Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Opposing Realities ❯ Wounded ( Chapter 5 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: KentraShinataku02 
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Angst | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 08.12.2003 | Pages: 1 | Words: 2.0K | Visits: 277 | Status: Completed
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Angst | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 08.12.2003 | Pages: 1 | Words: 2.0K | Visits: 277 | Status: Completed
Title: Opposing Realities
Author: Kentra Shinataku
Anime: Gundam Wing
Pairings: 2+5 (2x5?), 1x3
Category: Angst, Romance, AU
Rating: R
Spoilers: None
Archive: <http://www.deathandpassion.cjb.net.> If you want, ask and ye
shall receive.
Warnings: AU, angst, violence, abuse, possible NCS, death, language,
some OOC, some OC's, POV switching (Duo and Fei marked with a +D and
a +W), prostitution, drug and alcohol use
Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing, but I do however, own the
original characters used in this fic. I created them and have used
them for various crusades in my mind and even some in their own
stories.
Feedback: Positive and Negative are both appreciated dearly.
**********
Opposing Realities: Part Five
+D
I can only hope it was Jul who screamed as we bolt to the back door. If it is, he'll be my savior; his damn leader's questions were getting far too personal. My mind is so preoccupied that by time we actually reach the door, Chang throwing it open in front of me, I'm not prepared for the scene that awaits me. I'm so horrified and disgusted by what lies before me that I almost turn my head away, pretend I didn't see. But how could I forget the picture of Trowa leaning against a brick wall, clutching his side with a blood soaked hand? Somehow, I manage to notice that Jul is holding a sharpened screwdriver, looking dazed and sick. I don't have time to think about what an amateur kid he is. My knife sings from it's harness immediately, and faster than he could dodge, I have Jul against the wall, my blade to his throat. I'm sure that I look panic stricken, but his expression must be even more terrified than mine as I begin to sink the blade into his flesh.
Suddenly, two hands grip me by the shoulders and send me flying back. I definitely miscalculated Chang's strength.
"Take him and go!" he yells, nodding towards Trowa, who is now on his knees, bleeding heavy bouts of thick crimson.
"What?!" I shout back in shock. He has us so vulnerable, he could off Trowa and start on me so easily. We're way outnumbered, he has his whole gang just inside that door.
"Just go!" he repeats, restraining Jul, who, getting over his shock, seems to be thinking along the same lines as me. Vulnerability. I'm not going to second guess Chang, though. If he wants to let fresh meat walk away free, avoiding the street power it would gain him, then I'm all for it. Let him be a fool, I'm getting Tro the hell out of here.
I heft Trowa into my arms, cradling him, and stumble a bit, off-balance, and make as fast as I can from the alley. I can feel Chang's eyes on my back until I turn the corner, and I can't help feeling that something else needs to be said.
I can't move with my natural grace while carrying Trowa, making the journey far slower than I'd like. I'm trying to hold pressure on the stab wound, which must be deep because the bleeding hasn't slowed. I have got to keep Trowa alive.
I wish there was some way to walk abroad, but it's too dangerous, there are too many risks involved. Though, it would be quicker than dodging through he darkness of the alleys, no matter how well I know them. I have to wonder which is a bigger risk, being caught and taken into foster care or worse, or risking Trowa's life. If I traveled the main streets, we would risk being seen by anybody, we could be followed back by some other gang seeing one of us weak. I also don't think it's a great idea to leave a trail of blood along a mainstream sidewalk. No, we better stay in the shadows, the darkness where it's safe for us filthy street brats to exist.
But it's so slow, bleeding through the darkness, he seems to die a little more around every turn, through every minute. I hope I'm overreacting. I don't remember being this afraid since the fire at the orphanage.
We finally reach the house and I stop in the doorway after throwing it open, breathless and relieved we even made it this far. Everybody looks up from what they're doing, staring at the form I'm carrying in my arms.
"Is he…?" Davi whimpers. I merely shake my head, feeling Trowa's life pulse against me. He stirs, as if to prove it. Stepping inside, away from the prying eyes of night, I hear a muffled thud from the second story, and Heero jumps over the banister, landing in a crouched, catlike position on the rickety wooden floor. I'm surprised none of the boards broke. He stands and inches toward me, one of those moments when time seems to slow down, and he takes his lover from my arms. I nod towards the stairs, anxious to escape the eyes pawing the blood covering my clothing. Funny to think that these are the people I would trust with my life, but I'm ashamed for them to see me this way. I hear a stifled sob and look to see Dara and Dacia clinging to each other, Dara crying into her new friend's shoulder. She shouldn't have to see this. None of them should.
Heero follows my silent command and carries Trowa to the second floor, lying him on a shitty, breaking wood bench. I want to say it won't hold him long, I want to say we're going to save him. There are so many things I _want_ to say that I just can't say anything, my tongue seems to have dried, lying thick in my mouth.
Instead of talking, I slip off my already bloodstained muscle shirt and work up the cloth covering his torso to reveal his wound. I'm surprised he's alive. Jul stuck the screwdriver into Trowa's lower right side, and from looking at it, there's no way I can tell how deep the metal got through. I look at Tro's face, which is mangled in pain, then to his hand, tightly intertwined with Heero's.
"Tro, this is gonna hurt…"
He nods, closing his eyes and grasping his lover's hand tighter. My smallest finger enters his wound, but I withdraw it as quickly as I plunged in. Surprisingly, it's not so deep. Trowa must have done a good job of dodging it. If it wasn't for his damn drugs, I bet he could have avoided it, no problem.
Without anymore delay, I press my shirt against his pierced side, holding the material firm against his skin. I should have done this sooner, I'm terrified that he's going to bleed to death.
"Solo!" I call in what has to be a horribly shaky voice. The little redhead scrambles up the steps in a flash, and something tells me that everybody is crowded around the foot of the stairs. "Solo, gather up spare clothes that we don't need right now, fish out the masking tape in the kitchen drawer and bring 'em up _now_," I instruct hastily. He nods, having a hard time tearing his eyes from Trowa. With a start, he tears down the staircase, and for a moment, I'm afraid he's either going to fall or imitate Heero's earlier stunt.
I turn back to where my attention needs to be, and shift my shirt so that it can soak up more of the red shit I don't want to believe is blood.
"Cigarettes," Trowa mumbles, catching my eye. Just what he _would_ think of at a time like this, but who am I to deny him something right now? Heero looks at me expectantly, and I release one hand from my grip on Trowa's side to fish a carton and lighter from my back pocket. Icy fingers latch around the wrist that was still holding pressure on his wound.
"No.. no, mine. Left pocket," Trowa gasps. I allow Heero the honor of digging in his lover's pocket, as I don't want to fuck up their love life anymore than I already have, and he retracts a plastic bag with some rather suspicious looking smokes. I'm not going to ask, though. He's going to get whatever he wants right now, so I light one with my free hand and Heero slides it between his lover's lips. I'm feeling the urge to comment that if it wasn't for his drugs, he might not be in this position. Luckily, Solo chooses this moment to dash up the steps, his arms stuffed with ragged clothing, and a tape roll looped around his finger. I know these clothes come from his bedding. I'm sorry, Solo, but Trowa's life is more important right now.
"Thanks, kid." I give his hair an affectionate ruffle as he drops the pile on the floor next to me. A nod of my head sends him scooting back down the stairs, where I don't doubt he'll be sitting, eagerly listening for any positive word. Or negative word.
We've never lost anyone before, we've never had anybody stabbed before. None of us have ever lost a fight, we always come out on top. I am so afraid.
With time, difficulty, and a lot of teamwork, Heero and I manage to get a few layers of cloth taped taut over his skin as a homemade bandage to pad the wound. The bleeding has already slowed quite a bit, and since the wound isn't very deep, I'm starting to have more confidence in Trowa's survival. As long as he can make it through tonight, I'm sure that with time, he'll be alright. Though, do I look like a fucking doctor? How do I know what's going to happen? Things like this make me realize that no matter how much responsibility I take, no matter how I try to help, no matter what I may do to make me seem older, I'm still just a kid. A kid trying to be a father to nine other kids. I can only hope with everything I have that Trowa is going to recover. Still, if he does, (and no, I'm not so optimistic that I'll say 'when' instead of 'if') this puts him out of commission and makes any of our traveling vulnerable. I hope the demolition of our house keeps getting delayed, because Trowa's not going to be able to be on the run anytime soon. Even if I can get him in traveling condition, what if we're attacked? What if Jul wants more, now that he's felt power? How could Trowa fight, or even protect himself? His pride will make him take a challenge on his own, without help, even in his current state.
I reach for Heero's hand and place it on Trowa's side, pressing down over top of it. It's time these two get some privacy, If Tro… if he dies tonight, I'd have to face not only the grief of one of my best friends dying, but the guilt of allowing this to happen. I won't be responsible for keeping these two lovebirds apart, too. If only I hadn't let Trowa fight… this is completely my fault. I realize now how many 'if only's' and 'maybe's' there really are. At least Chang was, for some reason, compassionate enough to let us go easily. I don't think I'd have done the same. As a matter of fact, I know I wouldn't.
I give Heero a reassuring glance, then squeeze the hand of a pain-dazed Trowa, who attempts to give me a weak smile before I descend the staircase, trying not to creak on the aged wood, towards the expectant, ever-starved faces waiting at the bottom.
**********
Author: Kentra Shinataku
Anime: Gundam Wing
Pairings: 2+5 (2x5?), 1x3
Category: Angst, Romance, AU
Rating: R
Spoilers: None
Archive: <http://www.deathandpassion.cjb.net.> If you want, ask and ye
shall receive.
Warnings: AU, angst, violence, abuse, possible NCS, death, language,
some OOC, some OC's, POV switching (Duo and Fei marked with a +D and
a +W), prostitution, drug and alcohol use
Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing, but I do however, own the
original characters used in this fic. I created them and have used
them for various crusades in my mind and even some in their own
stories.
Feedback: Positive and Negative are both appreciated dearly.
**********
Opposing Realities: Part Five
+D
I can only hope it was Jul who screamed as we bolt to the back door. If it is, he'll be my savior; his damn leader's questions were getting far too personal. My mind is so preoccupied that by time we actually reach the door, Chang throwing it open in front of me, I'm not prepared for the scene that awaits me. I'm so horrified and disgusted by what lies before me that I almost turn my head away, pretend I didn't see. But how could I forget the picture of Trowa leaning against a brick wall, clutching his side with a blood soaked hand? Somehow, I manage to notice that Jul is holding a sharpened screwdriver, looking dazed and sick. I don't have time to think about what an amateur kid he is. My knife sings from it's harness immediately, and faster than he could dodge, I have Jul against the wall, my blade to his throat. I'm sure that I look panic stricken, but his expression must be even more terrified than mine as I begin to sink the blade into his flesh.
Suddenly, two hands grip me by the shoulders and send me flying back. I definitely miscalculated Chang's strength.
"Take him and go!" he yells, nodding towards Trowa, who is now on his knees, bleeding heavy bouts of thick crimson.
"What?!" I shout back in shock. He has us so vulnerable, he could off Trowa and start on me so easily. We're way outnumbered, he has his whole gang just inside that door.
"Just go!" he repeats, restraining Jul, who, getting over his shock, seems to be thinking along the same lines as me. Vulnerability. I'm not going to second guess Chang, though. If he wants to let fresh meat walk away free, avoiding the street power it would gain him, then I'm all for it. Let him be a fool, I'm getting Tro the hell out of here.
I heft Trowa into my arms, cradling him, and stumble a bit, off-balance, and make as fast as I can from the alley. I can feel Chang's eyes on my back until I turn the corner, and I can't help feeling that something else needs to be said.
I can't move with my natural grace while carrying Trowa, making the journey far slower than I'd like. I'm trying to hold pressure on the stab wound, which must be deep because the bleeding hasn't slowed. I have got to keep Trowa alive.
I wish there was some way to walk abroad, but it's too dangerous, there are too many risks involved. Though, it would be quicker than dodging through he darkness of the alleys, no matter how well I know them. I have to wonder which is a bigger risk, being caught and taken into foster care or worse, or risking Trowa's life. If I traveled the main streets, we would risk being seen by anybody, we could be followed back by some other gang seeing one of us weak. I also don't think it's a great idea to leave a trail of blood along a mainstream sidewalk. No, we better stay in the shadows, the darkness where it's safe for us filthy street brats to exist.
But it's so slow, bleeding through the darkness, he seems to die a little more around every turn, through every minute. I hope I'm overreacting. I don't remember being this afraid since the fire at the orphanage.
We finally reach the house and I stop in the doorway after throwing it open, breathless and relieved we even made it this far. Everybody looks up from what they're doing, staring at the form I'm carrying in my arms.
"Is he…?" Davi whimpers. I merely shake my head, feeling Trowa's life pulse against me. He stirs, as if to prove it. Stepping inside, away from the prying eyes of night, I hear a muffled thud from the second story, and Heero jumps over the banister, landing in a crouched, catlike position on the rickety wooden floor. I'm surprised none of the boards broke. He stands and inches toward me, one of those moments when time seems to slow down, and he takes his lover from my arms. I nod towards the stairs, anxious to escape the eyes pawing the blood covering my clothing. Funny to think that these are the people I would trust with my life, but I'm ashamed for them to see me this way. I hear a stifled sob and look to see Dara and Dacia clinging to each other, Dara crying into her new friend's shoulder. She shouldn't have to see this. None of them should.
Heero follows my silent command and carries Trowa to the second floor, lying him on a shitty, breaking wood bench. I want to say it won't hold him long, I want to say we're going to save him. There are so many things I _want_ to say that I just can't say anything, my tongue seems to have dried, lying thick in my mouth.
Instead of talking, I slip off my already bloodstained muscle shirt and work up the cloth covering his torso to reveal his wound. I'm surprised he's alive. Jul stuck the screwdriver into Trowa's lower right side, and from looking at it, there's no way I can tell how deep the metal got through. I look at Tro's face, which is mangled in pain, then to his hand, tightly intertwined with Heero's.
"Tro, this is gonna hurt…"
He nods, closing his eyes and grasping his lover's hand tighter. My smallest finger enters his wound, but I withdraw it as quickly as I plunged in. Surprisingly, it's not so deep. Trowa must have done a good job of dodging it. If it wasn't for his damn drugs, I bet he could have avoided it, no problem.
Without anymore delay, I press my shirt against his pierced side, holding the material firm against his skin. I should have done this sooner, I'm terrified that he's going to bleed to death.
"Solo!" I call in what has to be a horribly shaky voice. The little redhead scrambles up the steps in a flash, and something tells me that everybody is crowded around the foot of the stairs. "Solo, gather up spare clothes that we don't need right now, fish out the masking tape in the kitchen drawer and bring 'em up _now_," I instruct hastily. He nods, having a hard time tearing his eyes from Trowa. With a start, he tears down the staircase, and for a moment, I'm afraid he's either going to fall or imitate Heero's earlier stunt.
I turn back to where my attention needs to be, and shift my shirt so that it can soak up more of the red shit I don't want to believe is blood.
"Cigarettes," Trowa mumbles, catching my eye. Just what he _would_ think of at a time like this, but who am I to deny him something right now? Heero looks at me expectantly, and I release one hand from my grip on Trowa's side to fish a carton and lighter from my back pocket. Icy fingers latch around the wrist that was still holding pressure on his wound.
"No.. no, mine. Left pocket," Trowa gasps. I allow Heero the honor of digging in his lover's pocket, as I don't want to fuck up their love life anymore than I already have, and he retracts a plastic bag with some rather suspicious looking smokes. I'm not going to ask, though. He's going to get whatever he wants right now, so I light one with my free hand and Heero slides it between his lover's lips. I'm feeling the urge to comment that if it wasn't for his drugs, he might not be in this position. Luckily, Solo chooses this moment to dash up the steps, his arms stuffed with ragged clothing, and a tape roll looped around his finger. I know these clothes come from his bedding. I'm sorry, Solo, but Trowa's life is more important right now.
"Thanks, kid." I give his hair an affectionate ruffle as he drops the pile on the floor next to me. A nod of my head sends him scooting back down the stairs, where I don't doubt he'll be sitting, eagerly listening for any positive word. Or negative word.
We've never lost anyone before, we've never had anybody stabbed before. None of us have ever lost a fight, we always come out on top. I am so afraid.
With time, difficulty, and a lot of teamwork, Heero and I manage to get a few layers of cloth taped taut over his skin as a homemade bandage to pad the wound. The bleeding has already slowed quite a bit, and since the wound isn't very deep, I'm starting to have more confidence in Trowa's survival. As long as he can make it through tonight, I'm sure that with time, he'll be alright. Though, do I look like a fucking doctor? How do I know what's going to happen? Things like this make me realize that no matter how much responsibility I take, no matter how I try to help, no matter what I may do to make me seem older, I'm still just a kid. A kid trying to be a father to nine other kids. I can only hope with everything I have that Trowa is going to recover. Still, if he does, (and no, I'm not so optimistic that I'll say 'when' instead of 'if') this puts him out of commission and makes any of our traveling vulnerable. I hope the demolition of our house keeps getting delayed, because Trowa's not going to be able to be on the run anytime soon. Even if I can get him in traveling condition, what if we're attacked? What if Jul wants more, now that he's felt power? How could Trowa fight, or even protect himself? His pride will make him take a challenge on his own, without help, even in his current state.
I reach for Heero's hand and place it on Trowa's side, pressing down over top of it. It's time these two get some privacy, If Tro… if he dies tonight, I'd have to face not only the grief of one of my best friends dying, but the guilt of allowing this to happen. I won't be responsible for keeping these two lovebirds apart, too. If only I hadn't let Trowa fight… this is completely my fault. I realize now how many 'if only's' and 'maybe's' there really are. At least Chang was, for some reason, compassionate enough to let us go easily. I don't think I'd have done the same. As a matter of fact, I know I wouldn't.
I give Heero a reassuring glance, then squeeze the hand of a pain-dazed Trowa, who attempts to give me a weak smile before I descend the staircase, trying not to creak on the aged wood, towards the expectant, ever-starved faces waiting at the bottom.
**********