Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Who am I ❯ One-Shot

Author note: first time writer, not first fic I wrote but the eighth up. Anyway, animation's not mine, characters' not mine, I'm poor, so don't sue me… …anything I forgot to mention?? Ahh… the story!! It's MINE!!

 

This one is quite pointless, I think. I've no idea where this comes from as usual, and it's a refreshing change from my normal yaoi/shounen-ai angst stuff. It's sad, for me at least, that I tend to write angst stuffs like this. And I blame it all on my late night muse bunnies. Oh well, happy reading minna… I try to beta it, but if there's anything wrong, feel free to comment on this four hours work. ^_^v

 

P.S. It's a lousy name for the fic, but I can't think of anything. Any good suggestions??

 

 

Who am I?

 

They said I am Heero Yuy, the Perfect Soldier.

 

Am I who they said I am?

 

I don't know.

 

No one ever finds out who I really am. No one really cares. No one ever knows the strongest soldier they believe in is just a scared little boy.

 

Someone who is scared of Guns, Blood and Destructions.

 

Which is all I ever know since I could remember.

 

 

 

They don't see me.

 

Really.

 

Even though 02 suspects there's someone different under the Perfect Soldier's guise.

 

Even though 03 believes the mask is not only a mask but all that I am.

 

Even though 04 knows there's something fragile behind the invincible soldier.

 

Even though 05 trusts nothing will ever break the strongest individual he has ever had the honour of knowing.

 

They didn't see me.

 

 

 

Odin didn't see me either.

 

He caught a glimpse of the scared little boy sometimes. But he ignored it, and did his best to kill that boy.

 

 

 

J knew about the little boy.

 

But he needed a war machine more. So he gave his all to bury the boy.

 

 

 

But they didn't know the little boy survived.

 

He always did.

 

But the little boy is dying.

 

No one knows of course.

 

Because no one ever bothers to find him and see him for who he truly is.

 

 

 

I'm breaking.

 

My mask cracked.

 

They were shocked when I ran away from a murder scene during a case.

 

It really wasn't all that bloody and gruesome.

 

I've seen worse back in the war without flinching, while the others retched their guts out.

 

But my mask had been perfect then.

 

So they just thought I ate something bad.

 

I guess they really don't care.

 

Who would care about a weak coward anyway?

 

I wouldn't either.

 

 

 

I'm not sure what to do anymore.

 

I was never meant to survive the war.

 

But I did.

 

J never gave me any instructions of what to do afterwards.

 

So I improvised and gave myself a new interpretation of his directives.

 

He wanted Freedom and Peace for the colonies.

 

So I did my best to protect that Peace and Freedom.

 

And so I joined the Preventers with the others.

 

 

 

But I'm breaking.

 

My masking is cracking.

 

It's getting worse every single day.

 

 

 

I no longer sleep.

 

I wanted to, but I couldn't.

 

My mask no longer protects me.

 

Blood and Destructions came to me whenever I closed my eyes.

 

I'm scared.

 

 

 

I'm jumpy.

 

I jump at every shadow. They said I'm just being paranoid.

 

I'm not.

 

I'm jumpy because of the gun I have to carry with me.

 

I don't want to, but Preventers' regulations see to it that I would always have a gun on my person, if not more.

 

 

 

I want to walk away and forget myself.

 

Forget everything.

 

But I know I can never escape them.

 

They don't see me.

 

They don't care about me.

 

All they know is my mask being the person they knew.

 

They will come find that person.

 

Always.

 

I can't escape them.

 

 

 

I'm so tired.

 

I can't concentrate on my job anymore.

 

Commander made me take breaks, but all it did was giving me endless nightmares.

 

 

 

I went into hiding.

 

I, the scared little boy, retreated once and for all.

 

The Perfect Soldier was back.

 

Only because it had one last mission to take care of.

 

But they keep stoping me.

 

They shove me out of the bullets' way.

 

They patch me up and yell at me for getting hurt.

 

They even send me off for psycho therapy.

 

 

 

Someone…

 

Anyone…

 

I can't…

 

Please…

 

Someone let me out of my nightmares…

 

 

“Maxwell.”

 

“Chang.” Violet eyes focused on the serious young man besides him for once, instead of his charge. He was surprised to see the Chinese pilot here. He didn't expect him to come at all.

 

They turned as one when they heard the dog purred blissfully. They saw not hide or hair of the person hiding underneath the nest of pillows and blankets. Only a bony hand sneaked out and buried itself in the thick long fur of the dog resting besides the nest.

 

“How is he?” They watched as another hand crept out to join the other, arranged themselves around the dog's neck, before tugging gently, yet insistently, at it. The dog moved smoothly towards the bundle of blankets and snuggled against the body of the hands' owner understandingly.

 

“Getting better, I suppose. But he doesn't remember anything about the Preventers. The War. Us. Anything related to Guns, Blood and Destructions. God forbidden if he is ever reminded about them.” Dark eyes turned to his companion inquisitively. But the braided young man ignored him and held his breath, as timid blue eyes peeked out at him from under Mt. Blankets. He moved slowly, knowing the owner of the eyes would always follow his movement, and felt around for some snacks on the table besides him, without breaking eye contact with his charge. He dangled a small packet of chocolate bar in front of him. When the hands nudged softly at the dog, he knew his offer had been accepted.

 

The dog came readily through the doggie door of the glass wall at his beckon. It sat obediently at his feet while he put the offer into the small pouch around the dog's neck, and praised it with soft touches and rubbings for its help, before sending it back to the timid blue eyes. The dark-haired man looked on, curious at his comrade's behaviours. But the braided young man didn't get back to his feet even after the dog reached its mute companion. It was only after bony hands took the offer and fled deep into hiding again before he shifted.

 

“What was that all about, Maxwell?” Chang Wufei asked faintly. He had never seen the boisterous boy he knew from the war ever looked that serene, and he was unwillingly to shatter that look on the youthful face. Violet eyes blinked owlishly at him, as if just realised there was someone beside him. He pulled to kneeling young man up before asking again. “Duo?”

 

“Hikaru is hungry.”

 

“Hikaru?”

 

“His new name. He doesn't respond if you call him anything else. And the mere mention of his old one gave him nightmares for weeks to come. The last time it happened… it nearly broke him again.” He watched his charge attentively, trying to see if the boy would come out to play today. But other than the subtle movements that indicated the boy was eating his treat, nothing came out of the blankets.

 

Both men went into alert when a soft patter of feet came around the corner. The Chinese young man was surprised to see a genuine smile brightened the shadowed eyes. A nurse in pale blue uniform came up and Duo greeted her with a hug and a kiss on her cheek.

 

“How are you today, Duo-san?” The nurse nodded politely at the Shandong pilot, before scanning the table besides them.

 

“Pretty good. He's eating a chocolate bar, by the way.”

 

“Did he drink anything?”

 

“I think so. I saw him tugging at the water line a few times in the last few hours.”

 

“That's good to hear. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll go drag Hikaru-Chan into the bathroom and molest him.” Duo laughed easily at the nurse's jest.

 

Wufei stared. He missed that easy laughter of his companion. But that has disappeared ever since the mental breakdown of the Perfect Soldier.

 

He was surprised again when the Deathscythe pilot caught his hand and tugged him away from the room. The young man never gave out causal touches anymore ever since the breakdown, even though he has always been a touchy-feely kind of person. But the breakdown has scarred them all. The boy from L-2 has shied away from all touches. The Heavyarms pilot has been an emotional wreck. And the gentle Winner heir has gone into hiding himself, unable to deal with the emotional traumas of his companions. He himself has been buried under monstrous amount of work, trying to forget how badly he has misjudged his friend's true self. Even if he was unwilling to admit, the Perfect Soldier has always been his friend, albeit they weren't all that close to each other. But he, and the other pilots, have always been, and will always be, his true friends.

 

He was jolted out of his thoughts when the braided young man sat him down on a sun-warmed bench in the garden. “How are you, Chang?” He nodded his thank when a cup of tea was offered.

 

“Okay, I guess. Busy.”

 

“Aa.” The American nodded his understanding, while nursing his own drink. The Chinese pilot was the only one remained in the Preventers since the breakdown. The rest of them couldn't handle that anymore, and the need to take care of the downed soldier overrode everything else. Though the other two took up all responsibilities but personally cared for their friend.

 

Not that they didn't care, but they couldn't handle it.

 

The Perfect Soldier has always been their pillar of strength. They have always looked up to him. They have always believed in him. They have always forced themselves to move on and forget the past, relied solely on the strength the Perfect Soldier has given them. No one ever realises how much they have come to rely on the boy until he breaks…

 

And everyone has fallen along with him.

 

“Will he get better?” The Chinese man sipped his tea slowly, frowning at the neediness behind his words. His friends had enough to deal with without him adding his problems into the mix. He was shocked when a hand took his cup away and another pulled him into an awkward one-armed hug. But he didn't pull away. Even though he was disgusted with himself.

 

“We don't know. The doctors aren't sure about the cause, or causes, of his collapse. But he is slowly coming out of his shell. Even if he still hides a lot these days. He smiles sometimes. He would come out and play peek-a-boo with me on a good day. And he accepts my offer of food most of the time.

 

“Would you still be his friend if he never returns, Fei?” He stiffed under the arm, angry that his loyalty to his friend was in doubt. But he shoved that feeling away, knowing the American has been right to worry about that. He hasn't been much of a friend after the breakdown, hiding under the excuse of work. Never came or called his friends to check in with them. He sighed and relaxed into the awkward embrace again.

 

“I do not offer friendship easily, Maxwell. But I don't give it up unless a great wrong has been done to destroy it. I can see no wrong in falling apart, other than that of my own for not catching him when he needs it.” He slipped his arms around the slender waist to return the hug. “He would always have my friendship if he wants it.”

 

The arm around him tightened. “Leave the Preventers, Fei. Come live with us. You're falling apart, my friend. Let us help you, before it's too late.” He looked up to see compassionate violet eyes encouraging him to take the offer. “We have done enough for Peace and Freedom. We have given enough to see to its survival. Live with us, Fei. Heal yourself and help us.”

 

After a moment of hesitation, the Chinese pilot gave his consent.