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nomans_land2023-05-02 05:02 am
nml_mods) wrote in nomans_land2023-05-02 05:02 am
Entry tags:
On The First Day
It had been months.
Months of terror, of families ripped apart, refugees racing against the Ark in the sky, against the Plants that had once been their only source of survival on the world and had now been turned against them, raining lightning and death down on them like the hand of a vengeful God. Humanity pushed to the brink, fleeing their homes and communities, waves of refugees fleeing across the sands as more and more towns and cities fell to the reign of destruction that had been biting at their heels every step of the way.
And then, as the last descendants of the survivors of the Big Fall clustered in the city of Octovern, spiilling out into the streets, every available, livable space filled to capacity and beyond, what felt like the final days of humanity began. The sounds of artillery fire filled the air, the sight of the Ark and its grotesque ruler loomed overhead, and in the distant sky high above, the previously-inconceivable reinforcement ships from Earth took up orbit around No Man's Land. Throughout the night, explosions lit up the sky, thundering with deafening reports through the air, and yet the civilians below had settled into a still, terrified, anticipatory silence. They couldn't see, from their perspective, the figures atop the ruins of the Earth's space destroyers that had already fallen to the ground, locked in battle for the future of the people far below. But the sight of Millions Knives high above, terrifying and grotesque with the power of the Plants he had absorbed, was omnipresent, a never-ending threat, the harbinger of doom, biding his time until he could make good on his promise to wipe every last one of them off the face of existence.
And then something had changed.
Electrical currents rippled through the air above the downed ship, carrying screams on the wind. To the people below, Millions Knives' massive form had shifted, writhing, bellowing with unholy rage and pain and despair. And then it begun to unmake itself, shredding, crumbling, tearing itself apart at the seams and floating to the ground in tiny, shining, white particles. Tiny, white feathers drifted on the wind, closer and closer before, one by one, they began to settle to the roofs of the buildings, to the tops of cars and to the streets, and to the heads and faces of the humans staring up from below.
The instant that contact was made between feather and skin, a connection was made; between Human and Plant, between each person standing side by side, minds thrown open in bursts of light and expanding consciousness, and through the doors sprang multitudes of memories spanning hundreds of years. Suffering, laughter, pain, sorrow, joy, enslavement, death, pride, love. The Plants had made the connection to their creators - their keepers - that they had been silently pleading for since their first containment, and with it every man, woman, and child on the surface of the world began to see and feel and hear their stories and their cries for help. They did not want this war, they did not want this destruction. They had seen the promises of vengeance and a paradise for their kind atop the bones of humanity offered by Millions Knives and they had felt the hopes and dreams carried by Vash the Stampede of a kinder, more loving world, and they had made their choice.
Let there be love and peace in this world.
In the chaos that followed, as the bodies of the Plants began tumbling to the ground in a writhing mass and the screams of shock and confusion began to rise from the sea of humanity below, something rippled in the air, a last gasp of those silent voices before the connection was lost.
This was...different. New. As if reality had taken the distraction caused by the calamity below to shift itself sharply to the left, and then snapped. It started at the core of the mass of angelic bodies as men and women began to rush to their aid, a shockwave in the fabric of creation that rumbled silently in the atoms of the world and ricocheted outward, along the ground, through the air, until it had enveloped the entire planet. Time froze for an instant, and to the eyes of all who had the capacity for sight, that leftward shift became manifest, the world doubling on itself as the ground shook beneath their feet.
Wails of confusion and fear rose into the night sky, and for a brief moment, it felt as if the world were about to unmake itself on the molecular level. But then, just as suddenly as it had come, the distortion snapped back into place with a loud, ear-splitting CRACK, and in the stunned silence that followed, only one thing could be certain; things were not the same as they had been mere moments ago, as if everything and yet nothing at all had changed, all at once.
The world of No Man's Land was as it should be, but all across the surface of the planet, pockets of reality had split open, sending the inhabitants of mirrored existences tumbling through wide, unseen rifts. People and places outside of time and space found themselves staggering to their feet in a world that was both foreign and familiar at the same time, found themselves face to face with their own reflection made flesh, tossed about by the pleas of a race reaching across the fabric of creation for aid in putting a stop to a war that had been fought time and time again, across reality after reality, without fail.
Thus began the new chapter in the history of No Man's Land.
[Wherever your character was, whatever they were doing, when the rifts in reality opened, they will have found themselves rocked by a massive earthquake that lastes a few short seconds before settling with a loud crack, like thunder. While no damage will be left in its wake, the characters themselves will realize that though the planet appears to be the same, it will quickly become evident that they are in an alternate reality of the place they call home. Are they standing in the rubble of a once-destroyed city now remade whole? Is the bar they had been taking refuge in suddenly gone, leaving them tumbling to the sand with nothing but their drink in their hand? And what of the friends that had been standing by their side seconds before? This is where your stories begin.]
Months of terror, of families ripped apart, refugees racing against the Ark in the sky, against the Plants that had once been their only source of survival on the world and had now been turned against them, raining lightning and death down on them like the hand of a vengeful God. Humanity pushed to the brink, fleeing their homes and communities, waves of refugees fleeing across the sands as more and more towns and cities fell to the reign of destruction that had been biting at their heels every step of the way.
And then, as the last descendants of the survivors of the Big Fall clustered in the city of Octovern, spiilling out into the streets, every available, livable space filled to capacity and beyond, what felt like the final days of humanity began. The sounds of artillery fire filled the air, the sight of the Ark and its grotesque ruler loomed overhead, and in the distant sky high above, the previously-inconceivable reinforcement ships from Earth took up orbit around No Man's Land. Throughout the night, explosions lit up the sky, thundering with deafening reports through the air, and yet the civilians below had settled into a still, terrified, anticipatory silence. They couldn't see, from their perspective, the figures atop the ruins of the Earth's space destroyers that had already fallen to the ground, locked in battle for the future of the people far below. But the sight of Millions Knives high above, terrifying and grotesque with the power of the Plants he had absorbed, was omnipresent, a never-ending threat, the harbinger of doom, biding his time until he could make good on his promise to wipe every last one of them off the face of existence.
And then something had changed.
Electrical currents rippled through the air above the downed ship, carrying screams on the wind. To the people below, Millions Knives' massive form had shifted, writhing, bellowing with unholy rage and pain and despair. And then it begun to unmake itself, shredding, crumbling, tearing itself apart at the seams and floating to the ground in tiny, shining, white particles. Tiny, white feathers drifted on the wind, closer and closer before, one by one, they began to settle to the roofs of the buildings, to the tops of cars and to the streets, and to the heads and faces of the humans staring up from below.
The instant that contact was made between feather and skin, a connection was made; between Human and Plant, between each person standing side by side, minds thrown open in bursts of light and expanding consciousness, and through the doors sprang multitudes of memories spanning hundreds of years. Suffering, laughter, pain, sorrow, joy, enslavement, death, pride, love. The Plants had made the connection to their creators - their keepers - that they had been silently pleading for since their first containment, and with it every man, woman, and child on the surface of the world began to see and feel and hear their stories and their cries for help. They did not want this war, they did not want this destruction. They had seen the promises of vengeance and a paradise for their kind atop the bones of humanity offered by Millions Knives and they had felt the hopes and dreams carried by Vash the Stampede of a kinder, more loving world, and they had made their choice.
Of course, but...what would he do at a time like this?
I wonder if he'll laugh again
I wonder if he'll follow his ideals again.
I see. You all know him as well. That young man with a gentle smile.
Little Red Brother.
Let there be love and peace in this world.
In the chaos that followed, as the bodies of the Plants began tumbling to the ground in a writhing mass and the screams of shock and confusion began to rise from the sea of humanity below, something rippled in the air, a last gasp of those silent voices before the connection was lost.
Help Us. Help him. Please.
This was...different. New. As if reality had taken the distraction caused by the calamity below to shift itself sharply to the left, and then snapped. It started at the core of the mass of angelic bodies as men and women began to rush to their aid, a shockwave in the fabric of creation that rumbled silently in the atoms of the world and ricocheted outward, along the ground, through the air, until it had enveloped the entire planet. Time froze for an instant, and to the eyes of all who had the capacity for sight, that leftward shift became manifest, the world doubling on itself as the ground shook beneath their feet.
Wails of confusion and fear rose into the night sky, and for a brief moment, it felt as if the world were about to unmake itself on the molecular level. But then, just as suddenly as it had come, the distortion snapped back into place with a loud, ear-splitting CRACK, and in the stunned silence that followed, only one thing could be certain; things were not the same as they had been mere moments ago, as if everything and yet nothing at all had changed, all at once.
The world of No Man's Land was as it should be, but all across the surface of the planet, pockets of reality had split open, sending the inhabitants of mirrored existences tumbling through wide, unseen rifts. People and places outside of time and space found themselves staggering to their feet in a world that was both foreign and familiar at the same time, found themselves face to face with their own reflection made flesh, tossed about by the pleas of a race reaching across the fabric of creation for aid in putting a stop to a war that had been fought time and time again, across reality after reality, without fail.
[Wherever your character was, whatever they were doing, when the rifts in reality opened, they will have found themselves rocked by a massive earthquake that lastes a few short seconds before settling with a loud crack, like thunder. While no damage will be left in its wake, the characters themselves will realize that though the planet appears to be the same, it will quickly become evident that they are in an alternate reality of the place they call home. Are they standing in the rubble of a once-destroyed city now remade whole? Is the bar they had been taking refuge in suddenly gone, leaving them tumbling to the sand with nothing but their drink in their hand? And what of the friends that had been standing by their side seconds before? This is where your stories begin.]
no subject
They've seen enough black-haired plants by now, seen enough death, that surely Wolfwood knows what the black hair meant? Surely he'd made that connection, between Vash's hair and the hole in the fifth moon? Why would he say something so... mean?
But, a moment later, the shock fading, Vash has to admit to himself that maybe Wolfwood doesn't know what his hair meant. He's never come out and talked about it, that much is true, and there is so much they don't know about each other, even after all the time spent traveling together. So much that they pointedly haven't said, even when they should have. Even when it was something the other needed to hear, like black hair means my life is running out, or I care about you very much. They've never needed words, for so much of what they've been to each other... and for the rest, as Vash knows only too well after today, putting words to the thing just makes it real.
But Wolfwood keeps talking, for once saying things that need to be said, and Vash finds himself hanging on every word of what starts off as an apology, but then becomes just, well. Foolish.
You've always been a better man than I ever could be, Wolfwood finally says, and that's the last damn straw. Vash has heard enough. Before Wolfwood can wind himself up for another round of bullshit and self-pity, Vash swings on him, aiming to crack him right in his stupid, stupid mouth. ]
You thought I wanted you gone?! [ His voice is a hiss, even angrier than before. He can't even begin to imagine where Wolfwood would have gotten an idea like that! ] You came, and you risked your life for me just a week ago, when I was... [ He pauses, quickly glancing over at the last spot he'd seen Kni and the other Vash. They're nowhere to be seen, whichg probably means they're out of earshot, but just to be safe he drops his voice for the next bit: ] ...when I was on the ark. You came and you saved me. You saved my life, and you almost died doing it! [ His voice hitches, but he's not ready to break down yet. He's still got one more thing to say. ]
How selfish do you think I am, that after all you've done for me, with all those kids in danger, that I would turn my back on you?
[ He'd seen the look on Wolfwood's face when they'd heard about the ark moving toward December, he'd known what that meant, and he's been waiting for Wolfwood to feel recovered enough to come get him! And then one morning - this morning! – he'd woken up and the man was gone, not a word, not a note, not a goodbye. Just vanished. Gone to fight against who knew how many of Knives's super-powered army, all on his own, because he didn't want to be a distraction?!
That hurts. That may hurt worse even than Wolfwood's death had. ]
I thought we were friends.
no subject
It also meant that when the hit came, he was unprepared, and it immediately sent him stumbling back, his cigar landing on the ground nearby and his sunglasses very nearly joining it when his hands shot up to press up against his mouth in shock. He was left legitimately reeling for a few good seconds, pulling his hand away to see the blood on his fingers as he worried at the split in his lip with his tongue. Shit. Vash clocked him good on that one. That didn't happen often. Especially not the later they'd known each other. And had it been any other moment in the entire time he'd known him, Wolfwood might have retaliated. A part of him even wanted to. They'd gotten into enough actual fights with each other over the years that it normally wouldn't have even registered as out of the ordinary. Hell, a darker part of his soul might have even kind of enjoyed it.
But this wasn't one of those times, and things are definitely not the same as they used to be. Even as he gave himself a moment to recover from the blow, even as he kept his face turned down and his body half turned away, he simply listened. Took in every single word, unconsciously biting at the split in his lip when those words hit him in a completely different way, when the crack in his voice made him feel physically ill.
When he had gone silent, Nicholas remained quiet as well as he tried to process what he'd said, for long enough that he began to feel uncomfortable. He couldn't change what had happened. He couldn't take back the things he'd done, and saying the things that initially crossed his mind were probably only going to make things worse. Vash deserved a response. He deserved an apology that would wouldn't make him hurt worse. Wolfwood...didn't know that he could give him one.
Finally, he shook his head, his brow furrowing both at something he'd said and at the sight of the blood on his hands suddenly spreading, diluting, dripping off his fingers to the ground before he realized there were tears mixing with it. Not that it did that much good; without the serum, his body had been healing less and less quickly over the past couple of years. And he'd refused to even look for more of the shit, not after what he'd done the last time. It wasn't worth risking even one. His lip was making a pretty nice little stain on the white of his shirt collar and the cuffs of his sleeves, dripping steadily down to the ground.]
'S not what I meant, Vash. I know you didn't want me gone. [No matter how much better for him it probably would have been if they'd never even met. But he knew that was the literal worst thing he could have said at that moment, so he held his tongue.] I just...I knew you'd want to come with me. I knew...convincin' you not to would take an act of God, and...
[And what, Nick? What brilliant idea did you have in your head that made you think it could end any other way than it did? It was the million-fucking-double-dollar question, wasn't it? What could he even say to the man that wouldn't dig the knife in even deeper than he already had? That he'd had every expectation of meeting his end when he faced the rest of the Eye? That he hadn't wanted to make Vash go through that? He had wanted the last thing he did for the man to be a mercy, taking the choice out of his hands so that he didn't have to watch someone he cared about be murdered, giving him the chance to do what he needed to without having those memories in his head. He knew the truth would just make him angrier, and Wolfwood was torn between wanting to keep from pushing him any harder than he already had, knowing how strongly he felt and how much he cared even if he'd never said it, and almost needing to push, to egg him on until Vash finally snapped and hated him as much as he deserved. The way he'd tried to do with the other Vash a couple days ago, when Nico had gone missing and they'd both spiraled into their own worst thoughts.
The thought of actually pushing him that far, now, though, hurt. It was what he deserved, it would have been so much better for Vash if he didn't care, if he hated Wolfwood as much as he knew he should. But now that he was here, now that the thought of seeing him again wasn't something he'd told himself was an impossibility and the thought that Vash hating him would mean he wasn't somewhere out there mourning his death was a moot point, the thought of pushing him away terrified him.
His face crumpled, a sob choking out of his chest before he even knew it was happening, and still, he couldn't look at him.]
You-...you said...you said a week? [It was the easiest thing to tackle, and probably the least important, but it was what his brain latched onto as he struggled with his words.] Vash...that...December was over two years ago for me. I've been stuck here-...wherever...I don't even know anymore...for over two years, now. Every fuckin' day, I've just...been...tellin' myself...it would've been better if you didn't care. I knew you were out there, somewhere, hurtin', an' I know that's my fault. I can't...nothing I do will ever make up for that!
[He glanced in his direction out of the corner of his eyes, his head still hanging low between his shoulders so that his eyes could only go as high as the straps on the tops of his boots, and mindlessly tried to wipe the blood off of his hands. It just smeared it further, and he grimaced. Fuckin' poetic ass bullshit.]
Heh. Freinds. Fuckin'...friends. Vash, you were legitimately the only fuckin' person who gave a damn about me in fuckin' years. Monsters like me don't get to have friends. Look at what I did with the only one I had. [He threw his hands up weakly, letting them fall back to his sides and not even caring that he was getting blood on his trousers. They were black, anyway. It wouldn't be the first, nor the last, blood stain that was hidden in the darkness of the fabric.] If it makes you feel better t'hit me, I won't stop ya. I've given you enough grief over the years, you're entitled to a few good licks, that's for damn sure.
no subject
Two years. Two years of grief, two years stuck... here? Or somewhere, he'll ask about that later, but two years of being alone. Two years of feeling all this guilt, and pain, god. If this is the price of a miracle, it's too much.
If it makes you feel better to hit me, I won't stop you, Wolfwood says, and something in Vash's chest wrenches sideways. He steps forward, right into Wolfwood's personal space, but instead of raising his fist again -- an action he's already regretting -- he puts his arms somewhat awkwardly around Wolfwood's shoulders. As far as hugs go, it's a pretty pathetic one, but he doesn't know what else to do. ]
Shut up.
no subject
It was definitely a different way of seeking out affection than the other Vash did, though he'd known that would be the case all along. The younger-looking man asked first, refused himself contact unless he was given express permission, and then clung to him like a child desperate for comfort. This...this was so much more what he would hvae expected that it might have made him laugh if he didn't already feel spread too thin and stretched too tight. Of course it was awkward.
The awkwardness didn't mean it made his heart clench any less. He turned slightly, leaning faintly closer, almost sank his head down to rest on his shoulder before catching himself and straightened up just a bit so that he didn't press too close even as he turned more towards him. He wrapped his arms around his own middle, letting out a soft exhale, and held up on of his hands with his thumb up. This is him shutting up, Vash. This is him actually listening to you, for once in his God-damned life.]
Mmm...Yep. Will do. [He wanted to reach up and grab the sleeve of the arm around his shoulder, but the blood on his hands did him no favors. He'd long felt like his hands were too dirty to deserve this. It was literal right now. This was the most he would allow himself, even with as much as he wanted to just cling]
no subject
He can feel the exhaustion in those broad shoulders, and so, instead of pulling back, Vash leans in further, until they're pressed chest to chest, and his long arms can't wrap any further around Wolfwood's frame. ]
Is this okay? [ Blood doesn't show up well on red -- just one of the reasons Vash favors the color -- but this close, Wolfwood might be able to see the blood stains on Vash's shoulder, and the slits in the coat material there, left by the darts thrown by the Eye's goons. The fresh blood stains, barely an hour old, from that final, terrible fight. ] Tell me this is okay.
no subject
He hadn't paid enough attention before, too caught up in the moment to actually see it, but from where his face nestled against Vash's shoulder, he could see now the tears, the blood stains, fresh enough that they hadn't fully oxidized into an ugly dark brown. It made the hand he finally reached up to clutch at that shoulder still before he could grip down, even though he knew Vash's healing would have already taken care of the damage by now. He remembered the sight of the blades sticking out of him, the way Vash had caught him in that same moment as a blade in his thigh had sent him stumbling, and how the entire world had seemed to shift, the way Vash's demeanor had gone cold. Wolfwood. Crush him. Letting him do what he hated to see him do, giving him express permission to do it. How wrong it had felt.
Had he realized what was happening, then? He'd stood by for so long, his back turned while the fight continued, and even now, so long after it had happened, the memory was burned into his brain. That had been his fault. He'd taken those hits because of him. More scars added on top of old scars because Wolfwood had been a fucking moron.
He felt his breath hiccupping in his chest as he nodded sharply, burying his face in that shoulder and finally letting his fingers grip tightly in the red fabric of his coat, clinging tightly.]
It's okay. It's okay. [He felt like the world was rumbling again underneath their feet, but dimly realized that it was his own body shaking.] I...I never thought I'd see you again. I-...
[He bit his lip, hard enough to taste copper. He was shutting up, now, wasn't he? Holding back all those 'stupid things' that wanted to roll out of him in a flurry of pain and panic that he knew Vash didn't want to hear. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I fucked up, I got you hurt, it's my fault! I don't deserve this! You don't deserve to have to deal with a fucked up monster like me! You should hate me, why can't you just hate me???
And despite all of that, the relief he felt, finally seeing him again, being held against him, was what finally broke his composure, and the dam keeping his sobbing contained crumbled in a pathetic cascade of ugly crying.]
no subject
For one terrifying moment the whole world sways around them, and Vash's grip tightens hard around Wolfwood to stop them both from falling. He's exhausted, he notes dimly, bringing one hand up to cradle the back of Wolfwood's head. He's been pushing himself all day, and now, finally, with his heart back where it belongs, all the little wants of his body come rushing to the surface, demanding sleep, food. Honesty.
All the things that he didn't say before, all the things that he couldn't say are stuck in the back of his throat, a choking mass of regret and grief that he doesn't dare release. Vash turns his face into all that dark hair, burying himself in the scent and warmth of his dearest, closest friend, and tries to remember how to breathe.
There's still too much to do – he can't stop yet. Once he lets go of Wolfwood he'll have to start moving again, will have to head back out into the world and find Knives, will have to throw himself against that impossible mass of power and spend what energy he has left bringing it to a halt. He'd always thought that, when the time came, Wolfwood would be there will him, fighting at his side, but now? How could he do what needs to be done if he's worried about Wolfwood the whole time? How could he possibly risk losing him again? Twice now he's thought Wolfwood dying, or dead... how can he endure that loss a third time? He has to protect this man. He has to keep him safe.
Vash doesn't even notice when the feathers along his shoulders and back erupt in long graceful lines, wrapping so gently around himself and Wolfwood, shielding them from the rest of the world. ]
no subject
Hey, hey Vash, hold on, wait. [It must have been so recent, he must have been exhausted, he'd ended up using those strange powers of his and that always seemed to leave him winded without the shock of thinking he'd just watched one of his friends die.] How you feelin', Needle-Noggin? That fight was a bitch, did you even-...
[His eyes finally focused enough through the tears that he could see the white feathers on the skin of his cheeks, the long, arching curve of them as they folded around the two of them and shielded them from the rest of the world. It made his breath catch in his throat even as it worried him. There'd been a time when those would have been terrifying to him, when every sign of Vash's not-human nature was another reason to run screaming. But now? They were beautiful.
He was beautiful.
And he was also, obviously, very, very stressed. He knew damn well enough to know that those things only ever showed up when he was near keyed up out of his God-damned mind. And little surprise, there, after the day he must have had!]
Come on, Vash, you're ok. Let's go sit down for a minute, ok? You eaten something lately? [These past couple years had instilled in him a hypervigilance when it came to Vash's eating habits, what with the other guy's habit of denying himself. He hadn't even been around him all that long, they'd only been traveling with him after finding "Eriks" for a few months now, but it was already engrained in him and now became the first thing he thought to fuss over. Vash had always needed to eat more than most, anyway. He turned his head slightly to shout back the way the other two had left without taking his eyes off of Vash.]
Hey, Blondie? Can you get us something to eat?
[He sniffed back what tears were still clouding his vision, pulling away just enough to wipe at his face with one hand while keeping his other arm around the man in front of him for support, and then turned to look him in the eyes, checking in on the state of him, the now-freed hand reaching up unconsciously to cup his cheek and brush those feathers down with his thumb, trying to sooth even as the sight of them rippling across his skin threatened to take his breath away.]
no subject
Wolfwood was pulled away, and with a low growl Vash tightened his grip, feathers spreading out around them into a protective dome. This man was his, and nobody could take him away again! His friend. His partner.
Wolfwood, so much younger, burnt by the suns and grinning ferociously, with his hand on Vash's face like they were old friends, Everyone's damn dumb and Vash's heart skipped a beat.
Long hair in his face, dragged into the bar by a furious Lina, and there at the counter like a ghost is a man he'd never thought to see again. He can't stop staring, stumbles, and is rewarded with an impatient kick in the ass by the child at his side, who doesn't understand that she's about to lose her friend forever.
In the med bay, the lights far too bright, and there in the bed next to him is a body that's lying so still. Wolfwood should never look that pale, and it's all his fault from bringing him here. It's all his fault for leading Emilio back here. It's all his fault...
A nowhere bar in a nameless town, the table sticky and the lights dim. He pours the last of the bottle into Wolfwood's glass. The man's eyes in the low light are dark and deep like the view out the ship's windows, and Vash falls into them, forgetting the rest of the story he was telling, the words trailing away like smoke.
Pinned beneath Legato's power, exhausted beyond what he thought his body could endure, his sleep fitful, interrupted constantly by nightmares, both from his captors and, more terrifyingly, from his own mind. Wolfwood's voice in the distance at first sounds like the start of another nightmare and Vash trembles against the coming pain. But then the door explodes open, Legato's hold on him dropping just for a second, and Vash remembers how to hope again.
Waiting on a rooftop for the ridiculous criminals in the street below to be escorted off to jail, Wolfwood behind him, his gun aimed at Vash's head. He's scared this man so badly, driven him to this point, and he can't think of any apology he could make other than holding still and letting Wolfwood decide what he needs to do.
Here's one for you, and one for you, and this last one is for me. The man they pulled out of a sand dune, with hardly a penny to his name, crass and reeking of gunpowder, kneeling down in front of two homeless kids and giving them everything he's got, his face so open and young and beautiful that Vash can't help but stare.
I want to spend all my tomorrows with him.
Wolfwood slumps on the stained old couch, confetti stuck in his hair, and Vash can't breathe. He can't breathe. He can't breathe. He can't...
Around a tiny campfire, Knives's fortress looming in the distance. Tomorrow he faces his brother, and as he looks past the flickering chemical fire, he can't think of anyone he'd rather share this last night with than the man smoking quietly next to him. ]
no subject
And it was like a lightning bolt shot through his body, locking his joints up all at once, making his lungs hitch as thoughts and memories and emotions flooded into his mind. Possessive, feral, desperate, his, his, his! Part of his mind reeled, recognizing dimly that he had somehow connected with Vash's mind, but the rational part of him was buffeted like a man lost in a sandstorm, in a typhoon, and all that was left was raw emotion.
The shock of it when the reality of what he was feeling hit him would have been enough to make his body freeze if he hadn't already, but simply knowing what it was could have never prepared him for the intensity of it, for the shock of every memory jolting through his mind with love, gentle at first, but quickly spiraling into something he couldn't possibly hope to contain. Guilt at the sight of himself laying in a bed, joy at reuniting, the trauma of his imprisonment, it was too much, too much, how, why? Why him???
And then the memory of sitting, perched quietly on a rooftop, waiting for Nicholas to pull the trigger, knowing he was just behind, gun cocked at the back of his head, knowing how much of a coward he'd been and still willing to let him do it! Wolfwood's lungs hitched, trying to gasp for breath as horror hit him, shame, he wanted to scream, he couldn't hear anything outside of his own head to know if he was even making a sound, but he wanted to scream!
I don't deserve it! No! No! No! How could he deserve so much love when he'd nearly been the one to kill him??? When he'd been the one to betray him??? He was a monster, a coward, he didn't deserve this, it hurt, he wanted it so much and it hurt!
I want to spend all my tomorrows with him. The memory of the moment his own body had stopped and Vash struggling to breathe, the sensation so much like the feeling of actually dying, the moment he'd felt his heart stop inside of his chest, hearing the church bells, hearing Vash breaking down in those last few seconds of consciousness before the darkness swallowed him up and just knowing it was the last thing he would do, that he was breaking his heart and it was his fault, all his fault, Hell was waiting for him and he deserved it for this single act alone!
That last memory merged with one of his own, with the moment after, of another campfire, at his back, waking up and turning to see the face of the man he loved so much it terrified him, only he was different, softer, younger, the same and not the same and he was too dazed and guilt-ridden with the thought that he was dying to realize what was actually happening.
The love and the pain he felt from Vash echoed against the feelings of love and uncontainable shame he felt in his own heart, leaving him violently shaking, his eyes unfocused and wide as he clung to the only thing sturdy enough to support his weight when his legs threatened to give out from under him. Even if he had realized that the connection with those delicate, downy feathers under his hand was what was keeping him locked inside of Vash's mind, he wouldn't have been able to move to pull away. He really did feel like he couldn't breathe, gasping in loud, audibly whining gulps of air, his fingers curling, clutching, clawing at the solid form underneath him.]
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Food! I guess the other me is not doing very well, Wolfwood not panic otherwise, we can find food for Vash, right?
[ And off he was, rummaging the shelves for something easily edible. Watch him in a near state of panic as he tried to act and think at the same time. A few bars of something sweet should be a start, then, uh, ramen would be good, but he didn't think they had enough time to make it so, uh, canned beans, that could help, it was not always the best but usually not too bad even cold. His own stomach clenched at the thought of the food, especially in that order--
And then he was distracted as emotions started beating at him (love, so much love, and pain, and fierceness), so he just wrapped his hand around Nai's, the spoils he'd found clutched between the left arm an his chest, and out they were, back the way they had come.
Between the possessiveness and love from Vash, and the way those beautiful white wings had wrapped around Wolfwood, safe and close and loved, and gasping, possibly at least partly because of the onslaught of emotions, Vash's eyes filled with tears and overflowed, before he could stop himself. It was... beautiful in a way that was painful, and painful in a way that was almost beautiful. ]
Oh... there they are. [ Wolfwood was where he belonged, and he could see now some of the things that he'd said, that first time they met. This Vash could never compare to him, and that was all right.
Though as he started to get used to the emotions, he could process the state both of them were in, and he stepped closer involuntarily. They needed help. But getting between them right now seemed a genuinely horrible idea. ]
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he stands by the doorway, waiting patiently for vash to return to his side to take his hand. his gaze flickers over the items stuffed under his brother's arm, then up to vash's face. if only he were younger, he'd wipe away the worry lines with a tenderness only privy between them. but the disconnect between them is as large as vash is as tall now, and nai is still trying to come to terms with that.
a feather floats by his face just as the vision of vash and wolfwood enveloped together by wings comes into view, the spectacle of it leaving nai awestruck. the details and specifics of their species, especially independents, were largely unknown to him. every day was a new discovery, and now here he was faced with yet another glimpse into the future. it was exciting. he reaches out with his free hand to carefully grab one of the feathers that drifts by, careful not to crumple the soft wisps.
it takes one glance back up to vash to remind him what it is he needs to do. fortunately, nai holds none of the hesitation his brother has to disrupt this precious moment. ]
Hey, Vash! Dumbwood!
[ nai raises his voice purposefully, tugging vash along by their held hands. he'd inject himself into this moment without an ounce of shame. ]
If you made my brother cry I'll make sure you regret it, Wolfweenie.
[ despite the warning, when nai is close enough he aims a sharp kick to the back of one of wolfwood's kneecaps. ]
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Brother?
That great fan of wings opens, curling around Nai -- and the other Vash -- and pulling them into the dappled shade beneath. Bringing them in close to where Wolfwood and Vash are clinging to each other for dear life, Vash's face still buried in Wolfwood's hair.
Brother
And then, quizzically, as the feathers wrap more snugly around the other Vash: ...us?
But the confusion only lasts a heartbeat, because brother is here, brother who is loved more than anyone ever born, brother who is the other half of his whole.
Always running, never tired, never cold or hot or hungry, laughing and fighting and rolling in the itchy green grass of the biosphere, twin heads huddled together over a computer display of art from a long-dead world, Vash turning away as the cowboy on the monitor clutches his chest and falls, Vash burying Knives's face in his armpit with a laugh when the zombie on the screen seems too real. Cooking spaghetti for the first time, and spattering every surface with greasy red specks. Tumbling weightlessly through zero-g in the quiet dark. A birthday, Rem in silly glasses and all his favorite foods spread out in front of them both, a day especially for them, to celebrate being a family. Joy and hope and curiosity and everything is new and bright and safe and he is loved and loves in return.
A computer file, glaringly bright in the darkness: Day 100 -- Trouble over a question of ethics. A dead girl, taken to pieces and stored in specimen jars. A girl who nobody loved.
Clawing his way to consciousness somewhere far too bright, unable to move, Knives speaking to another man at a close distance. All around are the beeps and hums of lab equipment, sample jars and syringes gleaming on the table at his head. Visions of Tessla fill his mind, and he goes blank with panic. The needles in his arm tear through his skin as he tries to pull away, and as the darkness swallows him back up, he hears Knives curse the doctor for letting him wake.
It's so hot, and he's so thirsty he can barely move. The dunes swim before him, and he imagines they're whitecaps on an ocean. With a coarse laugh he runs toward them, stumbling, rolling down the sandy incline and landing hard. Knives, still in his flight suit, stands over him with a scowl. Stop playing around. I told you, we don't need to eat or drink. We're above that. He'd protest, but his tongue is too swollen to make words.
A dark night, only the third moon above the horizon, and out of the sky above them rains a meteor shower made of broken ships and bodies. Knives laughs, hysterically, and doesn't stop for a long, long time. Vash stares, unable to feel anything, watching his world come apart.
Chained to a pillar in the middle of a dusty town, screaming in horror as Knives methodically tracks down and shreds every adult and child in the place. Their blood soaks the walls of the nearby buildings in an even ring all the way around the town center, because Vash left with one of them, and he shouldn't have done that. He shouldn't have left. Everyone is dead now, because he left Knives alone.
Knives, smirking, raises his hand, and in a wash of fear Vash's body stops responding. It's hot, isn't it? Knives laughs, excited, and it burns. It's so hot. Searing through his arm, like hot coals boiling and swelling inside him, something writhing and stretching, too big for his body to contain. He can feel it in his chest, behind his heart, pressing on his lungs. It's hard to handle the first time. It feels like he's splitting open. It's an amazing feeling of release! Knives is leaning over him, hand on the side of his face, and the world tilts sideways. Soon your restraints will loosen. His arm moves on it's own, and for the second time in his life, he points a shaking gun at his brother. Knives knocks it away, pinning him down, and then everything goes white.
He's so tired he's not sure any of this is real, so jacked up on adrenaline that he can barely feel the bullets that riddled his legs. He has one chance at this, and if he fails, he'll die. If he fails, the unconscious man on the ground behind him will die. He raises his arm, opening that place inside that releases the thing, the creature that is his true self. Knives, a god of light and horror in the sky above, screams curses down at him as he flees. Don't go, Vash! I really will kill you this time! He knows it's true, and as he falls from the ship with Wolfwood's body, he wonders if he's saved Knives the trouble, if the impact won't just kill them both.
His little brother, unconscious, broken by the horrors of humanity, sleeps on the far med booth. The other holds Rem, stained bandages around her hand and belly, where Vash stabbed her. He sits, nursing a juice packet, wondering what he'll do if neither of them wake up. Wondering how he'll survive if he's all alone. ]
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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!
sorry, nai. sorry.
Similar fields of green, peace and serenity, just the two of them crawling behind Rem as she's watching again the recordings of them.
A single geranium in a laboratory filled with living parts of their older sister, and the sheer horror of what was done to her, on what might be coming to them.
Nai looking up from reading the Bible, telling him that humans are repeat offenders.
Nai standing up on a rock, cackling as ships burn around them. And you are my accomplice, Vash!
Vash in handcuffs, shut in a cell, waiting for experiments on him to start, feeling of hunger gnawing at him but the food untouched next to him, when he can hear the Plant shrieking, the pain and loneliness overwhelming, and then he is beating against the locked door, shouting to be let out, to be allowed to help, until Luida comes and opens the door and he stumbles, but then his little hand finds her slightly bigger one, and there is hope.
Vash's Gate opening, dark whirlpool sucking everything in right from his left palm, red Plants all around them, their pain echoing in his mind, dead humans and so much blood, and Nai's blades cutting off his arm, pain, pain but also gratitude because he was panicking and Nai saved him, saved them all, Nai crawling across the floor because what he had done staggered him.
Vash, sinking into water until a pair of blades pin his shoulders, and dark tendrils start issuing from him-- ]
NO!!!
[ As Vash struggled to stumble out, away, no, don't show this to Nai, please, there is one last glimpse of memory, one of extreme wrongness, and distorted as though coming through so much thick liquid.
Memory manipulation and assimilation complete. Conrad's voice.
And then, Nai. I've finally got him back.
And then he had lost contact with the feathers, disoriented, shivering, only to see Wolfwood pointing a gun at Nai, little Nai, who had not done any of these things, and it was Vash's turn to scramble on his knees to sort of wedge in between them. His voice was broken, gasping. ]
He only-- saw that you were m-making Vash cry. It's. It's so much...
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memory after memory after memory, they blend and blur together without a moment to breathe in between, leaving nai at their disorienting whim. he sways on his feet because terribly, the most coherent thought that stands out against everything happening all at once is the recurring them of him. himself. knives, kni, nai, and everything in between.
he wanted to know, but he didn't. maybe because he already knew anyways. only now he had the memories that played out like movies to go with the yawning, aching horror that he was the villain here. not at all like the brave heroes in the movies he loved so much, fighting for what was right. that wasn't him at all and the reality of it sinks in straight into his chest.
he's pulled away from the wave of memories to bear witness to wolfwood pulling the gun on him. he stares down into the barrel, eyes wide as the moons in the sky and pupils dilated as he breathes hard. he can't move, even when he knows he's going to die he just can't move. the world moves slowly around him, every voice miles away. vash let go of his hand and now he was lost.
he watches vash intervening, one vash out of two who both held his hand and smiled at him as if they loved him, but that isn't right. that can't be right. not after what he's seen, what they know about him, it's just not right at all.
nai moves without thinking, taking a jilted step back and then another before taking off into the city's connected alleys. his heart is beating so fast it hurts, but he doesn't stop running. ]
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He hurt Nai.
One shaking hand reaches up, tangling around the roots of the nearest clump of feathers, and he digs his nails in as hard as he can. Blood bubbles up as he tears the handful free, scattering red-tinged feathers into the street around him.
He hurt Wolfwood.
A second handful follows the first, the pain when the feathers rip free making him gasp. But they have to come out – he has to stop. He's hurt so many people. This thing that he is, this creature, this monster, this eruption of half-formed life that destroys everything it touches – he needs it gone.
He even hurt the echo of himself, the him that isn't him.
Handful by handful, he'll pull the feathers from his skin until he looks human again, or until the pain and exhaustion knock him unconscious. He doesn't really care which comes first. ]
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But then Vash was trying to reason with him, blocking his gun, and he couldn't shoot him, not Vash, his fingers loosening their grip instinctively until the gun almost sagged in his grip. How could he want him to stop? How could he still, after everything he'd been put through, want Knives to be safe??? Was that a mercy he'd ever been offered in return??? Did he honstly think for an instant that his brother would do the same for him???
But no, this was Vash. And Vash, despite every single bit of abuse that had ever been thrown his way, would of course refuse to look at it that way. It made him want to scream, and to be honest, it wouldn't have been the first time if he did, because it was the same damn argument they'd had countless times before!
The moment was enough for Nai to slip his focus, though, and enough that when the kid ran off into the desert, he didn't redirect his aim, didn't take the shot, but instead looked more startled than anything. His thoughts were already beginning to settle back into themselves, leaving a massive migraine throbbing behind his eyes, but he was himself, again, in fits and starts, and for a few breaths, he honestly expected the Vash beside him to reach over and yank him around by his hair for having aimed a gun at the kid in the first place.
It wasn't until he heard the ragged gasp that he began to realize something else entirely had begun to go wrong around him. The sight of gleaming white feathers against bright red had become so normal to him that he didn't notice them at first as they fell to the street beside him, and he was so dazed that the wet, squelching rip didn't register, either. But then one of them drifted close enough that it brushed his hand as it fell, spiking through a fleeting shock of foreign emotion - pain, horror, self-loathing, rip it out, rip it out!!! - and he flinched away, looking over in surprise to find Vash pulling entire handfulls of himself apart.]
Vash, oh God, what the fuck??? [His gun was tossed aside as he lunged to his knees, reaching out to grab his wrists before the sight fully sank in and he jerked back. The feathers, it was the feathers! He'd thought they were purely a...a defensive mechanism, a part of who he truly was that he kept hidden so he wouldn't frighten people, but they were more than that! He didn't want to grab for him, making that connection again when his fingers grasped onto more of them and just start the whole cycle over again, but he couldn't let him continue!] He's gonna tear himself to shreds!
[He only took a moment longer to reach out, grabbing the coiled tails of Vash's coat, before he was moving forward again and using them as a buffer between his hands and the feathers that were still attached as he grabbed him by the wrists and wrestled to pull his hands off of himself. He knew if he really wanted to, Vash was strong enough that he could fight him off, but it wasn't like he was going to just sit back and watch him mutilate himself, either! He had to at least try!]
Vash, no, stop! Stop, sweetheart, it's alright, you're alright!
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[ His words could catch up better to his brother than his actions, but someone who could fly could--
Vash turned towards the other him, and then froze, the severe way in which he was just tearing parts of himself hitting him viscerally. He did not know why he was turning on those beautiful feathers like that - not yet - but the action was both something he deeply wanted to do to himself... and looked horrifying from the side.
Wolfwood was already moving, already holding Vash's wrists, so Vash stepped to move around and wrap himself around his other self's back, holding him gently around the chest. He didn't know that the feathers were what caused the memories, or the connection, but he wasn't thinking of any of his own - just the present, and the soft, soothing calm that he radiated when he was trying to help upset Plants. And for good measure, he tried to project it as far as he could, in the hopes that it would reach Nai, too.
And the soft word that Wolfwood used, the one that slipped past his conscious mind, he was sure, from his heart, only steadied him in that loving calm. A memory attempted to flicker in his consciousness, of a nearly incoherent Wolfwood as Vash first met him, but he let it drift past, instead focusing on here and now. ]
Vash... please. It won't make him hurt less, for you to be in pain, or to punish yourself. Please.
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Something catches ahold of him, pinning his arms aside, and Vash can't muster the energy to care who it is or what they want. If he's restrained, then maybe he won't hurt anyone else. They can have him. They can take him away, it's okay. He's done. He's so tired.
But then there's someone warm behind him, someone soothing and gentle who presses up against his back, supporting him, and Vash closes his eyes and lets himself fall back against them. Against the other him. It's safe here, with his other self. It's quiet, and he knows, in his heart, that his other self won't let him hurt Knives anymore. He won't let him hurt Wolfwood. He can stop.
The feathers, mangled bloody ones and pristine alike, begin to pull back beneath Vash's skin as his panicked breathing slows. It's just him and himself here, and Vash turns his face to his other self, whispering secrets as he slips downwards into the welcoming darkness. ]
Please. I don't want to do this anymore.
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But then the other Vash was there, and he could feel the reassurance he was radiating out, even if it wasn't the same for him as it would have been for their kind, and he watched Vash collapse into the support, the fight and the tension bleeding out of him into a picture of pure exhaustion. He waited, barely breathing himself, watching him to be sure he continued to breathe. When the feathers began to slip away, he shifted his hold enough to let the fabric of his coat fall away so that he could hold his right hand in both of his own.
Those words were soft, but Nicholas' hearing was fine enough thanks to the things that had been done to him that he could hear him just fine, even though he seemed to not realize he was there and the words didn't seem to be for him. He felt his heart breaking apart in his chest and he didn't know what to even say, if it would even be welcome, so he simply stayed silent, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles against the inside of his palm, the heat of his wrist through his glove.
He had done this. This whole day, everything he'd been through that lead up to now, was Nicholas' fault. As if he didn't feel emotionally raw enough, drained of every last bit of his own energy reserves already, the knowledge that he was like this because of what he had done was the final straw, and he had to fight back his own wave of exhaustion and even more tears than he'd already let himself show.
After a moment of trying to compose himself, he looked over at the other Vash, blinking through the blurriness around his vision, and then around them, down the street. He didn't often spend a lot of time in December, but he knew it well enough that he thought he could figure out a place they could go to get out of the open, at least for a while.]
I think...[His voice cracked, raw and quiet, and he cleared his throat.] there should be an inn nearby. It shouldn't be too hard to find the keys to the rooms. I think we could all use a bit of a rest.
[And maybe an entire bottle of something really, extremely high in the alcohol content. He needed to drink until his brain just shut down completely for a while, no amount of nicotine was going to cut it after this.]
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After a while, he reached towards Wolflwood, the glisten of tears drawing his fingers closer, until the broken, true sweetheart reminded him that was not for him to try, so his palm ended up so gently on Wolfwood's shoulder, squeezing slightly.
He still waited out until he finally spoke, given a small nod at first, his voice quiet and rough around the edges, but nowhere near as ragged as he felt. And he could no longer sense Nai nearby, but he knew Nai had already gotten separated from the other Vash, so it ... might have been all right. ]
Right. Can you lead the way? I'll carry him. And... make sure you eat something before you start drinking, all right?
[ even with his years as Eircks, he knew his Wolfwood. ]
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Yeah. Yeah. It's prob'ly best you get 'im, anyway. I...gotta carry the Punisher, and...I think he'll be more comfortable around you right now, anyway. [He shifted, letting Vash's hand down gently to rest in his lap as he stood, and he didn't immediately answer the part about the drinking as he looked around, in the direction he was sure the inn had always been, then back toward the saloon doors where he knew the Punisher had been left. There was a small ache on his lip that began to blur back into his senses, and for a moment, he had almost forgotten what it was before he lifted his hand, pressed it against his mouth, and pulled his fingers back to look at the blood.
Ah. Yeah. Right. Fair enough. That was going to take a bit to heal. He'd need to at least clean it up a bit once they got settled, but he'd...he'd definitely had worse.
He should probably answer that suggestion about food, before Vash started worrying, more than he always did alread.]
Yeah. Sure thing. [Not a chance, but he'd lied enough to Vash over the years that it was like second nature, even if every one of the lies accumulated in the back of his mind like a pebble; they'd been nothing, at first. Lying was just what he did. It was how he survived. But the more that he'd done it, the heavier they had had gotten, until now, there were so many pebbles that one more onto the pile barely weighed anything compared to the mountain of all the rest.] You left your bag in there, too, right? I can grab it. Lemme get those while you...get situated. Or...or I can come back out an' help you pick 'im up in a minute, if that'd be easier. Whatever. Hold on.
[He was walking before he could have even answered, marching into the saloon and slinging the cross over his shoulder, just like old times, then grabbing Vash's duffel bag with his free hand and walking back out to see if he needed help.]
Should be just a couple streets over, I think. Least it was, last time I was in town. I'm sure they'll have some vacancies.
[Hah. It was a joke, see? He was joking. It was fine.]
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Wolfwood... I know everything is too much. But consider if the situations had been reversed. If you had lost him like that, and now you got him back. Would you really prefer to be near anyone else, anyone at all? [ deep breath, and he stood up, carefully, the other Vash's arms wrapped around his shoulders, and his own hands supporting the leather-clad thighs. ] I'm just the one hurting least right this moment. But yes, getting the Punisher and my bag will be a good idea.
I'll wait for you here. Then you lead the way.
[ There were foodstuffs rolling on the street around them, but Vash only paid attention to them to make sure he didn't slip or anything. The thought of food was unbearable, though. The other Vash had needed it, hadn't he? He squeezed his eyes tight, then carefully squatted away to put some of the cans in his coat pockets for later.
Perhaps he wasn't hoping for Wolfwood to eat in the first place, but he had to try. He was human, and that meant he needed it more. But he heard the lie in the reassurance, and did not bother to react to it.
'Better' than the other two did not mean he was doing particularly well. There were limits for him too, and he could only focus on so much.
Once he'd gotten some food with him, he straightened, steadying the passed out Vash on his back, and did wait.
Once they made it to the inn, they took a few moment to find a room that was reasonably clean, and Vash got the other Vash settled on the bed, taking the bag... and the punisher
- the latter to lean against the wall - and nodded to Wolfwood. He couldn't take away his cross, any more than Wolfwood could take his. But he could take away the visual reminder that something was so messed up, if only for a little while. ]
I'll come down in a bit.
[ ... then he busied himself getting the other Vash rid of the coat and boots, because those were not the best to sleep in, and then to check if - no, where, bandages were needed.
In passing, he thought how their scars were not exactly the same. But that made a lot of sense, didn't it?
Then he sat down, running a hand through his hair. He should go check on Wolfwood. And he would. Just... he needed a moment, too. ]
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That’s him. Vash rubs a shaking hand over his face, absently noting the neat and snug bandages wrapped around his arm. He’d been hurt? …No, his gate, his monster, he’d… he’d tried to pull it out again. He’d tried to rip it out, because of what it did to his brother. Because of what it had shown his brother.
Knives, laughing at the Great Fall. Knives butchering the town of bandits. Knives tearing his gate open.
He’s going to be sick. ]
Where’s Knives?
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