Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ The Aftermath ❯ Chapter 6
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: Spider_Queen 
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / / Drama / Angst | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 09.23.2002 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.2K | Visits: 289 | Status: Completed
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / / Drama / Angst | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 09.23.2002 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.2K | Visits: 289 | Status: Completed
Note: sorry I haven't posted in a while-no inspiration, really. However...I've grown excited about this story once again! so, though the pieces may be short still (I don't like throwing parts together that don't have the same mood, ya know?), there will be parts. ^^
He stood before the steps, staring out at the world, a bleak expression on his pale face. Before him the driveway streached out a short eternity before it was swallowed up by the trees that gave the house it's privacy...let it keep it's secrets. The world outside of the happy little nook the former Gundam pilots had created for themselves seemed so very far away...another planet, another life entirely. He stood, unsure of the outside world. Unsure if there WAS an "outside world".
"You." The voice was cold, hard with an underlying tension that made the fine hair on the back of Quatre's neck stand on end. Slowly, the young Arabian turned, his body tensed up, ready to run or fight...he half expected to see one of his victims, or his old master, standing there...risen from the dead to torment what was left of his life.
Sea-green eyes found the voice's owner, and the young man relaxed-somewhat. He didn't recognize the face he found to be someone he had killed...nor was it his lord Gabriel. Light brown hair framed a thin face, sunken brown eyes stared at him beneath well defined eyebrows and thick lashes. The boy was naked, yet undefined below his neck...his neck, which was hidden by a large, ugly metal collar held on with a silver padlock.
"You're the one..." The boy moved his mouth, and the voice spoke the words-yet they seemed unconnected to one another. Brown eyes gazed at Quatre unwavering...unnerving, like a living zombie, a brainwashed drone.
"I'm what?" Quatre asked, forcably diverting his eyes from the boy, his voice quaking slightly with confusion and fear.
"You're the one thats killing me." The whisper was directly in Quatre's ear, cold breath tickling the thin hair on his neck and he whirled again, his pulse and breathing racing. The boy, his eyes as dead as before, smiled broadly at the Winner, his face mear inches from Quatre.
"Your the one that knows..." The voice came once again from behind the Arabian, and once again, the blond spun, nearly falling this time. Catching himself, Quatre gasped in horror. What had been the house...was now nothing. In it's place was a sea, a vast army of...eyes. Faces. People. "But does nothing." Mouths moved...all the mouths moved...yet the one voice reached Quatre's ears.
Pale eyes widening, Quatre turned away. The eyes of the others...they haunted him. Held him. Stared at him with tears and pain...from empty faces and dead sockets. He stared away, wanting to find the driveway leading into the woods once again...but finding only that he was surrounded. Eyes everywhere...hard, cold, unfeeling and pain-filled...they surrounded him.
"You could save us, Quatre!" mouths moved as the voice got louder. The eyes were glowing with an unreal light...the bodies seemed closer to Quatre. He shuddered, bringing his hand up to cover his ears, cover his aching heart. His mouth opened, words of defense on his tongue...but they died away in the crowd.
"You could save us, but you don't care..." The voice yelled, unbearably loud, shaking the very foundations of the world.
With a cry of his own, Quatre fell to his knees, eyes squeezed tight in pain, tears streaming down his face, hands clawing at his own flesh. The world was shaking, ringing with the force of the shout...The figures that surrounded the young man shattered, turning to dust before they could hit the ground. The shaking stopped and silence grew in the dark void.
Cautiously, Quatre moved his hands from his ears, feeling sick as he saw the slick red liquid that covered them and rolled gently down the sides of his face.
"You don't care." the whisper was lost in a wind that Quatre never felt, as he carefully, painfully, pulled himself to his feet.
Once again, the one-time pilot opened his mouth, words of apology, words of fear and defense once again dying stillborn on his leps.
"Everyone becomes what I want them to."
Turning slowly, his eyes wide, Quatre's met Gabriel's black stare. Horror growing in his mind, his heart swelling until it felt ready to burst. The pain was growing, unescapable...the blond's body twisted and his mouth opened in a silent scream...
A smile flit across Gabriel's lips.
"You will become what I want you to."
~*~
Quatre opened his pale eyes with a snap, staring at the cieling, feeling panic in his heart. Sweat soaked his body, making the thin white sheets of the bed he and Trowa shared cling to his flesh uncomfortably. His breathing came fast and hard as the last image of Gabriel's smiling face fled his mind. The dream was gone, forgotten...yet the damage had been done.
With tremendous effort, Quatre forced himself to sit up, bringing one strong hand up to run through his wet and unrully pale hair.
What had the dream been about? A frown began to form on the Winner's pouty little lips as he faught to remember just one moment of the nightmare. No images, no words...just the feeling. The feeling of utter torror; helplessness and guilt. Was it, then, a memory? Quatre shook his head to his own question. It felt different...in some ways it felt worse.
A slight shift in the blankets and the quiet sound of cloth against cloth pulled Quatre out of the trap in his mind. Beside the blond, Trowa propped himself up on one elbow, his brow furowed and a small frown on his face as he peered at his lover in the dim, early morning light. Quatre looked down at the brown-haired boy, his eyes softening as he let the dream slip, if just for that moment, from his mind, like sand through an hourglass.
"Quatre?" Trowa's soft voice sounded a little scratchy as he sat up more completely, worry etched in his features. "Is everything okay?"
Quatre let out a little sigh. "As well as usual," he replied softly, not wanting to alarm his lover nor lie. He forced a smile, small and soft, as he lay back down again.
"Another nightmare then," Trowa breathed, his eyes slipping shut once again even as he wrapped his smaller love in his arms. Sleep is a powerful mistress, and though Heavyarms' pilot wished desperatly to remain awake for his little one, his breathing was soon even and regular, his grip on Quatre's thin body was light and loose.
Quatre stared up at the cieling with a soft sigh, not even attempting to banish the few crystaline tears from his eyes. His hand saught Trowa's sleeping one as he snuggled closer to his lover's warm body.
Sea-green eyes closed once again, mind saught out the nightmare...
Quatre didn't get back asleep that night.
He stood before the steps, staring out at the world, a bleak expression on his pale face. Before him the driveway streached out a short eternity before it was swallowed up by the trees that gave the house it's privacy...let it keep it's secrets. The world outside of the happy little nook the former Gundam pilots had created for themselves seemed so very far away...another planet, another life entirely. He stood, unsure of the outside world. Unsure if there WAS an "outside world".
"You." The voice was cold, hard with an underlying tension that made the fine hair on the back of Quatre's neck stand on end. Slowly, the young Arabian turned, his body tensed up, ready to run or fight...he half expected to see one of his victims, or his old master, standing there...risen from the dead to torment what was left of his life.
Sea-green eyes found the voice's owner, and the young man relaxed-somewhat. He didn't recognize the face he found to be someone he had killed...nor was it his lord Gabriel. Light brown hair framed a thin face, sunken brown eyes stared at him beneath well defined eyebrows and thick lashes. The boy was naked, yet undefined below his neck...his neck, which was hidden by a large, ugly metal collar held on with a silver padlock.
"You're the one..." The boy moved his mouth, and the voice spoke the words-yet they seemed unconnected to one another. Brown eyes gazed at Quatre unwavering...unnerving, like a living zombie, a brainwashed drone.
"I'm what?" Quatre asked, forcably diverting his eyes from the boy, his voice quaking slightly with confusion and fear.
"You're the one thats killing me." The whisper was directly in Quatre's ear, cold breath tickling the thin hair on his neck and he whirled again, his pulse and breathing racing. The boy, his eyes as dead as before, smiled broadly at the Winner, his face mear inches from Quatre.
"Your the one that knows..." The voice came once again from behind the Arabian, and once again, the blond spun, nearly falling this time. Catching himself, Quatre gasped in horror. What had been the house...was now nothing. In it's place was a sea, a vast army of...eyes. Faces. People. "But does nothing." Mouths moved...all the mouths moved...yet the one voice reached Quatre's ears.
Pale eyes widening, Quatre turned away. The eyes of the others...they haunted him. Held him. Stared at him with tears and pain...from empty faces and dead sockets. He stared away, wanting to find the driveway leading into the woods once again...but finding only that he was surrounded. Eyes everywhere...hard, cold, unfeeling and pain-filled...they surrounded him.
"You could save us, Quatre!" mouths moved as the voice got louder. The eyes were glowing with an unreal light...the bodies seemed closer to Quatre. He shuddered, bringing his hand up to cover his ears, cover his aching heart. His mouth opened, words of defense on his tongue...but they died away in the crowd.
"You could save us, but you don't care..." The voice yelled, unbearably loud, shaking the very foundations of the world.
With a cry of his own, Quatre fell to his knees, eyes squeezed tight in pain, tears streaming down his face, hands clawing at his own flesh. The world was shaking, ringing with the force of the shout...The figures that surrounded the young man shattered, turning to dust before they could hit the ground. The shaking stopped and silence grew in the dark void.
Cautiously, Quatre moved his hands from his ears, feeling sick as he saw the slick red liquid that covered them and rolled gently down the sides of his face.
"You don't care." the whisper was lost in a wind that Quatre never felt, as he carefully, painfully, pulled himself to his feet.
Once again, the one-time pilot opened his mouth, words of apology, words of fear and defense once again dying stillborn on his leps.
"Everyone becomes what I want them to."
Turning slowly, his eyes wide, Quatre's met Gabriel's black stare. Horror growing in his mind, his heart swelling until it felt ready to burst. The pain was growing, unescapable...the blond's body twisted and his mouth opened in a silent scream...
A smile flit across Gabriel's lips.
"You will become what I want you to."
~*~
Quatre opened his pale eyes with a snap, staring at the cieling, feeling panic in his heart. Sweat soaked his body, making the thin white sheets of the bed he and Trowa shared cling to his flesh uncomfortably. His breathing came fast and hard as the last image of Gabriel's smiling face fled his mind. The dream was gone, forgotten...yet the damage had been done.
With tremendous effort, Quatre forced himself to sit up, bringing one strong hand up to run through his wet and unrully pale hair.
What had the dream been about? A frown began to form on the Winner's pouty little lips as he faught to remember just one moment of the nightmare. No images, no words...just the feeling. The feeling of utter torror; helplessness and guilt. Was it, then, a memory? Quatre shook his head to his own question. It felt different...in some ways it felt worse.
A slight shift in the blankets and the quiet sound of cloth against cloth pulled Quatre out of the trap in his mind. Beside the blond, Trowa propped himself up on one elbow, his brow furowed and a small frown on his face as he peered at his lover in the dim, early morning light. Quatre looked down at the brown-haired boy, his eyes softening as he let the dream slip, if just for that moment, from his mind, like sand through an hourglass.
"Quatre?" Trowa's soft voice sounded a little scratchy as he sat up more completely, worry etched in his features. "Is everything okay?"
Quatre let out a little sigh. "As well as usual," he replied softly, not wanting to alarm his lover nor lie. He forced a smile, small and soft, as he lay back down again.
"Another nightmare then," Trowa breathed, his eyes slipping shut once again even as he wrapped his smaller love in his arms. Sleep is a powerful mistress, and though Heavyarms' pilot wished desperatly to remain awake for his little one, his breathing was soon even and regular, his grip on Quatre's thin body was light and loose.
Quatre stared up at the cieling with a soft sigh, not even attempting to banish the few crystaline tears from his eyes. His hand saught Trowa's sleeping one as he snuggled closer to his lover's warm body.
Sea-green eyes closed once again, mind saught out the nightmare...
Quatre didn't get back asleep that night.