Author: Malebranche
Date: 05/02/04
Contact: xxxdre4merxxx@hotmail.com
Genre: Slash/Yaoi, AU, romance, angst, supernatural, series.
Comments: PG-13. If you can't handle slash, go away. BxS. Lime. Mangled personalities. This story has not been beta-ed, barely even proofread. I'm deeply sorry for any mistakes.
Disclaimer: Weiss Kreuz and all its characters are properties of their respective authors.
Autumn to Ashes: Le Chevalier Mal Fet
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"Let me go to him."
Let me see his face, let me see the way he looked at me with the soft sweetness in his amber eyes, let me feel it all again. Let him stop hurting and let him smile.
Schuldich watched, tears slipping down his pale face, making a salty taste in his mouth, as Brad trudged away from his grave. He wanted to reach out and scream to Brad that he was still here, that everything was going to be okay.
Schuldich was awake yet he was not. His mind was very much active, but his physical body was as much a corpse as any other body in the cemetery. Technically, he wasn't alive, but neither was he dead. For now, he was alive within his own mind, and not anywhere else.
And in his mind, he was standing in front of the Great Leader Asgaroth in a red hued oasis in the middle of pitch-blackness. It was like being trapped in a photo developing room; the chemical fumes rising up from the bottle and pans, poisonous, choking, suffocating...
There was a puddle of red liquid - Asgaroth told him it was his own blood - in the center of the room. Apparently, even his blood remembered Brad, because it was the man who manifested on the surface of the liquid. It was like a crystal ball, Schuldich mused as he watched his lover. A morbidly fascinating crystal ball. Watching a man in a pool of his own blood. Watching his grieving lover kill himself emotionally. Then mentally. Then physically.
"No." a voice said, rumbling from the depths of Asgaroth's throat.
Asgaroth, the Great Leader who sat superiorly on a silver dais before Schuldich, had long black hair that trailed down his shoulder and spilled over the edge of his throne. The ends were held together by an elaborate bejeweled silver clip. He wore robes of black and red, his powerful form hidden underneath so many layers of rich fabric. Two elegant sable horns jutted out of his skull at the temple. His face was milk-white, with two crimson gashes, his lips, standing out amongst the paleness. His fangs, long and curved, rested on those lips. The eyes, like Noir's and Rubeus's, were red; however, Asgaroth's eyes were even darker than theirs - so much so that they were nearly black. The arch of his nose and the fine lines of his eyebrows were distinctly European. He was gorgeous; it seemed all vampires were dazzling, for some reason. Maybe it was a trait.
"You haven't explained anything to me. You haven't done anything, actually, besides biting my in the fucking neck, and then giving me your blood." Schuldich made a face. "Why me? Why not someone else? I'm not dead -- far from it. So why can't I see him?!"
"It is not yet time to tell you." said Asgaroth. It was unclear which question he answered - maybe none, maybe all of them.
"When will it be time?!" demanded Schuldich, hands clenched.
"It does not matter. The only time that will exist for you for evermore will be your Awakening...and after that -- Ewigkeit." said Asgaroth.
Ewigkeit - Eternity. Time never seemed so worthless before now.
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March 2001, Los Angeles
Schuldich cried out in torment, his scream hoarse and dry, choking on his own blood. Tears fell into the pool of blood where Brad appeared, once again standing before Schuldich's grave. Asgaroth was gone now. After weeks (Schuldich assumed) of sitting sentient on his throne, the moment Schuldich started howling in pain, Asgaroth had vanished.
This pain -- it was like nothing he had ever felt before. It felt like his bones were liquefying in an incinerating blaze, like his skin was melting off his face and seeping into the floor below. It felt like his head was a volcano, with his brains and guts gushing out from his nose, mouth, ears, and eyes.
But he wasn't burning. His body was changing. His muscles shaped themselves in new, strange formations. Useless appendages disappeared and new organs formed. No more appendix, no more second kidney. The space they vacated was filled with more bone, more tissue, more muscle.
It was an indescribable agony to have one's organs manipulated. It was even more agonizing for Schuldich to watch his lover break down and cry, yet again.
Schuldich was on his knees, bent over the macabre crystal ball. He clawed at the strange ground, his fingernails digging into nothing but color and memory. How did dirt feel like? Oh yes, this was it. Red dirt. Stained with blood and tears. The grains felt damp and clumped together under his palms. He thought of carpet, and the dirt morphed into a hard, beaten-down carpet. The carpet at his old apartment in Berlin. Where he met Noir and Rubeus for the first time. This room was nothing but his mind, after all. Strange that he could still see what Brad was doing in the present. Strange.
He was trapped inside his own mind while he felt his corpse changing, even though it wasn't alive. Not that his body being a corpse made any difference to the pain that Schuldich felt. The horrible thing was, he couldn't pass out. The pain was a never-ending river that crashed into his body time and time again. He could not remember when it started, and did not know when it was going to end - if ever.
Blinking the sweat and tears from his eyes, he looked at the puddle again. Brad was getting up.
/Don't go./ Schuldich thought, pitying himself. Brad thought he was dead, and he was asking the man to stay. For what? To keep his cold body company? His heart hurt. It wasn't changing. It was breaking.
/*Did you ever look, did you ever see that one person
and the subtle way that they do these things and it hurts so much?
So much like choking down the embers of a great blaze.*/
His blood-caked eyelids fluttered. Was this it? Was he finally going to lose consciousness? A brief reprieve in his ceaseless torment?
He saw Brad stop, stumble. As if he heard Schuldich's thoughts. Schuldich watched Brad as he turned his tear-stained face back to the grave.
/*It's that moment when your eyes seem to spread aspersions
and to scream confessions at the insipid sky parting clouds.
And you let this one person come down, come down.*/
No. His consciousness solidified. No Brad, this pain...it won't go away. He felt his pulse race even faster than before. /Can you really hear me? Brad!/
/I love you Brad./
Brad took a few uncertain steps back towards the grave. His eyebrows creased, wrinkles adorning his forehead, he touched the tombstone.
/*I cherish you...I cherish you.
Just say you would do the same for me.
Just say you would do the same for me.
Say you would do the same...*/
Say it. Say you love me.
Brad shook his head. Was he hearing things? He was going crazy. He needed to get away. Spending so many hours thinking of the redhead, it was no wonder he'd start hearing Schuldich's voice. Saying such misleading words. Making Brad hope, for just a second.
/*For as much as I love Autumn,
I'm giving myself to Ashes.*/
It was more pain than Brad could bear. He turned away in a whirl of leaves, yellowed and falling even in the middle of spring. Walking away.
Leaving Schuldich in a pool of blood and tears, buried under six feet of ashes.
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April 2001, Los Angeles - Continuing from the prologue
Closing his eyes, Brad remembered the day he thought he heard Schuldich's voice. It had called to him ever since.
/I love you, Brad./
How much longer could he resist it? He hadn't gone to the grave in over a week. The call was too strong. He was afraid of what would happen when he succumbed. Would he lose his mind?
Sleep with the corpses? With Schuldich.
What scared him the most was that the idea was appealing.
So many days, he had wasted away into nothing -- a failure in every aspect. He couldn't save his career, his lover, and now his own life.
He picked himself off the bed and left the room, Schuldich's yellow tie in hand.
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Brad walked briskly, the sun setting in a blaze of orange and red (like hair, Brad thought) at the horizon. He could see the light fade away over the tops of the buildings. He nervously rubbed the yellow tie. The bright, soft fabric looked a bit worn because of his constant fussing with it.
Brad stopped right outside his destination -- the cemetery. Taking a deep breath, he walked past the gates, into the yard. Towards Schuldich. Again.
The tombstone seemed to glow eerily beneath the shadow of the huge tree that loomed above. Brad stood in front of it and began his usual ritual: touch the devils, touch the words, touch the name.
Leaves fell from the dying tree, a bronze and brown melee of colors. They drifted, swirling about in the air until they came to rest upon the graves that surrounded them on all sides. A single leaf fell on Schuldich's grave. Brad swept it away gently.
"Schuldich." This was the first time Brad had ever spoken to Schuldich since the day the redhead died.
Deep within the ground, Schuldich's consciousness jolted to full awareness. Schuldich had been drifting in a sea of pain without interruption, until a few days ago, when the torment slowly ebbed away. His body was completely rebuilt on the inside, but on the outside it looked nearly the same.
Brad. Brad was here! Schuldich scrambled to the pool of blood. There he was, kneeling in front of the grave.
Schuldich closed his eyes, not being able to stand the helplessness that came with the vision of his lover. A noise coming from Brad made Schuldich open his eyes once more.
Brad stood on top of Schuldich's tombstone, whispering apologies for his disrespect of Schuldich's final resting place. He tied one end of the tie onto a branch that hung over the grave. The other end, he looped around his own neck and tied a knot,
Schuldich panicked. /No Brad no don't please!/
Brad ignored the pleading in his head. "I'm sorry. I can't go on living in this pathetic way." he said softly.
Schuldich forced his body to respond. Slowly at first, he began clawing at his coffin.
"Schuldich, I should have said this earlier."
Schuldich ripped off pieces of the expensive wood and cloth, feeling dirt under his fingers, finally.
"I should have said this when you were still alive."
About five feet to go, Schuldich guessed. The dirt got in his way, filling the coffin below.
"I'm sorry I couldn't stop them, I'm sorry for being so blind."
Three more feet. Schuldich desperately wished his body could move faster. Even with his newfound strength and agility, he wouldn't be able to make it at this rate. /Keep talking Brad, please keep talking./
"I..."
Schuldich's fingernails were worn to stubs, but he didn't care. His fingers could sense the oxygen that lay inches above them. His lungs were burning, running out of air.
"I love you. I'm sorry I waited this long to tell you this"
The words broke Schuldich's heart -- they meant that Brad was going to end his life at any second now. He never thought he could dread those words. Fingers breaking through, Schuldich scrambled to get Brad to notice him. His throat was burning; he couldn't scream.
With a final sigh, Brad stepped off the tombstone.
Schuldich scratched away more dirt until a hole big enough for his body to fit through was made. As he lifted himself from the grave, he heard a sickening crack. A neck being broken.
Paler than a ghost, he turned around, only to see his lover hanging lifeless above him. The blood had splashed across the pale stone that marked Schuldich's would-be grave. It had splashed everywhere in Schuldich's tunneling vision.
With a cry, he lifted Brad from the noose, lowering his dead lover to the ground. The blood was trickling all over the place, tears mingling with it. Clutching Brad's body like a lifeline, Schuldich screamed curses at the entire world.
The scent of blood made him dizzy with yearning. Blood...that's what vampires feed on. And Asgaroth...after draining Schuldich, he had fed Schuldich his own blood. To make him a vampire.
Maybe Brad could be saved if he had some vampire's blood.
Schuldich lowered his head to Brad's shoulder, where he knew a large artery lay under a thin layer of skin and muscle. Biting into the pale skin, Schuldich fed, feeling like a cannibal. The blood felt thick and pungent going down his throat. Then, he slit his wrist with a fang and held it to Brad's lips.
The bright red liquid dripped steadily into Brad's mouth until the platelets in Schuldich's blood began clotting the wound. Gathering his lover into his arms, Schuldich walked towards the cemetery gate, weaving through the dying trees, their leaves falling so heavily it was as if the trees were trying to bury the lovers alive.
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Author commentary: Lancelot, He is Not.
1. 'Le chevalier mal fet' means 'the ill-made knight'. I don't know why I'm using French, because this story has nothing to do with France. Let's just blame it on my idiocy.
2. I'm having a lot of trouble with the epilogue. Trying to not have a LOT of sap (I hate sap...why do I write it?) while tying up loose ends and stuff. If you remember any plot holes, please tell me. Hopefully the epilogue will be done in a week, if I manage to scrap up enough inspiration.
3. Damn. Typos. Ah well, it was too good to last.