Work Text:
Quatre stared out the window, his mind a million miles away. He could hear the teacher rambling on about something math related, but couldn't bring himself to care. He could barely see the entrance to the school from this seat, and he sighed in annoyance.
He usually sat a couple desks up, but someone had sat down before him, claiming his seat. He had tried to speak to her, ask her politely to move, but she had completely ignored him, forcing him to find a different location.
The others never had that problem.
Heero and Wufei would glare at the offenders until the moved, fear obvious on their faces. Duo would throw things at them, pieces of paper, erasers, pencils, until they got up.
Quatre glanced around the room, wondering how his friends were faring. As expected, Heero was studiously taking notes, his hand constantly moving. Wufei was reading from the textbook, already several chapters ahead. Duo was asleep, his head pillowed on his arms, the edge of his finished classwork peaking from underneath.
Quatre glanced down as his own desk, frowning at his blank paper. He didn't have any drive to focus, his eyes already floating back to the view outside.
He scanned the entry again, searching for a familiar shock of brown hair…
A tall slender figure walked around one of the columns, turning to lean back against it to wait. Quatre didn't try to suppress his smile, relief blooming in his chest.
He still came to visit.
The bell rang suddenly, the shrill noise startling the assortment of students. Duo jumped violently, sending his papers and book to the floor, causing the closest students to jump again.
“I'm going to meet Trowa!” Quatre called, his own work abandoned on the desk in his haste to leave.
The remaining trio shared a worried look, the same one they had every time Quatre announced his intentions.
“What?” He snapped, halfway out the door.
“Quat, buddy, don't you think it's time-"
“Just be careful,” Heero interrupted, cutting off Duo’s objections with a tiny shake of his head.
“Why should I be careful? It's just Trowa,” Quatre frowned, his confusion sharpening his words.
“Quatre-"
“No,” he said angrily, cutting off Wufei. “You're just upset that I'm the only one who can see him!”
He raced out the door before they could answer, making his way through the maze of halls until he escaped. He burst through the front doors, scaring a pair of girls so badly they shrieked. He offered them an apologetic grin, but they were already running across the quad.
Quatre mentally shrugged and made his way to the entrance, where a familiar face lingered.
“Trowa!”
The figure looked up, a slight smile on his face. He nodded when Quatre drew close, stepping away from the column.
“Hi, Quatre,” he said quietly, his voice laced with a deep sadness.
Quatre instinctively reached for a hug, but his arms went right through him, setting off a shiver. “Sorry, habit,” he apologized, wrapping his arms around himself instead.
Trowa shook his head. “Don't worry about it.”
Every day, the pair fell into old habits; Quatre would try to hug him and apologize. Trowa would smile and dismiss his apology.
The pair fell into step, leaving the school behind as they walk home, the path familiar to them both. A comfortable silence fell between them, words unnecessary despite their circumstances.
Quatre spent the time wondering how he could dispel the deep sadness that seemed to roll of his friend, his aura heavy and dark.
What do you say to someone grieving their own death?
“Today's the anniversary,” Trowa said, his soft voice breaking the silence.
Quatre looked up in surprise, taking in the distant expression on Trowa's face. “I can't believe it's been a year.”
“Yeah, me neither.”
The pair fell silent as they approached the first landmark, an unimportant stretch of road that held infinite more meaning to a chosen few.
They stopped at the same time, both intimately familiar with the location. A small, bronze plaque was embedded in the sidewalk, the short inscription obscured by leaves and dirt.
The pair crouched down on either side, clearing the plaque as well as they could with just their hands.
May we never forget the angels taken that day
October 30, 20-
The rest of the inscription was packed with mud, obscuring the numbers, but they both knew the date by heart.
“I never forgot you, not once,” Quatre said firmly, his eyes fixed on the plaque. “And the others haven't either. They've had a hard time dealing with… everything.”
Trowa nodded, his fingers tracing the engraving. “I understand. I think about them too. All of you.”
They fell into silence, each wrapped in their memories of that fateful day.
Quatre sighed and rose, brushing off his uniform pants. “It's getting late.”
Trowa didn't answer, sitting like a stone, his eyes glassy and distant.
“Trowa?”
The young man shook himself and rose, his face turned away slightly. Quatre gave him a moment, letting him mourn in relative privacy.
“Okay, let's go.”
The pair set off again, one more stop on their route before heading home.
Again, there was no need for words. Early on, when the wounds were still fresh, they would try to speak, venting their sorrow and anger, cursing everything from the driver, their seat locations, and their favorite, the universe.
Now, there was only resignation, an acceptance of how things would always be.
They approached the imposing, gilded iron gates, stepping under the archway that spanned across the entrance. Rows of headstones stretched before them, a maze of the dead.
They followed the blacktop path, taking them deeper into the cemetery, over the rise of the hill to the back corner. The area was secluded, obscured from the view of most of the cemetery, with tall willows lining the back fence line.
It was peaceful, without bringing any peace.
Quatre stopped at the end of the path, unable to continue. He knew what lay ahead; he could see the rise of the simple tombstone, the brighter grey stark against the darker, aged patina of the older stones.
Trowa continued on and began his daily ritual, cleaning the leaves and debris from the set of tombstones, one for each student claimed that day.
Once finished, he stepped back, standing before the same stone as every day before, and pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. He smoothed the worn folds carefully, his fingers brushing over the black and white picture printed in the center.
Quatre watched him, intrigued. He had never had a paper before, and curiosity drove him forward.
“What is that?”
Trowa didn't turn, his gaze fixed on the page, which Quatre could now see was a newspaper article.
“Is that-"
“The article about what happened,” Trowa finished, his shoulders sagging. “They said I have to move on.”
Quatre gasped in shock, then drew close, shoving his face in Trowa’s line of sight. “What? You can't move on! You can't leave me!”
“Quatre-"
“No! That's not fair! I already lost you once!”
“Quatre, please-"
Quatre whirled away, pacing furiously as he raged. “They don't understand. Don't they know how much we’re hurting? We’re just trying to cope!”
Trowa stepped toward him, his expression pleading. “Talking with the dead is not coping.”
“I don't care! I won't let it happen. I won't!”
“Quatre, please, just read it.” Trowa held out the article, waiting for Quatre to take it.
He paused in his pacing, torn between grabbing the paper and ripping to to shreds, and morbid curiosity, wondering what they had written. In the end, his curiosity won out, and he took the offered article.
Four Dead in School Bus Tragedy
Tragedy struck the small town of Sanq early Friday morning when a speeding car crashed into a school bus full of children, killing five, including the driver of the car, and injuring a dozen more.
The driver of the vehicle was the target of a police chase, who had turned down the alley in an attempt to evade the police, and struck the bus at full speed just as it passed the exit of the alley.
Police have not released the names of the students killed in the accident, citing a need for privacy as the families mourn the tragic loss of their children.
Quatre lowered the article, his confusion clear as he looked to his friend. “Trowa? I don't understand. Why is this important; we all know what happened.”
Trowa only shook his head, gesturing to the row of tombstones, his grief bleeding through his mask.
Quatre followed his gaze, his eyes landing on the objects he had avoided for so long, and read the inscriptions on each.
Here Lies Heero Yuy…
Here Lies Duo Maxwell…
Here Lies Wufei Chang…
Quatre shook his head in dawning horror, refusing to look at the final stone.
“No- NO! This isn't right! I'm not- I'm not dead!”
Trowa stepped forward, crouching before the final stone to trace his fingers over the engraving, the one he always stopped at, every day for a year.
Here Lies Quatre Winner
Son, Brother, Friend