FIC: Jailbreak for lauand
kreuzmas_kitty posting on behalf of staubundsterne.
Author: staubundsterne
Recipient: lauand
Title: Jailbreak
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing(s): Schuldig/Crawford
Summary: It was time to get out of Rosenkreuz once and for all.
Warnings/Content: N/A
Word Count: 840
Author's Notes: Dear lauand, happy holidays! This is basically a placeholder for your real gift, which is longer, more dystopic and got away from me. I'll post it during the bonus round, I hope this one will tide you over until then, enjoy! Also, thank you modly ones for not eating me.
Jailbreak
It was pitch dark and the knife rested close enough to his throat to draw blood as he breathed, so Schuldig decided it was best not to. The sweet, sickly smell of burnt sugar filled his nose and lungs anyway. Fuckers had flooded the corridors with Creepers Keepers, the ditriptic nerve gas Rosenkreuz used to subdue Telepaths, amongst other things. It felt as if his head was dunked in syrup and then smashed against a wall, his vision blurred and his own powers wrapped in plastic and securely stored out of his reach.
He had expected to get at least to the outer ring before they caught them, but Brad, the fucker, had squirrelled away to wherever Seers hid until trouble blew over, anyway.
Fucker.
"Where the fuck have you been, Schuldig?" Brad hissed and lifted the knife, pulling him further down a corridor, away from the patrols
"'lo to you, t--" he wretched and doubled over, aiming for Brad's boots. Served him right. Crawford gave him another shove and held his head so Schuldig could vomit his guts out. "We don't have all day," he said, much in the same way he'd inform you that target practice was canceled today or that he would kill your friends and everyone you were ever going to love.
Crawford, always so considerate. Despite himself, Schuldig laughed and pulled back. If they weren't going to get out of here alive, they could at least lead Sylvie and her goons around the perimeter until she lost patience and broke their necks, one by one. He pulled back and grinned as Crawford's contours swam in and out of focus. He spat, cleared his nose and winced. Bile, vomit and burnt sugar at the back of his throat, a combination every Telepath knew and roughly translated to "you're so fucked, you don't even know yet."
He retched again. Crawford rubbed his back. "I told you to get your resistance up against Creepers," he said, and to Schuldig, he almost sounded worried. Then again, he had his nose full of Creepers, so who the fuck knew what was going on in the real world. Then again, he would be worried, too, deserters in Rosenkreuz were given to the pits for young Telepaths to learn their skills - and get used to people screaming their lungs out - with the proper care, you could last for years
He was sure that Sylvia would take very good care of them.
He staggered down the corridor, leaning on Crawford. "Who do you think got Berger off your ass down at sector #8"?
"Don't you ever do that again, I had it under control," Crawford said, and he was back to his normal i-will-kill-your-friends tone of voice, which calmed Schuldig down. That meant they were back on track again
"Fuck all you did," he snorted His vision went blurry again and his head felt heavy. Berger did get in a good right hook before Schuldig smashed his nose in and threw him down a telepathic cliff.
“No, Schuldig, I'm not going to carry you, so you better fucking walk. And I'm not leaving you here, either, so spare me those remarks and walk,” Crawford said and wrapped his arm tighter around his middle. Felt nice. If they weren’t sneaking out of Rosenkreuz and gambling for their lives, Schuldig would make Crawford carry him.
“I wanna walk all the way to Japan,” his speech was slurred and slow, he flashed a few images in the general direction of Crawford’s mind, most of them in psychedelic contrast and in the style of some really fucked-up anime. “Sushi, geishas, yeah,” he coughed. He would never have sugar again in his life.
Except for ice cream, man, he could do with a big bowl of vanilla ice cream and cherries right now.
“You hate sushi.” Crawford’s voice grounded him, always had. Which is why he was here now, in the dark, with Crawford's arms around him like bands of steel, his throat sore and his head pounding
There were worse places to be, all things considered.
"I never had real sushi in my life, you wanker.” He had been in somebody’s head once when they ate sushi, but that didn’t count, not really.
“Trust me, you hate sushi.”
“Yeah, I trust you, even if you are a fucker,” Schuldig said, and dimly registered that he meant it.
“Don't ever skip out on me like that again.” Crawford sounded serious, too, less snarly and annoyed than usual.
“I wont,” he said, because there was nothing more to it. He wouldn’t. And together, they’d get out of here. He rested his head against Crawford’s shoulder as they made their way out of Rosenkreuz.