Without a word, Wolfwood stepped into Vashâs room, closing the door behind himself. He heard the automatic lock engage, the same soft whirr that the one in his room made, but it was quiet, lost under the sound of his own pulse tripping with the way Vash boxed him in against the door.
âMissed you.â
Maybe it's the honeymoon phase, maybe it's just the thrill of sneaking around. There's something about Vash saying he missed him after only an hour that gets Wolfwood's pulse thumping.
---
also on ao3
The ship was quiet, tonight.
That was an odd thing to notice, but Wolfwood had been acutely aware of it while heâd been walking through the corridors, rounding the corner that separated the hallway where his and Livioâs rooms were, and the one where Vashâs was. When theyâd settled in, there had been apologies made about splitting all of them up, but, secretly, Wolfwood sort of liked it.
He knew Vash did.
Neither of them had really gotten to have the clandestine, forbidden midnight visits that people tended to have when they were younger. Wolfwood had been too caught up in helping at the orphanage, and then being turned into a living weapon, and Vash...
Things were weird for Plants, especially Independents. Wolfwood got the impression that Vash hadnât really had the space to even think about that sort of thing.
Now, though, it was almost embarrassing how much they were thinking about it. Moving onto the ships in the fleet had been a big change. Instead of everything Wolfwood had known for his entire life, now there was space, and different clothes, ones provided to him, and different roles. Actual jobs, ways that he was helping on their voyage. It meant that he stayed busy, and so did Livio. Meryl and Milly were not just encouraged, but almost required to continue their documentation of all the travels and adventures they were experiencing. And Vash, on board ships with so many Plants to tend to and help, flourished.
It was different.
It was nice.
But, even with all that change, the things that he and Vash had fallen into, in the last weeks of their time on Nomanâs Land hadnât slipped away.
If anything, theyâd gotten worse.
Wolfwood would see Vash in passing, the two of them crossing paths in a corridor, Vash on his way from one Plant bay to another, Wolfwood on his way to help out with ferrying some of the children from one lesson (Drama, with Leonof) to another (Music, with Midvalley). It would be quick, and brief, and anyone who saw could infer whatever they wanted, but Wolfwood was almost helpless to resist the way Vash would reach out, their fingers catching in a two second embrace.
Sometimes, it was more than that.
Sometimes, it was Vash catching his wrist and pulling him in, and in those moments Wolfwood would find himself breaking away from Vashâs lips a minute later, promising, âlater, later, Iâll see you later, the kids are gonna wonder where I amâ while Vash smiled, letting him go, looking entirely too smug about it. Or, heâd find himself being left in the corridor while Vash dashed away, waving and promising to see him in a few hours.
He understood the smugness. He felt it, deeply, in those moments, watching Vash hurry away to do whatever heâd promised to.
That smugness would carry him through the rest of the day. Sit with him during meals, when they were all together, and the girls were going on about the things theyâd learned, or Livio talking about how good his day was, which was a damn beautiful thing to hear. It would be there, at that shared table, when Wolfwoodâs foot knocked against Vashâs under the table, or Vashâs hand lingered a little longer on his arm than it needed to.
If the others hadnât figured it out, Wolfwood didnât intend to waste the time telling them. He was too busy. All of his spare time was taken up, thinking about the next time the two of them could be alone together.
He was absolutely going through some kind of giggly honeymoon phase, but Wolfwood didnât care.
Reaching Vashâs door, he rapped his knuckles against it, glancing down the corridor as though he expected someone to jump out and declare them caught. Meryl, likely, though Wolfwood wouldnât put it past Livio to get curious about hearing him leaving his room. No one jumped out, though, and a few seconds later, Vash opened the door.
He was smiling.
God, he smiled so much, these days. Didnât he know it made Wolfwood weak?
Without a word, he stepped into Vashâs room, closing the door behind himself. He heard the automatic lock engage, the same soft whirr that the one in his room made, but it was quiet, lost under the sound of his own pulse tripping with the way Vash boxed him in against the door.
âMissed you.â
Wolfwood grinned.
âYou saw me an hour ago,â he pointed out, one hand curling around the side of Vashâs neck, fingers brushing in the soft black hair at his nape. Wolfwood hadnât liked that hair, at first. Hadnât liked what it symbolized. Now, though, more than a year later, heâd grown to like it just as much as the blonde. Especially for the way it made Vashâs blue eyes stand out like they were now, searching Wolfwoodâs face.
Like he needed to look for permission before he leaned in.
âI still missed you.â
This shouldnât have still felt novel, shouldnât have still made his heart do weird, complicated things, but every time Vash kissed him, it was a rush that couldnât be matched even by the feeling of his accelerated healing kicking in. That hadnât gone away and when Vash kissed him like this, pressing him into the closed door, the thrill was intoxicating.
Of anyone that Vash could have wanted, anyone this otherworldly, powerful creature could have wanted, it was him.
Wolfwood didnât think he made a secret of how much he liked that. Not with the way he kissed back, the hand against Vashâs neck keeping him close, other hand sliding around Vashâs side. He wasnât wearing all the things heâd had on at dinner. Just a thin white shirt, the loose fabric bunching under Wolfwoodâs fingers as he guided Vashâs body into his own.
There were things the ships had provided to them that he was supremely appreciative of. One of those was the loose, comfortable sweatpants heâd worn to come here tonight. They were enough to keep him decent, but only just. They left nothing to the imagination when his body pressed into Vashâs.
Both of them gasped, and then Vash was laughing, soft, pressing their foreheads together.
âI was thinking about a shower, tonight.â
That was still a new concept for all of them. Constant, clean, hot running water, pouring down from a head in the wall. They had one in every room. It was a wonder. A treat.
And Wolfwood had found out they werenât a terrible space to share with Vash.
âThinking about sharing one?â
This close, Vashâs smile showing in his eyes was pretty much all Wolfwood could see. It was more than enough to show the hint of teasing that became all too apparent when Vash opened his mouth.
âYouâre too easy.â
Pulling back, Wolfwood frowned. It wasnât real, and he knew Vash would know it, even as he wormed out of his grasp, slipping away from between Vash and the door. Vashâs room was, maybe, a little bigger than his or Livioâs, but that was to be expected. Also meant that Wolfwood had enough space to stay out of Vashâs reach while he shrugged his shoulders, and tugged at the hem of his own shirt.
âKind of rude, coming from the guy who said he missed me after an hour.â
Pulling the shirt off over his head, Wolfwood tossed it on the floor, meeting Vashâs eyes again.
He hadnât moved much. Maybe a step or two forward when heâd been trying to catch Wolfwood, but now he was standing there, a safe distance away.
Looking Wolfwood over in ways Wolfwood would have dreamed of, just a year ago.
âOh, you did really miss me,â he drawled, backing up a few steps towards the open doorway that led into Vashâs adjoined bathroom. That got Vashâs attention, his eyes flicking back up to Wolfwoodâs face, the hunger toning down for just a second.
God, seeing it made Wolfwood weak in the knees, though.
Vash was, essentially, the closest thing to a damn angel as he was ever going to get, and Vash looked at him like heâd devour him and show him the true meaning of âheavenâ all at once? Wolfwood had not been a good enough person to deserve it, but he knew a thing or two about looking a gift horse in the mouth.
âItâs been a few days,â Vash reasoned, coming towards him. Wolfwood stepped backwards over the threshold of the bathroom. The movement caused the motion sensitive lighting to come on, a little brighter than Wolfwood might have liked, the white light reflecting off white surfaces. That could be adjusted, though, he wasnât taking the time to do it now. His hands were too busy, undoing the tie on his sweatpants. âNot that it wasnât nice to wake up next to you, the other morning.â
Two nights ago. When Vash had snuck into Wolfwoodâs room, and, like the dumb, lovestruck idiots they were, theyâd curled up in Wolfwoodâs bed, trading kisses before theyâd both fallen asleep.
Low stakes life.
Wolfwood could get used to it.
âIf weâd woken up a little sooner...â Wolfwood started, letting Vash get close to him, now. He stopped right outside the bathroom, pulling that white shirt off. His expanse of marked up, scarred and healed skin stretched as he pulled it off over his head.
Some might be run off by that. Maybe Wolfwood, who couldnât scar even if he wanted to, should have been. It was chilling, to see the things that his life had done to Vash, the souvenirs it had left him with, but Wolfwood had gotten used to them. Gotten used to the way they felt under his hands, against his chest, even the metal grating over the place where Vashâs heart should be.
Vash didnât try to hide it or apologize for it anymore. It was good.
âYou were saying something about waking up a little sooner?â
Vash stepped into the bathroom, and Wolfwood backed up, properly, giving him space. While Vash reached back behind himself to guide the sliding door shut, Wolfwoodâs fingers reached out, hooking in his waistband to pull him closer, moving to the already loose knot in the strings. Clearly, Vash had barely made sure he was dressed enough. This had been his plan all along.
âIf weâd woken up a little sooner the other morning, maybe we couldâve...â Wolfwood looked away from Vashâs waistband, meeting his eyes. His mouth quirked in a smile. âYou mightâve been late for your check-ins, though.â
He could tell Vash was thinking about it, if not by the look in his eyes, then by the slow spread of pink in his cheeks.
âWould they know?â
Wolfwood knew Vash understood what he was asking. Would the Plants know? Would they understand why Vash had been late to visit them, if heâd stayed in bed with Wolfwood, and had a slow, sweet start to the day?
Instead of answering, Vash reached out, tugging Wolfwoodâs sweats, that were already sitting low on his hips, down. It was the slightest tug, but they crumpled immediately, gathering up at his ankles while Vash stepped back, sliding off his own.
They were both bare underneath.
It was kind of ridiculous, how theyâd both known where this was going to end up.
âTurn on the water, would you?â Vash asked, turning to the panel on the wall. Above them, the lights set into the ceiling changed tone from bright white to a lower, warmer orange. It definitely hurt Wolfwoodâs eyes less as the shower started up, hot water hitting the floor, steam starting to fog up the room immediately.
Without waiting for an invite, Wolfwood stepped past the wide glass doors that walled the shower off from the rest of the bathroom, and under the spray. Heâd set the temperature just right, in his opinion. The ships werenât exactly cold, but they didnât run hot, either, and this was nice.
Nicer was the press of Vashâs body behind him, two hands, one prosthetic, still cool against his skin, and one flesh, coming around his sides. Vashâs chin pressed into his shoulder, his chest against Wolfwoodâs back, and Wolfwood sighed.
He didnât deserve this.
He wouldnât ever give it up without a hell of a fight.
âYou wanted a shower, right?â he asked, after a second, one hand reaching back. The spray of water wasnât hitting their heads, certainly wasnât reaching all of Vash, and his hair was mostly dry, though Wolfwood could feel where he was getting hit with droplets, and his own hand was wet, sliding through the strands.
Behind him, Vash made a non-committal noise. âThis is nice.â
Still, Wolfwood felt a kiss press to the back of his shoulder before Vash let him go, his right hand tapping at Wolfwoodâs hip in a universal signal for âmoveâ.
Obligingly, Wolfwood did, stepping back and letting Vash get under the water.
It wasnât like he didnât get something out of this, either.
Theyâd both learned, early on, that if something actually needed done, like a shower, then they needed to give each other space to do that, even if they were crammed into the stall together, and there was less than a foot of space between them, and while Wolfwood was standing there, he couldnât do anything but look at Vash and want.
But, everything took longer if he didnât keep his hands to himself, so he did, balling them into fists and crossing his arms, leaning on the cool, slick wall of the shower while he watched Vash scrub shampoo into his hair, the muscles moving under his skin, soapy water sluicing down his body, away, down the drain. Waiting until Vash stepped out from under the spray and gestured with his prosthetic hand for Wolfwood to take his place.
That arm was a wonder. Wolfwood didnât have the first idea about how Brad had made the thing, and, if he had any kind of inclination to understand, maybe some day heâd sit Brad down and ask how heâd done it.
Then again, given the things that hand had done to him, he wasnât sure he wanted to be talking to anyone but Vash about it.
Despite the fact that he had been perfectly respectful of the fact that Vash needed a minute to get himself something approaching clean, Wolfwood was fairly sure it was only forty or so seconds before he could feel Vash moving into his space. Head tipped back to rinse, he wiped a hand over one eye and then cracked it open to check.
As expected, Vash was watching him, standing close. There was a sheen on his skin that Wolfwood immediately understood had come from the bar of soap in his right hand, something he would need to rinse off.
âCanât wait a minute?â
âNope,â Vash answered, brightly. As though Wolfwood speaking had been permission, he moved in the rest of the way, right arm going around Wolfwood.
It should have been embarrassing, the way Wolfwood obediently tipped his face back down to meet Vashâs mouth, water running down his temples and cheeks from his wet hair. Heâd barely finished what he needed to do, but Vash was close, touching him, and kissing him, and he couldnât say no to that.
What he could do, though, was move them out of the spray, just enough. Both hands on Vashâs chest, finger catching on the metal on his chest, he got him back about two steps before he decided that was enough.
Letting his hand drift downwards, Wolfwood played his fingertips over Vashâs hip. It was unnecessary teasing, and he could tell that Vash thought the same from the way he kissed back, distracted for a second.
But, there was something so satisfying about the clunk of the soap bar hitting the floor when Wolfwood slid his hand between them, and ran up palm down the length of Vashâs cock. Maybe Vash had forgotten he was holding it, maybe heâd intended to put it back, but it didnât really matter now.
What mattered was the way Vashâs hands came up, cupping his neck and keeping him close. Wolfwood pulled back as much as heâd let him, looking Vashâs face over.
Eyes closed, long lashes over his cheeks, flushed from this and from the warmth of the shower. Dark, dark hair framing his face, one strand stuck curled next to the mole under his eye. Teeth pressing into his lower lip, living a rosy little dent there.
Pressing harder when Wolfwood moved, stroking in slow touches.
Vashâs lips parted, eyebrows knitting together.
There were endless tomes of Plant research available on this ship, but Wolfwood did all of his learning right here. He discovered the most, in moments like this, like the way Vashâs body reacted to his touch, getting hard in just a few touches, leaking enough that Wolfwoodâs palm felt slick when he moved in, letting Vash pull him into a hungry, open kiss, licking into his mouth like he needed to taste him to live.
Wolfwood wasnât complaining. Wouldnât dream of it. Not with how good it felt to have Vash this close, pushing into his hand. It wouldnât be a secret to Vash, either; maybe Wolfwood didnât react quite as fast, but there was no hiding how he was feeling, especially when his hand bumped his own cock, making him pause to breathe.
That had been the opening that Vash had been waiting for. The break where he could get things back under his own control.
âTurn around.â
Vashâs lips were warm and wet against his, between the way heâd been kissing him and the water and steam around them. Wolfwood didnât hesitate following that request, couldnât have if heâd tried to do it just to rile Vash up. He was riled enough already, his hands on Wolfwoodâs sides guiding him to turn, to face the wall, before he was crowding in against his body.
Wolfwood could feel his cock bumping between his legs, the water-slick slide of it against his skin the perfect tease. One hand splayed against the damp shower wall, he let it slide, pressing his forehead against his forearm. Vashâs flesh fingers pressed into his hip, and his other hand...
âFuck, Vashââ
This was why Wolfwood didnât think he would ever be able to ask anyone but Vash himself a damn thing about that arm. Not without turning red, and thinking about the way those fingers pressed inside him. It shouldnât have been allowed, and Wolfwood knew it was something about Vash, about the way he was moving his fingers, but it destroyed him, every time.
Made him the mess he was, right now, already, rocking back against Vashâs hand without thinking, chasing after that sweet feeling.
âSlow down, Nick.â
Vashâs lips, against his ear, his voice low and quiet, but there was a strain there that Wolfwood couldnât miss. This was just as torturous for Vash, and of course it was. Wolfwood could feel him, hard against his thigh, could tell from the grip on his hip that he was barely keeping it together.
âYou donât need to do all that,â Wolfwood huffed, turning his head against his own arm to look at Vash over his shoulder. He looked gorgeous in this light, the dimness of it only lighting him up enough for Wolfwood to see the flash of his eyes, the edge of his smile. There was a faint glow to his skin, now, that had little to do with soap or anything else.
Wolfwood swallowed.
In reply, Vash pressed a kiss to his cheek, and then another, before his fingers pressed deep, curling up inside Wolfwood, and if he hadnât had the wall to lean on, he might have collapsed.
It was bad enough as it was, the sound he made echoing off the smooth white walls, easy to hear over the running water. They didnât need to add the sound of him collapsing on the floor.
âBut I like to do all this,â Vash murmured, his voice still so close, fingers moving slower, now. âYou like it so much...â
âVash, youâre gonna fuckinâ kill me.â
There had been a time, very, very early on, when Wolfwood had uttered that sentence, and Vash had backed off immediately, believing heâd done something wrong. Now, he made the problem somewhere in the neighbourhood of thirty times worse, laughing softly.
He did let up, though, fingers sliding out and leaving Wolfwood feeling equal parts empty, needy, and eager.
Not for long, though.
Wolfwoodâs other hand, the one that wasnât bracing his forehead against the wall, curled, his breath coming out slow and shaky. Vashâs hand slid from his hip to his stomach, bracing him, his warm palm pressing against the muscles there while his other hand, the one that heâd been using to take Wolfwood apart just a minute before, moved to grip his other hip.
There was no explaining how good it felt when Vash pushed inside him. He couldnât have expected it, hadnât known how much heâd love it until the first time. Then, heâd been on his knees in his own bed, Vash curled over him while he whined into a pillow, asking if it was okay, if it hurt.
No, it never did, and maybe that was some kind of fucked up, weird Plant thing, or maybe Vash was just really good at prepping him, but either way, Wolfwood didnât care. Hadnât then, didnât now.
He hadnât stopped needing it, since that time, and he knew Vash knew it. He could feel it in the way Vash pressed up against him, cock pushing deep inside before he pulled his hips back, rocking forward slow, careful, like he might break Wolfwood.
Maybe he could. Wolfwood might welcome it.
âDrivinâ me crazy, spikey...â
The hand against his stomach moved, drifting up, against his chest.
âI know.â
Like Wolfwood speaking was all heâd needed to know he wasnât about to pass away then and there, though, Vash moved faster, the hand on Wolfwoodâs hip guiding him back to meet him on every push in. Forehead against his shoulder, Vash groaned.
âSo good â ah, Ni- Nickââ
It hadnât been a secret that Wolfwood had needed to guess at, when heâd gotten there tonight, but it was always nice to hear and feel exactly how much Vash had wanted him, and just how much he was enjoying it.
âLosing it already?â he asked, not sounding put together himself with the way his voice shook.
And the way he closed his eyes and whined a second later when Vash pulled his hips back and ground into him. God, it wasnât fair how good that felt, and how Vash knew it would shut him up immediately, make him dumb for a few long seconds, eyes closed, breath coming in shaky pants against the wall. At least Vash took pity on him, picking up his rhythm again, one foot knocking against Wolfwoodâs.
Getting him to spread his legs wider.
Change the angle.
Make it so Wolfwood couldnât string together two words of sass again when Vash pressed into him. This was better, for both of them, and Wolfwood knew it, but he wasnât thinking straight anymore. Not with Vash leaning over him, the wet slap of their skin hardly enough to drown out the praise he was heaping on Wolfwood.
âNeed you, need thisââ
Vashâs cock was hitting that spot inside him, the one that made it hard for Wolfwood to keep up.
âSo good for me, Nick, ahââ
Between the rough, whispered tone of Vashâs voice and the way he was fucking him, no one could have blamed Wolfwood for the sounds he was making. Needy, growly little whimpers, forehead pressing hard into his own arm, eyes staring, unfocused, at the wall.
He could come like this. Just from this alone, and he had before. Vash had made him lose it with nothing but his cock and his sweet words, making Wolfwood muffle himself into his own hand, caught up in nothing but good feelings.
Wolfwood could come from this, but he still reached down with his free hand, wrapping it around his own cock, moving quick and trying to match the way Vash was pushing into him.
Against his chest, Vashâs hand pressed harder.
The fingers on his hip squeezed.
âThatâs it...â
Vashâs mouth was against the back of his neck, hot breath making goosebumps pop up when it shouldnât have been possible. Not in here, where the hot water from the shower had made the room thick with steam, and Wolfwood was so warm all over anyway from what they were doing.
âDonâtââ
Vashâs teeth pressed against his shoulder, and Wolfwood groaned, his own voice echoing back at him, the tension in his body ratcheting.
Even if he hadnât gotten the second word out, Vash understood.
He didnât stop, pushing Wolfwood closer to the wall, closer to the edge. Vash had him exactly where he wanted him, and they both knew it. Wolfwood barely had space to keep his hand on himself, heâd turned his cheek against his arm, panting into his elbow, and Vash was right there. Crowding him in, fucking him hard and fast.
His forehead pressed against Wolfwoodâs hair, so close Wolfwood could hear the whimper on his every exhale, could see the telltale blue glow on his skin, geometric little patterns brightening the closer Vash got.
There, trapped between the wall and Vashâs body, Wolfwood felt everything sweeten, cresting to a perfect, bright point of bliss that had him gasping for breath, his own hand moving furiously, Vash whispering in his ear.
The sound he made when he came was too loud. It would have been bad outside the shower, but it was worse in here. Not that Wolfwood cared much, or noticed, desperately stroking himself through it, painting a mess on the shower wall, knees feeling properly weak, now.
If it wasnât for the way Vash was holding him, arm viced around him while he shamelessly chased his own high, Wolfwood knew heâd be sliding to the floor. Heâd happily lay there getting drowned by the shower, glad to have gone out the way he did.
That didnât happen, though, because Vash wouldnât let him go. Not until heâd had his fill.
Taking his arm off the wall, Wolfwood let his cheek rest against it, reaching back, threading his fingers into Vashâs wet hair.
âCome on, sweetheart...â
Vashâs face pressed into his neck, his hips moving erratically. The markings on his skin were so bright, shining in the dim orange light. He was so close.
â...Let go...â
Vash let out a strangled noise, his hands holding hard enough to bruise, pulling Wolfwood back to meet him. It was a lot, too much, but Wolfwood loved it, fingers tightening in Vashâs hair.
âThatâs it, thatâsââ
Vashâs teeth bit down on his shoulder again, harder, this time, and Wolfwood slammed his other hand against the wall, bracing himself as Vash whined, holding him tight when he came.
It was pathetic, how good that felt, the way Wolfwood idly wondered every time if he could get off again just from feeling Vash come inside him, from hearing the way he gasped against his skin, breathy whispers of âfuck... fuck, Nickâ music to his damn ears.
âNeed you to cuss a bit more, itâs fucking hot.â
Vash let out a laugh that was more of a whimper, face pressed against Wolfwoodâs shoulder, muffling whatever he said in reply.
âWhat was that?â
Vash lifted his head, leaning in again. He hadnât slipped out, yet, and he was so close that the movement pressed Wolfwood into the wall. Pressed him in, making Wolfwood hiss at how oversensitive he was.
Chin against Wolfwoodâs shoulder, Vash repeated, âyouâre too coherent.â
Wolfwood laughed.
This was stupid. He was being pressed up against a shower wall, fucked out, happy as hell to be standing there. Not all that long ago heâd been considered some kind of ruthless killing machine.
âIf it bothers you, I could stay the night.â
Vash hummed, his hands drifting down Wolfwoodâs sides to hold him still as he pulled out. It wasnât an unpleasant feeling, but Wolfwood shivered, making a face when he felt something slip down his inner thigh.
âFinish showering,â Vash suggested, leaning back in to kiss his cheek. âMaybe Iâll let you make me late in the morning.â
It doesn't matter that Wolfwood thinks it's a waste of the few resources they have at Hopeland while waiting for Livio to come back, everyone else thinks he needs a relaxing minute alone in the bath. Maybe, once he thinks about it for a minute, he can agree with that.
_____
also on ao3
It didnât matter how many times Wolfwood had argued that this wasnât a good use of the slim resources they had left to get them through until Livio got back, or the crew from Ship 3 arrived. He had been argued down, not only by Vash, but by Melanie and, for some reason, the kids. It was one thing to try and argue with an infuriatingly patient blondie and Melanie, who had never once pulled her punches on being firm with him, but when you added in a trio of whiny kids saying theyâd actually be less worried about him if he just did what they were saying he should, arguing became futile.
âWhat, do I stink or something?â
âIf we say yes, will that make you do it quicker?â
âBecause yes, Mr Nico, you stink!â
That had been, maybe, hopefully, a lie, but Wolfwood hadnât been able to keep up the fight. Ignoring the triumphant smirk on Melanieâs face, and the way Vash was trying and failing to hide his own smile behind his prosthetic hand, Wolfwood had given a big shrug and turned, marching himself off towards the big, semi-private bathing room at the other end of the orphanage.
Semi-private because the damn door didnât lock. That hadnât really been that much of an issue, when heâd been a kid here, because everyone was running around, coming and going, and it had never been a concern to want the door locked. It was better, Wolfwood reasoned. It allowed Melanie and the other older kids like himself the ability to get into the room if something was suspected to be going wrong.
Now, though, as a grown man, he wasnât sure he wanted to run the risk of someone barging in to see if heâd died in the tub. There was no getting around it, though. If he jammed the single chair in the room up against the handle, he knew there was at least one person who would be strong enough to still break the thing down and come in to make sure he hadnât nearly left this plane of existence. Again.
It was that chair that Wolfwood sat in now while he watched the tub fill with hot water. Again, he thought this was a waste of resources, and it wasnât like he exactly had wounds that needed regular tending. Hell, he wasnât even using the crutch anymore. The hole Livioâs â Razloâs â Punisher had blasted through his lower leg had filled in, muscles knitting back together, skin regrowing over it. There wasnât even a single damn scar to show what his body had gone through.
Just the dull ache that hadnât quite gone yet.
Standing and turning off the faucet, Wolfwood unwrapped the towel from around his waist, glancing at the door again. The other side of it was silent, everyone going about their usual day as though they werenât trying to stay afloat long enough for the cavalry to arrive. He didnât have anything to worry about, no reason to think he might not have this time to himself.
Dropping the towel onto the worn seat of the wooden chair, he stepped into the bath, letting out a slow breath as he eased himself down into the hot water.
That ache had been what had led him to this position now.
It had started innocently enough.
Picking up the clean cloth draped over the side of the tub, Wolfwood lowered it into the water, and then rubbed the soap bar into it vigorously.
Heâd woken up this morning not needing the crutch, and walking without it while heâd done his circuit of the orphanage. The kids had all still been asleep then, quiet in their beds, lined up the same way theyâd been when heâd grown up here. Melanie had been awake, her bed made, and Wolfwood knew she would be somewhere in the building, preparing for breakfast.
As for Vash...
Seeing him in the place that Wolfwood considered home was weird. He shouldnât have fit in here, he didnât belong here, and yet, he did. Every time Wolfwood saw him on the grounds, or with the kids, he just fit. He was a stranger, he wasnât like the rest of them, that much had been something the kids and Melanie had seen for themselves, but he belonged here just the same as Wolfwood did.
He belonged in the kitchen, next to Melanie, finishing spooning out the breakfast foods into their big, communal dishes. Talking to her in low, hushed tones, even as the bell rang for the children to wake, smiling at something she said.
Rubbing the cloth over his chest, Wolfwood remembered that smile, and the way it had changed when heâd seen Wolfwood standing in the doorway.
The sounds of small feet moving around upstairs had made the ceiling above them rumble, but Wolfwood hadnât thought to even notice that.
Vashâs smile could light up a damn room. Any room.
Hell, it could light up the end of the world. That was something heâd learned fairly recently, and it was sticking with him. Hard to forget. Harder still when Vash wouldnât stop turning the thing on him, even with that edge of concern it had as heâd come towards him.
âYouâre up without the crutch. Howâre you doing?â
This was where heâd gotten himself in trouble.
âFine. Body hurts a bit, but nothing I canât handle.â
It had been nothing but an offhand statement. Something to make Vash stop looking at him like that, like he had barely made it off Deathâs doorstep, when the reality was that heâd gotten off the doorstep, down the walk, and out of the front yard. Vash hadnât seen it that way, though, and neither had Melanie. Big wooden spoon in her hand, bits of clumpy breakfast meal clinging to it, sheâd pointed at him.
âYou should take a hot bath. Donât open your mouth to argue with me, Nicholas. Your body needs it.â
Problem was, he couldnât tell her that his body probably didnât need it, because it was probably in his head. Between the vials he carried, and Livioâs blood, there was no reason his body should need anything else, much less a hot bath. It was the truth, plain and simple, but there were some things about the ways heâd changed that Wolfwood just didnât want to shove in Melanieâs face.
Not yet.
Sheâd seen him fighting Razlo. Sheâd found out enough for now.
It might have been an easy thing to wave off, pushing himself through to help with getting the food out for breakfast, supervising while the kids came through with their bowls and general lack of coordination, if Vash hadnât stood there nodding.
âMelanieâs right. You went through a lot, Wolfwood. It will be nice! Relaxing!â
Melanie had just about spoken over him, her tone so familiar that it had coaxed Wolfwoodâs teenage instinct to push back and sass her to the surface. âAnd whenâs the last time you took a bath?â
Right on cue, then, had been when the kids had started to show up. Wolfwood knew when he was outnumbered and, maybe in an actual fight, the Punisher humming in his hands, he would refuse to give in, but this? Over a bath?
And maybe Vash had a point.
Squeezing out the cloth, his skin rubbed pink with soap, Wolfwood draped it over the edge again, sliding down further into the water.
He didnât deserve to relax.
Right now, he shouldnât relax.
There was too much to worry about, with Knives planning whatever he was, and the immigrant fleet not far off from arriving. He should be out there, helping to make sure that they were ready, when Livio returned. Theyâd need to get the kids to safety before anything else could happen, and he had to do his part to help with that, rather than laying in here, worrying about body aches, and other things that were only in his head.
Unfortunately, there was a lot in his head, these last few days.
The least of which was that damn smile.
Laying on the ground, in a pool of his own blood, vision going hazy, breath harder to take, heart pounding to try and keep him going, Wolfwood hadnât expected to remember that smile. The way Vash would look at him, those blue eyes so sweet behind his glasses. The way that smile had been constant, present, pulling Wolfwood along behind Vash until heâd changed in ways he wouldnât have thought himself capable of.
Until he could think of himself as maybe, possibly, beginning to approach being worthy of getting that smile turned on him the way he did. Day to day, moment to moment.
Nicholas D. Wolfwood wasnât necessarily a good man, but Vash hadnât seen it that way, and, really, it was because of him that Wolfwood was here, now.
Proud of where he was standing.
Yeah, there was a lot in his head, and it was harder to ignore than heâd thought it would be. Before, Wolfwood had been able to push those things aside and focus on something else.
It was bad, now.
It didnât help that Vash hadnât let up for a damn minute since theyâd taken Wolfwood off the ground outside the orphanage and brought him inside. Heâd been there, semi-constantly, when he wasnât keeping watch outside for Livio, or any signs of anything else. Every morning at breakfast. Every night in the quiet dark.
Wolfwood sighed, tipping his head back against the edge of the tub.
Vash had been with him last night. Heâd been spending so much time watching the horizon, but when Wolfwood had called it a day, Vash had followed him in. Heâd settled himself next to Wolfwoodâs bed and leaned in, talking to him softly. Asking how he was healing.
Running his flesh fingers through Wolfwoodâs stark, silvery-white hair and smiling, because to Vash that was a sign that things hadnât been as bad as they could have.
Always that stupid damn smile.
So close, and so pretty, and Wolfwood was a sucker for it. He knew that, now. He was fully aware of it, feeling the way his heart had sped up, not out of a desperation to keep him alive, but from the mere brush of Vashâs fingers against his scalp.
This was why the door in this room should lock, Wolfwood thought idly. The water was cooling, not nearly as hot as it had been when heâd gotten in, but it was still warm, and he wasnât done. Embarrassingly, he wasnât finished.
Thinking about Vash had pushed him to that.
And he should feel guilty, because he was supposed to be out there, helping. He hadnât even needed this bath.
But Vashâs smile this morning, the way heâd brought a hand up to cover his mouth, to try and hide it, even while he met Wolfwoodâs eyes, even while he knew Wolfwood could see it, that wouldnât leave his mind. Wouldnât let Wolfwood be.
Maybe this wasnât the time, but it had been so long...
Opening his eyes, Wolfwood glanced at the door, listening, straining his ears to hear anything but the silence in the hallway beyond, and the sounds of the orphanage in motion distant, too distant to be a concern. He reached for the soap bar, running his palm over it while he watched the knob, as though somehow, now, it was going to turn and someone was going to walk in on him.
But it didnât, and the space outside it stayed quiet, not a single distraction to stop Wolfwood as he slipped even lower in the tub and lowered his hand, fingers wrapping around his cock.
It had been a while. The last time Wolfwood had done this had been months ago, and heâd been holed up in a room on the Ark. One with a door that locked, getting off quick into his own hand and trying not to think about why heâd needed it, because that would have meant confronting some things about himself, and about why heâd ended up there after watching Vash argue with his brother on the security feed.
That wasnât this.
Wolfwood knew, as his hand moved slow, warm water lapping against his chest, exactly why he was doing this.
Because of Vash.
Everything because of him.
He couldnât even be mad about it. Even if he wanted to. Midvalley had called it out, months ago, and Wolfwood had known it then, even joked about it to Vash. Razlo had seen it, mocked it. Wolfwood himself had accepted it, in the moments heâd thought might be his last.
Vash had changed him. Wormed his way past the walls he put up, under his skin, right into his heart. Heâd made it possible for Wolfwood to know who he really was, who he could be, outside of the Eye of Michael, apart from the Punisher.
All with those damn smiles, those pretty eyes looking at him and saying he was good.
Wolfwoodâs free hand lifted out of the water, gripping the side of the tub.
He didnât need to rush this, like he had last time, chasing the high until he was choking back the sounds his mouth desperately wanted to make. This time, Wolfwood could take it slow, eyes closed, hips pushing up to meet his own hand in a careful, torturous pace.
If things were different...
When things were different...
Maybe Vash would let this happen. They could fall into bed somewhere, anywhere. Hell, it wouldnât need to be a bed. Wolfwood would take anything, anywhere, just to have Vash close to him. To get him out of that huge coat, and all his clothes. To feel Vashâs body against his, Vashâs breath on his neck, Wolfwoodâs needy hands on his skin, pulling him closer.
His thumb squeaked against the side of the tub, his grip tightening.
Vash on top of him. Vash, smiling like that at him while they fucked. Vash smiling while he was feeling so good, and it being because of him, because of Wolfwood.
âFuck,â Wolfwood whispered, brows knitting. He was close, Vashâs smile playing on the inside of his eyelids. The way it would go a little slack, his eyes closing, head tipping back--
âWolfwood?â
That hadnât been in his head and Wolfwood knew it. It had come with a soft little rap of knuckles against the door. Polite, and careful, but Wolfwood had frozen, head lifting, eyes snapping open, to stare at the door like it was about to open.
Like he might be about to be caught.
âWhat, blondie?â
That didnât sound quite right, his voice a little thicker than he would have wanted, and Wolfwood cleared his throat.
âSorry â what is it? Everything okay?â
On the other side of the door, Vash spoke, his voice soft and a little apologetic. âOh, yeah, everythingâs fine! I just wanted to check on you.â
Had he been in here for a long time? He couldnât have been.
âIâm almost finished. Iâll be out soon.â
There was silence on the other side of the door and, for a second, Wolfwood thought Vash had left. He could imagine it. A little nod, satisfied with Wolfwoodâs answer, before he trotted off. Heading back outside to perch himself on the ledge and watch for any signs of help.
It stretched for long enough that Wolfwood started to believe that was it. His body hadnât reacted to the sudden panic, and he could still feel the need, the demand to finish what heâd started, prodding at him. Cautiously, Wolfwood settled back against the tub, again, eyes still on the door.
Almost as though he knew Wolfwood had relaxed, Vash spoke again. His voice was still soft, but the note of apology was gone, replaced with something else.
Something knowing.
âYou should finish. Take your time.â
Wolfwood swallowed. Something in his stomach flipped, the hand on his cock sliding up, squeezing at the head. Heâd felt the interest there.
Did Vash know what he was doing in here?
How could he? Wolfwood hadnât given anything away.
He didnât think heâd given anything away.
âWhole point of this was for you to feel good.â
Wolfwood let out his breath in a huff. Not better. No, Vash hadnât used the word âbetterâ. He was standing there, on the other side of the door, feet away from where Wolfwood had been laying, thinking about making Vash feel good, and Vash was saying the whole point of this was for Wolfwood to feel good.
He should have felt guilty about the way he shifted in the water, his hand moving again, stroking over his length faster, now. Wolfwood needed this, he couldnât ignore it. The guilt could come later.
If it came at all.
Vashâs voice was quiet through the door. âDoes it feel good?â
He knew. He had to know. He couldnât have been that unaware. Wolfwood felt like the sound of the water lapping back and forth around him was loud as hell, giving it away.
If it wasnât, his own voice when he answered without stopping it would have. Rough, a little shaky.
âFeels great.â
It wasnât a lie. This was better. If Vash didnât know, maybe, it could have been wrong. It might have been perverse of Wolfwood, but he didnât think Vash was ignorant. He was there, right there, on the other side of the door. Close enough that he could come in here. The door didnât lock.
Vash could come in. He could close the door behind him. Wolfwood would let him have anything he wanted, do anything he wanted.
âIâm so glad youâre enjoying it...â
Wolfwoodâs hand, the one that had been gripping the edge of the tub, came up, knuckles pressing against his mouth.
âWolfwood...â
Vash didnât sound like he didnât know what was happening. The bastard was standing out there, this close, knowing Wolfwood was in here, hand on his own cock, desperately chasing that good, good feeling that was teasing just at the edge of his reach. Did he know he was the reason why, that, right now, as Wolfwood pushed into his own hand, movements getting reckless, cooled water sloshing up against the sides of the tub, his face was the only thing Wolfwood could picture?
A sigh.
âWolfwood...â
This was torture. This was delicious, perfect fucking torture, and Wolfwood hadnât known this was what he needed. Head tipped to the side, eyes struggling to focus on the door, his cheek pressed to the edge of the tub, uncomfortable but unnoticed because this was what heâd been needing. This could fix him, if only for a little while.
The door knob didnât rattle, it didnât even move, but there was a soft sound from it, like Vashâs hand had wrapped around the other side.
âNicholas.â
There was no way Wolfwood managed to strangle the noise that came out of him. Not entirely, not in time. It was needy, mindless, slipping through his lips before he forced himself to bite down on his fist, sliding lower into the water. It was at his shoulders, and if he wasnât careful heâd slide too far down and cause himself real trouble, but that wasnât registering.
The only thing that was, was the bright, beautiful sting of pleasure singing through his body, making his bones buzz, the only thing in his head the same as it had been this entire time.
Vashâs smile.
The one he was probably wearing on the other side of the door, now, so close but too damn far away, listening while Wolfwood fought for breath, his orgasm rolling through his body until he could finally push himself back up in the water, blinking at the mess heâd made.
All because of Vash.
At least no one would know. It would swirl away down the drain with the bathwater.
Well. No one except...
Wolfwood turned his head, looking at the closed door again.
Like Vash knew heâd looked, there was a soft tap against the door, and then, just as soft and careful as heâd been this whole time, Vash spoke.
Wolfwood could hear the smile, now.
âIâll see you in a few minutes. Hope you feel good, Wolfwood.â
"Youâre fluffy, like a Tomas chick. My Wolfwood isnât so fluffy. Itâs cute. Itâs like youâre not a fully formedââ
ââYouâre an idiot.â
Vash beamed, pointing at him.
âThat is like my Wolfwood, though. Words of love."
Stampede flavour Wolfwood finds himself somewhere he wasn't planning on being. Vash, Badlands Rumble flavour, is happy to help him out.
_____
also on ao3
It didnât seem like something a Plant should be able to do but, then again, Nicholas D Wolfwood hadnât spent his time at the orphanage reading up on How Plants Worked, because he had not had one single aspiration to be some kind of Plant engineer or whatever.
Funny how things worked out.
Still, even if he didnât know much, Wolfwood knew enough to know that, in general, Plants did not just up and spin someone off to another dimension, or whatever the hell had happened to him. They made water, and generated electricity, and helped with food production. All that good, somewhat normal stuff that humanity needed to survive from day to day, week to week.
Not interdimensional travel. Right?
Vash probably wouldâve told him if that was just a thing that some Plants could do, wouldnât he? Theyâd had conversations about it. It was interesting, in a way. Wolfwood didnât know much, Vash couldâve told him anything. Maybe, if he had told Wolfwood that, Wolfwood would have laughed it off as a very bad, unconvincing joke, and moved on.
But he would have remembered that. He was sure he would have remembered that.
Not that it mattered, right now, because unless Vash had told him explicitly how that all was supposed to work, Wolfwood was shit outta luck to figure his way out of this one without help.
And help was...
âYouâre so fluffy.â
Fingers raked through his hair, wrapping some of it into a spiral and dropping it back down. Wolfwoodâs shoulders tensed, and instead of backing off, the hand came back, repeating that little movement.
âWhat the hell are you talking about?â
Jerking away from the touch, Wolfwood turned, glaring at the owner of the overly-touchy hand.
One Vash the Stampede, but not his Vash.
This one, somehow, seemed taller, though maybe that was just the fact that he was carrying himself without what seemed to be a care in the world. Red coat, but this one was a duster, buttons up the front, high neck, straps. Orange sunglasses, but, noticeably smaller, more manageable, minus the design of the frames. Prosthetic arm, that much Wolfwood could tell, but where his Vash had a very obvious jade beauty made of old tech, unless you knew this Vash had that arm, you might not guess right away, under the straps and leather.
And, yeah, there were a lot of straps and leather.
Like, a lot.
Like, Wolfwood kind of wondered exactly how long it took him to get in and out of all of it if he needed to.
For no reason at all. Really, for no reason.
âYour hair. I donât know, itâs so different. Youâre fluffy, like a Tomas chick. My Wolfwood isnât so fluffy. Itâs cute. Itâs like youâre not a fully formedââ
ââYouâre an idiot.â
Vash beamed, pointing at him.
âThat is like my Wolfwood, though. Words of love. I understand how you talk.â
Wolfwood could feel himself bristling.
This Vash was something he was having a hard time getting a handle on, and he didnât like that. On top of the whole âgetting sent to another dimension by a Plantâ thing, trying to work out how to wrangle a new Humanoid Typhoon that was still enough like his to be uncanny, was not a party.
Sometimes Wolfwood thought that the things he went through meant he really was sort of owed some kind of party, but the powers above had not seen fit to provide just yet.
They certainly hadnât when they had seen fit to allow a Plant to pluck Wolfwood from the dusty, backwater town he and Vash had been staying in, just to plonk him down in a different dusty, backwater town.
That had been yesterday. One minute, normal, bickering with Vash about the way to go about dealing with some thugs that were causing trouble in town. The next, very not normal, very much knocked ass over tea kettle in the sand, rolled up against the massive supports of this new townâs Plant tank, without his Vash, without the Punisher, and without any real idea of what had happened.
And this guy hadnât been much help.
Heâd been there, of course. First thing Wolfwood saw when he got himself upright. Staring at him like he was some kind of strange worm, eyes huge behind those sunglasses, hands clasped in front of his chest while he looked Wolfwood over before saying, extremely unhelpfully, âall right then.â
It was decidedly not âall right thenâ. From that moment on, Wolfwood had been dealing with a Vash who knew exactly who he was, and had a maddeningly simple but likely accurate idea of what had happened (âI think the Plant swapped you with my Wolfwoodâ), but who couldnât seem to keep his hands to himself, and wouldnât stop staring at him. Wolfwood had almost been afraid to go to sleep, before heâd discovered that if he shoved a chair under the handle of his door at the inn, it couldnât be opened.
That had been a relief for all of a few hours, before heâd woken up and found Vash sitting at the table in the room, the curtains waving softly in the night breeze, staring at him. And all Vash had done was smile and say âI just wanted to make sure you were having sweet dreams.â
That had, really, been the end of any sweet dreams Wolfwood had been having. They had reached some kind of messed up silent agreement where Vash stayed where he was, and Wolfwood rolled over in bed and tried to pretend he couldnât feel himself being stared at.
By the time morning had come, just a few hours ago, Wolfwood was more than ready to really try to figure this out. The concept of the whole thing reversing itself on its own was clearly not going to happen. Wolfwood was going to have to tackle getting back to his Vash himself.
Or, as it turned out, with this Vash following along with him as he made his way to stand at the end of the dusty road leading up to the Plant tank, yammering away the whole time. Wolfwood hadnât really been listening; maybe if he had been, he would have understood what had led up to being called fluffy.
He didnât really want to, though.
âIf youâre going to stand there petting me, can you at least try to think and help me out?â
Vash grinned, moving closer. His fingers flexed, the subtle movement of it threatening as hell.
âYouâre going to let me pet you if I do?â
Wolfwood gritted his teeth. What was this guyâs problem?
âI didnât say that!â
Quickly enough that Wolfwood didnât really have time to register it, Vash moved in close to him, both hands coming up to cup his face. He used that hold to press their foreheads together, a dramatic sigh coming out of him before he said, âyou didnât need to, my love, I know what you want from me.â
Wolfwoodâs hands pressed up between them, shoving Vash back a few steps. He could feel heat spreading up from under his own collar, something he tried very hard to ignore. For his part, Vash was smirking, or, more, he was trying to pretend he wasnât, trying to look innocent as he batted his eyelashes at Wolfwood.
âI changed my mind, hands to yourself!â
Vash shrugged, an annoyingly placid smile on his face.
âSuit yourself, Nico.â
Now, that was something he didnât need to hear coming out of that mouth when, a second ago, Vash had absolutely been coming on to him. He was so much more forward than Wolfwoodâs Vash. No hesitancy there, he wasnât waiting for some kind of build-up that would break the dam and let everything loose. There was no dam, here.
âJust try and think of a way to fix this, all right?â
Shaking his head, annoyance coursing through his veins and attempting to neutralize the other feelings heâd been fighting a minute ago, Wolfwood moved away from Vash to sit himself down at a table outside one of the nearby saloons. It was damn hot in the sun, and he was having a hard enough time thinking already; he didnât need to add that to it.
And he needed a smoke. That thought was almost background as he brought a cigarette to his lips, lighting it and tucking his lighter back away as the chair across from him dragged out. Vash sat down in it, propping his chin on his hands, elbows on the table top. He was staring again.
âThatâs not helping, needle-noggin.â
The second the nickname had passed through his lips, Wolfwood knew a few things.
One, he wasnât sure how he felt about using that one for this Vash. Yes, this was some kind of version of his Vash â some very peppy, very handsy, very unfortunately intuitive version â but heâd never once used any nickname for Vash on anyone else.
Two, Vash loved it.
There was no way around pretending that wasnât the case. Not with the big, stupid grin that spread across his stupid face, and the way he reached out, both hands grabbing both of Wolfwoodâs, pulling him bodily across the table towards himself. The suddenness of it jostled the fresh cig from Wolfwoodâs mouth, bouncing it into the sand, and he wasnât sure what was more annoying; that, or this.
âYou use it, too. Thatâs one of my favourite petnames.â
Wolfwood tensed, stopping in the middle of trying to pull his hands free â was this one stronger than his Vash, or just less willing to give in? â to stare across the table.
Petnames.
âItâs not a petname, itâs a nickname!â
Vash smiled serenely.
âYouâll catch on eventually. Youâre just starting out. You havenât figured out how in lo-â
â-Let go!â
Wolfwood wasnât sure if Vash had loosened his grip, or if he had just managed to finally use enough strength to get himself free. All he knew was that one second he was desperately yanking out of Vashâs hands, needing that sentence to not be finished, and the next he was toppling over backwards, both him and the chair rolling off the edge of the wooden boards that made up the front porch of the saloon and landing on the dusty ground.
It was a damn good thing they were outside the saloon, rather than inside it. If theyâd been sitting inside, Wolfwood wouldâve had to deal with a hell of a lot more eyes on him. As it was, as he rolled from his back onto his front and pushed up, he had to glare at a couple walking past, inspiring them to look away again and mind their own damn business.
âI like your slippers.â
Still on the ground on all fours â probably a very bad position to be putting himself in â Wolfwood glared over his shoulder. Sitting at the table, one leg crossed over the other, Vash was smiling at him, eyes half-lidded. When Wolfwood, instead of vocally asking what the hell he was talking about now, gave him a look that did the same thing, Vash tipped his chin, indicating Wolfwoodâs feet.
Oh.
âTheyâre not slippers.â
Standing up, finally, he righted the chair and slammed it back down onto the wooden boards before sitting in it again. This time, he kept his hands close to himself.
âTheyâre just shoes. Not ridiculous ones like whatever you have going on with those boots.â
As he said it, Vash lifted the leg that was crossed over, both of them looking at the complicated, nearly knee-high leather footwear he was wearing. Not to mention, more belts. And Wolfwood thought his Vash had clunky boots. He wasnât going to criticize them again any time soon.
If and when he got back to even see the damn things on him.
âAnyway, can we focus again? How do I get back? And arenât you missing your Wolfwood?â
That seemed to snap Vash out of whatever train of thought he had been in. For a second, Wolfwood swore he saw something like genuine concern flash over his face.
âWell, sure. But, he can handle himself. Heâs always getting me out of sticky jams, Iâm sure heâll be back soon. Knows I canât get by without him.â
That hadnât been at all what Wolfwood had been expecting. This guy had been so much for the entire sixteen hours that heâd known him, and Wolfwood had fully expected to be waved off, misdirected or outright ignored when he asked what he had. Instead, Vashâs tone had been almost soft, a little wistful. Maybe there was something serious in there after all, some part that was more like the Vash heâd left in his dimension.
âI hope he gets back soon, though. If he gets back, and you stay? Oh boy, sorry to your Vash but yippee for me. Two Wolfwoods.â
And, there he went. Shoving up from the table, Wolfwood left, shaking his head as he walked away, heading, instead, up the dusty road towards the Plant. Maybe he would think better if he was closer to the thing that he suspected might have the ability to get him out of this mess, especially if it had somehow gotten him into it in the first place.
That, and he needed to walk off the feeling that Vashâs actually insightful words had left him with.
The other him was probably very capable, Wolfwood didnât doubt it. Heâd dealt with this Vash for who knew how long. And now, he was probably with Wolfwoodâs own Vash, so at least blondie wouldnât be without someone to watch his back when he was too busy being a sacrificial lamb to do it himself, but...
A spike of something like jealousy went through Wolfwood. If that Wolfwood was anything like this Vash, the whole game that heâd been wrapped up in, back home, the one where he and Vash danced around the elephant in the room without acknowledging it, slowly going mad, might have gone right out the window.
Wolfwood wasnât sure heâd blame Vash if he let whoever this Vashâs Wolfwood was sweep him off his feet and--
Shoving that thought aside as he shoved his hands in his pockets, Wolfwood glanced over his shoulder.
As suspected, there was his red-clad shadow.
âWhat are the Plants like, here?â he asked, hoping to keep them on topic. âWhere Iâm from, theyâre generators, mostly. Electricity, water, heat, food production... Is it the same here?â
Jogging to catch up to him â just a few short strides, really â Vash hummed, clearly thinking.
âI would say so, yep. More or less.â His eyes watched Wolfwoodâs face as he slowly said his next few words. âHow much do you know about your Vash?â
Vashâs arm swung around his shoulders, tugging Wolfwood into his side, and his leather gloved hand clapped over Wolfwoodâs mouth.
âRight, you know enough to be dangerous! I like that in my preacher man.â
Working his face loose from Vashâs hold, Wolfwood snapped, âIâm not a preacher man, Iâm an undertaker!â
âOooh, edgy! Okay, well, I like that in my undertaker. Now, letâs try keeping our voices down and get back on track. So, you know, then, itâs a little more complicated than, say, Plants being generic batteries.â
Oh, yeah.
Wolfwood understood that, loud and clear. That was why he had a very, very strong suspicion that he knew how heâd ended up here. The means, anyway, if not the reason.
âSo, if thatâs how it is, you really think the Plant could have done this?â
âThat⌠is a very good question,â Vash said, making all the right expressions to show he was thinking about it. He couldnât have been thinking about it all that hard, though; his arm was still locked around Wolfwoodâs shoulders, and no matter how Wolfwood squirmed, somehow he wasnât getting free âI guess itâs possible. It made the most sense at the time. Even I donât know every single thing a Plant can do.â
Wolfwood sensed the truth in that. His Vash didnât either, and even if this one seemed like there was a layer under this facade that had seen a lot of shit and knew a lot because of it, Wolfwood suspected it could still be difficult to fully bridge the gap between dependent and independent.
Their stroll had brought them much closer to the Plant, now, and, after ducking quickly to slip out of Vashâs grasp, Wolfwood craned his neck back, moving even closer. The damn tank was huge, much bigger than the ones he was used to seeing. Did that mean these ones were stronger? Different in some incredibly notable and drastic way?
Glancing over his shoulder at Vash, Wolfwood wondered.Â
âSo, if the Plant did thisâŚâ Wolfwood started, looking up at the thing. It was curled up into a ball, much like the ones he knew. Dormant, maybe. Heâd never thought to ask Vash if that was a comfort thing or if they chose that position to sleep in because it was safest. Either way, there were slight differences that he could see right away.
He kept running into those slight differences on this unplanned jaunt to another dimension.Â
âHow do we reverse it?â
Just behind his shoulder, Vash hummed, shrugged, and then pointed, drawing Wolfwoodâs attention to the workers milling about the base of the tank, coming and going. Shift change, maybe. âTheyâre the experts.â
Wolfwood narrowed his eyes.Â
âArenât you an expert? Considering youâreââ
Vashâs finger pressed to Wolfwoodâs lips, shushing him as he leaned in. When he spoke, his voice was soft, light and easy, despite the clear warning Wolfwood could see in his eyes.Â
Slight differences.Â
âYouâre kind of being a lot right now, Wolfwood. And even if youâre technically right, I canât think on an empty stomach.â
That sounded like an excuse to Wolfwood, but he couldnât counter it with any kind of sure feeling. Maybe Vash wasnât looking to get rid of him right yet, but if the way heâd talked about his Wolfwood was any kind of indication, making excuses to avoid finding a fix for all this seemed to go against sense.
Then again, this Vash wasnât exactly striking Wolfwood was someone with a lot of sense.
Grabbing Vash by the wrist, he removed the finger from his lips, leaning in himself.
âKind of hard not to be a lot when Iâm the only one of us trying to figure this out. You trying food as a bargaining chip now, since I wouldnât let you pet me?â
Vash had some kind of barely concealed delight showing on his face. It had been there since Wolfwood had leaned in, but now it was much more obvious, just about making his eyes sparkle. It was ridiculous, how was he even real?
âWill you accept food as a bargaining chip, if I promise I will be the most helpful version of me I can possibly be to sort this out once Iâve had a donut?â he asked. Over his shoulder, Wolfwood could see two of the plant engineers eying them. He would too, if he was watching this from the outside. Didnât mean that Wolfwood had to like it, though.
âMaybe even a drink? Are you listening to me? This whole bargaining thing doesnât work that well if youâre not listening to my part.â
âYeah, sure, fine. We can find something to eat,â Wolfwood agreed, tuning back into the conversation. âBut then you are going to help me with this. My blondie isnât like you.â Letting go of Vashâs wrist, he rolled his shoulder end he turned to head back the way theyâd come. He had no idea what this town had to offer, but there had to be something somewhere, right?
As it turned out, that wasnât the furthest thing from the truth, but this dusty, backwater town was a bit less diversified than the one that heâd been snatched out of. Despite the size of that Plant, what they had amounted to a handful of saloons, a few shops and, thankfully, a bakery that happened to be selling the exact thing Vash had been whining about.
Donuts.
That was another thing the two of them shared, Wolfwood thought, standing back and watching while Vash ordered at the counter. Donuts were fine, but his Vash really did have a fondness for them. One that he, himself, might have used to his own advantage, only three days ago.
Before theyâd gotten to that backwater town, and theyâd been on the outskirts of November, and Vash had been wistfully looking at a box of pastries a lady had gone by with, lamenting how long it had been since heâd had a good donut. Wolfwood had told him that they had bigger problems and to focus, but heâd come back to their room that night with a box in hand.
A half dozen donuts. Heâd played it cool, said he just didnât want to listen to Vashâs whining about missing out once he found out the ones here were sort of famous. Still, on the inside heâd been quietly celebrating, basking in the look that Vash had given him.
âWolfwood!â
Snapping out of it, Wolfwood focused on this Vash, again, and just barely didnât immediately regret it.
âPay for me?â
Wolfwood gaped.
âPay for-- I donât have any money, you idiot!â
Vash pouted, and then dug into one of his own pockets. Behind the counter, the baker was clearly trying not to let every single one of her thoughts show on her face. Wolfwood almost would have apologized, but, technically, he wasnât responsible for this one.
Something like guilt nudged him at that thought. If he thought the other Wolfwood was taking care of his Vash â meaning, making sure he was staying alive, not anything else â then maybe he should be trying to return the favour.
Taking a step forward, and then another, Wolfwood let himself walk up to the counter, taking the little bag of donuts when it was handed over. It was still warm, and that was kind of nice. Next to him, Vash smiled.
âIâll carry these. Since you paid.â
The next stop was, apparently, booze. There was a part of Wolfwood that was curious about how that would be, here, and he couldnât really hide it. Vash clearly had something in mind, though, leading him right to it, not pausing for very long for Wolfwood to browse through the small selection they had.
âYou donât want that.â Wolfwood looked at where Vash was standing, looking at a different shelf than he was, but clearly paying enough attention to have seen Wolfwood looking at some kind of whiskey. âYouâll drink the whole bottle and it wonât do anything,â he continued, matter-of-factly, before turning and looking Wolfwood up and down. âWell... Maybe it would get you. You drink often?â
Wolfwood knew that was probably meant only to be out of curiosity, and nothing else, but he couldnât stop the look he gave Vash, flat and unimpressed.
âCan you hurry up and get what youâre after?â
âWorking on it!â Vash crooned, turning back to the shelf and picking up the bottle that had been right in front of his damn face.
He had to be doing this on purpose. Had to be. There was no other explanation.
Was he trying to make Wolfwood crazy?
Once they had paid up, again, Vash led the way back into the hot afternoon. Wolfwood was still cradling the donut bag, but he had the bottle in hand and now he used that to gesture towards their inn. It was at the corner, nothing special, but Wolfwood was almost relieved to see it. Something familiar in all this.
âIf weâre going to brainstorm, we should do it out of this heat, and in there where I know we can sit and you can say all the dangerous things you want without me having to try to smother you.â Vash, boldly, after a statement like that, winked at him, before striding out into the street, and leading the way towards the inn, leaving Wolfwood to jog after him.
Did he have stupidly long legs, or what?
âWait, you bought booze. And donuts. Thatâs your idea of something thatâs going to get your mind off your empty stomach good enough to help me out?â
âHelp us out,â Vash corrected, holding open the inn door for him. Obediently, Wolfwood walked through, and then immediately regretted being so obedient when he felt Vashâs hand on his lower back, guiding him towards the stairs.
Handsy.
âAs youâve helpfully pointed out, my Wolfwood is missing and youâre very cute, and Iâm having way too much fun with you, but I am probably going to need him to come back sooner rather than later.â Up the stairs they went, Vashâs hand staying put the whole time.
Right up until they got to the top of the stairs.
Then it slid down and--
âHey!â
Wolfwood jumped, putting a few feet between them, glaring at Vash with his back now facing the wall. Vash, infuriating asshole that he was, smiled innocently.
âIt was just a little pinch. You really are still going through it, arenât you?â His smile turned almost pitying as he turned down the hallway that led to the rooms theyâd occupied the night before. âPoor thing.â
Wolfwood should throw the donuts down the stairs.
It would serve Vash right.
Instead, shoulders hunched in annoyance, he followed down the hallway, showing that he had learned his lesson when Vash unlocked his room door and gestured for him to go in, only to have Wolfwood glare at him.
âOh, fine! It was only going to be a slap this time, anyway!â
âThat doesnât make me feel better.â
Wolfwood walked into the room, setting the donut bag down on the little table next to the window. The room was the mirror image of his own. The one heâd slept fitfully in until waking up to find Vash sitting there watching him. Same generic bed, same sparse rack for hanging things on, same tiny table with a small ashtray on it. Like the one in his room, there were a few butts in it, though Wolfwood knew those hadnât been his. The other Wolfwood, probably, which was an interesting thought.
By the time today was over, Wolfwood would probably be adding to the ashes in that dish. He could already feel it. Had been feeling it all day.
The main difference between the two rooms, though, was the wrapped up cross leaned in the corner.
It wasnât that much different than his own. It had been on the ground nearby when heâd found himself staring at this Vash, last night, but before he had touched the thing, Vash had pulled it away by one of the straps, shaking his head.
âYouâre a Wolfwood, but I donât know if heâd be happy if I let you have his Punisher.â
This Punisher looked thinner, the body narrower in general, compared to his own. Wolfwoodâs fingers itched to unwrap it and see what it was like underneath, but Vash hadnât let that happen.
What was going on with his own Punisher? Was his Vash being as stubborn about not letting the other Wolfwood touch it?
Surprisingly, Wolfwood found that he hoped so. Unless they were in real danger, he didnât think he liked the idea of some other Wolfwood handling his gun.
Maybe this Vash had a point.
âHave a seat, stop staring at it.â
Vash had produced two glasses from somewhere else in the room and set them on the table now, dropping into one of the chairs, himself.
âIâm not going to let you use it. You donât need it. Waving a gun at the Plant isnât going to get it to send you back.â
Maybe he had a point.
Maybe.
âHow do you know? We havenât tried that,â Wolfwood pointed out, pulling out the other chair to make himself comfortable. Across the table, Vash pushed one of the glasses towards him, smirking now. He seemed pleased, and Wolfwood supposed that could be because of the alcohol.
âThat sounded like him,â he said, before opening the bottle, and pouring generously into each of their glasses. It was, probably, more than Wolfwood thought he should be drinking, if they were going to actually talk about this whole thing, but he would just keep from finishing the whole glass. This Vash seemed like he might operate okay on booze to a certain point. âHe would try that, too. Itâs weird, how you two are the same, but also different.â
Setting the bottle aside, Vash lifted his glass and, without having to think about it, Wolfwood did the same, both of them clinking together softly before they each took a sip.
The whiskey was smokey, a hint of spice hitting his tongue immediately, and Wolfwood set the glass down again, giving it an eye.
âI picked a good one, didnât I?â
Looking across the table, Wolfwood found Vash watching him.
Because of course he was.
âHe likes it, doesnât he?â
Not for the first time, Wolfwood saw that flicker on Vashâs face. The longer all of this went on, the more he was letting the mask slip. He hadnât seemed all that concerned at the jump, but now that they were having to actually try and think about things, because the Plant wasnât just doing it on its own, maybe it was setting in that this was real.
He and whoever the Wolfwood from here was, were swapped.
âDo you?â
Wolfwood thought about the question, then nodded. Vash did the same.
âHe does like it. Introduced me to it, actually. I wondered if you would.â
Pulling the bag of donuts towards himself, Vash dug one out, and then leaned back in his chair, regarding Wolfwood across the table.
âYou should tell me about your Vash, since you canât treat me to his favourite things.â
Wolfwood had told himself, when the glass had first been poured for him, that he wouldnât drink the whole thing. He needed to stay sharp, not just because he was trying to problem-solve, but because just because this was some form of Vash didnât mean he should trust him entirely. It seemed smart, even essential, to keep his head on straight.
Somehow, though, hours later, not only had he finished that glass, but he was on to his third. The donuts were long gone, shared between the two of them, though Vash had absolutely eaten more, and...
âHe should wear more leather. Like me.â
âNo, I donât think so.â
Wolfwood propped his elbow on the table, shaking his head. Across from him, Vash had undone the collar of his coat, and though Wolfwood couldnât fully tell what was underneath, he suspected it was more leather. Definitely more leather.
âBecause it would take you longer to get him out of it?â
Vash raised his eyebrows, smirking. That look had gone from teasing to knowing, and Wolfwood didnât know how to feel about it. This Vash knew things about him that he hadnât ever once admitted out loud. He and his Wolfwood had a relationship that had, clearly, stopped giving room to the elephant, acknowledged it, and gone forward from there.
And he clearly found it hilarious that Wolfwood and his Vash hadnât. Wolfwood hadnât even admitted it, but he could tell Vash knew. He was telegraphing it, constantly.
âWeâre trying to deal with his psycho brother, Iâm not thinking about that.â
âAnd it is so nice to know that in every universe, Knives is described like that. I thought I did something wrong, but youâre telling me yours is just as unreasonable.â Vash shook his head solemnly, raising his glass. âSad.â
He took a sip, and then added, âyou are thinking about it, though.â
âWhat about your Wolfwood, huh?â Wolfwood cut in, having had enough of the track that comment was leading them down. âDoes he really have the crosses on his sleeves?â
Vash nodded. âMhmm. And he knows how to button his jacket, which I see you havenât mastered yet.â
A tease, meant as bait, but it was one Wolfwood was hard pressed to stop himself taking. The whiskey was making it more difficult to just let Vash run his mouth and ignore it.
âItâs restricting. I can get more movement like this, my Punisher is bigger than his.â
âSize isnât everything.â
âOh, shut up!â
Wolfwood was laughing. He couldnât tell if the look on Vashâs face was shock, or something else, but he didnât mind the look of it.
Could be that this Vash was growing on him, too.
Maybe he just had a general weakness for Vash the Stampede.
As soon as that thought occurred to Wolfwood, he reached for his glass, downing another mouthful. The whiskey had started to go down a lot easier after that first glass. He could see why the other Wolfwood liked it so much.
âThereâs another thing thatâs different between how you dress and how my Wolfwood dresses.â
Looking over the top of his glass, Wolfwood swallowed. âOh yeah? And whatâs that?â
Vash smiled.
Wolfwood didnât know if he liked that smile.
That smile looked like a threat, and he was the only one in close enough proximity to be victimized.
âMy Wolfwood learned to wear lace-up shoes.â
Wolfwood blinked.
âIâm sorry?â
Vashâs smile turned into a wide, toothy grin.
Oh, no, that was definitely a threat.
âI said, my Wolfwood...â
He was an idiot. He shouldnât have asked Vash to repeat himself.
Vash was pushing his chair out, getting up.
â...learned that he should be wearing...â
Wolfwood should run. He didnât, and that was the critical error.
â...lace-up shoes.â
Before Wolfwood could scramble out of his seat and at least try to get away, Vash had swooped in, getting one hand around his ankle and yanking. Wolfwood flailed, one hand gripping the table edge, the other holding on to the back of the chair as Vash slipped his shoe off and tossed it somewhere over his shoulder. Wolfwood could hear it clattering somewhere on the boards and, briefly, he considered his options, looking around at the Punisher.
Then he felt Vashâs cheek against his ankle, and the top of his foot, and looked back down in horror to confirm, yes, Vash was nuzzling his bare foot.
âBut you donât know any better!â
Options considered, Wolfwood went for the easiest one, which was to kick Vash in the shoulder with his other â thankfully still shoed-up â foot. Vash must have been expecting it, because Wolfwood barely made contact. He had already been rolling away, laughing like a madman.
âYouâre insane,â Wolfwood muttered, getting up and, carefully, walking around Vash to try and find his missing shoe. It had flopped halfway under the bed and Wolfwood bent over to pick it up, before sitting down hard on the edge of the bed to pull it on.
His head was swimming a little. Maybe it was time to slow down on the whiskey.
Vash was doing foot things. It was absolutely time to slow down on the whiskey.
âYou said if you didnât have an empty stomach, youâd be able to think and help me.â
Still on the floor, Vash rolled onto his front, propping his chin on one of his hands to look up at Wolfwood. He looked like he was thinking about whether or not heâd said that, before he sighed.
âAll right. You did let me get donuts and booze, plus I got in a pinch and taught you a lesson about your footwear. I guess Iâm ready to be serious again.â
Vash saying that while laying, dishevelled and tipsy, on the floor, really was something. Wolfwood wasnât sure exactly what, but something.
âThe Plant.â
Vash nodded. âThe Plant.â
âYou think it did this. I think it did this. So, first of all, how, and second of all, how do we get it to put it right?â
It wasnât the first time that Wolfwood had asked, really, but, for the first time, Vash looked up, his face surprisingly sober looking for someone who had drank quite a bit.
âI could just ask.â
Wolfwood was staring again. He felt like he was doing that a lot, with Vash, but there was something about him that was just constantly rendering him kind of speechless. That was a skill, maybe. He wondered if the other Wolfwood felt like this.
âWhat?â
It had come out a lot flatter than Wolfwood had expected. No bark in it. Maybe that was why Vash had fed him so much whiskey. Make him a little more docile.
âI could just ask,â Vash repeated, shrugging his shoulders before he pulled his impossibly long legs up and moved into a sitting position, still on the floor. âMaybe thatâs what made this happen in the first place.â
Wolfwood took a breath.
âIt has been... nearly an entire day of us trying to figure out how this happened, and youâre just now deciding to tell me that maybe thatâs what made it happen? What the hell did you ask it?â
His voice had been, without his say-so, getting louder with every word and now Vash made shushing noises from the floor, shifting onto his knees to scoot closer.
Wolfwood firmly planted his feet on the floor.
âTechnically, I didnât ask!â Vash explained, still on his knees on the floor. âWolfwood did. We were passing by the Plant, and, okay, I might have been being a lot yesterday, kind of like you were todayââ Wolfwood pointedly did not bring up the fact that he had, today, been dealing with being in a different dimension, and being a lot seemed like something he was allowed to be, all things considered ââand Wolfwood said something like âI wish I could find a version of you that was less of a pain in my assâ and then, bam.â
Vash slapped both hands down on Wolfwoodâs knees, looking up at him.
âHe was gone, and there you were. So, maybe the Plant was listening, and thought it was being helpful. They do that sometimes.â
Wolfwood took a breath.
That was so incredibly stupid that, really, it couldnât be anything but the answer. He knew that the Plants tended to work by their own rules when it suited them. So, of course, when the other him had said that, and the Plant had been within earshot, and, presumably, bored...
It would add up.
They were related to Vash, after all. In a manner of speaking. That kind of thinking seemed like just the kind of thing he could expect. It was stupid, but it was simple, and Wolfwood really resented that it had taken an entire day and most of a bottle of whiskey to get them to this point.
âSo, if we go back there...â
Vash nodded. Listening.
â...and you ask the Plant, you know, Plant to Plantââ
ââYou can stop talking about me being a Plantââ
ââIt might just decide to undo this little swap and put me and your Wolfwood back where we belong?â
His hands still on Wolfwoodâs knees, Vash nodded again.
Wolfwood waited, the silence stretching between them for a few very, very long seconds.
âOkay, so when are we doing that, needle-noggin?!â
âOhhh!â
Using the hands on Wolfwoodâs knees, Vash boosted himself up into a standing position. Or, what would have been a standing position, if we wasnât still bent at the waist, hands still on Wolfwoodâs knees as he leaned in, grinning broadly.
To his credit, Wolfwood didnât lean back, letting Vash get as close as he wanted.
âThatâs why you were staring at me! Well,â Vashâs fingers squeezed his knees just once and then Vash did stand up, stretching his arms over his head and glancing out the window. The sun was going down, the sky outside lit up in bands of red, orange and yellow. âWe should wait until nightfall. I donât think it would be a good idea for us to just walk up to the Plant and start giving it requests while the engineers are going home for the day.â
Vash, unfortunately, had a good point. It didnât matter how eager Wolfwood was to see if that was the solution to the problem; if the two of them wandered up and started chatting at the Plant, people were bound to ask questions. Leave alone the fact that it wasnât the most normal thing to do, Vash, in his bright red coat, would draw attention. Add the two together, and that was a recipe for disaster.
Which meant that Vash proposed that they finish the bottle. It was good booze, and they shouldnât let it go to waste. Wolfwood should have argued against it, because he needed to be clear-headed and as level as it was possible for him to be if this didnât go the way he needed it to, but, somehow, by the time they left the room, the bottle was empty, sitting on the table with their equally empty glasses, and there was a pleasant hum in Wolfwoodâs head.
Again, maybe this was Vashâs way of keeping him docile.
He was finding, more and more, that he didnât mind.
Like this, it did feel a little more likely that everything would work out. Yeah, heâd been pretty sure already that the Plant was just granting requests, a distant relative feeling bad for the other Wolfwood having to deal with their weird cousin, or brother, or whatever Vash was to them, and giving him a break.
Thing was, as they walked through the darkened road, up towards the Plant, Wolfwood could admit to himself that there was no arguing this Vash had grown on him. He was an idiot, and he did foot things, and he could be infuriating, but he was still Vash. There was a core to him that was so much like the one that heâd left behind that it was hard not to feel something towards this one.
Like Vash had been reading his mind, he turned, giving Wolfwood a big smile.
Wolfwood raised an eyebrow. âYou excited to have your Wolfwood back here?â
Without missing a beat, Vash answered, âyep. Think I might miss you, though. Think your Vash might miss my Wolfwood?â
The spike of annoyance Wolfwood felt at that must have been something Vash had been looking for. He whistled, low, shaking his head as he turned back around. The Plant was looming on the horizon, the clear outline of the tank obvious over the rooftops.
âYouâve got it bad, donât you? Think your Vash might be itching to get you back, in that case.â
âWhat would you know about that?â Wolfwood snapped, doubling his strides to try and pass Vash. Instead of being let do it, Vash swooped in against his side, looping his arm through Wolfwoodâs and keeping pace.
âIâd know a lot. Iâm pretty itchy myself, but Iâve also been roundabouts where you two are now, and I know how to read a Wolfwood, fluffy variant or otherwise.â
It was the blatant way Vash said it that Wolfwood struggled with. He just knew, and for him, everything had worked out. He and his Wolfwood had something, whatever the hell it was, but he didnât really know what their situation was, back where Wolfwood came from. There wasnât time to be catering to the ache in his chest or the vaguely sick feeling in his stomach, the ones the vials could never touch.
They made the rest of the short trek up to the Plant in silence. Wolfwood wanted to know what Vash was thinking, but, instead of asking, it just seemed easier to walk. To walk and, this time, just let Vash have his way. He seemed absolutely thrilled that Wolfwood hadnât pulled his arm away, and he didnât drop it until they were standing in the deep shadows under the Plant tank, looking up at the thing.
It still looked like it was sleeping, but Wolfwood knew that didnât mean anything. They were always listening.
That was what had gotten them into this whole mess in the first place.
âWait here.â
Vashâs hand came up, squeezing at his shoulder, briefly, before Vash stepped away, moving until Wolfwood could barely see him. That was both different and the same as his Vash. His Vash hadnât seemed very keen on showing exactly what he was or how he could communicate with the Plants, at first. When theyâd caught him at it, unexpectedly, he had seemed shocked to see them seeing him. Heâd bounced back quickly, though. Accepted that they knew and let it go. Mostly. He wasnât flaunting his abilities all the time, and this one didnât seem to, either.
He also seemed more like he was moving away out of some kind of courtesy to Wolfwood.
Was the other Wolfwood afraid of what Vash was? Examining that would take more time and focus than Wolfwood thought he had right now, but he supposed he could understand it. Deep down, even he was a little unsettled at what his Vash was capable of, of how old he was and how much heâd seen and would see. Maybe it was hard not to be a little off-put by that, but it didnât make Wolfwood love him less.
The thought had flit through his mind, easy, rolling on the wave of the alcohol heâd had, and it took a second before Wolfwood realized it, with a little physical jolt. Maybe it was that movement that got Vashâs attention, or maybe not, but a few deep breaths later, Wolfwood realized Vash was walking back his way, smiling smugly.
So, their hypothesis must have been correct.
âGot you a ride.â
Pushing aside the mild panic heâd sent himself into, Wolfwood cleared his throat and looked up at the Plant. It looked like it had shifted, unfurled a little, and the light seemed different.
âGuess we donât have long, then,â Wolfwood murmured, looking back at Vash. Heâd moved closer. A lot closer. He really seemed to have issues with personal space. âUh. Thanks for... the help.â
Vash waved a hand. âAw, shucks. You donât have to thank me. Iâll do anything for you, Wolfwood.â
He said it in such a light, easy tone, it would have been easy to write the whole thing off as part of whatever running joke this Vash had his life written with. But, because he was Vash, even if he wasnât his Vash, Wolfwood heard the note of sincerity in there.
The damn booze had opened him up to a lot of damage he hadnât known he was going to be taking, given by a Vash he never would have met if the other him hadnât been making glib jabs.
He wondered if the other Wolfwood knew that, though. That this Vash would do anything for him.
Something in his gut was telling Wolfwood it worked the same way for his back home.
âLet the other me know his Punisher is puny, yeah?â Wolfwood said, rallying against letting the thoughts shouting in his head come out of his mouth. He just needed to get back.
âI wonât do that,â Vash laughed. Before Wolfwood could move, he stepped forward, closing the scant distance between them, both hands coming up. Heâd done this so many times today, Wolfwood should have been ready for it, but instead of even taking a half-step back, he stayed put, letting Vash cup his face. Judging by the look on Vashâs face, he was pleasantly surprised.
But, maybe, not as surprised as Wolfwood would have expected.
âWhen you get back to your Vash,â he started, glancing up. The light around them was definitely changing. They really didnât have long. âJust lay one of these on him. If heâs anything like me, and I think weâve figured out weâre all more alike than you thought, heâs going insane waiting for you to hurry up and do it.â
Wolfwood had known what was coming, and he didnât bother stepping back, or pulling out of Vashâs hands. He just closed his eyes, and let Vash lean in and kiss him.
It wasnât anything intense. There wasnât a push there. Vash was careful with him, sweet, his thumbs brushing over Wolfwoodâs jaw before he let go, stepping back.
His smile looked different. More real, less of something meant to be a mask.
Right up until he put his hand on Wolfwoodâs chest, extending his arm and stepping back, himself. His other hand flew to his forehead, and he looked away, theatrics dripping from him.
âDonât chase me! Youâve got a Stampede of your own waiting for you at home!â
âI wasnât gonna!â Wolfwood shot back, wanting to sound annoyed, but ending up in a smile.
Vash returned it.
âSafe travels, Wolfwood.â
Vash couldnât have timed that line more perfectly. One second, Wolfwood was seeing him standing there, smiling and clearly waiting for the swap, the next he was stumbling backwards, tripping over his own feet and only barely keeping from falling over by grabbing on to the railing surrounding the platform heâd found himself on.
Above him, encased in its neat cylinder, a Plant seemed to be dimming, the glow filling the room going from a bright blue-white to something softer. Settling again after being in contact with its inter-dimensional other self. It looked right, looked like the kind of Plant he knew, and, straightening, Wolfwood understood what that meant.
The Plant facility in this backwater town wasnât far from the inn where he and Vash had set up, the night before heâd been swapped. Heading for the stairs, Wolfwood took them almost too fast, slowing himself down only with the reminder that if he tripped, fell and broke his neck, the vials in his pocket werenât going to do him much good.
Heâd nearly made it to the ground floor when the main door flung open, and Vash ran in.
His Vash. Oversized red coat, jade beauty of an arm, big orange glasses, and those clunky boots. They skidded to a stop on the shiny floor just feet from the bottom of the stairs, Vash staring up at him with those big, pretty blue eyes while Wolfwood stared back down.
He was screwed. Oh, he really was so, so screwed. It was no wonder the other Vash had known it on sight, how the hell was he supposed to hide the feelings that were trying to claw their way out of his chest the moment Vash was standing in front of him?
Why did he even bother to try?
âPlants can do a lot more crazy shit than youâve told me, needle-noggin.â
One of them had needed to break the staring contest, and Wolfwood was happy to be the one to do it. Just a few words, and he was able to move his legs again, walking the rest of the way down the last few stairs.
Vash laughed, moving again himself. There was a bit of colour in his cheeks, Wolfwood noticed, watching while Vash rolled his eyes. Was that from running here â heâd run here, heâd known to look for Wolfwood here â or was it something else?
âIâve told you. I donât know everything they can do.â
Wolfwoodâs shoes landed on the floor, putting him right in front of Vash, and both of them stopped moving.
It had only been a day, and Wolfwood had been with a version of him, but his Vash... his Vash. Heâd missed him. Missed the stupid smile Vash was giving him, now, and the way he wasnât quite meeting his eyes, like he was shy, or something. Same thing that Wolfwood did, whenever they both became aware that the elephant had made itself known in the room and would like to be acknowledged.
When you get back to your Vash...
âHey, Wolfwood,â Vash started, âcan we talk?â
It was long past time to acknowledge the damn elephant. Wolfwood was tired of dancing around the damn thing, it was keeping him from something he wanted.
Bringing both hands up, Wolfwood cupped Vashâs face, not worrying that he was going to pull away, or that this was the wrong thing. Heâd figured out a thing or two in the last day.
Vashâs hands found the front of his blazer, fingers twisting in the fabric, a second before Wolfwood leaned in, eyes closed, heart hammering.
He didnât know why theyâd been letting anything keep them from this. He kissed Vash, and Vash kissed him back, those hands on his blazer not letting him get away for a second, and everything settled.
Wolfwood didnât push, and neither did Vash, but the way Wolfwood kissed him wasnât anything that couldnât be described as intense. After this long, it couldnât be anything but, even if, still, he was careful. That didnât seem to matter. Vash gave back as good as he got.
The ache in Wolfwoodâs chest exploded, but that was all right. It felt kind of good.
Almost as good as Vash using the grip on his blazer to yank him backwards, breaking the kiss to glance over his shoulder at a door marked UTILITY CLOSET.
Wolfwood laughed, letting himself be pulled along, moving with Vash, not letting them get drawn apart. Not again.
âThe innâs just down the road!â
Looking back at him, Vash smirked.
Oh, that just poured gasoline on the fire. Wolfwood didnât know heâd been needing Vash to look at him like that, but, oh boy, had he ever.
âYouâve made me wait long enough.â
...heâs going insane waiting for you to hurry up and do it...
There was something incredibly hot about the way Vash reached back, twisting the door handle and yanking it open with his prosthetic hand. If that door had been locked, it wasnât now.
âWe can go to the inn later.â
Turned out, the other Vash might have been dead on about a few things.
Wolfwood certainly had had a Stampede of his own waiting for him at home.
He would be making sure that he didnât let him go. Not any time soon.
3.1k words (this part) | 6.7k words (total) | Rated: T
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There would be time to talk, later. They could work through this. They would work through a lot of things.
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This was fun to write, playing with one of the thousands of ideas of what could have happened in that unknown time immediately after Vash and Knives' last fight. I hope you've enjoyed and thank you all for readingđ¤
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âThis is kind of pathetic, donât you think?â
Wolfwood knew he didnât have a right to be the one saying that, considering, like the others, he was also crowded in the hallway outside Vashâs door, hovering, none of them wanting to be the one to break the fragile peace they assumed had settled on the other side.
Still, one of them had to say it, and he knew damn well it wasnât going to be Milly or Livio, and Meryl was too wound up, waiting for the okay from Luida, to sass any of them.
âWeâre worried,â she said. âDonât pretend you arenât.â
Even though she was telling him off, instead of glaring at him, or shoving away, Meryl leaned back into Wolfwoodâs side, just for a moment. It was a silent show of understanding, letting him off the hook for answering her. She knew he didnât need to, and both of them could do without the back and forth, right now. The silent understanding would be enough for both of them.
Despite what Brad had said, when theyâd found their way to Vashâs room, Luida had asked them to stay outside and stay quiet. Yes, he was awake, and he was speaking, but he wasnât in the best of shape. It had been all she needed to say to explain what was going on in that room. Whatever had happened to Vash after the Julai incident, Wolfwood suspected Luida had glimpsed it, even from her safe distance, the one that she had kept everyone else at by saying she didnât know if heâd survived and where he might be. Right now, very likely, they were walking a careful tightrope.
One move too far could push Vash over the edge into that borderline catatonic state Jessica had talked about. Right now, only hours from what had happened, he was fragile.
They couldnât jeopardize that.
Especially because, for them, the things that were likely weighing on Vash the heaviest would be the most cause for relief. Knives was gone. Very likely, he was gone, heâd made an impossible and frankly unexpected sacrifice, and that was a spectre that wouldnât be hanging over all of them any longer. There was a hope for the future there.
It was complicated as hell, and the longer Wolfwood thought about it, the more his fingers itched to light up.
Once this night was over, he was going to chainsmoke an entire pack outside the ship. Right outside the damn door. Sleep be damned.
The sound of the door opening broke into that revelry, and, along with the others, Wolfwood straightened, paying attention as Luida stepped out of the room and let it shut behind her. That didnât seem like the best sign, but when she looked at each of them, she smiled.
âHe wants to see you.â
Somehow, those five words sounded like victory over something Wolfwood hadnât expected they would need to overcome. It couldnât be perfect, and he knew Vash enough to know that whoever they found on the other side of that door wasnât going to be happy, cheery, peppy and up for anything. He was going to be fighting through the instinct to sink into his grief.
Maybe this would help.
âJust... Well, I donât think I need to tell all of you what to keep in mind.â
Stepping aside, Luida let Meryl pull open the door.
As expected, Vash was sitting up in his bed. He, at least, had been changed out of the clothing they had found him in, dressed instead in clothes that had obviously come from the supplies here on the ship. Whites, creams and greys, soft fabrics in colours that made the stark change of his hair that much more prominent.
Pitch-dark, such a hard turn from the blonde his hair had been â mostly â just a handful of hours before. It was where Wolfwoodâs eyes lingered, mentally turning over everything Conrad had told him back on the Ark while the girls moved closer to Vashâs bedside.
When he smiled, that changed things somewhat.
It was such a sad thing. It wasnât reaching his eyes, and he looked tired, but he did it all the same. A smile, and a hand reaching out to Meryl as she reached for his.
âYou all made it.â
There was a hoarse edge to his voice, but it was still soft, still painfully sincere as Meryl and Milly each sat on one side of his bed. The tears that had been threatening to make themselves known from Meryl for the last few hours spilled over. She couldnât be blamed for the way she leaned in, wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly.
âYou made it, Vash. We thought we lost you.â
âAgain.â
Wolfwood hadnât bothered to keep his mouth shut. Sure, Vash was fragile, but treating him like anything other than who he was wouldnât help anything. Smothering the instinct to point out that this wasnât the first time theyâd stood on the edge of something and feared that Vash was gone forever would only make things worse.
It wasnât who he was, and Vash knew it just as well.
From behind Merylâs shoulder, Vash met Wolfwoodâs eyes. Whatever he was thinking, Wolfwood couldnât tell for sure, but he was distracted from it a second later by Milly leaning in to wrap her arms around both Vash and Meryl. Standing at the foot of the bed, Wolfwood watched Vash close his eyes and lean his temple against the top of her head.
Something in Wolfwoodâs chest twisted, watching it, but he wasnât given a second to linger on it. Not when Livio was moving away from his side, shuffling up next to Milly and adding himself to the hug.
This, right here, was the proof of Vashâs effect on people. It didnât matter how long theyâd known him for, the person he was came through and inspired this in people. Sure, heâd brought Midvalley and Emilio around, and that was a feat in itself, but for Milly and Livio, who hadnât known him all that long, to be tucking themselves into a hug like this, as awkward and uncomfortable and, honestly, dumb, as it looked, spoke volumes.
Might as well look a little dumb.
It was that thought that had Wolfwood moving around the end of the bed, stepping up next to Meryl. She was still tucked up against Vash, her short legs bent to keep her on the bed, his arm around her side potentially doing a lot of the work in that regard. She didnât look up when Wolfwood got close, but Vash did.
There was a lot of hurt in his eyes, still. Wolfwood suspected that was going to take a long, long time to go away. There was something else there, too, though, and it was whatever that was that had Wolfwood reaching down, pressing his hand between Merylâs side and Vashâs prosthetic hand, giving it a light squeeze.
Holding his gaze, Vash squeezed back. His eyes were damp, red-rimmed. Getting worse by the second.
Wolfwood rubbed his thumb over the back of Vashâs hand, and nodded. Why, he wasnât entirely sure, but something in him felt that was what Vash needed to see. In the middle of all of this, being hugged by the other three, somehow Wolfwood knew a nod would be enough.
Or, maybe too much, given the shake in Vashâs lower lip before he squeezed his eyes shut and tipped his face down. The hand holding Wolfwoodâs tightened, not enough to hurt, but enough to communicate the simple truth.
Vash was hurting.
âI know you all just barely got in here to see Vash...â
Luidaâs voice, as always, was soft and gentle. It was such a contrast to Miss Melanieâs voice. Wolfwood had never doubted the love and care the woman had for him and the children heâd been raised with, the ones now under her protection. She wasnât the type to be soft-spoken about it, though. She was blunt, said what she meant, and let the tone carry it however it would.
In some ways, when Wolfwood put Melanie and Luida, mentally, side by side, he could understand Vash more. Luida showed her love and care in her words and tone just the same as Melanie, but it came out gentler. A calm touch from a hand on the head, rather than a jovial nudge from an elbow in the side. She cared deeply about Vash.
Just the same as the rest of them, and maybe that was why, at her tone, everyone let off a bit. Livio straightened and backed up to the end of the bed, giving Milly room to come around, herself. Hand slipping from Vashâs, Wolfwood moved to give Milly the space to be at Merylâs side as she extricated herself from Vashâs embrace â or rather, extricated Vash from her embrace.
âI think everyone needs some rest,â Luida continued. âThereâs no need to worry, I think you should all at least try.â
What there was no need to worry about, Wolfwood thought, was something they all understood. Vash going somewhere, mentally, that they couldnât bring him back from. Worse, Vash disappearing when they all laid down for a few hours to rest, leaving him unsupervised. Luidaâs words calmed that fear. No need to worry, because Vash wouldnât be left alone, even if he was being left to rest.
âThat includes you, Vash.â
Wolfwood had to smile at that. Luidaâs tone, there, had sounded a bit more like Melanie. Firm, no arguments. It had the effect of all of them nodding, like instead of fully grown adults they were a bunch of kids being told what they were expected to do.
âWeâll see you in the morning, all right, Vash?â Meryl said.
Milly added, âwell, later in the morning. I think weâre already in it, now!â
Vashâs smile, that one that wasnât quite real, spread across his face again, and he nodded.
âIn the morning.â
That was as good of a point as any for them to leave. Wolfwood glanced at Livio, jerking his head towards the door. Silent, universal gesture for âletâs get out of hereâ, and it probably would have gone that way, too. All of them would have piled into the hallway, a little listless, and then found their way to the bunks they had been given months ago when theyâd all first reunited.
Instead, Vashâs voice piping up from the bed stopped Wolfwood in the doorway.
âWolfwood, can you stay for a minute? Iâm sure youâre tired...â
It was, maybe, a little embarrassing how easily those words had him turning to look over his shoulder. Sitting up in the bed, still, Vash looked even more pathetic, his eyes gone almost pleading in the ten seconds since Wolfwood had turned his back to go.
Maybe he thought Wolfwood would leave.
âUh...â
Wolfwood let his eyes move to Luida, who was looking between the two of them. In the hallway, outside the open door, Wolfwood could feel three sets of eyes on the back of his head. Being put on the spot hadnât been something he was expecting.
âYouâre supposed to be resting, needle-noggin.â
âJust a few minutes?â
The pleading in Vashâs eyes ramped up, approaching something like desperation.
How was he supposed to say no to that?
âYouâre not going to let me go through that doorway without having a tantrum, are you?â he asked, turning around completely and taking a few steps back into the room. Luida wasnât saying anything, didnât seem to be wanting to shut this down. Maybe he could get away with it.
âLuida, do you mind giving us a minute?â
That was unexpected. The second Vash had Wolfwood coming back into the room, pulled on the leash of those pleading eyes, he was asking Luida to leave.
The three sets of eyes watching him seemed to get louder, which was an impossible sort of thing for Wolfwood to be thinking, but it was how he felt. He didnât bother turning around to face it head on. The way Vash was pointedly not looking at anyone but him was keeping him fairly stuck in place.
Luida took a breath, and, for a second, Wolfwood was sure she was going to insist to Vash that he needed to be resting, so, no, she was going to make him say whatever needed said, right here, right now, in front of them all, and then he was going to sleep.
Instead, what Luida said was, âI can give you five minutes.â
Firm, but more relenting than Wolfwood had expected. Luidaâs silhouette moved from the corner of his eye, and then the door hissed shut, leaving just the two of them there, alone in the quiet room.
That felt oppressive, so Wolfwood cut through the silence, clearing his throat and putting his hands in his pockets.
âWhatâs on your mind, blondie?â
That didnât fit. He was going to have to come up with a new nickname.
From the bed, Vash seemed to be thinking the same thing, a wry smile finding its way onto his face as he glanced up towards his own hairline. Raising a hand, he beckoned Wolfwood closer.
Once again, he moved without thinking about it, not just moving closer, but finding his way over to sit at the foot of the bed.
âWell? Luidaâs only giving us fiveââ
Wolfwood broke off, not because he intended to, but because without warning Vash lurched forward on the bed, wrapping both arms around him. It wasnât the first time Wolfwood had felt the inherently inhuman level of strength that Vash often kept under wraps, but it felt different being hauled into his arms, rather than feeling it in the middle of a fight. He couldnât do anything to avoid it.
He also wasnât sure he wanted to.
It had been a long, long fucking day, and it felt undeniably good to free his own arms and wrap them around Vash in turn. The otherâs face was tucked into his neck, and Wolfwood could feel damp there that wasnât from lake water in his hair.
âWe canât talk about it in five minutes.â
Suddenly, Wolfwood understood what it was.
The two of them, pinned across from each other. An invisible hand around his throat, squeezing. The air leaving his lungs, his body fighting, convulsing, struggling to live. Vash across from him, with all of his ideals and his moral code, being pushed to the brink, gun in hand.
His life being crushed out of him, and Vash the only one who could stop that from happening if he would pull the trigger and kill a human.
For Nicholas D. Wolfwood.
He must have stiffened up in Vashâs embrace, because the arms around him squeezed tighter and, with a wheeze, Wolfwood got out, âI know what youâre talking about, you donât need to give me a physical reminder.â
Vashâs grip loosened and he leaned out, his expression so stricken it was almost comical.
It might have been, if they hadnât been talking â and not talking â about what it was they were.
âSorry. Iâm sorry.â
Not just for the squeeze now, either. That was obvious from the way Vash was searching his face. His eyes glanced down, checking his throat, like maybe there would be a mark left there, something damning for him to see. There wasnât. There never would be. It had disappeared, like any other mark Wolfwood had ever collected.
âWe need more than five minutes, yeah,â Wolfwood agreed, reaching up to knock his knuckle against the underside of Vashâs chin. It got him to look up again, and that was important. âYou did it. You pulled the trigger.â
The breath Vash took was shaky. On top of everything else today, even if Legato hadnât died at the end of his gun, Vash had lost that, too. Heâd shot to kill. Heâd intended to do it. It had taken him several heartbeats to do it, but he had.
âI did... It took me so long, and you were...â
Suffocating. Foaming at the mouth. Bleeding from more places than he wanted to think about, but had been forced to when Zazie had handed him a scrap of cloth and said, âyouâve got something... kind of everywhere.â
Dying. For the second time in a week, heâd been dying.
Vashâs hands finding his brought Wolfwood back from that memory, turned the lights back on after heâd been remembering the awful way everything had been going dark before that gunshot had cracked through the ringing in his ears.
âI could have lost you, too.â
The words came out as barely more than a whisper, scraping out of Vashâs throat, raw with grief and guilt and shame. It was written all over his face, plain in his eyes as they searched Wolfwoodâs, looking for an answer to the question he was about to ask.
âHave I?â
They needed to talk about this. They needed more than five minutes, and, at minimum, five hours of sleep, to talk about this.
For now, though, Wolfwood used Vashâs hands in his to pull him in, wrapping his arms around him in the hug he hadnât given Vash when everyone else had. He could feel the way Vash sagged against him, relief making him lean into his chest.
âNot even close,â Wolfwood said, quietly. Behind him, he heard the door open, heard Luidaâs quiet footsteps on the floor. She wouldnât interrupt them outright, but their five minutes were up.
Turning his head, Wolfwood took a breath, his head filling up with the scent of Vash. He was still here. They were both still here. Against all odds, theyâd made it out to the other side.
There would be time to talk, later. They could work through this. They would work through a lot of things.
Wolfwood would like that.
âThink thatâs our five minutes.â
They were close enough that Wolfwood could just about feel the small smile on Vashâs face at that.
âThink so.â
He sat up, bringing his right hand up to rub the heel over his eyes, blinking at the ceiling before he looked back at Wolfwood. There was still a complicated mix of emotions, there, things he hadnât said, things that he couldnât say for Wolfwood, but at least the desperation seemed gone.
Reaching out, Wolfwood swiped at a stray tear that was hovering by the corner of his mouth, and then stood.
âGet some rest, needle-noggin. Iâll be here when you wake up.â
Waiting is the hardest part. Not knowing only makes it worse.
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Continuing my exploration of the aftermath of the finale, before the timeskip. Please, come, there's Wolfwood ragebaiting Meryl at the least appropriate time in here đ¤
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It was easier to get Vash out of the lake than theyâd expected. Heâd been pliant and agreeable, but silent, as Wolfwood and Brad had gotten him to his feet. The soaked, tattered remains of his coat had been tangled around his legs, and Milly and Livio had worked together to get it off of him, Meryl had bundled it up in her arms, soaking the front of her clothes. Arms looped behind him, Wolfwood and Brad had walked him away from that crater, the others flanking them.
But, just because it had been easier to get Vash out of the lake than theyâd thought didnât mean it had been easy to get him away from it. With every step further they had taken, Wolfwood had felt Vashâs legs turning to lead, dragging. He felt him looking back, over his shoulder. Checking the edge of the water, like someone was going to be standing there.
Wolfwood had caught himself looking back, too, half-expecting to see him standing there. Knives, either as heâd been, or the way Wolfwood had last seen him. Watching, seething, hating all of them for daring to take Vash away from the place where they had fallen together. It wouldnât have been surprising, but knowing that the Punisher was too far from him to be used, safe on Ship Three, a sick wave of fear rolled through Wolfwood before he convinced himself he wasnât seeing anyone standing there.
That feeling had been replaced with something else, something like heartbreak, when heâd looked back around and seen the look on Vashâs face.
Something between relief, and guilt, and grief. It looked awful on him.
Theyâd kept him moving.
Now, hours later, Vash was tucked away in his room, alone with Luida. If there was anyone, Wolfwood knew, who could be trusted to take care of Vash, to understand what his baseline for his physical health would be, it was Luida. They needed to let her be with him, work with him, check him, and let them know where he was at.
âCan you stop?â
Looking up from his own hand, Wolfwood met Merylâs eyes. She was glaring at him, arms crossed over her chest, her feet pointed away from him, mid-pace, where sheâd stopped to twist the upper half of her body around to address him.
They were all still wearing the slightly damp clothes they had been wearing when theyâd gotten Vash to the ship. It wasnât like they hadnât had the opportunity to change, and they had, in fact, been offered changes of clothing by some of the residents. Wolfwood was of the opinion that the second he decided to change clothes, vital news would come out of Vashâs room and, somehow, heâd miss it. Maybe it was the same for the others, but whatever their reasons, all of them were still dressed in the clothes theyâd been wearing that morning, impossible lake water, dirt, dust, blood and all.
Holding Merylâs gaze, Wolfwood flicked the lighter in his hand again, for probably the fortieth time, flame glowing bright for a second before he snapped it shut and flipped it over in his hand. Again.
âNico...â Livio admonished softly from his spot by the wall, the sound of it nearly lost under the growl Meryl made. She turned entirely, coming into his space.
Or, well, sheâd started to, only to get intercepted by Milly. One second, the bigger woman had been sitting aside, watching the two of them interact with a wary expression on her face. The next, she was swooping in, looping an arm around Merylâs middle and redirecting her towards the low-slung white sofa sheâd been sitting while they waited.
âCome on, Meryl. Youâve been pacing for half an hour, letâs try sitting down.â
Milly said it so gently, her endless kindness unshakable even in the face of Meryl and Wolfwood butting heads while Vash was in who knew what sort of state a few rooms away. Abruptly, Wolfwood was struck with thankfulness that Meryl had spent the last year, at least, with someone like Milly, and that, right now, she had her there.
He wouldnât say that out loud, though. Instead, he flicked the lighter open again.
It had three immediate effects.
Milly looked at him over her shoulder with a mild smile that could have betrayed some kind of annoyance, if she was capable of that. Wolfwood still wasnât sold that she actually was.
Meryl narrowed her eyes at him over Millyâs other shoulder, but didnât dare try to stand, either because she was actively trying to âsitting down and chilling outâ method, or because Millyâs hand on her leg was keeping her there.
And Livio, who had been happy to stand to the side, watching all of them, stepped forward, taking the lighter from Wolfwoodâs hand.
âHey.â
âLetâs go for a walk.â
Wolfwood scowled, trying to be annoyed with the clearly placating smile Livio was giving him.
âRather not, thanks. Waiting to hear whatâs going on with Needle-Noggin.â
Livioâs smile didnât falter. If anything, it softened even more.
âI know you are. We all are, but we donât need to go far, all right?â Tucking Wolfwoodâs lighter into his own pocket, Livio jerked his head towards the door. âThe second we hear anything that sounds like someone coming to give news, weâll come back. Maybe the walk will calm you down.â
âWalks are wonderful for that,â Milly chimed in.
Wolfwood very, very much wished he could direct his anxiety and annoyance with everything at either of them, but he knew that was impossible. Not just impossible, but it would be wrong. Neither of these two had done anything to deserve that. They were just as concerned about Vash as himself and Meryl, but they were doing their best to help keep the two of them that had known him the longest from doing anything they would regret just because they were worried.
âFine,â he answered, finally, more of a growl than anything, âbut the second I get the feeling somethingâs changedââ
ââWe will be right back here,â Livio agreed, before moving around behind him and giving him a friendly push towards the door. Wolfwood rolled his shoulder back, shooting a flat look back at him, but Livio had clearly made up his mind. âCome on, Nico.â
Out in the corridor, things seemed quieter. It wasnât like the room they had been waiting in was particularly loud. Aside from their breathing, shuffling, and the noise heâd been making with the lighter, they had all been fairly quiet for the last while.
Nerves were getting the better of all of them.
âHe survived Julai.â
âHuh?â
Realizing that heâd been walking without really seeing or listening, Wolfwood looked at Livio, studying his profile. He was obviously thinking over things, and maybe that was to calm his own concerns, but with the way heâd pushed Wolfwood to go and help Vash, earlier, instead of staying to fight Ninelives, betrayed that he was thinking deeper about things.
Heâd known that Wolfwood was worried about how Vash was faring, then. He knew he was worried about the same thing, now.
It was a big change from the Livio that Wolfwood had known, all those years ago. And, really, theyâd barely begun to scratch the surface of who each other were, now.
âThree years ago,â Livio continued, looking his way as they walked. Was everyone on this damn ship asleep? How could they be, with what had happened today? The clash between the twins aside, the immigrant fleet had finally made it, and that should have been enough to have people awake and wandering the halls. Wolfwood himself wasnât sure he was going to sleep for days. âWhen he and Knives fought the last time, he survived that, and that was worse. Way worse.â
Wolfwood didnât need the reminder. He could still see the memory on bad nights, when he closed his eyes. The light of Vashâs energy falling back from the sky, back into the city. The sound of it, too loud for a body so small amongst all those buildings, but then growing, rushing. Bright light and sound, and himself and Meryl standing on the dunes, far enough away to be safe from the main blast, but not from the sight of it, the sound of it, the heat rolling over the land knocking them both back.
That had been worse, and Vash had come back from that. The weight of his guilt, fear and grief had nearly crushed him in the process, but heâd survived it.
He, however, hadnât been the only one.
âWe donât know what happened up there, though. We donât know if Knives is still around.â
âHeâs not.â
Bradâs voice in the otherwise quiet hallway made both of them jump.
So much for being genetically modified master assassins, or whatever they were supposed to be. Theyâd been snuck up on by an old man. An old man who was hardly even trying to be quiet.
Not that Wolfwood was saying that out loud, or calling Brad names. Not right now.
He had come up behind them and, now, as they waited for him to catch up, he rubbed a hand over his face. He looked tired, which, Wolfwood supposed, might be something that could be said for all of them. There was still mud scuffed on the white of his pants, from the knees down, showing just how much he also hadnât taken the chance to change when it was presented.
âWhatâs that mean?â
Brad sighed, dropping his hand and crossing his arms as he looked between them.
âHe told Luida. Said Knives died up there. Or on the way down. Something like that, I donât know the specifics, but whatâs going on in that crater is all him. Last of his energy.â
âWhat?â
The word had come out of Livioâs mouth, but Wolfwood was feeling it. Deeply. Maybe even spiritually.
That seemed impossible. Knives hadnât been acting the part of someone who was ready to give their life, their energy, to help terraform a planet that he would have been happy to keep hostile to humanity. Whatever the hell had happened between the twins while they had been beyond the reach of everyone else was anyoneâs guess, but Wolfwoodâs, now, was that it had been some kind of miracle.
Just the sort of thing that Vash would pull off.
âJust what I said. Youâve both heard Vash say it, right? As a plant, he takes. The twins were a paired set. If one takes...â
He let the end of the sentence hang, unspoken, between the three of them. Whatever had happened out there was thanks to a decision Knives had made. And he was gone with it.
That should have been cause for celebration. Hell, it was, and Wolfwood knew that he wasnât the only one standing in that corridor that was feeling it. Relief and gratefulness that, whatever else, Knives wasnât something they were going to have to deal with again. They were free of that terror. Vash was free of that terror.
The only reason none of them were saying it, though, was precisely that.
Vash was free of the terror that Knives continually put him through, but despite everything, he had loved his brother. Heâd believed that, somehow, he would be able to deal with him, without it coming to one or the other of them dead. That was the way heâd spoken before theyâd all gone off to the confrontation that had ended with the twins plummeting from the sky. No matter the things that Knives had subjected him to, Vash had been firm on that. Knives was wrong, and he needed to be stopped, and Vash was terrified of him, but he was his brother.
That kind of thing was hard to get around.
There would be time for that later, though. Right now.
âSo, all right, Knives is done, and his last act was that. Fine.â Wolfwood held Bradâs gaze, raising an eyebrow. âHowâs Vash?â
With another sigh, Brad shrugged.
âHeâs talking. Thatâs probably better than the alternative. Thought he was about to go catatonic there, for a bit.â
Again.
âYou want to see him for yourself?â
His body moved without his say-so, Wolfwood already stepping around Brad, heading back the way they had come, and the way he knew, after spending even the small amount of time on the ship that they had, led to Vashâs room.
âWhat kind of stupid question is that? Why didnât you lead with that?â
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