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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[ 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. ]

...Yeah. I've noticed.

[He'd been told so many times how wrong he was, how foolish he was, how little the world worked the way he hoped it would. But honestly he didn't care. But it only made it worse, every time something went wrong. He refused to give up on the hope, though, no matter how hard it was sometimes or how often people pointed out the logical flaws.

He was quiet for a while before he looked up again, gauging something with the position of the two suns and then squinted in thought before glancing back over at Wolfwood.]

So if you want to head to Octovern, we'll need to start heading more south-easterly from here. It's up to you. I'll follow where you decide.

[Wolfwood had said he should head to Octovern if there was no on in December, but he seemed intent on being contrarian about everything, and Vash was increasingly too tired to argue with him. Whatever he decided, it made little difference to him in the end.]

[ Needles opens his mouth again, and Wolfwood braces himself for more stupidity. Thankfully, though, this time all the idiot wants is to talk about their route. That's acceptable. ]

No can do.

[ From his inside coat pocket Wolfwood holds up a metal bottle of water, just under a liter in size. ]

This is all I've got on me, and last I looked at the map, Octovern's more than a day's walk away.

[ He can go longer than a day on that much water -- he's gone much, much longer than that on less before -- but walking across the desert with a swollen tongue sucks. ]

I thought you were leadin' me to someplace closer than that.

[ Or was that a lie? ]

[He was mildly confused, before the small canteen was held up, and for a moment he actually opened his mouth to chirp out that he had more than enough water to get them at least that far, before the little accusatory quip made his mouth shut again with a small snap, and he gave him just a bit of a glare.]

No, I meant-...I was just-...[He groaned, running his hand down his face in frustration.] I thought you knew where you were going! You started walking so determined in one direction, so I started following you!

[So ok, they were both a bit idiots. He sighed, his head rolling back to stare at the sky.]

Look, if you keep heading towards December, even when you reach the next town over, it'll put you that much farther away from Octovern. I've got enough water to get both of us to the next stop either which way, so just pick a direction.

[This was not helping him shake the "contrarian just to be contrarian" allegations.

Really, he's spent his entire life wandering this desert. He knows how to safely navigate all of it, even better than he knows himself. He's not that much of an idiot, Wolfwood.

Though, if the other man chose a vastly longer route to take than was necessary, he wouldn't be opposed to a few "I told you so's" once the inevitable complaining started up. He's letting you make the decisions here, but he's not above a little petty snarking if he felt like you'd made a choice just to spite him and it bit you in the ass. Even if that meant it was also biting him in the ass, too.]

[ Oh, there's no way he heard that right. Wolfwood jams the bottle of water back into his pocket and stalks over to Needles, murder written all over his face. ]

What the fuck do you mean, you were following me?! [ He thought Vash was leading the way! He was following him! ] Are you tellin' me we've been going in the wrong direction this whole time?!

[ This... this is why he doesn't trust people! This is why he works best alone! ]

Are you fucking kidding me?!

[Wolfwood can stalk up to him all he wants, he's certainly not intimidated by him. Though his irritation and exasperation are beginning to reach astronomical levels, because he cannot be serious right now.]

We started walking, in the direction your car was pointing, and you didn't tell me where you were headed until after we were well on our way. I just assumed you knew where you were headed and were leading me. [His voice isn't raised, but it was obviously on a tight leash, and he may have even sounded like he was speaking in nice, short sentences so they would get through his thick head.]

Why is everything an argument??? I'm trying here, I really am! You know I'm emotional, I've been trying not to be, I'm trying not to compare you to Him, I'm letting you take the lead so I don't step on your toes, but everything I do makes you want to fight me! [And now he's just getting upset again, the grief combining with his frustration, and he just wants the arguing to stop.] I didn't want to make you do this, I was happy to leave but you didn't want me to, but you won't stop acting like me just being here makes you mad, and even just trying to get you pointed in the right direction is making you lash out, so what do you want from me???

[He was crying again, near the limit of his patience, but now he was glaring. He wasn't sure what about the whole thing hurt the most. This wasn't fighting like he'd done with Nicholas, this was something deeper, and he supposed if Wolfwood blamed himself enough for death of the Vash he'd known in his reality, being around him was probably making his emotions as raw as his own were. But he'd gone out of his way to get him to come along, when Vash had been content to leave him with the stuff he needed to get to the next town, and now everything was a fight.

After a moment of just frowning at him, tears rolling down his face, he just gave a long, exhausted sigh, forcing the anger down and out of his face for something that was almost...a quiet, imploring sort of plea.]

Please, Wolfwood. I don't want to fight with you. I'm fine if you don't even want to be my friend. [Honestly, it was probably better for him, anyway. Safer, especially if he didn't have his Punisher or...those serums.] Just stop fighting with me every step of the way. I'm too old for this, everything hurts and I'm tired.

[ The snarling retort that was building to all of that bullshit dies in Wolfwood's throat at that last bit. Lord in fucking heaven but there's only so many times he can kick that sad-eyed dog before he starts feeling bad about it -- the man can't help being pathetic, can he?

This, right here? This is what friendship does to you. This is what caring about people does. It makes you weak, makes you vulnerable, puts you at the mercy of people who don't have a drop of love in them. Too old and tired, yeah, he hears that lesson, and trust that he's learned it.

He needs Needles here with him still. He needs the man's gun, more precisely, and they're a package deal. He needs the man's supplies too, since he's doing inventory -- if Stampede's right, and they've been heading toward December instead of anywhere closer, then the water he's got on him won't be enough. The only way he's getting out of this sand pit alive is with a miracle, or with this asshole here.

He is really, really starting to hate this version of the world.

Wolfwood glowers at Stampede for a long moment, considering all his options -- such as they are -- before giving in with a shake of his head. ]

Octovern's southeast from here?

[ I'm fine if you don't want to be my friend. This fucking guy. ]

[There was a perplexing series of emotions flickering across Wolfwood's face as Vash stood quietly and waited, and he had to bury the instinct to try and figure out what was going on in his head through sheer force of will, redirecting his thoughts as far away from the thought as possible. It was honestly a bit of a mercy when he finally did answer, and it was just a short, simple question to clarify the direction he'd given.

At the very least, it was enough to make him release a slow, quiet breath he'd been holding as he waited for the next snarled retort. His head bobbed in the affirmative and he grunted out a wordless answer, relaxing in fits and starts.]

Octovern's southeast, December is that way. [He gestured in the direction they'd been heading before his hands returned to the unconsciously-defensive curl they'd previous taken in front of his chest.] December is maybe a dozen or so iles closer, but there'd be no guarantee we'd find the supplies needed to restock when we got there, and continuing on to Octovern after stopping there would almost double the distance in the end. It's up to you.

[He let the information linger in the air for a breath before having to pull his gaze away, and he took the moment to try and center himself, at which point he finally seemed to realize he'd been holding the old lighter in his hand all this time. He grunted quietly to himself in mild surprise, patting down his breast pocket before tucking the thing back in its proper place and patting it down again just to reassure himself that it was safe and secure where it belonged.

And then, there wasn't anything left to distract him again, so he sighed, stuffing his free hand into the pocket on his hip, and looked back up at Wolfwood expectantly.]

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Somewhere between July and December

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