Another city falls (just because we're two sides of the moon)
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Lyrics taken from Asia – "Two Sides Of The Moon." Beta read by the awesome Celesma. All remaining mistakes are my own.
Data, streaming through my window
Chrome stars, whispering their lies
Black sky, hides approaching stranger
Reach out, two should now be one
When they come to realize what's happening, it's much too late, of course.
Wolfwood is the first to notice (though that doesn't help him any, not really). He knows what to do about it (what not to do), but there is no way to erase what has already changed.
He has doubts.
And no room for them.
He has longing, longing for something for himself, an even greater sin than doubt.
There have been signs, small and big, throughout the time he's traveled with Vash.
The way Vash will smile and joke while people treat him like dirt, or how he looks at Wolfwood with a mixture of sadness and surprise when he comes to his defense.
The fact that, despite knowing that the priest keeps secrets from him, he shares his innermost thoughts and fears with him, and only him, when he's lost or afraid.
The countless times the two of them have argued and bantered over the smallest things.
The almost addictively symbiotic way they understand and complement each other's fighting style.
How natural it feels to walk side by side with him.
That Vash sees inside his soul (pathetic, twisted, dark black thing that it is) and still refuses to give up on him.
The way his face lights up and he laughs whenever he's done something that takes Wolfwood by surprise.
How Vash sometimes looks up at him in the morning when he gets up to strap his guns on. All the glances and heavy gazes he pretends not to see.
He notices all that, gradually, and draws his conclusions. Thinks about how Vash is too trusting, and naïve, and way, way too lonely. There is nothing to be done about it, he is well aware of that.
And still, he has doubts.
Which is almost pathetically stupid and might turn out to even be suicidal the next time Knives or Legato decide to "check" on him personally. He can only get away with it if he cuts himself no slack whatsoever, if he pushes the whole thing down as far as it will go, and then some.
In the end though, it turns out that his thoughts, his (fucking stupid) feelings aren't the ones betraying him (oh cruel twist of fate), but the very way he acts around Vash, all the small and big things he does or doesn't do, every fucking word he says.
The day it happens, he couldn't have said afterwards what happened beforehand to trigger it, and he probably never will now. For one thing, he'll be dead (soon, or maybe even sooner; his only hope is that it'll be quick, and not for nothing); and for another, since everything seems to have betrayed him, he apparently isn't able to judge his own actions as thoroughly as he'd believed.
That day, Vash is – somewhere, he can't even remember, or maybe doesn't want to. He is drinking coffee at a bar, pointedly thinking about nothing, ears and mind tuned in to the sounds around him, so that he'll know the instant Vash gets himself into trouble again (can't be long now, it's been suspiciously quiet for a while, like twenty minutes maybe).
A guy is sitting next to him at the counter. He looks older than him – skin dark brown and roughened up to the point where it resembles what Wolfwood figures tree bark would look like. Clothes worn out with the colors faded so far beyond recognition that they look like every and no color at all.
It is easy and probably inevitable to appear old and worn on this dirtball of a planet.
Dust to dust.
He shakes his head, because damn, it's like they're all trying to adjust, cower underneath these suns, trying to turn into sand themselves. Like that won't happen soon enough on its own.
He downs the last of his coffee, twisting his face because, suddenly, he finds himself wishing it had been whiskey.
"Trouble 'n paradise, son?"
He looks to his left, notices the man looking at him with a crooked smile on his cracked lips. He shrugs and turns back to the counter, motioning the bartender for a refill. "When is there not, I wonder," he replies.
The man snickers.
"Good question."
Silence.
"You know, ah think ah saw ya earlier this mornin'," the man drawls.
"Oh yeah?" Wolfwood asks, seemingly uninterested, sipping his coffee while keeping his gaze trained straight ahead, posture pointedly relaxed.
"Yeah, you an' that big, clumsy fella in that ridiculous coat. Think he was lecturing you about somethin'. Might have heard it wrong, but – did he truly tell ya not to look, what was it again, 'all scowling and menacing-like' in public?"
The man chuckles and shakes his head in disbelief when Wolfwood nods.
"What a peculiar guy."
"That he is."
Silence.
"...you know, I honestly don't find you threatening at all."
He smiles, completely ignoring the gun Wolfwood has raised to his temple with deadly calm and casual precision.
The bartender backs away from them in fear, moaning, but Wolfwood tunes him out completely, staring fixedly at the smiling man.
"Get the fuck out of here."
The man tilts his head to the side, smiling even wider, every trace of an accent gone.
"Why? Our conversation is going nicely, I think."
"What do you want, Legato?"
The man's face twists into an ugly smile. It raises equally ugly memories and makes Wolfwood want to flinch away on instinct, but he doesn't move an inch.
"Why, to help you of course." The smile grows more sharklike, revealing crooked teeth and a dark abyss beyond.
"Right," Wolfwood scoffs sarcastically. The arm with which he keeps his gun trained on the man's temple doesn't move away, but he shakes his head in annoyance and well-played self-confidence.
"Well, thanks but no thanks. I know what I gotta do and I'm doin' it. And you know that. So if there are no new orders I'm gonna leave you and your ugly face behind now."
He almost flinches when Legato suddenly bursts into maniacal laughter.
"That's my Chapel! Always straight to the point. Except you're missing the point entirely."
He fixes the priest with a stern look, the hint of a smile still twisting the man's lips. Although Wolfwood knows that the man whose body Legato has control over right now is completely human, the eyes that hold his gaze don't seem human at all.
He feels as if he's being chained down, crushed underneath an invisible weight. It has happened before – the sensation of his muscles locking up, fear and adrenaline boiling his blood – but he still doesn't move, forces himself to meet Legato's stare head on.
It's nothing more than a façade though, and he knows that Legato sees right through it, and that he knows Wolfwood knows that.
(His only hope is that for that very reason, the bastard will keep underestimating him, until he gets his chance. Waiting for that moment to come, if it ever will, is torture, but he has done that song and dance before. He will wait and endure. It's the only thing to do, anyway.)
"Enlighten me," Wolfwood grits out through clenched teeth.
The man chuckles. "Thought you already were, priest."
Wolfwood growls. "Quit playin' around, ya cockroach, and tell me what you want or I'm outta here."
The man pursues his lips in feigned annoyance. "Fine. Suit yourself."
Wolfwood's hand tightens on the gun. Whatever he does or says, he's playing right into Legato's hands. The bastard is holding all the cards and he knows it.
"I know you won't believe me, but I actually did come to bring you a word of advice."
The man stops smiling and turns back to the counter, resting his arms on it and entwining the fingers of his hands together – almost as if he's praying – while still completely ignoring the gun to his head.
"To tell you the truth, my master is very – " he stops to run the fingers of one hand over the counter top, examines the dust it leaves behind on the man's skin – "very satisfied with the way you're... handling his brother."
Legato glances at him.
"Congratulations."
Wolfwood stays silent, forcing his face to stay impassive, though alarm bells start ringing in the back of his head. He has no clue where Legato is going with this, what he's playing at.
The man smiles, sighs, shakes his head.
"Chapel, Chapel, Chapel... you're in way over your head, aren't you?"
Eyes narrowing in suspicion, Wolfwood scoffs dismissively.
"Oh yeah?"
The man laughs again. It's just as ugly as before and the sound rings in the priest's ears like choked cries, like muffled screams of his own voice.
His arm has started to tremble, not from exhaustion but from fear. He forces it to stay still with all the strength he can muster.
"Oh Chapel, aren't you ever the confident one? You can quit it with the tough guy attitude, we both know the truth. But if it makes you feel better somehow, then by all means, keep going. It's amusing to watch." The man throws him a leering look. It makes Wolfwood want to throw up, but that's par for the course with Legato.
"Anyway, back to the topic at hand."
Legato has the man turn back to the counter again, steepling his fingers under his chin. It looks wrong and unnatural considering the man's roughened looks.
"Since you seem so eager to get right down to business, I'll tell it to you straight from the heart. You know I've been watching you, that's my job after all. Watching the both of you, in fact. Quite boring most of the time to be honest. Anyway. A while ago, I started noticing something. A change. At first, I couldn't quite lay my finger on what it was. But I think I know now. And I think you know what I'm talking about, too."
Wolfwood locks his jaw. "I have no idea what you mean."
The man turns to look at him.
"Is that so? Okay, tell you what, I'll help you get this straight. Can't hurt to be nice once in a while, can it?" Not waiting for an answer, Legato has the man furrow his brow and press his fingertips together as if in deep thought.
"Hm, where to start... oh yes. You remember Rai-dei the Blade?"
Wolfwood's insides turn to ice. He doesn't answer.
You're the coward here, Wolfwood...
"Relax. I'm not about to punish you for killing him. I understand. The thing is, you don't."
The man is resting his head on his hands again, turning his eyes to the ceiling as if looking for guidance about how to deliver difficult news.
The whole thing is so bizarre, a small part of Wolfwood wants to laugh hysterically, while the rest of him is frozen in dread.
"Beast saw the whole thing, you know. Good thing he reported everything – eventually. Otherwise, I might not be able to help you now."
The man sighs.
"I get what you were trying to teach Vash, I do. In fact, it's coincidentally the exact same thing I've been trying to teach him, too. It's a difficult lesson, indeed. And your approach was quite... creative. Really, I was impressed. Afterwards, I started to pay more attention to your interactions. Granted, the both of you fight most of the time – but there was something else. I have to admit, I didn't get it for the longest time – but then you – " the man chuckles quietly, shaking his head in amusement. "You do the most ridiculous things to distract him from his guilt. You get angry when he's threatened or mistreated. The passion you put into protecting him far outdoes your job description. You argue with him and at the same time, you look up to him. It's a pain to watch, that much I can tell you."
The man sighs again, then fixes Wolfwood with a stern look, face twisted in pity.
Wolfwood feels like he can't breathe. He can do nothing but listen, although his blood has turned to ice and his fight-or-flight instincts scream at him to fucking do something.
"You care about him, Chapel. I'm sorry, but he doesn't feel the same way. Oh, he does care about you – because he cares about everybody. Especially about the ones that deserve it the least. Peculiar thing, that. Anyway. I brought up the Rai-dei incident because I think it illustrated my point the best. You see, Vash has already made up his mind about you. He wouldn't listen to you – he thinks himself superior when it comes to questions like morality. He pities you. I'm sorry, but it's true. You know I have my ways... of knowing such things. He believes you are weak, weak and lost. Chapel, he thinks he has to protect you. The very thing you'd want the least, right?"
The man's eyes search his face. Wolfwood grits his teeth. "Leave. Now."
The man shrugs in a way probably meant to display defeat.
"Look Chapel, however much you hate me and so on, we both know that you know that we agree on certain things – for one thing, we both know that killing is necessary."
"What I know is that you enjoy it, you sick fuck!"
Legato has the man shrug again, unconcerned. "Details. What matters is that I know for a fact that you want Vash to be able to kill as much as I want that, and although it pains me to admit it, I have serious reason to believe that you have a much greater chance at succeeding than I do. Thing is, you can't do it the way you are now."
The inhuman eyes search his face again.
"You see these, ah, feelings you harbor towards Vash – which like I said, are unrequited, sorry, but I know that for certain – and yeah, you've been hiding them well, just not well enough, but anyway. See, these feelings you've developed for him – I won't go into detail here, I'll spare you that – they're already getting in your way. I'm assuming you've noticed that, too. And I know you won't act on them, you're far too professional for that and you know what's at stake after all. Also, considering what you are, the things you did – well, you know all that yourself."
Legato has the man turn his head, regarding the dark black weapon aimed at his temple in sad contemplation. A hand is raised and the man's fingers caress the gun's sleek metal with a kind of detached, disgusting gentleness.
"I know we're not standing on the best of grounds, but I'm telling you all this in your own best interest. We may have different reasons for it, but what we want to make Vash realize is the exact same thing, you can't deny that. That's why you're listening to all this after all – you know I wouldn't lie, since it's also in my best interest that you understand. So – considering how much it's already getting in your way and that you're alone in this – I advise you to better let it go and give up on it."
The man's hand stops its movement and the inhuman eyes turn to Wolfwood again. They burn their way into his, but he is unable to turn away. Unable to completely hide the pain and fear and anger and confusion that hold him in place, freezing his thoughts and blocking him from making a decision, from doing anything at all.
"Well – I assume you have a lot to think about. I'll leave you to it. See you around, Chapel."
The man freezes suddenly, eyes widening in shock. Then his face falls, his eyes roll backwards and he falls, striking the counter and slumping to the floor in a boneless heap. He's unconscious but breathing.
Wolfwood would have expected Legato to kill the man. He is vaguely relieved, but it doesn't really get through.
Seconds pass while he's breathing heavily, feeling like he's suffocating, heart hammering in his chest like a murder machine. Finally, he's able to let his arm sink, though the weapon remains in his grip.
Slowly, it comes to his attention that the bar is completely empty. He doesn't know how long it's been that way, didn't even notice that all the people were gone. It's one of the most terrifying things about all of this.
He itches to run outside, to take a shower, get the feeling of Legato's disgusting touch off him – which is ridiculous, the bastard didn't touch him even once, but it feels like he had – but he's still frozen in place, muscles locked up as if he's having a panic attack, though that doesn't make any sense.
He has to move. He has to get out of here.
The bar feels like a prison, confining, threatening, yet the thought of going outside makes him shudder. He feels like he'd be vulnerable out in the open, exposed.
It's ridiculous, pathetic. He shakes his head, tries to push the thoughts and emotions back, tries to make himself get up.
"What did you do?!"
Wolfwood flinches, turns his head – and oh, that fucking figures, is just what he needs, and how the hell did he not hear Vash waltz in? Damn his luck.
Vash's stare is directed at the guy lying in a puddle at Wolfwood's feet. His shoulders are tense, and there is this quiet cold fury behind his eyes the priest knows all too well.
He does his best attempt at a shit-eating grin while his gaze remains sharp, calculating, trying to assess Vash's reactions.
"What? Him?" he asks, dismissively. "Nah, he's okay. Gonna have a sore head, probably."
He turns back to the counter, a nice way of hiding his face from Vash, and grabs his mug again, holding it in his hands like drinking coffee is his primary concern in life right now.
The mug is empty but Vash doesn't know that.
Vash snorts and moves to kneel beside the man, checking on him. He stares hard at the bleeding cut above the man's left eye from when he'd first hit the counter and then the floor, then stares up at Wolfwood reproachfully.
"Wolfwood, what happened here? Where did everyone go? Damn it, what did that poor guy even do to you?" His voice rises in anger towards the end. It screams accusation and Wolfwood has to grit his teeth and keep his gaze trained straight ahead – while feeling Vash's eyes burn a hole in the side of his face – to keep from lashing out, from revealing too much.
It's not like he has a good track record when it comes to things like this, but it still hurts. It hurts that Vash would rather take the side of a complete stranger over his.
Damn it, he has to get Vash to leave.
The guy will come around eventually, and even though he'll remember nothing that is just as worse.
The knowledge that Legato left the guy here on purpose, that he left him alive and blissfully unaware on purpose, tastes like acid in his mouth. It's punishment wrapped up in the guise of a perfect opportunity.
He could pose as the hero here if he wanted.
Or he could kill the guy.
That would make Vash leave real fast. Well, after he beat him all the way to next Sunday.
In the end, he chooses neither. Apparently he sucks at both playing the devil and being the good guy, good times.
He raises the empty mug to his lips, the porcelain surprisingly cool against his skin.
"Well, Vash, what do ya think happened?"
It's a cheap, pathetic attempt at diversion. Naturally, Vash falls for it anyway.
(And despite everything, he almost smiles at that, almost, that small, soft smile that he's discovered seems to be reserved for whenever he sees kids being kids and Vash being himself. He reins it in, but damn, he's really got it bad, hasn't he?)
Vash blinks, angry expression momentarily giving way to confusion.
"You – I thought…" He looks around again, eyes narrowed.
"Was it one of them?" His voice turns cold and flat as he says it. It makes Wolfwood uneasy, though he couldn't say why.
Still, that's probably why he says, "Nah, you got this mixed up, Vash. It's just been me. You know I can't stand liars."
He pushes the mug away from him and moves to stand, never looking at Vash once.
"And cowards even less."
He digs a crumpled money note out of one dusty pocket and leaves it on the counter, then makes a grab for the Punisher, hoisting it up on his shoulders. Like every time, it feels like a dead man's weight against his back.
"That's all." He shrugs, then lights a cigarette. Moves towards the door. Hopes Vash is too busy being angry and speechless to notice the shake in his hands, the trouble he has with keeping his movements natural, with restraining himself from bolting for the door.
"Come on, Tongari. We've got a long way to go."
He doesn't even wait for Vash's reply, just walks out.
He waits in the shadows, smoking, for what feels like hours. When Vash finally comes out and moves past him, he pushes away from the wall and follows.
Vash doesn't acknowledge his presence, doesn't even speak to him for the rest of the day, but that's probably for the best.
Vash keeps his secrets and he knows that Wolfwood keeps his own, and that's it, and that's how it's gonna be.
No matter how much he smokes that day though, he can't seem to get rid of the taste of stale coffee in the back of his mouth. When he closes his eyes, he can't stop seeing the man's sandpaper hands caressing the gun, can't stop the rise of bile in his throat.
And it's pathetic, and stupid, but – he would have liked to delude himself into thinking, at least for a little while longer, that at least in feeling like he does, in having these doubts, he wasn't alone.
Well, so much for that.
And, yeah, it's pain, but pain is good. Pain is a motivator. He's never needed one more than now.
And he's determined to exploit this one right until the end.
Laser, breathing on my window
Two strings, beating out of time
Koto, warning of the danger
Wake up, is your head still mine?
Vash knows they are trapped, but at least the boy is still alive.
When they had come to this town just a few hours ago, the fight had already been going on for a day and half. Two or maybe even three rival gangs having it out, again, and not caring about the civilians trapped between them, again. He and Wolfwood had gotten separated during the fight and Vash had followed a cry for help into one of the nearby houses.
The only survivor he had found was a small boy of maybe twelve years, and before he could proceed to calm him down and carry him to safety, the sound of men shouting and swearing, of bullets flying, punching through flesh, had increased tenfold – and then the ceiling had collapsed upon them.
Having shielded the small body with his own, Vash looks up as soon as the dust has settled. There are maybe two feet of space to the right of them, one on the left. Well, could be worse. At least there would be enough space for him to stand up straight.
He stays on his knees though and slowly lets his arms fall away from the boy's body.
The child looks from left to right in fear, a small patch of light illuminating his face and shining off his eyes. He looks close to tears but shocked into silence.
Sadly, he isn't the first child with that kind of expression Vash has come across, but it still makes his heart twist in anguish.
"Hey, uh, that was quite frightening, huh?" he asks softly, trying for a light, joking tone. After a tense moment, the boy's wandering gaze settles on him.
"We're alone?"
God, his voice sounds so small.
"Well, there's me and you, so we're not really alone, right?" he replies, smiling. "I'm Vash, by the way. What's your name?"
The boy eyes him suspiciously, but his voice sounds steadier already when he murmurs, "Abel."
"Well, Abel, you needn't worry. I'm gonna get you out of here, okay?" He moves to stand but the boy latches himself onto his coat with a death-grip.
"Don't! Don't leave! I'm afraid of – " He breaks off, worrying his lip.
Vash crouches down again, trying to catch the boy's gaze.
"Narrow spaces?" he suggests, softly. The boy just nods, looking ashamed.
"Hey, there's no reason to look like that! Tell you what, a friend of mine is extremely afraid of black cats! And the color gold makes him nauseous for some reason! He's still the bravest guy I know, you know."
The boy looks up again. "Is he gonna get us out of here?"
Vash nods enthusiastically. "In no time at all, you'll see."
Abel squints up at him. "Is he the guy that killed all those gang guys two months back or so? The one with the cross?"
Now it's Vash's turn to look surprised. "Uh, yeah, I guess? How do you know?"
The boy has the decency to look embarrassed. "I kinda listened in when some adults were talkin' about it." He looks at the stones and the rubbish surrounding them again, shivers.
"Uh, could you, like, tell me more about him, maybe? It's, uh – " He stammers, then falls silent.
Vash's heart lurches in sympathy, but he manages to uphold his fake cheerfulness.
"Sure, fire away."
"Is he strong? He looked kind of... scrawny. Wrecked. I dunno."
This time, Vash can't help the twisting of his face. He doesn't even really know why – he feels like laughing, but at the same time, the question rings kind of bitter in his ears, although he has no idea why.
"Trust me, all the bad guys run from him. They shiver at the mere mention of his name."
Abel frowns at him, unconvinced.
"...okay, maybe I exaggerated a bit there. But trust me on this, he is scary. Like, I'm terrified of him sometimes."
"Well, you don't look very tough."
"..."
"Okay, sorry, that was mean. How did you two become friends?"
Vash settles back on his heels. Damn, how to explain that?
"Well, we kind of... bumped into each other. And we had more or less mutual goals, so we decided to continue on together. He has saved my life several times since then," he adds after a beat.
"Huh."
Vash frowns, confused. "What?"
The boy shrugs. "Nothing. You just kind of... don't look the type. You know, to hang out with an assassin."
Trying to hide his shock, Vash asks, "How do you figure he's that kind of man?"
Abel looks at him sharply. "I'm not stupid and I wasn't born yesterday. And I told you I know he killed all those people back then."
Swallowing, Vash corrects him, tentatively, "Well, they were kind of bad people."
Abel doesn't relent, his stare hard and serious.
"And do you kill people because you think they're bad?"
Vash doesn't know how to reply for the longest moment.
"No," he simply says, sighing. "But it's not as simple as that. I've done bad things, too. And Nick killed those people to save a lot of others. That doesn't necessarily mean he's a bad man. I think."
The boy is silent for a moment. He plucks nervously at his dust-covered shirt every few minutes, but otherwise, he seems to have mostly calmed down.
"You know, I had a brother once," Abel suddenly confesses. Vash flinches, but the boy doesn't seem to notice. "I, I really loved him. More than anything else. But he, uh, he betrayed me, you know. Someone told him stupid lies, and he believed it all, he chose that person over me, can you believe that?!" The boy's lips quiver but he holds his tears back, voice having grown angry and broken.
Vash is frozen in his spot, but Abel doesn't seem to expect a reply anyway.
"So yeah, I'm telling you, you better think twice before you decide to trust someone like that."
The boy looks off to the side, fists clenched.
Carefully choosing his words, Vash says, "I am sorry, Abel. You probably won't believe me, but I lost my brother, too. But listen, Nick isn't like what you think he is. I won't deny that he does things I criticize him for. But he does try. He – " and here he has to stop for a moment, struggling to find the right words.
"He is... a very violent and an extremely dangerous person when you get on his bad side, sure.
But – "
"Tell me what happened during that fight two months back. Tell me."
Taken aback, Vash stares at the boy, at a loss for what to do. Something isn't right here, but still, he finds himself replying, "Nick was in a tight spot. I tried to protect him. He – he shot the men who were shooting at us."
And oh, the memory hurts still. The shock, the feeling of betrayal. The way he, even now, cannot comprehend why Wolfwood would do something like that, again. That he thought he knew him.
But there are other memories, too.
The way Wolfwood would crouch down to gently talk to the scared kids, cracking jokes to distract them. The way he shielded Vash, not like it was his job, no, it was almost – like he was afraid Vash would get hurt. Because Vash knows, for a fact, how angry it makes Wolfwood if people hurt Vash, if they trample him down. It's all in the way his jaw tightens, the way he tries to distract Vash, get him out of his funk. It's confusing, and contradictory, the more he thinks about it. Which is why he mostly doesn't. He often feels like there's a peculiar double meaning to a lot of things Nick says.
Also, they both know of the things between them, the things neither of them ever talk about, and sometimes, that space between them grows into an abyss.
Nick is strange and complex and incredibly frustrating and infuriating at times, but he trusts him, that much he knows. He feels close to him.
It's confusing, that feeling – it makes him want to reach out, sometimes, though he doesn't even know why, and he wouldn't even know what to ask for even if he did, so yeah, he simply doesn't. It sounds so easy, and yet, lately, it hasn't been easy at all.
For a second, the image of Wolfwood's crooked smile flashes through his mind, the way he slouches against the side of his battered motorcycle, his daring speech, his warm back. He shoves it down. He has no words to explain all that, not even to himself.
He smiles at Abel, in what he hopes is a reassuring manner.
"I know how this sounds, but believe me – he can change. And that brother of yours too."
At that, the boy suddenly starts to laugh and shake his head, angry. His fists tighten even further.
"Oh man, did your head get smashed in when the house fell on us? I can't believe you. Are you really that dense? He's using you. He pities you." The boy's face gets serious again, his eyes glued to Vash's face like a laser. "He is not a good man. There are no good men. He is a murderer. He thinks you're weak. He thinks you're wrong. Has he ever said anything different to you? Has he?"
Vash doesn't know what to say.
He can't look away, even though the boy's stare makes his skin crawl, his blood freeze.
His subconscious is screaming at him that there's something very, very wrong here, think, think, where have you heard that before, where have you seen that before, but he can't, can't, is transfixed by what is in front of him.
He wants to tell the boy that he's not right, that's he got this confused, it's not like that, but the words won't come, doubt and confusion and meaningless thoughts all chasing each other in his mind.
He doesn't know what to say.
Maybe there was a reason after all, a reason why he never thought this through, never chased these half-formed musings, these confusing, contradictory feelings, to their core.
He feels nauseated, bitter. Angry with himself.
It almost, almost overcomes the feeling of disappointment, but not quite.
He swallows, sighs.
"It's not that easy," he finally whispers, hoarsely.
Abel shakes his head at him, sympathetic.
"Actually, it is." Abel rests his small hand on Vash's shoulder, awkwardly. He feels strangely cold, even through the coat. "I am not saying, leave him. Just – better not get too close, you know. I'm saying that in your own best interest. You'll only get burned again."
Vash chuckles softly, shakes his head.
"You know, I had actually started to think – " Then the last thing Abel said sinks in and makes him stop short.
He stares at the boy in dawning horror.
Abel stares back, eyes calm and deep. Alive. Too alive.
Vash freezes.
"Who are you?"
The boy doesn't answer, doesn't even flinch.
"How long have you – "
The child in front of him sighs, smiles. It twists his face, and how didn't he notice that before?
"Oh, Vash. Ever the kind one, aren't you? Well, I know all your weak spots. Still, I didn't expect this to be that easy. It's a pity, really. It's even worse than I thought."
"... Knives."
A smile, and oh, he shouldn't appear that innocent. It makes Vash remember things he shouldn't, things that used to be bright and pure, and now feel tainted and wrong.
"Get out of him. Get out of him, now!"
The boy – Knives – chuckles, amused. Completely at ease.
"Relax, little brother. I didn't do anything to this thing. Everything that has happened to it happened through the hands of its brethren."
He fixes Vash with his gaze, eyes hard as steel.
"Don't ever forget that, Vash. Don't ever forget which side you chose. Don't ever forget the ease with which they kill whatever falls into their hands. Remind yourself of that the next time you walk side by side with one of them."
Vash's throat feels like it's filled with needles. There is so much he wants – so much more he should say – but he can't. Panic and anger and anguish all fill his head at once, he doesn't know what to do.
He doesn't know what to do.
From one moment to the next, there's the noise of stones and debris being pushed aside and light floods in from his right.
"Tongari? Tongari!"
Dust swirls around like thick fog. He can't breathe, can't bring himself to move.
The child, when he looks towards it again, lies lifeless on the ground.
When Wolfwood stumbles through the hole in the wreckage, hands dirty with busted knuckles, his eyes wild, blood splattered all over his shirt, Vash shoulders past him without a word. He starts walking, just walking, doesn't look to see whether Wolfwood is even following him, doesn't listen. He just walks, never taking his eyes off the horizon, even long after it's gotten dark and he isn't even sure if what he's seeing, what he's walking towards, even is the horizon anymore.
That's enough
Another city falls
Just because we're two sides of the moon