Wings of Love

Part 5

Kasage Starrunner

Special Disclaimer/Author's Note:

Gavin/Azrael is copyright of ME. I am very possessive of this character and he is only being used in this fanfic because it is, in my eyes, the best way to further the plot. If you know my work, you have seen him a couple of times before, namely in Maddening Lullabye. If I'm asked nicely, I may allow you to use him for angst fic purposes and such, but I am working on my own stories involving him. (Which may soon also be available if you ask). Thanks in advance for your compliance.

The spirit of Quatre Winner lay curled on the ground, if one could even call it such. The scenery was so hazy and surreal that it was hard to tell. Not that any of this mattered to the grieving soul. All that matter was the retainment of the memories that were rightfully his. Memories that he had earned by living.

Quietly, the blonde uncurled himself, unaware if he had lain there for minutes, hours, or days. Time eluded him. There was no sun, only a soft throbbing light that seemed to emanate from the thick air around him.

Slowly but surely it dawned on the him that he was no longer alone in his agony. Thousands of transparent beings hovered around him, as though waiting for his story-any news from the world of the living-but fearing that he had forgotten as quickly as they what life and senses were like. These pleading eyes gazed at him, so hoepfully, the only things real and colorful in that bleak world. /The eyes are the windows to the soul/ recalled the form vaguely.

Looking around, the fallen angel stood, trying to take in the Underworld that attempted to drown all logical thought in a turbid river of bleak hopelessness. Upon further study of the gazing spirits surrounding him, he was startled to see that he could not tell who was male and who was female. The souls were genderless, colorless-but the look in their eyes was as bare as the naked souls before him. Every right and every wrong each soul had ever done was shining, as plain as day, on its unveiled face. Some were killers, some were lovers, and all at once Quatre knew for certain that he was never wrong in loving Trowa.

It was a purifying experience.

However, something deep inside the pale ghost still shivered. Why had these spirits all congregated around him? He was no different from they as far as he could tell. Countless souls must pass into this greay, bleak world daily, yet the souls surrounded /him/. Maybe, somehow, he was more solid than the rest.

A thought struck, blind siding him again with frustration, fear, and agony. /Trowa-promise./ He brought his wandering mind back to its task. He could not leave Trowa behind. He had to find a way out. He had to seek him out. He had to keep his promise, even if it took until Trowa was an old man, Quatre would keep his promise.

He stepped forward and the spirits parted to let him through, almost as if they were afraid to touch him, as though he were some holy being. And yet, they also seemed to sense his urgency, and this urgency became a presence in their own minds and hearts as well.

The blond's feet walked steadily toward nowhere, with no idea where exactly to go. He thought that he saw his father once-thought he recognised his eyes. For once, they were not condescending. They understood. They nodded him onward. It was strength for his failing will, bait for his fleeing memories. All at once he was forgiven.

And he walked onward.

He passed by people he didn't know a hundred times. He passed by all the dead soldiers, fallen men of this war and others. He saw his enemies, even men he had killed himself, nod at him in understanding, not the least bit hateful for what he had done to them. From the look in their eyes, they were thankful for the Arab's apology, and forgiving for their deaths by his hands.

But where could he go? It had seemed that he had walked for miles without getting anywhere at all. The more he walked, the more it all looked the same- bleak, desolate, misty, and full of strange staring faces.

And then it all changed, or moreover, the mist disappeared. There was something suddenly more alive about the world around him ... Maybe it was the lack of curious faces. As it seemed there were no spirits left, which in itself was strange, as Quatre had become accustumbed to the constant pressure of eyes. As he looked around he did spy one lonely spirit- no, not spirit ... boy! There was a boy in this bleak, grey world of spirits, one very much alive. Why?

The boy stepped toward him, allowing Quatre to better see his features. He was a young boy, perhaps nine or ten, incredibly thin in the graceful way of a willow tree or deer. That unearthly grace likely wouldn't change, and were the Arab convinced that he was indeed a completely living boy, he would assume that the boy would one day have many people, both male and female attracted to him.

His hair was stark white. The sunlight, had it existed in the world, would have played infinite colors in it, dazzling the eyes. his skin was the alabaster color that Quatre's had been, as though the material sun couldn't touch its purity, couldn't stain it tan with its harmful rays. Then there was his eyes ... They were so haunting and deep, a deep emerald labyrinthe of hidden thoughs and emotions. Yet at the same time they were gentle, comforting, naive. The boy seemed so innocent and undefiled. He was a pearl, pure ... Priceless to someone who cared for him.

This all led the pale blond to an embaressing, beautiful thought. If he and Trowa could have ever had a child, this beautiful being standing in black before him would be that child. In a strange way, the boy seemed to be made of them both, though as far as he could recolect the boy could be no possible realtion to either.

It was a pleasant reminder of his love, but who was the boy? He couldn't possibly be real. This was a world of death and spirits ... How could a true boy be standnig here. He feared it all a hallucination, and reached out to touch the pale skin to see if the youth was truely real.

All at once, the boy giggled. It was a high and joyful laugh- like something had just tickled him.

"Stop that!" he cried. His voice was a slightly gravelly soprano. "You tingle." The blond haired spirit jerked back, startled and apologetic. The child only forced a ghostly smile, which was somehow as reassuring as disturbing. "It's alright."

A thousand questions formed in the dead youth's mind at once. Who? What? How? Why? The child was here for a reason, and frighteningly unafraid of the Death that surrounded him.

The child seemed to read his mind. "I saw Death the second I was born and I didn't die." Quatre just stared unbelieving. "You can't foget something like that, even when you try. I see you people and visit this world all of the time."

"Wh-who are you?"

"People here call me Azrael-the angel of Death. I used to be afraid, but now I'm not. I'm never alone, it would seem ... Somebody once named me Gavin, but I don't remember who ... She died, that's all I know. If she's here I never see her. Sometimes I think she flew ... Who are you?"

The spirit thought and then choked back a sob. His name! His name had fled him, no!

After what seemed like hours it came. "Q-quatre Raberba Winner." He would /not/ lose that.

"You're forgetting aren't you. I bet you won't though. You're not like the others. You're different ... You left something undone?"

"I-I made a promise."

The white haired child nodded, hazy green eyes filling with tears. All at once, Quatre though tthat the child was like sea foam and his eyes were the sea. The sea ... The thought cuased him briefly to wonder on this source of evolution and life- things that had once been heretical to ponder. Things that Mariemeia in a way had pendered herself at Quatre's death, him never knowing.

It was all he had to believe in now. That and Trowa.

"I see him in your eyes ..." stated Gavin in a mellow voice.

"Huh ..."

"You love him." It was a frank statement, one only a child would make. "No one loves me. They're afraid. The tell me I'm crazy."

"That's sad." The statement was genuine. No one should ever be ostarcized, especially a nine year old boy.

"No one understands what I see or why I see it."

Quatre smiled. His memory came more easily around this child. Perhaps it was his life energy, rubbing off on the spirit. "One day," the ghost said, "Someone will love you despite that. Then what the world thinks won't matter anymore."

"Maybe."

He seemed so uncertain. This made the blond sad. Something like tears prickled his shining blue orbs. It was tragic. Though Azrael or Gavin, or whatever they called him, smiled and acted with pure innocence, the Arab knew that the boy had lost all of his innocence the moment of his birth. Gavin know the significance of Death and where he lead souls. The child knew that one day he would die and follow the same road as everyone else. He knew about humanity, and the blood staining it. One could almost see it trickling symbolically down his hands, his deep eyes staring with horrified understanding.

He knew all about Death, didn't fear it ... And yet there was something.

"You want out, don't you," said the child suddenly.

"Is there a way out."

The pale faced boy motioned Quatre closer. "There is a way out, but you must be brave ..."

The spirit leaned in on the boy, looking at those depthful eyes ... Trying to discern the truth.

"Where?"

"Not where, Quatre, how. You love somebody, so maybe ..." he paused. The flicker of fear reached out to him and then faded again. "You can only escape here with wings. The winged ones leave here and I never see them again. They take a ship across the Sea and when their wings are grown they fly away ... Fly away somewhere."

"Where?"

"Heaven I suppose." The child sighed. There was more too it than that- things too hard to understand. He wanted to tell this Quatre, but he was afraid ... It was that flicker that kept showing in his eyes. The thing that scared him ...

But he wanted this nice spirit to keep his promise, the promise he knew was to his true love- And if in the end that choice brought him to reside in this world ... It didn't matter. Love was more important. Love ... For the first time someone understood ...

And that was something.