Disclaimer: I don't own them, not making a dime, ect.
Warnings: ANGST!!!, shonen ai (I guess), deathfic
Pairings: 3+4
Contact: Elpolo666@aol.com…On this one I'll take any kind of criticism.
Author's Note: This was originally going to be a songfic to Fuel's "Hideaway", but as the story developed I started listening to Siverchair's newest album and the feeling became extremely angst filled and morbid. I suggest that you do NOT read this if you a) are in a happy mood and intend to stay that way b) can't stand blood c) are depressed or impressionable and this might send you over the edge (its not real bad but I don't want to be responsible for someone being permanently scarred).

Italics indicate a dream.

Quatre lifted a pale hand to his face and wiped away his most recent tears. Trowa was gone for good thanks to OZ. At first he had been insanely enraged, like when he'd used the Zero system. If it hadn't been for the fact that he was on the ground and that Duo had pinned him he would have destroyed them all. He had given the longhaired pilot a good fight, but in the end he could only cry fiercely.

Now he sat on the couch of their current safehouse, the others silent around him. The tension in the air could have been sliced with a knife and served to him with his heart that OZ had so sweetly ripped out. None of them would look at him and it made the little Arabian feel worse. He wished that he could just sink into the couch and get away from this horrible nightmare.

He tried to make up an excuse to leave. They wouldn't fall for the usual 'I'm tired' excuse, it was just barely four in the afternoon, only five hours after the mission that had...killed Trowa. Now he knew he had to leave and go somewhere and escape the room and everyone before he burst into another spasm of sobs.

With all the strength and courage he could muster Quatre stood.

"Sit down Catch, I'll get you whatever you want." Duo said, pushing himself off the couch.

Quatre shook his head softly. "No, thank you, but I'm just going to lay down." Even he was surprised at how shaky his voice was.

"You sure?" The American asked, refusing to just sit.

He nodded and slowly made his way to their- his room. His legs felt as if they were made of gelatin and the way his head ached didn't help as he forced himself down the hall. He could feel their eyes on his back, watching him stumble with pity filled mourning. Quatre would have run to escape their eyes, but his flimsy legs wouldn't allow him to move at much more than a crawl.

After an eternity he reached the room and rested his forehead on the door. The feel of the cold doorknob in his hand sent shivers down his spine as he tried to force himself to turn it. If he went in he would escape the tension and their eyes, but he would be rushed by all the memories and smells.

Quatre turned and sat, pulling his legs in front of his face. He couldn't go in there and face all of that. Sobs began to rack his small body. He wanted to go in there and get away from everything, but inside everything was waiting for him.

He jumped when a hand softly landed on his shoulder.

"It's gonna be alright." Duo told him meekly, a rather large feat for the normally boisterous pilot.

Quatre didn't hear this, even if he had he wouldn't have cared. How did Duo know it would be alright? Heero was sitting over in the living room alive and well. Duo didn't know what this was like; he had no right to say anything.

"GET AWAY FROM ME!!" He screamed, forcing himself back up onto flimsy legs. He made it two steps before losing his balance and toppling over.

He heard Duo rush over to him and ask the typical questions. Why couldn't the stupid American leave him alone?

"Please just leave me alone." Quatre begged through his sobs.

Duo knodded, a tear rolling down his cheek as he walked back down the hall.

On the floor the small boy felt even smaller. Why did this have to happen? He closed his eyes and hoped to sink through the floor.

"That's real morbid, Catch. And real twisted." Duo's voice chimed in.

In the blackness a figure appeared in front of him. It was transparent and shimmered with a pearly light. It was Trowa. He began to run to his love faster than he ever had before, but the image never came closer. It was as if his lungs could handle a whole week's worth of running, never burning or hurting as he madly ran.

"Please come back!" He pleaded. "I love you, don't run away!"

Beneath his feet the ground stopped and tilted, making him fall away from the image of Trowa.

"STOP! Come back to me!" He screamed as he continued to fall away into the black.

Quatre woke with a jolt. He turned to see if he had woken Trowa, but he found he was still where he had fallen on the floor. One of the others had covered him in a blanket from their- his room. A rush of tears flooded his eyes as he brought the blanket to his face. It still smelled like Trowa, a soft cinnamon and gunpowder mix.

He couldn't stand feeling like this, so small, alone, and helpless. He wanted Trowa back. But Trowa wouldn't ever come back, he was gone forever.

Down the hall came a soft whisper-like sound. If he'd been in his right mind Quatre would have realized that it was only Duo snoring, but with his thoughts so clouded he knew it was them laughing at him. They were laughing because they hadn't lost anything and it was funny to watch him suffer.

'If Trowa was here he would protect me from them.' Quatre thought as he curled into a ball under the blanket.

The noise continued, slowly growing until he heard it ringing through his head like a persistent alarm. He couldn't stand it anymore, but what could he do? If he went and confronted them they would just pat him on the back and say it was all just his imagination. Why couldn't Trowa come and save him?

He could hear them even better now. He had to get away from them and their whisperings. On shaky limbs the small boy crawled to the bathroom and curled up on the cold tile, slamming the door shut with his foot. Now he couldn't hear them at least, even though he knew that they were still snickering.

"Please come back, Trowa." He begged the air. Quatre's body was sent into a fit of sobs as he tried to find some solace. Of course there was none to be found where he lay on the floor, his body heat slowly warming the tiles.

"I want to be with you." The Arabian sputtered through his sobs. There wasn't any way to get Trowa back, but he could always join his lover.

He felt so unreal as he forced himself to stand against the sink. He avoided making eye contact with himself as he reached to open the medicine cabinet, he hated the way he looked when he cried. Once it was opened Quatre tried to find something that would kill him easily. There were no pills except for Wufei's herbal medicines and some Advil. The only object that he could find that would be sharp enough was Heero's shaving razor, but the stupid knick guard was in the way. With clumsy hands he dug for something that would pop it open, knocking a few things down into the sink. Quatre finally found a nail file that looked as if it might do the job.

He let his shaky legs drop him back to the ground as he tried to rip the blades from the razor. As he worked all he could think of was how Trowa had looked the night before, so handsome in the soft moonlight. It wasn't until he had broken the razor into several pieces and retrieved the blade that Quatre had second thoughts about what he was doing.

In the stillness of the night he could only hear the rustling of leaves and that soft noise, now creeping under the door. They were laughing again and he couldn't take it. In one fluent movement he slid the razor across his wrist. It stung softly, but it was a sweet sting that made him feel so alive. The cut began to bleed lightly and he sliced again, deeper this time. The second cut hurt at first but the pain slid to a dull throb that made him smile weakly. Quatre focused on the pain, letting his thoughts clear for the first time since his love had been stolen. All there was was pain, and that was all he wanted.

He opened his light blue eyes to inspect the cuts. It was beautiful the way his blood dripped down his pale skin, it was like an artist's painting down his arm. But there was something that made it seem so unreal in front of him. With his other hand the small boy lightly touched the larger cut, feeling how it spilled his life with each ignorant beat of his broken heart.

The heat in the blood brought him back to his senses. "Oh Allah!" Quatre cried, grinding his wrists together, trying to stop the flow.

"Why Trowa? Why did you leave me?" He whispered through intensifying sobs. He hated Trowa for leaving, he hated himself for trying to leave.

Quatre began to panic as the blood continued to leave in large amounts. He could go to the others for help, but they would just laugh at how stupid he was. The small boy rolled into a defeated ball as his blood continued to leave him. It seemed as if forever passed as he cried and watched the cut bleed, unable to stop it.

Near the end his vision became blurry and gray. Quatre fought not to fall asleep, but his dulled senses only worsened his fatigue.

"Trowa," He whispered softly before giving in.