Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Wayward ❯ Wayward - Chapter Ten ( Chapter 10 )

Authors Notes: Well. Here it is. The last chapter of Wayward before the epilogue. Truthfully, I wasn't planning to write an epilogue, and even though I'm strongly considering it now, I'm still not quite sure I want to. How about everyone, in your reviews or in private emails, tell me if you think there should be an epilogue or not. Thanks, as always, go to Marika Webster, who… who… well, I'll think of something later. Girl-chama who is still in denial. Rashaka-chan who has yet to finish her quest, but sent me a postcard from Burger King. Eternal SailorM-sama YYYYAAAAHH!!! Usa-chan ::blinks:: Fuuzaki-san I'M SO SOWIES!!! FORGIVE ME!!!!

Disclaimers: I don't own 'em. I don't condone violence. I want peace.

Wayward - Chapter Ten

Where are you, mon petite cherie?

She asked the question, as she always did, to the expansive sky above. The sun settled itself behind the horizon, turning the sky above it multiple shades of orange and blood red, finally fading into a dark navy blue. The bright orb seemed to mourn not only Mariemaia's disappearance, but its inability to answer Lady Une's passionate question. Four days, now that the sun climbed down the heavens to rest. Four days since her precious adopted daughter vanished without a trace. None of her grounded Preventers could find her, not even Chang Wufei, who had been the leading candidate. Come to think of it, when was the last time Wufei sent a report?

Une wanted desperately to be able to turn away from the window and shift through the pile of papers on her desk. She wanted to be able to look through them a fifth time and find something she'd overlooked, some shred of hope. She wanted to be able to function.

Sorry, Preventer Une, her mind chortled as her eyes studied the horizon, functioning is not one of your allotted privileges for the day.

She sighed, pressing a hand to the window glass. Never had she imagined missing anyone with the same degree as she missed His Excellency Treize, but the man's daughter had almost filled that hole he left in her heart. Memories of danger told her that the new part of her heart was imperiled. But she could do nothing.

Une blinked as she realized that minutes had passed, but the sky remained as bright as before her mind wandered. Usually it took only moments for the sky's colors to shift, change, and melt away into some new pattern. But the trail of orange into deep, blood-red remained, sending a chill coursing down the length of her spine.

Red . . . blood red . . . if blood has not been spilled already, it will be soon.

~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~

On another part of the same planet, in a different country altogether, another woman stared at the blazing sky and felt a terrible foreboding. This one did not settle, however, for allowing a window to stand between herself and the bloody sky. Sally Po remained rooted to her spot outside in Sanch Palace's lovely gardens, but the flowers held her interest no more than the bugs that crawled over her shoes.

What IS this? The sun shouldn't even be setting yet!

Sally checked her watch once more to make absolute certain her mind had not collapsed. No, the device still said 4:34 pm. Her eyes lifted to the sun halfway set on the distance lands and the bright red painted above it across the sky. A fearful trembling began in her stomach, and she crossed her arms around herself for thin comfort. She really wanted his arms, his slender, strong arms around her. The lack of his presence made her feel so uneasy. The sun did not set in the late afternoon every day, and could it really be a coincidence that this bizarre happening occurred on the day and around the time Galer had estimated their party would reach Duo's abode? No. From somewhere in the deepest part of her mind, the part that would not lie to her no matter how much she wanted it to, the assurance arose; there could be no doubt that the blood-red sky came as a sick portent of things looming. Not in the distance, but only a mountain away. Sally closed her eyes.

Don't do this to me, Wufei. Don't you dare get killed. I'll never forgive you if you do.

~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~

Wufei shuddered as the three of them stepped inside. One generally did not take up the invitation of one's enemy unless one held sure and true certainty of victory. Therefore, walking through the still swinging doors of Duo's mansion had to be the most idiotic thing any of them could have done.

Don't do this to me, Wufei. Don't you dare get killed. I'll never forgive you if you do.

Sally? His breath caught upon hearing her voice, and his dark eyes glanced through the darkness for a glimpse of her.

"Don't bother, Wufei," came Duo's hard voice from across the massive hall, "It's a psychic echo. That's why I chose this place for my home; the land naturally sends its inhabitants the thoughts of those most concerned with them."

"Sanyu!" Galer cried, apparently hearing an echo of his own, "Sanyu! Where is she?" All fear drained from the doctor's face as he felt the closeness of his daughter, his one remaining family member. "Where IS SHE?!?"

"Calm yourself," Duo's voice echoed in a physical reaction akin to the psychic one, "She's alive. You can go searching for her if you like. None of my guards will stop you." A few wispy white forms hovered just on the edges of Wufei's sight, or perhaps his consciousness. They seemed to pose no threat, but Galer paused for a moment before they moved to allow him passage. The doctor vanished then, and Wufei wondered absently whether they would see him again, or if he would get lost in this castle of a mansion.

No, cathedral would be a better description, Wufei realized as his eyes adjusted to the sparse light. They stood in a foyer bathed in the thin, colored light given off by sunlight filtered through stained-glass. On either side of the hallway, six colored windows rested peacefully. At the right- in brilliant hues of mostly red, gold, and blue- the man known as Jesus Christ preached to his followers, broke bread and fish for the masses, and raised a dead man from the grave. At the left, in shades a bit darker than the others, though this could have been a trick of the light, Christ carried his cross in an eternal trek towards death, yet he also hung from that wooden wickedness. The last panels, the ones Wufei assumed had held images of Christ rising, showed nothing more than empty blackness and angry shards. He shivered, not daring a pause to wonder why blackness shone through those windows and not the sunlight from outside.

Above them rose pointed arches, stone monstrosities that barely held any resemblance to the graceful things of ancient Europe that they claimed parentage from. Those monuments had been built of grey stone, but these . . . he could not place the material used to create these twisted arcs, save that it shimmered with a deep darkness.

Wufei's eyes wandered again and fell on the pure white form of an angel standing between one of the windows. A moment passed before the Chinese boy realized that this was no real angel, but a statue. Her stone served to contrast the black arcs; the angel shone with a clean whiteness, uncorrupted by the virus that infected Duo and the rest of his warped possessions. She stood with hands pressed together in prayer, an infinitely sorrowful expression, as though any moment she might weep tears of stone.

"Are you ready?" Duo called to them, and Wufei looked up. At the other end of this simultaneously bright and dismal foyer, the young god stood bathed in dim light. In this place, however, the sunlight lost power, and none of its soft goldenness touched the braided one. A barrier seemed to exist between him and the light, a bubble from which his form and face in all its fury could be perfectly seen. Crimson swirled those eyes- not the crimson flecked indigos Wufei had seen when Duo possessed Sally- no, the boy's orbs flashed completely red, the color of blood. Anger, Wufei thought, this is what happens when one angers a god. However, Duo held himself in a poise of serenity, and the rage in his face faded as he looked on. That sort of calm settled on those bent on revenge. That sort of calm could be, very much was, dangerous. He knew. That sort of calm laced Trowa's face as well, had for the recent past days. "Do you expect to fight me with that toothpick and win?" Duo nodded derisively towards the sword in Trowa's hand. "Good luck."

Wufei felt the change before he saw the shimmering. Around him the air nearly sparked, energy flowing faster than its normal custom. Then, around Duo's now outstretched hand, the atmosphere began to waver as it does when heat causes hallucinations on a well-traveled road. Blackness seemed to crawl from the twisted pillars, from the floor and the blank windows. From everywhere in this demented place, save the pure and untouched angel, darkness flowed to Duo, forming in his fingers as a large, black-bladed sword.

"Good luck," he spat again, a grin splitting his face. Then he lunged.

Never one to hold back in a good fight, Wufei nevertheless stepped away from this duel. None of his concern. Though two of his best friends, one admittedly insane, battled out their rage and grief on each other, Wufei reminded himself that this was not his dispute. Besides, his shoulder throbbed beneath his clutching hand. What good would he be to Trowa? No . . . better the tall one fought on his own.

Watching the two, seeing the sparks that flew each time blades collided, sensing the rising tension, it soon became evident that the two, while not matched in raw, god-like power, were near equal in mortal strength and skill. Duo lunged, Trowa parried. Trowa launched himself forward with blazing blade, Duo backed away and blocked. Both faces, when turned to him, could be seen to hold a strange meshing of serene patience and furious desire for revenge. Both men grieved, both men wanted the death of their opponent.

Through the stained-glass, Wufei thought he noticed a subtle shifting of light.

~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~

A full ten minutes passed before Hiiro could bring himself to rise. No longer bound, either physically or emotionally, the boy knew that somewhere in this building, Duo must be fighting for his immortal life. An image of Trowa, undamaged hand squeezing Quatre's dead throat and screaming crossed his mind. Oh by all the gods and everything good and holy, the tall one would not die unless he took Duo with him. Swallowing back the lump again, feeling it settle tightly into his chest, Hiiro walked forward. He placed his hand on the doorknob, turned it, and found to his unending shock that this entire time, the door had been unlocked.

One sneakered foot setting outside the door before the other, Hiiro looked first one way down the hall and then the other, wondering in something approaching panic which way he should go. Each dark pathway looked just like the other, twin choices that offered no hope of ever finding his way to Duo. Just like that damned baka, he thought, only half adoringly, to create a home like a maze.

Which way? Right or left? Hiiro took a deep breath, steeled himself, and made his choice.

~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~

Clash, clang, spark, jab. Whirl, lunge, slide, swing. Whoosh, swish, grunt, laugh.

Time blurred into a series of moments filled with the sounds of battle. Could this be the beginning of that one power he had yet to fathom? Could Time be slowing for him? Somehow he doubted it. The illusion had to be caused by the steady image of Trowa's rock hard face and swift movements. Knowledge of the acrobat's training lost in the back of his mind, Duo came to remember that this boy, just like the rest of them, had skills bred into him and others taught. Swordplay was taught. Survival, however, came naturally.

He could use his godly abilities, but somehow that seemed unfair. Uncivilized in a battle man-to-man. Perhaps that came from the last remaining human part of his soul. Or maybe it came from the distant murmuring of a silken voice, the voice of that lovely creature stabbed through the throat, whose soul had no gateway to fly through from his body. She spoke to him from that place where souls resided, spoke and whispered, caressed him with her thoughts and her dead but not lost love. She encouraged him, though he couldn't make out most of what she said. Dorothy . . . I love you . . . I need you . . . I want . . .

He fell backwards at the feel of steel cutting through his flesh. Immortal as it was, and as quickly as the wound healed, the initial strike remained painful enough. He looked up to see a rare grin spreading over Trowa's face, a thing so dark it almost made the Demon of Maxwell Church shudder.

"You don't seem to be in your best form."

"Shove it, Barton!" Duo growled, leaping forward, and flew just a bit across the distance between them. Interesting. Flying always took a good deal of his concentration, until now. Could it be his anger fueled his power, making such tasks so easy they took only the merest of thoughts? Ah well, such things were not important at times like these. Only hurting Trowa. Hurting Trowa as much as he hurt. More. Worse. He would skewer the boy from ass to head, he would!

Another growl, and the battle began again in earnest.

~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~

Hiiro peered tentatively down at the little girl. She blinked back up at him with large, innocent eyes, and he gulped. How the hell had he gotten himself into this mess, anyway? Wrong corridor, that's how.

"Uncle Hiiro?"

"Hn?" He'd always hated that nickname. Apparently this girl had picked it up from Mariemaia at some point.

"Are you here to take me home?"

"Uh . . ." Damn. He couldn't tell her that he intended to leave her in the safest place he could find. He couldn't tell her he had no clue as to who she was or where her home could be, but he couldn't tell her a lie, either. Those innocent eyes wouldn't allow it. So he clamped his mouth shut, circled his fingers about her wrist a little tighter, and kept walking. She seemed to understand at least that he wasn't going to answer, for she asked no more questions. They toddled along for a few minutes, impatient boy slowing his steps so as not to strain the little girl. Just when he was going to bend down and pick her up, a familiar voice floated down the hallway from behind them.

"Sanyu! Sanyu, where are you?" Instantly the girl's grip on his hand broke.

"Otou-san! Papa!" Down the corridor the little girl flew, arms outstretched into the darkness, and Hiiro shouted, trying to stop her. A masculine "oof" resounded, and the boy relaxed as the form emerged, two smiling faces in a place of sorrow.

"Galer."

"Hiiro!" The joy of finding his daughter plastered his face with a wide grin. "We were worried about you." Sure doesn't seem like it. "Well, except for Trowa, of course." Of course. Then the smile on the doctor's face wavered just a bit. "They're fighting, Hiiro. Dorothy is dead. Trowa killed her and Duo is bent on revenge." He swallowed hard and stroked Sanyu's curly hair gently. "Someone . . . someone isn't going to survive-"

"Which way?!?"

Galer, stunned by the outburst, pointed silently back the direction he'd come. Hiiro took off in a sprint, Time chasing behind him, reminding him in ungentle waves of nausea that he could already be too late.

~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~

Remember Quatre, remember his sweet face, remember the blood when he died. Trowa wiped quickly at the sweat on his brow with his bandaged hand, concentrating hard on Duo's movements, every lunge and parry. Difficult to see the face of a once close friend and know they had to be killed, but he fueled his fury with the face of his lovely Quatre, so beautiful, so dead. Wiping his face again, the tall one thought how much easier this would be if he had the use of both hands and not just one. He ducked, maneuvering away from Duo's pulsing blade easily.

"How's the hand, old friend?" Duo snarled, giving a wide stroke aimed at Trowa's neck. Bangs plastered to his face with sweat, the boy barely managed to move out of the way this time. He felt no anger at that verbal jab; all of his rage channeled through his memories of Quatre.

"I'll survive."

"You sure? We could stop to let you get a new bandage." A derisive chuckle, low and dark, rose from the god's throat, sarcasm glinting crimson in his eyes.

"Even if I needed it, I wouldn't want help from you." He realized with a jolt resembling panic that he panted those words. His mortal body tired from the exertion, and Duo's immortal one kept going. Not once had the braided one wiped sweat from his face. The black grin lighting that pale visage told Trowa that Duo knew just as well as he did that sooner or later, the mortal would lose simply for lack of energy to continue. "Why haven't you blasted me yet, Duo?" He asked, shaking his head briefly to try and rid his face of that clinging hair. "Why not go ahead and get it over with, huh?"

Duo gave no answer save for a low growl and a lunge. Apparently he didn't wish to share that answer. Trowa backed up, nearly falling into the white angel statue he'd barely noticed earlier. He hazarded a glance towards it, trying to avoid knocking it over because to break such a thing would almost be sacrilegious. Looking back towards his opponent, he perceived the distance Duo kept between himself and the statue.

"Afraid your darkness will be purged by her light?" Trowa grinned, "Or afraid you'll corrupt her?"

"More like she was damned expensive."

"A god doesn't need money."

"I wasn't talking about money."

Duo lifted his sword, inviting Trowa forward. The tall one stepped closer, lifting his dented and battered blade, actually surprised that it hadn't snapped yet. He stood still, breathing heavily, trying to pull the air in more slowly. Time wasn't on his side though, he knew, and soon he had to move, rushing forward into the black blade.

He swung just as Duo's eyes and mouth grew wide, and the dark sword fell easily from the boy's hand, clattering to the stone floor. He didn't pause to wonder what had happened, didn't want to. Trowa flung his own blade aside and hungrily grabbed for Duo's own. His fingers curled around the hilt, a jolt of energy rushing up his arm. This sword didn't belong to him, and it tried to reject him. But rage and grief fueled him, and the banged one lifted up the heavy weapon and spun on his enemy. Triumph flared in his chest as he took aim . . .

~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~

Hiiro followed the frenzied sounds of clashing blades. A brief thought flared: Who the hell fights with swords nowadays anyway? A doorway of pale light met his vision and he clenched his fists, giving his legs a last burst of speed. So close, getting so close to the door and the lights and that terrifying sound. Then came a cry, a clatter, and a short laugh.

"NO!"

Trowa plunged a blood-hungry black sword through Duo's vulnerable chest just as Hiiro burst into the light.

"NOOO!" He heard his voice rise, breaking the level of his normal range, split and crack. "DUO!!" Don't worry, he's immortal, remember? He told you himself, it's not easy to kill a god and it takes hours, longer even. Oh gods . . . Oh God . . . if any of you are up there or around PLEASE DON'T LET THIS HAPPEN!!

"Hiiro," murmured a voice behind him as a strong hand clenched his arm, "Hiiro, stay back. It had to happen this way." The hand grasped tighter as he tried to struggle his way from it.

"No, no it doesn't. He's immortal. He can't die." Even Hiiro himself realized how desperate his words sounded, how hopeless. "He's fucking Shinigami! He CAN'T DIE!!!"

"How did he become Shinigami, Hiiro?" Wufei- yes, that low, calm voice could only belong to Wufei- asked him quietly. Not a real question, and for a moment the boy thought his friend might have somehow overheard Duo's earlier story. Insane. Then he realized that the conclusion was inevitable and anyone with any common sense would be able to figure it out.

"Let me go, Wufei, just let me go and I won't kill you but if you keep me back I swear that the second I get a chance I'll put a bullet through your head." No answer save a sigh and the release of that grip. Without so much as offering a thanks, Hiiro dashed forward, towards the two figures bathed in the dwindling light of Christ raising Lazarus from the tomb.

The air thickened, pushing against his limbs, forcing him to slow though he tried with all his strength to keep moving. Before him, Hiiro could see the black aura surrounding Duo, could see as if in slow motion one of those pale, trembling hands reaching upwards to clutch Trowa's sword arm. Trowa's face twisted in surprise as Duo's lips moved. Damn it all, he couldn't hear a word of what was being said, couldn't understand anything. Time, that was it. Time was slowing around them all. An ever-so-slight grin crossed his face as he silently congratulated Duo on finally achieving that elusive power. That grin erased itself, however, when he realized it must be a power mastered only at death. No, no, oh no, please no!

Everything stopped.

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Hiiro blinked. He stumbled forward, legs skittering beneath him as confused as his mind. His center of balance seemed skewed and he almost feel onto his face. Around him the light carried a sharp sense of change, obvious even through the haze of disorientation that settled over him. He'd had a goal, some specific place he'd been heading . . . where?

Duo.

Lump in his chest squeezing at his heart, Hiiro lifted his head forcefully to find the two forms. Trowa still stood over Duo, the blade still lodged in the braided one's heart. But the light from the Lazarus window shone brighter, and now it illuminated a halo about his beautiful Duo, the demonic darkness gone, angelic light taking its place. Hiiro gave a low groan of anguish as the hand dropped slowly from Trowa's arm, Duo's entire body sliding backwards, extricating itself from that even blacker blade. As he fell, Duo's face turned to Hiiro, so serene silhouetted in that soft light. The young mortal's eyes, such a light indigo, smiled at him with secret laughter even as their brightness faded out.

Hiiro fell. He couldn't even muster the strength or the feeling to scream. His body shuddered, heart deadened against the pain he knew he should be feeling.

Trowa stood, eyes wide, dripping bloodied sword still clutched in his fingers. Without even knowing why, Hiiro turned his gaze fully to the tall one, squinted at him, and moaned.

A dark, black cloud surrounded Trowa, forming a barrier against the shining golden light from the window. The sunshine swirled, sliding over the bubble, trying to force a way in to illuminate the ever paling inhabitant therein. Trowa did nothing, merely stood there, staring down at Duo's body as though he didn't know what to do now with his mission complete.

Without warning the banged one fell to his knees and crawled desperately towards that limp form, the chest bleeding freely over the stone floor. Rough hands, one bandaged but suddenly functioning perfectly, turned Duo's body over, mouth twisted into an ugly, unnamable expression.

"No," Hiiro growled, only slightly ashamed that this seemed to be the only word in his vocabulary. He couldn't allow Trowa to desecrate the body, though he knew not what the taller boy planned. He lifted himself to trembling legs and scuttled forward. "Trowa, stop." He reached out a hand to make the boy stop.

Trowa growled and shoved him away with more force than he probably knew. Hiiro understood then that he could do nothing but watch, worry, and wonder.

Blackness flowed from Trowa into the gaping blade wound in the body's chest. As it flowed, the dark light became a deep grey, and the warmth flowing from it and from Trowa himself filled the entire expanse of the cathedral room. Hiiro's eyes widened and a tentative hope filled his frame. Could Trowa be doing what he thought? He didn't dare ask; such a small question could shatter the boy's concentration.

Through the black haze Hiiro could see the wound closing into fresh, white flesh. The blood flowed backwards, returning to the body it was made for gladly, not liking the hardness of the stone. Color began to return to Duo's face and skin, but that color meant nothing without the soul to inhabit that body. Returning the soul fell to one who had power over the dead. Shinigami.

Trowa.

The body jerked. The back arched, the eyes opened wide, the mouth sucked in a great breath. Spasms ripped through that braided body as it coughed and choked, gleaning air to sustain its new life. Hiiro gave a cry and lunged forward again, scrambling to take the boy in his arms.

"Duo! Oh, thank-"

"Move," the cold voice of Trowa cut into his joy. Hard, crushingly strong hands tore Hiiro away from the still shuddering body, and he could only watch as the taller one cradled Duo in his embrace and trailed a finger down that delicate cheek. Fear claimed Hiiro then, fear and a sudden, stark realization. "Quatre?"

"T-Trowa?" Duo's indigo eyes blinked up at the tall boy, then filled with tears. "Oh Trowa I was so scared! I couldn't fight him off and I thought for sure he was . . . oh . . . oh Allah . . ." Full realization hit those orbs as brown bangs fell over them. "W-What's happened?"

"Shhh, little one," Trowa smiled shakily as he lifted the smaller boy, but not quite as small as once, into his arms, "It's not important. I'll explain later." Holding his koi, his little love carefully, the new Shinigami left the abode of the old, left it as it really was: a rotting, empty old church, with grimy windows and half-broken walls. All around them the world shone proof of the power of illusion. Only the white angel statue remained intact, untouched.

From some crumbling hallway stepped Galer, Sanyu clutching him tightly, innocent eyes wide. Under his other arm the doctor carried the limp form of Mariemaia.

Hiiro shuddered. He choked back a sob. He moaned aloud and doubled himself over, hiding from the world and its cruel ironies. Vaguely he felt a strong arm slide underneath one of his own, heard Wufei talking to him but understood none of the words. Dry numbness filled him, dampened his agony, allowed him to walk forward and to the Jeep. It would not allow him to watch Trowa kiss Duo's lips or caress Duo's cheeks.

"Let's go home," he heard himself say, quietly, without emotion.

Between himself and the others, Hiiro felt a wall go up.

End Chapter Ten.