Trigun Fan Fiction ❯ Force ❯ Force ( Chapter 1 )

Warnings: Blood, death of children, mind control, language, actions which would be suicide if they actually happened

 

Disclaimer: I don't own Trigun - I'm not that good of a writer!

 

Summary: Wolfwood dreams and Legato decides to mess with his head, forcing him to kill those dearest to him. Meanwhile, Vash watches Wolfwood's struggle and tries to help.

 

(Things in parenthesis are what is happening for real - where Vash is watching Wolfwood in his sleep. Aww! How cute!)

 

[Legato speaking into Wolfwood's mind.]

 

Thinking/feeling

 

Force

 

Nicholas D. Wolfwood walks into the orphanage and all the little kids run up to him, happy that Nico nii-san is back. Wolfwood is happy too, but kind of worried, because Legato let him come back for the first time in several years, without him even having to ask.

 

But soon, he stops worrying and just plays with the children, calling all of them by name and listening to their babbling with a gentle smile.

 

(Vash the Stampede walks into the room and leans over Wolfwood's sleeping figure, surprised to see that beautiful smile that the priest only gets around children. Then the smile falters slightly.)

 

Wolfwood pats his coat pocket, looking for the candy he'd bought in town and instead feels the butt of a gun in his holster. He could have sworn he'd left it. But he smiles again when he feels the bag of candy and brings it out, smiling even brighter at the huge grins on the children's faces.

 

He watches the children a while longer, chatting and smiling and trying to forget the sins he's committed to keep them all alive. After a while, he feels a strange sensation, like a tug at his consciousness, gently asking him to do its bidding. It seems so easy to agree and follow the suggestion, so he does.

 

He pulls out his gun.

 

The children look at it in awe, reaching toward it with pint-sized hands, entranced by the shiny, metal object. Wolfwood's heart thuds painfully in his chest when he realizes he can't control his own movements anymore. His thumb moves, cocking the large pistol and the children squeal, some with surprise, some with delight at the sharp metallic click.

 

He points it at the closest child, a little girl everyone called Angel. His hand is steady, the gun perfectly parallel to the ground as he rests it against her forehead. She crosses her eyes, trying to see the tip of the barrel. Her chubby little hands come up to grip his hand tightly, as if she were trying to keep the gun there.

 

(Wolfwood starts sweating, moving restlessly, as if he's fighting in his sleep. His right arm slowly rises, muscles straining, thumb moving as if to cock a gun. It comes to a rest only when it is pointed squarely at the ceiling. The rest of his body is squirming, but his arm is perfectly, inhumanly still. Vash can't help but wonder what he's dreaming of.)

 

Wolfwood's eyes go wide as he feels his finger moving, steadily squeezing the trigger. Angel's head explodes, blood splattering his face, and those of the children around him. But the children don't move away like he would have at that age. They don't run crying and screaming, desperate to escape their impending doom. They just stare at him, trusting him absolutely.

 

Their eyes never lose their trust, even when he guns them down, one by one. The room is painted red with blood and reeks of its coppery smell. He gags, grabbing for his throat, trying to close it off. To cut off the smell along with the air he needs to breathe.

 

(Vash watches Wolfwood move his finger, as if pulling a trigger. The priest shakes his head, as if in denial and opens his mouth, a low moan escaping as if it were trapped. Vash moves closer, leaning down and trying to hear the quiet words issuing from the black-clad man's throat. Run! Escape! Oh God! I can't stop it! Please, children! Don't let me hurt you! Vash gasps, standing up straight and wondering what he should do. He reaches to grasp the man's shoulders to shake him awake. But before he can do anything, Wolfwood's hands come up, squeezing his own throat. Vash's heart squeezes painfully when he sees Wolfwood's face and body relax, accepting and even glad of what he is doing to himself. He starts to talk to the priest softly.)

 

Upon hearing Vash's placating tone, Wolfwood spins around, the grip on his own throat loosening in his surprise. Vash walks toward him slowly, hands raised as if to show that he isn't armed. The outlaw's ever-present red coat is an obscene echo of the rest of the room. His spiky blond hair is splattered with blood. He's wearing that fake smile Wolfwood hates.

 

Vash the Stampede takes another step toward Wolfwood, still wearing the dim smile of someone trying to hide their own pain. Wolfwood's arm comes up in a semi-defensive gesture that changes swiftly into an attack. Vash gazes at him in surprise, eyes skittering nervously upward, glancing at the muzzle of the gun against his forehead.

 

(Vash speaks soothing words, hoping they'll get through to the lost-looking priest before him. He brings his hands up, ready to grasp the man's hands as soon as they loosen. But when they finally do loosen, he is surprised to see Wolfwood's arm curl, as if to shield himself. Within seconds, though, his arm straightens, to point a gun-shaped hand at Vash, the tip of his finger square in the center of his forehead. Vash sucks in a surprised breath.)

 

Wolfwood's arm shakes slightly when he sees the upset look on Vash's face before he steadies it again. Wolfwood feels his finger tighten on the trigger and watches the outlaw's eyes go impossibly wide. With inhuman effort, he manages to jerk his arm to the side, just before the gun reports. A small streak of blood appears on the Humanoid Typhoon's face.

 

(Wolfwood's arm shakes, then steadies, his finger pushing harder against Vash's forehead. Vash just stares at it, wondering what he should do. He sees the “trigger finger” tightening and unconsciously bunches his muscles to dodge, before forcing himself to relax, wanting to see what Wolfwood will do. The priest's finger tightens as he jerks his arm to the side. Vash estimates that he probably got away with a scratch.)

 

Hideous laughter bounces off of the walls, hiding the location of its creator.

 

Legato. Wolfwood doesn't even have to say the word - the increase of hilarity is his answer.

 

[Right in one. Oh my. You really are good.]

 

Wolfwood bares his teeth in answer, snarling when Legato continues to laugh into his mind.

 

[The wolf bares its fangs. How apt.]

 

Nicholas spins, hoping the sick son of a bitch is there so that he can give him a piece of his mind. His body is back in his own control and he is watching the shadows, wanting so badly to shoot the bastard who made him kill the children.

 

[* Sigh * Are you still sore about that? It happened five minutes ago - I thought for sure you had forgotten.]

 

The priest makes a sound of utter disbelief and rage. Legato continues to laugh. Vash makes himself known again. A tap on the shoulder makes Wolfwood spin around, his gun pointed at the outlaw's head again before it's jerked down. Vash rubs the back of his head sheepishly and shrugs. The priest shudders and turns back around, ignoring the clown behind him. When Vash taps him on the shoulder again, he feels that same force he'd felt earlier, compelling him to do its bidding.

 

For the third time in a very few minutes, Vash stood there, eyes wide, as Wolfwood pointed a gun at him. But this time, Wolfwood can't move the gun away. All the muscles in his body fight it, sweat soaking and darkening his already black suit. Something wet drips from his eyes and he could swear it had to be blood. He opens his mouth to tell Legato to stop it when his finger moves, shattering the silence that had descended.

 

(Wolfwood tosses and turns on the bed, head swiveling back and forth as if searching for something. He snarled, causing Vash to jump in surprise at the unexpected sound. When the priest screams in rage, Vash flinches. It's too much - he has to wake up NOW. Vash gently taps his shoulder, not wanting to frighten the man. A finger is pressed to his head again before it's jerked hurriedly away. Wolfwood shivered, turning over and scooting toward the opposite side of the bed from the outlaw. When Vash tapped him on the shoulder again, he is surprised at the response. With a small cry, Wolfwood's arm swung toward him, finger pressing into his forehead hard enough to hurt. The priest's whole body is shaking, sweat soaking his clothes and the sheets. Vash is startled to see tears in the man's eyes. STOP! A low, hoarse cry comes from the dark-headed man's mouth before his finger moves. He'd pulled the trigger.)

 

Vash the Stampede's body falls as if in slow motion and Wolfwood's eyes follow its descent, disbelieving. Why didn't he dodge? Is the only thought in his mind until the body finally hits the ground with a soft thud. Then everything he had done really hit him, all at once.

 

Wolfwood didn't make a sound as he fell to his knees, looking all around him at the bodies of children, laying haphazardly. His best friend's body was there too, the red coat flared around him, an arm stretched toward him as if asking him to follow.

 

He noticed that the controlling feeling was gone. His mind was free, his thoughts his own.

 

I did this.

 

When he'd pulled the trigger, Legato had already been withdrawing, hadn't he?

 

(Vash had stepped away, disturbed at his friend's actions when the “trigger” was pulled. Is this how he feels? He was turning to leave when he heard Wolfwood's whisper: I did this. Legato was gone already. It was me. Vash jumped when he heard that name: Legato. Finally understanding what was happening to his friend, Vash walked up to the bed, pulling his gun out of its holster. He knelt, grabbing Wolfwood's gun hand and making him grip the gun. Vash breathed in, then put the gun to his own head.)

 

Vash stood up, blood running down his face. Wolfwood stared as the tall man walked toward him. Vash reached toward Wolfwood's side, grabbing the gun that was still holstered there. He pulled it out of the holster, Wolfwood still watching and held it out to him, butt first. Wolfwood took it without question. The priest felt the outlaw's hands grab his. So real. Vash's gloved hands guided his, positioning his fingers, making him grip the gun correctly. It feels so real. The man in the red trench coat was kneeling in front of him, pulling his arm up to rest the gun against his forehead yet again. If you want to, you can do it. Shoot me.

 

The words weren't spoken, just felt. Wolfwood shook his head gently. It was so easy to refuse, unlike before. Instead, he pulled his hand away from his friend. I don't deserve your help. Not after what I've done to you. He put the gun to his own head and fired.

 

* Click *

 

Nicholas D. Wolfwood woke up to the sound of a gun dry-firing.

 

His eyes were wide, staring at the ceiling uncomprehendingly for a minute before swiveling to the side to rest on the smiling face next to his bed. Vash was sitting there, fake-smile in place.

 

Thank God. It was all Wolfwood could manage to think before sinking into a deep sleep, with no dreams.

 

Vash glanced at the gun he had hurriedly put on top of the dresser, out of Nicholas' line of sight after the man had put it to his own head and fired.

 

Good thing I unloaded it. I guess I know where your loyalties lie now, don't I my friend?

 

Owari?

 

Author's Note: As usual, not as good as I would have liked, but not horrible, right?! Please read and review!