Fandom: Gundam Wing
Disclaimer: I dun own gundam wing, dammit
Pairings: weird 1+2+1 sort of...
Warnings: AU, odd, supernatural
Notes: Won 3rd Place in the Supernatural/Horror Category in The Vault's 2nd Annual Yaoiful Yuletide '04 ! I've been writing GW fanfiction the longest, and here I haven't posted any of it on O.o Okie, so this one I'm proud of 'cause...well, it's a little strange, but I hope you enjoy it none the less (Or because of, really!)
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The world was a pleasant grey. I always enjoyed it when it looked like that. Overcast, but bright, making the old stone and charcoal-like trees have a much more black and white feel than their natural greens and light sandy tones. But again, this was late fall. Dead leaves were scattered around the cemetery, trees looking lifeless and barren – fitting, I think.
Some would call it an odd quirk of mine, but I enjoy my time in graveyards. There's a peacefulness here that you can't find anywhere else, and I'm not trying to make a reference to the dead. There really is some sort of calmness here, tranquility, if you will. But people have never considered me normal, and I suppose I agree. I really don't care.
There's this spot I really liked, a pile of broken stone bricks near a gnarled maple tree. It looks dead even when it's fully alive, but it provides good shade in the spring and summer. It's on top of one of the cemetery's hills, so you can get a nice view of the whole place. I was walking up there one afternoon in late autumn, early winter. Sometimes I'd go up there to just sit or have a smoke. That day, I was going to do both.
I let my back rest against the darkened wood of the tree while I sat on the pile of broken stone. Pulling a pack out of one of the pockets in my jacket, I loosely held a cigarette between my lips as I fumbled for the matches. I never really liked lighters, call me old fashioned if you want. After lighting up, I took a long, deep drag, closing my eyes. It was relaxing. Upon opening them once again, I just admired the landscape. What beauty lies where death resides.
I like being alone, and I would go to the cemetery to be alone, too. But it always caught me off guard when someone else was there. Yes, some people would come to pay respects to a loved one long gone; some people were actually quite a bit lost. But the last thing I expected was to see someone just standing there, looking out towards the world, like I was.
Yet, there they were, sitting on top of a medium-sized gravestone, facing the vast expanse of the cemetery in the dimming light of day. They blended in, but they didn't, their body seemingly coming out of the late afternoon's shadow itself. Their hair was just like autumn, bright hues of red, gold, and brown all mixed together in one giant mass, waving in the light breeze – almost waving too much, if you ask me. I couldn't believe I hadn't noticed them when I had walked up.
I spent a few minutes watching, finding it slightly disturbing that they didn't move at all. But then again, I may have looked like that too, minus the extremely long, bright hair. I never cared much about my hair, actually, just sort of let it be. It looks like those dead leaves on the ground, in my opinion. But that other hair…my eyes just kept being drawn to it – a sharp contrast to the grey of the world that surrounded me.
There was a silence that had taken over the place. My cig was halfway gone when I finally decided to move. It just didn't feel right having someone else there, too. So I called out to the person. Though it was hard to tell with all the hair, I could see their body tense. Ever so slowly, they turned around to face me. This didn't help decipher the gender of the person, but it didn't really matter. I got off my pile with a grunt and walked over to them, relishing the sound of the leaves crunching beneath my shoes. The person didn't move, staring in fear, almost.
I stopped a few feet away from him – I could tell they were a he from that distance by the body shape and lack of a chest – as to not encroach on his personal space too much. I know I don't appreciate it when others do, assuming he comes here for the same reasons I do. He simply watched me with large eyes. I nodded to him in a slight greeting. He nods back once, relaxing only a little, but kept watching me. He didn't blink.
His stare made me nervous, especially the expression on his face. Confusion mixed with terror, he's almost as if he were about to jump up and run away. My smoke died out, mostly from me just letting it sit between my fingers. I try to keep my gaze out on the landscape. I let the last bits of my cigarette burn my fingers before I turned back to the young man. But all I saw was a vacant headstone.
I return to my cemetery for the next few months, much in the same routine I had worked up. Sit, smoke, and leave when my cig is gone or I feel that I actually have something I must do. Usually it's the former, but I had been keeping my eye out for the bright-haired boy sitting on the gravestone. I didn't see him for a long time.
It was another cool day, wind picking up the pieces of leaves that still remain, throwing them into the air. A calm silence settled over the place once again. A chill ran up my spine, and I pushed myself off of the tree I was leaning against. Sure enough, upon turning towards the headstone, I find the longhaired boy sitting there, in the same position, feet dangling in the shadows. His hair, however, is braided this time, but the wind still picks it up as if it were those lifeless leaves.
With slightly more determination, I walked over to him again. He didn't turn around to face me, nor did he move. He just sat there, a vacant expression on his face as his graying eyes viewed the graves. I was silent too, for some reason finding myself unable to break the quiet. That braid of hair flew over his shoulder, and he reached for it, bringing it down to his chest and slowly stroked it.
"You're here often." His voice did not sound like I thought it would. It was a bit deeper, but seemed to have some odd tones in it that I could barely hear, yet not at the same time. It was probably just the wind.
"Yes," I answered simply. I liked to keep my verbal speech to a minimum – actions always reveal the truth behind words.
"But you haven't lost anyone here." The wording was a bit odd, but I understood what he meant. Puzzling that he had gathered that, but perhaps I'm not as secretive as I like to think myself.
"Yes," was my reply. A very soft, very faint smile took the boy's lips, making his whole being seemed to become more vibrant, more colorful.
He finally turned towards me, once grey eyes now a shining indigo. "So why do you come if there's nothing here for you?"
I blinked. I came to be alone, of course. To relax and be at peace. I suppose it was odd that I wanted to find peace among the dead; maybe that's what he meant. However, I found myself unable to answer. He watched me and I watched him, that faint smile growing into something bigger.
"What can I call you?" I asked, not tearing my eyes from him.
He seemed to frown a bit, looking away only for a moment. "Duo, if you want."
"Heero," I said, nodding. He nodded back and turned towards the fading sun. An almost nostalgic look took over his face, body catching the black and white tones of the sun and bleak clouds.
"It's time for you to go," he said. I blinked again, confused. But I didn't argue. Instead, I simply left the calm of the graveyard behind.
I began to see Duo more often. He was usually there right before sunset, always on the same gravestone, watching the cemetery. I found myself talking more openly to him, and vice versa. Duo surprised me often as being very well educated and cultured, though he seemed even younger than my twenty-four years. The cemetery took on a new sense of peace when he was there, as if the world was sighing along with him. I detected a sort of sadness from him, but I didn't question it. He had his own reasons for being there.
"Have you ever seen the body of someone left out in the woods, murdered a few months prior?"
He asked me some of the oddest questions, child-like yet deeply disturbed.
"No," I replied.
"Do you think memories are an actual function of the human brain, or connected to some sort of higher consciousness?"
I pondered it for a while, taking another drag. Blowing out the smoke, I watched it twist and bend in a broken dance in the air. "I don't know. I don't think anyone does."
"How can you be sure if you don't know?"
I frowned again. "I'm not sure."
He nodded thoughtfully, standing in front of the headstone and watching the winter sun. Each day he had acquired new attire, some of it I found questionable.
"Do you think if everyone started out as dead or non-existent in this plane, they would mourn when someone became alive?"
"You mean the opposite of mourning the dead?"
He nodded. "Yes. It's just the other way around."
I leaned forward, thinking a little longer on this one. Taking another drag, I turned to find him looking down at me from the gravestone, eyes drifting the border of grey and lavender.
"I suppose that would make sense."
"Do you ever wonder what it's like to be dead?"
I didn't answer.
The pleasing bite of the wind was my first inclination that winter was finally there. There was no snow, just the icy air and smoke-like skies. On the way up my normal hill, I noticed a new grave, adorned with large stone angels and a tall, wide house behind it. The freshness of these structures was nearly a sore to the rest of the old, decaying cemetery. I saw Duo standing in front of it, dressed completely in black, back to me.
Upon reaching the top of the hill, I went and stood next to him. He did not acknowledge my presence at first, but I was used to that.
"When did they put this in?"
I shrugged. "This is the first time I've seen it."
"What does the name say?" I blinked at him, but did as he asked. Walking a few steps, I leaned forward, for some reason not wanting to set foot onto the actual gravesite. "Quatre Raberba Winner."
"The billionaire's son?"
I frowned. "It seems so…"
Duo spun on his heels, turning his back to Quatre's grave and sat rigidly on his usual headstone. I cast a glance at the angels before joining him, ignoring my usual cigarette for the moment.
"I heard he died a few days ago and they wanted to hurry up his burial to honor him or something. I didn't know he would be here, though," I offered, trying to quell the rising feeling in my stomach as Duo's almost black gaze intensified.
"He died three hours and fourteen minutes ago."
I took a step back, looking at the grave.
"He woke up sometime two days ago. He was scratching at the coffin walls, he screamed, he cried, but no one heard him. They buried him alive."
The feeling rose, the bile in my mouth, and I had to hastily turn to the side as the contents of my stomach left my body. Bracing myself on a nearby cross, I felt a chill on my shoulder, only realizing it was Duo's pale fingers when I glanced to the side. His eyes were a deep violet, then, looking concerned and confused. Steadying myself back onto my feet, I, discretely as I could, wiped what was left of the vomit on my chin away.
"Are you alright, Heero?"
I nodded slightly. "Yes, but…" Looking back to the grave, I felt that feeling in the pit of my stomach again. Then I scrutinized my graveyard companion. "You said…that no one heard him."
"Yes."
"Then how could you know?"
He gave me a sad smile. Then he disappeared.
I waited for him for weeks. Winter got colder, and the cemetery had lost its tranquility for me. Yet I still found myself there every day, staring at that gravestone, waiting for him to come back. At that point I was convinced he was some wandering spirit, or that I had imagined him all together.
I walked up to his stone and sat by it, using it as a shelter against the growing wind. The weather never used to bother me, but now I felt it with a new intensity. But I stayed. I smoked, but it didn't help. I refused to look at Quatre's grave, knowing the secret his family did not. I suppose I fell asleep there, too.
It was sometime in the early morning when I awoke, for the world around me was pitch dark. No stars shone through, either. The cemetery was not the grey that I so loved. No, it was black.
My frozen fingers dug in my pocket, lighting a match. The soft, orange glow was a pleasing, comforting sight. Turning around, I saw that I was still next to the headstone. But then I finally saw it, something I should have noticed so many times before.
Duo Maxwell 1823-1842 A loving son and brother
For some reason, it made me very, very sad.
Then that familiar silence and stillness overtook the property.
"It's not worth shedding a tear over."
I spun around on the ground, nearly dropping the match. But I didn't need fire to see. Duo was kneeling in front of me, looking somber but friendly, emitting a light of his own…but not at the same time. I looked at the inscription, then back at him.
"It's my own fault, really."
"...Nineteen?"
"I suppose you would like an explanation."
"Ghost?"
He shook his head, which puzzled me. I looked back at the headstone.
"It's not me...sort of." I must have looked lost, he laughed quietly, though it seemed to echo in the silence that always accompanied him. I didn't know why I never noticed it before. "I was going to be a ghost or...a spirit, I suppose. But I saw it before I was supposed to, and thus the job was passed on to me."
He came closer and sat down next to me, letting his back rest against the grave that was supposed to be his.
"Duo died when he was nineteen, drowning in the river trapped beneath a sheet of ice. He was barely alive when they fished him out, but the church proclaimed him dead. They were lowering the open-casket coffin into the grave before they put the lid on, and that's where he saw it."
There was a long pause and I just watched him, the changing eyes. His hair began to sway again, and that was when I realized there never had to be any wind for it to do so.
"Every cemetery has a Keeper." I just stared blankly, too numb from the cold and shaken up to really do anything else. He smiled warmly, but the despondency in it was never lost. He always smiled like that. "The Keeper watches over the cemetery and the souls that pass through it. People have always been afraid of being forgotten, so the Keeper remembers every person laid to rest here, everything about them."
I understood. "So...you're..." He nodded. "That's how you knew about Quatre."
He nodded again. "Yes. I could hear him scream. The dead scream too loud, louder than the living can hear." That sent a chill up my spine.
"Are they screaming now?"
"They always are. They're afraid."
"Aren't you dead?"
"I'm not sure." He looked away, letting his eyes fall to the earth beneath his black-clad feet. "Duo saw the Keeper of this cemetery right before he died, which is not supposed to happen. So...when my soul finally left my body, the Keeper disappeared and I took its place. I suppose I'm both It and Duo."
I nodded in understanding. But he was looking at me almost wistfully, making me feel loved and uncomfortable at the same time. Then it hit me.
"Not...supposed to see before you died?"
"Yes."
"I'm not dead."
"...Yes."
I swallowed deeply. "Am I the only one that can see you?" He was silent. "I see..." I shuddered, half from the cold and half from the growing fear inside me. I was never one to be afraid of anything, really, but feeling like I had no control over my life from that point on shook me to the bone. "Am I going to die, then?"
"Everyone dies."
"I mean now."
"No." He sighed. "Because I was once a human soul, I'm not allowed to leave my place of rest unless a new body is buried. Then, I can see them and help their spirit get out. But I must always remain here," he motioned with his head towards the gravestone.
It made a twisted sort of sense. "Sounds like a curse to me."
He didn't smile. "Sometimes it feels like it."
"Will it happen to me?"
"If you die here." Duo paused, bringing his always-changing eyes to mine. Something in them told me to stay calm, but it was hard to listen. "So don't. Go away."
"...What?"
"Go. Now." I stuttered and he just shook his head. "I can only appear when the grave casts a shadow, so you are lucky that you lit that match. You could have died here tonight." My eyes widened. "Heero...Don't come back."
"But, won't you be stuck –"
He hissed. "I'm doing you a favor because I like you. Your soul is too beautiful to be stuck to a rock." Duo's voice changed dramatically, carrying hundreds of different sounds with it, like thousands of voices were all whispering at once. I fell backwards onto the ground.
"Duo –"
Then I heard them. The wailing, the crying, the laughter, and the screams. At all once it hit me and Duo began to cry. I was confused, lost – I felt like they were closing in on me, perhaps they were. I reached for his face, finally feeling the porcelain surface that could not belong to anyone dead or alive. Wide, purple-toned eyes watched me, pleading. And out of his lips came the words softer than any spoken to me in my life, quieter than the silence that followed him, yet in my ears they rang above the cries of the dead.
"Please, Heero. Go..."
I ran.
I never returned to the cemetery. My mother died a few years later and was buried there, but I did not attend the funeral. Same thing when a crazed teenager shot my father in a seven eleven. But I thought about him all the time. My Aunt had gotten me a counselor for my own benefit, but nothing seemed to help. Everyone thought I was making things up, so I decided to write this all down. These scattered papers that I hastily stapled together, kept under that white mattress in the lonely room. I wasn't supposed to have a pen or a stapler, really, but I've always been sneaky, I suppose.
I was happier than I had ever been to leave the room with all the furniture nailed down. Breathing the fresh air and seeing the world again, those white walls made everything feel so alive. I began to think that I had dreamt it all, and perhaps I did. I spent a few years of my life in that cramped, lonely room, I might have started to create imaginary friends – it wasn't unheard of in that place, after all.
Before going to my weekly counselor appointment, I decided to confront my fears and visit the dreaded graveyard. I bought flowers for both of my parents, realizing that I should have a long time ago.
When I was there, nothing happened. I laid down those brightly colored plants on the graves of the people who gave me life, like many others who did as well in the late afternoon. Upon looking up, I saw the gnarled tree and gravestones behind it. A few minutes passed and I just stared, as if it were staring back at me. But I knew I had to, to prove, to myself more than anyone else, that I was not crazy.
I trudged up the hill that seemed a lot steeper than I remembered it. Near the tree and broken stones, I saw old cigarette butts, showing that I had been there once. Off to the left was the headstone. I watched it, but nothing happened. So, I cautiously approached.
The broken writing still held his name, but nothing was out of place. No silence fell and no screams followed. I sighed relief.
When I turned to go, something gleamed in my peripheral vision. Turning slowly, I noticed a long piece of auburn colored string lying on top of the grave. I picked it up gently, noting the warmth and softness that it emitted. Then I froze in place. The autumn seemed to be reflected in it, just like his hair.
Spinning, I watched the grave. Yet as before, nothing happened. No silence, just some children down the hill laughing as their mother told them a story about the grandmother they were going to visit. I put the strand in my pocket, and I still have it to this day. Then, there was a chill to my cheek, but it was soft and round. I closed my eyes, inhaling the air around me.
When I was able to see again, the world was as it should have been. I looked at the shadow the gravestone cast and heard a soft, depressing laugh. And I knew it was time for me to leave.
And that is why, Miss, I cannot hold myself together when I see the shadow of a grave.