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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
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.]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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...
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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!
no subject
[ 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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Which was why the only reaction Vash would get out of that as he walked away to collect their things was a soft, noncommital grunt and a nod. He didn't even know if he'd be able to tell he'd reacted at all.
Getting them into a clean, safe room was comfortably routine, at this point. Even before he'd settled the Punisher against the wall and set Vash's bag gently on the little breakfast table, he was instinctively glancing at the windows, turning to check the locks were functional, poking his head into the en suite, walking over to the window to make sure it was latched properly. They were habits built upon years and years of working with the Eye, and it wasn't until he felt his foggy brain beginning to wonder why he wasn't hearing any of the normal sounds he'd come to associate with checking into an inn for the night - hushed voices from below, people and cars and dogs in the streets, distant sounds of water running through pipes - that he remembered that they weren't things they would probably need to worry about while they were here. There was no one else in the damned town. Hadn't been for days.
So he'd turned to watch Vash get the other settled, blinked dumbly at Vash reassuring him he'd come down in a bit, and...just nodded. It was an unspoken permission that he took silently, casting his eyes down as he turned and walked out the door, down the stairs, into the bar, and around the back of the counter to search through what hadn't already been looted. It was...Weird pickings, to be honest. Alcohol was one of the last things you needed in a survival situation, unless you wanted to try and use it for first aid - not exactly the best solution, but if you were short on actual medical supplies, you took what you could get - but it was also a high-ticket item. People paid top dollar for their vices when they were in stressful situations, or they stole what they could find. And the number of people who turned to the sauce on No Man's Land when things got tough could have very well outnumbered those who didn't.
He was lucky enough to find a few bottles of cheap whiskey, though. Not the good stuff, but he didn't care if it was the good stuff right now. He sat down at one of the tables and didn't waste any time on the first bottle, popping the cork out with his teeth and slamming the entire thing back in one go. It burned like fire in his throat and made his stomach churn when he finished it off and threw it against the far wall. But his metabolism was as fucky as it had ever been. It wasn't long before he could feel the burn of it seeping out into his blood, through his chest, and as he felt the stuff beginning to roll down his shoulders and into his fingers, he decided he could take the next bottle a little more slowly.
He still didn't bother with a glass, though. It wasn't worth the time or the energy that required it. Taking it that slowly meant there was more of a chance of it wearing off before he was well and truly past the point of drinking himself under the table.
Which was why, later, when they came looking for him, he would be found with the almost completely empty bottle tucked in the crook of his arm against his chest, where he lay with his head on the table. He didn't even seem to have tried to get comfortable. No, he'd simply gone until the room had spun enough that he'd put his head down, only for a minute, just a minute, until the room settled, honest. That was all it took for him to pass clean out.]
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There was another shake. I can't feel him anywhere in... December.
[ They would need to find him. Or at least Vash would. ]
You should have-- [ something to eat did not go well with the nauseated expression on the familiar, ish, face. ] A few sips of water, at least.
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His face hurts from smiling, but he can’t make it stop. ]
I didn’t mean for him to see any of that.
[ The other Vash can certainly feel the grief and guilt pouring off of him in waves, especially when his eye catches the Punisher leaning up against the far wall. Water? Food? No, what he needs is to be as far away from the people he loves as he can get, so that maybe, maybe he can stop hurting them. He needs to get out of here, needs to get to Octovern.
Needs to go fight his brother, one last time. ]
I’m sorry. [ There’s no tears this time, at least. Only his pathetically quavering voice and shaking hands. ] After all this time, I still can’t control it.
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Then his eyes snap back towards Vash. He knows that combination of feelings, and the urge, the need.
To run.
But he looks away again, still smiling, and his voice is soft. He is not judging. He can't believe it, but he won't judge. ]
After all that... are you really... can you really just leave him behind?
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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.
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Do you really think that leaving alone will prevent that? Because you know as well as I do that when he comes to himself, he'll go after you. And he will be reckless. And he will find you because that's what he does, but he will not be in the shape to survive.
[ And it will be horrible. ]
The only way to not watch him die again is to make sure you're both rested... And to go together. You're always better together.
[ Vash takes a deep breath, and by the way it shakes realizes he's trembling. ]
When he showed up. He was furious at himself that he let you stay with him and so put you in danger.
You two really should try to stop finding ways to break each other and be strong. Together. Since I'm not sure even I could be the kind of backup he can be for you. And you for him.
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He has to hope. He wants to trust that it's possible, that he can stop Knives, that with Wolfwood they can stop him cleanly. But the fear is so hard to shake.
You're always better together, yes, that's true. They always have been, up until this last fight. If he could wipe December from his mind, forget what Wolfwood looked like with Chapel's Punisher lodged in his chest, forget Livio's ruined face, then maybe he could believe that together they'd succeed.
There's a scrap of something colorful that catches his eyes in the cuff of his coat, and Vash picks the fragment of bright confetti out and lets it drift to the floor. He can't forget something like that, and how can he move forward with that weight? ]
You can't come with me. [ That, at least, he can be certain of. He snaps the final buckle and looks up to finally see that the other Vash shaking, and without thinking, he reaches out a hand for the other to take. Is he frightened for Vash, for Wolfwood, or is it something else? He can't tell. ] I wouldn't ask that of you, friend. This isn't your fight. It's mine.
[ Stop finding ways to break each other. Is that really what he's been doing? ]
You were with him awhile, before I arrived?
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And he shifts a little. ]
I need to find Nai. And Wolfwood - my Wolfwood. ... I hope. [ yelp, that's hard to say out loud.
But he's not refusing outright. It's just that he's not confirming either. If what he finds out lets him think he should go, he will. But he is willing to accept that there are things that he doesn't know yet, so he might be more in the way than help. ]
Ah... well? Sort of? He kind of showed up right as we were reaching Julai, my Wolfwood and I. He - Knives had Meryl and Roberto, and we were going for them, so once he was resting and I could se that he was going to recover, we went on. He, well, the two of them found me ... after, a few months back. So not too long, but some. [ So. Yes, Wolfwood has been there for two years and change. But he's spent most of that time with only himself, and his other self, as company. Time that Vash can't give back to either of them. ] He thought I was a fake one there to take him beyond. When he first showed up.
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But their stories are so different, he's learning, that any similarities at all seem to be coincidence more than anything. Meeting Wolfwood, and Meryl, before July? Someone named Roberto, and then being held by Knives? He's not sure his Knives, his brother from his world even knows that Meryl exists. He hopes that's the case. She'll be a lot safer if she manages to stay below Knives's radar. ]
We'll find him, if he's here. Your Wolfwood.
[ But even as he says it, he knows it's a lie. There's no we here, is there? This Vash needs to go find the rest of his team, his Wolfwood, his brother Nai. Maybe with his different history he'll have a different ending, too? That's something to hope for, certainly!
With a deep breath to steady himself, Vash rises to his feet with hardly a wobble. Just a little further to go. He's almost there. ]
But first, I think we should go drag my Wolfwood out of whatever bottle he's crawled into.
[ He knows the man too well by now, and there's no question in Vash's mind where Wolfwood is hiding. ]
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