Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Untitled ❯ Heero's Past ( Chapter 1 )

standard disclaimers apply~

My name is Heero Yuy. I was born to the vampiress Carmilla Karnstein in somewhere around 1286 in a small village in England. My mother gave me the last name of an ancient hero, but she never could remember the story about him. I don't look much like her in my opinion, though a lot of people say that I do. She is tall and slender with black hair and red eyes, but most noticeably gigantic breasts. I am a bit shorter though still slender, and have brown hair and blue eyes. I guess we have similar skin and facial features, Japanese, but I don't spend enough time around mirrors to really think it over.

I don't have a real dad. Kaasan (the first Japanese word I learned, meaning mother) told me that she fed on him right after they had sex and that she decided to have me anyways. In other words, I was an accident. Not...Not a mistake, because I don't think she regrets having me. I have to wonder sometimes though. From what little I managed to piece together, she lost someone very close to her and her many, many sexual escapades (including my father) were just her way of trying to get over it.

As a toddler, I loved to go outside and play in the park, but she never came with me because the sun burnt her easily. When I stayed at home, she ignored me in favor of locking herself in her room, alone or in the company of various men and women. She left meals for me on the table sometimes, when she remembered. Otherwise I got them from the neighbors. If I became too loud or intrusive or demanding, she locked me in my coffin for an hour or so until I quieted. It was comfortable in my coffin, Kaasan was never cruel, but I didn't like it much.

When I was five, Kaasan woke me early in the night, smiling sadly, and told me to get dressed. She took me out that night for the first time, and we played in the empty park It was the best night of my young life, wandering the quiet town hand in hand with my Kaasan, finally feeling what the other children felt when I saw them with their parents. But...as dawn neared, she took me to the other side of town and introduced me to a woman I'd met only a couple times named Loita. They were close friends. Loita and her Japanese husband Shen owned the finest tavern and inn in town, and I wondered why we were visiting them so close to dawn when Kaasan would soon have to retreat to her coffin.

My confusion was joined by fear when Loita picked me up and held me and Kaasan watched with blood-filled eyes. I only knew a little about vampirism, but I did know that vampire tears were blood, and I wondered why my Kaasan was crying. Panic filled me when she started walking away, leaving the tavern and me in it. Loita held me tightly as I struggled and called out for my Kaasan. I cried for her to come back until sunrise and that was when I realized she wasn't coming back for me that night. It took a month to realize she wasn't coming back at all.

Loita and Shen always tried to assure me that she'd come back some day, that something had happened and she was too upset about it to take care of me, but their promises fell on deaf ears. I was already whispered about in the village for being the bastard son of a loose, non-Christian woman. Since said woman had abandoned me with a bartender whose husband left eight months later...the children wouldn't play with me. The women wouldn't smile and pat my head and give me candy anymore, and the men wouldn't tell me stories of battles or tell me secrets of raising the best livestock or vegetables. I went from being the poor boy who was unlucky enough to not have a father and needed to be cared for, to being the village outcast who was worthless enough to not have a mother and needed to be removed.

I spent the following years living in the tavern with Loita and her barmaids (vixens). They coddled me and taught me everything I needed to know, as I wasn't allowed at school anymore, and something I didn't really need to know. Shen, before he left, taught me some Japanese and told me about my heritage. When Loita was busy, I tended the bar with one of the vixens and helped pour the ale or mix the specialized drinks. It wasn't a bad life by any means, I was cared for, but I always wondered why my Kaasan left me behind, why I was so repulsive to her that she couldn't even stand me being the same house. Loita said she still loved me, she just needed time to mourn. The villagers told me I was worthless and she'd left town the night she left me at the tavern. That much I knew to be true, when I went to see her and ask why she left, the house was empty.

Because the village children threw rocks at me and called me names when I went to the park, I took to visiting it at night or when it rained. One evening, around seven years after Kaasan left, I was sitting on a crude bench in the park, watching rain fall into a puddle. I remember it vividly, the slow shift of the sky from rain-cloud grey to pitch black. The covered torches were lit and sentries were posted to guard against wolves or bandits. I was ignored by these burly men who used to tell me stories and give me sips of ale, who I used to aspire to become. I remember swinging my scrawny legs, wishing I had more time before I'd have to leave the village, before I was kicked out for my worthlessness.

Soaked to the bone and shivering, messy brown hair plastered to my face, I couldn't have presented a more pitiful sight. So used to being ignored, I was surprised when a pair of boots tramped into the puddle I was staring at and stopped directly in front of me, followed by a strangely dry black velvet cloak. I followed the boots up long slender legs and a slim but strong torso to the face of the oddest man I'd ever encounter. He was Japanese, with black eyes and hair, facial features what could only be described as beautiful androgynous. His shirt was dark blue silk and his pants were gleaming black leather. He wore a lot of jewelry - mostly rings - all silver with sapphires or opals. I knew instantly that this man was both incredibly important and wealthy beyond measure.

All this glamour, however, barely registered in my mind as soon as I met his eyes. They were sharp, those black eyes, and endlessly deep. Cold, a little insane even. He looked to be only 25 or 30, but his eyes held horrifying wisdom and an agelessness. It took me a few minutes to realize that I, a peasant, was NOT supposed to be looking at his face. I quickly bowed my head, hunching and murmuring and apology. When I saw his ebony cane's silver tip lift off the ground I tensed, fearing a beating, but he instead used the top end of it to lift my chin.

He spoke my name in a smooth baritone; a question. I gave a slight nod, shaking slightly and trying to look anywhere but at his face. I wanted to cry, I was so confused. For him to know my name, to approach me, to even touch my dirty face with that fancy, expensive cane indicated that I must be in serious trouble. The man's mouth, I realized, was painted like rich women's sometimes were, but not red like I'd always seen. His paint made black edges that streaked artfully into rich blue on the fuller part of his lips. There was eye dust too, on his upper lids; shimmering dark grey. It didn't look like some of the ugly paint I'd seen on the rich women or the jesters, though; not fake-looking.

I bit my lip, wishing his cane weren't preventing me from ducking my head further. I saw pearly white fangs behind those painted lips and it occurred to me that he was a vampire. Not reassuring, but it explained his wealth and the fact that he was out at night. He told me in Japanese, after several long moments, that he was my mother's father, but he wore an ironic smile when he said it, as if it were a fantastic jest. I gave a very slight nod, waiting for him to continue.

He didn't say anything after that, though, merely lunged forward and enveloped me in his cloak. I screamed as I suddenly found myself naked on my back on something to soft and dry to be anywhere in the park. The man loomed above me, also nude, eyes slightly wide, a crazed grin spreading across his face. When I felt my legs bend up to my chest and blinding pain shooting through me from my rear end, the most inane thought occurred to me that this man couldn't possibly be my grandfather. For one, he was too young, and for two, he was raping me. I didn't know the word "rape" at the time, all I knew was that this wasn't supposed to be happening to me and that when he finished, I felt violated and dirty.

He pulled out and I felt hot liquid dripping out of me, making my ripped entrance burn. I cried hysterically, hurt and having no idea where I was. All I saw through my tear-filled eyes were whips, shackles, and the man crouched at the foot of the bed, his hips splattered with my blood and his cum. He murmured something in Japanese that I couldn't understand and reached to one side, picking up a very sharp knife and running a finger along it, coating it in his own blood. I screamed again, trying to get away despite the pain in my lower half, only to be pinned down and feel the knife score across my back.

I learned several things within the first week. One, I was in a very large castle surrounded by snow as far as the eye could see. Two, the man only listened to me if I addressed him as Ojiisama, the Japanese word for grandfather. Three, I had apparently reached the age where the vampirism virus kicked in and was throwing up my organs and craving blood before I knew what was going on. And most importantly four, I was nothing more than a play toy for Ojiisama and my pain was his pleasure.

By day I was locked in a small, windowless room with a mattress and a blanket and a very thick wooden door. By night, Ojiisama would cut me or whip me or just plain rape me, either in my room or his. He sometimes cut deep cylinders into my flesh and fucked those, other times he carved words or designs. I marked every day with a tally mark on my wall, waiting for my Kaasan or Loita or Shen to rescue me, to hear me crying out and to come to take me from that place. Sometimes Ojiisama came into my room during the day time and hugged me, crying and whispering apologies in a voice much softer than usual. I noticed his eyes were chocolate brown those times instead of beatle-black. It didn't make him any less terrifying. He would starve me until I was chalk white and could barely function, then he would cut himself and taunt me until I latched on and fed from whatever part he'd cut. Sometimes he'd bring a very small child into my room, crying and pleading for their parents, and cut them, locking them in with me until I broke and drained them to death.

This endless cycle carried on for over twelve years. I was only ever allowed to wear pants, and those just because Ojiisama liked being able to strip me of my last defense every time he assaulted me. As my body grew more resilient to the abuse, Ojiisama became more vicious. As I needed more blood to function, I fed less from him and more from crying children. He taught me, in his own punishing manner, how to use the powers that came with vampirism. How to feed, to transport (I couldn't transport myself out of the castle, he had very sturdy barriers around it), how to heal myself and others, how to bring my blue feathered wings from my back. I didn't learn any of these things without a certain amount of pain and humiliation involved. There's a certain...shame that comes from being broken and raped by a man that wears dresses and looks good in them.

One day, though, Ojiisama burst into my room, eyes pitch black, painted lips drawn back in a snarl. I cowered in the corner as he lurched forward, hissing, and grabbed me by the arm. I screamed, trying to pull away as usual, more scared than ever before by his violent nature right of the bat. He flung me out of the room against the stone wall and stalked out after me, hissing and growling. For once in a very long time, I turned and ran. Where I usually cowered and begged for him not to hurt me, or cried for Kaasan or Loita or Shen, something told me this time that if I didn't haul ass, I might not live to regret it.

I heard his boots crashing close behind me, his longer legs holding an advantage over my shorter ones, but his immense wings slowing him a bit. Blind terror kept me just out of his reach as I turned through corridor after corridor, no idea in hell where I was going and not caring so long as he didn't catch me. If I stood a chance of surviving before, I'd destroyed it completely by running. I passed through what appeared to be a very large kitchen, then through an immense storeroom before bursting out into snow up to my chest. Behind me, I heard Ojiisama come to an abrupt halt before he reached the door, even as I plowed through the snow recklessly in nothing but the black leather pants he so loved to peel or cut off of me.

'You'll never escape me, hachimitsu Hee-chan' I heard in my mind. Hachimitsu was Japanese for honey, his favorite pet name for me, 'You don't know where you are or where you're going. There's nothing but snow for thousands of miles, sweetling, you'll never survive.'

I felt the truth of his words burn into my mind but kept running. I think at some point I brought my wings out and flew but they soon became soaked through and I had to go back to running. I was cold, hungry, and lost beyond belief but I couldn't stop for fear of him finding me and dragging me back, hurting me again when I was so close to freedom. Whether he was calling to me telepathically or it was just my mind repeating what he'd said earlier, I couldn't tell, but his voice bounced around my skull for days before I met the first stroke of luck I'd ever encountered. A Viking ship. It was huge, wooden, and loaded with burly Norsemen but at the time I couldn't care less. I stumbled and slipped across the ice to the edge where their ship was secured.

My slender frame and soft, girlish skin procured me a position on the ship as the group's...well...wench, more or less. I cooked (and I use that term loosely), cleaned, and spread my legs for them but hell if I wasn't grateful. None of them hurt me nearly as much as Ojiisama did and they gave me sufficient if oversized clothing. I lived off the large ship rats and from what little I understood of what they said, I was considered a good luck charm for ridden them of the vermin. If they noticed I never ate their food or went on the deck during the day, they never mentioned it. For nearly a year I sailed with the Norsemen and I found that behind the pillaging and raiding, they were good men. Loyal and, once I got a grasp of their language, very pleasant conversationalists, funny even. Once we reached Europe, they let me off with clothes that fit and a small bit of gold.

It took another year or so for me to find my way to England, having to forge my way through several countries with no knowledge of their languages or geographies, but eventually I made it. Clothes tattered, eyes shadowed, pale and skinny from not feeding as much as I should but dammit I made it. I expected all the children I'd known to be grown up then, young men or women tending their farms or courting one another. Imagine my surprise when I found them to be just barely older than I remembered them, and them not recognizing me at all.

When I reached Loita's tavern just a bit after sunset and burst in, scared by what I'd seen of the village, I found similar circumstances there. None of the men or vixens or Loita herself had changed as much as I had. Luckily, Loita was a smart woman and recognized me enough to take me to a back room where I could panic and cry blood all over her in private. I somehow managed to tell her what happened through my broken sobs and, true to form, she comforted me with soft touches and softer words. It would be a great many years before I recovered enough from that time of my life enough to leave the tavern, more so before I could be in the company of another man without fearing rape. I felt dirty for the near-century that followed before I saw my Kaasan again. I'd seen the world change in that time; seen children grow up and have children and eventually die while I stayed the same, never looking older than 25.

She came back in the middle of the night on my birthday, wrapping her arms around me without a word and whispering apologies in my ear. Gods help me, for however long she'd abandon me I could do nothing other than hug her back and cry like the child I still felt like. I'm not much of a crier, I have to say right now, it's just that at the pivotal points in my life I had been broken enough to where I couldn't stop myself. I usually maintain a very stoic facade. Just...the moment I felt her hug me, smelled the familiar scent of blood and cinnamon, all of my grievances against her left and I felt nothing but relief that my Kaasan had finally come back for me. We spent a long time in the tavern, since someone had bought our old house, before we moved with Loita and the vixens to the New World. It was a dangerous time then, especially when witch hunts were the popular trend and anyone who wasn't devoutly Puritan was accused. Somehow though, we always managed. Loita opened taverns across the country as America blossomed like a deadly flower, spreading across the continent. Kaasan and I spent some time in an internment camp after the attack on Pearl Harbor and I nearly died several times when they locked us in the sun too long.

Somehow...somehow Kaasan's motherly habits never changed from when I was a child, but I was always grateful towards her. She still put me in my coffin when I was too loud - which wasn't often - and spent all of her time in her room, but for some reason knowing that she was always there made it feel like she must love me. In the manner of most vampires, we collected large sums of money simply by living a long time and bought ourselves nice homes across the country, moving with Loita's group. In our travels, I met an..."eccentric" red-haired mage named Treize Khushrenada. He frequented Loita's bar and we had several interesting conversations before he...well...I don't know how he did it, but he somehow made me an Empath. All of a sudden I felt everyone else's pains and fears and I couldn't wallow in my own anymore.

We eventually ended up moving to New York where my Kaasan and I bought a large apartment to settle in. The world had progressed to the age of technology where magic and electricity existed in the same house and no one batted an eye to Familiars walking down the street. I found, in my aimless wanderings, a short Mountain Lion Familiar, Vampire, and Shifter mixed breed that had been classified as a pet after murdering several people. He was barely 16 when I found him, blonde hair standing on end in an almost-mane, honey-gold eyes hidden under a black silk band, his voice just beginning to reach it's deep, rich potential. Tooru Niimura - "MY NAME IS KYO, DAMMIT" - was blind, spunky, stuck at five feet tall, and nothing but fluff once you got passed the attitude. I barely glanced at his classifications as a pet - singing, cooking, sex, psychic - before signing the papers and putting in a down payment.

Kaasan didn't seem to mind the new addition to our dysfunctional household, especially since he always used his voices and psychic abilities to soothe me when I had nightmares or flashbacks. I took to calling him Otouto-chan (little brother) in private and he took to calling me asshole all the time, but it was said with a smile. We did, on occasion, wind up having sex, but it was mostly just a way to work off the adrenaline after he taught me sword-fighting. Through him (though on accident) I met Quatre and Trowa, an odd pair that lived down the street. Quatre, a sweet blonde-haired, blue-eyed Shifter that took to sporting a horse tail and ears helped me deal with my Empathy. Trowa, a panther Familiar with piercing green eyes who was as stoic as I, kept me company when neither of us could keep up with Quatre's million-miles-an-hour conversations about...tea. Why tea? I never could figure out what it was about tea that he found so enthralling but it was just part of who he was and I was fine with that.

In a trip to the bar, I also met Treize's secretary/lover, an angel named Zechs. Zechs was...how to say...a raving pervert. He was slick, no doubt about it, with a fine slender body and long platinum blonde hair, but I always wondered how Treize's law firm got to be so big when his secretary always answered the phone with "Hey sexy, whatcha wearin'?" Both men in that relationship were powerful, cunning, and sexy as hell. I found myself wondering what the sex was like on more than on occasion.

So there it is. In my long life, I'm haunted by the abandonment by my mother, bastardization, and rape from a man claiming to be my grandfather. My time is spent at home with my mother or at a bar with my mother's best friend. I'd gone centuries without friends or companions and upon arriving in New York I found myself buried in them. I can't wait to see what else this city brings me.