Consigned to Fire
(five easy pieces)
a Weiss Kreuz fanfiction by laila

+ between the lines

He says, "It tasted funny."

He sounds surprised and yet there's triumph in his surprise, as if he's a scientist who stumbled upon something amazing in the specimen tray he was about to throw in the trash. And he frowns and looks down at the glass in his hand as if he can't quite work out what he's doing with it and I know he's started to think about it.

What tasted funny, Ken?

He says, "The water did. It tasted kinda flat."

Flat? But it's water, Ken. Water always tastes flat. It's always been that way. I, I tell him like he was a stupid little kid and I was his dad, don't know what he thinks he's talking about and I don't think he does either, and he frowns like he knows I'm lying. I should have remembered Ken knows me too well. I should have remembered how worryingly good he is at knowing bullshit when he hears it. I know I can fool him and still he sees right through me: go figure that.

"Don't be a dumbass, Kase. It didn't taste right is what I mean. Where'd you get it?"

And he's got that look in his eyes and I realize I'm thinking, oh, crap.

Ken's not stupid. No matter what people say about him he's far from stupid. He doesn't ever look sharp and normally he doesn't act it, but there's always been something about him a guy overlooks only at his own risk and I know I've overlooked it and it feels like – basically a flaw. It's a break in the scheme. It could, today or next week or two years down the line, ruin everything. Ken isn't smart, he could never be smart, but he's clever all the same and it's a problem.

I'm beginning to wonder if maybe I want him to be stupid, because if all he is is an idiot then it's more his fault than mine; his fault for believing in me, his fault for being so goddamned naïve, all his fault for making any of this possible in the first place – his fault for making it easy but he isn't. I thought he would. It was going to be so easy. He's disappointing me again. He's getting good at that.

The one thing I can say, the only thing I can think of to say, is you think someone was trying to get at you? And I try to sound disbelieving. I try to make the idea sound ridiculous, like something out of some kind of cheesy sport comic, the kind of thing we'd used to read together only for the sake of laughing over the inaccuracies and how stupid it all was. Isn't the game dramatic enough, Ken had said or might have done, or maybe it was me who said that… I want to remind him of all that and more. I want to embarrass him out of suspicion because they never said they wouldn't hurt him, but another of the problems with Ken (and believe me, there are plenty of problems with Ken) is he's gotten used to embarrassment, or rather it's gone way past the point where he can be upset by me trying to embarrass him.

Ken looks up. His eyes are serious, his face perfectly grave. All he says is, "Yes."

And I remember he's always been unexpected, and he's smarter than he looks, and that he's Ken and he's my friend and he's just a kid and it's not going to be easy at all. Why did I think it would be? It's going to be much harder than I thought. It's going to be impossibly hard.

And I know I'm going to do it anyway, but I shouldn't have to keep reminding myself I hate him.

I hate him.

I tell myself that and it sounds good. It sounds right. It sounds like something I think I could start to believe in. I tell myself that I didn't used to hate him and it's his fault I hate him now and I think I can believe in that, too. I tell myself I hate Ken because I have to hate Ken: why else would I have wanted to destroy him?

I say, he's in my way. I say, he's showing me up. Ken makes me look bad.

Part of me says, you shouldn't have to talk yourself into this, but I'm not doing that. I know I'm not doing that. It's his fault he won and he didn't even goddamn notice. We've been competing since we were kids, all the time, always, and it wouldn't ever have mattered if Ken hadn't had to go and win and Christ, I hate him for that. How could he have won? He never used to be able to beat me. Why can he do it now and make it look easy, so easy he didn't realize he'd won? I can't keep up with him and he thinks nothing's changed, Ken still thinks he's chasing my shadow or at any rate he did… But I'm not playing this game any more.

I can't have what you've got, so I don't see why you should have it either. If I'm going to fall, you're coming with me.

You said we'd stay together, right, Ken?

I suppose I thought that if he lost everything I could forgive him for daring to outgrow me. For being better. For people calling him a prodigy while I was the perpetual substitute, third-rate talent, just another not-quite-good-enough who'd no doubt have an undistinguished career and end up teaching a classful of bored middle school kids who'd rather be playing baseball or watching anime how to kick a ball while he moved further and further away from me… how could I forgive him that?

But it's hard, hating him's harder work than I thought it'd be. They never said they wouldn't hurt him. Never. Not even at the beginning, when I said – I can't remember what I said. I know, though, I would have said something like I didn't want to see him hurt. I must have said something like that. But I had to stop him, didn't I? I wanted him embarrassed, yes. Shown up, betrayed and never even guessing it, ruined… I just didn't want to hear anything else about how talented he was. Bad enough he was better in the first place without everyone going on about how great he was, too. And Christ, he was so nice about it, and that only made it worse.

Yeah, they've only done what I wanted and asked for but even now I don't want them to do anything to him, well not anything permanent, and even now they won't promise me it's not going to come to that. Hidaka, it's over. You're finished; why won't you accept it? Forget it. Get out of my life. Just disappear. Nothing else will happen if you just disappear.

(Don't make this harder than it has to be.)

But of course Ken won't do that.

Guess I forgot how stubborn he could be, too. Guess I was crazy to think he'd walk away smiling. I keep telling him that, let go, and the harder I try and convince him to let it lie, the harder he clings. Ken's dreams don't die easy.

"This didn't just happen, Kase," he says, for what feels like the thousandth time and for the thousandth time I say, let it go, but he ignores me, he looks away and there's something in his eyes that says how angry he is with me – now that's new, the anger is. He's been angry about this before, but he never used to get angry at me. He used to make a point of telling me it wasn't me he was mad at, so why's he started now? Maybe he's gotten… "I mean, they think I got the money and I didn't but there must have been some money in this somewhere, so where's it gone? I damn sure didn't get it—" and he's gazing at the paving now, hands buried in his pockets, his brows twisted in thought, "—so who did?"

You really want to know that, Ken?

"What the Hell do you think?"

Okay, I say, and I get that sinking feeling even as I do (loose cannon, Ken. He's turning into a liability and they don't like liabilities. They're… not they. We. There's a we in this and it doesn't involve him, not any more. He won't get out the picture so we're going to have to make him leave and I don't want to, I just want him gone but I've come too far, I haven't any choice and that's hardly my fault, is it?) okay, I'm with you. You want to go it alone. Look, Ken, I say, and I'm feigning uncertainty and I hope I'm doing it well enough to convince him because although I can fool him I can't, are you sure that's such a great idea? Can't we just leave it? The official investigation—

"Official investigation?" he repeats, glaring up at me from the corners of his eyes. "The official explanation is I did it! Bullshit, Kase! Someone out there's wrecked my goddamn life and unless I do something they're going to get away with it! Of course I want to know who did this! And I want to know why the Hell me, too!"

Shit. Hidaka, you're an idiot. Do you really think I'd tell you that?

I've got to draw the line somewhere. I can't have him know that. I won't let Ken die knowing I hate him. For what we've got planned I need him trusting – and I guess I've taken enough from him already. What does it matter if he never finds out what happened? He's got to go anyway. Hell, I figure I might as well leave the poor kid something.

It's weird of me, but now he's not going to be in my way any more I can almost feel fond about him again. All I've done is put things back the way they were. Tonight I almost think he'd understand why, if I told him, Hell, I almost want to tell him. I want to share this with him, it'd be like we were kids again, sharing secrets by torchlight; it's stupid but actually I kinda miss that. Hey, Ken, guess what?

"Kase," he says, and he smiles.

I can't help myself. I smile back. I say, let's go.

And although I'm prepared for it and I know there's nothing else for it, the funny thing is I'm panicking when I feel them grab me and he just watches. Ken simply looks at me in total incomprehension like on some level he's failed, and failed utterly, to understand. I'm more afraid than he is but I know what's coming – he's just confused, too confused to remember he should be scared. I hear myself screaming (Ken; I'm shouting Ken) and I realize I mean it. He calls something I can't catch, though it's probably my name, and I think I see him start to pull away then someone grabs at him, pulls him back and I guess he must have fallen: he's swallowed up by their bodies and the darkness and he's finished, gone.

Killed. It's only now it's too broke to fix I realize this feels wrong. I didn't want that to be the last I had of Ken, but how could I have made this better and still had him believe? And he has to believe. I won't let him know how much I want to hate him.

I wish I could switch him off and forget him. I wish he didn't matter after all.

They let me go, of course, when we reach the corridor and as I stagger away from them rubbing my arms I realize I'm straining to hear – something, anything. What's happening back there? I can't tell. No way of knowing when there's nothing to hear. It's all gone quiet; I'm not going to get any more out of this and I think I'm glad. He'll be out cold, or dead already. He must have gone down easily after all. It's no surprise. Ken's a stubborn kid, but he is only a kid. What could he do against men like this?

One of them is laughing, and his laughter is obnoxiously loud and hollow and absolutely fake. He's clapping me on the back and telling me I'm quite an actor and I swat his hand away, pushing him from me and heading for the door. Head up, eyes front and Christ, I think I'm going to be sick. I really do think I'm going to be sick and I realize I only wanted Ken to vanish. I wanted him gone, not dead. I wanted him to not show up one day and then again the next and I wanted it to have nothing to do with me. That I could have handled; I don't know if I can handle him beaten and burned to death. No – shit, is that me talking? It doesn't sound like me. It doesn't sound like anyone – I don't want to watch. I, I realize, can't do that.

(And, somewhere to the back of my mind, he shoves me away from him and says indignantly, what the Hell did you do that for? He's twelve. He's blushing. I don't know why I thought this would be easy…)

Already I can feel heat at my back. I want to shout, I've changed my mind, but I don't. God help me, I keep quiet.

(… Kase, he says softly – he's about eight years old and he's pale, dull-eyed with grief and somehow extinguished, hardly my friend Ken at all – you won't go anywhere, will you?)

Christ, Ken, why'd you make me do this? It's you or me, don't ask me why.

I told myself I wouldn't look, so why am I turning round? I don't want to see, I don't want to have to think, I did this. I don't want to know where Ken's gone. It's not my fault, I tell myself. It would have happened anyway even if I hadn't gotten involved, and I wouldn't have had the chance to save myself, to better myself. God knows the soccer was going nowhere – for me anyway, and I couldn't have let him have it. Not alone. That's never been the way it works between us.

I never realized what a frightening thing a fire could be. It's not like what you see in the movies. God, the noise, the heat, the smell… what's it like from the inside? I hope he never found out. I hope they killed him first.

Ken, I'm thinking, you wanted me to be happy. You told me that. And you never wanted me to have to hate you, do you? And you know I couldn't have spent the rest of my life hating you for having something I wanted, and how the Hell was I supposed to let you have it alone? If I can't have it, neither of us can, and I know you understand that. You always understood that, right? Didn't you, Ken?

I don't understand why you still matter. You're just a dead kid I used to know.

This isn't my fault, I think as I stare into the flames, as one of them (old Kouga, I think; Ken, that's where the money went, not like that matters now) places a single heavy hand on my shoulder like he's my dad – like he's trying to remind me where I belong. This isn't my fault, Ken. It's not even yours. It's just the way things are…

"Come on." Kouga says gruffly, giving my shoulder a shake.

And as I nod and turn to follow, I tell myself the smoke is stinging my eyes.