Blessed Be

By: Lady DeathAngel

Disclaimer: Not mine, not profiting, 'nuff said.

Warnings: This story will contain yaoi, bad language, blood, guts, evil dictators, unconventional families, sordid histories, non-graphic mention of NCS, child abuse, etc. If you think that at any point this will squick you and you decided to read anyway, you've been sufficiently warned.

A/N: This fic is formerly 'Heretic's Paradise'. I was recently hit with the inspiration to write a second chapter and, in doing so, decided that the original title was just shitty. So here I am with a new title. Same premise: the Sanzo and co. attend an all boy's boarding school run by Gyokumen. Yeah, we all know that won't end well.

He found the kid the first day of the trimester. He wouldn’t have noticed him. Not normally. It wasn’t like he hadn’t found first-year boys crying in dark corners before. His policy was to ignore it, to stay uninvolved. This time was no different, at least in theory. Hell, he wouldn’t have even run into the kid if he hadn’t been looking for his idiot of a friend. Really, he wouldn’t have turned down the art wing if said idiot didn’t have a tendency to disappear for hours and turn up in the oddest, most out of character places. But he did, and the minute he turned the corner leading down the hallway, the minute his right foot touched down on buffered linoleum, a pair of the weirdest eyes shot up and locked with his.

They were huge, that was the first thing that he noticed. The kind of eyes you found on girls of the overly-cute and exceedingly-annoying variety. And they were gold. Not that he wasn’t used to people with strange colored eyes. His own were violet and his friend’s were crimson and he’d seen some others in stranger colors than gold. But there was something about them that was just different. And it bugged him for some reason. It was probably because he suddenly found himself walking forward hesitantly, reluctantly concerned about this kid who exuded hopelessness in nearly over-powering waves.

“You okay?” he asked.

He didn’t think the kid had been crying. His eyes were clear, his cheeks weren’t red and his nose wasn’t stuffy. That was a relief. It was always awkward to see a boy older than five cry. He didn’t say anything, though, which was another one of those awkward things. Hakkai was the one who was good at dealing with kids like this, not him.

“Well, um, do you need help or anything?”

The kid still didn’t say anything and it was unnerving. He just stared at him with those insanely wide eyes of his.

“What?” he finally demanded, exasperated.

The kid shook his head and scrambled to his feet. He was short. Well, compared to him he was short.

“Are you okay now?” he asked, ready to just leave, screw finding Goyjo.

The kid nodded this time, a bit jerkily in a manner that suggested he was used to being a bit more expressive but for some reason was holding back. He shrugged and nodded and said something along the lines of ‘that’s good’ and turned around to leave the hall. But the kid followed and when he turned around to ask him why he wouldn’t leave him alone, he didn’t answer.

And so, that night at dinner he made his way to the table he usually shared with Hakkai and Goyjo, the kid still at his heels.

“Got yourself a new pet, there?” Goyjo asked with a smirk.

“Shut up or I’ll shoot you.”

“Promises, promises.”

The boarding school had a name, not that any of the students paid any attention to it. To them it was hell, pure and simple. But it had jokingly garnered the nick-name Paradise, since that’s what most parents thought when they shipped their sons off for a higher education. They thought it was ideal. They said it would be fun. They lied, but the least their children could do would be to give a name befitting its reputation.

There were four levels, first years being the lowest rung on the ladder. They were often bright-eyed, whether from excitement or tears it depended from case to case. They were naive, they were ‘virgin’, they were new and they were in for a rude awakening. Second years weren’t quite yet jaded. They were still sympathetic, they were still hopeful. Or they were angry and confused. More second years had committed suicide than any other year. It was, to many, just statistics. For the students, it was life. And a pity.

Third years were jaded. Jaded and angry. They were tired of it, tired of the bullshit. But they didn’t go to sleep crying or wake up from nightmares anymore. Neither did they dream of leaving. They just were. They were the second years who made it without killing themselves, but a few of the more self-destructive ones had the scars to show for it. And then there were the fourth years. They were dead. Well, for the most part they were. Some, a select few, managed to retain an identity that lived separate of Paradise or thrived because of it. But most were ready to leave and trudged through day after day with no fuss, no complaint, nothing.

If one got past the sadistic, negligent or just plain crazy teachers, and the sadistic, negligent and just plain crazy headmistress, Paradise was a good school. Established by the government for ‘special’ boys, the curriculum was advanced and the classes high above those provided to children in public or generic private schools. The young men at Paradise were smarter than everyone else. Were different. You didn’t even need money if the government thought you were ‘special’ enough. There were several cases of families being paid to send their boys to the school. And getting past the pure shit of it all, in the long run they’d be better off.

Educationally speaking.

Life was another story, and not one most of the contemplated. For the most part, life was about getting through the day. Graduating, making it out alive. Because there were some that didn’t make it out alive. Tragic accidents or boys ‘sent home’. The headmistress told elaborate stories to cover it all up, but they knew. They knew they were ‘special’ for reasons other than above-average intelligence. None of them knew what it was, though.

So they struggled to uncover the mystery as much as they struggled to stay alive. It was all a matter of survival in Paradise.