Part 2
a Gundam Wing Faerie Tale
by Krista Perry

Notes: 2+H, TWT (Timeline? What Timeline?), Alt. Universe, violence, lime, disturbing themes, less-than-pure language

~*~

"Here comes a candle to light you to bed
And here comes a chopper to chop off your head."

                        - A bedtime nursery rhyme

~*~

        Duo surprised himself by waking up.

        It was not a pleasant awakening, by any stretch of the imagination. I'm alive, was his first semi-coherent thought. He knew he had to be alive, because he hurt everywhere. His head hurt so badly that just thinking was painful, so he immediately resolved not to think. At least until his head no longer felt like it was being used as the ball in a particularly violent soccer match. Ouch...

        The familiar, sharp smell of blood filled his nostrils. Blood... He hoped, dimly, that it wasn't his. But he hurt, so it probably was.

        As his head slowly stopped spinning, the throb behind his eyes gradually subsided to a dull ache. He could feel the pilot seat against his back; could feel that he was leaning forward heavily in his harness, his head hanging limply against his chest. That explained one of his aches -- he had a terrible crick in his neck. Still, he realized that he was in Deathscythe's cockpit. That was good news. At least he wasn't captured. Though how long he would stay that way unless he could pull himself together, and fast, was still in question.

        Slowly, his eyes fluttered open. In one searing moment of panic, he thought he had gone blind, until he remembered how pitch black the cockpit was without any power...

        Without... power. Shit.

        His hands felt numb and clumsy as he fumbled for the harness release. When the clasp finally unlocked, he fell forward to his hands and knees onto the cockpit vidscreens, which was when he realized that Deathscythe must be lying face down on the ground. That meant he couldn't open the main front hatch, since it was trapped against the earth. Duo silently counted his blessings that Professor G had seen fit to equip Deathscythe Hell with a small escape hatch out the back, between the wings, or he would have been trapped in darkness, utterly helpless, without power, until someone found him. And, this close to an OZ base, that "someone" would undoubtedly be the enemy.

        With a groan, Duo lifted one hand to rub at the ache in his neck, while the other tentatively probed at a strange, sharp pain in his lower abdomen. He half expected to encounter a gaping wound that would be the source of the overpowering blood smell that filled the cockpit... but his fingers only encountered the whole cloth of his t-shirt, and the feel of unmarked skin underneath. Pulling up his shirt to be sure, he felt only smooth flesh.

        Weird... Now that he was feeling slightly more lucid, he realized that, though he ached, he didn't seem to be wounded in any way. A brief wiggle of fingers and toes revealed that all limbs seemed to be in working order...

        "Then why the hell," he muttered groggily, brushing loose strands of long hair out of his eyes, "can I smell blood?"

        And there was also, of course, the even more pressing question: Why had Deathscythe lost power and fallen out of the sky?

        Several possibilities immediately came to mind, none of them comforting. Sabotage was at the top of his list, though he couldn't fathom when anyone might have had a chance to mess with his Gundam. Or worse, perhaps OZ had a new weapon -- one that could not only see through Deathscythe's cloaking systems, but that could also completely short-circuit every single one of its power cells in a split second.

        There had been that strange blue light...

        Damn. He had to think. He had to make plans. He had to finish the stupid mission, somehow. If Deathscythe wasn't working, he had to find someplace where he could contact the other pilots and get backup. He vaguely remembered seeing the lights of a nearby village, just before he had lost power...

        Groping around in the absolute darkness, fighting to push back the fuzziness that still enshrouded his brain, he found the latch to the storage compartment near the floor of the cockpit where he kept his personal things. Reaching inside, he pulled out his satchel and his leather jacket. After rummaging around in his satchel for a moment, he found the small pen light he kept handy for infiltration missions where he needed to pick locks or set explosives in darkness. With a prayer on his lips, he thumbed the on switch, and breathed a sigh of relief when a thin beam of white light stabbed through the inky black interior of the cockpit.

        Okay. So he really wasn't blind. He hadn't been too worried, but still, it was nice to know...

        After everything he had just been through, the small beam of light was comforting. "Well, hey, at least this works," he said wryly. He quickly flashed the light around the cockpit to see what damage had been done by the crash.

        To his surprise, he found none. Everything seemed to be undamaged, other than the really annoying fact that nothing seemed to be working. Not even the vidscreens were cracked. Hm...

        He sniffed. That damned blood smell... where was it coming from? Not finding anything on the surface of the cockpit after a brief inspection, he checked himself over thoroughly.

        Nothing. No hidden wounds that start to hurt only when you notice them. His black jeans, that he wore for missions specifically because they hid blood stains well, were remarkably blood-free. Hell, looking at his hands, he couldn't even find a hangnail.

        But he could smell blood. He knew it was blood, and a lot of it, from experience. It was not the kind of smell you could forget. Like the images of a smoking, crumbling church and the unfortunate innocents it had housed, it was seared into his mind forever. That he could smell it so powerfully, and yet not see anything, was starting to freak him out a bit.

        So he decided not to think about it. No use in dwelling on something you couldn't understand, he figured, when other matters were more pressing. Pushing the disturbing smell to the back of his mind, he focused instead on working to get Deathscythe up and running again. He crawled over to the a small red switch to the lower left of the cockpit. The emergency cold reboot switch that Professor G had installed, on the off chance that Deathscythe ever completely lost power, down to the last circuit. Though the chances of that happening without actually self-destructing, the Prof had said, were one in a million...

        Duo reached over, flipped the switch up firmly, then snapped it back down into the power position.

        Absolutely nothing happened. The cockpit remained dark and powerless.

        "Oooo-kay..." Duo groaned, his stomach sinking. "Shit. Looks like it's on to Plan B."

        For him, Plan B was always the same thing: When Everything Has Gone to Hell, Improvise Like Crazy.

        Holding the pen light between his teeth, he crawled back over to his satchel, then foraged through it with both hands, retrieving his pistol and shoulder holster. Strapping the holster on and having the familiar weight of the gun by his side immediately made him feel more secure. Quickly shrugging into his black leather jacket, he reached into the satchel and grabbed several extra clips of ammo, which he shoved into the jacket's deep pockets, along with several small golf-ball-sized grenades for good measure. He reluctantly left behind the C-4, bars of plastic explosive, and his personal home-made detonators. One thing was for certain, however: If he was captured by OZ, it wasn't going to be without a fight.

         Last, he grabbed a small compass that fit easily in the palm of his hand, thinking of that village he'd glimpsed to the east, near the river. "Always be prepared," he quipped, the penlight wobbling as he held it in his teeth. "Tha's me! Jus' like a fricken' boy scout." With storm clouds obscuring the stars, and a landscape as flat as a pancake, he knew it would be all too easy for him to get lost. If he went east, he was sure to hit the river, and from there, civilization wouldn't be far away.

        Finally, taking the pen light out of his mouth and holding it in his right fist, he crawled over to another storage compartment and pulled out a half-folded, half-wadded nylon camouflage net. If, by some remote chance, he wasn't already surrounded by OZ forces, he wanted to do whatever he could to make sure Deathscythe was as inconspicuous as possible. Grinning a little, feeling a bit more in control of the situation now that he was actually doing something constructive, he then climbed up on the back of the pilot's chair to open the hatch, only to inadvertently smack his head against back-turned-ceiling.

        "Ouch! Dammit..." he muttered, rubbing his forehead for a moment. "This is not my night." Reaching up, a bit more carefully, he grasped the manual release for the back hatch, twisted and pulled, and heard a satisfying click.

        Opening the hatch itself was a pain -- literally, he discovered. Without even back-up battery power to help him out with such simple things as opening escape hatches, he had to push the thick Gundanium armor plate open by his own strength alone. He was a lot stronger than he looked, he was pleased to say -- it always made his enemies underestimate him -- but pitting his slender 95 pound, "five-foot-short" body against a meter-thick wall of metal was another matter. By the time he managed to push the hatch open, he was sweating and gasping for breath in between curses, and the ache in his head was pounding like a kettle drum.

        Duo's first glimpse of the outside was hardly reassuring. The storm clouds roiling overhead looked ready to burst, and the fierce, harsh wind that howled and tugged at the unprotected skin of his face and hands was bitter cold. His leather jacket, more than warm enough for the safehouse in the southern Mediterranean area where he and the other pilots were currently holing up, was no match for an England winter, he thought morosely.

        Well, it could have been worse, he thought, trying to find a bright side to his situation. I could have popped my head out of this hatch only to find myself surrounded by OZ troops.  The bleak winter landscape, stretching flat and endless in all directions, was surprisingly free of any form of life, let alone a bunch of soldiers investigating a crashed Gundam.

        On second thought, Duo amended, shivering as the wind whipped his loose hair about his numbed face, maybe it wasn't so surprising. It was damn cold outside. Nobody in their right mind would be out on a night like this.

        With that thought, he crawled despondently out of his Gundam, and began covering it with the camouflage net, fighting against the wind all the way to keep it secure. "I always knew I was crazy," he muttered.

        Still, he mused, the absence of OZ was slightly reassuring in that it meant that it was possible that they weren't behind his mysterious crash after all. It might even mean they didn't know he was out there, in which case, it was still possible to salvage the mission.

        All he needed to do now was find a phone, call the guys for back-up, and tell them that he needed help because his Gundam inexplicably lost power and crashed for no reason that he could comprehend.

        Sure. Simple as that.

        Argh... Heero was never gonna let him hear the end of this...

        Penlight and compass in hand, he quickly got his directional bearings. Slipping them back in his pockets, he grit his teeth resolutely, fighting the urge to chatter, and pulled his collar up around his chin. Glancing back at the shrouded, camouflaged Deathscythe one last time, he hunched down into his jacket, stuffed his hands deep into his pockets, leaned into the icy wind, and started trudging east.

        Twenty minutes later, he was really wishing he had stayed back in Deathscythe's cockpit. At least until the wind stopped blowing. The wind chill factor was a killer.

        He couldn't feel his face any more. It was numb and cold to the point that he didn't dare smile or move any other facial muscles for fear that his face would crack and fall off. Frost was starting to form on his eyelashes. His neck wasn't as cold, only because he had taken his braid and wrapped it around his neck like a scarf. It also served to prevent most of the wind from blowing down the front of his jacket. His jeans provided some protection, but he knew he'd kill at that moment for a pair of thermal underwear and a full-length coat. And a hat. Earmuffs would be nice, too. The wind had given him an earache that seemed to reach all the way down the ear canal to his throat.

        Yes, Duo thought grimly, if Santa Claus had walked by just then, he would have mugged him on the spot, and happily walked into town wearing red and white fur.

        A particularly fierce gust whipped past him, stinging his eyes, and tugging his braid from is place around his neck, exposing the skin there to stinging cold. Duo flinched as he quickly scrambled to get the braid back in place, but the wind kept tugging it loose from his numb fingers.

        "Argh! Damn wind," he cursed loudly through frozen lips. "Just stop for a minute, will ya?"

        The wind died instantly.

        Almost instantly. He could hear it rush off in the distance across the dark plane, wailing like a wounded beast, before fading away to a whisper of its former fury.

        Duo blinked.

        A nervous chuckle escaped him in the sudden, echoing silence. This was too freaky. "Damn, I, uh... I guess I shoulda said that sooner, eh?" he said to no one in particular. No one was around to hear him. Just the cold, darkness of the night-shrouded plane stretching out forever around him. Duo looked down and noticed a thin bleak fog that seemed to rise from the earth itself, creeping moist and icy around his ankles.

        "Oh, this is nice," he said wryly. "All that's missing now to completely this lovely scene is the graveyard. A few gnarled trees, a black cat, some sunken tombstones..." Duo realized he was speaking just for the comfort of the sound of his own voice. Anything but the sudden, eerie silence. He reached into his pockets and pulled out the compass again to make sure he was headed the right direction, and hoped that his hands were shaking only because of the cold.

        East. Right. Thataway.

        Duo started in that direction at a brisk walk. He could hear the frozen ground crunch beneath his feet, which was comforting, since the gray mist was thickening to the point that he could no longer see his boots. It swirled around his legs with each step, cloying and clinging, like a living thing . Storm clouds above, mist below, and he was trapped in the black gloom between.

        Shit. Stupid English countryside. Where was the damn village already?

        His heartbeat and his breathing were loud in his ears as he paced his careful steps, keeping an unconscious count of the miles. Another fifteen minutes passed, with no sign of a river or a village or anything.

        "I know I saw a village, dammit. I know I saw it."

        I should have stayed with Deathscythe, he thought. The first thin threads of real fear were slowly weaving their way through his heart. Too many unexplainable things were going on.

        I should turn back, he thought. I should go back to Deathscythe, and wait for the guys to find me. Or OZ, even. I shouldn't be out here. What the hell am I doing out here?

        It was then that he heard the breathing.

        Breathing, not his own. Breathing, heavy, quiet. It wasn't there, and then it was, in the silence.

        Right behind him.

        Duo kept walking, not breaking his stride, but his shoulders were tense, his eyes wide, his lips thin and white as he stared at the ground in front of him.

        The sound of breathing followed. But no footsteps. No crunching of the frozen ground beneath boots. Just breathing.

        Duo's right hand slowly crept up to unzip his jacket, then slip inside to where his gun rested in the shoulder holster. Yes, a gun would be good now, he thought somewhat incoherently. Must have gun. His other hand was in his pocket, palming a grenade, even as a slightly wild gleam lit his blue-violet eyes.

        Ha ha ha, sucker. Thought you could sneak up on Shinigami? Thought you could scare the shit out of me? Well, you thought right, but that's irrelevant. That won't stop me from blowing you into little bitty pieces of whatever the hell it is you are that can breathe like a friggin' obscene phone call and yet not make any sound on the snow...

        Pulling the gun out of his jacket in one smooth, swift motion, Duo turned...

        ...and came face to face with a dog.

        Not really a dog, Duo thought, with the utter calm that only comes with the onset of madness. More like a Dog. A big Dog, standing at least five feet at the shoulder, that looked like it ate ponies for breakfast. A big, big Dog, that looked like it had wandered off from guarding the gates of Hell. Black fur. Canine lips pulled back in a silent snarl to expose gleaming white teeth the size of steak knives. Flaming red eyes that bored into his soul, promising a painful, bloody death. The works.

        And it was breathing.

        "Oh," Duo gasped, "shit."

        The Dog opened its mouth, bloody foam and saliva slipping from its gaping maw, its eyes blazing as it leaned back in a crouch, readying to leap--

        Duo fired his gun.

        The bullet struck the Dog dead center in the chest.

        The beast howled in agony, a sound like the shrieking of damned souls, and it lunged, snarling, slavering jaws agape...

        Duo could only stand, frozen in wide-eyed terror. But his trigger finger jerked, once, twice, three times...

        The Dog's jaws snapped shut a scant centimeter from Duo's nose. He could feel the creature's breath against his face. It smelled like rotting corpses.

        And then the Dog burst into a black mist, dissolving away into the night without a sound.

        Duo stood on the frozen plane. His breath came in heaving gasps. His gun fell from the numb fingers of his still-outstretched, shaking hand. Chill sweat ran in rivulets down his face, trickling down his back.

        The dark, swollen clouds opened, drenching the countryside in blinding sheets of icy sleet. Under the sudden onslaught of freezing rain, Duo fell to his knees, one hand reaching out to where his gun lay, but not quite touching it.

        He sat there for a long time.

~*~

        "Wow, it's really coming down out there."

        Sharon looked away from the rain-drenched window as Neville sat down next to her again, once again seeking escape from the rowdy atmosphere at the center of the pub. He slid a shot of whiskey in front of her. She eyed the amber liquid suspiciously, before favoring the balding, red-bearded High Druid with a raised eyebrow.

        "Here," he said, ignoring her glare. "You look like you could use it."

        "The only thing I could use right now is a magic circle of protection large enough to surround the whole damn planet," she replied.

        "Well," Neville said, "we could probably set one up via some sort of satellite system."

        Sharon laughed, and Neville grinned. "Oh, sure," she said. "Think we can get approval from the Romerfeller Federation to do it?"

        "They'd probably fund the damn thing, if they knew what we knew."

        "Ah." Sharon lifted the whiskey to her lips and took a sip, grimacing as she did. "So, are you volunteering to be the one to try to convince them?"

        "Hell no."

        Sharon shook her head. "Heh. Thought not."

        "Hey, Neville?"

        The pair looked up as their table was approached by a young man in his early twenties with blue hair, and piercings in his ear, nose, and lips. A small Celtic cross was tattooed just under his right eye.

        "Alex?" Neville acknowledged.

        "Me an' the others," Alex nodded his head back towards the center of the pub. "We were wondering if you were planning on canceling the ceremony at Stonehenge if this weather keeps up."

        Neville shook his head sharply. "Bad weather or no, I'll be celebrating Winter Solstice within Stonehenge." The look on his face, Sharon noted, said I have to.

        Which was true enough. And she would be with him, even if it meant standing out in the bloody rain and snow. If they could just make it through the ceremony, on the longest, darkest night of the year, it might buy them a little more time...

        "You don't have to be there if you don't want to," Neville continued, looking at Alex. "If the weather's rough, you and the others can celebrate Solstice indoors."

        Alex looked appalled. "No way, mate. I traveled all the way down here from Leeds to celebrate at Stonehenge, and that's bloody well what I'm gonna do. I just wanted to make sure you didn't want to cancel."

        Neville grinned. "Well, then, you can tell the others not to worry. We'll be at Stonehenge tomorrow night, even if the sky is dumping flaming hail." Which is a possibility, all things considering, he added silently.

        Alex was about to respond, when the door to the pub swung open. Everyone turned to look at the newcomer, wondering who would be mad enough to be out in this weather.

        A small, slender, shivering figure stepped through the doorway. The figure, dressed in black, was drenched to the skin.

        At first, Sharon thought it was a girl, because of the long, dripping hair, torn loose from a braid, that fell past the child's knees.

        But no, it was a boy, Sharon realized in surprise, even as she pushed herself up from her chair and rushed towards him to pull him inside. Neville was right behind her, closing the door against the driving sleet that was soaking the hardwood floor.

        "Great goddess, boy," she said, bending down to look him in the face. The boy's hand in hears was cold and clammy. His skin was frighteningly pale, his startling blue-violet eyes too wide in his face. He was shaking so badly, he looked on the verge of a seizure. "What do you think you're doing out on a night like this?"

        "Exc-c-cuse me," he stuttered, teeth chattering, turning his wide eyes toward her, though, from the blank look in them, she wondered if he was seeing her at all. The rough baritone of his voice made her realize that he was older than he looked.. "I... n-need to m-mak-ke a phone c-c-call."

        And with that, his eyes rolled to the back of his head, and he collapsed in her arms.

~*~

End of Chapter 2

On to Chapter 3

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