Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ The Way Home ❯ The Way Home ( Chapter 1 )

THE WAY HOME

 

Songfic, something of a vidfic, mild angst, and I guessed when describing the church.

I own nothing, not the boys and not the song. (Gotta love standard disclaimers)

Sorry if I got anything wrong. Lyrics are from Les Miserables, where Val Jean is singing while Marius is unconscious.

[…] Indicates lyrics

// Indicates a flashback

 

 

[God on high, Hear my prayer

In my need, You have always been there]

 

A young man walking through the rain. Glancing up at a building before him reveals violet eyes. He shrugs and enters through the doors, finding himself in a church.

 

[He is young, He's afraid

Let him rest, Heaven blessed]

 

Staring at the giant crucifix on the back wall, he smiles mirthlessly.

 

//“Who is he?”

“He's the Lord, Jesus Christ.”

“Why's he up there?”

“He died for our sins. He died so we could live.”

“He died for others?”

“Yes, Duo.”
“Why?”
“Because He loves us.”//

 

[Bring him home,

Bring him home,

Bring him home.]

 

The boy walks to the front of the chapel, braid bouncing slightly against his back. Stepping into the first pew, he sits. He pulls his braid over his shoulder and starts fingering the end.

 

//“NO!”

“What's going on here, Sister?”

“He won't let me cut his hair. It's filthy and should be cut.”

“I won't let you! It's my hair!”

A soft chuckle.

“Maybe you should let him keep his hair, Helen. That way you'll walk away with all

your fingers.”

“Hold still you little rascal. I won't cut it, I promise.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I'll braid it. That way it won't get in your way all the time.”

Deft fingers running through his hair, quickly and efficiently completing the task.

“There, what do you think?”

“Cool! Now it won't get in my way when I steal stuff.”

“Duo, you don't have to steal anymore.”//

 

[He's like the son I might have known

If God had granted me a son.]

 

Wandering eyes scan the interior of the church, finally coming to rest on the candle votives on the wall. He stands and walks towards them, drawn by the light. Faces appear in the flames. A nun, a priest, a young street urchin with smiling eyes. With trembling hands, he takes a new candle and lights it. Closing his eyes, he envisions his prayer.

 

[The summers die, one by one.

How soon they fly, on and on.

And I am old, and will be gone.]

 

A single tear slips unnoticed past the closed eyelid and trickles slowly down the child's face. The candle's light catches on the drop and makes it shine with a heavenly glow.

 

[Bring him peace, him joy.

He is young, He is only a boy.

You can take, You can give.

Let him be, Let him live.]

 

//“Duo, why do you fight?”

“The others make fun of me. They say I smell.”

“Oh, Duo.”

Motherly arms envelope him and hold him close.

“Let's see what we can do.”

They go to the roof and gather buckets of snow, melting it down for a bath.

“Sister Helen?”

“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
“You're so welcome. But do something for me, all right?”

“What?”

“Try not to fight anymore.”
“I'll try.”//

 

[If I die, Let me die.

Let him live.]

 

The eyes reopen and he smiles, genuinely this time. He walks back to the pew and kneels, hands clasped before him.

 

//“Father Maxwell, I don't believe in God.”

“Why is that, Duo?”

“He can't possibly exist.”
“Then what do you believe in?”
“Death.”
“Death? Why?”

“Because I've never seen a miracle, but I have seen dead bodies.”//

 

[Bring him home,]

 

He remains in that position for a few minutes and then stands. He hasn't prayed out loud for years. His eyes run over the altar and crucifix again. Then he turns. He walks down the aisle towards the door.

 

[Bring him home,]

 

Pausing at the door, he contemplates two statues he'd missed as he had walked in. the Virgin Mary and Joseph standing on each side of the entrance. In the dim light he sees other faces on the statues. A young woman with warm loving eyes and an older man with a broad smile. The boy smiles back and turns toward the door. Opening it lets light from the street hit a necklace that has worked its way out from under his shirt. The light flares on a small silver cross, making it shine like a star. He glances downward and takes it in his hand, rotating it to catch more light. The rain has stopped and he steps out of the doorway. Still contemplating the cross, he begins to walk down the street.

 

Above, unnoticed, are two stars that shine brighter than the rest. Two stars that light the boy's way home.

 

[Bring him home.]