Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ My Shinigami, My Hamburger ❯ The Shinigami ( Chapter 2 )

Chapter 2

The Shinigami

Heero was met with the many faces of untellable surprise, horror, disbelief, and even a wide-eyed fascination of his teammates gazing down at him, and the unanimous gasp he expected. Their eyes instantly left his face in favor that of the rather diminutive deity that Heero claimed he had in tow, it's hand wrapped around his own. Behind them it was dark, and when the God of Death stepped into the starchy, fluorescent light, all the shadows seemed to curl and slink away with a life of their own, dissipating almost.

It left behind the warmly smiling young man that they saw now behind, who met each of their eyes fearlessly, with nothing but friendliness in his violet Grim Reaper eyes. He looked ageless, with youthful features and flawless smile, and it was mostly likely because he was. Despite the more than manifest presence that hung around him, he wasn't very physically imposing. He came only roughly to Heero's height and wore little more than the black silk robe slung around his waist. Like a human. And a very unnaturally pretty one.

He first appeared to only be a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed teenager with long unbound chestnut hair and unruly bangs around his cherub face, until the light struck the undeniable proof of his godliness. As the group of stunned men and women finally saw the midnight black wings arching from the base of each of shoulder blade, fear struck each of their hearts just as if he held a stained scythe above their throats, with all of Hell spewing up behind him.

Death black feathers slid across the cold floor, down past his ankles, and floated through the air as lightly as breath behind the Shinigami as he was pulled into the light, hand still vice-gripped as tightly as a frightened child's around Heero's. The friendliness momentarily dropped for a skittish look of a startled child in a room of strangers. You could see the fear lingering in his eyes as he passed over each one, all generally gaping in shock, and the hurt that built up with each successive horrified expression. He gripped the lifeline even tighter, until Heero was sure that dim, damp sensation was blood tricking down his palm.

Gabrielle promptly fainted and slumped to the floor.

And that's when the chaos began.

"What the fuck is that?!" someone, easily either male or female, shrieked. All Heero could see of the safehouse was a frantic scramble of clothes, colors and faces, all scampering away from the door. The limp Gabrielle was fetched up by Creed and promptly dragged away.

April instinctively clutched onto the nearest living thing, which was Thomas, and she staggered back with a very displeased expression marring her face, one that the Japanese man recognized as the intense fear of death natural to every human. The one that he'd felt when he first laid eyes on the Shinigami. She was the one shrieking, and when her footing was less than steady and her knees quaked out from beneath herself, she let out a terrified high-pitched yelp.

"Is this your idea of a sick joke, huh, Yuy? It's not funny!" Thomas snapped in anger, though it thinly veiled his undeniable fear. He quickly steadied the frantic girl and went with her as the cast shrunk away as far as possible. The girls even went so far as to cower on the bottom bunk, crawling back into the shadow as if it were a security blanket that could shield them from one of Hell's own. They shrieked in volleys, and even if it was for good reason, it still irritated his ears.

Heero tried to open his mouth and defend him and the innocent God of Death, but was stopped when the Shinigami quickly followed the step he took, cowering behind him like a toddler, and invoked another ripple of screams and yelps from the terrified group. It was insane, the Japanese man thought to himself. He sourly shut his lips and narrowed his eyes, feeling a pang of frustration building in the pit of his stomach. Yes, it was perfectly normal to fear the bringer of death appearing suddenly at your doorstep, but they were acting ridiculous. He'd overcome his fear the instant he'd seen the Shinigami cry, and surely he wasn't so dangerous-looking with his babyish-grins that men would flee screaming. It was getting a little ridiculous, and his temper was trying. Opening his mouth to snarl something ill tempered and incensed at them, a sudden sharp pain flamed through his hand. Quivering fingernails dug into flesh and vulnerable heat pressed against Heero's back, the Shinigami whimpering and sobbing as he innocently clung.

"Get that thing out of here, Yuy! You crazy bastard!"

"Don't touch it!"

Heero growled, clamping his fist tighter around the Shinigami's hand as warm liquid tears began to drip down his shirt. "He's not dangerous!" the Japanese boy snapped, his Prussian eyes flashing defensive white. "I think he's just a baby, and he doesn't want to hurt anyone! He wouldn't!"

"What the fuck?! Liar!" Antwain screamed as deathly fear squeezed his chest. That ignited a whole new round of shrieking that stung in Heero's ears.

"Leave us alone!" April sobbed. "I don't wanna die, so why don't you leave!"

"Go away!"

"Listen to me!" Heero snapped, as the plaintive cries of the Shinigami worsened and the burning frustration in his chest flared. "He's not going to hurt you. Now, stop it, you're scaring him!"

Across the terror-conflicted room, the horrified white-rimmed eyes stared at the diminutive Japanese man fearlessly entwining fingers with the black-winged Grim Reaper himself, and the horribly cross expression growing across his exotic features. And it stabbed fresh, bleeding fear through them. April, whom had tears streaking down her face, cutting the nervous sweat sheen, suddenly stifled a gasping sob and screeched out, "It's got him! It's got Heero! That devil, he's done something to him!"

"What the hell are you all talking about!" Heero screamed back to raise his voice over the deafening dim of Death-fearing noises of panic. His brow furrowed dangerously, darkening flaming eyes. "Can't you understand what I'm saying? He's not-"

Suddenly, the blood dripping from his hand ceased, and the hot, localized pain from the Shinigami's grip vanished. Heero flinched and nervously flickered his gaze over his shoulder where ungodly locks of glimmering chestnut were scattered, a warmth pressed miserably against him. Two inhuman violet eyes met his, lit brightly with fear. In an instant, renewed trails of hot tears arched down Heero's shoulder, burning like acid through the fabric of his shirt, and a choked wail burst from the Shinigami's lips.

Time froze as the black silk of the Shinigami's wings erupted into a torrent of black shadow that engulfed everything in its violent path. Chairs careened through the air, propelled by a lash of creeping darkness; it smothered the human screams of terror into a distant, horrible whisper beneath the lamination of shadow. Heero gasped and sensual warmth captured him by the waist, and drew him relentlessly into the shadows. There was one last little whine from the creature's throat, his face buried against his shoulder like a lost child. Along with the colors and faces of reality, Heero's senses began to fade into numbness. Darkness consumed them.

The next thing Heero knew was the hungering pressure of lips capturing his own and the warmth of arms wrapping possessively and urgently around his neck. Precise thighs curled around his own and smoothly knocked him off his knees and pinned him into a pool of what felt like silk and cashmere. Instant heat sparked in his veins, long, bewitching fingers clawing through his thick, disheveled dark hair, sweet-tasting lips ravishing his own. He first moaned, then half-yelped in surprised, muffled by face-to-face seduction. The candy lips simply smirked against his and resumed. Darkness still clutched him, robbing him of vision, but supplying him with a very forward, very male humanoid thing compelling itself to him. Cool, fluttering silk curiously teased his skin and brushed his nose almost playfully. Feathers…-the Shinigami!

Heero, blushing a furious red, snapped his eyes open. The illusion of black around him evaporated and sudden, abrupt white light seered his eyes. His icy fingers clamped onto the nearest solid warmth, the smooth shoulder of the god, and threw it away from him. The relentless Shinigami was ripped away with a gasp and those unearthly violet eyes glowered disappointedly at him, pouting swollen pink lips. The bare torso of the Shinigami pressed insistently upon his own, warm and intoxicating. The grim reaper's sleek dark robes seemingly flowed off like water off glass until they disappeared.

The fierce objections were swallowed by the playful lips of the Shinigami, silencing him with the divine taste of candy and cinnamon in his mouth. He created it especially for the human he had pinned down, the one who seemed picky and still twisted beneath him in distress, not arousal. Twice, he grabbed his shoulder and tried to shove him away, gasping as he pulled their mouths apart, but the Shinigami smiled, licked his lips, and overpowered him each time. Even though the pretty human had already shaken off his illusion, the Angel of Death still wanted to play. Licking his lips, he grinned down at the blue-eyed human. He clamped down each wrist and left a slow, agonizing trail of kisses down his exposed torso until his lips tasted the metal of his belt buckle. The Shinigami delighted in the way the human still tried to thrash beneath his ministrations and giggled, running his fingers over Heero's stomach.

Somehow, Heero couldn't scratch up even the semblance of a voice. It wasn't raspy or dry, it simply didn't seem to form words anymore. As if his vocal cords had numbed and been surgically removed. He could only moan in protest and amuse the deity even more.

The Shinigami smiled seductively and began to paw at the leather belt strung through Heero's jeans, intent on more. Instinctively, the Japanese man squirmed, and he received only a tighter, almost bone-crushing grip on his arm, which seemed to numb his other arm and left the deity's arm free to philander as it would. Heero closed his eyes in defeat, wondering how the hell he'd gotten to this situation in the first place, but there was only a gaping void in his memory from the time in the safehouse to the present. He waited for the metallic snap of his belt buckle unhitching, but it didn't come.

The Shinigami frowned massively. All the seduction melted out of his ungodly violet eyes and confused frustration smoldered darkly in its place. For a few seconds, the deity straddled Heero, simply staring down at his belt with a glowering tone. With his long silk hair spilling over his shoulder and black wings tucked unhappily against his back, the Shinigami clawed at the belt buckle. He tugged at the sides, rattled it impatiently back and forth, even tried gnawing at the leather belt.

Heero stopped thrashing and looked up wordlessly as the cheap belt he'd purchased upon arriving in America for five dollars continued to completely baffle the Angel of Death.

Finally, the beautiful deity's frown soured and he growled lowly. He raised his fist and pounded it once in frustration on the belt, and, unfortunately, on Heero's groin, too.

Stars. Tiny glowing flecks. Lots of little stars spun in the edges of Heero's vision and he was vaguely aware of expelling all the air from his lungs and dimly thinking that gods should really know their own strengths. The sensation was the same as if an aluminum bat had mis-swung and completely missed the baseball, falling on him instead. Instantly, his vision went black and the warmth spread across him lifted anxiously. In that tentative articulation, he faintly heard the apologetic tone of "Sorry! Sorry!" on loop as if it were the only thing he knew how to speak with the occasional, "Daijoubu ka?" in between. A warm hand touched his cheek, stroking the hair from his face, and Heero grunted and pushed it away.

"Stop it!" the Japanese man rasped shakily, realizing his voice had returned. "And get the hell off me!"

Very quickly, the Shinigami scampered away and dejectedly crouched a few feet, his fiercely concerned and apologetic eyes glued to Heero's face. Proverbial tail tucked between his legs. The gleaming forerunners of tears began to form in his eyes, witnessing the human groan and double up tiredly. Eventually, the Shinigami crept silently up to the human, sitting in the red wheelbarrow in which he'd created the illusion of a silk and cashmere bed. The broad wings of black silk folded humbly against his back, sliding across the dusty cement floor, and his eyes gleamed dimly in the early morning sunlight. Cautiously, he tucked a tress of hair behind his ear and reached out for Heero's head, which currently was pressed against his knees. For a moment, he was allowed to stroke the human's disheveled caramel and brown hair. Then Heero tensed up and yelled, "Don't touch me!" sending the deity scampering back again.

The Shinigami keened out a pathetic whimper as he scrambled back. His wings flapped once in nervousness and struck a garden hoe and shovel propped against the wooden walls, knocking them over and frightening him even more. Like a sparrow thrashing against the bars of a birdcage, the deity screeched in fear as the gardening tools clattered loudly to the cement and his wings instinctively thrust open in order to defend himself, knocking more down.

Finally, his back struck the wall with considerable force and his wings knocked everything in the cramped seven-foot width between walls. The force rattled up through the wooden wall and a faint metallic clash sounded above his head, instants before an empty paint can crash-landed on the naked deity's head. The Shinigami yelped and clawed helplessly at the metal can. Eventually, he adapted to it and realized to curl his fingers around the edges, popping the rim off his forehead and tossing it to the floor.

Heero sat up gingerly, and his face twisted as he realized that he was sitting in a rusting wheelbarrow with a pile of rather scratchy hay beneath him. He was in a storage shed at the moment, without even a inkling of how in hell he'd gotten there. Speaking of Hell, he focused on the Shinigami again, who ashamedly looked at him, his black robes spilled out over his lap and kneading between his fingers. Like a child, his eyes were filling quickly with tears and he bit his lip as Heero stared at him.

"What are you anyway?" the Japanese man asked.

The Shinigami's eyes froze in fright. The same startled look bore upon a jittery, guilt-ridden student who finds his teacher's ruler crashing down on his desk in accusation.

"Tell me the truth. What the hell are you?" There was a trace of growl in his throat of pure defense and the creeping fingers of fear that waited around his heart. Heero was growing anxious and skeptical of his former convictions that "the Shinigami" was somehow just a prank or something stupid like that, played on him for the sake of drama. But his cynicism was paling quickly. Bright, inhumanly colored eyes finally met his, filled nervously with innocence. Pale pink lips twitched anxiously for words and could discover none, and after unsuccessfully trying to speak, the Shinigami closed his mouth and stared apologetically.

"No, don't just stare at me like that," Heero growled, half-snappishly. A seed of fear was growing in his chest and sprouting quickly and he iced over before it could take root. "Stop that and just tell me what the fuck you are! Stop playing around, get out of that ridiculous, and tell me what the hell you want with me, because I know you're not any Angel of Death. You can't fool me with something so-"

His secretly terrified tirade was interrupted by a loud, choked sob. Heero stopped, realizing that the Shinigami had disappeared before his eyes and left an ethereal haze drifting close to the floor.

In confusion, he shifted his head around. Distrusting his eyes, a grimace crossed his eyes, tinged with a bitter relief that wasn't too strange upon his normally cold expressions. He assumed that he'd frightened off the weak Shinigami and leaned forward to pull himself from his ridiculous seat in the wheelbarrow. That relief should have instantly swept through him, as he prepared to find the nearest airport and return to his apartment, leaving all this strange happening behind him, but a fist landed on his head at that moment.

"You fuck up. What the hell did you do now?" A level female voice growled at him.

Heero turned, and faced the image of a woman frowning at him. The thing was that she was draped in holy white clothes, glowing white robes, and-this day kept getting better and better-white wings. Her piercing aqua-blue eyes seemingly gnashed their teeth at him through the long tresses of blonde hair and dramatic red eyeshadow.

"You're in such trouble, little boy. I'm talking fire and brimstone, here, Heero Yuy."