[ Who are you? Vash begins to think back, but the other him answers his question -- and more -- before he can even begin to send along that connection. I'm not a puppet, he promises. I'm not a lie, and the way he phrases it rings true. Would Knives have bothered telling a mind reader how he can Vash used to joke as kids? It seems like far too much effort to put into a trap, especially now, but the alternative is just too unbelievable. How could there be another version of himself? How...?
But his whirlwind of questions fades as the other Vash continues to speak. We buried Wolfwood, and even though it's not his memory, not his experience, Vash can feel every shovelful of soil behind those words. He can feel the dirt under his nails, the weight of the stones in his palm. The weight of the corpse in his arms.
His jaw aches from smiling, but he can't make his face relax. It's locked into a rictus grin that just grows wider as the other Vash continues, pouring horrors into Vash's heart and mind. Part of him recoils from the knowledge, but still he sifts through every sentence, every flash of feeling that accompanies those terrible words. He would have buried Wolfwood out behind the kitchen, yes. He would have waited, at the edge of a fresh-dug grave, to make sure of the body within. He'd thought Wolfwood dead before -- he would have made sure. He would have had to be sure.
But he's not sure, can't be sure, because these aren't his memories. He never washed the blood off Wolfwood's face, never searched his pockets for any remaining vials. Never debated whether to save it for Livio, or to see if he could force one more miracle. Never got to say goodbye.
His voice is as stiff as his gestures when he's finally able to reply, tight with the effort of keeping himself under control. ]
I heard them too. [ His sisters. Their sisters, maybe? Maybe. ] The rescue ship had gone, and Knives was... I looked up and he was there. [ He doesn't know how long he sat there in silence beside Wolfwood. It could have been seconds, or hours, he doesn't recall. Time stopped when Wolfwood stopped breathing. The world had died with him, until Knives had dragged it back into focus. ] He attacked, and I put up a wall, and... and I heard the other plants.
[ They'd been calling for help, he sends along their connection, in feelings more than with language. It's the way he usually communicates with their sisters, in images and feelings, rather than with the words they often don't seem to understand. He'd thought it was the plants trapped on the ark, crying out in distress as he responded to Knives's bombardment, crying out in fear as Knives drained their lives away, fuel for the attack on his little brother while Vash had been distracted with grief. And then the attack had ended, and the ark was gone, like it had never been there. The ark, Livio, Wolfwood... all vanished.
How can he be sure Wolfwood is dead without a body? ]
So if... If you're me from the future, then you know where Knives is now. Where can I find him? Is he still in December?
[ His grief has to wait -- Knives must be his priority, if he's not already too late. ]
no subject
But his whirlwind of questions fades as the other Vash continues to speak. We buried Wolfwood, and even though it's not his memory, not his experience, Vash can feel every shovelful of soil behind those words. He can feel the dirt under his nails, the weight of the stones in his palm. The weight of the corpse in his arms.
His jaw aches from smiling, but he can't make his face relax. It's locked into a rictus grin that just grows wider as the other Vash continues, pouring horrors into Vash's heart and mind. Part of him recoils from the knowledge, but still he sifts through every sentence, every flash of feeling that accompanies those terrible words. He would have buried Wolfwood out behind the kitchen, yes. He would have waited, at the edge of a fresh-dug grave, to make sure of the body within. He'd thought Wolfwood dead before -- he would have made sure. He would have had to be sure.
But he's not sure, can't be sure, because these aren't his memories. He never washed the blood off Wolfwood's face, never searched his pockets for any remaining vials. Never debated whether to save it for Livio, or to see if he could force one more miracle. Never got to say goodbye.
His voice is as stiff as his gestures when he's finally able to reply, tight with the effort of keeping himself under control. ]
I heard them too. [ His sisters. Their sisters, maybe? Maybe. ] The rescue ship had gone, and Knives was... I looked up and he was there. [ He doesn't know how long he sat there in silence beside Wolfwood. It could have been seconds, or hours, he doesn't recall. Time stopped when Wolfwood stopped breathing. The world had died with him, until Knives had dragged it back into focus. ] He attacked, and I put up a wall, and... and I heard the other plants.
[ They'd been calling for help, he sends along their connection, in feelings more than with language. It's the way he usually communicates with their sisters, in images and feelings, rather than with the words they often don't seem to understand. He'd thought it was the plants trapped on the ark, crying out in distress as he responded to Knives's bombardment, crying out in fear as Knives drained their lives away, fuel for the attack on his little brother while Vash had been distracted with grief. And then the attack had ended, and the ark was gone, like it had never been there. The ark, Livio, Wolfwood... all vanished.
How can he be sure Wolfwood is dead without a body? ]
So if... If you're me from the future, then you know where Knives is now. Where can I find him? Is he still in December?
[ His grief has to wait -- Knives must be his priority, if he's not already too late. ]