Fic Post: Evergreen
Oct. 2nd, 2006 11:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
momebieTitle: Evergreen
Fandom: Trigun
Rating: PG 13
Word Count: 1,216
Summary: Vash does all he can for Nicholas. Not slash.
AN: This turned out better than I thought it would. I don't think you have to be well versed in the series to read it. It's another in a long line of angst. Heh. Thank you so much to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
marilla82 for beta-ing. She is love and will even read things in fandoms she's not familiar with if I prattle on enough about them. :)
Vash looked up after Wolfwood had passed him and followed the trail of blood with his eyes. His mind went uncharacteristically dark. A soft, ‘oh’, slipped out of his lips and he pushed away from the car he had been leaning against. He made his way around the corner and up the steps of the church, hesitating, unsure of whether he should follow after. Through the open doors he heard a cry; Nicholas’ angry voice reverberated around the high, empty room. “I didn’t want to die this way!” Vash choked.
He pulled his handgun from its holster and held it at shoulder level as he pushed the door open with his foot. He leaned around the door, taking the time to let his eyes adjust to the dimness inside, listening to the mumbles coming from the front of the room. Nicholas was kneeling at the altar, leaning into his gun. Vash pushed his way through the door and walked up the aisle, quiet and slow, and stopped behind him. He took one last look around before holstering his gun.
“Wolfwood?” No answer came and Vash covered his mouth with both hands as he noticed the still burning cigarette lying by Nicholas’ bent knees. “Why?” he whispered through his fingers.
If I tell you will you agree to die? Why had Wolfwood said that? Could Vash’s own death have changed this? No. Surely Vash was better off alive, to protect the girls. Of course, Wolfwood would have looked after them the best he could, but without Vash, who would take care of Knives? Who would even know why it was important? That knowledge would go the way of the century old texts he and his brother pre-dated, and whom no one ever read.
In the long run, leaving his brother to have his own free will would be much more dangerous to the human race than these few deaths, surely. Vash felt his knees buckle and he scrabbled to stay standing. He sounded like Knives just then, kill the spider to save the butterfly. There had to have been another way! But it was too late now, maybe Knives was right about some things. No.
Vash approached Nicholas’ body. The gun was wedged against his shoulder in a way that held it up. He leaned down next to the body of his friend, prying the hands from around the barrel of the cross he had carried for so long. Vash pushed the heavy weapon away, and it fell with a crash across the altar. The stone edge chipped, and a crack worked its way down the middle of the base.
When he moved the gun, Wolfwood’s body also fell forward, landing at an unnatural angle. The right arm flopped out and the neck twisted sideways, holding the weight of his upper torso. Vash took a deep breath and tried to control the retching working its way up his throat. He shook as he bent down and pulled Wolfwood’s body back, leaning the man’s shoulders against his left arm and cradling his legs with the other so he could lift him.
Vash carried Wolfwood down the aisle of the church. He had never understood why humans needed places like this, but as he walked the straight line through the darkened silence toward the light of outside, the numbness turned to comfort, and suddenly he understood his friend much better than before.
Once outside, the light blinded him and he squinted up and down the desolate street, looking for an opening or field. Knowing that if he went right it would take him back to the square, he turned left and walked slowly, looking down each alley as he passed. When he made it to the end of the street, he took another left, trying to move away from the middle of the city. He walked on, turning left and right, twisting his way through the dust covered, empty buildings, holding the body of his friend, which now resembled them. Wolfwood’s body weighed nothing compared to the cross, and Vash wondered how the man had managed to carry it around all this time. It seemed like everyone he came in contact with had large burdens.
The final street opened onto a clearing. In the middle, there was a lone tree, offering sparse shade to the ground around it. Small patches of green pushed their way through the dust and rubble, patches of paradise. Vash laid Wolfwood’s body at the base of the tree and covered it with his coat, to keep the sun and birds from disturbing it. Then he rolled up his sleeves and began to dig.
“You know I can’t stand blood. You’re lucky I haven’t passed out. Though, I guess it wouldn’t matter much to you now. I am kind of angry with you, I have to say. Life and death isn’t your decision to make. What makes you think you can just leave us like this? What kind of a selfish priest are you?” He stopped and wiped some sweat from his face, taking care not to get the dirt caked in his fingernails onto his skin and clothing. Then he continued.
“What do you think tree? I know very few people ask you for your input, and I really think they should. We’d all be a bit better off if we’d listen to the plants.” Vash stopped again, his breath becoming ragged and drawn. “And, and I just…” A tear slipped down his nose into the dry dirt of the hole. He couldn’t bear to say anything else. He went back to work, trying to turn his mind off.
It took Vash an hour, but he buried Nicholas and managed to leave a small cross made of rocks and rubble that had lay about the clearing across the mound. It wasn’t as magnificent as the gun, but he knew Nicholas would have been amused by it, if nothing else. He wanted to stay outside for the night, with the tree and with Wolfwood, saying all of the things he had never been able to say and now he never would have a chance to. He shook his head as he pulled his coat back on. Someone had to go talk to the girls.
Vash walked back to the church instinctively, since he hadn’t really been looking when he came through the first time. He pulled his coat tight around him, even though the heat from the sun pounded down onto the ground around him. When he got back to the church he pulled the cross off the altar and checked it for scratches, nothing. He said a small apology to the human’s god for what he had done, and a few words about Nicholas. He stopped and stared up for a minute, at the light cascading down from the window and hitting the spot just to the right of where Nicholas had been. Time moved on, like it always did, and the already dried blood left it’s testament across the church and out into the street of the man they had loved.
“Death and poverty like me so much they brought friends,” he whispered, trying to sound light hearted. Then he left, gun dragging behind him, the cigarette’s last embers smoldering in the carpet.
Fandom: Trigun
Rating: PG 13
Word Count: 1,216
Summary: Vash does all he can for Nicholas. Not slash.
AN: This turned out better than I thought it would. I don't think you have to be well versed in the series to read it. It's another in a long line of angst. Heh. Thank you so much to
marilla82 for beta-ing. She is love and will even read things in fandoms she's not familiar with if I prattle on enough about them. :) Vash looked up after Wolfwood had passed him and followed the trail of blood with his eyes. His mind went uncharacteristically dark. A soft, ‘oh’, slipped out of his lips and he pushed away from the car he had been leaning against. He made his way around the corner and up the steps of the church, hesitating, unsure of whether he should follow after. Through the open doors he heard a cry; Nicholas’ angry voice reverberated around the high, empty room. “I didn’t want to die this way!” Vash choked.
He pulled his handgun from its holster and held it at shoulder level as he pushed the door open with his foot. He leaned around the door, taking the time to let his eyes adjust to the dimness inside, listening to the mumbles coming from the front of the room. Nicholas was kneeling at the altar, leaning into his gun. Vash pushed his way through the door and walked up the aisle, quiet and slow, and stopped behind him. He took one last look around before holstering his gun.
“Wolfwood?” No answer came and Vash covered his mouth with both hands as he noticed the still burning cigarette lying by Nicholas’ bent knees. “Why?” he whispered through his fingers.
If I tell you will you agree to die? Why had Wolfwood said that? Could Vash’s own death have changed this? No. Surely Vash was better off alive, to protect the girls. Of course, Wolfwood would have looked after them the best he could, but without Vash, who would take care of Knives? Who would even know why it was important? That knowledge would go the way of the century old texts he and his brother pre-dated, and whom no one ever read.
In the long run, leaving his brother to have his own free will would be much more dangerous to the human race than these few deaths, surely. Vash felt his knees buckle and he scrabbled to stay standing. He sounded like Knives just then, kill the spider to save the butterfly. There had to have been another way! But it was too late now, maybe Knives was right about some things. No.
Vash approached Nicholas’ body. The gun was wedged against his shoulder in a way that held it up. He leaned down next to the body of his friend, prying the hands from around the barrel of the cross he had carried for so long. Vash pushed the heavy weapon away, and it fell with a crash across the altar. The stone edge chipped, and a crack worked its way down the middle of the base.
When he moved the gun, Wolfwood’s body also fell forward, landing at an unnatural angle. The right arm flopped out and the neck twisted sideways, holding the weight of his upper torso. Vash took a deep breath and tried to control the retching working its way up his throat. He shook as he bent down and pulled Wolfwood’s body back, leaning the man’s shoulders against his left arm and cradling his legs with the other so he could lift him.
Vash carried Wolfwood down the aisle of the church. He had never understood why humans needed places like this, but as he walked the straight line through the darkened silence toward the light of outside, the numbness turned to comfort, and suddenly he understood his friend much better than before.
Once outside, the light blinded him and he squinted up and down the desolate street, looking for an opening or field. Knowing that if he went right it would take him back to the square, he turned left and walked slowly, looking down each alley as he passed. When he made it to the end of the street, he took another left, trying to move away from the middle of the city. He walked on, turning left and right, twisting his way through the dust covered, empty buildings, holding the body of his friend, which now resembled them. Wolfwood’s body weighed nothing compared to the cross, and Vash wondered how the man had managed to carry it around all this time. It seemed like everyone he came in contact with had large burdens.
The final street opened onto a clearing. In the middle, there was a lone tree, offering sparse shade to the ground around it. Small patches of green pushed their way through the dust and rubble, patches of paradise. Vash laid Wolfwood’s body at the base of the tree and covered it with his coat, to keep the sun and birds from disturbing it. Then he rolled up his sleeves and began to dig.
“You know I can’t stand blood. You’re lucky I haven’t passed out. Though, I guess it wouldn’t matter much to you now. I am kind of angry with you, I have to say. Life and death isn’t your decision to make. What makes you think you can just leave us like this? What kind of a selfish priest are you?” He stopped and wiped some sweat from his face, taking care not to get the dirt caked in his fingernails onto his skin and clothing. Then he continued.
“What do you think tree? I know very few people ask you for your input, and I really think they should. We’d all be a bit better off if we’d listen to the plants.” Vash stopped again, his breath becoming ragged and drawn. “And, and I just…” A tear slipped down his nose into the dry dirt of the hole. He couldn’t bear to say anything else. He went back to work, trying to turn his mind off.
It took Vash an hour, but he buried Nicholas and managed to leave a small cross made of rocks and rubble that had lay about the clearing across the mound. It wasn’t as magnificent as the gun, but he knew Nicholas would have been amused by it, if nothing else. He wanted to stay outside for the night, with the tree and with Wolfwood, saying all of the things he had never been able to say and now he never would have a chance to. He shook his head as he pulled his coat back on. Someone had to go talk to the girls.
Vash walked back to the church instinctively, since he hadn’t really been looking when he came through the first time. He pulled his coat tight around him, even though the heat from the sun pounded down onto the ground around him. When he got back to the church he pulled the cross off the altar and checked it for scratches, nothing. He said a small apology to the human’s god for what he had done, and a few words about Nicholas. He stopped and stared up for a minute, at the light cascading down from the window and hitting the spot just to the right of where Nicholas had been. Time moved on, like it always did, and the already dried blood left it’s testament across the church and out into the street of the man they had loved.
“Death and poverty like me so much they brought friends,” he whispered, trying to sound light hearted. Then he left, gun dragging behind him, the cigarette’s last embers smoldering in the carpet.
