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Not every town is abandoned, as time continues its shenanigans. This one is as run down as any other, cobbled together with parts and debris, but it seems intact enough, its plant dangling over the town, people going about their business for the most part unperturbed.

For the most part. There is some grumbling, most of it more nervous than angry, that their new neighbor is a well known monster, and how dangerous it is to be so close. The only reassurance, nothing bad has happened yet.

Yet.

Sitting in the rocking chair of his newly acquired home's creaky porch, Knives Millions does absolutely nothing to any of them. He hasn't harmed anyone as yet, but part of the town seems to be from his time, not whatever base timeline it is, and running on reputation alone means he's so far been unbothered in return, and the plant is being treated with exceptional care. Had she been, before he arrived? He wasn't sure. But he can tell from here her mood was content, so he does nothing besides sit there, rocking idly, and cleaning the gun he'd liberated from someone else several days before.

A beat up jeeplike vehicle sits in the shade behind the house, and there is a tiny, perhaps six or so inches high, little sprout of broad leafed green growing determinedly by the porch. With the door wide open, it's fairly obvious this home had once been occupied with people distinctly Not Knives, but there's no signs of violence.

It's peaceful enough for the moment.

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He'd planned to walk the rest of the way to Octovern, and meet up with the ark there. But somewhere on the way he took a wrong turn, or perhaps the world shifted around him again, like it had when Nai had vanished. Now, instead of miles and miles of dunes, ahead of him is a small town, one that still has a plant in her bulb sitting hopefully over her neighbors. He can hear her, faintly, a distant whisper of placid productivity, of joy in her work and contentment with her town. He's about to head for her -- he's delayed in his quest for so long, what's another few hours? -- when he realizes that he's hearing a second plant's presence, too.

He knows that presence.

And so it is that, just past noon, Vash is approaching the little house at the edge of town, glasses firm against his face and gun drawn and held down at his side. He'll stop at the edge of the property, and wait to see what kind of welcome he's offered.

The past few times he'd run into A Vash had been ... strange. One had wings of the wrong color and was young, still ignorant of what lay waiting in his future. The other MUCH younger, whom Knives would happily burn the planet to ash for. Both weren't hostile, but he'd expected hostile. Neutral, at best. Whatever bond he'd once had with his brother had long, long since faded to occasional tolerance.

This is neither of those two. But the splotch of red and blond is familiar, as is the flash of silver at his side. Still looking to be somewhere in his twenties, unlike Knives himself, who trended towards looking in the range of forty these days. This is more what he expects of Vash the Stampede, not friendliness, not welcome.

There's no overwhelming pressure of his presence, at least, though the older of the two makes no move to leave his porch. Then again he rarely bothered, Vash always came to him, carrying that gun, intending violence.

"If you plan on using that, then get to it instead of skulking in my driveway." It's hard to tell if the words are aloud or telepathy, but either way there's no mistaking who said it. Though whether or not there's a driveway at all is even harder to tell because it's all bare ground.

He'd argue that he doesn't intend violence, only defense, but from Knives's perspective he'd understand that it's the same thing.

The expected attack doesn't come, which is both a relief and a concern, but it's enough of a respite that Vash is happy to reholster his gun... although he's not coming any closer quite yet. Sorry, brother -- he's going to skulk awhile yet.

"Hello Knives."

With the moment of peace between them, Vash can take a second and really look at the man on the far porch... and what he sees is a surprise. That black hair is the biggest shock by far, although the lack of absorbed plants swirling around Knives's frame is pretty surprising, too. This isn't the Knives he's looking for at all, is he? This one is older, undoubtedly from a different world than the Knives he's on his way to fight.

Did this Knives survive that fight, the one that the severely traumatized version of himself had shown him? Suddenly hopeful, Vash raises his hands -- he's never truly unarmed, but he's not looking for a fight if Knives isn't -- and dares a few steps onto the property.

"It's been awhile."

'Knives', and not Nai. That too was familiar; was this one closer to the brother he knew? Would it be any better if he were? The chair squeaks a bit when he leans back in it, watching the hands-up, no-weapons pose that really meant nothing at all for a plant.

"It seems I'm a bit thin on the ground for running into." An odd way to put it, until it's followed up. "I've encountered two of you so far. You'll make the third, but I've not heard of another me."

Partly black hair, but not to the point of their last encounter before his ark came apart. It still hurt to see, knowing how many years, how many centuries it meant were whittled away. If he could ever find one of his younger selves, there'd be words about being a bit more cautious, a bit less wasteful for all their sakes. "...Hm. After Augusta, I'd guess. But before Octovern?" One calloused hand rises, gesturing to two-toned hair. "You've not made all those fascinating little bullets yet."

It's not ... exactly anything like welcoming, but it's also not violence, Knives was rather disinclined to escalate without a good reason, and his brother on his hypothetical future lawn did not, as yet, count.

Bullets? Vash lets his surprise show on his face, slowly lowering his hands. He can make bullets out of his energy? Or at least, another version of him was able to? That's an interesting idea! He'll have to test that out at some point.

"I'm on my way to Octovern." The way he says it, after Augusta, but before Octovern, makes it clear -- this is a Knives who survived that final fight. Maybe even, if he's as old as he looks, a Knives that survived the six or so months afterward, instead of dying the way... ah, no, best not to think about it. Not here.Not yet. Instead, he taps his own hairline, where that single black streak had been on his version of his brother. "Last time I saw you, you looked different, too." Blonder. Crueler. Much bigger.

Geez, he'd thought his life was complicated enough before he started having to deal with multiple copies of people!

He knows what that look means. "Be careful, every single one costs months. Years. Your friends are still alive at that point, aren't they? Stay with them." It's good to practice, but also incredibly dangerous. In the end, that expenditure is likely what will see the end of Vash the Stampede.

And maybe it wasn't necessary anyway, from the sound of things, this time's Octovern is just after that battle. "There's no need for such sacrifice anymore." He's the only Knives, it seems. And he was done with such fighting. What had it gotten him? What had it gotten his kind? It's been so much longer than six months. Plenty of time for regrets, for all the plants he'd inadvertently sacrificed on the way.

There's a Nai, he'd heard, small like the littlest of Vashes. But that.. wasn't likely to end in the same way, with so many of his brothers around, older and more experienced. It wouldn't be allowed. And Rem...

"Be careful of the Terrans, too. They don't like free-roaming, unshackled Independents."

Vash can hardly believe what he's hearing. Concern for his aging, for the use of his powers and what it means for his lifespan? Concerned for his freedom, from the people from Earth? From the ships that, last he knew, Knives was still planning on destroying?

He came here expecting a fight, and instead here's a brother who's survived what's to come, and seems to only want him to take care of himself. It's nice, of course it's nice! He'll always take a friendly brother over one who wants to absorb him, that's not even a question! But ever since that earthquake, it's like the carpet is being pulled out from under him over and over. Wolfwood died, but then he's back. Nai went home, months ago, but he's back too. Rem's here. And now here's Knives, but he doesn't want to fight, doesn't seem to have any of their sisters hidden about his person, and he's worried that Vash will end up burning up his remaining time unnecessarily? That he'll be taken captive by someone else?

"Can I ask you something?" The other Vash, the one who'd accidentally shared his memories of Octovern and the aftermath, had shown him Knives's death. With everything else he thought he knew about his future proving false, maybe that bit can be changed, too? "How are you still alive? After Octovern, I mean?

There's a grunt in response to being asked if he can be asked a question. If he said no, would it stop Vash anyway?

The question though, draws a follow up huff that might be a laugh in anyone else. "If you don't actually use your power, a body doesn't require a lot of energy on the scale of our species to keep going." His tone and expression darkens by degrees, slowly descending from neutrality to something gradually more malevolent. It's almost a tangible thing, the way bitter malice rises bit by bit, unfurling like a malignant flower. "So I decided if this world wishes me dead, if my own brother would rather be alone than anywhere near me, then I would deny them their victory. They will all spend decades looking over their shoulder, wondering if the whispers on the wind is vengeance come for them at last or merely the pale ghosts of old terrors."

It fades as if it never were, as if the echoes of blades in the dark was nothing more than a memory, and Knives crosses one leg over the other and rests his hands on his knees, a faint smile crossing his lips. "It's astonishing what you can accomplish when motivated by spite alone." It could be any other day, too hot of course, and nothing at all abnormal in the air or the place. He's no-one of consequence, could be anyone.

"All that's left of my efforts are stories, now. Octovern was a while ago by human reckoning, and we've become myths in our age. One brings help and healing, the other a terrible slaughter, and there's no knowing which is which until it's too late, so treat your plant well or she won't speak for you when the demons darken your doorstep." It was almost charming, except that he hadn't actually killed anyone in a very long time, that took more effort than he cared to expend these days.

Vash would still ask, but nothing’s making Knives answer, right? Nothing except his love for his brother and his charitable nature!

He won’t interrupt – that would be rude, and this peace they have is tenuous, growing feeling of danger notwithstanding – but surely Knives understands why Vash might not want to be near him after, well, everything? After Jeneora Rock? After July? After the ark, and December, and the horrors he’s seen secondhand about Octovern?

The waves of malevolence hit Vash almost as hard as Knives’s presence did, back in his stronghold. He doesn’t respond, not so long as Knives is only intending and not acting, just lowers his chin a hair and lets the violent intent flow over him. His heart’s pounding so hard he can feel it in his throat, though, by the time Knives pulls back on his little joke. That’s what he’d been expecting to find here. That’s what he expects to find in Octovern, only magnified a thousandfold.

He still can hardly believe there’s a version of him, in any universe, who walked away after that.

“I’m glad.” He doesn’t sound all that glad, but his body’s got different ideas about the threat Knives poses than his mind does, that’s all. This Knives hasn’t hurt him so far, and he’s going to trust in that as long as he can. “I spoke to another Vash here, who told me you’d died. I’m glad you survived, even if you were alone.” He knows a little about how miserable that can be, certainly. “I don’t…”

Really know what I’m supposed to do, now.

“…know what else to say to that, sorry.”

Knives makes a low, disgusted sound. "Someone else is running around saying both you and I died in July." No story should be taken at face value, including the ones going around about the demons of the desert, which currently kept the humans from the town from daring to approach too close.

"Forgive me if I'm skeptical you're glad I'm still here, little brother." His smile is brief and wry. "You did come looking for a fight. If it helps, I don't know how much longer I have, spite doesn't keep a body running forever." It wasn't a joke, none of it ... just things he chose to bottle up. What good did it do to let hatred run rampant when he couldn't do anything about it?

As far as he's concerned, even now, almost everything he did was justified. And he'd pass on what he'd learned, if he ever came across a younger self that wasn't too young, so his mistakes wouldn't be repeated. "But it's a good thing I am. We're not the only victims of time's whims, and none of you have figured out what to do with being a plant yet." He pauses, then glances back towards the house before looking back to Vash with a frown. "Well. One of you does, now."

He did come looking for a fight yes, and he nods at the truth of that statement. But that fight wasn't with this Knives, if that makes a difference?

The Knives he's looking for hasn't called him little brother in a very long time. He didn't realize how much he'd missed it. Fear and tension are just a part of being around Knives, any Knives -- that's been their relationship for so long that Vash can't even picture a version of them where that threat isn't present -- but if there can be conversation, too? If they can be near each other without shooting, without punches being thrown, without trying to knock the other down? What's a little fear, to having his brother back, if only for a few minutes?

He will find a way to keep his Knives alive, Vash reaffirms for himself. Spite might not keep a body running forever, but if Knives gets more than a meager half a year, then he doesn't need forever. Forever is too long to live anyway. A couple more decades, maybe another century? Time to come to an understanding between them? He's never wanted anything so much.

But then Knives redirects their conversation abruptly, with a glance back at his little house, and Vash can't help but follow his gaze.

"You have another me here?"

...Voluntarily? He doesn't say it, but it's clear in his tone.

Knives' smile is brief. They never last long, it's not an expression that suits him. "Not currently, no. But I do have Tessla here, so mind the noise."

Someone who should be long, long dead shouldn't be concerned about noise levels. But gunfire is terribly loud and if Knives isn't lying through his teeth, then that would be a good reason to avoid a fight..

"The other version of yourself is ... a bit different. No feathers, just vines and flowers like galaxies in the dark." He expects that Tessla will be the sticking point, but identifying another Vash to a Vash might well be important too. "He'll know now how to mend the damage humanity can inflict, how to stop pain and how many other plants is needed to see it through without much damage in return."

Sorry, Vash didn't hear any of that second part... as evidenced by the absolutely dumbstruck look on his face.

"Tessla?" He looks back and forth between the house, and Knives, and back to the house, unbelieving. "You found her?"

...Alive?

He knew that'd be the sticking point!

"No. Your other self did. I was just called in to help." Not that he did much beyond provide directions, he couldn't anymore. "Several of our sisters merged with her, and have kept her alive. They saved her, we just put the pieces back together."

And it meant upending everything Knives thought was important. Leaving her somewhere and hoping someone took care of her? Never. As long as she wanted to stay... "When she's awake and ready for visitors, and if you're still around, you can introduce yourself. I think she'll be happy to know she has even more family."

Tessla's alive. Healed, and safe, and sleeping just on the other side of that door! Vash doesn't even bother to wipe away the tears rolling down his cheeks -- after more than a century, she's finally healed. And in the safest place he can possibly think of, Knives's blackened hair notwithstanding. Nobody will hurt her, not here. He wishes he could hug Knives, thank him for her sake... but he doesn't have that privilege anymore. So he wraps his arms around himself instead, and the smile he offered Knives is genuine, for the first time since he walked up.

"I have to go see if you're in Octovern." Everything's different now, he knows that, but he can't just walk away from his responsibility to whichever Knives he might find there. He has to see the situation for himself. "If I can come back, though, I'd love to meet her."

Touch is an iffy thing. Did he mind it from the tiniest of Vashes, or from Tessla? No. Would anyone else ever get that kind of freedom with his person? ... Probably not.

But in a way, Tessla being alive could help heal a terrible wound both of them had been dealt when they were only a year old. Traumatized beyond belief, but alive and able to recover.

"Take a word of advice from someone who was there: bring help. There's at least one other adult Vash on this planet, and he's his brother too. Going alone means leaving yourself mostly dead and reliant on some younger, stupider version of me to save your life. I very nearly didn't." He knows Vash .. his Vash anyway, was stubborn to a fault, and would go on about responsibility. It's 'his' problem only he should take the risk and so on.

Which is why he levels an accusing finger. "And don't give me any of that hypocritical nonsense about him being 'your problem'. It's all of our problem. Every single plant, it's all our fates that are being put on the line. If you want to save lives and minimize risk, find your other selves and bring them too. He isn't going to stop. He can't, he doesn't have anything else."

I couldn't. But I have more than spite, now.

"If you're lucky he won't be there. I haven't even heard rumors of another of me being around, except for a yearling version. But if he is there, he's been there for a couple of weeks now, and Octovern still stands."

It's excellent advice. A wise man would heed that advice, especially coming from somebody who's survived the fight he thinks that he's walking into.

Will he stop on the way and try to track down another version of himself, so that they both can end up beaten and battered? He most certainly will not, but he loves his brother all the more for suggesting it. He even radiates the feeling, just a little bit, not wanting it to come off as manipulative -- just gratitude, and brother/family/love. There's always going to be a thread of fear between them, but that doesn't mean there can't be love too, right?

"Nai, yes. He's living with Rem, next to the ruins of July." Knives isn't the only one with surprise news about dead loved ones! "Thank you for the advice, big brother. I'll take it to heart."

It's a shame Tessla's sleeping. He really would like to see her! But he wouldn't interrupt her rest for anything, not after everything she's been through.

"But you won't actually listen, will you?"

It isn't a question, in spite of that flash of gratitude and almost-affection. He already knows what Vash, any Vash besides the one too young to have developed that utterly ridiculous stubborn streak, tends towards doing. They had to enjoy it somehow.

Except Knives doesn't have to play by that set of rules, and he knows exactly what to do about it. So what looks like resignation in his put upon sigh and the way his posture changes to something a bit more slumped is anything but giving in. He too, is stubborn. And like always, he'll have to take matters into his own hands to keep his foolish siblings safe.

By throwing them all at the same time into the worm's jaws.

"If I tell Tessla you were here, and you don't return, she's going to be very upset." Rem doesn't get much of a reaction visibly - he'd already known that, somehow. Maybe that other, little Vash he'd mentioned earlier!

That... was an entire can of worms he wasn't ready yet to deal with. That pain was as old as he was.

Edited 2023-06-18 22:34 (UTC)

He's heard two accounts so far of how this fight will go, and they both agree on the main points: he'll be injured, but he'll manage to stop Knives, and, if his brother decides that his life is worth saving, he'll live. That's as fair a deal as he could possibly hope to find. Bringing in another Vash would change that dynamic -- Knives might feel ganged up on, betrayed. He might not survive fighting against two Vashes. The damage caused by more combatants might harm the humans in the nearby city. He can't risk it.

But his brother, this brother, doesn't want him to die. After months of coldness from the Knives who'd held him captive on the ark, that's a beacon of light in his future. That's hope.

"I'll come back." That resigned slump looks wrong on Knives's shoulders, and a small, bitter part of Vash is suspicious of its validity. But no -- he can't think like that. That's just Knives being annoyed at his little brother's stupidity, isn't it? Nothing more. "To see you both."

Ah, but there's just one problem, isn't there? This isn't Octovern. He's not sure where he is! Embarrassed, Vash scratches at the back of his neck, nodding towards the nearby town. "By the way, where am I?"

"Don't make promises you don't intend to keep." He's not even going to tell Tessla about this one, and get her hopes up about seeing kin more often. No Vash stayed in one place long, and the idea that she might have more regular company would be cruel to inflict. He was used to it, but she wasn't.

The handful she knew were enough for now.

One black eyebrow arches when he's asked where they are. Doesn't anybody carry a map these days? Haven't the Terrans inflicted GPS or something on everyone? Maybe not, televisions would subdue the populace faster. "The town's named Chislers Hill. You're on the wrong continent for Octovern."

Things he could have mentioned sooner. "I'd tell you where to go but some of the towns that have cropped up are unknown to me. And for the most part, empty." He didn't even wipe those ones out, which is a different layer of puzzlement.

Vash opens his mouth to protest, then thinks better of things and shuts it again. He intends to come back! He just doesn't think he can. The world is full of people he wants to return to, more now than even there was a week ago! There's Tessla, and Rem, Nai, this Knives, this brother who looks him in the eye when he speaks, who cares enough about him to chide him. Wolfwood. He has more reasons than ever to survive!

It's not breaking his word if he tries his best and fails, right? Just like he tried and failed to walk to Octovern. He was in July, heading in the right direction, but now? He face falls at the news, comically distressed. He's in Chisler's Hill? But that's forever away from where he was headed!

"I saw some of those towns, I think. Ones I didn't recognize. It's hard to tell though, with how things keep moving around!" Things like him.

He dares a glance at the vehicle parked alongside Knives's house... but whether Knives would be inclined to drive him any part of that distance or not doesn't really factor, does it? Not if he's got Tessla here. He can't leave.

Oh well.

"I guess I've got a long walk ahead of me!"

"Have you considered asking for a ride in town, or is sunstroke an actual goal?"

Knives stole that jeep thing, thank you, and it wasn't the only one available to purloin! And while he's absolutely certain Vash wouldn't just stela a car the way he did, bribery, payment and hitching a ride were commonplace things. He won't be offering his own, it's true ... he needs it for ferrying a small array of tiny plants around until they learned to fly. "..Though if you do, keep in mind they're a bit .... jumpy. They're apparently from my time, or near enough."

And the demons of the desert were to be pacified when possible, but that didn't mean you invited them into your home!

"Ah..."

He scratches at the back of his neck with embarrassment. No, it hadn't occurred to him! After everything these people have been through in the last year, he'd assumed that anyone who still had access to a vehicle would have left town, holed up in the hills maybe... or they'd be holed up beneath the plant. Either way, who's going to offer something as rare as a car to the brother of the man responsible for all of this mess? It's not like he has any money, or anything to trade.

"I wouldn't want to be any bother!"

Knives is right about one thing, though -- on foot, Octovern is more than a week away. He never thought he'd miss that rattling, smelly motorcycle so much. "But I guess it can't hurt to ask, right?"

Who knows? Maybe somebody in the town is heading for Octovern, and he'll be able to catch a ride the whole way there! Stranger things have happened this week, so he can't discount it!

Probably the only reason any such holing up hasn't happened is exactly how long it's been for the town between the purge and now. Just when things were getting back to normal, all those nice trade routes are suddenly completely upended again! But they still had their plant, and she was quite content with the situation, so it would do til trade started once more. "I'm sure it won't be any bother at all."

Not that he infringed on the town much. He didn't like being around ANY human, even ones that were behaving astonishingly well for humankind. "You might as well visit our sister while you're there. She's treated well enough, but it's always nice to have your own kind stop in."

Vash could always handle their painfully abstract methods of communication better than he could anyway, so it might well be pleasant for both of them.

Stick around for a little bit, Vash hears. See my town, let my humans provide for you, come meet my sister-neighbor. Journey safety, and come back. It's all too much. He slaps a hand over his eyes at the warning prickle there, trying to hold it back, but it's too late -- here come the tears.

"Sorry, sorry!" He really can't help it! He's missed having a brother who cares about him, a brother who wants him to stay alive. A brother who talks to him like he's a person, rather than an obligation, or, worse, a problem to be resolved. "Ah, I really am a baby sometimes, aren't I? Sorry."

He just needs a second, honest! Maybe a couple seconds. Surely no more than a minute?