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“Vash,” Knives calls softly to his brother.
He pets at Vash’s face, wiping away the liquid from the tank that still sits beneath them. The building around them is frenzied. Below, somewhere, Conrad is collecting all the Independents that he and Vash brought into this world. Surrounding them, the building still creaks with the pressure of roots. Beyond, the city of July is frozen in fear at the light-laced blooming flowers.
All of that is for later. All of it matters, but not as much as this – not as much as Vash. None of it matters without Vash, because it’s all for Vash.
This had been a last resort. For many years, he had waited for his brother to come to his senses. Every time Knives heard another story about Vash being hurt, betrayed, and run away from human civilization, he had thought that, surely, this time would be the last. Instead, Vash’s mercy was limitless. It didn’t make sense, not to Knives, that every time humanity stooped lower, Vash believed even more in the potentiality of the human race, blindly ignoring the reality of it.
Knives had to intervene. He’d been prepared for so long to save Vash from the humans. Then, he’d learned that he also had to save Vash from himself.
Underneath his touch, Vash crinkles his nose and then opens his eyes.
“Nai,” he says immediately, smiling at him as if he’s hung the sun itself. In a way that Knives hasn’t seen since before the Great Fall.
Knives slides his glasses off his face, so he can see his eyes properly. Vash lets him, still just looking up him with that expression of bright peace.
“How are you feeling?” Knives asks, trying to tamp down on the emotion that’s threatening to crack open his chest.
He’d known he could do this – that he could fix Vash. But he had also known that it was going to be a feat that required careful precision. He had considered just wiping Vash’s memories. It would have been simpler, cleaner. But that wasn’t what he really wanted, a blank person with his brother’s face. If that had been the case, he could have had Conrad simply make him a cloned version of Vash.
No, he’d wanted his brother as he was supposed to be. The brother who wouldn’t have been horrified by the Great Fall, who would have been excited at the adventure of a new planet for them to explore and make their own. Who would have continued to trust Nai above all others – who still remembered their childhood together and could laugh with him over memories but wasn’t defined by Rem. Who was still happy and didn’t carry around grief and guilt as if they were sewn into his skin.
And all of that took much greater time and care. To downplay some memories and distort others.
And to make Vash unwilling to look at some too closely – why Vash had left him for so long or why he was so attached to humans and reluctant to let Knives kill them. Some would say he broke those parts of his brother’s minds, shattering them so that Vash’s mind would skip right over them.
It seems to have worked, because Vash is still just smiling up at him, seemingly without concern for what just happened.
“I’m good,” Vash breathes, petting at Knives’ face, his touch so easy and familiar that Knives wants to weep. He’s spent decades longing for Vash and had gotten used to burying the pain because it didn’t serve him. He’d needed to be strong so he simply had been. But, oh, how it all comes flooding back to him now – the perfection of how and he and Vash fit together. They were made for one another.
“Come here,” Knives says, pulling back and helping Vash into a sitting position. Vash is docile and sweet as Knives moves them to stand and then begins to divest Vash of his clothes. He starts with the red jacket first, the familiar mocking SEEDS logo as bad as if it had been tattooed into Vash’s flesh.
Vash doesn’t so much as blink when Knives casts it aside, and the hope in Knives’ chest grows stronger and stronger. He takes his time, discarding each article of clothing with intention, because he doesn’t plan for Vash to ever put them back on again.
He kneels to unlace Vash’s boots, casting them aside and admiring the delicate curve of Vash’s ankles. Vash had been so jealous when Knives grew bigger than him. And at first, to be fair, Knives had only liked to tease Vash about it, but then he had come to enjoy the svelte precision of his brother’s body – how there was hidden strength and grace there, but that Knives could easily manhandle him when he wanted to.
When Vash is bare, Knives reaches for the prosthetic arm. He had been glad to have an opportunity to fix that memory, to make sure that Vash understood that Knives hadn’t been trying to hurt him. He had been saving him. That’s what all of this has been about – saving him.
Knives’ fingers slip over the locking mechanism at first, having never taken the arm off before. Vash reaches up to steady to Knives’ hand and show him how it’s done. He places it on top of the pile of Vash’s clothing.
The last thing he removes is Vash’s little gold earring. He does consider leaving it, because it’s the only thing he thinks accentuates Vash’s beauty, but he wants Vash unmarred and unspoiled by anything human.
Once he’s done, he surveys Vash’s body, one of the battlegrounds in their war against humans. No more.
“Heal these,” Knives murmurs, running a fingertip over a particularly deep scar on Vash’s chest. In Vash’s memories, he had picked up on the emotional attachment that Vash had for them – that he thought of them as proof of times he had been able to protect others. Knives had scooped that sentiment out.
“Show me how,” Vash asks, without any hesitation.
Knives breathes in and tangles his fingers with Vash’s hand and presses his forehead to Vash’s. He lets the feeling of it leak across their bond. It’s so easy to let the sentiment of his subconsciousness flow to Vash. It’s never been this easy before. When they were children, it seemed like they just existed as a single being. Walls had come up the more they had grown. This feels different than even their fledgling bond.
When they both open their eyes once again and pull away from one another, the scars, the marks, they’re all gone. The ground beneath their feet is littered with the scraps of metal that had been keeping Vash together.
Vash holds out his returned hand in front of him, marveling at it.
“You’re perfect,” Knives tells him. The words are choked, but Knives can’t bring himself to regret the vulnerability. Hasn’t this been his purpose? His entire life has been leading up to this moment.
Vash smiles at him and steps forward to close the distance between them. He presses his forehead to Knives’ once again and drapes his arms along Knives’ shoulders. He pets at Knives’ undercut, comforting him while Knives is brought close to tears.
“Don’t cry,” Vash whispers, pressing a kiss to the corner of one of his eyes. “Everything is perfect.”
Belatedly, Knives realizes that Vash has allowed his skin to shift to match Knives’, returning it to the form they had worn so often as children – a pretense at modesty and a reflection of their Plant markings.
They’re mirror images once again, made to match the other. Knives presses one of his hands to Vash’s chest, spreading his fingers as wide as he can so that he can feel the thud of Vash’s heart and the soft motion of his ribcage as he inhales and exhales.
“Vash!”
Knives is dragged out of his revelry by the arrival of the human woman who has been stubbornly trailing after Vash.
Despite himself, Knives snarls at her.
“Meryl!” Vash calls back to her with obvious exuberance. But he doesn’t part from Knives, just continues to pet at the back of his head, still working on soothing him.
It makes Knives feels savagely proud of himself. See, he wants to say. See, he’s always been mine. This is who he was always meant to be and the rest of you were a distraction, confusing him and leading him away from where he was supposed to be.
He calms underneath Vash’s touch. His initial irritation wanes as he realizes that this will be a good test of fidelity.
The woman has slowed. Knives studies her, half watching, mostly paying attention to Vash.
She seems pitifully small and vulnerable for a human. She’s holding a gun in between both of her hands, but her grasp is unsteady. She’s not accustomed to the weapon despite how she had fired it at the glass of the tank, trying to get to Vash.
And she knows already that things have changed. Her hindbrain is aware of it even if isn’t she isn’t acknowledging it.
“Your arm…” she says slowly.
“Pretty cool, huh?” Vash says, lifting it to twist and show off to her.
Some part of him is aware of her discomfort too, but his mind isn’t latching onto it. It slides over and through him, the way that Knives intended it to.
The woman doesn’t answer him. She finally stops moving, leaving a generous amount of space between them, and squares off, leveling the muzzle of her gun at Knives.
“He was trying to hurt you,” she says, voice more stalwart. “The doctor said that he was trying to erase your memories so that you wouldn’t remember me or – the woman who raised you or Luida.”
She doesn’t know Rem’s name, Knives realizes. Typical Vash. His gaze moves from her and back to Vash, whose body language hasn’t changed in the slightest, who is still loosely pressed up against Knives, relaxed in a way that he never has been as an adult.
Vash laughs a little.
“I still know you, Meryl,” he says, teasing. “I’m okay, I promise.”
Her eyes narrow. Her finger twitches toward the trigger. Knives wonders if she really believes that she can do anything with such a pitiful weapon, when she’s seen what he and Vash can do.
“What did you do?” she asks, low and accusatory. “Undo it. Now! You don’t get to change who he is!”
“Meryl,” Vash says, frowning.
“I’m going to have to kill her,” Knives says to Vash. He’s looking only at his brother when he says it, waiting to see what his reaction will be.
Vash purses his lips into a little moue, seeming, perhaps, disappointed by the decision. Knives can’t sense any true distress in him, though. He wishes that it didn’t have to happen, but he’s accepted it as a foregone conclusion simply because Knives has given voice to the words.
Perfect, Knives can’t help but marvel all over again. Perfect that Vash is not without his compassion but not a slave to it. Perfect that his trust in Knives is so absolute that he doesn’t so much as ask for Knives’ reasoning.
“Make it quick then,” Vash murmurs, touching Knives’ cheek. “Painless – please?”
“Of course,” Knives says, kissing Vash’s palm. Anything for his dear brother.
“Vash!” Meryl cries out – afraid now, for herself, but for Vash too. She’s trying to call him back, but there’s nothing left for her words to reach.
Knives pulls free of Vash’s hold, stretching as his chains of blades unfurling from his body. She fires off a rapid shot – fairly well aimed, considering her level of distress and her unfamiliarity with the weapon. One of Knives’ blades slices the bullet in half before it comes anywhere near his chest.
“Vash!” she cries out again, not running despite the blades creeping toward her. Knives is passingly impressed by her bravery.
But not enough to spare her. He’s done sharing his brother with any human, particularly these replacements he finds for Rem.
Knives takes careful aim. The blades hold in the air for a breath of a second and then spear forward. She doesn’t have enough time to react; the blades catch her through her chest, puncturing her heart and killing her instantly.
She drops soundlessly to the ground. Knives brings his blades zipping back toward them with enough speed that drops of Meryl’s blood are sent flying. A few dot across Vash’s cheek.
Vash seems to not notice them. He’s not looking at his friend at all. And Knives knows that this woman mattered to him dearly.
Knives lets out a shaky breath. It feels like he’s been holding it since the Great Fall when he turned around and Vash was no longer there. Knives waited and waited, because he had honestly believed that Vash would come to understand, that Vash wouldn’t let humans he didn’t even know be more important than him. He’s been working so hard, for so long, to protect them, and now the work is almost done. He and Vash will finally be able to enjoy the world that they deserve, that Knives has fought everything for, including Vash.
His brother will see now. His brother will understand the work – that Knives did it all for him, so that he could have true happiness and not settle for a pale mimicry.
Knives closes the distance between them, crashing desperately into Vash’s body. Vash catches the momentum of him as Knives crowds him and kisses him. It’s rough. Too much teeth, he knows, but he has to put all of the emotion somewhere, has to let Vash feel it.
Vash yields sweetly underneath him, lips parting to welcome Knives into his body. He wraps one arm around Knives, anchoring his fingers into Knives’ hair. Knives backs them up until Vash hits the nearby wall.
Knives can’t wait. He needs. He’s needed for so long.
He hikes Vash legs up around his hips, and Vash locks his ankles at the small of Knives’ back. He’s already making small, pleading noises in the back of his throat, shifting his hips impatiently.
Knives drops a hand down in between Vash’s thighs and traces where Vash’s petals have begun to unweave from each other, opening up to reveal Vash’s hole.
He’s perfunctory at best, working at Vash’s body with his fingers only until the petals are fully opened and Vash is wet enough that he can comfortably take Knives without any pain.
“Please!” Vash whispers suddenly but insistently. Knives’ gaze had been between Vash’s legs until now. At the plea, his eyes snap up to look at his brother’s face. Vash is flushed, biting down on his lower lip.
Their coupling has always been so messy, so fraught before now. Vash’s petals would open with arousal, but Vash himself had always been all over the place in terms of what he wanted – usually reluctant whenever he and Knives reunited, and then desperate and wild and pleading once he finally admitted the truth of his cravings, and then ashamed again by the end of it, slinking away from Knives.
There’s none of that now. Without pointless human morality clouding his brother’s mind, Vash’s desire for him is clear and unwavering.
Knives’ answering desire stabs him in the stomach. Part of him wishes he could drag this out longer. But he can’t, and what does it matter, when there’s the promise of so much more after this?
He spreads Vash’s petals with his fingers and pushes his cock inside of his brother, barely resisting just shoving in. He doesn’t want to hurt Vash, he tells himself again.
“Nai!” Vash cries out when Knives bottoms out. He tilts his head back until it thuds against the wall, all of him radiating sensual bliss.
He has the audacity to squirm a little on Knives’ cock. The last of Knives’ patience snaps.
He pulls back until just the head of his cock is buried inside of Vash and then snaps forward. Vash shouts, the sound echoing off the walls. Knives sets a rough pace, fucking Vash with all his might and dexterity, as if he can cement the claim he’s made this day through this frenzied fucking.
Vash is ecstatic. His body clings to Knives, nails dragging across the expanse of Knives’ shoulders. He’s shameless, loud, in a way that’s more than any of their past rendezvouses.
Threatening to throw off their balance, Vash tries to get a hand down in between them to play with his clit, but Knives grabs his hand with dangerous speed.
“You’re coming like this,” Knives growls at him. “Taking what I give you. I know you can do it.”
Vash is looking at him now, and his eyes widen, beginning to bead with tears as he tries to catch his breath.
“But – but, Nai!” Vash begs, but Knives is unmoved.
Besides, Vash is starting to make hiccupping, little breathy noises at the end of each of Knives’ upward thrusts. Knives redoubles his efforts, battering Vash’ insides, knowing that Vash will be sore tomorrow. He, himself, can feel the way his muscles are tight and beginning to ache, particularly in his ass and thighs.
“Nai!” Vash screams on a particularly brutal thrust. His Plant markings have begun to flicker to life, and Knives watches, enraptured. They’ve never done this before. He realizes his own are doing the same, as if their bodies are finally in alignment, connecting in the way that they’ve always been made to.
Another sign, another acknowledgement, that Knives was right to fight for this.
Vash screams his name again when he comes, his Plant markings glowing the brightest that Knives has ever seen. He follows immediately afterward, pumping his seed into his brother’s core.
They’ve barely finished when Knives loses his footing, and they both find themselves sliding to the floor, crumpling in on each other. They curl in against one another, heads bumping together with an ease that Knives hasn’t had with Vash since the first year of their lives. But it’s all back now. He didn’t lose it.
He cradles Vash’s face as he traces the glowing lines with his lips. Vash’s eyes drop shut, and he lets Knives do as he pleases.
“You have me,” Vash murmurs. “Everything’s perfect, and I love you.”
Knives spares a moment to wonder if that’s something he stamped onto Vash’s brain or if Vash simply knows what he needs to hear now that he’s in tune with Knives again. It doesn’t matter.
They stay together like that on the floor for a long time, tangled and breathing in tandem. This is what Knives had always imagined their future would be. In the beginning, when he was doing all his planning on the ship, he had never thought that there was anything he could do to make Vash turn away from him. He had believed in them so absolutely.
Vash’s eyes droop.
“’m tired,” he murmurs at one point, although he doesn’t move. Where is there for him to go, after all?
But Knives knows.
“Let me show you your room,” he says, pressing one more kiss to Vash’s brow. He stands, scooping Vash up in his arms. Vash leans into the expanse of his chest, wrapping an arm around Knives’ neck so that they can remain as close as possible.
They step over Meryl’s still-cooling body.
Knives takes him to the room that has always been here for him, always waiting. The room is soft and bright, full of greenery that Knives alone can keep alive on this planet – that others would kill to see but is now for Vash’s enjoyment alone. Vash lets out a quiet noise of contentment, pushes the same sensation along their bond, and kisses Knives on the front of his throat.
Knives sets him on the bed and tucks him carefully underneath the blankets. He climbs in right after Vash, wanting to keep being close. It reminds him of when they were children, before Knives outgrew his need to sleep. Even then, for some time, he would spend nights beside Vash in bed, watching his eyelashes flutter against his skin, listening to the sound of his breath. And being terribly, terribly aware of how vulnerable his sweet brother was.
No more. He’s seen the spades of power that his brother holds inside of himself. He’s going to finish teaching Vash how to control his Gate.
Vash sighs and kisses him sweetly on the mouth and leaves their faces tucked in against each other.
Knives stays with him longer than he should, just marveling over him, nearly delusional in his delight of planning out the future now that Vash is here. It’s been a long time since he’s felt such excitement about his work.
Along their bond, Knives can feel the flicker of Vash’s dreams. His brain is replaying the modified memories, solidifying their grasp on Vash as a new reality.
After all, Vash hadn’t even so much as looked twice at the red geranium among the other flowers and plants. He’d recognized it and thought it pretty but not important. That same as the humans they’d come to represent.
Knives extracts himself from Vash only when he knows he must. There are other things that need his attention.
Conrad is waiting for him as soon as he steps outside of the room.
“How many?” Knives asks.
“Fifteen,” Conrad answers. “They’re presently set up in the nursery. They all look healthy.”
Fifteen new Independent Plants. It’s a good start.
“Vash will be in charge of them,” Knives instructs. He’s likely not telling Conrad anything he doesn’t know. Knives will be preoccupied with claiming the remaining Plants and wiping out humanity. He wants his brother to play a role in the new world, and he knows that this is one that his brother will enjoy.
He and Conrad step out onto one of the outside balconies of the building so that Knives can properly survey what grew while he was occupied in the Higher Plane.
The root system tangling the building is massive, stretching out into July and beyond. It’s destroyed most of the human buildings that had otherwise occupied the city. Flowers dot the expanse of it, some blue geraniums and some night sky petunias.
“It was briefly in the shape of a woman,” Conrad says quietly beside him.
Knives says nothing. He had felt the last stirrings of Vash’s subconscious trying to protect Rem, trying to orient her back to the center instead of the mere footnote he’s designated her and her harmful philosophies as. The collapse of the structure back into simple organic material is just another sign that things have worked.
“What’s the status on the population of the city?” Knives asks. He wants the humans out as soon as possible. This is no longer simply a headquarters. This is a home. His new paradise for Vash and the other Independent Plants.
“It’s hard to say, precisely,” Conrad says. “But more seem to have fled than been killed. The Eye of Michael has taken care of the military police, at the least.”
“Have them hunt down the survivors in the desert,” Knives instructs. “I’ll finish off the rest of the city. I’m going to retrieve the remaining Plants after that. I’ll cut down their cities. I expect the Eye of Michael to continue to do the cleanup work.”
Conrad nods. They both know that, with the exception of Legato, when the work is done, Knives will rid himself of all the human experiments Conrad and Knives have been using.
“You will watch over Vash and the Independents while I’m gone,” Knives instructs, turning to head back inside. “Elendira will stay with you.” It’s perhaps an unnecessary statement, but he doesn’t doubt that Elendira would likely prefer to be on the outside, getting a chance to show off her prowess and hunt down humans. It’s because of her prowess that Knives wants her to stay. He doesn’t want to leave Vash entirely unprotected should something go awry.
He claps a hand on Conrad’s shoulder.
“Your atonement is almost complete,” he tells him. Conrad practically bows his head in return. They both know that he won’t live out the year. He’ll see the fall of humanity but never see the true flourishing of the Eden that Knives has created. It’s for the best, in many ways. It’s not his place.
Still, he’s been invaluable to Knives. He’s been alongside Knives longer than any other living being, including Vash, in many ways. Knives doesn’t let himself feel any particular emotion over it, though, let alone voice it to Conrad. That has never been the shape of their relationship, long as it has been.
“Show me the children,” Knives instructs, and they move on.
…
“You’re leaving me,” Vash says, actively pouting at Knives.
“I have work to do,” Knives says. He’s watching to make sure Vash eats his breakfast. He’s made sure that healthy meals are available and being brought to Vash, and he had tried to remove as much of Vash’s complicated feelings toward food as possible. With as new as everything he is, though, he’s wary. He’s gone to great lengths to make sure that Vash is well and whole again. Starving himself is no longer acceptable.
“You have work to do, besides,” Knives continues, to which Vash tilts his head in interest.
“Do you remember, yesterday, what happened with our sisters?” he asks.
Vash pauses, considering.
“You impregnated them,” he says finally. “To create more Independents like us.”
“We did,” Knives corrects gently. “And we succeeded. But those Independents are babies now. I want you to be the one to take care of them.”
Vash beams at him, his excitement at the prospect bleeding through their bond. Knives had received so many sightings and reports about how much Vash liked children. This time, he’ll be putting his energy in the right place and be rewarded by them. A family to love him instead of growing to shun him.
“Finish your breakfast,” Knives instructs, “And I’ll take you to them.”
Vash hums, pleased, and ultimately does as he’s told. As soon as he’s done, he’s up from his chair, crossing over to where Knives is seated. He takes Knives’ hand and pulls him up but doesn’t let go of his hand even when they start walking. Seemingly such a simple thing, but Knives knows better. Vash would have never behaved like this before.
Knives leads him to the makeshift nursery. It’s close to Conrad’s workspace, giving Conrad the easy ability to watch over them and provide medical attention, but Knives doesn’t expect them to be here long.
Most of the babies are already awake when they step through the door, making for a cacophonous environment, to say the last. Conrad is in the process of feeding one, but at seeing Vash and Knives, he tactfully steps out of the room.
Vash barely seems to notice him, because he’s immediately reaching into one of the cribs, picking up a baby that is crying and going to work at comforting them, rocking the small body against his own. He hums quietly to the child and reaches for a bottle.
He seems perfectly at ease – he’s exactly where he belongs.
“Dr. Conrad and Elendira will be available to help you,” Knives murmurs. “But you’re in charge here. You tell them what you need.”
Vash nods, still more focused on the baby that on what Knives is telling him.
“Do they have names yet?” Vash eventually asks.
“No,” Knives says. “That’s up to you.”
Vash smiles at him again, and Knives loves him so much that it hurts.
“I have another thing to show you,” he says, holding out a hand for Vash.
Reluctantly, Vash puts the now-slumbering baby back in their crib and takes hold of Knives’ hand, letting himself be led. They head down a floor from Conrad’s labs. This floor appears to be deserted, but it’s simply because only Knives has access to it, and it hasn’t been able to serve the purpose that Knives built it for just yet.
He opens the door for Vash, and Vash immediately gasps. He steps inside, his expression full of awe, mouth slightly agape, eyes shining. Knives is just looking at him, although he’s unable to help but preen a little, finally able to put his talents on display.
“It looks like the rec room from the ship,” Vash says, stepping out into the grass and tilting his face up into the sun.
Knives smiles faintly. He’d made it as close to the haven from their childhood as he could. He leans against the door as he watches Vash explore.
“You can change it how you like,” he says. “Or add what you want. Ask Conrad if you want something from the outside.”
“It’s beautiful, Nai,” Vash says, turning toward him again. He walks back toward Knives and pulls him fully inside, kissing him as he does so.
Knives indulges; he lets himself get lost in Vash’s kisses, the lazy press of their mouths together, Vash’s hands wandering over his face and neck and through his hair.
“I’m going to make the whole world like this,” Knives growls eventually. “Do you believe me?”
“How could I not?” Vash asks. The words come deceptively easy. He kisses Knives again and, then, without warning, he drops to his knees in front of Knives.
“Can I…?” Vash asks, running his hands up and down Knives’ thighs, looking up at him with big eyes.
Knives groans – as if his answer would ever be anything but a yes.
Vash coaxes his cock out and then to hardness with little licks of his tongue. Knives can’t take his eyes off him. He goes to aching embarrassingly fast, practically just from listening to the pleased little noises that Vash is making.
It’s funny, because Knives can’t remember Vash having such an affinity for this particular sex act. He wonders what changed – something organically or something that Knives did – or if Vash had just hidden his enjoyment the entire time for one of his strange, made-up rules when it come to them and sex.
But it’s gone now – evident by the way that Vash is licking a vein along the underside of Knives’ cock and then wrapping his lips around the head. He looks up at Knives with obvious adoration, his Plant markings beginning to glow again.
Vash starts to bob his mouth along Knives’ length, and Knives gasps, letting his head roll back and eyes shut so that he can immerse himself simply in sensation. He sinks a hand into Vash’s hair, holding him tight, and indulges in the whine that Vash immediately lets out. Vash pushes himself harder, faster, making himself gag on Knives’ cock, his throat spasming.
Through their bond, Knives can feel Vash’s pleasure outpacing his discomfort at the action. Knives hisses at the realization and thrusts back into Vash’s opening throat. Vash grips at his thighs more tightly, but purposefully sends pulsating want through their connection.
So, Knives carefully fucks into his brother’s mouth and throat, using him as he wants to be used.
“Open your mouth,” Knives all but growls, needing to see himself riding along the pretty pink of Vash’s tongue.
Vash does, looking up at him with tears in his eyes and utter devotion. He nearly comes from that expression alone.
He pulls out of Vash’s mouth, mesmerized by the wet sounds and little gasps that Vash makes. He keeps his mouth open, though, tilted up toward Knives, as Knives takes himself in hand and jacks himself to completion, spilling in stripes all over Vash’s face.
Through their bond, they both experience a moment of complete contentment and bliss, magnifying across the other until the feeling is all they know.
When Knives is able to focus, the sight in front of him sends a hot fission of lust through him once again.
He rubs at the come streaking the corner of Vash’s mouth.
“Look at you,” Knives murmurs. “You’re a mess.”
Vash whimpers pathetically and sucks Knives’ thumb into his mouth. He presses his forehead against the jut of Knives’ hip bone. He’s shifting his hips in small circles, as if he can get any friction that way. Knives becomes aware that his petals have opened, leaving him exposed and flushed with arousal.
“Sweet Vash,” Knives coos down at him. “Do you need big brother to help you with that?”
Vash makes a high needy sound, his teeth threatening the skin of Knives’ thumb. He’s still clinging to one of Knives’ thighs with one hand, but, at the statement, he drops the other one down in between his own legs. He presses two fingers inside of himself without any foreplay, encountering just the barest trace of resistance. He whines into Knives’ skin, wiggling his hips, fucking himself down against his own fingers while trying to grind his fat clit against the meat of his palm at the same time. He’s too desperate to coordinate the motions well.
Knives lets him fumble through it, just petting at Vash’s hair with his free hand.
“Such a good boy,” Knives praises him. He can feel the effect his words have on Vash, can watch the shiver it sends down his spine.
“My good boy,” Knives continues in a low murmur. “This is what you deserve, you know.” He means all of it. The constant pleasure, free of shame. The beautiful, vibrant world full of people who will grow to love him and appreciate him, just as Knives does.
Vash makes a noise precariously close to a sob. His mouth opens around Knives’ thumb on the sound, and he quickly closes it again, sucking at Knives with sloppy desperation, spit starting to curl down his chin. The sound of his fingers squelching in his cunt becomes audible. It all makes Knives’ cock stir again.
“Get yourself off like this,” Knives murmurs. “Make a mess, and I’ll fuck you after. You’ll like that, won’t you?”
Their minds connect with the same idea of pleasure again – Vash with his legs splayed wide, shivering and crying over overstimulation – and it doubles down on what they’re already experiencing. Vash wails. His fingers leave scratches down the back of Knives’ thigh.
The motion of hips has become tight and desperate as he tries to chase after his orgasm.
“Be a good boy and do as big brother says,” Knives murmurs.
“I’m a good boy,” Vash pleads, the words garbled.
“Then come,” Knives tells him, petting him gently. This has always been a kink of Vash’s, but never before has he so chased this validation from Knives.
His encouragement is enough to clinch things for Vash who gasps and then spills along his fingers. Thoughtless, he bites down on Knives’ thumb until he draws blood. He rides out his orgasm, making a litany of soft sounds in the back of his throat and rolling himself down onto his fingers.
When he’s done, he drops both his hands down to the grassy ground and just pants. Knives slides his thumb out of Vash’s mouth.
He kneels slowly beside his brother and negotiates him onto his back in the sea of grass surrounding them. He doesn’t use his words again, but he presses how proud he is of Vash along their bond, giving him the praise he craves, letting him know how good he is.
Vash squirms and smiles, his expression utterly fucked out already.
He spreads his legs wide in welcoming to Knives, one hand resting against his messy thigh.
Knives takes his time, petting at one slick-laced petal just to watch Vash shiver some more.
“Are you happy, Vash?” Knives asks quietly.
Curled up in the grass, Vash tilts his head at Knives and his smile grows a little larger and warmer.
“Of course,” he answers. So simple, so immediate, his mind unable to put together the context of why it all means so much to Knives.
Instead, Vash just continues on.
“I would be much happier,” he says coyly, spreading himself with the fingers of one hand, “if you put something in here.”
Knives laughs.
“Is that so?” he asks.
“You did promise,” Vash pouts at him.
“I did,” Knives agrees. He situates himself more comfortably in between Vash’s splayed thighs, making more room for himself. Slowly, this time, he presses himself into Vash’s body. Vash sighs contently underneath him, stretching a little and shifting his hips to take Knives in as deep as he can. The sense of completion he sends radiating along their bond is beautiful.
He rolls his hips a few times down against Knives, luxuriating in the feeling of being full. Knives lets him, watching Vash while being obviously enamored.
Vash smiles up at him all the while, content and pleased and borderline playful.
“Mm,” Vash hums. “Feels good, Nai,” he says when he angles his hips down just the right way.
In return, Knives starts to roll his own hips forward slowly, mostly just rocking into the welcome of Vash’s body. The sexual pleasure seems almost beyond the point right now. Just being held by Vash, with Vash, in calm closeness and unity is perfection. This is the feeling that he’s always been chasing after with Vash.
He feels like he could stay this way forever, barely thrusting into Vash and watching Vash sigh with how good it all feels.
They’ve never had moments like this one before during sex. It had always, always been a rushed frenzy, both of them overwhelmed with need, trying to outrun Vash’s impending guilt.
Knives loses sense of how long they stay like that, suspended in one another.
Eventually, as is to be expected, Vash grows impatient. He starts to roll his hips more insistently down onto Knives, trying to get some friction.
“Mm—” Vash breathes, shifting underneath him, grabbing a handful of his ass to get him to move. “Nai, please—”
Knives wants to tease him, but he really has been so patient, so good. He can feel how Vash is aching. He negotiates their bodies, pushing Vash’s knees up and back and then starts to fuck him, hard.
With the new position, Vash is forced to take what Knives gives him. He immediately mewls, his hands scrabbling across the ground, unable to find a place for purchase.
“Better?” Knives asks, even though he already knows it is.
“Yes!” Vash cries out beneath him, writhing the amount that he can.
Knives is focused on the pleasure that’s bleeding through their bond, his own secondary for the time being. He can feel the heat burning in Vash’s stomach, the way that all of his muscles seem to have become liquid. He takes pity on Vash this time and reaches down to rub at his clit.
“Nai!” Vash chants beneath him. His markings are growing brighter in color. His clit is aching, the touch of Knives’ fingers nearly too much. But in this, at least, Knives knows the boundaries of his brother’s body perfectly.
Vash comes, arching against Knives, teeth clamped down around a yell.
He’s still riding the waves of his orgasm when he pleads, “Come in me, please, Nai -- Nai!”
Knives hadn’t realized how close he was to his own edge until that request. It catches him low in the gut, and he grabs hold of both of Vash’s hips again so that he can piston himself forward, jackrabbiting in Vash until he comes as well.
Vash sighs in relief, head tilted back, eyes closed. Knives watches in surprise as his markings go from white to a deep blue – but for just an instant. Knives isn’t sure what to make of it. It’s not the red of their sick sisters, so he’s not alarmed, but—
Vash opens his eyes and smiles up at Knives again. He draws Knives down against him, so that they’re entangled once again. Without thinking about it, Knives draws his Gate up and over them. Vash cuddles up against Knives and almost immediately drops off to sleep.
To his own surprise, Knives finds himself drifting as well. Not because he needs it, obviously, but for the comfort and closeness it brings. The last time he slept was surely sometime on the ship with Vash.
He comes only to full awareness again when Vash stirs, wrinkling his nose – no surprise, given that he’s a mess, still covered in Knives’ come.
Despite that, he doesn’t pull away from Knives right away. Quietly, he traces the curve of Knives’ cheek with a fingertip, stopping at his beauty mark.
“Nai,” Vash says softly.
“Yes, Vash?”
“Are you happy?”
Knives is startled by the question. Perhaps he shouldn’t be. His brother is the most compassionate individual he’s ever known, but, well, for so long now, his happiness hasn’t seem to rate on Vash’s radar, if only because it would cause the misery of so many others.
“I am,” Knives promises, catching Vash’s hand and pressing a kiss to his palm. “The happiest I’ve ever been.”
Vash searches his eyes, as if he can see something that he can’t feel through their bond.
“Don’t leave me alone for long, please,” Vash says suddenly, sounding pitiful. “I don’t want to be alone.”
Like you left me. Knives doesn’t say the words, but the sentiment slips out and through to Vash all the same. The concept pings around in the reshaped recesses of his mind, trying to find purchase while still obeying the parameters that Knives has set. Vash’s face goes slack. He pulls his hand away from Knives’ face and it flutters near his temple.
“I—” Vash tries to say something, but Knives doesn’t know what.
“It was a mistake,” Vash says, finally, faintly. “I thought – it seemed important at the time –” He trails off.
“I’m sorry, Nai,” he says eventually, sounding small.
The apology means little to Knives, if he’s being honest. What matters more is that the architecture of Vash’s mind is holding despite the emotional distress he’s in.
Knives hushes him gently.
“It’s all right,” Knives says. “It doesn’t matter anymore.” He kisses Vash’s forehead. “And I promise that I will come back to you as soon as I can. Just remember that you’re not alone anymore. I will always come back to you, Vash.”
…
He’s distracted in his work, and he knows it. Knives is accustomed to compartmentalizing all the parts of his mind when it comes to Vash. But now that Vash is waiting for him – pining for him, really – Knives doesn’t want to be anywhere other than with his brother, preferably in between the welcoming space of his thighs.
The memory of all the ways the humans had hurt Vash keeps him from doing so. He has to finish making their new home before he can properly enjoy it.
The world around him becomes a blur – a repetitive routine of taking Plants, making sure they’re transported back to July, and then razing the city or town that held them. He’s no longer passive in his killing – no more waiting for people to come to him or letting a razing do the bulk of the work. He actively hunts humans down, wanting to cull the population as quickly as possible and leave them with little chance of retaliating.
In truth, it’s boring. As he slices humans to shreds, he focuses more on what he can hear and feel of Vash, making sure that his brother is still basking in contentment and happiness. He’d left strict instructions with Conrad to call him back if anything had seemed awry. So far, nothing does.
His reunions with Vash are frenetic. He stops briefly in between Plants, and Vash is always waiting for him, sensing his return. They fuck messily, indulgently.
Vash never uses words to beg him not to go again, but his entire body is a beacon, lit up for Knives. They couldn’t stay away from each other for long even if they wanted to, and this has always been the truth at the very heart of them both, Knives thinks.
Vash tells him all about the Independent Plants that he’s raising for them – he starts to call them their children, something that Knives hadn’t fully intended but makes him pleased, possessive, proud. It had bad necessity that made Knives make himself into something sharp and cruel, something that so many others would call a villain, but that same will had brought these Independents into creation. But it’s better that it’s Vash’s softness, Vash’s goodness, that sustains them. And most of all, it’s good to see Vash finally funneling all of himself into something worthy of him.
Vash begins to put on weight, becoming softer and healthier.
In the midst of his worship, he somehow misses what that means.
Knives returns late after the final fall of Octovern. Of the cities, only December is left now.
The children are approximately toddlers now. They follow Vash around with adoration – one that Knives recognizes despite himself. Lifetimes ago, it was how he and Vash acted around Rem. His children have better: a true love. Not something stemming from fear and manipulation to keep them small and vulnerable, contorting them into something palatable for humankind.
The nursery is still needed, but most nights it goes unused. Instead, Vash often sleeps in the green room, cradled by soft earth, and the children pile in against him and each other.
Knives stands in the doorway and watches them.
He’s worn. Tired from the fight that it took to finish off Octovern and humans who are beginning their final stand.
But he would fell a thousand more human cities in order to enjoy the sight in front of him.
He becomes aware of Conrad at his side. His faithful doctor spends most of the day on bedrest now, but he still keeps a keen eye on Vash, still is always ready with whatever information Knives could possibly require.
“I believe your brother is pregnant,” is the first thing Conrad says to him now, soft in the night air.
Knives’ eyes cut to him.
It’s strange that Knives hasn’t considered this. But then again, in all their years before, nothing has ever taken root in Vash’s womb, and Knives had simply assumed that it wasn’t possible. He’d never known the reason as to why, so it wasn’t something that he sought to fix. He’d been more focused on a large production of Independent Plants and bringing Vash back to his side. Producing their own child had become something beyond even his dreamings.
He spares a moment to wonders what it was that fixed that – whether it was Vash’s healing of himself or something else, something in Vash’s own mind that had kept him allowing Knives’ seed to take hold.
It doesn’t matter.
“Does he know?” Knives murmurs.
“I don’t believe so.”
Knives look back to Vash, sleeping peacefully.
“Is there any reason for you to think that we couldn’t have a healthy child?” Knives asks. He’s steadfast in his resolve to keep horrors out of Vash’s new life.
“No,” Conrad answers. “Of course, any pregnancy isn’t a guarantee, but… there’s no reason for me to think that it shouldn’t be possible for you and Vash to have children.”
His chest twists with the same emotions that he felt when he realized he had fixed Vash. He’s finally able to feel the peace and love that Vash had preached about so much.
“Send all of the others, including Elendira, to December,” Knives orders. They can do the backbone of the work for one city. Knives can indulge himself and spend more time with Vash.
“Knives,” Conrad says deferentially, bowing his head in agreement.
…
In many ways, this return isn’t any different from the others. Knives doesn’t mention his conversation with Conrad to Vash until Conrad has done some tests and is certain that Vash is, in fact, carrying his child.
Knives doesn’t wait long to tell Vash.
He almost always joins Vash in his bed for part of the night when he’s home. Sometimes, he sleeps, even, just for the comfort of it and being in sync with Vash.
Some nights, like this particular night, he just watches Vash. He has dozens of years to make up for, after all.
He traces his fingers over Vash’s lower stomach, above where his womb is. He’d never fully understood why they’d settled into different sexes from another. The insistence on a binary was something that Knives found foolishly human. They’d always been above the gendered associations that the human race had attached to their genitalia.
He cups the softness of Vash’s stomach, wondering how quickly he and the baby are going to grow.
Beneath his touch, Vash stirs, sighing softly before finally opening his eyes. Vash smiles at him, because it’s second nature to him now: He wakes, he sees Knives, he smiles. Knives smiles back at him.
“I like when you’re home,” Vash murmurs, voice raspy with sleep.
“I like being home with you,” Knives answers, turning his head to kiss Vash’s palm. He also likes that Vash has become to associate July with home and that he doesn’t feel the need to wander anymore.
“I have a surprise for you,” Knives continues.
Vash stretches luxuriously beneath him, his smiling turning impish and curious.
“You’re carrying a baby in here,” Knives tells him, tapping a finger against Vash’s stomach.
Vash’s eyes widen to comical proportions, mouth dropping open.
And then he bursts into tears. He presses his hands against his face, as if there’s any point in trying to hide any part of himself from Knives.
Through their bond, Knives can feel that it’s simply that Vash is overwhelmed, almost exclusively with happiness, and that it wasn’t something that he had considered either.
Knives lets him cry. He strokes Vash’s hair and kisses his forehead and hands. It takes a while for Vash to be able to breathe steadily again.
“Really?” is the first thing he asks, fingers parted so that he can look up at Knives, palms mostly muffling his mouth still.
“Really,” Knives answers.
Vash removes a hand from his face and lets it rest on his stomach, his fingers interlacing with Knives’.
“How do I take care of it?” Vash asks, voice small.
“Keep taking care of yourself,” Knives murmurs. “Pay attention to what your body tells you and trust it. We’ll figure it out.”
Vash nods. He’s smiling to himself now and even humming a little, sounding self-pleased.
“They’ll be so lucky,” Vash says.
“Oh?”
“So many big siblings!” Vash says with a little laugh, daring to reach up and tweak Knives’ nose.
Knives swats Vash’s hand away from his face, raising an eyebrow in challenge.
“You’re right,” Knives says, regardless. “They’re going to come into a world made for them.” By the time their child arrives, the humans will all but be gone. Knives also wants to bring another batch of Independents into the world at some point – though, it will clearly have to wait until the first group is grown enough to help in the raising and Vash is recovered enough from having their own child.
He spares a moment to wonder what Vash of the past would have thought of this. He doesn’t normally, not often. Would Vash have marveled over the miracle of his body creating and carrying life? Or would he have been ashamed of it, properly tyrannized by Rem’s teachings about what they should and shouldn’t be doing as brothers? He certainly wouldn’t have been happy about how their child was going to be raised. No, it’s better like this – better that their child waited to take place in Vash’s womb until it could be properly welcoming.
Belatedly, he becomes aware that Vash is stroking his fingertips through Knives’ hair. He doesn’t know exactly what Vash has been picking up through their bond. Likely some form of melancholy.
“You don’t have to worry about me quite so much, you know,” Vash murmurs.
“Don’t I?” Knives answers. “It’s my purpose.”
“You still think of me as the little Plant with no powers,” Vash says. “And I might still need to eat and drink and sleep, but I’m not entirely helpless, Nai.”
It’s true. In some ways, it’s been true for a long time. Vash can heal Plants. And if he’d been doing it in any meaningful way, it would have been much more powerful than anything that Knives could do. His Gate is terrifyingly powerful.
But in the midst of all that power, Vash had either used his power to serve humans or run from it. He had been the one who made himself still be a weak little Plant, in his own words. It had taken Knives to show him otherwise.
So, while the irony of Vash’s words isn’t entirely lost on him, and, no, he will never not protect his brother, he’s also charmed by this show of confidence and, in its own way, power.
“You’re right,” Knives says, kissing the corner of Vash’s mouth. “You’ve grown so strong, my sweet brother.”
…
In many ways, it’s hard to believe that this is the reality of their lives now. Knives spends all his time with Vash and their children. He’s never known greater peace than watching Vash play with them. The green room is always filled with laughter.
Not long after, Vash starts to show. His belly goes from being simply soft to having a bump that both Vash and Knives are borderline obsessed with, running their hands over it at any given chance.
It does nothing in helping them keep their hands off each other in other ways. It’d been difficult enough with Vash just walking around in his true skin, legs parted and body accessible to him with the simplest of touches. It’s a struggle to try to do anything serious, like taking meetings with Conrad or Legato, when Vash is nearby.
(Admittedly, he spares a moment of consideration to just keeping Vash at his side during these meetings, of how it would feel to have his fingers stuffed inside Vash’s cunt while getting a report on how many Plants Legato has brought back to him. In the end, though, he suspects that while he could convince Vash to do so, sex driven as Vash is these days, it would pluck at the boundaries of Vash’s comfort. And Knives knows he’s a selfish creature. He’s always only been willing to share so much of Vash.)
Since their reunion, Vash has been insatiable, but with the pregnancy, he’s even more so. On a night when Knives is asleep beside him, Vash wakes him up, having coaxed his cock out of its slit and to hardness. Vash’s petals are already fully opened and flushed.
“Please,” Knives murmurs in amusement when he realizes that Vash is preparing to sit on him. “Don’t let me stop you.”
Vash whines and proceeds with his plan. Knives doesn’t help at all. He leaves his hands pressed up against the headboard, letting Vash use him for his pleasure.
Of course, it doesn’t take long for Vash to start begging.
“Please, Nai,” Vash whimpers. “Please.” He grabs at Knives’ hands, trying to get him to grip his hips, to rub his clit. He grinds filthily down on Knives, pulling out every trick he knows to get Knives to properly fuck him by snapping his hips up into Vash.
And who is Knives to deny him really? Hasn’t he promised that his baby brother will want for nothing?
He brings Vash off four times that night. The fourth time Vash is nearly incoherent, his sobs echoing off the walls until his voice breaks.
Vash sleeps in so late the following date that Knives has to take care of the children on his own.
Otherwise, just like with their childhood growth, Vash flies through the stages of pregnancy at an expedited rate.
It’s Vash who pulls him out of a meeting with Conrad where they’re planning to expand out of the lab and tower and further into what was once the city of July. He’s in awe of the flutterings he can suddenly feel, the first stirrings of life in his womb. He brings Knives’ hand down to his stomach even though it’s too early for Knives to be able to feel anything. It doesn’t matter – Knives wouldn’t miss this moment for anything. He pets at Vash, in awe of him.
After that, Vash talks to the being in his stomach as he frequently as he talks to any of the other children, constantly narrating his day and telling the baby stories. In no time, all the children are talking to the baby, eagerly jostling for their spots to press their ears to Vash’s belly and listen or sprawl across him at naptime, hoping to be the first to feel the baby kick. They repeat their names over and over again, so the baby will know them when it’s born.
And Vash makes Knives talk to the baby for half an hour in the evening, when it’s just them.
“You’re the most important voice they’ll ever know,” Vash murmurs, and Knives is dizzied by the sentiment. He’ll never not be grateful for the trust that Vash now places in him.
“Second most,” Knives demurs, kissing Vash’s belly.
So, Knives tells the baby about his plan for their expanding Eden, what July will look like by the time the baby is born and what the world will look like in the baby’s lifetime.
It’s during one of Knives’ talks that he feels the baby moving for the first time.
He breaks off mid-word and looks up at Vash, almost uncertain what he’s just felt. Vash is smiling down at him.
“They’re going to be so strong, Nai,” Vash says.
…
Ever since Knives brought Vash to July, he’s enjoyed spending time among their sisters. But the further along in his pregnancy, the more he’s among them, cast in their ethereal blue glow. If there’s ever an instant when Knives isn’t entirely sure where to find him, that’s the first place he knows to look.
It’s no different this time. It’s dinnertime for the children, most of whom are still eating human food, although some have begun to wean themselves, just as Knives did once. They don’t have dinner without Vash, though. It’s a hard rule, one put in place by Knives to help ensure Vash eats.
And Vash isn’t purposefully skipping a meal now. He’s just lost track of time while he floats in the multiplicity of their sisters’ minds. The longer he’s been here, the better he seems to be getting at communicating with their sisters and understanding their needs.
Knives goes down to retrieve him, and finds him propped on the floor, a pillow underneath his hips, one hand idly rubbing at now large belly.
Knives alerts him through their own bond before laying a hand on Vash’s shoulder, not wanting to startle him.
“Nai,” Vash sighs, leaning back into him.
“Time to come back to us,” Knives says, kissing his head.
“They’re trying to tell me something,” Vash says, as if he hasn’t heard Knives at all.
“Something about the baby?” Knives surmises.
“No,” Vash breathes, shaking his head. He’s still more focused on their sisters than he is on Knives. “They’ve been trying for a while now, but they’re getting louder…” He trails off and then seemingly shakes himself out of it.
“I don’t know,” he continues, finally looking up at Knives. “It feels like a warning. And like I have all the words but I can’t put them in the right order. I’ve never had trouble understanding them like this before.”
Knives pauses. He can’t help but wonder if the sisters are trying to get Vash to remember what happened to him in the tank when Knives impregnated some of them. But why would they? They can’t honestly believe that Knives is something to warn Vash about. Not after everything Knives has done for all of them, saving them from the harm and abuse of humans. He can’t hear the sisters as well as Vash, but he knows that they haven’t been trying to warn him about anything.
He eyes them suspiciously for a moment.
It doesn’t matter. His changes to Vash’s mind have held without any wavering, no matter what he’s heard about what Knives is doing to the outside world, never mind watching Knives kill one of his closest friends. And Vash is happy. There’s no reason that he would begin applying pressure to those corners of his mind now anyway.
“Dinner, Vash,” Knives reminds him. “We have to take care of the baby.”
“Right,” Vash says, brushing away the last wisps of uncertainty. He takes Knives’ hands and lets Knives help him to his feet.
…
Not long after, the last of the Plants are brought from December and the city enters its final fall. Knives is with the children who are beginning to manifest Gates when Conrad finds him to deliver the last report on December.
“Legato, Elendira, and Zazie have returned,” Conrad says. “But Livio and Razlo are dead.”
Knives has no particular reaction to the news. They were a tool, after all, and a useful one, but not one that Knives intended to keep around indefinitely. He supposes that some loss to the humans was to be expected and this is one that’s more than acceptable.
But he can sense that Conrad is nervous about the announcement for some reason. He’s looking at Knives as if he expects Knives to be more concerned as well.
“What is it?” Knives asked, annoyed that he has to ask in the first place.
“The Hopeland Orphanage was in December,” Conrad supplies finally. “It was the Punisher’s reward for his final contract.” For Vash, goes unspoken between the two of them. “Livio and Nicholas grew up there. Livio was out of contact with Legato and the others for a full day before they believe he was killed – by the Punisher.”
Knives says nothing. Perhaps it was a mistake not to kill the Punisher when he had brought Vash back. After all, there had been plenty of signs that the Punisher’s loyalty was not to him and that he was, instead, a little too preoccupied with Vash. But he had left Vash without a complaint. And, of course, his contract had had obvious shortcomings. But in the end, Knives had been focused on Vash, the Higher Realm, and the making of more Independents that day. He hadn’t had time to spare any thought for his brother’s guard dog.
He still doesn’t now. What does it matter if the Punisher is still alive? Humanity is all but gone, and there’s nothing left to shelter them from the brutality of Knives’ judgement and the reality of Gunsmoke. The Punisher can flail all he wants. It’s too late. He’ll fall with the rest of them.
Conrad is only nervous because he’s always overvalued the Punisher.
“So send Legato and the others back out to finish him,” Knives says coldly. This isn’t a matter that should be worthy of his attention.
“They can’t find him,” Conrad says, shaking his head. “Even with Zazie’s considerable resources.”
When Knives continues to say nothing, Conrad relents and moves onto a subject that he knows that Knives does care about: the final stronghold of humanity, the last prison for Plants.
“I’ve been tracking an unusual sandstorm that I believe to be Ship Three’s camouflaging technology,” Conrad says. “It’s been slowing down at an exponential rate. If they’ve been picking up human survivors as I believe they have, they won’t be able to support anything besides the basics of what it takes to keep them alive soon. When that happens, I anticipate that they’ll stop and perhaps temporarily drop the cloak. I’ll have Legato, Elendira, and Zazie ready for when that happens.”
“I’ll go to Ship Three myself as well,” Knives says. He hasn’t forgotten that woman – another cheap version of Rem that Vash had collected. This one had been just as grievously offensive as the first, though, since she’s the one that Vash had actively turned against Knives to protect. It’s fitting that she should be among the last that Knives kills.
…
It’s another near-sleepless night. Vash is propped up against the headboard with a grimace on his face, a hand on his stomach.
The baby has been kicking him relentlessly in the ribs, dampening even Vash’s normally sunny disposition and excitement about the pregnancy.
“Glad that your child has your enormous feet,” Vash groans in complaint. Knives chuckles despite himself. Ever since the disruptive kicking had begun, the baby has become exclusively his child, apparently.
“They’re just strong, like you,” Knives coos to Vash.
Vash half opens one eye to glare at Knives the best he can.
“Don’t be cute with me,” Vash warns.
Knives grins at him. If they were younger or, perhaps, even if Vash was less pregnant, that move would have resulted in Vash trying to get him in a headlock.
As it is, Vash just sighs and closes his eyes again, hand resuming its rubbing.
“Come here,” Knives murmurs finally, trying to gather Vash up and off the bed. Vash, ever obedient, comes with him.
Knives walks him to a nearby room, where he keeps a new piano he acquired. He still has the original that he built July around, the one that hosts the lost sisters that kept him focused and unwavering. That room is still important. But it’s not a place where Vash and the children belong. This new piano room is for their new life, all of which is calmer and brighter.
Vash has played with him a few times since his return. But they’ve been in here most recently because when the baby can’t be calmed by touch or by either of their voices or by Vash’s singing, sometimes classical music from the piano will help, and Knives is all but happy to oblige.
For now, there’s also a rocking chair for Vash, padded with pillows and blankets. Together, they settle Vash into the chair. Vash sighs softly as Knives situates himself at the piano bench. His playing has taken on a different cadence, slower and more gentle. After all, the notes are no longer a warning.
Inside Vash, the baby quiets, and Vash finally relaxes and sleeps. Knives keeps playing.
…
It’s late. Late enough that everyone in the tower – Vash, the children, Conrad – are all asleep. Knives wanders outside, surveying his newest creations. He’s changed the patterns of the branches that he and Vash had grown, making them into the boundaries of what once was July. It would have been easier with Vash, but for now, this is still Knives’ task. In the future, he and Vash will shape life again in this way.
He's leveled buildings and cleared rubble. He’s grown more greenery here, until it looks like the paradise that everyone on Gunsmoke had longed for. The children are almost big enough that he wants to start bringing them here. The tower has been their protection, but this will be their place to flourish. This is where they’ll learn what they can do and how they can shape this space.
Knives is caught up in revelry and planning. So, it’s almost painful when Vash’s panic floods their bond. It’s so sharp – so intense – that Knives can feel the hand clapped over Vash’s mouth as he’s roused from sleep.
Someone is in their home who isn’t supposed to be. Someone is touching Vash who isn’t supposed to be.
The metal of Knives’ blades rip free through his back, plating into wings as he propels himself back toward the tower and upward, back toward Vash.
He crashes in through one of the windows, tumbling briefly before righting himself. He strides toward Vash, following the tether of their bond. Vash has calmed somewhat, but not enough to alleviate Knives’ worry.
But he hasn’t also gone far. As it turns out, he’s standing in the hallway just outside his room, flanked by the intruders. Three of them – two of whom Knives recognizes instantly. The first, the one standing closest to Vash, touching him even, is the Punisher. The second is the woman from Ship Three, Luida. The third Knives doesn’t know, but Vash does; he associates him with Luida, so Knives assumes that he’s also from Ship Three.
Around the corner, hidden by shadow, they haven’t spotted Knives yet. But they’re all nervous, all shifting, all aware that they’ve climbed into the belly of the beast. They’re shaken by the changes they’ve found in Vash. Knives watches them examining him, taking in the natural Plant skin, the loss of the artificial arm and red SEEDS jacket they had costumed him in, and, most of all, the prominent swell of his belly.
They know he is no longer their Vash, but, oh, they are desperate for a savior. They always have been desperate for a Vash willing to take on Knives, but even at their worst, what was that? A Vash who would cry at Knives and level a gun at him, pull the trigger, and purposefully throw shots that couldn’t have hurt Knives anyway? Even that Vash would have never had the compunction to harm him, much less kill him, which is the only thing that could have saved these worthless parasites.
But now? Now?
Knives just wants to laugh.
He settles into the shadows, watching and ready to intervene. Vash alone knows he’s there, and his brother takes comfort from his presence.
“Spikey – Vash,” the Punisher begs, his voice raspy and worn. “C’mon, we gotta go.” He has one hand on Vash’s shoulder, the other around a wrist, trying to pull Vash forward.
“Go?” Vash says, shaking his head. He remains planted.
“Home, Vash,” Luida says gently. She steps closer and presses her hand to Vash’s opposite shoulder. “Ship Three, you remember?”
“This is my home now,” Vash says with bright intention. “My children are here.”
The Punisher groans, low and desperate.
“This isn’t right,” the third man says, who has been keeping his distance from Vash. “He isn’t right. It’s too late.”
“We can fix him,” the Punisher growls through clenched teeth. “We just have to get him out of here—” His hand tightens around Vash’s wrist.
“Vash, sweetheart,” Luida pleads, stroking the side of his face. “You aren’t safe here, not with Knives. Do you remember all the times he hurt you? He cut off your arm. And he’s killing us, Vash. He’s taken all the Plants, destroyed all the cities. Do you understand?”
“I know,” Vash’s answer comes, crystal clear and unwavering.
The Punisher jostles Luida aside, takes Vash sharply by both sides of his head.
“Fuck this,” he snaps. “I know you’re still in there, Spikey. I know you don’t believe this bullshit. You would never let him get away with this – your whole schtick is peace and love, Vash. You’re not okay with him killing humanity, do you hear me? You love humanity and all of its fucking messiness.”
The Punisher’s voice turns ragged, and Vash squirms underneath his hold, trying to pull away—
“I’m sorry, Vash,” the Punisher begs. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought you here – I shouldn’t have left you with him. You don’t deserve whatever he’s done to you, but I know you’re strong enough to get him out of your head—”
“Stop—” Vash pleads, twisting underneath the Punisher’s hold. “Wolfwood—”
“This isn’t what Rem would want for you,” Luida tacks on, softly.
“Stop!” Vash yells, shrilly. He yanks himself away from their touch, clapping his hands over the sides of his head.
Knives can feel that he’s rattled. He’s certain that the walls in Vash’s mind are going to hold, but Vash shouldn’t be in pain, particularly not with the distress it could be causing the baby. He steps out to intervene.
The Punisher’s eyes flash when he sees Knives. He grabs Vash again – yanking him too roughly toward him and away from Knives.
“I said stop!” Vash screams, eyes still slammed shut, hands still over his ears.
And then he sends Knives’ blades dashing throughout the room.
It takes even Knives a moment to realize what’s happened. He didn’t know that Vash could control his Gate, but he is – instead of using his own.
He slices the surrounding humans to ribbons. He cuts the unknown man’s head clear off, likely killing him before he knew what was happening. The damage to Luida is quickly lethal, and she drops without being able to do anything.
The Punisher falls away from Vash more slowly, trying to cling to him until the last. His other hand is clamped around where a blade sliced through the carotid artery in his neck. His heart pumps out his life’s blood in between his fingers beat by precarious beat.
Knives steps over and looks down at where he’s collapsed on the ground. Weakly, the Punisher spits at him. Knives simply smiles.
But Vash is still shaking. He goes down onto his knees in a puddle of the Punisher’s blood seemingly without knowing it.
He’s whispering the same few words to himself, over and over again: “I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m perfect.”
“Vash,” Knives says, lovingly, kneeling in front of Vash and stroking his face and hands, trying to get him to look at him and move his hands away from his ears. It takes a little work, but Vash does, looking at him with panic-stricken, tear-laced eyes.
“I’m perfect,” he hiccups out again, a final defense to everything the humans had been telling him.
“You are,” Knives coos at him. He’s never been prouder of Vash.
“I—I,” he stumbles over his words even as he falls forward against Knives, face buried into his chest, arms locked around his waist. “My Gate is supposed to be for making our children. I couldn’t use my Gate for—”
“It’s fine, Vash,” Knives reassures him, stroking a hand up and down his back. “You protected yourself and our baby. You did so well, sweet boy.”
He’s only just begun to calm himself when they both feel the pain that rips its way through his insides. His water breaks, and the fluids mix with the last of the Punisher’s life blood.
“No,” Vash cries and gasps, his hands going in between his legs. “No – it’s soon – it’s too early—”
It is. Knives knows it is too. Ideally, the baby would still be in Vash for another week or two. But that doesn’t mean anything now, because it’s clear that the baby is coming all the same.
Knives gathers Vash in his arms, steps through the bloody mess, and goes down to the medical wing.
Vash is all but hysterical by the time Knives gets him situated. He straightens and goes to get Conrad.
“Nai—!” Vash pleads, grabbing hold of him. “Nai, don’t leave me, please!”
“I will be right back,” Knives promises him with savage fierceness. “You’re going to be fine.”
He steps outside and to Conrad’s quarters. He must have heard Vash and Knives come down, because he’s dressed already, skin an ashy grey. Delivering his child will likely be the last act he does for Knives, Knives realizes.
“Go to him,” Knives orders. He starts to walk past Conrad.
“Where are you going, Knives?” Conrad asks.
“Ship Three has stopped,” is all Knives says. And likely, it’s nearby. It’s time for Zazie to find it. The humans whose deaths he needed to witness are gone. Now, it’s time for the ship itself and the Plants aboard it to return to their rightful owners. It’s time for the final act of destruction.
…
It’s a long night that yields an aching dawn. In the morning, Knives’ world is complete.
Elendira and Legato load the last of the sisters into their permanent home as Knives watches Vash hold their daughter against his body.
She’s small, but Conrad had assured them that she’s healthy.
Knives is nearly dizzy with elation and victory. He’s trying to temper it though, because he can feel that Vash is worn, cored by everything’s that happened. He loves their daughter as he looks over her fingers and traces the delicate features of her face, but he isn’t really happy, not yet. Knives thinks he just needs to rest.
He’s fooled himself into the notion and is somehow surprised when Vash speaks.
“You did do something to my memories, didn’t you?” Vash asks with a hoarse voice, looking from their daughter and up at Knives. “That’s what the sisters have been trying to tell me – that’s what everyone else has said.”
Knives looks steadily back at him. He could lie. Vash might want to believe the lie enough to let himself do so. But they both know that what Vash just said is the truth. He doesn’t really know what Knives did to him – doesn’t recall his love and reverence for Rem and humanity or his abhorrence for violence. But he knows that Knives changed something in him.
“Yes,” Knives says.
Vash lets out a shaky breath and looks back down at the baby in his arms.
“They’re all gone,” he whispers, one finger over the baby’s belly. “You really killed all the humans.”
“Yes,” Knives says again. This is all there is now.
“I don’t want to know,” Vash whispers. His palm covers the baby’s belly. “Just make me happy again.”
“Of course, Vash,” Knives says. “Anything for you.”
They don’t wait. The baby is put into her crib. Vash leans into Knives and, together, they navigate the stairs back up and then into the original piano room with its slate grey and perpetually screaming sisters.
Knives opens the tank and, this time, they go down, together, willingly.
When they resurface, Knives pets at Vash’s face until he opens his eyes.
“Nai,” he says, smiling.