VASH 🌱 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
procreation) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
nomans_land2023-06-11 10:37 pm
procreation) wrote in nomans_land2023-06-11 10:37 pm
Tragic Ends VS Bad Ends, Trigun Flavor
CW: mildly Plantcesty bc of canon end events but mostly toxicity, mindfuck, extreme codependency and.... co-parenting?
Somewhere in the sands is a tall person traveling on bare feet, a cloak of galaxies and roots covering their face from the sun. Vash moves slowly, not because he's tired or struggling, but because he's not really in a hurry. He doesn't get tired anymore, or hungry. Just weak, sometimes, but he's always been weak, hasn't he? That's why his brother has to protect him.
So this place couldn't be bad, because Knives would never leave him somewhere bad.
He stops briefly to collect a bleached skull left in the sand, picking it up with the roots and wisps of shadow and then holding it with the curiosity of a detached scholar rather than a compassionate man. Human, by the looks of it. Not killed by one of their brood, just unlucky in the desert.
Shrugging, Vash lets it drop into the sand again like an unwanted piece of trash and lets all those roots and glimmering energy unfold around him. He makes a little seat for himself, black flowers with shiny blue specks acting as cushions as the rest of his cloak peels away for a canopy. The dark undersuit is an echo of his brother, including the sturdiness of four perfectly fine limbs.
No memories were left, physical or otherwise. Sometimes you just have to remake your little brother to make him understand your point of view, and Vash... doesn't really know any better, anymore. It's fine, all he needs to focus on is making new Independents.
The roots continue to stretch over the sand, slithering over the area to see if they can pick up anything other than old bones of a doomed race.
Somewhere in the sands is a tall person traveling on bare feet, a cloak of galaxies and roots covering their face from the sun. Vash moves slowly, not because he's tired or struggling, but because he's not really in a hurry. He doesn't get tired anymore, or hungry. Just weak, sometimes, but he's always been weak, hasn't he? That's why his brother has to protect him.
So this place couldn't be bad, because Knives would never leave him somewhere bad.
He stops briefly to collect a bleached skull left in the sand, picking it up with the roots and wisps of shadow and then holding it with the curiosity of a detached scholar rather than a compassionate man. Human, by the looks of it. Not killed by one of their brood, just unlucky in the desert.
Shrugging, Vash lets it drop into the sand again like an unwanted piece of trash and lets all those roots and glimmering energy unfold around him. He makes a little seat for himself, black flowers with shiny blue specks acting as cushions as the rest of his cloak peels away for a canopy. The dark undersuit is an echo of his brother, including the sturdiness of four perfectly fine limbs.
No memories were left, physical or otherwise. Sometimes you just have to remake your little brother to make him understand your point of view, and Vash... doesn't really know any better, anymore. It's fine, all he needs to focus on is making new Independents.
The roots continue to stretch over the sand, slithering over the area to see if they can pick up anything other than old bones of a doomed race.
no subject
It was while he was reorienting himself that he heard that final, plaintive plea, and he wasn't sure if it was emotional bleedover from Vash or from his own bleeding heart, but even with the horror of what he was talking about, just the thought of it hurt.]
Vash, buddy-...[Oh, that sounded so weird - his vocal cadence coming out of Vash's vocal cords.] I don't wanna hurt your kids. I don't care what that fucker did to you, they're just kids. I just wanna help, I promise. Whatever...whatever form that takes.
[He waited a few more minutes to really settle into the limbs and get used to the weight before dragging himself to Vash's feet, grimacing at the feeling of what could only be described as electricity rippling unpleasantly through the entire body.
And then he was off, shuffling through the desert and back in the direction of Rem's home, only...not quite. More southerly. He knew the best chance of finding one of the Vashes within a walkable distance would be there, but he absolutely did not want to show this one where to find Mom.]