Chapter Text
Wolfwood was no naive man. He knew what it meant to live the life he had. To be born into circumstances that are anything but fair. He knew better than anyone what it meant to suffer in a life meant for a much stronger man. It meant that you never truly lived. From the moment you're born, you're already dying.
What Wolfwood was a man of, however, was stubbornness.
The moment he understood what he was born into, he wouldn’t let himself let the other people in his life push him around. Wouldn’t be taken advantage of. Would never fall victim to another man's evil.
That's how he ended up staring at the body of the man that not so graciously called himself Wolfwood's guardian. That's how he found himself being a weapon for an angry god.
That's how he found himself being the very man he hated.
A monster. A killer. The empty, shriveled, dry remains of a bright child who once dreamed of living a good life with his fellow brothers and sisters, a provider. He was a man who for all he knew, tore those providers from the people who needed them.
He was a man who could only ever be forgiven by an angel that had not watched what he had done. No god would forgive him, no man, no woman, no child, not himself. There was no living soul that could hear his story and say "it's okay, I forgive you." Because he was a man unworthy of forgiveness.
That's what it meant to live a life like his. It was an unforgiving life. And he had started to learn to accept that. He accepted that he'd never be an innocent man. He would forever be a sinner. A grave sinner. And his only purpose was to serve that "beautiful angel" that would have his head if he declined. He found himself negating his only goal he declared when he fired a gun for the first time.
"I will not be taken advantage of anymore."
Meeting Knives may have completely negated that goal all together. Now he was being taken advantage of again, but not by a man that could be stopped by a simple bullet.
Knives never let him bury his heart. He was manipulative in a way where you were not allowed to forget. Most people would assume Knives' rule would encourage a separation from the past, a "fresh start."
No, that's not how he ran things. Especially not for the Eye of Michael.
Wolfwood lived with constant reminders. Of the people he loved, the people he left, betrayed, hurt, suffered alongside... everything. He was forced to remember Hopeland... Livio. There was nothing he was allowed to forget, and if his memory slipped, then he'd get a harsh reminder.
It was part of the control. Being mentally tortured in this way was how Knives got the more disobearing members to obey. Torture them with memories so their self worth halted. Make them see themselves as more evil than Knives himself.
And it worked.
It worked for a long time.
Time Wolfwood would never get back.
Time spent believing he was his own worst enemy.
Time spent before meeting that angel. The one who didn't see the horrors he'd committed. The only one who could forgive a man like Wolfwood.
An angel dressed in red and scars.
Wolfwood knew the moment he was assigned this job, the job to retrieve Knives' dear brother, that something would go wrong. He thought it would go wrong in the form of Vash uncovering the plan or resistance or maybe even death. What he wasn’t expecting, however, was what actually went wrong.
He fell in love with the man.
His heart would beat rapidly upon glancing at the angel he adored. The angel he didn’t deserve. Vash was so far above him. So much better than him. Vash was good. He was nothing like Knives. He had nothing but love in his soul and his own blood on his hands. He suffered at the hands of humans and never stopped loving them anyway. Wolfwood could've admired it if he didn't think Vash was an idiot for that mentality.
Vash believed everyone had good in their soul. Maybe that's why he always forgave Wolfwood. Even when his hands were caked in blood, Vash would forgive him. When blood seeped so far up into the details of the man's skin, Vash would take that skin and cherish it as though it were blessed by a power beyond his own.
That's just how Vash was. As much as Wolfwood wished he would shoot him like everyone else, Vash was a saint in a land of sin, and he trusted his soul in the hands of just another sinner.
Wolfwood never understood why Vash saw Wolfwood with such heightened perspective. He would admit before anyone that he was the scum of the earth. A "senseless killer" with no regard for other life. A Judas.
Vash never saw him that way somehow. Somehow he saw Wolfwood as redeemable. He stuck around after watching Wolfwood gun down men, tell him not to do it again, and still stays when Wolfwood inevitability draws his cross.
He envied Vash. He envied how he could be so good in a land that called for nothing but survival. Wolfwood had no idea how the man had lived decades with nothing but his morals and no blood that wasn’t his own on his hands.
Wolfwood couldn’t help but think that Livio would've liked Vash more than himself. Livio would've expected Wolfwood to turn out like Vash, but he hadn't. And he had to live with that burden the rest of his life. Just another cross to carry through the oasis of No Man's Land.
Wolfwood could barely keep focus on the land ahead of him as he felt Angelina purr under him. Being so lost in thought, combined with the fact that there was very little he had to actually pay attention to seeing that the land was just an empty desert, Wolfwood hadn’t really prioritized his consciousness.
He could hear Vash hum beside him, in that cramped little side car he crammed himself into instead of sitting on the back like a normal person. Wolfwood couldn’t blame him though, he wouldn’t trust himself that much either.
"You alright, Wolfwood?" He suddenly heard. It became quickly apparent that Wolfwood had accidentally just stared the man down for at least a minute. He corrected his gaze smoothly.
"Fine. What's that tune yer singing over there, Spikey?" He quickly corrected his gaze back ahead of him. Though the sight of endless sand was far less pleasant than the bright blue eyes looking up at him.
"Oh, it's just a song that comes to me every now and again." The way Vash said it was almost reminiscent. Wolfwood didn’t ask further.
They were silent for a long time before they spotted a town on the horizon. Not a big one, but better than endless rock and sand. They'd stay under a cliff if it meant a break from the heat.
Wolfwood could tell Vash had been starting to get uncomfortable in the side car by now. Vash had mentioned in passing that being around for over a hundred years does in fact come with natural wear and tear on his body. The kind of pain that comes from pinched nerves and bones wore down from endless movement. Not to mention the amount of pain that occurs after skin is split and sealed more times that someone can count. Wolfwood had only one scar that wasn’t immediately healed by the vials, and that hurt enough on its own. He couldn’t even imagine a full body of them. The thought alone made him cringe.
All of that to say, Vash most likely was under more discomfort than he'd been letting on. It frustrated Wolfwood, having to play a guessing game consistently with Vash's current well being. He wanted to grab him by the shoulder and shake the answer out of him, unfortunately he had no right to pressure an angel into venting.
He saw the way Vash seemed to perk up upon the sight of the town ahead. The man's optimism dragging the grind of bone against bone out of the mind. "Oh would you look at that! I didn't think there was gonna be a town for at least another hour or two..." Vash rubbed the back of his neck with a grin.
"Lucky us..." Wolfwood sighed. The town was too small for a plant, so no clean water... if there was any at all. That was fine, any sort of refuge was fine.
Angelina trembled against them insistently. The bike was most likely over heating by now, probably good they found a town so they wouldn't be forced to hoof it for hours if Angelina did break down. Luckily, she had been able to make it the rest of the way.
By some blessing, the town had open rooms available for relatively cheap in the inn. Wolfwood could have cheered if he were more like Vash, who had indeed given a small hoot of excitement... Wolfwood had to hide how that endeared him behind a puff of smoke.
He followed Vash slowly up the stairs, the man ahead of him clearly thinking he was hiding the slight limp he now carried well behind his half hearted skips up the stairs. Wolfwood frowned, already knowing he was going to have to lecture Vash about it later. The man often hid whatever pain he was experiencing, chronic or injury, didn't matter. He hid anything that he thought could even slightly inconvenience Wolfwood. It made Wolfwood mad at not only Vash, but also the people who made him think that way.
They walked into the room, a soft click following them as Wolfwood pulled the door shut. Vash immediately got to work pulling off his bizarre arrangement of leather and straps. Buckles shedding off his legs like the skin of a lizard, Wolfwood had been overwhelmed the first time really getting a good look at them, especially considering the sheer length of the man's legs. No less endearing than it was unsettling.
"Alright, Blondie... out with it." Wolfwood huffed as he toed off his dress shoes that were horrible shoe choices considering the state of the world.
"Huh? What are you talking about." Wolfwood looked up in annoyance at the angel in front of him. Words quickly died on his tongue when he realized Vash's attempts to get out of the outfit he trapped himself in daily had been mostly completed. Leaving him in nothing but his black leather suit. If Wolfwood was a better man, he wouldn’t have been fazed by the appearance considering the pressing matter at hand. With this in mind, Wolfwood quickly schooled his expression.
"You know what, Tongari. What's with the limp?" He knew what it was from, or at least had his suspicion. But he wanted to hear Vash say it himself.
"Wha- I'm not limpin-"
"I ain't blind, dumbass."
Vash scoffed. "Yeah yeah..." he quickly busied himself with neatly folding his red coat. "My legs are just sore from the ride. The usual."
As shocking as it was that Vash hadn't immediately thrown out a half hearted lie about being fine, Wolfwood knew he was being truthful.
"I'm sorry... think it'll be okay after sleeping on a real bed?" He wondered out loud.
"Yeah... probably." Vash sighed.
"Alright, then get some rest. We need to get going pretty early tomorrow morning if we're gonna catch the sand steamer." Wolfwood huffed as he reached for a cigarette he kept neatly packed in his inside coat pocket.
"Yeah, you're right..." Vash yawned on cue. Wolfwood could make out the soft slap of Vash's feet against the floor as he made his way down towards the shared bedroom. They didn't really have the money for two separate rooms. Wolfwood would join him in a minute.
Despite nagging Vash about his own comfort, Wolfwood wouldn't deny the ache in his own body. Angelina wasn't kind to either of the men's bodies that were practically falling apart at the edges.
Despite the soreness though, Wolfwood felt... at peace. It was the first time in quite a while he's felt like that. He was usually haunted by Knives' cold stare. Or the fact that he was befriending Vash after betraying him. By the fact that he was nothing but scum in the presence of an angel. None of that got to him today, and he was damn happy about that.
He made his own way to the bedroom shortly after Vash. Vash had somehow already managed to worm his way out of that black suit and into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. Wolfwood envied him. Vash had taken a while to be fully comfortable with Wolfwood seeing his scars, the whole body of them. And Wolfwood didn’t have that same confidence, always keeping a shirt on around anyone.
He groaned lightly as he sunk down into the bed. His knees protesting against the slow bend of them.
The mattress was shit but it was better than rocks and sand, that's for damn sure. Wolfwood and Vash would deal with it just fine.
Wolfwood stared at the ceiling, thinking about nearly anything before his eyelids began to grow heavy, and his vision began to fade. The only sense he was focused on now was the feeling of Vash next to him.
The weight of the gun was unfamiliar in the boy's hands. It had looked so much smaller and lighter on the shelf, but it dwarfs Nicos here. His hand trembled rather intensely as he pointed it at the man in front of him.
"What're you doin' boy?" The man laughed, the beer bottle in his hand swishing around as he moved his arms in time with his laugh. "You don' t even know how to shoot that thing!" He slurred.
Nico's father was right, of course. He had never shot a gun, and didn't understand how to. But he'd seen his father do it, so he figured he would get the hang of it.
"I-I do!" Nico shouted. "And I w-will!" His voice shook, making his father laugh some more.
"Face it, boy. You're a pussy, that's exactly how your mother raised you to be. You won' t shoot me." His words were cut off by a deafening bang.
Nico didn't know what he registered first, his own scream or the blood that came out of his father's stomach.
His ears rang louder than the gunshot. The man tormented his life, who knocked him down time and time again, who took advantage of him. He was dead. Nico ended it. He was finally free from his grasp.
He heard the slow sound of a person clapping behind him and froze. His head hurt after how quickly he whipped around to look at the source of the sound. Knives. The cold stare of the angry god he sold his life to. Suddenly the gun's wait didn't feel so unfamiliar. The Punisher could feel it, far lighter than the cross he carried.
"Well done, Punisher." Knives grinned.
The Punisher was on the edge of puking looking at the embodiment of something far beyond his mortal understanding in front of him.
"He was just getting in the way, anyway..." Knives sighed as he stood. The Punisher suddenly felt as though they were not thinking of the same body.
The Punisher slowly turned to look back at the body of his father. His father. He shot his father. He knew he did.
The Punisher puked right there. Bile rising up to his tongue as he took in the sight before him. Bodies. So many bodies. Too many. Thousands lead up to the body at his feet. A gun shot in the stomach, blonde hair on the head of a man who was still smiling. He was alive, and he was staring at The Punisher. The Punisher sobbed as the angel smiled and held a hand to him.
"It's okay Wolfwood."
No. It wasn't.
"It's okay Wolfwood."
I killed you.
"It's okay Wolfwood."
What about this was okay.
"It's okay Wolfwood."
I let my hate take you.
The Punisher heard the phrase a thousand times. He couldn’t focus on it over the ringing in his ears. The screech of panic.
He couldn’t focus on it before it turned more desperate.
"Wolfwood!"
That wasn't him.
"Wolfwood, come on!"
Wolfwood shot up with a gasp. He could barely breathe, he didn't know where he was.
"Wolfwood, hey-"
He whirled around to the face right next to his. His senses just began loading as he registered what was happening. His face was wet and there were hands gripping his shoulders. His hands shook as he reached up to wipe the moisture from his face.
Bright blue eyes reflected in his own. Vash was staring at him with nothing but concern as he wrapped his arm around him. Wolfwood cringed from the touch.
Suddenly seeing Vash's face was too much. Feeling his touch was too much. Hearing his voice was too much.
He hated himself for it, but he shoved Vash away, probably with more force than necessary. Vash didn’t look surprised, still just that same horrible worry. Wolfwood wanted to scream.
He was up before he could blink. Feet clashing against the rough floor below him, scraping as they pushed him forward. Standing up made him realize something else too. The disgusting feeling of something wet on his t-shirt. It wasn't long before he connected the dots, he'd thrown up in his sleep. Must've been the reason Vash's worry was so strong. The smell hit him soon after, a horrible putrid smell that almost had him gagging again.
Before he could think about where he was and who was in the room, he ripped the soiled t-shirt off with a scowl. The thought of the scar on his back was absent until he heard Vash's breath hitch.
The brand. The only scar the Eye of Michael allowed to form on his body, a terrible mark left by searing metal in the shape of that disgust worthy symbol.
It was all too much. Vash's silent horror, the smell, the knowledge of what happened, everything was horrifying. Wolfwood felt like Nico again, a scared child. It made him sick.
"Wolfwood-"
His voice hurt. It felt like sand paper against his eardrum.
His heaven worthy optimism. His cheerful attitude. The way his eyes were so blue they could give this rock they called a planet oceans deep and pure enough to replenish every galaxy. The amount of care he held in them. It was the entire polar opposite of Wolfwood. The man with blood practically embedded into his hands, had nothing but resentment and pessimism in his soul, who was so focused on survival and didn’t have time to care about caring. The man who had nothing to give an angel like Vash but a hole in his stomach.
"I have to go." Wolfwood said abruptly. He grabbed a clean shirt from the inn that the last guest must have left, quickly covering the mark that haunted him.
"What- Wolfwood, why do we have to go-"
"I said I have to go, blondie." The voice that came out was cold. Bitter. Vash's eyebrows knit slightly at the tone.
"Wolfwood- we can talk about it. It was just a dream-" his voice sounded desperate. Wolfwood almost felt bad.
"You don't know what it was. You can’t see my dreams, my thoughts, my story. You know nothing about me or my life so don't try to act like it!" He couldn't blame Vash for his shock. They were nothing but civil just a few hours ago.
That dream hadn't felt like a dream. It felt like a vision. And Wolfwood couldn’t live with that.
"Then tell me what happened! Let me understand!" Vash was standing now too. Wolfwood felt even more like a child with Vash towering over him with his freakish height.
"Just drop it, Blondie! I'm goin." He huffed, reaching for Punisher.
"You almost drowned on your own puke and you expect me to drop it!?" Vash grabbed his arm. Wolfwood hated that he felt an urge to punch the man.
"...Vash."
Vash flinched at his name being said, not used to the lack of nicknames.
"Take a good look at me. Take a good look and tell me that you think I'm a good man. Look in my eyes and say it." He held his hand up to Vash, "Get a good damn look at the blood under my finger nails and tell me that you think I deserve to be forgiven... trusted." He had to fight back tears. The image of Vash bloodied and smiling still in his head. Blood coming from the gun he shot.
Wolfwood was a violent man. No amount of Vash's preaching love and peace could convince him otherwise. He was born and raised to pull a trigger to end lives. Vash's pacifism couldn't rewrite the past.
Vash's eyes met Wolfwood's. Suddenly Wolfwood felt like he was the one getting yelled at. "Wolfwood... you are a good person. I don't know how to convince you. But you are."
Wolfwood swallows roughly, unable to respond for a moment.
"I don't know what you see in me, blondie. I'm the scum of Gunsmoke and you're a living angel..."
"Some would argue I'm a living natural disaster... doesn't make it true, does it?"
"Of course not. The difference is I'm a man worthy of the title shoved at him." He frowns.
"What happened in your nightmare, Nick."
The tone caught Wolfwood off guard. That along with the nickname.
Part of him didn't want to say, wanted to throw it under lock and key and tell him it didn't matter. But he knew Vash wouldn't believe anything that wasn’t the truth from Wolfwood.
"...I-" he gulped again. "I killed you..." he said simply. There were more details, of course. But that didn't deny the truth of the fact that that's all he cared to remember.
"And you threw up in fear of that fact. You didn’t want to kill me. I know you never could." Vash whispers and grabs Wolfwood's hands.
This was the closest they'd gotten in the year or so they'd been traveling together. And Wolfwood couldn’t take it.
He pulled away quickly. Hardening his expression once again.
"It doesn't matter if I would or wouldn't. It's a risk either way" he muttered. "When I look at you, I'm reminded of everything I hate about myself... y'know it hurts."
All Vash could do was frown as he let Wolfwood walk away. The wind hadn't told Vash what was to happen in the future. That this would be their last real conversation for the next two years.
Wolfwood could feel skin ripping from skin as he tore at the rocks below his feet. He hated it, but he knew what he saw was Vash. Vash. Fucking Vash.
There was no sign of Vash anywhere. No bright red or blonde to catch his eyes. His vision was already obscured by tears.
He didn’t care about how his hands hurt. All he cared about was finding Vash.
He didn’t find him that day.
Not the next day either.
Not a single hint of him in the entire seven weeks Wolfwood would go back daily to check the ruins for him.
No hint of him for two years.
Wolfwood never stopped looking. He moved on from JuLai to other sites, hoping Vash survived.
This was all Wolfwood's fault. Of course he knew that. He worked for Knives. He was the reason Vash was there in the first place. And that thought nearly killed Wolfwood alone.
He accepted that he'd killed Vash. That he'd never have what he lost again.
He accepted that he'd have to live with that.
He made his way to one last town, one last town that he needed to check.