Painful Empathy

Disclaimer: I do not own Trigun or its characters. I only own this atrocity of a story. Hope you like! I'm not against honest and well-intentioned criticism, so if you catch a pesky typo I missed, a character that's out of character, or a timeline discrepancy, don't hesitate to tell me. I'll love you forever if you do.

I hate this place. Its smell is sickening, tainted with the artificial fragrance meant to hide the stench of rotting flesh, and blood dried into these gouged floors.

Since throwing up would not have been in good taste, Knives sat by Vash's bedside, trying absently to contact his stubborn brother telepathically. He'd been trying this for the last week, and had gotten nothing useful out of it. Once he'd been able to peek in on Vash's tortured, delirious dreams, but because he was not yet strong enough to withdraw, he'd had to suffer those horrible memories until he had blacked out.

Knives closed his eyes in evening's pleasant darkness, but those images...those memories still lingered in the blackness behind his eyes. He'd seen pain, helplessness and heart-rending sorrow as Vash had been tied down and beaten. He had watched those repulsive scars being born, and it had hurt him more than if they were being carved into his own body, because his stupid brother did nothing. Knives blinked away the images and slammed his fist against the railing of the bed, scattering the memories to the edges of his mind.

"It's stupid, Vash! How can you hold on to the vain belief that these these vile humans can change? How can you just lay there and not fight back?" In a soft voice that echoed over a hundred lost years, he whispered, "You don't make any sense, Vash."

His brother writhed in the bed, a savage moan escaping his lips, and Knives placed a hand on Vash's forehead. He pulled it away immediately, shaking it and staring in surprise. "Vash..." He looked around, but there were no nurses in sight. He hated the fact that for a moment he thought that he had needed one. He stared at his hand again and gently pressed it to Vash's forehead, just to be sure.

He was burning with fever, his face flecked with sweat. Damn! Hadn't those parasites gotten rid of it? Hadn't they said he was improving?

Knives clenched his teeth until they fit like iron clamps. In the silence of the hospital, even Vash's soft moans seemed to be screams for help. Vash's eyes darted restlessly beneath closed lids and his real arm—the right one—clenched as if reacting to pain. Knives' body tensed and he stared down on Vash. "Wake up now, you idiot!"

The waiting was so nerve-wracking. He had shot Vash with the intention of taking him down. He had not meant to kill him. He had only hoped that he'd learned from the one hundred years of painful life with those beings he deemed worthy of his time...of his life.

But Vash had not changed, and Knives supposed he never would, at least not without some intensive coaxing, which, after the Gung-Ho Guns' obvious failure to teach his brother the fulility of the human condition, would fall to Knives. He had at least forced Vash into activating his Angel Arm, serving as a reminder that he was nothing like those with which he fraternized. He was better, so much better. He had not yet realized the full potential of his abilities, though.

Knives had not yet learned everything, but he had not spent the last hundred years lounging around, either. His abilities were honed to precision. There were many things he had not revealed to Vash.

Still, though, after all that had happened, Vash had not changed his mind. That woman... "Rem Saverem," Knives hissed. It hurt his lips to speak the name aloud. She had changed his brother, twisted his mind.

"Help..."

Knives' head snapped up. The whisper was so pained and small that it was barely audible. 'Vash, what's wrong?' He sighed, not expecting any answer.

An answer came, though, in the form of a telepathic cry. 'It—it hurts, Knives, make it stop! Rem! Rem, please...'

Knives went still in his chair. This was the first time he had gotten any kind of response from his brother in these last few days. 'It's only me here, brother. That woman is thankfully long dead. What's wrong? I can't help you if I don't know.'

'Steve...he...he hates me, doesn't he? That's why he hurts me. Will they ever accept us?'

Remembering the perverted crewman on the SEEDs ship, Knives' lips curled. 'No, they won't. It's about time you realized that. You see, they can't accept that there are beings superior to them.'

'S-stop it!'

Knives was about to reply, but then he realized that Vash was not speaking to him. His attention had been drawn back to his delirious dreams.

Knives couldn't explain why, but he could almost feel his brother's fear. It was like something natural, something in the air.

A tinge of pain flickered through him, and he flinched. The pain was not his own, but one that had traveled down the remnant of a link the twins had shared when they were young. Knives thought the link between them had been severed after he'd finally come to his senses about humans, but it had apparently just been blocked. Maybe by both of them. In their weakness now, both of them were off guard, and it was just like when they were little again...

He felt a jolt of adrenaline born from a terror not his own, and his lips pursed. Why did Vash's dreams have to be so horrible?

Of course, he didn't think many of his brother's memories could possibly be pleasant. After all, he'd spent so long among these animals. What they had done to him...it was unforgiveable.

Knives felt a calm envelop Vash. Though he was glad for the feeling, curiosity took over and he took a peek into his brother's mind. What he saw made his stomach turn. There was that short black-haired woman and the tall simple one, and a hazy memory of that smoking priest he'd sent to make sure Vash didn't get himself killed. Memories of their time together flashed over Vash's memory and across Knives' mind. He broke the connection and leaned back.

On a good note, at least Vash wasn't moaning anymore. In fact... Knives put a hand on his brother's forehead and drew it back. Vash's temperature was a lot closer to Knives' own. A million thoughts raced through his mind, but he ignored them, insisting to himself that what he needed was to get Vash out of this place...now.

Knives tested his balance. Both legs had healed quickly, and though it ached horribly, he was mobile. He and Vash would leave this place tonight. Their was minimal staff at the hospital since it was so late, and the nurses stayed away from here for a few good reasons. Knives had already scared most of them away, but they didn't often come in because Vash's recovery had progressed to a point where he was in no immediate danger.

If anyone got in Knives' way, anyway, there was no reason not to kill them.

With Vash's arm draped over his shoulder, Knives edged around the light, trying to keep moving, trying not to be seen. It wasn't the best choice to carry Vash, but the wheels on that bed squeaked too much. Knives made it to the front door and opened it silently, but a soft voice stopped him.

"What are you doing?" The voice was tired, filled with sleep and innocent curiosity.

It was the girl who'd brought them here.

"Go back to sleep."

"I heard that you two were getting better but it's not good to go off when you're hurt, I think. I don't think it's good at all because if you get hurt again then my uncle won't have a car and I'll still be here."

She blinked and gave him a smile. Her amber eyes were large and shining in the darkness, pale hair mussed from sleeping. She grinned at his silence.

"I guess you're wondering why I'm here."

Knives wasn't.

"It's because I'm worried about you and I like talking to your brother. He's really funny! We talk so quiet that no one else can hear it, though. Not even if they're sitting right beside us! The nurses must think that I'm silly, but they let me in sometimes because they say that he feels better when I talk to him. He thinks so too."

Knives looked at the little girl. "You can't talk to him."

"I do! One day I was thinking really hard and then I heard another voice. It scared me at first but I'm not scared anymore. Why are you taking Vash away?"

Knives frowned. He supposed it was possible that, because of Dalia's difference to everyone else, the strength of her internal thoughts may have allowed her to talk to Vash. How was she doing it, though, while he couldn't? "We have to go. Stop your talking."

"But...I was staying up because I wanted to talk to him. Can't I say goodbye? He's afraid now, I think. He doesn't want to leave."

"He's leaving, and so am I. Where are the keys to the fat man's car? Your uncle."

"Oh, I have them. He lets me drive even though the people think he's mad. He's not mad, though. I'm a very good driver." She curled a lock of hair around her finger, tucking it between her lips.

"Give them to me, then."

Her voice rose with childish rebuke. "That's bad! Stealing things is wrong. My uncle says not to do things like that, and he only has one car."

Knives walked closer to her. "Don't speak so loudly! Give the keys to me."

The girl looked so mature, like the kind of disgusting thing that would shove her perfect body on anything male, but the only thing he saw as he walked closer was surprise and complete emptiness in those eyes. "No!"

"Be quiet!" Before he knew it, he had dropped Vash to the ground. He allowed his arm to transform, and a knife slid between his fingers, ready to be flicked. He hurled it at Dalia, pinning her through the throat, all the way to the back of the seat. He dug in the pocket of her loose, lacy shawl, and extracted the key even as it was covered with her rushing blood.

"I appreciate your cooperation," he murmured, pocketing the key. Looking at the girl, he felt nothing at all, like a human would feel if they stepped on a bug. No...perhaps he did not feel quite that way. Satisfaction welled inside of him.

Dalia strained against the knife, trying to cry out. She couldn't. Blood gurgled out of her mouth and nose, and tears silently stole down her cheeks. The look on her face was not hatred or fear. It was not even pain. It was depthless sadness. Her emotions were so strong they stained the air around her. Knives understood now how she could have spoken to Vash. Though she seemed simple, everything about her was very strong. Knives still stood close, but he backed up as her rapid movements stilled. She reached out a shaking hand to him.

Knives touched the outstretched fingers with the tip of his hand and pressed. It was not even strong enough to stay up, and it dropped to her lap. Every movement ceased, her eyes still partly open. Knives smirked and turned to the hall, ready to take on anyone who had heard the brief exchange. No one came. He let his arm return to normal, sighing and turning to pick Vash up again.

His brother had curled into a ball and was shaking, murmuring incomprehensible words. Vash rubbed his hands together as if trying to rid them of their skin.

Oh... "Damn it!" Why had he not realized it? If he could feel Vash's emotions, why shouldn't the opposite be true? Vash must have felt that... Knives winced.

The ups and downs of his brother's recovery suddenly made sense.

Vash shied away from Knives' touch. His frantic cries attracted attention. The little clinic was waking up, and the sounds of hurried footfalls echoed down distant corridors, rapidly coming closer. Knives wiped Dalia's slick blood from his hand and dragged his brother up, despite his resistance. "You're coming with me, Vash!"

He could not take the time to be gentle. Knives threw Vash into the back seat and jumped over the passenger side door, sliding into the driver's seat with ease. He started the car's ignition. It ground and sputtered for a moment, giving the doctor time to run out the front door and fire a shot off at the car, but Knives jammed his foot down on the accelerator and roared out of the lot, clouds of dust following in his wake, lit silver by the light of the moons.

Author's Notes: Thanks for reading! How did I do with Knives' viewpoint? All this is new to me, and any thoughts would be greatly appreciated. Okay, forget formality! I'm begging, honestly, truly begging. Please?