Update, 12/18/08: Name changes for minor OCs. See Chapter 2's Author Note.

Update, 6/19/08: More typo hunting. Sneaky bastards.

It's been awhile... This chapter is a bit unorthodox... Okay... It's really weird, but oh well. I thought about changing it, but ended up keeping it how it is. Gives you a look into Hwoarang's mind.

Disclaimer: Tekken characters are not mine.

Fever Dreams

"So why the fuck was he here?"

"My, my, aren't we in a cheery mood?" Faith drawled sarcastically, watching the irritated carrot top trudge toward her and drop bonelessly into the chair.

"You really shouldn't be up, you know. Your face is as red as your hair..."

"Just answer the question. What the hell was Scar doing here?" Hwoarang growled.

"Why? Are you jealous..." Faith began to tease, but trailed off when she saw him rubbing his temples. "He came over to return the laundry and help me clean up. And he went to the store and bought some stuff I asked him to buy."

"Return... the laundry?... Clean up?... Groceries?"

Looking around, he saw that the apartment was now clean, something he had been too distracted to notice.

"Was I really asleep for days?" he asked seriously, glaring at her when she started laughing.

"No. Not days. But quite a few hours. It's already four o'clock."

"Four o'clock?!"

"Fighting off the flu is tiring work, you know."

"I know that. I'm not stupid," he flashed her a dirty look when she snickered at that. "I'm just kinda shocked I slept so long... and that Scar's gone domestic..."

"If you're like other people you'll fall asleep for longer soon. Maybe a couple days. I guess you could call it a fever coma. And he was helping, not 'going domestic'."

Faith could already see him drifting off while she spoke, his proud chin slowly sinking towards his chest while his eyelids drooped. The quick burst of his panic energy had fizzled out as quickly as it had come.

"Don't float off to Dreamland yet. You need to eat something today, or at least get some liquids in you. You'll dehydrate otherwise at the rate you're sweating."

Half asleep, with eyes closed, he mumbled, "I won't dehydrate..."

A cold trickle down the back of his neck made him jump.

"What the fuck?!"

"Just thought I'd catch your attention. Now drink up then haul your lazy ass back to bed."

"Bossy bitch, aren't you?" he grumbled, staring at the bottle of water she thrust into his hand. "And how the hell did you move so fast with that bum leg?"

"... I adapted. Now get that down or I'll pour it down your throat," she threatened, going back to the couch.

"You're not my mother, woman. Stop ordering me around. I'll drink when I'm thirsty, not because you told me to... But I'm not going to if you keep that smirk on your face."

"I'm not smirking. And you're one to talk, cocky boy."

But she was. She could feel the corners of her mouth twitching from the effort of not smiling. He was acting like a petulant little boy, opposing anything she said no matter if it benefited him or not.

"Look, the best thing you can do to get better is drink lots of fluids and rest. So please drink your water and go back to bed."

"This bottle is open... What did you do? Spit in it? And where'd the bottled water come from?"

He watched in wry amusement as she tried to contain her agitation. By the way she was pulling down on two locks of her overgrown bangs he could tell it was a losing battle.

"You obviously don't listen, and since you're well enough to argue and be so damn annoying, you're well enough to take care of yourself. I'm leaving. Have a nice life."

Standing back up, she tried her best to make a dignified hobble to the door.

Quickly pushing to his feet to say something, Hwoarang's mouth snapped shut on the unformed words as his hazing mind screamed 'BIG MISTAKE!' A wave of dizziness hit and immediately his dormant stomach awakened with such force there wasn't time to even think about the toilet. What hadn't been purged by his body earlier now come slamming up his throat. Instinctively he bent over, watching his own vomit splattering on the floor. His insides continued to heave despite the lack of contents, only bringing up bile.

Faith's face appeared in his peripheral vision as she leaned down to look at him. Backhanding the moisture from his mouth and choking back a bout of coughing, he straightened and glared at her suspiciously, waiting for the biting remark that would sting his already wounded pride.

"Will you drink your water now please?"

He blinked at her, confused. No snide comment. And she hadn't left.

"Yes, mommy."

"Smartass to the end, huh? Quit glaring at me. I've had enough of that from you for one day. And go lay back down before you hack up a lung," she added, noticing his effort to not cough.

"You really are bossy... and mommy-ish," he croaked, still refusing to give in.

Ignoring his comment, she gave him a gentle shove towards the bedroom door, hiding her concern. She knew he'd just balk to annoy her if he knew she was worried.

'How did I end up taking care of a street thug?' she thought, edging around the puddle of puke as she went in to the kitchen. 'I could have at least been stuck with someone who doesn't purposely become a thorn in your side.'

Gathering up the jumble of items she'd had Scar buy, she listened to the provoker brushing his teeth in the bathroom. She heard him finish up and go into his bedroom.

Following him in, she saw that he was already stretched out on the bed in the dim room, stripped to his skivvies with the heat retaining pillows and blankets pushed off to the side. Using her elbow to nudge the light switch on, she again sat next to the man who jerked and covered his eyes at the sudden onslaught of light.

"Don't be a baby."

She could see his eyebrows lower together above the forearm he was using to shield his eyes as he frowned.

"I'm not being..."

"Didn't say you were. I just told you not to be one."

"Quit adding to my headache, woman."

"Fine. Open your mouth, I have to take your temperature to see how high your fever is."

He just moved his arm and looked at her.

"I could shove it up your ass if you'd prefer it taken that way."

Grabbing the slender thermometer she held, he shoved it in his mouth, jamming it under his tongue.

"Good boy. Here's a puke bucket if you need it. I want to clean up as little of that as possible," she said, wrinkling her nose at the thought of the mess that already waited for her. "And here's your water."

Pulling the thermometer out of his mouth, she looked at it and clucked her tongue. She didn't say anything to him, however, just pushed the bottle of water at him.

"You're a little kids worst nightmare," he told her, taking the liquid he was secretly thirsting for.

"And I've never met a bigger child than you."

Hwoarang just snorted, chugging the water.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. It'll just make you sick again. Are you hungry?"

He gave her a look of such disgust, she had to laugh.

"I'll take that as a 'no' There's more water by the bed if you need it. And if you want... Hmm... Already asleep? You could put a narcoleptic to shame, boy."

Getting up to clean the filth in the living room, Faith continued to wonder why she was caring for someone who had practically kidnapped her, and so did not see when the Blood Talon started to have nightmares.

The waves beat ceaselessly beneath the hill where he sat on his haunches, whipping up froth the color of sewage and smelling just as foul.

He looked around at the strange land that seemed so familiar. With a shock he realized that it was one of the back road stops he made on the long journeys he took on his bike. But the lush coastline he knew was gone, replaced with monstrous, twisted reflection of it's former beauty.

Not only was the formerly nurturing ocean a sterile wastewater, the very air seemed to be a poison, giving the entire land a sickly ashy color. The trees might have looked normal from the distance he was at from them, if it wasn't for the way the bark seemed to crawl across the trunk.

Going to place his hand on the ground, he quickly pulled back at the unexpected pain it brought. Tiny cuts crisscrossed across his palm and the pads of his fingers, thin trickles of unusually bright blood leaking from the papercut-like slices. Upon closer inspection he saw that the blades of grass were just that, blades. Their edges, razor thin, glinted with a malicious light.

"Why is everything so wrong?"

His voice had an immediate effect on the surroundings. Everything, including the ocean, went silent. Then a moaning began in the trees and became increasingly louder until it became a maddening howl.

The lusting hunger he heard in that wail kicked his adrenaline into action, and he turned and fled, something he never did. But somewhere deep inside he knew that if he faced what came out of that hostile flora he'd never be the same. It would be something he couldn't handle.

The land didn't want him to run though. Every step he took, the razor plants cut away at him, trying to get to the flesh protected by his boots. Even the air was against him, turning to sludge in his lungs and suffocating him.

Stumbling as one of his shredded boots caught in a tangled patch of the butcher grass, he threw out his uninjured hand and it, impossibly, landed on a wooden post, stopping what would have been a very painful and very disfiguring fall. Amazed, he looked at an identical copy of Master Baek's dojang.

'How the fuck did this get out here?...'

His thoughts were cut short as a victorious yip pierced the air behind him. With a bound he dashed for the doors he thought he'd never enter again. A screech of outraged loss sounded from the same thing that had cried out in triumph a short time ago as he threw the doors open and entered, but he was deaf to it.

Peeking in to check on Hwoarang, Faith noticed the excessive twitching and turning he was doing. She crept, as well as she could, to rest a wrist against his forehead.

"You could fry an egg on him at this temperature."

The image brought to mind by the thought made her chuckle as she set out the rest of the items brought to the room earlier. Pouring some cool water in a small bowl and soaking a washcloth in it, she placed it on his forehead.

"Not used to being sick, are you? Wonder what's going on in that head of yours... Fever dreams are never pleasant..."

Heart leaping at the thought of once again seeing the place where he had spent so many years learning, the sight that greeted him was a blow. It was an image already engraved into his memory by guilt. An image he blocked out every time it threatened to surface.

Gone. Burned to the ground.

Pivoting around to see where he had come in through, all he saw were charcoal posts, the remainder of what was once the doorframe, and scattered piles of debris throughout an ashy waste. No living creature moved or breathed in the presence of such ruin.

Dazed, the loss once again fresh, he wandered through the shattered timber. The remnants of his former sanctuary snapped beneath his feet, the jagged edges grasping at the hem of his jeans like desperate fingers.

'Wasn't once enough? Isn't there a way out of this hell?'

The ravaged pieces of the dojang echoed with memories. They pleaded with him to make them whole again, accusing him of not being there when his master need him the most.

Forcing the thoughts from his head, he concentrated on getting away from the wreckage. And amazingly, at the edge of his living nightmare, there was a comforting sight.

'An alley...'

There was no question in his mind as to why a back alley of Seoul was in the middle of nowhere, he was just happy it was. The memories faded as he passed into the lullaby of the city.

This was the place that had always provided for him, even when Master Baek was alive.

'Why the hell am I worried for him? He'll be fine, even if he does feel like he'll burn up to cinders,' Faith thought, changing the washcloth for the umpteenth time.

'Just like taking care of Mel...'

The fighter had seemed to wake up several times throughout the night, but dropped right back to sleep after slaking his thirst with some assistance from Faith.

'I'm glad this kind of fever only stays high a couple of days. Some sleep would be nice.'

Off and on she had dozed, but not in the truly restful stages of sleep. Bedside vigils were nothing new to her though, so the lack of slumber wasn't as important as it would be to other people.

Settling back in the chair she'd dragged to the room, the American slipped into a lighter slumber, both in mood and in depth, than the man opposite of her.

He closed his eyes, soaking in the sounds and smells of his beloved metropolis. There was a difference in the air though. Not the malevolence he had found at the toxic beach side, but an impatient expectance. Other than that it felt almost like the Seoul he had always known: big, intimidating, and dangerously exciting.

"Good to be home..."

At that moment he noticed something. Far too many other alleys ran perpendicular to the one he stood in, and others connected at awkward angles. Not only that, he had no view of a true exit, one that met the traffic and busy sidewalks, and looking over his shoulder confirmed that he was boxed in. The way he had come in was now a blank wall.

'What the fuck's going on now?'

Picking out a likely candidate, he set off to find passage to a more normal region. No such luck. Every turn forced him to choose from another multitude of branching possibilities. The walls seemed to press in on him eagerly, no longer friendly.

'Now I know what those lab mice in mazes feel like. But if I'm the mouse, where the hell is my cheese?'

What he found wasn't cheese.

After rounding several more corners, these ones marked with lurid graffiti, he thought he had found a friend.

"Hey, Scar! Where the hell are we?"

There, slumped against a wall with arms dangling at sides, was one of his oldest and most trusted friends.

"Scar!... Scar?"

He had quickened his steps, noticing something odd in his friends posture. Standing in front of him, he was stunned to find what it was.

A spike had been driven through the back of the older man's skull, the gleaming tip protruding nearly an inch from his forehead. To him it looked as if the lethal point had been forced through the wall and Scar had been in the way. With horrified fascination he stared at the strangely bloodless wound.

As if triggered by his thoughts, it started to ooze. Dark liquid seeped from around the embedded metal, sliding across lax features in syrupy rivulets and sizzling as if it were acid. That was not to be the end of it, however. Suddenly spasming as if shocked, the body started to convulse, arms flailing and heels pounding helplessly on the pavement in death throes.

He was dazed. Unable to move and forgetting to breathe. Only the resounding crack of his friends skull shattering from the hopeless struggles snapped him out of his trance.

Lurching back into motion, he raced toward the nearest alley to get away from the awful scene, but like a sliding door it slammed shut. Before his eyes, the walls shifted to close off all the exits but one. This only escape was a tunnel through one of the walls, completely enclosed and reminding him of a tiny hallway.

Not caring that it was obviously a way to guide his steps, he rushed for it, lest it close and leave him with the still twitching corpse. The shift of air behind him after he stumbled through was evident, but he was knocked to the ground by something solid before he could see what it was.

Gazing up, he met the lifeless eyes of Jae-Hwa. The hostile man was hanging by what appeared to be barbed wire like a piece of meat, swinging back and forth from being ran into. He scrambled back like a crab, his back only hitting another wall.

Trapped again.

Feeling panic rising up, he saw that the rest of his gang was also strung up by the deadly wire, the barbs chewing through the tender flesh of their throats.

Master Baek had once told him that letting fear take hold of him was the same as letting someone place a noose around your neck and kick the stand out from under you. He could feel that hypothetical noose now, slowly drawing tighter...

Placing a hand at his throat he found that it wasn't hypothetical at all. He actually had one of those wire loops around his neck. In a frenzy he ripped it up over his head, feeling the barbs hook and tear at his skin but not caring.

Jumping to his feet, he ran again. This time toward a light that seemed too far away to reach. He pushed past the bodies of his comrades, grimly thinking how this was just like a horror film he had seen. The victim is running through a butchering plant from the killer and the hanging carcasses slow them down and give their position away to the murdering psycho. But these weren't livestock carcasses. These men were his drinking buddies and gambling partners. They were his friends.

Something wet dripped down his face and he slapped at it as he would a fly. The only thing he let himself focus on was the light. And then he was surrounded by it.

Cautiously, he searched all his surroundings except the ones behind him, knowing in his gut that it wasn't over. There was nothing in sight but the inconspicuous walls, but this only made him suspicious. Meandering through the terrible maze again, he paused to check around every corner, ignoring the tiny puncture wounds and scratches he had received.

'I'm being such a coward.'

Steeling himself, he simply walked around the next one, still mentally berating his actions. He should have known better.

Always protect women and children, that's what he'd been taught, and he prided himself on following that rule... Unless the women turned out to be worthy opponents. For that reason, he found the scene in front of him the worst of those he had already encountered.

The three mainstay ladies in his life were laid out in a large bed, appearing to have been posed just for him on sheets stained a slick red. Hyun-Ok was bent so that one arm rested above her head and the other lay next to her, palm up, with legs bent together. The twins seemed to embrace, curling in on each other. They might have looked asleep if not for the slashes covering their torsos and arms and the unmistakable fear in their wide-eyed, frozen faces. He could tell that whatever had gotten them had to have been terrible to cause such terror in the strongest women he knew.

Anger seared through him with such intensity he started to shake. Caution was thrown out the window as he began to march through the labyrinth. He was going to kill whatever had done this to his friends...

A soft crying stopped him in his tracks. He knew that voice, despite its presence only being recently added in his life.

"Faith!"

Sound meant she was alive. The dead didn't whimper. He hurried towards the direction the sound had come from and abruptly came upon who he had been looking for.

She was sitting in the middle of a dead end, knees drawn to her chest and slowly rocking back and forth.

"You're alive!"

No response.

"Are you okay?"

Still no response.

Taking her by the shoulder he gently shook her, but to no avail. Her eyes seemed to be fixed to a point on the dirty cement. Tilting her chin up, he moved to block her line of vision, forcing her to look at him. He wished he hadn't. There was an emptiness there he'd only seen in someone who wanted to stop living.

A feral chuckling came from further behind the vacantly rocking woman. Instinctively he knew it was what had been chasing him at the beachside. Raising his gaze, he found himself looking at... a mirror image of himself.

"Surprise..." the other him snarled in a gravelly voice. "Like the artwork?"

"Artwork? You bastard! You're the one that did that to them?!"

"Not me... You did that. In case you're having a temporary case of blindness I'll be the first to tell you... that I'm you."

"You are not me. I would never..."

"Oh yes, you would. That's how I was able to do it. Because you would. Think about how many people you've used or hurt for personal gain. I'm just reflecting the real you..."

Lunging to his feet he roared, "I would never slaughter my friends! I may do business with my fists on the street, but I have far more honor than that!"

The man snorted in contempt. "Do you? And besides, I didn't kill all of them."

He looked at them woman still rocking at his feet.

"What did you do to her?"

Although he asked, the question wasn't necessary. He was fully aware of what had happened to her, a pretty young woman, and the smugness in the reflection's eyes only supported his conclusions. Darting around the swaying form of the last surviving person he was acquainted with, he flew at the monster with the audacity to wear his face.

Anger and battle lust were riled up, tunneling his vision. Without thought he rushed his opponent, who easily deflected the clumsy swipe and slammed a knee into his diaphragm.

The air left him in one great whoosh. Suddenly the attacker became the attacked.

With his lungs still spasming from the forced exhalation, defense was a laughable notion. Muscles need oxygen to function, and at that moment he was found himself lacking in that department.

Trying to protect his head with upraised arms and catch his stolen breath, he was easy prey for the furious barrage of blows raining down his way. What made it worse was that they were his attacks; his techniques. Of all people, he should be the one able to defend against them.

Instead, the shit was getting knocked out of him. This final bruising of his ego was too much, and out of pure frustration he tried one more lunge forward, lowering his arms to help balance. It was a mistake.

He knew the moment he lowered his guard it was a stupid move. A swift kick to the chin snapped his head back, the pop his neck made coinciding with the sharp pain he felt.

Dropping to the ground, he found himself at just the right angle to look into Faith's oblivious face.

As if mocking the relief he felt at her not witnessing such a shameful downfall, a light of recognition filled her face. She stared at him in fascination, which quickly changed to horror, and opened her mouth to scream.

But he couldn't hear. The world seemed to be closing down upon him. The only thing he was aware of was the silent mouth of the woman before him, which seemed to be growing in size. He felt himself slipping into that empty void, as one would slip into a black hole.

And then he fell through, the empty blackness welling up around him...

Full consciousness was slow in coming to Hwoarang. The first thing he was aware of was the smell of stale sweat, and as he cracked his eyes open, the familiar pattern of the ceiling.

"About time you woke up, you lazy bastard."

Blinking sleep from his eyes, he sat up and stared groggily at his friend.

"Scar? What the hell are you doing here... again?"

For some reason he was surprised to see his old friend alive. An odd feeling settled in his stomach, as if he was looking at a ghost, but the exact reason why eluded his grasp. All he could remember was having some fucked up dreams.

"I came over so your alley cat could get some actual sleep. She's been taking care of you nonstop since your fever spiked up. You're a very lucky man, you know. How do you always get the gorgeous women taking care of you?"

"Alley cat?... Oh. You mean Faith. I dunno... Must be a gift," the redhead half-joked, sliding out of bed cautiously in case his stomach decided to rebel again and stretching his cramped up muscles. Noticing his slightly weakened state from being bedridden he asked, "How long have I been out?"

"Let's see... All of yesterday and almost all of today. It's 6 o'clock right now. You're just in time for dinner."

"Damn. That's a long time to just lie in bed. Now that you mention it, I am pretty hungry."

Rising from the chair that had until recently been occupied by a certain American, Scar followed Hwoarang to the kitchen. The two men sat at the table and dug into some cold leftover take-out. A perfectly acceptable meal to the two bachelors.

"Grown fond of your little kitty-cat haven't you?" the older man snickered around a mouth full of noodles as he noticed the other glancing at the couch.

"She's not mine, Scar. And I'd like to see you call her a 'little kitty-cat' to her face. You might end up with another scar to even out that ugly mug of yours."

They continued in this vein for awhile, harassing each other back and forth. Laughing raucously at some joke about Hwoarang's many 'conquests', neither of them noticed that someone else had come up, with no effort towards stealth at all, to sit next to them.

"Very classy, boys. Very classy."

Hwoarang spluttered, nearly choking on a bite of meat. When he was sure he wasn't going to choke he spoke.

"You're awake."

"Hard to sleep when there are animals carousing in the kitchen."

She frowned as Scar started to laugh anew, wondering what she'd said that was so funny.

As she was looking at his friend, Hwoarang was looking at her. He noticed the circles under her eyes and the way she slouched tiredly.

"You okay? You look exhausted."

"Hm? Oh... I'm fine. Just a little sleepy is all. But I'm not the one who was sick. How are you feeling?"

"A little shitty. But it's passing."

"That's good. I didn't think you were the type who stays sick for very long. Guess I was right."

"Yeah... If your not going to eat then go back to bed, Faith. You look like hell."

"Thanks. You have no idea what that does for my self-esteem.... That food doesn't look too appetizing anyways though."

The two men watched as she limped back to the couch not knowing what to say now that they had to be quiet.

"You know..." Scar began, "You were having some pretty nasty dreams. At least that's what I think, considering all the thrashing and incoherent yelling you were doing."

"That bad?"

"Yeah. But that girl just kept tending to you, no matter how many times she got smacked in the face."

"I smacked her?"

"Not intentionally. I don't know about the rest of the time, but from what I saw you nailed her pretty good a couple of times. And it was only after your fever went down that she agreed to actually go to bed and let me stand watch."

"Stand watch? This isn't prison."

"No it's not. But she did tell me to wake her up if the fever came back. Seems like you're better though, so that's not a concern now."

"Let's hope not. I hate being sick, and I had this weird feeling when I woke up. It was almost like... Like I wasn't expecting to see anyone I know alive."

"You did keep calling out names."

"I did?"

"Yeah. Most the times you were pretty unintelligible but I caught my name, Hyun's, and Faith's. Anything bothering you?"

"No. Why do you ask?"

"Stuff you hide usually lurks in your subconscious. Which means it can affect your dreams."

"Stop sounding so smart. It doesn't suit your appearance."

Scar smirked at him in response, but the thought wouldn't leave his mind. Something was weighing on his leaders mind he just wouldn't say what it was.

"Hey Scar..."

"Yeah?" He had a feeling Hwoarang was going to say something important.

"Does it seem to you that I hurt the people who are close to me?"

"Why would you say that?"

"... Nevermind. Forget I said anything."

"If you'd just explain..."

"I said drop it!"

"Okay... I'd better go. You're feeling better right? I'll be seeing ya around."

"Later..."

Hwoarang sat picking at his food after his friend left, but his appetite was gone. Maybe he did hurt his friends. Stepped on them as he improved himself and intensified his training. The thought stayed with him as he went to squat next to the edge of the couch, watching the latest woman to enter his life twitch in her sleep.

'I wonder why she does that... Scar's right. She is like a cat...'

Smiling at the mental image, he went back to bed. It was going to take more sleep to get him back in working order.

The ending was a bit rushed because I wanted to get it done (it's 4 o'clock in the morning at the moment I'm typing this). I'll go back through and edit some more. Sorry for the delay!