Chapter Twelve – How the Mighty are Fallen

The next time Bradley saw Schuldig, he was conscious, and going cold turkey. Alone in a sparse room, he was curled upright on the bed, shivering. Bradley watched through some one-way glass, having been abandoned there by a med student a quarter of an hour ago. His feelings towards the young German were mixed. Sympathy and contempt, hope and despair, longing and revulsion. Bradley had never been so uncertain of himself, and he hated it.

"You gonna stand there all day?" the boy croaked out, and Bradley realised that of course a telepath would be aware of his silent presence.

He entered the tiny room. Bloodshot eyes glowered balefully at him, and the boy trembled like a leaf in the wind. Still he seemed to have regained full use of his faculties, and was in control of himself.

"They say," Bradley commented, "there were so many drugs in your system they couldn't distinguish them. I'm pulling a lot of strings here to keep you from being dissected. They say you should have died months ago."

"Yeah, well," the boy shrugged grumpily. "It was a little quieter."

Bradley nodded, moving to sit on the end of the bed. "Believe me or not, I can empathise. It's easy to be overwhelmed."

Schuldig snorted. "The weak are overwhelmed," he said, confirming Bradley's won theory. "The strong find ways to cope."

"And this self-destructive abuse was coping?" Bradley asked sharply.

"You think I was gonna go back there? You think I was gonna let them brainwash me to be some damn puppet in their schemes? I'd rather suffer alone."

"Too late, but you've earned yourself the distinction of being the only person to escape Rosenkreuz." Bradley sighed. "I'm doing what I can. They're not going to take you back to the Laboratories, but you'll be in solitary until your system has purged itself of those chemicals and they're convinced you won't fall back on your old ways."

"Then I'm here for good, ja? They're never gonna be certain." Schuldig watched Bradley over his knees, still shivering but too proud to ask for more bedding. He knew he wouldn't get it anyway.

"True," Bradley conceded. "But you can earn their trust."

"Yeah, sucking up like you. No thank you. Besides, who are this 'they'?" Schuldig caught Bradley's eyes and held them, staring into his soul. Bradley hated the naked feeling the raw blue eyes left him with, and his internal shields began to build themselves up to levels they'd never reached before.

"I wish I knew," he said, spacing the words carefully and lending equal weight to each. He wanted Schuldig to know it didn't matter.

Schuldig's lowered his gaze and tugged weakly on the rough blanket. Bradley moved so the boy could wrap it more tightly around himself.

"What's going to happen to me?" he asked, keeping the scared-child tremor from his voice only with a supreme effort. He was sixteen, forced to grow up long before his time but still only sixteen. He was terrified, and he knew he had good reason to be.

"You'll join the main school and go through it as any other pupil, once you leave here. You'll probably get a lot of extra training on controlling your gift, as it's rare and one of the most dangerous. They may summon Gregory back-"

"Nein!" Schuldig whimpered despite himself and buried his head in his knees. The memory of that betrayal was still too fresh, even after three years, and a broken heart can be a long time healing.

"I see…" Bradley stared at him. Schuldig felt the weight of that gaze and forced himself to meet it, hating himself for his weakness. "I wonder if there's any one else?" Bradley mused aloud. "Still, you will be trained, and in three years you will have to graduate and then you will probably get a relatively free rein, as they can't afford to lose you. Find yourself a nice empty part of the world, if such a thing is still possible."

"Nein," Schuldig said. "I couldn't bear the silence." Bradley looked confused. "I take the drugs to keep it down in here," Schuldig explained, "and to keep myself separate. I know that I'm the one who is tripping, or high, or whatever. I wouldn't know what to do if it was just me."

"I see."

Silence followed this enigmatic statement, filling moments, then minutes, then an entire hour. Schuldig 's eyelids grew heavy, but he refused to sleep while this American was in the room. Bradley watched him, still confused about his feelings towards the younger man. Now they were in the same room, the boy's presence was overwhelming, and Bradley wondered how he'd cope with that, or whether he'd be weak and succumb. There was a knock on the door that made Schuldig jump violently, whilst Bradley remained unperturbed. The main that entered shocked even him, though.

"Herr Hertz," Bradley was immediately on his feet, "What-…this is an unexpected honour. I thought you were at Rosenkreuz."

"The time has come," the short German announced, "to move this young man to the main facility. Your comments on the matter, Herr Crawford, have been duly noted." Schuldig wrapped the blanket tighter around himself. The psychic waves pouring of the man were drowning him, and he'd never hated anyone as much as he hated the sadistic bastard who would control his life from now on, it seemed.

"I see. Thank you very much. His welfare is important to Estet, so I am concerned with it," Crawford said smoothly. "I believe another stay in the Laboratories would be extremely detrimental for his psychological state of mind, and physically he is still in terrible shape."

The bastard was thinking at him! The Neo-Nazi was doing it on purpose! Schuldig cowered as malicious thoughts flooded his head, smothering his being in fear and pain. He crawled along the mattress, unwatched, heading towards the calmest place in the room. Bradley knew what the boy was going to do, but even that didn't prepare him for the icy touch of his flesh.

"What is the boy doing?" Hertz growled.

"I don't know," Crawford lied effortlessly.

"Leise… ruhig," Schuldig murmured, pressing his forehead into the small of Crawford's back.

"Quiet? Calm?" Hertz appeared amused. "I've heard a lot about your psychic shields," he revealed to Crawford, "but I hadn't imagined they could have this sort of effect. We might have to use you in training some of the more volatile telempaths. And of course, our new telepath, ja, Schuldig?"

"Nein," Schuldig whimpered. "Let me go." Ironically, he clung even tighter to Bradley. Pressing his consciousness against Crawford's shields, he was able to borrow some of that quiet serenity they seemed to create. He desperately tried to worm his way passed them, to enter what he believed would be an oppressively well ordered and calm mind beyond, but they were too tight. It was just was well, as he would have been terribly disappointed. Bradley's mind was a chaotic maelstrom of fear and longing and resentment and deep confusion. The press of flesh on flesh as Schuldig wormed his way beneath Bradley's shirt wasn't helping either.

Hertz laughed.

Crawford smoothed out a frown before it had time to develop, and bit back a harsh remark. While he needed the telepath whole, he had to put himself first. And that meant not scolding his superior for insensitive behaviour. Gently removing himself from Schuldig's vicelike grip, he stood up.

"I hope the transfer goes without hassle," he said politely. "Do you require me for anything else? I ought to be heading back to Rosenkreuz myself."

Hertz waved him way, and Crawford left the two countrymen alone together. It took all of his self-possession not to run back in and 'save' Schuldig.

* * *

Crawford leant against the wall and stuck an arm out. It caught Schuldig in the chest as he rounded the corner, and he landed with a thump on his backside. Winded, the young German sat up. He started to get up, and Crawford placed a foot on his shoulder, keeping him sitting, for the time being.

"I didn't think you'd recover so soon, or have you found a supplier within the grounds?"

Schuldig spat at him.

"If we go back now, I will be the only one to know of this indiscretion. I strongly advise that course of action." Crawford took his foot from Schuldig's shoulder and offered him a hand instead. Ignoring the preferred arm, Schuldig struggled to his feet on his own. Crawford looked over the body he had last seen a month ago. It was still painfully thin, and covered in bruises, but there a vitality that had been lacking the last time they'd met. The vitality was born of hatred and resentment, but it was better than the lifeless despair that had previously animated the teen's body.

"You can't keep me here," Schuldig said in the face of opposing evidence.

"Can Hertz? I see you've spent some time in his office," Crawford frowned at the welts from the whip he knew too well himself, and the deeper bruises from the stick.

Schuldig looked deflated. "I can't stay here," he muttered. "It'll kill me."

"Most people feel that way about this place. Most are right," Crawford admitted candidly. "But call it a hunch; I think you'll survive. It's the outside world that was fatal to you."

"The drugs? Why does everyone keep harping on about that?" Schuldig whined. Crawford began to steer him back to the dormitory he was supposed to be in. "I've learnt enough here, I can keep myself separate. It wasn't the drugs I was addicted to." Crawford gave him an odd look. "Look, when you find yourself snorting icing sugar, you know it goes so much deeper than physical dependence. I took drugs for the sake of taking drugs. It made me think it was calmer, whether it was or not. But now it is calm… er."

"I see."

"You always say that," Schuldig whinged nasally. "What gives you such good sight, huh?"

"I am a precog, though I don't suppose you know what that means."

"Maybe I do." Schuldig shrugged it off. "Don't take me back there," he said.

"Where?" Crawford asked, his curiosity piqued by the incongruous demand.

"Those hellholes. The Dormitories. Come on, where you ever in one? The pain! And so many… I can't sleep in there. As soon as I relax my shields collapse and I'm screaming along with them. That's why I keep getting beaten, coz I make such a fuss at night. I can't help it! So much pain, so much fear… It's not a place for a telepath." Schuldig wrapped his thing arms around himself and gazed at Crawford imploringly. "You're so quiet inside. None of them have that sort of discipline."

Crawford smirked. "I see you've learnt the first rule of Rosenkreuz," he observed.

"What, we live for the glory of Estet?" Schuldig looked confused.

"No. Flattery will get you everywhere. Flatter Estet and Rosenkreuz, and you might just survive the hazing processes. Flatter Hertz, and he might go a little easier on you. Flatter your masters and they might teach you what you need to know, rather than what they think you ought to know."

"I'm not a flattery sort of person," Schuldig told him. "It's like tact, just another kind of lie. I don't lie."

"Why not?" Crawford stopped in front of Schuldig. "If you're going to survive here, you might have to."

"Yeah, coz when they all the telempaths won't spot that." Schuldig glowered darkly at him. "Do you have any idea how hard it is? All these different thoughts crowding around in here. Too much information. It's hard enough as it is, without people saying one thing and thinking another. That's just confusing."

Crawford laughed gently. "I suppose it is." He brushed a strand of hair from Schuldig's eyes and frowned into the blue orbs. There was no trust, no innocence, and almost no humanity left in that baleful glare, but there was still a person. Someone to bend to his will, yes (though he had no idea how difficult that was going to be), but also someone to model in his own image and to maybe even turn into a fully functioning member of society. Now that would be an accomplishment, and one even his father would have had to appreciate.

"Your father?" Schuldig frowned. "Is he here or something?"

"What?" Crawford stared at him. "No! He's dead. I thought you said I had impenetrable shields?"

"I don't even know what impeni-whatsit means, so I doubt it," Schuldig said acidly. "You got good shields. The only bit I got was 'father'. Heh, there's some serious Freudian stuff there, ain't there?"

"Shut up." Crawford was stung. How had the boy picked up on his weakest point so quickly? And why was he making it so obvious that it was a raw area? "He's dead," he reiterated. "Come on, we've more important things to be dealing with."

"Like what?" Schuldig crossed his arms across his chest.

"I thought you wanted out of that dormitory," Crawford smiled with more than a hint of a condescending smirk and began to walk the opposite way down the corridor. Schuldig, momentarily caught be surprise, hurried to keep up.

"You're not going to Him?" Schuldig asked, aghast. "He'll just try to make it worse for me! He hates me!"

"That as may be," Crawford said coldly, "you are an invaluable resource, and he knows what would happen if anything were to happen to you. That is our bargaining chip, so try and look a bit more worse for wear, okay?"

"'Worse for wear'?" Schuldig snapped. "'Wor se for wear'? I'm so covered in bruises I can't lie down, I can count my own ribs, I suffer the most exquisite mental torture day and night, and you think I need to look 'a bit more worse for wear'. If I was any worse I'd be dead!"

He couldn't see the grin that briefly flickered across Crawford's face. "Try and seem a little more, well, insane? Say what you hear inside. Especially what he's thinking."

"Coz you'd rather keep your thoughts to yourself, aye?" Schuldig shoved his hands into the waistband of his trousers and his trotting walk turned into more of a saunter. "Think I'll get a room to myself?" he asked carelessly.

"I think you know nothing about this place," Crawford told him. "The least you'll get is three others. They might stick you in a third year room, probably with some other active mentals. You might end up sharing with whoever's training you."

They reached Hertz's office. Schuldig didn't need to act now, he was trembling from the memories of every other time he'd come here. Almost every night. Hertz was being gentle with him, but Schuldig had no way of knowing that. Those Hertz wasn't gentle with were usually corpses by the time he was done. Schuldig tentatively slipped a hand into Crawford's, who gazed down at him with mild contempt. Even outside, Schuldig could feel the waves of sadistic pleasure the man got from his work.

Crawford knocked, and they were called in. Schuldig almost collapsed as that malevolent energy focussed itself on him.

"Ah, our little telepath is here for a visit. Earlier than usual, today." Hertz reached for his stick.

"Herr Hertz, if I may make so bold, I have suggestion relating to Schuldig." Crawford was, as ever, ingratiatingly polite.

"Really?" the man sounded bored.

"As we both know, the development and control of his power are vital to Estet. I believe, based upon what the boy has told me and research I have done into the training of telepaths, that the dormitories are damaging that development. The sheer weight of the other trainees thoughts and concerns are forcing him to repress his talent, and he's not sleeping."

"Repress?" Hertz, as hoped, picked up on the key word. "You are implying that if this goes on the strength of his gift will lessen."

"To be frank, yes. Telepaths are notoriously hard to train, and Schuldig is the most powerful telepath in over a century. Ideally, he should be a long way from other psychics until much later in his training. Though, of course, I defer to your superior judgement in this."

Hertz nodded. "You are getting quite uppity, Herr Crawford. You act like your graduate status puts you on a level with other members of staff here, even myself. You would do well to remember the only people you are superior to are the students. You have no authority on which to base these suggestions, and 'to be frank', your arrogance is appalling. You are lucky that I share your views."

Crawford's heart constricted. Hertz was right. He'd forgotten to flatter the man excessively, and he was going to pay for that. Having an opinion is all well and good, but at Rosenkreuz you did not express it until a superior had deemed it suitable for expression. Hertz replaced his stick and picked up his whip.

"The boy will stay with you, since he seems to attached to you, and vice versa." Crawford was stunned. It made no sense to follow such a course of action. "Another bed will be set up in your quarters." Hertz pressed a bell, and a grunt appeared. "Take this boy to this man's quarters. Lock him in for now, ja?" Schuldig was led away. "Now, we both know what happens to arrogant little upstarts, don't we, Herr Crawford?"

Crawford sighed in submission, and began to remove his clothing. Hertz held up a hand to stop him. "Not this time. As you walk back to your room, I want everyone to know what happens when they believe themselves above their superiors."

As the strips of flesh dug into his own, Bradley gasped. He'd learnt long ago not to scream, but the linen shirt he was wearing stuck wetly to his torso and the trousers clung to his bloodied legs like Schuldig had clung to his hand earlier. It took all of his concentration to remain standing as the whip dug into his flesh time and time again, eliciting sharp shrieks and muffled whimpers. And when the whip was completely red, Hertz changed to his stick. His clothes hanging in bloody tatters, Crawford collapsed to his knees as the bone slammed into his legs, shattering his shin. But no matter how many times the stick slammed into his battered flesh, he didn't pass out. He'd learnt that lesson the first time: Hertz took unconsciousness as a goad to beat him until he never woke up. Even know, he had no idea how he'd survived that first beating.

It took him over an hour, once the beating was over, to get back to his room, normally only a ten-minute walk away. Branded into his back, as a final insult, was the phrase 'Pride comes before a fall'. It would fade, one day, but it would take a talented healer.

Schuldig opened the door to the room, the lock having held him for less than a minute. "Oh, how the mighty are fallen," he said with a malicious grin. Crawford had enough presence of mind to slap him, before passing out.