Dreamweaver
By: Andariel
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own any of the boys. They belong to Project Weiß and all the over lovely people that created them. I'm simply having some fun.
Notes: No spoilers so far but I can't guarantee that it will continue like this as the story progresses. I'm being led around by my muses so you'll probably find some weird stuff as you read on.
Chapter One
A splatter of crimson fell upon purest snow-like marble features. There was no time to pause, however, that blade was never given a moment of rest before its slim, crisp metal surface was tainted once again. Finally they stopped coming. Black boots whispered lightly against the red tainted floors, their surface already becoming sticky with the blood of the victims that had been found guilty under the cross. The thin wooden door of the office was closed. A breath touched pallid lips before the ever-annoying static sounded on his earpiece.
"Aya, do you copy?" Rang Omi's cheerful voice. Was the kid ever not so goddamn cheerful?
"Yeah, what is it?"
"Yohji-kun and Ken-kun have cleared the rest of the way. We're home free."
No response. The blade was slid back into the comfort of its sheathe. Steps sounded against marble floor, echoing ever slightly in the hollow hallway.
"Aya-kun?"
Amethyst colored eyes narrowed ever so slightly at the voice in his ear. "I heard you. I'll be out front in a few minutes." He said emotionlessly and disabled the communicator at once. His head was throbbing mercilessly. The last thing he wanted was Omi's cheerful voice echoing through his mind. The mission had been completed, now there were other things to worry about.
The hallways were like a maze but the Weiß assassin was not the least worried about getting out on time; as Bombay had informed him: they were home free. Something caught his attention as he strode down the main hall: his own reflection in a darkened mirror that ran along the wall on his right. Aya paused, giving it a sideways glance. There was a spot of red marring that flawless, pallid face. It was as if it was competing among the bright crimson strands that fell over those icy eyes. He wiped it off almost desperately before continuing on his way.
There's too much blood on my hands.
* * *
The automatic sliding glass doors opened soundlessly as Abyssinian made his way through the front hall and finally out onto the street. A gust of wind blew that night, catching him by surprise and spoiling that ever-perfect emotionless mask with the slightest flinch. He could hear the voices of his teammates off to the side. He turned, appearantly walking toward them. Their conversation paused as they greeted him and jumped in Yohji's car.
Aya extended his hand, placing his katana in the gloved hand of a now confused Ken.
"Aya! Where are you going?" Inquired Siberian, as puzzled as the others.
Their only response was the blood spotted black trench being dropped into the backseat before its owner continued on his way, silently down the street. Gloved hands were stuffed into matching black pockets. Despite the cold, he did not even shiver as the chill breeze grazed his bare arms. Aya bowed his head, amethyst eyes drifting shut for a few seconds before focusing instead on the stone sidewalk ahead of him.
"Oi. Where does he think he's going like that?" Muttered Ken as he handed the sheathed katana to Omi, which stuck it beneath the coat on the backseat.
"Our job is done here. He's free to do as he pleases." Said Yohji as he struggled with his lighter, after a few tries finally managing to light up a cigarette. The older assassin was met with Ken's narrowed eyes.
"Hmf."
Yohji started up the car and promptly took off. Despite his efforts, his emerald gaze drifted toward Aya as they passed him. The Abyssinian was not even aware of their presence. Or, if he was, he had simply chosen to ignore it. Something was stirring beneath that cold, never changing expression of his. Whatever it was, it had been getting worse after each passing mission. Yohji just needed to know what it was. But gods, the younger man looked beautiful when he brooded. No, he looked beautiful either way, but astonishingly tempting when he brooded.
A long drag was taken from his cigarette. He drove on.
* * *
It felt almost sacrilegious to stand out there, glassy eyes staring at the name of the building before him: Magic Bus Hospital. How could he keep coming back here night after night with another man's blood on his hands?
These thoughts were pushed aside as Aya crossed toward the main opening. Within, the nurses no longer questioned him – they hadn't done so ever since the first week. It had now been two years.
The stairs were climbed; the hallway was covered all in what seemed to be hours. Such a little trip that always took so much out of him. No mission could ever wear him down such as that daily walk down that hospital hallway. Its plain walls, its desperately cheering pictures, the faded carpet, the scent of disinfectant cleaner and medicine combined flowing through the air ducts. It was a place he had always avoided like the plague; something he did not even think about until that fateful night two years ago.
Gloved hands balled into fists as he stopped in front of the door. "Fujimiya Aya," read the name by the door. The fists loosened. He exhaled and opened the door. Stepping into that room was like stepping into another reality. Something he was no longer a part of.
Even his cold mask cracked ever slightly at the sight of his stoic-faced sister, lying there on that miserable hospital bed. He allowed the door to close lightly behind him and moved forward. The beeping sounds of the machine were endless but this he did not mind; it gave him a sense of hope that someday during one of these visits she would open her eyes. Maybe… someday.
The lonely wooden chair waited for him in the corner. Gloved fingers swept over its smooth wooden surface, tugging it forward toward the despairing hospital bed. He sat in silence, watching her ageless face so smooth in deep slumber. There were no worries, no lines of struggle in her innocent features but there was no smile either. No cheerful eyes that widened every time she saw him. No bubbling laughter emitting from her throat.
Nothingness. Ever since Takatori Reji took away that beautiful spark of life.
Amethyst eyes narrowed, then closed as his body shuddered involuntarily. He pulled the black leather from his fingers, then leaned closer, touching that silky-smooth face; brushing away thick strands of chestnut hair from eternally shut lids.
The hours passed without him even realizing it. He didn't remember falling asleep the previous night. He remembered the blood, the pleas for mercy where there were none. One that was judged before the cross no longer deserved a chance at mercy; those were the rules regardless of which the target was. He remembered walking away after the mission; Ken's puzzling look and Yohji's understanding one. But, did he really understand? Could anyone ever understand the despairing loophole that had become of his life? Of course not. Everyone just saw him as the cold, unfeeling bastard who didn't give a shit about anyone else.
Consciousness took him in stages. It took a few moments for him to realize exactly where he was. The endless beeping... Aya. Amethyst eyes fluttered open. Bright sunlight streamed in through the large windows, cheerfully bathing the solemn room. Aya-chan remained unchanged. Long fingers ran through thick strands of red hair. He pushed himself up. Certainly the others were up by now and wondering where he had gone off to. It wasn't his habit to stay out all night. He'd been tired, weary and lacking the effort to make it back home – if one could even call it such.
Aya looked to his slumbering sister, and touched her pale hand as if in reassurance. No words were needed here. He would be back that night, or the following morning. It was routine. Painful, heartbreaking routine. He turned, leaving as silently as he had entered. The door was shut softly behind him.
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Okay, so not too much going on just yet. I promise it'll get better. ^^; Reviews? Anyone?