Halfway To Hell

Halfway To Hell

I just had the idea for this fic, and I have no idea how it will end up, so your reviews do matter! They could influence the way I choose to make things happen. I'm pretty sure that this is an original but if I may have inadvertently stolen someone's ideas, I apologize whole-heatedly and remind you that copying is the highest form of complementing!

Oh, and by the way, This Is Not A Death Fic!

Warning this fic may contain: angst, depression, shonen-ai, cursing, and traces of child abuse, rape, etc. etc.


Chapter 1: A Divine Joke


More nightmares.

Duo stared into the bathroom mirror dejectedly, and wondered whom he had pissed off enough to be forced to deal with this mental torture.

Honestly, he'd take twenty Ozzies and a holding cell over this.

It had been the usual, nothing new.

That made it all the worse.

Solo, Sister, Father, Soldiers, Innocents…

Round and round, it never stopped until he woke up sweating.

Now here he was, back where he always ended up. Holed up in the bathroom, pondering how fucked up his life was.

He wondered distantly what he done that Shinigami refused to take him. He supposed that some people would consider him lucky, even envy his ability to survive the way he did.

Those people were idiots.

To watch everyone you love and care for die, while you yourself come out with nothing more than a couple of scrapes that don't even leave any scars - visible scars at any rate… it wasn't worth it.

He realized that they were fighting a war. And that there wasn't room for depression in wars, but it wasn't his fault. It was those damn Ozzies' fault, or better yet those dam Docs' fault.

After all, he wasn't the one who had slowed this fucked up war to a stand still, now was he.

Because with no one to fight, and after being locked up in a safe house with four others for nearly two months, there was nothing to do but steep in one's memories. Especially at night.

After the dreams, all alone in the bathroom, there was nothing to do but to remember those terrible hellish dreams of his past. This of course was followed by memories, of the rest of his past, the beatings of the alliance soldiers on a defenseless street rat, the smell of the plague, the feel of heartless fingers on a scared child in shadow of a cold alley, the jeers of cruel children, and the interrogations that face one lone freedom fighter…

It all went round and round inside his head, and whenever he managed to pull himself out of it he was only met with the terror of his nightmares.

Duo Maxwell wasn't stupid. He knew, at least on some level what was happening to him. However he could not seem to force himself to care. On some level he knew that he needed help, but the rest of him couldn't handle even the thought of confessing his problems, not to the others, not to a stranger, not even to Quatre.

Duo Maxwell wasn't stupid, he took care of himself, he ate properly, and slept as much as he could when he could. He didn't even try unorthodox methods of retaining his sanity. He didn't try doing drugs, or drinking, or cutting. But if he was going to be honest the only reason he hadn't tried those was because he suspected that Heero would figure it out the moment the Duo tried it, and give him hell about it.

Not because he cared, of course. No. Heaven forbid that the perfect soldier could ever give a damn about anyone, even himself! No, Heero would catch him and stop him and give him hell, not because Duo was endangering himself, but because he was endangering the mission!

Stupid, fucking, mission obsessed Heero Yuy!

Sometimes Duo was sure that his life was the product of some divine practical joke. And to be honest, he was really getting sick of it…

Suddenly a thought occurred to him that he found quite funny. He found it so funny in fact that he fell backwards onto his butt from his position on against the counter and degenerated into a fit of not quite sane giggles.

Had he been thinking straight, Duo would have realized just how flawed his thinking was and let the idea go. But he wasn't, so he didn't. After all, it would obviously be hilariously funny if he were to turn the joke of the gods back upon them, forcing their sadism to backfire on them in the most spectacular manner possible – simply by refusing to be the object of their sadism any longer.

With a smile on his face, the young man got to his feet and stumbled over to medicine cabinet.

It was just his luck of course that the one medicine cabinet he chose to look in was empty… wait, no it wasn't.

There was a small-unmarked bottle on the top shelf. It was old and dusty and could not possibly be safe for human consumption…perfect!

Duo quickly filled a glass with water, and struggled for a minute, trying to pry open the stubborn cap of the pill bottle. If he had been in his right mind, he would have taken the resistance as a sign that he was making a bad choice. But he wasn't, so instead of reconsidering, he realized how inconsiderate it would be for the others to wake up to his dead body on the bathroom floor in the morning. So, being the good person that he was, the young man grabbed the now open pill bottle and the glass of water and stole silently back into his room.

Once there, he locked the door behind and sat on his bed. He took a moment to observe his messy room. He noted the half made bombs and scattered gun parts, the random junk as well as the bags of food that he stored all around. Despite what the others thought, he didn't keep his room this way because he was just sloppy or disorganized. He was almost positive that his pack-rat behavior was the result of his childhood on the streets and his innate fear of not having enough. Or something like that, he wasn't a physiatrist, after all. But he wasn't stupid, regardless of what anyone thought, and had at least paid some attention to some of G's more "educational" tangential rants.

Not that any of that would matter in the morning.

This thought in mind, Duo took a gulp of water, closed his eyes and downed every last pill in the little unmarked bottle. That done, he set down the glass and the bottle on the bedside table with two quiet thunks.

The teen let out a tired yawn. All jokes aside, he was just so tired. Tired of running and hiding and hurting and, and…just so tired of everything. But now he could sleep. Duo Maxwell cocooned himself in his covers, and prepared himself for what he hoped to be a very long, very peaceful rest.

And the Gods up in heaven and down in hell laughed their sadistic asses off, because come morning they would be springing the greatest joke of all time upon a poor unsuspecting world.

So, let this be a lesson to you boys and girls, when committing suicide, stick to knives, water or heights, and never go near unmarked bottles, because you just never know what will happen.


So…How was it? Bad, good, okay? Please review and tell me! But no flames, just constructive criticism, because I don't think my poor heart can handle blatant cruelty!

Ahem…Sorry. Just review and tell me what you think so I can know if I should put up my next chapter so that you readers can find out exactly how Duo messes up his suicide attempt.