Title: Haunted
Rating: PG-13
Pairings/Characters: Vash/Wolfwood, Knives
Disclaimer: I don't own Trigun, its characters, etc. All belong to its respective owners - Nightow, etc.
Warnings: angst, violence
Summary: Without fail, he'd fall apart once the date hit. Wolfwood tried to forget, but Vash never could.

A/N: This fic comes from me dealing with my own painful memory for the past year. I just started writing how I felt, and this is the result. It was pretty therapeutic. :) I hope maybe it can help someone else feel better and know it's okay to grieve even when no one understands.

It was always so easy to forget when exactly it'd all happened; Vash never spoke of it any other time during the year, never seemed bothered by it or showed any signs of thinking about it. But like clockwork, without fail, he'd fall apart for days – sometimes weeks at a time – once the date hit. He always remembered.

It'd been three years now, and Wolfwood had come to expect the breakdown, even though he could never memorize the date like Vash had; he couldn't prepare for the abrupt change in the man's behavior and mood because it always felt like it came out of nowhere. While it didn't make sense to him, he'd learned to keep his mouth shut and keep his negative comments to himself. When he had spoken his mind and, in so many words, told Vash to "get over it," the outlaw became even more distant and depressed. It broke his heart to watch his friend and lover crumple under the weight of intense sadness, and he still had yet to find a way to help him. Perhaps it was sufficient enough to just be there for him without saying anything.

Presently, Vash was sitting on the windowsill, staring emptily out at the bustling street below. There were dried tear tracks on his face, and his expression was a mixture of grief and tranquility. He was in-between memories, granting him a chance to calm down and collect himself before the next wave crashed over him that would throw him back into deep sorrow. Wolfwood knew this was his chance to try engaging him; otherwise, he was well aware he may not get another opportunity for the rest of the day depending on how badly the man was hurting.

"Vash."

There was no response or any indication the plant had heard him. He sighed, placed his hand on the outlaw's shoulder, and repeated, "Vash."

As if waking from a dream, Vash blinked several times and turned to look at the priest standing beside him. He didn't say anything, and he gazed at Wolfwood like he didn't recognize him.

"How are you feeling?" Wolfwood asked, running his fingers gently through the spiked hair of his friend.

Silence.

"You should come eat something. When's the last time you ate?"

Tears welled within the dejected green eyes, though he still didn't reply.

"Vash….Please say something."

"Something," Vash mumbled.

Wolfwood huffed. "Not what I meant." He knelt down and took the blonde's hand in his own. "I want to understand. I really do. You never talk about it though; you never open up to me."

A nod.

"What do you want me to do?"

No reaction.

The preacher stood, removed a cigarette from his pocket, and lit it. What else could he do other than leave him be? For all the time Vash dwelled on the matter, Wolfwood had worked tirelessly to try and forget it completely; it wasn't something he ever wished to remember or think about.

It'd been pure luck that made him find Vash that day. He'd searched and searched and then finally, he had seen the red coattails dancing in the strong wind. The Humanoid Typhoon was in rough shape when he got to him, was dangerously close to death. There were numerous bullets lodged in his body; multiple stab wounds in his abdomen, upper back, and legs; and his face was badly beaten. Knives, however, was already dead from a single gunshot to the head.

"Spikey! Vash!"

The priest skidded to a stop, dropped to his knees, and pulled on the outlaw's shoulder to roll him onto his back. The two brothers had been lying in the sand next to one another, and upon feeling himself being moved away from his twin, Vash weakly reached out to hold onto the man's arm once more.

"Spikey, open your eyes. Come on, look at me."

Very slowly, Vash obeyed the command. "Wolfwood?" he whispered in a raspy voice.

"You idiot! What were you thinking coming out here by yourself?!"

With his free hand, the blonde weakly grasped Wolfwood's and struggled to speak. "Knives is dead."

The preacher bit his tongue, keeping himself from blurting out something sarcastic or snarky, because he could see the incalculable amount of regret and anguish in the plant's gaze. Instead, he replied sympathetically, "I know, Spikey."

Tears bloomed in his eyes and he continued, "I killed him. I really did it. I killed him."

"Hey hey, easy. Calm down. Don't work yourself up over it."

"I had no other choice….There was no other way….I killed him."

For as much as the priest wanted to spend this moment comforting his friend, he knew he didn't have that option; Vash was dying, and there was very little time left to get him proper treatment for his extensive wounds – it was a miracle that he was still alive. "It's okay. Right now, we have to get you to a hospital."

As Wolfwood began to pick him up off the ground, Vash made a noise of protest and latched onto his brother's dead body.

"I can't leave him," he cried. "Knives…."

"You have to, Spikey. There's nothing we can do."

"No….I can't leave him…."

"We don't have time."

"Nicholas."

The sound of his first name being said made Wolfwood pause. It wasn't often that the gunman used it – he seemed to reserve it for only extremely serious circumstances or whenever he was vulnerable and asking for help. Hearing his name now, it broke the priest's heart.

"Please. Nicholas."

"I'm sorry. He can't come with us."

"Knives….

"Vash….Vash?!"

Wolfwood shook the man to get him to open his eyes, yet it was obvious he'd finally passed out again. Quickly, he scooped the outlaw into his arms, rested him down in the sidecar of the motorcycle, and sped off toward the nearest town.

There was a steady beeping noise that reached his senses first, and slowly, he opened his eyes to see where he was. It certainly wasn't the desert like he'd last remembered. Glancing around the room, he believed he had his answer; he looked to his arm, which was hooked up to several IV's, and it confirmed his belief.

"It's nice of you to join us again."

Gradually, he turned his head to gaze at the source. Wolfwood got up from his seat nearby, moved to stand beside the hospital bed, and stared down into the tired, dejected eyes of Vash the Stampede.

"You've been out for almost three weeks," the preacher spoke after a moment. "I was actually beginning to worry….Need anything?"

Vash licked his lips and croaked, "Thirsty."

"I'll go get you a glass of water."

Once Wolfwood was gone, Vash struggled to sit up. He now realized just how much pain he was in. It encompassed his entire body, making him clench his jaw to keep from giving an agonized and frustrated scream. When he was finally upright, he was out of breath and sweating. At first, he couldn't remember exactly why he was in such a horrible state. As he tried to recall the memory, it suddenly hit him like a train. His eyes widened, his heart pounded, and a feeling of complete devastation washed over him.

"Knives," he gasped.

The door opened, causing him to turn his head sharply. Upon witnessing the distressed expression on his friend's face, Wolfwood asked, "Hey, you alright there, Spikey?"

Vash took the offered cup in his shaky grasp, steadily drank half of the water, and gave it back.

"Need anything else? You in any pain at the moment?"

A nod.

"Let me go see if they can come give you some more meds." Turning to leave, he was abruptly stopped by a hand on his arm. "What is it?"

Eyes filled with tears, Vash confessed miserably, "I killed my brother."

It was astounding to the priest how upset the outlaw was over this, considering how severely Knives had beaten him. The two of them should be rejoicing in the man's death after everything he'd put them through. Still, he set the glass aside, sat on the edge of the bed in front of the blonde, and said quietly, "I know. I saw."

"I took his life…."

"You really didn't have any other option."

Vash covered his face with his hands and lost it. "He's dead. I killed him."

Being careful to not agitate the plant's injuries any further, Wolfwood embraced him tenderly as he wept.

"It's okay, Vash. It's okay. You'll get through this."

Evening came and Vash refused to eat anything, just as Wolfwood had suspected he would. Settling under the covers next to the gunman in bed, he wondered if maybe physically showing his love would make Vash feel better.

"Spikey," he purred, running his hand up the man's side and under his tank top. "Can I have you tonight?" He placed a number of light kisses onto the blonde's shoulder and neck.

Vash remained unresponsive. He displayed no signs of enjoyment or objection.

"Vash," the preacher breathed into his ear, hoping it would get a reaction like it usually did.

Nothing.

With a sigh, Wolfwood gave up, turned over to put his back to the plant, and mumbled in annoyance, "This is getting old."

It was two in the morning when Vash suddenly woke, startled by an unpleasant dream. The first thing he did was glance beside him for his friend, yet instead of lying next to him, Wolfwood was sitting up with a burning cigarette in hand.

"Wolfy?" he asked timidly.

There was a period of stillness before Wolfwood answered quietly, "Why do you do this to yourself? Do you know how hard it was to forget what happened? But no matter what, you always have to remind me when you get like this."

Vash sat up to look at him more closely, becoming increasingly worried and surprised due to the tears his friend was shedding.

"His death was justified. Yours wouldn't have been."

"Nick-"

"You don't understand how much it hurt to see you like that!" he yelled, turning to meet the outlaw's concerned gaze. "You were practically dead, Vash! You even died in my arms while I carried you in to the hospital! He broke you! Why are you still acting like this?! Like he actually meant something to you?!" Seeing that Vash was about to reply, he continued before he got the chance. "I know your little rule about never killing. I know that was part of what tore you up so bad inside, and to this day, it still does; but I don't understand why, when the one person you finally decide to stray from your principles for – the one who has destroyed so many lives and would've never stopped – was him! It's a good thing you did it! Quit being so depressed over it!"

Vash observed the priest as he wept for a brief time before he took the cigarette from between Wolfwood's fingers, set it in the ashtray on the bedside table, and hugged him. The other man immediately returned the embrace, burying his head against the blonde's chest. For all the years since that event, all of this emotion had been building within him. There was no controlling it now; he had to let it out. In the comforting arms of the person his heart belonged to, he felt like he was at last allowed to come undone.

"We used to be very close," Vash began softly after several minutes. Wolfwood stayed the way he was, holding onto the gunman tightly, and listened with great interest as tears continued to slide down his face. "There were no other plants like us. People treated us differently….Not a good differently. We only had each other; for decades, it was just us. He was my only friend, my only family. That day….when I confronted him….I was actually hoping we'd die together."

"Are you actually pointing that at me again?" Knives scoffed.

Vash kept his arm steady, finger poised on the trigger, even as his twin approached him casually.

"Every time you do, you insult me," the older plant went on. "Have you forgotten everything we had? Everything we went through?" It was practically unnoticeable, but Knives caught the slight trembling of the outlaw's hand and the shift in expression in his eyes – it was all he needed to see in order to know he was successfully exploiting his brother's kind, sentimental heart. "Don't you remember, Vash? How I would be the one to hold you whenever you had a nightmare or worried about what things were going to be like?"

Affectionately, he caressed the blonde's cheek, and his other hand eased Vash's arm down to hang at his side. With confusion and regret present in his eyes, Vash looked away, unable to maintain the intense gaze of his twin. It never failed, Knives' manipulation of his emotions.

With the younger plant's guard down, Knives smirked and sank a small dagger formed by his fingers into the other man's stomach. Vash let out a gasp, eyes widened in shock, and as he hunched over, a fist struck his face with unbelievable force. The blow knocked him to the ground and sent his pistol sliding along the gravel out of reach. There wasn't time to react before another blade ceaselessly punctured through his back. He couldn't breathe as the stabbing continued, pathetically attempted to crawl away as Knives pierced his legs and abdomen over and over. All the while, the maniacal plant sported a delighted grin on his countenance.

Once satisfied by the amount of damage he'd dealt with that particular technique, Knives proceeded with incessantly punching the gunman. Though he tried to shield himself from the blows, Vash found it was ultimately useless. His head was swimming, vision blurred by the violent hits and blood dripping over his eyes.

"This is how they treated you, isn't it?!" Knives shouted. "Those times when they took you and chained you up like an animal to torture – do you forget who it was who'd always come to save you?! And yet you still defend them and raise your gun to point at me?!"

He finished by dealing a powerful kick to the outlaw's back. Lying sprawled out face down in the shallow sand, Vash couldn't move. His whole being throbbed in agony; blood seeped out of his many wounds to color the ground around him.

"It'd be best for you to stay there," Knives mocked.

Three minutes passed before Vash mustered the energy to slowly stand up. His twin snickered.

Cocking his gun, Knives stated, "You never did know when to quit."

The first bullet tore into the younger plant's right shoulder. The second to his left. The next two were fired into his thighs, forcing him to his knees. Panting heavily and utterly spent, he waited in anticipation for the next round. It came soon enough, blazing into the right side of his chest.

One more, he thought to himself. Just one more. He wondered if it'd be the kill shot.

Leisurely, Knives strode toward him, a look of both disgust and fondness on his visage.

"I don't think you'll ever understand, Vash. Everything I've done, even now, I do it for us." He grabbed a fistful of the man's spiked locks and tugged in order to stare at him directly. "If you want to protect these filthy humans, you'll have to get rid of me; I'll never stop until I rid this planet of them all! Would you murder your own brother for them? After all the abuse they've made you endure? I've only ever strived to ensure our safety, to do what's best for us and our sisters. Would you choose them over your own kind?"

Tears flowed from Vash's swollen eyes and this time, they were not due to the immense pain he was in. Though his silver revolver lay several yarz away, his other weapon was fully loaded.

Rem, please forgive me, he thought dejectedly. It was difficult, but he found enough energy to breathlessly say, "I'm sorry, Knives."

It was a matter of seconds from the time he spoke the name to firing a single bullet through the center of Knives' forehead. As the other man fell backward, Vash's cybernetic arm transformed back into its original shape, and he let out a heartbreaking scream.

It took everything he had to drag himself over to the older plant; once beside him, he gently closed the man's eyelids, kissed his lips, laid down, and cradled his dead body as he sobbed uncontrollably. His blonde hair turned red in the pool of blood flowing outward from under Knives' head.

"I love you, Knives," he whispered remorsefully. "I'm sorry….so sorry….Knives….My brother….I love you…."

"I remember all the time we spent together….games we'd play, nights we'd stay awake talking about anything and everything….He always protected me, risked his life to save mine…."

"Vash," the priest said gently, pulling away in order to see the plant's face. A steady stream of tears fell from the man's eyes whenever he blinked, and Wolfwood delicately wiped them away with his thumbs.

"And I took his. What else could I do?!"

"Nothing," Wolfwood assured, kissed his forehead, and wrapped his arms around the outlaw's shoulders. "There was nothing else you could've done."

He could sense the guilt and confusion raging inside of Vash, was aware now of the constant turmoil he felt by having had survived when Knives didn't. He understood now how and why it affected him so deeply because there was a side to Knives that only Vash knew. While he and the Humanoid Typhoon had known each other for five years and had chosen to become intimately closer to one another within that period, it paled in comparison to the extensive amount of time and special bond the two plants had shared. And with the way Vash's heart was, so loving and compassionate, was it really a surprise that he would be continuously distraught over his brother's passing?

"When I went back for your pistol," Wolfwood began quietly, "I buried him."

Vash pushed the other man away and stared at him with astonishment. "You did?"

"For you." It seemed like ages since Wolfwood had seen his friend smile; he felt his heart swell at the hint of one playing at the edges of the blonde's lips.

"I don't know what to say….Thank you, Nick."

"I'm not sure what else I can do for you. I wish I knew."

Vash moved closer to hug the priest tightly and whispered in his ear, "Just having you here helps."

"I'm always here, Spikey. We're a team." After several minutes he coaxed, "Come on and lay down. I'm beat."

"Yeah, me too."

Once Wolfwood was settled, Vash rested down beside him and snuggled against the man's lean body.

"Love you, Wolfy," he murmured.

"Love you too, Spikey."

With the solace provided by the preacher's arms around him and the closeness to one another, the blonde fell into his first peaceful sleep in days.

While he didn't anticipate Vash wanting to eat anything for breakfast, Wolfwood still went ahead and made him a plate with over-easy eggs, bacon, sausage, and toast. When he returned to the bedroom, he was greatly surprised to see that the outlaw wasn't only awake, but was also sitting at the little table and offering a coy smile.

"Morning, Wolfy," Vash said quietly.

"I-….good morning."

"Can I join you?"

"Of course. I actually brought you a plate too."

"Thanks."

Taking a seat across from the gunman, Wolfwood set their dishes down on the table and for a brief period, he merely observed Vash; the man didn't seem very interested in eating, yet he did finish at least a tiny portion of the meal. It was progress, Wolfwood believed.

"Thank you, Vash," he spoke sincerely. "For sharing that with me last night. I know it must've been hard to talk about the memory."

The blonde nodded and appeared to be fighting back tears. "I'm sorry you have to put up with me like this every year."

"It's alright. I understand now. Grieve for as long as you need to. I'm not going anywhere."

"It means a lot to hear you say that. I'm very grateful."

If there was one thing Wolfwood had learned about Vash, it was that though the physical scars on his body were plentiful and borne from agonizing incidents, it was the scars he carried in his heart that were the most painful. It was a marvel that he continued to love as freely as he did and never stopped endangering himself to protect those who would, and had, treated him terribly because of his name. Now, more than ever, Wolfwood felt that it was his duty to protect the protector. Year after year if Vash fell apart, he'd be there to help mend him like he always did. If Vash could never forget that day, he understood. They'd get through this together. Vash had to say goodbye to his brother, but that didn't mean he'd said it to the only person who cared about him. Wolfwood would just have to do his best to remind him of that, no matter how long it took. Year after year, he could remind him that he didn't have to mourn alone.

Together, they could remember they have each other, no matter what happens.