Day 60
The fire seemed to burn away everything for a while, until it burns itself out, leaving nothing but cold ashes.
He has done nothing much these past few days, he just lies there, silent, obeying his brother's every command with the dull apathy that comes with utter despair.
He doesn't even have the strength to eat any more.
His brother would have been made to near force feed him, if it hadn't been that his resistance to hunger and first were even weaker than his resistance against pain. His stomach and throat rebelled against his mind and will, traitorously opening and allowing his brother to push down nourishment and moisture. Of what type it hardly mattered, or matters.
For the record, though, this night Vash is feeding him rice. He slips it into his brother's mouth, waiting until it is swallowed, before putting more upon the spoon and repeating the slow process. Once Knives had felt indignant at having to be hand fed; now he feels nothing at all.
It's almost a relief.
Today Vash is dressed differently, Knives notices dully. Though not precisely a slob, his brother has never cared all that much for clothing. On most days he has worn dungarees or jeans, finished off with a simple, loose white shirt or T-shirt. This day his trousers are tailored; his shirt is a dark blue-black. He is looking surprisingly smart, and oddly out of place, oddly… wrong. It is as if something is missing.
'What happened to your coat?' asks Knives, and blinks in shock.
Where had that come from? He hadn't spoken for thirty days, hadn't had the volition or need to, hadn't been bothered. Why would curiosity about a coat, a stupid coat, bother him now?
Vash shrugs, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Part of him is probably overjoyed that his brother had spoken, but he is fighting not to show it, anxious not to break this tentative moment.
'I didn't need it any more,' he explains, 'I left it behind.'
'Why?'
'It's only a coat.'
Knives frowns, the statement bothering him for reasons he couldn't quite define. The coat… the coat had been part of Vash, or Vash the Stampede, anyway. Whilst wearing it he had been so many things, or it had been so many things to those around him. He'd been the mysterious stranger, covered from head to toe. He'd been the saint, his coat a robe of benediction, or wisdom. He'd been the joker, dancing in a ridiculous, clownish costume; he'd been the killer, the destroyer garbed in red, the colour of violence and blood. And he'd been the knight, the saviour, the paladin in scarlet, the colour of courage and determination. Rem's favourite colour.
In that coat Vash had been so many things but, Knives wondered, had he ever been himself?
'It was a good coat,' he says at last, the silence and his own curiosity becoming too much for him.
'It was useful,' agrees Vash, 'but it was heavy, and hot, and sometimes kinda cloying. I'm glad to be rid of it, really'
The final spoon full of rice slips in and out of Knives' mouth.
'Tell you what,' says Vash suddenly, 'if you want, I'll get you one like it, for when you're well again.'
Knives finds just enough strength and impetuous to snort derisively before falling back onto the bed and turning his eyes away from Vash, up to the ceiling.
Vash stays around a little longer, but after a while he leaves, closing the door behind him.
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Review Replies:
Silverarm: Yeah, it was fun to do a really angry Knives, Vash's words will have a big effect in the story and lead to some realization, though it won't happen all at once, not by a long shot. From now on the chapters should be getting better and longer. Yay! Please keep reviewing!
And that goes for all you guys reading this too!