Cowboy Bebop Fan Fiction / Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ My Angel From Hell ❯ Session #09 - Low Man's Lyric ( Chapter 9 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

"... I... failed."

Those two words rang inside his head, playing over and over again like a broken record, him wanting to break that annoyance of repeating melody completely from existence. Constantly those images from hours before swam through his head like a horrible British play, him wanting to throw the rotten vegetables at the character's already. Patches of blood from his companion still stained his torn soul, for he could no longer say a shell of a body, since it was already six feet under ground and infested by worms and the like. He sighed, understanding what fate and destiny had given to him. This was torture, this was agony, this was failure. This is the consequence that he put himself through, for the consequence he put him through.

And he was loathing every minute of it.

Rain that once washed away the bloodlust sins that stained his body delivered no comfort as it stung his skin like bees swarming around for revenge. Fatigue gripped to the existence that held him well once before in his dreamworld; however, it proved insignificant in the truth of his afterlife reality. This pain and agony raging through his own body (for his soul was the self he lived through) cracked him apart limb from limb, knowing full well this was the outcome the Fallen Angels desired. Seething pain that appeared to be never-ending, although, was one style that he could distinguish from the others. This was the pain, the torture, the writhing animosity merely one fallen angel demanded upon himself. Astaroth got what she wanted, no matter what people did to prove her wrong or stop her from achieving her desires.

It was his mind playing back the film that he wanted to destroy immediately from his memories. His own psyche, on the other hand, failed to comply with the request. The blood pouring from Heero's wounds, the conniving laughter from Asta-- Idumea's full pouting lips, the terrible scream of sorrow and mercy pounding and roaring and shrieking within the confines of his heart -- absolutely every detail was chiseled into his brain. As if his own intellect refused to let him disregard the details of this day. As if his own aptitude declined the idea of forgetfulness and accepted wholehearted the scheme of remembrance. As if his mind wanted him to remember as a personal lesson of consequence.

He recalled the fight was Tahrea, Fallen Angel #16, Maiden of Violence, whom he defeated without a hitch (he did teach her everything he knew). He recalled the fight was Vetis, Fallen Angel #07, Lord of Pride which was a battle that took up most of the time. The sword Vetis carried was a powerful and deadly one, however, proved no match to his Jeet-Kun-Do moves. He recalled the fight with Mephisto, Fallen Angel #05, Lord of Hatred, understanding full well why Mephisto was known to have the fastest reflexes (martial arts and weaponry) alive... or dead... created. However, the bloodiest and captivating battle was against Astaroth and Idumea, the merged fallen angel of the underworld.

How he saw the fragile, brittle body of his companion hanging lifelessly on the wall with streaks of his own lifeblood adding a coating to the fortification... that was all the motivation he needed to defeat those sick, twisted bitches. The intricate plan that those four demons (he was so distraught, he gave up on calling them fallen angels and accepted the fact all of them were the demons from heaven) participated in brought injustice to the extreme. For if they only knew who was underneath the golden hood, that golden cloak, they would have ceased the plan immediately. No matter if they hated him or adored him or didn't really give a shit about him, if they only knew who the man was underneath the golden cloak of obscurity, they would have turned their sights from one man to another.

It would never be, Spike knew that entirely.

Looking up towards the heavens and the paradise he left, Spike contemplated if he made the right decision coming down back to Earth and protecting such an innocent, pure soul from the demons that fell from heaven. Spike knew he let everyone down in Heaven. Raphael would probably be shaking his head in disgust, Oriel would probably be laughing like a maniac because he got the last laugh, and Julia... Spike failed her too. He promised he would come back. She even had confidence that he would come back. He would finish his job, come back to paradise, and live his "happily-ever-after" tragic tale between two people once again. But... he failed her too. He failed Heero first, then Julia. He could hear her crying right now. He didn't know why, even with the knifes of abhorrence being thrown from all the angels disappointed with him, but he could hear the faint sound of her melodious despair.

All those images faded away like the life of his companion, gradually dwindling down into nothing, a pitfall of wretchedness. He could feel verve that feed Heero's existence fading away into darkness. Once the amount of soul inside his body was lost and all that was left was a shell of his former existence, he knew judgment day would arrive. Spike knew the conclusion to this lovely fiction that he thought was the reality he yurned for. He would end up dying once again, but this time there wouldn't be an afterlife. He would become non-existent, the punishment for guardian angels who could not fulfill their duties. What was worse is the fact that Heero in the afterlife would have to watch him be tortured, ridiculed, and finally sentenced to non-existence. If there was one thing Spike would never do is to put such agony into a tattered heart of Heero's. He already experienced pain throughout his entire life, he was living it right now, and he would learn it again in the afterlife that was supposedly paradise itself.

So there he stood, on the roof of the hospital, watching the clouds above and taking the onslaught of the daggers slashing his arms, his legs, his face from top to bottom. Water, no matter how gentle it can be, is the one form of punishment for the living from heaven above to those below. Snapping his attention away from his broodings of benevolent fatality, he sensed another being on the roof, one that was familiar to him. He didn't have to look around to see who the person. He knew unconditionally who the cloaked figure was. Digging his hands into his pockets, the warmth inside soaked his hands in comfort rather than the unsettling raindrops of torture. Wishing he had a cigarette on him, Spike whispered underneath his breath to the creature behind him.

"How is he?" Spike asked, closing his eyes to conceal away the emotions riding within.

A lingering sigh came before the figure responded with, "You should know the answer, mon amie."

Silence overcame the start of the conversation, until Spike whispered, "He's not going to make it."

Knowing it was a statement, not a question, she whispered back, "He'll fight it. He's a strong one, like you, Spike."

"Stop being so goddamn fucking optimistic," Spike snapped at her, his body shaking in pure rage. How could he had been so foolish to leave Heero alone? Why would he be so selfish, so egotistical, so moronic when he knew that Astaroth and the others were after his ass? It was all his fault. He was such a failure, such a loser, such a nuisance. With undeniable wrath lurking within his words, he added to his retort, "Don't dream things that can't come true. Reality has set in, Chaldea. Heero is dying, the Fallen Angels got their wish, and I will be damned once I return to Heaven. That's the end of the real dream. The real nightmare. The real truth. This wasn't reality, this was just another fucking dream. Another fucking dream!"

Turning around stridently, Spike locked eye to eye with the Maiden of Larceny. Even though he tried to restrain himself from snapping so rudely at the only person that stood up for him during the incident in Heaven, Spike had to take it out on someone. He had to let out all the anger seething inside of him. If he didn't, he would absolutely go insane and wouldn't have a stable mind whatsoever. He had to keep his stable mind when he met Heero in the afterlife. At first he tried to keep his hopes up, to keep his faith that Heero would make it. But the fact of the matter is that Heero was dying, and Spike's agony was the same thing Heero was feeling. There was no chance in hell that things would end up happily-ever-after. Nothing would. Not for Spike. Never for Spike. Never... period.

However, when he turned around and searched into the mauve orbs of deviousness that belonged to Chaldea herself, Spike noticed the sympathy, reassurance, and adoration swirling around like a mixture of emotions. His sharp look softened drastically as he got lost inside those pools of selflessness. They seemed to be open for whatever Spike wanted to beat upon her tender heart. As he looked deeper, he recalled all the times they talked to one another whenever Spike sneaked out of Heaven. When Spike got in trouble or in a jam, Chaldea was always there to help him out. When Spike needed advice, Chaldea was always there to lend him some. Bottom line was that Chaldea loved him, and would do anything to help him. Even if that meant taking Spike's rantings and anger and beatings.

Still wandering inside her mauve crystals, Spike whispered as he confessed everything that had bothered him since the fought against the Fallen Angels at Sacred Heart Cathedral, "Why can't I wake up? Why is it everytime I try to leave the dream, someone gets hurt? Is this my punishment? To watch others suffer the torment I deserve? Chaldea, this isn't right. This is perverse in its own way. No matter how hard I try to do good, I always end up doing bad. Why can't the nightmare end? Why can't I find reality? Why, Chaldea, why?"

Once Spike finished his confession of emotions, Chaldea let go of the condescending smile threatening to release upon her face. He'll never know how innocent and child-like he is, and how much of a son he means to me, she thought, pulling her former lover into a gentle, motherly hug. Chaldea knew that Spike would never love her as he did Julia. She couldn't fool herself any longer. However, she understood Spike loved her as a friend, and she would give him something no one could take away -- a mother, something Spike never had his entire life. Ever since she met him, Chaldea had so much pride for Spike. She grew a bond towards him, one that she thought was for love. What she didn't know was that the bond was maternal, not personal.

However, as she hugged her son, her son, Chaldea enlarged the condescending smile on her face, knowing that no matter what, Spike was her's in a sense. She couldn't call him her own as Julia could, but she had the privilege to call him her son, and if that's all Chaldea could receive, she was content in her own way. Placing her right hand over Spike's forehead, she rested his head upon her shoulder, rocking him side to side and shushing him gently, as if he was a child wanting to be comforted by his mother. She couldn't think of anything else to soothe his tormented soul but a mother's touch was the only idea the popped into her head. Closing her eyes, she whispered into his ear.

"My dear Spike," she began, patting his fuzzy green hair carefully, "I know that dreams are the illusions to a reality that one tries to seek. But what you have inside your heart is something that no one can take away. It is strong in you, stronger than any person I know. That is faith. Faith is the confident belief in the truth, value, or trustworthiness of anything and everything. You Spike, you have faith in the extreme. You won't give up faith that you'll wake up to reality. You won't give up faith that you'll get that happy ending you deserve. You won't give up faith at all. And that, Spike, is a trait no one can take away from you. Not me, not Julia, not the Fallen Angels, not the ArchAngels, not even yourself. Without your faith, you would only be an empty shell. And emptiness doesn't suit you well, my friend."

Asking so harmlessly, Spike asked, "But... doesn't faith and hope go hand-in-hand?"

Lifting his chin up, Chaldea and Spike locked one gaze to another once more.

Then, the Maiden of Larceny handed him a wise, all-knowing smile.

"Those that assume can never understand the real truth."

And without a warning, kissed him on the forehead.




Hours had passed, and still fate clutched upon his wretched heart. Waiting in a lobby room forty stories down from a companion's room and not able to keep him company or watch over him (hell, that was his job, after all) was torture in the worst way. Heero was still inside intensive care on the top floor and in critical condition. Doctors came in and told Heero's friends that he had multiple wounds, all which they sewed up. However, many refused to stop bleeding. Due to the fact that he was losing so much blood, the doctors had a sinking feeling the boy might die and not live to see another tomorrow. Spike did expect Heero's friends to take this information the wrong way, but he didn't know that they would retaliate. Smirking at the thought, he remembered the incident only a few hours ago and the shocked face and the horror lurking inside the eyes of the poor doctor.

"You damn well make sure Heero makes through the night," Duo Maxwell sneered as he moved the vicious katana ever so closer to the doctors throat, "or I will slice your head off and hang it on my mantelpiece in the family room. And trust me, God won't punish me for any sins whatsoever. God loves me, dammit, or he'll wish he never knew the name Shinigami."

"Trust me," Chang Wufei chimed in, impressed that the idiotic American had enough balls to threaten the life of another human being, "you wouldn't like to mess with him when he's pissed."

After that, the young men started to call down and eventually fell into a deep slumber. He thanked silently to Chaldea who was sleeping silently in the corner opposite him that she was able to explain who the person carrying Heero's shattered body was before he vanished into thin air once again. At least he didn't have to tell the story about how he got to become a guardian angel, his past, and how he met Heero. As his thoughts wandered back to himself, tiredness started to sink in. Spike himself, however, didn't have the initiative to fall asleep yet. Especially when he knew Heero was fading away slowly but surely. Sighing deeply, he leaned back onto the wall, sliding down it until his body was at a sitting-up position. Spike enclosed his arms around his legs, pulling them closer to his chest. Fatigue started to awry over him, knowing the Sandman wished for him to sleep and put his worries to a rest for now. However, determination settled in and he refused to give up his fight to stay awake.

Much to his dismay, a classical song came over the radio playing the lobby. Off the top of his head, he recognized it as Mozart's Requiem. Such a fitting song, he sarcastically thought, pouting his lips to add effect. Knowing fate somehow wanted to keep that disgusting grasp upon him, Spike still used his willpower to fight off the exhaustion of today settling into his weary body, mind, and heart. However, the music proved to be a factor towards Spike's oncoming swarm of memories. As the daunting, brilliant lightning clashed outside the hospital window, the image of fists against fists inside the Sacred Heart Cathedral flashed in front of his eyes. If Spike had the heart to smile right now, it would show complete, utter irony at the thought of the lightning matched the reflexes of the Maiden of Violence.

Flowing sun-kissed blonde hair was tucked deep inside the confines of her velvet green cloak, immediately matching her spring green eyes. Taking another swing at the guardian angel, she cursed underneath her breath, wondering why she can't a punch or even a scratch on him. Kicks, hits, or even dirty tricks wouldn't phase this man. Feeling her body starting to limp and wear down into the pitfall of fatigue in the extreme, she looked deep into the mismatched eyes of Spike Spiegel.

"You fight well, Spike," she whispered with a faint trace of weariness in her voice. "You have received great powers from Raphael."

"This is coming from pure rage, Tahrea," he sneered, ready to send the final blow. "Not even the Maiden of Violence can stop me now."

Even though she knew he was right, Tahrea still smirked triumphantly and snickered deviously.

"Bring it on, dummkoff."

Another flash of light and the roaring thunder crackling above like maniac laughter from Oriel's mouth broke off the chain of thoughts from his fight with Tahrea abruptly. Looking at the clock above, he noticed it was already fifteen till twelve o' clock on the dot. Time sure flies when your in misery, he mused, not laughing a single bit. Sighing deeply, he rubbed his mismatched brown eyes, fighting off the sleep he desired. Before sleep could overcome, Spike remembered the second fight he had, this time with the tactician and honorable Lord of Pride.

Pure jet black hair was gleaming in the light that was shown through the painted windows of the cathedral. The orange cloak he wore seemed to conflict with bright cobalt blue eyes he had. As if he could hear the melodious sound of gospel music from a Vienna boy's choir, he attacked the guardian angel full force. However, this action and those following proved to be useless. Once he made a hit on the angel, nothing, not a single trace of blood or pain would phase him. What he failed to realize was that he was already dead, and nothing could stop him now. Not even the Lord of Pride himself. Noting that Tahrea was down for the count twenty-four stories below him thanks to the final blow Spike handed to her, and the gleam of sheer hatred swirling in his eyes that would bring down Mephisto in shame, Vetis knew that this fight would be given to Spike Spiegel, hands down.

"Incredible skills," Vetis congratulated, narrowing his eyes defiantly. "I guess I can't call you a bloody stupid git anymore."

"Nope," Spike replied, mocking a British voice similar to Vetis, "now you can call me the bloody smart git."

"That seems to fit quite well, faggot," Vetis counter-replied, smirking brightly.

Losing the mock and the smirk, Spike locked dead-eyed, point-blank at the Lord of Pride. Once Spike was done reading his mind, so to say, he whispered, "Your done, Vetis. Drop your sword and take Tahrea away from here. This battle is over."

Even if Vetis knew Spike was right, he went back into his fighting position regardless of the pain.

"The day I give up a battle is the day I become a bloody Wanker."

Laughing internally, Spike replied casually, "Suit yourself."

The flashes of lightning crashed and clashed outside the window feverously. Spike turned his head towards the window, watching the show with fond interest. There was nothing else to do in the lobby, either than pondering the fact if Heero was going to pull through or not. Sighing, Spike knew the ultimate truth of what would happen to his companion. However, he still refused to give up hope. After all, Chaldea said he was like himself in an aspect. Heero was just as stubborn as himself, Spike knew that for a fact. It was the pain and agony Heero's body was going through that kept on pushing away the hope and faith Spike had for Heero pulling through. Closing his eyes, Spike's mind wandered away towards the third battle he had against Mephisto, Lord of Hatred.

Violet eyes of malevolence pierced through the entity of Spike Spiegel entirely. Sneering in pure rage, the Lord of Hatred poured his heart and soul into his attacks against the guardian angel. All the while the fallen angel contemplated and brooded over the things that haunted his mind. Why does Chaldea love Spike and not him? Why would she betray her own kind for one of the holy ones? How could she do that to her family? How could she do that to him? Would she ever understand the love he could give to her? No... she never would. Mephisto wouldn't fool himself anymore. A strand of his midnight purple chin-length hair fell into his eyes as it obstructed his clear view of the target at hands. Placing that nunscence behind his right ear, Mephisto got into a fighting stance, aiming his gun squarely at point-blank range. He growled in animosity as he watched the guardian angel snicker as his movements.

"What is so fucking funny?" Mephisto growled, taking the safety off his gun.

His chuckling started to subside as Spike replied, "A gun cannot harm me, as it cannot harm you."

Raising an eyebrow, Mephisto asked, "Then why did you use it in the first place?"

Spike only shrugged, dropping his own gun to the floor as he answered, "Old habits die hard, and so does this old cowboy."

Throwing his own gun down, Mephisto yelled on top of his lungs, "Then I'll make sure you'll be sent to your grave forever, Spike Spiegel!"

Before the Lord of Hatred knew it, a swift kick towards his legs sent him to the ground.

Flipping his body around, he looked up to see the glaring face of Spike Spiegel.

And with a smirk on his face, Spike whispered, "Not a chance in hell."


The images in his head started to fade away...

Spike snapped his eyes wide open.

His fears were answered.





Chaldea put her hands over her face.

There was the feeling of movement in space as she rubbed her eyes delicately and stretched her body with a cat-like yawn and scratch. Cracking her joints, Chaldea opened her mauve eyes, already knowing Spike and the other boys would be here to greet her good morning. To her surprise, it was actually dark out, and the storm was going at full force. Looking up to the clock in front of her, she read the time 1:20 AM. Groaning, she wondered why the hell her body have to wake up so late at midnight, especially with a raging storm outside. Standing up, she counted the people in the room and mentally said their names. Wufei. Duo. Quatre. Trowa. Spi-- what the hell?!

Before she could go off in a tangent about where the hell Spike was, someone tapped her back extremely gently from behind. Snapping her head around and locking eyes with the person in front of her, Chaldea growled, "What now?"

Although the poor nurse was frightened to death by the look the woman in the black ripped cloak was giving her, she swallowed her terror and started to shakily talk to her. "Umm... I-I have important news t-to tell y-y-you, Mi-miss Kelsey."

"Chaldea, get it straight," Chaldea sneered, wanting to end the conversation with this bimbo nurse.

Shaking in fear, the nurse nodded slowly as she said, "Yes, Miss Chaldea, yes. It's just... umm... the doctor wanted to meet with you right now. He said it was very, very urgent to speak with you. It concerns about the young man you brought in today--"

"Heero?! Something's wrong with Heero?!" Chaldea screamed on top of her lungs, shaking the living daylights out of the nurse. Anger swelled throughout her body, the only emotion she knew at the moment. Almost ready to slap the woman, Chaldea shouted, "Why didn't you tell me in the FIRST PLACE?! Nevermind that, tell me where the doctor's room is!"

"Room 118, down the hall and to your left. You can't miss it!" the nurse blurted out in a rush.

Not even saying thank you for the information, Chaldea threw the blond bimbo of a nurse down to the ground and rushing towards the doctor's office. Even though she was running like a madwoman searching for the last X-Box on a free giveaway night on Christmas Eve, time seemed to slow down tremendously. Her running slowed down, her breathing became long and profuse, and her movements were just as slow as a tortoise. However, the only thing time couldn't slow down as her thoughts. The images of Heero and Spike together like father and son, big brother and little brother, guardian angel and companion raced through her head. She had been watching the two ever since she found out Spike was made guardian angel. Maybe Spike knew and maybe he didn't. All she knew was that something horrible was going to happen. And she didn't want to have another tragic ending for such a soul like Spike.

To die in another dream should only happen once for people like Spike and Heero.

Not once, not twice, not everytime they tried to live and be free.

She just didn't want to see that image again... ever.

Crash. Boom. Crackle. That's all the sounds she could hear. And for some reason, she wanted to hear more. The two figures in front of her -- one limp, one standing -- were completely silent. And for some odd reason Chaldea wished to hear more. To hear them laughing like a family. To hear them talking and having a conversation. To hear them arguing for trivial things. Something other than this dreadful, morbid silence. The rain poured around those two melodic figures, as if the entire scene before her was painted by a Greek artist. Or a Roman artist sculpting statues. Or an Italian artist creating another Mona Lisa. It was too horrible, too intense, too much for such a beautiful, sadistic moment.

She watched them walk down the steps of the church, hearing the crackles and the booms and the crashes in the background. Chaldea could feel her feet move forward a few steps, as if she wanted to touch the final piece of this magnificent, chilling tapestry. To see if this was real and wasn't a dream. More like a nightmare. She watched them walk down the steps of the church, the blood seeping through the lifeless form cuddled and protected in the lanky yet strong arms of the one carrying him. All of the red, vital fluid never once hit the ground, for it was all soaked up in the fabric of the angel cradling him. That's when she saw the angel lift his head slowly, locking eyes with every person there, but for some reason, those mismatched brown eyes of sorrow locked onto her own, asking and pleading for mercy and forgiveness. But she knew herself too well. She couldn't hand it to him. Not a chance.

He whispered silently two words she didn't expect to hear in a million years, "... I... failed."

He laid down the prone form of his companion, the rain pouring hard now.

And at that moment, Chaldea wanted to cry with all her heart.


She reached the door and opened it slowly, then quietly walking inside the room.

There she sat on a chair and looked squarely into the doctor for answers.

He could only close his eyes and whisper the two words she hated.

"I'm sorry."

"... No."




This can't be happening, Spike thought to himself, running up the stairs for dear life as he tried to reach Heero's room. The roaring tempest outside, the pants coming from his chest, and the clicking of the heels from his boots as he ran for dear life were the only sounds registering into Spike's mind at the moment. Sweat decorated his forehead, droplets falling down quickly down to his brow and then his neck. It had been only a couple of minutes, but to Spike it felt like hours on end. Nearly tripping over a step, Spike caught his balance and his breath as he leaned on the wall, panting and gasping for air. Even though he was an angel, he didn't take the flying lessons so he could pass through ceilings and go to the top floor.

Whose bright idea was it to put the intensive care at the top of the fucking building?! Spike screamed to himself in blinding rage and worry. Placing those thoughts aside, Spike continued to run up the flight of stairs to reach the top of the hospital. He was already at twenty-one stories. Only nineteen more to go, and he would be able to reach Heero's room. He didn't have to know which room number it was. Spike was tied mentally to Heero during times of crisis, and he could uses his senses to detect wherever he was. And right now his senses were off the roof. He needed to Heero and help him out in whatever he needed. Fast. Really, really fast.

Spike didn't want to believe it though. Whatever Astaroth -- no Idumea, whatever Idumea said during their fight was true. He had a sinking feeling she was telling the truth, even if the woman was the Maiden of Blood, and was one of the most untrustworthy of people down in Hell. All the images he had about Heero and the memories he cherished were started to fade away. With all his might Spike wanted to rip his head apart and fix whatever problem he was having. But if Idumea was right, then he wasn't the source of the problem. Heero was. And if Heero was in need of help, ol' Spike Spiegel would be there to lend a hand and help him out. But if Idumea was right... then he didn't need help... he infact would need a gigantic miracle...

No! I won't believe it. I have to keep going. Keep going, Spike, keep going. You have to get to Heero now! Keep going, keep going, keep going, he thought to himself, driving his legs to limits they have never been in. Already at thirty-three stories, Spike could sense the dire stress and pain Heero was under. Much worse than how he was at the Sacred Heart Cathedral. Out of all the images fading away, and no matter how hard Spike was trying to keep them intact, there was one image that wouldn't go. That was one image, one memory, one event that he wanted to fade away from existence. Not the others. Never the others. But fate and destiny had other plans. With only five stories to go, Spike relived the memory again.

"Where's Heero, Astaroth," Spike sneered, standing tall and proud in front of the bitch from hell known as Astaroth. He watched her sly, seductive smirk turn into a gleeful, malicious grin of insanity. In front of his eyes Spike saw Astaroth change into Idumea in a matter of seconds. She shed her red satin cloak in a flash, showing off the full curves and breasts that belonged to a mélange body of the Maiden of Lust and the Maiden of Blood. Wearing a black leotard and red skirt with two slits on the side, the colors clashed with the army boots she wore for shoes (a complete trait from Idumea). All around her legs, arms, and front chest, however, were different types of weapons, including a huge rhomphaia hanging loosely on her back, as if he weighed like nothing at all.

"You should address me as Idumea," she chuckled, absolutely amused at the situation currently. He snarled at her, almost losing his composure. After all the fights, from Tahrea, Maiden of Violence, to Vetis, Lord of Pride, to Mephisto, Lord of Hatred, Idumea was the only obstacle in his way to getting Heero out of his hellhole and getting him to a hospital to treat his wounds. If she wasn't a fallen angel, especially one of the deadliest, Spike would have lunged at her and have a one-on-one fight. Knowing his abilities (not that he was cocky or anything) but he knew in a body like Astaroth's, he would have won the battle, one way or another. However, he stood there helpless, watching as Idumea chuckled in glee. It was too sickening to swallow.

"Fine then, Idumea," Spike stated, narrowing his eyes. "Let me ask again. Where is Heero?"

"Aww, the guardian angel is looking for his little lost companion," Idumea mocked, acting as snooty and arrogant as ever. Her mocking turned into delicious deviousness as she gracefully pointed her hand towards an altar at the right, one that was hidden in the darkness and one that Spike couldn't see at first because of all the fights he was under. Spike couldn't make out exactly who the person was in the darkness, laying prone on the altar, but he didn't have to think who it was without a shadow of a doubt.

"He's right over there, Spifuru-chan," Idumea whispered, using the pet name Astaroth called him during the incident in Heaven. Laying her point hand to rest and crossed both of her arms over her chest, she looked away from the altar and started walking off. "When the memories you two spent together fade away, then you know he'll be dead. Until then, I know your going to be in a lot of pain. Oh well! I'll be on the roof, Spifuru-chan. When you're done here, I'll be waiting. And I know you'll be coming after me." She turned around, smirking devilishly as she chuckled, "I just know it!"

Spike ignored the monotonous laughter of Idumea echoing off the walls of the church. He refused. Soundlessly, he walked over to the prone figure lying motionless on the altar. He looked like a china doll to Spike. So rare, so special, so unique, so perfect, so... fragile. So very fragile. So very, very fragile. As if the moment Spike would breath on him, he would break into a million shards of what he once was. Even at the distance he was at, Spike felt weak and helpless to move such a precious thing. There was no light, and Spike really didn't need one. Once he reached the altar, the murkiness of the clouds from outside suddenly faded away, leaving only burning white light. It pierced through the painted windows of the church, blinding him for only a second. The sight on the altar is what moved his attention from the light to the body itself.

Blood poured from the seeping wounds, giving such a gothic, unimaginable touch to a magnificent, cruel piece of poetry. All around there were streaks of blood, all different shades of it, all different sizes of streaks, all so breathless. Skin as white as snow in December was the color of the figure lying peacefully on top of the altar. Blue lips, eyelids, and blotches of the rotting color decorated the poor creature's very existence. Although breathing, it was erratic, as if this child of innocence would die any minute now. However, Spike knew this figure. He was like himself. He was too stubborn and determined, sometimes too much for his own damn good. It reminded him of himself. He was a lunkhead... like himself. And that just seemed to add more to this bitter taste in his mouth.

He watched silently as his companion opened his prussian blue eyes.

He watched silently as his companion smiled contently.

He watched silently as his companion whispered.

He watched silently as he whispered in reply.

He watched silently... silence... silent.


And then... the rest was silence.





"... oh dear God no," was the only thing Chaldea could emit after she closed the door behind her. That was the only word she could say about this entire thing going on right now. She slammed her body against the door in rage, sorrow, defeat, helplessness, and regret. Sliding down, she cried out her own agony, the mere thing she could do to tell the world the pain she was going under. Hot, stinging tears slide down her face as she screamed louder and louder until she hit the floor with a thump. Pulling her knees to her chest, she hugged them tightly and rocked back and forth like a lost little girl in a gigantic mall in New York City. Chaldea shook her head back and forth, not believing what was happening. Even if she went after to chase Spike down and tell him what was going on, she would be too late, again. Spike would already know.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, NO!" she screamed and mumbled, slamming her fists at the door at the last shout she made. Her shout didn't go unnoticed as the four other ex-Gundam pilots entered the scene finally, watching the tattered and broken form of the Princess of Thieves crying her eyes out and pouring her torture to the world. Quatre, the heart of gold he held inside, was the first to come over to Chaldea and hold her in a hug, the only comfort he could give her. He didn't understand what was going on with her, but he had a sinking feeling it had to deal with Heero and Spike.

Whispering into her ear, Quatre soothed her, "Ssh. Calm down and relax Chaldea. Tell us what is wrong and we'll help."

With a frantic look in her eyes, Chaldea shouted back, "You can't do ANYTHING to help out now! It's all over! Nothing can be done to fix this!!"

"What is?!" Wufei yelled from above, worried that the fallen angel was breaking down so hard. "Why can't we do anything?!"

Sighing deeply, Chaldea shuddered and remembered the exact words the doctor told her, as she answered, "Heero has lost too much blood. His body is somehow shutting down on him. They have tried everything they could to stop the bleeding or even give him more blood, but his body keeps on shutting down. It's as if it stopped fighting for good."

"Heero wouldn't give up that easily!" Trowa shouted, totally out of character but showed his deep worry and concern for a friend and comrade of his.

"Trowa's right! He would die fighting than give up," Duo chimed after Trowa, shouting with severe concern for his best friend.

Chaldea wanted to small at their hopefulness, but even she knew the outcome to this tale.

It wouldn't be the happy ending those two deserved entirely.

And once again, she wanted to cry with all her heart.





Quite suddenly there were no more steps to climb.

All in one quick motion he entered the room.

It was then he stopped breathing.

The smell of death was rising inside the little room. No more did the scent of disinfectant and clearness reign supreme here. He knew the faithful, watching hand of death was waiting to take the life away from his companion and give him a new life in Heaven or have a new one reincarnated. Spike stood motionless near the door that closed behind him. He didn't even know he closed it behind him. It was the sight of the most fragile human being in the world that stopped him in his tracks. And he couldn't do a damn thing to save him. Not one goddamn thing.

But he didn't get angry. He didn't break down and cry. He didn't run over and check him over like a mother hen. All he did was stand, not breathing, or so he thought. He didn't know what he was doing anymore. Spike's mismatched brown eyes were fixated upon the sight right in front of him. Temporarily broken of his trance for now, Spike started to walk over towards the bed. Everytime Spike walked towards his companion, he felt a trace of his soul fading away into Heaven. If he tried to run to him, he would leave him too quick and he wouldn't be able to say goodbye.

Sure, knowing Heero, he would go to paradise, Spike's own personal hell. But they wouldn't meet there. Of course not. Spike screwed up again. He knew that for a fact. At last, after what seemed to be a year passing by, the guardian angel made it towards the bedside of his companion, looking him over and implanting the picture he saw of him in his mind forever. Or how long forever meant to him. Considering what Heero looked like in the Cathedral beforehand, he actually looked more alive. He didn't have scars, bruises, or any forms of torture on his body. The doctors took care of him alright. But the one thing they couldn't get rid of was his agony. And that Spike hated the most out of the situation. Give him the pain. Give Spike the pain. Not someone like Heero. Not him.

Suddenly, he watched as the formerly prone form of Heero Yuy started to move a bit. His hands instinctively wanted to hold him down and tell him not to move, but nothing was working. Not even his mind, or his mouth. All he could do was watch as his companion opened his prussian blue eyes and looked dead-straight into his own mismatched ones. Heero then sighed and smiled contently, as if he was in no pain, and was completely satisfied with the situation he was in currently. Heero almost started to laugh a bit as he reached his hand out of his bed and with all the ounce of strength he had left, held Spike's right hand like a son to a father.

Eyes twinkling in delight, Heero whispered jokingly, "You should look in a mirror, Spike. And you said whenever I was in awe I looked absolutely pathetic..."

Spike didn't crack a smile or laugh as well as he watched Heero cough and wheeze in his breathing, but still chuckled on. Sighing slightly, Spike was able to find his voice finally, as he said, "Heero... I just don't... I mean... why did this have to happen--"

"Things happen for a reason, Spike," Heero said all-knowingly. "Only God knows why."

"Then where is he, Heero?" Spike pleaded, nearly breaking his stoic state. How he wanted to hold onto Heero for dear life, not wanting Heaven to take him away right now. After all they had been through. And it had nearly been four months. But he didn't deserve to do that. He didn't have the right to hug him goodbye. He lost that the minute he let Heero off. He lost that the minute he felt Heero go through the pain Idumea put him through. He lost that the minute he saw Heero on that altar, as if he was a human sacrifice to the gods unknown. A lone tear strayed down his face, falling onto Heero's hand as he whispered, "Where's God now? He's probably just watching us. Watching us suffer and wither away like a bunch of animals for us to toy with. So what? So we can meet him in the promise land? Paradise? Heaven isn't paradise. It's just hell in reverse. I hated it there, Heero. I hated it. I came here for reality, and when I finally get it, it is taken away. Just like that. Poof. So where's that God now? Where's God now?"

With such wisdom in his eyes, never-wavering, Heero answered, "He is here, even if you can't see him. Alive or dead, he'll always be here. Even if one doesn't believe in him. He's here, Spike. And there's a reason why he can't be seen. But like I said, only God knows why."

Breaking his apathetic stature, Spike chuckled as he asked, "And when did you get so philosophical and religious? I didn't expect you to be a priest."

"One too many things I picked up from Duo," Heero answered, chuckling somewhat. Coughing as his voice started to fade, he asked Spike one last thing, "Hey Spike?"

Noticing the way Heero's breathing was slowing down, Spike replied with, "Yeah, kid?"

Smiling at how Spike addressed him, Heero asked softly, "Will we meet again?"

Spike nodded as he smiled sadly, replying in a whisper, "Yeah, someday kid. Someday, somewhere down the crazy river we call life and death. You bring the boat and I'll bring the paddles. Okay? I'll see you on the other side."

Closing his eyes, Heero whispered for one last time, "See you... space cowboy."

Slowly his breathing gently calm to a tender halt.

And all that was left was the sound of death.

The distinctive sound of a soul leaving one world for another screeched and echoed throughout the sterile, plastered room. No words were heard from his mouth as he started to walk away from the person that he used to call his companion. Guilt was finally introduced to his mind, an emotion unlike no other he had felt before, in life and in death. For it was he himself, Spike Spiegel, that killed his only companion... friend... brother. It wasn't Idumea who brought the final blow to the frail child. Nor was it the mastermind of the entire scheme itself. No one would believe him anyways of who the mastermind was if he told it. No one would believe him ever again. He would be considered neither a demon nor an angel. He would be outcasted everywhere. This alone would be his punishment, but there was one even greater. One that would sent him and the people above and below out of misery and into happiness. He knew what he had to do now.

Spike knew it now, and he had to face the consequences of his accusations. It was he alone that let the clutch of fate squeeze the life, the soul, and the spirit out of the mere child. Faith no longer lingered like a piano key's haunting melody. The string of munificence was cut in one swift motion by the scissors of cruelty. Hope was another word unknown to his vocabulary now. Damned was his existence. Damned he would be, not to Hell, not even to Purgatory, but to interminable, never-ending emptiness. And Spike would gladly welcome it with open arms. Once at the door, he turned around, looking at the prone, ghost form of Heero Yuy. All of a sudden, no sound came from the heart monitor. Not even the pouring tempest and clash of thunder and lightning outside was heard. It was totally silent. Fate and Destiny seemed to give him this final moment to look at the one person that was his gateway to reality, which ultimately turned out to be another dream. But now he knew the correct path to true happiness and sadness, and he would go through the real dream... for the final time.

All the memories that he and Heero experienced flashed white in front of his eyes. The first time at the park. Flash. Him feeding Heero the correct foods to eat. Flash. The correction introduction and the first punch given to him. Flash. The fight over Heero getting off the damned computer. Flash. Him making breakfast in bed. Flash. Teaching Heero Jeet-Kun-Do. Flash. Shopping at the mall for clothing. Flash. Forcing Heero to wear the same blue suit he always wore. Flash. The incident over the deathly virus. Flash. The first time Heero heard the backstory about Spike. Flash. Feeling the pain and agony Heero felt under Idumea's wrath. Flash. Fighting against Tahrea. Flash. Fighting against Vetis. Flash. Fighting against Mephisto. Flash. Fighting against Idumea. Flash. The rain pouring in sorrow. Flash. A rose in a puddle of mud. Flash. The last fight he had with Vicious. Flash. His victory stance after hobbling down the steps of the Red Dragon's Syndicate. Flash. All the crew members of the Bebop, his dysfunctional family. Flash. Heaven and all the angels, his other dysfunctional family. Flash. Julia and her understanding, warm smile. Flash. Chaldea and her mothering, compassionate kiss. Flash. Heero, the brother, the son, the best friend he should have had a long, long time ago.

He watched all of his memories fade to black.

They all seem to wave to him goodbye.

And just like that, they're gone.

However, one stays behind. One refused to leave him. He doesn't smile, he doesn't cry, he doesn't even do anything. He remembers the moment, the unexplainable moment as it plays through his head one last time. With the white light burning bright, but this time nothing can be heard. The blood from his only friend escapes from his body, leaving on a shell of what he was and the soul just ready to leave for the other world. He watches those amazing prussian blue eyes filled with wisdom and curiosity twinkle and wink at him. He observes all the markings of torture upon his face. He looks down upon the figure of Heero Yuy cradled in his hands, smiling warmly as if nothing is wrong and everything is right in the world. The innocence of a child can have effects on people, even on moments like this.




Heero Yuy soothingly whispered, "It's just another dream Spike, just another dream..."

Spike Spiegel tenderly whispered back, "Yeah, kid... just another bad dream..."

And with their words echoing, it all went away in a single white flash.




Spike Spiegel gazed at the stagnant form of Heero Yuy, a look of mercy written in stone upon his sorrowful face. Taking out the only possession and gift Heero gave to Spike personally, Spike reached inside into his coat pocket and pulled out a blood stained paper that had been on top of a pillow one perfect, glorious morning. It was still neatly folded in fours which created a perfect square. He looked at it nonchalantly as he threw it up into the air without a care. Fate and Destiny still held Time back, which must have pissed of Inevitablity and Obscurity to the extreme. It seemed they cared for him after all. Or they wanted to make his life much more miserable than what it already was. Spike didn't care anymore. He had nothing left... just how Heero had felt in the beginning.

Spike was obsolete now. He wasn't needed in the dream world or the real world anymore. What did he have left to give to everyone? Nothing. Nothing at all. He was useless. He was helpless. He was hopeless. That's all he was now. And to be perfectly honest, Spike was content with that now. Hours ago he would have said hell no, but the minute Heero died, Spike died again. And to die again in a dream wasn't worth it. He didn't wish to live in this dream world anymore. It was time to get the reality he deserved, once and for all. Even if that costed everything he ever loved. Julia. Chaldea. Himself. He already lost Heero. He wasn't going to screw up again. Once is enough, he said once aeons ago. And goddammit, he was going to live it up. No matter what.

Spike Spiegel watched Heero Yuy's letter flutter in the air leisurely.

He raised his right hand casually and shaped it into a gun.

And with precise direction, he hit the target.




"... Bang."

PLEASE FORGIVE ME...