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A Stagnation of Love (rewrite)	By : shinigamiinochi Category: Gundam Wing/AC > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 2207 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing AC or the characters from it. I am making no money from this story

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
A Stagnation of Love

Chapter 3

Part 6
　

Quatre and I passed the time waiting for his sister show up by playing tic, tack, toe on the underside of his cast with the different colored markers, bickering over who got which color at the start of each new game. It was nice to talk about something so utterly pointless and neither of us brought up what we had been talking about earlier. I would rather just forget it entirely myself, but I knew that as soon as I tried to sleep when I got home, it would be the only thing I could think about. Quatre won almost every game, but I didn't mind. It was nice just being with him after my scare of almost losing him.

One of our games was interrupted by a nurse bustling in to check on Quatre. She wasn't the same redhead that had assisted Doctor Michells, but she checked my bandages while I was it, pleased to see that they were still in place and clean looking. She gave us both a serving of pain pills, which I eagerly swallowed with the cup of water she had put on the bedside table before bustling out again. I had begun to feel the small aches and pains in my back that had told me the original painkillers the doctor had given me were threatening to wear off soon. Quatre's pills looked different than mine and I wondered if they were a larger dose. He stared at them for a moment before following my lead.

"Ugh," he made a face as he swallowed them, "Why do these things have to be so bitter?"

I couldn't help but laugh a little at his facial expression. I had gotten used to the taste of pain pills, but they were never something that I enjoyed taking.

"My dad told me once that the worse medicine tastes, the more you know it's working," I said cheekily.

"And did he have any words of wisdom as to why they make pills that you have to take, like antibiotics, so big?" he grumbled.

"To torture you with?" I shrugged, "Just be glad you don't have a cold. That cherry cough syrup shit is foul."

He shuddered in memory. I guess he had been subjected to that stuff in the past, too.

"Well, I'd take nasty cough syrup and horse pills any day over that mist shit they made me breathe when I was stuck here for almost a month with pneumonia," I almost gagged remembering, "That stuff had smell foul and tasted worse and just breathing it in made me feel like I was suffocating. All it did was make me cough until I hacked up the crap that was in my lungs. There wasn't a single good thing about that stuff."

I had told Quatre all about the reasons why I hadn't entered the public school system until the fourth grade, including the bad bout of pneumonia I had gotten when I had been eight years old, preventing me from entering the third grade. I hadn't talked much about that time in the hospital, though, because I didn't like thinking about it. How lonely I had been, how my parents had seldom visited me due to their jobs.

I can't remember if my mother ever had, but I remember my father bringing me books to read and sitting with me during a few treatments. I think I would have gone insane with the solitude and fear of being in that hospital room, sick and weak and worrying that I was dying and no one was telling me the truth were it not for his visits and the nurses going out of their way to talk to me and play board games with me on the days that I was strong enough.

I would never tell Quatre this, but I don't like hospitals. I won't say that I hate them, but I've spent too many nights wracked with pain and sickness in them to not be frightened of them. I guess that's one of the reasons why Quatre being admitted there had freaked me out so much. If I had been older, an adult, maybe hospitals wouldn't bother me so much.

But the thing about being a kid stuck in a hospital to be treated is that no one really tells you what's going on, what's wrong with your, or they sugar coat it so much that they make it seem like they don't think your pain and discomfort is that big of a deal. They don't realize that when your body is telling you there is something wrong, an adult telling you that you're fine or you will be fine like it's nothing isn't comforting.

I'm sure that all those doctors and nurses that had taken care of me as a child had thought that they were doing me a favor by not telling me what was really going on, that hearing that my arm was broken in three places or that I had internal bleeding would just frighten me. But not knowing the truth and fearing the worst, thinking I was going to die or lose a limb and worse, seeing all those adults around me as distrustful and outright lying to me was what had frightened me.

There was no way that I could have told Quatre any of that. He was already so touchy about my dad hitting me all the time, knowing that I had spent so much time in the hospital that I had actually developed a fear of it would have just started an argument, which was the exact reason why I had never told him how I had gotten pneumonia. The quick version being that my father had caught me rooting around in some of his and Mom's stuff in the basement when I really wasn't supposed to, and he had punched me so hard in the chest for it that he had broken one of my ribs, puncturing my right lung.

The puncture itself had been small and not that big of a deal, or it wouldn't have been if my dad hadn't waited a week to get it treated, but the infection that had been responsible for my pneumonia had been much worse. My lungs hadn't been able to cope with it very well at that point. Another story that my best friend really didn't need to know.

Quatre's phone suddenly vibrated where it had been placed on the bedside table. He made a grab for it, but it was too far for him to reach. I snagged it before he could try to roll over in bed to get closer to it. The phone had a crack over the front display, no doubt from the 'accident'. He shot me a grumpy look, but I just cheekily flipped his phone open and read the text message.

'Just arrived, meet me at reception.'

Great, his sister was here. Now we could get the hell out of this place. I handed him his phone.

"Time to go," I couldn't help but smile, even though I wasn't exactly looking forward to going home any more than I was looking forward to staying in that hospital room. I was trying not think about how angry my father probably was at me, between being called at work by the hospital and the fact that it was my turn to take out the garbage, and it was now very, very late.

"I suppose I'll have to get dressed," Quatre mused after reading his sister's text, not acting surprised at how curt the message was, and looked down at his hospital gown mournfully.

"Do you need help?" I asked.

He shook his head.

"Well, probably," he smirked as he sat up in bed and swung his legs to the opposite side that I was sitting next to. On the chair on that side were clothes similar to the ones I had been gifted with. I guess it really was a service, "but I need to get used to dressing myself with this arm."

He handed me his cell phone back and I slipped it into my pocket for safe keeping. A sudden thought came to me.

"Shit," I muttered.

"What is it?" Quatre paused in wrestling with the shirt he had been given.

"Our stuff..." I shook my head at myself.

I had been so worried about surviving our near death experience, I had completely forgotten about our things. Quatre had had his phone in his pocket, but he had dropped his backpack in the middle of the road. Who knew where his stuff was. I had dropped mine on the curb when I had ran out after him. Was it still there? Probably not. No, definitely not. Either someone had stolen it or Relena had tossed it. There was absolutely no way some good Samaritan had saved it for me, not with the bitch standing right there. If I was lucky, I would recover it to find something nasty inside, maybe my textbooks trashed. If not, it was floating in a sewer or in a dumpster. Fuck her. On top of everything, she would not miss an opportunity to mess with me.

I rubbed tiredly at my eyes and felt fresh tears there. It wasn't a big deal, I told myself. It wasn't like I had had money in my bag. But in some ways, I had. All of my textbooks and homework assignments for the night had been in there. Plus the only calculator I owned and the study sheets Quatre had made for me to help me study for the regional tests. All of it, gone. I couldn't afford to buy a new textbook, let alone all of them. I wouldn't even be able to finish my homework. My perfect streak, ruined.

"Maybe... maybe if I tell the principal what happened, he'll waive the textbook fee," I mused out loud.

"Don't be silly," Quatre scoffed, still trying to figure out how to unhook his sling so he get the shirt on without lifting his injured arm too much, "I'll buy you new books, a new calculator, too. The one you were using was outdated anyway."

"Quatre-" I started to protest and he glared at me.

"Don't," he actually sounded kind of angry, "You saved my life, the least I can do is buy you new textbooks. It's just money, Duo, and it will make me feel better. Now, if you want to be an idiot and think you need to repay me, help me unhook this stupid thing."

I eagerly stood up, wincing a little as I felt my back protest, but managed to make my way over to him. I undid the sling and very gently helped him lower his arm. I turned around when he started to undo the string holding his hospital gown closed with his good hand. I could hear him struggle and grunt and curse under his breath as he tried to dress himself, knowing how hard that was with a broken arm, but he managed it on his own, even if it took a great deal of time. Well, if his sister was annoyed that she had been waiting for us, she could suck it as far as I was concerned.

I turned back around when I felt him tug on the back of my shirt. I wondered if the hospital expected these clothes back or we got to keep them. Unless someone actually told me to give them back, I wasn't going to, I decided. I wasn't one to turn down free anything, especially clothes. I was in mourning for my jeans. I only had two pairs and the ones that the doctor had cut off of me had, unfortunately, been my less worn down ones. Maybe if I offered to do extra chores, my dad would buy me another pair, or I could find some at the thrift store that weren't too run down.

I helped Quatre re-attach his sling and hoped that one of his sisters would help him with it when he needed to change clothes or shower since he was having such a hard time with it, at least until he was able to move his arm a bit better.

"Will either of your parents pick you up if you call them?" Quatre asked me as he took his cell phone back and slipped it into the pocket of his hospital issue sweat pants.

I shrugged.

"My dad is the only one who has a car. He probably won't come, he might not even answer the phone this late at night," I said.

It depended on how many beers he had had by now, and just how angry he was at me.

"In that case, Lily will drive you home," he smiled at me like this was no big deal.

"She isn't going to want to do that," I pointed out, "I can make it home just fine on my own."

I didn't want to walk all the way back to my house. From the hospital, it was about an equal distance to Quatre's house as it was to mine, but just the thought of trudging in the dark with my back and knees the way they were made me feel drained. I was still getting over my shock, and hopped up on painkillers to boot. I would be lucky if I stepped into my house under my own power instead of blacking out in the street.

That would be hysterical. Duo survives getting almost hit by a truck only to get run over on the way home after collapsing in the middle of the damned road. It wasn't even that much of an exaggeration. I was so tired at that point, all I wanted to do was lie down in Quatre's hospital bed and let the blackness of sleep take me. At least I couldn't do my homework without my textbooks or I would be struggling to stay awake as soon as I got home.

"I don't care what she wants," Quatre said, "She's going to drive you home. It's 9:30 at night, you aren't going to go walking around in the dark where anyone could mug you or something."

"You'd have to have something to steal for that to happen," I rolled my eyes at him.

"And even if you're on pain pills, you still hurt your back. You'll only make your injuries worse and you are far too tired for that long trek," he pointedly ignored my comment, "She is going to drive you home."

He trudged to the door and I noticed his limp for the first time. The deep scrapes from the pavement and his broken arm weren't the only thing that had been injured. I had to have bruised him pretty badly when I had tackled him and he was definitely favoring his side like I would have been if my back wasn't such a bigger problem. I snatched our prescriptions and followed him out.

"Should we get a wheelchair?" I asked him.

I didn't like watching how stiff he was as we walked out of his hospital room, but my concern only made him scoff at me.

"If you can manage to walk, then I certainly can. I'm not the one with the injured back," he said almost snidely.

I wondered just how much information his doctor had told him, if he knew just how badly I was hurt. I didn't think so. I think that if he had known about the stitches, he would have insisted on getting a wheelchair for me. I think that he had thought that I had been exaggerating when I had said I had almost gotten flayed, and I was ok with that. He didn't need to know the truth. He signed himself out at the reception desk on our floor and got directed to the elevator that would bring us right to reception on the first where Quatre's sister was waiting for us.

Lily Winner was exceptionally pretty. She wasn't pretty in the way that Relena was with her straightened hair, manicured nails, and very feminine mannerisms, this girl was pretty on a bad day, without ever having to try. Her skin was as pale and perfect as Quatre's was and she had the same shade of blonde hair that was almost white, only hers was shoulder length and curly. Her eyes, a deep blue instead of blue-green, were perfectly almond shaped, her lips a shy shade of pink.

She looked like a super model, but one that would look less pretty with make-up on. She wasn't even wearing the pricey clothes that Relena liked. Instead of some lacey skirt or cardigan sweater, she was wearing very dark blue jeans that molded to her long, thin legs perfectly and a blue t-shirt with the logo of some rock band on it. If I had been any other boy, I would have fallen in love with her and her down to earth looks, again, I felt zero attraction to a girl I should have at least gotten a small crush on. When she saw us, she gave Quatre an irritated look, but under that, I thought I saw concern, but maybe I had only seen it because I had wanted it to be there.

"Dad is going to kill you," she ranted at her little brother, sounding very annoyed that she had to come all the way out there in the middle of the night, "What the heck were you doing running out in the middle of a busy street for?!"

I guessed that Quatre had already told her his abridged story of what happened, but he blushed darkly. I don't think he was in the habit of lying to his sisters.

"I didn't look where I was going," he muttered.

Lily sighed in exasperation.

"You had better enjoy the peace and quiet tonight," she warned snidely, "because tomorrow he is going to lecture you to hell and back about that. You really broke your arm, huh? Serves you right, doing something so stupid."

Quatre took all this like a champ, I thought. I wouldn't say that his older sister looked down on him, but they weren't exactly warm with each other, either. It seemed pretty typical with some siblings, I guess. Sometimes I resented being an only child.

"You the kid that pushed him out of the way?" those big blue eyes suddenly zeroed in on me.

I nodded shyly.

"His name is Duo, he's my friend," Quatre confirmed awkwardly. He obviously didn't talk to his siblings much, or rather they didn't talk to him much and they were as unknowledgeable in his life and friendships as my parents were.

"Thanks for saving his life," she said seriously and reached out her hand to me.

"It-" I was about to say that it was no big deal, but even I knew that it had been, so I just nodded and shook her hand.

"You ready to go or what?" she asked Quatre impatiently.

"I have prescriptions," he started to say and I handed him his.

"Leave them on the kitchen counter and mom will take care of it before you go to school tomorrow... unless you're too hurt to go?" her annoyed tone melted into one that was very concerned as she studied him for a moment.

Quatre shook his head.

"My arm hurts a lot, but I can go," he confirmed.

"Then let's get out of here. I was in the middle of a very important phone call," she huffed in exasperation.

Quatre turned to me and mouthed 'boyfriend', rolling his eyes. A dorky little laugh exploded from me. I couldn't help it. I was so worn down by everything that had happened and that had struck me as stupidly funny for some reason. I blamed it on the medication.

"His name is Jeff!" she yelled at him, her pale face turning bright red and making her look kind of like a blonde strawberry.

One of the nurses at the reception desk, who wasn't the one that I remembered seeing when I had carried Quatre in hours ago, glared at us, doing that stupid finger to the lips thing.

"Really?" Quatre quipped dryly, "I thought it was 'studmuffin'."

She smacked him on the back of the head.

"Come on, you shit, some of us have a life," she grumbled.

"Duo needs a ride home," my friend suddenly slid that in there like some kind of verbal ninja, "I told him you would drive him."

She glared at him, obviously annoyed that he had put words in her mouth like that.

"And why can't his parents pick him up?" her tone turned testy and I wondered if she really was this angry to have been dragged away from her boyfriend's phone call or if she was always like this.

"We tried to reach them," Quatre, the one that always seemed to have such a hard time with lying, did so like... well, me, "but his mother works late and his father isn't picking up the phone. He probably fell asleep. He doesn't have anyone else he can call and he doesn't have money for a taxi or bus."

Those severe blue eyes softened as she looked at me, but only minutely.

"Where do you live?" she asked me.

"Granite Ave in South Nausten," Quatre answered for me.

Her eyes widened a little as she stared incredulously at her brother. I could already see the gears going in her head as she realized what section of town that I lived in. It was the same thing I saw happen every time I told someone where I lived, especially if they lived up North. She then glanced at me suspiciously and I knew exactly what she was thinking, that I was some kind of thug or degenerate because most of the people that are thugs and degenerates in this town come from where I live.

South Nausten might as well be a different town from everywhere else. Only the people that live here seem to understand that where you live doesn't define who you are as a person. Just because you live North, it doesn't mean you're a good person, either, just look at Zechs Darlian.

"There is no way I am going to South Nausten this late at night, Nathaniel," Lily exclaimed in an almost yell. At this rate we were going to get thrown out of the hospital, "I'm going to get car jacked-"

"Well, it's where Duo lives," Quatre's voice turned icy cold and sounded far older than he was, "so unless you want to leave him here for the night, I guess you'll just have to risk it, Lily."

She huffed.

"Fine," she conceded angrily, "but if anything happens to me or my baby, it's all your fault."

She turned to storm out of reception, the two of us nipping at her heels, when she suddenly stopped and glanced back at him.

"You know," she said with a tone that I could only call serious and somber somehow, "you sound just like Dad when you talk like that."

Quatre looked down at the ground, suddenly very quiet and pensive at her statement, making me wonder what exactly was so awful about sounding like his father. We obediently followed her towards the exit and I finally remembered my manners.

"Um, thanks for driving me home. I really appreciate it."

Lily waved a hand at me like it wasn't a big deal when it had been just minutes before. I just barely remembered to grab my medications on our way past the pharmacy. They were already paid for, unlike Quatre's, so it only took a couple of minutes. Yet another thing to add to my ever growing list of things that I had, back then, intended to one day pay him back for. At least, that was what I told myself to assuage my guilt.

We drove in silence, Lily didn't even turn on the radio. I was the first one to break it, feeding my best friend's sister directions to my house. I was very happy that she didn't make any comments about anything on the way there, although I think she had wanted to, especially when we passed by a couple of abandoned apartment buildings all boarded up, some teens smoking pot standing in front of it. I saw her wrinkle her nose in the mirror, but she didn't say anything about them carrying out obvious illegal activity in broad... well night time, but still in public.

Frankly, I was used to it. It wasn't like my side of town was a crack den, but it was the place even people who lived up North often went to if they wanted to score things like marijuana. It was an easy money maker and so rampant that the cops almost turned a blind eye to it. Despite all the lectures I had heard in school about how horrible pot was, most of the stuff they told us was an obvious lie, and while it was illegal, it didn't hold a candle to what meth could do to a person.

If the police needed to make an arrest, they could just rustle up a dealer, easy, but they never charged them with much. It was a waste of their time. But for someone like Lily Winner, it was pretty shocking I guess. Personally, I didn't care about the flagrant pot smoking that went around in my side of town. I had no desire to try that crap, not with the way it smelled, and it was just another thing I wouldn't be able to buy anyway. It was just a stupid thing that older kids did, I didn't really understand it. I had thought about selling it once, when someone had approached me about it, but the guy's friend had just cuffed him upside the head and pointed out I was a cop's kid. I had forgotten about it since. I knew that Zechs smoked it, but how often, I had no clue, and he also smoked cigarettes. Finding someone to buy from for someone like him was probably easy.

And then, finally, we were outside of my house. I wondered what Quatre thought about my house, if he pitied me when he thought about his own huge home or if he just thought this was normal. At least my house didn't look as bad as one of the homes across the street that had trash in the front yard and no less than half of the wood of the house looked rotten. My house was just very small and, well, quaint, but not dilapidated.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Quatre called out to me when I stepped out of the car. I nodded to him.

'Good luck,' I mouthed to him, thinking about what Lily had said about how angry and disappointed in him his father was. I knew all about disappointed fathers.

Quatre had been so subdued during the ride, but he smiled widely at me then and waved. Lily was all too happy to turn her car around and speed off. I wasn't all that sad to see her go. And then it was just me on what passed as my front lawn, looking at my house. My back throbbed dully in time with my fucked up knees. I didn't want to go in and I didn't want to keep standing there. I just wanted to fall onto my mattress for about a kajillion hours. I took a deep breath and walked into my house.

I half expected my father to be standing there at the door, waiting to scream at me, maybe sucker punch me, but I managed to walk in and close the door behind me, very quietly, unmolested. I couldn't even hear the television on, which could mean anything and nothing at all. I headed to the kitchen, wanting a drink of water and to wash my face in the sink before heading up to bed. I should also probably read the label on the pain pills the hospital had given me to see how often I could take them. I had just taken a dose, but my back was still aching.

I froze as I saw my father sitting at the kitchen table, reading through some bills. He didn't say anything at first and I thought that he didn't notice me there. Maybe, if I continued to be quiet, he wouldn't realize I was home, I thought. Fat chance of that happening. I took a single step into the kitchen and he looked up from what he had been reading, glancing at me with his dark grey eyes. He didn't look mad, and I couldn't see a single beer can around, but that really meant nothing.

'Please, not my back,' I thought in insane desperation, 'if he hits me, just don't let it be my back.'

"The hospital called," he said very suddenly, looking back down at the bill in his hand, "something about you getting hit by a car?"

He sounded more curious than annoyed, even though he had gotten that call at work. I dared to hope that I could get past this ok and let go of the breath I had been holding in. I walked past him to put the bags of medicine and cream onto the kitchen counter.

"It was a truck," I clarified with my severely edited version of the story. He was going to hear about Quatre's version of it eventually, so I might as well keep it as close to that as possible, "and it didn't really hit me, it just almost did. I fell under it before it could hit me. The under carriage caught my back, so they kept me in the hospital for a bit to make sure it wasn't serious."

"And was it?" he asked, still not looking at me. He was being strangely calm.

"I had to get some stitches," I confessed, "and the truck was overheated, so I got burned. The doctor said they're second degree. He gave me some cream and medicine for it."

"That it?" he looked at the bags on the counter.

I nodded.

"Leave it there," he told me, "I want to see what the side effects are," his eyes finally met mine and he regarded me. Whatever he saw on my face made him frown, "Don't bother with the trash tonight, I'll get it. Just go to bed."

I couldn't help but blink at him like an idiot for a moment. He had been worried about me, it dawned on me. He had gotten that call from the hospital and instead of being annoyed, he had actually been worried. Not enough to drive to the hospital to check on me or try to pick me up, but a hell of a lot more worried than he usually seemed to me. That was the thing.

My father was often a closed book, so it was unfair to say that he never got worried when he hurt me, but he never showed it like he was now. Even knowing that I was more or less ok, he still looked concerned when he looked at me. I felt this intense burning of love for him then, something that was not all that rare for me, but it was hard sometimes, loving him. It wasn't that night. Even if it was just for that one day, my father had loved me and worried about me.

I walked to him and kissed his cheek.

"I love you, Dad," I told him softly, unable to stop the words from coming out.

He didn't repeat them back to me, but he carefully wound his arm around my waist and pulled me into a half-hug at his side, sure that he wasn't touching my back. That embrace, as careful as it was, was strong, but he didn't hurt me. It made me ache for a moment, the reminder of his strength, the reminder that he could love me with that strength or hurt me, and it made the hug a bittersweet thing, but it felt mostly sweet to me.

"Go on," he said and released me.

I poured myself a glass of water and walked up the steps to the attic, stopping in the bathroom only to splash some water on my face and brush my teeth. When I was in my bedroom, I gulped down the water like I was dying of thirst and laid down on my side on my mattress, not even bothering to take my clothes off. I was dead to the world the second my head touched my pillow.
*****
I can still remember some of the nightmares that I had that night. One in particular. It would be the one that would haunt my sleep all the way up until we got our regional test scores back a week later. By then, I had an entirely new nightmare that replaced all of my other ones. I don't need a shrink to dissect the nightmare I had that night after saving Quatre from that truck.

I was back on that street corner, watching the truck approach my best friend. This time when I tried to run to save him, Zechs was there, grabbing me, holding me back. The truck wasn't just a truck. It had teeth like a crocodile and moved like a train on a straight track, or a battering ram. When it hit Quatre, it pulverized him in a spray of blood. As I screamed, there was nothing left of him that could possibly be identified as human. As the truck got closer and closer to where I was, Zechs threw me out in front of it.

Although it had only been a dream, I can still remember the phantom pain of it hitting me, the thud it had made that was really just my memory of the sound the bumper had made hitting Quatre's arm. As the dream progressed in its horrible trek, I ended up in the hospital with Dr. Michells leaning over me. He told me that the truck had damaged my legs too severely to be saved and he was going to have to cut them both off. He reached for a rusty, dull saw and told me that I would never run again, that my parents would have to take care of me for the rest of their lives, their endless burden. As he was sawing my legs off, I saw Relena in the corner of the hospital room, laughing at me.

When I awoke that morning, for several minutes, I was positive that I couldn't walk and that the dream had been real. It had taken too long to realize that the agony I was feeling was my skinned knees and ripped up back, not the stumps of my legs. I think, if my back had been ok and I had been able to walk without searing pain, I would have thrown up with that nightmare still fresh in my head, but I hadn't and not wanting to clean up my own vomit, I had managed to hold it in somehow.

My walk down the steps was slow, lethargic, and stiff as I tried to do everything in my power to get my hurting legs to work and not aggravate my back any worse. How I managed to make it into the kitchen without blacking out is a mystery. I have never experienced agony like that in my life. Skinning and burns hurt like fucking hell. I would rather have all of my limbs broken. It's impossible not to use your back no matter what you're doing, and my knees just burned when I wasn't using them. Worse, they itched. I knew that was a good thing, it meant that they were healing, but I couldn't even look at them, let alone scratch them.

Thankfully, I had woken up an hour before I usually did, so my slow walk to the kitchen didn't make me late for school. Looking back, I probably should have stayed home with the amount of pain I was in, but I told myself that if Quatre was well enough to go to school, I must be. My mother was still in bed and wouldn't get up for another hour to get ready for work, her bedroom door closed. I knew that my father would already be gone, he always was when I got up in the mornings.

In the kitchen, I found the bottle of pain pills the hospital had given me sitting on the kitchen table with a note and a package of bandages, the kind you could wrap fully around wounds.

'Take one every twelve hours with food. Keep your back and knees clean and covered. Use the cream after you bathe.'

I recognized my father's handwriting. His curt, but almost fussy note warmed me. I knew that it wouldn't last, but I was liking him worrying about me like that. I followed his instructions, heading right for the bathroom. Nothing about taking a shower and redressing my wounds had been easy that first time I tried doing it. The water was absolute torture and all I could really do was rinse off my knees and back. I threw out the old, sweaty, and blood stained bandages and lightly dabbed at my wet wounds with a towel. My knees weren't bleeding or anything, and neither was my back, but I still felt like I was going to be sick when I tried to bandage them. I didn't bother putting new bandaids on the cuts on my face and shoulder. My side was just one, single, black and purple bruise.

Putting on the burn cream was a struggle. I had to use the mirror to see where I needed to put it on and the image of my back almost did me in. To say it was messed up is being kind. I looked like someone had dragged me through a field of glass and jagged metal with my shirt off. I was sliced up and burned, the sutures very prominent. It would scar, but as bad as it looked, it really could have been worse, I knew that. After I was done with the cream, I bandaged my chest as best as I could, which was awkwardly, hoping I was covering my back adequately.

I wrapped a towel around myself, not even bothering with clean clothes yet. There was no one to see me walking around in a towel anyway. I made myself a simple breakfast, two slices of toast with butter and grape jelly and I scrambled up two eggs for some protein, washing the food, and my pills, down with some milk. My breakfast was just bland enough that it didn't upset my stomach. The pills that the doctor had prescribed me were not garden variety ibuprofen. By the time I finished my breakfast and made it back up to my room, the pain was starting to edge off. I just hoped they wouldn't make me loopy.

I fared a lot better than Quatre had the previous night dressing myself, not that that was saying much. It still took me three times longer than it usually did and every single time I stretched my arms to pull up my jeans or to thread them through a shirt, I was reminded of how much I did not want to do that. But I eventually got myself dressed well enough that no one would be able to tell that something was wrong with me. I looked around frustratingly for my books and backpack for awhile like I did every, single morning before remembering that I didn't have any books anymore. At least it made getting ready for school simple.

School was a nightmare and by the time it was all over, I had wished that I had just stayed home after all. Hindsight and all that. Never mind the amount of pain that both Quatre and I had been under. Never mind having to explain to every single one of my teachers why I didn't have my homework and why I needed to share a textbook with someone.

Never mind standing in the principal's office with Quatre hearing a lecture about how irresponsible we were and to always look both ways while crossing the street. Never mind having to see Relena when all I wanted to do was rip her face off with my fingernails, especially when she kept messing with Quatre. I almost lost it when she knocked the papers he had been writing notes on 'accidentally' off his desk on the left side where he couldn't reach down and pick them up.

She very contritely, and very fake, in my opinion, apologized to him for it and picked them up for him with a snide little smile on her face. He had thanked her, his right hand clenching his pencil so tightly he had splintered it. At the end of that class, she had casually bumped into his cast, making Quatre hiss and gasp in pain. I don't know how he managed to stay so calm around her after what she had done to him.

But never mind any of that, what had made that day such a nightmare had been all of our other classmates. By that point, everyone in the whole fucking town 'knew' what had 'happened', or Nate and Relena's bullshit version of events anyway. Half of our classmates looked at us like we were total freaks and idiots, chuckling about how clumsy Quatre was, walking out on a red light like that. Others were amazed by us, me especially. Tales of my 'epic run' had floated around the school. I had somehow turned from awkward nerd to athlete by word of mouth alone.

It wasn't like I had gained fandom from it, more like I was the weirdo that could do something like that and still had zero interest in sports. Zechs especially enjoyed telling people that the reason I had been able to run so fast was like a mom being able to pull a car off her child, and that Quatre and I clearly were more than just 'friends'. The only good part about that was that no one seemed to be taking it seriously, even if people were laughing over it.

I hated all of it. The attention, the whispers, the wide eyed looks like we were limbless veterans returning from some war. I just wanted all of it to go away and forget it had happened. Every time someone came up to me and tried to engage me into telling the same story that they had probably heard half a dozen times by then, I just wanted to shove them away and tell them to leave me and Quatre the hell alone, but settled on just ignoring them and walking away myself. It really was not helping the rumors of me being some disgruntled, pissy, anti-social loner, but by the time lunch break finally came around, I did not care one bit It was enough to make me scream, but it was during that period when Trowa learned what had really happened that my school day went to complete and total hell.

I don't know how I got past our final regional testing. Just like the first test, we got to skip half of the usual school day to take it, but I would have rather gone to my classes. My mind was in a billion places at once, and not a single one of them was in that classroom. My back ached terribly from sitting in the hard desk chair for so long, distracting me from things I typically struggled with on a good day. I couldn't focus and each math equation I finished seemed to spawn about ten more like some kind of algebraic hydra from hell. If I didn't get the lowest test scores in the entire state, it would be a miracle.

By the time that I handed my test in to Mrs. Khushrenada who was monitoring my group, I was so stressed that it seemed like if one more thing went wrong, I was going to either burst into tears or punch the next person that tried to talk to me. I was the very last person to hand my test in, and by that time, not even my homeroom teacher's smile made me feel any better. To make things worse, our 'groups' had been split up by last name alphabetical order. While normally this would be great, placing Quatre and I in the same group, we had been split up by one person. One fucking person. Worse yet, Quatre had ended up in Relena's group. After almost killing him, I had become hyper aware of her presence near my best friend and the fact that she was in the same room with him while I wasn't, never mind that they were taking a test, chilled me to the bone. I was sure that the two of them, being as smart as they were, had finished their test long before I had. Who knew what she had done to him in that time?

If my back hadn't been hurting me, I would have ran out of that classroom. I found Quatre easily enough. He was standing by our lockers, waiting for me. He looked incredibly pale, his eyes hazy like he was struggling to stay awake, and those eyes were red rimmed, not from crying, but from pain and tiredness. He had looked the same this morning when he had met me in front of the school, only he looked a little bit worse. Nothing else seemed to be wrong with him at least. I didn't think that he had gotten much sleep the night before, I know that I didn't when I tried to sleep with a newly broken arm. But he still smiled brightly when he saw me approach.

"Hey," he greeted quietly.

"How did you do?" I asked.

"Ok, I think," he didn't seem to care much about the test. He didn't seem distracted by anything, just tired and not all together there. I wondered if it was really only his arm or if something else had happened.

I glanced down at it, as if I could ascertain how bad it was from just a look, and saw something new on his cast. This morning when I had seen him, Quatre had had a grand total of seven signatures on his cast, mine and all six of his signatures. The last time I had seen him, it had had nine. It had made me feel better about him going home to possibly get yelled at by his father for something that, in reality, had not been his fault. I was also pleased to have seen that his sister's had followed my idea of only signing Quatre's cast in neutral or soothing colors, mostly different shades of green and blue and purple. This new, red signature stood out on his cast like a green collar on a black cat. I gently grabbed his arm and turned it over so I could read it better, Quatre stiffening in trepidation. I soon understood why when I read what was written there in the bright red marker, my blood boiling with rage.

'Don't run in front of any more trucks, ok? Ha, ha'

I didn't even need to look at the signature to know that Relena had written that. Next to her name was an obnoxious heart.

"That fucking bitch," I heard myself hiss.

I couldn't believe her gall at the same time that I wasn't at all surprised by her signing his cast, a cast that Quatre only had to wear because of her, and even teasing him with that stupid fake story, like she was rubbing it in his face that she had gotten away with it for however long Quatre ended up wearing that cast.

"Let it go, Duo," he urged tiredly, his voice flat and emotionless.

"But Quatre-" I started to protest, forgetting that we didn't exactly have a choice.

"It's just a cast," he pointed out, "in a month or so, it'll be gone and so will this," he scratched at what Relena had written with a fingernail, "it's not a big deal."

I fell silent, but inside I seethed about it. It wasn't really anything different than she had done before. It certainly wasn't anything like making him walk out into traffic, so why did it bother me so much? Even his blase attitude about it was nothing new, but it made me bristle with irritation. I was saved from saying something that only would have made Quatre frustrated with me by Trowa.

"Hi, Quatre," he said as he walked through the crowd of relieved seventh graders, "Hi, Duo. How did the test go?"

I wished I was in Trowa's grade, then I wouldn't have had to take that stupid test.

"It went fine," Quatre said, immediately brightening up at the sight of his crush.

I just shrugged. Quatre noticed it and reached out his good hand to pat my back in comfort, only to remember at the last minute not to touch me there.

"I wanted to talk to you earlier," Trowa said sheepishly to Quatre, rubbing the back of his head in a nervous gesture, "but with the test and all..."

His dark green eyes looked down at Quatre's cast and he looked very sad and upset all of a sudden.

"Does it hurt?" he asked somberly.

"A little," Quatre admitted, "It aches a lot, but I have some pills I can take. I've never had a broken arm before, I couldn't sleep at all last night."

He rubbed at his forehead with his good arm and just looked weary.

"How did it happen?" Trowa asked, though I was amazed that he hadn't heard the story by now.

I looked at Quatre, interested to see which variant of the story he would go with, but I already knew.

"It was stupid," he explained and I remembered that dinner the three of us had had together, how uncomfortable Quatre had been lying to Trowa about my involvement. Now he seemed ok with it and that really bothered me. It was like my friend had changed drastically in the course of twenty-four hours, "I walked right out in front of a truck. I hadn't been paying attention to what I was doing and ended up with a broken arm."

"Quatre..." the older boy was absolutely stricken, "That's horrible, you could have died! You're lucky you walked away with just a broken arm! You have to be more careful!"

"I know," he flushed darkly, "I know I'm lucky. Duo saved my life, and he got hurt, too. If he hadn't been there, I don't think I would have survived."

Trowa looked at me and I saw this incredible, raw gratitude in his eyes that made me feel strange, like he was considering hugging me.

"You're ok?" I was surprised that when he asked me.

"Yeah, more or less," I admitted, "I messed up my back and my knees, but I'll heal."

"Thank you," he suddenly blurted out, like he couldn't stop himself, "for saving him. You're a good friend, you always look out for him."

Now I couldn't stop myself from blushing.

"I did what anyone would do for their best friend," I murmured shyly.

I noticed how closely the taller boy was to Quatre in that moment. His arm was touching my friend's uninjured one and he looked reticent to move away from him at all. I looked at him suspiciously as he turned his attention back to our mutual friend. Was that all that was? Just one friend relieved that the other wasn't seriously hurt? Or was it more? Were my own hopes for them making me see things that just weren't there? But Trowa looked like there was more that he wanted to do, more that he wanted to say to Quatre. Was he just playing it cool in front of me, or was there more there that he wasn't showing either of us? Quatre seemed oblivious to it, just his usual happy self to be near the boy he loved, or maybe it was because there was nothing there to see.

The lunch bell clanged, shocking all of us out of our individual thoughts.

"Oh joy, lunch time," I muttered, not the least bit hungry or wanting to deal with seeing Zechs or his cunt of a sister.

"Actually, I... I think I'm going to skip lunch," Quatre said meekly, "I'm not feeling well."

"Are you sure?" Trowa asked in concern, "Is there anything I can do?"

"I think I'm just going to lie down in the nurse's office until next period," Quatre said with a shake of his head, "My arm is really starting to hurt and I'm very tired."

"You look pale," Trowa said softly, placing a hand on his forehead, pushing his blonde bangs up.

Quatre closed his eyes in an expression that I can only describe as bliss. Seeing them like that... they just looked so tender, so affectionate... I had to keep reminding myself that they were just friends. I looked around frantically, hoping that no one was watching them, but there was no one in the hallway but us. Everyone else had rushed off to lunch. This would have just given credence to any rumors Relena might start that they were together. I felt uncomfortable just being there, knowing that what I was seeing wasn't really what I was seeing. Trowa was just worried, like any friend would be, like I had worried about him, it didn't mean that he liked Quatre in the way that Quatre wanted him to...

"I'll be fine," Quatre assured him, opening his eyes finally, "I just need to lay down. You two can have lunch," he looked at me, "and I'll meet you next class?"

I almost rolled my eyes at him. He was not being sneaky at all. He wanted Trowa to stick by me to watch over me, to make sure that Zechs and Relena wouldn't hurt me. Like Trowa would be able to stop them if they tried something at lunch or recess.

"Sure."

I didn't point any of that out, I didn't want to remind him how pointless anything we tried to do to protect ourselves was. At least in the nurse's office, I wouldn't have to worry about him. Trowa patiently watched Quatre go, leaning against the locker nonchalantly, and made no move to go to the cafeteria with me. I was about to just leave him there when those eyes, so much like a cat's that I was surprised I hadn't noticed that about them before, landed on me again and he spoke.

"So... what really happened?" his voice wasn't harsh or accusing or even cold, but knowing and solid while staying low, in case anyone got too cold.

I stared up at him in shock. I had really thought that he had fallen for that bullshit story of Quatre's. Mostly, I was surprised to see this side of Trowa, so used to him being shy or conversational with myself and Quatre. This Trowa was... well not exactly scary, but I could tell that seeing Quatre with his arm all busted up and obviously in pain had angered him, but he had such a tight control over his emotions, not letting a single ounce of it out on me. I wasn't used to being around a man that was upset, but not enraged. I think I could have respected him then, if he were like that all of the time.

"How did you know?" I managed to ask.

"I haven't known him as long as you have," he crossed his arms over his chest, "and I'll probably never be as close as the two of you are, but I have spent enough time with him to know when he's lying to me. He does that a lot," I winced guiltily at that, knowing full well the sorts of things Quatre would need to lie to Trowa about, including that time at the basketball game, "and I don't mind about all that, since it's never been about anything too important, not like this. And I've seen what Relena does to him, how scared he gets. How was she involved in getting his arm broken?"

I was amazed at how well this boy could read my best friend. In some alternate reality where the things I hoped for were more than just day dreams and impossible fantasies, they were together and perfect for each other. It just made me ache inside and I don't know why. How could I possibly yearn for something that I had never even felt for a second?

"Relena was mad that he told her no that night I went to your game with him," I told him. I could have lied about it, I supposed, he. He didn't know me well enough, but I wanted to tell the truth for once, or at least as much of it as I felt comfortable, "When we were about to cross to go to swimming lessons, she told him that she would forgive him for it if he walked across the street when she told him to and made it across."

"He wouldn't do that!" Trowa protested, "He might let her bully him, but he wouldn't risk his life just on her say so like that!"

"He did it for you," I snapped at him, "Relena told him that if he didn't do it, she was going to start rumors in school that you're gay and the two of you are together."

The eighth grader paled at my words.

"Quatre didn't want to involve you," I couldn't keep the anger out of my voice, "He decided that he owed it to you to protect you, that's why he risked his life! She made him walk out when the cars were coming down the street. When he saw the truck coming at him, he stopped moving. I ran out and pulled him to the ground, but not fast enough to save his arm. That's what really happened, no matter what anyone else says."

"You really did save him," the awe in his voice frustrated me. What did it take to make people realize that what I had done was not extraordinary? I had been frightened, scared shitless, all I had wanted to do was save my only friend. That I had succeeded in doing so was luck.

"It's like I said," I repeated to him testily, "Quatre is my best friend. What I did is nothing more than anyone else would do for their best friend. I almost didn't make it anyway. If the truck driver hadn't already been slamming on his breaks, I wouldn't have made it in time. And even if I had, it would have shattered his arm instead of just fracturing it."

He shook his head at me and for a frightening moment, I was sure that he was going to argue with me about something that I really did not want to talk about. Then, his eyes and face changed. It was like a veil had been pulled down over him, a veil that was made of pure, unadulterated rage.

" That bitch," he hissed and stormed off, making a bee line for something.

I blinked at the spot where he had been standing in bewilderment. I had never heard him speak like that. For a moment, he had sounded like me. Then it dawned on me where he was headed.

"Trowa, stop!" I walked after him as quickly as my injuries would allow.

It was pretty pointless, Trowa had a much longer gait than I did and I would have had to run after him to catch up to him, and even then I had little hope of stopping him. His eyes had been filled with a one track determination. I swore at myself for ever telling him the truth. It was fine for him to be pissed at Relena for what she had done to Quatre, I was even happy that he had gotten that upset, but actually wanting to do something about it was another matter.

If he could do something about it or let her know that her spreading rumors about him didn't bother him, that would be wonderful and I sincerely hoped that that was what he had in mind. That was all that Quatre needed, Trowa standing up for him, giving him confidence and assuring him that he would fight for their friendship, that Quatre wasn't dragging him down into anything.

But I had no clue what the older teenager was thinking. It looked to me like he was just going off half cocked, letting his anger control him, just like I had let mine control me that one time. And where had that gotten me? If Trowa was just running off without any kind of plan, or some half assed idea that he could just threaten her and that would make anything better, he was only going to get Quatre hurt worse. I would do anything to avoid that, whether it was ignoring Relena writing on Quatre's cast, or lying to the whole damned town.

I was out of luck that day. Before I could even form a plan to stop him, Trowa had run into Relena and Dorothy on their way to the cafeteria.

"We need to talk," was all that he said in a very cold and terse tone before grabbing Relena by the arm and pushing her towards the lockers.

Dorothy glared at me, affronted by her best friend being accosted, but she quickly realized that I was just as opposed to Trowa touching Relena as she was and turned her icy, blue eyed glare to him.

"Why, hello, Trowa. What did you need to speak to me about?" she asked sweetly, but with a knowing glint in her eye.

"This needs to stop," he snapped her, "and it needs to stop now."

"Whatever do you mean?" her voice was dripping with fake innocence, "What has you so upset?"

"I know what you did to Quatre!" he practically snarled at her, "He didn't just cross the street on a red light, you made him! This... this bullshit between the two of you is going to stop! I don't care what you have against him, I don't care if he pissed you off or if you think this is fun, if this keeps up, you're going to kill him! Is that what you want on your conscience? This stops here, Relena, it's already gone too far, you have to know that!"

Relena's expression turned sharp and her pale eyes darted to me. In that one second before she slipped that sugary sweet mask of hers back on, I saw her rage. She knew that I was the one that had told Trowa the truth about what had happened. I would have worried about what that look meant for me, but I was too scared about what this confrontation was going to cost Trowa and Quatre. I could take care of myself.

"Oh?" she smiled up at Trowa, "And what are you going to do if I say no? Are you going to beat me up? Make me cross the street? You can't really make ultimatums like that when you have nothing to back them up with. That's why Quatre did what I asked him to. I didn't make him do something foolish like that. He's as easy to read as an open book. All I had to do was say that I would tell everyone a few nasty things about you and he would have run into that truck if I had asked, willingly. What an idiot," she smirked when Trowa's face turned dark red with anger at what she was saying.

I felt my own anger at hearing how amused she was that she could manipulate my friend like that, but it didn't hold a candle to Trowa's. She was manipulating him just as easily as she had Quatre, I realized.

"I mean it, Relena," he said sternly, the very image of a solid, immovable wall, "You don't scare me. I don't care about your pathetic rumors. Do you really think that I don't know that Quatre might be gay? You've been spreading that rumor around for years, you can't surprise anyone with that anymore and no one is going to fall for you saying the same exact thing about me."

"I suppose that's true," Relena remarked thoughtfully, not at all put off by his declaration, "I doubt it would surprise many people to hear that you might be gay. But you're wrong if you think that no one would fall for a rumor like that. Big, tough athlete like you with no girlfriend who clearly likes to hang out with two fags and his own teammates instead of with his female admirers? Just look at you now. Here you are, as pissy as a wet cat over a rumor that I bullied Quatre into the street. It's almost like you're trying to protect your boyfriend.

"Don't tell me you're actually attracted to a freak like him? I thought that you would have more sense than that. Not much, I guess, considering how obvious the two of you have been, attached at the hip and all. No, I don't think it's a stretch for many people to believe you two are together. Although," her mouth stretched into an ugly grin, "I can think of a few people who would be surprised at a few rumors that Trowa Barton is a faggot. I'm sure your coach would be very surprised at that news. Or perhaps your parents?"

Trowa turned absolutely, frighteningly white. As he stared at her... through her, all of the anger in him seemed to evaporate. He just looked scared and defenseless, like a child that had just had their entire world ripped out under their feet.

"I read an interesting article a few days ago," the bitch continued, looking pleased at the reaction her threats had gotten, "It was all about this popular college football player. He was talented, the sort of athlete that really had a bright future ahead of him, you know? Then his coach heard from one of his other players that he had seen this boy making out with another boy in the showers. And just like that, this athlete was dropped from the team. His promising future, all gone, and just because of some nasty rumor! I can only imagine what Coach Strum will do if word gets to him that you and Winner are 'together'. Or what your teammates will do. I don't think any of them will want to be on the same team as you, or be in the shower room with you. They might get the impression that a pillow biter like you won't be able to keep his eyes, or his hands to himself. A rumor like that can destroy a team, and certain... opportunities.

"And your poor parents," she tisked with fake sympathy, "Your family is certainly well off enough to stay out of South Nausten, but not by much. The way that I heard it, neither of your parents even went to college. I heard that they're putting a lot of pressure on you to go to a good school, and you'll need a scholarship to do that. They don't give full rides to queers, Barton. Won't your parents, especially your father, whom I've heard is very traditionally minded, be so disappointed to learn that their only son chose perversion over his education and future?"

Trowa looked like she had very calmly thrust her hand into him and ripped out all of his organs, her words as effective on rendering him helpless and hollow as a surgeon's knife. I don't know what I expected him to do; punch her, call her a cunt, call her bluff, or tell her that all of that had ceased to matter to him the second that she had endangered his friend's life.

I know which I had hoped he would do, and I know which I would have done. If it had meant getting Relena to stop tormenting my best friend, I would have done all of them. To save Quatre, I would have told the whole world that I was everything she claimed and more. At least, that's what I wanted to believe, and I certainly wanted to believe that of Trowa, that he was that strong, that he cared about what happened to Quatre at least that much and would stand up for him.

What I expected the least from him was exactly what Trowa did. With a look of hazed shock, sadness, and bitterness, that shy side of him came back, effectively killing the strong person that I had seen just minutes before. It was like she had drained out his very soul. Without uttering a single word, or so much as glancing at me, he turned around and left.

I don't know what I felt in that moment exactly. Shock and surprise are too weak of words. Horror is closer. Relena had said some pretty awful things to me and Quatre, but what she had just said to Trowa was cruel, precise, and brutal. How the hell had she known all that about his family? It was obviously true, given his expression, and I don't think that even Quatre had known what Trowa's father was like. How could she say those terrible things to him, to make him so frightened? But more than anything, when I watched Trowa's retreating back, I felt betrayed. It was stupid, I barely knew him and we were just barely friends, but he had given me hope.

Hope. I didn't feel that often and, for awhile, it had been a nice thing to feel. Here was this older boy, popular if quiet, and he liked my best friend. I had hoped that Trowa could be good for Quatre. I had hoped that he could give him confidence. I had hoped that he cared enough to stand up for him. Worst of all, I had hoped that he could protect him. But he hadn't. He had walked away. He was no different than me, incapable of protecting Quatre, weak and cowardly. I hated him for it.

I was furious at Relena for using Trowa's fears and dreams to hurt him and drive a wedge between him and Quatre, but that was absolutely nothing compared to the hatred and anger I felt in that moment towards the boy that Quatre said he loved more than anything, the boy that, for a few seconds, he had been willing to die to protect. And that person wasn't willing to withstand a few rumors to protect him back.

"What the hell is your problem?!" I snapped at Relena. I wasn't able to stop myself despite the knowledge that I was making things worse, "What business is it of yours who Quatre likes?! What right do you have o threaten to ruin their lives because you like picking on Quatre for some stupid, petty reason?!"

"Oh, relax, Maxwell," she flicked her long hair over her shoulder and somehow managed to look down her nose at me despite our equal height, "I'm doing them a favor."

"You tried to kill Quatre!" I snarled, "You can say that you didn't force him, but you now full well that you manipulated him! He almost died because you knew he would walk out there if you threatened Trowa. That's no different from pushing him out into the fucking street! You aren't doing anyone a favor, you're fucking with people because you enjoy it! All Quatre wanted was to be friends with him and you went out of your way to punish him for it!"

"Oh, give me a break," she rolled her eyes obnoxiously at me, "I haven't said a single lie to either of them, I'm just pointing out the truth since they refuse to see it. Do you think that Trowa will thank that queer for destroying his life when words gets out to his parents who it is he's been hanging out with? I can't wait until Quatre's father figures out what his precious son is really like for himself!

"You can't possibly think that he has any future, and he wants to drag Trowa down with him! I was just trying to be nice and make him realize that and he spat in my face for it! Do you really think that, when the truth gets out about your little friend, anyone is going to care what happens to him? Do you think that anyone actually cares now that he was stupid enough to get his arm broken for his disgusting perversion?"

I didn't know if the cunt actually believed the self righteous bullshit that she was spewing, but either way, it enraged me the same.

"You are so full of shit!" I yelled at her, ignoring the warning light going off in my head that I was going too far with this and I should just go to the cafeteria before I pissed her off too much, "You don't know anything. Quatre being gay is just a stupid rumor that you made up, and you have zero proof that Quatre and Trowa are anything but friends! Even if Quatre did love Trowa, that's not a perversion! This has nothing to do with keeping them apart for their own good, you're just being cruel for the sake of it! If they want to be friends, it's not up to you to decide if that's ok! Just leave them the hell alone!"

"Love?" she laughed like I had just told her a hilarious joke, "All two boys can have with each other is sex, not love. Men can't get married to each other, they can't have children or a family, homosexuality is just a perversion of a normal relationship. 'Liking' someone of the same sex... it's disgust and unnatural!" her pale eyes narrowed as she peered into me and suddenly I knew she wasn't thinking about Quatre and Trowa anymore, "Liking a girl, that is what's natural, what's proper. I don't expect a diseased rat like you to understand, but the sooner Quatre realizes how filthy his obsessions, the happier he'll be."

My rage flared red hot. All of this... her violent attempts at splitting up Quatre and Trowa... that couldn't really be about that stupid kiss from a year ago, could it? Or maybe it was just a part of it... but I couldn't deny the equal rage in her eyes when she looked at me and talked about perversion. And I couldn't deny how sick it made me feel inside. She really did believe that I was gay, and she loathed me for it. Had Quatre getting almost killed been partially my fault?

"You're fucking insane," I hissed, "You can lie and rationalize to whoever you want, but you almost killed Quatre and it has nothing to do with him maybe being gay. You enjoy hurting us, you always have. You're just a twisted, horrible person, and you think that someone liking another person of the same sex is disgusting? You can't keep going after Quatre like this just because I don't like you!" I took a few steps forward and getting in her furious face, not caring about my personal safety anymore, "You might hate gays, but the reality is that even if I'm straight, I will never like you. How could anyone, boy or girl, love someone like you? You might be pretty, but whoever you are on the inside is ugly through and through!"

Her face twisted and any resemblance to a human being became monstrous with shocked fury. I didn't have the time to flinch away from her as she raked her nails across my face, extremely lucky she hadn't gotten one of my eyes. One of those pink nails caught a healing cut that I had gotten during the 'accident,' making blood pour down my cheek.

"Shut up!" she shrieked at me, "Who do you think you are?! You're trash, garbage!" You should be grateful I give you the time of day! You think that you can say those things to me, you repulsive scum?!" before I could recover from her attack, she grabbed my hair and used all of her fury and weight to swing me into the lockers. A metal ring filled my head, erasing all intelligent thought.

"You're disgusting, you and your faggot friend! The both of you should just do the world a favor and kill yourselves! Just die so the rest of us won't have to look at you anymore!"

Her hands twisted in my hair and she slammed me into the lockers again, this time getting me in my bruised shoulder. The pain made me gasp, but it also woke me up from my stupor. I dug in my feet and grabbed her wrists to keep her from throwing me around anymore.

"I wish that truck had flattened the both of you!" she screamed, becoming absolutely insane with anger at my daring to touch her.

"Get off of him!" I heard Trowa bellow and just like that, Relena let go of me, Trowa had grabbed her by the arm and pulled her away with brute strength. I wished that I was as big as he was.

He had come back for me. When, I wasn't sure. I had been so focused on Relena and her poisonous words that everything else had disappeared to me, even Dorothy. Relena was like a wild animal in his grasp, wrenching her arm out of his hand like his touch was that of a leper's. When she got loose, I saw that he had grabbed her so hard, his fingers had left red marks on her white skin. He had barely more control over himself than she had. I thought of my father for some reason.

The sound of Relena's open hand striking Trowa's face was like a gun shot in the quiet hallway. I flinched at the familiar sound, Trowa didn't. He just stared at her coolly and calmly, his eyes like green stones.

"Don't you ever touch me," Relena said with a coldness that made Trowa's look temperate, but when she looked back at me, her glare threatened to turn burning hot with that rage again.

"We're going to miss lunch," Dorothy, who had been as quiet as a mouse this whole time, finally spoke, sounding incredibly bored with all of this.

Relena flicked her hair over her shoulder again, regaining her lost composure, and walked briskly away with Dorothy nipping at her heels like the pampered guard dog that she was. I began to move my hand to my face to wipe at the wetness on my cheek only to remember at the last minute that it was blood and I was only going to streak it across my face. I was already frazzled and my back was in complete agony, I didn't need to look like a serial killer as well. Instead I used my hand to touch my hair. She had pulled about half of it out of my ponytail.

As I pulled the my hair tie off, gathered up my hair, and secured the hair tie again, Trowa stared at my hair like he was in a day dream. I wanted to ask him what his problem was with my hair, it wasn't like it was the first time he had seen my ponytail. I tried my hardest not to let on how much pain I was in as I had lifted my arms to fix my hair. There wasn't anything I could do about it anyway. I had left my pills at home and it was too early to take some anyway. I didn't thank Trowa for pulling Relena off of me and diffusing the situation. I hadn't wanted him to come back.

"Are you insane?" he scolded me, his gaze softening back into the one I was accustomed to from him now that the two bitches had left the area, "You can't say things like that to her! The best thing to do is ignore her when she gets like that."

"Like you?" I snapped at him, "I guess it's easy when you can just walk away like you don't give a shit about anything."

He flinched, actually flinched away from me. Later I would wonder if I was really that frightening when I was angry, or if he was just that much of a coward.

"You're just as bad as she is," I accused, feeling my fury consume me and was thankful for it for once. It made my pain irrelevant, it made the hurt in his green eyes pointless, and my own guilt and feelings of inadequacy vanish in the face of how much I hated and resented this boy, "No, you're worse. You call yourself his friend and you let her do those horrible things to Quatre! She almost gets him killed and you're lecturing me about standing up to her! Why don't you grow a fucking spine and stand up for your friend?! It's no wonder why you don't have any friends when you're such a pathetic coward!" was I even talking to him anymore, a part of me wondered then, or was I screaming at myself? "You don't deserve his-"

'Love' I almost said, but my mouth hadn't quite gotten ahead of my brain yet.

"-friendship!" I strode up to him, grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him in close.

His eyes grew wide with fear. He thought I was going to punch him. Good, because that was exactly what I wanted to do. I wanted to hit him until he bled, I wanted to break his arm so he knew how it felt. I wanted to tell every single person in the entire town that he was a faggot. I wanted to destroy him, more than Relena ever could.

"Either help him," I hissed instead, "and actually be his friend or stop being around him all together. You can't have it both ways, it isn't fair to him. He deserves a better friend than," me "you."

I let go of his shirt and shoved him. My back was in searing pain. I let that pain fill me, let it fill my rage and let it soar to new heights. I didn't look back at him. I didn't want to see that stupid, scared expression of his anymore. I just kept walking and walking until I was running and felt something wet spread across my back.

I spun and slammed my fist into a nearby locker. The pain felt good. I punched it again and again and again until the skin of my knuckles split open and the locker was streaked with blood. I hit it again, creating a sizable dent in it. I only stopped hitting it when I felt my entire hand go numb. I stared at the large, bloody dent I had made, my hand falling to my side, dripping blood onto the linoleum floor. I panted, but I didn't cry. I didn't deserve that kind of release.
　

End Part 6
　

　

　
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A Stagnation of Love (rewrite)