damned_institute | [NIGHTSHIFT 35] M31-M40 HALLWAY

Oh, so now he wanted help? That always seemed to be how it went...people were perfectly capable of arguing, yelling, spitting, and pretending to be strong up until the moment they knew they were about to die. Then, it was nothing but whimpering and crying and begging for mercy. Mello was glad he'd never been that weak.

With a flash of uncomfortable detachment, he realized that he shared that trait with many others from his world.

He landed on Artemis with a quiet grunt, followed by a louder one when the boy's elbow connected with his cheek. It took less than a second for him to push up to gain leverage, and an instant later, he brought the knife down with the force of his weight behind it.

If Artemis was really too stupid to understand that he didn't exist, he'd just have to learn it the hard way.

The whole scene seemed to move in slow motion. One minute, his elbow had connected with Mello's face and he was twisting around to escape. He looked up and saw Mello above him with the knife in his hand, glinting in the beam of the forgotten flashlight.

His legs were pinned.

His left arm was injured and useless.

Mello was faster than he was.

Schuldig, Farfarello, Sora, Harry, Renji, Captain... Haku... I'm so sorry.

Artemis cried out as the knife sunk into his left breast all the way to the hilt. The boy heard bone snap, and his heart spasmed as it was grazed open. Mostly though, his lung was taking on blood.

I hope you all know how I felt... especially you, Haku. I think I loved you. Please look after him, Zabuza. Don't leave him alone again.

There was no point in trying to heal himself. Mello would just stab him repeatedly. This was only the beginning of his rage, after all.

"Well," Artemis said, blood collecting at the back of his throat. "It seems my author has killed me off," he said sarcastically. "But I think you'll see that the legend has a life of its own. This will come back to haunt you, I swear it on my grave."

The boy gave another harsh laugh, bringing a cough and a splutter of blood. He could almost see Butler, and Holly, and his mother. Reaching out to him. Hallucinations, but beautiful ones.

"Enjoy the sun tomorrow--you won't see it again once they realize you've killed me."

Mello heard the threats, but didn't process them. What he did process was the sucking sound from the wound in the boy's chest and the gurgle in his voice, and for a brief second the words and images from a memorized medical textbook flashed through his mind, something not seen for over a decade. Pneumothorax. Hemoptysis. There were dozens of ways to suffocate.

He knew enough about medicine to know that Artemis was dying, so he pushed himself off of the smaller body. Killing someone with a knife was different from what he was used to and he found that his hands were slick and dark, the fabric of his coat spattered with stains. He leaned back on his hands, one closed and still gripping the knife, and he stared at the redness bubbling from Artemis' chest like boiling water.

Mello felt no remorse over the murder, but that was no surprise. It certainly hadn't been the first. He felt no pleasure either, though it was clearly a victory over an adversary. What he did feel was dull dissatisfaction, and the sense of being very, very far away. This felt like a movie. Or a novel. Or a comic book.

After the afternoon's revelations he'd expected some kind of catharsis, but he should have known that this killing was no different from another. He had control over Artemis' life, but that didn't mean he had control over his own.

A defensive reflex snapped his thoughts to the pragmatic and he shook his head violently. Leaving the body here would be fine. The nurses would remove it in the morning. As for the rest of the night, he had ways to keep himself occupied. Scavenging, stealing, sabotaging. The usual. He didn't mind working alone.

The boy on the floor was still gasping for air when Mello pushed himself to his feet, muscles tight with adrenaline. He thought he saw a flicker of blue light within Artemis' chest, but he dismissed it as reflections of the dropped flashlight. He wiped his hands on his pants and snatched up the light, then took a few steps towards the door.

No reason to stick around.

Edited 2008-09-24 10:23 (UTC)

Mello's move towards the door had been a mistake; Schuldig had always liked making a dramatic entrance, and slamming it open hard enough to smash against Mello allowed him to both do that and hurt the other man simultaneously.

Anyway, drama aside, Schuldig was a tad more combat-savvy than Artemis. Disarming a stunned opponent was far easier.

"Hey," he said, almost cheerfully, although the speed and purpose with which he strode in past the door shuddering on its hinges belied his casual attitude. "Mind if I borrow this?" And, before Mello could regain enough sense to put up a real fight for it, Schuldig wrenched the knife out of his hand, shifting his grip to hold it in such a way that any ill-advised attempts to reclaim it by Mello could be met point-first.

There; that took care of the immediately pressing concerns.

"I'm hurt, Arty," he said aloud, glancing over at the boy and apparently unaware of the irony of his words. Hopefully that thought Artemis'd had about healing himself hadn't been idle, and he would start actually doing it now that Mello was being dealt with. "I was headed your way before you ever called me, but you do have to take travel time into account, you know."

Damned plastic packaging. If he hadn't spent so long trying to get that CD player out for easier carrying - as it was, Schuldig was carrying it tucked into the waistband of his pants, as there weren't really any convenient pockets like his trenchcoat had - he might've at least arrived in time to prevent the chest wound. He'd spent pretty much all day trying to do something nice for Artemis; for Mello to eclipse all that with a knife just because he was ~~butthurt~~ a sulky little bitch pissed Schuldig the fuck off.

"And you," he said, addressing the offending blond directly now. "If you already know you're a fictional character, you might as well just go find an opera house to haunt and complete the effect. Believe me, this free-will dick-waving isn't impressing anybody."

Mello gasped and fell back a step when the door flew open unexpectedly, and the darkness of the room lit with swirling points of light. He hissed and lifted his knife to defend himself against whatever was out there--flashlight would have been smarter, but reflex said to meet violence with violence--and almost immediately felt the blade pried from his wet fingers. Fuck. Fuck. What was going on? Nurses?

He stepped back again, still dazed and unsteady on his feet, and he brought his now-empty hand to his face. With so much of Artemis' blood on his palm it was impossible to know if he was bleeding, but the stars didn't leave his vision and the new arrival's words sounded like underwater noise. The few words he could make out didn't make sense...no one knew that about Mello. He was either hearing things or the man was speaking to Artemis.

Instinct had gotten him into this. Instinct would have to get him out.

Dizzy and unarmed, he was in no condition to put up a fight. Mello stumbled towards the door, intending to hold it shut behind him once he escaped.

[Switching up posting order!]

The happenings in the room sounded very far away, almost like background noise. He was suffocating, and he was aware that Mello was just going to leave him there to die. This bastard had killed him, and he wasn't even going to stay to watch? Then maybe... just maybe...

The sound of the door being pushed open and hitting Mello was enough commotion to bring Artemis back to his senses for a moment. Something was going on. Something that didn't involve Mello just leaving.

Oh thank Frond, it was Schuldig. He wasn't going to die, he was saved.

Heal, he thought frantically. Heal, heal, all of it, heal!

The sparks that had originally been casually trying to piece the wound back together suddenly flared to life, repairing the hole in his heart and lung and clotting the cut blood vessels. His eyes were still glazed over, but it was clear he was on the mend.

Did I hear that correctly? Arty thought in Schuldig's general direction, as he was still unable to speak. Is he...? That would explain so much.

"Oh, yes, you did," Schuldig replied, even as he casually hooked an ankle through Mello's and sent the man sprawling. When Mello had gone on the attack, he'd rushed ahead, leaving Farfarello behind; his partner would be along soon enough, and when he saw the blood on Artemis' clothes he was going to be very upset, and Schuldig fully planned on keeping Mello there long enough for Farfarello to take all that aggression out on.

The telepath was angry in his own right, certainly, but he knew full well that there was no punishment he could mete out on Mello that Farfarello couldn't do better and more painfully. So he contented himself with sitting down on the blond's back, pinning him and making himself as comfortable as he could when his cushion was someone's spine. If Mello tried to struggle, there was always the knife.

"You know," he said aloud, absentmindedly scraping the tip of the knife along the pad of his thumb, "if I had just found out I were a fictional character, I'd at least try to reassure myself I was a complex one. Taking out your personal angst on someone else in the same boat by projecting all your issues onto them? Someone who just happens to share a lot in common with a person you constantly feel inferior to anyway? Honestly - in exactly how many ways do you really want the words 'textbook case' to apply to you?"

He glanced over at Artemis again. "I trust you're going to be all right now, Arty?"

Mello hit the ground and immediately tried to push himself up, despite the fact that he wasn't quite sure which direction that was. Before he could get his hands under him, though, the the air left his body with a sharp grunt and he grimaced at the weight on his back. Fuck, this wasn't-

He closed his eyes as he tried to focus, but the flecks of light remained. No gun. No knife. He felt the plastic grip of the flashlight in his hand, though, but before he could remember how to use it, the man spoke and his mind went completely blank.

Mello processed nothing: not the slick tile against his cheek or the unfamiliar weight, not the smell of Artemis' blood or the ache where the door had connected with his head. The sudden silence might have seemed strange to a telepath, as if a television had been switched off without warning, but after a second of stillness a faint whisper of panic and helplessness swept through his mind before being shoved aside by an uncontrolled surge of anger.

"I'm going to kill you," he hissed with a determination that showed he didn't care about the physical possibility of the feat. He swung the flashlight back with as much force as he could use given the awkward angle. There was no strategy behind the action. All Mello was aware of was that he wanted to hurt this man in whatever way he could.

Yes. I'll let it run for another minute or so--

Artemis' thought was interrupted as he suddenly coughed up a mouthful of blood. The boy rolled over onto all fours and began coughing and spitting up the blood that had collected in his lungs. Apparently, when it came to humans, magic wasn't exactly perfect. This situation was rather reminiscent of when he'd become a human pincushion and wretched up most of the poison that had been injected into his body by the nurses. So at least it was normal.

Well, as normal as getting up after being stabbed in the heart was.

Artemis sat up on his haunches, wobbling a little. He was still very groggy from the use of his magic, and his head felt fuzzy from the lack of oxygen to his brain. That he had expected. After the grenade had broken both of Holly's calf bones and fractured her femur, it had taken a matter of moments for the bones to knit back together--but she had still been groggy and unaware of the bomb cuffed to her wrist.

The boy finally finished spitting up everything foreign in his lungs, feeling distinctly sick at the taste of blood in his mouth.

"I think I'm going to be ill," he stated, looking down at the front of his shirt and blazer. Soaked, completely soaked in blood. He'd be dizzy from blood loss as well, until the magic replaced all of it. Just wonderful.

Schuldig caught Mello's wrist without much difficulty - the man was striking at him from a distinctly less than advantageous angle and could hardly move without broadcasting his actions, so being a telepath wasn't in the least bit necessary to foresee the blow and intercept it. From there, all it took was some pressure applied to the wrist - one of the body's more conveniently weak cluster of bones and nerves; six pounds of pressure could cause all sorts of havoc to it, and it was only because Schuldig wasn't terribly interested in hurting the man before Farfarello arrived that he didn't break anything - and the flashlight dropped, too. Schuldig nudged it into rolling out of reach with a foot before releasing Mello's arm again. "I know." Leaning down to murmur in Mello's ear, which just happened to entail Schuldig's propping his weight on the elbow he made sure to plant on the blond's spine, he purred, "I already know everything about you. Behave, or I might actually make use of that."

Sitting up again(and making sure to dig in his elbow painfully as he did so), he switched his attention back to Artemis again. "Hurry up and get it over with, then." It was less callous than matter-of-fact; the only thing worse than being sick was dragging it out. Besides, he'd quite thoroughly dealt with Artemis' antagonist and brought him presents, besides; the sooner the boy was in a state of mind to appreciate those things properly, the better Schuldig would like it.

Mello gave a quiet hiss, but his mind was too focused on his anger to care about sensation and the movement that jerked his arm back to safety was pure reflex. A second later his hand shot out to grab the flashlight but it was several inches beyond his grip, and the weight between his ribs made struggling nearly impossible. Nearly. Mello didn't give up easily, and the thought of being powerless was worse than the thought of anything that this unknown person could do to him.

He pressed his palms flat against the ground and shoved up with all of his strength, but the effort sent a sharp pain down his spine and a more dull one radiating up his arm. Again, a flash of icy panic.

"You don't know anything about me." He couldn't. There was no way. Was this some sort of trick? A drug? A concussion? The more he searched for a flaw in the reality the more certain he was this was actually happening...the sensations were vivid, overwhelming.

But it was impossible. Even if the man had been eavesdropping and simply leaped to conclusions, he couldn't have known that Artemis reminded Mello of Near. Only two people knew that, and one of them was vomiting a few feet away. The other was probably being eaten by a giant spider.

So Artemis must have told him.

Behaving was not on the list of Mello's talents, and as soon as his strength faltered he attempted to twist beneath the weight to reach back, knowing that his best chance for escape was getting a firm grip on the man.

Artemis nodded, looking very, very pale. The boy crawled over to the wastebin and, for the second time since he'd gotten to this wretched place, vomited into the wastebin.

"I'm sorry," Artemis said, coughing and retching some more. "This must not feel very pleasant, but I'll feel better in a moment."

Once he was done expelling the contents of his stomach, Artemis wiped his mouth on the nearby bedsheet and sat down against the desk, breathing heavily.

"I really thought I was going to die that time... even said my goodbyes and everything..." He coughed again. "I thought I was on my own this time."

It certainly wasn't pleasant; however, Mello's rage was intense enough that, by focusing on it, Schuldig was able to more or less ignore Artemis' thoughts until he was finished being sick. "Idiot," he informed the boy, although there was a trace of indulgence that took some of the sting out of the insult. "You're practically Schwarz. We don't leave our own to die."

And then Mello was trying to grab him. Honestly, the man was remarkably thick for someone who had such a high opinion of his intellect. Fending off the grasping hands with his own empty one, he slid the knife through Mello's hair to press the tip to the back of his neck rather pointedly with the other. Leaning in again, he whispered, "Artemis didn't tell me. He didn't have to. I'm in your head." He couldn't help smirking cruelly at that; it wasn't often he tried to make his telepathy seem disturbing, as people usually considered it disturbing enough to have their thoughts read without any help from him, but the man was clearly terrified at the thought of someone knowing all about him and he was going to play on that for all it was worth. "For instance...Near's nowhere near a spider. He's talking to somebody named Brooklyn. Why don't you ask him about that, next time you see him...? Assuming Brooklyn doesn't simply replace you as his flunky, of course."

"Someday you will be," Mello growled to Artemis. He wouldn't have friends protecting him all of the time...and friends were fickle, easily bought. What did this person wanted from Artemis, anyway? It wasn't like the boy had much to offer. For that matter, how was he still alive? No. Focus. Wasted thought increased the pain behind his eyes.

He felt the metal against the warm skin of his neck and although he stopped struggling, his mind was far from calm. "You're not-" he started, voice full of certainty, but when the man continued he felt his body go cold as the blade of the knife.

The image had been idle sadism, an attempt to focus on the inadequacy of someone else. It had only flashed through his mind for an instant: he remembered the file room with Sai, the creature's sharp claws and dozens of eyes, and he remembered the way Near stared at the models of dinosaur skeletons, idly twirling his hair. There was absolutely no way for anyone to have seen it, and for a dangerous second he wondered if his life was being written right this instant, if the man on top of him was just turning pages in his mind.

Although that was the definition of telepathy, this was the first time he'd been nauseated by the idea.

"If you were going to kill me you would have done it by now," Mello said. His voice was firm, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his mind. He could be drawing this out for Artemis' benefit, or out of personal sadism. "So what the hell do you want?"

"'Someday' is not today," Artemis countered. And for that, he was eternally grateful to Schuldig. If today had been the day he'd died, he would have regretted it bitterly, that much he knew. He hadn't even said anything to Haku before he left. Part of him hoped Schuldig was listening to all this, so the assassin would know how much this second chance meant to him.

Artemis frowned slightly and pulled his jacket over the wound in his chest. "Schuldig, who is 'Near'?"

Schuldig had no intentions of answering Mello's spoken questions; not when answering his thoughts was so much more devastating to the man's psyche. So he simply chuckled. "A little of Column A, a little of Column B," he informed the burned blond. "You're absolutely going to suffer for this, but what good is it if Arty's not able to take some pleasure in it? After what you did to him, I think he deserves to witness your karmic retribution." He got to his feet then, in one smooth movement - best not to linger too long or too close to Mello when the man was so desperate, when he'd certainly lash out at anything Schuldig left too near him the first chance he got. To make sure he didn't attack too soon, the telepath gave him a parting kick in the stomach with the heel of his foot (kicking from the front, in slippers, would've been painful) before stepping out of range.

"Near," Schuldig informed Artemis with a smirk, "is the boy genius who's superior to Mello in every way. Isn't that right?" he said over his shoulder to the blond. "You happen to have a lot in common with him, and it just drives the poor thing crazy." He paused briefly, then pulled up his shirt to pull out the CD player that was still tucked into the waistband of his pants, holding it out to Artemis. "Oh, yeah, this is for you. It was starting to get really fucking uncomfortable."

Logically, Mello knew that he should have kept his thoughts as impenetrable as possible, but attempts at counting, reciting forensic textbooks, and repeating simple mantras fell flat in disguising other thoughts. For the first time in his years of existence, he was annoyed that he could think of so many things at once.

When the weight rose from his back Mello pushed himself to his knees immediately, just in time to catch Schuldig's kick. A sharp exhale and he pressed one hand to his stomach but continued to push to his feet. Most of the dizziness had vanished but he could still taste blood, probably from his nose or forehead. Attempting to wipe his face only smeared Artemis' blood across his own. When Schuldig spoke, a sharp spark of anger lit his thoughts, but it was one of the safest responses he could have hoped for. Artemis already believed that...he'd heard it from Near himself, though he'd been given the name Nate.

"No, it's not," he said, almost believing it. His breath was shallow but steady. There was a difference between a rival and a superior. His eyes shifted to Artemis for an instant before returning to the real threat. "But yeah, you remind me of him. You're both cocky brats who think you're worth more than you are."

Could Schuldig predict his actions, or only his thoughts? He'd have to make his decisions quickly...or fall back on instinct and not make decisions at all. He glanced to the flashlight on the floor, the blade in the man's hand, and the chairs on either side of him, but was careful not to make a decision.

Artemis' eyes narrowed in thought. Near. A cocky brat who Mello had a problem with because of his intelligence. That sounded a lot like...

N. Nate. Near. It made sense. The corner of Artemis' mouth turned up in amusement. "This is your own personal hell, isn't it Mello? Surrounded by people you hate," he wheezed. He found he was still winded, and had some trouble breathing. No doubt that would go away soon enough, though. "And people who remind you of the people you hate. Hell truly is other people, isn't it?"

With some difficulty and the aid of the desk, Artemis managed to stand when Schuldig held something out to him. Slightly confused, Artemis took it and tried to make out what it was in the dim light. After a few moments of examining it, Artemis' jaw dropped.

"How...? Nevermind," he said, opening the new CD player. Inside was a CD, a general mix of classical music that Artemis knew he would enjoy. He hadn't listened to anything in days. And he could share it with Haku as well.

Overwhelmed by the situation and the gift, Artemis felt his throat tightening and tears coming to him. To think he'd almost given up, when he had so many allies to call on. People who listened, to even the most mundane things. Carefully, Artemis moved one step at a time to Schuldig and hugged the assassin around the middle.

"Why?" he asked. That question couldn't be answered with, 'Hello, telepath.' at least.

While Schuldig had expected gratitude from Artemis, he'd clearly grossly underestimated the depth of it. While the tears didn't actually materialize, he knew they were there as much as the boy did, and -

...And he was being hugged. By a child. That was something that had never happened before.

Although the sheer unexpectedness of the situation shocked him into a moment of immobility, Schuldig quickly pushed Artemis back at arm's length. It was less a product of awkward embarrassment as it was the full knowledge that Mello would doubtless try to take advantage of the distraction and he wasn't going to get concussed over an embrace on this or any other day. "You helped me, I help you," was his brief response before he turned his full attention back to the blond, knife at the ready.

Mello started moving as soon as the boy reached to embrace Schuldig, assuming that even if the telepath acted he wouldn't move fast enough to protect both himself and Artemis. Either one would work as a target with a large enough weapon, ad a large enough weapon was what he was certain to choose...a chair should be able to keep Schuldig's knife (his knife? When and how had that been taken?) away from his own body.

Retreat would have been smarter. They wouldn't have followed him into a hallway, and even if they did, he'd be able to find a populated area within seconds. The clinic was only a few doors away, and no one would attack him there. Unfortunately, the impulsivity that had saved Mello's life so many times before was sometimes a double-edged sword.

"It wasn't--"

Artemis was about to say that what he did hadn't been for Schuldig's sake, but not only was that a lie, there was a chair coming at both of them. Mello was still in a rage, apparently so much so that he hadn't registered that Artemis, according to the laws of physics, should be dead. This was a very dangerous mad dog, apparently.

"Look out!" Artemis shouted, knowing a split second later that saying so was probably unnecessary. The boy tucked his prize to his chest and jumped back, out of the way of the chair. He reasoned, quite soundly, that considering he had a hole in his chest, he wouldn't be the best asset to the fight. It would be more prudent to leave this to the professionals.

So Artemis did what he did best: he hid under the desk.

Considering that Schuldig had fought professional assassins before - in one instance, three at a time - Mello really didn't stand much chance of providing a challenge for him. Certainly no one could swing a chair fast enough to hit the quickest member of Schwarz unless he was being held in place.

There were only so many ways to stop the swing and get the chair out of Mello's hands, however, so Schuldig went with the most direct - if somewhat painful - route; he shot forward, actually into the swinging arc of Mello's arms, grunting when the blond's forearms hit his ribs mid-swing. However, it was considerably less damage than being hit by the chair, and the impact jolted the chair out of Mello's hands - he heard it hit the floor behind him.

More importantly, he was now inches from Mello, and he still had the knife. In seconds, he had the blade pressed so firmly into the flesh of Mello's neck that the pressure alone might be cutting into the skin. "Stupid, stupid move," he hissed, smirk broad and eyes wild.

Mello's eyes went wide as he felt the chair slip from his hands and clatter to the floor. How-

Telepath. Fucking telepath. He understood it but he couldn't process it...it was even harder to grasp than the existence of Shinigami. The idea that his thoughts were being broadcast-

No. Don't think. Just act. As soon as he felt something against his throat he shoved away from it, his hand shooting out to catch the arm in front of him. As long as Schuldig held the knife he also held the clear advantage. Mello was willing to risk a few cuts to gain the control a weapon would offer.

Artemis scrambled back away from the chair, deeper into the enclave of the desk. Being a genius in this place certainly was dangerous. First he was stabbed in the chest, and now he was cowering under a desk hiding from flying chairs. What a night this had been already...

The boy leaned back in the shelter, holding his chest and breathing deeply. Damn, would he be in any condition to do anything tonight? His lung was still damaged, but not in peril. Deep breaths, just take deep breaths. Let Schuldig take care of things.

That was just what Schuldig had been waiting for. The idea of breaking Mello's wrist had occurred to him earlier; now it seemed all the more appealing, not to mention an excellent way to cause agonizing pain. He did have the knife, but for one thing, Schuldig wanted Mello to survive the night - when it came to dragging out torture, the Mastermind was even more vicious than the Berserker, even if he worked with minds rather than flesh - and for another, he wasn't as good (or as interested) as Farfarello was at bloodplay.

Besides, the man holding a hand attached to a shattered wrist had all the power in the world...not to mention the ability to cause screaming pain with the smallest twist.

He did drop the knife, but it wouldn't do Mello any good; with both his hands free, Schuldig promptly grabbed the blond's outstretched wrist and turned it, bending Mello's hand back over itself -

It really didn't need much pressure at all.

[Almost forgot to make an OOC note - Rose decided not to bring Farfarello into the thread, so all mentions of his impending arrival previously should be discounted.]

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