Sorcerer Hunters Fan Fiction ❯ The Waiting Place ❯ In the Before Time ( Chapter 1 )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: Miko No Hoshi 
Lover by day, another by night. Time passes slowly and we miss the wind even as we sit in the eye of the storm.
Anime/Manga: Sorcerer Hunters Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance | Type: One Shot | Uploaded On: 10.02.2002 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.1K | Visits: 874 | Status: Completed
Lover by day, another by night. Time passes slowly and we miss the wind even as we sit in the eye of the storm.
Anime/Manga: Sorcerer Hunters Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance | Type: One Shot | Uploaded On: 10.02.2002 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.1K | Visits: 874 | Status: Completed
Disclaimer: The Miko does not own Bakuretsu Hunters, if she did, Gateau and Marron would never have any time to fight Sorcerers and that just wouldn't do.
Notes: This was actually a project for my psychology class, we were supposed to trade stories and diagnose the main character's symptoms, so that's kinda why its a little vague. Also, lesson learned, it is /not/ a good idea to include shounen ai in school work...many, many questions....
The Waiting Place
"You don't have what it takes to love me."
I didn't know what he meant the first time he said those words. He did say yes though, after a bottle of wine and a few superficial dates, we became lovers. At first it was good, more than good. But then I realized what he had meant.
Marron was always the normal one. Quiet and mature, he would walk behind the others offering advice only when it would be useful. He was perfect in my eyes. His hair, his skin, everything. I didn't know it was all an act.
The first time it happened was in December. I had gone to town to pick up supplies with Chocolate. It was supposed to be a three day trip but we hurried back early due to snow. Northern Spooner's winters are not something to be trifled with. Arriving after midnight, I expected to find my little mage tucked safely into the bed we shared but I opened the door on an odd scene. Sitting on the floor he was in a strange stage of disarray. His robes were unclasped and hung loosely off one thin shoulder, his feet were bare of shoes or socks, and his hair was falling from the tie that tried to hold it back. In front of him were scattered at least twenty ofudas and in his hand was a pen. Oblivious of me, he would lean forward and scribble on one, draw back and glare at it. Then he would do it again, all in motions too frantic and out of control to be right.
I tried to touch his shoulder, to ask him what was wrong. He pushed me away and starting talking about how the wards were imperfect, he was imperfect. It will never work, he said that again and again. I didn't know what he was talking about so I just watched. He sat there, talking to either me or himself, until the room began to light with the pink of dawn. Then he stood, walked in silence to the bed, and lay down.
I didn't know what to make of it.
The next morning he was fine. He came down to breakfast and kissed me on the cheek same as always. I couldn't mention it; perhaps he had forgotten. I thought then that it was just that once. Just a bad night. I didn't know any better.
Usually I couldn't figure out what pushed him into having what I began to call his "episodes", but once I knew it was me. We had a small fight, I don't recall over what, and I said something I shouldn't have. It hurt him. Leaving me standing in the kitchen he walked away and I heard the shower running upstairs. He stayed there for hours, even with me banging on the door and begging him to come out. In the end I had to pick the lock.
He was sitting in the tub with his back pressed against the wall. His knees where drawn up and his head was down on them causing his black hair to fall over his naked body like jet strands of wet silk. He was crying. I got a towel and wrapped him up and took him to our bed. He wouldn't talk to me so I just held him. He cried all night long.
Sometimes it wasn't that bad, maybe just a night when I couldn't touch him or when he wouldn't let me go. Occasionally it was a shyness unheard of, but other times he would be demanding, even in sex. He would want me to do things, things that I wouldn't. I just couldn't bring myself to hurt him like he wanted.
It made him angry when I said no. He would leave our bed and go sleep next to Carrot. The older boy never said anything, but I always got a glare from him in the morning. And from Marron? Nothing. It never happened.
I thought about telling lots of times, but I didn't. Not until that day, Thursday, not quite a week gone.
I came home after dark bearing a gift for him, it was our eighteenth month anniversary after all. When I first saw him I thought he was trying to kill himself, and he might have been. In one hand he held a sharp piece of a shattered mirror. He had run it over his arm over and over again, letting it bite deep into the pale flesh and now the blood was pouring out to seep into the white sheets. I grabbed his hand and had to squeeze his wrist to make him drop the glass, his hand was bleeding too from gripping it so hard. I was so scared, and for a moment, golden eyes only looked at me with no comprehension or even recognition. Then he laughed.
It was an awful sound, high and hysterical, breaking into the quiet night hard enough to pierce the soul of anyone unfortunate enough to hear. I pulled him close against me, feeling his warm body and the warmer blood that spilled down my chest where his arm was pressed against it. He laughed with tears welling in his eyes; he knew it was over.
Sitting there on the bloody bed sheets I let my own tears fall into his raven hair, the wonderful smell of it taken over by the unmistakable copper scent of the room.
Two days later I returned to our bedroom. The blankets were brown and stiff but the edges of the broken mirror still gleamed red. There were other reminders, bits of bandages and a pair of scissors, a stained and discarded shirt, and even the forgotten box that had been so carefully gift wrapped in blue paper. His favorite color was blue.
On the dresser was a picture we took near the lake. In it, Marron's collar is undone and my shirt seems to be on backwards...it was. The person with the camera, Tira, had caught us in a rather precarious situation that needs no describing save for the blushes on both our faces. That was in the before time.
Before I knew.
Three days I spent away from him. The doctor would call with small details meant for comfort. He had twenty-three stitches. We're going to reduce the sedative. He asked for you. Tomorrow, you can see him tomorrow.
I spent that night--last night--in the fitful state that rests just above sleep. Hot and sweating, I tossed in the blankets knowing that across town Marron waited for me in a sterile white room alone. He wanted me and I wasn't there. Daybreak found me dressed and waiting for the others.
The metal bar felt cold and unused as I pressed it to gain admittance to the back area of the hospital. Instantly the smell of disinfectant rushed at me and something much worse followed along with it, the scent of last nights, of goodbyes, of forevers.
The doctor talked. He's a rather short man with a thick beard and glasses, carrying a clipboard from which he read bits of data as out footsteps echoed down the hallway. This section was quiet with only a few nurses hurrying from one room or another. It was a waiting place.
Carrot said something, the solemn expression he had worn for the past days being lightened by willpower alone. I got it, smile for him, make him happy. I almost made it work, but then Chocolate opened the door. We all stopped right there in the door. There was no blood, no rushing chaos, no screaming. There were only four walls, white as had known they would be, and a bed and Marron. I walked to his side, surely in a fashion of reluctance for I know I felt it.
He didn't look like people do in movies when they're in the hospital, when they have that resigned quiet look of peace and tranquility and you just know everything's going to be all right. He didn't look that way at all. His dark hair was tangled and scattered, several sweaty strands clung tightly to his face. I couldn't decide if the green hospital gown made him look more pale or just sickly, but I did notice that its short sleeves did nothing to hide the layered bandages down his arm nor the small red area near his elbow that had surely been used as a port for medication. What hurt the worst were the dried trails of tears that ran down his face. They had let my Marron cry himself to sleep like an unappeasable child. They should have called me.
The doctor had given us permission to wake him, saying it in such a tone that led me to believe there was really nothing that could worsen the situation, or better it for that matter. Carrot was the one who touched him, just lightly. His eyes opened in a flutter, unseeing for a second and uncomprehending for another. They said he had been delusional for the better part of the previous days.
"Niisan..." His voice was weak, like his eyes, there was no color. He had been worn down in a matter of days and all the weakness had sprang to the surface.
Carrot talked. I didn't listen closely. It was all about food and girls and other subjects that were anything but relevant to the situation. He wanted to ignore it. We all did.
Chocolate said hello and Tira set a bright bundle of yellow flowers on the small table beside the bed "to cheer the place up a bit". Soon they noticed the look I was getting from him and decided that they wanted to talk to the doctor about one thing or another.
With the chatter gone, the room felt very silent. I stood near the bedside but didn't touch him. He didn't look as if he wanted me to. There was a machine running somewhere I couldn't see, only hear. Three seconds and then a beep. One. Two. Three. Beep. I counted this maddening cycle four times before I figured out what to say.
"So, how are you?"
"How do you think I am?" His head turned away to stare at the blank wall, it was a harsh motion.
"Marron...I..." My hands tried to explain, like the random gestures carried more meaning than my stuttered words.
"You told." Was he angry? I couldn't tell, his tone fluctuated between irate and hurt all in a soft quiet.
"I had to. You know that."
He nodded and back to look at me, forcing a smile that seemed wrong and out of place. "Talk to me Gateau..."
"What?" He had shifted over and I took a seat on the edge of the bed, habitually brushing back his mussed hair.
"Tell me things that matter, tell me what the doctors said. Talk to me like I'm not crazy."
It was in that wearied statement that I saw the past three days. Perhaps it was more than that. How long had it been since Marron had been normal? A magic user from his childhood, learning to walk in the robes of a mage, had put considerable stress on him. Then his mother's death and being sent away for school. And now? At sixteen he traveled around and killed people! So much I had not even seen.
I talked to him until he slept again. Now I sit here in the quiet waiting place, listening to the timed beeps of the hidden machine, and make a decision. I won't leave him. I'll sit here as long as it takes, and if he's moved somewhere else? Well, I'll sit there too. I'll talk to him and bring him little things and books to pass the time with. If he's too tired, I'll read them to him and if he cries I'll wipe away the tears and tell him it will all be okay.
You'll see then Marron.
You'll see, I do have what it takes.
~tbc?~
The question mark here is legitimate, I'm entirely unsure whether this is a satisfactory end or if it needs more. Please review and let me know! Any suggestions will be taken into serious consideration.
You're gonna review now, right?
Just push that little button.
Please?
Her Supreme Omni-potence,
Miko No Hoshi
Notes: This was actually a project for my psychology class, we were supposed to trade stories and diagnose the main character's symptoms, so that's kinda why its a little vague. Also, lesson learned, it is /not/ a good idea to include shounen ai in school work...many, many questions....
The Waiting Place
"You don't have what it takes to love me."
I didn't know what he meant the first time he said those words. He did say yes though, after a bottle of wine and a few superficial dates, we became lovers. At first it was good, more than good. But then I realized what he had meant.
Marron was always the normal one. Quiet and mature, he would walk behind the others offering advice only when it would be useful. He was perfect in my eyes. His hair, his skin, everything. I didn't know it was all an act.
The first time it happened was in December. I had gone to town to pick up supplies with Chocolate. It was supposed to be a three day trip but we hurried back early due to snow. Northern Spooner's winters are not something to be trifled with. Arriving after midnight, I expected to find my little mage tucked safely into the bed we shared but I opened the door on an odd scene. Sitting on the floor he was in a strange stage of disarray. His robes were unclasped and hung loosely off one thin shoulder, his feet were bare of shoes or socks, and his hair was falling from the tie that tried to hold it back. In front of him were scattered at least twenty ofudas and in his hand was a pen. Oblivious of me, he would lean forward and scribble on one, draw back and glare at it. Then he would do it again, all in motions too frantic and out of control to be right.
I tried to touch his shoulder, to ask him what was wrong. He pushed me away and starting talking about how the wards were imperfect, he was imperfect. It will never work, he said that again and again. I didn't know what he was talking about so I just watched. He sat there, talking to either me or himself, until the room began to light with the pink of dawn. Then he stood, walked in silence to the bed, and lay down.
I didn't know what to make of it.
The next morning he was fine. He came down to breakfast and kissed me on the cheek same as always. I couldn't mention it; perhaps he had forgotten. I thought then that it was just that once. Just a bad night. I didn't know any better.
Usually I couldn't figure out what pushed him into having what I began to call his "episodes", but once I knew it was me. We had a small fight, I don't recall over what, and I said something I shouldn't have. It hurt him. Leaving me standing in the kitchen he walked away and I heard the shower running upstairs. He stayed there for hours, even with me banging on the door and begging him to come out. In the end I had to pick the lock.
He was sitting in the tub with his back pressed against the wall. His knees where drawn up and his head was down on them causing his black hair to fall over his naked body like jet strands of wet silk. He was crying. I got a towel and wrapped him up and took him to our bed. He wouldn't talk to me so I just held him. He cried all night long.
Sometimes it wasn't that bad, maybe just a night when I couldn't touch him or when he wouldn't let me go. Occasionally it was a shyness unheard of, but other times he would be demanding, even in sex. He would want me to do things, things that I wouldn't. I just couldn't bring myself to hurt him like he wanted.
It made him angry when I said no. He would leave our bed and go sleep next to Carrot. The older boy never said anything, but I always got a glare from him in the morning. And from Marron? Nothing. It never happened.
I thought about telling lots of times, but I didn't. Not until that day, Thursday, not quite a week gone.
I came home after dark bearing a gift for him, it was our eighteenth month anniversary after all. When I first saw him I thought he was trying to kill himself, and he might have been. In one hand he held a sharp piece of a shattered mirror. He had run it over his arm over and over again, letting it bite deep into the pale flesh and now the blood was pouring out to seep into the white sheets. I grabbed his hand and had to squeeze his wrist to make him drop the glass, his hand was bleeding too from gripping it so hard. I was so scared, and for a moment, golden eyes only looked at me with no comprehension or even recognition. Then he laughed.
It was an awful sound, high and hysterical, breaking into the quiet night hard enough to pierce the soul of anyone unfortunate enough to hear. I pulled him close against me, feeling his warm body and the warmer blood that spilled down my chest where his arm was pressed against it. He laughed with tears welling in his eyes; he knew it was over.
Sitting there on the bloody bed sheets I let my own tears fall into his raven hair, the wonderful smell of it taken over by the unmistakable copper scent of the room.
Two days later I returned to our bedroom. The blankets were brown and stiff but the edges of the broken mirror still gleamed red. There were other reminders, bits of bandages and a pair of scissors, a stained and discarded shirt, and even the forgotten box that had been so carefully gift wrapped in blue paper. His favorite color was blue.
On the dresser was a picture we took near the lake. In it, Marron's collar is undone and my shirt seems to be on backwards...it was. The person with the camera, Tira, had caught us in a rather precarious situation that needs no describing save for the blushes on both our faces. That was in the before time.
Before I knew.
Three days I spent away from him. The doctor would call with small details meant for comfort. He had twenty-three stitches. We're going to reduce the sedative. He asked for you. Tomorrow, you can see him tomorrow.
I spent that night--last night--in the fitful state that rests just above sleep. Hot and sweating, I tossed in the blankets knowing that across town Marron waited for me in a sterile white room alone. He wanted me and I wasn't there. Daybreak found me dressed and waiting for the others.
The metal bar felt cold and unused as I pressed it to gain admittance to the back area of the hospital. Instantly the smell of disinfectant rushed at me and something much worse followed along with it, the scent of last nights, of goodbyes, of forevers.
The doctor talked. He's a rather short man with a thick beard and glasses, carrying a clipboard from which he read bits of data as out footsteps echoed down the hallway. This section was quiet with only a few nurses hurrying from one room or another. It was a waiting place.
Carrot said something, the solemn expression he had worn for the past days being lightened by willpower alone. I got it, smile for him, make him happy. I almost made it work, but then Chocolate opened the door. We all stopped right there in the door. There was no blood, no rushing chaos, no screaming. There were only four walls, white as had known they would be, and a bed and Marron. I walked to his side, surely in a fashion of reluctance for I know I felt it.
He didn't look like people do in movies when they're in the hospital, when they have that resigned quiet look of peace and tranquility and you just know everything's going to be all right. He didn't look that way at all. His dark hair was tangled and scattered, several sweaty strands clung tightly to his face. I couldn't decide if the green hospital gown made him look more pale or just sickly, but I did notice that its short sleeves did nothing to hide the layered bandages down his arm nor the small red area near his elbow that had surely been used as a port for medication. What hurt the worst were the dried trails of tears that ran down his face. They had let my Marron cry himself to sleep like an unappeasable child. They should have called me.
The doctor had given us permission to wake him, saying it in such a tone that led me to believe there was really nothing that could worsen the situation, or better it for that matter. Carrot was the one who touched him, just lightly. His eyes opened in a flutter, unseeing for a second and uncomprehending for another. They said he had been delusional for the better part of the previous days.
"Niisan..." His voice was weak, like his eyes, there was no color. He had been worn down in a matter of days and all the weakness had sprang to the surface.
Carrot talked. I didn't listen closely. It was all about food and girls and other subjects that were anything but relevant to the situation. He wanted to ignore it. We all did.
Chocolate said hello and Tira set a bright bundle of yellow flowers on the small table beside the bed "to cheer the place up a bit". Soon they noticed the look I was getting from him and decided that they wanted to talk to the doctor about one thing or another.
With the chatter gone, the room felt very silent. I stood near the bedside but didn't touch him. He didn't look as if he wanted me to. There was a machine running somewhere I couldn't see, only hear. Three seconds and then a beep. One. Two. Three. Beep. I counted this maddening cycle four times before I figured out what to say.
"So, how are you?"
"How do you think I am?" His head turned away to stare at the blank wall, it was a harsh motion.
"Marron...I..." My hands tried to explain, like the random gestures carried more meaning than my stuttered words.
"You told." Was he angry? I couldn't tell, his tone fluctuated between irate and hurt all in a soft quiet.
"I had to. You know that."
He nodded and back to look at me, forcing a smile that seemed wrong and out of place. "Talk to me Gateau..."
"What?" He had shifted over and I took a seat on the edge of the bed, habitually brushing back his mussed hair.
"Tell me things that matter, tell me what the doctors said. Talk to me like I'm not crazy."
It was in that wearied statement that I saw the past three days. Perhaps it was more than that. How long had it been since Marron had been normal? A magic user from his childhood, learning to walk in the robes of a mage, had put considerable stress on him. Then his mother's death and being sent away for school. And now? At sixteen he traveled around and killed people! So much I had not even seen.
I talked to him until he slept again. Now I sit here in the quiet waiting place, listening to the timed beeps of the hidden machine, and make a decision. I won't leave him. I'll sit here as long as it takes, and if he's moved somewhere else? Well, I'll sit there too. I'll talk to him and bring him little things and books to pass the time with. If he's too tired, I'll read them to him and if he cries I'll wipe away the tears and tell him it will all be okay.
You'll see then Marron.
You'll see, I do have what it takes.
~tbc?~
The question mark here is legitimate, I'm entirely unsure whether this is a satisfactory end or if it needs more. Please review and let me know! Any suggestions will be taken into serious consideration.
You're gonna review now, right?
Just push that little button.
Please?
Her Supreme Omni-potence,
Miko No Hoshi