Trigun Fan Fiction ❯ Love and Hate ❯ Love ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: Trigun belongs to Yasuhiro Nightow, not me.

 

A/N: The idea of Vash meeting a young Legato was brought up by one of the reviewers of my previous fic, Lady Shadowcat, and so I've decided to try writing a short story based on this possible scenario. I would like to thank ReadingWhiz89 for answering my questions regarding Legato's past. This fic is also written for WolfDaughter, who had expressed a wish to read more pre-series Trigun fics.

 

This story is quite dark in my opinion, so be mentally prepared for some potentially upsetting scenes. (Rated for language and some violence)

 

 

Love and Hate

A Trigun fanfiction by ntc

 

Part 1: Love

 

`There is no greater hatred than that which springs from love.'

- An Old Earth saying -

 

The blows came fast and hard. The thin blue-haired boy, who was barely ten years of age, did not even try to defend himself. He had learnt, through experience, that fighting back always resulted in a more severe and prolonged beating. If he remained quiet and smiled the whole time, his abuser would quickly lose interest in this daily ritual. Perhaps his abuser, thinking that he actually enjoyed experiencing physical pain, would deny him that for that reason alone. However, there were other forms of punishment that could be dished out. Hunger and thirst had been his constant companions for as long as he could remember.

 

“Dog!” snarled his abuser, adding another kick to his temple. The spurs on the heel of the man's boot tore open his skin and drew blood, but he continued to smile. “You good-for-nothin' bastard!” Finally tired out, the panting man whom he called `father' stopped his assault and trod to the kitchen of the derelict old house they lived in.

 

The boy heard the sound of a cork being pulled out of a glass bottle. His father was soon guzzling down the cheap wine in huge gulps. He remained still on the floor, hoping that the older man would pass out from his drink soon. He desperately wanted to get up and clean the blood from his face before it could stain the rug in the lounge. The last time he dirtied the rug, his father had starved him for a week.

 

“You're just like your filthy mother,” said the man who was now sitting on a couch a few feet from where his bleeding body was lying. “Ran to the arms of another man, she did. She even had the gall to blame me for her filthy ways!” Alcohol always did have the ability to loosen his father's tongue. “Spouted some nonsense about not paying enough attention to her and such. Bah! That whore got her wish in the end, didn't she? I paid her lots of attention. Her and her lover both.” His father laughed at this point, a laughter tinged with madness. “My only regret is that I didn't do it sooner. Otherwise a foul spawn such as you would never have the chance to be born. And I wouldn't have to put up with your ugly face everyday for so many years…”

 

The boy listened to the rants and ravings of the drunk man until they dwindled into slurred mumblings and finally into silence. What baffled him was that his father tended to weep at the end of his rants, often crying out for forgiveness from his dead mother. Even after spending years of hellish co-existence with that man, the boy still could not understand him.

 

At times like this, he would begin to think… If he died, would his father weep for him?

 

xXxXxXx

 

“Dog! Dog!” chorused the kids who were roughly his age as he walked past them in the streets. “Freak!” He did what he usually did in such circumstances. He completely ignored them. After putting up with his father's fierce abuse, their enmity was nothing more than an annoyance in his eyes.

 

The biggest boy in the group, the town bully, picked up a rock and was about to hurl it at him when a gloved hand clamped down on the wrist of his potential attacker.

 

“Tut-tut. That's no way to behave towards someone who has done you no harm,” admonished a gentle voice.

 

The bully struggled to free his hand, but to no avail. “Who the hell are you! Mind yer own business!”

 

“I…” The stranger cleared his throat loudly and launched into a passionate speech. “…am the defender of the weak, the protector of the innocent, the hunter of the elusive… YEOW!” The bully had stomped on one of the stranger's booted feet. The red-clad weirdo hopped around like a demented rabbit, lost his balance and ended up sprawled out on the ground, twitching and moaning.

 

For a few moments, the children just stared at the whimpering stranger, not quite knowing how to respond. Then the bully stirred them into action by shouting, “Let's get him!” They piled on top of him and started to twist his limbs in ways that were rewarded with fresh cries of agony.

 

The boy impassively watched the strange man being tortured for a while before continuing on his way to the saloon. He needed to buy more booze for his father.

 

XXxXxXx

 

The stranger approached him when he was walking back to his house. “That was cold. You didn't even stay around to see if I'm okay; despite all the trouble I went through to help you.”

 

He levelled a steely gaze at the stranger, hoping that his golden eyes would unnerve the man as they normally did everyone else. “I didn't ask for your help.”

 

The stranger met his gaze unflinchingly. “That's not the point.” Those aquamarine orbs that looked back at him held an emotion he was not accustomed to seeing. Compassion. “Why did you let those kids call you names like that? You're only encouraging them if you don't stand up for yourself.”

 

The boy was the one to break eye contact first. He was not used to people looking at him without disgust or prejudice. “They were only calling out my name.”

 

“What?” said the stranger, a surprised note in his voice.

 

“My name is Dog,” The boy waited for the snicker that usually followed every time he told someone his name. He didn't hear any. “That's what my father calls me.”

 

“Your father doesn't sound like a nice person.”

 

The boy was perplexed by the hint of anger he detected in the stranger's voice. What was he angry about? “He keeps me alive. That's enough for me.”

 

“Did your father give you those wounds on your face too?”

 

He said nothing and continued walking. His father had warned him about what would happen if he ever told anyone about the beatings. However, it was not only out of fear that he had kept quiet about his situation. There wasn't a single soul in town who would be willing to do anything to help him, even if they knew. Sometimes, when the loneliness became unbearable and he reached out to the minds of the people around him, he would discover how much they truly loathed him. They knew about him and how he was conceived, and their sympathies lay with his father.

 

Keeping in pace beside him, the stranger said, “I don't mean to pry, but I really wish you would let me help you.”

 

He gritted his teeth. “I don't want your pity or your help!” `Don't give me hope,' his mind silently begged. `Don't make me feel again.'

 

He sprinted away, desperate to get away from the stranger and his false promises. When he could no longer sense the stranger behind him, he slowed down and leaned against the wall of a building to catch his breath. He was already dizzy from hunger and the exertion had drained him of what little energy he had left. His knees wobbled as a wave of nausea swept over him.

 

The boy slowly turned to look back at the area from which he came. The stranger had not even attempted to chase after him. He felt disappointment well up inside him. He blinked in confusion. That wasn't right. Why should he feel disappointed at all? Why should he feel anything at all?

 

“Boo!”

 

The unexpected shout startled him sufficiently to make him drop the paper bag he was carrying. There was a crash and tinkle of broken glass and the paper bag was soon soaked through with red wine. All he could think of as he stared at the gradually expanding wet patch on the ground was whether he would survive his father's punishment this time.

 

“Um… Oh dear.”

 

The boy now recognized the voice to be that of the nosy stranger's. Apparently the stranger had snuck up behind him by walking around the building he was leaning against. A pressure built up at the back of his head and he nearly unleashed it on his well-meaning tormentor. He stopped himself just in time, too exhausted to even feel any emotion.

 

“I'm so sorry!” wailed the stranger, his face scrunched up with guilt. “I'll pay for the wine. No, better yet, I'll buy you double- no, make that triple- of whatever was inside that bag, as compensation for the inconvenience and everything.”

 

“I don't want…” He paused. What was he doing? The stranger was offering a solution to his predicament and here he was, rejecting it out of hand just because he disliked charity of any kind.

 

“Oh, don't be like that.” The tall, lanky stranger knelt down until they were eye-to-eye. Reluctantly, the boy locked gazes with him again. He may not be familiar with compassion, but he could not deny that it made him feel… good. He just had to be careful not to get too used to it. “Say what, why don't we head back to the saloon together? You just point out what you need and I'll pay for it.” The stranger smiled. “At the same time, let's check out the nice eating spots in this town and see what we can have for lunch. I don't know about you, but I'm famished.”

 

The boy surprised himself by nodding.

 

xXxXxXx

 

“Whoa, kid, you'd better slow down a bit before you choke on that hot dog.”

 

With his mouth full of partially masticated bun and sausage, the boy was unable to reply. However, he did put in a few extra chews before swallowing as an indication that he had heard.

 

The stranger watched him wolf down the rest of the food set out on the table before them with a huge grin plastered on his face. Feeling a bit uncomfortable under the scrutiny, the boy paused with a spaghetti-wrapped fork poised near his mouth and asked, “Why do you look so happy?”

 

“Because you are” was the cryptic reply.

 

A period of thoughtful silence passed. “I'm not happy.”

 

“Sometimes the smallest pleasures are the ones that matter the most,” said the stranger. “You often can't fix all the big problems in your life, but you can start with the small ones, such as filling an empty stomach.”

 

To distract himself from the despair that came with the realization that he was powerless to fix even the smallest problems of his life, the boy resumed eating. Was this his fate? To survive only by the mercy or charity of someone else?

 

“Kid.” The stranger's tone grew serious. “Aside from filling your stomach, is there anything else I can do to help you?”

 

The boy set his fork down on the plate and got up to leave. “None whatsoever.” No one could help him; much less a weak goof who couldn't even defend himself against a group of prepubescent kids.

 

Undaunted by the cold rejection, the stranger grinned. “I think somebody needs a big hug.”

 

“Wha…?” Before the boy could react, the stranger had wrapped his long arms around his slight frame and squeezed tightly. Taken by surprise, he could not stop the hiss of pain from escaping his lips.

 

The stranger quickly backed off. “What's wrong? Did I hurt you? Are you…” Then understanding dawned and the look of worry was replaced by that of anger. “Was it your father who did this to you?”

 

Cradling his injured side where two of his fractured ribs had not yet fully healed, the boy snapped, “Just keep away from me!” He exited the diner without a backward glance.

 

xXxXxXx

 

It was quiet in the house when he got back. The boy tiptoed into the living room and darted a glance at the couch only to find it empty. He was hoping that his father would still be in an inebriated sleep when he returned. Now his father would undoubtedly demand why he took so long to purchase the wine, most probably by beating the answer out of him instead of just asking. Clutching the bottles of wine closer to himself, he walked towards the kitchen… where his father was waiting for him.

 

The hitting began immediately after the wine bottles were snatched from his grasp and placed safely on the table. There was no sense in wasting alcohol which, in his father's eyes, was worth much more than him.

 

“So what have you been doing while you're out, you lil' bastard?” A vicious kick aimed directly at his stomach caused the boy to throw up part of his lunch. Upon seeing that, his father's visage darkened into a murderous scowl. “You ungrateful thief! You've been using my money to buy food for yourself!” The boy could not even protest his innocence as he was hauled up by the collar and slapped repeatedly.

 

With his head ringing from the blows and his vision darkening around the edges, the boy flitted in and out of consciousness. When he next opened his eyes, he found himself in the embrace of the stranger with the kindly eyes. It took him a few moments to realize that his father's onslaught had not ceased. The only difference was that he was no longer bearing the brunt of the attacks because the stranger was shielding him with his own body. The stranger and his father were arguing about something, but he was too dazed to make out the words. The boy wanted to shout at his rescuer to leave him, to fight back, to do anything except stay by his side and incur further injuries from his father's brutal punches and kicks; but he was too choked up to utter any sound. His tiny body, hardly anything more than skin and bones, was lifted up easily as the stranger got up from his crouched position.

 

“… barging in here…” His father's guttural roars were starting to register in his mind. “… mine to discipline however I please!”

 

“I'm taking this boy with me,” said the stranger, his relatively softer voice somehow displaying more strength than his father's thunderous bellows. “You can do whatever you like to me, but I won't leave him with you for another second.”

 

His father glared at the stranger. “You think I'm a monster, don't you? I'm only treating the boy like the worthless scum that he is! He doesn't deserve anything less from me!”

 

“No, sir. It is you who don't deserve him.”

 

Enraged, his father grabbed the wine bottle on the table and smashed it over the stranger's head. The boy nearly cried out when the warm droplets of blood splattered on his face. The stranger merely grunted and tried to smile reassuringly at him. “Don't be afraid, kid. I won't die so easily.” Holding him tight against his chest, the stranger began to move towards the main door of the house.

 

“Do you think I'll let you take him away from me that easily?!” His father was still gripping the bottle neck with the jagged edges and was brandishing it like a weapon. “Put the boy down!”

 

The stranger's back was turned, so perhaps he didn't realize the danger he was in. The boy, however, was able to see the mad fury in his father's eyes and he knew that his father would have no qualms about plunging the broken glass bottle into the unsuspecting stranger's back. Instinctively, the boy did what he had never dared to do before. He lashed out with his mind. The barriers around his father's mind crumbled like mouldy cheese under his mental onslaught and he forcefully sent a tendril of his will into his father's mind. Once he took the first step, the rest seemed so easy. At that moment, he knew that he could get his father to do whatever he wished. Through the mind link, he was in total control of his father's body. He could even make his father slice his own throat with that glass…

 

Stop it.

 

The gentle command came from someone else. Who could it…?

 

“Stop it,” echoed a voice that was spoken aloud. The boy hurriedly withdrew, but not before he sent his father into a deep sleep that would last for at least an hour. His father's body collapsed onto the floor with a thud.

 

The boy saw that the stranger was looking at him curiously. He was sure that his own expression mirrored the stranger's. There was only one way to find out if what he suspected was true.

 

You can hear me, can't you?

 

The stranger hesitated before answering him in the same way that rendered vocal cords unnecessary. Yes. You are pretty loud in your thoughts.

 

Before he knew it, the boy started crying. His long search for a kindred spirit who shared his abilities was over. Someone who would not consider him a freak of nature. Someone who would accept him as he was. He had been so alone, so lonely, for so long.

 

Hey, don't cry. It wasn't something I said, was it?

 

In response, the boy grasped the lapels of the red trench coat tightly in a death grip. The darkness of sleep claimed him shortly afterwards.

 

 

(To be concluded)

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXX

 

A/N: This story turned out longer than I originally planned, so it'll be broken up into two parts. I apologize for the heavy angst factor in this fic. It just wasn't possible for me to imagine Legato's childhood as being a happy or even a normal one. Any feedback is much appreciated :)