Chapter 4: Inside Out
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“You lied to me!” Vash’s fist hit the dry dirt, and in return it crumbled. “When I needed you the most, you lied to me!” Vash shouted, and then he looked up at his brother.
Despite his anger, his eyes were beginning to water again.
Knives stared at Vash, showing no sign of even hearing his cry.
“People are dead!” He yelled. “And, and you,” he stammered, studying Knives. “You killed him didn’t you?” You killed Bandera!”
“He was in the way, and he would have killed me.”
“When?” Vash asked.
“Before I told Clint to find Meryl.” He answered, emotionless. “Before I found you… I shot him, through the head. He jumped me.”
“He had a dagger, and you had a gun. There was no smoke, no bombs; who do you think had the upper hand?” Vash asked.
He didn’t answer.
“He wouldn’t have killed you. You shot him because you were afraid of getting hurt!” Vash stood up.
“I wasn’t afraid.” He answered simply.
“You hate pain, can’t tolerate it, so you killed him. You were selfish!”
“Don’t tell me what I am! I know far better than you do.” Knives raged.
“It’s not right…”
Knives’ hand wrenched Vash’s neck, and pulled him closer. His bloodshed hand was warm. They could each feel one another’s pulse, breathe, and sensed the collision of their diverse emotions. Vash stared into Knives’ blue hateful eyes; they were growing a colder grey again… just slightly. Knives’ glared into Vash’s delicate aqua eyes; shiny, hurtful…he couldn’t stand them.
The uproar had caught a lot of eyes. When Knives pressed his gun to his brother’s head, those watching cringed and held their breath. Need more blood be spilled?
“Don’t tell me what to do.” He whispered, fiercely.
Knives pushed Vash to the ground, and turned on his heel.
Quickly moving out of the way as not to be the next victim, the crowd of people let Knives pass through in silence.
Knives stripped himself of the redcoat as he went until it fell to the ground, lonely in the dirt.
Starring up at the deep blue sky, Vash watched the stars begin to disappear.
He could hear crying.
“You’re okay, right? Well… I mean…” Clint stumbled over his words as his face came into Vash’s view, blocking the stars and sky.
Vash looked at Clint’s sunglasses.
Clint watched the terrible tears roll down the outlaw’s face.
Meryl stared at the two of them, and for the first time, in a long time, she wanted to comfort Vash; just to get those cutting tears to stop. To get that smile back, the one he was supposed to have on. She had felt this feeling loads of time before… when she loved…but she never had the guts to do it. She was afraid to; she used to face guns, but hugging him was something she could never do… even more so now… even as friends, the ring on her left hand prevented it as well as the blond boy that Meryl was till sure was Vash’s son.
“Here,” Clint lifted Vash’s head, and rested it on his leg. “So you can see Meryl,” he whispered, and then called “Meryl, would you- Vash is in bad shape…”
She was pulled out of her trance.
“There are first aides in each of the defense vehicles,” an employee from the Sandsteamer told her.
“Thank you,” she nodded.
“Under the driver’s seat.” He added.
To see Meryl. What was this kid talking about? Yes, it would help, but he really shouldn’t think that way; she’s engaged after all. Though, he wouldn’t turn down the offer. He began wondering if Clint was very keen, or if his interest in her was obvious.
Meryl put herself and the first aide next to Vash. Opening it, she gazed over Vash. She hadn’t done this in ages, but she still remembered the procedure (how could she forget?) she bit her lip before pulling out a needle, and thread.
“I know you hate stitches,” She smiled wearily. “But it’s a must.”
It was awkward for her to talk in such a situation while Vash’s eyes were full of hurt.
Vash looked away from the woman he couldn’t have. He couldn’t stand blood, and he couldn’t watch the sewing of skin covered in it.
His hand dug into the dirt as the needle poked through; it hurt, but was nothing compared to his emotional pain.
After watching the dirt crumble in Vash’s finger, Clint looked up at Meryl, she noticed it too. As the made eye contact, she felt a sort of pressure from him, and to Clint’s disappointment, she looked away.
Although Clint was afraid of being suspiciously close, he filled the part Meryl was supposed to, and grabbed Vash’s hand still disappointed.
Meryl wondered how Clint had the nerve to ask (non-verbally) such a thing when she already had Charles, and anyway, if she didn’t she need both hands to stitch him up.
“I’m sorry,” Meryl told Vash. She didn’t want to say anything, but yet she wanted to express her sympathy. “He’s still like that after nearly five years?”
“You say that like it’s a long time.”
“It is.”
“Yes, I suppose to you it is.” He looked back at the disappearing stars.
Meryl was quiet. She couldn’t expect Vash to understand how many changes were in those years, because for Vash it had been nothing more than a month. To them, Knives really hadn’t been with him all that long; their battle had lasted over 130 years, and with all the time she spent pondering it, she still couldn’t relate. Her whole life would be a sentence in a book. Would he forget her? No, he never forgot Rem, and even if Meryl didn’t have such a big effect on Vash, he hasn’t failed to forget any friend. That’s why it was better… for her to be with Charles; they would grow old together, and die together.
***
Knives glared at the rising suns.
Most everyone was saved, wasn’t that enough?
He picked up a rock, and chucked it towards the rising suns.
How could anyone love these humans? How could Vash possibly care for even people such as Bandera? It’s disgusting. It was sure to be his fall.
Knives couldn’t stand the expectations of Vash. How could someone be so confused? Feel so comfortable, that sick-
He even trusted Knives…
“You lied to me!”
Knives found it funny in a way…so funny that he actually took the time to laugh out loud.
As he stared at the wasteland, he realized he could leave. It would be easy. All he had to do was walk. He could start all over again. Gather more demons, battle out his brother. History did have a way of repeating itself.
Like today… only it was that insurance girl instead of Rem, and all the people she left behind, died. Just as would be if Rem had come with them. Nothingness. Death. Besides that the only thing different was he, Knives, didn’t get involved. Or did he?
“You lied to me!”
Yes, he lied. He lied, and therefore it was his fault they had died, his fault he shot Bandera. He’ll take all the credit, gladly, like a hunting trophy… the way it’s always been. Men, women, children, yes death… they were fated to die. It wasn’t his fault; everything was and is Vash’s fault. His fault they were still here, his fault Knives hadn’t created an Eden.
Who chooses right and wrong? IS there right or wrong? Or is it just strength and weak?
“You lied to me!”
Why not leave?
He looked over the desert, the dry dirt, flat and boring. It was exhausting just to look towards the horizon. Nothing was out there, only dirt.
It would be easy.
“Hey Knives?”
He whirled around at lightning-speed.
That punk was here. Why? It was obvious he was on Vash’s side.
Knives pulled out his gun and aimed it as those annoying sunglasses. He wasn’t planning to shoot him, really.
“We’re leaving soon.” Clint answered.
“Good, now leave.”
Slightly relieved, he took the invitation, it was hard not to with a gun pointed to your head.
***
Because of Vash’s condition, he was volunteered to lie across the ground of the automobile and ironically, Clint was the only person Knives would sit next to, Meryl sat squished between Clint and a very large mustache man that was trying to fall asleep restlessly.
She had managed to find a paper, and pen (from who knew where) and was fiddling with her precious diamond in her fingers, while staring down at a blank letter.
She wanted to write Charles, but didn’t know where to start. The biggest problem was that she hadn’t told him anything about Vash, and then she didn’t want him to worry about her… although he would anyway.
Meryl caught Vash watching her, and they both looked away immediately.
“I don’t want to loose you again!”
It ran through Meryl’s head.
What did he mean “again”? He’s the one that told her to leave. Or was it something more? Obviously it was crucial for her to get in that vehicle.
***
Clint started coughing that evening. He couldn’t stop himself.
“Are you alright?” Meryl asked.
Clint continued to cough, but nodded.
Mind ticking, Knives watched him out of the corner of his eye.
Clint’s eyes watered.
“Here,” Meryl handed him a canteen of water.
He took it gratefully, and between coughs, let it soar down his cracking dry throat, with hopes it would retain the water in some way that the dry dirt of Gunsmoke did.
“Are you sure you’re okay? You’re really white.”
“I’ll be fine,” he whipped his mouth of excess water.
Clint glanced from Vash, who was asleep on the ground, to Knives, who was now watching him with a still expression that had some sort of suspicion hidden under it.
He rubbed his forehead as cold sweat went down his neck. Uncontrollably, his wet hand quivered as he searched his pockets until they found a small zip-locked plastic bag. Inside that bag were about a dozen large white pills. His hand feebly opened it, and just as clumsy, he let his fingers curl around one of them.
“What is that?” Meryl asked with suspicion.
“M- medication.”
“Oh.”
She watched him bring his hand back up to his mouth which swallowed the pill.
He closed his eyes, (although no one could tell) and took several deep breaths, coughing in between.
***
Vash and Knives scarcely spoke, but whenever they did, it was in arguments. Sometimes Knives would say such terrible things, it made Meryl’s blood curdle, and sent chills down her spine. She hated that man, and wondered how Vash had ever let him wear his beautiful red coat to impersonate him. He was nothing like Vash. He was an ugly image, even his name was ugly. Knives. It suited him perfectly; thousands of dagger flying through the air for murder, for blood lust, and one-by-one they cut into Vash.
Having heard such horrible things, Meryl, an innocent insurance girl, made up a “what if” story in her mind about killing him for everyone’s sake.
The ride to December wasn’t very bumpy (thankfully) but one must admit that it wasn’t very comfy, considering that these vehicles were built for the sake of protecting the Sandsteamer from crazy bandits and such, and not for luxurious vacations. If one was to describe it in one word, it would be hard. Possibly it was made so hard and uncomfortable so those protecting the Sandsteamer would rather stand up and keep a look out than sit and try to get very little sleep.
It was on this very hard ride that Meryl was reminded that she could run away from the chaos, murder, violence, and death anytime she wanted to, like it was nothing at all. Vash however, was fated to it. No matter how much he ached, running away could never be an option, for he was the only thing standing between life and death of civilization.
***
“Are you feeling better?” Meryl asked Clint as they wandered the streets of December. It was normally a very beautiful place, but because of the plant accident, it looked worn and rusty. The outskirts of December were filling up with sand, and the citizens left were less joyful.
“Yeah,” Clint answered.
“Car sick?” Vash asked.
Clint shook his head. “It happens to me quite a bit to be honest. I just get sick.
Knives watched Clint again.
“Vash, why don’t we just pick a hotel?” Meryl asked with a heavy sigh.
“A hotel? I’m looking for the hospital.”
“I was wondering why we walked passed so many…” She said under her breath.
When they finally came across a blue mail box, she let out another sigh, but of relief, and whipped out an envelope addressed to Charles Glenning in Sunset city.
Giving the letter a quick kiss, she let it drop through the slot on top of all the other letters inside.
(Might I take a moment and say, if you love Vash and Meryl together, you will thank me for not reciting what was in this letter, because it would tear you apart, and make you want to grab a shotgun and find this Charles once and for all.)
“The hospital is in the middle of the city,” Knives answered bitterly. “It’s obviously not down this street full of hotels. It would be much better suited by other medical businesses.”
Vash’s small limp slowed to a stop.
“Maybe we should have the doctors look at you,” Clint suggested.
“And you.” He answered.
“I don’t think the doctor can do much to help him,” Knives answered, looking down at the punk.
Abandoning his eyes to the ground, Clint suddenly didn’t feel so well again.
“Well,” Meryl sighed again, sensing tension. “We can decide when we get there.”
“I just want to see Stungun Millie,” Vash voiced, turning to face them. “So we better go in the right direction.”
“Now there’s a good idea,” Knives sneered with sarcasm.
Meryl caught herself glaring at him, and stopped before he could see. It wasn’t a very wise thing for her to be doing.
So, with another heave, they all started their way back up the street and across a few others, toward the center of December.
***
“Ms, Thompson?”
Millie sat up in bed. She wasn’t really sick anymore, but because of the city’s circumstances, she was forced to remain in the very plain white small square room until someone came with permission to get her out. The hospital had tried to make the room a little homier, because she had to be in it for so long, and there was a small dresser (full of empty pudding cups) with a mirror, some pictures, and a stack of newspapers and mail in the corner.
“How are you doing today, Stephen?” She asked the assistant, who had just walked in.
“Great,” he smiled, “and you have visitors.”
“Oh really?” She beamed.
Stephen nodded and left the room to usher the party into it.
“Meryl!” Millie gasped, and before it had reached the violet-haired insurance girl’s ears, Millie was hugging her.
Slowly, Millie’s eyes found a red coat, and followed it to the top of the broom head. “Vash!”
Smiling at the abnormally pale-skinned insurance girl, Vash noticed she had kept all her features, except for the fact that she was wearing a hospital gown.
She let go of Meryl.
“You big meanie! You never wrote Meryl!” She growled, and confronted Vash angrily.
Vash was so surprised with her tone and glare, he stepped back. His eyes were big.
“But I…” he stammered nervously.
Meryl actually felt herself going red.
“She was a wreck and you didn’t even tell her you cared! At least as a friend!”
“I was busy…?” Vash said, putting his hands up.
Unfortunately, this only made matters worse.
“Too busy? For Mer-“
Meryl cleared her throat. “Millie.” She held up her left hand.
Millie gasped at the glamorous ring, and just as capricious as Vash, she hugged the gunman. “Oh Vash, you did come through! I told Meryl you would come through!”
Meryl slapped her forehead with the palm of her hand, and like Vash, she had a sweat drop.
“When are you getting married?”
Even Knives, who was in a very bitter mood, started to snicker.
“Millie! I’m not engaged to that broom head!” Meryl cried.
Millie stopped hugging Vash, and blinked at him.
“Isn’t that the way life is?” Vash asked nervously, putting his hand behind his head. He was afraid Millie would start up again. “Early bird gets the worm…I guess. That Charles Glenning is a speedster.” He laughed.
“Charles Glenning?” Millie repeated, dumbfounded. “You’re not marrying Vash?”
“Me, and that broom head?” Meryl forced a laugh. “I’d have to keep him on a leash.”
“Here, we brought you pudding!” Vash put on a smile, trying, for now, to ignore Meryl’s last comment. He held the bag out with two hands.
“Oh thank you!” She took it and after knocking empty old cups of it to the ground, she put the bag on her dresser.
She looked up and spotted Clint, who seemed to be magically invisible until now.
“This is Clint,” Vash introduced, following her eyes.
“But I thought you only had one brother…”
“Oh no, we’re not related,” Vash insisted. “He’s just staying with us a little while.”
“Hello, I’m Millie Thompson! I used to work with Meryl, before I got sick.”
“Well, we were employees together, but before that we were partners,” Meryl explained.
“We worked against Vash.”
“We worked with Vash, Millie.”
“How do you do?” Millie grabbed his hand and shook it.
As a smile broke across Clint’s face, he answered, “It’s real nice to meet you.”
“Do you like pudding?”
“It’s pretty good.”
“How old are you?”
“I’m 14.”
“That’s wonderful!”
“Uh, Millie…what were you sick with?” Clint asked.
“The doctors didn’t know, I just got a lot of antibiotics.” She answered.
“Did you get high fevers?”
Millie nodded.
“Rashes and sores?”
“Yes.”
“Bumps in your throat?”
“Yes, how did you know?”
“My aunt had that.” He explained.
Vash turned to Meryl, and before he could ask “she did?” Clint urgently added “er- twice removed.”
“Oh.” Vash looked away.
How gullible can he get? Knives wondered.
“And you’re Knives,” Millie found Vash’s twin.
He didn’t say anything.
“How are you?”
Silence.
“How about we get you out of here?” Vash suggest, grasping her shoulder.
“Yeah, I’m sorry it took me so long, evidently our Sandsteamer blew up. I forgot what it was like to be with this broom head.” Meryl explained.
“I didn’t even notice,” Millie admitted. “You lose track of time when you’re here doing nothing for so long.”
“We’ll change that!” Clint declared.
“We already told the front desk,” Meryl assured, “but there are still some papers you need to sign.”
Millie took one last look of the plain white room; she had spent so much time in it, doing pretty much nothing. Nurses had planted and poked objects down her throat, and shots in her arms, but she did receive a nice card from her family once in a while, who had missed her letters since she had had nothing to write about but pudding and bed sheets.
“I do have a quite a lot of luggage…” Millie said to them.
“Good, Vash will carry it,” Meryl noted.
“Hey, he can’t carry that stuff in his condition!” Clint reacted.
“I can carry it, I haven’t had to carry anything in a long time,” Millie volunteered.
Once Millie was ready (with Clint’s help of carry quite a few odds and ends), and they had signed all the essentials, some of Millie’s best friends brought her back out into the sensation of city sunshine.