A Weiß Mary Sue
Written by Sakki
.-.-
I don't have time for this.
Blood everywhere, blood on the walls.
Wake up, you dumbass.
Blood on the bed, on the sheets, on him.
"Aya?"
Aya stared up into an overly familiar face, which was looking slightly concerned.
"...wuh?"
"How many fingers am I holding up?"
"None?"
"Good."
Suddenly, Aya blinked and realized where he was. The ceiling was white and the walls were white and the hair of the person looking at him was so black it was almost blue.
"Crawford?" he asked anyway.
"So you're actually awake this time." Crawford's face moved from his line of vision. "I was ready to take you down to the hospital."
Aya managed to pull himself into a sitting position and looked around - first at the door, then at the walls, then at Crawford walking into the bathroom, and then down at his hands, which were as white as the sheets if not whiter. And slightly green tinged. Or maybe yellow. Yeah, yellow. He rather liked it; it made him look more sickly and deranged than most people.
"What the...what the hell happened?"
"I," started Crawford, coming back out of the bathroom with a damp washcloth in his hands, "was out driving around the town when I saw a rather strangely discolored lump lying on the ground in the park. When I investigated, it turned out to be you, completely unconscious and extremely sick."
Aya grimaced, then flinched away when the older man attempted to put the washcloth on his forehead.
"So you brought me here?"
"Would you have preferred I left you where you were?" Crawford left the wet rag in Aya's hands and sat down in a chair next to the bed. "I hadn't expected to find you at all, much less comatose."
"You can shut up now." Aya rubbed his face vehemently with the rag. "You mean you didn't have a vision?"
"Not that related to you."
Silence.
The washcloth lay cold and wet in his hands, a clammy feeling that made him want to throw it in some random direction.
"...why?"
Crawford raised an eyebrow, which Aya didn't see.
"Why what?"
"Why'd you bring me here?"
"So you wouldn't get worse."
"You could have just left me in a hospital somewhere." His fingers clenched around the washcloth. "Or dumped me back at the flower shop."
"I have the feeling that a hospital would have made you more uncomfortable than anything else, and if I'd left you back at your shop, she would have had a chance to seduce you in your fragile, ill state."
Aya bristled.
"I am not fragile or ill."
"Your fever reads otherwise." Crawford leaned back in the chair and gave Aya a questioning look. "You knew you were sick, didn't you? Why did you push yourself?"
"I'm not sick."
"You passed out."
"I was just tired."
"You've got a fever of 102."
"It's hot outside."
"Stop bullshitting me, jackass."
Aya turned his head and stared at Crawford.
"I thought that might get your attention."
Too shocked for words, Aya settled for a blink.
A blink which resulted in a wave of dizziness and him falling backwards onto the pillow, thus releasing the now-icy washcloth onto the unfortunate carpet, which cringed away from the sickly wet touch.
Not that Aya noticed. He could hardly keep track of the cracks in the ceiling.
Except that there were no cracks in the ceiling.
He closed his eyes and groaned, wanting to just go to sleep forever.
"I'm not stopping you," Crawford said.
"Mmnfhgjfkdskdjuu."
Two fingers thwapped him lightly in the side of the head, and he curled onto his side to go to sleep.
.-.-
He woke up twice more after that.
The first time, it was only for a minute or so as Crawford forced him to take a few pills along with a glass of water. It had been short, brutal, and unhappy.
The second time was quite a while later, or so he suspected. There were windows in the bedroom, but the curtains were pulled shut, so he couldn't tell if it was overcast or still night. Either way, the room was empty, except for himself, the bed, and the bedtable. Which had a lamp, a glass of water, some pills, and a note on it.
He rubbed his face with one hand and pulled the note over with the other.
Aya -
I went out to get some more medicine for you. Stay where you are or I'll kill you.
Brad
"Subtle much," Aya muttered, crumpling up the note and tossing it back on the table. He grabbed the glass of water and swallowed the pills, then put the glass back and stared at the far wall.
There was no sound aside from the vague city noises filtering through the windows.
It started to suffocate him.
He sighed angrily and flopped back down onto the bed to make some noise, to stop that incessant ringing in his ears. Damn ringing. Why didn't it ever stop? Why did it always ring? Ringing ringing ringing in his ears all the time, as long as there was silence. So really, he never had any true silence.
Let's not be philosophical, said the voice in the back of his head.
You can shut up and die now, he said back to it.
There was a sudden loud clack from somewhere beyond the bedroom doorway, and Aya nearly fell out of the bed. It was followed by a few heavy thuds and the sound of something shutting. Then the heavy thuds got closer, closer to the door...
"Don't even think about it."
"About what?"
"Hitting me with that lamp as soon as I open the door."
"I wasn't going to," Aya snapped as he hurriedly set the lamp back on the bed table.
"I'm sure you weren't." Crawford opened the door to see Aya sitting on the edge of the bed looking thoroughly unhappy. He tossed a box at the glowering redhead. "Take two of those. They'll make you feel better."
"I feel fine."
"You don't look fine."
"I always look like this."
"Pale yellow with bloodshot eyes?"
"Yes."
Crawford reflected on their past engagements.
"...so I see."
He stood silently, then turned and headed for the bathroom.
"Take them anyway."
Aya fumed at his retreating back and looked at the box. Cold pills? Hell, he didn't need cold pills. These wouldn't help at all. If he was sick, it sure as hell wasn't a cold, it was something worse, and two measly little Sudafed wouldn't change a thing.
They didn't taste very good, either, he thought as he closed the box a minute later.
Aya sat uncomfortably on the bed for a moment, trying to figure out what he wanted to say, or if he even wanted to say anything. After a brief internal struggle between throwing the lamp and cursing Crawford out, he managed to grasp a few coherent sentences.
"Hey."
"What?"
"How long have I been out?"
"Seven hours. At least, that's how long you've been here. I'm not sure how long you were lying in the dirt before I got there."
Seven hours? Seven goddamn fucking hours!
"You mean you've been taking care of me for that long?" he asked incredulously.
"Yes." Crawford appeared in the doorway, jacketless and drying his hands with a towel. "Are you touched?"
Aya gaped at him. He kind of was.
"N...no, not really, but...haven't you slept?"
"No."
He stared at the white-clad figure in the white-edged doorway.
His nemesis had been awake for the last seven hours straight, making sure that he'd been all right?
Well.
Uh.
"...then get some fucking sleep."
"I think I will, now that you're coherent." Crawford put the towel down on the bathroom counter and came back into the bedroom. Then, to Aya's disgruntled dismay, he removed his shirt and sat down exhaustedly on the other side of the bed.
"You're not going to sleep here, are you?"
"It's my bed, isn't it?" He pulled off his glasses and gave Aya a blank look. "There's only one in the apartment, and I don't enjoy sleeping on the couch."(1)
Aya gave him an angry 'hmph' noise before lying back down on the bed and curling up with his back to Crawford.
"Just don't come to my side."
"I won't."
Aya fell asleep some time later, rather confused and nervous, with the somewhat silent form of Crawford less than a foot away from him.
So. Hate it? Love it? Wish it would spontaneously combust? Either way imma keep writing it. AHAHAHAHAHAHA. HA. Ha. ha. ..
(1) NO THAT IS NOT A SUBTLE REFERENCE TO HAWT HAWT BRADXSCHU ANGSTY FIGHT SEX.