The Fall and Rise of Creed Diskence

An Alternate Universe Redemption Fic based on Yabuki Kentaro's Black Cat series
Black Cat and pretty near all the characters in this story belong to Yabuki Kentaro

Author's Forward:

I will be posting author's notes at my Live Journal ), so as not to take up space here. Answers to any questions or comments and various trivia involved in creating this massive piece of fanfic will be posted there.

As another note, seems to be eating extra lines and a lot of non alphabetic characters. Thus I'm using a set of 3 dashes (---) to represent changes in character voice and two sets to represent changes in scenes not marked by a date. Hopefully that will help because this fic changes voice a lot.

Oh, and if you'd review here, even if you discuss the fic on my LJ with me, it'd be really great. Thanks!

THE INTRUDER WITHIN

September 3, 2003

A sweet breeze blew over Creed's face, carrying the scent of new-mown hay. High above, frail clouds skidded across the face of the half-moon, its light dimming, then brightening, as they passed.

To say that Creed was thinking would probably be a misnomer. Inaccurate. Floating with the moon, he thought, drifting along, bouncing one foot, leg crossed over the other, arms beneath his head as he lay on the rooftop. It was nice here. Cool and pleasant, with no noise from Sven's radio, no bright light interfering with his rest. He was recovering from the fight, was almost there really, but sometimes it all just seemed too much.

Those thoughts drifted away lightly as he tried to force his imagination to see a black cat dancing amid the clouds. Even he couldn't stretch those fluffy delicate strands into a feline shape though and he gave up, closing his eyes and sighing, contented despite himself.

Then something was blocking what little light there was and he opened his eyes to find a pair of dark amber ones looking at him. In the dim light they simply seemed brownish, but he didn't need light to know their color.

"I thought I might find you here. Sven's having a fit, you know. He thinks you ran off."

Creed smirked. "Yes, well, only Sven would think I'd run away from you." He wanted to reach up, to touch that face, but he refrained, contenting himself with a tender smile as he gazed up at Train. "It was too loud too hot."

"Yeah. I remembered you used to do this when we were partners." Train moved to sit beside Creed. "You okay there?"

Creed glanced down at his bare foot, planted on the surface of the roof and pretty much the only thing keeping him from sliding down. "I'm safe enough," he reassured Train. "The house is only two and a half stories anyway."

Train glanced sideways at Creed, making sure the pale-haired man's assessment was accurate. Sven would probably disagree, but he thought Creed would be okay laying there. Train had seen him hang out on much more precarious surfaces, after all. Besides, the roof's pretty rough. I don't think he'd slide down easily. At last he just said, "Don't fall asleep, though. The way you toss and turn you'd fall straight off." Train shook his head. The last few nights their sleep had been broken frequently by the sound of their new housemate's rolling right off the couch where he slept. They'd finally given up and had him sleep on the floor.

"I wish I could sleep here," Creed answered plaintively. "It's so much nicer than downstairs."

"Won't be all that wonderful when it starts raining." Train pointed towards the clouds scudding across the horizon with a wry expression.. "But never mind that." He leaned back, watching the skies in companionable silence. At last, however, he had to ask, "How are you doing?"

"Still hurt a lot. My eye especially. I feel a bit like the bionic man." Creed's tone was light, though Train thought he caught an undertone of sadness. "Still scared. I just don't know about all this."

Train nodded. "I can't blame you. Creed – if you think I'm being high-handed. If you don't really want to be here I won't insist."

"I want to be here," Creed whispered very softly. "I am just afraid. So very afraid of losing what little of you I have. When it was a weekly visit. When it was only a few hours in a week, I could be sure that I could control myself – or at least better certain."

That puzzled Train. "Control yourself? I thought part of the point of your 'cure' was not to control." He didn't fully understand the theory behind Doctor Jones' treatment, but it had seemed to be working. A Creed allowed to drift in a blissful ocean of nonsense was a much happier and stable Creed than a Creed forced to act like everybody else. Okay. Stable isn't really the right word, but it's the closest I can come.

Creed smiled wryly. "Not that kind of control. The impulses that make me want to hurt people or things aren't the same as the impulse that makes me want to leap into your arms and demand you have your way with me." He glanced Train's way and winced at something he seemed to see in his beloved's face. "You see? Here I am messing up again."

Train was almost more troubled by the fact that he didn't feel even the ghost of his usual going-to-run-like-blazes-now feeling that he used to get when Creed talked about loving him. "It doesn't bother me that you feel you want to do that. As long as you don't."

"That's just it. I get all emotional. It's part of who I am, I think. Part of what I am." Creed's tone was musing. "A part of me is like those girls who threw themselves at the Beatles, or Elvis. It wants your attention. It wants you so badly that it's an ache inside me. I don't mind the pain, but I'm afraid that I might upset you with it. That I might turn you against me." He closed his eyes. "Intellectually I know it bothers you. Emotionally I want you so much."

Train considered that. "Creed, I can't promise that you couldn't turn me against you. But it won't happen simply because you're in love with me. I've given up on the idea of making you stop loving me. As long as no one's hurting to the point of killing – or dying – over it, I'll deal with it. Right now, though, you're someone who matters to me in a way I don't think I could explain."

Creed smiled up at Train. "I'm your pet Doberman. The one you picked up in an alley somewhere, bleeding and dying. The one that worships at your feet and loves you to the point that I'd do anything for you, no matter what it meant to me. The one who isn't safe around children or other animals. The one you like because you pity it. The one you take care of because you took it in and it would pine and die if you threw it back out."

"Damn you're good with the hyperbole," Train sighed. "It's not that bad. It's not like I can't trust you around Eve. Even around Sven, I think. Though I have a feeling you two are going to drive me into the asylum if you don't learn to get along."

"I'm sorry I" Creed struggled to find the words he needed and Train patted him on the shoulder, shaking his head.

"Creed." Train's eyes were gentle as he looked down. "I don't ask you two to stop entirely. I almost think you need an outlet for your bad temper. Since you can't let it go in the ways you're used to, you need someone to be nasty to. Just – both of you, please – try not to do it every minute of every day."

Creed nodded slowly. "I'll try if he will."

"Deal." Train gazed up at the moon again. "I want you to be happy here, Creed. I want you to feel comfortable living here. If you aren't, say so and we'll find a solution. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Good." Train lifted a hand, feeling the first drops on his skin. "Then may I suggest that your future happiness depends in part on getting inside? Remember what I said earlier about rain? You do not want to know what Eve will say if you get soaking wet again when you've barely recovered from that fight. Dunno if the nano-machines would let you catch a cold, but let's not test the theory."

"I don't suppose you've even thought about where he's going to sleep?" Sven leaned back from the dining table and wiped fried chicken grease off his hands and mouth. Fast food again – Sven wasn't sure if Eve had inherited her clone mother's lack of cooking skills but her disinclination to try at least meant less burns for himself. "It's not like he can stay in the living room for the duration. I'm tired of listening to the crash landings, anyway."

"You could always build me a doghouse," Creed murmured, slicing chicken meat away from the bone with a delicate touch. He was too fastidious to eat even fried chicken the way one was supposed to, with one's hands. "This can't possibly be healthy," he added, frowning at the amount of grease on his plate.

Sven decided to ignore Creed's food complaints. He grumbled about food choices every time they sat down to eat, after all. "Or maybe the basem" Before he could get the word out, Creed had dropped his fork and had sat up straight, knife trembling in his right hand, his other hand clutching the arm of his chair, cracking the wood. His face was impossible to see, hidden beneath a curtain of white. "What the hell?" Sven demanded. God. Is he going to lose it?

" Not bad not bad not not not"

Train and Eve both frowned, and Train put his hand on Creed's shoulder. "What is it?"

" non" Creed descended into a peculiarly accented French that Sven couldn't have made out even if he'd spoken the basic language quite a bit better than he did. He didn't need to, though, to recognize sheer panic.

"Creed. No basement. If it bothers you this much you don't have to be there."

Somehow Sven couldn't help but mutter, "It's a finished basement. There's no reason it couldn't be used." The sound Creed made, helpless and frightened, made him wince. That was a stupid thing to say. "Creed, snap out of it. You don't have to be in the basement. I'll just move my office downstairs and you can take that over."

"No You're not bad. No. Shouldn't." Creed raised his eyes, face so white that it nearly matched his pale hair. "I'll I'll go I'll"

Sven shook his head sharply. "I am not going to have you playing martyr," he growled, though the real reason was that he couldn't possibly expect someone obviously traumatized by the thought to sleep somewhere that scared him so much. "Besides, you'd be howling like a lost puppy all night."

Very slowly, Creed felt himself relax. At last he looked at Train ruefully. "You know the worst of it?" he whispered haltingly and Train gave him a curious look. "The worst of it is that I have no idea where that came from." A quiet little old voice, gentle and kindly, was speaking in his ear in French. The horrible little boy spent the rest of his life in the basement, with the spiders, in the cold, wet, damp, never to see the sunlight again.

"What?" Train asked, puzzled, and Creed realized he's muttered the words aloud. "You know I only speak standard French, Creed."

"I know," Creed agreed, trembling. "It was nothing. Never mind. The corners of my mind."

"Such as it is," Sven muttered and Creed felt a sharp relief at a return to normalcy. Being sniped at by Sven was much better than that look of near pity that had crossed the older man's face.

Train sighed, glad that the crisis seemed averted. He remembered Creed's reaction when the Hoshi had proposed locking Train up in the basement. This was part of the same fear, a terror Creed couldn't deal with. "All right. We can't use the you know where" he said. "So let's see. We have the living room and kitchen downstairs, four bedrooms upstairs, three being used by someone and the fourth is our office." He shook his head. "We may have to build you a doghouse, Creed."

"With bone wallpaper?" Creed asked, smiling weakly, causing Train to frown, confused by whatever reference it was that had found its way through the labyrinth of Creed's mind. Media of some sort. I can see I'm going to have to start watching old movies and stuff, just so I can translate.

"Train, that still leaves us having to build," Sven said with exaggerated patience. "And it seems a bit much to build a whole house just for Creed. We don't have that kind of money."

"I would have thought you were the type to save," Creed answered, cocking his head at Sven.

Sven glanced at Train with a wry expression. "Yeah, except somebody's collateral damage keeps needing paid for. If he ever paid attention to my plans we wouldn't be perpetually low on funds."

Blinking sweetly at Sven, Creed answered in a perky voice that Train knew wasn't intended to be irritating, but was. "But Sven, Train never pays attention to plans. You just have to plan for it."

Sven looked about to explode, then paused. "That," he said finally, "hurts my head, especially when I have the sneaking suspicion you're right. The fact remains. We can't afford to build a house for you. We barely managed to pay for this one. It's not like you can live in a real doghouse. It'd have to be heated and air-conditioned. It'd need power, and it'd have to be livable."

"Why?" Creed asked, puzzled, apparently unable to understand why his comfort mattered. Train winced inwardly, wondering what it was that made Creed expect so little care from those around him.

"Because. I don't like you but – despite your best efforts – you're a human being, Creed. I don't make humans live like dogs. No matter how willing they are to do so." Sven rolled his eyes at Creed's confused expression. "We aren't doing it, Creed. Damn, this would be so much easier if you'd accept moving my office."

Creed felt himself starting to fade again, but Train's hand on his shoulder drew him back. "Don't think about it. If it bothers you that much it isn't going to happen."

"Train? Sven?" Eve spoke up. "We could put him on the back porch as a temporary measure. It's enclosed and – at least until winter – it should be comfortable enough. We'll have to put up curtains, but that's easy to do."

"And what do we do when winter comes around?" Sven asked. "You say temporary, so what's the permanent solution? Aside from hanging him from a flagpole?"

"No one would salute," Creed muttered, giggling at the image in his head. It reminded him entirely too much of what he'd done to Balder and that was a memory he would treasure the rest of his life.

Eve rolled her eyes and pointed upstairs. "The attic. We could move all the stuff to you know where – not that there's much anyway – and finish it. It would still cost money, but the problem of heating and cooling would be resolved."

"It'd get pretty hot up there," Sven pointed out.

"I can do some research, try and find ways to make it comfortable. People have lived in garrets happily for years."

Sven frowned. "Still leaves the question of where are we getting the money for this?"

"I have money," Creed answered, shrugging. "If you insist that I have to have all these creature comforts then use it."

"Your money is stolen. It really should get returned."

Creed shook his head. "Not that money. Eve already took care of that over half a year ago," he said, mildly annoyed. "I have money of my own. She found the account. I'd forgotten about it." That had been a surprise. Apparently he'd had family once. A very rich family. "No, not forgotten. One of the things they wiped. She used my fingerprints for identification."

"There is quite a bit," Eve added. "More than enough to rebuild the attic. Not to mention buy him a real wardrobe."

Startled, Creed glanced at Eve, then down at himself. Most of his clothing in the last week had been borrowed from Train. He and Train were the same height, but Train's torso was somewhat longer, where much of Creed's height was in his legs. The result was very long T-shirts draped over his skinny frame and too short pants. If the clothes had belonged to anyone else, say Sven, he would have been disgusted by the effect. Still. New clothing would be nice. So very nice.

Sven frowned at the peculiar look on Creed's face, an expression that looked like the little madman was contemplating something pleasurable. Something, that little devil inside himself, made him say, "Why? I've got plenty of spare clothing. He's a bit small but."

"Now that's just cruelty. Send me back to the asylum now please! Your eye-patch was bad enough." Creed exclaimed. "I don't mind wearing Train's stuff, if you don't want to spend my money, but I'd rather go naked than wear your clothes. I don't think you've bothered to hang anything up in your life. What do you do? Live out of a laundry basket?"

Sven glared at Train, who was sniggering, but internally he felt almost as amused as his partner. The loony tune was annoying and aggravating, but there was a certain satisfaction in being able to pull the man's chain so easily. "Well, Beau, not everyone can be a fashion plate," he answered in a complacent tone.

"There's a difference between not being a fashion plate and being a disaster area of Biblical proportions," Creed grumbled back.

"Not Biblical, surely," Eve protested. "He's bad, but"

"All right, not that bad, but, lord, he isn't good."

Train burst out laughing at the expression on Sven's face. "Et tu, Eve?"

"'Tis not so deep as a well, but tis enough, t'will do," Creed answered, face partially obscured by his hair as he gazed down at his plate, but a small smile curving his lips showed he was enjoying himself.

As the banter continued, Sven watched his partner's charge closely, testing reactions, testing for some sign of the old madness, of the blood-thirsty killer that he knew still inhabited Creed's head. It didn't show itself, and Sven wasn't sure if he was sorry or relieved. Sorry, because Creed showing his true colors would prove to Train that this plan wasn't going to work. Relieved because he knew how strongly his partner wanted it to work. And why do I have this odd feeling Creed does too?

---

September 4, 2003

Stretching, Creed lay staring up at the ceiling of the patio, listening to the soft sound of the fan. The breeze was warm, but pleasant on his bare skin and he remained quiet, reveling in the first morning he'd woken without something hurting. At last, though, he felt a strong need to get up. There was too much energy in his system and he needed something to do.

The garden? No, Sven said yesterday that they don't have any of the tools I'll need. I could use my hand, but this is too public a setting. He knew that – by now – Chronos knew his left arm had been transformed, but he didn't want to make its full capabilities too obvious. Heh. Wonder if they realize that every injury they've given me has made me stronger?

Leaning on the window sill to admire the pre-dawn skies, Creed noticed something in the distance, a faint reflection amid the trees. He grinned, right eye focusing in on the spot until he sighted the source. A man in black, up a tree and watching the house with binoculars. Speaking of Chronos. He smiled at the man, waving and had the pleasure of watching the spy nearly fall out of the tree. "Oops. Sorry about that." He wasn't sure his room was bugged, but he knew Chronos. The silly fools would be watching him for the rest of his life, most likely.

Putting on his robe, or rather Train's robe and a pair of pajama pants, he sauntered through the house to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. As he sat down he considered his situation. A healthy body certainly affects the attitude, he thought cheerfully. This was the first time he'd contemplated Train's plans for him and not felt frightened, lost and out of control. And that is a state devoutly to be grateful for. He couldn't claim perfect calm, but much of the strain had lessened. It wouldn't take much to drop him back into the confusion and desperation, however. It's up to me to keep out of that trap. I can't ask Train to keep dragging me back onto my feet.

Looking around the kitchen, Creed frowned. The last week had been spent concentrating on getting better and on balancing on the razor edge of fear and elation. Now that he'd recovered enough to bother looking he realized what an absolute mess the place was.

For a long silent moment Creed considered the muddle, finishing his coffee. Then he got up and set to work.

Sven yawned as he stumbled downstairs. Coffee. Must have coffee. He had a lot of work to do. Going over Creed's account, trying to make sure it really was the loony tune's money. Selecting their next job and planning the attack. Not that it ever does much good. Creed's right about that much, even if is enough to set my head spinning working out his logic. He shook his head, then came to a halt at the sound of metal striking metal.

Cautiously, Sven moved towards the sound, tensing as he wondered what could possibly be going on. Chronos attacking after all? The Hoshi? Creed? Looking through the doorway confirmed that it was an attack of sorts. An attack on the kitchen itself, on the detritus and grease that accumulated when two men and a girl who didn't know much better were left to handle the housework. It might have been stereotypical of the two of them, but neither Train nor Sven were much good at cleaning.

Creed was bent over the stove, a wet paper towel in hand as he worked at the worst spots. Splattered food, grease. Nothing horrible – even Sven couldn't have put up with too thick a layer of dirt – but the difference between the cleaned area and what was left was amazing.

"There's coffee in the pot. I'll start a new one when you finish that up," Creed said without turning around. "And stop staring like that, Sven. Haven't you ever seen someone clean up? Then again, looking at this place, strike the question."

"You don't have to do that," Sven protested, going to the pot and filling a cup. "It's not that bad."

"Yes I do and yes it is," Creed disagreed. "You need better cleaning supplies too. I don't suppose there's a chance I could get you to buy some stuff? Seeing as I'm housebound?"

Sven heated up his coffee and sat down before he answered. "It isn't necessary for you to clean up," he reiterated. "It's our responsibility, not yours."

"Why not?" Creed stood up straight and eyed Sven, expression amazingly clear and focused. Sven realized that this was one of Creed's rare moments of clarity and figured he'd better enjoy it. Though this conversation didn't seem to be going any better than any of their other ones. "I live here too, don't I?"

"Yeah, but you're a." Sven stopped dead, realizing what he was about to say. That he's a guest. Even now I don't want him here, do I?

Creed shook his head. "Thought so. If I become part of the household. If I act like I belong here, it means I'm not going to dry up and blow away, doesn't it?"

"It's not like that," Sven protested. "Okay, so I'd prefer you were gone. I don't trust you, Creed. I don't trust anything about you."

"Still mad about the church incident?" Creed asked lightly.

Sven's left eye narrowed. This was a conversation they were going to have to have, Creed realized. Best to do it while he was able to think relatively straight. Such times were few and far between, after all. He sat down across from the man, waiting.

"No. That was over a year ago," Sven answered, though not as certainly as he might have. After a moment he continued, "Not mad about it. Frightened by it. Frightened by you. Satisfied?"

Creed shrugged. "I can't exactly blame you. I did hurt you, after all. But, right now I'm a challenge to you. A rival, perhaps."

"Huh? You don't think Train and I are lovers, do you?" Sven looked outraged at the suggestion.

"No," Creed answered after a moment's thought. "Not that sort of challenge. Not that sort of rival. You love him as a brother, I think. You want to keep him safe because he's a close friend. And I am not safe to have around."

Sven glowered. "Damn right you're not. You're trouble with a capital T."

"That rhymes with C and that spells Creed," Creed couldn't help saying.

"What?" Sven's expression became puzzled, then light dawned as he seemed to get the reference. "Damn but I wish you wouldn't do that."

"Can't help it. Ingrained response. Unless you want me to go back to my bad old days you're just going to have to put up with it. It's partly the effort to act normal that made me what I was." Creed shook his head. "Never mind that. It's not just that I'm trouble. I'm a complication in a family unit that's obviously formed between the three of you. I threaten the balance. I'm a challenge to your position."

"My position. What the hell do you mean?"

"You're practically head of household here," Creed pointed out quietly as he looked at his hands. "You're putting up with my presence for the moment but only because someone you care about is asking you to. You're afraid that if forced to choose between the status quo and myself, he might choose me."

"Now that's just silly. Train is unpredictable, but I can't see him dropping us entirely in your favor."

Creed cocked his head at the man. "Then why does my presence bother you? If I turned out to be a threat after all, don't you think he'd get rid of me?" He felt a sharp surge of unhappiness at the thought and his lips tightened around the pain. Please, Train. Don't ever send me away. Kill me first, but don't shove me out of Eden. I can't take it again.

It was with a sudden sharp moment of understanding that Sven realized how badly frightened Creed was of leaving. And why shouldn't he be? He's been offered a chance to be close to the one he loves. He must be terrified of destroying his hopes. It bothered Sven a bit still to think of Creed being in love with Train, but he had to admit to its reality. What a sad thing, he thought, pityingly. To love someone so desperately, so utterly, that nothing matters beyond keeping that one happy.

Something in Sven's expression must have shown his feelings, for Creed got up and went back to the stove, growling, "Don't you dare pity me, Sven Volfeed. I don't want pity. Not from anyone and especially not from you." His hands moved rapidly over the stove's surface as he scrubbed. "I love him. I will, I think, always love him. Even if he never loves me in return he's given me a gift I don't think I can ever repay. Especially considering what I've done to him in the name of that love."

Sven knew Creed was talking about Saya, but he kept his silence, sensing that Creed needed to talk. To say things that he dared not say to Train. He watched the white haired man stop, leaning on the stove. "I want to do the right thing here, Sven. I want to prove his trust in me is well founded. I don't deserve it, but I want to earn it. I need to fit in. I know I'm not very useful. I can't go out on jobs for you and I don't have any other skills to speak of."

"Unless commanding a host of insane Taoists counts," Sven couldn't help saying.

"It doesn't," Creed sighed. "I only wish it did. But that's part of our problem, isn't it, Sven? We're both used to being in command. Both used to being in control. I'm losing that. The further my old problem progresses, the less and less often my mind is going to be able to focus like this. The more confused and confusing I'm going to be. I don't mind not really," he added, wistfully, "but it means I'm useless for anything that requires long-term thinking."

Creed turned and eyed the kitchen. "On the other hand, it takes little focus or concentration for me to clean. That comes naturally." He shrugged at Sven's expression. "I like keeping things clean. I'll take care of the house. Take care of the garden. I'll be a good boy, Sven. Or at least I'll try." He paused and added, "If I fail. If I hurt anyone here you can kill me."

Sven stared at the man, a chill running up his spine as he watched the sweet little smile that always unnerved him about Creed. "Why do you have to grin like that?" he had to ask.

"I don't understand," Creed said softly, plaintively. "What's wrong with my smile? I'm just trying to reassure you that I don't want to cause trouble here."

It suddenly hit Sven that Creed had absolutely no idea that he was being scary when he smiled like that. That he had no idea the child-like expression on his adult face made it seem as if he were mocking the one he was smiling at. Poor jerk hasn't got a clue, Sven realized. "Creed, there are things that children do that simply don't work for adults. Going all sweetness and light like that, especially when saying things like 'you can kill me', makes other adults uncomfortable. Even a little scared of you."

A sad expression crossed Creed's face and it occurred to Sven that every emotion Creed felt seemed to reflect on his features with the easy readiness of a little boy. "I can't help it," Creed whispered.

"Yeah. I think I'm beginning to realize that." Sven shook his head. "Okay, look, I'm not going to kill you unless you hurt someone. If you do I'll keep your request in mind."

Creed nodded almost shyly and Sven continued. "In the meantime, as far as going out goes, why do you say you're housebound?"

"I just thought."

"There's no reason you can't go into town, as long as someone's with you. Train could take you. Chronos has closed your file with the Sweepers – even put a warning out that you're to be left alone – so no one's going to be trying to take you in, after all. You need new clothing. You may as well get the rest of what you need, too. Just let me go over that account of yours."

"Eh?" Creed was obviously puzzled.

"It's not that I don't trust Eve, but I don't know that I trust you the old you enough to be sure that account really should be yours. You're not even sure where it came from. So I'm going to go over it with a fine tooth comb. If it really is all yours we'll use it for your clothing and for fixing up your room. Anything that's for you only can come out of that account for the moment. Household repairs and clean-up we'll share. Though I think the first few months had better be our responsibility only, seeing as how you apparently have a lot of catching up to do."

If Sven thought Creed's earlier smile was sweet and too bright for words, this one nearly blinded him.

To Be Continued....