The Thing With Christmas Is (It's Fuzzy)
Disclaimer: I don't own Trigun.
A/N: My Trigun Secret Santa for koopaklownkartexpress, who requested "basically anything Knives-related, and perhaps something wintry-themed? Could be him walking in snow, or slicing down some innocent Christmas tree or angrily building a lovely snowman." I started writing and then this happened. I hope I didn't went too far off. I don't know where all that stuff came from, honestly. This was supposed to be like 3 or 4 pages and then it turned into a monster.
There's some light VashxWolfwood.
Beta provided by the lovely Celesma, who read through this although it kind of last minute and she had probably a billion more important things to do. I wouldn't know what to do without her.
All remaining mistakes are my own.
– –
Of all the things he had expected to be punished with, he could never have anticipated this.
They've been back on earth for a whole year now and it's been hard getting used to this wholly different planet – to all those people around him all the time. People – humans – whose strange, contradictory demeanor never ceases to confuse him. No, scratch that, most of the time it serves to give him the headache of his life.
He works hard to atone for what he's done – it's a mountain of course, and he'll probably never reach the top, is inching his way forward centimeter by painful centimeter. Some days, he wonders whether it just wouldn't be better for everyone if he'd simply haul himself off the next cliff – of which there are several, even something called a Grand Canyon, which Chapel – no, Wolfwood – had had the kindness to inform him was one of the "deepest motherfuckers around here."
It'd be the easy way out though and, well, Vash wouldn't have that, anyway. The stupid fool would probably throw himself after him to catch him – and then think of a survival plan. And then when the crazy priest found them in the afterlife, he'd beat the living shit out of Knives for getting his boyfriend killed, so thanks, but no thanks.
Anyway.
He tries to help as much as he can, while trying constantly to appear as non-threatening as he can manage – which is damn hard sometimes, smiling hurts his face when he does it for too long, how can Vash have that expression on his face all the time? It's beyond his ability to tell. Vash, completely oblivious to his struggle – or maybe not, Knives doesn't yet deserve forgiveness, probably never will, so if Vash is doing this on purpose he has no room to defend himself anyway –
Vash has, with that trademark annoying smile on his face, proclaimed that Knives should take a break from helping the long-lost survivors of Gunsmoke aka The Dustball In Space get set up on earth to come over and help decorate an orphanage for Christmas.
At the time, he'd had no idea what that meant of course – in retrospect, the oblivion was sweet but as short-lasting as ever.
It has gradually started getting colder over the last few months and when he arrives at the place, Vash, when he comes to collect him, isn't wrapped in that same old, inane coat he'd been wearing on The Dustball (really, his brother has no fashion sense) but a huge, fuzzy (if he were someone else he might say fluffy) Thing. Still, it is Red and Big, and Just As Awful.
Vash and the Thing engulf him in a bone-crushing hug (for being that fuzzy, the Thing doesn't protect his ribs one bit).
"Brother, what are you wearing?" he asks, unable to get the note of distaste out of his voice. Vash, oblivious and/or uncaring as ever, replies cheerfully, "Nick got it for me. He said it'd be a pain in the ass if I froze to death on our first Christmas back on Earth. Also, he doesn't like it when my hands are cold."
Knives nods to that and lets it go. He'll probably never get used to the fact that his brother and the crazy priest are – what was that called again? A thing? Together? Married? MFEO? Something like that. But as he throws a glance at Vash while they walk to the car, he can see the quiet, serene smile on Vash's lips, the way his eyes shine, and there it is again, that strange feeling in his chest. He has been told – as he was when he felt it the first time and got seriously, embarrassingly freaked out about it – that it's normal and a Good Thing. It's also called The Warm and Fuzzies or something.
Humans are definitely strange.
They're walking towards a huge, black car ("A '67 Chevrolet Impala, Nick loves the thing, don't ask me why"). Knives kind of likes cars – mostly, because they get you reasonably fast from point A to B, and also because they don't talk. Unlike their drivers. Since he isn't yet allowed to drive himself, he has so far relied on other people getting him to places. It's probably less a safety measure than part of Vash's Plan To Make Knives More Comfortable Around Humans And Vice-Versa. So far, it's driving him nuts. Apparently, driving is something that drives (ha ha) humans to either fill the blissful silence-that-could-be with talk about the most pointless stuff, or, sometimes even worse, to listen to music. Now that is a whole new can of worms.
Against the side of the car, the crazy priest is leaning, staring at the sky (he's trying to cut back on smoking, Vash has told him). He's wearing a long, dark blue coat and – sunglasses. When he notices them approach, he takes them off, the gaze of his dark eyes zeroing in on Vash, then throwing an assessing, unimpressed look in Knives direction.
"What's up, frowny-face?"
Knives tries to twist his mouth into a smile, but he can feel it failing horribly and instead casts his gaze to the side and says nothing. He is, as ever, completely clueless as how to interact with the priest.
Wolfwood, however, doesn't appear to have expected an answer. He shakes his head, snorts, and opens the driver's side door, throwing himself behind the wheel. Vash slides in next to him on the passenger seat, oblivious and/or uncaring as ever to the awkwardness around him, leaving Knives to sit in the back of the car.
As soon as he's sitting, the engine roars to life and the priest effortlessly weaves his way through the traffic.
At first, it's blessedly quiet. The car (what was it? Impala?) is quite comfortable, warm, and filled with the soft odor of leather and oil. The engine rumbles quietly and it's almost relaxing for a moment.
Up until, five minutes in, Vash starts fighting with the priest over the CD player.
"Vash, you've been listening to that CD all the way to here, can't a man have some peace and quiet once in a while?"
Knives suddenly finds he likes the priest a lot more.
"But Nick, my brother has never heard this before, it's important!"
"I'm sure he'll survive, Tongari."
Yes, thank you.
"Nick."
"Vash."
"Nick, I'm serious. You promised."
Wait, promised what?
"..."
"Nick."
"Fine, fine, do what you want."
"Thanks ba – "
"I swear to god Vash, shut up."
Knives has no idea what is going on, but he can hear his brother giggle quietly while he shoves a CD into the slot.
A beat later, quiet music fills the car. Music full of bells, strings and something that makes
soft, clinking noises.
The lyrics make no sense whatsoever.
Vash twists around in his seat, staring at him with sparkling eyes.
"Isn't it great! It's Christmas music!"
From the driver's seat, there is a soft snort. Vash ignores it.
Knives frowns at his brother.
"What is that supposed to be?" He had heard talk about something called Christmas going around, but didn't bother looking into it. There was an old man on the train who told him, if he kept on frowning that much, something or someone called a Santa wouldn't get him any presents and seriously why does everyone have a problem with his face all of a sudden?
Vash's face lights up like the suns upon hearing the question, and although he knows he's gonna regret what follows now, he can't help but feel a tiny bit happy at the sight.
"Christmas is the BEST time of the year, I tell you! I've just found out myself! There's music and singing and cookies and presents and decorating!"
Yeah, that sounds like something his brother would enjoy (and how are they even related, seriously?).
"Decorating?" he asks, tentatively, because it sounds like the most unthreatening out of everything else, and he remembers darkly that that was his actual purpose for coming here. He has seen stuff called Christmas trees standing around and, with his sparkling eyes and the fuzzy red Thing he's wearing, Vash kind of reminds him of one right now.
"Yep," Vash says proudly, for whatever reason. "It's the kids' first Christmas on Earth and Nick wants it to be perfect. He's going to help bake the cookies and we're gonna decorate the place, there's tinsel and Christmas balls and mistletoe and – "
"I vetoed the mistletoe, remember? You only use it to be dirty."
A strange glint in his eyes, Vash throws a grin to the priest, who is pointedly not looking at him. It's an expression Knives has never seen on his brother before.
"Anyway," Vash says after a moment, finally tearing his gaze away from the priest and back to Knives, fixing him with a blinding smile, "It's gonna be great!"
"Uh. Sure, Vash."
– –
When they arrive at the orphanage, they almost get crushed by the little humans.
The priest barely makes it out of the car, and then they're on him. He complains all the way inside, but makes no reasonable effort to dispatch the kids hanging on to him, Vash walking by his side and making fun of him.
Knives stops a few feet in front of the threshold. The building is huge and made of red brickstone, a garden with high trees surrounding it. From every window, yellow light is shining.
He can feel the warmth escaping through the open door.
For a moment, he just stands there, unsure.
And then, he jumps, when something tugs at his leg.
"Come in you moron, you'll freeze ya balls off!"
He looks down and there is one of the little humans tugging at the fabric of his pants, scowling up at him with no fear whatsoever.
"I heard that, Patrick!" a woman's voice cuts through his confusion, "Watch your language, young man!"
Knives looks up. A round-looking female human has appeared inside the doorway, seemingly out of nowhere. He makes to walk towards the entrance, but the little human – Patrick – is still clutching at his jeans.
At a loss for what to do, Knives simply continues walking, slowly and carefully.
Despite his hopes to the contrary, the kid doesn't let go even when they're inside.
– –
Over the course of the next few hours, Knives comes to the conclusion that decorating is the most confusing thing he has ever done.
It doesn't make any sense. It serves no purpose. Other than to confuse him, apparently.
Vash stays with him most of the time ("Don't treat the tinsel like a dust mop! It has to stay shiny!" "Don't separate the reindeers, they'll be lonely" – "They're made of wood, Vash!" – "It's magic wood! They come alive at night!" – "Don't tell such lies to the children, Vash the Stampede, not in my house!" "Ow! Nick, save me!" – "Stay away from me, Christmas Monster!").
It is, once again, giving him the headache of his life.
Even more frustrating are the little humans.
They are everywhere.
They are everywhere and then somewhere else and then there again and they are loud, and almost obnoxiously curious and cheeky. They confuse him even more than the decorating does.
The little human called Patrick stays close to him constantly. He has no idea what to do about that, so he mostly ignores him.
The only one the kids seem to listen to – apart from the round woman – is, surprisingly, the crazy priest. He emerges from the kitchen every once in a while, mostly to get Vash to actually get some work done instead of fooling around ("Look, my hair sparkles like gold!" – "Put the tinsel where it belongs Vash, right now, or no cookies for you!" – "Meeeean!"). He doesn't let it show, but Knives knows that the priest keeps an eye on him. That he even let Knives get inside a ten-ile radius of the kids is a huge miracle (and he really doesn't want to know what Vash did to convince him, he really doesn't).
When, finally, after what feels like an eternity, the inside of the house in covered in green, red and gold – stuff – the round woman makes all the kids put on thick jackets and gloves and they move outside. Vash tells him they'd decided not to cut down a tree but instead decorate one of the firs in the garden. He has no idea why someone would think it was a good idea to put shiny, ridiculous stuff on a tree, but he is relieved that, at least, they're not going to cut one down. He is seriously starting to get extremely confused though – what kind of celebration would require a tree to be covered in garbage?
Since he doesn't want to appear unhelpful – and not because he's embarrassed due to his lack of knowledge, why would you think that – he doesn't ask.
He almost manages to forget about it completely (not least because it requires a lot of attention not to crush the stuff they're going to put on the tree; and why are humans and everything made by them always that strange, that fragile, anyway?), until Patrick, still hanging on to his leg and watching him attentively, asks, "Will you get something from Santa?"
He stares up at him with a curiously serious expression on his face, eyes wide open and fixed on his face.
Knives falters, completely taken aback, and freezes, a ball covered in glitter in one hand, a tiny figure of a fat man in red clothing in the other.
He tries to apply logic to the question and make it mean something, but gives up after five seconds and just blurts out a "What?"
Patrick rolls his eyes at him.
"Santa, dumbass, is he gonna get ya som'thing? You look all scowly and sad and grumpy all the time. So maybe you've done something bad and now he's not gonna get ya a present."
Knives stares down at the kid, the decorations completely forgotten in his hands.
For all the time he has lived, all the things he has seen, has done, has become – he didn't understand a word of what the tiny being in front of him just said.
"Uh... what?"
Patrick scowls harder. How can such a tiny thing with such insignificant eyebrows manage such a scowl? Humans seem to be become stranger the longer you look at them, he thinks absently.
"Do you know anything about anything at all? Come on, Uncle Nick'll explain it to you."
And before he can do anything, Patrick pulls him away from the tree (Vash doesn't raise a complaint, though maybe he doesn't even notice, since the kids are trying to stop him from hanging all the glittery stuff in his hair – "I'm a pretty princess!" – "No, you're a dude, dudes can't be princesses!" – "Sure they can, look!" – "Stop him! Stop the Christmas Monster!") and into the house, stopping inside the door of the kitchen.
The crazy priest looks up as they enter, throwing a sharp look Knives' way, then concentrates again on – whatever it is he is doing. It almost looks like he's turning a piece of perfectly flat dough into tiny shapes, most of them unrecognizable for Knives.
He hesitates, but Patrick doesn't have any of it. He pulls at him impatiently, until they're way inside the kitchen.
"What's up, Patrick?" the priest asks without looking up from his work. His voice is light, but Knives hears the tense undertone of the question anyway.
Patrick sighs dramatically.
"That dumb – I mean, the mister says he doesn't know about Santa!"
The priest looks up to throw a glance at him. Knives has no idea what his face looks like right now, but whatever he sees on it, it makes the corners of Wolfwood's mouth twitch.
"Is that so?" he replies. "Well, we can't have that, can we? Here – " he takes one of the already baked dough things from a tablet and gives it to the kid, "Take that and go back outside. I'll explain everything to – Mister Knives. You, make sure that Vash doesn't use all the decorations on himself, all right?"
Patrick takes the dough thing with shining eyes like it's something special and practically runs back outside.
Once the little human is gone, the priest throws an assessing look his way.
"So," he begins, rummaging through one of the shelves, "Patrick thought your thick head should be better educated. Guess he's right on that one. Since I'm not really in the storytelling mood right now, here, read this."
With that, he thrusts a tiny, colorful book into Knives' hands.
In huge, crooked and golden letters, it proclaims: "The Story Of Christmas."
Waving a hand dismissively, the priest drawls, "You can sit over there, just don't get in my way."
Still feeling confused – and extremely ridiculous, but at a loss for what to say – Knives sits down at a huge wooden table and resigns himself to his fate. At least here it's warm, and quiet, and there's no Vash to tease him about his "horrible lack of ability to appreciate the finer things in life, how can you be that boring and tight-lipped" and so on.
After a while though, he begins to read with more and more attention. At first, the short sentences and huge font – obviously made so in order to match the crude reading skill levels of little humans – almost made him close the book immediately. But the more he reads about this thing called "Christmas," the more everything that's been happening these last few days starts to make sense, even if it is a kind of ridiculous sense. And if there's one thing he likes, it's when something has a clear reason, a purpose.
Still – when he's through with it, he feels strangely disappointed.
Is that all there is to it? Another lie, another pretense?
"So, you got it?" the crazy priest asks, while throwing powdery white stuff over the dough things.
"I... guess," Knives replies, tentatively, closing the book. Hesitantly, he eyes the other man's tense back, choosing his words carefully. "I assume I can relate to wanting to believe in gifts given by a savior, especially if it's the most unlikely savior of all."
The priest pauses in his proceedings, but doesn't turn around.
"You get that it's only a story, right. Even some of the kids know that, though they pretend otherwise."
There's a curious double-meaning to his words, but Knives can't for the life of him figure out what it is. It makes him pause, but only for a moment. He has no idea why, especially since he's found it so hard to speak to people at all, the words now almost tumble out of his mouth in a rush.
"I know. It... confuses me, to be honest. You are all so – enthusiastic. Why pretend if you are aware of the fact that there's no actual meaning behind it? Why – why all this," he asks, exasperated, bitter, making a vague gesture with his hands at the dough, the glitter, all the stuff, "why celebrate it at all?"
The crazy priest finally turns around, stares at him long and hard.
For a moment, Knives is fairly sure he is going to attack him, but then, from one second to the next, Wolfwood pushes away from the table and moves towards the door.
"Get up, I'm gonna show ya somethin'."
They climb a couple of stairs until they reach the second floor – where it smells of a mixture of unwashed socks and fabric softener – and walk towards one of the huge windows overlooking the garden outside.
For a long moment, Wolfwood just stares down at the tree, the lights, the children trying to catch Vash, who's running around holding a long, sparkling ribbon over his head.
Just when the silence is starting to get uncomfortable, the priest says, "You know, whether you believe in the story or not, that actually doesn't matter. It's the meaning that matters. This day we're preparing for is a day of giving without expecting anything in return. Of being together. It's an opportunity. What you do with that – your choice."
He shrugs, then turns around, heading back downstairs. "And now I'm done preaching to you. You better learn this stuff the hard way, anyway."
Knives looks back down to the children, the priest's words ringing in his ears, when something catches his eye. Before he can think about it, he blurts out, "What about Patrick?"
Wolfwood stops walking, turns halfway around again.
"What about him?" he asks, his voice immediately low, suspicious. The mistrust hurts, but well, it should.
"He's being scolded by the, uh, woman."
For a beat, there's silence. Then: "He has anger management issues." Suddenly, the priest snorts out a laugh. "Maybe you can relate."
Despite himself, he can feel himself smile.
The priest shakes his head, and moves to turn around again, when Knives is suddenly struck by a thought.
"What did he wish for? Do you know?"
The priest studies him for a moment, then sighs, and squints at the clear sky.
"Snow."
Knives frowns.
"Snow?" he asks, slowly. Maybe there's tinsel in his ear (he wouldn't put it past Vash).
"Snow," the crazy priest confirms. "And I have no bloody idea how to get him that for Christmas, other than praying, and you know, I actually don't really do that, despite Vash's – whatever," he mumbles, turning his face away.
"Anyway, it's still a few weeks till Christmas, I'll think of something if the weather doesn't change."
Now, finally, he drags himself down the stairs and back to the kitchen.
Knives stays and looks outside until the light begins to fade.
– –
"Where were you?! I was being pursued by mean tinsel thieves!"
"That's not true! You stole the tinsel! You're like the Grinch!"
"Ew, how can you even say that! So mean! I'm far too pretty to be the Grinch! Right, Nick?"
"All of you, shut up!"
When Knives comes back down, the chaos and noise is right back there with him. The kids are trying to tackle Vash to the floor, who in turn is trying to take shelter behind Wolfwood's back, who tries – fruitlessly – to disentangle himself from the mess.
All the kids seem to be back inside, all except –
"Where's Patrick?" he asks, looking around with something that is Definitely Not Worry.
The crazy priest manages to get one hand free – which he first uses to hit Vash, to no noticeable effect, and then to point at the door.
"Outsh – outside! Dammit Vash, get yer ridiculous hair outta my face or so help me – !"
Shaking his head, Knives turns to go there, telling himself that it's because there's simply too much noise in here.
Outside, his breath forms into fog in front of his face. A few stars are visible through the low-hanging clouds.
Patrick stands in front of the illuminated tree, staring up at the sky.
Unsure of what to say, Knives moves to stand beside him, staring upwards as well.
Out of the corners of his eyes, he can see Patrick eying him curiously.
"Watcha lookin' for?" the boy asks, suspiciously.
Knives looks back down at him.
"I don't know. What were you looking for?"
The boy snorts, looks away.
Finally, he murmurs. "Thought it might snow. I played a lot in the snow, when – forget it."
He falls silent. Knives doesn't say anything. And really, what is there to say? He doesn't even know what that's like, snow, or what's supposed to be so great about it. Patrick though seems seriously hung up about it.
It's about giving something without expecting something in return. About being together.
"You know. Maybe, when we stand here together, it'll snow."
Patrick stares at him, wide-eyed. His nose is running.
"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. And Mister Vash tells a hella lot stupid stuff."
Before he knows what he's doing, Knives chuckles quietly. "That he does. But sometimes there's more to his stupid stories than one might think."
Patrick snorts again, shaking his head, but he shuffles closer, clutches almost unconsciously at Knives' sleeve.
"I better keep an eye on you. You're even crazier than him."
Knives smiles to himself. "That I am. But I'm trying my best."
Patrick stares up at him again with his scowling Serious Expression.
"You know, Uncle Nick told us he'd kick your ass back to Gunsmoke if you tell us dumb stuff."
Yeah, that sounds like him.
"I'm counting on it," he says, smiling down at Patrick. The kid's face twists up.
"You're weird. Great. I'm standing outside in the cold with a weirdo. Fantastic. And there's not even – "
Suddenly he freezes. Then:
"There! Do you see that?"
Startled, Knives looks upwards. And there it is – thick, white, fuzzy things falling from the sky.
Huh. Well, that must be snow then.
Honestly, he thinks it's kind of unremarkable, but the kid totally freaks out, shouting and running around in circles. By the time the other children have joined them, the snow has already covered the ground and crunches under each of their steps.
For the longest time he just stands there, content to watch, and also kind of at a loss for what to do with the stuff.
It is beautiful, in its own way, but cold.
Just when he has decided to head back inside alone, a tiny, freezing hand clutches at his.
"Come on you moron, don't just stand there! Didn't I tell you ya balls are gonna fall off?"
Patrick, shaking his head in disbelief, drags him over to where he's trying to build what looks like several huge round somethings of snow.
"We're building a snowman! You're not very smart but you look strong, you can help!"
It takes a while, but finally, he gets what the children are planning.
He has no idea what the purpose or the use of a snowman could be (it doesn't even look like a man, more like something Vash would draw) – and for the first time in his life since a long time, he realizes distantly he doesn't care.
Despite the gloves, he almost can't feel his hands anymore, but every time he looks at Patrick's beaming smile, it only fuels him on further.
The snow is surprisingly light, soft – almost otherworldly in its pureness and brightness – and lets itself turn into any shape he wants, without ever really changing. As he holds it in his hands, working with it, a calm and peace settle over him that he hasn't felt in what feels like several lifetimes, like eternities.
It's like feeling at home, except that doesn't make any sense, because he's not sure he's ever felt like that before, so why should he now, and here, of all places?
In the end, the snowman gets so high, Knives has to put Patrick on his shoulders so that the kid can give it eyes of charcoal and a carrot as a nose.
When it's finished, the children surrounding them cheer, running around wildly. When Knives moves to set the kid down again, Patrick clutches at his hair and murmurs –
"You know, uh, thanks. You're not as dumb as you look."
Taken aback, Knives takes a moment to reply.
"Uh."
"Okay, forget what I said. Anyway, do you get now what Christmas is?"
Knives thinks about that for several moments, while Patrick waits patiently.
While trying to think of an appropriate reply – at first glance, there seem to be so many possible ones, and yet none of them seems to really fit – his gaze falls on the tree, the children playing in the snow (or trying to stuff it down the neck of Vash's ridiculously fuzzy coat), and he finds his answer.
"I think, Christmas means many things. It means doing the most ridiculous stuff, eating things that have been twisted into strange shapes and so on – but it also means being... together. Giving something, just because you want to make someone happy. It's been... it's been a long time since I thought that was a thing worth doing."
Patrick doesn't seem quite convinced by his answer.
"Hm. I think you still haven't got it."
Knives smiles.
"Well, you know, the thing with Christmas is – it's fuzzy."
Patrick only snorts at that, but doesn't object.
Together, they stand there quietly a long time (ignoring Vash's girlish screams as the kids shove him headfirst into the snow) and watch the snowflakes settle on the ground, on the trees and all the tiny golden lights.