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It started with a fight.
It wasn’t the first nor the last fight Vash and Wolfwood would have. They were always arguing about something, whether it be from who gets the last swig of water to ideologies. Sometimes they smoothed it over by simply not talking about it anymore and letting it settle to the background. Sometimes they got it out of their systems with a little bit of violence.
They could tank it. Wolfwood knew all too well how much of a beating Vash could take, and Vash knew Wolfwood could heal anything with his vials. Still, the first time he’d impulsively sank his fangs into Wolfwood’s hand in a fit of petty rage, he nearly had a panic attack.
He didn’t even remember what they were fighting about. But it was serious enough that it wound them both into a tizzy, so it was probably about ideologies again. And Wolfwood had been holding onto the collar of his coat so tightly, snarling in his face and—he didn’t even remember what Wolfwood said. He just remembered that it made him flare with white-hot anger and a desperation to make him listen, so when Wolfwood hauled him forward to slam him against the wall again, he turned his head and bit him.
The flood of blood over his tongue had been a rather abrupt palette-cleanser. Wolfwood at once yelled and jerked his hand, more skin tearing as he ripped it away.
“You bitch!” Wolfwood snapped, clutching at his hand as blood trickled down over his wrist and the cuff of his sleeve. He wasn’t really any angrier than before, it seemed he was mostly just annoyed at the audacity.
This meant nothing to Vash. Because all he saw was Wolfwood’s blood, tasted it, and suddenly he remembered so clearly that he was a monster. How funny, he’d almost forgotten it when in Wolfwood’s presence.
“Oh God,” he croaked, and then barely resisted throwing up his lunch.
The fight was over the second Wolfwood saw the terror on Vash’s face as he sunk to the ground, gagging violently. It would be funny in any other situation, how suddenly all his fury vanished in the wind, replaced with concern as he swooped down at once.
“Hey, hey, take it easy.” He stressed, pushing Vash back by the shoulders, so much gentler.
His hand was still bloody. Vash covered his mouth with his hand and just barely willed away emptying his stomach. He could taste it still, it was on his tongue, get it off, get it off—
It wouldn’t be the most violent altercation between them. Hell, in time, Vash would take the muzzle of the Punisher and slam it back against Wolfwood’s head from where he’d been posturing. It’d cause more blood, but he wouldn’t freak out then. He’d just take Wolfwood’s glare and later he’d look at the wound and apologize profusely.
But this had been different. It was different to taste the blood. Different because he knew what blood tasted like from humans the few times it’d gotten in his mouth from violent shows, and he knew what Plant blood tasted like from biting his own tongue. Wolfwood’s blood didn’t taste anything like either of these things. It made him sick because he couldn’t close his eyes and pretend it was something else. This was entirely unique to Wolfwood and all that those experiments had done to him, he would remember this taste forever.
And there was a small, feral echo in his mind that he got to have this one, unique thing of Wolfwood’s. It’s a selfish part of him that has been ratting its chains to wrap its claws around the priest and eat him alive.
They didn’t argue whatever point it was after that. Wolfwood just fed him water and bandaged his hand in an old bathroom, though he insisted he’s been bitten worse by kids at Hopeland. Vash didn’t feel like himself for days.
But this, this is a different fight. It’s a classic one—Vash got himself hurt for others, and Wolfwood killed a man. Vash knew the man wasn’t a good one, he and his buddies had terrorized a town and nearly sent a Plant into a Last Run. It was by sheer luck Vash had managed to make it in time to press his palms to the tank and soothe her before she could get that far. But that didn’t matter.
And despite their shared anger, they had spent too much time together to not know how to work in sync. Wolfwood acted as the most loyal of bodyguards, ensuring no harm would come to Vash or his sister. Vash had never, even for a moment, thought otherwise. It was simple and clear when his sister pressed her scared conscience against his own: he’ll protect us.
Afterwards, Vash was exhausted. Not too exhausted that he didn’t see the mangled body on the floor and felt himself choke. Turned his head slowly to Wolfwood, shades firmly over his face, pointedly watching the same corpse with a cold fury.
“He saw you.” He growled before Vash could even say anything. “He had no idea what you were and he said he needed to have you.”
“I don’t care.” Vash hated how close he sounded to crying already.
“You haven’t seen the look in men’s eyes when they’re like that.” Wolfwood snapped, but those eyes that were so very kind remained hidden beneath sunglasses. “He wanted to break you and her apart, I heard him.”
“I don’t care.” Vash was on his feet despite how everything screamed, despite how all his limbs shook and he couldn’t think. His sister tried to call out and he slammed down a mental wall so abrupt and unlike him she quieted at once. “Don’t tell me what I have and haven’t seen. I’ve dealt with worse than him.”
This is when Wolfwood’s head turned at once, directed fully on Vash. He was still holding the Punisher under one arm. His face was a little slack.
“He wouldn’t be the first to try and break me. Us.” Vash held his gaze, at least he thought he was. “You still had no right.”
The Punisher loosened in Wolfwood’s hold a little, the barrel kissing the ground. And then all at once, like those volcanos he’d only heard about in books, molten anger erupted.
“You dipshit!” Wolfwood shouted, ricocheting violently around the room that still held the Plant. And suddenly Vash was held up by the lapels of his coat, and he was faced with a wrath that many would tremble before. “Care!”
“Wolf—“ He started, baring his teeth a little.
“Care, I am telling you to fucking care!” Wolfwood damn-near howled, almost as loud as the Punisher hitting the ground when he dropped her like she was nothing but a grocery bag. “You are reason enough for me to have a right!”
“Nothing is reason enough for that!” Vash snapped right back. His interpretation was this: he knew why Wolfwood had to follow him, knew where they were going. Knew that protection had to be in his job description. But protection didn’t require murder. “You don’t get to-to do this because it’s easier for you—“
“Oh you fucking—“ Wolfwood moved his hands like he aimed to strangle Vash. His prosthetic grabbed onto one of Wolfwood’s wrists though, and that stopped him. Despite the fact Vash was nowhere near strong enough to physically stop him right now. “What fuckin’ part of you is easy? Does this look easy to you?” He snarled, one hand going wide to gesture to the scene around them, the blood. His voice echoed like thunder in the near-empty space.
Vash was so, so tired. Of everything. He had never made anything easy for Wolfwood and he knew how much he pissed him off. For anyone else he’d still spit and fight like the animal he was—for Wolfwood, he just wanted to lay down and cry, fight about it later.
“You are reason enough.” Wolfwood repeated, holding tight, hauling Vash nose-to-nose with him. “If I hadn’t been here, who knows what the bastard woulda done to you.”
“If you weren’t here he’d be alive.” Vash murmured, and he felt the weight of how cruel such a sentence was as soon as it was spoken. He couldn’t take it back though, he meant it as much as one meant saying the sky was blue.
“I do not fucking care.” Wolfwood spat. “Ain’t that so lovely? We’re both just a couple of assholes who don’t care. Hey, here’s a thought,” and Vash realized then that he sounded manic, he was white-knuckling where he held on and he was almost smiling like a rabid-diseased predator, “maybe sloth is the real biggest sin. Plants energized to shit becuase people can’t care what the cost may be, bastards like him shootin’ up towns cause they don’t care about a life besides their own, and every single fucking person on this planet doesn’t care about you because it’s easier!”
Vash can’t even think of feeling stung. It’s nothing he hasn’t thought of himself and, again, he’s tired. More importantly, Wolfwood sounded like he was starting to lose his grip. Shit, was this a nervous breakdown? He didn't think Wolfwood’d ever let it happen where someone could see.
Vash started to reach up, worried, moving his fingers from Wolfwood’s wrist to his arm. He can table the sting, he can table the despair and hurt because there’s a man dead and it's his own fault in some butterfly-effected way, but he can’t table the way Wolfwood is freaking out.
Then his shades slipped. Just a little. For a moment, Wolfwood’s sunglasses shifted down the bridge of his nose, and Vash stopped.
His gaze was near-crazed. Pupils contracted and maybe even a slight shimmer of blue from the vials working through his system. This is not what made Vash stop. What made him stop was that as those eyes flick over his face, he could only call them desperate.
They’re not good at this. Whatever this is. By this time they’d shared a bed more than once and Vash was consumed by guilt each morning. Wolfwood would act the same, but there’d be hesitance in how he moved. He would look Vash’s way and avoid eye contact if he turned.
Vash never pushed. He was so very selfish, because he just wanted to have any piece Wolfwood was willing to give. It was fine. He knew if it came down to it, Wolfwood would be put through hell for this. That was why Vash was going to save him first. He was going to save him from everything.
He can’t name the desperation in Wolfwood’s eyes. It’s unfamiliar to him, making him uneasy and worried. Because he’s seen many things cross Wolfwood’s face, but never this.
“Wolfwood,” He started, feeling his throat grow raw.
For half a second Wolfwood stopped, and then he shut his eyes like he was collecting himself. It was funny, Vash had begun to notice this little thing—how quick he was to stop and stutter just from hearing his name.
“God, I can’t stand you.” He growled, dropping Vash to the floor and abruptly turning away, off to pick up the Punisher once more.
I know, Vash thought to say, but his sister was prodding at his mind again, and he felt bad now for shutting her out, I’d let you leave if I could.
He didn’t. Because they had never talked about why Wolfwood was here and they never would. So instead he just turned around, numb and wrung-out, as he gently eased the stress in his sister’s mind.
Wolfwood had left by the time he turned back around.
Funnily enough, Wolfwood wasn’t the one who ran off, technically. He left, but he’d gone back to where they were staying, off to deal with the people and officers trying to come in and see what the aftermath was.
Vash was, as usual, the one who ran this time. He never even went back to the motel. He took the next truck taking supplies to a neighboring town and didn’t look back.
He couldn’t really think at the moment. And he thought he’d give Wolfwood his space. So he watched the sandy dunes roll by and tried to feel anything less than what he was: a creature that hungered.
This separation was longer than usual. At most it’d taken Wolfwood a few days to track Vash down again when he felt like running off. This time it’d been nearly two weeks.
This was partially on Vash, who was actively trying to remain unfound. Even still this was taking longer, so he suspected Wolfwood maybe just didn’t want to find him this time. Maybe he really had pissed him off enough that he would fight the orders he was made to live and die by.
Vash wouldn’t be surprised. He was the Stampede. He trampled everyone that got close enough.
Eventually he made his way to the sandsteamer. He felt more like himself, at least. If maybe a bit wound-up, because—well, like he said, he hungered. Often after a fight they’d ‘make up’ with gnashing teeth and hands down each other's pants, because that’s all they really knew. So not getting that expected relief, combined with no Wolfwood in general for about two weeks…
Vash had been playing up an act when he ran into a girl named Amelia. He always was. He found the women he tailed attractive, sure, but he’d learned a very long time ago that people thought less of the horndog and thus didn’t think twice about him ‘accidentally’ getting in the way and ‘happening’ to be in the same spot as all the commotion. They looked over him.
It was completely and utterly an act with Amelia, because maybe Vash had a type with people who were mean to him but not that mean (not that he didn’t deserve it), and he overplayed it mostly because there was something about her he couldn’t place, something he needed to figure out while he was in town.
It may have also been because he was going a bit insane. He almost wished Wolfwood would come and find him already. He hadn’t shared a bed with anyone in roughly thirty years, and it’d been an extra fifty on top of that since it’d been with a repeat individual. God forbid he yearned a little.
So you know, he was kind of relieved to see Wolfwood again, even if he appeared with Gasback. A bit more surprised when he had the barrel of a gun held to his forehead, but he just blinked blankly up at Wolfwood.
It hadn’t even registered for him to flinch. Why would he? Sure they could throw punches each other's way, but Wolfwood wouldn’t shoot him. He was far too good of a person to ever try.
“You do have a terrible throw.” Wolfwood had said around his cigarette, lingering in the doorway after Amelia got her screaming match out of the way, sunglasses firmly over his eyes once more, expression blank.
“Lady luck has never particularly liked me.” Vash agreed, turning his head to look out the window of that office, then sighed. “So, are you going to,” He waved a hand out, “stay and watch, or…?”
“Oh, much worse than that.” And here he almost smiled around his cigarette, but it never reached high enough and it showed too much glinting teeth. “I went through a lotta shit tryna find you, I’m not letting you outta my sight.”
“I can tell.” Vash sighed heavily, striding over to go through the door, to deal with the damage Gasback was about to cause. “How’d you end up owing this much to a guy like him?” It was still only two weeks!
“How’s this,” Wolfwood took his cigarette out from between his teeth with two fingers, “if the time comes where I stop feelin’ the urge to break your spine, I’ll think about tellin’ you.”
“Yeah,” Vash deflated, slipping right past, “that figures.”
The hard truth was that Vash hadn’t even thought about Wolfwood hauling into that shitty car and tearing off after Gasback and the Plant. Of course he would. Wolfwood snarled and snapped in his ear, but when Vash tried to stand up in the seat there was a hand grabbing tight onto his ankle for just a moment, trying to keep him steady. Because that’s what Wolfwood was: his anchor point.
Vash hadn’t really intended to fake his death. Later he’d treat it like it was simply a spur-of-the-moment decision, but the truth was that he had sand clogging his throat and a terror felt only by the most base instincts of wild animals. Were he not an Independent, he would’ve suffocated to death in that quicksand. He could still remember, blearily, Wolfwood shouting for him, and a hand just barely skimming his face before it was gone.
Vash had worked for hours to try and free himself when he finally collected himself to not be overtaken by terror. It was still horrifying, and he flailed with desperation when he heard approaching thomas and reached out wildly.
Meryl and Milly broke down into tears as soon as he was hauled out of the quicksand, and suddenly he had an armful of both of them. He was stricken with a terrible guilt as he tried to awkwardly assure them he was okay, really.
“Mis–mister Wolfwood said you were dead!” Milly cried, but she was smiling very brightly.
“Did he?” Vash murmured, briefly laying the side of his head against hers before pulling away. Meryl still had her face buried in his chest and trembling slightly. He knew better than to talk to her right now, because if he did anything to acknowledge how much she cared this moment would be gone in the wind, and he suspected she needed it. “Where’s he now?”
“In, um,” Milly sniffled, wiping at her face, “the old motel by the bar.” She looked up, to where the sun was due to rise soon. “I think I saw him and Miss Amelia talking.”
That was a bad sign. They both had a temper and if Wolfwood was actively interacting with someone like her, then trouble was on the horizon.
Vash bid the girls a farewell after promising he’d be safe, but he needed to make sure everything went alright. They followed him back into town before he slipped off. It was dawn by then, and the receptionist said Wolfwood left just before with a red-haired woman. Shit.
He found them eventually. With guns drawn and dust billowing in the air, saw Wolfwood hesitate to shoot when that pistol was aimed at Amelia. This is why he was a good person—even from the back Vash could see a cold rage through him, and still he didn’t take the shot.
Then there was the gun pointed at Wolfwood’s head, and Gasback’s finger on the trigger. Were Vash a man like any other, he would’ve shot Gasback through the arm. But he knew better than that, because a spike of pain like that might cause Gasback to shoot anyway. And more importantly, the issue was Amelia being held at gunpoint, not Wolfwood.
Though the sight of it still had a wild sound threatening to thunder from his chest. So he shot the hand of the other man instead, and he positioned his body right next to Wolfwood’s. Just in case.
“Amelia!” He greeted, because Wolfwood was staring at him and he felt wilted under the stare. “You alright?”
At her stare, he slipped right into being his typical teasing self and turned his head to Wolfwood—oh, that’s where his sunglasses went, they were on Wolfwood’s face. Since they were colored shades they didn’t hide his eyes quite like the classic ones did, and so he got a full view of the shock holding them open, like Wolfwood hadn’t been permitted to even blink.
“Bud,” He started, trying to ease into this, “you’re doing kind of a sloppy job here. I mean what was your plan if my sweet Amelia got hurt—”
As he spoke he saw the shock start shifting in Wolfwood’s eyes. Saw as his head turned and something like a smile almost came to his face, replaced immediately by a growing anger. That was somewhat fair, God knows what Knives would’ve done to Wolfwood if he’d caught wind of Vash’s apparent ‘death’, that must’ve been a stressful few hours.
“Can we start with how you’re not dead?” Wolfwood snapped, but there was too much shock still lacing his tone, pure disbelief and, well, maybe a bit of relief.
Vash finished up the rest of their stand-off. He got his shades back as Wolfwood covered his eyes once more, as he growled and threatened there would be more to follow. He stepped back as soon as Vash asked him to, because he always did. He would fight Vash on just about anything, but Vash couldn’t name a time Wolfwood hadn’t listened when it’d been such a direct request.
Later, Vash would shyly offer Amelia some drinks. She’d give him a heavy side-eye till he held up his hands and assured there were no nefarious intentions! He just wanted to apologize for the mess this had all caused, you know, and thank her for the not-murdering-her-father thing. Wolfwood had been standing some ways away when he made the offer. He swore he saw his brow twitch, fingers tightening over the newly re-fastened Punisher.
He got the insurance girls in on it too, another apology for upsetting them. Wolfwood hadn’t spoken much. He just lurked in the back as they slouched in for drinks from a very thankful bar that offered a few free rounds.
Wolfwood had chainsmoked through half a pack before Vash was even on his third drink. He was mad.
At some point, Vash would be pretending to be drunk and giggly with Milly. He’d had enough that a normal man should be drunk, so he played it up. Wolfwood, surprisingly, barely had anything. So Vash could hear him from some ways away, leaning against the counter as Amelia appeared next to him.
“You should put him on a leash.” She muttered, taking a swig of her drink, nowhere near enough for her to be tipsy yet. He didn’t expect her to be.
“You think I haven’t tried?” Wolfwood growled, arms crossed tightly, teeth bared. Even inside his sunglasses remained on.
“Yeah, that tracks.” She sighed, looking down at her drink and then back at him. “Well, good luck.” She shrugged, stepping away once more. “You have pretty terrible taste.”
Wolfwood growled wordlessly, and Vash snapped back to pretending to laugh with Milly (who had been smothering Meryl with her love for the past few minutes) when he started to storm on over.
Vash whined as his drink was snatched away by Wolfwood, who downed it all in one big gulp. He wheezed, slamming it back onto the table, white-knuckling the glass. Vash was seriously worried about how sore he was going to be later, and not in a fun way.
Maybe in a fun way. He hoped there’d be a fun way. Later. Right now he was avoiding making eye contact with Wolfwood like one may avoid looking in the eye of a raving man on the street corner.
“When are you going to be done?” Wolfwood hissed.
“Does it have to be soon?” Vash spoke out of the corner of his mouth, because Wolfwood knew him well enough by now he understood Vash wasn’t actually drunk. They were similar in this way, thanks to Wolfwood’s enhanced body.
“I could drag you back.” Wolfwood’s voice grazed by his ear, low and angry and unfairly sexy. “By the scruff of your neck. Maybe even an ankle. I’ll make sure the whole fuckin’ town hears me hauling you off.”
Vash was calm and collected. He understood that Wolfwood was completely ticked off and had every right to be. He knew this was not going to be fun to deal with.
He was still fighting every muscle in his body to not jump the man’s bones right in the middle of that bar. This was completely ridiculous. He’d been celibate for decades at a time, but two weeks without Wolfwood was making him twitch all over.
“Let me finish my drink?” He murmured back, totally normal. “The girls were really rough when they found me.”
“I wonder why.” Wolfwood stormed away, finally letting Vash feel like he could breathe.
There was some tact to Vash’s choice in staying. Another drink more and Milly wouldn’t be anywhere coherent, and Meryl would be tipsy but still in charge of her. And she cared for Milly an awful lot, so it’d be a good time for Vash to slip away when Meryl was already thinking about taking her and Milly back.
Still, before he left, he gave one final apology for the trouble. Milly wasn’t coherent enough to get it, but Meryl gave him a hard look across the table before sighing.
“Just don’t go putting our jobs on the line, Typhoon.” She said, “Not just anyone gets tasked with trying to curb you.”
He really didn’t know what he did to deserve friends like them. So he smiled and slid free of the table, out into the open night air.
And immediately Wolfwood was at his side. Where he came from, Vash had no idea. But the Punisher was over his shoulder, held by two fingers, and he was already stalking off. So Vash followed.
It was a very awkward, silent walk. Vash thought about interrupting it to speak, then thought better of it. Another word out of him might send Wolfwood into a furious frenzy. He didn’t think he’d seen him so mad for so long.
The receptionist eyed Vash as he followed Wolfwood into the hotel, to wherever his room was. He avoided her gaze and moved like a man being sent to the gallows as Wolfwood pulled out his keys and opened up his room.
He walked in, perfectly normal. Vash followed. The Punisher was leaned up against the wall, and then Wolfwood lit himself another cigarette. He strode across the room silently, far too carefully, taking in a drag as he stopped by the window, staring out at the town below.
Vash hovered just past the doorway, scuffing his feet on the ground. He didn’t think even Knives could’ve cut the tension in the room. He opened his mouth to give it his best shot—and then he looked just off to the side.
“What happened to the fridge?” He balked, staring at…he assumed it was a fridge, at least. Right now it looked like a crumpled hunk of mangled metals that got run over by a tank for good measure.
“Casualty.” Wolfwood grunted, still staring out the window. “Maybe you should think about that next time you decide to go fakin’ your death.”
“It wasn’t really on purpose. Sorta.” Vash cleared his throat, still eyeing the fridge. “You did that? That seems a bit unnecessary.”
It was destroyed. Wolfwood was far stronger than the average human, he could lift an over two-hundred-pound weapon with just two fingers, but good lord.
“Unnecssary.” Wolfwood repeated. Then placed his hands on the windowsill and shifted his legs back, bowing his head. “You know, I’ve come to realize you don’t actually know how much you piss me off.”
“I have a vague idea—” Vash started.
“No, you don’t.” Wolfwood interrupted, and Vash saw those fingers clench tight around the sides of the sill. “Actually, I think you don’t realize much of anything. It's ridiculous, you aren’t actually stupid, but sometimes you really make me wonder. You’ve said ‘sorry’ to every other goddamn person like you just spilled a little milk on ‘em.”
“You want me to apologize?” Vash ventured, then nodded to himself. “You’re right, I’ve apologized to everyone but you, huh? And you were the one who went to get the Plant back. Thank you, for that. And I’m s—”
“I thought you were fucking dead.”
Vash stopped. From the words, and because he had to be imagining it. He had to have imagined the way Wolfwood’s voice cracked loudly at the end of that sentence, how raw his voice sounded, the subtle shake of his shoulders. He was still gripping the windowsill.
Vash licked his lips, taking a few more steps into the room. It was sunset soon, light shining in and casting Wolfwood in a large shadow. Vash stopped under that shadow, still so far away. Light shone in over Wolfwood’s head and hit him in the eye a bit.
“Good thing it won’t travel far, huh?” He tried, and almost missed how Wolfwood’s head ducked lower, how his arms shook from how tightly his hands were clenching now. “That’s lucky, there’d be a lot of trouble otherwise. So, hey, I’m sorry for making you have to worry if—”
“I thought you were fucking dead!” Came a snarl like no other, and Wolfwood whipped around like a beast possessed. His teeth were bared, he looked ready to lunge across the room and beat Vash within an inch of his life. He was shaking still, and it was with the fury of hellfire itself. Spit flew, cigarette falling to be stamped out as he lashed. “Do you have any idea what that’s like? You were dead and all I had was a pair of cheap sunglasses!”
At this he snatched his own shades off his face, throwing them at Vash. It didn’t do anything, obviously, hitting Vash in the chest and falling to the floor. He didn’t even follow where they went. He was too busy watching those eyes, filled with an anger that struck him hard.
They looked desperate. A desperate sort of anger. He looked scared.
“Wolf—”
“Shut the fuck up.” Vash promptly shut the fuck up. Wolfwood seethed across the room like a predator upon cornered prey. Vash hastily backed away till he hit a wall, and still Wolfwood advanced. “I should kill you.” He stalked into Vash’s face, far too close and eyes staring right into his. The typhoon in question was too overwhelmed to speak, because those kind eyes had never looked more miserable in all his life. “Already dealt with the aftermath of it all, can’t go makin’ the whole thing pointless. That’s what you fuckin’ do, you go ‘round in circles and make it all pointless!”
“Hey,” Vash started, gently trying to reach out.
He was promptly punched in the face.
His head slammed back against the wall, pain springing over his cheekbone. He was dizzy with it for a moment, blearily trying to pick out the next words shouted at him as a fist curled into the collar of his jacket and held him there.
“You piece of shit.” Wolfwood’s voice shook a little, even through the anger. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I dunno,” Vash mumbled, head feeling fuzzy as he slowly lolled it back around. “I didn’t mean to make you worry—”
“Worry?” Wolfwood damn-near howled, and now they were pressed chest-to-chest, suffocating. “After all this, you think I was worried? You’re a fucking asshole, Stampede. Worried?”
“S’okay,” Vash tried to smile, “I won’t tell.”
He got punched in the face again. This time his head snapped up and he felt blood well as his nose stung. His chin was grabbed as bruises formed on his face, holding him back against the wall and yanked so he was nose-to-nose with something feral and shaking.
“I thought you were dead.” Wolfwood’s voice croaked, there was no mistaking the wet crack in his words. Vash stared back, feeling both stupid and in awe when he saw—God, Wolfwood looked ready to cry.
Oh, Vash realized with startling clarity despite the pain, oh God, I’m so sorry.
All at once he thought of Wolfwood before they parted. That Vash himself was reason enough to kill a man. Wolfwood knew how much he hated killing and had been trying to hold back for his sake, and Vash truly believed Wolfwood really didn’t like it any more than him. He simply saw no other way out of it, and yet when Vash told him to stand down, he would. Because he wanted to believe that Vash could find the way out where no one had to die.
He realized there was something more behind those words. There was something more beyond the desperation when he shot for Vash’s sake. When he wore Vash’s own sunglasses and snarled because—he wasn’t worried, was he? Vash had thought he’d be worried what Knives would do to him if Vash was dead. He was beginning to realize Wolfwood hadn’t thought of Knives even once.
There came that possessive coil again. It threatened to burst free and wrap tightly around Wolfwood, drown him in feathers and light to try and make up for this. Make up for this horrible thing that had happened to Wolfwood.
He couldn't. He couldn’t apologize and mean it because for the first time, his guilt couldn’t overpower the desire to sing out and cry with it. He wanted to pull Wolfwood close and still utter those apologies even as he smiled through tears streaking his face.
No one had ever loved him back before. Is this what it felt like?
Vash shakily raised his hand. Wolfwood growled in warning, even as his eyes didn’t leave Vash’s. He flinched when that hand lay gently over his cheek, then stilled. The crazed turmoil of emotions quelled for a moment, almost confused as Vash gently stroked his thumb over a weathered cheekbone, so very gentle in contrast to the bruises and blood on his own face.
“I’m sorry.” He whispered, and when rage boiled over again he tipped forward till his forehead rested against Wolfwood’s, closing his eyes and feeling his own throat close up. “I’m so sorry, Nick.”
He felt his breath hitch. Another wordless hiss, and slowly that hand dropped his chin to loosely rest around his neck. When Wolfwood exhaled, it shuddered and was barely choked back. Vash almost told him to let it out, but instead Wolfwood kissed him like he wanted to eat him whole.
Vash didn’t promise he wouldn’t do it again. He knew Wolfwood was all too aware of that. He couldn’t promise such a thing. He also knew Wolfwood didn’t want his apology, he just wanted to be angry.
Vash slowly slipped his arms to loosely cross over the back of Wolfwood’s neck, parting his lips to let Wolfwood continue biting at any skin he could reach. He would take this as his punishment. He deserved it.
He’d done something far worse to Wolfwood than simply sharing a bed some nights. And it was really his own fault, because that selfish part of him had yearned for something like this, in a pipe-dream that would never come to fruition. He had promised he’d save him, and instead he was further cementing his fate.
Vash winced when Wolfwood’s nose pressed against the injuries on his face. Wolfwood growled at him, and so Vash pressed closer and cupped his face in both hands, letting himself feel the pain and use it as his repentance. The blood from his nose was coating his lips. Now Wolfwood knew what Plant blood tasted like. What Vash's tasted like.
Vash clung tighter, tight enough to feel more blood well down from his wound. Wolfwood was going to be killed for this. He was going to save him from it. He had gotten countless people killed for the crime of trying to love them, but this time was going to be the exception. He was going to make sure of it.
I’ll save you, Vash promised, just to the comfort of his mind, and to the God who may or may not be listening, God help us, I’ll save you from me.
It sounded hollow, even in his own head.