Beddy Bye with Farfie
A Weiss Kreuz Fanfic
By Deena (firstname.lastname@example.org)
Thud thump foomp crash.
Thud thump foomp crash.
Thud thump foomp...
Crawford stormed into the room, the door slamming off the wall with a resounding smash. "What the hell are you doing in here?" he roared, angry that his sleep had been interrupted.
Nagi blinked innocently, as the bookshelf he'd been levitating with his powers foomped back into place. He eyed Crawford's currant state of undress, wondering why the American was wearing camouflaged boxers. Was he planning to hide in the bush in his underwear? Did he think that people *wouldn't* see a half-naked man just because he was wearing camouflaged underwear? What was the point of it all?
"Well?" Crawford fumed, crossing his arms and glaring.
"I can't sleep," Nagi informed him. "So I was practicing using my powers. Did you know that I lifted that blue car outside?" He nodded earnestly, just in case Crawford thought he was lying. "It's a true story, no fake. I lifted it so high that it reached the top of the power line!"
Needless to say, Crawford was not impressed. "If I hear you make one more sound Nagi then you're sleeping in Farfarello's straightjacket!"
"But I can't sleep," the Japanese boy wailed woefully. "It's too hot and I'm not tired!" He looked up at the older man with large, wobbling eyes. "Tell me a story Bradley? Onegai?"
"That cute look won't work with me!" Crawford snapped. "Now shut up and go to sleep before I smash your stupid computer!"
He turned and stalked off, slamming the door behind him.
Nagi pouted. "My computer is not stupid."
He sighed deeply and laid down onto his back, trying his best to get some sleep. Boy the ceiling sure was uninteresting. He rolled onto his side. The wall was uninteresting too. Maybe he should invest in some posters or something. He flung himself onto his stomach. Hmm, now he couldn't breathe.
"This sucks!" he cried, hurling himself off his bed. "I'll never be able to get to sleep now!"
He straightened his rumpled blue and red plaid pajamas and stalked out of his room. Strange noises were coming from Schulderich's room, like he was some kind of pain. Nagi considered going in to see if the German was alright when suddenly he moaned Crawford's name.
"That's weird," Nagi thought to himself. "Why's he saying Crawford's name like that if he's in pain? If I was in pain, I would never say Crawford's name."
But of course, the redhead always had been a little weird so Nagi continued on his way. Since Crawford was annoyed with him and Schulderich seemed a little...busy, Farfarello was his only chance to getting some sleep.
He swept into Farfarello's room, tugging up his too-long pajama pants. The Irish man was sitting cross-legged on his bed, his large collection of knives spread out beside him. He was holding Crawford's electric pencil sharpener and trying to stick his finger into it.
"I can't sleep," Nagi announced. "Will you tell me a story Farf?"
Farfarello considered it. Then he said no.
"But why not?" Nagi demanded, flopping down onto one of Farfarello's beanbag chairs.
"Your finger's not gonna fit into that stupid hole," Nagi scowled, folding his arms across his chest and sulking. "It's for pencils not fingers."
"It hurts God."
"Telling me a story will hurt God too."
One tawny eyes slid in his direction. "It will?"
Nagi bobbed his head earnestly. "Oh yeah. God hates stories. He says they're the devil."
Farfarello was skeptical. "Where did you hear that?"
He shrugged. "Somewhere in the Bible. You know how God's always saying stuff in the Bible."
The Irish man nodded. "Alright, I'll tell you a story. But only because it hurts God."
Nagi hurled himself onto his older teammate. "Yatta! You're the best!" he shrieked into a psychopath's ear.
It was a good thing Farfarello felt no pain because Nagi's voice was still a little bit...squeaky.
Nagi shoved all the knives onto the floor and then settled down comfortably next to Farfarello. "You have to put the sharpener away Farf," he instructed. "Storytelling and self-mutilation don't go together."
Farfarello sighed deeply but did as Nagi asked.
Nagi tucked the red comforter around them. "Okay you can start now," he invited.
Farfarello licked his favorite knife. "Once upon a time there was a little girl named Goldilocks. She got lost in the woods and went into a house where three bears lived. But the bears weren't home so Goldilocks ate their porridge and sat on their chairs and slept on their beds. When the bears came home they were mad so they killed Goldilocks. They broke her head and twisted her legs straight off. Then they slurped her blood up because she wrecked their home and also because they wanted to hurt God. The end."
"What kinda stupid story is that?" Nagi whined. "You didn't even tell it right!"
The silver haired man frowned. "How come you're not sleeping?"
"Because you told me a dumb story! Whadda gyp! You promised that you were gonna tell me a good story!"
"That was a good story," Farfarello said calmly. "They killed the meddling little girl. What's more good then that? And I hurt God too. He doesn't like it when three bears kill a little girl."
Nagi rolled his eyes. "Tell me a good, *long* story Farf! Something that will help me get to sleep."
Farfarello thought about a good, long story to tell Nagi. "Once there was a cute little kitten," he began at last.
Nagi smiled, cuddling up against Farfarello. He liked kittens.
"This kitten was white and small and cute. Everyone loved the kitten. People would to say, 'Everyone loves the kitten.' The kitten had a blue ribbon tied around his neck. The blue ribbon matched his blue eyes. The kitten didn't like to eat dry kitten food but liked wet, meaty kitten food. He drank milk from a saucer. He liked to play with string. The kitten was always getting into trouble. People would say, 'The kitten is always getting into trouble.' One day the kitten was chasing a yellow butterfly. He chased it onto the road where an 18-wheeler came by and squashed him. There were kitten guts everywhere. The end."
Nagi jerked his head off the Irish man's shoulder. "Faaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrfffffffffiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeee," he bawled vociferously.
Farfarello was surprised. "I told you a good, long story and you're still awake?"
"How could you kill off the cute little kitten like that?" he moaned piteously.
"God hurts when kittens die," Farfarello explained smugly.
"Nobody's supposed to die when you're telling a bedtime story Farf," Nagi instructed. "How can I get a good night's rest if I'm having bad nightmares?"
"Why don't you ask Schulderich to tell you a story? He tells good stories."
Nagi wrinkled his pert little nose. "Nuh uh! He was making weird noises and calling Crawford's name. I think he's going mental." He patted Farfarello's arm. "No offense Farf."
"Let's play with the blender," Farfarello suggested. "I wanna puree something."
"Can you help me go to sleep first?" the younger boy whined. "You don't hafta tell me a story. Just help me get to bed!"
"You are in bed," Farfarello pointed out.
Nagi glared. "You know what I mean!"
Farfarello frowned. What did he do when he couldn't go to sleep? Well Crawford usually injected him with a strong sedative. Or sometimes he'd cut himself and loose so much blood that he'd pass out. And if he thrashed around a lot when he was in his straightjacket, he'd get really tired and fall asleep very fast. Hmm, there were so many options!
But he couldn't do those things to Nagi. He looked over at the little Japanese boy. He was so cute, just like the cute, little kitten! Before he got squashed that is.
"I'll sing you a song," he decided suddenly. "For sure that will help you fall asleep."
Nagi blinked. Farfarello was gonna sing him to sleep? This could be deadly. "Farfie, um...you don't hafta-"
An amber eye pierced him. "You said you wanted help getting to sleep didn't you?"
"And you didn't like my stories right?"
"So I'll sing!" he declared. He slurped at his knife for a few minutes while choosing a song.
Nagi sighed, slumping back against the headboard. Sometimes it was better not to fight fate, especially when fate came in the form of a knife-licking, happy-go-cutting psychopath. "Take it away Farf," he said unenthusiastically.
Farfarello squeezed his one good eye shut and tilted his head. His pale face scrunched up like a dented sardine can and he opened his mouth, prepared to woo Nagi to sleep with a song.
Nagi clenched his teeth, grimacing. Whatever was hurling itself out of Farfarello's mouth could only be described as howl, resonating like a cross between the mating call of the Great Horned owl and a clogged toilet gurgling. In any case, it sounded like nothing human.
He buried his head under Farfarello's pillow and squashed his eyes shut. The pain was too much for him to bear.
Farfarello was oblivious to his teammate's discomfort. He continued to yelp and wail whatever it was he was yelping and wailing. Outside some mangy little mutt joined in.
It seemed like an eternity to Nagi and the Irish man was showing no signs of stopping. Neither was the dog. The telekinetic sat up and began clapping vigorously. "That was great Farf! You're the best!" he enthused fervently, interrupting Farfarello mid-yowl. "Wow you sure know how to lay on a tune!"
"I hurt God."
"He isn't the only one you hurt," Nagi dryly thought to himself. Out loud he said, "What were you singing anyways?"
"The Danish Funeral March in Russian. It hurt God because he doesn't like funeral marches. They make him sad."
"Er...well you can't deny that logic," Nagi muttered, sweatdropping.
"I can sing another one," Farfarello offered. "I know the Libyan Death Walk in Gaelic."
"No no, that's okay," he replied quickly. "You wouldn't want to, uh strain your voice or anything."
"But you're not asleep yet."
"I know." Nagi thought for a while, trying to come up with something that would help him go to sleep. Preferably something that didn't involve death in any way, shape or form.
"Let's vacuum stuff up," the older man proposed. "Like Crawford's carrot juice and his new shoes."
Nagi snickered. "He'd kill us! Remember when you dumped mashed eggplant on his white suit? Boy he sure was mad."
"Schulderich liked it."
"Schulderich likes everything about Crawford," he said innocently. "I don't know why. Crawford's so bossy all the time."
Farfarello ruffled Nagi's dark hair. "You wouldn't understand."
Nagi pouted cutely. "I would so understand! I'm not a baby you know."
"Well did anyone ever tell you about the bees and the bees?"
"You mean the birds and the bees?"
"No bees and the bees."
Nagi blinked. "I don't get what you're talking about."
"You can't just ask me if I know about the bees and the bees and then not tell me about them," the telekinetic huffed.
"I'm crazy. I say crazy things."
Nagi studied his teammate intently. "You don't *seem* all that crazy tonight."
"Crawford gave me a drug. It's supposed to keep me from ranting and raving the whole night."
"Hey you don't think he's got any sleeping pills do you?"
Farfarello studied the small boy. "They'd prolly knock you out for a whole week."
"A whole week of no school." The younger boy sighed dreamily. "That'd be the best." He turned big, pleading, owl-eyes on the silver haired man. "Farfie..."
"No way. Crawford will kill me." He shook his head a few times for extra emphasis.
Nagi sniffed, eyes dewing. "But I can't sleep Farfie! Don't you care about me?"
Farfarello searched his room, looking for something, anything that would help the Japanese boy get to sleep. His eyes fell on his knives. "Why don't I tell you about my knife collection?"
"Your knife collection?"
There was a distinctly fanatical gleam in that brandy-colored eye. "Yeah." He bent over the side of the bed and scooped up all his knives. "I've got so many of them and I'll tell you all about them."
He shrugged. It was worth a shot. He scooted beside Farfarello and snuggled up against him. Nagi rested his head against the older man's shoulder and stared at all the knives in his lap. Suddenly he yawned. Wow, it was working already!
Farfarello picked up a carving knife. "I stole this from a French chef after I gutted him." He cackled manically. "God really hurt then! There was blood all over the table. It looked like tomato paste. Thick and gooey. I'll bet God cried."
Nagi rolled his eyes. Drugged or not, Farfarello still had a one track mind.
"And this pocket knife I stole from an old lady. She thought I was trying to rob her. How stupid she was. I was trying to kill her not rob her. Too bad she got away. I really would have hurt God if I'd offed her."
"Ooohhh and this beauty here is my all time favorite! Look at her, isn't she gorgeous?"
Nagi peered at the said knife. It looked pretty much like all the other knives except that the handle was carved with an intricate looking dragon. "Yeah wow, that's snazzy."
Farfarello stuffed the knife into his mouth. "Mmmmmm," he mumbled. "Yummy."
He giggled into the Irish man's neck. Farfarello could be such a kid at times. And who'd have thought that the psychopath would have such smooth, soft skin? He hugged his teammate. Farfarello smelled good!
For the next hour or so, Farfarello blabbered on and on about every single knife in his collection, which currently stood at 50+. All his anecdotes were basically the same, he'd stolen the said knife from someone he was trying to kill, their blood was thick and gunky and he hurt God a lot.
Nagi fell asleep after the first ten minutes. Farfarello, who hadn't noticed, continued talking about his beloved knives until he ran out. He was surprised to see the younger boy sleeping peacefully on his shoulder, his breathing soft and even.
With a gentleness that most would have thought impossible, the bleach haired man carefully extracted himself from the smaller boy and laid him down upon his pillow. Nagi sighed, clutching the edge of the comforter in one delicate hand.
Farfarello tucked the blankets securely around Nagi and then collected all his knives off the bed. Painstakingly he put them all away, after giving each a parting lick. Then, because he was owl-wide awake, he headed downstairs to the kitchen.
He still had the crushing urge to play with the blender.