Title: To Survive
Rating: PG-13
Pairings/Characters: Vash, Wolfwood, Milly, Meryl, OCs
Disclaimer: I don't own Trigun, its characters, etc. All belong to its respective owners.
Warnings: violence/flogging
Summary: It's difficult to judge when God has chosen to call his children back to the kingdom of heaven. Vash is arrested, and it's up to his unofficial comrades to rescue him.
A/N: This is my first attempt at Trigun fanfiction. I recently discovered this awesome anime, and the writing bug has finally bit again. It's been 7 years since I've written a fanfic; let's hope I still got it! :D
"Finally some peace and quiet!"
Vash leaned back in the chair of his room, crossed his right leg over his left on the table top, and sighed in satisfaction. It was finally night time. His gun was freshly clean. His long, red trench coat hung neatly on the doorknob of the wardrobe. Now, it was simply time to relax. Luckily, so far, his coming to the town was uneventful; no one had seemed to recognize him as the sixty-billion-double-dollar-man, and the insurance girls were nowhere in sight to go blabbing his identity.
"Those girls get me into way too much trouble," he said aloud to himself with a small laugh.
He closed his eyes and sighed contentedly. So far, things had gone smoothly. He didn't pay much attention to the faintest of noises outside his door; to any human it would've been inaudible.
It suddenly flung open and with his fast reflexes, Vash was up and on his feet in an instant, gun in hand and aimed. It wasn't just one intruder, however. It was a group of seven who piled in.
"We know you're Vash the Stampede!" one of the men shouted angrily. "Don't try anything!"
After a moment, Vash slowly straightened, held his hands up in surrender and smiled awkwardly. "Hey fellas, can't we just talk this out?" he asked cheerfully. "I'm not here to cause any trouble. Honest!"
"Drop the gun and come nice and easy. No one gets hurt."
Vash gave a charming grin, showing his perfectly white teeth before he darted for the window. Bullets flew as he crashed through the glass and tumbled on to the ground below. His escape plan was an obvious dud as he noticed there were more men gathered outside, rifles pointed at him. Sitting on the ground where he fell, he again smiled sheepishly and set his gun down.
"Hehheh, you got me," he shrugged.
Gruffly, he was hoisted up, cuffed, and dragged to the jailhouse.
Well, there goes a good night, he thought to himself disappointingly.
"Ugh, how far until the next town, Milly?"
"Looks to be a few more miles to El Dorado. Do you think he's there?"
"I don't know. I'm just ready to get to some civilization! It's been three days!"
Meryl and Milly moseyed along on their transportation birds, heading towards the almost risen suns. They both hoped they'd finally make it to a settlement before having to endure another hot day in the desert.
The sunlight streamed in to the cell, making Vash squint as he awoke. The night before, he had surveyed every inch of the stone cage, searching for any weaknesses and possible ways out, but found nothing.
"Alright, scum," the sherriff said distastefully as he approached the metal bars along with several other officers. "Your sentence is decided. Get him ready, boys."
The blonde prisoner was forcefully shoved out of his cell.
"Seeing as how I haven't caused you any problems yet, think you can let me off light?" he questioned with his usual goofy smile.
"I think you've caused enough problems in your life, it doesn't matter what you did or didn't do here. We'll make you serve the consequences of all the pain you've caused other towns."
Vash grimaced at how tightly they bound his wrists with rope and stumbled as they pushed him outside. The street was already lined with what seemed like the entire population of the settlement. Angry shouting and cruel expressions greeted him as he was marched toward the central square. Two wooden posts with a metal bar connecting them at the top stood near the middle. The usually bubbling blonde remained silent, and although his heart was racing at not being able to discern the situation, he kept a calm yet serious expression on his face. The not-so-friendly names and words hurled in his direction didn't seem to phase him, seemingly making some of the people even more furious.
When they arrived at the posts, his shirt was cut and ripped completely off of him. The sight that was revealed caused a hush to come over the crowd. The man was already horrible scarred and disfigured, so incredibly so that many were taken aback at the grotesque skin. As his arms were hoisted above his head, his wrists tied above him and dangling below the metal bar, the mayor broke the silence.
"The city of El Dorado will make its mark on Vash the Stampede now as well!" he boomed with pride. The crowd roared with applause. "Too much pain and death has come at the hands of this man and it's time we see just how strong the Humanoid Typhoon really is for ourselves! The bounty of sixty-billion-double-dollars will be ours to claim once we've carried out the sentencing. They say thirty lashes are enough to kill a man. Is it enough to kill the infamous Vash the Stampede?!"
Vash's eyes widened, a gasp escaped his parted lips, and his eyes darted around wildly before landing on the thick whip in one of the officer's hands. Floggings were uncommon, and the ones he had heard of, the victims had only been able to withstand twenty to twenty-five licks before dying. The wounds the whips used for criminals caused were abhorrent. They had become outlawed in many cities due to the severe injuries a flogging resulted in; the majority of people had found them to be simply too cruel a punishment, one reserved for only the most heinous of criminals.
The pacifist swallowed hard and began struggling to free himself from the rope binding his wrists. It was to no avail. He wouldn't be getting away from this one.
"Let the games begin!"
Rem….Rem?... He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Please, I need your strength.
He jumped, startled, at the loud crack that came from behind him. It was aimed at the ground, but the next target was his back.
The first impact knocked the breath out of him. The second gave him the sensation of choking. The third wrenched an agonizing scream from him.
After checking in to their hotel, Meryl and Milly headed out to explore the town a bit. It seemed as if no one was around. The streets were empty. Bars and restaurants were vacant. The only sign of life was a bunch of cheering from what seemed to be the center of the town.
"What do you think it could be, Meryl? A parade?"
"I don't know. Let's go check it out."
The pale, sandy ground was splashed with the color red.
Clear tears streaked Vash's flushed cheeks. He gasped for air. The whipping had stopped, though only for a brief period as another officer took over for the other to finish the job. The crowd had kept an audible tally. Twenty so far. Ten to go.
Whatever marks marred his back were completely hidden by crisscrossing lashes and blood. It seemed as if his skin itself was red. He found it almost impossible to stay standing, yet he did the best he could to remain strong and stay on his feet. His knees had given out a few times, taxing his wrists to hold his weight – by now, those were awfully chafed and swollen from the rough rope.
The attempt to mentally retreat into his dreams had failed. He was ever present in what was happening. The excruciating pain was all he knew.
The whip collided with his raw back, making him cry out shakily. It took too much energy to scream. His vocals become softer and softer with each collision as it sucked the life out of him.
There was one thing the townspeople hated and were craving him to do: beg and plead for it to stop.
Twenty-six.
He had yet to say a word.
They had heard the pained shrieks amongst the feverish yelling. As they approached the outskirts of the group, the screams grew quieter and weaker. The two women had hurried their pace, both realizing they knew that quivering voice.
"Excuse us! Coming through!" Meryl shouted as she and Milly forged a path through the many men, women and even children present.
"Sorry! Pardon us!" Milly exclaimed a little more politely.
When they reached the front, they gasped in horror, and their hearts stopped. Time itself seemed to stop.
Vash was hanging from his wrists limply, head bowed, and eerily still.
"Vash?!" she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. The sight and sound of the whip startled her out of her daze.
She began running toward him instinctively.
"Stop! Please!" she shouted frenziedly. "What are you doing?! Stop this!" Milly was almost instantly by her side as she stepped in front of the victim's back.
Huh? The insurance girls? Vash smiled faintly. Blood and vomit trickled out of his mouth. I can always count on them to show up at the worst times.
"Step aside, missies," the mayor said. A couple of officers pulled them away, with much protesting and fighting by the two women. "Here it is, ladies and gentlemen! Number thirty!"
Crack!
The man appeared to be dead, which caused much delight amongst the townspeople. The mayor came before the blonde prisoner, studied him for a moment, and pronounced, "He's still alive! Let's make it another ten!"
"YEAH!" the crowd roared.
Vash struggled to get to his feet once more. If this was going to be the end, he wanted to take it standing tall….or at least standing.
Time passed unbelievably slowly for Meryl as she watched the spectacle helplessly.
"Oh Vash," she wept. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry we weren't here to help you."
She noted every flinch of agony that flickered across his visage. Took note of the strain in his arms which worked to hold him up as best as they could. Died a little with him at the sight of the red and clear droplets dripping off his nose to splash on the ground in front of him.
At long last, "forty" was announced. As soon as the number was declared, Meryl and Milly lunged forward and ran towards Vash. His wrist bonds were cut, and he dropped to the ground like a butchered carcass. The insurance girls gently lifted him a little and rolled him carefully on to his dorsal side. There was no sign of life other than his shallow breathing. His eyes were closed, face devoid of expression, and paler than usual. It was evident he'd lost quite an amount of blood.
"Vash?" Meryl ran her fingers through his soft hair. "Vash."
"Let's get him back to the jail," someone said from above them. The two women tried to hold on to their friend protectively, but the officers shoved them out of the way and drug Vash back to the prison by his arms.
"Come on, Milly! Let's go!" Meryl said determinedly as she got to her feet and took off in a run.
It'd been an hour since the punishment, and Vash had still not opened his eyes.
After much vehement protesting, Milly and Meryl were allowed in to his cell to care for his wounds. They were each given a chair, two bowls of water, and a few rags in order to clean him up. Silently, they tenderly worked on washing away the substantial amount of blood from his back. Every now and then, the man uttered a soft whimper whenever one of them placed a wet cloth on his skin and dabbed at it.
Look at these gashes, Meryl thought to herself. How could he have survived? Forty lashes. Impossible.
A lengthy amount of time passed before they were finished, having done the best they could. The wounds were absolutely monstrous; it made their stomachs churn. They had never seen anything like it.
"Now what do we do?" Milly asked sadly.
"I…What about-"
Meryl inhaled sharply in surprise at the touch of a weak and trembling hand on her leg. Her eyes met exhausted, dull green ones that conveyed enormous anguish.
"Rem?" an almost inaudible voice spoke.
"No Vash. It's Meryl and Milly. We're here to help you."
"It hurts….so much…."
"I know, Vash. I'm so sorry."
"How many?"
"Forty."
"It felt….like…."
"Shhh….There's no need to talk right now. We've done what we could to bathe your wounds. We have some ointment to apply that will help with the healing, but….it'll cause you some more pain. We need to use it though so nothing becomes infected, okay?"
"Okay."
Milly took the bottle of medicinal liquid she had in her breast pocket, poured some on to one of her clean cloths, and handed it to Meryl to do the same.
"Are you ready, Vash?"
A tiny nod was the reply.
The tortured shriek that ripped itself out of the man's throat reverberated in the cell. It instantly brought tears to both women's eyes. It continued as they went over each gaping lesion. He buried his face in the pillow on his cot to muffle the sound, but it still rang piercingly in his friends' ears. As the medicine seeped in to the gashes, a quiet sizzling noise could be heard as if it was burning in to his flesh. Vash's hands balled in to fists; he feebly pounded against the cot and continued to scream.
Several minutes passed before at last there was silence. Meryl and Milly, however, still had the tormented cries echoing in their ears for the rest of the day.
"What are we going to do, Milly? We can't break him out of there. And he's in no condition to walk."
"Maybe we can think of something tomorrow. They're not taking him to claim the bounty for a couple of days, I believe."
Meryl sighed. "I just wish we could've done more."
She gazed out the window of their room at the bright moons. They needed a miracle. More importantly, they needed Vash to make it through the night alive.
It wasn't until the next morning when Vash opened his eyes once more. The pain instantly crashed over him, creating a loud gasp and groan to escape him. He couldn't move. Could hardly breathe. His back felt like flames had engulfed it, swallowing him in an inferno.
He hardly noticed the company that had come until he was being thrown to the floor, a pained noise sounding from him.
"Round two," one said.
What? No….They can't….Not again….
The whip hit his chest, but he had no voice to express the agony it brought. Soon, his torso would be a perfect match to his raw, flesh-stripped back.
Twenty-two.
Meryl and Milly again found themselves too late. They were detained by several different people, preventing them from aiding their friend.
Blood spurted from Vash's mouth. He was blinded by pain.
Twenty-seven.
A lone man stood in front of a restaurant in the north part of the city. He could hear the raucous occurring at the center square, had bared witness to a few of the lashings before he detoured to the empty jailhouse to gather a black duffle bag. He made his way to a deserted part of the town, glad that everyone had seemed to abandon everything for the time being in order to be entertained by a public flogging.
And these are the same people he would give his life for, he thought with a bit of disdain.
A half-smoked cigarette was pursed between his lips. Black sunglasses shielded his eyes from the bright rays of the twin suns. With a seeming flick of the finger, the clothed cross he had been carrying shed its restraints, and a shiny, silver machine of power was revealed.
Taking aim at the top of the building, he shot a mortar from the base of the cross.
"One more for good measure," he mumbled.
Another was shot several feet from where the first had hit. The bricks of the building began to fall inward as the roof collapsed.
With a hurried pace, he took off towards the center square, knowing that the majority of the audience would be wanting to know what the hell was going on. To make it appear as a more pressing matter, he sprayed the ground with several bullets to give the illusion of a serious problem brewing.
It wasn't long before a mass of people went streaming past him and in various directions to take cover in their homes.
Meryl and Milly took the opportunity of whatever was happening on the other side of town to race toward Vash. Taking his face in her hands, Meryl anxiously searched his face for signs of life.
"Vash?! Vash!" she yelled frantically.
Milly worked on cutting away at the thick rope holding him in place; Meryl caught him before he collapsed to the ground once the other woman had finished sawing through the material.
"How are we going to get him out of here?" she questioned.
"Meryl, look!"
"Huh?"
Meryl glanced to where Milly was pointing. In the middle of the pandemonium, the man who had created the diversion advanced in their direction.
Wolfwood.
"Let's go," he ordered hurriedly. "Take this," he added as he tossed his cross to Milly. He scooped up the blonde's limp form, slung him over his shoulder, and they ran toward a vacant car. The women hopped in the front while Wolfwood took the backseat, laying Vash down, head cradled in his lap.
They tore out of town, headed to anywhere.
"Vash," Nicholas spoke firmly and lightly slapped the unconscious man's cheek. "Vash, stay with me. Don't you dare give up. Hang in there."
A couple of weeks passed since their flight from El Dorado.
Two skin grafts had been performed on the Humanoid Tyhpoon's back with material provided by a previous organ donor and paid for by Wolfwood from contracted work in previous towns. The result provided seventy-five percent coverage on the ravaged, flesh-torn and flesh-less canvas. The doctors hoped it would at least stop most of the bleeding and give him better odds of survival. His front side, though in terrible condition, had not received as many lashings and was left alone.
He had yet to wake up.
Wolfwood struck a match on the bottom of his boot and lit the crooked cigarette dangling from his mouth. Between him and the insurance girls, they took shifts watching over Vash while he slept; Nicholas had taken the nights.
Moonlight poured in through the single window of the room, illuminating the area between the bed and the small round table where the priest was sitting. There were hardly any signs of life displayed by Vash other than his shallow, at times labored, breathing and the occasional tiny sounds he uttered as the pain seemed to reach him in his unconscious state.
Nicholas didn't pray often or very much, yet for this still mostly stranger to him, he muttered one every night.
He removed the cigarette and expelled a cloud of smoke upward. It was mere foolish optimism that kept him, Meryl, and Milly from never leaving the dying man's side. It seemed a fruitless, hopeless task.
It's why Wolfwood's breath caught in his throat and his eyes stung with foreign tears the instant he saw the other male's eyelids begin to flutter. He remained silent, eagerly waiting to see if the green eyes would open – to see if there was still a glimmer of life in Vash the Stampede.
They did, and his heart pounded away in his chest when he heard the timid, trembling, small voice say his name.
"Nicholas?"
"I'm here. You're safe."
In the dim light, he could make out the faint glint of tear streaks appearing on Vash's face. It was a few minutes before the blonde was able to form and force out his next set of words.
"Am I….going to die?"
Wolfwood extinguished what was left of his cigarette and discarded the butt in the ashtray. "It's difficult to judge when God has chosen to call his children back to the kingdom of heaven." He gave a light-hearted smile. It delighted him to see Vash's lips weakly quirk upward.
"Can you….do something for me….Father?" It took all of his energy to merely speak.
"Name it."
"….Perform….my last rites….or whatever….it is….you do…."
The request took Wolfwood aback. He had not expected that. "Those are reserved for the dead and dying." The other did not respond, prompting Wolfwood to begrudgingly state, "You believe you're dying."
"….Yeah….I think so…."
There was a lengthy pause. The only noise in the room was the sound of Vash's shaky breaths.
At last, Nicholas agreed. "Alright."
He stood and went to the sink in the room. While he filled a glass halfway with water, Vash struggled to sit up. A sudden thud and a cry of distress came from behind him, making Nicholas whirl around to find the blonde crumpled on the floor.
"What the hell are you doing?!" he scolded as he rushed to his friend's side, noticing the fresh blood seeping through the white bandages around the male's torso. He helped the man to his knees and was ready to lift him back up on to the bed, but Vash prevented him.
Panting heavily, Vash bowed his head and closed his eyes. Taking this as a sign of his readiness, Nicholas knelt before him. Unbeknownst to Vash, this was going to be greatly improvised. The preacher had never actually done something like this before. He didn't think it mattered anyway; Vash didn't seem familiar with any religion and would never know the difference.
Wolfwood murmured a prayer over the cup of water before he dipped his fingers in and caressed the other man's face with them.
"May God welcome you with open arms," he spoke quietly. His voice quivered with the emotions building inside of him. It shouldn't be like this. It shouldn't have ever come to this. Not yet. "May you find comfort and peace beyond the land of the living. May his Holiness forgive your soul for any sin, purify your body, and take you in to the kingdom of Heaven." He found the last sentence to be ridiculous. This man had no sins; he always fought to save lives and help others, regardless the cost it took on his own body.
Vash shook as he wept. His hands frailly grasped on to Wolfwood's jacket.
"Go in peace, my child. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, Amen."
"Amen," was the whispered response.
The blonde buried his face against the other man's chest; his body quaked as he sobbed. Nicholas cradled his friend's head comfortingly.
At last, he set his emotions free, crying silently in the dark with the broken man protectively in his embrace.
Vash slipped in to another state of unconsciousness, and his three caretakers wondered if this would be the end.
Wolfwood kept the events of the previous night to himself; it weighed on his heart like a heavy weight of sorrow and helplessness. He couldn't remember a time when he'd felt such a thing.
He lit a cigarette and stared out the window. The soft whimpers that came from the prone form on the bed made him swallow hard in an attempt to keep himself under control. If Vash was going to die, why didn't he just do it already?! He was only prolonging his agony and the hurt of those who would mourn him.
"Stop being so damn stubborn," Nicholas muttered angrily. "You're just making it worse for yourself and us."
The sun shone brightly in the clear blue sky. The green grass and branches of the trees swayed in the gentle breeze. Birds chirped happily from off in the distance.
Vash sighed and smiled. He lay on the ground with his hands behind his head. So calm. So relaxing.
"Why can't it be like this all the time, Rem?"
Rem let out a giggle. "It can be."
"There's so much pain. Can I stay here with you?"
"It's up to you, Vash. One can only handle so much. But sometimes, you're needed more than ever, more than you could ever imagine. They still need you. It's your choice to continue to fight for what you believe in. If we didn't experience pain, we would never know how incredible the opposite can be. Life is full of choices. It's what we do with them that matters. It makes all the difference in the end. Have you done everything you could to make the end better for all?"
Vash pondered this. Knives was still out there, still causing unbelievable atrocities to humans. Violence was still ever present. Could he really leave them now? How could he when he had yet to even try to win against his brother, to put a stop to all the destruction and needless suffering?
"I guess I haven't," he finally answered.
"Then what are you going to do?"
Vash sat up and gazed in to the distance. "I'm going to survive."
It'd been three weeks since he had last seen his surroundings. His vision was blurry at first, but slowly came in to focus as he glanced around. Wolfwood was asleep at the table, his head resting atop his arms. The suns were beginning their ascent in to the sky, providing a mild stream of light in to the room.
His body was in indescribable agony. He felt like he could hardly breathe.
It took everything he had to simply sit up.
Nicholas awoke with a start from hearing something fall to the floor. He hurriedly got to his feet only to find Vash sprawled out on the ground in front of him.
"You idiot!" he chastised, kneeling down before the blonde. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Though his tone was angry, he was internally shocked and overjoyed to witness his friend awake and moving.
Vash lifted his head to look at the priest. Wolfwood was amazed to see vitality and a glimmer of cheerfulness in the vibrant green eyes. "I want a doughnut," he stated plainly and smiled.
Nicholas stared at him dumbfounded before he started laughing.
In that instant, Wolfwood knew Vash the Stampede would be alright. It may be awhile before he fully recovered, but the sixty-billion-double-dollar man was the most determined and quite possibly the stupidest person the preacher had ever come in to contact with.
He wouldn't have Vash any other way. It was why he continued to fight by his side. Perhaps his naïve ideals and kind-hearted nature were rubbing off on him more than he thought or ever cared to admit.
"Get back in bed you fool," he said with a chuckle. "I'll get us a dozen."
"Make that a dozen for me, please!"
Wolfwood rolled his eyes. "Fine. Have them all to yourself."
As he left the room, Nicholas paused outside the door and bowed his head. He whispered a prayer before leaving.
"You sure work in mysterious ways, my friend."