nomans_land | On The First Day

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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.

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.

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.]

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[ The street at first seems deserted, so when the door to one of the businesses slams open, Vash's first instinct is, naturally, to draw on them. Maybe they're a resident of December, a last holdout of the evacuation, but maybe they're an enemy. With the day he's having, he's not taking any chances.

But his hand hasn't even grazed the grip of his gun before the face in front of him registers, and everything just seems to stop. The wind whistling through the empty streets fades away, the frantic pounding of his heartbeat dies into nothing, even the words the man is speaking don't have any sound, because that man is dead. He watched that man die barely an hour ago. He sat next to that man and waited with him while his heart gave out. He listened to his last breath rattle through him, he watched him die, that can't be... ]

...Wolfwood?

[ His voice is so quiet he's not even sure he spoke aloud. There's some commotion behind the man, and two more people emerge from the bar. On another day, watching himself walk through a doorway would be mind blowing, but today the other Vash barely even registers. Kni, at least, gets a relieved smile, but Vash can't keep his attention away from the other man for more than a second.

It's not possible. He takes a hesitant step forward, hands flexing at his sides. It's a ghost. It's a vision. It's a hallucination, it's Legato's work, he's finally gone mad, it's a miracle, it's a miracle. His breath shudders painfully in his throat, and he claps one hand hard over his mouth to stop whatever foolish thing his heart was about to make him say.

He's alive. How, he can't begin to imagine, but god, thank god, somebody heard him. He's alive. ]

Edited 2023-05-14 07:22 (UTC)

[His own hands snapped up in the same instant he saw Vash's hand reaching for his gun, so used to just knowing when he was about to act that his brain didn't even have to register what was happening before he was acting in tandem, which frankly he didn't think would ever stop being just a little weird. But then just as easily, he recognized when Vash locked up, and his own heart sank just a bit, the sight of his disbelief and shock reinforcing the memory of him sitting next to him, and the sound of him breaking down as the last of Nick's consciousness faded.]

Hey, hey, it's alright, Spikey, you're alright.

[Everything he felt coming off of him was like a wire stretched dangerously taut that threatened to snap without a moment's notice. Normally, when he sensed that kind of energy coming off of him, shit was going to get messy. Normally, he was the one to get the messiest, because he knew he was going to have to be the one to make all the shots that actually finished the job.

This was different, so, so different. Not that he was surprised. He really wasn't. Unless this was another Vash from a reality that had gone differently than his own, then it was obvious by the color of his hair alone that Vash was...later? than he was. Had lived longer than Wolfwood had. Because of course he had. And he'd known when it happened that he was going to be leaving a lot of hurt behind when he was gone. That was just the way Vash worked. Especially with his friends. And at least for Wolfwood, he had absolutely been a friend. Closer than.

He gave a shaky little smile, reaching up and pulling his askew sunglasses off of his face so that he could hold eye contact with him as he stepped closer, letting his hands lower slowly so that he wasn't still warding off a defensive attack but still holding them out in front of him. Not touching, not yet, but there was an implication that he would reach out if he needed to, if Vash gave any indication that he needed the contact.]

It's just me, Vash. You're fine, just breath for me, ok? [He gave a soft laugh, his voice barely more than a whisper when he spoke as he began walking slowly closer, so slowly, silently cursing the way his hands suddenly wanted to shake and the way his eyes burned.] Don't start cryin' on me, ok? It's...been a Hell...a Hellova time. You might get me started, too, an' nobody wants that. I'm an ugly cryer when you get me goin', probably put you to shame!

[ Vash's breath stopped when the other him reached for the gun, but then the moment passed and all he could see was heartbreak. So he took a deep breath, shifting so, without letting go of Nai's hand, his other arm came to drape over the slender shoulders, soothing, reassuring. And he started doing his best to radiate soothing and comforting emotions, the way ha has had to do with plants in deep distress. It was gentle and easy, not intrusive, but if anyone was confused and needed to latch on to something, it was there in the near ambiance.

It was all he did, as the air between those two got changed ore and mare heavily with all that was and had been lost.

After few moments, making sure that was steady and his own emotions bundled up tightly - when he was comforting a plant, letting his own fear break through never could help - he looked back down at Nai, smiling slightly even if his eyes were sad, behind the shades. ]

They might need a little time. It has been over two years for Wolfwood and I'm not sure how long for the other me. It's all right, we'll be right nearby and he won't worry when he can focus on anyone else again. [ He squeezed his brother lightly. Two years might be more than Nai's entire life. Or nearly twice as long, even. And even with Vash's own distorted scale, it was a long time to miss someone.

Someone you loved. ]

All right?

[ he watches the scene unfolding between vash and wolfwood, his expression unreadable. leaving behind his brother went against the very grain of his being, but he knows vash is right. his brother is older with relationships that go beyond him now, even if they seem... questionable. it's only right that he gives them some space.

... but ]

Vash!

[ he calls out, holding up his index finger. ] You can have one hour. [ to have his catch-up chat or whatever. he thinks he's being very considerate here! ] Don't even think about leaving town, got it?

[ and for good measure, when he looks to wolfwood, nai sticks his tongue out with a comical blehh before turning back around to let vash led them away. ]

[ Don’t cry, Wolfwood murmurs, and no, he’s not crying. There’s tears running down his face, his chest hurts so badly he can’t breathe, but he’s not crying. This is joy, not grief. Wolfwood holds his arms out and while he can't quite manage to get himself to move, all Vash can think about is stepping forward, leaning into that embrace, burying his face in Wolfwood’s throat and breathing the man in until everything makes sense again. He needs to touch him, has to feel for himself that the figure standing there is real, solid, and not just a desperate vision. It would be the easiest thing in the world to give up and close the space between himself and Wolfwood, to just let go, let himself fall, to just scream until the ball of terror in his chest finally tore loose and he could be free of its choking weight. He died on that couch too, he thinks, and his heart doesn’t remember how to beat anymore -- if he holds it to Wolfwood’s, if they can fall into sync again, then maybe he too can come back to life? Vash sways a little on the balls of his feet, hands heavy at his sides, unable to move forward but unwilling to step away. He…

Vash! Kni’s voice breaks through the haze of loss and what-ifs and snaps him back into reality. He turns to his brother with a jerk, body moving long before his mind realizes what’s happening. His vision is a blur, Kni just a smear of light next to something familiar and red, and Vash scrubs at his eyes with the back of his hand until he can see again, because his brother needs him. Because no matter what happens, no matter what miracles he gets to bear witness to, his brother will always be his first priority. Always.

But all Kni needs is his attention, and his promise. You have one hour! he commands, standing there somehow holding another Vash’s hand. Don’t leave!, and Vash, still dazed, nods in agreement. There’s another him. He won’t leave, no, he’s already promised that he wouldn’t, but there’s another him. Wolfwood is alive, and there’s another him? But then Kni sticks out his tongue at Wolfwood, and the tension breaks so thoroughly that Vash sways with it. His relieved laugh sounds a little unhinged, and little too loud, even to his ears, but he can’t bring himself to care. It feels like approval, of this human who Vash can’t tear his eyes away from. It feels like acceptance.

He smiles hesitantly at the other him, with the strange coat and the beautiful green hand -- hello, friend -- but Kni is already leading that other version of himself away. Giving him space. Protecting him, even now.

And then it’s just him and Wolfwood. …Or is it a Wolfwood?

Now that Vash can breathe again, now that the initial whirlwind of grief and shock has passed through him, he can finally see the little differences between the Wolfwood he last saw an hour or so ago, and the one standing before him. This Wolfwood didn’t just come from a fight. His suit isn’t pockmarked with holes and stained with his own blood. He’s not… it’s not the same. Wherever he’s from -- whenever he’s from -- he’s not the man Vash just watched die. Is he? Just like Kni is his brother, but different, just like that other version of him isn’t him, this cigar smoking Wolfwood is Wolfwood, but he’s also somebody else. He’s somebody else’s.

But he’s still alive.

Vash would never insult Wolfwood -- any Wolfwood -- with one of his fake smiles, but real anger? It’s that or tears, and if he starts crying he’ll never ever stop, so anger it is. ]

Nicholas D. Wolfwood, I am so mad at you!

[ Leaving in the middle of the night to go and get himself killed! What was he thinking?! ]

Edited 2023-05-16 19:14 (UTC)

[It sure looked a lot like crying to him, though there was definitely a different sort of edge to it than he was used to sensing in him when he was upset. Either way, he worried he'd locked up again, like he'd seen him do when that bastard Leonof had sprung his twisted little trap with the puppets. He was willing to take the fact that he hadn't blown an entire blood vessel in his eye as a good sign. Seeing him literally crying blood was haunting enough for one lifetime, thanks.

When he saw him swaying on his feet, he almost shifted to close the gap, worried he was going to fall, but then the sound of Knives shouting out from behind was enough to make the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, and he turned when Vash did, staring back at the kid in wary bewilderment. He realized dimly that the two of them intended to leave, and he felt a jolt of worry lance through him; No, Vash - the other Vash - couldn't leave yet! They had to find Nico, he needed to make sure they were both safe! He didn't want to just let him wander off, out of his life, even if he'd found his way back to the man he had known longer!

But he realized dimly that no, Nai had no intention of letting either of them go, and he settled down again slowly, before givng a bemused look at the kid when he stuck his tongue out at him, not even feeling the least bit ashamed when he returned the expression like the mature adult that he was.

He hadn't even looked away from the two as they walked off when Vash turned his anger on him, and his eyes widened slightly as his attention jerked back in his direction. It took him a moment, just looking at him, feeling the emotion coming off of him, before his own expression softened again, falling into something somewhat more neutral. Something apologetic.]

...Yeah, alright. I deserve that.

[His mouth twitched in what wanted to be a conciliatory smile, but it was gone before it could fully manifest. Two years. He hadn't seen him in over two. Fucking. years. And God, now that the shock of first seeing him was over, he found himself caught in a similar state of shock that Vash seemed to have been in moments before; unable to look away, studying every little difference, everything that was the same. The things that made him different from the other Vash, that his brain had started blurring in his memory the longer away he was and the more time he spent with the other one.

He gave a small, sharp exhale, an attempt at a laugh, as he reached up to flick at his own fringe, a gesture that was meant to draw attention to the little black tufts of hair that now hung down in Vash's face.]

Nice hair, Needle-Noggin. 'S a good look on you.

[Only it wasn't, was it? That was supposed to be bad, wasn't it? He wasn't sure what had caused it, but he knew that it wasn't a good thing, and he had never felt comfortable asking. So he felt like an asshole just as soon as the words left his mouth, and the attempt at a good-natured bit of ribbing ended just as quickly as it had started.]

Hey, Vash-...I'm...[His voice cracked, and he frowned, clearing his throat.] I'm sorry. I...I know you didn't want to hear it...I don't think I even knew how to say it...back at the orphanage...but...I am. I really fucked up. I didn't-...

[Ah, Fuck. Suddenly, it was like those two years hadn't happened, like he was finding himself suddenly awake and alive after feeling his heart stuttering and stopping in his chest and letting the darkness swallow him up, only this time it wasn't a man with a different-but-not face sitting next to him, looking lost and frightened for him and bewildered. He clutched at his shirt with his free hand, his heart hurting for an entirely different reason than it had then, but still hurting nonetheless.]

I didn't wanna distract you. You had more important things to worry about, but I was dumb. I shoulda known you wouldn't...You wouldn't...just leave me to-...[Fuck. Alright. He didn't have alcohol and post-regenerative fog clouding his thoughts and making it easier to say things he would never have said otherwise. And he didn't have the luxury of thinking he was hallucinating a man who was close enough to the one in front of him in his final moments that he could give his thoughts to freely. He shook his head, gritting his teeth against the hurt he felt, knowing how much pain he'd caused with one idiotic decision.

He took a deep breath, his face pulling into a frown, and when he spoke again, it was in a rush through clenched teeth as he physically forced the words out of his mouth before he could second-guess himself.]

I thought it would be easier for you, if I was just...gone. I couldn't leave the kids to die because've me, but you had more important things to worry about than dealing with the consequences of my actions. But I was stupid, I wasn't giving you enough credit, I should've known you...[And he'd lost steam again. He glanced away, his jaw flexing as he tried to keep his composure.] You've always been a better man than I ever could be. I'm sorry I...[Left you behind. Hurt you. Got myself killed. All of the above, and none of them he could force out into words, not yet.]

[ One minute conciliatory, the next mocking. Vash just blinks, stunned, when what he thought was about to be a tearful reunion turns into a joke about dying plants. What in the hell...?

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.

Edited 2023-05-17 03:28 (UTC)

[Mm, yeah, no. No. That look told him that the hair definitely wasn't a good thing, and he silently cursed himself in the back of his mind. Fuck. Sticking his foot so far into his mouth he was gnawing on his own damn knee, at this point. It made him glance away, shame on his face as he chewed on the end of his cigar in frustration, missing the moment the offended shock faded.

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.

[ He wasn't expecting tears. The sight stuns him into silence as Wolfwood talks, and talks, as though making up for lost time. And if it really has been two years for him, maybe that's exactly what he's doing!

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.

[The sight of his boots moving closer out of the corner of his eye had him tensing, pressing his tongue against the roof of his mouth, gritting his teeth, waiting for another blow. When, instead of having to deal with getting his bell rung all over again, he felt Vash's arm moving over his shoulders, he only tensed further, eyebrows going up at the same time his shoulders tried to before he forced them back down. Not denying the contact, just...shocked.

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]

[ Wolfwood tenses at the first touch, and Vash almost pulls away right then. But he knows this man -- his body, at least, if not his heart and mind -- and he can feel the slight lean in, the way he almost lets his head come to rest on Vash's shoulder. The way he holds himself so tightly, bloody hand kept away from Vash in a gesture that feels more metaphorical than actual.

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.

[He had been doing relatively well, he thought, keeping himself from completely breaking down. Real bang-up job, he hadn't deteriorated into openly weeping and making a fool of himself, yet. Which, to be honest, had actually been easier said than done on more than one occasion over the past couple of years. Vash leaning in to complete the hold and burying him in his arms, though, made that a damn bit harder, and he felt himself lock up for a moment, unsure what to do with his limbs before finally wrapping them around his chest.

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.]

[ He feels the collapse coming – how could he not, with the way the man is shaking? with all he's been though? – and leans in as Wolfwood folds, shifting his grip around him to better support his weight. He can feel every beat of Wolfwood's heart as though it's pounding in his own chest, and it's strong. It's so wonderfully strong – there's no sign of the horrifying regeneration vial's work in that steady pulse. Wolfwood is alive, and healthy, and solid and real, this isn't a dream, this isn't an illusion, he's real. He's here. He almost died on the ark and he did die just an hour – or two years – ago, but there's no denying the reality of the body in his arms.

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. ]

[The sudden shift as Vash nearly stumbled back was enough of a shock to break him out of his own head, and he gasped, his own arms tightening as he felt himself being clutched harder, felt Vash pressing his face against his hair. He moved his face gently enough that he wouldn't dislodge him from where he'd burrowed against him but Nick could still look out from the crook of his neck, his own tears turning quickly to concern. Shit. Shit. He hadn't realized how exhausted Vash was, he hadn't stopped to pay attention to the signs in front of him. And the freshness of the blood on his coat suddenly coalesced into realization.]

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.]

[ Wolfwood. His senses are full of the man, blocking out all the rest of the world. Here, safe in Wolfwood's arms there's no more war, no more suffering plants or starving humans. No more fear for his little brother, or fear of his older one. No more worry about Livio, or Luida. No more anxiousness over the fate of Meryl, and Milly, or the thousands of others all across the planet whose lives had been threatened while he'd been held captive. None of that mattered -- none of that was here. There was nothing but Wolfwood, nothing but Nicholas, strong and sturdy and his and here.

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. ]

[He could sense a shift that made him tense, concern spiking. In the short time between Vash reached out to hold him and now, he had locked up, fallen into his own head again, and there was a moment when Wolfwood was worried, already beginning to try and figure out what he needed to do to bring him back down. Only Vash was clutching him tighter, growling in a way that suddenly made Nick's blood rush to his head in a way that he absolutely did not want to analyze when Vash wasn't in his right mind, holy fuck, and those wings closed in tighter, making him jerk slightly and move closer, his hand flattening across the soft down on his cheek reflexively...

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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OK HERE WE GO after dozing off at my desk FINALLY FINISHED IT

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