A/N: First off, Narijima... I... you... the... THANK YOU! That was the most amazing review I have ever received, and I hope you like this chapter, because it's definitely yours. *hugs* It's good to see your name lighting up my screen again!
On another note, this is the first chapter that doesn't skip around from PoV to PoV like a schizophrenic CockerDoodle! (Which I'm sure everyone knows is a Cocker Spaniel/ Poodle cross.) Enjoy, and please leave me a review! All of you who have done so have given me amazing incentive to continue this fic, but the more the merrier!
Oh, and I still own nothing except the hat on my head and the gay cowboy shirt. Oh, and let's play spot the bad guy! Okay everybody, spot the bad guy in this chapter and give me your guesses!
Chapter 4—A Current Under Sea
The tricky thing about precognition was that the future was never clear cut. When Brad had 'seen' the attack on Epitaph, he saw it split off with each choice he and everyone else in the building made, like a fractal. Most of those paths were invisible to him, or appeared on the surface to be exactly the same. Brad didn't try to make sense of it as he watched. He simply imprinted it all in his mind to sift through later. By remaining calm, he remained in control, and the visions did not overwhelm him.
He almost lost his cool when Nagi appeared in the scene playing through his mind. He had rather been hoping he would get to watch the damned Fujimiya finally expire, but the sight of bullets stopping in midair made his blood run cold. Nagi had gotten more powerful. Twenty highly trained agents fell twisted to the ground before him.
The vision skipped forward to the inside, and it chose to follow Schuldig. That instantly made Brad uneasy. It meant that once events started, they would be out of his hands. In his mind's eye he saw Schuldig confront and antagonize Weiss, lips twisted in a mocking sneer. When Hidaka made a lunge for him, Schuldig sidestepped it with a laugh that became a scream as he was engulfed in flames. Even in the half-world of visions, Brad could hear his death-cry inside his mind. It was not the first time he had watched his most faithful friend perish in a vision, and he knew that before long other options would present themselves. The death took too long, though. Even the men of Weiss looked disturbed.
When Schuldig's screaming stopped, the vision skipped again, pausing briefly to show Nagi, so stunned by Schuldig's death that he let the woman he was fighting gain control, or to show Brad himself trembling with weakness he would have liked to consider himself above while a long haired man cackled at his pain.
Crawford had all but tuned the vision out by this point, and it took him a moment to realize something was wrong. Or at least something was different.
It was a lesser known fact of precognition that no seer could see outside things that influenced him personally. When the vision started following the Weiss boys rather than focusing on him or Nagi after Schuldig's death, Brad felt the scales of fate shifting. Somehow, the men of Weiss were now linked to him.
As his future self died, the vision faded and started again.
This time it was over faster, as Brad lost control and called out to Nagi while he stood with Weiss. It distracted the boy just long enough for a sniper to take out the young Taketori. Brad must have been next, because the vision faded again.
It went on in different variations of death or unacceptable injury, usually quick flashes of decisions that changed everything and nothing. The difference between dying on the top floor and dying on the bottom was negligible as far as Brad was concerned. The next longer version of the reality caught his attention though.
The next series of events showed Brad listening while Esset's 'clone' of him bargained for his loyalty. And this Brad agreed, if Esset swore to spare Schuldig and Nagi. He watched while the young men of Weiss were slaughtered, and something about the tone with which the vision presented this implied that he ought to have cared. In that future, when Schuldig saw Brad with the enemy, he killed as many of the agents as he could with his telepathic reach then met Brad's eyes and ended himself rather than being taken back to Esset's fold. The vision showed him that Esset kept their promise, re-instated him, and allowed him a luxurious, empty life with a brainwashed Nagi at his side.
Brad forced the thoughts from his head. It was technically one of many options before him, but he vastly preferred the death he had viewed previously to that life.
The next scenario had an air of finality to it. His last option. Brad watched the proceedings with a scowl, because he had a feeling he knew where this was going. He watched himself fall unconscious after his fight, watched Schuldig save Kudoh, and then Brad himself. (The vision split off briefly, and showed him that had Kudoh not been saved, Kritiker would have caught up to them.) When his vision followed Kudoh to the hospital after the attack, Brad knew that the era of Schwartz was coming to an end. He watched the blonde awaken empty of memories, and the decent of Mamoru Taketori. Then the vision became suddenly odd.
The images faded out as his future self awoke in a small hotel, but did not end. There was darkness surrounding him, in the middle of it Schuldig crouched, holding another Brad Crawford. This version of himself lay limp in Schuldig's arms, with his eyes gouged out, bloodied sockets gaping open and oozing. He gasped in air through cracked and bleeding lips.
As Brad watched, the image of Schuldig began to crack. First his arms started to crumble and wither like logs in a fire, then hairline fractures flew across his skin, segmenting his face. The vision of Schuldig snarled at the pain of it and held the blinded Crawford still closer, shattering body trembling.
From the shadows, another form stumbled. It was Nagi, naked and clutching his chest. A fountain of blood leaked from beneath the boy's hands, and he slumped to the ground at Schuldig's side, still living, but with a gaping hole in his heart.
The Schuldig's pained grimace turned into a manic smile, then choking, frenzied laughter, falling from crackling lips like screams. Just as Brad was sure he would have to watch the man crumble in this twisted parody of a vision, two hands clamped down firmly on the telepath's shoulders, and the erosion of skin halted. Schuldig's laughter stilled in his throat, and the gaps nearest the stranger's hands filled in slowly. The face of Kudoh Yohji appeared behind the redhead, sad smile firmly in place, but a fondness in his eyes. Schuldig calmed, and shifted Brad's weight slightly, reaching out to Nagi with one ruined hand.
Another beat him to it, and Brad recognized the Taketori boy as the one helping Nagi to sit up. The wound in his chest started inching closed. As two more shadows approached and the other Crawford stirred, the vision world lurched and their forms disappeared back into the dark.
A bladed pendulum straight from an Edger Allen Poe story replaced them. It inched slowly downwards, a quiet rush of a threat, then exploded into a shower of cards. When the cards cleared, Brad caught a glimpse of a shadowed, feminine figure, pale skin stark against the blackness and a pair of reflective cat's eyes shining from her face. And then the vision was over.
The final option had been the only one Brad could choose, though the intimidating abstract vision following it had left Brad shaken. Now, as he woke again in the run-down hotel, he knew he would get to find out what it meant. He opened his eyes slowly and let out a gusty sigh. The world was blurred without his glasses, and his eyes were sticky after his long rest. An intense orange blur to his left alerted him of Schuldig's presence, and Brad forced his muddled brain to focus on the redhead.
Schuldig sat hunched into himself on the side of the bed, glancing over his shoulder at the supposedly asleep precog. He quickly looked elsewhere once he noticed the man awake and staring at him. Brad's gaze was drawn to the telepath's well-muscled arms, bracing him against the mattress. His left elbow was messily bandaged, and appeared swollen. The skin around the bandages had a red tinge.
"That elbow's infected." Brad rasped softly, shifting where he lay with a soft rustle of scratchy sheets. Schuldig jerked a little when he was addressed, then tucked his chin.
"No shit, really?" he drawled, "I thought it was just inflamed and puss-filled because it loved me." An edge of fury colored his voice. Brad ignored the scathing sarcasm with practiced ease and heaved himself up and back to lean against the wall in a mostly-upright position. Schuldig still kept his back turned.
"Go get something for me to clean it up with." The precog ordered calmly, inspecting he strips of cloth protecting his own wounds. They were in much better condition than Schuldig's, as expected.
Schuldig stood too fast and slumped back on the bed, skin going pale as his weakness caught up to him once more. Brad didn't comment as Schuldig cursed softly to himself and briefly raised a hand to his head. Brad mirrored the movement, bringing his hand up to inspect his temple, and found what felt like a piece of the hotel's under sheet wrapped carefully over the slice inflicted on him by the strange 'clone,' and the gash where half the roof had come down on his head.
Schuldig stood again, more slowly, and went to retrieve one of the fresh washcloths 'requisitioned' from the cleaning staff. Brad kept an eye on his stiff progression across the room and wondered if Schuldig had managed to pull every muscle in his legs. He walked like a zombie. When the redhead disappeared into the small bathroom, Brad let himself let out a pained breath. He was in agony, but refused to show it to the man who had saved his life at the cost of his own strength. Everywhere he was in contact with anything heavier than the sheets, his bruised and damaged body screamed at the touch. Even the bed beneath him was a curse. He struggled to categorize his wounds, and inspect them, but couldn't work up the energy to move his hand enough to feel them over now that Schuldig wasn't watching. It was a mixed blessing that Brad disliked being weak in front of the other man. It would give him the strength to help him, but would cause him more pain.
Schuldig returned, eyes still averted, and silently handed Brad a warm, wet cloth and a set of the small, all but useless soaps the hotel provided, then walked to a folded sheet on the dresser and cut a strip off using a knife Brad recognized as his own. The usual grace displayed by deadly man was entirely absent. He moved like a sleepwalker, with a deadened expression and a stiffness in his joints. Crawford couldn't see well, but he still picked up the shake of Schuldig's hands. When he returned with the makeshift bandages he sank to the bed with a sigh. Brad placed the damaged arm on his own lap and started unwinding the tattered wrappings.
"How long has it been since you've eaten?" he questioned calmly. The rasp in his voice was distracting and somewhat worrisome, but he had to ensure the health and safety of the only guard he had first. Schuldig heaved a dramatic sigh.
"You've been unconscious for nearly a week, and you're asking me when the last time I ate was." He griped. Brad bit back a smile and gave his telepath a sharp look, peeling the bandage away from the sticky wound. Schuldig let out a sharp yelp, then looked sheepish at the embarrassing noise.
"I wasn't burning any calories. I was unconscious." Brad said firmly, unwrapping the next level of the bandage with a sickening wet sound. Schuldig looked slightly green.
"Yeah, sure, Crawford." Schuldig muttered. Brad removed the final section of wrapping with slightly more force, making the telepath jump and glare at him. "Ow! Yesterday, okay? Geeze. I already commandeered a pizza truck while I was getting that." He nodded to the damp towel Brad was applying soap to, but didn't get to finish his thought because his burning arm was suddenly under Brad Crawford's less-than-gentle care. The telepath let out a long, low hiss of pain as the sticky gunk trapped inside the wound was scrubbed out, and he leaned back to let his head make contact with the wall to steady himself against it. Brad let out a little grunt of annoyance at the state of Schuldig's arm and his lack of nutrition, but the redhead was as adept at toning out Brad's disapproval as the precog was at ignoring sarcasm.
They sat together in silence save for shaking breaths and murmured curses of pain from a certain German, for what seemed like a long while. Once Brad was satisfied that the wound was clean, he began to wrap it efficiently in the strip of sheet. Schuldig took that as his cue to start the conversation again, now that he was unlikely to be interrupted with an undignified shout of pain.
"You didn't answer my question." He pouted, slowly bending one knee to rest his chin and free hand on. Brad paused in his work to give the other man a blank stare and Schuldig let out an annoyed moan at the gaze. "You don't remember." He griped. "You never pay attention to me." Brad rolled his eyes. Schuldig's way of lightening stress generally consisted of hamming it up or playing the Captain Sexy part. Crawford preferred the ham method.
"I was unconscious, Schuldig." He said calmly. "And if I were to listen to you at all times, I have no doubt I'd be as mad as Farfarello by now." Schuldig scowled, but it looked happier than the blank face he had worn before. Brad turned back to concentrating on the makeshift bandage he was wrapping with shaking fingers. It didn't help that Schuldig himself had a palsy-esque tremor running down his arm.
"Well, fine. I'll repeat it then. But make sure you're paying attention this time!" Schuldig snapped in a distant imitation of his usual obnoxious self. "How much of this did you know before hand?" Brad gave him a flat look.
"Most of it," he answered calmly, "but only up until I woke up." Schuldig looked flabbergasted by the fact that he had actually been answered. Once he got over his surprise, he started picking repetitively at the seam in his pants with his unoccupied fingers.
"And for how long did you know?" He asked, slightly more wary of the answer now that he knew Brad might reply. The hands wrapping his arm in new bandages paused as Crawford tried to remember.
"I believe… that it was roughly a year and a half ago." He replied before finishing off his bandage and leaving Schuldig to ponder the implications of that. Schuldig, however, had much more important things to do than ponder, such as snatch his arm back from its tormenter and cradle it against his chest. The silence that fell suited them both fine, as they waited for the arrival of Schuldig's stolen pizza carryout.
Brad was more tense than he had been in years. Though his body was limp from exhaustion, his mind was keyed up with stress. It had been ages since he'd had no solid information to work with regarding what move to make next, but no visions had come to him since the accident, and the vague implications of the dream-like vision following Epitaph continued to elude him. Though as he looked at Schuldig, he could see how someone might view the man as fragile at the moment. He looked like death warmed over, and appeared to have lost some body mass over the past week.
With a shudder, Brad wondered how literal the image of him shattering was intended to be, then paused as he remembered what had halted it. He glanced over to study his partner's profile as carefully as possible, and remembered a purring voice comparing Kudoh's thoughts to honey all those many years ago. Schuldig looked defeated, leaning pale and drawn against the wall beside him. As though sensing the golden gaze resting on him, Schuldig slanted his bright blue eyes over to meet Brad's and their gazes locked, a silent communication passing between them that had nothing to do with telepathy and everything to do with worried eyes and shared pain.
The pizza delivery arrived at the door and Schuldig reluctantly stood again, choking back a groan for Crawford's sake, and blanking out the pizza boy's memory. This time he just stuck the cash for the pizza in the kid's pocket and shoved a memory of a fat balding man who wouldn't tip into his mind, then sent him on his way. He bore the pizza back to the bed and flopped down again, opening the first of three boxes as he sat next to Brad. The older man sighed and rolled his eyes as the redhead all but inhaled his first piece, despite his earlier claims that he wasn't hungry, before snagging a slice of the cheese-covered monstrosity for himself and talking himself into finishing it despite the nausea brought on in the wake of the concussion.
The first pizza was entirely devoured by the time they spoke again. Schuldig was reclining on his elbows, looking far more relaxed, and Brad was stretched out on the bed beside him, allowing his body the rest it so desperately needed. Schuldig's slight quivering was magnified by the mattress and allowed Brad to feel it quite plainly from his place on the far side of the bed. Both of the paranormals were fast healers, but Schuldig had stretched too far in his daringly idiotic rescue, and was certainly feeling the consequences.
Much to Brad's surprise, he suffered his hurts in relative silence, even laying there on the elbow that was no doubt still burning with infection. He caught the bright blue gaze resting on him with concealed worry and realized that this was Schuldig being protective. It was something the redhead did not have many chances to do, as he was usually the one who needed protecting. Brad found it somewhat charming, but also knew without a doubt that he would stress Schuldig to the breaking point if this continued.
With a sudden stab of urgency, Brad reached out for the visions which almost always answered his call (and sometimes invited themselves). For a moment, there was nothing, and then Crawford was suddenly assaulted by a feeling of unease so intense that it made Schuldig jump. There was something vast just beyond Brad's reach, but when he dove deeper into his power's core, fresh pain descended on him like a storm, and the world went dark.
He came to with Schuldig screaming his name and a bruising grip tight on his arms. The telepath's eyes were wild and over bright. Brad took a deep breath to question Schuldig on what just occurred when he was interrupted by the man slumping over his chest and yanking Brad up into his arms. The precog froze.
"Whatever you did, don't do it again." Schuldig moaned against his neck. "I thought I was going to loose you." The telepath's breaths were hard and fast, and Brad lifted a hand to place it on Schuldig's back
"What happened?" He questioned quietly.
"I don't know," Schuldig whispered in return, briefly broadcasting an image of Brad, eyes rolled back in his head and screaming. "Whatever it was, you were nearly gone." Brad shuddered, because Schuldig did not exaggerate things like that, and pulled Schuldig back onto the bed to ease the shaking in his shoulders. The redhead did not release him, but it did ease the shudders running through him. Brad very slowly wrapped his arms around Schuldig as well, and lay against him, wondering how much of the trembling was Schuldig's and how much was his own, until they both fell into sleep.