Trigun Fan Fiction ❯ Buried in the Lies ❯ One-Shot

Title: Buried in the Lies

Fandom: Trigun

Pairing: Vash/Wolfwood (implied) (It probably could be taken as a gen-fic, as well, though that's not how I intended it)

Rating: PG

Word Count: 342

Disclaimer: Trigun was created and currently belongs to someone who is NOT me.

Permission to Archive: <a href=http://www.livejournal.com/users/15minuteficlet>15 Minute Ficlet</a>, all others, please ask.

Notes: Written in response to Challenge #...uh...<a href= http://www.livejournal.com/community/15minuteficlets/19873.html#cutid1>6 1.5</a>? (it's between 61 and 62, and wasn't numbered...o_O) on the 15 minute ficlet community on Livejournal.

How do you take back the destruction of an entire city?

How do you wash away the guilt?

How do you redeem yourself in the eyes of the people who think you're a monster and will hear no different?

When you risk truly befriending no one and leave everyone you meet behind you in the dust, you settle on the truth you find buried in the lies of the one man who won't let you just vanish into the desert sands.

Nicholas D. Wolfwood-- the man who knows too much. But even he would never understand the truth.

I'm sure he's noticed by now that I'm a little too fast, my reflexes, a little too good. That I heal just a little too quickly. I don't even think the airheaded goofball routine fools him anymore.

But he's got secrets of his own, a past as hidden by half-truths as my own, and it seems that he's accepted some unspoken agreement that he won't press the issue if I keep my own questions to a minimum. He'll let me come to him if I decide to tell him anything, and he expects the same from me.

I can accept that. And I'm grateful for it.

The truth is that I really <i>am</i> a monster-- look at what I'm capable of...

There's something locked inside of me- a rage, a darkness. I've heard people whisper "Diablo," and other variants of "demon" when I listen for it.

The Red Devil. Vash the Stampede, the Humanoid Typhoon.

Sure, most of it is just word of mouth, buried in legend, but there's some truth to it.

Certainly, I'm not human, no matter how much humanity is in me. Certainly, I'm not fit to walk among them- death follows in my shadow, now matter how much I try to stop it.

But he still follows.

And on nights like these, curled up next to him for warmth in this outcropping of rock, the fire long since gone out, I'm glad.

Not just for company, but for <i>his</i>, specifically.