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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[ 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)

[Vash can be surprisingly sturdy when he wants to be, for all of his clumsiness. When Wolfwood stalks over and shoves him instead of hitting him, he barely shifted back a step, and continued to stand well within arms reach.

Despite that, and the awkward smile still lingering around the edges of his face, he simply shook his head.]

No. But I dislike seeing good people hurting even more than being hit. I've been hit plenty of times. [And by Wolfwood a great many of those, no less.] I just want you to know the truth. I know it may not help much, but...maybe one day, it'll help you learn to forgive yourself.

[The smile faded a bit, to an expression that was probably a bit more appropriate for the subject at hand. He really wasn't trying to look smug, Nicholas, even if it might look that way if he wasn't used to a Vash who had trouble emoting properly.]

I know how much guilt can break you down. You don't deserve to carry that around on your shoulders.

[ Wolfwood doesn't talk about his feelings. His anger is a whirlwind that picks him up and sweeps him through anyone unlucky enough to be in his path, but that's not a feeling -- that's just who he is, and he doesn't talk about that, either. But all this shit, about guilt and grief and forgiveness? These aren't things that, even when he has the words to describe them, he doesn't talk about.

He doesn't talk about the Eye, not really. He doesn't talk about how they wanted to reform his mind and not just his body, how every other 'graduate' of their program comes out thinking in lock step with the high priests. How a big part of the training was being told what to think, about what topics, and overwriting his own experiences and feelings with those deemed correct. His body doesn't hurt -- he can keep going. He doesn't pity the man in his sights -- that's just a body, just a target. Millions Knives isn't a psychopath with a pet mad scientist -- he's the savior of humanity.

The things he's seen, the things he's experienced, the things he knows, the way he knows the back of his hand -- the Eye rewrote them, erased them, denied them. Corrected them. Now the back of his hand isn't the same anymore, now his heart is a stone, but his mind still works. He knows what he did, and Vash doesn't get to take that from him.

But even if he had the words for all that, Wolfwood doesn't talk about his feelings. His lip curls back, baring his teeth in what nobody in their right mind would ever call a grin, and he jabs Stampede in the chest once more, with a single finger. ]

I see why he kept his distance from you.

[Unfortunately for Wolfwood, Nick had already caved enough to tell him at least some of what the Eye had done to him. Enough that everything had made an even deeper, even more disturbing level of sense. And had absolutely infuriated him, all things considered, though he'd had bigger worries to deal with, at the time.

But it meant he knew; about the experiments, the horrible tortures they'd inflicted on their victims. He had watched how Livio had to be broken free of that indoctrination at the end of the barrel of a rocket launcher and the force of Wolfwood's bare fists.

All of that? Made it even more certain in his mind that the two of them had never been to blame for the things they'd been made to do. In a lot of ways, he blamed himself more than he blamed them; He was partly responsible for all of the awful things his brother had done, and the Eye of Michael was one of his. So in the end, Vash was partially responsible for what they had been put through.

But he doubted that little bit of inwardly-directed hate would help his case any, so he didn't put that to words.

The jab of the finger and those accusatory words confused him for a brief moment, his brow furrowing as he looked down at that hand. And then he realized who he meant, and...he simply sighed, and smiled just a little wider, this time genuinely. It was a little easier to keep from internalizing the little verbal blows he tried to wound him with, now that he knew where his pain was coming from. And the fact that in the end, Wolfwood hadn't kept his distance, not really, blunted the insult's teeth even more.

Sorry, Wolfwood. He had now seen your delicate underbelly, and it was going to be harder to get under his skin, this time.]

Hey, come on, you don't appreciate my charming personality?

[He wasn't here to fight you, sir. He would get under your skin all day, but he really didn't want to hurt him, so he chose to refrain from slinging insults at him. He'd said his piece.]

[ That smile is confusing as all hell, and for a moment the confusion is written all over Wolfwood's face. Who grins like that when faced with the threat of the kind of violence Stampede knows he's capable of? He's already beat the asshole to the ground once today, so why's he grinning like that?

Is it because he's trying to get a rise of of Wolfwood? Has all this bullshit about guilt and blame just been Stampede here needling his way into getting a reaction? Wolfwood's been saying this whole time that he's not like the dead version of himself, but he's been treating this asshole like he's a Vash, like there's something the same in all of them. But maybe he's been wrong about that.

Maybe this guy's just cruel in a way Wolfwood hasn't encountered before in somebody with his face. ]

Oh, Needles... [ His chuckle is icy cold. ] What am I gonna do with you?

[ He can't kill him -- he could kill him, probably. Maybe. But he's already responsible for the death of one of these bastards, and for reasons he doesn't want to dig too deeply into right now, he doesn't really want the blood of a second idiot on his hands. He can't beat the asshole into pulp -- apparently Needles here is into that. He can't leave him behind -- they both need to keep heading for the nearest town before they run out of water and die out here, and he's not mad enough to sacrifice himself just to hurt somebody else.

No, they're stuck together for now, until they hit town. After that? Well, he'd better not see this guy again.

Wolfwood -- no, the Punisher -- glares daggers at Needles a moment longer, then turns on his heel and, once again, starts off on the path again. But this time, as he turns, he leans over and scoops up a a couple walnut-sized stones. They'll give him something to fidget with on the walk, and give Needles a surprise if he feels the need to keep talking. ]

[The confusion he saw on Nicholas' face was...unexpected, and confusing for him, his smile dropping to a bewildered, questioning stare. What was that for?

Had he been doing the face-thing, again? Not reacting the way he should? Maybe. Shit. Great. As if he wasn't uncomfortable for the man to deal with as it was. He gave a little shrug at the question, as if it wasn't a thinly-veiled threat, the bewildered look lingering.]

I dunno. If you figure it out, lemme know. I, uh...don't really know what to do with myself half the time, either, if I'm being completely honest.

[The look on his face morphed into, surprisingly enough, something of a wounded expression as he watched him turn and snatch a could of stones off the ground on the way out. It was a real expression, not something he was doing for an affectation. That glare, an unspoken threat if he ever saw one, and the obvious action of arming himself with the one thing that had set Vash off not long before were completely impossible to misinterpret, and something about that obviously upset him as he slowly began following after him.]

Hey, I meant it earlier, alright? Hit me if you want, but...just leave the...stoning for scared townsfolk. Please.

[He was probably asking too much, after the obvious frustration he'd put Wolfwood through. He wasn't there, he didn't have the very unhappy memmories attached to the event now rolling around in his head, and he might have even argued that it wasn't much different than Vash poking at emotional wounds the way he had.

Part of him wanted to argue even before it had started that it was different. The other part of him figured it was about exactly what he deserved, as much as the idea was already making him visibly cringe.]

[ He doesn't want to get pelted with stones, huh? Wolfwood pockets most of the rocks, but keeps one in hand, tossing it up and down to make sure Needles here sees it. ]

You gonna keep telling me who I am? [ Toss, and catch. Toss, and catch. ] What I've done, like you were there instead of me, and how I'm supposed to feel about all that shit?

[ A higher toss, and a catch with a satisfying smack against his palm. This rock's got a bit of weight to it. ]

Because you sure couldn't hear me when I was just using words. Can you hear me now?

[He opened his mouth, wanting to argue that he hadn't been trying to tell him who he was, he wasn't trying to tell him his feelings weren't valid, just that he might not have all of the important information, and he hated seeing him hurting over things that were out of his control, but...he stopped. Closed his mouth again and just stared at him before his face fell to something a bit sadder but also resigned.

He sighed, his gaze dropping to watch the path in front of his feet and gave what mostly came off as a full-body shrug. Arguing with him was just going to make things worse. The Nicholas back home had slowly begun learning not to blow up quite so violently at him over time, but he'd still been just as prone to violent outbursts, in the beginning. He shouldn't have been surprised.

Even if that was, again, comparing this man to the other. In his defense, the similarities were still clear as daylight if one knew what to look for, and his brain was just trying to latch onto what was familiar, what was safe, when the entire situation was more than a little uncomfortable, for both parties.]

I just hate to see people hurting. Doesn't matter who it is, I just feel the need to help. It's how I've always been.

[It helped make it feel like he wasn't completely useless, like his existence wasn't an unnecessary burden and danger on everyone and everything around him. If he could just help people be a bit happier, then maybe that would make things a little bit better, right?

But he doubted Wolfwood cared to listen to his reasons, and with him already ready to start flinging rocks, the less words said, the better.]

Well fucking stop it.

[ I need to help, he says, like that excuses anything. It's just another way to say that he thinks his way is the right one, and everyone else is wrong and needs to be fixed. It's the same line of bullshit Wolfwood's been hearing all his life, only worse -- the Eye didn't pretend to care about him when they told him what to think and how to act. Their violence was honest -- they were remaking him to be a servant and soldier of the new world.

Needles, though? Who knows why he's doing any of this. Is it arrogance? Stupidity? Wolfwood doesn't know, and honestly doesn't care. ]

You're bad at it.

[ All he knows is that it's really getting under his skin. He doesn't have the time or the inclination to give a shit about anybody, and he's even less interested in anyone giving a shit about him. ]

Somewhere between July and December

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