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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"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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