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Coming Home	By : katami Category: Weiß Kreuz > General Views: 2558 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Weiß Kreuz, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Author’s Notes: **Important!** Please read before continuing! The first half of this chapter is very dark and deals with the rape of a minor, if this bothers you, skip to the break and read on in safety.

* * *

Schuldig hurt. He hurt all over but the worst pain was in his head, his poor bruised and battered brain and his fractured psyche. He had retreated inside as the darkness of the drugs had claimed him, retreated deep into his mind to try and save his sanity.

Only he had forgotten that there was no such thing as a sane telepath. There were just different levels of insanity. And the inside of his head was no safer for him than anywhere else. In fact, sometimes it was more dangerous than what was outside.

He made his way carefully through the darkened corridors of his mind, trying to assess the damage and shore up his tenuous hold on his sanity, re-establish his grip on reality. The pain was too much and the memories too raw though, they drew him, distracted him and refused to be laid. Like sharks to the scent of blood his mind kept circling back to old pains, blending it with the new ones.

He kept remembering the last time he had broken. The one chink in his armor. The one weakness he still had. The one thing that could still make him scream or wake him in a cold sweat.

He had been a difficult student. Unlike most who grew withdrawn and frightened after learning of their parents fate (two shots to the head in most cases), he had rebelled. He had sworn he was not going to let Esset or his parents’ murderer tell him what to do. He had mouthed off to Kiedel, ignored his other trainers, and escaped too many times to count (he had held the record for being caught out after curfew while at Rosenkreuz and likely still did).

It had been after one of his numerous escape attempts that Kiedel had finally decided to whip his protégé into shape. Either that or break the young up and comer that Esset was so hot about. Both scenarios were equally likely knowing Kiedel and how jealously he had guarded his position as Esset’s top telepath.

He watched as his own eleven year old body was dragged into a small white room devoid of any furnishing but a small bed. He shivered as his younger self was tied down and man after man violated him. He had cursed and spit and bit at first but eventually all that was left was screaming. There was only pain, no memory of how many, just searing, jarring, agonizing pain. Man after man, mind after mind, tearing and ripping at him. There was laughter over how he moaned, groans over how tight he was, and smugness at being able to do this to him. Thought after thought that wasn't his and under that the keening screams of a trapped animal, of something dying by slow degrees.

From where he sat huddled in the shadows Schuldig prayed it would end. That he could just forget. The jarring pain of Tokyo was enough, he didn’t want to remember what came next because the worst was yet to come and he knew it.

The memory began to solidify around him. His mind had fragmented under the guards’ assault, a tiny mercy since it blurred the edges and helped ease the horror. Once that blurring passed however he felt sick and violated. He wanted to curl up in the shower and rock and cry for days, to wash away the taint of what he'd seen, what he remembered.

A tall black man strolled into the room, Herr Kiedel. He was smirking down at the younger Schuldig, that hateful smirk of his. From the distance of years Schu could tell that the man was clearing his mind, holding the pain at bay and helping to stave off the madness that had claimed him. As a child he'd only known that the curtain of madness had lifted for a moment and that his own personal demon was standing before him - the man who'd brought him to Rosenkreuz.

He shuddered as Kiedel slowly stripped, tugging the clothes gently from both of them. The guards hadn’t bothered. They had tugged his pants off and fallen on him, shoving in hard and fast. This sham of intimacy, of soft caresses and whispered words was worse, a thousand times, a million times more horrible. Kiedel caressed his cheek and he flinched away from the touch making the other man laugh. Kiedel spread out over him, skin on skin, the other man's mind hovering over his, toying with him like a cat with a bird. He was helpless to keep the older telepath out and Kiedel knew it, savored it, wanted him to know the extent and depth of his helplessness. Kiedel petted him, hands ghosting over his skin and memories ghosting over his mind. Hundreds of children snatched in the night, the sweet taste of their terror and the mocking enjoyment of knowing what awaited them.

Face after face, life after life, family after family... all shattered.

And then as Kiedel entered him...his face. His family. He watched from Kiedel's eyes as the man shot his mother, then his father. Two shots to the head each. Four shots that had shattered his home and destroyed his life. Four shots that left his parents’ brains splattered over the bed and wall.

Schuldig felt it again as those images shattered something in the young telepath, broke beyond all repair some dam inside him. Madness returned, washed over him, and with it came all the rage and hatred a year at Rosenkreuz had given him.

He slammed into Kiedel’s mind, ripping through the older man’s shields and into his mind tearing it apart like tissue paper. His only thought was a simple three letters: D I E.

He watched as Kiedel convulsed atop his smaller form, blood flowing sluggishly from his ears, eyes, nose and mouth. Two guards collapsed instantly dead, three others fell to the floor gurgling and slowly dying. It was never determined whether it was the pressure on their brains that killed them or the loss of blood from the ruptured blood vessels that did it. One had his head exploded in a wash of blood, and four others dropped to the floor alive in body but clinically brain dead.

All total the count was twenty-two dead come the dawn. Three precogs had lost it moments before Kiedel had taken him and had jumped out their windows, eight telepaths had suffered aneurisms from the stress of trying to shield from him when he'd snapped and a telekintic had been caught in the backlash of his break and killed himself and his roommate. It was one of the highest body counts in Rosenkreuz history. The only one higher was when someone had tried to teach a pyrokinetic with a fear of water to swim; and Schu couldn't even guess at who'd had that bright idea.

The memory faded and Schuldig shivered, wrapped around himself deep within his mind. He had died that night. Well, the younger him had died that night. He had been born that night. It was him who had walked from that little white room ten hours later. It was him who was strong enough to face what Kiedel had done, him who could endure the horror of Rosenkreuz and survive. He had worn the face of the boy who had enter the cell, but the old him was dead.

His first victim. The one he was actually sorry for. The one he had chosen to pronounce himself Guilty for. The one in the deepest part of himself that he felt remorse for.

He had murdered his old self that night and burned every link to his old life because the old him hadn‘t been strong enough to survive Herr Kiedel and Rosenkreuz. He had become Schuldig of Esset. Schuldig, who was vicious, cold, cruel, and cunning enough to walk the halls of Rosenkreuz and make others afraid. Schuldig, who was now Rosenkreuz’s strongest telepath…and its most feared.

“No, you became Schuldig of Schwarz that night,” announced a firm voice as a strong hand reached out for him. He stared at the hand in numb amazement, wondering who the hell had gotten passed his defenses. Even as shaky as his mind was, with his shields shattered and his head in shambles, there should have been twists and turns to thwart the unwary.

“Who?” he murmured, stirring sluggishly from the quagmire of pain and memory.

The hand began to fade as his mind focused and the tattered remains of his shields began to reform. He cursed in every language he knew at the sheer extent of the damage to his mind. He hadn’t broken on Tokyo, but he had come within a hair’s breath of doing so. He had survived it though. And he would be stronger for it, he vowed.

“You will,” echoed the newcomer.

“Crawford?” he asked in soft amazement, wondering what the hell a pre-cog was doing in his brain.

“Yes, it’s me, Schu,” whispered Crawford’s voice, growing weaker as his hand grew ever more ethereal.

Schuldig didn’t understand why but he reached out and grasped that hand, sensing it was important that he do so. Light filled his vision for a moment and images flashed across his brain - the younger him seen not from his own eyes but Brad’s across the dining hall at Rosenkreuz; sitting in the headmaster’s office as Crawford collected him for his team; a flash of Brad checking on him while he slept; sharing a knowing smirk with the other man over a body; sitting beside the American quietly drinking a beer and watching a movie; Brad pausing on his way back from the bathroom to stare at him lying in a big bed asleep, sated and content.

He felt a moment of disorientation as he was shoved back into his own mind and sighed with annoyance as darkness once again overtook him.

* * *

He awoke, surprised to be doing so at all, to warmth and silence. Sweet blessed silence unlike anything he had experienced since coming into his Talent. Strong fingers were carding through his hair, stroking him as if he were a cat, soothing him. He was clean and comfortable, wrapped in warmth. He shifted slightly and the hand followed, continuing to pet him. He could smell coffee and wisteria but under than were other more alluring scents. There were faint hints of Brad’s cologne, rich and mellow, and under that something distinctly male that made him sigh in appreciation. He groaned and opened his eyes, frowning slightly as a toned stomach with just a small sprinkling of dark hair came into focus.

The hand in his hair stilled and a paper rustled and then strong hands were lifting him. Schuldig watched the world resettle and decided that someone had seriously fucked up because he had died and somehow slipped into heaven. Either that or Satan was trying to buy his way into his good graces. There were several things confirming both possibilities. First and foremost among them was the silence. Although, the fact that he found himself sitting on Brad Crawford’s lap, one of the pre-cog’s arms wrapped around him to help keep him steady was a very close second. Third was Brad’s state of undress. The pre-cog was wearing nothing beyond a pair of boxers and his glasses. Come to think of it, Schuldig realized his wardrobe was the same, minus the glasses.

He tried to shift, to look for Satan so he could tell him that he had great taste - exceptional taste even - but Brad’s hold on him tightened and he made soft, soothing noises. A glass of water appeared in front on him and then Brad was helping him drink it, all the while talking to him in a low mellow voice. That was almost frightening, Brad soft and gentle, and treating him like spun glass. As cool water slid down his throat he decided that scary was okay; and that if Satan wanted to go to this much effort he might just be worth working for.

He drained the glass and then laid his head on Brad’s shoulder, letting his eyes slip closed, just wallowing in the fact that he was comfortable and the world was quiet.

“Schuldig? Are you alright?” asked Brad, strong hands beginning to pet his arm and hair, nothing sexual, just nurturing. It was weird. Nice, but weird. Brad had never been so careful of him.

No one had.

Not since the night his parents had been killed.

“Schu?” Schu? Since when had he been Schu? Since when did Brad Fucking Crawford, tight-ass extraordinaire, call him Schu?

A warm hand cupped his cheek and tilted his head so he was staring into startling brown eyes, eyes that were filled to the brim with a myriad of emotions so complex Schuldig couldn’t have even begun sorting through them without his power. How the hell had he ever thought those eyes were cold he wondered dazedly. “Schuldig. I need you to focus. Just for a moment, I promise.”

“’m tired,” muttered Schuldig, surprised by how true that was. He didn’t want to think or focus, he just wanted to curl up and savor the silence. And maybe see how far he could push this whole Brad in boxers thing because how often did that happen? Not too damn often!

“I know, I just need to talk to you for a second and then you can rest,“ pressed the American, insistent but still gentle. Now that was the Brad he knew and loathed. He thought wordless annoyance at the other man amazed when Crawford smiled in what had to be relief and began petting his hair again. What the fuck was going on?!?

Crawford was happy that he was being difficult?

“Schuldig?” Brad again, his voice still low and soothing.

“Ja?” he answered with a soft sigh, not wanting to talk or listen or do anything else, he just wanted to stay curled up with Brad Crawford petting him.

“I just need to know you’re in there, Schu. We can worry about everything else later. I just need to know you’re alright,” murmured Brad, his voice still soft and careful, as if he might break. Schuldig frowned slightly at that and considered becoming annoyed, but he was sitting in Brad Crawford’s lap and that was worth a little tolerance.

“I’m awake.”

“Thank god,” murmured Brad and he actually did sound grateful. “I’ve fucked up quite royally with you, haven’t I, Schuldig?”

“What do you mean?” he asked softly, giving his head a tiny shake to try and wake himself up a little more and wash away the lassitude of the silence. When he did, he realized he really was dead and clearly Hell had frozen over. Brad Crawford had just admitted he was wrong! The world was ending!

“Tokyo. It’s what’s been giving you problems, right? That’s the reason behind the mood swings and the drinking and everything, isn’t it? The city’s too big to shield against.” He nodded, rather amazed that Crawford had figured that out.

“I can’t shield against it. It’s too much, all those voices all the time… You don’t know what it’s like,” he whispered, shuddering at the mere memory.

“I got that,” murmured Brad with a small chuckle.

“We all break eventually. Every single one of us. That bastard wanted to break me,” he pressed on softly in a hurried whisper, Kiedel‘s ghost still too fresh in his mind for comfort.

“Kiedel?” asked Brad. He nodded and plowed on, not wanting to talk but somehow knowing it was important that he do so. “He wrote the book on telepaths. The strongest and most stable telepath Esset ever had,” he hissed. “Miserable fucker wasn’t any more stable than any of the rest of us, he was just more repressed. He shoved it all down until he exploded in these huge binges.” Brad nodded, like he had wondered about that and Schuldig could understand why. At school Schuldig had been constantly wild but it was small gestures of rebellion, growing his hair out, mouthing off, drinking. Nothing like the insanity of the past few weeks.

“Tell me how to help you, Schu. How to work with you and make it so you’ll work with me,” he urged in a soft but insistent voice.

He thought about for a moment, stunned by the offer. What he needed? He couldn’t even think of the last time someone had asked him that. “I…I don’t know.”

“Think about it, Schu. I’m willing to help you. I have a Swiss account with well over a million dollars by now and I‘m willing to use it to help you, Schuldig.”

“You’ve been using your talent to play the market,“ he breathed, shocked that Brad Crawford would even consider flouting the rules so flagrantly. “The use of Talent for personal gain is prohibited, Herr Crawford,” murmured Schuldig, his eyes alighting as if scenting blood.

“True, and you could probably buy your way out of the labs and onto another team if you turned me in. Of course, you would be right back in the labs in a matter of weeks however. You’ve been with Schwarz ten weeks, Schuldig, that’s four week longer than you’ve lasted with any other team.” He did the math quickly in his head, amazed to find Brad was right. “Of course, the fact that you’re benefiting and will continue to benefit from this violation of the rules would mean nothing to you,“ murmured Brad with a smirk, the one that seemed hard wired into all pre-cogs, that really annoying one that they got when they thought they knew exactly what you’d do. Schuldig hated that smirk, because he hated being predictable.

“What if I don’t like the incentives?” he asked, just to be a bit contrary.

Brad’s chuckle ghosted over his skin and made him think of dark German chocolate, rich and sweet with just a hint of a bite to it. “You’re telling me you aren’t interested in having the leash loosened a little? Getting the chance to play a little?” he asked, his voice dark and teasing, laced with an innuendo that Schuldig was sure he had to be imagining.

“Just how loose are we talking here, Brad?“ he asked cautiously, wary of this new Bradley Crawford. The chance for freedom was tempting however; to be out from the ever present rules imposed by an asshole who wanted to fit every telepath into his image.

“Depends on how well you follow orders.” Brad smiled at Schuldig’s petulant frown at the last word. “When we’re working, Schuldig. I’ll give you more freedom outside of work if that’s what you need; but when it comes to Schwarz I lead.”

“Drinks? Drugs? Whores? How loose are we talking, Brad?”

“Anything you want as long you keep it in moderation and don’t let it fuck up the missions.”

“Why?” he demanded cautiously. Brad had no reason to be so generous and he had learned that generosity always came at a price.

“I told you, I need you functional and preferably loyal. What do you say, Schuldig?” Amber eyes glitter with the promise of mayhem and Schuldig felt an answering smirk pull at his lips.

“I want a car.”
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