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I think, Knives, that there’s a world where your brother loves you. In at least one in the trillions of multiverses it must be true: Vash loves you. I think it would be rarer to find a universe where he doesn’t, actually. He loves so easily. And he loves so many.
But that doesn’t satisfy you at all, does it? Because you want him to love you more than anyone else, than everything else; for him to love you as selfishly as you love him.
There’s no use for a guardian angel, not for you. You’ve never cared about that. You just want your brother.
There’s only one problem, Knives. Your brother’s heart has always been a little too big for his chest. It’s a chronic condition, you know. Terminal. Only gets worse with time, and if you’re really unlucky?
It’ll kill him.
Will you operate? It’ll be a life-saving surgery if you could make his heart fit again. Then maybe it would stop bleeding all over the ground.
You’d like that, if Vash would just stop. If he would just listen to you. If he would put himself first for once. And if that means going under the knife, then it’s not the biggest sacrifice he’s ever made, has it?
Just cut away everything that’s bleeding, everything that makes him bleed. The cancerous tumors rotting his heart away. You’re doing it for him, because you love your brother more than anything, love him enough to hurt him if it means he’ll be saved.
You’ll save him, Knives.
Just be thorough. Wouldn’t want to miss anything malignant; to let anything survive when it shouldn’t. This is for Vash, and Vash deserves all the time and energy it takes to make him well.
Right, Knives?