inbox (duocaeli)

[chlorokyll]

DUONET ID: XxMillionsKnivesxX

"You know what to do."

✉️ ☎️ 📷

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[ndw]

[ The pain that spreads from Knives' blades sinking into his skin is distant, foreign. By now Wolfwood's spilled so much of his own blood that he's sure it outweighs the amount of Plant-generated water on Gunsmoke.

So he doesn't fear pain anymore.

He does fear dying though, despite himself. He'd always told himself it's because he had something to live for, and something to protect. His own life might be worthless, but it still meant something when it came to protecting the orphanage.

But if that were true, then he'd press down harder on Knives' throat and make good on his threat. If he's only alive to protect the orphanage then there's no better reason to give up his life. The reason that he was taken from his home. The reason that he was forced into a body only half his own. The reason that Livio had put a gun to his temple and pulled the trigger.

For all that, he should crush the throat beneath his grasp and let Knives tear his own out in retaliation, but-

Something alights in his chest, breaking through the cold rage he'd been bearing down with: he doesn't want to die. It's emotional and illogical because, why? What reason does he have to refuse this opportunity? He doesn't think he could offer an explanation if asked, but still the feeling sits tight in his chest, choking him almost as violently as his anger had a moment ago: he doesn't want to die.

The room comes back into focus around him as he jerks back, dislodging the blade from his torso and, true to promise, springing forth a free flow of blood. It still doesn't bother him—not as much as his own cowardice—but it's enough that he stumbles a little as he retreats, standing now a good distance away from the couch where Knives is laying.

For a few moments, there's nothing to break the silence but heavy breathing.

Then, he meets Knives' gaze again, ] ... Don't think I won't make good on my promise.

[ He turns his back to him, vulnerable to attack for a moment before he's slamming the door behind him. ]

[chlorokyll]

[ When the Punisher jerks away from the blade, freeing himself from being further skewered on it, some of his blood splatters against Knives' face, streaking over his cheek. He doesn't flinch at that, but there's still that hindbrain-induced panic running through his veins. Fear such as this has sat trapped somewhere in his ribcage ever since that fateful day when he and Vash had found their sister; the one they were never allowed to meet, the one they were never supposed to meet if that woman and the other humans would have had their way.

And if they hadn't made that discovery, Knives is almost positive that Vash would have ended up just the same as her. His brother is too soft, too desperate for their approval, his body torn up by them even after Knives did his best to wipe them out. Without Knives' distrust of humans to protect him to some degree, it would have all been so much worse. Could still be.

Knives' eyes track Wolfwood as he stumbles away from him and toward the door, the fear supplanted with anger as he hoarsely wheezes out words. The skin at his throat is notably red, and soon enough it will be covered in mottled dark bruises. ]

I will find a way to return to No Man's Land, and when I do, rest assured that your precious orphanage—

[ The door slams. Knives makes to stand from the couch, but the moment that he does blood rushes to his head and he realizes that he is still so weak. So exhausted, his body pushed to the brink in more ways than one. He barely even has the power to chase Wolfwood down the hall.

He sinks back down onto the couch and buries his face in his hands as he draws in long, shuddering breaths. ]