DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Digimon or related chars. Damn. I do however own any original
creatures, characters, and concepts (except where SPECIFICALLY noted), including this dumb fic. And while there's not much I could actually do to you should you for some reason steal my crap, I WILL put a hex on you. So THERE.
Author's Note: I think everyone should know that since I can't for the life of my recall how I started this story the first time, the chapters might not be so great until I get to a part where I once more know what I'm doing. ^^;;; (And yes Shouji, I -will- bring in the other charas soon, you impatient bastard. P)
This story is faintly AU (or would that be AC?) from the actual series--BelialVamdemon never happened. In fact, nothing after the realease of Quinlongmon and the dissapearacnce of BlackWargreymon happened. Okay? Given that, this takes place one year after 02. I already told you this. =P
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3
Not Crazy


"So wait. One more time. . ." Taichi sat, head tilted, face faintly screwed as he considered what he had just been told. "You're telling me. . .that your computer exploded, and it. . .what, was talking to you?"

Shaking his head, Koushiro set his tea down--with trembling hands he had been spilling more than he was drinking, anyway. "Just the screen. And it wasn't talking, Taichi. . .the screen. The pieces. . .they had. . .words. . ." He trailed off somewhat lamely, looking over with absolute bafflement to the computer. "I. . .I know it sounds crazy, Taichi, but--"

"But maybe you were dreaming, Kou." With a shrug, Tai leaned back in the computer chair, pointing to the screen--off, and in one piece, perfectly inanimate and completely unthreatening. "I mean. . .it doesn't look like the anything exploded here."

"I wasn't dreaming!" At Tai's doubtful look, he shook his head, shoved himself up from his seat at the edge of his bed. "Tai, don't look at me like that. . .I wasn't dreaming--"

"Then maybe all that computer radiation is going to your head. . .?"

Tai had been laughing slightly when he spoke--it hadn't been meant seriously, just a little joke; an attempt to lighten the gloomy mood. Koushiro, however, exploded. "I'm not going crazy! I heard it explode, I saw what it said, and the pieces were still here not even an hour ago! Mine! It said Mine Tai and it scared me shitless and stop looking at me like that because I know I what I goddamn saw and I wasn't hallucinating!" It had been shouted out in almost one breath, and now he subsided slightly; one hand to his head as he shakily reached for his tea with the other. "I. . .I swear. . .it was still here when I went. . .when I went to get the door. . " He swallowed hard, rubbing at his forehead as if to wipe the memory away.

Blinking a few times, Taichi raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, standing and putting his hands on Koushiro's trembling shoulders. "Hey. . .hey, Koushiro. Calm down. . .it's okay. It's going to be okay. . ."

For a moment Koushiro simply stood there shaking, breathing heavily and with his hand rubbing roughly at his forehead, before he shook his head, and moved his hand down to cover his eyes--there was a red mark where it had been rubbing. "Y. . .yeah." He sounded beaten, weary. "Yeah, it'll all be okay. Probably just not enough sleep." With a long sigh he shook his head; set his tea down and absently wiped the cooling liquid off of his hand on the hem of his shirt. "Maybe you should just go home."

"Are you sure, Kou? Because if you need some company--"

"No. I think. . ." Beneath his fingers Koushiro's eyes darted to the side, a hunted edgy look to the computer's blank black monitor. "I think I may try to get some sleep."

Tai looked at him doubtfully for a moment, then nodded slowly, taking one hand from Kou's shoulder. "Well okay. . ." He paused, then pat Kou's shoulder companionably before removing his other hand as well. "Okay. I know you've got my number if you need anything. Just sleep and take it easy."

"Yeah. No worries, Tai."

They both stood there a moment, an uneasy mutual understanding that it wasn't all okay, that there were worries and plenty of them, and then Tai grinned and socked Kou in the arm lightly. "Ah. . .you'll be fine. See you later." He left with a wave, shutting the door carelessly behind him and calling a farewell to Koushiro's drowsy parents.

Koushiro stood swaying on his feet for a few minutes in the wake of Tai's departure, then dropped back down onto his bed wearily, falling back onto the blankets and laying an arm across his face. He was not dreaming. He was not crazy. He was not dreaming. He was not crazy. He was not--

Ten minutes into the mantra he was interrupted by the low hum of the computer, by the sharp and violent explosion, the shattering of glass. Somehow he was certain of the words without looking

(haha 'Shiro-chan. . .gotcha didn't I?)

and he wasn't sure whether he should laugh or cry. So he brushed the glass away and wiped the blood away. . .and continued.

He was not dreaming he was not crazy he was not dreaming he was not. . .

~~~~~

It was dark. More accurately it was Dark, and in the Dark Ken could see nothing, feel nothing; there was a soft dull sound, a strange staccato ticking and by that alone did he know he had any of his senses left. His head jerked blindly, eyes wide and the whites huge, pupils consuming color in fear until the pale lavender-azure of his eyes were bare eclipsed rings between black and white in his face as he sought the source of the noise. There was something familiar about it; he didn't know why it should frighten him but it did, and there was something agonizingly familiar about it. Something, something. . .

The sound stopped--faded really, drew into itself with a faint hissing sound as a thousand drowsy serpents, or a single great one; huge as the world, huge as the heavens.

Ken. . .

It was close--it hissed into his ear with a voice that curled and coiled, close static and distant waves that screamed through his system and dragged icefire through his spine. Ken's throat hitched around a scream and a trembling groan as something touched him--a brief feather-light touch across his cheek that froze the skin so harsh it blistered where it passed, dug down to burn and bury itself in his skull.

My dear Ken. . .my precious Kenny. . .

Again Ken felt his entire system, his entire world and being lurch violently. There were spots. . .no, slashes, bright slashes of dim dark metallic in the Darkness before him; shifting filmy slow iridescence. He couldn't look at them. Daren't. . .daren't look at them so he closed his eyes like a child thinking the monster would go away if he couldn't see it. His mouth moved to form words, but nothing came out--only that hoarse, whimpering moan.

You don't remember me. . . it sounded almost hurt. . .almost amused. Such a pity Ken. . .dear, dear little Ken. Won't you come home?

It burned inside his lids, the afterimage. . .slashes bright slashes, and a memory as of a nightmare. Someone small, someone pale and afraid crying out against a dark world, and the waves. . . "W. . .w. . .who. . .?" His voice was still a dull sound of fear and pain; he could feel his breath freeze against his skin. Something familiar but he didn't want to come back here, where that old black feeling started to rise up and choked in his closed throat. . .

Liar. . . the voice purred the word into his ear, poured it against his skin like molten ice. Such a good liar Ken, except here. . .except to me. I do so miss you, little Ken. . . won't you come back to me? Won't you let me comfort you again, as only I could ever do. . .?

So cold. . .so cold he was shaking, couldn't stop shaking. The voice laughed softly, the mockery gone for a moment so that it sounded. . .it sounded soft, caring, comforting. It knew him, and he knew it, and everything would be okay. The ageless ancient voice like static and the sea would make everything all right if he only closed his eyes and believed it so. . .

Yes. . . trust me Ken. . .

But of course Ken trusted that smooth sibilant voice. Of course, yes, of course. . .He felt himself starting to drift, and ignored the part of him that started screaming when something sharp and cold like polished ice tore open his wrist into his palm, when his blood beaded and froze into sharp crystals across his skin. It wasn't so bad, his skin splitting and freezing and breaking to shards. It wasn't so bad if he let himself drift, ignored the little child inside him screaming and the shaking. . . the agony of screaming, and the cold, desperate shaking.