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gardenschedule · 7 months

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A collection of Beatles quotes about the breakup

I know I'm preaching to the choir on tumblr.com because people here examine the breakup with empathy, nuance and critical thought. BUT these quotes are convenient if you ever get caught up in frustrating arguments online with male boomer beatle fans who think John and George hated the band and couldn't wait to escape while Paul was desperate to get back together. Sorted by band member and chronological order.

Quotes from/about Ringo:

1969:

People really have tried to typecast us. They think we are still little moptops, and we are not. I don’t want to play in public again. I don’t miss being a Beatle anymore. You can’t get those days back. It’s no good living in the past.

Ringo Starr, 24 March 1969 while filming The Magic Christian in New York

1970:

Ringo? He was the peacemaker for John, George and himself to Paul and was shaken to find Paul intransigent to the point of saying some pretty blunt things. But none of the Beatles is vindictive, and pettiness is their natural enemy, and when Paul released his album, Ringo sent a telegram congratulation him on “Maybe I’m Amazed” (one of the tracks) and meant it. Ringo has a lot of heart and more soul than most and since he knows he will be a Beatles to the grave, he will cooperate should it all come together again.

The Party's Over for the Beatles - written by Derek Taylor

“The Beatles have not split up. We are waiting for John to get back and then we will have a friendly Beatle chat and see what we are going to do. I keep looking around and thinking, ‘Where are they? What are they doing? When will they come and talk to me?’ This is supposed to be a press conference to promote my new film. The other Beatles aren’t here, so I don’t want to be answering questions for them. I hope to see Elvis in Las Vegas before I return to England. But, I will not be in the States for very long.”

The Beatles Off the Record (Keith Badman)

1971:

The Beatles might yet stay together as a group. Paul is the greatest bass player in the world. He is also determined. He goes on and on to see if he can get his own way. While that may be a virtue, it did mean that musical disagreements inevitably rose from time to time. But such disagreements contributed to really great products. […] I was shocked and dismayed, after Mr. McCartney’s promises about a meeting of all four Beatles in London in January, that a writ should have been issued on December 31. I trust Paul and I know he would not lightly disregard his promise. Something serious, about which I have no knowledge, must have happened between Paul’s meeting with George in New York at the end of December. […] My own view is that all four of us together could even yet work out everything satisfactorily.

Ringo Starr’s affidavit – From “The Beatles Diary Volume 2: After The Break-Up 1970-2001” by Keith Badman

No one doubted that Starkey would go along with the majority.

You Never Give Me Your Money – Peter Doggett

Later/unknown year:

RS: But that’s only Imagine. You know what I’m saying? Paul with his Band on the Run. We all started on a bus and small clubs and things like that, but Paul is that type of person. Paul wanted to do it all over again, and he did. And he went through hell. He went through hell. I mean, now he’s not talking to me and that’s too bad, but he started again from the bottom to do the Paul McCartney show. I don’t wanna do it anymore. I did it once.

All You Need Is Love – Peter Brown & Steven Gaines

Quotes from/about George:

1969:

“Yeah, quite definitely, but I’d like to do it with the Beatles but not on the old scale, that’s the only drag. With the Ono Band and me playing with Delaney and Bonnie there’s no expectations because it’s really quite anonymous, you just go and do whatever you can do. Once the Beatles are advertised and all the crowds come along they expect too much. I’d like to do the Beatles thing, but more like Delaney and Bonnie with us augmented with a few more singers, and a few trumpets, saxes, organs, and all that"

Interview conducted by Roy Carr, NME, 20 December 1969

1970:

George was greatly disappointed that Paul should come off like he was injured by Klein (business manager) whom George believes to have greatly eased the effects of the present and insured the safety of the future. George view is “Did you have to be so nasty. You can go so far but you can never get back, and you can say things which get in the way forever. For me, I would be glad to play with all of us again.”

The Party's Over for the Beatles - written by Derek Taylor

Q: “You think the Beatles will get together again, then?”

George: “Well, I don’t… I couldn’t tell, you know, if they do or not. I’ll certainly try my best to do something with them again, you know. I mean, it’s only a matter of accepting that the situation is a compromise. In a way it’s a compromise, and it’s a sacrifice, you know, because we all have to sacrifice a little in order to gain something really big. And there is a big gain by recording together – I think musically, and financially, and also spiritually. And for the rest of the world, you know, I think that Beatle music is such a big sort of scene – that I think it’s the least we could do is to sacrifice three months of the year at least, you know, just to do an album or two. I think it’s very selfish if the Beatles don’t record together.”

WABC-FM, May 1, 1970

The Harrison quote that went around the world that spring was purely optimistic: 'Everyone is trying to do his own album, and I am too. But after that I'm ready to go back with the others.'

You Never Give Me Your Money – Peter Doggett

1971:

The only serious row was between Paul and me. In 1968 I went to the United States and had a very easy co-operation with many leading musicians. This contrasted with the superior attitude which, for years past, Paul has shown towards me musically. In January 1969, we were making a film in a studio at Twickenham, which was dismal and cold, and we were all getting a bit fed up with our surroundings. In front of the cameras, as we were actually being filmed, Paul started to ‘get at’ me about the way I was playing. I decided I had had enough and told the others I was leaving. This was because I was musically dissatisfied. After a few days, the others asked me to return and since I did not wish to leave them in the lurch in the middle of filming and recording, and since Paul agreed that he would not try to interfere or teach me how to play, I went back. Since the row, Paul has treated me more as a musical equal. I think this whole episode shows how a disagreement could be worked out so that we all benefited. I just could not believe it when, just before Christmas, I received a letter from Paul’s lawyers. I still cannot understand why Paul acted as he did.

George Harrison’s affidavit – From “The Beatles Diary Volume 2: After The Break-Up 1970-2001” by Keith Badman

“In a “Come back Paul, all is forgiven” mood, George Harrison said this week: “I wish we could all be friends again. It’s a drag that things are as they are, because Apple is now becoming much more what we originally wanted it to be. “Personally I’d like to see Paul back at Apple and let him do what he wants to do. After all the new studio is his studio, too, and I’d like to see it all happening for us all.”

October 1971 Record Mirror

When John finally hinted that he would be willing to play with George when he appeared at Madison Square Garden. “Well, maybe I can come and help ya,” he said. “That’d be nice.” George glowered at John. Then George’s anger really burst forth. “Where were you when I needed you!” he snapped. It was the first of a series of explosions, each of them followed by moments of tense silence. “I did everything you said. But you weren’t there,” he repeated. “You always knew how to reach me,” John would reply evenly to each of these outbursts. There was no doubt in my mind, watching those two, that George’s anger with John had been accumulating for years. It was exactly the kind of situation that John usually ran from. But I could see in that moment that he loved George enough to remain calm and still as George drilled away at him. George said that repeatedly in the past he had sung what John wanted him to sing, said what John wanted him to say. Because John wanted it, George had gone along with the decision to go with Allen Klein. In the nearly four years since, John had virtually ignored him, a fact that pained George deeply. George’s voice grew even more harsh as he blasted John for his sudden appearance, as if out of nowhere, to offer an evening’s worth of help. Yet again George said furiously, I did everything you said, but you weren’t there.”

May Pang, Loving John

1973:

"George came into the office and said, 'I wanted you to know before anyone else. We're leaving Allen.' I said, 'Why?' And he said, 'We'll never get together again with Allen managing us.' And that was it. They left. George always had that distant hope."

Allan Stecker, Mojo interview 2023 (on Monday April 2 1973)

"[Allen Klein] made [John, George and Ringo] feel financially and artistically secure,” Steckler reckoned. So why did they decide that Klein had to go? Steckler believed he knew the answer. “George called me and said, ‘We’re not re-signing with Klein,’” he recalled. “I asked him why, and he said, 'The only way The Beatles can get together again is if Allen isn’t there. I’m ready to do it, so is Ringo, and I think we can persuade John to go along with it. But if we’re going to work with Paul, we need to get rid of Klein.’"

Peter Doggett, You Never Give Me Your Money

1978:

Personally, I’m not opposed to the idea, if it’s done through mutual agreement. But the pressure seems to be bigger than any of us, and when they talk of sums like $50 or $60 million, it’s almost a farce. I know Paul’s booked for the next few years, and John may have lost interest in the idea. Ringo and I are closest on it; we both feel it’s not impossible, but it’s highly unlikely, if only because of the legal and business maze that would have to be resolved before the four of us set foot on stage together.

M. George Haddad interview with George Harrison for Men Only magazine (Nov. 1978 issue)

Quotes from/about Paul:

1970:

On the eve of the release of the Beatles new movie and album “Let it Be,” Paul McCartney said, “I quit,” or “I think I quit,” which is roughly the same thing. As a publicity stunt, it’s as good or bad as any stunt they ever appeared to pull. But like every stunt they never did pull, this isn’t one either. McCartney’s declaration of independence was entirely impromptu, spontaneous and personal and so far had the group’s lines of communication become crossed that none of the Beatles really knew when the album would be out, or whether, nor did they greatly care.

...

I guess the way it stacks up now and the way it was around the time when Paul dropped the big on is that he wants right out of it all and they don’t.

The Party's Over for the Beatles - written by Derek Taylor

"John's reply was that I was daft!" He then said he wanted to leave the Beatles and wanted an immediate divorce. None of us really knew what to do about the situation, but we decided to wait until our film 'Let it Be' came out in April. I got bored and made 'McCartney' instead!"

Paul McCartney, in his first magazine interview since the split, tells FLIP's Keith Altham... "THE BEATLES ARE FINISHED!"

When we had to go to the studios, Linda would make the booking and we’d take some sandwiches and a bottle of grape juice and put the baby on the floor and it was all like a a holiday. So as a natural turn of events from looking for something to do, I found that I was enjoying working alone as much as I’d enjoyed the early days of the Beatles. I haven’t really enjoyed the Beatles for the last two years.

Paul, Interview for Evening Standard • Tuesday, April 21-22, 1970

Klein tells George he will get him more money and he tells Ringo the same. He tells them all that there are four first-class Beatles, not two and John doesn’t mind being told this. Paul doesn’t like any of it, none of it. He has a father-in-law who is also from New York and his name is Lee Eastman. Lee Eastman is also a toughie, but his manners are more formal than Klein’s and some people like him. Paul would like Eastman to be the Mr Big Apple needs. John wants Mr Klein to be Mr Big. A year passes. It is 1970. Paul still doesn’t like Klein but John digs him more than ever and George digs him more than that and Ringo doesn’t mind him. Paul? He is so uptight about Klein he only leaves the Beatles, that’s all.

As Time Goes By - Derek Taylor

1971:

Klein: “If Paul McCartney doesn’t get his way, he bitches. He may have a choirboy image in the press and with fans, but I’m here to tell you its bullshit. If anybody broke up the Beatles, it was him.”

Allen Klein, Playboy: A candid conversation with the embattled manager of the Beatles. (November, 1971) (note: obviously we should not trust a word Klein says, but at this point why isn't he repeating John's party line that he wanted a divorce?)

I think John thought I was using this press release for publicity-as I suppose, in a way, it was. So it all looked very weird, and it ruffled a few feathers. The good thing about it was that we all had to finally own up to the fact that we'd broken up three or four months before. We'd been ringing each other quite constantly, sort of saying, 'Let's get it back together.' And I think me, George and Ringo did want to save things. But I think John was, at that point, too heavily into his new life-which you can't blame him.

You Never Give Me Your Money – Peter Doggett

1972:

“We planned a big festival for one afternoon in Central Park, and ‘Imagine’ was the theme. Each retarded person from an institution would be paired with one able-bodied volunteer – twenty-five thousand people in the park. The issue arose whether the retarded should come to the matinee concert at Madison Square Garden. Obviously it would be a huge revenue loss. So Allen Klein and John just bought $50,000 worth of tickets and gave them to the retarded kids and volunteers.” Suddenly John got cold feet, after the concert had been sold out for weeks. “John said he didn’t want to do it,” Rivera recalled. “He said he hadn’t played in public for years, he hadn’t rehearsed with a band, he was just too nervous. …When they had that rush of insecurity, Yoko told me that she and John called Paul and Linda. They said, ‘Let’s bury the hatchet and appear together at the concert.’ Why Paul said ‘No’ I’ll never know.” Rivera and others managed to calm John’s fears and get him to start rehearsing with Elephant’s Memory.

Jon Wiener, Come Together: John Lennon in His Time. (1984)

“A few months ago, John asked us to do a concert with him at Madison Square Garden (note: same concert as the above quote) and it’s a pity now that we didn’t do it. I didn’t want to do it at the time but we will do things, I’m sure. I don’t see any reason why all four Beatles shouldn’t be on stage at some time all playing together and having a good time. I don’t think you’ll ever get the Beatles reforming, because that’s all gone. The Beatles were a special thing in a special era and I really couldn’t see it all coming together again. But I think it’s daft to assume that just because we had a couple of business upsets we won’t ever see each other again, or that if John has a concert some time we won’t go up and play on it.”

Paul McCartney, interview with Ray Connolly in The Evening Standard, December 2, 1972 (source: The Ray Connolly Beatles Archive)

“Don’t ever call me ex-Beatle McCartney again. That was one band I was with. Now I’m not with them. I’ve got another band. We won’t do things the same way any more. We’re not so bothered in trying to please other people all the time even though we obviously don’t try to displease them. All we want, in Wings, is to please ourselves with our music, That’s all.

“If people start fan clubs for us, do that kind of thing from the past, well, fine. But we won’t start one. I just get irritated by people constantly harping on the past, about the days when I was with that other band, the Beatles.

“The other Beatles get together and that is fine, but I’m almost always in another part of the world. The Beatles was my old job. We’re not like friends – we just know each other. But we don’t work together. so there’s no point keeping up old relationships.”

“All I know for sure is that I’ll never be conned again. I’m 30 now and, after what I’ve been through. I should know my way around. I get angry with fans, who interrupt my life, even now. I get fed up with the feeling that I was losing my identity, becoming some kind of legend, not a person. And I’m downright angry with the people who keep trying to get me back with the others again.

Paul McCartney and 'that other band'' by Peter Jones, in the Liverpool Echo, 13 December 1972

There’s no hard feelings or anything, but you just don’t hang around with your ex-wife. We’ve completely finished. ’Cos, you know, I’m just not that keen on John after all he’s done. I mean, you can be friendly with someone, and they can shit on you, and you’re just a fool if you keep friends with them. I’m not just going to lie down and let him shit on me again. I think he’s a bit daft, to tell you the truth. I talked to him about the Klein thing, and he’s so misinformed it’s ridiculous.'

Paul interviewed by student journalist Ian McNulty for the Hull University Torch, May 1972 [From The McCartney Legacy, Volume 1: 1969 – 1973 by Allan Kozinn and Adrian Sinclair, 2022

1976:

“The truth is very ordinary. The truth is just that since we split up, we’ve not seen much of each other. We visit occasionally, we’re still friends, but we don’t feel like getting up and playing again. You can’t tell that to people. You say that and they say, ‘How about this money, then?’ ‘Or how about this?’ And you end up having to think of reasons why you don’t feel like it. And, of course, any one of them taken on its own isn’t really true, but I was just stuck for an answer, so I said I wouldn’t do it just for the money anyway. And I saw John last time, he says, ‘I agreed with that.’ But there’s a million other points in there. A whole million angles. “I tell you, before this tour, I was tempted to ring everyone up and say, ‘Look, is it true we’re not going to get back together, ‘cause we all pretty much feel like we’re not. And as long as I could get everyone to say, ‘No, we’re definitely not,’ then I could say ‘It’s a definite no-no.’ But I know my feeling, and I think the others’ feeling, in a way, is we don’t want to close the door to anything in the future. We might like it someday.

Paul McCartney, Rolling Stone: Yesterday, Today, and Paul. (June 17th, 1976)

Later/unknown year:

“John phoned me once to try and get the Beatles back together again, after we’d broken up. And I wasn’t for it, because I thought that we’d come too far and I was too deeply hurt by it all. I thought, “Nah, what’ll happen is that we’ll get together for another three days and all hell will break loose again. Maybe we just should leave it alone.”

Paul, November 1995 Club Sandwich interview

“ELLEN: So was there ever a time when both you and John Lennon wanted to reform the Beatles? PAUL: There was a time… let’s put it this way: there was never a time when all four of us wanted to do it. And each time it was always someone different who didn’t fancy it And I’m actually glad of that now. Because the Beatles’ work is a body of work. There’s nothing to be ashamed of there. In the end we decided we should leave well enough alone. The potential disappointment of coming on and not being as good as the Beatles had been… that was a risk we shouldn’t take

Paul McCartney, interview w/ Mark Ellen for Radio Times. (October 20th-26th, 2007)

Quotes from/about John:

1969:

JOHN: The point is, if George leaves, do we want to carry on The Beatles? I do. [inaudible; drowned out by mic feedback] And I’d just get another member of the group and carry on. But if The Beatles split, well, I’ll get another group. [to Paul and Yoko?] I’m a singer not a dancer, baby! Woo-hoo!

January 10th, 1969 (Twickenham Film Studios, London)

Friday, 21 March, John: “Everything we do, we shall be doing together. I don’t mean I shall break up The Beatles, or anything, but we want to share everything.”

The Beatles Off the Record (Keith Badman)

MICHAEL: But funny enough, the other day, when we were talking, he said that he really did not want not to be a Beatle. He said he really looked forward – not, you know. Meaning he didn’t want that screwed up.

[T]he Beatles are always discussing, “Should we go on or shouldn’t we? Why are we together for now?” And what it gets down to is I like playing rock n’ roll and I like making rock n’ roll records. Now, I’ve got either the choice— if I want the whole LP to myself — is to get a few musicians together. Now, I know that— I’ve played with other musicians — just very rarely, but occasionally I’ve played with them — and it needs some work together to get anything going. I don’t like session men, so I try not to use them. I don’t like violinists or anything these days. I try not to use anybody but the Beatles. And if I wanted to make a record I’d chose the Beatles! I can say, “Give me a ‘Be Bop A Lula’”. So therefore, we’ve got that going. And even from a commercial point, when we discuss it, “What’s the biggest selling name? Beatles or John Lennon and The Fabs? Or George Harrison and The Fabs?” Which— Where’s our biggest market? It’s Beatles! Who are our closest friends? Beatles! Who do we have the most arguments with? Beatles. So Beatles is it!

John Lennon and Yoko Ono give a series of interviews at the Apple Corps building at 3 Savile Row, London (Friday, 12 September 1969).

JOHN: See they’re growing up too, you know. And uh, we all want Beatles still cause it’s, it’s a big power and it’s good power, you know. And we’ve no intention of splitting it, you know. Any of us. I can’t be specific about it, you know. But obviously, I’m deeply involved with Yoko, it has some…you know, maybe less reliant on the others but so it goes for the others too, you know. That as we’re all sort of branching out. Which we were occasionally all the time, you know. Like I did How I Won The War, I wrote In His Own Write and Paul wrote the music for Family Way, etc. and George went off to India with sitars and that. So it’s only, you know. We nip off and come back and do some work then nip off again, you know.

John and Yoko gave several interviews on September 12, 1969

[Will] The Beatles split up? It just depends how much we all want to record together. I don’t know if I want to record together again. I go off and on it. I really do.”

John Lennon, interview w/ Alan Smith for NME. (December 13th, 1969)

JOHN: I was really losing interest in just doing the Beatles’ bit – and I think we all were – but Paul did a good job in holding us together for a few years while we were sort of undecided about what to do, you know. And I found out what to do, and it didn’t really have to be with the Beatles. It could have been, if they wanted… But uh, it got that I couldn’t wait for them to make up their minds about peace or whatever. About committing themselves. It’s the same as the songs. So I’ve gone ahead – and I’d have liked them to have come along.

YORKE: Did you ever try to get them into the peace scene?

JOHN: I did a little at first, but I think it was too much like Yoko and me and what we’re doing and trying to get them to come along; and I think they reacted. I hassled them too much, so I’m really leaving them alone. Maybe they’ll come along, wagging their tails behind them, and if not, good luck to them.

John Lennon, interview w/ Ritchie Yorke. (December 23rd, 1969)

“This is why I’ve started with the Plastic Ono and working with Yoko . . . to have more outlet. There isn’t enough outlet for me in the Beatles. The Ono Band is my escape valve. And how important that gets, as compared to the Beatles for me, I’ll have to wait and see.

NEW MUSICAL EXPRESS DECEMBER 13, 1969

1970:

Why do you think he [Paul] has lost interest in Apple?

That’s what I want to ask him! We had a heavy scene last year as far as business was concerned and Paul got a bit fed-up with all the effort of business. I think that’s all it is. I hope so.

John Lennon interviewed by Roy Shipston for Disc and Music Echo (February 28, 1970)

John’s view is: “Okay. If this is it, this is it. We’ve all left the Beatles anyway.” If Paul were to approach him and say, “Let’s do it together again,” he probably would; with no more words, he probably would do it.

The Party's Over for the Beatles - written by Derek Taylor

Now even Lennon was prepared to hint at a positive outcome: 'I've no idea if the Beatles will work together again, or not. I never really have. It was always open. If somebody didn't feel like it, that's it! It could be a rebirth or a death. We'll see what it is. It'll probably be a rebirth.'

You Never Give Me Your Money – Peter Doggett

'Eventually,' McCartney recalled, 'I went and said, "I want to leave. You can all get on with Klein and everything, just let me out." Having not spoken to Lennon for several weeks, he sent him a letter that summer, pleading that the former partners 'let each other out of the trap'. As McCartney testified, Lennon 'replied with a photograph of himself and Yoko, with a balloon coming out of his mouth in which was written, "How and Why?" I replied by letter saying, "How by signing a paper which says we hereby dissolve our partnership. Why because there is no partnership." John replied on a card which said, "Get well soon. Get the other signatures and I will think about it.” Communication was at an end. Yet the press continued to believe, fired by hope more than evidence, that it was only a matter of days before the four men healed their wounds. The stories taunted McCartney, who fired off a letter to the prime offender, Melody Maker: 'Dear Mailbag, In order to put out of its misery the limping dog of a news story which has been dragging itself across your pages for the past year, my answer to the question, "Will the Beatles get together again?"...is no.' He had finally pronounced the verdict that was missing from his self-interview in April: the Beatles were no more.

You Never Give Me Your Money – Peter Doggett (note: John is stalling)

For McCartney, and maybe Harrison and Starkey as well, this signified hope. ‘For about three or four months,' he recalled years later, 'George, Ringo and I rang each other to ask, "Well, is this it, then?" It wasn't that the record company had dumped us. It was just a case of: we might get back together again. Nobody quite knew if it was one of John's little flings, and that maybe he was going to feel the pinch in a week's time and say, “I was only kidding.” I think John did kind of leave the door open. He'd said, “I'm pretty much leaving the group, but...” McCartney testified in 1971, ‘I think all of us (except possibly John) expected we would come together again one day.

You Never Give Me Your Money – Peter Doggett

John: George was on the session for Instant Karma, Ringo’s away and Paul’s – I dunno what he’s doing at the moment, I haven’t a clue.

Interviewer: When did you last see him?

John: Uh, before Toronto. I’ll see him this week actually. If you’re listening, I’m coming round. (Note: as AKOM point out, Toronto was before the divorce meeting. Why is he pretending it never happened?)

Feb 6th 1970 (audio snippet approx 1:14:00)

Interviewer: What about the Beatles all together as a group?

John: As soon as they’re ready, you know, we had half the Beatles on again at the Lyceum Ballroom. Uh it was George and me but we also had Delaney and Bonney and 17 piece band we had on, it was a great experience. Uh it should be like that you know, if we were doing that and all the Beatles wanted to come it would be great, and it would be no great thing about ‘oh the Beatles are coming back on stage’ like they expect, sorta of, Buddha and Mohammad to come on and play. I keep saying that, but that’s the fear the Beatles have, including me as a Beatle, about performing. It’s such a great – so much expected of us, you know, but you see George has been on tour with Bonnie and Delaney playing and I’ve been drifting around playing, it’s just playing isn’t the hang up. It’s going on as the Beatles that’s the problem for us.

1970 (audio snippet approx 1:23:00)

Interviewer: Do you care about making another Beatles album?

John: I think Beatles is a good communication media you know, and I wouldn’t destroy it out of hand or dissolve it out of hand. So that’s what I think about Beatles.

1970 (audio snippet approx 1:41:00)

Interviewer: Why do you think rumours like this start?

John: Because there was a lot of tension around the Allen Klein coming in days and the ATV thing going on, and the Beatles were under a lot of pressure and we had to be together all the time, fighting and arguing and listening to all the different business things. And so we’re taking a break from each other like we always did after a tour end. The business thing is like a heavy tour, in it we may get back in abbey road and a couple of singles and under a great strain you know, doing that business. And so now we’re just taking a break from each other.

1970 (audio snippet approx 1:41:00)

You can’t pin me down because I haven’t got- there’s no- it’s completely open, whether we do it or not. Life is like that, whether I make another Plastic Ono album or Lennon album or anything is open you know, I don’t like to prejudge it. And I have no idea if the Beatles are working together again or not, I never did have, it was always open. If someone didn’t feel like it, that’s it. And maybe if one of us starts it off, the others will all come round and make an album you know.

1970 (audio snippet approx 1:43:00)

In 1964 I produced a book, they were asking me that then, and why should I not write a book? The Beatles wanted me to do it, they wanted me to do these LPs, you know, they have nothing against it – I want George to produce and record any records he wants to. It doesn’t interfere with Beatle time, I use my own time to do other things and so do they. The Beatles will remain, there’s no doubt about that. And we’ve been saying it since She Loves You, we’re together and that’s it.

1970 (audio snippet approx 1:45:00)

I just uh I wanted to do it [announce the breakup] you know, should’ve done it. I think damn, shit, what a fool I was. But there were many pressures at that time, I think Northern Songs and all that was going on, it would’ve upset the whole thing. (Note: again as AKOM point out, the Northern Songs fight ended the day before the divorce meeting. Why would the pressure of Northern Songs impact John's decision not to announce the breakup?)

Lennon Remembers

1971:

INT: I asked Lee Eastman for his view of the split, and what it was that prompted Paul to file suit to dissolve the Beatles' partnership, and he said it was because John asked for a divorce.

JOHN: Because I asked for a divorce? That's a childish reason for going into court, isn't it?

John Lennon interviewed by Peter McCabe and Robert Schonfeld at the St. Regis Hotel, September 5, 1971

Well, there was this Japanese monk, and it happened in the last 20 years. He was in love with this big golden temple, y’know, he really dug it, like—and you know he was so in love with it, he burnt it down so that it would never deteriorate. That’s what I did with the Beatles.

John Lennon, interview w/ Alan Smith for NME: At home with the Lennons. (August 7th, 1971)

MCCABE: Let’s talk a bit about Paul’s aversion to Klein. From what we’ve read it seemed as if this wasn’t there in the beginning, even though Paul wanted the Eastmans to run things. But it came on later as things progressed. And yet despite this, we gather that Klein was still hoping that Paul would return to the group.

JOHN: Oh, he’d love it if Paul would come back. I think he was hoping he would for years and years. He thought that if he did something, to show Paul that he could do it, Paul would come around. But no chance. I mean, I want him to come out of it, too, you know. He will one day. I give him five years, I’ve said that. In five years he’ll wake up.

MCCABE: But Klein is still hoping?

JOHN: He said to me, “Would you do it, if we got your immigration thing fixed? Or if we could get rid of the drug conviction?”

YOKO: And people don’t understand, you know. There’s so many groups that constantly announce they’re going to split, they’re going to split, and they can announce it every year, and it doesn’t mean they’re going to split. But people don’t understand what an extraordinary position the Beatles are in, you know. In every way. They’re in such an extraordinary position that they’re more insecure than other people. And so Klein thinks he’ll give Paul two years Linda-wise, you know. And John said, “No, Paul treasures things like children, things like that. It will be longer.” And of course, John was right.

John Lennon and Yoko Ono, interview w/ Peter McCabe and Robert Schonfeld. (September, 1971)

It was true, that when the group was touring, their work and social relationships were close, but there had been a lot of arguing, mainly about musical and artistic matters. I suppose Paul and George were the main offenders in this respect, but from time to time we all gave displays of temperament and threatened to ‘walk out’. Of necessity, we developed a pattern for sorting out our differences, by doing what any three of us decided. It sometimes took a long time and sometimes there was deadlock and nothing was done, but generally that was the rule we followed and, until recent events, it worked quite well. Even when we stopped touring, we frequently visited each other’s houses in or near London and personally we were on terms as close as we had ever been. If anything, Paul was the most sociable of us. From our earliest days in Liverpool, George and I, on the one hand, and Paul, on the other, had different musical tastes. Paul preferred ‘pop-type’ music and we preferred what is now called ‘underground’. This may have led to arguments, particularly between Paul and George, but the contrast in our tastes, I am sure, did more good than harm, musically speaking, and contributed to our success.

If Paul is trying to break us up because of anything that happened before the Klein–Eastman power struggle, his reasoning does not make sense to me.

John Lennon’s affidavit – From “The Beatles Diary Volume 2: After The Break-Up 1970-2001” by Keith Badman

JOHN: Yeah, Gilbert and Sullivan. I always remember watching the film with Robert Morley and thinking, “We’ll never get to that.” [pause] And we did, which really upset me. But I never really thought we’d be so stupid. But we did.

WIGG: What, like splitting like they did?

JOHN: Like splitting and arguing, you know, and then they come back, and one’s in a wheelchair twenty years later—

YOKO: [laughs] Yes, yes.

JOHN: —and all that. [laughs; bleak] I never thought we’d come to that, because I didn’t think we were that stupid. But we were naive enough to let people come between us. And I think that’s what happened. [pause] But it was happening anyway. I don’t mean Yoko, I mean businessmen, you know. All of them.

October, 1971 (St Regis Hotel, New York)

Q: "Did Klein hope to get Paul back into the group?"

JOHN: (laughs) "He came up with this plan. He said, "Just ring Paul and say, 'We're recording next Friday, are you coming?' So it nearly happened. Then Paul would have forfeited his right to split by joining us again. But Paul would never, never do it, for anything, and now I would never do it."

St Regis Hotel Interview, September 5th, 1971.

John would say things like, ‘It was rubbish. The Beatles were crap.’ Also, ‘I don’t believe in The Beatles, I don’t believe in Jesus, I don’t believe in God.’ Those were quite hurtful barbs to be flinging around, and I was the person they were being flung at, and it hurt. So, I’m having to read all this stuff, and on the one hand I’m thinking, ‘Oh fuck off, you fucking idiot,’ but on the other hand I’m thinking, ‘Why would you say that? Are you annoyed at me or are you jealous or what?’ And thinking back fifty years later, I still wonder how he must have felt. He’d gone through a lot. His dad disappeared, and then he lost his Uncle George, who was a father figure; his mother; Stuart Sutcliffe; Brian Epstein, another father figure; and now his band. But John had all of those emotions wrapped up in a ball of Lennon. That’s who he was. That was the fascination.

I tried. I was sort of answering him here, asking, ‘Does it need to be this hurtful?’ I think this is a good line: ‘Are you afraid, or is it true?’ – meaning, ‘Why is this argument going on? Is it because you’re afraid of something? Are you afraid of the split-up? Are you afraid of my doing something without you? Are you afraid of the consequences of your actions?’ And the little rhyme, ‘Or is it true?’ Are all these hurtful allegations true? This song came out in that kind of mood. It could have been called ‘What the Fuck, Man?’ but I’m not sure we could have gotten away with that then.

Paul McCartney, on “Dear Friend”. In The Lyrics (2021).

Q: “If you got, I don’t know what the right phrase is… ‘back together’ now, what would be the nature of it?” JOHN: “Well, it’s like saying, if you were back in your mother’s womb… I don’t fucking know. What can I answer? It will never happen, so there’s no use contemplating it. Even if I became friends with Paul again, I’d never write with him again. There’s no point. I write with Yoko because she’s in the same room with me.” YOKO: “And we’re living together.” JOHN: “So it’s natural. I was living with Paul then, so I wrote with him. It’s whoever you’re living with. He writes with Linda. He’s living with her. It’s just natural.””

St. Regis Hotel Interview, September 5, 1971

1973:

My last question was inevitable… Any chance of us seeing the four Beatles on a stage or record together again? “There’s always a chance,” grinned John. “As far as I can gather from talking to them all, nobody would mind doing some work together again. There’s no law that says we’re not going to do something together, and no law that says we are. If we did do something I’m sure it wouldn’t be permanent. We’d do it just for that moment. I think we’re closer now than we have been for a long time. I call the split the divorce period and none of us ever thought there’d be a divorce like that. “That’s the way things turned out. We know each other well enough to talk about it.””

John Lennon, interview w/ Chris Charlesworth for Melody Maker. (November 3rd, 1973)

MINTZ: Would you want to initiate that happening?

JOHN: Uh… Well, I couldn’t say. [long pause]

MINTZ: If you could, I mean is it something you would like to see yourself doing?

JOHN: If I could… I don’t know, Elliot, because you know me, I go on instinct. And if the idea hit me tomorrow, you know, I might call them and say, “Come on, let’s do something.” And so I couldn’t really tell you. If it happens, it’ll happen.

MINTZ: So it’s not something that you would totally rule out as never taking place again?

JOHN: No, no. My memories are now all fond and the wounds are healed. And if we do it, we do it, if we record, we record. I don’t know. As long as we make music.

November 1st/10th, 1973 (Malibu, Los Angeles): For Eyewitness News on KABC TV Los Angeles, Elliot Mintz

1974:

“No, no, no,” he answered and he meant it. “I’m going to be an ex-Beatle for the rest of my life so I might as well enjoy it, and I’m just getting around to being able to stand back and see what happened. A couple of years ago I might have given everybody the impression I hate it all, but that was then. I was talking when I was straight out of therapy and I’d been mentally stripped bare and I just wanted to shoot my mouth off to clear it all away. Now it’s different.

“When I slagged off the Beatle thing in the papers, it was like divorce pangs, and me being me it was blast this and fuck that, and it was just like the old days in the Melody Maker, you know, ‘Lennon Blasts Hollies’ on the back page. You know, I’ve always had a bit of a mouth and I’ve got to live up to it. Daily Mirror: ‘Lennon beats up local DJ at Paul’s 21st birthday party’. Then we had that fight Paul and me had through the Melody Maker, but it was a period I had to go through.

John Lennon, interview w/ Ray Coleman for Melody Maker: Lennon – a night in the life. (September 14th, 1974)

John seemed to be in a very strange state of mind about the dissolution. From the hints he had dropped since we had been together, I had learned that John’s departure from the Beatles had essentially been Yoko’s idea. Without Yoko to drive him forward, he felt strangely ambivalent about officially ending the Beatles at that moment. By nature, also, he felt inclined to take a position opposite from that of Paul McCartney. Paul desperately wanted that agreement signed. Whether or not it was the best thing for him to do, John, on principle, was inclined not to want to sign it.

May Pang, Loving John. (1983)

I’ll tell you exactly why I said that. We had a business meeting to break up The Beatles, one of the famous ones that we’d been having — we’re still having them 17 years later, actually. We all flew in to New York specially. George came off his disastrous tour, Ring of flew in and we were at the Plaza for the big final settlement meeting. John was half a mile away at the Dakota and he sent a balloon over with a note that said ‘Listen to this balloon.’ I mean, you’ve got to be pretty cool to handle that kind of stuff.

George blew his cool and rang him up: ’You fucking maniac!! You take your fucking dark glasses off and come and look at us, man!!’ and gave him a whole load of that shit. Around the same time at another meeting we had it all settled, and John asked for an extra million pounds at the last minute. So of course that meeting blew up in disarray. Later, when we got a bit friendlier — and from time to time there would be these little stepping-stones of friendship in the Apple sea — I asked him why he’d actually wanted that million and he said, I just wanted cards to play with. It’s absolutely standard business practice. He wanted a couple of jacks to up your pair of nines. He was one great guy, but part of his greatness was that he wasn’t a saint.

Paul McCartney: An Innocent Man? (October, 1986) (note: John is STILL stalling)

At that moment, John was at his most unpredictable. Suddenly his fears that his money was going to be taken away from him, that he was going to be cheated, that he had to have as much money as possible, had all come into play. This was also John’s way of resisting the reality that the Beatles were officially about to come to end, and that Paul was about to prevail.

Loving John, MAY PANG (1983)

1975:

“At the time I was thinking that I didn’t want to do all that Beatles—but now I feel differently. I’ve lost all that negativity about the past and I’d be happy as Larry to do ‘Help’. I’ve just changed completely in two years. I’d do ‘Hey Jude’ and the whole damn show, and I think George will eventually see that. If he doesn’t, that’s cool. That’s the way he wants to be.”

John Lennon, interview w/ Chris Charlesworth for Melody Maker: Rock on! (March 8th, 1975)

1976:

“I’ve always felt that splitting up was a mistake in many ways” John Lennon has said, and he believes a Beatles revival “would undoubtedly produce some great music.”

Australian Woman’s Weekly, 1976

1980:

“I and the other three former Beatles have plans to stage a reunion concert…” (Part of a statement in the legal disposition brought by Apple Corps against the ‘Beatlemania’ stage musical for trademark infringement. John was referring to an event that was to be filmed for a documentary being put together by Neil Aspinall. It was abandoned/shelved after John’s death, but ultimately became the Anthology project)

John Lennon, 1980

“Just days before his brutal death, John was making plans to go to England for a triumphant Beatles reunion. His greatest dream was to recreate the musical magic of the early years with Paul, George and Ringo … (he) felt that they had traveled different paths for long enough. He felt they had grown up and were mature enough to try writing and recording new songs.”

Yoko Ono, quoted in The Beatles: The Dream Is Over - Off The Record 2 by Keith Badman

#the beatles #john lennon #paul mccartney #george harrison #ringo starr #there are absolutely quotes that contradict these (ie paul not wanting the breakup and the others wanting it) but we see those constantly #mclennon #almost forgot to tag them but lbr it's all about them

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undead-supernova · 6 months

Text

I'll Pay the Price, You Won't.

Follow the Fever Dream / Masterlist

Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9

plot: let's go back to the beginning again, where promises can't be made but are waiting to be kept

Pairings: modernrockstar!Eddie x fem!popstar!Reader (curvy!reader, bisexual!reader)

Warnings: family death mention, "diet" mention, failed relationships, smoking

wc: 7.1k

Early May, 2024

There was always something so comforting about the sound of a stadium filling with people. The excited squeals, the chants. The hum of thousands of people all trying to get to their seats. It was something that lured you into the world of performance. It was like church, the way that strangers came together for this very special moment in time. Even if the setlist stayed the same, each concert was unique.

And you were running late.

In your humble defense, you had tried to catch an earlier flight to Indianapolis. But when you magically received a text from Jeff with a link to two backstage passes to see them perform, it had been nearly midnight. Two days before. You had to beg Clara to let you go, promising you’d get back on a plane the next afternoon to make it to the next stop of your tour in Arizona.

You knew it was risky, showing up here.

Corroded Coffin seemed so far from your wheelhouse, a departure from the box the world put you in. Any passing glance at the certified “Pop Princess” could wind up with you on E! News’ stupid fucking Instagram page.

And, for the life of you, you were not dressed like everyone else.

You’d opted for a cream-colored graphic tee with The Beatles on it (just to mildly piss Eddie off) paired with dark jeans and a pair of platform heels. It wasn’t much, but then again you didn’t really have much on you in terms of nice outfits outside of your stage costumes. Your main goal on tour was to be as lazy as possible in between shows. And, well, now that had flown out the window.

Scott had helped you navigate the back hallways of Lucas Oil Stadium. He usually never asked questions about the decisions you made. Rarely questioned your judgment on anything. He was good like that, trusting that you always made the right choices for yourself. And though he said nothing now, you could tell he was curious.

In the last, what, five years, you’d never once strayed from the schedule. You were on the bus, on the plane, hours before anyone showed up. Before shows, you were reading a book an hour before your opening act went on.

Makeup? Done. Hair? Done. Costume? Done.

But here you were, steering off course to attend a concert based off the text of someone you met once. So you could go see the guy you slept with. Once. Who you hadn’t spoken to at all in the last two weeks. Because you hadn’t thought to exchange numbers.

You were surprised not to find the band backstage, instead being surrounded by busy crew members making sure everything was running smoothly. None of them even gave you a second glance. Guess no one here was phased by a celebrity. Thank God.

But there, inching towards the curtain, were four people. Three guys and one girl. You didn’t realize you were walking up to a crowd of…high schoolers? Fans, perhaps? On the bright side, at least you weren’t sticking out like a sore thumb. None of them were dressed like the people in the crowd.

But there you were, too terrified to approach, nearly overwhelmed with anxiety as you awkwardly stood next to Scott. It didn’t help that you’d missed the entire opening act.

Attempting to glance out at the stage, you watched a few crew members finishing up with markers and mic stand heights. Fine tuning the drums one last time.

“Move over, Dustin,” the redhead huffed, bringing your attention back.

“Jesus Christ!” Dustin responded, shaking out his soft brown curls that suspiciously looked a lot like a certain man you knew. “I want to actually be able to see him.”

“Don’t be a baby.”

He huffed. “I’m not a baby, Max! Where’s Steve anyways?”

A kid standing next to Max smiled. “Probably making out with Nancy.” Him and Max immediately started making kissing noises.

“Gross!” Dustin exclaimed. “Cut it out. You’re as bad as Mike and El.”

“Shut up, Dustin,” the one you presumed to be Mike said. “You’re just jealous ‘cause you don’t get to see Suzie for another three months.”

“Oh, hello,” another voice said behind you, startling you beyond belief.

You turned, confused when you saw a very attractive guy much closer to your age approaching with two girls in tow.

And it took less than five seconds for the chaos to ensue.

“Holy shit, you’re—”

You whipped your head around to stare at the kids who were coming closer. On instinct, Scott stepped toward you.

“What the hell are you doing at a Corroded Coffin concert?” Mike asked.

The boy next to Max pointed at you. “No, seriously, you’re—”

“Shut up, Lucas,” she scolded, pulling his hand down. “She’s just a person. You are ridiculous.”

“Uh, hi,” you said finally, feeling your face grow hot. “Yeah, hi.”

The guy behind you got closer, holding his hands up in caution. “Sorry, none of these idiots know what manners look like.”

You took in his appearance, a yellow sweatshirt thrown over a pair of jeans. A particularly nice watch on his wrist. Voluminous honey hair and dark eyes that seemed to soften in the bright stage lights.

The girl next to him extended her hand, all pretty in light blue and white. “We’re friends of Eddie’s,” she explained. You shook her hand. “I’m Nancy. This is my boyfriend, Steve. And this is Robin, she’s a close friend.”

“Nice to meet you all,” you replied. “Wait, Eddie’s friends?”

Robin nodded, shoving her hands into the back pockets of her jean shorts. “Yep, have been since right before we graduated high school. Love your music, by the way.”

Before you could respond, Nancy asked, “How do you know Eddie?”

You couldn’t help but cross your hands over your chest, hands resting on your elbows. Everyone was still gawking at you. Well, except for Max who was doing her best to keep the other kids from staring. You appreciated it even if it wasn’t working.

“Um,” you attempted before clearing your throat. “Yeah, we met back at the Grammy’s a few weeks ago. Jeff invited me, actually. But, yeah. Eddie and I are friends.”

Each person held different expressions, mostly dumbfounded. Was it really that weird for two celebrities to get to know each other? Even if you were in separate genres? Did you really not fit in?

But Max merely nodded at you, taking your arm while saying, “Here, come up here. You can see the stage better from here.”

Face growing hot again, you nodded back and situated yourself (and Scott) between her and Mike.

“So you’re not together?” Max asked, looking up at you.

“Um, I don’t think so,” you said truthfully.

She raised an eyebrow. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Before you could say anything, the lights dimmed. The crowd started going absolutely haywire, and you couldn’t stop yourself from clapping. (Oh and shoving some earplugs in to save yourself some hearing damage.)

A hum sounded as a smoke machine began to kick up. The screens surrounding the stage started showing images, flashing over one another as a voice that sounded suspiciously like Eddie Munson started whispering in Latin.

From the opposite wing, you saw Ronnie, Jeff, Gareth, and Grant head to their places, fixing their ear-ins. It was clear the crowd hadn’t seen them yet, as entranced by the opening sequence as you were.

“You try to run, but they’re catching up.”

The video glitched, showing all the members running through a forest. They were clothed in medieval clothing, all dark and stormy. Intense makeup and headpieces.

“What will you do?”

Behind them, you could see dark figures sprinting, catching up before a horde barreled towards them from the front.

“Do you believe you have a chance?”

All four of them looked scared, surrounded in a circle as the camera panned around each face. One by one, they pulled out weapons and shields.

“They’re trying to control you!” the voice screeched. “They are corruption. They are filth.”

The camera panned up, showing an animated drawing of Eddie as a red demon from above the clouds layered on top of the real footage of the sky. His mouth moved along to the words, his face contorting into an evil grin.

“Only I can lead you to victory.”

And then you saw Eddie slowly rising from underneath the stage. Your heart started hammering in your chest.

“And who am I?” the voice concluded. “Your humble dungeon master.”

The crowd went berserk as the lights illuminated the five figures. Eddie jumped up, laughing as he headed straight into the opening solo for “Humble Dungeon Master.”

“Ah!” Dustin yelped. “Shit, this is my favorite song!”

Eddie was in a beat-up baseball tee with a faded image of a devil and some other objects around it. You barely made out the name Hellfire Club before he was moving further away, getting as close as he could to the crowd.

There’s something about watching Eddie move, swinging his guitar around and falling to his knees on the stage as he played. And you’d be lying if you didn’t find it extremely, extremely hot.

As the final chords sounded, you watched in amazement as everyone in the stands lost their shit. And they weren’t the only ones. Every single person standing with you was going just as wild.

Eddie, with his bangs already drenched in sweat, paused to grab a swig of water before he shouted, “GOOD EVENING!” A roar of applause and hollering ensued. “Tonight is a very special night, Indianapolis,” Eddie added, dramatically lowering his voice. “Do you know why?”

The entire stadium lost their shit again, causing Eddie to look back at the rest of the band. They were just as happy as him, beaming with pride and laughter.

“That’s fucking right! This is our home state, and, by proxy, you are our home. I don’t want to see a single fucking person not having a good time, alright? Jump in the pit, shred your vocal cords, whatever the fuck you need to do. Just promise us you’ll go as hard as you possibly can. And stay safe, of course. Can you do that, Indianapolis?”

The crowd’s reaction was deafening, even with your earplugs. You still heard every note, every breath.

“Let’s go!” Eddie yelled before starting the opening riff to “Fire Shroud”.

You mouthed along to the words, bopping your head along. It seemed comical, the way all eight of you were moving the same way to the beat. For a moment, you forgot your fame. You forgot that you were a well-known stranger to these people. You forgot your place in this world.

And it was then that you caught Jeff’s eyes, watching a grin spread on his face. You returned it with a thumbs-up and watched as he got Grant and Gareth’s attention before nodding over at you.

For a moment, you really felt part of something special.

Before you could process what was happening, Ronnie delved into a solo of her own. She earned a reaction unlike any other, the stadium booming with something resembling electricity. Eddie then came in, his picking following her beat perfectly. And then Jeff and Gareth came in, followed by Grant.

“Challenger” was one of your favorites. You couldn’t help but take a few steps forward, past the kids. Clasping your hands, you rested them against your chest.

Because the realization had hit you. They hadn’t stopped playing. They had just transitioned into the next song.

And it was incredible, the way the mosh pit opened wider than you’d ever seen before. A hurricane created by hordes of people, all stomping. All singing. All laughing. Helping people up, keeping everyone safe. You saw nothing but happy faces. Happy people.

You were hypnotized.

Well, until your trance was broken by a crew member telling you to stay back. You quickly complied, ending up between Max and Lucas. Scott was already right there next to you, shoulder to shoulder.

After another song, Eddie gestured for everyone to settle down before clearing his throat.

“Hey, I really wanna thank all our friends from our shitty little hometown who came out tonight,” he said, nearly out of breath. He turned to look at the group, waving. “Hey guys! Yeah, it’s really kind of them to come support—” He paused as his eyes finally found you there.

Time seemingly stopped existing.

It was the way you connected then, the world disappearing. The stage, the people. There was only you, him, and the harsh breaths leaving both of your mouths. A gleam sitting right there in his eyes, mirroring yours.

You found yourself grinning as you noticed his eyes widen.

“Um,” he tried to continue. “That-that they came to support me and the rest of our incredible band.”

You gave him a quick wave.

He waved back at you dumbly, a nervous laugh leaving his lips. The crowd continued to applaud, blissfully unaware of what was happening.

But you did.

And he was standing there in front of nearly seventy-thousand people, tongue-tied beyond belief because of you. Jesus Christ, he was making you dizzier by the minute.

“This next one’s for you guys.”

Quickly, Eddie collected himself, giving you a smirk before he took the neck of his guitar and looked back at the crowd.

“You sure you ain’t dating?”

You turned to look at Scott, a bewildered expression on your face. He only chuckled at you, nearly giggling before shaking his head and turning his attention back to the performance.

He was only teasing you. And yet, it started a fire in your mind. No, it set you on fire. Who was this man to affect you the way he did? What business did he have to pull you towards him, an invisible string of rope tethering you together?

And why was it working?

Slowly, you turned your head back to watch Eddie.

As they ran offstage (after a stellar encore), you watched Eddie greet his friends, all sweaty and giddy. Play-wrestled with Dustin and roughhoused both Mike and Lucas. Exchanged a special handshake with Max. Steve, Nancy, and Robin were next, earning the highest of praises and chuckling at some joke Robin made.

You hung back, not wanting to get in anyone’s way. After all, you were just a guest. Practically a stranger to Eddie and the rest of Corroded Coffin. And you never felt it more than when you watched Ronnie Ecker walk right past you, even when you’d offered a greeting.

Drenched in sweat with dark clothes and an even darker expression on her face. Despite the overwhelming excitement Jeff, Grant, and Gareth had shown you, Ronnie seemed far from it. It was as if you were invisible to her despite meeting her two weeks ago. She’d even complimented you. Made you feel elated. Nearly gave her stamp of approval.

Yet there she was, just walking away. Like you were just a ghost, a transparent figure that was too inconvenient for her to acknowledge.

But when you turned back to the group, you noticed Eddie’s eyes shift to you.

And the fear was swept away.

He skipped, literally skipped, over to you, grabbing onto your elbows and shaking you.

“What the hell are you doing here!” he exclaimed. You giggled as he jostled you around. “I didn’t know you were in town. How’d you even get back here?”

“I have my ways,” you replied with a smirk, not-so-subtly looking over at Jeff.

Eddie followed your eyes, nearly gawking at the man. But Jeff said nothing, chuckling to himself as he handed Eddie a towel and walked off.

When Eddie turned his attention back to you, his excitement bubbled over, tilting his head towards the ceiling. “Aghhhh!”

And his energy was rubbing off on you, a permanent smile on your face. He was genuinely happy to see you, wasn’t he?

You laughed before mimicking him. “Aghhhh!”

You stared at each other, faces lit up like goddamn Christmas lights.

“But seriously! Why’re you here?”

“Just seeing you, actually,” you admitted. “I guess I didn’t mention that I’m also on tour right now.”

“Oh, fuck, that’s right. Uh, how long are you here?” he asked, suddenly shy as he came down from his high. He removed his hands as he continued to blot himself with his towel. “‘Cause I’m, like, hanging out with my friends for the next few days and if you wanted, you could come along.”

The mere idea of Eddie wanting you to hang out with him and his friends after only seeing each other once was making your head spin. He really meant that?

“I would love to, but I’m only here until tomorrow afternoon.”

His face fell. “Oh, fuck. Okay. Are you, uh, staying anywhere? ‘Cause, you know, if you wanted. Um. I, uh,” he stumbled, continuing to wipe sweat off his neck as if his hair wouldn’t just drench it again. “You know, I’ve got the bus, but I share it with the guys and Ronnie. And, well, we could hang with them. If you wanted. But only if you—”

“You can come stay with me,” you interrupted, stifling a giggle at his flustered ramblings. “I’ve got a hotel room a couple blocks over.”

“Just us?” he questioned, a goofy grin reaching his lips.

Nodding, you felt your heart stammering in your chest. You were really doing this, weren't you?

“Yeah, just us.”

When you entered the hotel lobby, Eddie headed straight down the hall towards the vending machines. With you in tow, he kept a hand on your back as if he didn’t want you to feel left out of his plans. As if he wanted you there. As if he cared.

One after the other, he swiped his card as the machine buzzed and whined. The candy and bags of chips fell slowly, giving you a chance to stare at him. He was a vision to behold in the glow of the vending machines, his bangs nearly dry from his post-stage shower and dark eyes more concentrated than you’d seen them before.

“You could’ve ordered room service, you know,” you said, finally breaking the silence.

“I like to get my own,” he explained. “Makes me feel more like a person.” You nodded, unable to judge. Sometimes you felt the same way. “Want anything?”

You couldn’t help but nod, reaching for your wallet in your purse. “Yeah, I can get my own, though—”

Eddie placed his hand over yours. “No, sweetheart, it’s alright. You came all the way out here. Least I can do is buy you a candy bar.” As the words left his lips, your stomach growled. “Have you eaten anything?”

You shook your head, feeling sheepish. “Uh, no. I’m, like, on this diet for tour. I think I’d be nearly eviscerated if my personal trainer knew I was about to eat junk food.”

“What diet?” he asked.

Your eyes tried to find anywhere else to look, but you were trapped under his gaze. God, how the fuck did he do this to you?

“I basically don’t have any sugar which is the absolute worst. Berries, vegetables. Nuts even though I fucking hate it. Egg whites, never just eggs. Salads. And I, like, load up on protein before a show but she kinda encouraged me to do intermittent fasting when I can. So, I do that whenever I’m not performing.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Inter-what fasting?”

You could feel the heat reaching your face, embarrassment flooding your system. Crossing your arms over your chest, you tried to hide your stomach. “Intermittent fasting. It’s, like, fasting off and on between meals or days. Like, go one day where you’re not eating much while the next day you load up on food.”

Eddie looked away for a moment, as if he was trying to process the information before cocking an eyebrow at you. “So that’s just, like, starving yourself with a fancier name.”

That caused you to let out a nervous laugh, feeling the desire to hide from him. It wasn’t like he was wrong, and that’s what made it worse.

“Sorry but fuck that.”

Shrugging, you stated, “Just the life of a female popstar. What can I say?”

Eddie gave you a glance, one that felt like exposure. Felt like he knew exactly what you were saying. Felt like he was seeing through the barriers you were trying to put up. But he immediately replaced it with a slight smile and a bump to your shoulder.

“Well, I won’t tell if you don’t.”

You couldn’t help but smile.

After you told him what you wanted, you stated, “You’re friends with a bunch of high schoolers.”

His eyes flickered over at you, leaned up against the wall with your arms still crossed.

“Does it help that they graduate in t-minus two days?”

“Maybe,” you said, all amused and teasing.

“Dustin, Lucas, and Mike were in my Dungeons and Dragons club,” he explained. “Max just kinda fell in there. So did Lucas’ sister, Erica, but she still has an early curfew, so.”

“So, you’re like a big brother?” you assumed.

“Something like that.” Eddie shrugged before straightening up. Definitely tried not to seem insecure as he moved his foot back and forth. “Why? Is that a turn off?”

You kicked his foot with yours. “No, I think it’s cute.”

And he was right back to himself, relaxing. “Cute, huh?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, biting your lip.

As he started handing you your half of the junk food, he asked, “Wanna see how cute I can be?”

Just like that, your heart was speeding again.

Nearly squirming in your jeans, you nodded. “Yeah.”

Eddie stepped a little closer, nose brushing your forehead as he gave a swift kiss. You couldn’t help but shiver, feeling his lips move down towards your ear.

“I gotta get you out of that Beatles shirt first,” he teased.

It only made the wetness pooling in your underwear even worse. You backed away from him, shaking your head at the devilish grin forming on his face.

“I’ll lead the way.”

“Tell me something true,” Eddie whispered, pulling the white duvet further up his chest.

You instinctively did the same, readjusting your head on the pillow. After having sex with Eddie that was more than just cute, you’d resigned to lying in the dark. Heads resting on pillows, facing each other. Finally bitten by the chill of the A/C after the overwhelming heat had consumed your flesh.

And there was just something about making eye contact with him that kept you there. Unable to move. Unable to run away. Unable to remove the mark he was ultimately starting to make on you.

Because you thought about his question, the way it drew you closer to revealing secrets that no one else knew. Not even your previous exes. There was just something about him, something about how you felt.

“I had someone coach my Southern accent out of me,” you admitted.

“Why?”

“So people would take me seriously. People think that if you’re from the South, you’re an idiot.” Eddie looked a little sad, but you tried to shrug it off. “I have one sometimes, but that’s usually when I’m really, really upset and can’t, like, turn it off.”

“There goes my next question.”

You couldn’t help but giggle, reaching over to brush his curls behind his ear. “Trust me, it’s embarrassing. You’d cringe immediately.”

“I highly doubt that,” he whispered, taking your wandering fingers in his and squeezing slightly. “I think all of you is amazing.”

His words melted you instantly, having to close your eyes for a moment to really take it in. Were you really this smitten?

“What about you?” you asked. “Something true.”

“My mom died when I was young,” he said without hesitation. Your eyes widened. “And then my dad went to jail for some bullshit. Got killed after he got out.”

His words struck you somewhere deep inside, in a cavern that you didn’t realize existed. It was like you felt the weight of his grief radiating off him. It was a kind of heaviness that you weren’t sure you’d experienced before.

“Do you have any siblings?”

“No, I, uh.” He shook his head. “My uncle, Wayne, was the only one who stepped in to help me. We lived in a trailer park and everything.”

“Why wasn’t he here tonight?”

“He passed away about a year and a half after we got big.” The ache only got worse. “I’d finally got him away from working his ass off and bought him a house. He was so excited about living in a house, you know? Not so close to other people. A stocked fridge. But he started getting sick, like really sick, and he just…didn’t wake up one day.”

“Eddie,” you whispered.

But he just gave you a sad smile. “I kept the house I bought him, you know. I keep it exactly how it was when he was alive. Makes it a little easier sometimes.”

“That’s awful,” you said, wiping a tear rushing down his nose and over his trembling lips. “Thank you for telling me that.”

“Yeah,” he replied, sniffling before he laughed at himself. “I guess you’re not getting the best me, huh?”

You ignored the self-inflicted jab. “What is something you loved about Wayne?”

His eyes widened for a moment before they softened. “Oh, uh.” Eyes began to glaze over, clearly lost in some memory. “He had this mug collection. So ridiculous. Every time he made it to a show, he got a new one at the airport. Eventually, I just started adding mugs to our merch line to keep him from going crazy. But he had this Garfield mug that was my favorite.”

“Garfield?” you questioned, chuckling.

A hearty laugh left his lips, the sound sending your heart into a flurry.

“The one and only.” His smile brought yours back. “Pretty awesome, right?”

“I love it,” you whispered, moving your hand back to his hair. Taking him in. Drawing him back into you as if you’d lose him the moment the morning came. But for now, he was all yours. You were all his. And as much as it was starting to unnerve you, you knew that there was still an unspoken acknowledgement about what this was.

It wasn’t a promise.

Just a mere possibility of one.

And you’d never admit it, but a part of you hoped he’d never leave.

Mid May, 2024

Knock, knock.

“Yeah?” you asked, adding one last swipe of red lipstick.

It was Scott who opened the door, already fit with a hesitant expression. “Hey, hun,” he started. “You’ve got a visitor outside.”

“Who?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Corroded Coffin himself.”

This struck you as odd. It’d only been, what, five days since you saw him in Indiana? And now he was miraculously here, trying to see you before your set started?

“He’s here?”

“Mhm.”

“Right now?”

“Yep, and he wants to come in.”

“Okay, yeah,” you said, a nervous laugh bubbling up. “Let him in.”

Scott gave you a glance, his lips seemingly vanishing underneath his mustache. It was a look of caution, of protection. “You sure, honey?”

You rapidly nodded. “Scout’s honor!”

After a quick nod, he disappeared.

And without a beat, Eddie was taking a comical side-step, standing straight and tall at the frame of the door. He was clad in a Rolling Stones t-shirt covered with his signature leather jacket and black jeans. All chains and boots and Eddie.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he said before pulling a bouquet of pink roses from behind his back.

You looked down at the beautiful floral arrangement, heat flooding your cheeks. He’d gotten you flowers?

“My god,” he added. Your eyes went back up to his face, watching his dark irises wandering down your body. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”

You looked down at your baby blue bodysuit, dripping in glitter and sequins. A sweetheart bust, sinching at your waist. A set of tights underneath white thigh-high socks held up by a garter belt. A pair of white block heels.

“Oh, thanks,” you whispered.

And, yeah, you already knew you looked fucking fantastic. You chose the outfit. But the way Eddie was looking at you now, marveling you, it filled you with an emotion you couldn’t quite place.

Clearing your throat, you took the flowers from him. “What’re you doing here?”

He moved past you into the room, taking in the space as he turned back to meet your eyes. “Embarrassing myself to try and see you,” he said, giving you a sheepish expression. “Have you ever tried the whole ‘Do you know who I am’ thing on people? Trust me, it’s as humiliating as it sounds.”

A chuckle left your lips. “You could’ve told me! I would’ve gotten you a pass.”

“But it wouldn’t have been a surprise, would it?”

You rolled your eyes, going back to your chair by the vanity. Eddie sat down on the edge of the dirty green couch across from you. Laid his head on the armrest like a dog, looking up at you from under those pretty bangs and even prettier lashes of his.

“Is this some kind of Romeo complex?” you teased.

Eddie took the bait, his dimples deepening as he leaned in further. Batting his eyes, he asked, “Does that make you my Juliet?”

“Did you really come here just to flirt with me?”

He sat up, twisting himself around to actually sit on the armrest. Fiddled with his fingers.

“Well, my tour ended.”

“It did, did it?” you questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, yeah,” he responded, quirking up his eyebrows. “And I find it peculiar that your tour ends in two weeks, butyou have next week off.” Your head tilted in confusion. “And I was thinking that, uh, if you’re in California, we could hang out. If you’d like.”

Biting back a grin, you asked, “You want to spend more time with me?”

Eddie leaned in closer to you, nearly beckoning you towards him.

Voice all hushed, saying, “Yeah, why wouldn’t I?”

“I think I’d like that,” you whispered, drawing closer.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Knock, knock.

“It’s time to go!” Scott exclaimed from behind the door.

Both of you stood, but not before you caved and gave his cheek a quick peck. And before you could give him a chance to respond, you were skipping out of the door.

You performed the best you ever had that night.

It was strange, the way every smile you bore was genuine. There was no true performance added that night. No, you were running on a high that seemed far beyond your comprehension. And it gave you a feeling that maybe that’s what Eddie had felt the other night.

But you had next to no time to think about it when you were rushed offstage and immediately found him in the wings. It surprised you, truly. Unlike Eddie’s stage, yours was more theatrical, with dancers and props and platforms and guitars and pianos and ukuleles—

Essentially, you were not near him at all during your set.

So, when you saw him standing there, hands shoved into his pockets, you couldn’t help but grin and approach him. You thought about hugging him, but restrained yourself. This was a guy you still barely knew. Even Scott seemed to find the whole thing a little odd. And, sure, maybe it was on the outside.

But to you, it just made perfect sense.

God, you felt like a goddamn teenager. A damn child on the playground, running around in a bashful haze. A chase that wasn’t really a chase. If anything, Eddie was giving in to whatever this was. Spending the whole night in his arms, whispering about your lives and the plans you’d made for the upcoming week.

And when you woke up before him, you leaned over to apply your travel-sized Miss Dior perfume. You rearranged your hair, your wrinkled nightgown. Situated yourself back next to him and closed your eyes.

“Did you just…put on perfume?” No response. “I just saw you, you know. Saw the whole fucking thing.” Eddie leaned over, nuzzling his head in your neck. Moaned. “You do smell ravishing, though. Is that Dior?”

Your eyes flew open. “How the fuck do you know that?”

“Ah, look, I caught ya,” he said, causing you to groan and throw your hands over your face. “I like to smell the little perfume and cologne samplers in the magazines, you know?”

You finally looked at him, all droopy-eyed and goofy smile.

“Oh, you’re smart.”

“It’s interactive,” he responded with a shrug. “Can’t pass it up.”

You dressed in silence, making sure his wet jacket had dried without any damage. But before he left, he had the fucking nerve to give your neck one last kiss.

“Don’t try to make yourself something else in the morning.” One last inhale of your scent. “All I want is you, sweetheart. And I want it all.” One last graze of his teeth against your skin. “Don’t hide from me next week, alright?”

One last nod.

One last embrace.

One more moment leaving you in disarray.

You spent the entire week the two of you had off together. And it wasn’t just “hanging out.” No, it was playing card games. Sitting on your balcony with glasses of wine. Watching movies. Making breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. Shared baths and poolside kisses at his house. Meeting his cats and hanging out with Jeff who lived nearby. Sunrises and sunsets.

And in that time, you tried to find things about him that were cringey. Gross. Unsettling.

But it was…impossible.

And on that Friday, you thought you had it. Eddie had ended up back in your California home, tangled beneath the sheets for three hours before you officially tapped out.

He’d turned to you, holding up a joint and his lighter.

“Do you wanna smoke?” he asked.

You grinned. “Absolutely.”

As you threw on a tank top and shorts, you glanced over at his phone resting on the bedside table. You noticed that his phone case was deep charcoal, smattered with tiny red dice, a throne, and a crown. Right there in the center was his band’s name.

That’s it, you told yourself. He’s secretly self-absorbed and thinks too highly of himself. Massive ego. Absolutely insufferable behind closed doors.

But when you turned and asked, he looked…slightly embarrassed?

“It must seem so pretentious, right?” he said, pulling up his gray sweatpants. “I know. But really, I just like the cool art. I worked with the artist about a year ago and, I don’t know, I think it’s fucking awesome. And I got the whole band matching ones with little individual stuff to match their D&D characters.” He smiled as he spoke. “The guys got so excited. They’ve all got ‘em still.”

He shrugged, plugging it into the charger.

“That’s…actually really cool,” you said truthfully.

“Yeah?” He turned back. “You don’t think it’s weird?”

“Not when it means something to you,” you replied. “I just wish you’d be a little bit awful.”

That’s when you saw him smile, taking a step forward. “Why’s that?”

“So I have a reason not to like you as much as I do,” you said.

And you hated yourself for saying it. But there was just this thing he did where he made you tell the truth. It wasn’t even an impulse; it was as if it was instinct. Like your body didn’t have a choice. It just knew.

“I can be gross if you need a reason to go,” he suggested. “But just so you know, I’d prefer you didn’t.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What’s so gross about you?”

“Uh, I pick my nose.”

“Like everyone else.”

“I have the most iconic burps but the deadliest farts.” You couldn’t help the giggle that left your lips. “I’m awful about doing my own laundry. I have a lot of ass hair. Like, it’s almost a problem. My nails are wrecked from all the guitar playing.” He lifted his fingers, showing off his chipped polish and crooked fingernails. “Oh, and if I eat even, like, a bite of a burrito, I’m in the bathroom for an hour.”

You couldn’t help but laugh again. He really was just a normal person.

“Let’s go outside,” he suggested. “If I don’t have a joint and a cigarette, I think I might fall over and die.”

You followed him, heading down the wooden stairs, all the while saying, “You shouldn’t smoke cigarettes. Your poor little metal vocal cords must be suffering.”

Eddie threw up his hands. “Hey, I went down from five a day to one. Doesn’t that count for literally anything?”

“The jury’s still out,” you teased. “Also, for the record, I don’t think your ass is too hairy.”

“That’s because you haven’t seen it unwaxed, sweetheart.”

You opened the French doors. “I shiver at the thought of that being someone’s job.”

“Oh no?” he asked from behind you, grabbing your ass. You yelped as he added, “You don’t wanna do it next time?”

“Absolutely not.”

You grew quiet as you lit up, Eddie showing off his special lighter. It was a different look for him, some kind of flower sprouting from an orange liquid. Tangerine bulbs. A sage green top with a golden rim. A gift from his uncle, he told you. Given to him after his father died.

“Can I ask something true?” you asked as soon as he was done explaining.

You couldn’t understand why you felt so nervous to have questions. It was all you ever did these days, in between kisses and meals. During cheesy rom-coms and horror films. In the shower, over text. Anything and everything seemed to be laid out in front of you, no matter what. Eddie was an open book.

“Always,” he answered.

“Do you think about your parents a lot?” you asked.

“Not always,” he responded. “I mainly just wonder what their relationship was like.”

“What do you mean?”

“We kinda fall in line with what our parents lay out for us, don’t we?” he questioned, taking another hit. “Like, I’ve never had a relationship last or really had something special. And my parents had to be happy some of the time at least. Right?”

You didn’t say anything, still trying to follow his train of thought.

“I have to wonder if, like, we just end up as unhappy as them. Like, in the end, we really do die all alone. We’re not built to stay happy.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “You don’t think you could be happy with someone long-term?”

The pit in your stomach worsened as you realized you were really asking, You don’t think you could be happy long-term with me?

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I guess I just have always felt like, when I die, I’ll look back and realize that I never got the chance to be someone’s first choice.”

Before you could think, you said, “Maybe you just haven’t been given the chance.”

He looked at you.

And there was that spark, crackling in your abdomen. In your fingers. In your head. That moment when you knew that this had become something more. You’d gone on and on, day after day with his body here, his hands and fingertips lingering on every surface. Sitting at your kitchen table. Fingers pressed against buttons on remotes. Another set of hands to help you make the bed.

This man who you couldn’t help but feel a certain word towards.

That dangerous fucking word you’d never utter to yourself.

Eddie blinked several times before he became very interested in his socked feet. So you looked down, watching him fidget by wiggling his toes.

“You doing anything fun after tour?”

“I’m going to Pittsburg to see a few of my friends,” you explained. “We’ll probably go to some frat party.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “A college party?”

You shrugged, taking the joint. “They all go there. It’s actually fun to pretend I actually went.”

“Can’t blame you,” he said with a nod. “I didn’t get my GED until, like, a year after we really got big.”

Eyes widening, you nearly coughed out your hit. “Really?”

“Yeah. Fuck high school.”

You nodded. “Fuck high school indeed.”

“Don’t miss me too much while you’re out being a cool college kid.”

You snorted. “Oh, wow. Playing the missing game?"

“Why, you scared you’ll lose?”

You shrugged, shying away from him. But he had other plans, resting his hands on your hips before bringing you closer. Lips meeting the shell of your ear as he whispered, “I have a feeling you’ll never say it, but I will. I think you’re gonna win.”

“What makes you so sure?” you whispered back, breath hitching in your throat as he left a trail of kisses down your neck. The high was intensifying the sensation, each touch more sensitive than the last. You didn’t last long, mewling in his arms as you felt yourself go limp.

“Trust me, sweetheart,” he murmured, tightening his grasp on you. “You don’t even have to tell me. I just know.”

Eddie had to leave soon after that, needing to feed his cats.

You didn't mind, still out on the balcony. Deep in thought as the world hazed around you. And as soon as you were left to your own devices to parse your emotions, they began to swallow you.

See, you wouldn’t consider yourself a train wreck. No, you’d already been around too many. Something in you considered yourself the wreckage, the carnage in the aftermath. A burning storm, a flurry of ash. Standing in the center, surrounded by the flames. Who would come back to you after all that? Who would stand by you while you put yourself back together again? And who would stay?

There was no dark side to Eddie, no indication that there was something wrong with him. He had his moments, sure, but he was human. He was bound to have things that faltered. It never made you feel like there was something to send you running. And maybe that’s what was starting to hurt the most. Because what if someone caught you? What if someone had seen you in Vegas? Indianapolis? Seattle?

And it was in that moment, as you stared up at the moonlight, that you realized that this secret was the only thing keeping you together. What happened next if the press found you out? If the world looked at you, the woman who dated everyone, standing hand-in-hand with him, the man who dated everyone. Where would you be able to stand? Would it be a foundation you could build together? Or would one of you eventually find it too hard to cope with?

Would Eddie still stay?

You sighed, shoving your hands into your pockets. But your fingers wrapped around something lightweight, pulling it out to find Eddie’s lighter.

You grabbed your phone and texted him.

You left your lighter!

His response was immediate.

keep it safe for me, sweetheart. i’ll come back for it. and you. promise.

credit to @strangergraphics for this divider because it inspired me so heavily :')

#Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson angst #modern!eddie munson #modern!eddie x reader #Eddie Munson x female reader #boyfriend!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie #rockstar eddie munson #rockstar!Eddie x reader #rockstar!Eddie x you #modern!Eddie x you #boyfriend!Eddie x reader

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takashimakato · 6 months

Text

I miss you

Fanfiction Based off art by (@bonithica-art )

Years had woven a heavy tapestry of loss and time since the world said goodbye to a Beatles' guitarist, an event that left an indelible mark on each member, casting shadows on their hearts. For Paul, the loss was a tempest of sorrow; John wasn't just a bandmate but a cherished friend whose absence was a void no melody could fill.

In a room saturated with memories and the echo of bygone days, Paul found himself in the company of Ringo and George, their faces etched with lines of years and experience, yet their spirits undiminished by the trials they'd weathered together.

As they sat, enveloped in a silence punctuated by the occasional sigh or distant laughter from outside, the air between them was heavy with contemplation. It had been a decade since "Let It Be" whispered its final note to the world, a period during which their lives had unfolded in directions as diverse as the songs they once created.

Yet, the bond that tethered them to each other, to the music, and to the Beatles' legacy was unbroken.

Paul, the weight of memories pressing on his shoulders, broke the silence first. "It's been a long road since 'Let It Be', hasn't it?" His voice, laden with reminiscence, filled the room, bridging the gap between past and present.

Ringo, with a reflective nod, replied, "Aye, it has. Didn't quite imagine our journey would take us here, through all this... silence without him." His gaze drifted, touching on the empty space where John's laughter once resonated, a somber acknowledgment of the void left behind.

George, leaning back, his eyes lost in thought, added, "Every chord, every melody... it's like he's still a part of it, you know? His spirit lingers in the music, in the spaces between our notes." There was a warmth in his voice, a tribute to the unbreakable connection they shared with John, even in absence.

The room, steeped in the legacy of their shared history, seemed to hold its breath, listening to the unspoken words hanging in the air. Paul sighed, a sound of resignation mixed with determination. "Do you ever think about it? About what John would say if he saw us now, thinking about... moving forward?"

Ringo's chuckle, soft and tinged with sadness, broke the solemn atmosphere. "He'd probably tell us to stop moping around, wouldn't he? Say something about how the show must go on, in his own cheeky way."

George smiled, the first genuine smile of the gathering, as he remembered their friend's indomitable spirit. "He'd want us to keep creating, keep playing... for him, for us, and for all those who found a piece of themselves in our music."

The conversation, once a meandering path through their shared sorrows, began to shift towards a future still uncertain yet filled with the possibility of homage and rebirth. "So," Paul ventured, his voice steadier now, "what if we did something? A concert, an album, something that says 'The Beatles' aren't just a memory. We're a legacy that's still alive, still bringing light to the darkness John left behind."

Ringo and George exchanged looks, the bond of years and shared dreams unspoken between them. "I think it's what he would have wanted," George finally said, his voice a gentle affirmation of their collective resolve.

Ringo, ever the pragmatist, nodded in agreement. "But we do it our way, on our terms. A tribute to John, to us, and to everyone who's ever sung along with us."

In that room, filled with the ghosts of yesterday and the whispers of tomorrow, Paul, Ringo, and George found themselves at the threshold of a new chapter.

A chapter that would honor the past while daring to step into the future, their spirits united in the music that had defined a generation and would continue to inspire those to come.

After a marathon session of reminiscences and what-ifs with Ringo and George, the clock hands aligned at midnight, compelling Paul to seek solace in the familiarity of Liverpool’s streets. The night was a canvas of shadows and streetlight glow, painting the city in hues of nostalgia and melancholy. He wandered aimlessly, each step leading him past haunts filled with echoes of laughter and melodies that he and John had once shared. The sharp sting of loss gripped him as he meandered through these memory-laden locales, each corner a reminder of a bond that was as much a part of Liverpool as the Mersey itself.

Compelled by a mix of sorrow and longing, Paul found his steps leading him to a familiar hill—a silent witness to countless hours spent in idle chatter and shared dreams under its sprawling sky. The ascent was a physical effort that mirrored the emotional climb he'd been enduring since John's passing. Reaching the summit, he collapsed onto the grass, the cityscape stretching below him—a tapestry of light and life that seemed distant from his solitary vigil. "I guess I am the fool on the hill," he whispered into the night, tears cascading freely, each drop a testament to the depth of his grief.

As the words left his lips, a familiar voice pierced the night. "I wouldn't say a fool, but you're definitely something on the hill..." John’s tone, playful and teasing, was unmistakable. The shock was palpable as Paul turned, his heart in his throat, to see John standing there, a spectral image bathed in moonlight. Their embrace was a collision of past and present, a moment so surreal yet achingly desired.

Breaking away, disbelief etched across Paul's features, he stammered, "How is this possible? You were dead..." The question hung in the air, heavy with the gravity of their reunion.

John’s response was a cheeky nod to their shared history. "What's that thing George said in that stupid cartoon movie we did?" A pause, a spark of recollection, and then together, their voices merged: "It's all in the mind." Laughter, genuine and freeing, followed, bridging the gap between reality and whatever magic had allowed this moment.

Paul, encouraged by the presence of his friend, sat down, a silent invitation for John to join him. They looked out over Liverpool, the city that had birthed their dreams, now a canvas of twinkling lights and shadowed streets. Despite the joy of the moment, a shadow of sadness tugged at Paul's heart, a whispering reminder of the impossibility of this encounter.

Surrendering to the moment, Paul wrapped an arm around John, their gaze shared across the cityscape. John leaned in, his head resting on Paul's shoulder, a gesture of comfort and camaraderie. In this suspended slice of time, Paul allowed himself the fantasy, the warmth of John's presence a balm against the sharp edges of his grief.

As the night deepened, the city below them a silent witness, two friends sat together on the hill, united by memories, music, and an unbreakable bond that not even death could sever. The fool on the hill and his spectral companion, together in silence, a poignant reminder of what was and what could never be again.

"Sorry I never told you before but.., I love you man.." Paul says, he didn't get a response that made him look over to see John gone.. he smiled before shedding a tear.

Under the vast, star-streaked sky, the moment stretched thin, a fragile bridge spanning the gap between reality and yearning. Paul's voice, barely above a whisper, carried the weight of unsaid words and unspent grief into the night. "Sorry I never told you before but.., I love you, man." The silence that followed was profound, dense with all the words that had gone unspoken over the years, filled with all the music they'd never get to create together again.

When no response came, a soft confusion brushed Paul's heart, prompting him to turn, seeking John's familiar face. But the space beside him was empty, the comforting presence vanished like mist at dawn. The realization, both sweet and sorrowful, dawned on him then; it had been a momentary reprieve, a fleeting communion with the friend he missed so deeply.

A smile, tinged with both gratitude and sadness, found its way across Paul's face as a single tear traced a path down his cheek. It was a smile born of cherished memories, of love spoken too late yet no less sincere, a smile that spoke of understanding the ephemeral nature of their hilltop reunion. The city below continued its nocturnal symphony, unaware of the tender epilogue unfolding in its midst.

As the tear fell, mingling with the grass of the hill that had borne witness to their bond, Paul felt a gentle release. The night, with its velvet embrace, seemed to acknowledge his farewell, his tribute not just to John, but to a chapter of life that had forever altered its course. He stood, the city lights a mosaic of life continuing beneath him, and took a deep breath of the cool night air. It was time to carry forward the legacy of their friendship, the music, and the love that had defined them, in his heart and in his melodies. The fool on the hill had spoken his truth, and in doing so, found a measure of peace under the watchful gaze of the stars.

#john lennon #paul mccartney #the beatles #beatles fanfiction #george harrison #richard starkey #ringo starr

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zilabee · 2 years

Text

Snippets from Ticket To Ride, by Larry Kane, a reporter who accompanied the Beatles during the 1964 and 1965 US Tours:

- My own positive relationship with the Beatles was formed early on. Despite my cynical scepticism at the beginning, I became a fan, not only of their professional personas and their music, but also of the individuals they were. What impressed me most about all of them was their indisputable naturalness and, to varying degrees, the depth of their humanity and their lack of phoniness. Another unaffected aspect of their behaviour that was special to watch and be around was their relationship to each other.

- At one point on the tour, as I interviewed Brian Epstein, I mentioned how he seemed so protective of the Beatles. "Well, it is a simple proposition," he explained. "They are special. I believe in them. They should not be compromised or taken advantage of in any form."

- The Dallas police brandished their rifles openly; this was the first time in America that the Beatles had seen rifles at the ready. I got the impression that we would be well protected on this leg of the tour, but the raising of rifles only reinforced the anxiety that the Beatles were feeling. The expressions on their faces, their eyes wandering around, gave me the feeling that they were concerned about their safety.

- On the flight to Ohio, the Beatles seemed joyful. Paul walked up and down the aisle, winking that Paul wink and acting as host of the day. At one point, he stopped by some members of the group Exciter and said jokingly, "Coffee, tea or me?" On the plane Paul was also the biggest walker. He didn't like being confined.

- I knew we were in big trouble when the upholstery of the car's ceiling [started] getting lower, closing in on my face. By sheer force, the eager crowd, jumping on and pressing against the roof of the car, was pushing the metal roof into a dent that evolved into a sinkhole.

Ringo's smile was a wonder to watch.

- The next morning I discovered that the Beatles, or someone in their party, had urinated on the carpets of their suite at the Edgewater. This was the apparent 'plan' Lennon had mentioned to have the last laugh - or in this case the last drop - against local merchants who had planned to cut the rug up and sell it.

- I realised for the first time that this sceptical, cynical reporter was beginning to fall for the music of the Beatles. I was even humming out loud along to the tune, and I continued to do so throughout the evening. Was it the repetition, the hearing of these songs over and over, or was the music beginning to stir my spirits? Whatever the reason, listening to the music was making me feel happy. (Aug 64)

- I was curious, "How many of you have tickets?" Only a few raised their hands. Once again, hundreds, maybe thousands for all I knew, were travelling - and travelling without a chaperone - just to get close to the Beatles. Remember, in those days, teenage girls travelling alone without a parent or guardian was unheard of, but on this ride they were legion.

- Watching Brian Epstein watch the Beatles in complete absorption was one of the most educational sideshows of both great tours. He truly loved their music.

- Much has been said about the static between Paul McCartney and John Lennon after the breakup. But on our tours, we saw nothing but a sensitive closeness between all of them.

- Brian Epstein and Derek Taylor were initially prohibited from getting in making them quite upset. Epstein was also furious that day because Ringo wasn't wearing a tie.

- One of the girls got through and made a wild dash for the elevator. She tripped on a rug and fell to the floor, trapped beneath the weight of two cops. It looked like a football scrimmage. The tape of my conversation with the girl is missing, but I will never forget some of her words. She said, "They're all scumbags, those cops. They suck." She got up, dusted herself off, left the hotel and made it to the street, where she received a round of brief applause from her soulmates.

- The flight from Cleveland to New Orleans featured a magnificent pillow fight, with Lennon and Jackie DeShannon leading the combatants. It was fascinating to watch John Lennon leaping up and down the aisle and - with that eager smile and those penetrating eyes - toying with the pillows and his targets like a five year old in a playground. Practically everyone aboard got involved until a flight attendant, giggling uncontrollably, broke it up.

- One vivid image I'll never forget is of an ice-cream vendor who stopped in place, stared at the Beatles on stage in front of the grandstand and started crying. I said to him, "Is something wrong?" He replied, "No, their music just makes me very happy."

Epstein: I'm very much a Beatles fan. I've probably felt everything that any, um, male Beatles fan ever felt. All the various things I've liked, I think, is what the fans have liked, both in their music and their general manner. To me, in terms of popular music, the Beatles express a cross quality of happiness and tragedy. And this is basically what the greatest form of entertainment is made up of. They in fact do original things. Their songs are always new and different. So are their performances.

- Suddenly I heard the smashing of glass and watched the people inside the lobby rushing toward the windows. When I arrived by the windows myself, the scene was ghastly. Three girls were lying on the floor, bleeding profusely from head and facial injuries. A fourth was up on her feet and trying to stop the blood flowing from her knees. The force of the crowd had pushed these kids through the glass.

- One of the press cars, the one I was in, had a brief upside down experience. Overzealous fans mobbed our vehicle, began to shake it wildly, and ended up rolling it over onto its side. We remained stuck inside for several minutes before the highway patrol were able to right us.

- Ivor Davis (on seeing the Beatles meet Elvis): "We stood a few feet away, trying not to make them feel like prize horses at stud being watched over the fence to see if they'll mate."

- The flight to Indianapolis was subdued, but thankfully it was also short and uneventful. […] Travelling down the aisle later, John broke out a big smile and said, "So how are the nameless, faceless, unidentified news whores doing tonight?"

- Paul was the master host, providing a welcome that made the extremely nervous fans at home and comfortable. In Baltimore, I watched three girls and a boy leave the dressing room and, in the hallway outside, break into tears. They were tears of relief and joy.

- In a corner, John sat quietly and reached into his jacket for his cigarettes. He pulled out a thinner cigarette from his pack, a marijuana joint, and thumbed his lighter to start it. But before he was able to light the joint, Brian Epstein took a quick detour away from chatting with me and a few others, walked over to John, and glowered at him, shaking his head. John slipped the object of his desire back into his jacket pocket, pulled out a legal smoke from his pack, and lit up.

- Art Schreiber: "They were lonely, isolated from the world, both on tour and at home. They couldn't go anywhere. Remember, aside from all the fame and glory, they were young men, barely out of boyhood. I've always been a pretty tough reporter when it came to the people I covered, but let me tell you, they were terrific. I actually started feeling close to them. They really opened up. I was also impressed with how bright they were. They knew how to treat people. They were terrific."

- Paul would look left and right, and wink to a face in the crowd. It was a sexy form of eye candy, tantalizing the crowd with his head gyrations. Paul was a world class flirt when it came to the fans. And they loved him back.

Kane: Will you ever be anything but the Beatles? Paul: We are the Beatles, that's what we are.

#tantalising the crowd with his head gyrations!#for some reason Brian being furious because Ringo wouldn't wear a tie was the highlight of the whole book for me #it's a great book for getting a real sense of these tours #you get a real feel of the noise and the chaos #and the boredom #and it's interesting when he talks about the differences between them in 64 and 65 #lots of quotes and bits from people who went to the concerts too #beatles books #the beatles #brian epstein #ticket to ride #larry kane

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greeen-bean · 1 month

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Iwbft reread day one complete 🥰 god I forgot how much I missed this book. Blue tabs are for angel and orange for Jimmy.

"Me and Juliet are practically soulmates [...]. She's the sharp-witted romantic. I'm the whimsical conspiracy theorist"

"I don't really mind the rain. Even weird August downpours like this one."

"This week is going tk be the best week of my life. Because I'm going to meet The Ark. And they will know who I am. And then mu life will be worth something."

"Rowan is leading them, Jimmy in the middle, Lister behind. They seem connected. Like the Beatles on Abbey Road, or a group of toddlers holding hands on a preschool trip to the park."

"[Rowan] looks hot. Always does."/"To everyone else, he's beautiful, perfect, flawless, etc."

"I love Rowan. He says words like he made them up."

"The anxiety thing isn't new. By this point, it's pretty much the fourth member of the band."

"[Lister] asks, grinning. It's hard not to grin back."

"I get a sudden wave of I can't belive I'm here. It happens less and less nowadays,"

"I can't say I understand [the girls/fans], but I love them back in a way, I guess."

"The girls. Our girls."

"I used to wish there was time to talk to every single one of them."

"Typical me. Paranoia, dread and too much overthinking all crammed into one tiny brain."

"Sometimes I wished me really could hold hands."

"I'm excellent at faking being okay with things, even when inside my brain there is a tiny screaming gnome who is definitely not okay. [...] I'm good at this - talking, even when there's nothing to talk about."

"I ask God to give me strength to be kind and nit judge him too hard"

"He's my favourite. Jimmy Kaga-Ricci. [...] But God, if anyone's the angel around here, its him."

"I grin and glance at my fellow 'boys'"

"When was the last time I saw it rain?"

"They look like they were born to be together"

"[Jimmy] feels so real. [...] or maybe I just understand him better, and I relate to him, the way he tries his best even when he feels awkward and smiles even when he's not okay."

"[Rowan's] ... so protective of the other two"

"Whether it's real or not, I think they love each other very much."

"The Ark likes theatricality"

"'Are you calm?'

'Am I calm?'

No. I am never calm.

'I'm calm,' I say."

"The LED screens behind us light up a bright, blinding orange"

#still have so many thoughts about these forst few chapters #iwbftreread2024 #iwbft #osemanverse #angel rahimi #jimmy kaga ricci

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peaceloveandstarrs · 1 year

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50, McHarrison.

out of love

George figures he doesn't stand a chance. Which is really unusual, given his quiet confidence. If this were as simple as going out and finding a shag for the night, George knew he wouldn't have any trouble. He's attractive, and he knows it. He has the face of a movie star, all chiseled cheekbones and impeccable bone structure. And he's long and lean. And he has the bonus of being a Beatle. People throw themselves at him just for the chance to say they've shagged a member of the most famous band in the world. No, George doesn't have any trouble finding a partner to get off with.

But this is different. His one-night stands don't have emotion attached to them. He'll give the other person a good night and leave the next day without a second thought. But this time, he's also in love with the person he has in mind. Which is where the complications come in. Because George is also certain that this person is in love with someone else. Hence why he's sure that he doesn't stand a chance.

George is in love with one of his bandmates.

Not Ringo.

Not John.

George is in love with Paul. He hates himself for it sometimes. It's wrong to be in love with another man. He's supposed to love a woman. Men don't love men, not in this sense at least. And there's a second layer of shame. He's almost positive Paul is in love with John. Hell, they might even be having some sort of private affair. There's something there, affair or not. It's obvious. He sees the way those two look at each other in the studio, during performances, at any given opportunity. He sees the way Paul's eyes gleam with a deep joy when John gives him a smile or a compliment on some lyric or riff or something. And he wishes Paul would look at him like that.

Sometimes he does, and George gets a flicker of hope. Maybe he isn't stupid. But then it'll go right back to how it was, Paul treating him like the baby of the group. It's frustrating; George is growing as a musician and songwriter, why doesn't Paul give him the same praise he does John? Paul's back and forth nature is torture. Does he love George? Does he not? Or is he in love with John and trying to hide some sort of feeling? George drives himself mental trying to figure it out.

One day, it gets to be too much. He has to know. Does Paul love him too, or should he start trying to move on? He remembers that girl from the train scenes in A Hard Day's Night. Pattie, was it? Yeah. If this doesn't work out in his favour, maybe he could find her number and try to reconnect with her. Or see if Brian could get it for him. She was sweet, a pretty young bird. Nice figure too. And she was very keen on him during filming. But he pushes Pattie out of his mind and refocuses on the session. It's winding down; everyone's ready to go home.

“Cyn keeps going on about how Jules is missing me,” John says as he packs up his guitar.

“Ye know he does,” Ringo says as he slips into his coat. “Kids need their dads. Granted...” He huffs a laugh, he knows both of their stories. But he also knows he's right.

John just shakes his head as the two of them head out of the studio. Meanwhile, George ignores their conversation. He's alone with Paul. And something tells him to go for it, to take the chance. He takes one last long sip of his drink to boost his courage. He packs up his guitar, suddenly nervous. He goes quiet.

“Ye alright, Hazza?” Paul asks.

George turns when he hears the old nickname, a relic from their Hamburg days. It's been a while since Paul's used it. Maybe it's a sign. He closes the case on his guitar and stands. It's now or never. He walks over to Paul, muscles moving involuntarily, like he's in a daze. And he sort of is, fueled by the two glasses of white wine he's had as well as tiredness. But he has to do this. If he doesn't now, he'll never do it.

“I've... fuck. I don't know how else to say this, but I've been wanting to do this for ages now. I know I'm not John, but...”

Paul furrows his brow and closes his case. “What the hell are you talking about?”

It feels so good. Paul's lips are soft, only slightly chapped. But still so wonderful. George lets it linger, waiting for Paul to push him away, tell him he's mental. But he doesn't. When he feels like it's okay, George kisses him again. And again. And to his own shock, Paul kisses him back. It takes a few tries, but they find that rhythm. Paul tastes of whiskey and cigarettes and something uniquely Paul. And it's delicious. A rare delicacy. Something George can't get enough of. After a few moments, George pulls back. Paul is speechless, staring at him with wide eyes and parted lips.

“This.”

In two strides, George has Paul against the wall. He isn't pressing against him to keep him there, this isn't that kind of kiss. But he's right in front of him, and for whatever reason, be it desire, curiosity, or something else, Paul isn't moving. He sees the the shock in Paul's eyes and almost stops. But there's something else there too. A silent urging in those wide eyes – please keep going. Before he can back out, George presses his lips softly against Paul's and stays there for a moment.

For a moment, George is proud. He's managed to shut up the ever-talkative Paul McCartney. But something needs to be said. So he says the three words that have been on his lips and in his mind for ages.

“I love you.”

#mcharrison #george x paul #paul x george #beatles fanfic #beatles fanfiction

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winstonhenderson · 2 months

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𝟏𝟗𝟓𝟖.

𝓐𝓲𝓷’𝓽 𝓢𝓱𝓮 𝓢𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓽?

𝙎𝘼𝘾𝙍𝙄𝙁𝘼𝙈𝙀 𝙎𝙀𝙍𝙄𝙀𝙎

Notes of Cynthia Powell

A year ago I went to the Tavern as an adventure. I knew Julia let steam off in that way and hoped that this would have the same effect. I was about to enroll into college, which was a struggle on its own. Jules helped me convince my parents to try to finish art college. Julia always tells me that I am brave for doing that and that she is proud of me… Well, on the stage there was a new small band from Liverpool that was performing. I knew the band from people’s stories; they were practically the city’s little rascals. Best on drums, Sutcliffe on bass, Harrison on solo guitar, McCartney and Lennon on guitar. Julia’s twin was the leader, and that bloke was handsome.

“And this one goes out to Ms. Prim in the back. Nice vermouth you got there!”, he noticed me.

It was love at first sight I thought.

They sang “Ain’t She Sweet” and it was surprisingly a great cover. He has a shrill voice that suits this kind of rock. Fun movements. He is baaad, and really looks like a teddy boy. But what do I say, opposites attract. They played a bunch of songs and got ready to leave.

Some drunkards remained while the rest of my peers went home. This was my first time going alone to the Tavern, usually Julia would involuntarily pull me here. I wondered why she never wanted to bring me to the Silver Beatles’ practices?

The other members noticed I was left alone. They looked like they were picking on John. John was more than embarrassed, am I that…

He looked at me very softly. I assured myself and drummed up the courage to ask:

“Do you need any help with that?”

The others were suddenly too busy to answer, except that Paul looked at me with some kind of jealousy? I waved off that feeling.

“Not really.”, John began, “Let men do all the hard work, mon cherie, and go get some sleep. You got to look your best.”

He didn’t think I wasn’t good looking.

“You sure?”, I asked, fluttering my eyelashes.

John got a bit defensive all of a sudden, backing away.

“I’m sure…”

“Maybe he doesn’t like me afterall.”, I thought.

“But the way you could help is by coming by during our next gig here… I’ll find a way to let you know!”, he excitedly grabbed me by the hand.

I blushed. He let go just as quickly.

“Um, alright then!”, I chuckled.

“Yeah.”, he softened, “See you then, Ms. Prim.”

“Goodbye.”

He always liked preppy girls… Maybe that’s why earlier he and Jules got along so well, as Jules told me. Before they were split by their parents for some time…

The next day I saw him and he lightened up immediately.

“Cyn-thia, or I mean Ms. Prim!”, he said, “I have found out the time for the gig, and it’s drumroll please, at 9pm at the Tavern. Don’t you dare miss it!”.

“Oh, you know my name? And I won’t.”, I chuckled.

“Of course, I’ve heard Jules call ya that.”, John elaborated, twitching. God, he wasn’t private at all.

“I’ll be sure to bring her by next time!”, I promised.

He lit up, “That would be nice.”

“Bye then!”, I smirked.

“Farewell, missy.”, he left saluting me on the way.

I went to that gig and every next one I could catch. Sometimes I had a feeling he would look for me in the audience. I always felt kind of special in a way.

That’s when I realized I began to harbor feelings for that silly lad. He was brash and rude. I was blushing whenever he passed by, whenever he glanced at me. College was great, but it became even better when I saw him in the halls. He always borrowed his art equipment from others. Sometimes from me. I think it was obvious to everyone that I had a soft spot for John even Aunt Mimi. She looked at me with protective eyes, though I couldn’t understand why. She was always nice to me when I hung out with Julia… Why be so overprotective? So, yeah, everyone seemed to get the picture, except Jules.

I was always anxious to talk about John with Jules, because they were a complicated pair of siblings. They were never seen together. The only one that ever saw them like that was their family. They would always be in a fight everytime I visited and Jules would always be angry at him for making another mess. At first I agreed with her but now, I started to think his little escapades weren’t that bad. I never brought up John as a topic. I was scared of what would happen. But what I didn’t expect was for her to bring up John a month after I had fallen for him.

“Um… John talked to me about um… Seeing you in his college… ”, she began, “And inviting you to his gigs…”

She was nervous and was twitching in the exact same way her twin would.

“Yes, and what? He has been nice, don't worry too much Jules!”

She got serious.

“He was nice? Well that’s refreshing. Or are you blinded by something else, Cyn?”

I got red.

“I know what you mean and I have to admit, however embarrassing this may be, I like your brother!”

Julia was absolutely furious.

“Jules, I’m sorry, but you of all people would understand why! He is stubborn, he is funny, he is amazingly creative and brave!”

Julia raised her eyebrow.

“He… He is dangerous. I don’t want you near him. End of story. I got too… Too careless… You got too close! He’ll break you! Like every girl he broke before you!”

“He had no girls, I asked his friends.”

Jules fixed her posture.

“I cannot fathom his stupidity! He lied to me! Why would you want to be with a liar!”

“So, what? You lie all the time! You lied to yourself that you wanted to finish medical school, but you wanted music all along!”

Julia got mad.

“I am NOT like my mother and brother. And never will be. I play my role. And you should play yours.”

Jules at that time didn’t even sound like herself.

“You should be happy you got into the thing you love. Life is unfair. Life is cruel. Life has its rules.”

“Jules. What are you talking about! You always want to come out of your shell! You helped me so much…”

“Go. Go and fucking pursue that fool.”

“I’m sorry, Julia.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Cynthia. He has a lot to hide.”

I exited her room and she snapped out of her delusion for a second, unsure of what to do.

“Cyn, I’m… Just… Think about it… Don’t get too close… You’ll get burned.”

“Julia…”, I looked at her and she was sobbing.

“Go… I need to be alone… I need to think of how to… How to…”

“Okay…”

Did she despise her brother that much? I was afraid. She was my closest friend and mostly right when she felt something was off. So… I tried to stay away. John was from then on, whenever I saw him, visibly mad for some reason. Maybe he found out about Julia’s whole ordeal. I noticed that he flirted with other girls too. I noticed he didn’t really look at women that much at all, more focused on keeping the band together than getting the girls. I noticed he got violent after a couple of drinks. That’s what she meant by mean and dangerous. But he was also overly kind to his bandmates. He was generous and hardworking, which was funny to say about John, because he had a nasty reputation. Though he was mad, for some reason, when he saw that I wasn’t looking, he would mutter something.

I decided to read his lips one of those times.

“It’s for the best.”

Why? Did he think the same as Julia? Did he hate himself as much as Julia hated him?

His hollow eyes would then shift to someone else and light up. He… Valued me. Was he mad at himself?

After three months of liking him and one hangout with Julia I decided to tell him everything. He was drunk after one of his gigs I came to uninvited. His band was packing but he decided to stay.

“Augh, could this day get any worse?”, he talked to the room.

“Um. Maybe it could get better?”, I joked.

“Cynthia… Ms. Prim. Haven’t seen ya in a while!”, he shrugged, tired and sloshed.

“You look absolutely hammered.”

“Thank you.”, he improptly bowed.

I had to chuckle.

“I’m sorry, Cyn… I’m sorry that…”, he took my hand again.

“Why are you sorry?”, I was confused.

He kissed it.

“This is a kiss of apology. Now tell me. Is anyone here?”

I looked around. “No.”

It looked like his mind was fighting. He was beating himself up because of something. So I used the chance to tell him.

“John… Listen, I know you are impulsive and sometimes even violent but I love you nontheless. I liked you for some time now.”

“I know!”

“So you were planning to reject me. That’s why you have avoided me.”

“Yeah. That’s the only thing. Nothing beside that.”

“Well, if you wanted to reject me, why not do it earlier?”

“Because… I dunno.”

“Why then give me such attention?”

“Because I wanted to be friends with ya, you prissy bird!”

I blushed.

“That would ruin everything. And maybe I should’ve told you. I couldn’t stay away. And I planned to because as John I should stay away from Julia’s friends so they-”

“Julia is behind this! Of course!”

“No, I didn’t mean it in that way-”

“Why does she hate you so much!”

John looked like he wanted to tell me something so badly but he couldn’t. His brain was telling him to shut up, but his emotions were overflowing.

“Cyn, stop.”

“Why does she always belittle you so much? Why is she jealous of you? Why do you hate yourself because of her?”

“Cyn, stop this nonsense. She doesn’t hate me. She can’t hate me that much. She can’t hate…”

He looked at his arms and chuckled.

“Cyn, hug me, please, I’m dying for hugs.”

His tone of speaking completely changed. I hugged him. I couldn’t help but feel close to him.

“Cyn… I’m sorry but I can’t ever love you back. Legally.”, he smirked, “I didn’t want to break your heart. I wanted to be friends with you as John as well without you knowing a thing.”

He booped my nose. Is he too drunk for this?

“Could you accompany me back home please, it’s been such a long night…”, he asked, “As my final request.”

“Are you going to kill yourself!”, I got scared.

“No, you git, I have to tell you something private.”, he chuckled.

“Alright.”

He couldn’t walk straight so I carried him to his house.

“Imagine John Lennon being carried by Ms. Prim to his house. A man that cannot help himself… Haha, pathetic excuse for one.”

“Don’t be like that, and why are you laughing so much!”

John got serious.

“Yeah I shouldn’t.”

“Of course!”

I dropped him off at his room, his messy bedroom with records all over the floor, but he said,

“This is the guest room. This is not my room!”

“What are you saying, John?”, I chuckled.

“Because, my room is… The one on the far left.”

“Your room is… Julia’s?”

“Yeah, mine!”

“And this one?”

“No one sleeps in here.”

He booped my nose once again.

I dropped him, confused.

“Alright, I’ll lead you to it if you are so lost!”

“God.”, I sighed. Julia, I’m not even feeling sorry that your room is about to be wrecked by a drunkard.

“Bed. I missed you. End this fucking nightmare.”, he rolled in the bed, leaving… Makeup stains?

“You wear… Makeup?”

John smiled.

“And what is wrong with that? I wear clothes too.”

“You classify it as…”

“Oh. Oh, she still hasn't… Cynthia. Do I need to get undressed for you to connect the dots?”

John what? HE NEEDS TO WHAT!

“I THOUGHT I WAS GETTING REJECTED HERE! NOT FUCKED TONIGHT!”

John facepalmed himself.

“Should’ve seen that one coming. NO! Cynthia, I am not inviting you to a bang session”, he felt proud of that joke, “but to help you figure out why Julia absolutely dislikes me.”

I was even more confused.

“So. Help me undress.”, he ordered, “The top first.”

“The top first.”, I helped him get the top off. Instead of a nude male torso I was met with nicely tied bandages.

“And what do you see?”

“Does she hit you?”

He bursted into laughter! The insolence!

“No, Cyn.”, he chuckled, “Let down the hair next.”

“Okay… Hair.”, I tried to get his quiff off. It was hard but I managed to untangle it. The amount of hair he had was unreal for a male. It was quite fluffy.

“John, you have such nice hair…”, I brushed it and found a set of bangs quite musty from all of the gel he used.

“You have bangs? I thought you didn’t…”, that was weird. He always told everyone he had a middle part. Not bangs.

“Well. Do you now understand?”

“She is jealous of your hair and she beats you up?”

“NO!”, he turned around, “She is…”, he twitched.

I fixed his bangs and I didn’t want to admit it.

“I guess the pants are next.”, I took them off and… No.

“John. No. I am too drunk. This is not happening.”

“Cyn. I’m sorry.”

“Jules?”

HE, no SHE weakly chuckled.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you the moment I noticed!”

“God, why must you make me suffer!”

“And this was the worst way to inform someone. Never doing that again.”

“Julia! I don’t know if I should be angry, or sad or happy! You are doing what you like the most! But you are not doing it as you!”

“Cyn… I’m sorry.”

“I don’t know what to think.”

“Yeah, so I didn’t want to hurt you.”, Jules explained, “The point is John and I are the same person. You should find someone else to like.”

“Alright!”

“And keep this a secret, okay!”

“Okay!”, we agreed.

My biggest crush was my best friend all along! Just great! And she put me through this! But, I still couldn’t help myself from fawning over John. John as an idea was everything to me, and I expected to find him in every man I tried to like. It failed. Julia meanwhile shared with me some problems John had. She didn’t seem to hate him as much as she once told me. Maybe it was to keep up the lie.

John’s friends, as time passed on, all got themselves a bird. And that leads us to this year. I could hear them hush about them and try to pry John off by admitting he had one or trying to get John with someone. John would either make an absolute scene when he was set up or would politely reject the girl. It was truly based on how well Julia knew the girl. And every rejection was well deserved. I got jealous…

“What about Ms. Prim, John? You seemed to like her?”

John or, um, Jules blushed.

“No… She was just a friend.”

“Looks like we found her.”, Pete chuckled.

“Best. Shut up.”

He got quiet.

“Ms. Prim is prissy.”

“More like you are too prissy to make up your mind!”, Paul chuckled.

“Says the biggest princess.”, and that’s when I noticed John blush faintly and remembered.

Julia liked Paul. That means. John liked Paul. Does Paul know? Is that why he got jealous or…

I snuck away, and John noticed.

“Oh, running after the princess I see?”, Stu said.

“Prick.”

“Leave some room for us, Lennon.”

“You are a baby, Harrison, no birdies for you.”

Jules ran after me catching up.

“Are you fine?”, she asked.

“You still like Paul? Does he know?”

She got fired up.

“He and the lads ESPECIALLY can’t know! It’s hard enough that they are begging me to get a girl! How do I even explain to them that I don't like birds? I don’t.”

“Why don’t you tell them you like me? I’ll be your alibi.”

“You are a genius, Cyn!”, she grabbed me by my shoulders, “It will work! I respect you and that’s why it will be believable.”

I couldn’t help but blush.

“Jules… I wonder, what would it be like kissing a girl? And have you ever kissed one as John?”

She flushed a bright pink.

“No- How could you even- Of course you’d go there! Cynthiaaaa!”

I chuckled at her whining, that was Julia in there. She smiled like she thought of the most clever move.

“And for the first question, I don’t know? How about we change that?”

Fuck, I should do something, but I’m really curious. We are close friends. Nothing to worry about.

She pressed her lips on mine. Oh, hell yeah. And just pecked them.

“Answered your question?”

I was dumbfounded.

“Oh, fuck, oh, shit I went too far- But got ya back!”

Heh.

“Don’t get too cocky, Lennon.”

“Well, am I not John Lennon? I am the cockiest.”

“You are not.”, I tapped her on the shoulder, “But you are bold, Jules.”

“You like bold men. Always did.”

Yeah. That’s right.

“Right, we’ll act like this never happened.”

“Okay, alright by me, Ms. Prim.”

I think I can’t get over it.

“Did you kiss any men before me?”, Jules asked me dumbfounded.

“Yeah.”

But they never felt… true.

“I never kissed anyone before on the lips.”, I knew that Jules.

I knew that look.

“So you want me to rate it?”, I sighed.

“YEAH! That sounds fun!”, Jules got overly excited.

“God, Julia stop.”, I thought, “It would be aaaa solid 3 out of 5.”

“Not bad for a first!”

“Would’ve been perfect if it weren’t a peck though!”

“Oh, you really love to fuck with me, Cyn!”

Jules really doesn’t think some stuff through. She looked me straight in the eyes.

“Is it okay with you to, um, pretend with me?”, she got serious all of a sudden.

God, how could I say no to that face.

“Yeah, it’s like a fun adventure. And if it’ll help you for a few months I’ll do it.”

Her eyes lit up.

“Um… Alright, I’ll try and figure out a way to let them know!”, Jules smiled, “I just need to make sure they’re supportive of me.”

Julia…

“In the meantime, bienvenue mon cherie.”, Jules or John joked and left.

I heard his bandmates whisper about us. John fanned the rumors up by consistently writing me poems. Julia liked being extra and in John I noticed it more and more. The Beatles got closer to me and became a bit irritating to handle.

And that makes me think what did I just get myself into? Still, it’s harmless fun! And I get to be with John, didn’t I want to be with him? His songs… His voice… Her mind reflects in his actions… What could possibly go wrong?

Rest of Sacrifame

#classic rock #the beatles #the quarrymen #john lennon #paul mccartney #george harrison #ringo starr #teddy boy #cynthia lennon #cynthia powell #50s #beatles fanfiction

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screechthemighty · 7 months

Text

Trigun enjoyers we are SO back. I actually have another completed chapter but I DO want to finally start playing Final Fantasy 7: Rebirth tonight before my brain quits on me, so I'll post that tomorrow. Until then, enjoy the chapter that literally had to be restarted like. Three times. And then have a huge chunk carved out of it because it was too damn long. (Seriously, writing this was a nightmare.)

the unknowable tomorrow | a tristamp fanfic part nine: wolfwood

cw: injury description, blood, medical trauma, self harm, discussion of child abuse, panic attack, dissociation, amputation, brief gore.

citations: quoted dialogue from trigun stampede 1x8, "carry that weight" by the beatles, this meta post

It was the first and only time Wolfwood went through a doorway and hoped he’d see July City. What he got instead was a long stretch of sand, a hazy but massive object hanging in the sky, and two figures on thoma not too far away. Wolfwood didn’t have to look closely to see who they were. He could already guess.

Son of a bitch, damn it, damn it, Needle Noggin… Wolfwood bit back a barrage of curses and started pacing back and forth. Open the door. Open the damn door again. We talked about this, I should not be here, so open the door and get me the hell out…

Something caught his eye as he turned. Something was approaching the two figures from behind. It was half-shrouded in the sand, moving slowly and silently enough that neither of them had noticed yet. Wolfwood knew what a trail like that meant. Burrowing worm, one at least as big as the thoma. It was amazing how quietly those things could move. How quickly they could zone in on potential prey.

Shit.

Wolfwood’s feet were moving before he had time to think about it. “Hey!” he called. Getting closer just confirmed his suspicion. That puff of blond hair was pretty hard to miss. “Hey! Vash!”

Vash turned on his thomas. For just a second, his expression was bright, happy.

Then his thomas bolted. That split second of distraction was enough to unseat him. Wolfwood cursed and ran faster. He could see the sand starting to vibrate and push up as the worm emerged.

Shit.

“Hey! Hey!” Wolfwood nearly fell on his face yanking his shoe off, but managed to keep his footing. “Hey asshole! Over here!”

He threw the shoe. He was almost impressed with himself that he caught it in the eye stalk as it emerged. No time to gloat, though. The worm had locked eyes with him, and it was pissed. “Yeah, come on! This way!” He kept waving his arms and screaming, only taking off when he was sure it had changed directions. “Get out of here! Go!” he yelled over his shoulder.

Honestly, he didn’t have a plan anymore. His only thought had been getting the creature away from Vash. Now, Wolfwood was just running, minus one shoe, and hoping that another portal would open up and let him get the hell out of there.

Come on, Vash, give me a hand here!

The sand under his feet started to get loose. Almost liquid-like.

Zazie tended to keep the worms away from members of the Eye. At worst, a burrower would suck him in a bit and leave him submerged up to his waist, just to be annoying. But this wasn’t the future, and Zazie, if the little freak was around, didn’t know him yet. So, when something emerged right under his feet and grabbed him, Wolfwood didn’t feel a playful nip. The mandibles grabbed on tight.

It hurt. Just when he thought he’d gotten used to pain, life found some new agony to throw right in his face. The pain was eclipsed by panic as Wolfwood felt himself being pulled downwards.

No, no, no, shit, can I grab a knife? Will I be able to reach it in my pocket?!

One hand tried and failed to get the contents of his pockets while the other scrambled for purchase in the sand. Tiny, slender hands gripped that hand tightly. Wolfwood found himself stuck being pulled in opposite directions by two different forces. “Let go!” yelled Vash.

Wolfwood was tempted to start yelling, to ask what the hell Vash was talking about, to tell him to get the hell back. But he wouldn’t be able to open his mouth without getting sand in it. He could barely keep his eyes open. Vash was clinging to him with a desperate look on his face. Get out of here, get out, it’ll just drag us both down - !

“I SAID…”

Vash’s blue eyes flared in the light of the sun. Lights began to creep along his cheekbones as his expression turned from desperate to furious.

“…LET GO!”

Vash’s voice didn’t sound right. There was a secondary layer to it, like the humming of electric wires. It froze Wolfwood in place, his eyes locking onto Vash’s, onto the glowing marks on his face. This wasn’t the scared ten-year-old he’d held on that ship. This was…

Next thing Wolfwood knew, he was being dragged out and onto stable sand. He hadn’t realized that the worm had let go until he was lying on his stomach, bare foot being scorched by the sun. He tried to stand the second he realized, but fell back down immediately. “Fuck!” he yelped.

A new figure ran over and started dragging Wolfwood away. Vash’s markings were starting to dim, but still stood out against skin that had suddenly gotten very pale. Wolfwood wasn’t sure why, until he looked down and saw the utter mess that was his ankle. Lots of blood. Something that was either exposed bone or tendon. And it hurt. It was really up there in terms of non-Eye-induced pain that he’d experienced. Wolfwood’s hand instinctively went back to his pockets, reaching for a vial that…

Wasn’t there.

It wasn’t there. His pocket was just full of sand. He’d lost the only fucking vial he had left.

Shit, shit, shit…

“Aid kit,” barked a voice, jarring Wolfwood from his panic. “We’re not far from the ship. I can get him patched up enough to move him.”

As if this situation couldn’t get any worse. “I’m fine,” Wolfwood said, despite immediately knowing how ridiculous that sentence was. His body moved on instinct, trying to stand again as his hands kept desperately digging through his pockets for something that wasn’t there. “I’m really…”

Pain made his vision go white.

He came back to with Vash’s hand on his forehead and the feeling of someone tying off a bandage around his ankle. Wolfwood’s gaze shot around. There was a blood trail leading to where they’d propped him up. Vash looked terrified. There was a shoe shoved in his waistband. “Oh, hey,” Wolfwood mumbled, “you got my shoe.”

Vash smiled, bright and relieved. “Of course I did,” he said. “Don’t try to stand again. It’s really bad.”

“’s not that…” Okay, yeah, he couldn’t finish that sentence. He wouldn’t convince anyone it wasn’t that bad. “Just some pain.”

“Some?! I could see your bones!”

“It wasn’t his bones.” The new figure stood up. It took Wolfwood a second, but he realized he knew the guy. It was Brad, a much younger and less gray Brad. “But you need a real doctor. You won’t bleed to death before we get to the ship, but you won’t get far like this.”

He seemed awful fine with bringing a stranger on their fancy ship. Had Vash said something while Wolfwood was unconscious? He’d have to figure out what lie the kid had told so they could keep their stories straight. Unless Vash had told the truth, but Wolfwood was pretty sure even Vash wasn’t that dumb.

Wolfwood’s bandage was already starting to turn red. Brad was right; he wasn’t going anywhere in this state. He took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said. “Okay, help me up.”

He was mentally cursing himself, his rotten luck, and Vash-of-the-future as they helped him to his feet and onto Brad the Thomas, a barrage of curses that was only occasionally interrupted by another burst of pain. The entire ride to the ship passed in a blur of cursing, pain, and the occasional odd detail about his surroundings. He was riding double with Vash, who had definitely grown an inch. His clothes had more patches but he still had both arms. His markings had faded, but…what had he done back there? Was that a Plant thing? Was that the reason Zazie always seemed to know when Knives (and by extension Bluesummers) was in a mood before anyone else did?

I really don’t know anything about him. That should’ve scared the shit out of him (still kind of did, really), but…

Vash was only steering the thomas with one hand. His other hand kept an anxious grip on Wolfwood’s sleeve. Wolfwood had felt that grip before dozens of times from dozens of other kids. Vash could be so normal, and yet…

Wolfwood’s hands still felt like they were vibrating.

The contrast was a lot. He tried not to think about it too hard. Fortunately, his ankle bounced off the thomas’s side again, and he actually let his mental cussing slip past his lips. “Sorry,” Vash said. “We’re almost there. Promise.”

The ship was so damn big. It had been partially obscured by sand in the future, so he hadn’t gotten a chance to really appreciate the size. It hovered there, half-shrouded in the remnants of a dust storm, looking for all the world like a metal grand worm that had somehow learned how to fly. The sole survivor of Millions Knives’ attempt at judgement.

Noah and the Ark. A story he hadn’t thought about in years. That thing being up in the air was somehow just as unthinkable as an entire planet covered in water, but there it was.

They made their way inside using some kind of elevator. There were a lot of baffled shouts when people saw his ankle. Next thing he knew, he was being whisked away to get patched up. It was only then that the reality of “seeing a doctor” properly sank in.

It didn’t help that the space was just familiar in all the ways that made his skin crawl. Plain white walls and lighting that was probably supposed to be soothing, but didn’t do a damn thing to make him feel any calmer. The familiarity combined with the blood loss to create a visual static that made everything feel hazy.

“…it looks worse than it is. We’ll be able to patch it up easily.” He didn’t know this one. Male, dark almond eyes, on the short side, not that it mattered. Maybe if it had just been them, Wolfwood could take him, but it was never just them. There would be guards somewhere. “Are you all right?”

Wolfwood huffed in quiet disbelief. Why did they even bother asking? No, he wasn’t all right, and he’d really prefer it if they didn’t act like they cared. Don’t try to soothe your conscience by –

“Nico?” said another voice. That small, small voice sounded familiar and unfamiliar all at once. He knew it. He’d been called that before. He just couldn’t place who was speaking.

Who’d they take? They said they weren’t going to take anyone else. They promised, they put it in writing, what was I thinking, stupid, stupid, all that and for what…

“Nico.”

Someone squeezed his hand tightly. Wolfwood’s vision cleared. Vash was staring at him intently. Worried. Afraid…of him? No, for him? The pieces slotted back into place. Embarrassment quickly followed.

Get it together. “Sorry.” Wolfwood breathed deeply. “Sorry. Hurts like a…hurts bad.”

The doctor tilted his head slightly. His eyes were sharp and perceptive in a way that made his jaw clench. “I can stitch his up with just local anesthetic,” he said. “Will that work for you?”

The relief that he wouldn’t be put under outweighed his embarrassment at being read so easily. “Yeah. Sounds great.”

Losing all feeling from mid-shin down was freaky in his own way, but better than the alternative. Wolfwood even calmed down enough to watch the wound being stitched back up. Vash (who’d insisted on staying and wouldn’t let go of Wolfwood’s hand) glanced down a few times, but turned green each time. “It’s not gonna look any less ugly, you know,” Wolfwood said.

“I know…” Vash’s eyes started sliding back down, but darted back to Wolfwood’s face. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I promise I’m fine.” There wasn’t as good way to say he’d had worse, so Wolfwood just turned his attention back to his ankle. Despite what he’d said, it did look a lot better. Walking was going to be a problem, though.

This entire situation is a problem. On Ship Three, seen by…everyone, so far, no sign of an exit. What are you thinking, Vash? What could you possibly need me here for? The thought that there might be something worse coming than the worm made him feel more exhausted than the blood loss had.

I am kicking whatever’s left of your ass when I get back.

If he got back.

The doctor finished stitching everything up, bandaged everything, gave him a shot of something that he reassured him was antibiotics, and rattled off a bunch of instructions that Wolfwood barely registered. Vash paid attention like he was going to be quizzed on it later; Wolfwood figured that whatever it was the doctor wanted him to do, Vash would force him into it. He sure was keen on trying to help Wolfwood with his crutches. “This isn’t my first rodeo,” Wolfwood said as he stood. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah, I broke my foot when I was ten. Dropped a bedframe on it.”

“How did you drop a bedframe on your foot?!”

“Long story.” He took a few steps around the room, trying to get into the rhythm of it. “So…now what?”

“We should probably find Brad and Luida,” Vash said. “They’ll know what to do.”

Funny; Wolfwood hadn’t even noticed Brad had wandered off. Guess he had better things to do than see how things ended here. “No one’s gonna care that I’m here?”

“Not if you stay with me.” Vash grabbed Wolfwood’s shoe and started confidently walking out of the medical area. Once they were out of earshot, he added in a quiet whisper, “I told Brad you were part of the Ship Five skeleton crew and I knew you back then.”

“Good thinking.” They probably wouldn’t have any way of figuring out it was a lie; they didn’t even have an accurate death count, far as he knew. “Did you have security on there? Pretty sure they’d buy it if we said I worked security.”

“I think so. We have it on here.”

“Okay, so I was with security on Ship Five.” Wolfwood was confident enough in his balance to poke at Vash’s ankles with one crutch. “Keeping you out of trouble back in the day.”

Vash danced out of the way and grinned. “What trouble? I’m always on my best behavior.”

“Liar.” Wolfwood rolled his eyes but smiled, despite himself.

There weren’t a lot of differences between the Ship Three of the past and the Ship Three of the future. The biggest change was in how much newer everything looked now. There wasn’t as much sand and dust around, people’s uniforms weren’t so patched together. Wolfwood got a lot of double-takes again, but none of them had the same look of fear in this time. Probably because this time he was visibly injured and not carrying around a giant weapon.

A few people pointed them in the direction of the Geoplant, so that was where they went. Wolfwood hadn’t really been able to appreciate the place last time, not with Zazie doing…whatever the hell that had been. Now that he was able to take it all in…

Awe was his first emotion. The next one was a bit harder to name. It wasn’t quite anger, resentment, or frustration, though it had layers of all three. All three because when he looked at this place, he saw food. Enough food to give the supplies back home a boost. Nutrients for growing bodies that were already struggling to stay caught up. Maybe even enough to make something sweet for their shared birthdays. Things that could help, if they weren’t locked up on a ship floating out in the Sand Sea.

But those feelings were tempered by understanding. Ship Three probably couldn’t afford to share. If they advertised what they had, people would try to take it by force. They had kids, too; he could see a baby in a chest sling strapped to a woman tending some of the flora. He couldn’t blame them for prioritizing their own people. He just wished…

Life’s not fair, Nicholas. Get over it.

He was distracted from his thoughts by seeing the back of Brad’s head. He was talking to a brunette woman that he just barely recognized as Luida. It was weird, seeing her younger. She didn’t look much older than him, actually. Vash suddenly stopped at the sight of the two of them. “It’s not going to be weird, is it?” he asked. “Because of…”

Because they kept you locked up in a cell for weeks and I’m still a little pissed about that?

Honestly, if Wolfwood knew he had an exit strategy in place, he probably would’ve considered lighting a fire under their ass about that. But he was starting to think he was stuck here for longer that he’d like, and if that was the case, he could not afford to start shit. So he put those feelings in a box, locked it, and chucked it to the back of his mind. “I’ll behave,” he said. “Promise.”

Vash examined his face carefully, then nodded. “They really are nice,” he said reassuringly. “You’ll see.” And with that, he started jogging to the others. “Luida!”

Luida looked up at him and smiled. “Hey, you!” She scooped up Vash in a hug when he reached her. Wolfwood wasn’t sure how he felt about that. “What’s this I heard about a worm?”

“It tried to steal his shoe,” Vash said, pointing at Wolfwood as he did. “Luida, this is Nicholas.”

“From Ship Five,” Luida said as she stepped forward to shake his hand. “Brad told me. Thank you for your help.”

“Yeah, no problem.” Wolfwood hoped he didn’t sound too hostile as he shook her hand. She had more callouses than he was expecting. Then again, if the dirt stains on her knees were anything to go by, she was finding ways to keep busy. “Hope me being here isn’t going to cause any problems.”

“No, not at all!” Luida said immediately. “Any friend of Vash’s is a friend of ours.” Neither of those statements sounded like she was just being polite, either. “We’ll see about getting you set up someplace…I can check the room assignments on our way to the mess hall. I don’t know about you guys, but I’m starving.”

Vash nodded eagerly. Wolfwood was a little surprised by how quickly his own mouth started watering. Now that all the pain and dread was gone, he was starving, too.

There wouldn’t be a private room for him that night, but there was a space with two Plant engineers from the outside that could fit one more. Wolfwood wasn’t surprised by this outcome; they’d walked past a few converted rooms on their way to dinner, and all of them seemed to have three people minimum. Long as whoever I’m sharing with doesn’t have sticky fingers. That’d end badly for them, and he didn’t want the trouble of starting a fight.

The mess was more crowded than he’d expected. It put him on edge. Wolfwood kept scanning the crowds and mumbled a whatever, doesn’t matter when Vash asked him what he wanted. He didn’t realize how paranoid-bordering-on-crazy he must have looked until they’d all sat down and started eating. “No one’s going to try and steal that,” Luida said gently. “It’s not like that here.”

He'd hunched over his tray without realizing. Wolfwood hadn’t been that protective of his food since his training days with the Eye. Get it together, Wolfwood. He forced himself to sit up and eat like Miss Melanie was watching. Mind your manners.

Small talk. That was a thing adults did at meals, right? “Didn’t think you guys would be eating worm on here,” he noted. Wolfwood flinched immediately at his comment. Was that rude? “Not that I’m complaining…”

“It takes strain off the food producing Plants,” Vash explained. “We’ve been trying to show other people how. Not everyone likes it, though.”

Wolfwood raised an eyebrow. “They still wanna act like beggars can be choosers in all this crap?”

Brad snorted. Was that a smile? Had he just laughed? It happened so quick that Wolfwood wasn’t sure. Even Vash looked a little surprised. Luida shook her head in amusement. “I can already tell you two are going to get along,” she said.

Yeah, I don’t think so. But Wolfwood tried to remember that a little rapport could keep him from getting his head blown off. Best to lean into it. “Well, they’ll learn one way or another,” he said. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Vash trying to sneak a roll onto Wolfwood’s plate. He’d put a good dent in his dinner, so he was probably just being nice. Wolfwood put it back without looking anyway. We’ve shared enough. Eat, you little punk.

Vash got the message. He only pouted a little as he started taking bites out of the roll. You better not have sent me into this mess just to bully you into eating.

Wolfwood wasn’t sure what to say after that, especially now that the subject of the outside world had come up. They seemed uncomfortable discussing it. Maybe they were aware of how much they had compared to others. Wolfwood tried to focus on chewing slowly, on looking less like a feral dog they’d let into the house for some reason. People chatted all around them. A baby started fussing at the next table over. “Oh, no, Evie, shh…” The woman holding the baby started gently patting her back. “It’s okay, honey.”

Vash leaned over with a big smile and made a face. The baby kept keening and drooling. The poor mom looked at her wit’s end. Don’t say anything, Wolfwood told himself. Not your business. Don’t.

The baby, Evie, locked eyes with him. Wolfwood had taken off his sunglasses to be polite, but he was starting to regret it. Her fussing quieted; on reflex, Wolfwood smiled. “Uh muh,” Evie grumbled.

“Yeah, that right?” Evie stuffed her fist in their mouth. “Teething?” he guessed.

The mother nodded. “She just started recently,” she said apologetically. “We’re just trying to get through it, aren’t we, sweetie?”

Evie whined again. Wolfwood had a sudden flashback to tiny, nubby gums working at his fingers. The same hand that now only seemed good for hauling around a weapon. He wasn’t fit to be anywhere near something that small, that innocent.

And yet…

“If you get a wet cloth and stick it in the fridge for a bit for her to chew on, that helps,” he said. Wolfwood felt his face get hot, and he jerked his gaze back down to his meal. “Sorry. Not trying to tell you how to do your job.”

“No, no, that’s really helpful,” said the mom. “Thank you.”

She really did sound grateful, so Wolfwood guessed he didn’t botch that too badly. But he could still feel Evie’s eyes on him as he finished eating. Luida’s, too. She had a worried look the one time he glanced her way, but she didn’t ask any questions.

Wolfwood looked old enough to have kids, he knew. People had assumed he was a father before. He wondered if she was thinking the same—or wondering if he had been a father.

He didn’t bother trying to explain himself. He could think whatever she wanted. It wouldn’t even be that far off. He couldn’t deny that he’d lost family.

Vash shifted uncomfortably next to him. Before Wolfwood could try to get his casual mask back on in response…

“Do you know how to play the piano?”

It was definitely an attempt to change topics, but one Wolfwood wasn’t expecting to hear. “…no?” The closest he’d come to an instrument was the one harmonica that floated between kids and was solely used for being loud. “Why?”

Vash was asking because there was a piano on board. Fortunately, he was able to take Wolfwood to it alone, so they could talk in peace. “Seriously,” Wolfwood said, “how are things?”

“I told you, everyone is really nice,” Vash said. “It’s been good.”

“Are you sure? No one’s giving you any trouble? Has anyone else apologized?” Vash didn’t reply, but his playing started to slow. “This whole ship put you through a lot. I just want to…”

“I told you, it’s fine.” Wolfwood was taken aback by how forcefully he said it. The fierceness in his eyes pinned Wolfwood in place for a moment. “They’re better. They’ve really tried to be better…they can be.”

A slight tinge of pink spread across Vash’s cheeks—anger? Embarrassment? Hard to tell. Wolfwood didn’t have time to pick the expression; Vash deflated pretty quickly and went back to staring at the keys, his eyes all quiet and sad. “Can we not talk about it, please?”

“…yeah. Okay.” Wolfwood cleared his throat. He had a flashback to the run-in with the grand worm, the fierce look on Vash’s face when he said he was going back for the others, the way he’d pushed Wolfwood back without looking. That exchange felt like a shadow of things to come. Where did that come from? “Sorry. Just worried, is all.”

Vash nodded. “I know. I appreciate that, I just…”

He stopped playing entirely. Whatever thought he’d had went unsaid; instead, he leaned against Wolfwood slightly, just for a second. “Thank you for rescuing me,” he said. “I’m glad you’re back.”

Wolfwood tried to smile as he nudged back Vash. “You’re welcome. But you’ve gotta promise me that one day we’ll meet when you’re not in trouble.” He was addressing that to the Vash of the future more than the one he was talking to. “Seriously. People are gonna think you constantly need me to save you.”

The comment earned Wolfwood a laugh. Vash started playing again, switching from strings of one note after another to a real tune. It took Wolfwood a second to recognize it, but…

Once there was a way to get back home.

“Hey, you remembered,” he said.

Vash nodded. “I don’t know if this is right,” he admitted. “I keep meaning to see if we have the song anywhere in the media archives, but I’ve been really busy.”

“It sounds good to me.” And for all he knew, Vash’s added tune was right. He’d only ever heard it sung, not with accompanying music. Wolfwood watched Vash’s hands move across the keys. Wondered if he still played in the future. Remembered the desperate notes played somewhere in July and wondered if Millions Knives was thinking of his brother.

Wondered where Millions Knives was now.

Boy, you’re gonna carry that weight…

“Carry that weight a long time,” Wolfwood sang quietly.

He hadn’t meant to, but Vash didn’t know that. He looked up at Wolfwood, grinned, and started singing too. “Boy, you’re gonna carry that weight, carry that weight a long time…”

And Wolfwood had to smile. Because even though he had better pitch than a lot of the kids his age, there was still that bit of puberty vocal fry. It was bizarre seeing Vash the Stampede as just a normal kid.

Bizarre and strangely comforting, because Wolfwood knew this sound. It was something he hadn’t heard in a long time, but he knew it. And he couldn’t help being caught up in the moment.

I never gave you my pillow, I only sent you my invitation…

But that sprout of guilt kept gnawing at him.

And in the middle of the celebrations, I break down.

His weight to bear, even when everything else was going right.

“Nico?”

They were walking—or, in Wolfwood’s case, hobbling—back to where Wolfwood would be staying for the night. Vash had a distant look on his face, sad, hesitant. There were a lot of things a look like that could lead to, and Wolfwood wasn’t sure he liked any of them. “Yeah? What’s up?”

Vash’s gaze re-focused as he looked back up at Wolfwood. His intense blue eyes scanned his face carefully. Whatever they saw there, it made Vash shake his head. “Nothing. Never mind.” He gave Wolfwood a one-armed hug. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Yeah. Goodnight.”

Wolfwood probably could’ve stopped the kid—maybe he should have—but he was too grateful that thought had gone unspoken. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Someone had set up an extra bed in the room, complete with a set of pajamas at the foot of the bed—other people’s hand me downs, if he had to guess. The two Plant engineers he’d be staying with were out, so he took the opportunity to use the bathroom uninterrupted. Wipe down bath, change into the pajamas for the hell of it, check the ankle. The bandages were still holding; it hurt, but it also could’ve been a lot worse. His dirty clothes went into the extremely small but working machine in the corner. Wolfwood took the opportunity to triple-check the contents of his pockets. Knife. Cigarettes, sixteen left in the box. Lighter. Two lollipops. Exactly two .22 bullets that he’d picked up because Vash of the Future was constantly forgetting to get ammo, the punk. The crumpled-up invoice he’d tried to give Meryl back when they’d first met.

No vials.

He cursed again and rubbed his eyes. He wouldn’t make it far on crutches, and walking on the injured foot without any kind of support was asking for all kinds of complications. He wasn’t suicidal, and even if he was, he’d take a faster way out than death by blood poisoning or heat exhaustion. Should I try to steal a thomas?

Should I even leave at all?

His immediate answer was yes, but if he thought about it for longer than one second…the thought of Vash waking up to find that Wolfwood had left without saying anything stopped him. Picturing the way the look of betrayal would turn into one of acceptance made his blood chill. He couldn’t even convince himself that it would be for the kid’s own good. He knew it wouldn’t.

At least you got to say goodbye to the others. You can’t do this to him again.

Wolfwood sighed. Unsatisfactory bitch of a situation, that’s what this was. He distracted himself by removing the cigarettes from the box, flattening it out, and hiding it in the pillowcase. Everything else went into a makeshift towel bundle that he held to his chest as he lay down. He was pretty sure he could pass off the cigarettes as having been handmade if he played his cards right, but the box was too civilized. And there was no way he was going to give up his one vice if he had to stay on here.

First thing tomorrow, I’ll ask where I can smoke. They’d probably give him grief for it, but he was past caring.

Wolfwood stared at the ceiling. He picked at his cuticles. He could swear he felt dried blood caked into them.

Find some way to leave and break Vash’s heart. Stay and make him believe in the future that Wolfwood was someone trustworthy. Abandon the kids. Kill and keep killing in the name of monsters.

He wished he didn’t live a life where all his options felt like bad ones.

It was a long time before he was able to fall asleep.

He was back in Hopeland, trying to corral the Thomas chicks, when he heard sniffling.

His first thought was that someone had upset Livio, that he was going to have to choose between bothering Miss Melanie about it or handling it himself and risking getting in trouble. But the sound was coming from upwards among the branches of the tree in the courtyard, and Livio didn’t really climb much. When he looked up, he could make out a flash of white clothes and blond hair against the dark green of the leaves.

“You gonna stay up there and cry,” Nico called, “or do you wanna come down here and help me?”

Vash stared down at him with big eyes, ears still slipping down his face. After some hesitation, he climbed down. It was a little unnerving how quickly he moved, but Nico didn’t say anything about it. Vash would probably just climb right back up if he did. “Thanks,” he said instead, before darting to grab a chick that was trying to wander off. “Get back here you little bastard…!”

The extra set of hands made getting the chicks back in their pen a lot easier. It helped that they liked Vash more. Two climbed onto his lap to eat right out of his hands as Nico scattered feed for the rest. “What’s going on?” Nico asked.

“Nothing. I’m…”

Nico flicked a feed pellet at him before he could finish the sentence. “C’mon, you wouldn’t have come all the way out here if something were fine. I’m not stupid.”

Of course, Vash pouted. But after Nico stood there a bit longer, tossing the last of the feed around, he relented.

“Promise not to tell anyone?”

Nico sat next to him and held out a pinkie. “Promise.”

Vash hesitated before linking his pinkie with Nico’s. Even with though it was just them outside, he leaned over and whispered the confession.

“I miss Nai.”

The three words sent a jolt through him. Vash must’ve seen the look on Wolfwood’s face, because he rushed out, “I mean…I miss the Nai I knew. Before everything went wrong. I wish that Nai would come back. Does that make sense?”

The worst part does, it did. As much as hearing that name sent chills down his spine, he understood. “Yeah,” Wolfwood said. He pushed down his revulsion and turned to face Vash. “I’m sorry. Real shitty of him to run off like that.”

Vash nodded. He almost looked guilty, but covered it up by leaning against Nico’s shoulder. “You’re here though, right?” he asked quietly.

“’Course I am.” Nico wrapped an arm around Vash’s shoulders and pulled him closer. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

He gently rubbed Vash’s shoulders as he surveyed the scene. There must’ve been something going on inside for it to be so quiet. Usually, the courtyard was swarming with kids. Couldn’t go anywhere without tripping over someone’s kickball game.

Thinking about those games set off a tickle in his brain. Wolfwood straightened up and frowned. “Hey, has that tree always been he-“

Something snapped off, crashing to the ground nearby.

Wolfwood woke up with a start, his heart racing, his hand already flying towards his pocket knife. “Sorry!” said one of the Plant engineers. “I am so sorry, I didn’t mean…”

It was equipment. It was just some weird, random equipment that he’d dropped. Everything was fine. Wolfwood wasn’t in danger. That didn’t stop his heart from trying to crash out of his ribcage. He took a few breaths before mumbling out an, “’s fine. Fine.” Inhale. Exhale. Do not freak out. You’re trying to be a model guest here, remember? “Hey, you can make it up to me by telling me if there’s anywhere to smoke around here.”

There was, as it turned out: some kind of system of catwalks around the ship that they used to fix things on the exterior. You could really only go out there if the ship had stopped, apparently, but it had, and he was the only one out there. He settled down with his injured food stretched out and lit the first cigarette. He’d started a third by the time Vash found him.

“I haven’t crashed your hideout, have I?” Wolfwood asked.

Vash shook his head as he settled down next to Wolfwood. “The engineers told me where you were,” he said. “Is your foot okay?”

“Little itchy, but I’ll live.” Wolfwood exhaled a cloud of smoke. The conversation reminded him of the dream he’d had. He could still feel the details of it dancing around in his head. The tree in the courtyard, where there’d never been a tree before. The weight of Vash leaning against him. He almost asked Vash about it, but he was suddenly afraid to know the answer. He focused on his cigarette instead, watching the smoke drift off towards the rising sun.

Vash leaning against him jarred him out of that focus. He didn’t say anything, just rested there. Wolfwood wrapped an arm around his shoulders on instinct. It didn’t feel as right as it had in the dream, not when Wolfwood had left that smaller, more innocent body behind. But it seemed to give Vash the same comfort.

They watched the sun rise long after Wolfwood had finished that last cigarette.

Vash dragged Wolfwood to see his room after breakfast. There was more color than he remembered, mostly from the several strings of paper birds in one corner. There were also a few clear containers full of paper stars scattered around the space. “A friend of mine showed me how to do that,” Vash explained. “Oh, that reminds me…here!”

Wolfwood almost missed Vash was holding something out to him. His gaze had been drawn to the handful of books on one shelf. One title stuck out: Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass. Had that been there last time? “Huh?” Wolfwood said. He pulled his gaze away from the book and to Vash. The kid was holding out a little jar, like what you’d keep medication in, but with a single red paper star inside instead.

“It’s for you,” Vash explained, “for luck.”

Wolfwood’s mind flashed back to crayon scribbles, crudely painted rocks, the rotating roster of artwork in Miss Melanie’s office. He pushed down his guilt and did what you were supposed to do: took it and smiled. “Thanks, Vash.” He glanced down at his ankle and grimaced. “I need all the luck I can get lately.”

“Oh, do you need to sit down?” Vash darted over to pull out the room’s sole chair closer to the bed. Wolfwood sat down and propped his foot up on the bed with a grimace. “Does it itch still?”

“On and off. Itching’s good, though. Means it’s healing.” He’d always kind of doubted that until he started taking the serum. His wounds itched like crazy when they were sealing up. “Not a bad setup in here.”

“Yeah, it’s nice,” Vash agreed. He sat cross-legged on the bed and looked around the room. “Sometimes I wish we could do something else with the walls, but we don’t really have paint.”

“What would you paint if you could?”

“Geraniums,” Vash said without hesitation. “Red ones. They’re a kind of flower. They were…”

He glanced over his shoulder at the pictures on the wall. That photo he’d kept so close to him before was in the center: Vash, Millions Knives, and the mystery woman. “They were Rem’s favorite,” he said quietly. “She said the red ones symbolized determination.”

Well, for better or worse, Vash had that in spades. “That sounds nice,” Wolfwood said. He thought about the few impromptu murals around Hopeland. They’d always brightened up the place. Miss Melanie might have scolded them for drawing on the walls, but she also never painted over them. Those pictures were a timeline. The history of everyone who’d ever been there.

Vash should get to leave a better mark than those tallies, Wolfwood thought.

As if on cue, someone knocked on the door. “Vash?” called Luida.

“Yeah, come in!” Vash called. Wolfwood gritted his teeth, but tried to force his face into a casual expression as Luida stepped inside. Luida stepped inside, her hands behind the back. She gave Wolfwood a smile and a nod before turning her attention back to Vash. “What’s up?” Vash asked, trying to look behind her back curiously.

Luida grinned and pulled the item out from behind her back. “Ta-dah!”

The jolt Wolfwood got to his system nearly knocked the blank expression off his face. He knew that coat. Everyone in No Man’s Land did. Bright red, that big hood he’d only seen Vash wear once, long and flowing. The coat.

“This is for you, Vash!” Luida said, beaming. “From everyone on Ship Three.”

Vash’s face lit up. “Really?!” He scrambled to the end of the bed to take the coat. “It’s brand new! Clothes are so hard to get…” He looked enchanted as he examined the coat. “What a pretty shade of red.”

“Is it too much?”

Vash shook his head. “No, I like red.” From the wistful look in his eyes, he wasn’t just thinking of the color. Vash hugged the coat close to his chest. “Thank you, Luida.”

“You’re welcome.” They exchanged a quick hug. “Brad called me for something. I just wanted to drop this off before I talked to him. Everything all right with you, Nicholas?”

“Good as they can be.” He adjusted his ankle, and hoped any strained expression on his part could be attributed to the pain. “Enjoying the shade.”

Luida, fortunately, accepted the answer. With the promise to see them at lunch, a quick tousle of Vash’s hair, she was gone. Vash hugged the coat tightly, his face pressed against the fabric Wolfwood knew immediately how he felt. New clothes were rare at the orphanage, too. He’d only experienced that never-been-worn fabric smell one time. Everything else had been hand-me downs. Not that he was ungrateful, but something that was only yours was always special. “Well?” Wolfwood said. “C’mon, let’s see it.”

He thought Vash putting it on would give him another burst of déjà vu, but it didn’t. The jacket was just too damn big. The sleeves hung over Vash’s hands and the body nearly hung to his feet. The effect was a little kid playing at being a legendary outlaw. Vash held up one sleeve-covered hand and frowned slightly. “It’s a bit too big,” he noted.

Wolfwood bit back a laugh. “Well, you’ll grow into it.” He couldn’t help himself; he had to flip the hood up and over Vash’s eyes. “You got a sewing kit or something?”

Vash was grinning when he pushed the hood back enough that he could see. “I can get one, I think. Why?”

“I can probably tack the sleeves up.” That wouldn’t solve all the jacket’s size problems, but at least he’d be able to hold things properly. “You can let them back out as you get bigger. That might not take too long with how much you’ve been growing.”

Vash’s face lit up more. “You’d do that?”

“If you can get me the supplies…” Wolfwood was cut off by a hug. “Hey, it’s just a few stitches.”

“I know, but…thank you.” Vash was practically bouncing with excitement was he pulled away. “I’ll go get that. Do you need anything for your leg while I’m out?”

“Think you can get me a new one?”

Vash laughed as he flipped the hood off. “I’ll see what we’ve got.”

His overly-long sleeves flopped at his sides as he jogged out of the room. Wolfwood couldn’t help smiling at the sight as he settled back down.

Guilt soon chased the smile away.

You can’t keep letting your guard down. But it was so easy to do when Vash was like this. Wolfwood couldn’t him seeing him as one of the kids. Even as Vash got older, all Wolfwood could think about was tiny hands grasping his, the way they started moving out from behind his legs as they grew bigger and braver, the way Livio’s tears finally turned into smiles as big as the sky…

Wolfwood winced. “Shit,” he muttered. He desperately rubbed his eyes and tried to breathe through the stab of pain in his chest. “Get it together, come on.”

In. Out. In. Out. A new twinge of pain jarred him back to the present. He’d started rubbing at the Meryl bruise without thinking. It looked worse than it had in July. Uglier.

Fitting, for a guy like him.

Wolfwood was still staring at it when the door opened. He forced his face into a smile when he heard running feet and started concocting an excuse about how he was definitely fine.

He didn’t need it. Vash wasn’t running to him in concern. He wasn’t looking at Wolfwood at all. He was pulling off the coat and folding it with shaking hands. His face was ashen pale, his eyes unfocused and damp. “…Vash?” Wolfwood said carefully. “What happened?”

“…gotta go…’ Vash put the coat at the end of the bed carefully. “I’ve got…I’ve gotta go…”

“Go where? What happened?”

“They…” Tremors had spread from Vash’s hands to his entire skinny body. Whatever he wanted to say was trapped by the gasping sob that erupted from him instead. He sounded like the littles who were so upset that they forgot how to breathe.

“Okay. Okay, sit down.” Wolfwood stood up and tried to guide Vash to the floor. Vash resisted, shaking his head, trying to back out of reach. “Kid, you’ve got to calm down before you pass out.”

“I’m s-sorry, I’m…” Vash’s chest heaved. He was hyperventilating now. Not good. “I-I…”

Wolfwood’s hand flew to his pocket. The lollipop Vash had rejected all those years ago was still there. “Here...” Wolfwood unwrapped it. “Open your mouth.”

“Wh-wh…?”

“Trust me, okay. It’ll help.” I hope.

Vash did, allowing Wolfwood to stick the candy in there. “Just focus on that,” he said gently. “Don’t worry about anything else for a second.”

To his relief, Vash did. Tears still fell down his cheeks, but soon his chest wasn’t heaving so hard, and his shaking was a bit more manageable. Wolfwood didn’t know why that worked, only that it did, and he was glad he’d remembered. He pulled off his jacket and wrapped it around Vash’s shoulders. “You’re safe now,” he said. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Vash ducked his head. The lollipop creaked slightly as his teeth worried away at it. “…I went to find Brad to show him the coat,” he whispered, “but when I got to his office, he and Luida were listening to something…th-they got the black box from Ship Five to work.” Vash shut his eyes tightly. “They know. They know about Nai. They know about what I did.”

Wolfwood’s blood ran cold.

It ran colder at the sound of someone knocking on the door. “Vash?” called Luida.

Shit. Wolfwood shoved Vash towards the bathroom. “Hide,” he mouthed. Out loud, he called. “He’s not here…hang on!”

He grabbed the crutch and started hobbling towards the door, making sure to make enough noise to cover Vash’s movements. Once the bathroom door was closed, he opened the bedroom door. Luida was there, her hands knotting anxiously in front of her. Behind her…

The feeling that sank into Wolfwood’s gut was one he hadn’t felt in a while. He may not have smelled alcohol or been forewarned by heavy footsteps, but he knew better than most what a look like that meant. Brad was furious. Furious in a way that made Wolfwood want to turn around and hide in the bathroom with Vash. Furious in a way that forced Wolfwood to stand his ground, because he was certain of one thing.

“Where is he?” Brad asked.

They’re gonna kill him.

And suddenly, Wolfwood felt very calm.

“I asked him if he could get me more painkillers,” he said. He was a picture of confused innocence. Lying came naturally in situations like this. “He hasn’t gotten back yet. Why, what’s going on?”

Brad sharply turned and started walking away. Luida hesitated. “If he comes back before we do, just keep him here, okay? We need to talk to him. It’s important.”

“Why?”

Luida ran after Brad. They started hissing to each other, but they were too far away for him to make it out what they were talking about. Didn’t matter. Wolfwood took a deep breath, closed the door, and walked to the bathroom. Vash was curled up in the shower, crying quietly.

“C’mon,” Wolfwood said. “Grab your stuff. We’re going.”

“…we?”

“Yes. Hurry. I don’t know how much time I bought us.” Wolfwood turned back to Vash’s room and started looking around. “Do you have a compass?”

“You’re not…going to ask what I did?”

Oh. Right. He’d forgotten how annoyingly self-blaming Vash could be. Wolfwood took a deep breath, remembered the scared ten-year-old who’d starved himself out of guilt, and turned around. Vash looked a lot like that kid again, bundled up the way he was in Wolfwood’s jacket, fresh tears in his eyes. “I already told you,” Wolfwood said, “I don’t think you’re a monster. Whatever they heard doesn’t change that.” Wolfwood rested his hands on Vash’s shoulders. “We can sort out what happened later. Right now, the only thing I care about is making sure you’re safe. Understand?”

Vash looked up at him with the uncomprehending stare of a kid who couldn’t quite believe that he was being looked after. He nodded slowly. “Okay,” he whispered.

“Atta boy.” Wolfwood ruffled Vash’s hair and forced a smile. “Your stuff?”

By the time they’d thrown together some supplies, Vash had stopped crying. There was still some panic in his eyes, but the rest could be wiped away with cold water, the weight of Wolfwood’s jacket, and encouragement to breathe deeply. “If anyone asks, we’re just going to get some air,” Wolfwood said. “You’re allowed to do that, right?”

“As long as you don’t go too far.” Vash clutched the bag to his chest. “Do you think anyone else knows?”

I hope not. “Guess we’ll find out.” Wolfwood was already bracing himself for the pain of a fight. He’d do it if he had to, but he wasn’t looking forward to it. Fortunately, they didn’t run into any trouble at first. They were either ignored or briefly greeted as if nothing were wrong. Wolfwood stayed on alert anyway. Now was not the time to let his guard down.

Thank God he didn’t. Just as they were getting close to an exit, Wolfwood heard a familiar voice. Luida. He immediately turned around, leading Vash behind a corner a bit further back. “What do we do?” Vash whispered.

Good question. Wolfwood glanced down at his ankle and grimaced. I’ll just slow him down like this. “We’re gonna have to split up,” he said. “I’ll distract them, you get out of here. Are there any landmarks nearby? Something easy to find?”

“Uhm…there’s a big rock north of here with an escape pod wreck next to it. But…”

“Good, meet me there. If I don’t show up by tomorrow morning, keep moving. I’ll find you.”

“But what if you get in trouble?”

“I always get in trouble. Always manage to find my way out of it, too. Worry about yourself, okay?”

Vash hesitated. “…do you promise you’ll find me?”

“Of course I promise. Gonna have to get this back from you, if nothing else. I just got this outfit cleaned, so don’t lose it.” Wolfwood adjusted his jacket and held out his pinkie to Vash. “And don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

Vash nodded and linked pinkies with him. “Okay.” For a second, Vash looked like he wanted to say something else. Instead, he let go and started walking away.

Good. No time to draw this out. Wolfwood straightened up, took a deep breath, and started speed-hobbling back in the direction of Luida’s voice. He caught her and Brad just as they rounded a corner.

Showtime.

“What the hell is going on?” Wolfwood demanded. It didn’t take a lot of effort to sound pissed. Frankly, he’d bash their hands together right now if that wouldn’t ruin the plan. “Vash never came back. I can’t find him anywhere.”

Luida froze. Wolfwood could see the lie trying to from behind her eyes. He kept pushing. “I was gonna try checking the Plant room, but this place is massive, and I got…” He looked around. No sign of Vash. Hopefully he was clear or close to it by now. “Do you think someone might’ve grabbed him? Is there anyone on here who knows what he can do?”

“That’s…” Luida glanced at Brad, whose eyes still screamed danger. “No, that’s not what we think happened.”

“Then what?! Hey…” Wolfwood grabbed Brad’s arm as the other man tried to step away. “Tell me, damn it! Where is he?!”

“We- “ Luida stepped between them and lowered her voice. “We’re worried he may have run away. Or may be trying to.”

“Why the hell would he do that?”

Luida and Brad exchanged another glance. For a second, Wolfwood was worried his cover was blown, but when they looked back at him…

“You should hear this,” Brad said.

It wasn’t what Wolfwood was expecting, but he decided not to look a gift thomas in the mouth. Going along with whatever was going on here gave Vash a chance to get away from the ship. Yes, Wolfwood would have to haul ass to catch up to him, but he could figure it out.

Besides, this could be a chance to get some answers. He needed to know what these two thought they knew and what the actual facts were. It could help with whatever bullshit Vash was dealing with mentally.

They led him deeper through the ship, eventually stopping in some kind of workroom. Once the door swished shut behind him, Brad picked up a tablet from the table and started tapping away at it. “I’ve been working on Ship Five’s black box since the crash,” he explained. “I finally managed to figure it out today. This was taken after the ships hit the planet.” He held the tablet out to Wolfwood. “Vash said there was another Independent, but that they were probably dead. He didn’t mention any of this.”

Wolfwood took the tablet carefully and pushed the big play button in the center. A recording started playing. He’d seen enough destruction in his life to know what it sounded like. Above the chorus of wind and flames, he could just barely hear a voice. A child’s voice, but at the same time…

“A brilliant success! I finally did it!”

…somehow not a child’s voice. It sounded like Vash, but wrong, like someone had merged Vash’s tones with the weird, feral fervors Bluesummers would get into sometimes. That was Millions Knives. It had to be.

The next voice to speak was definitely Vash’s, thick with fear and anger: “But you killed all of them, even Rem!”

“Don’t you scold me!” Knives’ voice grew mocking, even crueler than before. “You’re my accomplice. You’re the one who gave me the program access code. Isn’t that right, Vash?”

Wolfwood could just make out strangled whimpering, the sound of footsteps running away. Knives’ laughter followed Vash as he fled. Brad reached over to shut off the recording. “That was the last we heard from either of them,” he said. He started pacing, agitated. “I should’ve known he was lying to us.”

“Brad…” Luida’s hand hovered near her mouth, as if she were considering chewing her nails and only barely stopping herself. “We don’t…we don’t really know what happened…”

But she didn’t sound convinced of that. And Brad really sounded convinced that he knew exactly what had happened. Wolfwood stared down at the screen. Vash’s horrified tone echoed in his ears.

How did you not hear that?

“...you actually believe that shit?”

From the look on Brad and Luida’s faces, that was not the reaction they were expecting. “You don’t?” Brad said.

“It’s Vash. He doesn’t have a mean bone in his body. It’s a miracle he eats meat. If he gave his brother that access code, it wasn’t to kill people.”

“Why else would he have given it to him?”

“No clue. Were you gonna ask or…” Frustration bubbled up inside him, nearly choking him. “You know what? Forget it. I don’t know what else I expected.”

That sure got their attention. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Luida asked.

“It means you kept a kid handcuffed in a locked room and let him starve himself until he proved he was useful,” Wolfwood snapped. Luida stepped back, eyes wide. “Yeah, he told me about that. Don’t worry, he let me know you talked to him while he was wasting away. Didn’t do shit else, though.” She opened her mouth to reply, but Wolfwood wasn’t interested in her excuses. “Hey, serious question, does he get a trial this time, or are you just going to execute him right off the bat? Don’t want him to be a drain on resources, right? You gonna be the one holding the gun?”

“That’s enough,” Brad interjected.

Wolfwood laughed, if you could even call it a laugh. Even Brad’s sharp tone wasn’t enough to make him back down. “Don’t start with me. You’re worse than she is. Vash thinks you’re his friend, and here you are ready to end him over…what, ten seconds of audio? Mask came off real quick, huh?”

“He’s the one who betrayed us!”

“You isolated and tortured him, and all he’s done since is help!” Wolfwood yelled back. All he could think about were Vash’s scars. Years of blood and pain for a species that just kept hurting him. And it all started here. “If he wanted you dead, he could’ve sabotaged every Plant he ever helped, but he didn’t! He just keeps giving and giving and giving to people who can’t give him a damn thing back, but hey, that works out fine for you, doesn’t it?!”

Crunch.

Wolfwood glanced down at the sound. It was the tablet, or what was left of it. It’d bent under his death grip, the fractured screen digging into his fingers. They were bleeding, but he didn’t feel any pain. He didn’t even feel the prey animal fear he usually felt when he broke something.

He wasn’t a little kid anymore. He didn’t have to be afraid of them.

“You disgust me,” Wolfwood said finally. “You were supposed to be better than…”

Better than me. You were supposed to be the people who gave a shit, but you’re just the same as I am. He’s just a means to an end to you, too.

He didn’t say those parts, but they seemed to get the gist of it. At least Luida had the decency to look ashamed. Brad just looked blank, aside from his clenched fist. Try it, asshole. See how far you get. “I don’t want any part of this,” Wolfwood finished. “You want to hang him, do it yourselves.” He tossed what was left of the tablet on the table, grabbed his crutch, and walked out the door.

I have to get to him. Nothing else mattered. Wolfwood wasn’t sure where things would go from there, but he could not let these people hurt Vash again. Can I make it on foot, or should I just steal a Thomas?

“Hey!”

I’ll probably have to steal one. It’ll be easier to carry supplies that way…

“Hey!”

Ah shit. Brad. Wolfwood set his jaw and kept walking, but he was slowed down by the crutch. Brad caught up to him quickly. “Listen, you bastard,” Brad growled. A hand roughly grabbed Wolfwood’s shoulder.

Instinct kicked in.

And it really was instinct, because the logical part of Wolfwood knew this was a bad thing. He’d already caused enough trouble with that tirade back there, and he needed to keep his head on straight if he wanted to get off the ship. But that hand flipped a switch, made him think of stale alcohol and ceremonial garments, of two different sets of fists, and the part of him that was furious took over. Wolfwood threw every ounce of rage in him into his punch, and for a second, he felt good.

Then he realized at least five people had seen him knock Brad on his ass. One of them looked like security.

…shit.

Wolfwood dropped his crutch and ran.

Damn it, damn it, son of a bitch, idiot. Wolfwood allowed himself a few curses before he focused on remembering the way they’d gone. He’d tried to count the doorways and turns on his way there, but this ship was too damn big. He was tempted to risk jumping from the lowest window he could find, but that would just mean two broken legs, and that wasn’t going to help anyone.

Shouts followed him. They must’ve sounded the alarm. He was an outsider who’d just decked one of their people. In the outside world of No Man’s land, that was a shooting offense for some communities. Even if Ship Three was more civilized (and he was feeling less and less certain of that by the damn minute), he was looking at time in a jail cell. The longer he spent away from Vash, the more danger the kid was in. He could not afford to get caught.

But they knew the ship better than he did. Next thing Wolfwood knew, he’d taken a wrong turn, ended up at a dead end, and there were men with batons behind him. “Listen,” said one of them, “just calm down…”

Wolfwood turned to bull rush them.

Of course, it was when only when he’d committed to the attack that he noticed one of them had a gun.

Wolfwood braced himself mentally for the pain of a bullet. He was not expecting the feeling of little stabs through his shirt and into his chest. He was able to take a few more steps before he started slumping to the ground.

Did they steal my fucking bones -

Next thing he knew, he was lying on a cold floor. His body ached, but Wolfwood forced himself upright. He was in a small space between two doors, each with a small window. One looked out over the sands of No Man’s Land; the other looked into a near-identical space, with a distant window that looked into what might have been a hallway. It didn’t look like the cell they’d thrown Vash into: no scratches on the walls, nothing that even resembled furniture, no other doors that lead to a bathroom. Wolfwood experimentally pounded his fist against one of the windows. The glass felt thick; his strongest slams barely shook it.

“Hey,” Wolfwood called. He hit the window again. “Anyone there? Hello?”

There was no one on the other side, no signs of movement. They’d just thrown him in there and left him. Had they figured out that Vash wasn’t on the ship anymore? Were they going after him right now?

You abandoned him. You let him down again. God only knows what they’ll do to him and it will be your fault.

Wolfwood pounded his fists against the window and screamed himself hoarse.

No one heard him.

He didn’t even make a dent.

At some point, his brain shut down.

He’d reached that point more than once when he’d been in Conrad’s clutches. Trying to resist, to fight, to escape, took too much out of him. Everyone had a limit, and he eventually hit his. He ended up slumped in a corner, hands stinging and aching, trying to breathe his way through panic.

They can’t leave me in there forever, can they? He wasn’t sure how long it had been. The sun had gone down; Vash wouldn’t leave until the morning, assuming he left at all. Dumb bastard might try to stay and wait past the point that it was safe. Wolfwood’s fingers kept kneading into the bruise. The pain wasn’t enough to drag him back to the present.

I have to get out of here. But he was too stuck in the what-ifs of what they were going to do to Vash when they got him. Would Vash even try to argue in his own defense? They know what I’ve done, he’d said. He blamed himself the same way kids who came from families that spoke with their fists blamed themselves when they dropped things, when they made a mess, when they acted like kids…

The sound of a door opening made Wolfwood’s head snap up. It wasn’t his door, but it was the first noise he’d heard in a while. He made it to the window in time to see a figure entering the other empty room and putting something on the floor. “Hey!” Wolfwood pounded on the window. “Hey, I think I popped a st-“

The lie died in his throat as the figure straightened up. Even the realization that he’d given Brad a black eye didn’t make him feel good. All he could think of was how badly he wanted to make it a matching set. “Where’s Vash?” Wolfwood growled. Brad glanced at him, then started for the door. “You bastard, I’m talking to you! Where is he?!”

Brad went through the door and closed it behind him. Once that door was shut, Wolfwood’s door started opening. He backed away, hands clenched into fists, bracing himself. Nothing happened once the door opened; the only thing in the other space was a bundle of cloth with a piece of paper on top.

A bundle of cloth that Wolfwood knew, immediately.

He scrambled forward. It was his jacket. The paper on top had Nico written on it in careful, but still childlike handwriting. Wolfwood’s mouth went dry as he knelt down and picked up the paper with shaking hands.

What did you do, Vash?

He opened the note.

Nico:

I’m sorry I didn’t wait. Don’t be mad, but I’m going to find my brother. I shouldn’t have let him run away. I know you think I’m not a monster, but I have to fix this. It’s my responsibility, and I owe it to everyone after what happened.

Thanks for everything you’ve done for me. It really meant a lot. I don’t know if we’ll ever see each other again, but I hope we do. I hope you can get back to your family. Tell them all I said “hi” and that they should listen to you. You’re pretty smart most of the time.

Thank you.

-Vash

Damn it.

Damn it, damn it, he should’ve seen this coming. It was how they’d met. Of course he’d try to fix things with Knives himself. When Wolfwood glanced up, Brad was standing at the window. His expression had changed, and it wasn’t just the bruise. He looked…hollow, almost. “He turned his tracker back on,” Brad said. “We think he wanted us to pick up his thomas once he got wherever he’s going. Luida’s gone after him…”

“You’ve killed him,” Wolfwood said. Memories of July kept flashing through his mind. The harm he’d been too much of a coward to stop until it was too late. Vash’s limp body in a tank, Millions Knives’ grasping tendrils digging into his back. “You know that, right?”

Brad’s brow creased slightly. That expression switched to wariness, maybe fear, as Wolfwood got to his feet and stalked towards the door. “Let me out,” Wolfwood demanded.

“Luida’s gone after him…”

“You think I trust him with either of you after this? You think she’s going to be enough?” Wolfwood stopped just short of his face being pressed against the glass. It was probably just as thick, but he was tempted to start trying to break it again, just in case. “This is not a request. You’re gonna let me out, you’re gonna give me a thomas, I’m going to go get him if there’s anything left to get, and you people are never going to see him again, are we perfectly clear?”

Brad’s eyes met his. That hollow look was even stronger there. Did he feel regret? Was he even capable of that? Wolfwood shoved down his uncharitable thoughts and focused on glaring the other man down. “Don’t you think you’ve done enough?” Wolfwood said.

They stared each other down for what felt like an eternity. Brad was the first to break eye contact. “You assaulted a member of the crew,” he said dully. “I can talk to them about letting you out once Vash is – “

Wolfwood punched the glass as hard as he could. Brad just kept talking, but Wolfwood couldn’t hear him past his barrage of curses. He kept swearing at the other man’s back as he walked away, at Brad and Luida and this whole stupid, traitorous ship. Eventually at himself, both for his own part in Vash’s suffering, and for the sheer stupidity of trying to punch through the glass. Now his wrist and his ankle hurt. Fan-fucking-tastic.

He paced around the now bigger, but no more helpful space. He read the note over and over. He dug through his pockets. Of course, he’d given Vash the lighter and the pocket knife as part of their survival supplies, so he was left with two useless bullets and a handful of cigarettes. Nothing he could use to get out of there.

He picked at his cuticles and kept on pacing through the pain to keep his mind from slipping, even as the sun went down and a sandstorm kicked in outside. He felt the floor rumbling beneath his feet, but he was too wrapped up in his thoughts to wonder where they were going.

At some point, he thought he started praying.

Please, please, please. Come on, please, why him? Just leave him alone, let him be safe, just please let me be able to do something for once in my life…

Someone knocked on the glass. Brad was back. He looked a wreck. Wolfwood knew, somehow, he knew from the second he saw that expression, but when Brad actually said it out loud…

“Vash is hurt.”

…it still hit like a bullet to the chest.

“He’s headed to the medbay right now. Luida said he’s asked for you.” Brad hesitated. “I can let you out, but you’re going back in if you do anything stupid.”

Wolfwood could read between the lines. Don’t make that black eye a matching set. Don’t interfere with Vash receiving treatment. Don’t be an idiot. If he wanted to get Vash out, he’d have to be smart. And right now, that meant keeping his hands to himself and figuring out how bad the situation really was.

“Okay,” Wolfwood said. “Okay.” He took a deep breath, then another, and put his jacket back on. When he looked back up, Brad was staring at him skeptically. “Do you want me to pinkie promise or what? I swear I won’t do anything stupid.”

Brad hesitated, then stepped out of sight. The door started opening. The only thing that kept Wolfwood from rushing the door was the awareness that it’d look like a threat, and that he had no idea how to get to the medbay anyway. He’d have to follow Brad.

Just pretend you’re dealing with Midvalley. He’d always been able to avoid punching that son of a bitch no matter how annoying he was. (Okay, most of the time he’d been able to avoid it, but August didn’t count.) Brad kept a safe distance as he started walking. Wolfwood couldn’t even get some sick enjoyment out of the fact that he’d spooked the guy.

His mind raced with what might have gone wrong. On the scars on Vash’s body and which ones could have been caused by Knives. He tried to keep his head on straight. Focused on the pain in his shin and his ankle and his wrist and not on how badly he wanted to burn this place down.

That calm nearly went out the window when they arrived in the medbay.

It was obvious where Vash was; the cluster of doctors and the sound of Luida’s voice gave it away. “Vash, I need you to breathe, okay?” she said. Her voice was shaking, thick with tears. “You’re safe now, I promise.”

Wolfwood pushed past Brad, limping as fast as he could towards the sound of Luida’s voice. She was hovering over a gurney, holding onto one small, pale hand while two doctors looked at something on the other side. Vash lay on his back, eyes clenched shut and body tense.

It’s worse when you brace yourself but somehow, he could never stop himself.

“Vash!” Wolfwood called, his voice cracking.

Vash’s eyes flew open. “Nico?”

Wolfwood didn’t remember running to Vash’s side, didn’t remember if he pushed Luida out of the way or if she moved on her own. His only focus was on getting to him and seeing how bad the damage was. He clasped one cold hand tightly in both of his.

Only the one, because his left arm was gone.

The cut looked clean. That was about the only good thing about the situation. Vash was pale from blood loss, cold and shaking, terrified. Wolfwood pushed aside his own panic, tried to sound soothing and not absolutely pissed off as he spoke. “What part of stay put did you not hear, huh?”

Okay, maybe that wasn’t his best attempt. Wolfwood let go with one hand and carefully smoothed down Vash’s hair. “I’ve got you. I’m here now.”

“Don’t let them put me in the tank,” Vash whimpered. “Please, don’t let them put me in the tank.”

Wolfwood didn’t know what that meant, and decided not to think about it too long. The answer was just going to piss him off, and he needed to be calm. “You’re not going into a tank,” he said. “Okay? They’re gonna stitch your arm up. That’s it. I’ll be close by the whole time, so they won’t try anything funny.”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise.” Wolfwood forced a reassuring smile as he let his hand rest on Vash’s forehead. He was so cold. The red of his sunburn stood out on his face like blood on pale sand. “You might have to go to sleep, but I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Vash didn’t ask him to promise this time. Wolfwood could see the trust in his eyes. He wanted to scream at the sight, and at the sick feeling that he might be the only person here Vash really could trust.

How could the world have failed him that badly? Where’s Meryl Stryfe when you need her?

He pushed those thoughts aside. He held Vash’s hand tightly as the doctors kept working, preparing Vash for surgery. Wolfwood started humming—not his song, or Vash’s, but one he only heard rarely: the song that Miss Melanie would sing to them in secret whenever they were sick.

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me…

There were a lot of things Miss Melanie did in secret. Prayers that didn’t line up with what the Eye’s radio shows taught. Ceremonies she let them skip, things she didn’t teach. The way she cried whenever another kid was taken away.

I once was lost, but now I am found…

None of them would dream of telling, though. Not on Miss Melanie. Not if it meant she might be sent away.

‘Twas blind but now I see.

Wolfwood wished she were here.

Vash didn’t resist when they put him under, but his grip on Wolfwood’s hand stayed tight. Wolfwood had to pry his fingers off so they could take him into surgery. Meanwhile, Wolfwood was shown to an observation room. Brad and Luida followed; he would’ve told them both to piss off, but he needed answers, and Luida was the one who had them. Before she could try to apologize, Wolfwood asked, “What happened?”

Luida hesitated, glanced Brad’s way, and started talking. She told them how she’d shown up in time to see Knives, covered in blood in a room of slaughtered scientists and dead Plants, talking to Vash. How he’d tried to get Vash to shoot Luida, then went to kill her himself when Vash wouldn’t. When Vash tried to stop him… “It was like a black hole opened up in his arm,” she said. Her voice had been even up until then, but it started trembling at the memory. “I don’t know how else to describe it. It started dragging in things, the dead bodies, and…the other Independent, Nai, cut off Vash’s arm to stop it. I went to help Vash, and when Nai tried to stop me, Vash…pointed the gun at him…” Her voice finally broke. “He threatened his own brother to protect me.”

That was Vash, all right. Brave to a fault. Protecting people who didn’t deserve it. And I was too busy being stupid to even try and protect him.

There wasn’t a single person in that room who hadn’t let him down.

Brad abruptly got up and left. Luida stayed behind, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Wolfwood could see the grief in her eyes. “You were right,” she whispered. “I should’ve tried harder to get him out.”

Wolfwood couldn’t even rub that in her face. Not now. Not when the weight of his own sins was starting to weigh him down again.

Luida wept quietly. Wolfwood watched as the surgeons worked on Vash and didn’t say a word.

They put Vash in a private room when it was over. Wolfwood parked himself in a chair while Luida hovered at the foot of Vash’s bed. “What happened before…” She cleared her throat. “…that’s going to stay between the four of us. No one has to know.”

“…great.” Wolfwood didn’t have the energy for a more biting response. It wouldn’t make sense to waste more time fighting when Vash needed him, anyway. “Brad’s on board with that?”

“He will be. I know he will. I know what you think of us, but he knows he’s made a mistake. And we want to make that right.”

Could she do that, after everything that had happened? Could Wolfwood?

He didn’t know what to say, so he kept his mouth shut and his eyes fixed on Vash. He was breathing slowly and steadily, still under from the medications. That was probably for the best. He’d have a lot to face when he woke up.

Luida stayed until someone dragged her off for an examination. No one bothered Wolfwood. The doctor who’d stitched up his ankle stopped in to check up on Vash and said everything looked good. “I heard you stopped using your crutch,” he added. “Do you want me to take a look at your injuries?”

“It’s fine,” Wolfwood said. Actually, it hurt like a bitch, but he wasn’t going to complain. He deserved that pain, and he wasn’t going to leave Vash. Fortunately, the doctor didn’t fight him about it.

More time passed. Vash’s face slowly grew less peaceful. His grip on Wolfwood’s hand tightened. “’em?” he mumbled.

“Easy,” Wolfwood replied gently. He squeezed Vash’s hand back. “You’re okay.”

Vash’s eyes opened, foggy with sleep and a touch of panic. He turned his head and relaxed when their eyes met. “Hi,” he said.

“Hey, kid.” Wolfwood smiled, hoping he looked more reassuring than exhausted. “You can rest. You’re safe.”

Vash didn’t need much encouraging. He was back out again within seconds.

It went on like that for a while. Vash bobbed in and out of consciousness, usually confused when he woke up, but calming immediately when he saw Wolfwood was still there. Luida came back once, briefly, only to be dragged away again. Brad never showed.

Exhaustion slowly draped itself over Wolfwood’s shoulders. He tried to tell himself to stay awake for Vash’s sake, but the events of the day and the hunger and throbbing pain wore him down. He rested his head on the bed and deluded himself into thinking he’d just close his eyes.

Just for a second.

He hadn’t been held like this since he was a kid—cradled gently, ear resting against the steady pulse of a heartbeat, wrapped in something soft and warm. Hands gently stroked his hair as a chorus of voices hummed gently. He could feel one hand grasping his shirt, a forehead pressed against his back. Thank you, whispered the chorus. Thank you. Thank –

Nico?

Wolfwood opened his eyes.

Vash was awake, still pale, still haggard-looking, but alert. “Shit,” Wolfwood mumbled. He dragged himself upright, wincing at the aches in his back and shoulders. “’m sorry…how long have you been up?”

“Not long.” Vash watched as Wolfwood tried to stretch. “Is Luida okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. She was here, earlier, but they needed her for…something, I don’t know.” Wolfwood was pretty sure every joint in his body popped as he tried to loosen them up. “But she’s okay.”

Vash nodded. “That’s good.” Then after some hesitation, he added, “Am…am I in trouble?”

The urge to hit something came back. Wolfwood shoved it down. “No. You’re not in trouble.”

Vash nodded again. His intact hand clenched into a tight fist. “I…”

Wolfwood could see tears forming in Vash’s eyes, so he did the only thing he could: sat on the bed and gathered Vash up in his arms. “It’s okay,” he said. Vash clung to him desperately, body trembling. “Let it out. I’ve got you.”

Vash’s first sob was heartbreaking, but Wolfwood was almost glad to hear it. It was worse when the kids cried in silence, afraid they would be punished for making noise. It was a habit he hadn’t been able to shake himself, one he was sure that Vash would develop eventually.

But here and now, Vash sobbed openly into Wolfwood’s shirt, free to show his grief and pain.

Wolfwood held him closer, and hoped that was enough to help him bear it.

Not much happened the rest of the day, though Wolfwood wasn’t surprised. The poor kid was worn out, and emotionally fragile to boot. Vash cried on and off all day when he noticed his arm was gone again, or if it was quiet for too long, or when the random check-ups by the doctors went on too long. If he wasn’t crying, he was either curled up next to Wolfwood, staring at the wall, or sleeping. He was asleep the first time Luida stopped by. The second time, Wolfwood thought he’d been awake until he glanced down and saw Vash’s eyes were closed. His breathing was slow, but a little too even. It was a pretty classic fake sleep, but not something Wolfwood was going to point out.

Fair enough. I wouldn’t want to talk to any of them, either.

“Just something simple, I think. If he doesn’t eat, I’ll finish it.” Wolfwood hadn’t even noticed his own hunger until Luida asked him about it. Stress was a hell of a thing sometimes. “But I’ll try to get him to eat.”

Luida nodded. She looked at Vash as if she were considering saying something, but slipped out as silently as she came in. Wolfwood waited until he was sure she was gone before leaning over. “Do you think you’ll be able to eat?” Vash hesitated, then shrugged without opening his eyes. “Do you think you can try?”

“…yeah,” Vash whispered.

“Atta boy.” Wolfwood rubbed Vash’s shoulder. “If you don’t want to talk to her, I can just say that for you.”

“I don’t know.” Vash finally opened his eyes. They looked so distant and lost. “Are you sure she’s not mad?”

“I’m positive. Trust me, I’d be able to tell.” It would’ve been easier if she were; Wolfwood would’ve told her to piss off a long time ago. “But you don’t have to talk to her and you don’t have to hear her out about anything. Not if you’re not up for it.”

Vash hummed quietly. Not exactly an answer. I’ll keep an eye on things, then. Step in if he had to. She’d better behave herself.

Vash didn’t sit up when Luida came back, but he didn’t fake being asleep again, either. “Hey, Vash,” Luida said softly. “How are you feeling?”

Wolfwood braced himself for Vash to be placating. He was surprised when Vash…didn’t do that. He glanced Luida’s way, looking like he was about to say something, but his eyes suddenly darted away. His face was hard to read, but Wolfwood could’ve sworn he looked scared.

Walking on eggshells. Every answer is wrong so it’s easier to just not say anything. But not saying anything had its own risks. Luida might not have taken the silence as disrespect and reacted with anger, but it was probably for the best Vash wasn’t looking at her. The devastated look in her eyes probably would’ve made him fold. She had the decency to keep it out of her voice as she kept speaking. “I just brought dinner for you and Nicholas. Got to keep your strength up.” She set the tray down carefully. “You’re…not in any trouble, okay? Not with me or Brad or anyone. I promise.”

Vash hummed quietly. His hand gripped Wolfwood’s sleeve tightly. Wolfwood glanced at Luida and shook his head slightly. Quit while you’re ahead. She must’ve gotten the memo, because she didn’t try to get any closer. “You get some rest, all right? Nicholas will look after you, and…I’ll stop by again later. If you want me to.”

“…okay,” Vash whispered.

Luida nodded. “Thank you, Vash. For protecting me. And I’m so sorry for everything.”

She left after that, thank God. Wolfwood could feel Vash shrinking into himself at that apology. Distract him. Quick. “Okay, what are we dealing with…” He pulled the tray over. Some kind of savory porridge, it looked like. Wolfwood took the first bite, letting it sit in his mouth for a second before swallowing, checking for any weird grittiness or bitterness, tingling in his mouth, sudden fuzzy vision. The Eye had sneaked sedatives into his food more than once. He was familiar with how they worked by now.

Nothing bad happened. It was just porridge. Wolfwood was suddenly, ravenously aware of how hungry he was, but he still gave Vash’s shoulder a gentle shake. Littles first, always. “It’s good,” he said encouragingly. “Come on. Just start with one bite.”

Vash sat up. There were fresh tear tracks on his face, but he picked up the second spoon and had a bite. He waited for Wolfwood to take another bite before he took his next one. They ate their way through the bowl that way, back and forth, fresh tears still slipping down Vash’s face. Wolfwood didn’t ask about them; he just passed Vash one of the bottles of water.

You’ll cry a whole ocean if you keep that up. Just like Alice. He’d told Livio that once. It was all he could think about for a moment.

“Do you miss your family?” Vash asked suddenly.

Of all the things he could ask. “I do,” Wolfwood said. “All the time.”

“So, it…it doesn’t stop?”

Vash whispered the question, just like he had in the dream. Too afraid to say it any louder, because it was insane and he must’ve known it. How could you miss the person who’d cut your arm off? Who’d killed hundreds and let you share the blame for it?

Because he’s Vash’s brother. No, he’s Vash’s twin. Wolfwood realized that he would never truly know that kind of pain. How could you bear losing someone you’d been with since your first breath? Someone whose face you’d see every time you looked in the mirror?

How can I help him bear it?

Vash suddenly doubled over, his spoon clattering against the tray. Wolfwood thought it was another bout of tears until he saw Vash clutch his arm stump. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Hurts…”

“Where?” Wolfwood got up, nearly knocking the tray off the bed as he did. “Should I get a doctor?”

“No! No, don’t leave me, please.”

“Okay, okay.” Wolfwood sat back down. “Big deep breath. Where does it hurt?”

Vash’s eyes were wide, scared. “My…my hand….”

“You mean the…” Wolfwood looked at the stump. “Oh.”

Phantom limb pain. Something the doctor said might happen. It would get better, apparently, but…

Nothing to be done about it now. All he could do was stay close.

“Big deep breath,” Wolfwood repeated. “Big and slow. It’ll stop. I promise it’ll stop.” He rubbed Vash’s shoulder. “It’s not fair. It sucks that you’ve gotta. But it’s just pain. You’re stronger than it is.” He leaned forward until his forehead was resting against the top of Vash’s head. Not quite a hug, but close. “Even if you don’t feel like you are right now.”

Vash’s breathing was shaking, but he was able to keep it under control. “C-can you tell me another story?” he asked.

“Yeah. Of course.” Wolfwood closed his eyes and tried to think of one that might help. “Once upon a time…”

He remembered another set of shivering shoulders, another head resting on his shoulder, the sharp tang of smoking straight from the worm’s tail.

“…there was a little boy and his shadow.”

They were stories he and Livio had made up together based off Livio’s imaginary friend. Wolfwood hadn’t thought about those stories in years—hadn’t been able to let himself think about them—but they flowed easily off his tongue now. The dangers the boy and the shadow faced, the way they would sometimes swap places so the shadow could help the boy get out of tough spots. It all came back to him so easily.

You don’t gotta worry about anything as long as I’m with you. And I promise I’m not going anywhere.

The pain must have stopped, or at least become bearable, because Vash eventually stopped holding his arm so tightly. He leaned against Wolfwood’s chest, his eyes drifting shut.

He felt as small and fragile as he had when he was little, and Wolfwood held him just as tightly.

The space around him was pure red, and he couldn’t move. He wasn’t strapped down; he was frozen in place, as if Bluesummers had him pinned to the air. His eyes desperately scanned the space, but all he saw was red, red and…

No.

Pale hair, wide blank eyes, a hole punched right through –

Except no, Livio didn’t have a mole, so it had to be -

No, no, the mole was on the wrong side. Was that Knives?

Thunk.

Fists pounded against a glass surface. Vash was on the other side, trying to break through, screaming, scared. Hands reached out from the dark to drag him away. Panic and anger surged through Wolfwood. He strained against his invisible bonds, trying to move, pushing and pushing until –

Wolfwood sat up so suddenly that he damn near fell out of his chair. He heard hysterical sobbing and frantic beeping. Vas was awake and pulling at the tubes attached to his arm with his teeth. “Whoa, whoa!” Wolfwood pushed Vash’s arm out of reach. “Take it easy!”

“I wanna go!” Vash sobbed. “I wanna go, I want - !”

“Okay, okay, we’re going. Just let me.” Vash had already left teeth marks in his arm trying to get loose. He’d definitely hurt himself worse if he kept it up. “Hold still.”

Wolfwood had pulled the main IV free and was working on the other monitors when the doctors showed up. “What are you doing?!” one yelped.

“We’re going back to his room.” The beeping turned into a droning whine as Wolfwood pulled the last sensor off Vash’s chest. “He’s done.”

“You can’t just – “

“Can and am!” Wolfwood scooped up Vash and turned to face the crowd blocking the door. “Move.”

“Sir…”

“Are you blind or are you not seeing how scared he is right now?!”

The room went silent. Vash’s whimpers were muffled by Wolfwood’s shirt, but still audible. Wolfwood forced himself to take a breath. He couldn’t afford to end up in jail again. “I will get someone if I think he’s gonna drop dead, but he can’t stay here,” Wolfwood said. “So I’m asking nicely, for his sake…move. Please.”

Another pause. The doctors stared at each other. One pushed his way to the front of the pack—the same one who’d stitched up Wolfwood. He pulled something off his belt and handed it out to Wolfwood. “You can use this to call someone,” he said. “It will get help faster.”

Well, points to him. This was probably the first time Wolfwood felt even remotely like he could trust a guy in a white coat. “Thanks,” he said.

Everyone got out of his way once he took the device, letting him carry Vash out into the hallway. “You’re gonna have to give me directions,” Wolfwood said quietly. “I swear I can’t find my own head in this…”

Brad and Luida were out in the hallway.

Judging from the blankets draped over a few chairs, they’d been out there all night. They both stared at Vash, Luida visibly relieved he wasn’t dead, Brad unreadable. Luida started to step forward, but stopped herself and shrank back. Like she was afraid she’d make things worse if she got too close.

Wolfwood looked away from both of them and back to Vash. “C’mon,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.”

No one tried to stop him on his way out.

Wolfwood didn’t sleep at all that night.

Vash did, thank God. Once he was tucked into his own bed, he bundled up under the blankets and went right back under. But Wolfwood stayed awake, watching the door. The room was a lot tidier than he’d expected after their rushed packing session. Maybe Luida had tried to clean up for him.

Better not have messed with his stuff.

Sometimes he got up to pace, limping his way through the restless energy. At one point he sat down and started fiddling with the bandages around his ankle. If only that stupid worm hadn’t made him drop his stupid vial, he wouldn’t have to deal with this. He was holding up for now, but carrying Vash had only made the pain come back. The scarring wasn’t going to be pretty.

And you think that compares to what he’s feeling right now? To what he felt in July?

It didn’t.

It would never come close.

The familiar sound of rustling blankets and a don’t want to wake up whine signaled the start of a new day. “Mornin’, Blondie,” Wolfwood said. Vash’s response was to tunnel himself deeper into his blankets. “You don’t have to get up or anything. Just let me know you’re not dead.”

After a pause, Vash’s hand went from grasping the blankets to giving a thumb’s up. Wolfwood snorted. “I’ll take that.”

Vash’s hand dropped to the mattress. His eyes peered out not too long after. “Do I have to go back?” he asked.

“Only if things get worse. Can I take a look?” Wolfwood was a little surprised that Vash sat up so readily. He was expecting a lot more resistance, seeing how terrified he’d been in the hospital. Wolfwood carefully removed the bandages from the injury. He was actually a little taken aback by how good it looked. There was no way it was going to look flawless, but whoever had stitched Vash back up knew their shit. More importantly, it didn’t look infected to him, and that was what counted. “Does it feel warm? Hurt more than it did?”

“Hurts the same. Not warm.” Vash glanced down at the stump, then looked away. “Sorry I woke you up.”

“Don’t apologize to me for being scared. I’d be, too.” And at this point, Wolfwood wasn’t even sure it was for different reasons. He was cut off from the question he wanted to ask by someone knocking at the door.

Damn it. Wolfwood instinctively rested a hand on Vash’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I’ve got it,” he said.

He was fully prepared to tell someone off when he opened the door. He was greeted instead by a tray of food and some medical supplies left in front of the door. Luida was standing a safe distance down the hallway with the only non-shitty doctor at her side. Wolfwood shot them a thumb’s up before retrieving the items and retreating back into Vash’s room. “Nothing to worry about,” he said. “You hungry?” Vash shrugged. “Can you try?”

“…okay.”

It was a good thing he was willing. The included instructions mentioned that some of the included medicine had to be taken with food. None of them looked any different than the meds that had been given to Vash already, so Wolfwood let him take them. He worked on re-bandaging Vash’s arm as the kid ate, slowly and carefully.

Vash’s plant markings shone faintly around the wound, creeping up a few inches into his arm. Wolfwood thought about Vash’s inhumanity, about the way he’d cried harder when the doctors examined him and freaked out the night before, about the dream…

“I know you probably don’t want to hear this,” Wolfwood said, “but I need to know…did they do anything to you before I got there back then?”

Vash shook his head immediately. “No. They left me alone.”

“What about after I left?”

“No. Just regular doctor visits.”

“Regular like…regular for a human? You just seem really freaked by a lot of this, and if anyone’s hurting you…”

“No, no. I just…”

Vash hesitated. Wolfwood waited until he was done bandaging the arm before he prompted Vash gently: “Just what?”

Vash pushed his food aside and pulled his knees up to his chest. Seeing his stump try to wrap around them was heartbreaking. “It’s a long story, but…you should hear it. Since you’re standing up for me.”

Wolfwood’s heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t sure what he was about to learn, but something told him that a lot of questions were about to be answered. “I’ve got time.”

Vash took a deep breath before turning around to point at the picture in the middle of his photos. “That’s Rem,” he said softly. “She found Nai and I when we were born. She’s the one who raised us. Nai started thinking that she was keeping something from us. He said she was secretive about some files and that he overheard her talking to the captain about how we weren’t going to be treated like ‘her’. She wouldn’t tell him what that meant, so he asked me to help look at her work station. I was the one who put in her access code. I remembered it from when she’d showed me something else. There were files about us, and…another Independent.” Vash shrank down, hugging himself more tightly as he did. “Her name was Tesla. She was born fifty years before us. They…did things to her. Experiments, and…” His body trembled. “They still had her on the ship. All cut up in tubes…” He buried his face in his knees. “H-her file said she was alive, but I could see her insides…”

Wolfwood knew that image. It was from that fucking mural on the wall in the Eye’s training compound. The angel with her body all divided up in three columns of light. He remembered staring at the one separated eye hovering over her head so he wouldn’t have to look at Chapel during one of his lectures.

Humans had butchered Knives’ sister, and he’d made her a religious symbol for it.

“Shit.” Wolfwood ran his hand over his face. He thought about every kid the Eye had ever taken. Thought about himself, about all the needles and tubes and pain. Wondered how many more human lives it would take to pay for Tesla’s. “Vash, I’m…I’m so sorry.”

Vash was quiet for a moment. His voice still shook when she spoke. “Nai wasn’t the same after that. He was just…gone, for a week, didn’t speak or react to anything. When he woke up, he acted like everything was fine around the adults, but I saw…he was so angry. He was so mad at humans. I knew he was mad, I knew he was scared, but I didn’t know he’d…”

Another long pause. Vash’s words were replaced by quiet sniffling. Wolfwood rested a hand on Vash’s shoulder. Eventually, the crying sounds grew quiet. When Vash spoke again, his voice was flat and dull: “Nai got into the flight controls because I showed him Rem’s access code. He’s the reason the ships crashed. He killed all those people and…he was only able to do it because of me.”

That was a lot to take in. Wolfwood took a second to chew on it. His mind worried it all down to one point. “So…let me get this this straight. You showed him that access code—no, you used it in the room with him, and you had no idea that he’d use it to do anything but snoop a little. You didn’t know what you’d find and you didn’t know how your brother would react.” Vash hesitated, then nodded. “Kid, I’m not seeing anything wrong with what you did.”

Vash’s head shot up. His eyes were wide and confused. “But the ships…”

“Yeah, I heard that part, but you know what that was? That was Nai’s stupid, shitty decision. That’s got nothing to do with you.”

“But if I hadn’t…”

“No.”

“If I’d told someone…”

“Vash.”

“I could’ve stopped him if I…”

“My uncle used to hit me.”

Vash went dead silent. Wolfwood almost regretted saying it, but it was the only way he could think of to make Vash understand. “After my parents died, he was the only living family I had, so I got handed off to him. He was a mean drunk and he hated my guts and he hit me. He always had a reason for it, too. I was too loud, I broke something, I ate too much…and I tried. I was quiet. I didn’t touch anything. I only ate what he gave me. But it wasn’t enough. He always found some new reason to hurt me.” Wolfwood flexed his jaw, trying to chase off a sudden stab of pain from how tightly his teeth were clenched. “And the older I got, the more I realized…I wasn’t doing anything wrong. He wanted to hurt me. That was his problem, not mine. Even if I was being a little shit, nothing I’d done deserved that.” Wolfwood made sure he was looking Vash in the eyes. “You are not responsible for other people’s shitty decisions. Hear me? You aren’t responsible for Nai and you don’t deserve all the bullshit these people have put you through. You haven’t done a damn thing wrong, and you don’t deserve to get hit any more than I did.”

Vash’s eyes were flooded with tears. Instinct kicked in, and Wolfwood wrapped him up tightly in a hug. “And I’ll tell you something else,” he said, “I am not gonna let what happened to Tesla happen to you. Hear me?”

He knew the second it left his mouth that it was a lie, that in a few decades he’d be the one leading Vash to the slaughter. That Knives would make a second dismembered angel of his brother in the name of his goals.

But maybe he could stop that somehow. Change the outcome.

Maybe that was his penance.

“So, we could still be sand pirates if we wanted to?” Vash mumbled.

Despite himself, Wolfwood smiled. “Yeah. We can still be sand pirates if you want.”

Vash clung tightly to Wolfwood for a while, unspeaking. Wolfwood wasn’t sure if his words had any effect at all. He hoped they did. Hoped they could prevent even a single one of those scars in the future.

Hoped they were more than just words.

For most of that day, their only visitor was the doctor. Vash ate lunch. They spent most of their down time looking at the small collection of books in the room. Vash was a little less shaken up than he had been after his last crying session, but still quiet. He had another burst of phantom pain. Wolfwood had to help him breathe through it again.

It won’t last forever. He wasn’t sure that was true. He hoped it was, though.

They were reading through a book of old Earth folklore when someone knocked on the door. A glance at the clock confirmed it was about time for dinner. “Will you be okay to let the doc look at you if he wants?” Wolfwood asked as he stood up.

“Yeah, I’ll be okay,” Vash said. “It’s not so bad when I’m in here.”

“All right. If he does overstep though…”

Brad was standing on the other side of the door.

Wolfwood froze. His body mind went in a dozen different directions. Slam the door. Deck the guy again. Grab Vash and run. Brad stared past Wolfwood’s ear with a tense jaw and shoulders. “Can I talk to him?” he asked.

Wolfwood took a deep breath and glanced over his shoulder. He could’ve told Brad to piss off, but Vash might get upset, and it might mean more if it came from the kid. “Brad wants to talk,” he said.

Vash immediately looked wary. His expression wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no, either. Wolfwood turned back to Brad. “Hang on.” He shut the door before Brad could protest and walked back to Vash. “If you don’t want him here, I can make him leave right now,” he said.

“I…” Vash shrank up again. “I don’t know. I…I do want to know what he wants, but…” His eyes darted back and forth as he thought before fixing on Wolfwood again. “Will you stay? Just in case?”

“Yeah, of course. Say the word and he’s gone. You don’t have to hear him out.” He probably would anyway, much as that pissed Wolfwood off, but at least he’d made the offer.

“Okay.” Vash nodded. “I’m ready.”

It went against all of Wolfwood’s instincts, but he turned around and opened the door. Brad was still there, still tense. “No bullshit,” Wolfwood said as he stepped aside. “And I’m staying here. Got it?”

“Fine.” Brad stepped in. He kept a safe enough distance from Vash, which was about the only thing keeping Wolfwood keeping his distance. Vash stayed balled up, but made eye contact with Brad.

“…hi,” Vash said quietly.

“Hi.” Brad took a deep breath. “I’m not here to make excuses. I was wrong. One hundred percent. I should’ve heard you out before I jumped to conclusions and I should have trusted you. I don’t know what happened back then, but…whatever it was, you shouldn’t have felt like you had to fix it on your own. And I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did back during the Fall. You were just a kid. You didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry for everything.”

It was all the right words in the right order, but Wolfwood was still skeptical. Until…

“Don’t say you forgive me. You don’t owe me that. I haven’t done anything to earn it. Be pissed at me for as long as you need. Hell, you can walk out right now if that’s what you need. I won’t blame you. But if you stay, I promise I’ll do better. I don’t know if I can make it right, but…I’ll do what I can.”

…huh. He’d never heard that before.

Vash looked taken aback, too. For a second, Wolfwood thought he was going to jump right into forgiveness. Instead…

“I’m not mad,” Vash said quietly. “I’m…”

He paused. Wolfwood knew that look. It was the look of having too many emotions at once and not being able to put a label on them. The same thing he’d felt in the Geoplant. “I think I’m mostly sad,” Vash said.

Brad nodded. “That’s okay, too.” For once, his eyes weren’t so damned unreadable. He looked ashamed. Sad. “They’re gonna bring you dinner soon. I’ll…leave you alone to think, okay?” Vash nodded. “You rest up.”

Brad hovered by the door. Wolfwood stepped closer, fully intending to escort him out, when Brad leaned closer to him. “Just look after him, okay? If he decides…” Brad shook his head. “…look after him.”

Then he was goner, leaving Wolfwood with a sinking feeling in his gut.

You have no idea who you just asked that of.

But what if he really was somehow the better option? Or if that was what Vash wanted? Wolfwood turned around hesitantly. Vash was still curled up, staring off at nothing with a slight frown on his face. “…how are you feeling?” Wolfwood asked.

“…I don’t know.”

That was the last thing Vash said about it for a while. He stayed subdued through dinner and his last exam of the day. Eventually, it was just the two of them and the fading on-ship lights. “Think any harder and you’ll have steam coming out your ears,” Wolfwood said.

The comment got a small smile out of Vash. He got up carefully and walked to one of his wall shelves. He grabbed an unlabeled book with a pen attached to the cover. “What’s that for?” Wolfwood asked.

“I need to write everything down.” Vash sat back down on the bed, cross-legged. He fumbled a bit at first, but soon figured out how to get himself situated. “Just…thinking about a lot of things.”

Wolfwood was tempted to ask more questions, but that sounded like diary stuff. Messing with another kid’s diary was a one-way ticket to either a scolding or a beatdown back in Hopeland, so he kept his questions to himself and settled down in his chair instead, injured foot propped up on the bed. Vash was still a little pale, but he didn’t look quite as fragile. His gaze was laser-focused instead. From the way his pen was scratching, he’d had a lot on his mind.

Hopefully, he was actually thinking about what Brad had said instead of rushing to forgive him. That’d sure be a change of pace.

The sound of pen on paper was strangely soothing. He hadn’t even done anything all day, but Wolfwood was suddenly exhausted. I should make sure Vash gets some sleep first, he thought. Don’t want him being up too late.

He closed his eyes anyway.

A chorus of ringing surrounded him. Not like bells…more like the sound glasses of water made when you filled them up with different amounts of water and tapped them. Miss Melanie had shown him that trick. Just the once. Didn’t want to waste water.

There was light. Not the harsh light of the sun, but something else. It shone down through a haze, rays piercing a sandstorm, getting brighter and –

“You really don’t play?”

Nico blinked. What had they been talking about? Oh, right. “You think we’ve got money for something like this?” He was a little afraid to touch the piano, honestly. It looked nice. “We’re not that fancy.”

Vash sat next to him, already playing strings of notes one after another in sequence. “I can show you,” he said. “It’s not hard. You just need to practice.”

“Not hard for you.”

“Not hard for anyone. I’m not that special.”

The markings on his eyes said otherwise, but Nico could understand why he wanted to think that.

“I’ll give it a shot,” he relented. He rested his hands on the keys, pushing through the self-conscious feeling that he’d leave fingerprints. “Just don’t make fun of me when I suck at it.”

Vash pouted. “You’re not gonna suck at it,” he said, gently nudging Nico in the ribs. “And I’d never make fun of you for trying.”

His eyes were so earnest, Wolfwood had to look away. He took a deep breath. “Okay. How do I do this?”

Vash was a patient teacher. He showed Nico what each of the keys meant, how to play a chord. He guided Nico through a simple tune, something that only used one hand. Nico felt a little silly at first, but the more they played, the more comfortable he felt. It sounded like the tune Vash would always hum to himself, but more complete, somehow.

This was always meant for two people, wasn’t it?

Vash leaned against him. For once, Wolfwood didn’t feel like he was doing something wrong.

Maybe I am helping.

He woke up to the sound of someone knocking on the door. Wolfwood was on his feet before he’d fully registered his surroundings. When he did, he noticed first how worried Vash looked. “Sorry,” Wolfwood said. He rubbed his eyes. “Twitchy.”

“It’s probably just breakfast,” Vash pointed out.

“Yeah, yeah.” Wolfwood still reached for his pocket knife as he answered the door. As Vash said, it was just breakfast, and another check-in from the doctor. It was a pretty standard one: bandage swap, check the wound was healing okay, see how Vash was feeling, ask to look at Wolfwood’s injuries and immediately get rejected (he’d replaced the bandage himself already, and he still felt too jumpy to have strange hands on him). Just as the doctor started to leave, Vash spoke up. “Could you let Brad and Luida know I want to talk to them? Just…whenever they have time?”

Oh, hell.

Wolfwood waited until they were alone before he started his interrogation: “Talk about what?”

“What happened.” Vash kept his eyes on his food. “All of it. I want them to know my side of things. And Nai’s.”

“…can I ask why?”

“I want to see how they react. Nai thinks that all humans are just…selfish and awful. That they can’t change. But if they understand, if they see how awful it all was, maybe…” Vash shrugged. “I just want to know.”

Wolfwood wasn’t sure how to feel about that one. Yeah, it was a test, a chance to see if they meant those apologies. But did they deserve even that?

Do you?

Damn, his conscience was starting to get annoying.

“Do you want me to stay?” Wolfwood asked.

“No, I can talk to them alone.” Vash hesitated. “I mean…if you don’t mind waiting outside…”

Wolfwood examined the room. Unless they went through the windows—and there wasn’t really a lot to work with there—the door was the only way in and out. As long as he stayed near the door, they’d have to go past him if they wanted to snatch Vash. “I can do that,” he said.

Wolfwood had to keep reminding himself it was what Vash wanted. That he might not agree with it, but it wasn’t so risky that he could justify using his I’m older so I know better privileges to override it. He reminded himself that, technically, Brad and Luida hadn’t done anything to threaten Vash since Luida brought him back.

None of this stopped him from glaring at both adults as they walked in, from very pointedly saying that he’d be right outside, and from taking a beat too long to actually step out.

He stayed on his feet. He paced back and forth in front of his door. If he listened hard, he thought he could hear them talking, but it was too muffled for him to make out any words. Eventually, he finally had to sit down, get some weight off his ankle. His hand strayed down to his bruise, as it usually did.

Wolfwood hesitated after the first poke.

The pain had become familiar to him by now, familiar enough that the sudden change in intensity was noteworthy. He pulled up his pants leg. It definitely looked better than it had. It had gotten a bit smaller, yellow at the edges.

The logical answer was that he hadn’t had as much time to poke at it, that even without the chemicals his body healed a bit faster than others.

Buit then why didn’t his ankle sting as badly than it had yesterday when he’d swapped out the bandage?

His hands hovered over the bandages, torn between the desire for answers and the fear of what he’d find. The door slid open before he could decide. Brad and Luida stepped out. “…thank you for talking to us,” Luida said. Her tone was just a little too practiced, too gentle. “Just let us know what you decide, okay?”

“Yeah, I will.”

Brad wouldn’t look at Wolfwood as he speed-walked away; his cheeks were pink, his fists clenched. Luida was slower to walk away, but the second she was out of sight of the door, she pressed both hands against her mouth. Wolfwood saw a tear slip down her cheek. He scrambled to re-enter the room, suddenly nervous about how the conversation had gone.

Vash wasn’t in total shambles. Instead, he was sitting upright on his bed, hugging that bright red jacket to his chest. “How’d it go?” Wolfwood asked.

“They both apologized again. They thought what happened to Tesla was awful and they promised they wouldn’t let that happen. And they agreed with you that what happened…wasn’t my fault.” He said that as if he was still having a hard time believing it. “We talked about how I could leave if I wanted to. And Luida said I should keep the coat, no matter what I decide.”

Wolfwood hummed quietly. The coat honestly seemed like the least they could do, all things considered. “Where’s your head at?” he asked.

Vash stared out the window for a moment. “…can we go outside?” he asked.

They made their way back out to the catwalks outside. Vash took the coat with him, clinging to it for comfort. Wolfwood turned to his comfort item, lighting up another cigarette the second it was safe. They sat with their legs dangling over the edge of the catwalk and stared out over the sands. “Want to try?” Wolfwood said, offering the cigarette to Vash.

Vash leaned a little closer, then drew back with a wrinkled nose. “No, thanks.”

Probably for the best. Wolfwood looked back out of the barren wastes around them. Wondered how far they would have to walk to find civilization. If they could make it in the earliest, wildest days of No Man’s Land.

If they had a choice.

“We could leave,” he told Vash. “You don’t have to stay here if you don’t feel safe. I’d look after you.”

To Wolfwood’s surprise, Vash actually seemed to consider the offer. He looked at Wolfwood carefully. He scanned the landscape, as if wondering the same thing Wolfwood had. Slowly, he hugged the coat close to his chest. “I told Nai that I think people can be good,” he said. “That they can change. If I just run away without giving them a chance…” He met Wolfwood’s eyes. “…then I’m just a liar, aren’t I? I have to actually follow what I believe.”

Wolfwood sighed. “That’s noble and all, but people don’t always deserve your chances. You don’t have to stick around to see if they get better. Not if it risks you getting hurt.”

“Maybe, but…I want to this time. This place is my home now. I can’t give up on it.” He reached into the pockets of the coat and pulled something out. It was the sewing kit he hadn’t had the chance to give Wolfwood before. “Can you still shorten the sleeves for me?”

Wolfwood wanted to argue. Wanted to grab Vash and jump over the edge and start running. But Vash would never forgive him if he did.

And, somehow, deep down, he’d known that this was how it was meant to go.

So, he quietly got to work, first folding and sewing up the sleeve to accommodate Vash’s stump before moving to tack up the other sleeve. It was still too big, but Vash was starting to look like he belonged in it.

Wolfwood wasn’t sure how to feel about that, either. Getting angry about it felt like getting angry at a sandstorm. Fighting an inevitability. But still…

“Can I ask you something?” Vash said suddenly.

Oh, good, a distraction. “Shoot.”

“Are you an angel?”

Wolfwood nearly spat out his cigarette. “What gave you that idea?! The cussing, the dirty clothes, or the smoking?!” Vash’s face went bright pink and embarrassed. “Sorry, sorry, just…I am the furthest thing from an angel you can get.” Sometimes it felt like he’d stopped even being human a long time ago, that he’d been twisted into something more like a demon. But he didn’t want to burden Vash with all of that. “I’m just a guy. That’s all.”

Vash frowned slightly. “If that’s true, then…how did you get here?”

Hell.

Wolfwood focused on his stitches and tried to think. How could he explain? Would Vash even believe him? Should he tell Vash everything?

Will I be able to bear the look on his face if I do?

“…Luida told me about what happened, with the…black hole you opened up? I’ve seen something like that.” That was a decent enough place to start, he guessed. “I fell into one like it. It keeps spitting me out places and then reopening after a bit. And every time it’s brought me to you.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t.” That wasn’t a lie, either. He didn’t have any idea why Vash had done this, why he’d chosen Wolfwood, if he’d even meant to choose Wolfwood, why he kept choosing Wolfwood regardless. “Just glad I could help while I’m here. If you can call it helping.” He finished the last stitch and cut off the thread. “You’ll just want to cut these as you get taller –“

Vash’s arms wrapped around him tightly. Wolfwood hugged him back with one arm and grabbed his cigarette with his free hand, just so he wasn’t blowing smoke in the kid’s face. “You have been helping,” Vash said. “And I’m really grateful.”

Don’t speak too soon. You might not feel that way in a few decades.

But how could he say that now without breaking Vash’s heart?

Wolfwood tightened his hold as best he could. “Least I could do,” he said quietly.

It would never even be remotely enough.

He saw Brad and Luida first. For once, his complicated feelings about them weren’t the first thing that came to mind.

“You go on ahead, okay? I’ll catch up.” Wolfwood took a deep breath. “Just need to have a word with them.”

Vash looked skeptical. “Nico…”

“I’ll be nice. I promise.” Nice probably wasn’t the right word for it, but he wasn’t going to hit anybody. He reckoned that was close enough. “I just want to talk.”

Vash still looked skeptical, but he kept walking. Wolfwood veered off to the duo. The matching looks of dread on their faces caught him off-guard until Luida spoke: “Did Vash decide…?”

Right, that. “He’s going to stay.” The dread fell of their faces immediately. Luida looked relieved; Brad shoved whatever he was feeling back behind his usual default expression. “I just wanted to be clear on what the plan is moving forward. “

“We’re going to make sure he gets a prosthetic. Right now, he needs to focus on physically healing, but…” Luida’s smile wilted. “I know…I know we’ll have a lot of other things to work on. We’ve got someone onboard Vash can talk to if he wants to give that a try – “

“Great. What are you going to do?”

Another pause. Luida was the first to break it with an awkward, slightly frantic giggle. “Everything I think to say sounds so…basic,” she admitted. “I want to be there for him, I want to help him, but that’s not a solution, is it?” She rubbed her eyes. “How do you do it?”

“Experience. What, are you both only children?” From the awkward look they shot each other, they were. Should’ve known. “Look, I get that we’re in a shitty situation right now, everyone’s got to pitch in, but he’s a kid. You need to let him be a kid and he needs to feel safe. The world’s not gonna be good to him once they figure out what he is. If you can’t make this a place that he can turn to when that happens…” Vash said this was his home, but Wolfwood wasn’t sure he believed that. Vash wouldn’t have so many scars if it really was. Wolfwood knew for damn sure most of his wouldn’t be there if he still had Hopeland. “…if you can’t be the people he trusts absolutely, then he’s not gonna have a chance. So maybe start there. Whatever it takes.” Now it was Wolfwood’s turn to hesitate. It felt almost wrong to say, like handing information to someone he wasn’t sure he could trust, but…

“He likes stories. Lullabies. I don’t know if you knew that, but…he still does.”

Maybe they would know what to do with it.

He shrugged. “Anyways, I’m gonna catch up with him. I just wanted to make sure we were all on the same page here.” He started to turn around, but faced them again. “He’s a good kid. A little too good. Don’t let that hurt him, either.”

He looked at Brad when he said it. Between the two of them, he seemed like the one who could actually get that done. Brad nodded in response. Hopefully he understood what that really meant.

Wolfwood’s thoughts were a swarm of worms by the time he reached Vash’s room. Stepping through the door and running directly into Vash jarred him out of it. “Wh-“

“There’s something in the bathroom,” Vash whispered.

…shit.

Wolfwood knew what he’d see when he opened the door. He knew. Every step he took forward felt like he was being pulled over, almost against his will. Don’t tell me you’re actually going to do this now. Don’t tell me.

He opened the door just a crack. There was a portal inside.

Wolfwood slammed the door shut.

Seriously?! Fucking seriously?! Now?! He wanted to scream, to bash his head against the door repeatedly. I begged you to get me away from you and you do it now?! He still needs me, you can’t do this…

“Is that…?” Vash was suddenly at his elbow, trying to pry open the door. He only got it an inch before Wolfwood closed it again. “Is that it?”

“Yeah.”

“…does that mean…?”

The jacket looked too big for him again.

“…do you want me to stay?” Wolfwood asked. “I don’t have to go. If it doesn’t go away, you can use another bathroom, or…something.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t have to go. You’re still…”

Hurt. You’re still stuck in this place with these people. You’re too young. I can’t let you do this. You don’t even know how to hold a gun.

“What do you want?” That was what mattered here. Not what the Vash of the future thought; what Vash thought now.

Vash stared at the door with a slight, confused frown. It hadn’t made a sound that Wolfwood could hear, but that didn’t mean Vash couldn’t hear something. Was he talking to himself? Could he tell? This was all too confusing, too far above Wolfwood’s pay grade. Vash wrapped his arm around himself, fingers gripping his folded-up sleeve. “Last time…both times…things were better by the time you left,” he said quietly. “And they were better after. So maybe…maybe it’s time.”

“Doesn’t have to be.”

“You have a home too, don’t you?”

“I – “

He did. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen to Hopeland in the future, but he did still have it. Was he abandoning it if he stayed?

Are you just trying to run away from your mistakes by staying?

“Nico.” Vash took a deep breath. “I’m gonna…I’m gonna be okay. You keep finding me. We’ll see each other again.” His eyes were so, so calm on the surface. “We will.”

Still a little afraid underneath.

Or maybe Wolfwood was just projecting. Because suddenly he was terrified for Vash.

Is he ready? Is it going to be okay? Have I done enough?

Will I ever be able to do enough?

Wolfwood swallowed hard. “What will you tell Brad and Luida?”

“That you had to go back where you came from. People come and go all the time. They’ll believe it.”

“They’ll probably be happy to get rid of me.” Wolfwood’s laugh was strangled and short-lived. “I didn’t know it would be so soon.”

“I know. It’s okay.”

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

“Well.” Wolfwood took a deep breath. He wanted another cigarette, more than anything.

Wait.

He reached into his pocket for his lighter. “Here.” He held it out to Vash. “I want this back later, okay?”

Vash took it, stared at it for a second. Then, in a shockingly smooth motion, he managed to flip it. First try. “Hey, not bad,” Wolfwood said.

Vash’s smile was bright as the sun outside. Even as a few tears slipped down his face. “Thanks,” he whispered.

Wolfwood didn’t hesitate to pull him into an embrace this time. Vash gripped him tightly. So small and young, but…somehow still strong. Even after everything.

“See you later,” he said.

For the first time, that thought didn’t terrify him.

“See you,” Vash replied.

They broke apart eventually. Vash had stopped crying. Wolfwood felt like he might start. He slipped his sunglasses back on to hide it and re-opened the bathroom door. The portal was still there, silent but calling out to him all the same.

Time to go.

Time to see if he’d managed to do anything.

Wolfwood stepped through before he could think twice about it, leaving a prayer behind him.

Please, God, please…just let him be okay.

Just let it be enough.

#fic: the unknowable tomorrow #trigun #trigun stampede #I just want to stress that wolfwood is an unreliable narrator and the way he views brad this chapter is NOT how I view brad #there's just. a lot there.

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