Title: thinking up a brand new alibi (for not coming home)
Fandom: Trigun
Rating: PG
Length: ~600 words
Content notes: angst, imminent character death, dramatic irony
Author notes: manga spoilers — set between vol8 and vol9.
Summary: Wolfwood moves into position. Brad takes issue.



“Heading out, preacher?”

Wolfwood freezes at the sound of Brad’s voice, fingers curling tighter around the straps of the Punisher. It’s a question but it isn’t a question all the same—Brad’s leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, right at the end of the hallway, like he’s been waiting for him.

“Just getting some fresh air,” Wolfwood fishes out a cigarette and strikes a match on the straps of the Punisher, taking a deep breath of nicotine and tar.

Brad scoffs. “Don’t bullshit me.”

Wolfwood looks at him steadily and keeps walking. “I’m not.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” Brad pushes off the wall, getting in his way. “You’re awfully well-packed for a guy planning to stroll around the deck and come right back.”

Yeah, Wolfwood should’ve known that wasn’t going to work. “Fine. I’m scouting ahead of Knives’ position. To assist in the evacuation efforts.”

Brad’s eyes narrow. “I don’t remember hearing that part of the plan.”

Wolfwood’s heart rate picks up. “Vash told me to.”

Immediately, he winces, knowing that was the wrong call. Maybe someone who didn’t know Vash would believe it, but Brad certainly won’t. It’s probably the least believable lie he could have told.

Brad’s scowl turns to a pinched look of disappointment. “Did you even say goodbye?”

Wolfwood’s throat tightens, and for a moment he’s terrified that he’s going to cry. The guilt presses against the inside of his chest, insistent and miserable. “He can’t know. He’d follow me.”

Brad regards him in silence for a moment. Realization dawns slowly on his face, then shock, then grief pulls his features taut again. “You’re a bastard, you know that?”

Wolfwood grins painfully. “I’m not sure why you’re surprised."

“What’re you dying for?” Brad asks.

Again, the horrible pressure of tears. Wolfwood hasn’t cried in years, but nearly half a dozen times since waking up on the ship he’s found himself grasping for composure.

“My kids,” he says, and fuck, that doesn’t help. He blinks, hard. “The orphanage I grew up in. That’s how they kept me loyal.” He rubs the tip of his nose. “And now I’ve made it undeniably clear that I’ve broken rank. I need to go. Chapel and Double Fang are probably already there.”

Brad nods in understanding, but he doesn’t move out of the way. “But why not ask Vash to help you?”

Wolfwood runs a hand through his hair. “He has more important things to do than go well out of his way to clean up my mistakes.”

“He cares about you.”

Wolfwood grinds his cigarette out against the wall and drops it, daring Brad to say something about it. He doesn’t. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not involving him.”

Brad stares at him, brow creased in a frown. Then he steps forward, catching Wolfwood by the back of the neck and pulling him into a one-armed hug.

“You bastard,” Brad mutters.

Wolfwood lets himself be held against Brad’s chest, belatedly lifting his free hand to grip the back of his jacket. “Don’t tell him,” he says. His voice cracks. “I can’t let him waste any more of himself on me.”

Brad huffs in frustration, but Wolfwood feels him nod. “Fine.” He claps Wolfwood on the shoulder and lets him go. “You take of yourself, preacher.”

The angle of the hug pressed Wolfwood’s sunglasses uncomfortably against the bridge of his nose, but he’s grateful for them. He can at least pretend at composure until he’s around the corner and has a chance to wipe his eyes. “I’ll be seeing you, Brad.”

“Yeah,” Brad murmurs, his eyes glinting, finally stepping out of Wolfwood’s way. “See you.”

Wolfwood walks past him. He waits for Brad to stop him, to insist he say goodbye to Vash, but he lets him go.

It’s a kindness he doesn’t know how to live with.

Fortunately, he won’t have to. Not for long.