The Song that retold everything.

A Trigun Fan-fic by Meringue R. Pastel
Edited by Mr.Faceless Evil


Major spoilers for chapter 33 of the Trigun Manga (the anime versions nothing like this)
Lots of Midvalley and Wolfwood Shonen-Ai goodness.

Major thanks to Seth for editing this for me. And to Sumire for translating the manga so that us “Gaijin” can know what’s going on.

* * *
Midvalley remembered their first assignment together.
Stake out.
After sitting for two hours on the second floor of an abandoned warehouse and saying nearly nothing for two hours, they'd finally gotten into some 'good' conversation.

"Boxers or briefs?"
"Boxers. How about you?"
"Your braver then I thought."

He watched as Wolfwood light up another cigarette with the old one he'd just used up.
"Awful habit you know."
"So I've heard."

A moment of silence followed, then the saxophone man perked up. His above average hearing ability allowed him to hear the noises of the vehicle driving near.

"They're coming."
"What? I don’t hear a thing."
Midvally gave a small laugh to himself. "Wait a minute."

Two minutes later, an armored van drove up into the alley. Six men stepped out, all heavily armed.
They nodded to each other and walked into the same warehouse that the two Gung Ho Guns were staying in.

"That’s our cue," he murmured.

He walked over to where he’d set his saxophone, Sylvia, and picked it up, hosting the sling to carry it over his shoulder.

"Let’s get to work."

He had stopped remembering the names of the people he'd killed. Their histories, their pasts, even if they truly needed to die, had become irrelevant to him. Only places and times.
Wolfwood picked up his extremely large cross-shaped item that he was carrying around.

Midvally smirked "What the hell is in that thing?"
The scruffy man returned the smirk in a similar fashion, "You'll find out soon enough."
With that, he pulled of the straps that held the cloth together revealing a huge cross-shaped arsenal.
"Lets go." He chuckled when the saxophone man gave out a low whistle of approval.

The two men slowly walked to the edge of the second floor, near the staircase.
Their targets had all gathered at the bottom, and were talking amongst each other.
Midvally looked up at Wolfwood.

"Okay, I'll take out the men on the right, you take them out on the left."
A scoff was given at the idea, "That's your plan?"
"We'll both have to go down the same stair case I was going to take them out from up here."
"With that sax? -- Hey wait a minute."
"Weren't there six of these guys?"

Midvally then heard the familiar click of a gun being cocked.

"Hands up where we can see them."

He raised his hands over his head letting Sylvia hang there in her sling. 'Shit,' He thought to himself, as he watched Wolfwood set his large cross down, and slowly put his hands up. 'If we try anything now they’ll shoot us.'

"Yo! Boss!" Yelled the first man, "We caught some tre-"

He didn’t have time to finish as Wolfwood pulled out a spare handgun he had.
Nobody could react before the shot was fired, blasting the man in his head.
The blood from the wound sprayed on both Midvalley, and the second man, who had fired back at the rash Priest.

Midvally, ignoring the blood, quickly grabbed Sylvia and stood to face the other men still on the first floor. He put the instrument to his lips and blew. A sound wave hit the men’s brains at a speed of three hundred and forty meters in one second. The floor was covered in blood, and the bodies of the dead.
He stepped back, breathing frantically.

"What the hell was that stunt you pulled Chapel?" He turned to face his partner. "You could have gotten us ki-"

He stopped to see two men lying on the ground. The target that had previously been standing, had been shot in the chest, and slain. The other was Wolfwood, who had been shot in the lower abdomen, and blood was starting to poor from it.

"Oh shit.." He knelt down pulling of his khaki coat and pressing it frantically on the wound. "Damn it!"
He smacked Wolfwood across the face. "Wake up! Don't die on me here!"
Finally, the wounded man moaned. "Ouch. Don't yell.."
* * *

"The bullet didn't hit any vital spots so we had no trouble removing it."

Midvally only half listened to the doctor. He was too busy watching Wolfwood lay unconscious in the Hotel bed.
"He just needs some rest. Looks like you could use it too."
A vague nod was given to the doctor's advice, he was tired but didn't really feel like sleeping.
"Alright, thanks."
The door closed with a click. After a few moments Wolfwood stirred a little, and slowly opened his eyes.
"Is this hell?" Was his weary sounding words.

Midvally shrugged, flashing a playful grin. "Well, it's hot enough to call it that anyway. If Satan looks like me, then I'm sure more people would be glad to go there."

Wolfwood tried to laugh, but found himself wincing.

"Egotist. Shit. What the hell happened back there?"
"Don't you remember? You got shot. What the hell was that? If those men had been quicker you probably would be six feet under by now."
"Like it mattered. They probably would have killed us anyway. When situations like that happen, you need to relay on your impulses. It’s when you ask yourself Am I even better off living?"

He reached out to the nightstand trying to reach for a cigarette.
Midvally sighed to himself and took one. "Here."
He stuck it into Nick's mouth and pulled a lighter out of his vest pocket.
Nicholas blinked as Midvalley lit it for him. "Since when did you smoke?"
"I don't, a lot of people around me do."

It was then that Midvally realized that he was still covered in Nick's blood.
He got up without a further word, and walked into the adjoining bathroom.

Midvally sat in the bathtub still trying to wash the blood off of his face.
He watched as the blood blended with the water, becoming a mahogany color.

He felt tired. Hell, he always felt tired.

He couldn’t remember how long sense that demon, Knives Millions, had introduced him to a life of such slaughter. He'd only met Chapel a week ago. He'd so far proved to be a pretty efficient fighter, but reckless.
Midvally realized that if he’d left Chapel there to die no one would have cared. Being a Gung-Ho-Gun was all about killing, and those who didn't do their job, died. No questions asked.
He wondered what persuaded him to actually drag Chapels ass, along with his sax and god-forsaken arsenal to a doctor’s office. He shrugged it off, probably just out of debt.
Chapel had helped him out of that situation pretty well. Even if he’d been crazy and reckless enough to do it.
Just then the door opened and Wolfwood walked in. Midvally looked up, a little startled.
"Well, you recover quick."
Nick shrugged. "I just needed to shave."
He walked over to the mirror that hung over the sink and splashed his face with water.
"By the way, I sincerely doubt your parents lacked the sanity to name you Midvally the Hornfreak." He then snatched the soap that Midvally was holding and started to rub it on his face. "What's your real name?" He tossed the soap back to Midvally, who caught it and smirked to himself.
"My real name vanished the minute I joined this band of killing freaks." He sighed quietly. "I can assure you however, that Midvally's my real first name. I kill anyone who I tell the rest of it to."
"Really?" Nicholas snickered at the thought, and began to shave with the provided hotel razor. "Must have been an awful last name, the kind you get beaten up for after school."
"Not so much as the symbolic fact that I became a completely different person after I took this job up."

He blinked as Wolfwood grabbed the soap again from him. "Oh, would you give that back?" After a failed attempt to snatch the soap back, Midvalley stood up in the tub to try and get it back. As the water slid down his body, he blinked as the embarrassment began to sink in.
A pair of steel gray eyes wandered down his form, that Osaka dialect breaking the silence. "Looks like you missed a spot."
All the saxophone man could manage was a rosey hue creeping up on his cheeks, not moving an inch.
"Oh yeah, You don't need to call me Chapel." He held out his hand. "Nicholas D. Wolfwood, pleased to make your acquaintance."

* * *

They were up in another hotel room again. A few weeks had past and Midvally had started to enjoy Wolfwoods company more then ever now.
After so many years of working with Legato, a man who's every second of existence seemed to be spent savoring the power of death; it was rather nice to be traveling with a guy who he could actually talk to. The man had a pretty good sense of humor, was an efficient worker and was a great drinker.

"Hee hee! You loose!" Wolfwood picked up his glass and drank it in one gulp.
"Eh, Chapel, I don't recall this game that well, but I'm pretty sure that the loser’s the one who's suppose to drink it."
He recieved a drunken grin for his comment. "I told you, call me Wolfwood. Hell, Nicholas if you really want. 'Sides, this game isn't working too well anyway."
He poured himself another drink. "Who's winning anyway?"
"Not sure." The two of them just laughed.
Suddenly, Midvalley jumped up. "Wait! You hear that?"
Nicholas put on a sour expression, squinting up at his partner. "Hear what? Jesus Christ, you and your godamned hearing."
"No listen, there's person in another room playing a phonograph." He paused to listen to it, then perked up. "Hey! I know this song." He grabbed Sylvia, that precious saxophone, from the wall and started to play.
Wolfwood, still incredibly drunk, listened with a nod of approval. "That's pretty, what's the name of it?" Midvally stopped, a blank expression on his features. "You know, I can't remember." He laughed to himself. "Sad part is, I loved that song too. Funny how I can forget the names of songs. Oh well, it's the sound I love anyway. Music is such an old form of expression. To me, it's my life."
The taller man didn't hesitate after his touching dialogue, and leaned towards Wolf.
"You've been great to travel with you know, you always seem to like what I play."
Nicholas offered a sheepish grin to the compliment. "Well, I--"
His speech was interrupted by a pair of soft lips pressing against his own. Despite the traces of alcohol, it was enjoyable, but only lingered for a few seconds.
When Midvalley pulled away, he grinned at the shocked expression on his comrade's face.
"What was that?" Chapel piped up, almost in a demanding manner.
"Huh?" The Hornfreak almost sighed in disappointment, figuring that Wolfwood didn't enjoy that. Time for a lame excuse. "I'm sorry, I must have had too much to drink. I shouldn’t have--" It was his turn to be interrupted as he was tackled in his chair, and received a ravishing kiss in return.

* * *

Four hours later, the pair were laying next to each other in the hotel room bed. The dark eyed man turned to his casual lover, a light grin on his lips.
"Hey, Chapel, can I have my lighter back?"
"It's Nick, and yeah, sure." Wolfwood chuckled a bit, and tossed it back to him.
"Thanks. I still have to get used to that." Midvalley grabbed one of those bent cigarettes from Nicholas' rumpled coat, and lit it. He received a surprised look, as he breathed in the smoke, and exhaled it to the ceiling.
"I didn't know you smoked."
"Only after festive occasions such as this." He winked at the tanned man, then sighed in satisfaction. "Damn, two times."
A pair of tired smiles were exchanged, neither of them were great pillow talkers. A few minutes later, Wolfwood had fallen asleep.
The musician stayed awake. After fizzling the end of his cigarette against the nightstand, he shifted towards the slumbering man. Closing his eyes, as his excellent hearing picked up his partner's heartbeats. Steady, soft, and smoothing. The human heartbeat was a fascinating sound. A rhythm, a song. It comforted the weary assassin into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Midvalley always believed names weren't important. People weren't important. That must have been why it was so easy to fight Wolfwood.
It had been over two years since they had last seen each other, and he hadn't even recalled how much he’d loved being with his former partner.
"Put down your gun, Chapel. There's no reason for us to fight anymore. Or are you going to keep up your ridiculous act even now? Huh? Nicholas D. Wolfwood, sworn friend of Vash the Stampede."

How long ago had he said that? Just a few minutes probably. That had always been Chapel's weakness, his stubbornness, and loyalty. That bastard. He was so much braver then Midvalley felt he could ever hope to be.
That final attack on Legato, he had tried, he had failed. After so many years, he had failed. His world was falling, and he knew he was dying. What was it that made him attempt that foolhardy attack. Was it because he was too tired to go on? Tired of killing? Yes. He wanted to leave. He wanted to start over, to wash the blood from his hands. Chapel could have come with him... no. Not Chapel. Nicholas. The solemn man standing over him.
He remembered the expression on his face, serious, sober. Did he feel sorrow for his old comrade? Midvalley wanted to remember the one person who he had respected more then anyone else. He attempted to smile up at that man.
"If you must fight for that foolish idea.." he thought
"Then I wish you good luck, Nicholas D Wolfwood.."
His eyes had fallen shut, and his breathing began to slow. He could still hear it. Nicholas' heart beating. A quiet song that only he could hear. Easing him into the darkness of forever, dreamless slumber.

~ The End, for Midvalley The Hornfreak
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