nomans_land | Somewhere.

Somewhere.

[Time's lost its meaning, somewhere in between a cry for help that left his head ringing and the endless sunrises, heat and stench of a town bereft of life but not corpses.

It's been long enough that the smell had attracted flying worms to the feast, darting in and out of homes once full of life to gorge themselves on the available meat, the slow but steady breeze carrying it for iles. Sooner or later larger worms would arrive, to feed on the little ones or whatever meat was left, and larger ones after them, but the desert was beginning its relentless claiming of the now mostly barren town, wind and sand scouring the bloodstains from streets and walls bit by bit, and bleaching the red bones left behind in the open by the worms towards ivory. Left alone, the sun and wind would turn them white, but not yet.

Aside from the worms, the only other thing more or less intact in the town is a blond haired and filthy lean form tucked in the shadow of a tall metal post, still chained there by the wrist as he had been since the world shook like a snowglobe in the hands of a particularly enthusiastic toddler. He's slumped in an uncomfortably boneless way that at first glance suggests he's as dead as everyone else in this town, a missing arm and red raw stump furthering this idea. Except the actual dismembered arm some short distance away shows obvious evidence of rot and having been chewed on presumably by worms, while the boy, nearly a young man, has no such decay. Just dirt, blood and grime and missing shoes, but he's terribly still, not so much as twitching as a faintly glowing flying worm, still round from its last meal, descends to investigate a new one.

Only once it lands does he suddenly spring to life, twisting like a cat to smash the insect creature against the post with one bare foot just enough to drop it twitching to the ground. A closer look reveals the scattered bits of a number of other worms, a leg here, a wing there - survival necessitated some pretty damn gross stuff, but Vash hasn't made it this long, even as young as he was compared to others, by simply giving up. And feet and toes will do in lieu of the hands he no longer had access to.

Someone would come, eventually. Eventually. He just had to last til then.

At least the taste of worm, dirt and filth was no longer nauseating.]

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It was easier when he didn't have to think, and finally getting to be behind the wheel of his wonderful old motorcycle after so long certainly helped him turn his brain off for a while. Though the fact that without the sidecar, it meant that Vash had to ride pillion against his back made things...just a little harder to let his mind drift. Which was, all things considered, maybe a good thing in the end. It meant that when the small village appeared over the horizon, he was aware enough to notice it, and enough to change course so that they could make a stop.

What wasn't pleasant about it was the smell as they got closer, and the sudden realization that all around them, in the streets, hanging out of windows, draped over the banisters on porches, were bodies. Piles of them. And by the look of them, they'd been here a while.

"Shit."

He'd just wanted to make a pit stop, check for supplies, refill the tank. But now, he didn't think it was such a good idea, especially knowing how this was going to effect the man behind him. They absolutely did not have the time or energy it would take to bury all of these people, and Vash had a hard enough time with one dead body, let alone...this.

So he very nearly rode through and didn't stop. At least, not until he caught sight of the small figure in the middle of the square, chained down to a piece of ship debris, looking distinctly less decayed than the rest of the bodies and making a flash of memory lance through his brain like a gunshot to the head.

He skidded the bike to a stop on the edge of the square, barely breathing as he stared at the small, frail-looking form for far too long. The hair, that arm.

"Oh, fuck. God, no, fuck, no, you...you gotta be fuckin' kidding me..."

He didn't even care to drop the kickstand as he climbed off the bike, his lungs drawing in ragged, almost panicked breaths despite the stench of decay in the air, and while he didn't run towards the young man - no, he was barely more than a child - it was a near thing.

"Hey, hey. You...are you awake? God, please tell me you're alive, fuck!"

Vash had been distracted by his thoughts until he heard Wolfwood's voice above the roar of the engine. Then the smell hit him, and his arms tightened around the man's body.

He also recognized the memory before seeing the collapsed teenager (familiar unfamiliar) over Wolfwood's shoulder, but then again, he'd been less shattered by a two-years overdue reunion.

He was off the bike as soon as it stopped, and he did run.

"Hey. Hey Vash. Can you hear me?"

The words were said both out loud, interrupted by a cough because of the smell, and mentally as well. He was reaching for him to try to give as much healing as possible as well.

And no , he was not acting as though the teenager was not alive.

Edited 2023-06-09 19:18 (UTC)

The roar of an engine does have one immediate effect, worms come out of every building and window in a flurry of wings and legs and mandibles and launch themselves skyward to get out of easy reach of what might well be a larger, hungrier predator. At least, up until the trajectory of motorcycle made it obvious worms were not being hunted, and the scattered swarm begins creeping back to look for their free meals once again.

This is considered from his spot on the ground, very carefully. The questionably nice thing about sunstroke and chronic dehydration and hunger is unless something edible was nearby he could just think about things, like the gun just out of reach, like the sound of an approaching engine that might well spell salvation, like the taste of bug wasn't particularly vile anymore, so probably it was alright if nobody came. Except, someone was coming. Or two, if he squinted a bit he was pretty sure that's actually two people and a ... motorcycle ... and..

Slowly, the idea of rescue surfaces and hunts through his mind for something to attach to. There's no clear and obvious response to either words or a mental touch, though he's very obviously not shielding his own mind by the way thoughts can be easily picked up on. Nobody's pulled a gun, that's nice, and that's some terrible language use mister, someone needed to get their mouth washed out with soap.

Oh. Oh wait. They're possibly there to help. And one of them knows his name, so they HAD to be there to help. Maybe ... maybe Knives felt bad, and sent someone to find him, they seemed nice and not like they were there because someone threatened to kill them if they didn't..

He sits up in one sudden jerk, chain rattling before snapping taut and preventing him from getting too far, half-squished worm still pinned beneath one foot, a little cloud of dust following. Dead things don't move quite that easily, but the young plant has very clearly seen better days in spite of the fact that he schools his expression into something very serious indeed and offers a thumbs-up with his remaining, tethered hand. Yep, doing fine, ignore every single obvious proof to the contrary as he tips back over.

Give him a minute.

Everything about the way moved, the way he sat and stared, almost unresponsive, was just wrong, so wrong, and Wolfwood felt a shudder go down his spine. But at least he was alive, he was silent but aware, and as far as he was concerned, that was the most important thing. Even though the sight of him like this and the memory he had floating around in his head, how young he had to have been, made him feel more sick than possibly even the smell of death that hung so heavy in the air around them.

"We're gonna get you outta this, alright? You're gonna be ok, everything's ok." He reached up for the cuff that was keeping him chained to the rubble, grabbing it in both of his hands and tugging, straining with every bit of strength he had even as it bit into his fingers, blood rolling down his arms, until the pins inside of it popped and the offending ring of metal fell to the ground in a pile of scraps.

That out of the way, he crouched down on the side of his good arm, leaning in to get a good look at him, reaching up to brush his matted hair away from his face. And oh, if he'd had any doubts before, they were gone the instant he saw those eyes, the mole on his cheek, looking like a younger version of the man who'd disappeared that morning. And really, Vash looked young enough as it was, there was honestly not much difference beside the height and the hollow, numb look in this kid's eyes. And even that was...unfortunately not as unusual as he would have liked.

"Vash? How you doin'? I know you don't know us, but we're friends, I promise. We're gonna get you out've here, alright? You think you can walk, or do you want me to carry you?" Because just looking at him, he didn't honestly think the kid could go two steps without blowing away in the wind.

He glanced around, taking stock of the entire scene, and the slow realization of what he was looking at was almost too much to think about, not when it was Vash.

"Hey...Blondie, grab 'is gun. Let's get outta here, this is the last place he needs t'be..." he glanced back at down at the boy, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a meal bar, offering it to him. "Know it's not much, but it's gotta be better than worms, right? We got more in the bike, too. Better stuff. Once we get you somewhere safer, you can have as much as you want."

If he knew Vash as well as he knew he did, he must have been fucking starving. Especially if he'd been resorting to eating...that. It was one thing to eat worm protein food that had been made properly. It was another thing entirely to chow down on the things fresh off the ground. ~~He would have had words with a certain other self if he only knew.~~

"You're the one who can drive the bike, Wolfwood. I'll carry him... and do my best to help." Vash did pick up the gun also, then after some consideration, bends down to wrap his arms around the teenager's waist and hoist him to his hip. Not necessarily the best way, but he could settle him on the bike without letting him go like that. And if the teen didn't get a good look on his face, that might be better for the moment. A limited amount of shocks at a time.

"Vash. I know this must be very confusing right now. Try to get some of that food down, I'll get you water when you are done. And I'll do something, I've no idea if it will work on an independent, but it helps bulbed plants. It should make you feel better. Nudge me with your elbow when you're ready for us to try to give information, all right?"

No need to talk just yet.

Hunting worms settling in for a nice snack is very different than actually holding a conversation, and the sun and heat has long since taken a toll even on him, well used to the desert and its issues by now. The tiny shade offered via his post wasn't great, but it sufficed. Had to. Just like the worms had to suffice, just like the faint breeze had to be enough to carry some of the smell of what Kniv-- what happened here away. Wolfwood's tracked with a steady but glassy stare as he reaches up and grabs the chain, the beginnings of a frown crossing his face; that's not going to work, shooting it repeatedly had barely made a dent how is a human ever going to break it with bare hands, look he's already bleeding and- "..Hey, don't.."

And the ring of steel that had kept him from getting very far drops unceremoniously to the unpleasantly dirty ground, leaving him free and distinctly bewildered since he's pretty sure there's not a human alive that can do that kind of thing, so maybe he's not dealing with a human. It's hard to move that arm, stiff and sore from being locked in one position for so long, and there's a brief movement from the stump of his other one that suggests he was probably going to try to rub it or something. There's a crusted ring of damaged and worn skin where the cuff used to be. Vash is processing what's going on around him, it's just lagged a little.

Like them being friends. That had to mean Knives, and that sort of made sense, if anyone was going to find people who might not be human, call them friends, and send them to find him it would have to be his brother, which meant he was okay and not dying alone somewhere of infection. It's a relief, almost as much as being found at all was. On the other hand it left him with the conundrum of Take Meal Bar or Get Up. Being carried was for babies, so the apparent teen hesitates a moment before accepting what might be a granola bar and then working on dragging himself to his feet while the man in red goes for his gun. It's going to take effort, and he might! Actually! Be able to do it!

Except then he's scooped up anyway with a startled eep, nearly dropping his new snack bar and completely losing any kind of toe grip on his worm. Both of these guys are WAY stronger than he thought at first glance, he wasn't exactly a heavyweight or anything but that sure felt awfully effortless, and as much as he mourned the loss of the worm, at least he had something more foodlike to .. work on figuring out how to open. Teeth will have to do, as precarious as his balance is on someone else's hip, metholodically working on figuring out a problem he never thought he'd have. It's going to get crumbs all over this other guy's coat and maybe his hair though.

"Iff awright." Hey it's almost words, if muted by meal bar wrapper, as he pulls himself together as best he can. Alertness! Words! He can do it! He's not going to embarass himself in front of his brother's friends! It's astonishing Knives had any to begin with! He can't fall apart now and leave a bad impression, they were being so nice. Unfortunately his best is still not great but he is definitely making an effort to not look as terrible as he feels. It's awkward to hold onto meal bar AND crimson jacket but he's managing, albeit barely. They're going to have to leave his arm behind. His.. other. A moment of blankness is shaken off slowly before he fixes his gaze ANYWHERE but on his own rotting limb on the ground and visibly works on forcing as much clarity as he can manage. "Can you .. there might be..." He hesitates, unsure how Knives' friends might handle the question.

His voice isn't as clear as he might have liked, hoarse and dry. He already knew there were no other survivors, but he still had to hope that somehow, some might have been missed. They were important.

The fact that he was aware enough to try and offer the beginnings of a protest when Wolfwood broke the cuffs was enough to make him snort out what might have been a laugh in any other situation. Because of course he sounded worried about Nicholas hurting himself, trying to break the kid free. Of course Vash was going to focus on that and not on the fact that they were breaking him out and getting him someplace where he could get the care he needed.

The sight of him struggling to open the meal bar one-handed made him feel like an idiot, though. He should have anticipated that. He wouldn't be used to doing things one-handed, yet. But he didn't want to reach over and just grab the thing from him and do it himself. He knew how important it could be, especially when someone was going through trauma, to be able to do things on their own. It was why he had offered to carry him in the first place, instead of just picking him up the second he was free. So he would just watch for now, and if it was too much, he would step in later to help.

Instead, he focused on righting the bike and holding it up so that Vash could climb on first without having to worry about it falling over, and so he could focus on the kid, his overprotective nature screaming in his head. Always, with the kids, always, it didn't matter who they were. If there was a kid in trouble, Nicholas couldn't help but change gears into a ball of barely-contained action; help, protect, feed, care, fight. Now that the kid in question was Vash? He was having to work very hard not to fuss really, really hard.

Still, the half-spoken request made his brow furrow, even as he found himself intensely curious about what exactly Blondie had in mind that he hoped would help. There were so many things going on, and he had to compartmentalize, focus on the most important things right now.

"What is it, bud? Just lemme know, it's fine."

"Survivors?"

Vash didn't hesitate much in taking that guess. Not at all, in fact.

"It shouldn't take too long to check." He waited for confirmation from them both, ready to carry the teen, well, upwind. The healing attempt was starting already, the sooner the other Vash could feel less horrible, the better.

It's one of the more important things right now as far as he's concerned, and that the man in red already understands what he's asking without him having to actually ask entirely is kind of a relief! That didn't sound like a negative response to him either, so perhaps they didn't share Knives' misanthropic views. He can't just leave if someone might have survived it, it's his fault they got attacked at all.

"...Yeah. I don't .. I don't think there will be but if there's even one.." Wolfwood and his other self's priorities might be closer to simply removing him, but his are not. He gives a wriggle, like a much smaller child might. "I can help." He really can't, he doesn't have the stamina left to do any such thing as wander through a festering town of the dead, but he's feeling a lot better all of a sudden, so he might as well take advantage of it! Even his stump isn't hurting quite as much! He's fine, obviously! He can even stuff the meal bar down in a couple bites just to free up his hand and try not to choke on crumbs.

One day, he'll understand the differences between his own power and external energy. Today is not that day.

His head snapped up to look at Blondie, eyes wide, and then back to the little guy, for a moment just completely flabbergasted.

"Surv-, you-...you have got to be-..." But no, he knew they weren't, of course they weren't kidding, those two said and meant exactly that, and he knew they would absolutely do what they could to look, and neither one of them would rest until they'd made damn sure that there was no one else in the town.

And whatever it was Blondie was doing, it looked to be working, because now the little Vash was getting squirmy and starting to struggle to try and help.

For a second, he felt that old, frustrated rage at the man's stubborn, self-sacrificing altruism bubbling to the surface, and he turned, almost storming off in irritation before he tamped it down furiously, gritting his teeth and taking a deep breath before he turned back to them and did his best to put a neutral expression back on his face. The last thing he needed to do was lose his cool with a traumatized, abused, still-growing Vash.

"Vash, kid, buddy, hold on. Slow down. How long have you been out here? 'Cause I'm gonna be honest, here. All of this?" He gestured vaguely around them. "This doesn't look fresh." And he knew Vash could last a lot longer than anyone else on this planet, save for maybe Knives himself.

Still...this was Vash. Vash would never let it go. He would want those bodies checked for survivors.

So he sighed, his head dropping low between his shoulders in defeat.

"Look. Let's get you outta here first. Then, when I know you're safe, I'll come back an' look around. Alright?"

Vash actually looked apologetic when Wolfwood stared at him. He wouldn't have prioritized possible survivors over the teenager, but the thought of checking had occurred to him.

He also hummed in agreement with Wolfwood's words.

"You can't help them right now, I'm sorry. We'll drive a ways off, then he'll come back and check, and I'll stay with you to help. Just close your eyes and focus on resting for a bit." Between them on the bike, not getting away. (Vash thought he had a bandana or something like that in his pocket, might make things easier on Wolfwood later.)

"Things are complicated and you are not where you were, the whole place has been moved. We'll need to explain, and then you can think of helping. All right?"

It's all borrowed power, though he doesn't know it, doesn't know enough about plants, about himself to recognize the easing of pain and exhaustion has nothing at all to do with maybe just a free snack and adrenaline. Which means it must be that he just wasn't as bad off as he thought, maybe worms were FAR more nutritious than he thought and he'd been basically eating superfoods all this time!

"I know!" It's a squeak, a childish voice crack he instantly hates for betraying him. "I know, I know they're probably not." It's still not effortless to talk and wouldn't be for a while, but he's forcing it anyway and the squirming is going to escalate into a gentle kick if he's not put down. They might not want to look, but he was going to himself then. He sure as hell can help them now!

"But what if it was your town? Your family? You'd both check first. I know it." Because people, at their hearts, were caring of each other weren't they? Knives cared for him deeply, even if he was violent and temperamental with humans. "You wouldn't wait for 'explanations' either, I bet." So these two had to at least love their own families, and if this was their families, 'maybe later on' wouldn't do at all. He takes a big breath, doing his absolute best to sound reasonable and coherent and mature and not the all but helpless, weak, half-starved and mutilated kid he was. "I'll look. You don't have to."

He didn't want to, he's been watching corpses and pieces of corpses bloat and turn black in the sun for ... endless days now. He'd rather do anything else, if it were an option. But he's been seeing it all this time, and smelling it, and tasting it.. he could put up with it a little longer, just to be sure.

Edited 2023-06-13 18:37 (UTC)

His patience was growing really thin, but he had to keep it down, forced himself to grit his teeth and hold back the shouting, ranting frustration that was wanting to bubble over.

He knew how stubborn Vash could be when he got a worm in his bonnet about something. And this looked like an entire swarm of the fuckers. He sighed, looking back at the older Plant, as if silently begging him for the strength not to go feral, before he let out a long, loud sigh and reached up, grabbing the youngster by the shoulders to hold him still, looking him square in the eyes.

"Look, kid. You wanna talk about family? I don't have one. Never have. I got to attach myself to a bunch of belligerent, obstinate, stubborn idiots without the sense God gave a Toma for my family, instead. And it ain't gonna make a lick of sense to you, right now, but two of those people? Are you two right here. So my only concern right now is makin' sure we get you somewhere you can get the care you need. I'm not gonna let you run around here in the state you're in, tryin' to find some survivors that don't exist."

His lips pursed in a thin line and he pulled his hands away as he sighed again, looking back at Blondie with a resigned expression.

"But I also know you two well enough to know, the way he's actin', if I don't do this, he's gonna be insufferable. And the last thing I wanna do is upset him right now. At least get him upwind of this smell, I'll take a look around and then come meet you in a while. There's food in the saddlebags on the bike, but take it easy at first. Too much, too fast, an' he'll make himself more sick than he is right now. He'll need more water than food, to start off with."

He took a moment to pull out one of his old cigarettes, lighting it and taking a long drag before letting the smoke swirl lazily out of his lips and around his face, hoping to hide the smell of decay as much as possible, and then he stormed off to begin searching the town.

"Vash... It is my town, too. The way it is yours. It's why I knew that is what you needed to know, and why they will be looked for." He nodded to Wolfwood, keeping his hold on the teenager, and starting to move.

"Some of the time, it is necessary to listen to explanations. Some of the time, it is necessary to take care of yourself, because then you can take care of others better. Longer. I know it's hard, and that their lives are so short and fragile, and it's not fair. It's not fair that they are so afraid, that they turn on each other. It's not fair that Nai only sees the worst of them, either.

"But if someone at least tries to help, it will get better, right? It's what I've always believed. And while Wolfwood has most of the limitations of humans, and so has to be selective about whom he cares about, he does care. And he wasn't lying that one of the people he cares about more than anyone else is Vash."

There was a smile in his voice. Fond.

"That is why he will not fail to look. I promise you.

" Are you ready for some water? "

Oh, Vash has lots of comebacks, that jumble together in a disorganized knot of indignation and anger. If black suit guy was soooo familiar with loss, he'd understand why it's so important to make sure nobody else had to endure that! If red suit guy actually cared about people, why was he standing around talking about stupid stuff like explanations instead of seeing if any of them were still alive?!

Almost all of what they say is simply tuned out, he's not in any state to spend a lot of time thinking or having a coherent argument. It's probably meaningful and well intentioned, he could feel that part somehow from one of the two ... as well intentioned as any of Knives' friends could possibly get, but there were more important things than the scent of the town, than his own terrible state. Even if he wanted to, a clear headed discussion isn't really in the cards one way or another, the suns had a way of eating through focus like a hot knife through butter. Too much time in the heat, too much time without more than bug juice to rely on. And with the possibility of rescue, not just for himself but a potential other survivor or survivors, the same desperate determination that kept him alive is brought to bear on this new task instead.

His arm is free, it's a start, and as Wolfwood lights up, the acrid smell of tobacco sharp even over the smell of decay and worm, then stomps off in a direction Vash isn't paying attention to, the younger plant seems to come to a decision on his own.

"I'm staying here." Til Wolfwood finishes, if he finishes, if it's not all a trick, but Vash can watch from the center of town. And listen for gunshots. Or screams. Or begging.

He's not used to telepathy, the twins don't use it much as yet, which means he's not even remotely trying to shield his intentions - if he's not put down, he's going to fight back, and that's going to be easy to detect. It's going to be an outright pathetic effort, he just doesn't really have the strength or endurance to put up much of a struggle and a determined housecat could probably fend him off (though he could probably catch another worm if he had to. Probably.), but he fully intends to try if he has to. If he doesn't have to .. well, there's apparently water, and maybe snacks.

There's nothing out there to find.

Knives may be young, but he's always been thorough. There might be a few, here and there, that visibly died some days after their fellows in basements or sheltered back rooms, but it would take superhuman resilience to last til now, and none of them had that kind of luck on their side.

Edited 2023-06-14 00:29 (UTC)

It took him a few hours and about three more cigarettes for him to finish searching everything, though he at least was able to spend some of that time searching for what few supplies there were still available. This place, at least, was nowhere near as looted as the other towns they'd been in. But it was also exceedingly small and poorly stocked, and also covered in the dead, so he didn't take as long to be as thorough as he might have otherwise.

Still, when he came back later, with child sun beginning to set over the horizon, he had a paper bag tucked under his arm and a grim look on his face. At least he'd also found a couple cigars to replace the ones he'd used in the immediate aftermath of the earthquakes.

"Nothin'. Come on. Let's get out of here. We'll set up camp somewhere down the road. Just not here."

His temper had settled somewhat as he'd searched, so he looked down at the kid thoughtfully, and then reached into the bag and pulled out a small, wrapped chocolate bar. Not very large, (he had those deeper in the bag) so it wasn't going to make him completely ill, but he knew Vash had a sweet tooth the size of that crater he'd put in the Fifth Moon. Hopefully that helped ease his mood a bit.

"Here y'go. Eat it slow, otherwise you'll probably lose everything you've already eaten. Though maybe gettin' rid of the worms'd be an improvement."

"On that side. Definitely that side." Sorry. Vash was carrying him away from the center, but only to the upwind edge of town. The smell was hot good for all the mess the young body was.

Then there would be water, from he canteen ever in Vash's deep pockets, then he wrapped the younger version of himself in the red jacket. The heat had already caused enough damage, no need to give it more.

"Don't underestimate him, you know. He'd do more than you can imagine."

He smiled brightly when Wolfwood showed up, for just an instant, grim expression notwithstanding. Then he sighed quietly, hiding the fainti nausea from the scent of sweets behind that. Good thing they were not for him.

"It would have been too great a chance. But you're right, it would have been heartbreaking if there had been one that we missed.

"Are you ready to go, now? "

He'll remember it, later, when the haze faded, of his clear 'no' being ignored, being manhandled and whatever else someone wanted by arrogant strangers convinced they had the right to do what they pleased to him no matter what he said. Just like Knives, but that matched given who sent them. Any concerns about the smell are manufactured and to their benefit only, he'd been smelling it since they began to rot and a little longer wouldn't do a damn thing. It was so transparently just for them and their comfort and wishes and not at all for him that the entire time Wolfwood's gone he doesn't stop trying to get back to where he was. He is a hostile and uncooperative 'hostage', platitudes and offers of help rejected with bared little fangs and what fight he can put up, from vivid crimson jacket to canteens to meal bars. It's pointless, of course, Vash couldn't fight his way out of a field of daisies.

In time he might begin to see their actions as reasonable and concerned, doing what most adults would do when faced with an injured and terribly unwell child, even one of his apparent age. Something he himself might do in another twenty years, faced with similar circumstances. Things Knives himself probably wouldn't bother with, since Vash got himself into the situation he could damn well get himself out of it, but Knives too was a child. Wolfwood and his older self were not.

He didn't really expect survivors to be found, but as Wolfwood approaches alone, with a small bag of things he hadn't had before, it seemed somehow to seal that unhappy fragment of reality into place. Even one, even one person would have dulled the edge of what he'd caused here just a little, and with that unrealistic hope snuffed out, he seems to visibly deflate, not a small task for someone already on the small and slim side. Though the chocolate bar is taken, it's not eaten immediately, just held gingerly in his remaining hand. This could never happen again. He couldn't allow it, any of it.

Knives was right, he did need to practice. And next time ... next time.

There's no verbal response to either one, just the slightest of nods. It's an acknowledgment, and the best he'll manage for now.

Wolfwood was both adept enough at reading Vash's moods and at dealing with belligerent little kids to see the anger and sadness in the way he deflated. Hell, he'd been one of those belligerent kids. Which just made seeing him like that hit even closer to home, and he sighed, reaching up to ruffle the kid's hair as he walked by on the way back to the bike. He was going to be pouting the entire trip, wasn't he? He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. At least he knew he was safe.

"I'd say maybe we should drop 'im off with Luida's crew, but they were headed to Octovern, too, so it looks like he's with us for the long haul. Sorry, Spikey. You're gonna be on the road with us for a while. I don't have the sidecar for Angelina anymore, so you're gonna have to hold on."

With that arm, he would have preferred getting him immediately to a doctor, but with almost everyone clustered in Octovern, that wasn't going to be happening for a while, anyway. He shoved the bag of supplies into the saddlebags, holding the motorcycle up so the two of them could climb on first, and took the moment to pull on his riding goggles.

"We won't be going much further tonight. I just wanna get us away from here. But if you start gettin' tired before we stop, let one of us know. I don't want you fallin' off. Last thing you need is to fall under the bike while we're rollin'."

He sounded perhaps a little more stern than he had been aiming for, but more than anything, he was just...tired. Not from searching the town, not really, but the whole thing had gotten him in a mood, and where one part of him wanted to mother hen over the kid until he knew he was alright, he was also well aware that maybe he wasn't exactly the best person for it, and this Vash didn't know him. He'd just been through something deeply fucked up, and having a couple of grown men roll in, throwing their weight around and acting like they knew him was probably going to just make things worse.

"...For what it's worth, And I know it's not much, I'm sorry. There's some real shit that you're goin' through right now, and things are just gonna keep gettin' weirder for you for a while. But...I'll try an' get you somewhere you're safe."

That was his job, right? The Eye wasn't paying him for it, this time, and he would have spat in their eye if they'd tried. He was doing this for himself, not them. Which meant hopefully it'd have a lot better outcome than it had the first time.

"Oh, and uh, careful of the big cross. It's a gun, and it weighs like three of you. It's strapped down pretty tight, so it's not gonna just fall off, but you go fiddlin' with it and you could get hurt real bad."

"Somewhere safe, where I can help your body heal up that arm. And then you can consider options for a prosthesis. If you like this one," Vast held up his left arm and wriggled his fingers, "I'm sure that might happen. Or something entirely different."

He looked up to smile at Wolfwood, and then blinked, looking at the dunes behind him. "I think... someone is coming. A single person." A pause, his eyes narrowed, and he added, "not an Independent."

The last part was important, before Wolfwood went in full defense mode at the drop of a hat... Or Vash panicked. Or something else.

For better or worse it seems to have knocked the fight out of him, there won't be further arguments or protest for at least a little while. There's no complaint to any of it, not the idea of being dropped with some Luida person, or being with these two longer, or not falling off the bike, or even the idea of a prosthetic arm, just another shallow nod. A prosthetic wasn't something he could think about right now, it just brought up images of his own decaying arm in the dust.

Bits of people in the dust, overlaid with Wolfwood's words, his other self's reassurance.

I'm sorry. There's some real shit you're going through

He was going to be seeing that for a long time, when he closes his eyes.

Somewhere safe, where I can help

At least Vash isn't a complete zombie, he does look at each when they speak, but it's with an unblinking stare and wavering attention. He'd have to not fall off the bike. Where was even safe? Would Knives even be safe, or would he take this as an excuse to keep killing while Vash couldn't stop him?

"I'll be careful." Of not falling off, of the giant gun. Slowly he works his way back to his feet, the warning of someone else's approach not even heard; their timing is terrible, turning up to a town full of corpses. Without the adrenaline of desperation and drive to make sure he saw and heard Wolfwood looking for survivors, the focus needed to consider much at all was waning, leaving only images and memory of the past weeks behind. Strangers they were, but the delusion that they were sent by his brother means they could be trusted. He wouldn't likely make it to the next town without them, he wasn't even sure where that would be right now. Once upright, with chocolate bar in tow, the bike is the next goal, but at least there's no panicking over more strangers turning up.

He'd be bitter, if he allowed himself to be, if he dwelled on it long, about how three only turn up now. Sadness and guilt was easier, even if it made his vision blurry and set off an internal chant of don't cry don't cry don't cry.

Despite the tense atmosphere between the three of them, Wolfwood couldn't help but give a little snort when Vash tried to tempt the kid out of his shell with the prospect of his prosthetic, and he gave him a sly grin over the younger Vash's head.

"Hey, maybe he'll go with the hidden-machine-gun model. Did I ever tell you about that? Seems to come in pretty useful, until someone needs to...er...disarm him. Damn. That's an unfortunate wor-...?" Any amusement on his face - and even the small amount of awkwardness over the unintentional pun - immediately fell away when Vash warned that someone was coming, and his guard went up in its place. The fact that they weren't an Independent meant little in telling him whether they were a threat or not, so while he did his best not to appear overly suspicious, he still moved to put himself between the two of them and the source of the person's arrival.

"Well, nothing we shouldn't be able to handle, I'm sure." He leaned against the back of the bike, crossing his arms in what wanted to appear nonchalant but still gave him quick access to the sidearm hidden in its holster inside of his jacket. "Just hang back until we know what their intentions are, Vash. You'll be fine."

He didn't reach for the Punisher just yet. It still wasn't his, and it wasn't as if he couldn't grab it quickly enough, where it rested next to him on the rig he'd long-since had installed for the old one on the back of the bike.

Vash returned a lopsided smile, his eyes still a little round behind his glasses.

"There will be options. We'll figure out how to find people to provide it. Here, have some water first, you'll need all the liquids you can take. But.. small sips."

After handing the youth the canteen, open so he wouldn't have to worry about it with one hand only, Vash reluctantly, finally, let go, moving away to meet the newcomer.

Sorry, Vash, the energy boost and probably a bit of the pain easing was going to reduce as he stepped away to meet the - young woman, it turned out, where the wounded one among them would be out of sight. And close enough out of hearing unless they were yelling, even plant hearing.

And Vash was doing his best to keep everyone calm, so yelling was unlikely. He hoped.

(His gun was ready, always, but it was also always the last resort.)

There is a low, almost gutteral sound from the teen that in any other situation might have been a strained laugh, but it doesn't quite come out right. Disarmed. That's the point of a hidden gun, so nobody knows about it to remove it, and if they tried maybe it'd just pop off like a lizard tail and wiggle distractingly on the ground while he took off in another direction.

Lizards had the right idea.

Somewhere in the process of this train of thought he finds himself with a canteen, and the one in red walking away, the other remaining but attention not on him. It seems, to the slow grind of rational thought, that they'd both been wrong and there had been a survivor after all, someone who would be in far more desperate need than himself in that case.

Problem one, he can't find the cap to the canteen. Problem two, he's not sure he can hand over a canteen AND a chocolate bar at the same time, and is it even a good idea to give a starving human chocolate? If he was more drained than he was a moment ago, or the plethora of weeks-old aches resurging, then that was a minor concern, more background distractions to keep him occupied and not crying as he works on figuring out how to set down both items without knocking any into the dust. He remembered something about more supplies being in the bags, he just needed to fish them out, and taking advantage of the distraction of a fourth person means maybe he'll even succeed in his hunt for survival prizes.

He owed the survivor that much. This wouldn't even be a problem for anyone if he hadn't been so stupid.

He didn't exactly relax when he saw the young woman approaching, seemingly laden down with some sort of supplies, but something about her approach didn't exactly read to him as "Here to start trouble," so he didn't immediately jump up to follow after Vash when he approached her to speak. It also let him keep himself between her and the little guy. She got through one Blondie, then she'd have to get through him. They wouldn't make it easy, that was for sure.

It was while he was standing by, trying to pick up their voices at such a distance, that he heard rustling behind him and turned his head, his eyebrows lifting up over the driving goggles when he saw Vash trying to figure out how to put the chocolate bar and the canteen down without tipping it over into the sand.

"Hey, whatcha doin'? Want me to hold it?" He reached back, holding his hand out, but also just a little bewildered. There was a pace to his movements, a wateriness to his eyes, that belied the attempt at looking composed that he could see written on his face, not that he was particularly surprised.

"What do you need? You want my help?" Was he looking for something? Trying to get up on the bike? What was your goal here, kiddo?

The potential survivor both is, and is not, Vash's problem right now. She is, by way of probably she's starving at best; but approaching for conversation ... that part not so much, not when it's taking all his focus to figure out how to accomplish the task of finding things to give away that aren't even his to give away. It is if nothing else, distracting. A focus point, that simultaneously soothes and aggravates the gnawing guilt of what happened to the entire stinking, rotting town. Someone lived, but someone was surrounded only by the dead.

He stops at the sound of Wolfwood's voice, and then promptly hands both things over. He can always reclaim them later, one at a time, if the other person didn't want them. It was almost funny, if he allowed himself to dwell on it, how much easier everything is with two hands, and now he --

Nope, not going to dwell on that.

In another fifty, sixty years he might be a lot better at controlling emotions, or looking calm when he isn't, but the best he can do is a solid try at it, try to look calm, try to sound calm. That would be taken more seriously than a blubbering mess, right? He could cry later. He certainly WOULD later, but he can hold it together a little longer. "The survivor. They're ... they're going to need help."

Of course, it's about the other person. He didn't see the approach, doesn't quite know where she came from. It could have been any house. "I don't want them to die too." So: he'd been told there were more supplies, surely a few meal bars could be spared, some water, maybe a map..

Based on the earlier reactions to his insistence they even check for survivors to begin with (and that Wolfwood apparently missed one.. maybe more..) he already suspects what the reaction is going to be: anger, yelling maybe, disgust at his persistence the way Knives tended to, and he braces for the inevitability.

Oh, there was almost a level of irritation there, but not the way Vash was expecting. And Wolfwood quashed it down almost as quickly as it rose. This wasn't just some idiotic altruism over the girl, mindlessly sacrificing their supplies because someone gave him a sad face. This was everything involved with the bodies in that town, mixed with physical trauma and starvation, and all of it being carried by a young, very sensitive boy who had already suffered more than most people at his comparable age. Of course he wasn't going to be thinking clearly.

"Hey, hey, hold on."

When he turned toward him, his voice had softened, and he bent at the waist, trying to catch his eye. Let her see if she wanted. If she tried anything, he would still be fast enough with his back turned, knowing that Blondie would give some kind of warning sound as a heads up.

"Slow down. She didn't come from the town, Vash, she came from the opposite direction. She's got her own kit with her. She doesn't look in too bad of shape, either, from what I can tell. But if it makes you feel better, let's let Blondie talk to her, and if it's safe, maybe you can talk to her afterward. Just so you can make sure, alright?"

There's absolutely no doubt that given the opportunity, he would mindlessly sacrifice supplies because someone gave him a sad face, it's merely not the current situation at hand. This is different. He didn't want to think of how many people might have made it past his brother's first assault, only to die hungry and thirsty in the dark. The entire town being alive would be better but that was impossible, so one ... he'd take one survivor over none survivor.

He expects a scolding, expects to have to bargain a bit of food or water away though he's not sure how adept he'd be at it right now, but it wasn't going to stop him from trying, and a quiet 'hey' draws thinned lips and stubbornness set to his jaw and shoulder, willing and ready no matter the situation to argue to the best of his ability. What he gets is ... something he wants to reject just as quickly as he did their insistence they leave without checking the houses first: logic that matches with what can be seen, but that would mean his one survivor is back to none survivor.

By the way his gaze flicks from Wolfwood to the girl better prepared for travel than he'd been in a while and then back, what Wolfwood is saying is heard. And processed, since his clumsy efforts to dig things out of unfamiliar bags simply ... stops, the ground, the town, a rock, anything suddenly better to look at than Wolfwood or the stranger. If he spoke again he knew it wouldn't be nice and steady and calm so he doesn't, he just swallows hard and takes a slow, unsteady deep breath as if by doing so he could get a better grip on the turmoil of pain and guilt. And try to ignore the brief irrational flash of fury. It had been so LONG and only now does anyone show up, three on one damned day, where were they when there was still a chance of saving anyone?! Why only now?

It wasn't fair.

He rubs the back of his remaining hand across his nose and mouth, a brief shaky gesture that brings with it another attempt at a steadying breath. Vash is certainly holding things together, however tenuously, but he wasn't going to be able to keep it up forever. "Okay." Whether or not he would want to verify, he didn't know. She deserved to know who was responsible, but after all this.. could he allow himself the selfishness of pretending it wasn't his fault even for a little while?

The turmoil he can see just under the surface reminds him so much of the same man, older than the boy in front of him, and even more than the hair and the shape of his features, it only cemented just who he was in Wolfwood's mind. And it reminds him far too much of painful memories that, especially after the past few days, make him feel sick to his stomach to remember. But this time, he wasn't the cause of this pain, not really. That didn't make it any easier to watch as it unfolded in front of him, but it let him at least keep himself somewhat separate from it. The last thing they all needed was for Wolfwood to let himself crumble or lose his cool.

Especially since he doubted his instinct to wrap the kid in a hug would be very appreciated. He was very clearly trying to keep his composure, and all things considered, he was doing fairly well for a Vash. There was a fine line to toe between giving comfort and breaking someone down when they were doing their best to avoid just that, and the situation was delicate to say the least.

So he compromised with his instincts, reaching up to rest a hand on his back and rub soothing shapes as he shifted so they could see what was happening not far away.

"It's gonna be ok. I know it doesn't feel like it, right now, but you have friends to help you, now. You're the strongest person I know. Just give yourself some time, Vash."

There is a short bark of sound that probably is meant to be a laugh at being called a strong person. Jokes in this kind of situation was hideously macabre but he could after a fashion appreciate the effort for what it was, a small bit of distraction.

At least there wasn't any fighting. They weren't setting out to erase witnesses or anything, or finish what Knives had started in the name of protecting him. He starts briefly at being touched, such things as a comforting hand long in the past for the most part and made strange by time, but he either lacks the energy or the desire to pull away. Somehow it made it harder to keep from giving into the nearly strangling desire to just sob like a baby, but he is not a baby and he is not going to give in.

Yet.

The blond man and the woman are much too far away for him to even reliably lip read, so he doesn't bother to try after a moment of squint, instead leaning marginally into the warm circles against his back and closing his eyes. Not the best of ideas by the sway that follows, but he's still upright, though clearly quickly not paying as much attention as he should be. This was still a potentially dangerous situation! And he is slowly losing the ability to really focus on it; he knows, he knows it's not safe to relax or give into shellshock, not around strangers, even if they're Knives' friends. But something about these two specific strangers made him wish he could go home, some echo of the last place he had a friendly voice and a warm touch and felt safe.

Don't think about that either. "Where are we going?" Wherever Knives is, presumably. "Is he okay?"

There is a disconnect here, between his expectations and quiet question, and the reality of what's going on, without any explanation in between them.

The almost-laugh got a bit of a start out of him, and he looked down at him, his eyebrows lifting up toward his hairline as he did so. Not that Vash wasn't prone to strange emotional reactions - he'd seen them enough times to know it was just par for the course - but there was something about the laugh that made him feel it wasn't exactly the same as him laughing when he didn't mean to. It sounded too genuine, even as aborted as it was, and that...was a little confusing.

But he could tell, watching him as he was, that his strength was finally beginning to wane, so he chose to save the confusion for later pondering and simpy shifted so that he could gently wrap his arm around him and give him something to lean on as he began to sag. he could still reach the sidearm tucked inside of his jacket if he needed to, this was fine.

He half expected to have to catch him as he dropped right off to sleep as he stood there, but then the questions came, and even before he could decide how best to answer the question of where they were going, he was asking about...someone, and Wolfwood's brow furrowed in bewilderment.

"Is who ok, Vash? Who are you worried about?" Because they could see Blondie in the distance, safe and sound, so it wasn't him.

"Knives." It's said as if it's obvious, like saying there's two suns or sand on the ground or it's hot. "I hurt him, thought ... maybe I killed him, but if he sent you, he must be alive.." As far as he's concerned it's the only conclusion. Two strangers know exactly who he is and where to find him after a nice long 'cooldown period', neither of whom seem to be precisely human?

It was a little reassuring, he didn't want to think Knives had died alone out there either. But alive didn't mean okay, he was proof enough of that, and a hole punched through a shoulder could be as bad as being dearmed.

It took everything in him not to physically react to the fact that Vash was worried about Knives, of all people, after what he'd just been through. Even if he knew the way Vash was, knew that he would still care about his brother even after he'd committed even more heinous atrocities than had just happened, even after he'd sent assassins to make his life a living Hell, it was almost unbelievable that he was worried about him right now.

And though he hadn't seen all of what had occurred out here, in the flood of memories that had been shunted unexpectedly into his brain, he didn't need to to know that Knives had come away from the event well enough on his own.

"Your brother is fine, Kiddo. Trust me, you're the one more hurt than he is right now." He was quiet again, wondering how wise it was to tell him he hadn't sent them out here. If he thought they were sent by Knives, taking that away meant they were strangers. How would he react, finding out they weren't friends of that abusive little shit?

And would it make it easier or harder for him to handle, finding out they'd lied to him later on?

Honestly, at this point, the lies-by-omission were already beginning to pile up, and those were bad enough as it was. He knew that eventually, those were going to end up being a hefty ticket to have to cash out, and adding more to the pile was just going to make it worse.

So, making up his mind, he cast another glance out at Blondie and the girl, sighed and turned to look at the kid before guiding him so he could sit on the bike and wouldn't fall over if his strength gave out, because Wolfwood needed to be able to look him in the eyes for this and know that he was paying attention.

"Look..." He pulled the driving goggles off of his eyes and pushed them up on top of his head so that he could make full eye contact. "I need you to listen, alright? This isn't gonna make a lot of sense, and Blondie would probably be able to make it easier for you to believe, 'cause he can do things I can't, but...we weren't sent by your brother. He's alive, he's fine, wherever he got to, but we're not with him.

Somethin' weird is happenin', we aren't sure what, but people are coming in from weird times and places when they shouldn't be. You're not gonna remember it, but you an' me know each other, where I'm from. We were on our way to meet the you we know when we found this place by accident, and we couldn't just leave you out here when we realized what we'd stumbled into.

Your brother is safe, and you don't know us from Adam, but I promise, you're safe with us, we just wanna look out for you, alright? The you I know is the best friend I ever had, and I don't plan on lettin' anything bad happen to you. I was gonna have Blondie over there explain all of it. He's a Plant, too, he'll know better how to make it make sense, but I know keepin' the truth from you too much longer would just make it worse. But I'll answer any questions you got, alright? I'm an open book."

There are no assassins yet. Just rescuers, which meant his brother still cared, in spite of Vash blowing a hole through his shoulder. A pale comfort it might be, but it was still a comfort. In the moment, maybe he'd have killed Knives, just like in the moment he might have outright tried to gut Rem, but afterward.. afterward he'd had plenty of time to think and feel terrible about it. Someone else doing bad things didn't give him the right to do bad things too!

At least the truth of it leads with a reassurance that Knives is in fact, not dead in a cave somewhere. Which made sense because how could he send people to look for Vash if he's dead? And then he's nudged to the bike and sat down, a guidance he allows with the placid ease of someone who's decided fighting isn't worth the effort anymore.

And reality is... frankly it sounds like complete bullshit, even to him, and thinking isn't exactly the easiest thing right now. For a while he does meet Wolfwood's gaze, and there's incredulity there somewhere that any of this could actually be fact and not a very bizarre lie that was so unbelievable as to not be worth speaking. But an actual lie would surely be a lot more likely, wouldn't it?

"...Okay." That really doesn't sound like belief. It doesn't really sound like anything, a dull noise made to satisfy an outside source of confusion as he lets his mind wander and connect facts where it wants. The other man being a plant is .... possible, he supposed, and wouldn't that be something? Vash remains otherwise silent for several long, long minutes, weary gaze unblinking on Wolfwood .. or his goggles, somewhere in that general vicinity. He doesn't even move much beyond shallow surface breaths. The man in red got the qualifier of 'plant', which was fine. THIS guy.. was carrying around a gun that weighed more than he did, and broke his metal shackles with what seemed like minimal effort, things humans simply can't do. After a time, a brief light flickers to life in the back of his eyes and he leans forward, voice quiet and utterly serious.

Any question? Any at all? Now might not be the best time to allow that, with the rest slowly processing at approximately the speed of glaciers retreating.

"Are you an alien?"

Yeah, no, he wasn't surprised in the least at the skeptical look he was getting during the explanation. it was honestly par for the course and he would have probably been more worried if he had believed him.

What he wasn't expecting was for that to even be within the realm of questions he was going to ask him, and there was a brief moment when Nick almost laughed out loud, catching it with a snort and trying to hide it behind his fist before it was able to fully come out.

Don't laugh, Nick, don't laugh, kids hate it when you laugh at their questions! Holy Shit, though, that was both the dumbest and somehow Vashiest of questions, and it was so hard not to crack right the Hell up. It was also a bit ironic, given the things he knew, and he couldn't help the very small smirk that settled on his face when he was finally able to regain his composure and pulled his hand away.

Oh, he could tease him so hard right now. And if circumstances were different, he would have pounced at the chance. But no, don't mock the kid, he's not the adult, he doesn't know Wolfwood the way the other two do, it would be harder for him to discern between outright meanness and playful teasing, especially with his head all scrambled from shock.

Still.........

"No, I'm not an alien. I was born and raised on this planet, never been anywhere else in all my twe-...er..." He stopped for a moment, blinking in suddenly bewildered, dawning almost-horror. "Twenty...something years?"

Sure, he didn't technically know his actual age, no, but he was pretty sure the last time he'd thought about it had been before December, and his best estimate then had been Twentymumblesix? Maybe seven? Ish?

Good Lord, he might be thirty years old, now, and he did not know how to feel about that.

He shook the stupor off of his face and gave a small laugh before getting himself back on track and turning a little smirk over at him.

"If we're being technical, I think you'd be the one who counts as an alien. You came from one of the Earth ships, right? Still, I think as long as you've spent here, you're as good as native, anyway." Honestly, even with his absurd adherence to his Love and Peace philosophy, you couldn't get much more No Man's Lander than Vash the Stampede, if you asked Wolfwood.

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