Chapter 16
Crimes of Passion

Trowa hesitated, hands resting a mere centimeter from the wall. Why was he doing this? Was he actually starting to believe his own delusions? Gnawing lightly at his lower lip, he shifted uncomfortably in the darkness of the guest room. All he really had to do to check on Heero was to go in to Heero's room right next to the guest room, make sure he was still there, and leave. But for some reason, the idea of having to be near the emotionally wrecked man for more than a few minutes at a time—much less touch him or risking touching that damned cross—made his skin crawl. Was it for the same reason he suddenly feared to touch the wall? What the hell was wrong with him?

Was madness contagious?

Swallowing hard, he could feel his determination shattering. More and more, he wanted to just turn tail and run. Leave behind everything. Quatre. Wufei. This infernal mess that had been created. But he knew more than anything, he couldn't run from himself. Even in his amnesia before, he could still feel the visions gnawing at the back of his mind, no matter how hard he had tried to shove them aside. But that didn't make the temptation any less there to just disappear into space like he was so famous for doing. After all, if he ran, he would never have to explain to Quatre why he couldn't answer his questions….

A groan and sharp gasp from the other room caught his attention. How the hell had that carried? Normally, the thickness of the walls left even the loudest of noises muted; designed so that the lovers could have their privacy. So how had such a minute sound carried? Anxiety ate at his insides, his fear beginning to clog his throat and make his heart thunder in his chest. But he couldn't let this get the best of him. He was a soldier…right? Although given, battle never consisted of gods making people disappear or challenging the long standing belief that you heard voices and were crazy. Biting his lower lip, he pulled on his inner reserve he had used for fighting wars and let his fingertips lightly brush the chilled, off white wall. When nothing sparked behind his eyes, and he didn't suffer from any psychotic episodes, as Sally had dubbed them, he let his palms come flat against it.

Still nothing out of the usual, except the sound of Heero's heavy breathing…

He slowly moved to lay his ear against the wall….

Directly opposite from him, a shadow laughed, the exhale of its breath piercing the night in a tone reminiscent of pained groan, his inhales sharp and fast. Licking his lips hungrily, Loki waited as Jehovah's Oracle pressed his ear to the wall….

Trowa never knew what hit him.

oOoOo

Squinting against the hot desert sun, Heero lifted his hand to block the light, trying to focus on what he could see. Moments before, he had been sitting with Duo in that strange place, and now he seemed to float above the rippling sands of a desert that felt so familiar…a place that seemed to call to him like a long lost lover. The childhood Heero never had….

"You're in my past," Duo told him quietly. Blinking, the Japanese man looked to where the American stood beside him, hair in the plaited braid and body clad in the trademark priest's garb.

"You got better?" Heero stated, shocked, eyes skimming the other for wounds. A shake of his head and a small smile was the only reply that he received, before being pointed off in the direction of two lone figures trudging on horse back across the rolling sands and hills…

"Watch…this is kind of how it started. The redhead is Solo…but you'll probably know him as Chris…he's had many names. Cass, Solorick, Solo, Christof, but he's always been my brother….."

oOoOo

"Tell me again why we're going to Egypt?" Solo demanded angrily, pulling his face covering up higher across his pale features. Every inch of flesh unfortunate enough to personally greet the sun was cracked and burned, making talking an agonizing chore. Even his damned freckles were getting freckles! Scrunching his nose in distaste, he shifted again on the horses back, giving thanks to Loki for his and his companion's immortality. Hell, they'd already killed off four riding animals on this cursed quest, and had it not been for Ares finally caving in to his son's begging and giving him horses from the gods personal stock, they would probably be on their 12th beast a piece!

Unlike him, though, the ever buoyant and overly happy Democritus seemed unfazed, instead gawking around the barren landscape with the glee of a small boy given his first sword.

"Oh, come on, Cass! Don't tell me my poor Scotsman is fed up with such a change of scenery?" he teased good naturedly. Solo snorted.

"If the scenery bloody well changed!" he practically screeched, voice falling deep into the Scottish brogue as his indignant rage swelled. "Och, ye bastard, we've been starin' at the same layout of bloody sand and bloody sun and bloody, bloody….bloody sand for weeks! We've traveled more miles than I ever care to see in years…Och, I doona ken where I live anymore!" Feeling his irritation, the horse beneath him lurched, rising up with the crescendo of Solo's voice as he cursed in irritation at the desert, the sun, and just immortal life in general. Things were supposed to get easier and more posh with his new standing as high priest to the Norse God Loki. Not lead him to be peeling from sun burn, with sensitive parts of his body filled with grit in crevices he didn't even know existed before the sand had found its way into said crevices. Rubbing angrily at his burned wrist, he cast a seething glare over to his friend. "I miss the highlands," he pouted, forcing the accent aside and trying to take on the rigid but melodic Middle Eastern dialect they had adopted on their journey. "By Dagda, Demo…I want to see the heather blossoming. Sit by the stream and watch a spring gloaming…I'd rather be in the blasted Slavic cold than this inferno." Slumping weakly, anger drained, he gazed out bleakly at the landscape.

Democritus grimaced. It was hard to feel sympathy to someone who so loved their home, but he could relate. Scotland was a magical place, and he too missed the rolling hills and sweet smells that came from his friend's homeland. Placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, he gave a little sigh. All he could see was the deep green eyes of Cass, staring desolately at the burning red sky laid out before them. The rest was covered in the thick white garb and head wrap, and for good reason, the Greek noted. Even the skin surrounding those emerald orbs were turning red and cracked from burn, and Demo ached for his friends discomfort.

"Because," Democritus sighed. "I'm anxious to go scope out the pantheon. You know there's a treaty being formed between Wepwawet and Hades. I'm anxious to see how this is going to play out…" he promised. "After all, it's not often pantheon's cross." Grimacing, Solo cast a scathing glare over to his friend, piercing gaze seeming to peel through the lie Demo had so convincingly told himself since he received news of this joining. Democritus shifted on the horse, slowly peeling his hand away.

"Tell me, and be honest…does this have anything to do with the fact that Hades was the one who convinced your parents to Earth-Bond you?" Solo asked quietly. The air around them chilled considerably to an almost artic chill, making the beasts shimmy once again. Face contorting with barely restrained rage, Democritus jerked his body and horse away from his friends. He gave no reply, but the temperature change was enough to prove the truth of Solo's fears. Democritus kicked his mare hard.

"EEYAH!" he snapped, heels delving into the beast as he quickly sped forward. Solo growled his impatience and followed, sand swirling in their wake like the storm that brewed on the horizon. Something felt bad about this entire thing…and he was quickly beginning to despair. While his bràthair had more than once proven his abilities, he had also proven his impulsive behavior beyond a doubt, and Solo feared that they were about to pay a dear price for Demo's deep seated fury.

oOoOo

Midnight claimed the landscape by the time the two riders neared the quiet, make shift village. Tents were dark and drawn as workers had their rest, the only noise from the guards making silent, lazy rounds and murmuring jokingly to each other. A red clay and brick building stood, half constructed, at the edges of the encampment. It was small, surprisingly so for the normally large Egyptian structures this part of the world was known for. Yet this was exactly where Democritus wanted to be. Pervading the air, he could practically taste Wepwawet's energy here…as he with Hades as well. This was the place where the sacrifices Wep would be offering to Hades would be stored…sacrifices that should have belonged to Democritus.

A slight growl crept along the edges of Demo's lips, threatening to spill out. Only long practiced self control held it back. Instead, he continued to let his mind sink into the darkness of his rage, his body going cold with the anger he felt at the Greek god. Self control prevented the temperature around him from changing as well. Why worry Solo more with his thoughts, when it was clear the Scotsman was having fears of his own? And for good reason…Democritus wasn't even so sure he trusted himself this night.

Ever since he was born, Hades had it out for him. The bastard child of Ares and Aphrodite from a marriage that lasted mere days, Democritus was unwanted from the beginning. Aphrodite had even approached the Fates, asking for advice. She didn't want Democritus, for he was a constant reminder of all the things in her past she wished to forget, believing his smile was too much that of his fathers. But Ares, Ares refused to even look at the boy, claiming his eyes were exact duplicates of his mothers. From his very birth, he stood as nothing more than a painful reminder to both parents of a past neither wanted to recall. But instead of providing her with a means of shirking the responsibility, they had provided her with chilling news. Her son was to be the God of Death. And not just to the Greek pantheon…but to the Slavic, the Egyptian…he was to be it. The first Deity made to transcend religions. Even up to Scotland with the mythical faerie creatures of the Tuath de Danaan. He was to be the famous, revered reaper.

His position would have cast him with riches. Gold beyond comparison. His realm, which was the only thing he had left, would have been filled with palaces and offerings from people and gods alike trying to win his favor. In every council of every pantheon, he would have a seat and a say in the way they ruled their world. He would be the most glorious of the gods…the most powerful of all creations. But as all born to great power, many despised him for this gift. Many wanted to do something to prevent from gaining the rights that were his. Hades had just been the one to get to him first.

When Aphrodite bragged about her son with only halfhearted love, it had immediately caught the attention of the smaller, jealous, vain god of the underworld. Already he was angered at the other gods for his own exile from Olympus, and now to find out that a little brat was going to take away his position as Death amongst the Greek council? This could never stand for someone as egotistical as he, and so he called upon all the charm of the best conmen, and slowly moved in to make the kill. It had been easy to manipulate Aphrodite due to her own pain and fears. All Hades had to do was pick at them.

"He'll probably be just like his father…just as indulgent. As cruel…. Most likely just as stupid." Faced with the possibility of having a mini-Ares running around, Aphrodite had been horrified. She even, reportedly, had pondered killing off the child to avoid such an issue, although Zeus would have had her hanged for such treason. But Hades had put thought into his plan, and like a loyal "friend", he moved in with the perfect solution to her problem.

"Maybe you should send him to the mortal world…let him know the pain of those he'll take, so he'll never take the gift of eternal life for granted. Send him there and let him know how important his position is…raise him to respect his elders and you. That way, he'll never grow up as spoiled as Ares, and he'll never have the opportunity to become as stupid as he…."

As Democritus had been told, Aphrodite at first had been nervous. But apparently, it was the perfect bargain. She would be forced to share none of her riches with her bastard of a child…she would not have to look upon him while the wounds of her break up were still so fresh, and she would not have to even think on him. She could send him off to Greece to be trained as a Spartan warrior—to harden up for the job to come and learn how to be a man, or so it was said. Apparently, since Ares refused to pay attention to him, this would be the best way for him to learn to fight. From there, he would taken by Athena and dropped somewhere else, to learn of culture and art…from there he would be trained in how to be a god by Zeus himself…. After graduating from his "lessons", he would continue to remain on Earth, stripped of most of his powers, outliving everyone and everything around him. He would be treated as nothing more than a lesser god, and a bitch to all the Pantheons…for he would be innacceptable.

He would be a god raised as a human. The ultimate humiliation. It would make him dirty. Weak.

Forever nothing.

And his mother had agreed. That whore…that whore had agreed! She had stripped him of almost all his powers to relegate him down and not give him an unfair advantage over the mortals he trained with, but had cursed him by not letting him now of his own immortality first! He had loved once…had friends and allies, and they had all died, while he remained cursed. Immortal. A disgusting, humiliating disgrace as a god without even friends in Olympus or other realms to ease his pain! Yes, he had Solo…but Solo had a curse of his own…thrown together out of desperation, sometimes Demo wondered whether the two men became comrades from fear of being alone, or through genuine like of one another.

Gritting his teeth, he felt sure that they would shatter from the pressure. Staring at the monument erected to make peace between Wep and Hades, he felt as if he wanted to weep and scream at the same time in jealousy. The tribute in there should have been his. He should have been given these riches—these pleasures…. Instead, he was left aching and wanting…left with nothing other than the poverty they had damned him with and the small kindnesses he could beg from them. Left with no parents, no home…no one to run to or go home to after his training in Sparta had ended…no place to live and no food to eat. He, a god, who should have been granted the most luxuries of them all, the most powerful of them all…had grown up as nothing more than a worthless orphan in a world where the homeless were considered a disgrace.

All he had left was his brother. And while Solo may not have been blood related, he sure as hell was the closest friend and ally he had through out the years, and would have done anything to protect him. Casting a glance to the side, he studied the man from the corner of his eyes. Energized by the cool night, Solo studied the perimeter of the dying bonfire, the embers glowing and casting reflections in the green eyes. Hood and face covering down, the fair skinned red head idly thrummed his fingers across his lips, lost in his own thoughts as well. No doubt caught by the demons of a past as equally troublesome. After all…life for a natural born druid was equal parts joy and horror. At least from what Democritus had seen.

"Remind me again what we are doing here, bràthair," Solo requested, voice too low for normal mortal ears to hear. Shifting on his steed, Demo resisted the urge to clear his throat, feeling his emotions sooth at the calming tone of his brother's voice.

"I just want to see the sacrifices," Democritus stated, trying to convince himself as much as Solo of this truth. Despite the constant smile Demo wore, he knew that Solo could see straight through the mask, and could see how much the prison sentence of being cast to earth killed the god who desired nothing more than a home. Instead, he was forced to wander…or watch all he loved wither and die before his immortal eyes….

"Do you lie to me on this?" Solo wondered.

"God, let us pray not…." Slipping off of his steed, Demo took the reigns of his horse and handed them over to Solo. "You stay here. It'll be easier if I go alone."

"But what if you do something stupid?" the Celt demanded. Smirking, the violet eyed god glanced over his shoulder. Suddenly, his head dropped, shoulders shaking with dark mirth.

"Then it'll be like every other day, will it not?" A gentle smile curved the red heads lips, and Solo patted his brother on the shoulder.

"Watch yourself, D…I have a bad feeling about this night. The world feels like even it weeps for you on this day."

"Oh, go heal a wee beastie and get the Earth loving out of your system, will you?" Democritus demanded, giving a little huff. Yet even though he teased, he too had to swallow down his fear. Something screamed that he should go back. Begging him to leave. But he never listened. After all…the only time anyone ever told him to do something, it only wound up hurting him in the end. This time, he would listen only to himself. So he went forward, advancing until he made it to the edge of the fire light, slowly and silently skirting around the fringes. Had he been able to use his powers as the other gods, he could just zap inside. But being cursed to live his life on Earth, he had strict limitations. And after running away from Greece in the middle of his Spartan training, he had never actually learned how to harness his godly abilities. So instead, he relied on the training he had received as a mortal warrior to guide him quietly amongst the unprepared workers of the temporary alter, until he reached the stone edifice. Glancing around to be assured that he hadn't awoken anyone, he took a shaking breath.

I'm just going in to see what should have been mine…. Just a reminder to me of my own misery… God…he was a horrible liar.

Swallowing down the sorrow that was a constant companion, he took a few fortifying breaths to strengthen his resolve and gather his will, then forced himself to take the next steps forward and into the makeshift temple. The shaky, half built clay walls crumbled near the entrance that would soon be sealed closed, flaking as his fingers brushed over the smooth surface. Darkness suffocated him once he was inside, threatening to crush him under the heavy pressure of its weight. He forced himself not to run, feeling along the wet surface for guidance. Normally, a god would be able to see perfectly in the dark. Being earth-bound had stripped him of those abilities.

Gee, thanks, Mom, he thought sarcastically. God, he hoped the bitch rotted in hell.

As he moved, he could feel the interior becoming drier. Normally, these types of monuments would be much grander and made out of the nearly unbreakable stone that the pyramids were constructed from. But this one was meant to only last until the sacrifices were sent to Hades. Wep and Hades, it seemed, didn't want word of their alliance getting out to too many people, and were keeping the offering under wraps. The only way Democritus himself had learned was when a drunken man had bargained the knowledge to Loki, who had in turn slipped it to his High Priest, Solo. Solo, his ever loving brother, had let him know…leading them here….

Emerging from around a corner, he noticed along the maze of the hallway a flickering of candlelight, peering along the edge of another twist. Why would there be candlelight if gold or something were being housed here? Was it possible there were workers still inside, carefully constructing a painting? Or would it have been guards…?

Crouching down to a near crawl, he pressed himself against the solid clay and closed his eyes. He reached out with the power that was always bestowed on Death, seeking out what life forms could be in that room. Two humans registered…young, about 14…males…. Smelling of fertility, virility, virginity, and…fear.

They were….

…they were the sacrifices….

Violet eyes flaring open, he lost all coherent thought, rage instead boiling up inside of him. These boys would have been his! They would be abused by Hades! They would be cast aside! When instead they could have belonged to him…they were supposed to be his companions! His friends! Hades had enough. Fuck, Hades had entire harems of sacrifices, whereas Demo had what? A friend. A brother at that. He had no lover, no life…no one who he could hold onto, kiss, or talk through the night with. In all his life, Demo had never even had a real hug! He was cursed, stuck in immortality while the world around him was mortal, and here, Hades was taking the sacrifices that could have been his. Two boys who would have shared their afterlife by his side, been his pampered pets.

And instead, Hades was going to get them.

Rage consuming him, he pushed himself to his feet and stalked around the corner, no longer caring what happened to him. His hand waved, conjuring his weapon of choice—the scythe glowing with the bright green matter of the dead—and began twirling it in a deadly circle around his wrist. So Hades thought these boys would be his…but they weren't yet. Not until their souls were captured with the spilling of their blood upon the sacred alter. And if they died before that?

Well…Hades wouldn't get them, and Demo would have the satisfaction of momentarily reclaiming what should have been his.

To hell with the consequences. Who could care less what Hades would do to him? It wasn't as if he had anything left to live for anyways. How in the hell did you punish a man who had nothing left to lose?

Stepping into the chamber, he glared across the dimly lit room, the flames flickering in their oil. It was lined with silk, gold, and other riches, the alter standing in the middle lined and ready to gather the blood of the two boys. Paintings danced along the edge, depicting scenes of peace, life, and alliance, done in such stunning detail it would have left even the most masterful of artists back in Democritus' homeland of Greece to drop their jaws in wonder.

But it wasn't that which left him breathless.

It was the boys.

Sitting, paralyzed by shock, were the two most beautiful males Democritus had ever seen. Even the artistic eye of Phidias had nothing on the image these two boys portrayed. Soft brown, almost black orbs gazed up from one of the, the other's head ducked in terror and hidden in shadows. Their caramel skin was flushed and trembling as they tried to scoot away. The one with brown eyes moved forward, clean shaven head a contrast to the sharp, thick brown of his furrowed brows, placing his body in front of his twin.

"Who are you," the boy hissed, voice soft and melodic, filled with malice.

"I am…Death…" Demo murmured, studying him with awe. Such beauty and strength this Courageous boy possessed, covered in the careful tattoos that depicted his standing as human offering. Such slender beauty and pride Democritus had never, ever seen. It made his heart hurt with want. His body shake.

"You are here to sacrifice us? Because we will never willingly serve that scum god!" the sacrifice nearly spit. A timid hand reached forward, the more nervous one attempting to pull his brother back. Timid whispered softly, trying to call off Courage, but Courage held his ground. "You hear me? Never!" Democritus couldn't help but give him a soft smile.

"I am not here to sacrifice you," Demo said soothingly, the scythe slowly coming to ease, metal blade on the ground. Quickly, it disappeared, for he did not want to frighten the two out of trusting him. "I actually am here to free you." Timid's eyes lifted, hope touching those deep orbs as he shifted forward.

"How?" the nervous one asked. With a voice as sweet and subservient as his attitude, Timid brought out the fierce, protective quality in Demo, making his blood boil at the thought of Hades cruel, ice blue hands touching such sacred flesh.

"You would still die, but this way, you would be reborn, free from his touch. Forever," Demo promised.

"And what do you want?" Courage, the stronger one, demanded. Demo shook his head, a sad smile touching his lips.

"What I want is what I can never have. Friends. Love. It is something Death can never possess…" Demo murmured before he could even stop himself. Surprised at his own outburst, he quickly tossed back his head and laughed, covering up the momentary lapse in his control with the customary laughter he had adapted so long ago. Tossing chestnut, thigh length strands over his shoulder, he looked to the two boys. "But what does Death care of such curses, hm? The fact of the matter is that I have a personal grudge against Hades, and freeing you from his grasp is the best way to do that." Slowly, Timid pushed his way forward, the chains rattling as he moved, deep eyes gazing up through a mess of brown hair.

It was then the main difference between the two struck them.

Timid had the most astonishing, cobalt blue eyes….

"Hades has cursed you?" Timid asked quietly, slowly tugging back his brother from where he stood like a watchful guard. Courage moved back, allowing a closer space between the two. Demo studied them a moment, before he nodded.

"In a way, yes. He has practically destroyed me," he stated.

"So you can never have a friend?" Timid wondered, voice dropping with sorrow. Democritus wanted to cringe at the sadness there.

"I have a brother," he snapped.

"Don't yell at him! He's just trying to be nice!" Courage intervened, black eyes flashing with indignity. Quirking a brow, Democritus gave a soft laugh.

"Sorry, kid. I'm not used to being interrogated by people I offer to help."

Courage went to open his mouth, but Timid slapped a hand over it, causing Death to laugh even harder at the annoyed look it brought onto the more dominant twins face.

"If you free us," Timid said, voice rising over the tinkling of laughter, "then I will promise you something." Slowly, Democritus looked to him, violet orbs still alight with mirth.

"And what do you have that you think I want?" he demanded.

"Eternal devotion."

Democritus fell silent.

"I swear to you, that in every life I am born into, my soul and heart will be yours. If you free me and my brother eternally from Hades and any other god, then I will forever owe myself to you, and you alone. I will be your friend and anything else you ever want of me. If you just make sure that I am only yours, and my brother is never enslaved," Timid stated in a rush before either could speak. Courage's eyes went wide, before his head snapped to Democritus.

"I will come too!" Courage cried out. "Please…do not separate us! Let me go with, just so long as you promise my brother is never hurt by you. I will swear my soul to you as well and promise you my love and loyalty as a friend and soldier. I swear this! Just please, free us!"

Democritus stared in shock.

He knew they were bargaining for their lives, but none had ever promised something like that to him before. Swallowing hard, he gave a little nod, slowly making his way to the two boys who sat, staring to him hopefully. The bald Courage looked up to him, Timid tightly clinging to his brother's arm as they waited for his reply. Slowly, Democritus kneeled down before them.

"Should you promise this to me," Demo whispered, voice rough as he fought to not let it crack, "Then I will protect you through the ages. But you must never love any other but each other, and must stay loyal to me in this for all the centuries to come…"

They both nodded quickly.

"Then, my precious ones…my companions, you shall have your desire."

Democritus began to rise, but suddenly, Timid grabbed him, slender, chain linked arms flinging over his head and around his shoulders. At first, Demo readied to be attacked, but was surprised when the boy instead pushed into him and clung tightly, arms latching together behind his neck as those deep, stunning blue eyes were buried tightly into the God's neck. His own violet orbs widened as Democritus sat in shock, then he slowly, ever so slowly wrapped his arms around the tiny waist. A hug…the boy was hugging him….

"Thank you," Timid whispered sincerely. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Democritus hated the fact that he would have to destroy this precious body to free him. That he couldn't just take the two as they were back to the palace he should have, and forever protect them in the home that he was eternally deprived of. He didn't deserve such an act from someone so beautiful. But the fact that he was receiving it made his heart break.

"I swear to you," Demo replied, voice soft and fierce, "I will take care of you forever. No god shall ever touch you while I live. I swear." Nodding, the boy pulled away, looking up to him adoringly.

With that, Democritus stood. Before either could say, the Scythe had appeared and swung, leaving only a surprised cry from one of them, followed by the sickly sound of splattering blood. Silence filled the room, pierced only by the heavy sound of severed heads and lifeless bodies hitting the dirt.

Democritus felt the tears spring free from his eyes.

The first person who had ever hugged him, the first person who had ever even looked to him with something similar to love…he had just killed.

At that moment, Death hated himself.

Sorry this took so long to put up. I actually was hospitalized recently for a severe allergic reaction that almost killed me (I'm allergic to CHOCOLATE! -sobs-)...then work and other stuff came up, plus a HUGE case of writers block on how to portray this. I hope I did okay!

Thanks for reading!