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Earth to Earth	By : Ravenclaw42 Category: +S to Z > Trigun Views: 2957 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Trigun, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
Author's Note: The melodrama is going through the roof nowadays. I�m gonna have to tone it down and get some comic relief in there soon -- the constant angsting is starting to wear on me.

This is a necessary interim chapter; I tried to keep enough story flowing to make it meaningful to the overall plot, but the action won�t start really moving again until chapter 13.

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Chapter Eleven: Degrees of Innocence

Part I

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It had been pure chance that led Michael to find the scene of destruction -- Tom hadn�t come home in two days, and Michael had finally gotten so worried that he had gone to warn Milly that his little brother might be up to something. On the way to Knives� room, he�d found Milly on the floor, unconscious -- and from there on out it had been pure panic that fueled his discovery. Of all the boys, Thomas had been hurt least. The boy named Vincent, on the other hand...

Knife wounds. Lacerations that couldn�t have been made by any manmade weapon -- they were finer than scalpel cuts, made with the kind of surgical precision that only doctors and assassins were capable of. In the end, every one of the boys had been incapacitated. They were in the med bay now, but for some of them, life itself was looking sketchy.

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The ship was still dark when Vash found his brother, who had managed to stagger quite a way away from the hall where he�d been attacked. Knives had curled tightly around himself again, that same Sister-like fetal position that he�d adopted after his first waking. He seemed to be asleep.

Vash knelt in front of Knives� wretched, crumpled form. Hesitantly, he reached out and touched Knives� hair, feather-light, brushing the tangled locks out of his brother�s face. He used the touch to open a mental link, sending a subliminal message of warm, slow calm. He didn�t want Knives to panic when Vash tried to talk.

�Knives,� Vash murmured, running his fingers though Knives� hair and rubbing his temple to wake him.

Knives woke at the name -- he jerked away from Vash�s touch, shuddering uncontrollably, breath hitching. A sudden mental explosion of pain and confusion and rejection caused Vash�s eyes to water -- Knives� reaction was stronger than he had expected. And for some reason, the main rejection was all towards Knives� own name. Vash frowned. The word �knives�? And all those knife wounds on the boys -- there had to be something here he was missing.

�Brother,� Vash said instead, treading on the side of caution.

Knives calmed somewhat at that, stirring under Vash�s hand. He let out a soft cross between a whimper and a moan.

�Are you hurt?� Vash asked, letting his hand move from Knives� head down to his blood-spattered side and arms.

More of a moan this time. Vash took that as a yes.

Fear threatened to rear up in Vash�s gut, but he shoved it down -- he had to be calm here, calm and collected, for his brother�s sake. If Knives knew the cold terror and sheer, blinding panic Vash had suffered when he found out what had happened -- well, Knives was unstable enough already.

�Look at me,� Vash murmured, tugging on Knives� arms to get him to move, to uncurl.

Knives� head shot up, sick fear and confusion clouding his blue gaze, and he forcibly threw himself away from Vash�s searching hands. Vash blinked, stomach lurching unpleasantly in startlement.

�Knives, what --� Vash started, forgetting himself.

�No,� Knives rasped. �Get away.�

The words ripped at Vash�s heart like the same scalpel-blade that had shredded the children. �What?� He couldn�t keep the hurt out of his voice or his mind.

But Knives seemed to recover himself, to see who he was talking to.

�Vash.� His voice was rough, as if with misuse. �What... why are you...� he trailed off. His eyes betrayed the same helpless confusion that had twisted his face on the day they had split -- it was the same expression that he had borne after Vash had first shot him.

Vash gave Knives a desperate, supplicating look. �Please,� he said quietly, �just let me see where you�re hurt.�

Finally, Knives moved. Keeping his eyes on Vash, he let his legs relax and unfold, exposing his blood-soaked abdomen. The muscles that he�d held scrunched up for so long finally stretched out again, and he made a pitiful little sound in the back of his throat, flinching at every movement.

There was a moment of uncertainty when Vash started to lift Knives� loose hospital shirt and Knives froze, his expression somewhere between nauseated and glaring. Vash sent him soothing thoughts, asked his permission, and Knives acceded... but not without a few unfamiliar flashes of thought passing across the surface of his mind. Once Vash finally got Knives� shirt off, he let out a short breath between clenched teeth and tentatively pressed a palm against the ragged wound. Knives hissed. Vash winced, but continued prodding the bloody area, keeping his touch gentle but firm.

�Muscle damage,� Vash murmured finally, �but it missed anything vital. Healing won�t be fun, but I don�t think it�ll take too long.�

Knives just gave him a blank look.

�You�ll live,� Vash clarified shortly.

Knives nodded.

�What happened?� Vash asked, tearing off a long strip of Knives� ruined shirt.

Hesitation -- then a shrug.

Vash folded the remains of the shirt into a thick pad, pressed it against the wound, and made Knives sit up so he could tie the pad on with the strip of fabric. �The boys attacked you?�

Another hesitation, followed by a reluctant nod.

�What did you do to them?�

Knives was silent. Vash noticed that his hands were shaking.

�Never mind,� Vash said, relenting. He stood and helped Knives to his feet, supporting his brother as they fell into a stumbling, uneven walk. Knives kept one hand pressed against the makeshift bandage, wincing at each twist and wrench of the ruined muscle.

�You�ll have to stay in my room until we leave,� Vash said finally.

Knives looked up at that, staggering as he lost his footing. A flash of angry frustration with his own clumsy body pierced his mind, and Vash couldn�t help but pity him. The feeling passed, and Knives gasped, �Leave?�

�Something tells me we�re not welcome here anymore,� Vash said dryly, shifting the arm he had slung around Knives� shoulders to get a better grip.

Silence met that remark. Knives didn�t speak again until they were standing outside the door to Vash�s room.

�Why?� he asked bluntly.

The question had deeper intonations of meaning in it than Vash was prepared to think about. He left a bloody handprint on the door panel when he palmed it. Vash stared at the red stain for a second, and then said, �I don�t know.�

�We�re different,� Knives said simply. �They hate us.�

Vash looked morose. �Maybe that�s true.�

Knives looked away, holding his tongue as Vash helped him across the room and into bed. �Milly?� he asked finally.

Vash moved off to dig for the first aid equipment he always kept with him. �She�s fine. The boys knocked her out, but that�s all.�

�Hurt?�

�Not badly.�

�She�s hurt.�

�Not badly,� Vash repeated, coming back to the bed with his hands full of bandages and tape.

�She�s one of them,� Knives said plaintively. �They hurt their own?�

Vash shook his head. �She was protecting us -- you. The boys only saw her as an obstacle. Something in the way,� he clarified, noticing Knives� lack of comprehension. His vocabulary wasn�t quite up to par yet.

Knives started to frown, but it turned into a wince when Vash tugged off the torn shirt. Vash darted away again, into the tiny hygiene cubicle attached to the room, and came back with a wet cloth.

�I don�t understand,� Knives rasped softly, looking away while Vash cleaned blood off his stomach.

�No one does, Knives,� Vash said, voice low, concentrating on keeping his hands occupied. Maybe Knives wouldn�t notice that they were trembling. �All people are different. No one is any greater or worse than anyone else. They were scared, that�s all.�

�Fear made them hurt... clean... people.� Knives made a face at his own words. �Not... I mean...� He hissed his frustration and reached up to grab Vash�s wrist, sending a short, sharp mental impression of what he was trying to say.

�Innocent, Knives,� Vash said sadly. �The word you�re looking for is innocent.�

The rest of the bandaging carried on in silence.

------

When Tom came around, the first thing he saw was Michael�s hand hovering somewhere near his face. It took several slow, heavy blinks to bring the rest of his brother into focus.

�Hey,� Michael said by way of greeting, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb the other two injured boys sharing Tom�s room.

Tom opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

Michael noticed it. �Don�t bother,� he said coolly. Tom blinked again and noticed how vacant Mike�s expression was -- like he was pretending not to know who Tom was.

Tom worked his throat, painfully dry though it was, and finally managed to rasp, �Mike, I didn�t --�

�Shut up.�

Tom clenched his teeth and grated out, �At least listen to me.�

�Why should I? You didn�t listen to me.�

Tom let his breath out in one big whoosh, as if he�d been punched. After a second of silence, he said, �I deserved that.�

�Yes you did.� Mike�s voice was toneless. �You deserve more than that, but there are people more willing than me to give it to you. Take this as a blessing.�

Ten minutes passed in silence. Tom thought about going back to sleep -- unconsciousness was safer and more comfortable, to be sure. But he didn�t want to run away from this again. Not again. He�d done enough damage; he saw that now.

Mike wasn�t looking at him. He was reading listlessly, elbow propped on one knee, hunched over with his nose bare inches from the pages. He was ignoring Tom completely.

�Why are you here?� Tom asked finally. �If you�re that mad, why did you come?�

�I�m not mad,� Mike said without looking up. �I�m here to make sure they--� he nodded at the other two comatose boys �--don�t die. The nurses are spread too thin. I volunteered.�

Tom hissed in a breath. �It was that bad?�

�How bad did you think it was?� Mike snapped.

�I don�t know. I didn�t see it all, I... I fell, got knocked out.�

�Sounds like you.�

Tom flushed with anger at the jibe. �I tried to stop them, dammit!� he exclaimed defensively. �I--�

�When?� Mike looked up at last, shutting his book harder than necessary. �When did you try to stop them? Before you kicked Knives in the face, or after? Before that Vince kid tried to gut him with a pocketknife? Whatever you tried to do didn�t stop what happened, but if you�d tried it sooner, maybe it could have. You�re a fucking coward, Tom, and I�m sorry you�re my brother.�

Tom wanted to scream. He hid his face instead.

After a minute, a tiny, choking sob broke the dead silence. Mike looked down and saw that Tom�s shoulders were shaking.

Mike sighed, relenting slightly. �But you still are my brother, dammit. So just get better, will ya? And don�t ever, ever scare the shit out of me like that again.�

Mike went back to his book, and eventually Tom�s sobs quieted.

-------

Knives didn�t realize he�d fallen asleep until he was rudely awoken by a small hand brushing against his forehead. His eyes snapped open in startlement before he had a chance to think, head lolling to the side to look at whoever was there. The intruder let out a muffled shriek and leapt away.

A young girl? Knives blinked quickly, clearing away the last fog of sleep, and stared. Definitely a girl -- not so young, maybe. Teenaged. Fifteen, sixteen. Nondescript face, nut-brown pigtails, many-pocketed apron. She looked vaguely familiar. She also looked terrified. Knives frowned.

�Who are you?� he asked. His voice was still rusty, though not quite as hoarse as it had been.

The girl trembled like a leaf. �J-Jessica Wright,� she stammered. �Mr. V-Vash said you... uh... he said that someone should stay with you. A-and, er, Ms. Milly�s still recovering, and Ms. Meryl has to deal with the questions, and there�s the Doctor�s passing for Vash to take care of and I just thought I could help andVashsaidyouneededlookingaftersir.�

A long silence ensued in which Jessica stared wide-eyed at Knives and Knives tried in vain to work out what she�d said.

�Excuse me?� he said finally, giving up.

Jessica blinked. �Excuse you what?� Then she seemed to hear herself, and bit her lip nervously.

Knives shook his head a fraction. �I didn�t follow that,� he said bluntly.

�I... oh.� Jessica blinked again, and relaxed visibly. �Um, I�m sorry?�

Knives just looked fixedly at her.

Jessica laughed nervously, tugging on one braid. �Well, that didn�t go too well,� she said, flashing a strained smile. �Can we start over?�

�... start over?� The thought had never really occurred to Knives -- that if something went wrong, you could just reset the board and start clean again. The thought was alarming and comforting at the same time.

�Sure,� Jessica said, oblivious to the undertones of meaning her question had carried. �So, I�m Jessica. Everyone else is busy and I volunteered when Vash-san said you needed a guard. And...� She looked away, struggling with her next words. �And, um, he mentioned you could use a haircut, sir. And maybe I could help patch up your clothes.� She blushed.

Knives blinked again, truly taken aback. Vash sent a human child to guard him -- and not only that, but to take care of him in ways that... well, no one ever had before. Not that he could remember, anyway.

�I...� Knives began, then stopped, bewildered by his own feelings.

�Wait,� Jessica cut in quickly. Her words tumbled out in a heartfelt stream. �I just wanted to say that... that I�ve never liked you, sir. I�d only heard stories, but those and seeing Vash come home hurt so often gave me plenty of reason to hate you. And I�ve tried to hate you now, sir, I�m sorry but I have. But... I couldn�t. I mean, you�re... you don�t know... well, I couldn�t bring myself to really hate you, anyway.� She looked steadily at the wall past Knives� head, unable to meet his eyes. She couldn�t tell him about the way she�d watched Milly feeding him that night -- she couldn�t tell him how helpless he�d been, how utterly pathetic.

She took a deep breath and went on. �But now this happened, with Vincent and the other boys, and I just wanted to say that even though I still don�t like you much, I�m here to help if you need it. I don�t like sand vipers either, but if a viper with no fangs crawled up bleeding on my doorstep, I�d probably help it, too.� At last she met his eyes, her gaze almost defiant, as if daring him to reject her charity.

Knives let out a short breath. Humans were incomprehensible. But he thought he was grateful, maybe, if that�s what this feeling of relief washing through him was called. �Thank you,� he said simply, not sure what else there was to say.

Jessica�s defiant look faded, and she tried out a tentative smile. �So... now that�s out of the way.� She took a deep breath, and made herself walk over to Knives� bedside. His steady gaze unnerved her, but she raised a hand to his forehead anyway, feeling for fever. �Are you feeling all right?� she asked.

�Yes,� he said quietly. �I can�t feel the cuts at all.�

Jessica bit back a wince and nodded. �Vash probably used some of Doc�s antibacterial ointment -- it numbs the area around the wound.�

�He put something cold on it...�

�That�s the stuff.� She pulled Knives� blanket away so she could look over his bandages, fighting back a blush. No fresh blood had soaked through, and the wound seemed firmly closed when she prodded it through the gauze. �I guess you really are like Vash, huh?� she said softly, looking up to meet his gaze. �You both heal so quickly.� Her tone carried the ache of nostalgia; Knives didn�t know how to respond.

Jessica shook her head then, clearing away whatever thoughts had occupied it. �Sorry,� she said quickly. �So, do you think you can sit up, maybe walk around a little? It would be good to stretch anyway, otherwise those torn muscles will get stiff.�

But as Knives discovered when he tried to get up, they already were stiff -- and the effects of the anesthetic goo Vash had spread on his stomach had almost completely worn off. By the time he was upright and moving, he felt like someone had run him through with a rusty railroad spike. But the wound didn�t reopen, and after a few steps the pain subsided to a more reasonable ache.

Jessica, though she was at least two heads shorter than Knives, put an arm around his waist and helped him all the way around the room, not once but twice. By the time they got back around to the bed, Jessica was a lot less shy about touching the half-naked Plant. She couldn�t afford to be, what with the decidedly undignified job of supporting half the weight of a man three times bigger than herself.

Knives collapsed on the edge of the bed, breathing hard but oddly satisfied. It felt good to move again, even if it hurt.

Jessica shook her sore arms out, regaining her breath. �Well!� she said. �That was educational. Next time I�m recruiting someone bigger to carry you around.� She smiled -- the first real smile Knives had seen on her. It looked good. Better than the nervous laughter or the skittish defiance, anyway. He smiled back, hesitantly.

She looked him over for a moment, her gaze less restrained now, more calculating than girlish. �Vash was right,� she said finally. �You really could do with a haircut.�

Knives blinked and reached up automatically to touch his hair. When he tried to run his fingers through it, they got stuck in a tangle. �Hn,� he grunted, frowning at the uneven ends. �Yes, probably so.�

Jessica laughed at him. �I�ll be right back.� She darted into the tiny bathroom and emerged a minute later with a cleaning bucket full of water, a bottle of something orange and vaguely scented, a pair of towels and a comb. Setting everything but the comb down on the bedside table, she rummaged through her many apron pockets until she came up with a pair of scissors.

Knives eyed the scissors suspiciously. He wasn�t sure he wanted those anywhere near his head.

�So, how do you want it?� Jessica asked obliviously, pushing all the sheets out of the way and laying a towel out behind Knives� back to keep the bed clean. �I don�t know how much length I can keep in it, a lot of those knots are just gonna have to go.�

Knives felt distinctly out-of-place. He couldn�t remember for sure, of course, but he was fairly certain that no one had cut his hair like this before. It felt... different. Alien.

Kind of interesting, actually.

�I... I don�t care,� he said finally. �Short is fine.�

�Good,� said Jessica, and got started.

It was awkward, since Knives couldn�t bend over backwards to get his hair wet and all the water they had to work with was in a single bucket. But Jessica managed, grumbling good-naturedly, trying not to yank on Knives� scalp too much when she hit a particularly vicious tangle. Eventually his hair was combed and clean, and smelled faintly of ginger.

Then came the cutting itself.

�I don�t know,� Jessica was saying, �I think you�d look pretty good with longer hair. Like Vash-san, his hair suits him perfectly and you both have the same face shape.�

Knives frowned. �I don�t want to look like Vash,� he said quietly.

Jessica hesitated, reminded for a second of exactly who she was dealing with. �Oh -- okay,� she said, her voice suddenly more subdued. �Um. Shorter, then.� She combed out another lock, held it carefully between two fingers, and snipped off a good three inches.

After that she cut in silence, and Knives almost regretted saying anything to startle her out of her cheerful mood. The tension in the air was very mild, but after everything that had happened, even a little tension bothered him.

It felt like an eternity before Jessica huffed, ruffled his hair, combed it again, snipped one last uneven end, and walked to the other side of the room to look over her handiwork.

�It�ll do,� she said, scissors twitching in her hand as if she really wanted to do something else to it, but couldn�t decide what. �Want to see? You�ll have to get up again, the only mirror is in there.� She nodded to the bathroom.

Knives hesitated, putting a hand to his stomach to feel how sore it was. Not that bad, really... it hurt, but he reminded himself that if he didn�t keep moving, it would hurt a lot more. Slowly, he started levering himself off the bed, loose strands of hair detaching themselves from his bare back and littering the towel beneath him.

Jessica moved to help him, but he shook his head. �It�s not far,� he murmured. �I�ll be fine.�

But the seven or eight feet to the bathroom door sure did feel far once he got moving. He didn�t realize how much of his weight Jessica had been taking until he had to support it all himself. He felt as feeble as an old man as he shuffled across the room, wincing at every step. I could learn to hate this body, he thought ruefully.

Then the bathroom sink was in front of him and he fell against the industrial metal countertop, breathing hard, abdominal muscles screaming their protest. He scowled down at his skinny, battered frame, willing the pain to go away.

A few calming breaths later, he looked up, meeting his own gaze for the first time since he�d woken in the ship.

Wrong. That was the first thought that came to mind, so vehement that he startled himself with it.

I look wrong.

Of all the things he still didn�t know, his own body was not one of them. He knew what he should look like, and this wasn�t it. Gaunt, ashen, peppered with patched scrapes and yellowing bruises. His abdomen was a mass of bandages and scars -- not like Vash, not even close to Vash, but still... he�d never had scars before. I heal myself, he thought desperately. I�ve always healed myself. I don�t even have burn scars from when Vash --

He blinked, confused. When Vash what? He�d dreamed about that argument, the one that had ended in white light, but he didn�t know what had happened. Not really.

Knives gritted his teeth and forced himself to keep looking.

His hair... his hair was strange, too. It used to be shorter. He remembered it being shorter, more utilitarian, a rough self-cut style that had suited him fine for over a century. Now it was... tailored. Professionally cut, not so ragged. For some reason, that bothered him. It didn�t stick up -- Jessica had left it long enough to hang down, just to where it touched the tops of his ears and brushed the base of his neck in the back. He raised one trembling hand and brushed short bangs out of the way, uncovering a sore, blue-tinged lump where some boy had kicked him in the face.

He�d never had bangs before, either.

Jessica was standing behind him, looking slightly worried at his unhappy expression. �Is it okay?� she asked tentatively.

�It�ll take... getting used to,� Knives muttered.

�If you don�t like it, I can --�

�It�s fine,� Knives said shortly.

�Oh. Okay.�

Then Jessica helped him back to the bed, took his bandages off and applied more of the same cold goo Vash had used earlier. The pain faded away, finally letting Knives relax. His entire body felt sore. He didn�t even realize how tensely he had been holding himself.

Jessica tied off the last of the fresh gauze, then stood there in uncertain silence, torn. �I should go,� she said finally. �I can get Miss Meryl or Ron or someone to take over.�

Knives blinked slowly, eyelids heavy with exhaustion. �You don�t have to,� he said quietly. Then, after a brief hesitation, �Thank you.�

Jessica tugged a braid again, smiling halfheartedly. �Oh, it�s nothing really. I have two brothers and a little sister, I�m used to cutting hair and patching people up.�

�Not that,� Knives said, struggling to find words to express himself. �I mean... thank you for... helping. For not...�

Jessica�s hand fell away from her braid and clasped the other one in front of her dress. She suddenly looked much older than her age. �I couldn�t hurt someone in cold blood, Mr. Knives,� she said softly. �I couldn�t see a person in pain and not do something to help. I don�t know how much you remember, but you used to do things like that. I hope you won�t again, but...� She took a deep breath. �You�re welcome for the help, and I... all I ask is that you pay it back to someone else.�

Knives was taken aback. He opened his mouth to say something, but realized that there was nothing he could say.

�It�s okay,� she said, a little sadly. �Don�t make promises you can�t keep.� She looked away. �I�ll go get Meryl.�

�Don�t.� The command tore out of Knives� throat before he knew what he was saying. �Stay.�

Jessica looked back, surprised. She hesitated, then turned to face him. �Okay,� she said softly. �Okay.�

She left for a few minutes and returned with a pair of loose drawstring pants; producing thread and needle from somewhere in her apron, she began to let out the legs to accommodate Knives� lanky height. Eventually, Knives fell asleep to the sound of her faint humming.

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Author's Note: Most webpages have a maximum length, I've discovered; several of my chapters are too long to post in one segment. This one isn't over -- I'm posting part II tomorrow. You can find the whole story, updated to the very latest chapter (currently chpt. 13), at the Trigun library section of my website:

http://www.angelfire.com/journal2/divergingroads/raven/library/libr_tri.html

I also have Trigun fanart (including a citrusy KxL pic and several sketches and illustrations based on EtE) in my gallery:

http://www.angelfire.com/journal2/divergingroads/raven/gallery/gallery_index.html

Please enjoy this stuff while I go over into my corner and beat my head against the wall whilst plotting ways to annihilate every bit of technology that is evil and/or maddening (which would be everything Microsoft and several things Mac). Excuse me.
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Earth to Earth