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Children of War

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Sometimes Zechs let himself forget that these powerful little pilots were just teenage boys, kept small with puberty blockers and pumped full of chemical compounds designed to build strength and muscle.

He lifted the unconscious dark-haired boy gently from where he lay on the tiled floor, moving through the corridors of the base. He stuck to the shadows and less traveled hallways in order to avoid being spotted. He was aiding a prisoner, after all.

At fifteen, they still seem rather dainty. This one especially. All creamy skin stained with blood, lithe limbs littered with bruises, and inky silken strands hanging in jagged uneven clumps. Treize had done quite a number on the Chinese boy.

He settled the unconscious boy on his own bed, stripping him out of his ragged and bloody clothes with the help of a survival knife. He couldn’t help the small sound of disgust that left him then. He was littered with injuries, some of them weeks old and festering. He’d have to hurry if he wanted to tend them before WuFei awoke.

He tried not to think too hard about just why he had chosen to help this boy after what he’d done to Treize or the sick gurgle of the man’s final breaths rattling his chest. It couldn’t be helped.

And if the dark bruises and bloody fluid dried on the boy’s thighs was any indicator, he could hardly blame the boy for taking his tormentor’s life.

The raven-haired boy groaned and Zechs turned his attention back to the task at hand. There wasn’t much time left before the boy would be awake, fighting tooth and nail to get free most likely. Gundam pilots didn’t react well to sedatives, so he’d just have to get what he could done by trying to reason with the boy. Failing that, he’d use force to help right the mess his superior had made.

He was through flushing and patching up the worst of the wounds when he felt the iron grip of Wufei’s good hand squeeze around his wrist with bruising force. Zechs pressed his weight down against the boy, trapping his legs between himself and the bed, intending to disengage.

The Chinese’s boy’s eyes were still clouded, unfocused even as he struggled to free one leg and kick out against the taller man’s sternum.

Zechs grit his teeth against the crack of his ribs and the deafening pop of his shoulder dislocating, using his good arm to grab the boy at the ankle and shove his thigh flush with his chest.

“I’m trying to help, you ungrateful little shit.” He hisses in rough Chinese, briefly leaning into the kid until he hears the air rush out of him.

Taking the opportunity, he backs off with hands up, watching Wufei as he catches his breath.

“Everything you need is in that pack.” He says gesturing slowly toward the open pack at Wufei’s side. The boy grabs at it, but doesn’t take his eyes off of Zechs.

“You’re welcome to anything that doesn’t fall off. You’re so small though...” He trails off at the near growl the injured boy makes at the comment, biting back a chuckle.

“You’re in my personal quarters. When I leave here I’m going to be calling an emergency meeting to announce the fall of Treize. That should give you enough time.” He turns then, back exposed as he opens the door. It’s a show of trust he hopes the boy takes to heart. Before he steps out, he stops, speaking softly.

“My offer for an alliance still stands. I know you’ve been working with the rest of them. Pass the message along, won’t you?”

With those final words Zechs exits into the corridor, intent on completing his self-imposed mission. He’ll provide the distraction and hope the boy has allies close by. He’s done his part for the little dragon.