Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing.

Warning: Violence, language, possible mild religious themes, sexual situations

Notes: This chapter is for snowdragonct.

Raising Hell 2

brkstrtrcr

January 2009

Running deliveries was probably the best part of his job.

At first, he'd hated having to drive around town, trying to find his way to specific locations that he wasn't familiar with, but he had the town memorized now. Every address was a point on a mental map that he'd concocted, and he had gotten a few tips from Meiran about the side streets and shortcuts.

Meiran was an interesting person. She was one of the most dynamic females that Hiirou had ever run across, and he liked her. He seldom took a liking to people, but she'd found a place in his heart, just as Wufei and the girls had. They were just good people. Wufei was a family man, and although he seemed strict and very straight-laced, Hiirou would catch him playing insanely kiddish games with the twins, or yelling at the television from time to time. He'd even seen him engaged in a heated round of poker with Duo a while ago. They were all normal people, and while every family had its quirks, Hiirou wouldn't have traded the Changs for any other in the state.

Business had been steady lately, a constant stream of regulars, but most of their profit came from deliveries, and that's where Hiirou and his Hayabasu came in. It had started off as a bet between Wufei and Duo, but somewhere along the way the Blue Dragon Restaurant had picked up the reputation of having an order delivered in ten minutes or less. He'd never been late yet.

Half of this he owed to his own reckless driving, but most of the credit went to his bike. He'd had the Suzuki for almost three years now. It was a good piece of machinery; fast, efficient, and easy to repair. Duo had offered to do a few upgrades for him, but he'd tried to steer clear of the American mechanic since that incident at the garage a few weeks ago. If there was one thing that made the Japanese youth skittish, it was his own damnable habit of falling for people who would eventually stab him in the back, and letting his testosterone think for him.

Hiirou had made that mistake once, and he'd be damned if he was going to give someone else the opportunity. His view was a simple one--if he didn't develop any real attachments, it wouldn't hurt quite so much when his 'friends' fucked him over. To Hiirou, emotions were synonymous with pain. For the time being, the Changs were no real threat to him, but Duo on the other hand . . .

Hiirou accelerated around a turn, frowning as the outside of his calf almost skimmed the pavement, and gripped his handlebars with enough force to bend metal. He couldn't explain what he felt about Duo, but he was certain that he didn't like it. The guy was attractive, and amusing at best, but he seemed like the type to get what he wanted out of people and leave them without a backwards glance. He was the wrong type, the dangerous type, and Hiirou had a gut instinct that he would do anything the loudmouthed mechanic asked of him.

Duo is the same caliber person as that asshole from school...

No.

Cobalt eyes glared at the road ahead. Rehashing bad memories would only serve to ruin his day, and it didn't accomplish anything. He had a job to do, and that was his primary objective. The Changs had given him a place to live, a line of work, and their trust. He couldn't let them down.

His watch told him that he had two minutes to find this address, so he scanned his surroundings and found himself in the uptown side of the area. The area was nice, a little too posh for his tastes, but it was quite a stark contrast to the east end where the restaurant was. Neatly landscaped lawns, color-coordinating mailboxes and siding, and at the end of the long residential neighborhood stood an impressive-looking building that he assumed was his location.

Wufei had told him that the place was a garage, the only other shop in the town, but he almost checked the address again. The building didn't look anything like Duo's junkyard. There was no chain-linked barbed wire fencing, no intimidating dogs, no lemons on cinderblocks on the sides of the establishment. No, this place was clean and well-maintenanced, and Hiirou wondered if Wufei was an idiot for bringing his car anywhere but here.

No, there's got to be a reason, and a damned good one.

Hiirou toed his kickstand down, tugging his helmet off and leaving it on the bike's seat as he retrieved the order and made his way to the open main doors. As he approached he noticed that this place seemed a lot busier than Duo's garage. There was a group of around ten men standing inside the doorway, engaged in a low and heated conversation, and as soon as one of them noticed him they all rushed forward, blocking the entrance. "Whoa, just what the hell do you think you're doing in here?" someone demanded.

The Japanese youth put his hands up in a submissive gesture, backing out of the garage and stopped short when he felt his bike against his legs. "I'm here for a delivery. Sorry." Hiirou was a smart guy; whatever they had been discussing must have been important and obviously confidential, because they all looked uneasy, and the one who had snapped at him now stood at their center, glaring him down with annoyed reddish-brown eyes. He was of a slight build, slender, long-legged, and blonde, with a handsome enough face and a wicked sneer.

"You're late," he snarled, snatching the bag from Hiirou's hands and stalking around him like a lion on the prowl. The delivery boy didn't much care for playing the role of gazelle, so he stepped forward, returning the glare with experienced fervor.

"Actually I have ten seconds to spare," he retorted calmly, and the men around him exchanged looks.

The blonde chuckled coldly, extending his hand, a crisp twenty between gloved fingers. "Well, pal, take the money and scram. We've got better things to do with our time than chitchat with the lower class."

Perhaps it was the mocking tone, or maybe the guy's attitude in general that pissed Hiirou off, but some primal part of him felt the urge to rip this guy's arms off and beat him with them. He was being an asshole, and for no good reason that the Asian could decipher. He ground his teeth together to keep from speaking his mind, but it was a losing battle.

"Maybe if you took your head out of your ass and stopped acting like such a hotshot you'd have more time to talk." The more macho half of Hiirou's conscience applauded him.

His more reasonable self balked and then cried. Duo was definitely rubbing off on him and certainly not the way that Hiirou would have preferred. His mutinous conscience mocked him. Blondie stopped short and his face went from smug to livid in less time than it took for the Japanese youth to regret ever having responded. "You little shit, who the fuck do you think you are? Do you know who's turf you're on?"

Hiirou honestly didn't know, but he wished that someone had told him sooner. Gang wars weren't his thing. "Are you going to tell me?" he drawled.

The leader of the group laughed outright, stepping into a proximity that Hiirou wasn't comfortable with. He reeked of cigarettes, alcohol, and a mixture of pot and deodorant that the brunette hadn't smelled since college. "Look guys," he taunted, grinning. "Rice here doesn't know where he is."

Okay, that was unnecessary.

"Maybe we should teach him to respect the authority on the upper end, eh?" Hiirou was so busy staring down the blonde in front of him that he missed the other lackey sidestep them both, and it wasn't until he heard the ear-splitting grate of metal on metal that he turned. His heart plunged to his stomach at what he saw. There was a long, jagged gash down the side of his Hayabasu, and the prick responsible was sitting on the black leather seat of his bike grinning like a maniac.

The silver paint was destroyed, and Hiirou felt his control snap.

"You're dead," he growled, lunging forward to tackle the man, but the blonde caught him around the middle and punched him in the shoulder blade, winding him just long enough to toss him to the ground and allow his accomplice to slink back towards the garage.

He knelt down beside Hiirou and smirked. "A little delivery boy like you doesn't know how to ride a bike like that, anyway. Don't cry," he snickered.

Hiirou picked himself up off of the ground and spat, pointing past the group to the bikes sitting inside the shop. Someone needed to bring this arrogant pricks down a notch, but Hiirou wasn't suicidal. He knew damned well that he was outnumbered. "Just because your parents bought you all cycles doesn't mean that you know how to ride," he growled threateningly.

That must have struck a chord with a few of the group, because they fell quiet, and Blondie stepped forward again, expression serious. "If you're so keen on your own skills, Rice, then meet me at the corner of Sixth and Ivy Street tonight at midnight. I'll show you how the pros race."

It was a stupid challenge, a hollow bet. It reminded Hiirou of all the times that his friends had 'double-dog dared' him to try retarded stunts on the playgrounds in elementary school. To accept such an insignificant deal would have been admitting that he felt the need to prove himself, but Hiirou was in a strange mood at the moment, so he nodded curtly in affirmation, turned on his heel, and mounted his bike, revving loudly as he peeled out of the driveway. He was halfway back to the restaurant when he realized that he'd forgotten the cash for the delivery.

"...You idiot! You're not turning my family's car into another of your projects!"

Wufei was shouting again, and that could only mean that Duo was in the restaurant. Hiirou had successfully avoided the braided mechanic until now, but he had more important things on his mind than his own traitorous body parts and that loudmouthed American. So he stalked past the table where Duo and his employer were arguing and into the kitchen. He missed the confused expression on the mechanic's face. The two followed shortly after him.

"Yui? What's wrong?" He turned away from the dishwasher to meet concerned chocolate eyes. Over Wufei's left shoulder Duo was leaning against the doorway idly, staring at the wall as if the cure for cancer lay within the tacky wallpaper. Absently, the Japanese youth realized that his long-haired counterpart must have caught on to the virtual cat and mouse game that he'd been playing these past few days, and he almost felt guilty.

Almost.

"That address you sent me to? Those assholes keyed my bike." The comment hung in the air for a moment before Wufei responded, and when he did he sounded very nervous.

"I'm sorry, Yui. Those guys have a bad history around here. I forgot to mention that to you before you left. I wouldn't mess with them if you aren't looking for serious trouble." Duo arched an eyebrow in response, snorting, and both Asians ignored him.

"He challenged me to a race." That got Duo's head to turn, and Meiran popped in from the dining room.

Before him, Wufei rubbed his eyes anxiously, shaking his head. "Bad idea. Just let it go, Yui. I'm telling you--"

"Oh, fuck that!" Duo barged past both Changs and shoved Hiirou almost roughly. "You don't have to take shit off of those jerks! Whoop their asses, Hiirou!" There was something about the conviction in the man's amaryllis eyes, the anger in his voice that captivated Hiirou for a heartbeat. Duo obviously had experienced his own run-in with those bastards, and it made Hiirou feel a little more in-touch with the man.

Wufei sighed irritably, pushing the mechanic away. "Don't listen to that idiot. He'll get you killed." And Hiirou ripped his eyes away from Duo fuming on his behalf to meet the deathly serious expression on Wufei's sharp features. There was something about the way he'd emphasized those words...

He'll get you killed.

"...You don't know what you're getting yourself into. Meiran!" The Chinese man turned to his wife. "Talk some sense into him!" He wandered out of the kitchen, grumbling.

The woman smiled, shaking her head, and gave Hiirou a knowing, conspiratorial look. "Wufei's right. It's dangerous, and they aren't the best of people." She raised her voice loudly enough to be overheard through the paper-thin walls of the restaurant and winked rakishly at Hiirou. "Besides, my husband would never stand up for himself by taking that guy on." She counted down from three on her fingers silently while speaking, and sure enough, Wufei came bursting back into the kitchen on cue.

"Woman, what are you talking about! Of course I'd race that jackass if they challenged me! I have honor!" The man really was easy to bait and completely predictable.

Duo and Meiran gave the Chinese man triumphant smiles, and he deflated with a half-hearted growl of annoyance. "Fine, you two win." He turned back to the newest addition to their family. "Race him if you want to. But don't say that I didn't warn you! We can't afford to lose another delivery boy..."

"You're not coming with me."

Duo looked almost wounded, but Hiirou refused to respond to the hurt look in those beautiful indigo eyes. The American wasn't going to get his way on this one. This was something that Hiirou needed to take care of on his own, but the mechanic just wouldn't listen. "I won't get in the way, I promise!" He was pleading his case quietly, but their was an edge of desperation in his voice that Hiirou had never heard there before. "I just wanna make sure they don't try and jump you or anything."

The thought of needing 'backup' was almost comical to the Japanese youth. He was going to a street race, not a death match. Why was Duo being so damned hard-headed about this. "I'll be fine," he replied.

The mechanic looked as if he wanted to argue, but Hiirou didn't give him the opportunity. He kicked up his bike's stand and sped off towards his destination. Some treacherous part of his mind half-hopes the braided idiot would follow. Truth be told, he was a little nervous about this rendezvous with the uptown garage. Once they found out that he wasn't just a delivery boy with a smart mouth they'd probably employ any means necessary to ensure that they didn't lose this race. These guys were all about cheating, breaking the rules, and playing dirty. Of that Hiirou was certain. The real question was whether he would be quick enough to catch on to their tricks before they caused him to crash.

The Japanese youth thought this over the entire way up Main Street, and as he turned the streetlamp-spotted corners to the neighborhood they'd chosen, he found himself glancing at his rear-view mirrors every so often. Duo was no where in sight.

"This is how the race'll go down," a tall redhead was shouting from his perch atop the abandoned restaurant across the street. Hiirou had never seen this man before, but the ease with which he walked along the roof's safety wall spoke volumes of his familiarity with the place. He'd obviously done this before. "You guys drive up Sixth and make a left on Maple Street. Follow it down to the Fire Station, swing another left, and then work your way up to the south end of Ivy. First person to wipe out loses. First person back to the checkpoint wins." The redhead's easy tone turned serious suddenly and he stopped, gazing down at the gathered racers like a village elder upon the masses. "At the first sign of the cops, it's every man for himself. We split, and the person closest to the checkpoint is the winner. No exceptions."

Hiirou didn't much like the idea of running from the cops, but the guy had a point. They were already breaking the law; if he stopped he'd get arrested. If he ran, however, it was evading arrest, but he knew that he could get away. "Get ready."

He walked his way to the starting line that had been hastily scribbled on the pavement with what appeared to be sidewalk chalk, and checked his gauges. Beside him, Blondie was talking trash to his friends, and Hiirou decided that he definitely didn't like the knowing smiles they were giving each other. Something was up.

"Hey, Blondie."

The man in question looked up and grinned smugly at him. "Any last words, Rice?"

Hiirou forced a tight smile and chuckled. "No, I'd like to up the ante."

The other men grew quiet, interested, and Hiirou shrugged. "How about this; if I win, you pay to replace the paint job on my bike?"

With a barking laugh, the blonde nodded. "That's a good one. Okay, Rice. If you win I'll give that crotch-rocket of yours a brand new coat of paint. But when I win I'm expecting pork-fried rice everyday for the next month. Got it?" His friends laughed at Hiirou's expense and traded high- fives. "Let's get this bullshit over with." The man who'd been issuing rules moments ago stepped forward from some unseen fire escape on the side of the restaurant.

"On my signal." The redhead stood between their bikes, and started counting down from five.

This is the stupidest thing I've done in a very long time.

"...One. Go!" The redhead made a loud whistling sound, and Hiirou gunned his engine.

The course had been a straight-shot, and until the final left turn back onto Ivy, everything had gone well. His bike was handling as smooth as always, and he'd given the leader of the garage a run for his money. That had been until, of course, the other garage members had thrown broken beer bottles into the street and damned near shredded his front tire. Now he was angry, and with every acceleration he made he was cursing that blonde son-of-a-bitch with everything in him.

The asshole in question was only two feet ahead of him and accelerating, so Hiirou decided to throw caution to the wind and do the only thing he could think of to keep from having to deliver rice to that garage for the next thirty-one days straight. He rammed the jerk's back tire with his torn front one, and almost cackled when the other bike spun out, throwing its rider and falling into a smoking heap on the side of the road. Blondie shouted and cursed behind him, and Hiirou took the time to flip him the bird as he drove towards the checkpoint at a leisurely pace.

When he got to the checkpoint on Ivy Street, the garage group looked shocked. Perhaps it was the fact that their broken glass antics had failed, or maybe it was the idea that a delivery boy from the wrong side of town had beaten their leader, but they all seemed to sober up fairly quickly. Hiirou resisted the urge to laugh once again. "I believe you owe me a new paint job?"

The redhead paused, smirking, and cleared his throat. "You beat him." Thank you, Captain Obvious. Their race expert must not have been affiliated with the uptown garage. Hiirou filed that information away for a later date. The Japanese youth nodded, pulling his helmet off, and he looked past the men to find a very proud-looking Duo leaned against an older-model Chevrolet Camaro. The mechanic flashed him a thumbs-up before walking up behind the garage jerks and snickering. "You can just hand the money over to me, losers. I'll be taking care of the paint."

Hiirou fought down the urge to grin, although he knew that Duo's big mouth was going to land them in a world of shit. For now he didn't care. He'd forgotten how good it felt to race, and to win, and he'd missed it.

"Give him the money and let's get the hell out of here." One of the men handed Duo an obscene amount of cash and turned to walk off, and the braided youth squawked in indignation.

"Whattarya, Jewish?! There isn't enough here to buy a case of spray paint!"

The man glared at the much smaller youth and raised a fist. "Punk, you'd better get the hell out of my face--"

"Or what?" Duo cut in. He stepped up to the man, pushing his sleeves up, but before Hiirou could intervene, he'd already taken a swing at the other male. By the time he'd dismounted his bike, the guy had caught the punch easily and had Duo practically dangling from his grip.

"Rice, you'd better keep your little bitch in check before something happens to him," he grinned, tossing the mechanic to the street like a rag doll.

Duo hit the asphalt with a sickening crunch, and Hiirou winced. "Excuse me?" He snapped, patience worn thin. His overwhelming--and entirely unwanted--need to go check on the American was currently outweighed by the need to convey superiority over the garage members now surrounding him. "Look, we'll take the money and be on our way, if that's all right."

He was ready for a brawl, but he'd have rather avoided one if possible. Hiirou had definitely exceeded his quota of illegal activity for the night, and a backwards glance over his shoulder confirmed that the illustrious mechanic would be of absolutely no assistance in the matter. Duo was curled up on the asphalt groaning as he clutched his stomach.

"Your friend needs to learn to keep his pie-hole shut. If you think you're that great, then you won't mind racing me and the rest of my crew. We'll send you the information." The rival garage member gave him a disgusted look and gestured at his Hayabusa. "Just fix that shitty paint-job, Rice."

They dispersed at that, and Hiirou was left standing in the middle of Ivy Street, glaring down at a semi-conscious Duo. He growled angrily, fists clenched, and watched the braided idiot roll idly on the pavement in pain. "This is all your fault!" he snarled.

Duo really needs to learn to keep his mouth shut...