"The car is going to crash." The little boy said, his clumsy legs swinging in his chair as he watched the street below him.
"Don't be silly!" chided his mother as she carefully prepared dinner in the tiny, two bedroom flat. "The car is not going to crash." She shook her head, exasperated with her only son.
"Daddy's going to die." He pronounced, sliding from the chair and toddling, wobbling, to the table where she worked, the meat firm under her slightly callused hands.
She stopped for a moment and stared, wide-eyed at her four year old son. He looked up at her with his large golden eyes, eyes that were not inherited from either parent, but just seemed to appear out of thin air. "What do you mean, angel?"
"I mean that Daddy is going to die when the car crashes." He repeated, watching her hands make the perfectly round meatballs. "That's what I mean."
She looked at her son, and her heart began to beat faster. He can't know, he's just a child, he's just a child, he's just a child...
"And when he dies, Mommy, it will be because he was racing home so that you wouldn't know that he had a mistress." The child turned his golden gaze on his mother. "Mommy? What's a mistress?"
The woman gasped, and dropped the bowl of raw beef. Precocious as her son was, he didn't know what a mistress was, and of course, didn't know that his father had one. She had her suspicions, but she wasn't sure.
"Mommy?"
"The boy is clearly traumatized by the lack of a father figure." The psychiatrist told her, as her son sat silent in the corner. Four years ago his father had died, and his mother had taken no direction in finding the boy a new one.
"Surely, you can help him better than I...he...well..."
"He sees things, doctor. He knows the future. Like how she's going to sell me to you, and you are going to send me to some clinic in New York." The boy piped up. He moved an errant strand of hair away from his face and went back to reading The Art of War. Suddenly, he slammed the book shut and looked up. "Personally, I'd rather not be sold. I would like it if you two would stop telling me that I have problems and get on with fucking each other."
His mother gasped, and the boy shrugged. "It's not my problem, if you can't admit that you like to fuck the good doctor."
"Bradley, what am I to do with you?"
"I don't care."
"But you know."
"Shut up!" he yelled throwing his book across the room. "Just because I know, it doesn't mean that I care!!"
That night, she slept on the sofa, as usual. He knew that, and was ready.
Later, he wandered the streets, tired, alone but not at all afraid. He knew exactly what he should look for, what he would look for, and what he would find.
He found him smoking in a bar, a woman on one knee and a man on the other. The bouncer didn't even bother to look down, so the boy passed with no trouble at all. The boy walked to the man, sat next to him and said, "I think you've been looking for me."
"Have you been in trouble, boy?" the man asked, the cigarette smoke blowing out and into the boy's face.
The boy shook his head and explained, "I had to kill my mother, but..." he shrugged, and looked back up at the man. "You'll fuck me as much as you want, but teach me what I need to know."
"You're smart." The man replied, and told the girl on his knee to go and get him a drink. He smiled at the boy, who just looked back. "So, oracle, what's your name?"
"Crawford."
"Do you have a first name?"
"I do, but you don't need to know it, because you won't use it." The boy said, and the man chuckled.
"Is that a request, an order, or a premonition?"
"An order."
"I don't take orders well." He turned to the man on his knee. "Do I, heartling?"
The man shook his head obediently and the boy glared. "Bradley. That's my first name."
"Nice name. Girly name, but nice enough, I suppose, for you."
The boy shrugged, and the man laughed and kissed him on the lips. The boy pulled back, and the man laughed again, then stood up. "Come, boy."
Crawford sat up in bed, panting hard. He couldn't believe that he still had these dreams – when he didn't have dreams of the future, he had dreams of the past. He ran his hand through his hair, and turned to look at his lover, still asleep in the bed. His flame-red hair was the only feature that Crawford could make out in the dark without his glasses. Crawford relaxed back into his bed and closed his eyes, but was unable to fall asleep. No matter, he thought casually to himself. After an hour of lying there, he got up and moved silently to the desk where he had left his glasses and a letter, lying innocently enough on the desk to mask its sick purpose.
Brad,
Your Mother is alive. Go visit her as soon as you can.
Underneath the letter was an address, in America, of an apartment in Manhattan.
Schwarz, since the fall of Esset, had stayed together, too much of a "family" for them to separate. After all, they had nowhere to go that was more comfortable than where they were. Crawford's family had been gone, and after he and Schuldig had escaped the institution that had kept them for years, they were presumably dead to the world. Farf was insane, and as astonishingly intelligent as he was, half the time his mental capability dropped. He couldn't live on his own. And Nagi – well, Nagi was pretty much raised by Crawford and Schuldig, so he was home.
Crawford remembered killing his mother. He remembered it very clearly, and he couldn't understand how she could have been alive. He remembered his small hands, gripping the steak knife and ramming it in between her ribs. He remembered her scream, and the blood covering his hands.
But at that point, he forgot. He couldn't recall what he did next, except leave the apartment. But he remembered being sure that she was dead.
"Oi. Crawford, stop going on about your mother and come back here and fuck me."
Crawford sighed and took his glasses off. No. he thought, knowing that the telepath would hear him.
"Come on....please? I'll be very good and stay out of your dreams..."
Crawford turned his sharp golden eyes on his lover, who grinned. "Liebe....you know that I can't help but pry...."
"Shut up, Schuldig." Crawford snapped, and got back in the bed. He sighed and told him, "I'm going to America."
"I know." Schuldig said easily. "And you don't want us to come along. Well...tough shit, buddy. You're not leaving me here with the psycho and the boy. In fact, I refuse to stay here with them. Plus, we all wanna come along and meet Bradley's mommy!"
Schu...
I already bought the plane tickets. Came the German's sassy reply.
Crawford sighed, and hugged him. "Fine. Come with. But I will not play babysitter, nor tour guide. And it's your job to make sure that the Farf doesn't kill anything."
"Oh, he's not coming. I found him a babysitter. It's going to be you, me and Nagi-wagi. It's going to be a family outing. Plus, I don't trust Farfarello in Manhattan."
Crawford thought about it for a moment.
"Fine."
Nagi looked at the plane, then back at Schuldig, who seemed to be hyperventilating. "You know, if the plane crashes..."
Suddenly Schuldig began to hyperventilate faster. Crawford raised an eyebrow and glared at Nagi, who grinned. "Schu, the plane won't crash."
"How can you be sure?"
Crawford raised another eyebrow, and Schu whimpered. "Oh, yeah, the precog thing, huh?" Crawford nodded and Schuldig whimpered again, then clung to Crawford's arm.
The plane, the blue and black of business class, the reclining seats left Crawford wanting to go to sleep. Nagi was thumbing through some strange yaoi manga, alternating that and writing to his boyfriend. Schu was given some tranquilizers and fell asleep quickly leaving Crawford alone and half-asleep. Suddenly Nagi turned and asked, "Crawford? What's it like to have a mother?"
"What?" Crawford turned to his young ward, who looked up at him with large sea-deep blue eyes.
"Well, I was thinking. See, Schuldig can't remember having parents, Farf refuses to talk about it, and I'm an orphan. I was wondering what it's like to have a mother."
"A mother...a mother..." Crawford leaned back into the chair, and told him, "Write to your boyfriend, Nagi."
Nagi looked down at his letter and sighed, then continued to write.
The airport was crowded, as usual. Schuldig looked mildly annoyed as he walked next to Crawford. Nagi was looking around, trying to pick out strings of English phrases and occasionally saying them under his breath.
Crawford saw the sign written with his name. He tugged his bag and walked over to the man who held it. The man looked up and asked, "You're Bradley Crawford?"
"Yes." Crawford said curtly, handing the man his bag.
The man took his bag and led him to a black limo, where Schu entered first, followed by Nagi and finally by Brad.
"Saaaa....finally, silence! Blessed, blessed silence!" Schuldig cried in Japanese, stretching. "Gott, I thought I was going to go insane! Everyone thinking of stupid things..."
Crawford shrugged as they drove through New York. Nagi watched the street silently, his eyes focused on the people that walked the streets. Finally the limo pulled up to an apartment building. It was a fairly nice building, with a doorman. Crawford wondered for a moment how his mother had afforded a nice apartment in Manhattan, but didn't ask. He merely stepped out of the car and walked to the doorman, who looked back at Crawford, then asked, "May I help you?"
"I'm here to see Mrs. Eliza Crawford." He said, the English rolling off his tongue smoothly. He turned to the limo and told the driver, "Take those two sightseeing or something. The red-head speaks English."
The limo driver nodded, and drove away. Crawford turned back to the man, who opened the gate of the building and allowed Crawford to walk in. "14th floor. Apartment 1453."
Crawford nodded and walked to the elevator, slowly pressing 14.
She opened the door.
Of course, she had changed in the years that he hadn't seen her. Her hair was more gray than chestnut, her eyes were the same near-black shade of brown. Her face was still worried. She looked up at him and gasped. "Bradley..."
"Yes." He said simply, looking down at her. She bit her lip and let him in.
"You know, Bradley, when I called a detective to have you found, I didn't think that they would find you. I thought that you were dead."
"Well, I'm here, aren't I, mother."
"Yes."
There was an awkward pause, and then she asked, "So...how are you? You're so big...you look nothing like your father."
Suddenly a vision interrupted the conversation. He brushed it away, then said, "He wasn't my father, was he?"
She bit her lower lip and shook her head softly.
"Who was?"
"He's dead. He died last year. That's why I asked for you to come. I wanted to see you. I...I didn't want to be alone."
"Well, that's your own fault for surviving, isn't it?"
"Bradley, please..."
"You wanted to give me away. Did you think that I wouldn't kill you? You knew as well as I did!" Crawford said.
She looked down and then looked back up. "You've always been able to see the future so well, why didn't you know that I would survive?"
"Don't you dare presume to tell me what I can and can't do. I stopped caring about you the moment I left you for dead when I was eight."
"Brad, please understand. You scared me. I didn't know what to do with you! You just kept saying things...that my husband was going to die, that you were going to kill me one day...."
"Mother, I cannot stop the future. I'm only an oracle."
Only an oracle.
Schu looked up at the building and put his arm around Nagi, who in turn let him pull closer.
"I thought my touch repulsed you, Nagi-chan."
"Don't call me that." Was the brisk reply, and Schu laughed.
Crawford was only a moment before he stepped out of the building, carefully placing his gun back in its holster.
"Well...that's done, then." He said softly, and Schu smiled.
"Schwarz is now known as the orphan club!" Schu crowed happily, then jumped off to the limo.
Once they got back to Japan, things were back to normal as if Crawford had never seen anything at all.
But then, it was always like that.