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“We meet again, Vash the Stampede.” The low, cool voice of Legato Bluesummers drifts menacingly through cinnamon and nutmeg scented air.
“Legato. I was wondering when you’d appear.” Vash pushes up his glasses, slowly turning to meet his fate. “You don’t usually—oh, wow! That’s really festive.”
Legato has leaned one shoulder against the kitchen doorway. He’s wearing a white sweater with a minimalist design of little black skulls connected to each other by a thin line that swoops across the collar and cuffs to evoke string lights.
“Thank you,” Legato says. He lifts a hand, crooking his fingers as if manipulating invisible threads. “I made it myself.”
“Y’know, I had a feeling.” Vash flicks the oven light and crouches down to get a peek. Should be about time to rotate. He’s got two full trays of gingerbread people going and still has more dough waiting to be rolled out.
He’s more of a sugar cookie guy but these have been Wolfwood’s favorite in every life they’ve known each other. So when the holidays come around he likes to make a lot. They’ll all get eaten. Legato may have mellowed this go-around—amazing what professional help, and the right cocktail of mood stabilizers and antidepressants can achieve—but his appetite is as voracious as ever.
Vash pops open the oven door and reaches in. He doesn’t bother with a mitt. His prosthesis can handle a little heat.
From down the hall he hears Wolfwood’s boisterous laugh. “Aw, c’mon. A hug’s not gonna kill you. We’re family.”
“Perhaps in the eyes of the law,” says Knives.
“Ain’t that somethin’. Laws in No Man’s Land…and hell, we’ve got snow. This planet’s come a long way, huh?”
Not just the planet, Vash thinks. He shuts the oven and stands just as Knives and Wolfwood enter.
Knives’ nose and cheeks are flushed from the cold. He rubs his palms together like it’s a casual thing to do and doesn’t make him look like he’s freezing his ass off.
“Smells incredible in here,” Wolfwood says. To Legato: “Should’ve known this was where you disappeared to.”
“Disappeared,” Legato echoes blandly as Knives heads towards Vash. “I believe I said ‘I’m off to torment my sworn enemy.’ My intentions could not have been clearer.”
“Thought it was a euphemism for takin’ a shit. Like goin’ to see a man about a tomas.”
“There’s no way you thought that.”
“I did!”
Vash brings Knives in for a hug, rubbing his back enthusiastically to warm him up. “Merry Christmas, Nai.”
“Mm. I missed you,” Knives says quietly into his shoulder. “It’s been too long.”
“Whose fault is that?” Vash squeezes him, nearly lifting him off the ground. “You never visit.”
“Plant technicians don’t get days off.”
“They absolutely do. You’re a workaholic.”
“If I’m not there to advocate for our sisters—”
“I know. Sorry, I know. I don’t want to fight.” When they separate, Vash asks, “Did you have an okay drive? It’s getting kinda hairy out there.”
“Spikey was worried the weather would give you trouble.” Wolfwood claps Legato on the back. “But I’ve experienced this guy’s driving. Scariest ride of my life. Snow’s got nothin’ on him.”
Legato’s eyelid twitches but he doesn’t use his threads to catch Wolfwood’s hand and crush every single bone in it. Whether it’s holiday inspired restraint or genuine growth, it is nothing less than a Christmas miracle. Vash mentally wipes a tear from his eye.
“As heartwarming as this reunion is,” Legato says, “it was a twelve hour drive from July and if I don’t excuse myself to take a nap—not a euphemism, Nicholas—I fear I’ll pass out at the dinner table.”
“And I want to unpack.” Knives offers his hand. “Shall we?”
Legato’s expression softens. He takes Knives’ outstretched palm and happily allows himself to be dragged off.
Wolfwood sidles up to Vash and slings an arm around his waist. “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself.” Vash squirms a bit to free the arm trapped between them enough to curve it around Wolfwood. “Did you really try to hug Nai?”
“Sure did. His skin started doin’ that plant thing. Swear to God, all four lives flashed before my eyes. But then I thought, no, I can’t die here. Spikey’s waitin’ for me and he’s gonna be real sad if he can’t feel me up.”
Vash’s wandering hand pauses. He sheepishly gives Wolfwood’s butt a squeeze. “How am I supposed to resist?”
“Did it sound like I was complainin’?” Wolfwood grins, pinching Vash’s waist. “Oh, I heard from Livio, by the way.”
“Is he still coming?”
“Yeah, he’ll be here in a couple days. Just wants to finish setting up Christmas stuff for the kids.”
“I’m sure Miss Melanie appreciates it.”
“Not as much as we appreciate her. Damn fine woman. Hope she finds some time to relax. I talked to Razlo, too. He’s excited to pelt the shit outta us with snowballs. Little brat.”
Vash smiles. “It’ll be nice to see them.”
“That’s a real sappy look you’ve got on your face.” Wolfwood presses his lips to Vash’s cheek. His stubble itches. Vash will never get enough of the feeling. “What’s happenin’ in that spikey head of yours?”
“Nothing,” Vash says. “I just think it’s shaping up to be a pretty good Christmas.”
“This is going to be the worst Christmas of all time,” Knives says under his breath. He’s been sitting at the piano bench in the living room while Wolfwood and Legato argue, in a manner that could very nearly be called friendly, about the best way to decorate the tree. Presents have been preemptively placed as far away from them as possible, just in case.
“Blue, c’mon! What’re you doin’?” Wolfwood speaks around a candy cane. “Quit usin’ your powers. It’s not in the spirit of things.”
Legato crosses his arms, cupping his elbows. “I saw you struggle to place higher ornaments and assumed my assistance would be welcome. My mistake. Please return to writhing like an upright worm, wingless and desperate, forever bound by the pathetic limitations of your wretched form.”
Wolfwood waves him off. “Yeah, whatever. I’m gettin’ a step stool.”
This is all normal. It does not bother Knives in the slightest. In fact, he gains a not insignificant amount of pleasure from it. Legato’s sharp tongue is best utilized in passive-aggression towards their brother-in-law.
It’s the piano that bothers him.
“Are you going to play?” Legato hooks his chin over Knives’ shoulder.
Knives reaches up to catch a lock of the vibrant blue hair tickling his cheek. He rubs it between forefinger and thumb, enjoying the sensation.
“No,” he says. Then raises his voice, leaning towards the open doorway. “It’s out of tune.”
“It is not!” Vash slides into the room in a truly ridiculous pair of fuzzy red socks. He nearly hipchecks the doorway but manages through sheer power of slapstick—long limbs doing a series of ungainly movements that have to be partly an act—to avoid damaging himself or the wall. “You just never learned how to play any Christmas carols.”
Knives plays two faintly discordant bars of “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen” as proof that he is correct in all things.
Vash purses his lips. “You’re making it sound bad on purpose. Scoot over.”
“We both have perfect pitch,” Knives says. He stubbornly tenses to make it more difficult for Vash to push him to the right side but gives in after a moment. “You know as well as I—”
“It’s better as a duet.”
Well. Knives won’t argue with that. The depth gained by two sets of hands working together to achieve a more robust sound naturally has an advantage, in his opinion, to a solo piece.
“Just start,” Vash says. “I’ll join.”
He bumps their shoulders together as Wolfwood returns, step stool in hand. Legato taps Knives’ back in silent farewell, peeling off like an understimulated cat that has spotted particularly vigorous prey.
Knives begins to play slowly, overly aware of how wrong it sounds. How can Vash not hear it?
Then Vash joins in. He complements and builds off of Knives’ choices with seemingly no effort at all. It’s a dance, it’s a conversation, it’s a fight. The best kind. Maybe the piano isn’t so out of tune after all.
Something is beeping.
“Oh, shit.” Vash scrambles up, laughing. “Forgot about the lasagna. Keep playing, I’ll be back.”
Knives taps a couple of keys halfheartedly.
“For fuck’s sake,” Wolfwood groans. “How did you do the entire back of the tree? I was gone for five minutes! You were cozying up to Knives the whole time.”
“Take it as a lesson,” Legato says. “You would do well not to underestimate me.”
“I’m takin’ it as you being a pain in the ass. It’s all comin’ off. We’re doin’ it again.”
“If you insist.” Legato catches Knives’ eye. The corners of his lips curve up.
Knives raises an amused eyebrow in response. He begins to play once more.
Vash uses a magnet in the shape of a black cat to stick the latest holiday card received to the fridge. The picture on the front features Meryl and Milly at some event, the two of them dressed in elegant suits and grinning at the camera.
“Ah.” Legato glances up from the table briefly, attention caught by the magnet’s tiny click. He’s been decorating gingerbread cookies with the precision of a surgeon. “The insurance women.”
“They’ve become reporters again,” Vash corrects, opening the fridge. “Hey, do you want anything? We’ve got eggnog.”
“Is it—”
“Non-alcoholic.” Vash bends backwards to stick his head past the fridge door. “I know you don’t drink.”
“Then yes, I would like some.”
“You got it.”
Vash pours him a generous glass and sets it down on one of the few free sections of the table. There’s a dozen intricately frosted trees and snowflakes, and twice as many people in delicately piped scarves and hats, including a line of gingerbread men with very distinctive designs.
“You made all of us.” Vash sniffs, dramatically clutching his heart. The sunglasses on the little Wolfwood one are too precious for words. “Legato, that’s so—wait.” He goes down the line. Knives and Legato (blunt limbs touching as if they’re holding hands), Wolfwood, Livio, Razlo, and… “Why is mine weird?”
“Don’t be rude,” Legato says as he puts the finishing touches on a highly detailed snowflake. “I’m not an artist. I tried my best.”
“No, you literally made mine look evil. It has red eyes and scary teeth.”
Legato smiles with the serenity of a man who knows exactly what he’s done. “You’re imagining things.”
“What is he imagining?” Knives strides into the kitchen with a half-empty wine glass, wearing the only novelty Christmas sweater he owns. It says Big Plant Energy in alternating red and green letters with images of flora decorated appropriately for the holiday.
Vash is very familiar with it. He’s wearing a matching one.
But more importantly: “Nai, look at this,” he says, gesturing to his mean cookie counterpart, “isn’t it—”
Swifter than can be perceived, Legato sticks Vash-cookie in his mouth and bites off the head with a crisp snap.
Ah! Devious…
Knives leans his chin on Legato’s head to look at the remaining cookies. “Nice job, Bluesummers. Where’s Vash?”
“He and Elendira are next.” Legato sets down the decapitated cookie and takes the smuggest sip of eggnog anyone has ever taken in the entire history of mankind. “I used up the yellow and blue icing on us. Just need to mix more.”
Knives picks up the one with blue frosted hair, yellow dot eyes, and a tiny icing skull on the shoulder.
“You don’t want yours?” Legato asks, eyebrows pulling together. He clearly spent the most time on the gingerbread man with white-blond hair. There’s even little feathery blades coming off of it.
“This one is mine.” Knives nods to the other one. “That’s yours.”
Legato’s eyes glint as if Knives has dipped him romantically and kissed the living daylights out of him. Or maybe he’s just really excited to eat his husband in food form. None of Vash’s business.
Before Knives can wander off again, Vash stops him.
“Hey, have you seen Wolfwood?” He’d mentioned wanting to make a pie at some point and the oven is free for the moment.
“Outside,” Knives says. “I believe your other guests have arrived.”
Muted laughter and shouting works its way inside. Knives is in the living room huddled up with Legato in the big chair near the window. It’s a tight squeeze but with their legs tangled together, Legato half in Knives’ lap, they make it work.
An excited blur shoots past the window.
“You’ll never hit me from that far,” Razlo calls behind him. He leaps over Vash (and whatever sculptures are being built near him) with a level of skill lost on a snowball fight. Though this one does appear to be particularly high-octane.
A barrage of snowballs slam into Razlo in quick succession from the opposite direction. Wolfwood must have snuck around the back. He hits the cold ground with an oof.
He pops up an instant later, shaking his head to dislodge white clumps from his hair. He’s grinning. “Again!”
“Sure you can take it?” Wolfwood cracks his knuckles. “You’re lookin’ kinda tired.”
“I can go a hundred rounds.” Razlo bounces a little, snow crunching under his eager feet. “A thousand! Nico, c’mon, let’s go again.”
Livio tapped out after three. Knives understands; he’s freezing just watching them.
Vash catches his eye and bounds up to the window, taking big silly steps in the snow. He smacks on it with a gloved hand. “Nai!” He quickly realizes his mistake with an exaggerated grimace and mouths, I’m sorry.
Legato is asleep, face tucked against Knives’ neck. His medication makes him tired sometimes, and he always sleeps better with Knives near him. He’s been dozing on and off while Knives sits feeling superior about being warmer, and more comfortable, than anyone else here.
Vash waves his arm in a big “come here” motion. Knives blinks at him, apathetic. Vash points towards the lumps of snow he’s been messing with. He makes another series of unintelligible movements, his face going through five or six similarly impossible to name emotions, so Knives holds up a hand to signal that yes fine, he’s coming.
He manages to slide out from under Legato with only a little grumbling. “I won’t be long. I don’t even have a jacket.”
“I’ll keep the chair warm,” Legato mumbles.
Knives kisses him high on the cheekbone. “As expected of my most loyal blade.”
“Your only blade.”
Barely conscious and he still manages to sound possessive. Fondness suffuses Knives’ chest. “Shh. Go back to sleep.”
“Mm.” Legato leans his head on the plush side of the chair. “Yes, Master Knives.”
Knives stuffs his boots on and meets Vash on the porch. He hugs his arms, trying to curb the urge to drag his gate forth to envelop him like a blanket. “This better be good.”
“It is.” Vash grabs his arm and tugs him out. “I made snowmen. The consistency of the snow is kind of weird so I don’t know how long they’ll last, but look.”
He pushes Knives in front of him. There are three chest high snow beings and a little one that might be a cat or some other creature. Misshapen though they may be, there’s undeniable charm to them.
Vash leans forward, eyes wide and innocent, hands behind his back. “What do you think?”
“They’re not bad,” Knives says, the words slowing with suspicion. His brother is standing in a way that isn’t typical. “Vash.”
“Mmhm?”
“You’re hiding something.”
“Who, me?” Vash is perfectly nonchalant. He steps closer and Knives becomes abruptly certain of two things.
One: Vash is holding a large chunk of snow. Two: he intends to make that Knives’ problem.
Knives takes off running.
“Wolfwood!” Vash yells, hot on his heels. Damn him and his deceptively agile noodle legs.
“I’ve got him, Spikey!” Wolfwood joins the chase, attempting to cut Knives off. This predictably gets Razlo going again. The three of them are primed to close in on him with perfect consonance.
Well! Two can play at this game. “Bluesu—”
“You dare gang up on Master Knives?!” Legato takes a running jump from the porch and is after them like an avenging angel.
“Jesus,” Wolfwood exclaims, “you still call him that?” And is immediately smacked in the face by a fistful of snow. He gathers his own snowball and flings it back at Legato. Before it can hit, the packed snow becomes a cloud of white, disintegrated by a dense web of Legato’s threads.
Legato’s smile becomes dangerously big.
Vash shudders. “Oh, that’s not good.”
“Your fault for starting it.” Knives takes the opportunity to kick up snow at Vash—“Ugh, Nai!”—and ducks out of Razlo’s large reach. He throws an arm up, one moderately sized blade emerging, feather-like and blunt, to block Vash’s retaliating strike.
Wolfwood and Vash go back to back, primed and ready for battle without a word shared between them. Crouching down behind them is Razlo, giddily packing together a snowball of horrific size. Legato has placed himself between those three and Knives. His hand is outstretched, long fingers curved in preparation.
They look at each other for a tense, expectant moment. Then all hell breaks loose.
It’s a fight for the ages. Knives doesn’t know how long they fling snow at each other in a bloody (figurative) frenzy. He stops feeling the chill at some point between Vash nailing Legato on the forehead with one of a dozen coin-sized snowballs, and Razlo breaking their inferred teams to go after Wolfwood without remorse.
Eventually it ends the only way it can. With all of them in a big damp pile, covered in snow, cheeks flushed from exertion and cold. Vash’s face is ridiculously pink which means Knives’ has to be just as bad.
Judging by how red his numb hands are…worse.
There’s a groan from somewhere off to his right. “God, Nico. What the hell did you guys do?”
Wolfwood’s infectious laughter fills the air. “Sorry you missed all the action, Liv.”
“Yeah, I dunno,” Livio says. “I think I’ve still got fuel in the tank.” He tackles Wolfwood in a way that strikes Knives as both brotherly and like two dogs at play.
Vash rolls out of their way and hops to his feet. He holds both hands down to help Knives and Legato up. Only Knives takes him up on it.
“I didn’t expect it to turn out like this or I would’ve told you to dress warmer,” Vash says, less apologetic than Knives thinks he should be.
Knives sniffs. “I’m fine.”
“You look like a tomato.”
“So do you.” Beside Knives, Legato is attempting to brush his shoulders and thighs free of snow. It mainly seems to be making him damp. And there’s still some in his hair. Knives reaches up to flick it off. “I’ve had enough of this weather, I think.”
Vash shakes out his hands, both gloved, and smiles. “Yeah, it’s definitely gonna take some getting used to.”
Vash flops over Wolfwood’s back. “I’m so tired.”
“No shit. You an’ everyone else.” Wolfwood keeps balance with ease, and finishes pulling a flannel blanket over Livio’s shoulders. He’s passed out on the couch. Wolfwood pats his chest. “Sleep well, big guy.”
Wolfwood tries to take a step and finds his movement hindered. He pokes Vash with his elbow. “Spikey, c’mon.”
Vash pretends to snore, putting more of his weight on Wolfwood.
“That ain’t foolin’ me,” Wolfwood grumbles, but he bends his knees and reaches back to grab Vash’s thighs.
Vash gasps in delight. He jumps a little bit to help hike himself up for Wolfwood to carry him. They waddle into the hallway like this. Vash winds his arms around Wolfwood’s neck, and presses their cheeks together.
“Thanks,” Vash says quietly.
“For what?”
“I dunno. Just being here. This has been a really nice Christmas.”
“Christmas ain’t until tomorrow.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah.” Wolfwood dips his head to kiss Vash’s joined hands. “I know.”
They walk past the kitchen and Vash says, “Wait, I want to make sure the oven’s off.”
Wolfwood doubles back. He hits the light switch.
“Hello,” Legato says.
“Gah!” Vash startles, scrambling to his feet. “Why are you sitting in the dark…” He glances down at the table. “…eating an entire pie?”
Legato gives him a derisive look. “Knives hates crumbs in bed.”
“Okay, that doesn’t really answer my question.”
“Whoa, hey.” Wolfwood points an accusing finger. “That’s my fuckin’ pie.”
“I didn’t see your name on it,” Legato says around a sugary mouthful of pecans.
“You saw me making it.”
Legato swallows, gesturing to the half empty pan. “You’re free to join me.”
Vash and Wolfwood share a look.
They join him. Not bothering with plates, they just grab a couple forks and dive in.
There’s a faint creak from the stairs. A few moments later Knives shuffles in. He’s fully cocooned in a big blanket and sounds mildly congested when he says, “You’re having a party without me.”
“Never,” Legato assures. He scoots back his chair as if to stand but Knives gets there first, taking a seat on Legato’s lap. Legato drops his fork in favor of holding Knives steady.
“Y’all are real cute,” Wolfwood says.
“Shut up.” Knives rests his sleepy head on Legato’s shoulder. “Bluesummers, it’s late. Come to bed. Now.”
“It would be my honor,” Legato says, “but you will have to let me up.”
“No.”
Wolfwood taps the side of his fork against Vash’s. He grins. “You guys really are twins.”
“Nai’s actually more cuddly than me,” Vash says, instinctively fighting back with his own fork. “He just pretends he isn’t.”
Knives clicks his tongue. “You shut up too.”
“I think it’s best if we excuse ourselves.” Legato slides an arm under Knives’ knees and shifts his other arm to better support Knives’ back. Likely with assistance from his threads, he stands with Knives curled securely in his hold. “Good night. If you have terrible dreams, it’s my doing.”
“I’ll be sure to give you credit.” Vash leans his elbow on the table and rests his cheek in his palm. “Night, you two.”
With Legato and Knives gone, the kitchen feels abnormally quiet. Vash squints at the clock. “Jeez, it is late.”
“Past midnight.” Wolfwood knocks his foot against Vash’s under the table. “Merry Christmas, Spikey.”
Vash leans over the table to give Wolfwood a kiss and thinks, Yeah. It really is.