Author: Kiya Sama

Title: The House of Sand and Time 1/??

Rating: R

Future Predominant Pairings: (subject to change) 1x2x1, 3x4x3, and 5x1x2

Warnings: AU, Supernatural, angst, drama, romance, lemon

Disclaimers: Main characters are properties of Bandai and Studio Sunrise. I make no money off them.

Summary: Heero Yuy is a practical young man who does not believe in ghosts. But his life takes a drastic turn as he realizes that appearances can be deceiving. Is it possible to fall in love with the past? And when the time comes for him to choose, will he be willing to give up the future to remain with the one he loves?

Author’s Notes: My second foray into the supernatural for those of you who like ghost stories. This might end up in the original bin if it goes according to plan, so be on the look out for that one. Much thanks to Clarediva for the semi-inspiration for this story and for Zan for waking up my dormant Quatre/Trowa muse. ^^

 

 

 

The House of Sand and Time:

Chapter One:

 

Their feet made soft crunching sounds on dry leaves as they made their way up the winding boulevard of dying trees. Hues of orange, burnt sienna and red shimmered in the fading evening light creating a surreal glow around the peaceful surroundings. Every now and then, one could hear the faint chirping of birds calling out to their mates to retire for the night. Somewhere to their left, the soft howl of a wolf or a coyote – who could tell in these parts – signaled another night of hunting for its pack.

 

The leader of the group dug through his black backpack to bring out the large flashlight causing the others to do the same. It was suddenly too gloomy to see with the aid of the dying sun. The abundance of trees in this section of the woods was quite overwhelming and the heavy stench of dust and decay filled their young nostrils. One of the boys sneezed and the leader glared at him as if he had committed the greatest crime in the century. It wasn’t as if they were sneaking around or anything but there was something quite eerie about this part of the Woodland that made one have the urge to whisper.

 

They made a turn around a clump of bushes and soon the familiar and rather comforting sight of Windham Road could no longer be seen. They stared at the wooden post that heralded their arrival to their destination. The long stick, which stood at an awkward angle, looked weathered and worn. A small sign with the hastily scribbled words ‘Wicker Cemetery’ made sickening creaking sounds as it swung back and forth from his perilous perch at the top of the pole. Beyond it was the undeniable presence of the famous wrought iron gates that would lead them into the place where legends and myths had begun.

 

Wicker had once been under the care of the prestigious Dunhill family of the late nineteenth century. It was once believed that beyond the gates and past the graveyards and tombstones, sat the large mansion that had once housed the family that had been regarded as royalty back in the day. It hadn’t really been a graveyard to begin with. These had once been lawns of unimaginable beauty with gardens and flowers that had brought many an admirer from far and wide. However, war had come and all the men of the family had been enlisted as soldiers. As fate’s cruel hands would have it, none of the men returned home alive. The widowed Dunhill had then, by some sudden urge or compulsion, converted the once elaborate lawns into a mass graveyard. It not only housed the bodies of her late husband and sons, but she gave it free reign to be used as a burying ground for all the men who had lost their lives in the war. Many said or assumed that she had gone insane with grief. Many said that they could still hear her lonely wails of anguish each night as she continued to mourn the death of her loved ones.

 

No one knew how she died in the end. She seemed to have just…disappeared – thereby leaving the estate and the land to anyone who was willing to take care of it. As it turned out, no one wanted the responsibility of taking care of the cursed place. Many a bidding war had gone on over the years and due to lack of interest or conflicts between parties – the Dunhill Estate was gradually reduced to shambles and neglect. One could barely make out the house from Windham Road as vines had now completely covered the once magnificent home. Wicker cemetery, itself, was in a state of disarray. Many of the tombstones looked as if they were bound to break into pieces at the slightest touch and to make it worse, even more creeping vines and tall grasses hid most of them from view now.

 

From the outside, Wicker looked like the very depths of hell itself.

 

Three of the boys peered through the iron bars…

 

“Ouch,” one of them cried out as he held up his now bleeding thumb to their gazes. “Thorns.”

 

“You should be more careful,” the leader hissed in irritation as he fell to his knees. His hands searched through the thick undergrowth along the wall until they felt the solid but loose bit of wood that had been used to cover up the secret pathway. He pushed it to the side and motioned for the others to follow him. All dutifully followed with either a small wince or a cry of disgust or pain as their sensitive skins scrapped against jagged twigs, slimy bugs or the occasional rose thorn.

 

They were finally inside the hallowed grounds and as they straightened up, they each refused to give in to the dull coil of fear that was beginning to worm its way into the pits of their stomach. It was practically ‘black’ in here and it wasn’t even six o’clock in the evening yet! Their flashlights made weak pale dots amongst the bushes and tombstones…

 

Marcus Dunhill

1800 – 1816

 

Julius Dunhill

1789 – 1815

 

Richard Weatherborn

1799 - 1815

 

And on and on it went. Names faded from the brutal forces of sunlight and rain over the years seemed to whisper to the newcomers to pay attention. Unknown to them, they had huddled into a tight group…all except for one – he stood to the side with those blue eyes staring at nothing and yet at everything. He wasn’t as tall as they were, neither was he as street smart but he had wanted to join their crew. He had wanted to belong and that was why he was here…at least he hoped it was.

 

The leader spun around quickly as if finally noticing the silent one’s presence. A frown came to his features as he noticed that the boy did not have a single expression of fear on his visage. If anything, the boy looked…intrigued – if that were even possible. And knowing that this boy, who was such a fucking retard by the way, was capable of looking this nonchalant over such a situation, was more than enough to make him angry again. He hissed in irritation and wished more than ever to smack the smug look out of the newbie’s face.

 

The kid had come to them last week in the middle of their street card game – in which he had been winning mind you – and had stated matter-of-factly that he wanted to join them. Of course, one look at the boy who had been dressed in a neat Sunday suit had sent them all howling with laughter. The kid must have just moved into town because his accent sure sounded funny too.

 

“What’s your name?” the leader had asked with a snicker as he leaned back on his haunches to stare into those rather piercing blue eyes.

 

“Heero. Heero Yuy.”

 

Weird ass name, he had thought. “Where you from, Hiro?”

 

“My family just moved in from Japan. I would like to join your group, if I may. You seem to be the only ones who can help me.”

 

The others had begun laughing but the leader had shut them up with a glare. Help him? Just who and what did this boy think he was? Everyone on the fucking block was scared of them. No one dared come up to them to ask for help let alone come up here with that look of determination on their faces. This boy…

 

“Is psycho…”

 

But he would teach Hiro a lesson, that’s for sure. If Hiro wanted to join their group, he would have to go through a ritual.

 

A ritual? Heero had asked in bemusement.

 

Yeah! You know? Like hazing and all of that stuff they do in college, he had explained quickly. You’re not scared are you?

 

The boy had shaken his head and to the leader’s surprise, had even looked excited! Damn him!

 

But oh yeah! Tonight, he was definitely going to make Hiro pay for being such a smart ass and by the time he was through with him, Mister Japanese boy would be begging for mercy.

 

“You ready, Hiro?” he asked around a smug grin as he placed his hands on his hips and raised a brow in superiority.

 

“But…what am I supposed to do here?” the boy asked as he glanced around him in confusion. “I thought you said it was supposed to be something scary. This is just a graveyard. A neglected one at that…”

 

“I know what the fuck it is!” the taller boy yelled out in frustration. “You asshole! Do you even know where you are?!”

 

And as if to punctuate the rhetorical question, something moved amongst the trees on the left, sending the other two boys whimpering in fear.

 

“Let’s get out of here, boss,” one of them muttered thickly. “Let’s just leave him and go.”

 

But the leader was upset, angry – in short, pissed. He stepped up to the blue-eyed boy and seized him by the scruff of his shirt. He tugged him so hard that their noses almost bumped with each other.

 

“Why aren’t you scared, you pisswad? Huh? Why?”

 

“Boooosss…”

 

“Answer me, you sonofabitch! Why?!”

 

Heero stared at him for a moment longer before replying quietly. “Because there’s nothing to be afraid of. They are already dead…aren’t they? They can’t do anything to you now unless you believe in unnatural beings creeping out from the grave and coming out to chop you into little pieces. Everyone knows that only happens in the movies.”

 

The leader’s jaw dropped in disbelief. He didn’t know if he wanted to smack some sense into Heero or if he wanted to kiss the guy. But settling for the former, he gave the boy a slap on his left cheek sending him falling to the mulch-like earth with a soft grunt of pain. Heero held his stinging flesh and stared at the boy towering over him with surprise. He certainly hadn’t expected that.

 

“You smug sonofabitch,” the leader whispered harshly as he glared balefully at the boy below him. “You think you are too cool, don’t you?”

 

“Booooss, let’s get out of here…”

 

“I’m gonna make you piss in your pants, Hiro my friend.” And with a grin that looked absolutely maniacal in nature, he bent at the waist, hands reaching for the boy’s dark blue jeans to tug them off roughly. Heero cried out in surprise at the sudden change in plans, his hands desperately trying to pull back his clothes. But to his dismay the bigger boy was much faster and before long, he was left to feel the cold draft of evening against his bare legs, ass and thighs.

 

“What…what are you doing?!” he asked quickly as he tried to scramble to his feet. His hands tried to cover his privates, now worried blue eyes staring at the snickering boys surrounding him.

 

“Strip him, boys,” came the soft command from the oldest boy and before he could get his scattered wits about him, his blue dress shirt was ripped from his body effectively leaving him completely naked. He staggered again and fell to his knees. He really could not understand why they felt the need to take his clothes. They could have just left him here for a while for the hazing ritual but this was…harassment.

 

“Give me back my clothes…please,” he added quickly knowing he would have to kiss up to them if he had any hopes of getting out of here on time. He wasn’t afraid of them or of his surroundings. He just didn’t like the idea of walking around naked and being susceptible to bugs and god knows what else lay in the shadows.

 

“Give me back my clothes, pweease!” the leader mimicked in a sickening saccharine-coated voice. “Well, you aren’t getting it back, Hiro! So stay here and deal with it!” He snickered and leaned closer to the younger boy, making sure that his words were digested properly. “You’re gonna spend the night here, faggot boy. And if you can make it all night, then we just might let you join us. If not…sayonara, Hiro!”

 

Their derisive laughter echoed around and amongst the trees leaving trembling echoes in their aftermath. Heero couldn’t even find the words to plead with his tormentors as he remained on his knees in disbelief. He was going to spend the night here – in this graveyard – with no clothes on. Absently, he smacked at a ladybug that had begun to scramble up his leg and he wiped away the blood from the dead insect against the bark of a tree, only to take it away quickly as it was soon covered with something sticky and quite pungent.

 

He stared after the boys’ disappearing figures with a heavy sigh. There was no use calling out to them now. It would only make him seem weak and he didn’t need them to know that. He had to blame the doctor for all of this. He had told Heero to find the boys – that they would be the only ones able to lead him to the place where the famed elixir could be found. Of course, Heero had thought it was all a childish tale and had scoffed at the older man’s ideas. However, he had definitely not thought it would lead to him being abused like this. He was much stronger than the boys that had brought him here and he could have easily subdued them at any time, but the doctor had specifically told him to follow their orders.

 

/In time, they will show you the way…/

 

The way to what? His death? He winced and slapped at a mosquito that had begun to feast on his upper arm. At this rate, he doubted he would be able to last till morning. This really was ridiculous. He didn’t have his cell phone or any other means of communication. He would have to rely on his brain to store as much as he could learn in order to give a detailed and coherent report to the old man come morning. Although, he doubted he would be able to garner much in this state.

 

Without the flashlights, the darkness seemed overwhelming. He rose to his feet and began to shuffle carefully through the soft and damp grass below him. Since little to no sun came in here, he wasn’t surprised to find that the ground was this damp and ‘squishy’. He could feel things crawl between his toes and he all but shuddered in revulsion. According to his research of this town, there was supposed to be a mansion somewhere further uphill. He would have to do his best to weave through the maze of tombstones to make his way up there safely. He was a practical young man and had no belief in haunted mansions or homes. He would only stay in the mansion for tonight to get out from the elements and then tomorrow…

 

“Fuck!” His feet got entangled in some undergrowth and in his haste to withdraw his trapped foot, he ended up falling flat on his face and amongst silvery thread-like things that crawled all over him. With a frustrated cry, he swiped at his face quickly, closing his mouth and trying hard to get the spider webs off him.

 

But it was the light giggling sound that had him halting his frantic movements, sharp eyes narrowing in wariness as he remained as still as death in his prone position.

 

It’s just my imagination, he thought with a soft nod. Probably some children down the street. I must not be too far away from the main road then.

 

But he knew that his logic didn’t seem quite right either. He had been keeping track of his whereabouts as they had made their way up here and if his theory was correct, Windham Road was about three miles from his current position. Any giggling sounds he might have heard would have been from someone who was right here with him.

 

/Ghosts are childish follies. They are only made up to scare the living away from destroying the sanctity of the graveyards./

 

Giving a firm nod of resolution, he pushed himself back upright only to find himself staring into a pair of laughing green eyes – quite large green eyes that seemed to fill the heart-shaped babyish face. Golden curls framed the cherub features and smiling full red lips were pursed in obvious curiosity.

 

A child of about eight. There is a child looking at me. What is wrong with this picture?

 

What was wrong was that this girl seemed to be dressed in clothes that could only belong in the nineteenth century. It was no doubt a boy’s Lord Fauntleroy suit that looked as if it was made out of expensive black velvet. With its ruffled white collar, short black jacket and pants that were cuffed a little below the knee, pristine white stockings and low black shoes finished up the ridiculously neat-looking…well…boy.

 

His hands were behind his back and that curious grin hadn’t slid off his features either. Heero could feel his cheeks heat with color at just how intense the boy’s scrutiny was and he tried to muster up a smile.

 

I’m about to talk to a ghost because there is no way in hell any normal boy could come walking into this place like this.

 

But as soon as Heero began to form the words to say, the boy beat him to it by opening up his mouth and giving the most high-pitched scream he had ever heard. He slapped hands over his ears and closed his eyes willing the little brat to stop his wailing. It was deafening – possibly loud enough to break glass – silvery, thin and yet oddly melodious.

 

Shut up! Shut up! You’ll wake up the dead!

 

What a thought.

 

And just as suddenly as it had begun, the screaming stopped and merciful silence reigned again. Heero opened up his eyes warily, fully expecting the boy with the loud mouth to be there, but to his chagrin his visitor had disappeared.

 

Go figure. You couldn’t even say goodbye the regular way, could you?

 

He sat down heavily, no longer caring if bugs decided to make a home in his ass or in any other crevice in his body tonight. He was suddenly too tired to move an inch and to make matters worse; he had skipped lunch and now dinner thanks to this stupid plan. His stomach growled in protest as he leaned against a tombstone, only to pull back a little to give a small bow of respect and apology.

 

“I’m sorry…” He leaned closer and squinted, hands reaching to brush away years of moss and grass away from the name. “I’m sorry…Quatre R. Winner. But you are going to have to be my headrest for the night. I’ll compensate you later on…”

 

Yes, sleep would be the best thing for now. Just a little nap and then this ordeal would be over. Perhaps if he was lucky, he could sleep the whole night away and wake up to a brand new day with those bastards returning with his clothes.

 

Hey, it was the least they could do, after all…

 

 

 

~*~

 

 

He skipped past the mounds of earth with a familiarity that had come from years of doing so. He was happy - almost giddy with pleasure at the thought of having a new playmate and master. It had been years since anybody had managed to stay this long. Many had come to the gates and some wayward children had even dared to stay for a few hours, but no one had come in this late before.

 

This was going to be so much fun.

 

As the large house came into view, short stubby legs began to stretch into long, lean ones – small hands seemed to flex and elongate into strong and steady ones. The golden curls grew a bit longer but were no longer as curly. The small heart-shaped face had now become the breathtaking visage of one who now looked to be seventeen of age. He arched his neck and stretched out aching muscles and with a wide grin of delight on his visage, Quatre R. Winner opened up the doors to the Dunhill Mansion to let in the light that had long been denied to him…them… for so many years.

 

He eyed the three young boys that sat in the corner of the large drawing room still playing their boring game of backgammon with a frown of displeasure on his handsome countenance. And as he stepped a bit further into the room, he clapped his hands together sharply, before barking out with barely concealed impatience but yet undeniable excitement.

 

“Return to your true forms, my friends,” he announced. “We’ve got ourselves a new master!”