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. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He'd been on his way to Octovern when, from a distant speck on the horizon, he heard the rather obvious sounds of absolutely enraged cursing. And just like every other time he's heard someone in obvious distress, regardless of the fact that he'd been headed in a completely different direction, Vash's feet turn and begin bringing him closer. He can't not.

"Hellooo!" He lifted his arm in greeting before he was too close, plastering the friendliest smile he could on his face, and it wasn't long before he was close enough to finally get a look at the man standing on the other side of the broken down vehicle.

That was, of course, when he felt slow, dawning horror beginning to slide through his veins like ice water.

He swallowed down a lump in his throat, the smile on his face growing strained as he looked the man up and down. Things were...off. Different. Smaller frame, sloppier dress, younger, that ranting voice sounded just slightly off-pitch to the rumbling tenor of the man in his memories.

But as much as there was that was wrong, so much of it wasn't, and when he was close enough to lift his hand in greeting again and didn't have to shout to be heard, the hand not carrying the duffel bag over his shoulder was visibly shaking.

"Hey, friend. Car break down?"

The smile fell almost immediately after he was done speaking, his hand stuffing itself deep in his pocket, and there was a distinct feeling of the world shifting around him that he knew well. The world was twisting around him, his brain beginning to feel as if it were two inches to the left of his body, disconnected and floaty in a way that was usually a precursor to a shut down.

He fought through it for now, forcing himself to stay verbal, even though every word had to be forced out through a throat that was tightening around them. He couldn't...this wasn't...no. No. It wasn't Nicholas. Nicholas was dead. He was dead and gone and had been for months, now, and this was just a man who looked and spoke far too close to him for Vash's own comfort.

"I don't have fuel, if you're out of gas, but maybe I can help if it's a busted engine?"

He knows, even without turning around, who it is who's going to be standing there behind him. The voice isn't the same, but that stupidly cheerful tone is one he'd know anywhere. Slowly Wolfwood turns, his already angry expression souring even further at the sight of that bullseye target of a red coat.

How many of this asshole are there on this damn planet?!

"You know what?" No greeting, no introductions, just a wave of his hand at the lightly steaming, very dead car behind him. What's the worst that he can do, break it more? Tell Wolfwood good things about himself? Try to hug him? Fucking try it, Red. "Knock yourself out."

He couldn't look at him for very long, even with the subtle differences that should have been enough to make things easier for him to stomach. In the end, it was no different than the way his own reflection in the mirrors of the inns he stayed at had been making him jump out of his skin some nights, making goosebumps roll up and down his arms and ruining his mood for the rest of the evening.

So he just shuffled over to the car, dropping his duffel bag in front of it as he popped the hood over the steaming engine. And...stared.

It wasn't like he was an engineer or a mechanic. He barely knew how to drive the things, let alone how to fix one. But he'd panicked, and now he stood there, staring into the dark void of an engine block that was sputtering and hissing steam at him, feeling more and more disconnected from his own body and trying not to lose his mind over someone he was mentally screaming couldn't possibly be who he thought he was.

But then everything had been so weird since the earthquakes happened. He'd met other versions of himself, ones that didn't quite look the same, either. People disappearing, time changing.

People coming back from the dead over a year after he'd buried them himself.

Before he knew what was happening, he was giving a high, hysterical-sounding laugh, tears rolling down his face, and he hadn't even touched the engine.

"I don't know what I expected, honestly, I've never even worked on a car before, sorry. I don't even drive, I usually just walk or get the bus between towns."

There's something wrong with this Vash, Wolfwood couldn't help but think, as he watched the guy standing there, just absolutely dumbfounded by the car engine. The one he'd met already had been familiar enough -- so nice it made your teeth hurt, and stubborn in a way that made him want to start throwing punches. This one, though?

Vash giggled like a madman, and started apologizing for not having the first clue how cars worked, and Wolfwood felt the rage starting to bloom under one eye. This one was messed up bad. He's seen plenty of what trauma can do to people, more and more often from the inflicting end, and he was pretty sure that whatever happened to this guy, he didn't want it as part of his future.

He was out of cigarettes, so chewing on his thumbnail was the best he can manage to sate that need to wreck something. "Then why'd you offer?" The dumbass could most likely be heard even without having to say it out loud.

The almost accusatory tone in the question made him laugh again, because laughing was easier than the screaming that wanted to rip its way out of his chest instead, and he shrugged, a manic sort of smile spreading across his face.

"I dunno, you needed help. I couldn't just leave you out here on your own, could I?" He took a moment to scrub his hand down his face before he shook his head and leaned down to reach for his duffel bag. He leaned it against the bumper of the car so that he could open it, digging out his canteen and a bit of dried toma meat wrapped in butcher paper and holding it out. "Least I have some supplies, right? Here. It's not good to go too long without eating."

And still, he couldn't look at him, his eyes cast down at a point in the distant desert behind him.

They just met, and the idiot's trying to give away his entire pocket full of rations, isn't it? Absolutely pathological.

"You really can't help it, can you?" At least this one didn't have his mom nearby for extra guilt, Wolfwood thought to himself, and nearly had to choke down the laugh that bubbles up. Apparently crazy was contagious! He shook is head, if it wasn't clear already -- he didn't need your food, Red. He needed his damn car to work!

"The last one of you I ran into here chased me across half the desert tryin' to protect me from getting sunburned." Falling over himself to offer help was bad enough, but the refusal to even look at him was really starting to piss Wolfwood off. Was this a version of the Stampede from the same place as that ghost Wolfwood he'd met? Did he think Wolfwood was dead?

"Oi, look at me when you're talkin' to me, will ya?"

The look that settled on his face at the scolding, at the familiarity, was strangely emotionless as he felt the truth slam down on him, undeniable no matter how much he wanted it to be a mistake. He kept the rations held out for him, but as the seconds stretched on, his hand slowly lowered until it hung limply at his side. And still he couldn't look at him, and he found he couldn't answer, his hand reaching up to rub at an ache behind his brow before sliding under his sunglasses to cover his eyes.

The growing detachment he'd felt only moments ago settled in fully, leaving him feeling completely unmoored. He tried to form the words to reply, and even though he covered part of his face, it was probably obvious by the way his jaw was working around short, wordless humming noises that he was trying, but they refused to come out, as if he couldn't physically make his mouth work. But, small mercies, if he couldn't talk, then technically he didn't have to look at him, right?

Because now, the image of Wolfwood slumped on that couch, eyes staring unseeingly and lips faintly smiling before the rigor mortis had set in was filling his brain. The sight of his body laying in that hole as he began shoveling in handfulls of sand, watching as he slowly, slowly disappeared from the world. And it was too much, to be able to turn and look up at him and see him standing there, alive, even if he were different, even if it wasn't technically the same man.

Finally, after far too long of a silence, he took in a deep breath and blew it out slowly before straightening his sunglasses and looking over, forcing himself to look at him, even as much as it made him feel like he might be sick, and smiled.

"Yeah, sorry." His voice was thready, but at least it was something. "Might've been able to remember how to fix it, if it was your bike, but then you wouldn't need my help."

That motorcycle had broken down so many times over the time they'd travelled together, and he'd sat and watched Wolfwood working on it enough times that he'd started to pick up some of the process on his own, even though he'd never done the repairs himself.

If he'd been a kinder man, Wolfwood would have asked. What horrible thing happened to get Stampede so torn up like this? How long had he been out here in the sands on his own -- on foot, apparently? How old was he, for his hair to be dark like a dead plant, and did that mean the same thing for a plant that was able to walk around as it did for the ones who lived their whole lives in their bulbs? How long since he'd had somebody looking after him?

But he wasn't a kind man. All his kindness and compassion had been bled out on an operating table by his man's brother, or a version of him, anyway.

"That wasn't me." The words come out every bit as harshly as he intended them. The planet's empty of human life as far as the eye can see except for a never-ending flood of Vash the Stampedes, and they all wanted to tell him who he was. He was getting sick of it. "I never had a bike, you're thinkin' of somebody else."

With the car dead, and neither of them knowing how to fix it, that meant he was on foot again, didn't it? Fuck. It would take him days to walk to December from here, and more than a day to go back the way he'd come, tail tucked between his legs. Neither option sounded promising, but only one sounded survivable.

He was never going to hear the end of this from Blondie, was he?

Reading Wolfwood had never been quite this hard, not before he'd shut himself off so he wouldn't hurt people like he had when things had gone weird. But maybe it was the differences. Either way, the smile on his face dropped at the harshness in his tone, and he swallowed around a lump in his throat. If it had been Nicholas, his Nicholas, that snark would have felt...different. Wouldn't it? He was used to the attitude, to the anger and snappish grumbling. But it didn't feel the same, now.

And for the life of him, he couldn't tell if something in himself had changed, or if it was this Wolfwood, if he was just...too different. From a version of reality where they hadn't meant anything to one another. Where...where maybe...maybe he had been able to see Vash for the monster he was and gotten out before it was too late.

Maybe he would be ok.

The thought was enough to make a small sob catch in his throat at the same time he found himself smiling again, and he almost caught it before it could fully escape, but not quite. He gave a short, jerky nod, trying to disguise the sound with a soft laugh, and then he was turning, reaching back into his bag. He began pulling things out - the last of his money, another packet of toma meat, a tin of tindercloth and camping fuel. He had...he had something to light it with, too, right? It was useless without something-...? He patted his pockets, looked around the sand as if he might have dropped something, patted the chest of his coat where the inner breast pocket lay-...

Oh.

No. He shook his head, his hand trembling when he pressed it against the lighter he kept tucked there, safe next to his heart. Not that. He couldn't leave that.

"Sorry, I know. You're not him. I knew you were...different...when I saw you. I just-...nevermind. I'm sorry." Instead of the lighter, he reached back into his bag as his voice rattled softly, unsteadily, rambling mindlessly as he pulled out the packet of nuts and raisins he'd looted from a little general store and put it on top of the wrapped toma meat.

And then he turned back to him again, looked at him like he'd told him to. Took a moment to take in his features, but then shook his head because it was different, he was different, and he was afraid to look at him too long, to overwrite the image of the man in his head with this man's face, a thought that made a look of actual fear cross his eyes before he forced another smile onto his face and gave a shaky wave.

"Be safe. Take care of yourself, ok?" He shoved away from the car, leaving the pile of supplies for him as a parting gift and forcing himself to take long strides away, put distance between himself and the man who might have enough sense to keep himself safe, live the life he deserved.

"G-...G'bye." It caught in his throat painfully, but he was able to force it out as he passed him by, his entire body shaking like a leaf in a dust storm.

That right there? That was a man who wasn't going to live long. Wolfwood didn't even bother to spare a glance at the pile of shit, piled up on the hood of the car like an offering in front of a grave, and instead stormed right out after the dumbass, grabbing his arm when in range.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going, huh?" Just because he wasn't this asshole's dead friend or whatever didn't mean he wanted to watch the idiot wander off into the sands to die, come the fuck on. "Go pick up your shit. You're gonna need it."

Guess what, Red? You're now Wolfwood's guide. "I need an escort to the nearest town, and lucky you, looks like you're it."

Oh, there were days when he hoped, and...wouldn't it have been a fitting way to go? Giving his last supplies so that another Wolfwood could keep living in their place? But no, he hadn't been disconnected from himself enough to give up everything, so it hadn't felt like any sort of a big deal at all. Just giving him what he thought would help him get where he needed to go, and walking out of his life again so he could be safe.

But then he was grabbed from behind, spun to face him again, and his heart jumped into his throat, the shock enough that he twisted his arm out of the hold and blocked the grabbing arm away with his other, moving on pure instinct before his brain caught back up to what had happened. Even after he had realized there wasn't a blow following the grab, though, the words confused him, and he stood, staring with wide eyes before it sank in.

Oh. Ok. Ok, yeah. That...that was...he felt his heart clench painfully in his chest, but it was a bittersweet pain. Message received, loud and clear, even if this man couldn't admit to it. And he didn't have the heart to call him out for it, for this simple concern hidden behind anger and bluster to keep himself safe, so he simply nodded, smiling sadly and shuffling back to begin collecting the supplies and tuck them carefully back into his duffel bag.

"If you insist." He murmured out, his voice at least sounding a little less ragged. "I gotta warn you, though; I haven't exactly been the best traveling companion, lately. I tend to cry at the stupidest shit."

Like now, when he reached up to wipe the tears off of his face while his back was still turned to him, and try as he might, he couldn't stop the sharp hiccup in his chest when his body tried to force out another soft sob. Because it hurt, it hurt so much, and he knew that every second he was around him was going to feel like he was being flayed alive.

But...he was alive. For the first time since the entire exchange had started, a part of him felt like at least in some way, the man he cared about was alive again, even if it wasn't the same, even if their meeting would only last long enough for him to make sure he made it safely to another town. That was fine, he could accept that, just knowing that he was out there, safe and sound.

He cinched up his bag once all the supplies were back inside, taking a moment to lift his face to the sky with closed eyes and whisper a silent "Thank you" to whoever had been listening, to whoever had decided to let him have this one last meeting before they parted ways. And then he looked back down, glancing around for Wolfwood's belongings.

"Where's your Punisher?" He'd expected to see it in the back seat of the car, but no, he suddenly realized it was nowhere to be seen. He turned to glance back at him, curiosity on his face.

At least his instincts weren't entirely shot to shit after whatever happened. Wolfwood stepped back when his grab was blocked, giving Stampede room -- he wasn't interested in a fight, for so many reasons -- and he kept a wary eye on the man when he nodded and headed back to the car to retrieve all his belongings.

If he started crying at stupid shit, Wolfwood decided right then and there, he was going to find himself with something to cry about. He'd already had to put up with days and days of travel with one version of this guy who shut down, starved himself, stared longingly at people but then pulled away when approached, and like hell was he going to deal with any of that plus tears. Tears made you a target -- anger kept you alive.

Whatever he was looking around in the car for, he wouldn't find it -- there wasn't anything in there but some trash left over from the previous owner, a pile of maps, and the dust of however many miles it was between wherever Blondie's mom's house had been and wherever they were now.

No Punisher, either.

"The Eye took it back." No reason to keep his employment a secret at this point, right? Even the idiot he'd been tasked to escort had sussed him out right away. "No contract, no gun. That's why I'm stickin' with you, for now." Being unarmed on Noman's was a death wish on a good day, and this? Was not a good day. "Assuming you've got bullets in there?"

The shock on his face when he spun was unmistakable, but the actual color of the expression after his hands flew up to cover his mouth was a bit harder to discern. He stood there for a long stretch of time, and he looked like he might be smiling behind his fingers, but it wasn't long before tears were rolling down his face, and at the same time, there was obvious disbelief in his eyes.

"They-...they just...they let you go???"

Oh yeah, there was that sob that he kept trying to choke back, but he was laughing, too. He buried his face in his hands, leaning against the bumper of the car behind him as he tried to give himself a moment to deal with the turmoil of emotions he was feeling, but he at least had enough control of himself to nod at the question about bullets, of all things.

He was ok, he was going to be ok, the Eye had let him go and that meant he would be safe! That was maybe the best news he had heard in...in a long, long time, and for once, he was crying out of pure relief, absolute joy, even if this man wasn't the same one he'd lost, even if they never crossed paths again after going their separate ways, he was free of the Eye!

After he'd had a moment to let himself feel what he was feeling, he finally managed to collect himself, wiping his face as dry as it was going to get as he stood up from the car and grinned up at Wolfwood, a wide, genuine expression like he hadn't shown for a long time.

"Oh yeah, I've got bullets, don't worry! Still don't like killing people with them, so you'll have to take what you can get!"

Let him go? Wolfwood's about to cut that train of thought short, because no, the Eye doesn't let people go. Once they take you in, they own you until you're dead, and sometimes for awhile after that. He was just too much of a mess to send out on a contract right after Julai, and with both Knives and Conrad gone, what remained of the Priesthood was too busy trying to figure out what to do next to worry too much about one of their puppets. They took his guns, assigned him a tail, and let him head out into the world to drink himself into a stupor, with the understanding that, at some point, he'd be called back. There is no 'out'. They own him, forever.

But the crybaby looks so ridiculously happy at the idea that he's not working for those bastards anymore, so Wolfwood just shrugs and lets him think what he likes.

"Yeah, I've heard that pacifist shit before," he grumbles, dismissing yet another Vash's foolishness about fighting with a wave of his hand. "I don't care if you kill 'em or not, as long as they don't kill me, got it?"

Now. Which way to the nearest town?

He gave a little laugh, turning his big, goofy smile over at him even as he snarked and snarled and groused about his pacifistic habits, and he gave a playful little salute, chirping out a bright "Sir, yes Sir!" before settling back into a calm, easy stride toward the next town. More thank likely, it was still going to be empty, waiting for its Plant and its citizens to return, but at the very least, it would hopefully have supplies they could loot from the local general store, or something similar.

It was after a few cheerfully-quiet minutes that, if Wolfwood were looking at him, he would see a thought cross his mind, the smile fading just a little before he glanced at him out of the corner or his eyes.

"So. If there's no contract...I guess you don't have your meds anymore, do you...?"

Asked nonchalantly, but inside, the question was accompanied by a ball of conflicting emotions. They kept him alive. But at the same time, he didn't want to see him overdose on them all over again. He'd just have to be more diligent about keeping him safe, for as long as he wanted to put up with him as a traveling partner.

It was a quiet couple of minutes, the silence broken only by the crunch of their shoes against the gravel and the occasional little pop of teeth as Wolfwood worried at his fingernail. He'd never really given a lot of consideration to his need for something to chew on before, blaming it on the rush of cigarettes, the childish sweet treat of suckers... but here, without anything else to sate his craving other than his own nails, he's having to accept the fact that he's got a problem. There better be toothpicks in this town, is all he can say, or something else that he can get his frustrations out on. Because without something to chew on, he needs something to fight, and the only something around right now is a weepy sunovabitch who'd probably just cry if he got punched. And where's the fun in that?

Annoyed, he stuffed his hands in his pockets, and started hunting for good rocks to kick on the path. He'd just spotted a great one a few steps ahead when the sad sack next to him decided it had been quiet for too long. ]

My meds? [ Medication made you better, which Wolfwood supposed the vials did, but that shit wasn't medicine. It was a goddamn curse, it was it was. ] No, I'm out here pretending to be human for a bit, don't tell anyone.

[ There's that rock! He gave it a good kick, and squinted with satisfaction as it flew too far for him to track. ]

I mean it. Don't say a thing to anyone, got it?

[The constant champing at his nails did not go unnoticed, and Vash wondered dimly if this one didn't smoke, or if he just didn't have any smokes on hand. He might have had Nick's lighter safely tucked in his pocket, but he had never made the leap to smoking himself, though there were times when the scent of someone doing it when he was walking through towns would hit him and it was like a punch in the gut. If he had, he would have offered them to him.

Maybe when they got to town, he could find him some. He could just...toss them away, if it turned out that those were one of the differences between the two.

The answer made him look over in mild surprise, though more at the emotion behind it and the insistence that he not tell anyone about it than anything else. He shook his head quickly, his eyes flicking to watch that rock fly off into the distance absentmindedly before refocusing on him.]

No, no, of course not! I wouldn't, not a peep, I promise.

[Any relief he might have felt over the thought that he couldn't get himself killed that way was tempered with the concern for his continued safety, and by the specific words he'd said, "pretending to be human," as if he weren't. And it wasn't as if he didn't already know about Wolfwood's own demons, how much he hated himself. The memory of how deeply his self-hatred had run all the way until his death still haunted Vash. He hated it, knowing that Nicholas felt so poorly of himself, that those same bitter thoughts he thought about himself seemed to be shared by one of the kindest, most caring humans he'd ever met, regardless of the awful things he'd been forced to do.

But he worried that any reassurances he might have offered would be sorely unappreciated. This Wolfwood reminded him a little too much of the man he'd been when they'd first been traveling, when he was still surly and grouchy more often than he was friendly and companionable.

And as much as it hurt, to be walking with him, talking to him, his mind wanting to slot him firmly into the gaps the other man had left when he died, he knew that it wasn't fair to the man who was still alive, to expect him to just be the same. He wasn't. So Vash really, probably, should just hold his tongue a bit, and let the silence linger between them, for both of their sakes.

Still...]

...For what it's worth, I think you're one of the better humans around.

[The little smile he gave him probably said exactly how well he expected the words to be received, but he needed to say them, anyway. Sorry, Wolfwood. He can't not be a dumb, affectionate sap at you.]

[ If it came up, Wolfwood would be happy to argue all day long about how he wasn't really human anymore, and hadn't been for a long time. The human Nicholas had died on that operating table, and it was the monster Wolfwood who had taken his place. But what's the point in discussing shit like that? It won't change anything. Bad things happened in life and you either got over it and kept going, or you didn't and you died. That's just how the world worked. Wolfwood might not be human anymore, but he was a survivor, and part of surviving in Noman's was pushing all that bad shit down as far as you could into the back of your mind and trying really hard to forget about it.

And on the other hand, there were the Stampedes, who seemed to take actual pleasure in rolling around in other peoples' business. The comment about being a better human earns a snort and a side eye. ]

You've known me five minutes. Don't say things like that.

[ Every Stampede he's met so far has looked at him and seen another man. It's getting tiring. ]

Whoever you're thinkin' of, I'm not him.

[Yeah, that had gone over about as well as he'd expected, though not as violently as it could have. Which mostly made him give a small laugh and an apologetic shrug.]

Alright, fair, I'll give you that. For one, you're a bit smaller, maybe...younger? Though I'm not exactly the best judge of that myself. You look like you dress more for comfort than he did, your voice is a bit different. A little more clean-shaven. [And you're alive.] But I've always been a pretty good judge of character. Let's see. Five minutes, what can I tell about you?

[Oh, he was just poking the wam's nest now, wasn't he? But...to be honest, he'd missed this. Teasing Nick had always been hilarious fun, even when it came with the risk of getting clocked upside the head by a right hook for his trouble. The fact that the blows had never been more than an annoyance, when he knew he could have done real, legitimate damage even to Vash, just proved that Wolfwood had gotten as much amusement out of their little pointless squabbles as he did, even when he was pretending otherwise. If he'd really been angry, he would have made it known very easily.

He turned to walk backwards, looking him up and down appraisingly, making a little show of it by reaching up with his free hand and pinching his chin contemplatively.]

You get frustrated when you're not in control of a situation. You don't like being indebted to other people, and you don't like letting people get too close. People can't be trusted, they'll end up stabbing you in the back or hurting you, maybe even get you killed if they're dangerous enough. Life on No Man's Land is hard, and you like to stay one step ahead of whatevermight get you killed, and you don't have time for nonsense, you'll make the hard decisions without question that other people find appalling because that's how you survive. And the way you see it, people who are too soft are just asking to get themselves killed, and it'll be their own fault when it happens. You...have a nervous tick? [He wiggled his fingers at him, giving him a knowing little smile.] Maybe you smoke, but you're out of cigarettes? And if I don't shut my damn idiot mouth, you're probably about ten seconds away from slapping the taste right out of it so I will.

[He turned back to walk forwards again, and his voice dropped, softer and sadder and so fond, but...well, he certainly didn't stop talking, even though there was a voice inside of his head screaming at him to just shut up, stop it, you're going to get the both of you hurt, this was just asking for trouble, this isn't right, just stop!]

Meanwhile, the Nicholas I knew...grew up in an orphanage, but was taken when he was very young and made to do things that he hated himself for his entire life. He could be gruff and mean and irritable, but...he was kind, he worried about people more than he let on, and once he got close to someone, he...he would do anything he could to keep them safe. He loved the people at the orphanage he grew up in like a family, and all he ever wanted was to be happy, but...he didn't think he was allowed to, because of what he'd been forced to do, and he worried that if the people he loved ever found out, they would hate him for it. So he kept his distance for as long as he could, even though it meant he was hurting himself in the process.

But he was also very loved. He touched the lives of everyone around him, more than he will ever know.

[And...he had gone back around to making himself sad again. Realizing he'd probably overstepped a very large number of boundaries. He was quiet again, the smile on his face disappearing.]

Sorry. I...I just miss him a lot. It's...talking to you is...weird, part of me does want to just...fall back into the same old habits, as if he's back. But that's not fair to you. I dunno how well you know me, where you're from, or...what he's like, but I tend to feel things a little too strongly, sometimes. I'll try to rein it back.

Edited 2023-06-16 12:26 (UTC)

[ And there it was, just like he said. Who the fuck hears you don't know me and goes off for two solids minutes listing everything they think they know? That was his cue to shut the hell up, not start flapping his damn jaw about shit he has no right to be saying!

And no, that he's right about most of it doesn't fucking matter! It doesn't matter one bit, it's the damn principle of the thing! Loverboy here is still stuck on the Wolfwood he knew, which means everything he thinks he knows about this Wolfwood? Is all just... what's the word. Projection. ]

Yeah, you do that. [ Rein it in, that is. Keep your damn mouth shut. ] Like I said, that's not me.

[ Just like this Vash isn't anything like the Vash he knew, back in his world, and he isn't anything like that other Vash that he met at Rem's place. There's similarities, that's all – the need to meddle, the pacifism, the way they can't fucking stop talking.

Does this one starve himself too? The thought pops unbidden into Wolfwood's head, and then he can't stop thinking about it. About what it must be like to feel that strongly about letting people get hurt, and then having to watch it happen, over and over.

God dammit, he is not feeling bad for this asshole! ]

And he's not you, but the Stampede I know, I think he feels things too much, too, sometimes. You'd think livin' that long would toughen him up, but...

[He nodded quietly at Wolfwood's rebuke, resigning himself to a long walk in silence. It really was better that way, after all. Even if this Wolfwood was as close to the one he knew as he thought he might be, it would only cause him more trouble, for Vash to let himself give in to the instinct to try and latch onto him in Nick's absence, and it would just make Vash hurt more in the long run.

But then, after a few quiet minutes of walking, Wolfwood was speaking up on his own, and Vash glanced at him, listening, settling into a thoughtful silence for a few minutes after. The thought...hurt, honestly.]

Maybe...maybe it would be easier, in some ways. But...toughening up would mean forcing myself not to care as much about the people around me. I can't help it. Everyone I meet is special, everyone deserves to be happy. I love seeing them thrive, I love listening to the things that make them happy, or watching the children play. And it makes me sad, to watch them go. Every single person has a story, everybody has dreams and joys and hopes, they have people who love them and look up to them or want to take care of them, and it's sad, to watch them go. Even when they get old. I hate having to let them go.

[Yes, even the ones who did horrible things had people who loved them, and if they'd just been in a better place, maybe they wouldn't have had to do those horrible things. When they're gone, they can't be better, and their loss hurts the people who cared about them, and it just causes a ripple effect of pain and sadness. Not feeling the weight of that was something he hoped he never learned to do. The thought of not caring about people was...stifling. Choking.]

[ What a soft-hearted, rose-colored world Stampede lives in. It's hard to believe, sometimes, that he and Millions Knives are brothers. One of them wants every single person to be happy and dance around all day singing songs, and the other literally tortures children and makes them into killers.

Some days, Wolfwood really does think the world would be better of neither of the twins was around anymore. ]

Not everybody deserves to be happy. [ He kicks another rock, watches it skitter off sideways from the path he'd planned for it. Damn. ] There's good people out there, I guess, although most of 'em don't give a shit about anyone but themselves. But some folks, all they deserve is a bullet in the head and a shallow grave, as payment for everyone they've hurt.

[ He doesn't expect Stampede to agree. He knows the guy, in any version, well enough by now to know that he can't hear the truth -- for the good of the rest of the world, some people just need to die. But he's also not going to walk along and pretend like Stampede's bullshit worldview is anything but bullshit. ]

[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.

[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.

2 Mwahaha

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject