Trigun Fan Fiction ❯ Not Afraid of You ❯ One-Shot

Not Afraid of You

Part I: Wolfwood's point of view

There used to be a time when I looked at him and was just in awe. He's really an amazing gunman. I just wish that was all I saw in him. As soon as I saw the side of him that was more than just empty smiles and lighthearted jokes, I knew that he was a person I had to protect. But - more than that - he was someone I had to devote my whole life to saving. I just couldn't see him hurt; I didn't want to.

More than anything, though, I didn't want to see him with anyone. Surely, he must love someone. A guy with his looks doesn't get through 130 years without at least a *few* lovers. I'm sure it's that Rem he's always talking about. Knives told me about her - not that I trust everything (or anything, for that matter) he says. Supposedly, she was someone he really loved.

That's funny. He had known her since he was born, and yet they only knew each other a year. How can someone so young know about an emotion as strong as love? Maybe it makes sense. He's one of those who live outside of time. One-hundred-and-twenty years ago, he looked exactly the same as he does now - but with fewer scars.

God…those scars. I saw them once before - from head to toe, he has them. He joked that he's afraid girls would be put off by them. Yeah, of course. Girls. I knew there'd never be a way he could feel for me what I feel for him. But now, whenever I look at him, I see that time…and all those scars. I can't even imagine the pain he must've suffered when he got those. No wonder why he wears that jacket. I wish there were some way I could heal him - not just his body, but also his heart.

It's a dangerous thing, leaving me alone with my thoughts. No matter what my problems are, I always seem to think more about him…and his. I want to take him away from this place, to somewhere where he doesn't have to be a hotshot gunman. Somewhere where he isn't the $$60,000,000,000 man or the Humanoid Typhoon, where no one is out to kill him and the only difficult choice he has to make is what kind of donut he wants for breakfast. Eden. That's where I want to take him.

What could he possibly want with me? I don't think it's anything. At least, I try not to hope it's something. I've been disappointed so many times in my life. Really, what's one more? I think that if I lose someone as important to me as he is, I couldn't take it. Yeah, I have friends too, but he's my closest.

I think about that now as I stand here. I can't believe we've gotten so far without those damn insurance girls finding us. I wonder what he thinks of them. I know he's had to put up with them longer than I have. They're no help at all and always seem to cause more trouble than anything else. I wish they'd leave us alone - especially him.

But now, we're here, just him and me, and we're sharing a room at an inn for the night. It's kind of late, I guess, some time past midnight, and I stand here in front of the window. Without giving the matter much thought, I light another cigarette. How many does that make for tonight alone? It seems that every time I think about him, I smoke one.

There are currently…twelve used up cigarettes in the ashtray. We've been here four hours. I look back over to his bed - still empty. I don't have a clue where he is. But all the same, I try not to think of him being with a…someone. I know he's all right. You don't live for 130 years if you can't take care of yourself.

I have an idea. I throw my shirt back on without bothering with the buttons, and leave the empty room. As I make my way up the cliff to where I'm suddenly sure he is, there's scarcely a sound aside from the crunch of my feet on the gravel and the breeze blowing the dirt around.

Of course. This is where he is. I wonder if he's thinking about *her*. I hope not. He looks so sad sitting there. What should I say? Should I say anything?

Part II: Vash's point of view

I heard him when he came up behind me. How did I know it was him? If it were anyone else, they would've said something to me already. He's considerate that way. I'm sure he just came to find out why I haven't been back to the room yet.

I can't make myself do it. It's strange, really. I'm having such a hard time sharing a room with this guy who's my closest friend. I keep asking myself why, but the truth is…I'm afraid of the answer. I know…I know what the problem is. And I know he's not making it any easier by being here now. I'm in love…with my best friend.

One time, I joked that I was afraid girls wouldn't like all my scars. But I was really more afraid of what *he* would think of them. I really wished he hadn't seen them. That's a part of me I hide from everyone. It's the part of me I'm ashamed of. But he didn't seem to mind. I was really happy about that. But that doesn't mean anything about his feelings toward me - if he has any.

How long has this emotion been hiding inside me? I was so convinced I would always love only Rem, but somehow, he slipped past my defenses. He had such fascinating stories about his past. He was from a place I knew nothing of, but it was the same as Rem. I would've liked to visit that place with him. It sounds so much more promising than what's here. This desert planet - he hates it here.

But he's considerate, and I think he cares more than he leads on. About me…I don't know. I try not to hope. After 130 years, you tend to give up on things like that. Still, I wonder why he's here.

He sits down next to me. It's not too close; I couldn't touch him if I wanted to. I know he wouldn't think too highly of me if I did. Sometimes it's hard not to. I think about all the people I've lost over time, and I don't want him to be another one. But…he inevitably will. Everyone I get close to dies. I can't let that happen to him.

"Beautiful night tonight," he says to no one in particular. "We used to have a lot of them back where I'm from. Didn't have this many moons, though. But here, you seem to see a lot more stars."

What does this all mean? Maybe he doesn't know what to say. I'm not sure I do, either. I can't tell him what it is that I want to say more than anything, "Stay here. Don't leave me."

Suddenly, he looks over at me and I'm afraid I said those words aloud. As soon as our eyes meet, I look away. And some part of me is afraid I'm scaring him off.

"Yeah," I say, although I'm not quite sure I know what it means.

I look down at my hands. There's a scar on the back of my right one, and my left hand - left arm - isn't even mine. So I try to bring the sleeves of my shirt down over them. No one should ever see this. It's my pain alone. These are my reminders of the wrong decisions I've made in my life. I don't want to make another bad choice.

"Stupid Vash, you never should've let him see," I find myself muttering.

He looks over at me again, one eyebrow raised in question, and asks, "Huh?" I hope he didn't understand the implications of that sentence.

"Uh…just talking to myself," I hastily reply. I just hope my cheeks aren't as red as they feel.

"Is something wrong?" he wants to know. I want to tell him yes, but I can't. I want to tell him no, but that's a lie.

So finally, I settle on, "What do you do when you want to tell someone something, but you're afraid of what will happen if you do?" Did that make *any* sense?

He looks at me a minute, then stares out at the quiet, black town below us. He takes a visibly deep breath, then answers with a question of his own. "You've been in love before, haven't you?"

I don't see where this is going. I look over at him and respond, "Yeah. I have." Then, I shift my gaze to the town. Before I can stop myself, I add, "I am now," and it's too late to take it back. I should throw myself off the cliff for that one.

I think maybe he's trying to figure out who it is, because he doesn't say anything for a while. After a long pause, he replies, "Then, it's like that. You do what feels right. You do what your heart tells you. But even I don't always do that. Sometimes…that's the hardest thing to do."

I'm not quite sure I understand what he means, but somehow, it makes a lot of sense. "Thanks," I tell him, "That's some good advice."

He stands up and looks down at me. "Now that that's settled, what do you say we go get some sleep? It's getting kind of late." There's a grin on his lips, but his eyes betray him. Something's bothering him, but I know if I ask him, he'll deny it and keep it to himself. That's just the way he is.

"Yeah, let's do that," I answer as I stand and brush the loose dirt off my pants. I just have to keep telling myself I can handle this.

So, we go back to the room. It's dark, with the exception of the three crescent moons that shine their light through our one window. I see him take off the shirt he was wearing unbuttoned earlier.

He has no scars. I think I may be jealous. His skin looks so smooth and soft and unmarred. My fingers almost itch to touch it. I don't remember what it's like to feel smooth flesh…my own has been scarred for so long. Naturally, I resist that urge and pretend I wasn't just looking at him for what would surely be considered too long.

I would like to take my own shirt off, but underneath it is my badly scarred body, and I'd rather he not see it again. I knew this would be hard.

My hands go to the buttons on my shirt as I look over my back at him, my face expressing all the embarrassment and shame I'm suffering.

He looks at me, grins, then turns back around, and I know he understands. Thank you, Wolfwood. I want to do this quickly, but I find that the more I hurry, the harder it is to unbutton my shirt correctly. So, I find myself having to slow down.

I shrug it from my shoulders and my slacks follow as I opt for a comfortable pair of pajama pants. As I move to turn down the covers, I feel a hand on my back. It's not there to console, or to reassure, or to brace and steady. This hand is…curious. I know it's Wolfwood. And even though I know this, I still try not to hope there's an underlying reason he's doing this.

His fingertips lightly brush over each scar on my back, and my skin tingles everywhere he touches. Yet, still I tense. What does he mean by this? Doesn't he know all that imperfect flesh is really sensitive?

I want to turn and look at him, ask him why he's doing this, but I don't think he wants me to. When he's ready to tell me, he'll let me know. So, I allow these feathery, teasing touches to continue.

After several minutes, I realize I'm beginning to like this…maybe a little too much. Of course, he doesn't have to know that. He *is* only looking at my back, after all. But then, he reaches that one big scar on my right him that's half hidden by my pants…and his roaming hands are dancing a little too close to there. I'm just not ready for that now.

I put my hand over his and slowly turn to face him. He looks me straight in the eye, a calm, caring smile gracing his lips as he simply states, "Vash, I'm not afraid of your scars. I'm really more afraid of myself. Tell me - what do you do when you're in love with your best friend?"

My eyes widen a little bit. I must not have heard him right. But at that moment, all I can do is pray to that God of his that I'm his best friend.

"I think," I begin, "I think you start by telling them you love them."

"Okay then," he says with a smile, "I love you, Vash." He takes my other hand in his.

I can't help but grin as well as I reply, "I love you too, Wolfwood. Is this what you meant by doing what your heart tells you?"

He nods and tells me, "Every word of it. Now, why don't we get to bed, huh?" He motions me back the last few steps until I'm sitting on my mattress.

He doesn't seriously want to…Now? Tonight? I don't think I can. "You mean…us? Together? Like…like *that*?" I question. "Don't you think that's a little forward?"

Laughing, he leans over me and answers, "Yeah, I do, but who ever said there was any sex going on *tonight*? Can't we just share the same bed?"

I smile and relax visibly - I think he finds that amusing. That's what I get for jumping to conclusions. "Yeah. I'm not opposed to that," I respond.

He slides in next to me and looks at me for a minute as I look back at him. "You know," he says, "there *is* something I want to do to you right now that I've wanted to do for a very long time."

Suddenly, I tense again as I hesitantly ask, "And what's that?"

Wolfwood moves closer to me and whispers, "This." And before I have time to ask him what he means, he shows me, and I find my lips pressed against his. He nestles close to me and adds, "Let's take a few more days off - without those insurance girls. I don't think we know each other well enough yet."

"Yeah," I agree, "Let's do that." I close my eyes and wind my arms around his waist. It feels good to have someone sleeping next to me. I know he's not afraid of my scars and I won't try to hide from him anymore.

But, more than anything, I'm glad that I'm the best friend he had - because that's who he loves. Rem would be happy for me.

~*~The End~*~