FicWad

AN: This is a birthday gift for a dear friend. Alex belongs to him-- he is, for lack of a better term, the 'other' Spawn.

*



0.

He learned to walk young, how to stand on his own two feet and shuffle forward with no guiding hands. They were there, at first, pale spidery things he saw from the corner of his eye. He'd have turned it into a nursery rhyme, if he knew they existed, to lull him to sleep. The click of lighters, guns, the hiss of knives- those were what he heard. English, Japanese, German, Gaelic, cursed Latin. Harsh, smooth, harsh, warm. That's how he remembered it all.

He fell into the coffee table once, lost his footing and felt like the world was rushing up to meet him. It didn't scar, but he felt it.

Gun calloused hands caught him too late. He almost didn't cry.

"Almost," Schuldig muttered around a cigarette. Almost caught him, not almost let him fall. Then picked him up and set him on the couch so his feet didn't touch the ground. "Nice going, Naggles."

"You were right there, Schuldig."

"Yeah, and I almost caught him."

Alex learned that almost was a hated word.


I.

Sometimes he felt alone, though he rarely ever was. He didn't watch television with anyone because he didn't like what his family liked. The red on the screen was too harsh- blood, fire, smirking lips. But he sat and winced and felt his mouth tighten into a harsh line; he hated that feeling. Lasted as long as he could before he stood and shuffled off, stronger with each step.

On his own.

He couldn't play with his fathers because they wouldn't. Couldn't, he thought. They didn't seem able to play with his toys- not without breaking them, or dropping them to the ground.

Alex didn't like the harsh red screen. So he made his own, tiny sparks that left trails of smoke behind. Small but growing. Small but still burned. Quiet as a mouse he let his toys watch- it impressed them. He knew that. But would they like it?

Small but growing. Enough for his father to catch him red handed.

"Hn. So that's it." Crawford looked thoughtful, disappointed, curious. Puzzling out an equation by taking in all the variables. Something didn't add up, not quite, because this wasn't Algebra or Calculus, where answers were either right or wrong.

"This is life, Crawford," his ghost uncle said.

Glasses flashed, night lights as the sun went down. "Life can be altered. We'll see to it."

'Ye'll see what ye want ta see, I s'pose."

His father didn't answer, but Alex thought his uncle had won whatever game they were playing.


II.

They brought someone home one day.

White-olive skin with a crown of black, like the birds that sat on the telephone wires outside. Nagi held him, said he was visiting and it occurred to Alex that his uncle had not been in the apartment as much lately. Not since his second birthday. There had, he remembered, been some yelling.

"We're buying a house," his father was saying. "We're going to be needing more room anyway, as it is."

Alex had crept forward, stood on his toes to try and see more of the black-bird his uncle held. But he couldn't (small but growing). Hands grabbed him and he could finally see, his Schuldig holding him on his hip like how cowboys held their favorite gun.

"You're moving back in with us then, right kiddo?" Schuldig asked.

Alex watched his Unlce Nagi shrug a shoulder, mindful of the child he held. "In a year or two, maybe. When Kirito's a bit older. Some things need to be taken care of...sorted out... before then."

His father said, "I'll see to it."


He was two, almost three, when they moved into a new house, bigger than their apartment and quieter. The house had sliding doors and empty rooms waiting to be filled. Stairs that went on for ages but were mastered every day. They did not rush up to meet him or make him almost not cry. It was better.

He was two, almost three, when they brought him home.

"Looks like you've got a little brother, kid. Well, sorta." Schuldig crouched, let Alex see red hair and relaxed hands. Fox fur, maybe, yeah that's what it looked like. Fox fur. Mouth pulled up slightly on one side, familiar and new. "Meet Brett. Second times a charm, right?" Schuldig turned and looked over his shoulder.

His father was calculating again.

Alex frowned and looked back at the fox.

One finger on the right hand curled slightly. Curled like his fathers' did, sometimes when holding metal, sometimes as they sat talking.

He tried to curl his own finger. Tried to keep it like that for a while.

"That's the spirit, Alex," his Schuldig grinned down at him. Sharp and knowing, dressed to impress.

"Thank you," just like Uncle Nagi taught him. It earned him a wider grin.

The red-haired boy looked down at that smaller version of himself and wondered if he should say "I'm sorry."


III.

"You're kidding me," Schuldig nearly yelled. "That's just....tch. I can't believe it." Hands raked through long hair, dropped and went to light a cancer stick before dropping that too. "I can't believe /you/. How could you not see this coming?"

Alex listened but didn't watch the argument. Not really. He was watching Brett watch the ceiling. The fox didn't really do much, Alex had found. Neither did the black-bird-Kirito, he reminded himself-or at least, not that he had seen.

One tiny pale arm mimicked an upper cut. He wondered what Brett was thinking.

"Me? Schuldig, I can't See everything. You know that. However, I'm surprised it managed to slip by your wonderful nosy self. You pick up useless information like a pack rat yet this eluded your attention?"

"Fuck you, Brad, I don't go into Far's mind unless I need to. It's like wadding through blood-soaked cotton."

Alex shifted backwards so that Brett was watching him. It must be boring, just lying there. He snapped his fingers, made the candle on the table flare up a bit more. Brett laughed and squealed.

"Who was it anyway? A nun? A Catholic school girl? God/dammit, did he plan this?/"

He heard his father's heavy step across the kitchen's tile. "A nun, of course. And it seems to stand that he did. Farfarello, however unstable, is not random in such matters."

"I'll show him unstable," his Schuldig muttered, his lighter step pacing back and forth erratically. Tap-tap-tap-tap.

Brett blinked towards the noise, seemed to notice their parents' voices for the first time. There was more yelling, cursing, and a crash as a mug hit the wall. The baby's face twisted up like it did when he was about to scream. Alex hated that sound so he made the candle burn brighter. The distraction works.

His Schuldig storms into the living room, all restless energy that Alex thinks is brighter than the candle. "Jesus," he says, "the kid could have burned the house down."

"He wouldn't," Crawford replies, calmly. "He knows better. And I would have Seen it." It slips out before he could stop it. All he can do is wait for the inevitable comment.

Schuldig doesn't fail him. "Like you Saw it happening. Shit. So, what is it anyways, our new happy addition?"

Alex looks up, interested.

"It's a girl," is the dry answer.

"Our own princess, huh?" Alex feels a hand ruffle his hair. "We'll have to treat her like one then."


IV.

Alex is four. He sits and watches the fox and princess-- he calls her princess because he has trouble saying her name-as they pile block on block. His ghost uncle watches too. He never lets his princess out of his sight unless he has to. He always catches her before she falls and Alex wants to tell him that he'd catch her too, if he could. He thinks they both know this, though, since their gold coin eyes look at him the same way.

The fox has made a castle. Ten blocks. Alex can count now.

"Ye'll be goin' ta school soon, Alex."

He turns his head. "I guess."

"Cailin'll be lonely without ye."

"So I can stay," he says and thinks that would be easy. The princess placed her doll near the castle and it leans too heavily on it.

"You'll go, Alex, because knowledge is power." His father appeared out of nowhere as he often does. It's a neat trick. Someday he'll be able to do it too.

"Power," Brett echoes, just before the doll pushes the castle over.

Brett loves to say that, whenever he can. It was his first word, to everyone's amusement. Alex will never know what his was.


V.

Alex likes to drive in his Schuldig's car. Fast, unpredictable, red. What he can see of the road rushes by beneath them, and he made his Schuldig buy him a higher seat so he could glimpse more of it. He wonders at it, how they move. It all passes by so fast. Black, winding road with blinking lights and horns blearing. His Schuldig always has the radio on so he can sing along and eventually Alex learns the songs as well.

"We're on a highway to hell...highway to hell...."

Their speed seems normal. At least, it does when Alex looks at it head on, beyond the cheap plastic hula girl on the dashboard. It isn't enough so he watches from the side.

The change is thrilling.

"We drive faster from the side," he says.

His Schuldig smirks and glances his way. "That so? Yeah, I guess."

"Would it hurt more that way?"

"It will if you hit oncoming traffic. Those Mack trucks suck." A few minutes of silence. "Want an ice cream? You can melt it if you want."

Alex shrugs a shoulder. "Sure."

The car takes a sudden right turn. "We're on a highway to hell..."

At least, Alex thinks, I know where we are.


VI.

"We couldn't have messed up again. I know we didn't. Remember what I said about second times? It's a law."

"Maybe Murphy interfered," Farfarello growled. Cailin imitated him, a kitten pretending to be a lion. The Irishman smiled slightly and bounced the girl on his knee. "Maybe it's a sign."

"Serves us right, you mean? Stuff it, Far."

Crawford sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Schuldig, calm down. He's baiting you. Farfarello, this is our business, remember. It's of no concern to you."

"Terminus Est."

Schuldig pointed his cigarette towards Farfarello. "No Latin at the dinner table."

"Schuldig, put your cigarette out," Crawford ordered.

"Hey, I'm not going cold turkey, bastard. Deal with it. And let me know if you see any of us getting lung cancer."

Alex was drawing a dog. He would like to have a dog but knew it meant taking care of something. Like his father and Schuldig took care of him and his brother. Like Nagi took care of Kirito. He didn't want that.

Beside him, Brett drew a tree. There were lines of orange-red through it, the leaves burned off long ago it seems. The younger redhead seemed to think that he would have Alex's power (power power, he would chant and giggle) because that's how these things worked. Alex hoped things didn't turn out that way. It was his, the fire, no one else's. And he didn't think his parents wanted another like him. They were all unique, his Uncle Nagi had explained.

But the fox didn't realize that, not yet. The fox was only four after all.

"Not a fox!" Brett protested fiercely as he threw his crayon down.

The kitchen grew silent.

"Murphy must be on vacation," Schuldig said.


VII.

The house was shaking. Literally. At first Alex thought he was doing it. He had been having a nightmare, one that left him mad and afraid. Normally his Schuldig would sense his or Brett's nightmares and look in on them. But he didn't, not this time, and Alex thought maybe that why the house was shaking too.

"What is it?" a voice asked from the door. A crop of red hair was sticking out from between the door and frame.

"Let's find out." Alex slipped out of his bed. When he got to the door, Brett tugged on his sleeve twice, and Alex led them down the hall, down the stairs, closer and closer to the rattling of earth.

"I don't wanna be here!" a voice was yelling. "I want my room!"

"You didn't tell him beforehand!?" Schuldig was flailing his arms about.

Nagi winced. "I didn't want the apartment to be ruined..."

"Who cares about that place? You're not living there anymore anyway."

Brett stomped over and pulled on Schuldig's shirt. "Make him stop." His lower lip was promptly pushed out.

"Tried it already, brat, and it didn't work."

Alex looked for something to burn. It always made the noise stop.

Before he could, Brett marched up to Kirito. "I bet I can stay quieter than you longer."

The black-haired boy stopped yelling, looking insulted but thoughtful. The room stopped shaking. "Could not."

The two glared at each other as their impromptu contest began.

"I'll move our stuff in," Nagi said and quickly left the room.

The rooms were all being filled.


VIII.

He went to school like all other children do, but never made many friends. They talked to him sometimes, aimed at him when they played dodge ball in the schoolyard, peered at his lunch to see if anything was worth trading for. It was fine, if not fun. He could get by so long as he put half his brain to it.

"Wait till high school," Uncle Nagi tells him in a grim tone but Alex isn't sure what he's waiting for exactly. His family has a tendency to not explain unless money is involved.

He goes and does his homework as soon as he gets home. Two times two is four, like when you add it, but two times three is six. Four plus four is eight but if you multiply it's sixteen.

He does his other homework too. Learns the different types of ammo, what parts of the gun to clean first, which to use for which hit. He can tell what type of gun it is from the sound it makes when it goes off, where a person was hit from the noise that escapes them. It's a higher education of sorts.

He gets A's in those classes but his teachers at school worry.

"You'll have to find a balance."

Alex wants to know why.


IX.

Brett's playing with his toy gun, the one that looks real. He isn't allowed to bring it to school anymore, not after the meeting their fathers' were called in to, so he plays with it even more at home.

"Let me play with it," Kirito demands, reaching around the shorter boy in an effort to claim the shiny black toy death.

Brett holds it farther away. "No! You'll get your own, just wait. Or ask."

Alex and Cailin watch from the couch, ignoring the tv even though it was a show they both liked. It was their time, when no one else was allowed to have the remote.

"They always fight about that stuff," Cailin murmurs, her voice just starting to take on the high-pitch of other children.

"They just like to argue," Alex tells her. "I think it's dumb."

"Come on, Brett! Just for a minute!"

"No! It's my father's gun!" It isn't, but his father and his Schuldig gave it to him so it was close enough. "And now it's mine." Brett yelled the last part in his mind, making every one in the room wince.

"Brett-chan," Cailin interrupted quietly. "Can I play with it?"

Brett hesitated but Alex spoke first. "You don't want to."

His younger brother glared at him. Why not? he asked, but Alex didn't answer him.


X.

They're learning English in school. All children have to learn it, for better or for worse, but Alex already speaks it fluently; as well as he does Japanese. The Schwarzhaus, as his Schuldig started calling it, changed languages, feelings, and alliances as often as the wind changed. There was no real way to tell when the changes would occur. Not really.

Alex had had his ghost uncle hang a wind chime in his window though.

He sat doodling on his notebook, made a sun and then another one. Was tempted to set them aflame like the one shining in through the window but knew better. Not in class was the rule. He'd let it burn during lunch.

His schoolmates chanted aloud, repeating what the teacher said. Their chanting reminded him of something bitter so he sat with his mouth closed.

"Money."

"Money!"

"Business."

"Business!"

"Time."

"Time!"

"Power."

"Power!"

Power, power, power, they chanted.

Alex set his suns on fire.


XI.

Farfarello took them to the park. Lush green trees, a bright sun over head, not a cloud in the sky. The grass looked like wax and Alex didn't like the way it felt.

"Brett-chan, come play with us!" Cailin giggled as she ran towards a swing.

"I wanna see if I can read a squirrel's mind..." the youngest redhead told her as he stalked a furry creature with a cold determination.

Alex snorted and almost didn't lean back on the grass. Hands met grass and he sat up again quickly. His jeans were going to be stained, he realized, but didn't stand.

"Cailin, sweeting, come with me. We'll get ye a balloon," Farferallo called, holding out a spidery hand for her to grab. They left, walked around the corner then disappeared behind a row of trees. Alex watched them for a minute before he tore a weed out of the ground and tied it into a knot.

Brett walked over to him, head cocked to the side like a curious dog. "Something's going on," he finally said after another minute.

Alex smelled copper, the same kind that their house seemed to smell like at times.

When they came back, Farfarello was scratching a line of red off his palm. Cailin sashayed towards the brothers and crouched down beside them. She was grinning.

"Da killed a doll," she explained.


XII.

It was snowing.

Large clumps of snow fell from the sky, never ending flurries of cotton.

Alex didn't like the cold. But he sat outside with the others as they ran about, throwing snowballs and making a small army.

He could destroy the army with a flick of his wrist. He didn't. They would be hurt if he did.

"I hate the cold." He blew a piece of hair out of his eyes.

Brett paused mid-throw. "You can go back inside, nii-san. You get sick easier than us and you're no fun when you're sick."

"You can't get sick! It's almost Christmas!" Cailin exclaimed.

"I'll stay out a little longer," Alex decided and burrowed deeper into his coat. One gloved hand rubbed at his freckles, as if they could be turned into a mask.

Kirito was grinning. "Look, I'm Uncle Schu!" He mimed smoking, a puff of white air curling in the air.

"And I'm an angel," Cailin declared before flopping backwards in the snow. She made a snow angel with practiced ease and stood, taking a snapshot memory of it. Then she destroyed it. "Da doesn't like those..."

Alex stood. "I'm going inside. It's damn cold out."

"Baby," Brett taunted.

"Don't whine to me if you get sick, moron."

"I /won't/."


XIII.

"That's not how you hold a gun," his father said. He was reading the newspaper at the kitchen table, coffee cooling in front of him.

"I know," Alex mumbled, examining the mentioned weapon. He thought he might have liked knives better, but knew he wouldn't give up the gun. "I know."

"If you held it like that on a mission-"

"I know."

Amber-brown eyes finally focused on him. Crawford's mouth quirked. "Do you plan on using it?"

Alex raised an eyebrow. "I don't hate you."

"You know what I mean."

"Can't you See?" Somehow they always knew what type of seeing was being talked about. It was like an instinct they were all born with.

"When it comes to you? It's half and half," Crawford explained and flicked his newspaper closed. "Not like with Brett."

Alex sat back in his chair. "You can See him completely."

His response was a nod.

The newly turned teenager nodded to himself and put a hand on the coffee mug, warming it slightly.


XIV.

His Schuldig's hair was long, longer than it was in any of the pictures they owned. Long and unbound, because Brett was making a fort and needed a flag. A yellow flag.

It made Alex think of sickness.

Down, it looked like backwards flames. Wispy and soft. He made a small flame in the palm of his hand and compared, decided the real thing was his favorite. It was close, though. Alex wanted hair like that someday.

Schuldig's fingers were stained a fading yellow color.

"Why don't you smoke anymore?" Alex asked.

Blue eyes looked amused. "I got tired of being bitched at. So I quit...for the most part." He still had a pack in his night table.

"You miss it?"

"Fuck yeah," Schuldig laughed, a jagged smile on his face. "It's like losing a best friend."

Alex had never had a best friend before.

Later, he stole his Schuldig's.


XV.

"You'll have to get over this...this...mind block of yours," Nagi said in earnest. "I went through the same thing when I was your age. I know you may not like it but it's what you-" he trailed off.

Were made for? Were supposed to do? Alex snapped his fingers in a restless fashion.

"Look, it isn't that bad. You get used to it." Nagi sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Why am I doing this?"

"Because my father already tried and my Schuldig is out?" /Snap snap snap/. "Are you going to make Kirito go along with it all?"

Nagi looked miserable. "He already talks about it."

"That's because Brett never shuts up about it." It wasn't necessarily true, but it almost was. "They don't need me to do it. They don't need me around at all." He raked a hand through his long hair. It snared in a knot. "Fuck."

"Sheep."

They both looked at Farfarello, who lounged against the archway.

Nagi frowned. "What?"

"Sheep. The boy is a sheep. Crawford and Schuldig are herding him where they desire." The Irishman grinned. "A wolf in sheep's clothing. Jus' like they ordered. Ye," he pointed at Alex, "don't wan' ta be herded, ey?"

Spider hands traced a web in the air, mapped out thoughts and hopes and hates. Ghosts can walk through walls, through people, through souls, Alex thought.

"Tha' doesna mean ye're not needed though, boy."


XVI.

Brett was screaming.

Not out loud. None of them screamed out loud anymore. But his shrieks were clamoring and shrill, like a banshee let lose after years of imprisonment.

They all felt it. It cut to their bones, tiny daggers of sound. Kirito looked pale and shaken, kneeling beside the chair Cailin sat in. Gold eyes looked frantic and afraid, hands clutching the hem of her dress as her Da pet her hair soothingly. Her mouth was moving, singing, Ashes, ashes, they all fall

Alex wanted to help. Saw that his Schuldig wanted to help, was trying to, but Crawford kept an arm thrown across the telepath's arm. A barrier. An order.

"He's in pain," Alex ground out.

"He'll survive," Crawford said, but he looked like he wanted to take those three steps forward too. He didn't. It was, the firestarter realized, a test.

"Fuck it." He tried to take a step forward, to do /something/, but Nagi stopped him. Orders. Always orders.

The screaming continued. Alex didn't always like Brett, but his younger brother was curled up near the couch and making that /godawful sound/. He'd bitten his lip and blood was staining the carpet. His pupils were pinpricks, lost in amber-brown-blue.

"Not a doll," he heard Cailin whisper.

"Crawford, since when do visions last this fuckin long?" Schuldig growled, hands curled into tight fists.

"Since it's one of his first ones. And combined with his telepathic abilities. Apparently there's a strong reaction to the two being used simultaneously. Unfortunate, but understandable."

"Well he can't turn one /off/, can he?" Alex sneered.

Crawford's face was a blank mask as he studiously ignored the tone. "Of course not. Neither Talents are like yours, or Nagi and Kirito's for that matter. If he cannot make it through this one..."

Alex almost didn't think 'I'm glad it isn't me'.

Then the screaming stopped.

Brett blinked and looked around, slowly pulling himself into a sitting position. His bottom lip was red and he smirked, pulling the cut wider.

"Brett?" his Schuldig asked. The telepath, and now precog, turned his head at the sound of his name. "What did you see?"

"Too much." Brett glanced at Alex. "And not enough."

Crawford dropped his arm. "Perfect."

Brett stood, his finger curling like it did when he was an infant. The final test. The final straw.

Alex saw it burn into ashes.