Chapter Seven: Mental Barriers, Pt.2

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It was close to midnight when Vash, a towel wrapped around his waist, emerged from his washroom and sat unsteadily on the edge of his bed. He took a deep breath, and twisting around, ran a hand over the fresh bedding.

He could almost have cursed the efficiency of the cleaning maids. He'd had it in mind upon returning to discreetly examine the sheets, to uncover what evidence of the previous night if any remained. But the room was in order: everything scrubbed, swept and straightened down to the pile of clothing folded neatly on the dresser. Not all of it his. He would have winced in chagrin at what the maids must have thought on first sight, but found that he was just too drained to care. Instead he flopped backwards, drawing his legs up heavily and stretching himself the length of the bed. He was too tired to even change into his pajamas.

Vash lay there, long minutes passing slowly while he tossed uneasily, watching the neon-tinged moonlight pouring through the open window to spread in a panel across the wooden floor. He felt his stomach churn once and finally fall still; it had only begun to settle within the past hour.

Grimacing, the gunman recalled the wretched visit with the "witch doctor." While it had helped, the experience left him with the vague sensation of having been violated. And this proved to be his final straw. Tired, still nauseous and at last irritated, he found himself barely able to feign the normal social courtesies, brushing off Meryl and Milly's tentative inquiries on the slow trek back. Finally allowed to withdraw into himself, he had begun mulling over the various aggravations of the past day in Bowe's Flats, frowning at the irony – here at last was a town that Vash the Stampede would flee in fear of. Bernardelli never had it so good.

And worse, he'd begun to think about Knives.

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It was an issue he'd been putting off, Vash knew, as he recalled events that had occurred barely a month ago, starting with that last gunfight against Knives. It had been very close. He was still amazed that it was him and not his brother who had walked away from it.

Walked away. It was another grim irony: Vash had won by paralyzing Knives, shooting him through the upper arms, torso and sciatic nerves in his legs. That action, though counter to Rem's pacifistic ideal, had kept him true to his pledge not to kill and also to his new resolve not to let Knives run unchecked.

That – and he had survived.

He had been resolved during the fight. Even if it meant his own death, Vash had been determined to see it through: Wolfwood would have been pleased. Nevertheless, his victory had left him equally dazed with thankfulness and disbelief. But even so it was not until returning to Meryl and Milly with his unconscious brother that the enormity of it all had finally sunk in. Upon catching sight of them, he'd felt a rush of elation, a lightness filling his heart as if a great burden was finally lifting from his shoulders, and Vash couldn't remember ever feeling so… relieved. Then he felt it – a hesitant, gentle tugging at the corner of his mouth. Helplessly, the contracting muscles rippled across his face and up to his eyes until Vash was grinning so broadly he knew he must look like a fool. He didn't care.

They in turn had been just as overjoyed to see him. Meryl was almost in tears, he remembered, though he could have been mistaken about that: he'd found the two women soaked to the skin, giddy beneath the newly opened geyser raining miraculously down on them. But their euphoria at his return had turned quickly to silence as both were stunned by what Vash told them he intended to do about Knives. And amazingly – beyond reason even, in Vash's opinion – they had agreed to help him anyway.

They placed Knives in the sickbed that had so recently been occupied by his twin and tended to his injuries as best they could. All had seemed fine at first, but then some of the wounds became infected and he'd quickly developed a fever. Realizing that Knives needed better treatment if he were to survive at all, they'd quietly left the town, still reveling in its reopened well, and traveled to the fallen SEEDS ship outside New Oregon.

There they had been met with a somewhat mixed and chilly reception: though several had welcomed Vash, many others still held lingering resentment towards him that had been exacerbated by the hardscrabble existence encountered as they began rebuilding their lives. And Vash, alarmed by the underlying current of hostility, refused to give many details about the injured stranger, which had further incited them. Indeed, it was only with the Doctor's timely intervention that they'd managed to convince the survivors to allow them access to the ship's facilities at all. But even the Doctor had been somewhat skeptical, as he later let them know in private. He, after all, already knew about Knives.

Young Jessica, however, did not. It was her who, suspicious and frightened, had confronted Vash on the matter, finally forcing him to admit the mysterious patient's true relationship to himself:

Mr. Vash, why didn't you ever tell me – tell us – that you had a brother?

I… he's… H-how did you know?

What else could he be? He looks just like you!

Like so many things recently, it had been a painful encounter. Upon learning the whole truth of the matter, Jessica had been deeply conflicted, and for the first time that anyone could recall seriously angry with Vash. But she had eventually calmed down and even unexpectedly volunteered to help the Doctor treat Knives. That was a both a surprise and a comfort to Vash, who had suspected Meryl's hand in the affair. He'd meant to ask her about it, but by then had other matters again weighing on his mind. What of his brother? Would he become a paraplegic? They didn't know: Knives had fallen into a shock-induced coma, laying inert in a regenerative tube, unresponsive to all stimuli. After a few weeks with little prognosis, Vash had finally been persuaded, through reluctantly, to leave him under the careful watch of the Doctor and Jessica, with strict orders to contact Vash the moment Knives showed signs of stirring. It would simply be a matter of time.

But, as Vash reasoned silently one week later while reentering Bowden's Saloon, his body would probably mend eventually. Of that he was sure: his brother had survived far worse, after all. Knives had always regenerated well, a byproduct of having mastered his body and his abilities to a degree Vash felt he would never match. But for all of that Vash could continue shooting him in vital places. No, it wasn't his body's inevitable recuperation that preyed on the gunman. It was something far more dangerous: his mind.

How the heck was Vash going to manage that?

To merely say that they didn't see eye to eye was an understatement. Vash wondered for the umpteenth time if they never had and he'd simply failed to notice – on the SEEDS ship, it had never seemed to matter. They were twins. Together from the start, Vash's earliest memories were of Knives' clear blue eyes staring back into his. They had always shared in everything: lessons in the lab, work with the Plants, meals with the crew, playtime with Rem. Virtually identical, even down to their clothes and hair. In the end it was Knives who had asserted his difference from Vash… and everyone else.

Knives, the quiet one, the more intelligent of the pair according to Joey. Polite, studious, even-tempered and possessed of the same charisma as his twin, though more sedate. By turns annoyed or amused by Vash's goofy antics, though like him just as innately curious about their human companions and willing to join in any adventures about the ship. Intuitive and reflective, yet more canny, more rationally assured in his arguments as compared with Vash's volubly emphatic ones – though often just as adamantly stubborn.

They were twins in body yet polar opposites in spirit – so it appeared to Vash. And now it mattered. He wondered after all that had happened, all the destruction, death and betrayal, if there was still a way to bridge the vast gulf between them. Yet he had never felt more distant from Knives as during their last battle. The words and the weapons exchanged between them had served to clarify that beyond all doubt.

But someone – something – had to change. Running away was no longer a choice.

How was it that they both had grown up together in the relative security of the ship and the nurturing love of Rem yet Knives could sustain such a fundamental hatred of humans? Yes, Vash knew that as Plants they had not been completely accepted by all of their human companions – but Rem surely had. Why hadn't that been enough? He knew that mankind's existence came at the expense of Plant welfare, but humans had little choice in the matter if they were to survive at all. Why did Knives insist that it had to be one or the other? If he could only understand his brother, then maybe….

Strange how after all this time it was still Knives who acted as if he were the one who needed to change his brother's mind.

Vash pondered as he sat in the bar what it must really be like to think like Knives. What would it be to feel the way he did, believe the things he did, so as to have every fiber of his being directed into accomplishing that one end of virtually every waking moment for the past one hundred years? What was it like to see the world – to witness humanity – through his eyes, to judge with his heart, to reason with his mind…

Unfortunately, there was really only one way he could think of to find out.

Vash considered the idea: telepathy. The unique Plant ability that he'd been born with yet in all this time had never fully explored. In truth, he was not entirely comfortable with it, on the grounds that it was highly invasive. Mindspeaking with Knives and other Plants was one thing – that was natural, it was permissible – but pushing into the thoughts of a human being was another. Mind control à la Legato was beyond him. But now… things were different.

In an instant Vash became fully aware of his surroundings. There he was, just another anonymous face sitting in the midst of a bar, a sea of humanity set readily before him….

His conscience pricked him sharply. It did not seem like something Rem would do.

You've already crossed that bridge, remember?

Almost defiantly, Vash gritted his teeth. For the sake of Knives, he must – would – do this. And steeling his resolve, he cautiously let his mental barriers lower.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then ever so softly, Vash felt an odd tingling sensation flickering from somewhere deep within his brain: the telltale signature of alien psyches dancing on the fringes of his conscience. Before long he could feel them sweeping around him like fine dust, pressing against the boundary of his mind as gradually the tingling grew into a mild harmonic buzz that filled his head, briefly inducing a sense of disembodiment.

It was somewhat unnerving at first, but Vash was prepared. He had learned long ago that, unlike individual telepathy, the trick to mass telepathy was not to lose one's sense of self in the process, and having Knives with him had undoubtedly aided their novice attempts. But that was all years ago, with Plants. He couldn't help feeling slightly on edge this time.

Reminding himself that his plans for this experiment were more of a passive than active nature, Vash forced himself to calm down. Knives had done this. He too could do this. Everything would be fine. Observing the crowd warily, he opened his mind further. Then –

They came at him from all directions, washing unhindered over him. Anger, sorrow, joy, greed, lust: the sheer strength of the emotions caught Vash by surprise as they rushed in to fill every corner of his mind. It was an overwhelming sensation, like falling into quicksand. He was cornered on every side by a multitude of jabbering voices, each screaming to be heard above the rest… so unlike the complaisant discourse of Plants. A feeling of self-preservation swept over him, causing him to clench his jaw as he fought the urges unexpectedly welling up from within: to reach out, to grab them, to make them stop shoving –

Almost without realizing it, Vash switched over from passive to active, forcing the relentless tide of emotions aside as he focused his mind into a trowel like barrier. He began to push back against the assault and the alien psyches quickly washed away from him, much like dunes being cut by a Sandsteamer.

Numb surprise flickered through him. It was surprisingly easy.

A strange sense of detachment settled over Vash. It was like being in a dream, where the surreal seemed unremarkable. He felt as if he had unwittingly slipped free of the corporeal world, and yet by doing so could finally observe everything with impartiality.

This was to him a feeling entirely, wholly foreign, yet inexplicably… not the least disturbing.

Aware of this newfound separateness, his eyes again roamed over the crowd, though no longer registering the individual faces. Instead they had become indistinct forms pulsating in the background, while their thoughts – no longer filtered by personal inhibitions or agendas – emerged with stark clarity to his mind. It was revealing, Vash noted without irony, that they now somehow seemed more real and true than the persons themselves.

So was this what Knives felt like?

Relaxing into a meditative state, Vash watched, curiously entranced, as the mental threads streamed past him like a psychic wind. He soon discovered that he could discern individual words merely by letting them brush against his mind:

… more …

… not … day…

… stupid …

… pair … tens…

But this quickly grew unsatisfying. A familiar curiosity was gnawing at him, the same one that had first compelled him and Knives in their childhood to seek out their human cargo and, perhaps invariably, kept drawing them back all the years since.

I wonder what they're dreaming.

I wonder if they'll accept us.

I wonder…

Vash began to probe in earnest among them, tracing and pulling out the individual threads. It was like grabbing sand – snippets of conversation formed, clarified briefly and quickly slipped away from him again:

… cheating on me again. I just know it…

… rip his throat out. Damn, lying, son of a –

… believe it? Like taking candy from…

First one, then another, he sorted through them compulsively, though what he was looking for he wasn't exactly sure:

… just a few drinks; don't know why she has…

…blah blah talk about something interesting you dumb –

… c'mon, baby, just turn this way…

… doing this to yourself. It's so…

A feeling of revulsion was creeping over him. Were these banal thoughts what predominated people's consciences? Was this the only thing that the human mind had to offer? Is this what Knives had been trying to show him for so long?

And yet he kept searching, more doggedly than before:

… hate this hate this hatehatehate …

… special about this crap? Tastes more like wa-

… not my problem, ya got that?! Go find someone who gives a –

… listen to me. I just can't bear seeing you like this –

And then he felt it. Hidden among the more pronounced thoughts emerged one that almost seemed to be flowing directly at him. Seizing on it, Vash felt a momentary pang of disorientation: here was something inexplicably familiar. Intrigued, he swiftly sent his mind to follow it back to the source:

… I want… I want to help you. Oh, please understand… I need you to –

Vash felt his mind stumble – had he just heard his name? – and then he realized he'd hit some kind of barrier. Instinctively probing it, he soon recognized what it was: a human's psychic shield. Though weak in comparison to his own, the protective ward guarding the fragile inner psyche was nevertheless solid: its owner most likely possessed a strong mind. Even touched this way, it hid its secrets well.

And then, without a moment's hesitation, he quickly enveloped the mind within his own.

Vash traced the nebulous wall of resistance, finding it resilient yet fragile like the shell of an egg. He could feel it throbbing underneath his touch, its hum resonating in his head while he casually regarded his options. There was something lurking here, just below the surface, drawing him in. An old memory surfaced, of him staring longingly at a nameless face locked in the grasp of hypersleep, forever inaccessible to his questioning mind. Except Vash knew that this time if he tried, he could break through. He could uncover the source of that mysteriously intimate call… perhaps even find the solution to a long unanswered question….

He began to push.

Immediately the hum rose to a crescendo, vibrating throughout his being and unexpectedly setting his senses on edge. Vash felt bizarrely alive with a feeling of anticipation, as one on the tip of mastering a particularly vexing puzzle. At long last, he could attain a complete understanding surpassing mere physical boundaries; he would finally discern the essence of a human being. The sensation was beyond what he expected: intense and heady, it was making his mind reel. Losing himself entirely, Vash pressed down insistently, unmindful as the barrier gave a violent shudder, on the verge of collapse –

A stream of emotions burst forth, engulfing him: A lonely, quiet sadness. Confusion tinged with hope and worry. A desperate longing for something. And overlying it all a steadily growing… sense of… fear…?

Then he realized he was staring at Meryl.

Damn you, Knives.

… damn me, too.

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Returning his thoughts to the present, Vash sighed deeply as he rolled over onto his side. That haunted look in her violet eyes had brought him to his senses like a hard slap to the face. He had shut down immediately, deeply disturbed with himself and unable to meet Meryl's gaze for the rest of the evening. No matter what, he could not vent his frustrations on the innocent by using them as guinea pigs. He would not. I'm not like you, Knives. I'll never be like you.

Banishing all worries of his brother, Vash forced his mind elsewhere. Not surprisingly, it readily obliged by zeroing in on the one thing that had been troubling him all day: Meryl. On the events of the night before, at the scene from that morning, the various incidents of the day – not the least of which being the outside chance that she could be… pregnant.

Was it even possible?

He honestly had no idea. As far as he knew Plants reproduced asexually, although he'd personally always felt that the androgynous inner forms of most Plants looked female. But from the start Vash and his twin had been abnormal for Plants – for one, they were humanoid, and moreover both Knives and he had male organs; they themselves would never be able to reproduce asexually. Even the SEEDS crew had been unable to offer little more than speculation about how or why the Plant produced offspring with a human form. It was something that had often caused him to wonder what significance, if any, there was to being born this way, but as he grew older, he did not really mind the urges that came with his form.

Until now, that is, a little voice in his mind whispered.

Meryl. It was hard enough just coming to terms with having sex with her, as it seemed inescapable now that this had, in fact, happened.

And how do you feel about that?

Vash sighed. It was the question he had been asking himself over and over since waking up that morning. And invariably, the answer was always the same:

I just… don't know.

Now what?

Did they rush out and get married? He'd always told himself he would marry someday… he'd meant it, too. Even if it had already been one hundred years, even if it was more of an idle dream than possibility…

All this time, and you still haven't even told her how you –.

For that matter, did Meryl even feel the same way?

Vash blanched. This wasn't happening at all the way he'd always imagined it would. It was too fast, it was so uncertain… so… so….

What about Knives?

What if Meryl really was…?

Vash fell still, staring out the open window, the pale moonlight falling across the wooden floor.

"I'm not ready to be a father," he suddenly cried out towards the starry expanse. "I don't know what the hell I'm doing!"

The fifth moon, gaping crater marring the sanguine lunar surface, shone steadily back at him.

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