This OneDisclaimer: I own neither Trigun nor the lyrics used in this fanfic
A/N: betaed by the lovely Celesma and posted due to her encouragement :)
/o/o/o/
This one goes out to the one I love
This one goes out to the one I've left behind
He woke with the song in his mind and a certain someone's name on his lips.
It had been months before. After one of his longer absences to meet up with Knives (god, his head started hurting at the mere memory of it), he'd once again lost track of Vash and decided to try a new method of finding him – or rather, having Vash find him. Something that would draw the other man's attention and make him travel to this town. When he left, Vash had been in one of those strange moods of his. When the mask became more visible, more cracked.
The bad thing about his plan was that he would need help. Help from people who... well. It wasn't like he knew anybody nice out there except Vash and the insurance girls. But he was used to that. And there was a job to be done.
"Soooo... why a love song?"
The Hornfreak sat on the dusty floor of a cheap hotel room, polishing his instrument while his nauseatingly white tuxedo got dirtier by the minute. His tone was casual and uninterested, as always, but Wolfwood could make out by the tense way in which his fingers moved that he wasn't thrilled.
Fuck him, he thought. I hope one day he chokes to death on his own spit while playing.
Of course, all he did was shrug and reply in that same indifferent tone.
"That'll draw him in, trust me. He's all about that, I know that fool. He'll come to us and we won't have to move a finger."
Midvalley snorted. "You mean you don't. Me, I'll have to play."
He shook his head while looking at the lyrics again. Then, his voice changed and got that sultry edge that made Wolfwood want to throw up every time he heard it.
"Well, at least I'll hear your pretty voice sing pretty words. That'll keep me entertained for the next few nights..."
Wolfwood had averted his eyes to stare hard at the stained wall and swallowed against the bile rising in his throat, nearly crushing his cigarette with his teeth in the process.
In the end, the plan had been dropped when the Hornfreak discovered that there actually weren't any saxophone parts in the song and that he'd have to play guitar instead. Maybe he would have agreed to switch to another song, but there was no give from the priest. When asked why, he didn't answer, just stared off into nothing for a moment and then left, leaving the song notes to add to the dust on the floor.
/o/o/o/
He went down a dusty road. Eyes on the hard-packed ground, the all too familiar scent of sand around him. He was counting his steps, letting the echo of the numbers in his head drown the loneliness he felt in his heart. That way, his thoughts would at some point drown out into nothingness and then he'd be able to sleep, and then he wouldn't dream of –
– don't get attached, brother. they're scum. never get attached –
– so fragile, don't you think, vash? and yet it grows and becomes so beautiful. and –
– while his heart screams –
–smile, tongari...
"...and red is the color of – "
The city was getting nearer, he could feel it. Yet, what was the point?
When he reached the outskirts – all dust and sand and dirt and stone that looked as if it had been around for five lifetimes – he was suddenly drawn out of his stupor when his bloodshot, aimless gaze fell on a huge poster on one of the walls. It was overlaying quite a few of the other posters that were there, but it already looked worn at the edges. He was sure he had never seen that one before. It announced a concert. When Vash's eyes caught up with the letters, he was almost too stunned to comprehend them at first.
R.E.M.
with:
The One I Love
Date: Tonight
How long he stood there contemplating, confused, wary, he couldn't say.
Could be a trap. Somehow.
Still, there was this feeling like – like this should tell him something, just him, and it was ridiculous, but he couldn't help it. It reminded him of something, or it should have, but he wasn't able to quite put his finger on it... it felt as though this had happened before, like a dream you're sure you've had before.
In the end, he put his back to the horizon and walked on, heart once again heavy with that strange dread he'd forgotten the source of long ago.
He reached the village when the sky was already dark again, the first stars blinking down on him with cold pity. The pub, when he entered it, was just as dark: a wide, smoke-poisoned room with countless hell-holes to disappear into hidden in the shadows.
The stage was on the left side. The music was already playing, but for some reason – cowardice? – he avoided looking in that direction and headed straight for the bar. His back to the stage, he sat down and ordered a drink. Still, it was all for nothing. The second the first lines hit the air, his heart froze in his chest and he almost couldn't breathe.
This one goes out to the one I love
This one goes out to the one I've left behind
It was Wolfwood's voice. Deep, smokey, and all too familiar, it burned into Vash with as much heat as the priest's eyes, which he could feel boring holes in the back of his head.
A simple prop to occupy my time
This one goes out to the one I love
Slowly, dreadfully, he turned around. Wolfwood's eyes caught his immediately and held his gaze in an iron grip.
This couldn't be.
This one goes out to the one I love
Fire!
Fire!
He couldn't mean this. It would all end in destruction if he did.
Still, Wolfwood's eyes didn't release him, and he couldn't bring himself to turn away and smile like he should.
He thought they had agreed – silently, but definitely – that they'd never act on this. Never stray from the line. Neither of them would probably live for much longer, but they would both keep lying to each other and themselves up to the end, that was for sure. They both knew that.
So this didn't make any sense.
This one goes out to the one I love
This one goes out to the one I've left behind
Wolfwood's mouth seemed to brush the microphone briefly, but his eyes stayed focused onwards. The stage was so dark Vash couldn't have made out much even if he'd tried. There seemed to be another figure clad in dusty white in the background, playing the guitar, but the dimness made it hard to tell.
This one goes out to the one I've left behind
His left hand clenching on his knees, he suddenly realized there was no dust, no sand scrunching between his fingers. And although he should, he didn't feel weary.
Only sad.
Was that what this was, then? An offer to pretend for one night that this was possible, that this was real?
– so fragile, don't you think, vash? remember this, if nothing else. then you'll always have something to come back to –
The music slowly faded but Wolfwood's eyes stayed fixed on his face. His gaze dark and intent, but no more open than it had ever been. He wouldn't get more than this, not more than he'd ever had.
He went down the endless way towards the stage. Eyes trained forward instead of cast down on the shadowy ground, the all too familiar scent of sand around him. He was counting his steps, letting the echo of the numbers in his head drown the loneliness he felt in his heart, step by step, fading.
/o/o/o/
This one goes out to the one I've left behind
He woke with the song in his mind and a certain someone's name on his lips. He unclenched his real and his mechanical hand, slowly. By the time the first light appeared, everything had already faded away.
/o/o/o/