[The pain and rage and screaming buffeted at his mind, only causing his panic, the despair he felt at what he knew he had to be seeing, to dig its claws into him deeper. And he wasn't good at this whole "memory sharing" thing, he'd never done it, certainly not from this side of things, so when the touch connected and he felt his mind opening, it threatened to drag him down with it into the thing's mind. He let out a ragged scream, every part that was left of him focusing on maintaining control of himself, sending out his thoughts, showing the peace he promised, showing the people he knew Vash had loved the most, standing in front of him with the bright, yawning light behind them.
Rem, smiling at him, motherly but sad, and Knives beside her, stern and still intimidating but so tired. "He'll need someone to wait for him, Nicholas, but I can't stay, anymore. I won't make Knives go by himself. You understand, don't you? He'll be so happy to see you, and you can tell him for me. Tell him we're waiting for him. Can you do that for me? For us?" There was sadness in the memory, but also love, so much love, and a strange kind of joy that had only grown over the years. Memories of following Vash, chattering at him as if he could be heard, as if they hadn't lost a day, months, decades to Wolfwood's loss. And those first small, grey hairs amongst all the black that even now were so few and far between at Vash's temples, a sign that gave hope and happiness in what should have been something that brought a deep sadness.
The problem with being only a spirit and trying to stop something with that much force from barreling into someone was that there was no weight to it, nothing to really slow them down. He could only cling to the form as it screamed and lunged for Vash, dragging him behind in a way that would have threatened to yank the bones in his wrist apart if he'd still had them. And he felt himself losing his strength, he'd overexerted himself, used too much of his energy in speaking and touching and manipulating the world of the living around him. It was threatening to drag him back to the void, that dark place between perception of the living world and the light. He couldn't let himself slip away, yet, he had to stay here, he had to stop what was happening!]
STOP, PLEASE!
[His voice sounded weak even to his own ears, and for a moment, so did the screaming, horrible voice that rang out between him and Vash, and he worried that he was losing what constituted as consciousness.
But then the voice changed, no longer rage and fury, but a sad, scared little thing, a familiar thing from almost as far back as his last memories of life, someone he hadn't thought about for a very long time. But the recollection made something fall into place, his horror shifting to take a different form. The memory of a tiny little thing, hiding just on the edges of perception in the in-between, following Rem and himself for the few short months they'd gotten to know each other. The story Vash's mother told, when she knew that he had noticed. So much sadness, so much guilt, so much sorrow.
Memory of sitting down, quiet, pretending to whittle a little thing and just waiting for the tiny, blonde-headed girl to creep out and come closer. The thing with kids who are that shy, that frightened, is you can't come to them. You've got to make yourself smaller, put yourself on their level, and let them come to you, like coaxing a kitten out of hiding. Humming off-key to himself. What would a child who'd never gotten to experience love and protection find interesting? Something as immensely intelligent as a Plant, but so very young, so isolated, so traumatized that all she had known was pain and fear? In the end, it had been the simple act of the whittling itself that had done the trick, simple curiosity just barely peeking out from underneath the distrust in her eyes as she finally crept out of the shadows.
"Hey, mija. You wanna see?" He'd decided to make what had worked in the past. A tiny bird, though its wings were a little more skilled than that first one, its feathers inspired by the ones he'd seen on Vash so many times, on his sisters the few times he'd seen one up close. Held out in his hand, this figment of a thing that didn't really exist for anyone except them, manifested from his own energy, until her tiny hand had reached out and taken it, oh so gingerly.]
Te-Tessla?
[Not Vash. Not Vash, his big sister, but still hurting, still in need of help, the baby who never got to live, who he'd sat and quietly whispered to for days before finally convincing her that going towards the light meant she didn't have to be afraid, anymore.
His fingers lost corporeality and he tumbled to the ground, dazed, the connection gone and his mind reeling. She could still hurt Vash, she could still cause harm to the people around her. He tried to pull himself to his feet, but the world around him was grey. It was taking everything in him to stay present, stay conscious.]
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Rem, smiling at him, motherly but sad, and Knives beside her, stern and still intimidating but so tired. "He'll need someone to wait for him, Nicholas, but I can't stay, anymore. I won't make Knives go by himself. You understand, don't you? He'll be so happy to see you, and you can tell him for me. Tell him we're waiting for him. Can you do that for me? For us?" There was sadness in the memory, but also love, so much love, and a strange kind of joy that had only grown over the years. Memories of following Vash, chattering at him as if he could be heard, as if they hadn't lost a day, months, decades to Wolfwood's loss. And those first small, grey hairs amongst all the black that even now were so few and far between at Vash's temples, a sign that gave hope and happiness in what should have been something that brought a deep sadness.
The problem with being only a spirit and trying to stop something with that much force from barreling into someone was that there was no weight to it, nothing to really slow them down. He could only cling to the form as it screamed and lunged for Vash, dragging him behind in a way that would have threatened to yank the bones in his wrist apart if he'd still had them. And he felt himself losing his strength, he'd overexerted himself, used too much of his energy in speaking and touching and manipulating the world of the living around him. It was threatening to drag him back to the void, that dark place between perception of the living world and the light. He couldn't let himself slip away, yet, he had to stay here, he had to stop what was happening!]
STOP, PLEASE!
[His voice sounded weak even to his own ears, and for a moment, so did the screaming, horrible voice that rang out between him and Vash, and he worried that he was losing what constituted as consciousness.
But then the voice changed, no longer rage and fury, but a sad, scared little thing, a familiar thing from almost as far back as his last memories of life, someone he hadn't thought about for a very long time. But the recollection made something fall into place, his horror shifting to take a different form. The memory of a tiny little thing, hiding just on the edges of perception in the in-between, following Rem and himself for the few short months they'd gotten to know each other. The story Vash's mother told, when she knew that he had noticed. So much sadness, so much guilt, so much sorrow.
Memory of sitting down, quiet, pretending to whittle a little thing and just waiting for the tiny, blonde-headed girl to creep out and come closer. The thing with kids who are that shy, that frightened, is you can't come to them. You've got to make yourself smaller, put yourself on their level, and let them come to you, like coaxing a kitten out of hiding. Humming off-key to himself. What would a child who'd never gotten to experience love and protection find interesting? Something as immensely intelligent as a Plant, but so very young, so isolated, so traumatized that all she had known was pain and fear? In the end, it had been the simple act of the whittling itself that had done the trick, simple curiosity just barely peeking out from underneath the distrust in her eyes as she finally crept out of the shadows.
"Hey, mija. You wanna see?" He'd decided to make what had worked in the past. A tiny bird, though its wings were a little more skilled than that first one, its feathers inspired by the ones he'd seen on Vash so many times, on his sisters the few times he'd seen one up close. Held out in his hand, this figment of a thing that didn't really exist for anyone except them, manifested from his own energy, until her tiny hand had reached out and taken it, oh so gingerly.]
Te-Tessla?
[Not Vash. Not Vash, his big sister, but still hurting, still in need of help, the baby who never got to live, who he'd sat and quietly whispered to for days before finally convincing her that going towards the light meant she didn't have to be afraid, anymore.
His fingers lost corporeality and he tumbled to the ground, dazed, the connection gone and his mind reeling. She could still hurt Vash, she could still cause harm to the people around her. He tried to pull himself to his feet, but the world around him was grey. It was taking everything in him to stay present, stay conscious.]