Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ The Prayer of Saint Peter ❯ The Prayer of Saint Peter ( Prologue )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Authors Notes: This is a short songfic, inspired by the song, The Prayer of Saint Peter by Edwin McCain



Authors Notes: This is a short songfic, inspired by the song, The Prayer of Saint Peter by Edwin McCain. It's an absolutely gorgeous, heart-wrenching song. Marika Webster introduced me to it, and I believe she's planning a songfic of her own based on it, but I simply couldn't pass up the opportunity. I don't write songfics, but this one just begs to be written. So I hope you all enjoy.

Disclaimers: Gundam Wing does not belong to me, and neither does the song The Prayer of Saint Peter. The song belongs to Edwin McCain.

The Prayer of Saint Peter


~~Let them in, Peter.
For they are very tired.~~

It all happened so fast. So very fast. The type of fast where the world slows to a crawl before your eyes and you know, know without a hopeful prayer, that you are dead. Hiiro Yui felt this crawl, this loss of hope, this certainty that at long last his death waited just behind him.
The mission was supposed to be simple. Go in, get the papers, get out. Very easy, Hiiro Yui, hardly worth the Perfect Soldier's time, not to mention the time of his four best friends. Yet somehow things had gone wrong; somehow time was slowing, slowing, and slowing and soon that damned heat-seeking missile would stop slowing and be right at his doorstep. He knew it. There had never been any doubt in his mind that this would happen one day, but not like this. He wasn't supposed to die on such an easy mission. He wondered a moment, a moment which really only lasted less than a millisecond, if the other four were alright. And then the missile arrived.

~~Give them couches
Where the angels sleep
And light those fires.~~

The flames poured, and Chang Wufei took a futile step backwards. How ironic, he thought, that the solitary dragon should be killed with fire. Careless. He was careless to step into such a trap. Who were these people that they put such deadly traps to protect such petty information? Or . . .
As the flame flowed around his thin form, Wufei wondered if the information was more important than he had been told.

~~Let them wake whole again
To brand new dawns
Fired by the sun not
Wartime's bloody guns.~~

Blood splattered on the wall before him, and it took a moment for the small boy to realize that the blood came from the hole in his own shoulder. Quatre Raberba Winner looked down, placed a hand over the bleeding area, and pulled it away with a strange fascination. He'd been shot. From behind. He whirled, holding his own weapon up with the hand attached to his uninjured yet shaky arm.
He was too late. The soldier behind him shot a second bullet, and this one tore ruthlessly into the little Arabian's chest. Quatre stumbled back into the wall already soaked with his essence, and slid slowly downwards. Ever downwards. Even as he fell he saw the red rose blooming over his shirt and thought how pretty it was.
Somehow, he never hit the ground.

~~Let their peace be deep.
Remember where the broken bodies lie.~~

Balance. Balance was the key, but his balance left him. Enemy soldiers crawled this place, too many to count, too many to be guarding what he had been told they were after. Trowa Barton saw too late the one sneaking up on him, the one on the roof with hands outstretched in a desperate pushing motion. But even had he seen in time, Trowa may or may not have stopped the man. There was an ache in his chest, no, in his heart, that told him at least one of his companions was already gone.
Quatre . . .
His half-hearted windmilling against gravity ceased, and the acrobat sailed gracefully to the ground.

~~God knows how young
they were to have to die.~~

One moment Duo Maxwell was perched over the body of his friend and fellow fighter, the next there was a blade at his throat. He had a moment, split second really, in which to berate himself for being stupid. Of course he should have checked to make sure Trowa's knives were still on his body. The circus boy always carried a few in case he ran out of ammunition for his guns. That should have been the first thing Duo checked instead of an obviously absent pulse. But no, he'd checked to see if Trowa was alive.
He felt the blade dig into the thin flesh of his throat, the pumping jugular beneath, and pain flared. Then there was red, red everywhere, red spilling over his shirt and over Trowa's body. The red faded to a dark maroon and finally to a familiar, comforting black.

~~Well, God knows how young
they were to have to die.~~

His eyes opened. Wait, that couldn't be right. When last he'd closed his eyes he never expected to open them again. He'd been dying, bleeding from the throat, blood pulsing from an unseen wound. Without a second to pause at his foolishness, Duo lifted a hand to feel his neck for the open gash, but felt nothing. Only then did he take a moment to look around and realize he was no longer where he had been.
He sat up in the polished wooden pew of a church. Not just any old church, but one very familiar to his heart. The altar sat were it had the last time he saw it in one piece. Here it was, whole again, without any trace of the bombs and fires that once destroyed it from top to bottom. The stained glass windows shone down rainbow rain on his wondering face. And there, there across the room where she had always stood watch over him was the lovely white marble angel statue. The tear tracked the length of his face before he even realized it had fallen.
"Duo . . ."
He spun, and there behind him stood the once living angel who had made one year of his childhood heaven on Earth. Her arms outstretched, she called to him with those caring eyes, the same as they were all those years ago when they'd helped to calm a young street rat.

~~Give them things they like.
Let them make some noise.~~

In his vision swam a myriad of last images: the roof, the ground, a garden, the circus . . . and through all of it there was only one solid thing. Quatre. The little Arabian, so frail, but so strong. He was the pillar of all that swung through Trowa's mind, the only stable image, the only thing stationary. All around the edges of what his eyes could see was a white haze, a light that couldn't be rubbed away.
"Trowa." It was a simple statement of his name. A smile graced Quatre's face and Trowa found himself reaching forward to grasp his koi's small hand. The moment he touched the cool skin the world around him came to a halt, a sudden but not disorienting stop. Quatre stepped forward into his confused but waiting arms, sliding his own thin appendages around Trowa's waist. They stood there like that a moment, the tall one's emerald green orbs taking in the sparkling garden scene around them.
"Wha-"
"Shhh." Quatre raised his head, shaking it gently, "It's over, Trowa. Don't ask why, and don't be angry." As always there was that sweetness in the words he spoke, and a mild understanding of what had happened. "Just be grateful."

~~Give dance hall bands
not golden harps
to these our boys.~~

There was a cold cloth on his forehead. Moist but not dripping. His body sank into a warm, soft mattress and there was nothing in him to insist he rise. For once in his life, Wufei felt like just lying down and forgetting that a world outside of his mind even existed.
Then he remembered the flames, and the burning agony of his flesh and his eyes opened without his permission.
"Don't tell me you're already itching for a fight, Chang Wufei."
The voice was familiar, but long years of its absence made him wary to guess at who it could belong to. But his heart remembered, and his body. His felt the shaking in his lean limbs as he turned, looking behind him. There, sitting primly in a chair behind his bed, was a red-clad beauty, a young girl who once had railed against the injustices against her sex, and died fighting in order to prove she could. Also, to protect their people when he had felt the war none of their affair. She looked no older than that day he'd carried her across the meadow hill.
"M-Meiran . . ."
"W-Wufei," she retorted, an affectionate expression crossing her laughing black eyes. Despite her physical youth, Meiran held herself with the poise of a much older woman, a wise woman who knew the secrets of the Afterlife. But she could still rise verbally to the occasion.
"Where-"
"You're with me, Wufei. That's all that's important, don't you think?"

~~Let them love, Peter
For they've had no time.~~

White blankness surrounded him. Nothingness. A void that was filled with bright, white light, but was a void nonetheless. He took a step forward, his shoes not making so much as a scuffing sound on the white floor. Perhaps because there really was no floor, just a whiteness that seemed to support him.
What was this? Hiiro's calculating mind knew exactly what had happened. The missile had struck, exploding his truck with him inside. There had been a momentary flash of searing agony, and then this nothing. He knew he was dead. But somehow some deep part of his mind that had listened to old superstitions expected to be writhing in the flames of Hell. After all, was he not a murderer? Had he not committed numerous murders all for the shallow sake of politics? Even if he were fighting for a good cause, surely murder was still an unpardonable offense.
"The only unforgivable sin is despair," said a voice, one that floated all around him. The voice he knew, and the words as well. "That's why Dr. Faustus is dragged into Hell, not because he was a sorcerer or because of any of the other sins he committed." It was Relena. During one of those rare moments when he'd actually allowed her to find him. It was a memory of a day he'd spent with her. They'd somehow become entrenched in a religious/philosophical debate. "He refuses to ask God for forgiveness, because he thinks his sins too much to be forgiven, even by the unconditional love of God."
"Despair . . ." Hiiro repeated, much in the same fashion as he had on that day.
"Yes," came the phantom reply, spoken over the bridge between years, "despair. Faustus despairs that God will not forgive him, and therefore doesn't receive the forgiveness he needs. You see? If he had only asked, he would have lain down his pride, overcome his despair, and gone to Heaven."

~~They should have birdsongs
and trees and hills to climb.~~

Hands together, fingers intertwined, Trowa and Quatre explored their garden in a daze of sorts. While his abilities no longer told him of the whereabouts of his other friends, Quatre could feel Trowa's love with even more clarity than before. It practically radiated out from his tall form, flowing over and engulfing the smaller Arabian. The boy knew that it was stronger here because this was a place of love, but still he couldn't help being somewhat overwhelmed.
No, he didn't worry about the other three. If he and Trowa had made it to Heaven, then surely Wufei, Duo, and Hiiro had. Although Hiiro may not recognize it. Quatre didn't even try to suppress his giggle at that thought. There was no use in trying to hide happiness here. It was all around.
Certainly, death wasn't as terrible as those on Earth made it seem.

~~The taste of summer
and a ripened pear.
And a girl sweet as
Meadow winds
With flowing hair.~~

"Sister Helen . . ."
"Duo, didn't I always tell you there was a happier place?" She wasn't gloating, or trying to say I-told-you-so. It was a simple question, with a simple answer, one that he now knew. He nodded slowly, the tears flowing more freely now that he knew what was happening. Heaven existed, and somehow he'd slipped through the cracks and made it in. Someone wasn't paying attention.
"I guess Saint Peter was looking the other way when I snuck in, huh?" The laughter died on his tongue as he realized that he truly never expected to get to Heaven.
"No, Duo, he wasn't. And he didn't make a mistake either. You do deserve to be here, just like everyone else. There is no person who does not deserve Heaven, save for the one who truly believes there is no other destination for him."
"But that's me!" Duo protested even as he knew he was insane for doing so. He'd made it to the happy hunting grounds, the eternal place of joy, and yet here he was complaining. "I don't deserve to be here!"
Sister Helen actually laughed.
"This is a place where lies come to die, Duo, even those lies we tell ourselves. You always knew, somewhere deep inside of your soul, that you were doing the right thing. You always strove for Heaven. Even if your mind didn't know, your heart and spirit did."
Duo nodded, knowing the truth when he heard it.

~~Tell them how they are missed
But say not to fear.
It's going to be alright
With us down here.~~

Light blue eyes stared over the retreating crowd. She'd greeted them all warmly enough through her tears when they arrived, and part of her was grateful for each and every person who had come. But the rest of her was angry. Angry that these people were here only because of a political obligation. Angry that they had never really known the five who were being honored. Angry that there had to be a funeral in the first place.
There were only four bodies. Quatre, Duo, and Trowa all lay quietly in their caskets, arms folded neatly, looking for all the world as if they would sit up. Especially Duo, who she expected would proclaim this all a joke. Wufei's coffin was closed, cutting off the spectators view of his charred and broken flesh.
There had not been enough left of Hiiro to even bother with a coffin. What little of him they could find was quickly cremated and handed over to Relena for disposal. Not knowing anything about the stoic boy except that she loved him, Relena had given his ashes to the one place she knew would accept them. Space.
And now, here she was, the only person among the thousands who had arrived who really knew the loss that had occurred. The leaders of each of the various Earthsphere Kingdoms had come for show, as well as the leaders of the colony governments. They wanted to show that they grieved for the deaths of the five boys who once helped free them from war. Other than that, they had no real sorrow. Relena caught a glimpse of one representative elbowing another in the ribs, as if hinting at some hilarious joke.
The rest of the people were either truly grieving for their saviors, even if they had never known the pilots personally, or were curious attention seekers. These were the ones who wanted to see how badly the pilots were hurt before they died. These people had a fascination with death and the macabre, and the pull of dead Gundam pilots was simply too much to resist.
She just wanted them all to leave. She felt like she would tear her hair out otherwise.

~~Let them in, Peter.
Oh, know they are very tired.~~

Obviously there was some higher power at work here.
Otherwise he would just be dead, right? There would be no white nothing for him to wander eternally through, there would just be nothing. No sight, no sound, no touch or smell. Just a beautiful non-awareness, a void of thought and perception, not of environment. That should have been what happened. That was what he had argued that day with Relena, despite his unconscious fear of Hell. He'd argued that there was no afterlife, no beautiful garden and no flaming pit. Just nothing.
So . . . apparently nothing is what he got.

~~Give them couches where
the angels sleep
and light those fires.~~

"The only unforgivable sin is despair," he told himself, almost like a mantra. Could it be possible that the girl was right? That he was destined to travel the road of Dr. Faustus if he chose not to ask forgiveness of God? But that would make this place neither Heaven nor Hell, but . . . "Purgatory." Damn. Just his luck, to end up in Purgatory. Hiiro frowned slightly.

~~Let them wake whole again
to brand new dawns~~

The simple fact that Purgatory existed gave credence to the existence of Heaven and Hell. And where did he want to go? Heaven, where he would spend eternity in a happiness he didn't deserve? Or Hell, with the damnation he felt was warranted, but somehow couldn't find the courage to face?

~~Fired by the sun not
Wartime's bloody guns.~~

And Relena. She surely would be going to Heaven one day. Despite himself, despite all of the time he spent telling her that they could never be together, for their worlds were too different . . . he wanted to see her again. He wanted to see her when her time was done. He wanted them to be together then.

~~Let their peace be deep.
Remember where the broken bodies lie.~~

"Forgive me." The words slid from his lips before he even realized that he meant to say them. "Forgive me, please." And his knees gave out beneath him, sending him crashing into a kneel. His thin limbs shook uncontrolled, beads of sweat dripping down his face and over his clammy skin. He was praying. Hiiro Yui, the Perfect Soldier, the consummate killer, was praying to a God he'd never dared to believe in. "Forgive me . . ."
"Your sins are not your own."

~~God knows how young
they were to have to die.~~

It was not a booming voice, nor a particularly distinctive one. It did not sound angry or self-satisfied. Nor was it precisely male or female. It was simply a voice, calm and gentle. It was soft, forgiving. There was no room in this voice for anger, jealousy, vanity, or any of the other negative characteristics God was supposed to possess.
"Your sins were given to you by others, for an unkind destiny. You have not despaired. Be happy, Hiiro Yui."

~~Tell them how they are missed
But say not to fear.~~

The whiteness faded away slowly, faded into a sparkling garden scene. Above him, on a hill, stood two figures he recognized. One tall, one smaller, it had to be Trowa and Quatre. A shout to his left brought his attention to a running Duo, whose braid swung cheerfully behind him. Following the braided one was a tall and peaceful nun, who kept him in her caring sight but stayed back from the reunion.
Without knowing why, but knowing what he would see, Hiiro looked to his right. Wufei approached, his fingers laced comfortably through the fingers of a smaller, younger Chinese girl. On closer inspection Wufei himself looked younger, by five years perhaps. The dark boy looked away from his appealing companion towards Hiiro and the other three. He waved.
This was home.
Hiiro smiled.

~~It's going to be alright~~

Weeks passed. The pain faded but did not leave entirely. She knew it never would. Her world was forever changed by the fiery exit of five young boys. One in particular.
Relena tapped her pencil against the papers waiting on her desk. Outside her office there lay an entire kingdom of life, of birds and animals, of teeming humans who went on with the business of surviving. The business was much better nowadays, now that the war was over and peace ruled in space as well as on Earth. Most of those people would never truly mourn the passing of those who had given their childhoods and ultimately their lives to create and maintain that peace. And for the first time in a long time, Relena was not thinking about the Gundam pilots.
She was thinking how nice it was outside, and how much she would like to be in the sun.

~~With us down here.~~

End.