You Don't Have To Cry Alone
Cheez Pizza Punkz
A few rats scampered out of the way as a pair of feet swiped at them. The tattered black combat boots carried their master –a pair of long, shapely legs in faded blue jeans—to the desired destination with an exhausted air.
Night made the streets darker than usual. Garbage and the homeless splattered the streets like bad abstract art. A few of the men and women approached the tall man, begging for a crust of bread.
Trowa, however, ignored them. Something was calling him, begging for something more than crusts. Begging for life. Begging for salvation. And Trowa was going to answer.
He continued on through the streets, keeping his one uncovered green eye focused on his target—as if afraid of losing it. He was determined to get there.
The brown-haired man made it to his final destination within hours; but hardly out of breath or fatigued.
It was a large stone building, made mostly of what looked like granite. A black spiked fence surrounded it; two times the size of an average man. The building itself was rectangular and compact, three rows of ten windows each front and back, with three rows of two on the sides. Right in the center of the front were two highly polished French double doors.
The voice led him here. He could feel the presence get stronger, start to beg harder, it was still pleading for life, for answers.
He knew he had to hurry, lest it dissolve, and another innocent lost. He walked around to the side where there was less of a chance of him being seen by the security cameras roving around.
Waves of emotions filled his head in the form of voices. They pleaded to anything for salvation, hope, and life. Their weight eventually became too much for Trowa to bear. He shut his mind off from the connection, but not before he discovered where the pleas were originating. He shed his green cotton turtleneck, leaving him clad in pure white cloth crisscrossing his chest and trying at the side.
Black wings protruded from a tan, muscled back. They were feathery and long, the tips ending somewhere around mid-calf. The bridges arched a little above his head. He clenched his fists and teeth at the feeling of the now-extended wings. It hurt like hell.
Time was running out. He flexed the dark apparatuses and jumped into the air, gliding over the high fence. He spread his wings to their fullest (five feet), and caught a thermal that lifted his slender body gracefully into the air.
He came to a flutter at an open window. Inside the dark room, sobbing and sniffles could be heard. Trowa landed on the ledge, looking much like an angelic gargoyle. His bright green eyes pierced the seemingly desolate room with ease.
Then he saw what he was looking for. A young, somewhat petite boy was curled up in the corner of his room squished in the narrow space between a wall and nightstand. A large, fluffy pillow was clutched tightly in his arms. His blonde hair was the only thing visible; his face was buried in the bed pillow. He was shaking.
Trowa's heart split. This boy had been crying out for help for the better part of his life. Why had no one helped him? It may already be too late.
"Hello, Little One." He cooed gently, like a mother soothing an infant. An intake of breath was heard as the blonde jerked his head up to look at the speaker with softer green eyes than Trowa's own. Uncovered, his face looked paler than a corpse streaked red with tears. His golden hair accented his angular face in a way to make him look like an overgrown child.
"Who are you? What are you doing here?" he demanded, standing up and dropping the lost façade with the pillow on the floor. Trowa had to admire the boy's courage. He spoke without a tremor in his voice. It was as if he had never been crying.
Stepping off the stone ledge and into the room fully, he displayed his full, muscular body…and the set of wings behind him. Silently, he bent down on one knee. He raised his head and looked at the teenager from under his chocolate brown bangs.
"I am Trowa. You have called me. I have answered." He got up.
The blonde –Quatre Raberba Winner—stared at the beauty of the man before him.
"You're an angel," not a question. A statement.
Trowa chuckled softly. "Not an angel. Your angel."
Quatre sank to his knees.
"My angel? I have no angel." The bitter words were spat to the floor as the blonde looked away to his queen-sized bed covered with a dull plaid quilt with blue trimmings.
The brunette took slow steps to his protectee, as one might walk up to a shy deer. He knelt down beside the frightened boy and wrapped gentle arms around trembling shoulders that tried to hard to hold back tears.
"Sh, Little One. Everything will be all right, I promise. You don't have to cry alone," Trowa brought the slack body to his chest, flapping his wings in lazy rhythm. "No one will ever hurt you, again." He spoke from his heart; knowing that with every breath he took, he would protect this boy. Quatre turned his head to face the angel from above. Trowa's heart went out to him. This boy was so innocent, so full of compassion and caring for those who had hurt him. Nothing should spoil something this sweet.
"Do you really mean that, Trowa?" his voice was so soft, so laced with the desire to believe that this otherworldly being could actually protect him. Quatre wanted so desperately to trust his angel. His angel. And right now, he truly believed that nothing would happen to him.
Smiling, Trowa placed a ghost of a kiss on the teen's forehead.
"You will never cry alone again."
A/B: How many teeth are rotting with this one? I don't know why, but this woke me up in the middle of the night, begging to be written. It was probably the two pictures I found on a website. E-mail me if you want to see them; they're the kind that just touch you. Wow, now I'm getting as sappy as the story. ANYWAY. Please drop a review and let me know what you thought. Weird, OOC? Reviews are like flies to carrion! They break down the bad and leave the good…something like that.