Sigh… another chapter come along. It sucks, people. And it's short, like the last; I just couldn't get it to flow right. Sumanai, everybody. *dies* Well, at least I sorta know where the plot's going. Oh yeah, kudos to my beta, Shan. She's helping me along with this, and making me feel less stupid. Don't forget to R &R!

~† † †~

'Vater unser im Himmel-'

Light flashed over the blade as it slid across soft flesh.

'Geheiligt werde dein Name.'

A whimper, a cry, twitching limbs, blood pooling on the floor.

'Dein Reich komme-'

He stared, limbs prone. The crimson flowed freely.

'Dein Wille geschehe, wie im Himmel so auf Erden.'

'Oniichan . . .'

'Unser tägliches Brot gib uns heute-'

Her back arched. The blade ripped through her, draining her of her life's blood.

'Und vergib uns unsere Schuld, wie auch wir vergeben unsern Schuldigern.'

'Stop it . . .'

'Und führe uns nicht in Versuchung-'

Her eyes locked with his, wide as the light within began to fade.

'Sondern erlöse uns von dem Bösen-'

'STOP IT!!'

'Denn Dein ist das Reich-'

Amber eyes peered at him, dancing with the light of surrounding candles.

'Und die Kraft-'

The blade flashed, slicing cleanly through Aya-chan's smooth white throat.

'Und die Herrlichkeit in Ewigkeit.'

Farfarello narrowed his eyes, a wild smirk crossing his lips.

'Amen.'


~† † †~

"STOP IT!!"

Aya blinked a little, finding himself sitting up in bed, one arm outstretched. He stared at the blank wall before him for a moment in confusion, breath coming sharply. He remained in place for less than a few seconds before the agony in his ribs and head informed him that, no, it was honestly not all that fond of this position. With a bit of a hiss he fell back against the bed again, shuddering and putting a hand to his forehead. It was bandaged. Slowly, he realized he was in only his jeans, with both head and ribs bound in medical tape.

"Aya-kun?"

Grimacing, ice-blue eyes slid to the side to peer at the door. Omi stood there in sleeveless white shirt and red shorts, a "piyo piyo" apron tied about his waist. In his hands he carried a tray, with what looked to be soup, water, and painkillers.

"How are you feeling?" He walked in, setting the tray on the table beside the bed. "Be careful not to move too much, you're still injured."

"I noticed that," he muttered, shifting. "What the hell happened?"

The door opened further. "We were hoping you could tell us that, Fujimiya-san."

Aya narrowed his eyes to slits, glancing towards the door. Two police officers stood there, one holding a notepad and pencil, the other with his hands in his pockets. Omi looked towards his teammate, and the two shared a private conversation simply through that momentary connection, a skill borne from years of silent attacks and careful communication. Aya was immediately aware that, though he had tried, Omi had been helpless in keeping the police officers outside of their home. Youji and Ken must not have gotten home yet. Damn.

"Sir, if we can, we'd like to ask you a few questions."

Their query was met with a derisive snort.

"I was attacked from behind, concussed, and got my ribs bruised, only this morning! And you're already here, asking questions?" His gaze shot to Omi, communicating for him to play along, and he hissed, "Omi. You know that I don't like strangers in the house."

"H-Hai!" Omi whimpered, falling into play immediately. "I'm sorry, Aya-kun, but they insisted-'

One of the policemen interrupted them. "Sir, we only want to ask you a few questions. We're here to help."

"I want to rest. You can come back tomorrow."

"But sir-"

"Come. Back. Tomorrow."

The officers exchanged glances, frowning. Eventually they sighed, one tipping his hat, and turned, leaving the room. Omi skittered after them, chattering apologies and leading them to the door. Aya waited for the final click of the front door before relaxing finally, letting his eyes fall closed. God, but he felt like shit . . .

"Oi, Aya."

His eye twitched. Lovely, more visitors . . . and one in particular he was not in the mood to see. He draped his arm across his eyes, ignoring the footfalls entering the room, house slippers tapping against hardwood floor. Eventually, two fingers poked at his shoulder, eliciting a hiss of irritation from the bed-ridden assassin.

"Youji," he snarled, "I am less than willing to put up with you right now. Find someone else to bother."

Youji growled, his tone indignant. "The Hell's wrong with you, huh? You're acting like I'm the one who went after you!"

The arm over Aya's eyes slid back just enough so he could glare at him. "You were probably still drunk this morning. I wouldn't be surprised if it were." His tone was flat and humorless, making it difficult to tell just how much of that statement was in jest. Youji's eyes narrowed to slits and he bared his teeth, looking ready to spray a series of curses foul enough to make a sailor blush. Instead, he took a slow breath to calm himself, then turned on a heel and stormed out. Aya's arm went over his eyes again as he let out a sigh. Youji had a rather innate skill of pushing all the wrong buttons with him; and apparently, he was able to do the same thing with Youji, as well.

After waiting for Youji to storm down the hall to his bedroom, obscenities flying in his wake, Aya sat up a bit, picking up the bottle of painkillers. He eyed the label a bit, reading the recommended dosage: three pills every five hours. With a snort he opened the bottle, pouring out six and popping them all in his mouth before washing them down with the glass of water, which he finished off soon after. His gaze drifted to the soup, and he make a bit of a face. His stomach was a little too unsettled to even attempt food . . .

Aya laid back carefully, pursing his lips absently as he wracked at his memory in a desperate attempt to recall what happened. All his attempts came up blank. He could remember showering, and going to the shop . . . unlocking the door, then . . . after that, it all came as a blank. The more he thought about it, the less he could remember; it was extremely frustrating. After nearly ten minutes of this he gave up, pulling the blankets tighter around him and resting. It wasn't long before he was asleep, once again.

~† † †~

"Mother-fucking self centered cold-as-ice son of a fucking bitch-ass rat whore!!"

Ken blinked and pressed himself up against the wall as Hurricane Youji stormed past him down the hall and into his bedroom, slamming the door violently behind him hard enough to shake it on its hinges. He stared for a moment, then slowly quirked a brow.

"Well," he murmured, thoughtfully. "That was a creative curse, if I ever did hear one." Shrugging, he headed down the hallway again, only to have Omi round the corner and whump into him, face landing in his chest.

"Ouf! Eh? Ah… Ken-kun!" He stepped back and adjusted his apron a little, looking up at him. Ken waved a bit.

"Yo, Omi. How's Aya holding up?"

The younger male shook his head, sighing and crossing his arms over his chest. "He can't remember what happened. All he knows is he went in the Koneko and wham! Now he's in bed again. But, the doctor who checked him out said there was no sign of serious damage, which is why he's home . . ."

Ken frowned thoughtfully, resting one hand on his hip and tilting his head downward. He'd come home from a late soccer game with the kids, only to find police in his house and shop, questioning a flustered Omi and attempting to arrest a cursing, hung-over Youji, who had apparently managed to accost an officer. Ken had been able to talk them out of throwing him in a cell for a few nights – barely – and had mostly taken charge of things, while Aya was down for the count, so to speak. Eventually, things had been put into some semblance of order. But they still had policemen crawling around the house like an infestation of roaches, checking for evidence, questioning them all to the brink of physical violence against them; most of the police there were rookies, it seemed, as they had little to no idea what the Hell they were doing.

Gingerly, the brunette attempted to massage away the beginnings of a headache growing in his temple. Omi looked up at him with wide, worried eyes, though he looked to be under just as much stress, if not more. When he spoke, his voice was a hushed whisper, that held a slight note of worry to it. "Ken-kun . . . who could have done this? Was it someone who knows who we are . . .? Who we were . . .?"

"Omi," Ken murmured, forcing a reassuring smile, "It probably wasn't anything really bad like that. You know we bring in a lot of money; there are some really messed up kids around here, you've seen them around the shop. They were probably after the cash, and went after Aya because he was the only one there."

They both looked at each other for a moment, knowing perfectly well that that was highly improbable. After a moment, Omi rested his hands on Ken's arm, biting his lower lip.

"If anything else happens, we'd better move on."

Ken's face fell for a moment, before he collected himself, nodding once.

"Aa."

He lifted his hand and ruffled Omi's hair, then gave him a reassuring hug. Poor kid . . . He had just started to settle into the area, too. All of them had, really. Omi had gotten back into school, Youji had already become a regular at most of the local hangouts, Ken himself had even started coaching soccer again. And Aya . . . Well, Aya didn't do much of anything. But that wasn't very new. He was either in working on his own or with the others, out hunting their latest prey with the team, or nowhere to be found. Any queries made as to his whereabouts led to a response of the typical Aya 'Shi-ne' Glare, followed by a growl of, "It's none of your business." They'd all pretty much given up wondering, after awhile.

Smiling a little at the show of comfort, Omi hugged him in return, then pulled back a little. "I'd better go make sure they don't mess up the shop too badly." He started down the hall, then turned again. "I know you two aren't really on the greatest of terms, but could you please go check on Youji-kun? Aya-kun upset him again, and I don't want him misbehaving." Without waiting for a reply, he ran off down the hallway once again, adjusting his apron as he went. Ken blinked, unable to protest in time before he was around the corner.

"But . . . I . . ." He stared after the younger boy, then let out a groan, holding his head in his hand. Great. He and Youji were less that cordial these days, what with the pedophile jokes the damn blond had started making. He, in retaliation, had started commenting on how he thought his playboy routine was just to cover up "certain feelings" – which was half true, as he did have a feeling that the things he did were just an act, but he never brought it forth seriously. They'd been at each other's throats ever since.

With a bit of a sigh, Ken shook his head, then walked down the hall and to the left up to the door to Youji's room. He lifted a hand and hesitated a moment before rapping gingerly against the wood.

"Youji? Are you in there?"

No response. He knocked again, frowning, then opened the door slightly, stepping closer to peer inside. Opening it wider, he let out a bit of a growl as he found not only the room empty, but the window open, and was met with the sound of screeching tires – he'd run off. Great. This was exactly what he didn't need right now . . .Well, there was nothing to do for it, now. He'd have to scream at him whenever he got back; the later he was, the louder Ken would yell. Simple enough. Grimacing as the headache began to claw at his temples, Ken turned on a heel and left the room, deciding to take some painkillers before going and helping Omi with the police in the shop.

~† † †~

That's it. See? Short and shitty. …Though I'm admittedly proud of Youji's swearing. I'm going to try and fit some comedy in here, so the angst isn't so annoying. Emphasis on the word 'try,' here. Bleh. Revieeewww….