Author: Pikachumaniac PM
When Nicholas D. Wolfwood begins to realize exactly what forgiveness means in the afterlife, he can’t help but wish that he’d ended up in hell. 1500 word drabble containing spoilers for episode 23. Very mild WolfwoodMilly involved too.Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Humor/Drama - Words: 1,765 - Reviews: 4 - Favs: 1 - Published: 12-17-04 - Status: Complete - id: 2176692
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Disclaimer: I'm not quite sure who owns Trigun, but I'm fairly certain that it isn't me since I already know what my parents are getting me for Christmas….
Forgiveness -When Nicholas D. Wolfwood begins to realize exactly what forgiveness means in the afterlife, he can't help but wish that he'd ended up in hell. 1500 word drabble containing spoilers for episode 23. Very mild Wolfwood/Milly involved.
The fic was written because I wanted to be able to put the poor guy in a white dress, and because I am still mildly bitter about what happened to him. Okay, strike mildly and put in 'very' if you want to be a little closer to the truth.
I never said I made any sense.
"I guess it would be presumptuous to ask for forgiveness."
He knew he was dead when the familiar weight of the cross was no longer there.
They had always told him that if he could no longer hold up the cross, then it meant he no longer had the strength or ability to. And if he did not have the strength or ability to, then that either meant he was dead or he was old, and being old meant he was weak and that was pretty much tantamount to death in his line of work.
And when that stupid voice in the air told him that he was inappropriately dressed for his new occupation, he knew that not only was he dead but he was in hell, or at least the emotional equivalent of it.
"I am not wearing that."
The voice was offended. It pointed out – rather sourly too – that in heaven, black suits were unsuitable attire. It didn't matter if they had crosses quickly attached to the sleeves; you still didn't see angels running around wearing that type of stuff. It was against regulations.
Nicholas D. Wolfwood wanted to point out that a lot of the time, you saw angels running around in the nude, but that would have been thinking inappropriate thoughts and if that didn't get him kicked out, he had no idea what would.
Not that he was deliberately trying to get thrown back, although he had to admit that if by being thrown back it would mean he would be back in his old body – hopefully not six feet under by this point – then that would be most welcome. Unfortunately, he had a suspicion that being thrown back meant being thrown into hell, that place where mortals were tortured for a really, really long period of time.
Probably the idea of wearing a white dress came perilously close to the reality of spending the rest of eternity in hell, but he probably shouldn't push it too far.
Damn he could use a cigarette.
"Except they're not allowed either, right?" he drawled out loud, trying not to feel too bitter. First his suit, now the cigarettes. Next to go would be the sunglasses, and strap on a pair of wings and then lookee. He was an angel, one who would be looking for a way to get tobacco to grow out of his harp before the day was through.
Just because he had been a minister never meant he had been a very good one, and just because he was supposed to be an angel now didn't mean he had to like it.
It was all something he did, for the sake of not getting completely screwed over when it came to… whatever. Life, perhaps, except now that he was dead, that couldn't really apply anymore. He had never really thought he would end up in heaven though. Towards the end, he'd started to become too involved with Vash – that idiotic excuse of a man – to believe that he could ever be forgiven for the people who he had picked off, but the higher deity had apparently decided to take pity on him.
… unless this was supposed to be his form of punishment?
God he was getting paranoid. Came with the business, and that included the cursing and prevalent use of God's name in vain.
God was not very pleased with the latest addition to his ranks.
Wolfwood couldn't help but grin in a way that kept close to his namesake. If he had been back among the living, this would have been the point that he took the cigarette out of his mouth and dropped it on the ground before turning around to pick up his cross and walk away.
Except he was dead so he could no longer pick anything up. The cross, which was so full of mercy, had given him that last amount of redemption before it had abandoned him to his fate and the evil-that-henceforth-will-be-known-as-a-white-dress.
It was enough to make him want to go stark raving mad.
But then again, he thought as he eyed the white dress with more than a touch of annoyance, he was already quite crazy. If he hadn't been, and had done what he had been ordered to do, then he wouldn't be in this position. No, he would be alive, regardless of the fact that Vash the Stampede no longer would be.
That was what his life was supposed to be like. He wasn't supposed to be worrying about things like whether or not it was right to take another person's life. He had taken so many that it had become second nature to him, and he didn't know what it was about the blond man that made him hesitate before giving it up completely.
If he had done what logic had told him to do, then he wouldn't have to be worrying about the idiocy of a white dress. What was wrong with black, anyway? It had served him fine when he was living, and he didn't see why it shouldn't still be appropriate just because he wasn't breathing anymore.
It wasn't fair. Vash was the one who should be here. Vash was the one who should be worried about clothing, especially considering his strange sense of fashion sense anyway. That red trench coat and disturbing amount of leather? A white dress would probably be an improvement.
Wolfwood wondered if heaven would have allowed the blond to keep those orange glasses. And if they did, then he should be entitled to his own sunglasses, shouldn't he?
Heaven apparently didn't think so.
Heaven apparently had a bug up its butt, but that was a different story.
"So," he finally spoke out loud again, although he wasn't sure who he was speaking to. But so what? He was dead, and although he had found it so difficult to accept when he was dying, it was almost second nature now. His biggest problem was not the fact that he was going to be spending the rest of eternity sitting on a white cloud trying to look… angelic… but it would be the outfit thing.
White really didn't suit his coloring. Really.
"So," he started again, and he could have sworn that all of heaven tensed in preparation for his newest question. He smiled inwardly, a gruff and strangely bitter smile because no matter how he accepted the current situation, it didn't mean he had to be happy with it. How could he be happy, when there was still so much to do?
Heaven might have been a paradise, but it was not the paradise of humans. For humans, that paradise was Eden.
He wanted to be in Eden, and with the people who he had become oddly… fond of.
Temptation became too great and he reached into his suit so that he could take out a slightly crumpled cigarette, wondering idly if lightning would strike him down where he stood. When nothing happened, he crammed it into his mouth and lit the pathetic piece of paper, enjoying his final moments of the life that he would be leaving for good all too soon.
Giving all the immortals a cocky smile, he casually took the cigarette out with a puff of smoke as a finishing flourish.
"So what kind of job benefits do we get?"
"Milly… Milly!" Myrtle blinked as she approached her friend who was sitting on the bed. The other woman was smiling largely even as the fresh tears coursed down her cheeks, something she had hoped never to witness again after that time when… when something happened, something that she didn't want to think about even months later. For a moment, she was struck, unsure of what she could say in order to provide comfort.
If that was even possible anymore.
"I thought I saw Wolfwood-san, Sempai."
"While you were sleeping?" she asked after a moment of silence. It didn't matter how long it had been since that day; the wounds were still surprisingly fresh despite the time difference.
"No, just now."
Oh, okay. Delusions. Yeah, she could deal with that.
"Oh Milly…" she breathed out, not sure what to say now. But before she could tell her the usual comforting lie of 'it will be okay', Milly continued.
"He wasn't smoking… and he said that he was sorry he broke his promise, and that he wished we could have had Eden." The brunet seemed to have a faraway look in her soft blue eyes even as she looked Meryl in the eye. "He called me 'My honey' again."
She felt speechless and helpless. It was not a pleasant combination, and so she tried again to reach out to her friend in a way that would actually mean something, "Milly…"
But she was cut off again. "There was just one thing I didn't understand about it though."
Meryl wasn't really sure if she should be encouraging this, but if it helped her friend get over the loss, then she would gladly play along. "And what was that?"
"He was wearing a white dress."
And yes. Insanity on my part – I apologize for that. But if it makes you all feel better, I am pretty sure this will be my first and last Trigun ficcu (and to think, as my friend pointed out, that I just finished the series yesterday), although I hope you somewhat enjoyed this one, or at least didn't feel cheated out of the time you could have spent doing more useful things. :3