Title: Abandoned (8/?)

Author: WolfPilot06

Notes: You know the jizz and the jazz, so I'll skip all that. =D If you really want to reread the warnings and suchlike, just refer to the previous chapters. Not much of that has changed, though truly, the earlier chapters' warnings of "mpreg" and stuff are now null and void. ^_~ Just keep in mind: angst, AU, angels. AAA. No longer associated with the American Automobile Association, but the angst, AU, and angels trio of the Abandoned series. Let's hear it for alliteration!

*coughs* Yes, anyway. Many apologies for the long delay before I finally got this chapter out. First, I had a few months of "yech, writing is icky", then I had a month of, "god, I can't produce a decent piece of writing," followed by bits like Intricacies, Someday, and Secret…finally, there were school, activities, and college applications. One day, though, I decided that it was about high time that I got off my lazy butt and wrote, before people started thinking that I'd fallen off the face of the planet Earth. So, I sat down, wrote this entire chapter in one sitting and one afternoon, and wondered how the hell I had the time to do so. Then, I sent it off to my wonderful, multi-talented and ever so spiffy beta, Imbrii, who pored and picked over this thing until it sparkled with nice shininess. Everybody bow down to Imbrii, because she is awesome.

Thank you to all my wonderful readers, as well! I'm terrible at replying to each individual review, but just believe me when I say that I absolutely glow and purr over every single review you wonderful people give me. *many hugs*

A minor warning, though. I know this seems to jump out unexpectedly and seems to be completely discontinuous from the previous chapter, but it'll all be explained. =P I didn't just decide that, hey, this part bores me, let's not write it and say we did.

One last thing - the summary challenge. ^^;;;;; thankee very much to all who submitted a summary, but I've rather decided that I'll stick with the summary. No use changing horses in the middle of a race, ne?

So, yes. Without further ado (says she who just wrote the longest author's note in the history of fanfiction), I present to thee the next chapter of Abandoned.

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The marble floor was hard beneath his knees, as cold and unforgiving as the eyes that watched his hunched, shuddering form as he knelt before them.

They were saying things, but he couldn't hear them past the cacophonous chaos in his ears. The furious roar of their anger and fear choked him, the emotions pounding at his already battered shields, endeavoring to drive him insane. He wanted to beg them to stop, but his throat was frozen, locked by his own terror and that of those around them. They were scared - of him?

But there was no time to contemplate further as rough hands grasped his shoulders and he screamed, thrashing against their vise-like grips, his captors' hatred and pleasure at seeing him so broken driving into his mind like daggers, transmuted into physical pain that burned and raged through his veins. He pitched forward in their hold, his stomach heaving as he vomited, what little food there was spattering itself across the polished marble surface of the Great Hall. He had only a moment to feel the strange, alien satisfaction at this petty revenge before they lifted him bodily, tossing his helpless form across their shoulders and carrying him. Weak, unable to even lift his head to watch where they were taking him, still deafened by the burn of condemnation filling his mind, he could only watch the ground pass by with glazed eyes, unable to truly comprehend what was happening.

He couldn't keep back the scream of agony as they tossed him to the ground - no longer marble. Were they outside? - his body arching in pain against the crushed grass, stained crimson by the blood that still flowed from his wounds - wasn't he supposed to have healed by now? He felt a hand stroke across his wing - wings? - and then, a terrible grasp upon the delicate pinions, a sudden pressure and -

Oh god it hurt it hurt they were killing him fire racing through his nerves and agony and he was screaming for them to stop but they kept tearing him apart killing him KILLING HIM

Then there was a soothing hand at his brow, a familiar warmth inside his mind, calm and grief-stricken, and he couldn't help but moan and press into the touch, crying tears that refused to stop through the agony. The slightest of hesitations, then there was suddenly something inside his mind - something dark and trusted, so alien and unexpected, and -

So much lighter, and he was lifted, tossed and he was falling, falling so quickly, so weightlessly and why was he falling? He was going to die, and he couldn't even remember why he was falling, and as the ground rushed up to meet him, a similar memory, forgotten and half-realized, sprang into being, filling him with fresh terror - he reached out with his arms in a vain attempt to save himself, and he -

- pitched forward in an imbroglio of cloth and trembling limbs, falling as he cried out in fright and surprise. With a resounding thud, he fell to the ground, agony racing up his spine as he panicked and yelled hoarsely, wrestling with the monster that wrapped and trapped him, blinded and suffocated him as it tightened still more around his chest. Struggling, he managed only to get more firmly entangled in what he soon realized was a sheet. With a strangled gasp and a sound born of frustration and weariness, he stopped fighting and lay on his aching back, staring with wide eyes at the watermarked ceiling above him. A sudden lance of pain stole his breath away and he arched, flopping onto his side as he gasped for breath. He keened softly as his back continued to throb, each heartbeat accentuated by an accompanying wave of fire scorching his nerves and strangling moans from his raw throat.

Where was he?

The room was oddly quiet after his battle with the bed sheet still firmly wrapped around his limbs, the dark blue walls unfamiliar, as were the large futon he'd apparently fallen off of and the strange metal and wood furniture scattered sparsely along the walls. He remained on the ground, trying to remember why he was in this unknown place, why he wasn't…wasn't…

Where was he supposed to be?

He was panicking again with the realization that he could remember nothing, clutching his head with both hands as if the pressure could bring his memories back, when he heard a muffled pounding that grew steadily louder. The door slammed violently open and he flinched back, covering his eyes with one hand as light suddenly streamed into the dark room, silhouetting a tall figure. There was a sudden feeling of another mind on his own, filled with surprise and concern, before the man hurried forward.

"Are you okay? Did you fall? I'm sorry, that's a silly question, obviously you did…"

The man didn't seem to notice as he flinched away from the overbearing kindness and caring that poured from the stranger, reaching forward to tug the sheet from where it was twisted firmly around his shoulders and moving to help him sit up. As quickly as his weakened limbs would allow him, the boy batted the hand away, curling up against the side of the futon and glaring with a mixture of fear and distrust. The steady stream of babbled apologies stopped abruptly, the man looking at him with wide, surprised eyes at his abrupt dismissal before trying again to help his entangled guest.

"Don't touch me!" the boy hissed, his voice a hoarse croak. He didn't understand why he was here, in the company of a stranger. He was confused and afraid, some inner self urging him to be cautious, and so he lashed out, the caustic words tangling on his tongue as if he were unused to saying them. There was a long pause during which his apparent host knelt, hand still outstretched towards him, surprise and hurt warring on the stranger's face and in his mind. The boy gave a feeble whimper and huddled against the side of the futon even further, pressing his palms to his ears in a childish attempt to stave the man's emotions off. Frowning slightly, the man sat back on his heels, draping his arms loosely across his knees as he contemplated the young boy.

"So, you're finally awake."

The boy didn't reply, eyes shut tightly as he attempted to slow his breathing. The man continued to speak, though, his low tenor placating despite the youth's continued distrust.

"I found you two weeks ago, bleeding by the roadside and looking as if a bunch of thugs had set upon you with several blunt knives. I couldn't just leave you, so I decided to take you home and try to help you." Here, the man hesitated, a brief look of discomfort flitting across his features, but it went unnoticed by his still panting charge. "You haven't woken since I found you. My friend Wakaba helped me take care of you, and you seemed to be getting better, but I was worried because you didn't seem to…seem to want to wake up. I - "

"What do you want with me?"

He glared into the stranger's shadowed face, sensing again a flicker of surprise, and, unexpectedly, the faintest touch of fear before the man replied, sounding confused.

"Want? I don't want anything from you. Why would you think that?" His voice was genuinely curious and concerned, and he began to reach towards the young boy again as if he was thinking of hugging him, but was dissuaded from pursuing that notion as the boy literally hissed, baring small white teeth at him as if threatening to bite him if he came any closer.

"I told you not to touch me!" he snapped, shrinking back yet again, "Did you do this to me?" He gestured at himself vaguely. Though only his bare shoulder peeked from under the sheet, the stranger seemed to realize that he was referring to his unexplained injuries: the fire that spread across his back and the numerous cuts and gashes along his bare body that pulled tight every time he tried to move.

"Of course not." A wave of sadness came from his mysterious benefactor as he spoke. "I don't know what happened to you. Can you remember anything?"

"I…" The boy whimpered, covering his eyes with both hands and pressing hard, trying to recall any vague fragment of his past. "I can't…nothing. I can't remember anything. Why can't I remember anything?" He cried in frustration, his thin body beginning to tremble as sobs threatened to burst from his lips. The man remained silent as he started to cry, feeling lost and afraid. How he had come to be here and what had happened to him for him to need to be here, he could not remember. His fright at this gap in his memory, though, paled in comparison to the stark terror he felt when he found that he could not remember anything else in his life, either.

Then there were arms around him, pressing him to a strong, warm chest as large hands moved along his back in comforting circles. Shocked, he stiffened for a moment, ignoring the agony that sprang from the stranger's touch, before half-heartedly pushing at the man's chest, his tears disappearing at the unexpected comfort of his strange savior's embrace, his empathy for once not overwhelmed by their close proximity. The man was unmoved by his feeble attempts, murmuring soft nonsensical words of comfort into the young boy's ear. His hands froze upon encountering the rough ridge of a stitched gash, his touch immediately becoming light and apologetic. Hisoka's slight body refused to relax, though he stopped shoving at the larger man when it became evident that he wasn't going to let go, remaining tense and uncomfortable in his embrace. Sighing slightly, the man moved back, his hands sliding to his young charge's shoulders, offering friendly comfort as he tried to catch the elusive green gaze that kept sliding everywhere except towards him.

"Feel better?" he asked kindly. Hisoka trembled briefly as some wave of emotion washed through him - compassion? - and was sorely tempted to finally allow himself to trust the man, but something inside him was warning him against trusting anyone. He remained silent, fixing his eyes on the still-opened door and the rectangle of light that fell into the darkened room. A hand cupped his chin and turned his face gently towards his savior. Slowly, he lifted his eyes to meet those of the man. They widened in shock.

Iridescent purple returned his gaze with something that resembled calm, hopeful affection, at once too young and too old in a lightly-tanned face, framed by long locks of silky chestnut strands that shifted as the man tilted his head curiously under his scrutiny. He reached forward with a slender, shaking hand to touch that face. Uncertain fingertips traced the contours of the man's cheekbones before Hisoka realized what he was doing and, jerking his hand back, blushed furiously. The man smiled, an expression that was as sad as it was reassuring.

"It's okay." He said, as the boy's hand fell back to his side. "I'm used to it." After a brief pause, the purple gaze narrowed slightly and he asked haltingly, "Is there anything I should call you? I mean, like a name. I can't just call you, 'hey, boy', so…"

"Hisoka." The man stopped his rambling, blinking slightly at the soft, breathy whisper of his guest's answer. Hisoka's cheeks were stained with the faintest tinge of pink, his hands twisting in the sheet still draped around his shoulders. His pained green eyes were fixed on something past the man before him, his face slightly pale. "It's all I remember. My name is Hisoka."

Hisoka shrank into himself slightly, feeling vulnerable as if the uttering of his name gave the man some unknown power over him. Unexpectedly, he found a hand thrust before his face, palm up, and glanced up to find the man grinning at him with understanding in his violet gaze.

"My name is Tsuzuki Asato. It's a pleasure to meet you, Hisoka."

Hisoka glanced from the outstretched hand to Tsuzuki's face and back again in confusion. Tsuzuki waited patiently. Finally, a pale, small hand crept into his. The man squeezed it gently, rising to his feet and tugging his young charge up as well, catching him carefully as Hisoka's legs buckled. He laid him back on the bed, thoughtfully laying Hisoka on his stomach so as to keep from disturbing his injured back. Tsuzuki disentangled the sheets and tucked them about Hisoka's slender frame, aware of the wary eyes watching his every move with tight-lipped anxiety. By the time he had finished, the boy's eyes were half-closed from drowsiness, sheer willpower alone keeping him awake. Tsuzuki gently smoothed ash-blonde hair from the youthful face and smiled at the sleepy, answering glower he received.

"Go to sleep, Hisoka." He said softly, and soothingly stroked the boy's hair.

The sound of steady breathing answered his words and Tsuzuki smiled, tiptoeing towards the door quietly. He turned to look at the small, pale figure lying in the futon, looking ineffably fragile and innocent. Lavender eyes darkened briefly, long fingers tightening on the doorframe.

"Good night, angel."

Then he was gone.

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TBC

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C&C is always appreciated, as you wonderful readers are really what spur me on to write. ^_~ Of course, I'd probably write anyway, but getting nice reviews make me feel all spiffy and wonderful. =D

**Wolf**