I don't own anything except for the OC(s). The title is a song by Broken Iris, but this was inspired by the song "Dead Bodies Everwhere" by Korn (I think)

Rated M for: rape, violence, language. May become disturbing in later chapters, so I'll put a warning then.

Chapter 1: The Sun Burns Out

The first thing that Django knew, it was pitch black even with his eyes open. It might have something to do with the blindfold blocking his sight. The past rushed up in his mind's eye. Walking through the Cathedral and something bashed into the back of his head (more proof, a massive headache). In short, he was in trouble. Weird thing was though; he wasn't bound in any way. He was, however, stripped of clothing.

He moved to take off the blindfold, getting his hands only half way before someone grabbed them. "I wouldn't do that if I were you..." Male, amusement and calmness coloring his voice. "A nice boy like you wouldn't want to wreck a person's fun, would you? It'd be mean." Suddenly, Django was shoved against the wall in a sitting position, one of the man's hands capable of holding both of his, while using the free one to play with his hair. Django tried struggling, but the difference between strength was highly apparent since the male didn't even have to tighten his grip at all. "Settle down, settle down. I'm not going to do anything just yet. Need to fix something...!" The male rearranged his grip so that it was a little lower down his wrists, and then a whizzing noise.

A sharp blade slammed into his right hand, deep, and pinning it against the wall. A cry of pain tore out of his lips but was ignored as Django's left hand suffered the same fate. Now the hands were free to run along his body, cold and a little wet from the blood. He began torturing the trapped child with fingers before moving onto sharper objects. Every injury was planed and the pain acute. Not a bit of skin was spared harm. Nor was Django's mind, either. His captor was 'grateful' enough to describe the things that were being done and what he was going to do. Also, his mind could come up with more and more things too. Now and then, he'd be left alone while another weapon was grabbed or while the tormenter took a break. No food. Water, yes because he was to be 'in a state able to scream', and if he refused, there was more torture. Not that was any different.

Django wanted this to stop. The torture, the pain, everything!

Thankfully, he woke up.

Lying, cold and sweating, in a bed back in San Miguel. Safe, except inside in his head. 'That was a dream...it was only a dream...'But no matter how many times Django told himself this, it would always be a lie.

Everything that had taken place in four weeks compacted in a dream that lasted for a few minutes.

He curled up into a ball and gripped the covers as hard as he could. The memories wouldn't go away...and maybe Django's hands were bleeding again. A quick and unsteady gaze down to his bandaged hands proved right. At this rate, they weren't going to heal properly. Unintentionally, his fingers twitched and he whimpered from the sharp pain. Even still, he clutched onto the covers like a lifeline.

Night scared Django. It was utterly terrifying to be anywhere with the lights off and noise freaked him out if it was suddenly and from behind. So did touching. The worse was anything his mind came up, trying to fill in the blanks about the times when the torture became too much and he fainted. Django knew that conscious or not, his tormenter showed no mercy.

One hand wrapped around his neck, chocking as a means of making him cry out. "That's it. I want to hear you." Slowly, it was released, and then tightened again, repeating the process over and over. "S-s-stop..." "Aww...you're crying." Gently the tears were wiped away, but they continued to spill. "Don't worry, don't worry. In about three more hours, I'll take a break. But first we'll find a way to make you a little more comfortable!" Knives would never do this.

Django started to cry, using the covers to try and muffle the sound. Most likely it wouldn't work, since it was possible that he had woken up screaming. Ah, there was the light in the hall and the footsteps coming to his door. On impulse he pulled the covers over his head.

Arriving at the inn did save Sabata the time running up the stairs when his brother started screaming. In the bed was the quaking form hidden under the covers. "Django?" Words didn't stop the shaking one bit. He wanted to take his brother into his arms and hold him close, but the Solar Boy would only push himself out and away. A person who loved hugs both on the giving and receiving ends, would now flinch as though stuck if someone so much as moved to touch him.

He walked over to the bed, making sure that his feet made noise. It would be severally pointless to try to comfort Django and just end up scaring him. Sabata wanted him to know there was someone still in the room. He tried pulling back the covers but a small sob made him stop. "Did you have another nightmare?" "...y-yeah..." The shaking slowed, so that was something. "Your hands are bleeding." "They'll be fine..." Depression was a tone of voice that didn't suit him. There were bandages stored it the room just in case a wound re-opened. The only real 'challenge' was coxing the blankets off. "They can't be left alone like that. I'm going to change the bandages, so I'll need your hands, okay?" But Sabata knew that the nearest thing was sticking the hands out while staying under the covers. Better than nothing. Being as careful as he could, and touching the least about of skin (or the visible bits) possible, he redressed the wounds.

The fingers twitched under his own, the shaking plainly visible. Blond hair stuck out from under the covers, and it was that Sabata gently touched, tugging back the covers. The grey eyes that were usually full of life and happiness, no they were supposedto be, now drowned in tears and despair. The cruelty that been inflicted onto Django left him with both physical and mental wounds that would most likely never really heal. He didn't even know who did this, if the tormenter was human or not.

"Do you want me to get you anything?" He asked. "...no...I'm okay..." Before all of this, he was a horrible liar. Still was. He was looking away because gazes made him nervous. Did the people whom he loved and protected frighten him?

But the best thing right now, even though it seemed the worst, was sleep. Knowing things though, another nightmare would strike and leave Django in a worse state. If 'worse' was possible.

It was only dumb luck that Sabata had found him to begin with. A rare silence allowed him to hear the sobbing behind a brick wall, and the scant few minutes to rip it down that whatever 'God' gave him the chance to save his brother from the final torture that thing, because it didn't seem fit to call this one human or even an Immortal, decided to leave him with. It was...well, 'sick' didn't cover even an inch of it.

Sabata pulled the covers back up and made sure that he was warm. "Ready to go back to sleep?" Django nodded, sullen but the tiredness in his eyes couldn't be ignored. "Take a deep breath and shut your eyes." He did only one. "I'll stay here with you. Come on, trust me."

Trust, a bound. The thing that could be broken so easily.

This time, he shut his eyes. The deep breathing singled that he had fallen asleep but the Dark Boy didn't leave, like he said. He could not, would not, break the weak trust that still existed. And the sleep was well needed. "Nightmares...just give Django some pity and stay away."

Coming back from the inn to the closed off area in the Cathedral. Sabata wanted to see the walls, because on the way out, he had caught sight of something on them. And now he knew what it was. Blood, given the cruelty it was probably the Solar Boy's, used to write all over those walls. A long message.

'As useless as everything you've done over your life, you've been useful to me. In a toy sense anyways. Did you know how perfect the sound of your screaming is? Music to my ears. Blood's a nice bonus too, but I can't really find a use for it just yet. Anyways, this message is the last bit of time you and I are going to be together after I take the blindfold off. No one is going to find you and you'll die here, alone. Remember that you're worthless, and it really wouldn't surprise me if nobody came. I mean, you got caught so easily, completely fucked up and lost to me of all things. I'll see you later, Solar Boy Django.'

And standing there, he couldn't understand why someone would do this...how could someone hurt Django...?

'why' summed up everything that could be asked. It was the only question that could be asked in the first place.

Black nails drummed on the water bottle held in hands that had been described as 'cruel' and, in a few cases, 'spindly'. He was getting really impatient, drawn back to the negative energy that he had the great fortune to be able to spend time in. Four weeks wasn't enough. Well, then again, he hadn't planned on taking his victim so early and for so short of a time. Pretty much it was:

#1: Spotted his prey in the Cathedral. Facing away from him.

#2: Found pole. Things went from there.

#3: Torture.

But now he was bored. The drumming increased in tempo and he started to rock back and forth, then he blinked. 'Wait...wait wait wait! There's still something I can do to him!' And he started laughing happily, punching the air with his free hand. Looking down at the water bottle filled with blood. "There's not any use for you just yet. Maybe the other one might like it!"

"Black and red do go together after all."