( D i s c l a i m e r ) nope
( A u t h o r' s N o t e ) Hey, this is just a little Vash x Knives one-shot I wrote for Haloisi. I wasn't actually going to post it because I don't really like or support this pairing, but this drabble somehow caught my favor. So, enjoy!
Time has passed since 'The End' and Knives is healed. It is a hot, arid night like every other and Vash lies awake. He is aware of someone else, his brother, climbing onto the bed. Vash clamps his eyes shut and tries to figure out how long it's been since he carried Knives home over his shoulder, full of bullet holes.
Has it been weeks, months, years? Hot breath on his neck and he has trouble thinking straight. How many decades has it been? Perhaps the insurance girls have died peacefully in their sleep by now. Or maybe they're just aged and withered, sitting out on their front porch staring at the dust. He thinks of Meryl, the old spinster, still waiting for him to come back. Or perhaps it hasn't been that long at all. Maybe it was just last week. Soft lips on his shoulder and he can no longer breathe.
He thinks of his childhood. Memories bombard him and all of a sudden he's lying in the grass with Knives again, just like he used to, staring up at the old apple tree.
"Vash, we are far more superior than humans," Knives says quietly and calmly as if he were a teacher speaking to a young child.
Vash giggles and rolls onto his side to face his brother, "That's silly Knives," he replies, "It's not like we can fly."
Knives does not respond, but Vash knows he's scowling that awful scowl. They are soon bathed in silence, but Vash likes it better that way. He wonders what it would be like to fly, to soar above the clouds. His wings would be thin and papery like a moth's, the same soft gray as a stray wisp of cloud on a rainy afternoon. He sees his brother Knives with the exact same soot-colored wings, identical to his own. But Knives does not know the same. He does not know equal. All he knows is better, superior, the best. He pictures Knives, alone in dark, painting his wings bright and beautiful colors, weaving magnificent patterns.
Vash would never paint his wings, he would just be happy to fly. He wouldn't fly all that much though, he knows, unless he could bring Rem with him. Maybe it would make Rem happy to be able to fly. His mind is filled with images of him whisking her though the air, diving and spinning and smiling when she laughed. But it would be lonely to sit in the clouds by himself, staring at the sunset with no one to talk to.
No, he decides, he wouldn't fly at all unless it would make Rem happy. That would make his brother mad, he knows, but he doesn't care.
A hot tongue on his throat and his memories vanish into thin air. His eyes fly open and all he can see is the bright colors of his brother's painted wings, enveloping him and blocking out the world. Knives kisses him hard and Vash tries to memorize the patterns, attempting to forget how good it feels.
THE END
