Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Psychotic America ❯ Flew Too High And Broke The Wing ( Chapter 15 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
Trowa's background---unexpected visitors come to annoy
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Hentai / Action | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.20.2005 | Pages: 3 | Words: 8.5K | Visits: 345 | Status: Completed
Trowa's background---unexpected visitors come to annoy
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Hentai / Action | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.20.2005 | Pages: 3 | Words: 8.5K | Visits: 345 | Status: Completed
Alternate Universe, fusion, out of character charas, very disturbing information and scenes and Pairings: 1x4, 2x5 3(?)
Standard Disclaimers Apply: Don’t own Gundam Wing nor X-Men
Notes: Some stuff was changed around, here. I deleted some stuff, added some stuff, so it’s still the long winded, pompous bag that ya’ll are familiar with–just with some differences.
O0o0o0o0o0oO means scene change
Chapter Fifteen:
Flew Too High and Broke The Wing
The bread aisle was filled with many brands and versions of bread, and Quatre stood in one place...a little lost. The various colors and packages confused him, and while he knew what brand he was looking for, he just couldn’t seem to focus, today. He glanced at the shopping cart that was half filled with their supplies, and numbly looked down at the list he held in one hand. It was confusing for him–while he had a hold of English, he wasn’t very good at reading it, or distinguishing things. He’d helped Catherine and the others do shopping–he just hadn’t done it on his own, before. He looked back up at the aisle, swallowing hard as he tried to find the brand that worked for the others.
The grocery store wasn’t very crowded–so it wasn’t as if he were being distracted. Truth be told, he knew it just wasn’t the language that stumped him. He’d noticed that he had a lot of trouble with things that didn’t pertain to survival. He’d lived most of his life trying to survive–eat, shelter, defend, disassociate– but he hadn’t a chance in normality...while his brain was more focused on surviving, it wasn’t able to focus on the more normal things in life. Which was why he was having trouble doing the majority of the grocery shopping. He wasn’t sure what a ‘pound’ was, or what the difference was between eggs or even meat. He based his shopping on eyesight–on what he remembered the others getting when he helped.
Nervously, not wanting to chose the wrong thing, he stared up at the choices before him, and chewed at his lower lip.
The road to town had been a ten-mile hike–he and Heero had hitched a ride here once reaching one of the main roads, and the latter had taken off without a word to him. The mutant had gone out of his way to ignore him since that night, and while Quatre felt torn by his rejection, merely operated based on remembrance. He didn’t go out of his way to regain Heero’s attention–he made himself as small as possible to keep out of the mutant’s way.
So, Quatre was stuck with the shopping, and he was having a hard time with it. The more time passed, the more his nervousness and anxiousness grew, certain he was going to punished for not being more time efficient or capable of performing this duty. He pulled the shopping cart close to him as someone made their way down the aisle, and returned to stare at the options available. He finally just grabbed a couple of loafs and carefully set them within the child’s seat, moving on down the aisle. He had trouble reading the list, so he paused to try and quietly sound out the word that was written neatly on the piece of paper.
“Hey, c’mon! Get out of the way!” a woman complained behind him, and he quickly moved the cart, allowing her to pass. She eyed him with contempt, then pushed her cart with irritation away from him. Looking away from her, Quatre returned his attention to the paper, and finally realized that Wufei was asking for mayonnaise. Remembering what that was, he resumed pushing on the cart and found the options of mayo just down the aisle. As he then found himself scanning over the brands, with as much anxiety as he had with the bread, his cart was forcefully yanked away.
He looked up quickly to see that Heero was giving him an annoyed scowl, irritated that he was taking so long. Quatre quickly picked up a random jar of mayo, and hurried after him. His actions were timid and more than quick as he tossed the jar into the car, trailing after the other mutant. Heero didn’t bother with the list–he went down every aisle and threw in what he wanted without any question. The cart was overfilled by the time they made their way to the check-out line, and Quatre judged Heero’s forceful pushing of the cart as irritation with the world in general. Quietly, he tucked the list into his jacket pocket and stared at the floor in silence, trying to appear as inconspicious as possible, as to not draw the mutant’s ire in his direction. This was what he was best at.
The others waiting in line were looking annoyed that there was only one checkout line working, more than one of them were muttering and perusing the magazine racks for something to pass the time. Heero shifted in his jacket, scowling fiercely at the single cashier, then looked at his cart. The credit card he was to use for the purchases was in Quatre’s possession, so he turned and demanded the card.
He made a double take on the mutant as he handed over the card–he recognized the posture the blond had as someone trying to avoid confrontation and possible violence. He looked away, and focused on the line that was slowly moving ahead. This trip had proved more than irritating–their supplies had run out, and through a best three out of five session of Rock, Paper, Scissors, he and Quatre had been chosen to venture out and get more.
While Quatre was supposed to do the shopping, he had located a payphone, and tried to get a hold of the women, or even Dr J and the others. He’d gotten more than one answering machine, though, and was irritated at this. The communicator that Dr J had given him didn’t even work–it was a dead piece of electronics, and Heero had been puzzled as to why. Since their supplies would be more than the pair could carry as they walked home, he’d also worked on securing a ride–at least to the road that led to their cabin. He was counting on Quatre to somehow notify Duo of their arrival, so that the boy’s gift of teleportation could help out with the carrying of the supplies.
The line inched closer again, and Heero sighed uneasily as he leaned against the cart. He hadn’t wanted to come to town with Quatre–being around the boy made him uncomfortable. He thought about what happened between himself and Quatre. He was still pretty disgusted at being called ‘daddy’. That Quatre thought of his father as he worked himself against Heero. It made his skin tingle with repugnance. It made bile clog his throat. He didn’t know what to think–only that it was entirely revolting. But it sure explained a lot of things. When Wufei had told him his past, Heero had been revolted as well. But Wufei had a way of handling his past that made him strong, overcoming that obstacle as if it were a stepping stone. He didn’t shy away from men, nor did he encourage their attention. It was over and done with–Quatre harbored his secret and forced it out in ways that destroyed himself.
Heero had to admit, though, that he didn’t know the entire story. But he was just revolted from the entire incident. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the blond anymore, knowing what rested in that head. He couldn’t bring himself to touch him–not in the way that he had before. He couldn’t see the blond as sexually appetizing anymore. He was just a very fucked up individual with neat powers.
Quatre hadn’t pestered him about it, through. He avoided him as well. Which made it easier for Heero to deal with. He didn’t know what he would do if Quatre approached him about it. Needing to ‘talk’. What could Heero say to make it all better? What words of wisdom could he provide that would give Quatre the satisfaction of appeasement in his actions?
Nothing.
Heero wasn’t a head doctor–nor was he even interested in unraveling the knots in the blond’s head. He wanted nothing to do with it. It was far too complicated for him. Touching that subject was like touching live wires–one could be electrocuted. The results, while painful and varying, would end up the same–a person could get hurt. Heero wasn’t the type to deal with deep emotions and secrets the way someone like Wufei or Sally could. He was the type to deal with surface issues.
Quatre’s were far too deep for him to mess with.
And his actions were human–anyone encountering that sort of problem would shy away. It looked as if Quatre were used to it, though. He didn’t bother Heero about explaining his actions or reasons. But it did look as if it were affecting him.
Heero had to ignore the shame that burned through him at that thought. During their first training session, revealing all that he had with words describing scenarios he’d merely made up based on common-case behavior problems, he’d felt the need to help and protect the blond. Quatre just made a person feel that way about him. But to be called “daddy” while in the throes of sex, and realizing that this boy–kid–young man had more problems than Heero could want to know, threw up his barriers.
He didn’t want to touch it.
If he tried, he’d only wind up even more revolted, or perhaps hurting the situation even more.
Once they reached home, he would ask Sally for treatment and places the blond could go for psychiatric help. Only professionals could handle this situation. Heero was not a professional.
He sighed with annoyance, pushing the cart forward. He glanced at his companion to see if he noticed that they’d moved, and found himself lingering on the almost dead orbs that stared sightlessly at the floor. Duo once remarked on this sightless stare as something belonging to someone that had no more “motivation” for life. It was appropriate. There didn’t seem to be an inkling of life within that blue/green stare, as if there was no one in there. It was disturbing to see.
They inched forward once more, and Quatre followed, almost mechanically, without looking up or shifting expression. Heero looked away to pick at his cuticles, observing the other patrons of the grocery store as the slow moving line inched closer to the register. He was annoyed in that he didn’t know what was going on at home–surely, there was some word in what was going on...the attack on their house was something caused by an unknown motivation. He looked back at the mutant that was Quatre, and wondered–‘Why him’?
Was there something they didn’t know about this creature that others found useful? Was there something more about him that they didn’t know?
Heero doubted that there was anything useful of him...Quatre just didn’t show any motivation for things. How could he be useful?
He crinkled his forehead with thought, and the cart inched closer to the register. He heard homophobic mutters from a couple of teenagers that walked by, both of them glaring at the blond. He noticed that Quatre didn’t make any show of hearing these things, but, if possible, those eyes of his grew even distant. He looked back over at the teens that disappeared into an aisle, and frowned.
When it came to their turn to unload the cart, he did so quickly and efficiently; tossing random things onto the conveyor belt and grunting in acknowledgment to the cashier’s tired greeting. He looked back at Quatre, who moved out of everyone’s way to quietly pack their supplies after the cashier rung them up. After everything was packed, Heero realized that one bag wasn’t enough–they had to be double-bagged. With more irritation at the world in general, he double-bagged everything, and finally led the way out of the store.
It was snowing once more, and Heero grumbled about this as they made their way down the sidewalk. But he was distracted by the sight of a local restaurant nearby, something that sent delicious smells his way and made his stomach gurgle in need. With a grunt, he began walking in that direction, hearing Quatre follow after him without any word.
Once inside, and ignoring the curious looks from the waitress, Heero made himself comfortable in the booth and demanded a cup of milk, coffee, and a chicken noodle soup to start. Sensing a diner with a big appetite, the waitress hurried off.
It was awkward sitting in a booth, across from someone that made him uncomfortable, but Heero passed the time by picking at his nails. By the time he was finished with his milk and a gigantic bowl of soup, the silence was killing him. He was used to silences before, but this was intense. He lifted his eyes to stare at the blond across from him, noting the unchanged expression. The waitress came by to take his bowl, and he gave his order. When she asked for Quatre’s, he ordered for him, the woman looking at him questionably, but doing as he said.
When she walked away, Heero eyed the silent blond once more, picking at a hangnail. Suddenly, words began bubbling up, and his thoughts were jumbled. He realized he had things to say...but didn’t know where to start. He cleared his throat uncomfortably.
“My mother used to beat me,” he said gruffly, keeping his eyes on his nails. “All the time. She was drunk most of the time. I tried hard to please her–but she wouldn’t accept me, nor accept what I tried to give. She married a man here in America–he started beating on me, too. I learned to dislike people, and to not give my trust in those closest to me. I’m not perfect.”
The silence between them was suddenly thick and incredibly heavy. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from his nails as he peeled off his hangnail, but he found himself glancing up at the other sitting across from him. Quatre was finally focused on him, his eyes reflecting his confusion and ...hope?
“But...being with these guys...even Trowa...helped me...calm my more violent tendencies. I used to hate everyone–women, especially. I used to pick on anybody that tried to help me, or detain me. I hated women so much that I would attack them if they even gave me but a single glance...But those two women, Sally and Catherine...they earned my trust. And I learned that not everyone is...like they were. It just...took awhile for me to realize that.”
He abandoned his nail, and shrugged as he leaned back in his seat, glancing at the blond again. Quatre was staring at the table, but not with that faraway look, anymore. It looked as if he were processing and thinking about things...
“Not everyone is...is like your father, Quatre,” Heero then said quietly, uncomfortably as he avoided that azure gaze. “What about your mother?”
Quatre was silent for a few moments, his sight dropping to the table. Heero found his courage to stare at him, feeling more than uncomfortable doing so.
“She...was scared of him,” Quatre finally said, quietly.
“...So you have a problem with women, too?”
Quatre eyes settled on everything, one at a time, until they found Heero’s for a brief instant. “...Yes. With... with everyone.”
“Why did you come to America, anyway?” Heero asked, curiosity getting the better of his self-consciousness and uncomfortable feeling.
Quatre stared at the table for a few moments, then shrugged. “I wanted to get as far away from him as possible. But...I realize that...no matter how far I run...he’s always there behind me. I cannot get rid of him.”
“What were you going to do here?”
“...It is...the Land of Opportunity. I wanted to...get a job. And...hide. And...live something that didn’t involve...bad things. But it was nothing more than a dream.”
Heero stared at him for a few silent moments, then ducked his head. Talking with him had left him feeling slightly uplifted...but he suddenly felt better about things. Quatre was not a revolting character...just someone like him that became a victim...rather than an aggressor, like him. Which Heero felt he identified with–and took advantage of. Feeling his mouth tighten, he realized that he would continue to use this role to take advantage of–not because he was a twisted soul, but because he could see no other way. Quatre could not be his equal when the boy couldn’t strengthen himself to escape this role. He would forever be the victim until he finally chose to take another role.
Their food came, then. The subjects of previous were dropped as Heero felt his mouth salivate at what was presented before him.
After their dinner, and Heero paid with the credit card used for their groceries, they gathered up their supplies and left the restaurant. He had promised to meet their ride near the edge of town, and it took them awhile to walk there. By the time they reached the designated spot, Heero’s dinner had made his stomach a little uncomfortable.
The snow was falling, and the sidewalk was covered with a mixture of ice, snow, sludge and kitty litter. As he glanced around for his contact, he felt that uncomfortable rumble that suggested his stomach was shifting contents. He looked over at Quatre, grimaced, and watched the blond for any reaction when he farted.
Quatre looked startled for a second, looking around with an expression that clearly suggested his uncertainty to whether he’d heard right, then looked up at him.
With a slightly pink flush, Heero looked around as well, then gave him a serious expression. “Did you hear that frog?” he asked gruffly.
Quatre stared at him in silence for several seconds, then looked away to stare at the snow that surrounded them. He then gave a puzzled expression, then looked at Heero once more. The Asian gave him an embarrassed one, then scowled at him. Eventually, he became aware that Quatre’s mouth was twitching. He’d never seen the boy smile, before. Or even laugh. So he felt truly surprised when the blond gave a light chuckle, ducking his head.
“I’m serious,” Heero muttered. “It was a frog. I heard it.”
“Frogs can’t live in the snow,” Quatre said, looking up at him, trying to see if he were serious.
Heero gave him a frown, then couldn’t hide his own chuckle. “It was a frog. It croaked at me.”
Quatre then laughed, an awkward sound that could be best described as a bark of noise and exhale–a sound that suggested lack of use. He quickly shut his mouth, quieting, but couldn’t force away his lingering smile. Heero just stared in shock over what had just transpired, his stunned gaze taking in the smile on the blond’s face.
He then searched for his contact, a lonely old man that would give them a ride back to the road leading to the cabin.
Forty-five minutes later, Heero was then staring out the back window of a ‘78 Lincoln and listening to the tales of Vietnam in its glory. The old geezer had been talking non-stop since he’d picked him and Quatre up, and drove ten miles underneath the speed limit. Licking his lips, he tried focusing out the old man’s tirade, but his squeaky voice drove him nuts.
He looked at Quatre, who was sitting in the passenger seat. He was staring outside as well, but one hand was pressed against his forehead. He wondered if he was irritated by the man’s talking, as well. Heero had approached the man, explaining that they were college students that ran out of gas, but had hitch-hiked to get some supplies. When they were settled, the man had invited himself to talk as if the two gave a shit. Happy to have passengers, he’d chatted non-stop about the weather, the condition of the road, his dog, his one bedroom apartment...anything and everything he could possibly think of.
Heero slumped in his seat and wished that they had someway of getting home faster.
Shifting in his seat, Heero looked at the clothes that hung from a portable rack that dangled from the window, and at the boxes of musty smelling documents. He’d glanced at them earlier–they were nothing more than outdated notices for back mortgage payments and rejection notices for some novel. The man had mentioned returning from a visit from one of his granddaughters, and was heading into New York for some sight-seeing. He was pretty lonely, from the sounds of it. Their groceries were clumped in lumps at his feet, and all over in the front seat. He was very uncomfortable, his muscled mass making it almost impossible to sit uncluttered.
The old man had pressured them to allow him to drive them all the way to their cabin, so Heero had to decline–pretty forcefully. He hoped that the old man would somehow forget what had happened when he awoke.
Nearly five miles up the road, both of them struggling with their load, Heero paused in mid-step and looked back for the blond.
“Call for Duo,” he ordered, waving his head to dislodge the snow that had come to coat his hair.
Quatre paused, made a concentrating expression, and Heero waited impatiently. Their bags were covered with snow by the time Duo arrived, looking a little disheveled and annoyed.
“That took awhile!” he snapped, taking some bags from Quatre. “What’d you two do? Post an orgy with the local mountain men?”
Growling, Heero tried to swing at him, but missed as Duo teleported away. Five seconds later, he was back, taking the rest of Quatre’s groceries and signaling for some of his. With an annoyed frown, Heero dumped as many bags as he could into Duo’s arms, and growled, “We’ll walk the rest of the way.”
“What? C’mon, man! It’s cold!” Duo protested from behind the bags. “I’ll be back in a second!”
“No. We’ll walk.”
“Quat...?”
“He doesn’t have a choice.”
Duo sighed, shaking his head. “You’re so fuckin’ controlling, man. Sorry, Quat. See ya guys there.”
Heero turned, and signaled for Quatre to join him. When the blond walked over, Heero swung his arm around his shoulders and gruffly pulled him along in an awkward half-hug. It was his version of saying he was sorry for treating him wrongly.
O0o0o0o0o0oO
Furious blue eyes glared out into the contents of the snow covered town. It didn’t look like much–but the credit card had been used recently here. He had been counting on that mistake since he’d resolved himself to fix what damage he’d done.
Alex was still stewing over the ‘punishment’ he’d received for fouling up Treize’s mission, and sulking thoughts had led to this point–where he planned on saving face and sucking up to the aristocrat’s feet. He had already planned out his mission–and that was to retrieve the two that had interested the man. He used Zech’s disapproving expression to his punishment as motivation for this purpose. Just seeing that handsome face screwed up with distaste had motived Alex into making this decision. It wasn’t to please Treize–but to somehow regain Zechs’ respect once more.
He hit the steering wheel with his fist, hissing with anger.
“You shouldn’t think when you’re so hot-headed this way,” Mueller muttered. “It’s going to get you into trouble.”
“Shut the fuck up, loser. Like I need your Goddamned opinion!”
“Thinking this way will only piss off the others, man! Think about it! What are you, all by yourself, gonna do with those five guys? Turning off their powers won’t do much, because then it’ll still be five against you and me. It won’t be fair! And they’re trained to fight off this sort of thing, Alex!”
“I’m not by myself, Mueller,” Alex growled, locating the grocery store the credit card was used. He pulled into the parking lot. “I hired a few guys on my own to help me out.”
“Fuck, Alex! Treize said that no one else is to know of his operations!” Mueller cried in agitation.
“I didn’t tell them shit, Mueller! I just hired them for help!”
“Did you even screen these guys, Alex? For all you know, they could be ready to knife you from behind!”
Alex shook his head wildly to somehow dislodge that annoying voice of Mueller’s, and shut off the vehicle. Glaring around the parking lot, he walked away from his car, to begin his search.
O0o0o0o0o0oO
Trowa Barton had been five years old when his biological father died of a work-related injury. His mother, who had always been the sort to forbade being alone, married again not six months later. His young mind had refused the thought of getting another ‘daddy’ so soon after his beloved father died, and couldn’t accept the nice John Bloom that entered their lives with a daughter of his own. Catherine had been ten, then, and already prone to making her own mind and decisions. She was also displaying same sex tendencies, and had a best friend named ‘Sally’. Trowa couldn’t remember how it all started–but he remembered the long hours that John worked at a car manufacturing plant, and that Catherine loved making her own rules and driving Linsie crazy with them.
But he remembered the violence. Linsie had always been unstable, emotionally and mentally, and when ten year old Catherine began acting out, and Linsie eager to be her best friend, things within the household began to change. In order to make Catherine listen to her, Linsie began using her fists and open palm slaps to get the girl to do her bidding. Catherine would fight back–kicking and screaming, the two hitting each other with a frenzy over forgotten homework and badly cooked steak. Trowa would always watch, paralyzed with fear as the older woman slammed the younger girl around, knocking her head off the floor and using kitchen utensils to knock her point in.
John began coming home tired and irritated, and Linsie’s constant complaints about Catherine and Catherine’s tearful breakdowns wore down on his patience. Though he was never physically violent, John knew the best ways of shredding one’s confidence and mind with a few well placed words. Fed up with the women in his home, he often turned to Trowa for some male on male interaction. Unfortunately, because of what Trowa witnessed when John was away, the boy was quiet, timid, and shy–he didn’t know how to interact with John.
John grew tired of this shy act, and resolved himself on making a man out of Trowa by emotionally and verbally tearing the boy apart. Whenever Trowa found himself unable to make John happy with their playing catch in the backyard, or cheering for the right team during football season, he found himself victim to John’s mean words and homosexual taunts.
Terrorized by Linsie and Catherine’s almost daily violence and John’s booming disagreements with his failures as a boy, Trowa began to learn to disassociate himself–if someone’s voice grew too loud, he learned to find himself somewhere far, far away in order to escape. He took himself to places no one else could see or touch, and comforted himself with that imaginary land of well being. It was his only weapon against the people who were unhappy within his household.
When he turned ten, and the violence between the women had grown, thanks to Catherine’s coming out, he found solace with a kind neighbor that took advantage of his meekness by trying to groom him for sexual activities. The day the man tried sticking his dick into Trowa’s mouth was Trowa’s own undoing. Terrified and choking, he bit down hard on the man’s organ, completely severing the muscle from the man’s body.
The man, while screaming bloody murder and pain, groped his kitchen counter for a weapon, finding it in a rolling pin and hitting Trowa repeatedly with it. A hard connection sent the boy into a coma for nearly two years. When he awoke, he was noticeably not the same.
Catherine had finally moved out and disappeared with her lover, Sally. John had turned to cheating on his wife to comfort his loneliness. Linsie locked herself in her bedroom to wallow in her depression. And Trowa used his newfound lack of conscience to terrorize what couldn’t fight back.
Unable to connect with anyone, viewing his ‘family’ as something inconsequential and pathetic, Trowa skipped school often to wander the neighborhoods. There, he found solace in torturing small animals–he found their screams of pain and blood amusing. He especially liked watching them burn to death–the way their stiff legs tried to carry them away from the flame had him laughing uproariously.
He found that he wasn’t immune to children–in the projects, there were many children that were unable to attend school, or were skipping, like him. The younger ones were his main victims. They could never fight back as he subjected them to beatings and torturing–he knew they wouldn’t tell on him. They were too afraid.
Peers of his own age made Trowa uncomfortable, and he never related to their troubles. He couldn’t relate to anyone. He found his relief from pent-up aggression in the animals, and in the beating of younger kids.
Anyone that was meek and quiet drove him up the wall, reminding him of himself. They were subjected to the harsher consequences of his ire–sometimes, they didn’t return home at all.
He was convinced that no one missed them, anyway. Their parents were most likely labored with too many children, their addictions and their abusive spouses. He was doing the world a favor by killing off potential aggressors, he thought. When his body yearned for sexual experimentation, he did use unfortunate children for his tastes–and used animals to satisfy other means. Children soon grew disinteresting for him, and he found his relief in bestiality. Then, sex became nothing of interest for him at all.
Later on this year, he discovered his mutant abilities. Turning into animals of all sorts, he abused this power to lure in more children, and killing them as his anger grew, provoked at their meekness and paralyzed reactions to his violence and anger. His crime was never discovered, and many animals were destroyed throughout the area because the authorities were convinced that coyotes or wild dogs were committing the murders.
He was nearly fourteen when Catherine came back–wanting to resolve issues.
He remembered sitting at the kitchen table that year–contemplating his next violent incident when she walked in. She had given him a hug and a kiss on the cheek, none of which he rejected because Catherine had always been a non-threat to him. Even though he couldn’t connect with her in any other way, the fact that she did not threaten him or view him as something vile made her safe.
That night had erupted with violence upon Catherine’s plea for making peace between them all. Trowa could remember sitting at the kitchen table and watching Linsie scream obscenities and derogatory themes at his half-sister, of whom was screaming back of all the negativity that she’d experienced at the woman’s hands.
When John entered the picture, all hell broke loose. He didn’t take too kindly to homosexuals–he’d shoved Catherine into an end table, and Linsie had attacked John for interfering with her tirade. As the two adults screamed at each other, and Catherine tried pulling herself out of a daze, Trowa had grown tired of it all.
He’d shifted into that of a Bengal tiger, and stalked his two oblivious prey as Catherine watched fearfully. The two adults were easy to slaughter–Trowa had felt joy and delight upon ripping their bodies apart, of silencing their screams. When he turned to Catherine to perform the same job, her screams and frightful cries had amused him. Her makeup had smeared around her eyes, giving her a sort of devilish appearance, and her face was reddened with her efforts of screaming. She was trying to escape, but her legs kept giving out and she kept bumping into things.
He’d re-shifted into human, laughing hysterically at the sight. When he grew tired of this spectacle, he’d simply let himself out of the house, and never looked back as he walked off.
He spent the years surviving on the streets–it was easy, considering that his powers helped him out significantly with terms of hunger–he could use his animal forms to rummage through trash cans and dumpsters and beg as a dog, cat, seagull, or mouse. Somewhere, somehow, he’d learned that Catherine had explained to the authorities that she’d arrived home to find her parents slaughtered, and that her little brother had been frightened enough to run. The murders were listed off as a freak accident with an animal–living in the projects kept them from being of any interest for further investigation.
Trowa was declared missing by the state, and eventually forgotten in the system.
By the time he was seventeen, he had many countless murders on his hands, and was bored with his life as it were. A loner, he never connected with his homeless peers, and he continued to pick on those younger and unfortunate souls. Children disappeared whenever he was around, and the other homeless learned to stay away from him. Animals were revolted at the sight of him, and he was contemplating leaving the state for something new and exciting when he met Dr’s S and H.
They were motivated by his abilities to shift into animals, and had chosen to take him home because they were tired of searching for recruits for Dr J’s project.
When Trowa met Heero and Wufei, he grew attached to the two. Not because he connected with them in emotional or other tangible ways–but because Heero represented his forgotten home life in terms of violence and degradation, and Wufei was a stable sort of soul that he found comfortable. And because the two were impossible to kill–Heero with his super strength and invincibility made him a challenge that entertained Trowa, and Wufei’s super speed and knowledge of dangerous souls, kept them formidable tools of amusement.
When Catherine was introduced to him, her joy and relief that he was still alive and well had been more than annoying. The sheer coincidence of meeting up with her again had him stumbling. But he fit in with the others, and with their little project in getting rid of the mutants that posed a threat to other mutants and humans. The stable environment, with the added extras of activity and reward system had stabilized him in a way that made it easier for him to forgo his instincts to kill and ‘put away’.
He found his home with the others and with their system, and hadn’t any plans to move.
He knew that his past unsettled more than one person–Duo’s reaction to his brief description of his life was indication of that. But Quatre had given no reaction to him at all, which was surprising for him. Wufei and Heero, upon learning his past, had been revolted and disgusted, but learned to cope and overlook.
But to have a meek and quiet person regard him as ‘safe’ was something of a surprise for Trowa. No one had ever thought he was a ‘safe’ person to be around–most adults were afraid of him, and his own peers avoided him. For someone like Quatre to comfortably situate himself near Trowa threw the taller boy off balance.
As it was now, Quatre was sitting so close to him that he may as well be leaning on him. It was annoying Trowa in a way that caused his skin to prickle with tangible fury and disgust, but it was also somewhat... placating. He didn’t care for contact and closeness–but he was surprised by Quatre’s behavior toward him to let it slide this one time.
Duo was busily shouting maniacally about capturing Heero’s checker pieces, the Asian shouting back in fury and disgust about some ill-timed move, with Wufei laughing somewhere from the kitchen.
It was a surprisingly peaceful night for them all–things had shifted between Heero and Quatre, Wufei and Duo were having sex frequently, and their kitchen was filled with much-needed and appreciated supplies.
Heero had reported that he couldn’t get into contact with anyone from home, and had been at a loss on what to do now. Wufei had asked that they merely settle down for the night, and try going into town tomorrow to see what they could do.
For Trowa, it was annoyingly calm and peaceful.
Shifting in his seat, he looked over at Quatre, who was staring off into space–as he normally did–and found something to amuse himself with. Reaching over to capture the blond’s chin within his hand, he drew that blank azure gaze to him, touching the reddish mark on the thin neck.
“You and Heero had make-up nookie?” he asked with a smirk. “How sweet. Must be nice to be in love with someone.”
“It’s not love,” Quatre replied quietly. “It’s an understanding.”
Trowa pushed his head away from him. “Why do you weak bitches always make excuses for imaginary pacts? I seriously hate when a person can’t defend himself.”
“...I’m sorry if it makes you angry.”
“Go sit somewhere else! Before I get pissed off, then. The thought of you being near me makes my skin crawl. I hate meek people,” Trowa grumbled, turning in his seat to roughly kick Quatre away from him. The blond settled himself on the other end of the couch without reaction, and Trowa sighed in irritation, resuming his previous position.
A checker bounced off his forehead, and he heard himself growl in irritation as he eyed Duo.
“Settle down over there!” Duo commanded as Heero began jumping all his pieces.
“Mind your own fucking business.”
“Stop beating up on him, then!”
“If he doesn’t like it, he can do something about it! Fuck off, Duo!”
“He’s not going to tell you because he can’t!”
“Shut up, Duo! Like you know shit about things!”
“Guys, guys!” Wufei interrupted, frowning at them both. “Knock it off.”
“Fuck you, Wufei!” Trowa snapped. “Leave your bitch to fight his own battles. He started it.”
“Don’t talk to him that way!” Duo snapped before Wufei could say anything. “And I’m no one’s bitch!”
“Duo–!”
“Shut up, Wufei! If he wants to talk shit, let him talk shit! Let him do his own battle! He started this fucking bullshit!” Trowa snarled at Wufei, hurling a pillow in his direction. Wufei was safely out of the pillow’s path, and catching it before it hit the ground.
“I can handle my bullshit, Trowa! I just hate fucking bullies! Fucking sick-ass bullies that have no right to be walking around in society!” Duo growled, rising from the floor and facing the green-eyed boy.
Heero declared himself the winner and went to the kitchen to find something to eat, Wufei looking after him in annoyance.
“Boo-the-fuck-who, Duo. I cry especially for you and your pain,” Trowa said mockingly, wiping away imaginary tears.
Furiously, Duo clenched his fists and jabbed his finger in his direction accusingly. “Sick fucks like you should be castrated! I hate fuckers like you! How can you fuckin’ live with yourself, knowing what you did to them?”
“I masturbate to the remembrance of them, Duo. Does that help any?”
Duo’s face turned a deathly pale white, then an angry red in almost the same instant. Before he could make a move, through, Wufei was there in an instant, holding him back.
“He’s just provoking you into doing something you’ll regret later, Duo,” he said gently, fighting to keep Duo from attacking a smirking Trowa. “Let it go.”
“I can’t!” Duo shouted, ripping his arm from his lover. “Shit that happened on the street to kids that can’t defend themselves pisses me off! And to know that this one here was part of that shit pisses me off!”
“I’m sorry for that, Duo, I really am,” Wufei urged, grabbing his other arm. “But you have to realize that he was a victim himself. Some people don’t deal with these things like other people...just like you said that other day, remember?”
“Fuck this bullshit! Fuck it! Just knowing he’s part of that bullshit makes me mad! I can’t see him any other way!”
“You’re going to have to learn, Duo.”
“Fuck you, Trowa! I hope you rot in hell, one day.”
“Like I said before, Duo, get off your religious bar stool. I’m not afraid of any consequence to my actions. I’d gladly do them all over again...and again and again,” Trowa added with a twisted smile. “And if it makes you feel better, I’ll have you in mind.”
Duo leapt at him with a furious snarl, Wufei intercepting with a grunt.
“Trowa! Knock it off!” Wufei snarled at him, locking Duo’s arms behind him.
“Fuck you, Wufei. I’m sick of this bullshit. If he wants to talk shit, let him talk shit. Who are you, anyway? His mother as well as his lover?”
“You fucking dog fucking creep!” Duo howled, struggling to get loose from Wufei, even as the Chinese’s face turned red with his own anger.
Heero walked back into the living room with a carton of milk, and watched the scene with a bored expression. Entirely used to the chaos that Trowa often caused, he wasn’t too involved with the goings-on that was occurring before him. He tipped the carton toward his mouth and finished off the rest of the milk. He then crumbled the carton, and tossed it at Trowa, hitting the green-eyed boy in the forehead.
“Knock it off, you freak,” he muttered.
“Et tu, Yuy?”
“Guys!” Wufei shouted above Heero’s reply. “This is ridiculous! Let’s just go to bed–”
“Together? Wufei!” Trowa cried, in mock-shock as he held his hands against his cheeks.
“NO! We’ll all just settle down, in our own rooms...and sleep it off. Tomorrow, we’ll take our aggressions out on each other while we train,” Wufei growled, narrowing his eyes in Trowa’s direction.
“How boring. By tomorrow, things will be the same as they were,” Trowa complained, leaning back in his seat. “Let Duo go. I want to see what he plans to do to me in order to avenge his pathetically vulnerable children...”
“No, I will not.”
“FUCK YOU, TROWA! I hope someone fucking castrates you for what you did! I fucking hate dicks like you!” Duo howled, struggling to get out of Wufei’s arms. But with no means of teleportation opportunities, he could only struggle wildly in Wufei’s arms, his fingers itching to curl around the green-eyed man’s neck. “It’s cuz of dicks like you that guys like me and Quat were attacked all the time! Cuz you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants!”
“Cry me a river, Duo. I would gladly eat guys like you and Quatre for breakfast. I liked the ones that couldn’t speak when I did things to them, Duo. You should have seen the way they cried,” Trowa said with a deranged giggle. Duo was bright red in the face, and struggling fiercely to get to him. Watching the long haired boy, Trowa climbed the couch cushions and settled himself comfortably next to Quatre. Capturing the blond’s chin with one hand, he slowly licked the boy’s cheek, as if lapping away falling tears. “They were simply delicious...”
“ARGH!” Duo screamed furiously, Wufei being dragged as the boy made his way over to Trowa.
Heero shifted uncomfortably as Trowa laughed mockingly in Duo’s direction. He was waiting for Quatre to make some sort of movement or action to stop all of this provocation, or even shift uncomfortably out of Trowa’s grasp–but the blond did nothing. Irritation grew deep in his chest as Trowa continued to taunt Duo over Wufei’s angered snaps, the green-eyed man roughly fondling Quatre’s crotch.
His patience snapped when he saw Quatre move into the fondling, and his eyes grew wide with fury.
Quatre hadn’t moved in reaction to Trowa’s touch–it was just that he was growing uncomfortable with Trowa’s actions, and was trying to shift away from the man when he felt a wild spike of anger erupting from the back of the living room. Looking up, he saw that Heero was picking up the other half of the sectional and was prepared to toss it in their direction. He gave a sharp gasp, being the only one to notice the action, and prepared to catch the sectional with his telekinesis.
But Trowa managed to catch it as well, and moved rapidly–he had Quatre in a choke hold in an instant, drawing the boy in front of him as a human shield.
Wufei immediately sensed a shift in scene and glanced behind him to see Heero pausing momentarily at the action. Duo hadn’t noticed this at all–he just saw the way Trowa was holding Quatre and was screaming bloody murder.
“Yuy, stop!” Wufei ordered. “Barton! Enough! Knock it off, you guys!”
“Throw it, Yuy!” Trowa taunted, tightening his grip on Quatre’s throat. The boy was trying to gasp in air, clawing at his arm, but he was focused on Heero and no one else. “He’ll catch it. Trust him. I know you wanna kick my ass, Yuy. Do it!”
The sectional went flying, Wufei tugging Duo out of the way. Quatre saw the movement, and did catch the sectional before it smashed into him and Trowa both, but Trowa took this opportunity to drag them both off the couch to have a cleaner space to work with. Quatre was still in the choke hold, and due to Trowa’s height, the tips of his toes scraped against the floor, and his airway was completely blocked off from the hang of his weight. Unable to gasp in much-needed air, Quatre lost his focus on the sectional, the large piece of furniture crashing against the floor and knocking over the coffee table.
Trowa laughed as Heero leapt over the mess to confront him.
“STOP IT, YOU GUYS!” Duo screamed, picking up his half-filled water cup and hurling it at the two. The cup bounced off one of Heero’s immovable shoulders, water splashing across all three of them.
Wufei exhaled heavily, defeated for the moment, on that Trowa was now using Quatre as a shield against Heero. Things had progressed from the usual taunts and roughhousing to something dangerous. Looking at the situation, he moved to the side, looking for a way in which he could somehow come between the two mutants without getting hurt.
Trowa chuckled as he stared at Heero, nudging his arm so that Quatre’s head rested at an awkward angle–his neck easily snapped if Trowa made the deliberate movement. Heero sensed the action, his eyes narrowing in fury. His fists clenched, and he stubbornly refused to back down as Trowa continued to grin at him from behind Quatre’s head.
The blond was struggling to breathe, pushing at Trowa’s arms when he suddenly stiffened, his eyes darting away from those posed in the living room and focusing in on the window.
Outside, Alex took a deep breath, sighing as he dropped his cigarette into the snow. Behind him, five other mutants began to spread out from their vehicle. Staring at the cabin, Alex lifted an eyebrow and wondered how anyone could cope with no electricity.
Standard Disclaimers Apply: Don’t own Gundam Wing nor X-Men
Notes: Some stuff was changed around, here. I deleted some stuff, added some stuff, so it’s still the long winded, pompous bag that ya’ll are familiar with–just with some differences.
O0o0o0o0o0oO means scene change
Chapter Fifteen:
Flew Too High and Broke The Wing
The bread aisle was filled with many brands and versions of bread, and Quatre stood in one place...a little lost. The various colors and packages confused him, and while he knew what brand he was looking for, he just couldn’t seem to focus, today. He glanced at the shopping cart that was half filled with their supplies, and numbly looked down at the list he held in one hand. It was confusing for him–while he had a hold of English, he wasn’t very good at reading it, or distinguishing things. He’d helped Catherine and the others do shopping–he just hadn’t done it on his own, before. He looked back up at the aisle, swallowing hard as he tried to find the brand that worked for the others.
The grocery store wasn’t very crowded–so it wasn’t as if he were being distracted. Truth be told, he knew it just wasn’t the language that stumped him. He’d noticed that he had a lot of trouble with things that didn’t pertain to survival. He’d lived most of his life trying to survive–eat, shelter, defend, disassociate– but he hadn’t a chance in normality...while his brain was more focused on surviving, it wasn’t able to focus on the more normal things in life. Which was why he was having trouble doing the majority of the grocery shopping. He wasn’t sure what a ‘pound’ was, or what the difference was between eggs or even meat. He based his shopping on eyesight–on what he remembered the others getting when he helped.
Nervously, not wanting to chose the wrong thing, he stared up at the choices before him, and chewed at his lower lip.
The road to town had been a ten-mile hike–he and Heero had hitched a ride here once reaching one of the main roads, and the latter had taken off without a word to him. The mutant had gone out of his way to ignore him since that night, and while Quatre felt torn by his rejection, merely operated based on remembrance. He didn’t go out of his way to regain Heero’s attention–he made himself as small as possible to keep out of the mutant’s way.
So, Quatre was stuck with the shopping, and he was having a hard time with it. The more time passed, the more his nervousness and anxiousness grew, certain he was going to punished for not being more time efficient or capable of performing this duty. He pulled the shopping cart close to him as someone made their way down the aisle, and returned to stare at the options available. He finally just grabbed a couple of loafs and carefully set them within the child’s seat, moving on down the aisle. He had trouble reading the list, so he paused to try and quietly sound out the word that was written neatly on the piece of paper.
“Hey, c’mon! Get out of the way!” a woman complained behind him, and he quickly moved the cart, allowing her to pass. She eyed him with contempt, then pushed her cart with irritation away from him. Looking away from her, Quatre returned his attention to the paper, and finally realized that Wufei was asking for mayonnaise. Remembering what that was, he resumed pushing on the cart and found the options of mayo just down the aisle. As he then found himself scanning over the brands, with as much anxiety as he had with the bread, his cart was forcefully yanked away.
He looked up quickly to see that Heero was giving him an annoyed scowl, irritated that he was taking so long. Quatre quickly picked up a random jar of mayo, and hurried after him. His actions were timid and more than quick as he tossed the jar into the car, trailing after the other mutant. Heero didn’t bother with the list–he went down every aisle and threw in what he wanted without any question. The cart was overfilled by the time they made their way to the check-out line, and Quatre judged Heero’s forceful pushing of the cart as irritation with the world in general. Quietly, he tucked the list into his jacket pocket and stared at the floor in silence, trying to appear as inconspicious as possible, as to not draw the mutant’s ire in his direction. This was what he was best at.
The others waiting in line were looking annoyed that there was only one checkout line working, more than one of them were muttering and perusing the magazine racks for something to pass the time. Heero shifted in his jacket, scowling fiercely at the single cashier, then looked at his cart. The credit card he was to use for the purchases was in Quatre’s possession, so he turned and demanded the card.
He made a double take on the mutant as he handed over the card–he recognized the posture the blond had as someone trying to avoid confrontation and possible violence. He looked away, and focused on the line that was slowly moving ahead. This trip had proved more than irritating–their supplies had run out, and through a best three out of five session of Rock, Paper, Scissors, he and Quatre had been chosen to venture out and get more.
While Quatre was supposed to do the shopping, he had located a payphone, and tried to get a hold of the women, or even Dr J and the others. He’d gotten more than one answering machine, though, and was irritated at this. The communicator that Dr J had given him didn’t even work–it was a dead piece of electronics, and Heero had been puzzled as to why. Since their supplies would be more than the pair could carry as they walked home, he’d also worked on securing a ride–at least to the road that led to their cabin. He was counting on Quatre to somehow notify Duo of their arrival, so that the boy’s gift of teleportation could help out with the carrying of the supplies.
The line inched closer again, and Heero sighed uneasily as he leaned against the cart. He hadn’t wanted to come to town with Quatre–being around the boy made him uncomfortable. He thought about what happened between himself and Quatre. He was still pretty disgusted at being called ‘daddy’. That Quatre thought of his father as he worked himself against Heero. It made his skin tingle with repugnance. It made bile clog his throat. He didn’t know what to think–only that it was entirely revolting. But it sure explained a lot of things. When Wufei had told him his past, Heero had been revolted as well. But Wufei had a way of handling his past that made him strong, overcoming that obstacle as if it were a stepping stone. He didn’t shy away from men, nor did he encourage their attention. It was over and done with–Quatre harbored his secret and forced it out in ways that destroyed himself.
Heero had to admit, though, that he didn’t know the entire story. But he was just revolted from the entire incident. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the blond anymore, knowing what rested in that head. He couldn’t bring himself to touch him–not in the way that he had before. He couldn’t see the blond as sexually appetizing anymore. He was just a very fucked up individual with neat powers.
Quatre hadn’t pestered him about it, through. He avoided him as well. Which made it easier for Heero to deal with. He didn’t know what he would do if Quatre approached him about it. Needing to ‘talk’. What could Heero say to make it all better? What words of wisdom could he provide that would give Quatre the satisfaction of appeasement in his actions?
Nothing.
Heero wasn’t a head doctor–nor was he even interested in unraveling the knots in the blond’s head. He wanted nothing to do with it. It was far too complicated for him. Touching that subject was like touching live wires–one could be electrocuted. The results, while painful and varying, would end up the same–a person could get hurt. Heero wasn’t the type to deal with deep emotions and secrets the way someone like Wufei or Sally could. He was the type to deal with surface issues.
Quatre’s were far too deep for him to mess with.
And his actions were human–anyone encountering that sort of problem would shy away. It looked as if Quatre were used to it, though. He didn’t bother Heero about explaining his actions or reasons. But it did look as if it were affecting him.
Heero had to ignore the shame that burned through him at that thought. During their first training session, revealing all that he had with words describing scenarios he’d merely made up based on common-case behavior problems, he’d felt the need to help and protect the blond. Quatre just made a person feel that way about him. But to be called “daddy” while in the throes of sex, and realizing that this boy–kid–young man had more problems than Heero could want to know, threw up his barriers.
He didn’t want to touch it.
If he tried, he’d only wind up even more revolted, or perhaps hurting the situation even more.
Once they reached home, he would ask Sally for treatment and places the blond could go for psychiatric help. Only professionals could handle this situation. Heero was not a professional.
He sighed with annoyance, pushing the cart forward. He glanced at his companion to see if he noticed that they’d moved, and found himself lingering on the almost dead orbs that stared sightlessly at the floor. Duo once remarked on this sightless stare as something belonging to someone that had no more “motivation” for life. It was appropriate. There didn’t seem to be an inkling of life within that blue/green stare, as if there was no one in there. It was disturbing to see.
They inched forward once more, and Quatre followed, almost mechanically, without looking up or shifting expression. Heero looked away to pick at his cuticles, observing the other patrons of the grocery store as the slow moving line inched closer to the register. He was annoyed in that he didn’t know what was going on at home–surely, there was some word in what was going on...the attack on their house was something caused by an unknown motivation. He looked back at the mutant that was Quatre, and wondered–‘Why him’?
Was there something they didn’t know about this creature that others found useful? Was there something more about him that they didn’t know?
Heero doubted that there was anything useful of him...Quatre just didn’t show any motivation for things. How could he be useful?
He crinkled his forehead with thought, and the cart inched closer to the register. He heard homophobic mutters from a couple of teenagers that walked by, both of them glaring at the blond. He noticed that Quatre didn’t make any show of hearing these things, but, if possible, those eyes of his grew even distant. He looked back over at the teens that disappeared into an aisle, and frowned.
When it came to their turn to unload the cart, he did so quickly and efficiently; tossing random things onto the conveyor belt and grunting in acknowledgment to the cashier’s tired greeting. He looked back at Quatre, who moved out of everyone’s way to quietly pack their supplies after the cashier rung them up. After everything was packed, Heero realized that one bag wasn’t enough–they had to be double-bagged. With more irritation at the world in general, he double-bagged everything, and finally led the way out of the store.
It was snowing once more, and Heero grumbled about this as they made their way down the sidewalk. But he was distracted by the sight of a local restaurant nearby, something that sent delicious smells his way and made his stomach gurgle in need. With a grunt, he began walking in that direction, hearing Quatre follow after him without any word.
Once inside, and ignoring the curious looks from the waitress, Heero made himself comfortable in the booth and demanded a cup of milk, coffee, and a chicken noodle soup to start. Sensing a diner with a big appetite, the waitress hurried off.
It was awkward sitting in a booth, across from someone that made him uncomfortable, but Heero passed the time by picking at his nails. By the time he was finished with his milk and a gigantic bowl of soup, the silence was killing him. He was used to silences before, but this was intense. He lifted his eyes to stare at the blond across from him, noting the unchanged expression. The waitress came by to take his bowl, and he gave his order. When she asked for Quatre’s, he ordered for him, the woman looking at him questionably, but doing as he said.
When she walked away, Heero eyed the silent blond once more, picking at a hangnail. Suddenly, words began bubbling up, and his thoughts were jumbled. He realized he had things to say...but didn’t know where to start. He cleared his throat uncomfortably.
“My mother used to beat me,” he said gruffly, keeping his eyes on his nails. “All the time. She was drunk most of the time. I tried hard to please her–but she wouldn’t accept me, nor accept what I tried to give. She married a man here in America–he started beating on me, too. I learned to dislike people, and to not give my trust in those closest to me. I’m not perfect.”
The silence between them was suddenly thick and incredibly heavy. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from his nails as he peeled off his hangnail, but he found himself glancing up at the other sitting across from him. Quatre was finally focused on him, his eyes reflecting his confusion and ...hope?
“But...being with these guys...even Trowa...helped me...calm my more violent tendencies. I used to hate everyone–women, especially. I used to pick on anybody that tried to help me, or detain me. I hated women so much that I would attack them if they even gave me but a single glance...But those two women, Sally and Catherine...they earned my trust. And I learned that not everyone is...like they were. It just...took awhile for me to realize that.”
He abandoned his nail, and shrugged as he leaned back in his seat, glancing at the blond again. Quatre was staring at the table, but not with that faraway look, anymore. It looked as if he were processing and thinking about things...
“Not everyone is...is like your father, Quatre,” Heero then said quietly, uncomfortably as he avoided that azure gaze. “What about your mother?”
Quatre was silent for a few moments, his sight dropping to the table. Heero found his courage to stare at him, feeling more than uncomfortable doing so.
“She...was scared of him,” Quatre finally said, quietly.
“...So you have a problem with women, too?”
Quatre eyes settled on everything, one at a time, until they found Heero’s for a brief instant. “...Yes. With... with everyone.”
“Why did you come to America, anyway?” Heero asked, curiosity getting the better of his self-consciousness and uncomfortable feeling.
Quatre stared at the table for a few moments, then shrugged. “I wanted to get as far away from him as possible. But...I realize that...no matter how far I run...he’s always there behind me. I cannot get rid of him.”
“What were you going to do here?”
“...It is...the Land of Opportunity. I wanted to...get a job. And...hide. And...live something that didn’t involve...bad things. But it was nothing more than a dream.”
Heero stared at him for a few silent moments, then ducked his head. Talking with him had left him feeling slightly uplifted...but he suddenly felt better about things. Quatre was not a revolting character...just someone like him that became a victim...rather than an aggressor, like him. Which Heero felt he identified with–and took advantage of. Feeling his mouth tighten, he realized that he would continue to use this role to take advantage of–not because he was a twisted soul, but because he could see no other way. Quatre could not be his equal when the boy couldn’t strengthen himself to escape this role. He would forever be the victim until he finally chose to take another role.
Their food came, then. The subjects of previous were dropped as Heero felt his mouth salivate at what was presented before him.
After their dinner, and Heero paid with the credit card used for their groceries, they gathered up their supplies and left the restaurant. He had promised to meet their ride near the edge of town, and it took them awhile to walk there. By the time they reached the designated spot, Heero’s dinner had made his stomach a little uncomfortable.
The snow was falling, and the sidewalk was covered with a mixture of ice, snow, sludge and kitty litter. As he glanced around for his contact, he felt that uncomfortable rumble that suggested his stomach was shifting contents. He looked over at Quatre, grimaced, and watched the blond for any reaction when he farted.
Quatre looked startled for a second, looking around with an expression that clearly suggested his uncertainty to whether he’d heard right, then looked up at him.
With a slightly pink flush, Heero looked around as well, then gave him a serious expression. “Did you hear that frog?” he asked gruffly.
Quatre stared at him in silence for several seconds, then looked away to stare at the snow that surrounded them. He then gave a puzzled expression, then looked at Heero once more. The Asian gave him an embarrassed one, then scowled at him. Eventually, he became aware that Quatre’s mouth was twitching. He’d never seen the boy smile, before. Or even laugh. So he felt truly surprised when the blond gave a light chuckle, ducking his head.
“I’m serious,” Heero muttered. “It was a frog. I heard it.”
“Frogs can’t live in the snow,” Quatre said, looking up at him, trying to see if he were serious.
Heero gave him a frown, then couldn’t hide his own chuckle. “It was a frog. It croaked at me.”
Quatre then laughed, an awkward sound that could be best described as a bark of noise and exhale–a sound that suggested lack of use. He quickly shut his mouth, quieting, but couldn’t force away his lingering smile. Heero just stared in shock over what had just transpired, his stunned gaze taking in the smile on the blond’s face.
He then searched for his contact, a lonely old man that would give them a ride back to the road leading to the cabin.
Forty-five minutes later, Heero was then staring out the back window of a ‘78 Lincoln and listening to the tales of Vietnam in its glory. The old geezer had been talking non-stop since he’d picked him and Quatre up, and drove ten miles underneath the speed limit. Licking his lips, he tried focusing out the old man’s tirade, but his squeaky voice drove him nuts.
He looked at Quatre, who was sitting in the passenger seat. He was staring outside as well, but one hand was pressed against his forehead. He wondered if he was irritated by the man’s talking, as well. Heero had approached the man, explaining that they were college students that ran out of gas, but had hitch-hiked to get some supplies. When they were settled, the man had invited himself to talk as if the two gave a shit. Happy to have passengers, he’d chatted non-stop about the weather, the condition of the road, his dog, his one bedroom apartment...anything and everything he could possibly think of.
Heero slumped in his seat and wished that they had someway of getting home faster.
Shifting in his seat, Heero looked at the clothes that hung from a portable rack that dangled from the window, and at the boxes of musty smelling documents. He’d glanced at them earlier–they were nothing more than outdated notices for back mortgage payments and rejection notices for some novel. The man had mentioned returning from a visit from one of his granddaughters, and was heading into New York for some sight-seeing. He was pretty lonely, from the sounds of it. Their groceries were clumped in lumps at his feet, and all over in the front seat. He was very uncomfortable, his muscled mass making it almost impossible to sit uncluttered.
The old man had pressured them to allow him to drive them all the way to their cabin, so Heero had to decline–pretty forcefully. He hoped that the old man would somehow forget what had happened when he awoke.
Nearly five miles up the road, both of them struggling with their load, Heero paused in mid-step and looked back for the blond.
“Call for Duo,” he ordered, waving his head to dislodge the snow that had come to coat his hair.
Quatre paused, made a concentrating expression, and Heero waited impatiently. Their bags were covered with snow by the time Duo arrived, looking a little disheveled and annoyed.
“That took awhile!” he snapped, taking some bags from Quatre. “What’d you two do? Post an orgy with the local mountain men?”
Growling, Heero tried to swing at him, but missed as Duo teleported away. Five seconds later, he was back, taking the rest of Quatre’s groceries and signaling for some of his. With an annoyed frown, Heero dumped as many bags as he could into Duo’s arms, and growled, “We’ll walk the rest of the way.”
“What? C’mon, man! It’s cold!” Duo protested from behind the bags. “I’ll be back in a second!”
“No. We’ll walk.”
“Quat...?”
“He doesn’t have a choice.”
Duo sighed, shaking his head. “You’re so fuckin’ controlling, man. Sorry, Quat. See ya guys there.”
Heero turned, and signaled for Quatre to join him. When the blond walked over, Heero swung his arm around his shoulders and gruffly pulled him along in an awkward half-hug. It was his version of saying he was sorry for treating him wrongly.
O0o0o0o0o0oO
Furious blue eyes glared out into the contents of the snow covered town. It didn’t look like much–but the credit card had been used recently here. He had been counting on that mistake since he’d resolved himself to fix what damage he’d done.
Alex was still stewing over the ‘punishment’ he’d received for fouling up Treize’s mission, and sulking thoughts had led to this point–where he planned on saving face and sucking up to the aristocrat’s feet. He had already planned out his mission–and that was to retrieve the two that had interested the man. He used Zech’s disapproving expression to his punishment as motivation for this purpose. Just seeing that handsome face screwed up with distaste had motived Alex into making this decision. It wasn’t to please Treize–but to somehow regain Zechs’ respect once more.
He hit the steering wheel with his fist, hissing with anger.
“You shouldn’t think when you’re so hot-headed this way,” Mueller muttered. “It’s going to get you into trouble.”
“Shut the fuck up, loser. Like I need your Goddamned opinion!”
“Thinking this way will only piss off the others, man! Think about it! What are you, all by yourself, gonna do with those five guys? Turning off their powers won’t do much, because then it’ll still be five against you and me. It won’t be fair! And they’re trained to fight off this sort of thing, Alex!”
“I’m not by myself, Mueller,” Alex growled, locating the grocery store the credit card was used. He pulled into the parking lot. “I hired a few guys on my own to help me out.”
“Fuck, Alex! Treize said that no one else is to know of his operations!” Mueller cried in agitation.
“I didn’t tell them shit, Mueller! I just hired them for help!”
“Did you even screen these guys, Alex? For all you know, they could be ready to knife you from behind!”
Alex shook his head wildly to somehow dislodge that annoying voice of Mueller’s, and shut off the vehicle. Glaring around the parking lot, he walked away from his car, to begin his search.
O0o0o0o0o0oO
Trowa Barton had been five years old when his biological father died of a work-related injury. His mother, who had always been the sort to forbade being alone, married again not six months later. His young mind had refused the thought of getting another ‘daddy’ so soon after his beloved father died, and couldn’t accept the nice John Bloom that entered their lives with a daughter of his own. Catherine had been ten, then, and already prone to making her own mind and decisions. She was also displaying same sex tendencies, and had a best friend named ‘Sally’. Trowa couldn’t remember how it all started–but he remembered the long hours that John worked at a car manufacturing plant, and that Catherine loved making her own rules and driving Linsie crazy with them.
But he remembered the violence. Linsie had always been unstable, emotionally and mentally, and when ten year old Catherine began acting out, and Linsie eager to be her best friend, things within the household began to change. In order to make Catherine listen to her, Linsie began using her fists and open palm slaps to get the girl to do her bidding. Catherine would fight back–kicking and screaming, the two hitting each other with a frenzy over forgotten homework and badly cooked steak. Trowa would always watch, paralyzed with fear as the older woman slammed the younger girl around, knocking her head off the floor and using kitchen utensils to knock her point in.
John began coming home tired and irritated, and Linsie’s constant complaints about Catherine and Catherine’s tearful breakdowns wore down on his patience. Though he was never physically violent, John knew the best ways of shredding one’s confidence and mind with a few well placed words. Fed up with the women in his home, he often turned to Trowa for some male on male interaction. Unfortunately, because of what Trowa witnessed when John was away, the boy was quiet, timid, and shy–he didn’t know how to interact with John.
John grew tired of this shy act, and resolved himself on making a man out of Trowa by emotionally and verbally tearing the boy apart. Whenever Trowa found himself unable to make John happy with their playing catch in the backyard, or cheering for the right team during football season, he found himself victim to John’s mean words and homosexual taunts.
Terrorized by Linsie and Catherine’s almost daily violence and John’s booming disagreements with his failures as a boy, Trowa began to learn to disassociate himself–if someone’s voice grew too loud, he learned to find himself somewhere far, far away in order to escape. He took himself to places no one else could see or touch, and comforted himself with that imaginary land of well being. It was his only weapon against the people who were unhappy within his household.
When he turned ten, and the violence between the women had grown, thanks to Catherine’s coming out, he found solace with a kind neighbor that took advantage of his meekness by trying to groom him for sexual activities. The day the man tried sticking his dick into Trowa’s mouth was Trowa’s own undoing. Terrified and choking, he bit down hard on the man’s organ, completely severing the muscle from the man’s body.
The man, while screaming bloody murder and pain, groped his kitchen counter for a weapon, finding it in a rolling pin and hitting Trowa repeatedly with it. A hard connection sent the boy into a coma for nearly two years. When he awoke, he was noticeably not the same.
Catherine had finally moved out and disappeared with her lover, Sally. John had turned to cheating on his wife to comfort his loneliness. Linsie locked herself in her bedroom to wallow in her depression. And Trowa used his newfound lack of conscience to terrorize what couldn’t fight back.
Unable to connect with anyone, viewing his ‘family’ as something inconsequential and pathetic, Trowa skipped school often to wander the neighborhoods. There, he found solace in torturing small animals–he found their screams of pain and blood amusing. He especially liked watching them burn to death–the way their stiff legs tried to carry them away from the flame had him laughing uproariously.
He found that he wasn’t immune to children–in the projects, there were many children that were unable to attend school, or were skipping, like him. The younger ones were his main victims. They could never fight back as he subjected them to beatings and torturing–he knew they wouldn’t tell on him. They were too afraid.
Peers of his own age made Trowa uncomfortable, and he never related to their troubles. He couldn’t relate to anyone. He found his relief from pent-up aggression in the animals, and in the beating of younger kids.
Anyone that was meek and quiet drove him up the wall, reminding him of himself. They were subjected to the harsher consequences of his ire–sometimes, they didn’t return home at all.
He was convinced that no one missed them, anyway. Their parents were most likely labored with too many children, their addictions and their abusive spouses. He was doing the world a favor by killing off potential aggressors, he thought. When his body yearned for sexual experimentation, he did use unfortunate children for his tastes–and used animals to satisfy other means. Children soon grew disinteresting for him, and he found his relief in bestiality. Then, sex became nothing of interest for him at all.
Later on this year, he discovered his mutant abilities. Turning into animals of all sorts, he abused this power to lure in more children, and killing them as his anger grew, provoked at their meekness and paralyzed reactions to his violence and anger. His crime was never discovered, and many animals were destroyed throughout the area because the authorities were convinced that coyotes or wild dogs were committing the murders.
He was nearly fourteen when Catherine came back–wanting to resolve issues.
He remembered sitting at the kitchen table that year–contemplating his next violent incident when she walked in. She had given him a hug and a kiss on the cheek, none of which he rejected because Catherine had always been a non-threat to him. Even though he couldn’t connect with her in any other way, the fact that she did not threaten him or view him as something vile made her safe.
That night had erupted with violence upon Catherine’s plea for making peace between them all. Trowa could remember sitting at the kitchen table and watching Linsie scream obscenities and derogatory themes at his half-sister, of whom was screaming back of all the negativity that she’d experienced at the woman’s hands.
When John entered the picture, all hell broke loose. He didn’t take too kindly to homosexuals–he’d shoved Catherine into an end table, and Linsie had attacked John for interfering with her tirade. As the two adults screamed at each other, and Catherine tried pulling herself out of a daze, Trowa had grown tired of it all.
He’d shifted into that of a Bengal tiger, and stalked his two oblivious prey as Catherine watched fearfully. The two adults were easy to slaughter–Trowa had felt joy and delight upon ripping their bodies apart, of silencing their screams. When he turned to Catherine to perform the same job, her screams and frightful cries had amused him. Her makeup had smeared around her eyes, giving her a sort of devilish appearance, and her face was reddened with her efforts of screaming. She was trying to escape, but her legs kept giving out and she kept bumping into things.
He’d re-shifted into human, laughing hysterically at the sight. When he grew tired of this spectacle, he’d simply let himself out of the house, and never looked back as he walked off.
He spent the years surviving on the streets–it was easy, considering that his powers helped him out significantly with terms of hunger–he could use his animal forms to rummage through trash cans and dumpsters and beg as a dog, cat, seagull, or mouse. Somewhere, somehow, he’d learned that Catherine had explained to the authorities that she’d arrived home to find her parents slaughtered, and that her little brother had been frightened enough to run. The murders were listed off as a freak accident with an animal–living in the projects kept them from being of any interest for further investigation.
Trowa was declared missing by the state, and eventually forgotten in the system.
By the time he was seventeen, he had many countless murders on his hands, and was bored with his life as it were. A loner, he never connected with his homeless peers, and he continued to pick on those younger and unfortunate souls. Children disappeared whenever he was around, and the other homeless learned to stay away from him. Animals were revolted at the sight of him, and he was contemplating leaving the state for something new and exciting when he met Dr’s S and H.
They were motivated by his abilities to shift into animals, and had chosen to take him home because they were tired of searching for recruits for Dr J’s project.
When Trowa met Heero and Wufei, he grew attached to the two. Not because he connected with them in emotional or other tangible ways–but because Heero represented his forgotten home life in terms of violence and degradation, and Wufei was a stable sort of soul that he found comfortable. And because the two were impossible to kill–Heero with his super strength and invincibility made him a challenge that entertained Trowa, and Wufei’s super speed and knowledge of dangerous souls, kept them formidable tools of amusement.
When Catherine was introduced to him, her joy and relief that he was still alive and well had been more than annoying. The sheer coincidence of meeting up with her again had him stumbling. But he fit in with the others, and with their little project in getting rid of the mutants that posed a threat to other mutants and humans. The stable environment, with the added extras of activity and reward system had stabilized him in a way that made it easier for him to forgo his instincts to kill and ‘put away’.
He found his home with the others and with their system, and hadn’t any plans to move.
He knew that his past unsettled more than one person–Duo’s reaction to his brief description of his life was indication of that. But Quatre had given no reaction to him at all, which was surprising for him. Wufei and Heero, upon learning his past, had been revolted and disgusted, but learned to cope and overlook.
But to have a meek and quiet person regard him as ‘safe’ was something of a surprise for Trowa. No one had ever thought he was a ‘safe’ person to be around–most adults were afraid of him, and his own peers avoided him. For someone like Quatre to comfortably situate himself near Trowa threw the taller boy off balance.
As it was now, Quatre was sitting so close to him that he may as well be leaning on him. It was annoying Trowa in a way that caused his skin to prickle with tangible fury and disgust, but it was also somewhat... placating. He didn’t care for contact and closeness–but he was surprised by Quatre’s behavior toward him to let it slide this one time.
Duo was busily shouting maniacally about capturing Heero’s checker pieces, the Asian shouting back in fury and disgust about some ill-timed move, with Wufei laughing somewhere from the kitchen.
It was a surprisingly peaceful night for them all–things had shifted between Heero and Quatre, Wufei and Duo were having sex frequently, and their kitchen was filled with much-needed and appreciated supplies.
Heero had reported that he couldn’t get into contact with anyone from home, and had been at a loss on what to do now. Wufei had asked that they merely settle down for the night, and try going into town tomorrow to see what they could do.
For Trowa, it was annoyingly calm and peaceful.
Shifting in his seat, he looked over at Quatre, who was staring off into space–as he normally did–and found something to amuse himself with. Reaching over to capture the blond’s chin within his hand, he drew that blank azure gaze to him, touching the reddish mark on the thin neck.
“You and Heero had make-up nookie?” he asked with a smirk. “How sweet. Must be nice to be in love with someone.”
“It’s not love,” Quatre replied quietly. “It’s an understanding.”
Trowa pushed his head away from him. “Why do you weak bitches always make excuses for imaginary pacts? I seriously hate when a person can’t defend himself.”
“...I’m sorry if it makes you angry.”
“Go sit somewhere else! Before I get pissed off, then. The thought of you being near me makes my skin crawl. I hate meek people,” Trowa grumbled, turning in his seat to roughly kick Quatre away from him. The blond settled himself on the other end of the couch without reaction, and Trowa sighed in irritation, resuming his previous position.
A checker bounced off his forehead, and he heard himself growl in irritation as he eyed Duo.
“Settle down over there!” Duo commanded as Heero began jumping all his pieces.
“Mind your own fucking business.”
“Stop beating up on him, then!”
“If he doesn’t like it, he can do something about it! Fuck off, Duo!”
“He’s not going to tell you because he can’t!”
“Shut up, Duo! Like you know shit about things!”
“Guys, guys!” Wufei interrupted, frowning at them both. “Knock it off.”
“Fuck you, Wufei!” Trowa snapped. “Leave your bitch to fight his own battles. He started it.”
“Don’t talk to him that way!” Duo snapped before Wufei could say anything. “And I’m no one’s bitch!”
“Duo–!”
“Shut up, Wufei! If he wants to talk shit, let him talk shit! Let him do his own battle! He started this fucking bullshit!” Trowa snarled at Wufei, hurling a pillow in his direction. Wufei was safely out of the pillow’s path, and catching it before it hit the ground.
“I can handle my bullshit, Trowa! I just hate fucking bullies! Fucking sick-ass bullies that have no right to be walking around in society!” Duo growled, rising from the floor and facing the green-eyed boy.
Heero declared himself the winner and went to the kitchen to find something to eat, Wufei looking after him in annoyance.
“Boo-the-fuck-who, Duo. I cry especially for you and your pain,” Trowa said mockingly, wiping away imaginary tears.
Furiously, Duo clenched his fists and jabbed his finger in his direction accusingly. “Sick fucks like you should be castrated! I hate fuckers like you! How can you fuckin’ live with yourself, knowing what you did to them?”
“I masturbate to the remembrance of them, Duo. Does that help any?”
Duo’s face turned a deathly pale white, then an angry red in almost the same instant. Before he could make a move, through, Wufei was there in an instant, holding him back.
“He’s just provoking you into doing something you’ll regret later, Duo,” he said gently, fighting to keep Duo from attacking a smirking Trowa. “Let it go.”
“I can’t!” Duo shouted, ripping his arm from his lover. “Shit that happened on the street to kids that can’t defend themselves pisses me off! And to know that this one here was part of that shit pisses me off!”
“I’m sorry for that, Duo, I really am,” Wufei urged, grabbing his other arm. “But you have to realize that he was a victim himself. Some people don’t deal with these things like other people...just like you said that other day, remember?”
“Fuck this bullshit! Fuck it! Just knowing he’s part of that bullshit makes me mad! I can’t see him any other way!”
“You’re going to have to learn, Duo.”
“Fuck you, Trowa! I hope you rot in hell, one day.”
“Like I said before, Duo, get off your religious bar stool. I’m not afraid of any consequence to my actions. I’d gladly do them all over again...and again and again,” Trowa added with a twisted smile. “And if it makes you feel better, I’ll have you in mind.”
Duo leapt at him with a furious snarl, Wufei intercepting with a grunt.
“Trowa! Knock it off!” Wufei snarled at him, locking Duo’s arms behind him.
“Fuck you, Wufei. I’m sick of this bullshit. If he wants to talk shit, let him talk shit. Who are you, anyway? His mother as well as his lover?”
“You fucking dog fucking creep!” Duo howled, struggling to get loose from Wufei, even as the Chinese’s face turned red with his own anger.
Heero walked back into the living room with a carton of milk, and watched the scene with a bored expression. Entirely used to the chaos that Trowa often caused, he wasn’t too involved with the goings-on that was occurring before him. He tipped the carton toward his mouth and finished off the rest of the milk. He then crumbled the carton, and tossed it at Trowa, hitting the green-eyed boy in the forehead.
“Knock it off, you freak,” he muttered.
“Et tu, Yuy?”
“Guys!” Wufei shouted above Heero’s reply. “This is ridiculous! Let’s just go to bed–”
“Together? Wufei!” Trowa cried, in mock-shock as he held his hands against his cheeks.
“NO! We’ll all just settle down, in our own rooms...and sleep it off. Tomorrow, we’ll take our aggressions out on each other while we train,” Wufei growled, narrowing his eyes in Trowa’s direction.
“How boring. By tomorrow, things will be the same as they were,” Trowa complained, leaning back in his seat. “Let Duo go. I want to see what he plans to do to me in order to avenge his pathetically vulnerable children...”
“No, I will not.”
“FUCK YOU, TROWA! I hope someone fucking castrates you for what you did! I fucking hate dicks like you!” Duo howled, struggling to get out of Wufei’s arms. But with no means of teleportation opportunities, he could only struggle wildly in Wufei’s arms, his fingers itching to curl around the green-eyed man’s neck. “It’s cuz of dicks like you that guys like me and Quat were attacked all the time! Cuz you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants!”
“Cry me a river, Duo. I would gladly eat guys like you and Quatre for breakfast. I liked the ones that couldn’t speak when I did things to them, Duo. You should have seen the way they cried,” Trowa said with a deranged giggle. Duo was bright red in the face, and struggling fiercely to get to him. Watching the long haired boy, Trowa climbed the couch cushions and settled himself comfortably next to Quatre. Capturing the blond’s chin with one hand, he slowly licked the boy’s cheek, as if lapping away falling tears. “They were simply delicious...”
“ARGH!” Duo screamed furiously, Wufei being dragged as the boy made his way over to Trowa.
Heero shifted uncomfortably as Trowa laughed mockingly in Duo’s direction. He was waiting for Quatre to make some sort of movement or action to stop all of this provocation, or even shift uncomfortably out of Trowa’s grasp–but the blond did nothing. Irritation grew deep in his chest as Trowa continued to taunt Duo over Wufei’s angered snaps, the green-eyed man roughly fondling Quatre’s crotch.
His patience snapped when he saw Quatre move into the fondling, and his eyes grew wide with fury.
Quatre hadn’t moved in reaction to Trowa’s touch–it was just that he was growing uncomfortable with Trowa’s actions, and was trying to shift away from the man when he felt a wild spike of anger erupting from the back of the living room. Looking up, he saw that Heero was picking up the other half of the sectional and was prepared to toss it in their direction. He gave a sharp gasp, being the only one to notice the action, and prepared to catch the sectional with his telekinesis.
But Trowa managed to catch it as well, and moved rapidly–he had Quatre in a choke hold in an instant, drawing the boy in front of him as a human shield.
Wufei immediately sensed a shift in scene and glanced behind him to see Heero pausing momentarily at the action. Duo hadn’t noticed this at all–he just saw the way Trowa was holding Quatre and was screaming bloody murder.
“Yuy, stop!” Wufei ordered. “Barton! Enough! Knock it off, you guys!”
“Throw it, Yuy!” Trowa taunted, tightening his grip on Quatre’s throat. The boy was trying to gasp in air, clawing at his arm, but he was focused on Heero and no one else. “He’ll catch it. Trust him. I know you wanna kick my ass, Yuy. Do it!”
The sectional went flying, Wufei tugging Duo out of the way. Quatre saw the movement, and did catch the sectional before it smashed into him and Trowa both, but Trowa took this opportunity to drag them both off the couch to have a cleaner space to work with. Quatre was still in the choke hold, and due to Trowa’s height, the tips of his toes scraped against the floor, and his airway was completely blocked off from the hang of his weight. Unable to gasp in much-needed air, Quatre lost his focus on the sectional, the large piece of furniture crashing against the floor and knocking over the coffee table.
Trowa laughed as Heero leapt over the mess to confront him.
“STOP IT, YOU GUYS!” Duo screamed, picking up his half-filled water cup and hurling it at the two. The cup bounced off one of Heero’s immovable shoulders, water splashing across all three of them.
Wufei exhaled heavily, defeated for the moment, on that Trowa was now using Quatre as a shield against Heero. Things had progressed from the usual taunts and roughhousing to something dangerous. Looking at the situation, he moved to the side, looking for a way in which he could somehow come between the two mutants without getting hurt.
Trowa chuckled as he stared at Heero, nudging his arm so that Quatre’s head rested at an awkward angle–his neck easily snapped if Trowa made the deliberate movement. Heero sensed the action, his eyes narrowing in fury. His fists clenched, and he stubbornly refused to back down as Trowa continued to grin at him from behind Quatre’s head.
The blond was struggling to breathe, pushing at Trowa’s arms when he suddenly stiffened, his eyes darting away from those posed in the living room and focusing in on the window.
Outside, Alex took a deep breath, sighing as he dropped his cigarette into the snow. Behind him, five other mutants began to spread out from their vehicle. Staring at the cabin, Alex lifted an eyebrow and wondered how anyone could cope with no electricity.