Atomic Green Dreaming

Once upon a time there was a man.

Nevermind, scratch that. We’re starting too big here.

Beginning again:

Once upon a time there was an atom.

It was an oxygen atom, bound into a solid state, although that was only slightly distinctive considering how common oxygen is, both in gaseous and solid form. There were many, many identical siblings of that atom very close by, along with trillions of cousins such as carbon, silicon, and nitrogen, as well as uncountable numbers of more distant relatives such as hydrogen and calcium. It wasn’t a particularly special atom, but it did have the distinction of being part of a grain of sand, which was part of a speck of dust, which was being blown willy-nilly on a hot gust of wind through the atmosphere of the planet Gunsmoke somewhere near it’s twenty-fifth latitude and forty-seventh longitude, at an altitude of about five and a half feet, at approximately nine o’clock in the evening.

A few seconds later, this speck of dust, along with several others, gained the further distinction of seriously annoying one Nicolas D. Wolfwood, traveling priest extraordinaire. He rubbed his eyes in an irritated manner and ducked back inside, pushing his sunglasses back up his nose, although he was now out of the wind and the gesture didn’t really do anything but make him look even odder for not adjusting them until he was back inside, nevermind that it was quite dark outside.

The atom was absorbed by the tear that formed to remove the irritant from the eye and was safely washed away, but this no longer matters because the topic of this story has now shifted away from a measly atom and on to more important topics. Like the aforementioned Nicolas D. Wolfwood, who sighed heavily and rolled his eyes in disgust as if he knew how horribly he was being introduced. But of course this was a coincidence.

Eyes newly sand-free, Wolfwood began to think. Not that he hadn’t been doing so before, mind you, but now he started some serious mental grumbling, the tone of which was outwardly visible rather concisely in his disgruntled expression.

He hated being stuck in one place for any length of time, and alone to boot. Particularly half-bit holes in the sand like this one… it was so tiny it didn’t even have a name. To be honest, Wolfwood wasn’t even sure why it existed, except to be one of those little nothing towns that, statistically, had to exist /somewhere/.

It didn’t even really have an inn, unless you counted a few storage rooms above the largest building (not really a bar, although it tried to be; while it did sell alcohol, and in rather copious amounts too, it also doubled as a general store of sorts and tried to pass itself off as a restaurant far more often then it could really get away with) which the owner of the place would clear out and rent to any travelers lost and unlucky enough to stumble upon the place during a time in which they couldn’t move on right away to any one of the several larger nearby towns, or even the city not fifty iles north.

This was one of those times, and Wolfwood was cursing about it. Mentally at the moment, although in the recent past his complaints had been verbalized, if quietly.

He wasn’t the only person trapped there for the time being, which was both a blessing and a curse. At least the place wasn’t deserted, but then the company he did have wasn’t exactly the most pleasant type he could wish for. But while it wasn’t exactly a typhoon raging outside, it was a pretty nasty sandstorm, the type that you could brave if it was a matter of life or death but usually didn’t do much to tilt the scale towards the ‘life’ option, particularly if it was your life being referred to.

By this time Wolfwood had retaken his seat at a small table in the corner of the tavern and lowered the level in his cup, which had been filled with decent-quality whiskey - better than he had expected in a place like this actually – by a fair amount. It did help, and his expression softened slightly into something less absolutely disagreeable. Not that anyone could tell, not that anyone was looking at him. No one was exactly pleased with the situation, except the owner of the establishment, so he didn’t exactly stand out, not because of his expression at least. The large, wrapped object leaning against the wall next to his chair did stand out, but that’s another story, and since this one hasn’t even started yet we’ll skip it.

He leaned his head back against the wall that was conveniently there and sighed, closing his eyes and draining the glass of the small amount of liquor that remained. It helped. It usually did. Without having to restore his vision he reached inside his jacket for a rumpled cigarette, found a match, lit the bad habit, and took a deep drag of it. There. His other one had been pulled out of his mouth by the winds outside before they had forced him back in, which hadn’t done much to alleviate his annoyance at the time.

It was a good thing there was no longer any liquid in his mouth, however. As it was, the room was treated to the sound of Wolfwood choking on cigarette smoke for the first time in years, which was nevertheless better than a classic – and considerably more embarrassing – spit-take, such was his surprise when the startlingly familiar voice spoke suddenly and loudly.

“Hey, Nicolas!”

He coughed, once, and cracked open his eyes. What the hell? ”Vash?”

The blonde just grinned – well, he had already been doing that – nodded as if confirmation of his identity was needed, and took the other seat at the little table.

“Didn’t expect to find you here.” If it hadn’t been said in the exact right/wrong tone, Wolfwood would have believed him, but as it was, he just snorted his disbelief as Vash hailed the serving girl and ordered a rather larger amount of food than he probably needed.

Wolfwood watched in silence as Vash stuffed his face. How he had managed to get a dozen donuts along with a more normal dinner Wolfwood didn’t know, but he certainly looked very pleased that he had. Crumbs dotted his cheeks and dribbled onto the floor, making a general mess.

“Where’re your two shadows?”

Vash, his cheeks bulging as if he was a chipmunk faced with impending winter, shrugged, and swallowed, the entire lump of food moving down his throat in a manner that made everyone who noticed – namely Wolfwood – wonder how he managed not to choke. “Last I saw them they were still in Norstar.”

Wolfwood recognized the name of a considerably larger town, one that was a good distance away, comparatively. “They agreed to stop following you?” He arched one eyebrow as if to add, <If you say yes I know it’s a frickin’ lie, so don’t even try it.>

Vash, who was looking very little like anyone deserving of a title such as ‘The Stampede’ – unless the objects being stampeded were donuts – shook his head. “They didn’t come along, and I doubt they’re going anywhere with the weather like it is.”

“You underestimate the power of obsession.”

“You’re one to talk,” came the unexpected retort.

Ever so slightly, Wolfwood raised his eyes, now taking in the green eyes that, surprisingly enough, were looking straight back at him and apparently had been doing so for some time. “You sneak away from your watchdog insurance girls in the middle of the night, walk here in the middle of one of the worst sandstorms ever other than the ones that get named, and say that /I’m/ being hypocritical when I talk about obsession?”

“I never said any of that,” was the soft answer.

“You wouldn’t even if it were true.”

Vash didn’t answer to that, nor did his expression change. Actually, it hadn’t for the entire duration of the conversation, except to grow slowly milder. He was still smiling, although softly now, still had that look in his eyes that bespoke great amusement, still radiated an indescribable aura that was unique to him.

“I know you snuck off in the middle of the night because there’s no other way that they’d leave you alone, no matter what you told them. I know you walked here because the busses have stopped because of the storm, not that you have money for fare anyway, I’m sure, because you’ll be leaving me with the bill for that feast you’ve ordered – and not shared, I’ll remind you, but nevermind. And if you’ve ever run across someone ‘on accident’, Tongari, I’ll eat the bill you’re planning to stick me with. After paying it.”

Wolfwood was sure that the expression on the bristle-haired outlaw’s face at that moment should be surrounded by little sparkles, were such effects actually possible in reality. Vash’s eyes grew large and almost bubbly, yet somehow sly as well. The priest/gunman, normally unflappable except under extreme circumstances (which were almost invariably Vash-the-Stampede-related), leaned back and away, half involuntarily and half out of almost legitimate fear.

“You’ve put a lot of thought into that!” Vash laughed, and ate another donut, barely chewing it.

“Not really. You’re terrible at covering up the truth, that’s all, and you don’t like lying.”

“No, I don’t. That’s another one of your rules, isn’t it?”

So innocently asked, but so insidious. Wolfwood chose not to answer, refused to play the game. “I could tell you more if you liked.”

Vash shrugged a noncommittal answer.

He was about to continue. He really was. About to say how he knew that Vash hadn’t just stumbled upon that town, about how he knew the outlaw had been moving about for days, never staying in any one place for more than a couple of hours. Wolfwood had heard the talk in the other places, about the stranger in red who some spoke of in a fearful tone, who investigated every nook and cranny of a town before leaving. He could have mentioned how he’d run into the insurance girls two days earlier, and how frantic they had been about their ‘charge’ having slipped away, but for once they were unable to find him, despite the rumors flying about. He was simply moving too fast for them, sleeping in the desert if at all, not wanting to be found. Wolfwood was about to say all this, about to demand an explanation better than the one he’d gotten before. But then he realized something.

He’d almost fallen for it.

It made him stop in his tracks. Of all the people who regularly traveled with Vash, he was the only one who’d ever seen behind the goof he pretended to be – and was, sometimes, but less often then it seemed - and realized that there was a man in a great deal of pain standing in front of him. You’d think that, after everything, I’d know better…

“Why did you try so hard to find me?”

Vash just handed over a donut. “I’ll share if you want me to,” he said softly.

Wolfwood just looked blankly at it for a moment, startled, trying to remember when the food had become part of the conversation before finally accepting it and taking a bite. He’d never had much of a sweet tooth, but the pastry was unglazed, and not overly sweet, but tasty, certainly. Soon it was gone, and he had to look back up at the smiling emerald eyes that weren’t really smiling much at all.

He suddenly wished that he hadn’t accepted the donut.

“Why?” he finally asked, hoping for a different explanation this time, but knowing that he wouldn’t get one.

The blonde just shrugged. “You’re good company.”

“You’re not going to leave, are you?”

“Do you want me to?”

Another loaded question. He couldn’t answer no, he couldn’t answer yes, for two entirely different sets of reasons. Internal conflict sucked, especially when it was brought on intentionally by another. He sighed. “I guess you can’t, not with the storm out. Good luck finding a place to stay, though.” With that, he stood, hefted the Cross Punisher, and started upstairs, each step landing heavily from the weight.

He sat down on the mattress in the corner of the tiny room he’d rented. It wasn’t much of a room, but it he’d considered himself lucky to get anything at all, considering the scarcity of lodging.

Something urged him to go back downstairs, apologize to Vash, offer to share the room for the night, anything, but he ignored it and simply sat, letting the nearly dead cigarette smolder between his lips, staring out the tiny window at one of the moons that had positioned itself just right to be visible from his vantage point on the mattress. It was the pale blue, smallish one, and Wolfwood couldn’t remember its name at the moment, although it didn’t matter. Eventually he fell asleep, whether intentionally or not even he didn’t know. It would work out, though – the storm was supposed to blow itself out overnight, and the sooner he could wake up to leave the better…

***

He woke up to the first few rays of double sunlight streaming through his window slowly. He was surprisingly comfortable, considering, nicely warm against the lingering cool of night, but not too hot… it was still very early, barely past sunrise.

He started to roll unto his back, but couldn’t complete the movement due to an obstruction. The wall…? He craned his neck around to look, and saw a blurry black and white shape – the object preventing his movement in that direction. Wait… the walls were just gray… when did they split into black and white? Then he noticed that the obstruction was topped with yellow, and snapped awake.

He rolled the other way until he fell off the mattress with a thump that startled the other – and uninvited – occupant of the bed awake.

“Jus’ gimmie ten more minutes…” Vash mumbled, rolling unto his back and covering his eyes with one arm.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Vash yawned hugely and blinked blearily to clear his vision although it didn’t help much, considering that his gaze had to pass through a thick layer of limp blonde hair before reaching anything in the outside world. “Nowhere else to stay…” he murmured, and yawned again.

There was a moment of silence, almost as if they were mourning something. But Vash showed no sorrow, simply looking up at his roommate, waiting expectantly for a reply.

“Why?”

“You know why.”

Wolfwood turned away, suddenly, practically spinning on his heel. His gut twisted in the opposite direction at the same time, making him feel acutely sick to his stomach. This wasn’t working. This isn’t right… “You told me… something… before…” This shouldn’t be happening… I… I can’t…

“You told me never to say it again, so I won’t. But y’know… it’s still true.” The words were said in the same light tone, but seeped through the air slowly as if made of liquid glass which solidified abruptly when striking the darker man’s ears, then shattered… it was only sound, a few simple words, but the shimmering fragments of them cut into him as well as if the metaphor had been physical, aiming for his heart. “And you said that you loved me oo…”

That was before! He wanted to scream that answer, but knew that he could never finish it. That was before I realized that I couldn’t escape magically I would have to… kill or be killed by you… ”Love and peace…” he whispered softly. He could almost see, if he unfocused his eyes, Vash’s face twist up in confusion, all the while maintaining that expression that looked like every emotion ever dreamt by man rolled into one… He repeated the outlaw’s non-outlawish motto again, louder this time. “Which one would you choose if you could only have one?”

“Both! You know me; I always want the impossible.” Trust Vash to put a damper on his nicely dark mood with that damnably… disarming (not loveable, not loveable not yet; he hadn’t taken the final step down that road quite yet, not this time) smile of his.

“You have to choose.”

“I won’t. I know why you’re saying this, did you forget that you told me? But I know you’re not going to kill me. You can point a gun at my head all you want – I won’t run away or hide or kill you to save my own skin. I trust you, I -” he cut off, conflicted between continuing and not.

“That’s stupid and idealistic. I could kill you right now and…” he was cut off when he was suddenly surrounded by two strong arms that wrapped warmly around his chest and locked in that embrace, squeezing ever so slightly. He sighed. He couldn’t do this anymore… I’m so weak… I give in at the slightest little pleading expression in his eyes, I’ve fallen so deep that all I can do is stare at the mouth of the well and pretend that that little circle of pale blue sky is the entire world even as I’m drowning in the green water… He didn’t think exactly that, not in so many words, but it did make for an interesting mental image.

He crumbled even before he felt the hands spread over his stomach, even before he felt hot breath and then cool lips on the side of his neck, the comfortable weight of Vash’s head on his left shoulder… unwillingly he let out a quiet chuckle. “You don’t give up.”

“Never.”

“You’re pathetic.”

“At least I’m not running away.”

“You’ve effectively closed off that option for both of us, Tongari…”

With one swift movement the rouge priest turned, twisting out of the strong but loose grip that had been restraining him, and shoved the other man hard in the chest, making him stumble back a little, eyes wide with surprise and apprehension and gleaming with happiness and sparkling with glee at the same time.

“You… are… impossible!” covering the space between them in two swift strides, Wolfwood pushed him lightly again, making him tumble half-purposefully to the mattress with a soft ‘oof’ and quiet creak of the floorboards.

“Isn’t that what I just…”

He was cut off abruptly, and in a very pleasurable manner.

…said?

***

Several hours later they were both asleep once more, relaxed completely in a comfortable knot of limbs, both exhausted - despite that fact that it was still relatively early morning - for entirely obvious reasons. Vash’s eyes twitched under his eyelids as he dreamt of whatever pleasant images his mind came up with while Wolfwood drowned in a deep green ocean...

***

~Mordain

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