Chapter 24 - Heart That Feels Sin

Chapter Summary

Previously, the Fris family hijacked the sandsteamer docked in Ripmela, taking the crew and a Polo boy hostage. Vash the Stampede makes his grand reappearance with a big bang. Despite his exhaustion, Vash tries an unusual tactic to intimidate the Fris hijackers.

Now, while Clark helps the federal soldiers outside the steamer, Vash makes his way to the command bridge where he desperately tries to stop a man eager for revenge. Meryl and Milly traverse the steamer, intent on finding Vash before he vanishes once again.

—Truth and Justice—

Clark dusted off his gloved hands after dropping the last rifle into the neat little pile he'd made. Although he felt that it wasn't his place to keep intervening in this world's affairs, he knew he couldn't stand idly by.

As far as he could tell, there'd been no casualties, but a concerning number of passengers and even some soldiers had suffered injuries.

A mother with a twisted ankle. An older man with a broken arm. A scrawny teen boy with internal bleeding from getting practically trampled. More than one soldier who'd taken a bullet to their thigh or shoulder or worse.

With a sigh, Clark surveyed the scene again, looking for anywhere else he could help. Fortunately, the civilians had steadily dispersed back into the city.

As soon as Meryl's mysterious Vash the Stampede arrived, the crowd's panic seemed to triple. If they'd been alarmed about these hijackers, it was nothing compared to the sheer terror towards this so-called Humanoid Typhoon.

Clark almost second-guessed Meryl's staunch defense of the man as he ran around announcing his "daily massacre." But then Clark took a second to observe Vash for himself, glancing down from where he hovered in the air.

He was ready to intervene if the man attempted anything funny.

Vash instead seemed to cleverly use his ill-founded reputation to clear the crowd in his rush over to the sandsteamer. Perhaps he knew about the hijackers barricaded inside and had a plan to rescue the hostages?

Clark was just about to head back into the steamer once he made sure the feds had the rest of the scene outside under control. But maybe it was best to step aside. Would Vash be able to handle it?

And if people stopped to really watch Vash, wouldn't they notice he wasn't trying to harm anyone?

Clark felt a pang of empathy. He understood that their blind fear prevented them from judging the outlaw's true intentions.

As if the other man was equally interested in Superman, Vash had glanced up, gauging him right back. Clark was thrown off guard when the feared outlaw just smiled and waved. Nothing like the wary and distrustful looks the civilians and federal soldiers had given him.

Clark remembered Meryl and Milly were still on the debarkation deck. He turned to see if they'd seen Vash too, knowing Meryl was determined to find the missing legend.

However, the women were nowhere to be seen.

Getting back to rescue efforts, Superman was in the middle of helping triage the injured when the PA system clicked on. From what he overheard, even the hijackers clearly feared Vash.

It didn't help that Vash sang that dreadful "Total Slaughter" song.

What a strange and baffling first (in-person) impression.

Clark had no idea what was going through the other man's mind. He seemed completely aware of his infamy and used it to unnerve everyone around him. Did he just not care how others perceived him?

As Superman, he'd worked so hard to gain the trust of the citizens of Metropolis. Even when he faltered, he still cared deeply that they believed Superman only wanted to help. That he was a force for good.

He couldn't fathom the possibility that he'd use people's fear to his advantage. He'd seen what someone with his powers could be with the wrong motives.

Had Vash the Stampede given up on clearing his name? Did he have no idea what Meryl Stryfe had gone through to do so? Even when she presumed him dead?

Clark remembered the desperate message Lois and Jimmy streamed on Flamebird. One monster's rampage and their moving words had swayed one city's citizens.

Meryl tried something similar. Only it hadn't been enough. What was one rookie reporter's word against the whole planet's rigid mindset? Especially if, to them, the tragedy of Lost July and countless horrible incidents were unforgettable, unforgivable reminders.

If Lois were here, those two women together would be an unstoppable force. He smiled, thinking of her determinedly beautiful face. Hearing her voice.

"Clark!"

—Truth and Justice—

"My god, what horrible lyrics," one of the Fris's said as Vash ended his song.

"Hold your positions, men. It's a ruse. He's just trying to intimidate us," the boss said. His voice gruff and steady, calling Vash's bluff.

"Drat, I really thought that'd work," Vash said in defeat.

"This is the end of the line, Humanoid Typhoon. Try to get in, and you'll be mincemeat."

"Thanks for the heads up, boss," Vash replied. He was still crouched behind the partially opened blast doors. He needed to stall a awhile in order to come up with a plan of attack.

"Hmph, ain't a game, kid. Stick your neck out one more time, and yer head'll be rolling on the floor a second later."

"Oh? I wasn't aware we were playing a game. How about we talk this out like sensible adults? Or would you prefer to keep playing before I send you all to timeout? To the hospital, then to jail sounds good, right?" Vash replied with a wry grin. His voice lowered, darkening to match his waning patience.

Vash closed his eyes, envisioning the command bridge's layout. He used his sharp senses to place everyone's positions within the room.

"Or we could send one of our hostages to permanent timeout, if ya catch my meaning."

Vash heard shuffling on the other side of the door. And the cry of presumably one of the hostages. "P-please, don't!"

Vash clenched his jaw, his leg muscles taut and ready to move.

"Sounds like negotiations are officially over," Vash declared.

He spun his revolver, shooting a few bullets into the room without even peeking his head in to aim.

"What the—?" a few men cried from inside. A second later, the hanging, fluorescent light fixtures came crashing down on their heads.

Vash used the split-second diversion and confusion to lunge into the room. First, taking out the man threatening the hostage who'd cried out. Then, skipping over to the next nearest man. And the next.

The one furthest away stepped back clumsily, turning around. "Luraude! Whadda we—? Wha? Where'd he go?"

Vash whacked the back of the man's neck, and he collapsed in a heap at his feet. "Take a chill pill and stay down. Pretty please?"

Vash eyed the spot where a long, silver-haired, mustachioed man had stood just a moment ago. It worried him that he hadn't noticed the man's stealthy escape.

Vash turned again to take out the last hijacker standing.

The wrinkled, world-weary-looking Fris grabbed another hostage—a young man with long, greasy blond hair—and slammed him with the butt of his rifle. The Fris flipped his gun around and shoved the barrel into the young man's temple. The kid lay wide-eyed and breathing raggedly, tightly tied up with thick ropes.

"Stand down, pops, the game is over," Vash said, tapping his revolver on his shoulder. "Let the hostage go."

"I don't think so! I'm almost grateful to ya. I've been waiting for this chance. The world is better off if Scumbag Slater Polo is dead," the Fris man snarled, jabbing the rifle again into Slater's head.

Stubborn old man.

"What gives you the right to decide that?" Vash retorted through clenched teeth. "I'm telling you, let the man go!"

"Like hell!"

Vash groaned in frustration. His head was pounding, and he could feel his vision going fuzzy. "Last chance, mister! Will you just—"

"SHUT UP!"

Fris briefly glared at Vash out of the corner of his eye before returning to shooting daggers at the Slater boy. "Just shut up already!" His screams echoed over the ship's speakers—the PA system still active.

Vash was taken aback. There was something else going on here.

Shit, what did Wolfwood say? Oh… Slater Polo. The son of the Polo family who'd been feuding with the Fris's.

"He killed her! This bastard killed my daughter! And I'm gonna kill him!" Fris's heavy breathing matched that of the crying man at his feet. A sheen of sweat coated his brow.

Vash wavered for just a moment. He gazed down at the weeping and shaking young man.

"No matter what, no one has the right to take another's life. A life for a life isn't the way. It's no way to end the cycle of hurt and hate."

"This animal took pleasure in torturing my baby girl. I'll give him the mercy of a quick death at least," Fris panted out.

"N-no! Don't do it!" Slater begged. "P-please! I d-don't wanna die! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

"How dare you?! How dare you beg for your worthless life? Did Aileen beg for her life? Didn't she?! Did she beg you to stop while you raped her?! Shot her full of lead?! Only a monster would defile and beat an innocent young woman to death! M-my poor, little Aileen! Was she just a toy to play with?! Just a fun game to you shitbags?!"

Fris's snarls shifted into deep, deep sobs of anguish. His tears fell on the other man's face.

"Scum doesn't get to say sorry! Pure evil doesn't deserve forgiveness!" the older man yelled between sobs. "You… you aren't even human! You need to die!"

Fris cocked his gun. Slater's eyes squeezed shut. "Stop! I don't wanna die! D-don't w-wanna die! Help! P-Please! Oh god, don't kill me!"

Fris's finger hovered on the trigger.

"Ahhhhh, ahhhhhh! NOOOOO!" Slater wailed and wailed. Tears and snot covered his face. His body trembled violently.

"Don't, taking his life would be wrong!" Vash pleaded, inching forward.

"I will have justice. I will avenge Aileen!" Fris whispered.

As if time stopped, Vash remembered so many times like this that he'd witnessed in his long life. He recalled the desperation and unspeakable violence committed in the earliest of decades after the Big Fall, where every scrap of resource, drop of water, or a semblance of shelter meant life or death. Survival of the fittest at its most primal.

How had so much time passed and yet people still turned to such savagery? How could they let their greed cause such pain to others? How could that pain continue through acts of revenge? Sin continues to beget sin. When would it stop?

Could humanity ever bestow forgiveness and find peace?

Both Nai's and Rem's faces flashed before his mind's eye. Who was right? Rem, please tell me Knives wasn't right?

Rem's hopeful smile moved him. The smiles of every kind person who'd ever crossed his path gave him strength.

"STOP!" Vash lunged forward, yanking Fris's rifle away from Slater. A deafening shot rang out just inches from his ear, but it hit the wall harmlessly.

Fris wouldn't let go. They fell over, rolling onto the cold floor.

"You…?! Don't interfere! Let me kill him! Turn me into the feds after, for all I care!"

"I can't let you do this!" Vash said, trying to wrestle the rifle away.

"Let go! You can't stop me! You don't understand!" Fris slammed his elbow into Vash's face repeatedly, but Vash wouldn't let go. Vash's weary body was barely an even match against the bulky man.

"You could never understand how I feel! You don't know my pain! My suffering! I have to do this! Get the hell off!" Fris even let go of his rifle. He pulled both arms out of Vash's grip. He wailed on Vash again and again with his fists. One final elbow thrust threw Vash off of him.

Vash fell back, rolling onto his side. Blood dripped from his nose onto the tile floor. He shakily pushed himself onto his hands and knees. His vision was gone in one eye, the other so fuzzy he could barely see. His face ached and felt wet from blood. The ringing in his ears made it difficult to focus and hear anything else.

He could just make out Fris stumbling over to grab the rifle again. Fris stood up, steadying his breathing and shaking arms. He raised the rifle, pointing it once again at the cowering Slater.

Both men panted and sobbed and shook.

"S-save me… save me… Daddy, please save me…" Slater cried, face turned into his puddle of tears on the floor.

Fris jabbed the kid, pushing him to face him. "H-how many times? How many times did Aileen cry out for her daddy? Your daddy isn't here to save you either."

Vash knelt forward, head bowed. He banged a trembling fist onto the floor. "Don't! Don't take this man's life! Don't kill him, please! Don't shoot him! PLEASE! I'M BEGGING YOUUU!"

—Love and Peace—

Vash's pleas, mixed with the cries of Polo and Fris, crackled over the speakers. What remained of the crowd outside the steamer stood shocked into silence. Only sobbing remained to echo through the air, stirring tears from those with empathetic hearts.

Lois still grasped Jimmy's hand tightly. He even wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her into a comforting hug. Their own tears dropped down their cheeks, a few falling onto their clasped hands.

Although hardly any locals lingered on the upper platform where they waited, Lois refused to leave. The sandstorm grew stronger and stronger each passing minute. The whipping sand scratched at their exposed skin.

"Hey, Shortstuff, Shutterbug," a voice called out. Lois and Jimmy shook out of their daze, and squinted to their left.

"Oh, Wolfy… Um… did you see all that?" Lois asked. He looked so… vulnerable without his dark sunglasses.

"Yeah… sure did," Wolfwood replied. The battle and his injuries and his outburst from earlier clearly took the rage and fight out of him. He looked drained, his eyes drooping with the way he peered down at her. He didn't even have a cigarette or lollipop held between his lips.

Wolfwood titled his head in the direction of the city center. "We better find shelter. Storm's gonna get real nasty, real soon."

He took a step to lead the way. But Lois and Jimmy couldn't leave now. Not when Clark was so close.

"No, we can't leave! He's here!" Lois grasped the railing, peering down. But the growing sandstorm made it almost impossible to see now. She'd lost sight of him.

No, no, no!

"Hrm? Oh, Vash? Yeah, freakin' Needle Noggin always running right inta trouble. He'll be alright. Well, as alright as that idiot can be."

"No, not Vash! I mean, yes we heard Vash, too. But it's Clark! Clark is here! We found him!" Jimmy cried.

"Shit, fer real?" Wolfwood said, leaning over the railing himself. "Tch, can't see nothing with all the sand. What, was he a passenger? Was he still onboard?"

Lois and Jimmy shared a look. "Err…"

"Well? Or was he down at the docks?" Wolfwood asked, his voice turning impatient.

"Uh, well you see… Kinda, sorta neither?" Jimmy stumbled over his words.

"Okay, Shutterbug, was yer friend there or not? Not many other options."

Lois shrugged at Jimmy. Their silent exchange saying they weren't getting around the explanation.

"He was flying. In the air…"

Wolfwood stared. "Oh…?" He looked between the two, back to the obscured sandsteamer, and then back to the pair.

He made a swooping, flying motion with his hand. Lois and Jimmy nodded.

"Oh, oh, OHH!"

Lois was about to explain further, but a second later, the world flashed in a blur before her eyes.

—Truth and Justice—

Meryl and Milly stepped over yet another unconscious man. The first few, the women stopped to check their pulses and breathing.

For the briefest moment, Meryl's heart dropped, worried that the men might be dead.

Meryl was relieved to find every single one merely knocked out cold. No bloodshed so far.

She couldn't believe that Vash's intimidating announcement and appalling choice of song was a legitimately foreboding sign.

She knew better. The moment he jumped into the crowd, he only had one intention. To put an end to the conflict and prevent any loss of life.

Even after two years—and over a century before that—there was no way he could change so drastically. Right?

Derringer Meryl and Stun-gun Milly were prepared to take on anyone who got in their way. But the halls were concerningly quiet.

That is, with the exception of the arguing coming over the PA speakers and Vash's terrible song.

In the short amount of time she'd known him, he would occasionally show hints of a dark sense of humor, but only in their small group. Such grim public theatrics like that felt grossly out of character.

But as he pleaded with the Fris hijacker, the Vash she remembered showed through. Their muffled grapple sounded over the speakers, and she could almost feel each blow Vash endured.

That self-sacrificing broomhead.

Meryl and Milly stepped over yet another man lying on the floor, empty chambered rifle still held in his loose grasp. Although passing each unconscious man felt disconcerting, at least the bodies were leading the women to their destination like a trail of breadcrumbs.

From the hall up ahead, Meryl could hear men shouting and then Vash's final, desperate plea. Then followed the heartbreaking sobs of a father unable to get his revenge, and a young man facing the unforgivable guilt of his actions. Both men's hearts unbearably heavy with the weight of their sins.

And another man who must feel that weight a hundred times over, even if he wasn't meant to bear any of it. At least, not alone.

Meryl cautiously peered into the room, derringers at the ready. The Fris man had set his weapon aside. Instead, he sat prostrate, sobs wracking his body.

The young Polo, still bound with rope, lay on his side, eyes shut and weeping silently.

On the right side of the room, three crew members tied up as hostages sat quietly huddled together. Their eyes held a range of emotions, but a mix of wariness and sympathy seemed clear.

But the man in a crimson red coat kneeling in the middle of the room grabbed her attention. He lifted his head, and Meryl sucked in a breath at the sight.

The bottom of his face was as bright red as his coat, smeared with blood. His one eye so swollen there was no way he could see. The other side wasn't as bad, but the black eye didn't look pleasant either.

His movements and reactions weren't nearly as alert as they should've been. He glanced toward the door, probably noticing their presence, but a lack of recognition made her heart sink.

"I found you," Meryl whispered.

Milly squeezed her shoulders and smiled encouragingly. The newbie gave Meryl a nudge forward, urging her on. Milly herself meandered over to the crew.

Meryl took a step forward, watching for any adverse reaction from the hijackers. Besides the crying father, the others didn't so much as twitch a finger.

Meryl took another step, drawn to the alluring red of Vash's jacket.

Vash slowly looked up, noticing her approach, but he blinked as if trying to see better. Meryl kneeled down in front of him.

"Vash?" Meryl whispered, reaching out a hand slowly toward his face. "Oh, Vash."

He blinked once more, but this time, his eyelid didn't open. He slumped into her, going slack and heavy. The sudden contact startled Meryl, but she braced herself before he knocked her over. She helped him lie down onto his back, with his head resting on her knees.

Meryl lowered her head just above his. She couldn't keep her tears from falling onto his swollen, bruised, yet still beautiful, ever-youthful face.

"It's okay n-now. Y-you don't have to carry all this w-weight on your own. Not a-anymore. D-don't forget that, doofus."

—Love and Peace—

AN:

Just a reminder, until further notice, I will be posting every two weeks. I finished 29 recently, so onto 30!

Thanks as always for following along! Please review to let me know how you're enjoying the fic, what you liked, or what you'd like to see in future chapters! I appreciate every favorite and follow too!

Next Chapter 25: Rekindled by Intervals of Absence

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