The light was still too bright.
Michel shut his eyes again immediately after opening them. His head was pounding and his retinas burned with the glaring light. He thought for a moment that he was still in the bathroom at the Autumn Café, as he was unsure how long he'd been out, but he felt as if he were somewhere comfortable. Somewhere soft…
He slit his eyes open again, slowly this time, still blinking against the light. Everything still seemed fuzzy and out of focus. He rubbed an eye, wincing as the movement of his arm sent a spike of pain through his body. Everything ached. The back of his head was throbbing; even blinking hurt. But…
But he was back in his own room, tucked snuggly beneath his down comforter. Some one had changed his clothes; he was in his favorite green and blue striped pajamas. Slowly, he raised a hand and touched his hair. He looked at his fingers. Black-tipped. His hair was still a mess. He wondered if they had at least washed his face.
It was bright in his room. What time was it? How long had he been asleep? A quick glance at his clock told him that it was a little after two in the afternoon. If he'd only been out since last night, that would make it Saturday and every one else would be down in the shop. He tried to push himself up into a sitting position, but his arms trembled and, anyway, when he moved too much, pain exploded through his skull.
Sighing, Michel slumped back down, closing his eyes again. He felt helpless. How long would everything hurt like this?
And more importantly, what the hell had happened the night before?
He remembered being dragged into the bathroom. He remembered…God, he was so weak. Why hadn't he fought back? He could have done something; he could have protected himself. He should have been able to. He really was useless, wasn't he? And the mission…It must have been totally ruined because of him. They would all be so disappointed…All their hard work, gone to waste. All because of him.
His throat constricted and his chest tightened. He had failed every one. Again. What if they told him he couldn't be part of the team any more? What if they sent him back to the castle, all alone? This was his home; he was with his family. What if they decided he wasn't worth keeping around any more? It would serve him right if they did. This whole mess was his fault, anyway.
He heard the door opened and looked up. Ken was peeping into the room, an unusually serious expression on his face. The serious look, however, was almost instantaneously replaced with one of relief when he realized Michel was awake. "Oh good…You're awake." He stepped more fully into the room, the relief flickering towards a smile but not quite making it to that happy place. "How are you feeling, chibi?"
Michel opened his mouth to answer, but his voice got stuck somewhere in his throat. He wanted to say everything hurt, but there was no sound; nothing coming out. Instead, he stared at Ken, lips still parted slightly, eyes wide. There was nothing; nothing! He couldn't talk…He turned away, shaking his head softly, eyes pooling with tears.
"Hey…" Ken crossed the room, sitting lightly on the edge of the bed, "Hey, it's okay, kiddo." He reached out a hand hesitantly, then seemed to gain more confidence as he pulled the boy into a warm embrace. "We've all been really worried about you." Ken stroked Michel's unruly hair soothingly, not caring about the black mess the spray created on his hands. "Especially Free…He hasn't left your side at all." He nodded towards the other side of the bed and Michel realized for the first time that he'd never been alone; Free was asleep in an uncomfortable looking position on the floor beside the bed.
The realization only caused more tears. How could he ever have felt anything other than love for the man who was currently slumbering restlessly on the floor? He buried his face in Ken's chest, thin arms wrapped tightly around him, and began to cry in earnest.
Ken simply held him, letting him cry and stroking his back. He'd weathered enough of Omi's breakdowns in the past to know that the best course of action would be to simply let the teen cry it out. Then maybe they could talk.
It was because of Ken's experiences comforting Omi that Aya had elected him as the one to take care of Michel when he awoke. All of them were worried about the boy, of course, but Yuki, Aya and Chloe weren't exactly sure how to handle the emotional train wreck he would undoubtedly be upon waking. Ken and Omi had been closest in age and closer to one another than they had been with either Aya or Yohji and the brunet had learned best how to handle small, crying blonds.
So he had been elected to be the one to look in on the slumbering boy from time to time, checking on him until he woke up. They had closed the shop for the day in order to be there for him when he was awake, and were currently in various places around the apartment, trying to distract themselves until the moment Michel awoke.
Free had refused, of course, to leave his friend's side. It had become clear that he was in dire need of sleep somewhere around noon; he'd been awake for over twenty-four straight hours. As determined as he was to stay awake until Michel was awake, there was simply no way he was going to manage it and they all knew it. Chloe had tried to gently persuade him to go to bed; Aya had tried ordering it, all to no avail. Aya had finally resigned himself to the fact that the large man wouldn't be budged from his post and Free had eventually fallen asleep on the floor, slumped against the bed.
"…" Michel tried to speak again as his tears subsided, but his voice was still lost somewhere within him. He pulled his face back and tugged at Ken's shirt, looking up at him. I want a shower; I want to be clean again. I don't want to be dirty anymore. He wanted desperately to tell Ken this, but the words just wouldn't come out.
"You look like hell, kid." Ken was surprisingly composed, for having had an arm full of crying blond teenager for about twenty minutes. "Why don't we go get you cleaned up?"
Michel bobbed his head in affirmation, giving Free one last look before pulling away from Ken and slowly moving towards the edge of the bed. He wondered fleetingly if he would be able to walk on his own; he wasn't quite sure how well his legs would work, considering how shaky the rest of his body was.
He was about to slide off the bed and make an attempt towards the door when he abruptly turned, crawling back across the mattress and peering over the edge of the bed to look down at Free again. He stared at him, entranced, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he inhaled and exhaled. He leaned over further, gripping the edge of the bed for leverage; he could smell that intoxicating, musky, safe smell that was Free's own. Michel wanted to stay there; he wanted to crawl off the bed and curl up with Free and never move.
Instead, he reached behind him, small fingers scrabbling for his favorite afghan. He caught it between thumb and forefinger, dragging it close and pausing momentarily to hug it, burying his face in the fuzzy covering. The plaid flannel made him think of home; of Ireland and all the things he missed about the mother country. That blanket had been one of his first possessions when he arrived at the castle, given to him by Nana to replace the ratty, dirty sheet Free had wrapped him in to spirit him away from his home. It had survived eight years with him, kept him warm when he was cold and comforted him through many difficult nights.
The blanket opened through the air as he shook it out, spreading it over Free and effectively tucking him in. The floor did not look very comfortable, even with its plush shag carpet, and Michel didn't want his friend to be cold.
He reached out a hand, running it through Free's hair. It was soft and silky; Free had such nice hair. I love you. It was only the barest of whispers in Michel's mind. He could say it, were his mouth to decide to start working, but it would never come out the way he meant it. I'm not just some silly child; I really, truly love you…
Ken was watching from the doorway. Although he had been so close with Omi, Michel was still a bit of a mystery to him. They were, after all, very different kinds of chibis, even though they both had blond hair, wide, innocent eyes and that bouncy, cheerful way about them. Michel was not quite as hard as Omi had been, yet, at other times he seemed almost harder. There were things about Michel though…Mannerisms, little ways about him…That made him sometimes seem rather queer, almost as if his soul was far too old for his tiny, youthful body.
Sometimes, he gave Ken the creeps.
Michel seemed far more human today than Ken had seen him in a long time, though. He wasn't being mechanically cheerful or monotonously quiet. He had been going from emotional extremes –one which seemed forced and one which seemed scarily out of place on that cherubic little face- at an almost dizzyingly quick pace and it had been making Ken nervous. Michel was not supposed to be like this at all; he was supposed to be the vibrant, bright, alive member of the team who gave them all hope that it wasn't too late for their souls. Seeing him like this made Ken afraid that they were all doomed after all.
"Come on, chibi…" The brunet said softly, "Free will still be here once you're cleaned up." He wanted to get out of that room; as homey as it was, there was something creepy about it. It felt almost chilled; it made the hair on the back of Ken's neck rise, giving him that feeling of being watched, though he knew no one was watching him. Maybe it was the crucifix on the wall or the black-framed picture of Michel's long-dead parents or the image of tiny Michel perched on the shoulders of an older boy, his brother, Brandon…Something gave Ken shivers; the room was simply haunted by too many ghosts for his taste.
Michel turned and slowly began his journey back across the bed. Ken watched as his limbs wobbled with each movement. The boy's face was tear-streaked, his hair still a tangled black mess. Those big green eyes had a constant shimmer as if tears were trying to escape, but couldn't seem to make it out. Ken hated to see him like this. It made his heart hurt. But at the same time, it reminded him what they were fighting so hard to protect. The world didn't need another child like Michel.
Once he reached the opposite edge of the bed, Michel twisted around into a sitting position and began easing himself towards the floor. Ken wasn't at all sure the Irish boy would be able to stand. When they had found him crumpled on the floor the night before, it had looked as if someone had slammed him up against the bathroom wall pretty hard and the group consensus was that he probably had a concussion or would at least have a throbbing headache when he awoke.
Sure enough, Michel winced the second he tried to stand and leaned heavily back against the bed, one hand raised to his head. He tried to move, but his knees trembled and a little whimpering sound escaped his throat. Ken darted forward to support him, catching him by the arms and holding him up.
"Easy, kid." He sat Michel back down, giving him a moment to let the world stop spinning beneath his feet, "Aya thinks you got a concussion."
Wonderful. Michel heaved a sigh and winced again, feeling very small and helpless. He looked up at Ken, eyes pooling with fresh tears, expression strained, and the older man simply hefted him up into his arms. How long will it hurt? He clung to Ken, small fingers wrapped tightly in the fabric of his shirt. How much longer am I going to hurt and be helpless? When will I be back to normal? And why can't I talk all of a sudden?
He remained limp as Ken carried him down the hall to the bathroom. There was no point in insisting he could make it down the hall alone; no point in fighting anymore. Besides, he was tired of fighting. He just wanted, for once in his life, to live and be happy and not have to worry or hurt so much.
Ken set Michel down on the closed toilet, patting him on the shoulder reassuringly and turning to start running the bath water. "Free tried to clean you up, but you were like a dead weight when you were unconscious. And shit, he was fuckin' scary last night! He wouldn't let any one else touch you and, I swear, he was out for blood! He was like some kind of wild animal. He wanted to hunt down and kill those bastards who did this to you and-"
He paused at the rustling of fabric, glancing over his shoulder to find Michel slowly removing his pajamas, trying his best to undo the top with shaking fingers, fumbling with the small buttons. The little blond made a frustrated sound, the button he was working on slipping from his fingers, arms coming up in what looked like an attempt to hug himself.
"Do you need help?" Ken took a step back towards him, hesitant. He knew they all had issues with feeling weak and helpless and didn't want Michel to think he saw him as some sort of invalid or something, but seeing the boy struggling when he was obviously having difficulties was too much to bear.
Michel was digging his fingers into his upper arms, bunching up the fabric. He shook his head furiously, vehement in this regard. He didn't want help. He didn't need help. He could damn well unbutton his own shirt.
The older man nodded. "All right." He offered a sort of strained smile, "I'm going to put your sheets in to wash and get Free up, 'cause Aya wants us all to talk after you've been cleaned and fed, okay? Yell if you need anything." He ignored the fact that Michel had yet to utter a word since he woke up and acted as normally as he possibly could, given the circumstances.
He didn't even acknowledge Michel's failure to respond as he left the room.
-----
Half an hour later, Yuki couldn't bring himself to look at Michel when he entered the living room. All of this had been his fault; if he hadn't gotten so wrapped up in Haku, he would have been able to protect Michel from harm. He truly was useless, letting his personal life get in the way of a mission.
Aya had given him the lecture to end all lectures after Michel had been settled safely in bed. "What do you think you were doing? Where the hell were you, Yuki? What was so much more important than the mission? Another girl got kidnapped and whoever beat Michel probably could have killed him. He hasn't been in a right frame of mind recently and you should not have left him alone." It had gone on and on for nearly an hour as Aya admonished Yuki for his failure to perform adequately.
For the first time in his life, Yuki had been the recipient of Free's glare. This was something Yuki had never wanted directed at him; Free's looks could be positively chilling when he wanted them to. Yuki had felt cold fear creep through his veins when those hard, dark eyes were turned upon him.
He had fucked up royally.
Free trailed behind Michel like a shadow, one hand resting protectively on the small blond's shoulder. He loomed over Michel like some sort of sentinel, watchful for any upset that might occur. It was a failure on all of their parts, really; they should have been able to protect Michel better than that. He may have been a trained assassin, may have been lethal with a whip, but he was so small and so young and Free couldn't help feeling as if he had failed Michel in regards to his self-appointed mission of keeping the boy safe from any harm.
Michel was scrubbed clean; his hair once again its normal pale color and hanging in damp curls. He was wearing flannel pajama bottoms and a long-sleeved polo shirt that was far too big. It hung off his slight frame and the cuffs of the sleeves reached his fingertips, giving him the waiflike appearance of a beggar child in somebody else's clothes. He had his plaid blanket clutched to his chest and his face was extremely pale and drawn, which only made the dark circles beneath his eyes look darker.
"Sit." Aya said quietly from where he was perched on the edge of the forest green armchair, "We all need to talk."
Yuki lifted his head as Michel crossed the room slowly, Free trailing in his wake. The American watched his smaller friend climb up onto the couch, curling up with the blanket wrapped tightly around him. He pulled a pillow into his lap and hugged it tightly, looking down at the floor, rather than at every one else. He simply looked so sad and dejected.
Free sat down next to him, silent as usual, waiting for Aya to speak. His large hands were folded in his lap, dark gaze resting on Michel, still watchful of the small boy.
"Do you remember what happened last night?" Aya had never wished to head up a discussion like this. It was way out of his comfort zone, but it needed to be done and he was the team leader. Michel at least deserved an explanation of what had happened after he passed out.
The little blond nodded, then shook his head, then almost nodded again, finally settling on a shrug. He picked at a fingernail, still staring at the shag carpet. I remember being humiliated beyond belief…Being dragged into the bathroom and nearly violated…Throwing up on Thomas. He hit me and slammed me against the wall and then…Nothing.
"Yuki, why don't you tell Michel what you told me." It wasn't a suggestion.
Yuki traced a pattern on the couch's armrest with his finger. "I'm sorry, Michel." He sighed, "I got carried away with Haku. He was so easy to talk to and I lost track of the time. We went upstairs to do something on one of the computers and I-" He hung his head, "-completely forgot about you."
Michel remained silent and Yuki continued. "Haku had to leave and I went back to our table. You weren't there anymore and neither was any of your stuff, so I went looking for you. When I found you in the bathroom, it scared the hell out of me –you were crumpled on the floor, covered in puke- and I panicked and called Aya." Yuki knew there was no way he could ever apologize enough to Michel. They had been on a mission and he should have stayed on task. He should have known better and Michel had gotten hurt because he was selfish and didn't put the team before himself.
"We came in to find out what happened." Chloe picked up the story softly, looking sadly at Michel, "You looked vaguely like death warmed over. Our first thought was that the target had tried to take you and you put up a fight, but it didn't make any sense that you had been left behind once unconscious." He sighed softly, "So that didn't seem like a valid explanation. Then Yuki mentioned seeing a couple of your classmates, ones neither of you are particularly fond of. He thought perhaps they may have done it, but you were incognito and they wouldn't have recognized you…"
Michel nodded vigorously. Yes! Yes; it was them! God; Thomas tried to rape me in the bathroom! He thought I was a girl, but he tried! They didn't know it was me…But when has that ever mattered?
"Is that a 'yes'?" Aya frowned, "It was your classmates who attacked you?" The frown intensified at the timid nod Michel gave in response. Did this, perhaps, have something to do with Michel's attempted escape from St. Justin's? Had a similar attack occurred that day? It suddenly struck Aya that he knew little about the boys' school experiences, save for their grades. "What did they do to you?"
Michel stared at him for a moment, grey-green eyes wide and frightened. He opened his mouth to say he didn't want to talk about it; didn't want to relive what they had done and tried to do to him, but again no words came out. So he sat there, clutching the pillow tightly, seemingly frozen in place. Free stroked his shoulder soothingly, shooting Aya a glare at his lack of compassion.
"You don't have anything to be ashamed of, chibi." Ken interjected kindly, "You can tell us what happened." He thwapped Aya lightly on the side of the head and received a furious look from the redhead. "You could be a little more understanding, baka! Poor kid had a rough night."
Aya was still glaring at Ken. "Just tell us, Michel. It might be important. One of us may have to go to your school and have a word with the headmaster about this."
Michel shook his head again; I can't. His voice was still lost inside somewhere and it didn't seem to want to come out again. He could feel everything he wanted to say trying to escape; every thought pounded against his skull as it tried to spill forth. He could feel the beginnings of a headachy twinge behind his eyes. He closed his eyes and lifted his small hands, pressing the heels against his face. I can't; I can't; I can't; I can't! "No!" He shook his head, face still hidden behind his hands, "No; no; no!" His hands rose, fingers burying themselves in his hair, eyes still squeezed tightly shut, the word still pouring from his lips, even though he hadn't yet realized he was speaking. "NO!"
"No what, Michel?" Free asked softly, brows knit together in concern. He pulled the small blond into a protective hug and was startled to discover he was trembling. Michel tensed against him, shoulders hunching. He looked up, eyes bright with tears and pain, visibly shaking now, and Free could feel his heart constricting painfully within his chest. How had they all failed him so badly? He tugged Michel closer, arms tightening, hands stroking soothingly as he buried his face in blond curls. It didn't matter who was watching or what they thought; Michel needed to be hugged and loved and protected.
The room was suddenly silent, save for Michel's muffled sobs and whispers of "No; I can't." He wanted to say more than that, to tell them what he couldn't do. He couldn't talk about what had happened to him. Not yet, at least. It was all too fresh still, still hurt too much. He clung to Free like a lifeline, face buried in his shirt as he cried. If they knew…If they all only knew…
"Please." It was Chloe who finally broke the silence, "We all want to help you, Michel. It hurts us all to see you so upset. But we don't know how to help fix it if we don't know what's wrong. You don't have to face whatever this is alone."
"I-I'm sorry…" He managed to whisper, hiccupping, "I don't mean to w-worry you all. I'll try harder to-"
"Like hell you will!" Ken cut him off, "It's perfectly fine to let people worry about you, Michel! It means we care about you and if you don't let people care about you, you'll be another Aya." He ignored the glare that was once again fixed on him, "Things can get better now, if you let us help you. Whatever's wrong, we can work on it. If I have to beat the shit outta someone, I will."
At that, Michel managed something between a hiccup and a laugh and burrowed against Free again. "Th-thank you." He murmured, snuffling, "I do appreciate it." A watery smile directed towards Ken crossed his face and he rested his head against Free's chest. "Really…" He continued softly, "I appreciate everything all of you have done for me. I…" It was going to take a lot to get this next part out. What was left of his pride was telling him not to say anything, but he was so tired of struggling to stay afloat. "I thought I could fight this on my own…But I need help…" He whispered, "…I n-need help…"
"We will do our best to help." Chloe said solemnly, offering Michel a hopeful smile, saluting, and the little blond giggled softly.
At the other end of the couch, Yuki slumped in relief. It didn't matter if Michel never forgave him for forgetting about him. That wasn't important any more; all that mattered was that he was going to tell them and they would all be able to help so much better than he could. Yuki knew he never should have kept any secrets for Michel, especially not ones so big as those the two boys had been keeping. He also knew that they could have avoided this entire situation if he had just told some one, but it was a little late for that now.
"If…If I tell you about everything…" Michel got serious again, "Will you all promise to listen and not ask questions until the end?" He twisted around to face them all, settling back against Free, who still had an arm around him. "T'is a long story and I don't want to stop once I've started…"
