Cowboy Bebop Fan Fiction ❯ Going Back ❯ One-Shot

Cowboy Bebop's not mine. Never had it, never will. Spoilers for the end of Jupiter Jazz part 2, then apply the breaks and take a -sharp- left turn.

Going Back

by Madam Blue

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Bullets ricocheted across the cold rooftop, ringing sharply, high up in the dull grey Blow Crow sky. For a split second, Vicious was in his sights, but then Lin was there and Gren couldn't pull the trigger.

No more innocents were going to die to save that bastard's ass.

That one moment of hesitation was all Vicious needed, and Gren spun as he fell to the asphalt. Red flowers bloomed across his shoulder, his gun dropping from numb fingers as frozen eyes watched the snake loom above.

Vicious stared down on the haggard shell of what was once his old troop mate, cocking and aiming his gun at the broken man's temple.

Only Lin's shout stayed his hand.

"Sir, wait! The rest of these are empty!"

Cold eyes turned. "What?"

Holding up the bag of Red Eye vials, the young man repeated, "They're empty. I double checked; they're full of colored water."

With a snarl, the man's chiseled face twisted in anger. He grabbed Gren's throat, squeezing. "Where are they?"

Icy chips narrowed at the flash of triumph in those empty blue eyes, at the returned taunt in that choked reply.

"You want `em… take me to Titan. Keep me alive, I'll… show you where."

Vicious let go with a frustrated growl. He needed those drugs; his position and reputation were on the line. "Lin! Call the doctor those old relics keep in this sector. We're not done yet." But once he had them, though… that bastard was a dead man.

Gren was thinking the exact same thing.

Lin's belt made a passable tourniquet, and they were able to manhandle Gren's limp body into the back of the small flyer without too much blood loss. Somewhere between the frozen asphalt roof and being shoved into Vicious' ship, the wounded man lost consciousness.

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Dreams are the opiate with which the mind transforms memories, turning them into something to later rebuild upon.

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"Well, I got the stitches finished in time."

"Will he wake up?"

"I… could wake him, but he'd be in incredible pain."

"I need him awake."

"He only has a week or two, maybe less. Surely…"

"You -will- wake him up. Now."

"At least let me give him something for the pain… Please, I'm a doctor."

"So long as I get what I need."

"…yes, sir."

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Sometimes a dream can be manipulated, the outcome dictated by the dreamer. Unfortunately, memories… are not dreams.

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They were in orbit around Titan the next time Gren regained consciousness.

Vicious had left him in that borrowed dress, it's bullet torn shoulder cut away to make room for the doctor's sutures.

Blinking, disoriented, he followed the line from the IV bag to the needle stuck into the back of his hand.

Lin was watching. A button was pressed. "He's awake, sir."

Still hazy, gritty eyes tried to watch the young man use the intercom, but it proved to hard for his tired mind.

On the third try, he managed to speak.

"Where am I?"

It was Vicious who answered.

"In orbit around Titan. You're going to show me where those drugs are."

Those words still hung in the air when the man turned and walked away, calling ahead for his flyer to be made ready.

Kneeling by the sickbed, Lin gently offered to help Gren dress for the harsh desert below. "You should be comfortable while you can."

Empty eyes slowly drifted across the room, hesitant to look away from the door where his memories phantom had stood. It took a few moments before the gentle man inside him began to show again.

"Cant'… heh, can't imagine sand up my skirt'll be pleasant. Got any pants?"

Nodding, Lin pulled a change of clothes, loose pants and a clean shirt, from a nearby closet. Laying them at the foot of the bed, he had to remove the IV before slowly helping Gren change clothes.

"The doctor said it would help with your pain, but… There was nothing he could do about... I am sorry."

Long fingers curled around Lin's shoulder, deep pools of resigned blue watching that honest, heart felt sympathy.

All he could do was shake his head.

"I've known a long time now. Long enough to get used to the idea, to prepare. But thank you."

It took a while for Gren to change into the clean clothes, his lanky body slow and cramped from days of drugged immobility.

Lin tried to help get him half-presentable, bringing a familiar smirk to his lips before they headed down to the ship's bay. The courteous boy really did have such a good heart.

He was glad Lin was staying behind.

He only had a few hours left.

He hoped they burned that dress.

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Gren had memories of Titan.

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Wind whipped through their dessert wraps, sand scraping dragon claws across their eyes and down their backs.

Some things never change.

Half buried under the shifting sand, the two came across their old unit bunker, squat and empty. Long abandoned.

Gren slid-shuffled through the ever-moving earth, eyes taking in the familiar low building. This was where the better memories were born. How many stolen moments had they found there, quick fractures in time, before Vicious was called outside, the door handle slamming against the hard brick wall, as it always did when caught by the wind?

A half step ahead, urged on by the memories becoming something new in his mind, Gren held open the door so they could get out of the storm.

Inside, the building was bare. Rows of metal frames, what used to hold hard, thin mattresses and hard, sweating men, now stood empty. Grit and sand had made there way inside, coating the once clean floor.

"Where are they, Gren?"

It was colder now, too.

It hurt to stand under that chilled, callused stare, hurt to squeeze his fingers around the skeletal frame and not look away, but he somehow managed. Defiant blue eyes flashed as Gren slid the thick all-weather cloak off his shoulders. "You didn't think I'd make it this easy, did you?"

There wasn't even enough light through the grimy window to glint off the gun Vicious aimed at his head. "Where are the drugs?"

The musician ignored the threat, or maybe it was the adrenaline keeping his fingers steady. Soon his shirt drifted to the floor as well.

"You screwed me over to get what you needed last time, remember? Believe me, it's something I'll never forget." He finally looked up, fingers pulling at buttons and zippers. "Well, guess what… you're about to do it again."

It had to be something that doctor had pumped into him. Or maybe his brain had gotten twisted, like his body. Whatever the reason, it didn't matter. Vicious needed to get the drugs and get off the planet, and if fucking the half-dead pretty boy would get him what he needed, so be it.

He didn't even have to undress, just shove down his pants, push Gren against the wall, and drop him when he was done.

It wouldn't be the first time.

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Gren often had dreams of returning to Titan.

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Somewhere between his last boot hitting the floor and his back hitting the wall, Gren found himself drowning in memories. Was the troop going to be back soon, would they have enough time? Clutching at Vicious' rough cloak, he held onto the man and let go of his mind.

If there was blood, it didn't matter. The tearing bites only reminded him who he was with. The pounding thrusts, that he was alive.

He spread his legs further, unfocused eyes staring at something long gone, left alive only in his memories, letting him ignore the middle years. Ignore what had happened to him, to them, to everyone.

As long as there was familiar white hair under his fingers, softer than silver had a right to be, he could pretend. As long as that voice was growling in his ear, deep as thunder and just as overwhelming, he could pretend. As long as…

Vicious didn't give him long.

Sudden warmth filled him, strange from such a cold blooded creature, and Gren's body followed, still remembering the rules and doing what it was told. Then reality came rushing back in.

It wasn't all those years ago, no troops outside practicing drills. They were alone, and so many things had changed.

"Where did you hide the drugs?"

Sprawled on the sandy cement floor, Gren's breathing was ragged; he was barely able to focus. He wouldn't last the next hour. With a shaky hand, he pointed to an old cabinet still hanging on the wall.

Vicious clipped on his belt, holstering his gun and giving a parting scowl before turning away.

"You're not worth wasting the bullet."

He watched as the hazy, indistinct blur that was the snow haired man found the case of Red Eye. The image left without another word.

The last thing he heard was the door to the compound being pushed open, then snagged by the howling wind outside, torn from the devil's hand to slam against the concrete wall.

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He sometimes talked about going back.

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Hours had passed between the ship's monitors picking up the explosion and Lin getting planet side. Squinting against the wind, he followed the tracker to Vicious' last known position.

He found a war zone.

At first glance, it looked as though the front half of a small cement bunker had been shoved through a jump gate. Iron chips and shattered glass lay strewn about a huge crater where the building's entrance would have been, the remnants of door handle connecting wires and wall mounted contact plates scattered at his feet. There were other things down there too, though less recognizable. Less pleasant.

Pulling his coat tighter against the wind, he moved on.

Somehow the back wall still stood, rising like a marker at the head of the solemn grave. In its shadow he found Gren's body, bare but for a cover of ash and the smile he'd worn as he slipped away.

A discarded cloak became his shroud, the sand already at work covering the musician from the sun. Lin took one last look, then turned back to the ship. There was nothing he could do here.

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Gren sometimes talked about going back …but he never said alone.

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