Chapter Text
Knives had long surpassed the point of weariness with this man's persistent company. The incessant agitation, the overly familiar nicknames, the meddling intrusion into his affairs—each offense wore on Knives' dwindling patience. Worst of all, the man seemed oblivious to the virtue of silence, an art Nicholas couldn't comprehend. If the quiet lingered too comfortably, Nicholas would break it, tenderly and eagerly, between his intrusive fingers.
Countless attempts to shake the man off had proven futile. Killing him loomed as the last resort, a drastic measure Knives preferred to avoid. Nicholas had his uses; his comically large combi-gun served its purpose, and begrudgingly, Knives admitted the man's presence eased his reluctant involvement with humans .
Knives labeled it as patience—frayed and finite. Nicholas, on the other hand, dubbed it a ridiculously short fuse. Blame couldn't rest solely on Knives; humans, with their slow learning curve, made it too easy to exhaust it. In decades spent rectifying their mistakes and saving Plants from human greed, Knives found trust in settlements scarce. A far cry from the ideal harmony he envisioned. A far cry from what he owed them.
There were moments when Knives contemplated cutting through the lowlifes, liberating his sisters to a place where they'd be cherished. Rem's or Luida's voice would count back from five in his head, all the time he could allow before humans grew nervous.
Today found him in yet another town, a desolate scrap heap sustained by the grace of one of his sisters. Her sacrifice met with overconsumption—a token of gratitude from those she fed. Knives didn't seek to see her; no one hindered his path, a glimmer of hope for the town. She suffered, but it could've been worse—Knives had witnessed far worse.
Leaning against the glass, he hoped his presence offered solace, though his ability to convey emotions paled in comparison to his brother. She responded with a thrill, pressing against the glass with hands larger than his own. His sisters made him feel small in that unique way—formidable presences. Establishing a connection, he reassured her that her suffering would end here, allowing her to return to slumber when he concluded his business.
Reluctantly releasing the connection, he watched her retreat into herself, finding comfort in her cradling. Through her, he felt the network of links he wasn't quite part of—a guest in their vast, generous world.
If Knives had been wiser in his youth, if he had contemplated his actions more—
Nicholas interrupted his thoughts with words Knives chose not to hear. His gaze fixed on the human, pulled from his contemplation. The severed connection left his body wavering, but Knives steadied himself. Attempting to regain focus, he assessed Nicholas once again—unkempt hair, misplaced shades atop his head, a suit that was simultaneously too small and too large, in a perpetual state of unbuttoned chaos. Another distraction.
Today, Knives decided, would be the day it all came to an end.
Closing a distance he usually guarded with vigilance, Knives stepped into Nicholas' personal space, effectively silencing the Punisher. Without those flimsy shades obstructing his view, Knives took in the dark eyes, surprised to note the blue haloing Nicholas' irises, surrounded by a deep brown—central heterochromia, somehow fitting. If Nicholas intended to speak, his words likely perished on his lips when Knives reached forward.
Both men looked down to where Knives touched over Nicholas' chest. The expression on Nicholas' face would have amused Knives if it weren't for the fact that this was a desire he harbored since the day their paths crossed.
Slender fingers traced over surprisingly soft fabric, brushing up to adjust the dress shirt underneath the black ensemble. He smoothed out the fabric, buttoning up both the shirt and the vest, patting the wrinkles out of the suit. Self-satisfied, Knives smiled. There. Finally . He never cared for human attire, but he knew suits were meant to be worn properly, even on a planet like this. One should have the decency to mind the sanity of others. Nicholas appeared too lazy to complete the task of dressing himself daily, and it had grated on Knives' nerves.
Stepping back, Knives admired his handiwork and the sight that had occupied his thoughts every day.
Nicholas, still stupefied, glanced between the independent plant and his now-covered chest. A tinge of warmth colored his cheeks, prompting Knives to raise an eyebrow matching the confusion on Nicholas' face.
"What was that for?" Nicholas inquired, his voice slow and measured.
"You know what that was for," Knives responded dryly, offering little explanation before resuming his task. Nicholas was a grown man, one Knives didn't need to babysit or instruct as much as he did. With things out of his constant peripheral vision, Knives could now focus on correcting the human-made mess before him, as usual. It took considerable effort for Knives not to simply take the plant away in the first place. She would only stay because she had extended her reach to him and asked him to.
As he worked, taking wiring apart, reconnecting, and replacing parts where necessary, Knives pondered over the aging technology. Meddling fingers had cut through and made modifications, but Knives could at least see the reasons behind them, making the work less irritating. Hands had moved unknowingly, with an intention to fix rather than break.
There were settlements far more reckless when it came to the one thing that kept their bellies full and hearts soothed. Reckless and intemperate, time and time again. With her back in her rest, Knives could focus on returning her to her carefully made bed. Years down the line, he would check on her again and hope once again the humans had learned.
As the metallic plating clicked back into place, Knives surveyed the now respectable order he had created from the previous chaos. Turning his attention to the terminals, he sighed at the unnecessary meddling of humans who should have left well enough alone. The manual override had set the Plant on a course toward imminent death, but Knives corrected the values back to their proper settings. Glancing at the suffering yet now optimally situated plant in its tank, he found a measure of satisfaction.
The once-flooded red glow in the plant room subdued into a calming blue as Knives leaned back, having ensured the terminals were tamper-proof. With the data in place and the wiring properly fixed, the Plant could now rest eternally, providing without the looming threat of decay. The life wasn't appealing to him, but connecting with his sisters over the years had taught him that they were content, existing in their own way. With proper care, they would be none the wiser—an insight he had gained after they descended upon this planet.
Throughout the maintenance, Nicholas had been blissfully quiet, a rare occurrence Knives might have praised him for if compliments didn't inflate the man's ego. When Knives turned to face him, he found Nicholas still looking shell-shocked. Puzzled, Knives tilted his head. This reaction wasn't entirely new; perhaps there was something he hadn't noticed. Glancing down at himself, he found no changes induced by his sisters' proximity. Knives returned a quizzical gaze to Nicholas.
"What," he demanded, attempting to keep his tone somewhat friendly.
Nicholas' mouth opened, closed, opened again, and clicked shut once more. Knives might have compared him to a fish, but he resisted the urge, refusing to explain what fish were if he did—they'd covered too many animals already. The lack of an answer wore on Knives' patience. He cocked his head and clicked his tongue to hasten a response.
"You're a handful," Nicholas remarked eventually, laughing while grabbing at his own face. Knives noted a hint of franticness in the laughter. "You walk around in that tight little number all day, but I'm the one getting my rack covered up." If Knives didn't know any better, he might have mistaken the tone for amusement. Knives snorted. "You are pouting," Knives stated, earning himself an eye-roll. "If you like the draft so much, feel free to undo my work."
"And give you a show? I'll pass," Nicholas shrugged, the fabric of his now buttoned suit jacket moving taut over his broad chest.
Knives hummed low in his throat, thoughtful. Maybe the issue wasn't quite as resolved as he had assumed; all he did was change the package, not the contents.
"Dude, can you stop staring at my tits?" Nicholas laughed, raising a brow at Knives.
Knives huffed indignantly, making his way out of the plant room. "I was thinking," he answered, flicking his hand through the air as he passed Nicholas.
Footsteps followed, and they resumed their usual daily routine. Nicholas, true to form, trailed behind Knives. Despite Knives' efforts to shake him off, Nicholas always found a way to locate him.
Knives didn't make it particularly difficult, either. Wherever he went, he either garnered hero status for helping a Plant or left a mess of humans in his wake. His tolerance wore thin quickly, but he rarely attacked first—a sin he forgave himself.
"So, where to next, pointy?" Nicholas hummed behind him. Once they left the room, Nicholas lit his cigarette—a thoughtful touch, Knives had to admit. "Are you gonna lecture them, or are we just leaving?"
Knives hummed in response, leaving Nicholas to interpret the ambiguous sound. One day, Nicholas might become fluent in the language of Knives , but today wasn't that day. The answer came swiftly when Knives pushed past the settlers without a word. They offered no protest, and Knives didn't expect any. Humans feared him, and that was precisely how it should be. Perhaps the fear would linger behind glassy eyes, making them think twice before taking a Plant for granted again.
He had set protocols in place that shouldn't be easily overridden. Now, his sibling could rest while these humans made do with whatever kindness they were shown. Knives neither expected nor desired gratitude; his actions were never for them, but for what he owed his family.
The line of thought gave him pause, literally. Nicholas nearly walked into him.
"You're an utter brick wall sometimes," Nicholas complained, side-stepping to reach Knives' side. "I should put brake lights on you."
Knives glanced at him thoughtfully, keeping his gaze fixed. A part of him enjoyed the visible unease that still lingered in Nicholas. The man never avoided Knives' eyes, but Knives couldn't miss the slight shrinkage that occurred under it. Knives hadn't given himself a goal before; he wandered without aim, usually following the sense of unease leading him to his abused siblings. Decades had passed, but it seemed never-ending. He hadn't realized how many of them had fallen to Gunsmoke when he was younger, how much humans had multiplied, resorting to desperate measures to thrive . There didn't seem to be an end in sight, and Knives wasn't aware he was chasing one.
"Why do you follow me, again?" Knives asked Nicholas. As usual, Nicholas shrugged in response. "Got nothing else to do." They both knew it was a lie, but neither pressed the issue.
"So, where to next?" Nicholas asked again, walking ahead while Knives followed. They left the building, people scrambling to make way. Knives spared his surroundings little attention; it was like any other town, crowded with people and roads made of sand and dust. He was eager to leave, welcoming the isolating spread of dunes in front of them. "Why don't you tell me," Knives hummed, grinning ruefully when Nicholas looked questioningly back at him. "Is that a joke? Are you joking?" the man deadpanned, and Knives helpfully shrugged.
"If you're making me lead, we're going to a bar, and I'm getting beer, food, and a bed," Nicholas warned, expecting Knives to realize his supposed mistake.
"You're not making me socialize," Knives replied, crossing his arms.
Nicholas laughed and shook his head. "Wouldn't even dare dream of it. Just go brood in your room and let me live a little."
It was a compromise Knives was willing to make, if only to ensure the settlement wouldn't immediately try to meddle with his work overnight.
⁂
Somehow, Knives found himself in a chair too small at a table too low for him. He glared holes through the plate set out in front, willing it to wither away on the spot, while Nicholas slid his glass with a vicious yellow liquid toward him. It couldn't be beer; this could not possibly be beer.
The face he gifted Nicholas had the other man barely holding back a snort. "Don't look like that; no one puked on your plate," Knives wished they did. "I thought you said I could be in my room," Knives complained, pushing the plate of food away in distaste before glancing around the room. It smelled here; people were loud, the lights were too bright, and the music grated like nails on chalk in his head. "You heard the man; the rooms are being cleaned. We gotta wait before you can have your little beauty nap."
Why did he willingly suffer this man? This had to be self-flagellation at this point.
Sighing with defeat, Knives sank back in his chair, eyeing the brew in front of him with temptation. "There ya go, relax," Nicholas drawled, taking his own glass and swallowing it down with mouthfuls. Forgoing the food entirely, Knives relented and took his own glass—downing it listlessly. If alcohol was good for anything, it was to dull Knives' burning senses, overstimulated with noise and light. Nicholas knew this, ever observant, and seduced him with the liquid whenever given the chance. Knives should know better than to fall for it each time the man roped him into staying the night at the places they visited. The food he hadn't managed down Knives' throat yet , but the independent could only imagine it was a victory Nicholas was set on chasing as well. One Knives might submit to.
From here on, it was waiting for his retreat, listening to Nicholas ramble as he felt the buzz flow through him. His glass got refilled, and Knives drank it down just as unenthusiastically. At least he'd sleep well for once. He didn't entirely miss the sand that would make its home between crevices when they slept out in the open. Maybe they should get a car, or any other mode of transport. Knives had stubbornly traveled by feet for decades, but a change of pace wouldn't exactly kill him. He'd found himself adapting to a lot of things in a short span of time, recently.
"When you do that thing," Nicholas began, pulling Knives' focus back on him as he gestured around his own face. "The glowing thing, what does that mean exactly?"
Knives raised an eyebrow; his 'glowing thing' wasn't exactly a secret between them, but Nicholas hadn't quite asked about it before. "My markings ," Knives corrected, "don't mean anything; they're just a part of my biology."
Nicholas looked at him expectantly, and Knives realized he was supposed to continue. "They're always there; you just don't see them," Knives didn't like talking about himself. "The glowing is just—when I connect with my sisters, the bond makes itself known through it."
It's all he'll give Nicholas, for now. The man's curiosity seems to be sated as he nods sagely, humming into his glass as he finishes the last of it.
In truth, Knives doesn't know that much about himself. There has been a lot of self-discovery in the past century and more. There wasn't exactly anything about independent plants before him and his brother; the only one there was humans had torn apart and broken. Everything about them was new, undiscovered, unknown. Hells, humans barely knew a thing about the Plants they made in the first place, believing them unsentient to start with.
"You see them as sisters," Nicholas notes, like the thought just entered him. Knives blinked at him in response. "Yes," he responds, the answer obvious. "But they're not—not like your brother, right?"
Nicholas was entering territory Knives had disclosed as off-limits before. Knives could admire him for it; Nicholas was getting bolder with him—testing the red lining Knives had placed around and between them.
"My brother," Knives warned, a reminder of the waters Nicholas intended to breach. Nicholas didn't falter, looking at Knives receptively, his expression entirely too open. "Is my twin," he finished, leaving it at that. Nicholas hummed, placing his empty glass down. Knives could see the man thinking, but Nicholas didn't opt to share it. Knives wasn't about to ask.
When the waitress came over, Knives expected another refill, guarding his glass while Nicholas eagerly scooted his over. She smiled apologetically, "Sorry for the wait; your room is ready." Best news he'd heard yet. Knives rose from his seat immediately, not sparing Nicholas a word or anyone else a greeting as he made his way through the saloon. His limits were reached, and he wanted sleep—blissful hours of nothing before repeating the same cycle again and again. They leave, they wander, they find a town, and Knives finds a sister thriving or suffering. Knives fixes it, any measure as preferable as the other, and they leave again.
The transition from the noisy saloon to the quiet hallway was abrupt. The smell of fresh paint and sterile cleanliness greeted him as he made his way to the room. Knives held the key in his hand, ready to crash into his bed.
Nicholas followed, not quite ready to let the conversation drop. Knives had hoped the man stayed moments longer, that he would be far gone into slumber to notice Nicholas entering their room and stumbling into his own bed. "So," he began, undeterred by the silent treatment. "What's it like being a twin? I mean, I've grown up surrounded by tykes, but I've never shared a womb with someone.”
Knives shot him a sidelong glance, his expression unreadable. "It's different," he replied curtly. "You'll never understand." No one could ever hope to understand.
Nicholas shrugged, not deterred by Knives' less-than-enthusiastic response. "Fair enough. You ready for that beauty nap?"
Knives turned the key, the lock clicking open. He pushed the door ajar and stepped into the dimly lit room. It was small, but it had their beds, and that was all Knives really needed. They might be sharing the place, but the beds were separated by a wall, and thus a door for Knives to close on the man.
"Sleep well, spoons," Nicholas called after him as Knives closed the door behind him. The room was cool, cramped, and the quietness wrapped around him like a comforting shroud. Knives ignored Nicholas' parting remark and made his way to the bed.
The mattress was surprisingly comfortable, and Knives sank into it. He closed his eyes, shutting out the world outside, and let the darkness of sleep claim him.