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Fanfic Archive: Sacrifice, 11
(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 11
Aya pulled his jacket closer, hugging his arms around his waist for warmth. He flipped up the collar, and hunched his shoulders against the wind. The day was bright, sunny, and warm, but he shivered in the slight breeze. He had lost a lot of weight during the past few months, and his body hadn't come close to healing from its injuries. Even the gentle, warm wind cut right through him, setting old aches throbbing and seeking out new ones with which to torture him.
He coughed, wincing at the sudden stab of pain that lanced through not-quite-mended bones and ended, like a sharp spike, in his head. He leaned against the hospital, resting his aching head gingerly against the building's rough, concrete coolness. He knew he shouldn't be out here. If he had any sense, he would turn around, march straight up to his recently-vacated room on the fourteenth floor, and get his ass right back into that uncomfortable hospital bed with the disinfectant-smelling sheets and too-shiny bedrails. But, then, no one had ever accused him of having anything even remotely approaching good sense. So, that brought him here, leaning against the hard chill of the hospital, just outside the main entrance, fighting off the pain that seemed intent on taking up permanent residence in every joint and muscle of his body, and wondering what he should do next.
Aya sighed. He knew what the others would say. Well, he knew what Yohji would say. Ken and Omi --- they would think it, but they wouldn't have the courage to say it, at least, not to his face. Yohji, though, would get in his face, and thump him in the chest with a forefinger. Then, the tall blonde would pull his sunglasses down low on his nose to glare at him over the rims, and tell him he was pulling this "stupid-assed, drama queen shit" just to piss everyone off.
He was surprised to find he felt rather guilty about that, but not guilty enough to stay put. After four months and several rounds of reconstructive surgery, he had had enough. He hated the hospital, and he couldn't take another second of being poked and prodded, pricked and pummeled, lying awake in the dark while the squeak of rubber-soled shoes on linoleum frazzled his nerves and set his teeth on edge. Plus, he didn't want to admit this, but he hated being alone there. It wasn't so bad during the day, when Yohji or, sometimes, Omi, stayed with him. But, at night, when everything was quiet and the darkness and silence became heavy and oppressive, he was terrified.
It was like being back in that coffin. He couldn't count the number of times he had awakened in a panic from a drug-induced sleep, only to claw and tear at the sheets, his breath coming in short, harsh gasps as his mind screamed at him that he was back in that cold, dark box, buried alive. He wondered if he'd ever be able to sleep again, without memories of the coffin and that boy's dead body reaching into his subconscious to bring him, screaming and begging for mercy, into the land of wakefulness. Just two more rotten memories to add onto the fetid pile stored in the back of his brain. Come to think of it, he hadn't had a decent night's sleep since he'd joined Kritiker. Before then, actually. When he really thought about it, he hadn't had a good night's sleep since his parents' death and Aya's "accident". Maybe he was just fated to wake up screaming for the rest of his life … however long that might be.
Aya shook his head, careful of the spiking pain the small motion caused, to rid himself of his dark, brooding thoughts. No matter what he decided to do, one thing was certain: he couldn't stand around out here for much longer. His doctors had been unhappy about his decision to leave, and, if he hung around, leaning against the comfortable bulk of the hospital, someone was bound to notice and try to force him back inside. Plus, if he dawdled too long, Yohji and Omi might get here before he managed to get away. He might be able to intimidate the doctors and hospital staff into leaving him alone, but Yohji was one person he'd never be able to bully. If the tall blonde caught him out here like this, Aya knew he would drag him back into the hospital by force, if necessary.
Part of his mind knew the doctors and Yohji were right. He shouldn't leave. It was too soon --- a fact made obvious by the heroic effort it had taken for him to make it just this far. But, another part of his mind, the part that woke up screaming in the night, told him to get the hell out of Dodge just as fast as humanly possible. That was the part worth listening to, in his opinion.
He tried to salve his guilty conscience by telling himself it was pointless to stay longer. The doctors had done all they could. They had managed to reconstruct his face --- more or less. His nose would always be a tad bit crooked, and his right eye was slightly lower than his left one now, but, all in all, the flaws were hardly noticeable. Once he healed and the stitches came out, he doubted anyone would even know the difference. They had repaired the internal injuries, too, and set his broken bones. The rest was up to endurance. Besides, he might wake up screaming in his bed at the Koneko, but at least it was his bed. He didn't expect a warm reception from his teammates, but Aya needed to have familiar noises around him right now.
But, first, there was something he had to do. It had been so long since he had seen Aya, and he felt a twinge of guilt when he thought about how she must feel, lying in that bed, day after day, waiting for him to come. It wasn't like he had had any say in the matter, but that did little to allay the shame he felt over ignoring his little sister for so many months.
His mind made up and his course of action decided, Aya pushed away from the wall. He walked, slowly and a bit unsteadily, to the corner, where he hailed a cab.
***************************************************************************
Aya paused outside his sister's room, his left hand resting against the doorknob. He felt uncomfortable going in there after such a long absence. He knew he was being foolish, but the feelings wouldn't go away. Aya was in a coma. She probably had no idea she'd been alone for so many months. But, still, he couldn't shake the feelings of guilt and shame that crept over him. He almost expected her to sit up and yell at him for being such a lousy big brother and abandoning her like he had.
"You're just being stupid," he muttered, under his breath.
Still, his impromptu pep talk did little in the way of forcing his feet into motion, and he leaned his head against the door, feeling the slightly damp coolness of the wood against his cheek. After standing like that for several minutes, he took a deep breath and pushed the door open, ready for any recriminations and accusations his mind chose to visit upon him.
The strong, heady scent of fresh roses rolled over him like a tidal wave as soon as he entered. Aya stopped just a few steps into the room and stared. He couldn't believe his eyes. There were flowers everywhere. Overflowing vases full of beautiful, perfect, white roses littered the top of the dresser next to his sister's bed, the table under the window, the rolling cart that, normally, would move across the bed to hold a food tray, and even the windowsill. Containers of various shapes and sizes stood on the floor around the bed. There must have been dozens of them, each one crammed to bursting with full, luscious, dewy blossoms. Roses covered every inch of flat space in the room. The vases were so full flowers spilled from them and tumbled out onto the floor in messy, jumbled piles, and the strong, sweet scent filled every corner of the sterile, white space.
"But, how…?" Aya muttered, as he moved into the room to stop just next to the bed. He reached out and stroked the nearest, velvety petal.
"Oh, my goodness! I … didn't expect to find anyone in here," a startled voice broke into Aya's thoughts, causing him to jump slightly and turn around.
He knew he had a guilty expression on his face, as if he'd been caught somewhere he shouldn't be, or doing something he shouldn't be doing. He tried to erase it as he turned to face the nurse who had just entered the room, but he knew the best he could manage was a rather twisted, guilty-looking half-smile, since the right side of his face still wasn't functioning properly.
The nurse gave him a shy, yet warm, smile. She had two large vases of white roses in her arms, and she moved over to the dresser, shoving a few containers aside to create more room so she could deposit her burden there. With that task accomplished, she turned to face Aya with another genuine, warm smile. One of the boys who had been visiting her patient had told her the girl's brother had been kidnapped and badly injured, and, now that she saw the young man, she realized he had had a very hard time of it.
The nurse stood quietly for several moments, taking in every detail of Aya's appearance: the waxy, ashen-white pallor of his complexion, the way his clothing hung off him, the slightly stooped posture, the sling supporting his right arm, the white of bandages, which she could just barely see peeking over the collar of his shirt, and, finally, the neat, almost invisible rows of stitches on the right side of his face. If she hadn't known what to look for, she wouldn't have noticed it, but the amount of surgical work the stitching indicated surprised her. She couldn't help but wonder at why he wasn't still in the hospital, recuperating. But, then, this boy had always struck her as being a very stubborn, single-minded young man … and incredibly devoted to his sister.
Aya cleared his throat, uncomfortable at the scrutiny he was receiving from the nurse. She shrugged and smiled, embarrassed at having been caught staring. She indicated her discomfort by shifting her weight in an unconscious, almost involuntary, gesture, and stared at the floor around her shoes.
"Um … did … did you… do all this … for my sister?"
Aya's voice brought the nurse's attention away from the floor and back to him. She looked up just in time to see him gesture at the room by way of explanation.
"Oh! Uh … no. No, it wasn't me," the nurse replied quickly. Too quickly, judging from the young man's perplexed look and the way he watched her --- not saying anything, but waiting for more of an explanation. She smiled again and bent over to brush her nose against one of the flowers crowding the dresser, inhaling the sweet scent, before continuing, "Your friends brought them."
Now, Aya was really confused. It had been enough of a shock to walk in, expecting to feel guilty and ashamed over seeing his sister alone, small, and frail in her hospital bed, only to find her surrounded by beautiful, almost perfect flowers. But, for the nurse to say his "friends" had brought them was more than he could fathom. He didn't have any friends. That was the first thought that popped into his mind. Other than Aya, he didn't have anyone in the whole world. Well, there was the rest of Weiss … but, they wouldn't do something like this, would they?
"My … friends?" Aya repeated. His words were hesitant. The confused, almost shocked expression on his face matched his tone of voice.
The nurse frowned. The young men who had been visiting her patient during these past few months had all been so nice, and they all had seemed to know the girl and her brother. Now, though, she was beginning to wonder if, maybe, she had made a mistake by allowing them to visit and leave flowers.
"Well … yes," she replied, again, shifting her weight from one foot to the other and smoothing at the front of her uniform. The rubber soles of her shoes made a squeaking noise as they moved on the floor. It sent shivers up Aya's spine, although he tried hard to hide it.
After a few moments of squirming under Aya's intense gaze, the nurse looked back at him and continued, in a shy, quiet voice, "Three young men … about your age. One was, maybe, a bit older. He wore sunglasses all the time, and told her jokes when they visited. The others were a bit younger … one with blonde hair and a very sweet smile, and the other had brown hair and seemed uncomfortable with being here. Don't you know them?"
Aya nodded, his gaze traveling from the flowers, to his sister's still frame in the big, white bed, and back to the nurse.
She smiled at his acknowledgment of her description, and, feeling she was on firmer footing now, continued in a more confident tone, "They've visited her every day since … well, since you've been "away". They always bring vases overflowing with the most beautiful, white roses. They said you wouldn't want her to be alone … that you always loved for her to be surrounded by the smell of flowers."
Aya swallowed the lump that had lodged in his throat. He could feel the tears gathering in his eyes. He hated himself for it, but he couldn't stop. Suddenly, he had to get out of there. He was going to lose it, and he couldn't stand for this person … this stranger … to see him, no matter how kind she seemed.
He cleared his throat, and said, his voice shaking and almost inaudible, "I … uh … I need to … I need to go."
Without waiting for the nurse to reply, he shoved past the startled woman and fled into the hallway. He didn't stop running until he stumbled out of the front entrance of Magic Bus Hospital. He tumbled and tripped down the front steps to come to a stop at a nearby corner. There, he leaned against a lamp post, panting, out of breath, his body one mean, screaming ache and throb of pain, his eyes streaming tears that he couldn't stop, and his breath coming in choking, hitching sobs. His mind whirled, thoughts and questions running around and around, like dogs chasing their tails, as he struggled to come to grips with what he had just seen. Why? Why would they do that? They had done it for him. That much was clear, even to his emotionally overwrought subconscious, but why? They weren't his friends … were they?
It took Aya a long time to regain his composure. He would have preferred to move to a more secluded location, so no one could see his little emotional and mental meltdown, but he didn't have the strength. Instead, he remained on that street corner, leaning on the lamp post, head resting against the flaking blue paint, and tried hard to ignore the passersby --- almost all of whom slowed down and stared. When he finally managed to get his emotions under control, Aya flagged a cab and, as he slid into the back seat, gave the driver the address for the Koneko no Sumu Ie. Maybe it was time to go home, after all.
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 11
Aya pulled his jacket closer, hugging his arms around his waist for warmth. He flipped up the collar, and hunched his shoulders against the wind. The day was bright, sunny, and warm, but he shivered in the slight breeze. He had lost a lot of weight during the past few months, and his body hadn't come close to healing from its injuries. Even the gentle, warm wind cut right through him, setting old aches throbbing and seeking out new ones with which to torture him.
He coughed, wincing at the sudden stab of pain that lanced through not-quite-mended bones and ended, like a sharp spike, in his head. He leaned against the hospital, resting his aching head gingerly against the building's rough, concrete coolness. He knew he shouldn't be out here. If he had any sense, he would turn around, march straight up to his recently-vacated room on the fourteenth floor, and get his ass right back into that uncomfortable hospital bed with the disinfectant-smelling sheets and too-shiny bedrails. But, then, no one had ever accused him of having anything even remotely approaching good sense. So, that brought him here, leaning against the hard chill of the hospital, just outside the main entrance, fighting off the pain that seemed intent on taking up permanent residence in every joint and muscle of his body, and wondering what he should do next.
Aya sighed. He knew what the others would say. Well, he knew what Yohji would say. Ken and Omi --- they would think it, but they wouldn't have the courage to say it, at least, not to his face. Yohji, though, would get in his face, and thump him in the chest with a forefinger. Then, the tall blonde would pull his sunglasses down low on his nose to glare at him over the rims, and tell him he was pulling this "stupid-assed, drama queen shit" just to piss everyone off.
He was surprised to find he felt rather guilty about that, but not guilty enough to stay put. After four months and several rounds of reconstructive surgery, he had had enough. He hated the hospital, and he couldn't take another second of being poked and prodded, pricked and pummeled, lying awake in the dark while the squeak of rubber-soled shoes on linoleum frazzled his nerves and set his teeth on edge. Plus, he didn't want to admit this, but he hated being alone there. It wasn't so bad during the day, when Yohji or, sometimes, Omi, stayed with him. But, at night, when everything was quiet and the darkness and silence became heavy and oppressive, he was terrified.
It was like being back in that coffin. He couldn't count the number of times he had awakened in a panic from a drug-induced sleep, only to claw and tear at the sheets, his breath coming in short, harsh gasps as his mind screamed at him that he was back in that cold, dark box, buried alive. He wondered if he'd ever be able to sleep again, without memories of the coffin and that boy's dead body reaching into his subconscious to bring him, screaming and begging for mercy, into the land of wakefulness. Just two more rotten memories to add onto the fetid pile stored in the back of his brain. Come to think of it, he hadn't had a decent night's sleep since he'd joined Kritiker. Before then, actually. When he really thought about it, he hadn't had a good night's sleep since his parents' death and Aya's "accident". Maybe he was just fated to wake up screaming for the rest of his life … however long that might be.
Aya shook his head, careful of the spiking pain the small motion caused, to rid himself of his dark, brooding thoughts. No matter what he decided to do, one thing was certain: he couldn't stand around out here for much longer. His doctors had been unhappy about his decision to leave, and, if he hung around, leaning against the comfortable bulk of the hospital, someone was bound to notice and try to force him back inside. Plus, if he dawdled too long, Yohji and Omi might get here before he managed to get away. He might be able to intimidate the doctors and hospital staff into leaving him alone, but Yohji was one person he'd never be able to bully. If the tall blonde caught him out here like this, Aya knew he would drag him back into the hospital by force, if necessary.
Part of his mind knew the doctors and Yohji were right. He shouldn't leave. It was too soon --- a fact made obvious by the heroic effort it had taken for him to make it just this far. But, another part of his mind, the part that woke up screaming in the night, told him to get the hell out of Dodge just as fast as humanly possible. That was the part worth listening to, in his opinion.
He tried to salve his guilty conscience by telling himself it was pointless to stay longer. The doctors had done all they could. They had managed to reconstruct his face --- more or less. His nose would always be a tad bit crooked, and his right eye was slightly lower than his left one now, but, all in all, the flaws were hardly noticeable. Once he healed and the stitches came out, he doubted anyone would even know the difference. They had repaired the internal injuries, too, and set his broken bones. The rest was up to endurance. Besides, he might wake up screaming in his bed at the Koneko, but at least it was his bed. He didn't expect a warm reception from his teammates, but Aya needed to have familiar noises around him right now.
But, first, there was something he had to do. It had been so long since he had seen Aya, and he felt a twinge of guilt when he thought about how she must feel, lying in that bed, day after day, waiting for him to come. It wasn't like he had had any say in the matter, but that did little to allay the shame he felt over ignoring his little sister for so many months.
His mind made up and his course of action decided, Aya pushed away from the wall. He walked, slowly and a bit unsteadily, to the corner, where he hailed a cab.
***************************************************************************
Aya paused outside his sister's room, his left hand resting against the doorknob. He felt uncomfortable going in there after such a long absence. He knew he was being foolish, but the feelings wouldn't go away. Aya was in a coma. She probably had no idea she'd been alone for so many months. But, still, he couldn't shake the feelings of guilt and shame that crept over him. He almost expected her to sit up and yell at him for being such a lousy big brother and abandoning her like he had.
"You're just being stupid," he muttered, under his breath.
Still, his impromptu pep talk did little in the way of forcing his feet into motion, and he leaned his head against the door, feeling the slightly damp coolness of the wood against his cheek. After standing like that for several minutes, he took a deep breath and pushed the door open, ready for any recriminations and accusations his mind chose to visit upon him.
The strong, heady scent of fresh roses rolled over him like a tidal wave as soon as he entered. Aya stopped just a few steps into the room and stared. He couldn't believe his eyes. There were flowers everywhere. Overflowing vases full of beautiful, perfect, white roses littered the top of the dresser next to his sister's bed, the table under the window, the rolling cart that, normally, would move across the bed to hold a food tray, and even the windowsill. Containers of various shapes and sizes stood on the floor around the bed. There must have been dozens of them, each one crammed to bursting with full, luscious, dewy blossoms. Roses covered every inch of flat space in the room. The vases were so full flowers spilled from them and tumbled out onto the floor in messy, jumbled piles, and the strong, sweet scent filled every corner of the sterile, white space.
"But, how…?" Aya muttered, as he moved into the room to stop just next to the bed. He reached out and stroked the nearest, velvety petal.
"Oh, my goodness! I … didn't expect to find anyone in here," a startled voice broke into Aya's thoughts, causing him to jump slightly and turn around.
He knew he had a guilty expression on his face, as if he'd been caught somewhere he shouldn't be, or doing something he shouldn't be doing. He tried to erase it as he turned to face the nurse who had just entered the room, but he knew the best he could manage was a rather twisted, guilty-looking half-smile, since the right side of his face still wasn't functioning properly.
The nurse gave him a shy, yet warm, smile. She had two large vases of white roses in her arms, and she moved over to the dresser, shoving a few containers aside to create more room so she could deposit her burden there. With that task accomplished, she turned to face Aya with another genuine, warm smile. One of the boys who had been visiting her patient had told her the girl's brother had been kidnapped and badly injured, and, now that she saw the young man, she realized he had had a very hard time of it.
The nurse stood quietly for several moments, taking in every detail of Aya's appearance: the waxy, ashen-white pallor of his complexion, the way his clothing hung off him, the slightly stooped posture, the sling supporting his right arm, the white of bandages, which she could just barely see peeking over the collar of his shirt, and, finally, the neat, almost invisible rows of stitches on the right side of his face. If she hadn't known what to look for, she wouldn't have noticed it, but the amount of surgical work the stitching indicated surprised her. She couldn't help but wonder at why he wasn't still in the hospital, recuperating. But, then, this boy had always struck her as being a very stubborn, single-minded young man … and incredibly devoted to his sister.
Aya cleared his throat, uncomfortable at the scrutiny he was receiving from the nurse. She shrugged and smiled, embarrassed at having been caught staring. She indicated her discomfort by shifting her weight in an unconscious, almost involuntary, gesture, and stared at the floor around her shoes.
"Um … did … did you… do all this … for my sister?"
Aya's voice brought the nurse's attention away from the floor and back to him. She looked up just in time to see him gesture at the room by way of explanation.
"Oh! Uh … no. No, it wasn't me," the nurse replied quickly. Too quickly, judging from the young man's perplexed look and the way he watched her --- not saying anything, but waiting for more of an explanation. She smiled again and bent over to brush her nose against one of the flowers crowding the dresser, inhaling the sweet scent, before continuing, "Your friends brought them."
Now, Aya was really confused. It had been enough of a shock to walk in, expecting to feel guilty and ashamed over seeing his sister alone, small, and frail in her hospital bed, only to find her surrounded by beautiful, almost perfect flowers. But, for the nurse to say his "friends" had brought them was more than he could fathom. He didn't have any friends. That was the first thought that popped into his mind. Other than Aya, he didn't have anyone in the whole world. Well, there was the rest of Weiss … but, they wouldn't do something like this, would they?
"My … friends?" Aya repeated. His words were hesitant. The confused, almost shocked expression on his face matched his tone of voice.
The nurse frowned. The young men who had been visiting her patient during these past few months had all been so nice, and they all had seemed to know the girl and her brother. Now, though, she was beginning to wonder if, maybe, she had made a mistake by allowing them to visit and leave flowers.
"Well … yes," she replied, again, shifting her weight from one foot to the other and smoothing at the front of her uniform. The rubber soles of her shoes made a squeaking noise as they moved on the floor. It sent shivers up Aya's spine, although he tried hard to hide it.
After a few moments of squirming under Aya's intense gaze, the nurse looked back at him and continued, in a shy, quiet voice, "Three young men … about your age. One was, maybe, a bit older. He wore sunglasses all the time, and told her jokes when they visited. The others were a bit younger … one with blonde hair and a very sweet smile, and the other had brown hair and seemed uncomfortable with being here. Don't you know them?"
Aya nodded, his gaze traveling from the flowers, to his sister's still frame in the big, white bed, and back to the nurse.
She smiled at his acknowledgment of her description, and, feeling she was on firmer footing now, continued in a more confident tone, "They've visited her every day since … well, since you've been "away". They always bring vases overflowing with the most beautiful, white roses. They said you wouldn't want her to be alone … that you always loved for her to be surrounded by the smell of flowers."
Aya swallowed the lump that had lodged in his throat. He could feel the tears gathering in his eyes. He hated himself for it, but he couldn't stop. Suddenly, he had to get out of there. He was going to lose it, and he couldn't stand for this person … this stranger … to see him, no matter how kind she seemed.
He cleared his throat, and said, his voice shaking and almost inaudible, "I … uh … I need to … I need to go."
Without waiting for the nurse to reply, he shoved past the startled woman and fled into the hallway. He didn't stop running until he stumbled out of the front entrance of Magic Bus Hospital. He tumbled and tripped down the front steps to come to a stop at a nearby corner. There, he leaned against a lamp post, panting, out of breath, his body one mean, screaming ache and throb of pain, his eyes streaming tears that he couldn't stop, and his breath coming in choking, hitching sobs. His mind whirled, thoughts and questions running around and around, like dogs chasing their tails, as he struggled to come to grips with what he had just seen. Why? Why would they do that? They had done it for him. That much was clear, even to his emotionally overwrought subconscious, but why? They weren't his friends … were they?
It took Aya a long time to regain his composure. He would have preferred to move to a more secluded location, so no one could see his little emotional and mental meltdown, but he didn't have the strength. Instead, he remained on that street corner, leaning on the lamp post, head resting against the flaking blue paint, and tried hard to ignore the passersby --- almost all of whom slowed down and stared. When he finally managed to get his emotions under control, Aya flagged a cab and, as he slid into the back seat, gave the driver the address for the Koneko no Sumu Ie. Maybe it was time to go home, after all.