Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Yes Master, My Master ❯ Chapter 5 ( Chapter 5 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Spider_Queen 
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): / Hentai / Drama / Angst | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 12.20.2001 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.8K | Visits: 726 | Status: Completed
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): / Hentai / Drama / Angst | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 12.20.2001 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.8K | Visits: 726 | Status: Completed
Quatre was barely on his feet. Had he not been in chains, he'd have long ago slid down the wall, or fled the horrific scene. As it was, he could only stare into the gray darkness of the dungeon-like room with horror, pain and disgust.
The boy that Gabriel had tortured still hung by the hook in the center of the chamber, his head down against his chest. Slash marks and bruises from his recent beating were visible under the layer of drying blood that seemed to coat his entire, slight body. His eyes were closed and his muscles limp with death.
Beside where Quatre was chained Gabriel leaned against the cold wall, his onyx eyes surveying the tableau he had created with something resembling pride; his arms crossed over his black clad chest. Even though Quatre's eyes remained glued on the dead child, the young Arabian could tell that Gabriel was wearing one of his cruel, infuriating half smiles.
"So scared of death, Gundam pilot?" Gabriel's softly spoken words shattered the stillness of the room and pulled Quatre from his stupor. Slowly the blond turned so that his face was pointed in Gabriel's general direction. "Surprising since you have killed," His voice was mocking the Arabian but Quatre could find neither the strength nor desire to respond to the verbal jab. "Isn't this what you wanted for him? Death; an escape from the pain?" Gabriel's eyes slid over to study Quatre's face for the first time since the child had been killed. "Isn't it what you prayed for?"
Quatre shuddered, turning his gaze away from the sadistic demon, focusing once again on the child, guilt overwhelming his thoughts. Yes, death is what he'd prayed for-but not like that! He'd wanted the boy to pass out quickly, and never awaken to face the pain that would unavoidably destroy him. But instead, the boy had remained awake the entire time, umber eyes imploring Quatre for help as he bit back his cries inspired by the anguish Gabriel was inflicting.
Quatre had done nothing. Part of the pilot reminded himself that there was nothing he could do. He had been tied tightly to the wall, unable to go over and help, to stop Gabriel. But another piece of the young man's mind chided him for just standing there, nearly limp in his restraints with warm tears running down his face. He could have shouted something more; bargained, perhaps.....there had to be SOMETHING he could have done to prevent or block the pain.
"It doesn't really matter, though," Gabriel continued with a flippant gesture to one side. "He would have been dead soon anyhow, so my interference truly changed nothing."
Quatre looked again at the older man, his blue eyes narrowing in undisguised contempt. "How do you know?" his voice, hoarse and bitter sounding, grated against his own ears unpleasantly.
Gabriel just raised a thin eyebrow, as though amused that Quatre deigned to speak. "He was just a war orphan," he told his "charge", his voice and manner projecting nothing but revulsion and disdain. "Living on the streets off the kindness of others and his own nimble fingers. No one cared about him-how could they? He was a filthy, starving rat that only detracted from society."
Inside Quatre raged, his mind wanting to break free of its self-imposed constraints and attack the sadist in any way he could. It wasn't the boy's fault he'd been orphaned, forcing him to resort to thievery for food. A picture of Duo, smiling jovially with his long brown braid bouncing behind him, was conjured in the Arabian's mind. Duo had been a war orphan as well, and yet he'd survived. He was one of Quatre's closest friends with a great sense of humor, as well as a fantastic soldier.
Forcing his thoughts to still so that they were no more than a background noise in his mind, Quatre turned away from Gabriel, and expression of dirision showing through his mask despite efforts to contain it.
The sadistic man's smile only widened at Quatre's minute display of defiance. "I'm glad you see it that way," he said, his voice growing louder as he pushed himself away from the blood and dirt encrusted wall he'd been leaning on. "Now would you like to come back to the bed, or stay here with your dead friend for the night?"
Quatre didn't answer, he continued to stare straight ahead at the dead, hanging child, unshed tears welding in his aquamarine eyes. He would not accept the man's attempts at hospitality and comfort, as welcome as they were to his battered body. For a moment longer, Gabriel regarded him. Then, with a slight shrug that seemed to say "suit yourself" the sadist turned and left the room, closing the curtains behind him, plunging the room into blackness.
Quatre's muscles went lax as he leaned against the chains and wall. His eyes lowered, he could no longer see the child in the dark anyhow, and the tears began to slide once again unchecked down his face to gather on his chin.
Visions of Gabriel's smile and the child's eyes danced before his eyes, while the strangled sounding screams haunted his ears. "Sorry," Quatre whispered to the unhearing corpse in the center of the room. He could remember what Gabriel had said, just before it began-it had all been done for him, all for him. "Sorry. This was all my fault, please forgive me." Fatigue grew in him and he relaxed further in the restraints, ignoring his protesting wrists and arm. "So sorry...." he breathed, barely audible as his weary body took over, commanding sleep.
~*~
"You failed in the mission," Heero said, his gun drawn and pointed at a spot between Quatre's eyes. "You let yourself be captured. You must die."
"Heero, no!" Quatre protested, his eyes growing wide. He could hear the gunshot, but felt nothing, not pain nor the trickle of blood, even though the Perfect Soldier could not have missed so easy a target at such range.
Quatre turned, his gorgeous eyes seeking help from the other occupants of the small, white room. Wufei leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, glaring at Quatre. "You did nothing to help the weak. That is not justice, that is weakness. You are weak and do not deserve to live."
"Just a war orphan," Duo said bitterly, his violet eyes narrowed as he glared at the small blond. "We don't matter, we aren't worth anything. We deserve to be tortured to teach a spoiled, stubborn pet a lesson. Don't look here, Quatre, you let it happen."
Quatre turned away, his eyes shut as though to block out his friends' scorn and distaste. They were right, they were all right. He'd let it happen. It was his fault the child had died, his fault. He did nothing to prevent it; he didn't even try to. He was weak. He didn't deserve to live anymore.
Trowa was standing before him, regarding him with one eye visible, while the other was covered by his hair. His expression was blank, but Quatre could feel disappointment and disgust radiating from him.
"Trowa," Quatre's voice was soft and pleading, his eyes welling up with tears from the harsh words of the others. The harsh words of reality. "Please, Trowa, I tried to save him, but I could do nothing. Please understand, please help me,"
"Don't talk to me, Quatre," The voice was cold and distant in a way that Quatre had never heard it before. "Don't lie. You could have changed it, made a difference." He turned away, his back to Quatre before the other pilot could react.
"You just watched," The voice was quiet and unfamiliar. Quatre found himself staring at a young boy, clad in jeans and a red teeshirt, brown hair cropped just below his ears, his gaze serious beyond his age. "I suffered, and you watched. You enjoyed it; you were fascinated by it, by my pain and my death."
"No," Quatre took a step forward, his hand outstreched, but the child glided back away before he could get close and faded into the plain wall. "No, I tried to help, I wanted to help. I didn't want you to suffer, I didn't want to hurt you," The young Arabian dropped to his knees on the floor, tears streaming down his face as he lost all desire to withhold them from the world. "I wanted to," he whispered to the emptiness that filled both the room and his soul. "I wanted to...."
~*~
Bright light filtered in on Quatre and he cautiously cracked his eyes open, squinting against the blinding illumination. He was still hanging by his wrists, which were sore and chaffed from the weight he had little choice but to put on them; he cheeks were stiff with dried tears. Slowly it occurred to the young pilot that someone-likely Gabriel-was coming into the cell he shared with the child's corpse and that he should pull himself to stand on his own, but he couldn't find the strength.
His clear eyes sought out the figure standing in the closest thing to a doorway, surrounded by the painfully white light. Even though that light made it impossible to make out the man's features, Quatre could tell that it was Gabriel, standing silentley, facing his Arabian captive, ignoring the child he'd killed earlier.
Quietly, Gabriel turned and fastened the curtain up so that it wouldn't swing closed when he released it, plunging the obliette-style room back into blackness, before wandering into the room, intent on Quatre. Quatre watched warily and waited while his captor neared him, stopping ultimately about a foot from where he hung.
"Sleep well, little one?" Gabriel asked softly. Quatre didn't answer, but he couldn't repress the shudder that took him as memories of his dreams and the boy filtered back into his mind. "I see." Gabriel took a step closer, and scrunched his nose slightly. "My, you're ripe," he commented as he fiddled with Quatre's restraints. "Perhaps you'd best take a bath before the day continues,"
Despite himself, the thought of being immersed in warm water was extraordinarily good to Quatre, and a small sigh escaped his lips. Perhaps a bath could wash away some of the ache that continued to dominate his battered body.
Abruptly, Quatre found himself unsupported, free of his restraints-Gabriel had released his hands. Startled, the young pilot struggled to stand on wavering legs, his arms hanging loosely at his sides, overly aware that Gabriel was watching him appraisingly. His hands tingled as blood began flowing through them once again, and his arms ached from being held above his head for so long. He straightened, still uncertain, his bones cracking loudly, making him wince slightly, and focused on Gabriel with a mask that would have done Trowa proud.
With a low chuckled, Gabriel started out of the room. With difficulty, Quatre averted hi gaze from the corpse that still hung in the room as he slowly followed Gabriel out of his dungeon.
The boy that Gabriel had tortured still hung by the hook in the center of the chamber, his head down against his chest. Slash marks and bruises from his recent beating were visible under the layer of drying blood that seemed to coat his entire, slight body. His eyes were closed and his muscles limp with death.
Beside where Quatre was chained Gabriel leaned against the cold wall, his onyx eyes surveying the tableau he had created with something resembling pride; his arms crossed over his black clad chest. Even though Quatre's eyes remained glued on the dead child, the young Arabian could tell that Gabriel was wearing one of his cruel, infuriating half smiles.
"So scared of death, Gundam pilot?" Gabriel's softly spoken words shattered the stillness of the room and pulled Quatre from his stupor. Slowly the blond turned so that his face was pointed in Gabriel's general direction. "Surprising since you have killed," His voice was mocking the Arabian but Quatre could find neither the strength nor desire to respond to the verbal jab. "Isn't this what you wanted for him? Death; an escape from the pain?" Gabriel's eyes slid over to study Quatre's face for the first time since the child had been killed. "Isn't it what you prayed for?"
Quatre shuddered, turning his gaze away from the sadistic demon, focusing once again on the child, guilt overwhelming his thoughts. Yes, death is what he'd prayed for-but not like that! He'd wanted the boy to pass out quickly, and never awaken to face the pain that would unavoidably destroy him. But instead, the boy had remained awake the entire time, umber eyes imploring Quatre for help as he bit back his cries inspired by the anguish Gabriel was inflicting.
Quatre had done nothing. Part of the pilot reminded himself that there was nothing he could do. He had been tied tightly to the wall, unable to go over and help, to stop Gabriel. But another piece of the young man's mind chided him for just standing there, nearly limp in his restraints with warm tears running down his face. He could have shouted something more; bargained, perhaps.....there had to be SOMETHING he could have done to prevent or block the pain.
"It doesn't really matter, though," Gabriel continued with a flippant gesture to one side. "He would have been dead soon anyhow, so my interference truly changed nothing."
Quatre looked again at the older man, his blue eyes narrowing in undisguised contempt. "How do you know?" his voice, hoarse and bitter sounding, grated against his own ears unpleasantly.
Gabriel just raised a thin eyebrow, as though amused that Quatre deigned to speak. "He was just a war orphan," he told his "charge", his voice and manner projecting nothing but revulsion and disdain. "Living on the streets off the kindness of others and his own nimble fingers. No one cared about him-how could they? He was a filthy, starving rat that only detracted from society."
Inside Quatre raged, his mind wanting to break free of its self-imposed constraints and attack the sadist in any way he could. It wasn't the boy's fault he'd been orphaned, forcing him to resort to thievery for food. A picture of Duo, smiling jovially with his long brown braid bouncing behind him, was conjured in the Arabian's mind. Duo had been a war orphan as well, and yet he'd survived. He was one of Quatre's closest friends with a great sense of humor, as well as a fantastic soldier.
Forcing his thoughts to still so that they were no more than a background noise in his mind, Quatre turned away from Gabriel, and expression of dirision showing through his mask despite efforts to contain it.
The sadistic man's smile only widened at Quatre's minute display of defiance. "I'm glad you see it that way," he said, his voice growing louder as he pushed himself away from the blood and dirt encrusted wall he'd been leaning on. "Now would you like to come back to the bed, or stay here with your dead friend for the night?"
Quatre didn't answer, he continued to stare straight ahead at the dead, hanging child, unshed tears welding in his aquamarine eyes. He would not accept the man's attempts at hospitality and comfort, as welcome as they were to his battered body. For a moment longer, Gabriel regarded him. Then, with a slight shrug that seemed to say "suit yourself" the sadist turned and left the room, closing the curtains behind him, plunging the room into blackness.
Quatre's muscles went lax as he leaned against the chains and wall. His eyes lowered, he could no longer see the child in the dark anyhow, and the tears began to slide once again unchecked down his face to gather on his chin.
Visions of Gabriel's smile and the child's eyes danced before his eyes, while the strangled sounding screams haunted his ears. "Sorry," Quatre whispered to the unhearing corpse in the center of the room. He could remember what Gabriel had said, just before it began-it had all been done for him, all for him. "Sorry. This was all my fault, please forgive me." Fatigue grew in him and he relaxed further in the restraints, ignoring his protesting wrists and arm. "So sorry...." he breathed, barely audible as his weary body took over, commanding sleep.
~*~
"You failed in the mission," Heero said, his gun drawn and pointed at a spot between Quatre's eyes. "You let yourself be captured. You must die."
"Heero, no!" Quatre protested, his eyes growing wide. He could hear the gunshot, but felt nothing, not pain nor the trickle of blood, even though the Perfect Soldier could not have missed so easy a target at such range.
Quatre turned, his gorgeous eyes seeking help from the other occupants of the small, white room. Wufei leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, glaring at Quatre. "You did nothing to help the weak. That is not justice, that is weakness. You are weak and do not deserve to live."
"Just a war orphan," Duo said bitterly, his violet eyes narrowed as he glared at the small blond. "We don't matter, we aren't worth anything. We deserve to be tortured to teach a spoiled, stubborn pet a lesson. Don't look here, Quatre, you let it happen."
Quatre turned away, his eyes shut as though to block out his friends' scorn and distaste. They were right, they were all right. He'd let it happen. It was his fault the child had died, his fault. He did nothing to prevent it; he didn't even try to. He was weak. He didn't deserve to live anymore.
Trowa was standing before him, regarding him with one eye visible, while the other was covered by his hair. His expression was blank, but Quatre could feel disappointment and disgust radiating from him.
"Trowa," Quatre's voice was soft and pleading, his eyes welling up with tears from the harsh words of the others. The harsh words of reality. "Please, Trowa, I tried to save him, but I could do nothing. Please understand, please help me,"
"Don't talk to me, Quatre," The voice was cold and distant in a way that Quatre had never heard it before. "Don't lie. You could have changed it, made a difference." He turned away, his back to Quatre before the other pilot could react.
"You just watched," The voice was quiet and unfamiliar. Quatre found himself staring at a young boy, clad in jeans and a red teeshirt, brown hair cropped just below his ears, his gaze serious beyond his age. "I suffered, and you watched. You enjoyed it; you were fascinated by it, by my pain and my death."
"No," Quatre took a step forward, his hand outstreched, but the child glided back away before he could get close and faded into the plain wall. "No, I tried to help, I wanted to help. I didn't want you to suffer, I didn't want to hurt you," The young Arabian dropped to his knees on the floor, tears streaming down his face as he lost all desire to withhold them from the world. "I wanted to," he whispered to the emptiness that filled both the room and his soul. "I wanted to...."
~*~
Bright light filtered in on Quatre and he cautiously cracked his eyes open, squinting against the blinding illumination. He was still hanging by his wrists, which were sore and chaffed from the weight he had little choice but to put on them; he cheeks were stiff with dried tears. Slowly it occurred to the young pilot that someone-likely Gabriel-was coming into the cell he shared with the child's corpse and that he should pull himself to stand on his own, but he couldn't find the strength.
His clear eyes sought out the figure standing in the closest thing to a doorway, surrounded by the painfully white light. Even though that light made it impossible to make out the man's features, Quatre could tell that it was Gabriel, standing silentley, facing his Arabian captive, ignoring the child he'd killed earlier.
Quietly, Gabriel turned and fastened the curtain up so that it wouldn't swing closed when he released it, plunging the obliette-style room back into blackness, before wandering into the room, intent on Quatre. Quatre watched warily and waited while his captor neared him, stopping ultimately about a foot from where he hung.
"Sleep well, little one?" Gabriel asked softly. Quatre didn't answer, but he couldn't repress the shudder that took him as memories of his dreams and the boy filtered back into his mind. "I see." Gabriel took a step closer, and scrunched his nose slightly. "My, you're ripe," he commented as he fiddled with Quatre's restraints. "Perhaps you'd best take a bath before the day continues,"
Despite himself, the thought of being immersed in warm water was extraordinarily good to Quatre, and a small sigh escaped his lips. Perhaps a bath could wash away some of the ache that continued to dominate his battered body.
Abruptly, Quatre found himself unsupported, free of his restraints-Gabriel had released his hands. Startled, the young pilot struggled to stand on wavering legs, his arms hanging loosely at his sides, overly aware that Gabriel was watching him appraisingly. His hands tingled as blood began flowing through them once again, and his arms ached from being held above his head for so long. He straightened, still uncertain, his bones cracking loudly, making him wince slightly, and focused on Gabriel with a mask that would have done Trowa proud.
With a low chuckled, Gabriel started out of the room. With difficulty, Quatre averted hi gaze from the corpse that still hung in the room as he slowly followed Gabriel out of his dungeon.