Chapter Text
“Remind me again why you punched the essentially immortal, super powerful crazy man?”
Meryl grumbled as she wiped at his face, useless with how his nose was still dripping blood. Not as much, anymore; his shirt was covered, and now they’d gotten it down to a trickle.
“Told you ya didn’t have to fuss about it. My face’s taken worse beatings.”
“Yes, but Mr. Vash quite likes your face.” Milly pointed out. “And we want to take good care of it.”
Nicholas rolled his eyes, but continued to let Meryl worry over him.
He was just a proxy for worrying about Vash, after all. And they all did that more than they could ever hope to find ways to express. This was a lot more constructive than, say, going and trying to track him down.
Or trying to beat the shit out of Knives.
Though, he had to say? It was cathartic, punching the bastard in the face. He only landed a couple of blows— he was outmatched in every way— but even still, he had a sense of satisfaction about it.
Sure, he was only alive because of Vash, but… well, he wasn’t going to look a gift thomas in the mouth.
“Hold still—“
She manhandled his face how she wanted, fretting over a couple bruises and a split lip like his guts were falling out. Quite literally. She’d seemed the same amount frantic the time Vash’s innards had made an outward appearance.
That was… not fun.
“I knew he wouldn’t really do shit to me. He knows Blondie’d take it too hard.”
“No excuse to pick fights you know you can’t finish.” Meryl insisted. “Stupid. And now we lost both of them! Knives could have stolen Vash away, for all we know! We could never see him again!”
“Relax, Lil’ Lady. It’ll be fine— ‘sides, I’ve got a feelin’ we’re not gettin’ off so easy.”
After all, he bet that, if they were leaving, to never see Vash again? Knives would make a stop to flay him alive, first. Funny how that thought managed to be reassuring.
“You sound awfully sure of yourself.”
“I’m pretty sure, Shortstack.”
“Then go on: explain.” She pressed her fingers against his nose, checking for the fifth time that it wasn’t broken. “I’ve got all day.”
“Well, it is the afternoon, so we only have about half of the day.” Milly frowned. “But that’s depends on when you count the day starting…”
“Fair, Milly— we’ve got time, then.”
“Not much to explain.” Nicholas shrugged. “I mean, I’m sure y’all heard a fair bit.”
“Yelling? Yes. Distinct words? No.” Meryl clarified. “Only little bits and pieces were even close to intelligible.”
He breathed a secret sigh of relief, at that.
“Alright, fight was stupid, really— Forks doesn’t like me, I don’t like him, neither of us like the other around Blondie much. Some… things got said. I crossed a line.” Nicholas swallowed his guilt, feeling shame burn in his face more than the soreness of bruises. “Needle Noggin wanted out of there, an’ I don’t blame him, but he wasn’t much in the shape for it. Stabby didn’t want him to leave, started threatenin,’ so I punched him. Bought Blondie time to slip out the window.”
“…and?”
“And what?”
“So you and Knives fought after that? What after that?”
“Well…”
Nicholas had been sitting on the bed which was, objectively, a terrible spot to be in. The best he had was grabbing the front of Knives’s shirt and dragging him down on his own way up, slamming his other fist into his jaw with what momentum he could get out of it.
Again, wasn’t great, but all he needed to be was a distraction.
So he held tight to the front of that shirt, latched on like a fighting dog with no chance of making it out alive. Like Jacob wrestling with god for the blessing of Vash making a safe escape.
And when he saw that glimpse of red, disappearing into the afternoon sun? He couldn’t help but smile, even as his face was slammed into the wall.
Hence: the bloody nose.
After that was a blur— he held onto that shirt until the fabric was wrenched from his hand.
When he woke up? They were both gone. Milly was lifting him up onto the bed, Meryl getting some water and the first aid kit.
“He bashed my face in an’ I passed out. Not much to say, Shortie.”
Her face scrunched, jaw clenched as she hefted herself up to sit on the bed with him. “While I have you here—“
“Don’t like the sound of that.”
“You knew. Back in December, you knew that it was Knives who killed those guys. You didn’t just suspect it— you knew.”
“I mean, I didn’t see him do it—“
“You know damn well what I mean, asshole.” She narrowed her eyes, jabbed her finger into his chest. “God, would it kill you guys to tell the truth? The first time?”
Probably.
“I told you— I wanted to give Blondie a chance to breathe.”
“And now it’s even worse because he wasn’t prepared.” Meryl pointed out. “God— you’re so frustrating.”
“…do you think Mr. Vash is alright?” Milly idled by the window, peeping through the slats of the shades. “He was pretty pale, this morning.”
He was. Pale and thin and shaky in a way that made Nicholas’s bones ache.
“Needle Noggin can handle himself. He’ll be fine.”
“Still, you don’t think we should look for him?”
“And what’re we gonna do when we find him?”
Milly shrugged. “Offer him a hug? Oh! I know! We should get donuts!”
Meryl snorted. “What, to lure him out?”
“No. Just to have when we get him back.” She fiddled with her suspenders. “He sounded pretty upset.”
Guilt welled up in Nicholas’s throat. He tried to swallow it down but it still left a lump, heavy and insistent.
“Not a bad idea, Big Girl.”
“You two should do that— I know I said I have the rest of the day, but I do have a report to type up.” Meryl slid off the edge of the bed. “That way I’ll be here if he comes back.”
“Sounds like a good plan, Ma’am!” Milly smiled, making the sun feel dim in comparison. “Honey?”
“Sounds fine to me. Sure you’ll be good holdin’ down the fort, Shortcake?”
She rolled her eyes. “I’ll be fine. Sure you’ll be fine running around with your likely concussion?”
Nicholas just put on his sunglasses in response.
“I can carry him if I need to! Mr. Priest isn’t too heavy.”
“Alright then— and if you see Knives…”
“Yeah?”
“I’m not telling you to pick a fight,” Meryl said, clearly telling him to pick a fight. “But whatever he did to freak Vash out that bad—“
The guilt reared its ugly head again.
“Got it.” Nicholas interrupted, adjusted his jacket as he stood. “You ready, Honey?”
“Ready— next stop: donuts.”
He laughed, but it sounded forced even to him.
“And don’t get in any trouble!”
“No promises, Shortstack.”
***
The town had changed.
Obviously it was going to change over time— that much was obvious. He hadn’t really spent any amount of time in Hopeland in what, fifteen years? A lot of things could happen in that much time.
Nicholas himself was proof of that.
But the town, once little more than a sprawling collection of homesteads, had begun to truly establish itself. He’d been slightly worried about whether the bakery would even have donuts when they left the hotel, only to find that there were two bakeries now and both of them had their own assortments of breads and pastries on display in the windows.
He hardly recognized the town square.
“You okay, Honey?” Milly tugged on his sleeve.
“Yeah, fine.”
His consolation was knowing that, as little as he recognized the town, he knew it could no longer recognize him at all.
“Here—“
“Hm?”
She had opened the paper bag tucked under her arm, holding one of the still-warm donuts out to him.
“You’re getting far away on me.” Milly giggled. “Meryl is right— you keep gettin’ more and more like Mr. Vash!”
“Yeah, right.” He took the donut, grateful for her care despite the way he rolled his eyes. He hardly tasted the sweetness on his tongue.
This is my body—
In the sand—
“You’re really worried about him, aren’t you?”
People chatted on the streets. The sun was bright, glaring in his eyes even through his shades.
No one was in red. No one was as bright.
“…I’m sure Blondie’ll be okay.”
Milly nodded in agreement, a confidence— no, faith— that never seemed to waver.
“Of course he will.” She nudged him with her elbow. “And he’ll be back before you know it.”
That? He was less sure of.
“I really fucked up, Big Girl.”
“Then apologize.” Her mouth was half full, words spoken as though it was the simplest thing in the world.
“It ain’t that easy, Hun.”
“Why not?”
How could he even explain it? No, he wouldn’t explain it, that would be an even further violation of Vash’s privacy and he wanted to protect that. To protect his choices.
And yet, that’s exactly what he did. He chose for him, told Knives how violated he felt.
The feeling made him feel sick; whether it was from the guilt or the memory he couldn’t be sure.
It didn’t even seem like they were taking steps forward, anymore. Maybe one step forward, three steps back. Cyclical hurt, always repeating.
In this world, pain was the one thing he could be sure of.
Pain, and—
“I… broke Blondie’s trust. Got mad and said somethin’ I shouldn’t’ve to his brother. Like I told you an’ Shortie— crossed a line.” That was as close as he could get to the truth. “I thought I was protectin’ him, in the moment, but now I can see I wasn’t really doin’ that at all, just lashin’ out ‘cause I was scared.”
“Then tell him that.” Milly brushed crumbs from the corner of her mouth. “I’m sure he’ll understand.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Nicholas swallowed, chest tight. “That he’ll take me back, just like that. Let himself be tossed around.”
She frowned, opened her mouth, but now that he started talking about it the dam had broken and everything was flowing out.
“You know what’s sick?” He took in a shaky breath. “I almost wish he would tell me off. I mean, god— he slapped me in the face to shut me up and I want to smile when I think of it ‘cause that means he fought back. I know that Forks is right when he says I’m no good for him.”
Milly was leading him, now. Sitting them down on a bench.
“Part of me hopes he’ll just run, and keep running. Even though I know all I’d do is chase after— I’d never catch up, if he didn’t want me to. I want him to realize he deserves better.”
Tears stung at his eyes, and as she rubbed his back, Nicholas was once again reminded of the town around them. Of the breakdown he was having on a bench in a public square, face no doubt bruised beyond high hell. Back in the place he grew up in.
Funny, how none of the faces looked all that familiar anymore.
“And hell, I want to be better. I want to be something good enough to stand beside him. But the longer I stay the more ways I hurt him and I just—“ He choked. “I don’t know that I can handle that. Don’t know that I want him to.”
He knew he sounded just like Vash. That words just like these had left his mouth. Once again, a reminder of everything he hated about himself. A mirror image. That was what Luida had said too, wasn’t it?
Milly dragged him in for a hug, cradling his head into her shoulder in the same way Miss Melanie did when he was still a little enough kid that she could comfort him when he cried. Before he grew the rest of the way up too soon. Before he convinced himself that he had to be strong.
Funny, how none of the faces around them would recognize his.
Nicholas held her back, tight enough that if she was anyone else she’d have probably complained but this was Milly, his little sister, the only person he’d seen treat the Punisher’s weight as inconsequential.
Both of them.
“You know what I think?”
He swallowed again, shook his head but didn’t pull away.
“I think Mr. Vash really loves you. And that you really love him. And, as stubborn as you both are? It’ll be okay.”
“…you think so, Big Girl?”
“Nope. I know so.”
Nicholas laughed— a gross, wet sound muffled by her shirt.
But Milly patted his back one more time and pulled back, hands solidly on his shoulders.
“Now say it.”
“…Say what, Honey?”
“That you know it’ll be okay.”
The lump in his throat had never left, but now it left him without voice.
“C’mon.” She squeezed him gently, but firmly. Even though he could see the pain in her eyes, her smile was genuine. “Say it.”
Slowly, he took in a breath, let it go. “…It’ll be okay.”
And her face lit up at that, pulling him in for another, quicker, hug. Her arms were solid in a way not much of the world was— though that could very well be the concussion.
“Of course it will.” Milly nodded, holding a hand to him when they parted. “In fact, we could go back to the inn and find him already back, driving Meryl crazy.”
And, yeah, Nicholas couldn’t help but smile at that image, too.
He took the hand, and they stood.
“Well then, we better get back, ‘fore you eat all the donuts.”
His voice was still brittle from crying, but the lighthearted teasing felt good regardless.
“Not all of them.” She countered, biting another in half. “I’ll save one for Mr. Vash.”
Nicholas snorted. “Only one?”
“Hmm…” She thought on it, twirling at the ends of her hair. “If we’re really quick I’ll consider two.”
He rolled his eyes, but left his arm around her shoulder as they walked. He could tell Milly enjoyed it, how she buzzed at physical contact.
It scared him. It made him think he was defiling her, that he was ruining her—
But all he was doing was depriving himself comfort and pushing her away. And as familiar as he was with the first? He didn’t want to push her away. Didn’t want to give her anything less than the world. Didn’t want her to be deprived of any kind of comfort.
Part of him really did hope that Vash would be there, already back at the inn, but he was nowhere to be found. Couldn’t say surprising, really. He had his pack— everything he needed to run.
Plenty of ration bars, too. He hoped. He prayed.
Did Jesus also eat of the five loaves and two fish, or was it enough for him to supply enough for everyone else?
Their newly replenished med kit and his tool kit, extra set of clothes, the janky thing they called a tent. A canteen or two, not to mention a flask. Different flask than the one Vash kept in one of his many inner jacket pockets. Extra gun and ammo, now that Nicholas was without a permanent weapon.
He was the most permanent weapon, really.
But no, they came back to their rooms to find only one occupant, Meryl, trying to figure out how she was going to get this work done— or, thinking about it a lot and biting off her cuticles.
She scrambled up when they came to the door. “Is he with you? Is he safe?”
“No, he isn’t, but hopefully yes.” Nicholas tossed the bag of donuts onto the bed. “We got the donuts, though.”
Meryl sighed, returning to her fingernails, every once in a while typing something or other out with her typewriter.
“Any clue where he might’ve gone?”
Dead flies on the windowpanes. Blankets mended by a patchwork of years and hands. A place that tasted like blood in the back of his throat.
“Two, really. ‘Cause he could come back here.” Nicholas frowned, sat beside the bag of pastry. “But other than that? If he’s runnin’ to December he’s runnin’ for good. We ain’t findin’ him if it’s December. Leavin’… one other option.”
Milly urged him to keep speaking. Meryl turn down in her chair to face him.
“And… what is that?”
“Well,” Nicholas knew it would be different, would be all too different, but he still felt like he was running home. “Never shown you where I’m from, have I?”
Meryl’s face pinched. “How far?”
“Up on the bluffs back behind the town— so not far, pretty quick by car, ‘bout a full day trip if you’re on foot.”
She nodded. “In which case I feel less bad about being the one to say we should split up.”
He knew his own confusion was mirrored in Milly’s face.
“As long as the distance isn’t crazy far, we all have radios to talk to each other— I picked up a couple extra, somewhat recently.” Meryl explained, tucking a foot up onto her chair. “One of which was put in your pack, so, wherever he is? Vash has a way to get ahold of us, too.”
“If he wants to.” Nicholas grumbles.
Milly’s eyes met his own.
“When he wants to.” He corrected.
Meryl raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. “One of us girls should stay here, for now. That way if Vash comes back here? We can let you know… and we can get caught up on some things we really should do.”
“But, Ma’am?”
“Yes, Milly?”
“If one of us stays, the other takes the car.”
She took a breath, stopped, then paused. “I didn’t think about that.”
“I’d be just fine stayin’ here! Can’t promise anythin’ when it comes to the work, but…”
Meryl stood, walking over to press a kiss to her girlfriend’s cheek. “I know you’ll do just fine work, but… You’ll be good here, on your own?”
“You’ll just be a radio away!” Milly reminded, kissing her temple. “I’ll be a big girl and hold the fort down while you go get our boy.”
Nicholas nodded. “Day’s not too far done to head out now— we’d probably get there ‘round dinner time.”
“Okay. That… sounds like a good plan.”
He held his tongue; he and Vash’s outlook on what plans were wasn’t very helpful here.
Nicholas took a donut out of the bag. “Clear out the other room, pick up cigarettes, and go?”
Meryl shrugged. “Not much else to do. How’s your face feel?”
“Eh. It’s been better.”
“We can pick up some ice, too. Milly, you want anything while we’re out?”
“Mm… yes.” She nodded. “I would like a weirdly tall lanky guy with a big red coat and the silliest hair you’ve ever seen— should be wearing pants that hurt your eyes trying to figure out if they’re straight up fetish gear or not?”
None of them could keep from laughing despite, well. The situation.
“No, I’ll be fine. And if Mr. Knives comes back, we will have a nice conversation.”
His blood ran cold.
Right. Knives.
“Hopefully it won’t come to that.” Meryl leaned into the pillar that was Milly. “Be safe, okay?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
She tilted her head up and they kissed, deep, absolute. Perfectly innocent and incredibly indecent— the kiss shared at a wedding.
Nicholas turned away, started gathering what little else he had without their pack, eventually just going over to the other room entirely.
Goodbyes were hard. Even if it wasn’t for long. With the lives they lived…
He prayed, hoping this time it wouldn’t jinx them, for Vash’s safety. For Knives to keep his distance. For himself to have strength.
Where they were going? He was going to need it.
***
Nicholas was in a courtroom, old and dusty, the air hot and stifling. Only one window was in the whole room and it appeared crusted shut, covered by a thick layer of dust. He was a distance away from it, though.
He knew the side he was on.
“…counts of murder in the first degree… in the second… manslaughter… theft… lying… deceitfulness… adultery… betrayal…”
A voice was reading off every thing he’d ever done wrong. In front of him there was a book where it was all written out, labeled by the kind of crime, from there in chronological order.
As he flipped through, he recognized faces. People he’d killed. People he’d wronged.
Livio.
Razlo.
Vash.
And there Vash was, too, sitting at the judges pulpit, stand, podium— whatever it was called. His face was calm, but there was a heaviness in his eyes.
He looked tired.
“…swindling… impersonation… addiction… manipulation… unfaithfulness… selfishness… lust… pride…”
The list continued. From the other side, the prosecution, Knives looked over at him. He didn’t smirk, or gloat— no. He looked at him just noticing that he was there, and looking away. As though he were entirely insignificant.
“…do you have anything to say for yourself?”
The voice asked, disembodied, but Vash turned to look at him. Even now, worn as he was, he was beyond beautiful.
“Please.” He asked, throat hoarse, voice barely scraping from his throat. “Please, just let me see you. One more time. That’s more than I can ask for, but please—“
His knees were weak. The hot air felt like it was choking him.
“Please. I just want— to be with you. To be near you. One more time. Please—“
He wasn’t petitioning for justice, for himself to be spared. No, he knew he was going to hell.
“Just let me see you one more time.”
The Vash in his dream tipped his head. Held out his hand— offered to him the knife. It was one from Knives, impossibly smooth and sharp.
It was unnaturally cold in his hands.
And Vash swung himself up onto the judges bench, stand, altar— bared his leg to him, spread his thighs. He was naked and beautiful but there was no way to appreciate it, not when he knew what he was about it do—
Next he handed him the cup.
Nicholas couldn’t stop himself, couldn’t control his body as it moved. As it took that smooth, sharp blade and sliced right through a vein, catching the flow, gathering his precious blood into the cup.
He didn’t feel himself do it, but he knew he had drank. That he had partaken in the blood.
The cup in his hand was a plate now, every bit as ornate, but again impossible to pay any attention to as his blade bore down once more.
He knew that flesh, the stories of some of those scars. The surgical one from Ship Three. The exit wound from when he was shot by those Tomas mounted police. A nasty gash from debris in a landslide.
All sliced away in little pieces, so wafer-thin he could practically see through them.
His hands were covered in, coated in blood.
The flesh was in his mouth. He’d already swallowed it, and it weighed down his stomach, thickened his throat.
“It’s okay.” Vash said, his hand, pristine, long fingered and bony, found Nicholas’s bloody chin, tilted his head up. “I forgive you.”
He leaned in and kissed him, and it felt like heartbreak. Chaste and passionate and final. A kiss like goodbye. Perfectly innocent and incredibly indecent.
There was blood on his face when he pulled away.
Nicholas went to wipe it away, forgetting himself, the filth on his own hands— the little bit of blood on his lips, chin, and nose was now smeared all down the lower half of his face.
Vash still smiled, his own blood in his teeth.
***
Nicholas jolted awake.
He was in the van, the little thing shuddering and shaking as they worked their way up the uneven, steep road. Meryl had her teeth clenched, knuckles white on the steering wheel.
He’d forgotten how rough this road was.
“Oh, good! You woke up.” She only glanced at him for a second, eyes still glued to the road. “I realized that I really should have kept you awake… after you passed out. So... Thanks for not dying on me.”
Right. Concussion. That would be part of why he felt like complete shit.
The other part…
Nicholas snorted. “Can’t get rid of me that easy, Shortie.”
She huffed, rolled her eyes, but it was clear she was relieved. He didn’t need her to say it— they both knew what she meant.
“Road should ease up in a bit here, too.” He added, hoping that might do something for the drawn bowstring tightness through her entire body. “Not a lot further.”
“Mm. Good.”
Definitely not a lot further— there was the sign there, wind blasted to hell until you couldn’t read it unless you knew what it said before. The building itself loomed a little further back, a beacon atop the plateau, the only thing for iles.
It looked smaller, than he remembered.
Meryl pulled up to the front in no time, parking a respectable distance from the doors and letting out a huge sigh as soon as the van was in park.
“Well, we’re here.”
“We’re here.” She agreed, rubbing her face in her hands. “…Where is here?”
Right. He hadn’t answered that.
They both climbed out of the car. Nicholas lit a cigarette.
“This… is where I grew up.”
Meryl looked up at the run down building, taking it in. He swore he could already hear the worms buzzing, the wood creaking, the sound of hymns sung by tiny voices a few rooms away. Livio, crying, like he always was.
And if he let himself believe it, he could imagine a certain laugh, a pair of eyes that cut through him like nothing else.
He could be here. Or not.
Milly’s reminder played through his head— either way. It would be okay.
Nicholas took a step forward, took a long drag of his cigarette.
“Welcome to the Hopeland Orphanage.”