Won't you close our eyes?


A/N: Well, well.... This is the last finished chapter... I've begun on a fifth, but I don't know if it's going to be the last or not. So there'll be either one or two more chapters. I just haven't decided yet, but I have decided on an ending! Go me! Muahaha! It's a *beep* ending! I won't tell you! Woohoo! No, I'm off to go partying and come home at five AM and watch Utena till I drop together with Nagi-kun and Omi-kun and Lenn-neechan!



Warnings: Okay, dokay, pretty much the same as before, but... Character DEATH!! Muahaha! Well, not Brad, not Schu or anyone... But one of the original characters. Hee hee. But the death-scene sucks royally.

italics means thoughts
~...~ means flashback
'...' means diary-entry, or part from a diary-entry
"..." means telepathic thought, or thought picked up by telepathy
--...-- means a vision


Acknowledgements: Well, well, here ges, again!
Lenn-neechan, always always! What would I do without my neechan! Älskar dig, sötnos!
Omi-kun (yes, that is his given name ^_^;;), don't you dare try to kill yourself again! We'd miss you sooooo much!
Mamo-chan, ohisashiburinoyo! Eeto, utenano animeno utaha "hohowo yoseatte utsuru shashinno egaoni sukoshino sabishisa tsumekonde" toitteita. sorejaa atashimo itteiruyone!
Sabin because I love you sooo much and because you ignore me when I'm having one of my "moods" and yell at you. Förlåt, förlåt, vill inte vara så elak.
Nagi-kun, just because! Yeah!
And all the people who reviewed for the last chapter (at least thus far, sorry if I'm missing someone), in no particular order, who get cookies! All of you:
ailsinjiin, well, the chapter-a-day thing is about to end! I haven't written the fifth (and last?) chapter yet! Weiss won't make an appearence. And Nagi is based (kinda) on the Nagi above, only Nagi above is more hentai. -_-;;
Krimson, of course Schu'd ask for help. ^_^;;
Bright Shadow, *bow bow* thank you!
Glory, I don't think anybody deserves to go nuts or kill themself, but... Maybe I'll be mean to Schu! I always end up writing sugary stuff, though...
DragonSoul, *bounce* I'm gonna give you more cookies! Just because!



Disclaimer: Nothing new here, is there? Um.... Should anybody sue me, who would pay, anyway? I sure as hell won't. Just because I can't afford it. Hee hee! ^-^ But... Maybe I could pay you in cookies? Yeah! I rule at baking chocolate-cakes! I'll pay you in those!



Chapter IV: Deliver me from all of the madness


Brad sat at the edge of his bed, combing his hair with his hand, not minding the other body still resting soundly underneath the thick comforter. He hadn't wanted Schuldig to have to stay in his own room, even though Nagi did offer to put things back the way they should be, nor did he want the redhead to take the couch. So the only reasonable solution had been to put Schuldig in his own bed and take the couch himself. Although once he had made to leave after making sure the redhead had taken the sleeping pills he couldn't live without, Schuldig had tugged onto his hand, asking Brad to stay with him, just until he was asleep. But Crawford had fallen asleep as well with the telepath's thin, cold body pressed up against his own and he had slept so soundly that his sleep had lasted throughout the entire night. The pills had yet to stop working as the mind reader was still snoozing softly, curled up in the narrow bed. With an almost soft motion, Brad moved to push some vagrant strands of fiery hair from the German's ghastly pale face.
When Schuldig had admitted that he needed the other's help, Brad had considered giving up on the diaries as helping the redhead would most probably take up the time he used for the translation. But the photocopies had become something of a weird entertainment, and he had found that he couldn't put them away, even though he didn't need them anymore. He had always been able to see the future, or at least for as long as he could remember, but the past… The past intrigued him in a way the future couldn't. It was one thing to learn of a future by being told of it, as in the case with Nagi, or to read about it, as with Farfarello, but it was quite another to learn about it on his own. After having thought about it for several long hours, he had decided that he was not about to give it up. At least not without a fight.
Schuldig, though, had yet to tell him exactly what was wrong. The redhead had only curled long, thin arms about him, pressing close to the body-heat of the older man, and whispered random words and sentences that floated through his mind slowly enough for him to catch them. Brad didn't know what else to do than to hug him back and listen, eventually resting his head against the other's, loving how the wild hair teased his nose. He had always liked redheads, and even though Schuldig was male, he had found lately that it didn't matter; he cared for him, anyway.
Behind him, Schuldig groaned in his sleep and turned over, curling around the American where he sat. Brad found it strange how the telepath was constantly cold, as if he couldn't contain his own body-heat, or what little heat he had wasn't enough to keep him warm. Even tough Crawford had never considered himself to be very warm, he must seem like an oven in comparison to the redhead. Sighing softly, the clairvoyant reached to put another blanket over the sleeping form, hoping that it would help in warming Schuldig.
When he rose from the bed, it barely just shifted, but it was enough to wake the sleeping mind reader up. Turning, Crawford was caught by two emerald eyes blinking open to focus on him. Brad leaned down carefully, watching the hazy eyes blink repeatedly. "I'm just going to get myself some breakfast, Schuldig. Go back to sleep."
The redhead shook his head slowly. "One cup of coffee and I'll be fine."
"Really now. I didn't mean to wake you up."
"You didn't. I just… Happened to wake up just now." Schuldig smiled as widely as his chapped lips would allow him to. Brad reached into the drawer of his bedside table and picked up the lip-balm he had promised earlier.
"Here you go. And you should drink more, too. It might be dehydration."
"I will. …try." Schuldig accepted the balm and then turned to look out the window through the blinds. It had been weeks, if not even months since he had been outside the house. There were times when he had been feeling a bit better and had put on some clothes, grabbed his keys and put his hand on the handle of the front door, but then he had changed his mind and withdrawn instead. It was easier to just pretend as if it didn't matter that he didn't feel like going out, even though he could feel the others watch him with worry and sometimes pity as he climbed back up the stairs. He hated pity. Hated it when they exchanged looks that he knew exactly what they meant. 'I feel sorry for him.' 'We should do something about this.' 'Fucking pretty fucking German. Shut up shut up shut up shut up…'
Farfarello was the one he worried about most. If he was left alone with the Irishman for too long he got nervous. Probably because the words, the thoughts that came form the Irishman was a bit too much to take for him. He was used to be able to filter out those things, but now that his walls had fallen and he didn't fare much of a chance to rebuild them, he couldn't keep out the promises of what would happen to him if he mentioned the one word that seemed to drive the psychopath crazy. He didn't even dare to think the word, in case his thoughts bled into the minds of the others. He had found that he had some trouble to keep his thoughts out of others' heads just as he had trouble to keep others' thoughts out of his own head. Once, his thoughts had bled into Farfarello's and the Irishman had gone more or less insane with rage over the prayer he had uttered in his mind. If Nagi hadn't been home, he didn't know what he would have done. He definitely didn't feel like being pinned to the kitchen floor again, feeling as if his ribcage would break if the other had leaned down just a bit more. He couldn't think of any other time when he had been so thankful that he lived together with a telekinetic. A telekinetic who didn't hate his guts, that is. But then again, he couldn't really remember if he had ever been more thankful than that, so perhaps it didn't count.
At the moment, he could hear the Irishman's crude chants over and over in his head, promising that once he got a hold on the 'god-lover', as he put it, he would do both this and that; things that Schuldig didn't want to know of but was forced to see nonetheless.
"What?"
Schuldig had forgotten about the clairvoyant and nearly jumped upon hearing his voice. When he turned his head to look at the other, he saw the usual concern and worry in the coffee-colored eyes. It disturbed him to know that no matter what he did or said, the oracle would just look at him with that same look on his face. It made Schuldig feel like a child that had done something wrong, but couldn't think of a way to redeem himself.
"You looked…" He wanted to say frightened, but he didn't think it would be very clever to say that to the redhead at the time being.
"What?" Schuldig demanded, this time turning around to fully face the American. He hated not knowing and he hated it when people kept secrets from him. It was most probably a trait he had acquired thanks to his telepathy. Being a telepath made you almost virtually all-knowing. To have something kept away from you was about the most annoying thing that a telepath could think of.
"Nothing. Your eyes just… Changed." He couldn't think of anything better to say, because he didn't want to lie, but at the same time, he didn't want to tell the whole truth. It was a strange feeling, not wanting to lie to the redhead, even though he knew very well that he had been lied to several times before by the telepath. At the moment, though, it didn't bother him.
"What do you mean, changed?" Schuldig asked, tilting his head slightly to one side. The memory of something else was stabbing at him, nearly screaming at him that he should know what the other was talking about. He knew that it had happened before, he just couldn't remember what the result had been.
"Just… Never mind." Brad sat back down again, pulling the comforter to fit it snugly about the redhead's body. Schuldig seemed not to notice, just looking at the raven-haired man with a slight frown on his face. Brad was moving as if he was a robot, the motions automatic. It was obvious that he was thinking of something else.
"What are you thinking?" Schuldig asked carefully, ducking his head somewhat to be able to catch Crawford's gaze. He didn't manage to.
"Why don't you just read it?" the oracle shot back. Brad nearly started. It had come out harsher than he had intended it to. Shaking his head slowly, he reached to the nightstand again, and picked up a jar that he had used to collect the yellow pills in. "How's your head?"
Schuldig chuckled. "Never mind. It's not getting better, so stop asking." He still watched the American's profile, trying to find out what was bothering him, but his telepathy had taken a run out the door at the moment, and he only managed to let in more noise from the outside world. With something of a frown mixed with curiosity, he asked, "What's your name again?"
Crawford's head snapped up in surprise, and he watched the redhead with slight confusion. "Why do you ask?"
"Don't tease me. My memory's not what it used to be, you know," Schuldig shot back, a bit annoyed with both himself and the American.
"Brad. Try to remember it."
"And I'm here because…?"
"What? You're kidding, right?"
Schuldig looked away. After a moment of silence, he let out a nervous laugh. "Yeah. I'm just joking with you." He twisted a corner of the blanket around his fingers, not wanting to meet the other's gaze.
"Listen, Schuldig, you asked me to help you yesterday." Before he continued, he said softly, "Right?" At Schuldig's slight nod, he continued. "But I can't help you unless you tell me what's wrong. And not just that you're having headaches. What's really wrong."
Schuldig heaved a deep sigh. How would he go about this…?
"Well, I don't really know what's wrong…" he began, but then laid back down on the bed, pushing back into the pillows and studying the ceiling. "I guess… I don't know."
"Can you at least tell me something? Anything that'll help me?" Brad tried, fingering the jar restlessly. Afraid that he would drop it, he put it down on the bed.
"This'll just sound stupid."
"It doesn't matter."
"Okay."
They stayed silent for a while, Schuldig watching the white ceiling, Crawford watching the redhead. Then, Schuldig drew a shaky breath.
"I can't filter. The walls won't work. The noise grows constantly. I'm getting an even worse migraine."
And that was that. Even though Brad sat still, waiting for a continuation, none came. The only thing he could think of to say was, "Do you want anything?"
"A pill'd be good right about now," Schuldig agreed and was handed the jar, taking a pill and swallowing it dry. "I don't expect you to know what to do about it, just…" He looked out the window, or as far as he was able to since the blinds were still closed. "It'd be nice not to have to go about this on my own."
"All you have to do is ask," Brad said, an uncharacteristic gentleness coloring his voice. All the things that had once irritated him about the redhead now made the mind reader strangely attractive. The thought startled him enough to make him almost jump physically. He found Schuldig attractive? Well, it was no secret that the redhead was handsome, pretty even. He had used it to his favor several times, but Brad had never allowed the German to use it to gain his ends when it involved the American. But now it was somehow different. Crawford found that he didn't particularly mind. Where Schuldig lay at the moment, his hair was fanned out about him, the wild flame-colored mane not brushed, but smelled richly of the honey-melon shampoo he favored. Even though Schuldig didn't seem to care much about his appearance any more, he did still take showers that lasted for at least half an hour at least once every day. Once, though, Brad had heard the shower running for nearly one and a half hour and when he had gone
to check, the redhead had collapsed to the floor of the stall, the water running cold. It had taken two days before he had gotten warm again.
Looking at the redhead made his thoughts falter for the fraction of a second before he caught himself.
"Estet told me of something like this once," Schuldig said suddenly. His voice sounded close to a broken whisper, probably because of his not drinking enough. Crawford waited silently for him to go on. "They said that some telepaths react like empaths. That their Talent hurts them." He didn't move, only stared up at the ceiling without seeing it. "That they lose themselves little at a time. I can't remember exactly what they said, though…" He frowned slightly, but then his forehead smoothed again. "Headaches, nausea, memory-loss, then something about personality and shell and something… I can't really remember…"
They fell silent. Then,
"I'll see if I can find anything. Just take it easy. I'll get you something to drink and once you've downed it, just go back to sleep. There's no use in your wasting your energy." With that, Crawford rose from the bed for the second time that morning, but this time, one of Schuldig's thin hands caught onto his, like the night before. When Crawford turned back around, Schuldig tugged him down and pressed balm-covered lips against his in a chaste kiss.
"Thank you," he whispered, their faces so close that their foreheads touched.
"I promised I'd help you as far as possible," Brad answered, closing his eyes and drawing in the other's scent. Although it irked him somewhat to be kissed by another male, he pushed it away. If that was what Schuldig needed, then he'd let him.
"If nothing works…" The redhead trailed off and left his words hanging.
"Then there's nothing I can do."
"Spare me the pain. If there's nothing to be done, at least do that," Schuldig asked, and Brad opened his eyes, pulling back just a little, just enough to study the telepath.
Even though he wasn't sure he could do such a thing, Brad said, "I'll try. If nothing else works, I'll try."
Content, Schuldig pulled away, lying back down and closing his eyes, looking as if he had already fallen asleep again. The clairvoyant left as quietly as he possibly could, closing the door behind him with a soft click. Leaning against the door, he covered his face with his hands. How do I do this? ? he thought to himself with a hint of despair. I can't just give up if nothing works… I'll just have to wait and see. Nodding to himself, he pulled himself up from his slouch against the door and walked with determined steps towards the kitchen. Just wait and see.

Schuldig sat curled up in one corner of the couch, staring through the television. In the other corner sat Farfarello, who constantly threw glances in the German's direction. Between them, acting the barrier, sat Brad, trying to ignore both of them. He flipped through the channels, deciding on an American news channel. Sky News. He missed home.

The redhead sat quiet, twisting a strand of hair about one of his index fingers in a nervous gesture he had picked up. He was chewing on his lower lip again, but Crawford didn't bother telling him not to. It seemed to be an impossible task to get the mind reader to stop. He just wouldn't. At least he was using the lip-balm and he was drinking properly again. His eating habits were still almost nonexistent, though. It seemed that no matter how hard Crawford tired to get him to start eating again, nothing worked. But he wouldn't give up, wouldn't stop feeding him until Schuldig got better again.
Sighing, he leaned back, allowing himself to slouch slightly. He had been so stressed these last few days that he decided he deserved slouching.
Meanwhile, Schuldig was caught in his own world again. Words, thoughts, feelings, they all seemed to mix and become something else, something new in his head. Then, as there were pictures of police and barking dogs flicking on the screen, he lost himself in his own thoughts again.

~
He heard his parents fight again. Telling his sister to stay in her room, he sneaked down the staircase and sat on the floor next to the door leading to the living room, listening. They were fighting about school again.

"The kid's too stupid! It's a waste of money, sending him to that school!" His father. Florian made a face.
"You're not having enough faith in him! You're making him change schools every month, no wonder he can't get good grades!" His mother. She was always on his side, for some reason. There was something about his mother that he didn't quite like, but she was the only grown up who stood up for him thus far, so he couldn't make himself say anything mean about her.
"I don't fucking care. If he doesn't do better soon, I'm sending him off to my old school. At least then he'll grow up to be something, even though he's an idiot."
That hurt. He wasn't an idiot, he was just constantly behind in his schoolwork, much thanks to his father who never left him alone if he could help it.
"How dare you! About my son!"
"Great, mom," Florian muttered to himself. Things never ended well when she talked back like that. "Some people never learn."
Not seconds later came the sound of the first hit.
"No wonder he can't get better grades; he's got the insanity from you!" Florian pricked his ears. Perhaps his parents did know something, anything, about the voices in his head. "Your father ended up in the loony bin, and his mother before him! Now your fucking son, too!"
"Stop it! He's not insane!"
Another hit.
"He's just as fucking insane as you are!"
Florian sneaked back up the stairs. He didn't want to know the rest.
~

Brad frowned somewhat as Schuldig rose suddenly, climbing the stairs as though he was afraid that someone would hear him. The American decided he would follow, just in case, as soon as the current news-report was over.

~
The headache was getting worse again. It wasn't so much that it pounded, like it usually did, but rather that there was so much to listen to at the same time that he couldn't. It felt as if his head would explode if he didn't do anything about it soon.

Stumbling into his room, he dug around in the top drawer of his desk. There. A tiny plastic bag that he had bought some nights ago, filled with pills. To numb his mind. It had been expensive, but after he had got to test one of the white pills he had decided that he didn't care what was in them or what they cost; they made the voices into whispers, and that was all he needed to know. Snatching money from his father had been a hard task, but he had managed to get the few hundred that he needed, and now, with the bag in his hand, he frowned. Nobody had said anything about how many he should take. And since this was a killer headache that only seemed to get worse… Maybe two.
Popping them into his mouth, he curled up onto his bed and closed his eyes, feeling his mind go numb, being filled with nothing.
Smiling, he floated away into a dark abyss where the voices couldn't find him.
~

When Brad found him, Schuldig lay curled up on the floor of his room. In one hand was the opened jar of morphine, but most of the pills lay on the thick carpet. Worried, he checked the redhead's eyes. Well, he was still there, only knocked out.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Crawford collected the thin body into his arms and carried him off to the clairvoyant's room. Once making sure the German was safe beneath the covers, he sat down beside him, brushing away vagrant strands of hair from the telepath's face and smiled softly down at him.
"I'll get you better," he whispered. "I promise."

~
He was awakened by rough hands that shook him. He hated it when his father woke him up. Since it was still dark out and it was early fall, it had to be sometime in the middle of the night.

"Go away," he hissed, but was met by a slap.
"Get up. You're going to the place where you belong."
He could smell the alcohol on his father's breath. It made him choke.
"I'm staying right here. It's a school-night," he retorted even though his cheek stung.
"You're not going to school anymore. You're fucking insane, and you're going away."
Harsh movements pulled him out of bed and urged him towards his door. Barefooted, only wearing his pajamas, Florian stumbled through the door to his room.
"What do you think-"
"I found the drugs. I'm not having a fucking junkie in this house."
He nearly fell down the stairs, but managed to grab onto the railing at the last moment. The front door was open and the car was standing with its engine on. Obviously, things were serious this time.
Florian yelped as he was grabbed by his hair and more or less thrown into the back seat. Not being able to get the child-safe locks up, he could only sit there, trying to talk his father into turning the car around. The man didn't.
When he was dragged across the parking lot the bare soles of his feet were scraped raw from the asphalt, and Florian had to bite back a sob of pain. Pushed into the sterile-looking building, the soon-to-be teenager froze. Thoughts came crashing against him, all of them so horrible that it made his nightmares seem like warm, fuzzy things. The shock made his knees buck underneath him. He couldn't move even though he wanted to.
"That's right, you fuck," he heard his father tell him, although the man's voice was more like a whisper compared to the screams in his head. "This is where I'm leaving you."
"No," Florian breathed. He could take a lot of things, hell, he could even take being dragged up in the middle of the night and thrown into a car, but to stay there where everything screamed, that he could not. "I can't. Let me out." When he tried to run back outside, a strong hand took a hold on his shoulder and held him where he was.
"The only place you're going is where you are now."
"No!" The tiny redhead chanced a kick but it didn't seem to do any damage. White-clad persons were hurrying up to them. "Let me go!"
"Shut up."
"I said, let me go!"
Then something happened that he hadn't counted on. For a moment less than a second it felt as if all the screams were collected into a spear in his mind. With feverish determination, he lunged the spear at his father's mind and the impossible happened. At first he thought he dreamed it, but then, as he felt the blood on his own face, he realized how real it was.
His father's eyes widened and became impossibly large as his stomach emptied itself. He threw up over the floor as his nose began to bleed. First it was just a trickle, but it grew into a steady rush of blood. Little by little, blood made its way out of his ears. Putting his hands over his ears in a vain attempt to shut the screams out, blood spurted through his fingers and then Florian tried to look away, but he couldn't.
The man's head literally exploded. Something dark and wet hit the tiny redhead in his face. He wiped it off with the arm of his pajamas. And yet, he couldn't stop watching. It was his fault. He had made the hard bone of the skull give way, had caused that body slump down, with nothing for a head. All that was left was some flesh that clung to the neck, hanging from torn skin, and the bone, white for a second, then pinkish as it was drenched in the crimson fluid. He couldn't tear his gaze from the mutilated body. Me. Me. Me. He smiled. Then his head began to spin. He felt tired. As he slumped to his knees, one of the white-clad men hurried up to him, crouching down beside him, holding him. Florian felt his pajamas go wet from the sticky fluid. It didn't bother him. The blood was warm, nearly oozing as it poured over the floor. Although he knew it should be irking him, it was a nice feeling. He felt cold.
All around him the white-clad persons talked excitedly. 'That's him! It is!' they told each other, seemingly not caring about the bleeding corpse.
"How are you doing?" the man holding him asked.
Florian smiled slightly. "I killed him."
"That you did. What's your name?"
He hesitated slightly before answering. "Schuldig. My name's Schuldig. I did it." He giggled, the realization making him feel giddy. "I did it."
Then the darkness of exhaustion swallowed him.
~

"Schuldig? Schuldig!"

Brad shook the twisting redhead over and over, trying to wake him from whatever dream he was having. The telepath was tossing and turning, mumbling things in broken German. Suddenly his eyes bolted open and he sat straight up, breathing in gasps.
"…Are you okay?"
Schuldig threw his arms about Brad, giggling.
"I did it," he whispered. "I blew his head up. He's dead. I killed him. I did it." He kept on rambling and Crawford listened half-heartedly. After a minute or so, the redhead had switched to German, mumbling over and over, giggling and breathing in gasps.
Then suddenly, he went quiet. Looking up at Brad, he frowned. "Who are you?"
Calming his nerves that had jumped at the question, Brad did his best to answer. "I'm Brad, remember?"
Schuldig frowned. "No, not really." Upon seeing Crawford's slightly hurt expression, he hurried to say, "I'm sorry. Maybe I'll remember later. I'm so bad at remembering names."
"It's okay, I suppose." The clairvoyant hugged the redhead carefully. "Now go back to sleep, okay?"
"Okay." The mind reader lay back down again, curling up. "Good night."
"Good night." Before he had the time to realize what he was doing, Brad leaned down and caught the telepath's lips in a soft kiss. "Try to sleep." Then he left.
It wasn't until he was in the kitchen that he realized that the German had spoken in a heavy accent. Suddenly unnerved, Brad got a vision.
--Schuldig, wrapped in a large white shirt, sitting on the bathroom floor. There's a red rose beside him. Its petals wither as he looks at it. --
Stumbling to a chair, he sat down, his face in his hands. "I'll help him. I'll help him. I'll help him."
He didn't even realize that he had fallen asleep.



Deliver me
"
Deliver me
Out of my sadness
Deliver me
From all of the madness
Deliver me
Courage to guide me
Deliver me
Strength from inside me

All of my life
I've been in hiding
Wishing there was someone just like you
Now that you're here
Now that I've found you
I know that you're the one to pull me through

Deliver me
Loving and caring
Deliver me
Giving and sharing
Deliver me
The cross that I'm bearing

All of my life
I was in hiding
Wishing there was someone just like you
Now that you're here
Now that I've found you
I know that you're the one to pull me through
Deliver me
Oh, deliver me

All of my life
I was in hiding
Wishing there was someone just like you
Now that you're here
Now that I've found you
I know that you're the one to pull me through
Deliver me
Won't you deliver me?
"


~tbc~



Ohohoho! There it is! (Yeah, the tune belongs to Sarah Brightman... I didn't mention that, did I?) I have begun writing on the fifth part, but I've only written about a page... Brad starts to get worried! Eeheeheehee! (--?) Be patient, I've got lots of finals coming up... I'm graduating this summer, which means I have to pass... So no matter how much I want to just write, I can't! And I've got Inubradley to write on, too... I've only written like one paragraph or something on the second part to that... *boohoo* Oh, well. I'll just go comfort myself with X again. Yeah. And anybody who hasn't seen that movie yet - shame on you! It like totally rocks! And Ken's seiyuu does Kamui! Woo! Woo! And Yuki's seiyuu does Yuuto and ... *mweeheehee* Sess's seiyuu, the mighty Narita Ken, does Fuuma! Woohoo! So go see it! Yeah! *runs away*