Required Disclaimer: IT'S NOT MINE, AND I MAKE NO MONEY FROM IT. IF IT WAS, I WOULDN'T BE SCRAPING MY WAY THROUGH COLLEGE FOR A DEGREE ABOUT ROCKS.
Anyways, this is for mangaverse Trigun. I may have liked the anime, but I absolutely ADORED the manga. I actually wrote this quite a while ago, and realized that while I may have posted it on LJ with a bunch of other drabbles, it never went up here, soooooooooo…
NOTE: Stuff that is both in italics and "..." is directly taken from the manga. Also, this hasn't been beta-read, just to warn you all.
.
-oOo-
.
Never Forget
.
It was ritual now, a sacred ceremony performed once a year. Vash would take his leave of whatever town had been putting up with him and make his way to December.
Of all the cities, it was December that you came from. Should that be symbolic somehow? Ah, but you would know better than I…
On the way, he would pick up some cheap Bride wine, the cross stark on its label, and a single pack of cigarettes. All in all, nothing special. But to Vash, they were not physical items, but rather tangible memories.
"Do you really think I care whether I can win or not? He is reason enough for me to fight."
He wondered if Wolfwood was conscious when he spoke those words to Elendira, that time when the priest came to save him. He didn't know, had never asked. Was it fear that kept him from doing so?
Maybe.
He headed over to the church, greeted Melanie at the door. The matronly woman was obviously expecting him, already at the threshold with a smile on her face and part of his own pain mirrored in her eyes. A young boy saw him and ran up, calling "Vash-nii! Vash-nii!", and within seconds the outlaw was surrounded on all sides by a mass of squealing, laughing children, all clamoring to play with big brother Vash. Melanie scooped both bottle and box from his arms before they were accidentally knocked out and made a mess. He knew he would be able to find them behind the flour on the second shelf of the pantry when he needed them later, so he let the orphans carry him away to their games. He never was able to resist such enthusiasm.
Seventeen years old, and not at all ready to die. But for them, it was worth it, wasn't it?
The couch was still there, and so were the bloodstains. It wasn't that the old piece of furniture couldn't be moved, but more like no one had the heart to do so. To the residents of the church, that battered couch was a throne, a deathbed, purified holy ground. Vash sat down, lighting one of the cigarettes and tossing it down to the ground, little grey wisps rising from the softly glowing tip to taint the air with their scent. He poured himself one shotglass of wine and then another for the absent. Setting the bottle down and cradling the small glass in his hands, Vash looked out over the dunes, listening to the wind rustle his hair and watching the heatwaves intently, as if he might hear a laughing baritone amidst the wind's whisperings or see a black-white figure emerge from the shifting sands. He lifted his face to the sun, hoping that the words unsaid would carry to the clouds and beyond.
"What is important? What are we willing to do to protect it? That is why, after all was said and done, I wanted to share my tomorrows with him.
Don't you agree…
…Wolfwood?"
.
-oOo-
.
Constructive criticism, please?