A/N: Switched POV of chapter 6: 'The Winged Man'
(Apologies for the lengthy time between updates. Thank you for your support!)
It was early twilight as Vash flew in towards the town. He was in a very good mood. He had spent the day visiting a friend in a town some iles to the north. Hamilton, the tailor, had closed his doors of his shop on seeing him. He had dismissed his other customers and had spent half an hour lecturing him on neglecting old friendships. Vash had brought along a bottle of Wild Turkey to help with that situation. Hamilton had put it to one side and had proceeded to listen with steadily more incredulity as Vash had explained his predicament with his wings.
"How many bottles of the bird did you have before you arrived, Vash?" Hamilton exclaimed with a wry laugh. "Not that I mind, but that has to be the best tale I have heard in years!"
Vash shrugged his ragged brown cloak off his shoulders and flared his wings, the shop was too small for him to open them to their full span, but the display silenced Hamilton. The tailor picked up a pin beside him and casually poked the back of his hand.
"Ow!" He sucked the back of his hand and stared at Vash.
"So this is real." He mumbled around his hand. "So not only are you a wanted outlaw, and an ace gunman, you're also an angel."
"An angel!" Vash laughed out his panic, and scratched the back of his neck. "N-no, I'm not an angel. I'm a man with wings." He tucked his wings back behind him.
Hamilton gave a snort of laughter.
"Same thing. So why did the man with wings come to my shop with a bottle of the bird and the best story I have heard in years?"
Vash pulled his bag over and drew out his old red duster.
"The wings are kinda new. None of my regular clothes fit."
Hamilton grinned at him.
"I'm going to put that in my window. Outfitter of Angels."
"I-I'm not an angel." Vash pleaded.
"Close enough." Hamilton chuckled. "Is that the old red coat you brought to me last time?" He got to his feet, took it from Vash, and shook it out. "No, the detailing is different here. However, the same manufacturers, Vash, you have got to introduce me to these friends of yours, they're amazing tailors."
Vash shrugged in a non-committed manner.
"What of that body armour you wear?" Hamilton asked. "Do you need wing holes for that too?"
"Wha? You can sew reinforced leather?" Vash gazed at him hopefully.
"I used to make racing saddles for tomas's before I got into the fine tailoring. I've got the old industrial machines, ever so often they come in useful. If you're going to go for a full refit, we'll do it properly, eh?"
Hamilton had been true to his word; the clothing and armour not only fit, but due to little adjustments here and there were now very comfortable. He really liked the fact that he could wear his red coat again; he had felt rather vulnerable facing the world without it.
.
He searched for the glow of the plant orb as he approached the town. There was nothing but the murky haze of twilight. Perhaps he had lost himself in the skies and had missed the town... No, wait. He recognised the outcrop of rocks in the distance. He had spent many days diving insanely off those rocks to get the hang of launching and landing. That meant the town was down there, but there was in absolute darkness. A rush of stricken panic whipped around his heart. He flapped trying to fly faster than he already was going. The air that had once felt so free was now thick and heavy and unyielding. As he approached, he headed not for the house, but for the broken arc of the ship where the plant orb should have been. He landed awkwardly on one of the broken outcrops of starship hull and searched through the gloom. Why had he not arrived sooner when it was still light, when he could still see? The four moons were up, though the shadows were playing havoc with his eyes. He could not see the power plant below him. He reached out with his mind and found nothing. Panic surged through him, what had happened? He leaped recklessly into the sky and flapped down to the orb itself. He landed on one of the claws that had once held it, and stared. It had been shattered, and the angel within, taken. All that remained were the life support systems and other connections.
Where were the people? Why weren't they here making a fuss? In unthinking panic, he surged into the air again, flying along the main streets searching for a glimpse of light or movement, or something that would indicate that there was someone in the town. He threw out his mind, searching for people in the manner he used to contact plants. He had never tried that, and did not know if it would work. The search found no one. The town was empty. There were not even animals in it. He landed with a thud on the roof of the lodging he had rented along with the others. No, no, NO! This could not be happening. He crouched down, clutching his arms across his chest as he fought to breath against the panic that almost incapacitated him. The last time... the last time this had happened, he had never found the people. They had simply vanished. Yet this was the first time a plant was also taken. He had suspected the Sandworm hive mind the last time; they did inexplicable random acts of devastation like that. What had this town done to disrupt the harmony? Usually the hive mind left the plants, not understanding them as a form of sentient life they could bargain with or blame.
He sniffed as he miserably huddled on the roof. Perhaps his friends had escaped. With a wild surge of hope, he swung himself off the edge of the roof and landed on the sill of the tall window at the end of the hall. He kicked the glass in and nudged open the lock. But when he walked through the house calling, no one answered. It was awful. He could smell their presence, the acrid cigarette smoke of Wolfwood, the scent of floral soap Milly used, and he lingered for a long moment at the threshold of Meryl's room, the smell of her that mingled with the delicate perfume she liked to wear in tiny amounts. That memory only made him cry harder.
He heard the scramble of footfalls on the stairs behind him, and for a moment thought his mind was playing tricks on him. But, no, there she was, looking as terrified as he felt. He could not get across the room fast enough. He grabbed her and held her, drawing in her scent in great gulps as the panic receded a bit. Whatever had happened, she had been spared. She muttered something and he hardly heard her, and released her to look at her face. She was so wonderfully small and he had never thought he would ever have the chance to hold her so.
Then his restraint failed him and he hugged her again, this time wishing heartily that he had never dressed in his armour and coat so that he could feel her gentle curves against him. He craved the comfort she could physically give. He nestled his face into her neck, half expecting her to slap him away. He breathed in her scent, intoxicating in its bewildering blend of dust, sweat and the faded remains of her perfume. He had not expected her skin to be so soft and silky, and almost forgot himself enough to try to kiss the delicate protrusion of her jaw. It was then that she hugged him back. He almost melted into her and let out a soft sigh, but her hands that she slid across his back, encountered his wings. It was all he could do not to gasp out loud at how that brought back the recollection of her delicate explorations the night before. He was bewildered and relieved when she flinched back from him. He released her, his mind reeling, he had been so enraptured by her presence that he had forgotten the circumstances. They were in danger here, what had he been thinking? He sheepishly realised he had not been thinking at all, it had all come from raw need and terror.
He wiped his eyes and examined her then. He had been so caught up in his own half fantasies that he had not actually seen her as she was. She was shaking so badly she could hardly stand. He watched as she swayed as she stepped down the final few stairs. He knew he could not count on her for help, she could hardly protect herself in that state. Even if she was wearing that magnificent cape of hers that hid all those deadly little guns. That cape featured in far too many of his dreams of late. Ugh, but he needed to get a hold of his imagination when it came to her. It had almost sunk him into worse trouble. He then realised that if she could not walk across the kitchen without swaying there would be no way she would be able to walk out of town. He delighted in the remaining alternative that presented itself. However, he would have to play this carefully, or she would never let him near her.
Sorting through what necessities she needed had helped, she had to have her things with her. But ugh, why did she have to carry that heavy typewriter everywhere? He reluctantly tossed a few packs of bullets, his bag was heavy enough, and he was going to have to fly with more weight than he was used to carrying. She settled the blanket around her shoulders as he slung his bag on his back. He waited until she had both arms inside the blanket then leaped. There was no way he could let her have her way in this.
He grabbed her and leaped up the stairs as fast as he could. She let out a few startled, then terrified yelps. Then to his astonishment as he kicked off into the air, she burrowed her head into his chest. It was only as he began to climb did it occur to him that she might be terrified. He felt awful then, and was grateful when she asked him to free her arms. He had not expected the added bonus of her wrapping them around his neck and breathing against his ear. It tickled like mad but he kept a straight face, if it would keep her there, he was content.
.
It was as her head fell against his neck that he realised she was asleep. He flapped his way through the high winds and spread his wings experimentally and found the wind carried him faster and with greater ease than his own determined flapping. Released of the burden of keeping them airborne, he turned his attention to the way she nuzzled against his neck for warmth. If only things were different between them, he would have stolen a kiss, no several kisses. He smiled as he flew. As bad as this night had been, there were some serious benefits to having wings.
She lay nestled against him for almost half an hour until she started awake. He turned to gaze at her; he could not resist her eyes, wide with terror and determination. He almost laughed as she gave him orders concerning his flying, as if she knew anything. She drowsily leaned her head back against his neck her breath ticklish and warm, then she peppered him with questions. They were tired and slow, as if she were trying to keep awake and was making small talk. But he could not answer her. How could he tell her of the hive mind and the bleak games of treachery they played with people? That would only terrify her.
"Vash," he did like it when she used his name; it sure beat the other monikers she had for him. He almost stumbled out of the sky when she finished the question, "are there other people like you?"
What kind of question was that? As if he were something out of the ordinary. He did not like the heading of this at all. He drew on his reserves of courage, smiled, and laughingly gave a vague answer. She then qualified her question.
"I mean like you, with wings."
Abruptly he felt as though he were swimming through lead. It was fortunate that the high wind carried them, or they would have tumbled out of the skies. No. There was no way. This could not be linked to him. A colder, sinister thought returned then, that such occurrences in the past had been his work. He felt even sicker with terror when he realised that she had somehow seen his person. Perhaps it wasn't him.
"Why do you ask?" He breathed lightly, pouring all his hope into that phrase.
The words she said next not only froze his innards to ice, but it took all he could not to throw up. She had been close enough to see his features. She had been close enough to see his features. He stared at her in panic, unable to appear indifferent any longer. He had to know if he had seen her. If he had done anything to her, but no, she would be dead if he had. He drew out of her every last detail she could remember, and got her to recount her entire day. He would have found Wolfwood's accusations of her scaring him off funny if he were not so terrified.
.
He landed on the roof of the hotel of the town. He had meant to escort her down to the street level and to see her safely settled in, but he could not waste time now. Not when he had this news. He vaguely answered her questions as he fished her belongings out of her bag. But she was not satisfied, oh no, in fact he seemed only to succeed in making her more angry. He even surrendered his towel for her to hide her luggage in, and she was still not happy.
She grabbed his collar then, her thumb brushed over his neck and it was all he could do to clench his fists not to place his hand over hers. She asked him directly who that man had been. He gazed at her feeling the sorrow and anguish bank up against the dam wall of shame. How could he say he was his brother, after she had so tentatively come to befriend him? How could he explain the devastation that was their twisted and tormented history? That he was no saviour, but an embattled vanguard against the worst fate any had wished on this planet? He felt his heart clench with anguish, and somehow found the energy to speak instead of collapse on the ground in his own terror. No, he could not even begin to tell her the truth.
He turned and left her, and lightly disentangled his wing from her grasp when she grabbed it. He was hardly aware that he held her whole weight in his hands, tilting her back like that to try and emphasize what he had to say. She was so slight and wonderful and he wanted her now more than anything in the world. He wanted to hold her and protect her from the world, and the best he could do now was to keep her at a distance. He knew his resistance would crumble if he so much as tried to draw her closer. She had spoken of chasing him, but that was absurd to his mind. Her understanding was only of the world she had seen, of gun wielding outlaws and underground havoc. She did not know what she was doing wishing to follow him. He released her before his self control failed him and turned away
He felt a flair of anguish flicker out from his heart so that it almost crippled him. No, she could not know. He so badly wanted to explain, but he would never tell her. It was not shame that forced him to hide, but that he could not tell her for her own good. She was too determined to be allowed knowledge of this travesty, investigating it would only break her. He felt his heart soften in the grip of anguish and he cried with the tears that love drew out. He wanted so badly to stay and protect her, but in order to do that he had to go. He was the only one who could stand up to him. He straightened, searching the skies for the courage he lacked. She was still following him, stumbling after him. He turned; keeping what anguish he could out of his voice as best he could, and explained as simply as he was able.
"Your job is not worth your life." He was amazed at how calm it came out, as he felt a great tearing panic inside. All he wanted to do was to hold her. And that fear and confusion on her face was not making it any easier. He turned, unable to shut down his own heart. He ran with tears in his eyes, sprinting so he could pretend not to hear her cry his name after him. He leaped into the sky and pounded at the air. He pulled his eyes skyward, wishing he had not caught a glimpse of the way she had gracefully leaped to grab the tail of his coat, only to miss and fall back in anguished despair. He forced himself to look away as he climbed, until he was out of earshot and flew powerfully until he was out of reach of the tug she exerted on his heart. Hugging his arms to himself was to keep the worst of the cold out of his coat and not a pathetic attempt to ease the throbbing ache in his heart. He had to flap all the way back to the stricken town, the treacherous high wind only wished to return him to her.
.
He landed on the rocky outcrop on the outskirts of the empty town and collapsed. He was exhausted, heartbroken and alone. He slipped his bag off his back and lay half sprawled on it, his wings raggedly flared out around him. He had no plan, and the state he was in, could not think of one. The anguish ebbed and flowed, she was safe, but Milly and Wolfwood were not. Milly should be safe with Wolfwood, he had never encountered a fighter quite the calibre of Wolfwood, and he had met many people in his wanderings. The people in the town were all dead. He had yet to discover what happened to the folk who simply vanished like that. No one ever returned, not that they could return, the plant was gone. And worst of all, he had been there. He dry heaved, but could not shake the sickness that flashed through his body. Would this town have been attacked at all, had he not been in it? Tears dripped onto the leather of the bag to drip off into a small puddle that was pooling in a hollow in the rock. Ah, no. There was a worse thought. He could never see her again. Not with his brother investigating matters so closely. The more distance he put between her and him the better. He felt his heart shatter in his chest then, the shards of pain flared all down the inside of his torso. He buried his face in his fists and moaned with the bitter comfortless wind. Exhaustion drew him into the oblivion and torment that was sleep, as his tears continued to fall.
