Chapter Text
These days it was harder than ever to ignore the ache deep within his bones. It wasn’t just from the knotted scar tissue anymore, those indelible marks from wounds that had never really healed, nor from the port on his arm and the constant jarring of metal lodged within him. Now, it was like even his very soul was weighed down by their phantom pains. Every movement exhausted him. Over the long days and months that followed his final confrontation with his brother, he had come to realise it was not only his gate he had depleted in that fight, but all his energy entirely.
It had become habit to wait for the world to stop spinning every time he stood up, battling the blackness that invaded his vision while plastering on a smile for the sake of his companions. He couldn’t let them see how weak he had become. He also couldn’t allow himself to rest, not while his very presence put them all at risk from all those still after him. If Chronica found him, he held no delusions about what his own fate would be. But perhaps if he was strong enough, ready enough, he’d be able to buy enough time for the others to escape.
Wolfwood would not die again. Not on his account.
So he trudged from day to day, pretending he wasn’t, his gun never far from his side and his sleep never uninterrupted. There were other things, too, that he was finding more difficult to hide now he’d lived through his Last Run. Or part of him had, at least. It wasn’t that he had ever forgotten his inhumanity, but as his energy ebbed, so had his ability to hide it. Feathers sprouted unbidden across his cheekbones, forcing him to lock himself in the bathroom until the bleeding had stopped and his tweezers were clean of the evidence. Other times, his carefully trained vocal chords betrayed him and the words that left his throat crackled and pitched like no human speech ever had. And rarely, in the hours before dawn, curled up around the miracle by his side, a low rumble would rise through his chest, giving him the only true reprieve from the agony etched into his skeleton, if only for a moment. Then Wolfwood would shift in his sleep, and the fear that he might wake and discover yet another reason to leave Vash was enough to destroy the moment of calm and restore the uninterrupted, aching silence of the night.
Wolfwood had seen him worse. Of that, Vash was fully aware. The look of horror that Wolfwood had given him when he’d first seen his true form was branded forever into his memories. Vash wasn’t sure he’d survive becoming an object of disgust for Wolfwood, not again, not now.
So, he hid.
He hid, pushing his body from one day to the next, swallowing his grimaces and trying to ignore the distance that was undeniably spreading like a tumour between himself and the rest of the world. A distance which gaped wide like a canyon, even as he took his daily communion, kneeling between Wolfwood’s thighs in his favourite form of prayer. There, he could pretend the tears spilling down his cheeks were nothing more than a basic physiological response, that there was a normal explanation for why he found it increasingly hard to meet Wolfwood’s scrutinising, knowing , gaze. Vash had always craved the feeling, not quite of being used, but of giving, of pleasuring. He ached to be an acolyte of Wolfwood's ministry, to put mind, body and soul into Wolfwood's callused hands and let him mould every fibre of his being into pure devotion. But the distance was growing, growing like Vash's fear of being seen and discarded, of being known, judged and deemed unfit for love. Perhaps it grew because of it. When he dared glance up, the forlorn, wretched way Wolfwood looked down at him, tears pricking at the corners of his own eyes as Vash prostrated himself before him was enough to make him choke on sobs, unworthy in the eyes of the only one who had seen him for himself. For creatures like him, to be known was to be reviled.
At night, he allowed himself to be coaxed into the comfort of Wolfwood’s embrace, head tucked securely against the steady drum of his pulse, and they would both pretend not to have noticed how his eyes glowed orange moments before, his glasses still buried deep in his coat’s pocket.
He hid, until he couldn’t.
Perhaps the suns had been particularly oppressive in the sky that day. Perhaps something he ate hadn’t agreed with him. Or perhaps, his mind and body had finally been pushed past their limits. Either way, one early spring morning, when he went to stand, his head swam. And swam. He blinked, but the blackness resolutely refused to clear from his vision. A loud, whining drone sparked to life, filling his ears until Wolfwood’s alarmed shouts became nothing more than deadened, meaningless vibrations through leaden air.
Belatedly, as his body crumpled under him and the world descended into nothingness, he realised the noise was coming from him.
When he came to, Wolfwood was standing over him, arms folded and features contorted into a disappointed frown. Vash immediately snapped his eyes shut again, but his days of being able to knock himself out on will were over, and he’d never been able to fool Wolfwood, not really.
“Needles,” Wolfwood’s stern tone left no room for debate. Almost petulant, Vash opened his eyes once more, but this time his gaze remained firmly fixed on the collarbone peeking out from under his lapel. He did not have the courage to look any higher, to see what expression of disgust or loathing might be painted on Wolfwood’s face. In the absence of the truth, though, his imagination was all too ready to fill in the blanks.
“Are yer really gonna do this? Really, Needle-noggin?”
Vash maintained his empty stare and vacant expression as a wildfire swept through his chest, laying waste to sinew and cartilage on its inexorable path towards his heart.
Wolfwood’s arms dropped to his side as he sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. Vash expected him to turn and leave, hoped he would, even. Instead, he sat down heavily onto the mattress beside him and with a gentle palm, cupped Vash’s face.
He flinched at the touch, tired muscles screaming as he tensed. Wolfwood’s thumb began to stroke small lines across his cheek, passing over uneven bumps and ridges in his skin. A line formed between Vash’s brows as he puzzled over the sensation, then jumped back with a start. Or at least tried to. Wolfwood’s hold remained unyielding, not allowing Vash the option to flee even as his fingertips brushed across the unnatural plumage that had bloomed across the pallor of Vash’s complexion.
“Don't-” he started, voice cracked and ragged, before words dried up in his throat. Don't what? Don’t touch me? Don’t leave me? Don’t love me?
“You need to tell me what’s goin’ on.”
It wasn’t a question, but Vash shook his head all the same.
“I’m fine.”
“No you ain’t.”
Wolfwood’s thumb continued its gentle ministrations. Vash fought the urge to be sick.
“I am fine, really, just tired. I must not have been sleeping well recently, that’s all.” There. If he admitted to one malady maybe Wolfwood would stop hounding after the real answer. “You know, if you leave me alone now, I’m sure I can catch up on some sleep.”
As if Wolfwood wasn’t anything but stubborn. Something in his eyes flickered dark. Vash wondered which one of his bluffs Wolfwood was going to call him out on first.
“Is that what you want? For me to leave you alone?”
Fuck.
Of course Wolfwood had found the play Vash hadn’t even realised he’d made. Of course he’d ask the question to which Vash himself did not know the answer. Wolfwood looked at him inscruitably as Vash felt panic rise within him, any answer dying before it could even reach his mouth.
“If that’s what you want...”
Wolfwood rose as if to stand, as if to walk out the door and never come back, as if to leave Vash alone-
Two fists formed in the fabric of Wolfwood’s shirt, his body answering the question when his mind could not. A beat too late, Vash caught up to himself, letting the fabric drop guiltily. He prayed Wolfwood did not notice the way his flesh-and-blood hand shook from horror and adrenaline and exhaustion as it dropped limply back onto the sheets.
Wolfwood did.
“Well, that’s a start.” The bed dipped beside him as Wolfwood sat down with a weary sigh, his expression a strange mix of exhaustion, exasperation and affection. “And a good thing too since I ain’t leaving even if you did want me to.”
The two of them were every bit as selfish and stubborn as the other. They both knew that. Yet it was still disconcerting that Wolfwood did not even attempt to adopt a teasing or triumphant tone as he normally would. He sounded every bit as resigned as Vash felt.
From the angle afforded by their new position, Vash could see all the clearer the unnaturally potent devastation etched upon his handsome features by the ravages of time, a young man wearing the face of a someone twice his age. Wolfwood hadn’t noticed the first grey hairs that peaked through at the base of his neck yet, and Vash would not be the one to tell him. But as Wolfwood ran a hand over his face, tugging and distorting the dark circles under his eyes and the wrinkled lines of worry etched onto his brow, Vash was forced to reconcile with his own part in creating those marks. He refused to give himself the luxury of self-pity, blinking away any tears which threatened to form, silently vowing to stop drinking water altogether if it would prevent the flood from falling.
“What do you want, Vash?”
“I-I don’t-” Vash swore he would sew up his tear ducts as moisture sprang forth.
“You don’t know,” Wolfwood finished for him.
Vash nodded.
“But you do want me to stay.”
Vash nodded again.
When Wolfwood met his eyes again, a flicker of his old spark had returned to his gaze, the one that meant a plan was forming in his mind. Vash couldn’t tell whether to be happy or nervous.
“Well I know what I want. So why don’t you let me decide for the both of us for a bit, huh? Let yourself be the follower for a change.”
I’d follow you anywhere, Vash didn’t say. He would’ve followed him into the grave. But still, Vash opened his mouth, ready to protest. Wolfwood had no idea what he was truly getting himself into with Vash, and he refused to become another burden for Wolfwood to shoulder, obliging him to sacrifice even more of himself for Vash’s sake. Wolfwood had taken on the sins of others far too many times in the past. More than anyone, Wolfwood deserved to live for himself.
Wolfwood spoke again before Vash could find his voice.
“You’re hurting, Vash.” Exhaustion crept into his voice as he stated what they both knew to be true, speaking with the weariness of someone with first-hand experience of this particular agony. “And you’re makin’ it worse ‘cos you’re hiding yourself.”
Vash did not dare reply, head bowed low. His silence was confirmation enough.
“I’m not nice to look at,” he mumbled out eventually.
“Bullshit.” Wolfwood’s tone was harsh and uncompromising. Vash was almost shocked by the forcefulness of Wolfwood’s proclamation.
“It’s not something the people should have to see. I’m not natural -”
“Would ya say the same thing to me?” Wolfwood’s voice cut sharply through Vash’s protests, thrumming with an intensity that had previously been absent. Vash looked up, startled at the change. “Would ya say I was an unnatural freak who the kids should hide fro-”
“Of course not.” Vash said quickly, tears rapidly welling at the level of vitriol dripping from Wolfwood’s words. “Don’t talk about yourself like that!”
“But it’s okay for you to do it?”
Vash felt backed into a corner, kicking himself for not seeing the obvious rebuttal coming. He really was wearing himself ragged if he couldn’t worm his way out of an argument like this.
“Look, Needles, I get it. I’ve been there, too. But you helped me see it didn’t hav’ta be like that. Hiding yourself ain’t the answer, especially when it’s causing you this much pain.” Wolfwood’s hand moved to tuck a lock of hair behind Vash’s ear, and Vash could’ve purred at the contact, if the mere thought didn’t make Vash want to claw off his own skin in disgust. “And honestly? It hurts that you don’t trust me enough to be yourself around me, even after everything.”
Vash buried his face into the bedsheets, cheeks burning with shame. He’d put Wolfwood through more than enough suffering already, and he still couldn’t stop himself from inflicting more.
“I’m sorry,” he half-sobbed into the fabric. “I didn’t-”
“Yeah, yeah, ya didn’t mean to. But this can’t go on. Ya know I know yer not human, so stop hurting yourself pretendin’ you are for my sake.”
Knowing a fact to be true isn’t the same as being confronted with its ugly reality, Vash wanted to protest.
“...I don’t want you to see.” Vash clenched up tighter around himself despite the way his muscles ached, making a last–ditch effort to argue his cause. I don’t want you to hate what you see. I don’t want you to hate me .
“Tough shit, ‘cos I’m lookin’ and you’ll hav’ta put me back in the grave to get me to stop.”
“You shouldn’t joke about tha-”
“Will ya jus’ can it, already? I know ya ain’t human and I know you’re in pain, and only one of those things is botherin’ me. Ya want me to stay, but ya don’t want me to look. What am I supposed to do, Vash? Tell me!” Wolfwood swung his arm out wildly before reaching up to run a shaking hand through his hair. There was real desperation in Wolfwood’s voice, a sickening powerlessness that was entirely of Vash’s making.
The sound broke something within Vash, something fragile and desperate. When it came to his own pain, Vash was a certified professional at burying it and moving forward with a smile plastered on his face, but faced with Wolfwood’s suffering at Vash’s own hands, all his carefully constructed walls came crashing down with a choking sob.
The world around him became fuzzy as the full force of their combined misery came crashing over him, his lungs fighting for air as tears at long last began to fall. From over his shoulder, Wolfwood let out a plaintive noise that sounded a lot like his name, and then arms were wrapping around him, pulling Vash into an embrace and resting his head against Wolfwood’s chest, Vash’s ear pressing against the steady drum of his heart. Distantly, Vash could feel the familiar sensation of feathers pricking through his skin, yet the arms around him did not falter.
“That’s it, Needle-noggin. Let it out. I’ve got ya.”
Vash’s muscles began to tremble, the exertion of forcing his body into a human shape at long last overwhelming him. From his mouth came a wounded sound, like a wild animal caught in the hunter’s snare, and Vash knew if he could focus long enough to see his reflection in a mirror, his eyes would be emitting a faint glow.
And still Wolfwood held him, rocking him gently back and forth, all the while whispering soft reassurances against the shell of Vash’s ear. Wolfwood, who saw Vash in all his ugly truth and yet nonetheless continued to offer him nothing but love.
Wolfwood, his Wolfwood, his-
“Nico,” Vash gasped, his clawed hand shooting out to grasp Wolfwood’s. “It hurts, Nick. It hurts.”
—
Later, much later, when the twin suns had already made their bed for the night and Livio had brought them both steaming bowls of stew over from the orphanage’s dinner, Vash told Wolfwood of the aches deep within the core of his being, eyes flicking guiltily over at Wolfwood’s jaw which clenched and unclenched as Vash spoke. When Vash finished, they sat in silence, listening to the distant murmur of worms as Wolfwood digested Vash’s confession.
“Ya’know, I might have an idea. Might.” Wolfwood broke the quiet, his gaze distant in the way that meant he was deep in thought; Vash could practically see the gears in his mind whirring. “But first, ya gotta promise to stop hiding yourself from me. It’s hurting you, and that’s hurting me.”
Vash grimaced at the thought of causing Wolfwood pain, and Wolfwood gave him a knowing, unimpressed eyeroll. The schemes they had to resort to to get them to look after themselves. Vash whined at the realisation that he had been outmanouvered, aiming for playful, but rapidly cutting himself off as the noise came out more animal than human.
“Vash…” Wolfwood’s warning was tinged with exasperation. “Do ya even listen to me?”
Vash pouted.
Wolfwood flicked him in the forehead.
A small pinion fluttered to the ground between them.
“Work with me here, Needle-noggin.”
Vash opened his mouth to reply, but a scratchiness in his throat made him quickly close it again. Instead, he leaned into Wolfwood’s warmth and rumbled out his response from somewhere deep in his chest. The vibrations weren’t enough to help sooth the dull aches in his bones, just enough to test Wolfwood’s resolve not to bolt.
“That’s it.” From the angle he was at, Vash couldn’t see Wolfwood’s face, but he knew by his tone he was smiling. A delicate kiss is pressed against the spot that he’d flicked moments prior. Vash rumbled again, louder that time, closer to a purr. Shame on him for underestimating Wolfwood.
“Let’s sleep.”
Vash allowed himself to be scooped up into Wolfwood’s arms, too exhausted by the day to protest. His eyes were already beginning to flutter shut the moment he was deposited onto a mound of soft sheets, but they slid closed properly when Wolfwood joined him a minute later, curling around Vash’s body and bathing Vash in his familiar, safe presence.