FIC: Exit (R) for andmydog
Author: wispykitty
Recipient: andmydog
Title: Exit
Rating: R
Characters/Pairing(s): Ken, Farfarello, Schuldig (brief appearances by other members of Weiss)
Summary: It's been a week since the collapse of the tower, and every night Ken dreams of Farfarello.
Warnings: Violence.
Word Count: 2,253
Author's Notes: Also features footballer Ken!
”Take it up on the left, Hidaka!”
Listening to the instruction of his captain, Ken took off up the left side of the field, the ball glued to his feet, gliding effortlessly over the grass and around his opponents. Once he was nestled safely at the top of the other team's box, he paused, his foot on the ball and his eyes scanning the area in front of the net. Who was open?
Finding a target (and skillfully trapping the ball as he moved slightly to protect it from an opposing defender) he glanced from his target to the ball, his right leg swinging back readying for a kick - but it never came.
The second he locked his sight on the ball it changed, growing slightly in size, turning from white and black to gold, before it suddenly developed a pin point of black in the centre, and around it grew a ring of white and suddenly it wasn't a ball anymore but an eye and the grass was no longer green but ivory and the white lines on the pitch grew longer into hair and he was falling - falling into an open mouth, insane laughter pelting him from all sides -
He woke up gasping for breath, his hands clenched as tightly as his stomach muscles, and if he could have made a sound he would have cried out in pain.
This was the fifth night in a row he'd awoken from the same sort of dream.
Farfarello.
Six hours later found him seated at the table in the kitchen, his fingers playing with the spoon in his soup, contemplating whether or not he ought to share his dream with the other members of Weiss. He decided against it today. Maybe tomorrow, if he had the dream again. If he told them now, they'd only think him weak. After all, it had only been last week since the building collapse, and the back of his head was still swollen and sore from where it had been repeatedly bashed into brick.
Maybe he just needed to sleep the whole thing off a little more.
“You haven't touched your soup, Ken! Do you not like it?” Aya appeared suddenly before him, her lips turning down in a frown. Ken shook his head slightly, smiling at the girl.
“Oh no, Aya, it's lovely,” he patted her hand, “I'm just not very hungry today. I haven't been sleeping well.” He grasped for any explanation he could give.
“Oh, that's not good,” she frowned at his answer, “are you okay? Maybe you're ill.”
Ken shook his head again, though it gave him a bit of a headache. “I'm fine, really. Perhaps I simply need to build up an appetite. I think I'll go for a walk,” he stood up cautiously, hoping she wouldn't press him further. Luckily at that moment Ran appeared in the room, and Aya smiled at him one last time before going to her brother.
Not wanting a second interruption, Ken headed for the door. Maybe some fresh air (if you could call it that in Tokyo these days - multiple fires had broken out since the day of the summoning, and you could taste the smoke on the air in some parts of the city if the wind brought it in) would do him good. Maybe it wouldn't.
Feeling slightly woozy, Ken sat at the first bench he came across, closing his eyes and touching his fingers to his temples. His headache had only worsened on the walk, and now, to make matters worse, there was ash in the air and he was trying his best not to cough.
Leaning over on his hands, he buried his eyes behind his fingers and wished someone was around to give him something for the throbbing in his temple. Just then the wind died down and the ash disappeared from the air - if he'd been feeling better he would have suspected that something was amiss, but in his current state he was just happy for the momentary break from the wind. He took in a lungful of what felt like finally fresh air and opened his eyes before standing. It was time to go back to the flower shop - perhaps he'd nap.
His eyes scanned the park and for a moment he was confused. It was empty, apart from his presence. Where was everyone? Apart from the slight wind and blowing smoke it was a nice day. Where were the people? He stopped suddenly, turning on the spot.
Directly behind him, in the distance, was a man with silver hair. Ken felt his heart nearly jump out of his chest - it couldn't be, could it? He stood rooted to the spot, his breath caught in his throat, waiting. Just as the silver hair man started turning to face him, Ken's sight was blocked.
“Oh, I do apologize,” said an old man, walking stick in hand and sightless eyes turned in what he presumed to be Ken's direction. “I did not mean to bump into you, my apologies!”
Ken was momentarily speechless, craning his neck around the figure of the old man, searching for the silver-haired demon he knew was lurking in the distance. But as soon as he'd appeared, Farfarello (if it had even been him) was gone. Ignoring the blind man, Ken started in the direction in which he'd seen the would-be Farfarello go, wondering where he possibly could have gone. Maybe he'd never actually seen him at all?
“Ken, it's yours!”
Eyes up and toward the voice, Ken saw the pass as it came to him, chesting the ball down to his feet, dribbling his way into the keeper's crease. He took a shot on net, it was perfect, it was heading right for the corner, the keeper was nowhere to be found - but out of nowhere shot a hand, flying out to deflect the ball over the top of the net.
He stood rooted to the spot, watching as the hand changed direction and flew at him, grabbing him by the throat, forcing him back, and he cried out as he felt his head collide with the goal post. His hands grabbed at the hand that was holding his neck, trying to peel the fingers back, gasping for air as his windpipe was slowly being crushed, and suddenly he was flying forward, being whisked through the air toward an outstretched arm that was reeling its hand back in, as though the fingers were hooks and he'd been the unsuspecting fish, and Farfarello's one eye was wide in ecstasy like the fisherman who'd finally made his big catch and then the laughter started and Ken screamed -
This time he was woken by a hand shaking him, his shoulder caught in Ran's tight grip. “Ken! Wake up!”
He sat up in bed, his breathing harsh and ragged, his eyes flitting about the room and his heart beating so quickly he was certain it would burst. His eyes met Ran's and he calmed almost immediately. Just another dream.
“I'm sorry, did I wake you?”
Ran's face was an impassive mask, the same as always, his expression unreadable. “You screamed. It woke Aya.”
Ken nodded, but said nothing. He had no explanation he was willing to give.
He paced back and forth between the posts, the gloves on his hands heavy. He was focused on the opposing player standing before him, the ball at his feet, preparing to take a penalty kick. He moved to his right, his hand shooting out to touch the post, before shuffling to the left and repeating the gesture. Pre-shot rituals, every keeper had one.
He tensed then as he watched the shooter straighten, his eyes straying to the bottom right corner. Ken wiggled his fingers inside his gloves and prepared as he watched the striker take a shot - and then he dove. His mouth dropped in shock as he watched the ball come ever nearer - but then appear to split into a hundred tiny fragments, each one gold, each one aiming for him as though magnetically drawn to his shock. He fell on his back, his arms flying up to cover his face, and each golden ball attacked him, pelting his head, crashing into his body with the force of a high caliber pistol, each ball tearing a hole in his skin, each one penetrating his body.
He cried out but no one moved to help him.
Lying in a battered heap, he then watched as the tiny golden balls converged, spinning in a whirlwind and forming a figure - Farfarello. The eye blinked open and Ken was blinded, his sight gone.
He awoke to find himself sitting in a chair, cloaked in naught but darkness. How long had he been here? He couldn't remember. It seemed so long ago, when he'd last seen light, though he was certain it was all mind tricks.
Another dream, likely.
Though he could see nothing he could hear - and what he heard currently were footsteps, coming ever closer. His fingers clenched and unclenched in his lap, feeling naked without the added weight of his bagh nakh. Who was approaching? Friend or foe? He would have bet his life on foe - and he would have lived.
“Farfarello!”
The face was in front of his quicker than he would have expected, and though there was no light he could still see him, still make out his features - his eye.
“The end of my quest draws ever near, and with your sacrifice, it shall be that much closer!”
The silver haired demon spoke, though Ken did not see his lips move. He did, however, feel the knife pressed to his throat. It hurt - and thus far he'd never actually felt pain during his dreams - only ever after when he woke. “What do you want with me?” He asked, his eyes locked on that single golden orb that had haunted him for the past week.
Farfarello laughed, and Ken's breath caught in his throat again. When was he going to wake up this time?
This is not a dream, Siberian.
He knew the voice - and it did not belong to Farfarello. “Dream, nightmare, it's all the same!” He yelled into the darkness, turning his head away from Farfarello, his eyes searching in vain for the voice.
This is reality. We have come for you.
At this Ken froze - was this reality?
He heard laughter then, and a voice in German said Mach ihn fertig! and suddenly Ken felt the breath fly out of his throat once more - as though his lungs were deflating, capable of holding no more air. A fist punched him in the stomach and he tumbled out of the chair, his arms crossing over his abdomen, rolling to his knees with his face pressed to the floor.
A foot lashed out, catching him in the ribs and he flew into the wall. Somehow, though he could no longer see him, Ken knew it was Farfarello attacking. Though he wanted to fight back - he couldn't.
Two seconds later and another foot smashed into his mouth, and maybe it was just mind games again but he swore he could hear the sound of broken teeth clattering on the floor, and his fingers desperately went to his mouth, prodding and touching and feeling to see if what he'd heard reflected what he was feeling.
Except that his fingers seemed to pass right through where his jaw ought to be - which led him to question two separate thoughts.
One - was this just a dream, then?
And two - did Farfarello possess the strength to kick his jaw clean off?
He didn't have the opportunity to answer his own question - because that was when he passed out.
Why weren't they helping him?
“Yohji!” His eyes fixed on the man with the dyed blonde hair, who sat silent in his chair, cigarette dangling from his lips. “Omi?” His eyes slid a few feet over, finding the youth seated at a computer, not paying any attention to him.
“A-” His eyes found Ran, locked in an embrace with his sister -
“Your focus belongs to me!” A sharp rake of claws met his cheek, and Ken cried out in pain, both physical and emotional. Why were they ignoring this?! Why weren't they helping him?!
“Would you like your last rites read, Siberian? For I am sending you to meet Him! You shall convey my message of death.”
Even if he closed his eyes - all he could see was the ever watching golden eye of Farfarello.
His eyes shot open and his heart hammered in his chest and he sat up - or at least he tried to.
“Another nightmare, Siberian?”
That voice again, and Ken managed to turn his head and finally at last found the owner. Schuldig. The telepath.
“You know, you are more interesting to me than your team mates. There's something very honest about your dreams, in the way you defer power. Perhaps I'll keep you around for entertainment's sake.” The German stood up from his seat on the chair next to the bed that Ken noticed he was lying on.
He watched as Schuldig exited the room - only to see Farfarello enter, the grin on his lips being matched in expression in his eye. Ken's gaze slid down Farfarello's arm, settling on his hands, which both held wickedly serrated knives.
Schuldig's voice penetrated his mind again. Then again, perhaps I won't.
There was no hope.
Recipient: andmydog
Title: Exit
Rating: R
Characters/Pairing(s): Ken, Farfarello, Schuldig (brief appearances by other members of Weiss)
Summary: It's been a week since the collapse of the tower, and every night Ken dreams of Farfarello.
Warnings: Violence.
Word Count: 2,253
Author's Notes: Also features footballer Ken!
”Take it up on the left, Hidaka!”
Listening to the instruction of his captain, Ken took off up the left side of the field, the ball glued to his feet, gliding effortlessly over the grass and around his opponents. Once he was nestled safely at the top of the other team's box, he paused, his foot on the ball and his eyes scanning the area in front of the net. Who was open?
Finding a target (and skillfully trapping the ball as he moved slightly to protect it from an opposing defender) he glanced from his target to the ball, his right leg swinging back readying for a kick - but it never came.
The second he locked his sight on the ball it changed, growing slightly in size, turning from white and black to gold, before it suddenly developed a pin point of black in the centre, and around it grew a ring of white and suddenly it wasn't a ball anymore but an eye and the grass was no longer green but ivory and the white lines on the pitch grew longer into hair and he was falling - falling into an open mouth, insane laughter pelting him from all sides -
He woke up gasping for breath, his hands clenched as tightly as his stomach muscles, and if he could have made a sound he would have cried out in pain.
This was the fifth night in a row he'd awoken from the same sort of dream.
Farfarello.
Six hours later found him seated at the table in the kitchen, his fingers playing with the spoon in his soup, contemplating whether or not he ought to share his dream with the other members of Weiss. He decided against it today. Maybe tomorrow, if he had the dream again. If he told them now, they'd only think him weak. After all, it had only been last week since the building collapse, and the back of his head was still swollen and sore from where it had been repeatedly bashed into brick.
Maybe he just needed to sleep the whole thing off a little more.
“You haven't touched your soup, Ken! Do you not like it?” Aya appeared suddenly before him, her lips turning down in a frown. Ken shook his head slightly, smiling at the girl.
“Oh no, Aya, it's lovely,” he patted her hand, “I'm just not very hungry today. I haven't been sleeping well.” He grasped for any explanation he could give.
“Oh, that's not good,” she frowned at his answer, “are you okay? Maybe you're ill.”
Ken shook his head again, though it gave him a bit of a headache. “I'm fine, really. Perhaps I simply need to build up an appetite. I think I'll go for a walk,” he stood up cautiously, hoping she wouldn't press him further. Luckily at that moment Ran appeared in the room, and Aya smiled at him one last time before going to her brother.
Not wanting a second interruption, Ken headed for the door. Maybe some fresh air (if you could call it that in Tokyo these days - multiple fires had broken out since the day of the summoning, and you could taste the smoke on the air in some parts of the city if the wind brought it in) would do him good. Maybe it wouldn't.
Feeling slightly woozy, Ken sat at the first bench he came across, closing his eyes and touching his fingers to his temples. His headache had only worsened on the walk, and now, to make matters worse, there was ash in the air and he was trying his best not to cough.
Leaning over on his hands, he buried his eyes behind his fingers and wished someone was around to give him something for the throbbing in his temple. Just then the wind died down and the ash disappeared from the air - if he'd been feeling better he would have suspected that something was amiss, but in his current state he was just happy for the momentary break from the wind. He took in a lungful of what felt like finally fresh air and opened his eyes before standing. It was time to go back to the flower shop - perhaps he'd nap.
His eyes scanned the park and for a moment he was confused. It was empty, apart from his presence. Where was everyone? Apart from the slight wind and blowing smoke it was a nice day. Where were the people? He stopped suddenly, turning on the spot.
Directly behind him, in the distance, was a man with silver hair. Ken felt his heart nearly jump out of his chest - it couldn't be, could it? He stood rooted to the spot, his breath caught in his throat, waiting. Just as the silver hair man started turning to face him, Ken's sight was blocked.
“Oh, I do apologize,” said an old man, walking stick in hand and sightless eyes turned in what he presumed to be Ken's direction. “I did not mean to bump into you, my apologies!”
Ken was momentarily speechless, craning his neck around the figure of the old man, searching for the silver-haired demon he knew was lurking in the distance. But as soon as he'd appeared, Farfarello (if it had even been him) was gone. Ignoring the blind man, Ken started in the direction in which he'd seen the would-be Farfarello go, wondering where he possibly could have gone. Maybe he'd never actually seen him at all?
“Ken, it's yours!”
Eyes up and toward the voice, Ken saw the pass as it came to him, chesting the ball down to his feet, dribbling his way into the keeper's crease. He took a shot on net, it was perfect, it was heading right for the corner, the keeper was nowhere to be found - but out of nowhere shot a hand, flying out to deflect the ball over the top of the net.
He stood rooted to the spot, watching as the hand changed direction and flew at him, grabbing him by the throat, forcing him back, and he cried out as he felt his head collide with the goal post. His hands grabbed at the hand that was holding his neck, trying to peel the fingers back, gasping for air as his windpipe was slowly being crushed, and suddenly he was flying forward, being whisked through the air toward an outstretched arm that was reeling its hand back in, as though the fingers were hooks and he'd been the unsuspecting fish, and Farfarello's one eye was wide in ecstasy like the fisherman who'd finally made his big catch and then the laughter started and Ken screamed -
This time he was woken by a hand shaking him, his shoulder caught in Ran's tight grip. “Ken! Wake up!”
He sat up in bed, his breathing harsh and ragged, his eyes flitting about the room and his heart beating so quickly he was certain it would burst. His eyes met Ran's and he calmed almost immediately. Just another dream.
“I'm sorry, did I wake you?”
Ran's face was an impassive mask, the same as always, his expression unreadable. “You screamed. It woke Aya.”
Ken nodded, but said nothing. He had no explanation he was willing to give.
He paced back and forth between the posts, the gloves on his hands heavy. He was focused on the opposing player standing before him, the ball at his feet, preparing to take a penalty kick. He moved to his right, his hand shooting out to touch the post, before shuffling to the left and repeating the gesture. Pre-shot rituals, every keeper had one.
He tensed then as he watched the shooter straighten, his eyes straying to the bottom right corner. Ken wiggled his fingers inside his gloves and prepared as he watched the striker take a shot - and then he dove. His mouth dropped in shock as he watched the ball come ever nearer - but then appear to split into a hundred tiny fragments, each one gold, each one aiming for him as though magnetically drawn to his shock. He fell on his back, his arms flying up to cover his face, and each golden ball attacked him, pelting his head, crashing into his body with the force of a high caliber pistol, each ball tearing a hole in his skin, each one penetrating his body.
He cried out but no one moved to help him.
Lying in a battered heap, he then watched as the tiny golden balls converged, spinning in a whirlwind and forming a figure - Farfarello. The eye blinked open and Ken was blinded, his sight gone.
He awoke to find himself sitting in a chair, cloaked in naught but darkness. How long had he been here? He couldn't remember. It seemed so long ago, when he'd last seen light, though he was certain it was all mind tricks.
Another dream, likely.
Though he could see nothing he could hear - and what he heard currently were footsteps, coming ever closer. His fingers clenched and unclenched in his lap, feeling naked without the added weight of his bagh nakh. Who was approaching? Friend or foe? He would have bet his life on foe - and he would have lived.
“Farfarello!”
The face was in front of his quicker than he would have expected, and though there was no light he could still see him, still make out his features - his eye.
“The end of my quest draws ever near, and with your sacrifice, it shall be that much closer!”
The silver haired demon spoke, though Ken did not see his lips move. He did, however, feel the knife pressed to his throat. It hurt - and thus far he'd never actually felt pain during his dreams - only ever after when he woke. “What do you want with me?” He asked, his eyes locked on that single golden orb that had haunted him for the past week.
Farfarello laughed, and Ken's breath caught in his throat again. When was he going to wake up this time?
This is not a dream, Siberian.
He knew the voice - and it did not belong to Farfarello. “Dream, nightmare, it's all the same!” He yelled into the darkness, turning his head away from Farfarello, his eyes searching in vain for the voice.
This is reality. We have come for you.
At this Ken froze - was this reality?
He heard laughter then, and a voice in German said Mach ihn fertig! and suddenly Ken felt the breath fly out of his throat once more - as though his lungs were deflating, capable of holding no more air. A fist punched him in the stomach and he tumbled out of the chair, his arms crossing over his abdomen, rolling to his knees with his face pressed to the floor.
A foot lashed out, catching him in the ribs and he flew into the wall. Somehow, though he could no longer see him, Ken knew it was Farfarello attacking. Though he wanted to fight back - he couldn't.
Two seconds later and another foot smashed into his mouth, and maybe it was just mind games again but he swore he could hear the sound of broken teeth clattering on the floor, and his fingers desperately went to his mouth, prodding and touching and feeling to see if what he'd heard reflected what he was feeling.
Except that his fingers seemed to pass right through where his jaw ought to be - which led him to question two separate thoughts.
One - was this just a dream, then?
And two - did Farfarello possess the strength to kick his jaw clean off?
He didn't have the opportunity to answer his own question - because that was when he passed out.
Why weren't they helping him?
“Yohji!” His eyes fixed on the man with the dyed blonde hair, who sat silent in his chair, cigarette dangling from his lips. “Omi?” His eyes slid a few feet over, finding the youth seated at a computer, not paying any attention to him.
“A-” His eyes found Ran, locked in an embrace with his sister -
“Your focus belongs to me!” A sharp rake of claws met his cheek, and Ken cried out in pain, both physical and emotional. Why were they ignoring this?! Why weren't they helping him?!
“Would you like your last rites read, Siberian? For I am sending you to meet Him! You shall convey my message of death.”
Even if he closed his eyes - all he could see was the ever watching golden eye of Farfarello.
His eyes shot open and his heart hammered in his chest and he sat up - or at least he tried to.
“Another nightmare, Siberian?”
That voice again, and Ken managed to turn his head and finally at last found the owner. Schuldig. The telepath.
“You know, you are more interesting to me than your team mates. There's something very honest about your dreams, in the way you defer power. Perhaps I'll keep you around for entertainment's sake.” The German stood up from his seat on the chair next to the bed that Ken noticed he was lying on.
He watched as Schuldig exited the room - only to see Farfarello enter, the grin on his lips being matched in expression in his eye. Ken's gaze slid down Farfarello's arm, settling on his hands, which both held wickedly serrated knives.
Schuldig's voice penetrated his mind again. Then again, perhaps I won't.
There was no hope.