He Who Lies Beyond Should Stay There - Chapter 1 - InfiniteInMystery (2024)

Chapter Text

For some reason, Vash couldn’t cry. Not after the initial moment of overwhelming loss on that couch, spilled alcohol mixing with blood into the fabric. The discharge of miserable energy tingled out of Vash’s body and shot into the sky like plasma stealing the rest of his emotions away, intended yet uncontrolled. Vash’s grief manifested into a lightning strike, had been a beacon, a warning to Knives that Knives had taken something precious in his unchecked greed and Vash was coming for him, was going to put an end to this, to all of this.

Maybe he should have put an end to this a millennia ago while Knives had been young and sound asleep, when Vash had picked up that rock in contemplation.

Vash had work to do. Drying his tears because determination and a sense of responsibility was settling over him, Vash stood up from the couch and took the spilled shot glass from Wolfwood’s warm limp hand. Vash’s sunglasses did little to shade his eyes, his vision still white and blinded. Shooting back the dribble left behind in the shot glass, Vash raised it in a silent toast.

He couldn’t look at the body.

There was a little graveyard not too far away from Hopeland orphanage. Necessary, in their line of business, after all. Not every life was born the same, not every person getting a fair chance to survive. Not every life made it all the way to the standard end. Miss Melanie had pointed in the general direction, tears in her eyes. She’d spent the past few hours with them, crying off and on because Wolfwood had informed Vash that he was going to die, that he had a time limit. That there were things he wanted to do and he only had a few hours to do it.

They’d hardly said anything to each other at all, helping out around the orphanage, ignoring the elephant in the room ticking away like a timebomb. When blood had poured from Wolfwood’s nose in an uncontrollable stream, Wolfwood had informed Vash that it was time. They’d gotten two shot glasses and a bottle of Wild Turkey, and off to that couch overlooking the sand sea they’d gone.

Without an escort for direction, Vash scooped Wolfwood’s limp body up with great care, arms under his legs, face cradled against Vash’s chest. It made Vash wish they’d cuddled more, made Vash wished they’d somehow been closer during their shared nights in bed, tangled in each others limbs.

Vash carried Wolfwood to the edge of the canyon in silence.

Down along the side of the cliff face, there was a path. It wasn’t a hard walk, wasn’t too steep. At the bottom, there was a little alcove, just big enough to lay small bodies to rest. This was where they buried the children who hadn’t found homes, who hadn’t had a chance to grow up. It was painful to see the little spot decorated with stone crosses, sitting there so lonely yet clearly well loved on the side of the countryside cliff. All of the crosses had names on them, some chipped in lovingly, others worn down and traced over with marker from age. Kids that would have been adults, babies that would have been children, children that had recently passed away.

And now, there was Wolfwood.

A child who had grown up too soon, a child who had seen too many terrible things, a man that Vash had come to love and realized he wouldn’t be able to live happily without. Like Vash had bitten into the forbidden fruit and had tasted the sweet nectar, a craving, an addiction that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

With strain in his shoulders, his prosthetic screaming at him to take a break, to stop digging, to rest, Vash slammed his shovel into the hard-packed dirt. It had been difficult to dig the grave. Wolfwood had been propped against the cliff face with his head tilted back against the stone, eerily quiet for once. Vash wanted to talk to him. Wanted to speak. Just because Wolfwood was dead, that didn’t mean that his soul wasn’t mourning the fresh departure. Wolfwood could use the company, the reassurance in these moments that everything was okay and how it was supposed to be.

Vash’s throat was so dry he couldn’t even open his mouth, like his jaw was sealed shut, teeth locked together. If he stopped digging for more than a second, if he glanced over his shoulder at Wolfwood for even the briefest of glances, his eyes started to blur and his resolve to bury him began to fracture. Sweat was pouring down his back, clinging his clothes to him uncomfortably. His hair was falling around his face, the hair gel melting off of him in the baking suns and the slick of hard manual labour.

Eight hours later, and the suns were going down and bringing with them a cool relief that made Vash suck in a shuddering breath. Vash hadn’t let Livio help when Livio had come by to check on him; didn’t want or need or deserve the help. Vash had only shaken his head before slamming the shovel into his hole, throwing dirt in Livio’s general direction. A clear dismissal. Maybe even a warning.

Instead, Livio was back at the orphanage with the children now, making the stone marker. Chapel could be thrown into the canyon and rot in hell for all Vash cared, but as Vash shoveled and shoveled, he started to feel his brain go numb to even that hatred. Maybe he’d bury Chapel too, just so that no one else had to see him, could accidentally stumble upon him and start asking questions. Not here with the children, not anywhere near Wolfwood no. But he’d talk to Livio later and get Chapel buried somewhere else.

Hatred wasn’t something Vash knew very well. Wasn’t something he could indulge in without feeling worse.

Turning away from the grave Vash had just dug, he glanced over Wolfwood. Carefully, with each step heavier than the last, Vash approached him. He squatted down beside him, eyes closing and head turning away as he slipped his arms beneath Wolfwood’s back and his knees. Hoisting him up, Vash clenched his teeth feeling the tears run hot does his cheeks, streaking lines through the sand clinging to his skin. This was the last time Vash would ever hold him. In the back of his mind, Vash wanted to make this moment special, make this moment count.

This wasn’t how Vash wanted to remember him and at this point, gestures didn’t matter to Wolfwood either. He laid Wolfwood in the hole he had dug, hands gentle as he fixed Wolfwood’s clothes. As a final farewell, Vash wiped the blood off Wolfwood’s Colt, kissed the barrel, and set the favored handgun down beneath Wolfwood’s crossed arms.

Without any last words, without a chaste kiss goodbye, Vash filled the hole with clay and sand.

When the deed was done and Vash’s flesh hand was littered in searing hot blisters beneath his glove, Vash found himself standing in the middle of the silent graveyard, staring down at the fresh turned clay. Down there was Wolfwood in his last resting place, his crumpled punisher cross that had seen love, loss, and life, only serving as a temporary marker until Livio returned with the proper ones. Even then, Vash wasn’t sure if he wanted Wolfwood’s grave marked, wasn’t sure if he wanted other people to know where he was. He didn’t know if the Eye of Michael would come back and do something disgusting, like dig up Wolfwood’s body to submit him to the lab once again. Vash couldn’t stay there, couldn’t guard Wolfwood’s lifeless body like a stone angel standing vigilant over the graveyard like a sentinel. Vash had to go and face Knives and end this madness before it could get any worse and only then would he be worthy of coming back for Wolfwood. When he was strong enough to kneel at Wolfwood’s grave and speak works without choking on them. When he was able to claim he’d finished what Wolfwood had started and that their shared business had finally been settled.

Without a single word, Vash stared. He stared at the punisher cross, not the loose sand he’d just packed down. He stared and stared until he couldn’t see because his vision was a cloudy blur, stared until he was folded in on himself on his knees, sobbing wretchedly into his hands. The power he had left might not be enough to do what needed to be done. Vash might not be enough to do what needed to be done.

The gentle breeze of the night gusted through him, chilling him to the bone. Still, Vash did not move. He remained collapsed in upon himself as he shuddered through the final wave of misery, an ending that shouldn’t have ended the way it had. He should have said more. He should say something now. A piece of him had just died, a piece of him gone forever, never to be seen again. And this was the kid of life that Vash had to live, now, knowing that one day, he would outlive everyone he cared about. Again, and again, and again. Until finally, it was all too much.

As a child in that clinic bed with a blade to his own throat, Vash had made Rem a promise. He wouldn’t kill himself. His ticket to the future was always open.

But at some point, there would come a time when Vash had lived too long, right? An unnatural creature lurking amongst mankind, and unnatural creature that could only do so much before life became tiring in a way that no mortal could understand.

Livio didn’t come back for Vash.

Day broke before Vash found it in him to move. He hadn’t even realized that he’d cried himself to sleep right there overtop of Wolfwood, six feet of hardpacked clay between them. Stiffly uncurling himself from the fetal position he’d found himself in with sand sticking to his face in the memories of his anguish, Vash jerkily got up to his feet. He struggled to stand like a newborn tomas, knees almost giving before finding their strength to support him. Wiping off his face, Vash grabbed the punisher cross and slung it over his shoulder, the weight settling him. He would carry this with him for the rest of his life.

Without a goodbye, Vash left Hopeland’s graveyard and didn’t look back. When it started to rain the very next day for a week straight, Vash shed tears to mingle in the mess, all hours of the day and night.

/ / /

Six months later, out in the middle of nowhere, in a town called Amanita, Vash slammed back another pale beer without even tasting it at the local saloon. He had a pretty high tolerance for alcohol, so drinking a lot wasn’t entirely unheard of and during his travels with friends he’d tested his limits. But for the past few weeks, Vash had come to be known in these parts as the new town drunk; a man with too many problems and not enough healthy coping mechanisms. At first, Vash had been ashamed. But the second he’d earned himself a permanent residence, a place to stay and to potentially lay down roots and start anew, he’d accepted his new life for what it was.

He was just a hopeless, lost cause who might never turn his life back around. A pity, to see such a young man throw his life away to booze and misery, or so the local housewives whispered behind their hands when he walked by. Vash didn’t mind.

He never told anyone why he was so miserable, not even when the friendly singles were sitting down at his table and asking him if he was okay, if he needed another drink, if he wanted to go home and to bed with them. Men and women both tried to cure his depression, but Vash didn’t have it in him to bother them with it. Vash declined everything except for the free booze; he was drinking until he couldn’t think straight these days. Day and night, cycling in and out of coherent thought and lingering memories. If he wasn’t at the saloon drinking until he was being kicked out, then he was in his new, empty, cold house drinking until he was sleeping on the kitchen table, beer bottles and cans littering his floor. He drank until he was puking up his guts, drank until he was unconscious, drank until the tears stopped because he couldn’t remember why they were sliding down his face in the first place.

He had a house now and really, this should have inspired him to move on, the continue forward with his life. He would have lectured Vash already, would have told Vash all the reasons why Vash should stop self-sacrificing and hating himself.

It had been six months since Him, six months since Knives, six months since the end. A month and a half ago, Vash had finally stopped wandering aimlessly, an exhaustion so tiring settling into him that he could feel the weight of his bones solidifying like a hardening husk. His face had been taken down off of every wanted board across the planet, his bounty nullified thanks to him saving the world from Millions Knives and disappearing. Humanity had changed their tune for him; he was no longer a monster out to eat children, he was a hero that had emerged when the world had needed one the most. Long gone was the lone blond gunman that turned heads and swindled the locals. Goodbye Vash the Stampede, the Humanoid Typhoon, the man who caused so much chaos while helping out those in need. And hello, this new depressive shell of whatever the hell Vash had become. A nobody.

In his little home just outside of town, nestled between some rocks and a sand dune that hid him from view, Vash didn’t sleep easy. Tossing and turning, Vash twisted himself up in his jacket on the floor, a new dark thing that didn’t attract attention to him.

If Vash wasn’t drunk, he was having nightmares. Nightmares of clawing his way out of the dirt, suffocating, lungs burning as he wriggled and kicked and dug. He dreamed of screaming as he emerged from the sand in the dead of night between the rare full moons, wheezing his first breaths like his lungs were full of sand and they didn’t work properly anymore. There was a blockage sitting in the hollow of Vash’s throat like he might never be able to swallow again, an unrelenting chill shivering through him in the cold night air. The rasp that left him in the dream as he clawed his way out of the ground, nails breaking as he heaved himself out, always woke him up.

Vash launched upright from the floor with a panicked little gasp, his hand over his sternum as his heart beat heavily in his chest. The remnants of alcohol clouded his vision and made his head spin, nausea building up in the back of his esophagus. His beating heart slamming against his breastbone was the only reason why Vash knew that he was still alive, was still mourning, was still thinking too clearly.

With a shuddery little breath and fresh tears on his lashes, Vash stumbled to his feet. He changed into the smelly clothes he’d worn last week, black upon black upon black. Black hair in the mirror, new black jacket, just a dark smudge of a shadow that had been left behind in a world that no longer needed him.

The second the suns started to rise, back to the saloon Vash went.

Sitting down at his usual corner table with only one seat, Vash raised a hand with a cheeky little smile. He let the punisher cross lean against the corner of the wall. It was wrapped up in its cloth and likely, Vash would never unwrap it, would never use it. A pointless burden to carry in everyone else’s opinion, but this cross reminded Vash of his ideals and how they could hurt people.

At this point, the bartenders all knew him, knew what he was drinking and that he likely wouldn’t leave for the majority of the day or night. If Vash did go outside, it was for one of his walks to pep talk himself out of crying his eyes out for the nth time, trying to convince himself that this wasn’t the way any of his friends would tolerate him living. He could do better than this. He was stronger than this. He was happier than this. He’d found a reason to live, once upon a time, twice upon a time. Third time was the charm, right? He had more money than he knew what to do with. Knives was dead, Livio was dead, Meryl and Millie were off doing good work, reporting the truths and sniffing out lies. The younger generation was getting old again. There were new kids to mentor, new people who would be wizened by his presence, new experiences for Vash to have now that he wasn’t wanted anymore.

He just felt hopelessly alone.

Vash didn’t have anyone or anything, anymore. He wasn’t known with his black hair and dulled out colours, wasn’t recognized. No one screamed his name and chased him through the town; Meryl didn’t run into him and sigh heavily every time she saw him. Even the kids in this town steered clear of him. Just another drunk who might hurt them.

He didn’t regret it, though. He’d rather live in a peaceful world where he was just a long-lost background character like a forgotten nameless man in a romance novel, then in a world full of discord and self-validation that Vash was striving to do the right thing. Eventually, the story and all of the adventures, all of the chaos needed to end.

As long as everyone else was happy.

“Starting early today, hey?” Marlo asked, swinging by Vash’s table. He was an older man that fixed a sad knowing eye on Vash every time he saw him. Vash sometimes wondered about what the older man thought he was going through, but Vash had yet to ask. “You want some food before you start drinking? You only left here six hours ago.”

“Just beer.” Vash said, flashing the man a tired smile. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been drinking like this; on a bender, wasn’t it? But he sure wasn’t tired of the numbness that came with heavy intoxication. If he could, Vash would be injecting the liquor straight into his veins. Sometimes he wondered how different this was from death.

Old Marlo hummed in disapproval, his little salt and pepper mustache scrunching up in distaste. He didn’t make any other comment, didn’t push Vash into healthier options. Vash was paying the man’s bills, after all. Marlo turned away, heading back to the bar. For a second, Vash wished that someone would try and stop him, would try and help him. But he knew he’d just reject their kindness, so what did it matter?

The morning went by quietly. Vash didn’t leave his little table, napping off and on as the other patrons came and went as they pleased. There wasn’t much going on in the town, just a little backwater place that had needed some help after the Age of Chaos. Not too much help, but Vash had found himself drawn in like this was where he wanted to stay. Amanita was located between Hopeland, between July, between December where Meryl and Millie worked. Vash liked being close, yet so far away.

Amanita had a Plant of their own, a Dependent that Vash had visited just to make sure that his Sister was still in good care. She hadn’t been picked up by Knives, a small little thing that must have been missed in Knives’ gung-ho plan to absorb all of the Dependents and obliterate mankind. Amanita was one of the few towns left with a Plant, and considering that Vash now lived here, had now set down imaginary roots while he pretended to play house, he intended to make sure that the place was safe, should anything happen. There was a lot changing in the world. People were learning to share, were learning how to better care for their Plants, where learning to find new energy sources.

But what could Vash do if he couldn’t even keep the one person that mattered the most to him safe? What good was a gun that never shot to solve anything?

“Yeah, but didn’t you hear?” A man asked, his voice raising above the rest of the lull in the bar. There was a little group of three men sitting in the corner closest to the door, and judging by their dusty clothes and the little silver amulets proudly dangling from chains around their necks, they were bounty hunters. Bounty hunters who wanted everyone to know that they were bounty hunters, either because they were successful, or co*cky, or a little bit of both.

Vash didn’t want to pay them too much attention. What did he care? He wasn’t a wanted man anymore, though he was sure there were a couple of fanatics still out there, wondering what had happened to the legendary Vash the Stampede, the natural disaster called the Human Typhoon. For a while now, Vash had been wondering if he should adopt a new fake name and try to take on a new life. Maybe he could find happiness if he blinded himself to the past. He wondered if he should let someone name him like when he’d been Eriks, struggling to remember the horrors post July. This time, Vash had all of his memories. He remembered everything. July. Augusta. The fight at Hopeland. Knives using the last of his powers to get Vash somewhere safe before drying up and dying in Vash’s very hands.

Vash had been Knives’ weakness this entire time. Slamming back more beer, Vash supposed he was weakness. Humanity’s weakness.

His weakness.

“Yeah, there’s been a lot of weird sh*t happening lately. Wouldn’t be surprised if we had a zombie apocalypse next.” One of the men with a bushy black beard laughed, slamming back his beer. “I mean, Vash the Stampede was insane enough on his own. One man causing that much destruction and that much chaos everywhere he went? What was he? An alien of some kind? And his brother was insane as sh*t, too. Millions Knives. A guy! With a million knives!”

Vash finished his drink and closed his eyes, trying to tune them out. He couldn’t listen. Not right now. He just wanted to be drunk and numb and blind to the horrors he’d accidentally unleashed upon the world. It had been Vash to give Knives the passcode back on that SEEDS ship, after all. Vash was the reason why Knives had known how to crash all the ships, a disaster that could have been avoided if Knives had needed more time to figure out his plan.

“What are they calling this new guy? His mug is ugly as f*ck, that’s for sure.” The first guy asked, tipping his hat. For the briefest of seconds, he caught Vash’s eye when he glanced over. For the briefest second, Vash felt like the world was letting him in on a secret.

But then the guy was looking away like Vash meant nothing to him. “The Grave Keeper, or something? Had something to do with the cemetery or the church.”

For a second, Vash remembered Chapel. Something like hot dread coiled through him because Chapel had already been shot down and came back once. Who’s to say he wouldn’t come back a second time? Vash hadn’t been the one to bury Chapel. Livio had.

Vash had never made sure the man was dead.

“They’re calling him the Undertaker.” The man who had originally brought the conversation up said. “They say he’s decimating all of the villages he goes into like Vash the Stampede cleaning out July. He’s killing everyone and everything that moves. No rhyme or reason, just piling up bodies everywhere he goes.”

“God, what is this world coming too? We’re already on the brink of a resource war. Think it’s just some guy going insane from poverty or a lost spouse? Maybe his whole family got killed six months ago?”

“Could be anything. I guess he’s been eating some of the corpses. But he’s already got a ten million double-dollar bounty on his head in three weeks. He’s killed almost five hundred people in just three weeks and this isn’t even the first time he’d killed. This all started a while ago but now he’s doubling down.”

“That’s insane. He’s hit four towns, hasn’t he? That’s why?”

Vash chased down the frothy remnants of his beer, willing himself to tune out from the conversation. He didn’t want to hear about more depressing news, didn’t want to know what kind of hell and misery and hardships he and Knives had caused. This wasn’t an exclusive problem these days; there were more and more bandits showing up on the Mayor’s Bounty board. New faces every day, coming and going as the bounties changed and worsened. There was a serious problem to the point that the military police were hiring bounty hunters themselves, better pay for dead rather than alive.

Laying his head down on the table, Vash wondered what his life would have been like if he’d never crashed here. If Knives had talked to Rem and Rem had been able to get through to him. If Knives had realized that humans weren’t the enemy and that Tesla was just a human mistake. If he’d realized that hating every single person alive wouldn’t save anything, would actually just ruin what hadn’t been ruined yet.

What if they’d just died, crashing onto the sand? What if humanity had been damned on Earth because they were only repeating history here on Gunsmoke? With a moan, Vash felt his eyes burn in hopelessness.

“I need another!” Vash whined, raising his glass because he needed more. Always more. More, more, more. His thirst was never ending, his craving to be dead inside, to be numb to the horrors and the pain, always clawing their way to the forefront of his mind. His brother would be super disappointed in him but that didn’t matter. He would also be super disappointed in him but ghosts could only haunt the living through memories. And if Vash was so drunk that he couldn’t remember, then He couldn’t haunt him.

“I’ll only give you one more.” Marlo said carefully when he swung by Vash’s table. The pack of bounty hunters were laughing, talking about their recent kills. More dead people. More people who probably could have been fine if their needs had been met. “You have to wait otherwise, okay? I’m not cutting you off, but you drank too much yesterday. Chill out for a bit.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Vash mumbled, slapping his hand in the man’s general direction. “Just top me up and I’ll pay my bill.”

Vash left later that evening for a walk around town. It felt good to get outside in the setting suns, the cloying heat of the saloon breezing off of Vash like cigarette smoke being released from the lungs. There wasn’t a real reason why he went for these walks, he just figured it was good for his health or something. Good for his mind. Good to wander before stir craziness could set in, before he made bad decisions, before he hurt someone. Some days, he had trouble walking because of inebriation, but today, he had a goal in mind and he’d only had a couple of beers after Marlo had paced him that morning.

Vash circled the town once until he was walking steadier and his thoughts were clearing a little from their muddled intoxication. With his hands shoved into his pockets, Vash passed by town hall, stopping outside at the bulletin board. It was a shoddy little building that didn’t look any different than any other building in the area. The mayor lived here and that just meant that all of the political crap and information notices were posted outside of his house. As far as Vash knew, the mayor didn’t do much of anything else.

Vash didn’t like the idea of a single man killing so many people and being compared to the Humanoid Typhoon, so he was curious. He’d been thinking about what those bounty hunters had been discussing that morning, curious to see the faces that popped up on this board, curious to see how fast those same faces were taken down. These men were all just another dead soul in the wasteland because a bounty hunter had placed a bullet between their eyes. Just another miserable body thrown to rot away in the jail dungeon beneath December, because the military police had gotten a hold of them alive, one way or another. It didn’t matter what end these bandits faced; they all were going to die alone and miserable, if not live long enough to see themselves become the villain. Vash knew. He’d been one of these faces, once upon a time.

Vash really hoped that he never became the villain. Really hoped that he never became like knives or like Him. That Vash could find something new to live for and stick to his original ideals, could save people and continue to spread love and peace.

Scanning over the wall of wanted criminals for various reasons, Vash spotted several new faces. Just low-level criminals that had needed food or water, or had been out to steal money to pay for treatment for a sick and dying family member. Vash was familiar with the reasons men had to cheat and steal and kill. He knew intimately what it was like to be at the bottom of the food chain for no other reason than misfortune. And while Vash used to think that experiencing helplessness at the hands of the people helped him sympathize and empathize, now he wasn’t so sure. Suffering was part of it, yes. But understanding humanity required Vash to understand something else, too. Something he might have had and lost in a heartbeat of his long life.

Smack in the middle of the board was a face that Vash recognized, a face that had Vash tilting his head in confusion because surely the artist who had drawn the picture had gotten the details wrong. He didn’t immediately react. Didn’t know what he was looking at, what he was reading.

The Undertaker was already up to twelve million, two extra million over night. But staring back at Vash from that sheet of paper were dark eyes that Vash had once gazed longingly into on nights under the stars and the moon. The crooked nose that had bopped into Vash’s so many times before like a cat before stealing kisses from soft lips, the messy hair that sometimes turned curly when there was enough humidity in the air after the yearly rain.

No. There was no way.

Staring at the photo, Vash frowned. Maybe he wasn’t so miserable, after all. Seeing a striking replication of His face didn’t bring tears to Vash’s eyes. It only brought indifference now.

“That’s our new guy.” The mayor said, ambling out from inside. He must have seen Vash staring from the front desk. Vash had helped this man in the past, had actually helped the man earn his position. They kept their sordid histories a secret between the two of them. “The Undertaker. Guess he’s piling up bodies without a rhyme or reason. He’s killed almost a dozen bounty hunters already, too. Military police, women, and children. Tomas, dogs, cats. If it moves, he shoots it. If it’s still warm, he eats it.”

“Who is he?” Vash asked, in awe. Something tugged inside of him, some sort of new need, new desire, a want. This wasn’t Him. It couldn’t be. Vash had dug that hole himself, had laid down the body, had slept overtop of him for a night. This wasn’t Him. But with the Eye of Michael, it could be some new horrific version of Him, something that should not be.

“No idea. He just came out of nowhere, seemingly from nowhere. All we know is that he’s got an insatiable lust for the dead.”

Vash didn’t know what he was looking at. Wondered if he really cared. “How long has he been active?”

“A couple of months now.” The old man sighed. “The first bounty came in more than a month ago for a few murders here and there, but he’s been massacring whole towns for at least the last three weeks. What do you say, Vash? you gonna step in and try and rid the land of one more bad guy?” The mayor nudged Vash in the arm, shooting him a lopsided grin. It was silly enough that it pulled a little smile from Vash’s lips, before his eyes settled on the Undertaker.

Undertaker. Not the Punisher. There was a huge difference.

“That’s not my style.” Vash said. And that was true. He didn’t just kill people. That went against everything he stood for. And if Vash approached this man and saw His face, Vash wasn’t sure if he’d be able to pull the trigger, be it a dead man walking or an imposter. “Any idea where he’s at right now?”

“Down by July, I heard. Everyone’s preparing for him to arrive at the new settlement that started up just outside the crater.” The mayor said. “He’s not too far from here. You could always swing by and put their minds at ease. Could get you out of this slump you’ve found yourself in.”

“I can’t.” Vash said without really caring. He had always complained about Vash’s pacifism, that choosing not to act hurt people just as bad as choosing a side. Vash glanced over the paper once again, that face, so familiar yet impossible, and then turned away.

This wasn’t his problem. He was dead and there was nothing Vash could do about it, no way that something could have changed. Maybe this was just a drunken hallucination, some sort of desperate dream to try and change what had hurt Vash the most.

Vash had buried the man he loved himself, couldn’t even think about Him, and dragged that punisher cross with him everywhere he went. On Vash’s back at the very moment, the punisher cross sat heavy.

Stalking off back to the saloon, Vash figured he could use a few more drinks.

/ / /

Two days later, Vash got the call.

It was one of those rare circ*mstances that made Vash wonder about his life and fate and all of that. He was still drunk because he’d only gotten kicked out of the saloon recently, but the suns were already rising in the sky, golden light filtering in through his blinds and giving him a headache. The insistent chime that plagued him roused him from his usual nightmare, the feeling of wet clay clogging beneath his fingernails a sensation Vash never wanted to experience ever again.

By his front door, Vash’s telephone rang.

Grumbling, Vash dragged himself over to the landline, the insistent chime ringing in his head, making him cringe, making him feel sick. Without opening his eyes, Vash fell into the doorframe with a hand to his forehead, the phone piece up to his ear.

“Hello?” Vash mumbled. The only person who called him was the mayor to do wellness checks. It warmed Vash’s heart that at least the old guy cared enough to bury him, should it ever come to that.

“Good morning. Is this Vash the Stampede?” An unrecognizable woman’s voice was firm and stern on the other end of the line.

For a second, Vash didn’t want to answer. Opened his eyes, gaze lingering on the wall across from him like it might tell him what to do with himself, give him a grand purpose in life. “Yes. And you are?”

“I met with your Punisher a little over a year ago.” The strange woman said instead of answering the question properly. “Mind giving me his name?”

“I do mind.” Vash said automatically. Sobering quickly, Vash tried to blink through his drunken bleariness, hyper-focusing on the phone conversation. “If you met with him, you should know his name. What do you want?”

“I’m just making sure that this is really Vash the Stampede. He’s turning out to be a hard guy to track down and the last thing I want is bandits showing up at my door.” The woman had an attitude problem worse than Meryl. “So. Your Punisher was supposed to come back for something completely useless at my shop. He told me that if he didn’t return for it in the next year, that I was to hunt down Vash the Stampede and give it to him. So? Do you want something useless, or do I have the wrong number?”

“No, it’s not the wrong number.” Vash sighed heavily, eyes closed. “Listen. Can I make a request?”

“What?” The woman sounded flabbergasted.

“I’m really drunk right now. This sounds important. Can you call back tonight?” Scrubbing at his face, Vash didn’t want to admit that he was worried he might choke up during this conversation, worried that this woman was someone important to Him. Right now, Vash wouldn’t be able to explain anything, let alone remember when he woke up.

“Uh, yeah? Sure.” The woman sounded surprised. “Yeah, I’ll call back when the suns are set. How about that?”

“Thank you.” Vash said tiredly. “I’ll be fine by then.”

Hanging up, Vash hoped she called him back. Because when he woke up, he worried he might not even remember the conversation and might die with even more regret.

/ / /

The second time that the phone rang, Vash was in the bathroom scrubbing his teeth. Who knew that his mouth would feel so much better after a decent rub down with some minty paste?

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Practically flying through his house, Vash reached the phone before it could stop ringing. “Hello?”

“Hello.” It was the strange woman from earlier. She sounded amused. “You sound a lot better.”

“I’m feeling a bit better.” Vash’s head hadn’t been this clear in a week. “So. How do I know you’re not just lying to me and that I won’t find some random bandits on my doorstep for a bounty long gone?”

“Guess we’ll just have to trust each other. This guy sure does know how to piss a lady off, that’s for sure.” The woman said. “So, Vash the Stampede. About your Punisher. If you tell me his name to confirm that you know who I’m talking about, I’ll give you the information. This is my deal.”

A pause. Because Vash wasn’t sure if he could even say his name. Clearing his throat, Vash closed his eyes. It pained him. It brought tears to his eyes and a wobble to his bottom lip. But he was a master at masking his misery so even if his cheeks were wet in anticipation, this woman might never know. For someone on the verge of a breakdown, Vash’s voice came out strong. “Nicholas. Nicholas D. Wolfwood.”

It was the first time in six months that Vash had said, let alone thought, this name. It left him with trembling lips, pulling the receiver away from his face so he could gently breathe through the onslaught of raw emotion suddenly welling within him. On second thought, maybe Vash should have been drunk for this.

“Thanks for the confirmation. Hello Vash, I’m Nina. I’m an ex-employee of the Eye of Michael. Does that mean anything to you?” Nina asked, sucker punching Vash in the gut.

On second thought, Vash was glad he was sober. This sounded really serious. It dried Vash’s tears immediately. The bitterness in his tone was testimony enough. “I don’t have any business with the Eye, and the Eye would be smart not to have any business with me.”

“I agree. Those bastards should all rot in hell if you ask me.” Nina sounded appeased. “Vash, I met with Mr. Wolfwood about… fourteen months ago, to be exact. He left me with specific instructions about his business and this extends to you.”

“Okay?” Vash asked quietly. “What… business?”

“He… left something here.” Nina said vaguely. “You have permission to come and get it, or you can relay the message for Mr. Wolfwood to come get it himself. It’s… well it’s a little pressing. He knows where I live.”

Vash licked his bottom lip, eyes wet again. His voice broke. “He… won’t be able to make it.”

The silence on the other end of the line suggested that Nina was understanding exactly what Vash meant. “Okay. Well, I live in Rocket. You can find me in the local pharmacy. No funny business or I’ll shoot you point blank myself, got it?”

Vash felt himself smile. Just a little quirk in the corner of his lips. “Right back at ya.”

“Cute.” Nina said. “I like you already. I’ll be seeing you. Bye-bye.”

“Bye.” Vash said, head spinning in the clouds. When he hung up, he felt strange. Lighter somehow. Like he finally had something to do, something to focus on.

Dread accompanied him too.

Rocket, hey? Rocket town was a little out of the way, but it wasn’t like Vash had anything better to do. If anything, the strangeness of the phone call had him splashing water over his face in the bathroom like he hadn’t just spent a good few weeks drinking himself stupid. Spinning around his house with a new bounce in his step, Vash did a load of laundry before packing his bags and changing into clean clothes. He glanced to his old red duster, wondering if he should hide beneath his new black jacket or not.

Nah, one more run. Vash grabbed the jacket from his closet and put it on. One more run out into the public, before this broke him down too, beyond repair. Whatever this was, Vash assumed it would leave him longing and in tears. What could He have left behind? And why would he? Unless he’d known that he would die and had wanted to leave something behind for Vash.

By midnight, Vash was ready. When he left the house, dragging Angelina out of his shed, the old girl in need of some fine maintenance and care after sitting around for half a year, Vash didn’t feel so sure he wanted to do this. He hoped Angelina wouldn’t even start.

Disappearing into the night with the steering of a man who was both a lush and could not drive, Vash felt like he was driving straight to a problem he’d rather not have.

/ / /

Rocket was a tiny place closer to December than anywhere else. One hundred people at most, judging by the sparse spacing of the houses, and how everyone on the streets greeted each other by name before turning to stare down Vash like the outsider he was. He wasn’t exactly inconspicuous, parading through the streets in a bright red jacket, yellow sunglasses that glinted back the sun, and a massive cross thrown over one shoulder. But if they had opinions, the town’s people kept it to themselves.

The building he sought was nestled between a curry shop and a natural-goods store. The pharmacy was small and unimpressive, the battered stucco white storefront in need of some major upkeep, if the boarded front window was anything to go by. The sign on the door said open, along with a list of store hours, Nina’s Pharma the only place in town to get drugs of any kind. All in all, it was nondescript and served a vital function to the village. The perfect place for someone to hide out in while helping those around them.

Vash hesitated at the front door for a second. The street was clear and he was already suspicious looking without loitering nervously. So, without further hesitating, Vash shoved through the door and entered the shop. The pharmacy was small and compact on the inside, everything an uncomfortable shade of bright white.

There was an older man at the counter, getting his prescription filled by a small lady that reminded Vash of Meryl, just if Meryl was a little bit taller and had a meaner expression. The woman hardly shot Vash a glance until she was done with the older man, the older man fixing wide, curious eyes on Vash.

From behind the counter, the woman tilted her head. Average height and weight, Nina had a sleek black bob, dark makeup meticulously painted on her face the same shade as her eyes. She looked like the kind of woman who didn’t take bullsh*t from anyone. Vash liked that. Forced a smile on his face.

“You must be Vash the Stampede.” Nina said the second the older gentleman was gone from the shop. She crossed her arms over her chest, glancing Vash up and down, from the tips of his rugged boots to the thinnest blond streak of hair on his head. Her eyes lingered on the cross at his back, something unreadable flickering over her face. “You look sadder than I imagined.”

Vash chuckled, glancing down to his boots. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“I’m sorry that I called you under such circ*mstances.” Vash’s heart sunk as he glanced back up, meeting Nina’s impassive face. “Come with me. In the back. You didn’t bring any trouble with you, did you?”

“No, ma’am.” Vash said, praying silently that he didn’t break down crying. That he didn’t lose his voice or screw this all up because he still couldn’t even see His face in his mind’s eye, still couldn’t say His name without the waterworks starting.

The backroom was a small, clean lab space. White tiles, the sharp smell of isopropyl. There was a workstation in the back corner that looked like a little science lab, frosted-glass refrigerators likely holding mysteries and not food. Nina gestured at the nearby table, Vash taking a seat and resting the cross up against the wall beside him. Nina glanced to the cross again as Vash settled it gently, mindful of its crumpled base. Her arms crossed over her chest. She didn’t sit down.

“You’re like he described.” Nina commented, head tilting. “Sad, but in that cute puppy-dog kind of way.”

Vash felt his resolve not to cry start to crumble already. He offered Nina a bright smile, eyes closed and crinkled to soothe the burning sting of tears. “Thanks. So, you have something for me?”

Nina hummed in agreement, nodding slowly. She glanced Vash over again like he was some sort of lab rat, some sort of specimen, clearly thinking. “I’ve spent a long time debating how to explain this all to you. I told you over the phone that Mr. Wolfwood left something behind. This isn’t exactly a lie. He left blood with me for testing, and I have the results.”

Vash frowned because he wasn’t sure what all of this meant but clearly, it meant something important. Maybe even something he should have known earlier. “Blood tests?”

Nina sighed, shifting on her feet. She looked sad for a second, like she didn’t want to have this conversation. “Fourteen months ago, Mr. Wolfwood tracked me down. No idea how he sniffed me out, but he did. Long story short, he requested something from me, but I needed his blood in order to make it.”

Vash nodded. He’d already pieced together that fourteen months ago had been when they’d split ways; when Vash had gotten on Knives’ ark and when Wolfwood had gone and done whatever it was that Wolfwood had done for almost eight months. Vash had suffered at the hands of his brother, and Wolfwood had come to rescue him like he hadn’t been the one to lead Vash straight to that ship. Vash didn’t hate him for it. He just hoped that Wolfwood knew.

“In his blood, I found something strange.” Nina said, swiping a manilla folder off a lonely rack like it had been waiting for Vash to arrive. “I cooked him his vial like he asked me to, and in return, I asked him for a blood sample to do further testing before he left. He told me that if he didn’t come back for the results within six months, that I was to hunt down Vash the Stampede and give them to you. So, I have his test results and I’m going to give them to you.”

Vash frowned, trying not to think too hard on what this meant. He laughed nervously. “Was he anemic or something?”

Nina chuckled. “Yes, Vash. I called you all the way down here to tell you that Mr. Wolfwood was anemic. No. He had an abnormally high percentage of Plant DNA in his bloodwork. Now, keep in mind that I worked in the Eye’s lab, so I know what the usual numbers look like.”

Vash kept his mouth shut, unsure of where this conversation was going.

“Three percent.” Nina said. “Three percent is all the Plant DNA a human body can generally handle, though I’ve seen a few go through the lab with just under four percent, but this was about a decade ago and those subjects died due to complications. Anyone who had more than four percent died as well, sooner rather than later.”

“And…?” Vash asked quietly. He didn’t like this talk about death, didn’t like thinking about the Eye of Michael. Not right now.

“Thirteen percent.” Nina said. “Mr. Wolfwood… there’s no way the Doctor would have let him walk out of that lab knowing that he was running around with thirteen percent DNA. There’s just no way. Your Punisher should have been a lab-rat for the rest of his life under the Doctor’s careful watch, if not aware that he was a breathing abnormality. Something either mutated within him after he was set loose, or some external factor changed the very essence of his DNA.”

Vash bit at his bottom lip. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be asking. There were questions brimming in the back of his skull, questions he couldn’t tangibly understand or pluck from the soup to speak. This information didn’t mean much to him now that He was gone, so why did this matter?

“Thank you for telling me.”

Silence ensued. The awkward kind that left Vash feeling like he’d said something wrong, did something wrong. He wanted to leave, wanted to hit up the nearest saloon and drink himself stupid before drunkenly driving himself home. It took Nina a couple of seconds to speak again, the woman just as curt and forward as He used to be. Vash found it refreshing if not gut-wrenching.

“Let’s address the elephant in the room, shall we?” Nina asked. She waited only a moment for Vash’s permission. “He took the vial I made him and it killed him, didn’t it?”

For a second, for a whole entire silly second, Vash thought that he’d be able to answer. I suppose he did, or, which vial did you make him and why? Both of these were valid responses to what Nina had just said, but the second that Vash opened his mouth, he closed it. He lowered his gaze back to his shoes, took in a deep breath like that might ease the wrenching misery in his chest. And then he pitched forward, head in his hands as his eyes burned hot, scalding tears pouring out again.

“I’m sorry.” Nina’s voice turned gentle. Vash heard her approach him, but she didn’t reach out to try and console him. “He knew the risks, but he wanted to complete his mission, even if it killed him.”

Sniffling, Vash wiped at his face, trying to get a grip. But knowing that He had tracked down a chemist while Vash was up in Knives ark, that He had gotten something concocted for him that would inevitably kill him after he saved Vash, made Vash sob quietly. He had died for Vash. And what was Vash even doing with this life now?

“I won’t ask anything of you right now.” Nina finally sat down, sighing heavily. “I have a professional curiosity about all of this but now is not the time. Take this folder with you and go home. When you’re ready, you’re welcome to come back and discuss it with me.”

Vash felt pathetic, but he nodded silently, accepting the folder when Nina handed it over. He tried to open his mouth, tongue sticking and teeth clenched. He wanted to ask her questions, wanted to know about her business with his Punisher, her business with the blood.

“And Vash?” Nina called gently as Vash stood up, collecting the punisher cross from the wall with an impassive stare. Auto-pilot. He needed to leave. He couldn’t even think straight. Vash almost wished Nina had never called him because the file in his hands wouldn’t change anything.

Nina’s expression was soft when Vash glanced over to her. Only for a second. “If you plant flowers over his grave, they might actually take root and grow.”

With fresh tears, Vash thanked her and left. He left Rocket as fast as he could, driving twenty iles into the sand sea before he pulled over and wailed has hard as he could into his hands, just to get it all out of his system.

After half an hour, when Vash’s mouth tasted like sand and his skin was burning raw from rubbing leather gloves over the tear marks streaking his cheeks, Vash turned the engine back on and guided Angelina in a different direction then the one he’d come.

He was headed for Hopeland.

/ / /

Seeing the orphanage made Vash clam up inside, but he pushed past the mental road block and forced himself to approach the building. If he broke down crying at the front door the second Miss Melanie answered it, well, she would hug him and then all the kids would hug him, and then he could play with them and forget his woes.

And regret it all later.

Vash walked past the orphanage instead of stopping in to visit, waving at a few of the shy kids playing outside. They didn’t wave back, merely stared at him with wide, wondrous eyes as he walked by. The smile that Vash offered them was strained, but it didn’t really matter to him.

Following the path down the side of the canyon, Vash entered the little graveyard. Something curdled in his stomach, making him wish that he was anywhere but there, yet guilty all the same.

It was just as bleak and desolate as it had been the last time Vash had been there. There were a few new crosses erected, all of them in great care and condition. Walking past the neat rows of children laid to rest, Vash found himself in the far back corner. The grave marker beside the canyon wall had been broken at the base, cracked in the same place as the punisher cross hanging off of Vash’s back. The whole gravestone was tilted over dramatically to the left like a bad omen screaming for attention.

It made Vash drop the cross heavily to the ground and lean it against the wall of the canyon, his eyes wandering over the grave. The sand was compacted now instead of loose, and as Vash walked over it to squat down in front of his, Vash couldn’t help but frown. He reached out to brush his hand over his name on the cross marker, before trailing a finger down to the crack at the base. Vandalized? Or natural disturbances?

“Always causing trouble.” Vash whispered, fingertip tracing the line gently. “You never could just sit still, could you?”

Silence breezed around him as the wind rushed in through the rockface. It tousled Vash’s limp hair, made his coattails fly up all around him. Sand scuttled away with the wind, Vash getting an uncanny sense of being all alone. He didn’t understand why. He should have felt something over that grave, some sort of companionship. Some sort of peace. But instead, all Vash felt was emptiness and a sense of loss.

He wasn’t here.

“I’m sorry I haven’t come to visit.” Vash whispered, finger still against the broken stone. He didn’t want to do any more damage, so he pulled his hand away from the cross where he couldn’t hurt it. “I… you shouldn’t have been alone for the past six months, but…”

Grief made people act stupid. Vash had seen it before, many times. Had watched people turn away from loved ones after the misery sunk its claws into them, worming its way into their very soul, their very being. He’d watched people tuck into themselves like they’d grown a protective shell that could and would ticket them into the future without the hardships that had come along and whirled through their lives. It had changed people for years to come, the habits that were picked up during the lone mourning that never went away. Just another part of that person’s soul, like a miserable parting gift to their beloved.

With his eyes closed, Vash choked on his words because he was one of those people.

“Nicholas…” The name broke between the syllables, wet and regretful. “I prayed… for God to grant me one wish. And he said no.”

Again, the silence settled with the dust from the wind. This time, Vash didn’t recover. He cried instead, weeping into his hands until he didn’t have anymore tears, again, his face blistered red from his leather gloves. What good was he, if he couldn’t save the one person he’d fallen hopelessly in love with? Was this the cost of saving all of humanity?

Finally sighing out his last sob, the suns setting behind him again because he’d spent too long in this damn graveyard, Vash pulled out the seeds. He made sure that the cross was secure. Double checking that it wouldn’t fall over any further, wouldn’t break and crumble by the next time Vash visited, Vash made sure the marker was alright. It wouldn’t take Vash six months to visit this time; he needed to make sure that he came back. Hell, he might even stick around Hopeland for a few days just so that He didn’t think that Vash had promptly abandoned and forgotten him. He meant more to Vash than Vash might ever know.

The seeds were for red geraniums. They were rare because plants hardly thrived on this planet as it was, but Vash had a stash of precious things in one of the old abandoned ships that was so far underground and so unstable that no one had bothered it in decades. He scattered the seeds, knowing that if what Nina had said was true, then his body should nourish the surrounding area to be able to support plant life. Even at thirteen percent DNA, even six months too late, it would be enough. Maybe in a decade, this little graveyard would be lush and thriving. A place to offer solace, a place where Vash might swing by to play sentinel for the rest of his days.

Standing up and slinging the punisher cross over his shoulder, Vash glanced down to the seeds he’d just sown. Pouring out his full canteen over the sand, he gave the seeds a running head start. They’d grow, and they should be okay.

All of this should be okay.

Vash contemplated his parting words, remembered the last words Wolfwood had ever heard.

“I won’t say anything stupid, either.” Vash whispered, face burning again because there had been too much to say and just not enough time. “But I wish there had been another way.”

With the sand rustling in his ears, Vash left the graveyard behind. It wasn’t like he could stay. He’d already shed so many tears onto that grave that he was surprised he hadn’t single-handedly created new life. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, trying not to cry on his trek back to his bike. Vash wasn’t going to stay. He couldn’t. Not now. It felt like it was too soon and he was still too raw from this. He didn’t want the kids to see him cry, didn’t want Miss Melanie to try and comfort him, to tell him stories about him.

“Vash!” Miss Melanie called from the orphanage’s front door, waving Vash’s way when he unsuccessfully snuck bu. “Hello!”

“Hello!” Vash called back, his voice croaking. He tried to smile but he knew the misery was plain as day on his face. He wanted to leave, wanted to go. But he didn’t want to be another one of those people bogged down by grief for the rest of his life, so he stayed for a moment. “Uh, how are things?”

“They’ve been good.” Miss Melanie said. She had three kids attached to her skirt as she approached Vash, a nervous look in her eye like she knew why he was there and what he’d been doing. “Did you… go see…?”

“Yeah.” Vash said quietly. “I was going to leave.”

Miss Melanie paused, her face screwed up like she wanted to say something. She looked terribly torn for a second. But when she looked Vash over, she visibly chose not to speak whatever it was that was on her mind. Vash wouldn’t push her. Instead, Miss Melanie smiled. “Why don’t you stay for dinner at least? Let the kids cheer you up a little.”

Vash glanced down to the three little kids at her skirt, looking each and every one of them over. They were shy kids, but cute. One of them was braver than the rest, stepping out to smile at him. It brought a lightness to Vash’s heart.

“Yeah, I could stay.” Vash sounded tired and apprehensive, and he knew it.

“Great!” Miss Melanie exclaimed, all melancholy forgotten. For her, he was just another child lost. Six months was enough time for some people to recover, Vash supposed. Grabbing Vash by the arm, Miss Melanie all but hauled him inside of the orphanage. “I need some repairs done too, if you don’t mind! I can keep you busy and your thoughts occupied.”

The soft laugh this elicited from Vash was genuine, just like the fresh tears.

Maybe he’d stay another day or two after all.

/ / /

The fresh news about the Undertaker had Vash leaving the orphanage the next day. Miss Melanie had sent Vash out into the town to get groceries and Vash had been doing a side trip to get the kids some sweets. They’d really helped him last night, feeding him, making him feel like a person once again. But it was during this errand that Vash saw the updated bounty.

The Undertaker was worth twenty-two million now. Word in town was that he’d taken out the entire July settlement, all five hundred and some people dead, putting his kill-streak to over a thousand in just under a month. He was indiscriminate. He was ruthless. He wore a cross at his neck on a silver chain, crosses on the cuffs of his tattered sleeves. He had a silver Colt that didn’t miss a single kill shot, and was looting the dead for bullets. He’d obliterated July in its attempt to rebuild, the locals starting to call him the tornado in the wake of the Humanoid Typhoon. They were still debating a shorter name to make the comparison, but Vash had already heard more than enough.

Vash needed to step in.

“I have to leave.” Vash said, the second he got back to the orphanage. He would help the kids put away the groceries first before he left, but he couldn’t stop his curiosity and his dread. He needed to see this Undertaker. He needed to know who he was. It was obvious that this was another Eye of Michael assassin, it was obvious that this might have something to do with him.

He helped the kids put the bags away. Flashed them the last grins he would smile for the coming weeks, teasing them and giving them little words of motivation and confidence. He hugged them all when they thanked him for the treats, making sure that they shared and everyone got a piece.

Outside, Vash glanced over his shoulder towards the ragged path to the graveyard, wondering if he should stop in and say goodbye. Sorry I’m not staying. There’s something I need to deal with right now. Turning to Angelina instead like the coward he was, Vash went back to Amanita to stock up on his supplies.

/ / /

Vash intercepted the Undertaker three hundred iles away from Amanita. Vash was halfway to what was left of the July settlement when he saw the black figure staggering through the sand. There was a villa nearby, Vash knew. A villa that Vash had been worried about, a double-digit population of people living out there.

Loitering on a sand dune, Vash turned off Angelina. He was still far enough away from the Undertaker that the man was nothing more than a staggering figure, slowly approaching. Not wishing to ruin Angelina’s hull in the upcoming confrontation that might turn into a shootout, Vash slid off the bike and started his slow trek to meet the Undertaker, once and for all.

A couple of iles away, Vash paused. Standing there in the middle of the desert sea, with the suns shining down over him and sweltering him in their unrelenting heat, Vash took a deep breath. The unknown man staggered closer into view, haggard and beat down by the suns, walking in a stilted way that was uncannily human. He was dressed in a black suit with familiar silver crosses glittering on the cuffs, the once white of his dress shirt stained various colours, including multiple shades of red. With him came the smell of a man who hadn’t bathed, the smell of a man who should be fat and bloated with rot and decay, baking in the sun in third stage rigor mortis. Blood was dried into his dark, matted hair like the man had just shot up an entire village and moved on like it was nothing, like it meant nothing.

But none of this really made any sense. Yes, this man was with the Eye of Michael. Yes, this man staggered to a stop ten feet away from Vash, black eyes locked on the red of Vash’s coat before lifting to Vash’s face, not a single hint of recognition in that expression. Yes, even beneath the shaggy beard, Vash knew who he was.

It was Him.

He lifted his arm, the silver Colt glinting in the sunlight. Vash didn’t even recognize that he was in danger. Instead, he was stupefied, looking over the curved nose, those thick black eyelashes, the tanned skin from the sun. Vash was looking for a single thing that was different, that suggested that Vash was wrong.

Vash was looking for something strikingly not Wolfwood.

Vash, in a daze, stood his ground. The name that came out of his throat was broken. “Wolfwood.”

Wolfwood froze like a snapped picture. His head tilted to the side in stilted recognition of his own name like he hadn’t heard it in years, eyes fixing on Vash and studying him. But the Colt co*cked anyway, the safety being drawn.

“Wolfwood, put down the gun.”

For a second, Vash was ready to be shot point blank. Welcomed it. It was the most intense moment of his life, self-doubting himself to the point that he was pretty sure he was going to die because of his own grief. This wasn’t Wolfwood. This couldn’t be Wolfwood. Vash was trying to reason with a clone, a remake, a knock-off, and he was going to die for his blindness.

Wolfwood lowered the gun slowly like he too was pretty sure that he was making a mistake. There was something in his dirty expression that looked desperate. Wanting. When Wolfwood opened his mouth, his voice was hoarse and wet like the clay Vash had buried him in, sand gritting on each syllable. “God?”

Without moving, without breathing, without blinking, Vash’s voice was gentle. “No. It’s me, Wolfwood. It’s Vash. Come here.”

For a second, Vash’s heart pounded in dread. He worried that Wolfwood would raise his gun again, would take the shot. He wouldn’t miss. Wolfwood never missed. And Vash wouldn’t let him.

“Wolfwood…” Wolfwood whispered, his eyes dropping from Vash’s face, expression twisting like he was trying to remember something personal. “I… couldn’t remember my name.”

Vash felt like if he moved, he’d break a spell and everything would go wrong. Something was wrong. This was so, so wrong. “That’s okay. You remembered me, right? If you remembered me, then you will be okay because I remember everything about you. You’re okay, Wolfwood.”

“Vash…” With the Colt limp in his hands and his head raised again, Wolfwood staggered a foot closer. He looked desperately near tears. “Vash… the Stampede…”

“That’s right.” Blood pounded in Vash’s ears, cold nerves flooding his system with every step closer that Wolfwood took. Vash let Wolfwood come to him.

“Knives…” Wolfwood whispered, a little more agitated now. “Millions Knives…”

“No, don’t think about him. We’ll talk about him later.” Vash said sternly, his thoughts suddenly spinning. Wolfwood raised the gun again, so sudden that inhuman reflexes were the only thing that saved Vash from being shot whether he wanted to dodge or not. Wolfwood was close enough to Vash that Vash could grab the colt with his left hand just as Wolfwood pulled the trigger, the bullet flying off into the wasteland. There was something wildly mistrustful on Wolfwood’s face, something akin to betrayal.

There was a snarl, an inhuman sound that Vash had never heard before growling between them deep from Wolfwood’s chest. Wolfwood lunged for him and Vash caught him in his arms spinning Wolfwood around until they were both grappling with each other’s hands. Vash kicked out one of Wolfwood’s knees, easily sending Wolfwood down to the ground. Throwing his weight into it, Vash toppled Wolfwood into the sand, his left hand pinching so hard that Wolfwood’s wrist broke, the Colt flying from his grasps. Instead of a pained scream, Wolfwood howled in what could have been rage, his struggles tripling until Vash had him in a headlock throw, dropping down on top of him and pinning him harmlessly down.

“Wolfwood.” Vash cooed, fighting to keep Wolfwood’s arm contained. “Wolfwood!”

Wolfwood stilled, his heavy breath smelling like mildew in a wet, waterlogged board. He was clawing at Vash’s arm pathetically, a low gurgled whine bubbling up from his chest.

“Wolfwood, please.” Vash whispered. “It’s me, Vash. Okay? Say it with me.”

“Vash…” Wolfwood whispered. “I need to… deliver you… from sin…”

“No, no. Just listen to me.” Vash loosened his hold, just to test Wolfwood’s resistance. “You are Nicholas D. Wolfwood. You already completed your mission. You are free of the gung-ho-guns, and you are free of the Eye of Michael. You…” died.

Wolfwood suddenly went still beneath him, nothing but the death rattle of his chest to indicate that he was still alive. He twitched, jerking awkwardly before making a clicking sound. “Needles…”

“Yes, yes that’s me.” Vash breathed. He loosened his hold, sitting up. There were tears on his face, but he didn’t have the time to sob because he was still in danger. Wolfwood was in danger.

“Needle-noggin.” Wolfwood repeated, breathing easier. He went lax in Vash’s hold. “I’ve been having nightmares and I keep forgetting where I am, what I’m doing.”

“Okay, it’s okay. I’m going to get you sorted out, alright?” Vash whispered, giving Wolfwood a little bit of space as he let Wolfwood out of the hold. He spied the Colt off in the distance, cataloguing where it was just in case Wolfwood lunged for it. “Can you talk to me? Can you tell me what happened?”

“Nightmares…” Wolfwood sat up both hands to his face as he rattled a heavy breath. “I’ve been looking for you. I needed to find you.”

Vash’s heart was thundering in his chest. “For how long?”

“Since the rain.” Wolfwood said, like they’d had any rain since he’d died. Does he remember the day he died? “It’s all jumbled in my head, but I needed to find you and I need to take you back and I don’t know where that is but I know I need to be with you and I can’t let you suffer. And I know I can’t be with Knives, or Chapel, or Chapel, or Chapel, or…”

“Okay, okay, shh.” Vash hushed him from his looping, his hands shaking as they settled on Wolfwood’s shoulder. “The good news is that you found me! And the extra good news is that I’m going to take care of you, alright? We’re going to spend the night at an inn like normal, and when you wake up tomorrow, everything should be less confusing. You can trust me still!”

Vash didn’t know if tomorrow would be any better. He wasn’t even sure that he could get Wolfwood home without Wolfwood trying to kill him again. And considering that Wolfwood had been cleaning out entire populations in his hunt for Vash only made all of this sting worse.

“Yeah.” Wolfwood said, that gravely rasp to his voice so unnatural. It made Vash want to cry right then and there in pre-emptive loss all over again, but he needed to wait. He could cry later. “Vash, I’m worried.”

“About?” Vash asked wearily.

“I’ve been cursed.” Wolfwood said quietly. “God has cursed me for my transgressions and I can’t do anything about it.”

“You haven’t been cursed.” Vash said firmly despite his own lack of faith in these words. Wolfwood was back from the dead. Vash had buried him himself.

“God has sent on me curses, confusion and rebuke in everything I put my hand to.” Wolfwood murmured beneath his breath, likely to himself, a low grumble that had the fine hairs on Vash’s arms raising. “Until I am destroyed and come to sudden ruin because of the evil I have done in forsaking you.”

“Me?” Vash asked, making sure that he’d heard this right.

Wolfwood quietly repeated the line, a whisp in his voice now.

“Wolfwood, let me take you home.” Vash said gently as he reached out. He slapped his arm on Wolfwood’s shoulder, hyper-focused on Wolfwood’s face in case he didn’t like the contact.

“I’m damned, Vash. I’ve been damned. You need to put a stop to this. I can’t remember but in my heart I know. I’ve hurt people. And I won’t stop. This is what Chapel made me to be.”

“He didn’t. You’re a good man, Wolfwood. You’re going to be okay.” Vash dropped down to his knees, cupping Wolfwoods face. He brushed long hair out of Wolfwood’s eyes, smoothing it back so that Wolfwood could see him. “Look at me. We’re going to figure this out.” I prayed for God to grant me one wish. And he said no. Vash swallowed thickly, nervousness fluttering through his fingertips. My consequences? For asking for too much? But he kissed Wolfwood’s forehead, tears streaming from his eyes because maybe, maybe God granted him that one wish.

Or maybe something else had.

Regardless, Vash coaxed Wolfwood to his feet. He went over to collect the Colt, shoving it between straps on his thighs for safe keeping.

“Vash, I’m so sorry. I know none of this makes any sense and I know that I can’t explain because I can’t remember how it got to be like this.” Wolfwood whispered. When he stood, he swayed like he didn’t have proper balance but was already used to it. “I’m sorry. Your ideals, I can’t keep them because I keep having nightmares about killing people. But I’m trying, okay? I’m a little messed up in the head right now but sometimes there’s clarity and I remember you. It’s always you. I need you. But you need to kill me or you need to make sure I’m good. I need to be good.”

“What?” Vash approached him so quickly that Wolfwood shuddered a step away. But when Vash wrapped him up in a tight hug, Wolfwood didn’t back off. Instead, he raised his hands to clutch at Vash’s shoulders. This close, Vash could feel the off-pace beat of Wolfwood’s heart. When Vash clutched Wolfwood closer to him with his hand pressed against the small of Wolfwood’s back, he could feel that Wolfwood was a dead man walking. There was no life in him, not in the way there had been. The soul beneath Vash’s fingertips was restless and lost, fighting a losing battle in a body that should have decayed already. Wolfwood was alive in the same way that he was dead. “No, I won’t kill you. I won’t.” I can’t… there… there has to be another way…
“You should, Needle-noggin.” Wolfwood whispered. “You won’t but you should. And I’ll always respect your choice.”

For some reason, that punched Vash in the gut. He felt his throat constrict, his eyes burning. When he spoke, it was on the brink of tears. “We need to walk to the bike if you want to rest. Let’s go.”

Wolfwood didn’t argue, and he didn’t’ fight back. When Vash picked up his Colt, he eyed the gun with a blank longing and hollowness that made Vash uncomfortable.

And when Vash cried the whole drive back to Amanita, Wolfwood couldn’t see his face to know.

/ / /

When Vash arrived home, it was under the cover of the setting suns. This had been intentional, considering he had a wanted mass murderer sitting on the back of his bike. They’d joked before about how wild it would be if there had been a role reversal; Wolfwood wanted, Vash a free man. But now, Vash didn’t find any humor in it.

Coaxing Wolfwood off the back of Angelina wasn’t too hard, but taking Wolfwood inside, Vash was suddenly nervous. Nervous because how could this be Wolfwood? How? The Undertaker had reared his ugly head months ago, and Vash had been to the grave only a few days prior. Nicholas D. Wolfwood had died half a year ago. Vash had sat with him, had shared a drink, had sensed the life leave his body.

Wolfwood was dead.

But the Undertaker was alive.

“Wolfwood?” Vash asked gently, guiding Wolfwood into his house by his shoulder. “Do you want to take a bath?”

“A bath?” Wolfwood asked like he wasn’t sure what Vash meant. His eyes were darting around the house in a way that put Vash on edge. Wolfwood was on edge, like he wasn’t entirely sure of who Vash was. Like his only memories were of Vash challenging his ideals. “Yeah, sure. A bath.”

Vash analyzed him for a second. Decided that he’d like to take control of the situation and help Wolfwood bathe, just because Vash wasn’t sure if Wolfwood remembered how to do it himself. He also was nervous to leave Wolfwood alone right now, something about the circ*mstances making Vash stress. And if Wolfwood would let him, Vash would lead him into the light.

Vash took his shoes off, Wolfwood awkwardly copying him, his eyes on Vash like he’d forgotten how to behave like a regular human being. It made Vash smile harder, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Wolfwood never mentioned it even though he should have.

“Come with me.” Shedding his jacket, Vash hung it up by the front door before reaching for Wolfwood’s hands, fingers interlocking. He dragged Wolfwood along behind him into the bathroom, where Vash plugged the tub and turned on the water.

“Let’s get you out of these muddy clothes. You’ll feel better, okay?” Vash said, starting with Wolfwood’s tattered blazer. It plopped to the ground heavily, dust and clumped sand sprinkling out of it when it slapped onto the floor. Inside, where Wolfwood used to keep his secret cigarette stash, the pockets were lined with solid clay.

Vash ignored it. Vash ignored a lot of his thoughts as he slowly popped the buttons on Wolfwood’s shirt open. The shirt was multiple shades of black from grit and grease. It smelled terribly of sweat and decay. But worst of all was the flaking iron that crisped off every time Vash jerked against the buttons, the blood of innocent people dried and saturated into the visible strip beneath Wolfwood’s open blazer.

The second the shirt came off, it dropped stiffly on top of the jacket. Vash found himself staring at Wolfwood’s exposed body, and not in admiration for once. His eyes were on Wolfwood’s broken wrist, the bone protruding awkwardly. Wolfwood hadn’t mentioned it, was still using that hand, even.

“Tell me if anything hurts.” Vash said, just to speak, just to reassure himself that the predatory way in which Wolfwood was watching him didn’t really mean anything. Most of the bandages that Vash had wrapped around Wolfwood’s bleeding torso were still present, stained black and red with old blood and dirt. It was like Wolfwood hadn’t stopped once to care for himself since he… since he… woke up.

With careful hands, Vash unwrapped the bandages, letting them fall into the pile of clothes. He’d be putting all of it in a trash bag because none of it was salvageable, so he was careless about the heap. The second the bindings came off, Vash stared.

There were still bullet holes in Wolfwood’s abdomen. Open wounds that should have been puckered with infection, if not closed over with healing. But they weren’t bleeding. Instead, a tarry black sludge had molded its way around the openings like an infection all of its own, the hole in Wolfwood’s heart staring back at Vash like a light in the night, drawing him in.

“Are you in pain?” Vash asked, moving to Wolfwood’s pants. Wolfwood put his hands on Vash’s shoulders for balance as Vash tugged gently on his hips, silent.

“Wolfwood?”

“I don’t feel anything.” Wolfwood said at length. A good sign. Hopefully. Vash didn’t know yet. He shoved Wolfwood’s trousers down to his ankles, the rest of his small clothes coming off before he got into the bath. Vash watched him with wide eyes glued to his every move as Wolfwood sunk down into the water. He didn’t sigh at the warm temperature, just leaned back against the curve of the tub, water up to his chest, and closed his eyes. The water was already turning black around him, clay and sand coming off of him in clumps.

“Is the temperature alright?” Vash felt something akin to panic in his chest.

“It’s fine. Can’t feel anything.” Wolfwood repeated.

Okay. Okay, maybe Wolfwood had been literal earlier about not being able to feel anything. Vash only nodded before fluttering around the bathroom while Wolfwood soaked. After a few minutes and collecting necessary supplies, Vash returned to the tub.

“I’ll wash your hair and give you a nice trim in the morning. Sit still, okay?” He posed it like a question, but he was already filling the little cup up with water to pour it over Wolfwood’s head. Wolfwood leaned forward, hugging his knees with his eyes closed.

The second that Vash poured the water, Wolfwood rattled a sigh like he had water filling up his lungs. “Needles?”

“Yes?” Vash asked, fixated on his task of wetting Wolfwood’s hair without splashing him in the face.

“I saw things.”

“Like?”

“The other side of the gate.” Wolfwood said. Vash’s actions came to a halt. Just as fast as he’d stopped, Vash started up again, gently pouring the water, one hand cupped to prevent it from spilling over Wolfwood’s face. “I saw Knives.”

Vash dropped the cup. Pretended like he’d meant to do that by grabbing for the bottle of shampoo with shaky hands instead of fishing it out of the bath water.

“He looked at me in disappointment.” Wolfwood said gravely. “Asked me how I could die when I meant so much to you.”

“What did you tell him?” Vash asked quietly, squirting out some shampoo and lathering it into Wolfwood’s hair. He started to lovingly massage it into Wolfwood’s head, fingers gentle against his scalp. They’d bathed each other many times before after fights and scuffles and bad days. Vash tried to remember the good times. Found he couldn’t delude himself from the horrors for once.

“I told him that he was the pot calling the kettle black.” Wolfwood said. “He died too. Dumbass.”

A sharp laugh barked out of Vash. His fingers clenched a little tight in Wolfwood’s hair, the comment so Wolfwood that it felt like Wolfwood hadn’t died, hadn’t come back and slaughtered a thousand and some people just for Vash to pick him up and take him home like a lost child. Beneath him, Wolfwood chuckled too, an awkward rumble that sounded like a mimicry. But Vash’s good humor died instantly when he pulled his hand away from Wolfwood’s head, and a small clump of hair came with him.

Discretely, Vash flicked the clump into the pile of garbage-clothes.

“What did he say?” Vash asked, encouraging Wolfwood to keep talking. He inspected Wolfwood’s scalp for balding, relieved to find that he wasn’t losing his hair besides what Vash had accidentally yanked out. Yet. “Did he get mad?”

“No.” Wolfwood said. He didn’t flinch as Vash poured water over his head, one hand shielding his face from the stream. “He just looked at me. Maybe he looked a little sad. He told me to hold onto my memories. He told me to remember your ideals. And then I woke up.”

Gently washing the suds from Wolfwood’s hair, eyes ignoring the strands coming out – just an accumulation of dead hair because he hadn’t bathed in so long, Vash told himself - Vash felt his throat close. He wanted to cry again, but he was so tired of crying that all that came out was a heavy sigh.

“I’d like for you to remember, too.” Vash said. He poured an unhealthy amount of conditioner into his hand before working it into Wolfwood’s hair gentler than he had the shampoo. Wolfwood only hummed in acknowledgement, his eyes closing to the massage.

After a second, Vash couldn’t help himself. “Can you feel this? My fingers in your hair?”

Wolfwood didn’t hesitate. “No.”

Vash leathered a wash cloth up with soap before gently scrubbing at the dirt and grime caked onto Wolfwood’s skin. He was careful, though. So, so, so careful. Because if Wolfwood’s skin came off in the cloth, Vash might finally break down over this. And if he cried anyway as he cleaned the blood and grime from Wolfwood’s skin, neither of them mentioned it. Vash gave Wolfwood’s wrist extra attention, threading their fingers together before snapping the bone back into place. Guilty, he wished he’d never broken the bone in the first place. Considering the state of the bullet holes in Wolfwood’s torso, the wrist wouldn’t heal. It would never go back to the way it had been, and this alone should have told Vash to do what Wolfwood had told him to do earlier. Kill me. But that didn’t mean that Vash couldn’t tend to it.

Sobbing gently, Vash wrapped Wolfwood’s wrist up delicately.

It wasn’t until Vash was coaxing Wolfwood, dry and clothed, into his bed that Wolfwood spoke again. He was in a pair of Vash’s loosest sweats and an oversized t-shirt, the fabric hanging off of him awkwardly in a way that made Wolfwood seem gaunter than Vash remembered. Settling under the covers, his actions alarmingly robotic the past half hour, Wolfwood spoke again.

“I’m making you cry, Needles.” For a second, Wolfwood’s voice sounded normal. “What can I do?”

Vash couldn’t help it. He started to cry again as he sat down on the edge of the bed, his face falling into his hands. He sobbed gently, catching Wolfwood’s hand in his own when Wolfwood reached out to comfort him.

“It’ll be okay. In the morning.” Vash whispered. “I just. I just need a few minutes and then I’ll come get some sleep.”

“Okay.” Wolfwood said, voice low and raspy. “I’m sorry, Vash.”

The apology only made Vash cry harder. He squeezed Wolfwood’s hand before standing up and disappearing downstairs.

He had a phone call to make. With his arms crossed and tears streaming down his face, Vash knew that he needed to make the call, needed to confirm what he feared. But standing at the receiver, Vash found that he didn’t want to contact Nina, didn’t want to ask her if she had anything to do with this, didn’t want to face what he knew was sleeping in his bed.

After two shots of whiskey, Vash went back upstairs and crawled into bed beside Wolfwood. He snuggled close like he usually would, the stench of decay cloying against his nose.

After an hour, Vash realized that Wolfwood wasn’t asleep either, was only pretending to sleep just like him.