Chapter Text
Everyone on No Man’s Land would swear up and down that Millions Knives was dead, even if his bounty and the Earth Federation said otherwise.
Everyone Vash asked would tell him that Nai was dead, even if the blossoming sapling that promised to bear tart apples said otherwise.
Here is the truth that not even the petty doctor or his wide-eyed boy would know.
Nai lives.
Millions Knives does not.
Millions Knives’s death came in the form an apple sapling in place of a white flag. His death came in the form of looking at his brother’s (despite everything that separated us we were brothers and we only had each other) unconscious form, at the streak of blonde that tethered him to life. His death came in the acceptance of the fact that whether it was forgiveness or condemnation, he cannot live with whatever Vash deigns to give.
(Lies. It’s not that he can’t, he won’t. He doesn’t want to.)
Nai lives in exile. Because exile is the only life that can cater to both atoners and cowards.
Nai will live on, if only so he’ll remain dead in all the ways that matter.
Vash has always been good at running.
.....right?
It was easy to believe that notion. Made it all the easier for Knives to scorn his twin’s foolishness as cowardice. After all, it befitted someone with ‘The Stampede’ as a moniker as infamous as his red coat and tendency to attract disaster.
Taking shelter in a cave, trying to ignore the itch under bloodied bandages left from bullets he failed to avoid (once, Millions Knives would’ve chopped their hands off before their fingers could touch the trigger. Now, the most Nai could materialize were blades on his arms), Nai wondered if that wasn’t the case.
Maybe Vash wasn’t that good at running.
Maybe Knives was just better at pushing him away.
Pushing him into taking the blame for Knives’s atrocities. Pushing him into becoming a solivagant martyr to atone for sins that were never his to atone for. Pushing him to grow up long before he could grow old. Pushing past his boundaries in the name of ‘doing what’s best’. Pushing him into painting his hair black. Almost pushing him into someone who’d have to call himself a murderer for ending the life of his own brother of all people.
And if Vash tried to push back? Knives pushed harder.
So, he opted to run. To run run run so even if he fell, at least he’d still be out of Knives’s reach.
Nai pulled his cloak tighter around himself. Starting a fire was...harder than he remembered it being. The desert winds weren’t helping either.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow night he’d have a fire.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow he’ll get better at running.
The twin suns rise and so does Nai. His boot accidentally kicks a blood-crusted bullet out into the sand. It’s buried in less than a minute.
The marketplace he visits has no bounty hunters that recognize his face. Unfortunately, it has pickpockets who snatch what meagre coin he had. Without money, he replaced the worst of the bandages with strips of his cloak. Though the garment was left in a worse state than before, he finally got a small fire going to make up for it.
Then his eyes snap open seconds before a club shatters his skull.
He did not hesitate the slit the throat of the closest assailant. He drew blood from the others though they were slippery enough to stay just out of reach. By the time the adrenaline wore off, he realized too late that his knapsack was gone.
Nai cursed to the heavens and for a horrible moment, a familiar hatred reared its head, like an attack dog recognizing its master’s voice.
It would be easy to give into it.
..........it would be too easy.
And since when was atonement easy?
No, Nai didn’t deserve that. If anything, he’s the one who deserved getting his throat slit. He probably would’ve deserved the beating they intended to give him for surely that pain would barely be a modicum of the agony he condemned humanity to.
Like an inferno doused with ice, his rage dissipated, coating his lungs with weariness.
Fatigue forced his consciousness into a fitful rest. He continued his trek at the crack of dawn without looking back at the corpse he didn’t bury (it was already a mercy to leave it untouched).
He underestimated the distance of the nearest town and his own travelling speed. By the time the twin suns were at their peak, Nai was dragging his feet across the sand in circles. There weren’t even any worms buzzing in the stifling heat.
Something snagged his boot, sending him sprawling across the sand. Every grain scraped his exposed skin raw, so hot he marveled at how it’s yet to turn to glass.
Turning to lie on his back took near herculean effort. The suns glared at him with all their might, turning his vision white. Closed eyelids were but a feeble protection.
In western movies, this was the part where vultures began circling over him. Nai would welcome the scavengers, if only so their bodies could offer some shade.
(And wouldn’t it be fitting if his end was found in devourment?)
Vultures did not offer him shade.
A hat did.
Nai blinked as old leather obscured his face.
“You with me, stranger?”
Sitting up, Nai stared into the face of a middle-aged man. He had his own hat to protect him from the sun and a grizzly beard in desperate need of a trim.
“Ah, right, no need to talk. Here.” A water canteen was offered to him.
The water was warm and leathery but god, it was practically ambrosia for Nai’s parched throat.
“Thank you.” He croaked out.
“Don’t mention it. Need a lift?” the man asked.
“I don’t have money.” Nai replied.
“And I don’t have company.” He gave a yellow-toothed smile with three gaps.
“.....okay.” Nai wasn’t pleasant company though.
Thankfully, the man didn’t expect a talkative companion. The faded red paint outside his truck was peeling and the inside had seats that reeked of cigarette smoke and a radio that played his favourite songs. He’d sing along to them so well, one could almost miss the staticky undertone from the old device.
It was nothing like crystal clear piano notes.
But there was something about it that felt alive. Although the man sang alone, it wasn’t a melody of grief or loneliness.
Nai should’ve kept his eyes on the road. Instead, they were diverted to the cowboy hat in his lap. There was a stitch in the brim holding an old tear together and the leather has seen better days.
The temptation to wear it was nothing like the enticement of rage. This temptation was....he daresay, childish. As childish as making faux-gunshot sounds while pointing finger guns.
“Welp, here we are.” The man declared after finishing a tune.
Nai peered out the window and was relieved to find him telling the truth.
“So it seems.”
He made to return the hat on his lap (why was he only doing this now?).
But the man held a hand up.
“Keep it.” He said.
“I don’t need it.” Nai replied.
The truck driver raised a dubious brow at his claim.
“Why?” Nai blurted out, his encounter with cruelty still fresh.
“The least every lost soul could have is a hat to keep the sun outta their eyes.” The man tipped his own.
“I don’t- neither of us even know each other’s names.” Nai pointed out.
“No problem. I’m Oliver, though I prefer Ollie.” He offered a hand to shake.
“.....Nai.” the grip was sweaty but firm in his. “I’m Nai.”
“Pleasure meetin’ you, Nai.” It wasn’t a greeting, it was a farewell.
And so, a stranger walked into town with an old cowboy hat on his head and a half-remembered radio tune in his heart.
After that incident, he’d learn to stash his money in separate hidden compartments on his person. He learned a few other things too. Like how to identify which merchants were trying to scam others with spoiled thomas jerky based on smell and texture. How to tell if the ground under his feet was built over a worm nest (after falling into one three times) or worse, a worm trap. How saloons and manual workers always welcome a strong body in exchange for some double dollars if not at the very least a roof over his head.
He learned how to cover ground when the suns were lower on the horizon. How to gauge if the distance was worth a few hours of enduring high noon. How to find places that offered not only shelter from the outdoor elements but protection from bandits.
Although his body didn’t require sustenance and his healing rate remained above average, he disciplined himself into water rationing so he wouldn’t have to endure unclean wounds.
Although No Man’s Land was an unkind planet, that did mean it was deprived of life. He discovered that there were more than thomas and worms. Desert lizards scampering under sand dunes and rocks; predatory birds snatching worm larvae with their sharp beaks and sharper talons. He reckoned that some were descendants of animals unfrozen and freed from the SEEDS ships.
There was even sparse plant life not unlike hardy cacti and tough weed under the shades of rocky cliffs. Sometimes, he’d stumble upon a rare melon with vines as long as two meters.
The plethora of flora and fauna combined to form an ecosystem. One that’s continued to thrive while Knives sequestered himself inside a gilded tower.
He looked back on those days with no small amount of disdain and shame. He thought he’d been establishing himself as a superior specimen when really, he was hardly better than a scared animal.
Rather than denial or indignation at being proven wrong, there was an odd sort of solace to it.
Nai was wrong. He was right about being wrong. For the first time since he crashed the ships, he was well and truly right about something.
A pity it had to be this. Then again, one reaps what they sow.
There were still encounters where his initial beliefs were given validation though. Encounters with humans who chose violence as a first option rather than a desperate one; or worse, humans who chose violence for the sake of it.
Those humans, he felt no remorse for slaying with his blades. Said humans always made sure to give Nai some new scars as a parting gift. The grisly marks were nowhere near the flagellation Vash has, but they ached when the nights went cold. Nights where he couldn’t even bring himself to start a fire as fury rekindled in his heart. Biting his tongue, he not only wrestled with the pain of stitching raw wounds close but the struggle of not backsliding into genocide.
Then a new day arrives and all that’s left is fatigue puppeteering his joints and some lingering remnants of self-preservation in his hindbrain.
He’d travel to a new settlement. Sometimes he’d be met with wariness, especially if it was a town struggling to feed the mouths they already had. Those towns were the most dangerous. Nai’s shoulder sported three nasty scars from a widow who recognized him and his subsequent bounty.
It didn’t help that resources were still scarce, causing the price of basic necessities to skyrocket. Once, someone assaulted Nai for a sip of his water canteen instead of a personal vendetta. Nai scared him off, but not before a knife was buried into his thigh.
(As he pressed a rag against the wound, trying to will the bleeding to stop, he wondered: how often has Vash done this? That question made him wish the knife had stabbed him straight through the heart instead.)
(It would’ve been less torturous than the sheer loneliness encapsulating his life.)
Sometimes, he’d be met with apathy. He welcomed it. Apathy meant anonymity, anonymity was protection. It was a defence more efficient than any firearm.
Sometimes, he’d be met with kindness.
Small gestures; a stranger holding the door open for him, a bar owner offering a free drink in exchange for washing the dishes, a cheerful child apologizing for bumping into him, well wishes for his future travels.
Bigger gestures; a doctor changing his bandages because he couldn’t bear to see an infection, an elderly woman giving him her son’s boots, the occasional vehicle giving hitchhikers like Nai a lift.
For every group of humans that sought to harm him, one of them helped him without expecting anything in return.
Some humans didn’t even help him specifically. Instead, they focused on helping their communities. Delegating labour to fix destroyed homes, rationing and recycling their resources to lessen the burden on his sisters, working together to rebuild lives instead of plundering others.
More of his sisters weren’t just surviving, they were thriving. No longer were their tanks dyed red with Last Runs. They continued to create and produce with the aid of their energies rather than at the cost of it.
They have always been at peace with their present. But now?
They were happy.
And Nai was happy for them (even though he wasn’t).
5 years pass in the blink of an eye.
It moved fast enough to stun but slow enough to drive him to near-hysteria. Has it really been a measly 5 years since he’s given up his 150 year old crusade?
Nai stood in front of another nameless town that wouldn’t exist had the aforementioned crusade succeeded.
5 years.
5 years since he last saw Vash.
It-
It’s nothing. It’s 1/30 of the time he spent without him and he managed just fine back then-
Except this wasn’t the past.
He had no grand plan, no cult to herd his brother towards him, he had nothing.
Nothing but a life of exile.
Nai promised that he’d change, that he wouldn’t allow hatred to fester inside him ever again.
But as Vash once pointed out: humans and Plants weren’t so different.
Both of them were capable of change....they were also capable of greed.
And if there’s anything that came to Nai as easily as anger and fear, it’s selfishness.
He wanted, no, needed to see Vash again. To see the one constant he’s had throughout his long life. He needed to know if he was alive, if he was living.
Throughout his travels, he’s picked up snippets of the Humanoid Typhoon’s inactivity. Once, Vash the Stampede was associated with the devil himself. Now new ballads and folktales spoke of an underdog pacifist who strived for love and peace. The few Plant worshippers that remained now revered Vash as their angel and god, if that particular role reversal wasn’t poetic irony at its finest.
Death was an unlikely cause of his disappearance (it couldn’t be death, it couldn’t be). But what were the other possibilities?
Nai didn’t know and the uncertainty drove his already tenuous mind to madness.
So at last, he tugged on the fraying thread which led him to this quiet unassuming town.
Swallowing back his trepidation, he slipped into the town. Loitering on the outskirts would only draw more attention.
Bakeries, diners and other local businesses had only just open their doors but the marketplace was crowded with residents looking for groceries and travelers restocking supplies.
Goosebumps prickled Nai’s skin. The key to going unnoticed wasn’t to hide but to never linger. Still, he jumped whenever someone chattered too loud or brushed against him too close.
Just a peek. He didn’t need Vash to see him, much less talk to him. He just needed to see that Vash was healthy and hale and it’d be enough, he (hopes) swears-
A merchant gets into a heated argument with their customer. The sudden volume of their voices erupted Nai’s eardrums like a point-blank gunshot.
“-you okay?”
The voice was close but not loud. It was- someone was talking to him.
“Sir?” when had he stopped moving? When had breathing become so difficult?
“Yes?” he croaked.
“Are you alright? You don’t look so good.” Her brows furrowed.
“Fine. Just passing through.” This garnered him a raised brow.
He took her in. She was youthful and petite, a mouse who carried herself with a lion’s authority. Her chestnut hair was cropped short and judging by her attire, she probably lived or at the very least, worked at a ranch. But with that attitude, she can easily be mistaken for law enforcement.
“You looking for anything in particular?” she asked, her sharp gaze contrasted her casual tone.
(It was a polite way of asking: What do want and how can I help you get it so you leave sooner?)
“Just some supplies and a place to stay the night.” He replied honestly.
Her green eyes narrowed ever so slightly but she gave him directions to the nearest inn. Thanking her with a curt nod, he slipped back into the crowd.
The girl didn’t follow him but he felt her eyes drilling holes into the back of his head until he reached the inn.
After securing a room for the night, he definitely did not scan the streets for the girl before exiting. That would imply that he’s scared of her but he’s not. It’s just his natural paranoia.
He was tempted to ask the locals if they’ve seen Vash but restrained himself. He’s taken enough of a gamble as it is, no need to heap on avoidable risks.
As the day drew on and his search yielded no results, Nai contemplated giving up. Perhaps the tug he felt was just a red herring......
Then he spotted the house on the outskirts of town.
It was a quaint structure with a nearby stable and coop for thomases. It took every ounce of willpower to keep his steps quiet as he slithered towards the home like the snake he was.
Hiding behind an abandoned cart piled with hay, he peeked over.
He spotted the priest Vash was so very fond of hammering away at a fence. Judging by the sweat dripping down his forehead, he’s been hard at work. There was also a flourishing garden dotted with vegetables and herbs. Evidently, this place has been occupied for quite some time and that wasn’t changing anytime soon.
Then the porch door opens and Nai’s breath hitches as he found what he was looking for.
It was Vash, hair all black and out of its signature spikes. But it wasn’t the hair that caught his attention, it was his body.
Under the soft cardigan, his stomach had a distinct bump.
Noticing Vash, the priest walked over to him to share a chaste kiss. He gazed at his twin, completely enamored while his hands caressed the bump as though it was the most precious thing on this godforsaken planet.
Because that’s exactly what it was. There was no denying it.
Vash was pregnant.
And well, the child’s father was obvious.
His brother was happy. He was living an idyllic domestic life with the man he loves and soon, with a child of his own. He had a home, love, peace, a family-
A family Nai wasn’t a part of.
(A family he hasn’t been a part of for a long time.)
His body slumped under the weight of his emotions, each one shattering his ribcage so the broken bone could further disembowel his heart.
Anger, envy, sorrow, grief, an entire reunion of old friends.
A reunion organized by his own hand.
He chose to walk away. He chose to crawl back instead of staying away. He chose to give in to selfishness because he was foolish enough to think he deserved an ounce of salvation from his solitude after his multitude of sins.
He wouldn’t be welcomed by them.
He shouldn’t be welcomed by them, ever.
(Was it worth it? Was trying to wipe out humanity worth more than the possibility of a family and a home?)
(It wasn’t. But he’s already paid the price.)
Vash and Wolfwood returned to their house, no, their home, none the wiser to Nai’s presence.
Somehow, Nai made it back to the inn through the haze in his mind.
Lying on the bed with scratchy blankets, he curled into a ball and sobbed.
He’s found his answer and a new lesson.
That blissful loneliness was less painful to bear than physical evidence that the contrary was no longer possible.