"Gravedigger
when you dig my grave
could you make it shallow
so that I can feel the rain?
Oh, gravedigger..."
--- Dave Matthews, Gravedigger
"Ring around the rosy
Pocket full of posies
ashes to ashes
we all fall down..."
--- Children's rhyme
"Ai, sad hours seem long..."
--- Romeo, from William Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet
Only Butterflies Part 4
Gravedigger
He found his shovel in the shed out back behind the cabin.
The shed was falling apart, but the front door was locked. He lowered his shoulder and busted in easily, shaking dirt down in a settling cloud. The windows were caked with dust, and the shed was filled with nothing but old tools and cans of paint. There was a space in the middle shed where a meat hook hung from the rafters, and a couple of newspapers stained with dried blood littered the floor.
No gutted deer hung there now, but the place still smelled like death. A dead butterfly, as blue as Heero's eyes, laid across the newspapers, wings fluttering in the harsh winter wind.
For a moment, Duo just stood in the doorway, the wind blowing fresh snow into his tangled loose hair, too overcome by dread to enter. Solo whispered in his ear.
Don't ever wanna go into any place you can't get outta, Kid. Don't ever want to go into a dead end. Not alone. Not willingly. Only a fuckin' moron goes into a place he can get backed into.
But he went in. In fluorescent red spray paint, one word was written across the bare wall across from him.
FIRE
What in the hell was that supposed to mean?
"Jesus," Duo whispered, then crossed himself before walking across the threshold of the dark shed. It was something he hadn't done in years, hadn't felt the urge to do in years... but he did it now. He had taken off his shoes when they went into the cabin to prepare Heero's body, and he had never put them back on. The dirt beneath his bare feet was cold and crumbling.
He coughed from all the dust in the air, a small cough that turned into a wretched jag. It lasted until he had a coppery taste in the back of his throat, and he knew it was blood. Too much smoke inhalation.
It was snowing harder outside as Duo brushed his bangs out of his face, then brushed his fingertips across his lips, his chest still hitching painfully with the need to cough; when he pulled his fingers from his mouth, they were darkened with flecks of blood.
There was a shovel leaning against the corner of the shed. He stepped forward, his bare foot crushing the butterfly, but he was blind to it. He was blind to everything, even as he felt his fingers curl around the cold, heavy weight of the shovel handle.
He threw it over his shoulder and walked out, ignoring the deep rill of terror that shot down his backbone at the idea of it all. The horror of it.
Duo was burying his friend out by some shitty little cabin in the middle of nowhere, and he'd be lucky if hunting dogs didn't dig Heero up.
He made his way slowly back to the cabin. He could see the dim light of the kerosene lamp from the window, but he knew it wasn't bright enough to attract unwanted attention. Even if it brought every OZ soldier within ten miles to their front porch... Duo wasn't sure he'd care very much.
He probably wouldn't say a word.
Duo pushed the door to the cabin open. Quatre and Wufei were still sitting at the kitchen table, but Quatre had fallen asleep, his face buried in his crossed arms, a ragged blanket across his shoulders. Wufei sat with his face covered by one hand, a cup of cold coffee in front of him. He had barely drank any of it.
Trowa was sitting next to Heero on the floor, knees drawn up to his chest, one arm thrown over them as he kept vigil. The Wing pilot was completely wrapped in white bedsheets, everything concealed but his face. He looked as if he was asleep. Oil shone on his forehead and lips in the light of the lamp.
Trowa's eyes were closed when Duo walked in, but he lifted his head, taking in the sight of the American pilot. Duo was shuddering with cold, hair loose and tangled and full of dead branches and leaves; his feet were bare and bruised, his clothes covered in dried blood, a shovel thrown over his shoulder.
"Duo."
Duo shook his head. "Is he ready?"
"... Yes."
"Good." Duo walked forward as if he was sleepwalking. "Can you carry him out for me? I can't... I can't carry him and the shovel."
Wufei looked up at him, dark eyes burning with the need to say something, anything, to wipe that vacant, stupidly grief-stricken look off of Duo's face, but he couldn't find the words.
Trowa just nodded silently, then stood and kneeled, picking Heero up. Duo could tell just by the way that Trowa was holding Heero that the Wing pilot had already grown stiffer. But Trowa handled him as delicately as if he was only badly wounded, and any sudden violent moves would jar the wound.
Duo walked back outside, and Trowa followed.
He walked out until he found a spot he liked, then began to dig. He did it emotionlessly, the same way he would debrief after a mission or kill a person he didn't know. Trowa laid Heero down gently nearby. The brightness of the bed sheet shroud looked like a ghost in the darkness.
Duo pushed and hefted the shovel into the half-frozen, stony earth with vicious efficiency. He felt the blisters quickly form on his hands, but he didn't care, even though as a pilot, he tried to take good care of them. He felt the splinters from the handle digging into his palms, causing blood to trickle down his wrists.
He threw the dirt on the ground to the left of the grave, working in a steady rhythm that only became more difficult to maintain as the hole deepened.
His body, which had been numbed to the core, began to warm up again with the savage work. He hummed under his breath, something he usually did when he was in battle. He thought about it absently and wasn't surprised to find the tune was "Oh Come All Ye Faithful."
Trowa's voice came from off to the right of him, but he barely heard it.
"Need some help?"
"... There's only one shovel."
"We can take turns. Your hands are bleeding."
Duo stopped digging, his head lowered. He was waist-deep in the hole now. His chest was heaving with exertion, and he didn't meet Trowa's gaze. Trowa could hear the American's breath even over the wind, in ragged, desperate gasps.
"I know. I don't mind. Just... could you leave me alone for awhile, Trowa?"
"I don't think I should."
Duo finally looked up at him. There was concern in the jade eyes that met his own. And dim fear. Duo smiled wanly, but there was no humor in it at all. "Just... go inside. I have to do this alone. Okay?" His voice was plaintive, exhausted. "It's late. I'm just trying to bury my partner, Trowa. You're my friend, but this is pushing it, buddy."
A strange expression crossed Trowa's face, a flicker of some deep pain, but it was gone almost as quickly as it had come, leaving the Heavyarm pilot's face with that blank, sad tranquility. "If you're sure. I don't want you to do this alone. None of us do."
"I have to talk to him, Trowa."
Trowa was silent for a moment, then nodded slowly. "You're not finished yet, Duo."
Duo flinched, startled by the soft words, but he nodded back before pushing the shovel back into the earth.
"I know."
Trowa started to turn back towards the cabin and walk back, but stopped. He didn't turn back around, but he stopped all the same. "If we keep fighting, Duo... if we keep standing together... we can get through it. We can do it without him."
Duo didn't say anything.
He just kept digging.
~*~
Finally, he was finished. His hands were raw and bleeding, throbbing in time with his heartbeat. But it was done.
The sky looked a little brighter, but it was still dark. The snow wasn't sticking to the ground... but it stuck to Heero. That was one of the qualifications, Duo thought, of being dead. You knew you were dead when the snow didn't melt on your skin.
Sighing, he threw the shovel out of the grave and climbed out. Heero laid where Trowa had left him, looking small and weaker than Duo had ever seen him. Duo kneeled at his partner's side and gently brushed the snow from Heero's face. The wind blew through his hair, tumbling it.
He kissed Heero's chilled lips gently, lips that no air passed now. He could taste the anointing oil there, and that seemed sacred somehow. His partner was cold, but still beautiful. He didn't know how that could be, but it was. He drew back slowly, looking into Heero's face.
"I'm sorry, Heero. I'm so sorry."
Duo got his arms under Heero, feeling the stiff, heavy weight of him, and picked him up. He scooted over to the edge of the grave and dropped into it, being careful not to jolt the body in his arms, even though he knew it didn't matter, one way or another.
"Sorry buddy, but I gotta... put you to sleep now... okay?" He held Heero to him one more time, briefly, before laying the Wing pilot down on the dirt. He brushed his fingertips over Heero's face one last time, tracing the contours like a blind man, committing them to memory. And then he pulled the bed sheets across it. Protecting it.
He started to say a prayer, even though it had been years since the last time he uttered one. But none came immediately to mind, and he eventually decided to be silent. Silence was okay. The wind groaned through the trees around him, and for the first time, he shivered, finally feeling the cold against his numbed skin.
And hatred suddenly flared in him, warming him, driving away the cold. Violet eyes sparkled in the darkness, and anyone who saw him in that moment would have seen speculative madness in those eerie depths.
J. Jaye sent you here, Heero. He's the reason I'm putting you in the dirt. It's their fault. All their fault. G, J, O... all of them. But I'll-
"... make it right, Heero. I'll make it right," Duo whispered. He crawled out of the grave, and only hesitated a moment before grabbing the shovel again. He was suddenly cold. And tired.
So tired.
He slowly shoveled the soil back in, hearing the slapping sound of the dirt hitting the white sheets, then a more muffled sound as dirt hit dirt. When he had filled the grave completely back in, he dropped the shovel and walked into the shadows of the forest's edge. After a few minutes, he found what he was looking for.
Duo picked up the large pale piece of raw limestone he found, carrying it back over to rest at the head of the grave. He reached into his pocket with a stiff, bloodied hand and fumbled for the switchblade he knew was there.
Going to his knees over Heero's grave, he steadied himself against the rock. A terrible scratching noise filled the night, the sound of steel against stone, seemingly louder than anything else that was a part of the darkness. When he finished, he stood up shakily and inspected his work by moonlight.
CODE NAME HEERO YUY
GUNDAM PILOT 01
AC 195
LET THE DOGS OF WAR REST
SHINIGAMI
GUNDAM PILOT 02
Not great, he thought wearily, brushing one bloody hand across his face. But it's as good as I can do. Close enough for government work, I guess.
Without picking up the shovel, the bereft and exhausted pilot headed back towards the cabin.
And all around him, the dead woods smoldered.
TBC...
Back to CleverYoungThief's Fanfictions Page