Tragic Ends VS Bad Ends, Trigun Flavor

[procreation]

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.

Comments

[el_llorono]

It had been enough days, and he really didn't think it was going to do any good, but Wolfwood couldn't help journeying out into the desert where he'd found himself after the earthquakes hit, hoping to find any sign of the Vash from his home. He really should have left Rem's place ages ago, but he hated to leave, now that her and the other Vash knew he was there. He knew they would worry, as pointless as it was to worry about a guy who'd been dead for who knew how long, but they would regardless. So...he stayed, and he watched the deserts for any sign of the man he was supposed to be following, and he waited, hoping that nothing happened to him in the meantime.

Which was how he found the figure that morning, a couple iles out from what was supposed to be JuLai (July? It was hard to be sure, he'd never seen the city in his childhood, so he had no way of knowing how alike the two cities were to know the difference) and approached quietly.

It was obvious it was Vash, regardless of the weird thing he was wearing, walking around barefoot in the fucking desert, and looking...looking as if he didn't know what the fuck he was seeing as he picked up some poor son of a bitch's skull and then just tossed it like a piece of garbage.

Something was wrong, here. Very, very wrong. And he didn't know that he was the best person to address it. But...he didn't want to just leave him out there.

So when the man sat, perched on those weird branching vines that seemed to be the form his..."feathers" took, Wolfwood sat, too. Not far away, watching him and waiting. But not talking to him, no, he had been making an ass of himself with that too much, lately. Back to silent and watchful it was.

He reached out gently as one of those vines slithered by, flicking one of those strange, black flowers with his fingertips, mildly curious as to why some versions of the man manifested their powers like something out of an illustration from the old testament, while others ended up manifesting these strangely beautiful flora. And why this one in particular seemed content to manifest them in seeming perpetuity. They were a sign of stress, weren't they?

"Surprised you're not losin' your shit right now. If Spikey had this much power showin', he was a fuckin 'wreck. Maybe just another one'a those differences, I guess?"

[louboutinjudas]

He almost misses it. The suns are in his eyes, his water's nearly gone, the radio hasn't picked up anything but static for over an hour, and there's something wrong with the front right wheel that's making the car vibrate in a concerning way. Wolfwood's half watching the desert in front of him, half scanning over the map spread out over the steering wheel, checking for any town between here and December that might be big enough -- or intact enough still -- to have fuel, water, cigarettes, because this car is about to die, and he's got no plans to die with it.

It's just a flicker on the horizon, and at first he thinks it's just more rocks. But the color isn't right -- it's not the dark brown-red of stone in shadow. It's black, and very few things out in the desert are black during the day. Is it a person, out there wearing all black in the desert heat like some kind of idiot? He's grumbling as he turns the wheel, but he can't just leave them out there, can he? With his luck, it's another him, out here skeletonizing in the middle of nowhere.

And then he sees the roots, and everything slows down. He knows those roots. He watched them climb out of the tower in Julai and destroy the town, roots the same color as the wing Stampede had sprouted when he fell out of the sky. Roots that crushed everything in their path. Roots that are now stretching out across the desert, with a human-sized shape in their center.

He should get back in the car (when did he get out of the car? Suddenly he's standing beside it, mouth agape, with no memory of stopping) and drive away as fast as he can. He should flee... but he has to know. He has to see it for himself.

"Blondie?"

Independent Garden

[procreation]

[ It's taking Vash some time to get comfortable in his new home. Being surrounded by other independents was a blessing, but it also makes him miss his other kids at lot. He was used to the rambunctious one-year-olds running around and asking questions, and the older near-adults learning about their gates and helping out with the research. Servants and sycophants, zealots. Zazie and their flock.

Being alone is terrifying.

Then there was Nai. God, he feels like he's missing half of his soul and he barely remembers how to make choices by himself. He even started to sleep again just to dream about of his brother. How is he supposed to go on without his twin? No proud words whispered in his ear, no strong chest to lean to. Nothing.

The small dwelling is so empty.

Then there's the issue of his growing little ones. He was used to Nai checking on them constantly, happily talking about how much they're grown and how strong they are. Between being hit with a car and being stressed, anything could have happened inside his gate - and stressing about that didn't help.

Sighing, he slips some more roots out of the open window, having almost completely covered the house with them by now. Bright night-sky blue flowers bloom all over, making a beautiful statement house in the city.

...and well-fortified if he unleashes the thorns. ]