Vision Of Escaflowne Fan Fiction ❯ Bloody Hands ❯ Tropical Birds in Cold Cages ( Chapter 13 )

"Despite all my rage,
I am still just a rat in a cage."
--Smashing Pumpkins

_______________________________________________________________________ ______________________

The miniature muscles in Wolf's biceps tensed as he pulled back the string on his bow. A long, thin arrow was parked steadily between his middle and forefingers. One of his big sea-green eyes was shut as he aimed for a faint brown stain on the wall of Room 112. His tongue crept to the corner of his mouth and peeked through his lips as he concentrated.

"Don't stick your tongue out, you'll bite it off," Sebastian said as he sharpened his sword, sitting on one of the featherbeds.

"No, I won't," Wolf contradicted impulsively, the same reaction he'd been giving the sixteen-year-old all morning and all afternoon.

Sebastian sighed heavily, and set down his sword. He swung his feet onto the carpeted floor and approached Wolf. The older boy squatted down so that he was eye-level with him.

"If you're ever in battle... and you stick your tongue out like that...," He tapped the bottom of Wolf's chin lightly to express his point. "Now, if someone comes by and hits you hard... your teeth will slice right through it."

Wolf pushed Sebastian's hand away lightly.

"What do you know? You wouldn't even join the Dragonslayers."

Sebastian sighed, and stood up somberly, bare feet whispering on the nap of the soft carpet as he went back to the featherbed and sat down.

"I'm sorry," Wolf said quietly. "You probably had a good reason..."

"No," Sebastian said shortly, blades making smooth scraping sounds as he started to sharpen his sword again. "No, I didn't have a good reason. And I should have been there. If I had been there, maybe Gatti wouldn't have-"

"Don't be stupid," Wolf said bluntly. "He killed all fourteen of them. He's a monster. Don't you think he could have killed one more? If you had been there, I'd be doing this myself."

The six-year-old grinned wolfishly, (pun intended) and added:

"And then there would be no one to avenge Gatti or you."

Sebastian sighed.

"It's kind of odd," he said, "hearing you talk about him the way I talk about him. Everyone else talks about him like he's some sort of god. 'Van-sama is such a great man....,' 'If it weren't for Van-sama....'. But you never hear anyone say, 'Van-sama killed fourteen men.' You never hear anyone say anything bad about him. It's like no one can even see the kind of pain he caused all of us."

Wolf nodded gravely.

"Like he has everybody under some magical spell. Like the storybooks Mom- my mother used to read to me."

He drew the string on the bow again, closed one eye, aimed at the stain on the wall,

(Van's heart)

and released his arrow. It sprang from the bow and up at the wall, burying itself with a sharp thud in the middle of the stain.

"You're good," Sebastian said, "but inside an inn is no place for archery practice."

"I'm going to go with you, you know," Wolf informed Sebastian.

"No, you're not," Sebastian argued flatly.

"There's nothing you can do to stop me," Wolf said. "We're in this together." He scuffed over to the dresser, climbed up and pulled his arrow out of the wall. "And anyhow," he added, "I want to kill Van Fanel."

"Mercutio would never let me take you on some crazy assassination plan, so I'm not going to."

"Yeah?" Wolf said coldly, "Well he's not here anymore, is he? That's the whole reason I'm going."

"You're mature for someone your age," Sebastian said, airily changing the subject.

"Prince Chid in Freid is my age and he's practically running a country," Wolf said, shrugging, "And anyhow, I'm the man of the house now. It's my job to take care of my mother and my baby sister."

"Well, then," Sebastian said wisely, "If you go off and get yourself killed, who'd be left to take care of them?"

Wolf snorted in an arrogant scoff.

"I'll come back, Sebastian. I'm going to kill Van, he's no match for the rage I feel, and I'll go back to my family. But I will... I will kill Van Fanel. I will avenge Mercutio."

Sebastian silently watched the boy set up another arrow and aim for the spot behind a picture he had removed, to later cover up the hole made by his archery.

He reminds me of a bird, Sebastian thought, A caged bird. One of those that they take away from its natural habitat and put it in some exotic bird show. And then after a while its spirit dies, and the brilliant colors on its feathers fade away... That's sort of what Van's done to him. Taken away his child-like vigor and filled him with that dull, empty, black hate. He's like an exotic bird, caged up.

And what of you? Another part of him asked, What has Van done to you? Why aren't your feathers brilliant and vibrant anymore?

Sebastian accidentally nicked the tip of his forefinger as he sharpened his sword in a dream-like, thought-filled state. He didn't notice.

Because..., he answered the voice, Because Gatti made my feathers bright.

He scoffed, barely audible, at himself, and watched his work more carefully.

Stupid. He was being so stupid. Thinking about Gatti all the time as if the boy might come back if he thought enough about how much he'd loved him. As if Gatti might come back if Sebastian could want it bad enough...

If that were true he would have come back a long time ago...

Sebastian touched the tip of his blade gingerly, testing it.

... and he's not coming back. That's why I'm doing this. Because my feathers aren't bright anymore. Because I don't really care if I get myself killed in the process anyway. That's what makes it so easy. 'If you have nothing to die for, then you have nothing to live for', the old saying goes. Well, I've lost the only thing I would die for..... that's what makes it so easy.

He glanced up at Wolf, who was standing outside on the balcony and aiming his bow again at random spots of the outside scenery, not shooting arrows anymore.

"Pow," the boy whispered lightly. "Bye, bye, Van."

But him..., Sebastian thought, Maybe he's more like a wolf instead of a bird.

He grinned.

He may be caged up, but at least he still has the strength to break himself out...

*****

That night he lie awake on his side, back facing the balcony, blankets curled up to his chin.

It was cold. It was so cold.

Gatti..., he couldn't stop himself from thinking of him again, Gatti, it's so fucking cold here without you.

Would you have wanted it like this, Gatti? Would you have wanted me going on some insane escapade to avenge your death, with a six-year-old tagging along? Would you have wanted me to be curled up in some strange inn bed, wishing I could have you lying beside me? Wishing to god that I could feel you against me for just one more second? Wishing to god that I had joined the army with you...maybe then you would still be alive maybe then you would be lying beside me and right this very minute we'd be lying in my bed and your father would be gone and the world would hush for you and me just like that stupid goddamn song and i could feel you again i'd feel your hair and i could see those eyes again those eyes always full of radiance your feathers were always brighter than mine, Gatti, your feathers were always so much brighter than mine...

Stop it. God. Why was he doing this to himself? He'd had plenty of time to grieve over Gatti. He'd purposely given himself enough time to grieve over Gatti, so that he would be able to go through with this

(insane escapade)

whole thing with a level head.

It was as if Gatti's memories were getting stronger. More vivid. The closer he got to the Schezar manor the more powerful and insolent his grieving had become.

He rolled over to check on Wolf, and to give his mind something different to think about.

The white sheets were rumpled at the foot of the bed, and it was empty. Wolf was leaning over the rail of the balcony, wrapped up in Sebastian's fur cape, looking down at the smooth white blanket of snow below, the serene blue ingots of moonlight spilling over his shoulders and onto the top of his bluish black hair, making it look pure ebony, darker than the navy blue winter sky itself.

He could have been crying. Sebastian himself had already given his pillow a good healthy soaking, crying silently, before then. Now he wondered if Wolf was doing the same, waiting until the night came to let it all out. As if it mattered. But, Sebastian had to admit, the nights were hard. The nights were the hardest to cope with. And Sebastian had barely realized himself that it now took all of his strength just to get up in the morning and go through each day half-asleep, dazed, barely even alive. And so he didn't wonder if it were the same for Wolf.

As a matter of fact, Wolf was thinking about the nights. He was thinking about how hard the nights were. He was thinking of how Mercutio had kept him up talking late at night when Wolf was upset, and how he'd even let Wolf crawl, embarrassed but relieved, into his (Mercutio's) bed when he couldn't sleep. That, Wolf was surprised, was what he missed the most. Mercutio's body was warm and protective, strong and secure. Maybe that was why his brother had seemed immortal. Because being wrapped protectively in Mercutio's arms may have made Wolf angry at his baby-ish self in the morning, but it was the most wonderful feeling. Mercutio had been an ass sometimes, but Wolf had loved him. Loved him with all the love and awe a little boy of six had for his strong, soldier of a big brother.

Now those arms would never be strong again.

And Van Fanel didn't even care. Van had killed his big brother and he didn't even care!

A hot, wet, fugitive tear, who had been running from the day so long, finally escaped from his eye.

Ten, maybe fifteen, minutes passed before Sebastian, the blankets huddled up to his chin as he watched the boy on the balcony, became unsettled by Wolf's silent reverie. He broke the melancholic silence, his voice deep and rich and soft in the still room.

"Wolf?"

The boy nearly jumped out of the thick fur cape, pivoting his body with an abrupt snap, and turned to Sebastian.

"Thought you were asleep," he said, forgetting the outlaw of a tear that was slipping silently down his cheek.

Sebastian scoffed. "How could I sleep?"

Wolf's lungs filled up with the cold night air, and his chest swelled up with a heavy sigh under the cape.

"The nights are hard," he said, "The nights are very hard."

The statement was simple coming from the boy who had transformed back into a six-year-old during the night, but the emotion was as real as any full-grown man's.

Sebastian smiled wryly.

"Come on, Wolf. You need your sleep. Standing outside in the freezing cold won't do your health any good if you want to come with me tomorrow."

Wolf felt a swelling, white-hot joy inside, but concealed it well, with much experience.

"So you've finally decided that I'm going, no matter what?" he said, his normal, cocky, obstinate self returning.

"If you want," Sebastian lied. He had already planned to wake up very early and sneak out of the inn before Wolf woke, and have the inn keepers make sure Wolf stayed in Room 112 with the exception of breakfast. He would not have Mercutio's little brother going with him.

Maybe we're both a couple of caged animals, but he still has the strength to break out.

Sebastian slid to one side of the bed.

Come on and rest while your feathers are still bright. Because God knows when they're going to fade.

Wolf stood still in the balcony, overcome with a sudden, stark nostalgia. He could smell his brother's slightly musky body, wrapping him up without saying a word. In the dark of the night, Sebastian was glowing with resemblance to Mercutio.

Wolf Urai thought, Maybe it's gotten to him too. He's always so quiet, like he's too busy thinking about everything in the whole world instead of what's happening to him right this very minute.

He was climbing into Sebastian's bed before he knew what he was doing, pushing his dignity into the little corner pocket of his mind, usually reserved for embarrassing things such as crying like a baby, being scared, and missing Mercutio.

He pulled the covers snugly up to his chin, letting them protect him from the heaviness of his thoughts.

And then Sebastian slipped an arm around his shoulders and pulled gently.

Wolf thought of objecting, but found he hadn't the strength. He was tired. He missed Mercutio. And Sebastian, older and wiser Sebastian, was holding him securely. Wolf let himself snuggle into the embrace, burying his face in the thick material of Sebastian's sweater, exactly as he had done when his big brother held him.

Sebastian wasn't as strong. Maybe not as warm, either. His arms weren't as muscular as Mercutio's had been, and his embrace was softer and more gentle.

Wolf didn't care.

And as his breathing sank into a deep, slow rhythm, he forgot that Sebastian wasn't Mercutio and that tomorrow he was planning on taking justice upon his own shoulders.

*****

He was not thinking about Van Fanel when he left the inn, telling the young man at the desk to make sure Wolf didn't leave the hotel, slipping him a few coins. He was not thinking about Van Fanel as he trekked through the crusty, cold, wet blanket of fresh white snow. He was not thinking about Van Fanel when the Schezar mansion loomed imposingly ahead, like a crouching monster, grinning at him. He was not thinking about Van Fanel, standing on the porch of the Schezar manor.

He wasn't even thinking about Van Fanel when the door of the Schezar manor opened.