Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Punishment Enough ❯ Punishment Enough ( One-Shot )

Punishment Enough

 

AN: This story popped into my head during the night and just wouldn't leave me alone, I do know what inspired me (smiles) that would be an episode of CSI where a suspect had sustained the same injury I've written Heero with. It just made me wonder what it would be like for Heero the first time he fired a gun. So here it is, another short story (laughs) I'm getting better at keeping them short!

 

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing…can't get much clearer than that!

 

Heero entered his apartment late at night, moonlight filtered through the open windows filling the rooms with a silvery glow. He locked the door behind him, feeling weary and old, falling back against the thick wood, Heero rested his head against it, and sighed. He was going through life without interest just going through the motions so people wouldn't ask. At all times he felt a void within him, a part of himself was missing, it was a part that should never have been, the thrill of battle. Peace had taken a tentative hold over the earth and colonies, and Heero had seen his end coming, but had no idea how to face it. For the first time in his life feeling an emotion he supposed had to be called terror, he had vanished from beneath his friends eyes, in a useless attempt to find his place in the unknown world.

It had been nearly a year since that time, and all Heero had come to confirm was his inability to live in a world of peace. He had considered finding the others perhaps even sending a message Relena's way he knew she was still looking for him. But he couldn't bring himself to do it, he was far too independent a man to try and rely on the other pilots for help, and he could only cause Relena further pain. He was determined despite the pain and unknown future ahead to continue on by himself. Opening his eyes finally Heero looked out over the room and saw nothing beyond his gun sitting in a pool of moonlight on an otherwise empty table.

Walking towards it as though hypnotized Heero reached out to take hold of the familiar object, feeling as though it were a part of himself, an extension of his body, and to his utter disgust Heero felt the void lessen a little. Staring down at the weapon Heero held the grip firmly while his left hand brushed along its surface. There was so much from his past he couldn't remember, and felt—from some of the things he could—that that was probably a good thing. But there was one memory that was standing out in his mind as he looked down at the gun. He remembered the first time he ever held a gun. His hands had been too small to close about the grip properly let alone firer it, but that had never been Odin's intention. His stern caregiver had merely been content to indulge his young ward's curiosity, allowing him to feel the weight; it had been a couple years later, when he first fired a gun.

~The small boy wandered aimlessly around the broken down abandoned apartment complex, he had been calling this rubble strewn area home for some time, and quite honestly didn't know any different. Odin, the man who had taken him in offering food and shelter was not around that the boy could see, and that was not unusual, often times he'd disappear only to return suddenly without warning, greeting the boy with a friendly “Hey Junior.” That had over time inadvertently become his name he accepted it, responding to it, seeing as he didn't know anything else.

He was a solemn boy looking out at the world silently uncomfortable with speaking to others finding it hard to trust. He trusted Odin, the man had been kind to him, something the boy had found curious, and through the time he had spent with Odin he had watched like a hawk learning a great many things. The boy reached out for the door frame eyes looking into the room he had come to, it was Odin's makeshift firing range, or so he had called it. Numerous times the boy had sat and watched as Odin fired off his gun at targets placed at the other end of the room. The boy had wanted to try, but Odin had just smiled saying “When you're older Junior.”

Walking into that room now, the boy looked at the bullet holes in most of the targets, they were all centered near the middle, and he had gathered that was the point of it all. His sharp eyes caught sight of a gun resting in a rather out of the way place among the broken furniture and shell casings. The boy moved towards it as though drawn like a moth to the flame, and reaching down took hold of it in his little hands. It was heavy but fit comfortably in his hands unlike the first time Odin had let him hold it. He wondered if Odin had forgot to put it away, he had always been so careful not to leave them out when he was finished.

The boy looked down the room to a target which appeared newer than the rest having fewer bullet holes in it, and positioned himself as he had seen Odin do so many times before. Raising the gun he aimed closing one eye and trying to steady his shaking hands. Placing a finger of the trigger the boy squeezed it hesitantly almost not breathing as he waited for the gun to go off. The loud bang, was accompanied by a sharp pain in his right hand, and he dropped the weapon in surprise staring down at the blood oozing from between his thumb and first finger. He gripped the hand tightly wincing as it continued to burn, but looked up in horror when he heard someone coming.

Odin was home, turning towards the door the boy raced from the room, running through the halls dodging derbies, to make it back to the part of the building that they lived in. He had just made it to his room when he heard Odin's voice call out, “Hey Junior where are you?” Looking down at his bloody hand the boy hesitated to leave his room, Odin would know what he had done…and then…He didn't know what Odin would do, he had never done something he wasn't supposed to.

His hesitation cost him his chance, a tall figure appeared in the door way, and the boy quickly hid his hands behind his back. “There you are,” Odin said with a half smile dropping down to one knee so he was closer to looking the boy in he face, “You hungry?” he asked.

The boy nodded his head trying to appear normal, but it was no good Odin was watching him too closely.

“What's the matter?” he asked trying to see behind the boy's back, but the boy wasn't about to show. Odin settled back with a sigh, “Junior what are you hiding?” he asked seriously. The little boy shook his head, feeling panic well within him, there was nowhere he could escape too, Odin was going to find out and then…

“Let me see your hands,” Odin bade firmly, but didn't wait for his tiny ward to respond instead he reached out and took hold of the boy's little arms gently drawing his hand out so Odin could see. The boy winced as Odin's hand brushed across the cut, and Odin's eyes widened a little in response. Taking hold of the boy's right hand Odin turned it over examining the still bleeding cut. “You fired my gun…” he said softly.

The boy flinched expecting to be punished but as the seconds passed and the pain did not come he slowly opened his eyes, finding Odin watching him with a serious expression.

“If you had waited, I would have showed you how to avoid this,” he cocked his head to the side taking a closer look at the wound. “C'mon this needs to be cleaned,” he said coming to his feet and guiding the boy from the room with a hand on the back of his smaller head.

He was still finding it hard to believe that Odin wasn't mad, the child kept finding himself expecting the older man to suddenly turn on him with anger in his eyes, but it never came. Soon his found himself seated on an old wooden table that they ate at most days, there was a first aid kit beside him, and Odin was preparing to pour something over the cut.

“This'll sting,” he warned, and the little boy gasped in pain shutting his eyes tight and tried to pull his hand away, but Odin's grip was firm and the pain soon lessened.

As Odin began to bind the wound the boy found himself looking up at the older man watching him intently trying to understand why he wasn't mad. Odin had said on more than one occasion that he wasn't to touch the guns, but now he had, so why wasn't there punishment?

“There, yah go Junior,” Odin proclaimed as he finished tying off the bandage and let go of the boy's hand. He leaned down suddenly causing the child to jump, his expression was serious as he looked into the boy's eyes. “That,” he said pointing to the bandaged hand, “Is punishment enough.” Odin straightened then walking over to the stove, “You said you were hungry?” he asked again, the matter of the gun seeming to be forgotten.~

Heero looked down at his right hand shifting it back and forth in the silver light watching as the faded scar became visible at certain angles. He had never made that mistake again, and shortly after that incident Odin had began instructing him. It had surprised them both the natural talent Heero had had with a gun, and it made him shudder now to think someone could be natural at killing. But it was the truth, unless he was in the battlefield taking or protecting lives—the second didn't make up for the first in Heero's eyes—he continued to feel empty like a part of him was missing.

Lowering the gun back to the table Heero walked away from it, he didn't like holding the gun for too long, dark thoughts inevitably popped into his head, and the more he cultivated them the harder it was to find reasons not to end it all, to save the world from someone like himself. Walking deeper into his apartment Heero entered his tiny kitchen and reached for the bottle of rye, pouring himself a glass he downed it, the entire time his eyes still on that gun, his first and last punishment.

Thanks for Reading!

Morganeth Taren'drel