whisper.
"Indeed. It looked to me like he has suffered through much abuse." was the doctor's apathetic reply.
"Imagine, a boy so young going through so much. So skinny, too! If I didn't know any better, I would say he is homeless."
Ken moved away from the door and sat back down on the chair. He pondered what he had just heard, idly running his fingers over his own scars. If the boy was homeless, Ken couldn't just let him return to the streets. He had lied to them already; he might as well go all the way. The door suddenly swung open and a nurse bustled in. She picked up the chart hanging on the end of the bed.
"This is Kaiser Hidaka," she spoke, and Ken recognized her as the other speaker from the hallway, "So you must be Ken?"
He nodded.
"You know, for brothers, you two look nothing alike." The nurse was smiling at him, but Ken imagined suspicion in her gaze and it made him nervous. Squirming in his chair, Ken subconsciously tugged at his sleeves. Ken forced a smile in response, but decided to change the subject.
"Can I use the phone in here?"
"Sure, local calls only, though. Dial nine to get an outside line."
"Thanks." The nurse nodded as she pulled gently on "Kaiser's" eyelids to peer in his eyes with a small flashlight. Her eyes lingered on the boy's face for one moment before meeting Ken's. "I'll be back in an hour." She glided away.
Ken picked up the telephone, feeling slightly guilty that he hadn't thought to call Schuldig earlier. It wasn't Schuldig who picked up the phone, however, but Yohji.
"Yohji, can I talk to Schuldig?"
"He's kind of busy." Ken heard raised voices in the background.
"What's going on?"
"See, Crawford is up here yelling at Schuldig for the dent in the wall."
"Dent?"
"The T.V. is broken, remember?"
"Yeah, but…"
"Farfarello didn't take his meds a few days ago, had a fit, and threw the T.V. at the wall."
"Oh."
"Schuldig finally told Crawford about it today, and he's not taking it…" Ken missed the rest of his sentence due to the screaming.
"What?"
"What?"
"Oh, never mind. Look, just tell Schuldig there was this car accident, and a kid got hurt, so I went with him to the hospital. Yohji are you listening?"
"Yeah. Car. Kid. Hospital."
"And I don't know if he has any parents or anything, so I might be taking him home…"
"Okay." Ken wasn't sure he was listening.
"Make sure you tell Schuldig."
"Okay."
Ken glanced around and dropped his voice, "I lied to the staff, Yohji, I said he was my brother and I said his name was Kaiser."
Yohji laughed, but Ken wasn't sure if it was because of what he said, or because of the loud banging noise he heard from the other end.
"I don't know when I'll be home."
"Okay, you don't know when you'll be home. Got it. Anything else?"
"No. Good luck with Crawford."
Yohji chuckled, "Yeah, we need it. See ya."
"Bye."
Ken hung up and sighed. He turned around to look at the boy again and jumped. The boy's dark blue eyes were open and staring right at him. Ken laughed nervously. No response came from the boy, and so, slightly embarrassed, Ken launched into an explanation of the afternoon's events. He left nothing out, and when he got to the point where he lied to the paramedics and the hospital staff about being family, he blushed and stared at a spot on the floor. Just as he began to explain the extent of his injuries, the boy closed his eyes and dropped back into sleep. Ken sighed, but couldn't help smiling a little.
+++
Ken paused and heard the accompanying steps stop with his. A quick glance behind his shoulder revealed that the boy was indeed following him, though refusing adamantly to approach any closer than a bout a dozen steps. Even on the bus the kid sat across the aisle and a few seats behind Ken. Now, only about a block from his apartment, Ken had to keep checking to see if "Kaiser" had run off. In all honesty, Ken expected him to have fled the scene a long time ago. He paused again on the corner, glancing back. Wide, dark-blue eyes were fixed on his own lighter ones, and Ken smiled encouragingly. He didn't receive a smile back. He couldn't stop himself from thinking how lost and bedraggled the kid looked with damp, disheveled hair in his eyes, tattered, bloody clothes, a cast on one arm and Ken's too-large jacked tosses over his skinny shoulders. Kaiser followed him into the elevator, leaning against the opposite wall and staring cat-like and unblinkingly at Ken. Ken fidgeted nervously and scuffed the elevator floor with his shoe in an effort to look somewhere else. As they approached the apartment and Ken held the door open on the inside for the boy, he saw him pause just for a second before coming in.
An hour or so later there was a knock on the door. The door opened to reveal a scrawny kid in Ken's clothes. Schuldig gaped for a moment. The kid stared. A shower turned off somewhere in the apartment behind him. Slowly, Schuldig grinned.
"Hey, Kenken! Isn't this illegal?"
He called loudly into the apartment. The door slammed shut, barely leaving room for Schuldig's nose. He rattled the doorknob to find the door unsurprisingly locked. Schuldig laughed aloud and rang the doorbell, grinning. The bolt slid out of place and the door opened this time on Ken, wearing only boxers with a towel draped over his head. The blush on his cheeks did not escape Schuldig's notice. The German let out a low whistle as he stepped past Ken into the apartment.
"Shut up" Ken muttered, shutting the door behind his friend. He skittered back to the bathroom to put the rest of his clothes on. Schuldig shook his head as he noticed Ken hiding his arms in the towel.
Still smirking widely, Schuldig began to creep tentatively down the hall in search of the kid he'd seen earlier, but Ken, suspecting such an action on Schuldig's part, took less time than anticipated getting dressed. He stepped in front of his friend and began to shove him back into the living room, scowling. Schuldig sat down, defeated, on the sofa.
"I think you're supposed to notify Crawford if you pick up any stray animals." He snickered.
"Leave him alone."
"What is he, eleven? Twelve?"
"I dunno, he won't talk to me. He hasn't said a word."
Schuldig stared pensively down the hall.
"You're nineteen."
"Yeah…."
"Twenty this December."
"Yeah…"
"This it totally illegal."
"Schuldig! It isn't like that!" Ken looked indignant as he jumped to his feet, blushing brightly, "He didn't have anywhere to go, and I…"
"Yeah, yeah."
"Look," Ken sighed, exasperated, "just leave him alone, okay? He's been through a lot."
Schuldig got up too, looking seriously at Ken.
"I think your stray kitten will be good for you." He scooped up his jacket and left the apartment without another word.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Ken called to the closed door.
+++
"Hey, Ken, can I use your blender?"
"Sure. What happened to yours?"
"I dunno. It disappeared. I think Farfarello got a hold of it and took it back to his place."
"Isn't that bad? He could hurt himself."
"With a blender?"
"Uh, yeah Yohji, whirling knives?"
"Oh, yeah. Well, in any case, he's Schuldig's brother."
Ken rolled his eyes but opened the door to let Yohji inside.
"Oooh." Yohji smirked upon entering, "Schuldig told me about your kitten."
"Shut up, Yohji." Ken dragged his neighbor into the kitchen and away from the boy reading on the sofa.
"So, what's his name?"
"Nagi."
"He finally opened up to you, then?"
"Sort-of." Ken looked exceedingly nervous.
"How old is he?"
"Seventeen." Yohji gaped openly.
"No way! He looks twelve. Maybe."
Ken shrugged, "That's what he told me, so…"
Yohji stared fixedly at Ken before seizing the blender off the counter and unplugging it.
"Don't let Farfarello get a hold of that one, too." Ken warned as Yohji prepared to leave.
"Someday, you ought to try looking out for yourself for a change."
And with a mysterious air reminiscent of Schuldig's previous exit, Yohji let himself out of Ken's apartment.