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Fanfic Archive: Sacrifice, 10
(Written: June, 2004)
Warnings: Bad Language. Violence
Summary: When a mission goes bad, Aya may have to make the ultimate sacrifice to protect Omi, and the rest of Weiss learn you don't truly miss something until it's gone.
Legal Stuff: As always, this story is intended to express one fan's genuine appreciation of Weiss Kreuz and its characters. It is just for fun and not for profit. If you have any rights in the anime described here and find the posting of this fanfiction offensive or harmful, please contact me, and I will be happy to remove it.
Sacrifice
Chapter 10
"Hey!" Omi snapped, leaning forward, over the large hole in which Yohji and Ken were standing, "Can't you dig any faster?"
His voice was low, hardly more than a whisper, but a heavy, midnight silence blanketed the cemetery and made Omi's words carry as clearly as if he had shouted. The kid's voice seemed so out of place. It ran up Yohji's spine and made his teeth itch, like the screech of fingernails across a blackboard, and he shuddered as Omi shined a flashlight in his face.
The tall blonde heaved an irritated, angry sigh and shoved the flashlight aside as he glared at Omi and fought back the urge to tell the kid to shut the hell up. He knew Omi was only being an irritating, little shit because he was nervous, scared, and almost out of hope. They all were. This was their last chance at finding Aya. If Omi was wrong, and the redhead wasn't in this grave, they'd never find him. Yohji figured the tension was getting to all of them. Even Ken had been much more subdued than usual.
Yohji took a deep breath, and, when he felt he had control of his emotions enough so that he wouldn't bite Omi's head off, he replied, "No."
At almost the same instant the word slid from his mouth, a shovelful of dirt flew in his direction and scattered over his head and shoulders. Yohji sighed --- the sound of a man struggling valiantly to hang on to his last shred of patience --- and rolled his eyes toward the inky black sky in a classic, "why me?" look, before turning to spear Ken with an angry, icy, death-glare that would have made Aya proud. It should have been enough to congeal blood and send ominous shivers up the recipient's spine. Unfortunately for Yohji, the ex-goalie's back was toward him, and the full force and effect of the glare was lost.
'Out of hope isn't the same thing as hopeless,' Yohji thought, as he pulled his attention away from his brunette teammate.
The tall blonde glanced around at his surroundings. He really hated everything about this little adventure. He hated cemeteries, especially at night, when there was no moon and it was so overcast you couldn't even see the stars. And, Yohji had to admit he hated the idea of what they were doing. He had done a lot of things in his lifetime --- things he wasn't particularly proud of --- but he'd never dreamed it would come to this --- standing in a rapidly-deepening hole in the middle of a graveyard.
'Shit,' Yohji thought, 'I'm a fucking grave-robber now. And I thought my life couldn't get any worse.'
Still, if he had to stoop to grave-robbing, Yohji supposed this was a pretty nice place in which to do it. This cemetery was large and well-kept. The hedges and grass, from what he had been able to see in the murky dark, were lush and neatly clipped. And, there were a lot of statues and towering headstones. Despite his profession, Yohji didn't know a whole lot about cemeteries. Being a successful assassin necessarily meant you didn't spend a lot of time hanging around them, but, in his limited experience, it had always seemed your higher-end graveyards had lots of nice statues and towering headstones.
Yohji shivered. The night air was chilly and damp, but the chill coursing through his body had nothing to do with the temperature. This place gave him the creeps, and so did what he was doing. The cemetery was deserted, and the night was so still. It was as if the world around the three assassins was holding its breath and watching their activity. Yohji knew it was irrational, but he kept expecting a horde of ghosts to pop out of the nearest hedge, from behind a headstone, or out of a tree. They had been digging for thirty minutes now, and he couldn't help but hope they would come to the end of their little quest soon.
Apparently, so did Omi.
The boy leaned forward, balancing his weight on one hand, and prodded at Yohji with the flashlight. "Dig!"
Yohji sighed and returned to his assigned task.
It was quiet for several long minutes as Yohji and Ken both concentrated on the task at hand. Omi hovered around the edge of the grave, occasionally chiding them to dig faster, but, mostly, just holding the flashlight without saying anything. None of them had much of a desire to talk. They were too tense, too worried, and too afraid for any real conversation. And, on some level, all three of them were horrified at what they were doing. Yohji wasn't sure which would be worse --- if they dug up this grave and didn't find Aya inside, or if they did. Either way, he was pretty sure none of them would ever talk about it again, but they'd all remember it in their waking and sleeping nightmares for some time to come.
Another shovelful of dirt flew through the air and scattered over Yohji's head and shoulders.
The tall blonde sighed and prayed for patience. He couldn't kill Ken. Not right now. If he did, he'd have to dig up the damn coffin all by himself, and that would take forever. Not that Ken was helping all that much. Yohji thought the stupid jock had probably thrown as much dirt back in the hole as he had heaped up around the sides.
"Ken," Yohji said, struggling to keep his voice calm and at whisper level, "We're never gonna to get to the bottom if you keep throwing the fucking dirt on me instead of outside the fucking hole."
The tall blonde didn't bother turning around to look at the ex-goalie, but Ken's voice sounded out behind him, soft and low, "Sorry. Accident. Wasn't paying attention."
Yohji shook his head and returned his attention to unearthing Jackie Harrister's coffin as quickly as possible. He just wanted this whole damn thing over and done with, so he could go home and wash off the stink of what he had done. But, once he gave it some serious thought, Yohji figured he'd never truly be able to wash this off. This was the kind of reek that stuck with a man, the kind of fucked-up thing you never forgot about and never quite got over doing. He just prayed Omi was right and Aya was in the coffin they were struggling to unearth. For starters, he wanted his friend back, alive, and couldn't stand the thought of never knowing what had happened to the redhead. But, that wasn't the only reason. This whole mission had been fucked up beyond all redemption from day one, and Yohji just wanted it to have some kind of positive ending. Not that finding your best friend buried alive was exactly "positive". Well, the "alive" part was. If they found Aya in here, alive, Yohji figured it would all be worth it, in the end. They hadn't gotten their target on this one. Sure, Harrister was dead, but not at Weiss's hands. They'd all have to live with that failure, but, if they found Aya, alive, then at least it wasn't all for nothing.
A third shovelful of dirt rained down upon Yohji's head, prompting the tall blonde to pause in his work, stare at the empty air directly in front of him, and say, through clenched teeth, "Ken, when we get outta here, I swear … I'm just gonna beat the ever-loving shit outta you."
Ken didn't reply, but the sound of his shovel scraping against soil paused for the smallest length of time, a two heartbeat silence that gave Yohji the satisfaction of knowing he'd at least given his teammate something to think about. The tall blonde smiled, feeling a bit better about things for having heaped some of his anger onto Ken's head. Yohji had always been a firm believer in the philosophy that anger was so much more enjoyable when you spread it around a bit, and, for some reason, spreading it Ken's way was the most enjoyable of all.
Yohji took a deep breath and slowly exhaled as he patted the front of his trench coat, fumbling around for the pack of cigarettes stowed there. He dug the box out, shook out a stick, and was tapping it against the side of the pack prior to lighting up when he noticed Omi glaring at him. Yohji ducked his head a bit, so he could look at the boy over the top rims of his sunglasses.
"What?" he asked, as he flicked his lighter open and on in one fluid motion. He kept his voice pitched low, and his words were muffled due to the cigarette clenched firmly between his lips.
"There's no time for that shit," Omi said. Yohji couldn't see the boy's expression behind the golden glare from the flashlight, but Omi's tone conveyed his disapproval in no uncertain terms.
Yohji shrugged as he replaced his pack and his lighter. He took the glowing cig from his lips and flicked a few ashes off the end of it. "Look," he said, struggling to keep his voice calm, "We're robbing a fucking grave here. Murder is bad enough … but, now, we're fucking grave robbers. We're digging up a dead fucking body, hoping to find our teammate --- my friend --- in here. Oh … and we're hoping he's alive … which means he's been in there with a dead guy for … who knows how the hell long? Fuck! Can you blame me for needing a cigarette?" Yohji paused long enough to frown in Omi's general direction, although he couldn't see anything past the glare from the flashlight the boy was using to illuminate their nighttime adventure.
"Ask me," he mumbled, the cigarette bobbing madly with his words, "Something fucking wrong with you and wonder jock here because you don't need one."
Before Omi could reply, there was a hollow thud as Ken's shovel struck the coffin lid.
"Hey! This is it! I think … I think I found it!" the ex-goalie exclaimed, his voice rising to stage whisper pitch. He scrambled out of the grave, using the hand Omi extended to him for leverage.
There was a small space all around the coffin, between it and the sides of the hole. Yohji managed to squirm into the empty space next to the coffin's latches. He wanted to find Aya, and, yet, he didn't. Yohji realized he was afraid of opening the casket. He was afraid of what he would find, and he stood there for a few seconds, staring down at the dirt scattered over its top and feeling his blood slowly turn to ice from the fear and horror coursing through him. It was wrong to feel this way. If Aya was in that box, he should be tearing the lid off with his bare hands, not standing here feeling weak and afraid. He brushed at the dirt, wanting to rip the box open, and, yet, too afraid of what he might find to carry through with that desire. His hands were shaking, and he could hear his own breath, bursting in short raspy huffs out into the still silence surrounding him, like small explosions or gunshots. He was ashamed he felt this way, but he was paralyzed, frozen in place by his own fear.
"Yohji," Omi's soft voice broke through the tall blonde's tangled thoughts, "It's all right. We're all afraid, but … we have to do this. No matter what we find. We can't walk away now."
Yohji looked up, past the yellow flashlight glare, and found Omi's earnest, almost-innocent, cornflower blue eyes staring back at him with an expression that told him the boy understood exactly how he felt --- understood and shared the emotions racing through him, twisting his insides into so many shards of ice. He didn't know how the kid could find the courage to face this new, terrifying unknown after everything he'd been through on this godforsaken mission. But, somehow, Omi did it --- reached down into the depths of his soul and pulled out enough courage so that he could pass a bit on to Yohji, too.
The tall blonde nodded. He mentally squared his shoulders and took a deep breath to steady himself as he leaned over and fumbled for the latches. Once they were free, he shoved at the lid. It opened silently, which, in retrospect, Yohji would always think of as a bit of an anticlimax. In some deep, dark recess of his mind, he expected the lid to creak ominously as he opened it. That was the way it always happened in the horror movies.
When he saw Aya, Yohji felt fear, revulsion, horror, relief, and rage wash over him in rolling waves. He couldn't decide whether to throw up, laugh, cry, or find something --- anything --- to kill. The tall blonde could feel tears gathering in his eyes and slipping under his sunglasses, but he wasn't sure which emotion had triggered them. He tried hard to swallow back the lump in his throat as he pulled off his glove and leaned into the coffin to fumble at Aya's throat, searching for a pulse. Yohji held his breath and sent a silent prayer heavenward, in the hopes that whoever was in charge up there would still listen to a grave-robber, if his motives had been pure. Apparently, pure motives counted for a lot, because, after a few seconds, Yohji felt a beat of life under his fear-numbed fingers --- slow, but steady.
"Oh … God …Aya," Yohji said. His voice was choked, the words raspy with the emotions he struggled to hold in check as he climbed into the coffin to take his injured friend into a gentle embrace.
The picture Harrister had left in the warehouse hadn't lied. Aya was a mass of injuries --- bleeding, seeping cuts, some fresh and some almost healed, covered his bare torso; one side of his head was a network of bleeding gashes, some deep enough to show white bone beneath; he was covered in blood in various stages of drying, from fresh to completely crusted. Yohji could see heavy bruising in the places not covered by cuts or blood, and he couldn't help but wonder at what kind of internal injuries Aya had suffered. All in all, there wasn't an inch of the swordsman's chest, back, or abdomen that wasn't marked in some way, and, when he added just the surface injures to the nasty head wound, Yohji couldn't believe Aya was still alive. The redhead's hands were bound by heavy, thick rope, and the tall blonde could see deep, bleeding gashes, as well as extensive bruising, on his wrists. Yohji fumbled with the ropes for a second or two before managing to work the knot free. It would have been easier to cut them, but, somehow, he couldn't bring himself to use a knife near Aya right now. It just didn't seem right.
Yohji slipped out of his black leather trench and, holding Aya in a sitting position, folded the material around the injured man. He pulled Aya to him once more, resting the swordsman's head on his shoulder, and just held him, rocking back and forth, smoothing Aya's blood-matted hair, and muttering that everything would be all right. The tall blonde could feel the sobs shuddering through his body now, and he didn't fight them any more. He let them come, pouring all his anguish, all his fear, all his grief out into the still, silent night around him. He didn't care if the others saw it, didn't care if they thought he was weak. In Yohji's mind, Omi and Ken weren't even there. It was just him and Aya in that coffin, surrounded by the heavy stillness of the cemetery.
He didn't know how long he sat there before Omi's gentle voice broke through to him, reminding him they needed to go, that Aya needed help, and right away. Yohji couldn't do more than nod. There were too many emotions whirling around his mind. But, he handed Aya up to Omi and Ken's waiting, helping hands, and then hoisted himself out of the grave.
He managed to regain control of his emotions once he stood beside the gaping hole. Yohji glared at Jackie Harrister's corpse for a second or two, before taking his still burning cigarette and flicking it into the open coffin. Satisfied at that small, physical manifestation of his hatred, he picked Aya up, careful to avoid jostling his broken body too much, and retreated to his waiting car. Ken and Omi followed him. Within minutes, they were speeding away from the cemetery, leaving behind the dug-up grave, the open coffin, and two shovels sticking out of the piles of dirt heaped around the edge of the hole.
Warnings: Bad Language. Violence
Summary: When a mission goes bad, Aya may have to make the ultimate sacrifice to protect Omi, and the rest of Weiss learn you don't truly miss something until it's gone.
Legal Stuff: As always, this story is intended to express one fan's genuine appreciation of Weiss Kreuz and its characters. It is just for fun and not for profit. If you have any rights in the anime described here and find the posting of this fanfiction offensive or harmful, please contact me, and I will be happy to remove it.
Chapter 10
"Hey!" Omi snapped, leaning forward, over the large hole in which Yohji and Ken were standing, "Can't you dig any faster?"
His voice was low, hardly more than a whisper, but a heavy, midnight silence blanketed the cemetery and made Omi's words carry as clearly as if he had shouted. The kid's voice seemed so out of place. It ran up Yohji's spine and made his teeth itch, like the screech of fingernails across a blackboard, and he shuddered as Omi shined a flashlight in his face.
The tall blonde heaved an irritated, angry sigh and shoved the flashlight aside as he glared at Omi and fought back the urge to tell the kid to shut the hell up. He knew Omi was only being an irritating, little shit because he was nervous, scared, and almost out of hope. They all were. This was their last chance at finding Aya. If Omi was wrong, and the redhead wasn't in this grave, they'd never find him. Yohji figured the tension was getting to all of them. Even Ken had been much more subdued than usual.
Yohji took a deep breath, and, when he felt he had control of his emotions enough so that he wouldn't bite Omi's head off, he replied, "No."
At almost the same instant the word slid from his mouth, a shovelful of dirt flew in his direction and scattered over his head and shoulders. Yohji sighed --- the sound of a man struggling valiantly to hang on to his last shred of patience --- and rolled his eyes toward the inky black sky in a classic, "why me?" look, before turning to spear Ken with an angry, icy, death-glare that would have made Aya proud. It should have been enough to congeal blood and send ominous shivers up the recipient's spine. Unfortunately for Yohji, the ex-goalie's back was toward him, and the full force and effect of the glare was lost.
'Out of hope isn't the same thing as hopeless,' Yohji thought, as he pulled his attention away from his brunette teammate.
The tall blonde glanced around at his surroundings. He really hated everything about this little adventure. He hated cemeteries, especially at night, when there was no moon and it was so overcast you couldn't even see the stars. And, Yohji had to admit he hated the idea of what they were doing. He had done a lot of things in his lifetime --- things he wasn't particularly proud of --- but he'd never dreamed it would come to this --- standing in a rapidly-deepening hole in the middle of a graveyard.
'Shit,' Yohji thought, 'I'm a fucking grave-robber now. And I thought my life couldn't get any worse.'
Still, if he had to stoop to grave-robbing, Yohji supposed this was a pretty nice place in which to do it. This cemetery was large and well-kept. The hedges and grass, from what he had been able to see in the murky dark, were lush and neatly clipped. And, there were a lot of statues and towering headstones. Despite his profession, Yohji didn't know a whole lot about cemeteries. Being a successful assassin necessarily meant you didn't spend a lot of time hanging around them, but, in his limited experience, it had always seemed your higher-end graveyards had lots of nice statues and towering headstones.
Yohji shivered. The night air was chilly and damp, but the chill coursing through his body had nothing to do with the temperature. This place gave him the creeps, and so did what he was doing. The cemetery was deserted, and the night was so still. It was as if the world around the three assassins was holding its breath and watching their activity. Yohji knew it was irrational, but he kept expecting a horde of ghosts to pop out of the nearest hedge, from behind a headstone, or out of a tree. They had been digging for thirty minutes now, and he couldn't help but hope they would come to the end of their little quest soon.
Apparently, so did Omi.
The boy leaned forward, balancing his weight on one hand, and prodded at Yohji with the flashlight. "Dig!"
Yohji sighed and returned to his assigned task.
It was quiet for several long minutes as Yohji and Ken both concentrated on the task at hand. Omi hovered around the edge of the grave, occasionally chiding them to dig faster, but, mostly, just holding the flashlight without saying anything. None of them had much of a desire to talk. They were too tense, too worried, and too afraid for any real conversation. And, on some level, all three of them were horrified at what they were doing. Yohji wasn't sure which would be worse --- if they dug up this grave and didn't find Aya inside, or if they did. Either way, he was pretty sure none of them would ever talk about it again, but they'd all remember it in their waking and sleeping nightmares for some time to come.
Another shovelful of dirt flew through the air and scattered over Yohji's head and shoulders.
The tall blonde sighed and prayed for patience. He couldn't kill Ken. Not right now. If he did, he'd have to dig up the damn coffin all by himself, and that would take forever. Not that Ken was helping all that much. Yohji thought the stupid jock had probably thrown as much dirt back in the hole as he had heaped up around the sides.
"Ken," Yohji said, struggling to keep his voice calm and at whisper level, "We're never gonna to get to the bottom if you keep throwing the fucking dirt on me instead of outside the fucking hole."
The tall blonde didn't bother turning around to look at the ex-goalie, but Ken's voice sounded out behind him, soft and low, "Sorry. Accident. Wasn't paying attention."
Yohji shook his head and returned his attention to unearthing Jackie Harrister's coffin as quickly as possible. He just wanted this whole damn thing over and done with, so he could go home and wash off the stink of what he had done. But, once he gave it some serious thought, Yohji figured he'd never truly be able to wash this off. This was the kind of reek that stuck with a man, the kind of fucked-up thing you never forgot about and never quite got over doing. He just prayed Omi was right and Aya was in the coffin they were struggling to unearth. For starters, he wanted his friend back, alive, and couldn't stand the thought of never knowing what had happened to the redhead. But, that wasn't the only reason. This whole mission had been fucked up beyond all redemption from day one, and Yohji just wanted it to have some kind of positive ending. Not that finding your best friend buried alive was exactly "positive". Well, the "alive" part was. If they found Aya in here, alive, Yohji figured it would all be worth it, in the end. They hadn't gotten their target on this one. Sure, Harrister was dead, but not at Weiss's hands. They'd all have to live with that failure, but, if they found Aya, alive, then at least it wasn't all for nothing.
A third shovelful of dirt rained down upon Yohji's head, prompting the tall blonde to pause in his work, stare at the empty air directly in front of him, and say, through clenched teeth, "Ken, when we get outta here, I swear … I'm just gonna beat the ever-loving shit outta you."
Ken didn't reply, but the sound of his shovel scraping against soil paused for the smallest length of time, a two heartbeat silence that gave Yohji the satisfaction of knowing he'd at least given his teammate something to think about. The tall blonde smiled, feeling a bit better about things for having heaped some of his anger onto Ken's head. Yohji had always been a firm believer in the philosophy that anger was so much more enjoyable when you spread it around a bit, and, for some reason, spreading it Ken's way was the most enjoyable of all.
Yohji took a deep breath and slowly exhaled as he patted the front of his trench coat, fumbling around for the pack of cigarettes stowed there. He dug the box out, shook out a stick, and was tapping it against the side of the pack prior to lighting up when he noticed Omi glaring at him. Yohji ducked his head a bit, so he could look at the boy over the top rims of his sunglasses.
"What?" he asked, as he flicked his lighter open and on in one fluid motion. He kept his voice pitched low, and his words were muffled due to the cigarette clenched firmly between his lips.
"There's no time for that shit," Omi said. Yohji couldn't see the boy's expression behind the golden glare from the flashlight, but Omi's tone conveyed his disapproval in no uncertain terms.
Yohji shrugged as he replaced his pack and his lighter. He took the glowing cig from his lips and flicked a few ashes off the end of it. "Look," he said, struggling to keep his voice calm, "We're robbing a fucking grave here. Murder is bad enough … but, now, we're fucking grave robbers. We're digging up a dead fucking body, hoping to find our teammate --- my friend --- in here. Oh … and we're hoping he's alive … which means he's been in there with a dead guy for … who knows how the hell long? Fuck! Can you blame me for needing a cigarette?" Yohji paused long enough to frown in Omi's general direction, although he couldn't see anything past the glare from the flashlight the boy was using to illuminate their nighttime adventure.
"Ask me," he mumbled, the cigarette bobbing madly with his words, "Something fucking wrong with you and wonder jock here because you don't need one."
Before Omi could reply, there was a hollow thud as Ken's shovel struck the coffin lid.
"Hey! This is it! I think … I think I found it!" the ex-goalie exclaimed, his voice rising to stage whisper pitch. He scrambled out of the grave, using the hand Omi extended to him for leverage.
There was a small space all around the coffin, between it and the sides of the hole. Yohji managed to squirm into the empty space next to the coffin's latches. He wanted to find Aya, and, yet, he didn't. Yohji realized he was afraid of opening the casket. He was afraid of what he would find, and he stood there for a few seconds, staring down at the dirt scattered over its top and feeling his blood slowly turn to ice from the fear and horror coursing through him. It was wrong to feel this way. If Aya was in that box, he should be tearing the lid off with his bare hands, not standing here feeling weak and afraid. He brushed at the dirt, wanting to rip the box open, and, yet, too afraid of what he might find to carry through with that desire. His hands were shaking, and he could hear his own breath, bursting in short raspy huffs out into the still silence surrounding him, like small explosions or gunshots. He was ashamed he felt this way, but he was paralyzed, frozen in place by his own fear.
"Yohji," Omi's soft voice broke through the tall blonde's tangled thoughts, "It's all right. We're all afraid, but … we have to do this. No matter what we find. We can't walk away now."
Yohji looked up, past the yellow flashlight glare, and found Omi's earnest, almost-innocent, cornflower blue eyes staring back at him with an expression that told him the boy understood exactly how he felt --- understood and shared the emotions racing through him, twisting his insides into so many shards of ice. He didn't know how the kid could find the courage to face this new, terrifying unknown after everything he'd been through on this godforsaken mission. But, somehow, Omi did it --- reached down into the depths of his soul and pulled out enough courage so that he could pass a bit on to Yohji, too.
The tall blonde nodded. He mentally squared his shoulders and took a deep breath to steady himself as he leaned over and fumbled for the latches. Once they were free, he shoved at the lid. It opened silently, which, in retrospect, Yohji would always think of as a bit of an anticlimax. In some deep, dark recess of his mind, he expected the lid to creak ominously as he opened it. That was the way it always happened in the horror movies.
When he saw Aya, Yohji felt fear, revulsion, horror, relief, and rage wash over him in rolling waves. He couldn't decide whether to throw up, laugh, cry, or find something --- anything --- to kill. The tall blonde could feel tears gathering in his eyes and slipping under his sunglasses, but he wasn't sure which emotion had triggered them. He tried hard to swallow back the lump in his throat as he pulled off his glove and leaned into the coffin to fumble at Aya's throat, searching for a pulse. Yohji held his breath and sent a silent prayer heavenward, in the hopes that whoever was in charge up there would still listen to a grave-robber, if his motives had been pure. Apparently, pure motives counted for a lot, because, after a few seconds, Yohji felt a beat of life under his fear-numbed fingers --- slow, but steady.
"Oh … God …Aya," Yohji said. His voice was choked, the words raspy with the emotions he struggled to hold in check as he climbed into the coffin to take his injured friend into a gentle embrace.
The picture Harrister had left in the warehouse hadn't lied. Aya was a mass of injuries --- bleeding, seeping cuts, some fresh and some almost healed, covered his bare torso; one side of his head was a network of bleeding gashes, some deep enough to show white bone beneath; he was covered in blood in various stages of drying, from fresh to completely crusted. Yohji could see heavy bruising in the places not covered by cuts or blood, and he couldn't help but wonder at what kind of internal injuries Aya had suffered. All in all, there wasn't an inch of the swordsman's chest, back, or abdomen that wasn't marked in some way, and, when he added just the surface injures to the nasty head wound, Yohji couldn't believe Aya was still alive. The redhead's hands were bound by heavy, thick rope, and the tall blonde could see deep, bleeding gashes, as well as extensive bruising, on his wrists. Yohji fumbled with the ropes for a second or two before managing to work the knot free. It would have been easier to cut them, but, somehow, he couldn't bring himself to use a knife near Aya right now. It just didn't seem right.
Yohji slipped out of his black leather trench and, holding Aya in a sitting position, folded the material around the injured man. He pulled Aya to him once more, resting the swordsman's head on his shoulder, and just held him, rocking back and forth, smoothing Aya's blood-matted hair, and muttering that everything would be all right. The tall blonde could feel the sobs shuddering through his body now, and he didn't fight them any more. He let them come, pouring all his anguish, all his fear, all his grief out into the still, silent night around him. He didn't care if the others saw it, didn't care if they thought he was weak. In Yohji's mind, Omi and Ken weren't even there. It was just him and Aya in that coffin, surrounded by the heavy stillness of the cemetery.
He didn't know how long he sat there before Omi's gentle voice broke through to him, reminding him they needed to go, that Aya needed help, and right away. Yohji couldn't do more than nod. There were too many emotions whirling around his mind. But, he handed Aya up to Omi and Ken's waiting, helping hands, and then hoisted himself out of the grave.
He managed to regain control of his emotions once he stood beside the gaping hole. Yohji glared at Jackie Harrister's corpse for a second or two, before taking his still burning cigarette and flicking it into the open coffin. Satisfied at that small, physical manifestation of his hatred, he picked Aya up, careful to avoid jostling his broken body too much, and retreated to his waiting car. Ken and Omi followed him. Within minutes, they were speeding away from the cemetery, leaving behind the dug-up grave, the open coffin, and two shovels sticking out of the piles of dirt heaped around the edge of the hole.