Adult-FanFiction.org : Anime

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
- 15
- 16
Author's Note: At long last, give you chapter 14! This was a bugger to write, excuse my French, and it contains language (ha), although if you�ve read up �til now I don�t see how you can possibly care. The end is intentionally ambiguous; explanations will be forthcoming in later chapters. Manga readers, as usual, will get many details that anime viewers will not. Also, there is a reference to a very old (now Criterion Collection) movie called The Passion of Joan of Arc, which wasn�t a mistake on my part, as Joan of Arc is an extremely different film from Mel Gibson�s Passion of the Christ, and also an infinitely better one. It�s about the trial of Joan of Arc, and I can see Vash hating it for its gruesome reality, Knives loving it for the same reason, and Rem loving it for its messages of nobility, grace, and piety. So, a liking that Rem and Knives actually share. I recommend that anyone who can get their hands on this movie give it a go. It�s a gorgeous bit of filmmaking, incredibly moving.

Earth to Earth

--------

Chapter Fourteen: Learning Curve

--------

�We musn�t sleep a wink all night or we might wake up -- changed.�

--Invasion of the Body Snatchers

----------

Knives woke and instantly knew he was dying.

He rolled onto his left side with a sharp gasp, control of his own body slipping out of his grasp as pain swept up the side pressed into the mattress. The pressure gave only the tiniest relief from the fire in his abdomen. He could feel each individual muscle fluttering like a pinned butterfly, still alive but dying in agony, as his heart beat a rapid escape route from his chest through his throat and out his eyes in the form of tears.

A second of excruciating lucidity told him that the pain was merely a muscle cramp, just like several he�d had before after exercising on the ship. The cramping was only worse this time because of his overexertion in the desert yesterday.

But his body refused to listen to his mind�s orders to relax. Involuntary convulsions tugged his abdomen apart, like an overeager vivisection. He screwed his eyes shut tight, hot tears leaking from the corners, and let only the softest groan escape his throat.

Somewhere under the pain, something... else was uncoiling, like a poisonous snake, ready to strike. It rose in response to Knives� vulnerability, some kind of hair-trigger natural defense mechanism. The feeling scared him -- it was huge, raw, like vomit only cleaner, tightening his throat and blurring his vision and dulling his perceptions. A sharp prickling broke out along his neck and spine, like the feeling of being watched, but more real, more tangible than just a feeling...

Then the cramping passed, convulsions slowing to the mildest of tics every few minutes and then to nothing at all. He felt sore all over and nauseous, and very, very awake. And the power from underneath was not gone.

It felt... familiar. Natural. Comfortable, almost. Except that it was so much, so fast, and he was still in pain and this power, whatever it was, was like a lucid nightmare, and being familiar with it without knowing why was just as frightening as the power itself.

Knives groaned again. The sound helped break through his half-conscious fear and brought him fully back to reality. Dazed, he levered himself upright on sore, rubbery arms and felt the same tingling prickle from before sweep up his spine. He winced.

�V... Vash...� he tried, but his voice was barely above a whisper. On second thought he decided he didn�t want Vash in here anyway. Some things Knives would rather figure out on his own.

Knives ground the heels of his hands into his eyes, concentrating on the dull red spots in the black, forcing himself awake and calm. He raking trembling fingers through his hair, stared at the far wall, curled inwards to fight the throbbing ache in his gut, and thought hard.

His fingertips brushed something on the back of his neck, and he froze. Insect? He�d gotten pretty familiar with various desert beetle species yesterday. No; this was soft, unmoving. Not alive. Just some fuzz, or a feather out of the pillow. Knives made as if to pluck it off, grasped it between two fingers and started to pull--

�Nnnghhkn,� he choked, letting go with a reflexive grimace. �Ack,� he added for good measure.

The feathery thing was attached to his neck. Growing out of his neck. He tentatively ran exploratory fingers over it, not pulling this time, just testing. The transition from skin to feather was flawless. Running his hands further down, he discovered that the feathery patch ran all the way down the back of his neck and partway down his spine, a ridge of downy fluff, completely alien and yet strangely appropriate. The feathers and the raw power were somehow the same thing, Knives realized. There was something bizarre about his body that Vash knew, but Vash wasn�t telling, and neither were Knives� recalcitrant memories.

Maddening. This lack of information was maddening.

Knives was just thinking about struggling down the hall to the bathroom to see if he could get a good look at the feathers on his back, when he noticed that the power surging in his guts was fading. The danger was past, he was no longer vulnerable, and the defense mechanism was subsiding, taking the feathers with it. He felt them retreating into his skin, leaving behind a mild itchy soreness like sunburn.

All residual fear vanished in an instant. Knowing how close he had just been to a breakthrough, only to have all the answers swallowed up by his own body... Would this frustration never end?

�Damn it,� Knives breathed.

----------

It was still dark out when Knives limped out of the guest room. He couldn�t go back to sleep; he thought some fresh air would help clear his mind. Vash had not yet told him how to read clocks, so the cuckoo clock in the hall told him nothing whatsoever, but he logically assumed no one else would be awake at such an early hour.

He was wrong. Padding into the living room, silent so as not to wake his brother sleeping on the couch, he could just make out the sound of voices in the kitchen.

�...olo isn�t going to like it,� said a voice that sounded distinctly female despite being low. Sophie.

�No one in their right mind would like it,� said Max�s voice, barely above a whisper.

�When?� Sophie asked softly.

�I�m leaving now,� Max replied. �Vash wants to get moving before nine, so I�ve got to get word out before he wakes up and has time to object.�

Suspicion and fear bloomed like a fireball inside Knives. He froze midstep, eyes flicking between his brother�s peaceful face and the kitchen door, suddenly afraid that they would hear him and... do what? He didn�t know. And not knowing only made it worse.

�Are you sure you can talk him into it?� Sophie�s voice pressed worriedly. There were soft shuffling sounds. People moving.

�I�ve got a lot of favors to call in,� Max muttered, getting closer to the door between kitchen and living room from the sound of it. Knives took a slow, cautious backward step.

�Max,� Sophie pleaded. The footsteps stopped and the voices became so low that Knives couldn�t make them out. He took the opportunity to back up further, until his shoulder bumped the wall and he spun silently around into the hall from which he had come only a minute before. He pressed himself against the wall in the darkness of the hallway, just out of sight of the living room, and breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

The murmuring from the kitchen stopped and the shuffling footsteps resumed. Knives held his breath, listened to the steps move across the living room floor -- away from the hall, out towards the front door. The door creaked open; voices again, brief, too quiet to make out but obviously an exchange of goodbyes. Then the door snapped shut and there was silence.

Did they both leave? Knives leaned cautiously away from the wall, wincing as the tightly controlled movements put more strain on his already-bludgeoned muscles. Rising to the balls of his feet, he turned just far enough to see around the doorframe. No movement. He peered further, then jerked back as if burned -- Sophie was standing forlornly by the door, gazing in the direction of the out-of-sight couch and its occupant.

He backed up a few steps, made a quiet but audible show of opening and shutting the guest room door, and dragged himself once again down the hall into the living room. As he�d predicted, Sophie had heard the click of the bedroom door and gathered her wits. There was no sign of her when Knives entered the living room, although he thought he heard the sigh of air from a door closing. Kitchen door or front? He couldn�t tell, but he didn�t trust her or Max enough to go looking for them in his current injured state.

Knives stopped just short of the couch, looking down at Vash�s sleep-softened face, and wondered at their hosts� intentions. He didn�t realize until now how little he�d trusted them, as their suspicious actions didn�t shock him in the slightest. He understood, though dimly, that some part of him had expected a betrayal all along.

�Vash,� he murmured, feeling around the edges of the name as it left his lips. Vash was a quiet name, short and solid and to the point, businesslike unlike its owner. It felt soft on the tongue. Knives, on the other hand... Knives was a thinner name, thin like a razorblade, and even in a whisper the long i and sibilant s made it loud. Hissing. It didn�t sit easily with Knives, his name. It felt... out-of-place, somehow. It wasn�t even a proper name, like Vash. It was a word for something else, plural of knife, and who had named him Knives, anyway? He resented them, whoever they were.

Vash grumbled something in his sleep and turned just far enough for his arm to slip off his chest and off the couch, wrist hitting the floor with a dull thud. He shot awake in an instant.

�Wmuh?� Vash asked blearily. The corner of Knives� mouth twitched upward at the half-drugged expression on his brother�s face. Vash swung his bare feet to the floor and twisted a bit, stretching. �It�s early, Knives.�

Knives shrugged.

A little too conveniently, the front door opened and Sophie entered, wiping too little sweat to be believable off her forehead. �Oh!� she said, feigning some very genuine-sounding surprise. �You�re up. I was just out feeding the tomases.� The alibi was plausible but unnecessary, which only stoked Knives� mistrust.

�Where�s Max?� Vash asked through a yawn, scratching his neck nonchalantly.

�Oh, he had to go out,� Sophie replied easily. �Emergency at work. Maybe a typhoon building in the deeps.�

The exchange was innocent enough, but there was something in Vash�s voice that made Knives wonder just how asleep Vash had been, really. And whether Vash knew that he, Knives, had faked his own waking.

We�re liars all, Knives thought, keeping his mouth shut as Vash got up and helped Sophie with breakfast. He limped unobtrusively out of the living room, down the hall to the bathroom, and stared at himself in the mirror.

Vash told him to trust these people, then didn�t follow his own advice. Why else would Vash fake sleep to listen to the conversation in the kitchen? Continue faking sleep to throw Knives off the same way he wanted to throw off Max and Sophie? Where was Max, what �word� was he spreading, why were he and his sister so secretive?

Why had Knives himself hidden from all of them, like a coward, just like the sneaks and liars all the rest were all proving themselves to be?

Knives turned his head slowly to catch a glimpse of the back of his neck in the mirror.

He couldn�t trust anyone in this world. Even himself.

---------

Vash leaned over the kitchen sink, scrubbing listlessly at the breakfast dishes, hunched forward as if trying to make himself smaller. He�d left Knives outside to commune with the dog on the front porch nearly half an hour ago. It was almost nine. They really needed to get moving, but knowing what he did now, Vash wasn�t really sure he wanted to.

Damn it, Max, Vash thought, picking angrily at a stubborn bit of egg stuck between the tines of a fork. I told you we would be fine by ourselves. And now there would be guards trailing them everywhere in town, screwing with Vash�s senses and instincts, so he�d never be able to tell if they were being followed by some enemy or if a pair of eyes he felt on the back of his neck merely belonged to another damned hired man of Max and the Fris�. Not to mention that if Knives sensed they were being followed, there was no telling what he�d do or think. Vash knew Knives had heard at least the very end of Max and Sophie�s coversation, and that was enough to make anyone suspicious.

And the way Knives had backed out and feigned waking to cover up for his eavesdropping was just as nervewracking for Vash as the thought of being followed everywhere. Where does he get this stealth from? Naturally? Vash thought anxiously. But that would mean he must be picking up on his old nature, and I can�t tell how far the leakage goes... is it just instincts, or are there real memories involved...?

He dropped the fork and the tines struck a resounding chord against the metal bowl of the sink.

He won�t talk to me.

Vash shut his eyes, took a deep breath, let his hands hang limp in the sudsy water. He could do this, he assured himself. It wasn�t too late yet. There would be town today, a little taste of human society, and then another week or so of desert to bond, or just talk, or whatever Knives seemed willing to do. And then Terma. Maybe Knives would be ready for Terma by then, maybe not, but there was nothing for it but to try. If Vash could prove the worth of humans now, while Knives was still uncertain, then maybe... just maybe, even if his memories did come back, he would already be changed enough to make a difference. Just enough of a difference that they could communicate without fear of killing each other. Just enough to matter.

The smallest change was all Vash was asking for. A gap in the wall they�d built between them. Some little crack of common ground to help break down the stonework.

He will talk to me, Vash amended his thoughts carefully. He will understand.

Gotta give him some more time, that�s all.

-------

The last thing Knives needed was more time alone to think. He wished Vash would hurry up and finish all the chores he�d volunteered to do to pay for their lodging so they could get moving. He didn�t care that his whole body flinched at the thought of another days� walking, didn�t care that he was twitchy and nervous and in pain and feeling severely antisocial; he just wanted to move. Needed to move. Needed to get away.

Something about this place was smothering, hostile. Too much moisture in air that should be dry as a bone; too much evaporated sweat and smoky exhales and peoples� laundry drying in alleys. And with the alien humidity came alien smells, human smells, raw and fresh and vivid, not at all like the stale circulated air on the ship. No temperature regulation, either. No organization whatsoever. Chaos, no system, just chaos. People doing whatever they wanted to, going wherever they wanted to go. Planetside life was frighteningly open-ended.

But Knives found himself hesitating to label and dismiss. He spent a quiet, introspective half-hour watching the two populated streets and single back alley he could see from the porch. The longer he watched, the more he could see the faint edges of a pattern unfolding. He fiddled with various concepts in his head, started putting a few edge bits of the puzzle together -- figured out how to recognize families, businessmen, the difference between shops and houses, a few of the more typical greetings. Small but vital facts of life that no one, especially Vash, seemed to have realized he was lacking.

Interaction in this social world looked far too complicated to someone stuck outside it. Knives wasn�t looking forward to the rest of the day, but he�d steeled himself for the ordeal as best he knew how and would rather get it over with than contemplate it longer.

He ran one hand through Lacey�s fur, absently scratching under her collar. She looked up at him, mouth open in a lazy dog-grin, fluffy tail thumping noisily on the wooden deck. Hollow, regular thumping. Hollow.

metallic crack and CLANG, hollow metal broken open and there was blood there, hands stained with it, faster faster faster faster fasterfasterfasterfast

�You ready to go?�

Knives came back to himself with a start, cold despite the heat, sweat cooling on the back of his neck. Tingling there. Same as this morning. He resisted the urge to touch, to feel if the feathers had come back, answers which might have come back, but Vash would see if he touched himself and it would look suspicious and he couldn�t look suspicious. Everything was suspicious enough already.

Lacey whined softly. Knives loosened his death-grip on her fur so it didn�t hurt her.

�I�ve been ready,� he said calmly, patting Lacey one last time and standing, turning to face Vash standing in the door, gloves already covering his dishwater-pruned hands. Knives could smell the soap on him.

Vash tossed him his pack. �I�ve told Sophie goodbye and left a note,� he said unnecessarily. Knives could sense his reluctance, but if they were going to do this, they were goddamn well going to do it and Knives wasn�t going to wait for Vash to drag it out further.

�Then let�s go,� Knives said, tone final, and stepped off the sheltered porch into the deep end of human existence.

---------

Downtown wasn�t nearly as bad as Knives had expected it to be. The hostility was still there under the surface, badly hidden in sideways glances, in children hustled along by their parents, in the hooded stares of burly workers, in window shutters blatantly closed against the only breeze on a hot day. But somehow, even though he knew he and Vash were not welcome, Knives also got the impression that this hostility wasn�t reserved just for them. This was a cracked town, just waiting for the wrong person to come along and break it completely.

Knives wondered if he was that kind of person.

�I couldn�t see someone in pain and not do something to help. I don�t know how much you remember, but you used to do things like that...�

The memory was cut off abruptly by Vash�s voice, forced-cheerful as usual, chatting and directing. Knives followed him into a general store, waited patiently while he bought food and water and other things Knives didn�t have words for. Just supplies. The walk to Terma wasn�t really a long one, according to the woman behind the store counter, but it was long enough to kill the underprepared.

Something shadowy flickered at the corner of Knives� eye. He turned his head just enough to look out the storefront window while keeping half his attention on Vash, who seemed oblivious to any danger. Was Vash really on guard, and faking obtuseness? Knives couldn�t tell. Didn�t know Vash well enough to tell. But his act on the couch had been convincing, and Knives was perfectly prepared not to believe any front his brother put up. Or anything he said.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary outside, not that Knives had much reference of �ordinary� to go by. He looked away from the window just in time to see Vash shelling out a few slips of paper and a pile of coins onto the counter. Knives squinted, frowning slightly, working around bits of unfinished puzzle in his head to see if there was some opening for this odd exchange of vital merchandise for worthless scraps. It rang no bells, triggered no feelings, no memories. Must have never been very important to him, then. He disregarded it.

�Have a nice day,� said the woman behind the counter.

Vash came over, smiling, and nudged Knives towards the shop door. �We�re all set,� he said. �Got some sunblock, you�re going to need that. Another day and you�d really start looking like a lobster, huh?� He grinned.

�A what?� Knives asked, trying to decide whether or not to be offended.

�Lobster,� said Vash. A hidden bell jingled when he pushed the door open. �Kind of edible sea creature. They get bright red when you cook �em.�

Back out on the street again, Vash slung his pack off long enough to stuff the new items inside.

�Sea creature?� Knives prodded casually, testing Vash�s limits as much as filling out his vocabulary.

Vash hesitated. Getting closer, Knives thought.

�Yeah, sea... a really big body of water,� Vash replied. He slung his pack back over his shoulder, a very final-sounding thump.

Knives decided to test a little more. Vash was falling back on straight facts to save him from explaining context, but there was one fact it was rather difficult to avoid, and Knives hoped to pin his brother with it.

�Then is there water elsewhere?� Knives asked, smoothing his tone into pure, innocent curiosity. �This desert must not go on forever.�

A definite catch in Vash�s continuity there; Vash stopped, ostensibly to adjust the straps of his duffel, but Knives could tell he was struggling. �Yeah, there�s water in other places,� Vash said finally, �but probably not what anyone would call a sea. Actually, lobsters are extinct, so not a whole lot of people get the joke.� He laughed, loud and a little too high. Knives bit back a wince. He didn�t like Vash�s attention-drawing behavior.

Another flicker in the corner of Knives� eye. Alleyway. He glanced to the side -- nothing there.

�How do you know they turn red when you cook them, then, if they don�t exist?� Knives asked, falling back by half a step so Vash wouldn�t catch any peripheral glimpses of Knives staring down side alleys.

�Read about it,� Vash replied quickly, amiably, and Knives knew he�d gotten into a good swing now and it would take a lot more than questions about lobsters to break him out of it. If Knives kept playing on subtlety and nonchalance alone, Vash would easily beat him at his own game.

Knives let a few minutes pass in silence. He waved to a small child to ward off Vash�s sideways glances, but there was no feeling in it and even though the child waved back cheerily enough, her parent looked terrified.

Vash filled the empty space between them with chatter. New Oregon, he said, was not a big city by any means, but it wasn�t what people would call the �boonies,� either. It was part of a cluster of towns that had built up between two major cities: Terma, which Knives had heard of before in passing, and a place called LR, the mention of which made Knives feel oddly triumphant and depressed at the same time. New Oregon was slightly out of the way of the main cluster because it had been established in a microclimate that was rarely if ever touched by bad weather, with the exception of a few renegade typhoons over the years. The cloudless, dust-free microclimate meant New Oregon was perfectly situated for a radio station, so the town�s business and popularity had all built out of its original entertainment industry. Unlike most towns it hadn�t been built in the shell of a crashed ship, and its few bits of technology and its enormous radio tower had all been hauled in from Terma and several more distant places like Geronimo and Sawyer�s Cross.

Knives absorbed every bit of information he could get from both the lines and the spaces between, sketching a rough mental map of the surrounding area. Eventually Vash stopped talking, probably on the assumption that Knives� silence meant he wasn�t listening.

There were no more shadowy flickers just out of sight, but the back of Knives� neck tingled incessantly, never allowing his guard a moment�s rest. Torn and cramped muscles reacted poorly to the tension, and combined with the heat of the twin suns, Knives felt distinctly nauseous.

�What time is it?� he asked, shading his eyes and watching his feet in hopes of lessening his pounding headache.

Vash looked up, squinted, calculated, and said, �Past one. We�re about at the far edge of town now, but this neighborhood is still pretty respectable. You hungry? We�ve got enough money for one or two sit-down meals, I think.�

Knives considered the question, analyzed all the different hurts assailing his body, and realized that yes, one of them was hunger pain. �Yes,� he said.

Vash looked around, getting his bearings, and said, �Ha! There we go.� He pointed. Knives turned to look, saw nothing but another stone and false wood building, identical to all the others but for its paint job and its sign, which Knives couldn�t read because Vash had not yet taught him how.

�They make really good sandwiches,� Vash said, as if this explained everything, and led the way in.

-----------

Over lunch Vash explained the concept of the restaurant, which led to a mostly one-sided conversation about economics, which led to a more involved conversation about money. An argument about money, really. Even after they�d agreed to stop talking about it because they were drawing strange looks from other customers, Knives was still unconvinced that a paper and scrap metal could possibly have any worth, even if it was only assumed worth.

Despite the argument -- or maybe because of it -- Vash gave Knives the money to pay and nudged him through the process.

Someone definitely followed them out of the building.

Knives had let his guard down in the restaurant, too relieved to be off his feet and in shade to care who spied on them. But walking out the door set off such a raucous alarm in his head that he couldn�t ignore it; there was someone following them and the ambient hostility in the air suddenly became anything but ambient -- tension all but physically choked him. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

�Vash,� Knives murmured when they were back on the streets, heading east.

�Hn?� Vash asked, craning his neck to pinpoint the position of the sun. �Not bad time, only an hour lost and we haven�t got a bus to catch or anyth--�

�Vash,� Knives repeated, a little more sharply. The back of his neck felt like it was on fire, and not from sunburn. The restaurant was a good six blocks behind them now, and all the people seemed to have vanished along with the shops. The houses that surrounded them now barely looked occupied, although the faint sound of creaking shutters and locks turning said otherwise. They were far past the edges of what Vash had called the respectable part of town

�What?� Vash said, turning his gaze back to the dusty street and matching his stride to Knives�.

�We�re being followed,� said Knives, very quietly.

Vash�s step faltered only for the briefest of moments. �I know,� he murmured. �I think... I mean, it�s Max. He probably hired some bodyguards to trail us.�

Not a guard, Knives thought, spine prickling unpleasantly. The sun was past its zenith and shadows were seeping back into all the cracks and alleys, and they all seemed to be moving now; every lightning sideways glance caught a flicker of movement and every bird�s shadow made Knives� flesh crawl.

�This is something else,� Knives began, but before he could get all the words out there came a gutteral shout from somewhere behind them, followed by the sound of pounding feet.

�Shit!� Vash�s voice. Vash was already moving and Knives couldn�t follow him, couldn�t get even the slightest glimpse of him, because Vash was so fast so fast too fast. Knives barely turned in time to see Vash, a flicker of denim and blonde spikes, putting himself between Knives and the danger.

And then Knives blacked out.

No... that wasn�t quite right, he wasn�t unconscious, he was still moving, he could see himself moving in dim flashes like an old film (an old what?) broken past repair with cigarette burns and water stains like the Passion of Joan of Arc (who?) which Vash had hated when they were young and Knives and Rem had both loved.

There was screaming. Knives realized he was the one screaming. Something must have triggered this spontaneous breakdown, something sharp like the knife that had torn his gut open but hotter, louder, deafening. Knives� back burned like he�d been lashed, his fingers twisted, bones crackling sickening but right, so right, natural, simple natural defense, nothing more.

Gunshot. The sound of a gunshot ripped through Knives� skull. Trigger -- sharp, hot, loud and oh god oh god the pain. Memory-pain, nothing but a memory, but memory always hurt worst.

More than one shot. Five?

Five was from some other place and time; now they were countless and Knives came back to himself a little at a time, realized his hand had gone all deformed and his arm had followed it, just like Sky City with the boys, just like the time with Vincent and the knife.

He kept screaming, something at Vash maybe, or maybe at their attackers, he wasn�t sure.

�Shit man, what the hell is that?�

�He�s a goddamn demon!�

Another gunshot and another and then the terrified megalomaniacal blood-and-dust-colored craziness slipped back into place, and he lashed out until he wasn�t the only one screaming except he knew he wasn�t really screaming out loud anymore. Just inside his head. Only screaming loud enough for one person to hear.

Without warning, Vash invaded. Uninvited and unwelcome, a hard, bright presence in his mind, all shades of flickering red like sunset, like a horizon on fire, grabbing at Knives� flailing mind like a parent trying to catch hold of a child throwing a deadly temper tantrum. Knives tried to get rid of him, pushing and pulling every which way, but Vash was stronger because he was in control of himself and Knives wasn�t. Control, Knives realized. Control is key.

I can control this thing.

It was hard, the hardest thing Knives had ever done, but he reigned in the power, felt it coursing through his veins like liquid nitrogen, burning cold, so cold. It threatened to tear him apart. He didn�t let it. Instead he gathered it like a sheild, a sharp, thin shield, and he used it to shove Vash out with enough force to move a mountain.

A few deep breaths later he opened his eyes and realized the confused blur of memory was gone. The narrow street where he and Vash had been jumped was now filled with the sound of groans and bubbling coughs and someone crying. And Vash himself was standing bare inches from Knives� face, his right hand clamped tight around Knives� wrist and his left arm out of sight between them. Vash�s face was twisted into some emotion Knives couldn�t decipher.

Something cold prodded at Knives� chin, where Vash�s left hand should have been. A thin, curved blade was pressed into the side of Vash�s face, drawing a fine trickle of blood. Knives realized that the blade was his uncaptured hand.

�Mexican standoff again, huh,� Vash said, and his voice was as pale as his face. �Are you done?�

Knives pushed his changed fingers harder against Vash�s skin, more out of blank, morbid curiosity than cruelty, and in response the cold metal thing under his chin was shoved up another inch so that it became difficult to breathe. Gun barrel, he though distantly. Vash is going to shoot me.

Again.

�What the hell am I?� Knives asked, hoarse from the pressure on his neck.

Vash loosened his grip on Knives� wrist and lowered the a few inches. He looked even paler, if that were possible. �You don�t...� he began, bewilderment creeping into his expression. �How can you not know? Use that kind of power and still not know?�

�It�s not by choice,� Knives growled.

A beat of silence, broken by moans of pain in the background.

�Can we maybe not kill each other?� Vash asked, tilting his head slightly away from Knives� hand.

Knives slowly removed his bladed hand from Vash�s face and neck. Vash stepped back, letting go of Knives completely and holding up his hands in a gesture of peace. There was no gun in his left hand -- the hand itself seemed to be the weapon. �Truce?� he asked.

�What?�

�Truce... now is not the time for English lessons. You know, uh, an agreement not to fight.�

�I wasn�t fighting you.�

�Well something definitely put me under the mistaken impression... look, can we not have this talk now? People are hurt.�

Knives blinked, looked away from Vash for the first time only to see three or four hulking thugs and one thin, weasely type all sprawled on the ground. All of them were bleeding from somewhere or other, some worse than others, and the soft sound of sobbing came from the entrance of an alley where a younger boy was crouched over one of the most badly injured.

Vash took Knives� silence as an answer and made as if to go help the kid in the alley. But he barely got two steps before a loud voice called out, �What the hell you think you�re doin�?� The young boy looked up at the sound and dashed away down the alley, out of sight.

One of the bigger guys, sporting only a bad cut on one leg and a twisted arm, had dragged himself up against a wall and was now glaring daggers at Vash. He was the one who�d spoken.

Vash jerked his head towards the man lying in front of the alley. �He�ll bleed out if I don�t help him.� Vash started to take another step.

The man ground his teeth, fingers twitching as if itching for a gun. �You stay the hell away from him,� he growled. �I�ll kill ya if you touch him.�

�He�s gonna die,� Vash snapped, turning his back on the guy against the wall, but he�d hardly been moving a split-second before a chunk of rock came sailing out of the alley entrance and went just past his head, forcing him to duck.

The little boy had returned with an armload of crumbling bricks and was breaking off pieces to throw. �Demons!� he shouted, tears streaking through the dirt smudges on his face. �You�re both evil! Stay away from my dad!� He punctuated sentences with bits of brick, forcing Vash to back out of his throwing range.

�But--� Vash started, reaching out to the child only to get whacked in the shoulder by a particularly hard-thrown rock.

Throughout this exchange Knives had been fighting back the power that still roiled through him. At last, both his hands were returned completely to normal. Knives immediately grabbed the back of Vash�s collar with one hand, the two dropped packs with the other, and started walking away from the scene. The lingering adrenaline coursing through his veins kept the worst of his pain and fatigue at bay.

�Get out! Fucking monsters!�

�Demon!�

�If you show your faces in this town again I swear to fucking God I�ll--�

Knives pulled Vash around a corner so they could no longer see the downed attackers.

�Shit,� Vash whispered, and Knives realized he was shaking.

�Vash,� Knives said calmly.

�Shit,� Vash repeated, looking everywhere but at Knives. �I didn�t even hear them coming. I told Max, I told him not to interfere--�

�Vash,� Knives said, louder.

�Hell, that guy was some little kid�s father, how was I supposed to know--�

�Vash,� Knives snapped, and hit Vash harder than was necessary on the shoulder.

�Ow, what?� Vash snapped right back.

�I don�t know the way out of town,� Knives replied, levelly.

Vash looked at him for a long moment in open-mouthed silence, but Knives was not uncomfortable under his gaze -- or at least no more uncomfortable than could be expected. There was finally a new feeling between them, like something had broken, and now Vash knew Knives was strong and Knives knew Vash would tell the truth because he was afraid of that strength. It was almost like equality.

Almost.

�Like it never happened, huh?� Vash said finally. �You�re fine, just like that.�

�No,� Knives said shortly. �I�m not fine. Let�s leave.�

Vash seemed to accept that.

Knives� brother was quiet for another minute, looking up at the sky and the surrounding streets, judging time and distance, like he had done earlier. �All right,� he said. �I know where we are. Just follow me.�

Knives followed.

-------------

�I'm stuck in this dream it's changing me I am becoming

The me that you know had some second thoughts

He's covered with scabs and he is broken and sore

The me that you know doesn't come around much

That part of me isn't here anymore

Hiding backwards inside of me

I feel so unafraid.�

--Nine Inch Nails, �The Becoming�

------------
- 15
- 16
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Earth to Earth

Earth to Earth--------Chapter Fourteen: Learning Curve--------

Earth to Earth

--------

Chapter Fourteen: Learning Curve

--------