Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Homecoming ❯ Homecoming ( Chapter 1 )

A/N This is something I wrote ages ago as an original piece but when I was reading back through it I realised just how much it could work for the Gundam Wing characters so I rewrote it form Duo's POV and the rest, as they say, is history.

Summary: Shinigami has to die eventually. Warning-character death, yaoi hints of 1x4 2x3 5xS.

Rating: PG (just to be safe)

Disclaimer: If you honestly think I own Gundam Wing then you're right and I also own the mental institution you belong in.

Homecoming

Duo's POV

He watched them, through the partial haze that shrouded his vision; he knew he wasn't coming back and so did they, even though they wouldn't accept it. It was ironic really the situation he found himself in.

He'd never believed the tales before or during the war, that of ghosts, white lights and out of body experiences, one last goodbye to loved ones before the inevitable claimed you. Shinigami knows he'd lost enough loved ones, you'd have thought he'd have seen at least one spirit by now.

During the war they'd just needed something to hope in, Wufei's steadfast belief in his Nataku, Quatre's belief in a God that condemned the acts of terrorism he was committing, and his own beliefs, in death, and that after death it was all over, he wouldn't be haunted any longer.

He scanned the scene again. A blonde haired young man was curled up sobbing in the embrace of a messy haired, cobalt eyed man whose stony gaze nethertheless betrayed his grief at the situation.

The man that was slowly being dragged out of his shell, by the blond he was currently holding, had run for cover again, inside the protective shielding, stony gaze and no-emotions attitude that had defended him for so long. Now only missions and true grief caused the `perfect soldier' to appear.

He'd seen the expression of stone only once before recently, the mission three months ago that had taken his uni-banged lover. Heero's face had displayed the same expression of stone as he had broken the news of Trowa's demise to them all, not that he'd noticed at the time.

He smiled wryly, a sliver of amusement breaking through the otherwise complacent expression which had settled firmly on his facial features. A far cry from the almost constant expression of mirth that usually adorned them, there was no need for masks here.

"Who'd've thought it," he mused silently, "Heero Yuy, all emotional over lil ol' me.Damien Parker" Not that he didn't consider the other a friend, he did, but, he'd always thought that the stotic boy had considered him more of a hindrance than a help. Especially during the war when Heero's emotional insecurities had not allowed him to realise that they were both wearing the masks that hid their true personalities and, most of all feelings, from anyone who may be looking to exploit them.

The door banged. A Chinese man, glaring defensively around him at the two already sitting. The newcomer said nothing and the unasked question hung in the air, one look at the blonde's tear streaked face was all that was needed to answer it. He watched as Wufei Chang sank wearily into a seat, all trace of defensiveness gone now, trusting the other two explicitly.

Wasn't Wufei supposed to be in Peru? He distinctly remembered Sally throwing a fit when her young husband informed her he would be away for a month on Preventer business.

He wasn't as surprised at the Chinese man's grief as he was at Heero's though. Although they may have looked to the world like reluctant allies at best and arch-enemies the rest of the time, there was a bond there, cliché as it sounded. The type of bond that can only come from completing a slowly approaching death from which there was no escape.

This was it, all that was left of his family, not that there had been much to begin with. Parents were dead presumably; he couldn't remember them, Father Maxwell and Sister Helen lost to the Allegiance all those years ago and even before them, Solo not lost to the war but to the diseases that had run rampant through the L2 slums.

The torturous years of watching everyone he had ever loved be murdered in the war. He still considered it to be murder even though it was permitted in such times. A murderer before the age of seven. The only way to survive on the L2 streets was to harden yourself and become one, kill or be killed, neither of which inspired much enthusiasm.

He was too young really to be worried about such serious matters. They, all of them, should be laughing, drinking and enjoying life; they shouldn't have a care in the world. But here they were, soldiers, terrorists, assassins, murderers and had been, for most of them, since long before their teens.

A deep pang of resentment hit him for all those who had lost their innocence, been forced to wield a weapon and shoot at an anonymous enemy. Enemy or not they were still people. Whether they had been classed as human during the war by OZ troops looking for revenge for fallen comrades was still debatable though. It was like a chess game really he mused, sacrifice a pawn to gain a castle, he chuckled humourlessly, he'd always lost at chess.

He wouldn't be missed except by the few people below him, the public had never known who he was and even if they had done, the words, gundam and gundam pilot still struck fear into many hearts. That was terrible PR, they were bound to be discovered eventually, that was the way fate worked, for them anyway. He should probably have had Quatre get some of his PR consultants look into marketing them a better image, someone was bound to figure it out soon, how many near-indestructible teenagers were there hanging around Preventer HQ anyway.

Three, his brain supplied him, they'll only be three now, you may be the God of Death but not even you can get out of this one. You were only ever nearly indestructible after all. He couldn't be perfect, that was Heero's job, even though he now knew the pilot of the Wing gundam was anything but.

Nobody lives forever he told his brain firmly, who would want to? Everyone you would know and love would eventually leave you. At least death was an escape.

He felt the darkness overtake him and knew that this was it, either the beginning or the end of his life. In the depths of his mind right before blackness claimed him he heard another person enter the room and he knew that whatever the Sally said would be the answer to the question.

Slowly regaining consciousness he revelled in the sensation of someone gently stroking his hair, opening his eyes he found himself looking into a face he knew every detail of, a face with deep green eyes, one of which was partially obscured by a fall of hair. For one of the first times in his life he allowed a true smile to grace his lips.

He was home.

Owari

A/N A death fic with a happy ending. Was originally going to be just Duo who died but somehow while writing I managed to kill off Trowa too, oh well.

Great? Awful? All constructive criticism welcome