[The shift from memories of himself seen from the other side of the perspective is strange, leaves him drifting, consciousness overwhelmed, his sense of self barely holding on as he watched, and for a moment, it was almost enough to calm the turmoil that he was feeling. Brother Livio? No. Nai-Knives-the memories of a childhood filled with laughter and green fields and joy, no hardship, it's wonderful, so wonderful, like nothing he ever had and the small part of himself that is still aware enough to recognize where he ends and Vash's memories begin recognizes what he's seeing enough to mourn that it was something he had never had. Feeling it, the happiness of it even through the filter of what's happening, is overwhelming in a way the other memories hadn't been.
But then the pain starts again and he stops breathing altogether. The happiness shatters, a little girl - barely old enough to be a baby but looking much older - suspended in a jar of chemicals and dead, dismembered, disected, and the absolute horror of it, feeling the sudden fear of a child truly realizing for the first time that he is other, that he's in danger, alone. Remembering the Fall, Knives unhinged, mad with glee for what he'd done, waging murder across a defenceless town while Vash screamed and begged and pleaded for it to stop, Knives belittling Vash for being thirsty in a God-damned desert wasteland!
What hits him the hardest, what can't be tempered by even the fear that the little boy in the distant bed might never wake up and the mother in the nearer bed might die because of what he'd done and he might die, alone, so alone, is the rage that builds, intense and feral and vicious, protective, willing to risk killing them - him, Vash, both of them - if it means taking a chance at escaping from the deranged madman contorlling an army of sisters. The horror and pain of having power forced out of him while Knives looks on in wild glee.
The sight of lamps overhead, bright, too bright, the murmurings of a mad scientist and fucking Knives nearby while needles embed in his skin and tear and rip and suddenly Wolfwood is in his own memories again, laying on his own medical table, screaming, needles and knives and cruel experiments and it's the same, the same table, the same doctor! They'd done it to Vash! They'd done it to Vash!
And then suddenly, his leg was buckling violently underneath him and he was falling to the ground, his grip on white, gleaming feathers separating as he came back to himself. He gasped once, twice, and then the sound of his voice began low in his throat as his mind tried to piece itself back together from what had happened. Growling, snarling, almost a low scream as he tucked his shoulder and rolled, coming to rest immediately on his back, and now with his gun in his hands, his eyes crazed and darting around for the man who'd started all of it. He had to stop him, he'd failed once, not again, not again, just one fucking bullet!
It was only the fact that he found himself staring at a child at the end of the barrel that stayed his hand, but even that was a tenuous thing. His hands shook, teeth clenched so tight he could feel it in the hinge of his jaw as his mind finally began to settle back into reality. Still snarling, still growling.]
G-...g-give me...give me a reason! [Why he shouldn't, why it was wrong, why it wouldn't solve all of their problems and make up for even a fraction of the agony he had put them all through.] GIVE ME A GOOD FUCKING REASON!
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But then the pain starts again and he stops breathing altogether. The happiness shatters, a little girl - barely old enough to be a baby but looking much older - suspended in a jar of chemicals and dead, dismembered, disected, and the absolute horror of it, feeling the sudden fear of a child truly realizing for the first time that he is other, that he's in danger, alone. Remembering the Fall, Knives unhinged, mad with glee for what he'd done, waging murder across a defenceless town while Vash screamed and begged and pleaded for it to stop, Knives belittling Vash for being thirsty in a God-damned desert wasteland!
What hits him the hardest, what can't be tempered by even the fear that the little boy in the distant bed might never wake up and the mother in the nearer bed might die because of what he'd done and he might die, alone, so alone, is the rage that builds, intense and feral and vicious, protective, willing to risk killing them - him, Vash, both of them - if it means taking a chance at escaping from the deranged madman contorlling an army of sisters. The horror and pain of having power forced out of him while Knives looks on in wild glee.
The sight of lamps overhead, bright, too bright, the murmurings of a mad scientist and fucking Knives nearby while needles embed in his skin and tear and rip and suddenly Wolfwood is in his own memories again, laying on his own medical table, screaming, needles and knives and cruel experiments and it's the same, the same table, the same doctor! They'd done it to Vash! They'd done it to Vash!
And then suddenly, his leg was buckling violently underneath him and he was falling to the ground, his grip on white, gleaming feathers separating as he came back to himself. He gasped once, twice, and then the sound of his voice began low in his throat as his mind tried to piece itself back together from what had happened. Growling, snarling, almost a low scream as he tucked his shoulder and rolled, coming to rest immediately on his back, and now with his gun in his hands, his eyes crazed and darting around for the man who'd started all of it. He had to stop him, he'd failed once, not again, not again, just one fucking bullet!
It was only the fact that he found himself staring at a child at the end of the barrel that stayed his hand, but even that was a tenuous thing. His hands shook, teeth clenched so tight he could feel it in the hinge of his jaw as his mind finally began to settle back into reality. Still snarling, still growling.]
G-...g-give me...give me a reason! [Why he shouldn't, why it was wrong, why it wouldn't solve all of their problems and make up for even a fraction of the agony he had put them all through.] GIVE ME A GOOD FUCKING REASON!