DISCLAIMER: I don't own Trigun, it belongs to Yashuhiro Nightow who created it. No money is being made with this story; it's for the entertainment purposes only. No rights to the characters and places in this story are claimed. THEY ARE NOT MINE.

WARNINGS: Possible Yaoi (aka slash aka twincest KnivesxVash). I'm not sure yet. You have been warned. I don't much appreciate idiotic, non-constructive flames that have nothing more to say than 'go jump off a cliff'. Been there, done that, still a gay hag. Sorry.

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ARACHNOPHOBIA

pathological fear or loathing of spiders

Chapter 1: Underneath the Endless Blue Sky, Part Deux

Vash the Stampede had never before bothered to consider the actual weight of anything. His strenght was not very easily swayed by heavy objects, or light, for that matter. He remembered a time when he'd been carrying a rusty wreck of a car with Meryl Stryfe and Milly Thompson still sitting on it, and he supposed that was by far the heaviest object he'd yet had to carry on his shoulders. However, despite the seemingly hard effort to heave the car into the nearest city, the only thing he'd been suffering from had been thirst –not physical exhaustion.

Things had changed, however. Not even the cheerful thought that he'd been able to lift Nicholas D. Wolfwood's heavy crucifix cannon with one injured hand from the ground to shoot at his brother could make him forget the excruciating tiredness he now felt when carrying one Millions Knives on his shoulder.

"Aw, come on, brother!" Vash moaned. "Try to be a little less heavy, will you?"

Of course, Millions Knives did not answer –or obey. His head was lolling listlessly against Vash's flank, and his eyes were closed. His mouth was hanging slightly open, through which Vash was relieved to hear his brother was still taking in some erratic breaths which indicated that Knives was still alive.

"This is all your own fault, you know," Vash continued his complaints. "We could've had a perfectly happy brotherly relationship together. If only you hadn't gone mental. Now I don't know what I should do with you."

Vash shifted Knives from one shoulder to another, trying not to wince as his wounds protested at the movement. Knives really was surprisingly heavy. Knives did not look like he was, though; instead of being a bundle of muscles and beef, he looked rather graceful and even fragile for such a ruthless and merciless executioner. However, whether thin or fat, heavy or light, Vash wasn't going to leave his only family member to die in the desert -even if he was a murderous freaking lunatic. He would carry Knives to the hell and back if he had to, in order to get him into a hospital.

Yet the cruel fact remained that it was at least another hundred iles left to their destination, Tonim Town, and the hot desert air wasn't doing either of them any good. Vash suddenly felt remorse at throwing away his red jacket. At least the darned piece of garment would have sheltered him –and his brother- from the wrath of the two burning suns. However, he had firmly decided that his questionable career as the Humanoid Typhoon was now over, and he had turned a new leaf in his life. He would only wear red again if it was the only remaining colour in the universe.

"Total slaughter, total slaughter. I won't leave a single man alive. La de da de die, genocide… La de da de dud, an ocean of blood. Let's begin the killing time..."

Vash continued to drag one feet in front of the other, humming a weird song he'd gradually become strangely fond of. If he could continue walking like this for a few more hours, he might well get the town in sight before twilight. Chances were from slim to non-existent, but Vash decided he would not give in. He'd already given in one time too many a few days ago when he'd pulled the trigger and killed Legato Bluesummers. That smiling and lifeless face had haunted him in his nightmares ever since, and the echo of the blue-haired man's sparkling yet cruel laughter still occasionally rang in his ears. Vash was certain he would never get totally rid of the guilt of killing such an intoxicating person, in spite of his actions being generally well justified. After all, no matter what a ruthless assassin Legato had been, he had also been an innocent victim of Knives' scheming.

Talking about Knives... Vash heard his platinum-haired twin gurgle out a soft moan. It was a sort of suffocated whimper that was carried to Vash by the lazy desert wind. Almost inaudible, but it was there, and it indicated that Knives was slowly starting to wake up. Vash halted his steps and decided this time was as good a time as any for a little break. Gently, he laid his brother on the sand and sat down beside him.

"You must be thirsty, Knives. I know I am," he muttered. "It just so happens I don't have any water with me."

Slowly stretching out his arms that were aching with injuries and exhaustment, he relaxed and leaned his back against his brother's warm body. With shaking fingers, he pulled the fastenings of his battle suit in order to relieve his suffocatingly hot state.

"I don't even have a bottle of ketchup with me that I could drink," Vash continued his complaining. "Somehow I didn't think I'd have to fake death in case I lost the battle against you."

'Vash...'

Vash flinched and went rigid. Knives was reaching out for him with a feeble thought that echoed in the depths of Vash's mind. How long had Knives actually been aware, he didn't know, since he hadn't been listening to his brother's thoughts very actively before this. "Knives? Well... I had hoped you might be out of it for a little while longer. I must be running out of luck."

'Don't whine, brother.' Knives' voice held the sneering tone, even if it was only a thought. 'It really gives me a measure of irritation. Not to mention a head-ache.'

Vash turned to look at the serene face of his twin. Knives was still seemingly unconscious, but his breathing had evened out. The unearthly voice continued. 'What are you going to do with me, Vash?'

"I don't know."

'I hope you don't plan on dragging me along with you on your sordid expeditions across the planet. You might regret it... You must realise that even though I'm incapable of walking or using my arms right now... Well. My mind is still actively working. And you do know what I can do with my mind, don't you, brother?'

Vash yawned. He showed no indication he'd heard what his brother had been trying to convey to him through their wordless channel. "I'm thirsty."

Knives sounded irritated, even insulted for being ignored. 'Then why don't you just simply save yourself and drink my blood? I wouldn't mind, honestly. My beloved, treacherous brother. I wouldn't mind it at all.'

Vash snorted, and turned to examine the bluish-yellow horizon. "I wouldn't drink your blood if it was the last source of refreshment on this planet, Knives," he drawled.

'You're afraid it might pollute you? You're afraid it would make you... a monster like me?' Knives' mental chuckle rang maliciously in Vash's head.

"No. After all, we already share the same genotypes. I just think you've lost enough of blood as it is, and I'm not willing to give you the pleasure of dying, just yet."

A cloud of dust in the distance interrupted their strange conversation where one was talking and one was thinking out loud. Vash stood up to investigate the sight better. It seemed as if there was a regatta of hundreds of sand streamers coming their way. Of course that couldn't be possible, since there were probably not twenty sand streamers together existing on the whole planet, but nevertheless the sight was curious. Knives seemed to have read his mind, since he began his malignant chuckling again.

'It's a sandstorm, brother.'

Vash glanced down at his twin, eyes widened with horror. "What?"

'A sandstorm. You must've heard of those, Vash. Caused by a typhoon...'

"I know what a sandstorm is!" Vash yelled. He was rapidly trying to calculate how much time it would take for the storm to reach him and his brother. Maybe ten minutes, fifteen the longest. What am I going to do? What am I going to do! Vash glanced down at his brother whose bandages had long ago turned red with blood seeping from his deep wounds. Knives was unable to walk, probably for ever, and Vash had already established the fact his strenght wasn't enough to carry his brother out of the storm's way in time.

'There isn't anything you can do, Vash, if you intend on saving us both.' Knives cracked one eye halfway open and glared at his rapidly panicking brother. 'You can't always save both, Vash. I thought you had learned this already. Leave me, and run for your life. You might just make it.'

"I'm not leaving you behind, Knives!" Vash went to his brother. "If we're going to face that sandstorm, we're going to face it together."

'You're talking about 'us' as if we were an entity, Vash! But there was never 'us' or 'we', was there? Why are you getting so fucking sentimental all of a sudden? Surely you wouldn't mind if this little sandstorm buried my mangled body into the depths of the desert? I would hardly be a threat to you and your beloved spiders after that. Who knows, you might even visit me occasionally, then. Bring me flowers... Red flowers, like Rem would've done. That's what spiders do when they remember their dead, Vash."

"Stop thinking for one second, will you, Knives!" Vash hissed. "I'm trying to figure something out."

'Interesting.'

"Stop invading my mind or I'll hit you." Vash gave his brother a small kick and his boot colided with Knives' injured thigh. Knives groaned out loud with pain, and indeed fell silent. "Next time I'm releasing the knife in my boot before I kick you, so stop trying my nerves. I might accidentally gut you."

Vash viciously massaged his temples, trying to reason how best survive through the merciless storm. Again, if only he'd had his red jacket, they might have snuggled underneath it for shelter. He had used that particular method a couple of times before, and it had always miraculously worked. Now, however, there was nothing to use as a cover. Knives and he were both wearing just their battle suits, and even if they were to strip them off in order to cover their faces with the firm canvas, their wounded bodies would hardly survive the whipping swirls of sand.

'Can I think now?' Knives sounded irate.

"No, you can't!" Vash yelled. "Unless you can come up with something reasonable that might save our lives."

'How about we take a ride with a Jeep?"

"Most fascinating idea, but where do you think we'll get one?"

Knives sighed, mentally. 'Use your ears for a second, you imbecile. If that's not the sound of a rusty old car, then what is?'

Vash blinked and looked at his brother as if he'd never seen him before. Then, he heard it, too: the sound of a roaring motor. Vash swirled around. In the opposite direction from the storm, beyond the ridge of a sandy hillock, a smaller cloud of grit rising up in the air could be seen. And, just like Knives had pointed out, the green dot in the distance did look very much like a Jeep.

"Knives, it's heading this way. Do you reckon the driver'll see us?"

'If only you would once use the extraordinary talents we were given at birth, brother.' Knives began to cough. Apparently he'd finally decided to try real talking. "Use... Your telepathic skills, moron. I'm too damn weak to do it myself right now."

"I don't abuse people's minds like you do, Knives."

"Then let us die. I don't give a..." Knives coughed up blood. "...a fuck. Really."

Vash picked up his brother and hoisted him on his shoulder. Knives snarled in irritation, but Vash ignored him. Can I do it? I shouldn't do it... But Knives is right. It's probably the only way...

Vash felt his brother shaking against him, coughing up some more blood. 'Do it, Vash...'

"I can't!" Vash shrieked. Tears were falling down his cheeks. He fell down on his knees, stumbling onto the sand with his brother in his arms. "I'm sorry, Knives, but I can't."

'Must I always do everything myself?' Knives sounded exhausted. Weak. 'Alright. If that's the way you want it.'

"NO!" Vash moaned. "I don't want either of us doing it! It's just not right! It's not right to meddle with people's brain!"

But Knives had already reached out to the distance with his trembling hand, a weird smile on his parched, blood-covered lips. 'To save your conscience, brother. Take it as a gift from me. Complimenting on a good fight.'

Smiling still, Knives whispered a silent command before falling unconscious with the effort. Vash embraced his brother, tightly holding onto his injured body, shaking with painful emotion. He had never before felt such a feeling: disgust, anger, love and relief, all at once.

"Knives..."

A short moment afterwards, they were both travelling in the backseat of a dark green Jeep, rapidly moving away from the raging sandstorm.

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...To Be Continued...