Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Dimension Gate ❯ Visions and Family ( Chapter 1 )

Author's Notes: It may not seem like it at first, but this fic is definite fantasy - as in elves, mages, shapeshifters, the whole nine yards. No relation to canon Gundam Wing whatsoevah. Reviews are nice. Tell me what you think! Should I keep up with the story? Should I run away and cry in shame?

 

Warnings: I define yaoi thus: boy meet boy, boy likes boy, boy chases and/or rescues boy, boy bangs boy. If gay relationships and sex are not your cup of tea, then shoo. Other than that, watch out for cursing, child abuse, rape, etc. This IS an x-rated fic, people.

 

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing. * wanders off cursing *

 

Chapter 1: Visions and Family

 

He woke in the body of his childhood self, a self that had been dead for twelve years. He was seven, small for his age, fragile of bone, delicate of feature. His hair was darker then, a gold, and curled prettily about his face. Trowa loved to brushed it every night, one hundred strokes with the soft-bristled, silver-backed brush that was one of the few keepsakes Quatre's family kept.

 

The child's body remembered this, felt this, each long, sustained beat with the brush, and how it made him imagine himself a cat being petted. He remembered the warm, easy rhythm of his friend's voice, the complete, open trust between them. He remembered Trowa's laughter, the way his extraordinary green eyes would light up whenever he was with Quatre.

 

Quatre sat in his room, whispering to Trowa, his voice low in fear of his mother. He was used to whispering; fear was a way of life in the Raberba house - you got used it, he supposed, the way you got used to certain smells.

 

“What shall we do tomorrow?” Trowa asked, his eyes sparkling at the next day's prospects.

 

Quatre tilted his head to one side, a habit he had when he was thinking. “Why don't we go to the park?” he said happily. “We can climb the oaks and pretend we're in our castles, waiting for the knights to come and rescue us because we made a sacrifice for the kingdom, only they don't and we have to figure a way out ourselves.”

 

Trowa made a face. “I live in a castle, or practically one. Let's pretend something else. I want to be a bandit. The trees can be our hideout.”

 

As easy-going as ever, Quatre smiled. “That's a good idea. We'll be Quatre Quick-Shot and -” He paused dramatically.

 

“Trowa Clever-Handed!” Trowa supplied instantly.

 

They stayed up far into the night, whispering secrets and making plans, two children in a world of their own, where they were brave and daring, bold and true. The man trapped in the child wept for what was to come.

 

The next morning was a Saturday. His mother was in a good mood, a rare one. It was as if she was waiting for something. After doing the chores he had been assigned, Quatre slipped away, fleet as a shadow, heading for the park. He was happy, the burdens of his home temporarily lifted from his shoulders. He was going to see his best friend, and they were going to play in the park. Just like any other pair of children. Just like any other pair of friends.

 

“Quatre. Quatre!!”

 

No. Quatre broke into a run. His mother had seen him. If he could just get out of sight, if he could just make it around the corner...

 

Faster! the man inside him cried out, knowing it was useless. You've got to run faster!

 

The child ran...and ran...but in the end, strong, cruel hands caught him, dragged him back.

 

Inside the house, Quatre begged. It would be the last time he ever begged for anything. “Please, Mama! I just want to play in the park!”

 

His mother's slap across the face sent Quatre spinning to the ground. “You wanted to play at being Quatre Quick-Shot, no doubt.” The cold contempt in her voice made Quatre freeze. So she had heard.

 

“Please, Mama -” he began again, but the second blow cut him off. He began to cry, until the third blow stunned him, and the fourth...What followed was something no child should ever have to experience, a pain that reduced him from human to animal, aware of nothing but the fiery agony lancing down his back and bared legs.

 

Floating in a red haze, Quatre dimly heard a voice. “Your friend didn't come to help you, Quatre. Why? Because he's not real.”

 

Deep inside the child, something shattered. And everything went black.

 

********

 

Quatre woke lying facedown on his kitchen floor, the bag of groceries he'd been carrying nearby, its contents scattered everywhere. Slowly, painfully, he dragged himself to a sitting position, felt wetness on his cheeks, raised a hand to it. The tears of a small child whose dreams had been destroyed. The tears of a lifetime.

 

Something rustled in his hand, and he looked down. He'd been reading a letter from his older brother. That was it, he realized. That was the connection to his childhood that had brought the vision on.

 

Quatre shut his eyes. As a child, he'd tried to please his mother and keep his secret. It hadn't worked. His mother had found out about Trowa, the elven boy Quatre had befriended, and punished him terribly for inventing such things. Quatre had wanted to know, while he was still capable of thinking, why his mother hated the idea of an imaginary friend so much.

 

After a certain point in the beatings, all he was able to do was cry out in pain.

 

She hadn't found out about Quatre's power. That, at least, was one blessing. But the personal torment it caused Quatre more than made up for it.

 

Moving to his knees, Quatre slowly began to gather the groceries together with shaking hands.

 

*******

 

Zechs was exhausted and filthy from spending his entire day at the daycare center he owned and managed. When he walked into the mansion that was his family's home, he paused and listened carefully. There was only the quiet tick of the ornate antique clock that hung in the hallway that led from the front door. He felt no guilt at feeling hope that he could avoid any contact with his beloved family until he was clean and refueled.

 

He'd gotten as far as the bar in the main parlor, had just popped the top on a Budweiser, when he heard the sharp click of heeled boots. He winced, but his face was composed and relaxed when his younger brother Duo strode into the room.

 

“Pour me a white wine, darling, I got some rough edges need smoothing.”

 

He stretched himself out on the sofa as he spoke, with a little sigh and a finger brushing his wild mane of chestnut hair. He was back to his original brown. There were those who said that Duo Maxwell changed his hair color nearly as often as he changed men.

 

He'd been divorced twice in his twenty-three years, and had gathered and discarded more lovers than anyone cared to count. Particularly Duo. Yet he managed to project that image of an innocent, just-out-of-college boy, with her camellia-white skin and beautiful blue-violet eyes that were all his own; eyes that changed color depending on his mood. Blue-violet eyes that could well up with tears on command, and were skilled at making promises he might or might not intend to keep.

 

Duo sent Zechs a sweet and melting smile when he brought him a glass of wine. “Bro, you look worn out. Why don't you sit down and put your feet up for awhile?” He grabbed his hand, gave it a little tug. “You work too hard.”

 

“Anytime you want to pitch in...”

 

His smile sharpened, a blade turned to the keen edge. “Kids are your department. Why you waste your time....Anyway, I wouldn't be of any use to you. Don't know the first thing about childcare.”

 

“You can change that, you know. You can change anything you want to change.”

 

“I was taught by our mama to be decorative and useless, just like a sweet little society boy.” Duo tossed his head, and stretched like a cat. “And I'm so good at it.”

 

“You irritate me, Duo.”

 

“I'm good at that, too.” Amused, he nudged Zechs' leg with his bare foot; he'd removed his boots as soon as he had entered the room. “Oh, don't be cross with me, Sam. Arguing's going to spoil my taste for this wine. I've already had - what is it you call it - a discussion with Mama today.”

 

“A day doesn't go by that you don't have a discussion with Mama.”

 

“I wouldn't if she wasn't so critical of every damn thing. She's been in a mood most of the day.” Duo's eyes glittered. “Ever since Marie Ando called from the realtor's office to say that Quatre was back in town.”

 

“No point in it. She knew Quatre was coming back.”

 

“Coming's different from being. I don't think our mother likes the idea of her runaway black-sheep son settling in her town to show the world that he doesn't have to depend on the famous Maxwell family fortune.”

 

“I say it serves Mama right to have the house and fortune shoved in her face. You weren't here when they had that last argument. I was. If Quatre wants to live in the same town and show that he doesn't give a damn about the family money, he's got my full support. Lord knows I wish I'd done what he did.”

 

“All of us wished that at one point or another, I think. Funny. When we were little, Quatre was always the one getting picked on, always the one that ran and hid behind his older brothers. None of us were expecting the spine of steel that he showed that night.”

 

Zechs looked away. Of all of the family, he had perhaps been the closest to Quatre. Duo's words weren't quite true; early on, he'd seen signs that Quatre was as brave and as stubborn as any, and had quietly encouraged him to stand up for himself. His mother and father certainly didn't care if Quatre learned to fend for himself. At least, his mother hadn't cared until that last argument, when Quatre had told her to go to hell and walked out of the house without a backward glance.

 

Quatre was nineteen now, and living in a small apartment on the other side of town. The hurt, angry runaway had turned into a man - a man of focus and determination.

 

“You've seen him already, haven't you?” Duo asked in a seemingly lazy voice.

 

Zechs was not fooled. “Yes.” He didn't intend to give him any more until he asked for it.

 

Duo managed to last several minutes before he gave in. “Oh, all right, you bastard. So how is he? What's he look like? How does he act? What's he up to?”

 

“Oh, your curiosity, little brother.” Zechs chuckled as he glared. “He's fine, according to him. He looks different from two years ago. He cut his hair and got rid of the bangs - it's just touching his shoulders now. Makes him look older than he is. He changed his style, too. More skater clothes - more punk to annoy mama, I suppose. He still has that delicate build you always wanted.”

 

“Shut up and tell me something about him.”

 

Zechs looked into the distance and sighed. “However delicate he still looks, there's also still an edge on him - like a raw nerve ready to scream. He's been through hell and back, that boy. He's so wary, so watchful. A boy that young shouldn't have that look in his eyes.”

 

“Look at you, Gramps.” Duo smiled sardonically. He looked away himself then and asked more softly, “So...does he still do it?”

 

“What?”

 

“Don't play with me, Zechs. Does he still have that power, or gift, or whatever you want to call it?”

 

Zechs glanced sideways at him. “Yes. I didn't think it was going to be something that just went away. Did you ever...tell Mama about her?”

 

“No.” Duo's silky voice went flat. “Sibling loyalty and all that. Besides, it's Quatre's business, not mine.”

 

“Didn't think you had respect for anyone else's business.”

 

“I don't. But Quatre's an exception. I'm not fond of most of our sibs, Zechs - I suppose I've made that plain enough on numerous occasions. I am, however, fond of our rebel brother, just because he pissed Mama off so much. So Quatre can see into the future, or read minds, or do whatever the hell he wants. I won't say a word.”

 

“He doesn't read minds,” Zechs reminded him. “It's never been that strong with him. Emotions, and images provoked by those feelings - he can sense those, but not much else. Knowing him, he probably could hear thoughts if he wanted to put forth a little effort - but he doesn't. He doesn't want to invade on anyone's privacy. It's his belief that one's thoughts are one's own, and that's all there is to it.”

 

Duo smirked. “Thank goodness I don't have such stringent morals. It would put such a crimp in my lifestyle.” Despite the mocking tone of the words, Zechs sensed a slight wistfulness in Duo's voice.

 

“Getting bored being the town whore?”

 

“How crude.” Duo's smirk grew wider. “That's what Mama thinks I am too, you know. I prefer to call myself a `man of the evening.'”

 

“You know, you don't have to have sex with every man you meet just to prove to mama that you don`t care.”

 

“When did this conversation get turned around to me?” Duo asked sharply. “I sleep with men because I want to, not for any other reason, Zechs.” He pushed himself to his feet. “I think I'll go into town. Don't expect me home for dinner.”

 

“I never do,” Zechs pointed out wryly. “You're so unpredictable about where you're going to be that I stopped waiting for you at meals a long time ago.”

 

“Well, good.” Duo wasn't sure how, but all of a sudden he wasn't on solid ground anymore. “I like being unpredictable. See you around.”

 

“I'll be seeing you, Duo.”

 

*******

 

Quatre pulled his key out of his pocket with one hand and shifted the enormous paper bag of groceries with his other. He opened the door of his apartment and walked in with a feeling of relief, dumping the groceries on the counter in his kitchen. It had been a strain, shopping at the small open-air market nearby. He could have gone to the bigger grocery store, but it was on the other side of town - the market was closer. Unfortunately, many people that he knew rather well also shopped at the open-air market for the fresh produce. It had been hard, maintaining his mental shield around such a barrage of thoughts and feelings.

 

He looked around the apartment, and some of his tension eased as he once again remembered what it had been like when he'd first walked into the apartment as its owner. He could remember, could bring back inside him, the sheer joy of standing in that first empty room, of hugging himself as he stared out the window at the dour brick building next door.

 

He could remember the absolute bliss of being free.

 

The apartment was all his. Nothing here to remind him of the childhood in which he'd had so little happiness. It was his place, not a house that he used as refuge, like his uncle's home. This apartment wasn't flawlessly clean to the point of obsession like the mansion he'd once been forced to call home, and not everything matched perfectly like in his aunt's home. His apartment said “Quatre,” not “Annie” or “Uncle John and Aunt Iria,” and he intended to keep it that way.

 

Annie. His gaze darkened somewhat. He remembered the nosy questions some of his neighbors had asked. How's your family? What's your mother been up to - Annie was her name, wasn't it? Didn't she marry that millionaire, Thomas Maxwell?

 

Quatre's lip curled. Yes, his mother had married the millionaire, and the elderly man had died of a heart-attack only a year later, leaving Annie comfortably widowed and very wealthy. That had been twelve years ago; Quatre had been only seven years old. Soon after that, his mother had married her lover James, and had another series of children. As Quatre grew older, the abuse had lessened physically, but not emotionally, with James just as cruel in his own way as Annie. It was amazing how quickly his mother had gotten used to being the top of society, the perfect lady that donated to all those worthy causes and always lent a financial hand to those “less fortunate.” Of course, the financial “hands” his mother lent out were always repaid by those that had needed the help - with interest.

 

It sickened Quatre.

 

It was part of the reason why, at an angry sixteen, he had told his mother to go to hell and walked out of the mansion his mother had taken over. He spent a bitter six months on the streets before finally deciding to go to his Uncle John, his mother's brother. He was the manager of a bank and fairly well-off, and he and his wife had never managed to have any children, so they welcomed Quatre, and fought to keep him when his mother sent the childcare authorities after him. It had been a long and hurtful battle, but in the end Quatre had stayed with them until he graduated from high school. Once that had occurred, he'd made the decision to go back to Carine, back to the city he'd fled from.

 

I'll make her see that she can't push me around, that she can't keep me from going where I like. I am Quatre, and I am going to stay here.

 

He was working at a gaming store full time as an assistant manager while taking night courses at the local college in business and accounting. He liked working in the punk atmosphere, liked working with role-playing board games and manga and Japanese anime and online RPGs. He liked meeting all the people with so much creativity and enthusiasm mixed with a rebelliousness that she identified with. A rebelliousness against everything that said “normal.”

 

Fantasy games were so much easier than real life.

 

The doorbell of his apartment rang. He went to the door and peered through the small peekhole. It was his brother Duo. Just what he wanted - right when he was starting to feel relaxed, too.

 

He opened the door, and Duo just strolled in. “Afternoon. Got anything to drink?”

 

“I have some iced tea.”

 

“I meant something with a little more punch.”

 

“No, I'm sorry. I don't. I've only been here about a week. I'm not exactly set for company yet.”

 

“So I see.” Intrigued, Duo did a turn around the kitchen. “Was it always this color green?” The kitchen was a dark forest green that stood out vividly.

 

“No. Before I moved in, I painted the apartment. I didn't want to stare at whitewash.”

 

“A little less furnished than I expected,” Duo commented. “Even for you.”

 

“I'm not finished yet. And I don't need much.”

 

“That was always the difference, one of them anyway, between us. You didn't need much. I needed everything.”

 

“Did you ever get it?”

 

Duo smiled lazily. “Oh, I'm still collecting. How does it feel to be back?”

 

“I haven't been here long enough to know.”

 

Duo smirked. “You know enough to lock the door against nosy people like me. Too bad you let me in. Getting foolish, are you?”

 

“Depends on your point of view.” Quatre began to unpack groceries.

 

“You know...” Duo drawled. “I swear I heard from our aunt and uncle that you had a boyfriend at one point. Pretty serious, wasn`t it? Guess it didn't work out.”

 

An anger Quatre had locked deep within threatened to wake up. “No, it didn't work out. I take it your marriages - two of them, weren't there? - didn't work out either.”

 

Duo smiled again, and this time he meant it. He preferred an even match. “Grew into your teeth, I see.”

 

“I grew into them the night I walked out of that hell-hole you call home.” Quatre paused in his movements and braced his hands against the counter for a moment, looking down. “I don't want to take a bite out of you, Duo, and I'm not in the mood to play your word games. Honestly, I wish you would go away and give me some time. I'm not ready to see any of the family yet.”

 

“You saw Zechs, didn't you?” Duo's voice was razor sharp.

 

“Zechs is the exception. He's been the exception to everything, hasn't he?”

 

Duo's gaze softened just for an instant. “You're right, there.” He looked away. “All right. I'll see you when I see you, rebel.”

 

The old nickname his elder siblings had given Quatre made a wave of sadness rise in his throat. As Duo walked to the door, Quatre spoke. “Duo.”

 

Duo paused and looked back.

 

“I'll be seeing you soon.”