Trigun Fan Fiction ❯ Campfire ❯ Chapter 1

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

I am not Yasuhiro Nightow. No harm, no foul.

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The gun smashed against the side of his head, splitting the skin along his cheekbone and sending a spray of blood over the filthy pillow. Wolfwood gasped awake and choked back a curse as his vision began to dim, transforming the looming figure of the sheriff into a blur of brown and gray.

Why can't I… oh. Fuck.

Hands're tied. Big guy with a gun. Brand new concussion. Hangover.

Shit. Shit. The fuck's going on here?

"I told you. We don't want your kind here." The brown and gray blur shifted back on the decrepit mattress as the sheriff moved out of Wolfwood's line of vision. Instinctively, Wolfwood tensed, waiting for the next blow, every muscle in his body tight and ready.

Who are these bastards?

A rough hand seized his shirt at the waist and pulled it free. Wolfwood's vision was fading in and out, but he was sure they weren't alone: three, maybe four other men stood back, watching as the tin-star sheriff of some shitsplat nowhere town used his shirttail to clean his blood off the gun's muzzle and stock. Mutterings from the bathroom: two more, three at most. Great.

"Eight against one?" he croaked. "You guys sure must think I'm dangerous. Got a thing against churchmen, do you?" The man standing closest to the door scowled and crossed himself before spitting on the floor. Wolfwood mentally shrugged.

"So, you're not Protestants, then? Not too big on religious tolerance around here?"

He didn't even see it coming. The fist, roughly the size of a Thomas egg, caught him across the mouth. His head rocked back against the mattress, hard. Between the ringing in his ears and the blurred vision he wasn't even sure the sheriff was talking until the man reached down and hauled him up by his collar.

"…that again. We're all good God-fearing folks around here, and we want nothing to do with the likes of..." The man's breath was unbearable, and he was desperately in need of a shave. Wolfwood felt a new headache, the early-morning nicotine craving, begin to form just behind his unbruised temple, and he groaned slightly. The sheriff didn't seem to notice.

"…leave town under your own power, we'll give you an escort. Don't want you perverts here after suns-set, got it?"

Something about that last sentence wasn't right. Something about…

Perverts?

What the fuck was he talking about? Think, Wolfwood think. Who's he got you confused with? What's the magic phrase that'll get you out of this one? Why the hell does he think that you're…

…sharing a hotel room with a guy you spent all night drinking with. Sharing a hotel room with only one bed, with a guy who kept crying into his green striped tie about how much he missed you.

What, these guys never spent all their money on booze with an old friend before? After three days of camping on the rocks, he'd have shared a bed with Legato if it meant a relatively soft mattress and four walls.

Come to think of it, where was Vash?

Someone asked the sheriff a question, and he nodded once before turning back to face Wolfwood. "Did'ya hear me? Did'ya get all of that, you blasphemous bastard?"

Wolfwood shook his head slightly and immediately regretted it. A wave of nausea swept over him, almost overpowering the pain in his head. "You're wrong…"

The sheriff shook his head. "No, I'm not. This is my town." He stood, dropping Wolfwood back onto the bed. The door to the hallway opened, and the fuzzy man-shaped figures around the room began to file out. One of them paused to knock on the bathroom door, and two more men emerged. In the doorway, the sheriff-looking blur turned back. "Suns-set." Then he was gone.

Wolfwood allowed himself the luxury of closing his eyes for five whole seconds. Five seconds was long enough to visualize a bullet-riddled sheriff being dropped off a very high cliff. Wolfwood sighed. Time for that later.

The rope that bound him to the bedframe was sturdy enough, but the knot was a joke. Twisting his wrists back and forth quickly loosened the bonds enough to slide one hand free, then the other. Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed made the room sway briefly, and the cigarette headache was getting worse. Shakily, Wolfwood stumbled across the room toward the black shadow in the corner he prayed was his jacket. Thank you, Jesus. Not many left, but they'd have to do: no way was he going to be strolling downtown to pick up a pack.

Next order of business: shower. The left side of his face felt stiff and swollen, and, while it was petty, Wolfwood planned to use all the water in the hotel's cistern washing the blood off his face and out of his hair. However, when he opened the door to the bathroom, he found the shower already occupied.

"Shit! Tongari, you all right?" Vash lay sprawled halfway in the shower, the back of his head stained red. Horrified, Wolfwood kneeled down, searching for a pulse. "Tongari…?"

. Under Wolfwood's questioning fingers Vash's pulse was steady and strong. With a relieved sigh, Wolfwood examined the wound. The skin had split over a good-sized lump at the base of Vash's skull, and that looked to be the worst of it. He pressed slightly on the bump itself, and Vash awoke with a hiss. One flailing hand caught Wolfwood on his cracked cheekbone, and he fell back with a cry. Vash's eyes glowed… then widened in shock.

"Wolfwood! I'm sorry, are you…" Wolfwood waved off the proffered hand, and heaved himself up until he was sitting against the wall next to Vash. He shot Vash a quick glare, and was rewarded with an apologetic smile, that turned to a wince as Vash touched the back of his head. "That one really hurt. What happened"

"Well, I got tied to the bed and woken up with a black eye. We pissed the locals off, I guess. What happened to you?"

Vash shrugged. "Too much whiskey. I came in for a glass of water… didn't hear a thing." His tone of voice was more surprised than anything else. "They tied you to the bed?"

Wolfwood shrugged. "Looks like they thought I was the bigger threat. Shouldn't travelling with Ericks the Thomas Trainer rather than Vash the Stampede mean that fewer towns want us dead?"

Vash chuckled, but there was no feeling behind it. "Yeah, I suppose not… hold on a minute."

Carefully rising to his feet, Vash pulled a washcloth off the rack, ran it under the faucet, and turned back to the bleeding priest. "Here. That looks awful."

Vash carefully dabbed away the dried blood from Wolfwood's face and throat. "So. Were they after you or me this time?" Wolfwood glanced up at that, and his gaze met Vash's. For the space of a single heartbeat, their eyes were locked, and Wolfwood's breath caught in his throat. The moment passed as quickly as it had arisen, and Wolfwood stared blankly into space over Vash's shoulder.

"Both of us, actually. Thought we were together." Vash blinked at that, his brow wrinkling the smallest bit in confusion. Wolfwood sighed.

"Together. Like, lovers? That sort of thing doesn't go over too well in some of the bigger towns, much less out here in the sticks."

"Oh. Turn your head, so I can get the rest."

Wolfwood obligingly turned his bruised and bloody chin towards Vash, who carefully washed away the blood from around his split lower lip. Facing each other, not two feel apart, and Wolfwood became suddenly aware of the pointed lack of eye contact.

He could feel the blush creeping up his neck, and concentrated on forcing it back down. No reason for that, he thought angrily. Bastards made a mistake, is all. A big mistake. A mistake he couldn't do a damn thing about without going through the pointy-haired pacifist who was currently patching him up.

Fuck.

Wolfwood sat still and endured Vash's ministrations as long as he could, then shook him off. "Enough fussing, Tongari, I'm fine. Let me get a look at you, now." He rinsed out the cloth, and cleaned the blood out of Vash's hair as best he could without reopening the wound, then tossed the cloth into the sink. That was a little better. A shower would be best, but now there wasn't really time.

Wolfwood poked and prodded at Vash's head until the blond man yelped. "You're fine. Good bump, but no major damage." Just another scar, he thought, wrapping the bandage around Vash's head. Wonder if the hair there'll grow in white instead of black? He doesn't have any scars on his face, though. Why is that? Maybe his head heals better than his body. He glanced down at Vash's scarred, bolted and plated back, and shook his head wonderingly. Amazing he survived all that.

Another scar. A group of worthless little men had added to Vash's collection. Suddenly furious, Wolfwood tied off the bandage, rose, and turned toward the bathroom door.

"You're good. Get dressed already. We're going."

Vash's tone was unreadable. "Wolfwood…"

"Unless you won't mind if I shoot half the town, we should probably leave. Now."

*-*-*

Though the street looked empty, Wolfwood could feel the eyes of everyone in town burning a hole in the back of his head, righteously observing as he and Vash undertook the Walk of Shame. A blush burned furiously in his bruised cheek. Fuck this town.

The sheriff stood at the city limits, thumbs hooked into his beltloops. Vash strolled past as though the sheriff was invisible, but Wolfwood refused to leave without a final exchange of words. The sheriff, apparently, felt the same way.

"Safe travels, and burn in hell, false priest." He fixed his gaze on Wolfwood from under the brim of his hat, and Wolfwood glared back.

"Don't worry, Sheriff. I'll be back though here someday. Lord keep you `til then." Grey eyes met brown, and what the sheriff saw there made him tear his gaze away first.

Wolfwood sighed, and hoisted the Cross Punisher higher up into the groove it had worn in his shoulder. Winning a staring contest was in no way adequate payback for that morning. If only Vash wasn't there, or, better yet, if only Vash would accept the need to kill. If only Vash went on ahead say, past that ridge…? But no. There he was, waiting not a hundred yarz out. Removing any temptation to splatter that sheriff's brains across the street.

Too bad.

If only Vash wouldn't give him grief for killing. If only Vash would tell him what had really happened to Augusta. If only Vash weren't so damn important to Knives. If only Vash…

"Wolfwood?" He had caught up, finally. Vash hoisted the thomashide bag back over his shoulder, and matched his stride to Wolfwood's.

"Yeah, Tongari?"

"I wanted to say thank you. For not drawing your gun back there." Vash stared straight ahead at the horizon and they trekked onward.

Wolfwood stuck a cigarette in his mouth, then paused, with the matchbook raised halfway to his lips. "I should have," he muttered, striking the match and dragging deeply. "I still may." He exhaled as Vash closed his eyes briefly.

"It wouldn't do any good, Wolfwood."

"The hell it wouldn't! Those fuckers broke into our room, they nearly broke my jaw, to say nothing of your head! They're narrow-minded and violent and no amount of `love and peace' is gonna change that. Hell, the whole problem was that they thought we were in love! How can that not piss you off?" Another drag. "How are you not furious? They knocked you out, Tongari. When's the last time that happened?"

Vash shook his head, still staring at the boundary of sand and sky. "I am furious," he said. "But killing them won't make me any less angry. Killing only leads to more killing. Which is why," as he turned toward Wolfwood, "I wanted to say `thank you'."

Wolfwood hitched up the Cross Punisher once more, glanced back at Vash, and finally yielded with a curt nod, not quite trusting his voice.

The day wore slowly on.

Come the first suns-set, Wolfwood called a halt. Beneath a rocky overhang, he built a fire of tumbleweeds and wind-blown branches while Vash rooted through his bag for dinner, which they ate in mostly companionable silence.

Two hours later, both suns had set and the air was growing steadily more chill. Wolfwood leaned over and opened the side of his Punisher while Vash huddled into his lightweight jacket. "Tongari. Catch." He flung the bottle of whiskey over the fire and Vash caught it reflexively.

Vash shook his head. "I shouldn't…"

"Nonsense. It's freezing out, and this'll keep you warm. Besides," Wolfwood added, "it's just the one bottle. I had enough last night, too." He lit a cigarette with a brand from the fire. "Speaking of which, how's your head?"

Vash swigged off the bottle, capped it, and tossed it back to Wolfwood. "Better. It's still sore, but I can't complain. You?"

"Yeah. Still sore." The whiskey burned his mouth and then it burned his belly, and Wolfwood sighed. The day was finally improving. "But, like you say, I can't complain." He tossed the cigarette butt into the fire, and moved over next to Vash. "Here. `Love and peace'." Vash grinned.

"'Love and peace'!"

Half the bottle later, Vash finally raised the question. "Hey, Wolfwood? Why d'you think they thought we were a couple?"

"Probably because you were drunkenly ranting about love and peace and how much you missed me. And I doubt the fact that you drank almost all our money and we had to share that room didn't help." Wolfwood freed the bottle from Vash's deathgrip and drank.

Vash reached for the bottle, but Wolfwood pulled back out of reach and downed another swallow. "But I did miss you. I missed the insurance girls, too." He snagged the whiskey, watching the golden-brown liquid slosh around the bottom of the bottle before raising it to his lips. "Did I really drink away all your money?"

Wolfwood leaned forward to poke at the flames. "Yeah, but don't worry about it, Tongari. I didn't have enough to pay for two rooms anyway." He added another branch, and sat back against the rock, suddenly serious. "I said it to that old Baa-san and I'll say it to you. I'm sorry. Would've been nice to have been able to leave you there."

"Wolfwood…"

"No, let me finish." He took a swig of courage, eyes hooded. "I don't know what happened in Augusta. What I saw… was the Hand of God, or something. And I don't know what you had to do with that, but I want you to know that I'm not going to ask. You've got your secrets, but they're yours to keep. Knives…" Vash's hand clenched convulsively, and Wolfwood pretended not to see. "I don't know who he is to you. It's none of my business. But I need your help. I can't go after him on my own. That's why I came looking for you." A charred branch crumbled into coals the colour of Legato's eyes, and Wolfwood shivered.

"You trust me." It was neither a question nor a statement. Wolfwood shrugged.

"I guess I do." God help me.

"So I end up with their lipstick allll over my face, but I'm so drunk I pass out!" Wolfwood threw his head back and howled with laughter.

"Tongari, you have the worst timing of anyone I've ever met! Two girls in your room, and you fall asleep!" Vash pouted slightly.

"I don't have bad timing. I have exchellent timing! I was just really drunk! Besides…"

"Excellent comedic timing, maybe." Wolfwood patted down his pockets for a match, gave up, and reached for a burning stick. "And besides what?"

"What besides what?"

Wolfwood blew a cloud of smoke at Vash, who crinkled his nose in disgust. "Don't give me that. You said `besides'. Besides what?"

"Besides… Iwasn'treallyinthemood…"

This earned him a snort. "You have to be in the right mood to have two hot women in your bed?"

"Well, yeah! That, and there was this really pretty girl I was trying to impress, and this cute metalhaired dancing assassin guy who came into my room and the townfolk had just tried to kill me and now they were getting me way too drunk and I was tired!" Wolfwood glanced over, the snide remark on the tip of his tongue dying instantly at the sight of flushed cheeks and brilliant green eyes.

"…you're gor…um, what assassin guy?"

Vash leaned back against the rocks. "Just a hired killer. No one important." He gestured vaguely at the bottle lying next to Wolfwood's knee. "Any of that left?"

"Looks like a good shot each." He handed the bottle over. "Here. Last swig." Vash raised the bottle and swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing with the motion. He licked an amber drop off his lower lip, and held the nearly empty bottle out to Wolfwood.

"Thanks. Bottoms up." His trousers were suddenly a bit too small. Wolfwood shifted slightly before taking the proffered drink.

"Cheers." Out of the corner of his eye, Vash tracked the bottle to Wolfwood's mouth, then let his eyes drift lower, until they rested on the ill-concealed bulge in the front of the priest's pants. Mind whirling, and feeling feverish, Vash turned back to the fire.

Wolfwood tossed the bottle out of the fire's light, and rose shakily to his feet. "Gotta piss," he muttered. "Be right back." He stumbled out into the darkness.

Vash sat motionless for an eternity until the ache became unbearable. "Me too," he whispered to the fire, and set off into the shadows opposite of Wolfwood's path.

Ten yarz from the fire, Wolfwood dropped to his knees, shaking, one hand clawing at the cold hard sand, the other fumbling helplessly at the buttons on his fly.

"Chapel? I'm bored."

"No, dammit…" The final button gave way with a feeble pop, and, with a sigh that was almost a prayer, he shoved the trousers off his hips. His drunk-hot hand wrapped around the heavy shaft and squeezed it tightly once, twice, before moving, sliding his hand up and down with graceless need. A image formed before his eyes…Vash, smiling in the sunslight, long fingers combing through soft blond tangles, stroking across the broad leather-clad chest, flashing against the bright brass frame of

Sylvia, leaning against the opposite wall, caught the light from the suns-set, bathing Midvalley in a blood red glow. "Entertain me."

Wolfwood glared up at the musician from his seat on the floor, surrounded by gun parts and oily rags. "Fuck you, Hornfreak."

Midvalley smirked. "No, Chapel. I'd rather fuck you."

*-*-*

When the fire was nothing more than a bright spot near the horizon, Vash stopped walking and sat down. Placing his hands flat against his thighs, Vash closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

He isn't interested in you, you know.

His grip tightened, palms pressing hard against muscle and bone.

He's a priest. He doesn't like men. He's hurt right now because someone thought he liked men. He could never care for you anyway.

Tighter.

He's your friend, nothing more. He's probably in love with the big girl. He's

Somewhere in this desert, touching himself right now.

Vash's real hand crept toward the fly of his pants, still pressing down. One button, two, three, and his cock sprung free, burning in the chill air. Almost absently, he caressed the thick vein as his left hand reached back to cradle his tender balls.

He's out there. Kneeling, not fifty yarz away. He's touching himself, just like this.

He rolled the velvet length between his thumb and forefinger.

How would his hands on me feel? Would they be gentle? Teasing?

Leisurely, he rubbed a fingertip over the tiny slit and hissed at the sensation.

Rougher? Controlling?

One hand began a rhythm, slow and steady, while the fingers of his other hand reached back, then back further, and pressed

Like this? Would it be

"Like this, little brother?" The fingers pressed against the ring of muscle, insistent, probing. Vash squirmed under his brother's hands, and Knives chuckled. "It gets better, Vashu"

The strokes continued, but the other fingers pulled away briefly, only to return cold and wet and more inquisitive than before. Vash whimpered, and Knives leaned over his writhing form.

"All because I love you. You believe me, don't you Vashu? All because I care for you. In all the world, I'm the only one who does. The only one to give you something special." The first finger pressed deeper, and Vash cried out at the sudden burn, and then again at the explosion of lights behind his eyes. Knives smiled, and flicked the tiny lump again. Vash arched his back and moaned.

"Knives"

"The only one who could ever love you like this."

*-*-*

Midvalley, moving like the cat he thought he was, slid forward to stand toe-to-toe with a very angry Wolfwood.

"He read your mind, church man. He knows what you want, and he knows what you need. And since you're forbidden what you want" a callused hand glided over Wolfwood's collarbone, then seized his jaw, "you get what the Master says you need."

The burning had subsided, and Knives' spiderlike fingers twisted and writhed inside Vash, scissoring back and forth, drawing him ever closer to the edge. Without warning, Knives withdrew, and Vash groaned at the empty feeling. "Please… brother"

The pressure returned, once again cold and slick, larger than before. "You are mine, Vashu," Knives crooned as he rocked forward. "Only I love you. Only I care for you. Only I need you." With every thrust he slid in deeper, deeper. Vash bit his lip, drawing blood, as the litany continued. "OnlyICanHaveYou." He brushed the knot of nerves, and Vash flung his head back and screamed.

Wolfwood's hands kneaded the bedclothes as Midvalley, pressing against his back, toyingly stroked and pinched the dark nipples. "So pretty," he sighed, releasing one tender nub and patting the covers for the slick. A cold stream trickled over Wolfwood's exposed crack and he jumped, startled. Midvalley continued his ministrations, laughing. "So skittish, so sweet." He followed the trail of oil down, giving balls a tug, before feathering back up and tracing the tight pink circle. He slipped a single joint into Wolfwood, and chuckled at the resultant gasp. "Was that a"

"Just fuck me already," growled Wolfwood, blushing in spite of himself. "Hornfreak, you talk too damn mu--" Midvalley's weight shifting on the mattress wasn't quite warning enough as he sank himself in to the hilt. Wolfwood buried his face in the covers, panting.

"I have a message for you," Midvalley whispered, punctuating his words with an insistent driving beat. "You are to complete your mission. You are to befriend your target. But. You are not to touch him. You are not to want him. You are not to think about him. Instead," and Midvalley's tone grew lighter, even as the punishing thrusts sped up, "Why not, oh, think of the children?"

"Only I can love you."

"He's off-limits, Chapel."

"Only I can care for you."

"You have no choice."

"Only I"

"Why not"

"Va…aaaah." Wolfwood breathed through gritted teeth.

"…Knives." Unshed tears burned and blurred the distant fire until it was just another star.

By the time Vash returned to camp, Wolfwood was asleep, back to the fire. He sat back against the stones, arms wrapped about himself, and watched the fire burn out.

*-*-*

"Hey, Vash!" Wolfwood flicked a light for his second to last cigarette. "Let's get going already."

Vash yawned, hoisting his bag up over his shoulder. "Yeah, yeah. You're too chipper." Wolfwood shrugged.

"Down to one cigarette. Listen, next town we stop in, I'm gonna see if I can find another bike. This walking across the desert idea is taking far too long." Vash nodded in agreement, and they headed off in what hopefully was the direction of Little Jersey.