Chapter Text
Spring still comes to a barren wasteland — this Vash is fully aware of. It may not be something humans could notice from changes in temperature or season; the twin suns rise and set at the same time year-round like a metronome. No, Vash feels spring come in the way his skin feels too tight to contain the energy rushing through his body. Electricity thrums through arteries, veins, capillaries — even down to the red blood cells that course through him.
Outwardly, his body doesn't betray his stress; he's had a long 150-or-so years to tamp down any reaction that wasn't quite human. The closest he gets to showing his discomfort is the ramrod-straight angle of his spine as he sits primly and properly in the back seat of the car when he'd usually be slumped against the window, complaining loudly of the heat.
The heat, Vash remembers, tugging at the collar of his red coat. The heat is absolutely unbearable. Even with the sweat-wicking fabric of his undersuit, he's feeling clammy and uncomfortable. The weather in No Man's Land rarely bothers him anymore despite his protests otherwise, but times like these when his senses are turned up to eleven makes him understand how easily humans can die of exposure. He flicks a glance towards the reflection of Wolfwood in the rearview mirror, scowling when he sees the man unfazed.
"Hey, Wolfwood!" The blonde kicks the back of the driver's seat childishly with one of his long legs. "When are we stopping for the night? We've been on the road for hours, and I-Spy is no fun when there are only grains of sand for iles!"
The man in the driver's seat ignores him.
Vash continues to fuss unintelligibly, digging in his duffel until he finally gets his hand around his prize — their water canteen. Excited, he unscrews the cap and goes to take a hearty swig and...
Empty.
Vash howls mournfully, beating once again on Wolfwood's seat.
"Wolfwood, we gotta stop soon! There's no more water. We can't have you dying of thirst out here, oh no." Vash squints at the shifting horizon, trying to make out something that isn't there. "The map said there should be a place to stop an hour or so north from here. Should we head there? We should really think about resupplying! Even if it's a small town, I'm sure there's a general store where we could pick up firestarters, rations, maybe even some—"
The figure in the driver's seat whips around.
"For the love of God, will you shut the hell up, Spikey?"
Wolfwood chews on his cigarette, grinding the filter between clenched teeth as he glares at the blonde. Vash slowly removes his boot from the back of the seat, sending a placating smile the priest's way.
"Don't be like that. You know I'm just looking out for you, right?" Vash soothes.
"Don't bother," Wolfwood mutters, turning back to the wheel. "We're headed in that direction anyway. Didn't you see where I circled it on the map?"
Vash chuckles sheepishly, running a hand through sweat-damp, gelled locks.
"Ahahaha… Oh, yeah. That's right."
It feels like an eternity has passed when their old clunker of a car pulls into the outskirts of town. Vash scrambles out immediately to stretch. He gets a good pop when he twists his spine just so, relieving a bit of the tension his body has been holding onto. His insides are still fizzing with nervous energy, and Vash suppresses the urge to run off for a jog. That would only concern Wolfwood, as gruff as he may be about showing he cares, and Vash really does not want to tip off the priest about his current state.
"How about I go get us a spot at the inn?" Vash tries. "I can write us up a list of supplies to get tomorrow, and then we can go down to the bar for a drink."
"Sure, Needles." Wolfwood agrees.
Vash internally lets out a sigh of relief. Finally, an opportunity to let himself breathe.
Vash snags his bag from the back seat and waves a goodbye to Wolfwood. The priest returns it grudgingly before turning back to futz with something in the car.
The blonde grins a little at the other's still-sour mood. They had to leave Angelina II behind a few towns back — something about the deeper sands of this part of the desert being too much for the bike's engine. They had struck a deal with a merchant to borrow their old delivery truck and Wolfwood all but threatened the man to keep his precious motorcycle in pristine condition while they were away. Vash much prefers the legroom of their current ride to the sidecar of the bike, but telling that to Wolfwood would only annoy him further.
Vash kicks pebbles down the road as he makes his way to the town's inn. It’s a shoddy little place that looks like it's one sandstorm away from toppling over. A tinny bell rings to announce his entrance to the building, and the woman at the counter looks up from her magazine with a smile.
"What can I do ya for, stranger?" She greets him, pulling out her drawer full of room keys.
"One room, two beds," Vash responds, fishing through his wallet to toss a few double dollars onto the table. He snatches up one set of keys that’s offered to him. "I’ve got a friend coming in a few, so if you see Mr. Tall, Dark, and Broody just send him up after me. Don't mind his attitude, he's a bit grumpy that he had to leave his beloved motorcycle behind."
The innkeeper laughs good-naturedly, shooing him off with a promise that she'll keep an eye out for him.
Vash finds his way to his assigned room without issue, opening the door only to be hit by the smell of mothballs and dust. He wrinkles his nose in distaste, but sets his luggage on one of the creaky beds regardless. The town they arrived in was small and isolated, so the inn probably hadn't seen much use. He could have probably sprung for two rooms to send more cash flow the inn's way, but Vash feels safer with Wolfwood watching his six. Sometimes, they even got a single bed to save money when times were tough. The presence of his capable friend beside him comforted him rather than set him on edge like sharing a bed with anyone else would.
This time, however, Vash insists on the separate beds. He knows he'll be tossing and turning tonight from the discomfort of Spring taking a toll on his body. He hopes he can keep himself quiet enough in his fidgeting to let Wolfwood sleep through the night.
Vash leans against the stale pillows of his bed with a sigh. His hand creeps down towards the nexus of the bubbling energy that's been slowly wearing away at his perfectly-placed mask the last few days.
"Blooming…" he murmurs, idly stroking the seam of his thigh.
He's suddenly jolted out of his reverie by the thump of footsteps outside the room. Vash pops up to stand at attention just as Wolfwood opens the door.
"Wolfwood, hello!" Vash says, almost too brightly. "Fancy meeting you here, hm?"
Wolfwood scoffs at the blonde's behavior, tapping out a cigarette from his pack. "Y'know, that line would come off a lot smoother if you weren't the one who booked the room, idiot."
The end of his cigarette is lit into a bright red cherry and Wolfwood takes a long drag. The smoke spreads into the air like liquid. Wolfwood cracks the first semblance of a smile Vash has seen from him all day.
"Now, you were saying something about a drink?"
Unlike the inn, the bar was bustling with patrons and servers alike. The groaning of someone losing at cards, the clink of pint glasses as they hit the counter, raised voices from an argument that had the potential to become a bar fight — all these sounds assaulted Vash's senses and made him feel tense and overwrought. He had Wolfwood beside him, though, and he promised the man a drink.
Vash leans over the counter, waving a hand at the busy bartender.
"Hi there, hello! Could I get two Bride whiskeys on the rocks if you've got it, then whatever beer's cheapest?" He asks sweetly, beaming at the overworked woman. The bartender gives the blonde a once-over, then sets her mouth into a neutral line.
"Is that it, or will you be starting a tab?"
"Tab, please! You can put that under Vash the Stam—" A hand is slapped over his mouth before he can rattle off his full title. The scent of tobacco and smoke reaches his nose, and he already knows who it is that so very rudely interrupted him.
"Wolfwood. You can put the tab under Nicholas D. Wolfwood."
Vash curls his fingers around the hand over his mouth, moving it away and taking a step backwards. The man is way too close for comfort. The usual friendly touches are not an option right now.
"Haha! Nice save, Wolfwood." Vash laughs stiffly. The drinks he ordered are slid over and Vash shoves the bottles into Wolfwood's hands as he takes the glasses. "Let's find a quieter table near the back. I think I heard one of those groups getting a touch too rowdy."
They both make their way over to an empty table in a back corner and Vash all but collapses into the rickety bar chair. He picks up his glass of liquor and taps it against the side of Wolfwood's own with a small clink. Swallowing down a large mouthful of his drink, Vash hisses at the burn in his throat.
"Hey, hey, easy there," Wolfwood starts, the space between his eyebrows already furrowing into a concerned line. "Nobody's gonna take that from ya. Let it sit a minute."
The priest moves the glass a few inches away from Vash, fixing him with a pointed gaze.
"Are you gonna tell me what's up? The chipper act isn't so convincing when you're drinking like you're trying to drown your sorrows." Wolfwood takes a small sip of his drink to prove his point. "Besides, I could tell something was off from how you were more annoying than usual in the car. You helped me mark this place as our next stop, but then you acted like you didn't remember. I know your memory's sharper than that, Tongari."
Vash swears under his breath — his partner is so observant. Usually, that was a great asset, but today it just makes Vash pinch the bridge of his nose in exasperation.
"You got me, Wolfwood!" The blonde laughs sheepishly. "I'm feeling a bit stressed from the last gunfight we were in; it was a close call with how you got shot in the shoulder. A few millimeters to the left and that bullet would have pierced your heart. I guess I've just been kind of on edge since then. It's nothing to worry about, seriously."
Wolfwood rubs his shoulder unconsciously. He had to take a vial of the Eye's drugs that day, his arm a dead weight he couldn't risk healing naturally. Vash had fussed over him like a mother hen even when he was good-as-new. The story was pretty plausible, so Vash hopes he will buy it.
"Hmm," Wolfwood hums, leaning back in his chair. "Well, when you feel like telling me, I'll lend an ear."
… Not quite a success, but good enough for Wolfwood to drop the subject.
They drink together in companionable silence that’s broken up here and there with snippets of light conversation or pointing out other patrons that were doing something of note. Vash had already finished his whiskey and beer and was nursing his third round of both as Wolfwood is finishing his second.
The blonde slumps over the table, swaying slightly. His tinted glasses have been put away and Vash stares up at the other man with shiny baby blues.
"Wolfwood… I feel all fuzzy." He hiccups, downing the last of his drink. "Like radio static under my skin — it's annoying and won't go away."
A flush spreads across his cheekbones, a signal that he's just about hit his limit. He can usually hold his alcohol better than this. Drinking this much normally isn't enough to make him stumble over his feet and words. With all that's been going on, he has a little less tolerance and is just a little more vulnerable.
"Alright, up with you," Wolfwood orders, slapping the man on his back to get him to stand. Vash's body skews obviously to one side and Wolfwood sighs. "Stay here. I gotta go pay the tab."
Vash watches him leave with a confused tilt to his head. Where was he going? Why was he leaving him? Didn't Wolfwood know he was in bloom and shouldn't be left alone? He stifles a whimper that lodges in his chest and waits patiently for his Wolfwood to return.
"I'm back," Wolfwood says, pushing a glass of clear liquid into Vash's hand. Vash stares down at it dumbly, as if asking it for answers. Wolfwood tsks and runs a hand through his dark hair. "It's water, idiot. Drink it quick and let's go back to the inn."
Vash's arm finds its way around the priest's shoulders for support and he trills in the back of his throat at the contact. They both make their way across the street and up the stairs of the inn without trouble, miraculously. Wolfwood unceremoniously dumps the blonde onto his bed in a pile of limbs.
"Mm, bedtime already?" Vash slurs, pulling blindly at the buckles of his boots. They're being more stubborn than usual, the complicated straps proving too much for him at the moment. The inn's bed is old and musty for sure, but Vash doesn’t want to be rude and track dirt all over it from not taking his shoes off.
A hand swats his own away from the buckles and Vash whines at the harsh treatment.
"Quit it." Wolfwood snaps, easily undoing his shoes and sliding them off.
Vash smiles down at the man knelt at his feet. His Wolfwood is so kind even under all that bluster. He watches as Wolfwood continues to help him release the latches on his calves as well, whistling a content sigh out through his mouth. He pulls at the buttons of his red coat, trying to help undress himself for bed. The high neckline was too stifling — he needed to get comfortable if they were choosing this place to settle down for his Spring.
"Woooolfwood..." Vash whines pathetically, grabbing at the air around the other man. "Jacket too… Too many buttons…"
Wolfwood huffs in annoyance, but begins to work on untangling the man from his coat as well. His presence is closer now. He’s leaning into Vash's space as he works the buttons of his coat through their holes, breathing the same air as him. It makes Vash's teeth ache. The skin of the priest's neck is bared to him, his dress shirt perpetually unbuttoned. Vash sways infinitesimally forward, jaw opening and poised to take a taste, before his eyes meet a questioning dark gaze. Wolfwood's mouth moves like he's saying something, but the buzzing in Vash’s ears drowns out any words he would be able to hear otherwise.
"Whazzat?" Vash asks. His Wolfwood usually has important things to say and Vash wants to make sure he listens.
"Jesus, Needle-noggin. I said, 'You usually aren't this useless when you're drunk'. You sure nothing's going on that I need to know about?"
The admonishment immediately sobers Vash as he realizes he had begun to fall into the haziness of Spring. He thought he had a day or two left before his mind began to muddle. That was enough time to make an excuse to head out into the desert alone for a few days.
"No!" Vash shouts, voice too loud in the quiet of the inn room. He winces at the volume, then tries again. "I mean, no, there's nothing wrong. I told you, I'm just a bit on edge from all that's happened. I think I just overdid myself on the drinks today, but I'll be fine in the morning."
Wolfwood's hand clenches in the fabric of Vash's pants, obviously unsatisfied with the answer. They're both cagey with their emotions, which is why all that Vash receives is an unimpressed stare before Wolfwood rises to head to his side of the room. Vash hears the click of a lighter opening and the soft exhale of smoke. It's a sure sign that Vash's strange mood is weighing on Wolfwood's mind — he always smokes more when something is bothering him. Vash stares at his turned back, feeling guilty. It's not like he could easily explain what was up with him, even if he wanted to.
The suns have set over the horizon, draping the room in darkness. Wolfwood has stubbed out his cigarette and headed off to sleep, but Vash still sits and gazes out the window. The fifth moon hangs in the sky outside, the large crater an ever-present reminder of Vash's failure to restrain his inhuman traits, even if it wasn't entirely his fault.
He was — and still is — a danger to others.
Heat prickles under his skin and Vash clenches his teeth so hard he's surprised he doesn't crack a molar. There's really no time left to concoct a believable excuse for going off alone. He'll leave in the morning and have to bear the consequences when he returns. He crawls into bed and tries not to think too hard about Wolfwood's slow, steady breaths and how he wishes he was pressed back-to-back against him.