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They continue to wander the wastelands together, just drifting from day to day and from one dune onwards to the next.
And if Vash is walking a little slower or if Nicholas needs to rest a bit more often, neither one will mention anything about it. After all, all they have is each other and things are just fine that way.
And if Vash’s hair keeps going darker, more lines etching into his handsome face, neither one will say a single thing about it.
They still fall asleep under shared covers, facing each other looking for warmth in tired eyes.
And if their smiles have grown a little sadder, neither one will say a word about it.
We sing this song and dance this dance, like we have done ever since forever
“Smile, Tongari, or your face will get stuck with that frown on it someday,” Wolfwood huffed around a cigarette, a spark of mirth shimmering in his eyes. Vash turned his head a little to face his companion, a small smile forming on his lips that isn’t entirely capable of masking the heaviness of the thoughts that are weighing down his mind.
“You’re thinking dumb things again, aren’t ya?” The words drift into the air along with the smoke from his cigarette, floating away with the breeze around them, as if they had never been here at all.
And yet, here we still are, aren’t we? Like the invisible footprints of the birds and the wind in the sky, invisible and still so clearly present.
“I was just thinking,” Vash starts, his gaze drifting back towards the endless sea of sand that stretches out in front of them. “It has been quite a while, hasn’t it?”
The question hangs in the air between them but Wolfwood knows better than to try and answer it before Vash has finished his train of thought. He’s considerate enough to not derail it quite so soon. Instead he simply hums around his smoke to indicate that he is listening and waits, in a comfortable silence, for him to continue.
“Since we visited our friends, I mean. I was thinking about them, I miss them.”
We sing this song and dance this dance, wishing that this moment will never end
Their feet carry them across the sand as long as they simply continue walking. There is nowhere for them that they have to be now and everywhere for them to journey to. Most of their time is spent in silence, though the quiet is not necessarily of a bad sort. Heavy at times, surely, laden as these silent spells are with emotions that refuse to be captured in words and have no other choice but to remain unspoken. There is a comfort in these moments too, a familiarity that they can calmly dwell in together.
We sing this song and dance this dance, pretending that we have time to spare.
Wolfwood finishes his cigarette and exhales the last of the smoke with a sigh. For a moment Vash’s breath catches in his throat, his shoulders trembling slightly under the weight of it all. He manages to regain himself again after a few moments. Lately, even keeping his composure has been getting harder and harder to do. He is so very, very tired.
“Do you want to go and visit them again some time soon?” The gruff, yet gentle rumble of Nic’s voice easily cuts through the dark clouds of Vash’s thoughts.
“I think I would like that very much, yes.” He looks up at the clear blue sky as he replies, a soft smile playing on his lips while they sit together in comfortable silence for a little while longer still.
We sing our song and dance our dance, silently hoping that things can somehow stay the same.
Their next goal set, the journey continues. Ever onward, always forward, their feet carrying them across the sands just like they have always done. Things would have been easier had they been capable of traveling with Angelina but that wasn’t an option for them. Not anymore.
And if Vash falls behind more often, staring pensively ahead of himself as he gets lost in thought, neither one of them mentions it.
And if he has to squint his eyes at times, as if he has trouble with properly seeing Wolfwood’s figure as he walks ahead of him, both of them stay silent about it.
Instead they just pile into the somaniest inn to seek shelter from the nights and the storms, hiding from the loneliness, the dark and the cold between paperthin wooden walls.
And if one of the plates of food is left uneaten, one of their drinks remaining full and untouched, neither one of them will mention a single thing. Because it is easier to just keep on pretending than to stop and let it all come crashing down.
We sing our song and dance our dance, quietly praying for just one more day.
Together they stand in front of a neat line of graves that are neither truly old or painfully recent and one can wonder whether or not that is a blessing or a curse. Perhaps a bit of both. Vash certainly isn’t sure about it anymore, most of the time at least.
Vash gently kneels down in front of every headstone, placing a small token down besides each of the silent markers in turn.
“I miss you all so much,” his voice is soft and sounds so tired, so worn. Wolfwood hums in silent agreement and for once he isn’t smoking. He knows Vash prefers it if he doesn’t while they are here. Instead he stands a few steps behind him and watches over him while he kneels down before each headstone. Like a silent comfort, a support behind his back, for as good as he is capable of being that for him.
“I’ve been all over the place and I wanted to bring something back for all of you. It isn’t much but I tried to find things you’d all like, so I hope that it is okay.”
The words catch in his throat again and Vash has to swallow a few times in order to keep himself together. He has had plenty of time to mourn the losses of the people buried here but every day he wishes he would have had more time to celebrate their lives with them instead.
By the first marker he refills an old and weather worn hip flask with a liquid that smells sharp and strong, just like the owner of the object would have enjoyed. No remains sleep beneath the headstone, he knows, but it’s the thought that counts. They did not find a body to bring home and lay to rest, after all.
By the second marker he puts down a small bundle of flowers, tied together with a thin string of twine. Eventually all mothers must leave and he really wanted to bring her some of the flowers she had worked so hard for to grow on the barren surfaces of this planet they now call home. If only cryostasis had been able to extend her life long enough for her to see their beauty for herself.
By the third marker he lays down a time worn but well loved set of precision tools. They had been a gift to him by the man whose remains now rest here, but Vash has decided to return them to him. He has a feeling he won’t be needing them anymore soon. And if things do end up taking longer, well he has been fine with only one arm plenty of times before.
As he turns towards the fourth marker it all becomes too much for him, if only for a moment, and Vash allows himself to sit and breathe for a little while. Wolfwood moves to sit down beside him, his calming presence enough to ease some of the seemingly endless sorrow that is wearing down his heart and soul.
“There is so much I would still have wanted to show them, so much I wanted to share with them still. So many stories I had wanted to tell them, if only they could see the world as it is now.” Vash’s voice is soft and shakes a little around the words as they spill forth from his aching lungs.
“I know Vash, I really miss them too.”
A deep breath, hands steadying as they grasp tightly at final straws. When will they have been bent too far and for too long? When will they finally end up breaking?
By the fourth marker, he pulls out an old photograph from one of the many pockets of his coat. People smiling at the camera, their eyes bright and full of life and hope even though there was so much going on that brought them nothing but pain and sorrow.
“I didn’t know you still had that photo?” There is genuine surprise in Nicholas’ voice and Vash supposes that his companion’s confusion makes sense. After all, it is such an old photograph that it is a miracle in itself that it has survived for so long until now. He laughs softly but the sound feels a little hollow, empty without any real mirth to it.
“Of course I do, it’s special. It’s a photo that she made of us all, after all. But-”
He pauses, forced to swallow around the lump that has formed in his throat at the memories. taking another deep breath, Vash steadies himself and finally places the photograph down besides the headstone. His hands are as gentle as they can be when he carefully pins it underneath a couple of colourful stones.
“-I feel like it is time to return it to the wonderful lady who snapped it.”
They fall silent again, the quiet between them is heavy this time, rather than comfortable and calm. A worried frown crosses over Wolfwood’s handsome face.
“You’re talking in that very specific way that you always do when you’re about to make some sort of deeply and profoundly dumb decision, Blondie.” Even though he is trying to keep his tone as neutral as possible, even trying to make it sound like a gentle tease, Vash can easily pick up on the concern that belies his beloved’s words.
He turns to look at him, tired blue eyes meeting with stormy grey, unspoken words and understanding flowing between them like it has always done.
I’m so very tired, my beloved.
More and more often it just feels like it is all becoming too much.
I know, Angel, I know.
Maybe it’s a good thing after all, that you’re finally letting things go.
By the fifth marker Vash places down a small sculpture of a sunflower. It’s lovingly crafted from twisted wires and polished mineral stones, their bright yellow colour shimmering softly as the last of the day’s sunlight catches the smooth surfaces of the sculpted petals. A bright and radiant flower, for a woman who herself was just as lovely and warm. A woman who stood just as tall and proud and strong as the living counterparts of the small, stone flower that now rests beside the headstone of her grave.
Roberto
Luida
Brad
Meryl
Milly
Side by side, they sit in silence for a while in front of the near row of graves. No words left to say, they both know where this is heading to next.
“You’re stalling, Blondie.” Wolfwood’s words aren’t unkind, but there is a firmness to his voice that is impossible to miss. He knows why Vash isn’t moving, he knows why his other half refuses to meet his eyes now.
“I- I can’t Nic, I just can’t.” His voice is barely more than a whisper, the words sounding small and so very fragile as he replies.
“Yes you can, Vash. You have to, you know that you do. I promise it will all be easier after you get this over with. I promise. ”
They stay like this, for just a little while longer, while Vash gathers the last of his will and strength to move ahead. He pushes himself to his feet again and his gaze, heavy with sorrow and pain, moves to a space beyond the small garden they are in, towards a lonely plot that lies hidden from any immediate line of sight.
There is no neatly maintained headstone there to mark the final grave. No name etched deep into hardy stone to bear witness and testament to the one who is laid to rest there. Vash’s aching feet carry him there and with each step closer that he takes, more of what remains of his will and resolve are further stolen away from him.
The tears that he has been fighting back this entire time finally spilling down over his cheeks as he stands in front of a lonely cross, wrapped up in tattered cloth and cracking leather.
“I can’t do this without you Nicholas, I miss you too much. Every day without you, my beloved, hurts so much more than the ones before.” His voice sounds all ragged and broken, heaving sobs and gasping breath making it impossible to get another word forced out of him.
“It’s okay Angel, I know. It’s okay, Vash…”
Gentle words that drift to him, carried by the wind as it flows around him. Like the smoke of countless cigarettes that he has smoked in an attempt to bring back the fading whispers of his most beloved. A gentle caress against his shaking shoulders, like the invisible touch of the breeze as softly plays through his hair.
Vash whirls around, his gaze desperately looking for the man he knows he will not find there besides him anymore. Instead he stands alone in the silence of the graveyard, underneath a nighttime sky filled with countless stars.
We sing and dance and beg with all that we still have within ourselves, for just one more tomorrow together.
Atop a hill that oversees the peaceful graveyard nearby a moderate town stands a lonely apple tree. It is here that a group of children find a striking red coat while they are out playing in the fields.
“It looks just like that one coat from the stories that the caretakers always tell us! About those outlaws who saved the planet!” one of them exclaims in surprise.
And in their boundless enthusiasm and eagerness to return home with their newfound treasure, the children completely miss the sapling that now grows beside the apple tree. Its winding vines and branches gently wrap around the base of the thick tree trunk, adorned by small blossoms coloured in vibrant red and purple hues.
Excitedly, they carry their precious bounty down the hill and back to the orphanage where they have all been living for quite some time now. They come across one of the caretakers, an elderly lady who has been there to watch over the children for as long as anyone can remember now. With gentle hands she takes the coat from them and sits them down, tells them one last tale about this man of wonder and legend.
She tells them not of his adventures or his many trials and tribulations. Instead she tells them about his boundless capacity for hope and love, his will and resolve to always see the good in every heart that he crossed paths with.
She tells them of a priest who had once lived under this very roof as a boy. A child forced to grow up too fast and who died too early, who was the most precious company to a man who sought to bring nothing but peace and love to the harsh wastelands of this world.
However, what she doesn’t share with the children, as she sends them off to go on one of their many adventures again, is that she had seen a ghost last night. The ghost of a man who looked exactly like the one from the myths and legends, howling in grief by a lonely grave that lies hidden deep within the gardens, tucked away and hidden from view.
She doesn’t tell them about how she had watched him as he dragged himself back onto his feet and towards that lonely appletree just outside of town. Nor does she mention the shadowy figure that she had seen lingering besides him as he sat there, until clouds blocked out the radiant light of the moons for a while. When she had looked there again after a while, both the grieving ghost and his lonely shadow were gone.
In one of the many pockets of the bright red coat, she finds a set of two thin bands of gold. Clearly old, the precious metal dulled with wear and time, but kept safe and dearly loved. It was clear to her, without any sort of doubt, what these two bands are meant to represent and while the children remained distracted by their playing, she ventures deep into the gardens. She buries the rings by that lonely grave, returning them to the souls that they had in life belonged to. And she offers a silent prayer that their spirits may find each other again and finally be at peace.
Over time a new plant grows deep inside the garden, its branches sturdy and its roots thick and strong. Adorned by beautiful purple flowers that almost seem to sparkle with their very own starlight as they bloom underneath the quiet night sky. It grows and winds itself around that silent cross, the marker to that lonely grave that lies hidden deep in the verdant greens of the orphanage gardens.
We sing our song and dance our dance and we continue to move on.
As long as we remain together we will stay strong.
To stand the passage of time, to weather all storms.
We will continue to dance and still sing our songs.
As long as we’re together, we can continue to move on.