Chapter Text
Nicholas was hungry.
He could cope with hunger, though, he had experience with it. It was one reason he smoked, because it kept his appetite under control. Discomfort was just something to endure, since he could go much longer without food or water than most. His stomach still emptied at the same rate as a normal human’s, however, so while going weeks without food wouldn’t kill him, he would be miserable the entire time.
He lit a cigarette, finding the slight nausea preferable to the hollow feeling. The innkeeper looked over the guestbook, her next words determining whether Nicholas would get any dinner that night. Next to him, Vash swayed, dead on his feet. Nicholas didn’t know how he was still standing, but he was grateful for it.
That morning they’d scraped themselves off the ground and dragged Angelina II out of the gorge. The two of them were plenty strong, but the sides were all loose rocks and dust, so they had to dig their heels in or slide back down. Kerryville was as good a destination as any, and a town its size would probably have a mechanic. Hopefully. At the very least, it would have work, which they sorely needed. Unfortunately, Kerryville was in the opposite direction they’d been traveling, so they’d had to double back over almost a hundred iles. The journey was made longer by Angelina II’s jury-rigged suspension. Vash told him that she’d hold as long as he kept under 50 iles per hour and tried to avoid any rough patches.
The whole damn planet was rough patches, though, so they’d spent the past day crawling over rocky hills at a snail’s pace. Any time he’d risked speeds over 35, Nicholas would swear his teeth were going to rattle out of his skull. Vash had huddled in the sidecar, scanning the horizon. Getting any sleep would have been impossible, sure, but he’d been alert the entire time. He’d claimed it was in case of engine trouble, or bandit trouble, but Nicholas figured that the shaking got him wired up.
Nicholas glanced over at Vash. He looked like death. The dim, buzzing light of the overhead lamp washed him out and made him ghostly. If Nicholas didn’t know better, he would have mistaken the dark circles under his eyes for
bruises. Vash had tried to brush his hair, but it was crunchy from gel and sand, so it stuck out like a ratty tumbleweed.
In his sweat stiff suit, Nicholas wasn’t any better. Sand stained his clothes, he was unshaven, and he knew he smelled rank. Thankfully, this place had running water, so they could get themselves sorted soon enough.
The innkeeper looked up. “Well, boys, you’re in luck. I’ve got three vacancies.” Oh praise Jesus. “There’s two singles and one double with a private shower. Take your pick. Double’s a little pricier, though, on account of the plumbing.”
Nicholas blew smoke out of the corner of his mouth. “How much more?”
She looked at him over her half moon glasses. “Singles are $$25 a night, the double is $$35. But we do have a very nice communal shower, so don’t worry about that.” The crows feet around her eyes deepened as she smiled. She smelled like stale perfume, and probably had a small handgun under the desk in case guests got rowdy.
Assuming Vash wasn’t lying about how much he had, they were down to $$44.65. They’d need at least twice that much to fix Angelina, so the smart move would be to go for one single and fight over the bed.
But Nicholas knew how private Vash was, to the point that he might pass on the chance for an actual shower if it meant avoiding being stared at. He couldn’t blame him, but he’d lost the luxury of modesty years ago.
The overhead light buzzed. Vash’s eyes were cast in shadow. His mouth still had a crust of blood where he’d bitten it after they’d set his hip. He met Nicholas’s eye and shrugged.
To hell with it. “The double, please,” Nicholas said, feeling acid rise in his throat as he forked over the money. They still had emergency rations, and they could both get work here in Kerryville, so they wouldn’t starve, but Angelina II…It was what it was. He’d handle it. They wouldn’t get anywhere in the state they were in.
Taking the key, they trudged up the stairs to the room. It was on the south face of the building, with a single window large enough to climb through overlooking a side street. Nicholas checked the bathroom, but it didn’t have any points of entry. The room was clean enough, and no nasty surprises seemed to await them. He did a routine sweep for hidden traps and assailants, anyways, out of habit. This earned him a concerned look from Vash, which Nicholas thought was rich coming from a man with a semiautomatic in his arm.
“Here,” Vash handed him their last cake of cornbread and some slices of smoked tomas. Nicholas took it, split it, and handed half back to Vash, who made a face. Not giving him time to argue, Nicholas wolfed it down and gestured towards the bathroom.
“You. Shower. Now.”
Vash frowned at him before shoving the food in his mouth and shimmying out of his coat. Before Nicholas could revel in his victory, however, Vash swallowed and said, “I have to wash my clothes. It’s gonna take a while. You go first.”
Stubborn ass never giving ground - whatever. “I gotta do laundry, too. Always best to clean your gear before yourself.” He walked into the bathroom, stripped to his boxers, and set to scrubbing the sand out of his new clothes.
Nicholas liked the new suit. It was the fanciest thing he’d ever worn, but it was sturdy enough that he wasn’t worried about a little dirt. The embroidery did make him look more like a gunslinger. What had needle-noggin called him? Right, “señor sacerdote vaquero”. He snorted. There were worse nicknames.
Vash was still working on his undersuit when Nicholas came out of the bathroom, wet clothes under one arm. He was stretched out on the floor, also in his underwear. Scar tissue rippled over his skin, and bits of metal poked out of his flesh where it held him together.
Red wet and tearing as the wounds reopened-
Nicholas blinked and kept walking to the clothes rack by the window. Vash’s coat was turned inside out and parts of his leather armor were hung out to air. He noticed a white powder worked into the seams and creases. Some kind of dry soap, in all likelihood. Clever. Nicholas considered getting some for himself.
In an attempt to give Vash some space, Nicholas went ahead and saw to the rest of his gear. If they were both busy, there was no rush, and there didn’t need to be any blame.
The late afternoon light poured orange and thick over the floorboards. Sound filtered up through the open window, but the room itself was quiet. Sprawled out mostly naked on the floor and covered in grime was not the best time to start up conversations.
Even though he studiously kept his eyes on his own shit, Nicholas could feel Vash’s gaze darting over to him every once in a while. He checked himself to see if he was doing something to set Vash off, but he wasn’t. It wasn’t that kind of look, anyways. It was appraising, like Vash wanted to gauge Nicholas’s reaction.
For a moment, it seemed like he was going to say something, but instead he fiddled with his prosthetic for a moment before it popped off. A muscle spasmed in his stump when it disconnected. Vash pulled small tools from a little leather bag and began to take it apart, cleaning as he went.
Vash was remarkably dexterous. His fingers flickered back and forth, carefully setting out each piece of the arm. When he needed to switch quickly between tools, he’d hold one in his mouth until he needed it. Nothing in the set of his broad shoulders or the focused, assured motions of his hand projected weakness.
He could leap over and plunge the tiny screwdriver into Nicholas’s throat-
Even so, seeing him spread out on the floor, stripped to his skivvies, there was something vulnerable about him. Nicholas felt like he was intruding on a private moment and tried not to stare. He was also running out of things to clean, and sitting there idle was unacceptable.
“Go ahead and get washed up, this’ll take me a few minutes,” Vash said, not looking up from his prosthetic.
“Yeah, thanks. I’ll, uh, make sure to leave hot water for you.” He dug into his pack for his pajamas and made himself scarce.
As soon as the water hit his back, he thought he would melt. Nicholas stifled a moan as he worked the dirt off his skin, not wanting Vash to pick up on any weird sounds with his sharp ears. Damn, life was really about the simple things, huh? Clean clothes, a hot shower, and a safe place to sleep. The steep cost of the room suddenly seemed worth it.
Standing in the shower, though, he couldn’t help but think about the previous day. Waking up with Vash wrapped around him had absolutely taken a toll on his overtaxed heart. He’d just done what he would have with any of his foster siblings, and Vash had acted like he’d given him the world. Poor bastard. Poor idiot bastard, letting Nicholas lead him to his doom. He deserved better, but he was the only one who stood a chance in hell of stopping Millions Knives.
Is that your excuse?
It was his reason. If he could remove the existential threat to the future Knives posed, he would. Judas was a saint, too, wasn’t he?
Outside, Vash was finishing work on his prosthetic. Nicholas whiled away the remaining time by lighting a cigarette and leaning out the window. That was another benefit to smoking: he was automatically occupied with the flick of a wrist. Staring out of a window could be pensive instead of awkward.
Kerryville was bigger than Crystal Springs and Galverston combined. Still no Plant (present company excepted, Nicholas thought wryly), but it was a local trading hub for this whole stretch. Caravans would come in and out, dropping off goods from the deep desert. Music drifted in from the central square a couple of streets over. Across the rooftops some stalls were visible, and the smell of frying food made Nicholas’s stomach growl. Best of all, he heard delighted shrieks as kids ran around and played. Twinkling lights winked on as the suns set.
A few minutes earlier Vash had put his arm back together, but left it on the table when he went to take his shower. When he emerged in a cloud of steam, Nicholas noted that he kept it off, tying his sleeve back.
Vash shivered and pulled the quilt off the bed, wrapping it around himself. “Ugh, that’s better. Do you mind closing the window? It’s so cold in here,” he grumbled. He looked less wretched with the blood and dirt off of his face, but his puffball hair always reminded Nicholas of something you’d sweep out from under the couch.
Obligingly, Nicholas stubbed out his smoke and closed the window. “Are you planning on sharing, needle-noggin, or am I gonna have to find another blanket for myself?”
Vash shot him an exaggeratedly fed up look. “No, I was going to make you sleep on the floor. Of course we’re sharing, but let a guy warm up first, jeez.”
Hey, needle-noggin, nice to have you back, Nicholas thought. “So, what’s the plan for tomorrow? ‘Cause we’re in a bit of a pickle.”
“I like pickles.”
“Focus, Spikey. Now,” Nicholas leaned back into one of the room’s rickety chairs, “you did a hell of a job fixin’ Angelina II, it must be said. But if I have to go out on her again in the state she’s in, I’m gonna lay in front of the next sandsteamer. Am I right in assuming you feel the same?” Vash nodded. “Right. We’re also down to $$9.65, which is why we’re not feastin’ on that ambrosia I smelled earlier. We don’t have enough for another night here, or to fix the bike, or to eat.”
“Hm. And this is not an edible pickle, which is a shame.”
Nicholas snorted. “A damn shame. Looks like tomorrow’s gonna be a long day of hard work for the two of us, huh?”
Vash sighed. “Yep. I’ll get as much done as I can. I haven’t been here before, so I don’t know anyone, but I’ll get us some cash.” He yawned hugely-Jesus CHRIST those teeth! They weren’t noticeable most of the time, but Nicholas never forgot their size and sharpness. He remembered Vash biting straight through a tin can like it was nothing. He kind of wanted to stick his hand in Vash’s mouth and poke around in there. “You’ll be plying your trade, I assume?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah. No use in letting the seminary training go to waste.”
A thoughtful expression crossed Vash’s face. “Hey, Wolfwood, can I ask you something?”
Oh this should be fun. Every time Vash asked a question it was an absolute toss-up as to whether it’d be relevant to the conversation or the most buckwild shit Nicholas had ever heard. “Shoot.”
“What do you do in places where no one’s Christian?” He tilted his head. “There are lots of places where other faiths are more prominent. So, what do you do there?”
Verdict: normal question. “I do what any man of the cloth would. I ask if there’s work washing dishes.”
The pistol was heavy in his hands. It was a familiar weight, and comforting in its own way. Nicholas crept through the training ground, footfalls silent even in his thick boots. Gray concrete and corrugated metal walls hemmed him in and directed him like a rat in a maze. The lights were dim in order to test the development of his senses under the influence of the procedures. He barely needed the light, and he could hear the thrum of electricity in the walls and, just faintly, the heartbeat of his target.
Above him, cameras reported his movements back to the assessment room. Nicholas was always exceptional, but today he had to be perfect. Chapel was watching, and his performance would determine his eligibility to the advanced ranks. Whether or not he’d ever take Communion.
The task was simple. Seek and destroy without being detected, and exit the operation zone within the time limit. Nicholas had the highest training scores of anyone in his unit, and all of the deacons complimented his form. He was the most skilled seminarian the Eye had seen in years, and he fought tooth and nail to keep that distinction.
He was cold and quiet as he wove through the maze. He was On Mission, so anything not related to the mission was safely secured for later access. If he ever accessed it at all. He was finding it more convenient to simply cast off anything that wasn’t pertinent. It made him a better seminarian, which meant he’d be a better operative, which meant he’d finally be strong enough to protect them.
As he crept around a corner, he had his target’s back in his sights. In one smooth motion he brought the handgun up, aimed, and fired. Two shots connected perfectly center mass, dropping the target. Nicholas walked up to the prone figure.
“Double tap to be double sure,” Brother Francis would always say. Nicholas hated how catchy that inane phrase was. Nevertheless, he was about to make double sure when the target looked back at him, blood barely visible on the red coat.
It was Vash.
Nicholas dropped to his knees, the blood hot against his bare shins. “No. No no no. Needle-noggin? Vash? I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry no no stay with me.” He pressed his hands to Vash’s middle, but the blood wouldn’t stop. It kept gushing out of him in a torrent until it puddled in Nicholas’s socks.
“This is your mission, Nicholas.” Chapel stood directly behind him. His presence squeezed Nicholas’s lungs in a vice. “Finish the work.”
Nicholas watched in horror as his arm raised to rest the barrel directly between Vash’s sad blue eyes.
He squeezed the trigger.
His eyes flew open. His heart hammered in his chest, but he stayed still.
Observe your surroundings. Assess the situation. Determine any potential threats.
He was lying down in a dark, mid-size room, his pistol within reach. There were ambient sounds of people sleeping nearby, and some strange humming behind him. The mattress-he was on a mattress, under a quilt-sloped slightly, meaning there was something heavy behind him. Probably whatever was making that noise.
Wait. Wait, he knew that sound.
It was Vash.
Memory finally caught up to him and he exhaled shakily. Fuck, that was a hellacious nightmare. He rolled onto his back to have a better view of the room and to stop the spine-prickle feeling of someone behind him. Glancing over, he saw that Vash was pretending to sleep. The low, constant hum he had in place of a heartbeat was a higher pitch than it would be if he were unconscious. Fine. Nicholas didn’t want to talk. He wanted to think.
The exact wording of the mission was to protect Vash and escort him to Knives. These two objectives were immovable. He wasn’t on any explicit schedule, but the longer Knives waited, the more towns he’d wipe off the map in a petulant bid for Vash’s attention. Fucking child.
Speaking of children, Nicholas had to complete this mission because his dumb ass had accidentally put Hopeland up as collateral. Knives obviously knew he wasn’t Chapel, but thought he was competent enough for his purposes. Hell, he probably thought the whole thing was funny, and kept this particular sword of Damocles nice and sharp, threatening to inform Chapel of his impersonation. So Nicholas had to find the sweet spot where he could keep up appearances enough to be left alone in order to cause some real damage.
As for Chapel…his chest hitched involuntarily when he thought of the bloody ruin he’d made of his confessor. The nightmare made everything a shade too fresh to think about. But he’d have to, eventually.
Next to him, Vash shifted and murmured, “Double penny for your thoughts.” Done faking sleep, then.
“‘S nothin’. Lettin’ my mind wander, is all.”
Vash hummed noncommittally. “I hope it’s a nice journey.”
Nicholas looked over at him. “What?”
“You’re…you’re wandering. Going somewhere. Nevermind, bad joke.” He cracked an eye open. It glowed, the light just this side of visible.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you tell a good joke, needle-noggin,” Nicholas replied. Vash, always a good sport, kicked him in the shin. He chuckled. “Go to sleep. You’ve gotta be up early, anyways.”
“Auh?”
“Y’know. Your training thing. Get rid a’summa that juice.” His body was starting to fill up with lead. He blinked slow, Vash’s face going in and out of focus.
“But we’re sharing a room,” Vash protested.
“Don’t care. You missed a day and your leg fell off.” He yawned, the cold night air filling his lungs and making him feel clean.
“It didn’t-”
“Shush. I’m right. Go t’sleep.”
Rolling his eyes, Vash shuffled further under the quilt until only the top of his head was visible. Nicholas sank back into his pillow and let sleep pull him down.
The next morning Vash had gotten up early, and Nicholas had slept like the dead until six. After they both finished getting ready for the day, they wished each other luck and set out to get some work, agreeing to meet at the square at five to tally their earnings.
Punisher over one shoulder, he wandered through the town. He wasn’t as priestly in the cowboy jacket, but a huge cross was a huge cross, and his clergyman’s charm got him plenty of attention. It didn’t take long to find folks in need of a confession, or a baptism, or just some advice. The logistics of being a traveling priest were surprisingly straightforward: after taking the measure of a place, he’d find the nearest person wearing a cross and ask them where a man of God such as himself might be needed. In towns without a church, like this one, they’d usually ask him for his services direct. Most of them had a decent list of blessings and absolutions that they needed to get done, same as any chore. Come noon, he’d already heard confession from fifteen people, performed three baptisms, and said last rites over the grave of an old woman two weeks passed.
His fee was never stated up front. It was bad for business and made him look greedy. Instead he’d wait until after, and go forth hat in hand and humbly ask for whatever could be spared. This gave him good will in the community, which was more important than cash up front. So when he mentally calculated his earnings, he was simply glad that he’d have enough for another night in the hotel. Fixing his Father Wolfwood mask firmly in place, he continued to tend to his ad hoc flock.
Five o clock saw Nicholas moseying to the square, dizzy with dehydration. His canteen had been conscripted into the Lord’s service. This set it firmly off limits, because no one would trust a priest who slurped down the holy water before he sprinkled it onto the foreheads of his congregation.
For over ten hours he’d been on his feet. The neat bundle of bills in his pocket was worth the effort, but he was feeling the strain, just a bit. The suns had baked his skull, and every cigarette only made his queasiness worse. He hadn’t stopped for lunch, since Angelina II’s repairs were bound to eat up the majority of his earnings, and the hotel room cost would devour the remainder. His hopes now rested on Vash’s ability to charm strangers into feeding him like a stray. If that fell through, though, he’d manage.
Needle-noggin didn’t seem to be anywhere, but as Nicholas looked around he saw a few people hovering around a motorcycle.
His motorcycle.
He picked up the pace, feeling anger spark in his chest. These people were gathered around and laughing and touching his fucking bike. What was she doing here? He’d parked her in front of the hotel a few streets over! The everloving FUCK were they doing with HIS GODDAMN BIKE?
One of the bastards glanced his way and waved. Over the chatter of the crowd he faintly heard his name. Before he had a chance to wonder how this shitheel knew him, he saw Vash’s head pop up.
“Wolfwood! Hey, how’s it going?” Vash loped over, grinning nice and wide.
Knock his teeth out.
Tempting, but Nicholas kept his anger on a tight leash when he was in crowds.
“Spikey,” he growled, “what are you doing with my bike.”
Vash’s face turned placating. “Please listen for just a minute before you kick my ass. These people are all motorcycle enthusiasts, and they’re going to fix Angelina II, but they needed some space to take a look at her, so I suggested we come here, since you and I were going to meet here anyways.” All of this was delivered rapid-fire. “I’m so sorry I moved your bike without asking. You can kick my ass now.”
He thinks you need permission to pass judgment?
Oh shut up, Nicholas thought. He stared Vash down for a long moment, getting his temper under control. Then he yanked on his earring, making him yelp. “There. Ass kicked. How’d they know what I look like?”
Vash rubbed his ear. “Ow. I’ve been telling them about you! They love the work you’ve done on Angelina. I think you’ve got fans. Come meet them, they’re cool.” He made to head back to the group, but Nicholas stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.
“First tell me the damage, Spikey.” Nicholas braced himself and prayed to St Columbanus that the wad of bills in his pocket would be enough.
“Well, Esther needs to order a few parts, and we will have to pay for that, but if you’ll let them take a look at some of your mods, Neil and Simone will do the installation and tune up gratis.” Vash gave him a searching look. “Is that okay with you?”
Nicholas set the Punisher down in front of him and leaned on it. “I’d let them take me apart gratis. Fuck, needle-noggin, what’re you, a wizard?” Thank you Lord Jesus Christ amen.
Vash laughed that wild laugh. He ushered Nicholas over to the group. A middle aged man with a long brown ponytail grinned at him as they shook hands. “Wolfwood! Hey, man, nice to put a face to the stories. Alex here has been telling us all about you. I’m Neil, I drive for the caravans when I’m not working on bikes. Your Angelina is a work of art, man, you should be proud. ”
Alex, huh. “Thank you kindly. She’s my baby, I’ve gotta do right by her.” After the anger and sudden relief, he was starting to get a little woozy.
“You’ve definitely done right,” said a woman with steel gray braids in mechanic’s coveralls. “I’m Simone, I was just waiting on you to put in the order for that shock and a few other things I wanted to discuss. I think Esther or Neil might have some spare bits, if they’d be willing to look.” The other two agreed to sift through their projects for something suitable. “If you’ll let me take some notes on your mods to use myself, I can get started as soon as I can. She’ll probably be ready day after tomorrow.”
Nicholas felt a touch shivery, the day catching up with him. “It’s a rare thing to find such generous and kind hearted folks. Whatever you need to do, you have my full permission.” They shook on it.
Vash had been watching him with growing concern. “You doing okay, Wolfwood? You don’t look so good.”
It took a little longer to respond than it should have. “Yeah, I’m just tired. Whaddya say we grab some dinner after this?”
But that pause was all Vash needed. He gestured to some folding chairs the mechanics had brought with them to shoot the shit as they cooed over Angelina II. “Hey, let’s take a load off. If I know you, you’ve been going non stop all day. Want some of my water? It was a real scorcher.”
Nicholas sat down and his legs immediately checked out. Treacherous bastards. “Yeah. Wait, huh? Oh, yeah, water, thanks, needle-noggin.” He sipped at the canteen slowly so he wouldn’t get sick. But the water made his stomach cramp, and he couldn’t hide the grimace of pain before Vash saw it. His face froze for a fraction of a second before he was up.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m huuungry! I can get us dinner if you’ll spot me some cash. Sorry, I was with these guys most of the day, I know that’s lazy!” He scratched at the back of his head in mock contrition.
Nicholas resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Like Vash hadn’t been spending God knew how many hours convincing these people to work for free without them even realizing that’s what he was doing. If he needed to keep up the act, that was fine. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a few bucks. “Bring back donuts and I’ll kill you.”
Vash stuck his tongue out. “You’re no fun.” Then he was off in a swish of red.
While Vash was gone getting dinner, Nicholas chatted with Simone, Esther, and Neil. They were all locals, and they’d been interested in bikes longer than Nicholas had been alive. Simone ran the repair shop for the whole town, which is how she’d met Neil, who’d come in to get his rig checked before and after he went into the sand ocean. Whatever parts were needed, Esther supplied. Either they made something themself or they sourced it from their network of gearheads. Nicholas understood how Vash had managed to pass the day talking to these folks, even if he’d had an ulterior motive.
“Yeah, Alex came over offering to do some grunt work at the shop, but we got to talking,” Esther said. “He’s a cool guy, funny too. I was gonna pay him, of course, but he asked if I could look at Angelina II instead.”
“Hey, what happened to Angelina I?” Neil asked, taking a puff from a cheroot he’d pulled from his pocket.
“Bad Lads grenade.” Nicholas made the sign of the cross. “Requiescat in pacem.”
Neil winced.
Nicholas caught a flash of red out of the corner of his eye. Vash wove through the crowd, a paper bag clutched in his arms. He saw Nicholas and waved with his elbow.
“Mission success! No donuts, because I don’t want to die, even though they’re totally worth it.” He parked himself in one of the lawn chairs. “I thought it would be rude for us to be the only ones eating, so I got some worm kebabs and fries to share.” He pulled out a box and placed it on the folding table with Simone’s radio. “Here you go, Wolfwood.”
The box he passed Nicholas was heavy and smelled delicious. He tore it open as politely as possible and started to eat before he even realized what it was. Tomas kebab with actual fresh vegetables. He saw that Vash’s portion was a lot smaller, and he was picking at the fries. Wordlessly, he passed him one of the skewers. They had a brief, intense staring match as Nicholas made it very clear that he was not going to budge. Vash looked away first, conceding defeat with a bite of bell pepper.
After the suns set, Simone took Angelina II back to her shop. Nicholas had warmed enough to her that he didn’t feel like lunging after his bike. Mostly. Vash and Nicholas said their goodbyes to Neil and Esther and paid for another night in the hotel.
Nightly showers were a luxury neither man was going to pass up, so they got cleaned up before sitting at the room’s tiny table to play cards. At least, that’s what Nicholas thought was going to happen, but Vash leaned back in his chair, folded his arm across his chest, and stared at him.
“The hell’s with the face?”
Vash sighed and grabbed the deck. “When I saw you this afternoon you looked like you were going to collapse.” He deftly shuffled the cards one handed. Nicholas had to drag his eyes away from Vash’s long, graceful fingers. “I’ve seen heat stroke victims who looked better. Didn’t you get any food?”
“I was more worried about havin’ a place to sleep and a way to haul ass if needed, but thanks for your concern.”
Vash dealt. “I am concerned. Working your ass off after three days with hardly anything to eat is dangerous. What if something had happened to you?” There was a pleading note in his voice.
“Oh, like you’re one to talk.” Nicholas was familiar with Vash’s own bad habits, and resented being on the receiving end of his hypocrisy. “Lemme ask you this: did you take a breather from your little puppet show to grab a snack?”
Anger flashed in Vash’s eyes for a moment, and Nicholas thought he was going to argue. But, to his surprise, he didn’t. Instead, he turned his head to the side, thinking. For all his endless, electric energy, Vash could go so still at times. Only the slow rise and fall of his chest indicated that he was even alive.
Finally, he spoke. “That was patronizing of me, I apologize. You’re an adult, and I have no right to lecture you. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
“Who the hell are you and what have you done with Vash?” The suns had gotten to Nicholas a lot more than he’d thought if he was hallucinating this vividly.
Vash groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “ Come on, Wolfwood, I’m trying to be nice!”
Nicholas furrowed his brow in confusion. “Thanks, I guess, but why are you talkin’ like that?”
“Because I’m trying really hard not to be a jackass! Look,” he planted his arm on the table and leaned over. “I’m not doubting your competency. You’re obviously more than capable of taking care of yourself. But I’m here to help if you want me to. It’s like you told me; you don’t have to do this alone.”
Nicholas wanted his sunglasses. Anything to put some distance between himself and whatever the hell Vash was up to. He kept his shoulders down by sheer force of will. “Refresh my memory, Spikey. When did I say that?”
“When you helped me with my hip,” Vash said, finally blinking.
Oh, right. Nicholas had said a lot of shit he’d hoped they’d silently agreed to never acknowledge again. Apparently, Spikey was on some talking kick because they’d both come face to face with his alien nature. Or whatever. Vash could do all the talking he wanted, but Nicholas was under no obligation to join in.
“Oh yeah. When your leg fell off.”
Once again, Vash surprised him by not rising to the bait. He propped his elbow on the table and extended his hand. “We’re in this together, Wolfwood. You’re the one who made me realize that.”
Nicholas huffed. “You’re really not gonna let this one go, are you?”
“Nope.”
“Spikey, you just may be stubbornest bastard I’ve ever met.” He leaned over the table and high-fived Vash, then brought their hands back together in a solid grip. “You ever think about goin’ into insurance?”
Vash grinned, and it was warm and sharp with mischief, so Nicholas knew it was real. “Ante.”
They played a few hands, Vash eventually managing to work himself out of whatever mood he’d been in. No matter how flush with cash they were, they only ever played double penny ante, since it kept the tension down. Both men were sharp as hell, and Nicholas had the sneaking suspicion that Vash counted cards. If he did, it didn’t amount to as much as it should have, because Nicholas could call his bluff almost every time.
The little room got chilly, and Nicholas felt his eyelids start to droop. It had been a productive day, but a long one. Across from him, Vash set his cards down to rub briskly at his chest and arm.
“Hey, I think I might turn in soon, the cold’s getting to me. You can stay up, I don’t mind.”
All of the Punisher’s ammo had melted and been poured into Nicholas’s bones. “Nah, I’m dead tired, needle-noggin. What time is it, anyhow? Feels late.”
Vash folded. “It’s only 8:27, but I can’t keep my eyes open.”
Gathering up the cards, Nicholas did a quick check of the room. Door and window locked, lights showing no sign of tampering, nothing shoved under the bed or in cupboards. All set. “No reason to. I know I’m gonna sleep well after today, damn.”
“Maybe tomorrow I can go see if there’s some part time work.” Vash crawled under the covers, laying on his right side. His good side, Nicholas reminded himself.
“Hm? No need, needle-noggin. Keep charmin’ old folks into givin’ you shit, I got the cash covered.” Nicholas closed the curtain and was about to turn off the light when Vash sat up.
“But we need more money, Wolfwood, and you shouldn’t have to kill yourself to get it. I’ve worked in kitchens before, it’s no problem, really.”
“I appreciate it, but it’s no trouble.” He sighed, “I may have overdone it today, but there was work needed doin’, so…I did it.” He shrugged. “I mean, damn, folks out here are so starved for the Lord’s guidance that we’re back up to $$127.64, and that’s after dinner and the room. We’re good, don’t sweat.”
As he’d talked, Vash had gone still again. Once you realized that most of his mannerisms were affectations, he became surprisingly hard to read. But Nicholas was good at figuring folks out, and he saw the mournful edge to Vash’s eyes. Then he was back in motion, grinning big and goofy as he said “Guess that means you’re treating me to breakfast!”
Nicholas rolled his eyes and turned off the light.