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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
- 7
- 8
- 9
The Amazing Universal Disclaimer: Don’t own it. Won’t own it. Can’t own it. The end.

Author’s Note: This may be my favorite chapter ever. It’s one long dream sequence. I wrote it in one night... the storyline gets progressively more twisted and random as it goes, which pretty much mirrored my own state of mind at the time, as I was getting steadily more delirious from lack of sleep.

Usually when I dream, I tend to know I have something/somewhere/someone I need to do/go/talk to, but constantly changing surroundings and people and ideas always keep me from getting done with what I started. Maybe that says something about me? Hn. Oh well. Anyway, it was a sensation I was trying to capture in this chapter.

Cookies to people who can find all the movie/book quotes and references.

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Chapter Eight: Emotion Sickness
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“Our late editor is dead. He died of death, which killed him.” --John Lennon
--------

The building was on fire, and it wasn’t his fault.

“You really did it this time, Tongari.”

“But I didn’t do anything!”

“You’re the outlaw!”

“What’s that got to do with it?” Deja vu...

Wolfwood started ahead of him into the burning school. “Did anyone ever tell you you’re an idiot?”

Vash threw his hands in the air and followed the wayward priest. “Do you even have to ask?”

Inside, parts of the floor had collapsed and the ceiling creaked dangerously. The heat from the flames bothered Vash -- wasn’t his coat supposed to be better thermally regulated than this? There wasn’t any smoke, though.

Wolfwood lit up. Vash sighed in relief. Now there was smoke. He breathed deep and coughed.

“Don’t do that, Tongari. Secondhand smoke’ll kill you.”

“You shouldn’t smoke, then.”

“What, this?” He waved the cigarette. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve got a better way to go all planned out.”

“That’s not what I--”

“Where’re the kids?” Wolfwood interrupted.

“How do you know there’re any kids?”

“It’s a school, there must be kids. They need help. They might be trying to save the cat, which would mean they’re trapped.”

Vash nodded. For some reason, that made perfect sense.

“Let’s split up and look for them, then,” Wolfwood said, spinning on one heel and starting off towards the nearby stairs. “I’ll take the second floor.”

Fear clutched at the pit of Vash’s stomach -- Wolfwood, don’t go there, don’t go there, something’s waiting, it’s dangerous! But all that came out of his mouth was, “Wait, Nick, you forgot your --” Wolfwood vanished over the top of the stairs “--luggage...”

Vash hefted the metal cross -- the wrappings had been burned away at some point and were lying at his feet, still smoldering. Suddenly he began to notice the smoke. His eyes stung, but he blinked back the reflexive tears and headed off into the deeper parts of the building.

“Hello?” he called into the darkness -- the only lighting came from the spots of fire, although it had been noon outside before they came in. “Hello, is anyone here? Does anyone need help?”

The darkness was overwhelming. Heat-shadows flickered on the walls and in the centers of darkened classrooms -- movements out of the corners of his eyes made him spin around so often that he was lost before he knew it. The school was a lot bigger on the inside... some of the doors were metal, too, with panels like ships’ doors. Coughing violently into one gloved hand, he walked up to a random door and palmed the panel. It slid open...

“Hey, Vash, I’ve been looking for you!” Meryl pulled him inside. Typewriters clacked incessantly and the fluorescent lights blinded him after the dark -- it was the Bernardelli main office. Glass double doors swung shut behind him and he spun around, panicked, but the school was gone.

“But the kids --” he began. “Wolfwood -- they need help --”

“Oh, that terrorist priest can take care of himself,” Meryl said dismissively. “The Chief wanted to talk to you; hurry! He doesn’t like it when people are late!”

Vash allowed himself to be dragged through the open-aired main floor, which was filled with little gray drywall cubicles and curious faces peeking over the tops of padded walls. Milly waved from outside one of the windows, dressed in a black apron with a big white cross splashed down the front. She was holding a bucket full of dirty wash-water and a little black cat, who was struggling mightily to get out. As Vash waved back at her, he saw her toss out the water, cat and all, and listened with a feeling of vague, sick horror to the descending ‘nyaaaaoooooooooooo.....’ from outside.

Meryl jerked on his arm again. “Oh, that’s all right, Milly was just late to work for three years, so she’s on undertaking and window-washing duty for the next few hours.”

“But the cat --!”

“Cats always land on their feet, you moron. Hurry up!”

There was a hallway on the far side of the main floor. Wolfwood’s cross banged against the doorframe and snagged on a corner. Vash, who was still holding onto the cross for dear life with one hand and being dragged forward by the other, jerked to a halt in the middle of the hall.

“Stop it!” he yelled at Meryl. “You’re tearing me in half!”

Meryl gave him a disapproving glare and pulled as hard as she could on his true-flesh arm. “Let go of him, Vash! We have to go!”

“Him? But --” Vash looked back at the cross and saw that it wasn’t the cross, it was Wolfwood. Back through the doorway, the Bernardelli main floor was full of black smoke and screams -- the people inside their cubicles were struggling and grabbing onto anything they could get hold of, which included the back of Wolfwood’s coat.

“’S’okay, Vash,” Wolfwood coughed through the encroaching smoke. He waved one hand dismissively. “You go on, I can take care of myself.”

“What happened to the kids?!” Vash tried to yell, but at that moment Meryl gave one final yank and managed to literally tear him in two -- his mechanical arm fizzed and sparked as the synthetic nerve connections were shredded. Vash screamed in pain. Meryl began dragging him down the hall again, away from Wolfwood, his arm, and the fire.

“Vash, catch!” Wolfwood called, throwing his arm at him. Vash tried to, but he could only lift the still-sparking stump where his arm used to be. The mechanical arm clattered to the floor, useless. The fingers were still twitching.

Vash begged Meryl to stop so he could help Wolfwood, save the kids, get his arm back -- but her only response was to shout, “We’re going to be late!”

The hallway seemed to go on forever. Not like one of those weird perspective shots where a tunnel seems infinite when it’s really only a few feet long -- because Vash was certain this wasn’t an illusion. The hall was just really, really long.

Finally Meryl pulled him to a halt in front of an official-looking door with a name printed in block letters on a glass panel with intricate designs sandblasted into it.

“Only a few minutes late!” Meryl said breathlessly. “Hopefully he won’t be too cross. You better hope luck is on your side, Vash.”

Vash was too busy staring at the name on the door to hear her. Words couldn’t begin to describe how utterly ridiculous he felt.

Eugene Geoffrey Mine.

“E... G...” he muttered, mouth completely dry.

Meryl went stark white. “Don’t ever call the Chief that! He hates his initials! You must call him Eugene, or else.”

Vash couldn’t answer, as he was too busy laughing. He couldn’t help it; he didn’t care how much trouble he got in with “the Chief;” he just couldn’t stop cackling -- it wasn’t even the good, healthy kind of laugher, either; he was caught in a fit of screaming hysterics, unable to breathe, crying tears of mirth and insanity.

Meryl huffed loudly and shoved Vash into the Chief’s office, slamming the door behind him. “And I hope you get demoted, too, you disrespectful little punk!” he heard her shout through the fancy glass panel.

The office was spacious and lush, with little green houseplants placed in an aesthetically pleasing way around the perimeter of the room. There were two desks, one in the center of the room and a smaller one to the side; the big one was covered with neat stacks of papers and the small one contained a single typewriter. A tall woman with long black hair and an eyepatch was hunched over the ludicrously small typewriter, picking out words key-by-key with one finger. The nameplate on her desk read “Sandra Dee Cyclops.”

Vash recovered enough breath to look down at the woman in the small desk and ask, “Dominique?”

She looked up only long enough to glare at him, then went back to work.

“I’m afraid Ms. Dee doesn’t like to be interrupted,” said a grating, nasal voice from behind Vash. “Rather fixed in her ways.”

Vash spun around again. He was getting tired of spinning around so much.

A short, scrawny man with long arms and spiked purple hair was standing there in a dark gray Armani suit and blindingly shined shoes, looking for all the world like the world’s snobbiest billionaire. Vash started laughing again, so hard that his side felt like it was about to split and a raccoon headache began to bloom behind his eyes.

“Hey, Eugene!” Vash cried. “Tell me, where are we going and why am I in this handbasket?”

Eugene Geoffrey Mine curled his nose up disdainfully at Vash’s behavior and walked over to his desk. His fingernails were long, pointy, and painted a deep shade of lavender. “I’ve been getting reports about you, Mister Saverem,” said Mine curtly. His voice was still as nasal and clueless as ever. Vash kept snickering.

“I’m sure--” gasp “--there’s been some--” snort “--mistake, Mr. Mine--” giggle “--because I don’t--” cough “--work here, you see.” Vash regained enough composure to make at least three words of that sentence almost sound serious.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to be demoted, Mister Saverem,” Mine said, casually stamping something in red ink on a paper in the middle of his desk.

Vash coughed again and waved away Mine’s words. “Well, that’s great and all, but I really have to be going -- I have children to save and my friend is probably being eaten by zombie insurance agents right now, so...” He started towards the door.

“Not so fast, Mister Chickenshit!” Mine shouted, planting his fist on the desk dramatically.

“Uh-huh, sure, bye --”

“Sandra Dee!”

There was a flicker of movement out of the corner of Vash’s eye and suddenly a trapdoor opened underneath him, dumping him unceremoniously down through several floors. He looked up as he fell and saw Mine and the Cyclops waving at him. He sighed and waved back just before he hit rock bottom.

It was literally rock bottom, he saw as soon as his concussion passed -- it was a cave. With a fire in it. And an exit. With starlight outside.

“I thought it was noon a while ago,” he murmured, scrambling to his feet and heading for the exit.

“That’s what happens when time passes, ya dummy,” said a voice behind him.

Vash spun around yet again, making his splitting headache come back. “Ow,” he commented.

Wolfwood was sitting by the fire with a bottle of Wild Turkey in hand, bent cigarette almost burned down to the filter. “Wanna drink?” he asked, holding up the bottle.

Vash hesitated, but some little sane part of his muddled brain reminded him that he was supposed to be doing something. He wasn’t sure what, exactly, but he thought it was important.

“Wolfwood, what are you doing here?” Vash asked, frowning. “You were at Bernardelli.”

“I haven’t been to December in weeks, fool,” Wolfwood chided, taking a swig of whiskey and standing up. “You must have seen my ghost.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Nick,” Vash returned. “There’s no such things as ghosts.”

Wolfwood snorted. “How would you know? Ever been dead?”

“No...”

“Where’s my luggage? You were supposed to keep it safe for me.”

“I was?” Vash frowned again.

“I left it with you in the schoolhouse. Where is it?”

“It turned into you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Vash,” Wolfwood echoed his words; “there’s no such thing as crosses that turn into people.”

Vash shook his head. “Look, did you save the kids or not?”

“I was following you, you idiot -- of course I didn’t.”

“Why?” Vash retorted angrily. “Children are more important than me! Why’d you do that, Wolfwood? I thought you were a priest, goddammit!”

Wolfwood shrugged. “If you were a priest, wouldn’t you be more interested in saving an angel than saving children?”

“Who said I was an angel? I’m not an angel!”

“Rem did.”

“Then Rem was wrong!”

Wolfwood simply looked at him. Vash realized what he’d just said and put his single trembling hand to his mouth, shocked.

“Nick...” Vash began, voice quavering dangerously.

Wolfwood turned away. “Don’t call me that.”

Vash squeezed his eyes shut, rocking back and forth on his heels. I said... I said Rem was... I said... “Then what can I call you?” he asked finally.

The priest looked up once more, but this time the roots of his hair were lighter, his eyes were a colder blue, and his smile was mad as the March Hare. “You can call me Onii-chan, Vashu. All the children do.”

Vash cried out and fell to his knees as if the words had been a physical blow. The light from the little fire in the cave was making Wolfwood’s clothes look more reddish and gave his hair a backlit halo that almost made it look bleached -- almost... like... pale blonde...

“No!” Vash screamed, scrambling to his feet and staggering away, tripping over pebbles and slamming his shoulder into the rock wall of the cave. A tall blonde shadow fell over him, blocking his way.

“Aniki, why do you run from here? Can’t you see this place is Eden? Everything else is clearly dying.”

“It’s a cave, a goddamn cave,” Vash gasped through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the feel of grass under his knees and sunlight playing on his eyelids that said otherwise. “What do you want with me?”

“I want Paradise with you, Vashu,” said his brother’s soothing voice. Knives knelt beside him and placed two gentle fingers under his chin, lifting Vash’s smudged and weary face to meet his clean, aristocratic one. “Open your eyes, Vash. Look around you. This is Eden.”

Vash opened his eyes against his own better judgment and beheld a magnificent vista of blues and greens -- everything the desert planet of Gunsmoke could never be. The trees were in full leaf, flowers exploding with color and the sounds of growing, of life in every way, shape, and form surrounding him, and he was buried in the perfect green silence of the world --

A tear slid down his cheek. “Knives... why do you hate me?” he whispered. “I don’t understand you, brother.”

“How could I hate you, aniki?” Knives breathed into his ear. “How could you think I hate you, when I give you this?” His perfect, angular white-gloved hand gestured outwards to encompass the whole view.

Vash shook his head, so weary and so sad that he could barely speak. “This isn’t real, Knives. This is a dream.”

“It doesn’t have to be a dream, Vash.”

“Yes, it does... look, there. There’s my dream. Your nightmare.”

Vash pointed. They were sitting on the summit of a small forested mountain, and down the slope there were children playing. Human children.

Knives just smirked. “You can’t have light without darkness, Vash -- you can’t have dreams without nightmares. What about a compromise -- I’ll live with your dreams if you’ll live with mine.”

Vash felt a sick sense of knowing, and he reached out to grab his brother’s arm with his single hand. “Knives, what are you --”

“Your nightmare, Vashu.” Knives caressed the side of Vash’s face one last time, then stood and gazed down the slope at the playing children. Vash looked at them as well -- and all of a sudden he noticed that one of them had a burn on her elbow and another had soot in his hair.

“Wait!” Vash staggered to his feet, delirious with pain and exhaustion. “Wait, those are the kids from the fire -- those are the kids I need to save -- stop! Knives, please stop!”

Knives continued to stare down the hillside at the children, who gradually stopped playing and began to stare right back at him.

“Knives, what are you doing? Knives!”

For the first time in his life, Vash couldn’t think of anything to do. He threw himself in front of his brother, between the children and their death, but he couldn’t stop what had already been started.

The children started walking away, into the woods. Vash tried to grab one and pull her back, but she growled and bit his hand before running off to join the others.

“Stop! God, whatever you’re doing, please stop!” Vash grabbed the front of his brother’s immaculate red-and-white suit, staining the pure fabric with dirt and sand and fire-black soot. “Knives...” he whimpered, weeping with frustration. “Please...”

Knives looked down at him. “I told you to call me Onii-chan, Vash. Why don’t you listen when I tell you things?” He batted Vash’s filthy hands away and returned his gaze to the woods. Distant screams began to seep into the quiet sound of growing things, staining the green silence to a muddy blood-soaked brown.

“Much better,” Knives said, smiling lightly. “Isn’t this better, brother?” He gave Vash a genuine, kind smile. The smile of a true believer, of someone fully devoted to a single truth. The same smile Vash saw in the mirror every day for a hundred years...

Vash shook his head in silent horror. No matter how hard he tried, he could neither speak nor run.

Eventually, the screams stopped. Knives continued to smile. Vash felt like vomiting, but he couldn’t do that either.

“Master,” a muffled voice called from the woods where the children had gone, breaking the silence. “Master, I can’t seem to... find...”

“What is it, Legato?” Knives called back, finally looking away from Vash. “I thought I told you to put everything away when you were through playing. I refuse to have flies in my Eden.”

The undergrowth at the edge of the trees rustled briefly. “I know... Master...” Another rustle and then the blue-haired telepath was stumbling into the clearing, holding a hand to his temple and looking dazed. His trademark white coat was missing. Without its added bulk, Vash saw just how gaunt and ill he really looked. “But... I think something’s wrong, sir,” Legato said, somewhat slurred.

Knives gave an exasperated sigh. “What is it now, spider? Can’t find the ice cream you like in the kitchen? It always has to be something with you. Stop-hurting-me-this, don’t-send-me-on-a-suicide-mission-that, what the hell, you even told me you loved me. What was that about, I ask you? Legato, stop moaning and listen to me!” Knives glared down at his minion petulently. “What the hell’s wrong with you? Usually you’re groveling prostrate on the ground worshipping me by now!”

Legato stumbled again. The fingers clutching his temple were stained red, and there were splashes of blood across his chest and shoes. “I think... I think...” he mumbled hazily, unable to finish his sentence.

“Get it out, man!” Knives snapped.

“I think I’m broken, Master... help me, please... I...” Legato stumbled one last time and fell to his knees, trembling like a leaf. He looked up with glazed amber eyes and pulled his mop of blue hair aside to show Knives his forehead.

There was a bloody entrance wound in his left temple from a .45 caliber Colt.

“What?” Knives turned angrily on Vash. “Did you do that?” he raged, pointing accusingly at the mortal wound and striding down the hill towards his horrified brother. “Do you know how bloody hard it is to find good minions these days? Vash, you hypocrite! Of all the people you had to go and kill --”

Vash took a step backwards to get away from his ranting brother, and tripped over Legato’s pale, bloody form. The telepath smiled serenely up at him. “It hurts a lot your first time,” the dead man murmured, “but after a while the pain feels really nice.”

Vash clapped his hands over his ears and screamed wordlessly at the top of his lungs.

---------

“I am no prophet -- and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.”

-- from “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,” by T.S. Eliot

---------

And then Vash woke up.

His face was buried in rough sand, but there was shade over him -- maybe an umbrella? Or the shadow of a building?

There were voices nearby -- small, tinny voices. He listened groggily.

“Yes, phalanx two reported in, sir.”

“How’s our status?”

“One of our operatives was killed, sir.”

“In action?”

“No sir, it was made to appear as a suicide. The official reports say he jumped, but we have definite reason to believe that he was thrown by a window-washer. Traces of soap and grit came back with the fur analysis, and the medical team said he was soaking wet when they found him, sir.”

“Torture?”

“A bath, sir.”

An audible shudder. “The worst kind.”

“Anything else, sir?”

“No, private. Good work. Report back from phalanx two whenever you have any leads on this assassination plot. I must see the head of my Order, Neko the Kuro. He will know what to do. Dismissed.”

“Yes, sir.”

Vash blinked. His eyelids felt like lead weights. He’d figured out where he was -- a back alley somewhere, probably a big city. He didn’t know how he’d gotten here.

A few moments later a small black cat came trotting around a corner, looked at him haughtily, licked its paw, and nyaoed once before trotting away down the alley.

“Weird,” Vash muttered, dragging himself into a sitting position. He leaned against the stone wall behind him and was just preparing to go to sleep again when an all-too-familiar voice spoke into his ear, “Hey, Tongari, you ever read the Bible?”

Vash nearly jumped out of his skin. He shoved the owner of the voice into the dirt and nearly fell on his head in his panicked attempt to put some distance between himself and the other man.

Wolfwood just pointed and laughed, butt in the sand, getting his black suit stained brown with desert grit.

Vash hmphed and stood up, jerking his coat on straight and brushing dust off his shoulders. He noticed with some mild annoyance that he was still missing his left arm. “What are you doing here, Wolfwood? I was supposed to have woken up already. This dream is really starting to piss me off.”

“Nah,” Wolfwood said, “dreams never end.” He pulled himself to his feet and patted down his jacket pockets for the paraphernalia of his habit.

“Don’t breathe that at me,” Vash said, making a face as Wolfwood lit up. “I’ve had enough smoke for one hallucination, thanks.”

Wolfwood shrugged, but obligingly turned away to exhale. “So, Tongari, you didn’t answer me.”

Vash blinked again. “What?”

“I asked if you’d ever read the Bible.”

Vash blinked again, feeling stupid. “Oh, that. Not really. I only had access to books on the ship with Rem, and the Bible just wasn’t as interesting as Peter Pan and Tom Sawyer...”

Wolfwood exhaled again and forgot to turn away. Vash coughed and glared. “Sorry,” Nick said unapologetically.

“Why do you ask?” Vash asked through gritted teeth. Yes, this dream was really pissing him off now.

Wolfwood fumbled in his back pocket and turned up a beaten, well-thumbed copy of Christianity’s holy book. “Mind if I read to ya?” He grinned toothily.

Vash rolled his eyes. “This is just ridiculous. Somehow seeing you with a Bible is almost as ludicrous as seeing E.G. Mine in an insurance office...”

“Aw, c’mon,” Wolfwood pleaded, holding out his hands in the universal beggar’s clasp. “I got some parts marked I know you’ll like...”

Vash turned away. “Leave me alone,” he said coldly. “I want to wake up.” He turned and began to walk away down the alley.

“Vash! What’s wrong with you?” Wolfwood sounded annoyed now. Footsteps trotted to catch up with the blonde.

“Stop following me, Wolfwood,” Vash said through gritted teeth, walking faster. He emerged from the end of the alley into bright noon sunlight. The outskirts of town -- perfect. It would be easier to lose the rambling priest here. Vash kept walking.

“Fine,” said Wolfwood’s voice from behind him, “I’ll just read, then.” The rustle of pages accompanied the priest’s footsteps for a moment, and then Wolfwood cleared his throat. “Matthew, chapter five -- the sermon on the mount, also called the Beatitudes. Verse 3...”

“Wolfwood, shut up,” Vash growled, walking faster still.

“‘Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.’”

There was a man sitting out on his porch as Vash and Nick passed, looking despondent as he counted up figures on a scrap of paper. His wife came out to give him a glass of water and a kiss. He told her some bad news and she bit back tears.

“‘Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted.’”

Jessica was sitting against a wall in a cramped alley, hugging her stuffed rabbit and mumbling something under her breath; an apology, maybe. Vash thought briefly about going to her, but he knew he needed to keep walking. The compulsion wasn’t something he wanted to question too closely.

“‘Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.’”

Vash glanced to his right and wasn’t at all surprised to see Milly playing with a little band of outcast kids. She smiled and waved. Vash waved back, but kept walking.

“‘Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.’”

Something bumped against Vash’s toe. He looked down and saw a small green apple. Bewildered, he stepped over it and kept walking. There was something up ahead, he could feel it -- a cool breeze was blowing in his face, soft and teasing and almost salt-scented, like...

Behind him, Wolfwood saw the apple and smiled sadly before turning the page.

“‘Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God.’”

And then Vash stepped out past the last house and saw the water stretching out as far as the eye could see. His heart skipped a beat. “Ocean...” he whispered disbelievingly. He trod softly down to the edge and peered in at his reflection.

“‘Blessed are they who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.’”

Turquoise eyes that blended into the color of the water stared back up at Vash. When his first tear fell, it broke the reflection into a thousand tiny waves. “Amen,” Vash breathed.

Pages rustled again and the old leather cover creaked shut. Vash could almost hear Nick’s smile.

“I knew you’d like that, Vash.”

“Wolfwood...” Vash said softly. He turned to thank the other man, but the street behind him was empty.

So Vash turned out to look once more at the ocean, and he thought to himself how much more like Paradise it would be to have an ocean in a desert than to have monotonous green perfection for eternity. How could you take it for granted, when there was such a vast source of life in the middle of such a sun-baked world? More the miracle, this, than any oasis or grove of palm trees.

So, Vash thought. Amen to that.

-------

And then he woke up.

-------
bones sinking like stones
all that we fought for
homes places we've grown
all of us are done for
and we live in a beautiful world
-- “Don’t Panic,” Coldplay
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Earth to Earth