Pairings: Van/Allen, slight Dryden/Van
Category: Action. Violence. Angst. Spoilers. Yaoi. Lime. AU-ish(1). Altered Timeline(1). General wtf !
Circa Episode: all leading up to 13, 14-ish
Other: Part 1 of the Heaven Trilogy.
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended, so don't stomp me with a lawyer in a guymelef. No profit being made, used and written for entertainment purposes only.
(1) - The timeline will follow through to the same conclusion, or about so, as the anime, though some events will either be delayed or moved forwards or (in most cases) changed or thrown out the proverbial window.
heavensent.
by d2ragnarok
"Careful, you don't want to burn a hole in the rug," Folken tells him.
Van jerks out from his thoughts. What? Oh, dinner. Right.
"I'm sorry," Van apologises, feeling his cheeks burn a little once the remark sinks in. "I wasn't listening."
"I was only commenting that Dilandau has calmed down a great deal more since your arrival," his brother says with something that would have been called a smirk, but somehow doesn't quite fit on Folken. "He's stopped trying to burn down your room for a while now."
Van grimaces, leaning back into his chair. "It's only because General Adelphos threatened to take away his precious guymelef," he replies with a wry grin. "I didn't think he could go any paler than he already is. I'm surprised he didn't faint from it."
Folken chuckles, nodding as he swirls the wine in his glass. "I knew that the General would have had to taken desperate measures to insure Dilandau's best behaviour."
"Yes," he agrees. "I thought it would've sunk in each time Albatou just grinned when Adelphos threatened to sack him from command of the Dragonslayers. Everyone knows those boys would follow no one else."
A long silence passes between them, one that Van finds comfortable, even as his mind screams that something has gone horribly wrong.
"How was your latest mission?" the older man finally asks, looking curious. "I haven't had time to read over the reports yet."
Van shrugs helpfully, sighing. He leans his head back, staring blankly at the ceiling. "Do you mean other than the fact that that bloody pyromaniac decided to disobey orders and burn the forte to the ground?"
He smiles slightly at Folken's snort. "I doubt orders would stop Dilandau from doing anything."
"Well, he's an idiot. Schezar escaped, along with the girl that the Emperor wanted. It seemed Schezar had his personal airship stored away in a cave, which was from where they fled. We realised it too late, and while I sent scouts out, I had no doubt that we wouldn't be seeing them again. Schezar's too good for that." Van pauses to wonder about what exactly seems wrong with what he just said.
The next two words he says aren't the ones he planned for, voice contemplative and eyebrows furrowed in a frown. "They're alive."
"Of course they are."
Van lowers his head to stare at his older brother as if he just sprouted another head. "That can't be. Dilandau killed everyone, even Balgus."
"Yes, he did," Folken smiles at him. "You'll have to kill them all to be free of fate."
Dreams are dreams are dreams, and there is no other escape anymore.
As Van's eyes open, it takes only a moment to crush hope like a crumpled flower in his hand. It trails from his mind in an inky swell, even as a knight's gloveless fingers carefully brush away dark strands of hair from his sleepy eyes.
"I know," Van tells the ceiling in a breathless whisper.
&&&
It doesn't seem real somehow. Van imagined that the act of dying would be more painful, yet as dead as he has been there's only the bizarre awareness of absent wounds. There should be scars and an ocean of blood, but there's only unmarred skin. The only traces of Van's brush with death are the crusts of dried blood on his arms and torso. Van feels it somehow validates his Draconian lineage. He truly is a demon hiding in the flesh of a human boy. How could Van—or anyone—not believe it now? Hadn't they witnessed the extent of his freakish union with Escaflowne? Everyone had seen his wings.
Allen is speaking to him gently, as though Van were still some frightened child to soothe from a nightmare. Allen's bare hands are cool against Van's feverish jaw; that hurts more than the missing wounds Van knows he deserves.
Grief forces Van away from Allen's insincere attempts at comfort. Hadn't anyone seen Duke Freid die at the hands of Zaibach? Had Allen even felt the tiniest remorse? How could anyone expect Van to fight a war when he couldn't even save one man?
Duke Freid had reminded Van so much of his dead father.
"I don't want this," he tells Allen, voice wavering. "I don't want to do this anymore."
Van sounds like a confused little boy, rather than the boy-king he always pretends to be. Perhaps that's why Allen wraps him up in a kindly embrace, as an older brother might. It reminds Van so much of Folken that he pushes Allen away and scrambles desperately off the divan.
"Stop being so damn kind!" Van shouts, trembling—whether from fatigue or stress, he couldn't be sure. "I'm not Hitomi or Millerna!"
Allen gets up on his feet, looking affronted. "I'm not pretending that you are—"
The door bursts open so suddenly that both of them jump.
"Boss!" Gaddes takes in their strange positions curiously for a second before shooting Allen a sharp look. "We're being pursued by enemy forces. It looks like a squadron of Zaibach guymelefs."
Allen looks briefly annoyed. "Fine, tell the crew to man their stations."
Gaddes confirms the order with a nod. "Right—whoa!"
Van doesn't turn back to see Gaddes' sour look at his rude departure from the room. He focuses on getting to the hangars. Gaddes had said a guymelef squadron, Van knows there's only one unit would actively pursue the enemy after winning a key battle.
"Hey! Wait a minute! Van!"
He ignores Gaddes, ripping off the useless bloodied bandages. He wants, more than anything else, to be away from the others and their madness. Van can end this war. He knows how.
In the hangar, Van disregards the bewildered stares of the men and heads directly towards Escaflowne. They glance uneasily at each other, wondering whether to stop Van or not.
Van regards Escaflowne before he opens the cockpit door, studying the ancient armour that served the Fanelian Royal Family for centuries. The Ispano had restored it beautifully, it's as though the extensive damage Escaflowne had taken never existed at all. There's not even any visible discolouration on the armour. Van presses his hand on his side, still feeling an invisible wound bleeding.
He presses the switch to open the cockpit. It releases with a hiss of air and gears.
"Van!"
Van pauses to glance over his shoulder and studies the odd image of Allen standing slightly flushed and angry by the hangar entrance. Whatever is written on Van's face stops Allen from taking another furious step.
"You can't stop me," Van informs him grimly. The sudden silence and inactivity in the hangar carries his voice like a crima claw. The look on Allen's face would have been comical once.
He re-enters Escaflowne, the source of his release and his demise—
Balgus lands a blow that nearly knocks him clear across the room. Van mutters a few choice curses once he stops choking for air, struggling vainly to get back on his feet. He realises that his sword lays off to the side, within arms reach. He doesn't remember letting go of it.
He reaches for it, but Balgus pushes it away from his grasping fingers with his boot. His sword comes down lightning fast only to stop at Van's neck. "You are cornered, Prince," the old man says a touch formally. "You would be easy to kill."
"Then do it," Van snarls, furious and frustrated without quite knowing why.
"You will be a dangerous enemy, Prince Van," Balgus removes his blade from Van's throat, not quite smiling as he glances at one of the open hangar doors. "When they come, let your instincts guide you."
Balgus is dead. He has been for months now.
"Instinct?" Van whispers as he moves his guymelef towards the doors. "Is that what this is?"
So, is it out of instinct that he converts Escaflowne into dragon mode? Is it instinct that leads him to land Escaflowne on the dry rocky terrain, to convert back into a guymelef?
The incoming Alseides units follow his lead, landing around him in an attack formation Van dimly recognises from one of Schezar's books, more interested in ripping him to shreds than the promise of bringing destruction to the Crusade. Of course not, the red Alseides has a score to settle. Van remembers the feeling of scarring the pale flawless face, the brief moment of elation of a petty victory. His shoulders and arms become rigid and ready—the only real instinct he knows he has.
To want to kill. Is that instinct too?
"I'll settle this myself," he hears himself say coldly. "Escaflowne, give me your power!" Or is it something else entirely when he feels the gears start to move to obey his wish?
The furious pounding of his heart pulses in his ears, reminding him of the old war drums his country hadn't used for some years. Van remembers running his fingers against the tough unyielding leather of animal skin, could still hear the sound it created when struck. The vibrations could leave a strange sensation on the body, like a primal war-lust. His heart thrums in such a way that his body nearly trembles from the repression of it.
He smiles coldly.
Merle smiles back at him, face caught in the sun. "Do you think your mother will like these?"
It looks as though as sea of red, flowers with broken necks from when they trampled on them earlier. They had stumbled onto the meadow while playing a game. Van examines one of the red flowers and nods.
"These are one of Mother's favourites," he experimentally sniffs one of them. "I've seen some in her rooms."
"Why don't we pick some for her?" the young cat-girl says, kneeling down to grab some. "Maybe she'll need fresh ones today."
"Wait," Van cautions a little too late. "Don't crush them. They bleed. You'll get red stuff all over your hands."
"Oops," Merle looks up at him, showing him her hands. "I'm bleeding."
"It's not your blood," Van shakes his head, kneeling down to the tiny cat-girl. He takes her chubby hands and clinically wipes the oily blood off, smiling as he nods at the flowers. "It's theirs."
Merle stares at the fifteen young boys laying strewn around the field of red flowers, faces wan and expressionless under the harsh light of the grey sun.
"What are they doing?" she asks curiously, innocent face scrunching up in confusion. "Are they sleeping?"
Van freezes the gentle smile on his face, not wanting to frighten her with tales that she, so young, wouldn't understand.
"No," he replies, bringing her tiny hand up to his mouth to lick some of the blood away. "Not yet."
Van shakes his head violently, striving to quell the images in the back of his mind.
His eyes snap up.
The first three guymelefs press forward in formation. One stops to release his crima claws at Escaflowne; the other two continue at a rapid pace towards him. Van evades the metallic projectiles with demonic ease. It feels as though time slowed, and he can't deny the exhilaration that floods through him like a tsunami. His hands are mechanical, leaving little room for thought. Van has no will of his own anymore, only the devastating need to placate the pang of grief in his chest.
How long has he neglected Escaflowne its only need?
He isn't aware of drawing his blade until it claims its first victim, just tearing, tearing, and tearing. He is the reason for instigating the terrible cries, resonating in his bones and hands. It disquiets him, but leaves him empty and unmoved to stop. He listens, not because he chooses or wants to, but because it will be his only retribution—to remember, to hear, and to feel loss.
But it's too late for regret, for a demon song has his body caught in a violent dance.
Van's mouth twists into an inhuman smile.
The sound of his sword lays waste to various Alseides units, as he moves fluidly through their ranks. The Dragonslayers falter and lose their attack formations at some point, but this doesn't stop Van. He can't, now that he has begun his campaign for blood. This is beyond mere revenge. This is a matter of bloodlust, but no matter how many Alseides he destroys, the lust can only grow and demand more.
Blood and knife-like pleasure rushes through his body violently, like a wave breaking over him. Allen's mouth fastens on his neck and presses him down onto the mahogany desk. Van wraps his legs around the older man's hips, hands scrambling over the defined arms and shoulders, needing something greater than what Allen is giving him.
Mere kisses will do nothing now. Van needs, needs—
His body is burning.
"Please," he says again and again, unable to put his desire into words. "Please, please, please, please..."
Clothes come off easily, until they are both naked and wrapped together in a tangled embrace. Allen's skin is cool against Van's feverish body, yet it's somehow incapable of extinguishing the fire in Van's soul.
Allen adjusts his hips and presses into Van's body. The movement pushes Van down, crushing him on the smooth surface of the desk. It steals his ability to breathe and feel anything but pain. Van arches at the exquisite feeling of it, mouth opening to emit the small cry of a dying animal.
Pain is better than nothing. It has to be. It must be. Van can almost feel the unfolding of wings he hasn't revealed. Pain proves his humanity.
Van pulls Allen closer.
Allen moves into him, pulling and pushing and thrusting until Van is close to breaking into unrecognisable pieces. Tears begin to blind him until the edge of his threshold is above him. It cleaves into him with such violence that he writhes like a caught thing and moans not from pleasure but from emptiness.
Allen kisses his ear and licks away his hot tears. "Do you feel better?" he asks mockingly.
"Yes," Van answers, dispirited. "I feel alive."
A startled gasp from the study door captures their attention. For a moment, the three of them say nothing. She flees with a fumbled apology, tears welling in her eyes. As she slams the door, they spill over and catch in the light, looking like tiny jewels.
"Hitomi!"
The desperation in Allen's voice is what freezes Van's soul. It douses the flames burning Van's body and leaves him cold, just as Allen forgets him.
Pain is better... than nothing. It has to be.
In the back of his mind, Van remembers Balgus telling him of the importance of attacking to kill. Once he would've hesitated, now he fears he can't stop. Balgus told him to go with instinct, but Balgus is dead and he can't think of anything else. Nothing except—
Escaflowne's fist collides with the head of another Alseides, blood and liquid surges from the cracks in the armour, but before he can comprehend the scene before him, the sword is already descending on another victim, severing it right down the centre. It stands for half a second before being consumed by a rupture of blue fire, crashing to the ground.
The instinct that Balgus spoke of takes over his body, he turns in one adept motion and the colossal sword connects with another guymelef, his fist automatically zeroing in to crush the control chamber. More blood and silver spurts from the poorly guarded area. Van only remembers watching it, as though it's not him fighting, but someone else, heeding the distant but clear shrieks of dying boys that follow each strike he makes. The stillness passes quickly, a horrified cry from the closest Alseides unit tells him to stop, but instead he charges.
(I... I c... I can fight more. I—)
The remaining five Alseides shimmer from sight, like the heat that emanates from the ground on a hot day, but the one he's directing his sword at can't activate his stealth cloak and move to dodge the attack at the same time. He can see the guymelef desperately throwing its weight off to the side. Instead of slowing or halting, Van readjusts his grip and the blade drops. The colossal sword spears cleanly through the Alseides' shoulder, unhindered by the thick armour. With an anguished cry ripped out from his body, Van thrusts the sword sideways and hears the metallic rip as it goes though the defenceless cockpit.
Before his sword even follows through, his mind has now visualized Hitomi's pendant. Before the Zaibach pilot can react or even die, Van is already moving to the next target with a speed that no human could master in a guymelef.
Impossible, and yet.
"I can see..." he whispers madly. "I can see them!"
In his mind's eye, one of the invisible foes stands alone; for him, an easy mark. The Alseides doesn't move, perhaps knowing it can't outmanoeuvre Escaflowne or the pilot is frozen in place. An arm unexpectedly goes up, attempting to make a shield out of the crima liquid. It does little or nothing to stop the Escaflowne pilot; he breaks through and crushes the shorter guymelef with little difficulty.
"That's for Duke Freid!" He yells. He watches, with a brief satisfaction, as the unit burns and sputters.
Two cloaked Alseides advance from directly behind him, but Van's already aware of them. Escaflowne spins quickly, its sword levelled with its outstretched arm. The blade catches both guymelefs by the upper torses, leaving a deep abrasion in one and a nick on the other. Van wastes no time. The blade is thrust into the cockpit chamber, easy and efficient, like a dance of curse.
The other guymelef manages to make a strike at him, but Escaflowne merely abandons its sword and blocks the attack with its arm. The other arm is free. Van moves Escaflowne forward with a clenched fist aimed at the face of the Alseides. Before the blow plunges in, he cries, "This is for Balgus!"
Van unsheathes his sword from the previous kill, listening to the sound of steel hissing. He pushes the guymelef away. When he looks up, he sees the one that remains. The red guymelef stands alone. The first thing he notices is that the red Alseides isn't advancing or retreating, neither to attack nor defend. In silence and stillness, the Alseides seems to regard Escaflowne. After all, didn't he just see Escaflowne wipe out his entire squad single-handedly?
Van takes one step forward. The Alseides reacts to the sudden movement, raising its arm to fire a crima claw projectile at Escaflowne. It barely manages to slit the faceplate of Escaflowne. As one to the other. The thin trail of blood streaking his cheek scarlet is almost comical, only a scratch from this entirely short and disappointing battle.
"For Fanelia..." he snarls. "Prepare yourself!"
There is a dull noise at his ears. For one brief moment, Escaflowne and the Alseides are motionless on the battleground. The air seems to change, becoming thinner, stretching, and Van can scarcely breath for the pain searing his lungs. His body feels disconnected and strange. Van tries to shake the jarring noises and sensations loose, but it doesn't help relieve the pressure in his chest. He gasps when the clamour only grows louder in his head.
The red Alseides takes a step back, breaking the bizarre, terrifying stillness. It's only then does Van realise that the coward plans to run away. Van's movements almost seem to freeze when he adjusts to make the final charge, wisps of darkness edging around his eyesight as though he were about to faint. The wind screaming in his mind are beginning to sound like voices...
His ears feel like they're bleeding.
Van doesn't notice the shadow that falls from above him, all awareness caught in a firestorm as his desire for death begins tearing his mind apart. The Alseides begins its conversion into flight mode just as Escaflowne breaks into a charge. A wave of darkness crashes into Van and a quiet voice whispers against his ear through the chaos of noise, "...ast...r di... dau..."
Whatever madness that had been plaguing Van vanishes instantly when a guymelef abruptly drops in front of him. Its sword already moves to block, halting Escaflowne's pursuit. Their swords spark at contact.
Van snarls in displeasure, wondering if he missed a Zaibach straggler, before he recognises the guymelef with a jolt of disbelief.
Sch... Scherazade?
... Allen? A tiny voice in the back of his mind whispers the name.
"Van!" No, it's Dryden.
Fool! Van thinks bitterly, crushing the small spark of hope. You... stupid idiot. Allen wouldn't ever... not for... he would just...
"There isn't any reason for you to do this! You don't have to fight alone!"
I've always been alone! He wants to scream, but some choked sound comes out instead. He feels his body shaking, hands tightening on the controls—he wants to scream and scream and scream until his voice breaks down. The trickle of blood on his cheek burns his skin.
"Please, Van," Dryden's voices becomes a touch pleading. "Let me help you."
The unexpected kindness unravels his fury, just like that. Van feels like he's fifteen years old again for the first time in months. Before he realises what he's doing, the cockpit door to Escaflowne opens. Scherazade follows suit, and Dryden appears, expression so full of concern and anxiousness that Van can't help but feel moved. Dryden jumps across the short distance of their respective cockpits.
"Here I am," the older man says, looking uncertain for a moment. "Are you all right?"
Dryden's dark eyes seem to reflect his own. He doesn't smile, and Van's glad for it, because it would have been crueller than anything else. The older man's hand—not as callused and slender as another's but Van finds he doesn't care—gently wipes away the blood on his cheek.
Van's shoulders are shaking, he doesn't know why. "No," he manages hoarsely. "I don't think I am."
End Note: Confused? Okay, I'll throw you a bone. It has to do with fate, present, past, future, the might-have-beens, and what-ifs, all squashed together in one single moment. I coined it as "Fate Compression" if that helps any. Folken-san approves of the terminology. (;