[Fic] Regret
Plz don't kill me for uploading so soon again XD But this is for meggle_star to make her feel better~
Title: Regret
Fandom: D. Gray Man
Summary: A clock turned backward. A heavy feeling in your chest.
A/N: again written for Meggle to make her feel better. Um, can I say it's kinda odd to have someone ship a canon character with your OC? XD Because it is. *guilty of this* though oddly only for these two *in this fandom* um but yes...this is more catering to Cradle's timeframe but it can also be general. Polar and Lavi's past as it (sometimes) is in certain fics. Please note: It goes BACKWARD um. the scenes do. *hopefully you'll get it*
--------------------------------------------------------
It wasn't like he had meant anything by it. Not now, not ever. It wasn't like he /meant/--that. The outcome.
"Calm /down/ Polar! Stop struggling!" ANd the cold hands--of Papa, bandaging, removing--trying to strap him on the dreaded bed in the too white room--he hadn't--he hadn't--
"I know you didn't /mean/ it." Rushing brushing hair--pulled back now--they were removing the scarf and--"I know you didn't, please stop struggling, Polar--please." And then, lowly, "I should have prevented this. I should have been--" And then a voice--ancient and old--
"I never pegged you as one to /think/ like that. It's dangerous."
"Get /out/ of my surgery room--Panda."
"Snow."
"JUST /go/." Stressed--to stressed and in the momentary lapse he felt the cold hands, binding his wrists to the cold table--"I need to warm these up /shit/ what was I --"
"I'll take my leave then."
Polar was distantly aware of a door slamming shut.
And words unspoken.
"Now calm down, Polar. I don't want to inject this wrong."
/Would it matter if you did?/
/Would it matter if it got this feeling out of my chest?/
*And not just the wound--he deserved the wound--but --not this. he didn't want /the other feeling/ settling into the depths of his chest. Stomach. Making his limbs heavy, and his head hurt--more than from the medicine.
/Is this the feeling of regret/?
Yes. He was sure it was, when lids closed heavily--the last sight a white ceiling before all went black.
--(Sometime Before)--
"Mm," Polar turned on his heels, watching--as Lavi traced along one of the many guns he had laid on his bed earlier to clean--seeming fixated. Each. One.
But that meant he wasn't listening.
"/Lavi/." He started, when he picked up one of the smaller guns. 11 year old that he may be (or was it 12?) he didn't know how to handle guns. His depth perception (or lack of it) prevented that. And--and--"/Lavi/" He was holding it up now, up to the light--green eye flashing--"Lavi put that--"
"I heard you." Polar blinked. Stopped. Hand outstretched to touch him--"I heard you but it's wrong right?" His eyes widened just a little more, "Master already explained it. And--I don't think we should--"
"THat's what I've
*been talking about," But Polar knew it was futile--that lone eye wasn't focused on him--and he knew it was a lie anyway.
"Is it?" The tone was dull, and pensive, and confused, but only a little, "Then why did you say you wanted us to try?"
"Try to--" he sucked in a breath, took a step between them. "It's--something you'll understand when--"
"I'm older?" a frown now, "Why can't I understand it /now/? I'm sure I do. Besides," He shifted the gun, practicing (Polar hoped) his aim--fake or not--but--"It's all we have. Do you want to screw up that badly."
"I /don't/." Two, three more steps--and he was there. Right there--less than a step away and--"But we can try. Experiment. See what's close enough--what's too /much/ what's--do you really want this to end?"
Green eye widened--he reached out--hands on his shoulders--trying to smile--"Do you want to try?"
Did he--/want to/? Hands clenched a little tighter--
Just a little.
"T--ry...?" green eye still wide, "But it's /wrong/--!"
"It's only wrong if you think it is."
"It is!" He flinched. "It is--didn't--Book--Master wouldn't
* /lie to me/!" And maybe he should have realized it, when he saw his free hand clench--but it didn't quite matter.
Didn't quite matter--
When he heard the gunshot. When the door slammed open. When Lavi stumbled back a few spaces, dropping the gun.
"But he /can/ be wrong."
And he could--right? But the conviction added to the blood, as he staggered--as the shouts muted--
"/Polar/!"
He wished it was Lavi saying it. But no. He was silent. As always.
--(Sometime Before)--
"Are you sure, you're--okay?" Polar wondered, brushing sweat soaked bangs from a lone green eye--to brush back across a pale skinned forehead, "I didn't--go too fast, did I?"
It was always a concern, but he felt far too warm for that. Far too warm when that lone green eye blearily focused on him, and a confused, but soft, smile graced the younger's lips.
"Mm thi'k so." He mumbled, shifting, a little away, a little up--Polar shifted too, know--he wanted space.
"That's good. I'm glad you liked it."
The smile --hesitant--grew a little wider--a little more /real/--"Mm--you're good at it." He felt his c
*heeks flush at the unintentional comment, coughing lightly and rolling onto his back to stare up at the ceiling.
The ceiling of his room. Because that's where they were. Not Lavi's (they checked on him far too often)--and they had been 'talking'. Or something. They had been 'quiet' which amounted to the same thing.
Silence between friends, more profound that between lovers. WHich is what they were too--so--
He cringed when he heard a pained squeak from next to him, and turned his head--"Don't try to move." The muscles in that small back stiffened more than any back that small should, but it was a sign of trust when they slowly relaxed--when he reached out and was able to /trace/ without a violent set of steps following. "You're young."
"Young and /fine/."
"Lie back down." He reached out--hands gripping at arms now, mindful of bruises and wounds and--he hadn't left a mark. Lavi already had enough of those. "Please?"
The back leaned against him, "Fine." It was consent enough, as he dragged them both underneath the covers.
But--/but/--he wondered. How much longer? /How much
*longer?/
--(Sometime before)--
Fingertips. Gasps. Moans. Shifts--covers tangling--between messed legs, messed hair, eyes glazed, stiffled gasps--puffs of breath because loud wasn't an option--
"Don't worry."
"Nn!"
"Don't worry." Shift, thrust, squirm--love--he--this felt--
Fingertips brushing against sensitive skin--sensitive flesh, senses heightened beyond belief because of /who they were/ and what was going on and--
Maybe /this/ is why his father did this. Didn't do this. It was enough to kill--/maybe/.
Well if that was the case, he didn't mind being dead.
As long as the boy under him went with.
--(Sometime Before)--
They had been reading.
Had been. But weren't anymore.
"I wanna try this." It had started with an innocent question--not so innocent implications and--Polar had been a little more than surprised, when he watched the stern expression on the younger boy's face--green eye flashing in a dare.
"You want to /what/?" OF course his response hadn't been so eloquent, "But --Lavi--"
"Can't I? I mean I have what they call an erection now."
Polar coughed, loud
*and a little too forceful, "And how do you know /that/?"
"Because." Just because, "I was--thinking."
"About /what/?"
He raised the book and pointed--and Polar wished for once that he wasn't so pale. Wasn't so--easily distracted.
"/That/?" His throat was dry, "Why /that/?"
"Because--I've got it. Is that /bad/? Cuz I don't think it /is/."
Leave it to Lavi.
Just leave it to Lavi.
"I--guess we can." Because there was no telling 'no' to redhead's with a stubborn streak. "But--"
"But Nothing."
"Let me finish."
"/Let you finish?/ Well then finish."
He wanted to make him blush too, he decided--"You're scared aren't you?"
"It's not allowed."
"but I'm /curious/." A pause, "It's an experiment, right? Isn't that what you always say?"
Polar was just about to curse those very words from slipping out from between his lips--but he didn't get a chance to. A pair of softer, smaller lips were pressed against his own.
Yes. It was effectively silent.
For quite a while.
--(sometime before)--
He staggered and flailed but it didn't do anything for him. It never had. And Polar
*was reduced to laughter before he could make much sense of the matter. Mainly, Lavi pouting and frowning from his seat, wondering--probably--why it didn't work.
"THat. Wasn't. Funny."
"But /why/ didn't it work?"
"because you're an idiot." Polar sighed and stood, stumbling a bit--before realizing--something was much too cold.
And Lavi was staring at his neck. At the--scars.
He quickly picked up the scarf and tied it quickly back around his neck, "Let's go inside."
"You got those from there, didn't you?"
He froze.
"When'd they throw you back in?"
Polar clenched his fist. "no."
"What? Then where--"
"Don't worry about it."
"But--" He ruffled his hair, kissed the top of his head, "Don't."
He never got an answer.
--(Sometime before)--
"They're being released."
"They've been in there for only six months!"
"Does it matter? They have links to higher places. We can't disagree."
"Yes we--"
"We. Can't."
......
It had taken ages for the doors to finally open. Taken ages and soon they weren't there anymore. They weren't there in the basement --with the water. With
*the crazy people. Who maybe weren't there. But were. and--and--
Two boys stepped out. Polar first, then Lavi.
Blonde and red.
Breath never came too quickly for them then. Air Pressure difference, naturally. Eyes wide with what they had and hadn't seen. Been told about.
And old stories about ink and cats. And dying.
Too much dying.
"This--is the new Bookman." and an old wrinkly Panda came up and placed a hand, gently, on the mop of red hair.
It had taken ages for the door to open.
"And this is--Polar. My son." A much younger but paler hand pressed against a sleek pool of blond.
"You will accept them."
/They never said they had to be nice/.
--(at the beginning)--
"Who're you?"
"Since when did we have /names/ down here?" A laugh, "Number 115. You?"
"Number 49."
"Wait--you know me."
"We can always pretend we don't." A smile, a giggle, a brush of hands in hair and cold comfort--
"I guess. So. We can."
Pretend because what else /was/ there?
Not even paper.
-----------------(END)
Title: Regret
Fandom: D. Gray Man
Summary: A clock turned backward. A heavy feeling in your chest.
A/N: again written for Meggle to make her feel better. Um, can I say it's kinda odd to have someone ship a canon character with your OC? XD Because it is. *guilty of this* though oddly only for these two *in this fandom* um but yes...this is more catering to Cradle's timeframe but it can also be general. Polar and Lavi's past as it (sometimes) is in certain fics. Please note: It goes BACKWARD um. the scenes do. *hopefully you'll get it*
--------------------------------------------------------
It wasn't like he had meant anything by it. Not now, not ever. It wasn't like he /meant/--that. The outcome.
"Calm /down/ Polar! Stop struggling!" ANd the cold hands--of Papa, bandaging, removing--trying to strap him on the dreaded bed in the too white room--he hadn't--he hadn't--
"I know you didn't /mean/ it." Rushing brushing hair--pulled back now--they were removing the scarf and--"I know you didn't, please stop struggling, Polar--please." And then, lowly, "I should have prevented this. I should have been--" And then a voice--ancient and old--
"I never pegged you as one to /think/ like that. It's dangerous."
"Get /out/ of my surgery room--Panda."
"Snow."
"JUST /go/." Stressed--to stressed and in the momentary lapse he felt the cold hands, binding his wrists to the cold table--"I need to warm these up /shit/ what was I --"
"I'll take my leave then."
Polar was distantly aware of a door slamming shut.
And words unspoken.
"Now calm down, Polar. I don't want to inject this wrong."
/Would it matter if you did?/
/Would it matter if it got this feeling out of my chest?/
*And not just the wound--he deserved the wound--but --not this. he didn't want /the other feeling/ settling into the depths of his chest. Stomach. Making his limbs heavy, and his head hurt--more than from the medicine.
/Is this the feeling of regret/?
Yes. He was sure it was, when lids closed heavily--the last sight a white ceiling before all went black.
--(Sometime Before)--
"Mm," Polar turned on his heels, watching--as Lavi traced along one of the many guns he had laid on his bed earlier to clean--seeming fixated. Each. One.
But that meant he wasn't listening.
"/Lavi/." He started, when he picked up one of the smaller guns. 11 year old that he may be (or was it 12?) he didn't know how to handle guns. His depth perception (or lack of it) prevented that. And--and--"/Lavi/" He was holding it up now, up to the light--green eye flashing--"Lavi put that--"
"I heard you." Polar blinked. Stopped. Hand outstretched to touch him--"I heard you but it's wrong right?" His eyes widened just a little more, "Master already explained it. And--I don't think we should--"
"THat's what I've
*been talking about," But Polar knew it was futile--that lone eye wasn't focused on him--and he knew it was a lie anyway.
"Is it?" The tone was dull, and pensive, and confused, but only a little, "Then why did you say you wanted us to try?"
"Try to--" he sucked in a breath, took a step between them. "It's--something you'll understand when--"
"I'm older?" a frown now, "Why can't I understand it /now/? I'm sure I do. Besides," He shifted the gun, practicing (Polar hoped) his aim--fake or not--but--"It's all we have. Do you want to screw up that badly."
"I /don't/." Two, three more steps--and he was there. Right there--less than a step away and--"But we can try. Experiment. See what's close enough--what's too /much/ what's--do you really want this to end?"
Green eye widened--he reached out--hands on his shoulders--trying to smile--"Do you want to try?"
Did he--/want to/? Hands clenched a little tighter--
Just a little.
"T--ry...?" green eye still wide, "But it's /wrong/--!"
"It's only wrong if you think it is."
"It is!" He flinched. "It is--didn't--Book--Master wouldn't
* /lie to me/!" And maybe he should have realized it, when he saw his free hand clench--but it didn't quite matter.
Didn't quite matter--
When he heard the gunshot. When the door slammed open. When Lavi stumbled back a few spaces, dropping the gun.
"But he /can/ be wrong."
And he could--right? But the conviction added to the blood, as he staggered--as the shouts muted--
"/Polar/!"
He wished it was Lavi saying it. But no. He was silent. As always.
--(Sometime Before)--
"Are you sure, you're--okay?" Polar wondered, brushing sweat soaked bangs from a lone green eye--to brush back across a pale skinned forehead, "I didn't--go too fast, did I?"
It was always a concern, but he felt far too warm for that. Far too warm when that lone green eye blearily focused on him, and a confused, but soft, smile graced the younger's lips.
"Mm thi'k so." He mumbled, shifting, a little away, a little up--Polar shifted too, know--he wanted space.
"That's good. I'm glad you liked it."
The smile --hesitant--grew a little wider--a little more /real/--"Mm--you're good at it." He felt his c
*heeks flush at the unintentional comment, coughing lightly and rolling onto his back to stare up at the ceiling.
The ceiling of his room. Because that's where they were. Not Lavi's (they checked on him far too often)--and they had been 'talking'. Or something. They had been 'quiet' which amounted to the same thing.
Silence between friends, more profound that between lovers. WHich is what they were too--so--
He cringed when he heard a pained squeak from next to him, and turned his head--"Don't try to move." The muscles in that small back stiffened more than any back that small should, but it was a sign of trust when they slowly relaxed--when he reached out and was able to /trace/ without a violent set of steps following. "You're young."
"Young and /fine/."
"Lie back down." He reached out--hands gripping at arms now, mindful of bruises and wounds and--he hadn't left a mark. Lavi already had enough of those. "Please?"
The back leaned against him, "Fine." It was consent enough, as he dragged them both underneath the covers.
But--/but/--he wondered. How much longer? /How much
*longer?/
--(Sometime before)--
Fingertips. Gasps. Moans. Shifts--covers tangling--between messed legs, messed hair, eyes glazed, stiffled gasps--puffs of breath because loud wasn't an option--
"Don't worry."
"Nn!"
"Don't worry." Shift, thrust, squirm--love--he--this felt--
Fingertips brushing against sensitive skin--sensitive flesh, senses heightened beyond belief because of /who they were/ and what was going on and--
Maybe /this/ is why his father did this. Didn't do this. It was enough to kill--/maybe/.
Well if that was the case, he didn't mind being dead.
As long as the boy under him went with.
--(Sometime Before)--
They had been reading.
Had been. But weren't anymore.
"I wanna try this." It had started with an innocent question--not so innocent implications and--Polar had been a little more than surprised, when he watched the stern expression on the younger boy's face--green eye flashing in a dare.
"You want to /what/?" OF course his response hadn't been so eloquent, "But --Lavi--"
"Can't I? I mean I have what they call an erection now."
Polar coughed, loud
*and a little too forceful, "And how do you know /that/?"
"Because." Just because, "I was--thinking."
"About /what/?"
He raised the book and pointed--and Polar wished for once that he wasn't so pale. Wasn't so--easily distracted.
"/That/?" His throat was dry, "Why /that/?"
"Because--I've got it. Is that /bad/? Cuz I don't think it /is/."
Leave it to Lavi.
Just leave it to Lavi.
"I--guess we can." Because there was no telling 'no' to redhead's with a stubborn streak. "But--"
"But Nothing."
"Let me finish."
"/Let you finish?/ Well then finish."
He wanted to make him blush too, he decided--"You're scared aren't you?"
"It's not allowed."
"but I'm /curious/." A pause, "It's an experiment, right? Isn't that what you always say?"
Polar was just about to curse those very words from slipping out from between his lips--but he didn't get a chance to. A pair of softer, smaller lips were pressed against his own.
Yes. It was effectively silent.
For quite a while.
--(sometime before)--
He staggered and flailed but it didn't do anything for him. It never had. And Polar
*was reduced to laughter before he could make much sense of the matter. Mainly, Lavi pouting and frowning from his seat, wondering--probably--why it didn't work.
"THat. Wasn't. Funny."
"But /why/ didn't it work?"
"because you're an idiot." Polar sighed and stood, stumbling a bit--before realizing--something was much too cold.
And Lavi was staring at his neck. At the--scars.
He quickly picked up the scarf and tied it quickly back around his neck, "Let's go inside."
"You got those from there, didn't you?"
He froze.
"When'd they throw you back in?"
Polar clenched his fist. "no."
"What? Then where--"
"Don't worry about it."
"But--" He ruffled his hair, kissed the top of his head, "Don't."
He never got an answer.
--(Sometime before)--
"They're being released."
"They've been in there for only six months!"
"Does it matter? They have links to higher places. We can't disagree."
"Yes we--"
"We. Can't."
......
It had taken ages for the doors to finally open. Taken ages and soon they weren't there anymore. They weren't there in the basement --with the water. With
*the crazy people. Who maybe weren't there. But were. and--and--
Two boys stepped out. Polar first, then Lavi.
Blonde and red.
Breath never came too quickly for them then. Air Pressure difference, naturally. Eyes wide with what they had and hadn't seen. Been told about.
And old stories about ink and cats. And dying.
Too much dying.
"This--is the new Bookman." and an old wrinkly Panda came up and placed a hand, gently, on the mop of red hair.
It had taken ages for the door to open.
"And this is--Polar. My son." A much younger but paler hand pressed against a sleek pool of blond.
"You will accept them."
/They never said they had to be nice/.
--(at the beginning)--
"Who're you?"
"Since when did we have /names/ down here?" A laugh, "Number 115. You?"
"Number 49."
"Wait--you know me."
"We can always pretend we don't." A smile, a giggle, a brush of hands in hair and cold comfort--
"I guess. So. We can."
Pretend because what else /was/ there?
Not even paper.
-----------------(END)