A/N – I rather like this one. I've been trying to understand my Dietrich, as he's sort of been running amuck lately. So this is a little ditty of Di trying to understand Isaak, love, sin, and forgiveness. The age doesn't really matter but I would guess he's only twelve or thirteen here. This really sort of attempts to explain how HE sees their relationship, and in a way, he understands it far more than Isaak ever can. A boy who cannot comprehend emotions trying to dissect a madman. And though he is studying Isaak, this is really more of a study of himself.

A second A/N - I realize there is something very selfless about my Dietrich. I know this may be OOC, but there is something demonic in his selflessness. In a way, he is inadvertantly hurting Isaak even more in letting him doing as he pleases. He forgives everything, but he also accepts and even encourages everything. Can there be such a thing as too much forgiveness? He is half Savior, half Satan. And I guess after you read this, you really have to decide for yourself what you think of him. I think my view comes out a little strong, but eh. Yet again I am throwing my religious angsts into a fanfic, where they really just don't belong.

PG13 for child abuse, implications of rape.

Worthy

By PikaCheeka

I hate I when you cry, though you don’t know I know you cry. You don’t know I care. But I can see it, smell it, long before it happens, and all I want is to be there for you, to stop it. You sit there now, staring abstractly at the fire with eyes that are seeing nothing. One day, I vow I will be there for you in such a way that neither of us will feel pain ever again.

“Isaak.”

You do not even move. “Why do you exist, Di?” is all you say.

I flinch. Don’t say those words, don’t act like I am nothing. Don’t leave me like the rest of them. I step in front of you and you finally look at me. “Don’t say that.” I whisper and my fingers wrap around yours for a moment before you put your hands on my shoulders and sigh.

“Why do you forgive me?”

“Because I love you.” Why can’t you understand that? Why is it so hard for you to believe that someone may see the worth in you?

“I don’t deserve it.” You rest your head on my shoulder and I can feel your body tremble. You are mad, I have always known this. But even as you touch me something inside of me recoils. So many nights spent screaming, bleeding, dying, in your bed. Do you deserve it? How can I refuse you? You are the only one who has ever shown me love. The only one who ever loved me, protected me, and the only thing you were never able to protect me from was your own base desire. I cannot hate you for it.

I run my hand through your hair absently. “You’re the only one allowed to do this.”

“Why are you such a temptation?” you ask, now touching my back, now my front. I know what it going to happen but I cannot stop it.

“I don’t mean to be.” I don’t want to be. I just want you to love me for who and what I am. “You keep punishing yourself, every time you do this.” Punishing yourself. Because I can take it. It makes me want to die but I will take it. I want you to stop because you hurt yourself every time you do it, not because of the agony it gives me. The words I say when you do it are not real. I can’t help it when I say I hate you. It isn’t me then. Just as you are no longer you when you do it. No, no, Isaak. I know this isn’t you. I know you don’t want to do this. I reach out and touch your face, your mouth, your eyelids. “Isaak…” I can feel your hand slide down my stomach and unbuckle my belt. This is how it always ends, my every attempt to comfort you. It is all I can do for you.

“Why do you love me?”

“Why do you want me to hate you?” I finally return your questions with one of my own.

“Because I am unworthy of your love.”

I lean back slightly, the terror already rising. I know you will do it. I knew it the moment I saw you sitting there. Because I cannot ignore you, I cannot not want to comfort you, and though I do not want this, I want you to be happy. I can only wrap my arms around your neck and pull you against my shoulder tightly as you unzip my pants and start to slide them off of my hips. This will satisfy you. This will make me feel loved; this is how you love, I try to tell myself. And after a moment you draw me up in your arms and lay me on the couch beside you.

I do not fight. I can’t, not when you are so miserable already. I can’t hurt your more, but I also can’t let you feel justified. But how do you feel justified? Should I let you do this? If I don’t, you will hurt me, and you will feel you have a right to hurt me, and in the end, that will damage you even more. No matter what I do, I hurt you. I cannot understand you. I catch your eye and you only look away. Someday, Isaak, I will know you. And when I do, I will save you. I swear by my life. I lie here shivering and let your hands run down my legs, up my chest as you unbutton my shirt. But you avoid touching what you want, though I am naked and willing to accept your sins. Your sins you commit on purpose, feeling you must condemn yourself. But I will never condemn you.

“I won’t stop until you hate me.” You say it simply but your eyes are mad, wild, pained. You already want forgiveness, want me to tell you it is okay, but you refuse to accept it because you can’t believe it possible. I am trapped, lost. I am your punishment, and I must carry this to the end. You hurt yourself through my pain, and the only forgiveness you seek is your own, but you do not know this yet. I can only accept, and wait, and be there for you until you understand that you are worthy of love.

I can only smile weakly, take your hands in mine and draw them towards what I know you want, arching back, trembling, already gasping for the anticipated pain. “And I won’t stop until you’re happy with my love.” I spread my legs and silently ask him to accept.