Vash really wasn't going to shut up, was he? Not that Knives had really expected him to, but it would have been nice if he had. His eyes burned under the cold compress, the throbbing pulse behind them making him feel as though his skull would explode any moment now from the sheer pressure there. He needed painkillers, something to ease the severe discomfort he was feeling, but he could barely even think, let alone motivate himself to move. Vash's rage seemed almost secondary compared to this, the pain overriding everything else--almost.

He owed his brother an explanation...and he had promised. Maybe not in so many words, but he'd made the pledge in his own mind even though he hadn't voiced it verbally. But this--he didn't know how to explain this or...anything, really.

Finally, though, after about a full minute of silence, of wrestling with himself over what to say, Knives answered. "I couldn't help it."

His voice was no more than a whisper, the words tinged with shame...and despair. Not for the lives taken, since they had deserved what they'd gotten, but rather over his lack of control when he'd tried, even sworn to himself that he would not pick up the bloody mantle of humanity's executioner while he was here. He'd failed, though, just as he'd failed with everything else he'd ever done.

There would be no peace for him, either - not until the day he returned to the grave he'd so willingly embraced.