[ The non sequitur comes as a surprise, if Vash’s wide-eyed expression is any clue. But then he remembers who he’s talking to, and that tight fake smile softens, just a little, into something more wry. That’s what he gets for talking to another Vash, isn’t it? He can’t be expected to keep anything from himself, even the things he doesn’t say out loud. ]
That makes me a hypocrite, doesn’t it? Wanting to leave. [ He swings those long legs over the edge of the bed, and grimaces slightly at the feel of grimy floor beneath his bare feet. Where are his shoes? …Ah, there. ] He left me, did you know that? [ The other Vash’s hair says that, no, he’s not there yet, and Vash hopes fervently that when his time comes to defend the orphanage from the Eye, his Wolfwood will make the right choice. They’ve always worked better as a team.
Two buckles to get off, thirty buckles to get back on -- he’ll be awhile getting his feet back into these boots. ]
He snuck out just before dawn, because after everything he’d done for me, he didn’t think protecting his home was important enough to bring me along. [ That was this dawn, this morning, and the pain -- and anger -- at being left behind isn’t something he can tamp down at all. Pain is most of what’s keeping him going at this point. ] So he came out here alone, and he died.
[ He pauses, hand on a buckle, to look up and meet the other Vash’s gaze. For a hundred and fifty years he’s been alone, and he fully expected to be alone for the rest of his life. Then he met Wolfwood. It was never going to last -- the road they’re both on isn’t a long one, and it’s got a bloody end -- but he still wasn’t ready for it to end so soon. He’s finally found love that isn’t a mother’s gentle care or a brother’s obsessive violence, and it hurts so much some days he can’t bear it. ]
I don’t want to leave him behind, but I won’t watch him die again.
[ December was the end of Wolfwood’s road, and Knives has always been the end of Vash’s. ]
no subject
That makes me a hypocrite, doesn’t it? Wanting to leave. [ He swings those long legs over the edge of the bed, and grimaces slightly at the feel of grimy floor beneath his bare feet. Where are his shoes? …Ah, there. ] He left me, did you know that? [ The other Vash’s hair says that, no, he’s not there yet, and Vash hopes fervently that when his time comes to defend the orphanage from the Eye, his Wolfwood will make the right choice. They’ve always worked better as a team.
Two buckles to get off, thirty buckles to get back on -- he’ll be awhile getting his feet back into these boots. ]
He snuck out just before dawn, because after everything he’d done for me, he didn’t think protecting his home was important enough to bring me along. [ That was this dawn, this morning, and the pain -- and anger -- at being left behind isn’t something he can tamp down at all. Pain is most of what’s keeping him going at this point. ] So he came out here alone, and he died.
[ He pauses, hand on a buckle, to look up and meet the other Vash’s gaze. For a hundred and fifty years he’s been alone, and he fully expected to be alone for the rest of his life. Then he met Wolfwood. It was never going to last -- the road they’re both on isn’t a long one, and it’s got a bloody end -- but he still wasn’t ready for it to end so soon. He’s finally found love that isn’t a mother’s gentle care or a brother’s obsessive violence, and it hurts so much some days he can’t bear it. ]
I don’t want to leave him behind, but I won’t watch him die again.
[ December was the end of Wolfwood’s road, and Knives has always been the end of Vash’s. ]
I don’t know what to do.