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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[ 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. ]

[If only it were that easy, to make him angry enough that he could simply write the man off as a lost cause, someone who didn't deserve love, someone he hated. But hating him would have been a hard thing even before. Vash didn't hate easily. He could be angry, rage, hurt, sometimes even want to lash out and hurt people back. But in the end, he always came back full circle to wanting to take care of people, even the ones who had hurt him, and to see the best in them.

And that was just the ones he hadn't lived side by side with on the road for as long as he had with Wolfwood. No. When it came to Nicholas, nothing he could say or do would make him hate the man, not even one that was different than the man he'd buried in December.

But...he deserved the distance, to have his inherent need for friendship with the man thrown back in his face. He hadn't given the man he cared about the proper respect and care when he'd had the chance. Maybe if he'd told him...maybe if he hadn't tried so hard not to let him become something so precious to him and had instead let him know how cherished he was when he'd been alive, he wouldn't have gone off on his own, thinking his struggles weren't important enough for Vash to want to help, and gotten himself killed.

The thought felt physically painful, like someone was carving his heart out of his chest with a spoon, and for a long time as they walked, he had to choke back the sounds of himself crying. He couldn't stop, no, but Wolfwood wouldn't want to hear his blubbering. It would just irritate him worse, and as much as Vash couldn't stop the voice in his head snarling that he deserved the rage that irritation would make him direct at him all over again, Wolfwood shouldn't have to deal with...this. All of him, all of his guilt.

Some time through the walk, he mindlessly pulled the little silver lighter out of his pocket, clutching onto it tightly in his fingers, his thumb rubbing over the grooves and ridges of the separation between the body and the lid. When his hand moved to press the side of his fingers against his mouth in an old anxious gesture he didn't even realize he was doing, it pressed the top corner of the lid against his lips instead. It wasn't a kiss to the thing, but it looked as close as it could be. Mostly, though, simply holding it helped to calm him as much as he could be calmed with those dark thoughts rolling through his mind, and after a while, the tears stopped needing to be choked back under hiccupped breaths.

They had been walking for a long time when he pulled it away from his mouth just long enough for his voice to finally call out again, soft and scratchy, curious and not unkind but neutral, just needing the information, not trying to reach out like he had been before.]

Where are you heading? [It made sense, after all, for him to know where he would need to take him. That way, he could make sure he didn't head in a wrong direction somewhere and land them in the wrong place before Wolfwood had noticed to tell him.]

[ A couple paces behind, Wolfwood sees -- and hears, somewhat -- the pathetic sobbing, but he grits his teeth and doesn't say a word. Maybe somebody else might find it nice, in a way, to know that they'll be mourned this much, but quite frankly Wolfwood finds it embarrassing. Just throw his body in a ditch and forget he ever existed, that's all that he deserves.

With the silence, Wolfwood's got time to think, though, so while Stampede sniffles about his dead friend, Wolfwood's mind is churning over plans for what to do next. There's no reason to assume they'll be able to go back to the worlds they came from -- sometimes powerful people come through and disrupt your life, and that's all there is to it. They're here now, for better or worse, so he's got to make the most of it. Miss Melanie and the kids probably aren't in December -- he's still going to head that way once he's got another car, because he has to see the place for himself, but given the state of the rest of the world, he'd be amazed to find them still there. They've evacuated, or they've died -- either way, they aren't going to be waiting around the orphanage. If he survives long enough he'll see if he can find them, or at least find out what happened to them. This isn't his world, but... but Miss Melanie is Miss Melanie, and whoever the kids under her care are, they're still kids. Maybe there's something he can do for them.

But first, he needs a gun. He needs a lot of guns, ideally, and plenty of ammo, but he can start with one. Not having any vials is another problem -- if he gets into a fire fight he's going to get killed -- but that just means he'll need to plan his attack carefully. If there was a Wolfwood here, then there was an Eye of Michael here. It feels right to go out removing them from the face of the planet. No matter what happens to this world, it'll be better off for having fewer of those plant-worshipping, child-murdering bastards in it.

He lets his thoughts drift a bit then, imagining increasingly cruel and painful ways he'd like to deal with select members of the Eye. When Stampede finally speaks, some time later, it takes Wolfwood a second to pull himself back from his violent fantasies. Where's he going? To the nearest town, aren't they? ...Ah, he realizes a second later, that's not what he meant. ]

December. [ The place where Wolfwoods go to die, apparently. ] And don't you dare start crying about that, you hear me? I'm just going to make sure those kids are okay.

[Vash doesn't immediately start crying again when he tells him where he's headed, but his feet did try and trip over themselves for a brief moment of shock, and he had to take a moment to stop himself, reminding himself to breathe before he started walking again. This time, his gait was...perhaps not more determined, but his footsteps came down harder in the sand, and he gave a small humming sound. The hand in front of his face moved, thumping himself on the forehead, lighter and all, as he grimaced. No, no crying, stop panicking, it was fine!

Finally, he was able to force words out again, huffing in frustration at the old, familiar feeling of the nonexistent barrier in his throat that made it feel physically impossible to talk.]

They're not there. They got on the rescue ship and went to Octovern. I was there, couple weeks ago, nobody's back yet.

[He's not going to try and dissuade him from going. He knows when Wolfwood gets something in his head, getting him to not do it is harder than pulling teeth. But he would still tell him the facts and let him decide what to do with them. And then fight down the feeling of being physically ill that the thought of him going back there, even knowing it was safe, made him feel.

At the same time, there was a little voice in the back of his head that dimly realized; if he knew what happened there, enough to preemptively scold Vash for crying over the whole thing, then maybe at least he'd be prepared enough to protect himself if anyone had come back. But then it also wanted to snarl out at him - If he knows what happened there, then why is he going back? There's nothing for him there!]

[ The idiot stumbles instead of crying, and it’s only because Wolfwood is a few steps too far away that he doesn’t slap the dumbass upside the head for it. He’s not going to fucking die in December! ]

Oh, I didn’t realize this was your world. [ The sarcasm is dripping off every word –- there’s no way Vash can miss it. ] All the rest of us poor bastards got brought here from places where things are different, but you’ve been here all along, is that what you’re tellin’ me?

[ Unless Stampede here visited this December, this version of the orphanage, then he doesn’t know a goddamn thing and can shut the fuck up, thanks. ]

You’re the guy we were all brought here to help?

[Ok, that attitude was just a little uncalled for, if he was being perfectly honest, and he had to grit his teeth to keep from starting another stupid argument.

At least the Wolfwood he knew hadn't been this much of a petulant asshole, and that was saying something. This one was acting like he was a twelve year old, right now.]

That's not what I said, was it? [That sarcasm was returned. You're going to act like a child, he'll talk to you like you were a child.] I was visiting December when it happened! Where I'm from, it's been almost a year since everything happened. People had started moving back to the cities, back home. But then the earthquakes hit, and suddenly the kids and Melanie were gone again, and everyone was back in Octovern, like I'd jumped back in time.

Me and Livio even looked, to make sure nobody was left behind. This isn't my home, but I know nobody is in December.

[Nobody alive, at least. The grave was still there. And whether or not it was the grave from his home or the one that belonged to a man native to this reality, he didn't want to put much thought into. It was still Wolfwood's grave. That was the only thing that mattered, because if he let himself think about the possibility of the grave he had dug with his own two hands being in some other world, unattended and uncared for, he didn't know what he would do.]

[ This next kicked rock flies pretty darn close to Vash. Okay, so he had visited this December, he did know what he was talking about on this one point. How was Wolfwood to know that? Every fucking Vash in this place has been telling him who he is, where he’s going to end up, how things are like they fucking know anything. Like they’re all better than him, smarter than him, like he can’t be trusted to make decisions on his own. So this time Stampede did know better, fine -- Wolfwood’s a big enough man to admit when he’s been wrong. Not out loud, of course, but he can admit it to himself.

And then it’s Wolfwood’s turn to stumble when Stampede casually announces that Livio’s here, that he was in December recently, that he’s alive. It won’t be his Livio, but a Livio is here! A Livio. One who’s on good enough terms with this asshole here to be looking around the orphanage with him. He's alive. He's okay.

God, he's alive.

…Shit. Wolfwood rubs a hand over his face to try and get his thoughts in order. He’s being pulled in too many directions at once – go to December, to confirm that Melanie and the kids are there? To try and find Livio? Go to Octovern, to see if the kids are there? If everyone’s evacuated to Octovern, though, there might be people there from the Eye… and with no weapon and no way to heal he’ll be useless in a fight. Tuck his tail between his legs and go back to July?

He's quiet for a moment, and when he finally replies, his voice is softer than it’s been since they met. ]

Where’d he go, do you know? After you searched the orphanage?

Edited 2023-07-07 16:56 (UTC)

[Maybe it was the raised tensions, but when that rock went whizzing past his head, it hit, metaphorically speaking, too close to events that were recent and bad enough that for a moment, he expected there to be more of them, and he violently recoiled, letting out a wheezing little gasp as he dodged to the side and actually raised the hand holding the lighter as if to fend off another barrage of rocks. When he'd been walking close enough that he could watch him kicking them and they hadn't been veering that close to making contact, it had been fine. After walking for a while in silence and without the things flying across the desert every other step, he'd almost forgotten he'd been doing it in the first place, so the shock of that one threw him for a loop.]

Fuck-...! Watch it with those, wouldja???

[He tried to give him a scolding glare, but there was just enough actual fear under the surface of the expression that it probably wasn't very effective. He adjusted his gait until he was walking almost in step with him, a couple of yarz to the side and well out of the way of any more projectiles as he tried to get the memory of people screaming about the demon, the monster as they literally tried to stone him, out of his head.

He tried to settle his nerves as they went silent again, rubbing at the goosebumps that shivered up his neck, and had almost relaxed again by the time Wolfwood spoke up again. This time, though, his tone was so different that it confused him, and he glanced back, his brow furrowed before realization sank in.

Oh.

Ok. It stood to reason that Livio would get his attention. He hadn't even thought about what it might mean for Nicholas, when he'd mentioned the man, he'd still just been stating facts. He might have broached the topic of the man's presence there a bit differently, if he had. That was an oversight on his part.]

I'm...not too sure. [The snarl was gone, and his own voice had dropped to match Wolfwood's, most of the anger dissolving the way it usually did after one of his little, pointless squabbles with him were over. Or at least, the other him.] He wanted to make sure the kids were ok, so I assume Octovern. We split up a little while later.

[ Wolfwood is barely even looking in Stampede’s direction when he turns around to whine about the rocks. An annoyed side eye is the most effort he can spare on that kind of complaining – the rock didn’t hit him, so what’s the problem!? ]

Then I guess I’m going to Octovern instead.

[ If Melanie and Livio were heading there, then there’s no question where he needs to go. ]

That’s where the ships from Earth are anyway, at least according to the guy on the radio. [ And while he doesn’t believe for a second that the Earth ships represent any kind of rescue or salvation, they’ll certainly have some resources, food and water but also tech, information. Weaponry. What kind of amazing weapons might they have? And how sneaky will he need to be to steal one? ] Might be a good idea to go see what they’re up to.

[He was quiet for a moment, considering the logistics of Wolfwood looking for the residents of the orphanage in Octovern. If things were the same as they'd been back home, then they would be under the protection of the Home ship. Brad and Luida would gladly welcome him back and give him someplace safe to stay, if he wanted it, but as far as they knew, Wolfwood was dead.]

I was headed that way, too. I know where they'll be, if things are like they were where I'm from. Lots of things seem to line up, so it's a safe bet, and it should be easy enough for you to get around safely once you're in the city. [He glanced over at him only briefly before sighing and looking away again, at a point on the horizon.] You'll want to find Luida or Brad, if you know them. But you showing up might cause a bit of a stir. They knew what happened, to the other you. They won't be expecting you to show up.

If it helps...I can stay long enough to help vouch for you. I want to see if I can talk to the sisters there. They might know what happened to cause us to come together like this, and I want to try and help get everyone home, if it's possible.

For what it's worth, though...after everything settled down back home, the Earth ships...they started to bring supplies and tried to help stabilize things, but...things were tense, between them and..."us." They started asserting authority, and you know how people here are. They don't like being told what to do. And they brought with them a pretty large military force. So be careful.

[ One fight ends and another begins, huh? Ain't that just the way of the world? ]

I don't need you to vouch for me. [ It's a kind offer, but kindness is only ever a cover for manipulation of one type or another. ] I'll find 'em myself, without your help, and without anyone from Home either.

[ There isn't enough money in the world to get him to walk up to Luida or Brad and ask for their help finding his people, not after what he did to theirs. They hate him, and rightfully so. If they knew he was connected to the kids from the orphanage, that might complicate things for everybody -- he doesn't think they'd deny help to a bunch of homeless kids just to spite him, but why risk it? Better for everyone if he keeps a low profile, and does what he can without anyone having to know he was involved at all. ]

And don't you get any ideas about telling Brad and them I'm here either. If they think I'm dead then let's leave it at that.

[He was a little surprised at the reaction that got, and he turned to stare at him for a minute, his own words replaying back in his mind. Was there something there? Had something happened in this Wolfwood's world to put him at odds with Home? It was such a strange thought. They had practically begun to see him as one of their own, after he'd helped save so many of them and they had come to associate him with being one of Vash's friends. Losing him had really upset Brad, and he was a tough cookie to crack.

Still, either way, it would be hard for him to get onto the ship without them noticing. They were still very particular about who could get on.]

I just mean...with all the confusion thats been happening, you look different enough, they might not know what to make of you. Everyone at the orphanage is on Home ship, so you'll have to meet them if you want to check up on everyone.

They'd be happy to see you, though. At least...they would have, back home. They missed...him. He was a friend to everyone on the ship, even after everything was said and done.

[He looked away again, sighing and refocusing on their path.]

I understand if you aren't comfortable, being associated with him, though. If it makes you feel better, I can check on Melanie and the kids and bring word back to you, so you don't have to see anyone.

[And he was quiet again, before a thought crossed his mind. Maybe not one that would be appreciated, but...Wolfwood deserved someplace safe, didn't he? He deserved a place he could go if he needed somewhere he wasn't in danger.]

...If you wanted it, though...I think they would let you stay. If it's like back home, I mean. He was always welcome there. You could have a home, there. A community. [Things Vash couldn't have, even if the offer had always been there for him. He was just as much a part of Home as Brad and Luida, they had seen him as one of their own. But it wasn't something he'd ever been able to accept, not with the dangers that continuously followed him around.]

[ Dead Wolfwood was a hero, is all he can hear. He protected so many people, and everyone loved him so much that they might even be willing to pretend you're him, for awhile, if you're unable to find a place for yourself. Because Dead Wolfwood was a good man, and we all want you to be just like he was.

We all wish he was here, instead of you. ]

You know I helped kill him, right?

[ A community. Give him a fucking break. Like he's the kind of person who gets to have a community. ]

That was my job. Keep him on track, and keep him distracted, make him think he had an ally and then pull the rug out from under him at the end. [ This kick doesn't have any strength behind it, and the rock bumbles pathetically off to the side. ] I knew his brother was gonna kill him and I led him there anyway, so don't say a thing to me about where I'd be welcome.

[Wolfwood had protected a lot of people, and people had loved him far more than he had ever known. But more than that, Vash didn't want that for this Wolfwood because of the actions of another, but because he knew, despite their differences, this one was still a good person, too. He could tell.

Which was why, when he mentioned killing someone, there wasn't shock or horror or disgust on his face, just a mild sort of confusion as he slowed to walk in step with him and look at him with a questioning expression on his face. Kill who?

And then the realization set in, and he slowed to a stop, his expression falling to a sad sort of recognition. That...that explained a lot, actually. His lips pursed in a thin line, and he nodded, his heart breaking just a little more, but not for the Vash this man had known. Not if he had been anything like he was. He wouldn't have wanted to be mourned. And he also wouldn't have wanted Wolfwood to blame himself.]

I knew. I knew the entire time. And I...I scared him. So much that sometimes, he wanted to kill me himself. But I never blamed him. It wasn't his fault. Even the day we walked onto Knives' ship and he fulfilled his contract, I didn't blame him.

[He swallowed hard, remembering the months that had followed, the pain, the starvation, the torture. It could have been so easy to blame Wolfwood. But he had gone willingly, walking side by side with a man he had known from the beginning had been sent to collect him.

And he'd lived long enough for Nicholas' guilt to finally chip away at his fear, for him to have the chance to come back and make up for the role he'd been forced into before he was even old enough to make his own decisions.

Apparently, that wasn't a mercy this man had been given, and Vash's heart hurt for him, and yes, it even brought tears to his eyes, to hang at the edges of his eyelashes as he tried to hold his composure and opened his mouth to say something he suspected was going to get him hit again, but he needed to say, anyway.]

I don't blame you, either. I forgive you. For him. He wouldn't want you to blame yourself.

[ Stampede stops, and Wolfwood stops, hands clenching into fists at his sides. all but trembling with rage.

He wouldn't want you to blame yourself, Stampede says, and Wolfwood cuts him off at the end with a snarl. ]

Don't. You don't speak for him.

[ I forgive you. Like he's the priest, like he's got the right to speak for God, or for Spikey. That's not how forgiveness works, which he should know if he'd talked to the dead priest instead of spending all his time making moon eyes at him.

Forgiveness has to start with the sinner, and Wolfwood isn't the forgiving type. ]

He tried to run. He tried to run away, and Millions Knives caught him, and... [ His voice catches, the rage and grief strangling the words in his throat. ] I watched them both burn. Don't you dare act like there's forgiveness for that.

[He shook his head, but he didn't back down. He wouldn't back down on this, not when everything about Nick's somewhat more persnickety temper than he was expecting made so much more sense.]

Did he know? At the end, did he say anything to you?

[If he wanted to say he wasn't allowed to speak for the other him, then he would let the other him speak for himself. And forgiveness didn't have to come from a priest or a God. Sometimes forgiveness could come from everyday people, too. Sometimes the most important acts of forgiveness were the ones people gave to each other. Asking God for forgiveness wouldn't make the neighbor you'd wronged feel better about the situation, that had to come from themselves, sometimes even if the person who wronged them hadn't or couldn't ask for it.

He took a small step forward, shaking his head, and the catch in his voice, that underlying grief and rage, was so loud to his ears, unmistakable. This man was hurting so much, and he hated to see it.]

Why did you do it? Was it for the kids? [For a second, he glanced away, but not because he was cowing under his anger. He thought, about what would have happened, if he'd tried to run, if Knives had followed him and they had ended up killing each other.

That had been what he'd expected to happen all along, hadn't it? Even more reason why Wolfwood didn't need to carry that guilt.]

Did you know that was what I had known would happen? It didn't, for me. But I...I wanted it to. [The sadness in the look he gave him when he looked back at him was heavier. Tired.

Was this the price he would have had to pay, to finally get what he'd wanted? For Wolfwood to have lived, and to carry the guilt of it with him afterward? The thought felt like a bullet in his gut, and he sucked in a sharp breath, reaching up to wipe the tears out of his eyes before they had a chance to fall.]

[ This is going to end with Stampede's blood on his hands again, Wolfwood knows. Only this time, nobody will die.

Probably.

Because he hates this. He hates being here, he hates how many Vashes there are here, and he hates how completely transparent he seems to be to them. At the end, did he say anything? What's he supposed to say to that, yes? Confess that he said thanks, and walked off to his execution? How's that make it any better? A man asks you to shoot him in the head and you do it, you're still a killer.

Stampede takes a step forward and asks about the kids, and Wolfwood has to take a long, slow breath to stop himself from breaking Stampede's flapping jaw. The Eye used the orphanage and the lives of the kids there to control his body -- Stampede is skirting right up to the edge of using them to control Wolfwood's heart and mind. He didn't have a choice, with the Eye, but he sure as fuck has a choice here, and if Stampede weren't already crying about wanting to die, he'd be on the ground bleeding. Those kids are off limits, to everyone. They won't be anyone's tools.

If you want to die so badly, then just do it. The words are on the tip of his tongue, pressing against the front of his mind. He opens his mouth to set them free... then closes it again, his teeth clicking together. If he says to do it, Stampede might actually do it. Or, maybe worse, he won't do it, and Wolfwood will have to deal with the even sadder and more pathetic version of the wet rag he's hired as a bodyguard.

In the end, there's only one answer he can give. ]

He didn't want to die.

[ Whether it's true or not he'll never know. He'll never know what Spikey was really thinking during those weeks on the road, or during that long walk into the city and up into Knives's tower. But he saw the man running for his life... and before that, he saw him happy. Saw him laughing with the short girl, swapping stories with the old drunk, saw his childhood home and the smile all those people brought out of him. Vash the Stampede might have been old and aching, but he was the most vibrant, alive person Wolfwood had ever met.

And now he's dead.

The dry desert air makes its way behind Wolfwood's sunglasses, and his eyes prickle wetly in response. They need to keep moving.

Without another word Wolfwood turns and heads off in the direction they'd been traveling. ]

[That silence lingers long, too long, and he knows he's right. It doesn't make him happy, though. He could never be happy to have these suspicions confirmed.

He also doesn't flinch or back down when Wolfwood steps closer, even with the rage emanating off of him in waves. This feels...familiar. Painfully familiar. But he understands Wolfwood more now, a bit, than he did then. Or...well, he would, if this was his Wolfwood.

But he still won't back down, different man or not.

The words he finally gave when he was able to speak again make another of those awkward, uncomfortable smiles cross his face, the ones that happened when he wasn't sure how else to react, and he nodded. Maybe he was right. Maybe the Vash he knew hadn't wanted to die. That still didn't mean that Wolfwood was to blame.

When he turned and began walking again, he hung back for a few moments, biting the inside of his lip. Someone else might have let it go, maybe. Especially if they knew how strong Nicholas was and how volatile his temper could be when he was hurting. Unfortunately, he'd never been very smart when it came to doing stupid things, especially when he thought they might help.]

He didn't want to die, but you didn't want to kill him. You're not the one to blame, if they forced you to do something you didn't want to do. It's not your fault, Wolfwood. They hurt you, just like they hurt everyone else. They just made it worse for you because they made you hurt others. Stop blaming yourself.

[ Stampede starts talking again, and Wolfwood turns on his heel with a brutal crunch of gravel, body moving of its own accord. He doesn't punch the man -- he sure means to, when he raises his hand, but instead he goes with a shove instead, a palm strike in all but name, right to the center of Stampede's chest. ]

Do you want me to hit you? Is that what this is? Is this some kind of bullshit penance you're doing, makin' me mad enough to knock you down so you can feel all sad and righteous?

[ It didn't kill me, but I wanted it to. Wolfwood leans in closer, hissing right in Stampede's face, close enough to bite. ]

I already killed one of you, and one was enough. You missed your chance, so shut the fuck up.

[ It's really a good thing he doesn't have a gun right now. This walk would take a lot longer if one of them had a couple bullets in their leg. They hurt you too, like he's the victim here. Like he's not the one causing all this pain. ]

Edited 2023-07-10 05:15 (UTC)

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

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