What? Write? *cough*
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Vash leaned back on his heels and didn't bother trying to suppress the sigh that escaped through his lips. But once it turned into a yawn he quickly bit it off. As the only one left awake he couldn't afford a nap.
He wanted very badly to close his eyes but knew that would be a terrible idea. Healing Anne had taken all of Knives' and Alex's strength, and most of his as well. He would have done as much as the others if he could, but was hampered by artificial arm. There were times that he felt that losing his arm hadn't been so bad; that even the power in one was more than enough for a single mortal to command. But today he had wished to have his old appendage back, since they could have used the extra strength, and more besides.
His brother and son both looked gray, tired beyond anything they had tried before. He had elected to stay and watch over them while they slept since he was just a little less tired, pale instead of ashen. Less of the work had fallen to him because he could do less, and as his gaze lifted from the sleeping forms of his family to take in the prone body in the bulb, he wished once more that he could have done better.
Wishing for it was futile, but that couldn't stop him from feeling slightly inadequate. What they had just been through was overwhelming, past what they comprehended when they had set to the task. None of them had thought that it would be easy. They were young, strong, and had practiced healing a bit on the ship. They had the confidence of inexperience on their side when they began, and the lesson had left them weary and mostly hopeless.
Anne was more dead than alive. She had lost more blood than a human could and survive, and only the temperate environment of the bulb was keeping her body warm and functioning at all. If he watched closely he could see the pulse in her neck tremble faintly. Aside from that there was nothing. No higher brain function, no movement, no tell-tale or sign to give them even a shred of hope that they had been in time, that her mind still functioned in the hastily patched-up body.
Once again his hand came up to idly rub at the bare spot on his chest where once a metal grate had been. A doctor, despairing of his chances at life had bolted it to the remains of ribs that had been shattered in one of his many fights. He had been sure that Vash would not live out the week, and then the month, after he had needed to take out the shards that remained of his bones. But he had, lingering in the hospital until the physician reluctantly pronounced him free to leave. Fixing that injury had been the worst scar that his son had ever tried to remove.
He didn't know what Knives' training in healing entailed, but knowing his brother it hadn't involved much in the way of pain.
And Anne had been so much worse then anything they would have possibly tried. His ribs had healed enough that Alex hadn't needed to deal with blood spurting from unexpected places. For Anne, fixing a vessel at one spot nearly always created another leak as a strained section gave way under the renewed blood pressure. It was a race to heal two problems in the time it took the first one to give way again.
In comparison, lifting and fixing the shattered sections of her windpipe back into their correct positions was almost easy, and that had been a puzzle that would put jigsaws to shame. It wasn't that there were so many pieces that needed to be realigned, but that the pieces were a confusing mass of angles to begin with, and needed to be supported while the other two fixed the rest of the damage.
Vash stood away from the rail, shaking his head in an effort to dispel the thoughts that plagued him. If only he hadn't messed up here, or if he had noticed that Knives needed help sooner with his task, or if they had just had a little more practice, or a little more time. Then maybe she wouldn't be floating in there, cradled in the arms of their sister, unresponsive to the world.
Then again, maybe she was just sleeping. A sleep so deep that her mind had turned itself off.
Vash noticed a tear trickling down his cheek and swiped it away angrily. She wasn't dead, or at least there was still some hope. Some small hope, some faint chance that they had been good enough and lucky enough to have saved her. He stepped forward, thinking to go down the stairs and check the terminals. They might notice some activity that he could not. But with the first downward movement his ankle turned under his weight and he stumbled. Clutching at the railing, he limped down the steps and slowly started across the room.
He had almost made it to the closest terminal, his hands resting on the chair while he mustered the energy to walk around it and sit down, when a hollow boom echoed through the room. Startled, Vash tried to jump, but lacking the energy and the coordination, his tired body gave way and he collapsed on the floor. The sound came again as he was getting up and he glanced over towards the door.
Pulling himself into the chair, he quickly navigated the menu system and pulled up the video feed for the corridor. Armored guards with many black and wicked looking guns were packed in the hall. As he watched, they pulled back a battering ram to pummel the door once more.
Flicking on the intercom, he said, "Can I help you?"
