Disclaimer: Okay, so I don't own this. You gotta problem with that buddy??
Warnings: Yaoi, nonconsensual intercourse (rape), language, and attempted suicide.
Grinning Reaper: Hi everyone out there in Fic-land!!! GRINNING REAPER IS BACK FROM HELL!!!! Hee hee.too much sugar me had. anyway. I'm gonna go ahead and give a way the pairing..3x4, it's my very first so please be nice to it. I might make another later if youse guys like it.so like.yeah.enjoy..
~*Fly Away From Here*~
Quatre Rebabra Winnner stood on the edge of the world. His shame filled cerulean eyes watched the moon. "Fly." He whispered breathlessly. "I'll fly away." He squeezed his eyes shut tight. Ever since he could remember, he had been in pain. *Living* was painful, *breathing* was painful, he wanted to leave this world. This ugly, evil world where people died in warfare and sickness, where there were no fathers or mothers for children who lay starving on the streets, dying like roses, so delicate and beautiful. Where tears and sweat and blood were always and forever being shed on the soil. This world where there was hate and sadness and shame. As a young child, his father or the Mauganacs often took him to the museum. One visit, Quatre observed a painting of a young boy with beautiful silver-white swan wings flying through an endless velvet sky. He wanted to be that boy. He wanted to spread his wings and fly away. But on one rainy November afternoon, his wings were broken. Quatre choked as the memory came floating back to him on decaying leathery wings. It had all happened so suddenly.
He had been sitting in his room reading (A novel by a man that lived on Earth, Chaucer his name was, he almost couldn't put it down.) when he came in, his eyes focused on Quatre intently. "You think you're so fucking special don't you?" He demanded in a cold voice. When Quatre inquired what he meant, he found himself lying half knocked senseless on the floor. He tried to sit up and call for help but a strong arm wrestled him to the floor and pinned him there. A gag was slipped between his lips. "So innocent and sweet. You think you're better than us don't you?" Quatre's body shook with fear as the harsh words leered in his shell of an ear. His thin cotton shirt was abruptly slid over his head. Quatre began to struggle and scream in a muffled fashion as he realized what was going to happen. "Quiet!" A sharp elbow slammed between his shoulder blades and silenced him. Quatre squeezed his eyes shut tight as he felt a strong cord bind his arms behind his back at the wrists. His assailant threw him roughly on his back and sneered at him. "Are you afraid?" He asked in an almost amused voice. Quatre rolled on to his side and lowered his head. He felt a strong hand grab a handful of his hair and jerk him around. The steely cold blue eyes glared. "You are aren't you?" A tear oozed out of Quatre's shut eyes. His attacker's laugh was low and hostile as he threw Quatre on his side once more. Quatre focused intently on his door, sending telepathic missiles to anyone, *anything* that could save him. A sudden pain from behind made him cry out around his gag and caused more tears. The jarring pain was almost unbearable. Quatre wanted to vomit; in fact he would have if it weren't for the gag. Another laugh rang in his ear. "Well Quatre, it's time you loose some of that innocence." The helplessness was mind crushing; he could do nothing, nothing but let the tears run down his face, as thickly was the blood that was running down his thighs. And still, he heard the laughter. Even in the hours that passed afterward, Quatre wanted to die. And for the first time, Quatre wanted someone else to die with him.
Quatre shook his head roughly as tears sprang up in his eyes once more. "I won't cry." He swore clenching his fists in determination. He had done enough of that to last a lifetime. Even in the day he killed his attacker. It had been so simple. It required no thinking at all. He just clamped his jaw, gritted his teeth, and squeezed off two shots. But still, he cried. He was a monster now. A killer. He was just like what the body lying on the floor in front of him had been. He had even led the others to believe that it was a suicide. Of course he was never a suspect. Sweet, innocent, Quatre would *never* be a suspect. At the funeral, the Christian priest talked about angels carrying people away to heaven. Quatre was automatically transfixed on the idea. If his wings were broken would an angel carry him away? Every living day, he thought about it. Surely soon his angel would come to take him away. But the days got too long. Quatre finally realized the reality in it. His angel wasn't coming. So now, he was at his current position: he was standing on his balcony, a hand resting timidly on the wall of the house. He took in a deep breath and inched away from the wall. "I'm gonna fly. I'm gonna fly away from here." He spread his arms out to his sides and stood on his toes and shut his eyes, as if he expected a strong breeze to carry him off. "You really gonna do it?" A voice asked behind him. Quatre turned halfway. Trowa was standing behind him. Quatre's angelic face hardened into a set expression. "Yes. And you can't stop me." Trowa allowed himself a small smile as he leaned against the wall. He was almost close enough for Quatre to reach out and touch. He stared down at Trowa from his high perch. "I'm not going to." Trowa said quietly. "Truly Little One. I just want to know why." Quatre's eyes focused on something faraway briefly. "The world is not a good place to be." He said at last. "I know that." His friend replied softly in his smooth velvety voice. "We all live with our own pain. Wufei, me, and even Duo. Can you not see it? It's written in our eyes. But that is no reason to kill yourself. Without the bad times there would be no good times. Did you not tell me that once Little One?" "I did. That was a long time ago. The Quatre that said that died. I- I'm not myself anymore Trowa. I'm a monster." "No Quatre." Stated Trowa firmly, using his name for the first time that evening. "You aren't. You have a heart. Monsters don't. For every death that was at your hand, you wept. You cry for those who can't. That isn't a monster Quatre." "That's not why I cry anymore." Quatre admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Why?" Trowa inquired. "If you tell me, you might feel better." Quatre bit down on his lip, hard enough to draw a thin line of blood. And as the blood flowed so did his story. "Don't you get it? I'm a monster! I killed him!" Quatre said as his eyes flooded with tears and emotion. Trowa's gaze was as cool as the stars. "So what?" He asked tilting his head. "You feel bad enough to die just because the world is short a man like that?" Quatre lowered his head in shame. Trowa sighed gently. "I think you should come down from there, Little One." He said at last, offering his hand to the smaller boy. If Quatre really did have wings, he would have flown away. If Trowa really was the emotionless Nanashi, he wouldn't have been afraid. But Quatre could jump off of the balcony and back on to the floor several feet below. And Trowa could catch him before his feet touched the ground. Underneath the stars shining like the tears of the world; underneath heaven and all its angels, Quatre Rebabra Winner and Trowa Barton stood on the edge of the world. "It's just." the shorter of the two buried his face in the taller one's shoulder, "for the longest time, I've been waiting for this angel to come and take me away from here because this world is so sad." Trowa stroked the younger boy's hair as he felt the tears soak right through the thick material of his turtleneck. "I know." He said softly. "We all feel like that from time to time." he said trailing off as he remembered the times the felt as if he should fly away too. But one thing stopped him: his own angel. Quatre sniffed and gazed up at him. "Really?" Trowa nodded and rubbed the last of the remaining tears away with his thumb. "And everyone has their own angels," Trowa began, voicing his most recent thoughts, "Mine almost flew away from me tonight." He murmured quietly as he pressed their foreheads together. "And I can't let that happen because I still haven't told him how much I love him." He said, his voice dwindling toward the end of the sentence. Quatre gazed almost shyly downwards as he spoke. "And all those years I thought you didn't feel the same." the rest of what Quatre was preparing to say was lost, simply because Trowa had pressed his lips affectionately over the blonde's. After he pulled back he gave Quatre one of his rare small smiles. "Well now you know Little Angel." He replied before kissing him again. And then, in the other's arms, in a different manner, they both did exactly what they wanted to do: they flew away.
Grinning Reaper: Well, that was incredibly cliché. sorry, that isn't my best work. I'm afraid that I am heading down the long road to Crapville. review though.I really like those. E-mails are good too. Also, I'm sorry that this time it took so long to post, my computer's been broken.
Warnings: Yaoi, nonconsensual intercourse (rape), language, and attempted suicide.
Grinning Reaper: Hi everyone out there in Fic-land!!! GRINNING REAPER IS BACK FROM HELL!!!! Hee hee.too much sugar me had. anyway. I'm gonna go ahead and give a way the pairing..3x4, it's my very first so please be nice to it. I might make another later if youse guys like it.so like.yeah.enjoy..
~*Fly Away From Here*~
Quatre Rebabra Winnner stood on the edge of the world. His shame filled cerulean eyes watched the moon. "Fly." He whispered breathlessly. "I'll fly away." He squeezed his eyes shut tight. Ever since he could remember, he had been in pain. *Living* was painful, *breathing* was painful, he wanted to leave this world. This ugly, evil world where people died in warfare and sickness, where there were no fathers or mothers for children who lay starving on the streets, dying like roses, so delicate and beautiful. Where tears and sweat and blood were always and forever being shed on the soil. This world where there was hate and sadness and shame. As a young child, his father or the Mauganacs often took him to the museum. One visit, Quatre observed a painting of a young boy with beautiful silver-white swan wings flying through an endless velvet sky. He wanted to be that boy. He wanted to spread his wings and fly away. But on one rainy November afternoon, his wings were broken. Quatre choked as the memory came floating back to him on decaying leathery wings. It had all happened so suddenly.
He had been sitting in his room reading (A novel by a man that lived on Earth, Chaucer his name was, he almost couldn't put it down.) when he came in, his eyes focused on Quatre intently. "You think you're so fucking special don't you?" He demanded in a cold voice. When Quatre inquired what he meant, he found himself lying half knocked senseless on the floor. He tried to sit up and call for help but a strong arm wrestled him to the floor and pinned him there. A gag was slipped between his lips. "So innocent and sweet. You think you're better than us don't you?" Quatre's body shook with fear as the harsh words leered in his shell of an ear. His thin cotton shirt was abruptly slid over his head. Quatre began to struggle and scream in a muffled fashion as he realized what was going to happen. "Quiet!" A sharp elbow slammed between his shoulder blades and silenced him. Quatre squeezed his eyes shut tight as he felt a strong cord bind his arms behind his back at the wrists. His assailant threw him roughly on his back and sneered at him. "Are you afraid?" He asked in an almost amused voice. Quatre rolled on to his side and lowered his head. He felt a strong hand grab a handful of his hair and jerk him around. The steely cold blue eyes glared. "You are aren't you?" A tear oozed out of Quatre's shut eyes. His attacker's laugh was low and hostile as he threw Quatre on his side once more. Quatre focused intently on his door, sending telepathic missiles to anyone, *anything* that could save him. A sudden pain from behind made him cry out around his gag and caused more tears. The jarring pain was almost unbearable. Quatre wanted to vomit; in fact he would have if it weren't for the gag. Another laugh rang in his ear. "Well Quatre, it's time you loose some of that innocence." The helplessness was mind crushing; he could do nothing, nothing but let the tears run down his face, as thickly was the blood that was running down his thighs. And still, he heard the laughter. Even in the hours that passed afterward, Quatre wanted to die. And for the first time, Quatre wanted someone else to die with him.
Quatre shook his head roughly as tears sprang up in his eyes once more. "I won't cry." He swore clenching his fists in determination. He had done enough of that to last a lifetime. Even in the day he killed his attacker. It had been so simple. It required no thinking at all. He just clamped his jaw, gritted his teeth, and squeezed off two shots. But still, he cried. He was a monster now. A killer. He was just like what the body lying on the floor in front of him had been. He had even led the others to believe that it was a suicide. Of course he was never a suspect. Sweet, innocent, Quatre would *never* be a suspect. At the funeral, the Christian priest talked about angels carrying people away to heaven. Quatre was automatically transfixed on the idea. If his wings were broken would an angel carry him away? Every living day, he thought about it. Surely soon his angel would come to take him away. But the days got too long. Quatre finally realized the reality in it. His angel wasn't coming. So now, he was at his current position: he was standing on his balcony, a hand resting timidly on the wall of the house. He took in a deep breath and inched away from the wall. "I'm gonna fly. I'm gonna fly away from here." He spread his arms out to his sides and stood on his toes and shut his eyes, as if he expected a strong breeze to carry him off. "You really gonna do it?" A voice asked behind him. Quatre turned halfway. Trowa was standing behind him. Quatre's angelic face hardened into a set expression. "Yes. And you can't stop me." Trowa allowed himself a small smile as he leaned against the wall. He was almost close enough for Quatre to reach out and touch. He stared down at Trowa from his high perch. "I'm not going to." Trowa said quietly. "Truly Little One. I just want to know why." Quatre's eyes focused on something faraway briefly. "The world is not a good place to be." He said at last. "I know that." His friend replied softly in his smooth velvety voice. "We all live with our own pain. Wufei, me, and even Duo. Can you not see it? It's written in our eyes. But that is no reason to kill yourself. Without the bad times there would be no good times. Did you not tell me that once Little One?" "I did. That was a long time ago. The Quatre that said that died. I- I'm not myself anymore Trowa. I'm a monster." "No Quatre." Stated Trowa firmly, using his name for the first time that evening. "You aren't. You have a heart. Monsters don't. For every death that was at your hand, you wept. You cry for those who can't. That isn't a monster Quatre." "That's not why I cry anymore." Quatre admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Why?" Trowa inquired. "If you tell me, you might feel better." Quatre bit down on his lip, hard enough to draw a thin line of blood. And as the blood flowed so did his story. "Don't you get it? I'm a monster! I killed him!" Quatre said as his eyes flooded with tears and emotion. Trowa's gaze was as cool as the stars. "So what?" He asked tilting his head. "You feel bad enough to die just because the world is short a man like that?" Quatre lowered his head in shame. Trowa sighed gently. "I think you should come down from there, Little One." He said at last, offering his hand to the smaller boy. If Quatre really did have wings, he would have flown away. If Trowa really was the emotionless Nanashi, he wouldn't have been afraid. But Quatre could jump off of the balcony and back on to the floor several feet below. And Trowa could catch him before his feet touched the ground. Underneath the stars shining like the tears of the world; underneath heaven and all its angels, Quatre Rebabra Winner and Trowa Barton stood on the edge of the world. "It's just." the shorter of the two buried his face in the taller one's shoulder, "for the longest time, I've been waiting for this angel to come and take me away from here because this world is so sad." Trowa stroked the younger boy's hair as he felt the tears soak right through the thick material of his turtleneck. "I know." He said softly. "We all feel like that from time to time." he said trailing off as he remembered the times the felt as if he should fly away too. But one thing stopped him: his own angel. Quatre sniffed and gazed up at him. "Really?" Trowa nodded and rubbed the last of the remaining tears away with his thumb. "And everyone has their own angels," Trowa began, voicing his most recent thoughts, "Mine almost flew away from me tonight." He murmured quietly as he pressed their foreheads together. "And I can't let that happen because I still haven't told him how much I love him." He said, his voice dwindling toward the end of the sentence. Quatre gazed almost shyly downwards as he spoke. "And all those years I thought you didn't feel the same." the rest of what Quatre was preparing to say was lost, simply because Trowa had pressed his lips affectionately over the blonde's. After he pulled back he gave Quatre one of his rare small smiles. "Well now you know Little Angel." He replied before kissing him again. And then, in the other's arms, in a different manner, they both did exactly what they wanted to do: they flew away.
Grinning Reaper: Well, that was incredibly cliché. sorry, that isn't my best work. I'm afraid that I am heading down the long road to Crapville. review though.I really like those. E-mails are good too. Also, I'm sorry that this time it took so long to post, my computer's been broken.