( He has to turn back. No part of it is recognisable by now, but it still wavers forward and lifts a skeletal hand to clutch at his coat. Brother, it hisses, and Vash makes a wounded noise in the back of his throat, panicked hysteria rising. )

I don't want to do this again.

( Choose, he means. In the back of his head his conversation with Silco keeps repeating itself. How Vash should not regret what he's done. How there is no absolution to be found. His cheeks feel wet, his hand shaking when he lifts his gun again, points it directly into the skeleton's ruined skull. ) I wish you'd stop making me.

( Because if this is not Knives it is still an approximation. It follows the same patterns. )

But we both know which way it has to go.

( The bullet cuts clean. The skull shatters into pieces. He's aware he's trembling all over. )

Do you think it's dead? ( Voice light, a desperate attempt at normalcy. He's still crying but it doesn't quite match his words. ) I want to get out of here.