… first anime fic, yesh. But there’s no rule saying they’re not allowed, eh? 
'sides, I’ve got a whip… I mean, fic I want to show you. This is a co-write by good friend IRL friend Filthy and I; from the ideas we’re discussing she’s working on illustrations for it and I write ze stuff. As soon as they go online, I’ll provide links to the illustrations too
The title is to be a mystery for now, we’re are gonna hold a little competition about it. No cheatstarts for you, sorries.
Humans were funny creatures. They tended to dance around, screaming in joy, when liquid shot up from the ground. This ritual was several centuries old - of course, it had started out not with water as in this case, but with that black ooze called oil. That had been even weirder. Water was more understandable, considering that these humans were rejoicing over something that would ensure life in their little realm on a planet otherwise completely covered with dead sand.
And they had long since forgotten their distant ancestors' war dances over that thing called oil.
Rain did not exist on this world per say, but right at that moment the small town was showered in cool, clear water that shot up from their once dried up well.
From afar, a man wearing a dark, body fitting piece of clothing saw this as he raised his head momentarily. Not being more than sixty yards away from the town he saw the fountain and it was the joyful cries of the humans that had made him look up despite his fatigue.
This fatigue was quite natural considering the fact that he had been walking for days, carrying another man over his back – a very bandaged, unconscious and more than anything else it seemed, heavy man.
The weight of said man soon forced the wanderer to lower his gaze and head again, it was too much of a strain to try keep his neck straight.
Probably by luck, or that legendary thing called "woman intuition", the first one to spot the wanderer was one who knew him to be more than a name below a doubledollar sign followed by a six and more zeros than would be logically possible. The townspeople knew less than that, and despite their joy due to the water they probably would have been disgruntled to once again see the Humanoid Typhoon enter their town.
"Milly!" Meryl Stryfe called to be heard over the happy shouts and whistles of the townspeople.
As she started running towards the shape stumbling towards the edge of the town, she vaguely heard her tall co-worker call after her in askance. Only for a second was Milly surprised however, then she too noticed what her friend had already seen.
The scene was pretty disheveled, to say the least.
One unconscious, halfway mummified psycho with a fetish for killing off the human race.
One petite woman staggering as she ran, her clothes soaked and heavy from the shower.
Another woman, from head to toe covered with mud, her long hair glued to the dirty clothes that clung to her skin.
And one vagrant, his alien clothes soaked with his own sweat and covered with dust from the wasteland, though relief sparkled in his eyes his gaze was misty with exhaust.
“Hi… guh…” Vash the Stampede croaked.
And collapsed under his twin brother.
“Vash!?” Meryl shouted, more falling to his side than choosing to kneel down as she skidded to a halt and slipped on her own wet shoes.
She tried to push the half-mummy off the groaning gunman, only to quickly find that the person she with hesitance guessed was Knives was too heavy for her to move.
Of course, such things were what Milly was for. She grabbed the unconscious form by the shoulders and easily dragged him off Vash.
“Gugh…” came from the fallen man’s lips as Meryl shook him.
“What?” the insurance girl demanded.
The aquatic eyes fluttered drowsily, unfocused.
Dehydration?
Desperately looking around for a quick source of water, Meryl grabbed her own cloak, held a corner of it above Vash's face and squeezed it so that a thin stream of liquid fell onto his face.
“Thuunks…” Vash mumbled as the water slipped over his burning skin, offering a bit of solace after the ordeal of the walk.
“I’ll get more water!” Milly quickly offered and stood, rushing back towards the town center.
Always as willing to help out. Meryl would have smiled after her co-worker if she hadn't been so busy with the gunman on the ground. They had to get him up and going before anybody else saw him; she doubted that the townspeople would be happy to see him again. They might have ceased hostilities after a bit of diplomacy when they first found out who the depressed blonde they had taken in was, but ceased hostilities did by no means mean complete peace.
“Me… Mer…”
She almost jumped at the weak croak, lost in her worries that she had been.
“Don’t speak!” she immediately chastised, throwing a nervous glance over her shoulder to make sure nobody had noticed anything yet.
“I… ha… have… to…”
Vash's harsh voice fell huskier by each word, turning into nothing more than a whisper. Hesitantly but overtaken by worries that he was hurt, Meryl bent forwards to hear better.
“I… need…” Vash whispered, “do… nuts…”
He smiled when she hit him over the head. That almost worked better than the rest that his poor body was screaming for.
He was back.
When he came to again, it was to the smell of…
“Ngh… donuts…”
“Idiot.”
He very slowly managed to force an aching eyelid to rise, cracking the shell covering the eye open… even if he harbored a strong feeling that he’d regret it. That was why he made it as slow as possible. At least until a paper bag oozing of a heavenly scent crashed on his stomach, causing his eyes to shot wide open – while jumping to what felt like halfway to the ceiling.
“Ow!”
The present came with an instant reminder of how sore he really was.
“What is it?”
He blinked up at the source of the voice, but everything was just a blur. A white blur.
The concern in the words were gone when the owner of the voice spoke again, and had been replaced by a tired, mildly sarcastic tone.
“Don’t tell me that we’ll be stuck with a baby-skinned man from now on.”
Vash blinked again, and the blur somewhat steadily started to stabilize.
‘Hmm… lots of white, and a plump of human skin color above that. And a bit of black stuff that must be hair. That makes… Elvis Presley?’
The gunman’s hazy brain evaluated a little.
‘Nah. Too thin. Wrong voice too, come to think of it.’
With a low grunt he shook his head to clear his senses and rid them of memories of the music collection that had belonged to poor ol’ overdrinking Steve of the space crew. The mist finally cleared and he looked up at Meryl, standing beside whatever he was lying on with her fists on her knees. Despite the sarcasm earlier, the look on her face was still a concerned one.
In the last second Vash managed to bit back a “Oh, it’s you” that wanted to pop out between his lips; the result of his earlier confusion about whom had been talking. His relationships with women had never gone very far, but there were things he simply knew would be very unwise to say.
“Hi,” he mumbled instead, attempting to sound cheerful but finding his voice to be a good deal hoarser than he had expected.
Then again, he hadn’t been talking much for several days – Knives had hardly been conversational, seeing that he was completely out cold and all.
Meryl just raised an eyebrow at him for a moment, then reached up and showed the ceiling her palms as she let out a deep, overly dramatic sigh.
‘Making his grand return in broad daylight…’ she tiredly thought for the umpteenth time since Vash had come stumbling into view a few hours ago, ‘and in this state. We can only be grateful that nobody saw him.’
As euphoric as the townspeople had been for the water, Meryl still didn’t feel prepared to trust their joy to last if they had seen the Humanoid Typhoon walking back into their midst. It had taken some of the best acts of diplomacy the sandy world had ever seen to stop them, and the avengers from the nearby towns, from tearing Vash apart when they first had learnt whom he was.
Heck, the mob had been halfway there already when Meryl and Milly had finally stopped the trial-less execution. The courage she had never believed she would have, to put herself between a man and the gun aimed at him, still startled Meryl in retrospect.
It had been the scoop of water that killed the worst fire, but it had merely been the start. To make the avengers leave and take their wrongfully aimed accusations with them, and to talk the residents to let the silent Vash return to the rented house, had taken the better part of an hour. And nobody had lifted a finger to help the two women when they had dragged the by then unconscious Humanoid Typhoon back into town. His body – despite being tougher than a human’s – hadn’t been able to take the old wounds combined with the ordeal of being mercilessly dragged behind a truck, and he had collapsed somewhere between “What gives you the right?” and “You have no idea what really happened”.
But he had smiled a little in his sleep.
Meryl was ripped out of her reverie by the sound of rustling paper. Almost nothing but Vash’s hands moved, fingers somewhat rigidly but with determination pulling the bag of donuts open. The sweet smell flowed out of the new opening in a thick, gentle wave.
And Meryl could swear that she saw stars flashing before Vash’s eyes one second before he lunged up in a sitting position in the dark brown sofa, grabbed a donut from the depths of the bag, withdrew his arm, winced as his shoulder made a cracking sound, but continued the movement and threw the soft circle into his mouth without further ado.
“I take it that you’re feeling better,” the insurance lady commented in a softer voice than she had planned, while the gunman reached for another donut even though he hardly had chewed on the first one yet.
He looked up and smiled vividly, closing his eyes and tilting his head slightly to the side as he did so. The attempt to reply with words turned out more of a dough-filled mumble than anything else though.
“But your table manners are more like those of a rabid thomas’ than ever,” Meryl added, sighing as she thumped down in the armchair that she had dragged up beside the sofa and leant her cheek in her hand, placing the elbow on the convenient armrest.
Despite the dryness of her word and the disdainful act, she couldn’t help but smile as she watched Vash go back to eating… scratch that; he was gobbling.
She briefly considered trying to pluck more information about the battle with Knives out of the starved man, but it would have to wait in any case. The crumbs falling out of his mouth due to the euphoric wolfing were starting to create a minor mountain on his dark clothes.
If one could call that clothes. Meryl wasn’t sure what kind of material it was; the dark body-slick overall that felt as smooth as cloth woven from the finest thomas’ fur but stuck to Vash like a second skin. Peeling it off his upper body almost a month ago in order to take care of the wounds that the last battle against the Gung-ho Guns had given him had been nerve-wrenching. If there was a trick to it, neither Meryl nor Milly had been able to figure it out.
Of course… it was understandable.
The curtains were drawn against sharp sunlight and to protect from outside eyes, but light still seeped through them. The damp illumination created almost eerie shadows in the sparsely decorated living room, and for a moment Meryl almost thought that she could see tiny bumps and submerged areas on the smooth, dark surfaces on Vash’s chest and arms. Ghost images of all the hundreds of terrible scars hidden below the cloth.
<I>“It’s not something I want girls to see.” </I>
The tears in his skin showed brightly on the back of his hands now that she thought about it; his gloves were as gone as his red coat.
The smile on Meryl’s lips was long gone as well. But when she watched the look on Vash’s face now, as he chomped up donut after donut, the dark thoughts subsided again. He seemed far too happy for her to stay gloomy. Even if his motions still were a little stiff every now and then, indicating that he wasn’t fully comfortable. But that was hardly to be expected after what he had gone through lately. Still, in his eyes was nothing but relief and delight; he was perfectly happy just to be there in the dusky room, eating donuts.
In the middle of a chomp he suddenly turned his head slightly and smiled at her again, willing his overfilled mouth to stay at least as politely shut as he could manage right then. Almost as if he wanted her to know that he hadn’t forgotten that she still was watching him silently, and was grateful for the help. And the donuts.
She opened her mouth without really thinking, knowing that she wanted to say something but unsure of what.
Something named Milly came in between before Meryl could think of anything to tell the blond man, however.
“Mr. Vash!”
The called one straightened up a little and kept smiling at the door, though it seemed to Meryl as if the smile changed from when he had been looking at her, to a little sillier when looking at Milly. But even as she turned her head, she brushed the thought away as irrational. She was definitely overanalyzing and she was fully aware of it. And even if it hadn’t been her imagination, it must have been because Vash knew that Milly was more prone to happily go along with his more idiotic behavior.
“Hngorhng,” Vash replied through the mellowed baked dough, supposedly saying “Hi there”. Supposedly.
“Your brother just woke up!” Milly happily announced.
From there, things happened very quickly.
Vash bolted off the sofa with a frantic “Shkanengr!” (“Stay here!”), spluttering out half the donuts, choking on the rest, and darted past Meryl who’s attempt to stand up resulted in falling back into the armchair because of her surprise at his sudden speed. In similar surprise, Milly threw herself at the doorframe as the Humanoid Typhoon dashed past her and dove at the kitchen, his own old room from which Milly had come. Vash narrowly avoided trampling on the black cat resting on the green rag carpet of the short corridor, stumbled on the doorstep and fell flat on his face onto the middle of the floor – under Knives’ baffled gaze.
The more dominant brother was sitting up in the bed, heavily resting against the wall behind the pillows. It seemed like he tried not to lean on his arms, which was quite understandable considering the condition of his shoulders. It looked like somebody – Milly seemed like a good guess – had changed his bandages before he woke up, as the thick ribbons of white cloth were much cleaner than the ones he had been stuck with for the journey back through the wasteland on his brother’s shoulder.
“Good morning, Knives!” Vash brightly called as he bounced back on his feet, despite the fact that he had no idea what time it really was.
Somehow he managed to grin widely, attempting to hide the fact that his nose was screaming in agony from being smashed, and as a precation to counter the mortifying, sarcastic comment that already hung in the air. Knives would probably sneer something like:
<I> “Didn’t Rem teach you to walk before she was blown to bits?” </I>
Yeah, that would hurt as hell and they both knew it. Or he’d think of something even nastier; that was almost more expectable.
Any second now… the first vocal blow that Vash knew he had to counter, somehow keeping his smile alive. Not give Knives a chance to cause pain, to find that he could still be superior, give him an upper hand right from the start… yes, Vash knew that he had to stand up to his brother, like he should have done better many years ago.
But of course, the laws of really old jokes and pure “do’h” had to kick in after such a bitter inner monologue.
Knives spoke.
“Who are you?”
Blankly.
Vash nearly swayed as his unused mental shields crumbled. He blinked, for a second completely dumbfounded.
If anyone else he knew had said something like that, the first thing he would have asked had naturally been if that was supposed to be a joke. But this was Knives speaking.
And Knives staring up at him, without any hint of his usual steel confidence but in confusion. For a moment they just stared at each other.
“You… don’t know?” Vash finally managed to ask.
Knives reached up to touch his forehead, wincing as the movement tore at his wounds but fulfilling it anyway.
At least he was still stubborn…
However that didn’t seem to help him much. Vash only saw a little bit of his brother’s left eye due to the two men’s positions, and the eye widened more and more for every word that Knives stuttered.
“I… I… don’t… gah!”
He cried out, both hands digging into his hair, nails clawing at his skull. The skull which contained a brain where only an endless void could be found where he by nature was used to finding memories.
“Knives!” Vash called, instinctively taking a step forwards and reaching out his hands.
Two wide eyes burning with fear turned at him, almost causing him to reel backwards.
<I> “Did you shoot me, Vash?!” </I>
The memory of Knives’ screech that time and the way he looked now, almost exactly the same; those two things slammed down in Vash’s mind with a wave of the abhorrence that he had felt when he had shot his brother in the leg for the first time.
<I> ‘No no no I didn’t mean to didn’t but no but you could… could not! Could not! Not again!’ </I>
But Vash had been weaker that time, not fully prepared to face Knives’ cruelty. Over a century of experiences since then had laced with iron even a mind that fought to remain pure. The strength that had been forced onto him now protected him from its very source, and the much feared Humanoid Typhoon wrestled his own shock back into the depths of his mind.
That however didn’t change the fact that Knives still was on the verge of panic.
Another fact to the matter here was that being a plant, Vash – and Knives, though he might not be fully aware of it for the time being – was highly intelligent. He had the equation ready and crystal clear within one tenth of a second:
Knives plus panic equals big boom through mass genocide times infinite numbers.
Though in retrospect, perhaps one didn’t need an IQ above one’s height in centimeters to figure that one out.
Vash used the remaining nine tenths of the second to – despite knowing better – grabbing his brother’s arms, as careful with the wounds as he found the time to be.
“Calm down, Knives!”
Shouting at someone as distraught as the short-haired man was right then was perhaps not the most subtle approach. However it appeared to help with the added touch, to give Knives some kind of foothold back. The most immediate grimace of terror smoothened out a little, but the ice-blue stare that met Vash’s eyes was still wild enough to almost make the gunman wince.
Somehow Vash managed to control his own features, even if he couldn’t hold back a frown.
“It’s… all b-blank…”
To hear Knives stutter was an experience set with emotions similar to those that would be found in a situation like, say, waking up in the middle of the night because something is eating your hair.
Vash opened his mouth to say something that would help… help what?
To return Knives’ memories?
And then what?
But he had to do… say <I>something</I>!
“Is something wrong?” came Meryl’s voice from the door, just in the right moment.
‘Thank <I>God</I>!’ was Vash’s first thought of the interruption.
He sure wouldn’t win the Best Brother Awards at this rate, but at least he was saved from being alone in the alien setting.
“He doesn’t remember anything!” the gunman reported, turning his head to see Meryl just in the middle of a hesitant step inside the room.
She stopped dead, a frown appearing on her forehead as the news struck another blow to her wavering resolution to come in.
Nope, no psychologist in this house, especially not those who knew who the man with the nervously shifting blue eyes really was…
“Poor thing!”
Milly brushed past her senior, the compassionate smile on her lips radiating through the room. Vash let himself be moved to the side without any fight, grateful for the appearance of a more socially adept person. Or maybe he shuffled away so easily because his brain backfired when it tried to handle the impression of his brother being referred to as a “poor thing”, like a wounded kitten.
Involuntarily Vash’s fingers twitched, wanting to reach for his absent gun holster to be ready in case something happened.
But Knives just stared incredulously at Milly, just like he had gazed at Vash a little while ago. Even as she picked up a weak hand from the mattress and calmingly patted it, the short-haired plant didn’t protest. His lips were slightly parted, but no sound passed them.
“Can you remember anything at all?” Milly kindly asked, her voice as motherly as when she had spoken with the orphans left after Legato’s raids.
Knives blinked a couple of times. Then his eyes slowly rolled downwards while he frowned, setting his sights on the small hill that his knees under the blanket made.
“Nothing…” he finally murmured, shaking his head.
At least he was calm now. That had to be a good sign. His shoulder’s sagging was really nothing but an added bonus, considering all things.
Milly’s hand carefully laid down on his, not even her palm and fingers big enough to completely cover the psychotic plant’s but close.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Knives,” she smiled, “it’ll be fine if you just give it time.”
“Kni… ves?” the man in the bed repeated.
He frowned.
“What kind of a name is that?”
It was lucky that he was focusing so completely at Milly, because that and his own words hindered him from noticing the funny little sound that Vash didn’t quite manage to strangle completely. Meryl noticed however, as discreetly as she could manage slipping over to stand behind her working companion, by Vash’s side. Ready to give him the elbow if he needed it.
Milly was too busy happily nodding to notice.
“Yes, that’s your name,” she assured.
Still looking quite uncertain, Knives looked up at her again.
“If… you say so…” he mumbled, re-averting his gaze quickly.
Vash tried to focus on the wall, meanwhile. And thinking that this probably was the creepiest thing he had ever experienced.
An elbow straight into his sore side woke him up from that reverie, just in time to hear the last part of Milly’s next lesson.
“Good!” she had just smiled at Knives, then turned around and looked upwards, “this is Mr. Vash. He’s your brother.”
“Hi,” Vash grinned.
More specifically, it was that typical grinning-to-hide-the-fact-that-you’re-hurting-as-hell-grin as Wolfwood had branded it. Or in this case; the-fact-that-you-are-undable-to-properly-deal-with-the-situation-and-your-side-is-going-numb-with-physical-and-not-mental-pain.
“Brother?” Knives blankly said, scanning the tall man in the weird, slick outfit.
“Yeah. We’re twins,” Vash offered, keeping the grin alive and hoping that it was at least a little less strict than he thought.
Knives frowned at him, thoughtfully. And for a moment his eyes filled up with the contemplating, all-knowing look that the Humanoid Typhoon knew all too well. Somehow Vash managed to only clench his hands instead of diving for Milly and Meryl to tear them away from an incoming attack. Wait for it… he had to be sure…
But just as suddenly, the blank look returned.
Slowly Knives raised his right hand to the side of his head, wincing as his wounds stung but ignoring it right then.
“Does my hair look like a broom as well?”
Vash could swear that he felt the floor move beneath his feet. Meryl’s elbow poking his side again was the only thing that kept him from snorting out a chuckle.
“No, no, you’ve got your own hairstyle, Mr. Knives,” Milly brightly reassured while the man’s fingers spidered over his skull.
The bedridden fellow seemed rather relived by the results of his research and the affirmation he had gotten from the women.
“Oh, good…” he mumbled, the corners of his lips momentarily twitching upwards in an apparent attempt at a tiny smile.
Wall is good. Wall is support. Yup. Vash realized right then what an excellent invention a wall really was.
Knives trying to smile. Knives trying to smile at Milly because his hair is short.
Universe… making… funny… noises…
“Are you alright?”
“Hmm?” Vash mumbled, ripped from his tour towards coma by Meryl’s question.
She looked up at him, a bit impatiently placing her fists on her hips as their eyes met. But the slight scowl was more concerned than irritated.
Still…
“Never been better!” he called out in a rather high-pitched voice, grinning like an idiot while throwing up his hands towards the roof in a manically calming gesture.
Irritated women made him panic every time. Especially Meryl. Things always started hurting when she got irritated. Especially his head.
Though, speaking of hurting…
Too late he remembered his wounds and was reminded so painfully that he crumbled to one knee, loudly wincing while his arms limply fell down and hands crashed on the floor.
“Owowowoww…” he complained.
Quickly looking up he realized that he had two worried women’s faces a bit too close for comfort, and Knives was staring at him again from the bed.
“Don’t… don’t mind me!” Vash hastened to amend, forcing a goofy chuckle and a dismissive wave with his less aching left hand.
Meryl, who had dived down beside him as soon as he had swayed, now dumped her face in her hand with a groan.
There was a short silence as three of the four people in the house returned to their feet.
“Is he always like this?” Knives blankly wondered, looking straight at Milly again.
It appeared that he had for the moment at least deemed her as the most trustworthy person in his immediate area.
She folded her hands behind her back and gave a chuckle that almost was a giggle, in the typical Milly way.
“Most of the time,” she confirmed, paying no heed to the gunman’s slight mutter of protest, “but Mr. Vash is really a good person.”
“Really?”
Knives turned to his brother again with a questioning gaze, surveying the standing man as if searching for signs of intelligence. But as Vash had enough troubles masking the remaining pain that his abused limbs made him endure, he couldn’t really bring himself into looking clever as well. At least not within the couple of seconds that Knives offered the tired interest before returning it to Milly.
“And who are you?” the short-haired blonde asked.
“Oh, sorry!”
Milly appeared to be very close to an apologizing salute, as she straightened up with an almost embarrassed look. She turned slightly, nodding at Meryl who tried to straighten up even more than usual and put on a somewhat friendly face – failing, but at least somehow managing something that could count as neutral – as Knives’ attention was sent towards her.
“This is Meryl Strife,” Milly informed, politely presenting her superior first, “and I’m Milly Thompson.”
“From the Bernardelli Insurance Company,” Meryl awkwardly spoke, sounding as if it was from pure habit.
She seemed to realize that as well, as she added:
“We’re the ones renting this house.”
Knives looked at her for a moment, as blank as ever. Then his gaze traveled up to Vash, who managed another grin. And back to Milly.
“Then…” he slowly said, frowning at his knees as he struggled to bring up even the slightest spark of memory, “why am I here?”
“Because you’re wounded.”
Vash finally managed to break into the conversation again. And definitely not with the most subtle line.
“Wounded…?”
Knives straightened up and tried to move his arms, cringing as he was reminded of the pain that had begun to settle since he last moved.
“What… is this?” he hoarsely croaked, and once again his voice filled up with confusion and agony.
<I> “Did you shoot me, Vash?!” </I>
The broomhead of the four looked at the wall that had conveniently supported him a little while ago, wishing that he had had his sunglasses to hide behind. But Knives wasn’t looking at him, so that was alright. Milly either.
… Meryl…
A thin finger brushed against the side of his palm but quickly fell away. And when he turned his head she was focusing on Knives.
He opened his mouth, but even as he did so he knew that there was nothing he really would say. In either case, Milly cut him off.
“As far as I know, the best thing is to let the memory return by itself,” she gently said, smiling calmingly and taking Knives’ hand again to soothe his distraught mind, “it’ll let you heal at your own pace.”
When he turned to her with an almost pleading look – that Vash with a stitch of worry saw could turn into a demand – Milly innocently continued:
“It will give you a chance to cope with it, otherwise it might come back at you in shocks.”
That sentence sparked something that managed to kick Vash fully back in gear, because they set him on a path of dialogue that he had wished to take on for roughly 130 years.
A smile naturally slipped onto his lips as he bent forwards until his face came to Knives’ level.
“Don’t worry about it, Knives,” he said, still smiling and friendly, “I promise you, I will make sure that nothing like the events that led us here will ever happen again. I’ll make sure of it. Alright?”
This was not a grin.
And Knives just blinked.
Meryl’s small hand thumped against Vash’s back, though this was much more careful than the elbow treatment from earlier. Either she had been reminded of how soar he was, or she didn’t care but just didn’t want him to pull a face in the middle of everything.
“As goofy as he seems, I can assure you that you can count on your brother by any sign of danger, Mr. Knives,” she reassuringly nodded, far less awkward this time.
Vash straightened up and kept the smile alive as he met her gaze again, not really used to getting a compliment from her. Soothing words had been a bit more frequent during their recent pieces of interaction – more of that a couple of weeks ago but still. Compliments was more revolutionary.
Meryl smiled back, finding it easier than she had really dared to believe.
“Right!” Milly beamed in the background of the two, her focus on the bedridden one, “so you just stay here and rest for now, Mr. Knives. Your memory will return sooner or later, and then everything will be fine.”
Meryl and Vash’s smiles petrified.
But Knives didn’t notice this change of attitude either, since Milly completely blocked his sight when she carefully but resolutely pushed him back down in a lying position by nudging the bandage-free areas of his arms. She completely ignored his weak, muttered protests.
“Now I don’t want to see you trying to get up again for a while,” she ordered, wagging a pointing finger at him like a teacher to a misbehaving child, “get some sleep now, and we’ll get you something to eat soon.”
She turned around and waved her hands at the other brother.
“And that goes for you too, Mr. Vash!”
He numbly nodded without a word and hurried towards the door, daring a glance backwards at Knives. It was supposed to look encouraging, together with the wave of his hand. He was not too sure of the success though.
Meryl stood frozen on her spot for another couple of seconds, until Milly straightened up properly and stretched.
“I’ll hurry and get my wages for today and shop something for dinner, madam,” the much taller woman said, her tone of voice being that of a suggestion however; “is that alright?”
Almost nothing but automatically, Meryl nodded.
“I’ll be right back then!”
And Milly took off.
She crossed the floor and disappeared as she turned in the corridor outside.
A door slammed.
Meryl woke up properly as she heard the slam. To the realization that she was alone in the same room as a mass murderer.
It didn’t get better as she glanced aside and saw that Knives was watching her, even if only his left eye was open. The intense blue of the iris seemed to shimmer in the sunlight breaking through the drawn window above the bed.
The eyelid quickly closed as soon as she unwillingly fixated his gaze with her own.
“Get some sleep,” she muttered and stalked out as quickly as she dared without running.
She dared to breathe in deeply and release it silently when she was out in the corridor and crossing the short distance to the living room, trying to calm her nerves.
‘It’s alright… he’s wounded, he can’t do anything. But that’s only right now. Later… No. He doesn’t remember… and Vash is here… Vash is here, he won’t let anything happen.’
The worry subsided right there, and she was fairly back in good composure when she entered the living room.
The bag of donuts were on the table, those that had fallen out had apparently been returned to their holder. Vash made no attempts to continue his feast, either.
He sat on the sofa, hunched with his arms resting on his thighs, neck bent and gaze set on his entwined fingers. As Meryl took the final, suddenly careful, step inside he looked up though.
Softly green eyes, not at all Knives’ piercing ice-blue, nailed her to the spot with their weariness.
“You didn’t tell Milly about Knives, did you?”
The question was hardly more than a whisper, and as needless as expected.
But Meryl still winced.
A great start, as per usual. Somehow it’s hard to picture Trigun without the image of Vash being hit by Meryl coming to mind somewhere along the line.:mwahaha: Cool plot, it’s be…interesting, to see how Milly deals with it, and how the others are going to deal with Knives, and what happens when he gets his memory back, and- well, that’s enough I think. ;;^^
Though this time it’s not just me working, as I said. Have a look at Filthy’s “Healing” in the fic archives while you’re at it