Chapter Text
Nicholas D. Wolfwood has become very accustomed to dust storms. He was bound to after all his years roaming the unending desert that is Noman’s Land For what it’s worth, he considers himself pretty good at, literally and figuratively, weathering the storms. Of course, the initial idea is to not be stupid enough to get caught in one in the first place, but if you must: find a cliff side to hide in, cover your eyes, nose, and mouth to keep the sand out, and find a way to get somewhat cozy for the next few hours. From Nicholas’s experience, he’s found that the average dust storm lasts about seven to eight rosaries, depending on how repentant he’s feeling that day, though the one he sees building in the distance looks to be a minimum of twelve. Too bad he’s down one rosary, and up one injured Vash.
-
It’s the same routine as usual, really. They roll into some dilapidated town in search of a quick buck or supplies, Vash sticks his illogically selfless nose somewhere that Nicholas really wishes he wouldn’t, shit inevitably hits the fan, and the two of them get chased out of the town in a hail of bullets. Though this time Nicholas will admit he was not expecting the cult in the town, nor for them to follow them this far into Noman’s Land. Vash evidently wasn’t expecting it either, given the sheer number of bullets that made their way through his body. Maybe he was just off his game today, or maybe the cults initiation requirements demand exceptional aim. Or most likely, Vash is feeling particularly guilty about the whole situation, and this is his own form of self flagellating. All this to say, he’s usually better at dodging bullets.
The town hadn’t seemed particularly unusual when they arrived, though Nicholas supposed that towns don’t usually scream “home of a manic death cult obsessed with ritual human sacrifice” just by the architecture. It seemed to be keeping itself afloat pretty well, a rather significant achievement given their lack of plant to power the town and distance from any major city. It was easy to tell at a first glance that the town seemed pretty religious, though Wolfwood wasn’t familiar with the imagery he saw plastered on every door.
So much for making any money as a priest here, they got enough of those already.
“Looks like they’re having some kind of festival today!” Vash had observed, pointing to the colored strips of cloth decorating the window ledges and general excitement coming from the town square. “Might as well join in while we’re here. You know, get in on the festivities, try some local foods. Oh! Maybe they have donuts!” His eyes widened impossibly with every statement. There was no way Nick was getting out of this one.
“Yeah sure, whatever Needle-noggin. Just don’t get us caught in some trouble again before it’s time for us to head out. We already paid for one night at the inn, I’d damn well like to use it. “ Wolfwood chided, inhaling the last of the dying end of his cigarette. He’d have to get some more while they’re here, he’s down to his last two in his pack.
“Promise! Scout’s honor!” Vash placed a hand over his heart and smiled brighter than both suns and all five moons combined. Nick could barely keep his smile from peeking through at the sight of it. It almost made him hopeful that he would actually keep his promise this time, that he wouldn’t find some way to get the world to turn on him. But knowing their track record, he wasn’t about to hold out for hope.
Regardless of his initial reservations, Nicholas followed behind an eager Vash from one stand to another without end. Vash found his donuts, and the joy on his face was almost enough to justify how much Nick had paid for them. Almost. They eventually made it to the center of town, where a huge crowd gathered around a grand stage made of ornately carved sandstone. The excited chatter of the townspeople died down as a man approached the podium a few feet to the left of the center of the stage. He was dressed in a large, discolored red robe with black markings Nicholas couldn’t quite make out, and dark sunglasses that hid his eyes entirely. If his getup wasn’t odd enough to weird Nicholas out, his uncanny smile certainly was. Just a bit too wide to be sincere and displayed with too much control to mean any good. Vash didn’t seem too concerned by it though, so Wolfwood opted to keep his mouth shut on the subject, lest Vash get any brilliant idea of investigating.
The man began his speech. “Children of the desert and the righteous ones of heaven! Today we gather to return to the sands what he has graciously given to us!”
The crowd broke in unison, with cries that, in Nick’s opinion, sounded less like cheers and more like a group vocal exercise. All of the people wailed in sync with one another like a remarkably ill tuned trumpet, and after the first five seconds of it, Wolfwood was more than ready to leave.
“All right, I think we’ve had enough festival for one day. Let’s get the hell out of here.” Wolfwood said, turning on his heel. Vash stopped him, pulling Nicholas by his suit-jacket closer to him.
“Wait a minute, Wolfwood. Something's not right here.”
“No shit, needle-noggin! That’s why we gotta go!” Wolfwood whispered through clenched teeth. Suddenly, the sound of metal creaking against itself pulled both of their attentions away from each other and towards the noise. Two armed guards hauled a young boy across the stage. His cheeks were gaunt and tear stained and his eyes were dark and sunken. He was bleeding from his wrists and ankles where chains were locked tightly against the skin. He couldn’t have been any older than 10, Nicholas thought, but he was so malnourished he could have been much older and he wouldn’t be able to tell. He was trying very hard not to let his disgust show on his face.
Next to him, Vash had no such reservations about hiding his horror. Vash’s jaw was agape before he raised a metallic hand in front of him to cover his mouth. Those azure eyes held that familiar glint that told Nick that Vash was about to get himself involved and the both of them kicked out of town. Wolfwood tightened his grip on the Punisher.
The boy was dropped in the middle of the stage on his knees, and a man in a black robe placed a large tray of sand in front of him. Another man bowed before the preacher and, kneeling, presented him with a silver dagger, engraved with the same markings as the preacher’s red robe. Taking the knife from his underling, the preacher lifted it in prayer. “To you, oh lord of the waste, we offer a sacrifice, worthy of your grace. May his blood nourish your lands, and may his soul serve you ever after in death!”
The crowd began their cries again, this time with even more vigor than before, as the preacher raised his dagger at the emaciated child. Saving himself from the inevitable, Nicholas closed his eyes before he could watch the boy be slaughtered in front of him. He was ready to hear screams, choking, maybe even a sob or two. What he was not prepared to hear was a single resounding gunshot to the right of him.
Wolfwood’s eyes snapped open as the sound of falling metal. There stood Vash, gun drawn, smoke pouring from the barrel from shooting the knife out of the priest’s hand, face decorated in righteous anger.
So much for the inn payment.
He watched as Vash rushed forward through the crowd towards the stage with determination. He fired two perfect shots at the links in chains at the boys hands and feet, snapping them apart. Reaching the stage, the blond quickly collected the boy in his arms, and began a mad dash away from the increasingly agitated townspeople. Drawing the Punisher, Wolfwood ran after him.
“Seize the heretics! Do not let their sins go unpunished!” ordered the priest.
It was times like these that made Wolfwood wish that towns had a more uniform design, or at least that they had gotten a map beforehand. Evading a mob was a particularly challenging feat, even in a familiar city, much less a town like this that seemed to be all alleys with dead ends. One sharp left brought them to another side street where the newly armed mob open-fired on the pair. No strangers to dodging bullets, Wolfwood and Vash doubled their efforts out of the town, the child in his arms only slightly slowing Vash down. For some reason, the shots felt like they were getting more and more accurate. Wolfwood tried not too hard to linger on that thought, he could ponder that later, if they all made it out alive.
Suddenly, there was the sickening sound of bullet meeting flesh next to him. Wolfwood watched the boy go limp in Vash’s arms, a trickle of crimson flowing down his neck from the back of his head. Nicholas’s stomach dropped. Seeing an opportunity to lose the crowd pursuing them, Wolfwood grabbed the back of Vash’s jacket, and bounded off the cliff drop at the end of the road in front of them.
They found a dark alley just a ways off from the cliff, and pulled off into it. In the shadow, Nicholas could see trembling hands cradling the dead boy’s head. Vash hugged the body to his chest in a death grip. His normally lively blue eyes, now vacant, started to water.
“I couldn’t save him, Wolfwood. I couldn’t save him. All I did was get him killed. He’s dead and it’s my fault.”
Nicholas gritted his teeth “He would have been dead anyways if you did nothing. At least this way he didn’t die for some stupid fucking cult in some stupid fucking ritual.” God, he really hated religion sometimes. From him to Livio to now this little boy, why was it always fucking kids that suffered the most for it. The advancing sound of voices and hurried footsteps broke his train of thought. “Vash we have to go. They’re headed this way.” Wolfwood urged. Vash began to rise to his feet, still carrying the boy. “We have to leave him behind, Vash.”
“We can’t just leave him here in some alley!”
“You think I like this situation any more than you do? News flash, Spikey, I really don’t! I don’t fucking like this at all! But we have a whole town hunting us for sport, and if we try to bring him with us, it’s gonna get us killed too!” Taking a deep breath, he turned around. He reached into his pocket, and pulled out his rosary, black beads separated by silver fastening. He held it out behind him. “Lay him down with this. It’s the best we can do right now.”
After a few moments of silence, he felt Vash’s gloved hand take the rosary from his own. He could hear the shuffling of fabric as Vash laid the boy down in the alley way, placing him into a comfortable position and looping the rosary around his neck. If they were lucky, the boy’s body wouldn’t be found for some time and he could rest easy there for a time, away from the townspeople and their batshit religion. He could hear the shouts of the same people fast approaching. Thankfully, Vash was already moving towards him, and with that they reignited their escape.
It took them several tries and many turns to make it back to the main road. Tearing down the street, they could see the main gate of the city fast approaching. They were nearly there when Vash took his first bullet for that day, red staining red on the left side of his back. As Vash grimaced at the pain, Nicholas shot back at their pursuers.
“Wolfwood, don’t shoot to kill!” Vash yelled. Truly, if the cultists didn’t kill them first, he was gonna kill Vash.
“This is not the fucking time for your ideals, Spikey!” Wolfwood shot back. He also shot another few rounds behind him.
A second bullet lodged itself into Vash’s good arm. Then a third hit him in the shoulder. He did a less impressive job of hiding his discomfort this time, groaning and gritting his teeth. As they crossed the gate, Wolfwood really hoped that the town would find it in itself to just leave them alone now that they were out of city limits.
One of these days, he thinks, all this hoping is gonna get himself killed.