The Complications of Friendship, a trigun fanfic

The Complications of Friendship

Author's note: After I got into the Trigun fandom again, I re-read this and felt like an idiot for the old author's note 14 year old me had left. I had very desperately insisted that it was a friendship fic, and said I was disgusted by others insinuating a gay relationship from it. It's been 7 years now, and I'm a very different person, came out of the closet, and am now slapping myself in the face when I am reminded what a cringey repressed teen I used to be. Ah well, live and learn. Anyhow, read this however you want! The platonic and romantic interpretation is all yours.

Jeez.

What a shitty day.

Especially because I'm not really sure what happened.

All I remember was that I was feeling really, really, really pissed, and then all of a sudden feeling as though twenty-six pounds of lead had just crashed onto my head. As I blacked out, I could hear somebody shouting frantically, "Wolfwood!"

I don't know how or when, but at some point, I stopped saying, "He's a good chap; it'd be a shame if he died at the hands of someone like you," to "Touch him again and I'll murder you."

When my job, my responsibility became an automatic switch in my head that would click on whenever a gun was pointed at him, it began to click at other moments too, like when he was sad, or despondent. When he looked at me and called me a friend and I called him a friend back.

That when I used to somber up when people asked where my family was, I now just laughed at them. "I have a family." I would tell them. "He's the doughnut-loving, stupid, pacifistic, thick-headed little brother I have to take care of. Or maybe he's the older brother. Our imaginary parents were never around to enlighten me."

When I used to say "Thanks, Spikey," I now don't have to thank him at all. When we both act like a team, listen to each other, actually share thoughts. When I can finally lower that trembling gun in my hand and let a poor sap go free, even when he's not around to lecture me.

Not really sure when it started, but I think I have an idea of a small incident, that probably didn't amount much to him, but it had a very significant meaning to me.

When I cracked open my eyes again, I had no trouble with the blinding desert sunlight. No; as a complete contradiction, it was entirely dark. A few puzzling moments later I realized that my face was pressed up against something soft. I squinted and blinked a few times, and the darkness turned into red cloth. My nose was filled with the scent of doughnuts, gunpowder and somewhere faintly behind all that, the smell of chemicals.

I tried to stand back up, but my legs for some reason wouldn't work, and I felt as though they were tied down by weights. I couldn't even kick them. When I attempted to lift my head I was hit with a swamp of dizziness that sent me reeling. My eyes felt sore and my head hurt as though it had been kicked around like a soccerball. No, it felt even worse than that. I probably need a better metaphor.

…How about as beaten up as Vash, on one of his frequent, "star-crossed days?"

When I finally acknowledged that I could omit no movement or strength from my immobile body, I allowed myself to let out a low groan instead.

"You're awake?"

A voice cut through in the foggy mist with an ear-piercing intensity that could easily be compared to a giant's bellow. Screaming at the top of their lungs. Into a megaphone. Into my freakin ear. In seconds, my head erupted in a blazing inferno. I groaned louder, my voice layered thickly with pain. "Sssshhhhhhhhhhh…." I hissed through gritted teeth. Even my own voice hurt my ears. "…Head…."

Oh God, I sounded drunk.

To my relief, the voice complied with my request and fell silent. Once again, I was left to my thoughts.

I closed my eyes again, relying on my senses to figure it out for me. Regrettably, my body was still tired and woozy from just waking up. Perhaps even a little too faint. Had I hit my head on something? Did I get into a fight?

Yes… that seemed the most likely. But who had we been fighting? Not weaklings, I hope, or I'll have a hell of a reputation to build up again.

Maybe I did get drunk. Like, dead-drunk, and I was now dealing with the killer hangover. That seemed pretty easy to believe too, but the prospect was still just as bad. I must look really humiliating right now.

That must have been one nice high if I had totally forgotten about it.

Where was I? We were moving, but not in the motorcycle. A thomas? Nope; we didn't have one, and after taking a single glance at our lunacy, nobody in their right mind would ever let us borrow any. Besides, we weren't going that fast. In fact, we were going rather slowly…

Oh. I see. Needle-noggin was carrying me. Jesus, I could walk myself! But after a couple of moments, I found that summoning my energy only resorted into a killer headache and just a few twitches of my hands. Guess not.

My head was finally clearing up, so I dared to ask. This time it wasn't as loud. "…Wha…happened…?"

"We got into a fight." The voice said. To my surprise, it was coming from below me, not above me. Good, so he wasn't carrying me bridal-style; I would have sucker punched him in the jaw, aching or not. "Some people in this big van burst out of nowhere and shot a hole in one of our wheels. We lost our temper and ran after them. When we finally caught up to it and pulled out the people in the front seat to start shouting at them, we didn't realize that there were people in the back of the van and they jumped out and one of them hit you with a wrench or a tack hammer or something." Vash paused for a moment, tilting to the side so that he could let go of me with one hand and pointed to his forehead, giving me a look. "In the head. You totally crumpled. Bleeding all over your face and everything."

At this, Vash paused for a moment, this strange, unidentifiable expression passing over his face before turning and beginning to walk again. "…I kind of lost it. Gave them all some pretty good lumps before I realized you were okay. I was really pissed, 'cuz you wouldn't get up and I thought…y'know…"

An uncomfortable silence passed over them. I felt a little shocked.

Vash was worried about me?

Vash misinterpreted my silence. "Oh, so you forgot. And you're also slurring." He paused for a moment to position me higher up on his back and continued. "Yup. You've got a concussion. Don't go back to sleep, kay?"

"…My eyes… can' I jus' close dem…?" I whined groggily.

"No. Unless you want to risk the chance of never waking up." Vash said sternly. "Just talk, okay? Listen to my voice."

This time, the silence was only three seconds. Vash quickly put an end to it, and I could sense his annoyance at my not contributing. "So, watcha gonna eat when we get to the next vicinity? I'm soooo hungry. I'm going to eat as many doughnuts as I can until I can't even walk, and then I'm going to-"

It was killing me. I couldn't listen to him any longer, not when I had this chewing at my mind like a parasite. "Why?" I croaked.

There was a tense silence and then Vash answered brightly in a tone that, if I had more strength, made me want to hit him. "Because we haven't had anything but peanuts for the entire week, and of course, dry and salty rations isn't the best for wandering around out here, and-"

Damn idiot. He wasn't getting anything at all.

"Bas…tar'…" I hissed. "You…know exactly wha' I'm talkin'…abou'… Why…Did you go to all this trouble? Why…for me?" He's going to collapse from exhaustion and then were gonna be in a hell of a mess, and the point of my job was to keep him ALIVE, dammit! Not to burden him! GAAAHHHH! This is completely the other way around! What the hell is wrong with me? O' Lord, give me patience!

As I quietly berated myself, Vash had stopped talking. His legs had stopped moving and he was just standing there, quietly, letting the harsh, desert wind blowing sand into his face.

I blinked and slowly, painfully, shifted my head, still on his shoulder, to look at him in the eyes.

He was staring at me, this blank, surprised expression filling up his entire face. His eyes were wide, looking at me, and his mouth was just barely tilted downwards.

That face made him look stupid.

And then came the words that shocked me into another silence. "What are you talking about? You're my friend."

My lips parted. My eyes widened.

You're my friend…

…Shit…

I have… really gotten myself in too deep. Now, all I could do was struggle vainly. Trying to grab something desperately to drag myself out, but at the same time, longing to stay. The drowning feeling was warm, but dangerous. If I slipped too deep, I'd drown.

It was frightening, but friendly.

Welcoming.

Promising that it would listen to every word I say and not judge me once for it.

And I didn't doubt it.

Somewhere deep inside of me, I yearned for the feeling of peace, but…

but…

but…

If I lost it…

. . .

I didn't even know what I would do if I lost it. But I didn't want to know. Didn't want to find out. (Somewhere in my subconscious at this point, I felt my fingers grip a little more firmly at the red fabric.)

…Jesus…

I didn't expect this job to be so troublesome.

I was only supposed to protect him. To guard him. To lead him. Besides that, I was to have no attachments at all…

"Oh shit! Hey! Hey! Wolfwood! Wolfwood!"

I blinked, carefully maneuvering my head on his shoulder to look at him. "…What?" My tongue wasn't acting naturally; it took a while for me to pronounce the 'T' properly so that when it came out it sounded like "Wha-Teh?"

If he so much as tries to mock me once…

But he didn't. Vash just blinked innocently back at me for a long time, and then let out a long sigh of relief. "You weren't answering me so I got worried. I thought I told you not to go to sleep, didn't I? What happened to that?"

"…I wazn' s'eepin…" I replied groggily, trying to sound, in my dizzy state, scornful. This didn't come out right either, unfortunately. "Now 'eave mee alone…Spikey…"

"No way." Vash replied, his tone surprisingly fierce. He hunched up his shoulders (taking care not to disturb me in the process) and continued to march at a fast past, his legs stiff. "If I stop talking then you'll drift off again. Gotta stay focused, alright? Or I'll drop you and drag you there by your feet." He wouldn't. "Now talk with me, okay? Just keep your jaw moving. Because…Because if you die on me…" His voice broke and he trailed off for a few moments. And then he turned his attention back on the seemingly endless sandy road ahead of him. His grip tightened.

Ouch, you're squeezing my legs.

"…Wolfwood…So don't die, okay? Don't die, Wolfwood." He growled under his breath, his teeth clenched. "Don't you dare die on me! Or I'll bring you back myself and kill you again!"

His voice shook on the last sentences. I stayed quiet, my face still pressed up against his red coat. But I could feel, through all that cloth, he was trembling.

". . ."

For a quick second, my first impulse was to mock him for believing that a little bump on the head was enough for me to kick the bucket. That he was actually naïve enough to…

And then I thought. I thought about how I would have felt if it had been him lying there, blood dripping down his face. How I would have felt when I looked up at the enemy I had failed to notice, holding up a bloody tool. His blood.

He wasn't moving.

I wasn't moving.

Suddenly, for a quick moment, everything cleared. I felt as though a fog had suddenly been swept aside for me, revealing a fresh light, a warm, almost happy feeling that gradually filled my body. For the few short seconds I stayed motionless, letting it wash over me. And then it was gone again, and the fog had covered it back up. But the feeling lingered.

Silently, I lifted my practically useless hands, and wrapped them around his neck, pulling myself up a little bit and lessening his burden. "…It takes a lot more than a lucky bastard with a wrench to kill me." I muttered. "But thanks for the concern… you freakin' needle-noggin."

I couldn't see his face, but I knew he was smiling. Shakily, but still smiling in that painful yet kindly way of his.

It took a while till we found the motorbike. I directed Vash where to find the spare wheel, but it was only the size the two, smaller back wheels. And so, because of my carelessness, the automobile slowly began to take us towards our destination, the bottom of it dragging across the ground. Listening to the sound of shrill metal screeching combined with Vash's inane chattering ending up heightening the ache in my skull to a full blown migraine.

Though Vash was driving, we only had several crashes, and none too serious, much to my surprise (and relief). It seemed that he was more serious when the situation required it. I made a note for future reference to starve him and see how quickly he could take us to the nearest restaurant.

I was lying in the compartment chair, my head underneath the dashboard and my legs up on the seat. It was the most comfortable place I could get into, and though it was dangerous, all I had to rely on was Vash's focus, which was not a very reassuring feeling.

The drive didn't take as long as we thought. Vash found a small village on the outskirts of the city October, and we were able to find someone who could bandage up my head. After that, we rented out a one-day apartment room, and were finally able to relax. Vash, as though his power had just run out, instantly went from Serious-Mode to Peaceful/Destructive-Idiot. He pranced about, poking things he shouldn't and shouting excitedly in our conversations so many times that the hotel owner had to yell up at us (him) that "if that cocky-eyed black-haired bastard friend of yours ain't dying, then shut the hell up or you'll wake up the dead old nanna buried under your floorboards!"

Well, that sure gave us some peace of mind. The looks on our faces could have been put on posters. After that, Vash resorted to becoming very, very quiet and tried to walk along the walls as much as possible, wearing this horrified, (but pretty amusing) disgusted expression. I myself couldn't be sure if the owner was lying or if he was quite possibly telling the truth, so I played Sick Patient and stayed put on the bed.

Finally, at around midnight, Vash stopped hovering around and playing with random objects, and loudly announced that he was going to sleep. He retreated to the bed on the other side of the room, and a tense silence fell across the atmosphere like a thick, suffocating woolen blanket. Every fifteen minutes or so though, he would roll over and look at me worriedly, and then, as if reassured of something, he would turn back. I got the feeling that he had only been walking around the entire time before was because he was concerned about me. Instead of feeling touched though, I just got the same sick sensation. I turned my back to him so that he wouldn't be able to see how pale I was.

I waited until he didn't keep his eyes open anymore, and relaxed a bit more deeply into his bed sheets. I listened to his soft, slow breathing for a few moments and then got up. I wobbled a bit, still feeling lightheaded, and somehow stumbled blindly over to the window. I opened the balcony and leaned against the railing, taking long, deep breaths into the cold, natural night air. It cleared my head a little more, and I straightened up a bit.

I fumbled a bit for my cigarette case, but I remembered that it was in my coat, which was slung across a chair in the room. I didn't want to go back in and risk the possibility of waking Vash up (and provoking my headache again), so I stayed there, staring out into the quiet village and the pressing black sky, twinkling with faint stars and moons.

Suddenly, I couldn't repress the urge to say anything anymore.

"I don't care about him." I said to the darkness. "I'm just his guide. And that's how I'm going to leave it. With no feelings at all."

. . .

"None!" I shouted as loudly as I dared.

The shadows didn't reply.

I blinked, and then looked away, furrowing my brow. "Tch!"

Because on the inside, I knew I was just lying through my teeth.

I would just deny it for a little bit longer.

"...Who the hell am I talking to anyway? My head injury is leaking all sorts of delusional shit into my brain."

*weeks later*

Vash was an idiot. A full-blown freakin' idiot.

But I couldn't contain my hatred as I marched down the street. The man was laughing, cackling. But when I stood above him he turned and the smug grin faded from his face. The hostage he had used against the blonde-haired outlaw took the chance and scrambled away.

Wordless, I pointed the gun at the head of the man who had shot thirteen bullets into my friend, who was now stumbling in his own blood. He froze and the revolver slowly slipped out of his hands and clattered to the ground as I clicked off the safety.

With hardly suppressed venomous fury, I said in a low voice, "Touch him again and I'll murder you."