Warnings : Angst, OOC, Duo POV, language.
This is a deathfic. Duo dies. In a not nice way. I know this violates my
creed of ‘always a happy ending’, but the thing has generated
some attention that deserves to be noted :
First there was a ‘parody’ : http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=1908032
A piece of giftart : http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/8187217/
And finally, a sequel : http://www.livejournal.com/users/ravensilver/11593.html#cutid1
The light is painfully bright, and that just seems all wrong.
The sun shouldn’t shine down on you while you’re dying. When
you die, it should be in the dark. The comforting dark. But there’s
no dark for me… I get the bright, cheerful light of day. I imagine
it makes the pool of blood all the more shocking, because when I care to
focus my eyes on him, Quatre can’t quite seem to take his eyes off
it. Off me. He’s very upset, and I think vaguely, that I should try
to find my voice to comfort him. But it seems to have abandoned me here
at the end of my life. Trowa is trying to put pressure on the wound, and
I wish he’d stop, because it hurts like a son-of-a-bitch. It’s
not going to help in the long run anyway.
‘Ah… God damn it, Duo…’ Trowa mutters
and our eyes lock for a moment. I can see that he knows, and I can see that
he knows I know too. Wish I could tell them all goodbye.
‘Hang on, Duo…’ Quatre tells me, clutching
my hand in his. I can see it there, between his… but I’m not
at all sure I feel it. I can’t feel much of anything except that pain
where Trowa’s hands are. And regret… yeah; a little bit of regret.
I distantly hear the sound of running feet; the gasp of panted
breath and Heero is suddenly there on the other side of me from Quatre.
He looks kind of sick, and I wish I could give him some flippant remark
to ease his mind, but there just doesn’t seem to be enough breath.
‘The ambulance is on the way,’ he says before his eyes tell
him what Trowa and I already know. ‘Damn it,’ he whispers, echoing
I think that Quatre is the only one who hasn’t figured
it out. But then he says softly, ‘We’re here with you, Duo…
right here.’ And I think maybe he does know.
Yeah… the gang’s all here. Except for one. Somehow,
Heero seems to read my mind and I see him pull out the hand-held. He steps
away, where I can’t hear, before he calls the last member of our team.
His voice rises. He is very… abrupt. I see him stuff the radio away
in his pocket and then he returns to us.
‘He’s coming,’ he tells me gently, and takes
my other hand. Their presence is comforting, though I seem so divorced from
my body that I’m not positive I feel their touches. Except for Trowa’s…
pressing his torn up shirt into the wound in my chest. Desperately trying
to stop the bleeding, only succeeding in slowing it down… in buying
me a few more minutes. I no longer care. I can’t say my goodbyes and
what good theirs? But they’re here with me… the four men I’d
sold my life for. Sold my future and my happiness for. Here, or soon would
be. I could hold on that long.
I’d known I would end this way. I think we will all
end this way. We survived a war, and then we survived a second one. We bought
peace for the entire Earth sphere with our blood, and what did we do afterward?
Joined the Preventers to a man. Went on fighting.
Want to know a secret? I hadn’t wanted to. I had just
wanted to put down the weapons and walk away. I had wanted to live in that
peace we’d bought. Wanted a life that hadn’t included killing,
hadn’t included blood…
That strikes me oddly funny, and I think to laugh, but nothing
comes out but a funny little almost cough. The pain in my chest expands
until I think it will all be over in another breath.
‘Hold on, Duo,’ Quatre whispers. ‘Help is
on the way.’
I wonder which one of us he thinks he’s fooling. When
I can see again, Wufei is there, behind Heero and he looks… stricken.
I wanted to ask him if maybe he’d seen his own mortality. I wanted
to ask if they understood now.
‘Oh, Hell,’ Wufei whispers softly, and it’s
fitting I suppose. We’re all here now, and we all know. But I still
can’t seem to say my goodbyes. There’s just no breath. Maybe
there’s no real will either. What would I say to them, these men that
have brought me here?
I never wanted this? I would not have been this thing that
we are, if you hadn’t pushed me? I did not want to die like this?
But what was I to do, all those years ago, when I had hesitated… when
I had wanted to step down, and my friends had turned from me?
Oh, there were no threats. There were no recriminations made.
But things became… different. When our band of brothers had made their
choice and I had not followed… I was no longer on the inside. I was
treated… like a foreigner. An outcast. I no longer had that feeling
of family that had sustained me all through the war. What was I to do? The
only thing I had known to do… to heal the rift. To be let in out of
I joined the Preventers. I rejoined the band and become a
brother again. Did they even know what they had done? Probably not; I had
never thought it had been a conscious thing on their part.
And here I was, at the end of my life. My number had finally
come up… my luck run out. The bullet hadn’t been evaded. The
miracle hadn’t happened, and it was over. What was I to say to these,
Goodbye. I never wanted this. In these last minutes…
I’m sorry that I can’t quite forgive you. But you’ll never
know that… will you?
My chest doesn’t hurt anymore. Quatre is crying. It’s
very cold, but I can’t seem to care. They’re here, all around
me, touching me though I can’t feel it. Whispering their own goodbyes,
but I can’t hear them anymore.
Friendship. Such an odd word. It can be so meaningful or it
can be so… shallow. Had I had it? I sold my life for it… but
I’m not sure I ever had it. Shouldn’t true friendship weather
change? Shouldn’t friendship accept differences? Shouldn’t it
transcend simple principles and personal beliefs? Had they ever loved me…
or had they merely loved the idea of the five of us? The Preventers elite?
I never wanted this. You couldn’t accept me any other
way. It is somehow fitting that the four of you sit here now with my blood
on your hands.
Fiction : GW :