Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.
Pairings: Mild shounen ai, so I guess 3+4, and some 1+2. It's more of a friendship fic, though.
Warnings: AU, OOC, shounen ai, death, mild swearing
Author's notes: Nee, I couldn't think up a better title.... oh well, not gonna change it. Please, tell me what you think of this at banimebunny21@aol.com/b Flames are accepted, they warm up my room, which has gotten quite cold. ^__^ Just try to check your spelling and grammar if you are flaming, I'll take it more seriously that way, instead of pointing and laughing.
Biggest Dreamer prologueA solitary figure walked into the church. Standing beneath the giant cross, he looked up, observing it and all its holiness. He pulled from his pocket a sketch of a young boy grinning broadly, his arm slung around the neck of a dog. That boy was him. Smiling, he lightly traced the charcoal lines on the paper, as if he was the young artist sketching in the details. Walking out into the cold, he passed several statues bearing the names of several deceased. He stopped at one that was slightly hidden from view, then spoke, "It's been ten years..."
part 1The bright sun warmed everything underneath it, shining brightly in the sky and promising a good day. Underneath a giant oak sat a boy, concentrating hard on the task before him. A little ways down was another boy, hugging the neck of a small German Shepard. He got up and ran to the one under the tree, the dog following closely behind.
"Quatre! Are you done yet?" the boy leaned over to see the progress of the picture. He saw himself, laughing out joyously with his arm around Jock, who seemed to be smiling. "Wow, that's so good!" he exclaimed, marveling at the work.
The artist looked at the brunette. "You really think so?" he asked, as if disbelieving the other's opinion.
Trowa nodded his head in affirmative, still admiring the semblance between the boy that was drawn and himself. "Jock thinks it's good too, don't you Jock?" he asked, playfully poking the dog on the nose. Jock snorted, and the two boys laughed.
"Well," Quatre said in between giggles, "you can have it if you want." He handed the picture over, which Trowa took with trembling hands.
"Are you sure?" Trowa's eyes began to get round with admiration and happiness. This is, after all, not any kind gift that is given to another, even to someone in his class. "Thank you," he said softly, then added in louder, "I'll put it in a frame, then hang it on a wall where everyone can see it!"
Quatre beamed at Trowa's obvious delight, then looked down to his shadow. It was nearly gone. "Oh, Trowa, I have to get going. I didn't realize it was noon, and I'm supposed to be home helping Dad with the chores." Quatre got up and brushed some dirt off his neatly mended clothes. Trowa followed suit then handed Quatre his bag. Then, he patted Jock's head, bid them farewell, and headed home. Quatre stood a minute longer to watch Trowa's retreating figure, then smiled down at Jock. "Come on, let's go. I bet Dad has some soup waiting for us!" He raced off, his dog barking excitedly beside him.
***Trowa ran through the front doors of his house, zipping past the startled servants on his way to his room. He took the steps two at a time, practically falling back down the stairs when his little legs didn't quite make it to the next steps. When he finally reached his room, he searched in vain for a particular item. "Where is it?" he asked himself while tossing aside clothing from his open drawers.
Leaning against his door frame stood a small brown haired girl with curls smirking in amusement. "Trowa Barton, what on earth are you looking for?" she asked, her large eyes twinkling with an undying mischief.
Trowa managed to pull his head out of the closet for a brief moment to answer her. "I'm looking for that picture frame that Mommy gave me before she died," he replied, then stuck his head back in and continued to wrack havoc in his room. A few minutes later, Trowa pulled out something with a small cry of satisfaction, and showed it off to his big sister. "Isn't it pretty?" he asked her, turning it this way and that through the light provided in the room.
"Yes, it is. But what's so important that you would practically destroy your room over it?" Cathy asked, flopping onto his bed.
Trowa rummaged through the top of his desk and pulled out the sheet of paper that was concealed on it. Giving it to Catherine to observe, he wasn't surprised when he heard her gasp, nor was he surprised when he heard her stutter out the resemblance between them. "Geez Trowa, who'd you get to draw this for you? Da Vinci?"
"Actually," Trowa began while sliding the picture in the frame, "Quatre drew it. See? I told you he was good. There." he said, then showed off his framed portrait to Catherine.
Catherine smiled and slid off the bed. "It looks lovely, now let's go eat. I saw Dora setting the table on my way to your room." She gently pushed her brother out the door, and both made their way downstairs to eat lunch.
Seating themselves at the gigantic table, they said grace once Mr. Barton had situated himself. "Daddy?" Trowa spoke, looking at his father.
"Yes, son?"
"Quatre drew a picture, then gave it to me. It's really pretty, can I hang it up in the tea room?" He looked at his father with pleading eyes.
Mr. Barton eyed his son. "Quatre? That peasant boy gave you a picture?"
Trowa averted his gaze, then answered, "Yes Daddy, he did." He knows his father does not like peasants, but Quatre is kind and trusting. Trowa saw no reason for his father to dislike Quatre, or the whole Winner family. They are polite, tactful, clever-- anything and everything an aristocrat is raised to be. The Winners are well-respected throughout the town, even with their low class. Trowa decided to inquire about this, and did. "Why don't you like the Winners?"
"Because, son, they are peasants. They will always be peasants. And as peasants, they are a danger to us, aristocrats. They might decide to attack us just because we're better off than them. You wouldn't want that, would you?" Trowa shook his head left to right. "Good. I thought so. Anyway," Mr. Barton said before his son could say anything else, "it doesn't matter anymore whether he draws you one thousand more pictures or not, come next year you'll be attending school with your sister."
Trowa gave him a blank stare, mouth agape with his spoon stuck halfway on its journey to his mouth. "School?" he managed to squeak out.
"That's right."
"B-but I don't want to go to school! None of the other kids are going!" he cried, trying his best to point out the injustice in the situation. "Cathy, help me tell Daddy that I can't go to school!" he begged, turning to his sister.
"..."
"Cathy?!" His eyes began to well up in tears as he saw that he wouldn't be getting any support from his sister either. "It's not fair! I won't know anyone there and I'll be lonely with out Quatre!"
"Son, I am doing this to insure that you have a happy life in the future, I'm not doing this to make you sad or angry at me," Mr. Barton tried to explain.
"Well it sure doesn't seem that way!" Trowa stormed off to his room, wiping away a few stray tears in the process.
Catherine took a sip from her soup, then spoke, "Dad, you could've reworded the whole thing to make it sound more... agreeable."
"Oh Catherine, not you too." Mr. Barton massaged his temples, trying to ease the headache that was beginning to spring up in his head.
"I'm just saying that there could have been an easier way to break the news to him. And, you didn't necessarily have to add in the part about the Winner family being 'evil peasants whose only purpose in life is to make us miserable.' Especially since it's not true. Their son is your son's best friend, mind you." She replaced her spoon in the now empty bowl, folded her napkin, then gave her father a quick peck on the cheek. "Give him some time to adjust to the idea of school, he'll get over it eventually." Catherine picked up the picture that was left behind, then walked towards the tea room. There, she found a small table to place it on, and adjusted it so that everyone would be able to see it if in the room.
tbc..A/N: should I continue? Questions? Comments? Criticism IS welcome, I desperately need them to write. Oh, and this is my first attempt at fanfiction, how'd I do?
12.21.01