nomans_land | Somewhere between July and December

Somewhere between July and December

1.
[ It wasn't the fastest car he'd ever driven, but it made better time than the old man's shitty station wagon had, and it was definitely faster than walking across the desert. None of the maps he'd found tucked under the seat had Hopeland on them, which was worrisome as all hell, but on one of the maps there was an orphanage marked, just off of a city called December.

The ghost he'd talked to on that mountaintop had told him he'd die in December, but that ghost had also ruined his last cigarette, so fuck that guy. If he died, he died, but first, he was going to make sure Miss Melanie and the kids were okay.

The sedan hums its way across the desert, kicking up a dust cloud that can be seen for miles. ]

2.
[ With a shudder and a hard jolt, the car comes screeching to a halt, the dash going dead as the engine seizes up. Wolfwood swears, punches the dash, then swears again when the solid dash nearly breaks his hand for his trouble. He'd managed to get the car hotwired, but apparently cars in this messed up version of Noman's were more different from the ones he knew than he'd realized. Is it out of oil? Out of charge? Not like he can do anything about it, whatever the problem.

Please ignore the man in black, standing next to a very dead car in the middle of absolute nowhere and screaming at the sky. It's therapeutic profanity, and it really is helping. ]

3.
[ Sunburned and exhausted, Wolfwood crests the hill and finally, there before him, sees the building that his map identifies as the December Orphanage. Even from a distance it's clear that the chaos that's affected the rest of the planet hit here, too -- there's clear bullet holes in at least one side of the building, walls that have collapsed, and the whole place seems as deserted as everywhere else he's been.

But he's here now, so he might as well have a look around.

He really wishes he still had his Punisher, though. ]

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[There are days Vash agrees with those sentiments, even if he never voices them. He shook his head, a sad little moue on his face when he glanced over for just a moment in Wolfwood's direction.]

Believe it or not, sometimes I wish that were the case. But I can't be the one to pull the trigger. I've seen...[Been]...children. Driven by so much hurt and fear that they lash out, they hurt the people around them. Every one of those people you say need to die...something pushed them to that point. I know they can be better. I've seen it. It's...it's terrifying. But I can't give up hope that they can do better. And if I take that decision from them...

[And he already had. It haunted him, every day. It ate away at him, gnawing at his heart in a way that little else did. Even knowing that doing so had saved Livio, and he would do it over again if he had to because he couldn't let Livio die, not after Nicholas had died to save him. But that didn't mean it didn't weigh on him]

I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for that. And it hurts. And I-...[He bit down on his lip, hard enough to taste blood, and shook his head sharply. This was not the Wolfwood he had called a coward. This was not the man he wanted to cry and beg forgiveness from. He couldn't give him that, no one could, and he would hate being used as a proxy for his guilt and his grief. So Vash held his tongue.]

[ Huh. That's interesting. Did he really hear Stampede here say I'll never forgive myself? Not I would never forgive myself? That has to have been a mistake, one his end or Stampede's -- this man wouldn't kill somebody if his life depended on it!

Right? ]

See, that's the different between us. I don't care what made 'em bad. There's people in every city who get hurt and scared every day of their lives, and they don't turn around and start killin' for the fun of it. So those that do, that's a choice they made.

[ Even those with very few choices still have some say in their lives. Even if the choice is just kill or be killed, there's still two ways that things can go.

Wolfwood knows a thing or two about making choices and ending up a monster, and he's got no pity for anyone who's decided to walk that path, himself included. ]

The only way to stop a monster is to kill it.

[Is it a problem? They weren't going to fight so... it should be okay, right?]

No, no problem. [Besides, this time Wolfwood won't be alone at the start.] Hey, you got any snacks in here? I'm starving. [If there is anything bad there, then at least they're facing it together like they should be.]

[ The whole planet is starving because the local version of Millions Knives stole all the plants, and this asshole thinks there's going to be snacks? Hope he likes somewhat stale bread, because that's what's on offer. ]

Here.

[ It's just a little loaf -- Wolfwood's got no idea what kind. Rem handed it to him and he stuck it in his jacket pocket and promptly forgot about it. Seems fitting that it goes to a version of her idiot kid though, huh? ]

That's all there is. Dunno if you noticed, but everything's pretty fucked right now.

[This...was a delicate topic, if this Wolfwood was anything like the man he knew. He also knew that it wasn't one that he would hear arguments to the contrary to easily.

But...hindsight was 20/20. Would the man he knew have been so quick to throw his life away if he'd known people cared about him more than he realized? Vash would never know, and he couldn't go back and put words in his own mouth so that he could say the right things when he should have. And it was wrong to treat this man like he was the same as the one he knew, it was.

But Vash was, if nothing else, someone who hated to know that people were suffering. Even if it was self-inflicted.]

Just because someone was forced to do terrible things doesn't make them a monster. They can always choose to be better, even if the things they've been through have made them look like they're beyond hope. [He didn't turn to look at him, not even a sideways glance with his eyes. But all of his attention was hyper-focused on Wolfwood as he spoke.] Sometimes they just need someone there to show them a better way. Things are hard here, people do terrible things because they don't think they have any other choice. I just want to help make things a little easier, for everyone, so maybe they won't have to make those decisions in the future.

[Vash knows food isn't easy to come by. Is that going to stop him from pouting at the bread Wolfwood hands him that he should be grateful for? Of course not.] This is it? You're not holding out on me, are you preacher man? [If course he wouldn't be sounding so snooty if he knew who the bread came from. Would probably be sobbing into it.]

[ If that's how it's gonna be, he'll snatch the loaf back! ]

I just saved your life and gave you all the food I've got, and you're whining about it? Give it back then!

[ That wasn't a request. He taking it back, asshole! Give! ]

[ This next rock gets kicked with enough force that Wolfwood loses sight of it before it hits the ground. ]

Okay, pardon the fuck outta me, but who are you to be tellin' anybody what a better way is?

[ He didn't mean for his tone to come out quite so cold, but to hell with it -- that whole bit about someone being forced to do horrible things wasn't the least bit subtle, and he's mad about it. ]

Have you seen yourself lately? Somebody tryin' to choose between joining the Bad Lads or wandering the planet crying over nothing isn't gonna have to think long, is what I'm saying.

[NO! His bread! Vash yanks the food away to the point he's going to be half out the window again.] No! You gave it to me! No take backs!

[The longer he watched those rocks fly, the more he began to wonder when he was going to stop taking his frustrations out on random bits of debris and just hit him. He was honestly a bit surprised he hadn't, already. Maybe this Wolfwood was a bit less...punchy than the one he knew.

But then if his words had been impossible to misinterpret, regardless of how subtle he'd tried to be, Wolfwood's were downright blatant. He felt himself puff up a bit, giving him a look that was equal parts irritated and imploring, his hackles raising for the first time since they'd started talking.]

Hey, I've just been through some things lately, alright? I've always been sensitive, that doesn't mean I can't take care of myself! I've been doing it this long! [How are you feeling to dealing with a whiny, petulant man-child of a Vash, Nicholas? Because this one certainly has his moments.] I just don't want you hating yourself like this, alright? You say you're different than the man I knew, but here you are, saying all the same arguments he always made, and I know he hated himself! You're a nice person, alright? I didn't get to say it to him enough when I had the chance, and he died thinking he was a monster, but he wasn't, he was one of the kindest people I knew, despite all of his flaws!

[Yeah, no, if they aren't talking around it anymore, he'll just go right out and say it straight. While also having himself a big, old pout, shoving his free hand deep into his pocket and sniffling rather loudly while he tried not to start crying the way Wolfwood obviously expected him to.]

[ If he falls out that window Wolfwood is just going to leave him there, fair warning. Only one rescue per Vash, that's the rules. ]

Then I don't wanna hear any more complaining! All I want to hear is thank you so much Wolfwood for giving me the bread that the nice lady gave you, it sure is generous and kind-hearted of you, got it?

[ And if he doesn't get, it, maybe he'll get a helping hand going out that window! ]

[ Oh, he's trying not to cry? How about a punch in the face -- will that help? ]

Still think I'm nice and kind, asshole?

[ If the answer is yes, there's more where that punch came from, fair warning. ]

[Welp, there it finally was! He was only partly surprised when he felt his head suddenly snapping sideways with the force of the punch, sending him staggering a couple of steps to the side. And oh, it made him mad, so mad! But more than that, it just reinforced all of those feelings he'd been trying not to let himself feel, and rather than unpack just why that might not have been the healthiest of reactions for either of them, regardless of which Wolfwood he was talking to, he caught himself and let out a frustrated yell.

Perhaps surprisingly for Wolfwood, though, punching him won't make him reconsider any of the opinions he had formed of him in the time since he'd walked up to the car and realized he was staring at another version of the man he'd lost in December. That man had used his fists almost as often as he'd used his words. He was old hat with this. He barely even noticed the pain; that would kick in later, after things had settled down, however long that took.]

And there you go, [He lunged back, grabbing for his collar, wanting to just...shake him. He won't hit back, can't hit back. Not yet, maybe not ever, with the memory of Nicholas' face bloodied and staring lifelessly, the smallest smile on his lips as his body grew cold still plaguing his thoughts every chance it got.] lashing out instead of listening! You'd rather push people away than accept the fact that there are people that worry about you! I know what you're doing! Just because you're afraid doesn't mean I'm wrong! People do stupid shit when they're afraid!

[Like run off on their own and get themselves killed, instead of asking for help when they needed it!

He couldn't say those words, though the bubbled up from his chest in a little snarl of rage and hurt, and the urge to shake some sense into him redoubled.]

The only thing people ever taught you how to do was hurt, so you hurt others when you don't know how to deal with something because that's all you know, but it doesn't have to be that way! I know you can be better!

[ He didn't really think that a sock to the face would shut the man up, but wouldn't it have been nice if it'd worked? Even stupid baby tears would have been better than the lecture that Stampede decides is the right response, grabbing Wolfwood's collar and blathering on about pushing people away. Pushing people away is a great idea, Wolfwood thinks, and shoves Stampede back, hard, to get the man out of his face.

But he just won't stop talking! Won't stop calling Wolfwood all kinds of names, like afraid and stupid and violent. Well, one of those things is sure accurate, as Stampede is about to find out. ]

Will you shut the fuck up? [ He's swinging again, punch after punch, big hard fists aiming for the asshole's flapping mouth, and for his gut, to try and knock the wind out of him. ] The only one who's afraid here is you, asshole. You're all tied up in knots because there's things you didn't have the balls to another version of me, but you don't get to say 'em to me! I'm not him! I don't give a fuck about you, and I sure as hell don't want you to make me better.

[He was barely staggered when Wolfwood shoved him away, and at first, the punches were blocked easily enough. He wasn't shocked that they kept coming, and a part of him felt on some level like he deserved it; he knew he should have kept his big mouth shut! He still had a survival instinct, though, so he was moving without thinking, until Nicholas' words got through the rage clouding his thoughts and made him freeze up.

The next blows, to his gut, to his face, sent him tumbling to the ground, hard, winded and hurting, gasping for air, his hands lifting to shield himself as he curled up into a fetal position on the ground.

More than the pain of the blows, though, the truth of what he had said hurt the worst. Because it was true. Every word of it was true, and the pain that wedged itself between his ribs was what really left him gasping for breath.

If Wolfwood wanted him to stop talking, he had found exactly what to say to make it happen. He tried to call for him to stop, for a truce, mercy, but words were suddenly too hard, and the only sound he was able to make was a strangled little yell as he rolled onto his hands and knees. He braced himself, one hand raised for him to stop, but he couldn't stand, not yet, not while he found it so hard to get his breathing to even out.

So instead, he sagged, fighting against the tears and the way his lungs hitched every time he tried to draw in a breath. He was an easy target if Wolfwood still felt the need to take his frustrations out of his hide.

Maybe this really was what he deserved, anyway.]

[ He's only getting pummelled so long as he insists on acting like Wolfwood's his dead friend. He's not dead, and they're not friends... but they're not enemies either. As soon as Vash raises a hand in surrender Wolfwood backs off, snarling under his breath. ]

Now can you hear me? I'm not him.

[ He is not going to die in fucking December, okay? ]

And that's the end of that conversation.

[ He finally takes a look at Stampede, and winces at what he sees. He hit that stupid bastard pretty hard, didn't he? Fuck.

Without another word, Wolfwood sticks his hands in his pockets and paces a couple steps away from Stampede, giving him some space to get his shit together. He really didn't expect those last couple blows to land as hard as they did, but the guy just won't stop talking like they're friends!

He can't afford any more friends. ]

[When the quiet lingered and Wolfwood's footsteps put a little distance between them, Vash wilted, his arm dropping slowly to the ground before he pulled it underneath him and let the adrenalin start to fade, the pain to start to kick in, and his lungs to finally start remembering how to work properly. And oh yeah, it hurt, a lot. His face burned, he could taste the blood from his split lip, and even after he'd figured out how to get air back into his lungs, his chest ached. Nicholas was in no way a weak man when he threw his punches.

That wasn't what kept him down though, trying to collect himself before he made his way back to his feet. More than that, it was the shame, mixing with the grief that at times he could push aside, but could never really be free of. It couldn't be pushed aside, now, and so instead, he had to give himself a couple minutes to let it settle into his bones, feeling like poison, making the pains from his hundreds of scars that never fully went away flare up and sap the energy out of him. It would have been so easy, to just lay there, curled up in a ball, until he'd cried himself out and passed out under the suns to wake up in a day, feeling drained and numb.

But he had a job to do, didn't he? He couldn't wallow in it, no matter how much he wanted to. So finally, he sniffed down his tears, pushing them back as he slowly made his way to his feet. Reached down, his movements slow, to grab the strap on his duffel bag and lift it from the ground. His cheek was already swelling, but the look in his eyes was hollow sort of detachment, and he refused to look over at the other man. When he reached his free hand up to press against the ache in his chest, it wasn't across the place he'd been hit, it was higher, rubbing mindlessly at the middle of his chest before pressing flat against the small, flat metal object he kept tucked in his pocket.]

'M sorry.

[It was barely rasped out, and nothing more was said as he lifted his bag back over his shoulder. And then he was walking again, back in the direction they'd been headed before the whole scuffle had happened and slow enough that it was clear he wasn't trying to get away as much as just put the whole thing behind him and get back on their way, as if it had never happened.]

[ He'll wait as long as it takes for the other man to pull himself upright and get moving again. It's not like he doesn't understand -- Stampedes all wear their hearts on their sleeves, and this one isn't any different. He's watched another version of this man cry over a total stranger, so it's no wonder that he's broken up over somebody he knew better. Knew longer, at any rate. A version of himself who drove a motorcycle, a Wolfwood who, from the sound of things, had tried to keep his distance from this sad sack, but hadn't been able to stay far enough away.

He'll do better, Wolfwood tells himself, as behind him Stampede finally rises to his feet. He was never going to live long -- he came to peace with that idea years ago -- but stupid Stampedes with their stupid bleeding hearts apparently don't know that kind of peace. So he'll enforce that peace, enforce that distance, with this Stampede, his Stampede, the asshole whose mom lives next to July here, all of 'em. If they hate him, they won't mourn him, right?

He falls into step behind Stampede, also not saying a word. If they're not flapping their jaws then they won't get as thirsty and it'll be an easier walk. Everybody wins. ]

Then there's just one more thing.

[ He taps the base of the Punisher with his foot. Yeah, it's a memorial, yeah there's feelings attached and all that, but the man's dead. What's he need a gun for anymore? ]

I'm not gonna last five seconds, going up against the Eye with just a kitchen knife. I wanna take this.

[ Give him permission, Livio. He won't take it without permission. Probably. ]

[he bites his lip, glancing between the Punisher, and this Punisher. he's right...as strong as his body may be, he'll need a weapon.

but this feels like...Wolfwood could rest, now. shouldn't his signature weapon, too?

Livio sighs. then his eyes narrow]

...As long as you swear to bring it back.

Thank you, Wolfwood! [He starts while carefully getting back into the car.] For this remarkably kind and generous offer that you have bestowed upon an unworthy soul like mine!

[When it doesn't seem like Wolfwood is going to try to steal the food back he settles back into his seat.] A nice lady gave you this?

[ Oh damn, he said yes? Wolfwood was honestly expecting to need to argue his case more! Hell yeah! ]

As soon as I'm done with it, it comes straight back here, you've got my word.

[ That means he can take it now, right? Nobody's gonna have any problem with him checking all the features? ...It's probably asking too much to hope that there's a vial or three tucked into one of those compartments, huh? ]

[ He's only going to steal it back if there continues to be complaining. If Stampede's gonna eat the food instead of whining about it, then no, he's not gonna touch it. He doesn't know if this Stampede has the same problems with food than the one he knows back home does -- he really hopes not. What good comes of starving yourself? -- so if he's actually going to put food in his stupid face, Wolfwood's sure not going to stop him. ]

Yeah. A real cutie. [ Sorry, asshole, but your mom's hot. And resourceful! Where the hell she found bread in this wasteland he doesn't know, but he's impressed as hell. ] So eat it with respect.

[it tears him up inside. he knows Vash would be furious, would be so hurt, and Wolfwood-- may be a little territorial about his Punisher. maybe.]

Okay. But if it can help you, I'm okay with this...I'm the only one here, after all.

[ No, a Punisher is a personal fucking weapon. It weighs as much as a person, it's the size of a person... he misses the laser beam so much. It's a part of him, a part of his identity. He and his Punisher were quite literally made for each other, and taking the other Wolfwood's Punisher is a little like stripping the jacket off the corpse.

Wolfwood hooks his fingers into the skull grip and hoists the Punisher out of the dirt and up where he can get a good look at it. The weight's different, but the balance is still good, which is a bit of a surprise, honestly, given how much action it's seen lately. There's scratches and scorching and damage all over, and suddenly it occurs to him that a gun used for a final fight might not having much in the way of ammo left. He should check on that, open the whole thing up and see what shape it's in. ]

I'm gonna take her inside, clean her up. You're sticking around, right?

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Page 4 of 21

Somewhere between July and December

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LOL My brain won't settle for sleep until I tag to this! XD AUGH

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well damn, look at me being the asshole and not responding. sorry!

hey don't worry, it happens! you're good

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