He was alone. After the war, his comrades all went their separate ways. Duo had Hilde and worked in the junkyard. No name, or to him, Trowa, went back to the circus with Cathrine. Wufei was a Preventer with Sally and Heero, well, who knows about Heero. He was of the mysterious sort from the start. But Quatre, Quatre had no where to go. His father was killed by the colonists, as was his closest sister. The other 28, he didn't even remember who they were for the most part. All alone, just his 40 friends for company, the Maganacs but they were too old for him and were too caught up in their own personal lives to really be there for him anymore. After the war, Quatre's personality began to deteriorate, going from his happy-go-lucky self to a depressed, short tempered and neurotic young man. But nobody cared. No one.

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Quatre stared out the window blankly, watching the setting sun dip below the horizon. Its red and orange rays licked the room he was sitting in and reflected off of the tears rolling down his face and onto his black funeral outfit. He had just gotten home from the funeral of Heero Yuy. It had been 5 years since the end of the war and he was now 20 years old. Through the years, each one of his fellow pilots died off, one by one.

Wufei was the first of the 4 to go. He was with Sally in a Preventer shuttle when a cloaked enemy came up from behind and shot them down. The news was brodcasted all over the world and in all of the colonies. They were both given a formal military burial and Quatre was at the funeral along with the other 3.

Duo and Hilde were on a train bound for Cairo where Quatre was staying at one of his family retreats at the time. Nearing the station, the train derailed while on a trussle over a river and the train plummeted to the strong, torrent-filled river below. He had been the first one notified, and since Duo and Hilde didn't have any parents or family, he was the one to identify the bodies. When he was finally called into the room, the doctor pulled back the sheets on both of their bodies. It was hard for Quatre, seeing two of his best friends lying there, so still, so cold, so peaceful.

Trowa was next. It was at a performance that Quatre was attending. Trowa was in his usual clown outfit and was doing an act that involved him sticking his head in a lion's mouth. Quatre had seen Trowa do this several times, so he wasn't worried…until the lion decided he wanted a snack before the show was over. The lion bit down viciously on Trowa's head, cracking his skull. The crowd panicked and ran for the exits as various staff members tried to pry the lion off of the now limp Trowa. Quatre sat in the stands, unmoving, as he watched yet another one of his friends die. Trowa was pronounced dead at the scene, and Quatre was off to yet another funeral.

After the war, Quatre learned that Heero had taken up skydiving as his new hobby. It seemed just like him to do that, something so dangerous. Heero was a daredevil. It was one faithful July morning, Heero invited Quatre to come with him jumping, but Quatre politely refused, but agreed to go with him and watch from the ground. Heero went up in his airplane and a few minutes later, a plane circled the ground where Quatre stood and a figure jumped out of the plane. Heero let himself freefall for a couple hundred feet, then decided to release his parachute. He pulled the ripcord and the parachute was released, but as it unfolded, it tangled and only opened partly. Heero panicked and tried to release his backup, but it was tangled up with the primary. Quatre looked up at Heero, who was futilely trying to open his parachute, with worried eyes. Heero continued to plummet and he finally gave up with the parachute and let himself fall to his demise. Quatre closed his eyes as Heero neared the ground and a loud thump sounded a few hundred yards from him as Heero's body hit the ground. Heero was also pronounced dead at the scene.

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Quatre was tired of all of the deaths he has witnessed in his life. The thousands he killed in Operation Meteor and the innocent bystanders. He wanted to end it all. Still sobbing, Quatre made his way into the kitchen and opened the knife drawer. Butter knife? No. Steak knife? No. Butcher knife…

He went into the bathroom and shut the door, not like it mattered as nobody was home. Quatre lifted his chin to look at himself in the mirror as he took the butcher knife in his right hand and savagely sliced his left wrist open, then switched hands and slit his right wrist. Crimson blood seeped out of the wound and dripped into the sink as he sobbed with even more intensity than before. Not from physical pain, but the pain that lied deep within his heart. Quatre's vision clouded as more and more of his own blood seeped from the wound and went down the drain. He turned on the cold water to help some of it find its way down the drain and he rinsed his wrists underneath the clear, cool water. As he became more and more delirious, Quatre slumped against the sink counter, his wrists still over the sink. Then, with one final sigh, he fell unconscious onto the floor and there he fell deep into a coma and peacefully died in his desert home.

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((Rabid Ostrich's Notes: Yep...another deathfic. I must say though, it is a hell of a lot better than my Pokémon deathfic as I put a lot more effort into this one. Quatre is my favorite character in all of Gundam Wing and I just had to write a fic about him, even if it was a deathfic.))