DISCLAIMER: Trigun and its characters belong to Yasuhiro Nightow.
Morning Workout
The sandbrick wall was in bad need of repair. The steady whistle of the wind outside escaping in through its cracks was severely annoying Knives. It was affecting his concentration on the game that had begun last night and was still going now, in the gray hours of pre-dawn.
"Stop rushing me," he snarled.
"I didn't say anything," Vash the Stampede replied.
"I can feel it coming off you! First you cheat by using that damned inferior weapon on me, you further cheat by mutilating my body so I can't use my own natural weapons, you keep me chained in this room to remove any chance of an equal challenge, and now you're trying to unnerve me by sitting there staring!"
"Ok. I'll look somewhere else."
"Don't patronize me!" Knives snapped.
"Then don't act like a brat."
Knives yelled and moved both his shackled hands together, flipping the game board off the crate they were using as a table, sending pieces arcing to the floor.
"Oh, come on!" Vash groaned. "You're really pitching a fit because you were losing?"
"That's got nothing to do with it, and I wasn't losing!"
"Then what does it have to do with? I thought these games would help you calm down so we could talk like rational beings, but this is turning out no better than when I wait for you to talk and we just stare at each other, brother."
"Don't call me that! Take these chains off and I'll do more than stare!"
Vash crooked his head and seemed to stare at nothing for a moment. "Maybe that's a good idea," he said at last.
Knives blinked at the change of script. "What?"
"Trying to talk with words isn't doing any good. Maybe it's time to talk with something else."
Keeping out of Knives' reach, Vash left the room. He returned with a ring of keys. Selecting one, he released the lock that secured Knives' tether chain to a U-bolt welded onto a baseplate anchored into the floor.
"What are you doing?' Knives asked, suspicion heavy in his voice.
"Getting you some fresh air. You're smart enough not to try an escape without ready use of your hands and feet. Let's go."
Vash was careful to close the front door gently as they left so as not to wake anyone else; this was his and Knives' business, no one else's. He led Knives outside, away from the little house that somehow managed to contain the both of them plus Meryl Stryfe and Milly Thompson. When he was comfortable with how far away they were, Vash stopped.
"Now what?" Knives asked.
"Now this." Vash systematically unlocked Knives' restraints until there was just a pile of chains and manacles. "You bitch enough about inferior weapons, so no using those chains. Just us."
Knives moved his joints, getting everything in working order. "I could just run right now."
"You could. You might even succeed. But right now, you want to hit me more than you want freedom."
Knives' answer was a stiff punch that Vash easily sidestepped, his inside hand pressing Knives' wrist to him while his outside came up and pushed against his brother's shoulder, sending him stumbling away.
"Come on, badass," Vash taunted. "You're tough when you don't have to back it up. I thought you wanted to hit me." He sidestepped a hurried takedown attempt, boot going against Knives' ass and sending him sprawling. "Do I have to just stand here waiting? Hit me!"
Snarling, Knives flipped over on his back, hooking his legs around one of Vash's and yanking, toppling Vash, who went down sideways with a grunt. Knives grabbed the captured leg and pulled Vash to him, his inside leg slamming down into Vash's midsection.
Air whuffed out of Vash, who still managed to roll onto his side and send his free leg into Knives' groin. Knives fought it for a moment but ultimately released as a sickening groan came from him. Vash scrambled to relative safety as each brother tried to recover from their flurry.
"Had enough?" Vash asked when he started getting his wind back. There was no answer. "Well?" Still no answer. Maybe that ball shot had really injured Knives. He stood, trying to breathe deep to suck in oxygen, and went to check on Knives.
Who was only luring Vash in, kicking Vash's knee and sending him down again. This time, though, Knives moved quickly to Vash's back, wrapping an arm around his brother's throat while his other arm went around the back of Vash's head, hand locking onto his bicep. Knives squeezed the vise formed by his arms, trying to put Vash to sleep.
Except Vash had felt it when Knives' arm went around him and hooked the fingers of a hand into the crook of Knives' elbow, buying him precious time. Twisting, he slammed his free elbow back against Knives – one, two, three elbow shots. It was working, but too slowly, the lack of circulation starting to take effect. Vash did the only thing he could think of left to him and used his hooked-in hand to move Knives' arm as close to his mouth as he could, then he sank his teeth deep into flesh.
Pain roared from Knives as Vash tasted blood. He released the hold but gave Vash a sharp hammerfist to the side of the head. Vash in turn slammed his head back into Knives' nose, feeling a crunch. Knives' response was a knee to Vash's kidney.
The two men continued to grapple and pummel each other, until somehow they were so tangled together that they didn't know how but they were on their knees, battering each other's faces with punches that were slowly losing energy. Each now was more bruised than not, blood oozing and flowing and clotting from cuts and bites.
Their strikes became as effective as taps. Finally, neither had the energy left to even raise their arms. The suns rose on them lying together, exhausted.
"Why?' Knives gasped through ragged breaths.
"Why what?" Vash's own breath was none too steady.
"Why did you leave me?"
Vash managed to turn his head to look at Knives; tears he was pretty sure had been held back for a long time were now streaming loosely.
"I was missing an arm. That seemed like a pretty definitive goodbye."
"Not then. Your heart was gone before then."
"It had to be, Knives. You didn't leave any room in yours."
"Why are we this way?"
"We just beat hell out of each other," Vash answered.
"Not this way. This way. Damn it, everything is swirling around inside and I can't put any of it into words."
"That's what I've been trying to help you with. Words. Sort it all out so you can get past."
"Sometimes I want to. But sometimes I don't. Sometimes all there is is just – bad."
"I know. I've felt that, in moments. But pain and despair aren't the end of the world. They're just obstacles to something better. I'm not giving up on you."
"What if I can't change?"
"Look at me."
Knives turned his head to meet Vash's eyes, one of them nearly swollen shut.
"Good isn't something you are," Vash told him. "It's something you do. You can change if you commit to it. And if you don't...I'll still try. Deny me if you want, we're brothers. Then. Now. And on that day…brothers."
"On that day," Knives quietly agreed in truce. "Whether we kill each other or go out back to back, we are brothers."
Vash grabbed his hand. "Come on. It'll be time for breakfast."
They hauled each other to their feet. Knives gathered the chains and manacles, a tacit agreement to let things stay as they were, at least for now. The two trudged back to the house.
Vash was right; the smell of cooking breakfast foods greeted them as they entered.
Meryl turned to greet them. "And just where did – good God, what happened to the pair of you?"
"Nothing," Vash told her tiredly as he and his brother slumped into chairs. "Just a morning workout."