Hello, everyone! Here's chapter IV! Aren't you all PROUD of me? I
wrote this really fast!
Well, even if you aren't proud of me, I'm proud of myself!
I want to give a big thanks to my best friend Miriam. She's really
encouraged me and gives good reviews! I know she's happy when she says
'Ye@!"
So anyway, she's also a really good artist, so make sure to visit her site here: http://k1kerosene.f2o.org/ We're getting our own domain sometime soon, and I'll make sure to let you know when THAT happens. I'll be putting all my stories, plus tons of other random stuff there. So anyway, without further ado.
Chapter IV Of starting fires and patching wounds
Disclaimers: Nothing's changed since last chapter. I still don't own these guys. Oh, but if I could.if I could.
Ken sat against a tree, arms resting limply on either side of him as he breathed as slowly as he could. He had only just woken up from where he had collapsed, and was amazed he hadn't frozen to death. Ken winced at both the pain in his chest and the golden rays of the early morning sun piercing his eyes. As he shifted around, he instantly regretted the position he had fallen asleep in because now, not only were his ribs sore, but his back was also.
Ken didn't appreciate this. Not at all.
Groping the edge of the tree, he slowly pulled himself up. If his ribs weren't broken, then they were at least severely bruised. Something had hit him in that mad rush of water, and while Ken wasn't sure what it had been, he knew he hated it. Breathing as shallowly as he could, he accessed the situation. With a groan, Ken realized that not only did he not know where he was, but all of the stuff in his cargo pants had been ripped from him too. He hadn't been awake five minutes yet, and Ken had already decided today was going to be one of Those days.
It was while he was being grim that he heard a shout in German. Instantly Ken's mood brightened. German meant Shuldich. Shuldich meant a fight. Sure, he was injured, but killing a Schwarz member always seemed to fix things. Ken grinned, albeit a little darkly and began a slow walk towards where he had heard the sound. His fist clenched automatically, causing the claws to extend from the gloves on his hand. Miraculously enough, the bugnucks on his right hand had managed to stay on.
As he trudged on, his shoes made a squishing sound with every step, and while hid clothes had progressed from that dripping stage, they were still uncomfortably damp. The closer (or so he hoped) he made it to the German, the more he began to compound the blame on the unassuming redhead. Finally it got to the point where Ken felt that virtually everything that had happened could be blamed on the German.
Ken clenched his fist again. He was ready for blood.
* * * *
Yohji was currently a happy person. When Weiss had gone to attack the drug lord, they had left all their equipment far enough away that the flood hadn't gotten in. Now, while the rest of the team coped with being wet, tired, and injured, Yohji was warm, dry, and well rested. All thanks to his big old sleeping bag. Of course, Yohji felt it was owed to him, what after all he had had to put up with.
Even Schwarz seemed to be in a better mood. Yohji, being the diplomatic man he was, had found Omi's bag and had thrown some of his clothes in Schwarz's general direction. The boy had taken the garments without comment, but seemed to be in a better mood because of it. As Yohji idly watched the Schwarz boy, he realized that the two had come to some sort of truce. This was fine with the blond, on the basis that he didn't feel like fighting. Especially when it meant being slammed into a tree. Anyway, there were other things that were currently more important, such as finding the other members of his team. Yohji considered exactly how to go about this when Nagi broke his concentration.
"Shuldich is alive," he said with utter confidence.
"What'd he say?"
"He's alive and trying to get the rest of the team together."
"Did he say anything about my team?"
"No."
Not allowing this information to upset or disturb him, Yohji finished packing away the sleeping bag and started making his way towards where the house, well parts of it anyway, lay. Yohji refused to believe his teammates were dead, so until he got evidence either way he was going to do something productful, such as searching for clues. There HAD to be something to tip him off towards something. There had been more then one dead person around, and while Yohji wasn't sure about what Mother Nature had been up to, he DID know a little about homicides. He HAD been a Private Detective, once upon a time. The Schwarz kid stepped up beside him, coolly surveying the ruins before them.
"You're not expecting to find anything here," the kid said. It was a statement, not a question.
"I was a private detective. If anyone can find something, I can," Yohji said a bit cockily. Schwarz looked over at him oddly. Yohji decided to ignore it.
"There's nothing here. It's all been obliterated. You'll be wasting your time."
"How long had he been dead?" Yohji said suddenly, waving Schwarz's comment away.
"Longer then we'd been on this mountain," the Japanese boy eventually responded. This was ridiculous.
"How had he been killed?"
"Gunshot to the head."
"And Schwarz didn't kill him?"
"We've already established that."
"Well damn, that makes things harder."
"You're a great private detective."
Yohji shot Nagi a Look. "How can you guys not have realized he was dead?"
"It's not our business to keep track of him. Just guard him when needed."
"It amazes me how you guys managed to stay in business yourselves all these years. What's your motto? 'You can hire us, but it won't do you jack shit? (In fact you'll probably end up dead sooner rather then later)'? This is your second dead bodyguard assignment, right? Or do you have more you're not telling me about?"
"Shut up."
"I think I'm offended! You know it's not nice to keep secrets."
Nagi stopped honoring Yohji with any sort of reply. The man was an idiot. How had he ended up with such a moron? One of Weiss, no less? This was absolutely ridiculous!
Someone somewhere, he was sure, was laughing at him.
* * * *
Aya had been so absolutely surprised when the Irishman complimented his sword that he had almost dropped it. Part of him wanted to launch at the madman, regardless of the compliment. It was his duty, and he HATED them. They had stolen his sister, after all. They had been linked to Takatori. He wouldn't be able happy until they were dead.
But it was hard to get into a fighting mood with a comment like that. It was hard to fight when the opponent wasn't willing. Indeed, the madman was standing across from him, eyes focused on Aya's katana. Aya let his own eyes trail down to it, to see if something spectacular had happened to it when he wasn't looking. No. It had not grown wings or gotten an eyeball. Aya decided the madman's preoccupation with it had to do with his obsession of all things sharp. Aya looked up at the Irishman. Yelling 'Shi-ne' now wouldn't work. Besides, although Aya wouldn't admit it allowed, his arm was paining him. A lot. Aya had no doubt now that it was broken. To fight would have been a folly, but he wouldn't have shied away from it.
"You would have fought me even though you are in pain," the white haired man said suddenly. Aya blinked. The sentence had made sense and was said calmly. He hadn't expected that from the madman. Still, he didn't feel he needed to answer. The madman just nodded, as if Aya had said something anyway.
"A broken kitten. Ran," he spoke again. Aya was shocked into speech.
"Why did you call me that?"
"It is your name. You are not your sister."
Aya's eyes narrowed. How much did Schwarz know, anyway? It made him uncomfortable, too. He did not like the fact that Schwarz had used that name, it made it somehow seem like they had power over him.
"Jei." Two could play that game.
A gold eye glittered dangerously. "Do NOT call me that," The Irishman said vehemently. "It is NOT the same."
Purple eyes met gold, both challenging. They had both began to step towards one another threateningly when Aya moved wrong, jostling his arm. His eyes narrowed in pain for just a split second, causing Farfarello to step back.
"Farfarello."
"What?" Aya said through clenched teeth, fighting the wave of nausea.
"Call me Farfarello," The Irishman said, that maniacal grin on his face.
* * * *
"As soon as our clothes dry out, we're going to head upstream," Crawford announced suddenly. Omi, startled, dropped the two sticks he had been using to try to create a fire. There had been no words spoken between the two of them in the last two hours. The American eyes him disdainfully. "Stop trying. It's not going to work." Omi dropped the sticks. He had spent the last half hour trying to create enough friction for a few sparks. However, in the event that he even had dry would to use, there wasn't enough tiny sticks and dry grass for the sparks to catch. The only thing he had gotten were raw hands.
"Will we meet up with both our teams there?"
Crawford shot Omi a glared and decided not to honor the question with an answer. The fact that his powers still hadn't come back was something that rankled him. He saw it as a sign of weakness and that was beyond irritating. He shot a glance then to where their clothes, save for their underwear and respective pants were drying. The American's now ruined jacket, vest, tie, and shirt hung neatly over the limb of a young tree, while Weiss' jacket (That damn annoying hoody) and shirt hung over an accompanying limb. Both of their socks were resting on a nearby log, shoes lay out in front. Omi had been aghast when he had pulled off his socks and shoes to see his feet horribly pruned. In fact, Crawford noticed as Omi shot another glance toward them.
"Beginnings of trench foot," The American had told him, having pulled his own socks off and taking the situation of his own wrinkled feet in. Bombay turned his head to look up at Crawford. He paused before speaking, as if gathering his thoughts.
"A lot of European soldiers suffered from that in World War I. The warm and wet habitat of their feet was perfect breeding grounds for bacteria, and so a lot of men had to have their feet cut off because of it," Omi said slowly, recalling information he had learned from school.
Crawford nodded his head ever so slightly. "That's right."
Omi looked back down at his wrinkled feet, wiggling his toes. Satisfied that they weren't in danger of falling off, he looked back at Crawford. He couldn't understand the American. He was so silent. Brooding. All the words that came out of his mouth pertained to the matters at hand. There seemed to be absolutely nothing frivolous about him. Since Omi had pulled him out of the water, the leader of Schwarz hadn't acted in anyway to get Omi's hackles up or remind him why he hated their opposing team. Still. he had done so many evil things.
It was weird. The villains in all the stories were shallow, simple creatures who usually set things up so that they were the cause of their own downfall. The leaders were incompetent people driven by their ambition to take over the world. Schwarz had proved over and over that they knew quite well what they were doing, and were good at it. Omi knew they had to be a hard group of people to lead, yet the man standing in front of him managed to do it. That said something about his character, didn't it?
But he was evil.
Omi bit his lip. Somehow, his brain had started plodding around in a circle. He supposed the reason it was so hard for him to hate him now was because he had saved his life. If he had wanted him dead, he could've just let go. Then his death wouldn't really even be on his soul.
Omi's eyes strayed to the wound on the American's shoulder. It looked like it hurt a lot. Omi wasn't sure how deep the puncture had gone, which would determine how long it would take to heal and just how much it hurt. The area around it was red and swollen. Crawford hadn't been able to patch it up, and Omi hadn't offered help because he knew it would have been refused.
"Do you have anything of use to us?"
"Just my darts. I should have some bandages with me too, though," Omi added as an afterthought. He carried bandages with him everywhere. Because of the line of work he and his friends engaged in, he felt it was a necessity. Omi dug into the pockets of his shorts, pulling out the wet bandages. Unconsciously, Omi's eyes traveled guiltily to Crawford's shoulder. He hadn't offered the help. Maybe it wouldn't have been refused? It was so hard to tell with this man!
"Get dressed. We're going to start the hike back up now."
It was said in the tone of voice of one who didn't expect you to disobey. It wasn't haughty or smug, just commanding. Omi could respect that, if nothing else.
* * * *
The site that met Ken's eyes were confusing, to say the least. After hearing the cry of German, he had made his way towards the sound as fast as possible. He hadn't been sure why the shout, so he'd put it behind him with plans to figure out all that stuff later, after he'd killed Shuldich. When he arrived at the scene, the German was currently in a fight with several..shadowy looking things. To top it off, Shuldich almost seemed to be losing.
What the HELL?
Ken was no strategist, he left that job to Omi. However, he DID conclude that if he helped in defeating the shadows, the faster he would be able make a go at the Schwarz member. Without hesitating, Ken suddenly launched into the huge fray and was quite surprised to find the shadows were solid. Ken grinned. This would make things that much easier. The statement was retracted however, scant seconds later when his blades tore through a shadow creature, the thing bursting into tiny globules.
.and then reforming moments after.
Ken also discovered that these things weren't causing bodily harm to him, but seemed rather to smother him. He was growing exhausted quickly, and he could feel himself slowing down. He knew then, that something was definitely wrong. Throwing a glance to Schwarz who had been fighting longer, he his face fiercely determined, and his fight seemed to be of the mind and not so much the body. Blue eyes suddenly met his.
~Run.~
The voice echoed in his head and Ken narrowed his eyes. Run? That went against his grain. Still, here was an enemy he didn't understand and didn't have a chance against. (Currently, anyway.) Ken suddenly lunged through, claws extended in front of him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Shuldich do the same. Breathing heavily, both ran as fast as they could from the weird shadows behind them. Panting, Ken risked a glance over his shoulder to see if the shadows were gaining. They weren't. They were all stopped, gathered together at one place, and they didn't seem to be able to pass past that point.
"What?"
"Guardians," The German said. Ken turned narrowed brown eyes to him.
"What?"
"Don't attack me, you'll just aggravate your ribs, and you won't win," Shuldich said, smirking.
Ken seethed. Oh, how he hated the telepath. "What.Were.Those," he said through clenched teeth.
"I already said," Shuldich replied glibly.
Letting lose a battle cry, Ken suddenly launched himself at Shuldich. The red head managed to dodge neatly, forcing Ken to fall into a tight roll. Has he used the momentum from the roll to get back into a standing position, his ribs, whose pain had been ignored, suddenly protested violently. Ken gasped, hand going to his ribs gingerly. Shuldich continued smirking at him.
DAMN him.
"Tch, Kenken. So filled with hate!"
"Fuck you."
"You're really not my type."
Growling, Ken launched again. All thoughts of shadows and the fight just previous that the two had shared were gone, and now Ken was after blood. Shuldich's. Ken grinned maliciously as he pointedly ignored the pain in his chest. He was going to get Shuldich and he was going to cause him pain.
"You're almost as bad as Farfarello. I can't believe the rest of your team hasn't picked up on this."
"Don't compare me to that creature!"
"Well, it's nothing a little rewiring won't fix."
"Don't touch my head!" Ken cried out, bringing his weapon again down on Shuldich who dodged neatly out of the way.
"You should stop. The only thing you're doing is aggravating your ribs. We should probably do something more productive, hmm?"
"I'm not going to do anything with you!"
Shuldich rolled his eyes. Ken's attitude, somehow, reminded him of Luke Skywalker. (Shuldich was an mild Star Wars fan, though he would never admit it.) "I won't join you!" "I'm not like that!" The German chuckled. Hmmm, what would Ken do if he called himself his father? Seeing Ken's reaction would just be hilarious. Shuldich stored it away as things to do sometime. The face people gave him when said off the wall things like that were always worth it. Still, while Darth Vader he was NOT, he could still have some fun.
"But you'll want my help in finding the bodies of your friends at least, won't you?" Shuldich watched in amusement as Ken paled drastically, the fight gone from him.
"No.they're not dead."
"They're not all dead," Shuldich agreed amiably. "But at least Bombay is," he finished, after searching through Ken's brain for the member of his team he felt strongly about. The brother he never had.
"No.how."
"How do I know? Crawford found his body. I'm a telepath, remember? Connected to people's minds and all that," he explained. He hadn't known why he'd chosen Crawford, the only person of the team he wasn't able to reach. Damn, where WAS the American? Shuldich didn't want to try reaching out for him again just yet, in the event that he would get another migraine as severe as before. Shuldich knew that he was going to have to be more careful. The Shadow Guardians back there had been powerful, and he had felt his energy and powers draining fast. If Shadow Guardians had been put on this mountain, then there was no telling what else was here. It also didn't bode well because it meant that somewhere, someone, was controlling the creatures. Whoever was doing this has to be very powerful.
Shuldich cast a glance to Ken who was slumped against a tree, his face a mixture of both physical and mental pain. He touched the surfacing thoughts and was somewhat disgusted that Ken was thinking of Kase. Again. The guy had been dead for over two years AND had betrayed him, yet Ken still thought of him as a best friend. Here he was now, trying to accept Bombay's death and simultaneously thinking of Kase, thinking about how he'd lost all the people close to him. The result was going to be a major spiral into depression.
Pathetic. These emotions weren't even that sweet, and Ken thought about Kase so much that Shuldich knew all the details to what had happened probably better then Ken himself did. The German watched as Ken lamented the loss of his friend and cursed the world for taking away his best friends.
Shuldich felt it would probably be a blessing to put Siberian out of his misery.
"Omi." Ken moaned, tears running down his face. Shuldich wondered what had made the soccer player so inclined to believe him in the first place. The total breakdown in emotion was almost startling. Ahhh, he had already seriously considered his friends being dead. Shuldich had just offered proof. Interesting.
"Kase had nothing on Bombay," Shuldich said, looking down at the wreck Ken was becoming. Ken's brown eyes rose to meet his. They narrowed when they realized the German had been reading his thoughts.
"You."
"I'm just saying you should stop lamenting the death of Kase so much. The man was despicable, and he never considered himself you friend." Well.that was sort of a lie. A long time ago as children, Kase had returned Ken's friendship, but time had passed and adult jealousies and greed had gotten in the way.
"That's not true!"
"It's close enough." Shuldich realized that if he was going to spend time with this Weiss soccer player, then he was going to get his mind off Kase. Not for Ken's sake, but for his own. It was no fun to read into his mind when he was constantly hung up on his dead 'friend'. Shuldich smirked. He had a mission.
* * * *
Crawford was having a hell of a time pulling his jacket on. His arm had grown stiff and protested at any movement, not to mention that moving to pull his shirt on had resulted in a reopening of the wound. The American had decided to give up on wearing the shirt and was currently working on the jacket. He felt Bombay's eyes on him, and he turned, glowering, to the teenager. The boy met his gaze before grabbing the bandaged that had been in his pocket and making his way towards Crawford. He didn't need this.
"Don't touch me."
"There's a high chance of that getting infected. Bandaging it might help some. The wound has had time to bleed itself, so while it would've been dangerous to put something on earlier, it should be okay now," Bombay replied logically. Crawford frowned. This was going to be a battle he was going to lose. He needed his shoulder bandaged, and that was something Omi could do. Within minutes the sword wound was bandaged and Crawford admitted to himself reluctantly that the boy had done a good job.
Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he once again severely missed the presence of his glasses. He couldn't see anything, and squinting constantly gave him headaches. Maybe he going to have to start being like Theodore Roosevelt and carry around an excess of glasses with him everywhere he went.
AP American History, oh how that had been ground into his head. He couldn't believe he'd remembered that, after all these years.
The two began the slow climb back up the mountain, following the river up
"Why were you on this mountain if not to kill our target?"
"To bodyguard him, but he was dead long before we got there."
"But you had only found out by the time we'd gotten there?"
"It is not customary for us to talk or check up on the person we're supposed to be protecting unless he summons us," Brad went through the habit of pushing the glasses up on his nose and frowned when they weren't there.
"I wonder who killed him."
"It's not something I'm concerned about."
"But it was your mission to protect him-"
"If we don't want to dehydrate, I suggest getting something to drink," Crawford said, indicating the previous conversation was over. Bombay nodded simply and made his way to the river.
"Is it safe?" He asked, looking dubiously at the rushing water. It had cleared out, and was no longer running muddy, which Omi took as a good sign, but still.
"It would be better if we had fire to boil with," Crawford said, which didn't quite answer his question. Omi found that the American did that a lot. He was really smooth with the way he did it, too. Nevertheless, the American was on his knees, using his one hand to cup water and bring it to his mouth.
"I guess if we get sick, we'll know why." Omi shrugged, bending next to the water. It would probably help his aching throat, too.
* * * *
"We need to light a fire," Yohji announced, pulling his lighter from his pocket. It was a Zippo, and Yohji appreciated the way it roared to life after he'd flicked it a few times. Lighters were truly great inventions, and now besides lighting cigarettes they could also be used to light fires to keep him and the Schwarz boy warm. (And maybe summon the rest of his team.) Who would've thought something so small was so versatile?
"There's no dry wood."
"Using your telekinesis stuff to dry the wood off, or something."
Nagi twitched. He was NOT a blow dryer. "If you're cold, wear a jacket. You brought enough."
"But a fire will summon our friends."
"I don't need fires to get my team," Nagi smirked, tapping his head. Yohji's green eyes narrowed.
"Do you know where all your team is?"
"Yes." No. Shuldich hadn't contacted him since that first time, so Nagi was currently unaware of the whereabouts of everyone. Where were Farfarello and Crawford? Had he contacted them?
~Shuldich?~
~We've got Guardians~ The red head said automatically, foregoing any sort of greeting.
~What kind?~
~So far only shadows, but there might be more.~
~Shit. Have you contacted Crawford?~
~I can't. Something's blocking me.~
~What about Farfarello?~
~He's with Abyssinian.~
~But why can't you get Crawford?~
~I don't know. It's like they don't want me to reach him.~
~Balinese and I are going to light a fire, maybe Crawford will be able to see the smoke.~
~I wouldn't be too worried about him, Chibi. That man can't die. Watch your back, though.~
~Thanks.~
~Anytime. Are you still at the house?~
~What's left.~
~Stay there. We'll try and find you.~
~'We?'~
~Siberian and I.~
~You're with him?~
~Funny, isn't it? He'll be a whole new person by the time we get to you,~ Shuldich chuckled before going dormant in the link that connected all of Schwarz together. Nagi turned to look at Yohji, who was currently trying to start a fire. The boy walked up to him and observed as he tried unsuccessfully several times to light a huge block of wood.
"You need to start small," Nagi instructed, crouching next to the playboy. He picked up splinters of wood and leaves, doing his best to wipe off what water he could with his power. After he cleared a small area, he tented the sticks together. "Give me the lighter," Nagi commanded. Yohji passed the Zippo into his hand. The Schwarz boy carefully brought the flame to his small creation and watched with a small amount of pride as it caught fire. "We'll build it up from here."
"Not too bad."
"Yeah, I know," Nagi said, smirking again at Yohji who shook his head slightly as he sensed the boy's pride. He turned his eyes to where the small fire was growing, musing about the boy next to him.
Nagi didn't seem like such a bad person, all things considered. He could almost get to like him.
Now wouldn't THAT be strange? White liking black? That went against something, didn't it?
Hmm.
End Chapter IV
* * *
So there's chapter Four. I wrote this one faster then three because I had more time, and a lot of encouragement! ^^ I also have a better idea as to where all this is going. I hope there's enough action in there for all you people. Thanks for all the reviews, I really appreciate them. :-D Well, keep tuned in! I'll try and spurt out the next chapter ASAP! Oh! And the story has just reached the 50 page mark! Once again, even if YOU'RE not proud of me, I'M certainly proud of me! :-D Oh, and about Theodore Roosevelt. He's one of my favorite presidents. ^^ Anyway, he was EXTREMLEY near sighted, and always carried extra glasses with him going into battle, sometimes even sewing them to his clothes. (I guess he carried extra pairs elsewhere, but anyway) While I was writing that particular scene, that factoid about TR just popped up and I decided to write it down. Of COURSE Braddy took AP US History. Can't you just see him taking all the AP classes he could get a hold of in high school?
So anyway, she's also a really good artist, so make sure to visit her site here: http://k1kerosene.f2o.org/ We're getting our own domain sometime soon, and I'll make sure to let you know when THAT happens. I'll be putting all my stories, plus tons of other random stuff there. So anyway, without further ado.
Chapter IV Of starting fires and patching wounds
Disclaimers: Nothing's changed since last chapter. I still don't own these guys. Oh, but if I could.if I could.
Ken sat against a tree, arms resting limply on either side of him as he breathed as slowly as he could. He had only just woken up from where he had collapsed, and was amazed he hadn't frozen to death. Ken winced at both the pain in his chest and the golden rays of the early morning sun piercing his eyes. As he shifted around, he instantly regretted the position he had fallen asleep in because now, not only were his ribs sore, but his back was also.
Ken didn't appreciate this. Not at all.
Groping the edge of the tree, he slowly pulled himself up. If his ribs weren't broken, then they were at least severely bruised. Something had hit him in that mad rush of water, and while Ken wasn't sure what it had been, he knew he hated it. Breathing as shallowly as he could, he accessed the situation. With a groan, Ken realized that not only did he not know where he was, but all of the stuff in his cargo pants had been ripped from him too. He hadn't been awake five minutes yet, and Ken had already decided today was going to be one of Those days.
It was while he was being grim that he heard a shout in German. Instantly Ken's mood brightened. German meant Shuldich. Shuldich meant a fight. Sure, he was injured, but killing a Schwarz member always seemed to fix things. Ken grinned, albeit a little darkly and began a slow walk towards where he had heard the sound. His fist clenched automatically, causing the claws to extend from the gloves on his hand. Miraculously enough, the bugnucks on his right hand had managed to stay on.
As he trudged on, his shoes made a squishing sound with every step, and while hid clothes had progressed from that dripping stage, they were still uncomfortably damp. The closer (or so he hoped) he made it to the German, the more he began to compound the blame on the unassuming redhead. Finally it got to the point where Ken felt that virtually everything that had happened could be blamed on the German.
Ken clenched his fist again. He was ready for blood.
* * * *
Yohji was currently a happy person. When Weiss had gone to attack the drug lord, they had left all their equipment far enough away that the flood hadn't gotten in. Now, while the rest of the team coped with being wet, tired, and injured, Yohji was warm, dry, and well rested. All thanks to his big old sleeping bag. Of course, Yohji felt it was owed to him, what after all he had had to put up with.
Even Schwarz seemed to be in a better mood. Yohji, being the diplomatic man he was, had found Omi's bag and had thrown some of his clothes in Schwarz's general direction. The boy had taken the garments without comment, but seemed to be in a better mood because of it. As Yohji idly watched the Schwarz boy, he realized that the two had come to some sort of truce. This was fine with the blond, on the basis that he didn't feel like fighting. Especially when it meant being slammed into a tree. Anyway, there were other things that were currently more important, such as finding the other members of his team. Yohji considered exactly how to go about this when Nagi broke his concentration.
"Shuldich is alive," he said with utter confidence.
"What'd he say?"
"He's alive and trying to get the rest of the team together."
"Did he say anything about my team?"
"No."
Not allowing this information to upset or disturb him, Yohji finished packing away the sleeping bag and started making his way towards where the house, well parts of it anyway, lay. Yohji refused to believe his teammates were dead, so until he got evidence either way he was going to do something productful, such as searching for clues. There HAD to be something to tip him off towards something. There had been more then one dead person around, and while Yohji wasn't sure about what Mother Nature had been up to, he DID know a little about homicides. He HAD been a Private Detective, once upon a time. The Schwarz kid stepped up beside him, coolly surveying the ruins before them.
"You're not expecting to find anything here," the kid said. It was a statement, not a question.
"I was a private detective. If anyone can find something, I can," Yohji said a bit cockily. Schwarz looked over at him oddly. Yohji decided to ignore it.
"There's nothing here. It's all been obliterated. You'll be wasting your time."
"How long had he been dead?" Yohji said suddenly, waving Schwarz's comment away.
"Longer then we'd been on this mountain," the Japanese boy eventually responded. This was ridiculous.
"How had he been killed?"
"Gunshot to the head."
"And Schwarz didn't kill him?"
"We've already established that."
"Well damn, that makes things harder."
"You're a great private detective."
Yohji shot Nagi a Look. "How can you guys not have realized he was dead?"
"It's not our business to keep track of him. Just guard him when needed."
"It amazes me how you guys managed to stay in business yourselves all these years. What's your motto? 'You can hire us, but it won't do you jack shit? (In fact you'll probably end up dead sooner rather then later)'? This is your second dead bodyguard assignment, right? Or do you have more you're not telling me about?"
"Shut up."
"I think I'm offended! You know it's not nice to keep secrets."
Nagi stopped honoring Yohji with any sort of reply. The man was an idiot. How had he ended up with such a moron? One of Weiss, no less? This was absolutely ridiculous!
Someone somewhere, he was sure, was laughing at him.
* * * *
Aya had been so absolutely surprised when the Irishman complimented his sword that he had almost dropped it. Part of him wanted to launch at the madman, regardless of the compliment. It was his duty, and he HATED them. They had stolen his sister, after all. They had been linked to Takatori. He wouldn't be able happy until they were dead.
But it was hard to get into a fighting mood with a comment like that. It was hard to fight when the opponent wasn't willing. Indeed, the madman was standing across from him, eyes focused on Aya's katana. Aya let his own eyes trail down to it, to see if something spectacular had happened to it when he wasn't looking. No. It had not grown wings or gotten an eyeball. Aya decided the madman's preoccupation with it had to do with his obsession of all things sharp. Aya looked up at the Irishman. Yelling 'Shi-ne' now wouldn't work. Besides, although Aya wouldn't admit it allowed, his arm was paining him. A lot. Aya had no doubt now that it was broken. To fight would have been a folly, but he wouldn't have shied away from it.
"You would have fought me even though you are in pain," the white haired man said suddenly. Aya blinked. The sentence had made sense and was said calmly. He hadn't expected that from the madman. Still, he didn't feel he needed to answer. The madman just nodded, as if Aya had said something anyway.
"A broken kitten. Ran," he spoke again. Aya was shocked into speech.
"Why did you call me that?"
"It is your name. You are not your sister."
Aya's eyes narrowed. How much did Schwarz know, anyway? It made him uncomfortable, too. He did not like the fact that Schwarz had used that name, it made it somehow seem like they had power over him.
"Jei." Two could play that game.
A gold eye glittered dangerously. "Do NOT call me that," The Irishman said vehemently. "It is NOT the same."
Purple eyes met gold, both challenging. They had both began to step towards one another threateningly when Aya moved wrong, jostling his arm. His eyes narrowed in pain for just a split second, causing Farfarello to step back.
"Farfarello."
"What?" Aya said through clenched teeth, fighting the wave of nausea.
"Call me Farfarello," The Irishman said, that maniacal grin on his face.
* * * *
"As soon as our clothes dry out, we're going to head upstream," Crawford announced suddenly. Omi, startled, dropped the two sticks he had been using to try to create a fire. There had been no words spoken between the two of them in the last two hours. The American eyes him disdainfully. "Stop trying. It's not going to work." Omi dropped the sticks. He had spent the last half hour trying to create enough friction for a few sparks. However, in the event that he even had dry would to use, there wasn't enough tiny sticks and dry grass for the sparks to catch. The only thing he had gotten were raw hands.
"Will we meet up with both our teams there?"
Crawford shot Omi a glared and decided not to honor the question with an answer. The fact that his powers still hadn't come back was something that rankled him. He saw it as a sign of weakness and that was beyond irritating. He shot a glance then to where their clothes, save for their underwear and respective pants were drying. The American's now ruined jacket, vest, tie, and shirt hung neatly over the limb of a young tree, while Weiss' jacket (That damn annoying hoody) and shirt hung over an accompanying limb. Both of their socks were resting on a nearby log, shoes lay out in front. Omi had been aghast when he had pulled off his socks and shoes to see his feet horribly pruned. In fact, Crawford noticed as Omi shot another glance toward them.
"Beginnings of trench foot," The American had told him, having pulled his own socks off and taking the situation of his own wrinkled feet in. Bombay turned his head to look up at Crawford. He paused before speaking, as if gathering his thoughts.
"A lot of European soldiers suffered from that in World War I. The warm and wet habitat of their feet was perfect breeding grounds for bacteria, and so a lot of men had to have their feet cut off because of it," Omi said slowly, recalling information he had learned from school.
Crawford nodded his head ever so slightly. "That's right."
Omi looked back down at his wrinkled feet, wiggling his toes. Satisfied that they weren't in danger of falling off, he looked back at Crawford. He couldn't understand the American. He was so silent. Brooding. All the words that came out of his mouth pertained to the matters at hand. There seemed to be absolutely nothing frivolous about him. Since Omi had pulled him out of the water, the leader of Schwarz hadn't acted in anyway to get Omi's hackles up or remind him why he hated their opposing team. Still. he had done so many evil things.
It was weird. The villains in all the stories were shallow, simple creatures who usually set things up so that they were the cause of their own downfall. The leaders were incompetent people driven by their ambition to take over the world. Schwarz had proved over and over that they knew quite well what they were doing, and were good at it. Omi knew they had to be a hard group of people to lead, yet the man standing in front of him managed to do it. That said something about his character, didn't it?
But he was evil.
Omi bit his lip. Somehow, his brain had started plodding around in a circle. He supposed the reason it was so hard for him to hate him now was because he had saved his life. If he had wanted him dead, he could've just let go. Then his death wouldn't really even be on his soul.
Omi's eyes strayed to the wound on the American's shoulder. It looked like it hurt a lot. Omi wasn't sure how deep the puncture had gone, which would determine how long it would take to heal and just how much it hurt. The area around it was red and swollen. Crawford hadn't been able to patch it up, and Omi hadn't offered help because he knew it would have been refused.
"Do you have anything of use to us?"
"Just my darts. I should have some bandages with me too, though," Omi added as an afterthought. He carried bandages with him everywhere. Because of the line of work he and his friends engaged in, he felt it was a necessity. Omi dug into the pockets of his shorts, pulling out the wet bandages. Unconsciously, Omi's eyes traveled guiltily to Crawford's shoulder. He hadn't offered the help. Maybe it wouldn't have been refused? It was so hard to tell with this man!
"Get dressed. We're going to start the hike back up now."
It was said in the tone of voice of one who didn't expect you to disobey. It wasn't haughty or smug, just commanding. Omi could respect that, if nothing else.
* * * *
The site that met Ken's eyes were confusing, to say the least. After hearing the cry of German, he had made his way towards the sound as fast as possible. He hadn't been sure why the shout, so he'd put it behind him with plans to figure out all that stuff later, after he'd killed Shuldich. When he arrived at the scene, the German was currently in a fight with several..shadowy looking things. To top it off, Shuldich almost seemed to be losing.
What the HELL?
Ken was no strategist, he left that job to Omi. However, he DID conclude that if he helped in defeating the shadows, the faster he would be able make a go at the Schwarz member. Without hesitating, Ken suddenly launched into the huge fray and was quite surprised to find the shadows were solid. Ken grinned. This would make things that much easier. The statement was retracted however, scant seconds later when his blades tore through a shadow creature, the thing bursting into tiny globules.
.and then reforming moments after.
Ken also discovered that these things weren't causing bodily harm to him, but seemed rather to smother him. He was growing exhausted quickly, and he could feel himself slowing down. He knew then, that something was definitely wrong. Throwing a glance to Schwarz who had been fighting longer, he his face fiercely determined, and his fight seemed to be of the mind and not so much the body. Blue eyes suddenly met his.
~Run.~
The voice echoed in his head and Ken narrowed his eyes. Run? That went against his grain. Still, here was an enemy he didn't understand and didn't have a chance against. (Currently, anyway.) Ken suddenly lunged through, claws extended in front of him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Shuldich do the same. Breathing heavily, both ran as fast as they could from the weird shadows behind them. Panting, Ken risked a glance over his shoulder to see if the shadows were gaining. They weren't. They were all stopped, gathered together at one place, and they didn't seem to be able to pass past that point.
"What?"
"Guardians," The German said. Ken turned narrowed brown eyes to him.
"What?"
"Don't attack me, you'll just aggravate your ribs, and you won't win," Shuldich said, smirking.
Ken seethed. Oh, how he hated the telepath. "What.Were.Those," he said through clenched teeth.
"I already said," Shuldich replied glibly.
Letting lose a battle cry, Ken suddenly launched himself at Shuldich. The red head managed to dodge neatly, forcing Ken to fall into a tight roll. Has he used the momentum from the roll to get back into a standing position, his ribs, whose pain had been ignored, suddenly protested violently. Ken gasped, hand going to his ribs gingerly. Shuldich continued smirking at him.
DAMN him.
"Tch, Kenken. So filled with hate!"
"Fuck you."
"You're really not my type."
Growling, Ken launched again. All thoughts of shadows and the fight just previous that the two had shared were gone, and now Ken was after blood. Shuldich's. Ken grinned maliciously as he pointedly ignored the pain in his chest. He was going to get Shuldich and he was going to cause him pain.
"You're almost as bad as Farfarello. I can't believe the rest of your team hasn't picked up on this."
"Don't compare me to that creature!"
"Well, it's nothing a little rewiring won't fix."
"Don't touch my head!" Ken cried out, bringing his weapon again down on Shuldich who dodged neatly out of the way.
"You should stop. The only thing you're doing is aggravating your ribs. We should probably do something more productive, hmm?"
"I'm not going to do anything with you!"
Shuldich rolled his eyes. Ken's attitude, somehow, reminded him of Luke Skywalker. (Shuldich was an mild Star Wars fan, though he would never admit it.) "I won't join you!" "I'm not like that!" The German chuckled. Hmmm, what would Ken do if he called himself his father? Seeing Ken's reaction would just be hilarious. Shuldich stored it away as things to do sometime. The face people gave him when said off the wall things like that were always worth it. Still, while Darth Vader he was NOT, he could still have some fun.
"But you'll want my help in finding the bodies of your friends at least, won't you?" Shuldich watched in amusement as Ken paled drastically, the fight gone from him.
"No.they're not dead."
"They're not all dead," Shuldich agreed amiably. "But at least Bombay is," he finished, after searching through Ken's brain for the member of his team he felt strongly about. The brother he never had.
"No.how."
"How do I know? Crawford found his body. I'm a telepath, remember? Connected to people's minds and all that," he explained. He hadn't known why he'd chosen Crawford, the only person of the team he wasn't able to reach. Damn, where WAS the American? Shuldich didn't want to try reaching out for him again just yet, in the event that he would get another migraine as severe as before. Shuldich knew that he was going to have to be more careful. The Shadow Guardians back there had been powerful, and he had felt his energy and powers draining fast. If Shadow Guardians had been put on this mountain, then there was no telling what else was here. It also didn't bode well because it meant that somewhere, someone, was controlling the creatures. Whoever was doing this has to be very powerful.
Shuldich cast a glance to Ken who was slumped against a tree, his face a mixture of both physical and mental pain. He touched the surfacing thoughts and was somewhat disgusted that Ken was thinking of Kase. Again. The guy had been dead for over two years AND had betrayed him, yet Ken still thought of him as a best friend. Here he was now, trying to accept Bombay's death and simultaneously thinking of Kase, thinking about how he'd lost all the people close to him. The result was going to be a major spiral into depression.
Pathetic. These emotions weren't even that sweet, and Ken thought about Kase so much that Shuldich knew all the details to what had happened probably better then Ken himself did. The German watched as Ken lamented the loss of his friend and cursed the world for taking away his best friends.
Shuldich felt it would probably be a blessing to put Siberian out of his misery.
"Omi." Ken moaned, tears running down his face. Shuldich wondered what had made the soccer player so inclined to believe him in the first place. The total breakdown in emotion was almost startling. Ahhh, he had already seriously considered his friends being dead. Shuldich had just offered proof. Interesting.
"Kase had nothing on Bombay," Shuldich said, looking down at the wreck Ken was becoming. Ken's brown eyes rose to meet his. They narrowed when they realized the German had been reading his thoughts.
"You."
"I'm just saying you should stop lamenting the death of Kase so much. The man was despicable, and he never considered himself you friend." Well.that was sort of a lie. A long time ago as children, Kase had returned Ken's friendship, but time had passed and adult jealousies and greed had gotten in the way.
"That's not true!"
"It's close enough." Shuldich realized that if he was going to spend time with this Weiss soccer player, then he was going to get his mind off Kase. Not for Ken's sake, but for his own. It was no fun to read into his mind when he was constantly hung up on his dead 'friend'. Shuldich smirked. He had a mission.
* * * *
Crawford was having a hell of a time pulling his jacket on. His arm had grown stiff and protested at any movement, not to mention that moving to pull his shirt on had resulted in a reopening of the wound. The American had decided to give up on wearing the shirt and was currently working on the jacket. He felt Bombay's eyes on him, and he turned, glowering, to the teenager. The boy met his gaze before grabbing the bandaged that had been in his pocket and making his way towards Crawford. He didn't need this.
"Don't touch me."
"There's a high chance of that getting infected. Bandaging it might help some. The wound has had time to bleed itself, so while it would've been dangerous to put something on earlier, it should be okay now," Bombay replied logically. Crawford frowned. This was going to be a battle he was going to lose. He needed his shoulder bandaged, and that was something Omi could do. Within minutes the sword wound was bandaged and Crawford admitted to himself reluctantly that the boy had done a good job.
Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he once again severely missed the presence of his glasses. He couldn't see anything, and squinting constantly gave him headaches. Maybe he going to have to start being like Theodore Roosevelt and carry around an excess of glasses with him everywhere he went.
AP American History, oh how that had been ground into his head. He couldn't believe he'd remembered that, after all these years.
The two began the slow climb back up the mountain, following the river up
"Why were you on this mountain if not to kill our target?"
"To bodyguard him, but he was dead long before we got there."
"But you had only found out by the time we'd gotten there?"
"It is not customary for us to talk or check up on the person we're supposed to be protecting unless he summons us," Brad went through the habit of pushing the glasses up on his nose and frowned when they weren't there.
"I wonder who killed him."
"It's not something I'm concerned about."
"But it was your mission to protect him-"
"If we don't want to dehydrate, I suggest getting something to drink," Crawford said, indicating the previous conversation was over. Bombay nodded simply and made his way to the river.
"Is it safe?" He asked, looking dubiously at the rushing water. It had cleared out, and was no longer running muddy, which Omi took as a good sign, but still.
"It would be better if we had fire to boil with," Crawford said, which didn't quite answer his question. Omi found that the American did that a lot. He was really smooth with the way he did it, too. Nevertheless, the American was on his knees, using his one hand to cup water and bring it to his mouth.
"I guess if we get sick, we'll know why." Omi shrugged, bending next to the water. It would probably help his aching throat, too.
* * * *
"We need to light a fire," Yohji announced, pulling his lighter from his pocket. It was a Zippo, and Yohji appreciated the way it roared to life after he'd flicked it a few times. Lighters were truly great inventions, and now besides lighting cigarettes they could also be used to light fires to keep him and the Schwarz boy warm. (And maybe summon the rest of his team.) Who would've thought something so small was so versatile?
"There's no dry wood."
"Using your telekinesis stuff to dry the wood off, or something."
Nagi twitched. He was NOT a blow dryer. "If you're cold, wear a jacket. You brought enough."
"But a fire will summon our friends."
"I don't need fires to get my team," Nagi smirked, tapping his head. Yohji's green eyes narrowed.
"Do you know where all your team is?"
"Yes." No. Shuldich hadn't contacted him since that first time, so Nagi was currently unaware of the whereabouts of everyone. Where were Farfarello and Crawford? Had he contacted them?
~Shuldich?~
~We've got Guardians~ The red head said automatically, foregoing any sort of greeting.
~What kind?~
~So far only shadows, but there might be more.~
~Shit. Have you contacted Crawford?~
~I can't. Something's blocking me.~
~What about Farfarello?~
~He's with Abyssinian.~
~But why can't you get Crawford?~
~I don't know. It's like they don't want me to reach him.~
~Balinese and I are going to light a fire, maybe Crawford will be able to see the smoke.~
~I wouldn't be too worried about him, Chibi. That man can't die. Watch your back, though.~
~Thanks.~
~Anytime. Are you still at the house?~
~What's left.~
~Stay there. We'll try and find you.~
~'We?'~
~Siberian and I.~
~You're with him?~
~Funny, isn't it? He'll be a whole new person by the time we get to you,~ Shuldich chuckled before going dormant in the link that connected all of Schwarz together. Nagi turned to look at Yohji, who was currently trying to start a fire. The boy walked up to him and observed as he tried unsuccessfully several times to light a huge block of wood.
"You need to start small," Nagi instructed, crouching next to the playboy. He picked up splinters of wood and leaves, doing his best to wipe off what water he could with his power. After he cleared a small area, he tented the sticks together. "Give me the lighter," Nagi commanded. Yohji passed the Zippo into his hand. The Schwarz boy carefully brought the flame to his small creation and watched with a small amount of pride as it caught fire. "We'll build it up from here."
"Not too bad."
"Yeah, I know," Nagi said, smirking again at Yohji who shook his head slightly as he sensed the boy's pride. He turned his eyes to where the small fire was growing, musing about the boy next to him.
Nagi didn't seem like such a bad person, all things considered. He could almost get to like him.
Now wouldn't THAT be strange? White liking black? That went against something, didn't it?
Hmm.
End Chapter IV
* * *
So there's chapter Four. I wrote this one faster then three because I had more time, and a lot of encouragement! ^^ I also have a better idea as to where all this is going. I hope there's enough action in there for all you people. Thanks for all the reviews, I really appreciate them. :-D Well, keep tuned in! I'll try and spurt out the next chapter ASAP! Oh! And the story has just reached the 50 page mark! Once again, even if YOU'RE not proud of me, I'M certainly proud of me! :-D Oh, and about Theodore Roosevelt. He's one of my favorite presidents. ^^ Anyway, he was EXTREMLEY near sighted, and always carried extra glasses with him going into battle, sometimes even sewing them to his clothes. (I guess he carried extra pairs elsewhere, but anyway) While I was writing that particular scene, that factoid about TR just popped up and I decided to write it down. Of COURSE Braddy took AP US History. Can't you just see him taking all the AP classes he could get a hold of in high school?