Vision Of Escaflowne Fan Fiction ❯ Bloody Hands ❯ Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf? ( Chapter 12 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

*Dear Constant Reader:
Lucky Chapter number 13 is finally up... I didn't think anyone would read that last one because it contained (scary music) SHOUNEN-AI.

Anyway, this one isn't shounen-ai-free because Sebastian is still thinking 'bout Gatti, but there's no kissing or anything. Gomen ^_^

Oh yeah! Sakuli drew some pics inspired by this fic, and I put them up at my site! There are some pics of Sebastian and Mercutio that I drew as well. So if anyone's curious as to what they look like, go to the Fan Art section of my little Chesta shrine ( http://kiss.to/chesta ). There are two links at the bottom of the main Fan Art page, and one of them says 'Fan-fic Inspired Fan Art'. Go there. And if you wanna see a pic of Gatti and Sebastian's locker room kiss, go to the 'Shounen-ai Collection' (well, they're not really kissing... but they're going to... in the pic, that is..). Okay, I'll shut up now.

_______________________________________________________________________ __________________________

The world smelled musky and damp. There was darkness everywhere, hugging him like a blanket. He opened his eyes wide in the darkness in effort to adjust them and peer into his surroundings.

Gradually, the darkness faded, though only a little, and he could at least tell where he was.

Oh shit.

He was in the Vione. He could tell because the dungeon-like walls were dark gray and blue; morbid. He remembered it quite clearly. And the musky smell was so strong. Pressing itself against his chest. Creeping down his throat. The ship was forcing itself upon him with its prison-like silence, its prison-like smell, its prison-like walls. Holding him inside. The Vione itself was alive. It was breathing. Van could hear it breathing all around him. Whispering

(come with us
come with us
come with us...)

faintly with the slow, steady hum of the florescent lighting.

And then there was noise, smashing through the soft tick of the lights.

clang clang clang clang clang

The steady, marching pace of Dragonslayer boots. Echoing around him, prickling softly at his ears. How many or from which direction, he could not tell. But they were coming.

clang clang clang clang clang clang clang

Steady, confident strides.

Van looked behind him. The hallway was long, and it ended in a spilt, making a T shape. He turned and looked in the other direction. The same thing. He was standing in the middle of a hallway, and if the Dragonslayers were coming from both directions, he had no chance of surviving.

clang clang clang clang clang clang clang clang clang clang clang

Van's heart started whamming hysterically in his chest. Where were they, where were they from which direction were they coming where the hell were they? disappeared? invisible? oh the cowards, where were they?!

Van balled his fists tightly.

Stay, he thought. Stay and fight, no matter what. Fight. Fight. I will no go down.

His face was set, determined. He fixed his eyes on the corridor.

clang clang clang clang clang clang clang clang

They came from both directions of the split in the hallway at the exact same time. Two of them. Roran and Anthion. Roran from the left, Anthion from the right. They came together and started down the corridor Van was in. Walking in perfect sync, like mechanical soldiers. Faces set in stony, emotionless expressions.

clang clang clang clang clang clang

Their strides were brisk and steady, and the bottoms of their leather jackets flapped slightly at their knees, fluttering up and waving with the rhythm of their gait.

Roran's face was pale, almost white, and it was evident that his chapped blue lips hadn't smiled in a long time. Pale cheeks sunken in his long, creamy white face. His hair was short, spiky and ebony black. His eyes were black. And not just his iris and his pupils. His eyes were completely black. Even the part that was supposed to be white was black, shining black. Glittering.

clang clang clang clang clang clang clang

stay and fight stay and fight stand your ground stay stay stay

Anthion's skin was dark brown. One of the people from the Aslan islands. Dark brown skin and black hair, twisted into foot-long dreadlocks that bounced around his head to the rhythm of his walk.

clang clang clang clang clang clang clang

The jackets furled and unfurled, the boots struck the cold hard floor, and the walk didn't slow or quicken. They were coming, and each of them had a weapon. In one hand Roran was carrying a silver, gleaming scythe, swinging in his arm. Anthion was holding an ax, its blade bowed elegantly, glistening in the dim lighting. And they were coming, not slowing, for Van.

Van stood a moment longer, clenching his empty fists desperately. The part of him that was crying to stay and fight was eclipsed when his human instincts kicked in and took over.

Run.

One word flashed in his head, and he could not think of anything else.

!!!!RUN!!!!

He took one shaky step backwards, pivoted his body, and sprinted off in the other direction, bare feet slapping on the cold marble floor.

clang clang clang clang clang clang clang clang clang clang clang clang

The soft, quiet, gentle cling of the scythe swinging in Roran's hand.

Van turned left, almost slipping on the floor. He glanced at the Dragonslayers as he rounded the corner. Faces set dead ahead, not looking anywhere else. Mission: Kill Van. Mission: Kill Van. Target located. Mission accepted.

Van sucked in his breath and ran down the new empty hallway, stretching before him like a road, glittering under the Mystic Moon at night. He could see a door at the other end.

clang clang clang clang clang clang clang clang clang

Van exhaled heavily and pushed himself. He forced his long, slender legs to form longer, more powerful strides. He pumped his arms, bare feet slapping painfully on the merciless floor.

The clangs were getting louder, turning the corner, drowning out the slap of his bare feet.

clang clang clang clang clangclangclangclangclang bang bang bang bangbangbangbang BANG BANG BANG BANG

Van threw a glance over his shoulder. His garnet eyes widened. They were right behind him, no less than twenty feet. Black, emotionless eyes dead head, fixed on him with piercing intensity.

Push Push PUSH PUSH PUSH PUSH go go go go go go go GO

Van stretched his strides as far as he could, bounding down the hallway on his delicate legs like a deer. His red vest was flapping wildly under his armpits, his ebony hair drifting in and out of his vision.

The door at the end of the hallway dangled like a piece of bait, luring him in. He stiffened his arms and pumped them harder. Why wasn't he going any faster? He stretched his legs to the limit.

BANGBANGBANGBANGBANGNBANGBANGBANG

(I'm not gonna make it!!)

Yes you are! go go go gogogo GO! It's not that much farther now

(turn around and fight)

go go go go not that much farther now go go go go go!!!!

His body smashed against the door with the force of his momentum, his bare shoulder slamming against the cold metal. His fingers scrambled frantically for the knob. Hooking his fingers in the little slit that opened the sliding door, he pulled.

BANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANG BANG BANG BANG B A N G

"No!!" he bellowed desperately at the door.

Van pulled again. The door didn't budge. He threw his weight into it, yanking hysterically, hair jolting around his head. His breath was getting shallow, coming out in frantic, short hitches.

BANG BANG B A N G BANG B A N G B A N G

He looked over his shoulder. Fifteen feet. Ten feet. Eight feet between them.

The sharp puffing hitches began to sting his chest. His heart rammed, roaring in his ribcage. He repositioned his fingers, tightening his grip, and tried again, flinging his body furiously in effort to get the door open.

Roran swung the scythe. It arched in a perfect line over his head. He marched forward. At the same exact time Anthion gripped the ax in both gloved hands, and brought it across his shoulder in a diagonal sweep. Neither of them stopped the brisk, constant, relentless tramp.

"No!!!!"

"Van!"

"GET AWAY!!"

"Van, it's me!!"

Cool, soft hands were shaking his shoulders frantically.

"You're dreaming, Van, wake up!"

He forced his eyes open, and Celena's tired, worried face was staring down at his, blue eyes wide and glistening.

"Celena," he said quietly, bringing the world back to himself. Bringing himself back to Celena. His light. His one true thing.

She pushed his hair back, plastered to his brow with sweat.

He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the space between his eyes as if he were having a terrible headache. And he was, in a way.

(yes, you are. They're in your mind and they won't get out. They're your headache. You've got one hell of a Dragonslayer headache..... AAAH HAHAHAHAHA!!!)

"Damn it, Celena. I can't take... I can't take it anymore," he said, sounding weak and angry at the same time, "Where are they going to stop? They've already... they've already...."

"Shhh...," Celena said helplessly, pushing back more wet clumps of his raven hair.

"I don't want to lie in bed like this, Celena!" he shouted suddenly. "I want to get up and fight!! I want to fight, I want to defend myself, I want to defend you, I want to fight-!"

"Van... shhhh... please.... I don't expect you to defend me," she said gently.

"-but how do you fight a ghost, Celena?! How do you fight something that's in your head, that no one else can even see?!"

"Quiet, Van," she said, still using soothing undertones as if he were a child. "It's okay..."

He gave her a strange, restless smile.

"No, Celena. No, it's not okay," he said quietly. "The game is in their hands now. They can twist around our fates any way they please."

She sighed helplessly down at him, and he turned his face away, his jaw clenched.

"Something's coming," he said, voice low and wavering. "Something's on its way... something that I can't stop. They're winning."

Van dug his fingers into his palms.

"I won't let them do this. I won't let them win."

*****

Sebastian watched the Red Inn creep closer and closer, listened to the horses' clip-clap rhythm slow, and finally stop.

"Well. Here we are, Sebastian-sama," Leif announced.

"Arigatou," Sebastian said. "How much?"

"Five pieces, four quintin," Leif answered.

Sebastian dug through the folds of his cape and found the money. As he put in it Leif's palm, the driver looked at him, cocking an eyebrow.

"That gift for Van-sama...," he said slowly, "....where is it?"

"It's waiting for me at the Inn," Sebastian lied promptly and convincingly. As if a higher being had strolled by, seen him in need, and dropped it right into his head. The kind of lie that always made him grin afterwards.

Arigatou, higher being, he thought almost absently.

Gatti had always believed in Mother Gaia and Father Sky, though Sebastian sometimes wondered how his lover could put so much faith into something, especially in his condition.

He was still thinking about it when he climbed out of the carriage, gave Leif a wave good-bye, and started toward the Inn, snowflakes lighting on his cape.

Gatti had always put too much faith in things. Maybe he was even a little naïve at times...

("Everything's going to work out for us, 'Bastian. I just know it. Everything will be just fine, because... because I love you. What could go wrong when I love you so much?")

... but Sebastian had loved him for it. Craved his wide-eyed, childlike faith. He'd adored Gatti so much that sometimes he'd let himself believe Gatti. Get lost in the little fantasy worlds he would create, where they could lay in the lush green grass behind Sebastian's house forever, and never have to worry about Everan's thick black belt again. Sometimes he'd told himself that it was just fine to be a little optimistic. It was just fine to believe that everything would

(meet me.... un-der the wil-low tree.... and we'll both....be hap-py...)

work out just fine.

Sebastian gathered the front of the cape in his fingers and hugged it tighter around his neck.

It was stupid. Stupid. To get wrapped up like that, to let your hopes grab you by the heel, like the undertow in the ocean, and yank you out to sea.

Why did Gatti have to let himself get carried away?

(meet me... where the shore meets the sea.... and the world will hush.... for you and me....)

It was a stupid song. It was a stupid outlook on life.

Sebastian pushed open the big, red, wooden doors and stepped into the warmth of the inn.

"There he is!" a haughty, child's voice declared. "Now give us our room!"

The man behind the desk was young, but his face was weary and exasperated, adding a few years to his visage.

"Sir? Are you Sebastian Riana?" he asked, voice conveying desperate hope.

(another false name)

"Hai," Sebastian said. He nodded toward the child at the desk, standing on his tiptoes, chin on the edge of the hardwood, peering over the desk. It was Mercutio's little brother, and they were in it together.

He scoffed inwardly at himself.

I'm in a murder scheme with a six-year-old.

Assassination, he corrected himself. No... vengeance. Justice. Vengeance.

Oh hell. Who am I kidding?

"Wolf giving you trouble?" Sebastian asked the young man behind the desk.

"He wants to eat breakfast...," the man explained, "But I tried to tell him... only guests can eat breakfast!"

"I am a guest!" Wolf declared, balling his pudgy, six-year-old fists. "Sebastian and me are rooming together! He's already made reservations, baka!"

"We have to have an adult present to verify-," the man was saying, looking tired. Obviously, this argument had been going on for some time. Sebastian grinned.

"I am an adult!" Wolf shrieked.

"Wolf!" Sebastian finally intervened.

"Nani!"

"Go sit down at the empty table over there."

He felt more like a father than he ever had in his life, watching the little boy march defiantly over to the bare wooden table and plop himself savagely into one of the empty chairs, arms crossed, legs dangling above the floor.

"My apologies," Sebastian said, still grinning. "How long has he been here?"

"From the throbbing in my temples, I'd say ten years," the young man answered wearily.

"Gomen..." Sebastian reached into the folds of his cape again, pulling out a handful of gold pieces. "That should cover it, ne? And a little extra... because of Wolf..."

"No, that's all right," the man said, pushing Sebastian's hand away after taking the money for their room. He opened the register and placed the appropriate coins in their appropriate pockets.

"Wolf...," he said thoughtfully, "that's a unique name. Fits him well enough."

"Hai."

Sebastian smiled and turned to the table, sliding his cape off as he made his way over, grinning unconsciously at Wolf's stubborn frown.

"What are you smiling at?" Wolf asked viciously.

"Nothing," Sebastian answered promptly, pulling out a chair and sitting down across from the boy.

"Took you long enough to get here," Wolf observed.

"It's snowing outside. Some of the roads were blocked off," Sebastian explained calmly.

"I know that."

Wolf folded his arms over the table and leaned forward, a miniature impatient businessman, finally ready for a meeting he'd been forced to wait on.

"Have you got a sword?" he asked, peering seriously at Sebastian with bright sea-green eyes through his mussy, blue-black hair, hanging in his eyes in such a way that Sebastian felt an impulse to brush it away.

"Hai."

"Well, when are we going to do it?" Wolf asked, the impatient businessman's eagerness glowing in his ruddy cheeks.

"You're not going to do anything," Sebastian said shortly.

"Yes the hell I am!" Wolf shouted a little too loudly.

"Such language for a boy your age," Sebastian said, not the least bit surprised.

"Look," the younger boy said, leaning forward, lowering his voice, "Mercutio may have been an ass sometimes, but I loved him. And I'm not going to let that bastard Van get away with killing him."

Sebastian suddenly felt as if he were no longer talking to a six-year-old as Wolf balled one fist and slammed it against the table, making the napkin holder jump.

"I know how you feel," he said, "I feel the same way about it... about Gatti. But you can't rush into this and do something foolish. You'll get yourself killed."

"I know what I'm doing," Wolf declared, "I've been practicing. I'm good. I can take him all alone. If you don't cooperate, I'll break in the Schezar manor and kill him all by myself."

Sebastian sighed, beginning to understand what the man at the desk had gone through.

"We'll work everything out tonight, all right? For now let's just have breakfast. I'm starving."

"Fine."

Wolf crossed his arms and plopped against the back of his chair.

"I want pancakes."

Sebastian grinned, backed out of his chair, and went over to the counter where the hot breakfast was waiting.

*****

"How did you know Gatti anyway?" Wolf asked, tucking a mouthful of syrupy pancakes into the pocket of his cheek, looking like a gerbil.

"We went to the same school," Sebastian answered simply.

"No, I mean, were you just friends or... best friends or what?"

For a moment Sebastian contemplated telling Wolf the truth, just to see the boy's little nose wrinkle up in disgust, and to hear him squeal, 'EEEEWwwwww!!!'. But he dismissed the idea.

"Hai," he said slowly and solemnly, picking at and dissecting his blueberry muffin, "....best friends."

"Do you miss him a lot?" Wolf asked gently, the impatient businessman fading, sounding more like a child than he had all morning.

Sebastian smiled ruefully.

("I love you, Sebastian. Nothing in the world is ever going to keep us apart. Not my father... not me becoming a Dragonslayer... nothing. Because I love you so much... that... everything will just be all right.")

"Hai, I miss him..."

Wolf thumped his glass of milk slowly with one finger.

"I miss Mercutio...," he said quietly, as if it were a confession.

Wolf cleared his throat and looked defiantly at Sebastian. The determined, fierce look on his young face was almost scary.

"But we're gonna get Van, aren't we, 'Bastian? We're gonna get him. I'm gonna get him for killing Mercutio."

The six-year-old stabbed his soggy pancakes savagely and popped a forkful into his mouth.