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Plants didn’t need to sleep. That was known. At least, Knives didn’t need to sleep. Yes, he rested at points–stood still for a few moments, at a quiet time in his “busy days”, his eyes would glaze over–then he’d be back to full power.
But just this once, his eyes closed for a fraction of a second too long. A microcosm in a fleeting world. And suddenly, he was in an unknown place. Some kind of building. Four walls, a ceiling and a floor, but they weren’t metal, no, they were some kind of… Dingy, dusty brown beneath him, and a pale, eggshell white around him. And there were chairs and tables, too, things that would be found in…
…A human house.
“Finally getting some rest?”
That voice. He knew that voice. Knives whipped his head around, and yes, it was her. That venomous snake from over a century ago. Rem.
“What are you doing here?” He spat.
“Is that any way to talk to your mother?” Rem huffed, putting her fists on her hips in mock anger.
“You’re not my mother, you are nothing to me.” Knives folded his arms across his chest.
“That really hurts my feelings, Nai,” Rem sighed.
“Don’t pretend like you care.”
“I’m not pretending.”
Though her eyes were genuine, Knives did not care to see.
She sighed again, but this time, it was lighter, like a parent looking at a picture their child scribbled on the walls with crayon–endearing. “You’ll always be my little boy, Nai.”
“Stop calling me that,” he snapped, baring his teeth. “What is this place? Where the hell are we?”
“It’s a dream,” Rem simply replied.
Knives furrowed his brow and stared her down.
“Vash used to dream–”
“Do not mention him,” Knives growled.
“I’m just saying that he used to dream.” Rem smiled as she seemed to recall a memory. “You know, we never figured out why humans dreamed. But it seemed like Plants could do it, too.”
“I don’t dream.”
“Well, you are right now, so get used to it.”
Knives scoffed. “If I was dreaming, you wouldn’t be in it.”
“No, I need to be in it,” Rem affirmed, approaching Knives. “I need to be here. Because you need to hear it from me.”
“What?”
“That I still love you and I think you can change.” She smiled again, wrapping her arms around Knives, who now stood taller than her.
“Get off me!” Knives snarled, shoving her away.
He felt the slight push-back of her body, but when he looked again, she’d simply disappeared and reappeared in one of the chairs nearby.
“What the–?”
“I told you, you’re dreaming,” Rem said, shrugging. “Dreams don’t work like reality does. And no pushing your mother anymore, okay? It’s not nice.”
“I don’t care about what’s nice or isn’t, bitch,” he sneered.
“Who taught you that word?” Rem frowned, disapproving.
Knives didn’t reply. Maybe if he didn’t talk to her, this dream or whatever would be over soon.
“Well, it doesn’t really matter, I guess,” Rem sighed. “You’ve grown. I can’t really control what you say or do anymore.”
“Damn right you can’t.”
“Language–you know, you never used to be so mean.”
“I was always like this.”
“When you were a boy, you would tease your brother pretty bad, but you never hurt him.”
“I killed all those people,” Knives barked. “I killed them all! If you knew what was good for you, you’d leave me alone.”
“Sure, I’ll leave you alone.” Rem propped her chin on her fist, leaning forward. “Just for a little while, though.”
Suddenly, Knives found himself somewhere else. Frost bit at his body. It was cold. Bitterly cold. Colder than any desert night he’d ever experienced. And around him was a world of white, white falling against a gray sky, white piled up on the ground, thick and fluffy. Whatever this white stuff was, it was cold where it touched his skin. Knives instinctively curled his arms around his midsection, trying to keep warm.
“W-What the hell…” He chattered, squeezing his eyes shut.
“It’s cold out here, right?” Rem’s voice echoed in the breeze. When Knives looked over, she stood just a few steps away, looking quite toasty in a large, puffy jacket and strong boots.
“What have you done?!” He shouted against the wind, glowering at Rem.
“Nothing,” she shrugged. “You’re just dreaming. None of this is real, you know.”
“T-Then get me out of here!”
“Just wake up.”
“Ugh!”
Frustrated, Knives trudged through the cold and wet fluffiness beneath his feet, feeling the horrible cold crawl up his ankles and calves, nipping at his exposed self. It was just a dream, right? Then why did it feel so real? Why was the pain so real?
He walked, and walked, and walked, and it felt like hours passed. When he next looked up, he was standing in front of a house made out of sturdy lumber. There was a warm glow coming from behind the windows, and the sound of clinking and clattering and people talking. He stepped up onto the porch, bits of cold melting off his shoulders and sticking in his hair, and stared at the door.
“Knock on the door,” Rem said. This time, she was on the porch.
Knives scowled, teeth chattering, and brought a fist up to the door. He banged on it a few times.
Soon, someone came to the door–a human. It was a portly man, with blonde hair and a thick mustache on his upper lip. His small, round glasses fogged up as the cold air blustered over his face and made his pale cheeks turn a rosy red.
“Oh, golly!” His eyebrows shot up at the sight of Knives, curled in on himself and desperately cold. “Honey! There’s a man at the door!”
“A visitor?” A female voice called out.
“No, a stranger!”
“Well, let him in! It’s too cold out there to stand outside!”
“Come on in,” the man beckoned, taking Knives by the shoulder and pulling him past the door frame, dusting his hair off and shutting the door. “What’s your name, son?”
Knives found himself tongue-tied. Warmth was returning to his body, slowly, with the heat of the home resting over his skin. “It’s… Millions… Knives.”
“What a strange name.” The man pursed his lips. “Well, Nai, come on in. Nobody wants to be out in that snow.”
“N-No, I–”
“No ifs, ands, or buts!” The man chuckled, dragging Knives further inside, into what was probably the main room of the house.
There were several people. In one chair, a woman sat with a young boy on her lap. In another chair, an older woman moved knitting needles in a mesmerizing pattern. On the floor, two girls sat together and played with some toys. In the corner, a baby slept in a crib.
“Everybody, we got a guest!” The man said, gesturing to Knives. “Alright, Nai. That lovely lady with the little boy is my wife, Mary.”
“Hi there,” Mary looked up and smiled. “Abigail, can you get this young fellow a blanket? He looks awful cold.”
“Sure, Ma,” the older girl on the floor said, getting up and rushing behind a door frame.
“The little one on Mary’s lap is Matthew,” the man continued.
“Hi,” Matthew said, waving with a pudgy hand.
“The other little girl down there is Rachel.”
“Hi there, Mister,” Rachel grinned. She was missing a front tooth.
“Knitting in the other chair is Delilah, my mother.” The man waved over to the old woman. “Ma, we’ve got a guest!”
“Hello there, young man,” Delilah leaned forward and adjusted her thick glasses, looking at Knives. “Well, doesn’t he look polite.”
“In the crib, we’ve got baby John.” The man patted his chest as he turned towards Knives. “And I’m Joseph–but you can just call me Joe, alright, boy?”
“...Okay?” Knives said.
He stared around at all the people, all these humans who’d just taken him into their home, without knowing him, without knowing what he’d done… But from the appearance of the world around him, it seemed like this was a time long before Gunsmoke, a time long before Project SEEDS. A time long before him and Vash and Rem.
“Here’s a blanket for you,” the older girl, Abigail, called out as she came back. She draped the thick blanket over Knives’s shoulders, and its warmth swaddled him, a feeling he’d never really felt before.
“Why don’t you sit by the fire and warm up?” Joe gestured to the fireplace, a small rug laid out in front of it. “I’ll get you something to drink.”
“I don’t think I need–”
“Don’t worry about it, boy!” Joe waved him off as he walked off, presumably towards the kitchen.
Knives felt compelled to sit by the fireplace and get warm, so he did. It was set up in a way that the flames did not lick the floor near them, but instead stayed safely within the brick confines of the fireplace, heating the home without endangering it. With one swift movement, he could have sent one of the logs out into the living room and burned the whole home down, but that thought made some part of his heart twinge. Some emotion he hadn’t felt. Guilt.
“So, where do you come from?” Abigail asked, sitting down next to Knives and looking up at him.
“...Somewhere far away,” he replied.
“How far?” The other girl, Rachel, sat down next to Abigail and looked up to Knives, too.
“Very far,” Knives replied again.
“Wow…” Rachel nodded in understanding.
“How come you came out here, then?” Abigail continued.
“I don’t know.” Knives shook his head.
There was a beat of silence, only filled by the crackling of the fireplace, but soon Joe returned with a mug in his hands.
“Here you go,” Joe grinned, handing it to Knives. Knives gingerly took the mug from his hands, bringing it below his face.
“What’s this?”
The brownish liquid swirled around and let off a puff of steam in the hard, glassy mug it was in. It wasn’t water, that was for sure. It wasn’t beer, either. Those were the only two things humans seemed to drink, as far as he was concerned.
“Hot cider! Drink up, boy,” Joe said, patting Knives on the shoulder.
From everything he’d felt before, Knives thought about screaming, about tearing into Joe with his blades, about ripping this place down to the studs and standing above the wreckage, smiling with sadistic glee. But that twinge of guilt came again, and he could only put the mug to his lips and drink, something he’d never had to do before.
A wonderful warmth filled his insides. He never knew he could feel warm on the inside like that, and something made the corners of his lips perk up, just a little bit. Where were these foolish feelings coming from? It wasn’t possible, was it? He was a Plant. He was inherently extricated from humanity. And yet, here he was. Feeling warm. Drinking. Talking to other humans.
He just knew Rem was off smiling somewhere. He wanted to call her a nasty name again, but for some reason, he couldn’t will it into his mind.
“Mama,” little Matthew looked up to his mom. “He should eat dinner with us.”
“That’s a great idea,” Mary smiled. “Nai, would you like to stay for dinner?”
“I really shouldn’t,” Knives shook his head.
“Nonsense!” Joe put his hands on his hips and grinned. “We’ve got plenty to feed you. So stay!”
And so there he found himself, soon as the words came out of Joe’s mouth, sitting at the table. He was positioned between the old woman, Delilah, and the young boy, Matthew. The table was laid out with foods of all kinds. It looked like it had taken a while to prepare, and now they were sharing it with a man who was a complete stranger. And Knives knew he was a Plant, he knew he didn’t need to eat, but he found his stomach craving for food.
A plate was piled high with food for him, and everyone thanked each other for the food, and they began to eat, smiling and complimenting this and that and the other. And when Knives put the food in his mouth, he felt that warmth again, not just the physical warmth from the food, but warmth from something else. From being cared for, maybe.
“Excuse me, young man,” Delilah said, holding up a shaky, wrinkled hand. “Could you pass me the butter?”
“...Sure,” Knives nodded, finding what she was looking for and passing the dish to her.
“Thank you, dear,” she smiled, wrinkles bunching up on her worn cheeks.
So, this was a human family. It was large, and there was a lot of warmth in it, too. It felt very real, despite recalling that this was all a dream, it didn’t really feel like a dream, no. It felt like a memory, a memory he’d never had, but a memory nonetheless. It was a strange feeling, but it was also… a nice feeling.
Everyone at the table ate until they were full, and so did Knives, yes, he kept eating. And whatever was left was packed up and put away for another day, and now he stood at the sink, being handed clean dishes to be dried off and put on the rack.
“You’re a good fellow, Nai,” Mary smiled, handing him a plate. It was pure white and glistening, like the fluffy coldness outside.
Knives didn’t reply, just drying off the plate and putting it on the rack.
“I’m sure it’s strange, coming into someone’s house and being warmed up and fed and all that.”
“It is, a little.”
“Well, don’t worry about it, okay? I’m sure plenty of others would’ve done the same thing. Nobody wants to see a person suffering.”
Nobody wants to see a person suffering. Nobody, except for Knives, somehow. But he didn’t think about choking Mary out, he just dried a glass cup that got passed over to him.
“How about you stay for the night?” Mary offered.
“What?”
“Well, no offense, Nai, but you don’t look like you have anywhere else to stay. And, I mean,” she chuckled. “There’s no way we’re letting you back out in that snowstorm.”
“Snow,” Knives echoed.
“Yep. You can sleep in the guest room, how about that?” Mary patted her hands dry on her skirt, then looked up at Knives and smiled. “Don’t worry about your clothes, we can wash them if you need.”
“Hey, mister!” One of the girls called out from the living room. “Come here!”
“You should go see them,” Mary patted Knives’s arm and beckoned him to go.
When he walked back into the living room, the children were all in front of the fireplace, moving around in patterns. And some sound was playing from another corner of the room–it was music. The slow roll of the bass, the moving energy of the piano, the bowing of strings and blowing of horns, Knives had never really noticed any of it before, because he never really cared to listen to music, not after the crash. But he found it… enjoyable, shockingly, and his foot was tapping along to the beat.
“Dance with us!” Abigail tugged on his arm, bringing him towards the group of children.
Matthew jigged around on his own, while Rachel spun around with a doll in her arms. Abigail held onto Knives’s wrist, smiling at him.
“Dance with me,” she said, holding out her other hand.
“I–I don’t know how to dance,” Knives grumbled.
“That doesn’t matter!” Abigail laughed, taking his other hand.
Slowly, she began to spin him around in a circle with her, and Knives followed with stumbling feet.
“See?” She said over the music. “Isn’t this fun?”
Fun. Was there such a thing for Plants? Could a Plant have fun? Humans could have fun. Maybe that was what differentiated them from Plants, was that they were too distracted by things like fun and love to be intelligent. But here he was, aimlessly spinning around, with some human girl holding his hands, surrounded by warmth, by joy, by whimsy, and for some reason, he felt compelled to smile. To bring his lips upward in a genuine motion of happiness.
The evening went on and soon the children tired, seeing themselves off to bed, leaving only Knives and Mary in the living room, the fireplace dim.
“Thanks for playing with my kids,” Mary smiled at him again. “They’re the light of my life, you know? They seemed pretty happy to play with you.”
“You’re welcome.” Whatever. Whatever. He’d go through these stupid little pleasantries and let it all happen. It was just a dream. It was just a dream, it was.
But then the baby in the crib, John, started crying. And that loud wail pierced Knives’s ears, but worse, it pierced his heart. And it pained him, to know the baby was in pain, how? How? How could it hurt?
“Oh, John,” Mary cooed, reaching into the crib to scoop him up. “What’s wrong, darling? Are you hungry?”
The baby continued to cry. John could not speak. Crying was all a baby was capable of.
“Nai, I hope this isn’t too much to ask, but could you hold him for just a moment?” Mary turned the crying John in her arms and held him out for Knives.
“I-I don’t know if I can–”
“Don’t worry,” she smiled lightly. “I trust you.”
And his arms were folded to cradle baby John, and suddenly there the baby was, in his arms, crying out with a toothless mouth, with eyes screwed shut. It was a helpless creature.
Humans really were pathetic. For the first year or two of their lives, they needed to be constantly watched and cared for, fed and bathed and clothed on their own. Even after that, for many years after that, they’d still be cared for by others, until eventually, they’d become “independent”, that’s what people said, but no human was ever really independent. They were just grown, and relied on other grown people instead.
Knives panicked, a feeling of dread tight in his throat. He was afraid he was going to drop the baby. He was afraid he was going to kill the baby–since when was he afraid of killing a human? They were weak and worthless, right? But when he looked down at this helpless being, he saw his brother, he saw himself, he saw the entire world reflected in the wet tears streaking down reddened cheeks. He saw humanity, just a glimpse.
So he cradled the baby a little closer, rocking his arms up and down slightly, watching with unmoving eyes. And soon the cries became quick hiccups, and the quick hiccups became quiet hums, and the baby stopped crying, just quietly breathing and resting in his arms.
By the time Mary returned, Knives looked up to her with a blank expression.
“Wow, you must be magic,” she chuckled under her breath, looking down at the sleeping baby. “Oh, John…”
She held her arms out again, and Knives handed the baby back to her, glad that his arms were empty from that burden, but somehow, he felt that he wouldn’t mind if he had to do it again. John was placed back down in the crib and Mary quickly wiped off his face with a soft cloth, pulling a small blanket over his body.
“I’ll go set up the guest room for you, okay?” Mary put a hand on Knives’s shoulder, letting it linger, before she let go and walked down the hall.
Knives looked down into the crib, at the sleeping baby. How fragile it was. How easy it would be to wipe this human from the world. But he couldn’t. This was just a baby. What could a baby do? Nothing.
He wandered down the hallway and turned into the room that had a light on–the guest room. It was a small, but cozy space. There was a bed and a little bookshelf, and a side table with a lamp.
“It’s not much, but I hope it’ll be alright,” Mary said as she pulled the covers back for Knives. “If you need an extra blanket, we’ve got some in the closet. Bathroom’s just down the hall, if you wanna wash up.”
“...Thanks.”
“Goodnight!” Mary smiled and waved to him as she walked out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind her. Knives looked at the bed. He remembered sleeping in a bed all those years ago on the ship, but he did it so infrequently that he didn’t care. But now, he felt… tired. Like the bed was calling out to him. He covered his mouth with one hand, stifling some wide feeling–a yawn, it was–and reached over to turn off the lamp before pushing himself into the bed, pulling the covers over his chest.
Outside, the snow continued to fall, and he watched the flakes come down from the endless gray sky to the endless white landscape. It was almost peaceful, how he was inside, safe and warm, and maybe even loved, and the snow fell outside, and maybe this is what humans were fighting for this whole time. Moments like this. This is probably why they kept trying to live, despite everything. He felt his eyelids flutter, and close, and darkness came over him.
But that warm bed he was in suddenly disappeared from under him, and he woke up to a cold, stony ground. When he got up, there was a single ray of light that poured into the room, and under that light stood Rem, once again.
“What.” It came from Knives as a statement, rather than a question.
“Do you see anyone else in here?” Rem asked.
Knives looked around, though he already knew it was just the two of them. “No.”
“Exactly.”
“Exactly what?”
“I mean that this is where you’re going if you keep doing what you’re doing.”
An empty life. An empty home. An empty heart. A cold feeling in his chest, and nobody would be with him in the cowardly new world. Not a single human. Not a single Plant, either.
Not even his own brother. Just him and his own thoughts.
“Shut up,” Knives growled. “This stupid dream has gone on long enough.”
“Well, at least I can’t say I didn’t warn you,” Rem shrugged. “I’m disappointed in you, Nai. I thought you were smarter than this.”
“What?” He sneered.
But suddenly, he was surrounded by darkness. An infinite darkness. Rem was gone. Everything was gone. Something appeared in front of him. It was a mirror. He could see himself, but the version of himself in the mirror had this impossibly wide grin, and a fierce look in his eyes.
“What the hell?” Knives grumbled, approaching the mirror.
“Hi there,” the reflection replied.
“Are you me?”
“No, you’re me.”
“No, I’m me!”
“It doesn’t really matter, does it?” The reflection laughed. “We’re the same Plant.”
“At least there’s someone with sense in this dream.”
“No, there isn’t.”
“What?”
“Well, maybe it’s me,” the reflection tilted his head at Knives and grinned. “Maybe I’ve got the sense out of the two of us.”
“What?” Knives repeated.
“I can say everything you’ve kept buried.” And those sharp teeth of the reflection clenched down, and he spoke again. “Here’s a good one. I hate my brother!”
“W-What?!” Knives barked. “No, I don’t! I was trying to protect Vash!”
“No! I hate him!” The reflection looked giddy, and started to laugh again. “I hate him, I hate him, I hate him! I hate Vash!”
“No!” Knives shouted back, and he tried to hit the mirror, but his hand passed right through it, and the reflection grabbed his wrist, pulling him through.
“I hate Vash,” the reflection continued, shoving Knives to the ground. “I hate Vash and I’m just as bad as the humans.”
“Shut up!” Knives roared, trying to push himself back up, but his reflection shoved his foot into his shoulder and pushed him back to the ground.
“I’m a hypocrite and a liar.” The reflection sits on his chest, weighing him down like a hundred tons of steel. “I just wanted my own personal world to torture Vash in.”
“Shut up, motherfucker!” Knives swiped at his reflection’s face, but his arm was caught and the action was reversed on his own. “Ugh!” The punch went across his jaw.
“And I loved Rem,” the reflection cackled. “I loved Rem, and when I got her killed, I wanted to cry!”
“NO!” Knives bellowed, but the reflection began wailing on him, delivering punch after punch to punctuate his sentences.
“Hate the brother, reflect humanity, love the mother!” The reflection prattled on with madness, bloodying Knives’s face. “You think you’re better than them? Bullshit! You’re just as bad!”
“I’m–!” Another hit smashed into Knives’s jaw.
“And when you’re all alone, you’ll put your own blade to your throat, and–”
“I’M NOT!”
Knives’s eyes snapped open, and he screamed, clutching his chest. Sweat dribbled down his face. Whatever it was, it felt so real. The love, and the pain. It was all so real. And Rem. Rem.
She felt so real, too. But she was dead. And he killed her. Yes. It was his fault. Not his brother’s.
Was it true that humans cared more for each other than he’d realized? Or was it really nothing more than a dream, nothing more than a mishmash of memories and passages?
He wasn’t really sure, and that scared him.
But a voice seemed to whisper in his ear, once more.
“Your brother still has it in his heart to forgive you.”
And like that, the wispy voice was gone, escaping on a breeze that passed by Knives’s cold cheek.
If he desired to change, maybe it was not too late. Or maybe it was. But he wouldn’t know unless he tried, and if he was willing to try, maybe it would be alright.
Or maybe there was nothing left.