The Birth of a Monster Chapter 8, a weiss kreuz fanfic

Author's Notes: I live in a glass house and not a word; I eat the pork rinds, spit out the fat and act my part to entertain the birds. In my paranoia I know the neighbors watch my every move; I know my telephone is bugged. Not a word, not a word.

I have discovered Radiohead. They've been out for a couple of years, even made it big with a song called 'Creep', and I never knew it.

Of course, I wasn't exactly a functioning member of society then.

Actually, Schuldig found them. He came home with a bag full of CD's from an English music store somewhere in the city and handed me half of what he'd picked up. I don't usually listen to music, but this was good, this was fantastic. British Pigs at the microphone, but one has to admit to their unique style.

Listening to them makes me want to paint something, anything, blood smeared on a canvas. Red to brown finger painting, making fun of the white collars, making fun of my fathers. Both of them, the mad and the sane, my uncle and a stranger.

Ruth was such a slut.

Schuldig has been enjoying the Christmas season, enjoying the abusive families that gather together out of skewed traditions, enjoying their curses and screams and moans. I can barely stand it if the neighbors play their music loudly, I don't know how he manages. Whenever I ask him about it, he just ignores me.

Crawford stayed in his room all day; neither of us know what he was up to. He was silent and Schuldig's telepathy was cut sharply off with the man's shields.

At least he's still alive. That's good enough for me.

So Schu and I have been left to our own devices. We stung kite string all over the bathroom because Crawford wasn't there to tell us not to and spent the whole day watching both American and Japanese movies, surviving on popcorn alone. It's a nice day, and there are popcorn kernels stuck between the cushions of the couch from a food fight we staged across the living room and Godzilla is quietly destroying Tokyo on the screen. Schuldig's head is propped under my chin, his thick hair wound around my fingers and his whole body lax against mine. It's peaceful.

Every Christmas should be like this.

Schuldig's thin fingers are playing with a button on my shirt, the flesh pale against the gray fabric and white plastic fastener. There are freckles even on his fingers and his nails are short and clean and pink with life. He has a hangnail on his middle finger. The back of his hand is smooth and the palm fleshy and soft with an easy life. His breath stirs the shirt under his mouth and he looks up at me, his blue eyes soft, hazy, tired. He just woke up, apparently.

"You never shut up, do you?" he says, but his voice lilts with the pleasantness of a good mood. I relax again, realizing only now that his words had made me tense.

Schuldig is naturally moody, it's expected that his thinking is swayed a little from the telepathy. He's typically whiny and spontaneous, but sometimes when his emotions sway from what I call 'normal', both Crawford and I leave to avoid any kind of mental attack. He can be vicious, if he's feeling that way.

"I'm Irish," I murmur back and pull his head back against my chest, "We like to talk."

He just snorts and goes back to sleep and I finish Godzilla on my own.

Idiot, slow down. Slow down. Slow down.

It never occurs to me that this might be a warning.

I shouldn't be, but I'm wearing the vest. Its winter and I'm outside wearing a vest.

I must be mad. I'll catch my death like this.

And the only reason I'm wearing it now is because Schuldig suggested it. I really shouldn't listen to that man. He's wearing a coat and he's complaining of cold…

He looks over at me and smirks and there is nothing more I want in the world than to kill him.

Crawford gives me a look and I flip him the finger.

We get back to work.

It's getting hard to discern day from day, Monday from Tuesday to Friday to Wednesday…

I don't know why, but I haven't been taking my pills for about three weeks now. It was stupid of me, but I kept hiding the pills under my tongue when Crawford checked to make sure I'd swallowed them, as he does every day. I spit them back into the water when he isn't looking. I wonder if he knows. I wonder why Schuldig hasn't told him. I wonder why Tink hasn't shown up.

I wonder about the boy.

Karma Police, arrest this man, he talks in maths. He buzzes like a fridge; he's like a detuned radio.

The boy…

Karma Police, arrest this girl, her Hitler hairdo is making me feel ill and we have crashed her party.

My head feels like static, I set my chopsticks down and try to feel for the bunny ears antennae. There is nothing there, even though I know there should be. Crawford and Schuldig give me equal quizzical looks.

I hate Esset…I wish they were gone. I want the boy back. I want him safely tucked under my wing. I ruffle my feathers and shift on my perch on the chair. I avoid my rice and tear into the sauced meat in my bowl.

"Farfarello?" the redhead asks, his voice a timber I haven't heard in…

Wait…when have I heard his voice before? Who is this person? Where am I and why aren't I at home? Where's Valerie…mother…father…

"Farfarello?"

My name is Jei. Who the hell is Farfarello?

I look wildly around for an exit, my chair tumbling to the floor as I make my escape. Both of the strange men are on their feet, chasing me.

Who are these people? What do they want with me? Was I kidnapped? I run faster, slamming doors to rooms and trying to lock them with panic-stricken fingers. Tink is fluttering by my head, looking worried.

"Poor Peter Pan, lost in the woods full of pirates," she hums softly as she alights on my shoulder and curls her fragile fingers around the shell of my ear, "But you look a frightful one yourself, child."

"What do you mean?" I ask, my voice barely a breath from my mouth. She points to a mirror and I gape at the man inside of it, preternaturally terrifying. He is scarred, sharp-faces and catlike, a black eye patch stark against his icy white face.

"That isn't me!"

"Where are your lost boys, Peter? Why did you grow up?" she pleads mournfully as the locks on the door jitter and clink as the two strangers try to break in, shouting at me to calm down, to come out.

I curl around myself in the bathtub, the furthest part of the room from the door. It only takes them a moment to pick the lock and burst inside.

This is what you'll get

This is what you'll get when you mess with us.

Karma Police, I've given all I can, it's not enough. I've given all I can, but we're still on the payroll.

Repeat chorus.

The redhead comes toward me as the one with glasses heads for the cabinet behind the mirror, coming out with a syringe full of opaque, white liquid. The redhead steps toward me, his eyes showing his unease even though his movements are sure. I can hear something echoing in the room, someone's voice that is both strange and calming. My shoulders do not relax, but I don't pull away when he wraps his arms around me and holds me against his chest.

It feels safe there and I briefly shut my eyes.

"Its okay, Fa-Jei. Jei…just calm down. Deep breaths, that's right, deep…in, out…in, out…Everything's okay, you're okay. No one's going to hurt you," he murmurs against my hair as his fingers stroke almost lovingly against my back. My breathing finally slows down, just as directed and I focus on his voice even when I feel the cold steel needle slip into the arm that's cradled by warm fingers, firm against my pulse. My ear is against the redhead's heart and I can feel it fluttering, I can smell his fear, but what does he have to be afraid of?

/Oh, my little crazy one…/ that echoing whisper curls around my thoughts, comforting and close and smelling faintly of cat.

I look up at the redhead and can feel my lips parting in wonder. I press my fingers against his long cheek and smile slightly.

"I'm sorry, Wendy Darling. Tink said the medicine was poisoned," I whisper. The man with the glasses frowns, I guess confused, but he doesn't matter. My Wendy just smiles and nods, strokes my hair.

"It's okay. Just get some sleep. You don't want to be tired when the boys go out to fight Mr. Hook."

I smile and somehow I know that Tink is glaring at him.

For a minute there, I lost myself, I lost myself. Phew, for a minute there, I lost myself, I lost myself.

Fin Chapter 8

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Author's Notes: Yes, I know Wendy was a mother figure, but it fit for this scene, so I kept it. Farfarello's view of Schuldig will vary from between Wendy and Tiger Lily for God's knows what reasons. I'm surprised I wrote this at all. It's surprisingly not what I had originally intended and yet it still manages to work.

You see, I've been going through a lot of family issues recently and it's been really rough on the whole creative-without-being-whiny idea. The thing it, the way this turned out, it actually fits into my life and I hadn't even realized it.

Farfarello hates his real mother. I hate my real mother.

But then pull his Peter Pan hallucinations into the picture and you get Wendy, the example of a perfect mother, a wonderful, beautiful and kind mother. I picture my own fanciful world on the desire of a motherly figure a lot like Wendy Darling, same as Farfarello might. The only difference is that I'm not clinically diagnosed with schizophrenia, but not all of us can be perfect.

The Lyrics in italics are from Radiohead's album, 'OK Computer'. The two songs used are 'The Tourist' and 'Karma Police'. God only knows why I used them, except that 'Karma Police' inspired this chapter.

That and I just like Radiohead.