Chapter Text
If anyone was there that day they would swear they heard church bells ring, or perhaps a perfect harmonization that sounded like such. Like a million beautiful voices singing a single tone, inhuman but horribly recognizable, natural, perfect.
For a moment Vash thinks they sound like wedding bells, a celebration. The confetti certainly helps.
He saw an image once, of a wedding, Rem showed it to him, it was beautiful. The groom stood strong and proud, the bride had a veil, concealing her face, and in Vash’s memory he swears it billowed like smoke.
At the time he wished upon a star that shot past his bedroom window, that he might some day have a wedding of his own. To celebrate life and love and the joy to come, the grief too. Something so human…it was his dream.
Like many things, with time the dream faded, scrubbed with sandpaper, worn thin.
Love has little place in a being as infinite and as lonely as Vash The Stampede.
And yet…
Eyes meet, shades of blue—grey? brown? fogged white, glowing red, gleaming teal, infinite…infinite…infinite—wedding bells ring. Time rolls back, the wear and tear upon Vash’s dream slips away, he dreams again, wedding bells…
Those who were there swear they heard church bells, tolling the early funeral—no—wedding—no—no—no…
It is one thing to love humanity, it is hard not to when they are so intriguing, it is another thing entirely to love singularly, with purpose, with intention.
Who knew that either of them were truly capable of it, they certainly didn’t, if they had perhaps they would have known, would have saved each other.
The one Vash loved told him once, ‘For as long as you make these horrible messes, I will be here to clean up after them.’
It should have hurt, it was said with bite, yet it comforted him like a hug. The vow was broken, the mess in front of him is too much for him to handle, no one is there over his shoulder. No one to clean up the confetti and rubble and droplets of blood and bride—bride—bride—the bells continue to toll as Nicholas The Punisher is buried. For a while Vash can do nothing but hold him close, leach the last bit of heat from the corpse like he leached the kindness from a statement meant to hurt.
Hands as gentle and soft as feathers wrap the body in fragments of a stained white quilt, it drapes like a veil, covering hollow eyes—blue? grey? brown? fogged—the edges of it are stained with ash and smoke.
Young Nicholas is full of love, love for his siblings, love for his mother—Melanie, sweet Miss Melanie, who taught him everything he knows—love despite it all.
Nicholas’ love was stripped away too young, they say love should be unconditional, Nicholas didn’t believe that to be true. How could he love when he was broken and put back together again? How could he love when his heart was about as human as the circuit board of a machine? How could he love when the mirror only showed him the reflection of a stranger? And equally, how could anyone love him after it all?
Eyes meet, shades of—blocked by sand and wind. The small scared part of Nicholas looked an angel in the eyes and screamed in fear against his will, the body his mind had been left with stood unmoving.
It was not love at first sight certainly—The Punisher knows not how to love, how to hold, or how to be gentle. But the love in Nicholas bloomed again, and the small scared part of him screamed again, and scratched at his rib cage, and begged to be set free. He could be Nicholas again, it said, he could, he could, he could. Vash is the answer, the key, it said.
But Nicholas had been set to die the moment he loved for the first time, the moment he looked at his father and begged to be loved in return, the moment he looked at the world and begged for love to truly be unconditional.
In a way the universe told Nicholas he would never get the love he craved, as much as he prayed, as much as he begged from a god he hardly believed in. The universe denied young Nicholas his love, a bride abandoned at the altar alone.
He listened to the beautiful song as he breathed his dying breaths, the bells toll, though they are not bells truly—millions of voices—a single tone—they mourned for him, all in a chorus; Oh Nicholas, young Nicholas, he deserved the chance to love again.
Once, in the warm walls of Hopeland, Nicholas played a game with a young girl named Lily.
Lily asked very little of Nico, only that he read her a story at night, and that perhaps after breakfast they could play. The story—a book from home, worn thin, her only true possession—told the tale of a beautiful wedding. The groom, a prince who rode a majestic horse and wore gleaming silver armor. The bride, a beautiful fey, who was saved from the hands of a witch who wished to tear off her wings and steal her tears.
Lily explained the book was one part of a series, that the prince saved the fey, that they fell in love, that the prince was strong, a hero, that she wanted to be just like him.
The book she kept was her favorite, the perfect wedding—wedding bells toll—and when they play the next morning, she asks to be the prince in shining armor, she asks Nicholas to be The Bride.
⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅
Nicholas was buried with love.
⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅
In the time between then—eyes meet—and now—wedding bells toll—Vash fell for Wolfwood, his darling Bride.
Tall, dark and handsome they say, Wolfwood was more than that. Sure he had mystery about him, his cross he bore across the length of his shoulders, his spine. But as if it was a fact of life, Vash knew him, like he knew sand, like he knew stars, the sky, everything in Vash knew Wolfwood.
Sure they never said much about the love they felt, there wasn’t much to say, a march to your own demise is not truly the setting for a confession of such. Or perhaps it is. Either way no confessions were had, they never kissed, hardly even hugged. Once they shared a night in a bed together, but it was just that, sleep. And while they spent the night wrapped around each other, and awoke to the other’s sleepy face, they never truly spoke about it.
They both agreed, it seemed, that it would have to wait until everything was over. Wolfwood knew his fate, Vash realized this when they sat on that couch together, his heart breaking again at the realization that despite this Wolfwood still never said anything.
In the time between then and now Vash and Wolfwood became a team. In Wolfwood’s eyes betrayal lined every step he took, every word he spoke, every breath he dared to inhale.
In Vash’s eyes they would come out of this alive, it would not matter, it never truly mattered, Wolfwood needed to protect his home. Nicholas was full of love after all.
But then—wedding bells toll—and now—Vash, alone, step by heavy step—what is he to do, broken-hearted, unable to rest, and all alone.
Vash can see why Wolfwood loved Livio so much, loyalty is hard to come by, the brothers had more of it then they could hold. Somehow it’s a comfort, Vash is not alone—bells toll—Livio keeps him walking, step by step. Step by step.
It becomes a whirlwind, Meryl, Milly, Livio, Elendira, Legato.
Vash can’t even say he regrets it, he heard it again, when the shot rang out, bells toll, a million beautiful voices, a single tone. His sisters.
Every hint of smoke that burst from the throes of battle made him think of Wolfwood—of the veil—made him think of a future ripped from his hands like sand through fingers.
It is difficult for much of the rest of the next few months to stick in his mind, angry, heart broken, full of sorrow, full of pain. There is no space for memory, only action. For a moment he remembers Nai carrying him to safety, he remembers being harbored, being helped. He remembers the apple tree, grand and horrible in its complexity. Somehow, it is so human.
Months pass, life continues. Vash The Stampede never dies, it breaks his heart, he never gets his dream, his love—wedding bells toll—all he ever does is run, and run, and run.
What a horrible existence, one would think, how sad. His story shouldn’t end there, many think, millions of voices, speak in tune, one tone, all in agreement. How sad.
⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅
Livio sits at Nico’s grave for a while, and eventually, he rebuilds. Melanie comes home, the kids come home. Her hugs are just as comforting as he remembers, endless generosity, endless love. Somehow none of them are scared, somehow they all show the same love, unconditionally.
Livio thinks of Nico a lot, he weeps, he cries in Melanie’s arms, he grieves as all humans have to. They should have been brothers, why did he betray his brother?
Sometimes it’s all too much, overwhelming, confusing. No one deserved the love more than Nico. No one. So why? Why wasn’t he here, rebuilding?
On those days Razlo helps, he meets Melanie for the first time in the kitchen, and while she seems concerned, and confused, she hugs him all the same. Love. Unconditional.
On those days Razlo cuts apples for the children, it’s new, the apples. A farm off in who knows where grew a tree, and from it the sweetest of fruits. The children smile and laugh in awe, Razlo smiles, no one is scared, Melanie hands him a slice to try too.
On those days Razlo builds the fence, and tends to the tomas, and learns to garden, and build beds, and change diapers, and play with children. And eventually Livio returns, somehow, all is well.
The town near Hopeland is full of gossip, as towns are wont to be. Many people settled there after the events of the Ark, new friendships blossomed as new neighbors moved in, it was…peaceful.
Everyone in town knows Hopeland Orphanage. Everyone knows the children there as well, they come to town for groceries, for toys on special occasions. Everyone says the children of Hopeland were blessed by an angel.
Livio hears what they say, it makes him smile, an angel indeed.
Rumor quickly spreads as people settle, it seems not just Hopeland was blessed, but perhaps the entire town, for every night an event occurs.
The town’s plant they named Nicola, Livio and Melanie named her one day upon their return home after everything, and somehow word spread. They brought the kids to visit her, they all called for her—Nicola, Nicola, Nicola—she responded with a song—bells ring, a single voice, joy and sorrow mixed in tune—the children gasp and cheer, Nicola smiles.
Every night an event occurs, Nicola’s engineers noticed first, she would sing as stars twinkled in the sky, as if she was calling out for someone. And someone would respond, a million voices, a single tone. The head engineer would write notes whenever she listened to it, in her small journal she wrote; It sounds like a bell ringing, it’s beautiful.
Time passes quicker than anyone can keep track of, the world breathes, peace comes hesitantly, but steadily.
The sisters sing their song of mourning while Hopeland sleeps.
Vash finds a pack of skulls one day, he can’t help the urge to smoke one. It ends up being five that night, the smoke curls around him like a hug.
Livio rebuilds, and learns to love again, in some ways love never truly left him.
Wolfwood lays in his grave, still and gentle, a quilt laid over his face like a veil.
And then one night the sisters sing—a million beautiful voices—Wolfwood’s chest rises—a single tone—his eyes open—bells ring—he breathes in the earth and stone around him, the muskiness of death, and the distinct smell of his room, the quilt Melanie once gave him.
Nicholas—Wolfwood—Chapel—The Punisher—Nico. He lives.