Epidemic

He
looked horrible. No one should be brutalized like that; his wounds ran deep. So
much blood; I thought he was going to leave me for sure. I suppose it was by
the grace of God that he survived…but I wonder…

If
he’s an angel, then why was he able to be injured? I already heard that angels
were great, mighty beings, impervious to conventional weapons, immortal.

But
then again, demons aren’t conventional weapons.

And
while these creatures continue to ransack and fly in the face of all that is
natural, this epidemic continued to ravage the planet from seemingly no source.
If it were spread by air, it would have taken out far more people by now…it
would have reached December by the time I’d left for May. Millie and Meryl…they
would have died far sooner than they did. It obviously can’t be spread by water;
there’s not enough on this planet for that to work. If it’s contracted through
human contact, that’s plausible, but not many people travel between cities; not
enough to explain how fast the disease spread.

I
just don’t understand…all this senseless death and violence; it makes no sense
to me.

But
there I go, letting my mind wander aimlessly again…It’s too quiet for my
tastes. I’d give anything to have Wolfwood be sitting up here and crack a bad
joke, tease me a little, I’d even let him call me Tongari! Anything to break
the monotony. Even a snore would be nice, but I don’t think I’m going to get
even that for my troubles.

All
I can do is sit it out and wait for him to wake up and heal on his own. I hope
that none of those things find us out here befor’s w’s well again…I can’t
combat those creatures on my own.

Evening’s
coming up now, so I guess I have to make camp for the night. It’s only a few
more days until we’ll arrive on the edge of New Oregon, which will have most
likely suffered the same fate as May and Inepriel, and both he and I need to be
in the best of shape, or at least, as close as possible.

~*~

The
dusty, road worn jeep slowly came to a stop as the binary suns began to set
over the horizon, casting long purple shadows across the rocky sand. Vash the
Stampede sighed as he put the vehicle out of gear and opened the door to stand.
He looked towards the east, the direction that they’d came from, narrowing his
eyes, as though trying to see if they were being followed. He’d been driving
away from that little spot in the road for the past two days, trying to put as
much distance between them and those demons as possible. He’d been stopping
every night to tend to Wolfwood and make sure that he was at least starting to
hewhicwhich, thankfully, he was. Vash marveled at how quickly the angel was
healing, especially when considering how heinous his wounds where.

Once he was satisfied that
they were safe, he stepped underneath the lengthening shadows of the large
outcropping of rock overhead and over to the other side of the car, where
Wolfwood’s head was laid. Gently, the outlaw reached over and checked the
bandages that were once again stained with blood, though he couldn’t deny that
there was a considerably less amount marring them.

Sighing, he realized that
they were fresh out of bandages, so he begrudgingly left the dirty ones wrapped
around the priest’s torso and arms and sighed, pulling his gloved hands back
slightly. He looked down at the angel’s scratched, strangely serene face with
pained viridian eyes and reached down, brushing several wayward raven strands
from his face as though he were trying to get a better view of the man’s face.

“Oh, Nick,” Vash murmured
faintly, and shook his head. “What a pair we make…” he continued gently, his
fingers gracing along the contours of Wolfwood’s rugged face and over numerous
cuts and small, superficial wounds. His viridian eyes softened as his fingers
paused, and he rested his leather-concealed palm against his jawline and leaned
down, kissing his unmarred forehead with the slightest of touches.

There was a soft movement
against his lips as Vash chastely kissed the prone angel, and he raised his
head slightly, turning his eyes down to gaze at the whole of Wolfwood’s face.
His dark eyebrows were furrowed slightly, and he had indeed moved a bit, but he
continued to sleep. Vash sighed, a bit disappointed, and stood completely up,
letting his hand linger against his scratched face for a moment before he drew
back and leaned against the side of the jeep, his shoulders slumping slightly.
He bowed his head as a chilly night wind blew against him, sending grains of
sand past him and brushed his hair away from his forlorn face. He couldn’t help
it, but he was beginning to feel a very real sense of loneliness. He’d not been
able to talk to Wolfwood properly ever since that rather saddening and rudely
interrupted conversation back at the bar…and he desperately wanted to continue.
He’d been denied this for far too long to have it taken away again…

Before his death…when he
and Wolfwood had first begun to travel together, there had never been any time
nor a reason to truly talk about things like this…and once Vash had realized
that he finally did have a reason, he’d ran out of time…

Eventually, the outlaw
dozed off into slumber, his head hanging slightly to the side and his shoulders
slightly hunched over. It appeared to be a rather uncomfortable position,
because though Vash was clearly sleeping, his face was contorted in slight
discomfort and pain, and he kept moving his neck a bit in his sleep. His
troubled dreams didn’t help his comfort either…he saw himself on a bleak, black
landscape, with tiers of rocks far in the distance. A lonely wind howled in his
ears, and a familiar, horrible laugh rang in his ears through the wind. He kept
seeing images of grotesque abominations of nature, flying out across the
deserts while clinging to torn, mutilated bodies in their gruesome talons. He
heard their screeches in his ears, accompanied by horrible screams and the
sounds of a saxophone wailing in the distance. He saw Millie and Meryl, calling
to him from the grave. Their faces were grey and worn, their eyes dulled, and
blood was smeared across their sickly faces. But try as he might, he couldn’t
reach them…not in time to save them…He could never save them…

“Vash!” he heard Wolfwood
cry, and he turned to see the angel, broken and battered, fighting a losing
battle against the vile creatures. “Vash! Please!” Blood flew as the demons
assaulted the priest, and the sounds of his pained cries filled the outlaw’s
ears as he watched Nicholas stumble back and fall, broken feathers and blood
following his deadly descent as the creatures fell upon him. His dark eyes
dulled, and with a triumphant screech, the hellions fell in for the final kill.

“No!” Vash screamed as he
felt a pair of hands wrap around his arms, and though he tried to lunge
forward, he found himself held fast. Tears began to fall down his face, and he
clawed at those captive hands, his shouting echoing far into the night.

“Vash! Please! Just wake
up!” came Wolfwood’s voice again, and Vash suddenly jerked sharply as those
strong hands began to shake him. He bit his tongue in his surprise, and he
gasped as his eyes flashed open and the darkness of the moonlit night met his
blurry vision. His chest was heaving with labored breath, and tears were
streaming freely down his face and soaking the tall collar of his coat.

“Vash…it was just a
nightmare…” came the priest’s voice again, this time not so forceful, and Vash
gasped again and turned to face the owner of those strong hands.

“You were screaming
something terrible…” Wolfwood said gently, his hands still holding Vash’s in a
concerned, vice-like grip. The angel’s pale, scratched face was laced with
concern, and though he looked clearly tired, his worry overrode any other
emotion. Distraught jade met concerned cobalt for a long moment, and with a
sudden sob, Vash felt his knees buckle slightly and he pitched forward a bit,
throwing his arms around Nicholas’ neck. He buried his face into the priest’s
neck, weeping bitterly though quietly, and for a long moment, nothing was said.

Slightly bewildered as he
felt hot tears against his skin, Wolfwood looked along the slight curve of
Vash’s back as he felt the vibrations of the outlaw’s weeping against him, and
closed his eyes, leaning his head against Vash’s and gently putting his arms
around him.

“Shh…it’s alright…”

“No…it was horrible,” Vash
affirmed quietly as he struggled to regain a bit of control. He pulled away
slightly from Wolfwood’s arms as he heard the door open, and watched with a bit
of pained concern as the angel started to sit up and scoot over. He couldn’t
deny the fact that Nicholas was in pain with even the slightest of movements,
but when the priest looked up at him and bade him to sit down beside him, he
couldn’t refuse, and sank into the seat beside him. Those warm arms wrapped
around him again, comforting him, pulling him gently against himd Vad Vash
shivered against the touch, slowly dying sobs still shaking him. “I can’t lose
you, Nicholas…not again…not so vainly…” Slowly, the outlaw looked up, his
handsome hand streaked with dust and tears, his bright viridian eyes shining
dully in the angel’s soft light. He looked at Wolfwood guiltily, sadly, and yet
with a sense of unquenchable awe and thankfulness.

“When
I found you at the altar of that church…so pale, so without that spark of life
that had personified you in my mind for so long…when the stench of blood and
needless sacrifice filled my nose…” Vash hesitated as a soft, dying sob rose in
his throat, “…I’d only felt such deep, distraught despair once before…I felt so
powerless. I couldn’t save Caine…and I couldn’t save you. The man who had
walked into my life and saw me for who I really was, and yet didn’t judge…who
had given me his friendship, and more importantly, his trust...” he paused,
looking down a bit as he recalled those few dark moments. “The man who had
willingly given his life to save his children…and me. And I had let you die
there, instead of following you when I realized you were injured…” He gritted
his teeth and closed his eyes. “I let you die when I know I could have healed
you…”

“But
you didn’t,” Wolfwood said finally, but not with any trace of malice. He
reached down and cupped Vash’s face gently with his palm, bringing his eyes
back up to meet his own. “You knew you couldn’t…If you had, Knives would have
just found another way to kill me before you reached him. He wanted you to
suffer uch uch that you would realize that mankind was a heartless, inferior race
that weren’t worthy to breathe the same air as you two…who weren’t worthy to
live.” The priest looked at Vash softly for a moment, a bit of his own guilt
wavering in his eyes. “And I had willingly bought into that scheme. I had been
willing to crush your heart and your spirit…that beautiful, selfless soul…all
for blood money. But…if I had refused…the church would have been destroyed…and
I would have been alone. I wouldn’t have found you, and would have died an
unchanged, unredeemed man, bitter and clinging to the blood on my hands,
thinking that there was no other way... “ He brushed a few tears from Vash’s
drawn face, his bruised fingers passing over his dusty face with unbidden grace
and care, and smiled. “For you, I thank God every day…”

There
was a moment of pure silence after this simple yet weighty statement, and even
the wind took a pause from its whispering, as if to let the angel and the
outlaw share one true moment of privacy. A moment away from the bloodshed, away
from the death and darkness that the world around them had crumbled into. A few
silent seconds to themselves, without the smell of dust and gunpowder, without
the memories of friends long lost and enemies raised again. Vash closed his
eyes for a moment, a few more warm tears falldowndown his dusty cheeks and
touching Wolfwood’s fingers. He didn’t want to have to give Nicholas up
again…he knew that he was being selfish, but so much had been taken away from
him already…so much loss in his life; he didn’t want to be stripped of this last
thread of happiness; this Godsend.

“…Vash…”
came his name, gentle and quiet, and Vash slowly looked up into dimly
illuminated cobalt eyes. There was an undeniable trace of sadness in those
eyes, mixed with many other things that the priest would never have given words
to. Guilt, love, fear…even hints of confusion hung in that deep blue sea…for a
moment, Vash knew what Wolfwood must have felt when he first saw past his own
happy façade.

The
outlaw took a breath; he knew that words for emotional encounters such as this
did not come easily to the priest, so he simply smiled at the lack of more
words, understanding well what it was that Wolfwood had been trying to convey.
He shook his head slightly, a light stream of tears still slipping down his
sandy cheeks, and gently moved towards the angel, softly pressing his palms
against Nicholas’ cheeks.

Wolfwood closed his eyes a
bit as he let the outlaw touch him, tilting his head to the side and into
Vash’s hands. He never wanted to leave
this, and the knowledge that he would have to eventually, possibly even very
soon, struck him painfully. Then, truly, Vash would be alone. Alone on this
barren, bleak desert planet with nothing but a bounty and his scars to keep him
company. And he, Wolfwood, would be in Paradise…but was it truly utopia?

‘In Eden…I would live him…and the girls…’

Yes, the girls would be
there with him...but there would be no Vash once he left this planet, his
mission complete. Both he and Vash would lose in the end…Perhaps it would have
been better if he’d not been the one sent on this mission…then Vash would not
have this added pain…this extra loss…Silently, he reached his arms around the
quietly distraught man and furrowed his brow gently as he pulled Vash against
him and rested his head against his shoulder. He could feel Vash breathing in a
softly erratic fashion, still weeping from the metaphoric truth of his
nightmare, and cursed at Fate and her irony. How could so many horrible,
unhappy things happen to such a kind, gentle soul? He was tired of that hollow
smile and those empty eyes…