You better run baby run (from the noise of the street and the loaded gun)
Disclaimer: I don't own Trigun. Inspiration for the title and the lyrics in the first, second and last part are from "Run Baby Run" by Garbage.
A/N: Beta read by Celesma. I apologize again for making you suffer through so much angst :(
All remaining mistakes are my own
1. Oh and I will twist your words around
("And what will you do about... the handling of 'Chapel,' Sir?")
Every time you give yourself away
It comes back to haunt you
You're having second thoughts, of course.
Once you realize what exactly you're in the process of delivering to Knives, what kind of weapon it is, last chance for humanity, and you're handing it over without a fight, on a silver platter – and Vash is so, so painfully naïve, the embodiment of what you'd call a good man if you had ever met one – once you realize this, you know you're screwed.
You make plans.
Most of them are actually quite detailed, thought through. And each and every one of them you throw to the wind again, in the end. (You think of all the different ways you could accomplish it: code words, metaphors, invented stories, false memories, pretend nightmares. Lies. Making Vash want to hurt you, beat it out of you...)
It's not the painful death (you've known your future for a long time by now, thanks so much), or lack of imagination, that makes you give up on every one of these ideas in the end.
For one thing, there's obviously quite much at stake. You know what will become of the children if you don't obey (your nightmares are quite detailed on that too, real handy).
No, the reason you feel trapped in your own head, a fly caught in an ugly spider's web, is –
"We aren'tgetting second thoughts, now, are we?"
You just snort at this, turning your head to the side in disgust (not in fear, not fear, no, never fear). You're still wearing your sunglasses, quite surprised actually that the slimy viper in front of you hasn't ordered you to shed those yet. Then again, it's not like he needs to. He sees the inside of your head – your damned heart – anyway.
Legato of course knows that you know that, the bastard, but he still likes to remind you of who is in charge here, even if it's frickin' pointless at this point.
"Take those off."
Here you go.
(There's no hiding, anyway)
"'There's no hiding, anyway.' Glad we understand each other. So, I ask again. You're not getting second thoughts, are you? I have seen your heart, each and every one of your... precious memories. Twisted, broken, cut in shape... and yet. Obedient? I wonder..."
You're still keeping your head turned away. You're attempting to look bored, but in fact you're frozen in place, muscles tense. You're coiled tight for a fight, but you know you have to endure this, have to let it happen.
It fucking hurts, but what the hell. This is life, kind of. It hurts.
"Let me make this nice and simple."
Nice, your ass.
"You won't get in his way. I will not allow that kind of disrespect."
And you can't help the wave of fear that floods you then, the cold creeping pain in your head that makes you want to retch, but you stand still, because you know this, have actually been tracking a pattern in this "conversation," these summons.
Legato doesn't trust you, would like nothing more than to erase your existence (you guess that's just about par for the course, not to mention that it's a mutual feeling). The sick maggot sees you as a pawn that messes with the game he's playing with Vash. Moreover, Legato suspects you might go behind their back. But – and that's a big "but" in your book – he can't hear your every thought, doesn't have the time and the energy to stay tuned to your mind 24/7.
He may have seen your heart, but you have hidden things, many things, in deep, dark holes that you're maintaining iron control over, trapping heaps of thoughts and emotions in there.
Legato suspects there's something he can't see behind, but he doesn't understand it, isn't even sure it really exists.
He's fishing for information, hoping for a reaction. And you're guessing (hoping) that Legato is underestimating you.
That's one uplifting thought for once (you don't have that many of those, like, maybe three, on a good day), but when it comes down to it, it doesn't really do you a fuck lot of good.
Every thought you don't keep hidden, don't suppress, the son of a bitch might hear. Every single damn thing you voice out loud, he hears for sure.
It goes something like this –
"You saw what I truly... am," Vash says. "And you're still here."
"And?"
"Nothing. Just got me wonderin'."
"..."
"So?"
And you think, sometimes you scare me, Tongari. I have raised my gun against you, but I could never – and I'm not allowed to leave you, anyway. You don't deserve this. You're nothing like your brother. And when that girl flinched away from you, you looked so – I never want you to look like that again.
"Wolfwood?"
A sudden, piercing pain through your head and then –
"Keep your false tongue in check, priest. I have better things to do than getting your head in order."
Gritting your teeth, because you hate this, hate hate hate it.
"Shut up, sasquatch," is what you say to Vash. "Heat's givin' me enough of a headache without you blathering away on bullshit."
Vash doesn't bring it up again.
"Oh, how proud you feel, right?"
Or like this –
"You know, I almost couldn't sleep at all because of you," Vash says, frowing. "You're always so restless."
"Bed's a bitch."
"No, it's... I think you had a nightmare."
Oh fuck.
"Hn. Happens."
"Wolfwood... if there is something... something you need my help with – "
You pretend to be busy closing the buttons on your shirt (it's white; sometimes that terrifies you), while inside you panic, because don't ask this, please don't offer this, it'll all go to hell if you know –
"Yes, yes, why don't you ask him for this, priest? Have him kill someone. Have him kill to save that scum you seem to care about. Have him kill and you've fulfilled my wish. Don't you want that? Maybe I'll have mercy on you next time if you do this for me. Come on. Do it. This is what you want. He will kill and you want that, you do, you can lie all you want, but not to me."
Your guts feel like they're filled with acid, but you don't listen, you don't hear his malicious laughter in your head –
Shut the fuck up you viper. I know what I'm –
" – doing? Yes? Ah, this is precious. If you don't care either way, let me remind you of what I said – you won't get in his way. This is not a question of knowing what you're doing. There is no way either of you will run from what is to come. Oh, I will twist your words around, priest!"
No. No, don't, get out of my –
Legato has you turn around and glare at Vash, so hard he almost flinches, venom in your voice as you snarl, "Quit bugging me about stupid shit, Vash. I can't sleep because when I close my eyes I see all the damn people we couldn't save because of your stupid I can't be arsed to make my hands dirty to save jack squat way of living. Think about that for once."
And you are at least spared the way Vash's eyes widen in shock, the vulnerability, the sadness, all the things you – but you don't get more than a quick glance, because Legato has you leave the room and slam the door shut behind you.
As soon as the noise of the door hitting the wooden frame hits your ears, you're suddenly in control again.
Not like it matters.
You can't turn around and go back inside. It would look suspicious.
(Clenching your fists, this damned bastard, I'm so sorry Vash...)
The only good thing is – now, Vash won't ask again. He'll leave you be.
Oh, and I will twist your words around...
You know Legato is gone, but his voice is locked inside your head and you're hit with a sudden wave of nausea, so strong all you can do is stumble down the stairs, outside, and puke your guts out in a dirty alley.
After some minutes of dry heaving, you head back. The suns will be out soon and you can already tell this day is going to be a bitch. Better get started.
You know your orders, after all.
After lighting a cigarette (to disguise the smell, but also just 'cause – and, because there'll be no breakfast; not for you, anyway), you push your shades over your eyes, squinting at the empty sky.
You can't help thinking – even though you wouldn't have spilled anything in the end, you really should have made Vash beat you up. Just for kicks. It's selfish but – you'd feel better now.
God damn it. What are you going to say to Vash when you get back?
And while you walk on, drag yourself back, you don't listen, you don't, because you're all alone in your head. All alone.
("Ah, the things that you could say...")