Trigun Fan Fiction ❯ Eyes of Heaven ❯ Eyes of Heaven ( One-Shot )

Started: 3/26/2003

Finished: 6/25/2003

A/N: Whew! I thought I'd never finish this!

Eyes of Heaven

Sand stretches endless and unchanging in all directions; a dusty mirror of the scorched blue sky above. Twin suns, the unforgiving eyes of heaven, glare down at the beat-up truck traversing the desert below. The driver scans the sand ahead of the vehicle through the streaked, sand-scarred glass of the windshield, as if looking for landmarks; his black duster is severe against his pale skin, the harshness accentuated by the blonde hair pulled into a tight ponytail at the nape of his neck.

The man drives the truck on reflex; his eyes do not scan the landscape, but rather his memories, and the imaginary faces of the people who count on him, the people he is on his way home to now. Slowly, as time passes, his thoughts turn darker, further inward; his losses, his failures, his sins; one-by-one begin they begin to scream for attention within his mind.

As he begins to wonder if it will really be such a loss if he just stops the truck and lets the desert have him he is jolted from his thoughts by the unexpected sight of a person standing at the side of the road, holding out a hand in the universal request for a ride. The driver stops the car next to the hitchhiker, squinting into the sunlight to get a better idea of his prospective passenger's features, but gives up when he is able to discern little more than that the person is male, due to the shadows cast by the hood of the hitchhiker's gray cloak.

The hitchhiker opens the passenger door and gets in.

"Where are you headed?" The driver asks, as the truck continues across the desert.

"I've already reached my destination," the passenger replies, pushing back his hood and turning to face the driver, whose aquamarine eyes widen with shock. "It's been a long time, Tongari."

The truck slides across the sand as the driver slams on the breaks.

Silence fills the cab of the truck like water and stretches on like the sand and sky, until it is finally broken by a whispered word.

"Wolfwood..."

"Of course," the black-haired man replies. "Who else would I be?" Vash just stares at him, gaping. "Are you going to drive, or are we just going to sit here until this truck rusts out from under us?"

As if in slow motion, Vash's head turns back to the windshield and he depresses the gas peddle again. The truck resumes it's journey.

Vash looks out the windshield without seeing; his hands grip the steering-wheel like an anchor, knuckles whitening. All he is aware of is the gunmetal-gray eyes boring into him from the passenger side of the truck. The scrape of a lighter brings Vash back to himself.

"You're dead," the blond man says quietly.

"I know," Wolfwood replies, lighting his cigarette. "Your point?"

"So...so...you can't be here!"

"Do you want me to leave?"

"...no..."

"I didn't think so."

"..."

"It's really not your color." Wolfwood comments.

"Eh?!" Vash blinks, surprised.

"Black," the priest says pointedly, "is not your color. And your hair looks awful."

"Thanks," Vash replies sarcastically. "You look terrible too." Wolfwood chuckles.

"It worked though." He smiles at Vash's bewildered look. "You don't look like you're about to hyperventilate anymore."

"...yeah," the former wanted man says. "I guess you're right."

"I was serious about the color though."

Vash watches Wolfwood smoke out of the corner of his eye for a few minutes.

"Those things are bad for you, you know."

Wolfwood gives him a bemused look.

"That didn't work when I was alive, Tongari; it certainly won't work now."

Vash's expression darkens suddenly and he slams on the breaks and turns to face Wolfwood.

"Damn it, Nick!!! What the hell were you thinking, going off and dying like that!?!"

Wolfwood sighs. "Vash--"

"I saw your wounds after... They weren't that bad!!! If you'd just said something... But no! You were so stubborn you just had to go off and bleed to death!!!"

"Stubbornness had nothing to do with it!!!"

The two glare at each other for almost a full minute, then Wolfwood looks away.

"What else was I supposed to do, Vash?" The priest asks. "Follow the order to kill you? Refuse and let your brother kill the kids at the orphanage?" He looks back at his companion, who is now wearing an expression of surprise. "I had no other choice; just as Knives intended."

"Knives planned that?"

"Yes," Wolfwood acknowledges. "Actually I'm surprised he never boasted about it."

"But, why?"

"You mean aside from the fact that he hates humans, doesn't tolerate disobedience or failure, and is psychotically possessive of you?" Wolfwood gives him a Look.

"Oh, yeah." Vash looks sheepish for a moment, then closes his eyes with a sigh and drops his head into his hands. "So basically it's my fault."

"No," Wolfwood replies, reaching out and tilting up Vash's chin. "It was my choice to act on my feelings for you; I knew perfectly well that I was as good as signing my own death warrant, but by then I didn't care."

"How are you here?"

"Does it matter? I doubt I could explain it anyway."

"I suppose it would be too much to hope that you will stay." Vash turned his face away, breaking the contact.

"I'm sorry."

"How long?"

"Not long enough," Wolfwood whispered. "We can keep talking, or..."

"I think I...I'd like to talk."

Wolfwood looks slightly surprised, then he smiles gently.

"Alright." He flicks his cigarette out the open window, then turns in his seat so that his back is against the door. "C'mere, Tongari." He holds out one hand; hesitantly Vash takes it, feeling Wolfwood's palm, warm and calloused, against his own, and allows Wolfwood to pull him to lie against him. "Is this alright?"

"Yeah," Vash replies, closing his eyes as he rests his head against Wolfwood's chest. "This is fine."

Wolfwood smiles as he pulls the band out of Vash's hair.

However, despite the warmth of Wolfwood's skin, Vash quickly notices something wrong.

"What is it?" Wolfwood asks, when Vash suddenly grows rigid in his arms. Vash looks up at him with a pained expression. "Ah, I see..." Wolfwood strokes back the long hair that has fallen into Vash's face. "What were you expecting? I'm dead. Why would I have a heartbeat?"

"Nick..."

"We were going to talk, weren't we?"

Vash sighs and relaxes again.

"I wanted to thank you, by the way," Wolfwood said. "For taking care of the orphanage. I had a feeling you would."

"You know about that?"

"I've been keeping an eye on you."

"...then...you know about Legato...that I killed him..."

"Legato…wanted to die. He'd wanted to for as long as I had known him. His death was practically suicide, you were just his instrument of choice; he didn't leave you any alternatives. Even if you had somehow managed not to kill him, it would only have been a matter of time before he killed himself."

"That doesn't change the facts."

"Put it aside, Tongari; it's not something you need to carry anymore."

"I can't."

"Oh?"

"The things I carry with me…without them, I don't exist."

"Hmm? Being honest now, are we?" Wolfwood asks in an amused tone.

"You choose the things you carry, Vash. You carried Rem with you for a very long time, but you finally let go of her, didn't you? But that doesn't mean that you've forgotten her or that she is no longer influences you are and the choices you make, only that you don't carry the burden of her death anymore.

"She's very proud of you," Wolfwood tells him. "You do know that, don't you?"

"...I suppose...part of me does..."

"There's really nothing about you not to be proud of. You believe with all your heart the things you try to tell people, and you live those beliefs with such passion that even those who think you're foolish are in awe of you. Yes, you were forced to kill Legato; there are times when our ideals clash with reality, and idealism just isn't the stronger of the two forces.

"Even then, you were strong enough to step back across the line and continue following your beliefs. Do you have any idea how few people there are in the world who can do that?

"I couldn't, and not for lack of trying."

"Wolfwood..."

"I was just a kid when I killed the man I called `father'. He was an abusive bastard, and that was how I rationalized what I had done. Chapel took me on as his student and taught me how to be a better killer. He took care of me, fed me and protected me. I killed the people he told me to out of gratitude, and, at first, that was reason enough; but after a while I couldn't justify the blood I spilled anymore, no excuse could reduce the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach every time I pulled the trigger.

"One day I went for a walk to clear my head, and I just didn't stop walking. I woke up in a church-turned-orphanage just outside of December; the priest had found me passed out half-dead on his way to the town to get supplies. I don't know exactly how long I'd been walking, but it must have been a long time; December wasn't the town I'd started out from, you see."

"I stayed at the orphanage and helped the priest and the nuns as best I could. I had a very hard time relating to the children at first; but I came to love them and to want more than anything to protect them.

"The priest was very old, and when he fell ill he appointed me as a priest in his stead, though I didn't have any `priestly' qualities. He told me that even though I was a complete ruffian, I had the most important requirement for that particular post, my love for the children, and even if I was in every other respect wrong for the job, that love would be enough to make up for it. He passed away shortly afterward.

"The orphanage had always survived on money that the priest had inherited combined with money donated from the citizens of December, but those funds were quickly running out. I tried getting work in town, but the jobs I managed to get didn't pay nearly enough to support everyone at the church, so I left in the hopes of finding a better job in another town, while doing the `Traveling Confessional' gig in between. The jobs didn't pan out as well as I'd hoped, so I turned to bounty hunting.

"The first ten or so bounties I caught I managed to bring in alive, but inevitably I ran into a situation only one of us was coming out alive. I didn't even hesitate. Until then I had been avoiding the larger bounties due to the danger level, but once I had killed I realized that it, as long as I was prepared to kill, I could go after the big fish, and I did. Naturally, I started to rationalize again, and it was easier than ever; I was doing it for the children…"

Wolfwood trails off, looking down at Vash who watches him with pitying aquamarine eyes.

"What happened next?" Vash asks. Wolfwood smiles as he is reminded of the children asking him the same question in exactly the same tone when he would tell them bedtime stories.

"I eventually caught the attention of Chapel, who must have decided that I was squandering my talents, because he turned up one day to offer me a job that he said would better match my skills and would pay much more than all my bounties put together. I refused him point-blank, without even bothering to hear him out. Killing wanted men was one thing, assassination was another.

"I left the town I was in immediately, but as soon as I had arrived in the next town he showed up again with Legato, who made me an offer I couldn't refuse: I could take their offer and be paid well enough to support the sisters and children easily, or I could refuse and Legato would kill them all. Then Legato proceeded to use one of the town's children to demonstrate his abilities, just in case I thought he was bluffing. The rest you know."

"No, I don't," Vash replies seriously. "I know what I experienced, but I don't know what happened from your side."

"I'll tell you the short version; we only have a limited amount of time left.

"When I first heard that Vash the Stampede was the target, I felt like a weight had lifted off my shoulders; I had heard all the rumors and, as you know, they pretty much painted you as a monster, someone I wouldn't have any problems with killing, assuming that was the plan.

"It wasn't Legato who gave me my orders, it was your brother. First I was ordered to make contact with you, and so I did, and I couldn't have been more surprised. You couldn't have been more different from the rumors unless you'd been a woman on top of it. You were childlike and world-weary at the same time; you were kind and crazy and innocent, and just so fucking pure that it hurt more and more every day just to be near you, because it cast all my impurities, everything I hated about myself, in sharp relief. So I ran away."

"I had figured out that I was supposed to just stay with you until I received my next order, but I feigned ignorance, saying that Knives had only told me to make contact. I was ordered to return and to guide you wherever your brother decided you should go. I figured that I had had enough time to sort myself out and that now that I knew what to expect, I could keep you from affecting me so strongly.

"God, I could not have been more wrong.

"You got under my defenses so quickly and effortlessly that I didn't even notice until it was too late.

"I fell for you. Hard.

"I tried to deny it, to bury my feelings. I was afraid of what would happen if I acted on them; your twin was so possessively and jealously obsessed with you that I had no doubt that he would kill anyone who got close to you, never mind someone who betrayed him in doing so. But I couldn't stop feeling the way I did, and my feelings only got stronger the harder I tried to push them away."

"I noticed." Vash smiles impishly. "It was impossible not to, you were always looking at me; sometimes you'd have this dreamy look on your face and other times…" Vash's smile deepens. "Other times you looked like you wanted to ravish me on the nearest flat surface. I had no idea what could be holding you back; sometimes I worried that it was my body, but you hadn't seemed at all disgusted by it, unlike those insurance girls."

"No; because, unlike those girls, I understood immediately that every one of those scars represented a time that you had put the life of a mortal enemy before your own. If anything the scars make you more beautiful, because they show how much you're willing to suffer for the sake of others." Vash's smile turns to awe at Wolfwood's words.

"I…Wow…"

"I never told you that, did I?" Wolfwood asked, with a slightly sad smile. "So many things left unsaid."

As the sorrow sinks back into Vash's expression, Wolfwood continues, "I eventually realized that even if it meant dying, I had to act on my feelings. So, I kissed you.

"God, that one kiss alone was more than worth loosing my life over.

"Being with you was heaven; I could almost ignore the feeling of my own death creeping up on me; I was surprised every day that it didn't come, I couldn't believe that it was possible that Knives hadn't noticed yet. Then I was ordered to kill you.

"It was a perfect set up; I couldn't kill you because I loved you, and I couldn't not kill you because I loved the children. There was only one way out; but then, I already knew that loving you would be the death of me, so I had no trouble recognizing and taking that path."

Silence stretches between them for a few minutes.

"I wasn't just imagining things when I heard you yelling at me to use the Cross Punisher, was I?" Vash asks finally.

"Of course not," Wolfwood replies. "I never left your side, and I never will."

He feels Vash's hand tighten in the fabric of his cloak.

"It's time for you to go, isn't it?"

"Yes," Wolfwood whispers, his storm-gray eyes looking into his lover's tear-filled aquamarine ones with regret.

"Will I see you again?"

"Not for a very long time."

"Can't I just go with you now?"

"No, Tongari," Wolfwood says. "You still have a lot to do here. Gunsmoke needs you right now."

"I need you!" Tears escape Vash's eyes, running quickly down his face and falling to disappear in Wolfwood's cloak.

"No you don't." Wolfwood says, wiping away the tear-tracks "You're so much stronger than you think."

"It's not fair," Vash whispers, closing his eyes.

"I know," Wolfwood murmurs, before claiming the blonde gunman's lips.

Vash awakens, sprawled out across the seat of his truck.

"A...dream?" he asks himself, quietly.

But his hair is still unbound, it's tie missing entirely, and the smell of cigarette smoke lingers.

Vash closes his eyes, and remembers what Wolfwood said to him.

~ "I never left your side, and I never will."~

"I love you, Nick."

"I know."

Sand stretches endless and unchanging in all directions; a dusty mirror of the warm blue sky above. Twin suns, the knowing eyes of heaven, watch over the beat-up truck traversing the desert below. The black-clad driver, his long blonde hair dancing in the wind, scans the desert ahead for the next landmark on the road home.