Disclaimer: Guess who does NOT belong to me? If you said Crawford, you're
correct! Surprise, everyone else (such as his family) belong to me, and as
the story progresses and more normal characters enter, I'm going to end up
owning less and less. ~sigh~
Falcon in the Dive
Chapter I
I wasn't born to walk on water
I wasn't born to sack and slaughter
But on my soul I wasn't born
to scoop to scorn and knuckle under
-Falcon in the Dive from Scarlet Pimpernel
When Brad Crawford was twelve, he received the first vision that would have an impact on the decisions he would make later. At the time he lived in a two story house in GeorgeTown, one of the best parts of Washington D.C. He was a pretty happy boy, all things considered. To his parents and teachers he was Bradley, but to everyone else he was just Brad. He had loving parents, even if his dad was away from home a lot. (He worked for the government.) He had many many toys, and like most American boys he had played with his G.I. Joes when he was younger and while he would never admit to it-still played with them at twelve. He was loud and had the energy like most boys his age. The only thing that made him different from most boys was his occasional visions and premonitions.
Among other things, he liked to play baseball with his friends on the weekends, and even though he wasn't very good at swinging, he was always chosen because he was one of the best pitchers. Brad was also a pianist. He'd been playing since he was five. His parents had bought a
beautiful polished mahogany Baldwin baby grand. Every day, or nearly so (It was definitely harder to make him practice during the summer) he sat down dutifully and practiced. He had an unnatural talent for it, and his fingers would lovingly slide up and down the keys. Sure, he
wasn't a master at it yet, but his parents were sure that he would one day be one of the best.
His best friend was a certain Nathan Hunter, but Brad just called him Nat. The two had met when they were babies. Their mothers had been in the same hospital, and as fate would have it, they were born on the same day. The two had grown up since then, as their parents quickly
discovered they lived on the same block. Unlike Brad, Nathan had blond hair and sparkling green eyes. The two were the terror of the neighborhood and the school, always thinking up some new plan to cause trouble. At Halloween they were more ready to trick then treat, and as
they got older their plans became even more elaborate. While they ran around and played, their parents would sit on the front porch, ice tea or lemonade in hand as they watched. Smiles would spread on the faces of their mothers as they talked about their children, both confident
the two would grow up together. They counted themselves lucky that their children had found a friend in one another, because both mothers believed friends were an important part in a child's life.
Besides playing baseball, Brad was an avid boxer. When he was ten, his and Nat's father had decided to start teaching them boxing. Brad was sometimes picked on because he wore glasses, and while he did fight back, his father decided to teach him how to do it properly. Nat had
been taught as well, because where ever one of the boys went, the other was close behind.
During the winter there would be huge snowball fights that all the kids participated in. No mater what, Nat and Brad made sure they were on the same side. They were a formidable pair, to be sure. When there wasn't a snowball fight going on, they were either out sledding our building masterpieces out of snow. The two were also quite fond of snow forts.
Every sunday they went to church. Both families were Episcopalian and members of the National Cathedral. The boys always complained, of course. Church isn't fun, especially when you'd rather be outside running around. Of course, their parents didn't listen, and so every
Sunday, without fail they were there.
The constant harassment in both their lives was Nat's younger sister, Glory. She was a spoiled loud mouthed brat who always wanted to hang out with them. Brad and Nat were always telling her to go away. Glory would then promptly run off to her parents, bawling her eyes out.
Usually the two were forced to let her accompany them. In the long run however, the way they avoided the problem was spending as much time away from Nat's home as possible.
Life was shaping up well already. Both families had everything they could want, and if the fates decided to treat them like this for the rest of their lives, they wouldn't complain.
Nothing is permanent, though.
* * * *
On June 15, 1982, Brad's visions took a turn towards the serious. Perviously, he'd largely just had had strong premonitions, or quick flashes of the near future. He never told his parents, but every time something happened that had had foreseen, he would tell Nat. Nat's eyes would widen in awe, and sometimes he would ask him questions to prompt him, to see if Brad has seen something involving him. The answer was usually no. It was an awesome gift to have though, especially when it helped him come up with a plan, or get out of trouble. It also helped him from getting a lot of injuries.
On the night of the fifteenth, Brad had climbed into bed at eight thirty sharp. (His parents ran a strict house) Summer weather had begun to descend upon Washington DC, but while it was a bit sticky, it hadn't reached the point where his parents had to turn on the air condition. Brad's window were wide open, a slight breeze caressing his face as he watched his fireflies wink on and off. Earlier that evening he and Nat had run around the yard capturing what fireflies they could in glass jars. After they both had a lot, they'd run over to their fathers who were watching from the porch. His dad took the lid while Brad held his hand over the top of the jar and punched holes in it so that the little bugs could breathe. After doing that he made Brad promise to release them in the morning. Brad had nodded agreeably. Now, even though Brad's glasses were off, he could still watch them, and so he fell asleep, the record his parents had put on of Beethoven's
Pathetique playing in the back ground.
* * * *
Brad recognized his best friends house immediately. Brad didn't seem to actually be there, just watching. There was something wrong, Brad picked this up immediately and wondered it was a premonition. The boy shifted his eyes to the second floor where Nat's room was. His Star Wars drapes (a movie the two absolutely adored. They were always running around, playing the parts of Han and Luke. Brad was always Han and Nat was Luke. They had decided on this due to the similar hair color of the characters they were playing.) were open and Brad could see into his friends room. It was as he was looking into his friends room that Brad noticed a orange glow within it. Before he could register it, flames erupted from within. Within moments the fire had
spread to the window, the glass exploding outward.
"Nat!" Brad yelled, wanting to bold forth but unable. He couldn't move! He felt as if he were running in pace through molasses. He couldn't get to his friend. Brad was filled with panic and despair as he watched the house burn. He saw Nat's mother stumbled out, her face dirty, hair singed. In her arms she was grasping Glory tightly. The toddler had a tight grip on her mothers nightgown and was sobbing loudly. Nat's mother was crying too. Tears were running down her face endlessly. Her face was wrenched in that like people did when they had been hurt. Brad couldn't understand what was happening. Where was Nat? Where was Nat's father? Why hadn't they come out?
As the fire trucks finally pulled it up, it finally dawned on him.
Oh no.
Oh no.
* * * *
Brad woke up, tears streaming down his face. His pillow was already wet from the salty water that had fallen. The boy brought in a deep shuddering breath, the emotional experience of his dream still lingering heavily.
"It's only a nightmare, it's only a nightmare. He isn't dead," Brad repeated to himself over and over, stout in the belief that repeating his mantra would make it go away. The boy reached out blindly for his stuffed brown bear that his dad had given him years and years ago. It was a toy he kept hidden so that he wouldn't be teased. Still, the worn bear was a friend he wasn't willing to let go of quite yet. He was a great comfort, and Brad brought him in close, curling into a little ball. The dream slowly became less vivid, but the hurt in his soul from thinking that his friend had died still echoed throughout him. Slowly, however, the adrenaline left his system and Brad began to drift towards sleep again. He was just at the edge of unconsciousness when the sharp sounds of sirens pierced the night. Brad's eyes shot open. In his dream, the fire trucks hadn't gotten there in time, but he'd heard their sirens. Brad shot out of bed, running to the window and looking in the direction of Nat's house. He couldn't see any flames or smell any smoke, and with a sigh of relief he began turning back toward his bed. But then the calm of the night was disturbed again as angry orange flames leapt into the sky above where Nat's house was.
"NO!" Brad yelled, bolting down the stairs and out the door.
* * * *
The twelve year old felt tears streaming down his face as he raced down the street, his heart pumping loudly in his head. This couldn't be happening, it couldn't.
Brad arrived just in time to see Nat's mother stumbled out of the house, the exact same expression on her face as he had seen in his dream. Brad ran up to her, amid the burning house.
'Where's Nat?!" He screamed frantically, tugging on her nightgown so she would notice him. Distant eyes slowly turned to look at him.
"Inside," She said quietly. "No, don't-!" She reached out to grab his shirt, but he slipped from her grasp and escaped into the house.
* * * *
Brad threw a hand over his mouth to block out the smoke. Tears sprung to his eyes as the smoke made them sting. The boy also realized suddenly how hot it was in here. Only moments inside and he was already extremely uncomfortable. It didn't matter, though. He needed to get
Nat. He had to get his friend out of here. He would not allow this to end up like his dream!
Determined, he rushed to where the stairs were, his breath now interrupted with hacking coughs. It was so hard to breath!
"Nat!" Brad called desperately, golden brown eyes staring up the stairs. What had once been the second floor was now a burning inferno. Hesitantly, he began the climb up the stairs. The ceiling had begun to fall around him, and with an exclamation of surprise, a beam fell from
above, hitting into his legs and knocking him back down the stairs. Searing pain ran through his body as the burning beam laid against his legs. Panicking, he jerked back, pulling himself away.
But then the smoke and heat and pain became too much. Brad couldn't do it anymore, and so he curled into a little ball like he had in his room and began to chant the same mantra as before.
"It's only a nightmare, it's only a nightmare. He isn't dead," Brad sobbed quietly to himself until he faded into unconsciousness.
* * * *
Brad awoke in a sterile white room. He noticed with alarm that all sorts of tubes were sticking into him and that he was hooked up to a machine of some sort. The child looked around in confusion. And as they say ignorance is bliss, Brad was free of pain for the few moments
before his brain recollected everything that had happened. With horrible efficiency, his mind played back to him the fire. A hole formed in Brad's heart then, one that would never be filled again. His best friend, his comrade in arms, the person who had always been here and with whom he could always share his secrets and rely on was gone.
Just like that. Gone.
Brad knew what death was. He wasn't an ignorant child that thought it was impermanent, that things would get better. It didn't. Nat was gone forever.
Forever.
Tears began streaming down his face. It hurt too much. Where was he now without his best friend? They'd gone everywhere today, done everything. He wasn't supposed to have left. That wasn't supposed to happen.
Brad suddenly paused, his vision coming back to him vividly. Brown eyes opened wide as he was struck with a realization that made his stomach turn.
Maybe it WAS supposed to happen.
His mind began turning things around, playing with the situation at hand. He had dreamt about the burning of Nat's house. He knew Nat was going to die, and he'd tried to stop it, but couldn't.
Fate.
"Oh, honey! You're okay!" The door was thrown open suddenly and Brad turned to see his mother rush in, his father close behind. She wanted to hug him, he saw, but was afraid of disturbing the tubes, or hurting him. "We were so worried!"
"I'm sorry, son," his father said. Brad shifted his eyes to his father. The man's eyes were shadowed, and it didn't look like he'd had much sleep recently. His father knew what was running through Brad's mind. There had been no pansy footing, no lying. Brad's father knew Brad knew.
"Nat's dead," Brad said.
His dad nodded.
Tears pooled into the child's eyes again, and his father sat down next to him, ignoring the tubes and bringing him into a hug. Brad crawled into his fathers arms, wishing they could protect him from all the bad things.
"I miss him," Brad sobbed, his face pressed against his dads chest.
"I know. I miss him too, and I miss his daddy."
"Why did this happen?"
"I don't know, Bradley. I don't know."
* * * *
The funeral was on June 20 at Fort Lincoln Cemetery. It was very proud looking graveyard, really. Picturesque even, with rolling green hills and conveniently placed trees. It was an early morning funeral, so the sun was still low in the sky, and the world was cast in a gray in-between time. The humidity hadn't settled in yet, and the sky was a pure blue that stretched on forever. Birds flitted from tree to tree, sometimes resting on the gravestones to sing a cheery tune. Brad
watched them impassively. He was devoid of feeling. It was a protective movement, he knew. He felt dispatched, unable to bring himself to this. If he did, he felt like he'd never stop crying. So instead, he watched the birds fly freely and wondered at how the world didn't care.
How insignificant they were.
They began shoveling dirt onto the grave, and suddenly he couldn't take it anymore. He felt himself beginning to break...
...and then he was struck by a vision. The present world tipped away and he was left standing in a house that he'd never seen before. He seemed to be in a kitchen, but all the devices looked weird. Something that resembled a microwave but looked much different sat on a counter, and a large fridge rested in the corner. There was a large cherry wood table near the windows with four chairs sitting around it. The lights were on, and the light coming through the windows were a cheerful rose color, and the twelve year old decided it was probably dinner time. As if on cue, a boy of about seven bounded up to the table, putting place mats on the table. A girl who was maybe a year younger followed up with napkins and silverware. The two children were laughing and playing around, making a loud commotion.
"Not so loud, guys!" A mans voice called from behind, and Brad swiveled. Before him stood a tall man of about thirty. He was dressed in khaki's and had a blue polo shirt on. Around his front was a yellow apron with various spots of ingredients that had never come out. The man was using hot pads to grab something from the oven. After he had completed the task, he turned to look at the two kids behind Brad. For the first time, he got a good glimpse of the face, of the golden brown eyes and spidery black hair. He had a smile on his face as he made a mock stern face.
Brad gasped. That man was him. Sure, he didn't have any glasses, but he was probably just wearing contact lenses. He glanced over at the calendar. February 5, 2003.
Brad's future self started talking, "Your mother isn't coming home until late tonight, so I decided to help out and make dinner. The least YOU can do is set the table without giving me too much of a hassle."
"Daddddyyy, I want to go out to eat!" the boy whined, a hopeful look on his face.
"Too late! The food's already done."
"Awwwwww."
"Don't complain! Just get out the drinks for everyone," the older Brad ordered. The family was in the middle of dinner when a man appeared in the doorway. His appearance was scraggly, eyes blood shot and swollen with the look of someone who was on drugs. He was leaning against the
door heavily, a gun in hand. Brad's future self stood up abruptly.
"Campbell."
"You lost my brother's case, Mr. Crawford. Now he's going to die," The man said in a raspy voice, a delusional look in his eyes. The child Brad watched as his older self shot a look to his children.
"Get out of here," he said in a quiet voice.
"If my brother is gonna die, so's one a your kids," The man pulled his gun up, swiveling it to focus on the boy. The older Brad immediately went into action, launching himself at the crazy man.
A gun shot went off.
The man stumbled back as Brad's older self knocked into him. The child watched in horror as the two began to fight.
Another gunshot went off.
Brad's future self went limp, and his attacker pulled himself out from beneath him. His chest was covered with blood, but it wasn't his own. He shot a look to the children who were huddled in the doorway on the opposite side of the room, eyes wide. He then turned around abruptly
and bolted, running through the front door. The older Brad on the floor was still breathing, and his younger self walked up to him hesitantly. A pool of blood had begun to surround him, and his breathing was definitely labored. Pain filled his eyes, his teeth clenched. Slowly the eyes came into focus, staring right at him.
"I remember," he heaved, coughing up blood. "Don't-" The man coughed again. His children were suddenly by his side.
"Daddy!" His son was at his knees, his face pale, eyes wide with horror.
"Know I love you and your sister...very much. Tell mommy I love her too," breathing was becoming harder and harder, his words becoming more faint. "I'm sorry," Brad sighed, his body relaxing.
"No! Daddy!" The girl screamed, grabbing her father and shaking him back and forth. "Daddy!"
Brad stepped back his own face pale. He was going to die.
The kitchen faded then, and Brad was left standing next to his parents, still resting heavin on his crutches the hospital had given him. His leg was wrapped up and had begun to throb painfully. The grave had been finished being filled in, and Brad noticed he was crying. His
mother had her arm around him tightly, letting him cry freely.
Slowly, the child stopped as things in his brain started working the situation out. He had seen himself die. He didn't want to die, especially not like that.
But he could see the future. He hadn't been able to prevent Nat's death, but maybe he could do something about his own. Maybe he could change his own fate.
Brad's face tightened as he was filled with a new resolve. His young mind had justified Nat's death as a warning for him. His friend had died, but he would not. He would do anything to avert dying like he had just seen. That was why he'd had it after all, wasn't it? He never had had dreams of such severe consequence before. Why would they start now unless as a sign?
Brad would change his fate.
End Chapter I
Soooo, how you guys liking it so far? I'm still not sure of the ending. Anyway, I'm going to try to bring us through Crawford's life, and through the metamorphisis of Brad to Crawford. I've been wanting to do a Crawford fic for a while now, so here it finally is. Do tell me what you think!
Oh, and I want to thank Mami-san for posting my prologue up and now James for posting chapter I up. I'm on a mac and can't do these things, so thanks a lot. (I need my PC to be fixed. x.x)
October 15, 2002
Falcon in the Dive
Chapter I
I wasn't born to walk on water
I wasn't born to sack and slaughter
But on my soul I wasn't born
to scoop to scorn and knuckle under
-Falcon in the Dive from Scarlet Pimpernel
When Brad Crawford was twelve, he received the first vision that would have an impact on the decisions he would make later. At the time he lived in a two story house in GeorgeTown, one of the best parts of Washington D.C. He was a pretty happy boy, all things considered. To his parents and teachers he was Bradley, but to everyone else he was just Brad. He had loving parents, even if his dad was away from home a lot. (He worked for the government.) He had many many toys, and like most American boys he had played with his G.I. Joes when he was younger and while he would never admit to it-still played with them at twelve. He was loud and had the energy like most boys his age. The only thing that made him different from most boys was his occasional visions and premonitions.
Among other things, he liked to play baseball with his friends on the weekends, and even though he wasn't very good at swinging, he was always chosen because he was one of the best pitchers. Brad was also a pianist. He'd been playing since he was five. His parents had bought a
beautiful polished mahogany Baldwin baby grand. Every day, or nearly so (It was definitely harder to make him practice during the summer) he sat down dutifully and practiced. He had an unnatural talent for it, and his fingers would lovingly slide up and down the keys. Sure, he
wasn't a master at it yet, but his parents were sure that he would one day be one of the best.
His best friend was a certain Nathan Hunter, but Brad just called him Nat. The two had met when they were babies. Their mothers had been in the same hospital, and as fate would have it, they were born on the same day. The two had grown up since then, as their parents quickly
discovered they lived on the same block. Unlike Brad, Nathan had blond hair and sparkling green eyes. The two were the terror of the neighborhood and the school, always thinking up some new plan to cause trouble. At Halloween they were more ready to trick then treat, and as
they got older their plans became even more elaborate. While they ran around and played, their parents would sit on the front porch, ice tea or lemonade in hand as they watched. Smiles would spread on the faces of their mothers as they talked about their children, both confident
the two would grow up together. They counted themselves lucky that their children had found a friend in one another, because both mothers believed friends were an important part in a child's life.
Besides playing baseball, Brad was an avid boxer. When he was ten, his and Nat's father had decided to start teaching them boxing. Brad was sometimes picked on because he wore glasses, and while he did fight back, his father decided to teach him how to do it properly. Nat had
been taught as well, because where ever one of the boys went, the other was close behind.
During the winter there would be huge snowball fights that all the kids participated in. No mater what, Nat and Brad made sure they were on the same side. They were a formidable pair, to be sure. When there wasn't a snowball fight going on, they were either out sledding our building masterpieces out of snow. The two were also quite fond of snow forts.
Every sunday they went to church. Both families were Episcopalian and members of the National Cathedral. The boys always complained, of course. Church isn't fun, especially when you'd rather be outside running around. Of course, their parents didn't listen, and so every
Sunday, without fail they were there.
The constant harassment in both their lives was Nat's younger sister, Glory. She was a spoiled loud mouthed brat who always wanted to hang out with them. Brad and Nat were always telling her to go away. Glory would then promptly run off to her parents, bawling her eyes out.
Usually the two were forced to let her accompany them. In the long run however, the way they avoided the problem was spending as much time away from Nat's home as possible.
Life was shaping up well already. Both families had everything they could want, and if the fates decided to treat them like this for the rest of their lives, they wouldn't complain.
Nothing is permanent, though.
* * * *
On June 15, 1982, Brad's visions took a turn towards the serious. Perviously, he'd largely just had had strong premonitions, or quick flashes of the near future. He never told his parents, but every time something happened that had had foreseen, he would tell Nat. Nat's eyes would widen in awe, and sometimes he would ask him questions to prompt him, to see if Brad has seen something involving him. The answer was usually no. It was an awesome gift to have though, especially when it helped him come up with a plan, or get out of trouble. It also helped him from getting a lot of injuries.
On the night of the fifteenth, Brad had climbed into bed at eight thirty sharp. (His parents ran a strict house) Summer weather had begun to descend upon Washington DC, but while it was a bit sticky, it hadn't reached the point where his parents had to turn on the air condition. Brad's window were wide open, a slight breeze caressing his face as he watched his fireflies wink on and off. Earlier that evening he and Nat had run around the yard capturing what fireflies they could in glass jars. After they both had a lot, they'd run over to their fathers who were watching from the porch. His dad took the lid while Brad held his hand over the top of the jar and punched holes in it so that the little bugs could breathe. After doing that he made Brad promise to release them in the morning. Brad had nodded agreeably. Now, even though Brad's glasses were off, he could still watch them, and so he fell asleep, the record his parents had put on of Beethoven's
Pathetique playing in the back ground.
* * * *
Brad recognized his best friends house immediately. Brad didn't seem to actually be there, just watching. There was something wrong, Brad picked this up immediately and wondered it was a premonition. The boy shifted his eyes to the second floor where Nat's room was. His Star Wars drapes (a movie the two absolutely adored. They were always running around, playing the parts of Han and Luke. Brad was always Han and Nat was Luke. They had decided on this due to the similar hair color of the characters they were playing.) were open and Brad could see into his friends room. It was as he was looking into his friends room that Brad noticed a orange glow within it. Before he could register it, flames erupted from within. Within moments the fire had
spread to the window, the glass exploding outward.
"Nat!" Brad yelled, wanting to bold forth but unable. He couldn't move! He felt as if he were running in pace through molasses. He couldn't get to his friend. Brad was filled with panic and despair as he watched the house burn. He saw Nat's mother stumbled out, her face dirty, hair singed. In her arms she was grasping Glory tightly. The toddler had a tight grip on her mothers nightgown and was sobbing loudly. Nat's mother was crying too. Tears were running down her face endlessly. Her face was wrenched in that like people did when they had been hurt. Brad couldn't understand what was happening. Where was Nat? Where was Nat's father? Why hadn't they come out?
As the fire trucks finally pulled it up, it finally dawned on him.
Oh no.
Oh no.
* * * *
Brad woke up, tears streaming down his face. His pillow was already wet from the salty water that had fallen. The boy brought in a deep shuddering breath, the emotional experience of his dream still lingering heavily.
"It's only a nightmare, it's only a nightmare. He isn't dead," Brad repeated to himself over and over, stout in the belief that repeating his mantra would make it go away. The boy reached out blindly for his stuffed brown bear that his dad had given him years and years ago. It was a toy he kept hidden so that he wouldn't be teased. Still, the worn bear was a friend he wasn't willing to let go of quite yet. He was a great comfort, and Brad brought him in close, curling into a little ball. The dream slowly became less vivid, but the hurt in his soul from thinking that his friend had died still echoed throughout him. Slowly, however, the adrenaline left his system and Brad began to drift towards sleep again. He was just at the edge of unconsciousness when the sharp sounds of sirens pierced the night. Brad's eyes shot open. In his dream, the fire trucks hadn't gotten there in time, but he'd heard their sirens. Brad shot out of bed, running to the window and looking in the direction of Nat's house. He couldn't see any flames or smell any smoke, and with a sigh of relief he began turning back toward his bed. But then the calm of the night was disturbed again as angry orange flames leapt into the sky above where Nat's house was.
"NO!" Brad yelled, bolting down the stairs and out the door.
* * * *
The twelve year old felt tears streaming down his face as he raced down the street, his heart pumping loudly in his head. This couldn't be happening, it couldn't.
Brad arrived just in time to see Nat's mother stumbled out of the house, the exact same expression on her face as he had seen in his dream. Brad ran up to her, amid the burning house.
'Where's Nat?!" He screamed frantically, tugging on her nightgown so she would notice him. Distant eyes slowly turned to look at him.
"Inside," She said quietly. "No, don't-!" She reached out to grab his shirt, but he slipped from her grasp and escaped into the house.
* * * *
Brad threw a hand over his mouth to block out the smoke. Tears sprung to his eyes as the smoke made them sting. The boy also realized suddenly how hot it was in here. Only moments inside and he was already extremely uncomfortable. It didn't matter, though. He needed to get
Nat. He had to get his friend out of here. He would not allow this to end up like his dream!
Determined, he rushed to where the stairs were, his breath now interrupted with hacking coughs. It was so hard to breath!
"Nat!" Brad called desperately, golden brown eyes staring up the stairs. What had once been the second floor was now a burning inferno. Hesitantly, he began the climb up the stairs. The ceiling had begun to fall around him, and with an exclamation of surprise, a beam fell from
above, hitting into his legs and knocking him back down the stairs. Searing pain ran through his body as the burning beam laid against his legs. Panicking, he jerked back, pulling himself away.
But then the smoke and heat and pain became too much. Brad couldn't do it anymore, and so he curled into a little ball like he had in his room and began to chant the same mantra as before.
"It's only a nightmare, it's only a nightmare. He isn't dead," Brad sobbed quietly to himself until he faded into unconsciousness.
* * * *
Brad awoke in a sterile white room. He noticed with alarm that all sorts of tubes were sticking into him and that he was hooked up to a machine of some sort. The child looked around in confusion. And as they say ignorance is bliss, Brad was free of pain for the few moments
before his brain recollected everything that had happened. With horrible efficiency, his mind played back to him the fire. A hole formed in Brad's heart then, one that would never be filled again. His best friend, his comrade in arms, the person who had always been here and with whom he could always share his secrets and rely on was gone.
Just like that. Gone.
Brad knew what death was. He wasn't an ignorant child that thought it was impermanent, that things would get better. It didn't. Nat was gone forever.
Forever.
Tears began streaming down his face. It hurt too much. Where was he now without his best friend? They'd gone everywhere today, done everything. He wasn't supposed to have left. That wasn't supposed to happen.
Brad suddenly paused, his vision coming back to him vividly. Brown eyes opened wide as he was struck with a realization that made his stomach turn.
Maybe it WAS supposed to happen.
His mind began turning things around, playing with the situation at hand. He had dreamt about the burning of Nat's house. He knew Nat was going to die, and he'd tried to stop it, but couldn't.
Fate.
"Oh, honey! You're okay!" The door was thrown open suddenly and Brad turned to see his mother rush in, his father close behind. She wanted to hug him, he saw, but was afraid of disturbing the tubes, or hurting him. "We were so worried!"
"I'm sorry, son," his father said. Brad shifted his eyes to his father. The man's eyes were shadowed, and it didn't look like he'd had much sleep recently. His father knew what was running through Brad's mind. There had been no pansy footing, no lying. Brad's father knew Brad knew.
"Nat's dead," Brad said.
His dad nodded.
Tears pooled into the child's eyes again, and his father sat down next to him, ignoring the tubes and bringing him into a hug. Brad crawled into his fathers arms, wishing they could protect him from all the bad things.
"I miss him," Brad sobbed, his face pressed against his dads chest.
"I know. I miss him too, and I miss his daddy."
"Why did this happen?"
"I don't know, Bradley. I don't know."
* * * *
The funeral was on June 20 at Fort Lincoln Cemetery. It was very proud looking graveyard, really. Picturesque even, with rolling green hills and conveniently placed trees. It was an early morning funeral, so the sun was still low in the sky, and the world was cast in a gray in-between time. The humidity hadn't settled in yet, and the sky was a pure blue that stretched on forever. Birds flitted from tree to tree, sometimes resting on the gravestones to sing a cheery tune. Brad
watched them impassively. He was devoid of feeling. It was a protective movement, he knew. He felt dispatched, unable to bring himself to this. If he did, he felt like he'd never stop crying. So instead, he watched the birds fly freely and wondered at how the world didn't care.
How insignificant they were.
They began shoveling dirt onto the grave, and suddenly he couldn't take it anymore. He felt himself beginning to break...
...and then he was struck by a vision. The present world tipped away and he was left standing in a house that he'd never seen before. He seemed to be in a kitchen, but all the devices looked weird. Something that resembled a microwave but looked much different sat on a counter, and a large fridge rested in the corner. There was a large cherry wood table near the windows with four chairs sitting around it. The lights were on, and the light coming through the windows were a cheerful rose color, and the twelve year old decided it was probably dinner time. As if on cue, a boy of about seven bounded up to the table, putting place mats on the table. A girl who was maybe a year younger followed up with napkins and silverware. The two children were laughing and playing around, making a loud commotion.
"Not so loud, guys!" A mans voice called from behind, and Brad swiveled. Before him stood a tall man of about thirty. He was dressed in khaki's and had a blue polo shirt on. Around his front was a yellow apron with various spots of ingredients that had never come out. The man was using hot pads to grab something from the oven. After he had completed the task, he turned to look at the two kids behind Brad. For the first time, he got a good glimpse of the face, of the golden brown eyes and spidery black hair. He had a smile on his face as he made a mock stern face.
Brad gasped. That man was him. Sure, he didn't have any glasses, but he was probably just wearing contact lenses. He glanced over at the calendar. February 5, 2003.
Brad's future self started talking, "Your mother isn't coming home until late tonight, so I decided to help out and make dinner. The least YOU can do is set the table without giving me too much of a hassle."
"Daddddyyy, I want to go out to eat!" the boy whined, a hopeful look on his face.
"Too late! The food's already done."
"Awwwwww."
"Don't complain! Just get out the drinks for everyone," the older Brad ordered. The family was in the middle of dinner when a man appeared in the doorway. His appearance was scraggly, eyes blood shot and swollen with the look of someone who was on drugs. He was leaning against the
door heavily, a gun in hand. Brad's future self stood up abruptly.
"Campbell."
"You lost my brother's case, Mr. Crawford. Now he's going to die," The man said in a raspy voice, a delusional look in his eyes. The child Brad watched as his older self shot a look to his children.
"Get out of here," he said in a quiet voice.
"If my brother is gonna die, so's one a your kids," The man pulled his gun up, swiveling it to focus on the boy. The older Brad immediately went into action, launching himself at the crazy man.
A gun shot went off.
The man stumbled back as Brad's older self knocked into him. The child watched in horror as the two began to fight.
Another gunshot went off.
Brad's future self went limp, and his attacker pulled himself out from beneath him. His chest was covered with blood, but it wasn't his own. He shot a look to the children who were huddled in the doorway on the opposite side of the room, eyes wide. He then turned around abruptly
and bolted, running through the front door. The older Brad on the floor was still breathing, and his younger self walked up to him hesitantly. A pool of blood had begun to surround him, and his breathing was definitely labored. Pain filled his eyes, his teeth clenched. Slowly the eyes came into focus, staring right at him.
"I remember," he heaved, coughing up blood. "Don't-" The man coughed again. His children were suddenly by his side.
"Daddy!" His son was at his knees, his face pale, eyes wide with horror.
"Know I love you and your sister...very much. Tell mommy I love her too," breathing was becoming harder and harder, his words becoming more faint. "I'm sorry," Brad sighed, his body relaxing.
"No! Daddy!" The girl screamed, grabbing her father and shaking him back and forth. "Daddy!"
Brad stepped back his own face pale. He was going to die.
The kitchen faded then, and Brad was left standing next to his parents, still resting heavin on his crutches the hospital had given him. His leg was wrapped up and had begun to throb painfully. The grave had been finished being filled in, and Brad noticed he was crying. His
mother had her arm around him tightly, letting him cry freely.
Slowly, the child stopped as things in his brain started working the situation out. He had seen himself die. He didn't want to die, especially not like that.
But he could see the future. He hadn't been able to prevent Nat's death, but maybe he could do something about his own. Maybe he could change his own fate.
Brad's face tightened as he was filled with a new resolve. His young mind had justified Nat's death as a warning for him. His friend had died, but he would not. He would do anything to avert dying like he had just seen. That was why he'd had it after all, wasn't it? He never had had dreams of such severe consequence before. Why would they start now unless as a sign?
Brad would change his fate.
End Chapter I
Soooo, how you guys liking it so far? I'm still not sure of the ending. Anyway, I'm going to try to bring us through Crawford's life, and through the metamorphisis of Brad to Crawford. I've been wanting to do a Crawford fic for a while now, so here it finally is. Do tell me what you think!
Oh, and I want to thank Mami-san for posting my prologue up and now James for posting chapter I up. I'm on a mac and can't do these things, so thanks a lot. (I need my PC to be fixed. x.x)
October 15, 2002