Chapter 17
Boundaries Collapse

Heero closed his eyes, gnashing down hard on his lower lip as the echo of blade against bone faded from his ears. Clinging tightly to Duo's hand, he could feel the soft trembling of the slender digits in his grasp, and resisted the urge to grab onto him. The air around his lover had changed, becoming closed off and alone. Even the god's wrist had tensed—evidence that it was almost hard for the boy to keep up that much contact.

"So you were cursed for killing them?" Heero pressed after a moment, slowly turning cobalt orbs to him. Duo blinked away his tears, nodding, still standing beside him. The screen that the events had played out on had faded, and the Japanese pilot could feel the world around them beginning to flicker. Suddenly, he was back on his knees, holding the battered American…no…the battered Greek God close in his arms as the smaller frame clung to him.

"Not just any 'them', Heero. That was you and Wufei," Duo murmured, refusing to meet his eyes. Blinking his surprise, Heero shifted, lifting the whipcord body up into his lap and tucking his chin over Duo's head.

"Please tell me I was the brave one," he joked. Duo shook with laughter under him.

"No…you'd think, huh? You were the timid one. Wufei was the stronger one. Total role reversal, ain't it?" Duo snickered, then sobered as he continued. "Your eyes…neither of your eyes have changed. I was shocked when I met you and realized it," Duo stated, reaching up to lightly stroke his nails down Heero's cheek.

"So just because you freed us from Hades—albeit, freed us via killing us—you're now being tortured?" Heero wondered. Duo sighed.

"Not exactly just tortured." Before Heero could speak, Duo pulled away and tilted his chin back, showing the thin, silver collar latched around his neck. "I'm a slave to Mneme, the Goddess of Memories, who is in cahoots with Hades. The reason they enslaved me was as a punishment for not just taking the sacrifices…but because his sacrifices had declared themselves eternally to me." Heero looked to him confused. "In essence, in declaring your 'eternal devotion,' you promised me your souls."

"I don't understand," Heero said, confused. Duo smiled softly, running his fingers over the beetled brows between cobalt orbs, leaning up to lightly kiss at the puckered spot.

"When you and Wufei declared your loyalty to me if I freed you, I not only freed you from Hades, I essentially stole you. You swore your souls to me. Eternally. You became my sacrifices when I should have had none. Hades, in his rage, demanded adequate compensation, and demanded me as said compensation," he explained, the gentle upturn of his lips never fading, as if he described something eternally pleasant instead of his own slavery. Resisting the urge to give out a gasp or a growl, Heero instead settled with a twitching scowl.

"And no one protested or said anything against it?" Heero wondered, amazed that the God of Death would be enslaved without a protest.

"None, not even Loki, who Solo has sworn himself to."

"How could Solo's own god not say a word?" Heero demanded. Duo sighed, rubbing his hand over his eyes.

"Loki said that sometimes, things like this need to happen in order to set the universe straight." Looking up hopelessly, Duo just shrugged as he spoke. Clearly, he too had no idea what those words were supposed to mean. Opening his mouth to pursue the statement, Heero found himself cut off as something pierced through the dream. It was high pitched, shattering the silence and threatening to do the same to ear drums. Panic gripped his heart as he grabbed onto Duo tighter, not wanting to lose him again.

"Go!" Duo urged, trying to push him off.

"No!" Heero pleaded. "Please, don't make me leave!"

"You have to!" Duo cried out, finally managing to shove him off. "It's Trowa, Heero! Hurry! They've got him!" A violet glow surrounded the brown haired boy's hands, before it suddenly slammed into Heero.

He could say nothing more as Trowa's screams jerked him from his sleep.

oOoOo

There were times in his life where he had been plagued by visions. These carried with them frightening sights of the future that almost always came true. Things Trowa had learned to classify as coincidence. As he grew older—as the nightmares of rape manifested, deaths he had seen in dreams occurred, and wars erupted, all of which he was powerless to stop—he had learned to suppress these images that played out like movies in his mind. They had gone from overwhelming waves that left him in near seizures to annoying flashes of ghost like specters dancing out of the corners of his eyes. The audio hallucinations still occurred every now and then, delivering whispers of warning. But those he had learned to brush aside. Had learned to cast off.

But recently, the voices that spoke to him became more persistent. They repeated the same instructions to him over and over.

They took him. They took him away. You know what to do. You know you just need to touch them. Bring the memories out. Break the boundaries on them…

But he had never listened. Instead, as the peace began to stretch on, he began to slowly take more and more of his pills that Sally had prescribed him, hoping the anti-psychotics would mute out the words and leave him in peace. In essence, he became addicted, popping pills with the same comforting hand to mouth motion of a person who smokes three packs a day. What started out as two became three, then four, then ten. He had his ways of keeping his supply up. After all, he knew how to hack and forge, and Sally never knew of his abuse.

But even with all of the drugging, the voice never stopped. The visions only grew stronger, fighting to get past the haze that numbed everything in his body but his mind. His resistance to the visions was failing, and would have been gone within mere months. It would have left him stripped, vulnerable and defenseless. Just as he had been as a child, where the mere act of touching something brought all the memories of those who had previously held it—and touching a person? Dear God…he knew the seizures would come again. He knew it could kill him. It was why he feared to touch the wall. To touch the cross. He knew whatever he saw would be too much. Would rip down his carefully constructed defenses.

And he was right. With one touch, his boundaries shattered.

Crumpling to his knees, he barely managed to pry his hands from the cold surface of the wall before the first seizure stole his body. Convulsing violently, he fell back on the floor, tongue seeming to swell and choke his cry. Teeth gnashed down with uncontrolled violence, piercing into the thin, pink flesh of his lips, the coppery taste of blood spilling and staining his throat. Groaning in agony, he forced his hands to his head as he rolled to the side, feeling as if his skull would split any moment from the force of the visions.

It was as if he could see everything connecting. From the beginning of time—the soft touch of a woman as she carefully dabbed the worlds into creation like a painter with a picture. Making gods, making faith. Making stars and objects and things and people. Progressing on. The Big Bang. The dinosaurs…Adam and Eve. He saw humans in Africa beginning their migration. Evolution and creation. How science proved religion and religion proved science. Magic, real magic. Shape shifters and vampires, witches and warlocks. All of them laid out in the history of the world. It flooded him, overtook him, and carried him on the journey.

There was the way Duo…no…Democritus, had been cursed. Mneme's cruel eyes as she stared down to Death. This won't be so bad…Mneme has no feelings. What could she possibly gain from my torture? Cold hands. I hope the boys are… pain, pure and simple, ripping through the body oh god, what is she doing and then Death's lifeless form after the first torture Mother, why won't you help me?

Then, it flashed. Blue skin of the god Hades, pressed against pure black. White hair and blue eyes that belonged to another man as well. Zechs…those eyes were also on Zechs. Lucifer's toothy grin as he delved inside the small body, whispering everything to make the arrogant, ice colored Greek God ripe for manipulation as one word chanted through Lucifer's head: Gabriel, Gabriel, Gabriel…. The obsession of the fallen Angel with the man he had been stolen from…. Back track in time. Lucifer before he fell, desperate hands grabbing onto the tear stained cheeks of Gabriel. I'll come back for you. Gabriel's black hair tumbling onto Lucifer's hands—still pale and white, free from the dark onyx that flesh had become in the fires of Hell. Deep green eyes staring up to Lucifer from a face so resembling of Zechs as he whispered I'll wait for you…

But there was no way. Gabriel knew there was no way. Lucifer was lost to him forever.

Flash forward in time. Zechs staring down at white wings dripping with blood and flesh from where they ripped out of his back, the sound of bones snapping. Desperation as he clawed at the ground, lost, unsure what he was. The smell of sulfur. Laughter. Cruel green eyes. Sandalwood. Trieze, standing, black wings spread. But you're dead, Trieze. More laughter. No, Zechs, I am merely home now.

"What are you?" He could tastes the desperation in Zechs' voice as he asked, the question spilling from his lips, even as Zechs demanded of himself What am I? Shaking fingers touching blood covered feathers as he flexed his wings.

"I am the demon, you are my angel. I love you." A long pause, green eyes turning sad. The world swirling.

"Please, Trieze. Don't leave me again…."

" I'm sorry, Zechs. I wish I knew how to make this work..." Rage…potent rage from both ends. Trieze eyes lifting to Hades in submission even as that rage boiled and threatened to steal his control. The black fleshed Lucifer watching with an intense gaze, resisting the urge to lick his lips at the addicting flavor of the "Little Mislead" demon's rage.

Dark plots coming up, flitting through Lucifer's mind even as he smiled so condescendingly but lovingly to Hades. Ways to get revenge. To get Trieze back to Zechs.

To get Trieze back to…

My grandson deserves to be happy. Zechs deserves to be happy…

Oh god…no way…

More and more images came, but his mind was hazing, unable to comprehend another touch. Another sight. Another sound or smell. The pain was too much, too overwhelming. It didn't stop. More knowledge kept intruding, forcing into his thoughts, refusing to cease. Back arching, he screamed, feeling as if his head would explode. His eyes bulged sightlessly as he felt the rupture of a vein in them, turning his irises to red. That feeling he knew so well from when he was younger. Spit foamed at the corner of his lips. Darkness, blessed darkness promised to consume him as his heart began to seize.

Breathing suddenly became an impossible task as his pulse thudded out of control in the same rhythm of his muscles' vicious spasms. Faster, faster, harder and harder, and he was sure it would explode….

And then it stopped.

Everything just stopped.

Shaking violently, he felt his body begin to come back to life. Sensors in his head sounded, pinging. Hands: Check. Feet: Check. Stomach….stomach…oh god… I'm gonna heave….

He barely managed to force himself to roll before he threw up, the acidic taste of stomach acid coating his tongue as he lost the small amount of food he had managed to choke down earlier that day. Shoulders shaking, he forced green orbs open, praying to god he had at least managed to miss the expensive, 500 year old oriental rug Wufei had been given by his mother before she died. Blurry vision registered only white. Good…I missed it… But something wasn't right. His slowly returning senses noted a soft hand on his back, a voice, unfamiliar yet familiar all at once, whispering soft, soothing words to him.

"Is he okay?"

"I don't know."

"How did… it get here?"

"'It' is a human, Acheliah."

Blinking heavy lids, Trowa slowly lifted his gaze. The first thing that he noticed was the ground. It rolled, thick with heavy mist that was reminiscent of clouds. Two inches thick, it stroked over his hands and heated body in a cool, soothing caress, dampening his shaking flesh with refreshing dew that seemed to pour energy and life into him. Above, the sky glowed a soft white, sprinkled with stars that somehow still seemed to shine. Pillars of blue, purple, and clear sparkling crystals shot towards the sky all around them, like a city that had been created from an earthquake of gems.

Two people crouched before him. But no, they weren't people. They were something more. Beyond beautiful, their eyes were colors impossible of humans. The one who he assumed was Acheliah, for she was the only female, stared down at him with stained glass windows for irises, standing out perfectly against flawless brown flesh and long, smooth black hair. She was lithe, catlike, with a whipcord body that spoke of all the joys of passion. Heavy wings were folded against her back, the same rainbow of colors as those entrancing eyes.

The other looked more normal. Blond hair, deep, sea blue eyes and unbelievably massive white wings. He was muscular, tough, with a scar that marred the otherwise unmarked beauty of his face. Another was behind Trowa, gently soothing back his hair, and he forced his head up enough to see.

Gabriel…I'll come back to you…

That familiar voice belonged to the one he had seen—Gabriel. Black hair, emerald orbs…he looked so gentle, but every time he blinked Trowa could still see the tears streaking down his face. Could still see the deep lost love shining as he begged Lucifer to just ask forgiveness.

You don't understand, Lucifer had whispered. I refuse to bow to man.

Swallow your pride, Lucifer. For me…don't leave me alone. Don't leave us alone… There was a child…

Gabriel's high arched brows furrowed, his hand touching Trowa's cheek. The contact made the European jerk, a sharp cry ripping from his lips as thoughts flooded him.

Why is a human here? They don't belong in heaven.

Is this another of God's sick jokes?

His eyes, they match Rachel's… Rachel, the name of the child Lucifer and Gabriel had. The name of ...why did she run away? I wish I could find her children… Zechs' mother….

Ripping himself away, eyes wide with horror, Trowa launched to his feet. Black shoe's slipped in his own vomit and he dropped once again to the floor, knee thwacking hard on the ground. Pain radiated up his leg, but he dragged himself away.

"Don't touch me. Please don't touch me," he begged.

"What's wrong? Does it hurt?" Acheliah asked. The other moved forward slowly.

"I can heal you if you are injured," the blond angel murmured gently, reaching out. Trowa skirted away from the touch.

"Your thoughts," he gasped. "I hear your thoughts. Please. I can't take anymore. It hurts…"

Gabriel glanced over to the other two, expression doubtful, surprised. Trowa rubbed at his eyes. God, I've really gone crazy…oh god I've gone crazy…

"Where am I?" Trowa finally demanded. Gabriel moved a little closer to the human, approaching him as he would a timid animal.

"You're in Heaven," Gabriel explained. Shaking his head, Trowa stared at them.

"Am…am I dead?" he wondered, dumbfounded. Had the seizures finally won? Had the visions finally robbed him of the last good thing he had left?

"Yes…" came a sad voice from behind. Blinking, Trowa jerked as he felt a wave of shock emit from the three before him, their gazes collectively widening. Slowly, the European turned to see what caused such a reaction.

Behind him stood a small boy, barely looking of age 12. Wild purple hair framed his face, matching eyes and pale skin seeming to glitter unnaturally as he twirled a lollipop between thin lips. A tiny, gloved hand was offered for him, as the tiny boy who looked like a refugee from a raver convention gave him a soothing smile. "You're as dead as an angel can be without disappearing, my child. But come, my oracle. Jehova is anxious to meet his missing child."