Disclaimer: Neither Evangelion nor Battle Royale are mine. I strongly suspect that this is a good thing.
Warnings: Aside from the slightly macabre basis for the fic (see A/N), there is also hinted shounen-ai. WHAT, HOMOSEXUALZ! SO GROSS! SO IMMORAL! Cry me a river, people.
A/N: Woah, she updates! Madness, I tell you. This ficlet was actually a response to a request on eljay's Fic on Demand comm, which everyone should participate in. Go on, it only hurts for a minute. That said, the story takes place in Battle-Royale-universe, although I do not consider it a crossover since it takes only the premise and not the plot of the book. For those of you who don't know about Batte Royale (which everyone should read to make their life more complete), a class of students gets taken to an isolated environment where they are forced to kill each other until only one person is left. They are all given a bag with a smattering of supplies and some miscellaneous weapon, and wear collars around their necks that explode if a) someone doesn't die within twenty-four hours, b) they enter one of the "forbidden zones" which increase as the game goes on, or c) they try to remove the collars. This is all via their crazy-ass fascist Japanese government, which schedules this "Program" every year. Doesn't that sound fun? Yes, yes it does.
Also, the title is based on a song by Aimee Mann, because my playlist says so.
-Save Me-
Shinji tried to still his hands as he groped through his pack, seeking out whatever weapon chance had granted him. Fingers meeting familiar adjacent loops of hard plastic, he gave up on any attempts to control his shaking when he drew out a pair of scissors.
I'm going to die I'm going to die I'm going to die—he fought off a surge of nausea in the back of his throat, and became distantly aware that he was hyperventilating as he squeezed his eyes shut and gripped the pair of scissors until his knuckles turned white.
"Ikari-kun?"
Eyes snapping open, Shinji thrust his pathetic weapon before him, it's dull silver point the only barrier between him and…
"Nagisa…kun?" Nagisa Kaworu, student council representative and fourth-ranking student in the third year class, who nonetheless always spoke kindly to Shinji. Once he had come over to help out with a particularly difficult chapter in Algebra.
Red eyes traveled to Shinji's brandished artillery. "Was that what you got for a weapon?" His words were garnished with a benevolent voice and sympathetic smile. "Rotten luck."
Shinji didn't say anything, uncertain of his classmate's intentions. Nagisa-kun had always seemed like a nice, compassionate person, but the game changed people, made them desperate, all the rules were switched around and killing people was suddenly as commonplace as yesterday's breakfast; and who knew what Nagisa-kun was like, really, how much could you know about someone from just attending class with them? You couldn't know, and Nagisa-kun was smart and capable and almost certainly had a better weapon and—
Smooth, persuasive fingers came to rest on Shinji's arm, slowly pushing it down. "It's alright, Shinji." That voice again, mellifluous and forgiving and even more disarming for the intimate use of his name. Nagisa-kun pulled out a small handgun and pressed it into Shinji's palm. "See? I'm not armed now. You've got nothing to worry about."
Hysteria bubbled up in Shinji's windpipe. "I've got everything to worry about! We're on some island in the middle of nowhere and everyone's trying to kill each other and we've got metal collars around our necks like we're slaves or animals and all I've got is a pair of scissors! There is a whole lot more than nothing to worry about!"
Nagisa's hand moved to cup Shinji's face. "There is nothing to worry about," he whispered, and this time his voice held a note of fierceness. "I'm going to protect you."
And because there was nothing better to do, Shinji believed him.
A/N: So that was a little more over the top than I intended. Erk. Well, Shinji is whiny and Kaworu is creepy and intense like that, and, uh…I'll be hiding over here.