25-June-2002
Breakdown: An Alternate Universe Weiss Kreutz Fanfic
by Nixerchan and bonnejeanne
Contact: nixerchan@aol.com and bonnejeanne@yahoo.com
Category: AU
Pairings: Various, or to put it another way, most of them ^__^;;
Warnings: LEMON this section. Weird premise, weird psychic powers, probably confusing plot, um, possibly some OOC, some violence, probably gratuitous use of pointless Japanese, what else... oh yeah, LEMON from time to time... poor Nixers, I'm such a corrupting influence... ^__~
Rating: NC-17
SUMMARY/PREMISE: What if the Weiss boys actually possessed psychic powers similar to Schwartz, which had been suppressed or erased from their memories?
AU TIMELINE: Picks up *almost* at the end of the OAV, just after the death of Gen. Norman Powell.
/something/ - may indicate thoughts, telepathy or other psychic contact.
'something' - indicates just thoughts.
Interlude: Schwartz (Five Years Ago)
"Go ahead," the voice was bored. The young dark-haired man didn't even look up from the book he was reading. Instead he adjusted his glasses with a forefinger and turned a page. "Go ahead, take a look. Hope you like double vision."
"Never tried it before," a nasal voice replied, not bothering to feign a lack of curiosity. A presence leaned itself over the back of the young man's chair, a bit of orange hair slipping over his shoulder and into his peripheral vision. "What happens to you if I don't do it?"
The dark haired young man didn't bother to pay attention to the flash of orange. He already knew what the teen standing behind him looked like, knew his face, the quick smile, the wicked expression. When he did turn around it would only be a repeat. "Nothing because you can't help yourself. No discipline. That's why you're going to get a slap this afternoon. Your trainer is disgusted with you."
"Hmmph, some talent. I could have told you that three weeks ago." The teen didn't bother to argue with the other's assessment, he'd already had slipped a tendril in, gliding along the other boy's consciousness. "Gott!" The German stumbled back a step, seeing at the same time, the pages of the book Crawford was studying, himself stumble an instant before he did it and his own view of the world spinning.
Brad closed the book, not bothering to control a slight smile tugging the corner of his mouth. He stood up and turned around, seeing the already familiar face as Schuldig stumbled a few steps. Reaching out a long arm, he grabbed the telepath's shoulder and stopped him, an instant before he could knock over a beautiful vase on the table behind him, watching it crash into pieces and then letting the vision fade as he changed its course.
"Watch your step," he said, looking into the other boy's eyes. His own were nondescript in color, much like the rest of his appearance. But there was enough personality behind them to overcome the blandness instantly. "Hello Schuldig. We're going to be great... friends."
The telepath let his hand drop from his temple where a headache was being forced to fade. He gave the other a quick assessment, the American was more than well known, a quieter sort of troublemaker and a fierce enemy. It didn't have to be a precognition behind the declaration, Schuldig wasn't anywhere near stupid. He raised an eyebrow and straightened. "Oh really?" he said, giving Crawford a grin, "Then when exactly should I duck this afternoon?"
A slow smile brought an unexpected attractiveness to the young American's features. "Don't go. Come with me instead. After waiting for you for half an hour, your instructor will storm out of the building in search of his truant and get hit by a supply truck with a careless operator. Your delinquency won't be realized. You get a day off and none the wiser." There was just the hint of a testing expression in Crawford's clever eyes.
"Convenient, that," Schuldig drawled, he put a hand on his hip, and settled his weight on the other foot. "This future seems to rely on my choice of company though." The teen said shrugging, a trademark smirk crossing his features. "From a humble mundane's opinion, mind you."
"Don't try and figure it out, Schuldy," Brad said with a slight smirk. "The slap is a prelude to a beating. Until you learn to fight back effectively, your talent won't be good for much besides minor trouble and satisfying your curiosity of the moment. Of course, if you don't believe me, you can go ahead and go to your training session. You'll never know if I was right. You can pretend it was just a fabrication. Or even better, you can report it to your instructor and tell him how you saved his life..."
The smug expression on the German's face almost lost its composure over 'Schuldy.' The clairvoyant had the teen's full attention anyway. The last statement brought a disbelieving snort. "Not likely, if anything, I want a good view," Schuldig replied. Then the red-head gave Crawford another calculating glance, another touch inside, carefully bypassing the American's talent with rare skill and precision. "Your defenses suck. You'll be easy for the first asshole that gets the balls to try for you." Schuldig grinned again, "But that's where 'friendship' comes in, ja?"
Crawford nodded meaningfully. "Ja, mein herr. My defenses will get better. But it's going to take more time than they want to give me." A flash of fury was brief but as powerful as anything Schuldig had ever felt in himself. "Bastards don't have the faintest idea how much concentration it takes me to walk down a busy street, or to read a damn book," his glance at the discarded volume gave him the respite to chill back down to the mask of cool he was known for. "So, what's it going to be? Training, AWOL on your own, or come with me on a little outing through the village," /Where we can hide in the sea of mundane minds for a while and... talk./
/So we can trade your headache for mine?/ Schuldig's response had a faint echo to it, overlapped with more than one language. "A free day's no fun without company after all," the other agreed out loud, "I suppose I can put aside my usual playthings for an evening. Makes 'em more paranoid."
Brad's smile had a touch of triumph in it, and his look had a hint of something else, as he took a moment to run his eyes down and up the young German. It was a brief flash, almost too quick to analyze, but it seemed to have components of both speculation, appreciation, and briefest of all, possessiveness.
Without another word, Crawford brushed by the red-head and headed for the exit of the reading room, confident that his new companion would follow.
Naoe Nagi simply sat and stared at the blank, reinforced walls with every indication of patience. Just like every other time in solitary, he went easily, without a fight or complaint, sometimes stepping casually over the affects of his own destruction. Never even flinched as the dampeners were less than gentle with their skill, not showing a single sign of exactly how much he hated everything there.
Mostly, he admitted, it was because that unnerved them more than anything. They /expected/ him to go off... that could be the only explanation of why they kept pushing him.
Or the hate was mutual... a possibility. Either way, it wasn't any different from the situation they 'rescued' him from.
A release from the mental pressure fuzzing his senses didn't even get the small boy to look up, even though he was more than a little surprised. Considering what he did, this was pretty early.
The door opened, an unexpected silhouette framed in it. "Recess," Crawford said. "Your keeper had a slight... aneurysm. Can we talk?"
Slender shoulders rose and fell, and the boy's blue eyes never wavered from Crawford's as he stood up. "Outside," the single word had enough distrust to illustrate several scenarios in the boy's mind. Foremost, he wasn't going to be trapped in if his new keeper didn't like his answers.
Crawford simply stepped back from the door with a slight, almost elegant bow. "Lead on, prodigy," he said softly. "Step to the right, where the trainer lies with his poor brain bleeding, and run into more of the same. Step to the left where your friend is hiding beyond the belltower and a few hours of unsupervised freedom... but keep him off my back until I've explained what I have to say."
The boy stepped out of the room, glancing warily down to the right, and catching just enough movement far enough down the way. He turned to the left and started walking, reflexively putting a thin semi-physical barrier between the two of them. "You're good for an oracle," Nagi replied, his mind already fixing on the few names of those who could 'see' that accurately. Only one matched the description. "Your 'path do the dirty work?"
Crawford smiled. "He does do some very grimy things, but he's not here, Nagi-kun. I said talk, I meant talk. Hear me out. I can't do anything to you."
Nagi walked in silence to the outer doorway, a hand on the lock shifting the tumbler. Small things were getting easier these days, he couldn't get to the reserves without the emotional outburst anymore. As the taller man stepped out into the sunlight behind him, he gave a small nod. "It takes five minutes to walk to the belltower if we walk slowly."
Brad took a couple of steps, bringing himself even with the boy without coming closer to him, keeping the perimeter between himself and the boy wide enough to allow for his shields. His ability to gauge the distance was so fine as to be surprising. "It doesn't take a precognitive to know what your future is going to be. When they finally realize you aren't breakable they won't be delicate. You can choose to bend, but you won't. The cruxpoint is closer than you think. A few days."
"You're suggesting something else?" Nagi asked doubtfully.
Crawford nodded. "I am suggesting something else." He didn't have the luxury of being more specific on 'school grounds'. "How long has it been since you've had... ice cream? There's a shop in the village. Bring your friend. You don't have to trust me. Trust whatever you can find out on your own. It will work with the right four." Continuing to walk a few more steps, he almost absently swerved to the left as a fist-sized rock hit the ground in his previous path, dropped from the top of the bell tower.
Nagi glanced up, seemingly without interest, to spot a crouched figure. He didn't give much regard to either offer the man said, considering anything given to be what Crawford decided he wanted to hear. Waiting to give any sign to Farfarello, he asked, "Two core, two expendable?"
Brad smiled. "No." His eyes unfocused for a few seconds and came back. The smile disappeared to be replaced by a colder expression. "None expendable. I don't waste my time on spoilage. Don't test my powers of persuasion - I haven't any. I'll be there. Keep him from breaking into the kitchens tonight or get used to what's left of your time here without the white-haired boy." He glanced up, hand shooting out to catch the second plunging missile a few inches above his skull. The oddest thing was, Nagi got a brief, unguarded flash of something in the precog's eyes directed at the person hiding above. Affection. There and gone.
Turning on his heel, Brad walked away, his steps changing direction about a yard away to head for another building.
The boy watched Brad for a moment, a casual flicker of attention to give a light tug on the Irishman's clothing - a simple request to come down. The warning was too specific to discard entirely off hand. If Crawford was still watching, he might have caught the bemused expression, allowed to surface only briefly. "No kitchen," the boy's voice was different when addressing the older man, softer and harder in different ways. "You have enough knives right now."
"Glasses tell you that?" Farfarello asked, leaving the alcove he'd paused under. His gaze wasn't on Nagi however, but fixed on the far building, scarred fingers twitching restlessly.
"Do you know him already?" the boy asked, playing on a feeling.
The Irishman slowly refocused his gaze, and just as slowly, smiled. "He's... fun."
Nagi stared up at the white haired man, equating what he knew of the other's definition of 'fun' with anyone else's 'doesn't run away.' He shook his head, brushing aside the possibility. "He's invited us for a meal and negotiations," again a flash of expression, a bemusement tempered by something a little more unfamiliar, "Keep it down 'til we decide."
The other didn't agree or disagree, just reached to ruffle the younger boy's hair impulsively, and walked forward at a lazy pace, seeming to ignore the sigh behind and the precog waiting in front.
Getting out of the compound had become simple, a routine task. Both of them knew that they were being watched carefully, and that their exactingly regular return to the 'School' was the only thing keeping them from being hunted immediately. The arrangement had become simple, as close to comfortable as anything ever got.
Schuldig sauntered up to the cafe table that they had always used for the past month, knowing that the person casually reading the newspaper knew he was here and approaching long before he'd even jumped the wall. How Crawford got out on those days before him was still a mystery to him.
It was the mysteries that kept his attention. He'd yet to break the cool man's composure yet.
'Speaking of that, time for today's attempt,' Schuldig smirked privately, sending sensation more than images into Brad's mind. He'd chosen them carefully for today - the tang of sweat and the musk of pleasure, the strain of muscles, the edge of pain on pleasure that had been denied too long, and the coup de grace, the briefest mental association of red hair.
Flopping into the chair across from the man as if he'd done nothing at all, he started the conversation. "Well, Brad-babe," he smirked, "You were right, we're both blacklisted as of tomorrow."
Crawford turned a page of the newspaper, looked at it for anything of interest, then folded it and put it down on the table. When his eyes met the telepath's they seemed to spark... but that wasn't really unusual. The problem was one could never tell if the man was responding to something that had happened or something that was about to.
"You need to work on your English. 'Babe' is a term reserved for infants or pretty women," he said in a bored voice. Then he let his eyes slide along Schuldig's form. "Or I suppose, occasionally, red-heads." He didn't bother to comment on being right.
'So there's a crack in that armor after all,' Schuldig mused, mind kept tight to keep out the incessant pounding of worthless, mundane thoughts around him. 'Too bad I've only got a day to enjoy it.' There was something of pride and pleasure in that thought, gender wasn't a concern... it was all the same when it boiled down to the mind. "So, any last requests? No one you'd like to see a little humbled? I'd like to go out with a bang."
Crawford locked his eyes on the young telepath. "Control your impulses," he said, an already familiar mantra. Then added, "For a little while longer." Glancing up a second before the waitress appeared, he snapped, "Two latte's, get on with it." Schuldig caught a flare of indignation from the girl before she flounced off, thinking something about 'snippy queens' and broad daylight.
As if cooperating with her assessment, Crawford leaned forward and slid his hand under the table, fingertips brushing Schuldig's thigh. It was a bit more risqué than usual but the silent signal was for the German to come into Brad's mind, he'd things to say that he preferred to keep from reaching the air.
The connection was tight and strained, allowed only by the virtue of that contact. The German had gotten better with crowds in the past months, with only a few close near-breaks. /Go for it... (question/interest/faint lust)/
/It's time to leave. All of us./
Crawford knew the statement was ridiculous on the outset. Nevertheless his thoughts were as confident as ever, tinged with an undercurrent of the first touch of nerves Schuldig had ever felt, along with a bit of genuine, if harshly banked, excitement.
/No kidding... wait. Us?/ Crawford could feel Schuldig's mind curling on itself, the urge to dive in and just take the answer practically radiating off of the telepath. An echo of Crawford's earlier warning about impulses seemed to be the only restraint on the action - the red-head had learned, if nothing, wariness when that too familiar reminder appeared in a conversation.
Crawford's fingertips stroked lightly along Schuldig's thigh as if commending him on curbing the urge. /If you know about the blacklist, you know about the others. Two./ There was a very fast flash of faces or impression of them. Once identified even so briefly, Schuldig had no trouble placing them, they were each as well known in the school for various reasons as he and Crawford.
/Thought about it too, but it won't work,/ the mental voice was challenging. /The kid's famous for his dislike of mentalists, which I may remind you, we both are, and the white one can't stand anyone but the kid. Besides, just being in the room with him gives me a migraine./ The teenager didn't have to leave out, 'I'd have to kill them,' as it echoed faintly anyway.
The duration of this contact was starting to wear on Crawford, but he maintained it with a focus that went beyond anything Schuldig had seen him attempt. /You're right, it won't work. Almost every time. The thread is so thin as to be almost non-existent. Almost, damn you thick headed kraut. If each one does *exactly* as I say, *exactly* when I say it... there's a stronger line beyond. We need them to do it, they need us. You're better than you think./
Then he leaned back, exhausted, reaching up to pick the cup out of the waitress hands, drinking as if the hot milk and coffee mixture contained some kind of physical replenishment.
Schuldig took the other cup, waiting for it to be offered. Again, curbing an urge to give the woman's own sexuality a twist... a childish retaliation for a half caught thought from her. The other problem with Crawford, he mused, was his warnings were too damned vague. "If there's a chance, I'll behave," he continued, out loud as he tightened back up protectively. With a smirk he added, "Just for you, just today."
Crawford placed the cup down with a little extra care. Schuldig sometimes noticed him doing this, with a vague idea that he was avoiding a slip or spill. Once the cup was resting on the tabletop, he looked up at the German, his expression for once nearly devoid of the arrogance that was his habitual armor. "Before or after?" he said, his eyes steady in their intensity. "Do you want to finish this cat and mouse game before we go, or after we get out?"
Schuldig didn't quite master his surprise in time. It took the teen a little while to respond, as he nursed his coffee as a rather feeble cover. "After," he said, a rare sobriety to the nasal voice, "It'll give me something to work for."
Crawford's eyes closed and a brief, genuine smile curved his lips. There was almost a rush of /relief/pleasure/triumph/anticipation/ and something so fleeting it might not have been recognized as the hope that Crawford maintained he was incapable of thanks to his 'gift'. It was as if the answer confirmed for him the path of success over one of disaster. "I'll make it worth your time, mein schatze," he murmured, the accent dreadful but the sentiment amazingly close to human affection.
The German's eyes were closed as he flicked back the rest of the latte, the taste lost in the rising adrenaline. "Shall we see what the others are thinking about this?" he made a point to ask, one eye cracking open just a bit to regard the American.
Brad's arrogant mask slipped back into place easily and locked down. "They've agreed. It's to be tonight. And we'll leave the place in enough chaos to satisfy even your destructive little soul."
The reply had a weird dark affection in it, "I'll hold you to that promise."
TBC