Chapter Text
His ears ring, and it sounds like screaming. It might as well be, because the feeling coming through the narrow cracks left in their closed link carries a pain so sharp he can feel it radiating through every one of his cells. The man over the radio is saying something about a gang. Millions Knives can hardly hear the news coverage through the shrill symphony of rage and worry in his ears.
A name is dropped- some backwater human settlement where Vash was last seen, and that’s all he needs. The radio crumbles to dust in Knives’ hand. He doesn’t need to know who has him or how many there are. He will make sure Vash is safe, and then he will purify the desert with their blood.
It’s routine. This happens almost on a monthly basis now. Vash gets into trouble. Vash refuses to defend himself. When Vash escapes one way or another, Knives descends on the sinners that dared lay their repulsive hands on his brother and rains down hellfire.
It doesn’t make it any easier with each occurrence.
Vash doesn’t know that Knives can feel his pain. It’s the only part of their link still open. Knives just makes sure to never get hurt badly enough that Vash would feel it, because it’s really not that difficult when you don’t mind the red. That, or he closes Vash off before the hit can even land. Knives has been bitter for a long time. Just when he thinks his heart couldn’t possibly become any more blackened, someone comes along and kicks Vash around and stains his heart a little more.
After a hundred-and-fifty years, Knives is no closer to breaking the cycle. How long must he suffer through his brother being torn apart at the hands of those he idolizes? Why does he feel the need to rip himself apart and dole out his heart as peace offerings when Knives is right there, asking for nothing but to have Vash by his side? He’s never been enough. Vash would rather keep company with murderers and abusers than the person who loves him more than anything in the cosmos.
He loves Vash, but his fool of a brother often makes him see red.
Knives is hardly aware of what his limbs are doing as he drags his feet across the sand. Blood splatters. Screams split the air. He doesn’t care about any of it. They’re vermin, all of them. They’re worse than parasites. Even their corpses still manage to offend his senses. It’s their pitiful cries for mercy that disgust him the most. He’s never seen a human show mercy in his life and not turn around a day or a year later and betray that same person. Humans are spineless, cruel wastes of space. The fact that they have the gall to kneel before him and beg him for something they would never have the grace to give makes him violently ill.
One such human throws themselves in his path. They’re filthy and ragged, as all of their kind seem to keep themselves. It might be a woman, but he can’t bring his eyes to linger over their pathetic form long enough to be sure. He can’t even make out her pleas through all her sniveling.
“Did you see Vash the Stampede come through here?” he asks, tilting her head back with a long tendril of knives. He doesn’t want to look upon her, but he needs to know if she’s lying.
“Huh? Why does that-”
He snakes the weapons around her throat and gives her a squeeze just tight enough to encourage her to tell the truth. “A man in a red coat. Blonde undercut. Metal arm. Where did they take him?”
Her expression darkens. “That monster? The one who destroyed Jeneora Rock?” She spits in front of her, nostrils flaring. “East. I hope they-” The rest of the woman’s words are cut off by the sound of her neck spewing liquid like an overflowing sink.
“Thanks for the tip,” he says, tossing her body out of the way. He sidesteps the pool of blood and carries on. He’ll leave a few survivors this time to make sure the brainless creatures get the story right this time instead of sending more fire after Vash. He's tempted to write his name on a building with her blood, but he hears whispers of it on the wind already. They'll get it right this time.
Knives doesn't know how far east he will have to go. It doesn't matter. He would cross Gunsmoke and back a thousand times to find Vash. With their lifespans, that's looking likely.
* * *
He doesn't notice it at first. He's felt more of a prick from an insect. But he sees something feathered sticking out of his arm. Shielding himself with a flurry of knives, he plucks the offending object from his skin. It's a dart of some kind with a hollow tip. Those fools couldn't possibly think they could injure him with such a pitiful weapon, did they? Even now, the wound is sealing up, leaving only a drop of blood as evidence of his injury. That, and a swell.
Knives' eyes narrow as he gives his arm an experimental poke. What the hell did they shoot him with?
Then it hits him. Knives feels it in his head first. His reaction time is slowed, and his head feels heavy. While he's tuning into the strange sensation of slowness creeping through his veins, another dart hits him. Knives rips it from his back as quickly as possible, but the damage is done. He stumbles, trying to focus on shielding himself while he assesses the situation.
Knives blinks, startled. Why can he see four hands in front of him? He shakes his head, trying to clear whatever fog has settled over him, which only worsens the feeling of the world spinning underneath him. He collapses, breathing heavily. Squeezing his eyes shut only worsens his dizziness. He heaves and feels his hearing fade out to an angry ring as he sees static. It's over soon enough. Not much to come up when you don't eat. His senses are dulled. He knows he's in a weakened state. But does he have time to retreat and recover?
How far away is Vash? Knives has no way of knowing, not since that part of their link was blocked. He staggers closer to a crest in the sand, hoping for a better view. He ignores the parasites swarming around him and spraying him with a not so easily blocked barrage of bullets. There's some kind of building in the distance. It's the only one for miles. If Vash came this way, that's where he would hole up for the night. Knives can't afford to lose this fight. They'll claim the bounty on Vash's corpse if they think taking him alive isn't worth the trouble.
Knives cuts down another dozen of the vermin, even as he can barely stay standing from the effects of whatever drug they poisoned him with. He can't see anything besides dots anymore. He blocks blindly as he staggers toward the building in the distance. He has to check. If Vash isn’t there, he can escape long enough to heal himself and then catch up with the gang again before they can find his brother.
There’s a car up ahead. He doesn't know what those leeches that follow Vash around drive, but he knows it must be them. Just by Vash's bad luck alone, it has to be them. The car is the last thing he sees before something much larger than a blow dart rips through his side. Knives' agony means nothing in that moment. He only has the awareness to keep one directive in his mind, and that's to protect Vash no matter the cost to his own body. He turns so that his back is facing the sand dune and the car beyond it. They won't reach Vash a second time. He'll do whatever it takes.
Knives channels the last of his strength and concentration into offense, not worrying about what the humans do to him. He can take it. They're too insignificant to kill him. No pain they could ever cause could possibly compare to the despair that would rip him apart if he were to lose Vash.
He can barely see through the dizziness and the sprays of blood. He's covered with it now- his indistinguishable from theirs, as much as that disgusts him to think about. There are less gunshots and more screams. It's the only confirmation he has that they're going to go down before he does. Knives can barely breathe or stand. More bullets hit him. A third dart lands on him. He doesn't even know where, but it burns him from the inside out. The bullets and the darts are so revoltingly human in their signature that his body rejects them even as it's trying to heal over the wounds.
That's when he hears his brother's voice.
"Nai!" Vash screams. His voice is hoarse like he's fighting through pain. Knives' head whips around. Through the haze, he can barely make out the form of his brother in the distance. He's on the ground, but he doesn't see any red. He feels agony coming through their link, and realizes it's a feedback loop. Knives might survive this, but this is killing Vash. He needs to put an end to this.
Knives slices through what he hopes are the last of his foes, but he can't be sure. He tries to yell to Vash to stay back in case there are any survivors still armed with those darts. Despite his life force draining along with his blood with each successive shot that finds its mark, Vash is all he can think of. Just as he opens his mouth, he feels two more darts pierce his skin. He removes his attacker's arms as a shriek splits the air. It's the most haunting sound Knives has ever heard. He knows he should be reacting to his injuries, but he can't bring himself to think of his own body right now. All there is is Vash- Vash, who is safe, but being ripped apart by the echo of Knives' injuries.
Vash- he has to get to Vash. He has no plan. He just needs to get to his brother, make sure he's safe. Knives rips the darts from his body and staggers toward Vash's motionless form. Through his swimming vision, he can see the three buffoons Vash keeps close standing frozen.
Do something! he wants to scream. He can't manage to force so much as a whisper from his lungs. Why aren't they helping Vash? Stupid good-for-nothing humans! What good are they if they can't help him when he needs them the most? Maybe they're grateful that Vash is finally beaten down beyond any ability to run and they're planning to turn him in for the reward and finish Knives off as well. He wouldn't expect anything more from such a heartless species.
The older one shakes the short girl by the shoulders, gesturing to Vash and then back to the car. He can't make out their expressions from this distance and with his senses dulled the way they are. His brain is completely out of sorts, emotions flipping wildly back and forth between numb and panicked.
He can't understand their words through the haze. All he hears is yelling. He can't make out who is who anymore. He sees a shape approach Vash and grab him by the shoulder. No! You won't take him away from me again! Not when I'm so close, Knives thinks, panic closing around his ribcage so tightly he feels his heartbeat stutter. So severe is his terror that it shocks his lungs into being able to suck in just enough air to growl out a pitiful, weightless threat.
"Don't touch him."
The shouting pauses. He hears someone cock a gun. It's the shorter one, so it must be the reporter girl. She yells some kind of threat in return, but her shaking voice tells Knives she wouldn't have the guts to pull the trigger- a coward through and through. They're all cowards. He would die before he let them take Vash away again!
Knives drags himself across the sand. He doesn't know how he's even conscious anymore. Spite, fear, and the drive to protect Vash are the only things enabling him to keep moving. He hears a cough followed by a single lurching step forward through the sand, and then a body collapsing.
"Please don't fight," comes the unmistakable voice of his brother. His words cut through the fog polluting his brain like a breath of fresh air. The pain is no less disabling, but Knives can at least force his body to exert one last burst of effort.
It takes some time for Vash's words to process. Thinking comes slowly to him, and he is reminded that he is most likely dying. The thought of fading out in the middle of nowhere while his brother pleads with empty words for peace that will never come, not to Knives or anyone, is pitiful enough to be funny. Something in him snaps, and he's surprised he has any threads of sanity left that were intact to begin with after everything Vash has put him through. There's a harsh, barking sound. It takes him a moment to realize that he's laughing. He summons as much strength as he can manage. He won't allow himself to die in front of such revolting creatures. Even the thought of them looking upon his corpse makes him sick.
"Adopt your strategy and die an early death at the hands of these parasites? Then who would protect you, little brother?"
He knows the answer. No one would. There would be no one left in the world who would love Vash, who would look out for him, who would be willing to kill for him. Knives will always do whatever it takes to ensure Vash will have a future. Some distant part of Knives wishes that there was someone to look out for him, but he doesn't entertain the longing for more than a moment. It was an echo of a part of him that had long been buried. It doesn't matter what happens to him, as long as he can see his dream through of building a paradise with no fear, no more pain. If he lives past that time and gets to spend the rest of his days with the only redeemable person on this disgusting planet, that would be more than he could ever ask for.
One of the bullet wounds on his side sends a wave of pain through him, begging to be acknowledged. He clutches it instinctively despite trying to hide from his brother just how injured he is. He knows, logically, that Vash can feel what he feels right now as far as pain. But he doesn't need to see how it affects him too. Vash might not care anymore what happens to Knives. He's been away too long to know.
His vision clears just enough to reveal his brother staring at him in horror. Is he scared? Disgusted? He presses a hand to his side and feels blood gushing from it. Ah, maybe it's all the red in the sand that's got him frozen like that? Don’t worry for me brother. I won’t die here. There’s still so much I have to do. I can’t leave so many things unfinished, is what he wants to say. But he doesn’t have enough air in his lungs or clarity in his mind. What comes out is a vague “I did all of this for you.”
Vash asks why. Of course he does. Vash doesn’t value his own life beyond its use as a shield for lesser life forms. Knives is too tired to try to convince Vash that he cares for him. Vash could never understand loving someone so much you would kill for them. Knives takes another wobbly step forward. He’s dragging his feet more than he is walking. He’s close enough now to make out their faces when his vision comes back around every so often. The one who went to grab Vash was Wolfwood. That brings him some small measure of comfort. Vash hasn’t lost his bodyguard yet. The undertaker has too much to lose. He won’t hurt Vash as long as Knives has leverage over him. It relaxes him by very little, though. The short one is looking at him in horror, to no surprise. It pains him to see that his brother has the same expression on his face.
“They were going to kill you for the bounty- gang up on you so it wouldn’t be a fair fight, as if anything in this world is ever fair,” he says, trying in vain to get Vash to understand.
It’s no use justifying his actions. Nothing Knives does will ever be enough to win Vash over, try as he might. Why does he even bother with explaining himself anymore? He’s dragging himself across the sand now, unable to even stand upright. A burst of adrenaline carries him a few more paces. He doesn’t know how much longer he can last like this.
“Then they were going to have a battle royale amongst each other. Last one standing would get to keep the money,” he continues.
Vash is still staring at him with fear-filled eyes that make Knives want to rip his own heart out and bury it somewhere. He longs more than anything, more than a bright future, for the days before their first betrayal at the hands of humans when he had never seen such a look in his brother’s eyes. It wasn’t enough to create a world without fear. He would give anything to go back to a time where Vash had never known it.
“They were all doomed anyway.” Would that appease Vash? Knives hadn’t changed their fate or even hastened it, just changed which direction it was coming from.
No, it wasn’t enough. Vash was naive. He didn’t understand that sometimes you have to take a life, or many, in order to save one. The look on Vash’s face told Knives that he had committed another unforgivable sin in his brother’s eyes. He tries one more time to explain himself to Vash, knowing it will leave him with no energy to protect either of them. He’s spent.
“I have to look out for you, Vash, because you never look out for yourself-” he can’t even finish the sentence before collapsing into a useless heap in the sand. Vash is so close. But like always, he’s just out of arm’s reach. Knives will forever be left behind- a part of Vash’s past he’d rather forget.
His eyelids flutter. Unconsciousness is knocking at his door, more insistent with each shaky breath he forces himself to take. Each one is now a conscious effort. Bitterly, he wonders if he will survive this ordeal because death, too, doesn’t want him. He lays there, helpless. Whatever happens next is out of his control.
He doesn’t expect to feel a hand on his shoulder blade. The simple touch rips another gash in the already marred surface of Knives’ heart. He doesn’t know how there’s any surface left to cut. It’s the first time his brother has laid a hand on him in any circumstance other than battle since they were young. Despite his exhaustion, the fresh hurricane of emotions welling up in him spews from his mouth in rasping, breathy words.
“All they do is hunt you down.” Even that short sentence feels like it brings him noticeably closer to death. Knives turns as much as his body will allow and spits a mouthful of blood onto the sand. “Don’t you ever get tired of running?”
Vash is staring at him with furrowed brows and a tight frown. Disapproval, fear, and other emotions Knives doesn’t care to think on are all written plainly on Vash’s face. He’s never bothered to hide his disgust for Knives. “Don’t look at me like that. Don’t judge me.”
Because isn’t that what it all comes down to? Knives is the older brother, and yet he’s been chasing after Vash’s approval for a century and a half. What good is a perfect world if Vash won’t even look at him? Is all of the effort- all of the suffering- worth it if in that paradise, Vash walks to the furthest corner of Gunsmoke and never looks back? Knives can’t say. He thinks ahead in his plans with the plants and what his scientists are working on, but he hasn’t had the fortitude to reflect on what he’ll do if Vash forsakes him.
A burning sensation across his body alerts him to the fact that his plant marks are glowing red- confirmation that he is on his way out unless he gets help. Would Vash save him? Would Vash ever do for him half of what Knives does for Vash? Knowing the answer might well be no, he says his last piece before everything fades out and his fate is left in his brother’s hands.
“I have to protect you. I’d level planets for you, you... should know that... by now.”
The last thing he hears clearly before his mind slips into a dark place is a sigh, and then, “I know. I don’t understand, but I know. I’ll protect you this time.”
Huh... what a pleasant surprise.
* * *
Knives is only blessed with unconsciousness for a few minutes before he’s awakened by the nausea-inducing presence of a room full of humans. They’re fluttering about and panicking. They still haven’t done anything for Vash? Were they really good for absolutely nothing at all? He forces himself to remain awake despite the pain. It’s not like he’s going to be able to do anything, but he would never forgive himself if something happened to Vash while he was unconscious.
“Vash, what’s wrong? What can I do to help you?” the girl asks, fidgeting. Her voice carries a concern that he knows must only run skin deep. These people don’t care about him. Everyone Vash has ever tried to win over sold him out at some point. It’s only a matter of time before these ones do too. Her voice is soft, though, and it threatens to dig up memories he’d rather forget.
“It’s our link,” Vash responds. Despite the crushed, painful sound of his words, he’s speaking to the girl with care he hasn’t shown for Knives since they were children. “I thought it was closed, but maybe we can still feel when the other gets injured? This has never happened before. He’s supposed to have a healing factor. I don’t understand...”
It’s true. Vash had missed a spot when he cut Knives out of his life. It had been Knives’ only way of checking in on his brother. He had never meant for Vash to feel everything he felt. Now, he was too weak to close that door.
The girl speaks up, and he feels like the words are directed at him. He can’t see much other than vague shapes and colors, and his head is turned to the side as well. “I need to get a better look at where they shot him.”
He hears the sound of her moving closer to him- too close. What is she planning? His body tenses for a fight he can’t win, not like this. He spots movement. He has no way of knowing what it was, and reacts instinctively. His hand shoots out. There’s no energy left in his body. He has no idea how he managed to move at all. It’s like when rigor mortis sets in and a corpse moves of its own accord.
She shrieks but makes no attempt to move. A moment of bravery or stupidity? Somehow, no one adds another bullet to his collection.
When she speaks to him again, her voice is calm and damn it if she doesn’t remind him of Rem. “I need to see the right side of your neck. Can you move it?” No one has dared speak to him with anything other than fear in their voice- or reverence in the case of some of his disciples- for years. It shocks him enough that he complies, or tries to at least. He can’t manage a task even as simple as turning his head.
He realizes then that he’s completely at the mercy of these humans. Knives worries over Vash often. It just comes with this life. But it isn’t often that he feels afraid for himself. His heartbeat quickens as the feeling of helplessness settles over him like a suffocating fog. Knives is strong. It’s taken years to get to a point both physically and with his powers that he feels comfortable defending Vash from any conceivable threat. He’s found his limit, and that terrifies him.
The girl leans closer. Her wrist is still in his grip. Despite the nearly crushing force he’s exerting on her, her movements and voice are calm and gentle. “I’m just going to tilt your head, that’s all.” Even as her soft words chip away at his anger and fear, he doesn’t trust her. She’s going to take advantage of his moment of weakness- by snapping his neck most likely. She taps the hand that’s clamped down on her wrist. The small movement causes him to lose his grip, and now he doesn’t have any control over the situation at all.
While she’s fussing over her wrist, Wolfwood and the older man bicker about the former smoking inside. Wolfwood claims the situation is stressful, which doesn’t make any sense to Knives, unless he’s talking about the state that Vash is in because of him.
“We’ll be in the back room if you need anything,” the drunkard announces. They don’t even see him as a threat anymore? They’d leave him with the tiny one and Vash? He should be insulted, but they’re not wrong. “Don’t get killed. It’d be awful inconvenient.”
Knives can appreciate that, at least. There’s no false pretense of giving a shit. What does offend him, though, is that he can see out of the corner of his left eye that the girl is smiling. What about this is funny? What is there to smile about when Vash is at death’s doorstep? She reaches for him again, and this time he is powerless to block her.
Her skin is so cold it makes him shiver. Or maybe he’s just feverish? Knives didn’t even know he could run a fever. The way she takes hold of him so gently gives him goosebumps. What in the world? After everything he’s done, she’s not being cruel or rough with him? She’s insane as well as a coward, then. It’s the only explanation. His instincts are at war with the effect of her contact. He’s repulsed by the knowledge that a lower life form is daring to touch him without permission. And yet, her cool hands soothe the burning feeling running through his veins. When she releases him, he almost wishes she hadn’t.
When she calls out for the others- who she had just moments ago sent away- she’s loud enough to startle him. “Uh, guys? I’m going to need your help with something!” The mostly even tone doesn’t cover up the current of panic underneath. Help with something? The gears’ in Knives exhausted, pain-addled brain are turning to no avail. Is she finally putting him down?
“I’m going to check one more thing on your arm,” she announces, hovering her arm just above it in warning. Well, if she was going to kill him, she probably wouldn’t announce her every move. She rotates his arm. Even the slow movement sends waves of pain radiating through him. He slips back and forth through semi-consciousness as she wipes blood away from his arm, presumably to check the dart wounds there.
“Vash- what would your brother have been shot with that would slow his healing factor and make him drowsy?”
Drowsy? Knives would laugh if he could do so without his lungs bursting apart. He’s a little more than drowsy. Given how he’s reacting positively to a human touching him, add delirious into the mix too.
“There isn’t any kind of poison made specifically for pl-” Knives bites his own tongue before his idiot brother’s words can get away from him. “-for people like us,” Vash corrects. Knives really has to do everything in this gas station.
“Do you have any weaknesses?” The girl is starting to sound frantic. Is she actually worried for Vash?
When she removes her hand from his arm, there’s a sickening peeling sound as it comes away coated in his blood. He hears the other two enter the room. Even for Knives’ pain tolerance, this is all getting to be too much. He wishes they would hurry, if only for Vash’s sake so he doesn’t have to endure this any longer.
“I- the only thing I can think of is that too much of anything human can make us sick. It’s hard to explain. Things that affect the nervous system act differently on us.”
The older one fills in the gaps in their information. “They hit him with tranqs.”
Knives assumes he means tranquilizers. They’re not common, as the ingredients are hard to come by. It’s not something anyone has ever had the gall to use on him before. He’s glad he didn’t leave any survivors, as far as he was aware. It’s not a weakness he would like to become public knowledge.
The girl shifts nervously. “And we can’t do anything without an antidote except...”
“...wait it out,” Vash finishes.
Before Knives’ mind can spiral into a panic over their suggestion that they leave him like this, Vash scoots closer to him so that he’s crouched near his shoulder. His proximity brings a small measure of comfort. Fear and poison mix in a painful slurry in his body. Each beat of his heart feels like a gunshot straight to the chest. He wants it to end, he needs them to do something, anything. He’s so out of it he can barely even remember what his injuries are. All he knows is everything hurts, and he-
The older one moves. He’s pulled something metal out of his pocket- a knife. Ordinarily, a weapon like that wouldn’t even have a chance of piercing his skin. But they could kill him easily in his current state. He’s not sure if they know that, so he hopes his bluff will be enough to dissuade them from trying.
“Come near me with that and you’ll wish you were dead.” He tries to make his voice sound threatening, but he’s aware it’s nothing close to that. He tries to sit up and fails, proving to them that he can’t even move to back up his words. Anger, fear- for himself and for Vash, helplessness, they all react to create a caustic, ugly mixture that races through his veins.
Then he feels Vash’s hands rest on his shoulders and his hair brush against his head as Vash leans down. The storm in him quiets the way it does only for Vash. “Nai, I don’t think there’s any way of getting around this. They have to take the bullets out before your skin heals over them. We don’t have anything to give you for it. I’m so sorry-”
Panic overtakes him and tendrils of sharp weapons spring instinctively from his back. No, no, this can’t be the plan they came up with. If they don’t kill him or Vash from the pain, there’s no guarantee he’ll be able to control himself and not slice one of them open from reflex while they’re trying to perform their crude butchery on him.
Knives looks at the reporter with the knife. He doesn’t look like a man with medical training. He can’t let them just carve into him. They could both die from this. He doesn’t trust them. He doesn’t trust any of them except the drop of faith he has left in Vash. As he’s considering whether he should just take his chances and heal on his own and rip the bullets out later on his own, he feels Vash’s hands on the side of his head, comforting and steady.
“I’m going to be with you the whole time, Nai. I don’t know if I can stay awake through it, it’s already really hard. But I’ll be right next to you. Roberto’s pulled plenty of bullets out of me. He knows what he’s doing, and he’s fast. Then you can go to sleep and it’ll just be a memory tomorrow.” Vash pulls Knives into his lap, and he feels his heart melt just a little. It’s kinder words than Vash has ever said to him. For him, Knives can make it through this.
“I’m missing something,” the one who is supposed to be leading the operation says.
Vash addresses Roberto, speaking quickly. “The tranquilizers messed up his healing so he was actually able to incur damage. We need to get out any bullets still in him before his body catches up and heals over them.”
Roberto grabs something and rummages through it, landing with a heavy thunk on his left side. All the while, Vash’s hands running through his hair keep his fear at bay. He doesn’t know where this newfound compassion came from. Perhaps it’s just pity, and it’ll be gone in the morning. That, or this is all one last wonderful dream before death finally claims him. He’ll enjoy it while it lasts, though.
The drunkard sighs and quickly lays out a terrifying array of instruments, rags, and water bowls. “Well this’ll just be a picnic, won’t it.” Again, Knives appreciates that at least one of them doesn’t sugarcoat things. He could see himself getting along with this one. No bullshit- that’s a rare quality in a human. It’s one of the reasons why he was drawn to Wolfwood.
Vash’s fingers twitch. “Roberto- not the time,” he says harshly. It’s the tone Knives is most familiar with, unfortunately. At least for once it’s not directed at him.
The girl readjusts impatiently. “Go around to his other side. I need you to help me hold him down so Roberto can do this as quickly as possible,” she says, pointing out of Knives’ line of sight at who he assumes is Wolfwood. “And grab me a rag, something to stop him from biting his tongue.”
Ah, so this will be loads of fun just like the reporter said. Knives can hardly wait.
“Second one’s for Vash,” Wolfwood says in response to a quizzical look from the girl as she catches two cloths. Vash takes one for himself and carefully situates the other in Knives’ mouth, as though scared Knives is going to bite him.
There’s the click of a lighter and a small flame out of the corner of his eyes. Vash is keeping his head straight so he can’t clearly see what Roberto is up to, and he wonders if it was intentional. It’s helping with his anxiety. He focuses on the rise and fall of Vash’s chest behind him and tries to match his slow, steady breathing. His lungs hurt too much for it to be even, but the effort helps his mental state.
The girl looks at him, and he’s again struck by the way she looks at him. There’s fear, for sure. She would be a fool to not have some measure of it even while he’s incapacitated. But he finds less disgust than he expected, and no matter how much he searches her face, he can’t make out hatred. It puzzles him enough that it’s a useful distraction from Roberto’s preparations. There’s a bit of pity, but that’s also not the primary emotion he sees on her. Few enough people have ever looked at him with compassion that he honestly isn’t sure if he would recognize it on anyone other than Vash. Is that what it is? Is he just seeing things? She’s interesting enough that he resolves to keep an eye on her after all this is over.
The girl puts a hand on his leg. She learned her lesson about him startling easily. In any other circumstance, he would be offended about being treated so delicately, but now he appreciates it deeply.
“I’m going to move over you to stop you from kicking, if I can. Stay as still as possible. The less you move, the faster we can get this done.”
She doesn't need to tell him twice. He just wishes they would get this over with. Her tone combined with Vash’s proximity lulls him into as peaceful of a state as it’s possible to achieve given the situation. She straddles his right leg and keeps her hands near his left side. Then there’s an unannounced touch on his chest. He doesn’t recall saying Wolfwood was allowed to touch him. His skin prickles even with the barrier of the suit at the surprise contact, rejecting the sheer amount of human presence surrounding him as well as infecting his flesh from the inside.
Roberto makes an irritated sound as he pulls some other instrument of torture out of the bag. “Hold him down harder than that,” he says gruffly. “I don’t want to get my jaw broken because you were scared of being tough on him.”
Knives stands corrected. This one, actually, is not a moron. He’s seen enough of what people can do when backed into a corner to know that even half-dead, Knives shouldn’t be underestimated. Good- it’ll make this all go smoother if he has his head on straight. Hopefully faster, too, if he has a no-nonsense attitude about it and doesn’t slow down for something as stupid as pity. Wolfwood shifts so that he’s using his body weight to hold Knives down just as he feels another hand on his left side. He wishes they could do this shit without touching him. One human laying their bloodstained hands on him was already too much, but three? Knives feels like he’s going to explode.
The reporter gives him a sympathetic look as he grabs a tool that Knives decides not to look at. “Wish I could say we aren’t going to hurt you, but best I’ve got is I’ll be as quick about this as possible.”
He sees a glint of something metal moving towards his ribs and inhales sharply.
No matter how much he thought he was prepared for this, it’s worse than he could have ever imagined. Getting shot in the heat of battle was one thing, but now all his attention is on every movement of the knife. It burns and he can feel the pain down to his bones. He tries to keep it together. It’s his heart that feels like it’s breaking the most when he hears his own scream come out of Vash’s mouth. Even through the gag, it’s still heart-wrenching and horrifying.
Wolfwood tries to chicken out, believing they’re killing Vash. The girl orders Roberto to keep going. Knives will have to try to remember to thank her in the morning. To his credit, he manages not to kick anyone, although his muscles are spasming out of his control. Throughout the mind-shattering agony, Vash and the girl’s hands on him give him the will to not embarrass himself by begging for death. They’re grounding, but he doesn’t know how much more of this he can take.
He doesn’t realize he’s clenched his left hand so tightly that his nails are drawing blood until she rests her hand over his. The touch is so soft compared to the burning, stabbing pains ripping the rest of him apart that he manages to open his eyes.
“First one’s out.”
That was just one? He writhes in pain, wishing Roberto would just drive the knife into his skull. The girl wraps her hand more snugly around his, drawing his attention to the feeling there rather than the fire running through him. He focuses on her, trying to tune out all sensation other than the feeling of her hand on his and where her body is perched on his leg. She prods at his knuckles gently.
“You can sleep after this. I’ll get you a drink, whatever you want- shoot, I’ll go worm riding with you. Just get through this,” she pleads.
He’s not sure if she’s speaking to him or Vash. Her eyes are closed as if she’s praying. Although the words might not be for him, he reaches out for them through the haze. This girl is like an anchor. He feels like if she lets go of him, his body will unravel and burst apart at the seams. There’s fresh agony that he didn’t even know was possible. He tries to focus on her words, to roll them around in his brain and listen to the echo. He doesn’t know what worm riding is, but the idea of doing something, anything, reminds him that this hell is temporary. When he hears Roberto say the second one is done, he’s not sure if it’s even real or if he’s hearing things.
He wants to beg them to just kill him, but he can’t even speak. He feels like every nerve in his body is being flayed open.
The girl is moving her thumb in circles over his hand. Her movements are slow and repetitive like a mantra. His focus once again goes to her. He’s not sure why, exactly, but he trusts her enough to uncurl his hand. It feels like if he moves even an inch, if he relaxes any part of his body, that it will surely kill him. But he doesn’t die. The girl takes his hand and holds him tight. When Roberto’s knife targets a third spot, he squeezes with as much force as he knows a human of her size could take without crushing something permanently.
The pain reaches a crescendo. Surely, this is hell. This is retribution, his judgment for all the souls he’s reaped- justified or not. He died out in the sand dunes, and this is what eternity feels like.
He’s shaking with pain now. She places her other hand on top of their clasped ones, running her cool fingers over his burning skin. Every touch from this strange girl who doesn’t fear him as much as she should feels like a cure, and he thinks that this must be real, then. It can’t be the afterlife, because why would there be an angel in hell?