He looked like a gargoyle perched upon a wall. His cold grimace and crouching stance gave him the air of a stone demon. Even one of little imagination could picture both a sharp, cruel tail jutting out from his spine and a pair of tattered reptilian wings sprouting from his shoulder blades.
Constantly living in a state of fear and sadness, Vash became merely a darkened shell of his former self. Vash once lived in a time when he was truly happy, but that time had been stolen from him in a manner that was, to Vash, the cruelest way possible. Squelched and replaced by a cold and hard-eyed cynic, Vash no longer felt lighthearted or compassionate toward anything.
Vash hid in his apartment for weeks, occasionally moving from his bed to a chair, or the floor. Never answering the door or even opening the curtains (although, for some reason a small breeze seemed to make them move every so often, letting in thin rays of light to penetrate the darkness), he kept himself completely separated from the world. His self-induced isolation began to take a toll on him days ago, however, he did not recognize that he was not well.
Vash pulled his legs out from under himself and fell onto his hard, boxy bed, sprawling over the rumpled comforter that once lay crisply and neatly. A tear welled up in his eye and spilled down his angular face. A sharp, stabbing pain jolted his heart. An ache was always there, but only when he thought about this did it ever transform into what felt like a searing dagger.
I miss you -- oh God, I miss you -- I tried and -- I'm sorry -- my fault -- I couldn't help you – I tried -- you know that don't you? -- know that -- know that I loved you -- when he stole you away...
These thoughts flitted around behind his eyes, unrecognizable. Vash opened his mouth and gasped as an imaginary razor blade cut his heart open yet again. He clenched his eyes tightly into black slits of lashes.
"He killed her." Startled by the sound of his own voice and the harshness of his words, his heart flew into his throat. More tears escaped his dull eyes and streamed down his cheeks.
Vash sat up once again, his eyes drawn to a mirror across the room where his red trench coat hung in the reflection and his gun holster sat on the table both in front and inside of the mirror. A solid thought flowed through his mind, clearly recognizable and terrifying in its validity: It could end here.
Vash's face began to lose what color was left in it as he stared soberly at his gun encased in the holster. He extended his legs off of the edge of the bed and slipped into a standing position. The floor was grainy on his bare feet and the edge of the bed scraped his unprotected calves. He stepped slowly towards the mirror, feeling every particle in and on the floor, every small breeze and draft that somehow made it into his isolated habitat and every mental tug the gun heaved.
It would be best for you. It would be best for the world and everything in it too, it seemed to whisper delicately in his ears.
Vash's eyes drifted from the gun to the mirror that stood in front of him. A dark, miserable figure peered back. His eyes were sunken and red, hair matted to his scalp, but in places slightly feathery. His body looked weak, despite the muscles that had been forged by over a century of pain, fear and anxiety. His scars looked almost like frustrated, glaring eyes staring back at him.
He forced himself to look away from his body, away from the harsh gaze of the eyes and his attention focused back to the dull metallic shine that glimmered in the faint light.
For the better... of the spiders, It cooed.
Vash shuddered as another voice, the voice of his brother, echoed in his head. You must kill spiders to save butterflies…
But truly, who was the spider and who was the butterfly? Vash recalled all the lives he had taken, all the cities he had single-handedly destroyed. July... Auguste... He caused the deaths of his loves and friends:
He was no butterfly.
He was the spider...
Another solitary tear trickled down his cheek and landed as a bead teetering on his lip. His eyelids were heavy and he slammed them shut, pressing out one last tear.
You must kill spiders to save butterflies.
Vash's legs began to weaken. He stepped forward and placed his hand on the cold, smooth handle. Carefully removing the weapon from its holster, he held it limply in his hand. It felt heavier than usual…
I carry the answer to the whole world's troubles. That's why I'm so heavy. I'm so full of… mercy. A nearly inaudible laugh resounded throughout his mind.
His chest felt as though it burst into flames and he let a ghastly scream escape before hurling the Gun across the room, slamming it upon the wall.
The Gun was torturing him, playing with him like a child's toy. It let out a shriek of its own as a bullet spewed from its mouth and into the wall to the left of Vash. His eye's darted frantically back and forth from the Gun that lay seemingly dormant to the bullet hole beside him.
Why did you do that, Vash? Haven't you realized that I'm only here to help you? To guide you...
The voice of the Gun was now replaced with Knives' dark tone.
Kill the spider.
Vash felt lightheaded… It was his brother. The Gun, forged by him, somehow had taken on his personality, his mindset. Was it only now that It decided to show its true self? It didn't seem realistic.
Another cry erupted from Vash's mouth, this one not of terror, but of pain. The sharp razor of thoughts sliced through him again, leaving him kneeling on the floor.
It's only right.
His brother's voice had seemingly calmed now; a peaceful sigh seemed to emanate from the barrel.
Vash's tired, pained eyes drifted from the grained floorboards to the metallic sheen of his trusty sidekick. Plucking himself off the ground, Vash forced himself to approach the Gun.
It did not speak to Vash.
It just sat, glinting in the sliver of sunshine that flickered around the drawn curtains.
A hundred thousand thoughts streamed through Vash's mind at once. Even as a Plant, he lacked the intellectual capacity to pick out any one thought, but the overall message was there…
With dull, grey eyes, Vash flicked up the Gun, as he would have a year ago, but instead of pointing it at a bounty hunter he lined it up to his temple.
You do kill spiders to save butterflies.
He pulled the trigger.
A quiet burble tumbled out of Vash's mouth as he collapsed to the ground. He lay there, motionless. Frozen? Dead…
Or so he thought.
He thought?
Dead people can't think, he thought.
Vash opened his eyes and filled them with the dim light of his room.
Dead people have no eyes to open.
He looked around the room. Everything was how he left it.
I didn't leave it.
Vash's stomach lurched. The silver Gun had fallen just out of his reach and was in a position that looked as if it were smiling at him.
Grinning…
Smirking…
What had happened?
He should be dead… and yet, he could still see, breathe and move like any other living being. He raised two fingers to his temple. Nothing was out of the ordinary; not a drop of blood had spilled and his brain remained intact.
But why?
The shot that blasted from the gun earlier was the last in the barrel, the Gun offered the suggestion faintly, as only the deep recesses of Vash's mind could hear.
Damn you. Vash's mind spat as the sound of the Gun's voice returned.
After all those decades Vash spent running from his enemies, fending for himself, that was truly the closest he had ever come to death.
He could smell the decay that hadn't even begun.
Spider…A wince shattered his face as the Gun's voice became louder. Vash scrabbled to his feet. With all the force that he could gather, he kicked the Gun under his bed. He fell into a squatting position and held his face in his hands and his elbows on his knees. Tears streamed from his eyes and welled up in his palms.
What's going on? Vash thought miserably. Was there no bullet? He reached is hand back up to his temple. He lifted his head again; the glint of the Gun from the right under the edge of the bed caught his eye.
Come, Spider.
Vash stood and took three strides toward the bed mindlessly before realizing he was even moving. A stab at the heart brought him to a standstill. He ran a hand over his knotted, sweaty hair and paused. Every sound, every little squeak of a door, and every little step on the floor in the entire building: He heard it. The sounds pounded at his mind and behind them all, shrouded by confusion, the bitter, cold voice of his brother called out to him.
The pit of terror, anger, sorrow and confusion inside of Vash had reached its limit. With a deep, harsh voice, he belted out, "KNIVES! YOU COWARD!!!" and fell to his knees once again. He clutched his chest, heart beating like a mad drummer had taken to it and pressed his eyes shut. Another long wail escaped him, but made not a single word from it.
His head hung back; an expression of torture had taken over his once beautiful face. His forehead had folded into many creases and nose flared out, and his mouth, drawn into a frightful howl. He vision began to fade and he collapsed onto all fours.
Listen to me, Spider.
"WHY SHOULD I LISTEN TO YOU?" Vash bellowed. The word "you" elongated into a fading syllable, faint sobs and eventually silence. Subconsciously, Vash's mind began to wonder whether or not the neighbours could hear his raving. It was no object of thought in his outer mind, seemingly unimportant.
He glanced toward the tattered coat that hung on the rack to his right. Staring sadly at it, he knew what Rem had told him all those years ago had been a lie: Red was the color of blood, suffering, and death.
I know best.
"You know nothing…" Vash hissed. "Things… they…" He paused for a moment. He thought of his lover: Shining black hair and those eyes… "Things can only get better…" He stared at the floor, unblinking, unmoving. "Because…" His voice drifted for a moment, and a short hiccup followed, "…said so."
The menacing voice of the Gun remained silent.
"I'm sorry that I've failed you yet again…" He whispered. "I'll make it right."
Vash rose to his feet once again. This time, however, the slashes to his insides dulled and his eyes left the grey mist they had been veiled in, returning to their true aqua colour. He closed his eyes and muttered to himself.
"I'm going to get dressed. And then I'm going to leave this place. And then I'm going to find something to eat." At the thought of food his stomach gurgled. Solemn-faced, he automatically started for his coat, but thought better of it. Today, I will not be Vash the Stampede, he thought and turned around and headed for the dresser. To his left, his empty holster sat on the table in front of the mirror. He glanced into the mirror, looking again at his tired, pained and wet eyes. Vash forced his eyes from their reflection and opened the top drawer of the dresser.
He rummaged around until he found a suitable pair of underwear- a pair of striped boxers that were relatively new; they had no visible holes in them, unlike all the others that were torn and tattered. Vash also pulled out a pair of dull green pants and a white shirt, pulled them on and ambled out of his room.
The light outside his room temporarily blinded him, as the only light that had entered his room in the past weeks had been slivers of sunshine that made their way around the heavy curtains. The hallway outside of his room was floored with hardwood that reached up to mid-wall. The wood was cracked and worn away from people's feet walking over them continuously. An unexciting yellow paint cracked and peeled away from the walls. Bits and pieces of the chipped paint speckled the corners of the floor. Vash seemed to drift through the hall, until it opened up into the lobby of the hotel.
Chairs and couches surrounded the few coffee tables in the room, many of which were occupied. Many of these people looked tired and worn out, but some sat fidgeting almost excitedly. To Vash's left there were three tellers, working one booth each. Two of the three tellers were busy with customers and the other was bent over the booth with a bored expression that was somewhat misshapen by the fist that held her head up. Vash paid her no more attention than a passing glance and made his way through the foyer and out the front doors.
Blinded a second time by the bright light of daytime, Vash staggered back a step. He blinked his eyes repeatedly, attempting to adjust them to the burn of the twin suns. As his sight returned he began walking again, to his left. He recalled a small restaurant that was located a few blocks in this direction.
For the first time in a long while, Vash didn't feel alone, even as he walked down the nearly deserted streets. The warmth of the suns radiated onto him, warming him from inside out. He hadn't felt this way since…
Eyes… such beautiful eyes… Deep, piercing, and longing. Running hands along a smooth, slender body.
And now she was gone.
Vash forced his thoughts away from the past. Find food, eat food. That's what I'm out to do. He scuffled his feet along the dirt path that ran alongside the street, kicking up small clouds of dust with each step. He stared at the pebbles and stones scattered randomly on the path, deep in thought.
It's always the one's who I get close t- OOF! A sudden force knocked him off his feet. Vash collided with the sand and gravel at a fantastic speed, leaving dents of grains in his palms and forearms. "What the fuck?" He craned his neck around, looking over his shoulder at whatever had caused him to lose his balance and topple over. A tall man with short black hair and a black jacket was running in the opposite direction of what Vash had been heading.
Nicholas!? The first thought that flashed through Vash's mind made his heart jump into his throat. Vash jumped to his feet with a spin and began to charge at the fleeing man. It can't be… It's not possible. Vash sprinted in front of the man, blocking his way. He looked into the man's face; his eyes were as brownish-green as the leaves on a dying tree.
An genuine feeling of disappointment flitted through Vash's subconscious as he realized it was not, in fact, the dearly departed Wolfwood. On the outside, however, his eyes bulged and mouth gaped slightly as he stared at the man. His eyes filled with hate as they lowered into a glare. The side of his mouth turned up into a snarl. It was –
Equally stunned, the man whispered, "Vash…"
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Well, review! I hope to post the next chapter soon...