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 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.

[ 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.

[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.]

[ 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.]

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

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

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject